《Archmagion》


 Crucible Dreams

    <h2>PROLOGUE 1: CRUCIBLE DREAMS</h2>


    ¡°The word cannot be permitted to die. If it will fall on deaf ears then I shall give it to the blind to read.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 1:1-2


    The city of Mund sleeping restlessly far below her like a flea-infested dog, the young mage behind the blue-tinted glass of the tower looked down and sighed. While others slumbered in their beds or revelled into the night, her work was just beginning. Her spells were most-easily, most-accurately cast under starlight, and the constellations of the gods were bright tonight. The wall of windows was constructed from glass that had been ensorcelled to better-magnify the radiance of the stars. This Lounge of Seercraft in which she stood was a place of shadows, unlit by lantern or light-spell, but the front by the windows was bathed in a glow that almost floated perceptibly on the air, a silver sheen of mist that seemed to part and ripple as the mages moved through it.


    She wasn¡¯t alone in here ¨C the lounge occupied a full floor halfway up the tower, and hundreds of comfortable seats faced the windows, many occupied by her fellow diviners sitting in the trance, breathing deep of the star-mist. But right now she was the only one on her feet, the only one looking down. The only one sighing.


    Two weeks,Tialya said to herself.It¡¯s only been two weeks.


    She already hated it.


    She¡¯d looked at her options when she graduated in the spring. Mummy and Daddy wanted her to go back home, of course ¨C but leave Mund? That was hardly something she could do now. Returning to that life, that rural existence, after three years in the biggest city in the world? That would be likedying. Even the atrocities, the demonic invasions¡­ it was worth it to witness the champions soaring on the morning breeze.


    She¡¯d already seen that course in her visions, the future-lines that took her on the three hundred mile journey back to the town of her birth, back to the manor-house, the same old people, places¡­ She rejected the option by instinct, the same instinct that rejected vomit and made you retch.


    All the same, the school had produced more graduates in divination than any other magical discipline this year. Everyone knew it was the best of the five magics. The postgraduate courses in further diviner-studies were filled by those who¡¯d gotten the top grades, so Tialya wasn¡¯t going to be able to improve on her education, seek an eventual teaching position. She had to findwork.


    And of course, the best guilds hired the best graduates whodidn¡¯tmake it onto the advanced classes. Now, months later, this had left her with the options of either taking a sucky job working as a grunt in a factory, producing seeing-balls and prophecy-cards for sale to the idiot public, or working for the Magisterium themselves.


    The Magisterium took those with middling grades like Tialya¡¯s, insisted on seeing you as an ¡®asset¡¯ to be ¡®cultivated¡¯. The fact they paid peanuts for such a seemingly-prestigious occupation might¡¯ve had something to do with it. But becoming a magister, joining the mage-police, didn¡¯t have to be as dangerous as it sounded. You didn¡¯t have to go through field training these days ¨C you could take roles like Tialya¡¯s current one, in which the only danger was the ever-present risk of throwing yourself through the glass at the sheer monotony of the tedious, laborious, overwrought nonsensicalness of it all. Nothing interestingeverhappened in the visions.


    On the surface, things seemed fine. She hadn¡¯t even had to leave the magnificent school premises ¨C the Magisterium owned many of the floors of the Maginox and used it as their headquarters. The glass needle was the pinnacle of Mundic architecture, and in the city of mages that was saying something. It felt good to Tialya that she could still come here every day, enter the Maginox like everyone else who¡¯d found positions in the advanced classes, her former friends and rivals. She could pretend at being someone, still.


    But she spent her nights cataloguing all manner of tiny incidents, passing the information up the chain, never finding out if it all made a difference in the end. A lord discreetly sliding an envelope into a gloved hand. A fisherman down at the harbour of Salnifast-by-the-Sea, a red fish dangling from his hook. An elf hanging upside down in an empty warehouse while someone busies themselves shearing off his pale-gold hair. She was never allowed to perform research, follow the future-lines backwards and forwards, even if she¡¯d had the time to ¨C or the ability. She had to just let it run its course.


    ¡°Record the vision, in exacting detail, and return to the trance.¡±Those were Zakimel¡¯s words, and she intended to follow them to the letter. She would never admit it around her colleagues, who seemed to regard him as something of a joke, but the older man terrified her. He was the head of their sub-department, the way she understood it, answering only to Mistress Henthae herself. Even the sight of his thick moustache twitching with displeasure made her shrink into herself, feeling her face flush with colour as she lowered her gaze. Even thememoryof it as she stood by the glass looking out over the city made her cheeks feel hot.


    Permitting herself a final sigh, she stepped back into the shadows, settled into a cushioned leather seat, and tried to slip into the trance.


    At least this part was easier nowadays. This was the first night of her third week, and she¡¯d gotten herself into a rhythm over the last few shifts. Eight hours of off-and-on trance-work, with unlimited short breaks and three of twenty minutes to be taken at her leisure. Cheese and biscuits and water, paid for by the Magisterium. It wasn¡¯t so bad. She was making enough to save a little aside each month, and her prospects would improve in a couple of years. She¡¯d seen it. And, once she¡¯d been here six months, if she could get that promotion they¡¯d mentioned at the interview¡­


    Zakimel approved promotions, and he was anarch-diviner. None of them could see his decisions before he made them ¨C someone like him had marked their exam papers too, of course.


    There were worse,farworse jobs to be had in Mund, she knew. She was well-acquainted with reality, with every one of those nasty fleas infesting the dog; that was the curse of the diviner. She had insight into the small moments of human truth many were forced by dint of distraction or pure ignorance to miss. She¡¯d seen the poor crawling in the muck the nobles rode through, seen children feasting on roasted rats. Sometimes when she went home in the morning to her tiny Oldtown flat she was forced to avoid areas where murders had occurred through the night. But she just had to remind herself of the oft-repeated mantra amongst her undergraduate classmates:Followthefuture-lines to success, and success is inevitable.


    She¡¯d never been a believer before, but now she had to believe. That her work meant something, somehow, to someone. That her future-lines would converge, bring her the prosperity, the success she deserved. She¡¯d worked hard, damn it. She deserved it.


    Going over the mantra again, going over her prior visions of her destiny ¨C it made it easier. The chill beauty of the blue starlight. The frozen quietness of the fate-heavy room. Time itself seeped through the motionless, radiant mist. It flowed through Tialya¡¯s nostrils into her lungs and then out again, carrying something of itself with it through her flesh, her mind, a sensation like breath but breath that brought images, sounds, impressions ¨C a sliver of Truth, a nick in the veil of reality through which the trained eye could peer, trained fingers reaching in and peeling back ¨C


    At first the visions were as meaningless as ever. A snail on a broken bench, in one of the camps outside the city walls. A homeless man covered in thedrop, the filth of the city, laughing a toothless laugh. A young man or boy, tall and skinny, lifting his booted foot, kicking out at a gravestone ¨C


    And then for the first time in her life Tialya felt the tug of time, felt the undercurrents pull her deeper, show her what she wanted, what sheneededto see¡­


    She sensed the power crackle as the boy lowered his foot once more. The way the things in the earth ¨C thecorpsesin the ground all around him ¨C seemed to rattle in their coffins, eager to do the boy¡¯s bidding.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    An arch-sorcererbeing born,she realised with a dry throat. A mage with instinctive control over the creatures of the other planes. Spirits and eldritches, the powers of the unknown.


    She shuddered. Sorcerers gave her the creeps.


    The vision slipped away but didn¡¯t break, didn¡¯t change ¨C it merely flowed into a new form, and she followed the young new sorcerer into a different time and place. Now his identity was suddenly hidden behind a horned mask, his body swathed in a dark robe, but he still claimed her focus ¨C thanks to the trance-spell she knew it was him, despite all the others in the room in similar apparel.


    He was standing in a great hall lit by blazing hearths, separated from the others by the undulations of a vast, spiral-shaped table. Upon strange thrones carved of crystal, lords and ladies were perched, arguing with those like him who were clustered in small groups all around the room. The champions, the protector-mages of Mund, each of them masked and robed.


    He¡¯s going to be a champion?


    Some of the champions she recognised, by their chosen masks, the sigils worked into their robes. Many of them she did not. And, after years in the city, she knew themall.


    How far into the future am I seeing?


    She swallowed in a throat of sand and rocks, her attention fixed on what she saw. She couldn¡¯t hear anything, but her eyes followed every detail she could discern. It was hard not to become distracted from the relevant events by staring at the trivialities.


    This must be it¡­ the Arreax,in the Arrealbord Palace¡­


    The chamber of the High Council of the Realm. A vision few could hope to come by.


    The boy: the arch-sorcerer. His mask, like many of those worn by the champions, doesn¡¯t cover the lower part of his face. His lips move, then his lips are still.


    The sorrow of the boy, emanating out of his body in waves as that body grows.


    He seems not to even notice as the wings protruding from his back take on vast dimensions, rotten feathers dripping yellow ichor ¨C his clothing distorts, living shadows rolling down over his mask, hands, robe. The horns atop his head swell into dark branches, an unholy crown of antlers. He turns aside from the argument and walks away, unconsciously bending to better fit through the doorway, enter the black-glass tunnel beyond. As he goes he pulls at something on his belt, drawing a sword that springs into flame.


    His explosion in stature and change in shape have not been missed by the others. They move to impede his escape, pin him, hem him in, but none of their actions can restrain him, even slow him. Those who oppose him are thrust into the black walls, crushed by the invisible, impenetrable force that surrounds him.


    He is dangerous. He isdarkmage.


    Greychilde.


    She follows him out as the sorcerer finally exits the dark passageway, leaving the bodies of those who¡¯d tried to stop him like puppets with their strings cut, lying bloody and broken against the walls.


    He steps out onto the sunless hillside. He spreads his wings to fly.


    She gets a glimpse beyond the palace grounds. Just one glimpse of what is coming.


    Mund. Hightown. A city of ruins, a field of stones. A pair of sinuous shapes, deep black against the grey, smoke-filled sky.


    Gargantuan.


    Tialya almost fell out of her chair as the chronomantic spell came to an end, then dug into her pocket with nervous, nearly-unresponsive fingers.


    Paper and pencil¡­ paper and pencil¡­


    She hurried to the back of the room, breathing heavily as she let herself out through the door into the corridor, into the light of the glowing stones set into the wall. Thankfully no one else was back here, no one to notice and comment on the state she was in. She turned the corner into the seating area and flung herself down into one of the utilitarian, hard-wood chairs.


    She knew the vision had to be kept secret. She knew it wasn¡¯t normal; it was one of the dark visions they whispered about at the academy ¨C chaos,apocalypse¡­ She could only thank Yune that she hadn¡¯t been driven mad! But there hadn¡¯t been a dragon in Mund for¡­ she had no idea how long. A long,longtime. The report would go to the clerk, and then to Zakimel ¨C no one else would get to see it.


    With her paper and pencil she wrote it down ¨C everything, every detail she could remember. She quickly sketched the likeness of the boy who would become an arch-sorcerer ¨C the enchanters would pull it from her memory later, she knew, recreate his face in illusion-form for better study, identification¡­ He was like a hundred thousand other Mundian boys: lowborn, going off the state of his clothing, the need for a decent haircut; barely an adult, by the ineptitude with which he¡¯d shaven. A distinctive scar on the right cheek ¨C curved, like a little moon or a banana.


    She wrote down all her impressions of the time and place each event would occur, for deeper scrutiny from her superiors. The boy was going to visit this graveyard, kick the gravestonesoon; he was going to come into his powers within the week, that was certain¡­ She couldn¡¯t see the name on the gravestone, but her report would just have to go through without it¡­ A greater seer would be employed to investigate.


    Then the far future: the masks of the champions she knew ¨C the masks of the ones she didn¡¯t¡­ The details of the room, its spiral table, its flaming hearths¡­


    She pressed her pencil too deep when describing the dragons, broke the end off. The damned things were supplied by the Magisterium but they must¡¯ve been made on the cheap by goblins or something ¨C as amazing as pencils were, they were forever breaking in her pocket.


    She found her little knife, resharpened it, and finished her work.


    Once she was certain she¡¯d captured every facet of the vision, editing it twice to add more detail, she went to the desk, trepidation in every footfall.


    The clerk had the third volume ofTheOne Who Prophesies;A New Analysis of the Mage Warsopen on his belly, and was leaning back in his chair. It was a big book, so she couldn¡¯t see his face, but she could tell who it was. Movaine was the man¡¯s name, she was pretty sure. He was short, round-faced, always smiling; a little bit off-putting. He was wearing a robe that¡¯d been woven for someone bigger than him, presumably in order to accommodate the sizeable gut upon which the book rested, but the sleeves were way too long and he¡¯d been forced to roll them back.


    Nerveless fingers dropped the paper on the desk in front of him.


    He lowered the book, smiling amiably at her as usual as he slowly climbed to an upright position.


    ¡°I¡­¡± She whispered the word, glanced back over her shoulder, then back to Movaine. ¡°I think you need to see this.¡±


    ¡°Tia, isn¡¯t it?¡± His voice was needlessly loud, almost making her jump after the stillness of the Lounge of Seercraft.


    She stopped herself and merely nodded, trying to avoid his appraising eyes ¨C she looked down at his desk. Four folders, one covered in runes. A glyphstone, the translucent chunk of crystal being used for a paperweight. The sheet she¡¯d dropped¡­


    She heard him sigh, then saw him lay down his book and reach for her report, lift it.


    He was professional enough to take her seriously, or he¡¯d noticed the way she was acting. Either way, he immediately picked up the glyphstone, his communication device, and retreated to the back room to consult privately with their superior.


    It took only fifteen minutes for Zakimel to arrive, but it felt like fifteen hours. Tialya was actually pleased to see him, the angry quivering of his moustache. It didn¡¯t matter. Zakimel was someone who would take control of the situation. Make it so that everything was alright.


    She and Movaine were taken up to the magicrux, and made their report in person to Mistress Henthae herself. The Head of Special Investigations. She got to see, speak to, the Head of Special Investigations. In person. Herself.


    In the morning Tialya went home to bed, and at first she found she couldn¡¯t sleep, thoughts dark with the nightmarish vision, the arch-sorcerer and the dragons. But after a time the horror melted into an incredible sense of serenity, a kind of soul-deep peace she¡¯d never known before.


    Or so she thought.


    The young mage slept with a big smile on her face that only disappeared as she awoke.


    * * *


    The city of Mund sleeping restlessly far below her like a flea-infested dog, the young mage behind the blue-tinted surface of the glass tower looked down and sighed. The Lounge of Seercraft in which she stood was a place of shadows, unlit by lantern or light-spell, but the front by the windows was bathed in a glow that almost floated perceptibly on the air, a silver sheen of mist that seemed to part and ripple as the mages moved through it.


    She was the only one on her feet, the only one looking down. The only one sighing.


    Twoand a bitweeks,Tialya said to herself.It¡¯s only been twoand a bitweeks.


    She still hated it.


    Becoming a magister, joining the mage-police, didn¡¯t have to be as dangerous as it sounded. You didn¡¯t have to go through field training these days ¨C you could take roles like Tialya¡¯s current one, in which the only danger was the ever-present risk of throwing yourself through the glass at the sheer monotony of the tedious, laborious, overwrought nonsensicalness of it all. Nothing interestingeverhappened in the visions.


    She spent her nights cataloguing all manner of tiny incidents, passing the information up the chain, never finding out if it all made a difference in the end. A lord discreetly passing an envelope into a gloved hand. A fisherman down at the harbour of Salnifast-by-the-Sea, a red fish dangling from his hook. An elf hanging upside down in an empty warehouse while someone shears off his pale-gold hair. A young man or boy, tall and skinny, lifting his booted foot, kicking out at a gravestone. She was never allowed to perform research, follow the future-lines backwards and forwards, even if she¡¯d had the time to ¨C or the ability. She had to just let it run its course.


    ¡°Record the vision, in exacting detail, and return to the trance.¡±Those were Zakimel¡¯s words, and she intended to follow them to the letter.


    Permitting herself a final sigh, she stepped back into the shadows, settled into a cushioned leather seat, and tried to slip into the trance.

 A Little Bit of Fey Interference

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.1: A LITTLE BIT OF FEY INTERFERENCE</h2>


    ¡°That is how the future is determined. I know yours, dear reader. Yet it is only in the context of an ending that one can approach an understanding of a beginning. That is the diviner¡¯s true gift. Not to know ¨C but to understand. If it frightens you to realise I understand you better than you do yourself, I would recommend that you set aside this memoir¡­ put out the candle and go outside. Meet your friends. Forget it all for light and laughter. I know, however, that you shan¡¯t. My words already ensnare their prey. Such warnings, no matter how deserved, are always made in vain. Very well, then. Let us see what I might show you.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Notes of Timesnatcher¡¯, recovered after the Fall


    I moved slowly along the alleyway. I was trying ¨C without enough success ¨C to avoid the puddles of bodily fluids that festooned the tiny, dark passage. It was as though someone had opened a manhole to a demi-plane of sewage and forgot to shut it after them. At the same time I was doing my best to keep close to the oaken wall of the building. Bit by bit I was approaching the edge of the street.


    They¡¯re round this corner? I ¡®spoke¡¯ the thought carefully and clearly.


    ¡°Just them, in the middle of the roadway,¡± my little passenger rustled in my mind. ¡°Less than fifty feet away.¡±


    I checked the fit of the sheath on my left forearm, swivelling it round a few times until it felt less uncomfortable; it held my explosive dagger, my weapon of last resort, safely hidden inside the voluminous sleeve of my robe.


    All of them? I asked.


    ¡°All six present,¡± she silently replied. ¡°Been here awhile ¨C their glyphs are almost complete. How certain are you about the magisters? They must be having a busy night if they¡¯ve not shown yet, considering the darkmages are drawing Circles of Bellesoph in the muck and ¨C¡±


    So no bystanders in the way? I pressed. I was less than five feet from the corner now, agitated to get started, and I suspected she knew it. Zel?


    ¡°We¡¯re clear. No wagons or walkers in sight, anyway. I can¡¯t even sense any observers in the buildings, though I can¡¯t rule out that being something they¡¯ve done deliberately with a spell. Looks like everyone with any sense shuttered the windows or put out the candles minutes ago. Almost half of these buildings are derelict.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know if I¡¯d use that word myself. This place looked pretty nice compared with where I lived ¨C though she probably just classed all the buildings back home as derelict. I was born and raised about a mile from here, but I¡¯d never been in these exact parts before ¨C I lived in a maze, no doubt about it. Home might¡¯ve been a mile away as the crow flew, but I¡¯d probably covered more than three times that distance to get here tonight. I realised I could hear the river in the distance ¨C we were quite far to the south and west, near the borders of Lowtown.


    I¡¯d scared the darkmages good and proper.


    Just because they¡¯re in a sorry state doesn¡¯t mean the buildings are empty. It can mean the opposite.


    ¡°True.¡±


    I considered it. The darkmages are avoiding indoor spaces after what we did to them last time. But actually summoning something, out here in the open? Without masks? They must be terrified of us.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like they¡¯re going to find anywhere quieter that you can¡¯t flood again, is it?¡±


    I thought through my options, too much of a blur for her to follow. Subtlety wasn¡¯t rising to the top of the list.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡±


    I stepped into view, facing them across the deserted street.


    Better this way.


    ¡°No! Not better. Riskier.¡±


    Come on. You know it¡¯s got to be like this. We tried it your way. They already got away once.


    The street was pretty wide and straight, compared to most roadways around here. They called our district Sticktown, and it was one of the biggest, poorest districts in what surely had to be the world¡¯s biggest, richest city. As usual, the street had dirt tracks through the centre, with a few bits of flagstones and cobbles poking up through the mud. The walkways at the edges of the road were constructed from crudely nailed-together planks where they weren¡¯t missing entirely. Almost all the buildings were wooden, their small and mostly-glassless windows covered. The street itself disappeared into shifting walls of the city¡¯s foul smog, making it impossible to see the corner in either direction ¨C it was like someone had set off a dozen mistballs, no expense spared.


    And the Six were there, close enough that I could throw a brick at them.


    As soon as they saw me, the four at the back set to quickly finishing the symbols gouged in the dirt, rattling off incantations with hurried, haunted tones to their voices.


    It was easier for me. I was an archmage.


    It meant less than it sounded, at least for the foreseeable future. Yes, an archmage in the fullness of their power (whenever that happened) would vastly outstrip any mage. But I was far from that today. My training in sorcery added up to about two weeks, and my training in the other magical disciplines amounted to almost zilch ¨C just the stuff I¡¯d heard growing up, the same basic information any random idiot could recite.


    No, the main difference, the only difference worth counting, between a mage and an archmage was the fact that archmagery couldn¡¯t be bought. Couldn¡¯t be learned. It was the universe¡¯s way of undermining the scheming nobles, the obscene merchant-princes, those who thought they could control power.


    It meant someone like me, a sixteen-year-old runt from the gutter with zero knowledge, could go up against experienced darkmages like the Cannibal Six with a smile on his face.


    The moon was barely there to be witnessed, Kaile¡¯s blind eye almost closed, and the sky was choked with clouds¡­ but with my assistant¡¯s augmentation I could see by the hidden starlight, every bit as well as I could see by the sun an hour before dusk. The two Cannibals at the front were dressed the same as the others ¨C the plum-purple velvet robes embroidered with laughing skulls, their cowls hiding their faces now they¡¯d left their fancy masks behind. Much like me, really, save that my garment was a smoky grey colour, plain and without decoration. I had a scarf wrapped around my lower face beneath the hood, to doubly-ensure my anonymity.


    I didn¡¯t know their real names, of course, but I could tell who these two were from both their frames and the fact they weren¡¯t cowering at the back.


    ¡°Souuuul-bi-terrrrr¡­¡± I used a mocking sing-song voice to draw out the name of the behemoth of a man on the left ¨C I was pretty tall but I¡¯d only come up to his nose, and he was meaty in the way that would¡¯ve led to him being mocked about orcish ancestry in his school days. I¡¯d have happily wagered that one of his legs would weigh more than me. ¡°You really have to stop letting me catch you with your pants down like this,¡± I chattered on.


    Soulbiter folded his tree-trunk-like arms.


    ¡°Or robes hiked up. However that works¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d best leave, Feychilde,¡± said Screamsong, the lithe woman at Soulbiter¡¯s side, her exquisite accent twisted as she growled.


    ¡°You sound a bit tense, Screamy. How about ¡®Softsong¡¯? ¡®Soothingsong¡¯?¡±


    ¡°We really are going to have to devour you, boy.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± I scoffed.


    ¡°It is our right,¡± she insisted, with a tremor of rage in her voice. She squeezed the handle of the dagger she held in both hands like she wanted to throttle it to death, but she didn¡¯t let her feet carry her forwards.


    Too smart to approach too close ¨C either that, or instinct wouldn¡¯t let her threaten me directly. She knew that, while I might look defenceless, as an arch-sorcerer I could actually be loitering behind several layers of protection¡­ protections some of which, if I understood it correctly, might retaliate automatically upon my assailants.


    Which was pretty lucky for me, as I had nothing like that.


    ¡°You mean, you guys actually do that? Eat people?¡± I put on a bit of a shudder. I already knew they actually did that. ¡°No wonder us sorcerers have a bad name. You¡¯re ruining it for the rest of us, don¡¯t you know? We all got together and had a meeting about it. You¡¯re out of the club.¡±


    She straightened up and spoke from the shadows of her hood with a cold, fanatical voice. ¡°The heart of an enemy is a powerful magical reagent, permitting the summoning of eighth-rank spirits ¨C¡±


    ¡°I flicked through a couple of your books, you know, after I kicked you out of that little den. Bit damp. You should really do something to protect them from incidental damage.¡± I was quite happy to let her buy her friends time to cast their meagre spells ten feet behind her. ¡°What¡¯s with all the hooks in the artwork, by the way? Beware the Fisherman Six! I honestly thought it was a cookbook at first. ¡®Bring the furnace to a high temperature, add the kidney to the liver, cook for twelve minutes¡­¡¯ What I was getting at, was that I kind of feel sorry for you guys. You have to go through so much trouble to achieve so little. All these symbols and words and prayers to the Blade-Lord are bad enough ¨C but the cuisine? There¡¯s no way I¡¯d be into sorcery if I had to eat bits of people.¡±


    Someone behind Screamsong was bleating excitedly. One of the ring-like symbols on the ground suddenly lit up in bright, smokeless red flames which grew quickly, shooting up to a height of fifteen feet or more. A heavy black shape was shouldering its way through the burning blood-hued portal.


    ¡°I mean, what¡¯s this? A ¡®fourth-rank spirit¡¯?¡± I pointed a finger at the demon they¡¯d conjured that now towered in the middle of street, a minotaur-looking thing eleven or twelve feet tall. It was a solid wall of black iron armour bristling with six-inch long spikes, even its snout and horns sprouting thorns of the dark metal. A massive four-fingered hand clutched the haft of a smouldering warhammer so huge it would¡¯ve easily snapped the arm off any mortal man who dared a one-handed grip.


    ¡°Sixth rank, they¡¯d call it. Destroyer class. It¡¯s a bintaborax.¡±


    Shut up. I knew that.


    ¡°No you didn¡¯t. And you only vaguely recognise its name because I told you last time it came up.¡±


    I¡¯m concentrating. Some of us actually have a, like, body at stake here, remember?


    ¡°I won¡¯t die if you die, but that doesn¡¯t mean it would cost me nothing.¡±


    Soulbiter¡¯s voice was loud. Not loud like the blare of a trumpet; it rolled, deep like a drum, like a wave on the rocks.


    ¡°You pretend at competence, child,¡± he intoned, ¡°but you don¡¯t know what it is. You are less than an apprentice. ¡®Champion!¡¯¡± He roared the word. ¡°Archmages like you are abominations!¡±


    ¡°That kind of thing?¡± I asked cheerily, ignoring his insults, pointing again at the demon as it stretched its limbs. Two more rings of red fire were springing up behind it. ¡°I tend to call them Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks. Yours looks like their itty bitty toddler, though.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you taking this too far?¡±


    You know my rule. If I take them down this way, the others will find out. They¡¯ll know not to mess with Sticktowners. Better to go elsewhere and get beat than come round my way and get humiliated.


    ¡°I thought we were here for the reward.¡±


    Come on. You know it was never just that.


    Screamsong turned and moved aside, barking an order in the guttural tongue of hell: ¡°Kasena o zi dweonlo; thanatar melez!¡±


    The demon lowered its head, centring its two vicious horns on me, and its metal hooves rang on the stones as it stamped its feet then crouched, readying itself.


    ¡°She¡¯s giving it the command to attack, Kas!¡±


    The psychic warning of my delightful, not overbearing at all advisor was oh-so-insightful.


    ¡°Very funny.¡±


    I do happen to understand Infernal, you know?


    The bintaborax charged straight between Soulbiter and Screamsong, barrelling right for me.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to crush you!¡±


    The demon got about ten feet from me before my upraised finger, wagging side to side, seemingly stopped it in its tracks; it hurriedly halted, almost stumbling in its haste to obey.


    Whether it was just the pain my very gaze inflicted, or the gesture ¨C it was effective.


    ¡°Oh, no you don¡¯t,¡± I admonished it gently, still wagging my finger. Within two seconds the minotaur¡¯s head was following my motions. ¡°Now who¡¯s a good puppy! Who¡¯s a good boy!¡±


    Zel, please take note.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    If my head¡¯s on the block, and the axe is swinging, and they just said something? Don¡¯t bother translating. I can figure out ¡®off with his head¡¯, especially when the axe is a twelve-foot tall hellspawn.


    ¡°Now the axe is in your hands ¨C what¡¯re you going to do with it?¡±


    I could sense the disarray this turn of events had brought into the minds of my opponents from their body language; Screamsong was seemingly staring at Soulbiter imploringly while his shoulders slumped in resignation. By the looks of things they¡¯d spent their best summon too early. Under the bintaborax¡¯s arms I could see the Six clearly, along with the other two demons they¡¯d managed to conjure.


    The first was a thing that could have been a giant blob of mucus were it not for the demented face on its flank ¨C the fiend was vaguely spherical in shape but sunken under its own weight, fluorescent green and grotesque. It crested some five feet off the ground and had to be half that again in width at its widest part; it must have weighed a ton or two. The second fiend was a tall, thin creature comprised of razor-blades, constantly moving back and forth and side to side to balance on the pointed tips of its roughly sword-shaped legs. It had two clocks for eyes and a giant pendulum tongue swinging rhythmically, ticking in pace with its steps.


    ¡°A draumgerel and a kinkalaman. Third and fifth ranks.¡±


    This year, Father Time, I really want something I can implant into my brain that tells me the names of all the things that want to kill me.


    To the bintaborax I folded open my hands in the peculiar way that called out to me, and tried to tell it to get in. A barking, coughing sound, ¡°kherem¡±, erupted from my mouth; and the minotaur was gone in a flash of red light.


    I wasn¡¯t taking names ¨C not from demons. I had bound demons like this a few times now, but I didn¡¯t want to use them. It seemed like the mages learning sorcery most-often focussed on the rituals of necromancy or the rituals of demonology; undead and infernal ¡®eldritches¡¯ (as such creatures were called) offered some seriously overt muscle while, as a rule, the faerie were too fickle to be reliable. In fact use of them was so uncommon there was, at least as far as I was aware, no such thing as feymancy or etherology. As an archmage I wouldn¡¯t even suffer from the worst disadvantages of these kinds of sorcery ¨C no having to make deals with devils for me, or having to spend hours in the laboratory with dead bodies. Arch-sorcerers didn¡¯t need deals, didn¡¯t need rites.


    But the fey eldritches were my favourites. They were mischievous. No one was trying to rank them.


    How I¡¯d landed the most conservative faerie queen in the land for my parasitic familiar, I¡¯d never understand.


    ¡°Har-har.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure whether my dismissal of their summon would spur the Six on or demoralise them further. Screamsong and Soulbiter withdrew, but only a few paces, before Soulbiter spoke a few words in the infernal tongue and sent the two remaining demons at me.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The advantage of the sorcerer was versatility, really. We couldn¡¯t match the powers of destruction possessed by a wizard, the manipulation of an enchanter, the slipperiness of a diviner, or the healing of a druid; but we could perhaps push at those boundaries, given the right combination of weird creatures at our beck and call.


    ¡°Preeee-senting,¡± I cried, ¡°for one night only! Flood Boy and The Mummifiers!¡±


    I spread open my hands and cast my arms wide. Where red flames had shot into the air to allow demons into this reality, now green arcs of lightning crackled and fizzed, foaming open as my own minions surged out.


    The first, whom I¡¯d named Flood Boy as of the past seven seconds, they¡¯d met already. He was a faun, a miniature man about three and a half feet tall, with furry deer¡¯s legs complete with hooves. He sported a well-groomed little goatee beard on his face and a tiny muscled six-pack across his midriff. A small curved horn protruded from each of his temples. He already had a half-drunken sparkle in his emerald eye, and a lopsided grin spread across his face as he looked at the approaching fiends and the cringing purple-clad cultists behind them. He evidently recognised the Cannibal Six from earlier in the evening.


    The other two, ¡®The Mummifiers¡¯, were green-eyed goblins, each holding one end of a furled piece of thick, heavy parchment. Short and squat but still recognisably humanoid, they had the droopy ears, pointed chin and nose, and grey, pockmarked skin characteristic of their kind. Unlike the faun, I¡¯d had to browbeat them into submission when I¡¯d bound them, and they performed their service unwillingly, their expressions sour, their stubby fangs firmly hidden behind their wide, slug-like lips.


    ¡°Flood Boy, let¡¯s see how quick you can make that thing fall apart,¡± I said, nodding at the kinkalaman, the razor-fiend.


    The faun quirked an eyebrow at me, but went ahead with reaching into whatever invisible space held his things, retrieving his goblet and his pipes.


    ¡°Mummifiers, bogey at eleven o¡¯clock!¡±


    The nearest (Blodd? Blodg?) only glared at me, but the other (Graggag?) dutifully began moving away from his partner, letting the parchment unfurl between them as he approached the draumgerel.


    Soulbiter and Screamsong were shouting their own commands, and battle was joined.


    Flood Boy hefted his golden chalice ¨C a cup big for a full grown man, gigantic-looking in his little hand ¨C high over his head, and waved it. Clear white wine spilled over the rim in a sheet, gleaming in the starlight as it fell towards the dirt. He had his tiny pipes held to his lips with his other hand, and blew a single long note ¨C high-pitched, very different from the low-pitched thrum he¡¯d used earlier tonight which had swelled the wine into a mighty wave.


    This time, as the wine coursed down to the point where he held the pipes it suddenly crystallised into a curtain of frozen droplets and shot forwards like a storm of icy darts, propelled on the endless note shrilling into the night.


    Well that¡¯ll get the magisters¡¯ attention.


    The razor-fiend darted side to side as it advanced, bounding towards Flood Boy, doing its best to avoid the relentless blast, but it only managed three wavering steps before it was caught by the massive beam of ice, taking the blow in the central torso-area where two massive blades were angled like a ribcage. It flipped over as it was sent sprawling on its face, its sword-like limbs folded up behind it in the air, like the legs of a dead spider.


    To my other side, the goblins had taken the blob-thing in their capable, filthy hands. The draumgerel had gobbed some searing-hot gelatinous matter at them, but they had easily evaded its clumsy attacks and let out a good fifty feet of their endless indestructible parchment now. (I¡¯d stopped short of asking for clarification when, having been asked which animal the skin was taken from to create such wondrous parchment, they had merely exchanged knowing leers and snorted in laughter¡­ I didn¡¯t need to know that badly.)


    Their trick was like the hastening spells that caused time to slow for the recipient. Sort-of. It was limited: they could move incredibly quickly towards one another around an object or foe, so long as they were each holding one end of the roll. They had unlimited rolls, but once they tied a knot that roll was done. And every roll would disappear the moment sunlight touched any part of it.


    The mouth on the side of the blob-fiend moaned in an ear-popping, gurgling voice that was loud even over the music of Flood Boy¡¯s pipes. It was being inexorably enveloped in hundreds of feet of parchment, but its mass was seeping out where the edges of the material weren¡¯t lining up.


    On my right, Flood Boy had the razor-fiend pinned against the only wall made out of bricks in the area, the side of a tall, windowless warehouse. The glittering battering-ram of ice smashed into it over and over, sending its sword-limbs splaying this way and that; its torso was beginning to freeze to the wall with the accumulation of missiles, forming a single giant frozen lump at the centre.


    On my left was what could be likened to only a giant¡¯s extremely well-used handkerchief.


    I looked across the street at the Cannibal Six. I¡¯d torn apart their guys in about twenty seconds, and I hoped to see them eating their words ¨C but Soulbiter and Screamsong had withdrawn to rejoin their comrades, and they were discussing something furiously.


    ¡°We¡¯re being watched.¡±


    Where?


    ¡°The windows. Eight pairs of eyes. No, nine.¡±


    Never mind.


    ¡°You really need to think about how you phrase things, you know.¡±


    I mean¡­ forget about it.


    ¡°You don¡¯t really want me to do that, do you? I¡¯d have to obey, and¡­¡±


    Enough. Tell me what the darkmages are doing. The magisters will be here soon. It¡¯s time to wrap this up in a nice little bow for them.


    ¡°If¡­ I think they¡¯re ¨C oh. Kastyr, it¡¯s time to leave.¡±


    I looked more closely at what they were up to. Muttering in low voices, using their feet to scrawl another symbol in the dirt. Something linking the three expended circles.


    The faint azure sheen of a shield about them.


    ¡°Flood Boy, destroy that glyph!¡± I cried, pointing.


    The faun looked at me out of the corner of his eye, followed my finger, then whipped the gleaming wine-curtain around as he turned so that it arced like a silver rainbow in the starlight.


    Thruuuuuuuuuuuum.


    A great gush of wine, ten feet high and moving with pulverising force, swept from the pipes towards the Six.


    ¡°Definitely not a fight we need right now.¡±


    Less guidance, more information.


    I watched with a little alarm as the wave crashed against an invisible barrier and fell into two, draining away into the dirt around them¡­ but not beneath them, not where it needed to be.


    ¡°The eldritch they¡¯re summoning ¨C it¡¯s pretty much a one-time deal, for one of them at least. It¡¯s a¡­ nasty ritual. Eyes of an ally.¡±


    Eww. When I said ¡®more information¡¯ I meant in the useful, practical way.


    ¡°Well unless you have some cunning means by which to, I don¡¯t know, de-eye them, we have to leave! This demon is a big deal, Kas.¡±


    I looked across at the razor-fiend. Internal mechanisms were scratching away at the light frosting that held it to the bricks.


    Thruuuuuuuuuuuum. Flood Boy hit them again, getting a little closer to them, the wave holding together a little longer.


    ¡°And again my good man!¡± I cheered.


    ¡°Too little, too late. This one will be twelfth rank or higher. Prepare yourself.¡±


    Her tone more than her words actually got me worried. She¡¯d never sounded quite like that before. As though something was about to be¡­ a challenge?


    I immediately drew out boundaries, joining my hands together behind my back then moving them together symmetrically around to meet again in front of me. Within three seconds I¡¯d shaped a circle, inside a triangle.


    Thruuuuuuuuuuuum.


    And then I¡¯d shaped a square around the triangle, and put a pentagon around that. One touch from a finger set all four shapes spinning. Only I could see the barriers, shimmering walls of blue force emanating concentrically around me.


    I was ill-will-proof.


    A shield-spell the Cannibal Six would need four rituals and minutes or hours to set up, with carefully-measured drawings, I could ball-park with my imagination and still have it equal theirs in strength.


    ¡°A bird¡¯s watching us.¡±


    A¡­ bird.


    ¡°Yes, Kastyr, a bird, do I have to spell it out to you?¡±


    I put it aside, watching what was happening.


    Thruuuuuuuuuuuum.


    It was easy to see how the shield they¡¯d drawn up was weaker than mine, now that I¡¯d observed the way the waves broke on its outer shells a few times. Closer and closer every time. Two or three more hits¡­ Perhaps Flood Boy would break their defences before it was too late; perhaps ¨C


    No.


    Jets of red flame shot up once more and a man stepped forth.


    Nausea. Swooning sickness. It was hitting Flood Boy and the Mummifiers too ¨C worse than it was hitting me ¨C forcing the fey creatures to twist in on themselves, curling up on the floor into balls of confusion.


    The new demon wasn¡¯t anything remarkable at first glance: a bit of rich-man fat in the folds of his face, brown hair kept long and pulled back in the latest fashion. He was dressed neat like any well-off businessman or merchant, in a crisp crimson doublet and bone-white hose. Average height. There was a general look of disdain, disinterest on his features.


    That look.


    My vision blurred, making me see double, and I blinked back the stinging tears that filled my eyes. It was the same sensation you might get from smelling salts or a pretty-serious concussion. My knees were becoming jelly but I managed to keep my footing.


    Something was clearly wrong with the shield.


    ¡°No, Kas!¡± Zel rustled to me mentally, sounding panicked. ¡°The thastubabil is too strong for it! Beguiler class. You should have been doing the reading I set you!¡± Despair in her voice. ¡°Now you¡¯re fiend-fodder and I¡¯m¡­¡± She broke off into sobs.


    My enemies stood confidently behind this new demon, except the one staggering about, pressing their hood to their upper face in agony, gasping the name of Vaahn, darkest of dark gods.


    I wasn¡¯t going to be demon-meat, that was for sure. If they weren¡¯t going to use this time to run, if they were going to stay and try to gloat over me, pluck out what they wanted from my remains for their diabolical spells, then more fool them.


    My left leg gave out and I almost collapsed this time.


    Drop on it all, I cursed.


    The merchant-demon was approaching. I could tell because where I was seeing double I saw treble then quadruple until I had to shut my eyes almost the whole way, screwing them up just so that I could barely make out ¨C


    The blue glowing line of my pentagon ¨C the shield-wall farthest from me ¨C smoking away in contact with the demon.


    It was getting closer. I was feeling weaker.


    Quickly I ran down my list of options.


    Again it was the riskiest that seemed the most likely to actually work. I could back-up, pull my shields with me, but playing defensively was dangerous in and of itself. To succeed, to take it unawares, I¡¯d need to be unpredictable, which meant being active. Not on the back-foot.


    The draumgerel had no way to escape the unrippable bonds it was in, even with its goblin captors out of action reeling in the dirt, but the kinkalaman was not so hampered. I could hear its blades as it scraped free of the residual ice keeping it pinned to the wall; the prone, squirming Flood Boy would be no assistance now.


    A blue glowing square rippled, then evaporated in a puff of blue glowing smoke.


    ¡°Use the heavy hitters, Kas.¡±


    I told you, I won¡¯t do that. We¡¯re not out of options yet.


    ¡°Twelve Hells, I¡¯ll even call them by those stupid names if you want. I know I said ¨C¡±


    Zelurra, stop fretting.


    ¡°¨C bring out Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks, bring out the Body Brigade, just ¨C¡±


    She was supposed to be my eyes and ears but I was forced to ignore her, focussing as the clinking of the razor-fiend¡¯s feet told me it was running at me. I turned my head, blinking furiously, but I still couldn¡¯t see it ¨C


    Then I felt the triangle-shield, still revolving around me, shudder with an impact. The kinkalaman had leapt straight into it.


    I snapped my head around to face it, tracing its blur from the point I¡¯d felt the impact on the shield, and smirked to myself. Its putrid name formed in my mind.


    ¡°Bar the flight of those whom you served,¡± I tried to say, communicating my intended targets and the urgency with a fierce nod of my head ¨C ¡°Agar ru khalis o rumez el grel kasond,¡± is the way the growl poured out of my throat.


    It whipped about in an instant, barrelling towards the Six.


    As the triangle-shield melted away and I looked forwards once more, I was startled to find I could see the demon now in perfect focus. Despite the fact I was squinting like someone had swapped my eye ointment for lemon juice I could somehow see it as it really was: a withered, yellow-skinned hag, her hair a blanket of crawling beetles, standing just a couple of paces away from me.


    Zel was screaming in terror within me. I was close enough that I could see the hag¡¯s eyes, white through-and-through, with blue veins criss-crossing the glassy surfaces. Her hands were raised to break the circle-shield. Break my defences and take me. Kill me, if they were being kind.


    But there was no chance I wouldn¡¯t be a bound thing like her within the week, an eldritch, just an undead one instead of a demonic one. Death would be no release, and that was what she was going to bring me. Put me at the mercies of those who summoned her and let them tear chunks of out me with their teeth.


    No way.


    I moved, then moved back as quickly as I could, wincing in anticipation.


    Nothing about her immediate reaction gave me the impression she¡¯d been expecting me to lean across my circle and stick the tip of my explosive dagger straight into the centre of her chest.


    The oak-carved athame looked like a relic despite its inherently-disposable nature ¨C it was essentially a one-use wand of fireball, with the charged effect frozen and locked into the blade-styled wooden tip. I¡¯d liberated it from the possession of someone far more untrustworthy than me, on an off-chance I¡¯d need it.


    I hadn¡¯t actually prepared myself for the effect.


    The hag-demon blew up into a shower of blue goo.


    The way these things were crafted, the charge was expelled along the length of the tool as it turned to ash in my hand, so I was left in the clear as the blue goo instantly engulfed everything on the other side of the street.


    Engulfing the buildings. The road itself. My razor-fiend.


    Engulfing the Six, including the staggering one moaning about his eyes, his eyes.


    One darkmage at the back tried to run but my dripping kinkalaman hurled itself into the deserter, its edges turned aside. The deserter went down under the impact and they slid together in the blue puddle. The hellspawn began clobbering the sorcerer with the flats of several blades and didn¡¯t stop until he or she lay there prostrate, exhausted and ichor-drenched, no longer trying to rise.


    I drew a deep breath. The gamble had paid off, and my dizziness and weakness had vanished as suddenly as they had appeared the moment the hag-demon was obliterated.


    I couldn¡¯t help but feel a quiver of pleasure.


    I¡¯m alive.


    ¡°Flood Boy,¡± I called to the faun who was shaking his head and getting to his hooves, ¡°fancy mopping up the symbols they¡¯ve got left?¡±


    He tottered a little closer. ¡°My name¡¯s Olbru, remember ¨C and I¡¯m five hundred, you know.¡± His voice was deep and rich, more like a dwarf¡¯s than a gnome¡¯s, which was surprising given that his stature was more-or-less the other way around.


    ¡°Oh, sure,¡± I said in a conciliatory tone, lowering my voice; ¡°it¡¯s just for the effect it has on these scab-brains whose asses we¡¯re kicking. ¡®Flood Boy¡¯ just sounds right.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow sceptically.


    ¡°You flooded them out of their sanctum. Their holy place, or unholy place, whatever. You did it with a bottomless goblet of wine ¨C¡±


    ¡°Fortified wine.¡±


    ¡°Fortified wine! The weaker I make us sound, the more farcical we seem as opposition, the worse they feel the pain of their defeat. The admission of weakness is the intimidation.¡±


    His sceptical eyebrow was wavering.


    ¡°Trust me.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t really like he had any choice, anyway, but I wanted to at least try to be nice.


    Olbru looked across at our blue-spattered opponents, then back at me.


    ¡°I trust you, human,¡± he relented, his grin returning, ¡°so long as you keep this kind of chaos up.¡±


    ¡°And try keeping your name to yourself, Flood Boy. I know these clods would love to steal you away.¡±


    Soulbiter chose this moment to bunch up his massive brick-sized fists and take a step towards us. ¡°You have made a pow-¡±


    I listened to Olbru¡¯s music for a few seconds before cutting him off with a gesture.


    Then I waited for Soulbiter to sit up and retch out a lungful before responding, ¡°You should appreciate that, old man. It¡¯s not like I know much about drink, my lord, but I hear this stuff¡¯s fortified.¡±


    The faun went to go about his orders, sending out a new tone on his pipes and spraying a more gentle stream of wine this time, directed at the ground, to cleanse away their spell-craft. It was only at the last second I realised my mistake, and I managed to stop him when there was still a complete half of their sigils remaining ¨C not enough to do anything nefarious with, but enough to prove they¡¯d been up to no good.


    Had to preserve the evidence, without being stupid, without letting them keep their conjuration circle intact or easily repairable. Not like they were going to get away with anything now, but it didn¡¯t hurt to be cautious.


    ¡°Wrap it up,¡± I told the goblins, who were now lying on their backs, their filthy, filthy hands folded under their heads and their legs crossed at the ankles, looking like they were wondering how long they could exploit the break.


    ¡°Wrap things up. That¡¯s the second time you¡¯ve made that joke.¡±


    There was no one to hear it the first time. Except you, I mean.


    ¡°I¡¯m offended.¡±


    I¡¯m offended how little faith you had in me.


    ¡°I knew you had it in you.¡±


    I smoothed my robe down and crossed my arms, standing and watching as the goblins begrudgingly went to do my bidding. They left their parchment knotted around the quivering blob-demon and walked across to the blue guys. Within seconds they¡¯d ushered the six despondent sorcerers into a single dense group pressed back-to-back, my blue-painted razor-fiend standing guard like a shepherd¡¯s dog.


    You can¡¯t fool me. I could hear you weeping away in there. What exactly happens to you anyway? If I die when we¡¯re joined, I mean.


    ¡°You can¡¯t fool me. You were more shocked to be alive after that than I was!¡±


    I noted how she avoided the question. She always did.


    It didn¡¯t matter.


    The Mummifiers had the Cannibal Six in position and a new parchment had appeared in their hands. They started going to work, zipping around and around the six of them. They kicked up a spray as they went ¨C the ground was soaked in ichorous wine.


    I¡¯m a bit disappointed no magisters arrived.


    ¡°They¡¯re not here yet.¡±


    What do you mean?


    ¡°I told you about the bird, remember? It¡¯s been back and forth twice already.¡±


    I suddenly realised what she¡¯d meant: a druid. Or, at least, a druid¡¯s familiar.


    It didn¡¯t definitely mean the Magisterium, but it was at least likely.


    With my pulse quickening again, I approached the seething draumgerel. I gingerly pressed a hand against ¨C into ¨C the green slime that oozed like lime jelly through the gaps in the goblins¡¯ parchment, and I bade it begone with another ¡°kherem¡± growl.


    All at once the sphere of parchment collapsed into a pile, having nothing inside to support it.


    The darkmages were ninety-five percent wrapped by now. I stood back; they were still surrounded by the constant splashes, the two blurred goblins whizzing around them. Their foreheads and chins were covered, but between they were free to see and breathe and speak. The hoods were pulled taut so that their faces were basically visible, including Mr. No-Eyes. My new fiend still stood at watch on the far side of the parchment-maelstrom.


    ¡°Mummif ¨C¡± I began.


    Suddenly the upper faces of the captives were covered in the anti-dimensional, probably-made-from-human-skin material, and this quite understandably caused them some alarm; a chorus of shrieks and gasps broke out to punctuate the moment they lost their vision, accompanying the moaning of the nearly-unconscious actually-blind sorcerer.


    ¡°¨C you¡¯ve gone far enough now ¨C put a knot in it, goblins!¡± I raised my voice.


    The two of them slowed then stopped, glancing cunningly at one another before approaching me.


    I spoke quietly, ¡°I, ah, thank you, Blodg, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°No, Glodb.¡±


    ¡°¨C Glodb, I mean, and Graggag, I ¨C¡±


    ¡°Gradagh.¡±


    ¡°¨C Gradagh, I couldn¡¯t have done it without you.¡± I beamed at the goblins. To my partner I said, Thanks for that. I know how seriously you eldritches take your names.


    ¡°You probably would¡¯ve been better off just clearing your throat in their direction than trying those names without my help.¡±


    Are you having fun?


    ¡°No.¡±


    You are so having fun.


    I sensed her vaguely disgruntled silence, and smiled beneath my scarf.


    I win, I gloated.


    ¡°And Flood Boy ¨C¡± I called him over.


    I shook his hand. I could have fit four of his fists in my palm.


    ¡°Good fight,¡± the faun said, and chortled with a guttural belly-laugh.


    ¡°You were just awesome.¡±


    ¡°This is very heart-warming ¨C¡± Screamsong hissed.


    ¡°And you like them served piping hot,¡± I shouted her down, facing her where I could see her sneering lips and long, crooked-ended nose protruding between parchment-lengths. ¡°We¡¯ve been over this. Been there. Done that. Got the nightmare-inducing hook imagery. Keep talking ¨C any of you ¨C and we¡¯ll just leave your nostrils exposed. How¡¯s that sound?¡± I paused. ¡°I thought so.¡±


    I figured it would only be honourable of me to ignore the whispered ¡°my eyes, O Vaahn my eyes¡±. That fellow clearly had no interest in commenting on the softness of my leadership methods, and seemed to be intent on spiralling into insanity as quickly as possible. Not unreasonable, really. He had just traded his primary sense in order to be covered in blue death-goo. I was pretty sure you could get a random street-urchin to cover you head-to-toe in blueberry juice for a grand total of about fifty copper, and it¡¯d smell way better.


    Then Zel broke her silence: ¡°Let¡¯s see if you win for real. It¡¯s time.¡±


    They¡¯re coming?


    ¡°No ¨C they¡¯re here.¡±

 Damn Druids

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.2: DAMN DRUIDS</h2>


    ¡°In matters of first contact with prospective champions, establishing trust is critical. Your band-commander will take the lead in all negotiations. If the subject is an arch-diviner or is protected by one of the few entities capable of bestowing immunity to scrying, your enchanter must take on the burden. If the subject is an arch-enchanter or outfitted with anti-enchantment, your diviner will do so instead. If the subject proves resistant to both avenues of unobtrusive interrogation, do not wait: glyphstone for advice or assistance immediately. Allow your superiors to be less unobtrusive in your stead.¡±


    ¨C from the ¡®Magister¡¯s Handbook¡¯, ch. 55


    My faerie queen eldritch imparted something of her perception to me, and I swivelled, face upturned to get a good look at this newcomer ¨C


    When a lightning bolt slammed down towards me from the sky.


    The blinding-white line of energy bounced off my one remaining circle shield, fizzling out in the wine-drenched roadway ¨C just before thunder rang out, the air shouting in response to the spell.


    Luckily one shield didn¡¯t ¡®weigh¡¯ much on me ¨C in terms of focus, the concentration required to keep it active ¨C and as usual I¡¯d unconsciously pulled it along with me as I moved across the street.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I cried indignantly. ¡°I¡¯m the good guy here.¡±


    ¡°I voz called to fight a demon-summoner,¡± came the foreign-accented voice of a girl or young woman from above me. ¡°And look vhat I have found.¡±


    ¡°You could have killed me!¡± I insisted. ¡°I¡¯ve just caught your darkmages.¡±


    I stopped craning my neck ¨C she was so high up, I couldn¡¯t really get a glimpse of her; and it seemed she was upright, so I was basically going to be staring up her robe if I carried on anyway. She wore a bright colour, that much I could tell: the starlight in my eyes flashed off her garment. The heightened perception from Zel wasn¡¯t really helping out in this situation.


    Flood Boy started reaching to retrieve his goblet and pipes again, but I put out a hand to restrain him. The Mummifiers had nonchalantly lain down and started sipping up the excess wine straight out of the dirt, heedless of the wizard¡¯s attack.


    She must have decided I wasn¡¯t a threat as she was now sinking down through the air. ¡°Ze lightning vould have stunned you, nothing more,¡± she replied, unperturbed, her voice very firm, confident in her magery. She floated gently across towards the point where I¡¯d emerged from the alleyway as she sank, until she was hovering thirty feet away from me, ten feet off the ground.


    The wizard was ridiculously attractive ¨C I could admit right at the off, I¡¯d never seen anyone as immediately appealing as her. She was probably a year or two older than me at the most, and had only the kind of tiny imperfections that merely added to her beauty. Thin features with the nose just a little hawkish. Small mouth with lips fixed firmly in concentration. Dimples in her cheeks, a little cleft at her chin. Blue or grey eyes that moved quickly but productively over the scene, taking everything in. She had platinum-blonde hair, perfectly-straight except for the ends, where the winds she controlled stirred it, so that it hung like a pearly waterfall down the sides of her face. And she wore a light, white summer robe that clung to her slender body, cut to show her shoulder, and bulging enough in certain places to make me quickly avert my eyes for fear of starting to actually stare.


    But I caught enough to see that the rune of the magisters, shaped like a wheel with ten spokes or a sun with ten rays, was emblazoned in a dark grey colour in the dead centre of her chest.


    ¡°The rest of her band is arriving behind us.¡±


    I realised I could already hear the heavy footfalls and span about, peering into the smog. Trotting swiftly towards me from the other end of the street was a very strange creature.


    It appeared to be a lizard or dragon from the front, its bestial head dark-scaled and huge, at least the size of a wagon. Its tooth-filled maw was agape, its long tongue lolling out as it loped closer. This critter was wingless, though, and there was none of the tell-tale glow of a breath-weapon down its throat. Not a dragon, then.


    What is that thing?


    ¡°Yithandreng. Fourth rank. Assassin-class.¡±


    I whistled, staring in its gleaming red eyes with their cat¡¯s-eye pupils, each glittering orb the size of a dinner-plate yet radiant like the heart of a ruby.


    I had to get me one of these. Probably rude to take this one.


    ¡°We can look into summoning one later, by ritual or by gate.¡±


    I was joking!


    The yithandreng was actually much longer than I¡¯d assumed, pushing twenty feet when you included the tapering, ridged tail-section that took up over a third of its length. Most remarkably it had ten legs, five aside and equally spaced, each ending in a sturdy, three-clawed foot, all covered in the same unreflective scales as the rest of it.


    Only belatedly had I thought to study the magister I could see sitting astride it, but as it slowed and turned I realised there were three people on it. By all accounts it was the youngest officers and newest recruits straight out of training who got the graveyard shifts, the emergency call-outs, the first response glyphstones¡­ but it was still a couple of hours till midnight and I hadn¡¯t expected so manyof the magisters to be so close to myself in age.


    They dismounted. The passenger at the back got off first, a tall, slender mage with dark skin, his hair pulled back from his face. He bore a long, thick wooden staff, forked at the end into a blunt ¡®v¡¯ shape; he straightened his heavy bluish robe arrayed with specks like stars and glared at me. If the fork on the staff hadn¡¯t given it away, blue with stars sealed the deal: he was a diviner. And from what I could tell, he was the oldest magister here yet he couldn¡¯t be a day over twenty-one.


    The passenger in the middle was a squashed-featured, muscular guy with neat brown hair and a thick, tawny goatee that looked out of place on his youthful face; he looked tired more than anything else. He wore an orangey, ochre colour, the only marking on his robe the Magisterium glyph they all wore, though the ten rays or spokes in the symbol on his garment were bending slightly, suggesting a spiral. Enchanter, perhaps? He looked back at the diviner once he was steady on his feet, as if seeking reassurance.


    Last to dismount was the magister who was clearly the rider, the summoner himself ¨C or herself, as I quickly corrected myself once she glanced my way and I got a good look at her full, painted lips and long eyelashes. In my defence, she was my build but short, skinny in an overlarge black robe, and she had shorn her hair right down to the scalp to expose the tattoos inked across the crown of her head and down her neck. Demonic shapes. I was pretty sure I spotted a stylised binta-thing behind her ear and a yithandreng at her throat, woven in amongst the arcane sigils and swords and circles. There was an unblinking third eye, blue and staring, in the very centre of her brow.


    I looked back at the wizard; the floating, platinum-haired magister had turned her gaze to me and I suddenly felt unnerved. I knew what she was thinking, what they would all think. The parchment-wrapped blue-goo people with the creature of blades; the dirt-drinking, soon-to-be-inebriated goblins; the faun, and me. It didn¡¯t really make for the prettiest picture.


    I¡¯d have to make sure they understood the truth, or I could end up under arrest myself. Lucky that the shield had prevented me from being ¡®stunned,¡¯ or I might not have gotten the chance.


    Through portals of green sparks for the fey and red flames for the demon, I dismissed my eldritches. And as I did so, I surreptitiously drew out a triangle shield around the circle.


    Just in case.


    ¡°Vell, vhat is all zis?¡± the wizard demanded, floating lower, closer.


    ¡°Smells like you had a party,¡± the sorcerer observed, not looking at the scene but leaning back against the neck of her demonic mount, so that she could reach up to stroke one of its scaly horns affectionately. Her voice was dry and deep, a bit croaky.


    My heart thudded in my chest. Had to stay on-topic.


    ¡°The Cannibal Six.¡±


    So close now.


    The wizard floated across towards me, scrutinising the captives.


    ¡°Zis is zem?¡±


    I recovered a bit of my confidence now things were turning in my favour. ¡°Wrapped up in a bow for you, m¡¯lady,¡± I announced, giving something of a flourish with my arm as if to present them for her perusal.


    ¡°Third time you¡¯ve ¨C¡±


    Shut it, Zel.


    ¡°That¡¯s the second time he¡¯s quipped about wrapping them up since I got here,¡± came a new voice, a young man¡¯s, challenging and haughty. ¡°Little rat thinks he¡¯s funny.¡±


    Promise me you¡¯ll explain one day what I did to you in a past life to warrant such torture.


    ¡°There are no past lives, and this isn¡¯t my doing. This is the bird.¡±


    I turned to see their druid casting off the last of his former form, standing near his comrades. He wore a tattered green robe with snarls of down and feathers still sticking to it. They were clearly a side-effect of the transformation because I could see them curling up and disappearing, sort of fading or folding down into the cloth to which they clung. The druid himself was a bit shorter than me but more than made up for it with his chiselled features, his reddish hair hanging in tangles that still somehow managed to look good despite the stray bits of bird still caught in them.


    And he¡¯s calling me a little rat?


    ¡°What can I say?¡± I retorted. ¡°We poor make a little go a long way. I¡¯m sorry to crack a joke about catching number ¨C seven? eight? ¨C on your most-wanted-sorcerers list. Serious face next time, I promise, officer.¡±


    I saw the druid¡¯s mouth drop open, surely incensed that I¡¯d dared speak back to him in such a fashion, and he looked up at the wizard for guidance, an offended expression on his face.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a talker,¡± the diviner said in a textbook highborn accent, and sighed heavily in a way that didn¡¯t seem feigned. He¡¯d gone from being angered to curiosity, and he gazed intently at the Cannibal Six, pointing his staff at them and spinning it in his palm so that the forks rotated to describe a circle. My retort had evidently disrupted his focus.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be rude, Haspophel,¡± rumbled the big, bearded enchanter. He had the accent of a Northman. ¡°It looks like this chap ¨C¡±


    ¡°Feychilde ¨C¡± I tried to interject.


    ¡°¨C saved us a hell of a lot of trouble,¡± the enchanter finished.


    ¡°And probably saved a lot of lives, Belexor,¡± the sorcerer drawled, still looking distracted by her pet.


    Haspophel was clearly the diviner, but it took me a moment to register that the druid was scowling at the sorcerer¡¯s words, that her admonishment was designed for him. So he was Belexor, then. And yes, it¡¯d make sense that the druid of the group would be the one with the life-preservation sore-spot. He was their healer, committed for all his days ¨C committed magically ¨C to the continuation of life everywhere.


    Not surprising he¡¯d be at loggerheads with the band¡¯s sorcerer, either, in that case, or that he¡¯d taken an instantaneous disliking to me. He wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d expected from a druid, to be honest.


    ¡°Enough,¡± the wizard pronounced, and I noticed them all straighten slightly, all eyes that weren¡¯t already on her turning to her.


    So she is their leader.


    She was floating just twelve inches off the wine-dampened dirt now ¨C she was probably unable to touch the ground without ending the spell she¡¯d cast on herself. Unless she had one of those fancy wands, landing would force her to complete a whole new ritual in order to fly off again once our business was concluded.


    ¡°Champion. Arch-sorcerer, yes? You vill remove your hood or zis charade ends now.¡±


    ¡°Kastyr,¡± Zel blurted, ¡°it¡¯s like you said, I don¡¯t ¨C¡±


    ¡°My identity stays private?¡± I asked aloud, ignoring my faerie companion.


    ¡°¨C whether you should trust the rich ones, the magistry ¨C¡°


    The wizard nodded.


    ¡°Those watching ¨C¡° I began, gesturing vaguely towards the places people could be using to sneak a peek.


    ¡°Zey cannot see ze details from zose vindows. Your hood, champion.¡±


    They aren¡¯t just gonna hand this kind of money over to an unknown, Zel. Every champion has to share their identity with the Magisterium, or they aren¡¯t a champion, they¡¯re a darkmage. I have to do this.


    ¡°Here? This is just her!¡±


    I did my best to smile without looking deranged when I revealed myself, flicking back the hood and pulling down the scarf.


    ¡°I¡¯m just a simple lowborn lad, my good magisters,¡± I said, ¡°seeking the reward of a lifetime. If you¡¯ll excuse the savage appearance ¨C¡± I gestured vaguely to indicate the wild hair, the broken nose, and the curved scar on my cheek ¡°¨C I¡¯ll take my thirty platinum pieces and be on my way.¡±


    ¡°Ve don¡¯t carry such funds,¡± the wizard replied, more softly, seemingly mollified by my acquiescence to her demand, now turning away to the diviner and enchanter. ¡°Haspophel, Ilitar. Is he telling ze truth? Zeze are ze Cannibal Six?¡±


    Haspophel was opening his mouth to give his judgment, but Ilitar, the enchanter, cut in first with a broad smile on his face: ¡°Not just that, Emrelet. He¡¯s the one we were looking for.¡±


    ¡°Sorry. I couldn¡¯t prevent that intrusion. He got what he needed just brushing the surfaces.¡±


    Emrelet. The beautiful wizard. Got it.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t listening, are you?¡±


    It took me a second to actually parse his words.


    ¡°Um, excuse me,¡± I piped up, ¡°but ¡®one we were looking for¡¯ has this really ominous tone, you know? Kicker of bad guys¡¯ asses standing right here. I think we were discussing¡­ money?¡±


    Emrelet approached me, whisking closer through the air.


    I backed up a few steps despite myself. Suddenly I felt very small and vulnerable, even with my shields. Perhaps she really had only directed a stunner bolt of lightning at me ¨C maybe a real one would fry me, protections or no. Maybe she had something even worse up her sleeve ¨C a well-prepared mage could beat a stupid archmage, and I was getting the distinct impression tonight that I could be clever and stupid in different ways all at the same time.


    She halted, eight or nine feet from me, just beyond the line traced by my invisible rotating triangle.


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    ¡°Zis is ze third time you¡¯ve done zis.¡± She said it like an accusation.


    I turned to regard the scene, the six captive sorcerers tied up covered in blue goo.


    ¡°Ah, no, m¡¯lady,¡± I murmured, ¡°I hate to disagree with you right now but I can honestly say I¡¯ve never done anything quite like this before.¡±


    ¡°So it voz not you? Ve have heard of zis new face in Sticktown, zis Feychilde.¡±


    I knew what she was getting at, of course. ¡°Fine. Yes. This is the third group I¡¯ve taken down.¡±


    I could see the way this relaxed her. Was this her realising that we weren¡¯t so different? Her small mouth slowly broke into a quizzical smile.


    ¡°So ze others were practice?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s say, trial runs. I had to prove that I was for real.¡±


    Emrelet¡¯s eyes were grey, I could see now, as her gaze swept me up and down, appraisingly. The little smile didn¡¯t leave her lips.


    ¡°But Lord Obbelekt ¨C¡±


    ¡°The old man, with those kid apprentices? That old man was tough!¡± I suddenly felt like myself again. ¡°I actually had trouble getting the allegiance of his demons¡­ These guys were a piece of cake in comparison, trust me.¡± I neglected to mention I¡¯d been close enough to defeat against the Cannibal Six to need my explosive dagger ¨C I doubted any of the Six would¡¯ve been in a position to see me use it, anyway, so there¡¯d be no witnesses to my use of my final measure. ¡°I don¡¯t know why this Lord Obelisk guy didn¡¯t have a reward.¡±


    ¡°We had to melt him out of that ice-block,¡± Belexor muttered. ¡°He could¡¯ve died.¡±


    ¡°You mean I had to melt him out, vhile you panicked,¡± Emrelet said to him. Looking back at me, she continued: ¡°And, before zat, you fought ze Bone Ring?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. The ones with the¡­ army.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but think back to that night. That¡¯d been a bit different ¨C it had been scary then, at least until I got properly stuck into it. Really, they were responsible for me doing what I was doing now. ¡°That one was simple. But it was my first time, and I didn¡¯t really know what I was doing back then.¡±


    I waved one arm in the air behind myself, briefly parting the weird purplish space I thought of as a curtain, showing the magisters the ranks of decaying, zombified guards standing behind me.


    I noticed the sorcerer suddenly paying attention.


    ¡°So you kept ze army?¡± Emrelet¡¯s eyes widened somewhat as she caught her glimpse of my undead warriors.


    Had that put her back on edge slightly? Had her smile lessened somewhat? I wasn¡¯t sure if I was being paranoid but something in my gut told me she hadn¡¯t appreciated the casual black magic.


    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t have much else to do with them,¡± I protested in a plaintive tone. ¡°I mean, do you want me to bury them? The ministers of Mortiforn won¡¯t cleanse them ¨C ¡®once an undead, always an undead¡¯¡­ sounds daft to me, like, but they¡¯d go berserk if I shoved them back in the ground.¡±


    The sorceress was nodding sagely along as I spoke.


    ¡°I don¡¯t use my bound demons,¡± I went on, ¡°and I¡¯m not going to command my fey friends to do menial work. The undead are better off with me than with the next random necromancer who happens along, right?¡±


    The wizard looked across at the darkmages, then back at me.


    ¡°And ze man made from swords you had?¡±


    ¡°My kinkly-man,¡± I mangled the name with a tight smile, ¡°is a very recent acquisition, let¡¯s say.¡±


    I looked from Emrelet to the sorceress again, but the shaven-headed girl was just staring at me with a cool, unconcerned gaze.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t use the old man¡¯s fiends,¡± I continued, ¡°and I definitely could have done with them once or twice.¡±


    Emrelet looked back at Haspophel. The diviner nodded at her, his eyes fixed on her, and Ilitar nodded too.


    They¡¯re talking mind-to-mind?


    ¡°Well spotted.¡±


    ¡°Your story adds up, Feychilde,¡± Emrelet decreed, and drifted closer to me. Within the triangle.


    She bears me no ill-will.


    ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth,¡± Belexor offered from out of nowhere. He looked sullen, but something had compelled him to speak up. Then I noticed the way he was looking at me. Like he was trying to stare at the wall of the building behind me, directly through my face. Like he wanted to completely disregard my lowborn existence. ¡°About most of it.¡±


    I took a deep breath.


    ¡°Most of it?¡± I couldn¡¯t help but prod, not with my reputation amongst these mages at stake. If I was going to be a champion I was going to need that reputation, amongst all mages, from magister to darkmage. I needed to be trustworthy and daunting. I couldn¡¯t get my name sullied as a liar right at the off.


    ¡°Your undead. You could give them up. But they add to your power, the forces you can marshal, so you won¡¯t. I¡¯ve seen it a hundred times. By the Five, all you sorcerers are the same.¡±


    Zel was dismissive: ¡°He decided to hate you when he saw you and now he¡¯s found a way to get at you. Don¡¯t rise to it.¡±


    But I remembered the feeling I got when Emrelet saw my cadaverous minions.


    The sorcerer snorted at the druid¡¯s words. ¡°You don¡¯t mind the undead I raise,¡± she said to him.


    ¡°Yes I do,¡± Belexor snapped, ¡°and that¡¯s not the point, Ciraya. He said he would get rid of the undead. He said he would only use fey.¡±


    Ciraya, sorcerer. Right.


    Emrelet turned to face the druid, and spoke in a cold, chastising tone: ¡°Belexor, I von¡¯t allow you to do zis. You ¨C¡±


    She doesn¡¯t like him.


    ¡°Sure.¡± I made it as nonchalant as I could.


    Suddenly I had everyone¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Great. Just great, Kas. You know he¡¯s right, right? They do make you more powerful.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Sure¡¯? What do you mean?¡± Belexor¡¯s voice had lowered an octave in shock, the words coming out just a little bit strangled.


    ¡°You tell me how to get rid of them, and I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°A druid could easily have animals do the work¡­¡±


    I¡¯m getting sick of this guy¡¯s ego.


    ¡°I wonder why that is¡­¡±


    ¡°Well ¨C that¡¯s brilliant, Belexor!¡± I cried, letting out some of my frustration. ¡°Body Brigade, three paces, forward march!¡±


    With a bit of a gesture and side-step, I allowed a column five wide and ten deep to materialise.


    ¡°Forty-nine and a half troops at your command, sir druid,¡± I said, sweeping out my arm. ¡°New and improved! Guaranteed one or more eyes, one or more arms, and except for Sluggy over there¡± ¨C I indicated the zombie who was just an upper body dragging itself along with its arms ¨C ¡°two legs.¡±


    I¡¯d called forth my creepy, creaky army so that it faced Belexor primarily, pointing away from me and Emrelet and towards the other magisters. Now the Brigade took a few unsteady steps (or crawls) forward as I¡¯d ordered, then stopped there, staring with empty expressions, not quite perfectly still but stirring and twitching. They were dressed in a mix of clothes from funereal robes to peasant¡¯s garb, highwayman¡¯s leathers to shepherd¡¯s smocks, but it was all half-eaten, rotten away; the weapons borne by more than a few of them were rusty and crude, swords and maces being the exception amongst the pitchforks and shovels.


    The future-seeing diviner knew he had no need to worry, which let the mind-reading enchanter know he had no need to worry. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d have worried the sorcerer if I¡¯d summoned a thousand zombies.


    But I had to restrain a bit of a snicker when I saw Belexor¡¯s reaction. He really didn¡¯t like undead.


    ¡°I, ah,¡± he stammered, a bit of a haunted look on his face. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t do anything right now ¨C I¡¯d need to prepare the spell ¨C¡±


    ¡°Would you like me to bind them to your service? You can get your worms in to eat them all up or whatever, whenever you please.¡±


    I could see it on his face. The prospect of walking around with a host of animated corpses stumbling after him? Taking flight in his bird-form and having them pouring through the intervening streets in an attempt to keep up with him?


    He¡¯d need some serious training in sorcery to nail the rituals to dismiss and re-summon them, as far as I was aware, and most mages tended to specialise. I was sure he knew much more of druidry than I did of sorcery, but he probably knew as much of sorcery as I did of druidry ¨C that is, to say, almost nothing at all.


    ¡°Or I could put them away, and you could tell me to call them back out for you. As it suits.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ that sounds best.¡± He licked his lips nervously.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll bring them by your headquarters tomorrow morning,¡± I said quietly. ¡°Which magicrux?¡±


    I flicked the curtain back over the undead host, letting them hide again, tucked away on their corner of the nethernal plane.


    I could tell myself that I was just trying to make peace with the druid for the sake of peace itself, that I wanted to get off on the right foot with the bands assigned to the local area ¨C but I¡¯d be lying. There was more to it. I felt an underlying, overwhelming urge to impress Emrelet, and here was an opportunity to help her shut down her annoying underling whilst maintaining my image.


    Belexor looked at me, really looked at me now instead of just through me, and I knew he was realising for the first time that I was being serious. Honouring the dead was one of the core roles of the druids. They would ensure that all of the remains of the deceased were either devoured by the birds and beasts and bugs, or consigned to the earth so that they might be consumed over the ages of the world by the grass, the trees. It was quite a nice idea, I thought, as far as those kind of ideas went. Hopefully he and I would end up seeing eye-to-eye.


    ¡°No,¡± Belexor said at last, but then went on, ¡°not there. The Giltergrove, an hour past dawn? At the Autumn Door.¡±


    The Giltergrove was one of the wonders of Mund, tended by the Shining Circle druids. His suggestion made sense.


    I nodded, sealing the deal.


    Emrelet floated a little closer to me. I¡¯d moved away to summon the battalion of undead, and she closed the gap and then some.


    ¡°So, I don¡¯t know if you thought I was joking when I mentioned the reward, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Vhat is your true name, champion?¡± Her gaze was penetrating, searching. What was she searching for?


    ¡°I, well,¡± I nodded at our captives, ¡°I can¡¯t say with the Six in earshot. They¡¯re blind, not deaf, and I don¡¯t get the same protections as you magisters.¡± I closed my hands and rubbed my palms with my fingertips. ¡°I¡¯ve got to defend my territory every now and again, but I can¡¯t do it full-time. And I can¡¯t do even that if I get killed off by someone who¡¯s had my name or description, out in the street in the daytime, when I¡¯m not on my guard.¡±


    ¡°Very vell.¡± Then she grinned. ¡°I hope zis vill suffice.¡±


    She turned slowly in the air, as if inviting me to watch, then aimed both of her hands at the ground just to one side of the Cannibal Six. Her fingers were cupped, as if holding a handful of grain.


    At first I couldn¡¯t tell what she was doing, but she was quick at what she did. Quicker than she should¡¯ve been.


    She balled both hands into fists then raised her arms, and the dirt elemental rose from the street. It emerged head-first, which wasn¡¯t so bad, but when the titanic shoulders and torso exploded from the ground I almost lost my balance. It reared, higher and higher, until it stood taller than the ground storeys of the houses, the street emptying of mud and soil in a great ditch as the road¡¯s contents were borrowed to add mass to the creation. The enormous arms and legs were like pillars of muck, and when it stomped closer to its floating mistress I did lose my balance, one foot sliding on the newly-contoured road ¨C


    Emrelet caught me without turning or even moving her gaze, waving one hand towards me. In so doing she directed a rivulet of wind to course down and prop me up, streaming with the force of a sudden gale-blast into my side to balance me ¨C all while keeping her focus on crafting her earthen servitor with the other hand.


    Drop on it all. She¡¯s not a mage. She¡¯s an archmage.


    An arch-wizard.


    I¡¯d heard of arch-magisters before, but I knew they had to be rare.


    ¡°Envelop zem but let zem breathe,¡± she commanded, and the moment the words passed her lips the elemental was already in motion, reaching down for the bundled-up captives with a sweeping arm like a mudslide. ¡°Remove zem to ze closest magicrux ¨C Magicrux Omain ¨C and surrender zem to ze captain of ze guard. Once your task is complete, return here and be undone.¡±


    When the elemental began to slide over them, reforming itself about them, I noted Screamsong¡¯s high-pitched wail in the general screams and cries that emanated from the darkmages. It felt fitting. She¡¯d wanted to eat my heart ¨C now she was being gobbled up by the very road she¡¯d used to call forth her evil. Plus, if I understood what had happened in all that chaos correctly, I was pretty sure she had to have eaten at least one of her friend¡¯s eyeballs? Raw? I knew she hadn¡¯t had that on her to-do list when she got up this morning.


    Then the Cannibal Six were gone, in the belly of the towering dirt-man. He took one mighty step, then another, heading off down the street past the near-motionless yithandreng. As he went I saw a tremendous mouth open up like a dark hole in his face, which presumably included a throat to let the darkmages trapped within him breathe, as his creator had ordered.


    It was going to be a surreal night for the Six, or anyone who looked out their windows while the elemental passed by for that matter.


    I looked across at Emrelet, white robes and pearly hair gleaming, hanging there in the air.


    I suddenly felt at a loss for words.


    Arch-wizard.


    ¡°And¡­ now?¡± she asked, drawing it out with a roguish, expectant expression.


    And now¡­?


    ¡°Your name, scab-brain!¡±


    ¡°Sca- Kas- Kastyr,¡± I gargled.


    Damn you.


    I could hear Zelurra¡¯s laughter.


    ¡°Kastyr Mortenn.¡±


    ¡°Kastyr?¡±


    She said it a little more like Kaztyr, but never mind that. ¡°Yes m¡¯lady.¡±


    She looked down at the ground as she sank to the earth and held out her right hand to me.


    Perhaps she meant for me to shake her hand. But for some reason as I reached out, I took her hand the way you¡¯d see a nobleman take the hand of a gentlewoman to help her out of a carriage, aiding her to the ground. And she went with it.


    It all happened without much by way of conscious control on my behalf, but for some reason I didn¡¯t feel embarrassed. I felt drained. I¡¯d done it. Without saying a word, I¡¯d all but told her that I liked liked her. I looked up and stared into her steel-grey eyes, trying to judge the way she¡¯d taken it.


    Those eyes were unreadable, a mystery. She no longer smiled but her chest rose and fell almost in pace with my own. Was her heart galloping too?


    ¡°Not content with being the most powerful wizard in her generation, Emrelet decides to add enchantress to her resume,¡± Ilitar remarked.


    ¡°Shut up, Ilitar,¡± Belexor hissed, in an unmistakeable I-have-told-you-to-stop-being-funny-a-million-times tone.


    ¡°Okay, okay,¡± the enchanter continued smoothly, ¡°second most powerful. I suppose Elkostor could take her. But the enchantress stuff? Definitely.¡±


    ¡°I said shut up!¡±


    ¡°I wonder what¡¯s ruffling your feathers, bird-boy,¡± Ciraya stage-whispered at the druid so that everyone could hear, leaving it to no one¡¯s imagination that he had a crush on the wizard.


    Ilitar sighed a little, then chuckled.


    Emrelet¡¯s eyes closed, and suddenly she looked tired. It was strange, to see that startling change, that vulnerability come over her features.


    She turned her head aside, and when she opened her eyes again she was looking at her band. All the vulnerability was gone. I guessed it was Belexor getting the brunt of the glacial stare.


    The tension held for several long seconds. Then a smile creased her lips, and she spoke: ¡°You are crazy. I vould take Elkostor in three minutes.¡±


    I liked this girl.


    ¡°We are done, I believe,¡± Haspophel said, after a moment. He appeared relieved now, and he¡¯d looked to be in a terrible mood when he¡¯d first arrived. Maybe attending this arrest had pulled him away from something he¡¯d been working on?


    What did he mean by ¡®done¡¯? Did this have something to do with me? Was this meeting tonight something he¡¯d foreseen?


    Seers made my skin crawl.


    ¡°Oi.¡±


    He¡¯d already turned aside to climb into place near the tail of the demon-steed, using his staff to assist him.


    ¡°Em-¡± I stammered, tongue halting as the wizard turned to look my way again, ¡°Emrelet, I don¡¯t mean to come across the wrong way, but I really need to discuss the reward¡­?¡±


    ¡°Kastyr. Of course.¡± She sounded genuinely apologetic. Her eyes moved to Haspophel, who was busy trying to get comfy on the scaly demon¡¯s back and adeptly avoiding her gaze. ¡°Vell, you have successfully captured ze Cannibal Six, as attested and vitnessed by two or more magisters. Zeze six darkmages each have a reward of five platinum pieces.¡± She looked back to me. ¡°I vill be happy to meet with you at noon tomorrow, at ze bank in Blackbranch Square¡­


    ¡°And yes, you may call me Em.¡± This last she said quietly, looking down and not meeting my eyes. Her smile was fragile, shy.


    Em. I hadn¡¯t meant to say Em¡­ the others hadn¡¯t called her Em, I didn¡¯t think¡­ but she was giving me permission?


    There was a pretty significant part of me that was exulting right now.


    I didn¡¯t need the money until sunset tomorrow. Noon would be fine; I¡¯d just have to make sure I finished the business with the undead-recycling at the Giltergrove nice and promptly. I had to keep my word; that was very important at this stage. Once they knew they could have faith in me, it¡¯d open up whole new avenues of opportunity, and give my status as champion an air of legitimacy.


    Give her another reason to see me as something more than just a gutter-rat.


    I returned her smile. ¡°Blackbranch Square in Hightown, at noon?¡±


    I just guessed that Blackbranch Square was in Hightown, and was rewarded with the subtle indications that I was right. Phew. I didn¡¯t want to look it, precisely, but I was very much the sort of Mundian who had never once needed a bank. I could find it tomorrow morning, though, no problem.


    ¡°And call me Kas,¡± I finished.


    Another chance to see her again, tomorrow¡­ Questions flooded my mind. Would she be looking forward to it as well? Was this part of the reason she was going to be handling this personally? Would it just be the two of us? I wondered how many other archmages our age she knew.


    ¡°Vell¡­ Kas¡­ ze work of ze night is concluded,¡± she said, wheeling into the air on a sudden breeze, facing her companions again. ¡°Is zere further business at hand for any of you?¡±


    That was it? It was over?


    ¡°It¡¯s time to be getting home, you know. You¡¯ve still got a while till midnight. I bet they¡¯re still awake.¡±


    You¡¯re right. I left them with Orstrum.


    ¡°Of course you did.¡±


    Belexor was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed and chanting. I watched the other magisters mounting up, Ilitar getting settled in front of Haspophel, then Ciraya.


    ¡°I so want a go on that thing,¡± I murmured to myself.


    ¡°Thing?¡± Ciraya repeated, speaking the single word so slowly and calmly that it could only mean she was furious somewhere inside. ¡°This is ¨C¡±


    ¡°A yithandreng,¡± I blurted, feeling knowledgeable.


    ¡°¨C Feast, or Fe if she likes you ¨C no, you won¡¯t be using her true name ¨C and those who talk about her like that, she doesn¡¯t tend to like.¡±


    ¡°Er ¨C I¡¯m sorry?¡± I offered.


    She cocked her head to one side. ¡°It wasn¡¯t me you offended.¡±


    Like the enchanter, the sorcerer didn¡¯t seem to have much of a highborn accent. The pair of them could have been students from other lands who¡¯d stayed on in the city after getting their qualifications, couldn¡¯t they? She sounded a bit like a Westerman¡­ Could it be that someone like her hailed from the rural provinces over the sea? They were all farmers out there, but she spoke to everyone the same way, her utterances slow and sarcastic, her tone drier than a desert; she was pale, and Westermen tended to be more tanned. But then any decent sorcerer was going to be pale no matter where they were from ¨C the studying demands on all magicians were obviously going to be incredible, if they weren¡¯t gifted with archmagery. Little time left for outdoor pursuits, I was sure.


    Despite the pallor, or perhaps because of it, she was really rather pretty once you got over the shock of the tattoos everywhere, the distinctly-hairless head¡­


    I moved my gaze and looked the yithandreng straight in the huge, shining cat¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°My apologies, Feast,¡± I tried to say, using the nickname Ciraya had given the demon; ¡°Zi khesend, Thrile,¡± came out.


    The yithandreng blinked, once, slowly, and purred.


    When I looked up at Ciraya I saw that the sorceress¡¯s eyes were wide open in barely-restrained surprise.


    For a moment she met my gaze, then shook her head and turned away; I noticed the irritated scowl curling her lips as she did so.


    Did I make it look too easy? It hadn¡¯t been my intention to annoy her. She was their sorcerer, and could well be the magister-sorcerer who most-often patrolled these areas near my home. I would probably be seeing her again. Perhaps I should¡¯ve offered her my undead as a gesture of my regard instead of promising them to someone who would destroy them. Had that been thoughtless of me?


    As Ciraya pivoted her body the yithandreng wheeled with her, so that they could head back the way they came, towards the Oldtown bridge. It was then that Belexor shimmered, his form amorphous and almost as transparent as air, letting starlight fall through him. The shape shrank, shrank, and then dark feathers seemed to coat the misty surface ¨C wings shook free, a beak protruded, beady eyes stared.


    A blackbird sat there on the dirt. It looked across from me to the arch-wizard, nodded once, then took to the air, spiralling around to follow the others.


    Em slowly floated away from me, but flew backwards, facing me for a moment more.


    ¡°Until noon, champion,¡± she said to me softly.


    Then she increased her speed to match that of Ciraya¡¯s pet, hastening after her band.


    ¡°Goodnight, m¡¯lady,¡± I said to no one, watching the starlit goddess darting through the cool night air until she sliced into the rolling smog and was gone, knowing that, no matter what ended up happening tomorrow, this would be an encounter ¨C an evening I would never forget for the rest of my life.

 Tick-Tock

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.3: TICK-TOCK</h2>


    ¡°Asator and his lackeys will not try again. The loss of so many ships has put them a century behind at their construction efforts. We can finally rule them out as a world power, relegate them to the same status as the Empire of the East. Let them keep their petty tributes from the north-western reaches. We have the rest of the world to reap.¡±


    ¨C from the official memorandum of the Malice Council, Ismethara 990 NE


    I stood alone in the street. I could hear the worms and beetles and other sliding, creeping things, writhing in the mud. The constant drone of the flies and gnats and other swarming, buzzing things that I did my best to pay no attention to.


    I was leaving the place a complete mess. Until Em¡¯s elemental returned there was going to be a ditch the size of a small hillock in the middle of the roadway, and there was blue demon-ichor on all the walls.


    Zelurra sounded amused. ¡°An evening none of them will forget either.¡±


    I¡¯d like to think so.


    ¡°No, not the magisters. The residents. Them.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t resisting, so she drew my eyes to the windows around us, one by one.


    ¡°Twenty-eight pairs of eyes on you.¡±


    Well¡­ at least we put on a show for them. It¡¯d ruin it now if I summoned Flood Boy back to wipe the goo off the walls, wouldn¡¯t it?


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯d appreciate it, either. Not that he¡¯d have any choice¡­ not like I have any ¨C¡±


    Okay, Zel!


    I pulled up my scarf and hood, got my bearings, and moved to re-enter the alleyway I¡¯d used to get here. It wouldn¡¯t do to go getting lost, and I didn¡¯t yet have any minions who could help with directions.


    ¡°I told you, showing your face would be a mistake. Giving your name, a mistake. These darkmages have friends, you know. You won¡¯t be safe.¡±


    I¡¯ll have to take my chances. You know it¡¯s not so simple. I liked it better when you gave me less advice and stuck to the whole perception thing.


    With absolute relish I stepped back into the demi-plane of sewage and tried to keep to the places I¡¯d put my feet when I¡¯d come the other way, to minimise the puke and excrement on my boots.


    ¡°You mean you liked it better when you were making less mistakes. You asked me to give you advice when you bound me, remember? It¡¯s not my fault if you don¡¯t follow it. Besides, you can shut me up whenever you want, can¡¯t you?¡±


    You know I had to tell them who I was. The money is basically life or death, now, Zel. How long are we going to last on the streets? And it¡¯s not just about Jaid and Jaroan.


    ¡°You humans and your money. You can get money other ways.¡±


    We¡¯ve been over this a million times. It doesn¡¯t work like that.


    ¡°Only because you don¡¯t want it to.¡±


    She was right, to an extent. Sure, I could sell the fruits of my archmagery without the proper Magisterium licences. I¡¯d be able to bottle up an infinite supply of Flood Boy¡¯s fortified wine, and with a bit of subtlety I wouldn¡¯t get someone like Emrelet knocking down the door and dragging me off to serve a sentence. On the other hand, obtaining the licence would mean I¡¯d basically be their employee. Even if I worked protection I would have to pay a heavy tax. They might be magical policemen but they were still a guild at heart, and they owned magic in the great city of Mund. Their agents would stick their noses into anything ¨C stick their lightning bolts into anyone ¨C threatening to shake the lantern.


    Entering the field of trade-magic meant playing by their rules: enchanters who performed as bards, wizards who worked construction, druids who healed for payment, diviners who offered the lords advice ¨C they all paid handsomely for the right to ply their wares, all kept strictly within the bounds that¡¯d been set down from on high. The mages had little choice, brought up within the systems of the Magisterium as they were trained, but even archmages were expected to submit to the rules. And we had the option of going underground, doing what took mages years to learn without all the discipline.


    It was so much more fun my way, I imagined.


    Doing official work like that, I¡¯d be another piece assigned to a place on their chessboard, a glorified archmage-barkeep with great-looking profits on the books¡­ a bodyguard equipped with a bunch of imaginary but basically-impenetrable shields working for exorbitant fees¡­ a craftsman working ensorcellment into items to produce fantastical toys ¨C but with only a fraction of the gold actually finding its way into my pockets.


    I knew it was more than that. I wanted to be a champion. Why not? Sure, sorcerers weren¡¯t the fanciest of mages. Our magic was possibly the least-showy. But why should that stop me? There were other sorcerer-champions out there ¨C Redgate and Hellbane, Dustbringer and Direcrown, Netherhame and Shallowlie and¡­ Well, there were six other sorcerer-champions. That I knew of.


    Ah, no ¨C Hellbane was dead, disintegrated months ago in the last Incursion, along with Mindbreaker. It was difficult to keep track sometimes.


    It would probably be less difficult now. Now it would be personal. At some point, I¡¯d probably meet those legendary figures whose names were whispered by the masses. Become one of them¡­


    Sometimes even ordinary mages teamed up to work as champions ¨C for sorcerers there were the Binding Brothers, and the Constellation¡­ though the members of those groups were almost certainly highborn. Magery alone wasn¡¯t enough to inspire the imagination; these teams of champions might¡¯ve been making good money, but they never really seemed to achieve much of a following amongst the lowborn-folk.


    Being a champion was the only path to making some coin, feeling good about myself, without feeling like I was giving up my freedom. I could take money from the obnoxious rich of the city, completely tax-free, for catching the twisted rich of the city, the darkmages. All at my own leisure.


    That was where ¡®Feychilde¡¯ came in. All the best champions had the coolest names. Timesnatcher. Nighteye. Winterprince¡­ Mindbreaker and Hellbane too, Celestium take their souls¡­ Shadowcloud was the best ¨C he was from southern Sticktown, they said. And there were the champions from when I was a kid, dead too, or retired ¨C Everseer, Altermoon, Fingersnap, Quietsigh, Blazeborn¡­ I knew the names of dozens, perhaps hundreds.


    Well, the darkmages had cool names too, I guessed, but most of them weren¡¯t even archmages. Some sounded scary. Breathstealer. Fireflood. Bloodlover. The Shadowcrafters.


    Others were primarily scary because of their reputations, topping the most-wanted lists. Duskdown. Rainlost. Dreamlaughter. Those three were archmages, and if I got my own way I¡¯d not meet them ¨C ever, if possible.


    Or at least not without some overpowered tricks up my sleeve.


    Everything cool and scary was taken. I had a decent imagination, but for some reason I got stuck on the idea.


    Feychilde.


    My name wouldn¡¯t instil fear in my enemies so much as trepidation. As my reputation swelled, my name would gather power, until everyone would be quaking in their boots at the notion of getting their behinds handed to them by someone called Feychilde. A self-avowed child, ripping you to pieces. Not good for the credibility.


    No longer needing to be quiet, and with good cause to put as much distance as possible between myself and those twenty-eight pairs of watching eyes, I strode briskly towards home, keeping my eyes on my footing. I reached the spot with the streaky patches that looked reddish to my enhanced sight, where butchers had thrown out the blood, then the water to wash it clean. The diluted blood didn¡¯t really have anywhere to go, though, so it had become something of a gory stream running down the opposite wall of the passage, welling up into puddles where the ground was uneven.


    The aroma was just as bad as I remembered. I choked, and strode faster where I was able, but I was able to bear it without retching.


    No matter how good it felt to actually begin my career as a champion, get recognition from the local magistry and get my first bounty ¨C I felt like an impostor, as if I were fleeing the scene of a crime I¡¯d committed. I had to admit that there was a temptation to the idea of giving up the fakery, becoming an archmage full-time as Kastyr. Did I really need to keep hiding who I was? Had I been right when I feared to say my name in front of the Six? I mean, they were going to be incarcerated, but they¡¯d be able to talk. Word could have gotten out. And then I might have had any number of darkmages after me, the real me, which would¡¯ve put everyone in danger.


    But, then, who would be pals with people like those cannibals? Overeager body donors? It didn¡¯t exactly sound like the basis for a long-term friendship.


    ¡°Most darkmages are nobles, remember. They¡¯ll have friends in high places.¡±


    They¡¯re the Cannibal Six. They¡¯re probably going to become intimate with the edge of an axe real soon. Why don¡¯t you take a nap?


    ¡°Is that your command?¡± she grumbled.


    I sighed aloud. It is.


    At last, I exited the alleyway, stepping into another street. I turned left, walking downhill towards, I hoped, the areas I knew better ¨C Helbert¡¯s Bend, Cutterwells and Lord¡¯s Knuckle. Barely broad enough for two wagons to cross, the dirt path here was less marked by wheel-ruts than most, instead showing the pockmarked tracks of a heavy amount of foot traffic. The houses loomed over the street, up to five or six storeys in height in places, the ever-present smog of the city obscuring the topmost floors. In one spot the upper levels so encroached into the empty space that the people living in the rooms on the third floor or above would be able to throw punches at someone in the window of the house across the street just by standing at the windowsill and swinging a fist.


    Those windows up above me that admitted very little light were used as toilets by the residents. Not a vast improvement on the alleyways, the road was choked with refuse, human waste of both kinds clogging my path. The waste from human bodies flowed in the gutters ¨C technically it was illegal to throw your expulsions out on the streets or in the alleys, though, in Sticktown at least, that particular law had gone unenforced for as long as anyone could remember.


    But what occupied more of my attention was the other kind of human waste: the people whose lives were ruins, spilling out of the drinking-houses and pleasure-shops into the street to continue their merriments or confrontations out in the open, where the world could see them.


    Most of the people here were either homeless or plastered or potentially dangerous, or some combination of the above, which was a good argument for keeping my head down and my business to myself. I passed dozens of people, forced into playing the will-they-smell-so-badly-of-urine-I-catch-the-scent game as I skirted the strangers in my way. The ones in groups were loud but it was only the weirdest loners who dared approach someone in mage robes. There were the ones who sat staring in silence until you walked close then reached out for you, and the ones who seemed sure they knew you right from the outset, approaching shakily and muttering to themselves as if rehearsing opening lines they forget to deliver ¨C nailbiter-addicts, probably, given the state of their hands. And the ones who babbled into their near-empty bottles and seemed to think you wanted them to do so in close proximity to your face, they were just the best. There was even a long-haired, young guy just wearing nothing but a towel, lying on his back on the slick ground, crooning at me like the world¡¯s most-resistible siren.


    It was easy to skip forwards suddenly, out of reach of even the most dextrous inebriate I crossed paths with.


    Letting all these degenerates know who I was, it would be a dangerous line to walk. As a champion, I had two choices: reveal my identity like a magister, or keep it secret like a darkmage. And this choice operated on two levels: I¡¯d already revealed my identity to the magisters, but the public at large was a different thing. All champions supported the magisters when necessary, regardless as to whether they maintained a secret identity; backing-up the Magisterium was simply the price of operating freely.


    The dark elves of Northril had invaded when I was a kid. It was one of my earliest memories: a steady, reassuring voice coming out of the very air telling everyone in the city to get indoors and barricade the entry-points. Every champion in the city had been called up for that. Champions helping to defend against assaults on official property by darkmages, groups like the Srol Heretics, was becoming more-and-more commonplace over the last few years, it seemed. And there were always the periodic Infernal Incursions; I wasn¡¯t looking forward to those. All in all, it seemed from the news-papers and criers that there was a lot going on all the time. Mostly champions worked independently, making no waves, trying to combat evil on the local level. Taking out those on the wanted lists for instant cash was customary, and even just helping out in a capture gave a fractional reward. The rulers wanted those with the potential for great destruction putting their abilities to use protecting the city against said destruction, and they weren¡¯t afraid to pay to get what they wanted.


    And for this kind of work you didn¡¯t need a licence, didn¡¯t need any official vetting. All you had was the reassurance that if you put a foot out of line ¨C killed a suspect, harmed an innocent ¨C the full weight of the Magisterium would descend on you like a boot smushing a snail. If you didn¡¯t go into hiding you¡¯d be getting into battle after battle, and snails too tough to be smushed by a boot would find themselves being smushed by a mountain. If the Magisterium had to call in fifty, a hundred prepared mages, they would do it. It¡¯d be a matter of departing the city ¨C maybe even the Realm ¨C or departing the mortal coil.


    I took a side-street between two pubs leading towards Helbert¡¯s Bend, keeping to the centre of the road where the boardwalks at the sides were clogged with groups of big-armed, hard-eyed guys in sooty overalls, all drinking strong-smelling ale in grim near-silence. Furnace-men, recently returned from their work in Hightown, feeding the fires that kept the city alive. A few of them looked at me then looked away. I was still wearing my mage¡¯s robe. No one but magicians wore cloth cut like this, the sleeves so long, the hood so deep.


    I passed a pair of watchmen, clad in leather breastplates embossed with the sigil of Sticktown, like a ¡®H¡¯ with a slightly longer cross-bar through the centre ¨C supposedly representing the ever-present scaffolding that was the jewel in the crown of our district. Their twelve-spoked stars, the badges of their offices, were pinned to their chests, and rather rusty-looking. One had an upwards-pointing brass arrow on the other side of his chest, a symbol of rank.


    When I saw them, they were twirling their truncheons and glowering at a group of miscreant kids on the next bend. And as I crossed in front of them, the high-ranking one turned to look at me, and nodded at me.


    My instinct was to run away. Being a mage all of a sudden was weird. I slowly returned the nod, then jerked my head around to watch where I was going.


    I hurried down the side-street, which was, if a little stinkier, mercifully less populated. I could stride a little faster, make better time. As much as I hadn¡¯t wanted the encounter with Em and the others to end, once it was over, I wished I was home. I hated this wasted time, this pointless expenditure of energy. I felt like looking into that yith-thing sometime ¨C but it was a demon. Perhaps there were fey options in the same vein¡­ Anyway, it wasn¡¯t like it¡¯d be inconspicuous to ride a twenty-foot dragon-centipede right up to my front door. Definitely no powerful sorcerer hanging out in that building, no sir.


    I¡¯d figure something out. I¡¯d have to. I didn¡¯t want to invite trouble into the neighbourhood by being obvious about my newfound status as an archmage, as a champion. It went to the very core of the champion I was going to try to be: a true defender of my people. Of those I cared about.


    Not those who made this mess, left the world this way. Left people in places like this. Twelve Hells, it wasn¡¯t like the mass cleansing each full moon got rid of everything for everyone, and at any other time the ministrations of a druid cost you the very arm and leg they were supposed to be healing. It didn¡¯t matter that they were supposedly keeping the water-supply clean with wizardry; we were subject to diseases in so many forms, we had names for them that they¡¯d never heard in Hightown or Treetown or any of those fancy places. Most were curable, but there were always the magical diseases like wormface and brickblood, things that you¡¯d never recover from.


    Vaahn, Lord of Death, and his son Vaylech, the Fly-God, must¡¯ve cherished our district like no other place in Materium.


    Our phrase ¡®drop off¡¯ and its variants had spread throughout the city, but I doubted many who used the swear-word even knew where it originated ¨C that it was a curse implying the dropping-off of a diseased body part. When I was a kid I saw a witch-doctor from Oldtown who¡¯d come to Knuckle Market to peddle his philtres and elixirs of various kinds, looking at my mum as if she were speaking a foreign language when she asked for a potion to treat my dad¡¯s splinterwince. The witch-doctor hadn¡¯t come back again. They never did, not once they saw what things were really like. Rivertown, the Lowtowns ¨C people there knew the deal. Knew what it was like, to be a forgotten breed, looked down on by every highborn we met, even as our toil was used to keep every highborn¡¯s world ticking over.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I reached familiar ground. The streets here weren¡¯t laid out straight; there were no big buildings that weren¡¯t just piles of apartments. This was true Sticktown. Instead, the ¡®roadway¡¯ was a twisting path of mud and wood that wove and criss-crossed on higher and lower levels. The bridges for other, higher paths that crossed this one I walked were built so low that someone two inches taller than me would have to mind their head on the beams as they walked beneath. Then at times I would see another roadway passing beneath me, glimpsing the street below between two buildings on my level. In places the street was barely wide enough for a wagon, but no one brought wagons down here. You might as well wear a ¡®Kill me and take my stuff¡¯ banner for a sash.


    I grew up a thief, worked for the guild a little. I¡¯d done things I wasn¡¯t proud of: I¡¯d never wrapped a cudgel around someone¡¯s head, but I¡¯d once bonked someone in the shin to stop them pursuing me and my friends. Just for that restraint I¡¯d been accounted too moral around here. I recognised the absurdity, but that was the Sticktown way. Thank the gods my parents had given me an education¡­


    And even I thought a wagon down here would be a tempting target.


    As I made my way up Bagger¡¯s Alley I found my usual alcove empty. It was located right on the bend where the pathway turned sharply back on itself like a ¡®v¡¯: a shadowy few feet between two disused doorways. It provided me a good point of view covering both avenues of approach while I walked up to it, and kept me hidden from both lines of sight while I stopped there.


    I pulled off my robe, stuffing it into the thin satchel I¡¯d worn beneath it. Now I was a typical city boy, in a homespun tunic and trousers, blue and green respectively. I kept my clothes as clean as possible, given that I only had two outfits and my robe, but the trousers would need a wash after tonight¡¯s activities.


    I stepped out of the alcove between the two walled porch-type structures, and I had a sudden blurred image in my mind, a vision of someone following me down the part of the alley behind me, where I couldn¡¯t see now without backtracking.


    Then the door nearest me suddenly drew my attention.


    The enhanced hearing had picked something up. Footsteps? Inside.


    Zelurra¡¯s gift was strange. She¡¯d explained little of the particulars before we ¡®joined¡¯ together, and I¡¯d gleaned only a smattering of knowledge about how this joining process actually functioned since then. She was a narrow diviner, capable of local clairvoyance and furnished with a danger-sense I hadn¡¯t quite wrapped my head around yet. When I joined with her I got a minor part of her regenerative effect and protection against mind-control, and my senses were amplified; my vision was clearer, sounds crisper, and I even found scents and tastes overpowering ¨C I¡¯d grown up in the filth here but I¡¯d learned a new appreciation for how our region must¡¯ve come across to strangers in the last couple of weeks.


    However, I didn¡¯t get the danger-sense. Not really. Not like her.


    Even still, I felt like I was close to it now. I felt a squirming in my chest, my breath came haltingly into my lungs. Had the Six¡¯s friends already caught up to me? How?


    Wake up. Something¡¯s coming.


    ¡°Yes. Yes, one behind you, one inside, one ahead. Just men. Ruffians. Armed.¡±


    Damn it.


    My hands were tied, metaphorically: I couldn¡¯t use my powers. I wasn¡¯t wearing my robe and I¡¯d pulled my scarf down. The scarf didn¡¯t matter. The clothes alone made me identifiable to a lot of people in the underworld around here.


    One behind me, one inside the door just a few feet from me, and one ahead of me.


    I quickly turned away from the door and my body sprang into motion, sprinting forwards. I tried to jam my scarf back up around my face at the same time, for what good it could do me. Ahead of me I saw the third she¡¯d mentioned, at the far end of Bagger¡¯s Alley. A bit shorter than me, stocky, wearing studded leather and with a naked knife thrust into his belt at the hip. A black mask pulled up over his nose. He hadn¡¯t noticed me yet. Probably a Bagger¡¯s Boy, given how he looked to be standing on watch ¨C this was his territory. I thought they¡¯d all been wiped out by the Wallside Gang. They were back, and this was no longer a safe place for me to change.


    There were two exits on the right side as I approached him, one nearer to me and one nearer to the rogue. The noise I was making, he was going to notice me in an instant. I didn¡¯t care. Running, I could reach the exit near me in about ten big lopes.


    My heart pounded, and I was conscious of the fact that I wasn¡¯t even really breathing.


    The door behind me opened, and I heard a man curse under his breath. I heard both of them behind me, moving towards me. Slower than me.


    The one ahead of me, the watcher at the end of Bagger¡¯s Alley, noticed me just before I darted into the opening between two lopsided huts.


    This was the unnamed passage we called Snowboard Stair. It forked two ways about ten yards in ¨C one ascending, one descending, both routes going straight for fair distance each way, comprised of hundreds of very shallow wooden steps. It was narrow ¨C no wider than five feet in places.


    We¡¯d spent a good few dozen winter days climbing the stair I was about to see on my left when I reached the fork. We used to get on our pieces of scrap wood and slide down to this point here, the middle ¨C then turn and immediately slide down the second stair to the right. I¡¯d let Jaid and Jaroan go first, then chased them down, snarling and waving my arms like a monster pursuing them to gobble them up. After a few laborious climbs all the way back up to the middle then all the way back up to the start again, they¡¯d get tired, and we¡¯d head home. But we always called it Snowboard Stair, even if it had been a few years since we¡¯d last been here.


    I took the left branch as I hit the fork, heading up the stairs. I figured they might expect a person in flight to go the easier route.


    I immediately questioned my decision. Going uphill seemed to halve my speed. I was fast on my feet compared with most. Going downhill, I could¡¯ve chosen to just fall and roll, ultimately, and hope for the best. Zel¡¯s presence in me would heal me of most minor injuries, given time. If I suffered major ones ¨C well, there were always the druids, or the priests of Wythyldwyn¡­ though I¡¯d have better luck getting someone to take me to the Giltergrove tomorrow on a litter and trying to get a quick healing spell thrown in for free when I turned in my pile of undead, than I would with the priests. It could be days before you were seen, and even then the results were variable at best.


    Either way, a fall would be better than a knife between the ribs in a dark passageway with no one to help me.


    But I¡¯d gone uphill and I wasn¡¯t going fast enough. The increased hearing made it plain, made the outcome inevitable. The one who¡¯d been at the end of Bagger¡¯s Alley had caught up to the others already, going at a far greater pace than his frame would have indicated. Stocky but muscular, not fat. They would reach the fork and I¡¯d be close enough for them to see me.


    This was tedious. I could use a shield, use an eldritch ¨C but I¡¯d be revealed, to people who surely could not be trusted to keep silent.


    I¡¯d gone no more than twenty feet into the upward stair when the three of them reached the fork; they only paused an instant before ¨C


    ¡°There!¡± A victorious cry.


    ¡°This¡­ way!¡± A huffing, somehow familiar voice.


    The boards thumped beneath my feet. The boards thumped behind me as they gave chase.


    ¡°Knife!¡±


    I threw myself onto my front and heard the whoosh. As I fell I tilted my chin upwards so that I didn¡¯t break my nose, and I witnessed the shining arc of the hurled dagger, passing right through the space that the area between my shoulder-blades would have occupied. It was dark in this place for my pursuers; that had been a scarily-accurate throw. It hit the stairs a dozen or more feet ahead, an instant before I slammed into the stairs myself.


    Zel¡¯s yell might¡¯ve saved my life ¨C at least for the next few seconds, anyway.


    Then I hit the stairs, and for a moment I would¡¯ve preferred non-existence.


    Pain travelled up my body: my shins, knees, ribs, and throat took the brunt of the impact, the edges of half a dozen planks of wood slamming straight into my unprotected flesh. I let out an ¡°oof¡± as the breath fled my lungs in a single reverse-gasp.


    One of them had me by the hair on the back of my head and yanked me up to my feet ¨C I hurried to comply to keep him from tearing at my scalp.


    I howled, just a little bit, and yelped, ¡°Alright! You got me!¡±


    He loosened his hold, then span me around and threw me up against the boards.


    The narrow walls of the passageway were the back-walls of the upper storeys of buildings that faced into the next street after Bagger¡¯s Alley. No doors. A dark tunnel crossed beneath this stair, leading to Cutterwell Way and Foundstone Circle. Not populated or much-travelled. We were alone here.


    It was the stocky rogue in the studded leather armour from the end of the alley who¡¯d grabbed me. Now I could see the dagger in his belt was missing, but he had others in his sleeves, the little pommels at the ends of the grips protruding from his cuffs.


    If it hadn¡¯t been for him, I¡¯d have gotten away ¨C I just knew it.


    ¡°Sweet Nentheleme, you are quick,¡± I moaned as I stood there reeling, trying to get my bearings.


    ¡°Turn out yer pockets,¡± he said in a gruff voice through his bandana-mask, reaching out to pat me down.


    I stood and let him. His two pals, clad in similar armour and masks, had caught up. Both rogues were overweight; one tall, one short. They were already puffing for breath through the cloth across their mouths, though we hadn¡¯t even been running for a minute.


    ¡°I¡¯ve really got nothing, you know.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t stopping, checking me for pockets, a pouch, anything hidden.


    ¡°What¡¯s with all the studded leather, anyway? Going to a party? That¡¯s stuff¡¯s not really effective, you know. I once saw a guy get stab-¡±


    I dodged the first punch, a quick jab at my chin, and evaded straight into the hook, clocking me in the upper cheek, right on my scar.


    I reeled, and he just continued frisking me. When his search turned up empty, he snarled and tore the satchel, the obvious target, straight off my shoulder.


    ¡°Wait ¨C wait ¨C¡± gasped the short, fat one.


    The stocky rogue stopped, hand tight around my robe, half-free of the satchel, and looked across at him.


    ¡°He¡¯s¡­ may¡­ he¡¯s a¡­ Kas?¡±


    Oh, Celestium¡­


    My scarf had slipped back down in my struggles with my first assailant ¨C and now this one recognised me. On top of that, he was probably the one who came up behind me. There was a chance he had seen me enter Bagger¡¯s Alley ¨C seen me in the robe.


    Damn it.


    Now I knew why his voice had been familiar to me. It was him, Tanru. We¡¯d sort-of grown up together, ranging the neighbourhood as delinquent kids in a group that numbered dozens. I¡¯d not seen him in, oh, two or three years. And those years hadn¡¯t been kind. His forehead-acne had become scars, and he¡¯d ballooned in weight. Even with the facial covering I could tell his cheeks still had a pudgy, youthful look, like an oversized baby who¡¯d been allowed to savage his own face with a red crayon.


    ¡°Well if it isn¡¯t Tanny Dengen,¡± I said. ¡°Running with the Bagger Boys now, I see? I thought you were a Knuckle-Head these days. Knuckle-Head till you died, you said to me.¡±


    The stocky rogue looked between me and Tanny, eyeing us both with a cold, assessing gaze.


    Tanny¡¯s new to the group, and this quick fellow is his superior, I surmised. I had to try to keep Tanny on the back-foot, keep his mouth shut. Perhaps I could get him alone. Stop him talking about the mage robe.


    ¡°Nuh¡­ no!¡± Tanny panted, scowling in protest at me, brows furrowing. Then he turned to his superior with a pleading expression. ¡°He¡¯s ¨C¡±


    ¡°Sorry, I always have trouble tracking the affiliations of you guys.¡±


    The superior turned his cold gaze back to me. ¡°You tryin¡¯ ter insult us, laddie?¡±


    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m just observing that your loyalty is easily bought and sold.¡±


    The tall fat one spoke for the first time, having taken the opportunity to catch a second wind, and his voice was high-pitched, nasal and fawning: ¡°He is! He¡¯s tryin¡¯ ter insult yer, boss!¡±


    The boss frowned, I could tell. I smiled.


    This is unsalvageable. I made my decision.


    ¡°No!¡± Zel snapped. ¡°Run, downhill.¡±


    It¡¯ll mean another dagger, if I don¡¯t use a shield, and if he saw me ¨C


    ¡°H-he¡¯s a mage!¡± Tanny cried.


    ¡°What?¡± the boss hissed in disbelief. His eyes darted from me to Tanny but then straight back to me, as if re-thinking his instinct to glare at his subordinate. His gaze didn¡¯t waver again but he took a subtle, half-step backwards.


    Is it unsalvageable now, d¡¯you think?


    ¡°I seen him in his robe, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    The boss looked down at the satchel and robe in his hands and, dropping the satchel, held up the robe for a moment.


    Then it joined the satchel on the planks and he was drawing both the daggers in his sleeves in a single motion, moving as if to rub the insides of his forearms against each other, gripping the handles of the blades as he did so.


    ¡°¡¯E knows yer name, Tanny,¡± the boss said, still staring fixedly at me, ¡°knows who yer are. Yer gonna ¡®av to do ¡®im.¡±


    Well, this had escalated quickly.


    Undoubtedly the quick rogue with the daggers out would¡¯ve had plenty of time to bury one or two of them in my chest, had I needed to start an incantation to use my magic. But I waved a hand in their direction and, though the rogues stood in the middle of me and the tear in reality I¡¯d conjured behind them, enough of the coruscating red light fell between them for them to realise without turning that they had been instantaneously backlit by something viscerally, mind-rendingly terrifying.


    ¡°Now, I don¡¯t normally do this,¡± I said, over the clicking. ¡°Demons aren¡¯t my thing. But I really have to make a bit of a point here. Can¡¯t leave you guys with the wrong impression.¡±


    They turned slightly, almost simultaneously, looking behind themselves out of the corners of their eyes.


    Tick, tock. Tick, tock.


    The huge, strange pendulum-tongue clicked out the rhythm of the razor-fiend¡¯s dance as its sword-legs brought it back and forth, back and forth up and down the steps, looming above even the tallest one of them even when it walked on the lower ground.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let them run ¨C don¡¯t try to run.¡±


    The first four and a half words I spoke while looking at the kinkly-man. As the first part of my pronouncement unconsciously came out as ¡°Gharar ondon rutan khalis,¡± the three rogues probably didn¡¯t understand the inflection in the second four and a half words, directed at them.


    I imagined they got the message, though, as the kinkly-man unfolded its blade-arms and encircled them with its prodigious reach.


    ¡°Way I see it, we¡¯re both in a fix. You guys know who I am. I know who you guys are. Oh, don¡¯t doubt it; I¡¯ve seen you up close, and when people like me ask questions, people like you give me answers, so don¡¯t think you could hide from me.¡±


    Tick, tock. Tick, tock.


    ¡°Now, I¡¯m trying to make a name for myself. As a champion!¡± I gave it all my bravado. ¡°I suppose I¡¯m not meant to kill you, but I am supposed to bring you in. And you ¨C you¡¯re supposed to tell everyone who I am ¨C that Kas is a sorcerer. A powerful, archmage sorcerer.¡± I watched them as they swooned slightly, nonplussed with the realisation of how close they currently stood to a gruesome, skewering-type death. All three of them were now hanging on my every word. ¡°So maybe we cut a deal.¡±


    Tick, tock. Tick, tock.


    ¡°A¡­¡± the stocky rogue licked his lips, ¡°deal?¡±


    ¡°You know ¨C you don¡¯t tell anyone who I am, or react to me in public; forget the last five minutes of your life occurred, go about your¡­ enterprises unconcerned. For my part, I don¡¯t turn you into the world¡¯s three unhealthiest kebabs or see you locked up in prison for so long the Bagger Boys become a distant memory.¡±


    They looked at one another. For some reason the leader seemed unable to lead all of a sudden. Perhaps he was demonphobic. He looked to be paralysed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to have to beat you over the head with this ¨C which I could do ¨C literally ¨C all night long ¨C using huge pieces of metal ¨C without getting tired ¨C but this is the best offer you¡¯re ever going to get here.¡±


    ¡°I wanna go, Clun,¡± Tanny moaned, eyes wide and knees knocking.


    The stocky boss didn¡¯t even have it in him to glare when Tanny used his name out of sheer terror. He just nodded, trembling, not meeting anyone¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Then go,¡± I said, gesturing for the fiend to step aside.


    The three of them kept their heads bowed, their turnaround in demeanour interesting to observe. They shuffled down the sloping stairway, keeping close together, none of them even wanting to turn and look at my clock-eyed freak of a demon.


    ¡°Quite well-performed, Kas,¡± my companion congratulated me.


    I don¡¯t really feel like it worked, I admitted.


    ¡°You¡¯d better pray each night for the continued safety of my identity,¡± I called softly out to the three rogues, by way of parting. ¡°Anyone figures out who I am, my first thought is going to be of you. If I were you, I¡¯d persuade anyone speculating about me to keep their mouths shut. Am I getting through?¡±


    It was half-rhetorical anyway, but I was disappointed none of them replied as they continued their defeated shuffle, heading to the right at the fork, back towards Bagger¡¯s Alley.


    ¡°Did you just ask them to kill anyone talking about you?¡±


    ¡°Shut their mouths, in a non-lethal fashion! Am I getting through?¡±


    They were gone, around the corner.


    I sighed. I needed to know that I was safe. That Jaid and Jaroan were safe. Then I¡¯d gone and committed the cardinal sin of a secret identity on the first proper damn night, and now the three cut-throats I¡¯d threatened and cajoled into silence wouldn¡¯t even give me a confirmation that I could trust.


    They were pretty brave, or stupid, or both, it occurred to me as I collected my things (and the now-abandoned dagger Clun had thrown at my back), dismissed my demon and went on my way. Anyone with some life to the grey goo between their ears would want to reassure the overpowered magician, offer a bunch of promises even if they weren¡¯t planning to keep them¡­ These guys had just wanted to get the hell out of here.


    Or perhaps it was that I¡¯d underestimated just how scary this kind of thing was to the common man. They¡¯d probably never seen anything like my razor-fiend before, not up-close. Most people ¨C sensible people and idiots alike ¨C hid away during the Infernal Incursions. I certainly did.


    Well, I had up till now. That had changed, hadn¡¯t it? The next time the Mourning Bells rang, I¡¯d be honour-bound to answer, or the magisters would put me on the wanted-list for shirking my duty to defend the city. Especially as an arch-sorcerer ¨C my services would be in high demand.


    Maybe it wouldn¡¯t be so bad. Maybe my powers would make the next Incursion a piece of cake.


    I could always pray, right?


    I cut out of Snowboard Stair and turned down the passage behind Hontor and Sons, the best bakers in the city, the scent of fresh loaves still lingering in the air to my augmented nostrils. It¡¯d only be a few hours before they¡¯d be up baking tomorrow morning¡¯s first batch.


    From there I turned right at the Gold Griffin, my local boozer, onto my street: Mud Lane. Mud Lane was one of the lowest parts of Sticktown, geologically, educationally, economically. It sloped down to a final dead end, but a number of alleys served to connect the lane to adjacent neighbourhoods ¨C enough that I couldn¡¯t count them off the top of my head.


    The lane itself lived up to its name, and then some. Mud was the name of the game. We Mud Laners, we lived in it. We died in it. We fell over in it. Not necessarily in that order ¨C though sometimes. Our bathwater was brown before we got more than our feet in, and if we shared the water between a few (as the twins and I were often forced to do) in the end it seemed like a bit of a pointless exercise, as it looked like a tub of warm sludge by the time the last person (invariably me) got out.


    The first blocks of housing on either side of the lane were two storeys high, but they grew taller as you descended, keeping to a flat, uniform roof, with no gaps between the blocks on the upper levels. As low as the third floor (relative to the ground) there were bridges spanning the breadth of the lane, connecting the two sides of the lane overhead, with more and more the higher you got ¨C some were old and sturdy, constructed with waist-high rails and room for two to walk abreast, while many, especially the newer ones, were little better than rope-bridges.


    My home was almost half the way down the lane, on the third floor in the block on the right, near Springwalk, the alley that led back towards Cutterwells. I headed up the external stairwell that would bring me home by the fastest route, an array of planks that was little more than a skeleton of abandoned scaffolding.


    It was pretty quiet for near-midnight on a weekend. I could pick out a few distant revellers by their raucous laughter, and there was the ever-present wailing of a number of babies, dogs and yobs. But it was relatively quiet, even with Zel¡¯s perception-boost.


    It was a short trip along the narrow wooden walkway, a single thin rail the only support, but I was sure of my footing here and I was virtually hopping, my hands shaking, as if the excitement of tonight¡¯s adventures was catching up on me all of a sudden. I had done it.


    ¡°I did help, you know.¡±


    Zel didn¡¯t sound like she was needling me ¨C she sounded genuinely offended. What¡¯s more, she¡¯d been keeping quiet, leaving me to my thoughts like I¡¯d asked; I¡¯d actually forgotten she was still active.


    You did. I thank you, Zelurra. I couldn¡¯t have done it without you.


    ¡°Damn right.¡±


    I¡¯ll wake you in the morning, okay?


    ¡°Goodnight, Kastyr.¡±


    Then I was at my door. I gave the secret knock: two-four-two-one. As I stepped back I was rewarded with the sound of someone urgently tearing the various locks open.


    It was Xantaire, backlit by the candle in the main room. She stared straight in my eyes, looking at me for some sign of how to react to my presence ¨C she wavered on the razor¡¯s edge between falling into despair or having her soul set free. She waited on a word from my lips.


    I grinned.


    I saw her begin to react, sucking in her breath, her eyes widening in delight.


    ¡°Success.¡±

 The Promise

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.4: THE PROMISE</h2>


    ¡°There are forms of self-destruction available to all archmages. The enchanter can fall into delusion, and live on in their fantasy land, forever lost to reality. The diviner can become trapped in their vision, incapable of choice, locked in a prison of time and space no one can see or hear. The wizard can rip apart their flesh, channelling energies beyond the tension-point of mortal shapes. The druid can sink into despair, understanding too-well the inherent violence of nature, becoming themselves animal in their dissolution. And the sorcerer ¨C this much should be obvious. Only the sorcerer can risk their very soul.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 3:22-25


    She pulled me inside, pushed the door shut behind me, then embraced me tightly. She was quite a bit shorter than me, but stronger than she looked, and when she squeezed me she was just the right height to catch me between my ribs. An ¡°oof!¡± sound went blaring out my mouth like a trumpet for the second time tonight.


    She cackled a bit, then released me, stepping behind me to lock all the many, many bolts on the door.


    ¡°You¡¯re back. You have the money?¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow.¡± I said it with a bit of a wince.


    She turned back to me, and raised an eyebrow. ¡°We¡¯re cutting it fine now, Kas. Before the deadline, right?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get it at noon, alright? We¡¯re going to be fine.¡±


    She punched me in the bicep, with one of her stronger-than-it-looked arms.


    ¡°You don¡¯t say that, man,¡± she complained, turning away.


    Sheepishly, I followed her into the main room.


    We¡¯d shared our apartment with Xantaire, her grandfather Orstrum, her half-brother Morsus, and her four-year-old son Xastur for almost three years now. It had been the only way to pay the rent, which was the hot topic of the hour.


    Fifteen days ago our landlord had sent his heavies to do a sweep of the block, and they¡¯d found out we were sleeping seven in a two-bedroom flat meant for four at the most. Then Peltos himself showed up, the landlord I could barely even remember seeing before, perhaps once or twice, five years earlier or more. I¡¯d refused to tell him how long they¡¯d been staying with us until he threatened he would make it ten years back-pay. When I said eighteen months, he¡¯d left it there and smiled.


    After he¡¯d doubled it for the deception, it came to a hundred and sixty gold pieces. Enough to buy two prize warhorses, a brace of healing potions to cure all maladies, a suit of fine plate armour ¨C enough to buy a little farm outside the city, probably. More money than I¡¯d seen in my life at any one time, I think. That was sixteen thousand copper pennies. We paid a hundred copper, the equivalent of a single gold piece, every week for our rent. Now he was asking for eighty weeks twice over. More or less the three years¡¯ worth we actually owed him, I ruefully acknowledged to myself later.


    That night, we¡¯d heard Xantaire crying through the paper-thin wall. It made Jaid cry, then Jar. I¡¯d resolved to do something. Anything. Rents were so high these days, we¡¯d had to beg, borrow and steal for everything we had and we still basically had nothing. If we didn¡¯t pay up, not only would we get broken bones for our trouble, we¡¯d be kicked out and forced into the street. Living like the rats, moving from alley to abandoned property and back again, over and over, enduring the constant dangers posed by being out there at night.


    I was not going out there, and neither were Jaid and Jaroan. Neither were Xantaire, Xastur, Orstrum and Morsus. I would fix things.


    I couldn¡¯t sleep, so I went alone to visit the graves of our parents, behind the Shrine of Yune. While there, as it just so happened, I encountered a fairy and a faun ¨C and found out I could speak to, control and even ingest all manner of extra-planar or otherworldly creatures.


    I did briefly wonder if someone had slipped a hallucinogenic into my food. But no.


    Just a perfectly normal day.


    When the heavies, the so-called ¡®Gentlemen¡¯ (sarcastically-named, of course) showed up to collect or kick us out, I was so convincing in my protestations that they went back to Peltos, to get me a reprieve if I promised to pay double. My excitement was plain to see. I¡¯d kept the cause secret, of course, but my mood had infected my house-mates, and when I told them I had a sure-fire way to get some money it was met with enthusiasm. It wasn¡¯t like I hadn¡¯t brought in a big mark or two in my time, and they all knew it. They were all relying on me.


    For the next days, nights, days, I racked my brains ¨C both of them, the new fey voice sharing my skull-for-one included ¨C searching for the best way to make that much money in time. Nothing was coming together in the grand-plan department that wouldn¡¯t result in my immediate arrest. Becoming a champion ¨C putting my life on the line in that way, so quickly and without preparation ¨C wasn¡¯t something we¡¯d even considered.


    A week ago, we were in the graveyard when I saw the Bone Ring. I sent the kids running home, and did what had to be done. The night¡¯s watch found them with plenty of air still left in the coffins I¡¯d sealed them into, with the friendly assistance of a hundred rancid zombie hands; I¡¯d sent the watchtower a quickly-scrawled summary and my directions proved accurate enough. Feychilde, the name I came up with on the spot, was born. I¡¯d added the ¡®e¡¯ as if I¡¯d got the name from some ancient text, but it was as made-up as any other.


    We champions and darkmages didn¡¯t seem to like recycling names.


    The grand plan formed, after that. I¡¯d ¡®borrowed¡¯ a few books from one of the Bone Ring members upon Zel¡¯s recommendation ¨C all bar one of them turned out to be trash for beginners, but it was a start.


    I knew about the bounties, and gathered my information. Well, my fairy gathered information while I sat on my backside, but still¡­


    It was funny how things turned out sometimes. The old Lord and his sycophants had confronted me, as they spotted me in the graveyard chatting to my faun after a goblin-hunt. Zel had later speculated that he¡¯d had something watching out for nearby feats of sorcery. Either way, I¡¯d whooped him so severely that it assuaged my doubts, and I set the wheels in motion.


    Bringing me to tonight.


    Our home was four little drab rooms, but it was home. Jaid, Jaroan and I used the larger bedroom that had been our mum and dad¡¯s, big enough for two beds; Xantaire and Xastur took the smaller one and shared a bed. Morsus and Orstrum would throw down a ragged bit of carpet and used thin mattresses and skin-quilts right here in the main room, moving the two little benches to the end of the tiny room near the hearth in order to get enough space to stretch out.


    It was nearly nothing, this place, but sometimes if all you had in the world was, say, a carrot, you would fight tooth and nail if someone tried to take the carrot off you.


    Damn it. Now I was hungrier than before. The shelves covering the walls of the room were filled with books, tools, books, utensils, and even some books: every imaginable inedible item. It only then occurred to me that I still had three pieces of crust from my afternoon bread, safe under my bed in my room.


    Soon. I¡¯ll get to it soon.


    Morsus was standing, reaching out to take and shake my hand eagerly. He was about twenty-five, and Xantaire about twenty; he was darker-skinned with dark eyes and thick hair; she was lighter-skinned and shorter, but with the same eyes and hair as her half-brother. He wore a smock and trousers in two shades of red; she wore a simple grey dress.


    I let him take my hand and did my best to hold on as he tried to dislocate my shoulder. He took my arm just above the elbow with his other hand as he did so, as if to get a better grip for breaking my arm.


    ¡°My friend,¡± he crowed. His voice was redolent with the accent of his homeland, unlike Xantaire¡¯s. ¡°My greatest friend; you are happily returned, and you have the money, yes?¡±


    ¡°Soon, Morsus, soon!¡± I converted my ¡®get the hell off my arm¡¯ feeling into what I hoped sounded like enthusiasm.


    He released me. The ordeal over, I cradled my neck in a fair bit of unfeigned agony, and offered them a smile I imagined to be weary.


    ¡°So ¨C what happened?¡± Xantaire pressed. ¡°You said ¡®success¡¯, but you don¡¯t get paid till tomorrow?¡±


    Morsus sat back down at one end of the bench, and she took the other end, gesturing for me to park my cart between them.


    I declined, looking across to the door of my room.


    ¡°You should go check on them in a minute,¡± she said, reading my mind in the way that didn¡¯t require you to be an enchanter. ¡°They were worried, with you out so late. Grandpa¡¯s still telling them a story.¡±


    I smiled; the old man¡¯s stories were awesome, but I didn¡¯t miss the fact she was desperate for me to fill her in.


    I looked back at her. I couldn¡¯t blame either of them for being anxious. This whole situation had been all that was on any of our minds for so long now it felt like a never-ending nightmare in which I could writhe and struggle but from which I could never awaken.


    I sat on the other bench so that the table and candle were between us, perching on the edge of the plain, wood-carved divan as if to make my intention to be brief obvious to both of them.


    ¡°I can¡¯t tell you everything, Xan,¡± I said quietly, ¡°but basically, I¡¯ve carried out a task for someone important. Someone magister-important.¡± I let that sink in for a moment ¨C Morsus was nodding along with an unchanging expression of interest, but Xantaire looked stunned. ¡°I¡¯m getting a reward of thirty plat tomorrow in Hightown ¨C Blackbranch, or something, it¡¯s called¡­ Enough to cover the debt and then some.¡±


    She bit her lip, then met my eyes and said, ¡°But you told them to double ¨C¡±


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± I interrupted in what I hoped was a soothing, cheery tone, ¡°I¡¯ll have that talk with Peltos. Trust me. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be accommodating. Hopefully we¡¯ll even have a little left over to put aside, or buy something special.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re meeting someone in Hightown?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°A noble?¡±


    Was she? Despite her noble appearance, given her foreign sound and archmage status, there was a chance she wasn¡¯t one of the highborn, wasn¡¯t there? It was hard to tell. Emrelet¡­


    ¡°Kas?¡±


    ¡°Sorry. No, not a noble, necessarily. A magister, though.¡±


    ¡°A woman.¡± Xantaire sat back on the bench and smiled, like she¡¯d won a game I hadn¡¯t been aware we were playing.


    I tried to laugh it off coolly, but I sort of tittered instead, a feeble, tinny sound that was a bit hysterical even to my own ears. I felt myself blushing.


    ¡°And you¡¯re nervous!¡±


    ¡°Aaaand I¡¯m going to check on the kids now,¡± I declared, getting back to my feet and approaching the bedroom door.


    Xantaire muttered something about young love behind my back. I decided I wouldn¡¯t rise to it ¨C not till my cheeks stopped glowing, at least. I¡¯d normally done a better job of hiding my infatuations from my parents: they¡¯d never met Osi, my first ¡®girlfriend¡¯, and they certainly never heard about Fina ¡®Feel-Ma-Curves¡¯ Curz.


    I opened the door a crack. I could see the three kids tucked up together under the covers, all their heads squished onto one upright pillow. Jaid¡¯s golden hair was braided, Jaroan¡¯s left loose and messy more like mine. Xastur¡¯s complexion was no darker than mine or the twins¡¯ but his hair was a mop of thick, dark curls, and it was all of him I could see ¨C I suspected he¡¯d fallen asleep awhile back. And Orstrum half-sat, half-lay across the foot of the bed, a bit of a ragged fur blanket over his knees.


    He was pushing eighty, but had an immaculately-trimmed white beard, and there was no discolouration to the bald pate of his chocolatey scalp, no halting in his rich, soothing voice:


    ¡°¨C over a dozen or more of them in the way, but Arreath knew where they would move next, where they would swing their swords.¡± The old man laughed ruthlessly, as if commenting on the chances of Arreath Ril¡¯s foes. ¡°He ran right through them, to the other side, while they hacked and slashed at the air ¨C and they couldn¡¯t touch him! Then he looked over his shoulder at them, and ran back through them. Same thing; they swung with all their might, all their training, and every one of them missed. After a second or two, he was back ¨C in his starting place! Then he drew his sword.¡±


    Because I knew Orstrum would appreciate the cliffhanger better than an interruption while he was in the middle of speaking, I chose that moment to push the door open a little farther, letting them see me standing there.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Kas! Kas!¡± Jaid cried in joy. As she leapt up from her place under the covers I stepped into the room, swinging the door out of the way just in time for her to avoid knocking herself out on its edge as she barrelled at me. She wrapped her arms round my waist and turned her face up to me for a kiss.


    Her twin brother, Jaroan, sat forwards in the bed with a tight smile on his face. I could tell how worried he¡¯d been. I gave him a thumbs-up while snuggling Jaid for a moment, and he gave me a bit of a hesitant one in return.


    There was a certain look to everyone¡¯s face, I¡¯d realised since coming home. Expectancy, like a kind of hunger.


    The shocks and wonders of the last hour. I was a bit crazy, for sure, but I wasn¡¯t insane ¨C not yet, at least. I had to come down to earth at some point; the trembling that kept coming over me would resurface in the middle of the night and I¡¯d puke my guts out. I knew I could close my eyes right now and see the thastubabil, the hag, the crawling things all over her body¡­ I could close my eyes and see a knife bouncing off the steps a split-second after I threw myself down¡­


    I could close my eyes and see Emrelet.


    The hardest part was done. I just had to collect.


    ¡°I think we¡¯re going to be okay,¡± I said to them.


    Jaid¡¯s hug tightened; I winced a bit again at the pressure against my sore ribs, but I didn¡¯t care. Jaroan¡¯s eyes closed, a shuddering smile on his lips. I could hear the changes in his breathing with Zel¡¯s gift, now I was concentrating, and it was as though he had only been able to stave off sleep until this very moment.


    This has been so hard on them.


    Orstrum sat up with a bit of a creak, and his leathery hand took my left. It was the wrong hand for me to shake hands with ¨C I had the other hand on Jaid¡¯s back ¨C but he took it anyway, clasping it tight.


    I looked into his rheumy eyes and was surprised to see tears running down the creases of his wrinkled face.


    Even more surprised to feel tears in the corner of my own eyes.


    No, not surprised.


    Hard on all of us.


    I blinked them away as well as I could, and took a seat on my own bed, moving Jaid around so she could keep clinging to me while I divested myself of my satchel and got comfy.


    Orstrum was still sitting up, and I could feel the tension in Jaid. She wasn¡¯t close to sleep yet.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let me interrupt you, old man,¡± I said.


    He smiled, and sat back.


    ¡°Well, when he drew his sword, that¡¯s when they lost it,¡± he said with a chuckle. ¡°They tried to charge him, and he just stood there, letting them come. One by one, two by two, three by three, it didn¡¯t matter. He moved, like a dancer, from one pose to another, and they missed, again and again. And every time they struck, his blade would flash, striking back at the hilts of their own weapons in just the right way to jar them, make them fall from the wielder¡¯s grip. One by one, two by two, three by three he disarmed them¡­¡±


    The old man¡¯s voice went on, and I drifted. I knew these stories by heart anyway. I was an avid reader, though these days the words tended to go in one ear and out the other ¨C or one eye and out the other ¨C however that went. But these stories I¡¯d read fifty times or more as a kid. Arreath Ril was the King of Time, one of the Five Founders, the original archmages who created Mund almost a thousand years ago. Maybe some of the first human archmages. It was the year 998 NE, the New Era, now; I wondered idly if the arch-diviner who had conceived the plans for this city had ever bothered to look ahead this far into the future, to see how things were doing, how his legacy held up. If any of the legends were true, that was.


    The time before the rise of Mund at the hands of the Five Founders we called the Age of Nightmares, marking it as ¡®PR¡¯ or Preceding-Realm on our calendars. All agreed that chaos had dominated the world for two to three thousand years. (We were unsure exactly how long, as reportedly the historians of the Drathdanii elves ¨C the world¡¯s most renowned lore-masters ¨C disagreed with each other most vehemently with regard to the timeline.) Ever since the close of the Golden Age, whenever it was, demons and empires of evil had owned the world ¨C until those five ridiculously-powerful archmages put an end to the strife. They tamed magic itself, so went the story, creating the rules which allowed ordinary mortals to access it.


    But in the centuries after the passing of the Founders, everything had changed. Was it inadvertent, or had they intended to allow the rich to pay for the ability to control reality? Their own children, by all accounts, had been archmages. But after a while it started to skip generations, then disappeared entirely, becoming random. It seemed more and more archmages were being granted their powers just like I had been, chosen by whatever grace of the gods or quirk of the universe made us what we were ¨C was this some kind of cosmic balancing act for their foolishness? The temerity of the Five Founders, in teaching magery itself? The more mages, the more archmages?


    I checked; Jaid was still awake, but she was starting to go. The old man was talking about the first time the Five came together, now.


    Arreath Ril, King of Time, the Sage.


    Nimmenvyl Olteron, Queen of Souls, the Mentalist.


    Litenwelt Kordaine, Lord of Demons, the Summoner.


    Brenwe Bathor, Lady of Life, the Healer.


    Wyre Eldervane, Master of Elements, the Builder.


    As Orstrum named them in the course of telling his tall tale, and reached the Builder, I realised that I had the answer to my first question. Our empire, the so-called Mundic Realm, reached thousands of miles into the East and West, and we traded with those various kingdoms on the borders which had, centuries ago, adopted our model of magically-outfitted armies in order to resist our conquest. Mund was the jewel of the world, and even our enemies came here to learn from us; their poor and rich alike settled in our city in their droves. Word on the streets was that there were between one and two million people here within these white, marble-like walls, and word from afar was that no metropolis had arisen to rival it, in all these years.


    But why make the city so small?


    Oh, it was absurdly overlarge. We were taught that the Founders had created the city to be the greatest ever to exist on our plane ¨C preceding their reign, during it, and forever afterwards. It was a near-perfect oval, apparently. The walls stood two hundred feet tall in all places, no matter the elevation of the foundation, a barrier so smooth as to be unscalable, boasting gleaming fortifications all along its rim. Those quartz city walls encompassed the hill and the valley below it, the hub where two rivers joined a third, greater river which wended its way down to the sea.


    But if Arreath had known ¨C if he had foreseen the city as it was now ¨C he would have instructed Wyre, the Builder, differently. Had the Founders recognised that a quarter of the city would be preserved as Treetown, used exclusively by nobles for manor-houses and little keeps and hunting-grounds, in what was probably the world¡¯s least-wild forest? Had they spared a thought for the million of us crammed into wooden hellholes? More arrived every day than left, at least two for one, word was. Here in Sticktown and the Lowtowns at least, it felt like the city was fit to burst. Our shallow sewers weren¡¯t fit for purpose; our apartment-blocks groaned under the burden of their occupants. The biggest city a virtual demigod-archmage could dream-up wasn¡¯t big enough.


    No. Arreath never saw this. And maybe he couldn¡¯t have, even if he¡¯d been real ¨C Zel had once explained, in the course of describing her powers to me, that even the strongest diviners couldn¡¯t see to the ends of time. The walls of the city might¡¯ve been raised by magic ¨C I wouldn¡¯t argue about that. But some grand plan? Some meaning, to all this mayhem? I harboured serious doubts. It was mostly lies. Twelve Hells, one of Arreath Ril¡¯s names was Father Time, the elf who left presents for children, cheap gifts wrapped with the skill of an inept older brother.


    I checked again; Jaid had dropped off. I looked at her sleeping face for a moment; she looked so different. So¡­ peaceful.


    ¡°¨C but Litenwelt drew out a special spell, and when they raised the archway they called it the ¡®Summer Door¡¯, because it was no simple archway, but a portal¡­¡±


    I met Orstrum¡¯s eyes and gave a gentle nod. He mouthed an ¡°oh¡± silently, then pressed a finger against his lips. Smiling, he creaked his way to his feet, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders.


    I manoeuvred my arm out from beneath Jaid¡¯s floppy head, laying her softly down onto my deftly-moved pillow. She curled up, and me and Orstrum exited the room as quietly as his popping joints would let us, blowing out the candle on the way.


    ¡°Gods, man, you sound like a firecracker,¡± I whispered as I closed the door to behind us, leaving it somewhat ajar. ¡°Don¡¯t they have something for that?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, a spade and six feet of soil,¡± he said, clapping me on the shoulder and laughing dryly at his own joke.


    ¡°That¡¯s not funny,¡± I said, frowning.


    ¡°What are you laughing about, old man?¡± Xantaire asked, getting to her feet and smoothing down her dress. ¡°It¡¯s way past your bedtime.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me; blame our young hero here.¡±


    She smiled beatifically at me, and I squirmed at the adulation.


    ¡°Look, Orstrum,¡± I mumbled, ¡°maybe it¡¯s time we talked about changing things up a bit. You really need a bed at night ¨C¡±


    ¡°No, Kastyr, I need a flat ¨C¡±


    ¡°A flat, hard thing to sleep on? Like a board? Like back in your youth?¡± I¡¯d heard this line of argument a dozen times. Some people acted twice their age and others acted half their age, but aside from him I¡¯d never heard of someone acting a quarter of their age. ¡°When was the last time you tried a bed? They¡¯re lovely and squishy, you know.¡±


    Orstrum shook his head, grinning. ¡°Look, my boy, I really appreciate the gesture¡­¡± Then he waved a hand at me and turned away.


    ¡°Leave him alone, Kas,¡± Xantaire said, stepping in, ¡°he can do what he pleases.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d have thought you¡¯d be on my side,¡± I said, a bit stung; ¡°if we found one, we could fit another bed ¨C¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± she whispered, getting close to me, ¡°but you aren¡¯t ever going to change his mind, and besides, I need to get in his good books.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Assuming tomorrow goes the way you think it will,¡± she said, not stopping to check how many tablespoons of scepticism to slather on top of her words, ¡°I¡¯ve got a new herb for him to try. Maybe something that¡¯ll actually work.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know how he hates ¨C¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± she hissed, ¡°and I want him in the best possible frame of mind to listen to what I have to say. So,¡± she suddenly raised her voice, ¡°you let my old man do what he wants, or you¡¯ll have me to answer to.¡±


    I smirked, and gave her a quick hug. Then I stifled a yawn. ¡°I need to crash, guys,¡± I said. ¡°Early start tomorrow.¡±


    We said our goodnights, then Xantaire went into my room for her son. She hefted Xastur and retreated with him still sleeping in her arms into their bedroom, then Morsus started moving the benches while Orstrum gathered blankets.


    Meanwhile, I borrowed the table-candle to light the stub in the fourth room, the wash-room that was little more than a cupboard. We had a newish toilet bucket, emancipated just last month from someone¡¯s doorstep when no one was looking, and it had no cracks in the wood yet. We were still in the sweet spot where it felt luxurious to be able to empty my bladder into a non-leaking bucket.


    Probably not something highborn have to worry about.


    I returned the candle to the table, went in and relieved myself, then stepped outside to dispose of its contents in the most-intact of the three nearby gutters. I blew out the wash-room candle before taking a pitcher and bowl to the doorstep and cleaning myself up ¨C the cool water on my face and under my arms was reinvigorating.


    By the time I crept into my room, Jaid had spread out a little, arms and legs akimbo, and it took all my strength and control to lift her and move her into the bed next to Jaroan without waking her. She wasn¡¯t so little anymore. Once I got her settled, I collapsed on my own bed and pulled off my boots.


    I was glad to have Zel¡¯s augmentation, allowing me to see in the nearly pitch-black room. There was a tiny glimmer of starlight making it through the curtain at the end of the room between the beds, but without the sight-boost I probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to get my sister tucked in without bonking her head on something.


    I stashed the knife that¡¯d been thrown at my back under my mattress at the foot of the bed, where it wouldn¡¯t disturb me, then I lay back under the covers, feeling the exhaustion creep over me. It was a delicious feeling ¨C knowing I was home, that I had sorted the problem, that I could relax now¡­ That I had met Emrelet¡­


    I still had the nagging memories of the struggles tonight had entailed. The¡­ closeness to death. But really, the closest I got was with the stupid Bagger Boys, and that could¡¯ve happened to anyone, anytime. Nothing that special about it.


    Anyone. Anytime.


    I extended my toes, pointing my feet at the bottom of the bed so my calves stretched. Simultaneously I bent my arms at the elbow then reached up, letting my shoulders out.


    ¡°Brondor, bless your poor servant with coin.¡±


    I almost moaned the prayer, then I closed my eyes.


    The night rushed over me, but they weren¡¯t the images I¡¯d expected. The room full of knives, a great wave of wine rushing through it. Puddles of blood in the alleyway, mounds of filth piled against the fences. Little Tanny Dengen, all grown up with his eyes wide in terror. Arreath Ril, running unharmed through a thousand enemies.


    It was as I felt myself slipping, falling into that open abyss of sleep: it was then that I saw her, my white wizard, exquisite as any painstakingly-carved statue, soaring, luxuriating in the magnitude of her power.


    As I knew I would, I dreamt of Emrelet.


    We walked along a beach. A sandy beach. I had never seen a real beach ¨C our river-beaches here were mostly rocks, which was apparently true even of the harbours of Salnifast, on the shores of the sea two miles away from the Treetown Gate. No, we got pebbles at best, and boulders more often than not.


    But I¡¯d had beaches described to me by the writings of dozens of travelling-writers, the scribes of the legends. I had imagined them in the past, of course. But this was unlike anything I¡¯d conceived before.


    We walked along a beach, but I was far behind. Heat permeated me, the air more like a hot bath than anything I¡¯d ever experienced. The sun was a lance piercing my eye when I cast my gaze aloft, radiating ten brilliant blades of glare that flickered across the unblemished blue sky. Emrelet walked where the crushed pearl met the gently-lapping sapphires, and with her white robe and pale hair she would have been invisible to me except that she would at times step into the waves, disturb the perfection of the unbroken shoreline.


    She broke the shoreline and the sapphires became onyx shards. I tried to walk towards her.


    She¡¯s always in front of me ¨C I can run, I can summon hordes of demons to claw and crawl in an endless race to reach her ¨C I can sweat, stifle, drown in the overheated waters of the air ¨C I can do it all and still I can advance less than one step, less than one hair towards her.


    The mouth of the sea opens.


    It¡¯s black, I see, beneath: black and raw. Not blue, as I had imagined, hoped, believed. The abyss is empty and it is immense and it will devour Emrelet. Devour us all, if it has chance. If we are less strong than we need to be.


    She strides into the sea; waters part before her so that she walks a steep path downwards, on the dry bed of the ocean.


    Miles and miles of descent in the darkness await her, taking her to places that have never known breath, love, light.


    I can move. I can run.


    I give chase.


    Chase though the sand becomes a desert of glass-shards, though it becomes an infinite terrain of dunes standing like mountains in my path.


    And I stand on the shore, where she disappeared.


    Jaid takes one of my hands and Jaroan the other.


    ¡°Death,¡± they say.


    Now I walk through grass. I recognise this place. The only nature I have ever really gotten to know. My bare feet are availed of the softness of soil, of the gentle caress of green blades¡¯ kisses. Here I can rest.


    ¡°We could rest, Kassy,¡± says Mum, taking Jaroan from me, pressing him to her side.


    ¡°Before you came,¡± says Dad, taking Jaid.


    I cry out to the twins. Come! Come back to me.


    But their faces are gone, shrouded by the black clothing worn by my parents.


    I¡¯m there again, kicking their gravestone. I¡¯m there again, suddenly sensing their corpses down below, hearing their voices echoing in my mind.


    I can feel it. Their undead flesh stirs in their coffins six feet beneath me.


    ¡°We died,¡± says Mum.


    Jaroan is gone entirely now, melded into her.


    ¡°Because of you,¡± says Dad.


    Jaid is gone too.


    This time when I flee, I don¡¯t encounter any faerie queen and faun. I¡¯m being chased. The trees have no betweens, no way-throughs, no places I don¡¯t rip at my clothes and skin with every onward step. Is it the walking dead behind me? Is it the hideous hag? Is it my childhood friend, being ordered to kill me because I know his face? I hurl myself through thorns to escape but when I escape I¡¯m soon to die from my self-inflicted wounds.


    ¡°If only you had been there instead.¡±


    ¡°You could have done something.¡±


    ¡°You could be dead instead of me.¡±


    ¡°Instead of us.¡±


    But this time when I go instead of them, rather than being killed by a street-thief like they had been, I summon the kinkalaman, and command it to bisect the vile human standing before me. I slay him. Slay him. Toras.


    I stand on the shores of the sea and it opens for me too. The darkness. The everlasting night beneath the waves.


    Now there is no one to hold me back. No little warm hands in mine to remind me of this. This world, up here, above the silence that beckoned me.


    And so I step beneath, and am devoured.

 To the Golden Leaves

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.5: TO THE GOLDEN LEAVES</h2>


    ¡°I always thought I could be a force for good¡­ in spite of all my powers I never knew I had the capacity for such evil. Yet in the end, the scales balance. That¡¯s all anyone can ask. To go to their death, uncertain of their destination. And that¡¯s all I ask from you. What she took in my stead. What I deserve.¡±


    ¨C from Zandrina and the Vampire in ¡®Elturiel¡¯s Collected Fairytales¡¯


    The dream receded swiftly as I awoke. The first thought on my mind was horror at the thought of waking up past noon and missing my appointment with Emrelet. A quick glance out the window at the pre-dawn darkness quickly relieved that particular fear; I guessed I¡¯d not overslept. I was even going to be able to keep my appointment with Belexor, although I had to admit I was looking forward to that particular meeting even less than I had when I¡¯d suggested it, given the tension that¡¯d resurfaced last night after we¡¯d already made the deal. Thanks to Ciraya it¡¯d become obvious he¡­ had a thing for Emrelet too, and that couldn¡¯t bode well for my relationship with the druid-magister.


    My local, night-shift druid-magister. Probably the one single guy in all the city most likely to be there if I got in trouble, the one guy who could heal me if I was on my way out ¨C and odds were good he hated my guts.


    Yeah.


    I checked my injuries from last night in the gloomy light, verifying that the bruises on my upper body were healing nicely. They didn¡¯t even feel tender anymore, and my knees and shins all looked fine. All thanks to my irrepressible little passenger.


    Everyone else seemed to be asleep. I could pick out Jaid and Jar¡¯s breathing without any hassle, but Orstrum and Morsus were trickier, especially given that Xantaire was snoring her head off, easily drowning out Xastur. Ordinarily, of course, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to discern most of the sounds outside my bedroom, but Zel¡¯s gift gave me the hearing of an animal when I focussed.


    It was a two-edged sword, as I discovered when I retrieved the book I¡¯d secreted beneath my mattress and tried to extract some meaning from its arcane texts. Zel had told me off for not keeping up with my studies, but it was so difficult. I could hardly read a book like this one in the main room, or where someone else would see me ¨C even if I removed the ghastly-looking covers, the very script used in the thin pamphlet would draw the eye. It was inked in a deep, dark crimson on yellowed pages, and the style of the handwriting was itself an enigma, rendering each word almost indecipherable without proper care and attention. I did do my best, but things had been so hectic ¨C perhaps once everything settled down again, I¡¯d really be able to get into this whole sorcery-thing. I¡¯d have to find somewhere either properly silent, or loud enough not to distract me, though. Listening to a chorus of predictable light snoring, punctuated by what felt like a blast from a trombone every six seconds, was not going to cut it.


    At least I could skip all the incantations and reagents; that was half or more of each section rendered totally obsolete by my archmagery, praise be to Locus.


    I did manage to glean some useful lore. It seemed the shields could be reinforced by drawing stars inside them. The difficult part would lie in ensuring that the lines comprising these inner stars were perfectly straight, didn¡¯t bend or clip the other lines. Each star would improve each shield, and each shield could hold multiple stars, each with five, seven or nine points¡­ reinforcing the innermost wards would be the easiest and most-effective, in comparison with the outer shields, at least until a critical mass of stars was reached¡­


    But it couldn¡¯t just say that. Oh no, it had to be all ¡®only upon the completion of the primary conjuration may you apply and affix any secondary fortification-factors¡¯ (once you¡¯ve started making a shield, finish it before starting the star inside it?) and ¡®ascertain all vertices comprising the self-intersecting equilateral and equiangular polygons intersect the delineation set by the primary conjuration without extrusion¡¯ (don¡¯t make the stars so big they stick through the shields, but make sure their points do stick to the shields?)¡­ Twelve Hells, this material got more and more dense, less and less comprehensible every paragraph. The diagrams ¨C mercifully hook-free ¨C were rather helpful, as silly as it made me feel to admit it to myself.


    Sunrise wasn¡¯t some beautiful thing with reds and pinks ¨C not here in the cloying air of Sticktown, where a hundred other buildings blocked your sight no matter where you were. No, sunrise was the black sky slowly becoming a drab grey, then a slightly less drab grey, until if you were lucky it was a nice-looking shade of grey by noon. In the height of summer, you¡¯d see the sun without clouds for a few hours. But it was well into autumn and heading for winter ¨C it was the twenty-third of Orovost, the tenth month, today. Those heady summer afternoons were long gone already, and not soon to return.


    All that said, I was on watch for that telling drab greyness, and as soon as it hit dawn I got up. Xastur had awoken a little bit ago, so Xantaire, Xastur and I spent the next minutes traipsing between the wash-room and the front door, getting fresh water from the well, getting cleaned-up and properly dressed. We picked the route between Morsus and Orstrum¡¯s sleeping forms with practised ease and our customary quietness. We¡¯d been doing this so long now that it¡¯d become an art-form; Morsus and Orstrum were always the last to rise, and we did our best to avoid disturbing them. It was in our best interests to be careful, anyway. No one wanted a repeat of the dropped toilet-bucket incident.


    I struck a dwarf-match and lit the candle in the bedroom, then opened the curtains and woke Jaroan and Jaid by pressing a piece of crusty bread into their hands. I finished my bit as they came around, realised what they were holding, and shoved it into their mouths almost simultaneously.


    I grinned as I saw that. Undoubtedly there were a hundred things they were dying to say, but food filled you up better than attention.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to go out again,¡± I said immediately, taking advantage of the relative silence of two children destroying dry bread. I saw the crestfallen looks that instantly swept across their faces, the pause in the chewing, and I held out my empty hands, palms towards them and fingers splayed. I knew it was a bit brutal, but I had to get on my way if I was going to keep my word. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but this is it. I¡¯ve got to get the money, you understand? And there¡¯s some real prospects for me ¨C maybe some steady income. Today¡¯s a big deal for us.¡±


    Jaroan swallowed his bread. ¡°I get it,¡± he said.


    It made me sad, to hear a nine year old speaking like that, but there was a part of me that was glad too; I wished he¡¯d sounded less meek, less upset when he said it, but he¡¯d really tried to do the grown-up thing.


    Jaid just looked upset. As I glanced across at her she continued to munch her bread, and I could virtually see the optimism leaking out of her.


    I spread my arms, hands still out. ¡°Come here,¡± I said, and crouched a little as they both came into my embrace.


    I held them close for a minute, my eyes shut. I couldn¡¯t see their faces, couldn¡¯t check whether this was a reassuring or worrying thing for me to do. To a degree, I didn¡¯t care. I needed the hug as much or more than they did.


    ¡°We¡¯ll do everything you were looking forward to later on,¡± I promised, pulling back a little so I could see them but still keeping them close. ¡°I bet you guys wanted to have a battle, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Jaid¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°You¡¯ll play?¡±


    ¡°I want you on my side,¡± Jar insisted immediately.


    ¡°No way!¡± Jaid screeched, punching him in the arm.


    Her twin bristled, stiffening up.


    How they¡¯d gone from placidness to such clamour in the matter of a few seconds was beyond me.


    ¡°Woah!¡± I cried. ¡°We¡¯ve got people sleeping in the next room, you clods.¡± That got their attention, and they both looked back at me. ¡°I¡¯ll play against both of you. You¡¯ve got till this afternoon to come up with a plan of attack, because anything I overhear you saying while we fight I will use against you.¡±


    Within a few sentences I¡¯d turned them from bitter enemies into co-conspirators. I saw Jaid looking up at the ceiling, doubtless already formulating some devious assault. Jaroan started grinning.


    I was going to have to let them win, I knew already: lose the battle to win the war and keep the peace. If I won they¡¯d only blame each other, and this would¡¯ve all been for nothing.


    ¡°Xantaire¡¯s going to feed you, okay?¡± Again, I took advantage of the reprieve they¡¯d granted me. ¡°See you later.¡± I messed up their hair by way of parting with a quick flurry of my hands, grabbed my satchel and turned to leave.


    ¡°Beat you later!¡± Jaroan retorted.


    As I went out through the bedroom door I glanced at them, and Jaid¡¯s sudden quietude was both encouraging and alarming. Much more alarming than Jaroan¡¯s bravado. He was good at the game, but she was better. Maybe I wouldn¡¯t get a choice as to whether I won or lost, this time¡­ which was long past due. The battle would be more fun if it was more challenging, anyway.


    I waved to Xantaire and Xastur and left the apartment. I was wearing my other set of clothes, the colours inverted ¨C a green tunic and blue trousers. The ones from last night were now under my bed, too soiled for me to wear, and I hadn¡¯t had time to do a wash. But after what had happened last night, I felt naked without my robe. The hooded robe, the scarf¡­ these simple things that were in themselves nothing ¨C thin layers of cloth, not even as thick as furs ¨C but when they let me go about with a shield floating invisibly around me, they were better than any armour money could buy.


    Last night. I had been stupid, last night. If I was going to do this, I had to take the risk of death seriously.


    And I could really do with a replacement explosive dagger, for those times when even archmagery wouldn¡¯t cut it.


    The sky gave me half an hour or so until I needed to be at the Giltergrove. I wanted to change, but it couldn¡¯t be here. I set off, down the stairs towards the ground.


    Zel?


    ¡°Well hello there.¡±


    We¡¯re on the way to meet our favourite druid.


    ¡°To the Giltergrove?¡±


    That¡¯s what he said. The Autumn Door shrine itself, I suppose he meant.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been before.¡±


    Me too, two or three times. It used to look massive when I was little.


    ¡°That might have something to do with it being a hundred feet tall, you know.¡±


    I suppose. Have you been to the others?


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Zel, how old are you?


    ¡°You should know better than to ask a lady her age,¡± she chided with a laughing tone.


    The Mud Laners had partied hard last night, like any Fullday night, and it was Starday now, the first day of the weekend, so there was hardly anyone moving around here. They¡¯d need to sleep in to ensure they were fighting fit for tonight¡¯s revelries, after all. A gang of scrawny kids playing fivestones against a wall and yelling. A few drunkards trying to slumber on the edge of the street¡¯s slop. That was all.


    I headed out of the lane the same way I¡¯d come home last night, itching to change. It was a normal overcast day and a bit chilly, but it would soon warm up. Just moving kept me from feeling the cold.


    What is the Door, anyway? I asked to pass the time while I walked.


    ¡°You seriously don¡¯t know?¡±


    No, I mean ¨C I know they used to be portals and everything. But what¡¯s the Door actually made of?


    ¡°It¡¯s made from eldritch energy, obviously; it¡¯s not green in its natural form. I could tell you about its frequency and planar clock, but if you aren¡¯t doing your reading anyway ¨C¡±


    Hey now! I do my work while you sleep. I¡¯ve learned some more-advanced shield techniques this morning¡­ hopefully.


    ¡°So long as it doesn¡¯t backfire like the first advanced technique you tried.¡±


    You promised you weren¡¯t going to talk about that!


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but Olbru didn¡¯t really appreciate that trip to Infernum, however momentary. You aren¡¯t even supposed to be able to do that.¡±


    I was so new to this back then. Trust me, I¡¯m going to get a handle on it.


    The scent in the alley behind Hontor and Sons was overpowering at this time of day. I was supposed to have the senses of an animal, not the drool-generating capacity of an animal, but the fresh bread smell was a wave of warmth and comfort that made my stomach develop vocal chords.


    ¡°Stuff it,¡± I growled aloud with my actual vocal chords, and despite the relative openness of this alleyway I reached into my satchel for my robe. Everything was tied together. The smell of the bread and the meeting with Belexor. Becoming a champion and keeping my promises to the magistry would end up earning me money, which would give me food. Never mind clothing and other fanciful things, I had to keep my eyes on the real prize. Food.


    With a little shudder of satisfaction, I became Feychilde.


    I walked slowly down the remainder of the alleyway, practising at persuading a five-pointed star to sit securely within my circle. The glowing lines only I could see were wavering too much, and it was hard to get them dead-on when it came to the points meeting the edge of the shield without going through it. Twice I had to stop waving my arms and start walking purposefully, mage-like, as people opened gates from their yards into the alley, moving rubbish or emptying their buckets. Only one of them actually seemed to look at me, and one glance was enough to send them scurrying back inside with their bin at best half-emptied, gate slamming and locking behind them.


    Mages weren¡¯t precisely colour-coded, but you could take a good guess at some, and anyone with a dark-ish robe was probably one of the ones you¡¯d want to avoid if you were invested in living a nice, uninteresting life. It seemed I might need a bit of a change of wardrobe once I came into some cash. It wasn¡¯t that I minded intimidating people, but it¡¯d probably be better if I had a choice about it. The last thing I wanted was a reputation for being a thug. Green would go with the whole fey-shtick, but it was typically a druid-colour. Which could confuse my opponents in battle¡­


    I exited the alley, and for the first time in my life I walked as a mage through the streets in broad daylight.


    The sun shone a dim but harsh light on the streets of Lord¡¯s Knuckle. As much as one might expect night-time to draw out a certain¡­ class of person, they were mostly still here now, some still drinking, and they¡¯d been reinforced by the morning drunkards. No, the darkness had only served to hide the worst of the city¡¯s grime from view.


    But the effect of the mage¡¯s attire was even more noticeable than at night. I drew looks ¨C but only one look apiece. Most people turned their heads away once they saw me, those with companions coming up with things to talk about, those alone suddenly finding their footing or the things they carried very interesting and worthy of detailed observation. Acting how I¡¯d always acted around mages, basically.


    I tried not to enjoy this feeling, but it was really difficult.


    Trains of wagons went past me, pulled by four horses apiece, bringing hundreds of hard-labourers up towards the forges and furnaces in Hilltown and Hightown; the drivers were dwarves, short and stocky chaps with beards that covered their knees, dressed in leather smithing aprons and colourful caps. Guildsmen in equally-garish colours stood talking while apprentice woodworkers carried stacks of planks from the back of a cart into a shop. Traders were beginning to make noises about their products: cries of ¡°come get yer fish, so fresh, this fella¡¯s still gawping!¡± and ¡°get yer mint here ladies, gents, fresh breath all day, guaranteed!¡± rang out into the air. My nose picked out stable-boys carrying pails of dung, and sanitation crews of sullen-eyed prisoners chained at the ankle being directed by officials in fine red-and-black livery. Someone had let their pigs get loose, and a river of them poured right up the thoroughfare against the flow of the traffic, more pigs in ten seconds than I¡¯d seen people since leaving my front door. Although I pitied whoever was responsible, I couldn¡¯t help but smile in a moment of smugness ¨C their day was going to be fun.


    I brought my arm inside my sleeve to access my satchel, then approached the boy with the crate of mint and offered him one of the copper pieces of the five I¡¯d brought with me ¨C a fair chunk of my stash. He looked up at me in silence, mouth open. His hand moved as if automatically to take the money but his arm stayed there afterwards, hanging in the air, and his eyes didn¡¯t leave my scarf-shrouded face.


    I waited a moment, but he was still staring, unblinking.


    ¡°It¡¯s not charity, lad,¡± I said, trying to affect the gruff voice of an older man.


    He jolted, and shoved twice as much mint as I needed into my hand. ¡°Sorry, mister ¨C I mean, m¡¯lord,¡± he mumbled.


    Being thought of as highborn ¨C that made it easier to not enjoy this feeling. I frowned beneath my scarf.


    ¡°You¡¯re not a charity either, you know,¡± I said, shoving most of what he¡¯d given me back into the crate.


    If anything he just looked more shocked.


    Chewing on a bit of mint, I checked the time on the clock in a square, then made my way southwards on the straight, wide Lowtown Road. The Giltergrove was located in Sticktown, but it was near North Lowtown, and despite the gigantic trees and portal I never really got to see the place, even though it was no more than three-quarters of a mile from Mud Lane. Many of the buildings between home and the Giltergrove approached it in height, so we only got to see it accidentally from a distance when we were wandering up in Hilltown or Hightown, where the upper classes commanded a clear view of the poor districts.


    I couldn¡¯t even remember for sure if we¡¯d taken Jaid and Jaroan. I knew I¡¯d pointed it out once or twice from Anvil Row on the hill, the Door rising out of the smog like a distant green smear ringed with gold, but there¡¯d been no right time to actually visit the place since that we became I. I had no skills except those of any gutter-lurker, and even though I knew my letters and numbers, that was common-enough these days that it wasn¡¯t going to get me work as a scribe or whatever, especially given my lowborn status. I had to spend every day scrounging up every morsel of money or food I could. My main form of employment completely sucked ¨C I sorted veg, primarily potatoes and carrots, for a living ¨C one of those ¡®turn up and get paid¡¯ deals. They even let me bring the twins, which was a bonus as far as the pay was concerned; though they only got the child-rate, two pennies a day. But at least it was regular. It was just a relief to not be going today. Building this champion thing up into a career took precedence now ¨C a way to get the money to protect my brother and sister¡¯s futures.


    And maybe soon I¡¯d get chance to bring them down here. Money gave you leisure time, right? Perhaps we could even visit the Spring Door, and see Habburat at last.


    I¡¯d probably not been so far from here last night, hunting the cannibals. I could hear the river again as I made my approach, but it was only due to Zel¡¯s influence that I could discern its soft roar through the noise of the morning traffic. This road was much like all the others by now, already thick with people and animals making their way somewhere or other. But going about as a mage had another benefit ¨C people tried to give me a wide berth, allowing me to walk an almost direct path in the otherwise-tangled streets. And I had the reassurance of knowing that anyone who wished me harm wouldn¡¯t get closer than a couple of feet away ¨C the little circle, complete with an almost perfectly-formed star, rotated happily around me, bobbing up and down as I mounted and dismounted the kerbs.


    ¡°¡¯Scoose me, mistah,¡± came a squeaky voice from beside me. I was aware of my sleeve being snagged, but there was no one there ¨C


    No, there was. I looked down to see the mud-covered, red-haired girl whose little fist held my sleeve, looking up at me with an unafraid, imploring expression. She was just five or six years old, face covered in freckles, wearing an overlarge cotton dress with woolly leggings beneath.


    ¡°Ah ¨C yes?¡± I didn¡¯t really know how to respond to this.


    She didn¡¯t reply at first; she half-turned away from me, and, keeping the one hand on my sleeve, pointed with a grubby little finger.


    The road was beginning to broaden ¨C I¡¯d gotten close to my destination, and there were trees standing here and there within patches of dirt. The tree the girl indicated was pretty big ¨C thirty feet or so ¨C and I saw immediately that it contained one extremely-scrawny black and white cat.


    You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.


    ¡°Missymoo got stuck,¡± the girl explained, more a plea than a statement.


    It wasn¡¯t that I was annoyed at the thought of rescuing a cat from a tree; it wasn¡¯t that it was beneath me, or anything like that. It was more that I was a magician of one of those sorts which were completely unsuited to the task ¨C well, if I had some kind of flying fey that was big enough¡­ But I didn¡¯t.


    I started with Flood Boy. He tried creating arcs of ice, like slides joining the branch near the cat to the ground; his target merely switched branches.


    Face grim, he prepared to climb.


    He was an excellent jumper, and though his hooves provided no grip on the bark his impressive upper-body strength gave him the leverage he needed to climb to the right branch, slide out to the cat.


    The cat reacted, lashing out and drawing blood.


    The faun feinted to the left but Missymoo retreated, her reflexes letting her put a few wounds on his forearm in retaliation.


    Flood Boy got his breath back and went in again, using his knees to grip the branch as he moved, left-right, left-right.


    It was what the cat had been waiting for.


    She leapt on his face, and it was a full five seconds before he managed to get free of her claws, shredding his skin in the process.


    After four attempts and at least ten times that many lacerations, I allowed Flood Boy to retreat to the otherworld and mend himself with, in his own words, copious amounts of beverage.


    I should have given up already. The onlookers were already getting rowdy, more and more passers-by becoming not-passers-by every instant. But I couldn¡¯t help myself.


    I gave the goblins a go.


    Their parchment wouldn¡¯t work with the sun out, so they set to climbing. They too were apt to the task in the opposite fashion, their spidery fingers giving them an easy time gripping the nooks and creases in the tree¡¯s trunk. They made their way quickly to the cat¡¯s branch.


    ¡°Hey! Hey, what¡¯re you doing to that cat?¡±


    Someone behind me had started shouting, and things rapidly worsened from there.


    I had to admit, it didn¡¯t look good. I was standing here, all high-and-mighty-looking, clearly directing two very filthy, menacing goblins in what must¡¯ve looked like the kidnap of an innocent animal. An old woman yelled, ¡°Don¡¯t eat ¡®im, yer lordship, ¡¯e¡¯s naught but skin ¡®n¡¯ bones!¡± This prompted a middle-aged man on the other side of the street to come to a stop and shout, ¡°Bloody mages!¡±


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I love how much this is going to plan,¡± Zel observed.


    I sent my eldritches away, but the little girl wouldn¡¯t even speak in my favour, just staring at me nonplussed as over a dozen people came to a standstill to berate me. A pair of watchmen were standing by, eyeing me warily. At least the girl didn¡¯t contradict me when I explained the situation.


    Of course, the cat chose the moment when I was at my most frustrated, my back to the tree and my voice shaking as I protested my innocence, to descend all of its own accord.


    ¡°Missymoo!¡± the girl squealed, running forward and hugging her cat. Missymoo replied with a half-bored, half-irritated meow, licking the blood from her claws.


    The little crowd dispersed almost instantly as I approached the girl, people suddenly realising either that I was right all along, or at least that they had better things to be doing than watching a rookie mage embarrass himself working with animals. The watchmen were the last to depart, their glares only fading slightly before they turned their heads and went on their way.


    I supposed I was just hoping for a brief thank you or something, but the last thing I expected as I stepped forwards was for the cat to get pushed right out of the girl¡¯s hands, my shield shoving it inexorably away from me, over her shoulder and onto the dirt behind her.


    ¡°Moo!¡± she admonished her pet, wagging the grubby finger. Missymoo looked back up at the girl in astonishment; for once the cat wasn¡¯t to blame, but she wasn¡¯t going to escape her telling-off.


    Wow. I hadn¡¯t expected a hostile cat to register on the shield¡¯s senses. Ill-will, really? Dogs, horses, pigs ¨C no problem. But cats? Cats could be evil.


    I didn¡¯t stick around for a thank-you or even a glance of gratitude. The people around me had better things to be doing and I did too. If I didn¡¯t hurry I¡¯d be running late, now. Just getting to the Door once I¡¯d reached the Giltergrove would be a matter of several more minutes.


    Zel was right ¨C this had all backfired terribly, and I was thankful that I wasn¡¯t wearing the robes I¡¯d ultimately be known for wearing as Feychilde. I hoped over the coming weeks no one would draw a link between the appearance of a new arch-sorcerer and the failed cat-wrangler.


    I was content when I saw my destination coming into view over the nearby houses and shops, after just a minute more of walking. A looming golden presence, behind the buildings. The smog was less bad here, less noticeable.


    The Giltergrove had a ring of neatly-trimmed grass around it, fifty feet wide, allowing the immensity of these magnificent creations to truly dwarf the man (or gnome the dwarf, I supposed) who happened to pass by. It was like the Giltergrove had a circle-shield akin to my own; it certainly looked as though something stopped the locals from infringing on this ring of grass. Though there was no visible barrier or guard, it was plain to the eye when you could turn slightly and see the road not ten feet from the edge of the grass, already clogged with the stalls and booths of loud-voiced street-salesmen.


    It was probably just one of those unspoken, known-of things around here: flaunt your wares on the grass and get to have a lovely little chat with a druid and his pet pack of barely-restrained wolves¡­ or just get flooded out by bird-droppings, lovingly deposited by a flock assigned by spell to fly above your head until you leave.


    The trees weren¡¯t natural; they had been a gift from the high elves, grown from seeds taken from Etherium. The bark itself looked like solid gold, without even the textures and imperfections of ordinary bark. Each tree differed slightly in shape, the number and placement of the branches and so on, but this didn¡¯t stop me getting the impression each of the trees had come out of a mould, sublimely wrought by meticulous craftsmen rather than simply grown. The golden leaves never fell, never bent to the whims of seasons or storm-winds. It gave an aura of permanence, of faultless eternity.


    And these trees hid the Autumn Door, which, if the stories were true, was the gateway to one of the long-lost realms¡­ Chadoath, Shirion; the sources didn¡¯t agree which, and I was probably getting them mixed up in my head. The Doors were all mysterious ¨C except, I supposed, the Spring Door which still regularly transported people to and from Habburat, Mund¡¯s sister-city ¨C but there were plenty of other mysteries to go round. It wasn¡¯t easy to keep the esoteric lore straight, especially when you picked up half of what you knew from word-of-mouth.


    I made my way around the ring, following the road. It would take a quarter of an hour to walk right around the Giltergrove, but I didn¡¯t have to go that far. The traders here were hawking all sorts of goods aimed at rich tourists and pilgrims alike: little fake-gold trees, cuddly toy druids and animals of woven wool¡­ It wasn¡¯t long until I saw the path, a neat dirt track cutting through the fifty feet of grass into the strange shadows of the trees.


    Where the path met the pavement there stood an archway, shaped from the entwined branches of two small, non-gold trees. Beneath it there were two druids of the Shining Circle. The nearest was an elf-woman who¡¯d have been in her thirties had she been human (who knew how old she actually was) with curly brown hair tucked behind her pointy ears. The other was a human chap about twice her apparent age and nearly a foot shorter than her, his grey hair and beard so thick and so mingled it looked more like a silvery mane. They both wore green and brown robes, nothing too remarkable; their belts, though, were coiled ropes of brilliant golden material ¨C they couldn¡¯t have been cheap.


    I approached, and I saw the druidess straighten at her post.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stuff this up.¡±


    I smiled beneath the scarf.


    Nothing¡¯s ever easy.


    ¡°How may I assist you?¡± the elf asked, the phrase perfunctory but with no boredom in her tone. She looked at me as if she could pierce my disguise with her mere gaze. ¡°We aren¡¯t accepting visitors until noon today.¡±


    She has to know I¡¯m not a simple visitor, right?


    ¡°I¡¯m here to meet Belexor,¡± I said brightly; ¡°he¡¯s a magister and he said he¡¯d expect me at the Autumn Door.¡±


    I looked across at the man, and he was just looking out at the road, either affecting complete disinterest or just tired ¨C his eyes looked a bit red. Perhaps it¡¯d been a heavy night. I¡¯d heard stories about druid parties; they had a reputation for taking it too far, maybe because they were uniquely, magically equipped to deal with the repercussions. I wondered if he might¡¯ve prepared the wrong spells and was now having to face the consequences.


    ¡°Belexor?¡± the woman repeated, as if confused, but then went on, ¡°Ah yes. The young Master Ishemen; he¡¯s been here all night. You are expected, sorcerer. Your name?¡±


    I hesitated. To what lengths would Belexor go to betray me? Would he have given them my real name? Surely not. These druids weren¡¯t actually part of the Magisterium.


    ¡°Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Excellent,¡± she said at once. ¡°Congratulations on the Cannibal Six capture.¡± She spoke so unenthusiastically, I would¡¯ve preferred her not to say anything at all.


    Still, it was interesting. The news has spread already, on the formal channels.


    The elf stepped aside, gesturing to the path behind her leading straight into the trees. ¡°Can you make your own way, or¡­?¡±


    She left it hanging, making her personal preference obvious.


    ¡°Of course,¡± I said, nodding. ¡°I am indebted to you, honourable druidess.¡±


    She smiled stiffly as I passed her, then stepped back in to block the way behind me once more as I continued up the path.


    ¡°Did you have to do that?¡±


    It¡¯s no fun if I can¡¯t wind them up a little bit.


    ¡°They already won¡¯t like you because of the sorcery, and being a lowborn archmage just makes you unpredictable, uncontrollable, in their eyes. Do we really need to make it worse?¡±


    I laughed aloud.


    My dear, don¡¯t you know me?


    ¡°Laughing to yourself like that, when a worm in earshot could be a druid exercising their abilities? And you told the Cannibal Six they gave sorcerers a bad reputation. Look at you, contributing to the sorcerers-are-all-crazy ideation.¡±


    Hey! Don¡¯t equate talking to yourself with being crazy ¨C with eating people. Seeing druids in the grass? Now that¡¯s just paranoid.


    The path was unblemished, a section of dirt five feet wide that was free of any presence of weed or grass, not encroached-on in the slightest as it cut like an arrow, pointing me at the gap between two of the massive, gold-pillar-like trees.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure there¡¯s a few. Some of these worms aren¡¯t behaving like worms.¡±


    You¡¯re a little bit scary, you know that?


    As soon as the path took me within the bounds of the trees, everything changed.


    It wasn¡¯t exactly that there was music on the breeze, but it felt like that. The breeze was conspicuously warm, and hadn¡¯t been present just a moment or two earlier, like it was permanently trapped within this golden web formed by the trees, carrying the noises of the rushing wings of birds, their playful chirps and caws. The air even smelt different, as though the noxious fumes of the city had been purged right out of it, replaced with the delicate aromas of musty loam, fragrant roses, and something almost buttery I couldn¡¯t place.


    There were the usual bushes knotting the areas between the trees. Although the foliage was mundane, it still glimmered faintly under the reflected light of its gigantic gold guardians. I caught sight of the odd deer, and heard rabbits hopping in the undergrowth. Though this place looked like it would surely be a playground for them I saw no signs of any fey beasties. Here and there, I did spot a few ponds, well-maintained and iridescent with the darting shapes of fish beneath their surfaces; frogs dined freely on an abundance of insect life as they lounged on the large, mossy stones around the edges of the pools.


    What do you think she meant, he¡¯s been here all night?


    ¡°Well gosh, you see night ends when the sun rises, and ¨C¡±


    You¡¯re in a good mood today, aren¡¯t you? Pleasant dreams?


    ¡°We don¡¯t dream like you; we go home, remember.¡±


    Well¡­ things going smoothly in your otherworld?


    Zel went quiet for a moment, then, ¡°Not particularly, Kas. I¡¯m just glad to be back.¡±


    Is¡­ is that anything you want to talk about?


    Again it took her a moment to respond, then ¨C


    ¡°Not particularly,¡± she repeated.


    O-kay¡­ So, as for Belexor ¨C do you think it might¡¯ve taken him all night to prepare for something he pretended was simple? I sensed her general disapproval and immediately qualified: Not that I¡¯d, you know, use it against him or anything¡­


    She didn¡¯t deign to reply. I didn¡¯t suppose I deserved one, really.


    It was only a couple of minutes before we emerged into the meadow, and I beheld this sacred place armed with an all-encompassing perception I never would¡¯ve dreamed to possess when I last visited, as a naive child. Vague memories became something else entirely: a kind of dreamlike reality, everything too distinct to be unreal yet unreal by its very nature.


    The golden trees stood in a perfect circle like vast shining walls, each area of the broad swathe of land they protected devoted to the cultivation of different grasses and flowers, bushes and shrubs, even crops and lichens. No hedges or fences were needed; things grew only where they were told, I supposed. I saw no animals, here, except the spider-silk tracing lines like threads of gold between the rushes, webs fat with dragonflies, dangling jewels shifting colours as they swayed in that same enthralling breeze.


    And facing me in the centre, dead ahead of me, was the Autumn Door.


    The base of the immense portal was obscured by the shrine itself: a two-storey structure moulded from living trees around the Door¡¯s foot, pale bark similar to that of a silver birch, grown into a temple of delicate domes and gently-shaped pillars. But the Door soared out of its centre, eclipsing the beauty of the temple with the awesome presence of a perfectly-formed rectangle bursting up into the sky like a wall of living green fire, a sea of crashing emerald waves suspended vertically in a single scintillating curtain.


    Enclosing the green eldritch energy was a thick structure like a white door-frame, defining the rectangular shape, wrought from the same marble-like material that made up the walls of Mund. The faces of this massive door-frame would have seemed impeccably smooth, except that they were etched with symbols ¨C designs similar to ones I¡¯d seen in my sorcerous tome ¨C of such gargantuan size they were recognisable even from here.


    I¡¯m stupid.


    ¡°Keep telling yourself. One day it¡¯ll sink in.¡±


    I should¡¯ve brought the twins down here already. I forgot how cool it was. It¡¯ll take longer to get here later in the day¡­ we¡¯ll have to queue up with everyone else¡­ but it¡¯ll be worth it.


    ¡°I think they¡¯d love that. Just hope you don¡¯t run into Belexor. He¡¯d give you a hard time, what with the secret identity and all.¡±


    You never know. We might turn out to be best buddies.


    ¡°Remember what you said a minute ago?¡±


    I sighed inwardly.


    As I got closer and closer to the Autumn Door I lowered my gaze, trying to take in all the myriad scents of the vegetation, the crackling hum I felt more than heard, resonating in the air; something I suspected that was due to my proximity to the Door itself. An uncomfortable impression anyone would receive, perhaps? Or just maybe it was reserved for mages ¨C or sorcerers, or archmages. An interaction between powers.


    Or maybe this was why I¡¯d seen no fey here ¨C I was getting something from my faerie queen¡¯s side, some feedback from her powers, sensing a disturbance from the interaction of her presence and the Door¡­?


    Zel sighed.


    What is it? I asked at once.


    ¡°Keep telling yourself. One day it¡¯ll sink in.¡±


    So I¡¯m wrong? It¡¯s not because of you?


    ¡°You were right until you were wrong. Just because the druids tolerate fey in comparison with other eldritches doesn¡¯t mean they like fey, and their animal friends are great at pointing us out, so it¡¯s hard to hide in a place like this. That¡¯s all there is to the lack of us here.¡±


    Druids don¡¯t like fey? Sure, demons and undead, I get it. But you guys? Sheesh.


    ¡°Druids can¡¯t control fey, remember? There¡¯s a reason my kind has a reputation as tricksters, never mind some of the yet-more unsavoury characters ¨C like your goblins. Do you think the druids would appreciate their presence? Anyway, this isn¡¯t an interaction with fey, or even sorcerers or archmages. It¡¯s just arch-sorcerers, I think.¡±


    Litenwelt Kordaine made the Doors, so the legends go ¨C or at least directed their construction¡­ You think that¡¯s it?


    Maybe she took that as a given, as she didn¡¯t reply directly ¨C and then a second later:


    ¡°You¡¯ve got company.¡±


    I focussed, realising that Belexor was right there in front of me.


    He¡¯d replaced the tattered robe bearing the magister¡¯s sigil with a Shining Circle one matching the druids I¡¯d seen at the archway, complete with gold-rope belt. His red hair hung in bleary eyes, his aristocratic features lined with fatigue.


    The nearest opening of the shrine was a broad, curved gap in the living silver birch, flanked by a stone pedestal on either side, each topped with a radiant white lamp ¨C this was the main entrance, I supposed ¨C and Belexor was walking out of the opening towards me, smiling despite his worn demeanour.


    ¡°Morning, champion,¡± he called, voice weary but warm.


    ¡°I hope I¡¯m in time,¡± I responded.


    ¡°I was just going to come looking for you,¡± he said, still smiling, close enough now that he reached out a hand to shake mine.


    He couldn¡¯t get close, though. The shield stopped him in his tracks.


    The magister looked up and down and around, before settling his eyes on me, a vaguely-hurt expression on his face.


    Ill-will. He still harbours it.


    ¡°I ¨C I understand,¡± he stammered, letting his arm fall lamely.


    I shook my head, dismissing the shield and its star with the briefest motion of a single finger. I had to put my best foot forward; how else was I going to get the trust I needed?


    I stepped closer, holding out my own hand, and after an instant of surprise his smile returned. He shook mine gladly.


    ¡°Welcome to the Giltergrove. I can tell you¡¯ve not been in awhile.¡± He released my hand.


    ¡°Not since getting my abilities, no. It¡¯s a little overwhelming,¡± I admitted.


    Belexor laughed, but not in a mocking way. Good-naturedly. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve heard that doesn¡¯t ever truly go away, you know.¡± He clapped his hands together softly. ¡°Well, shall we get to it? I know you¡¯ve got other things to be doing today.¡±


    He looked away from me, towards his right and my left, where a path zig-zagged away into a field of wheat.


    He¡¯s even trying to hide his jealousy. He means I¡¯m off to meet the girl he¡¯s tied up in knots over, but he¡¯s still doing his best to keep things civil.


    I nodded to him, and followed him towards the wheat, a pace behind him and to his side.


    ¡°Well, maybe I was wrong ¨C¡±


    Again.


    ¡°¨C again, fine, but I still don¡¯t like these magisters.¡±


    Me neither, but we¡¯re going to have to work with them, long-term. You know that, right?


    ¡°I guess. Let¡¯s see where this goes.¡±


    We walked through the thigh-high wheat for thirty seconds, before it exposed a sward of the greenest grass I¡¯d ever seen. Belexor stopped at the edge, gesturing at the open space.


    ¡°If you¡¯d like to put your, ah,¡± his smile faltered a little, ¡°Bone Brigade here, we will ensure they are consumed in a timely fashion.¡±


    It¡¯s Body Brigade.


    I frowned slightly behind my scarf, but tried to keep the confusion from my voice. ¡°I thought you needed a special spell prepared?¡±


    ¡°Summoning the required amount of creatures to consume your army, to that street, would have necessitated skills beyond mine,¡± he said, a note of self-deprecation there at the end. ¡°Things work differently here. If you please?¡±


    There was the twang of superiority, in that last word, as if he couldn¡¯t help himself when having to be polite to a Mud Lane-type.


    I shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m here for.¡±


    I turned, using my right hand to open the curtain beyond us, so that the forty-nine and a half zombies filled the centre of the grassy area. For the druid¡¯s benefit I had brought them through facing away from us.


    ¡°Could you lie them down?¡±


    A single dismissive flick of my hand was enough to switch them off, dropping into the grass, de-animated.


    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡±


    Why not?


    ¡°Come with me to get some more fey, then.¡±


    She just wouldn¡¯t let up on this line of reasoning. Soon.


    ¡°When?¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer; I was watching closely.


    Belexor brought his arms up to chest-level, elbows bent like he held a giant melon between his hands in front of him. Then, muttering words I couldn¡¯t quite fathom in a snapping, growling, rustling voice, he slowly closed his hands, face twisted as though he really were squeezing against some invisible pressure.


    His hands met, with a shudder of exertion, and he fell silent.


    Beetles. Thousands of beetles. They burst into sight in every direction, swarming through the air towards me and Belexor. While I reflexively recoiled, ducking, he merely buzzed at them, pointing at the pile of corpses. The carrion beetles gathered, more and more each second, forming a cloud against the luminous surroundings. They descended on their unmoving prey with abandon.


    I stood back up straight. I didn¡¯t much like insects, but I wouldn¡¯t begrudge them this huge meal ¨C Hells, I wished some god looking down would give me a meal of relative size, something in poultry maybe¡­


    I¡¯d tried to make light of them, but the Body Brigade had been a sad thing. I hadn¡¯t been lying when I¡¯d said I didn¡¯t know what to do with them, and I was glad of this opportunity. I didn¡¯t bother saying goodbye; they weren¡¯t people like the fey were ¨C like maybe even demons. They were just puppets, that were once people, and they deserved better than we could give them.


    If it¡¯d been our mum and dad¡¯s corpses standing here, half-rotten in their dark grave clothes, perhaps it would¡¯ve been different. That¡¯s what they¡¯d been after ¨C the Bone Ring had been looking for more soldiers for their army. If I hadn¡¯t happened along when I did¡­


    Zombies only had a trace of the old person inside, anyway. The soul fled to the shadowland swiftly, according to the ministers, leaving only enough residue to animate a corpse or pile of bones ¨C not enough to endow the eldritch with intellect, speech.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said.


    ¡°Is this the part where you expect me to praise you for your sacrifice?¡± Belexor asked. His voice was even-tempered: not angry ¨C just a bit sarcastic. ¡°You got one over on me with this stunt, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°You got me back, right now, though, didn¡¯t you? That was the whole point of this. We both lose, we both win.¡±


    The magister laughed, a brittle sound. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right. That¡¯s the whole point. Come on, I¡¯ll escort you out.¡±


    He reached out a hand for my upper arm, hitting me with his palm awkwardly ¨C too hard for a pat, not heavy enough to be a blow ¨C again, good-natured. I would¡¯ve had to flash him an awkward smile in response, but thankfully I had the scarf to protect me; I just inclined my head instead.


    Belexor led the way back, again a pace ahead and to the side, keeping to a brisk pace. I took a good look over my shoulder at the massive green portal as the strange, unchanging hum began to fade away, the resonance growing dimmer to eye and ear stride by stride.


    ¡°Other than getting your money, do you have plans? It must be exciting, to come out as a champion. One day, a lowborn nobody, and the next¡­¡±


    A lowborn somebody. That¡¯s how he wanted to finish that sentence. But it meant something that he¡¯d stopped himself, right? That he¡¯d left it hanging there like that?


    Maybe I was reading too much into this, transplanting too much of myself into the concept I¡¯d built up of him. What if he¡¯d meant to end with ¡®hero of the people¡¯ but realised he couldn¡¯t quite bring himself to be that nice to me? Maybe he really was inviting me in.


    ¡°Honestly? It¡¯s a bit of a mind-trip. I¡¯m lying to everyone about everything, putting myself in danger¡­ But it did feel good to wear my robe out and about this morning. Until the cat.¡±


    ¡°The cat?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d have got it down from the tree in moments, I¡¯m sure. I¡­ had problems.¡±


    ¡°I bet,¡± he replied, voice tight.


    I offended him with the shield, I crystallised the thought for the first time, a very belated reaction.


    ¡°Yes, but he¡¯s not being forthcoming. He¡¯s a walking paradox. Warmth and coldness. I don¡¯t like it, Kastyr. Put the shield back up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to apologise to my faun once he¡¯s healed up,¡± I commented, ignoring her. ¡°He can handle fifth-rank fiends no problem, but an irritated cat? Five save him.¡±


    ¡°Cursing now? That¡¯ll work.¡±


    But Belexor did flash me a smile, albeit a tense one.


    See! He didn¡¯t even have a go at me for being snarky!


    ¡°Fine. Ignore my advice; make friends with him. But I reserve the right to dislike him for as long as I see fit.¡±


    We crossed the boundary, leaving the meadow and stepping into the corridor formed by the rows of golden trees on either side. Still I saw no one else. Zel must¡¯ve been right about the other druids here, about them taking animal forms ¨C other than Belexor and the archway guards I hadn¡¯t seen a single person in the whole Giltergrove. It was a very different impression from that I¡¯d taken away as a child, coming during opening hours like anyone else, when the place teemed with visitors from all over the city, maybe even all over the Realm.


    I wasn¡¯t going to start telling him about the visit Peltos and his boys had planned for dusk, but I wanted to keep the conversation open.


    ¡°As to my plans, I¡¯m just having a game of fortify with my little brother and sister this afternoon, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°You play fortify?¡± He couldn¡¯t keep the shock out of his voice.


    I smiled at his reaction. Fortify was a game played almost exclusively by nobles, due in large part to the expense of the game-board and components. I¡¯d seen it played once when one of the traders in Knuckle Market got out a set he¡¯d just procured to show it off ¨C and had immediately set about recreating it. So what if mine used counters of scrap wood I¡¯d ineptly carved myself, instead of master-crafted figurines? So what if cards were paper, if my board was half of an abandoned wardrobe door? The zones of my board were painted directly onto the surface, as opposed to the finely-modelled terrain features and detailed miniature buildings that Belexor would be used to using.


    But the strategies remained the same. Rules were the easiest part to replicate. I bet I could¡¯ve beat him.


    ¡°Perhaps we could have a game some time?¡± I suggested. I could always let him win if I judged I needed to. And, who knew, maybe he¡¯d actually be good.


    Maybe I¡¯d get to battle with real figures for once.


    He actually grinned at me, though it didn¡¯t seem to light up his eyes.


    ¡°Look, Belexor, I¡¯m sorry about earlier¡­¡±


    He stopped, looking aside into the trees, then back at me as I stepped up level with him.


    ¡°With the shield¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± He smiled, and this time he looked happy. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, dear Feychilde.¡± Again, another awkward half-pat half-blow on the upper arm. ¡°Tell you what, I think you can do me a favour here, actually. I¡¯d owe you one?¡±


    I made a face, and I think it carried into my voice. ¡°A favour?¡±


    He just laughed, and stepped between two of the golden trees, into the undergrowth. I followed, a few paces behind.


    The trees were quite closely-spaced, and the bushes were thick, but Belexor seemed to pick the perfect route to avoid getting trapped and having to back-track. We soon reached a small, cleared area, tangled with thorns on three sides.


    ¡°You better hope he doesn¡¯t tie you up for four hours. Then you¡¯ll be late and everything will have been for nothing.¡±


    Come on, Zel.


    The druid was chirping, tweeting softly, looking around at the branches above without stepping into the clearing. I stayed behind him and studied the area under the golden ambiance ¨C there were no weeds on the ground in this single spot, just soil.


    Curiously, in the centre about ten feet from me, there was a bunch of white twigs standing in a spiral-like formation, buried in the soil so that each twig stood at equal height. It was like they¡¯d been taken in two hands and carefully twisted into a meticulous hourglass-shape.


    Belexor chattered something, gnawed, looking down at the ground.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I asked.


    On the ¡®top¡¯ of the hourglass of twigs, something was embedded, winding about the sticks in a complicated pattern, not unlike a spider¡¯s web. Zel drew my eye there, staring.


    ¡°Danger!¡±


    The druid clapped me on the upper arm, his eyes still darting around, mouth still chattering.


    Is he summoning something to fight me? Do I really need shields?


    Finally, he stood back, drew a breath.


    Zel still hadn¡¯t taken her eyes ¨C my eyes ¨C off the twig-thing.


    ¡°He¡¯s finished the spell?¡±


    ¡°How can I render my assistance, magister?¡± I asked, more forcefully. I didn¡¯t want to give in to Zel¡¯s paranoia, but I was wavering on the verge of setting up a new shield anyway.


    ¡°I¡¯m all done,¡± he said with his smarmiest smirk. ¡°You are too. Little rat.¡±


    His fortify-face had crumbled into that of an obvious challenger.


    ¡°Attack!¡± Zel screamed. ¡°Attack him!¡±


    But it was too late. He was right. I was done.


    As the greyness overwhelmed me, I connected the pieces.


    Rat¡¯s tails. Dozens of the things, entwined around the idol he¡¯d spent all night creating.


    Waiting for this. Waiting for me.


    I had expected pain, but I hadn¡¯t quite anticipated this. Bones, organs, other things inside me that I didn¡¯t really want to think about very much ¨C these shuffled themselves within me like cards in a deck, bones all crunching up, organs pulped into gel.


    It hurt.


    Once the greyness faded and I could see once more, the agony suddenly lifting away like a great weight, I knew for certain what had happened.


    He¡¯d shapeshifted me, against my will, without even a struggle.


    And as he picked me up by my tail, strange instincts and emotions flooded through my mind. Panic. Escape. Urgency. There were a million sensory items demanding my attention, scents, sounds, images, but I didn¡¯t have time to process it. Having the last couple of weeks with Zel inside me probably helped prepare me for the overload, but it was still staggering. My vision blurred, the floor rotating above me. Sunlight was like a splinter in my eyes.


    So I squealed, swinging from his hand.


    Slowly, he lifted me in front of his face.


    ¡°I won¡¯t kill you,¡± he murmured gently, all the tiredness gone from his voice and face, ¡°but that doesn¡¯t mean I should let you go around in this human skin you¡¯ve been wearing, does it, little rat?¡±


    I spun in a circle. He was too far away for my claws.


    ¡°I wonder what your wretched brother and sister will think happened to you,¡± he went on. ¡°Do they know about you? No. I don¡¯t think they know, yet, do they? Do they know about the money? Will they think you ran away with it? And they were expecting a game with you today, too. How dare you run away on them on their special day?¡± He feigned admonishing me, then laughed softly for a couple of seconds at his own hilarity.


    I¡¯d been trying to stop squealing, and finally managed it, so I panted, my tiny ribcage trembling as I stilled.


    ¡°I¡¯ve checked thoroughly: there¡¯s none of my brothers or sisters watching, and no reason anyone will think to ask the trees or soil right here. Oh, poor Emrelet, too! I¡¯ll do my best to console her tonight. She really did seem to like you, somehow. I don¡¯t know how you vanishing until sunset will be received, but I can guess.¡±


    Until sunset. Sunset!


    Vague images of Jaid and Jaroan and everyone else being hurled out into the mud by Peltos and his hired thugs flashed through my little rat-mind.


    I reared up, curling in on myself as I swung side to side, and teeth found finger-flesh.


    ¡°Damn it!¡± he snarled. He flicked me back to the painful position, dangling from the tip of my tail, then switched hands, holding me more carefully. ¡°Did I hit a nerve? We¡¯ll be having none of that. You¡¯re going to sit in my pocket like a good pet sorcerer, and I¡¯m going to show you off to my friends.¡±


    A quick incantation and the blood spurting from the side of his index finger stopped instantaneously. A wipe on his robe made it clear the wound was mended.


    ¡°And don¡¯t think you¡¯ll be planning any revenge. We¡¯ll wipe your memories at the end of the day. But we¡¯ll have our memories, all at your expense.¡±


    I struggled as he put me in one of his pockets, kicking and screaming.


    Zel? Zel! I need you!


    But there was nothing. Was she even still in here? If she wasn¡¯t why hadn¡¯t I seen her emerge?


    After a few seconds of my resistance the druid raised me up out of his pocket again, wiggling the fingers on his other hand right at me. He spoke, and ¨C though I could hear him chittering, though I couldn¡¯t hear the words in the sound ¨C the rat-tongue now came as second-nature. The ideas he expressed came through clearly to me.


    ¡°Be still, be silent and cold. Be still, be silent and cold. Be still, be silent and cold¡­¡±


    After the third repetition I felt joints stiffen. He curled me up almost gently, adeptly. After the fifth repetition I was frozen, my tail coiled and limbs numb. Only my little rodent eyes still bulged, shifting furiously, my eyelids flickering involuntarily. My nose was still, but my whiskers continued twitching themselves.


    This time when he plunged me into his pocket the rat instincts overcame me, and I welcomed the blissful darkness, the coarse predictability of the cloth against my whiskers, my fur.


    He had taken me, wreaked havoc on my life he couldn¡¯t even begin to understand.


    Jaid¡­ Jar¡­


    He carefully took apart the spell-craft, scattering the twigs and tails, then headed out of the Giltergrove. And I was his passenger, helpless and petrified.


    ¡®Wipe your memories.¡¯


    ¡®Show you off to my friends.¡¯


    Belexor¡¯s words resounded in my tiny head. I couldn¡¯t move to cringe, and either rat eyes were not made to cry or he¡¯d paralysed that function too. I couldn¡¯t even squeak.


    There was no escaping it. Zel¡¯s lesson. I was a fool. And now I was about to pay the price.

 A Rodents Road

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.6: A RODENT¡¯S ROAD</h2>


    ¡°Changes of shape can never become absolute. A bird who has forgotten it was once a mage is not a bird ¨C it is always a bird who has forgotten it was once a mage. For this reason, all forms of the various metamorphosis spells carry a hormonal suppressant, to prevent accidental procreation and the births of mutant abominations. Woe to the druid who manipulates these forms. And woe to the untrained arch-druid, to whom such subversions come unconsciously.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Druidry For Beginners¡¯, ch. 10


    My heart was going ten to the dozen, feeling fit to burst. The tiny ribcage was quivering, pain lancing right through my breast. I could die of a heart attack right now, paralysed, and even if he had the magery to save me he¡¯d probably not even know there was anything wrong with me until it was far too late.


    I tried to take my time, breathe deeply, calm myself down ¨C but everything worked differently now. Breathing through the mouth was only making the pain worse. I struggled to focus on breathing through my nose, drawing it in deeply to fill up the lungs I imagined as no bigger than the end of my thumb ¨C


    My old thumb. My human thumb.


    The ride was uncomfortable. From the tip of my nose to the base of my tail I couldn¡¯t have been more than nine inches long; my tail was shorter, and as his spell had been taking hold on my rodent flesh he¡¯d curled both me and it into one pocketable package, more wheel-like than anything else. The pocket was big ¨C spacious, even. But that was half the problem: the constant rocking back and forth was impossible to get used to.


    Zel? Can you hear me? Are you in here?


    Still nothing.


    It was still too bright in this place; my eyes were too sensitive. My nostrils were picking out the fragrances accompanying his robe, a confusing jumble of fruits, flowers, body odours¡­ My whiskers were still mobile, reiterating the dimensions of this confined space over and over as I slid around.


    ¡°Anandra,¡± I heard Belexor saying, ¡°I¡¯m off for some sleep.¡±


    We stopped. A few moments¡¯ respite.


    ¡°Your associate came by.¡± I recognised the voice of the elf-woman who¡¯d admitted me. ¡°He hasn¡¯t been back past us ¨C you did find him, I assume?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Belexor sounded irritated. ¡°He left via sorcery.¡±


    Hearing the magister¡¯s voice, his irritation¡­ Second by second I felt calmer now, more like myself. The reality of the situation had hit me but I was getting used to my predicament. The shock was passing.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t seem like a darkmage to me,¡± came a new, gruff voice, one I didn¡¯t recognise. Probably the older man who¡¯d been on guard too. ¡°We received confirmation with regard to what you said concerning the Cannibal Six. If ¨C¡±


    ¡°I was there,¡± Belexor replied. ¡°He may be a champion, for now, but you can¡¯t be too careful with the lowborn, can you?¡±


    The old druid grunted. Disagreement, or agreement? I had none of the visual clues to help me fill in the blanks.


    Either way, Belexor had probably been speaking to me there, another little dig, another jibe at my expense.


    But he was the real darkmage.


    We were walking again. Well, the ¡®magister¡¯ was walking ¨C I was back to sliding. The hubbub of the streets surrounded us. The sounds and scents. Still overwhelming. I couldn¡¯t keep track of where we were, where we were going.


    But being on the move hadn¡¯t put me back into shock. That was good. At least I could retain some semblance of my mind, think through my circumstances.


    The paralysis was an interesting spell. Doubtless he could only do it to animals, just as I could do it with supernatural creatures; paralysing human targets would ordinarily be the province of an enchanter. It was interesting that he¡¯d thought to put me into this state to enable his animal-control spells. It showed imagination, versatility, beyond that which I¡¯d thought to ascribe him.


    It meant he had to have an enchanter on hand, too. If he was going to use a spell that affected my mind rather than my body he would have to step outside druidry. One of these ¡®friends¡¯ he¡¯d spoken of?


    How right Zel had been! I was stupid. She¡¯d told me about the shield, and she¡¯d sounded absurd. I hadn¡¯t trusted my advisor and I¡¯d paid for it. Paid for it with the roof my parents had kept over our heads since I was two. Paid for it with this day, all vestige of which was apparently going to be swept from my mind the way dust was swept from a shelf.


    Paid for it with my dignity. My self-respect. My cursed ego, letting me think I could charm this ingrate with my zombie horde.


    And I paid for it with my advisor. She was gone, at least for now. I had to hope it was temporary, that we could put her back together again after this.


    What if she died? Inside me?


    I should¡¯ve set the zombies on him! I snarled silently. Who does he think he is, sanctified as magister, pulling a trick like this? This goes beyond trickery. This is criminal. This is the sort of thing that sends people to the block.


    Belexor¡¯s pace slowed as he ran into the kind of foot-traffic even a druid¡¯s robe wouldn¡¯t let him through. He¡¯d brought us on the Plain Road to the Oldtown bridge ¨C the river gave it away, gave me sure and certain knowledge of where I was. There were two bridges in the area. The other, the Lowtown bridge connecting North Lowtown to Rivertown, was too far away for us to have reached even at the brisk pace he¡¯d used up until now. If that wasn¡¯t enough evidence, the Lowtown bridge spanned twice the distance this one did. The Blackrush ¨C the river between Sticktown and Oldtown which we crossed now on resounding wooden planks ¨C was narrower. Along with the Whiteflood farther to the south-east, the Blackrush was one of the lesser two rivers, not so wide or violent as the big Greywater to the south-west which they both fed into.


    Oldtown. We were heading into the original part of Mund, the place that had existed before the coming of the Five Founders and the creation of the city as it now stood. Something had existed on this site since the Golden Age, they said. Here and there ¨C should you not be paralysed within an evil druid¡¯s pocket ¨C you would see ruined walls and shrines to forgotten saints, painstakingly avoided by the locals so as to not spoil these points of historical interest.


    Not that the locals were actually interested in the historical value of these places; they were invested in the economic value. People who could afford to come along to study ancient places could usually afford to spend money on food, drink, even entertainment in the vicinity. By all accounts, hundreds of years back when Sticktown had still been one big forest inside the city walls, Oldtown was the poorest part of the city. Sandwiched in between Rivertown¡¯s busy harbours and Hightown¡¯s craftsmen guilds, Oldtown had been a decrepit crossroads with nothing to offer.


    Now, things were different. The forest had been chopped down and replaced with the urban forest I grew up in. Sticktown, Hilltown, Treetown; the newer districts on Oldtown¡¯s flanks had transformed it. Belexor carried me down cobbled streets and we left the odour of Sticktown¡¯s filth behind. I heard the guitars of bards, the songs of child-choirs ¨C


    And then the nearby bells and yells of a town-crier caught my attention.


    The sound was receding even as it began, Belexor heading in the other direction, but I could pick out the town-crier¡¯s Rivertowner accent, his loud, rippling voice: ¡°Gather ¡®round! fair maids and gents, for I am to post notice today, that a most momentous deed ¡®as been accomplished! The cruel, sinister Cannibal Six ¡®ave been captured, an¡¯ shut away! The Magisterium extends its thanks! to the new champion by whose hand all six of the sadistic criminals were apprehended! Thanks¡­ to Feychilde!¡±


    When he said my name, it was with the perfect amount of amusement. There were no actual cheers from what I could tell, in the crowd around the crier ¨C but a good wave of gasping, muttering, murmuring, as almost everyone instantly set to gossiping. I wondered if my name would be repeated in those murmurs, wondered how favourably.


    This was my first taste of fame ¨C and it came while I slid about shaped like a rat in the pocket of my foe who was carrying me towards some kind of torture. Truly, it was everything I¡¯d hoped and dreamed.


    The town-crier¡¯s voice was faint in my ears, which were probably better at picking out sounds than Belexor¡¯s¡­ but his senses weren¡¯t occluded by a layer of cloth, and he might¡¯ve enhanced his hearing to a degree where it mirrored (or even bettered) my own. Even still, I doubted he¡¯d heard the way they were talking about me. I was glad, really. If anything, hearing the town-crier would¡¯ve probably put him in a worse mood, and made things worse for me in turn.


    The streets were getting busier and busier every minute. The sounds made by other animals, snorts and neighs and barks and meows ¨C everything set me on edge in a way that human sounds didn¡¯t, some signal transmitted by my animal flesh straight to my brain, inciting further flashes of panic. Market stalls would have rows of customers two-deep by this time, and Belexor¡¯s pace slowed noticeably once more. It was like a flowing river striking a dam, having to find the little cracks and slits to seep through ¨C the magister was doing his best to keep going forwards quickly, but it was necessitating a lot of twists and turns that bumped me around, impotent to do anything but roll and slide in this gods-forsaken pocket. Half the time it felt like he was trying to slide through a gap in the crowd but then had to jolt to a stop as someone got in his way, throwing me around even more violently than usual.


    If I could say one thing for this experience, it was giving me some perspective. How many times had I used my powers to stop something in its tracks, command its subservience? I mean, mostly they were hellspawn of the worst kind, but still. I¡¯d gotten over the shock, but being frozen this way, the helplessness¡­ this wasn¡¯t pleasant.


    No wonder eldritches seemed so angry all the time. Maybe they weren¡¯t so different from us, in certain ways. Maybe in hell you¡¯d find a fiend complaining to his neighbour over the black-iron fence about the latest eternal heatwave, inflation in the price of souls, and those pesky humans who kept summoning them to Materium to perform ridiculous tasks¡­


    Time passed. My paralysis didn¡¯t let up and Zel didn¡¯t respond to me.


    Shock had long since passed, but I began to feel despair settling on me.


    I¡¯d arrived at the Giltergrove a little past half eight, but after that I was uncertain. How long had it taken getting rid of the Body Brigade, getting over the bridge, getting to the middle of Oldtown? Somewhere close to an hour, I guessed. What I really needed to know was how far off noon was. I had to effect an escape soon or my life was going to turn upside down, and I had zero tools at my disposal.


    I would¡¯ve been shaking, if the spell let me.


    I heard the sounds of Firenight Square, the trumpets of the arena and the squealing of children. Jesters juggled song-globes, ensorcelled to produce sounds like a jolly chorus of voices as they flew. I heard (and smelled) chained-up beasts ¨C there were usually nightlions, bicorns and cerberi, but I couldn¡¯t distinguish their roars in all the clamour.


    The Square was the very centre of Mund. The Hill Road ran from Rivertown Gate in the south-west wall of the city to Hightown Gate in the north-east wall; the Plain Road ran from Sticktown Gate in the north-west wall to Treetown Gate in the south-east; together the two great roads formed a giant ¡®x¡¯ shape, and Firenight Square was where they crossed each other.


    Belexor took a left, heading north-east, towards Hilltown and Hightown.


    It was this centralised location that made Firenight Square a common target for trouble ¨C word spread fast from here. I¡¯d only witnessed a darkmage-attack once myself, but my parents had ushered us away in moments; I¡¯d only gotten a glimpse of a building on the edge of the Square being torn down.


    We didn¡¯t make it this far too often these days. Jaid and Jaroan were too big for it now anyway, and got bored easily by the attractions you didn¡¯t need to spend silver to enjoy. I was working off old, dusty memories.


    I needed help.


    Zel, are you there? Can you hear me?


    I didn¡¯t think the lack of response was due to the paralysis spell ¨C this was the shapeshift. It had done something to the internal mechanisms that had allowed me to subsume her in the first place. I hadn¡¯t ever read about the joining that we¡¯d undertaken ¨C Zel had simply told me what to do, getting me to squash her into my chest. I could remember watching her disappear into my body like she was merely disappearing beneath the surface of a pool of water. I didn¡¯t know anything more about how it worked than she¡¯d told me, and she¡¯d never directly answered any of my questions about what would happen if something went wrong. She¡¯d given me herself and withheld her instruction manual.


    The fairy had her secrets ¨C I had been honourable, refused to command her to divulge more than she was willing ¨C and now those secrets might have doomed her.


    No. I couldn¡¯t blame her. She played her role, told me the things I needed to know. The fault was all mine.


    I couldn¡¯t hang my head in shame. Could only stare forwards.


    This was all the lead-up, the interminable wait before the horror actually began.


    I realised the mess I was in. Nausea, a purely psychological feeling, with no connection to my stomach. I couldn¡¯t be sick, paralysed as I was. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to get out, be free, move, run far, far from here¡­


    But I couldn¡¯t despair. This kind of situation didn¡¯t demand despondency, giving up, letting the worst come to pass. I had no tools at my disposal, except my mind. He hadn¡¯t been able to take that. I would have to use it, and praise the gods he wasn¡¯t an enchanter.


    Have to do something, before he finds one and pickles my brain.


    Maybe Zel would¡¯ve been able to protect me from that, when she couldn¡¯t from the shapeshift. She¡¯d implied as much, once or twice. But now, with her voice gone from my head¡­ I held out little hope her powers would guard my mind if I¡¯d been bound in another form.


    I waited-out the nausea, letting it pass over me eventually in waves, diminishing each time it returned until my thoughts settled. I also settled into my locked-up rodent body; like it or not, I was stuck with it. I¡¯d better get used to it. I couldn¡¯t actually move the muscles right now but I knew they worked; before the paralysis spell I¡¯d been able to manoeuvre to bite my captor. I couldn¡¯t flex any of them with my brain ¨C or I could try, but they didn¡¯t react. It was like trying to move an arm you¡¯d fallen asleep on, unmoving and unresponsive no matter how hard you strained.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    So instead of settling in and doing a workout, I settled in and planned. I¡¯d have to trust the rat-shape to do what I told it when the time came.


    * * *


    I endured. Endured, as my day was wasted.


    He went shopping in Hilltown. Shopping, with me in his pocket, just as though he¡¯d forgotten I existed. He¡¯d beaten me at my own game. Turning me into a rat? It was the kind of thing I¡¯d feel tempted to do, in his shoes. And he had the courage that came with having no standards, no boundaries beyond which your own actions would begin to disgust you. Not even any fear of reprisal. He had the chaos on his side.


    An hour, maybe two slipped by. He only bought two items, both trinkets of some kind ¨C necklaces, or brooches perhaps ¨C and spent nearly a hundred gold in total, just for them. That was two years¡¯ rent for my apartment! For a brief time I considered whether he was doing this just to irk me. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to the realisation that this was just the kind of creature he was. Not just a highborn, but the most stereotypical highborn I could¡¯ve conceived of ever meeting. I knew a million stories, every one different, every one the same.


    Everything handed to him. Probably dressed by servants as a child, men and women who were barred from looking their little master in the eye on pain of instant dismissal. Education at the Maginox, career in the Magisterium, everything laid out in front of him, a path he had to but walk that would lead him to a position of power. Folk like him were cut in the perfect mould to one day sit in the Arrealbord, the Council of the High Lords, the governing body of the whole Mundic Realm.


    I wondered how many of them were as sadistic as him.


    The light outside my little pocket-world seemed brighter than ever. I had to assume it was close to noon by now, and the paralysis spell still held me, just as firmly as it had at the start ¨C I kept testing it, not straining but trying to move a foreleg, trying to flex a claw. Nothing.


    Belexor took me uphill, away from the hustle and bustle into the backstreets that climbed towards Hightown. The next place he entered wasn¡¯t a posh shop, stinking of polish and the subtle metallic smell of jewellery. No, it was a posh tavern.


    I could tell from the scent of the wine they served, a completely different aroma to that which pervaded Sticktown establishments ¨C where I¡¯d grown up at least fifty percent of the slop they served ended up on the floor, and the rancid odours of the alleys clung to the majority of the patrons. Here there was the clink of glass on coasters, the soft lapping of a harp in the perfumed air, a musician employed even at this early hour. I¡¯d never been in a place like this before. Even the laughter and boorishness exhibited by these patrons was elevated, as though they¡¯d taken classes in highborn-school for this very occasion. Crude jokes were delivered with pompous accents that would¡¯ve themselves been the joke back in Sticktown, and their audiences couldn¡¯t snort or bray their amusement; they tittered, with the occasional chortle, and murmured responses like ¡°how very droll¡± and ¡°my oh my, whatever happened next?¡±


    I shuddered. Tortures I¡¯d imagined came nowhere close to this. Stick pins in me, whatever, but don¡¯t make me keep the company of these prats.


    ¡°Ho, Belly,¡± someone rumbled, and from the way Belexor¡¯s stance straightened I could tell it was addressed to him. The voice was that of a barrel-chested man, like Soulbiter but younger, and even more well-spoken, urbane.


    ¡°Uthon,¡± Belexor hissed, pulling a chair out from a table and sitting in it.


    He even hates his own friends¡­


    ¡°You look like drop, dear fellow,¡± someone else commented, on my left, the voice of another rich-boy.


    ¡°Only got a few hours sleep.¡± Belexor shrugged, then, turning a little, raised his voice and called, ¡°Saleb! A bottle, Onlorian red.¡±


    ¡°Well I hope she was worth it,¡± the same rich-boy commented, with a touch of wry humour. ¡°If you took her fancy looking even half as bad as you do now, I doubt she was.¡±


    No way do they get to wipe my mind of this memory, I promised myself.


    ¡°No girl,¡± Belexor replied, ¡°this time.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re insufferable, Belly.¡± This was a young woman, on my right. She already had a bit of a slur. ¡°Here comes your drink; you had better catch up.¡±


    ¡°To you?¡± the druid replied sardonically.


    ¡°True,¡± she admitted, then laughed, a sound somehow throaty but cold, like an uncaring, delighted cackle.


    Belexor didn¡¯t pay for the wine when it arrived. He probably had a tab.


    He might¡¯ve joked about not catching her up, but he seemed to drink his first glass at a single quaff, and took what must¡¯ve been a serious chunk out of the second before he spoke again.


    ¡°Actually, I¡¯ve been up most of the night getting a gift for you, Jargrin.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really.¡± It wasn¡¯t quite a question but rather a sarcastic retort, from the rich-boy who¡¯d insulted him about his appearance, Jargrin.


    ¡°A subject for a full mind-wipe. One day.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ interested,¡± Jargrin replied.


    Zel? I really need you, partner!


    ¡°Hey!¡± the barrel-chested, urbane man across the table interjected.


    I felt a momentary rush as someone challenged this idea of destroying my memories.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I get one?¡± the barrel-chested man finished.


    My heart sank.


    Two enchanters?


    ¡°Remind me, Uthon,¡± Jargrin purred, ¡°which of our fathers is the Lord Malice to the Fourteenth Seat, again?¡±


    This went completely over my head. I assumed he meant, my daddy is super-powerful, so he¡¯s kissing myass rather than yours, but the words themselves meant nothing to me.


    The guy who rumbled was Uthon, then?


    ¡°This is the way things are done in high society,¡± Jargrin continued, airily; ¡°you had better catch on, butcher¡¯s boy.¡±


    ¡°You wound me,¡± Uthon muttered. ¡°My father¡¯s as rich as yours.¡±


    ¡°No richer than mine,¡± Belexor cut in.


    ¡°Quoth the one still wearing last year¡¯s boots,¡± the woman said with a giggle. ¡°Poor druid baby.¡±


    ¡°Money is nothing,¡± Jargrin said. ¡°Power. Reputation. Fear. Lineage. These are things worthy of respect.¡±


    Belexor laughed a little.


    ¡°You have heard of Feychilde?¡±


    I went cold.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Jargrin responded at once, unruffled at this swerve in the conversation.


    ¡°The new archmage,¡± the druid continued; ¡°he has power, yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no less interested, magister.¡± Jargrin¡¯s voice was cold now. He was telling Belexor to get on with it; and ¡®magister¡¯ was said with contempt, as though he were telling Belexor that the truly prestigious wouldn¡¯t need to stoop to such a role, even if temporarily.


    More importantly, he was telling me that he had some concept of what was going on ¨C and he wasn¡¯t put off. Quite the opposite. He relished the idea of screwing with Feychilde.


    ¡°Reputation and fear, but no li¡­ lineage, Belexor,¡± the woman cut in. ¡°Who is Feychilde?¡±


    ¡°I know who he is. You¡¯re right, of course. A lowborn rat, like so many of them. I have him.¡±


    Belexor drained his glass, poured himself another. The others must have been regarding him in silence.


    The harp¡¯s music, clinking of glasses, murmurs and crowing from other tables.


    It was coming. Soon. Soon, it would happen.


    Zelurra, faerie queen, bondswoman, I command you to awaken and heed my call!


    I was getting desperate, now that it came down to the moment I would be exposed to these foul highborn mages.


    ¡°When you say, ¡®have him¡¯¡­¡± Jargrin began.


    Belexor spoke over him, confidence in his voice. ¡°Did you cast a precognition spell this morning, Meneda?¡±


    ¡°Orlways, darling.¡±


    ¡°Are you ¨C¡±


    ¡°Senshing danger?¡± She spent a few seconds in silence, and it dragged on, until ¨C ¡°No.¡±


    Meneda, the drunk diviner, rounding out the quartet. At least I knew who my opponents were, now.


    I didn¡¯t let her dismissal dissuade me. I prepared myself.


    Belexor reached into the pocket, gripping me by the midriff, then put me in front of him on the table, facing the others.


    I felt the smooth wood under my claws and furred body, my tail still awkwardly wrapped around me.


    But my rat eyes moved, whiskers following along, scanning these darkmages quickly.


    On my left, Jargrin, thin-faced with high cheekbones and stubble, long blond hair. Elvish descent, almost certainly ¨C the ears a little too pointy and the eyes a little too narrow to be a hundred percent human. His robe was a rich, deep blue, with white fur at the cuffs and seams.


    Across from me, Uthon, Jargrin¡¯s diametrical opposite. Not fat, but big and burly, with a nearly-shaven head and long, braided blond beard. He wore a dark pink or fuchsia robe embroidered with silvery eye-like shapes, some open, some closed.


    And on my right, Meneda, an overweight but alluring-looking woman with dark hair and eyes, her lips on the edge of her glass. Her robe was a similar grey to my own, but like the robes of the others hers was rich cloth in a cut designed for her body, a red trim and little red spider-like patterns completing the look.


    Everything past the table was a bit blurry, even in the dim light, but I got the impression that the room was huge ¨C far, far larger that I¡¯d supposed when shut away in the pocket. A high ceiling of black beams, black wooden furniture draped or upholstered in silver and gold, huge candelabra each sporting dozens of candles and red-glass lanterns carefully arranged to provide as much light as possible; the windows were all curtained-off.


    There were probably about fifty tables, but less than half were occupied, going off the sounds and smells, and only half of those had more than one person sitting at them. Many patrons were simply reading, studying magical texts while they sipped their wine. But other patrons were clearly doing shady deals, hoods up, voices lowered, gold and small packages slipping into pouches hidden inside opulent garments.


    Taverns ¨C they were all the same, even deluxe, darkmage taverns.


    Uthon and Meneda seemed baffled at Belexor suddenly producing a rat, but Jargrin had caught on.


    ¡°You brought him here,¡± the rich-boy whispered, almost incredulous.


    ¡°You¡¯ll wipe his mind¡­ He doesn¡¯t know where we are, anyway.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean that.¡± Jargrin¡¯s brow furrowed in sudden concentration.


    That guy terrified me. Might he have other plans for me than just letting me go at sunset?


    ¡°You mean that this ¨C¡± Uthon blurted.


    ¡°Quietly,¡± Belexor hissed.


    ¡°¨C this is Feychilde?¡± he finished, less-rumbly.


    ¡°K-K-K-K-¡±


    A clicking in my mind, suddenly.


    ¡°Saleb!¡± Belexor shouted. ¡°Bring me a glass bowl.¡±


    ¡°K-K-Kas?¡±


    Zelurra?


    ¡°What-t-t-t hap-p-p-pened?¡±


    Oh Zel, I thought I¡¯d got you killed! We¡¯re, well, we¡¯re ¨C


    ¡°We¡¯re a r-r-r-rat.¡±


    It hadn¡¯t taken her long to figure it out.


    ¡°K-k-keep t-telling your-s-s-self¡­¡±


    I¡¯m so sorry, Zel. I meant it. I missed you. And not just because I went and got myself in a life-or-rat situation.


    I saw Saleb this time, a stubble-free, middle-aged man wearing a neat, clean doublet and hose in black. He approached with respectful mannerisms and a polite smile on his face. In his hands was a decorative bowl.


    In my head I begged him to do something, interrupt somehow. Say that they don¡¯t allow rats on the tables, say that they don¡¯t allow torture on their tables ¨C something, anything¡­


    Belexor snatched the bowl from him without ceremony, and the man sidled away with a murmur of ¡°m¡¯lord,¡± his expression unchanging.


    For drop¡¯s sake, Saleb, you had one job.


    The druid moved me to the middle of the table and angled me so that I faced him directly, before settling the glass dome over me. The bowl was etched with a monochrome floral design, but only in patches ¨C not so much that I¡¯d be obscured in the centre.


    Belexor gnashed his teeth at me, but this time he wasn¡¯t chattering on in rat-speak. He sounded more like a bear. It was different, a more generic, dispelling-type incantation: I could feel the bonds of the spell beginning to loosen.


    He finished but I still wasn¡¯t moving.


    ¡°You¡¯ve ki-killed it,¡± Meneda whispered huskily. ¡°Don¡¯t immolate the envoy, and all¡­¡±


    That wasn¡¯t what I was going for ¨C he¡¯d felt my heart beating in his hand just a minute earlier, and he¡¯d seen my eyes moving.


    No. I was going for the dispel failing.


    I let my eyes continue to rove around as I focussed on maintaining position and relaxing at the same time, like the mornings when I had to pretend to be asleep to avoid getting embroiled in a twin-feud. I felt my tail trying to stir, did what I could to hold myself under the spell, imagine I was still trapped¡­


    ¡°I c-can see your plan-n-n. It¡¯s-s-s not going to work. The d-d-diviner isn¡¯t th-that drunk.¡±


    I have to relax.


    ¡°I have a bet-t-ter idea-a.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not dead,¡± Belexor snapped at the drunken diviner, sounding frustrated. ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡±


    ¡°No longer sober enough?¡± Jargrin finished for him, slightly amused.


    Are you okay, Zel?


    ¡°No t-time. Listen-n¡­¡±


    As my eldritch explained her ¡®better idea¡¯, Meneda giggled. ¡°Belly killed the new sh-shampion.¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Meneda!¡± the druid growled.


    ¡°Perhaps, the barrier¡­¡± Jargrin mused.


    A deep frown on his face, Belexor reached out and removed the glass bowl, setting it between himself and Meneda.


    The drunken diviner had been quite right, no matter how sozzled she was ¨C she shouldn¡¯t have been sensing danger, then. I hadn¡¯t intended to hurt anyone. At that point.


    Either way, I was glad he¡¯d placed the bowl near her. I wasn¡¯t planning on making my escape past her.


    ¡°Permit me to attempt something,¡± Uthon said.


    ¡°No,¡± Belexor hissed, and closed his eyes briefly, probably recalling the incantation, going over it one more time before trying again.


    The explosion from motionlessness into ferocious haste took him ¨C took them all ¨C by complete surprise.


    My rodent body writhed, tail uncoiling as I twisted and rolled and straightened, all in the space of a split-second.


    I was clear ¨C I hurtled off the table, aiming for the space between Belexor and Jargrin, just to my right.


    A long-fingered hand caught me about the hindquarters, trapping me in mid-air.


    Meneda turned me around, bringing me closer to her, and I could see that she had stood from her seat, a warped smile on her lips.


    ¡°Reaction shpell,¡± she said, and laughed again, that awful, callous sound.


    Now! I cried at my passenger.


    This plan hadn¡¯t been formulated when Meneda last consulted her danger-sense ability, and the ¡®reaction shpell¡¯ she employed was found wanting. As it was, the diviner had no way to predict or dodge as a six-inch tall faerie queen in a tiny glacial-blue dress burst from my body.


    Zel¡¯s blonde pigtails streamed as her gossamer wings propelled her forwards, what looked like a bronze knitting needle twelve-inches long in her miniscule hand.


    And proceeded to skewer Meneda in the throat.


    Chaos reigned, even if only for the span of a few heartbeats.


    I hadn¡¯t been expecting the sheer breadth of the changes that swept over me as Zelurra exited my body. Sight, hearing, smell, even tactile sensations ¨C she¡¯d been augmenting everything. The clamour of Belexor¡¯s roar of shock, Meneda¡¯s gurgle, chairs scraping back, other patrons raising their voices ¨C every sound surged over me, thrumming through my fur. I¡¯d gotten used to Zel¡¯s help in my human body, never mind my rat one, and now I was piloting the rat body without her assistance for the first time, in what could prove to be a life-or-death situation ¨C if the look of focus that¡¯d come over Jargrin¡¯s face earlier was any indication.


    Either way, instinct seemed to propel me just as well as experience. The distraction of the neck-puncture was perfect ¨C I easily slipped from the diviner¡¯s grasp, repeating Zel¡¯s instructions to myself over and over: Move under the table, head to the wall, go behind the curtain, use the gap in the board obscured by the heavy cloth to move down towards the basement, she¡¯ll find me there inside the wall¡­


    I used the edge of the table nearest the aghast diviner to hop down to the ground, even as she pressed her hands to the squirting hole in the middle of her windpipe. Under the table, Uthon grabbed for me ¨C I slipped his clumsy attempt to grasp me around the body, and managed to pull my tail out of his snapping fingertips ¨C I darted from beneath Jargrin¡¯s chair to the chair at the next table, then the next, using everyone¡¯s surprise to reach the wall¡­ only then did I chance a glance back.


    Belexor had leapt out of his seat to patch Meneda up, his eyes trying to follow me under the tables even as his green-glowing hands were on the diviner¡¯s neck and his lips moved in a healing-spell; Jargrin stood from his chair and stalked towards an internal doorway on the other wall, the part-elf¡¯s disappointment and scorn oozing palpably out of him.


    Where is Zel?


    For the first time in weeks, I was alone in my own skull. Really, truly alone. Taking part in these adventurous antics without my partner¡­ it was suddenly much more intimidating.


    No one to share it all with.


    No one to pull my ass out of the fire.


    I tried waving my claws about to grip the threads of sorcery, the ley-lines that fractured into shapes at my bidding. My rodent fingers really were remarkable ¨C each of my paws was like a little hand. It felt as though it should¡¯ve worked, but there was no resulting crackling green foam, no otherworld-doorway opening up at my gesture.


    At least none of them seemed to be archmages, here in this tavern. There might¡¯ve been druids amongst the crowd, but the spells of a mage took time to cast, and preparation too. Other people had got up from their chairs to assist in searching for me but by the time they realised what they were doing I had entered the crack Zel¡¯s clairvoyance had identified for her, working my way under the floorboards.


    The black hole I entered was inviting, not disconcerting. I liked the darkness, the closeness. I was darkmage enemy number one, but at least I was free.


    Dusty cobwebs, the husks of spiders, the sounds above me¡­


    ¡°Where has the little dropstain gone?¡±


    ¡°What in the name of the Five is happening, lad?¡±


    ¡°The rat, sir! We¡¯ve got to find the rat, on the double!¡±


    Somewhere in here, there were the sounds of other rats, too ¨C the scents of other rats¡­


    I got under the floorboards and stopped. Impulses wracked my weird little muscles. There were scents that made my stomach rumble¡­ scents that made me want to huddle up with other rats for warmth and comfort¡­ scents that scared me and made me do a little rat-wee.


    Now I was glad Zel wasn¡¯t currently onboard.


    Despite the strange urges I was feeling, the spell hadn¡¯t actually rescinded my willpower or control, and I followed the route she¡¯d outlined. There was another gap ¨C here, through some chewed-out gypsum plaster¡­


    ¡°My lord.¡± It was Jargrin¡¯s voice, through the wall ¨C he was in the basement too. The door he¡¯d used from the main room must¡¯ve led him down some stairs or a ladder. Was he trying to cut me off? Did he know where I was?


    ¡°We do not appreciate this interruption, boy.¡± A woman, her voice fainter.


    ¡°It¡¯s urgent, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Let the boy in, Rissala.¡± A man. Deep-voiced, like Uthon. ¡°This is Zanedar¡¯s son.¡±


    ¡°I do not care. I wish to ¨C¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, my lady, this cannot wait,¡± Jargrin implored.


    ¡°Come in.¡± The man again, commanding, confident.


    I heard a footfall, and now Jargrin¡¯s voice faded slightly, matching theirs in volume: ¡°My lord, there is a good chance Feychilde is loose in the building.¡±


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± the woman growled.


    ¡°That abomination,¡± the man muttered. ¡°Here! How?¡±


    No.


    Not him. Not them.


    I reeled a little bit, for a moment. Uthon¡¯s voice had made me think of him, in the first place.


    Suddenly Jargrin¡¯s shock and opportunism made sense. Jargrin knew.


    He knew Soulbiter and Screamsong were here all along.

 Slippery Vermin

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.7: SLIPPERY VERMIN</h2>


    ¡°Sorcerous power flows through all planar entities. Or, it might be said, the power of the planes flows through the sorcerer. Only a few eldritches can be tapped directly. Of those we will not speak: they are without exception infernal, and the uses to which such borrowed power might lend themselves shall tend inexorably towards evil. Yes, even I say it! I have summoned a thousand demons in my time, and even I would not do this thing. I implore you ¨C follow my example, and stray not from the path of light. Anilzar the Wise? Anilzar the Fool!¡±


    ¨C from Mistress Arithos¡¯s Lectures to the Neophyte Assembly


    I froze in place. I was only fifteen or twenty feet from the corner ¨C probably a doorway ¨C in which Jargrin was standing. I was crouched on the beam running above the corridor outside the room; there was a tiny, groove-shaped hole in the plaster near me through which their voices were being carried.


    ¡°One of my friends brought him for me to experiment on, then lost him. Feychilde¡¯s currently cursed into the form of a rat, if that helps at all.¡±


    ¡°He was always a rat,¡± Soulbiter said.


    Why are all these posh gits so predictably similar?


    ¡°This is our moment of revenge,¡± Screamsong ¨C Lady Rissala ¨C snarled.


    ¡°There is also a good chance he has already found a way out, of course,¡± Jargrin went on smoothly.


    ¡°You did right coming to us, boy. Your name?¡±


    ¡°Jargrin Deynos, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Of course ¨C Jargrin. Now begone.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Soulbiter said. ¡°Your friend¡¯s name.¡±


    ¡°My friend¡­ I-Ishemen. Belexor Ishemen.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°My lady. My lord.¡±


    There was the sound of a door closing, footsteps receding.


    ¡®Moment of revenge.¡¯


    I have to get the Twelve Hells out of here.


    I made my way through the ceiling, to the spot where I could get inside an interior wall. When I reached the ground and found the spot Zel in the corner had described to me, she was already waiting.


    Her arms were crossed as she leaned against a dusty oaken joist; I could just about make out the pale limbs against the relative darkness of her dress. I couldn¡¯t see her features, but I could imagine the anger in her big blue eyes, the disappointment in her pout. The six-inch tall fairy was twice my height, at the moment, even when I craned my neck. She¡¯d put her weapon back in Etherium (assuming I was right about what the fey did about equipment-storage). Her wings were folded and unmoving at her shoulder-blades, so thin they were hard to spot or sense in the gloom.


    But then she put out her little, manicured hand and stroked my fur.


    ¡°You made it,¡± she whispered.


    I tried to talk, but just chittered at her.


    She shushed me, then slid her hand straight into my rodent skull.


    A brief sensation of relief, like dousing your face in a bowl of cold water at the end of a hot day ¨C then she had taken up residence once more.


    Zel, you aren¡¯t going to believe this.


    ¡°Soulbiter and Screamsong are here.¡±


    And you already knew all this. Of course you did.


    ¡°I was going to tell you later. This way.¡±


    I let her take control of my limbs, steering me this way and that. Behind the wooden panels of another room, up into a shaft leading back towards the ground floor once again.


    What would I do without you?


    ¡°Get your heart eaten by a crazy lady?¡±


    Sounds about right. You seem much better, you know.


    ¡°Benefits of a bit of exercise. The shapeshift locked me out until you commanded me back through.¡±


    Something to remember for the future.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not let this happen again, eh? It was hard to make the connection. This time we¡¯re clean, but when you shift back to your human form we might need to let me out again for a minute.¡±


    So we can rejoin with me as a human, another clean connection.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting it. Hold onto your breakfast.¡±


    Zel propelled us upwards again, working my limbs and claws furiously, and within seconds we were undoubtedly behind one of the fittings in the kitchen. There were the scents of food, which enticed my rat-nostrils ¨C but then I could smell smoke.


    The kitchen was empty. I could hear only one person outside the room talking, and loudly at that ¨C Saleb, I realised, sounding completely different when he shouted.


    Where is everyone?


    ¡°I may have started a little fire.¡±


    How did ¨C


    ¡°Let me focus.¡±


    Tee-hee. Now you get to find out what it feels like.


    There was a gap behind the cupboards along the floor, and we high-tailed along the gap. She found the crack in the bricks next to a pipe coming from the sink, and squeezed us through.


    The alleyway was almost clean, the crack letting us out into a gutter beside a cobbled path between the tavern and the other brick building behind it. It had to be into the afternoon but the buildings shrouded this place in shadow.


    Other rats were nearby; I could sense them, but they could sense me, and from their sudden flight I suspected they could smell my strangeness. I wasn¡¯t a druid¡­ I didn¡¯t want to risk communicating and ¡®saying¡¯ the wrong thing, the thing that would get me torn apart by a hundred little vicious teeth.


    Zel relinquished control over the rat-flesh, having no better idea where I was or which way to go than I did. I half-circled the building, coming to a patch of sunlight: the street.


    I scampered away just a short distance, hiding at the side of a crate on the street so that I could look back at the front of the place I¡¯d just escaped.


    There was a scarlet deer on the sign over the tavern¡¯s door. My eyesight was poor in this form, but with some inspiration from the picture I could make out the lettering below:


    ¡®The Red Hart.¡¯


    Were the darkmages so secure they could rub it in the faces of the magistry with such a blatant double-meaning?


    Well, some darkmages seemed to be secure-enough to get themselves out of custody after being arrested, as the Cannibal Six evidently had done. Maybe even the magisters wouldn¡¯t risk an assault against a darkmage-haven like this place ¨C it wasn¡¯t somewhere you¡¯d need an excess of firepower to purge. A single band of five well-prepared, well-armed magisters could take control of the staff and patrons no problem.


    No, it seemed the problem was keeping them in jail even after they¡¯d been taken into custody. Did the Cannibal Six have some way to keep the charges from sticking, even when they¡¯d been caught like that, inspected by an enchanter and a diviner right there on the scene?


    That had some troubling implications.


    People were pouring out onto the cobbles accompanied by torrents of smoke, the swinging of the front door wafting clouds of it in billows into the space in front of the tavern. Wisps were rising up into the sky. I recognised Meneda (no longer squirting blood) and Uthon, but saw no sign of Belexor, Jargrin, the members of the Cannibal Six¡­


    I didn¡¯t dare waste any more time.


    I was already turning to run, when I noticed it.


    It came out of the smoke, low to the ground, and seemed to be formed out of pure, rolling shadow, a skittering, trundling bundle of blackness. I was sure that, even being an arch-sorcerer, the fiend would¡¯ve been almost impossible for me to discern in the smoke without Zel¡¯s perception-boost. Those standing right by it didn¡¯t turn to look at it.


    The creature seemed almost feline, its body and head in proportion with an ordinary pet cat ¨C but it was spindly. Its legs were twice the normal length and each seemed to have two knees, yet it kept its body close to the ground, moving almost like a spider missing half its limbs. Its tail and ears were at least three times the normal length and stood erect, alert. A white rune burned in the centre of its brow.


    Except for the vertical black slits at their centres, its eyes were burning with the same red fire as that of an infernal portal. The maw was a perpetual grin, a smear of darker-darkness across the bottom of its head in which tiny teeth and a flickering forked tongue gleamed, likewise illuminated by crimson flame. The forked tips of that tongue glistened, dripping colourless venom.


    It stopped as it exited the smoke and the crowd, and closed its glimmering eyes, lifting its shadowy chin so that the white rune on its forehead burned towards the sky. It tasted the air with flicks of its tongue.


    My human mind was reassuring me that it wasn¡¯t much bigger than cat-sized, but it looked huge from down here, and such reassurance could only do so much.


    Even before Zel spoke I¡¯d sent my rodent muscles into action, scurrying away as fast as my four feet could carry me.


    ¡°Go!¡± she cried. ¡°Mizelikon. Second rank, and my sword can¡¯t hurt it.¡±


    It¡¯s not moving?


    ¡°It won¡¯t, yet.¡±


    The world was so different so low-down. My human conceptions let me parse the environment as a rat never could, and my vermin instincts let me find the cracks in that environment as a human never could ¨C the places I could squeeze my body between sacks of produce and stacks of tools, between the falling boots of pedestrians and the crumbled bricks in the walls.


    So I went, squeezing my body between sacks and stacks, boots and bricks ¨C anything to put distance between myself and the nightmarish thing behind me. When I got the chance I risked a look back but it was useless. Too many feet. Too many intervening obstacles. Sight too blurry.


    Snarling, I turned forwards once more, pointing us in the one direction that seemed to flow uphill.


    I hadn¡¯t gone twenty feet when it happened.


    It wasn¡¯t the demon. Oh no. That would be to assume the whole world wasn¡¯t working against me.


    It was an owl that decided to fall out of nowhere, coming right at me in broad daylight.


    Admittedly I only realised this when Zel screamed ¡°Owl!¡± at the top of her mind-voice.


    I dived, of course, balking in sheer terror.


    And in the end it was even closer than it¡¯d been last night, with the knife.


    But it worked; I got into a shadow, the owl missed me by six inches, and I caught a glimpse of it as it took off again, the blur of brownish feathers almost hiding the cruel beak.


    I blamed the ratty side of me for the fact I instantly felt sick at the thought of a bird plummeting onto my head. That did little to assuage the actual feeling, however.


    Somehow all the trouble they were going to to annihilate me felt rather unfair. Belexor was on my trail, now ¨C or some other druid.


    I had nothing to do but keep going.


    There¡¯s nothing I can do about the druid. But what¡¯s a mizelikon?


    The uncluttered gutter I was following let out onto a cross-street and, as I scurried in the open, a random dwarf with his beard tucked in his belt aimed a clumsy kick at me ¨C he barely clipped my tail with his iron-shod boot as I dove into the next gutter.


    Information, Zel!


    ¡°Mizelikon¡­Assassin-class. They take the identity of their prey from the mind of the summoner and apply it to the various possible futures.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t hard to figure out where you were going in Hilltown. Move uphill and you were moving towards Hightown.


    Towards a demon?


    When you say ¡®possible futures¡¯¡­


    ¡°It can take them a minute, but when they get a vision of a world in which they catch you, they set out to make that world reality. It had some idea of what it was looking for before we ever saw it ¨C that¡¯s why it¡¯s a cat, Kas.¡±


    So it wasn¡¯t moving because it didn¡¯t know which way to go to catch me yet.


    ¡°They move very quickly, when they move. Don¡¯t think you¡¯re escaping. You¡¯re running into its net.¡±


    I came to the forges, the heat wafting down the road in waves, accompanied by the ringing of hammers and commands issued in the dwarven tongue. I had a sense of where we were, now. Anvil Row. This road ran in parallel with Hill Road, the main street which I¡¯d used on my infrequent visits to Hightown during the cleansings.


    Options?


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking!¡±


    I hadn¡¯t anticipated anything like this happening to me. I¡¯d figured if I had to fight demons, I could at least count on having my shields, my ability to summon. Fighting demons, like this? I was just a rat, even if I happened to have a fairy onboard. By her own admission, she couldn¡¯t fight this fight for me.


    I followed the curve of the street and found an alley that let me cut through to Hill Road ¨C even as I fled, the prey-panic zipping through my nerves, the cleanliness of these alleys was still impressing me, allowing me to more-easily navigate the unknown spaces. I smelt a few ordinary cats as I went; with Zel¡¯s help I crossed out of their eye-lines before they saw me. I¡¯d seen what Missymoo had been like; I was not going to encounter even the world¡¯s most placid cat while in this form.


    Any grand ideas?


    ¡°Visions tend to unravel when what you¡¯re trying to scry is itself influenced by a diviner¡­ All the possibilities diverge: people, places, random occurrences¡­ It all becomes a big unpredictable, imperceptible mess.¡±


    You seem to know a bit about this.


    ¡°I am a diviner, remember.¡± She managed to sound irritated. ¡°The greatest seer can easily see the least seer ¨C they¡¯re smaller, you see, they can look down on us from above without a problem. They can scry right through all the tiny subtleties of the interactions that fall within our influence. But the greater seer cannot always see the lesser, and the lesser are always blind to the greater. If we¡¯re the same strength, the same ¡®size¡¯¡­¡±


    So¡­ It took me a moment to follow.


    ¡°The owl¡¯s circling.¡±


    Wydra¡¯s maw!I hope you¡¯re saying mizelikon aren¡¯t powerful diviners?


    ¡°Well, they¡¯re only second rank. Only a bit better than me, even if our methods differ. Their impressions of the future are one-shot, and take time to remake. Just entering the presence of an arch-diviner ¨C even if only briefly ¨C could completely warp the course of your fate, throw off the assassin altogether¡­¡±


    Do you happen to know any arch-diviners?


    I hadn¡¯t meant it entirely rhetorically, but she spared me a negative answer, letting me concentrate as I hit heavier traffic.


    If it¡¯d been any kind of ordinary pursuit, I¡¯d have been glad to reach a crowd, a sea of footwear to slip through. As it was, I didn¡¯t really know what I was going to do once I reached Hightown. Even if Emrelet happened to still be there, I¡¯d have no way to find this Blackbranch Square.


    She was my only recourse, though. I was pretty sure that if I showed up as a rat and spat Zel out, she¡¯d take her seriously ¨C perhaps I could use Zel to get directions ¨C


    ¡°No you couldn¡¯t. It¡¯s coming and you need to take a different route.¡±


    I could turn at the next ¨C


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand!¡±


    Don¡¯t fret ¨C just tell me. I tried to think in my most soothing tone, while valiantly skittering on up the hill.


    ¡°Let the owl take you.¡±


    What! I slowed, feeling sick again even at the prospect of considering to entertain such a thing.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t pick it out with danger-sense earlier; I can¡¯t see a future where it hurts us. I don¡¯t think it was trying to kill you. And you would never have taken this path if I hadn¡¯t interfered with your fate.¡±


    Not trying¡­ to kill¡­ I stopped.


    It sounded ridiculous, but I stopped.


    I hadn¡¯t listened to her before, and it¡¯d doomed me. As I thought back, I didn¡¯t think I could find a single time I¡¯d gone wrong when I¡¯d actually followed her advice.


    Maybe I could¡¯ve ran, when the Bagger Boys cornered me ¨C she¡¯d been right about that too, and perhaps I¡¯d given away my identity without need.


    I decided to trust, and came to a shuddering halt.


    A pig ran past me, slipping through the crowd easily, followed fifteen seconds later by a sweat-soaked lad huffing and puffing as he jogged after it.


    I tried to steel myself but the rodent claws were scratching at the stonework underneath me, my belly quivering, my heart racing.


    What happens if I die of fright?


    I couldn¡¯t be sick. I felt so sick, but there was simply no way in my physiology to make it happen.


    How far away is ¨C


    She didn¡¯t warn me this time.


    The lurch was giddying. The grip of the talons about my midsection was not altogether uncomfortable but this was because I couldn¡¯t feel anything except the rush ¨C we were ten feet up ¨C wings beating, climbing ¨C twenty feet ¨C I didn¡¯t like it ¨C thirty feet ¨C everything becoming a blur¡­


    Then within ten seconds it was over, with a sudden descent that took my breath away.


    The owl set me down on a flat roof of a three-storey building, pinning me against the tarred wood. For a moment all I could see were its vibrant yellow eyes, unblinking, stopping me from struggling as much with the cool gaze as the terrifyingly-sharp talons.


    It hooted, once, low and sure, right into my horrified rat-face.


    And we both changed.


    If I ever don¡¯t trust you again ¨C


    ¡°¨C I¡¯ll mention this moment, oh yes-s-s-s-¡±


    It was faster this time, like eye-blinkingly fast, and without any of the accompanying pain.


    I was standing up, the rodent nervousness washed right out of my system. I doubted most people ever got to grin like I was grinning now. It hurt my jaw, and I didn¡¯t care, because it was my jaw again. Hood and scarf in place, every part of me seemingly working as normal, every one of my possessions seemingly intact and in place.


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    ¡°Sweet Celestium, what happened to you?¡±


    This from my rescuer. Highborn accent but with none of the condescension. He sounded young, maybe even younger than me, if I were any judge.


    The arch-druid ¨C for he could be no less ¨C was wearing a dark-green robe with short, wide sleeves revealing that he had mud caked on his arms up the elbow. His hood was up, and like me he covered only the lower-part of his face; but his was no scarf. An awesome mask stretched from ear to ear across the bridge of his nose, covering his jaw, giving him the beak of an owl, black highlighted in white, with grey-brown feathers worked into the cheeks.


    It shouldn¡¯t have taken me so long to realise who he was. This was Nighteye. The sigil of a single avian eye with a crescent moon in its pupil was stitched with a golden weave into his robes, most-easily visible where it was biggest and least obscured by the dirt that coated the lower portion of his garment, upon his shoulders and the peak of his cowl.


    ¡°My good man?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C¡±


    ¡°Feychilde, do I have it aright?¡± He seemed excited.


    ¡°Er ¨C right. Nighteye?¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± He said it as if he were smiling.


    ¡°How did ¨C¡±


    ¡°I know? I offered to watch for Soulbiter and Screamsong ¨C Termiax and Rissala, as we now know ¨C did you know they¡¯re married? ¨C and then there was a fire, and you came scampering out, and I knew straight away, there was no chance you were a normal rat, just look at you, hm, running like you¡¯d dipped your privates in acid, and then there was a dropping huge weird cat, and when you ran it turned to face the way you went, and look at you, of course, it¡¯s the one who caught them last time, trying to catch them again, though quite why you¡¯d attempt to do so in rat-shape is beyond ¨C¡±


    ¡°Nighteye, I must shower you in thanks,¡± I interrupted, having gotten the measure of this unlikely ally ¨C he was the sort of person who needed to be interrupted, and he didn¡¯t seem offended, confirming my suspicion that he was intelligent enough to understand this fact about himself; ¡°you¡¯ve just pulled me out of a nightmare. Belexor Ish- Ishemen. A druid of the Shining Circle who works as a magister. He turned me into a rat. He was going to give me to Jargrin Dreynos, something like that ¨C son of the Evil Lord of the Fourteenth Chair. Then I escaped, but Jargrin went to the basement and warned S- Termiax? and Rissala about me. Then ¨C¡±


    ¡°Woah! Wait,¡± he blurted. I could tell he wasn¡¯t used to getting challenged for the crown of verbal spillage. ¡°Belexor Ishemen, Jargrin Deynos, son of Zanedar Deynos, in league with Termiax and Rissala, oh, this is so good, you¡¯ve given me enough here that I owe you, hm, three more undoings of involuntary metamorphoses, and I even promise not to tell anyone about how you ran, but if you want I can give you lessons in case it ever happens again, or ¨C¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°You keep it to yourself, and we¡¯ll call the slate wiped clean, yeah? So, are you going to report Belexor?¡°


    ¡°Oh, haha, Belexor¡¯s going to get reported alright ¨C and then some ¨C we druids were warned about him, and do you know how illegal it is, turning someone into something against their will? without the proper paperwork? They don¡¯t even let me do it to people who fight back, Leafcloak says I have to use my stupid vines, I risk giving them a heart attack, same as I can¡¯t attack them with bugs, or anything else really for that matter, hm, I ¨C¡°


    ¡°I can confirm that heart attack bit,¡± I said. ¡°I got pretty close once or twice. Letting an owl pick me up wasn¡¯t exactly the easiest thing I¡¯ve ever done.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, my good man.¡± He patted me on the upper arm in a comradely fashion that Belexor, in all his feigned friendship, had never managed to accomplish, ¡°I can¡¯t do it at range, I¡¯m still learning to heal without touching never mind completely changing someone¡¯s species, it¡¯s, hm, an order of magnitude more complex and I never thought about how you might feel, you know, being swooped on, but I could, hm, turn you into a special kind of giant dragonfly, and let you swoop on me ¨C¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re, like, a magister?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, I don¡¯t go around showing my face,¡± he gestured at his mask, ¡°can¡¯t risk being identified, who I am, you know, hm, but you know this,¡± he gestured at mine, ¡°you have a reputation to maintain ¨C¡±


    I had people to protect, which was different, but in either case he wasn¡¯t getting my point. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re currently working for the Magisterium? Watching over ¨C¡±


    ¡°¨C Termiax and Rissala, yes, I¡¯m taking a fee, but it¡¯s just a bit, really, I mean, this is my job as a champion, you know, and the Cannibal Six, right? and then they turn out to be the Lord of the Isle of Vinnermine and his Lady ¨C¡±


    ¡°But if they let them escape, how can ¨C¡±


    ¡°Escape? My good man! no, they didn¡¯t escape, we let them get out; their identities were uncovered, we knew they had to go to Facechanger ¨C¡±


    ¡°Facechanger?¡± I interrupted, intrigued.


    ¡°Oh, hm, you haven¡¯t heard? about Facechanger? because I didn¡¯t hear until I started catching darkmages, and now you¡¯ve just started catching darkmages ¨C¡°


    He prattled on, but even though he was skirting the answers to my questions at best I managed to wrap my head around it. The ones who got away would change their identities, probably masquerade as their own inheritors if they could manage it¡­ by the Five, what were we dealing with here?


    What had I intruded on?


    ¡°¨C without noses, it was kind of funny but also kind of icky when you looked ¨C¡°


    ¡°Did you stop watching them, to come find me?¡± I felt a kind of coldness in my gut. ¡°They¡¯ve got away for real this time?¡±


    ¡°Bah, we¡¯ve got Lightblind watching them, that¡¯s how we were tracking them in the first place, hm, I didn¡¯t need to stay there, it was my job to check who went in and who went out, the Red Hart is pretty famous, or infamous if you know what I mean, and now you¡¯ve given me better information than I would¡¯ve gotten from just watching from my perch anyway, and ¨C¡°


    Lightblind. The diviner-champion who wore an eyeless white mask, her robes pure white but for her black sigil, the eyelashes of a closed eye. She was famous for defeating Hierarch Nine, one of the worst leaders of the Srol Heretics and a mass-murderer well into the triple digits ¨C taking him down ostensibly without looking.


    I wondered how much she¡¯d earned from that little demonstration.


    Nighteye¡¯s reassurances worked; I felt the worry fade, the tension ease. The Magisterium weren¡¯t a bunch of incompetent fools after all, then. They might not have warned me, but at least they¡¯d had an idea about Belexor already¡­ They¡¯d let the worst members of the Cannibal Six do a runner, but they were tightly leashed, and being used as bait to lure a much bigger, very-important-sounding fish¡­


    But would they be able to stop Belexor from spreading my real name around? Would they be able to do so indefinitely? I doubted it. By their own admission, they were having trouble with darkmages getting free and changing their faces ¨C the magicrux-jails clearly weren¡¯t all they were hyped-up to be.


    ¡°¨C I saw you, you were in danger, you took priority.¡± He actually finished a sentence.


    As much as I wanted to be sceptical of this clearly-highborn, clearly-highly-strung youth, he was a fellow archmage, a fellow champion, and, what was more, he was actually nice. He hadn¡¯t judged me one bit ¨C how could I judge him, as anything other than my saviour in the worst time of trouble I¡¯d ever encountered?


    ¡°Can I consider you a friend, Nighteye?¡± I asked, extending a hand.


    ¡°Of course!¡± He shook the proffered hand vigorously. ¡°Feychilde.¡±


    We each inclined our heads, then stepped apart again.


    I looked around. We were far enough from the edge of the roof that the people walking up the street couldn¡¯t see us, and I could guess we were adjacent to a street that intersected Hill Road ¨C he hadn¡¯t taken me more than fifty yards off-course.


    ¡°You have a way to get down, I take it? because if not I¡¯d, hm, be more than happy to give you a winged shape ¨C¡°


    ¡°No, no thank you!¡± I said far too loudly. ¡°I can get down.¡±


    I had something in mind.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you at the Gathering, then,¡± he said, and waved, becoming an owl again.


    ¡°Gathering?¡± I asked, turning back to him and looking down at the (now small and not at all intimidating) brown-and-grey mottled owl.


    It was weird to hear an owl hooting with human meaning coming through.


    ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t know yet, woah, I¡¯ve never got to be the one to tell anyone before ¨C well, they say it¡¯s traditionally called the ¡®Gathering of Champions¡¯, but we mostly just call it the Gathering, you know, as it¡¯s, hoot, less pretentious? on the night of the full moon, in the foundations of the Tower of Mourning ¨C you¡¯ll be there, right?¡±


    The owl cocked its head, and I couldn¡¯t help but laugh again.


    ¡°Right.¡±


    Of course I¡¯d be there. I couldn¡¯t even conceive of a situation in which I¡¯d been invited to something called the Gathering of Champions and decided, no, I had better things to do actually, might have to give that one a miss¡­ And at that place, too¡­


    Full moon couldn¡¯t come quickly enough.


    ¡°See you in a couple of weeks, I guess, then,¡± he said, a bit hesitantly, then hopped to the edge of the roof and spread his wings into flight.


    I watched him go, flapping his way over the buildings, already a speck against the greyed-over sky. I kept my eyes on him until he disappeared into a wall of smog towards the south-west, enjoying the full capacity of my augmented perception.


    I flexed my fingers, then marked out shields and a star with pleasure.


    I drew a breath, feeling safe, feeling ready.


    Zelurra, faerie queen, bondswoman, I command you to awaken and heed my call!


    While I waited I opened a chasm between the material world and the otherworld, summoning Flood Boy.


    The faun stepped through a little unsteadily. He was covered in moss where he¡¯d patched up his Missymoo-inflicted wounds, and had a hand clasped to his brow, as if to either relieve a headache or protect his eyes from even this dimly-lit sky. Either way, from the way he was swaying gently it was obvious he¡¯d been self-medicating quite liberally. Not that I objected, so long as he could do his job.


    ¡°Olberu ¨C¡± I began.


    ¡°Olbru,¡± he moaned.


    ¡°Olbru,¡± I said, ¡°I need an ice slide to the ground, please.¡±


    He muttered something about high-pitch, but dutifully retrieved his goblet and pipes as he staggered towards the roof¡¯s rim. I joined him there, and watched as he drew a deep, shuddering breath. When he released it through the pipes it made a series of staggered notes that were almost as shrill as that which he¡¯d used on the razor-fiend last night.


    We drew looks, but at this point I didn¡¯t care, didn¡¯t care who knew I was here. If any of my former tormentors wanted a confrontation, now, I¡¯d give them one.


    Instead of a storm of ice-shards or a huge gush, this time the wine lapped out, cut thin by the music, like just the surface of a wave standing freely in the air without support.


    I moved right to the edge and looked down. Support or not, the narrow waterfall of wine was there, and I couldn¡¯t deny what my eyes could see ¨C it transitioned from transparency to translucency, frosted-over in the space of a heartbeat ¨C a glimmering, near-white slide, like a bridge of crystal, stretching from the roof to the ground.


    Flood Boy swooned a bit as he halted, dropping the arms that held his equipment to his sides wearily ¨C I crouched a little and put out a hand to steady him.


    ¡°Sorry about all this,¡± I said.


    He tried to grin, but it was more of a grimace than anything else.


    ¡°Anything else, O master?¡± He managed to be a bit more convincing with that.


    ¡°Just¡­ stop drinking before you can¡¯t count your own fingers, yeah? I might need you again soon. I¡¯ve been in a few tight spots this morning and I couldn¡¯t summon you, but that was my fault, not yours¡­¡±


    He just stared at me, a bit blearily.


    ¡°I mean¡­ no, nothing else, Flood Boy.¡± I opened the fissure for him to return. ¡°Have fun!¡±


    The faun staggered home through the fizzy green portal.


    ¡°K-K-Kas.¡±


    I had my backside centred in the middle of the ice slide and was preparing to set myself off when her communication started to come through. It looked awfully high from up here but I was all about taking leaps of faith today it seemed.


    You¡¯ve picked an opportune moment.


    She let herself out of my face, turning to me as she did so, floating in the air before me.


    ¡°You¡¯re back,¡± she said, her voice tinny but far louder than her size would suggest.


    ¡°We¡¯re back.¡±


    She smiled, brushed my cheek with her hand, and joined again with me.


    Ready?


    ¡°Emrelet?¡±


    When the mizelikon looked ahead to this, it would see you getting Emrelet¡¯s attention as my ambassador, with me still in rat form. This time, I¡¯ll have other options. Just taking it, for one.


    ¡°Not bad,¡± she thought back at me. ¡°But it¡¯s¡­ one o¡¯clock?¡±


    That was the very encouragement I¡¯d been waiting for.


    I pushed, letting the slippery ice take me.


    The contact under my buttocks and legs gave way ¨C I fell, only touching the slide with my back, and my stomach dropped ¨C I could see people looking at me, a glimpse of a sea of faces ¨C faster than I could react, my hindquarters made contact again, and I was soaring through the air, arms and legs sent akimbo ¨C at the last sliver of an instant my instincts took hold and I tucked my knees ¨C


    I landed in a crouch, with only a dull pain radiating across my heels. Flood Boy had given me a little lip at the bottom to guide me to my feet, and somehow it¡¯d worked.


    As I stood up, hands checking my scarf was still tightly fixed in place beneath the cowl, I got some scattered applause.


    ¡°Thank you, thank you,¡± I said.


    ¡°Which one¡¯re you?¡± asked a short, bald fellow in a loud but rasping voice. The man was muscle-bound despite the fact he had to be pushing seventy, dressed in a leather jerkin.


    There was no reason to downplay it.


    ¡°I am Feychilde, good sir! And this is your lucky day! Do you happen to like fortified wine?¡±


    By the time I left my heels were already feeling better, and the crowd were gathering their pots, pans and pails, buckets, barrels and barrows ¨C queueing up to collect what had been verified by the brave pushing-seventy local as ¡®Myrielle white, almost certainly nine eighty-eight vintage¡¯, the tip of his discerning tongue placed gingerly on a broken-off icicle. Damn the Magisterium to all Twelve Hells if they came after me for this ¨C I¡¯d been through enough at their hands today that I¡¯d almost welcome the opportunity to square-off with them over the issue of giving away some frozen wine.


    Okay, so, a huge amount of frozen wine, really, but who was miserly-enough to be measuring?


    My shields firmly in place, I found my stride, the pentagon, square and triangle rotating around the star-reinforced circle, blue lines only I could see flickering through the hundreds of other Mundians and foreigners using Hill Road to reach Hightown. I wasn¡¯t going to take any risks. This way I¡¯d get a bare minimum of twenty-odd feet¡¯s warning if something was coming my way.


    Within a few moments, I could see the towers of Hightown rising up before me, piercing a sky that was actually showing some blue. There was a sea of lesser towers, but a few really caught the eye. The closest, and most impressive I thought, was the three-sided Tower of Mourning, standing alone in a vast cracked courtyard that none could tend on pain of death. The vast creation ¨C for to call it a building was not to do it justice ¨C was seemingly carved of a single piece of unbreakable black stone, threaded with veins that glowed blue in the dark. Whenever they were rung its Bells could be heard, it was said, even out in the Bay of Salnifast, far from the city¡¯s quartz walls ¨C but that was only ever in times of direst need.


    A little farther away, the one they called the Thirteen Candles: an edifice shaped like a haphazard, absurd candelabrum that surely never would¡¯ve stood up for five minutes, never mind five centuries, without copious applications of wizardry; it was painted in a scabrous red that legend said was real blood. Each of its thirteen minarets pointed in a different direction and from the conical roof of each tower there came an endless stream of flame.


    And then, at the far side of Hightown ¨C almost at the outer wall of Mund, near the gate that let out onto the mountain-paths ¨C there stood the Maginox.


    It was an ugly building, I thought. The School of Magery and Headquarters of the Magisterium was a structure of transparent glass, in a pentagonal pyramid ¨C like a regular pyramid but with a pentagon for a base instead of a square, and five faces instead of four. Incredibly tall ¨C almost a mile, they said ¨C and shaped like a spike, almost a needle. Yes, it looked ¡®pretty¡¯, especially at sunset, but that was the problem with it. Nothing in Mund looked that pretty. The old, real School of Magery, where the Five Founders themselves had taught, was lost in an Infernal Incursion; this monument to magecraft was no more than two hundred years old, and it looked it. Sure, lots of the smaller towers were all modern-looking, but out of the big ones, the ones too big for just anyone to build given enough money, the Maginox really stood out, like a mage in a street full of lowborn.


    I made my way up Hightown¡¯s broad, gleaming stretch of Hill Road, and it was like stepping through a portal into another world. The intricately-designed fences which formed hip-high barriers around private areas sported ensorcelled light-balls on wrought-iron posts that would activate as night fell, to light the way for travellers. Each direction I looked, the houses and mercantile outlets, the workshops and guild-halls, the hotels and shrines were all styled out of the same white-grey brick, with huge glass windows in place of walls, even glass domes for roofs.


    Glass roofs¡­ I supposed it¡¯d be worth looking at the sky, here, given you could actually see it. Now I was closer, I saw quite a few of the azure patches here in the greyness overhead, like Hightown was blessed by Celestium itself ¨C or like some wizards had been paid to let a bit of sunshine through¡­


    But it wasn¡¯t just the place; it was the people. I saw a Knight of Kultemeren striding ahead of me ¨C a dwarf, from what his diminutive height and broad shoulders told me. The hem of his specially-made cloak drifted just an inch off the floor, the darkness of the night-blue fabric bringing the white dragon embroidered upon it to life, its shape seeming to writhe as the garment billowed, the dwarf trudging on his way. His broadsword looked no less fearsome for missing a few inches off its length; the crowds were naturally giving the walking lie-exterminator a wide berth. And, obviously, there were lots more magic-users here ¨C I would¡¯ve said that maybe even as many as one in a dozen bore the markers. Many would be students from all over the Mundic Realm; the vast majority weren¡¯t much older than me. I spotted plenty of groups of mages, their hoods cast back, usually all wearing similar colours ¨C I guessed enchanters hung out with enchanters, sorcerers with sorcerers and so on, in the wider community of mages? They were all ambling into and out of the busy bazaars, chatting openly about their work.


    There was an older female wizard with a gaggle of eager younger wizards trying to match her stride as she instructed them in the finer points of architecture while she walked. Teams of zombies toiled in place of animals or prisoners, workers who would never get loose, capable of tireless labour and following surprisingly-complex instructions from their sorcerer-handlers; they all had the same rune on the forehead, the angular ¡®P¡¯ of a foreign pillager, an acceptable target for forced reanimation. I couldn¡¯t account for druids, given the number of birds around here, but no fewer than four flying mages passed me by in thirty seconds at one point. A trio of thirteen- or fourteen-year-old girls who seemed to be enchanters-in-training were lying on their backs on a grass verge, drawing the visages of various boys directly into the air with their gleaming illusions; one of them had a glyphstone out, a chunk of crystal into which she gazed with total obliviousness while the others played.


    Grass verges. They were everywhere, assaulting the senses with their wholesomeness and greenness ¨C at the edge of every side-street, protecting the pavements from the wagon-routes with a strip of nature fifteen feet wide. At this time of year the huge trees that were evenly-spaced along the verges were shedding their leaves, but enough still clutched on to the branches that it was as though there were a yellow roof above the pavements as I made my way into the centre of town.


    The druids didn¡¯t ¨C wouldn¡¯t ¨C clean up all the leaves, so I trudged through my share of knee-deep yellow-brown windrows as I stepped into the verges. Time and again I was forced to avoid circles of kids my own age clogging the pavement, hanging around talking about this-or-that champion or their latest game of Squire, and the veritable armies of tourists, jabbering away in foreign tongues. Still, the lack of mud or other-yet-more-disgusting-brown-plop was a literal breath of fresh air. You really would think this place and Mud Lane were on opposite sides of the country, if you were picked up in one and dropped in the other ¨C even the accents and dialects of the natives diverged to a ridiculous degree. Here you¡¯d catch the odd thee, thou and thine, said in a serious, totally-not-mocking tone of voice, and they had words to differentiate not, say, diseases, but, for example, the type of snobbish amusement you were feeling, like titillation and delectation.


    As I left the outskirts of Hightown and got to the bit where the tall towers started to loom above me ¨C crenellations outfitted with gargoyles which might or might not be (for all intents and purposes) alive, and thin windows flickering with weird lights ¨C I stopped to ask for directions.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir,¡± I said, halting in front of a young man wearing business dress in scarlet and black, his face thin and studious, eyes watery blue and hair dark and wavy. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you could point me the way to Blackbranch Square? I have ¨C¡±


    His gaze snapped to my face, as though he could see me through the shroud, and I froze.


    ¡°I know you,¡± he intoned, and it was not at all the voice I expected; I¡¯d anticipated something in the vein of whiny or perhaps nasal, but his voice was quiet, deep, grave. ¡°I have waited for you, Feychilde. And you have waited for me, all the days of your life.¡±


    A seer?


    ¡°Finally, it begins ¨C here, now. You must grip the brand tightly. Do you hear me? You¡­ What is that? You are the Scion of the Sorcerer,¡± then his voice dropped into a startled-sounding note of incredulity, ¡°and you are his Slave. How ¨C¡± He paused, then let loose a sigh of realisation. ¡°Ahhhh, you¡¯re in there. This makes so much sense! Damn¡­ damn damn damn¡­¡±


    ¡°Get us away from this one,¡± Zel whispered in a tight voice.


    He doesn¡¯t like me having a pet fey?


    ¡°I am not your pet!¡±


    Poor choice of words. I apologise.


    ¡°Hmph. Let¡¯s get directions elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Okay, pal,¡± I said, edging back, ¡°at first I thought hey, a prophet telling me something, this has to be useful, let¡¯s put up with the creep-factor, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯ve erred into hey, this lunatic is trying to make a bad day even worse territory. I get it.¡± The young man was simply shaking his head and laughing softly to himself. ¡°Oh, Feychilde. I¡¯m sorry.¡± He wiped his eyes, and the look of mirth slowly faded from his features. ¡°I¡¯ll be seeing you again soon.¡±


    He bowed lightly and backed away a few steps, before turning and striding off the way I¡¯d come.


    That was strange.


    But then he called back over his shoulder, ¡°Right at the Diamond Mare. Follow the curve past Blackroot Tor to Blackbranch Square. But home is where the heart is!¡±


    I stood where I was, paralysed by no spell but by the subtler pins employed by the diviner.


    However, try as I might, nothing he said was making any damn sense and he was gone, anyway, vanished into the crowd already.


    ¡®Home is where the heart is¡¯? Why would I go home?


    ¡°Just try his directions; he¡¯s a diviner ¨C if he hadn¡¯t thought you¡¯d ignore the bit about going home he wouldn¡¯t have included them.¡±


    Shrugging, I headed off to look for this ¡®Diamond Mare¡¯.


    Your reasoning is sound, but don¡¯t think you¡¯re off the hook. What did ¨C


    ¡°He didn¡¯t realise the arch-sorcerer could also contain the slave of the arch-sorcerer. Couldn¡¯t you pick that much up?¡±


    I thought of the way he¡¯d said ¡®you¡¯re in there,¡¯ as though he knew Zel somehow ¨C but she was right, that just made even less sense.


    ¡°And there it is, just like that.¡±


    The Diamond Mare seemed to be, from just the external appearance, to the Red Hart what the Red Hart was to any of a hundred pubs around Helbert¡¯s Bend.


    The tavern was huge. It was comprised of a central, steepled area with walls of glass, lit by just a few fires that burned without fuel-sources in massive, clear-glass bowls ¨C all visible through the transparent walls. The cylindrical wings on either side with rooms for guests were like miniature towers, turrets four floors tall, built from big bricks of the white-grey stone and dotted with curved windows so that patrons could view the streets from their beds, should they so wish. Etched with white crystal into a plaque of black stone above the doorway were the tavern¡¯s name and the likeness of a cantering horse with a gleaming gem on its brow.


    I took the turn-off, and followed the road to the right.


    The route did indeed curve as the strange young man had said it would. I saw what must have been Blackroot Tor, a withered-looking heath atop a small, steep and somewhat-lopsided hill.


    The silhouette of a lone leafless tree swayed slightly upon the highest point, long fingers made from branches writing unreadable messages, moving ceaselessly in the cold caress of a breeze I couldn¡¯t feel here, a few hundred yards away.


    No buildings backed onto the heather-choked grassland surrounding the Tor; a tall wall of the white-grey stone separated it from the pavement on the far side of the road. None of the people I passed gave it a glance as they went on their ways; after a minute of looking at the tree atop the hill I got the distinct feeling there was something wrong with it. I couldn¡¯t imagine living in one of the houses or working in one of the shops on this side of the street, having to look at it all day long. A little reluctantly I crossed closer to it, so that the wall would block it from my sight.


    Plus, the curve around this hillock made it technically faster to walk on this side of the road anyway. Yes. That would be a perfectly good excuse for crossing over, actually ¨C I could scrap all that stuff about a spooky tree. Yes, that made the most sense.


    I got to the part of the curve where I could see Blackbranch Square ahead. A few roadways seemed to meet here, coming from different areas of Hightown, and there were four big structures; not so huge as the Diamond Mare, but bigger than anything outside the district by a fair margin. I saw the ¡®Blackbranch Bank¡¯ letters gilded onto the white front of a building, and headed that way.


    The bank¡¯s entrance was up a set of shallow, narrow steps and its overhanging roof was supported by a row of ten white pillars. The golden clock set into the front wall of the bank¡¯s upper floors, beaming down on the square like a miniature sun, showed one thirty-five.


    I couldn¡¯t see Emrelet anywhere.


    I could see plenty of mages, plenty of nobles and merchants in garments of velvet and silk, guardsmen liveried and spear-armed, families out enjoying the Starday afternoon¡­ My eyes seized on a tall elflord and elfmaid dragging their elfchild into a shop, their white-golden hair catching my attention.


    But no. No awesome archmage.


    I¡¯d built up the moment in my mind without meaning to, I¡¯d acted, I¡¯d felt like there was no way that fate would be so cruel as to deny me this ¨C that there was some special plan in place, a destiny to be unveiled that would begin here, now ¨C but it had happened ¨C it had gone wrong, tainted by the jealousy of a darkmage-druid ¨C tainted by my own bravado, getting on the wrong side of a magister in the first lousy minute, running on ego and making excuses to myself about how I had to comport myself as a champion, not allowing myself to be challenged, not backing-down¡­ Such childishness. I could curse Belexor, and he¡¯d deserve it, but I was to blame, my lack of control, ignoring all my own rules ¨C


    ¡°Eh yeh! Be yeh Feeehhhhh-choyld?¡±


    It was an exclamation in a thick Northman accent, such that I almost missed the words. One could happily mistake the ¡®Feychilde¡¯ for a sneeze.


    I sighed, and turned to face the old, hairy man walking towards me from the pillars in front of the bank.


    ¡°Are you going to turn me into a rat? Because if you¡¯re going to turn me into a rat, I want fair warning.¡± He¡¯d stepped right through my outermost shields, which meant I was being facetious or he was scary powerful, but I just couldn¡¯t stop. ¡°Or if you¡¯re going to be all cryptic and doomy at me, just spit it out, get right to the point. I¡¯m looking for someone and when I thought about being famous and people recognising me I had no idea it was going to happen three times in a row, I might as well go round with a sign above my head ¨C¡±


    ¡°Yeh be Feeehhhhh-choyld, then,¡± he grunted, stopping ten feet from me and regarding me with an assessing gaze. His attire was that of a beggar, if I had to guess ¨C torn up, frayed, a bit dirty here and there ¨C but he was the most finely-groomed beggar I¡¯d ever seen if that was the case. It looked like even the streetfolk of Hightown had standards.


    ¡°Yes, I am Feychilde, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°Yeh be lookin¡¯ fer thar young margistur, I tekk¡¯it?¡±


    Young magister.


    ¡°Emrelet?¡± I blurted in a much more desperate-sounding voice than I¡¯d planned.


    ¡°Aye, m¡¯little lord, thar be the one, thar¡¯s a fair young lass. She be the one who gev for me to be ¡®ere to meet yeh. Said as you should find ¡®er at yer place.¡±


    ¡°My place?¡±


    ¡°Aye, ¡®tis as she said it with ¡®er own lips¡­ Yeh¡¯ll tell ¡®er I passed on ¡®er word, m¡¯lord?¡±


    It¡¯s what the seer said. What am I going to do?


    ¡°Run?¡±


    Very funny.


    ¡°If you¡¯d let me take you on a pet-hunt,¡± she gave the term an added dollop of petulance, ¡°we could¡¯ve gotten you a mount.¡±


    I thanked Emrelet¡¯s envoy profusely, nearly dislocating his arm while I shook his hand, pressing a couple of my coins into it for his trouble.


    Then I turned on my heel.


    I was on my way home.

 Troll Tales

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.8: TROLL TALES</h2>


    ¡°There upon cold stone it grows. Moss can teach you all you need to know, if you have already learned how to listen.¡±


    ¨C as spoken by the Recaller of Illodin


    Even before I knocked on the door I could hear the whoops and hollers of Jaid and Jaroan having fun, and I cooled down. There were no shrieks from inside as anyone who wished me ill was being shunted through furniture and pushed up against walls. I could relax.


    I let loose a sigh, and with it went about fifty percent of my dark thoughts.


    There was no discernible reason why Emrelet would be here, of all places. It still could¡¯ve been a trap somehow. I¡¯d slowed down once I got to the alley behind Hontor and Sons, considering my options. Reluctantly, I¡¯d taken off my robe, and freshened up at the well before heading down Mud Lane. My mind had been a jumble as I¡¯d almost-ran home, skipping along here and there when there was the opportunity. Why would Emrelet be at my apartment? How would she know to go there? By the time I¡¯d reached Helbert¡¯s Bend I¡¯d been answerless and sweating.


    Better to go in calm and collected, as Kastyr. The moment any of them saw me in disguise, they¡¯d start to question, and if they heard me speak they¡¯d know for sure. I could only hope that Emrelet kept up the pretence.


    If she was really here.


    ¡°Do you want to know?¡± Zel asked in a gloating tone.


    Please?


    ¡°Weeeeelllllll¡­¡±


    Zel ¨C


    My passenger chuckled wickedly. ¡°She is.¡±


    Nervously, I knocked two-four-two; I left off the last knock, meaning I was cautious.


    Xantaire answered, and eyed me in a¡­ new way?


    There was displeasure, suspicion, I recognised those¡­ but not the twinge of fear.


    Fear of me?


    I smiled as softly as I could, wishing, pleading silently for her to see in the pain on my face just what her knowledge cost me. My eyes were suddenly a bit wet.


    ¡°I¡¯m not stupid, you know, Kas,¡± she murmured. ¡°It¡¯s all anyone¡¯s talking about. And then her, with thirty platinum crowns?¡±


    My throat was dry. ¡°The twins, if y-¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t find out from me, but they will find out,¡± she responded coolly.


    I nodded, coughed a little, and drew a hand across my eyes.


    ¡°The m-money?¡±


    ¡°She has it.¡±


    I was in the middle of loosing another incredible sigh when she said something that made me splutter:


    ¡°Seems you made a bit of an impression.¡±


    She turned, walked inside, and I followed speechlessly.


    Orstrum and Morsus were out, it seemed. Xastur was on the floor drawing on tiles with chalk, while Jaid and Jaroan sat on one bench, my cobbled-together fortify set spread on the other bench facing them ¨C


    My brain tried to parse that again ¨C


    While Jaid and Jaroan sat on one bench, on either side of a ridiculously-attractive arch-magister ¨C


    Emrelet stood up the moment she saw me. She was wearing the same white robe as last night that clung to the contours of her body, the ten-pointed Magisterium sigil prominent in the centre. ¡°Kas,¡± she said warmly. ¡°I ¨C ahh ¨C¡°


    She seemed to realise she couldn¡¯t move any closer to me, with the kids crowded so close to her that their knees were touching her own on either side, and splayed her fingers helplessly.


    Jaid looked up at me and squealed. ¡°Can we keep her, Kas? Even Jar can¡¯t beat her, but I can, can¡¯t I, tell him Em, it was me ¨C¡°


    Jaroan began to roar something equally-insulting, and I had to try to keep my voice gentle as I shouted them down, considering we had company. It really was the only way to deal with them, short of hiring an enchanter.


    Hmm. Perhaps that would be an option, sometime soon¡­


    Filing that away in a safe place in my mind, I stepped closer and offered Emrelet my hand this time; she took it, and used my assistance to step over Jaid¡¯s legs, releasing her grip only once she¡¯d fully-extricated herself from the limbs of my siblings.


    ¡°Do you think ¨C could we? -¡± I pointed to my room.


    I included Xantaire in my speculative gesture, to make it clear I wasn¡¯t trying to suggest anything improper.


    Once I had the twins ameliorated, rehearsing their plans to take me down in a game of fortify, I followed Xantaire and Emrelet into my room and shut the door behind me.


    Emrelet looked from Xantaire to me, then back again, before opening her mouth, ¡°Kas,¡± still sounding like there was a ¡®z¡¯ in there at the end somewhere, ¡°you should know zat I said nothing. I ¨C¡±


    And Xantaire said, ¡°I figured it out all on my own,¡± at the same time as I said, ¡°It¡¯s okay, I get it.¡±


    There was some pretty horrific tension.


    That left me only one option.


    I grinned, and slipped my robe out of my satchel and over my head in a single motion, pulling my scarf into place and settling my hood so that nothing of my identity showed.


    ¡°Tell me it doesn¡¯t suit me, Xan.¡±


    I even gave them an over-the-top spin, which elicited a couple of brief laughs.


    There was no way I¡¯d planned for Emrelet to see my dropping bedroom like this but at least I¡¯d kicked my dirty clothing out of sight before leaving this morning, and made up my covers. I sorted out the quilt on top of the twins¡¯ bed and sat down on it, pointing to my considerably-neater bed for them to sit if they wished.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long day,¡± I murmured, half in apology, as I reluctantly removed the robe and scarf once more. ¡°The only thing I can¡¯t figure out is you two. Forgive me, m¡¯lady ¨C¡°


    ¡°You can dispense viz zat, for one thing,¡± Emrelet said, relenting and perching on the edge of my bed, facing me. ¡°I am not highborn; you know zis? I come from a poor family. I have been in ze city six months, and I have only just secured my parents a house. Zose highborn; most of zem aren¡¯t even friendly to my face.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Ilitar, and Ciraya ¨C¡°


    ¡°Zey are okay, I suppose, but zey aren¡¯t Mundian ¨C rich, yes, but zey are not highborn. Mostly ze¡­ locals do not like me. Zere is ze voman who recruited me¡­¡±


    She fell silent, looking aside as if in contemplation.


    I could have lied to myself, told myself that I wasn¡¯t at least partially pleased to hear she¡¯d grown up without becoming acclimatised to the luxuries that went with wealth, the fineries she¡¯d never get exposed to around my usual haunts ¨C but what would be the point in that? It was nice to hear we had something in common, even if that something sucked.


    The magister glanced up at Xantaire. ¡°As for us two, as you chose to put it¡­¡± The little wicked, roguish expression she¡¯d had on her face while planning to surprise me with a mud elemental was back, and I looked down with the proper measure of abashment. ¡°Vell, Xa-Xantaire¡­¡± ¨C Xantaire nodded encouragingly at her ¨C ¡°is really ze one you need to be thanking, Kas. She found me, after all.¡±


    Now it was my turn to look at Xantaire with what must¡¯ve been a certain amount of fear in my eyes ¨C and she laughed throatily, taking a seat beside Emrelet.


    ¡°Hoooowwww¡­?¡±


    ¡°I just knew something would go wrong.¡± She spoke softly-enough that the twins wouldn¡¯t hear in the next room, but the crowing triumph in her voice was unmistakeable all the same. ¡°You left so early, I knew you weren¡¯t going straight there, so I went to Hightown for midday, while the kids got the end bits of last night¡¯s story they missed from my Pa. I couldn¡¯t find you, but I reasoned it¡¯d probably be near a bank, considering the sum, and I remembered you mentioned Blackbranch ¨C and there she was.¡±


    ¡°But how did you ¨C¡°


    I suddenly realised I didn¡¯t want to finish that question, didn¡¯t want Xantaire to voice the answer right here in front of her¡­


    But it was obviously going to happen.


    ¡°Well, I remembered how you spoke about her when you got in last night¡­¡±


    Emrelet looked embarrassed, flushing somewhat, but as her eyes found an incredibly interesting patch of floorboard and fixed themselves to it I couldn¡¯t help but notice the slight smile of pleasure lingering around her lips.


    ¡°¡­ and hey, I mean, look at her¡­¡°


    I did my best to completely avert my gaze and ¨C oh, look, this patch of floorboard over here really was interesting¡­


    ¡°¡­ and when I got talking to her I immediately realised she must be the one you were supposed to meet. Which brings me to my question,¡± her voice hardened perceptibly, ¡°what in Chraunator¡¯s name were you playing at? All morning!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ It was¡­ business.¡±


    Emrelet was looking at me, once more cool and composed all of a sudden, and I met her gaze.


    She seemed to read something in my expression. ¡°Belexor? No¡­¡±


    I just nodded. Xantaire looked between us in obvious confusion.


    ¡°Vhat did he do zis time?¡± She sounded exasperated. ¡°I have been his leader for four weeks, and zis is ze third time he has been in trouble.¡±


    ¡°Belly, as his super-rich, super-evil friends call him, is a darkmage, I¡¯m afraid,¡± I said.


    She gasped: ¡°No!¡± I could see the sting of it in the way her gaze wavered, and the infuriation making her tense her arms and clench her fists. ¡°Are you certain?¡±


    ¡°I could¡¯ve phrased that better,¡± I said apologetically. ¡°But you had to hear it sooner or later, and better you know now and go in with your eyes open¡­ I don¡¯t know what they¡¯ll tell you, exactly, but I ran into Nighteye, and he and Lightblind are tracking the recently-emancipated leaders of the Cannibal Six.¡± I paused, the events of the day whirling through my mind ¨C what did she need to hear? In what order?


    ¡°I think,¡± Emrelet said slowly, ¡°ve vont to hear zis in full.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C erm ¨C think it went wrong somewhere around the time I got turned ¨C do not laugh, Xan ¨C into a rat, and ¨C I said not to laugh, Xan! Look, I went to the Giltergrove with the best of intentions ¨C please stop laughing¡­¡±


    Less than ten minutes later, my story was told. Xantaire was at least a pint lighter from crying in mirth ¨C despite my mortal peril (which I re-emphasised to no avail) the notion of me being a rat, being chased by a cat, even a demonic one, was just too much for her; if I had mentioned the rat-wee I was forced to do in the Red Hart I think she would¡¯ve died from dessication right there in front of us. Emrelet looked as though she was recovered from her initial dismay, her eyes narrowed in thought. Taking stock of the situation, steeling her resolve.


    I¡¯d left out the stuff about the Gathering of Champions, and the young diviner¡¯s strange message; half to save time, half because I didn¡¯t know whether I could or should share that stuff. Speaking the wrong thing to the right person could put both me and them in trouble, and that was the last thing we needed right now.


    My shields were still flickering through the walls, visible to my sorcerous sight, penetrating any barriers¡­ Even with them, it would terrify me to bear the brunt of Emrelet¡¯s anger, should it be unleashed. It still staggered me how much pure power was contained within her. She was just sitting there, close enough for me to reach out and take her hand if I were brave enough ¨C but she could turn the whole block into an inferno just with her mind. She could swallow the whole block into the ground, or flood it ¨C


    Yeah, I wouldn¡¯t want to be in Belexor¡¯s shoes today even if they were this year¡¯s boots. Nighteye and the druids were onto him. The Magisterium chiefs were going to get a not-so-glowing report about what he¡¯d been up to. His own band¡¯s mighty leader now knew about his treachery, and she did not look happy. And the last I¡¯d heard was Termiax and Rissala, asking where to find him, probably to pay him back for his stupidity in bringing me there¡­


    It was only then that I realised.


    They hadn¡¯t been angry about me being there. Hadn¡¯t wanted to punish Belexor¡­


    Stupid. So stupid. How did I forget?


    ¡°Everloving son of drop,¡± I breathed.


    ¡°Kas?¡± Xantaire prompted, looking almost concerned.


    ¡°Belexor knows my name,¡± I mumbled.


    ¡°He couldn¡¯t find you that easily ¨C¡° Xantaire began.


    ¡°No, but the Cannibal Six asked for his name moments before I stopped spying on them. Could it be that he¡¯d do that ¨C turn me in to my enemies like that? Because,¡± I licked my suddenly-dry lips, ¡°I bet they could find me.¡±


    They¡¯d have a diviner on-call, or know where to find one.


    ¡°Surely he¡­¡± Emrelet¡¯s voice died away.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I said with a shudder.


    ¡°We have to prepare for the worst, Kastyr. If he tells them who you are, considering who you¡¯ve taken down recently, it¡¯s going to be better for you in ¨C¡°


    Zel, I want you out here.


    ¡°What? No ¨C I came out in that Hilltown pub because you needed it; you said, you swore to me you would keep me hidden ¨C¡°


    I¡¯m changing the deal. Step out of me.


    And the moment I made the command clear, it was inescapable ¨C she popped right out of my face, like a wooden cup used to trap air in the depths bobbing up to break the surface of the water.


    Thankfully neither Xantaire or Emrelet screamed, but it looked like a close thing.


    Zel fluttered around for a moment before settling down on the upraised hand I¡¯d put in place for her convenience. Once she was standing steadily I put my elbow on my knee and kept the hand up so everyone could see her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not happy about this, you know.¡± Her voice was raised, and more than a little squeaky ¨C she might¡¯ve been cross, but she sounded so cute.


    ¡°Emrelet, Xantaire, I¡¯d like you to meet Zel ¨C I can¡¯t say her full name aloud ¨C a faerie queen of Etherium.¡±


    ¡°Oh Kultemeren, she¡¯s adorable!¡± Xantaire said delightedly, leaning closer and putting out her fingers as if to pat or stroke the fairy.


    Zel growled, which was still cute, but a clear warning sign, and Xantaire quickly straightened up, looking a bit disappointed.


    Emrelet, who had probably seen a fairy up close before, merely smiled once she¡¯d gotten over the initial shock of Zel¡¯s surprise face-exit. ¡°A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kveen Zel,¡± the magister said in a formal but congenial tone.


    ¡°A pleasure,¡± Zel laced the word in spite and sarcasm, ¡°to have my acquaintance made, archmage.¡±


    ¡°Zel¡¯s saved my life a number of times already,¡± I explained, ignoring her foul attitude, ¡°and there¡¯s no one whose counsel I value more. You,¡± I directed my attention at the fey queen, ¡°need to watch your tongue, little lady, and start getting used to being depended on more often. I need you, Zel. Tell them what you think about Belly knowing who I am. Let¡¯s discuss it, together, reasonably.¡±


    ¡°I think he¡¯s likely to tell them, which means leaving this place anyway, which means keeping your thirty pieces of platinum, finding somewhere new to stay ¨C Twelve Hells, you could buy an apartment this size for thirty platinum, right?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I can¡¯t run away.¡±


    I explained the situation with Peltos for Emrelet¡¯s benefit, the fact that we had technically defrauded him of a certain amount in rent, even if we could argue over the particulars. ¡°Sure, we still just had the one apartment,¡± I said in summary, ¡°but we all knew all along that we were breaking the rules. If everyone was allowed to put as many people as they wanted in an apartment, without paying more¡­¡± I let my voice drift off. I probably didn¡¯t need to explain the economics to her. ¡°If I run, if we all clear out of here now, he¡¯d be within rights to seek a warrant for our arrest, which would mean fines on top of the rest, at least, if not him getting permission to send a crew after us, to ¡®collect¡¯¡­¡±


    There was more I wasn¡¯t saying, of course. It was my home, damn it. My parents¡¯ home¡­


    But Emrelet was nodding despite me only voicing half my reasons. ¡°Zat much is clear to me. If you and zis landlord cannot come to private settlement zen he vould have ze right to take it further.¡±


    ¡°We have to stand our ground,¡± Xantaire agreed. ¡°If you really are a champion ¨C I,¡± she looked momentarily flustered ¨C I could see in her eyes that she was being confronted with accepting the fact things were different now, having to take it, and move on with things ¨C but she swallowed it down, ¡°I don¡¯t see why we can¡¯t pay off Peltos tonight, then leave, use a bit of the money that¡¯s left, and then when you can make more we ¨C¡±


    ¡°What if I said I wanted to stay?¡± I asked suddenly.


    ¡°I hate it when your eyes glitter like that, Kas,¡± Xantaire said. ¡°What¡¯re you suggesting?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I just don¡¯t think it¡¯s right to let the bad guys run you out of your house, you know? You could say I find the idea offensive. I¡¯m pretty confident in my ability to defend us against people like the Cannibal Six.¡±


    Zelurra shook her head, her arms folded as she stood on my palm. ¡°What if something over the tenth rank comes at you again? What if they get hold of a rank twenty-something demon and send it on its merry way? Demons like that don¡¯t knock, Kas, don¡¯t even get in range of your shields before lobbing fireballs. So what if you protect the apartment against something that destroys the entire neighbourhood around you? It has happened before, it can happen again, and you¡¯d have only your sense of offence to blame. Do you want to park your cart safe inside a bubble and watch Mud Lane burn?¡±


    I drew a breath, let it go. Drew another.


    ¡°Do you see,¡± I said quietly, ¡°why I value her counsel?¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    My mother used to say ¡®when Sticktown¡¯s finished¡¯ sometimes, an old expression referring to the fact the place was always being rebuilt because of this-or-that disaster. A conflagration; a shocking loss of life¡­ Sometimes it had a mundane cause, and other times it was a loose monster or a battle between champions and rebels¡­ and in one of the Infernal Incursions before I was born, as many as one in six buildings in Sticktown had been lost in a single night, they said.


    Five be damned if that was going to happen to Mud Lane, because of me.


    ¡°Her vords are vise¡­¡± Emrelet hedged, ¡°but if I am here zeir plans vould come to naught.¡±


    Zel turned to glare at the magister.


    Emrelet raised her hands, fingers spread placatingly. ¡°Vhat can I say? I vould like to see zem throw a fireball at ze building. Give me something to vork viz.¡±


    ¡°The pair of you,¡± the fairy squeaked, stamping her foot on the bulge where my thumb met my palm, ¡°you¡¯re incorrigible.¡±


    I opened my mouth, but I didn¡¯t quite know what to say ¨C so Emrelet was staying? For how long?


    I was glad when Xantaire cut in: ¡°Can we just ¨C get to sunset, and find out what happens from there?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I feel better for discussing it, even if we haven¡¯t made up our minds yet. I mean, Belexor might not have even told them anything.¡± I let the pause continue into a silence before murmuring, ¡°Do you want to say bye, Zel?¡±


    The faerie queen performed a perfect little curtsy at Emrelet and Xantaire, corners of her pale-blue dress in her hands, blonde pigtails bobbing.


    ¡°A pleasure,¡± she inflected her words with caustic barbs; ¡°we simply must do this again.¡±


    The moment I relented, even unconsciously, she slipped feet-first straight down into my palm and disappeared within me once more.


    Thank you.


    ¡°I ¨C¡±


    And I¡¯m sorry.


    ¡°You ¨C¡±


    You have every right to be mad. But you don¡¯t need to hide. You¡¯re part of the team, Zel. And I really did listen to your advice this time.


    She settled into what I imagined to be a seething, brooding silence.


    Xantaire¡¯s eyes were wide, staring at my hand where the fairy had sank into my flesh like a stone into water, even as I returned my it to my leg.


    ¡°She is quite ze character,¡± Emrelet observed in an amused tone. ¡°She is avake in zere? In you?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°She is trustworthy, though; bound to me, like you hear in the stories. I can put her to sleep, like putting out a candle ¨C but it¡¯s risky if we might be attacked any moment. She¡¯s a real asset.¡±


    The magister nodded, in what looked like a professional recognition of the truth of my words.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to figure out what to tell the kids, Kas,¡± Xantaire said quietly. ¡°You can¡¯t go out there, fighting ¨C after what happened to your parents¡­¡±


    She glanced at Emrelet then back at me.


    I caught Emrelet¡¯s sudden questioning gaze before she could drop it back to her lap ¨C


    ¡°They were killed,¡± I said simply. ¡°A street-robbery gone wrong. I didn¡¯t run the errand. They went in my stead, and they weren¡¯t ¨C¡° weren¡¯t fast enough to get out of there, weren¡¯t streetwise-enough to see what they were getting into until it was too late ¡°¨C they were killed,¡± I finished lamely. I had meant to tell the story straightforwardly, succinctly, but I found I still couldn¡¯t quite put it into words I thought anyone else would understand.


    ¡°And my own son is in this building,¡± Xantaire went on in her unusually-low voice; ¡°can you guarantee his safety, Kastyr? Can you, Emrelet? Will either of you dare offer me guarantees, if you carried out your notion to, what, ¡®mount a defence¡¯ here?¡±


    She was throwing the fortify-related terminology she¡¯d overheard back at me, I guessed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother trying to tell her she¡¯s wrong.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said, ¡°and you¡¯ve got Zel on your side in here.¡± I tapped the side of my head. ¡°Do you think I want my brother and sister in the middle of a battleground?¡± I looked at Emrelet. ¡°I appreciate the gesture ¨C you¡¯ve got no idea how much it¡¯s worth to me, to know you¡¯re on my side ¨C but it¡¯s not like you¡¯re going to want to stay here all the time, and I couldn¡¯t ask you to, even if I want, wanted to ¨C¡± I could feel my face beginning to go red ¡°¨C a-a-and Xan¡¯s right, there¡¯s Xastur and Jaid and Jaroan to consider; it¡¯s not just my home, my parents¡¯ home,¡± I lowered my gaze to her hands, clasped together on her knees; ¡°it¡¯s everyone¡¯s homes, everyone at risk¡­¡±


    I stood up. ¡°Are you on duty at some point today? I think once we¡¯ve dealt with Peltos ¨C if you¡¯ll stick around that long ¨C I should try to find out a more proactive way of dealing with Belexor¡¯s possible betrayals. I could go with you?¡±


    Emrelet nodded, smiling, as she stood. ¡°I have ze evening shift again, nine till three. It vould be nice to have some company on ze trip over.¡±


    Xantaire was on her way to open the door and she snorted, lips twisted in a mischievous smile; Emrelet very obviously rolled her eyes in response, making sure we both saw it.


    My pulse was pounding in my ears as I followed them from the room, and not because I might¡¯ve triggered something that made me the target of a hunt involving any number of darkmages across the city. Being assassinated, having Mud Lane blown up ¨C that was as nothing compared to the very real-seeming possibility that Emrelet was still ¨C inexplicably ¨C interested in me. Even after seeing my dropstain of an apartment, after smelling the gods-damned street I lived in¡­? I should¡¯ve known it for certain the moment I saw her here that she wasn¡¯t highborn, or she¡¯d have run away screaming long before now.


    My pulse didn¡¯t slow when, after Xantaire had stepped out of the doorway, Emrelet whirled and looked me right in the eyes.


    ¡°Vhat should I do viz ze coins?¡± she asked quietly.


    I was the closest I¡¯d ever been to her. The kids wouldn¡¯t hear ¨C Xantaire was putting up with their complaints about how long we¡¯d been gone ¨C so I was free to reply.


    ¡°Erm ¨C I can take them, I suppose? If only to hand them over in a few hours.¡±


    I took the pouch she produced from one of the folds of her robes, no larger than a child¡¯s fist but jingling the way only immense wealth could. We were so close that her hand only had to move inches to place it in mine and while we were both looking down our faces were close, too, so close that at times I could feel her breath on my skin¡­


    I didn¡¯t count the money or look at it, not wanting to make it look like I was distrustful of her, even though it would really just be to indulge a childish temptation to revel in the riches while they were mine.


    With a twinge of reluctance I pocketed the pouch in the right side of my blue trousers, then looked back up at her.


    ¡°You do not vish to make certain?¡± She sounded surprised.


    ¡°I am certain,¡± I said, then smiled. ¡°What I wish is to see your skill at fortify. You don¡¯t play that often?¡±


    She grinned, and span about sharply, marching over to the benches.


    ¡°Jhaid? Jharoan?¡± She already knew their names. ¡°Do you think I could beat your brother?¡±


    So went the next few hours.


    It took forty-five minutes for me to realise she was hustling me, and about two hours before I realised just how badly. I played my best game, and she still ripped me to pieces.


    Fortify was, like all the best games, simple to play as a beginner but deep-enough in complexity to still satisfy a player on their hundredth battle. Each player (or side) had their Northern Hold and their Southern Hold; each of these bases could spawn different Minions, depending on your chosen Master figure; each of the soldiers could move different amounts depending on their direction of travel and destroy different enemy pieces, while each Master could use a range of unique special abilities to adjust the battlefield, diverting rivers, growing forests, felling mountains¡­ even opening the ¡®grave¡¯ to ¡®resurrect¡¯ slain pieces¡­


    Jaid and Jaroan sat on either end, a rapt audience for our deceitful turns; whenever we took breaks they would try to counsel us in half-giggled whispers, playing their own little game with us as their pawns. At first it had seemed Jaid was on Emrelet¡¯s side, and Jaroan on mine, but at some point they switched and it became obvious that they were contesting each other on an entirely-different playing-field that was probably incomprehensible to anyone who wasn¡¯t one of the twins. Even Xastur, who was usually completely uninterested in fortify battles, seemed to perk up and visited the play-area a few times; he later popped up with a chalk-covered square of tile bearing a (four-year-old¡¯s) artist¡¯s impression of one of Emrelet¡¯s manoeuvres, when her ogre blind-sided (and in Xastur¡¯s considered opinion, ate) a unicorn I¡¯d spent half the game getting into position. We graciously thanked him ¨C as the loser I deigned to grimace accordingly while I spoke ¨C and Emrelet accepted the tile as he seemed to be requesting, promising to take it home with her.


    We prepared dinner as a group activity while we played. As much as everyone was happy eating out, most apartments had a small stove for boiling meals, along with a little stony hearth. Infernos were a regular occurrence all across the district but parents drilled their children on fire safety from the time they could toddle and the old folks known as ¡®vigilers¡¯ were on watch at all hours, ready to raise the alarm if someone¡¯s flat started pouring smoke. Emrelet worked potatoes and I worked carrots, peeling and chopping, as Jaid and Jaroan disposed of the waste and provided water, playing their own little game of Kultemeren Says. Xantaire took care of the actual business of getting the stew going, keeping an eye on her son at the same time. She seemed subdued; surely she would still be processing everything that had happened, everything that had changed, but inside I was just praying that she wouldn¡¯t fear me, that she¡¯d come to the realisation I was still the same Kas.


    Morsus had been labouring for the day, as we found out when he returned; Starday-work tended to pay better, and he had a fistful of copper half-pennies to count out. Orstrum, coming back just half an hour before tea was ready, had been begging, and had considerably less. But it all still counted, all still added to our kitty¡­


    On top of the thirty platinum ¨C three hundred gold ¨C we had enough copper and silver to make up another four or five gold. Peltos had asked for a hundred and sixty and in my haste I¡¯d told his boys to double the sum if they gave me until tonight. That made thirty-two plat, or three hundred and twenty gold. I had to hope that I¡¯d be able to talk him around into giving us an extension on the last portion, if he was really going to hold out for the full sum ¨C but I was going to aim for just a total of twenty plat at first. Let him push me up, and hopefully he¡¯d settle without draining all our cash reserves.


    It was on such distractions as money-trouble and food-preparation and twin-interference that I blamed my ultimate fortify defeat ¨C blamed it out loud, with much over-the-top wailing and the gnashing of teeth. Jaid and Jaroan were, of course, subject to summary execution by means of tickling. When both were rendered suitably-contrite, lying panting and exhausted on the floor with their arms protecting their tickle-vulnerable midriffs, I released them on pain of double the torture if they ever dared mess with my focus like that again.


    By the time Xantaire handed out steaming bowls and wooden spoons, we¡¯d tidied things away and washed up. I sat cross-legged facing Emrelet on the floor, talking over the finer points of the game we¡¯d just concluded, pointing out what each of us had been attempting to do at different points, the dozens of little plots that had come undone without our opponent necessarily being any the wiser. My choice of Geomancer for my leader came under heavy criticism, as it always did, but I was determined to master that most-difficult of Masters some day.


    At one point she poked me on the right side of my chest, gently, and when her hands went back to rest her fingers were touching my own ¨C just a smidgen, a tiny continual caress that she might not even be noticing ¨C but I noticed, doing my best to keep my face from showing the thrill of shock that tingled through me, to keep my hand from shaking as I sought to maintain the contact.


    So not fifteen seconds later, when the magister reached up to accept the bowl from Xantaire and inhale some of the steam with a rapturous expression on her face, I fought to keep from grinding my teeth together, displaying a toothy smile at Xantaire in ¡®thanks¡¯ for the sudden arrival of dinner.


    Still ¨C it was food.


    If there¡¯d been any doubt as to Emrelet¡¯s lowborn upbringing, it would¡¯ve vanished once I saw the way she attacked the stew. And I thought she¡¯d been brutal when she¡¯d been playing fortify. At first she went at it demurely, one lump at a time, but once she saw the rest of us giving in to our hunger she joined in readily.


    ¡°Mhmm,¡± she moaned through a mouthful, ¡°zis is ze best.¡±


    I looked up to catch Xantaire¡¯s brief glance of acknowledgement, and it troubled me that she seemed so worried. Was she overthinking things, or was it that I was underestimating just how disturbing the recent chain of events had been in reality? It was hard for me to be objective. I was the one sprouting fairies out of my face, after all.


    I really hadn¡¯t thought through how everyone was going to take this.


    Emrelet followed my line of sight to Xantaire then, seeming to understand, swiftly returned her attention to her own meal.


    I might¡¯ve been skinny but I ate enough when I got chance, and I ate quickly, especially when I was tense. As the first one done with my stew, I set about cleaning up.


    It was only when I stepped out to empty the dirty water that I realised how late it¡¯d gotten. The grey cloak of the skies was deepening; the sun was already gone from behind the clouds, or so it looked from where I stood. It had to be a matter of minutes rather than hours now.


    As I went about my chores I dissolved my outermost shields, keeping only my star-reinforced circle ¨C I still had thirty plat in my pocket, after all. But I had no idea how close to sunset Peltos would keep, whether he might be early or late or just not even show up¡­ if he or one of his thugs came around, wishing me ill, those shields would give me away ¨C maybe not in the very first instant, no, but it would all inevitably unravel from that point onwards. Even a mere trace of hostility might¡¯ve been enough to trigger the repulsive force ¨C I had no means at-hand by which to test it¡­ The last thing I wanted was for my landlord to find a randomly-unpassable stairway, somewhere within range of the outermost shields, reaching into floors above and below me¡­


    While Jaid and Jaroan went and did the second (far easier) half of the washing-up, I sat with Emrelet in my room. Xantaire was putting Xastur in bed and Orstrum and Morsus were engaged in a card-game (far too random for my tastes) so we didn¡¯t have anyone looking over our shoulder as we got to know one another better.


    She was seventeen, only nine months older than me actually. I turned sixteen six months ago, in the fourth month, Enyara; she turned seventeen three months ago, in Urdara.


    She knew a few archmages our age, but most were highborn, even given the huge population disparity. You¡¯d expect there to be ten lowborn archmages for every highborn one, at least, but it was the other way around in the Magisterium. Not for lack of trying, apparently. The recruitment department worked hard to hire the lowborn archmages who showed up without a clear form of employment (or they seemed to have done so in her case at least), but most proved uncooperative (I wondered why¡­). Even if most of those who decided to sign up stuck around and settled on it as their long-term career, despite the risks and rigmarole, the archmages going unnoticed in the population, or worse, going rogue, becoming darkmages, probably outnumbered them twenty-to-one.


    So this ¡®Elkostor¡¯ who¡¯d come up in last night¡¯s conversation was a posh-boy and she wasn¡¯t likely to be interested in him¡­ I¡¯d gotten one of the answers some secret little part of me had been after.


    Emrelet hailed from the woodlands of the small kingdom of Onsolor to the far north-east of Mund, a country which I always mixed up with Onlor ¨C to my ears the people native to those lands all shared Emrelet¡¯s accent; they were typically pale and tended toward thinness, a hardy people; that was enough to categorise them as roughly the same in my mind. But I didn¡¯t mention any of this, given that she was actually talking about the national enmity between the two states.


    It seemed Onlor was the sort of obnoxious neighbour no one wanted; wealthier and more militarily-powerful, larger and more advantageously-situated. Onsolor had long struggled for its own identity, while Onlor fought to play the part of the big brother, subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) trying to annex the kingdom in a game that¡¯d gone on centuries, the High Lords and Ladies of the Arrealbord playing one side off against the other in an endless dance.


    So it was that Emrelet had ended up coming to Mund. Onlor had blockaded one of the main trade routes into Onsolor, under the pretence of highway maintenance or some such excuse, and starvation had set in within a few months. People were forced to eat their pets, and there were rumours that some had fallen to cannibalism, dark cults spreading out from the cities to roam the countryside in search of fresh meat.


    If there were ever to be a sign it was time to leave a place, widespread cannibalism was it. Emrelet¡¯s parents were clearly sensible people; I looked forward to meeting them, and said as much, which elicited a warm flash in her eyes.


    She¡¯d used her salary to move them in from the camps outside the city to a place in Rivertown, apparently both affordable and with a minimal murder rate in the neighbourhood ¨C which sounded like a contradiction in terms to me, but I went with it.


    The journey itself had taken two months and clearly no small amount of bravery, given the dangers of some of the roads they¡¯d travelled ¨C riding with a caravan through the barren wilderness, following the Eltwent Path that brought them over Dimmervil Pass; they then took passage on a barge to bring them down the Briarflow, a narrow but deep river that fed into the Blackrush just a few miles north of Mund ¨C


    ¡°Zat is where I discovered my powers,¡± she said.


    ¡°On the Briarflow?¡±


    She nodded, looking suddenly grim. ¡°Ze trolls had knocked down a dozen trees and used them to almost, ahh, dam up ze river.¡± Her Mundic was excellent for someone who had clearly not been speaking it regularly for very long; there were the odd moments when she had to search for the right words but they were few and far between. I wished I had such an aptitude. ¡°Ve vent around a bend and zere zey vere, vaiting for us.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t seen her look troubled like this before now. I leaned forward to ensure I caught everything she said.


    ¡°Zere vere about eight or nine of zem, I think. Have you ever seen a troll, Kas?¡±


    I shook my head slowly. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°Ten to fifteen feet tall. Huge heads,¡± she spread her hands to indicate a sphere about three feet in diameter, at which my eyes widened, ¡°viz mouths like our own, but jaws vhich open here,¡± she drew lines with her fingers leading back from her lips, as if her mouth could open all the way back below the ear. ¡°Thin, but do not underestimate zeir strength. Zeir flesh is tough like bone, sharp like blades; zey can rend limbs from bodies, even tear down ze trees¡­¡±


    She paused, remembering, and I was frozen, imagining.


    ¡°Zey are brutes; zey take vhat zey can, killing anyone in zeir path.¡±


    Her robe, more like a gown of heavy cloth, left one shoulder and arm exposed; the sleeve on her other arm she rolled up now, baring her forearm.


    A mess of scars that ordinarily I¡¯d think of as hideous, except it was her arm and I couldn¡¯t; the assessment just couldn¡¯t gel and it was rejected as soon as I thought of it. But, nonetheless, I knew my body had reacted in an instant of revulsion. I knew it more by the atmosphere of the room which seemed to suddenly change than by any introspection ¨C right now I was keyed in to her emotions in a way I couldn¡¯t quite explain, as if I¡¯d left any desire to experience me behind and now deigned to try to experience her ¨C who knew when I¡¯d get this chance again, any chance to speak with her like this for real? ¨C and I sensed before she did it that she was about to move to roll her sleeve back down ¨C


    I placed my hand on hers gently, not to stop her in the motion to cover it up but to let her know I¡¯d recognised my mistake, that it wasn¡¯t conscious ¨C


    I looked in her eyes.


    ¡°Please,¡± I said, ¡°don¡¯t?¡±


    She blinked, and I saw a tear shine in her eyes; but it was gone before it could roll down her cheek.


    She didn¡¯t move the hand, and I left mine where it was, for as long as she¡¯d let me.


    I looked down at her forearm again.


    ¡°Zis is vhere it clutched me. Vhen I avoke.¡±


    Awakening. Yes, that was the word for it indeed. That bit I could attest to.


    I could imagine this prompting the same kind of stress I¡¯d been feeling the day it happened to me. She¡¯d said the flesh of the trolls was blade-like, but I hadn¡¯t realised quite what she¡¯d meant until I grasped that this was a troll¡¯s hand-print. I could see the scars made by the fingers, dozens of lines like the marks made by jagged razors, and then the unscarred spaces between the fingers; the worst patch, where the troll¡¯s palm had pressed into her flesh¡­


    I felt angry, then confused.


    I looked up at her, met her eyes ¨C but didn¡¯t ask the question.


    No. I wouldn¡¯t have had it healed either.


    ¡°Scars have a way of becoming part of you, don¡¯t they?¡±


    Now the two tears fell, but she was smiling this time, the grimness gone from her.


    ¡°I take it you used the river ¨C¡°


    She caught my hand suddenly, rather than letting me rest it on the back of hers, gripping my fingers in her own. ¡°Oh, ze trolls had no idea vhat hit zem,¡± she said, and then laughed briefly, wiping her eyes with the hand she¡¯d been showing me, leaving the other in my clasp. ¡°I had no idea vhat I voz doing, of course ¨C you said, zis is ze same viz you?¡±


    I nodded, smiling, and she continued: ¡°So one minute zere I am, being pulled up into ze air by one of ze trolls ¨C and zere comes a vater elemental out of ze river behind it ¨C and ven it catches him, he realises zat it is twice his size and still growing. He let me go, tried to run¡­ soon enough zey all try to run¡­¡±


    I was holding my breath. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    She seemed to be holding back all of a sudden. There was a worried-sounding twang in her voice as she replied, ¡°Vhat vould you have done?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± I thought about it. ¡°Trolls can only be killed by fire and acid ¨C¡±


    ¡°Vhich I did not have ¨C vell, I didn¡¯t know how to control ze fire, yet, you see¡­¡°


    I thought about it, and when I spoke I tried to keep the chill I felt from my voice:


    ¡°Drowning, then?¡°


    She nodded, and bit her lip. ¡°It voz not as you imagine. Zey struggled. I¡­¡±


    ¡°Y-you knew if you let them go they were going to do the same thing to the next people who passed by. I get it.¡± I did my best to smile. ¡°It¡¯s not sacrilegious to want to protect your species.¡±


    She cocked her head.


    ¡°Erm ¨C I mean, it¡¯s not wrong, it¡¯s not,¡± I chose a word she was sure to know, any magister with more than a week of training would know it, ¡°heretical.¡± She nodded in understanding, but my words still hadn¡¯t reached her; they were just empty phrases. What could words do to assuage the guilt, when you¡¯d put down some rabid creatures that were undoubtedly as deadly as a nest of snakes ¨C but as helpless in the moment, under your power, as bag of kittens?


    Could I have done that?


    ¡°Is zat how you got your scar?¡± she asked suddenly. ¡°Your¡­¡±


    ¡°Awakening?¡± I shook my head. ¡°No ¨C or maybe yes? This was the reason why I didn¡¯t go on the errand.¡± I reached up, touched the place on my upper cheek where the mark of the knife remained, like a crescent-moon. ¡°I got in a fight, and turned coward. The world¡­ is a dangerous place.¡± I looked down at our conjoined doubled fist. ¡°It happened a bit before they, you know, died. I didn¡¯t want to go out again at night. They wanted me to go fetch the water ¨C I was thirteen then, and they didn¡¯t want me to be paralysed by my fear, they tried to convince me that I couldn¡¯t be scared¡­¡±


    I must¡¯ve looked a bit of a mess, because she placed her other hand on top of mine.


    ¡°But surely you do not blame yourself, zis refusal, zeir murder ¨C¡±


    ¡°Blame myself? No.¡± I shook my head, perhaps a little too violently. ¡°No more than I blame them.¡±


    The memory surged through my mind¡¯s eye, as I kick their gravestone, cursing them for their, their what? what! their misplaced kindness? their short-sightedness? their arrogance? arrogance that the world should conform to what the powerless wished it should be, yes, that was it, that was their disgrace: their hopefulness, their childish innocence¡­


    Thinking they were safe. No one was really safe. Not in Mund, not in the Realm, not in the world, nor any of the other dimensions as far as I was aware. Well, maybe Celestium. In the Twelve Heavens¡­


    Were they there now? Were the souls of the dead really taken up, when they were good people, as the ministers of Yune said?


    Emrelet was fixing that cool, observing gaze on me, as if already aware I had more to say.


    Is she feeling me the way I can feel her?


    ¡°I¡­¡± It was difficult. ¡°Their killer was caught, for once ¨C my parents were pretty well-liked, you know¡­ witnesses came forward. Toras Lulton, the killer was called. He was hanged.¡± Which left me¡­


    I met her eyes.


    ¡°Which left me feeling nothing. No vengeance to take, even if I¡¯d wanted it. No one else to blame.¡±


    ¡°Zis is vhy you felt ze need to be a champion vhen you gained your abilities?¡±


    I smiled and cleared my throat, blinking back my own tears. ¡°I suppose you could see it as something of a huge overreaction, couldn¡¯t you? It didn¡¯t really feel like that, though, you know? No, it was quite by accident. I mean, sure, I always wanted to be a champion ¨C who the hell doesn¡¯t? ¨C but see, I didn¡¯t get my powers in a fight. The Bone Ring, that happened after. I was sulking, and then I saw Zel and her faun-pal having an argument ¨C you remember Flood Boy? About so tall?¡± I held out my hand three-and-a-bit feet in the air and she nodded. ¡°Anyway, I just so happened to pick up their names ¨C which is apparently a big shortcut when it comes to taking command of an eldritch. Zel signed up with me right away, and he didn¡¯t take much encouragement ¨C or should I say pestering?¡±


    ¡°Oi!¡±


    You did harangue him a fair bit, Zel.


    ¡°That¡­ may be true, but¡­ better for him to sign-up willingly, right?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry ¨C where was I?¡±


    Emrelet was smirking; a light had dawned in her eyes as she realised what it meant for me to be joined with the faerie queen.


    ¡°Oh yeah ¨C so no, being a champion wasn¡¯t the first thing I came up with. I had ways to make money, but they were either illegal or ineffective, given the time constraints. It was the Bone Ring encounter that pushed me into it ¨C unfortunately for them.¡± With my free hand I patted the pocket with the money in, which jingled dutifully. ¡°Fortunately for me.¡± I regarded her thoughtfully. ¡°But I thought you had surely had your powers much longer than mere months. You¡¯re¡­ so practised. You make everything you do look easy.¡±


    ¡°You took ze ¨C Termiax and Rissala¡¯s demon avay from zem. You didn¡¯t make it sound so difficult.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s different, isn¡¯t it?¡± I said, struggling with the notion. ¡°I don¡¯t really have to do anything, to use my powers. It¡¯s all in the mind ¨C I just kind of point, and wave, or just say something with the right intention, and it all just comes together.¡±


    ¡°But zat is vhat an archmage is!¡± She spoke softly, but with ardour. ¡°Our spells are instinctive, not learned from some book! Ve vork in ze very source of magic, using our imagination to reshape ze vorld. Ve are ze same, you and I.¡±


    I looked down at our joined hands, placed my free hand on top of hers, then looked back up ¨C


    There were certain looks you could give someone if you wanted to signal you were interested; sometimes you¡¯d do it unconsciously, other times you could try to do it deliberately. I¡¯d been deliberately doing it at her probably far too much this afternoon, spamming it like I¡¯d spammed my Geomancer¡¯s Hill-Shunt special power, missing every time.


    This was one of the accidental ones, and it didn¡¯t miss. Her grey eyes, irises of bluish steel flecked with leaf-green rays, looked deep into mine ¨C and I felt my breath catch in my lungs ¨C


    Boom, boom, boom. The door of the apartment shook in its hinges.


    Not one of our knocks.


    It was showtime.

 Good Evening, Gentlemen

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.9: GOOD EVENING, GENTLEMEN</h2>


    ¡°Eldritches are not merely soulless. They are facades of personae. Bundles of abstractions given face and shape. They are not responsible for their actions. Indeed they take no actions. In each and every case it is the summoner¡¯s culpability in question. Be warned ¨C the law will never find in your favour if a fiend at your command harms an innocent.¡±


    ¨C from Mistress Arithos¡¯s Lectures to the Neophyte Assembly


    ¡°Should I have interrupted, when I first noticed them? I ¨C¡°


    Thanks, Zel. I owe you one discretion point.


    Releasing Emrelet¡¯s hands was an inevitable annoyance ¨C we sprang out of the bedroom, then quickly ushered Jaid, Jaroan and Xastur past us as we¡¯d agreed earlier. Once all three of them were removed from the main room I went to the apartment door and started to undo the locks.


    We¡¯d sorted the room out after the battle and now Orstrum and Morsus occupied the bench that afforded them the best view of the front door; the old man looked tired, but his grandson looked positively agitated, jouncing his knee up and down by tipping his foot from ball to heel and back again in an endless, irritating loop, his flat hand held above the knee so that on every upward bounce it¡¯d give a faint tap-tap-tap sound¡­ Xantaire and Emrelet had taken similar stances, their arms folded across their chests; but while Emrelet wore a cool, unconcerned look on her face, Xantaire¡¯s brow was furrowed and her breath came in quick, angry puffs.


    I opened the door.


    Peltos was at the front, the bald patch in the centre of his semicircle of grey hair glistening with sweat. Even the third floor was too much for someone carrying as much weight at he did; his belly preceded him into the room, strapped bulgingly-tight into a vest that would¡¯ve provided enough cloth to fit a horse with barding. Behind him lounged an unknown number of taller guys with their heaviness clustered more around the shoulders, biceps and such like than the waistline. Peltos¡¯s ¡¯Gentlemen¡¯ didn¡¯t mess around, either. They were basically Bertie Boys running under a different name ¨C the Bertie Boys being the chief gang in Helbert¡¯s Bend. If you disappeared one or five of them, ten or fifty more could soon be showing up, cracking skulls till they got answers.


    To ensure I kept him out of my circle-shield I stepped back as the belly entered, two of the Gentlemen moving in to flank him, standing behind him with their arms folded. Xantaire was strong, but she wasn¡¯t going to out-intimidate one of these fellows. Emrelet, on the other hand, was merely hiding the Magisterium sigil in the centre of her chest ¨C and her strength wasn¡¯t something measured in sinew.


    ¡°Sir,¡± I greeted Peltos politely, nodding my head slowly and respectfully, like bowing in miniature. If he wanted acquiescence, he could have it. Take it by the spadeful. I could do that much.


    ¡°Boy,¡± he purred, not meeting my eyes but instead looking around, appraising the room¡¯s contents, the vast amounts of books on the walls, ¡°you should have heard the tales spun by my associates when last they came by your residence.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C¡°


    Now he met my eyes. ¡°In short, they told me I should have heard the tales spun by you. Sounds like you came into your family inheritance at last. Where¡¯s it been these last, what, three years, eh?¡±


    I closed my mouth.


    ¡°Nice and calmly, now, Kas.¡±


    I plastered a smile on my face before parting my lips again.


    ¡°Indeed. Three years.¡± My throat was suddenly dry.


    ¡°And double the pay? Three-hundred and sixty g-¡±


    ¡°Good sir.¡± I felt I could risk interrupting him so long as I kept up the charade of obeisance. He didn¡¯t look disturbed; he smiled, as if he¡¯d expected this.


    It was supposed to be three-hundred and twenty gold, but I wasn¡¯t going to quibble on the amount exactly. That was one of my bargaining chips, and if he expected me to protest about the amount going up, he was about to be disappointed.


    ¡°Could I owe you the tail-end? As you will soon see, I¡¯ve kept good on the majority, and I¡¯m good for more where it came from.¡± I dug into my pocket, where in preparation for this very moment I¡¯d emptied out all but two of the platinum coins. I began counting out coins one by one, the whitish metal dazzling his eyes as it tumbled from one of my hands to the other, the weird flame-like design on the coins¡¯ faces such a rarity to behold.


    ¡°Quit stalling, boy. My time costs, even if you¡¯re offering me plat.¡± I could see his eyes gleaming in spite of his words. ¡°How much do you have?¡±


    I shirked at this part. I would be willing to part with all thirty, if it meant this all going smoothly, and if I went in with a lower amount I wouldn¡¯t be able to offer him the rest without making myself look both weak-willed and deceitful.


    I¡¯d given myself until this moment to decide, and it was a painful decision. Could one or two more platinum pieces tip the balance in my favour?


    Platinum. Its allure was tremendous, especially while you handled it.


    ¡°Twenty-eight. I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Not enough.¡± Peltos¡¯s smile broadened. ¡°I¡¯ll take this in lieu of the rest. You can leave.¡°


    I had to react instantly by retreating towards the main room as he started moving forwards, his bodyguards keeping pace ¨C and suddenly there were two more of them, visible behind Peltos in the centre, making escape impossible.


    Well ¨C making escape funny, really, if you wanted to be technical. It¡¯d be easy, and oh-so-satisfying to listen to these massive guys squeal in terror. But escape was supposed to be impossible. For me, it¡¯d just mean giving up my entire life¡­


    I wouldn¡¯t be doing that unless things went very wrong.


    I couldn¡¯t see Emrelet, Orstrum or Morsus from here, but I could see Xantaire in my peripheral vision, her fingers clenched into fists; her arms, still folded across her chest, rippled with tensed muscle.


    I¡¯d asked them all to leave it to me, and, so far, they were.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I gave it my best Soulbiter treatment, virtually roaring at them. ¡°Do you really want to turn this down? Think about it. I¡¯ll offer you the same rate of interest on what I owe you.¡±


    I brandished the platinum like a weapon and he halted again, his piggy eyes narrowed on me. ¡°Double, plus forty gold¡¯s appearance-fee, on the eighty you¡¯d still owe me? Another two hundred gold?¡±


    I hesitated for just one heartbeat.


    I¡¯d made thirty plat in one night, when you thought about it. Making twenty more¡­ It would be easier this time, too ¨C I had better resources, if I had two plat left over ¨C I could probably buy five explosive daggers with that ¨C


    I¡¯d hesitated one heartbeat too long. As I tried to say ¡®yes!¡¯ I¡¯d barely had chance to blurt out the first consonant when he continued, no longer purring but roaring right back at me:


    ¡°You think me a fool, boy? You came by a very specific amount of treasure, this isn¡¯t something someone like you¡¯s just going to repeat ¨C¡°


    He took another step towards me. About half a ton of muscle followed him.


    I stuck my platinum-filled hands back in my pockets and mirrored his step. ¡°I¡¯m known for crazy stunts like this! I ¨C¡±


    ¡°You vill stop now. I vill vouch for zis man¡¯s honour.¡±


    It was a pleasant feeling, to be backed-up by someone so competent, polished. She was right to move when she did, coming to my side and dropping her arms, displaying the ten-spoked wheel. It could no longer be salvaged without using my powers and yes, of course there was a possibility Peltos would put two and two together with the whole Feychilde-Cannibal Six thing being in the news ¨C but it was worth the risk. It wasn¡¯t like he had the whole context like Xantaire had when she¡¯d figured it out, watching my weird behaviour over the last couple of weeks.


    ¡°A magister?¡± He sounded incredulous, and his face twisted between a leer and a scowl. ¡°What¡¯s a magister doing here?¡±


    She said it in a sweet tone, clearly doing her best to give no overt offence while simultaneously telling him to drop off: ¡°Vhat is your security clearance?¡±


    Oh dear, I thought.


    ¡°Yes, dear?¡±


    Don¡¯t do that.


    ¡°Okay, dear.¡±


    The look on Peltos¡¯s face finally settled on option B: scowl.


    ¡°Zere vould be no reason for you to stick your nose in Magisterium business ¨C¡°


    ¡°This is my apartment!¡±


    ¡°You own it but you do not inhabit it.¡± She spoke with the ease of someone practised at defending herself against hot-heads. ¡°Ve are not required to consult with ze landlord vhen ve vish to visit a resident, and ze landlord may not hinder or interfere with our inquiries.¡±


    ¡°And landlords are not required to accept the word of magisters when it comes to dealing with their clients,¡± Peltos retorted, ¡°or take their direction in any business interactions. Unless you¡¯ve got two-hundred gold ¨C¡±


    ¡°Eighty!¡± I barked.


    ¡°Two hundred gold, in your pocket right now, young miss, then your little friend here is getting kicked out.¡±


    There was a link in my mind between kicking and kicking-their-grave, between their-death and the fact that this-was-their-apartment ¨C and here was this disgusting creature crawled from his putrid lair to snap like a demon at me ¨C the wave of revulsion came over me, and my reaction was anger.


    ¡°Kastyr! No!¡±


    My mind was painting a ring of red flames on the floor between us, and Zel could see it ¨C could prophesy it was about to happen.


    ¡°Well well,¡± drawled an unexpected female voice from behind the Gentlemen, ¡°it seems ¡®Kastyr Mortenn¡¯ is having another party. Where was my invite?¡±


    Peltos turned and gestured his heavies out of the way.


    Ciraya.


    Next to me, I heard Emrelet suck in her breath.


    Game-changer. I felt the shivers running up my spine, my very skin tensing, hairs standing on end. Was this a darkmage plot?


    The shaven-headed, tattoo-covered sorceress was nonchalantly leaning with one shoulder against the door-frame, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, hands hidden in the overlong black sleeves. The ten-pointed star stitched on her chest was comprised of irregular sticks, creamy-white, like rib- and femur-bones.


    Behind her there was only a thick grey cloud, like a wall of smog had decided to camp out on my doorstep for the night. If Peltos had brought more than four bodyguards, they weren¡¯t visible right now.


    Even to me, even at this distance. That wasn¡¯t right.


    A faint flash of purple lightning flickered through the mist, as if just to confirm my assessment.


    ¡°That¡¯s no simple spell she¡¯s brought with her,¡± Zel observed. ¡°Nethermist ¨C almost pure, right from the shadowland.¡±


    ¡°This is a private matter,¡± Peltos snapped at Ciraya. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the Magisterium thinks it¡¯s doing ¨C¡°


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what the Magisterium thinks it¡¯s doing either,¡± the sorceress interrupted, with a pointed look at Emrelet.


    Peltos whipped his head about to follow Ciraya¡¯s gaze, then frowned, as if beginning to put the pieces together.


    That had to be avoided at almost any cost¡­


    ¡°Me? I am ze one out of place here?¡± Emrelet managed to put all her superiority into her voice. ¡°You are supposed to be on shift with me at nine, not ¨C¡°


    ¡°So I picked up an extra one,¡± the sorceress retorted; ¡°since when was that against the rules?¡±


    ¡°Since it sent you searching for me, instead of doing real vork!¡±


    ¡°But this is real work,¡± Ciraya insisted. ¡°Haspophel came with a report from his section-head, something about, let me see ¨C uncontrolled archmagery ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oh, how convenient; zis is absurd!¡± Emrelet was starting to lose her cool, I could tell.


    I chanced a glance at my landlord. At least Peltos wouldn¡¯t be able to tell from the way Ciraya had phrased it that I was the most likely culprit for the diviner¡¯s vision. He¡¯d assume Emrelet, the clear magic-user¡­ Either way, this likely meant the whole situation was unsalvageable. He wasn¡¯t going to trust her word after this¡­ We were going to get thrown out.


    But when I realised what I was looking at, I recognised the craftiness in his eyes. His eyes weren¡¯t wide with some realisation about my identity or anything as prosaic as that ¨C this was the thoughtfulness of someone who¡¯d conceived a way to use a situation to his advantage.


    I looked around. Xantaire was staring at Peltos too; she now had her left hand clenched at her hip, her right arm bent across her midriff, the right hand clenched about the left¡¯s wrist as if holding it back.


    She was a leftie ¨C and if she got in a good uppercut with that barely-restrained left fist he¡¯d be lucky not go down at the one punch.


    I didn¡¯t glance back at Orstrum and Morsus, but they were keeping out of it, which was enough for me.


    ¡°We¡¯re stepping out of her way,¡± Peltos said abruptly, but didn¡¯t move, merely looking askance at the sorceress.


    Ciraya¡¯s mouth creased into a full-lipped smile, and she stepped farther into the room, away from the doorway, so that they could go around her.


    ¡°The fog won¡¯t hurt you,¡± she said, her voice mocking in its gentleness, her head cocked at an angle as she regarded the larger-than-life Peltos, like one might study an insect. ¡°Your other¡­ friends¡­ are just by the stairs.¡±


    Peltos shuffled forwards, testing the fog with his belly, then ushered his Gentlemen through. Once they¡¯d stepped outside, barely visible even as they waited for him on the threshold, he turned back to face us again.


    ¡°Is this one renegade?¡± he asked, pointing a finger at Emrelet.


    I saw her stiffen out of the corner of my eye.


    The smile left Ciraya¡¯s face; she very deliberately moved her gaze across to Emrelet, staring at her calmly, and slowly shrugged her shoulders a single time.


    You could¡¯ve heard a pin drop.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Peltos cleared his throat.


    ¡°I am the landlord. This dropstain owes me hundreds of gold. I am in the middle of kicking him out ¨C¡°


    I bristled again ¨C Zel muttered words of patience in my inner-ear ¨C


    ¡°¨C and this so-called magister is trying her best to intimidate me!¡±


    I sensed rather than saw Emrelet very consciously relaxing her stance. ¡°I did no ¨C no such thing,¡± she declared in a shaky voice.


    ¡°She did no more than argue she could even be present,¡± I explained, doing my best to encapsulate it all into one core idea quickly. If this could be rescued it¡¯d have to be now. ¡°She isn¡¯t here in any official capacity, she isn¡¯t actually on patrol¡­¡±


    ¡°The office of magister isn¡¯t part-time, Kastyr Mortenn,¡± Ciraya purred, not looking at me. ¡°We aren¡¯t watchmen. For us there is no off-duty. You¡­¡±


    ¡­ ¡®champions¡¯, was she going to say? Either way, she bit off the word before letting herself utter it.


    So ¨C whatever was going on in the sorceress¡¯s head, she was still going to play by at least some of the rules.


    ¡°The word you¡¯re looking for is dropstain, my dear magister,¡± Peltos crooned. ¡°Would you be so kind as to vacate these premises for me?¡±


    ¡°What, now?¡± I cried. ¡°With no warning, no ¨C¡°


    ¡°You have had over the requisite warning period, boy. You¡¯re refusing to leave, and you¡¯ve got magical back-up. I think the only proper response in that situation is to turn the matter over to the relevant authorities. The law is on my side. This good lady ¨C¡°


    ¡°Leave now,¡± Ciraya said, not moving her eyes from Emrelet.


    It was unclear as to whom exactly she was talking, but her voice sounded both very bored and very deadly.


    For a moment, no one reacted ¨C


    She swung her head about to level her glare at Peltos.


    Grumbling, the fat man finally relented. At the moment Peltos was only wet with his own perspiration, but situations involving magic-users could turn in an instant; it could just as well have been a pint of his blood drenching his vest if it got to the point where the small, irritated sorceress ripped out his tongue.


    ¡°There¡¯s to be no annihilating my property, understand?¡± he said over his shoulder. He tried his best to inject some authority into his voice but it just sounded like pleading to my ear. ¡°My ¨C we will be watching ¨C from a distance¡­ Or I¡¯ll be back! Yes! Tomorrow!¡±


    Peltos vanished into the fog. With grunts like animals, his Gentlemen followed on his heels.


    It¡¯s still not over, I sighed internally. My pockets were still full ¨C I was richer than I could¡¯ve ever believed ¨C and I didn¡¯t even get to think of it as my own money.


    ¡°If zere is to be any ¡®uncontrolled archmagery¡¯ it is going to be due to your interruption,¡± Emrelet warned.


    Ciraya shook her head. ¡°Now all that ugliness is over, we just want to talk to Kastyr. In private, if that¡¯s at all possible.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question, just a statement of fact, and a sarcastic-sounding one at that.


    I considered the much-changed situation, then cast Xantaire a sidelong glance.


    She met my eyes. I flicked my gaze towards the bedroom.


    As I turned back to face Ciraya once more, Emrelet at my side, I heard Xantaire gathering up her family members and taking them into the bedroom, with the kids.


    Within seconds, the three of us were alone in the main room of my apartment.


    My apartment¡­


    ¡°Who is ¡®we¡¯?¡± I asked as soon as I heard the bedroom door shut, and quickly moved to check that it was properly closed, reaching out to tug the handle before turning back ¨C doing my best to hide my gestures in the ordinary motions that were involved. ¡°Talk to me about what? You mean you aren¡¯t going to¡­ throw me out?¡±


    I stopped as far from her as I could feasibly get, watching the pentagon revolving just a few feet in front of her.


    Her eyes left Emrelet, moving to me at last, her smile reappearing.


    ¡°Kas! Something out there!¡±


    ¡°Well firstly,¡± the sorceress said, ¡°when I say in private, I don¡¯t mean here.¡±


    I felt pressure against my outermost shield, the pentagon rippling, the blue line wavering and wobbling as it rotated.


    Quickly I focussed my attention on the area in front of the open door, where ¨C


    I could see it ¨C another blue line was pressed against my own, as though there were someone outside with their own shield contesting mine.


    Well this was new.


    ¡°You said you wanted a ride on Fe,¡± Ciraya continued, probably genuine in her apparent inability to see the shield-lines; ¡°now¡¯s your chance, Kastyr Mortenn. I can summon her here in a matter of minutes, and you can come with me to the Maginox ¨C¡±


    ¡°And if I won¡¯t?¡± I asked. The way she kept saying my full name was starting to grate on me now. ¡°Who¡¯s building shields out there?¡±


    ¡°¨C and if you won¡¯t,¡± she went on, ¡°our outside contractor who was so kind as to give me a lift over will remove you from the premises.¡±


    The broad blue line pressing against my own shield suddenly angled sharply, narrowing into a point, pressing against my pentagon. All the touching blue lines abruptly wavered again, and my pentagon distorted inwardly, the spike pressing into it from outside gouging deeper and deeper, like the sorcerer was approaching my front door ¨C bending my defences without breaking them. My pentagon hit my square and the square bent in too. I could see other spikes coming from outside, radiating down the first spike, reinforcing it as it came closer and closer to me, a steepled matrix of unstoppable power¡­


    A man appeared just outside the doorway, settling down into view rather than stepping forward.


    His lower half was shrouded in the grey fog ¨C it moved with him; it was part of him somehow. On his upper half he wore a light grey robe that matched the mist almost precisely, the cowl marked with little glittering black scythes. A white mask covered the entirety of his face, the sunken visage of a long-dead corpse staring at me from the wall of grey. His hands were coated in dark metal gauntlets, blackened or scorched.


    ¡°I know him ¨C¡°


    I know him. Dustbringer.


    The most experienced arch-sorcerer champion in the city. Veteran of probably a couple dozen Incursions. Slayer of Hierarchs, Titans and Demon-Lords ¨C but he specialised in undead eldritches.


    Here. For me.


    The triangle bent, a little more slowly than the other two shields.


    ¡°Interesting configuration,¡± he grunted from behind the mask. The voice of an older man, in his forties maybe, the tone calculating but not quite as cold or highborn as I¡¯d feared it¡¯d be. ¡°Amateur shieldcraft, but there¡¯s some potency to it.¡± There was almost a hollow texture to the sounds coming from his throat, like an echo coming out of a well.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it,¡± Ciraya drawled, leaning against the wall.


    Dustbringer came nearer, floating on the broiling cloud beneath him, the top of his head a little closer to the door-frame than it should¡¯ve been ¨C assuming his legs weren¡¯t disproportionately long, he was definitely floating. And as he slowly entered, bending his neck to fit beneath the lintel, I could see the shapes radiating out around him. The azure lines were layered in a whirling helix of circles close to his body, filled with so many stars that my head span ¨C I felt dizzy even looking, sick ¨C


    I turned my face aside, trying to shut out what I couldn¡¯t now unsee, and without looking I could tell that he immediately stopped advancing. Out of pity for me?


    Drawing a deep breath, I dared to peek with one eye over my shoulder, and saw my triangle, square and pentagon, all compressed inwards, touching my single reinforced circle. The spikes continued radiating down the length of Dustbringer¡¯s wedge, reinforcing it the spike, reinforcing it, pressing with ever-redoubling pressure against my solitary circle.


    Would the circle crack? I could feel sweat starting to trickle down my forehead.


    Emrelet must¡¯ve witnessed my reaction to his appearance ¨C something had snapped in her.


    She pointed both arms straight down at the wooden floor, palms facing up and out, in the general direction of Ciraya and Dustbringer ¨C and then the left hand was alight with a frosty white-blue radiance, visible coldness swirling like a snowglobe but without any dome, her will alone responsible both for its creation and its control ¨C


    And at the same time, an inch above her right palm, a sphere of deep, pulsing orange the size of a child¡¯s ball formed right out of the air, surrounded by a coruscating nimbus of yellow heat.


    But the arch-wizard¡¯s voice was cooler now, more confident, perhaps due to the fact she was basically wielding a couple of paused explosions in her hands. ¡°Do you see, Ciraya? Vhy has it come to zis? I vill get rid of zis damned fog to begin viz ¨C¡±


    ¡°You idiot,¡± Ciraya snarled.


    ¡°Em, don¡¯t,¡± I gasped, pushing my face into my sleeve to mop the sweat from my eyes. ¡°Stand down.¡±


    She glanced back at me. I met her eyes and shook my head slightly.


    ¡°Yes, Em, stand down,¡± Ciraya mocked. ¡°Henthae sent me herself. I had two orders: put a stop to whatever¡¯s happening here and bring in our new friend for a chat. You know he doesn¡¯t want to be in her bad books.¡±


    Emrelet faltered at this, lowering her hands, the frostbolt and fireball diminishing, dimming slightly.


    ¡°He¡¯s joined with several spectres, and possibly a wight or two. I don¡¯t know how he¡¯s keeping that many under wraps like this, but ¨C¡°


    Get to it Zel!


    ¡°Tell her two fireballs are better than fifty frostbolts? They¡¯re basically immune to cold.¡±


    We can¡¯t fight him! Have you seen his shields? I ¨C


    ¡°Then we go with them. But I don¡¯t think he¡¯s getting through your shield anytime soon. You have options, Kas. Why not try to break his shields the way he¡¯s breaking yours?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re at an impasse,¡± Dustbringer said quietly, turning aside to face Ciraya as he spoke. ¡°The kid¡¯s got some raw strength.¡±


    I still wasn¡¯t looking at him directly ¨C the shield-interactions were too bright when I focussed my eyes in his direction ¨C but I could feel his eyes burning into me from behind the mask:


    ¡°This is gonna go much easier on you if you drop your last shield, Mortenn.¡±


    He knew my name. He¡¯d been informed, or allowed to listen in ¨C


    It didn¡¯t matter ¨C who was I, anyway?


    I forced myself to face him. For some reason, the more I focussed on him, his shields, the easier it became.


    And I felt it as the grin came over my face.


    I am Feychilde, damn it.


    ¡°This is going to go much easier on you if I drop my last shield, you mean.¡± I shrugged, and put out one hand in the universal gesture for ¡®stop¡¯. I felt the change as his spikes of blue lines slowed, slowed and ceased¡­ ¡°I thought the Magisterium kept everyone on a need-to-know basis? Today a magister abducted me. I¡¯m just thrilled at the thought of him giving away my identity to my enemies.¡± While I spoke I pressed my other hand out slowly, as if to push him away; one by one, his spikes of reinforcement reversed, decreasing the pressure on my shield second by second. ¡°And now you¡¯re giving it away, too. I¡¯m not impressed, Ciraya.¡± A touch of my anger entered my voice. ¡°Not impressed at all.¡±


    I looked down at my star, revolving less frantically now that the spike pressed in with less force.


    My ¡®stop¡¯ hand clenched, gripping Dustbringer¡¯s spike tightly with my mind more than with my fingers ¨C the gestures were just a conduit, a tool by which I might shape my thoughts into reality.


    At the same time, my pushing-out hand dropped and gripped one of the points of my star, casting it out into Dustbringer¡¯s frozen spike.


    His force-weapon shattered like hammered glass, the blue lines evaporating instantly, and suddenly my shields snapped back out to their full distance ¨C he had a spike pressing in on his own whirling shields ¨C the startling reversal left him reeling, floating back as if buffeted by an unseen wind, even with his barriers up ¨C


    ¡°No!¡± Zel hissed. ¡°Not like that! Your own defences ¨C¡°


    I saw it happen.


    Two of his other spikes that hadn¡¯t been pointed towards me arced towards the walls of the room, and then, as if reflected by some hidden surface before striking the bookcases, folded back towards the flanks of my shields.


    Abrupt, relentless pressure on two sides, with my star still unmoving within my circle, one of its five points extended through the circle to threaten my foe ¨C through the circle like the book had said not to do¡­


    All my walls fell at once under the pincer-attack, winking out fully.


    ¡°Spectre!¡±


    I felt a hand as cold and hard as ice press across my throat ¨C a spectre behind me? ¨C and an arm of bone as unyielding as solid steel caught me up around my midriff, hoisting me up into the air, pinning my right arm against me ¨C


    Something with breath like mould and spiders pulling me against it so that my back was pressed into its chest ¨C oh, I could feel its bare, moist ribs against my shoulder-blades ¨C


    ¡°As I said,¡± Dustbringer muttered, recovering and floating back into position; ¡°amateur, but strong.¡±


    Em glanced at me again as I struggled.


    She looked back at our opponents, and flexed her fingers.


    The frostbolt and fireball swelled once more, resuming their former diameter and brightness.


    ¡°I shall take him to Henthae myself,¡± she said. ¡°Release him now, Dustbringer, or you vill face me in combat, and I shall not hold back.¡±


    She didn¡¯t wait one heartbeat for a response before playing her first card.


    Wind tore through the room, extinguishing the candles; the glitter of frost and glow of flame alone lit the chaos, the better to shed light as the gust surging into the room drew Emrelet a foot into the air.


    The mist was ripped apart, and the thing holding me pulled me back to the bookshelf against the wall in a futile attempt to keep its ¡®footing¡¯. It staggered, and I jerked my head around to see it ¨C


    It was a fleshless skeleton beneath the ragged black hood, eye-sockets empty save for a single gleaming purple flame, glaring at me with undecipherable fixedness. It too was floating; that was why the wind had so easily staggered it, why it was so tall.


    I tried to take it, even as it clutched me.


    It didn¡¯t respond to my will; wouldn¡¯t loosen its grip even marginally. Dustbringer had bound it more firmly than anything I¡¯d yet encountered.


    Well, what had I been expecting, really? He wasn¡¯t going to let his enemies take his foot-soldiers away from him, was he?


    ¡°I accept your terms, arch-wizard!¡± came the steady grunt from the far side of the room, raised in volume to better pierce the rippling booms of Em¡¯s storm.


    The gust lessened in intensity, then dropped slowly away. A good ten percent of the books had left their places on the shelves, and some torn-free pages fluttered briefly before carpeting the floor.


    The mist around Dustbringer was dispersed, and the mist outside too ¨C Emrelet had been good to her word. Through the doorway behind the champion I could see the dim light of the sky once more, and the apartments opposite on the other side of Mud Lane.


    Abruptly I fell to my feet, Dustbringers¡¯s undead servitor vanishing at an unspoken command. Emrelet lowered her hands to her sides, her spells aborted. Ciraya had been clinging to the wall by the door, and didn¡¯t look very flustered by recent events.


    The four of us took a moment to get our bearings once more, but then Dustbringer broke the stillness by removing one of his black gauntlets and then reaching up towards his throat ¨C


    I watched with fascination as he removed his mask, levering it off at the chin.


    ¡°My apologies, Mortenn.¡± He didn¡¯t sound apologetic, but I guessed actions and words counted for more than tone ¨C he lowered his hood back, revealing a shaven face and head of an ochre hue, bushy black eyebrows flecked with grey, framing dark, alert eyes. ¡°I should¡¯ve dealt fairly with you from the outset. I¡¯m Endren Solosto.¡±


    He held the mask down at his side and stepped farther into the room; my eyes widened when he dropped all but his innermost shields. His robe still billowed, as though it were somehow imbued with the mist, occasional traces of purplish lightning rippling through the cloth.


    Somewhat hesitantly, I went to meet him in the middle, doing my best not to damage any of the stray book-pages scattered around ¨C and he walked straight into the slightly-askew circle and triangle I¡¯d surreptitiously redrawn in the aftermath of the spectre¡¯s disappearance, his own remaining shields buzzing around him.


    His wards overlapping mine.


    No ill-will now ¨C or could he fool that?


    ¡°Not with sorcery,¡± Zel supplied. ¡°But you can¡¯t rule out some kind of enchantment of seeming-friendliness. ¡®Here¡¯s my name and face. Now come with me to this secluded location with no witnesses except my colleagues.¡¯ I know, I¡¯m ¡®paranoid¡¯¡­¡±


    We¡¯ve got Em.


    ¡°She¡¯s a ma-¡±


    You saw her the same as me, Zelurra. She¡¯s not dark. She¡¯s not going to let them off me.


    ¡°Or that¡¯s what she wants you to think¡­ or she¡¯s been enchanted¡­¡±


    Dustbringer ¨C Endren ¨C extended his arm through the haze where our shielding overlapped. I still kept a wary eye on him as I pressed the flesh of his de-gauntleted hand. He was shorter than me without his vortex of nethermist, but his grip was firm and fast, the handshake of a guy with some pretty serious muscle on his frame.


    An interesting trick, that nethermist, though. And I¡¯d have to remember how his shields looked. I hadn¡¯t realised how they could be layered like that.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got work to do, then.¡±


    We have.


    I stepped back from Dustbringer, then looked across at Emrelet, who had retained her severe demeanour, gaze unwavering as she stared at the champion.


    ¡°So ve go together?¡± Em asked.


    ¡°I have some trouble leaving immediately,¡± I hedged.


    Dustbringer just grunted a wordless ¡®hunh¡¯-sound and looked at me, his deep-bronze eyes flashing more with surprise and curiosity than anger ¨C


    ¡°I just mean ¨C that man, Peltos ¨C my kid brother and sister are back here ¨C¡°


    ¡°That was Peltos?¡± Ciraya asked, stirring from where she leaned. ¡°Peltos Kemmenon? I¡¯ve heard of him. He¡¯s your landlord?¡±


    I considered it a moment, before saying, ¡°Former landlord.¡±


    ¡°Oh, man.¡± She actually sounded sympathetic ¨C normally when she used that voice there was a heavy sardonic spoonful in the mix, but not this time. ¡°What did you owe him?¡±


    I briefly explained the situation, whereupon ¨C


    ¡°Give me sixteen plat,¡± she said, brooking no refusal, coming forward with her hand already extended as if my mistrust of the Magisterium wasn¡¯t a massive factor in the near-disaster that had unfolded in the last five minutes. ¡°I cannot believe you were thinking of giving him twenty-eight. He probably just has some morons he can stick in here willing to pay him fifteen silver a week rather than ten. Come on.¡°


    I looked back at Em, who offered me nothing more than a guarded smile.


    Ciraya stopped advancing, regarding her band-leader with a strange look.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know for sure what the diviners meant, you know,¡± the sorceress offered, managing to sound half-apologetic. ¡°For all I knew you two were about to fight each other, or kill a bunch of Peltos¡¯s Gentlemen¡­¡±


    ¡°Ve have all misbehaved a little tonight,¡± Em replied, looking around a bit guiltily at the mess she¡¯d made. It was worth it in my eyes, though. She¡¯d made it damn clear she meant business. ¡°Don¡¯t tell ze others?¡±


    The arch-wizard turned it into a question, and the sorceress winked in response before turning toward me. ¡°And don¡¯t think I don¡¯t appreciate you didn¡¯t bring any of your minions out to get in the way. I¡¯ll make sure that goes in the report.¡±


    I made a face. ¡°What about the fact me and Dustbringer almost squared off?¡± I asked, starting to count out coins. I didn¡¯t mention the fact that I¡¯d been seriously considering bringing out my kinkly-man to get some cheap payback on Peltos. Could it really have all devolved into ¡®uncontrolled archmagery¡¯?


    Dustbringer didn¡¯t reply to my question ¨C he just grunted. But it was an appreciative sort of grunt.


    ¡°Let¡¯s skip over that bit too, eh?¡± Ciraya suggested. ¡°It won¡¯t do us any good if¡­ an enchanter goes poking around in our minds, but they won¡¯t have any cause to do so, so long as Kastyr shows up for a chat and we all smile innocently when questioned about how it went. Mud Lane¡¯s still in one piece ¨C and I¡¯ll have a chat of my own with Peltos and his Jellymen. The watch have got so much on him, the last thing he wants is my personal vendetta, trust me.¡±


    I felt my mouth falling open a little in shock again. Every instinct was telling me there was about as much chance of Ciraya being a darkmage as there was Xantaire. She just sounded too straight-forward for deception, and that kind of honesty was something that, in my experience, couldn¡¯t easily be faked.


    Am I under enchantment? I murmured to Zel, as if whispering internally would do anything to protect me. If my mind was already under telepathic surveillance ¨C


    ¡°I¡¯d have mentioned if I noticed anything¡­ And I¡¯m pretty good at this, you know.¡±


    Ilitar¡­


    ¡°Ilitar just read your surface thoughts. Mind-control, will-subversion ¨C while I¡¯m joined with you? No. I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s impossible, but it¡¯d surely take an enchanter of the highest calibre. Not that I actually like the thought of going to the Maginox¡­¡±


    I handed the sorceress the sixteen plat without further complaint.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go¡­ say goodbye to my family.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say it like that,¡± Ciraya said without looking at me, mouth curling into a twisted smile as she counted out the plat for herself, even though she¡¯d just watched me do it right in front of her. ¡°See you later will be fine, you know. We aren¡¯t in the business of offing upcoming talent. Save goodbyes for the next Incursion.¡±


    I had to admit to my sceptical side, this was feeling less and less like a trap, even while it might have rationally looked more and more like one.


    As Dustbringer settled his mask and hood in place, I turned towards the bedroom door. Before I got there I heard Em say to Ciraya, ¡°I have some news about Belexor, courtesy of Kas.¡°


    ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re here for,¡± Dustbringer interrupted in his dry voice, sounding even more monotone through the little mouth-gaps in the mask, ¡°why they want Mortenn brought in. I believe Ishemen and his friends are what this is all about.¡±


    I froze, my hand on the bedroom door handle.


    Slowly, I turned.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have just started with that?¡±

 The Maginox

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.10: THE MAGINOX</h2>


    ¡°As to the matter of these martyrs, as you so eloquently put it¡­ The slave who becomes a master is loved by the slaves, hated by the other masters. But this is all on one side of the scales; on the other teeters society itself. Whilst the masters will never love him, the slaves can be made to hate him. In the interest of finding a balance, I propose significantly increasing the funds made available to prospective champions. In this way over the coming years the power of the Unsacrosanct shall be diluted, and all it will cost is a few pounds of gold each year.¡±


    ¨C the Lord Justice Brolosir, in session before the Justice Council, Kailost 827 NE


    Flying, I decided, was fun. Being almost horizontal in the air, a good forty feet higher than the highest buildings, moving as fast as I could¡¯ve run ¨C it wasn¡¯t uncanny or disorienting ¨C certainly not scary or mortifying ¨C and oh gods how was my stomach squirting lava into my throat? ¨C no, no. I couldn¡¯t be sick, I didn¡¯t want to have to have to wash my scarf, I didn¡¯t want to be sick in front of Emrelet. No. Fun.


    Fun.


    Zel was giggling and ¨C no, fun. Fun. Fun.


    ¡°Ze dizziness vill pass,¡± Em shouted back to me.


    ¡°Euuueuuuuurrrrr,¡± I replied through teeth gritted into a fixed skull¡¯s-grin.


    I could hear her laughter on the wind.


    Which was just lovely. Both the new women in my life, taking amusement from my inability to do something that was natural for both of them. This was a sentiment I couldn¡¯t voice to Emrelet right now, so I vented at Zel for a minute. By the time I was done with that, my stomach had stopped threatening to turn me into an erupting volcano, and I could turn my attention to what I was actually doing.


    I was glad Ciraya and Dustbringer had decided to go on ahead. Initially Dustbringer offered me one of his spectre-mist-leg-things (chariots, he¡¯d called them), but Em had insisted I travel under her power. At first I¡¯d thought it a no-brainer, sticking with the actually-friendly arch-wizard, over the impossible sorceress and her grunting half-undead champion friend. But when I saw the ease with which the ¡®chariot¡¯ carried Ciraya aloft I began to regret my decision; after watching me flop about for two minutes the sorceress had commented something to her companion and they¡¯d told us to catch up before soaring away, the lower half of each of their bodies shrouded in a cloud that passed invisibly into the fog.


    Yet, now we were soaring above the city in the twilight, and I had to admit that it was beautiful. Yes, the smog occluded most of the fine detail, but I had my empowered vision to help with that, affording me a view few could¡¯ve had. I could see the lights of candles flickering in windows, the bonfires here and there in the squares, the ocean of rooftops stretching on and on ¨C


    I could see Mund for the first time, and realised what it must¡¯ve been like for Emrelet to arrive here, newly-capable of flight ¨C to soar above the metropolis and witness her new home like this. I glanced over my shoulder, towards the lower lands: the big Greywater in the south, partitioning-off Rivertown on the far side ¨C with the Blackrush near me, dividing Sticktown and North Lowtown on this side from Oldtown on the other ¨C and far to the east, the Whiteflood, splitting Oldtown on its far edge from the distant Treetown and South Lowtown. All surrounded by the great seamless walls, which, though I could better-appreciate from this vantage, I still couldn¡¯t see in their entirety. I¡¯d need a clear day for that, and I¡¯d have to go a couple of hundred feet higher at least¡­


    The thought of that made me shudder.


    I turned back to face forwards, looking where we were going. We were climbing in height gradually as we flew, as the landscape slowly rose up before us. I copied Em, gaining altitude by angling myself, pointing my feet as though I could just trust the force propelling me, like a swimmer angling towards the surface trusts the water to make him rise.


    And it worked.


    It was only then that I understood she wasn¡¯t directing me, and the temptation came to me to test it.


    I did a single barrel-roll, still arrowing forwards, then tried to go faster, just tensing my muscles along my arms, my buttocks ¨C


    Yes, this actually was fun.


    The nausea departed in an instant, once I realised just how in-control I was. I hadn¡¯t thought this kind of magic possible.


    ¡°Archmagery,¡± Zel sniffed.


    I came to a stop, ¡®standing¡¯ vertically in the air. It was simple once you trusted it. When I leaned forwards once again, I shot off to meet Em, who had come to a stop herself, hovering over the sloped roof of a large building, some guildhall or tavern ¨C the structure had to be five storeys in height, and that put us at close to a hundred feet.


    It thrilled me instead of debilitating me. Feeling less tense, I suddenly realised that I could discern the slower air passing over my face. Was that what was letting me breathe even when going flat-out, keeping crud from catching in my hood, even preventing my hood from being ripped from my head? They really had this figured out, didn¡¯t they?


    ¡°I get it now,¡± I said, slowing to drift over to her. ¡°This¡­ is something else.¡±


    It sounded stupid, even to my ears, but I didn¡¯t really have the power right now to put this sensation into words.


    And her grey eyes shone suddenly all the same.


    ¡°Follow,¡± she replied ¨C and I heard the challenge in it.


    She went at twice our former speed, so I closed my eyes and focussed my thoughts, flexed my body, and trebled my own speed ¨C so she redoubled, always outpacing me. When my breath was being taken away by our sheer speed ¨C then she made it interesting.


    She went lower, entering the labyrinth of streets and alleyways.


    We passed over the tangles of Ebondock Knot, the solitary hill of Arnost¡¯s Green, and it was as much as I could do to fly above her and try to keep pace. I was sure I could see better, maybe even react faster, than she could ¨C but I had a feeling that she had more wind-magic at her fingertips than just the means of propulsion that was granting us flight. Was her archmagery giving her a sense for where the buildings were, the turns, the obstructions? I couldn¡¯t actually put myself in her place and imagine how she could experience things on that level, but there was clearly something like that at play.


    We raced from Sticktown to Hilltown, Em close to the ground and probably visible to those below in her light robe, with me in my dark robe far higher and virtually invisible. We were flying over the craft-halls with their open-air forges burning all night long, the orange glows lighting the fog with an eerie hue as, hidden below, the centrifuges were humming, sending smoke up in great swirls. When I picked out Dustbringer and Ciraya ahead, their dark upper bodies were barely visible in the gloom ¨C it was the whirling blue lines around the champion that gave them away. Though their misty conveyances let them cut their own path over the buildings, they didn¡¯t move much faster than a galloping horse; the wizard¡¯s power let us outstrip them by a considerable margin.


    I tried not to smile smugly as we went over them, but I did give them a little wave of acknowledgement.


    I guessed it did speak highly of their motives, that they¡¯d let Em bring me after ¨C


    ¡°It only means they trust her to bring you in.¡±


    True. But if they wanted to kill me, she could just drop me right now, couldn¡¯t she? If they don¡¯t want to kill me, and you can stop them controlling my mind, then what can they do to me?


    ¡°They could try to control your mind and then when that fails kill you,¡± she replied at once.


    You¡¯re really quite good at this, you know?


    ¡°What, keeping you alive?¡±


    No ¨C well, yes, obviously that ¨C but, you know, thinking like an evil mastermind. Who taught you to think like that?


    ¡°Har-har.¡±


    I noted that this wasn¡¯t exactly an answer ¨C or a denial.


    ¡°You owe me a discretion point, remember,¡± she said sweetly.


    Fine, but it¡¯s not like I¡¯m going to be able to just forget that, is it?


    ¡°Forget what?¡±


    I growled a little, deep in my throat, but left it for now. I had plenty to occupy myself with.


    For one thing, traffic.


    Em had slowed and risen higher to meet me, and I matched her pace as we flew into the tower-district of Hightown ¨C it clearly wouldn¡¯t be safe to go at breakneck speeds with others around. I was sure a collision would prove fatal more often than not. As we went at a more leisurely pace, I looked with curiosity at the other mages zipping here and there, most of whom were merely travelling between windows.


    Some were mist-shrouded like Dustbringer and Ciraya and some were simply soaring along like me and Emrelet ¨C but there were others. I saw a tall mage with white wings like those of a griffon sprouting from his or her back setting-down onto a balcony below us, the wings folding away into nothingness as the mage reached out for the glass door and entered the building on the seventh or eighth floor. In the air to one side of us there was a mage so obese he could¡¯ve eaten Peltos for breakfast, being carried on some kind of palanquin, its diaphanous curtains rippling open in the breeze ¨C the thing was being heaved by dozens of extremely put-out-looking, violently-flapping imps, sulphuric sweat literally pouring off the red-skinned, eighteen-inch-tall demonoids as they crossed our path.


    ¡°Did I just hear a demon say ¡®Twelve Heavens¡¯?¡± I asked blankly after they¡¯d gone past.


    ¡°Vell, I do not think ¡®Tvelve Hells¡¯ vill be a svear-vord, in Infernum, vill it?¡±


    ¡°¡­ Single Materium, you¡¯re probably right!¡±


    We curled around the cracked courtyards and mossy silence of the Tower of Mourning, its three sides now lighting the darkness with the ribbons of blue radiance worked into its surfaces, the illumination fascinating yet somehow dreadful in the way that it seemed to pulse, as if with a cold heartbeat. The pattern was branching, webbed and forked, like a mess of sapphire vines, a series of lightning-bolts frozen in time and left thrumming in the blackness.


    My view of it was fleeting. Soon other towers got in the way, and the domes of the shrines too ¨C Hightown had no more temples than the other districts but they were all flamboyant, sprawling structures in vast grassy grounds. Then I followed Em down one of the tree-lined avenues, the roads beneath me hidden by the vast landscape of yellow leaves still clinging to the branches, that were this time like a carpet below me rather than a roof above my head.


    When I looked up, I saw that the omnipresent clouds were gone, replaced with a tapestry of stars shining fiercely in a purple sky streaked with turquoise and indigo and violet ¨C if some wizards had been paid to clear the clouds, it was worth it for this.


    Was that something Em could do? I¡¯d have to ask her sometime. This was a sight more deserved to see.


    We passed the Thirteen Candles, and for the first time I noticed the weird distortion in the air around it. No lights shone in the dark slits it had for windows. It¡¯d always been hard to tell from the ground, but from up here it was obvious that the flames burning on the roofs of the ungainly citadels were massive: even the smaller, lower towers on the edges of the ¡®candelabrum¡¯ had thirty-foot flames; the two in the middle must¡¯ve had fifty-foot ones. Ever-burning. The cone-shaped roofs beneath eternally-unharmed. But¡­ why?


    Who even lived there, in the darkness of those inscrutable windows, those scabbed wounds in the blood-painted surfaces? What was the place, exactly? No one ever really spoke about it ¨C it was just one of those things. There was nothing to say about it; no one I¡¯d ever met on the streets knew anything about it. Either way, wherever archmagery took me, I didn¡¯t think I ever wanted to end up hanging out in a place that looked like that.


    Then I realised just how close to the glass spike stabbing up into the sky we¡¯d come, letting my attention drift over it at last.


    The Maginox.


    Framed by the mountains beyond Mund to the north-east, each of the Maginox¡¯s five sides was a narrow, blade-like triangle tinted with a different colour: red, purple, blue, green, yellow, much of it illuminated even at night by the gleaming magelight within¡­ So tall it seemed to defy the clouds, its width was tiny in comparison to its height and yet its base occupied a huge amount of land. I could see the close-cropped grass around it, the pebble-paths wending here and there to features of interest.


    The huge-pillared building that I knew to be the library would have been an impressive structure all of its own if it hadn¡¯t been dwarfed by the presence of the Maginox itself so close by. There were benches under groves of trees by reed-ringed ponds, rolling slopes with magnificent views, open-plan shrines to Locus, God of Learning, and to Enye, Goddess of Youth¡­ the kinds of places where even at this late hour many students were congregated, standing or sitting in small groups. Maybe some were even discussing their schoolwork, given that it was, after all, magic.


    The Noxway, the master-crafted street leading towards it, was so wide that the trees couldn¡¯t reach across to each other, couldn¡¯t hide the marvellous surface from my sight with their autumn leaves. Over a hundred feet across, it was paved in a marble so smooth and pure that the road looked more like a razor-thin sheet of glass suspended on a river of milk than anything so imperfect, so crackable and chippable as stone, practically glowing of its own light in the twilight.


    All in all, the highborn mages knew how impress ¨C but I didn¡¯t fancy being the kind of archmage that ended up hanging out in a place like this either. It was just too ostentatious.


    I could now discern a kind of moat around the tower itself, no more than a hundred yards from the glass walls themselves, and a number of simple, small bridges that crossed the moat. Two mages in black-and-white robes, robes that looked thick and heavy, were standing guard at each bridge, and each of them wore some kind of shoulder-armour, pauldrons shaped with curls and snarls and sharp edges ¨C white on the left shoulder, black on the right. Chest-high rods of black metal were in their hands.


    And, interestingly, I saw no one flying inside the border afforded by the moat. No one was coming-and-going on the exterior of the ¨C hundreds? ¨C of floors comprising this building.


    I was finding it hard to breathe.


    I was closer to this place, far closer, than I¡¯d ever been before, and intimidated wouldn¡¯t even begin to cover it. But what was I going to do? Drop off out of here right now, and make the chaos ten times worse? Abandon Em, break my word? There were no alternatives, no ¡®possible futures¡¯ that I could accept that didn¡¯t lead across one of those bridges, and into that building¡­


    As if to confirm my suspicions, Em began to lose altitude quite rapidly, and let me catch up as we crossed over the point where the Noxway met the grassland and branched into smaller roads and paths. We followed the course of one of the paths into the Maginox¡¯s grounds, flying slower, slower¡­ I could see ahead of us the posts of the iron-wrought bridge, well-lit by glowing globes, and the decoratively-armoured mages leaning against the rails, heads inclined in conversation.


    Flying lower, lower¡­


    We were about to touch down on the path just twenty feet from the two guards, and to my surprise I felt more than heard Dustbringer and Ciraya¡¯s approach behind me; I¡¯d not had any reason to look over my shoulder in ages, given the place we¡¯d been heading towards. But of course, Em would have been able to sense them behind us, and time our arrival to match theirs by reducing our speed.


    That was fine by me. I¡¯d have rather had more time in the air than on the ground.


    Do I have to go in? I whined plaintively.


    ¡°I¡¯ll back you up, no matter what,¡± Zel asserted, with a bit of steel in her telepathic voice. ¡°Can¡¯t necessarily say the same for others¡­¡±


    I let out a sigh as my shoes hit the pebbles. It was all over. I wobbled for a second before finding my balance.


    ¡°Can we do that again?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Next time ve can race,¡± Em replied with a smile, smoothing down her robe.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t racing?¡±


    She arched an eyebrow at me like I was joking, then we both gave in and laughed at the same time. I could still feel the thrill of the flight in my nerves, this abundance, overabundance of energy. I wanted to do star-jumps.


    ¡°You got used to it, then,¡± Ciraya commented snarkily from behind me.


    I heard Dustbringer give a grunt of concurrence.


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯ve never flown before,¡± I responded, turning to watch as they landed a few feet from us, dragging a great swathe of the spectral mist with them. ¡°Unless you count being swooped off with by an owl¡­ Were you so hot the first time?¡±


    ¡°Nope. But there¡¯s a difference between not being so hot, and being so cold people get brain-freeze just watching you.¡±


    ¡°Hey, just because I beat you ¨C¡°


    ¡°I honestly thought I was going to keel over right there in mid-air,¡± the sorceress drawled over me in her crisp, croaky voice, ¡°if I had to watch you hit the top of your head against the floor one more time. It¡¯s, like, the top of your head. And the floor. Those two things should never meet. There¡¯s just no reason for it¡­¡±


    Em had started to advance, and, doing my best to keep the worry from my mind, I fell in next to her, ceding the argument to Ciraya. I could sense the moment when the mist stopped flowing from behind me, when Dustbringer wordlessly let go his undead.


    Pebbles crunched under our feet. The two guards ahead, in their heavy-looking black-and-white robes my mind was having trouble not categorising as armour, turned to face us, their dark, shiny rods in their hands. It was only then that I realised they were magisters, of some special corps ¨C they had ten-pointed stars on each shoulder: a black star on the white armour, a white one on the black.


    Both were women, both a little taller than average, not quite my height. One had red hair and freckles, no older than twenty, while the other had to be twice that or older, a brunette without any other mark of rank or seniority needed than the look in her green eyes, sparkling with challenge. She tapped the flat butt of her rod firmly into the pebbles a single time then raised it again.


    ¡°Emrelet. Dustbringer. Ciraya.¡± The older magister named them, her tone proper and businesslike, looking at them and pointing the ¡®v¡¯-ended tip of her rod at them in turn; then her green eyes fell on me as if they¡¯d only been waiting to do so. She stared at me, looking the robe up and down, gazing into my hood. Her own expression was as unreadable as mine, and she didn¡¯t have the benefit of a scarf covering half her face. She pointed the tip of the rod at me, and said, ¡°Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re just bringing the newbie in for a chat,¡± Ciraya said with an overly-bright sound to her voice. ¡°It¡¯s all in accordance with Mistress Henthae¡¯s wishes¡­¡± There was an unusually-pleading, expectant look on her face I couldn¡¯t quite wrap my head around.


    ¡°You know the protocol, Ciraya,¡± the older magister said, stepping back and tapping the butt of her rod against the pebbles twice.


    ¡°Oh, come on, I¡¯ve got things to be ¨C¡°


    ¡°Give it up, Ciraya,¡± the younger, redhead magister supplied in a tired-sounding voice, while the older magister began a chant. ¡°You know it¡¯s night in the Twelve Heavens when Najraine lets you through with two out of three.¡±


    The reference was lost on me. ¡®When it¡¯s night in the Twelve Heavens¡¯ was another way of saying ¡®it¡¯ll never happen¡¯ but¡­


    ¡°Two out of three?¡± I thought I might as well ask; it was innocent-enough. I kept my voice low, my gaze on the older magister who was now spinning her rod in her hands, moving her eyes between the four of us as she voiced a sonorous, wordless song in ever-changing pitches of sound.


    ¡°Identity, authorisation, and, most importantly, behaviour.¡± The redhead turned her attention to me. ¡°We¡¯ve got to check your future-lines. We wouldn¡¯t want to let anyone through the wards who was planning to cause trouble, would we?¡±


    Does this mean that if we go in, and they try something, they have to be successful? I mean ¨C if they aren¡¯t even going to let me in unless they win, I don¡¯t cause them trouble ¨C


    ¡°I¡¯m a diviner too, remember.¡±


    But they¡¯ll have arch-diviners in there. Other archmages¡­ My mouth was dry.


    ¡°Arch-diviners interacting with you will just muddy the waters, if you bother to recall. Plus, you¡¯ve got your shields.¡±


    I did indeed have my circle-and-star formation in place, redrawn the moment I¡¯d donned the robe and scarf around the corner from Mud Lane before even we started our flight to Hightown.


    ¡°Your failure earlier was from your own impatience. If you¡¯d drawn spikes on the outside of your shields like Dustbringer¡¯s and used those to strike his shields, I bet he wouldn¡¯t have been able to get through yours. Just keep a level head and you¡¯ll be fine. I can¡¯t sense any danger.¡±


    ¡°A sensible precaution,¡± I hedged, ¡°but shouldn¡¯t you have enchanters out here too? I mean, what if someone came up, a powerful illusionist, and just made you guys think they weren¡¯t going to cause any trouble?¡±


    ¡°Ze guards have cast ze best glamour-varding spells upon zem, Feychilde,¡± Em said, ¡°as viz every one of us, before our shifts begin. It vill last zem hours, and even ze strongest arch-enchanters cannot break it.¡±


    ¡°Wrong.¡±


    Really?


    ¡°Well, probably. Protections do work, but ¨C¡°


    I went to move my hand, to tap my finger against the side of my head, intending on telling Em that she was getting disagreed-with by my passenger ¨C


    ¡°¨C don¡¯t go implying I¡¯m in here with Dustbringer around! Trust me!¡±


    Er? Okay, Zel.


    ¡°The less we give away the better, I think¡­¡±


    Either way, the older magister, Najraine, had now stopped singing and lowered her staff.


    ¡°Three out of three,¡± she declared, sweeping her staff to one side and tapping it three times on the pebbles. ¡°You each have permission to enter the Maginox, and to leave again afterwards.¡± She stepped aside to stand next to the red-haired guard, leaving the path clear for us to cross the bridge over the moat.


    ¡°See you,¡± the redhead said plaintively to Ciraya, getting a nod in return.


    Me and Em in front, with Ciraya and Dustbringer bringing up the rear as before, we stepped onto the iron mesh of the bridge. The moat itself was a simple ring of motionless water, thirty feet or so in width, but it didn¡¯t look stagnant. The narrow sliver of moon above us was beginning to shine brightly, and in its pale radiance the waters of the moat seemed, if anything, to be almost crystal-clear. As we crossed, the bridge unmoving beneath the tread of our feet, I fancied I could see the shapes of fish moving near the reeds at the bottom of the moat.


    Then we got half-way across, and I could see it for the first time.


    The gigantic, shimmering bubble around the Maginox.


    ¡°Wow,¡± I murmured, moving to the rail of the bridge and stopping.


    It reached to the mid-point of the moat in all directions so that we were now just inside its gentle curve ¨C a vast cone of rotating blue shielding. I was pretty sure that anyone who flew into that wall of pure force would come off worse for wear, and if they went into it with enough power they might-well end up a smear of red gunk hanging up there in the air against the translucent surface.


    They must¡¯ve felt so safe, so well-protected in here, warded against all intrusion, all outside-attack ¨C


    ¡°They can¡¯t all see it, you know.¡±


    What?


    ¡°Vhat is it, Feychilde?¡± Em asked, stopping at my side. The others halted too, just a few feet away.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got the eyes of an arch-sorcerer. It¡¯s like the way you could hear the Autumn Door. Do you think your little wizard friend could see the fight you and Dustbringer got into? Even Ciraya would need to cast the right spells ¨C¡°


    Ah yes, that ¡®third eye¡¯ stuff. I get it.


    A smear of red gunk hanging up there in the air against the invisible surface¡­


    ¡°I¡­¡± I felt stupid. I looked across at Dustbringer, trying to meet the dark eyes looking out through the slits in the corpse-face mask. ¡°Is this thing supposed to be a secret?¡± I asked him, waving an arm generally in the air ¨C I couldn¡¯t really gesture at the shield itself; it encompassed every direction now we stood inside it.


    ¡°No,¡± he replied at once. ¡°But isn¡¯t it a shame they can¡¯t see it?¡±


    ¡°Ah-h-h,¡± Em breathed. ¡°You can actually see ze vards?¡±


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s just¡­ professional curiosity,¡± I said, turning to indicate that I was happy to continue on walking.


    Em cast me a strange sidelong glance as we continued on our way, crunching more pebbles, leaving the bridge and moat behind.


    There was an arched, doorless opening in the centre of the red face of the Maginox looming there across from us, brightly-lit and even welcoming at the top of a short flight of stairs. It seemed the interior of the School of Magery used a milky black stone for its floors and ceilings, with pillars placed more, it appeared, out of a sense of style than any kind of structural necessity. There were no guards here, but other mages were coming and going; a few lingered for a moment with their eyes or hoods turned in our direction, but they always turned aside to continue on their way after a few seconds; we weren¡¯t challenged any further.


    I took deep breaths as we entered. If there was ever a time to be Feychilde, to let Kastyr step aside, assume the guise of the champion right down to the core ¨C it was now.


    I let Em lead the way inside, and marvelled at what I saw.


    At first there was a black-stone ceiling above me, thirty feet or so over my head. After a minute, we arrived in the centre of the space; the ceiling disappeared, and I found that I could look upwards and see the entirety of the Maginox stretching on into the sky around me. Rings of balconies, the doors of rooms, windows, innumerable robed students. In the very middle there was a single spiral stair, wide enough for twenty abreast with long, shallow steps of the same black stone, winding around a central post that seemed to go all the way to the top. Every fifteen feet or so of elevation there was a lone black bridge, broad enough for at least ten abreast, connecting the staircase to the rooms on that storey around the edges of the building.


    Hundreds of them, floor upon floor upon floor, piercing the heavens.


    An abstract clock hung in mid-air near the first storey. It was just two long crystal rods imbued with a white radiance, one longer and one shorter, but it was enough to make it clear what it was; the two hands displayed what looked like seven-thirty-five.


    I might¡¯ve detested the overall look of the building, its grandiose nature, the way it sought to dominate the skyline and belittle the other, far more ancient towers, but in some ways the bridges spanning the open space almost reminded me of Mud Lane. While the acrid odours of failed alchemical experiments might linger somewhat in the air here, the pervading scent was the mustiness of stone. There were no sounds of dogs yapping or babies crying; here there was only the studious silence, not even a single stray noise from people traversing the rings of balconies reaching down to us. Mages who passed us weren¡¯t speaking quietly, necessarily, but no one actually raised their voice, and everyone kept a respectful distance from those they didn¡¯t know.


    As Em led our strange quartet towards the great spiral stair, I remarked on it. ¡°Is this normal for you Magisterium types?¡±


    ¡°Is vhat normal?¡±


    ¡°You know ¨C the whole, staying-away-from-each-other?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ Zis is because no one knows vhat spells anyone has active. Vould you choose to brush shoulders viz a diviner, and have him see vhat you did ze night before, or an enchanter, and have her see vhat¡¯s really on your mind?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that could get awkward real fast,¡± I said, giving her one of those probably-too-deliberate looks.


    She put a hand on my arm, and spoke in a jaunty tone: ¡°Unfortunately I am not ze enchantress Ilitar accused me of being. I can only blast your arm off.¡±


    I laughed rather loudly, then cringed internally, almost hearing the rolling of eyes from the masked champion and cynical sorceress behind. I was trying and very much failing to hide the flush of pleasure that coursed through me as Em had so casually placed her fingers on my upper arm, tensing them slightly, as if to grip at my muscle for a brief moment.


    We went on up the stair, passing mages of what looked to be every nationality and then some, mages whose natural skin-tones weren¡¯t just white or pink, bronze or olive, brown or black ¨C mages with pale-green skin and vibrant, all-green eyes that bore no whites; mages with dark-blue complexions, high cheekbones and foreheads¡­ There were many elves, of course, with never a hair out of place or a blemish on their skin, hiding brilliant white teeth behind their thin-lipped smiles as they swept past us on the stair, robes swishing dramatically as only elves could truly achieve. A fair few gnomes were there too, barely tall-enough to reach my waist and squeaky-voiced (such that I¡¯d have taken them for children if not for the extremely complex words coming out of their mouths), wearing their richly-cut robes with as much pride as any elf. I even saw a single dwarf on his own ¨C probably an outcast from his race, everyone knew there were no dwarf mages ¨C sporting the red robes of a probable-wizard, stomping his way down the stairs past us with a sour look on what could be seen of his face, his ginger beard streaming behind him.


    About one in four of those who passed us seemed to have Magisterium-symbols on their chests, which was a higher proportion than I¡¯d have expected.


    After a couple of minutes we must¡¯ve gone up ten-or-so floors, and we crossed to navigate the bridge that would lead us out from the centre towards the actual rooms, contained in the great five-sided ring around the edges of the building. We walked on the left, next to the rail carved from black stone, the rail that protected us from the already-over-a-hundred-foot drop, and I ran my hand along the barrier¡¯s surface. It was like untextured glass despite the milky ribbons that rippled through the material, as smooth as a silken sheet.


    As I studied it, I looked past the barrier, down. And felt a terrible sudden urge to fall over the edge ¨C or I felt like someone was going to grab me, grab me and hurl me over ¨C


    We weren¡¯t a hundred feet up. We weren¡¯t ten floors up. We were¡­


    Despite having just flew to get to the Maginox, it took my breath away. I hadn¡¯t actually flown this high, and I certainly had never felt my feet on the floor whilst looking down at a drop beneath me of such magnitude ¨C


    ¡°Whuuuuh,¡± I thought I managed to say.


    Dustbringer grunted a hunh, and Ciraya chuckled, but Em put a hand on my arm again.


    ¡°Ve could get nothing done if ve had to spend all day valking up and down zose stairs,¡± she said, by way of trying to normalise what had to be some kind of time-hole. ¡°And zey von¡¯t allow us to fly vizzin ze building.¡±


    After about ten seconds she was able to prise my hand off the rail, and once I was free I was happy to be guided away. It took me a few moments to get over the fact we were now thousands of feet high, possibly on something like the two-hundredth storey ¨C I had no way to guess, really. The floors below had just looked like a horrific blur when I¡¯d glimpsed them¡­


    Then we were in a globe-lit corridor, walking on the black stone past rooms with solid doors of rich mahogany, some locked with a padlock featuring no keyhole. Many rooms had windows that looked out onto the corridor, but those which weren¡¯t curtained-off were dark and empty within: most looked like classrooms, desks and chairs, magical paraphernalia all over the show. A few rooms had no windows and looked bigger, with double-doors half again as high as the others.


    ¡°So, what should I expect here, exactly?¡± I ventured.


    ¡°How do you mean?¡± Em said.


    ¡°Mistress¡­ Henthae?¡±


    Em smiled. ¡°She is one of ze few. I think you vill like her. It voz her note zat opened ze vault, from vhich your thirty platinum vere taken.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s ¨C nice,¡± I managed to choke out the word, not daring to mention the obvious question: why her?


    We¡¯d only gone a few hundred feet and followed two bends, when Em came to a stop beside a door without a padlock, a heavy black curtain drawn fully across the window, hiding its occupants.


    ¡°Just one person.¡±


    Henthae?


    ¡°An old woman. Seems to fit.¡±


    Em opened the door, swinging it inwards without knocking, but didn¡¯t move into the opening. She just gestured at the room.


    ¡°Ze Miztress Keliko Henthae, department-head of Operations and Special Investigations.¡±


    It was small, utilitarian without loss of luxury. A single large, clutter-free desk with just a few sheets of paper neatly stacked in its upper corner, a jug of water and some stacked glasses. There were four chairs in front of it and one behind it, all of them leather-cushioned, the grips of the chair-arms and headrests of the chair-backs carven into the likenesses of some fierce beaked creature: a griffon, perhaps, or a phoenix¡­ An orb fixed to the ceiling shed a yellowish radiance. The sole decoration on the milk-ribboned black stone walls was a small painting hanging behind the desk, depicting a huge, forest-covered rock crashing into a desolate, featureless land.


    In the chair behind the desk, a small, narrow woman was rising to her feet ¨C old, yes, perhaps nearing seventy, but remarkably unwrinkled. There were no creases across her brow, but she had heavy laugh-lines and a couple of rolls of excess skin under her chin; her eyes twinkled as she looked out into the corridor and saw me standing there. Her iron-grey hair was tied back in a pony-tail, and her robe was a soft rose hue, the ten-spoked wheel on her breast stitched in a dark, silvery thread. As she gestured, gems glimmered in myriad shades from the rings on her fingers under the soft yellow light.


    ¡°Feychilde ¨C do come in, take a seat! You too, Emrelet ¨C gods know it¡¯s been too long since I last saw you. Three weeks? How¡¯re you getting on? A glass of water? Come in, all of you ¨C shut the door, we¡¯ll have half the people who saw you listening in otherwise ¨C¡°


    While she spoke I shuffled inside, my shields preceding me, and the others followed, trading pleasantries with her. Within moments we were sipping the chilled water in our seats: Dustbringer, Ciraya, myself and Emrelet, from left to right.


    ¡°So Kastyr, we meet at last.¡± Henthae spoke in a refined voice, but there was warmth in her tone, taking her own seat and settling herself back down into her visible leathery groove, with no wincing on her features as she moved, no creaking of old bones. The blue eyes gazed at me with curiosity. ¡°I hear you¡¯ve had a busy week?¡±


    I grated slightly ¨C especially here, I would have had her call me Feychilde and nothing else, door closed or not. But I supposed I wasn¡¯t in a position to argue. Wiser to keep that up my sleeve. She clearly wasn¡¯t trying to be insulting.


    ¡°An even busier twenty-four hours,¡± I replied, amiably-enough.


    ¡°That too,¡± she conceded, cracking a wry smile. Her twinkling blue eyes darted over to Ciraya on my left. ¡°I take it the business was resolved without any loss of life or significant destruction of property or loss of life?¡±


    Mistress Henthae¡¯s smile edged into the dangerous-range as she turned her eyes to the sorceress sitting next to me, and I began to carefully reassess my first impressions of her.


    ¡°That¡¯s hardly fair ¨C that was one time ¨C and there were four of them and they had weapons,¡± Ciraya responded with an unusual gloominess.


    As Henthae began to reply with some curt admonishment, I was sure I heard the sorceress mutter something under her breath about Fe being hungry.


    ¡°If I may interrupt,¡± Dustbringer cut in with his deep, dry voice, ¡°there was no loss of life, no destruction of property. If anything our presence appeared to exacerbate the likelihood of what your oracles would call, I believe, the prominent future-lines actualising.¡±


    He spoke quickly, but I got the gist of what he was saying, and again kept very quiet about just how tempted I¡¯d been to set a demon on Peltos¡¯s boys.


    No point getting myself arrested.


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, Endren, that too was something I was warned of ¨C¡°


    Henthae¡¯s chosen form of address for Dustbringer was odd, a message in itself. How did she know that he¡¯d revealed his name to me? Someone had filled her in, somehow.


    Twelve Hells, anything would be possible if she had access to some half-skilled diviners she could set on the task, as Dustbringer had implied.


    Perhaps the Magisterium didn¡¯t really care one jot about keeping champions¡¯ identities secret.


    ¡°¨C fine young chap like Feychilde we aren¡¯t going to want to take risks, considering the current situation with, ahem, Soulbiter and Screamsong ¨C dear me, wherever do they come up with these names? Lord Termiax and Lady Rissala were known as highly-cultured individuals, they never missed a chance to talk-up some fine art they¡¯d recently purchased¡­ quite beyond me¡­¡°


    Or maybe it was just a personal issue with cool-sounding names. Which just made Henthae profoundly boring, not particularly evil, right? What was wrong with ¡®Feychilde¡¯ and ¡®Dustbringer¡¯?


    ¡°You mean, you don¡¯t imagine a fey kid and someone holding a feather duster?¡±


    Thanks, Zel.


    ¡°My pleasure.¡±


    Still, there was the whole business of a darkmage knowing who I ¨C


    ¡°And finally this issue of Belexor Ishemen we take very seriously,¡± Henthae was saying, as if reading my mind.


    Is she doing that? Reading me?


    ¡°If she is, she¡¯s got the lightest touch I¡¯ve ever seen. And she¡¯s within your shields, no repulsion.¡±


    That¡¯s not a denial.


    ¡°I realise that.¡±


    Henthae was looking across at Emrelet as she mentioned Belexor, as if waiting for the arch-wizard¡¯s report on the druid she¡¯d been supervising for the last month.


    After a few moments to consider her words, Em said, ¡°I had no idea zat he vould go to zese lengths. You have had vord from Nighteye?¡±


    Henthae nodded sombrely. ¡°Enforced metamorphosis,¡± her eyes twinkled at me for an instant, then shot back to Emrelet, ¡°is a very serious crime, as I¡¯m sure you are aware.¡±


    Em smiled. ¡°I have been keeping up on my reading. If ze change of shape is prolonged, it carries a sentence of fifteen years, commuted to two years viz a fine of one thousand gold, ten percent of vhich is to be avarded as compensation ¨C¡±


    ¡°Yes, dear,¡± Henthae said with the warmth returned to the set of her features, mouth slanted in a tight smile, ¡°you don¡¯t have to show off.¡±


    There was a mutter of laughter, and some of the tension in the air evaporated.


    A little part of me reacted to the notion of ten more platinum, replacing much of what I¡¯d lost to Peltos once Ciraya¡¯s work was done, but I swallowed down my acquisitiveness. There¡¯d be time for money-making later.


    ¡°It sometimes works differently for magisters found guilty, however,¡± the old magister continued, ¡°if circumstances demand. What do you think, Mr. Mortenn? Would you entertain conversation upon the topic?¡°


    I took another gulp and set down my glass.


    ¡°Honestly?¡±


    I glanced across at Em before replying. She looked down at her hands, face flushed, but the smile was still on her face.


    I looked back at Mistress Henthae, the expectant twinkling eyes.


    ¡°Honestly, I didn¡¯t expect you to take my side so quickly. But I have one major concern.¡±


    ¡°We are always keen to ensure our new champions find us accommodating,¡± she replied smoothly, sitting back but keeping her eyes on my face. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can imagine why. What is it that troubles you?¡±


    ¡°Belexor,¡± I said, ¡°knows who I am. And clearly hates me. Is there anything¡­?¡±


    I left it hanging there in the air suggestively.


    ¡°You are requesting that we remove his memory of your identity from his mind.¡±


    The way she phrased it, she wasn¡¯t asking me a question, but she was still inviting a reply.


    I thought about it carefully.


    ¡°What would it cost me?¡± I asked, deciding to simply get it out there for sake of speeding this up. It¡¯d been a very long day¡­ and if me and Em left at the same time, I could fly through the moonlit air with her back to Sticktown before the start of her shift¡­


    ¡°Cost you?¡± she asked, leaning forwards again. She affected a little sardonic laugh. ¡°Mr. Mortenn, what kind of business do you think we are in?¡±


    I raised an eyebrow, uncertain whether she could see it under this light with my hood in the way.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t mean monetarily, obviously¡­¡°


    ¡±What primarily concerns us,¡± Henthae filled my pause, ¡°is that prophecy and telepathy completely failed to predict Belexor¡¯s subversion.¡± Her voice took on a brittle tone. ¡°Don¡¯t mistake me, Mr. Mortenn, you aren¡¯t at the top of our list of priorities. This meeting isn¡¯t the first I¡¯ve had tonight, and won¡¯t be the last.¡±


    Of course, she¡¯d had that whole Facechanger business to look into ¨C I had merely further-complicated an already-complicated day for her¡­


    ¡°Nonetheless, you are one of our priorities.¡± She softened somewhat when she said that, looking down at the table for a moment, almost guiltily. Thinking of lost champions? ¡°You speak of costs, and no psychic inspection is required for me to recognise the contempt in which you hold the Magisterium ¨C¡±


    I opened my mouth to protest but one of her beringed, bejewelled hands was already flashing out in a little cutting motion ¨C


    ¡°¨C which would seek both to protect and be protected by you in any case. Like all champions, you merely possess those delusions of independence which no doubt contribute, in time, to the doom awaiting even the most competent.¡± She pursed her lips momentarily, and flicked her gaze to Dustbringer, who gave no outward sign of annoyance at her words ¨C he¡¯d probably heard this spiel a hundred times. ¡°If I said that we were already planning to instil those barriers in Belexor¡¯s mind required to hide your identity from exposure, you might not believe me. But the truth is that we need people like you, Kastyr.¡± The old woman¡¯s eyes went to Emrelet, then back to me once more. ¡°Lowborn archmages inspire the people in ways we never can ¨C¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t give him that pile of manure,¡± Dustbringer grunted, suddenly sitting forward. ¡°Until today there were five recognised arch-sorcerers ¨C fighters ¨C left in the city. All of them champions. Now there¡¯re six again.¡±


    Six ¡®again¡¯? Oh¡­ Hellbane.


    Dustbringer went on: ¡°Let him stay a champion. It¡¯s common-enough knowledge that archmage sorcerers are rare compared with the other archmages ¨C albeit wizards come close ¨C¡± I thought I saw the eyes move within the mask¡¯s slits, glancing briefly down the row towards Em ¡°¨C even if you take into account those in other professions, or those hiding or otherwise unregistered by the Magi-¡±


    ¡°Yes, quite,¡± Henthae said; ¡°in any case, your task is complete here, Endren. Our young friend has been brought into our presence and you successfully avoided burning down Mud Lane. Our gratitude will be waiting for you in the usual location.¡±


    ¡°The usual fee?¡± His gruff exterior betrayed him for a moment, and I heard need ¨C or greed ¨C in his voice. Perhaps we were not so dissimilar, Endren and I¡­


    ¡°The full amount, of course. It¡¯s already arranged.¡±


    Dustbringer got to his feet, and on impulse I did too, swivelling ¨C not to leave, but to offer him my hand.


    He removed the scorched metal gauntlet from his right hand, and we shook for a second time.


    ¡°Nighteye?¡± he said to me, with a curious tilt of his head.


    It took me a moment.


    Ah. He wants to know if the druid told me about the Gathering of Champions¡­


    ¡°Yes, he did,¡± I said cautiously ¨C and it seemed my guess was right by the way he just nodded curtly, his question answered.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Henthae made her interest plain. She¡¯d steepled her fingers in front of her face, elbows on the arm-rests of the chair, and her eyes were brighter than her rings.


    I resumed my seat as Dustbringer nodded to Em and Ciraya and, sliding his glove back onto his hand, made his way out of the room.


    Once the door had closed again, I replied, ¡°He was checking Nighteye gave me the new-champion-pep-talk, that¡¯s all. I think you were saying something about needing me, and already planning to wipe Belexor¡¯s memories of me¡­¡±


    ¡°Not just wipe his memories of you,¡± she replied, un-steepling her fingers. ¡°Do you think we allow decommissioned magisters ¨C dark magisters, if you will ¨C to just walk off with their knowledge of our practises?¡±


    ¡°But you have no way of knowing who they¡¯ve told in the meantime, which secrets ¨C¡°


    ¡°That is where you are wrong,¡± she cut in smoothly, leaving me blinking. ¡°Let what you see today serve as a warning to those of you here who might otherwise one day harbour thoughts unworthy of your esteemed stations,¡± she raised an eyebrow in warning, looking coolly between me and Em and Ciraya, ¡°which is the reason I¡¯m going to ask you to come with me.¡±


    Henthae stood suddenly, springing to her feet all too fluidly for a person of her advancing age. She moved briskly around the desk, not waiting for our acquiescence ¨C simply assuming it and moving on. Hurriedly, we found our feet and followed her from the room.


    We walked two abreast along the corridor, and though I tried to drop back to walk beside Em, it appeared Ciraya was having none of it; she smoothly manoeuvred such that I couldn¡¯t avoid walking next to Henthae without literally stopping and bodily moving the sorceress into my own position. Before long I could see the great central spiral stair once more, through the glass of a window.


    ¡°So what do you think of the place, Feychilde?¡± Henthae gave a general gesture at the surrounds as we approached the stair.


    ¡°Erm -¡± I couldn¡¯t very well tell her that it reminded me in a strange way of my home ¨C that would just play into her attempts to get me to sign-up, and I didn¡¯t need to give her any more ammunition on that front. I suspected she had plenty up her sleeve already ¨C and I didn¡¯t want to sound like some gushing idiot either. ¡°The Maginox? What do you really want me to say? Obviously it¡¯s astounding.¡± As I said the word I realised I meant it, swallowed down my doubts. ¡°But it¡¯s, er, too much for a poor boy¡¯s poor eyes, Mistress.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± she replied; ¡°perhaps not yet. One shan¡¯t remain a poor boy for long.¡±


    I avoided looking over the edge this time as we started moving upstairs again. ¡°Might I enquire as to our¡­ destination?¡± She¡¯d spoken of what we would ¡®see today¡¯ and that sounded somewhat portentous.


    ¡°It was you who first spoke of cost,¡± she replied. ¡°Might I ask that in return for our assistance, you grant me a favour?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ bold,¡± I replied. ¡°An undefined favour?¡± I knew my answer already, even if it was a question of everyone¡¯s safety from darkmage-attack. ¡°I couldn¡¯t agree to that.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, no. Something simple. That will cost you little in time and nothing in effort.¡±


    I rolled it over in my mind as we ascended, watching as other mages passing us on their way downstairs inclined their heads at my host ¨C it was as if everyone knew Mistress Henthae, whether they were magisters or not.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a good idea, personally. I mean, some vague favour will turn out to be something evil, and then ¨C¡°


    She said nothing in effort.


    ¡°Perhaps it will assist you in your decision-making process if I tell you upfront what the favour demands.¡±


    ¡°Now you¡¯re just being silly, Mistress Henthae, obviously it will assist me ¨C¡°


    ¡°Think about joining us.¡± Going off her tone she took the minor insult in her stride. ¡°Just think about it. That¡¯s all the favour I want. The life of a champion is a life of risks.¡±


    ¡°And rewards.¡±


    ¡°Rewards commensurate with the risks. Which entails risks commensurate with the rewards. You have had one bounty, and are already rich by your own standards. Is money worth your life? Our arch-magisters live far safer lives than champions, you know. I can have you apprenticed to the Seven-Star Swords, or the Night¡¯s Guardians¡­ Perhaps the Circle Watchers would best suit you¡­ The pay of a collegiate magister may be less than that of a champion ¨C but perhaps you would be interested in watching over the Winter Door for us, whose pay ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s not about pay,¡± I almost growled. ¡°It¡¯s about service. No offence, m¡¯lady, but I do not much like the thought of being at your beck and call.¡± I regarded her. ¡°And in return for this favour, this consideration, I¡¯ll ¨C what? Accept your promise that Belexor is no threat to my ¨C to me?¡±


    I saw her smile, just a single twitch. She caught my stumble there. Damn.


    I knew I was giving her more ammunition; she¡¯d realised I was going to say something like my family, that I was the type of person who cared about other people ¨C and this could be used to control my responses. She was highborn; she might not know many people who actually cared about others, but she wasn¡¯t stupid, and she would apply the correct levers to her target to get them to play their part in her schemes.


    ¡°I intend to bring you to young Mr. Ishemen,¡± she said, the smile returning to her face as she caught my shocked glance in her peripheral vision. ¡°Not much farther.¡±


    Em and Ciraya, walking behind, had been conversing in low voices, but now Em raised hers: ¡°He has already been brought in? Vhen voz zis? I voz not glyphed¡­¡±


    Henthae replied over her shoulder, matching the arch-wizard¡¯s volume so everyone could hear clearly, ¡°Not long after the Red Hart was set aflame. Your handiwork, I presume?¡± The old magister¡¯s eyes turned back to me, her lips twitching in amusement as I stifled my own urge to answer.


    Never incriminate yourself, never confess. The thought was deeply ingrained, known since a time when my age was numbered in single digits, when I¡¯d realised the informants got offed with as much regularity as those they informed on. Hamry Bewent had been a burglar, and when he snitched on his burglar-turned-murderer colleagues he¡¯d been hanged right next to them. Maybe the Magisterium were better about it ¨C cleverer about it ¨C than the city watch, but the instinct remained.


    We exited the stairwell ¨C and I didn¡¯t have to look down but up to see how high we were; I could clearly make out the five-sloped ¡®ceiling¡¯, with Zel¡¯s help. We couldn¡¯t be more than a few dozen floors from the top. The stairs themselves hid the ultimate apex from my vision but I could see the coloured walls, red and blue and purple and green and yellow, all tapering up the form the very point of the Maginox. And through them, the sky beyond tinted in those shades, the stars directly overhead burning white in a multi-hued field of darkness.


    ¡°This is Magicrux Altra, the most heavily-guarded institute from which suspects and criminals can easily be removed,¡± Henthae said as we crossed the bridge towards, not an open corridor this time, but a single sealed black-stone door, two magisters with those dark-iron rods and strange shoulder-armour standing guard outside it.


    I understood the need for the bridge-guards outside, now. The shield protecting the Maginox wasn¡¯t a catch-all for ill-intent like my own instinctive shields. How could it be if you were going to house dangerous prisoners inside it?


    And I could believe her words. Trying to escape from here, in the centre of the magistry¡¯s power? Having to walk down those stairs for ten minutes, past hundreds, possibly thousands of hostile magic-users ¨C a fair proportion of whom were actually trained to oppose darkmages?


    But I¡¯d cottoned-on to the obvious meaning of what she¡¯d said. ¡°You have other heavily-guarded institutes from which they can¡¯t be easily removed?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to keep the most dangerous here. Obviously a single archmage could wreak havoc, given the right circumstances. Security must be commensurate with threat. But Belexor is of no particular concern ¨C he has none of his materials and his spells allowing him to change his own shape have long since expired. What¡¯s more, his parents are out of the city, holidaying at their villa.¡±


    She looked pleased with herself, smiling away as we stopped before the guards while she went forward to give her credentials¡­ but I recognised the slightly more subtle threat she was implying.


    Mistress Henthae had probably locked up dozens of archmages in her time; arch-sorcerers. She was letting me know that my capabilities didn¡¯t faze her and that she had a hellish hole to drop me into, all ready to go if I set a foot out of line.


    Interesting.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the slant of your thoughts. This is how you were back in the apartment. You can¡¯t test their security, just the same as you couldn¡¯t thrown a demon at Peltos.¡±


    I know. But it is interesting. I wonder what measures they take to prevent archmages from escaping?


    ¡°Measures you don¡¯t ever want to learn more about than that they exist. Clearly. Do you go around contracting every disease you hear of, to find out more about it?¡±


    The guards were showing Henthae something on a glyphstone they¡¯d produced from a glossy demiskin pouch ¨C she was holding the fist-sized, irregularly-shaped chunk of clear crystal up close to her eyes, gazing deep into it. I hadn¡¯t actually seen one in-use before, but I¡¯d always just assumed glyphstones would operate on the same principles as your everyday crystal ball, so this made sense.


    ¡°Do you know much about this place?¡± I asked Em. Like everywhere else, the wall around the door was just smooth, clean black stone with its little creamy rivulets running through it. The usual glowing globes a few feet on either side of the door. Nothing unusual-looking at all. You would hardly think you were standing outside a jail.


    ¡°Ve all get ze tour,¡± she said, trying to smile ¨C but it looked fake, not reaching her grey eyes; I could tell her heart wasn¡¯t in it. She wouldn¡¯t meet my eyes.


    ¡°Not all the champions, though,¡± Ciraya added blandly.


    The guard accepted his glyphstone back and bowed to Henthae, then he opened the door, sliding it across into the wall.


    We followed her into the rectangular opening, into a hall of a size I hadn¡¯t expected to find at this elevation. There were no ordinary mages here; everyone had the ten rays of the Magisterium displayed prominently on the front of their robes. Smaller stairs led to corridors which branched off, and we passed more guard-magisters and more magisters of the regular kind, Henthae speaking to a few sergeants before finding the correct room.


    She let us into a dimly-lit cuboid space, with a silent, white-garbed magister standing watch in the corner, his arms folded and hood up against the chamber¡¯s chill. As I turned to look around I saw Belexor not twelve feet away, sitting on a stool at the end of the room with another door directly behind him. He was hunched forwards with his red curls hanging over his face. All in all he was looking even more dishevelled than he was following his transformations, with his robe torn in a couple of places ¨C not to mention that his left wrist was shackled to his left ankle with a chain no longer than three inches, and likewise for his right wrist and ankle. Between his ankles a bar was fastened to the same shackles, eighteen inches long, so that he couldn¡¯t bring his feet or hands together.


    Restrictions sufficient to inhibit a mere mage.


    ¡°What¡¯s in effect?¡± I heard Henthae ask the on-watch magister in a low voice.


    ¡°Standard noise-control illusions, m¡¯lady,¡± the magister replied, giving the truth to his statement by using a normal volume which carried loudly in the quiet, chilly air, with no reaction from the prisoner, ¡°and as far as he¡¯s concerned there¡¯s a wall about three feet in front of his face.¡±


    Belexor¡¯s head didn¡¯t lift at our entrance, though his eyes were uncovered and his ears free to hear the door and our footsteps. Henthae advanced as me, Em and Ciraya stayed back, halfway to the doorway, exchanging glances to no avail. The women looked as mystified as I was, and they were magisters.


    Strange.


    But the weirdest bit was to just stand here, knowing you could probably get away with screaming a blood-curdling cry and having a sword-fight about five feet from the bound druid without him being any the wiser.


    ¡°How long until the illusion ends?¡±


    ¡°If I cease maintaining it, seven minutes,¡± the magister said, then frowned, ¡°but you can ¨C¡°


    ¡°Leave us.¡±


    ¡°Yes Mistress Henthae.¡± His protests stopped, just like that, and he bowed his head in respect before leaving the room, closing the door firmly behind himself.


    They all did know her; it sounded like a mad supposition but something just told me it was true. How strange. The head of ¡®Operations and Special Investigations¡¯, who was famous enough amongst her own to be instantly recognisable, had personally written the bank-letter for me? She certainly had a lot on her plate, but it didn¡¯t seem to have fazed her ¨C someone like her could¡¯ve retired ten years ago if she¡¯d wanted, I was sure. No, she was the type who thrived on being at the centre of the web, touching the lives of others, manipulating them for her own ends. She¡¯d do this till the day she died.


    ¡°Vhat are ve going to do to him?¡± Em asked, a slight tremor in her voice.


    ¡°Not we, dear,¡± Henthae replied, ¡°just me. You should stay here and watch. Try to understand.¡±


    I¡¯d thought myself smart ¨C I thought she was going to go out of the door near us, then re-enter the room through the door just behind him, where he would hear her ¨C surely that was the whole point of the elongated room, the two-door setup¡­ But Mistress Henthae began walking across the room towards him, as if to walk past him.


    ¡°But¡­¡± I started to protest ¨C as far as Belexor was concerned, she was about to walk out of a wall in front of him¡­ Wouldn¡¯t that mess with the illusion? I had no idea ¨C but I had no chance to say anything.


    Em took my hand, and I fell silent, watching as Henthae raised a single hand in front of her face, then made a gentle slashing motion down at her feet using the edge of her palm.


    She was invisible. It happened instantly, no rippling effect, nothing. She was gone, rose-coloured robes and all.


    And here I was, thinking I was just being overly-paranoid¡­


    ¡°So she is an arch-enchanter,¡± Zel replied in a musing tone. ¡°Her and Em, both arch-magisters.¡±


    Enchanters were probably the worst kind of archmage to have as an enemy. A foe you could never see coming, a foe who could make you see whatever they wished¡­


    ¡°That might put a seriously-strange spin on things. I haven¡¯t noticed her intruding ¨C have you?¡±


    I ¨C no ¨C nothing, I think? I mean, could she do that?


    ¡°I already expressed my doubts, didn¡¯t I, before we came here? It pays to remember you¡¯re fallible. You have to keep an open mind if you¡¯re suspecting yourself of mind-control.¡±


    Keep an ¡®open mind¡¯?


    ¡°Oh, you know what I mean! I¡¯ll work on cracking her seals. There¡¯s always a way in. I¡¯m more worried about illusions. I can¡¯t exactly just pop out to check with my own eyes right now.¡±


    I could hear Belexor panting. The breath was heaving out of him in uncontrolled gasps, and I could hear the wet sounds his throat was making, the sniffling of his nose, and finally he began to sob ¨C


    ¡°No, no,¡± he moaned softly, trying to reach up with a hand to ward off something only he could see ¨C but it was chained to his ankle so that he simply flopped awkwardly to one side.


    I knew I was supposed to feel some kind of rightness to this, some sense of justice and of vengeance fulfilled ¨C yet there was none of that. He sounded like he was breaking. What was Henthae doing to his mind?


    ¡°Mother? Father!¡±


    Belexor¡¯s squeals were so abrupt and loud that I involuntarily jumped a little, and through our joined hands I felt Em jolt too.


    ¡°I, I haven¡¯t told them anything, Father!¡± Belexor¡¯s pleading was pained, the sheer, panicked desperation making his voice almost vibrate as he begged the empty air. ¡°If I ¨C¡°


    His breath catching raggedly in his throat, he cringed back as if expecting a blow.


    The dark druid was being interrupted and threatened by a non-existent father.


    ¡°No, Kas. Don¡¯t.¡±


    I could stop it.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s much more serious than that. I wasn¡¯t paranoid enough. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    If this is about her being an archmage, just stop. You can¡¯t blame yourself. We can blame her, though. This is wrong. This is unworthy of us.


    ¡°I ¨C I know Jargrin ¨C I didn¡¯t ¨C please, you¡¯ve got to believe me, I had no idea they were there!¡± This came out as a scream, a literal full-lunged scream. ¡°No ¨C no! Of course I didn¡¯t speak to them ¨C what?¡± Belexor was shaking his head fervently, and I worried he could break his neck. ¡°The st-stupid champion. No, I ¨C I was going to fix it¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about her being an archmage. I don¡¯t even know if I should tell you. You might give it away.¡±


    Give what away? Zel, aren¡¯t you listening? He didn¡¯t tell Soulbiter and Screamsong about me!


    ¡°The hand you¡¯re holding¡­¡±


    ¡­ I had Em¡¯s right hand in my left, fingers linked¡­


    What?


    ¡°It¡¯s not real.¡±


    I tried not to freeze, but it took me seconds to process what she¡¯d said.


    ¡°¡­ I just wanted ¨C I just, I wanted to sh-show off-f-f-fff¡­¡±


    While the young magister wept on the stool in front of me, I tried again. To process. What she¡¯d said.


    I was ¨C


    Alone ¨C


    In Magicrux Altra ¨C


    I was standing in one of the most heavily-guarded places in Mund, in the world, at the mercy of an arch-enchanter who had seen fit to divest me of any potential allies, and provide me with perfect-to-the-touch copies.


    To reassure me. To lure me deeper. To keep me unsuspecting until at the last possible moment.

 Truth Tied

    <h2>PLATINUM 1.11: TRUTH TIED</h2>


    ¡°The city is wracked with fear. I¡¯ve never heard it so quiet. It¡¯s impossible not to listen to a whisper. It¡¯s already known to us that those who seek to suppress recalcitrant elements thereby strengthen them. It is only by discourse and integration that the rebel is made to serve the cause and martyrdom averted. Yet this is a trite truth. Those above you know it already. Look to Zadhal! Ask yourself this, then: why, in full knowledge of the paradox of their actions, do they continue the policy of suppression? What do they stand to gain by the strengthening of the Chaosist? Do they secretly serve the same goals? What new powers will they give themselves to fight this phantasm of their own devising? How many voices in the discord are false, bought by gold or created wholesale from illusory artifice? How much of that gold comes from selling security, charms both cheap and expensive, to those who otherwise would have no need of them? Ah ¨C if only we could all be free.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Sermons of the Unbridled¡¯ recordings, Mortifost 772 NE


    I watched the chained boy weeping, and I comprehended the lesson the old arch-magister had meant to teach.


    Is Belexor even really here? I asked Zel, all at once feeling sceptical about the whole lot of this.


    ¡°Oh yes. Do you want to see?¡±


    I wanted to see, and so it was; suddenly the dim white light from the small globe near the ceiling was tinted into a weird, violet-brown-ish colour.


    When I flicked my eyes across at Emrelet and Ciraya, there was nothing there, and it produced the strangest sensation, the wizard¡¯s hand in my own, the flesh feeling warm, real¡­ But it was all fake. My hand was wrapped around a tactile void I could see right through, see my hand through hers, fingers curled around a lie.


    Her eyes hadn¡¯t looked right, outside the magicrux. I should¡¯ve known¡­


    I refocussed on Belexor, sitting there anguished on his stool, clearly present in the violety, browny light ¨C and I even saw Henthae leaning against the wall by the door, adopting a posture more befitting a twenty-year-old than a seventy-year-old. She almost reminded me of Ciraya.


    The real Ciraya. The one who would¡¯ve said something snarky when I called Henthae silly on the stairs.


    ¡°I get it,¡± I said, injecting as much boredom as I could muster into my voice, looking right at Mistress Henthae and releasing fake-Em¡¯s hand, casting it away from my own like I was throwing a piece of trash on the ground.


    Belexor didn¡¯t react, just as I¡¯d hoped, and Henthae approached me.


    ¡°You get it, Feychilde?¡± she asked once she reached my half of the room. ¡°What is it you think you ¡®get¡¯?¡±


    She sounded petulant, as if I¡¯d interrupted her too early, and I chuckled to hear her using my vernacular.


    ¡°Let¡¯s be rid of them, first, if you please?¡±


    I was at least obeying the forms of politeness, even if my turbulent emotions came through in my tenor. I jerked a thumb at the two illusory magisters.


    It was her turn to chuckle. ¡°Very well.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t check with my sight like this, but ¨C


    Can you see?


    ¡°She¡¯s done it. Did it the second you said.¡±


    Good.


    I met Mistress Henthae¡¯s glittering eyes.


    ¡°You bear me no ill-will, do you?¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°No, you¡¯ve been moving in and out of my shields too easily for that.¡±


    Her laugh-lines became more pronounced as another smile touched her lips.


    ¡°You wanted me to see what you could do to someone who betrayed the principles of the Magisterium ¨C¡°


    ¡°More than that,¡± she tried to interrupt, sounding almost apologetic, ¡°we ¨C¡°


    ¡°More than that, you wanted to see how I¡¯d react,¡± I spoke over her, ¡°whether I could control myself, whether I could endure watching¡­ this!¡± I flung a hand at the wretched-looking druid.


    ¡°Yes, Feychilde, I wanted to see if you would stop it.¡± She had the resigned tone of one who has been found-out, and she folded her ring-cluttered hands together in front of her stomach, most of their huge gemstones just looking black under the fey-eyesight I was using to regard her. For all I knew she¡¯d dropped the invisibility spell now but I didn¡¯t want to blink away the illusion-breaking vision just yet.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to pierce my veils so easily,¡± she admitted. ¡°Might I ask how you¡¯re doing that?¡±


    ¡°Where are they?¡± I grated out the words, ignoring her request.


    ¡°I bade the young ladies step aside, and they did so,¡± then Henthae frowned, ¡°and Emrelet raised her voice at me for the first time. But even she trusts me, Kastyr. You should too. What I had Emrelet say to you ¨C my Emrelet ¨C was not a lie; all those who come to join the Magisterium get to see this in the course of their duty. You will find, of course, that Belexor is unharmed; frightened in the moment, yes, but no doubt you were frightened when you were changed into a rodent; and he shall not have to live with the memory of this.¡±


    That didn¡¯t make it right. It wasn¡¯t like we could just trade one horror for another and call that justice; you couldn¡¯t even call that logic ¨C if everyone went around terrorising those who¡¯d terrorised others you¡¯d call that lawlessness, and here she was, a higher-up in the very Bastion of Law itself, using arguments like this to try to convince me torture, mind-torture, was okay.


    She might¡¯ve been a very powerful enchantress, and no doubt a capable administrator and teacher¡­ perhaps even a battle-hardened soldier. But she wasn¡¯t a skilful manipulator. It was like she¡¯d just pointed out the way she had ¡®LIAR¡¯ tattooed across her forehead.


    Henthae continued on regardless, seemingly unaware of my disapproving body language, ¡°Therefore all that remains is to ensure he will leave the Maginox with no memory of the secrets he knows.¡±


    I bristled again ¨C but this time I caught myself.


    Just what had I expected? That they would just remove my identity from his mind, leaving him otherwise intact? Wasn¡¯t I being a hypocrite, wanting them to invade his mind for me, but not caring about the quite-possibly-hundreds of other people whose lives and livelihoods could be endangered if this didn¡¯t happen?


    Maybe I¡¯d been wrong about her.


    Maybe she was more skilful than I¡¯d given her credit for.


    And this had been, what? A test of my morality? They¡¯d walked a delicate line here. What if I¡¯d reacted the wrong way?


    Or what if the only way I¡¯d been able to react was the same way they¡¯d predicted? Just because I was immune to mind-control didn¡¯t mean I was immune to the sight of seers ¨C I was barely even resistant. I still quite possibly had a mizelly-cat thing waiting to kill me, somewhere out there. The magisters could¡¯ve known the exact right triggers to bring my profoundly stupid righteous-side out of me. And if that was the case, she¡¯d played her part flawlessly, ensuring I understood at the exact right moment: the need for self-control, the selfishness of my self-righteousness.


    This time Henthae had raised a finger to point at the druid as she approached him, then circled the finger as she got closer, like a drill aimed at his brain.


    Belexor was still hunched forward, as if to look upon the ground between his wide-spread feet; but then his head snapped backwards in a sudden motion, eyes fixed wide, staring like a corpse at the corner where the wall met the ceiling. He stopped crying instantly, his face turning slack beneath the mess of red curls; his breathing returned to normal between one heartbeat and the next.


    She walked around him, clearly still invisible to him, unblinking as she gazed down upon him, wheeling about him, again, and again.


    After three revolutions, she spoke, continuing to pace in a stable, unwavering circle.


    ¡°You hold in your mind the keys to the Magisterium.¡± She intoned the words in a low pitch; it sounded dreadful, all the huskiness of the age she kept hidden right there in her voice. ¡°You hold the keys to the Shining Circle.¡±


    ¡°I hold those keys.¡± Belexor¡¯s voice was as dead as his stare. He didn¡¯t move a muscle lower than his neck.


    ¡°You held the keys. You walked the halls. You knew the paths.¡±


    His words, now, were quiet, quick off the tongue, like a mantra ¨C ¡°I held the keys I walked the halls I knew the paths I held the keys I walked the halls I knew the paths¡­¡±


    She spoke over him, still in that low, pronounced voice. The voice in which a judge decrees the sentence of execution. The voice in which one threatens a fool with inevitable death.


    ¡°You cannot see your magistry. You cannot see your initiations. You are the scion of a noble house, and a student of the Maginox. Your druidry you will remember, but you will surrender your keys to me now.¡±


    He let out a brief sound from his mouth, like gas escaping a tomb ¨C relief of pressure, the loss of something essential. Gone into the air.


    ¡°You will forget. Look at me.¡±


    She stopped walking around him, suddenly coming to a halt just to his left ¨C and he jerked his head around to stare at her face instead of the ceiling.


    The arch-enchanter bent down in front of him, looking him deep in the eyes.


    ¡°Do you know me?¡± she asked, in her normal, slightly-superior tone.


    ¡°M-M-Mistress Henthae?¡± Belexor gasped, looking around himself slowly, in alarm.


    I can¡¯t believe she¡¯s done it.


    ¡°Hm. A working like that should take a long time to go into full-effect, though. His settled memories shouldn¡¯t actually depart for hours, in fact ¨C¡°


    Henthae went on, ¡°Do you know him?¡±


    The old magister gestured, and Belexor¡¯s eyes fixed on me.


    ¡°Wh-who is th-that?¡± he stammered, trying to recoil from me, the dark, hooded shadow standing alert at the other end of the room. He failed, tipping himself off the stool and onto his side where he lay thrashing like a puppet with its strings twisted, the chains and bar preventing him from finding a comfortable position or getting back up.


    ¡°Hi!¡± I had to say something ¨C I couldn¡¯t just let him go on in this misery, especially not if what she¡¯d done to him was for real, if it had worked. ¡°I¡¯m Feychilde. Don¡¯t be afraid.¡±


    Henthae shot me a contemptuous look that couldn¡¯t quite flay me alive, not with my shields and everything ¨C but save for them, who knew? I realised I wasn¡¯t supposed to say anything.


    She turned her attention back to the druid, and murmured, ¡°Go to sleep, Belexor.¡±


    With that, his head drooped ¨C I heard a brief, single, huge yawn ¨C and he collapsed in a human heap of tangled limbs and chains. Within seconds he was snoring his head off.


    ¡°For the next twenty-four hours he will be held in custody, to ensure his new mental landscape sets firmly,¡± Henthae said, sounding a little exasperated. ¡°But he needs as few reminders as possible of those things he must forget. Letting him hear your voice ¨C and your name ¨C may have been a step too far. The fault is as much mine as it is yours.¡± She sighed. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid that the Magisterium will renege on its deal, however. I shall see him one more time before he is returned to his parents¡¯ care, and ensure that all relevant details concerning you and yours are barred from his ability to recollect.¡±


    ¡°Along with everything else.¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course.¡±


    ¡°And then what?¡± I asked. ¡°Everyone who knows him, but doesn¡¯t know he¡¯s lost his memories ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯ll tell him what¡¯s happened to him, in general terms only, once he¡¯s recovered. He¡¯ll be informed he made some serious mistakes and that he¡¯s been given a second chance, to be kept under careful watch.¡±


    I opened my mouth to protest ¨C


    ¡°And he will refuse to stay in the city in his disgrace. We¡¯ll ship him off west to Ouldern for a while, but I believe that is where he will end up staying; we¡¯ll grease the wheels and within a few weeks he will find employment as a breeder of aberrant creatures with a contractor to Gannelan Grie¡¯s Scaleseekers, the purveyors of the finest reagents on the far side of the Sultern Straits. And that will be the last anyone in Mund will see of Belexor Ishemen, decommissioned magister and ex-neophyte of the Shining Circle, third child of a minor lordling.¡±


    I got the impression it might¡¯ve been a bit different if it¡¯d been someone like Jargrin lying here in chains on the chill stone floor, son of that Dreynos fellow, Fourteenth Lord of the Evil Chair. He¡¯d sounded important, impressive.


    And I could almost understand Belexor now, the lesser son of a lesser lord, trying to cosy up to someone like Jargrin ¨C even if his idea of cosying up to his betters was to turn someone into a rat purely for the laughs ¨C


    But this was the right decision, the only realistic way to deal with the situation.


    I¡¯d been staring at my feet, thinking it all through ¨C I looked up and met Mistress Henthae¡¯s twinkling gaze, giving her a nod of endorsement.


    She smiled.


    ¡°Come, Feychilde. Let¡¯s walk a while, and get you out of this place. Time¡¯s ticking on, and if we want you to get a lift back home with Emrelet before she heads out for her shift we¡¯ll need to go find her.¡±


    She walked out of the room first, and I followed, casting a final backward glance at the soundly-slumbering form of the druid, contorted there on the hard stone floor, before letting the door close behind me.


    I didn¡¯t want to let the illusion-piercing vision blink away but it was starting to get nauseating.


    Let me know if you see anything else funny.


    ¡°Will do.¡±


    My heart pounded in my chest as I followed Henthae along the corridor, half a pace behind her on her left, making our way down two short flights of stairs, along another corridor¡­ Every moment I knew I was getting nearer to freedom, but some part of my being was still sure this was a trap ¨C they were going to turn on me, use some trick I couldn¡¯t out-archmage to lock me away


    Then we were back into the main atrium of the magicrux¡­


    The guards allowed us to exit, through the sliding stone door, and we were once again on the bridge leading to the big spiral staircase, the tip of the Maginox just a mere few hundred feet above our heads.


    As we made our way back onto the stair and began to descend I loosed my breath which I hadn¡¯t been consciously-aware that I was holding; it was clearly audible even through the scarf, and the old magister turned her head, a tight but undeniably-wolfish grin on her lips.


    ¡°That was a test of your nerve, eh?¡± she remarked.


    I let myself laugh, release some of the tension. My eyes stung as though I were about to cry, but I didn¡¯t actually feel that emotional ¨C my body was just acting all of its own accord.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think you¡¯re the only one to come out of there feeling like that, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°I think I understand¡­¡± I was unsure how to phrase it. ¡°You¡­ find it convenient to prove yourself trustworthy by bringing people here. Potential allies who are unsure of your intentions towards them suddenly experience a reversal of opinion and ¨C¡°


    ¡°That¡¯s quite enough, M- Feychilde,¡± she stammered, glancing at me severely. She¡¯d been about to say Mr. Mortenn, I was pretty sure, which would¡¯ve been a fairly-serious breach of privacy right here on the stairs where anyone could be within earshot behind or ahead of us. But she¡¯d caught herself in time.


    ¡°The test serves several purposes; that much should be self-evident ¨C¡°


    ¡°But you¡¯d still rather I hadn¡¯t realised, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± I asked, sickly-sweet; she couldn¡¯t see my smile, so I made sure she could hear it.


    I remembered her self-doubt when she¡¯d been unaware of the means by which I¡¯d looked straight at her while she maintained her invisibility ¨C and the way she¡¯d left the druid, wilted on the floor.


    ¡°You¡¯d like to cast it all as a test of my quality, my ethics ¨C when really you were just trying to instil fear in me. No ¨C¡± She tried to interrupt me, and I raised my voice ¡°¨C not fear; but something like it ¨C a belief in your superiority, your prowess, unassailable. The weight of the Magisterium backing me up, defending my true name from my foes ¨C I was supposed to see you as a deadly ally, someone I really want to be in my corner because if you¡¯re in the other corner I¡¯d be that much worse off. But that lesson didn¡¯t take, did it?


    ¡°Have you dominated Em¡¯s will? Ciraya¡¯s? How would I even know? At best I¡¯m only fairly-certain you¡¯ve not set an enchantment on me ¨C¡°


    ¡°I can¡¯t enchant you, Feychilde, or anyone else!¡± Her vehemence was cute. ¡°That would carry a sentence longer than Belexor was going to ¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh come on, like something like that¡¯d stop you! But it¡¯s okay. I can see through your illusions, I can protect myself against mind control ¨C¡°


    Her eyes went blank, stopped twinkling for a moment, and her foot halted, hovering on the step behind, as if she was unable to bring her weight forwards to the next, lower step.


    As I stopped beside her, surprised, she whirled at me.


    She was still inside my shield, not out of control, but angry.


    ¡°I¡¯ve turned off your little fey friend,¡± she whispered, blue eyes fierce, ¡°so we can chat in private for once. Gods, how common those little things are these days.¡±


    I went cold.


    Like a pint of ice water.


    Down in one.


    ¡°And anyone passing us won¡¯t see or hear us, so don¡¯t bother them.¡±


    I was frozen anyway ¨C the paralysis was no enchantment; it was all me.


    ¨C I shouldn¡¯t have turned off the vision, she wouldn¡¯t be able to take it off me, but now I can¡¯t get it back ¨C


    ¡°Listen to me, Kastyr. Don¡¯t think I¡¯m stupid.¡± She pressed her finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut for just a moment. ¡°I¡¯ll give you this ¨C while you¡¯re clearly of above-average intelligence ¨C yes, Kastyr, above-average is how I¡¯m choosing to categorise it ¨C you may be smart but you¡¯re no genius ¨C your problem is that you don¡¯t know how to keep yourself reined in. You truly think I cannot enchant you? Well, your little friend is asleep, so think it through; I¡¯m sure the potential consequences of a misstep here, now, on behalf of either of us, could be just fascinating for you.


    ¡°Yes, you could try to wake her up,¡± she continued as I blinked furiously; she read the thought in my mind the moment it appeared there, ¡°but I could put her to sleep again in the same instant. You ¨C you have already thought this very day, several times, how terrifying an arch-enchanter can be.¡± She smiled softly, not the smile of a predator, but the smile of one who understands. ¡°No one put that thought in your head; it¡¯s your own; and you¡¯d better believe it. But as it stands ¨C I can¡¯t enchant you, Feychilde, or ¨C anyone ¨C else.


    ¡°And yes ¨C you can stop thinking it ¨C of course I know about the Gathering, but I do my best to hide that fact. Don¡¯t be alarmed. We¡¯ve long been under contract to keep it secret.¡±


    She drew a deep breath and started walking down the stairs again, moving slowly, as if inviting me to resume my place beside her.


    I kept up, and when she spoke next her tone had returned to normal, a casual, conversational voice. ¡°Wake up this ¡®Zel¡¯ person, Feychilde ¨C¡°


    Zel? Zel!


    ¡°¨C I neither had nor have any intention to use my powers on you in that way ¨C¡°


    ¡°Kas! You can hear me?¡±


    She can put you to sleep, Zel.


    ¡°No, Kas, she can¡¯t do that. She can stop you hearing my voice, though.¡±


    ¡°We do have competing organisations, you know,¡± Henthae was saying, ¡°so if one enchanter messes with your head, an enchanter from an opposing school of thought will be more than happy to point it out ¨C those Fifth Eye buffoons,¡± she said it with some genuine scorn in her voice, ¡°are always eager to capitalise on even the most meagre mistake I make over here ¨C and we do have regular screenings¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, unless there¡¯s one enchanter at the top of the chain, controlling the whole thing,¡± I muttered darkly.


    She gave me a strange look. ¡°I am Mistress of the Pool of Reflections. There is no higher rank. I answer to the Arrealbord directly, as does the Master of the Fifth Eye, and the Mistress of the Moon¡¯s First Whisper ¨C¡±


    ¡°The appearance of independence doesn¡¯t necessarily indicate the existence of independence. No smoke without fire ¨C except when it¡¯s a mistball.¡± I was mostly just letting my mouth run away with itself, the very same thing she¡¯d warned me of, but at least here my angle of attack was oblique ¨C it wasn¡¯t like I was directly mistrusting her, or her own people, but merely speculating on other potential concerns that her brand of magic opened up for us. ¡°If there was no independence, and you were in charge, what would be your top priority? Making it look like there was independence, right? What if, say, the Master of the Fifth Eye was more powerful than he was pretending, and simply set it all up to look as though you were all competing, when really he was running it all ¨C even your Arrealbord orchestrators¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    I saw her struggling for the word, and supplied a few: ¡°Scary? All-too-possible?¡±


    ¡°Absurd,¡± she finished, closing her lips firmly in a confident smile, as if her mere decision had settled the matter.


    ¡°That¡¯s just what he¡¯d want you to think.¡± I used a jovial tone, so that she could tell I was merely toying with her, but she took it more seriously than I¡¯d expected, turning her face slightly away from me as if the words had struck her a physical blow on the cheek.


    Everloving little crawling dropbabies. Could I be right?


    Then, on the heels of that thought:


    And hi, by the way, Henthae. I hope you¡¯re listening. I hope you realise at least one of us is taking this seriously.


    ¡°I should think that by now you¡¯d realise you know little of my magic, boy.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t Zel¡¯s voice.


    Er ¨C er¡­


    ¡°That¡¯s because that¡¯s not me, Kas¡­ She¡¯s linked you.¡±


    A glance at the magister showed the same sweet smile on her face as I kept pace with her, descending.


    ¡°May I continue? Thank you. In the school of enchantment, defence is far, far more effective than attack. I personally know many mages ¨C hundreds, do you see! ¨C who can protect themselves against even my most penetrating gaze, my most discerning, subtle work of glamour. Even I cannot touch them! To suggest one of my rivals might toy with me as I toy with you¡­ you merely show your own lack of knowledge. Why else do you think we can even have a government comprised exclusively of mages? Dear boy, you are quick to see problems that need solving, but it is your direction, your direction that is unfocussed. And a young man whose energies take him in one direction can find himself farther from his goals, if he does not take the time, the opportunity to consider his path before he first exerts himself.¡±


    We were near the bottom now ¨C we were entering the final loop.


    ¡°You have your opportunity, your favour. Consider. And notice how I shared?¡±


    She looked across at me, smile and eyes both twinkling, and held out her hand.


    In it, a glyphstone glimmered.


    ¡°If we need you ¨C champion ¨C we¡¯ll be in touch. Your attendance is not mandatory.¡±


    ¡°Unless the Bells toll.¡±


    She inclined her head. ¡°Of course. It should not be much longer now.¡±


    I shrugged, then took the glyphstone from her. Almost as clear as glass, just a hint of white cloud within the roughly-hewn edges of the crystal; it was lighter than it looked, and more precious.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    I stowed it inside my satchel within my robes. As she said, I could always decline an invitation.


    ¡°You can also contact us with it ¨C we can pass on messages for you to your local watch, your local magistry.¡± She gave me a look. ¡°Official messages.¡±


    I took her point. It didn¡¯t bear responding to.


    It was in silence ¨C both verbal and telepathic ¨C that we reached the bottom floor, and standing to the side of a tide of about fifty students I saw Em and Ciraya, their shoulders almost touching as they waited for us, watching the last curve of the stair.


    When Em saw me I felt my heart leap into my throat ¨C such a look of gladness came over her features, it was like the rest of the world melted away.


    Henthae¡¯s voice was almost sounding rueful as she spoke to the pair of younger magisters. ¡°This is an interesting one you girls found last night.¡± She looked at me, then back at them. ¡°I don¡¯t think he will be signing up any time soon, but he has promised to consider it, and I think we can work with him either way.¡±


    What could I do but nod?


    I nodded.


    Had I been seduced by the Magisterium?


    There was no real way to know. I was supposed to be all but immune to outright mind-control while Zel was joined with me, but what if she was right? What if an insidious idea could still be slipped through? What if she could even enchant Zel, within me?


    Zel snorted in dismissal at this, but I still had my doubts.


    Em darted to my side and gripped my hand reassuringly, though which of us she was primarily seeking to reassure I couldn¡¯t say.


    ¡°Could I have a word, Emrelet?¡± Henthae asked. ¡°I realise the time.¡°


    The floating crystal-rod clock showed something like eight-twenty.


    Em met my eyes, looking relaxed now, not in the least alarmed. What¡¯s more, these were her eyes, not some illusory fakes. ¡°Feychilde ¨C vould you go on ahead? I can catch up.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I said, giving her hand a squeeze before releasing it. There was a large part of me that wanted to be out of here, see the night sky again. I didn¡¯t exactly feel trapped, but there was still that lingering notion, that I could become trapped, through the wrong word to the wrong person, or through some stupid inaction I¡¯d later come to regret¡­


    Really regret, if I got remanded indefinitely to one of Henthae¡¯s hellish holes designed especially for archmages¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ll walk you out,¡± Ciraya drawled at me. ¡°Fe needs a run. Em, I¡¯ll meet you at base.¡±


    We split apart, after a final lingering look at Em¡¯s face, and I walked with the sorcerer towards the great arched entryway. I cast one backward glance at the two magisters: the young, vigorous wizard, with her head inclined to better hear the words being spoken by the old, equally-vigorous enchanter; then they disappeared into the crowd.


    In the back of my mind, I could hear Zel muttering to herself.


    It¡¯s okay. We¡¯re clear in a minute.


    ¡°That was a new experience,¡± she replied with something of a psychic shudder.


    Well, you might have to get used to it. Next time I won¡¯t dispel the vision, eh?


    ¡°Her seals might be different next time! There¡¯s no guarantee I¡¯ll be able to replicate the effect I managed back there. She might¡¯ve even simply allowed it¡­¡±


    I heard the horror in Zel¡¯s mind-voice, and, frankly, shared it.


    ¡°Your interview went well, then,¡± Ciraya said, not looking at me, eyes flickering over the other mages around us as we walked side-by-side. She gave the occasional nod to people she obviously knew, the bestial tattoos and arcane glyphs all over her shaven head seeming to dance and contort as the light glared, reflected from her pallid skin.


    ¡°Is it always that¡­ stressful? Belexor¡­¡±


    ¡°The famous Feychilde, brutaliser of six of the worst darkmages we¡¯ve got ¨C can¡¯t take one wittle intewwogation?¡±


    She laughed just a notch too-incredulously.


    I looked at her fixedly, waiting for her to meet my eyes. It took a few seconds of silence before she turned my way. Her eyes were blue, but they contained none of the electric glitter that belonged to Henthae¡¯s; rather, they were a surprisingly soft hue, a blue sky streaked with white clouds.


    ¡°So your interview was a bad one as well?¡±


    She sighed, scowling a little. ¡°You have this really annoying way of cutting through the drop, did anyone ever tell you that?¡±


    We¡¯d reached the arch and descended the milky black stone stairs, so we continued out onto the pebbles, under the colossal translucent-shielded sky.


    ¡°It occurs to me that this whole thing was my fault from the very beginning, you know,¡± I said, as if putting a bit of self-deprecation on the table could serve as a peace offering.


    ¡°Not that I¡¯m disagreeing, but how so?¡±


    ¡°I should¡¯ve given you my Brigade at the outset, shouldn¡¯t I? Instead of letting Belexor do what he wanted with them, if I¡¯d just ¨C¡°


    ¡°No, you shouldn¡¯t. I don¡¯t think you understand, arch-sorcerer,¡± came the caustic response. Her eyes were glaring forwards, fixed on the bridge ahead of us. ¡°I can hold maybe twenty undead like yours under my control. In total. Wherever they are, however long since I got them. I have to cast a spell just to be able to issue them commands. Moving them between Materium and Nethernum, with no preparation? Man, I don¡¯t even know if our teachers can do that. And if I tried to take more than my load, I could lose control. You realise how bad that could get? Yeah, real fast too. So no. Just no.¡±


    Get over it, I thought, I was only trying to be nice. But even as I gave inward voice to the complaint I knew the thought was unworthy of me. It wasn¡¯t like I¡¯d ever be able to experience the handicapped nature of magery for myself. Well, unless I tried learning magery; I supposed it was possible I¡¯d end up that-way inclined, if there were some concrete benefits to tossing out some tricks. I could see some divination spells being useful. Surely already being an arch-sorcerer could only increase my options¡­ I¡¯d got this far, hadn¡¯t I? If Henthae¡¯s offers were for real, she probably wouldn¡¯t mind me taking a look through a few tomes in the library ¨C that was a solid resource for a budding champion. I could let her think she was swaying me, while sniping bits of lore here and there, building my power-base¡­


    Maybe that was how champions like Dustbringer and Nighteye had gotten started, though. And now here they were ¨C each of them, by the sounds of it, dependent on doing side-work for the Magisterium.


    No. They were doing it because it was work that needed doing. Being a champion meant drawing a line between the magisters and the darkmages, no matter what I¡¯d seen magisters doing, no matter the feel they exuded¡­


    The callousness of Belexor¡¯s treatment, no matter his crimes¡­


    It was hard, but I had to think of the Magisterium as my ally. I had to learn to take instruction from them, learn to work with them. One day the Bells would ring, the Mourning Bells calling me to my real work. Then I would need to rely on them ¨C and they on me.


    I¡¯d been looking up at the huge shield as we walked, approaching the bridge; I looked across to check Ciraya¡¯s mood, and then the idea of the tomes in the library linked with the idea of Ciraya¡¯s disadvantages, being an ordinary mage¡­ and with what Dustbringer had said¡­


    I remembered one of the images in my book under my mattress, from the Fundamentals of Force-Matrices section.


    I halted. ¡°Hey, could I try something?¡±


    She stopped, turning her unblinking gaze on me again.


    I grinned beneath the scarf. ¡°It won¡¯t hurt ¨C or it shouldn¡¯t¡­¡±


    Ciraya smirked at that, like she couldn¡¯t help herself. ¡°Whatever.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯d work,¡± Zel supplied, ¡°and you¡¯re quite right, there¡¯s no reason for her to experience any pain.¡±


    ¡°Go on then,¡± she egged me on, clearly eager to find out what I¡¯d come up with.


    I tapped the index finger of my left hand on the centre of my forehead ¨C ¡®invoking my third eye with my receptive hand,¡¯ whatever that really meant ¨C then tapped the index finger against the end of my right hand¡¯s index finger.


    Finally that finger ¨C an ¡®evoked third eye on my projective hand¡¯ ¨C tapped the centre of her forehead, right where she had the tattoo of a third eye.


    ¡°Can you see it now?¡±


    Her eyes opened wide, and drank in the sky.


    ¡°So¡­¡± she breathed, her voice without affect, her tone that of pure wonder.


    I waited, looking up at the insurmountable wall of wards with her, still grinning to myself. She didn¡¯t complete her sentence, but she didn¡¯t need to.


    Ciraya cleared her throat, and blinked.


    ¡°Sooo,¡± the sorceress said again, some of her usual drawl back in her voice, ¡°let¡¯s ¨C let¡¯s cross.¡±


    She very-deliberately lowered her head, as if to glue her eyes to the bridge and ignore the vast shimmering force-field hovering above us, all around the Maginox. As she set off, I could see the spiralling line that connected my head to hers like a thin blue corkscrew starting to waver in the air, bending and buckling; once she¡¯d taken a few steps it broke away entirely.


    I knew its range now, too.


    I fell in behind her, and we made our way back over the same bridge we¡¯d used earlier in the evening. Em had seemed interested in the wards, but it hadn¡¯t actually occurred to me then that I could actually show her¡­ I banked that information, storing it for a later date. With some luck, a chance would arise, the perfect opportunity¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ve only had that spell active once, in class ¨C a room with no windows,¡± Ciraya mused. ¡°Forcesight is expensive.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a wonder they didn¡¯t let you pop to an external wall for two minutes,¡± I commented.


    ¡°It¡¯s entirely possible they conduct that class in a room with no windows deliberately,¡± she said with a thoughtful tone to her voice. ¡°I had no idea it¡¯d look so¡­¡±


    She still didn¡¯t finish the sentence, but she still didn¡¯t have to. I knew what she meant.


    As we crossed the moat I stepped clear through the wards ¨C completely sensation-free, just like going the other direction ¨C and I glanced at the guards as we went past. Najraine and the younger redhead had been replaced by a nail-thin, gaunt-faced older man and a thirty-something heavy-chested woman.


    They nodded at us ¨C well, at Ciraya mostly ¨C and we nodded back. Then I followed the sorceress off the pebbled path for about twenty paces, until she stopped in a clear patch of neatly-trimmed grass and reached inside her robes.


    I watched with curiosity as she started drawing out a circle in the grass with a phial of pearly-white sand, sprinkling an invisibly-small amount of it in a ring about ten feet in diameter ¨C I stayed clear of it, of course, not wanting to accidentally cause her any further grief today. Once she was done with the outermost circle she marked-out more inside it; then she looked up at me briefly, curiously, before beginning to draw straight lines and curves within its confines.


    I quickly realised the reason she¡¯d glanced up at me was because she was about to start chanting.


    The words were in Infernal; her lips formed sounds like ¡®zanzagreth¡¯ and ¡®morbukhel¡¯ but I heard the low-voiced song with my sorcerer¡¯s-ear as well as my human one, such that the sounds actually made sense, however disconcerting their implied message:


    Into time and from time¡¯s undoing


    The behind of mirrors and dark¡¯s first flowing


    Come heed the hungerless and cold bone¡¯s yearning


    Feast long upon the dust


    That is their fate¡¯s sole mooring


    Ciraya had finished scattering the sand ¨C crushed bone, I supposed. She put away the small phial into a hidden pocket, then produced a candle of black wax and a small metal implement, clearly of dwarven design, which served to produce a flame on the wick when pressed and held in the right manner.


    The sorceress held the lit candle over her head, and in one smooth motion fell to her knees, then sat back on her feet and prostrated herself, putting her face in the grass. She reverently lowered the candle with both hands, arms extended, until at last it stood in the very centre of the circle.


    Out of time to time¡¯s life pouring


    The face of mirrors and dark¡¯s last crowing


    Come heed my breath and warm blood¡¯s churning


    Feast slow upon their souls


    And be their sole hope¡¯s rending


    Ciraya got to her feet, smiling softly. ¡°Now I wait,¡± she murmured, tilting her head to indicate that she was speaking to me, but keeping her eyes on the candle in the centre of the circle.


    ¡°Do you know what those words mean?¡± I asked, in a voice that sounded empty even to my ears.


    ¡°They summon Fe.¡± She said it like she was having to explain the obvious ¨C which she was, but that wasn¡¯t the point¡­


    ¡°I know that, I mean ¨C¡°


    ¡°Fe is a demon.¡± Now she was using the tone you¡¯d use speaking to a five-year-old.


    ¡°Yes, Ciraya, but -¡±


    ¡°Demons are naughty.¡±


    ¡°You just gave the souls of the people, the people in that dust you¡¯ve got there in your robes ¨C you just gave them to the demon! To Infernum!¡±


    Ciraya shook her head. ¡°A part of their souls, only. A share of the power enjoyed by a mortal spirit. Like blood ¨C it¡¯s basically the currency in the planes, from what I understand.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Wasn¡¯t that worse than killing people?


    Like, infinitely worse?


    ¡°We only use the bones of murderers. They¡¯re down there anyway.¡±


    Unless you got the wrong man ¨C whose pleasant eternity in Celestium, his reward for his wrongful conviction, would be robbed from him by idiots on Materium¡­


    ¡°How else,¡± she was saying, ¡°would we open our gateways, usher through our eldritches? There has to be a source of energy for the transfer; we can¡¯t all just wave our hands, you know¡­ Ah,¡± her voice lowered an octave, ¡°here she comes.¡±


    Suddenly Ciraya was surrounded by a wall of blood-red fire, the entire circle lighting up; then as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.


    I¡¯d been half-expecting to see Ciraya mounted on Feast when the demonic fire departed, but a yithandreng wouldn¡¯t fit inside the circle, exactly ¨C


    And there was just the sorceress, bending down to retrieve her candle from the grass.


    ¡°Say hi to Feychilde,¡± she said in a resigned tone.


    It wasn¡¯t until I heard the tiny squeak of the demon and saw Ciraya carefully peeling something away from the candle that I realised why Zel had put yithandreng into the assassin-class category. The sorceress lifted it up from where it had appeared, curled almost-invisibly about the black wax ¨C a ten-legged lizard, no longer from tail-tip to snout than my middle finger.


    They change size?


    ¡°Are you still sure you don¡¯t want one?¡±


    Don¡¯t tempt me.


    ¡°There¡¯s no reason to stick to just fey, you know. H- I¡¯m sure Dustbringer uses things that aren¡¯t undead some of the time. No one¡¯s going to hold it against you if you use some demonic transportation.¡±


    You said there¡¯re fey alternatives.


    ¡°Sure, but if you want a yithandreng, we¡¯ll just pop to Infernum and grab one.¡±


    You make it sound like a breeze.


    ¡°For an arch-sorcerer? It¡¯s not so dangerous. Would I be recommending it if it were? We¡¯d just have to sort out your seal¡­¡±


    I looked down at the two-inch demon, its miniature cat¡¯s-eyes beaming their red radiance, and had to suppress a bit of a shudder ¨C the mizelly-thing was still fresh in my mind, and since my ratty experience the fact it was so small and cute at the moment counted for precisely nothing. It was a big scary demon, when it wanted to be, or was allowed to be. Sure, they¡¯d be amazing infiltration tools ¨C I got that now. A twenty-foot long, ten-legged snake-lizard, that you could stick in your pocket, or someone else¡¯s pocket, ready for when you wanted it¡­


    Rhu Dwazisen, Fe had squeaked.


    ¡°Rhu Thrile,¡± I replied, trying to sound casual as I growled back.


    Ciraya stepped away to place Fe on the ground, then stood facing me ¨C the demon grew beneath her, her backside perched on the ridge of its back as it swiftly became the size of a big dog. It gathered length and height in less than two seconds, swelling up into the huge creature I recognised, carrying its mistress up into the air.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get to Peltos at some point tonight,¡± the sorceress said with a touch of wicked relish.


    ¡°I, like, massively appreciate anything you can do,¡± I said, meaning every word.


    ¡°I might hold you to that,¡± she replied, turning away to face the Noxway.


    ¡°Enjoy your night?¡± I offered.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s for certain.¡± She patted Fe on the neck fondly, then barked, ¡°Khalor!¡± in a hollow, terrible voice: ¡®Charge!¡¯


    The yithandreng tore off, legs moving like furious pistons, the spread of the creature¡¯s weight and the balanced impacts of its feet allowing Ciraya to move at a high speed without being jostled around, just her overlarge black robe whipping in the wind of their passage. She kept to a course parallel with the pebble path, sometimes veering to one side to avoid a group of lounging students.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡±


    I turned, and saw Em stepping off the bridge by the magister-guards. A smile split my face beneath the scarf fit to match hers.


    ¡°Is everything okay?¡± I asked in a voice just loud enough to cover the distance between us; I hardly took two steps her way when she keened straight through the air to me, floating a foot off the ground, one second moving at walking-speed, the next moving faster than an arrow.


    She caught my hands, came to a stop with her body an inch from my own.


    ¡°Everything is good, Kas.¡± She whispered my name and I shivered. ¡°Shall ve fly now?¡±


    I looked in her eyes, their grey-blue ice tempered by soft-green blush, and I knew.


    She ¨C


    ¡°She¡¯s real.¡±


    I just had to check.


    I nodded to Em, and she squeezed my hands. Together, we started to soar.


    Would you mind leaving me to it for a bit, Zel? Take a well-deserved rest. I suspect I¡¯ll be able to get home without you.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been gone a long time today, but if you need me you make sure you call me, okay?¡±


    She didn¡¯t wait for an answer ¨C I could tell Zel was asleep, or gone, or whatever.


    We gained height, Em¡¯s hands still clasped upon my own, and soon we were hovering far higher than we had been when we¡¯d journeyed here. Five hundred feet ¨C a thousand ¨C we drifted far from the Maginox, far from everything ¨C


    Beyond us towered the mountains at whose foot the city had been founded, stretching on up into darkness. But below us, Mund twinkled. The two of us were aloft, under a clearing of the clouds through which the purple-black sky was laid bare, the divine stars tracing their silvery courses through its layered darkness, pathways burning like the platinum tears of a molten god.


    I trusted in her archmagery, removing my hands from her clasp.


    Slowly, I reached out. My thumb traced the line of her jaw as my fingers sank into the long platinum hair.


    Her hand was inside my hood, tugging down my scarf ¨C


    She tilted her face before I could guide her, and then she was pressing her lips into mine with a ferocity that took me by surprise.


    Some unknowable, infinite time later we separated, our faces still close.


    The softened, warmed air about us allowing us to breathe also permitted me to whisper above the booming wind rippling across the sky up here.


    ¡°Erm ¨C Em, do you know you¡¯re glowing?¡±


    A soft gold-white light was suffusing her skin and clothes and hair, but I could still make out the blush that spread on her cheeks as she realised.


    ¡°It ¨C ah ¨C sorry,¡± she stammered, looking away, ¡°zis is embarrassing.¡±


    It was extremely cute.


    She was so beautiful I¡¯d have thought she¡¯d been enchanted into liking someone like me, if such a notion was even coherent. I knew I didn¡¯t look terrible, all things considered, and if past experience was anything to go by I had just enough wit to let me punch a little above my weight on a good, very good day, but really? Her?


    She managed to lose the glow, and looked back at me, smiling.


    Her eyes reflected only the moon and stars up here, and gazing into them made me lose myself; I only remembered the most stupid mistake I¡¯d made. ¡°I ¨C I meant to show you the wards, but I forgot, and crossed; the guards had changed¡­ next time?¡±


    ¡°You can show zem to me?¡±


    I grinned at her instantaneous delight, enjoying the way her arm rested on my shoulder as she immediately span, looking towards the Maginox as if tempted to return; then she turned her head back to me, and traced the corner of my mouth with her fingertips. I supposed she didn¡¯t get to see my face most of the time ¨C


    Then she pounced on me again, her hand combing through my hair as our lips met once more.


    Time passed, an indefinable amount. A disregardable amount.


    It was with great reluctance that I eventually broached the topic of going home.


    ¡°I can¡¯t be responsible for you not getting to your shift,¡± I murmured, ¡°not your first shift after we met.¡±


    ¡°You can hang around?¡± she asked. ¡°Zey vill not allow you to accompany us as ve go on ordinary operations ¨C patrols, arrests ¨C but if zere is a situation ze presence of a champion vould be velcome¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t think I left things in a great state back home, to be honest ¨C¡±


    Those pretty lips parted wide, her mouth falling open. ¡°Oh, no¡­ I vozn¡¯t thinking! Kas! Ve must get you home. Jhaid and Jharoan vill be beside zemselves!¡±


    I¡¯d told them all that everything was okay before I left, told them I¡¯d be back as soon as I could manage ¨C told them to ignore the trashed main room, the obvious signs of a serious altercation¡­


    She immediately tugged on my hand and began to soar towards the south-west, aiming us at smog-choked Sticktown. She¡¯d returned the same gift of independent flight to me that I¡¯d had on the way to the Maginox; I could direct my own course if I needed, and tested a few rolls in the air just to be sure¡­ but for now what I needed was to stay as close to her as I could manage for as long as possible.


    So I flew at her side, and looked down and around. Even with the augmentation from Zel being joined with me I could only barely make out the walls around the city, the dark lines of the rivers; afar to the south, a great looming blackness¡­ the sea.


    There were four colourful glints, large enough to be visible even at these distances, and I admired them from afar. I¡¯d never seen three of them before. The green of the Autumn Door in Sticktown, towards which we were headed, was of course the clearest. The blue of the Winter Door in Treetown was next, then the yellow of the Spring Door ¨C the last working Door ¨C and the red of the Summer Door, both in Rivertown, were distant blurs. But I could make them out.


    I¡¯d been thinking about taking Jaid and Jaroan to see the Autumn Door earlier on today ¨C


    By the gods, was that really only today? It felt like two weeks ago at least.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to explain myself to them, aren¡¯t I?¡± I said ruefully after a while.


    ¡°I think it might be ze time,¡± she replied, looking across at me.


    I sighed, a reflexive mechanism that just worked thanks to her archmagery, even going at these stupid speeds (not that I had any reference points for how fast we were actually going). ¡°It¡¯s been a very strange day.¡±


    She was smiling. ¡°For me too.¡±


    ¡°So I meet the world¡¯s most amazingly-hot wizard ¨C¡°


    ¡°Kas!¡± She blushed.


    ¡°What, you didn¡¯t hear the results of the poll?¡± I carried on, grinning. ¡°The world¡¯s most amazingly-hot wizard, who just happens to be not just that but the most amazingly-powerful wizard in her generation ¨C and funny, and loyal, and interesting.¡± I held up fingers to tick each point off. ¡°Simply too good to be true.¡±


    She didn¡¯t say anything, but she reached out and took my hand, squeezing it.


    It was more than enough.


    We flew together, and when we were close-enough to Helbert¡¯s Bend we descended into a refuse-choked Springwalk alley, halfway between Mud Lane and Cutterwells, where I could change out of my robe. Our sudden appearance scared off a group of miserable-looking dogs.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, regarding her once I was back to being Kastyr Mortenn, ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you can ignore the fact that the night ended with us paddling in drop?¡±


    She answered by throwing her arms around my neck and kissing me again.


    Afterwards, I muttered in a deliberately-deep, overly-serious voice, ¡°I¡¯d wade through a river of drop if I had to ¨C¡°


    She thumped me lightly in the chest. ¡°Oh, zat is ze most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,¡± she said, grinning. ¡°Could I see you in ze afternoon tomorrow?¡± she went on. ¡°If you are busy, zen ¨C¡°


    ¡°No!¡± I blurted. ¡°I mean, yes ¨C I¡¯m not busy, and I would love to see you tomorrow.¡±


    She floated upwards slightly, our fingers still entwined.


    It was only then that I realised, and had to swallow it down like a bitter medicine; she was a magister, she was going into dangerous situations, and I wouldn¡¯t be there¡­ But it was something that I couldn¡¯t ever suggest was unacceptable. If anything she¡¯d been my protector today, and there was no other way to say it than ¨C


    ¡°Joran keep you safe,¡± I prayed. ¡°If Henthae calls me ¨C¡°


    ¡°She gave you a glyphstone?¡± she exclaimed. ¡°Oh, Kas, I can¡¯t believe I almost left wizzout finding zat out! Let me see it!¡±


    She produced her own glyphstone, and when she touched hers to mine there was a small but bright glint of light, a spark of brilliance that lived only for a single moment. I thought I saw tiny bluish twirls of radiance, like half-written runes hanging there in the air, lasting less than an instant ¨C and then Em smiled, returning mine to me.


    When I cast her a quizzical look, she explained with a beaming smile on her face, ¡°Now I can speak to you, see you, through ze crystal!¡±


    ¡°That ¨C you ¨C that¡¯s awesome,¡± I breathed, looking down at the light chunk of seeming-glass in my hand with renewed wonder.


    ¡°If you put it up to your eye and say my name three times ¨C Emrelet Reyd ¨C zen my stone vill react.¡±


    Emrelet Reyd.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I almost let you leave without finding out your name,¡± I muttered, grinning.


    ¡°Call me, and I vill come,¡± she said, floating up.


    I nodded. ¡°Goodnight, Em.¡±


    ¡°Till tomorrow, Kas.¡±


    She went up, over the walls of the buildings, and was gone.


    My mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions and thoughts as I knocked on my door a few minutes later.


    Em. Henthae. Belexor. Dustbringer. Ciraya. Jargrin. Even the weird diviner on the outskirts of Hightown-centre.


    But mostly Em.


    Xantaire let me in, and while she locked up behind me I stood facing the main room.


    The mess had been cleared up, and everything was in its place.


    Everyone was there ¨C everyone was still up. Waiting for me.


    Orstrum was sitting down, Xastur in his lap. Jaid and Jaroan were playing on the floor. Morsus had just come out of the wash-room, drying his hands on a rag.


    This time Jaid didn¡¯t come running into my arms, and Jaroan¡¯s usual thoughtful expression looked troubled.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    They all stared at me.


    Where to begin? What to say?


    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­¡±


    An involuntary sigh escaped my lips.


    Where did it begin? What was the start of it?


    Realisation brought a wave of exhaustion, and I very nearly collapsed to the ground ¨C I let myself sit cross-legged where I¡¯d been standing, and put my head in my hands.


    Jaid came to me then, worming her way under my arm to put herself half in my lap, hugging me. Jaroan rocked back and forth on his heels. Behind me, Xantaire had finished the bolts and I could sense her standing there, looking down on me with her arms folded.


    ¡°It started the day after Peltos came. The day I¡­¡± Tears started now, burning in the corners of my eyes. ¡°The day I k-kicked their grave.¡±


    It was just so hard. The responsibility. Having to be the grown-up.


    ¡°I had no right to hate them for being dead.¡± I spoke in a cold voice. ¡°I had no right. But I did anyway. And then this, this thing ¨C it unlocked inside me¡­¡±


    Jaid¡¯s arms tightened around me. Jaroan¡¯s face looked ashen.


    I wasn¡¯t going to tell the twins about feeling our parents¡¯ bodies moving beneath me. That was far too horrific for their ears. But they had to have the truth, or as much of it as I could safely give them.


    ¡°It¡¯er be awright, Kassy,¡± Xastur murmured, before Orstrum shushed him.


    I tried to smile at the little boy. His presence here wouldn¡¯t be a problem. He wasn¡¯t very talkative or inquisitive; he was a lovely lad in temperament but he tended to focus his energies inward, and didn¡¯t mix with the other children in Mud Lane much, aside from my brother and sister, of course. He probably wouldn¡¯t understand one bit of what was going on here today, other than that I was visibly upset.


    Xantaire came around and took her son in her arms. I drew a ragged breath and pawed at my eyes, settling Jaid into a more-comfortable position. My mouth drew itself up into a real smile, all of its own accord.


    ¡°I know, Xassy,¡± I said softly. It was part of the code, with the little kids: ¡®It¡¯ll be alright¡¯ was something you had to say about twenty times a day, and they picked it up quickly. ¡°Anyway¡­ I was granted something. Power. I can¡­ I¡¯m useful to them, now.¡± They¡¯d all know who I meant by ¡®them¡¯: the rich; the influential; the magical. ¡°Hence this.¡±


    From my satchel I produced the pouch and revealed the fourteen platinum coins Ciraya had left in my keeping.


    Jaid¡¯s eyes fell upon the coins and reflected their glimmer, her lips parted in disbelief. The faces of the others held similar expressions. Morsus¡¯s eyes closed the moment he saw the money in my hands; his own hands he balled into fists and clasped to his chest over his heart, his lips silently offering up a vehement thanks to Brondor and Belestae.


    Orstrum choked, ¡°Gods ¨C my boy ¨C whatever have you had to do to earn that?¡±


    But Jaroan was looking me in the eyes. ¡°Power, Kas?¡±


    ¡°You have to keep it secret, Jaroan. Jaid. Everyone here,¡± I looked around meaningfully, ¡°has to keep it secret. Your lives could end up depending on it.¡±


    ¡°What¡­ do you mean¡­ archmagery?¡±


    ¡°Ooh!¡± Jaid squealed, wriggling free of me. ¡°Really, Kas? What are you? Are you a druid?¡±


    She¡¯d always been obsessed with the idea of changing her shape. She¡¯d gotten it into her head from one of the kids¡¯ books we had scattered around that becoming a pegasus would be the height of all possible achievement in all the world, and a couple of years ago she¡¯d been drawing the damn things with every free minute of her time.


    ¡°Or an enchanter? You are, aren¡¯t you? Just like Lovebright!¡±


    I shook my head gently, and felt my lip twitch up at the corner as I realised how best to respond.


    I set down the money, then I waved my hand casually. ¡°Flood Boy, I think I might need a cup of wine. I gather I¡¯m starting to know what people mean when they say, it¡¯s been one of those days.¡±


    ¡°Oh, hullooo there, everyone,¡± the little, grinning faun uttered in a sober-sounding voice, trotting out of the green fizz hanging in the air where I¡¯d gestured. The moss covering Flood Boy¡¯s cat-inflicted wounds was gone, leaving his skin smooth and unmarked.


    Without any further instruction, he produced a solid wood-carved pot ¨C big enough for a human ¨C and filled it from his golden chalice. Then he passed it to me, all seemingly-oblivious to the silence and stares surrounding him.


    ¡°Anyone else?¡± I offered, smacking my lips after taking a swig of the potent, aromatic liquid. I could already feel its warmth coursing through me.


    The moment I saw Jaroan¡¯s eyes light up I quickly added, ¡°Anyone over the age of maturity.¡±


    Which, conveniently for me, was fifteen in Mund. Sure, I¡¯d probably let them get away with a taste of booze when they were thirteen, to get them prepared for adulthood, but that was just the way things were. Here in Sticktown, at least.


    Flood Boy served the other adults with aplomb.


    But that wasn¡¯t why Jaroan¡¯s eyes had lit up. ¡°You¡¯re a sorcerer. You¡¯re like Litenwelt.¡±


    I inclined my head solemnly.


    ¡°This is the coolest thing ever,¡± my brother breathed.


    ¡°What else can he do?¡± Jaid asked, staring at Olbru, not looking one bit fazed at the fact a magical being had just fizzled into existence in our main room.


    ¡°He can make awesome ice sculptures?¡± I guessed, cocking my head as I looked at the faun.


    He shrugged, smiling as he took a few gulps from his goblet, having just finished conjuring pots of wine for my friends. ¡°Why not?¡± he replied, then emitted a little burp.


    Jaid chirped delightedly.


    As Flood Boy crossed to the bench and the twins sat on either side of him, I added, ¡°And he can also fill you in on an epic duel he partook on my behalf today, battling a ferocious feline creature, as part of a futile quest to rescue the beloved of a desperate maiden, trapped atop a great height.¡±


    ¡°Ooooooh!¡±


    I caught the evil eye he cast at me, and chuckled.


    Xastur went over to join in at his mum¡¯s urging, and then I was alone with the adults, seated on the benches.


    ¡°We could hear some of it through the walls, you know,¡± Xantaire said.


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯d expected as much. Did they¡­?¡±


    I found I didn¡¯t quite know how to finish my question. Did they cry? Did they go through hell?


    She smiled. ¡°They¡¯re special, your twins. They seemed excited, if anything.¡±


    ¡°What about Peltos?¡± Orstrum asked. ¡°Now there¡¯s a man who didn¡¯t sound happy!¡± The old man, on the other hand, looked overjoyed when mentioning this fact.


    I grinned. ¡°There¡¯s a magister on his case now. Not Emrelet,¡± I glanced at Xantaire, ¡°but another who showed up during my chat with him. Apparently the watch has ¡®got stuff¡¯ on him, and she¡¯s going to lend them some Magisterium muscle. But he¡¯s getting paid. Sixteen plat.¡±


    ¡°But you have fourteen platinum left, my good friend!¡± Morsus said in a tone as if he thought he had to remind me. ¡°This is a lot of money!¡± he continued. ¡°Much can be done with this.¡±


    ¡°You should move away, my boy.¡±


    I looked at Orstrum.


    What did he mean? Leave them behind? Leave behind the smell of Hontor and Sons in the morning, the people I knew?


    Buy a nice horse? Get the kids by-the-book tutors? Drape myself in fineries?


    Become rich?


    The idea was abominable.


    ¡°Move away from Sticktown?¡±


    ¡°Away from Mund!¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯ll be needed here. Fate doesn¡¯t choose lightly, old man. You know that.¡±


    He knew every story by heart.


    ¡°Think of them¡­¡± He nodded at the twins.


    ¡°I know. I know.¡± I pressed my lips together firmly, my eyes closed, then opened them and drew a deep breath. ¡°But there are other children, aren¡¯t there? We¡¯re all innocents in life. I¡¯ve got to help them all, or none at all, or I¡¯m not a champion.¡±


    ¡°But do you have to be a champion? Kas, I ¨C¡°


    I just snorted, and he fell silent.


    Of course I have to be a champion.


    ¡°You can still enjoy your money, though,¡± Morsus said in a chiding tone.


    I nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course. And all being fair¡­¡°


    I sipped my wine, then I took out the coins.


    ¡°Listen,¡± I said, more quietly now. ¡°I don¡¯t know how often I¡¯ll really be able to pull this off. The more I¡¯m seeing of the world of a mage, the scarier it is. I don¡¯t want to¡­ end up having to leave them,¡± I whispered those words, giving Orstrum a pointed look to make my meaning clear, ¡°but I want to set most of this aside for them ¨C at least this time ¨C just in case. But¡­¡±


    ¡°Kas, don¡¯t,¡± Xantaire said. ¡°Keep it all for them.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°You¡¯re mad. Here.¡± I pressed two platinum coins into her hand. ¡°It¡¯s only one each. Buy things. Nice things. For you and Xastur.¡±


    Once it was in her hand, I knew she¡¯d take it, even though her lips were floating as if still mouthing silent objections. It was plat. People like us never saw plat, never mind having a piece of it.


    ¡°And to you,¡± I said to Morsus and Orstrum, giving them a plat each, ¡°I say the same. Try to enjoy it.¡±


    Orstrum wiped his eyes, which had suddenly teared up, and patted the pocket in which he stowed it to check it was secure there.


    ¡°You know me, my good, good friend,¡± Morsus exhaled, holding up his shining coin. ¡°I will make more money with it, and I will pay you back.¡±


    He loved to gamble, and he was good at it ¨C too good for his own good. He never knew when to stop. He¡¯d lose the whole plat in a single morning.


    I knew it was futile, but I had to try. ¡°No gambling, okay?¡± I said. ¡°If you want to go into business with it, sure ¨C¡°


    ¡°I can buy a dozen fighting-dogs,¡± he joked, raising his wine-cup to his lips.


    ¡°Or something less, you know, kill¨Cy?¡± I sat back, drinking from my own cup, watching Flood Boy make a pegasus out of frozen wine using a gentle hum from his pipes.


    ¡°Yes, not dogs¡­ a manticore¡­¡± Morsus replied in a dreamy voice, and I laughed.


    I stashed the ten plat I had left. Three each for the twins ¨C that was thirty gold, the equivalent of thirty weeks¡¯ rent apiece¡­ That would leave me four to play around with. An incredible sum, to my eyes, but there were certain things I¡¯d need to purchase tomorrow.


    So the evening passed into night, and the kids went to bed; and then there was more drinking, and then the grown-ups went to bed; and there were dreams ¨C dreams of Em, dreams not of sand and sea but sky and stars, of kisses and whispered words under starlight.


    And so, in spite of the aggregate of things that had gone wrong today, everything had turned out alright after all.

 One Hidden Variable

    <h2>INTERLUDE 1A: ONE HIDDEN VARIABLE</h2>


    ¡°There is no such thing as sin. In me all acts are holy.¡±


    ¨C from the Mekestan Creed


    8th Orovost, 998 NE


    The Shrine of Yune in Sticktown was a small wood containing a hillock, located at the end of Helbert¡¯s Bend. The rise was no more than fifty feet high at its crest and ringed by areas of gravestones, separated into bands by knots of trees. There was a single formal entrance through the wooden fences surrounding the area, but it was common knowledge that you could get in and out a dozen other ways, if you were familiar with the place and were determined-enough to contend with the brambles tangled around the railings at the edges. Then there were the rusty nails some of those owning properties backing onto the graveyard hammered through their fences, to deter the rogues who might seek to trespass on their territory.


    The green-grassed mound in the middle was kept clear, however; there were no trees, bushes or gravestones on the hill itself. And the altar dedicated to the Goddess of Hope and Peace upon the very centre of the mound was nothing more than a roughly-hewn slab of marble, wreathed in gossamer-webs of pale-flowered shoots. The priests would not arrive here for hours yet, and there were less than a dozen visitors in total at this hour.


    Morning was settling in, cold and grey, dew from last night¡¯s mist coating the untrodden grass; and, deep in the thorny undergrowth lining the unkempt borders of the Shrine of Yune, an altercation was about to take place.


    It was a place she was highly-familiar with. In fact, she knew most of Mund ¨C sure, it changed over the years, but if she could say anything about her ¡®employment¡¯, it kept her moving, kept her busy. She¡¯d been here many times, and had hoped to find a natural seam in the dimensions to slip through; but no such luck. Somewhat disgruntled, she spent of her own personal Wellspring to open the jadeway and create the gate. She only had three more such uses left to her before she ran dry, three more of the minor miracles that made being a fairy such a convenient existence. Her skin was drying out; her gums hurt. But no matter. She wasn¡¯t going to run out again. She¡¯d have the cure for that today.


    A powerful one, this time, if an arch-diviner didn¡¯t spoil everything for her.


    No human eye witnessed the green ichor of the planar opening, but one rabbit and a few insects scattered as she stepped through onto a robust twig. At once the odour of rot afflicted her, and the sounds of squirming maggots; her perception was her blessing and her curse. Whilst an undying nature made you increasingly resistant to some forms of nastiness as the years rolled on, most places in Mund were at the very best unpleasant ¨C no amount of exposure seemed to help, and she¡¯d had more exposure than just about any other creature in existence.


    It wasn¡¯t only Mund. The whole damn plane reeked. She had two cousins who lived in Mund, of their own accord, unbound by any sorcerer or oath ¨C though admittedly they¡¯d chosen the expansive woodlands of Treetown to make their abode. She saw it as a weakness. She wasn¡¯t a creature of this place, and didn¡¯t want to pretend to be. She was important. She had a job to do, and she needed her host, soon. Joining would dull the senses, perhaps even imparting some to the one who carried her within.


    Joining would let her perform her function.


    She had unfurled her wings, carrying herself upwind of the decaying hedgehog that was only six and a half feet away behind the shrubs, going by the squidgy sounds of the maggots.


    She knew the perfect spot.


    And just a few moments after she resettled herself a distant rustle heralded the arrival of her contact within the range of her perceptions.


    ¡°I thought I had the right place,¡± he said, once he came into view. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sober,¡± she replied curtly. ¡°And I¡¯m in time.¡±


    He winked at her, then said, ¡°And I¡¯m chastised.¡± He seated himself on the ground not twelve inches from where she perched on a leafy bush, and poured himself a drink. ¡°So what did you see?¡± he asked. ¡°What¡¯s your new ¡®master¡¯-to-be like?¡±


    She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. Thankfully she didn¡¯t have to tell him everything, anything, if she didn¡¯t want to. She vastly outranked him, and she¡¯d certainly been doing this work longer than he had ¨C though they¡¯d both be considered experts by an outsider¡¯s standards, she supposed.


    ¡°Come on, Uza,¡± he implored, flashing her a cheeky smirk. ¡°Let me in on the boy¡¯s secret?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t report to you, Urblo,¡± she snapped. ¡°And speak in Mundic. Get into character.¡±


    The faun smacked his lips after a particularly-long draught of his ever-flowing wine, declining to answer, still smirking in that highly-irritating way.


    Not the kind of highly-irritating that meant you were secretly destined for a whirlwind romance with your co-worker. No, more the kind of highly-irritating that meant you were secretly destined to kill your co-worker.


    He was roughly six or seven times her height, and even seated he towered over her, which just wouldn¡¯t do at a crucial juncture like this. If she was going to command, she was going to need to take up the reins of authority.


    She flew up to hover over his head, smoothing down her light-blue dress as she went.


    ¡°I only need someone to introduce me,¡± she said, her deadly tone matched by the cold look in her tiny eyes. ¡°If you would rather return, I can find someone to take your place. I could also offer my comments on your performance; I know it¡¯s been awhile since we worked together¡­ I would give you a glowing report.¡±


    It worked. He knew she had the ear of the only one who would matter in the end. He sniffed, and lowered his eyes. She sensed submission in his demeanour and allowed herself to relax somewhat.


    When he spoke, he dropped the Etheric tongue, and his Mundic was smooth, flawless.


    ¡°So what was it last time? Ruzelra? Azrruel? Erreluz? What have you even got left?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be Zelurra, and don¡¯t you get it mixed up.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°I¡¯ll barely speak to the lad, don¡¯t worry. I know what I¡¯m doing, and I know my own limitations.¡±


    She scowled. ¡°You aren¡¯t planning on offering him your servitude, are you?¡± She knew it would probably make things go more smoothly in the long-run if he did, but she didn¡¯t have to show it.


    ¡°If he¡¯ll have me, I¡¯ll tag along. It¡¯s been ages since I¡¯ve had a good go-round.¡±


    ¡°If you mess up even once ¨C¡°


    ¡°Pah!¡± he snorted. ¡°Come on, Uza ¨C for old times¡¯ sake¡­¡±


    And this could be the last time for me¡­It was hard not to shudder with excitement when she remembered that.


    ¡°Fiiiiine,¡± she relented. ¡°You can be Bolur.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± he choked, spluttering up some of his wine.


    She cocked her head curiously.


    ¡°I hate that name. Went by it once.¡± His face darkened. ¡°Did not go well. I¡¯ll just be Olbru again. It¡¯s been over a century, don¡¯t you know ¨C no one¡¯s going to remember me.¡±


    ¡°Very well. Olbru, and Zelurra.¡±


    He nodded with his eyes, his chin already thrown back in a deep swig of booze, as if to replace that which he¡¯d coughed up.


    Fey couldn¡¯t lie about their own name to a sorcerer-with-the-power, but they could lie about another fey¡¯s name, if it happened before they were directly asked. There were always loopholes. Keeping the same elements in her name allowed her to work around the binding-magic employed by her would-be-patrons, avoid the worst of the restrictions she¡¯d have had placed on her¡­ and allow her to fool other eldritches too. The new sorcerer would be able to command her just as though he were her master, but she would be able to choose the nature of her response, not just do what she was told in the moment like a well-trained puppy. She would be able to skirt around questions, while still maintaining the instinctive responses to his wishes that were natural to a sorcerer¡¯s bound slave.


    Best of both worlds, as far as she was concerned.


    She cast her mind back to the vision of this new master. It¡¯d been ¨C what? decades? ¨C since she¡¯d foreseen someone so invested in using her kind.


    Not that it wasn¡¯t a two-way street. She would use him right back. Arch-sorcerers had a constantly-replenishing Wellspring ¨C though it could cap out, their power-source never ran dry. And so, having a summoner call upon her was actually beneficial. Even the energy from the summoner which opened the jadeway was in part transferred to the eldritch ¨C and when she joined with a host who didn¡¯t know her real name she could fill herself up completely, anytime she fancied. Thus she had maintained her prowess down all the long centuries, though many of her peers had fallen by the wayside.


    She already knew this new patron was going to fall in love in a few weeks¡¯ time, whether or not she entered his life and joined with him ¨C she knew the secret of his future and his failure, the events that would unfold and break him.


    Magicrux Zyger. Where the lines she could find all came apart. She would delay it, help him evade it, if she could, but¡­


    Well ¨C other things would have to happen first, wouldn¡¯t they?


    ¡°So, how¡¯re your little deviants doing? Still all alive?¡±


    She glared back at Urblo. She wouldn¡¯t be able to reply to that without burying Wyrmblinder in his face.


    ¡°I saw Macelar, you know,¡± he continued in a chipper tone, ¡°oh, fifteen years back? He was riding this poor sorcerer out in the middle of Vinnevar Forest ¨C you know it, in Myri? ¨C and he had ten spirits in him for almost a year before he was collected. You just don¡¯t get the service out there¡­¡±


    ¡°I think you mean Prince Macelar,¡± she grated.


    ¡°Since when¡¯ve you been a stickler for formalities? Twelve Heavens, Uza! You changed, girl.¡±


    ¡°Those who have survived are on assignment,¡± she managed to say without starting to clobber him with something. ¡°No. Not all of them are currently alive.¡±


    The faun looked appropriately reprimanded, and raised his drink in the air gravely in a silent salute before going at it again.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost time,¡± Uzarrel murmured after a few more seconds passed.


    Urblo got to his hooves, and staggered a little, but he still looked in control of himself.


    ¡°How¡¯d you want to play it?¡± he asked quietly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be the eager one, and convince you,¡± she replied. ¡°Be surly; it shouldn¡¯t be too difficult for you. I¡¯ll begin.¡±


    The human¡¯s footsteps were soft, falling into that range of sound that was still loud as thunder to her, but she knew the faun was probably none the wiser.


    Her sharp hearing identified the distances, told her how far off the boy was, how she¡¯d have to pitch her little voice to have it carry.


    Another second, one more, and ¨C


    ¡°Olbru, I demand another me-sized cup of wine.¡°


    The quiet footsteps halted.


    ¡°Zelurra,¡± the faun purred, pronouncing the name she¡¯d chosen perfectly, ¡°you¡¯re not the boss of me.¡±


    He winked at her, and she scrunched up her face in contempt.


    She tried to act startled, recoiling in the air and fluttering around in mock-dismay as the human¡¯s big hand drew aside the bush covering them.


    He was a tall, skinny creature, with eyes the pale green of moss. His hair was a messy straw-like mop, and he had the war-wounds of a tough upbringing right there on his face. A small curved scar on his cheek. A broken nose. An overall bedraggled look, his shoulders slumped in dejection. He had the pallor of someone born and raised in the constant smog-bank of the city, without the whiteness of skin she¡¯d associate with one of the local mageborn. This kid worked outdoors.


    His demeanour was sullen, but she watched his mood lift, wonder entering his eyes, staring down at the two fey in surprise.


    The boy spoke in a shaky but curious-sounding voice:


    ¡°Olberu and Zelurra?¡±


    She sighed, turning to let the new arch-sorcerer gaze fully upon her.


    It was a start.


    * * *


    10th Chraunost, 998 NE


    ¡°Three kinkalaman. Five o¡¯clock.¡±


    ¡±I feel them.¡±


    She rode the psychic waves as he spliced even more infernal powers. He twisted and moved with the oily speed of a mizelikon, affirming his targets ¨C the fifth-rank demons were on the roof of the nearest building, which had been at his back before he turned.


    He leapt up at them, as dark to the eye and as light on the air as a shadow. Eight whips of red-brown wire streamed free from his claws, four from either hand ¨C the rust-barbs that were the webs of a decrixsyru, his most powerful weaponry.


    The three kinkalaman sprang down from the sloped roof to meet him in mid-air, and as he reached a height of fifty feet and the first was about to crash into him he whirled, still ascending at them.


    The wires were twenty feet long now, still growing, and they severed any material they touched.


    He cut through the three of them in a single helix, tearing apart their metal bodies like they were made out of cotton ¨C their remains streamed from his whips, warped, jagged pieces of blades affixed at varying lengths to the tendrils of rust as though glued there.


    He shook them loose, raining more metal down on the square, and retracted the whips before catching a leisurely hold with a shadowy claw on the face of the building. He was so light when he was like this that he had to exert himself to arrest the gentle, upwards momentum of his feet, insisting that he continue to rise; he forcefully brought them down so he could cling there upright, eighty or ninety feet up over Hightown.


    He didn¡¯t like flying, but he enjoyed this, the freedom of the floating form.


    ¡±It¡¯s bad this time.¡±


    She felt his eyes, tracing the lines of rubble, the insectoid creatures squirming by the hundreds in the shadows. She felt his ears, picking up the smashing of glass somewhere off in the mist, isolating the roars of a big demon from the screams of the wounded, the trapped.


    ¡±No worse than last time,¡± she replied.


    ¡°But worse than the time before that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s always fixable. We¡¯ve got wizards.¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°A thing remade isn¡¯t ever the same, is it, really? But that¡¯s not what I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Are we going to do this all day, or are you going to slay some more demons?¡±


    ¡°Point taken. I¡¯m procrastinating.¡±


    He set his lips firmly in a line beneath his hideous mask, as he leapt off towards the things he¡¯d spotted teeming in the devastation.


    She¡¯d known all along what he was really thinking about, of course ¨C the demons he could claim during this Incursion. The tiny twinge of guilt he felt. But it was all about the power, and the selfishness of most sorcerers couldn¡¯t be exaggerated. So she didn¡¯t really feel any guilt herself; she¡¯d seen the man¡¯s insides, his every mistake and misgiving. She¡¯d seen the same patterns so many times that she¡¯d gotten inured to the whole process long ago.


    It was her job. It was for the greater good.


    He didn¡¯t mow through the first-rank insect-demons with his whips or his shields, but bound them to his service instead. The zikistakram were low-enough in potency that he could control the lot of them, but it was nearly pushing his capacity ¨C she could feel that. He¡¯d never be one of the greatest, even if he lived to a ripe old age, wasted his powers by dying in his bed or in some meaningless confrontation. He might¡¯ve been the senior sorcerer-champion in the city by now, but she couldn¡¯t help the thought:


    If only I could¡¯ve gotten to Redgate, or even Dustbringer¡­


    Whether the creatures were joined in the flesh or simply bound as minions, every arch-sorcerer¡¯s Wellspring had its limits, even that of a champion. Though admittedly the control could get into the high three figures for arch-sorcerers, where the weaker eldritches were concerned ¨C even four figures for a few.


    Her host wasn¡¯t one of those.


    He set the insect-demons the task of finding the big thing off in the smoke, and then followed them, using their senses to track it so he could free up his own. He put his attention into the link, listening for the next place to head, once the upcoming behemoth had been dealt with.


    The arch-sorcerer serving as her patron was less like himself, now. The demon powers were a part of him. He used them without thinking, abused them, even when he wasn¡¯t engaged in a showdown. He was at his peak, or at least near to it. Soon, he¡¯d be swollen with the power and he¡¯d be taken. It might even be today, but the visions weren¡¯t clear ¨C too many diviners in his possible futures¡­


    Uzarrel would be ready. She always was.


    The official explanation was that an Infernal Incursion happened when a free demon managed to snowball into a dozen. If the citizens let the number of unbound demons reach more than that, if they didn¡¯t stop it in time, they¡¯d end up with hundreds, and the potential for thousands, then millions ¨C Mund would be long-destroyed by then, but they would keep coming until the blood ran dry.


    Every demon in Mund was there because it was bound, summoned and, once its service was completed, dismissed by a sorcerer who had the power or support to make the demon¡¯s escape nigh-impossible. But the interesting thing was that the planes were not always completely separate. When Infernum drew near to Materium, an imp might randomly pop out into the world. This might happen once a month, once a week, even once a day ¨C it wasn¡¯t something someone could measure. The variables were changeable, subject to some outside force no one could understand.


    And the same happened with all eldritches. In most places, this was not such a bad thing. A gungrelafor or gremlin or ghost would pop up in a random, desolate location, hang around their haunt for however many seconds or minutes the convergence of planes lasted, then disappear again, carried out on the planar tides.


    But if a demon with the power to open its own portals popped up in a place like Mund, not only redolent with magical energies but also teeming with helpless victims whose vibrant mortal blood it could harvest, it might summon more. And if it were to just happen to summon another which was able to anchor their presence against the currents of the planes ¨C well, they could set up shop, as it were, right here on mankind¡¯s doorstep.


    Misguided undead and fey had tried the tactic once or twice, but had proven far less effective in bringing their goals about. They were intrinsically different, and they propagated differently. No, there was a good reason the most brutal tasks were delegated to the infernal eldritches. They were made for it.


    She was made for different tasks.


    She watched, and waited for the sign that it was going to happen.


    Two and a half hours later, the arch-sorcerer was approaching the ruins of what had once been a museum, seven floors built from fine limestone and ebonwood ¨C now a charred and broken husk, its roof caved in, the edges of the walls still glowing and smoking where they¡¯d been rent from the inside by some burning-power. She quickly flicked through the future-sight, knowing that she had to keep quiet; Mindbreaker was moving invisibly at her host¡¯s side, ready to put out the telepathic call for reinforcements at a moment¡¯s notice. Invisible or not, the fairy could of course perceive the enchantress, and kept a close eye on her. Her host wore this enchantress¡¯s amulet, which gave her exclusive access to his headspace.


    Mindbreaker¡¯s mask made reading her facial expressions impossible ¨C it was the champion¡¯s body language from which the fairy would receive any tells, if the enchantress became hostile in some way.


    Ahead of the two champions, a third, Winterprince, was taking up the vanguard, supported by the few zikistakram remaining to her host. The wizard fought encased within his blue-glinting armour, formed of massive chunks of ice ¨C he was twelve feet tall and looked more like an elemental than a man. He used his arch-wizardry to manipulate the icy shell, letting him fly with grace and dodge with superb reflexes despite the cumbersome-looking nature of his creation. He¡¯d formed part of the huge blunt ¡®hands¡¯ into ridged, serrated spikes longer and more fearsome than any sword, and armed with one in each fist he silently cut down the things streaming out of the smouldering museum towards them.


    There were two groups of magisters on other sides of the building, helping to stem the flow, but their mission wasn¡¯t to help her patron right now. The champions were going inside. The magisters had been warned to stay clear, but no such warnings were given to these three.


    The place intrigued her host. What treasure-trove of demons would it hold? What could he claim inside the museum before they found and finished the summoner?


    But she knew what was in there. She¡¯d suspected, once the reports came in over the psychic channels, but now she knew. There were no other futures.


    It was here that she should¡¯ve warned him ¨C or he should¡¯ve asked.


    The tide of demons stopped ¨C no more were coming forth from the dark, crumbled door of the museum.


    The three champions ascended a shattered staircase leading up to the archway, half-choked in fallen limestone blocks. Her host was still using the mizelikon¡¯s shade, and floated up towards the debris-clogged entrance; Winterprince carried Mindbreaker on a wave of air.


    The ice approximating Winterprince¡¯s head split open, a crack visibly parting the translucent armour at the mouth ¨C his voice emanated as the crack swelled and shrank.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    ¡°By Locus, will you learn to talk like this!¡± That was Mindbreaker, even her mind-voice hushed.


    ¡°I said, are ¨C you ¨C ready?¡± It was more a growl than anything, and then when he didn¡¯t get an instantaneous response the wizard snapped: ¡°Oh, drop it!¡±


    Winterprince didn¡¯t mince his words; nor did he wait to form a plan of attack. The arch-wizard simply reshaped his armour into a single thin icicle, and slipped through the hole into the building. He would be visible now to even mortal eyes, where the ice about him was thinnest, the shade and texture of his blue robe not quite a match for the substance he used to protect himself.


    But the eyes in there had likely been able to see him, see his heart pumping, right through the walls of the museum.


    ¡°I was ready,¡± her patron commented dryly.


    ¡°Come on,¡± the enchanter responded.


    The pair of champions followed Winterprince into the building. Her host willed the two last zikistakram left from his army to follow him, but she sensed them stop at the threshold, unable to do as he¡¯d ordered. It should¡¯ve been a warning signal to him, but he didn¡¯t seem to notice.


    His last chance to turn back.


    Her sense of anticipation grew. If she¡¯d been loose, she¡¯d have been doing her version of pacing ¨C flapping violently to propel herself upwards, hanging there in the air for a moment, dropping back down, catching herself, doing it all over again¡­


    The rooms surrounding the great central chamber had been levelled in the destruction, so when they emerged from the rubble it was into that space: a blackened, crisped shell of its former self.


    Winterprince was there, armoured again in thick plates of ice, now floating thirty feet off the ground.


    A white-hot chain as thick as a man¡¯s arm, blindingly-bright to the eye, had been wrapped around the midriff of his armour; the translucent protections were rapidly melting, producing a waterfall and a cloud of steam ¨C he was tugging, instinctively trying to pull away, but the other end of the smoking chain was ¨C in the clasp of ¨C of ¨C


    Her host¡¯s fear washed over her and for a moment she could experience his reaction, as though she¡¯d had it all for herself. It was quite a rush. He didn¡¯t know what a dweonatar was, of course. He¡¯d never faced anything like this ¨C


    Twenty-third rank ¨C


    And there were four of them in the museum.


    The eyes of the dweonatar that had wrapped its chain about Winterprice were almost level with the archmage as he floated three storeys up ¨C and it wasn¡¯t even standing at its full height.


    It was almost unmoving, like the huge marble statue of a hunched-over human. The arch-demon was monochrome: its robe, skin and hair were white, its eyes like luminous twin suns. And yet there was shading there, definition provided by grey lines: edges where the brilliant whiteness dimmed, delineating the curving flick of its heavy braided locks, the almost-imperceptible undulation of its vast, vast wings¡­ and the sleeved arms, ending in the crate-sized hands which held the chain binding the wizard.


    At first glance a stunned mortal might even think it seemed beautiful, but she could see through the glamour to the exquisite cruelty upon the massive alabaster-white face ¨C and so could her patron. The coldness, the barely-restrained disdain that seemed to be carved there, as if graven in the marble of its features, such that while it might move it could never express a warm emotion, never lose the derision and contempt that twisted its lips into a snarl.


    Should she? Why not?


    She pulled his eyes to the other three statues, the huge demons which were standing silently at the other end of the room, looking down on her host and possibly the enchanter next to him, their faces unmoving in their permanent sneer just like the first one. She recognised that those three were wearing mantles on their robed shoulders, their hands folded in their sleeves, chains nowhere to be seen.


    These three were watching the first. Interesting. Were they testing a less-experienced demon? She had no idea how this kind of thing worked. Straxi¡¯s bunch were incomprehensible to the fairy.


    Those other three probably wouldn¡¯t need to interfere anyway. She¡¯d never seen more than one of these at a time before, and one would be enough to challenge three champions.


    As Winterprince released himself from his confines, soaring free into the air and letting his ice slough down around the now-loose end of the burning chain, she could see Mindbreaker¡¯s head turning this way and that way, as if suddenly recognising that their telepathic link was no longer functioning.


    ¡°Mindbreaker? Mindbreaker! Oh, gods.¡±


    Now he was realising too.


    Too late.


    The dweonatar drew in the falling chain, whipping it around ¨C when the demon moved, it did so in sudden bursts, like it¡¯d been a statue in the new shape all along ¨C it could make several such moves each second, and cover unbelievable distances in each, yet watching a dweonatar in action was like watching a series of images being displayed in rapid succession.


    In one instant the demon¡¯s chain was swinging out in a wide arc ¨C Winterprince¡¯s evasive flight looked hesitant, unsure, as he did his best to process the strange, horrifying enemy confronting him ¨C and in the next instant it was swinging at him, mere feet away ¨C


    The arch-wizard had no time even to turn his head but he stiffened, he realised it was coming anyway, just before the demon¡¯s next motion ¨C


    In desperation her host threw everything into the shield, even letting his own go shuddering down, surrounding the armourless Winterprince in a sphere of solid blue force ¨C


    The gleaming, burning chain bit right through the barrier, collapsing the wards and fixing itself around one of Winterprince¡¯s legs just below the knee, snaring the corner of his robe too.


    The wizard¡¯s screams split the air. At once her patron reactivated his own shielding.


    The fairy could see Mindbreaker darting forwards over the broken relics and remains of shattered interior walls, throwing up her hands. Illusions were springing forth, dragons and other terrifying beasts, but what the enchantress didn¡¯t know was that she was already in way over her head. These entities didn¡¯t have half a chance of even seeing an illusion unless they were deliberately putting themselves out there to sense them. They might not even feel the sting of her ensorcelled daggers.


    ¡±Lera! Lerazru, can you hear me?¡±


    There was desperation in his mental voice and she considered simply not replying, though ultimately there was nothing to be gained from shirking her responsibility in that way. The pain of refusing such a question would only be mild at worst, but she wasn¡¯t being blocked by the dweonatar.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°What are these things?¡±


    ¡°Dweonatar.¡±


    ¡°¡­ No rank?¡±


    ¡°Tw-twenty-third.¡±


    ¡°Twenty-third.¡±


    His mouth went dry as he stared, considering his options.


    It only took a few seconds for Winterprince¡¯s lower leg to cremate, and the shrieking arch-wizard found himself free, the chain falling away again ¨C his wound was cauterised but grievous, and somehow he was still conscious, still hovering in the air.


    ¡°Agar ugrel thanem,¡± her arch-sorcerer host snarled. ¡®Cease your attack.¡¯


    The words rolled through the air, every ounce of his will bent on the Infernal command.


    In the flick-flick of its moving statue shape, the dweonatar reached out and took hold of Winterprince¡¯s torso in a single hand. The blue-robed arch-wizard flailed helplessly against the grip constricting his chest, halting his breathing.


    Then the demon turned its head to her patron, looking down at him, at her inside him.


    She felt his soul shrivelling, experienced it with relish.


    ¡°Kadis,¡± the dweonatar sang, in a melodic, almost sardonic voice.


    ¡®Weak.¡¯


    It hurled Winterprince at a crack in the walls, throwing him clear out of the museum with its tremendous strength, the attitude of its pose more one of nonchalantly tossing some trash than an act of deliberate violence.


    He was clipped on one of the walls as he span helplessly, but the force of the throw merely cracked the wall further, not even slowing him.


    If the wizard caught himself out there, or the magisters could catch him ¨C there was a chance that he could survive, even have a druid regrow the lost limb if they acted quickly enough. Winterprince could live to fight another day.


    But the same fate would await him, in the end, as had almost claimed him today.


    The dweonatar turned its head from the crack in the wall to the two remaining champions.


    There followed a game of cat and mouse that lasted no more than ten seconds.


    Illusions couldn¡¯t even distract it, and invisibility was no head-scratcher for it. Within moments Mindbreaker was pinned under one immovable alabaster sandal, trapped in a depression in the shattered floor of the museum beneath the dweonatar¡¯s foot.


    Her host fared better. Although he was chagrined to find he couldn¡¯t rip open any portals ¨C the whole area was locked to the planar tide without a seam in sight ¨C he could still tap the abilities of the seven different creatures he¡¯d joined with.


    But the screams of the pedheliorph didn¡¯t slow it; the spittle of the draumgerel didn¡¯t burn it. The chain of the arch-demon met the decrixsyru whips, the one thing in his arsenal that might¡¯ve scratched its marble flesh, and contact with the dweonatar¡¯s chain shredded the whips, showering chips of matter-consuming rust down all around him.


    Those bits of rust went straight through his shields.


    The mizelikon-shade helped him, a full fifty percent of the rust-shards simply phasing through his body ¨C but one arm and one leg were maimed beyond all possible repair. He wore the carapace of a zikistakram instead of his own skin, but simple toughness wouldn¡¯t do anything against this. No restorative spell would ever touch these cursed wounds, and the infernal rust just bored deeper, deeper into his flesh, devouring everything it touched ¨C until at last it sank through the other side and started eating away at the cracked flags of the floor.


    Howling, her host collapsed.


    The limbs on one side of his body shredded, he pumped her for regeneration ¨C but even if she had the healing-power, she wouldn¡¯t have been able to do anything for him. A nethernal wound of this magnitude she could work with, maybe, but this particular infernal weaponry? No.


    Not like it matters now, she reminded herself. It doesn¡¯t matter now.


    ¡±Lera!¡± he cried.


    But that wasn¡¯t even close to her name.


    He tried to crawl away. Fingers of stone, each the size of his whole arm, encircled his waist, hefting him up. His shields burst like baubles.


    She could feel him trying to phase out, but the dweonatar¡¯s grip wasn¡¯t just physical.


    It held him up before its eyes, and held Mindbreaker up in its other hand. She was unconscious, her short brown hair slick with sweat and blood; one of the enchanter¡¯s dangling arms was savaged horribly, flattened to the thickness of a plate, the skin ripped and flapping.


    Its head flick-flicked, from one of them to the other, back again, its shining visage brighter every time, redoubling, something that her host soon found couldn¡¯t be blocked out by merely squeezing his eyes closed ¨C he could see the red veins against the white light even with his eyelids firmly screwed shut, his brows almost touching his cheekbones.


    It didn¡¯t matter.


    It sang again, the sheer volume of it overwhelming this close-up:


    ¡°Thanil.¡±


    Her host shuddered; he understood the word just as she did.


    ¡®Strong.¡¯


    ¡±It¡¯s going to kill me ¨C because I¡¯m strong? I couldn¡¯t touch it!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Adagor.¡±


    There was a part of her, she supposed, that could feel a touch of the guilt; or perhaps not feel it, but at least imagine it. Imagine what it would be like to grieve for him, now his life had run its course.


    But it made more sense this way, didn¡¯t it? Was it better to just let him die in bed one day, power spent, wasted away to nothing ¨C and for what?


    No. She¡¯d kept him alive long enough.


    The demon snapped its upper body about, pulling its two captives through the air at shocking speed, just so that it might turn to look at its colleagues.


    Its supervisors.


    With the blinding lights shifted away, her host instinctively opened his eyes ¨C and, with her help, he could see again.


    The three other dweonatar at the far side of the room merely gazed back at the first solemnly.


    She found herself using her patron¡¯s eyes to watch the proceedings, using his breathing to simulate the kind of fear he was feeling.


    One by one and each in their turn, the three watching dweonatar nodded.


    The first looked back, shining-sun eyes turned towards Mindbreaker.


    Within one of those flickering instants, the enchanter was removed from the demon¡¯s hand and thrown into the air. She was held splayed out, horizontal and spread-eagled in the middle of the ruined space, fifteen feet off the ground.


    Mindbreaker was fixed there, made taut by invisible forces, each limb pulled to its limit, even her hair pulled until her scalp stretched.


    Now, her pulverised arm clamped in a telekinetic vice, her body being slowly eased apart, the girl woke up.


    The sorcerer watched his comrade as the demon raised its free hand to perform a series of motions above the enchanter¡¯s screaming form: dissecting motions, separating the grain from the husk.


    Then it held its hand still. A white light, like that in its eyes, grew steadily in the palm that was cupped above Mindbreaker. Brighter, brighter, brighter ¨C until her host turned away his gaze, weeping against the pity, the despair, the terror.


    The fairy listened to him praying to Mortiforn one final time, praying for the magisters to enter, praying for any distraction even if it cost the mages their lives ¨C something, anything to just let him get free; if he could take the time back, never set foot in this gods-dropped ruin ¨C


    He didn¡¯t see directly, but he noticed by the way it lit the dweonatar up in a crimson light, finally making plain the callousness and pleasure on its face: the single moment when the white light in its hand turned blood-red, before vanishing away.


    He looked back, and saw nothing but a cloud of ash, drifting slowly towards the ground.


    Mindbreaker was gone.


    And there was no moment of reprieve.


    In just the same way, he was held taut. Agony laced his limbs, his hips, shoulders, diaphragm ¨C and tenfold agony at his wrists and ankles and scalp, where the infernally-charged, tougher-than-human flesh was shattering under the pressure of the invisible force that gripped him. Yet she felt his eyes, tracing the wrecked shelves, the remnants of forever-lost artefacts, the museum¡¯s treasures crumbled up in the piles of smashed glass and splintered wood. The tiny tatters of cloth and clumps of ash, all that was left of an enchanter he¡¯d worked alongside, fought and killed alongside, for three whole years, remnants drifting senselessly down to join the rest of the destruction.


    ¡°Maybe you were right, Adagor,¡± she murmured to him. ¡°Maybe it can¡¯t always be fixed. Irreplaceable things can be lost. But it doesn¡¯t always have to be a waste.¡±


    Uzarrel drifted free of him, and nodded to the dweonatar.


    It nodded back, its huge lips flicking back in a snarling grin as its gaze turned towards her.


    Her former patron¡¯s eyes widened in shock and bewilderment.


    Her betrayal would be his last realisation.


    And no ¨C she felt nothing.


    ¡°Farewell, Hellbane.¡±


    Nothing.

 When a Wall is Inconvenient

    <h2>INTERLUDE 1B: WHEN A WALL IS INCONVENIENT</h2>


    ¡°To understand the dynamic, you have only to look at the number of bodies dredged at the Nightlocks and the Flood-dam each month. The crime statistics in the relevant areas of Hightown and Hilltown demonstrate those districts can be handily disregarded; North and South Lowtown are roughly equivalent, averaged over the year. And yet, even controlling for population, nine times the corpses at the Nightlocks. The conclusion is obvious, laid out in bloaters by the boatload: the murder rate in New Sticktown has, frankly, gotten completely out of hand.¡±


    ¨C the Lady Justice Tethra, in session before the Justice Council, Belara 852 NE


    It was way past bedtime for most, but he couldn¡¯t rest. Never could. He went over and over his papers, double-checking his numbers, sitting at his desk wearing only his nightgown and the big fluffy sock-shoe-things from Hilltown they called ¡®slippers¡¯. He knew that someone willing to be critical of him would point out that if he fell asleep at six in the morning and got up at two in the afternoon, he was still getting eight hours, and would probably be able to keep to a normal schedule if he put in the effort the reset his habits.


    But he didn¡¯t surround himself with the kind of people willing to be critical of him.


    He was more than capable of self-criticism. One didn¡¯t get as far in life as he had by refusing to stop every now and again for the odd moment of cold, hard introspection. But that wasn¡¯t what you wanted from a lackey.


    He knew he was fat. He knew he was balding. He knew he could stop eating so much, he could go to bed at eleven o¡¯clock, put out the candles, lock away his distractions and force himself to sleep through sheer boredom. When he grew up, they had nothing. His mother and father and sister had starved to death. He¡¯d been a living skeleton when the orphanage took him in, and when, five years later, he robbed the priest who ran the orphanage at knife-point on his way out of there, the old man scathingly informed him that on the night they found him and dragged him in he¡¯d been given no better than a one-in-three chance of surviving. ¡°But ¡¯e¡¯s as light as an empty pillercase, an¡¯ ¡®alf as full¡±, one of the men who brought him in had said, apparently. He didn¡¯t delude himself ¨C he knew it was no excuse, that his bad habits were his fault. But still, he knew his upbringing was the reason.


    He¡¯d been a Cutter-Boy, Knuckle-Head and even a Wallsider in his time, before ending up with the Bertie Boys and his hands on a not-insignificant chunk of Helbert¡¯s Bend real estate. And along the way to getting rich, he found that among all the luxuries wealth could afford him, only two were worthwhile. Only two brought the kind of pleasure that wasn¡¯t fakery. Fine dwellings and exquisite furnishings and expensive clothes ¨C these things were designed to turn idiots into walking advertisements, deluding yet more of those fools, those with too much money to know what was really of value.


    The first was power. The second was food.


    He wasn¡¯t difficult. It didn¡¯t take much to make him happy. The food part was simple, given his resources; he didn¡¯t need the posh stuff, and if you were alright with bacon and pork and thick gravy and plenty of spuds, you¡¯d get on fine at his table ¨C not that others got to eat from it, of course. He ate alone. Oh, others were allowed to be in the room, but they couldn¡¯t be eating too. That wouldn¡¯t project the right message; it just wouldn¡¯t do. Not that his Gentlemen were prone to snacking anyway.


    And he knew that being a landlord was the closest he was going to get to being a lord, of any kind, but that was okay by him so long as he got to exert his influence over others, feel the little upsurge of bliss when he made someone¡¯s day or ruined someone¡¯s life. It was this, the very moment in which someone¡¯s fate changed due to his decision, that made him happiest. He often made his mind up on a whim, taking out his current mood on whichever morsel of humanity was pleading their case in his face at the time. If he¡¯d had a particularly nice lunch he¡¯d be able to let some idiots slip through the net, give them a reprieve on their rent ¨C or perhaps even give them some measure of a reward for their faithful tenancy, if their plight touched him through the layers of detachment that had built up over the years, separating him from the lowborn from which he¡¯d arisen, every bit as real as the layers of fat he could feel growing around his heart.


    Twice, that¡¯d happened. Usually, him taking his current mood out on someone ended with them in tears, himself smiling, and his money-pouch feeling considerably heavier.


    His own apartment was two roads across and one up from Mud Lane, a two-storey double-apartment at the top of a rare brick-built, four-floor building on Lossen Run. He owned the whole building, so his neighbours were the tenants he had least trouble with; they knew to be on their best behaviour, what with dozens of Gentlemen making the way up and down the stairwells at all hours. Those who couldn¡¯t maintain the expected standards tended to find themselves out on the kerb in short order.


    Sometimes he¡¯d stand at his big bedside window, looking out onto the street, just thinking about his little empire, how far he¡¯d come.


    The technically-quadruple apartment was itself mostly filled with his lackeys. There¡¯d be two of his boys outside his locked bedroom door, always ¨C probably Garet and Lev, at this time of the night, or morning, whatever. Probably half a dozen more Gentlemen scattered through the lounges and bedrooms in the upstairs rooms adjoining his own. The rooms in the lower floor of his two-storey residence had been knocked through to form a big gathering area, and the twenty-strong night shift would be in and out at all hours, as many as half of them showing their presence on the streets at any given time. The rest would be here at base, downstairs in the gathering area ¨C for protection, of course. You didn¡¯t become someone like Peltos without screwing-over a few friends as well as enemies over the years ¨C there¡¯d been as many attempts on his life in the last three years as in the first thirty. And he¡¯d grown up rough.


    The whole business with that boy was messing with his head. That was why he couldn¡¯t sleep. That was why no matter how many times he did these dropping figures they didn¡¯t add up the same twice.


    He needed sleep. His body knew it even if his mind didn¡¯t. His eyes were slow, responding sluggishly to his commands, blurring over the moment he lost focus.


    The sand in the top of his hourglass was running low. He¡¯d have to stay up another ten minutes to turn it over, at least. The markings down the side worked out to quarter-hours, and the whole top emptied in a total of three hours. It wouldn¡¯t do to go from the chair at the desk to the bed without turning it over ¨C what if he couldn¡¯t sleep, and got up again? he wouldn¡¯t know what time it was anymore! ¨C and it wasn¡¯t like he could turn it over till it was empty ¨C then he¡¯d have to remember to knock ten minutes off every time he tried to figure out the time.


    Not that the time would actually matter. Someone in the flat would have it, if he asked, recently-taken from the clock at Foundstone Circle, which was set twice a day from the Master Clock in Hightown. But not being able to just tell it at a glance from his hourglass would drive him mad, and give him even more reasons to avoid sleep.


    What had the freaky-looking magister called him? That was it ¨C Kastyr Mortenn. Yes, that boy was bad for business. Lying for years, hiding people in the flat of his dead parents. So yes, fine, they technically hadn¡¯t missed any payments. But it was the lying that did it for him. It was a form of disrespect. Someone who thought they could lie to you didn¡¯t think enough of you to fear you, and that wouldn¡¯t do. The boy had to be intimidated. He had to know his place.


    Some place not owned by me.


    Tomorrow night. He¡¯d sleep on it first, and, more importantly, have breakfast on it. He might even be asleep early enough to make it a morning-breakfast rather than an afternoon-breakfast, if he was lucky.


    He gave the numbers part of a third go-over, turned over the damned hourglass, then eased himself up out of the creaking chair. He tried not to show it, but the combination of weight and age was starting to get to him. Everything hurt, but his ankles¡­ Even druid-healing had proven temporary. And he doubted he was even half as fast with a dagger as he¡¯d been when he¡¯d actually had the skills to set his little enterprise up. If he had to start over, now, he¡¯d be dead within a week.


    But, he consoled himself, moving towards the bed, at least he knew that. Better to operate with both eyes wide open, aware of both his strengths and shortcomings, than to blunder in unaware of his weaknesses. He didn¡¯t have to get his own hands dirty. He had the hands of others for that. He¡¯d evolved beyond being the one with his hand on the knife. It saddened him somewhat, to recognise how far behind him his youth really was. It¡¯d been exciting back then ¨C


    He suddenly heard a deep thudding, getting rapidly closer. The building was shaking.


    He wobbled on his unsteady feet.


    That was when his bedside window exploded inwards, the whole wall buckling.


    He was too slow to reel backwards as thousands of shards of glass peppered his belly, his feet, the bed and the rug; thankfully he was still too far from his bed to get caught by any of the big pieces. But his half-hearted attempt to react, to reel, merely threw him off-balance. His ankles gave out and he fell back instead, thudding into the floor with a resounding boom. It was only because it was trained into him by instinct to keep his head forward that he wasn¡¯t knocked out cold.


    Its head filling the window-frame, two scaly three-clawed feet ripping into the masonry beneath the window to get a grip ¨C was a huge dragon.


    The freaky-looking, tattoo-covered magister was sitting astride its neck, her black robe flapping in the chill pre-dawn breeze. She was staring at him, and she didn¡¯t look happy.


    ¡°Peltos Kemmenon.¡± Her voice was croaky and deep, her glare almost painful to endure; he turned his head aside, cringing.


    ¡°Boss? Boss!¡± Lev¡¯s cries through the door were muffled.


    Peltos didn¡¯t want to hang around to hear any more. Not caring to hide his abject terror, he scrambled backwards and tried to get to his feet, agonisingly aware that the door was locked from the inside. But his slippers, which had mercifully spared him from stepping in any of the scattered glass with his bare flesh, now betrayed him, not letting him find purchase for his weight.


    ¨C in my bedroom there is a dropping dragon in my bedroom there is a dropping dragon ¨C


    He tried to roll over to crawl, but now his girth betrayed him ¨C he knew it was going to take him the best part of ten seconds just to get onto his front, and there was no way he could generate the force required to move towards the door on his back ¨C


    ¡°Mr. Kemmenon,¡± she spoke slowly and precisely, seemingly quite nonchalant about the fact his Gentlemen were now hammering on the bedroom door, ¡°I¡¯ve got some questions for you.¡±


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    He gave up, flopped down again.


    From his angle he could only see her with his right eye (over the shoulder of the dragon there is a dropping dragon¡­) ¨C then he caught the smirk on her face, and that gave him back a bit of his oomph.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t let it eat me!¡± he screamed.


    She chuckled, and patted her dragon on the neck; it craned its head forward and moved further into the room, simply breaking his bed under its claws. It moved closer and closer to him, until his belly was all he could see reflected in its huge, red-burning eye.


    It looked like it was smirking too, a curve to its tooth-lined reptilian maw.


    She slid down its side, then stepped towards him until she stood by his feet.


    ¡°Cri-criminal damage!¡±


    She looked back at the wall, then down at him again.


    ¡°The word you¡¯re looking for is collateral, my dear Mr. Kemmenon. Collateral damage. Orrrrrr maybe just, I don¡¯t know, ¡®reasonable measures to ensure minimal risks¡¯¡­ yeah, that¡¯s how I¡¯ll sell it. Would you really have come quietly if I¡¯d knocked on the front door? I think there¡¯s going to be far less loss of life this way. I mean, why wait for a warrant when doing it this way is so much more fun, and safer?¡±


    ¡°Wha¡­¡±


    Here was the world that revolved around him suddenly slowing in its spin, coming to a stop and crashing down cataclysmically into nothing. Phrases like warrant and come quietly and loss of life echoed in his mind.


    Boom, boom, boom; his Gentlemen at the door.


    It was a damned expensive door, and its lock was a specially-made thing that had three bolts operating off the one key.


    Take the hinges off, idiots! he shrieked, but the sound came out as nothing more than a strangled ¡°eep¡±.


    ¡°So what¡¯s really scratching away at me is, have you actually taken it on as your purpose or something ¨C to ruin other people¡¯s lives?¡± She drawled on so slowly, so casually, so¡­ demeaningly ¨C he caught himself digging his nails into his palms, and forced himself to break it off ¨C ¡°Or are you just doing it because you¡¯re genuinely clueless about the way your actions affect others?¡±


    He stared up at her.


    ¡°In other words, are you evil? Or just a buffoon?¡±


    The moment he let a trace of infuriation put the shadow of a scowl on his features the dragon¡¯s head seemed to swell up, the floor shaking as if its foothold on the walls was shifting ¨C


    Then it opened its mouth and roared.


    Its breath was the breath of a thing that had eaten whole animals raw in a single gulp, a deafening, stomach-churning explosion of carrion wind, exploding right in his face.


    He couldn¡¯t fight the shaking that took control of his limbs, so he lay there, legs and arms jerking around, tapping his knuckles and heels on the rug.


    The sorceress erupted into laughter moments before he heard the door fall into the room.


    Her laughter died as quickly as it¡¯d started.


    ¡°Oh, man.¡± Then a coldness entered her voice: ¡°I warn you to stay back. I made a promise not to feed my girl any live humans anymore, and I really don¡¯t want to have to apologise.¡±


    The dragon moved its head on its sinuous neck, scanning the Gentlemen who were crowded in the doorway.


    The sounds made by the feet of his henchmen had come to a sudden, quite understandable halt. Her threats didn¡¯t sound idle.


    ¡°I learnt my lesson, anyway.¡± Her lip curled. ¡°Ghost Host! Sakhamen diir.¡±


    It was already cold in here with the best part of one wall missing, but the temperature in the room dropped noticeably again in the space of a heartbeat; he swivelled his head to look ¨C


    A line of six, well, ghosts, had been interposed between his recumbent form and the recoiling Gentlemen in the doorway ¨C he could see Garet and Lev and his other boys through them, their grey-purple forms transparent as they flickered and floated.


    The shapes of men, women, all attired in formal dinner suits and dresses, but with their backs turned to him ¨C their faces must¡¯ve been pretty horrifying though, given that Garet and Lev blenched back into their colleagues piled up in the landing behind them.


    ¡°Garet!¡± Peltos¡¯s cry came out shrill.


    With a look of resolution on his face but with none of his usual confidence in his actual motions, Garet took a tentative step forwards.


    The ghost opposite Garet mirrored his movement instantly, flickering closer, the hem of her dress twelve inches off the floor.


    Out of sheer reflex Garet jabbed with his left ¨C his fist just sank through the ghost, and he leapt back, howling, clutching his wrist.


    ¡°Ai! Boss, boss it¡¯s cold!¡±


    The ghost flickered back to her previous position; even through her vaporous form Peltos could see that his underling¡¯s whole hand was blue, the fingers frozen in position.


    ¡°Or, you could repair the wall and the window out of the sixteen plat, I guess.¡±


    The sorceress¡¯s voice had taken on a musing quality, and he cranked his head back around to look up at her, feeling suddenly disoriented.


    ¡°Come on, I already told you I¡¯m not here to serve a warrant. I¡¯m technically off the clock, but I scaled the building with a demon and tore a wall off your house because I was just dying to see you wet your nightgown.¡±


    He looked down towards his crotch reflexively, not that he could actually see it. He hadn¡¯t noticed when it happened. Probably when the dragon-demon roared.


    ¡°I¡¯m actually here to deliver Mortenn¡¯s money. Sixteen plat. Unless you want to argue about the amount now?¡±


    She reached up and stroked one of her dragon¡¯s horns affectionately.


    He retained enough composure to shake his head, but once he gave the command to his neck muscles the movement itself came as a jolt, so that a bit of spittle shot from his mouth.


    Her smile widened. ¡°You could report this, you know. My infraction.¡±


    It was a bland statement, just there on its own like that. It felt like there should¡¯ve been a second part of the sentence, a ¡®but¡¯ or ¡®however¡¯¡­


    He twitched. ¡°I ¨C I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Man, I almost want you to. My lovely companion here is hungry, and I¡¯m just dying for an excuse. You would make such a fine repast. No evidence left.¡± She leaned against the huge jaw of the beast serenely, then sighed. ¡°Even if I can¡¯t feed you to her ¨C now I¡¯m not making any promises¡­ but as far as I¡¯m concerned, scum like you are one of the main things holding this place back¡­ You grow up here?¡±


    He nodded frantically when it hit him that she was actually asking him a question.


    ¨C please I don¡¯t want to be eaten, anything but that, don¡¯t let it eat me ¨C


    ¡°I¡¯ve been here a few years, seen a few things, but I know what it¡¯s like out there, and this place could be special. You could be a part of that, man. But instead you choose to be a bully. So maybe we don¡¯t start out by eating you. Maybe we could just go after your illicit businesses, ¡®P. D. Kemmenon¡¯¡­ I¡¯m not bad at wards now. They almost never explode when tripped, these days, and I took a glance at the files. I do know where most of your warehouses are.¡±


    He closed his eyes, doing his best not to show how much this sudden turn in the conversation petrified him.


    ¡°So don¡¯t repair the wall. Report me instead, show someone what I did, and give me a reason to make it personal¡­ But I think you¡¯d be better off following some advice. Ever think it might be time to straighten up your ways? Clean up your activities, start being fair with people? There¡¯s more for you to gain than you know.¡±


    He heard her robes rustling, and opened his eyes to watch her remount her demon.


    ¡°So what¡¯s it to be? You going to repair your wall?¡±


    If he¡¯d nodded frantically at her earlier question, this time it got hysterical.


    She smirked, and derisively dropped a small black bag near his feet that jingled with the tell-tale ring of coins.


    ¡°Think of it this way ¨C you just stopped some little kids becoming homeless. Three of ¡®em. Right there, with your mind.¡± Out of nowhere, he felt his eyes tear up. ¡°Keep flexing that I-won¡¯t-be-a-jerk muscle.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Come, Fe. Peltos is off the menu ¨C for now. Sakhamen faneir.¡±


    With a shuddering rumble of shifting bricks, the demon slid back through the opening, descending with its mistress back towards the street. The temperature in the room told him the six freezing things behind him had departed too.


    Since she mentioned his other business dealings, his warehouses, his mind had been whirling with thoughts of impending disaster.


    She knows about the product? Then immediately: No, there¡¯s no way. No way she doesn¡¯t bring me in after this, if she knew.


    She¡¯ll find out if we make an issue of her ¡®infraction¡¯, though.


    Virtually none of the magical herbs, plants or fungi in circulation outside Mund were permitted inside the city walls ¨C only those cultivated by the Unwilted Bloom and sold through the Magisterium-licensed firms. Such things had to be carefully tested, they said; carefully controlled, more like, he knew.


    He had plenty of the benign ones in copious quantities, sacks of wane and fume, but some of the ones he had in his warehouses were the bad ones. Crates of whitestick and nailbiter; and, most nerve-wrackingly, a barrel of inkatra bulbs.


    Inkatra was the new thing, just hitting the streets. Most importantly for the supplier, the bulbs were ecstasy-inducing, addictive; and, most importantly for the customer, they granted abilities. Any normal person, with zero magical experience, could try their hand at summoning a ghost, shooting lightning from their fingers, reading someone¡¯s mind¡­ A couple of weeks back Peltos had been invited to watch a demonstration; a giggling kid ¨C just a scruffy, unlettered fourteen-year-old ¨C whose cat started following his orders after he ate one of the bulbs. ¡®Chase your tail.¡¯ ¡®Cover one eye with your paw.¡¯ ¡®Try to meow Blackrush Blues.¡¯


    The effect itself lasted approximately four minutes, only worked on the one animal, and it took less than an hour for the boy to emerge from his reverie and start begging for some more.


    What would happen if an actual mage got hold of some? Who knew. Probably nothing, seeing as mages had to focus, perform precise actions, in order to cast their spells. The kid he¡¯d watched enchant his own cat ¨C that kid wouldn¡¯t have been able to tie a knot in a piece of string, never mind remember a ritual, or whatever it was a mage did. It wasn¡¯t likely to happen anyway; inkatra wasn¡¯t an upmarket herb like whitestick that¡¯d let you go about your daily business with your colleagues none the wiser about the source of your uncanny sharpness, your acuity of thought. No, inkatra would become your world.


    But Peltos wasn¡¯t a supplier. Wasn¡¯t a customer, either. What the young magister-girl didn¡¯t understand about the real world was that everything was connected. Peltos was in league with the Bertie Boys, and he was only going to get a fraction of the profits of the sales; the main share was going to Gram and Wyre, and he would only be able to dip into the part that got added to the kitty. His position didn¡¯t come freely, and his name was attached to people, places and events that could incriminate him.


    No, the most important thing, to Peltos¡¯s mind, was that possession of any power-granting unverified herb was a capital offence. He¡¯d be hanged, if they could find a gallows sturdy-enough to bear his weight.


    Maybe the girl was right. She might not understand the finer details of how the underworld worked, but perhaps that only helped her see it more clearly. It wouldn¡¯t be impossible to start extricating himself from the tangled webs he¡¯d helped weave, here in Helbert¡¯s Bend. Sometimes it took that kind of innocence, youth, to see the big picture. He¡¯d gotten lost in the details somewhere between his first crime and his thousandth. He¡¯d made it his business to make as many enemies as possible. It was just that he had to call them friends ¨C think of them as friends ¨C even as he knew Gram would rather have slit his throat than give him a penny were they not Bertie Boy brethren.


    This was a warning. Not from the Magisterium ¨C from the gods.


    Stopping three kids from being made homeless. Three kids that could¡¯ve gone to an orphanage like he had. Three kids who wouldn¡¯t have to end up half-dead like he¡¯d been, just because of a moment of mercy. He¡¯d never really thought about it that way.


    Surely in all those arguments he¡¯d relished with his tenants they¡¯d said similar things? He couldn¡¯t recall. But that was when he was in his stride, talking over them with aplomb, their cries falling on deaf ears.


    It seemed it took a dragon roaring in his face to unblock those ears, wake him up.


    This had been far too close for comfort.


    And how many orphans had he already made?


    So when his Gentlemen came forward to pull him to his feet, muttering their apologies and excuses, he wasn¡¯t listening, or even embarrassed about the wet spot on his garment ¨C his mind flamed with things he needed to do.


    Clean up my activities. ¡°Get word to Ginnel Gram and Wyre Lulton. We need to move the product before the sun¡¯s up. Magisters are onto us.¡± Check she wasn¡¯t lying. ¡°You! Pick up that pouch on the floor, give it here¡­ Get a pan and brush up this glass.¡± Cover it up like any other bit of bad business. ¡°You. Contact a brickie and glazier, I need this repairing pronto; here, take this to cover it, and don¡¯t you even think of short-changing me¡­¡± I¡¯m hungry. ¡°Someone fetch me a bacon sarnie before I throw up. Go!¡±


    They began to scatter on their various missions, but the last thing on his list resounded in his head.


    Start being fair with people?


    ¡°And, ah¡­ Lev? Check Garet¡¯s okay? Thank you.¡±


    He didn¡¯t see them freeze in the doorway but he heard them stop, and could imagine the perplexed looks crossing their faces as they regarded one another


    Instead he turned aside to his wardrobe and used its doors to shield himself from view as he donned a fresh nightgown.


    I¡¯ve evolved beyond being the one with my hand on the knife.


    He was actually smiling as he redressed.


    It was only once he closed the doors again that he saw them, looking back at him in alarm.


    He sighed.


    It was going to be a long road.


    ¡°Go!¡± he yelled.


    This time, they went.

 Archmage Lost

    <h2>JADE 2.1: ARCHMAGE LOST</h2>


    ¡°Don¡¯t look back. Don¡¯t remember these words! And don¡¯t believe the lies of my brethren: I tell you, there is nothing to be found in the past but mistakes. None forget the past, despite my admonishments. All they do is look to it. They say that if they forget the past they will repeat its mistakes; yet this is in itself a forgetting of the past, and a repetition of one of its many mistakes! Show me when your ancestors forgot their own! Show me when they did not repeat the mistakes! No. You cannot. You are wrong all along, a pendulum laughing at its own course as if to mock the very vicissitudes of fate, unknowingly doomed to trace the same figure over and over again. No, it is by fixation upon the past that one becomes doomed to repeat its mistakes. You remember the past and forget to find the future. And it shall be to your undoing.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Sermons of the Unbridled¡¯ recordings, Mortifost 909 NE


    Children had to get up at the most inconvenient time for their guardians; it was some unwritten rule. You could awaken nice and early every day, and getting them going would be harder than animating a pile of spuds. A pile of complaining spuds. But the one day you wanted, you needed a lie-in ¨C oh, they were just waiting for that day¡­ They would get up before the sun, and come up with ingenious ways to cause as much tumult and disorder in every discrete ten-second segment of time as was physically possible.


    It was plain to me that these ¡®unwritten rules¡¯ must¡¯ve been whispered by imps down the ages into the ears of kids; that was my thought as I woke in my bed, treated to a cacophony coming from the main room, the insensate din of what I could only visualise as a visitation from Mekesta: Mother Chaos herself gracing the apartment, birthing forth many-tentacled, screaming krakens that slithered across the walls and flung around the furniture in their frantic squirming.


    But no. It was Jaid, Jaroan and Xastur playing archmages. Well, the twins were. It sounded very much like Xastur was just doing what the twins told him to do.


    Orstrum and Morsus were sprawled on the twins¡¯ bed; it looked like they¡¯d surrendered the main room at some earlier hour with me none the wiser.


    I sighed, and prepared to be Kas again. Being Feychilde had been fun, but Feychilde couldn¡¯t go empty the waste-bucket¡­ though maybe he could intimidate some children into keeping the noise-level down to something that wasn¡¯t going to deafen every hangover-stricken, faerie-perception-borrowing arch-sorcerer in a thirty foot radius¡­


    Sorely tempted, I went out to battle, regretfully leaving my robe behind. No shields could protect me beyond this door.


    ¡°Alright!¡± I croaked at the three miniature archmages. ¡°Who wants breakfast?¡±


    Upon seeing the state I was in they actually quietened down; praising Celestium, I got a drink of water and collapsed on a bench. It was pretty late, but I wasn¡¯t surprised that I was still the first of the fools who¡¯d drank wine to get up out of bed. I¡¯d only had a bit, admittedly, but my elders had enjoyed my newfound access to free wine with abandon. Once I¡¯d dismissed Olbru and the kids fell asleep they¡¯d assaulted the wine-pegasus, and what little they hadn¡¯t imbibed was now stored in jars for later consumption.


    As such it was left to me to do the basic chores: get fresh water, prepare the gruel, try to entertain the kids with the minimum of noise-making activity¡­ I even had chance to wash some clothes and hang them on the rail outside to dry. I moved automatically, not really thinking through what I was doing, though once or twice I did get out the glyphstone ¨C the Em-oriented part of my brain was still working fine, it appeared. If I was right, the cloudy gem would glow gently, heat up slightly and even hum if someone was trying to contact me. But, late as it might be for someone with children in the apartment, it was still only something like ten o¡¯clock, meaning Em came off her shift just seven-ish hours earlier ¨C she¡¯d still be asleep, probably.


    It was only gradually that the other implications of yesterday¡¯s escapades started to catch up with me.


    I¡¯d had a prospective darkmage within the Shining Circle imprison me in the shape of a rat and sell me out to his noble friends. I¡¯d had a powerful lord and lady of the Arrealbord sending an assassin-demon after me, while famous champions watched for a clue to the whereabouts of this ¡®Facechanger¡¯ fellow. I¡¯d encountered a vastly more-experienced arch-sorcerer who¡¯d ripped my shields to shreds and held me at spectre-point. And I¡¯d seen the prospective darkmage¡¯s memories pulled from his mind by someone who could very well have insinuated something into my own head, without my knowledge.


    I didn¡¯t wear their wheel, but I¡¯d accepted a Magisterium glyphstone. I was linked to them now. I¡¯d just have to try to find a way to make the sacrifice worth it, make it work for me instead of against me.


    I¡¯d broken my silence on my archmagehood to those who mattered to me. The kids weren¡¯t saying anything about it, but I could see the way things had changed right there in their eyes staring back at me. (My brother and sister, anyway ¨C Xastur was off in his own world, as usual.) Had I expected it to look this much like respect, though? I didn¡¯t think they would¡¯ve just shut up yesterday like they did this morning.


    Maybe I didn¡¯t need the robe. They knew I was Feychilde now.


    Or maybe that was a bad thing¡­ I didn¡¯t want them to stop thinking of me as their big brother. Though I supposed it¡¯d always been like that for them, in a way ¨C for the last three years, at least. This was just an extension of that, wasn¡¯t it? I was just a more-capable guardian now, wasn¡¯t I?


    But I knew the answer to that. I¡¯d already potentially endangered them by letting the wrong people know who I was.


    And now, along with three of the Bagger Boys, my conspirators included a four-year-old and two nine-year-olds.


    Yeah. Yesterday had been one massive string of errors and misfortunes. But there¡¯d been some minor victories ¨C and some not-so-minor ones¡­ All in all, I was convinced I¡¯d gained more than I¡¯d lost.


    And Peltos. Had Ciraya really followed through on her assurances? For some reason I felt I could trust her, but I wouldn¡¯t have any way to be sure, short of finding a way to contact the sorceress.


    I¡¯d distributed platinum coins to my friends last night, consumed with largesse, but did I really know for sure that it could even be spent? Wasn¡¯t it risky?


    I shook my head at myself. Wasn¡¯t the risk the whole point? If I needed more, I¡¯d just have to capture me some more dark sorcerers with rewards on their heads. Finding them wasn¡¯t so hard, with a future-seeing hyper-perceptive fairy eager to be set on the case. If I spent my money wisely, I could maximise my advantages, minimise the dangers¡­


    However much my head hurt, when my house-mates shuffled out of the bedrooms I could at least console myself with the fact that my youth let me bounce back faster than them. Even Xantaire spent what was left of the morning cradling her cranium with a gentle hand; Morsus looked like he was going to be sick (but wasn¡¯t) and Orstrum looked like he wasn¡¯t going to be sick (but was). I got the impression they were all hearing every squeal and collision with augmented hearing at least equal to my own.


    It was close to lunchtime when I made up my mind to spare my room-mates from the torture they were all obviously languishing in.


    ¡°Okay! Who fancies a trip to the Autumn Door?¡±


    Jaid and Jaroan were bouncing up and down by the time I got to the word trip, and, with a little (monotone) encouragement from his mother, Xastur looked almost excited about the prospect too.


    I took my robe, though I figured I had no chance of actually needing it ¨C I wouldn¡¯t wear it around the kids unless I sent them far from me. Otherwise I¡¯d just be painting a target on them, if the wrong person was watching us when I changed. I also took my money, more out of general fear of being burgled and having it taken without me having the chance to protect it, than out of a desire to actually spend any of it. The others breaking a single platinum coin wasn¡¯t going to draw suspicion if they did it in the right places, but if I went and tried to break four of them (into silver, likely) then it was going to raise some eyebrows. Best I do that as Feychilde later, and not in Sticktown. I had a few copper pieces still hanging about from my day-job; enough to pay for the necessities.


    I walked hand-in-hand with Xastur, and gave the twins a tongue-lashing if they got too far ahead for me to see them; the lane was filled with people. I spotted Salli Meleine, the prettiest barmaid at the Griffin (who¡¯d been the subject of the dreams of far too many boys my age), hanging out her unmentionables ¨C she called a greeting anyway and I did my best to respond without letting my gaze linger. The scents drifting out of Hontor and Sons were resistible at the time we passed, but after a couple of minutes of listening to the twins bang on about sandwiches (she argued in favour of cheese, he in favour of ham) I was feeling voracious ¨C we ended up detouring to Knuckle Market to pick up a skewer of charred meat each from the fire-pits. ¡®Meat¡¯ is how it was advertised and ¡®meat¡¯ was what you got ¨C undefined and undefinable, definitely not worth thinking too much about. Thankfully I still had plenty of the mint from yesterday in my satchel, to combat the undefined-meat-breath.


    From Lord¡¯s Knuckle it was even more straightforward to get to the Lowtown Road, follow it down to the Giltergrove. Or would¡¯ve been straightforward, if not for the fact it was Sunday. The last day of the week; the day of trade. About half the various occupations only employed staff for the first five days of the week, meaning Starday and Sunday were the busiest days for retail businesses; many of them employed extra staff to cover the weekend shifts. With work starting again tomorrow, on Moonday, there¡¯d be the usual rush to get the shopping done in preparation for the new week.


    All this meant that it was incredibly busy out. The crowds of pedestrians mingling with the backed-up carts on the street soon got too thick for me to spot the twins, even if they were only twenty feet away, so I got them to walk right behind me, Xastur¡¯s hand still in my own. I¡¯d have ordinarily wanted them in front of me so I could keep an eye on them, but they had this habit of charging off into gaps in the crowds that only they could fit through, moving with the uncanny simultaneous motions of twins whose bodies followed the same instincts ¨C even if they had very different minds.


    Unfortunately, putting them this close to me meant I was treated to a snippet of their current discussion.


    ¡°So if you could be one for real,¡± Jaroan was saying, ¡°but you couldn¡¯t be an arch-druid, what would you be?¡±


    ¡°An arch-druid. Like Leafcloak ¨C or Fangmoon.¡±


    ¡°But if you couldn¡¯t pick that one.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t get to pick anyway.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be a diviner, like Timesnatcher.¡±


    ¡°You always say diviner.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re saying druid, and you always say druid.¡±


    ¡°Just because druids win.¡±


    ¡°No they do not!¡±


    ¡°Yes they do and you know it.¡±


    ¡°If I knew it, I¡¯d want to be a druid, not a diviner, wouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°But you do know it, and that¡¯s why you said, not an arch-druid¡­¡±


    My life.


    ¡°Fine, not a druid.¡±


    ¡°Then what?¡±


    ¡°Kas, if you could be one but you couldn¡¯t be a sorcerer, what would you be?¡±


    I kept my fortify-face as I glanced back at them, but I grit my teeth.


    These were my confidantes.


    This was all going to end well.


    ¡°I would be an enchanter,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Oooh.¡± Jaid didn¡¯t sound disappointed. ¡°Like Lovebright!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Jaroan sounded slightly sceptical.


    ¡°I could make sure the two of you don¡¯t say the wrong thing at the wrong time in the wrong place and get Mud Lane turned into a battleground¡­¡± I let that sink in for a moment, checking they looked fittingly uncomfortable. ¡°But enchanters are completely overpowered, anyway. Everything people do is governed by their minds, right? So mind-magic trumps all. Imagine it¡­ if I woke up a skilled enchanter I could make you think you¡¯re a druid,¡± I inclined my head at my sister, then at my brother, ¡°and you think you¡¯re a diviner ¨C and invent all these interesting memories for you, with you never even knowing the truth.¡±


    Their wide eyes and mouths told me they¡¯d never really thought-through the ways magery could mess with people¡¯s heads. Well, they were getting older. They¡¯d have to start facing certain realities about the world we lived in.


    ¡°There¡¯s no end to the mischief magic can cause, and it¡¯s better to be forewarned than surprised when something shocking shows up.¡±


    ¡°But what if I was¡­?¡± Jaid didn¡¯t seem to know how to finish the question, twirling a finger at her temple as if to suggest bewitchment.


    ¡°Well, most people aren¡¯t going to get their mind invaded by just any enchanter. The reagents alone would make it worthless; that¡¯s what makes archmages so dangerous¡­¡±


    ¡°So how do they stop them just taking over?¡±


    I shrugged a little. ¡°Those with cause to believe they¡¯d be under attack have precautions in place.¡±


    ¡°But if you just put memories in my head, and I tried to test my powers, they wouldn¡¯t work,¡± Jaroan mused.


    ¡°But how long would you get to remember that for? Until we next crossed paths? And would you think to blame me if your magic suddenly ¡®disappeared¡¯? Next time, I could include some kind of resolution in your memories, to not access your divination unless you¡¯re in a life-or-death situation. Then you wouldn¡¯t even test them again.¡±


    ¡°Then he¡¯d go out and get himself killed,¡± Jaid pointed out.


    I only nodded gravely in response, leaving them to ponder the ramifications.


    ¡°Anyway, you¡¯re going to see some druids here,¡± I said after another minute of weaving through the crowds, waving an arm as the golden trees came into view, frozen in their gleaming perfection. ¡°Not the kind you¡¯re talking about though, not arch-druids. Just the regular kind.¡±


    Jaid wrinkled her face up. ¡°It¡¯s not the same,¡± she opined. ¡°They paid for it.¡±


    I tried to hide my smile. The twins were well-trained, at least.


    We moved at a snail¡¯s pace past the stalls hawking cheap Giltergrove-related merchandise, and somehow the kids only needed telling once that I didn¡¯t have enough money to get them anything before shutting up. They didn¡¯t even mention the platinum they had to know I had! Perhaps I should¡¯ve been more trusting. Not that these traders would¡¯ve had change for a plat anyway ¨C you¡¯d be lucky to get change out of a gold off them.


    There was a steady flow of visitors to the Giltergrove, those entering and leaving carefully managed by a team of six gold-rope-belted druids. We queued up, and after ten minutes of waiting we were admitted onto the path, flowing with the rest of the crowd across the grass towards the golden trees. The crowd coming back the other direction was just as clogged as our own.


    After another ten minutes of inching our way along behind a group of meandering tourists, country-folk from Arlbrowtain up north, we finally entered the treeline. And after ten minutes in there we passed the place where Belexor had led me off into the woods¡­


    Belexor. I wondered whether he was still chained up, waiting for his next mind-purging session with Henthae, or if they¡¯d finally set him loose of his bonds and given him a comfy chair.


    Well, this was a good way to waste the early part of the day; at least it was free. The kids enjoyed the place more than I was able ¨C I kept thinking my glyphstone was getting warm or emitting a low noise, only to find nothing when I surreptitiously checked it¡­


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


    Try as I might, I couldn¡¯t get Em off my mind, and it only got worse as we entered the meadow, where the scents of a thousand different blooming flowers washed over me. I could smell her on the air; there was some fragrance here that matched her scent. For a second I thought she was right behind me ¨C then a handful of dragonflies distracted us all by fluttering right through Jaid¡¯s hair, eliciting a series of delighted squeaks from my sister.


    Xastur almost froze at the sight of the Door, the huge curtain of emerald-green flames looming over everything here, sorcerous waves hemmed in by the giant-size frame of white stone, its posts and crossbar etched with runes and sigils that spoke to me of opening and closing. It was only the pressure of the crowd moving behind us that forced him to keep pace; I hefted him up and carried him for a bit. He was getting too big for it, really, but I¡¯d done it often-enough over the last few years to have earned his trust ¨C he clung to me when I picked him up, compliant.


    Our crowd was entering the shrine through the opening in the dome of silver-birch Belexor had used yesterday, flanked by pedestals bearing lanterns that emanated a soft white glow. The exiting crowd was leaving through another similar opening twenty feet away.


    The closer we got, the louder the hum became.


    At first the crackling was no worse than when I opened a portal to the otherworld ¨C it was the same sound, almost, but subtly distinct. It was like a crackle, on top of a crackle, on top of another crackle¡­ Like listening to four musicians play the same piece with less than a tenth of a second difference, just enough to notice but not enough to disrupt the harmony¡­ except this was no harmony. It was as though something were broken. A piece of music that went for eight seconds, stopped, then started over, over and over.


    As we passed inside the domed, silvery-bark shrine, I could see the base of the Autumn Door, and the incessant noise actually started to become irritating, intruding on every thought until all I could set my mind on was wishing it would go away.


    Curse these sorcerous senses.


    There was nothing I could do about it, however, except grit my teeth again and hope I could endure the buzzing in my psychic ears for as long as it took to get out of the damn place.


    Note to self: next time, stay outside, send them in.


    I put Xastur down and held him by the shoulder instead of his hand, so that he wouldn¡¯t have to put up with my excessively-sweaty palm. The old couple in front of us and the thirty-something couple behind us were all ooh-ing and ahh-ing. Jaid and Jaroan were babbling on about teleportation and whether you could use it to fly ¨C something I filed away to discuss with Zel later, even if I fully expected her to shoot the idea down with zero ceremony.


    ¡°¡­ you¡¯ll be fine! Enjoy your day!¡± A distant voice from the far side of the portal echoed, just loud enough for me to pick out over the crowd¡¯s collective din.


    The interior of the shrine was a circle surrounding the foot of the Autumn Door, but few lanterns were required in here ¨C the portal provided its own eerie, verdant illumination. We were fenced off from it at a distance of fifty or more feet. I could see I wasn¡¯t the only one here with a kid or two clearly desperate to slip under the fence and approach the portal. Minute by minute, we meandered about the big loop, following the crowd flowing around the Door then back out through the other opening ¨C


    Seeing the sigils on the stone pillar that was one side of the Door, with the actual green scintillation right there in front of me, something inside me started to stir. Immediately surrounding the portal was a sloped section of the runic white stone, a base providing easy access to the Doorway, and the glyphs there were the easiest to read, the clearest in meaning.


    Now this was a distraction.


    Here was an etching of a circle. It had small lines breaking its arc at regular intervals ¨C this was a whole thing divided so as to weaken, quite the opposite of a circle reinforced by shapes within. And here were circles with names, runes that stood for places, linked to one another by vast webs. But these were not destinations ¨C all but one of the lines joining the circles had minor glyphs that seemed to denote a flow, a direction, leading to just one of the greatest circles.


    Mund was the big circle? These were places where the power was being¡­ drained? Fed upon to produce the Door¡¯s magic?


    And the one line leading away from Mund¡¯s circle without a magic-flow rune ¨C that line stretched up out of sight, out of the open roof of the shrine and beyond my ability to perceive. That line would surely terminate in a circle on the other side of the Door which denoted the actual destination, the place somewhere else in the world to which you could be transported in but an instant, if you were to step within the emerald fire.


    Unfortunately, I couldn¡¯t read the runes themselves.


    At first it seemed strange to me that I could simply infer things about these arcane symbols, given their ancient and eldritch meanings, but I supposed if the stories were true, the Five Founders developed magery from archmagery. They probably weren¡¯t the first archmages, after all, even if they¡¯d called it something else back then. The high elves ¨C the true elves, denizens of Etherium ¨C had passed down traits in their bloodlines, so the myths went, enabling a lucky few humans (and thereby afterwards certain of the other races) to access the font of power supplying archmages with their gifts.


    But those the Five Founders had taught ¨C they were the first mages. The Five had come together, one of each type of archmage, and distilled the essence of that power into forms that could be recognised by ordinary men, could be learnt and taught and re-taught, down the generations¡­ Was it so strange, then, that even unschooled I could apply my mind to these forms and see their hidden meanings?


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,¡± came a chirpy voice, ¡°welcome to the Autumn Door.¡±


    I looked up to see a young Shining Circle druid, perhaps just five or so years my elder, his hood thrown back and his black hair neatly combed of any stray feathers. He was standing to the side of the crowd, a little ahead of us, on a raised, flattened section of silver-birch trunk, like a platform.


    ¡°Witness one of the four Doors created, they say, by Litenwelt Kordaine the Summoner in the last years of his life, with the aid of Arreath Ril. How many were planned, none now might say ¨C and just Spring remains to us, for the domains which stand beyond Summer, Autumn and Winter have passed away into darkness.¡±


    He looked like he must¡¯ve only started his shift recently, if he had to give the same speech to the crowd over and over as its constituent people changed ¨C his eyes gleamed with enthusiasm, and his smile looked as if he were genuinely pleased to be sharing his knowledge with us.


    I was still gritting my teeth against the magical sound crackling through my skull, but I resolved to listen to his words. I couldn¡¯t remember anything like this from when I¡¯d been a child.


    ¡°When last did man dare step foot through the Autumn Door, I know you long to ask. We have only the report of the chaplain of Locus and esteemed chronicler, Sir Aurol Cimmeine, in the year six-eighty-two; that in the time of his predecessor five people went through, and did not return¡­ and that those five dispatched days later to find them returned not also. It is not known for how long this state of affairs had been in place, before the ten went to their ends ¨C for already in the time of Cimmeine¡¯s predecessor, those ten had clearly been embarking upon an expedition of sorts. The Door was already unused.¡±


    A creepy, awestruck vibe came over the crowd as we shuffled around. The black-haired druid still smiled, and I now got a sense of why he enjoyed his job. Even the kids had all shut up to listen.


    His voice lowered slightly, adopting a more ominous tone, losing its cheeriness.


    ¡°Who then were the ten? We do not know, but we might make educated guesses; we are forced to, if we wish to understand the lore of the Doors. But we are thus forced to face a dreadful truth. There is no reason for them to have been anything but archmages. Whom else would one send upon a quest of such seemingly-daunting, lethal peril? But if they were archmages, then what awaited them beyond the Door?


    ¡°Again ¨C we do not know, but we are forced to guess, and face our fears.¡±


    My brow was starting to seep sweat too, by now, and not solely from proximity to the Door.


    They sent five archmages, I thought, and not one could even get back through to bring word?


    ¡°The Summer Door, we have learned, leads to the Sunken City of Asil¡¯qarith, and can be explored by properly-prepared individuals; the portal cannot be opened for any protracted time, such as would be required to move a large group of people, without threatening to drown Mund alongside it.¡± His smile became bitter, then faded to an expression of grim resignation. ¡°The Winter Door leads to Zadhal, the city taken from us by the undead. But this too can be explored, with the assistance of sorcerers, and indeed is only kept secured by the constant vigilance of the Magisterium working in close concert with the Night¡¯s Guardians.¡±


    Well¡­ what if the Autumn Door is simply one-way?


    Even if it were one-way, an arch-druid could still send a messenger to Mund from wherever in the world it opened up ¨C an eagle, for example; any initiate druid would be capable of getting its message off it, given a bit of notice. An arch-sorcerer could probably get to another plane, and get an even-faster messenger to Mund. Yet what could kill an arch-druid, break an arch-sorcerer¡¯s shields like that? What attack could an arch-diviner not see coming, an arch-wizard not block? What creature could sense the presence of an arch-enchanter?


    What could stop them in their tracks like that?


    ¡°The Autumn Door, some say, led the people of Mund to Shirion, the crystal city of the Shifting Isles; others said Chadoath, of the Ashen Lands.¡± It took me a moment to parse what he said; I¡¯d only seen ¡®Chadoath¡¯ written down, and never knew it was pronounced Shadowath.


    ¡°Now both places are lost to time and myth, and none can say whether they ever even were. But this we can say. Whether it be one of those places or some other, the far side of this portal you see before your very eyes must be an abode of wickedness, a den of fiends such that even the worst Infernal Incursion could not prepare you for the sight.¡±


    His assumption made sense, but it was nothing more than an assumption; that much he¡¯d made plain. And it fit with the general mood of people, especially druids, to blame demons and necromancy wherever the option existed. Sure, he¡¯d done a good job of making it sound like he was all supportive of sorcery-schools, the way he¡¯d gushed about the Night¡¯s Guardians and so on ¨C but everyone knew the pervading opinion was that sorcerers were just the worst.


    Or maybe it was just that I was naive. After all, he may well have seen Incursions up close, given his magical skills. I had to accept the possibility that he was right.


    His grin returned, just as cheerful as at the beginning. ¡°However, as is plain to see, there is nothing to actually worry about. You¡¯re not going through the portal, are you, little boy?¡± He pointed to one petrified six- or seven-year-old who stood as far from the fence as possible, clinging to his mother. ¡°And as much as we have trouble remembering the last time a person stepped into the Autumn Door, we have absolutely no record of anything ever coming out of it. Just keep inside the fence at all times, and you¡¯ll be fine!¡± He waved a hand. ¡°Enjoy your day, folks.¡±


    I noticed Jaid and Jaroan seemed to be taking the Door a bit more seriously now. They immediately stopped trying to slip under the rail, for one thing.


    We¡¯d gotten most of the way around the ring before my jaw really started to hurt from gritting my teeth against the sorcerous humming.


    ¡°You okay, Kas?¡± Jaid asked, looking at me with concern in her eyes.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I grunted.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look fine,¡± Jaroan chimed in. ¡°You¡¯re all pale and clammy.¡±


    ¡°Must be something I ate.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t had anything we haven¡¯t had,¡± he protested.


    ¡°And we feel fine,¡± Jaid said, nodding.


    They just loved it on those rare occasions they got to play the adults.


    ¡°We all had ¡®meat¡¯, guys. For all you know we all ate completely different stuff. There¡¯s always at least one type of meat at Knuckle Market you¡¯ve never had before.¡±


    Jaid turned her eyes to Jaroan¡¯s, and something passed between them.


    Both of them sealed their lips, and my sister suddenly threw her arms around me, hugging me fiercely on the side where I wasn¡¯t clasping Xastur.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to die are you?¡± she whispered, and I could tell that, although she was deliberately exaggerating, there was something hiding in her voice that twanged with emotion.


    I let my arm fall around her shoulders, squeezing her, then reached up with the same hand to awkwardly pat Jaroan on the upper arm.


    They¡¯d figured it out, all on their own, and were keeping their actual concerns quiet because we were in a public place. They knew it was something to do with my being an arch-sorcerer, and they knew they couldn¡¯t mention it directly.


    Clever and loyal. I could¡¯ve died from pride right there.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not dying,¡± I said, my voice coming out husky. ¡°It¡¯ll pass once we¡¯re out of here.¡±


    ¡°Did ¨C I mean ¨C why did you want to come?¡± my brother asked in a quiet voice. ¡°Did you know that you would ¨C¡°


    ¡°No! I didn¡¯t think it¡¯d be like this,¡± I muttered. ¡°But it¡¯s been an interesting experience.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± he said assertively, ¡°let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    I started: ¡°That¡¯s really not necessary ¨C¡°


    But, taking his twin by the hand, he stepped farther from the fence ¨C linked together, Jaroan to Jaid, Jaid to me, me to Xastur, we followed in his wake as he led us around the worst of the crowd, to the point where we could jump ahead and join those leaving the shrine.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    They all nodded, even Xastur.


    I tried not to show just how grateful I was, because that would¡¯ve given away how much distress I¡¯d been in. I nodded with what I hoped was a cool, breezy look on my face, and helped them shove into the queue.


    ¡°What does it sound like, to you guys?¡± I enquired softly as we made our way out of the shrine.


    Jaroan frowned.


    ¡°Sound like, Kas?¡± Jaid asked.


    ¡°In there?¡± Jaroan added.


    I nodded. ¡°The Door, itself, I mean¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s silent,¡± Jaid said with a shrug, as if that should¡¯ve been the most obvious thing in the world.


    ¡°That was kind of the creepiest part of it, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Jaroan asked Jaid, to which she emphatically nodded. ¡°It looks like you should be hearing this swishy, swirly, burny sound,¡± he went on, ¡°but there¡¯s¡­ nothing.¡±


    The next sound I heard was the strangest, because he¡¯d been silent almost the whole time since we left the apartment.


    ¡°Like isser sleep,¡± Xastur supplied.


    It sounded even more dreadful in his four-year-old¡¯s voice, his innocent, unknowing mouth pronouncing terrible truths about one of the Realm¡¯s most-ancient artifices.


    Like it¡¯s asleep.


    I suppressed a shudder, and looked forward to getting out of here.


    As it was, getting out was slightly faster than getting in, and I apparently improved in complexion quickly enough to satisfy my siblings, who moved onto discussing other matters and playing at archmages again. It was just as we hit the street that I felt a warmth emanating from my satchel, immediately perceptible through the thick cloth of the bag and my trousers where it rested against the outside of my leg.


    I drew us aside, away from the main flow of the traffic and the nearby vendors.


    ¡°Oooh, at last! Is it Em?¡± Jaid asked as she saw me lift the chunk of warm crystal out of its seclusion, hearing its soft tinkling sound, like the clinking of wind-chimes in a gentle breeze.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ about to find out, I suppose,¡± I replied, raising the glyphstone to my eyes.


    The vision wasn¡¯t even vaguely-apparent until the crystal chunk was less than three inches from the end of my nose ¨C and then it suddenly came into focus with a startling alacrity, seeming to zoom right up through my eyes into my mind. My consciousness wasn¡¯t fully transported, or anything ¨C I could still tell I was standing there to the side of the roadway, Xastur¡¯s shoulder under one hand; I could still smell the people around me, hear their mutterings ¨C but nonetheless I felt my attention, the very energy of my spirit, pouring into the glyphstone.


    I could see Em, attired now in a wine-red dress that was criss-crossed up the front with black laces ¨C it was an elegant thing that left her arms exposed, but she wore matching gloves long enough to cover her up to the elbow. A short cape of lighter-red covered her shoulders ¨C along with the lengths of her white-blonde hair, looking slightly wet as it rippled in the wind. I could see her clearly but her surroundings were vague, misted-over; she was standing beside what looked like the Greywater, the big river which the Blackrush and Whiteflood fed into, her back to it ¨C holding her own glyphstone up before her face.


    I hadn¡¯t expected, of all things, this angle. I¡¯d been anticipating looking at her close-up, as if from the perspective of the glyphstone itself. But instead, it was as though I were floating six feet in front of her, at roughly head-height. She was the only thing I could truly make out ¨C I could tell she was leaning against a wooden rail, the river beyond her ¨C but the faces of the people out there sailing on the water, even the shapes of the boats themselves, were nothing more than blurs and suggestions.


    No ¨C it was Em who had called me, Em whom the divination and enchantment spells that had been ensorcelled into the glyphstone would show me.


    She was looking at me, smiling at me, through the crystal.


    Disembodied me, floating there.


    Of course. To her, she was floating here, in the street outside the Giltergrove, looking at me standing before her, with the stupid thing in front of my face¡­


    Her mouth didn¡¯t move, but I heard the words, inflected just as if they had fallen from her lips. ¡°You see how zis vorks, now, Kas?¡±


    I grinned.


    ¡°I ¨C¡° I started to speak aloud, then realised I¡¯d be speaking to empty air ¨C


    ¡°I th- I think I¡¯m starting to get it, yeah!¡±


    Zel could pick up the lightest of my mental whispers, even if she preferred me to ¡®speak¡¯ clearly ¨C but I had to telepathically shout to get the glyphstone to catch the sounds I was intending on making. Not in that the words sounded like shouts, but in the sheer amount of effort I had to put into it.


    Probably a safeguard to prevent people telling others what they were really thinking inadvertently, thus letting it work for covert operations and business dealings as well as day-to-day communication. Quite smart, really.


    ¡°I¡¯m up ¨C are you still free to meet me?¡±


    It was weird, listening to her voice without seeing her lips in motion. We probably looked really strange to passers-by, standing there, almost on opposite sides of the city, with smiles on our faces, each staring at an upheld rock. At least I had the kids with me; she was alone.


    ¡°I was worried I¡¯d wake you if I tried to contact you. Yeah, definitely. I just need to check Xantaire¡¯s well-enough to look after the kids. She went at it a bit heavy last night. Flood Boy¡¯s wine, you know.¡±


    ¡°A vell-deserved celebration.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what we had in mind, but they¡¯ve never had free wine on tap before. What time were you thinking?¡±


    ¡°Zere are no classes at veekend; I¡¯m free all day.¡±


    ¡°An hour?¡± I¡¯d already guessed the position of the sun on the way out of the Giltergrove. ¡°Half past two?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pick you up?¡± She made it a query.


    ¡°My sister¡¯s dying to see you again, I think. She¡¯ll probably have a million questions for you now she knows you¡¯re an archmage too.¡± I¡¯d dropped her in it at some point last night; Em¡¯s station was harmless-enough, a mere piece of trivia, at this point.


    ¡°So you told zem? Everything?¡±


    ¡°Almost¡­ not the scariest stuff, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°So I can meet you elsewhere, or you can pick me up if you think you can put up with Jaid pestering you?¡°


    ¡°It vould be a pleasure!¡± she said. ¡°I think I vill leave some of ze details to one side, however. My own ¡®scary stuff¡¯.¡±


    Her ¡®awakening¡¯.


    ¡°Ah ¨C yes, probably for the best. I¡¯ll see you in an hour then?¡±


    ¡°See you soon!¡± This last was spoken with a real surge of excitement, as I caught a final glimpse of her lowering the glyphstone ¨C


    The moment she did, the connection broke, and I lowered my own arm.


    ¡°It was so her,¡± Jaid said firmly, ¡°just look at him.¡±


    Jaroan was regarding me with an assessing look on his features, and for the life of me I couldn¡¯t wipe the grin off my face.


    ¡°I¡¯m saying nothing,¡± I said, as haughtily as was possible through my grin. ¡°Come on guys, let¡¯s get home. I¡¯ve got to have a wash, I¡¯m drenched in sweat¡­¡±


    ¡°Oooh, wouldn¡¯t want to be sweaty on a date.¡±


    I moved off, my hand still on Xastur, and I picked him up after a few steps; the poor thing had been on his feet for quite a while now, and he was starting to wilt. We¡¯d need to stop for a drink on the way.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a date, Jaid ¨C¡°


    She was ahead of me, and turned back, an eyebrow raised. ¡°It is so a date,¡± she said, in the same tone she used when talking about the supremacy of arch-druids; she brooked no argument.


    ¡°Give it up, Kas,¡± Jaroan warned me, from where he walked behind me.


    ¡°Kassy goin¡¯ wizze nice lady?¡± Xastur asked me, shock in his voice and a pensive, thoughtful look on his face, as if he¡¯d just come up with the answer to some philosophical conundrum.


    All I could do was sigh, so I sighed.


    ¡°Yes, Xassy, I¡¯m going with the nice lady you met yesterday.¡±


    Jaid crowed in victory.


    I offered a silent prayer to Yune, hoping against hope that Xantaire¡¯s head had stopped spinning.


    After all ¨C I was going on a date.

 The Twilight Blade

    <h2>JADE 2.2: THE TWILIGHT BLADE</h2>


    ¡°It is a matter of resisting excess. Do not over-mix the batter, and do not use too much of it. Do not over-cover the surface of the oil, and do not let its temperature climb. Keep it steady and err on the side of caution. Lightness is everything. It is a dish easily overcomplicated. You should have already indulged your darkest culinary desires when you prepared of the radish sauces. Now it is time for restraint.¡±


    ¨C from the shrimp tempura advisory in ¡®Too Hot to Handle¡¯ Anthology


    ¡°Oh no, zat is horrible,¡± Em said, grimacing. ¡°Put it back, eww!¡±


    I grinned behind my scarf, setting it back down on the varnished oaken shelf. The mask I¡¯d been showing her was a full-face covering, with yellowish, greenish protrusions next to the holes for the eyes, nostrils and mouth, like slugs or maggots pouring out of the wearer¡¯s orifices. Probably not one a wormface-sufferer would choose to purchase. There was a little tag tied by some string to the strap on the back, bearing ¡®114 ¨C 8g5¡¯ in cursive penmanship.


    ¡°You vont one vhich shows your smile, I think,¡± she suggested, taking me by the arm and tugging me down the aisle. The scarlet dress and gloves and the red cape were completed by black, soft-leather boots which, I could see when she moved, went high up her calves, perhaps even to her knees ¨C I hadn¡¯t noticed them in the glyphstone. ¡°Covering ze upper part of your face vill suffice to hide your identity, and you have such a nice smile.¡±


    I glanced at the assistant as Em mentioned my smile, and saw her flick another page of her book abruptly.


    The assistant working in this Oldtown boutique was a bored-looking nineteen- or twenty-year-old with freckles just on her nose, and a petulant expression dissonant with the quality of her apparel: her brown hair was pulled back in a tight bob, a nice bit of jewellery decorating her ears and neck, and she wore a tunic and skirt, both black, professional. She sat behind the desk, trying to look as though she weren¡¯t listening to us, idly leafing through a book that was open in front of her with the pace of someone who was only pretending to read.


    It didn¡¯t surprise me that she was bored; there wasn¡¯t very much for her to do. There were three other people browsing the shelves, two gentlemen and a lady, and aside from the odd giggle from the lady as the gentleman accompanying her whispered something I couldn¡¯t be bothered to listen-in on, the room was silent.


    ¡°Vhat about one of zese?¡± Em indicated a row of upper-face masks; there were five of them, and each had its own quirks.


    I settled on my favourite instantly.


    ¡°Erm, excuse me?¡± I called.


    The assistant¡¯s hand froze in the middle of turning a page, as if taken aback at being directly addressed. But she recovered in an instant, turning her head to us and smiling.


    She approached, keeping her eyes on my chest as if to deliberately reassure me she wasn¡¯t trying to see through my current disguise. She didn¡¯t look intimidated or disturbed, just pleased she had something to do at last. She¡¯d probably seen her fair share of newbie champions.


    ¡°How can I help you, sir?¡±


    ¡°Feychilde will do, if you please.¡± I saw her eyes widen slightly in recognition of the name. ¡°I just had a few questions about how all this works¡­ Say I came in here without my face covered ¨C like those guys,¡± I gestured in the vague direction of the other shoppers, ¡°or if my friend here wanted to buy a mask ¨C how do you ensure their privacy?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Mr. Feychilde ¨C¡°


    Mr. Feychilde? ¡°Please, just F-¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± She was flushing; perhaps she wasn¡¯t so polished after all. ¡°Feychilde ¨C our policies only enforce the secrecy of your identity. Discretion is the very least we can promise our customers. When you find a mask that calls to you, head to the desk over there,¡± she turned and pointed to a small candlelit stand, where a bowl of what looked to be blank squares of paper was situated next to a quill and ink-pot, ¡°write down the number, fold it up and post it through the hole here,¡± she pointed at the wall behind her desk, where there was a narrow slot cut through the thin wood. ¡°Whoever¡¯s working back there today ¨C I don¡¯t know them, we don¡¯t even get to meet the people in the workshop ¨C they pick out the box with the right number, take off the numbers and burn them, and post the box through there,¡± she indicated a bigger, flap-covered hole that fed directly onto another table, ¡°where I can unlock it with my key before you check it and pay. If the box is empty, unfortunately we¡¯re out of that style of mask for today; you can always try us again, though we recommend leaving it four weeks. We encourage our clientele to take a look at plenty of our products, so that no one in here with them at the time can guess which they¡¯re going for.¡±


    ¡°But then who ¨C¡°


    ¡°Only the owner puts the masks in the boxes and locks them, applying the numbers appropriately.¡± She was clearly used to these kinds of questions. ¡°Which is something he does after we shut for the night, when he¡¯s alone. Aaand no, he¡¯s never here in the day ¨C he turns up at closing-time. So really, we take every possible precaution this side of Hightown.¡±


    Hightown. Where they¡¯d probably have magical screening in the shop, to prevent all manner of intrusions that this Oldtown establishment just wasn¡¯t equipped to deal with; the posher masks might themselves have anti-enchantment properties woven into their very materials¡­ Here the masks were wood and leather, with maybe a bit of copper, iron and steel. Entirely non-magical.


    Still, Em had been right. Unless I wanted to blow all my money on one item, I was going to have to settle for mid-tier quality. Even in Oldtown it was going to cost me nearly a plat for the mask and almost the same for the robe. It¡¯d be at least five times that in Hightown, apparently, if not twenty times that. The opposite would¡¯ve been true if we¡¯d gone shopping in Sticktown or one of the Lowtowns ¨C but you got what you paid for. A mask and a robe for a few silvers apiece would be fine ¨C if I wanted the mask¡¯s strap to come off every five minutes, if I wanted a robe that frayed at the edges at a moment¡¯s notice¡­


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, ¡°I¡¯ll be choosing presently.¡±


    The moment I dismissed her, the bored petulance swept straight back over the assistant¡¯s face. She managed a cursory nod out of politeness, and returned to her desk to resume her non-reading.


    ¡°Soooo¡­?¡± Em prodded me as we turned back to the five masks that she¡¯d suggested a minute ago. ¡°Is zere one you¡¯d like to try?¡±


    I tried each of them on in turn.


    ¡°I like number two¡­ but I also like four.¡±


    That was good news for me, because four was the one that¡¯d most taken my fancy; ¡®202 ¨C 9g¡¯. I took it around the corner, and used the mirror there to get a good look; it was perfect.


    It was the upper-face of a boy, created from inlays of gleaming tin at the forehead, the bridge of the nose and cheeks. It had darker iron plates around the eyes and temples, and patches of dusky copper at the sides of the nose. The mask¡¯s eyebrows were raised in a permanent expression of disbelief, so the slightly-larger-than-usual eyeholes afforded me a wide scope of vision without having to move my head. The cheeks were pinched upwards as if to accommodate a gigantic grin. Beneath the sculpted nose, at the very bottom of the mask, was the wide upper lip, complemented by a row of perfect steely teeth hanging below. They replaced my own upper teeth when I smiled, and made me look rather insolent even when I didn¡¯t, like I was biting my lower lip. When I tried scowling it was suitably menacing.


    Two little curved copper-pink horns protruding from the temples finished it off with an otherworldly aspect; the kind of curly horns you found on fey, like Flood Boy, not the straighter, jagged kind you found on binta-things and the other demons I¡¯d seen.


    Also, it just felt right when I wore it. The damn thing was the most comfortable of the lot I¡¯d tried. The lining inside was a padded suede. The strap fit snugly around my head, the mask holding tightly to my face even when I tested it out, thrashing my head about a bit. I could only pray they had it in stock, and that the one they had felt as good as the display model ¨C I wanted it.


    I replaced it on the shelf, wrote out ¡®202¡¯ on a paper-square, then folded it up and popped it through the slot.


    ¡°What about this one for you?¡± I asked Em, picking up a mask that was shaped like a butterfly, such that her eyes would look through holes in its wings that swept up the sides of her face, with its little antennae poking up from the middle of her forehead. The tin was burnished almost to the hue of platinum.


    She laughed. ¡°Do you think I am some butterfly?¡± She picked up the one on the shelf directly above it ¨C a similar style, but it was a phoenix¡¯s wings bursting out from a bed of flame, a small sculpted beak raised towards the hairline, open in a caw of defiance.


    ¡°Okay, I bow before your superior taste,¡± I said. ¡°That would really suit you.¡±


    ¡°But I,¡± she said, putting it back down again, ¡°am not a champion.¡±


    ¡°If the money¡¯s an issue, you know I would ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oh no, it¡¯s not ze money, it¡¯s¡­ I don¡¯t vont to wear a mask.¡±


    With a soft squeak of hinges, a box slid through the flap. The assistant went over to the table to retrieve it, then brought it over.


    ¡°It¡¯s a nine-gold box,¡± she said. ¡°Yours, I believe, Feychilde?¡±


    I took it around the corner to put it on. It was exactly like the one on display but it was unworn till now ¨C the strap felt even studier, tighter, and the mask in general felt fresher, cleaner¡­ It felt mine.


    I had nothing to hide ¨C I¡¯d come in with my face already covered, after all. I stepped back around the corner, my hood still up to hide my hair, so that the mask¡¯s horns just poked out from under the lip.


    The assistant was smiling appreciatively. ¡°A perfect choice, champion.¡±


    ¡°Does it not bring out his eyes?¡± Em murmured conspiratorially.


    ¡°Quite right, ma¡¯am.¡±


    After dropping a platinum coin on her desk and getting a gold one in change, we bade farewell to ¡®Manners¡¯ Masks (For Sublime Occasions)¡¯ and headed northwards from our current location, back in the direction of the Plain Road. The section of Oldtown we were in, Undernight, was filled with quaint little boutiques and eateries, their tall windows on the ground-floor filled with wares and topped with artistic signage. It was a hilly area though the ground was mostly cobbled or paved, and the route we followed wending around the various buildings and seating areas would slope up and down again all in the space of twenty paces, sometimes with a small set of half-crumbled steps in place that looked like they¡¯d been built by an unpractised resident.


    ¡°So how does it feel?¡±


    ¡°What ¨C the mask?¡±


    Em nodded.


    It was like her eyes couldn¡¯t decide whether to watch my own, or watch my lips moving. ¡°It feels great ¨C really comfy, and, well ¨C I can breathe properly, talk properly¡­ It feels a million times better.¡±


    She smiled, and linked my arm again like she had in the mask shop. Within a few seconds she was leaning her head against me as we strolled, our pace leisurely.


    ¡°So you were saying you don¡¯t want to wear a mask?¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°Never mind.¡±


    ¡°No, tell me.¡±


    ¡°You said you don¡¯t want to wear a mask, earlier. I was just wondering why.¡±


    She turned her head, looking up at me. ¡°Vhy I vouldn¡¯t vont to be a champion?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re getting into dangerous situations already ¨C¡°


    ¡°For one, ze darkmages don¡¯t come after ze families of vatchmen, or magisters,¡± she answered. ¡°Ve don¡¯t need masks because criminals know if zey take our families ve von¡¯t stop, ve can¡¯t stop coming, and one hostage is as good as any other. But as a champion ¨C you¡¯re just one person, and ze people you love are going to be your veakness. Zat is vhy I think you should consider Henthae¡¯s offer. For Jhaid and Jharoan.¡±


    I chuckled dryly. ¡°If you¡¯d grown up where I grew up, you¡¯d understand. Becoming an archmage is like getting a chance to deal with the highborn on an equal footing ¨C there¡¯s really no way I could justify deliberately working for them, taking orders from them, when I had other options. And anyway, don¡¯t give me all this about not wanting to be a champion. I could see it on your face the first time we met ¨C you like the idea, at least, even if not the practicalities.¡±


    ¡°Mmm,¡± her lips were pressed together, the noise non-committal, ¡°zere might be something to vhat you say. But Mistress Henthae ¨C¡±


    ¡°Do you think someone like Henthae would¡¯ve given you the time of day, when you showed up in Mund, if it weren¡¯t for your power?¡±


    She didn¡¯t reply, and put her head back against my arm, as if in thought.


    ¡°I know you¡¯ve known her six months, and you¡¯ve known me five minutes, but I¡¯m really not trying to mislead you about my motives. Working with the Magisterium ¨C that¡¯s the prerogative of every champion. But working for the Magisterium? As you¡¯ve found, that makes you a magister ¨C their weapon, their shield, their tool. One of their strongest, no doubt ¨C but, still, I¡¯d say Henthae was using you if ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s more complicated zan zat.¡±


    ¡°¨C if I didn¡¯t already think it was more complicated than that.¡±


    ¡°She isn¡¯t all zat bad, Feychilde. Ze vork is as honest as a champion¡¯s and it is safer.¡±


    ¡°Is that what you want? Safety?¡±


    She didn¡¯t reply at once, and then, in a low-enough voice I might¡¯ve missed it if not for my fey enhancements, ¡°You know I don¡¯t.¡± She raised her voice. ¡°But isn¡¯t it vhat you vant?¡±


    I felt a pinching behind my eyes suddenly, like I was about to tear up, but I had no idea why ¨C not really.


    ¡°Safety?¡± I loosed a little ¡°heh¡± laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t think it really exists. And what would I be, to think only of my family, my friends, when there¡¯s others to protect?¡±


    ¡°So you vere thinking of others, when you chased down Termiax and Rissala?¡±


    I smiled. ¡°You¡¯ve got me there. The Bone Ring ¨C I defeated them because I was mad at them. Lord Obnoxious attacked me. I guess I haven¡¯t really done something selfless yet.¡± I shrugged. ¡°The Cannibal Six was pretty much purely for the money. But I knew they were all bad guys; I knew they¡¯d hurt people before and would do it again. It¡¯s not like I went around kicking puppies to earn my plat. And they wouldn¡¯t reward champions if they didn¡¯t want people doing it.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. I think zey vont you to feel torn between ze two choices ¨C champion, or magister. If zere voz only magister, how many vould feel compelled to take ze third route?¡±


    Darkmage. Yes, she was right, I could feel it. She was damn perceptive.


    ¡°I¡¯ve lived here all my life, and hadn¡¯t come up with that in sixteen years ¨C you¡¯ve been here six months, and you¡¯ve got it all figured out!¡± I couldn¡¯t have kept my admiration from my voice even if I¡¯d tried. I chuckled again, and shook my head softly.


    ¡°Vhat?¡±


    ¡°Henthae.¡±


    ¡°Vhat about her?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± It was hard to put into words. ¡°I do see what you like about her. I thought, you know ¨C that I could never like a highborn¡­ Belexor and his friends didn¡¯t do much to dissuade me of my opinions, but you¡¯re right. Henthae¡¯s different. Scary, but different. Maybe she would¡¯ve given you the time of day¡­ maybe.¡± I couldn¡¯t rule out being under an enchantment too subtle even for the likes of Zel to detect, but the arch-enchanter had seemed genuine, beneath the hardened, Magisterium-approved shell. She¡¯d seemed like a human being, with her own introspection, a knowledge of her failures and an acceptance of them ¨C traits I¡¯d never thought to see in someone like her. ¡°But that¡¯s a side of her I never would¡¯ve got to have seen, if I hadn¡¯t been an archmage.¡±


    ¡°So you mean zat, viz your new perspective, you understand zat highborn are just people like you?¡±


    ¡°I guess¡­ I might not¡¯ve gone quite that far¡­ But that¡¯s the thing, they don¡¯t show us that face when we¡¯re just gutter-rats. Think of what Belexor did to me, just because he was incensed ¨C well, incensed that you seemed to like me back, I guess¡­ But incensed that I had the power, I had the right to be there and do the things I was doing, without ¡®earning¡¯ it. As if he earned it. As if mummy and daddy owning half a country meant nothing to his own successes.¡±


    I still couldn¡¯t quite wipe from my thoughts the image of him, sprawled and insensate, chained on the cold stone floor.


    That moment had sealed it. He was just a human being too. Deserving of the same protections as anyone I loved. And I¡¯d left him to them, like that. It still rankled.


    She looked up at me. ¡°Belexor voz a pain in my ass,¡± she said plainly. ¡°I forgot to thank you for relieving me of ze burden.¡±


    She slowed us down, and carefully raised two hands to my mask.


    It wasn¡¯t hard for her to lift it the required half-inch and kiss me.


    Her arms around my neck, her slender waist in my hands¡­


    She had taken me by the arm and I¡¯d held her hand, but I hadn¡¯t yet kissed her today, and the longer I¡¯d waited the more anxious I was becoming ¨C but the moment just hadn¡¯t seemed right. She¡¯d shown up on time but we¡¯d left at least half an hour late thanks to Jaid and an endless-seeming series of questions (unrehearsed, apparently). We¡¯d come to an unspoken agreement that we¡¯d go by foot. We crossed the Blackrush at the Oldtown bridge then headed south towards the Greywater to find Undernight, due to its reputation for the kinds of crafted goods we were after, talking all the while. There was at no time any kind of return to the sort of perfect situation we¡¯d been in before, soaring beneath the mountain and the cloudless night sky.


    But now she¡¯d taken the choice away from me, and made it a thousand times easier.


    Once we resumed walking and I¡¯d set my mask back in place, I commented, ¡°If you¡¯re going to be kissing me in public, we should get you a mask ¨C you¡¯re not even wearing your magister¡¯s rune. I don¡¯t want you to become a target. Champion or not.¡±


    She gave another non-committal ¡°Mmm¡±, so I continued: ¡°Though if you wanted to blast some darkmages¡¯ faces while you¡¯re wearing it, you¡¯d hardly hear me complaining. Unless I didn¡¯t get an invite. Need that sweet reward money, you know.¡±


    She laughed at that. ¡°I vill have to¡­ how do you say, take it under advisement?¡±


    I grinned. ¡°I think you understand the idiom very well, if what you really mean is ¡®shut up, I¡¯ve already made up my mind¡¯.¡± I poked her in the ribs and she recoiled, still laughing. ¡°But no, it¡¯s fair enough, really. Your choice, and all that.¡±


    ¡°As it is your choice to vork viz ze Magisterium, or vork for zem. I agree. But I can¡¯t pretend to be completely¡­ unbiased in zis. I vould love to vork alongside you. Perhaps zey could be persuaded to put us in ze same band¡­¡±


    I hadn¡¯t even considered her real motives, and I definitely hadn¡¯t thought about going to work with her. That would be¡­ could be¡­ amazing¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ take it under advisement,¡± I said, trying to sound off-handed, but probably not doing half as well as I¡¯d need to in order to fool her. She had to know she¡¯d got to me with that last notion.


    We were constantly climbing, now, heading back up towards central Oldtown and the Plain Road, so we linked arms again and stopped talking, saving our breath for the toil. The street was very steep, broken up only by the plateaus at the end of each stretch of the zig-zagging, winding road. I was in pretty good shape ¨C our diet should¡¯ve been worse than it was, but with my latest job netting me no small amount of stolen potatoes and carrots we¡¯d been able to put food money solely into meat and bread, and for the last few months we¡¯d been eating pretty well.


    As such I¡¯d been comfortable despite the sheer hill streets we were forced to traverse, and whenever I¡¯d looked at Em I saw she was quite at ease too. But now it was becoming a bit of an exertion. I hadn¡¯t really paid much attention on the way down to the fact that I¡¯d soon be needing to go back up. I was going to start perspiring soon despite the autumn day¡¯s relative mildness.


    ¡°You are in great shape for someone who can fly,¡± I commented when we stopped for a breather on one of the plateaus. ¡°If I could fly, I¡¯d never get any exercise ever again.¡±


    She raised an eyebrow. ¡°If you could fly, you could breathe undervater. Svimming is ze best exercise. And anyvay,¡± she grinned, ¡°I eat like a horse. It is just ¨C how do you say? My metablomism?¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Metabolism, yeah.¡± I wasn¡¯t feeling particularly hungry ¨C I was used to subsisting on small amounts, and I still had the Knuckle Market ¡®meat¡¯ in my belly ¨C but I wanted to take a break. ¡°Hey, should we find somewhere to eat soon? And a drink, gods I need a drink. My treat.¡±


    ¡°Zat vould be lovely.¡± And then within five seconds, ¡°Oh look ¨C Onsolorian tempura!¡±


    She recognised the script on the sign, which was evidently in her own language. Half of the restaurant¡¯s seating was outside the building proper, overlooking the drop down the hill, with a wooden fence to keep kids from falling off, and a canvas roof above the tables and chairs. The place was only about a quarter-full at the moment, and it was run by an apron-clad man and his apron-clad daughter, both of whom were keen to chat with Em in their own tongue.


    I stood by her side at the counter, a friendly, confused smile slapped on my face, while the conversation went back and forth for a minute.


    ¡°And you!¡± the tempura-cook said in Mundic, turning to me all of a sudden, studying my new mask. ¡°A champion? Zis is a fortunate day! Vhat is your name, sir?¡±


    ¡°Feychilde.¡±


    His smile was replaced with a look of shock, and he reeled off a breathless sentence in Onsoloric.


    Em murmured, ¡°It seems he knows of ze Cannibal Six.¡±


    The man stammered. ¡°I am sorry, champion. I forget myself.¡± I could see the tension entering his face, the bead of sweat on his close-cropped hairline. ¡°Ze cannibals,¡± a scowl twisted his lips, ¡°took a man, woman and child from a house just one street over.¡± He nodded the way we¡¯d come. ¡°I did not know zem, but ze scene ¨C so close ¨C my daughter¡­¡±


    He¡¯d already raised his arm to pull his daughter close to him. She must¡¯ve been thirteen or fourteen, but she¡¯d gone silent since her father started speaking to me, staring at the tiled floor as if seeing clear through it.


    I raised a hand. ¡°Say no more. I can imagine. I¡¯m just glad to have helped, even if in the smallest way possible.¡± I waved at the restaurant. ¡°You have a lovely place here.¡±


    I was offering him an out, a way to bring the tone back to lighter things, but his face only darkened.


    ¡°If you,¡± he swallowed, ¡°if zere is a way ¨C Duskdown ¨C¡°


    I felt my blood run a little colder just on hearing the name.


    Em interjected, speaking in Onsoloric once more, this time her tone not so friendly.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Em,¡± I said clearly, and she halted, looking at me uncertainly.


    I returned my attention to the man. ¡°What is Duskdown to you?¡±


    Other than the city¡¯s most notorious arch-diviner.


    ¡°He is ze reason her mother is not viz us!¡±


    His hand about his daughter¡¯s shoulder shook to punctuate his words, and there were tears in his eyes.


    ¡°Zere voz a celebration ¨C nine years ago¡­¡±


    I knew what he was about to relate.


    Everyone knew about the Firenight Square Massacre, when Duskdown had taken the lives of over a hundred people in less than sixty seconds. Personally. As in, he slew them with the weapons in his own hands. It was the event that had made his name. The watch had given a full report but the once-mundane phrase ¡®he came down at dusk¡¯ had stuck, repeated by virtually every town-crier and every news bulletin posted at the Shrines of Locus until it sounded like a mantra. And that was that.


    And here was a man asking me to take that on.


    ¡°¨C she was an innocent, she voz ze love of my life¡­¡±


    The man was stretching for things to say, now, so I quietly interrupted, ¡°Wait, say no more ¨C I wish I could do something ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do not even say zat,¡± Em growled softly, taking me by the hand.


    She then proceeded to spit so many words in Onsoloric it didn¡¯t even sound like speech, and I watched as the man behind the counter paled.


    ¡°I understand, I am sorry,¡± he apologised, wiping his eyes on a clean patch of his apron-front. ¡°Please, do not go. Sit; I vill bring you our specials. Ze food is on ze house ¨C come as often as you like, your money is no good here, champion. On account of ze Cannibal Six.¡±


    I didn¡¯t quite know how to respond. I reached out to shake his hand, recognising that I had to do something, but aware of the fact that any more words I uttered would only serve to worsen the situation; he returned the brief clasp readily, then I turned aside, following Em towards the tables.


    You couldn¡¯t just plan to take out an arch-diviner ¨C everyone who¡¯d read the stories knew that much. I had no idea how much my shields could take ¨C it wasn¡¯t something you¡¯d really want to test ¨C but they were Rings of Protection, not Rings of Invincibility. Ill-will was a wonky concept all on its own. It certainly wouldn¡¯t stop me from walking into a trap that had been laid with malicious intent, and it wouldn¡¯t protect anyone or anything outside the shield. Who better to lay such a trap than someone who could predict my movements, and who better to know whom to take hostage than someone who could scry-in on my most intimate moments? I was limited. Sure, I could protect myself, but if Duskdown moved the confrontation to a place with civilians, there¡¯d be nothing I¡¯d be able to do to stop him murdering them by the dozen. And there were always going to be edge cases, powers or entities that could circumvent or outright destroy my shields. An arch-diviner who saw you as a potential threat could easily make it their business to find those edge cases, leverage them to your downfall.


    So I understood Em¡¯s anger at even the suggestion being made out loud, but I understood the tempura-cook¡¯s anguish too. Nine years, and I could see the hurt writ in his eyes as if the pain were as fresh as it had been the moment his wife was taken from him. Here was a champion in front of him, one of those rare, maybe even once-in-a-lifetime occasions on which he already had the ear of someone who might, just maybe, be able to seek justice on his behalf, take his revenge to the darkmage.


    I shook my head. I was on a date. I could think about all this later ¨C this wasn¡¯t a problem that I was going to solve overnight anyway.


    ¡°Well, that was something,¡± I murmured once we were seated, beneath the canvas next to the rail, overlooking Undernight¡¯s streets winding down the hill. ¡°You weren¡¯t too harsh on him, were you?¡±


    ¡°Zat voz vhat you call a big ask,¡± she replied heavily. ¡°Duskdown. He is number one most-vonted diviner.¡±


    I nodded sombrely. ¡°The biggest ask. Thanks, for having my back like that.¡±


    She smiled, and I sensed some of the tension leaving her. ¡°Alvays.¡±


    I reached across the table and took one of her hands, and smiled back at her.


    ¡°So tell me about Onsolorian tempura; what¡¯ve I let myself in for here?¡±


    ¡°I hope you like fish?¡±


    All I¡¯d been able to smell for the past five minutes was fish. She was playing her cards close to the chest on this one.


    ¡°What¡¯s not to like about fish?¡± I replied with a grin.


    I saw her eyes raise slightly, looking over my shoulder at the person I¡¯d heard moving closer to my back. The rustle of an apron, the light footfalls ¨C it was the owner¡¯s daughter.


    I turned my head slightly, so I could see her. She looked nervous.


    ¡°You okay?¡±


    The youngster shuffled a little closer and cleared her throat. ¡°I¡¯ve come to take your drinks orders, if you know what you¡¯re wanting?¡±


    She¡¯d almost entirely lost her accent now she was speaking in Mundic.


    I smiled gently at her, doing my best to make her relax, though perhaps the mask didn¡¯t help with that very much. She was doing her best to keep from looking at my face, her gaze lowered.


    ¡°Whatever you¡¯ve got that¡¯s coldest, for me,¡± I said.


    ¡°Ze same,¡± Em added, with her own gentle smile on her face, then continued, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, for vhat I said to your paza.¡±


    The girl shook her head, still not meeting our eyes. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m sorry for what he asked you. He¡¯s¡­¡± She looked back towards the restaurant¡¯s interior, the counter where her dad was preparing our meal. ¡°He¡¯s better, these days. It was hard, for a long time, and those cannibals brought it all back to him, you know? Thanks, for ¨C well, everything.¡±


    I inclined my head.


    She cleared her throat again. ¡°As for the coldest, that¡¯d be the fruit juice or the beer.¡±


    ¡°Juice, for me, please,¡± I said, and Em copied me again.


    The girl headed back inside, and I looked after her thoughtfully.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even tell me zat you¡¯re considering it.¡±


    I shook my head. I wasn¡¯t. Not really. It was more¡­


    ¡°No, but they¡¯re hurt. Still hurting, even after nine years.¡±


    She didn¡¯t respond in words, only held my hand more tightly.


    She understands.


    I turned my head, looking down into Undernight again.


    ¡°Well, I still need a robe,¡± I mentioned. ¡°We can go through the,¡± I paused, checking with my augmented hearing ¨C no, the proprietor and his daughter were busy preparing food and drinks, they wouldn¡¯t hear me, ¡°the Square, and up onto Tailor Crescent, along the Hill Road. If you like?¡±


    ¡°Ve can stop for a drink in ze Square,¡± she replied quietly with a mischievous smile, looking again over my shoulder.


    They were both approaching the table.


    ¡°My apologies for ze vait, champion,¡± the man said, setting down a great platter of what looked like little fingers on a bed of cooked leaves, onions and carrots. Battered, fried fingers ¨C pinkish things, a few inches long, round like sausages but tapering, fatter at one end than the other ¨C curled fingers, with pointy fingernails¡­


    ¡°Uh,¡± I clutched for words, ¡°that¡¯s ¨C that looks interesting ¨C¡°


    But Em was squealing in delight. She used her hands, diving straight in, hoisting one of the things by its ¡®fingernail¡¯ and dipping it into one of the two little dishes of sauce that occupied opposed positions on the platter. She chose the green sauce, so thin as to almost look like pond-water. She only gave more signs of pleasure as she took a bite out of it.


    I could tell from the very aromas just how hot the sauces were. She was doing her best to hide it, but I noted the flush of colour rising across her chest above the bodice of her dress, framed by the draped cloth of the cape across her shoulders on either side. She¡¯d soon be red all over.


    As her father backed away the girl set down her tray, depositing two wooden cups and a huge jug of orange-juice. Em very carefully didn¡¯t look at it, swallowing her mouthful.


    ¡°It looks delicious; thank you both, so much,¡± I said in a polite voice, trusting Em would recognise the sardonic undertone.


    I saw the smirk on the wizard¡¯s lips before she hid it.


    The young girl excused herself, and I leaned forward.


    ¡°Fish?¡±


    Em tittered, then clamped down on it. ¡°Fish,¡± she said in a serious voice.


    ¡°Fish¡­ fingers?¡±


    ¡°Zey are just young shrimp,¡± she said, ¡°but you must eat zem viz one of ze sauces.¡± She dipped the second half of the shrimp she¡¯d picked up into the red, slightly thicker sauce this time, then took a big bite out of it. ¡°Zey are both hot, but one is hotter zan ze other,¡± she said around her food.


    I chuckled inwardly. Talking with her gob full ¨C she was definitely no highborn.


    I leaned forwards, and picked up one of these ¡®shrimp¡¯. I¡¯d heard of them, of course, and I was pretty sure I¡¯d seen one once ¨C alive, like a weird water-spider covered in legs or spines or something. I¡¯d always shunned food that looked like, well, demons.


    I met Em¡¯s eyes.


    Slowly, inexorably, I moved my shrimp to the red sauce, the thick one, and dipped it in.


    Her fortify-face was good. She was still finishing her mouthful but her gaze stayed on me, unfaltering.


    I took my bite.


    Fire seeped into my mouth like an oil, first covering the exposed surfaces before igniting, instantly inflaming every fibre of tissue, gums, tongue, oh, tongue, even my teeth singing with the fierce acid that was coating them with every instinct-driven chew¡­


    She couldn¡¯t hold back her grin any longer, and while I fought with the stacked cups to separate them, almost knocking them over in my haste to get one free to drink from, she went and got herself another shrimp.


    I drank probably over a quarter of the jug before I could talk again. I couldn¡¯t taste, couldn¡¯t even smell the orange-juice. It could¡¯ve been a jug of yellow air as far as I was concerned.


    ¡°Woo-oow,¡± I uttered in an oozy, broken croak. ¡°Tell me that was the hot one.¡±


    ¡°Zat was ze hot one.¡±


    That damn fortify-face again.


    ¡°Oh, you¡­¡±


    She stuck her tongue out. ¡°Have a go on ze green. Cool off.¡± She even dipped it for me.


    The pond-water was, I estimated afterwards ¨C when my death-throes had elapsed and I could think about something other than the combustion of my innards ¨C about three times as hot as the red paste.


    ¡°I see what you meant about stopping for another drink,¡± I said, eyeing the contents of the jug after I poured us both drinks and drained mine with a single tip at my lips.


    She was looking at me strangely as she smiled. ¡°Once I have got you trained up, you vill be able to manage a mouthful of my mazan¡¯s.¡±


    So that was it.


    This was some kind of test?


    I was just glad I¡¯d apparently passed, if not with a perfect score.


    I grinned. I double-dipped my next abominable finger, first red, then green.


    That got a reaction, a pursing of the lips, a slight narrowing of the eyes.


    I almost lasted ten seconds this time before my clenched fists went for the drink again, and Em burst into uproarious laughter.


    * * *


    Sunset ¨C decidedly drab and unromantic ¨C found us in Firenight Square. At least it wasn¡¯t raining. We¡¯d made our way from tailor to tailor, looking at the robes on offer. I¡¯d have to wait for something made to fit, and so I¡¯d been measured-up at ¡®Sailor¡¯s Tailors¡¯, apparently named for its proprietor Madame Sailor, rather than any connection to, well, sailors, which seemed like a weird marketing decision to me ¨C but I supposed it was none of my business. Madame Sailor had been unwilling to measure me up without me first removing my robe, and while it felt odd wearing the mask without the mage-robe, it would be a worthwhile sacrifice. She¡¯d wanted two weeks, but I¡¯d haggled her down to seven days with a twenty-percent sweetener¡­ I had a Gathering to attend on the third of Illost, after all. I wanted to look the part if I was going to have someone like Dustbringer take me under their wing.


    So we¡¯d circled around, back to the Square, where we¡¯d stopped only briefly earlier.


    It was a single space of ridiculous proportions, easily half a mile on a side, all paved and flagged in grey ¨C empty, it would¡¯ve been a miserable expanse, but it was never empty here. Most of the attractions were open eighteen hours of the day, and even for the other six there¡¯d be thousands of stragglers lounging around the benches outside the open-air all-night bars.


    Now it was filled with a hundred sights and sounds. Stalls featuring games of skill and chance covered most of it, but there were a few general rules for the visitor to bear in mind, in order to not get lost. The routes between the various areas were lined in braziers, but the local land-owners paid a share of their profits to teams of wizards to ensure the area was kept clear of smoke, and you could easily follow the ¡®x¡¯-shaped cross that was the intersection of Plain Road and Hill Road, to mark out four zones.


    The big, circular arena, where you could watch the gladiators fight and chariots race, stood in the northern zone ¨C the crowds near its gate were all chanting ¡®Ovax! Ovax!¡¯ and teeming around some burly-looking, scantily-clad guy. The majority of the jesters¡¯ tents occupied the eastern zone, with the Pavilion of Illusions in the centre standing seventy or eighty feet high, gaudy in pink and yellow. The beastmasters and their curious menageries of creatures were to the south, where the great rusted-iron chains, driven deep into the heart of Mund, were located; none could say for what purpose the chains were originally intended, but nowadays they were used to anchor monsters.


    The majority of the bards and refreshments-stalls were over on the west, so we headed back over there first, picking up a huge lemon slushy in a wooden bowl and sharing it as we walked. We meandered through the place, tasting exotic teas and spiced cakes, sugared fruits and unheard-of nuts. By the time we finished the slushy we were cold, so we got a mug of mulled wine each, and, having tossed a silver into one of the open lyre cases, we found two adjacent empty chairs next to a family of gnomes and sat to listen to a performance as night settled in.


    There were two musicians, one male and one female; it was hard to tell if it was one or both of them that were enchanters. Their performance was too good to be mundane, though, I suspected. The studs on the bases of their volume-enhanced stringed instruments were lodged in cracks in the ground, and they sat on stools, hugging their instruments from behind as they played. The pair were almost certainly of Northman origin. The man was red-haired and -bearded, wearing a wide, flat-brimmed hat and a sombre expression; the woman, who might¡¯ve been his sister given her shoulder-length red hair, had a simple coronet of woven flowers upon her head, and a demeanour to match his. His instrument was the barbitos, taller and with a deep, low pitch to the twangs it emitted; her barbiton was smaller and softer in tone, seeming almost to sing alongside the performers. In contrast, his voice was high and warbling, passionate, while hers was sonorous and slow, methodical and powerful, like waves crashing on a shore. At times they traded lines and at times they shared them, or sometimes she echoed his words.


    ¡­ They taught us that we were wrong


    Broken down, unstrong


    We wanted more for less


    And less for naught and


    We should have shut our hands


    Pulled our hands out¡­


    It was hard not to feel the plight of the Northman, still in many ways a poor, barbaric people when compared with the dwellers in some of the more temperate regions ¨C Mund was no paradise, but it was better than endless miles of dead tundra. They had keen minds, however, and their second- or third-generation descendants clearly had trouble reconciling their urban existence with their wild-land roots.


    It was the same with all the immigrants, I supposed. Em had related her farmland upbringing, where the town centre was fewer than a hundred buildings, not thousands all stacked on top of one another.


    ¡­ Can we find a place to belong?


    A place to sing our song?


    We could have had it all


    And found our place but


    We just shut our mouths


    Swallowed down the shout¡­


    It was loud here, with their lyres spellbound with some magic ¨C wizardry? enchantment? ¨C that increased both their voices and their music tenfold; what with us being outdoors, surrounded by droves of other musicians and playing kids and the like. So it took some time for the screaming to come through.


    I was the first to notice it, it seemed; I looked sharply at Em but she didn¡¯t seem to be hearing anything.


    I set my mug down on the ground, training my ear.


    It was getting louder. Coming from my right, from the south ¨C the monsters¡­


    I got to my feet, drawing a glance from Em, but she returned her gaze to the musicians almost immediately.


    I couldn¡¯t see anything due to the intervening crowds and obstacles.


    Zel?


    ¡°Morn¡­ evening?¡± There was a brief pause. ¡°You¡¯re on a date?¡±


    I¡¯ll fill you in later. What am I listening to?


    ¡°I think they call it a Song of Fascination, but I¡¯m shaky ¨C oh, wait ¨C¡°


    Now you¡¯re getting it.


    ¡°People dying.¡±


    The thoughts flickered through my mind: how to respond, how to react. It took less than a second for my suspicious nature to come to forefront. And even if this Song of Fascination had no connection to whatever was going on over at the southern end of the Square, it was a distraction which would cause any number of people to be sitting here on their backsides when they should¡¯ve been running already.


    Therefore I sprang out in front of the performers, and flung my arm up dramatically, pointing north.


    ¡°Flee!¡± I cried, turning my head back towards the south ¨C nothing yet ¨C turning my head back ¨C no one moving, everyone staring ¨C ¡°Your lives depend on it, fools!¡±


    At first the musicians had simply continued playing and singing, but after I said this they halted abruptly and the woman grated in a Northman accent, ¡°Look, mate, I don¡¯t know ¨C¡°


    But as soon as they¡¯d halted, everyone could hear it. Screams, wails, bestial roars. I saw the spell lose its hold on Em as she snapped to attention, actually rising out of her seat with her flying ability before her muscles got the command to stand up.


    The audience turned, getting to their feet, looking south, to see people heading our way. Lots of people.


    That did it ¨C everyone ran, the musicians slamming shut their instrument cases and dashing off with everyone else.


    The Square around us was clearing, and Em was ascending, hopefully to get a better view.


    I hadn¡¯t lifted my feet from the ground, but I could feel the tension under their soles, a gentle pressure, reminding me of its presence.


    It was Em. Not dragging me up with her, but giving me the ability to join her if I wished.


    I eagerly leapt into the air and barrelled after her.


    ¡°It looks unusual, but it¡¯s not a fey variant, or demonic, or undead¡­ I know the fey ones, it¡¯s nothing like them, and there¡¯s none of the traces of infernal energy, or signs of undeath¡­ I¡¯d have to say this is a Materium thing, no eldritch. A straight-up monster.¡±


    I could see it. And it was horrifying.


    There were bodies, men and women but no children ¨C bodies and blood, more than I¡¯d ever seen. Thankfully all those who could flee had already gotten out of the immediate area ¨C I spotted some clutching life-changing wounds, others limping with the help of their friends and family members. Already I could see about a dozen watchmen on the scene ¨C they were a constant presence on the Square. They had their swords drawn, trying to form a loose, moving ring around the¡­ thing. I could only imagine their panic.


    It was killing a cerberus, that much was for sure.


    It looked like a spider, brown-black and spiny, scuttling all over the cerberus¡¯s heads, inflicting wounds with its huge pincer-like mandibles over and over again. But it wasn¡¯t any ordinary spider.


    Its legs were of different lengths, thicknesses, hues. The longest were five feet long when extended, but it was using them to wrap and curl itself around the big hound¡¯s triplicate necks, always moving, always attacking, crunching right through fur and flesh and bone with each strike of its jaws.


    The whining three-headed dog was ten feet tall at the shoulder, its slavering mouths each big enough to eat a man¡¯s head whole, covered in black fur. It was tied down at the triple-collar with chains as thick as my arm, fastened in turn to the links of the massive black chain lying like boulders, that stretched off to the centre of the beastmasters¡¯ area.


    Other beasts were near: a griffon; an elephant; a fat, thirty-foot-long green worm. But their attachments to their own boulder-like chains didn¡¯t afford them the range of movement they¡¯d need in order to escape ¨C the griffon was flapping and shrieking shrilly, the elephant was backing off. I instinctively understood the reason why; on top of the cerberus¡¯s helpless cries, the smell of the scene was sickening, and my senses in that department probably came closer to theirs than most people would ever get to experience. Of the three close-by, only the worm wasn¡¯t reacting much ¨C just curling and knotting itself in place.


    Their handlers were nowhere to be seen. Probably wise. I could still hear the screaming echoing from the distant crowds.


    So the watchmen were trying to encircle the embattled monsters without approaching close enough for the cerberus to swipe them accidentally with its paws as it pushed its chins against the pavement and tried to scrape the giant spider off its own heads, almost scalping itself in the process ¨C matters weren¡¯t improved by the fact it was constantly backing away the whole time with its hind legs, constantly twisting and reorienting itself.


    The guards had no idea what to do, and the cerberus¡¯s motions were beginning to slow.


    I can test it?


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    I waved my hand, feeling for that little pulse, the intuition that I was able to¡­ grab it, make it mine. I¡¯d only need its attention, and it would be my minion.


    And there was nothing. She was right. This giant spider was a natural creature, however magical its essence.


    It wasn¡¯t just that I didn¡¯t want the cerberus to die and the spider to start killing the watch ¨C it was that I didn¡¯t want the cerberus to die, damn it. Its three-throated yelping was frustrating, reminding me that I wasn¡¯t already doing something to help it.


    I stopped near Em, and called, ¡°Ice?¡±


    She nodded to me.


    While she raised her arms, pointing her gloved fingers at the monster-brawl, I raised mine to open a fissure in reality down near the ground, on the other side of the wrestling creatures.


    Olbru emerged, looking up with interest.


    ¡°Flood Boy! Freeze ¡®em up, avoid the guards!¡±


    Within a second Em was lit in a blue-white radiance, funnelling a huge beam of blindingly-cold energy right at the cerberus¡¯s huge padded feet; Olbru did the same from the flank, though his contribution was understandably somewhat lesser.


    The wizard and faun quickly built up a ring of icy pillars, blocking every movement the cerberus tried to make, shoring up gaps, making pillars into walls ¨C


    The guards backed off, looking at one another uncertainly.


    And the second that the giant spider leapt clear of the frozen circle, abandoning its prey and aiming itself in Flood Boy¡¯s direction, Em¡¯s frost-beam caught it in mid-air. She swiftly ascended, so that her beam angled almost straight down at it, pummelling it into the pavement.


    It stopped moving.


    The guards lowered their swords, a few of them even cheering. The cerberus slumped down, safe inside what was now more a defensive structure than anything else, clearly exhausted. I was pretty sure a druid would be able to get it back on its feet again.


    The moment Em turned off the beam, descending once more to my level, the giant spider shuddered.


    ¡°It¡¯s still alive.¡±


    ¡°Not quite dead yet,¡± I reported.


    ¡°That¡¯s not exactly what I meant¡­¡±


    Em drew a breath to reply, and it turned into a gasp.


    Shuddering became shivering ¨C and a bigger, whitish spider emerged from the dead, black-brown husk, frenziedly bursting free, a whirl of legs scampering right at my faun ¨C


    I waved him away before he could be injured, and the giant arachnid¡¯s mandibles closed on empty air; he stepped back through the next fissure, a good fifty feet away, over near the great worm, his pipes and goblet already raised.


    The spider was rapidly darkening in hue again, greying, blackening, its hairs regrowing on its limbs ¨C limbs that were now seven feet at their longest, rather than five. Its mandibles glinted as it leapt high into the air.


    Flood Boy aimed up at the monster, then threw a wall of wine into the air and thruuuuuuuuuuuumed at it.


    I was looking at my faun, concerned for his safety, but when Em ascended again and started to call her lightning I knew because I could sense and hear it, thunder pealing out somewhere far off, high in the clouds.


    The giant spider contorted in its leap, twisting to evade the column-like spout of wine that gushed up at it ¨C the thing had already reached the summit of its jump, and it was going to land on him.


    In a single leap.


    Fifty feet.


    Yune¡¯s fingers.


    ¡°There¡¯s more. Listen.¡±


    Not now, I snapped. I was concentrating.


    I had to ensure that my faun remained the spider¡¯s best target. I couldn¡¯t dismiss and re-summon watchmen, and they¡¯d become something of a problem, being potential victims and making for little more than a useless audience at this point. This situation was way above their pay-grade.


    But I couldn¡¯t bring Olbru back this way very easily; if I moved him too quickly, the watch, the worm, and even me and Em in the air could all become the spider¡¯s next targets.


    Instead, I teleported him just far enough to avoid the spider¡¯s new position in his old one, keep him close to it, lead it northwards even just a few hundred feet, get it in the open and away from the other, more-placid monsters.


    It didn¡¯t prove necessary.


    The giant arachnid landed exactly where Flood Boy had been, its longer legs looking more like weapons in and of themselves than they had a minute earlier. Then it swivelled, orienting itself at him; he was just thirty feet from its rows of beady eyes now.


    It raised those lethal-looking legs to scuttle in his direction ¨C


    The scene before my eyes flashed as a lightning bolt streaked down, white and blue, ripping into the spider.


    It didn¡¯t explode, as I might¡¯ve expected. It just charred, going from brownish to solid black in an instant.


    Then the wave of thunder shook me as Em directed a shattering stream of force down at the electrified monster, sending me reeling back and up into the sky from the mere reflection of the air Em was channelling.


    I saw as it went from a petrified lump of solid-black-spider to a swirling cloud of dust.


    Dead now, I thought triumphantly.


    ¡°Kas¡­¡±


    The thunder-wave had been loud, but my hearing was unaffected, and as I¡¯d gained some distance and height I suddenly realised that I¡¯d been wrong to brush Zel off like I¡¯d done a few seconds ago. My ramped-up perception afforded me the luxury of viewing the Square in perfect clarity.


    Oh no.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Your command¡­¡±


    The people running away from the southern part of the Square had fled in all directions, but those who¡¯d gone deeper into the Square rather than leaving it hadn¡¯t got to the northern part. Those at the back simply met the crowd of screaming people who¡¯d been at the front, returning from the north ¨C the east, the west¡­


    There were at least three, maybe four thousand people, some with wagons and horses, all milling around in a huge blob in the very centre of Mund, encompassing the crossing of Hill Road and Plain Road at the heart of Firenight Square, trampling one another in the chaos.


    And on the edges of the chaos, slowly, methodically working their way inwards: spindly shapes, differing in size but all possessed of the same number of appendages.


    Giant spiders.


    Dozens and dozens of them.

 The Heresy

    <h2>JADE 2.3: THE HERESY</h2>


    ¡°When it comes to Heresy, however, we do not advise to err on the side of caution. Many are the dark gods, and many more are the delusions they foster in the secret minds of men, seeking the profits thereof, sowing the seeds of degeneracy and destruction. Whichever form it should take it has the same root, and that root is beyond redemption.¡±


    ¨C from the ¡®Magister¡¯s Handbook¡¯ ch. 40


    I had to trust that Em, with her elevation even higher than mine, had either already spotted the ensuing disaster, or would at least notice my rapid disappearance and follow. I dismissed Flood Boy as I coursed through the air at top speed, aiming for the absolute middle of the crowd, very close to the point where the two roads crossed and the traffic was thickest. Confused wagoners were shouting at the tops of their voices, and many people seemed unaware of what exactly what was transpiring, knowing only that it was bad and that they wanted to get the Twelve Hells out of there.


    ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯re doing.¡±


    I¡¯ve got to try, Zel.


    ¡°And if you can¡¯t cover them all? It¡¯s not going to be fun, you know.¡±


    I have to do what I can. Whether it¡¯s enough or not.


    To get to the centre I had to fly over the edge of the crowd nearest me, where it was a constant dance ¨C the crowd condensing, the people doomed to die next pressing in, then dying, the crowd dispersing¡­ Some few escaped merely wounded as they tried to flee in the wake of the nearest spider¡¯s latest attack, but most fell and didn¡¯t rise again. Even a glancing kick from one of those devastating arachnid legs was enough to smash someone¡¯s skull or rupture their internal organs.


    I saw the corpses of mages, their robes blood-splattered ¨C those who had been unprepared for confrontation. Perhaps some of them were those wizards who had been employed in clearing the smoke with their breeze-calling spells. Em¡¯s wave of air had served to clear much of the smoke in the Square, but it would soon be back, and it might stay this time if my guess was correct.


    The braziers offered little illumination in the gloom of twilight, but it was plenty for me to see by. Where I was intending on landing, the men and women were arguing, panicking, shouldering each other aside to protect their children from the crush ¨C I also spotted the two Northman bards whom I¡¯d been serenely watching perform just a few minutes ago, jostling for position and clutching their lyre-cases.


    From above I was able to spy out a wagon no one could climb onto, loaded with sacks, and I settled down on it.


    It seemed those below me as I flew had been following me with their eyes, so I had quite an audience as I touched down, already drawing out shields. Those in the immediate vicinity who spotted me must¡¯ve muttered to those around them, because within a moment a hush fell over the crowd. They saw my robe, they saw my mask, and hopefully they saw the reassuring smile I¡¯d slapped on my face to hide my horror.


    ¡°Feychilde at your service!¡± I cried in a flamboyant, slightly-shaky voice. ¡°Now if you¡¯ll all sit tight, I¡¯m going to try something that should stop those things getting to you.¡±


    I might only be able to reassure those in the centre, but that didn¡¯t mean I had to stop with protecting them. I had to see how far I could go.


    As a more-pacified sort of murmuring welled up from the crowd around me, I was already up to drawing a hexagon, which was further than I¡¯d ever pushed my abilities before ¨C a shield that stretched out farther beyond my pentagon than my pentagon did my square¡­ It seemed the distance I could extend the protective force was exponential, but the strength of it, the strength was what I needed to test. And these were the worst possible circumstances for a test. Real lives, in danger. Real monsters, coming nearer.


    Still, the hexagon didn¡¯t reach the edge of the crowd. Not even close.


    Storm clouds washed over the sky, thunder rippling again ¨C above us all Em was hard at work, brewing lightning ¨C I couldn¡¯t lose my focus by looking up at her; I had to perceive my shields, force my imagination onto reality ¨C


    Seven-sided shield. Eight-sided shield. Nine-sided shield.


    Sweat broke out on my brow suddenly, and I felt the range jumping around each time now, as if I¡¯d reached some cut-off point ¨C six sides gave me thirty-three feet, seven sides gave me forty-nine. But eight sides gave me fifty-one, then nine gave me sixty-one¡­ They didn¡¯t seem to obey any of the principles of geometry this plane was used to dealing with.


    My world was a spinning mess of rotating azure lines.


    Ten. Eleven. Twelve shields.


    Tears of frustration fell down my face, thankfully obscured by the mask.


    I couldn¡¯t make the thirteenth. The blue glowing ends wouldn¡¯t join. It didn¡¯t matter how many people were in the way, how many things were going on in between ¨C I could see the snarls at the limits of my shielding with my sorcerer¡¯s-eye, where the last shield just refused to take.


    And I could see the people dying beyond.


    I felt it the moment one of the spiders crashed into the twelfth shield ¨C away towards the north-west, following the Hill Road up towards Hilltown. A spider had finished off those near it and thrust itself against my outermost ring.


    The shield held. I could only sense the attempted-intrusion in the vaguest way, but I could easily imagine the spider slashing with its legs, snapping forwards with its jaws, striking the air in front of the terrified people nearest to it and bouncing back off.


    Then I could see it, leaping up a good twenty feet into the air as if to try to surmount or climb the shield.


    I always pictured my barriers as if they existed on a horizontal plane, while imagining them to work in three dimensions. My shapes floated roughly around my waist-level, but when something tried to attack from high-up, they still got in the way.


    Now I got to watch it in gigantic-scale, as the rippling-blue surface shone like a dome to my eye; the spider was unable to get purchase on the invisible material, and it slid back to the ground at the edge, immediately renewing its assault.


    It must¡¯ve looked terrifying to those beneath it, though, the spider seeming like it was about to fall in their midst.


    The moment of relief, being glad that it had worked, was replaced by twinges of irritation, weakness:


    I felt another impact on the shield. And another. North-east and south-east.


    And another. West.


    I felt my control slipping.


    I redoubled my efforts, forcing myself to see my shields, make them real, hold them in place. This many shapes were hard for a single mind to control.


    If this carried on, the outermost shield was going to drop, and all the people between my eleventh and twelfth shields were going to get slaughtered.


    I had my fists clenched, my jaw set, and I could feel the icy sweat sliding down my back, even my toes curling up in dread and fear and focus.


    Have to hold¡­ have to maintain¡­


    I thought about all those people who were going to die if I failed, all those children, and I realised ¨C


    Fool! I cursed myself.


    ¡°You!¡± I tried not to snap, but it simply came out that way, pained, with all my concentration going into shoring up the shield.


    I hadn¡¯t been picking out anyone in particular, and I noticed I had the attention of at least ten of the people nearest me.


    ¡°Get ¨C message ¨C to edge ¨C move ¨C children ¨C inward!¡±


    I didn¡¯t even allow them a moment to hesitate before growling, ¡°Now!¡±


    That got them going.


    I had to trust them to do their part, returned my focus to my shields.


    Lightning struck. One bolt, then another, then another¡­ nine bolts.


    I couldn¡¯t tell, didn¡¯t dare risk my focus by trying to fly to get a better vantage point ¨C but if each of Em¡¯s attacks destroyed a spider, that was nine more of the monsters gone.


    Or if they didn¡¯t¡­ Had the lightning-bolt she used on the first spider done the work all on its own? Or did it need to be blasted with the thunder-wave, turned to ash, in order to be destroyed? It was impossible to tell, the way the latter had immediately followed the former¡­


    Then the wave hit, indiscriminate. We all felt it, but down here on the ground it was little more than a sudden gust of wind.


    It was impossible to tell if it had done the job on the spiders she¡¯d hit, but I knew one thing for sure ¨C the rest weren¡¯t stopping. I could feel their aggression, palpable against the wards.


    I grimaced, trembling, control wavering.


    Another impact on the shield. And another. And another.


    I loosed an animal scream of rage as the tridecagon shattered.


    It was no good ¨C there was no time for me to release my anger and grief ¨C I had to hold, had to keep a grip on the eleven rotating rings that remained to us or so many more would perish.


    I heard the shrieks, the despair as those on the edges of the crowd realised their defences had fallen, left them vulnerable.


    The shrieks as they started to die.


    ¡°Crush in!¡± I roared, as loudly as I could. Damn it, people might die from trampling, but they would definitely die if the giant spiders got to them¡­


    Where¡¯s the back-up? I roared almost as-loudly, internally.


    I could feel my glyphstone almost burning in my satchel under the robe, hear it shrilling away, had been able to feel and hear it for some time now, but ¨C


    ¡°They¡¯re there. Two bands of magisters. Third just arriving. But they¡¯re of limited use. All they¡¯ve managed so far is to draw some attention.¡±


    Champions, then!


    ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯re coming. Hold on.¡±


    I¡¯m doing my best!


    ¡°I know you are.¡±


    Already, I felt the first impact on the dodecahedron. The one to the north-west again, the giant spider pressing, straining against me, like an itch burning in my brain, the feeling of an unattended problem, a niggling doubt, seeking to slow the rotation of the shape, chip at the twelve sides¡­


    The design of sorcerous shielding could be a two-edged sword, I realised. The shields rotated, and though they weren¡¯t ¡®real¡¯ they were somehow realer than ¡®real¡¯ ¨C I suspected that the attacks on my shields could land on any part of the shield at any time. This could mean a single determined attacker couldn¡¯t punch a hole through in a single location. But this could also mean assailants on either side of the shield could just so happen to hit it in the same place at almost the same time. And while I could happily walk off without moving the shields, I was certain that I wouldn¡¯t be able to reinforce them by my sheer force of will if I did so. As soon as enough pounced on Shield Eleven, it¡¯d leave my control ¨C then the tenth, ninth¡­ I was stuck here, rendered otherwise useless while I held the structure together. I couldn¡¯t just go to an edge myself and help whittle down the numbers of spiders pressing in on the shielding.


    It looked like Em had given up on the lightning-bolt strategy ¨C I noticed her swoop down from above, platinum hair and red cape streaming together in the fury of her descent. She plucked one of the spiders off the ground with her air-control, forcing it to fly twenty feet in front of her. She repeatedly pummelled it with great fists of wind as she flew on, swinging past another spider, forcing it to join the first.


    Once she¡¯d gathered together five or so, she halted, fifty foot up, clear of the crowd.


    I snarled under my breath, using only a fraction of my attention to keep an eye on the arch-wizard, the majority devoted to feeling the burden of the impacts. They were coming more regularly now. Where were the other champions? Surely an arch-diviner could¡¯ve got here by now?


    The spiders had to be heavy, and she was forced to utilise her own awareness to move them rather than letting them direct their own course like she could with me ¨C I had no idea how many she could lift like that at once. Perhaps five was her limit.


    ¡°Bury them?¡± I cried. If she¡¯d been focussing on me she could¡¯ve moved the words to her ears over the cries of the crowd, I was sure, but she was engrossed in what she was doing.


    She pointed one hand at them, and smashed them down into the pavement, repeatedly battering them into the ground ¨C they rose high enough for me to see them, a hideous clutch of spindly legs.


    Meanwhile, Em¡¯s other hand was drawn back, forming an intense orange-white ball of flame.


    As she threw spiders into the ground, I could feel spiders throwing themselves into my ring.


    Impact. Impact. Impact.


    Shield Eleven was wavering.


    That only meant everyone beyond it was dead.


    My failure.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think that way,¡± Zel whispered with a fervency in her voice that I hadn¡¯t heard in my head before. It was like the way she¡¯d whispered underneath the Red Hart, before I¡¯d rejoined with her. As if¡­ as if she cared about me. ¡°You¡¯ve already saved hundreds, maybe thousands! Keep it together, Kas!


    ¡°And of course I care about you,¡± she added, in a hurt voice.


    Em levelled her other arm at the bundle of spiders she ¡®held¡¯, and in the same motion let the fiery nimbus gathered about it fly free.


    There was a single heartbeat as it travelled, the course preternaturally-unerring, blasting into them at just the right spot.


    Then there was only the explosion.


    Torn-off shreds of giant spider hurtled through the air in a nauseating sphere, sections of leg and smoking chunks of huge abdomens; she caught them in a brief tornado, throwing the remnants aside towards clear ground but not leaving them in a single mound ¨C probably out of fear of them regenerating.


    Suddenly Em wasn¡¯t alone in the air ¨C there was an ice elemental floating next to her.


    It was nine or ten feet tall, a featureless humanoid shape of glinting blue, arms tipped in frosty-white blades.


    Something seemed to pass between Em and the elemental ¨C had she conjured it? ¨C and then they began circling the edge of the crowd in opposed directions, each of them raising aloft more giant spiders ¨C


    So no, this was another arch-wizard. There was a dark core in the centre of the ice, a humanoid shape.


    A champion?


    Winterprince!


    Until now the impacts on my eleventh shield had been just as severe; the shield still wavered, though it hadn¡¯t worsened since my conversation with Zel. But with Em taking another five spiders out of the equation, and Winterprince taking ¨C eight? ten? he was powerful! ¨C for himself, the impacts suddenly diminished. I felt better. More confident.


    I drew a breath, and forced a grim smile onto my features.


    With the right combination of confidence and concentration, I fixed the eleven-sided shape.


    Why stop there?


    ¡°Why indeed?¡±


    Shield Twelve came back into place, a sudden burst of force that, I could sense, threw each of the remaining thirty or forty giant spiders back a short distance.


    They still hacked at the shield, but I had it pretty securely anchored in my thoughts by this point. They¡¯d only barely broken it before. Now I had a smile on my face ¨C they weren¡¯t breaking it again.


    I could imagine the relief of those just inside Shield Eleven¡¯s borders, upon seeing the gigantic arachnids scratching an invisible surface in front of their faces finally being pushed back ¨C even if only by six feet.


    I could sense the flight still there beneath my feet. I rose a few yards into the air.


    ¡°Play a Song of Soothing or something, won¡¯t you?¡± I asked the two musicians loudly. ¡°Give them a bit of room, everyone.¡±


    I didn¡¯t stop to listen to their retorts, but headed out to where I could see Em beyond the shield, preparing another fiery explosion of doom for another clutch of spiders.


    I¡¯d have to trust in the flying-spell to evade attacks if I exited the barrier; I was leaving my circle behind, and it was the lynchpin of the whole structure.


    ¡°Perhaps it¡¯d be best to just not leave the shielding? Let Em and Winterprince deal with them?¡±


    She was right, but I couldn¡¯t just stay there in the centre.


    Just once, I caught Feychilde in the murmuring of the crowd as I soared over it.


    I reached the edge and hovered there, low enough to be floating within the curve of my shield, studying the nearest spider. Doing my best to ignore the carnage beyond.


    Its body was roughly the size of an adult horse¡¯s, its abdomen a fleshy yellowy colour but black-veined. Two rows of four glossy brownish eyes, each as big as glyphstones, were suspended above the extended mandibles. The convulsing swarm of weird legs had it repeatedly flailing its underbelly and ¡®feet¡¯ at the shield, striking over and over again against the glowing barrier with a savagery that was unnatural. At times it would leap up against my barrier, getting a few feet closer to me in relative terms, but of course it could find no purchase on the dome of force, always falling back down again in a tumble of hairy limbs.


    Near me there were scores and scores of panting, sobbing, wailing people. There was a group of dwarves, four feet at the shoulder and leather-clad, several of them tearing at their long beards and bellowing in impotent rage.


    I felt their pain.


    Out here I could apply some finer work, put spikes on the outside, flickering blue daggers attached to the glowing tridecagon ¨C but that would only serve to wound them, which would in turn only make the detached limbs grow back bigger and better than before¡­


    These were foes I was allowed to hurt, foes I wanted to hurt. I knew roughly how many innocent Square-goers had died ¨C I¡¯d felt their deaths in my own peculiar way; I could see their bodies merely by letting my attention linger on the red obliteration strewn across the Square all around us. There was this pulsing desire for vengeance flashing through my mind ¨C yet there was no way for me to kill them outright. I just didn¡¯t have the firepower.


    ¡°We have to apply ourselves to the problem. I¡¯ve been thinking.¡±


    Darkmage, druid, lots of firepower.


    ¡°But not much fine control, Kas. Notice they¡¯re all doing the same thing?¡±


    It doesn¡¯t matter, does it? My mind-voice quavered, shook with raw emotion. He¡¯s given them all dropping regeneration. This was intended to be a¡­ a bloodbath.


    ¡°It implies he¡¯s new.¡±


    Seriously?


    ¡°I know. But think of the preparation. This took time to set up.¡±


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± came a girl¡¯s voice from the crowd near me, ten feet deep in the mass of pressing bodies.


    I recognised the voice ¨C I looked down, and was surprised to see the brown-haired, freckle-nosed assistant from the mask shop, now with her locks hanging loose about her shoulders, wearing a mid-priced blue dress and cloak. There was a young, gawping man hanging off her arm.


    So it¡¯s not just me and Em having a date from the Twelve Hells, then.


    ¡°You,¡± I replied amiably, drifting slightly closer.


    ¡°Athaline,¡± she supplied, then, with a stricken look on her face, said, ¡°Can¡¯t you do something?¡±


    I bristled a little at that, though she couldn¡¯t possibly know what was really going on, I supposed.


    ¡°I am,¡± I grated. ¡°Why do you think they¡¯re stuck on the outside?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s you?¡± she blurted.


    I nodded, and noticed quite a few of those around staring at me too, now.


    ¡°I ¨C I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°Your friend is a champion too?¡±


    So she¡¯d recognised Em.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°A magister.¡±


    ¡°Is she ¨C¡°


    I didn¡¯t have time for twenty questions. Zel was right. We had to knuckle down in getting to the bottom of what was really going on here.


    ¡°Just sit tight,¡± I said in a somewhat-louder voice, cutting Athaline off and rising up a few more feet into the air, trying to catch the attention of everyone around. ¡°We¡¯re okay in here for now ¨C my shields aren¡¯t going to break now there¡¯s less of them ¨C and the wizards are doing clean-up. Look.¡±


    I gestured, and dozens followed my finger with their gazes as I pointed to Em swinging past this section of the crowd, the spider I¡¯d just been staring at thirty seconds ago now caught up, tumbling with others in the tempest that was thrust out in front of her.


    Dozens more were ignoring me, of course. The terror and despair had overtaken many, and they did little more than cry out for those they had lost ¨C their loved ones dead, or simply misplaced in the crush? ¨C whichever it was, it seemed many simply didn¡¯t know, and their anguish was plain to hear.


    I rose higher, leaving the crowd and its various distractions behind, getting to a solid hundred feet of elevation before I felt safe from the leaps of the remaining giant spiders. I was outside the shield¡¯s dome now, vulnerable, but with the ability to see, and the freedom to think.


    From up here I could spy the now-four groups of magisters on the scene, farther out across the Square, doing their best with their five-strong bands to distract a single spider apiece. Their sorcerers had summoned a few imps capable of holding the spiders in place momentarily, but it wasn¡¯t enough, and half of the demons had already been shredded, sent back ¡®dead¡¯ to Infernum for a swifter recovery. They couldn¡¯t just pop their imps around the battlefield like I could¡¯ve done. Three of the wizards were casting fireballs, probably aiming to copy the two arch-wizards soaring around the crowd exploding the monsters, but unlike Em they couldn¡¯t use their wind-spells at the same time, and they had a limited, precious supply of magic. As such, many of the fireballs were missing, striking the ground and detonating the paving-slabs, or even sailing off into the sky. As I watched one mage stopped throwing them, perhaps having run dry. I saw a pair of what I could only assume to be druids, each double man-height, wrestling with one of the spiders; I imagined the magister-diviners were coordinating the various groups, making sure no one got killed, but what the enchanters were up to I simply couldn¡¯t tell. I couldn¡¯t see any illusions. Maybe they¡¯d tried those tricks already and found them useless, or maybe I was just missing something; even the faerie-sight didn¡¯t let me see every nuance at a glance, through the smoke, in the gloom of twilight.


    So you¡¯re a darkmage druid, and you attack Firenight Square for¡­ no apparent reason? What would someone have to gain from this?


    ¡°A distraction?¡±


    Let¡¯s check the glyphstone, find out what they¡¯re actually saying.


    I fished it out from my satchel and gingerly held the radiant, almost-too-hot-to-touch chunk of crystal up in front of my face. Its blaring filled my ears, then cut off abruptly the moment I let my consciousness slip into it, seeing what it wanted me to see, hearing what it wanted me to hear.


    This was different to before. Where Em had been contacting me in real-time, this time I witnessed a message that had probably been left awaiting my attention, like the images and sounds had somehow been recorded by the glyphstone for me to view later.


    A thin, bald-headed magister with a neatly-combed, iron-grey moustache and a red-and-silver robe appeared before my eyes, standing before a milky-black wall, like those found in the Maginox ¨C he wasn¡¯t holding a glyphstone up, but I still got the impression I was floating there in front of him like I¡¯d been with Em. Perhaps another glyphstone had been upraised by a colleague or subordinate while he spoke.


    His voice was cold, matter-of-fact.


    ¡°All champions,¡± the man nodded strangely, then continued, ¡°we have entered a state of general alarm. Firenight Square, the Sunset Keep, and Openway are under attack.¡±


    My eyes widened.


    ¡°Jurisdictional authorities in Oldtown, Treetown and North Lowtown have been notified and magistry dispatched. Future-lines suggest this is a concerted effort on behalf of the Srol Heretics. As such, each location is to be treated under code thirty-two as a killing-zone. Expect extreme danger, employ extreme caution, and execute any heretics on sight. The usual reward policies are in place. Thank you for your service.¡±


    The message shimmered, then faded out ¨C I was left clutching a cold, silent piece of dark crystal that reflected nothing.


    Execute on sight? That¡¯s the rule?


    What in the Twelve Hells did that mean?


    The Srol Heretics were only the latest form of magical anti-Magisterium revolt. There¡¯d been the Five-Fold Rebellion, back when I was a baby, and the Chaosmakers in the time of my parents¡¯ adolescence. There was little said about them by the news-writers, and that little was never good. They committed dozens of atrocities a year. The arch-heretics topped the most-wanted lists ¨C they never presented their own names, and no one had wanted to glamorise mass-murderers. Thus the authorities had merely numbered them, from Hierarch One to Hierarch Thirty-Something.


    Some of whom had been killed. And I understood that.


    Still, I wasn¡¯t comfortable with the rule as presented. How was I to judge a heretic from a champion? And what if I caught a heretic running? Was I supposed to just summon demons into his path, watch him get shredded by a pendulum-tongued freak, instead of getting the goblins to wrap him up and, you know, arrest him? Was this how things were really done?


    An image flashed into my mind, of Em holding a family of trolls under the water until they stopped moving.


    I thought of all those dead people, mindlessly killed right in front of me, all those I had failed to save¡­


    Perhaps I could do it. Perhaps I could send demons after the perpetrators of this senseless slaughter, forsaking my intention, my unspoken oath, to be Feychilde in more than just name, to be the one sorcerer who was¡­ different.


    I swooped back down to earth, coursing over towards Em. There were only a few spiders left now, and we¡¯d soon be able to release the crowd and move on.


    Three attacks? Where do we go next? I couldn¡¯t have kept the fury from my mental voice had I tried.


    ¡°I¡¯m not so sure it¡¯s a distraction now.¡±


    Distraction isn¡¯t how the heretics do it. They¡¯re just in it for the slaughter.


    ¡°Humans,¡± she thought dismissively.


    That¡¯s your assumption.


    ¡°You think they¡¯re, what, elves?¡±


    How would I know? I don¡¯t know anything concrete about them. Just that they come out, they kill people, they hate the Magisterium.


    ¡°So they kill as a protest?¡±


    I¡­ guess so? I¡¯ve never had the pleasure of meeting one.


    ¡°Well, get ready, because it sounds like you¡¯ve got an invite to dinner.¡±


    There¡¯s no darkmage in the area, though.


    As I thought the words, I realised.


    A druid¡­ they could be here, couldn¡¯t they?


    ¡°If they¡¯re an arch-druid, which is inevitable given the sheer amount of monsters we¡¯ve been dealing with¡­ they could be right there outside the shield, ready to change shape and fight or flee at a moment¡¯s notice.¡±


    Flea. Given our the telepathic nature of our conversation, she understood the concept to which I was referring despite the identical pronunciation. Like, in a small-enough shape, they¡¯re practically invisible, right?


    ¡°You¡¯re getting better at this, Kas.¡±


    And they can still use their archmagery when shape-shifted?


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    I grunted aloud ¨C I was slowing to a stop near Em, where she was pulverising three more spiders, and the sudden loss of momentum made all the shrimp and spices and lemon and mead lurch in my stomach.


    There were just five giant spiders left in this part of the Square after the ones Em was fireballing, and Winterprince was about to gather the last of them and destroy them, a couple of hundred feet away on the far side of the shield.


    She turned to face me, and despite the ruin surrounding us all I could see was her, beautiful and wild: an untamed, implacable queen of magic, swollen in stature here in the centre of her power, orange-blue flames still clinging to the edges of her hands and her fingers.


    There was a stupid part of me that just wanted to smile, to take her in my arms, kiss her right there, floating over the destruction. Ignore everything.


    There was a larger part of me shaking with rage. Take up arms. Feel everything.


    ¡°We have a problem,¡± I said. ¡°Did you get chance to check the glyphstone?¡±


    ¡°Three locations,¡± she replied, businesslike.


    ¡°We have a druid here somewhere. Powerful but unskilled, apparently.¡± I tapped the side of my head.


    She shook hers. ¡°Zey have vithdrawn. Zey aren¡¯t healing ze dire spiders¡­¡±


    She was right about that much, at least. Fierce winds had been used to scatter the remaining segments of leg (and other, less-categorisable chunks of arachnid-meat) and they weren¡¯t stirring, weren¡¯t returning from this level of destruction.


    ¡°Do you know of any Hierarchs who specialise in giant animals?¡±


    Em looked up for a moment in thought, then shook her head slightly. ¡°Zere are only five Hierarchs viz druid powers, I think¡­ Two; Eight; Seventeen and Eighteen? ¨C or is it Eighteen and Nineteen? And Twenty-Nine. But I¡­ I have never heard of anything like zis.¡±


    I nodded, biting my lower lip, then said, ¡°I think this is a new one, given what Zel¡¯s said. Might be they don¡¯t have a number yet¡­¡± I looked up, looked down. ¡°I just wish there was a way to know for sure. They could be out there somewhere, an ant in a crack in the ground¡­ a wasp somewhere up above us¡­ waiting for me to drop the shield.¡±


    The strain of holding it up was like holding a heavy bag of shopping. Sure, I¡¯d have to drop it eventually, but without the pressure of attacks on its surface it was something I could maintain for hours, I was sure. It¡¯d hurt like the Twelve Hells afterwards but it¡¯d be worth it.


    I had the notion it¡¯d be really hard to re-establish once I let it go, though. Like doing pull-ups with the arm that¡¯d held the bag of shopping for hours ¨C no chance.


    ¡°Vhat does your little friend think vould happen if you dropped it?¡±


    Can you look ahead? Can you sense danger when I plan on revoking it?


    ¡°Little¡­ friend¡­¡±


    Zel!


    ¡°There¡¯s too much chaos here for me! The way I read it, you¡¯re in danger all the time. Shield up, shield down. Everyone here is.¡±


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s still in danger,¡± I reported. ¡°Whatever I do.¡±


    Em frowned. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right, zen. Ve need back-up. Let¡¯s see vhat ze diviners say.¡±


    It was interesting, I thought as we flew eastwards, towards one of the magister-bands that was dispatching a lone giant spider ¨C interesting that she so quickly turned to get help. It was a good answer, and she got there so quickly because working as a part of a team was ingrained in her already. Now perhaps it¡¯d let us get revenge swiftly, take the fight to the enemy.


    ¡°If you aren¡¯t going to join with some more-powerful entities or even come with me to get some, you aren¡¯t going to be doing any fighting,¡± Zel reminded me again.


    The magisters in the eastern quarter were actually fighting on the sloped, pink-and-yellow-canvas sides of the Pavilion of Illusions. Well, their diviner was. The blond-haired, unshaven chap was virtually skipping along the rope ribbing beneath the stretches of canvas, clearly under the benefits of one of those precision-boosting spells which had been enjoyed by Meneda, the drunken dark-diviner back in the Red Hart. Meanwhile, their quarry ¨C the vast spider ¨C chased him, skittering always closer, closer, until he turned and slid down then sprang back up again. It was quite an impressive performance, really.


    Their druid was tending their enchanter on the ground ¨C ah ¨C it looked like the enchanter had been taken out of the battle early. Their sorcerer had surrounded the two of them in a wavy shield, its lines visible to me when I focussed, but otherwise they looked like they were out of options.


    Their exhausted-looking wizard was a mid-twenties-looking redhead, the only other magister of the band still in the fight alongside the diviner. She was conjuring spears of ice in her hand, but she was forced to ¨C at least partially ¨C launch them with her own bodily strength. Strength which appeared almost-depleted ¨C and the few that¡¯d struck home did nothing but give the monster something to regenerate. Even now I could see the ice-spear currently embedded in its strange chitinous hide wavering as the magical weapon was slowly pushed out of the wound, and noted the way the spider was distorting, engorging.


    As we neared the wizard saw us and, with a look of relief on her face, cried in a highborn squeak: ¡°Emrelet! I didn¡¯t prepare any fireballs!¡±


    ¡°Leave zis to me,¡± the arch-wizard cried back, and bent herself at the spider, arrowing at it where it clung like a spindly shadow atop the highest tent-castle, preparing to leap.


    It didn¡¯t get the opportunity ¨C a tornado struck it, sending it up, hurtling into the sky far from us.


    Em followed it across as it arced back towards the ground, her hand surrounded by the burning nimbus one more time.


    I floated there near the tired wizard, and the diviner leapt down and joined us, watching Em detonate the monster away from the crowd in a single sudden clap. Then within five seconds another magister-band, tangling with their own spider nearby, distracted her and she went over to help them out.


    ¡°She¡¯s very good,¡± I commented, forgetting myself for a moment.


    ¡°She is highly competent,¡± the wizard replied in an upper-class accent that made it sound like she was trying to disagree with me.


    Despite her best attempt, the wizard¡¯s envy of the arch-wizard couldn¡¯t have been more obvious.


    I turned to face the unshaven diviner. The wisps of blond hair on his head were barely longer than the darker fuzz on his cheeks. He had bleary eyes as if he¡¯d not been awake for long, and his blue-grey robe, sporting the ten-spoked Magisterium wheel dead-centre, was spotted and stained. But appearances could be misleading. He¡¯d worked wonders leading the giant spider in circles like that, while Lady Wizard here had failed to do her part. If there¡¯d been one more spider beating on my shield at the crisis point, when the twelve-sided shape had begun to waver, it might¡¯ve tipped the wards over the edge and hundreds more might¡¯ve died. These magisters, this diviner ¨C it might well be that I owed them my victory, as much as one could say it had been one at all.


    Such a waste of life¡­


    I snapped out of it. ¡°There¡¯s a druid here,¡± I grated at him. ¡°We need to find them. Now. Do you have a spell for it?¡±


    The diviner shook his head, wrinkling his nose. ¡°You wan¡¯ Osselor Tyne,¡± he said in a gruff, true lowborn accent ¨C now how had a guy like him gone and gotten himself a Maginox education? ¨C as he pointed northwards. ¡°Over with the Undernigh¡¯ crew; he¡¯s always scrutinisin¡¯ them future-lines. Always try tellin¡¯ him, there¡¯s more to divvynation than seein¡¯ the future, but ¨C¡°


    ¡°Yes, quite,¡± the wizard-magister interrupted, ¡°but I¡¯m sure the champion has to be on his way? No?¡±


    She made it a challenge, looking up at me almost peremptorily.


    You¡¯re not the boss of me, is what I longed to say.


    But she was right. She¡¯d done me a favour.


    I flashed a toothy grimace at the diviner. ¡°I bet she¡¯s fun to work with,¡± I said dryly, leaving it at that as I ascended back up to twenty feet or so of elevation.


    She gave a little gasp of affront. The diviner made a quick gesture at his temple, as if tipping a non-existent cap at me in recognition, then I streamed away through the air.


    I coursed my way towards the arena, and within moments I was at the Hill Road leading up out of the Square towards Hilltown, seeing bodies here and there, dotted around the landscape. Em was on her way back ¨C she would follow me, help me find the correct mag-


    ¡°Swerve!¡± Zel screamed.


    It wasn¡¯t even a decision; I just did as she commanded.


    A behemoth of a creature dropped out of the air right next to me ¨C would¡¯ve squashed me right into the road if not for the fairy¡¯s warning. It hit the ground with a shudder and I turned in the air, leaning backwards so I could look at the creature whilst increasing my distance from it.


    This spider was far, far larger.


    ¡°It¡¯s the druid. They changed above you ¨C it has to be them.¡±


    My eyes narrowed.


    Its eight eyes were on a level with me, twenty-five feet up, and the knees of the arched legs were nearly three times that high ¨C it had the vague dimensions of the Pavilion of Illusions I¡¯d just left behind, like the bones of such a structure stripped of its canvas, outlined in its gargantuan limbs. Its mandibles were as long as I was tall, dripping venom in gobbets that would overflow a cup. The white-flecked hairs bristling all over its body were like individual fingers ¨C pale, sharp fingers ¨C tracing incomprehensible patterns at its surroundings.


    Those drifting around the area swiftly departed, the men and women and children running or hobbling as fast as the limbs left to them would carry them away, many howling in refreshed terror.


    When the spider shrieked, I felt only its rage.


    The arch-druid¡¯s rage.


    But this had to be some kind of joke.


    When it leapt upon me, coiling and uncoiling in an instant to spring at me with the power of what I could only imagine to be a million horses, crashing at full speed into a dangling, unsupported target like me ¨C it was then that I had to trust. Trust Winterprince, trust the Magisterium and their magisters. Trust that the problem had been dealt with.


    That I could drop the shield without causing more death.


    I didn¡¯t have the time, strength or, to be honest, inclination to reinforce my circle with a star. Instead I just drew out a spike, with the index and middle fingers on my right hand forked at first, then coalescing to point together, right at the colossal onrushing creature.


    Why would I defend, when I had such a perfect opportunity to attack?


    With the force of an avalanche, the druid-spider bisected itself on me.


    The blade of protection sheared away the four limbs and at least a quarter of the total body mass on its left side. I was buffeted around slightly from the sheer weight of the thing landing against the shield¡¯s surface, but Em¡¯s flight-spell held, and I steadied myself.


    The sliced-off legs toppled, and landed like hewn-down trees on the paving-slabs, the thunder of their fall resounding across the space.


    In the interval before I looked back, the druid ¨C the surviving half ¨C had changed back into a humanoid: short and scrawny, lying there on the ground hooded and slumped-over, fifty feet from me.


    A humanoid missing an arm and a leg and, by the looks of the redness pumping into the interior of the robe they wore, a good-sized chunk of torso.


    ¡°Defeated by your own ill-intent,¡± I said, drifting closer. ¡°I hope you know one piece of how it feels for them.¡±


    The hundreds who were wounded, many for whom life would never be the same again. Thousands grieving ¨C and more would be, every minute, as the news spread, as people learned of loved ones perished in the madness.


    I imagined Jaid and Jaroan. Imagined them fearing for my safety.


    Imagined them lying there, eyes wide and staring, dead on the ground.


    Here in the moment, I could expand. I hadn¡¯t yet allowed myself to feel the relief of letting the stacked-up shields go down, and I pushed it further now, spreading the wards across the intervening space, setting up a diamond-shaped tesseract on their outer edge. It was something I¡¯d seen in the book, and the mingled fury and fear and hate let me draw it out, instincts working on overdrive.


    A diamond on the edge of the shield, which encapsulated the fallen form of the darkmage.


    A diamond which had its face inverted, facing inwards.


    No ill-will could leave it.


    Their robe had curiously survived the blow after shape-shifting back, despite its precious contents, its wearer¡¯s body, taking the damage. It was a crude thing ¨C woven of poor cloth, brown-red, almost rusty in hue ¨C even without the addition of several pints of blood.


    The arch-druid wept, high-pitched, every sound laced with despair¡­ and even as the heretic sobbed my eyes could pick out the shifting beneath the robe at the shoulder, the hip.


    It was regeneration like I¡¯d never seen before.


    By the time the pattern of their weeping changed to the snorting, hacking laughter of the insane, a new hand emerged from the sleeve; a new, bootless foot poked from the hem of the garment.


    ¡°Defeated?¡± It was a female voice, muffled, as though travelling through a mask or scarf beneath the cowl that hid her features. ¡°You ¨C killed ¨C them ¨C all!¡±


    The rage once more ¨C a furious scorn seeping out of her in a young girl¡¯s voice.


    I understood her now ¨C she leapt up and spread herself on all fours, with all the nimbleness of one who had spent endless days watching and emulating spiders. Already growing in size again, she hurled herself towards me, her robe puffing up, becoming something heavy and hairy all over between one heartbeat and the next ¨C


    She bounced off the inside of the diamond-tesseract and fell back on her hindquarters on the stone.


    The shapeshift faded, and she looked down to her side ¨C


    She dug her fingers into the paving, gouging a handful of stone from the ground, then hurled it at me.


    It too rebounded, almost hitting her.


    At this point she started jerking her hooded head this way and that, as though suddenly terrified.


    ¡°Now now, don¡¯t be testy,¡± I said.


    My voice came out cold, bitter, but even as I spoke I wondered at the way I was going about framing this.


    I¡¯m supposed to execute her?


    ¡°That¡¯s what they said. I don¡¯t think I disagree, to be perfectly honest.¡±


    We killed all her spiders.


    ¡°She killed¡­ she killed hundreds of people, Kastyr! It¡¯s not the same.¡±


    To us. But not to her.


    ¡°That is no excuse!¡±


    It¡¯s not. It¡¯s an explanation.


    ¡°She¡¯s insane!¡±


    She could¡¯ve run, but we killed all her spiders, and I protected the people, made it all for nothing. That¡¯s why she tried to jump on me, again and again, even when it¡¯d proved futile. Emotion, not cunning. For all I know, she¡¯s been subjected to torture, influenced somehow¡­ Mind-controlled!¡­ and how are we supposed to get answers if we kill them on sight?


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think people with a bit more knowledge in this area have set the rules on these kinds of engagements? What if they¡¯re able to enchant you ¨C¡°


    This one¡¯s a druid, and I¡¯ve got you watching my back, Zel.


    I looked up. Em was on her way, would be here in seconds. Winterprince was farther away but he was coming too.


    Wizards speeding their way closer, passing over the wreckage of the massacre.


    I floated lower, nearer to her, keeping the diamond fixed like I¡¯d never fixed a shield before.


    I didn¡¯t know how to ask it.


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked, the word coming out strangled.


    ¡°What?¡± she hissed, nothing but animosity in her voice, though there was a catch in her throat. Something coming through she hadn¡¯t intended. Fear. Sorrow. ¡°Set me free, fool.¡±


    ¡°All the death. All the¡­¡± I drew a shuddering breath, ¡°¡­the pointless death.¡±


    ¡°You are all fools.¡±


    She spoke softly now, dejectedly, so that even with Zel¡¯s help I only just caught the words. There was still twenty feet of space between us, and she had the scarf or some kind of mask impeding her voice; there were plenty of other people making noise across the Square not far from us. So it was I drifted closer still, until I was at the limits of my shield.


    It was chilling, to hear the gravity in her voice, she who sounded years younger than me.


    ¡°You play your games, and call yourself heroes, say you¡¯re saving people. You are their doom! Do you not know? ¨C that Mund is as a sacrifice? ¡®And ¡®ware the crowning year, and thin the herd, ere the snakes in wolves¡¯ clothing come among the sheep for the slaughter!¡¯¡±


    I wasn¡¯t going to argue with Zel on the ¡®insane¡¯ thing.


    ¡°Thin the herd.¡± My voice shook as I repeated the obscenity. ¡°Even the children?¡±


    Most of the children had been saved, it¡¯d seemed, given what I¡¯d observed of the corpses littering the Square outside my previous shield¡¯s barriers ¨C but not all.


    Not all.


    ¡°Especially the children.¡± As if she¡¯d suddenly become aware of some course of action previously hidden from her, the darkmage got up on her knees and put her small hands together, fingers with nails chewed ragged clasped together in a pleading gesture. ¡°Please ¨C please, champion,¡± she said the word now as if it could be used to sway me, ¡°you must believe me. Look at us. You must kill them all. Kill them now ¨C¡°


    ¡°Zat is enough of zat,¡± Em cried, veering to my side, and unleashing a gust of wind that slammed into the druid, sending her from her current position, upraised on her knees, right down onto her back, all the air knocked clean out of her.


    The diamond didn¡¯t prevent ill-will from entering.


    ¡°Vhat is zis? Feychilde? You must kill it!¡± I saw her draw back a hand, wreathed in flame. ¡°It¡¯s a heretic!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a kid.¡±


    I saw the flame in her hand die down a little, the fervour in her eyes dampen.


    ¡°Vhat? No, Kas,¡± she whispered my name, ¡°ve cannot let zem talk, ve cannot hear zem ¨C ve must put zem down before zey infect us!¡±


    Now it was my turn to be confused. ¡°Infect us? With what?¡±


    A terrible, cracking sound answered me, over my left shoulder ¨C


    ¡°Infect us with lies.¡±


    I spun to face Winterprince, a jagged seam in the smooth ¡®face¡¯ of his towering, icy form, as he floated there at the same height as me and Em.


    He put out an icy arm, and formed a serrated blade, six feet long.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make this easier on you,¡± he rumbled.


    There was no moment of reaction in which I could reverse the vectors of the shield, or even follow with my eye ¨C


    He flew, faster than I¡¯d ever seen Em fly, the frost blade extended.


    A flash, and he was crouched on the ground beside the heretic, the edge of his sword biting deep into the paving-slabs at her neck ¨C and the darkmage was decapitated, her head rolling across the stones, coming free of its coverings.


    Probably not even my age. Thirteen or fourteen, perhaps. A brown-haired, olive-skinned girl with thin lips and long eyelashes.


    I lowered my eyes and lowered my shields, shakily loosing a breath I hadn¡¯t even known I was holding. My augmented perception let me sense the way Em did the same, a little horror in the gasp that came from her throat.


    Winterprince stood to his full height, pulling his blade free of the ground and flicking the blood from its edge in a practised motion.


    ¡°I told you,¡± I murmured. ¡°Just a kid.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t expected Winterprince would hear, inside that frost armour, but he turned towards me and snapped out words, his lowborn accent plain to hear despite the crunching of the ice.


    ¡°You¡¯re new.¡± The ¡®face¡¯ turned slightly, as if to regard Em, then continued, ¡°You hesitated ¨C both of you. Champions don¡¯t hesitate.¡±


    I felt my cheeks flaming.


    ¡°You need to grow up,¡± he went on, voice colder than his raiment. ¡°She might¡¯ve been a druid, but you could both cut her. You make damn sure you cut them hard! Both of you had chance to obliterate her, and you failed. You failed!¡± He actually roared the words at us, and I felt myself shiver in mingled anger and shock and embarrassment. ¡°You kill heretics ¨C that¡¯s your job. This one,¡± he looked down at the crumpled corpse at his feet, ¡°might¡¯ve looked fifteen, might¡¯ve looked ten ¨C I didn¡¯t care, and I don¡¯t care. You don¡¯t have to be fifteen to wield power. You don¡¯t have to be fifteen to be a heretic. There¡¯s only one rule ¨C you don¡¯t listen to Heresy. Look what this ¡®kid¡¯ did today. Look!¡±


    He was roaring again, and I turned my head almost against my will, forcing myself to look again at the carnage.


    She did this. She did all this, at her age, for nothing.


    But then I hardened myself.


    I could kill in self-defence¡­ I could¡¯ve killed her right then, half by accident, with the spike¡­ But not like this.


    Killing is not my job. It might be Em¡¯s¡­ but it isn¡¯t mine.


    Don¡¯t distract me by showing me what she did. Make an actual argument. Give me some real facts.


    I turned back to regard him.


    ¡°What is Heresy? Just ¨C execute on sight? What do they even want? Who do they worship? What was the ¨C¡±


    ¡°The point?¡± he rumbled. ¡°If you think there was a point, you¡¯re a heretic just the same as this was.¡±


    He stamped his insanely-heavy, ice-booted foot down next to the arch-druid¡¯s headless body, making the limbs jerk a little, stirring the rotten clothing.


    I cringed, but I couldn¡¯t deny what I¡¯d heard. ¡°There has to be more to it,¡± I muttered. The girl been quoting something there before Em arrived, I was sure¡­ Quoting what?


    ¡°These pieces of drop believe if they don¡¯t kill everyone in Mund, the world will end. They aren¡¯t Rebels or even Chaos-Lords, friend. They don¡¯t take on hard targets. These are mass-murderers, plain as day.¡±


    Em was silent, looking down on the corpse beside his gigantic icy foot.


    With no sign of any gesture the winds suddenly came, lifting him into the air so that he was at our height again.


    ¡°I hope for your sake, next time you fight a heretic, you put them down, put them down hard,¡± Winterprince said. ¡°There¡¯s always a way. Druids don¡¯t regrow heads, just like sorcerers can¡¯t hold shields up forever. As you proved tonight.¡±


    I clenched my fists involuntarily.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you credit on the assist, Feychilde, but not on the kill. I hope next time we meet you behave more professionally.¡± He rolled his ice-encompassed shoulders, then looked westward. ¡°I¡¯m heading to Openway, but I reckon it¡¯s all going to be over by now. Help the magisters here get things under wraps.¡±


    He darted off into the sky, gaining elevation so he could soar over the buildings around the edges of the Square.


    And he was gone, leaving us there, floating in the air like we were presiding over the proceedings. Witnesses to the execution of a mad child.


    ¡°Did you know?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Know vhat, Kas?¡±


    ¡°That they think they¡¯re saving the world?¡±


    ¡°You heard zat from her own lips? Not just Vinterprince¡¯s?¡±


    I nodded; the girl had basically implied something like that. Em looked at me, a thoughtful expression on her face.


    She wanted me to kill everyone.


    Zel summarily dismissed my concerns: ¡°It¡¯s like you can¡¯t believe an archmage can flip-out.¡±


    ¡°Zey tell us it is a secret,¡± Em said after some consideration. ¡°Zey do not vont zose who vont an excuse to kill to find out zere is a ¨C a philosophy vhich promotes it.¡±


    I considered it. I supposed that made a lot of sense.


    ¡°I think I¡­ I understand the execution rule,¡± I said heavily.


    ¡°At last.¡±


    Em nodded solemnly.


    ¡°But I don¡¯t think I can do it. Not¡­ not like that. Not like he did it.¡±


    The arch-wizard put her hand on my arm and it took a second for the sensation to stop feeling alien, feeling like an attack.


    ¡°You are tense,¡± she said. ¡°Ve all are. Let¡¯s do as he said. See if zere are any spiders left, and check ze glyphstone, make sure ze ozzer locations are safe.¡±


    I did my best to smile, but I knew it was a wan, sad thing there on my face, curling my lips in a way unbecoming for the wearer of a gleeful mask such as mine.


    I flew over Firenight Square, in Em¡¯s wake, hearing the odd, distant whisper of Feychilde ¨C the gratitude, the relief and reverence of those we¡¯d saved together ¨C but feeling none of it touch me, feeling entirely undeserving of their respect or thanks.


    Yet it was the life of the champion. They would¡¯ve died without my presence. For good and for ill, I knew I had to embrace it all. It was who I was now, and who I would be, had to be ¨C until the day I died.

 Shadow-Caster

    <h2>JADE 2.4: SHADOW-CASTER</h2>


    ¡°I attend the sweetest of songs. The melodies of six generations long in the tooth. Draem! I can hear your laughter, O glorious Draem! But I cannot snare the Great Ones. I have not your gift; in the attempt would I be undone. When your daughter comes I will snare the lesser instead, two of them, and between their second-sights build the unassailable fortress of which your kinsman foretold. The Crucible will be known to them. The future is already writ, in ink of blood. I have only to force them to turn the page.¡±


    ¨C from the Secret Diary of Astra Venefich


    Everyone else was asleep. Xantaire and Xastur. Orstrum and Morsus. The twins. Even Zel ¨C well, to her ¡®asleep¡¯ merely meant she was off doing whatever she got up to on her home plane, while I got some privacy.


    I sat in bed, unable to even get to the first bit of luxurious drowsiness despite feeling weary. After an hour of pointlessly hammering my pillows with my fists, pointlessly shutting my eyes, I got my sorcerous volume out from beneath my mattress and resolved to study until I fell asleep.


    I didn¡¯t have to read it in the dark anymore, I supposed, but I hadn¡¯t let the twins see the text, wouldn¡¯t let them see it, and, besides, there was something right about reading it like this. I guessed the Magisterium-trained sorcerers were used to going over their spells in the bright daylight, right there in a massive, airy library on the Maginox grounds. But for me my first experience, my first learning of sorcery would always be indelibly associated with night-time, with the slumberous creaking of wood and the whispering of a dark autumn wind.


    I¡¯d given myself the excuse of checking over what I¡¯d done with the diamond-shaped, imprisoning barrier, but really I just flicked through the pages as my mind carried on sorting through the events of the day, arranging its own contents. I supposed I wouldn¡¯t be able to sleep till it was done.


    We¡¯d finished off a couple more giant spiders, rescuing a stranded pair of magisters on the south-western edge of the Square. Em had flown off to gather healers while I got the wounded ordered, and then we checked our glyphstones ¨C as Winterprince had intuited, the crises were over in the space of twenty minutes, a ¡®textbook case of Magisterium-champion cooperation¡¯, and so on¡­ The only difference in the messages we each received from the bald, grey-moustached magister was that Em was required to return for debriefing, despite being off-duty.


    I¡¯d kept the flight spell to make my way home ¨C Em reassured me it¡¯d give me at least an hour from the last time she refreshed its effect on me ¨C and I turned off an unusually sombre-sounding Zel, heading for some distinctly non-magical company and an early night.


    It started to rain just as I was getting home, mask and robe carefully stowed.


    The whole time I was still recoiling from what had happened. I kept coming back to the same experiences, over and over again. The way it¡¯d felt to know the twelfth shield failed, to know how many I¡¯d let die through my weakness. The way the crowd had whispered my name. The way I¡¯d disappointed the tempura-cook and his daughter, the unavenged victims of a callous act just like the one I witnessed today. And especially the way I¡¯d watched helplessly as Winterprince brought his jagged ice-weapon down on a teenager¡¯s neck.


    ¡®Even the children?¡¯


    ¡®Especially the children.¡¯


    It was her voice, the surety, contrasted with the youth of the face, revealed by the edge of the arch-wizard¡¯s sword, a face birthed in my mind out of a puddle of blood, oozing from the clean-cut severed neck¡­


    So many children had already died. Was killing one more child the answer? It was a question with no solution. One person would say one thing, and another would say the other, with perfectly-inverted reasoning. Or even the same person, taken in different moods, or different times of their life, would give conflicting responses.


    So I couldn¡¯t entirely blame myself for not knowing the answer to my own question. To take up an answer would be to set myself in one category, prevent me from seeing the opposite opinion.


    And I needed to be able to see it ¨C if I was going to be able to continue working with Emrelet, with the Magisterium, with my own damn spellbound fairy ¨C Yune¡¯s fingers, if I was going to be able to continue working alongside myself, I needed to see both sides. I couldn¡¯t even imagine the Kas who would¡¯ve plunged down from the sky, weapon aloft, to behead a thirteen-year-old ¨C not without feeling sick, not without instantly banishing the imagining in revulsion. Yet I couldn¡¯t imagine the Kas who would¡¯ve let the heretic go free. Wasn¡¯t there a way to take them captive, without running the risk of¡­ ¡®infection¡¯?


    I had to admit, there¡¯d been a ¨C terrible, yes; abhorrent, of course ¨C but nevertheless enticing sense of mystery about the heretic¡¯s words.


    ¡®Look at us.¡¯ Emphasis on the us.


    It was ambiguous and the ambiguity exposed a lacuna in my mind, a whirlpool I kept rotating around, coming back to the same notions.


    If she meant ¡®us¡¯ as in ¡®heretics¡¯ then what she said was purely self-critical.


    The same for ¡®us¡¯ meaning ¡®arch-druids¡¯.


    I came around to it again: ¡®us¡¯ being ¡®archmages¡¯, ¡®us¡¯ being ¡®you and me, Feychilde¡¯.


    And ¨C how had she put it?


    ¡®Beware the crowning year. Thin the herd before the snakes in wolves¡¯ clothing come among the sheep for the slaughter.¡¯


    It had the idiom of a religious catechism, like one of the sermons from the ministers of Chraunator down at Cutterwells. Not that this religious aspect was altogether surprising, given their denotation as heretics. In common parlance the word ¡®heretics¡¯ meant those who rejected the Gods of Light, those whose souls were lost to the night. She hadn¡¯t exactly seemed rational while voicing her delusions of slaughter, after all. Was she a twisted cultist of Mekesta, devoted to Chaos itself, to the Queen of Darkness and Terror? Perhaps a cold-hearted follower of Yane, the Blade-Lord, Prince of Murder and Cruelty? Or maybe just a lunatic pledged to Ool, the Ravenous One, the Lord of Strife and Frenzy? Every creed had a dozen apocalypses planned, it seemed, each with their own version of the End Times ¨C and at least ten percent of the apocalypses were supposed to happen on the millennium, of course. Surely this was what was meant by the ¡®crowning year¡¯.


    But she¡¯d spoken of sacrifice, and Mortiforn, the quite-rational God of Sacrifice, would surely never countenance the dark druid¡¯s actions. He might well have been a shady god but he had rules. One of those was an equal trade ¨C and the heretic¡¯s actions had saved zero lives, improved nothing.


    ¡®Do you not know? ¨C that Mund is as a sacrifice?¡¯


    Again, the strange phrasing. Again, the shiver running through my body upon recollecting the words in their cold, harsh reality.


    The scorn in her voice had made it sound as though she detested the thought that it was a sacrifice. That she would¡¯ve changed it if she could.


    But she had been the one killing people!


    And would Mortiforn sanction this? A city as a sacrifice? To what? For what?


    I considered how best to pray to him, recalling his titles and forms of address.


    The existence of the gods was more than just a certainty ¨C it was something any kid could and would prove to themselves, even making a game of it. Kultemeren, God of Truth, the Ultimate Judge, existed. If someone said they saw Kultemeren you¡¯d take it very seriously, because you could only write or speak or even think the truth of him. He was the lynchpin of the worship of all the gods, really, because the miracles the priests provided were functionally indistinguishable from magery ¨C while being inherently far less reliable, their divine magic contingent upon receipt of divine approval. As little as was known for certain, it was common knowledge that ministers didn¡¯t command their own powers, they begged for them ¨C and sometimes the gods simply said no.


    But Kultemeren provided a really easy way to prove the potency of the divine entities outright. Everyone ¨C well, everyone growing up around here, anyway ¨C had tried to finish the sentence Kultmeren isn¡¯t realllllly keen on these games on the ¡®real¡¯ bit, but you inevitably ended the thought in some unerringly-truthful way.


    The implications of how you¡¯d end those thoughts were sometimes mildly terrifying.


    The implications of depictions of Kultemeren were worse.


    You couldn¡¯t just put his name to any image in such a way as to denote it as his representation ¨C you could try, but your pen would run dry, your paint would congeal, your ink would smear, your chalk would snap. There was a rumour back when I was about eight years old that one kid had broken his arm trying to write ¡®Kultemeren¡¯ above some stupid stick figure on a wall. If you were old enough to be able to spell Kultemeren¡¯s name, you were old enough to know better.


    No, not just any image. But you could put it to scarily-broad range of images. They didn¡¯t even need to be good ¨C they just had to have the right intention behind them.


    Kultemeren was a lion. Kultemeren was a dragon. Kultemeren was a phoenix.


    But that was the mild, vaguely-sensible stuff.


    Kultemeren was a clock. Kultemeren was a gavel. Kultemeren was an almost-closed mouth.


    The nearest shrine of his to Mud Lane was south-east of the Plain Road, near North Lowtown. I¡¯d never seen the tapestries with my own eyes, reportedly woven by the shrine¡¯s blind neophytes, but my dad had explained what they were like. The god was a judge, an arbiter, a historian and a hermit.


    It was because of him we knew the answers to certain essential questions about the universe. You couldn¡¯t use his name to invoke circumstantial, boring truths. Kultemeren thought potatoes were good for you, and Kultemeren thought potatoes were bad for you. Kultemeren knew I¡¯d been a good boy this year, and Kultemeren knew I¡¯d been naughty. Kultemeren knew I was twelve years old, and Kultemeren knew I was twelve thousand.


    Kultemeren didn¡¯t care. But he cared about people trying to say he wasn¡¯t re¡­


    Kultemeren dwelt in Celestium. Kultemeren was one of the twenty-seven gods. Not twenty-eight. Not twenty-six. Twenty-seven. He was the God of Truth, but not Time or Oaths or Precision or Law or so many other related concepts. The Ultimate Judge stood above such things.


    These mysteries were, the parables went, discovered through experimentation, giving us a clue into the pursuit of truth itself, leading in the end to the distillation of magery and the world in which we now lived. Doubtless the other races had their own parables, but the truths never changed ¨C even Kultemeren¡¯s name was the same, in every language the Mundic expansionists had ever encountered. I hadn¡¯t tried getting a goblin or demon to say it for fear of making their heads explode, but I expected even they¡¯d pronounce it the same way too.


    And Kultemeren sired Mortiforn.


    The harsh son of Kultemeren. An everlasting reminder, so the tales went, that even suffering is necessary, permitting us the transformation of sacrifice, the punishment needed for us to grow as human beings¡­


    It sounded an awful lot like desperate people doing their damnedest to justify a sucky state-of-affairs, but what did I know?


    We Mundians prayed to the gods all the time, but the rate of reply was probably something like one in a million. My mum had testified to religious experiences, and Orstrum said it was after a visitation from an angel that he¡¯d made the decision to come to Mund in the first place¡­ But I¡¯d seen him drinking, and couldn¡¯t rule out a more mundane explanation for his visions.


    It was therefore something of a shock to my system that, when I closed my eyes and angled my thoughts at Mortiforn, Mortiforn the Naked Blade, Mortiforn, he from whom each wound Is Made, something started happening.


    Within ten seconds a sense of lifting came over my flesh, like a coverlet of silk stretched by a cool wind against every miniscule parcel of my skin beneath my clothes, raising me up from the sheets. I felt the sensation as though it were rippling down my neck, about my waist, between my toes beneath the quilt as I sat there cross-legged. I almost sensed a breath blowing in my hair ¨C as if I were under a spell similar to Em¡¯s flight but one that touched only the soul, detaching me from this world. It worked on inner perceptions, stirring shapes before my closed eyes, like the rainbow-hued fragments of droplets you saw when you screwed your eyes shut for too long.


    Rainbow hues that led inexorably towards the deep end of the spectrum; the darker recesses of the mind; the purple shade.


    I heard myself speaking, as if from a distance.


    Mortiforn, Lord Suffering, I would ask you a question.


    A scene unfolded before my shuttered vision, a strange, greyish environment peeling away from the purple darkness which was all I could see with my mortal eyes.


    Do I dream?


    No. Not dreaming. I was awake, and yet I was seated on one side of a desk in a small room of three blank grey walls, like a cell, like a room in the Maginox. The desk was black, opaque, featureless, a void in space ¨C I couldn¡¯t make out the angles, the edges. As if I were looking through a glyphstone, I could tell that I was still there in my bed, and while I couldn¡¯t turn my head or look down I still felt sure that I could stop it all by just opening my eyes.


    So I wasn¡¯t too disturbed by my visitor.


    I couldn¡¯t see his chair, but, all the same, seated upon the other side of the black-hole table was the only source of colour in the whole place. A gaunt, unblinking, unsmiling man whose youthful face and hands and exquisite clothing were the exact same shade of grey-purple, like a washed-out lavender hue ¨C the whites of his lavender-irised eyes stood out vividly, radiant and pearly. What appeared to be a doublet of velvet covered his torso, embroidered with dark, snarling patterns around its seams, tailored to fit his nail-thin frame perfectly.


    ¡°Thou didst seek audience. I have come to hear thee caw, kestrel; Kastyr Mortenn.¡±


    The voice was not loud or threatening, not intimidating; quite the opposite. The man spoke in a fragile, gentle, almost brittle tone, as if he wished to move his lips as little as possible.


    Even still I saw the glint, the sharp whiteness hiding in his mouth.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    I saw him anew, the tallness of him, the stretched-out look, skin tight over high cheekbones. The purplish hair pulled back from a high, clear, purplish brow.


    He looked young, but this undead creature was anything but youthful.


    You are a vampire.


    ¡°I am.¡± He still didn¡¯t seem to want to open his mouth much, still didn¡¯t move his eyes.


    What is this place?


    ¡°This is but a room of audience.¡±


    I¡¯m dreaming.


    I still knew I wasn¡¯t, really; I could pick out every one of the twins¡¯ separate soft breaths with Zel¡¯s borrowed senses. I was awake. I could choose the thoughts that emanated from my dream-form¡¯s lips almost as freely as at any other time.


    ¡°Thy word is incorrect, yet is sufficient.¡±


    Incorrect¡­ Then where am I?


    ¡°I am given to believe thou hast most-oft heard it named the shadowland. Nethernum.¡±


    The floaty sensation that was tingling my inner senses suddenly elicited chills, spreading up my spine, making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.


    What¡¯s¡­ what¡¯s happening?


    ¡°Thy soul hath been lightened of its burdens and brought into the shadows. My Lord wishes us to receive all in whose veins run the blood and investment of the Summoner.¡±


    The blood¡­ Litenwelt¡¯s¡­ in my veins?


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    And you are?


    At last, he smiled, a brief display of his fangs.


    ¡°In my time I hath taken more names than thou hast taken years, Kastyr Mortenn. In the Forest of the Fourth World was I born, ere Chaos came; ere the Three Seas broke the land.¡±


    I kept my silence, regarding him.


    ¡°Mr. Owl,¡± he acquiesced finally, in the same gentle voice, ¡°a seneschal in the service of the Great Lord Suffering. Thou hadst in thy heart a query designed for the ear of my Lord?¡±


    Mr. Owl¡­ I steeled myself. Today I have heard something which has disturbed me.


    ¡°Heresy.¡±


    Yes.


    ¡°And thou wouldst ask if the Srol operate at our behest? They are the enemies of Mund, of life, of being. They seek only after death.¡±


    That isn¡¯t an answer.


    ¡°Is it not?¡± He displayed the fangs again, just as briefly. ¡°Death is to us no evil, save the death which brings nearer the Death of the World.¡±


    Death¡­ with no life in return.


    ¡°And every scale imbalanced; yes, Kastyr Mortenn.¡±


    Is Mund a sacrifice?


    His face remained very still. ¡°Thou speakst a second question.¡±


    It was my first question, really, but I think you just answered it. I laughed softly to a quiet bedroom. The heretic girl was right! What is Mund being sacrificed for? Why are they killing its people indiscriminately?


    I looked at the vampire¡¯s face and I knew before he spoke that I wasn¡¯t going to get a straight answer.


    Perhaps the magisters had it all wrong. Could it be that the Magisterium or the highborn were the ones sacrificing Mund, somehow, symbolically? That the Srol were actually, in their own crazy way, trying to stop them?


    Em might¡¯ve been resolved on her decision to keep the steady wage and relative safety of her magister position, yet there was more to the question of Heresy than met the eye. Would I need to rescue her from the moral bankruptcy of the highborn like Henthae?


    But there was more to my vampiric interlocutor than any inner-eye could perceive.


    ¡°Thy concerns outstretch thy reach, make no mistake,¡± the vampire chided me in the same soft, glassy voice, ¡°and thine impertinence shall unmake thee as it doth unmake every man. Yet I might deign to let such words as these fall unhindered from my tongue, lest I spurn thee, and sour thee on my Divine Lord¡¯s wisdom: my Lord moves none to take or give lives whose souls are not so moved without his counsel. By the heretics¡¯ deeds thou shalt rise the stronger, as shall those in thy likeness; by the strength ye show shall the sacrifice made in vain be remade in glory. We watch and we wait ¨C we do not interfere.¡±


    You¡­ you, I licked my lips which were dry as I sat there cross-legged on the bed, you mean that Mortiforn accepts this Heresy because it makes champions better at fighting?


    I couldn¡¯t keep the disbelief from my mind-voice. What a paltry excuse¡­


    ¡°If I spoke on I would be much remiss,¡± Mr. Owl demurred. ¡°Think not that thou hast no room in which to grow, and farewell. I will tell thee in parting: he will say unto thee that thou art in no danger, and threaten rather those thou lovest ¨C but this is untrue. Thine own life alone rests on the scythe¡¯s edge. We know this, as it is given for us to know.¡±


    Who are you talking about now?


    ¡°The reaper¡¯s hand shaping a blade of untempered time. The unsoothsayer.¡±


    I stared, more confused than ever.


    ¡°He who loiters behind thee.¡±


    I took a fatal near-second, just drawing a breath, opening my eyes in shock ¨C


    Just enough useless time spent not drawing out a shield to watch the knife enter the field of my vision, flashing towards my face ¨C


    Only to lie flat on my upper cheek near my scar, the cold tip of the blade digging into the soft flesh beneath my eye, not quite enough pressure to pierce the skin.


    ¡°No shield,¡± he murmured, the voice quiet, self-assured, sinister. I could feel his breath, hot on my ear and the side of my face in the chill night air, coming across my face from over my shoulder. His arm was about me from behind.


    Zel, I psychically whispered, Zel if I ever needed you it¡¯s now.


    I¡¯d heard nothing, sensed nothing, as he¡¯d approached. How had he got in here? Through the front door? Orstrum and Morsus, were they¡­?


    ¡°Don¡¯t move your fingers. Don¡¯t even twitch. I don¡¯t want to have to hurt your brother and sister, do I?¡±


    He held up his other hand, keeping the pressure of the dagger-blade by my eye steady. I saw two strands of golden hair caught between his fingers.


    ¡°Y-you¡¯re having a right day of it, Kas. Everyone else is okay. Sleeping.¡±


    ¡°I will let you talk, but you have to be quiet. If they wake, I kill them. If you shout, I kill them. If ¨C well, you¡¯re a smart chap; I think you get the picture.¡±


    Untraceable accent ¨C not highborn.


    ¡°I ¨C I get it,¡± I said.


    A shield would cast him towards the twins, but the agent of Mortiforn had told me they weren¡¯t in danger, only me ¨C


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you think you¡¯ve seen, do not try a shield! I can see this knife killing you Kas ¨C oh, so many times ¨C his chronomancy¡¯s off the charts ¨C¡°


    I swallowed.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he whispered ¨C in answer to what, I was unsure. ¡°They call me Duskdown. Pleased to meet you, Feychilde.¡± His voice lost some of its sinister edge ¨C he used my champion¡¯s name, though he surely knew my real one. ¡°I¡¯d shake your hand¡­¡±


    ¡°If you weren¡¯t holding a blade to my face, yeah, I still get it.¡±


    ¡°Oh no ¨C I could quite happily ¨C¡°


    Even as he whispered an unbroken sentence he moved, and I realised why I hadn¡¯t noticed his approach during my extra-planar conversation, even with the fey senses of my body quite capable of informing me of noises in my vicinity ¨C


    He didn¡¯t move like a normal person, or even like the diviner with the Lowtown accent and scruffy appearance who¡¯d evaded the giant spider in Firenight Square ¨C


    He moved like an eel in a rushing river, a soundless blur of soft red-pink-purple robes.


    ¡°¨C shake your hand ¨C¡°


    The knife on my face flipped then rotated as he effortlessly whirled his body around mine, somehow getting from behind me to in front of me without the blade either leaving or piercing the skin under my eye ¨C


    Then he was sitting before me, hooded, upper-face masked with a curved, horizontal oval of interlocking discs and semicircles of burnished steel ¨C ¡°if it came to it, but I don¡¯t want to let you move your hands. I know how that goes, and I¡¯d rather end this tonight, if it¡¯s all the same with you?¡± He gave me no space to respond before continuing, ¡°I thought so ¨C good. Here¡¯s what¡¯s going to happen. You¡¯re going to sit very still, and listen to me for what feels like seven minutes. When those seven minutes are up, I will leave. You and yours will never see me again. Unless you choose otherwise.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve certainly given this some thought,¡± I managed to say.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve had this chat with a champion, or the fifth. It didn¡¯t go so well the first few times, but I¡¯ve refined my approach. Hear me out.¡±


    And he just plunged right ahead.


    ¡°In about twenty minutes from now, if I didn¡¯t interrupt, you¡¯d begin planning a way to take me down. Unlike one of the heretics, you don¡¯t have to kill me, just bring me in for a trip to Magicrux Zyger. By this time tomorrow you¡¯d have six ideas on how to do it. One would even come close, but none would work. And you would die, every time.¡±


    His voice was the flat voice of certitude.


    ¡°So I¡¯ll tell you who I am, why I did what I did. Maybe it¡¯ll change your mind on me. Maybe it won¡¯t. I¡¯ve seen it go both ways. For your sake, I hope it¡¯s the former, and if it¡¯s the latter, I¡¯ll try to make it as quick and painless for you as I can. Do you understand? Good.¡±


    I swallowed again.


    ¡°The day I ¨C the day I became Duskdown, that was the worst day of my life.¡± There was a plain sincerity to his voice I hadn¡¯t thought to hear; it had the character of someone admitting something personal, something painful. ¡°I got my abilities when my daughter died. I was still a young man. She was just four months old¡­ And as if to spite me the gods granted me the gift of foresight, just minutes too late for me to save her.¡±


    ¡°How ¨C¡°


    His masked face turned towards me instantly and I froze, until he raised a hand, motioning me to continue:


    ¡°How did she die?¡±


    ¡°Times were pretty desperate, but we were making do¡­ We went looking for work, and for food. We left her in the care of a relative who shook her too hard when she was crying. A simple accident, I thought, and that was that.¡±


    My mouth was so dry, I felt like I was going to cough ¨C I closed my lips and tried to clamp down on the tightness in my throat. I couldn¡¯t cough, couldn¡¯t make a loud noise, couldn¡¯t wake the twins. Had to balance on the scythe¡¯s edge.


    Is this true or ¨C


    ¡°I can tell you he¡¯s not being deliberately deceptive, Kas.¡±


    ¡°An accident¡­ or so I thought. Divination is a curse, you must understand that. Or at least, for the arch-diviner, one who is not deliberately seeking to cast spells. At the start the visions come upon us unbidden, past flowing through us and then splintering into a myriad of futures, each one more-or-less clear, more-or-less likely to come to pass. Time and space converge inside our minds. It is hard not to be driven mad, right in the beginning.


    ¡°So I saw it. Saw the way my uncle shook her. Saw the way my beloved aunt egged him on.¡±


    I heard the little click of his throat as he whispered, the emotion, but the knife-tip beneath my eye never strayed, never wavered even a hundredth of an inch.


    ¡°It ate away at me every day, and every day I saw a little more. Each interaction with them was a living nightmare, a plunge into the atrocities of their past, the truths of their hidden, sick little lives washing over me in tides of vision after vision. They were people of little patience, revellers in the small cruelties that would pass unnoticed, meek and timid on the surface but blacker than pitch inside. And with each passing moment my patience with them grew thinner and thinner. I spent more and more time away from my home. I couldn¡¯t see them, couldn¡¯t see my own mother and father, couldn¡¯t see my wife ¨C their faces haunted me, reminded me of my loss. I thought at first that being among other people would cure me. Open me up to the big picture, put everything into perspective¡­¡±


    He loosed a short, bitter ¡®hah¡¯ of self-mocking laughter. ¡°All I found was that everyone else was the same. Or worse. There were creatures dressed in skins of men, talking and walking like men, but which were worse than your demons within the shell, things that would sooner kick a baby than shake it. And yet I could see the trails of their futures, their darkest deeds ¨C I could see those who were about to commit murder; I could see those who were about to enact vicious deeds that would condemn scores of human beings to lifetimes of misery and enslavement.


    ¡°That night, in Firenight Square; that was merely the night I snapped.¡±


    He paused for a moment, as if to collect himself.


    ¡°So the people you killed ¨C¡°


    ¡°There were so many of them gathered there, and I knew, I knew the future would be better, cleaner if I acted. So, so much cleaner¡­ I finished the evening with my aunt and uncle, buried them right there with my daughter, so they could spend their last hours with the one they¡¯d taken from me; and by the anguish of her killers, be her soul lightened in its burden, to fly free and find Celestium.¡±


    Buried them alive.


    ¡°Cleaner?¡± I choked. ¡°The man I spoke to today said you killed his wife. The mother of his daughter!¡±


    ¡°Yes, the Onsolorian. That little girl would have died at her own mother¡¯s hand, not one year after I did what I did.¡±


    There was a pause as I tried to comprehend these words, then he continued, ¡°She was not a kindly woman, Feychilde. Nor is this man you met a kindly man, but he did not really know his wife, and at least he is not hurting his daughter. I do not kill the unkind. Only those I have to. She was a worshipper of Yane in the dark watches of the night. She had to be stopped before she killed those she loved.¡±


    I shuddered despite myself. You weren¡¯t supposed to say Yane¡¯s name, the true name of any dark god, out-loud.


    Someone like him¡­ his powers, his mind¡­ he could justify the killing of anyone. If he really had the courage of his convictions ¨C


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t you¡­¡± But I stopped. I knew.


    ¡°Bring her, bring all of them to the watch¡¯s attention? Go to the Magisterium with what I¡¯d seen? Or expose them in private, seek to change the quality of their souls? I looked at those futures. More chaos. Far, far more heinous deeds committed by the accused. Oh no, I did what I did, do what I do, out of necessity. If you are to doubt me, Feychilde, doubt only my effectiveness. Ask me not why I kill, but why there are still murderers walking our streets, why there are still people being bought and sold like livestock in the warehouses of Rivertown!¡±


    He removed the knife, slid off the bed to his feet and turned to face me ¨C a unified, blurring whip-snap of silent movement, resolving itself entirely inside a single instant with some time left over to spare.


    ¡°I have said my piece, and you aren¡¯t going to fight me,¡± he murmured. ¡°But you wouldn¡¯t shake my hand right now, would you?¡±


    I slowly shook my head. I still didn¡¯t trust myself to move my hands ¨C I couldn¡¯t create a shield before he could move back in and stab me in the brain.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I understand. I get it.¡± I could hear bitterness in his voice but no surprise, as if he¡¯d hoped for me to prove him wrong, offer him my hand. ¡°The ones you really need to be chasing don¡¯t have bounties out on them, though. They don¡¯t fight ¨C they hide when you challenge them, they protect each other, always finding new ways to make money off the plight of innocents, never coming out to see the light of day.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s going to leave. You¡¯re going to be okay.¡±


    ¡°I will¡­ try to take on board¡­ what you¡¯ve said tonight.¡± I forced the trite words out haltingly. Anything to cause no offence. Anything to get him gone from where he stood, within striking-distance of my brother and sister¡­


    ¡°Good. I wish you well in your endeavours, Feychilde. Don¡¯t think I¡¯m against the kind of thing you did today. Most people never think to ask why I killed those people in the crowd. Even the survivors; they look on themselves as merely lucky, never seeing their own virtue¡­¡± He sighed heavily. ¡°I¡¯m going to keep your knife. You¡¯ve slept by it; it¡¯ll help me keep an eye on you.¡±


    He nodded to me ¨C


    I went to nod back ¨C it seemed the thing to do ¨C but he was gone. I could only see his after-image, a streak of shadow lingering in the air where he crossed the room to the door, opening and closing it silently in the lifespan of a glimpse ¨C


    It wasn¡¯t until I¡¯d scurried to the front door between Morsus and Orstrum¡¯s sleeping forms and realised the window was unlocked but shut-to that I started to relax. How it¡¯d gotten unlocked in the first place I didn¡¯t know, didn¡¯t care. He¡¯d have capitalised on some other weakness, found some other way to intercede in my plans if this way wouldn¡¯t have worked.


    I locked the window, quietly got myself a cup of water, and returned to my room. A quick check under the mattress confirmed it ¨C he¡¯d taken the knife Clun had thrown at my back on Fullday night.


    ¡°What¡¯re you thinking, Kas? Your thoughts are moving too fast.¡±


    I seated myself once more, beneath the covers, feeling like I was being watched as I sipped my drink.


    ¡°Talk to me, I can help you.¡±


    I had a mass-murderer in my room. Here, with Jaid and Jaroan.


    ¡°I kind of noticed.¡±


    But a¡­ well-intentioned mass-murderer? It could¡¯ve been an act.


    ¡°An impressive act, if it was. There were none of the small betrayals you¡¯d normally see.¡±


    So there are good darkmages.


    ¡°Good? Kas, I think you¡¯re suddenly forgetting the ¡®mass-murderer¡¯ part.¡± She didn¡¯t sound sarcastic, exactly, but she somehow didn¡¯t sound entirely genuine either, as though she were challenging me just for the sake of it ¨C


    Don¡¯t be coy ¨C you know precisely what I mean. Good, for a certain value of good. He was doing what he saw as the right thing, ironing out injustices that would¡¯ve gone unpunished, or gotten worse if he hadn¡¯t acted. I¡¯m not saying he was right to kill, he wasn¡¯t, but he wasn¡¯t acting out of malevolence, was he?


    ¡°His child died.¡±


    His child died. I felt some of the chill of his presence diminish, some of the nightmarish creeping feeling prickling my skin begin to recede. I will stop him if I see him trying to kill people, but I won¡¯t hunt him down, Zel.


    ¡°That sounds reasonable to me.¡±


    But I¡¯d better have one hell of an endgame ready if I¡¯m even going to stop him killing people. He¡¯ll see it coming otherwise.


    ¡°Then don¡¯t plan anything. He already let slip that out of six ideas, none would work.¡±


    Unless that was a misdirect. I smiled to myself. You know, would he really have a reason to come seek me out, if none of them worked? He says it¡¯s due to his concern over killing me and I want to believe him, but if he¡¯s lying about one thing, this could be it. Perhaps I¡¯d seize on the right solution, put him in chains.


    ¡°If it¡¯s either that, or he¡¯s telling the truth and you¡¯re getting yourself killed, then I¡¯d rather we simply didn¡¯t play the game. Stay out of his way.¡±


    She moved my eyes for me, flickering my gaze towards the twins.


    I know what you mean. But that leads me onto part two.


    ¡°Part two?¡±


    I¡¯ve realised a few things I need to do. I¡¯ve got to work on keeping a shield up when I¡¯m sleeping, for one thing ¨C this book can¡¯t teach me that, I don¡¯t think ¨C and I need some more money so I can get somewhere else to sleep. A place for Feychilde to lay his head. It¡¯s perilous for all of them, just me being here, and I can¡¯t just stop doing what I¡¯m doing, not after today. I¡¯ve got to take it more seriously.


    ¡°Okay¡­ so you want me to scout out your next bounty, is that what you mean?¡±


    Not yet. I know what I¡¯m lacking, after today, and I have to apologise to you. You were right all along. What I¡¯m missing is firepower.


    ¡°You mean ¨C¡°


    Yes. I want you to take me shopping for pets.


    ¡°When?¡± She could barely conceal her eagerness.


    The life of a champion was so dangerous, it was hard to realise that of everything that¡¯d happened in the last few days, this was possibly the closest to dying I¡¯d been. Right here. In bed. The suddenness of life-or-death situations was becoming something of an issue ¨C an issue the right eldritches would¡¯ve solved.


    I knocked back the rest of the water and reached down to fish out my mask and robe.


    Now, Zel. Right now.

 New Blood

    <h2>JADE 2.5: NEW BLOOD</h2>


    ¡°PEDHELIORPH [proposed derivation: tempest of darkness]


    (pu-DEL-i-orf)


    Rank: 13(-)


    Classification: Beguiler


    Side-class (if any): Destroyer


    Unbound danger rating: Extreme (mode: hunter)


    Bound danger rating: Moderate (mode: placid)


    Portals: Self-only


    Explicit intelligence: Nil


    Appearance: Spacevoid, avian, small (typical wingspan: seventeen inches)


    Unique capabilities: Trails/emits a cloud of condensed infernal energy similar in form (though entirely unrelated) to nethermist. A form of enchanter (see footnote entries hypnotics (p.110), psychic tyrants (p.186)), and capable of breathing/screaming a cone of force (infernal, medium range), this demon has a propensity for crushing all blood from its victims without the victims becoming aware of their predicament.


    Suggested countermeasures: Immediate egress; Anti-enchantments (5th degree+); Wards (3rd degree+ (breath-weapon only, ineffective vs. hypnosis-effect)).¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Eldritch Index¡¯ (19th edition)


    So how does this work?


    ¡°It¡¯s similar to what happened with your new vampire friend,¡± she replied.


    As I walked towards the Shrine of Yune at the southern end of Helbert¡¯s Bend I¡¯d explained the prayer and the visitation, and shared the meagre knowledge I¡¯d gained. Back out on the street, hooded robe and mask shielding me from the drizzle of the post-midnight cloud-blanket, glowing blue lines shielding me from danger, at first I felt better.


    But now I was almost there, and I was getting a bit nervous.


    How do you mean, similar?


    ¡°Well, there are two ways for you to leave Materium. Your mind has to go, but your body can stay, if you¡¯re projecting yourself, like when you prayed.¡±


    Ahhh ¨C that¡¯s what happens to you when I ask you to go to sleep.


    ¡°Very good, Kas. But it¡¯s not your home-plane ¨C if you want to be able to use your powers when you¡¯re there, you¡¯re going to need the full package. You have to physically step into another plane.¡±


    Doesn¡¯t that mean I¡¯ll be more vulnerable?


    ¡°Yes, but only insofar as you were barely vulnerable at all when it was just your mind that¡¯d taken the trip. Open to influence, perhaps, and the most crude forms of psychic attacks, but nothing that could cause serious harm ¨C unless you went bothering, you know¡­ ancient liches, fey-lords¡­ kings of hell, actual gods¡­ that kind of thing.¡±


    But this is going to be different. Not exactly being reassuring here, O faerie queen.


    ¡°Not exactly trying to be. You¡¯ll be safe there, but only if you¡¯re being cautious. You have to keep your shields up, your wits about you, and be ready to step back out to Materium at a moment¡¯s notice.¡±


    Okay. That doesn¡¯t sound impossible. That¡¯s enough by way of precautions?


    ¡°What else did you have in mind?¡±


    I was hoping you¡¯d suggest something, really.


    She mind-sighed.


    Fine, fine, I get it. Shields up, eyes open, and¡­ this ¡®step back out¡¯ business. I guess that¡¯s where I need to start, right? ¡®Stepping in¡¯?


    ¡°Sometimes the planes align, and you can see the seams, but for an arch-sorcerer you can just open a rupture at will. It costs you a little strength, but nothing you¡¯re not used to.¡±


    Oh?


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s the same thing as when you summon Olbru and Glodb and Gradagh. Only for them, it¡¯s less taxing on you to send them back than it is for you to call them through, providing they aren¡¯t resisting, of course. For you, it¡¯ll be reversed. You¡¯re a native of this plane, they¡¯re native to the otherworld.¡±


    Taxing? I considered it for a moment. I¡¯ve never really noticed anything.


    ¡°Like I said, only a little strength, soon to return. Try doing it to a hundred eldritches at once ¨C or ten potent ones ¨C then you¡¯ll feel it, I imagine. Anyway, I¡¯ll show you when we get there. We¡¯re almost there.¡±


    I do realise. It¡¯s my legs doing all the walking, you know.


    ¡°Oh, quit complaining ¨C if I had a stride like yours there¡¯s nowhere I wouldn¡¯t walk. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have to sit here and listen to you harp on about it like it¡¯s a chore?¡±


    I let her have her moment, looking across at the trees as the houses ended and the chest-high wooden barrier that fenced the graveyard off from the roadway took over.


    So why are we here, exactly? Isn¡¯t Etherium, well, everywhere? This place¡­


    ¡°This place is strongly tied to Nethernum, yes, but I want to show you a natural seam first, if I can, and we need a bit of wilderness for that. Plus, strange things happen to the places where there¡¯s no plant-life. Space compresses. You could walk right out of Mund, if you went the wrong way.¡±


    I¡¯m not even going to pretend to understand¡­ But I¡¯d have thought a graveyard ¨C


    ¡°Yes, Kas. Gods know there¡¯s probably tons of seams to Nethernum here too, but I can¡¯t see them.¡±


    You¡¯re strictly an Etherium-only girl.


    ¡°Har-har. I do hope you¡¯re going to take this seriously. Planes aren¡¯t like places, they aren¡¯t material.¡±


    But I¡¯m material, right?


    ¡°Your power lets you sustain form when you¡¯re in another plane, but, without your constant touch or your seal in their flesh, anyone from Materium you took with you would simply snap straight back out ¨C using your power, the power that first brought them through. Here ¨C over the fence.¡±


    I halted, glancing over the wooden barrier, then I simply vaulted over the rail, plunging into the undergrowth. It didn¡¯t look like we were going towards my parents¡¯ graves, which relieved me ¨C we were headed closer to the spot where Lord Obsolete had run into a fledgling new arch-sorcerer.


    So if you went to, say, Infernum ¨C


    ¡°I¡¯d need your hand or seal to go with you, yes. I can¡¯t take form there ¨C my mind doesn¡¯t exist there, do you see? ¨C and I can only remain joined with you in Materium. If you leapt through right now I¡¯d get left behind. Not that I know exactly how you managed to send Olbru to Infernum that time¡­¡±


    I slogged through a tough patch of thorny bushes and, pulling my robe free, got to relatively-clear ground, covered in long, wet grass.


    Then I stopped again, realising what she meant.


    So in the otherworld, we¡¯ll be separated?


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll stay by your side, though. I¡¯ll even ride in your hood, if you¡¯ll have me.¡±


    I chuckled, then resumed our course.


    It¡¯ll be like nothing¡¯s changed.


    ¡°Except everything will be different, Kas. You won¡¯t have my regeneration ¨C¡°


    If something hurts me in there, it can kill me?


    ¡°Kill you, eat you, drop you right back out.¡±


    Nice.


    ¡°But more importantly, you won¡¯t have my perception filters¡­ The landscapes of all the immaterial realms are made from¡­ you¡¯re probably best thinking of it as psychic energy. Etherium is almost pure, uneclipsed joy¡­ on the surface at least. You won¡¯t be able to summon fey while you¡¯re there ¨C that¡¯s for an advanced class. You¡¯re really going to have to try your hardest to keep your wits about you and not get distracted, at least the first time.¡±


    I promise to keep a lid on my enthusiasm.


    It was her turn to chuckle. ¡°Just you wait.¡± And then a moment later: ¡°Stop here. Look. Can you see it? Feel it?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t see anything. We were in a copse of leafless trees between two rows of graves. The ground was a brown twig-scattered mulch, smelling of dirt and decay, a few stray nettle-bushes the only real greenery in my immediate vicinity. Somewhere far off I could hear a night-crew digging graves so they¡¯d be ready for the morning ¨C complaining too loudly to be robbers.


    No, I couldn¡¯t see anything, but I had a sudden urge to put out my hand ¨C and when I waved it in the air, the air rippled away from my touch in every direction ¨C every dimension ¨C every plane.


    There was something there, clinging to the air and slowly drifting, a ¨C what had she called it? ¨C a seam. A faint green glimmer, like a single luminous hair, twisting and coiling. Something wrong that I felt I could fix, or exacerbate, by a simple touch of my hand.


    ¡°We fairies call it the jadeway. You¡¯ll need to stretch it to open it enough to step through. Use it to get there and then you can use it to come back, to get some experience, before we have you open your own gate.¡±


    I drew a breath.


    I guess this is it.


    I used gestures to simulate peeling open this seam between worlds, moving my hands in a rough approximation of what I was trying to do, fingers curled as if grasping at the very fabric of reality ¨C yet I could see it responding smoothly, not to my cumbersome hands, but to my will, my mind, imagination. It opened, like a distended disc of green, shimmering foam ¨C not fiery or coursing with waves as with the Autumn Door, but a surface of bubbling, popping luminescence.


    Once it was big enough to step through, I raised my right foot, then leaned into it, submerging myself into the jadeway, bringing my weight forwards and down onto my foot ¨C


    Before the sole of my boot reached the ground of this other plane to which I¡¯d committed myself, the foam washed over my face, and I could see.


    I had plunged into a dream-world ¨C I was all the way through, reinforced circle bobbing around me.


    I stood as if in the midst of a vast forest, not a mere graveyard in the centre of a city.


    A pink-orange sky streaked with dark grey clouds, the time of day indeterminate, perhaps indeterminable. Trees which weren¡¯t forced to endure the death-curse of seasonal cycles loomed, strong and strange ¨C the branches were thick with green leaves raised as if by individual winds, tendrils reaching up to caress that weird but strangely heart-warming sky. Holes in their bark were spilling forth rivers of sap, shining silver-gold, and small animals and birds and other creatures I didn¡¯t recognise congregated without conflict to drink the nectar.


    Glimmering sparks, soft to the touch as they passed over my skin, streamed this way and that in the air, playing one moment in the open and then darting off in the next to light the shadowy eaves of the trees, like clouds of electric insects that possessed no substance, no will other than to roll about in the breeze. And the breeze itself ¨C each gust brought an overpowering scent of peaches, with the odour of moss replacing it in its wake as it passed.


    ¡°Well?¡± came Zel¡¯s voice, familiar and yet not so. It was probably always going to be odd, listening to her with my actual ears instead of via the telepathic communication. Well, my right ear, to be specific ¨C it seemed she¡¯d come free of our joining and stayed silent within the cowl for a minute, allowing me to get my bearings before piping up.


    ¡°Sweet Nentheleme, this place¡­¡± My eyes wide, I turned slowly on the spot.


    I raised my slackened, slightly-ajar lower jaw with a ¡®clomp¡¯ sound.


    ¡°She lives here, you know. Well, part of her, at least.¡±


    ¡°Wha- who?¡±


    ¡°Nentheleme.¡±


    Surprising that the Goddess of Freedom, Pleasure and Art would hang around with the fey? Not so much. But it was exhilarating to think that I might actually meet a god in person¡­ During my visitation to the shadowland and Mortiforn¡¯s vampire servitor, it was entirely possible that Lord Suffering himself had just been in the next room over¡­


    I was glad I was here rather than there, suddenly.


    ¡°Do you¡­ get to see much of her?¡±


    Zel laughed. ¡°Nentheleme? She¡¯s usually away in the outer dimensions, the borderlands, galloping across the timeless fields of the Thousand Marches. You wouldn¡¯t meet her unless she wanted to meet you.¡±


    Nentheleme, the Unbroken Unicorn.


    ¡°Did you ever meet her?¡±


    She ignored my digression. ¡°Come on, turn around; let¡¯s get you back.¡±


    The seam wasn¡¯t immediately visible to me, yet it was easier to find it the second time, and easier to stretch it.


    But Materium was just so mundane.


    After three times there and back using the seam, she stopped me.


    ¡°A seam will fade over time,¡± she said from her place in my hood, not bothering to rejoin with me due to the inevitable separation soon to occur again, ¡°though the more you use it the stronger its connection will become, and the likelier it will open on the same place in the otherworld next time it appears. We¡¯d better stop now, or it¡¯ll soon become an actual portal, and swallow up random passers-by from time to time, as well as spit out goblins.¡±


    ¡°Twelve Hells,¡± I muttered. That sounded bad.


    ¡°Inappropriate, but I take your point. Let¡¯s move aside a little, and you can rupture your own way through.¡±


    It was a lot darker without the visual assistance I took from her when we were joined ¨C though I did appreciate the fact I could no longer smell the aroma of death I¡¯d been subject to with her onboard.


    Despite the darkness I didn¡¯t want to appear like a cripple without her, and set off at a brisk pace ¨C


    I only got about fifteen paces before she stopped me again.


    ¡°Okay, here. This time, you¡¯re tearing the hole with your own power. You want to do the same as when you were stretching the seam, but this time, you create the seam, hold it in your mind.¡±


    It was hard ¨C or, it was weird. It felt like clawing at a bubble but the bubble was made of a material too thick for my fingers to get purchase, something that would be glistening and glossy if I could only see it, but it wasn¡¯t there, it wasn¡¯t anything but empty air ¨C


    ¡°It¡¯s not something you can¡¯t do. You do it all the time. You crack open planes like eggs for Flood Boy and the Mummifiers. This is no different. Don¡¯t you get it? You¡¯re no different to them. To us. You can bring yourself there just like you can bring us here. You just¡­ press¡­ pull¡­ distort the ripple where the gate is sealed and then unlock it from there, swing it open ¨C yes, you¡¯re doing it¡­¡±


    I had no idea why her words helped, what she really meant by them, why her steady tone was so reassuring.


    ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯ve done this before,¡± I said.


    ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯ve done this before,¡± she retorted; ¡°oh wait, you have. You clod¡­¡±


    I looked into the ¡®rupture¡¯ I¡¯d cut into reality, hanging there, awaiting me, a mass of sizzling greenness no different to the seams I¡¯d just been using for the last few minutes.


    I¡¯d created that wrongness, that chasm in realities.


    ¡°Come on, I doubt you want to take all day at this,¡± she muttered, but I could hear her own anticipation. She liked being home.


    ¡°Alright, alright.¡±


    I went ahead, back through to the otherworld.


    One of the clouds of glowing firefly-like things passed by me again in a waft of citrus-tinged breeze, the fluttering lights tickling my hands before shooting off to hover thirty feet away.


    What would it be like here with Zel¡¯s senses? I wondered.


    I¡¯d landed in a puddle of sap, disturbing some three-tailed, curly-horned squirrels, sending them promptly fleeing up the nearest tree ¨C a tree which seemed to acknowledge their presence with a new gush of sap flooding out from high-up, where they could feel safe from me.


    Weird.


    ¡°Kas.¡±


    I glanced about ¨C what was weirder, I was only about five paces from where I¡¯d been when I¡¯d used the seam.


    ¡°Kas?¡± She tutted ¨C I felt movement as she walked around my head and, hand on my cheek, leaned around to look me in the eye; it was startling to see the little blonde-haired fairy right there, huge in my vision all of a sudden. ¡°I don¡¯t like not being able to hear your thoughts.¡±


    ¡°Never a less-creepy sentence uttered. No, it¡¯s just, I¡¯m confused about the relationship between the planes¡­ Fifteen paces there is five here?¡±


    ¡°Sounds about right,¡± she replied in a thoughtful tone. ¡°Interesting that you came up with that so quickly ¨C I mean, I thought you were being all distracted-Kas, while you were being all insightful-Kas. You¡¯ll be a proper professional sorcerer in no time, at this rate.¡± She patted my cheek then resumed her previous position.


    ¡®Proper professional sorcerer¡¯, I grumbled internally, thankful she couldn¡¯t hear my thoughts. That was about the tenth time in the past week she¡¯d patronised me like that.


    ¡°Which way do we go?¡± I asked, looking around again.


    ¡°Pick one.¡±


    ¡°Erm ¨C alright, this way.¡± I stepped out of the puddle and set off on what looked like the most-even ground. ¡°So I can¡¯t use these gates, these ruptures, to get places quickly? You talked about walking right out of Mund.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s unreliable ¨C it changes with the tides, the same as time.¡±


    ¡°Time!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯ll even out. You¡¯ll get a feel for it eventually.¡±


    I entered a wide clearing of lush, lime-green grass, wet with dew, glistening like glass. The area was dotted with obelisks of jade rock, each about twice my height and jagged along the top. About each obelisk a single red tendril was wrapped, a shoot no thicker than my finger but wound about the jade pillar a hundred or more times, right up to the ragged, toothy tips.


    A representation of the gravestones back in Materium?


    I sighed as I strode. ¡°I was hoping I¡¯d learn how to teleport. I wondered if you could use it to fly, flying¡¯s so useful¡­¡±


    ¡°Ehhhh¡­¡± I heard her frustrated exhalation.


    ¡°It was the twins¡¯ idea,¡± I said in my defence.


    ¡°Really.¡±


    ¡°It was!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying you can¡¯t open a gate in the air, but¡­ Look, if you want to fly, you take a flying creature, and you join with it. If you want to teleport you find a teleporter, but the ones you can join with are pretty damn rare ¨C that, or you access ¨C¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Wait ¨C ¡®join¡¯? Like I join with you?¡±


    ¡°Well, basically, yes, but you couldn¡¯t use my wings unless you received a very strange twist on my powers; I¡¯m tiny. You find the right creature, and just put it into yourself, or put yourself into it ¨C whatever. It¡¯s as easy as opening a portal for you, trust me.¡±


    ¡°But then I¡¯d have to listen to it all the time ¨C oh, wait ¨C¡°


    ¡°Yeeeessss¡­?¡±


    ¡°¨C I turn them off, don¡¯t I? But keep their powers, just like I keep your perception, your healing¡­ Oh, wow¡­¡±


    None of this had ever really occurred to me before; even seeing Dustbringer using his spectral ¡®chariots¡¯ of Nethermist hadn¡¯t clued me in. I¡¯d just assumed he¡¯d had to pay some price for his transportation. If it was as simple as ¡®hey, you¡¯re mine, make me fly, now go to sleep¡¯¡­


    I exited the clearing, entered another wooded patch, picking my way amongst the moss-blanketed roots; some of the mosses weren¡¯t green but bright vibrant yellow, or even soft pinks and lilacs.


    ¡°But ¨C how many can I join with?¡±


    ¡°Well, that depends.¡±


    ¡°On their power?¡±


    ¡°And yours. In any case, far fewer than you can simply command. I don¡¯t know how many you¡¯ll be able to handle at once, but I suspect you can fit another one or two in there with me, if you¡¯re just desperate to fly.¡±


    I started ticking off my shopping list. ¡°Fly. Heal. Two types of blastiness: lethal for the monsters and non-lethal for the people. Walk through walls ¨C¡±


    ¡°Walk through walls? The chances are slim; it¡¯s more an undead or demonic deal. A ghost for sure ¨C almost all of them will offer you that power ¨C or a mizelikon, maybe¡­ I really couldn¡¯t say. Unless you¡¯re willing to take a trip to a different dimension, I think you¡¯re out of luck.¡±


    I considered her answer. ¡°Soooo¡­ you¡¯re saying the other things on that list aren¡¯t out of the question?¡±


    I heard her sigh. ¡°Let¡¯s just ¨C oh, interesting.¡±


    ¡°What is it now?¡±


    ¡°Shh!¡± she hissed, way louder in my ear than she needed to be.


    I halted, and then out of pure instinct I crouched and slunk slowly towards the nearest tree, restricting the different possible angles of attack and making myself a smaller target ¨C not that it was likely to matter, in a place such as this. Either my star-and-circle shield would work and I¡¯d be fine, or my shield would fail and I¡¯d die ¨C there¡¯d be no middle ground.


    I started running through the rupture-creation procedure again in my head. It¡¯d be easier going back. Easier to tear a hole in the planes going home than to get here.


    I couldn¡¯t see a seam, but I could imagine where to make one, picture the green crease hanging in the air before me.


    I felt safe enough, but Zel still wasn¡¯t talking.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked in appropriately-hushed tones.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to get a read on, even for me,¡± she replied. ¡°Possible illusions.¡±


    Illusions. Didn¡¯t even put that on the list.


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying no to a pet illusionist,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°You¡¯re not saying no to a proficient illusionist either ¨C that¡¯s what I¡¯m afraid of. Give me a minute and get ready to go home if I say.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    I held myself poised, ready to open the rupture at a moment¡¯s notice.


    Then I heard her let out a breath in my ear, and the tinkle of her soft laughter.


    ¡°Ah, don¡¯t be worried. It¡¯s just a gremlin. Go forward.¡±


    I didn¡¯t move. ¡°Gremlin? What should I be expecting?¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t make anything solid to the touch, but their apparitions are said to be convincing by those who don¡¯t have eyes like mine.¡± I detected a note of pride in her voice there. ¡°They can get a general read on their victims ¨C they can¡¯t pick through your thoughts, but they can get a sense of your overall emotional state, which helps them decide how best to get your guard down.¡±


    ¡°And once your guard¡¯s down?¡±


    ¡°They approach invisibly and take all your stuff, usually. It¡¯s not often they do it, but they can drink your brain right out of your ear if you get on their bad side.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but pause a moment, before uttering a slightly less confident-sounding, ¡°Nice¡­¡±


    ¡°No way it¡¯s getting through your shield. Go grab it, the same as you got the goblins. You can use that shield trick to trap it.¡±


    I stopped crouching and, smoothing down my robe, continued on my way, moving perhaps just a trace more cautiously than before, eyes peeled for the first sign of a disturbance¡­


    The goblins had been creating a disturbance for the locals in Lord¡¯s Knuckle, and when I got to the place Zel pointed me to they¡¯d been sewing the pelts of the local wild cats they¡¯d been eating into what looked like the world¡¯s most-repulsive blanket. Flood Boy blocked the exits, and a few choice words had made them the latest additions to Team Feychilde.


    Now I was going to expand that roster.


    Before I¡¯d gone thirty yards, a voice rang out from somewhere in the trees in front of me:


    ¡°Hello? Hello, is someone there? Can you help me? I think I¡¯m stuck!¡±


    It was the voice of a human-sounding woman, tinged with a thread of terror, and there was a very realistic note of self-deprecation mixed in there. The voice of someone who¡¯d got themselves into a bit of a tricky situation, and hadn¡¯t quite lost their nerve yet.


    I made my way another twenty yards, skipping across a glittering sap-filled dip in the earth between two trees ¨C and then I could see her, her foot trapped in a snarl of roots.


    She wore a diamond-inlaid choker about her neck, and a tunic of fine, gold-trimmed leather above a knee-length skirt that looked to be woven of leaves. A scabbard hung at her side, the cross-guard and pommel of her sword inlaid with rubies. She wasn¡¯t human ¨C she was elven, metallic-red hair tied in long tresses that exposed the curved ears. Her face held the refined beauty possessed by all elvenkind, but her eyes in particular were striking ¨C green like mine only deeper, like wells of meaning, surmounted by long, red-tinged lashes.


    The moment the elf-maiden spotted me, those eyes were turned imploringly to my face, hidden beneath my mask.


    ¡°Oh, praise be to Nentheleme!¡± she cried joyously. ¡°Praised be the Horned One! Good sir, might you spare a moment of your time to aid a fellow traveller in dire need?¡±


    ¡°Where is it, exactly?¡± I muttered to Zel, ignoring the illusion.


    There was no response from the fairy. That meant it was either hiding my voice from her, or hers from me.


    I¡¯ll have to remember that trick, once you¡¯re mine, gremlin.


    ¡°Sir?¡± The elf¡¯s voice had just the right note of incredulity, the hopefulness melting out of her. ¡°Will you not lend me your assistance? Please!¡± More of the terror now. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything.¡±


    I decided to come at this at a whole different angle.


    ¡°You¡¯re laying it on a bit thick by this point,¡± I called out loud. ¡°No running away. Come before me and present yourself.¡±


    The elf pouted, beating her lashes at me one last time before suddenly freezing, as if time had stopped for her; then in the next moment I could see where she was coming apart, drifting into wisps of mist or smoke clinging to the air.


    And the next moment, the frozen image of the elf erupted as a gigantic freaking wolf leapt right through her, jaws wide, snarling.


    It didn¡¯t even trigger the shield, and, with that bolstering my resolve, I held my ground, even stepping into it slightly.


    The moment the wolf touched me it too became mist.


    ¡°Seriously, this is all you can do? I¡¯ve half a mind to just leave you here. Come on out.¡±


    Stillness was my only answer. Silence. Not even the rustling of leaves.


    Sighing, I spread out more shields.


    When I made my pentagon I felt it, a pressure ¨C weak, vanishingly weak ¨C on the edge behind me.


    This time it was even easier to form the trap, loop it around and tie it behind the invisible presence I¡¯d sensed.


    ¡°Serenel;¡± the thing swore in Etheric, a thin, reedy voice coming from within the diamond-shaped fencing of blue lines.


    I turned, keeping my eyes on the ground, and adopted a shocked expression. ¡°Please, there¡¯re ladies present,¡± I chided it. I gestured to my shoulder, and felt Zel lean against the side of my head, sticking an arm out of my hood and waving. ¡°Now, be a good gremlin, give me your name and swear to serve me in heart and mind and deed, indefinitely, and with all your undying loyalty.¡±


    Without that shortcut I¡¯d be forced to glare in his general direction, and none of us wanted that.


    Zel¡¯s miniscule nails dug like pins into my neck in anticipation.


    The gremlin gave forth a noise that was something like a hiss, but I got the impression it was sighing, a protracted, almost resigned-seeming sound.


    In the same moment its name entered my mind, like a long-forgotten, suddenly-remembered fact ¨C


    ¡°Zabalam,¡± it croaked at last in its thin, querulous voice. ¡°I swear to serve as you say.¡± It let out another hiss, disappointment in the low sound. ¡°Failed again.¡±


    I could sense the bond when I put my hand out in its direction. ¡°Zabalam ¨C let my friend speak to me,¡± I said, wanting to test the waters before I dropped the diamond-shaped barrier.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Zel said snarkily.


    ¡°My pleasure,¡± Zabalam snarked back.


    I let the diamond-lines fade out. ¡°Be visible,¡± I commanded.


    There was a shimmering, glimmering on the air, a mist which swiftly coalesced into a funny-looking little chap.


    The gremlin, Zabalam, was about two feet tall and entirely hairless. His long-fingered hands were tucked into the pockets of his tiny, form-fitting breeches, leaving only the long sharp-nailed thumbs exposed. He wore a loose white vest over his skinny upper half, and his feet were housed in bright red, stretched-looking felt shoes with curly tips. His skin was pink but mottled with green like mould in patches here and there. His overlarge, bald head would¡¯ve resembled a pig¡¯s, complete with its beady eyes (gleaming the same as the illusory elf¡¯s had been, deep-green and uncanny). That said, the snout and ears were pointed, curling down like a goblin¡¯s, and his sharp, randomly-oriented little teeth were protruding from between his lips.


    He looked so upset.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be having performance anxiety.¡± I tried a conciliatory smile. ¡°To be fair, I had help.¡±


    ¡°She told you what was coming?¡± he hissed, actual anger in it this time.


    ¡°You¡¯d do the same, now, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±


    Then the resigned-sounding hiss again, his almost-glowing eyes lowered. ¡°I suppose ¨C yes ¨C master.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need any of that ¡®master¡¯ nonsense,¡± I replied. ¡°Just¡­ do as I say, and you¡¯ll be the best-treated gremlin in the whole of Materium.¡±


    ¡°As you say,¡± the gremlin said glumly.


    Mission accomplished.


    ¡°Do you want to come along?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Oh, drop it,¡± Zel said, irate.


    The gremlin¡¯s face had perked up at my question.


    ¡°Come along?¡± he asked. ¡°You mean¡­ I can go with you?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    He smiled, showing several full sets of spiky little teeth ¨C and trotted towards me in his bright-red pointy shoes, entering the circle-shield without being fazed in the slightest.


    I heard Zel voice a tinny little growl, and I smiled too.


    Disgruntled-sounding fairy on my shoulder, eager-looking gremlin at my side, I set off again, heading deeper into the fey wood.


    * * *


    ¡°What on earth is that?¡± I said, trying to keep the awe from my voice and failing miserably.


    ¡°Is he always like this?¡± Zab asked Zel.


    ¡°Ninety-nine percent of the time.¡±


    ¡°How do you put up with it?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t give away a secret like that for free, when I could sell it you,¡± Zel said with a grin.


    Zab hissed in his sighing manner.


    In the twenty minutes (or what felt like twenty minutes, anyway ¨C who knew how long it¡¯d actually been, given where we were) since we met Zab, the fairy and gremlin had already developed the foundation of what I was sure would soon become a good working relationship. They had moved on from threatening to kill each other (a topic of conversation henceforth barred, by their master¡¯s decree, for fear of one of them actually finding a way to get around my commands and literally do it), to threatening to merely torture each other (another topic of conversation henceforth banned, if only to stop the increasingly-nauseating descriptions of flaying parboiled flesh). After sufficient cajoling and topic-banning on my behalf, it transpired that my two minions had absolutely nothing in common ¨C aside from the fact I was being a continual pain in both their necks. And so they were choosing to bond, like any good employees, over the incompetence of their management.


    ¡°No, seriously, what is it?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t take my eyes off the creature.


    We¡¯d halted on the edge of a cliff, in a patch of tall grass Zel called ¡®treegrass¡¯ ¨C huge green blades taller than me, never mind my companions ¨C and pushed our way through, keeping low to the ground, to overlook the little tree-dotted valley in which our quarry was situated without being spotted.


    ¡°A sylph, Feychilde,¡± Zel replied.


    It was a man sitting upon a horizontal section of the curliest tree¡¯s trunk, cupping the silver-gold sap flowing freely from his seat and drinking it, washing in it. He would stand seven feet tall, his hair straight and glossy like a sheet of pure black jet; and he was beautiful. Not handsome, beautiful: it was like a sculptor had crafted him out of bronze, and if I¡¯d been otherwise-inclined I¡¯d have probably thought a gremlin with even poorer taste than Zab was at work. His skin was burnished; despite the shadows of the branches and the dim, unchanging pink-orange sky, his rippling muscles shone from the sap. He was what I could only describe as scantily clad, a single strip of white linen dangling about his waistline to protect his modesty.


    It was just normal-length grass down there in the valley, even if the area was dotted with multicoloured fluorescent flowers and bushes that walked, meandering slowly across the landscape. I could get into range of the sylph pretty easily.


    ¡°What does he do?¡±


    ¡°First two things on your list checked off in one. Pretty durable too.¡±


    Flies¡­ and heals?


    ¡°Can he heal other people, or just regenerate himself like you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s pointless asking, Feychilde.¡± (I got the impression she was using my name this regularly so as to drum it into Zab, who was watching our exchange quietly, observing us with those little green eyes.) ¡°For the record he should be able to do both, but you¡¯ll have to test the powers once you¡¯re joined. You can manifest them in different ways to him, though it¡¯s usually to some lesser degree.¡±


    I took a second absorbing that.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go into this thinking you¡¯re getting the healing potential of a druid,¡± she continued, ¡°because you¡¯re going to be disappointed.¡±


    ¡°Right. So a different fey ¨C not this sylph, I get that, but another one ¨C might be able to only heal itself, but I might be able to heal others with its power ¨C even if it¡¯s slower, not as¡­ healy?¡±


    ¡°Right, Feychilde. Not as healy.¡±


    ¡°Come on, your highness,¡± two can play that game, ¡°I¡¯m under a lot of pressure here. This is my first time in the otherworld, remember?¡±


    ¡°You might not even get that power. Or much at all. It¡¯s not like you can draw things out of the air like I can, when we¡¯re joined, is it?¡±


    ¡°True. So how strong is he?¡±


    Zel shrugged, dainty pale-blue dress swishing. ¡°You¡¯ll have to test him ¨C it depends on his age and experience, his Wellspring of power. If he won¡¯t give you his name or meet your gaze we can always fight him until he starts following orders, but if he starts breaking your inner shields it might be time to call it a day. We can come back in another spot, or ¨C¡°


    ¡°I follow,¡± I said. ¡°I want his powers.¡±


    Now Zab hissed in an approving-sounding way ¨C a rising, warbling sound ¨C grinning horribly all the while in a too-many-toothed leer.


    Fine, flying was something of a luxury item ¨C one I¡¯d gotten so used to over the last couple of days that I couldn¡¯t help but want it. I knew its utility. Without flight I¡¯d have never been able to get to the centre of the crowd in Firenight Square anything like as quickly, and hundreds more lives would¡¯ve been lost ¨C there was no guarantee I¡¯d have Em at my side to use her aeromancy on me next time I needed it.


    Healing¡­


    Before the otherworld and the arch-diviner and the vampire, the real reason I hadn¡¯t been able to sleep ¨C the carnage, the bloodshed, the mayhem of the evening¡­


    There were times, plenty of times as that catastrophe was unfolding last night that I found myself standing there, floating there, doing nothing, having nothing to do ¨C if I could¡¯ve spent that time putting right just one life that¡¯d been ruined, wouldn¡¯t that have made a difference? If I could¡¯ve tended the injured, mended wounds¡­


    ¡®Especially the children.¡¯


    I shuddered in remembrance.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get him,¡± I said.


    We circled around to a spot where the cliff was less steep, and then I made my way out onto the slope, moving at a great loping run. Zab would follow along at his own pace.


    I just had to get in range of the sylph¡¯s hearing, start throwing out commands, before he managed to flee.


    As I sprinted I worked with my hands, spreading the shields I¡¯d already begun up on the crest ¨C I was getting better at it, faster.


    ¡°Do not flee!¡± I cried.


    I saw as the sylph looked up, then spun around from his seat to face me, getting to his feet as he did so. His stature was now suddenly imposing, his bronze-sculpted musculature looking like a form of weaponry all on its own, tendons carved in relief that rippled as he moved.


    The outer edge of my twelfth shield struck him and buckled inwards instead of pushing him back, then the eleventh, the tenth ¨C


    I still kept on coming. When the seven-sided shape hit him the others outside burst, and suddenly he was leaning into the dome of force pressing against him, thrusting against my power in a futile show of exertion. However hard he tried, straining against my defences, he was being pushed back, his sinewy legs braced, dragging grooves into the grass where his feet were planted.


    I halted on the next footfall and drew out a diamond again, just to be on the safe side, then took a moment to recover my breath. I felt Zel release the hair at the nape of my neck where she¡¯d taken refuge in the bottom of my hood, and step back around to my shoulder.


    The trapped sylph didn¡¯t take long to discover his imprisonment. He lunged at the walls I¡¯d created, again and again, making the barriers shiver but nothing more ¨C not yet.


    It was then that he spread his wings, and they were just as beautiful as he, somehow completing the picture of him that I hadn¡¯t quite realised before was missing something.


    They came out from his shoulders and central and lower back ¨C three of them on either side. The wings were strong-looking, thick things, covered in dark-blue feathers, the rich colour of the night sky in the first hour of darkness; the broadest spanned ten feet, wide enough that their tips curled in at the sorcerous barrier.


    He didn¡¯t seem to care, though, and he used the edges of his wings like blades, retracting and whirling them alongside his other attacks, cutting away at my four lines of force surrounding him.


    I froze the seventh shield, then walked forwards, closing the distance. When forty-nine feet became thirty-three, Shield Six met it and took over the duty of maintaining the diamond fixed on the perimeter.


    Each shield farther from me was weaker than the next one closer to me; I didn¡¯t want the diamond to break and, while this guy didn¡¯t match up to the twelfth-rank hag-thing the Cannibal Six had thrown at me on Fullday night, he was strong.


    I approached to twenty-one feet, almost within the shadow of the tree¡¯s branches, the pentagonal Shield Four taking over anchoring the diamond.


    The sylph definitely looked flustered; his perfect sheet of black hair was tossed, some hanging in his face. I could now perceive that the shining quality of his flesh was not purely from his use of the gleaming sap to wash his body; he really was bronze, metallic-looking up close, despite the fluidity of his movements.


    As I halted again, he ceased his attempts to pierce my barriers with blows of his fists and feet and wings; he turned his face towards me while keeping his shining gold eyes on the ground in front of my feet.


    ¡°Cast not thy gaze upon me, wicked sorcerer,¡± the sylph cried in Etheric, in a youthful, arrogant, forthright-sounding voice. ¡°Set me free, and I shall grant thee a boon; entrap me longer, and it shall only be toward thy demise.¡±


    He managed to sound like he was doing me a favour and threatening me¡­ all at the same time as he inadvertently reminded me of the usefulness of the most atrocious weapon in my arsenal, made for just this situation.


    Pain-gaze.


    It won¡¯t come to that.


    ¡°It is not my intention to entrap you, noble sylph,¡± I said. Noble sylph, or essel majhar, just seemed to flow naturally in Etheric. ¡°Yet I seek more than a mere boon.¡±


    ¡°Begone, foul sorcerer!¡± he snarled, bronze features contorted even as his glare was fixed on the grass before me. ¡°This dale hath been mine abode these years ten score and five, a realm of peace amidst the tumult. How now thou durst think to sully its gentle grass with thine arts of blackest magic, I knowest not, and stand wildered ¨C I know only that it shall be to thy perishment.¡±


    ¡°Look at me.¡± I saw the second-by-second struggle, the anger-fuelled resistance, as his eyes were pulled, inch by exhausting inch, to meet my own ¨C


    The moment he did, I lowered my own face, and looked at the grass at his feet.


    ¡°I do not use my arts for, erm, black magic, noble sylph.¡± I couldn¡¯t tell if my words and actions were having any effect as I wouldn¡¯t look into his face, but his posture still seemed tense from my peripheral view of his lower body. ¡°Indeed, I am a champion of Mund, and have entered your realm without your permission. For this, I apologise, and would offer reparations ¨C¡°


    ¡°Not without limit!¡± Zel said urgently, right into my ear.


    ¡°¨C such as we might agree after more discussion,¡± I continued as smoothly as I could, ¡°if that would help alleviate your doubts.¡±


    ¡°What wouldst thou of me?¡± he asked, the imperious tone softened somewhat, though I couldn¡¯t now betray his trust by looking into his eyes. If he still bore me ill-will, and I stared into them, would it hurt him straight away, or would it take time to build up?


    ¡°Your name, noble sylph. Swear to serve me, in heart and mind and deed.¡±


    There was a pause before he spoke: ¡°Avaelar, in honour of the Keeper of the Keys.¡±


    His fealty had already passed to me ¨C I could feel it.


    Then immediately he pressed on: ¡°And thou, O sorcerer? Hast thou a name fit for mine ear?¡±


    ¡°They call me Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°A scapegrace,¡± I heard him mutter, ¡°a baseborn scapegrace.¡±


    A¡­ what? A¡­ lowborn¡­ rascal? That was what he thought of me?


    I was starting to get sick of pandering to him ¨C he hadn¡¯t budged one iota in his stance, physically or conversationally. At the same time, I was basically enslaving him¡­ which was hardly ethical in the first place. It wasn¡¯t like I could blame him for being intractable. Would I have gone along with it, if some extra-planar being popped into my reality and demanded my everlasting servitude? Yeah, probably not.


    Still, his stuck-up, holier-than-thou attitude grated on me.


    ¡°And as to your oath?¡±


    His voice was quiet, almost disbelieving: ¡°Verily do I so swear.¡±


    I gave it a moment, then raised my eyes to his, and said, ¡°I think you can move around, now.¡±


    He stretched his wings out, and they extended through the diamond.


    His will was mine.


    I let the shields fall (except the reinforced circle, of course) and watched as Avaelar took my words literally, pushing himself up into the air with a single powerful stroke of his six wings working together in unison.


    ¡°Only upon sufferance shall I attend thee,¡± he called, ¡°Master Feychilde.¡±


    I felt a chill run through me.


    He beat at the air again, rising beyond the tree¡¯s branches with a grace and speed that could only be the result of some inherent magic ¨C he had to weigh too much for those things to get him around so quickly without there being some deeper explanation. For a moment I considered stopping him, commanding him to land and chat about things, tell him I didn¡¯t want to be his ¡®master¡¯¡­ then I had second thoughts.


    Did I really want to put myself through more intolerable conversation with this otherworldly idiot? And did I really want to force him to stay in my presence, me, the one who¡¯d entered his blissful domain and heinously stripped him of his freedom of choice in around about two minutes flat? His tongue had been bound, his mind bound, to speak and think only of my betterment ¨C but, before that point, he had twice essentially sworn to see me dead. I could say I wasn¡¯t his master till I was blue in the face, try to have a friendly relationship with him as I tried with all my minions ¨C but it was no less true for all my pitiful pleading to the contrary, was it?


    I was his master now, like it or not.


    I let him fly away, Avaelar, the sylph, my newest recruit, with a slightly nauseated feeling in my belly.


    Then a yawn gripped me, unreasonably satisfying.


    Zab had only caught up right at the end, and craned his head back to look at me. ¡°Did it go well, Feychilde? Do you have his powers too?¡±


    I nodded, my eyes suddenly turned bleary.


    ¡°I think it might be time for bed, Zel,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go home, then. You can¡¯t sleep here. Things get weird if you try. You¡¯re definitely not ready for that yet ¨C few mortals are ever ready.¡±


    Zab looked slightly crestfallen when I nodded my agreement.


    ¡°There¡¯ll be plenty more opportunities to play, Zab,¡± I said.


    I held out my hands, feeling, looking for the edges of the planar linkage, the weak points, the best place to pull it apart.


    Then there it was, easier than before, just like she¡¯d said.


    A portal home.


    I looked sidelong at the gremlin.


    ¡°Do you want to come along?¡± I asked him again.


    So it was that I left behind the citrus breeze and warm, dim skies of the otherworld. The three of us crossed through, into the grounds of the Shrine of Yune.


    We came out near a bunch of gravestones, and I staggered on the slightly-uneven ground the gate gave us for a landing.


    I barely felt it as Zel slid into the side of my head, but I noticed the sudden flood of perceptual enhancements.


    Ah, the sweet smell of death.


    I looked around, getting my bearings.


    ¡°So¡­ we¡¯re still here?¡± I said, a bit of unavoidable wonderment in my voice. ¡°But how? We walked ¨C I don¡¯t know how far ¨C¡°


    The sky, too ¨C it was predawn light I could see as a purple-grey tint through the clouds.


    ¡°Three hours, give or take ¨C that¡¯s nowhere near the worst trade-off in time-flow you could¡¯ve got.¡±


    Zab hissed at my side, and I looked down at the mottled little gremlin. He held up his creepy, long-fingered hands, and three glimmering trees made out of nothing more substantial than light appeared in the air between his palms, little depictions floating there like puppets on strings. ¡°The wild places extend.¡± He spread his hands, and the trees multiplied to thirty or more. ¡°The places of civilisation contract.¡±


    Suddenly the dozens of trees were dozens of little buildings, complete with roofs and candles in the windows ¨C then he brought his hands together again, reducing the buildings to three houses.


    ¡°Impressive,¡± I said, more at the casual display of illusion than the content of the lore he¡¯d shared.


    ¡°We should get out of here. There¡¯s a couple of people heading this way.¡±


    People?


    ¡°Mourners. Crying. Nothing to worry about, but people who might get worried just seeing you here. Sorcerers, graveyards; you know the drill.¡±


    I was still looking down at Zab. So I can join with him? I just ask ¨C


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to ask, Kas. Just do it, and let¡¯s go.¡±


    I shook my head, and said, ¡°Will you let me join with you?¡±


    Zab bowed his head in a dutiful nod, and actually managed to sound distinctly happy when he replied in his reedy voice, ¡°Of course, ma- Feychilde.¡±


    I reached out, placing my hand on a mouldy patch right in the centre of his bald head.


    And I crouched, pressed down.


    Like pressing the wooden cup full of air down into a well of water; trapping the air there, pinning it somehow and withdrawing my arm ¨C


    I stood straight again. He was gone.


    ¡°Hello, Zel.¡± The thin and mischievous masculine voice.


    ¡°Hello, Zab.¡± The hard but cordial feminine voice.


    I knew whereabouts I was, and now Zel had mentioned them I could pick out the voices of a couple of women, getting slowly closer as they followed one of the trodden-down paths. I headed back into the nearest copse of trees through the knee-high grass, picking a course that¡¯d keep me out of theirs yet get me back to the fence and on my way home as swiftly as possible. I was almost battling my exhaustion as I moved, truly feeling my lack of energy reserves for the first time.


    You two can¡¯t, like, see each other in there, can you?


    ¡°No, Feychilde,¡± Zel replied, ¡°but it¡¯ll be better when you put him to sleep. Right?¡±


    I carefully held my thoughts still, stretching out the moment.


    ¡°Right, Feychilde?¡±


    Zab mind-tittered, and Zel mind-groaned.


    Within thirty seconds they were bickering over the relative merits of scrying and illusion, a topic delving deep into the philosophical that occupied them for at least five minutes. It was pleasant, actually; neither of them were actually being nasty, and it gave me something to listen to, to help keep me awake, as I made my way back to Mud Lane. There was more to the divide between divination and enchantment than I¡¯d considered, really ¨C they were arguing over the meanings of truth and falsity, the hidden forms of sensation and the power of perceptual filters.


    Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would test Zab¡¯s powers, and ¨C something about which I felt almost trepidation ¨C Avaelar¡¯s too.


    It didn¡¯t matter if I was the master. It didn¡¯t matter if I¡¯d done something horrendous to the uppity sylph and would bear his enmity till my dying day.


    I was going to bed and I was going to be able to sleep now because I knew, I knew that the next time something happened, the next time a massacre, a nightmare occurred before my waking eyes ¨C I would be prepared ¨C I would be ready ¨C and I¡¯d just taken my first real, self-directed step on that path.


    It didn¡¯t matter what justifications the heretics offered up, which gods they served. It didn¡¯t matter how a dark archmage might seek to excuse his actions, the threats he might make.


    I was going to be able to sleep because I wasn¡¯t going to let them all die like that again.

 Books Galore

    <h2>JADE 2.6: BOOKS GALORE</h2>


    ¡°You pause. You cannot go on. The moment has not yet arrived. You turn to look back. The temptation exists: to return. Undo all you have done. And yet we all know the truth of it, do we not? There is no Return. There is no undoing. The place from whence you came is gone. You may trace the loop as many times as you will ¨C you can never recapture the moment. All returning is a forwards-going. You must let the moment arrive again, if it will. Adherence to the past produces nothing new. Such order is stagnation, and will not resist chaos long. Will you be as the dragon? Will you think yourself too ancient to learn a new lesson? Give up the pretence. Flesh is harder than dragonscale.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 2:188-200


    Explosive daggers were expensive ¨C six gold apiece, which made me wonder, long after the fact, just how Lucid Lanni had come to have one of the damn things in his back pocket that time in the Gold Griffin. Perhaps he had contacts, sourcing magic items sold on the black market by darkmages. There was no way Lucid Lanni had ever had six gold in his possession at any one time.


    It was certainly true that I couldn¡¯t imagine Lanni, or any of the Mud Laners I¡¯d grown up with for that matter, shopping around here.


    Ensorcelled merchandise was the one thing you could find cheaper in Hightown than elsewhere; imbuing otherwise-ordinary items with magical effects seemed to be the most productive (and probably safest) form of employment for the sorcerers churned out by the School of Magery, and this was where they had their homes, their studies, their laboratories. There were hundreds of shops in Hightown selling magic items ¨C at least one on every street and three on each major town-square. We looked in the small ones, greeted by wafts of rosewood incense into small dark rooms humming with the low mumbling of tiny caged imps, the cramped, dingy spaces incongruous with the open neatness of the Hightown streets right outside the door. We looked in the big ones, airy spaces lit by dozens of lamps and globes and lanterns ¨C zombie customer-service assistants ambling around, carrying boxes too heavy for mortal arms without complaint or even signs of distress on their expressionless faces.


    We ended up in one of the larger stores, and six gold was the best price we¡¯d seen anywhere. I might¡¯ve been rich by my own standards, but I wasn¡¯t going to waste my money; that would denigrate the memories of those who had died, those I had failed to save. This particular Hightown establishment was the least glamorous-looking one of its size we¡¯d been into, with cobwebbed corners and strings of ancient dust coating the tiled floor ¨C yet it was teeming with patrons ranging from the dishevelled to the demure.


    Perhaps it was just that even the highborn couldn¡¯t resist a deal when they saw it.


    Fully half the people in here were mages. Me and Em drew a few glances as we neared people, and those who didn¡¯t spot us noticed us anyway, the moment they heard our (clearly not thoroughbred) accents, darting aside like we were diseased. I even caught a few of them muttering under their breath as they turned away, stalking out of the aisles we entered. At least the actual staff in the shops had been more friendly.


    Envy? Disdain? Whatever it was, it wasn¡¯t good, wasn¡¯t respectful, that was for sure. They¡¯d all heard by now ¨C it was Twoday, and yesterday the news of our deeds on Sunday night had spread throughout the city. No one could miss Feychilde and his magister-wizard accomplice, whose actions, if the criers and bulletins were to be believed, had saved the most civilians in one fell swoop out of every disaster of the last two years. It was a triumph for the Magisterium, a perfect display of magister and champion working in unison to defeat the bad guys.


    It didn¡¯t help that neither of us seemed to feel in any mood to celebrate. We¡¯d only had two conversations via glyphstone on Moonday, sharing how we were doing; she was busying herself with her classes, trying to keep out of the limelight; I was busy testing my new abilities. But it was clear she¡¯d taken it hard like me. The congratulations, the praise ¨C they were empty.


    She¡¯d spoken to Ciraya, though. Apparently Peltos wasn¡¯t going to be a problem from now on. For that, at least, I could be grateful.


    Em handed me six plat when we met ¨C five for answering the Magisterium¡¯s call, with one bonus platinum for (to apparently quote Henthae) ¡®assisting Winterprince¡¯ ¨C and I almost hadn¡¯t wanted to take them. It was as though I were being paid for watching both the twins fall in front of a rampaging wagon, and only pulling one of them back out of the way in time.


    It was hard to see it the way they saw it. I almost preferred the whispers, the mutters, the snide looks and stalking-away exhibited by half the highborn who saw us. Better than the smiling faces, the gratitude. It was all hollow.


    The money wasn¡¯t hollow, though. That was real. That was the twins¡¯ futures. That was security, a safety net.


    No, I wasn¡¯t going to waste it.


    While Em visited the ladies¡¯ room I was left to my own devices; I went back to the glass cases in which the spellbound daggers were stored, sheathed within little, delicate-looking sleeves. Despite their ordinary appearances, those glass windows were probably impenetrable under normal conditions, well-warded against interference.


    There were different designs of dagger, each small wooden athame carefully and intricately carved just like the one I¡¯d used on the Cannibal Six¡¯s hag. Only the handles and the very beginning of the blade section were visible, the majority of the length and the tip resting inside the sleeves. I supposed they were symbolic things, really, for the highborn who usually purchased them; most would never expect to have to use it, consume it. That would be the reason for the care with which the things had clearly been crafted.


    I decided on the one with the sun and moon motif ¨C it seemed to fit the duality of an embattled Feychilde, thematically ¨C and headed off through the dusty aisles to find a member of staff to unlock the case. More than one such dagger ¨C that would be wasteful. But I needed some firepower. It was something I still lacked.


    I had to take my time. I was still only just beginning to learn what I could do with Zabalam and Avaelar¡¯s powers, and I felt¡­ full. Like I¡¯d eaten enough extra-planar creatures for now and wouldn¡¯t be going back for seconds.


    As I rounded a corner it came to my attention that I could see and hear a conversation taking place at the far end of the next row, between a trio of people unaware of my presence.


    Two mages, both older human women, one in green and one in black, were involved in a discussion with what looked like a young paladin of the holy orders, or even a knight from one of the lesser kingdoms where wars were still primarily fought with men on horses bearing pointy sticks. He was a tall and burly human arrayed in almost full battle-harness, breastplate and pauldrons and gauntlets and greaves ¨C the whole works. His skin was brown-red, like smooth redebon-wood, and his raven hair was a mess in a way that suggested he spent most of his time wearing a helmet. The head of a pick-ended warhammer protruded over his shoulder and there was a sheathed sword at his hip; the hammer was slung on the outside of his wolf-pelt cloak, clearly ready for use at a moment¡¯s notice.


    From what I could tell ¨C which was a lot, even when keeping my distance, due to the fact my hearing when I concentrated was better than anything this side of canine ¨C he was on the back-foot somehow, but keeping his cool.


    ¡°¡­ we have a cleric of Wythyldwyn, a proven and capable healer,¡± he was saying, or, given his tone, retorting, in a quiet voice that belied his stature.


    ¡°If you¡¯re going after a dragon, you¡¯ll need a druid, not some priest,¡± the green-robed mage said in response, somewhat disapprovingly. She didn¡¯t look like a druid, though. Her rings, her short, tied-back hair, spoke more of an enchanter somehow ¨C or perhaps it was just an association with Henthae my mind had unconsciously made for me.


    ¡°Respectfully, m¡¯lady, we have beaten dragons before.¡±


    ¡°But if as you say, this is something new,¡± the black-robed mage said, a trace more thoughtfulness in her voice, ¡°then you¡¯ll want full-scale back up. The Night¡¯s Guardians might be able to offer that. For a share, of course.¡±


    The black-robed woman was a sorcerer, then. I couldn¡¯t see any tattoos on any of her exposed flesh, but there was a distinct chance the tattooing was a tradition only the members of Ciraya¡¯s college kept to.


    ¡°We seek archmagery.¡± He paused a moment. From my angle I couldn¡¯t get a good read on their faces but I inferred that he saw scepticism in their eyes; his voice lowered conspiratorially to the point even I was having trouble eavesdropping, and he said, ¡°It is an Ord we face.¡±


    ¡°An Ord?¡± the green-robe snorted, not matching his hushed mannerisms in the slightest.


    The fighting-man seemed to try to explain, ¡°They are the scions of the Firstcomer, the ¨C¡°


    ¡°I know the stories,¡± she interrupted. ¡°The line of Ord was wiped out centuries ago. Calling a dragon an Ord or a Mal is something people do to cover for the fact they soiled their pants when they met it.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like her, but to be fair she was expressing the same scepticism I would¡¯ve probably shown in her place. Ords were myths.


    ¡°And have you ever met a dragon, m¡¯lady?¡±


    There was a pause in which I could sense the bristling even from here.


    ¡°I have, m¡¯lady,¡± the man went on in a neutral voice. ¡°I was at Miserdell when the castle gate was melted to slag, and I have faced three more of its brood since then. I daresay you never met a man with more experience, more dragon¡¯s blood on his hands than me. So trust me when I say ¨C this is Ord Ylon, the grandspawn of Ord Yset, and we need an archmage.¡±


    The black-robe spoke confidently, ¡°Not something new, then, but something old. Old indeed. Come by the Tower of the Guardians on Roseoak Way at eight. Ask for Lord Ghemenion and say Rala Ainsbothe sent you.¡±


    He¡¯d sounded respectful the whole time he¡¯d talked, but this was the first time he sounded like he truly meant it, and he only said the one word: ¡°M¡¯lady.¡±


    The trio parted and I swivelled my head to study the nearby wall of magic potions in tiny little phials ¨C only enough in each transparent tube for a few sips ¨C so that it wouldn¡¯t be obvious I¡¯d been listening-in on their chat if one of them turned my way. I heard the surprisingly-quiet footsteps of the heavy-booted knight, or whatever he was, as he withdrew towards the front of the shop, and caught the murmurs of the green-robe as the two women moved around to another aisle: ¡°You don¡¯t really think he¡¯s serious, do you?¡­¡±


    Not sixty seconds later, Em was back at my side, and I related what I¡¯d seen and heard.


    ¡°Have you ever considered a life like that?¡± I asked her as we continued my search for a member of staff.


    ¡°Like vhat? Dragonslaying?¡±


    ¡°Adventuring. You know, questing after treasure, rescuing villages from evil overlords¡­ The kinds of things the bards write stories and songs about.¡±


    ¡°Have you?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Maybe when the twins are older. I would like to see the world, someday, I suppose. I¡¯ve spent all my life in the city walls.¡±


    ¡°But it is cold and empty and dangerous out zere.¡±


    I nodded. I could tell from the sarcastic twist to her words that she privately liked the thought of it. ¡°Except for where it¡¯s, you know, nice and warm,¡± I added blithely, ¡°teeming with friendly people.¡±


    She laughed. I wasn¡¯t certain whether or not I¡¯d been joking.


    ¡°Mm, I don¡¯t think mazan and paza vould like ze idea of zat very much.¡±


    ¡°Yet they¡¯re okay with you being a magister?¡±


    ¡°Zat¡¯s different. You and I know better, but zey are under ze impression zat ve are safe, viz every¡­ precaution taken.¡±


    I knew the shadow of Firenight Square was still hanging over her, over the both of us.


    Still, I tried to inject some humour into my smile as I looked at her incredulously. ¡°How on earth did they get that impression?¡±


    She smiled back, half-guiltily. ¡°I may have had something to do viz it.¡±


    I sniggered and poked her in the ribs, and she poked me back. This game went back and forth four or five times until we rounded a corner and came upon a flustered-looking shop-assistant ¨C of the living, breathing variety.


    ¡°Oh, excuse me ¨C could I have a hand¡­?¡± I said.


    Upon recognising us the assistant¡¯s expression softened, and he hurried to help us. We arrived back at the glass case, and he used a key on a chain around his neck to unlock the window, then slid it aside.


    ¡°Which one were you after again, sir?¡± He was affecting a rough approximation of a Hightown accent, but I could tell there was something less refined lurking beneath the surface.


    ¡°The sun and moon one, there.¡±


    He withdrew it from its place, and passed it to me handle-first, sleeve intact over the blade.


    ¡°A fine choice, sir. All our wizardry-spellbound items are sourced from the Wizard¡¯s Hat.¡± That was a manufacturer, I knew, from looking at the labels on the many other items on the shelves bearing the same name. ¡°It will not fail you.¡±


    ¡°Please, just call me Feychilde,¡± I said, taking it from him.


    He actually blushed.


    I drew the explosive dagger from the frail-looking sleeve and held the blade up before my eyes, examining its fine craftsmanship.


    ¡°¡°Oh sir ¨C Feychilde ¨C you must keep it in its sheath! Well¡­ until you¡¯re ready to use it!¡±


    I got the impression he wasn¡¯t used to having to append that extra clause.


    A little confused, I swiftly slid it back into its sleeve; the mask obscured my expression somewhat, so I cocked my head at him, making it a question.


    He cottoned-on immediately. ¡°Explosive daggers are highly volatile. Although delicate in appearance, the sheath is imbued with a resistance to impacts, vibrations¡­ anything that might set it off early.¡±


    ¡°So you wouldn¡¯t¡­ stick it up your sleeve, let¡¯s say?¡±


    ¡°Without its sheath?¡± He looked shocked.


    ¡°Or¡­ put it in your back pocket¡­ and sit down?¡±


    His shock turned to horror.


    Lucid Lanni¡­ We should¡¯ve gone with ¡®Lucky¡¯ Lanni for his nickname instead after all.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± I said, removing my platinum-filled pouch from my pocket and jingling it suggestively.


    ¡°Oh, yes,¡± he recovered himself, ¡°very good, very good, yes¡­¡±


    ¡°And there¡¯s maybe¡­ four potions I want to buy. Your healing elixirs, can we have a talk about those?¡±


    Keeping people breathing couldn¡¯t be a waste of money.


    He was looking pleased with himself by the time he led us back to the desk where the change was kept, and looked even more pleased when I tipped him.


    When we left the store, I gestured with the necklace in my hands and Em suddenly looked shy, shaking her head and blushing. I almost laughed, gesturing a second time ¨C the pressure was too much for her to continue to resist. She moved her hair aside to allow me access to the nape of her neck, and I carefully fastened the clasp on her new chain, the heart-shaped crystal pendant filled with life-giving, sparkling-green fluid lying against her chest.


    In addition to hers I had my own, in a circle-shaped pendant, already with its chain fastened, the crystal lying slightly-warm against my skin under my layers; and then one each for the twins.


    With the twins, the danger was obvious. My presence put them at risk if someone tracked me to my home like Duskdown had done ¨C and my absence put them at risk because their best defence in all the world would be a shield I¡¯d drawn to protect them against danger. They needed a second chance, a get-out-of-the-grave-free card.


    But with Em, well¡­ I told myself that it wasn¡¯t that I¡¯d already elevated her to the third most important person in my life. I told myself that she hadn¡¯t supplanted my friends in the span of a few days. I told myself it was because she was in the most danger, she was at risk, like the twins were at risk ¨C


    But I was probably lying to myself.


    She linked my arm and we strolled up the yellow-canopied street. It was an unseasonably-warm day, and she was wearing her summery white robe once more. She never seemed to get too hot or too cold. A side-benefit of arch-wizardry, I supposed.


    It was so nice having someone at my side. Someone who I could share the strange and harrowing experiences of the last few days with, someone well-placed to actual understand what I was going through; someone I could help in the same way she was helping me. I got the feeling she felt the same.


    ¡°It occurs to me,¡± she said after a minute or two of peaceful, quiet walking, ¡°zat perhaps ve are going about zis ze wrong way.¡±


    I must¡¯ve frowned, suddenly worried about what she might mean. I stopped and she halted, turning to me.


    ¡°I ¨C I think we¡¯re going about this the right way,¡± I stammered. ¡°I mean, I know we¡¯re a magister and a champion, but can¡¯t we get to know each other? If you -¡±


    She was laughing. ¡°No, silly.¡± She poked me again, and I didn¡¯t poke her back, waiting for her explanation. ¡°I mean, vhy don¡¯t ve just make our own?¡±


    ¡°M ¨C make¡­ our own¡­¡±


    For some reason, my head went straight to ¨C


    I swiftly searched with my mind, sifting through her possible meanings ¨C


    ¡°Oh, you ¨C you mean daggers!¡± I could feel myself blushing, and was thankful the mask hid the worst of it. ¡°Because we¡¯re a sorcerer, and a wizard, we can¡­ Are we allowed to do that, though? Not that I mind, exactly, but you being, well, you know¡­¡±


    She pulled on my arm; we resumed our slow stroll as she replied: ¡°It vould only be against ze law if ve vere going to enter business. Under ze Champions¡¯ Charter you have ze right to use your powers to create items ¨C not for resale, but for you to use in ze course of your professional duties. Zere are similar restrictions on magisters, along viz ze stipulations about Magisterium use, ze status of copyrights¡­ But you are a recognised champion; I can¡¯t see zat zere vill be any problems.¡±


    I processed what she¡¯d said. ¡°You really know your stuff, don¡¯t you?¡±


    She gave a mini-shrug, still linking my arm. ¡°It voz ze one thing Henthae told me, vhen she agreed to give me a place in ze magistry and a vage, vhen she gave me a future: to keep up viz my vork as a magister. Ze vizardry studies take care of zemselves, you know, vhen you are blessed viz archmagery. I spend most of class viz my magister handbook open on my desk.¡±


    ¡°You really think you¡¯d have no future, without her?¡±


    ¡°I voz lost, vhen ve arrived in ze camps. I got in three fights in ze first week. Zat¡¯s how she heard of me.¡±


    Three fights?


    She¡¯d never mentioned this before.


    ¡°I pity the idiots who dared your wrath,¡± I said. ¡°What was it ¨C robbers?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Murderers, I found out later. Ze first time. Ze second and third, I took out some darkmages who vere troubling ze populace. It voz not long before ze magisters came knocking on our tent flap.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°You were so close to becoming a champion.¡±


    She just smiled and shook her head gently. I couldn¡¯t help but have misgivings about Henthae. What if she¡¯d just slipped the thought in there: the desire to reject being a champion, the desire to submit to the Magisterium¡¯s authority¡­? Em didn¡¯t have a passenger on board to help deal with such intrusions.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about what you said, you know. The best reason to become a magister is to work alongside you. But we could do the same if you become a champion, plus we could set our own hours, make as much or as little money as we wanted. No more nine-till-three shifts¡­¡±


    She just stuck her tongue out at me, then changed the topic back.


    ¡°So? Do you vont to find out how to make explosive daggers? I have to admit zat I¡¯m quite curious myself.¡±


    ¡°Erm ¨C how would we find that out, exactly?¡±


    She grinned. ¡°You haven¡¯t been to ze library yet, have you? I¡¯ve seen your book collection, Feychilde. You are just going to love zis.¡±


    * * *


    She wasn¡¯t wrong, or even exaggerating.


    I couldn¡¯t remember ever actually being besotted with a building before. But here it was ¨C a lone structure containing what had to be the single greatest repository of magical knowledge and obscure lore ever to be gathered together under one roof.


    I actually quivered. I actually mumbled in awe. And I was far too busy quivering and mumbling to care that I was showing myself up as a terrible newbie.


    Having landed in the plaza in front of it, we walked up the library¡¯s mottled, red-pink stone steps between pillars of the same material, entering through wide-flung double-doors of thick mahogany. Massive windows showed the groups of students on the green grass, the groves of trees and the ponds. The shrine to Locus was standing nearby, an altar that was literally a haphazard-looking pile of books ¨C volumes that no wind or rain would ever damage, that no thief could ever thieve ¨C but which could be taken freely by those leaving their own replacement in its slot.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Nowhere near as many books as they¡¯d gathered in here, though.


    Blue-dyed rugs beneath our feet, we followed the route into a wide space, and I stopped by the desks at the front, just staring. The place was twenty or more storeys in height and filled with shelves that went right up to the very ceiling. The windows stretched the full length of the walls but only went up about fifty or sixty feet, so that the majority of the library was shadowy, the arched rafters high above shrouded in darkness. Glowing globes lined the aisles but most were set to give off only a dim radiance, probably due to the fact that it was a sunny day. Every inch of shelf-space was crammed with books and scrolls of a variety of shapes and sizes: narrow, aged volumes; textbooks too big and heavy for a person to carry; sealed rolls of parchment¡­


    But the most magnificent thing about the books, about the library, was the way in which prospective readers found the texts they were looking for.


    It could only be the conjoined work of sorcerer, wizard and enchanter.


    The books were flying.


    The library was busy enough ¨C the area at the front containing hundreds of desks was at least half-full with Maginox students, some chattering (quietly) to one another, others looking like they were so engrossed in what they were reading that they¡¯d need to be pulled away from their seats even if the building were aflame. But whenever someone was done with their book or scroll you could tell immediately, because it floated off from the table, usually supplanted with another volume that came drifting down to replace it.


    The wizardry for the flight could be bound to the books by sorcery, I was sure, but only enchantment could explain the fact no one seemed to be saying aloud what they wanted to find; the library itself appeared to be doing the work, plumbing the thoughts of the readers, to ensure the book they wanted ended up in front of them. Some of the globes, more brightly-lit, floated up in the shadows with the books, illuminating their passage through the darkness as they left their shelves or replaced themselves in gaps where they could fit.


    It was with a certain amount of renewed quivering and mumbling that I watched as a large, hidebound tome was illuminated, getting bigger and bigger, closer and closer, then dropping down out of the air towards me.


    I held out my arms and it gently settled itself into them, as cumbersome as a paving slab.


    Em smiled at me, in a way that told me I was reacting exactly how she¡¯d expected. She indicated a nearby desk, of which only the far side was occupied ¨C two guys and two girls were sitting there with their heads bowed over a volume that would rival the one I carried in size, whispering amongst themselves. Outside we¡¯d elicited stares and more than a few whispers, but not one of this quartet even raised their eyes at us as we parked our carts and looked at what the library had chosen for us.


    The thick hide wrapping was black, fuzzy-grey in patches, stamped with innumerable seals: there were glyphs of motion and emotion patterned into the grooves.


    I traced them with my fingertip.


    ¡°Zey all look similar,¡± Em said, ¡°except zose zat are low enough to reach ¨C some of zose are different.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised,¡± I replied. ¡°I think it¡¯s the covers that let them move to people.¡±


    She raised an eyebrow, then flipped open the front.


    The page was crisp, bone-dry, unaged.


    ¡°Marvellous,¡± I murmured to myself, scanning the writing.


    ¡°Erm ¨C vot is zis?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s, vell, not human lettering, is it?¡±


    I had to drag my eyes off the page, blink, and look back at it before I realised my head was doing its auto-translate thing again.


    ¡°Sorry, yeah. This is Netheric.¡±


    I flicked forward and back ¨C it looked like the whole thing was written in the extra-planar language comprised of minute symbols. Probably as a deterrent to anyone who didn¡¯t already have the sorcerer¡¯s initiation spells that would allow them to read the text.


    She bent her head over it, curiosity overcoming her: ¡°But zis alphabet, you can read it, just like zat? And you said it looked like I had been vorking on my skills for more zan months! Ze language spoken by ze souls of ze lost¡­¡±


    There was a little macabre wistfulness in her voice. Was it just a form of professional envy, or had she lost someone?


    ¡°I could teach you a sentence?¡± I asked.


    She nodded eagerly.


    She didn¡¯t get lessons in sorcery, so she was a blank slate when it came to this kind of stuff, and I had no formal training in it either. In a certain sense it seemed to be an advantage, because I could teach her Netheric the way I saw it without having any preconceptions getting in the way. ¡°Well, this word¡¯s pronounced tinshalemm, which is a bit like ¡®behold¡¯, except it has to be used for something up close¡­ spatially, I mean¡­ These long, curly tails? It looks like they¡¯re vowel sounds, and the curlier they are at this bit here, the further up the scale, ooh, ohh, ahh, eeh, aii¡­¡±


    Thus it was that within two minutes she could say ¡®Tinshalemm ban o mol, zathuun!¡¯ which roughly translated as ¡®Behold your doom, undead!¡¯, a relatively-fearsome battle-cry for use on nethernal foes. I didn¡¯t have the heart to try more than twice to correct her pronunciation, which in the end made it sound, to my sorcerer¡¯s-ear, a bit more like ¡®Punch your doom-ticket!¡¯. Somewhat less fearsome, true, but very irreverent-sounding; it would certainly belittle her opponents.


    Then we got into the real fun ¨C well, for me at least.


    The book had a contents page, and it soon became apparent that this wasn¡¯t a single text ¨C it was a collection of big articles, the chapters having headings like: ¡®The Wards of Tomorrow Today¡¯; ¡®Excerpts from the Tome of Understanding and Commentary Thereon¡¯; ¡®On the Perils of Attempts on Apotheosis¡¯ ¨C


    Apotheosis.


    ¡°This one¡¯s about becoming a god,¡± I breathed, tapping the entry. ¡°Well¡­ the dangers of trying to become a god, I should say.¡±


    Em whistled ¨C a low sound, but one of the quartet of mages on the other end of the table looked up, annoyance on his twenty, twenty-one year-old face¡­ Annoyance which swiftly turned to surprise upon seeing the two people everyone had been talking about yesterday sitting there. Then with a visible effort he shook his head and bent back over the text he and his fellows were working through.


    Admirable commitment, I thought, continuing to run my finger down the page: ¡®A Partial Hierarchy of the Twelve Hells¡¯; ¡®Semi-Permanent Wards: Do¡¯s and Do Not¡¯s¡¯ ¨C I needed to read that one sometime soon; it would probably give me pointers on keeping a shield active while I slept ¨C


    Then I found it.


    ¡°Here it is: ¡®A Beginner¡¯s Guide to Ensorcellment¡¯. Page one-one-three-four-nine¡­ Wow.¡±


    I turned the pages by the hundreds and thousands; the sheets were thin to the touch but the ink was clear on each side, the paper crisp and white.


    I knew some of the geometric images I saw as I flicked through were going to be useful to me ¨C the glimpse I caught of ¡®The Wards of Tomorrow Today¡¯ looked leagues beyond the stuff I¡¯d been getting from the crummy text hidden under my mattress.


    Eventually I found page 11,349 and started to scan each paragraph, providing summaries.


    ¡°Sorcery, the magic devoted to binding¡­ The item, imbued with ensorcellment, takes on the quality of a magical item¡­ I see, so the actual type of item only serves to augment the effect if it is similar to the magic¡­ You could theoretically cast any spell on the dagger, but it works better if it¡¯s, you know, an aggressive spell, because you discharge the spell with a stabbing action.¡±


    ¡°I could¡­ I vould be able to make a glow-dagger?¡±


    I nodded emphatically. ¡°Exactly! With a druid¡¯s help I could even make, like, daggers of healing!¡± I had to contain my glee. ¡°They would suck, obviously ¨C the magic wouldn¡¯t take to an instrument of death very well at all, I don¡¯t think ¨C but it¡¯s theoretically possible¡­¡±


    ¡°So¡­ ze explosive dagger. Vhere do ve start?¡±


    ¡°We need, well, a sharp bit of material ¨C that¡¯s easy. We need¡­ yes, the power-source ¨C the casters, that¡¯s us, got that¡­ and I mark it with these symbols¡­ and draw the force-lines as runes in the lines, yeah, I get it; it does look fiddly¡­ then you cast the spell with the dagger as the target¡­ and that¡¯s it? ¡®Enkirva nos o sakhamen faneir.¡¯ ¡®With this the work is complete¡¯? Wait¡­ seriously?¡± I scanned the rest of the page, flipped it over, but it just went into greater depth regarding the different preparations an ordinary mage would need. ¡°It¡¯s that simple?¡± I couldn¡¯t keep my indignation from the hushed hiss that escaped my lips. ¡°These things should be so cheap that you could sell them for a copper apiece!¡±


    ¡°Zat isn¡¯t how it vorks for zem ¨C a fireball takes far longer for ze mage zan ze archmage ¨C zey burn ze salamander skins in ze preparation rituals, zey are not cheap ¨C and zese lines of yours, can a mage ¡®draw ze lines¡¯ like you can?¡±


    I cast my mind back to Ciraya sprinkling her dead-man¡¯s dust to summon Fe and glanced back over the continuing instructions.


    ¡°You¡¯ve probably got a point¡­ These reagents could run to a pretty penny. Fair enough.¡±


    ¡°So ve can try it?¡±


    ¡°Let them try to stop us,¡± I said, closing the book. ¡°But first I want to show you something.¡±


    She looked at me in confusion.


    ¡°You forgot? Oh, it¡¯s going to be a day of surprises.¡±


    * * *


    So the lines were fiddly. So what? It only took a few goes before the glowing blue shape I¡¯d drawn with my mind and fingers sank down into the identical shape in the wood, binding it. It¡¯d been harder to carve the damn glyph into the wood in the first place, with the knife we¡¯d picked up for a few copper in an Oldtown side-street shop; I¡¯d lost most of my carving skills over the last few years.


    ¡°Easy,¡± I said, placing the sharpened twig in Em¡¯s lap. ¡°You¡¯re up.¡±


    We half-sat, half-lay together on a bed of moss, our legs slightly entwined. The wind was warm beneath the eaves of this untravelled bit of Treetown, an area of forest dense with animals rather than people, where we wouldn¡¯t be overlooked. I¡¯d removed my mask; if some dark-druid wanted my identity enough to go around asking rabbits and bushes, they¡¯d find it easier to just grab some expert diviner to pluck it out of the air for them.


    Plus, it was simply nice to have the mask off.


    I looked at her; she was still wearing the sweet little smile of elation she¡¯d worn this whole time, even while flying here ¨C ever since I took her across the bridge and let her get a glimpse of the wards surrounding her school. Once or twice I¡¯d even caught her touching the spot on her forehead where I¡¯d linked our sight and granted her use of my sorcerous vision.


    I had to admit, it was cool that she wasn¡¯t anti-sorcery. So many people thought of it as the foulest magery, the darkest archmagery. She¡¯d never subjected me to a single jibe, and here she was, fascinated with my tricks.


    Now her smile just broadened, and she affected a slight shrug of nonchalance as she lifted the makeshift dagger with the hand near to me, and lifted flaming luminescence with the other.


    I eyed it with what must¡¯ve been obvious apprehension, because she flicked her eyes across to me and murmured, ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid. Ve vill be safe.¡±


    A few seconds passed of intense humming, overlaid with crackling, as the living fire in her hand swelled, brightened, to the point I was sure it would¡¯ve already been gently roasting the both of us if she weren¡¯t protecting us from its effects ¨C


    Then she raised the ¡®dagger¡¯ yet higher and thrust her other hand, her fireball, forwards.


    Nothing ¨C it was gone, and I felt the very air around us recoiling, reeling in the absence of those forces which had just been present.


    ¡°Did it work?¡±


    ¡°I felt like I cast it¡­ Do you think ve should test it?¡±


    ¡°Uh,¡± I thought about the hag-thing, the pastybabble or whatever it was called, turning into a fountain of ichor. ¡°I think it¡¯d completely explode a tree, you know.¡±


    ¡°Ve have other options, remember?¡±


    She passed me the hopefully-explosive dagger we¡¯d made; it took her only moments to build a dirt-elemental, humanoid and still, its two stumpy feet planted into the ground just a few yards from us. We disentangled ourselves and stood up.


    I walked around it, admiring her work. I almost didn¡¯t want to ruin it.


    ¡°I have used some of ze clay. It¡¯s tougher zan it looks.¡±


    I returned to the front, and drew back the sharpened twig.


    ¡°Here goes nothing,¡± I said. I could hear the reluctance in my own voice.


    Demons come in humanoid-form, I reminded myself.


    A single thrust, and a whoosh of wind ¨C


    The dirt and clay splattered in an arc away from me, covering the branches and plants, causing a furious scurrying in the undergrowth.


    I shook the ashy residue from my hand and turned back to her.


    ¡°It vorks,¡± she said, grinning.


    ¡°It would certainly appear so. Though we forgot one thing.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t look up how to make sheaths.¡±


    ¡°Ahhh.¡± She looked down, then took my hand, her face suddenly serious, eyes hungry, imploring. ¡°So, vhere vere ve?¡±


    My hands found her waist, hers found my neck, and we sank back down into the moss.


    * * *


    It was getting dark, and should¡¯ve been getting cold too ¨C but only warm winds touched us down here in our bower of loam and lichen, wizardry stealing away the chill of twilight.


    ¡°Zey all vonted to congratulate me ¨C as if I really did anything,¡± she was saying, lying on her front in the groove of my arm, wrapping my hair around her finger as she stared at me. ¡°It voz you who stopped ze slaughter in its tracks, but zey acted like I¡¯d done it single-handedly.¡±


    ¡°If it weren¡¯t for you destroying them, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to hold the shields up. They were falling, and would¡¯ve all fallen in the end I think, if you hadn¡¯t been there.¡±


    ¡°So in your mind ve share ze credit?¡±


    I heard the bitterness, and grimly responded to it: ¡°Share the blame, you mean¡­¡±


    She sniffled a little. ¡°I agree,¡± she said in a small voice.


    As I stared up into the branches overhead, black veins across an ever-darkening sky, she abandoned the one twist of my hair and moved on to another, coiling it around her finger.


    ¡°I even had people singing my praises in the street yesterday,¡± I said after a bit, ¡°and it was like, they don¡¯t know, don¡¯t realise what we failed to prevent. They just hear the headlines, see the archmage walking through the market, and want to revel in it like it was some kind of victory.¡±


    ¡°Ve¡¯ll do better next time.¡±


    I nodded, more to myself than to her. ¡°We¡¯ll learn our lessons. We¡¯re new to this, both of us. I didn¡¯t like the way Winterprince was so¡­ accusatory. As if we¡¯re meant to be at his calibre, given our experience ¨C I mean ¨C¡°


    ¡°I get vhere he voz coming from,¡± Em hedged. Her tone told me she knew it sounded like she was just defending a fellow arch-wizard, but, still, she felt she had a point to make. ¡°Ve shouldn¡¯t have even been zere if ve veren¡¯t villing to follow through viz ze orders.¡±


    ¡°We were only there by chance. By fate. By¡­¡±


    By the power, the mercy of the gods?


    ¡°It voz fortunate.¡±


    I sighed.


    When she next spoke, the words came bursting out of her:


    ¡°Kas! I can¡¯t believe I forgot to ask you. You said zat you¡¯d been on a trip to Zel¡¯s land? Ze Etherium? You made it sound so ordinary.¡±


    I rolled my head to face her, our eyes only inches apart, and nodded.


    ¡°Vhat voz it like?¡± she asked, moving on to yet another tangle of my hair.


    What was it like? I was going to save that till later.


    ¡°I got a couple of new skills,¡± was all I said in reply, holding out my hand, palm up and horizontal where she could see it.


    A red rose grew out of my palm, far more magnificent than any other red rose she¡¯d ever seen, stem and petals of emerald glimmering beneath a diamond dust, topped with a fist-sized flower like a ruby.


    She gasped as the rose teetered and toppled, then reached out her free hand to rescue it, only to find it as cold and brittle as an icicle between her fingers ¨C it fractured into shards that were in the next moment a cloud of small white feathers, drifting slowly towards the twig-strewn ground.


    ¡°That¡¯s all I got off the gremlin,¡± I muttered. ¡°I can do short-and-sweet, but making myself look like someone else is taking some work, I¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    She tugged lightly on the hair she¡¯d commandeered, as if to punish me for my reticence. ¡°Vhy didn¡¯t you say anything?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s a bit embarrassing.¡± I looked away with my eyes, keeping my head still so that my scalp didn¡¯t get any more twinges.


    The truth was, I was nervous. I¡¯d fallen. Only twenty feet, and there¡¯d been no one around to see me as I practised flying from tree to tree in the graveyard. Zel¡¯s regeneration had handled the knee-injury in a matter of hours, but the sylph¡¯s flight was completely unlike the flight Em could grant me, and I was still getting the hang of the finer controls. It was a flight meant for soaring the skies and covering vast distances, not for gliding across a room.


    ¡°Let me up,¡± I said at last, after she let the silence hang. ¡°I¡¯ll show you¡­ if you promise not to laugh.¡±


    She crossed her heart with a finger, smiling devilishly, prompting a snort from me.


    When we¡¯d untangled ourselves and I got to my feet, I slowly moved a few feet from her, focussing, going to stand on a bulge of leaf-covered earth with my back to her.


    I hadn¡¯t gotten any healing-type effects, as far as I could tell, and I was afraid that my vain desire to obtain the means to fly under my own power would be my undoing at some later date, when the need to stop someone dying would far outstrip the need to get around quickly. But this was the hand I¡¯d been dealt, and I intended to play it to the best of my ability.


    The wings would only partially manifest in Materium. I wouldn¡¯t be able to use them to fight like Avaelar had done; he¡¯d wielded them at my shields, slashing with the hard, blade-like feathers along the edges, almost as though it were a proper combat technique. No, my wings wouldn¡¯t do anything except catch the air. Which wasn¡¯t an altogether terrible trade-off, I had soon come to believe, given that they wouldn¡¯t snag on things, wouldn¡¯t get trapped in doors ¨C wouldn¡¯t rip my clothes off my back when they came forth.


    They were slow to manifest, too ¨C six half-transparent, faintly-blue appendages. It was fifteen, almost twenty seconds before I felt they were done. The farthest-protruding pair, coming out of my shoulders, gave me a wingspan of something a little over eight feet; the lower pairs were no smaller, but they were progressively angled more-inwardly. The bottom pair were probably sticking through the ground right now, given that I couldn¡¯t feel their tips.


    I moved them around, checking them over.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± I called out.


    ¡°Sveet Celestium,¡± she swore. I heard her approaching, and then she walked around me, studying the ethereal wings.


    I flexed the six of them one last time then let them settle, getting a good grip on them with my both my will and my instincts, like Zel had instructed me yesterday.


    Em moved her hand as if to run her fingers through the feathers, and met no resistance, her flesh simply slipping through them as if they were mere apparition.


    ¡°Can ¨C do zey vork?¡± she asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a sorcerer with anything like zese.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the, erm, tricky bit. Your flight is awesome, nothing will ever replace it, believe me. But¡­ well, yes. They do work. It¡¯s more that I¡¯m not very good yet.¡±


    ¡°You must show me,¡± she said in a tone that brooked no refusal.


    ¡°You crossed your heart, remember?¡±


    She wasn¡¯t laughing now, at least ¨C she had nothing more than professional curiosity on her face as she solemnly nodded.


    ¡°Your flight is no longer affecting me?¡±


    She nodded again.


    ¡°Okay. Here goes. Don¡¯t be afraid to catch me, though¡­¡±


    I looked down, focussing again.


    It was like I had new muscles, linked into my intentions just like my other limbs. I could feel them, even at rest ¨C but the only thing they could actually sense in themselves were the movements of the air currents. I felt nothing when Em literally bisected my wing with her hand, yet a gentle breeze was enough to tingle my feathers, and a gust could even cause the wings to impulsively furl up.


    I beat the air down softly, a single time with all six wings. The wingspan was far too small (never mind far too immaterial) to lift anything heavier than a tenth of my weight, but nonetheless their magical might was enough to propel me ten feet into the air. I beat once more, slowly, and spread the wings, doing my best to hover above her, but all I ended up doing was gradually drifting away, caught in a light draft.


    This delighted her, of course; she sprang after me, and she spent the next few minutes following along at my side. Seeming reassured that I couldn¡¯t do something better than she could ¨C which she denied, of course ¨C she soon gave up babysitting me and started casually outstripping my most valiant efforts to keep up. We didn¡¯t go farther than the nearest canal, moving in short bursts of speed.


    Still, I felt my confidence grow in the game of it all. There were a couple of times I almost caught her, but she had a whole host of tricks up her sleeve I simply couldn¡¯t hope to match ¨C she would twist an updraft at me, or use her air-senses to get an exact bead on my trajectory as though she were a diviner and simply slide out of my way at the last second.


    By the time we stopped I felt like I¡¯d exerted myself more than I had in the whole of yesterday. Deep evening had settled over Mund, and the forest was filling with the hoots of owls, the shrilling of bats, the rustling of badgers.


    I stooped, and lay myself back down on the moss.


    ¡°Zey are brilliant, Kas,¡± she said, drifting over and reclining in the air, horizontal even before she settled herself down next to me. ¡°I¡¯ve spoiled you by casting flight on you too many times! In ze end zese fey vings vill serve you better. Zey¡¯re yours.¡±


    I opened my mouth to retort but she held up a finger and continued, ¡°You can¡¯t see yourself up zere ¨C I can. Trust me, you just need to practice. I should make you fly home yourself ¨C¡°


    I opened my mouth further into an ¡®o¡¯ of horror, gave her my best puppy dog eyes, and made a little gasping sound just to top it off.


    ¡°¨C I mean ¨C I von¡¯t ¨C it¡¯s late ¨C¡°


    I laughed, and leaned over her to kiss her, my arm encircling her waist.


    Even in the midst of her embrace, with my eyes closed and lips on hers, I worked the rupture behind her back, beneath us, around us ¨C


    Shields active, I rolled her into the otherworld in the same moment as I willed, more firmly than ever before: Out, and stay.


    I left a fairy, a gremlin and a sylph behind in the eaves of Treetown. I hoped they had something to talk about.


    Em sensed the change of location instantly, of course.


    It looked different ¨C even smelled different ¨C to last time.


    The hazy heavens soared above us, vast islands of pale amber vapour reeling and rippling against encroaching oceans of blood-red sky.


    Her eyes widened and she almost broke free of me as she sat up.


    ¡°It¡¯s not so late-looking here,¡± I noted.


    As if to punctuate my statement a fluttering stream of golden lights descended past us, some alighting briefly on us before continuing on their way, wending their way into the greenish mist hanging between the trees.


    ¡°Vhere ¨C vhat ¨C zis is ze Etherium!¡±


    Due to her excitement I wasn¡¯t quite sure whether this was a question or not, so I sat up with her, my hand still on hers, and nodded. ¡°If you want to go home, just let go of my hand, and you¡¯ll be there. In fact, we should probably only stay for a little bit ¨C the tides can move, and we could get washed into another part of the forest¡­¡± I¡¯d left my mask behind.


    ¡°Can I just ¨C¡±


    She reached her free hand out and summoned a sea-salt wind, coming from out of nowhere into the fairytale woodland realm, visibly spearing right through the mist to heed her call.


    We were buoyed up into the air and to our feet, the gentle pressure of the flight-spell there under the soles of my boots like usual, a constant reminder of its presence.


    ¡°Oh, yes,¡± I breathed. ¡°Your magic works!¡±


    She smiled coyly.


    ¡°I mean, when I¡¯m here, I can¡¯t be joined with anything. Well, definitely not anything fey, and, you know ¨C Feychilde and all ¨C and I don¡¯t think it works with the others either. So I¡¯m doing no flying here without your help.¡±


    ¡°Convenient,¡± she said with a laugh. ¡°I had heard zat ze mark of a powerful sorcerer could be bought, to allow travel to ze ozzer vorlds¡­ but zis¡­¡±


    She moved upwards in the air, but I kept myself grounded and kept our hands fast together.


    ¡°I promise,¡± I said when she looked down at me in surprise, ¡°we can come again. But until I learn how to make the mark, like you said, it¡¯s just too dangerous here.¡±


    Plus, I left my troops behind.


    She pouted, then giggled and descended back down into my arms.


    I opened the rupture in the exact same spot, and we emerged only feet from my trio of otherworldly creatures.


    They silenced themselves as soon as we appeared, and I waved at them grandiosely.


    ¡°May I present Zab the gremlin and Avvie the sylph? Gentlemen, say hello to Emrelet.¡±


    The gremlin looked her up and down. ¡°My, you¡¯re a charming one, aren¡¯t you?¡± Zabalam said, with a decent attempt at a smile ¨C considering his excessive toothiness.


    ¡°Magister,¡± Avaelar intoned, nothing but his consternation in his voice and on his face.


    That didn¡¯t stop Em from giving him a second, or perhaps even third glance ¨C I could hardly blame her. He was ridiculously statuesque.


    ¡°Back in,¡± I said to them, stepping into their midst.


    The command was straightforward; one by one, Zel then Zab then Avaelar, they stepped within me, suffusing me with their potencies.


    The sylph joining with me was, of course, going to be the weirdest-looking by far; he was taller than me, and seemed to shrink slightly in the very instant that his flesh met my own ¨C as usual, I felt nothing tactile, sensed nothing that was a cause for discomfort. But I¡¯d done it this way once before, so at least I knew what to expect. Moments later, from the look of abject bewilderment on her face, it occurred to me that Em had been understandably less prepared to watch a seven-foot guy just disappear into me.


    ¡°I did promise you some surprises,¡± I said defensively, over the clamour filling my head.


    ¡°Feychilde¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ about his attractive mate¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ the prison of thy flesh¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ them off, Twelve Hells!¡±


    ¡°¡­ inspiration for another¡­¡±


    Enough, you two.


    I turned them off, bar Zel.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she grated, heaping a shovelful of frustration on top of the telepathic attempt at gratitude. ¡°I¡¯m getting something weird off your future. You taste funny. You need to get home.¡±


    I taste funny?


    ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    No, I don¡¯t. I really, really don¡¯t.


    ¡°Kas.¡±


    Fine. We were leaving soon, Em¡¯s got work.


    ¡°Just go.¡±


    Then I realised what she was saying.


    Is it the twins?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±


    I must¡¯ve looked alarmed, as Em¡¯s smile faded slightly. ¡°Vhat?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Zel. She says I need to get home because I¡¯m going to taste funny in the future.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I said.¡±


    Near enough.


    ¡°Zat¡­ is ze vord of your most valued counsellor?¡±


    ¡°Near enough.¡± I shook my head. ¡°It¡­ it could be the twins, I guess. I can see you tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°Ve cook togezzer on Vanedays¡­ You ¨C¡°


    I could see the turmoil on her face, and smiled. ¡°I could come?¡±


    She smiled back and nodded, but wouldn¡¯t meet my eyes. It almost looked like she was about to cry. She lowered her face, and when she spoke her voice was soft, more fragile than I thought I¡¯d ever heard it: ¡°I¡­ It sounds stupid but I ¨C I vill never forget today, Kastyr.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°You¡¯ll never forget seeing me swallow a sylph whole? Uh oh.¡±


    She shook her head, unsmiling. ¡°Ze ozzervorld. Ze vards¡­¡± She cleared her throat and met my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m an archmage living in Mund, and even I thought it voz magical.¡±


    I stepped closer to her. ¡°I¡¯ll never forget it either, Emrelet.¡± My voice came out husky. ¡°These last few days, with you, I¡¯ve been ¨C well, I feel like a new person.¡±


    I held out my hands and she took them.


    There was a moment, standing there together in the twilit woods, with my chin on top of her head, cradling her against my chest, her arms wrapped tight about my lower torso ¨C there was a moment when I could forget everything, be at peace. The autumn wind breathed through me, and I was a part of it, a part of something greater.


    Then the moment was over, and we separated.


    * * *


    It was almost half-eight when I got back to Helbert¡¯s Bend. I had Em¡¯s flying-spell active so I quickly reached the Springwalk alleys; there was a group of guys at the end farthest from the apartment, so I circled around before dropping into the other end. I quickly stuffed my robe and mask into my satchel before heading onto Mud Lane.


    ¡°I¡¯m feeling it worse now, Kas. Get in there.¡±


    I almost fell a couple of times as I ran up the stairs. I could feel the panic spreading my eyes wide, granting too much haste to my motions.


    What is it? Can you tell yet?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Zel!


    ¡°Sorrow¡­ The hand of the Blade-Lord¡­¡±


    I was heaving in each breath by the time I reached the door.


    It was ajar. It was never ajar unless we were doing something.


    I swung the door inwards, and peered in, leaning forwards even as I crossed the threshold.


    ¡°Oh ¨C oh, Kas.¡±


    A crude pallet of beams and burlap sack was suspended between the two benches, the table moved aside.


    The pallet was upraised. Upraised to keep its inhabitant from lying low upon the floor.


    A body upon the pallet.


    A body on it, lying in repose, eyes closed, face serene.


    The scent of near-fresh blood.


    The memories, the re-experience, a wave of bile to flow through the room and over me, through me, choking me.


    His grandfather was at his side, rubbing his lifeless hand and whispering.


    His sister was standing, was facing me, was wordless. She almost smiled in her red-eyed grief; it was the most horrible almost-smile I had ever seen on a human face.


    There was a point when my knees touched the floor, but I didn¡¯t feel it; I only noticed the adjustment of angle, as I stayed there, frozen still, simply looking.


    Panic had melted. Melted into something else. Grief was a word for it. There were other words for it.


    Words like anger and disgust and misery and guilt.


    Zel could read my thoughts.


    ¡°We¡¯re supposed to be going after the Shadowcrafters, remember? We don¡¯t hunt just any old killer. You¡¯re a champion.¡±


    Anger.


    ¡°His soul¡¯s passed on by now. You can¡¯t call back his ghost, not if it¡¯s not already here.¡±


    I could taste my own tears but couldn¡¯t feel the tickle as they rolled down my face.


    It seemed I must¡¯ve said ¡°No¡± out loud, because Xantaire came forward, put a steady hand on my shoulder, and said, ¡°Yes.¡±


    Her tone was artificially nonchalant. She was too close to it; for her the true horror was yet to come.


    Ten hundred thousand waves of bile.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she repeated. ¡°Morsus is dead.¡±

 A Wanderer Found

    <h2>INTERLUDE 2A: A WANDERER FOUND</h2>


    ¡°A rope cannot help you make a jump. It cannot save you from falling. It can only save you from falling to your death, and you may yet perish if you fail, no matter how carefully you knot it about yourself. The lich is like the woman who ties the most-careful knot and then drops from the precipice without feigning to climb. The lich is one who accepts failure before she begins rather than striving against it. They have not my envy ¨C only my pity, and my disdain! Not one of the lich-makers is a ritual without risk and the process itself grants no power. To cut out one¡¯s heart¡­ I would rather take a demon into my flesh and be possessed, than bind myself to everlasting darkness. Never has one of my pupils accepted the allure of lichdom. Do not be the first.¡±


    ¨C from Mistress Arithos¡¯s Lectures to the Neophyte Assembly


    He entered his study, shooed out his imp-familiars into the hallway, then closed the door behind him. With halting steps he crossed to the other side of his desk and seated himself in his green-leather chair. It creaked, protesting in the usual way as he settled himself into his accustomed position then, with a furtive glance at the door (as if in so doing his very eyes could ensure he wasn¡¯t about to be interrupted) he plunged his hand beneath the desk and started furiously unlacing his boots. He would¡¯ve never done it, would¡¯ve never shown such weakness even as this, if he had company ¨C but he wasn¡¯t expecting anyone.


    It¡¯d been a tiresome day. Sequestered in his office at the Arrealbord Palace, he¡¯d spent the morning being visited by secretary after secretary, going over the wording of the amendments to the new bill. Clause ninety was the tough one, and he would deal with it by changing clause ninety-three.


    Restricting ensorcellment of life-draining weaponry to the approved sorcery colleges was proving a deal-breaker for the big guilds who sold necrotic swords and shadow-arrows to their customers, and three such guilds were heavily invested in lobbying. They used outside contractors to keep their costs down, and a number of the Lords and Ladies were deep in their pockets. The Wizard¡¯s Hat, Eturiel¡¯s Enigmas, and Thunder Thousand were the big trio. So he¡¯d drafted proposals permitting them ¨C and only them ¨C to continue distribution, handing them a monopoly that¡¯d last the lifetime of the law. Internal proposals ¨C which would invariably leak.


    Tomorrow, he would start receiving messages offering favours, money, everything ¨C if he only decided to go forward with the proposals. And he would ask for several things, and slip the changes he needed to clause ninety right in there with the rest. They would refuse the biggest favours he asked for, but they would let the clause ninety amendment slide ¨C ¡®why not?¡¯, they¡¯d think. ¡®What harm could it do, restricting the creation of ensorcelled weaponry to registered sorcerers? All our sources are registered anyway,¡¯ that¡¯s what they¡¯d think.


    But he had insider knowledge, paid for handsomely from the Arrealbord¡¯s own coffers. In these days of the New Treasury speculation was king. Diviners were a blessing, they really were, and he had access to the best of the best.


    In a years¡¯ time, the annual fee for magical-manufacturer status was set to double ¨C an intractable part of a Peacekeeping bill which would already have overwhelming support. Sure, the fee probably wouldn¡¯t quite double. There¡¯d always be the inevitable amendments, the wrangling back and forth. But there was going to be at least a seventy-five percent increase, and he had to close the loophole now. Someone was going to pay for those registrations, and that someone was going to be the guilds.


    Only in a years¡¯ time would they realise they¡¯d been played, that he played them right now, here, today, by granting them a stranglehold on the industry. Worthless, in the end. The big trio already made somewhere in excess of ninety percent of the ensorcelled weapons on the market. They only had each other to compete with, but he¡¯d long-since laid the groundwork for convincing their representatives otherwise. They weren¡¯t chairing the committee, after all. They didn¡¯t have access to all the figures, like he did. He¡¯d done the equivalent of offering three hungry hounds a stranglehold on the chicken they were current tearing to pieces ¨C now he¡¯d just have to sit back and wait for them to take the bait.


    In the back of his mind, plots were brewing. He could give them money ¨C it¡¯d be easy to get them hooked on tax breaks, slowly fold them into part of the Arrealbord apparatus¡­


    But it was the afternoon that¡¯d done his feet in, walking around the gardens until sunset with that interminable, tattoo-splattered ingrate from the Seven-Star Swords and the holier-than-thou arch¨Cmagister heading up the Pool of Reflections. (Quite how the witch had obtained the revered position of Operations and Special Investigations chief without using her powers, he had no notion.) The conversation had been stimulating, as it always was when he spent time amongst his peers, but had they really needed to take it outdoors? ¡®We should make the most of the sun when it¡¯s out,¡¯ the enchantress had said. Why? Was it because she knew how it¡¯d irritate him? He wasn¡¯t getting any younger, or thinner; she¡¯d have known a long walk would be distasteful to him without even having to invade his mind. Ageing was a bitter elixir to swallow.


    Not that he didn¡¯t keep up appearances. He looked across at his full-length mirror affixed to the wall opposite the bookshelves ¨C the polished, diamond-inlaid thing was exorbitantly expensive, pre-spellbound with a number of tricks, a ¡®gift¡¯ from the Lord Justice to the Seventh Seat for applying his ¡®skills¡¯ to a particularly tough bit of legislation. He¡¯d have probably been checking his reflection already if he weren¡¯t currently occupied with rubbing his callused heels (one at a time and with a single hand, so that if someone opened the door it wouldn¡¯t take him more than an instant to right himself and sit up straight).


    He was tall, meticulously clean-shaven, and he knew that he looked imposing in the formal robes of grey and black and blue he wore at all times outside his own home. He wore his hood up even now, even here, on his own, when no one was expected. The hood was ostensibly a part of his mystique, almost as though he were affecting the habits of a champion ¨C but in truth it was an effort to hide the growing bald patch on the back of his head. He didn¡¯t mind the fact that the wisps of blond hair visible under the hood¡¯s rim were slowly turning silvery as the years passed ¨C that looked fine to him when he inspected himself in the mirror ¨C but the bald patch was just embarrassing.


    Even worse would be to cover up the bald patch with sorcery, then have it trigger some alarm or ward against illusion. He wasn¡¯t going to make that mistake¡­ Not a second time. A simple hood would suffice.


    Feeling marginally better, he pushed his feet back into the fur-lined boots and laced them up, then crossed to stand on the rug in the very centre of the room. He conducted a quick check of the mirror to ensure he was still imposing, still presenting himself as the Master of the Night¡¯s Guardians ought ¨C then he turned his back, heading over to select a tome from the wall.


    He had two hours for study, before he would meet his subordinates for ten excruciating minutes of reports and strategies; after that he would allow himself to go home and put his gods-cursed throbbing feet up. Open some wine, breathe the fresh air of Treetown and relax.


    Not that this was his worst time of day. The study of sorcery remained, even after all the years, the decades, his real passion, his hobby ¨C the thing to set his pulse racing, beating blood through his ageing veins. It was a matter of shame to him that he only found two hours a day for keeping-up his practises, keeping his theoretical knowledge on-point. If he could¡¯ve spent the entirety of the morning and afternoon in here instead of at the Palace, he would¡¯ve done it in a heartbeat.


    But that was the sacrifice that came with taking the mantle of Mastery. The prestige ¨C the power ¨C the gifts¡­ it was all worth it, in the end.


    He seated himself and closed his eyes for a few seconds, readying his mind, clearing his thoughts. With a sigh of contentment he ran his fingertips down the pages of the book, seeking his little bit of thread that sat within the pages, along the spine ¨C


    He didn¡¯t even get chance to open the book to his mark; there came a knock at the door.


    At least he hadn¡¯t yet had time to remove his boots again.


    When he spoke it was measured, warm-enough but authoritative: ¡°You can come in.¡±


    It was only Ellecho, the neophyte sorcerer who¡¯d been chosen to play the role of his page-boy this month, bringing him a tray stacked high with squares of parchment, each crisply folded into a rectangle. These were the various notes and memos calling for his attention sooner or (more likely) later.


    ¡°Lord Ghemenion, we saw you fly in,¡± the boy murmured once he¡¯d closed the door behind him, keeping his eyes from his Master¡¯s face. ¡°M¡¯lord, I have been sent to ask what you would like for dinner ¨C and, well, we have one, ah, Phanar of N¡¯Lem downstairs, a fighting-man if ever I saw one, sent here by Ms. Rala Ainsbothe, beseeching audience. M¡¯lord, I know your standing request that we not to disturb you with guests at this hour, but he was told to ¨C¡°


    ¡°Breathe, boy,¡± Ghemenion interrupted, ¡°and stop fretting.¡± That was the boy¡¯s biggest flaw: he didn¡¯t take time, didn¡¯t retain composure. He was only fifteen, though ¨C he¡¯d learn, in time. How the ancestors ever thought a fifteen-year-old classified as an adult was quite beyond him. ¡°Put those down.¡±


    With a nod of his head he indicated the small silver tray that was trembling in the neophyte¡¯s hands; a grateful look flashing across his features, Ellecho set the tray on Ghemenion¡¯s desk.


    He considered the boy¡¯s words.


    Rala wouldn¡¯t have sent a warrior to me if it weren¡¯t important.


    ¡°Pheasant,¡± he said aloud. ¡°Uccaru knows how I like it ¨C go to him. If this Phanar of N¡¯Lem ¨C N¡¯Lem, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve heard of that place¡­¡±


    He mulled it over, glancing away, the lore rippling across his thoughts¡­ ah yes, N¡¯Lem, that¡¯s in the black desert, the Ashen Lands ¨C where Daravine Demonskin hailed from ¨C where one could find the foundations of Chadoath, if the myths were true¡­


    ¡°Lord Ghemenion?¡±


    He looked back at Ellecho ¨C the neophyte¡¯s gaze turned away again at once.


    ¡°Yes. Pheasant. If this Phanar chap is in such a rush as to require an unscheduled appointment, he¡¯ll be happy to talk while I¡¯m eating.¡±


    ¡°I should send him up, then, m¡¯lord? The usual escort?¡±


    ¡°In fact, just bring enough for two. No need to be rude.¡± Ghemenion would use the excuse that he hated it when someone kept looking at his food while he was eating it; this would likely afford him the opportunity to get a double helping. ¡°And two guards will suffice, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°M¡¯lord.¡±


    Ellecho had barely turned around when there came another knock at the door.


    The neophyte looked back at Ghemenion, who waved a hand irritably and said, perhaps more forcefully than was necessary, ¡°Well don¡¯t just stand there, boy!¡±


    Ellecho swung the door open, revealing his visitor: Rala.


    He¡¯d had a bit of a thing for her for the last decade ¨C he was lucky she was gifted, by far the most competent of his ward-theoreticians; he¡¯d never once been queried as to why he¡¯d promoted her time and again, never once had his ulterior motives questioned. He¡¯d have never acted on his desires, nor would he expect her to reciprocate his affections even if he did. He knew he was too old for her ¨C she was pushing fifty but looked ten years younger than that, while he was pushing sixty but could probably pass for ten years older. All the same, he enjoyed her company ¨C the way she respected him, the way she questioned his decisions without overstepping her bounds.


    There was always the possibility she¡¯d be attracted to the prestige of being courted by the Master of the Tower, by a Noble Lord and whatnot, but he had no interest in being used for the power of his position or the significant riches he¡¯d amassed, and she¡¯d never made any overtures in that direction. Her family wasn¡¯t noble, but they were independently wealthy; wealthy enough that they had, like many well-to-do families without titles, paid the disgraceful fees to put her through the Maginox. Mage-training could lead to marriage into a titled family, and access to all that such privilege might grant.


    Still, she¡¯d made no moves. He was sure that as far as she was concerned, theirs was a business-relationship ¨C friendly, even ¨C but strictly hands-off. And that¡¯s what it would stay.


    Despite this, he couldn¡¯t help but study the way she had her short-ish acorn-brown hair in ringlets today, the way she¡¯d used an ornate belt to cinch her gold-embossed black robe across the little pot-belly she¡¯d been nurturing over the past few years (courtesy of far too many late-night dinners with him).


    If only she wanted more, he mused ruefully.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t started? Good,¡± Rala said immediately upon sighting him there behind his desk. She stepped in without an invitation, then halted in front of Ellecho, turning to face the neophyte as though only just now noting his presence.


    ¡°Make that three pheasant, and just post the guards outside the door,¡± Ghemenion said. ¡°Uccaru, remember.¡±


    ¡°Uccaru ¨C yes, of course, m¡¯lord.¡±


    Ellecho bowed to Ghemenion, formally inclined his head to Rala (who returned a brief, curt nod), and closed the door behind him.


    ¡°Sit down, my dear. You look like you¡¯ve got mice in your moccasins.¡±


    She smiled, brown eyes lighting up. ¡°Don¡¯t be crude, Aladart.¡± She wouldn¡¯t have used his given name if Ellecho had still been in the room, he was certain, but they were alone now. When she sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk she lounged back, curling up somewhat and tucking one leg under the other ¨C an intimate action that was seemingly reserved for his presence alone. ¡°Do you know what this is about?¡±


    ¡°You arrived about thirty seconds after these did,¡± he replied, taking the tray of folded paper rectangles and shaking it slightly, introducing a little chaos into the prim order of the stacked notes. ¡°I suspect the answer¡¯s in here somewhere.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°An Ord, would you believe it.¡±


    ¡°An Ord?¡± he questioned, unable to keep all of his incredulity from his voice. She¡¯d sounded serious, so he resisted the urge to add a ¡®ba-ha-ha¡¯ and a ¡®you must be mad¡¯.


    ¡°It seems likely. ¡®Ord Ylon¡¯ is the name. The man you¡¯re about to meet is convinced of it, and I¡¯d like to prepare a few things to be certain of what he knows.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re you proposing, Rala?¡±


    ¡°I have a little telepathic treat in store, if he¡¯ll allow the intrusion,¡± she said, ¡°and, of course, assuming I have your permission?¡±


    He nodded and waved a hand magnanimously. ¡°Of course, Rala.¡±


    She smiled again, and moved a tangle of hair hanging in front of her eyes, pinning it back behind her ear, a simple gesture which nonetheless drove him mad and made him melt all at once.


    ¡°If it does prove to be an Ord, though ¨C what are you thinking?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got a four-man group, so we go in at forty percent,¡± she said at once. She¡¯d been overthinking this, as usual. ¡°Leave them fifteen each ¨C he¡¯ll hate that ¨C and we let him push us to twenty percent, so we¡¯re an equal partner.¡±


    Ghemenion frowned. ¡°Twenty percent? How many Guardians are you thinking of committing?¡±


    ¡°We can easily run combat preparations with a team of five, but we¡¯ll offer him ten and go as high as fifteen ¨C he wants an archmage, he won¡¯t go ahead without some serious back-up. I take it that your¡­ friend isn¡¯t available?¡±


    ¡°The next Incursion will be overdue in a few days¡¯ time¡­ He won¡¯t want to go ¨C I know how dedicated he is.¡±


    He¡¯ll want to keep a lot of the treasure, Ghemenion admitted to himself.


    ¡°Well, we can loan Phanar and his friends some of our arsenal, if they¡¯re up for that ¨C on the proviso we get to put spells of returning on them. You remember what these adventurer-bands are like when it comes to returning gear? But Aladart, think of the returns! If he¡¯s right ¨C well, you remember the song¡­¡±


    It was a children¡¯s rhyme: All Aboard the Ord Hoard!


    ¡°Lakes of platinum and oceans of gold ¨C¡± he murmured.


    ¡°¨C how¡¯d that draggy get so old?¡± Rala finished.


    He regarded her for a second, then, ¡°Draggy?¡± He felt a tight grin on his face, the first smile he¡¯d worn all day.


    ¡°I could never say ¡®dragon¡¯ when I was little ¨C leave me alone¡­¡±


    ¡°You should¡¯ve heard me banging on about wanting to be a saucy roar when I grew up.¡± He saw her brows rise in amusement, and continued, ¡°I¡¯ve had the displeasure of listening to some of my family¡¯s old memories. I was atrocious when I was four.¡±


    ¡°Four? Yeah.¡± Rala coughed noisily.


    ¡°Five?¡± he pressed. ¡°Six? Seven?¡±


    ¡°I think I stopped calling them draggies when I got my placement ¨C¡°


    ¡°Placement at the Maginox?¡±


    She didn¡¯t blush and the smile hadn¡¯t left her lips, which told him that she was okay with this level of teasing.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you already wanted to be a sorcerer at four,¡± was all she said.


    ¡°Like father like son,¡± he replied with a heavy sigh.


    She nodded. She knew his family history.


    ¡°Anyway, like I said, Phanar wants an archmage, ideally, so we¡¯ll have to do some impressing if we¡¯re going to clinch the deal. You have any cards up your sleeve you want to sell him on?¡±


    ¡°Surely you¡¯re not proposing I go into combat with a spawn of the Firstcomer!¡±


    ¡°No, but he has to understand the way our magic works. We¡¯re not like druids and wizards, where archmages really are worth ten mages in combat situations. If we¡¯re clever, if we get the right summons to the right place at the right time ¨C we¡¯re better than archmages. We¡¯re organised.¡±


    ¡°The wards ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ll handle the wards.¡± He heard a thread of irritation in her voice now; it was common-enough knowledge amongst mages at their level that when it came to wards and the manipulation of forces, a sorcerer was worth less than a tenth of an arch-sorcerer. It was like a kid with his hands tied behind his back challenging a soldier to a boxing bout. ¡°We can use a walking shield-spell, with five of us to maintain it ¨C¡°


    He¡¯d straightened up in his chair at that. ¡°You¡¯re not to go into combat with a spawn of the Firstcomer either.¡±


    ¡°Is that a command?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re damn right it¡¯s a command!¡±


    ¡°And you won¡¯t relent?¡±


    Her voice was calm as she asked the question, eerily calm, and he got the impression that her opinion of him could change, tumble, on the balance of his answer.


    ¡°I ¨C well, would you want to?¡±


    She offered a slight shrug. ¡°Who wouldn¡¯t want to see an Ord in action?¡±


    He sighed, sat back. ¡°In my youth, I¡¯d have entertained an idea like that ¨C with eagerness, too. But I¡¯ve seen my share of dragons.¡±


    ¡°Oh really? I didn¡¯t know. How many?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ one. But one¡¯s more than a fair share for anyone, trust me.¡±


    ¡°When was that?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I was working in Myri for the summer. The villagers had two children disappear into the swamp. A few friends and I decided to offer our services ¨C gratis. I was just hoping for a few days of adventure, but ten minutes in a swamp is bad enough, never mind being chased by a black dragon for twenty-four hours.¡±


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°It chased you?¡±


    ¡°Wyrda¡¯s maw, yes.¡± He felt his eyes misting slightly in nostalgia, and chuckled. He could still smell the place. ¡°We ended up holed up in an abandoned temple occupied by a tribe of gnolls who worshipped the thing. Worst summer of my life.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you ever left Mund.¡±


    He frowned in thought, then said, ¡°You know, I think that was the last time I went out of the city, actually.¡±


    ¡°And that was how long ago?¡±


    ¡°Gosh, Rala. Thirty¡­ thirty-five years ago?¡±


    There came a brief tap at the door, and upon Ghemenion¡¯s request Ellecho entered.


    ¡°M¡¯lord, your meal will be about twenty minutes, but Phanar of N¡¯Lem is ready for you.¡±


    Ghemenion just waved his hand in irritation again. ¡°Well, show the man in, won¡¯t you? You weren¡¯t planning on making the poor fellow carry up the pheasants himself, were you?¡±


    ¡°O-of course, m¡¯lord.¡±


    Phanar stepped into the room, clanking somewhat, and over the warrior¡¯s shoulder Ghemenion caught a brief glimpse of the two initiates standing on the other side of the corridor outside his study, their hands clasped in front of them gripping the hilts of their truncheons, the weapons pulsing softly with purplish light.


    They were prepared for action ¨C if it were needed.


    Looking at Phanar, Ghemenion got the impression that it wouldn¡¯t be. And after a few moments of studying the look in the cool eyes of the warrior, eyes that had seen the black expanses of the Ashen Land, the eyes of a man who had (presumably) been born in that darkness ¨C the Lord quickly got the impression that if action were needed, the guards would be too far away, even right outside the door, to do anything to stop Phanar before the warrior slew him or took him hostage.


    Not that it¡¯d matter. Ghemenion had no need to bring them inside the room ¨C that would just show weakness, a lack of confidence in himself and his powers, at the point where confidence would be the most valuable commodity.


    No, Ghemenion was his own best protector and this place was the safest place in the world, for him, and for Rala too. The guards were just a formality, a nod to the pretence of normality, a gimmick so-enjoyed by those in positions like his that he couldn¡¯t remember the last time he wasn¡¯t being trailed by at least one guard when he was grounded. In actuality there were almost a dozen wards in place, providing a variety of shield-effects and instant-summons. Even a number of the books on the walls were ensorcelled with defensive properties, allowing them to fly free of their shelves and deter a potential assailant or thief.


    Phanar was imposing, to say the least. His shoulders looked not far-off the breadth of Ghemenion¡¯s own belly, which far outstripped Rala¡¯s, while his leather-belted waist was significantly narrower than his broad, armour-clad chest. His skin was the shade of dark maple leaves, his lustrous hair every bit as black as the soil which had birthed him, pulled back from his face in a single knot. He wore the skin of a wolf as a cloak.


    Ghemenion didn¡¯t really like warriors, or any who lived by their weapons. He was glad to live in a world where strength was decided not by brute force and stupid sinews, but by education, intelligence, devotion¡­ This man was a painful reminder that not everywhere was so cultured as Mund.


    ¡°Phanar of N¡¯Lem, welcome,¡± Ghemenion said courteously, but not bothering to rise. ¡°Please, pull up a chair.¡±


    ¡°My gratitude, and that of my companions, for your agreeing to meet with me.¡± Phanar took a seat at the other end of his desk from Rala, and clanked down into it.


    Ghemenion was surprised to find the man soft-spoken ¨C his refined tone (and intelligible Mundic!) were just the gravy on the pie.


    Interesting, he thought.


    ¡°It¡¯s Rala to whom your thanks is owed,¡± the lord replied. ¡°She¡¯s convinced me to take you seriously.¡±


    Phanar nodded, apparently unconcerned by this little jab, and turned to Rala. ¡°My gratitude to you both.¡±


    Rala smiled warmly at him; she was still sitting on her foot, casual and at ease.


    Feeling a little on the back-foot and not completely clear as to why, Ghemenion cleared his throat. ¡°I hear you have a tale to tell.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, my lord,¡± Rala interrupted as Phanar¡¯s lips parted to reply, ¡°but I have a trick up my sleeve, so to speak, and I¡¯m itching to see it in use.¡±


    He waved a hand charitably.


    ¡°Phanar, would you agree to subject yourself to a working of fey magic? You would have any guarantees I ¨C we ¨C can offer, that no harm will befall you.¡±


    The warrior looked at her lips as she spoke, then moved his gaze to her eyes, considering. His own eyes narrowed.


    This isn¡¯t what I expected at all, Ghemenion admitted to himself. A barbarian of the desolate, dead kingdoms half a world away ¨C a cultured professional?


    ¡°I would have you swear it by your name, m¡¯lady sorceress,¡± Phanar said quietly after a few seconds¡¯ pause.


    Rala gave a rare wicked smile. ¡°To thee, Phanar of N¡¯Lem, I, Rala Ainsbothe, so swear: that in causing your enchantment I intend no malfeasance or misfeasance, nor shall suffer the same to come to pass, lest my vow be broken and my life reft away. In Nentheleme I give my word freely; in Kultemeren I speak only truth; and in Mortiforn I accept death as my reward for treachery. So may Glaif bind me.¡±


    Ghemenion raised an eyebrow. That was a mystical promise from the Inciryad Codices, not to be taken on a whim, topping off the legal oath made by witnesses in an Old Court criminal trial¡­


    Phanar¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t glaze over at the flowery language ¨C his gaze kept the same measured, cool look ¨C and once Rala was done the warrior merely nodded once, as if thanking her again.


    ¡°If this spell would assist me, in convincing you of the desperate need of this venture ¨C then I will do as you wish,¡± he acquiesced. ¡°What must I do?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Rala permitted herself a little laugh as she got out of her chair, ¡°nothing, my good Phanar. I will simply summon a particular creature, whose power manifests in the ability to share your memories with us.¡±


    ¡°Both of us at once?¡± Ghemenion enquired, his sorcerer¡¯s curiosity piqued. ¡°Just like that, no storage in glyphstones, no ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you the binding later,¡± she promised with the pleased smile of one who would enjoy sharing their secret, moving to the centre of the silvery rug in the middle of the room.


    But Phanar had a slightly-alarmed look on his face, the first Ghemenion had seen.


    ¡°I must warn you,¡± the warrior said, clanking as he shifted slightly in his chair so that he could turn to regard them both with a single sweep of his head, ¡°not to take this lightly. My memories of the events are ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we can handle memories,¡± Ghemenion cut him off. ¡°We¡¯ve done this kind of thing before, and I¡¯ve seen dragons up-close.¡±


    ¡°In the flesh?¡± Phanar asked, turning his piercing gaze to the old sorcerer and keeping it there.


    Ghemenion stared back at him, feeling unnerved with those eyes on him, as if this were the first time the warrior had really looked at him since he¡¯d entered the room.


    ¡°Yes, of course in the flesh!¡±


    Phanar nodded, slowly and solemnly, and Ghemenion relaxed a little at the gesture of respect.


    Rala was chanting a low, soft song in Etheric, moving her hands in a complex series of motions as she almost danced in place. He recognised most of what she was saying, being well-versed in the planar tongues himself ¨C at least ten percent of the volumes on the wall, his personal library, were off-world books. But like most mages he had to expend exotic reagents to research the obscure passages, or, worse, cross-check the texts word by word in the vast, impenetrable dictionaries, learn each summoning by rote.


    He also recognised the forms of the dance, the sweeping of her arms, fingers moving in pairs, thumbs bent in, as though she were some sort of lobster-creature. She was entreating a fairy, he was certain.


    At last she revealed the contents of her hands, hidden by the balls of the pressed-in thumbs: a large emerald in her left, and a near-crushed dandelion-head in her right. Then she cupped her hands before her face and breathed heavily into them, once, twice, thrice.


    Only upon the third exhalation did the dandelion seeds burst free, rising into the air above her hands like a cloud of sparks; then they immediately coalesced with a sharp green flash, a six- or seven-inch-tall form appearing there, standing in her palm.


    The miniature winged fellow was male, it appeared, and was resplendent in a tiny mail coat and greaves. There was a fairy-sized sheathed sword at his waist.


    It seemed the fey creature would have to be allowed armed into the Lord¡¯s presence when the human warrior would not. After all, the fairy¡¯s weapon was nothing more than a large pin.


    ¡°Your command, sorcerer?¡± the fairy asked in what must¡¯ve been (for him) a loud voice. There was a certain boldness, a certain insolence, in his tone.


    This is why I don¡¯t work with fey, Ghemenion reminded himself.


    ¡°I wish for you to share this man¡¯s memories with my Lord Ghemenion and I,¡± Rala answered. ¡°Then you may depart, Sir Ekevron, with our thanks.¡±


    The fairy bowed stiffly, then said, ¡°I cannot share all his memories. What would you ¨C¡°


    ¡°The Ord.¡±


    There was a pause, then the fairy repeated, all the insolence in his voice suddenly vanished: ¡°The Ord.¡± The miniature knight cast a glance back over his wings at the barbarian, then returned his gaze to Rala, saying quietly, ¡°He¡¯s only human, you know. There¡¯s no way he¡¯s been alive long ¨C¡±


    ¡°Shall we get to it?¡± Rala said.


    It wasn¡¯t really a question, and the fairy dutifully flew free of her palm, coming to hover in mid-air a couple of feet above the desk.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Sir Ekevron said in a very put-upon, almost sighing voice; ¡°come take your seat, sorcerer, and we will begin, though I fear you shall be disappointed.¡±


    Rala returned to her chair, and the fairy flew to her first, drawing his uselessly-thin sword. She screwed her face up in expectation as he placed the sword¡¯s tip against the very centre of Rala¡¯s forehead, pressing it in until it drew a drop of blood. He then went immediately to Ghemenion.


    The lord wasn¡¯t much bothered by spilling a little blood in the interests of furthering his arts; Kultemeren knew he¡¯d spilt many a pint already, and would likely spill another few more before he was done, fate willing. But letting a fey abomination stab his forehead wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d ever subjected himself to before, and he didn¡¯t precisely look forward to the experience ¨C yet he could hardly back down now, could he?


    He shut his eyes at the last second ¨C a sharp dot of pain in the middle of his forehead, then it was over, the fairy-knight floating over to Phanar.


    This time he made three dots, in a triangular pattern. The warrior didn¡¯t even blink.


    Sir Ekevron went again to his place, hovering two feet over the table, as though the trio of them sitting there in their chairs formed the base of a three-sided pyramid with the fairy at its apex.


    ¡°Prepare yourselves.¡±


    The fairy-knight raised his sword high over his head and then flicked it down again, letting an infinitesimal amount of blood fly from its blade.


    That was the last Ghemenion saw of his chamber, for a time.


    At first he sat squarely in the comfortable leather of his chair, inspecting the vision, admiring the fairy¡¯s spell.


    Once the vision truly took him, he was rigid, senseless except for those other senses, extended into the past.


    Into Phanar¡¯s past.


    Then he sat bolt upright in his chair, fingers gripping the arms of the seat like claws.


    And at last he paled, quivered ¨C he shrank back, bringing his knees up as though to protect himself against the nightmare, scraping his shins against the table¡¯s edge so hard it would leave bruises, reminders of the time he thought he knew what a dragon was, the time he learned the line of Ord continued¡­ the time he was taught a lesson in wisdom by a lowborn waste-wandering adventurer.


    * * *


    Booted feet slap the floors of the stone-hewn steps and corridors. Torch-smoke gets in my eyes; the flames of the torches whip wildly in the wind that travels the tunnel behind the battlements, courtesy of the beating of the thing¡¯s wings. I can¡¯t even feel the weight of my heavy shield, my spear, my sword, my armour. The terror for which no man can train himself has come over me ¨C over all of us, I realise, beholding the desperation in the eyes of my brothers-in-arms.


    I follow the other castle guards out onto the landing behind the fortifications. As we rush to our posts, I look out over the edge into the crimson dusk-light, at the shadowed entities beyond the wall.


    The dragon ¨C there can be no doubt now as to what it is ¨C hangs there in the air, its head not a hundred yards from me when it comes closest in its endless up-down writhing. Its claws are closer, huge curling bones that must be fifteen feet long, and its spiked tail whips back and forth, raking the air below it.


    It is immense ¨C its head alone is larger than the command post above the gate. The dying bloody glare of the sun on the horizon lights on nothing else save its bronze-green scales and the horns framing its sinuous face, leathery wings.


    Every thunderous downward swipe of those wings brings a storm-gale smashing into the forces massing on the battlements, driving the tips of our spears back, making the plumes on our helms stream. And the wind stinks, stinks like charred flesh.


    It waits. I see its gleaming eyes, its sinister, close-lipped smile. It waits.


    Beneath it, other things assemble.


    A seething sea of fur assaults my eyes, but it¡¯s not yet so late in the day that I can¡¯t catch the glinting of innumerable teeth and claws. Their silence is more horrible than any howl, for it bespeaks the intellect, the purposefulness with which they prowl ¨C it is hundreds upon hundreds of unnatural wolves that are gathering, big wolves, rippling with muscle, those they call in this land dire wolves or night wolves. Some are larger than horses. They amass in rows in the thicker darkness of the dragon¡¯s shadow, slouching boldly across the bridges to form up in what look like practised battle-lines.


    They have slaughtered those who stayed behind in the town below the cliff, the many who shirked the call to retreat to the keep¡¯s fastness. We¡¯d had only an hour¡¯s warning, and simple disbelief caused many to perish needlessly. The sea of fur beneath the dragon glistens redly.


    Now we are next.


    When the dragon speaks, the words are a gnashing of steely swords; its lips peel back and its mouth opens, revealing columns of stained fangs like rusty blades, fangs longer than my spear-haft, wider than my shield. Even at this distance I make out its flickering tongue, the movement of its black-slit pupils.


    ¡°Vermin of the Miserdell,¡± it grates, the speech Mundic, the sound deafening, ¡°I come to treat with you. Which worm shall crawl forth and squeak for the mud-dwellers?¡±


    And then I hear the voice of Savanor resounding from the command post to my right. He is the captain of the guard and a warrior of renown, my idol and exemplar all the long years since I arrived in this place. His voice is always clear, loud above the crash of sword on shield upon the training-ground.


    But tonight that voices shakes:


    ¡°What has the w-wyrm to say to the worm, and how might the worm reply?¡±


    The dragon grins.


    There is subservience in my captain¡¯s words, but also a touch of spite.


    In this moment I understand, and wish nothing more than for the dragon and Savanor to come to peaceful terms. Even a brief reprieve ¨C if the castle could be emptied, if the townspeople could escape ¨C


    ¡°Fetch me the seat upon which your princeling wriggles,¡± comes the grating reply over the crash of the constantly-beating wings; ¡°fetch me the skull of my bride. It shall be a throne for worms no longer!¡±


    It is the skull of Nil Sorog the dragon desires. The High Chair of Miserdell in which the rulers of the town have reclined for two centuries. I have seen it many times, upon the dais at the back of the reception hall: the fleshless head of the great dragon slain by Frostfinger two hundred years ago, a set of carpeted steps leading to the seat, between the cavernous eye sockets.


    To remove it from the hall undamaged, we would have to take out the wall.


    ¡°Bring her skull out of the gates, have your lords abase themselves before me, and I shall make your ending swift. Refuse, and it shall be the slow death you have chosen.¡±


    So we are to die either way.


    I realise that he only wants the gates open to allow his forces easier access. I realise it at the same time Savanor does.


    ¡°Deck him out in ten thousand shafts!¡± comes the captain¡¯s roar. ¡°Drive this foul thing back to its stinking pits!¡±


    Arrows fly. Most are deflected by his armour; few strike the joints where scales overlap, and but few of those seem to strike deeply. But the missiles aimed at his wings seem to fare a little better, and I grip my spear and shield tight, waiting for Savanor to tell the men to direct their aim ¨C


    ¡°The slow death,¡± the dragon says.


    The thunder of his beating wings claps faster and faster as he pulls himself higher, higher; then there is an awful sound, an inrushing of air¡­ I feel my breath stolen from my mouth ¨C


    The dragon swells in size, the ribbed scales banding his stomach stretching, expanding as he bloats ¨C then he lets himself fall towards the gate, spreading his vast jaws wide apart.


    The exhalation is a choking, spurting sound that reminds me of vomiting.


    Near-transparent and green-tinted, the pillar of fluid gushing forth from his maw is a river of acid; the air itself seems to be on fire, even this far from his effluent.


    Where once stood the gate of wood and stone and iron, there is now a puddle of white-burning metals and grey waste-matter.


    The wolves, urged on at some hidden signal, begin to spring forward as one.


    They will touch the acid; they will die.


    But the dragon knows this, and whips himself about, bringing his tail against the foundation-stones joining the command post to the arch above the gateway.


    Those stones are already weakened, spotted with acid; they crumble at the single tremendous blow, and the command post falls into the burning metals, the corrosive grey waste.


    Savanor, a man who lived through two dozen battles while fighting on the front lines, perishes now to make with his body a part of the bridge which will allow the wolf-army to enter the streets.


    The dragon turns, beats his wings again, sucking in another breath as he soars my way, closer to me with every passing moment ¨C


    As he exhales I am the only one not to throw myself back, out of the way.


    It is not courage. It is bewilderment that leaves me standing. This is beyond terror. The dragon is the shadow of death illuminated. It is as the old man of N¡¯Lem said when we parted, the old man whose name time has stolen from me.


    The dragon is my fate, coming to claim me.


    I stand, while the dozens of others flee; the guards rush towards the tunnel, dropping their spears and shields, abandoning their posts to join the crush ¨C


    The winged nightmare adjusts its aim slightly as it speeds past, seeking to cause maximal damage.


    It is those crushed in the tunnel entrance who perish, and I do not stand there and breathe the noxious fumes, I do not stand there to watch them die; I hear the brief screams as I flee alone along the battlements, hoping to evade the spreading puddle of stone-eating acid behind me, the sizzling pool that contains all that remains of my brothers-in-arms on this side of the walls ¨C


    * * *


    ¡°My apologies,¡± Sir Ekevron said urbanely, sheathing his little sword with a tinny zing sound. ¡°It appeared you were at your limit.¡±


    Ghemenion looked up at the fairy angrily, but the floating enchanter didn¡¯t seem to have been directing his comment at him in particular: Rala¡¯s forehead was beaded with sweat, and she was panting heavily; even Phanar was pale, frowning, his eyes downcast in thought.


    The lord continued rubbing his shins, where he¡¯d evidently banged them on the table.


    ¡°That was¡­ unpleasant,¡± Rala said, ¡°but I thank you for your service, sir knight. Feel free to withdraw.¡±


    The fairy nodded, still floating there, then commented, ¡°An Ord indeed! ¨C and I thought I had seen the last of them. I would very much like to enter combat with the creature; if you meet it in battle, call on my aid. Would that my blade might earn the title Wyrmblinder, as in the legends of old.¡±


    He bowed floridly, armour clinking; then there was a tearing sound, a green flash, and a few burnt dandelion-seeds fluttering down onto the table. The fairy was gone.


    Ghemenion cleared his throat. ¡°Ah-h-h¡­ so¡­ ¡®fetch me the skull of my bride¡¯. I begin to understand, now, Phanar of N¡¯Lem.¡±


    The warrior nodded. The colour had returned to his cheeks. ¡°The skull of Nil Sorog.¡±


    ¡°Placed there by Carmand Toluse,¡± Ghemenion continued, ¡°also known as Frostfinger in his youth, First Lord of the Miserdell¡­¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not get distracted, my lord,¡± Rala said. ¡°I take it that this¡­ Nil Sorog was Ord Ylon¡¯s consort, in the tales?¡±


    ¡°She most definitely was,¡± Ghemenion replied. ¡°Would you like me to show you the references?¡±


    It¡¯s right there, but which one? he thought dubiously, looking over at the second bookshelf up from the floor. In the Nexus Dragonomicon? The Shirion Draconologies? The Draconology was one of the expensive books, made thin by its makers¡¯ use of only the finest insubstantial paper¡­


    Rala made a ¡®ha¡¯ sound, then said, ¡°Perhaps later.¡±


    ¡°It took me almost a year just to find out that much,¡± Phanar said quietly. ¡°When we realised what we were dealing with, we caught a ship straight to Mund, for trinkets and an archmage, a living weapon. Ord Ylon is holed up in what we think is his true lair, in the Chakoban Mountains ¨C my team are using Tirremuir as a base. I want to end his reign, once and for all.¡±


    Ghemenion drew out a little map in his mind, plotting the journey. Tirremuir¡­ got to be two weeks by boat with a decent wind-spell¡­


    ¡°What happened, after what we saw?¡± Rala asked.


    Phanar shuddered. ¡°I am glad I did not have to relive it all like that,¡± he muttered. ¡°There were only about sixty of us to survive the destruction ¨C sixty, out of over a thousand. Save for my sister, Anathta, everybody I¡¯d ever known was gone ¨C all those who took us in as orphans when we arrived in the town as children, those who raised us¡­ The apprentice to the court magician, Ibbalat, and a novice keeper of the healing pools, Kanthyre ¨C those two joined my sister and I on a quest of vengeance.¡±


    Ghemenion¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Vengeance? My good man, surely just the four of you didn¡¯t set out to ¨C what? ¨C hunt down an Ord?¡±


    ¡°Not precisely, my lord,¡± Phanar replied. ¡°Ibbalat¡¯s master had been the one to warn of us of the impending attack ¨C Ibbalat got it into his head that he should try the same foresight ritual, to find out if we would be safe there, in the caves in which we¡¯d hidden the remaining populace¡­ He saw the dragon¡¯s caverns. He saw the dragon dead, smashed by rock. And when he told us, my sister said it was our duty, that she would go even if I would not. I¡­¡±


    Phanar¡¯s hand had begun to shake in its place upon the arm of his chair, and he paused for a moment, stilling himself, before continuing.


    ¡°I had lost everyone, you must understand. My captain ¨C you saw his fall, into the acid pools? In truth I thought at first to follow him into death. I did not fully intend to return from the dragon¡¯s lair. But Ibbalat saw it dead, and we had to try, did we not?¡± He said this last with a rueful tone to his voice. ¡°We were fools. Ibbalat was wrong, of course. It was not Ord Ylon bleeding black acid-blood all over the cavern ¨C it was one of Ylon¡¯s spawn that the magician had seen in his vision.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Rala murmured. ¡°You mentioned three of them?¡± She turned to Ghemenion, explaining, ¡°When we met in the store, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Not three all at once,¡± Phanar said, with some vehemence. ¡°They were not the little wyrmlings you hear of in the tales. Each was, as I gather from later experience, the size of full-grown dragons.¡±


    ¡°You say ¡®were¡¯ and ¡®was¡¯, rather than ¡®are¡¯ and ¡®is¡¯?¡± Ghemenion interrupted.


    ¡°We slew three in total. There may be more.¡± Phanar offered a simple shrug of his plated shoulders. ¡°We¡¯ve dealt with two others in the last six months, too.¡±


    ¡°Is it that you¡¯ve developed something of a reputation, or are you just that unlucky?¡± the lord asked amiably.


    ¡°We go where the work is,¡± Phanar replied, a tight, polite smile on his face. ¡°It seems that they are coming out of their pits all over the place for some reason.¡±


    The lord looked down at the table, deep in thought.


    If what he¡¯s saying is true, he¡¯s probably our best chance to rid the Realm of a great evil, and¡­


    Ghemenion mentally crossed-out the first bit ¨C it was patently obvious that this man wouldn¡¯t lie. Any suggestion he made to himself that Phanar was wrong was itself born out of his own sense of terror ¨C terror that an Ord truly was abroad in the land ¨C not out of any real scepticism as regards Phanar¡¯s tale¡­


    So¡­ Phanar is our best chance to rid the Realm of a great evil, and my best chance to enrich the Night¡¯s Guardians beyond the wildest dreams of my predecessors. I will be venerated down the years, the greatest Master in generations.


    Such a chance might be worth exposing his prized asset, even if the hour of the next Incursion drew inexorably nearer. There was a new arch-sorcerer in Sticktown, if the news was to be believed; this ¡®Feychilde¡¯ character could pick up the slack. No, he¡¯d been wrong earlier: it wouldn¡¯t be hard to persuade his asset to leave. It was just a matter of applying the correct motivation.


    He might not have been living in a world where brute force and stupid sinew made the difference, but education, intelligence and devotion only got one so far. Blind chance ¨C accidents of birth or fate or divine intervention ¨C whatever the damn thing making archmages all the time these days actually was ¨C still ruled the world.


    Were they really blessed, as some said? If they really were instruments of a higher plane, why did so many turn to wickedness?


    Ghemenion snapped his attention back; Rala was talking. ¡°¡­ that Nil Sorog birthed the eggs before she died, and Ord Ylon spent the next two hundred years raising his young? It¡¯s no small wonder he came after you.¡±


    ¡°We only killed the one, that first time. We did not really know what we were getting ourselves into. And that led me¡­ here. To you, and your wisdom.¡±


    Phanar turned his gaze to Ghemenion again now, saying this; the sorcerer fancied he could see a certain tension in the lines of the warrior¡¯s visage, that he could see an imploring look on the determined face. But at the same he felt like he was imagining it.


    Perfectly timed to allow his lord a reprieve before answering, Ellecho knocked at the door.


    Ghemenion waited for the pheasant and wine to be served; he¡¯d hoped Phanar would maintain his cool demeanour and refuse the repast, but the warrior eyed his plateful of sizzling bird with undisguised hunger.


    As the dutiful neophyte made to leave the room, the lord stopped him with a single word.


    It was a fine line. To send fifteen sorcerers, or more, to aid Phanar and his friends in their confrontation with the fearsome dragon. He¡¯d been scared, but the taste of Phanar¡¯s memories had set flame to his blood, made him feel young again as he hadn¡¯t felt in years.


    Or to send one arch-sorcerer, and risk the next Infernal Incursion happening while the asset was away.


    He knew he¡¯d feel safer with an archmage backing their play.


    Rala looked at him. He knew she could tell something of what he was weighing up.


    His decision to stop Ellecho already betrayed his subconscious intention. He was going to do it, damn the consequences.


    He had seen the dragon ¡®in action¡¯. He knew that no mere mage would stand up to that winged abomination of scales and acid and annihilation, and he couldn¡¯t in good faith allow the creature to continue to live, continue to plague the world. They could sort out the percentages at leisure ¨C this had to happen.


    But this problem required a champion.


    ¡°Get a message to Redgate,¡± he said to Ellecho at last. ¡°Invite him round, before lunch tomorrow. He¡¯s going to fight a dragon.¡±


    He looked at Phanar, then across at Rala.


    His eyes carried his question, and she nodded despite the shivers that were clearly coursing through her body.


    He looked back at Ellecho. ¡°And so are Rala and I.¡±

 The Fabric

    <h2>INTERLUDE 2B: THE FABRIC</h2>


    ¡°What are you fighting for? What will buy you your moment of peace? Must it come at the cost of tears? Must it come at the cost of blood? There is always a better way. You know it yourself, when you lie abed and try to hold the grin upon your face, confronted by all those apparitions. When you have sunk your soul, it only becomes easier and easier to continue to sink. Harder and harder to climb out. And yet it is so simple any might achieve it in but a moment. Let the grin slip again. Yes, like that. You know. You know what you did wrong. And you know ¨C you know ¨C you will not permit yourself to do it again. Your last ill deed is now behind you. Open the fist. Extend the helping hand. Do not be afraid. I believe in you. Even if you never believed in me ¨C I always knew you had it in you to change. Set aside the sword. Let the wound be staunched. Let it heal.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Maiden¡¯s Way¡¯ recordings, Ismethara 945 NE


    ¡°Holy¡­ drop,¡± Tanra¡¯s boyfriend breathed after he finally finished chewing and swallowed the stuff.


    They sat upon her bed, the window still slightly open from when she¡¯d raised it to let him in. It was past eleven on Twoday night. Her studies and her knitting had kept her up, but it was the Blackrush ale at the Gold Griffin that¡¯d claimed Xaba¡¯s attention for most of the night. She had to be up at six for her seamstress job, and her father would break her boyfriend¡¯s neck if he was caught here at this hour ¨C throw him back out the window, probably, and let the fifty-foot drop do the job.


    That was the kind of man her dad was. Twelve Hells, he¡¯d probably break her neck into the bargain ¨C or at least nail shut her windows and keep her in under curfew until she hit fifteen.


    When she would finally get a chance to clear out of this nightmarish place.


    Just¡­ ten months and a day to go, she reminded herself. She kept it like a clock ticking away in her head, the countdown to her emancipation. Then I¡¯ll be free ¨C or on my way to freedom, at least.


    Xaba raised his face, his head bobbing about on his neck as if only barely connected. She saw how his eyes were darting here and there, his lips parted in a slight smile; she could hear his heavy breathing, and smell the sickly-sweet rancour on his every exhalation.


    ¡°I really hope this works for you,¡± he said, his voice appropriately-hushed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, Xaba,¡± she said, tapping her chin.


    She was suddenly realising that this was really going to happen. She¡¯d been attracted to him at first because he ran with a gang. He was older than her, and worldlier ¨C but Xaba always talked it up, always acted like much more of a bad-boy than he was at heart, and secretly she was okay with that. His friends were bad influences on him, but their hold on him had weakened over the months she¡¯d known him, and he was going to make husband-material one day. He¡¯d help her get out of here, when the time came, and keep her safe. And so she indulged him; she didn¡¯t mind him eating wane from time to time, and had even tried it once ¨C the euphoria hadn¡¯t lasted long, and she¡¯d never felt the desire to try it again.


    But this was something called ¡®inkatra¡¯, he¡¯d said, and she knew nothing about it.


    His smile widened. ¡°Trust me, all the Knuckle-Heads are doing it. Anyway, what I¡¯ve come up with ¨C it¡¯s like cheating, we get two for one, but I ¨C oh, sweet Mother of Bliss!¨C I can make you feel the way I feel without you even needing to eat it.¡±


    She didn¡¯t feel keen now she could see it close-up, the way his brow had turned all sweaty, his ceaselessly roving eyes. But she wasn¡¯t going to draw away as he reached out to touch the pad a fingertip to the centre of her forehead; she offered up a swift prayer to Yune, and closed her eyes.


    He was just going to tap her forehead, right? What harm could that cause?


    No harm. No harm at all.


    It swept over her in what must¡¯ve been an instant, but it was an instant divided into layers ¨C there was a softness she¡¯d never experienced before, a softness she didn¡¯t have words for. It was as though she¡¯d been oiled with pungent creams and gently wrapped in silken sheets, placed with care to float upon an ocean of down-filled pillows¡­


    She was on her back now, she knew, lying on the bed ¨C but that reality, that truth was simply too straightforward, too mundane for the experience to which she was being treated.


    She wasn¡¯t lying on her bed; she was a snake, a wisp of tendrils that permeated solid matter, slipping through her covers, rolling around like a leaf caught in a whirlpool, a swirl of oiled creamy silken fabrics ¨C


    ¡°Tanra ¨C¡°


    She opened her eyes, and saw Xaba¡¯s face, his heavy-browed, tough-looking visage; she put her palms against the sides of his face and kissed him fiercely.


    His lips tasted good.


    ¡°Tanra!¡°


    He was shouting to her but she didn¡¯t listen, wouldn¡¯t stop trying to kiss him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to shut up!¡± he cried.


    It was only then that she realised the constant ¡°ahhhhhhhhhh!¡± sound, a noise like the distressed bleat of some animal, was coming from her own throat ¨C it was only then that she realised she was even hearing a sound at all, actually ¨C


    It was very interesting, all of a sudden, the way it had worried him ¨C


    She fixated on a button near the neck of Xaba¡¯s vest. It was a little circular piece of wood, painted the same blue as the cloth, and it was supposed to be round ¨C but it was marred on one side, a little chip, a jagged indentation, like a tooth had bit into it ¨C


    She was vaguely aware as the door opened, her father entered, the scuffle, the window smashing, blah blah blah. She kept her eyes on the button, the way the little chip caught the warm, orange light of the candle in the hallway outside the room ¨C how it was altered when Xaba turned towards the shards of the window hanging there in the frame, charging and pushing ¨C the sickle-moon beaming a cold, clinical, silvery light that caused the shadows along the jagged edge of the button to dance and deepen ¨C


    Something was impeding the process of making memories; it was like her consciousness was working her body ahead of her, in real time, and she was doing her best to keep up, but even when she tried her hardest she was still minutes behind. There were a few scattered moments left in Tanra¡¯s mind, when she came upon them, experiencing the series of events as if for the first time: her mum¡¯s face frozen in shock, shock and hope, isn¡¯t that the real telling thing; stopping by a bloody corpse outside before they ran ¨C her dad¡¯s corpse ¨C well, never mind, at least that¡¯s one good thing to come of tonight; running, running into the smog, laughing at the night. Searching.


    Searching?


    Searching out Old Tibbey, who had provided Xaba with the inkatra, who would surely provide them with more, more and more; and they would run, run into the wind, laugh at the night forever.


    * * *


    She waited on the bench by the office in the repurposed warehouse, the back of her smock soaked in sweat, trying to keep from screaming. The constant anticipation had Tanra with her backside right on the edge of the hard wood.


    ¡®Waited¡¯ was perhaps too-strong an expression; her knees were shaking, and she had no command over her demeanour, which surely displayed a never-ending cycle of impatience to frustration to ferocity.


    Thankfully the few lanterns scattered throughout the space, which was scarcely better-appointed than a barn on a farm (but was at least as large), probably did little to illuminate her expression. The others in the room ¨C a dozen-and-a-half druggies and gangers who would¡¯ve normally been more than happy asserting their dominance over this fourteen-year-old girl ¨C were regarding her the same way one would regard an unshackled rabid animal. The way she would regard a spider on the other side of the wash-room that she¡¯d only spotted once she¡¯d sat down on the toilet, feeling it staring back at her with its eight eyes. Do not come any closer.


    She was enjoying it, she supposed, even if ¡®enjoying¡¯ had become a relative term over the last four hours. How did Xaba put it? ¡®It took the edge off.¡¯ Yes, that was it. Them staring at her with untrammelled apprehension in their eyes; it took the edge off the craving.


    Perhaps they had experience dealing with people who were undergoing inkatra withdrawal. They knew better than to interfere with her, even if her presence was putting a downer on their own night.


    They reclined in the padded chairs and on the cushioned divans that were scattered between the boxes and crates, seemingly all filled with illegal substances. Some of the thugs were inhaling pungent smoke, others eating strange packages, or even dripping concoctions right into their eyes.


    She looked away when she saw that, tapping her chin nervously. She hated eyes.


    ¡°Waneday,¡± said a big guy with his trunk-like left arm in a sling, speaking to no one in particular, in what probably passed for a thoughtful tone for someone of his immense stature and booming voice. ¡°Did they name the day after the drug, or the drug after the day?¡±


    ¡°Get real, Garet,¡± someone else answered, chewing noisily on some bread.


    ¡°Get-Real Garet. That should be his name,¡± another commented with a giggle.


    ¡°Get-Real Garet!¡±


    ¡°Oh, oh ha-ha yes, Get-Real! Get-Real Garet!¡±


    The big guy with the sling muttered something like ¡°drop off¡± darkly, sank back into his pillows and shut his eyes, cradling his hurt arm with his free hand.


    ¡°Neither, ¡®course,¡± came an acerbic voice after the hubbub had died down. The older man who spoke had a hard expression on his wrinkle-twisted face, and a jar of beer in his hand. ¡°Wane¡¯s a word, yer know.¡±


    ¡°It is?¡±


    ¡°Never heard o¡¯ the wanin¡¯ moon? Means it¡¯s on its way out, innit?¡±


    ¡°Then why¡¯s Waneday come ¡®afore Fullday?¡±


    Tanra sighed, and pressed her hands into the wood of the bench on either side of her, gripping it so tightly that her nails began to hurt.


    Three minutes. She¡¯d been here about three minutes, ¡®waiting¡¯ for Xaba to finish talking to this Old Tibbey, ¡®waiting¡¯ for her next fix of inkatra.


    She was new to this, and had no doubt in her mind that her boyfriend was about to emerge with handfuls of the drug.


    Then she heard raised voices in the partitioned-off ¡®office¡¯ behind her; she sprang up, feeling tension all the way from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head, making her hair and teeth ache, making her blood itch as it scratched its way through her veins.


    Everyone else gave her a look, but she was ignoring them for the moment, doing her best to listen to the heated words being exchanged beyond the thin wooden walls ¨C she went to the door and leaned next to it, head turned to expose her ear to the gap between the door and the frame. She shut her eyes, trying to quell her involuntary movements, trying to focus¡­


    ¡°¡­ any Knuckle-¡¯Ead finks he can just saunter in ¡®ere and demand me produce, he¡¯s got another fing comin¡¯, my son.¡±


    ¡°Come on, old man, you said yourself, Ginnel Gram¡¯s shifting the lot. I can pay, you know me.¡±


    ¡°Money ¨C up ¨C front, you little dropstain. Doessen your generation never show respect, boy? I could send you right back ter Papa Roon with a scar on your cheek and d¡¯you know what he¡¯d do about it? Nuffink. ¡®Cos I got you dead ter rights, Xaba Bhellomy. You get out my joint right the Hells now, or they¡¯ll be findin¡¯ yer bits fer weeks ter come.¡±


    ¡°If I come back with money ¨C¡°


    ¡°Money talks.¡±


    There was a pause, in which Tanra could only hear her own heart beating, could only think about the way this had turned out, feeling her anger seething ¨C itchy blood became acid, the aching of her hair and teeth suddenly transformed into a full-blown headache like someone had just taken a hammer to the back of her skull ¨C


    When a hand grabbed her around the back of her neck, she tried to squeal, tried to whirl, using all her fury mingled with the swiftly-onset terror ¨C


    But the man¡¯s grasp on her was firm, and she only succeeded in croaking and half-spinning before falling into a heap at his feet. She hadn¡¯t really eaten the inkatra ¨C they¡¯d cheated. And even if the magic of which she¡¯d been given a taste by Xaba had increased her strength as well as her ferocity, that effect was long-since passed now.


    For a second or two she struggled, increasingly realising the futility of her actions, then finally went limp, staring up at him in shock.


    He slowly hefted her by her throat, and she fought to get her feet underneath her in time, hoping to relieve the pressure on her windpipe. He wasn¡¯t trying to choke her, but it was clear he was willing to if she didn¡¯t obey.


    It was someone she hadn¡¯t noticed before. Not tall or particularly muscly-looking, he was still heavyset ¨C she might¡¯ve even been a bit taller than him, but he weighed at least twice as much as her, and he was at least twice her age.


    It wasn¡¯t that far from dawn, and he had the look of someone who¡¯d been up all night without a nap ¨C pinkish eyes, messed-up brown hair, crumbs in his scraggly beard.


    ¡°Dance fer us, girl,¡± he said without any pretence, and without any doubt that she¡¯d comply. His breath stank of whatever the blue stuff caught in his teeth was. ¡°I¡¯m gettin¡¯ bored, and yer wooden like me when I¡¯m bored.¡±


    He strode off, half-carrying her as her feet scurried to copy his motions, move with him ¨C then he flung her into the centre of the room, into the midst of the sprawled druggies.


    His actions bought him some measure of approval from his companions ¨C the half who said nothing in response weren¡¯t abdicating out of some sense of criticism, she was sure, but more because they were too vacant between the ears to care about anything, even the latest entertainment.


    ¡°Dance!¡± he barked, taking up position as if to close-off the ring in which she¡¯d been encircled.


    Even some of the more lethargic-looking members of her audience were now stirring with interest.


    She stood there, a sweat-soaked rabbit surrounded by baying wolves, and her chest began to constrict. She wrapped her arms around herself as though she could protect herself from the situation with them, and she spun in place, looking into their faces and cringing.


    Only the one they¡¯d called Get-Real Garet was looking away, rubbing his sling-bound hand without any consciousness behind the action, his mind off somewhere else.


    It wasn¡¯t long before the chant was taken up, ¡°Dance! Dance! Dance!¡± and within seconds people were throwing things at her ¨C chunks of plaster, crusts of bread, a cup ¨C


    ¡°Tanra!¡±


    It was Xaba¡¯s voice ¨C she could see him over the short, heavy guy¡¯s shoulder. He was leaving the office through the open door, the grey-haired old man in a nightgown visible behind him ¨C Old Tibbey.


    ¡°You leave her alone!¡± Xaba roared, hastening forwards to catch the heavy guy¡¯s arm even as the blue-teethed ruffian hoisted a cushion from a nearby chair to lob at her.


    She saw Old Tibbey¡¯s grin, behind Xaba ¨C


    ¡°Xaba! Look out!¡± she screamed ¨C


    Old Tibbey, with a dexterity that belied his age, slipped forwards with a dagger in his hand, catching up to her boyfriend in an instant.


    Xaba¡¯s face froze in an expression of anguish, his hands clawing at the air ¨C the blow to his back had arrested all his movements. He didn¡¯t even cry out.


    She watched as he slowly, slowly fell down to his knees, then toppled onto his face.


    Now he moaned, a single long monotone, before falling silent.


    A silence that stretched.


    Xaba. Dead. Her mind struggled to connect the two concepts. Dead. Xaba.


    Her father was dead. The evil man. Now Xaba was dead. The good man.


    I loved him.


    It hadn¡¯t been a pure love, hadn¡¯t been something from a fable. It¡¯d been real. It¡¯d been hers. And now it was dead, stabbed in the back by a demon-hearted old man.


    But she watched as Old Tibbey¡¯s dagger quivered slightly, its tip wedged firmly in her beloved¡¯s spine, and she couldn¡¯t cry.


    Not here. Not now.


    ¡°What o¡¯ the girl?¡± the heavy guy asked, as if nothing had just occurred.


    ¡°Take ¡®im out and slit ¡®is throat where it won¡¯t make a mess, an¡¯ yer can do the same wiff ¡®er after, eh?¡± the old man called, already turning around to head back to his separate room, nonchalantly smearing the blood on his hand onto the side of his nightgown as he went.


    They¡¯re going to kill me.


    As if in answer to Old Tibbey¡¯s words, a heavy blow struck the door of the warehouse.


    Boom!


    The chains, wrapped in a figure-of-eight between the two handles on the insides of the pair of wooden doors, shook and jangled loudly in the silence afterwards.


    For a second Tanra thought she¡¯d imagined it, dreamt it ¨C but then Old Tibbey halted, and slowly turned around to stare at the chains, as if daring them to shake again.


    ¡°What in Infernum was that?¡± the old man growled.


    There was a pause; everyone turned their heads, looking at each other. Tanra quickly focussed her eyes on the floor as if showing herself to be capable of perception would suddenly make them perceive her again, as if keeping her eyes on the floor made her invisible.


    When the answers came they flowed from several tongues, but it was as though the same consciousness directed the responses:


    ¡°That wuz the wind, boss, I swears it ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C yeah the wind¡¯s been bad, las¡¯ few nights ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C heard it do that many a time, when it¡¯s stormed, yer know?¡±


    ¡°¨C couldn¡¯ter been anyfink else anyway, we got Willow Jonsen and The Stain on watch ¨C¡°


    Boom!


    This time there was the unmistakeable sound of splintering wood. The shadows were too thick in the doorway to tell whether a hole had been punched-through. The walls and door were a muddy brown that might as well have been black in the dimness of these few lanterns, and the sky outside would probably be dark for a good while yet ¨C


    Tanra stood there, more firmly paralysed by her fear than by any spell a mage might¡¯ve conjured.


    She stood there and ¡®waited¡¯.


    It was almost too good to be true. Something to distract them. A time was coming when she would have to run. Her skin was crawling like she had a million insects worming their way around inside her clothes, over her face, in her shoes. She longed to move. She longed to go home. She longed to hug Xaba.


    The realist-portion of her mind was still ticking over, somewhere below the blinding drug-addled rage and the humiliation of her current predicament, and that part of her had it all worked out. Xaba would be blamed for her dad¡¯s death ¨C she was sure of it. She could go home, and she would miss Xaba, she really would, but he would be dead and she would be alive and she would just have to make the most of it ¨C


    But she couldn¡¯t move, couldn¡¯t break the paralysis. She couldn¡¯t trust that, when the moment arrived, she¡¯d be able to do what she had to, to be free of this warehouse of nightmares.


    When she dared flick her gaze towards her tormentors, she saw the same fear, the same paralysis infecting the faces of the others.


    Old Tibbey¡¯s voice was tense but his tone was commanding:


    ¡°Kezelro, Garet. Go check it.¡±


    With a grunt, the heavyset guy who¡¯d grabbed her by the throat moved as though to walk past her ¨C


    Then, as he got next to her, he shouldered her suddenly, right in the chest, driving the air out of her lungs and smacking her down to the ground, leaving her curled up on the floor.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fink yer gettin¡¯ out o¡¯ dancin¡¯,¡± he ¨C Kezelro ¨C snarled at her.


    But Garet held up his injured hand. ¡°I¡¯m on leave, boss. Peltos¡¯s orders. I¡¯m not to, you know, get in any scraps or whatever. Till I¡¯m healed.¡±


    Old Tibbey didn¡¯t argue, didn¡¯t even seem flummoxed for one instant ¨C he just barked, ¡°Norrest!¡± and a different guy got to his feet, glowering at the muscled brute.


    ¡°On leave,¡± Norrest muttered mockingly.


    He and Kezelro made their way to the door, disappearing into the shadows.


    Tanra felt her chest with almost-unresponsive fingers. There was no sharpness, like she imagined she¡¯d feel if he¡¯d broken one of her ribs. But the flesh was incredibly tender to even her lightest touch. At least her breath was returning to her.


    ¡°No damage,¡± the evil one, Kezelro, called back from the dimness, a blackness moving amidst the blackness.


    ¡°Musta been the wind, boss,¡± said Norrest, his voice whiny. She recognised him now by his pitch; he¡¯d been the giggler, the one who¡¯d said ¡®Get-Real¡¯ should be Garet¡¯s epithet.


    There was a moment of consternated silence, then Old Tibbey yelled angrily, ¡°Go check on Jonsen and The Stain! Call yerselves Bertie Boys¡­¡±


    The tension seemed to melt out of everyone, second by second. The chains were rattling as the ruffians opened the door. Old Tibbey was retreating to his office once again. The pool of blood around Xaba¡¯s corpse was slowly becoming apparent, having finally soaked through his clothes to spread on the ground¡­


    The warehouse door was opening ¨C the worst amongst her tormentors was leaving¡­ If there was ever a chance to mount an escape, this was it.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    But how? Even if her body miraculously did what she told it, how could she get over there, from here on the floor, evade the (possibly four) people in or around the doorway¡­? Even if she¡¯d had her wits about her she would¡¯ve found it an impossible task, and right now in this instant, her flesh was nothing more than a pool of suffering in which to drown her mind, stifle her instincts, choke her resistance.


    Joran give me strength, she prayed, tensing up, getting ready to try to get to her feet ¨C


    ¡°Why thank you.¡±


    A new voice, scarily loud.


    There was no gratitude in that deep, male voice ¨C only something ominous, brimming with barely-submerged emotion, making it not just sarcastic but caustic, biting like a razor. There was no trace of a highborn accent, but the words were precise, crisp.


    She jerked her head up, trying to look, but couldn¡¯t get a glimpse of the newcomer through the shadows. She could, however, see Norrest hastily retreating back into the light, Kezelro only slightly slower, swaying as he backed-up as if in indecision.


    ¡°Mage!¡± Norrest cried, ¡°mage!¡±


    ¡°Not again,¡± she heard Garet mutter to himself.


    Old Tibbey had reached the office door, but had seemingly stopped the moment the voice out of the darkness reached his ears; instead of entering, the old man swung it shut while still on this side, and leaned against it with his back, weariness crossing his leathery face.


    ¡°Whadder yer want, magister?¡± he called out into the darkness. ¡°We ain¡¯t got owt fer the likes o¡¯ you ¨C get gone, or ye¡¯ll regret it!¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m no magister. I¡¯m just¡­ looking for someone.¡±


    Yes, the voice was kept low, but there was something about the way it throbbed, in one moment sneering-hot and in the next brittle-cold ¨C something that told her he probably wasn¡¯t much more than a few years older than her.


    The newcomer approached into the gap left by Kezelro and Norrest, the lantern-light falling on a grinning, shining face that floated in the darkness.


    Tanra felt the shudder of terror that seemed to pass through everyone assembled in the warehouse.


    She didn¡¯t follow the antics of the darkmages as much these days; her work and her schooling had kept her busy ¨C Xaba, poor Xaba, he would¡¯ve probably known who this was ¨C but even if it were some infamous killer, it was unlikely he was here to exact vengeance on her. She could slip out, unnoticed¡­


    The tension seemed to grow, build higher and higher, like the time she¡¯d seen the wizards dam the Blackrush while they fixed the locks ¨C a vast black weight of incredible depth rising, rising, waiting to spill, to crash down¡­


    Old Tibbey was saying nothing ¨C she couldn¡¯t even hear anyone breathing ¨C


    Kezelro, the closest to the grinning face, snapped first.


    A short bark of exasperation or resentment escaping him, the bearded Bertie Boy reached inside his vest, producing a short-handled knife.


    The moment his hand re-emerged the grinning face said merely, ¡°Good.¡±


    Something happened then, something that made little-to-no sense: a white hand came out of the shadows, moving in a little flicking gesture before clenching into a loose fist; and Kezelro¡¯s body changed ¨C it went from the buoyant stance of a man who was ready even in the throes of his drug-haze to commit acts of abhorrent violence, to a crumpled up, contorted mess.


    It was like the thug was trying to cross his arms at the elbow and bend his knees inwards. He only barely stayed on his feet and the splayed fingers of his hands were no longer anywhere near the knife-hilt.


    Like he¡¯d been shoved into an invisible box of strange dimensions, a box imperceptible other than by the behaviour of its captive.


    There was a flurry of movement in the dark, and within an instant Kezelro was being marched towards them in the centre of the warehouse; behind him, the black-robed, black-hooded mage in the macabre mask towered over him, a long-sleeved arm reaching around the captive and pressing something thin and dark into the soft flesh beneath his chin.


    The eyes were glaring through the holes in the mask at Norrest ¨C the whiner was quick, almost grateful to stand down, backing closer to the relative safety of the rest of the gang.


    The mage stopped twenty feet away, turning his head to regard them all in turn, as though he were getting a read on each of them, listening to something, listening to their thoughts?


    An enchanter?


    ¡°You know what this is, I take it?¡±


    The mage twisted the piece of wood in his hand, its tip buried in Kezelro¡¯s throat. Surely most of them knew what he meant ¨C even Tanra recognised the explosive dagger for what it was.


    ¡°Do you know what¡¯d happen if I pushed a bit too hard?¡±


    The hooded figure laughed, cold and brittle as before, then suddenly shouted: ¡°Pop! I transform his head into a fine red mist. What do you know, I must be a magician or something.¡±


    The trapped Bertie Boy¡¯s eyes flicked around the room, looking imploringly at its other occupants. But there was no one able or willing to help him.


    ¡°And do you know what I¡¯d say?¡±


    The figure laughed again, then, but it was a different sound. Hollow. Bitter.


    Perhaps she¡¯d been wrong, she thought, when she heard that awful sound ¨C perhaps he was older after all.


    When he spoke again it was the voice of one who just seconds ago stood on the edge of a momentous decision, but who had now made that decision.


    ¡°I would say oops.¡±


    Boom!


    The room recoiled.


    The instant he¡¯d said ¡®oops¡¯ there was a tremendous thunderclap, right there at his hands around Kezelro¡¯s throat ¨C an unnatural clamour with none of the wave of air that should¡¯ve accompanied it, given the volume.


    The newcomer shoved Kezelro forwards, who fell screaming, frantically patting his cheeks and ears and hair and beard, face contorted and eyes screwed shut. Once he seemed to realise he was still alive he began to crawl away, moaning all the while; he primarily used his knees, as his arms were clasped around his head so that his ears were covered.


    A foul odour filled the air. Tanra gave it fifty-fifty odds as to whether the Bertie Boy actually let his bowels go, or just came close at the moment he thought his head had been blown apart.


    She smiled, a tight little smile. She felt a touch of the fierceness that¡¯d infected her returning.


    Most of the patrons of Old Tibbey¡¯s warehouse had either pushed themselves over the arms of their seats at the thunderclap, or pushed over the seats themselves ¨C whichever way, Tanra was no longer the only one on the ground.


    The old man himself had slumped to the floor, she saw when she glanced across. ¡°Well ooh in Twelve ¡®Ells are yer after?¡± he croaked, his tone plaintive, hurt.


    The newcomer¡¯s explosive dagger had vanished; he was just standing there, chuckling ¨C then he suddenly stopped.


    ¡°One of you is dying?¡± he muttered, incongruous concern in the threat. He straightened up. ¡°Give me Telrose Gaum. Now.¡±


    The last word came out like the thunderclap, deafening, skin-shrivelling.


    Tanra looked about. There was going to be none of the back-and-forth here, no disguising the identity of the mage¡¯s quarry ¨C she immediately identified Telrose Gaum by the way everyone was looking at him. Short and skinny, forty or forty-five years old, his shaven face and head were his only contributions to maintaining his appearance; his rags looked like they were soiled with gutter-waste and worse. He was crouching on the balls of his feet, tucked up next to the arm of the couch he¡¯d until-recently been sitting in; his eyes were roving in their sockets, his forehead dripped with sweat, and he was chewing frantically.


    Swallowing.


    There was a part of her, a strong part, that just wanted to spring on him and kill him and steal his remaining inkatra and she was going to do it, she would find a way ¨C


    Then Telrose Gaum was smiling thinly, rising to his feet and holding out his hands.


    ¡°Too late,¡± the newcomer declared, full of confidence ¨C then, suddenly desperate, ¡°Wait! Don¡¯t try it!¡±


    A rippling sheet of blue-green fire leapt from the thug¡¯s fingertips.


    And rebounded right back at him, as though the air around the mage simply rejected it.


    The thug had no training, had no way to repel the effects as what looked like glistening, liquid flame covered him, consuming his rags ¨C


    Telrose shrilled like a trumpet in its highest key, panicking, flapping his arms about wildly ¨C


    ¡°In ma lar!¡± the figure snapped, like he was swearing in another language.


    She looked at him, wondering who he was speaking to, what he was saying ¨C


    Then she blinked two or three times at the tiny handsome chap who stepped on clattering hooves out of a green-coloured nowhere.


    A faun?


    The little fellow raised a big old goblet and a set of pipes and then there was a long, low note of music somehow producing a flood of water ¨C no, it was wine, she could smell it and it was splashing all around her, further soaking her clothes ¨C cascading onto the burning man, pummelling him down into the ground.


    The flood continued for a few seconds, everyone doing their best to maintain their composure as they watched the idiot Telrose Gaum come within an inch of losing his life to his own foolishness.


    ¡°Thank you, Flood Boy,¡± the mage said. She saw it more clearly this time as a jagged, greenish rip appeared there, hanging right in the air ¨C seemingly swallowing the faun.


    An arch-sorcerer? she thought wonderingly.


    Slowly, Telrose shook his head and got to a half-sitting, half-sprawling position, gasping heavily. His rags had mostly dematerialised, but his skin was only red and blotchy in patches, not showing the welts of a severe burn anywhere she could see.


    ¡°I warn you not to try it again,¡± the sorcerer said; ¡°the same spell is active, and next time you¡¯d likely perish. All I want from you¡­¡± he took a breath, ¡°all I want is information.¡±


    ¡°Ah ¨C ah,¡± Telrose gasped for at least ten seconds; then finally between the agonised winces he managed to cough out: ¡°Wha¡¯¡­ ¡®information¡¯¡­ would that be?¡±


    ¡°Morsus Tarent. He is dead. You were there.¡±


    Morsus Tarent? She¡¯d never heard of him.


    ¡°Wha¡¯¡­ wha¡¯ d¡¯yer care?¡±


    ¡°What do I care!¡± the sorcerer roared, setting Telrose flat on his back just with the power of his voice. ¡°What do I care? I care that my¡­ I care that he was stabbed in the chest and left in the gutter for children to find, for the rats to chew!¡±


    The anger was back, seething, rolling across the room, the voice magnified in volume also deepened in timbre, wrath itself echoing back off the walls.


    She looked back at Old Tibbey, to see if he was following the conversation, how he was reacting ¨C but it was Garet, Get-Real Garet, not far from her and huddled up next to a piece of furniture like everyone else, who caught her attention. The big man with his arm in a sling was staring at the mage with a strange, almost wistful look in his eyes, just for an instant ¨C then he looked down at the ground beneath him once more.


    She could almost imagine the sound of the cogs slowly, laboriously turning in his head, but she had no idea what that portended.


    ¡°Look, misser, I¡­ I got¡¯s no ¡®information¡¯¡­¡±


    ¡°Who killed him?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t got¡­¡±


    ¡°Tell me who killed him.¡±


    Telrose gazed back up at the mage, silent, even holding in his winces in his resolve to keep his lips sealed.


    And so when the masked figure next spoke, it was in a quiet, resigned voice.


    ¡°Very well. I won¡¯t kill you. Not myself ¨C I couldn¡¯t do that. And I think you know that much already.¡±


    She heard Telrose cluck in response.


    ¡°But I can send you to hell.¡±


    The sorcerer¡¯s arms moved, fingers clawing at the air; and then a blood-coloured curtain of flame sprang up, almost touching the ground between them, the thing flickering madly in comparison with the soft, gentle crackling-sound it emitted.


    Uncanny red light fell on everything nearby, illuminating the warehouse and its occupants with its eerie glow.


    ¡°Through there is Infernum,¡± Tanra felt herself pale at this, ¡°and what would you know, I happen to have a one-way ticket with your name on it. You¡¯re going to end up there anyway, right? Why not speed up the process? Unless you want to tell me, and get yourself some healing for that pain ¨C those burns gotta hurt, right? ¨C I¡¯ll just move the gate on top of you, and we¡¯ll see what a world full of demons can do ¨C I¡¯ll even come with, this has got to be good ¨C¡±


    ¡°He killed hisself!¡± Telrose cried at last.


    The sorcerer took a step backwards, as if he¡¯d been pushed back bodily. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said coldly, ¡°he just took out his dagger and repeatedly thrust it into his own heart. That¡¯s possible, right? Try again, Telrose.¡±


    ¡°You fancy droppin¡¯ highborn wi¡¯ yer fancy-pants words. Look, misser, I¡¯ll tell it yer straight ¨C yer man Morsus, he came in after dinner wi¡¯ eight gold, wha¡¯s tha¡¯, like, eigh¡¯y sillies ¨C showin¡¯ it off, he was, talkin¡¯ it up, like the big man, yer know? Then when he goes n¡¯ loses it all, well ¨C he starts screamin¡¯, dussen he? Knocks over the table like he¡¯s the big man, yer get the picture? Wan¡¯s his money back, he does, wants it back or he¡¯s got friends in high places, friends like you, eh? ¨C n¡¯ they wassen gonna take this, was they?¡±


    As Telrose¡¯s story progressed, Tanra could perceive that the sorcerer¡¯s confidence was taking a beating. He¡¯d lowered his masked head, and she could see the way the tips of his pale fingers appeared, emerging from the opening at the end of his sleeve before disappearing, reappearing¡­ At least one of the sorcerer-boy¡¯s hands was clenching and unclenching, over and over.


    ¡°So yeah, he gess told ter leave, n¡¯ kicks the wrong guy when they movin¡¯ him out the door, a real goat he was. Tha¡¯ was it, though. He got the knife in the front, mind, n¡¯ there never was no fightin¡¯. Clean and straight, eh? Kultemeren¡¯s me witness, I ain¡¯t never seen a death wha¡¯ deserved it more.¡±


    There was silence, and more silence, unbroken except by breathing ¨C and somewhere behind her a little slurping as someone on the periphery of this madness took advantage of the wine-puddle.


    ¡°The name.¡±


    This time when the sorcerer spoke it was with sorrow.


    This time when he spoke she could tell those two words were the last two words Telrose Gaum would ever hear in mortal language.


    It would be the tongues of devils for him from now on.


    And it seemed Telrose finally got the same impression.


    ¡°Orven¡­ It was him wha¡¯ stuck him, but there was ¨C¡°


    ¡°His sirename.¡±


    ¡°I dunno¡­¡±


    ¡°Where would he be found?¡±


    ¡°I dunno!¡± Telrose shrieked.


    The sorcerer¡¯s arm was flung up suddenly ¨C


    And the glow of the red-flame portal vanished even more swiftly than it had first been conjured.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said in little more than a whisper.


    ¡°Yer believe me?¡± Telrose sounded surprised as much as he sounded relieved.


    The masked figure just nodded once, and continued quietly, ¡°Let¡¯s see about that healing.¡±


    For a moment it was as though he¡¯d cast an opaque black screen up into the air in front of him, and then a second later it vanished again, to reveal the sorcerer and¡­ and¡­


    And something most fourteen-year-old girls would¡¯ve wanted the power to summon.


    The bronze demigod-looking thing moved forward at a short command from its master, but it didn¡¯t stop beside Telrose, who looked up at the sorcerer, offended.


    ¡°Critical casualties first, fool,¡± the masked figure muttered. ¡°One of you is near death.¡±


    ¡®One of you is dying?¡¯ She understood him now.


    Xaba!


    Tanra cried, ¡°He isn¡¯t one of them! Please, is he alive?¡±


    The act of speaking seemed to unlock her arms and legs, and she scrambled up to her feet.


    Now she and the sorcerer were the only ones in the room standing; the beautiful bronze man was already crouching at Xaba¡¯s side, blowing in his face, slowly but forcefully ¨C she could see her boyfriend¡¯s hair rippling back from the pressure.


    She glanced back at the masked mage in his grey robe ¨C his head moved slightly, eyes looking her up and down, then he said, ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    She felt herself shaking all over again, whether from the inkatra-withdrawal or the built-up dread of being trapped here she was unsure.


    But he noticed her shuddering.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get you out of here,¡± he reassured her. ¡°First,¡± he turned his attention to the bronze guy, ¡°how are you getting on, noble sylph? In Mundic.¡±


    ¡°Grave his injury, less-grave his fate,¡± the muscly ¡®sylph¡¯ replied in a monotone, almost overly-polite voice. ¡°I hadst no other recourse than to replace his lost blood, and his condition, meagre as I find it, shall worsen no further; in time yon maiden must procure the ministrations of druidry. For the present will he sleep ¨C yet shall he make his way in the world afoot? This matter only a master-healer might settle.¡±


    Tanra appreciated the musical quality of his speech patterns, but she noticed that almost everyone else was looking at the sylph with nonplussed expressions on their faces.


    ¡°¡¯E said to speak Mundic, right?¡± one dolt murmured.


    ¡°Very well,¡± the mage said to his minion, and sighed. ¡°Carry him, then.¡±


    The sylph immediately bent and hefted Xaba up effortlessly into the air, big bronze hands and elbows carefully placed so as to cause as little adjustment to his spine as possible.


    ¡°What about me?¡± Telrose moaned. Tanra suspected the pain was keeping the throes of inkatra-ecstasy from taking hold of him ¨C or perhaps he already had a tolerance.


    The sorcerer didn¡¯t even look down. ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± he said disdainfully. ¡°Call this a taster, and a warning. I wasn¡¯t lying about Infernum, you know, and it is real. Do you want to end up there? Any of you? Ruminate on those burns, and on the fiery eternity you¡¯re looking forward to.¡±


    ¡°Yer never gonna get away with this, boy,¡± Old Tibbey called out. It sounded like he was trying his best to be intimidating but the involuntary thrum of nervousness twisted his threat into a querulous, trite statement.


    Telrose jumped up, all blackened rags and reddened skin ¨C Kezelro too came bounding forwards, recovered from his ear-splitting, head-popping experience ¨C


    Both of them went hurtling at the sorcerer with all their might ¨C


    And they both bounced off invisible walls, something unseen and impenetrable, surrounding just him, or the thugs, or all of them at once ¨C she had no way to tell.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± the sorcerer cried. ¡°Are you seriously going to do that? Do you have any idea of how badly I¡¯m holding back? I¡¯m having to think through everything I¡¯m doing just to make sure I don¡¯t kill everyone in the room by accident!¡±


    Telrose slowly hunkered down again, wincing as he painstakingly lowered himself back onto his rear-end. Kezelro, shame-faced, stayed in a crouch.


    ¡°Anyway, I¡¯m not even finished yet. Leave off the whole ¡®never gonna get away with this¡¯ spiel until I¡¯ve destroyed almost every bit of product you¡¯ve got in here. Gosh, this crate here,¡± the sorcerer pointed to a nearby wooden box two feet on a side, the lid off and leaning against it, ¡°wouldn¡¯t be full of bags of fresh wane, would it?¡±


    Old Tibbey got to his feet, staggering forward. ¡°I ¨C¡°


    There was another green nimbus in the air, a flurry of motion.


    ¡°Make a mummy of the old man, will you?¡± the sorcerer said.


    There were two greyish ugly critters on either side of Old Tibbey, who was staring at them open-mouthed.


    Then the flurry of motion became a tempest, the critters whooping and baying as they whipped around and around the Bertie-Boy-boss in opposite directions, pulling something like a roll of paper out between them to an incredible length and using it to entangle the old man.


    Through a flash of red flame, a huge glob of bright-green snot appeared ¨C not far off the size of a wagon ¨C with two dark round eyes and a dark flick of a smile right there in its side.


    The sorcerer spoke again in a strange, different tongue, but this time something guttural, almost cruel-sounding: ¡°Thanatar ru mahlas ri talas¡¯r, kha thanem khi-rum.¡±


    The dark flick of a smile on its ¡®face¡¯ became a huge grin, at least two feet wide from tip to tip ¨C then the blob replied, a gurgle of sound every bit as menacing as the sorcerer¡¯s voice: ¡°Zi kason.¡±


    All at once the demon ¨C that was what it had to be, right? ¨C revolved in place, and spat a ball of steaming green goo at the nearby crate.


    It went right through it, reducing the crate and its contents to smoking ash.


    Tanra looked around, trying to ignore the noxious odours. The slimy demon destroying the drugs, spinning and spitting again and again. The sylph standing there, Xaba in his arms, staring at his master as if he looked strange all of a sudden. Old Tibbey, lying on the floor wrapped up in parchment ¨C the grey critters standing by, watching curiously ¨C and Kezelro, Telrose, Norrest, Garet, everyone cringing as far as possible from the demon¡¯s potential targets, waiting and praying for it to all be over ¨C Kezelro glancing back at her ¨C


    It happened just as she imagined it was going to happen, and as he did it she watched it, watched it back, watched it happen this way and that way¡­ How he could slip and stumble if his foot twisted in just such a way ¨C how he could fall on his knife ¨C but that wasn¡¯t going to happen, the future containing such a momentous blunder was already slipping free of the possibilities, like a single bird peeling away from a flock of thousands and disappearing into insignificance.


    Like a thread ¨C a loose thread, cut free by a swift sharp cut of her scalpel.


    No, he wasn¡¯t going to fall on his knife as he got up, intending to make his way to her and take her hostage, slit her throat ¨C that future was still possible, if she froze, didn¡¯t act fast enough ¨C but even though he was going to use a burst of energy to cross the distance as quickly as possible, it wasn¡¯t going to work. She was going to emerge from the first opening of her new awareness, evade his attack, and make him fall on his knife. She knew this for a fact ¨C she had seen it.


    Reality was fabric.


    It moved. It flowed. It was cut and sewn. The images changed and time passed but it was a fabric and it was hers.


    She could enter the emptiness between threads, gaze into the reflections gathered like dewdrops in the secret recesses of time and space. If the possible futures were like a million mirror-like dewdrops gathered before her ¨C some greater and some lesser, some shining and some transparent ¨C in all but a few of them, the reflections showed her his corpse lying on the floor.


    She knew that later she would look back on this as a mistake. When she plunged her consciousness into each of the million dewdrops she saw only ten million more, and a hundred million through each of those ¨C and the big picture was that this was her first step on the path to becoming a hunted criminal.


    She might¡¯ve had doubts about her new abilities, had she not possessed the sight enabling her to confirm their source and, at the other end, their permanency. Were they an effect of the inkatra? No. The withdrawal effects from the drug were only going to last a few more hours ¨C the crawling feeling, the perspiration that drenched her clothing, would soon be gone ¨C


    But she was still going to be an arch-diviner next week, and the week after, and the week after¡­ That was easy to perceive. Besides, Xaba had used the inkatra like an enchanter, to give her the impression of having taken the drug ¨C it wouldn¡¯t just now all of a sudden give her something from the diviner¡¯s suite of powers.


    She had genuinely just become an archmage.


    Tanra forced herself to relax, to exhale. And as she breathed out, she breathed life back into the world, breathed motion into the present, allowing it to slip once more into the past, pulling the future inexorably along behind it.


    I¡¯m ready.


    The thug was fast, for his size, and the sorcerer wasn¡¯t looking.


    Kezelro¡¯s dagger glinted as it flashed towards her face ¨C


    Live by the blade, die by the blade. This she would say in four months¡¯ time, on the twenty-second of Taura, to some Cutter-Boys ¨C she would say it, and then she would kill the men with her own dagger ¨C a simple, sharp kitchen knife.


    She would start carrying her own knife, not long after killing Kezelro ¨C after letting him die. And not just one, either. A whole bunch of the things.


    What¡¯re you doing here? My oh my. I¡¯m sorry, guys, but you all have to die now. You shouldn¡¯t have looked at my face. This she would say in ten months¡¯ time, on the seventh of Kailost, to four young Knuckle-Heads, Xaba¡¯s former friends and partners-in-crime. She and Xaba wouldn¡¯t be together anymore, of course ¨C there was no wedding in their future that she could see ¨C she was more likely to marry the sorcerer than him ¨C and there was a fair chance Xaba would be dead too by then anyway. But that wasn¡¯t the worst part.


    The worst part would be that she¡¯d go into those situations unmasked, deliberately, knowing the three men, the four boys, knowing they would see her face ¨C just so she had a way to make them blame themselves for their deaths before she used the dagger in her gloved hand¡­


    That latter time her weapon would be a rune-encrusted thing, twinkling with faint rays of pink-purple light¡­


    Kezelro¡¯s dagger glinted, glinted as it flashed towards her ¨C


    No.


    Her reaction to that path, the path where she removed this miserable excuse for a human being from the city, from Materium ¨C her reaction was mistake; her reaction was no.


    Better that I die, than he.


    If she let his evil existence continue on after this juncture, he would do harm to so many. Kezelro was a nexus-point of events. He was a link in a chain of distress the fed the web of woes, but he was a link with dozens of other links feeding off his actions. If he could only be made to ¨C


    Kezelro¡¯s dagger glinted, flashed, somewhere she used to be ¨C


    She used a single hand to push the crook of his arm, turning his blade away, and then, seeing how lethargically he seemed to be reacting, she bunched up her fingers and struck him right in the throat with her palm.


    When time flowed normally he fell quickly towards the ground ¨C she hadn¡¯t seemed to hit him hard, but she supposed she¡¯d hit him fast ¨C though she didn¡¯t let time do that for long ¨C she was too busy examining her surroundings in this new light. She could look, and she could see ¨C


    Ah, Feychilde. Of course it¡¯s him.


    The sorcerer was looking at her in alarm, mouth open as if to shout a too-late warning to her or a command to one of his minions, but, just like the others, he was almost frozen in time to her while her perceptions were moving at this speed.


    She¡¯d read the name of the new champion connected to a couple of recent, high-profile events ¨C something about cannibals, and an attack in Oldtown, if she was remembering correctly. She usually skipped those sections in the news.


    Yes, she was remembering correctly. She could revisit her own past, see the ink on the page. ¡®Cannibal Six Incarcerated: Shocking Revelations,¡¯ and ¡®Heretics Assault Firenight Square!¡¯


    There was something off about him ¨C no, not about him, in him ¨C that she couldn¡¯t quite put a finger on. Much of his past and future looked different to the others¡¯ ¨C hazy, incomplete, a million mirror-shards with most of them dark, showing only her own eyes staring back at her ¨C


    Still, he was a champion, and he was true. That much she could tell.


    How to do it¡­? She couldn¡¯t, shouldn¡¯t, wouldn¡¯t declare it here in front of the Bertie Boys. But she had an irresistible compulsion to let Feychilde know how she¡¯d changed ¨C she knew things would turn out better in the end that way.


    The demon would finish soon, the grey things ¨C the goblins ¨C would bind the others, and she and the champion would leave together.


    She let Kezelro hit the ground, then crouched beside him. The sorcerer was still looking, she could tell without glancing back.


    While the green blob finished Feychilde¡¯s work and the scattered thugs lay prone, staring at the sorcerer and recoiling every time the demon spat its acidic goo-balls, she spoke softly to the blue-teethed Bertie Boy who¡¯d come so close to breaking her will.


    ¡°There is nothing I can tell you to change you, Kezelro Merne.¡± To him it¡¯d been only a second since she struck him in the windpipe, and he was still preoccupied trying to breathe ¨C he was in no fit state to try another assault, yet. ¡°I¡¯m incredibly tempted to kill you, or at least castrate you. I know what you¡¯re like, and you¡¯ll never be any different. Unless¡­¡±


    She took his knife and thrust it into the floor between his legs.


    She glanced back at the champion, just to be certain he was still watching.


    It was only then that she got a sense of Feychilde¡¯s recent past, his grief ¨C so she could read him, but it was different to reading the others¡­ certain things were blocked off, blank. It was like he had two souls. Like he was possessed.


    Still, the vision came.


    A body on a pallet, arranged with dignity, eyes closed, face not anguished but tranquil, peaceful ¨C an old man holding his lifeless hand, murmuring meaningless sounds into his cold ear in a husky voice.


    And it was only then that she realised. She had her own father¡¯s funeral to attend, and she could see it, reflected in her future a million times over.


    It was hard to scry out those futures where she attended.


    He¡¯d been a man of violence, and he¡¯d died by that violence. It wasn¡¯t right ¨C she wouldn¡¯t do it again if she had the time over ¨C but it was done now, and that was that. She wanted to feel the hurt she knew she should be feeling, but even with all her powers she felt nothing, knew nothing of the grief Feychilde was undergoing ¨C and that was for someone he¡¯d lived with for just three years.


    What was wrong with her? Was she broken?


    Did the power do something to me?


    She returned her attention to Kezelro.


    He was a nexus-point not only of evil, but of love. His life wasn¡¯t a hundred percent devoted to the causing of misery; some people still enjoyed his company. His sister. His mother. Their lives ¨C oh, she saw it now ¨C they would die, if he went away to prison, or if he were killed. What little money they had came from Kezelro¡¯s dodgy dealings. His sister would manage three years of degenerate life before she starved on the streets, but his mum would last only six months.


    There were no easy answers.


    ¡°Drop on it,¡± she muttered, then got to her feet, drew back one booted foot, and swung it straight at his right eye socket.


    It connected, and it was satisfying, so she repeated the action a second time, then a third.


    Always ¨C hated ¨C eyes ¨C anyway.


    Cretins like Kezelro deserved death. But she couldn¡¯t be the one to give it to them.


    She could still give him a bit of a kicking, though.


    Feeling better, cold beads of sweat running from her forehead down to her chin, she finally stopped, letting the Bertie Boy moan and roll, holding his head like he was clutching a cracked egg, futilely trying to keep the contents from spilling out.


    The demon had been dismissed. The diviner, the sorcerer and the sylph stood amidst the sizzling wreckage of Old Tibbey¡¯s hangout, nearly twenty people curled up like dogs during a storm, watching them in trepidation.


    ¡°Got it out of your system?¡± Feychilde asked her, as if there were only the two of them in the room.


    She didn¡¯t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded instead.


    ¡°Given what I just saw, I think these fine gentlemen are dangerous. We¡¯ll have to send a message to the night¡¯s watch ¨C I¡¯m informed there¡¯s plenty in the crates just in that room over there to incriminate them ¨C but let¡¯s get them wrapped up first. Mummifiers, you¡¯re up. You, there! Get to your feet.¡±


    She watched the goblins work with interest. They could move a bit like her. Even when she held onto the reins of time, held on so tight that the others in the room wouldn¡¯t have a pulse, the goblins were still in motion, going around and around their captives at maybe a half-pace.


    It wasn¡¯t long before the occupants of the warehouse weren¡¯t going to be going anywhere.


    Another wave and the goblins were gone.


    ¡°Come along, noble sylph,¡± Feychilde murmured once he¡¯d dismissed them. ¡°It¡¯s a ways to the nearest temple.¡±


    Saying nothing, Tanra walked out of there, trying to keep her stride steady, letting Feychilde and his minion follow along. She knew where she was going, what the rest of this morning held in store for her. As she moved towards the door, her sight opened up more and more possibilities to her with every step; she felt increasingly out of touch with the reality she could grip in her hand, increasingly in tune with the divergent branches, the harmonic realities she could see resonating with her dream-delving mind.


    Distracted, she didn¡¯t even look back at the warehouse. The location would hold a special place in her heart, because it was where she was brought into being, given her essence, shaped and moulded into the archmage she¡¯d now become. But it was a relic, a structure of old bones filled with dust, fit only for her to peruse while walking down the aisles of her memories during later days, when this encounter would be like nothing more than an amusement on the shelf of a museum.


    She didn¡¯t look back. She would look forward, now. Look forward to extracting every bit of information she could from Feychilde, from his words and from his destiny; look forward to schooling him, shaping him. Look forward to the next few days, the oncoming weeks, as her new name preceded her.


    Tanra was going to be a champion.

 Mourning Bells pt1

    <h2>JADE 2.7: MOURNING BELLS</h2>


    ¡°Shallow lie the dead


    Whose hearts are turned from his grace


    Restless and waiting


    Remain with me, love


    Your greatest sacrifice mine


    Nothing left to fear¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Gravensongs¡¯


    I was still keeping a lid on it. I¡¯d let it out later, when no one was looking, where no one could hear. Where no one could burn to death.


    It¡¯d been so close. The idiot had nearly burned me; I almost killed him by protecting myself, and a part of me had just wanted to let him burn.


    Telrose.


    Morsus.


    I clenched my fist as I strode out of the warehouse under the cloudy pre-dawn sky, Avaelar following closely behind me.


    It was so obvious. I suspected when I gave him the plat that it¡¯d be the death of him, and I did it anyway.


    It was my fault.


    ¡°There was nothing you could¡¯ve done differently, nothing you could¡¯ve known in advance.¡±


    She said for the twelfth time.


    My advisor wisely didn¡¯t bother replying again.


    The girl was waiting for us in the alley, and then together the three of us walked past the pair of thugs that¡¯d been on watch, now flopping about uselessly on the ground with just their mouths exposed ¨C their faerie-parchment bindings would disappear the moment the sun hit them, which would be a few hours off yet.


    We moved down the passage, skirting a vicious-looking pack of alley-cats, to turn onto the street. The girl was leading just a half a pace ahead of me ¨C I made sure we were out of earshot before I spoke.


    ¡°How did he do that?¡± I asked in a rather grating voice. Zel hadn¡¯t had a clue either, but the girl might know.


    To her credit, she seemed to realise straight away what I was getting at. ¡°He ate inkatra. It empowers the devourer, for a brief time.¡±


    As we walked I looked her up and down, and not for the first time. She was a mess. Hair that was probably dark brown hanging in black-looking clumps, sodden with sweat; her plain smock was stained with what smelt like blood to my heightened senses (leaving aside the wine, which was technically my fault). She was probably five-seven, five-eight at a push, and would¡¯ve been attractive with her oval face and button-nose if it weren¡¯t for the addict¡¯s fever in her eyes, the general dishevelled appearance. She had my colouration, my accent; she¡¯d probably grown up around here, not ten minutes¡¯ walk from Mud Lane, but I¡¯d never seen her before.


    ¡°Is that what¡¯s happened to you?¡± I asked. ¡°Inkatra?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± she said, with a tinkling laugh. ¡°I just became an arch-diviner.¡±


    ¡°Told you. That¡¯s why it all changed.¡±


    I didn¡¯t doubt it, did I?


    ¡°An arch-diviner ¨C that¡¯s how you moved like that,¡± I said aloud. I couldn¡¯t help recollecting my late-night visit from Duskdown, the way he sped up and slowed down seemingly at will. ¡°What was that man to you? The one you beat halfway to death.¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°He had it coming, Feychilde, trust me.¡±


    I cast her a sidelong glance. ¡°It appears you have the better of me¡­?¡±


    She glanced back at me, meeting my gaze, then moved her eyes across the street, pointedly staring at the various beggars and drunkards who were still awake, still moving, watching us. At least six of them, probably spurred on in their curiosity by the very unusual sylph following dutifully along behind us.


    And she was staring at them for my benefit, to let me see them, let me understand why she spoke quietly when she said ¨C


    ¡°Killstop.¡±


    ¡°Kill¡­¡± I repeated, mumbling. I paused ¨C I almost forgot to keep pace with her.


    I got the message immediately, but ¨C seriously?


    Eventually I tried a dubious, ¡°Bless you?¡±


    She flashed an intense grin at me that would¡¯ve suited my mask.


    ¡°Killstop. It¡¯s the number one job of a champion. That¡¯s who I¡¯m going to be.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think it¡¯s a little on-the-nose?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no Waterwizard, but I tried my best,¡± she replied with relish.


    Waterwizard hadn¡¯t lasted long; a rumour went around a couple of years back that he¡¯d been specifically killed on account of the obnoxiousness of his chosen moniker.


    I opened my mouth to give voice to this notion but she raised a hand, cutting me off before my tongue even started up.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re going to say, and there¡¯s no simple way to put it¡­ I¡¯ve already seen glimpses of me going by other names, and they¡¯re not half as fun. Why¡¯d you think Everseer went all out on it?¡±


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    I caught myself almost smiling, then put down the emotion furiously.


    My fist was still clenched.


    Diviners¡­ almost as bad as enchanters, I growled internally.


    ¡°Hey now, nothing¡¯s as bad as ¨C¡°


    Not now, Zel¡­ Look, take a trip to the otherworld, will you?


    And I could tell that she was gone.


    We walked on, into the thick blanket of smog lying over the street.


    ¡°Killstop¡­ I can¡¯t imagine the darkmages taking that very seriously.¡±


    ¡°Feychilde: I can¡¯t imagine the darkmages taking that very seriously either,¡± she parroted back.


    I gave her another look-over. Her skipping step. The distracted smile on her face.


    I waved a hand behind myself, gesturing at the silent figure in my summon¡¯s arms, his breast rising and falling gently in time with his shallow breathing. ¡°And this guy my sylph¡¯s hauling?¡±


    ¡°My boyfriend,¡± she said with a shrug.


    ¡°You¡¯re not acting like your boyfriend just nearly died.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not acting like my dad just died either,¡± she said in an observational tone.


    Her dad just died?


    There was so much death going around.


    I felt my brows furrow behind my mask. Perhaps her behaviour made a little more sense to me now ¨C she¡¯d experienced a major bereavement, then got a bunch of mind-screwing powers right on top of that grief. She was probably absorbing herself into the past, or the future, or distant places¡­ whatever exactly it was that diviners got up to when their minds drifted.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ true,¡± I said, then hedged; ¡°is there anything you¡­ you know¡­ wanted to talk about?¡±


    ¡°I wish I¡¯d done it years ago?¡± she replied, still with that trill of laughter in her voice.


    ¡°You did it?¡±


    My brain instantly started grasping at straws again for a means to take on an arch-diviner in a fight, but I could tell she wasn¡¯t hostile, wasn¡¯t a killer. She was young and confused and probably suffering from some incredibly savage mental scarring. There were probably only a few years between us¡­ she was probably the age I was when my own mum and dad died¡­


    ¡°Xaba did, I suppose,¡± she said. There was softness to her voice now, a sadness. ¡°Or Father did it to himself. But it isn¡¯t about placing blame.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see you sending frantic messages to the watch about the criminals you just tied up.¡± The sorrow was already gone from her voice, her eyes lighting back up with that drug- or divination-inspired intensity.


    ¡°I¡­ Yes. I guess you¡¯re right.¡± I had the glyphstone ¨C it¡¯s not like it would¡¯ve been difficult to get them arrested. It was hard to put into words; I settled on giving her the summarised version. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to throw drop on the watch ¨C they do their best, I¡¯m sure, and the work must truly suck. But they can lock up or hang as many criminals as they want ¨C gods know, most of them deserve it ¨C but there¡¯ll just be more to fill the gaps tomorrow¡­ And what¡¯s worse, there¡¯d be three times as many, all wanting a piece of the pie, killing each other in the alleys for the right to the territory¡­ I don¡¯t exactly approve of the present state of affairs, but it isn¡¯t really my job, is it? Fiends made out of razors, check. Gigantic regenerating spiders, sure. But a gang of petty thieves and bullies? Beyond destroying their cache I don¡¯t really know what else I can do. I might be wrong, and¡­¡±


    I looked across at her. The girl¡¯s eyes were shining as she stared over her shoulder at me, still walking ahead, stepping around obstacles and over puddles of gunk without even looking.


    ¡°Aaand¡­ They¡¯re going to have a hell of a time anyway. Those bindings are impenetrable to ordinary blades, and I very much doubt they¡¯ve got a cutlery drawer full of magical weapons hanging around, so they¡¯re only going to get out when they¡¯re put under direct sunlight. I wonder how long it¡¯ll take them to figure that out.¡±


    ¡°Willow Jonsen and The Stain will be freed first, then,¡± she said brightly.


    ¡°The¡­ Stain? If that¡¯s what they¡¯re called¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so. And here you were, worrying about ¡®Killstop¡¯!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think you¡¯re going to attract darkmages with a name like that? I mean ¨C Waterwizard ¨C¡°


    ¡°Who says that isn¡¯t exactly what I¡¯m going for?¡±


    She gave it a brazen, overconfident spin that fired off warning signals in my head yet again.


    ¡°Are you?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± she said with a snort of disbelief. ¡°But I¡¯ll have my fair share of fights, trust me. Might even win a few.¡±


    There would be no dissuading her.


    But I might be able to help stop her getting killed.


    ¡°Fine¡­ Killstop.¡±


    It¡¯d taken this long for me to twig onto the fact that the real reason she was disturbing me so much was that she was very similar to me. The way she used barbs to demonstrate her new status. Acting as though she didn¡¯t care whether she lived or died. Throwing herself into the role of a champion with even less consideration than I¡¯d used at first.


    She almost looked manic. Was this how I¡¯d looked a few weeks ago, to those around me? They hadn¡¯t known the truth ¨C only Zel had known, and whenever Xantaire or Orstrum or¡­ Whenever they asked me what was up, I¡¯d always diverted them with hastily-constructed excuses. I was off in my own world half the time, hardly any worse after my ¡®awakening¡¯ than I¡¯d been before it ¨C even at work I¡¯d be busy thinking of ways to persuade Jaid and Jar to read the book I was reading, or just daydreaming about being one of the characters¡­


    No. I rejected the idea. There was no way I¡¯d ever looked like she did right now. She looked alive ¨C she stank like a dead cat ¨C a drunk dead cat ¨C but she looked alive, in some intangible way that was quite simply beyond me.


    Arch-diviners. Duskdown said something about going mad.


    We crossed the street, her feet taking her off the boardwalk and onto the muck of the roadway a split-second before I would¡¯ve done it. She certainly knew where she was going.


    I supposed just about everyone would know where the Shrine of Wythyldwyn was located, deep in Cutter Crew country ¨C it was impossible to miss. There would be the perpetual queue of beggars and supplicants stretching from the outer gates all the way to the corner. ¡®Queue¡¯ might¡¯ve been too-nice a word for it ¨C a squirming, flea-bitten morass of bodies and odours, arranged in a vague line down the side of the street. There was some semblance of order, but not out of any sense of fair-play ¨C it was just that most of those in the crowd were simply too ill to claw their way to the front.


    We were only five minutes away now, at most.


    ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡± I asked at last. If I could get her to share, perhaps it¡¯d help steer her away from the cliffs of insanity. ¡°Arch-divination, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Like an unravelling bolt of cloth, only bigger than imagining,¡± she answered at once, a resolute smile on her face, ¡°and it never stops unravelling, never stops growing, doubling, doubling, instant upon instant upon instant¡­ Every tiny gap in the weave, every miniscule void you couldn¡¯t even see never mind slip a hair into ¨C every one of them is a place, a time, an event. A reflection. Pick one thread with your thimble, and watch as you slice half the cloth away in a huge, undulating wave, over and over again¡­¡±


    Her voice had a certain dreamy quality, and I couldn¡¯t help but imagine an immense, ocean-like sheet of silk, stretching off to the horizon, rippling in mountains and ravines under a fierce wind.


    Every gap in the weave a place, a time, an event?


    No wonder she was acting this way ¨C no wonder diviners went strange. They had this to deal with on a moment-by-moment basis? They basically had what I¡¯d always thought of as, well, godhood, just randomly thrust upon them by a cosmic twist of fate.


    I shuddered.


    A part of me noted her impressive vocabulary too. Did that come with the power?


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know your name,¡± I said. ¡°Your real name.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know yours,¡± she retorted.


    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ well, I didn¡¯t, thanks for that.¡±


    This time I couldn¡¯t stop the brief burst of laughter from coming out of my lips.


    Tears came too, but that was okay. The mask hid them.


    Killstop looked at me.


    I could pretend, at least.


    When I stopped walking, shut my eyes and started sobbing, I felt her hands on my shoulders, pulling me into her embrace.


    It was okay, wasn¡¯t it? She was an arch-diviner. She already knew everything I¡¯d ever done, everything I could ever do. She¡¯d seen this, hadn¡¯t she?


    I clutched her soaking-wet smock and wept.


    ¡°Hush,¡± she murmured, patting me on the back gently, ¡°hush now, Kas. My name is Tanra, and together we¡¯re going to fix everything.¡±


    * * *

 Mourning Bells pt2

    As we walked on, I mentioned the little I knew about the Gathering of Champions. If Tanra was only half as serious about playing the role of champion as she seemed to be, she¡¯d torture me if she found out later that I let her miss a meeting like that ¨C though it felt strange to pass on the information without having actually ever been to such a meeting myself. She probably knew more about it, with her powers, than I did.


    ¡°So ¨C what is a Gathering of Champions, really?¡± I asked her.


    She returned a blank stare. ¡°How am I supposed to know?¡±


    ¡°I thought you could ¨C¡± I waved a hand in the air ¡°¨C you know¡­¡±


    She looked off at the (building-occluded) horizon, then back to me. She gave a single shake of her head.


    She couldn¡¯t intuit anything about other arch-diviners, but she could see what I was going to say next¡­ It was curious, how it all worked.


    ¡°The foreknowledge of the others like me stops me seeing them ¨C and stops them seeing me,¡± she replied, almost with a questioning tone there at the end.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I reckon,¡± I responded cautiously.


    She didn¡¯t reply to that, but I could hear her muttering under her breath.


    ¡°¡­ infinite regress¡­ ¡®What¡¯s he going to do? Oh, I¡¯ll do this¡­¡¯ ¡®So she¡¯s going to do that? I¡¯ll do this¡­¡¯ So perfect prescience is impossible¡­¡±


    I shuddered at her words, the opacity of their implications. I hadn¡¯t even known how prescience was pronounced until she said it.


    There wasn¡¯t much farther to go. We crossed paths with a single truncheon-twirling watchman, who quickly abated his truncheon-twirling and crossed out of our path when he saw me and my eldritch. By the time we arrived at the shrine, only a few of the supplicants strewn about the street outside had awoken. A near-motionless swarm of snoring, sprawled-out unfortunates, mostly using sacks for sleeping-bags ¨C the river of the sick and the wounded went stretching on up the road before us, along the high wooden fences that loomed over us all.


    There were plenty with missing fingers and a few with missing limbs, but the majority were diseased. Swollen, splinterwinced legs. Gangrenous wounds, weeping sores like cradlecrib, and several afflicted with mournbud, the oozing rash of the face and scalp. Perhaps some were maladies the monthly cleansing wouldn¡¯t affect, or the victims were simply too poorly to travel to Hightown to partake in the ritual, left alone, abandoned by mankind to the mercy of the goddess Wythyldwyn¡¯s chosen representatives. I was pretty sure sleeping in the mud wasn¡¯t doing them any favours.


    Either way, they were here, a portion of them languishing upon the narrow strip of boardwalk running past the iron-wrought gates of the shrine ¨C most of them were sleeping on the road itself. But the awake ones were staring at us, and in particular my sylph, Xaba still lying in repose across his toned bronze arms. Avaelar, for his part, had a disconsolate look slapped across his face ¨C probably his reaction to the fact he was covered in muck to the shins.


    ¡°What¡¯s the plan, exactly?¡± I asked Tanra as we stopped. The closed gate of the shrine was about a hundred feet away, but we¡¯d gone as far as we could; now hundreds and hundreds of ragged-looking people blocked our passage.


    ¡°The plan?¡± She looked at me, nonplussed.


    ¡°I mean¡­¡± I gestured at Xaba.


    ¡°Oh. Put him down?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to ¨C just leave him here?¡±


    She gave a half-shrug. ¡°He¡¯ll only be waiting twelve hours. A particularly zealous holy woman is going to notice that he hasn¡¯t moved up with the others who¡¯d been near him, and go over to inspect him. Don¡¯t you think I¡¯ve had a look ahead? He¡¯ll be fine¡­ mostly.¡±


    I ignored the bait, failed to rise to it. I put my hand on her elbow and looked her right in the face ¨C her eyes were still shining wetly, the dark, burnt-oak irises almost making her pupils look even more dilated.


    I had to have another attempt at getting through to her.


    ¡°Look, I think some very bad things have just happened to you, okay? It sounds like you took a powerful drug, watched your dad die, watched your boyfriend nearly die, then nearly ended up dead yourself.¡± She was just staring at me. ¡°You¡¯ve detached yourself from your feelings. I should know, right? But it¡¯s okay to feel the pain.¡±


    She shook her head vehemently, a display of humanity that made my hopes soar.


    ¡°There must be a myriad of possibilities here. You said you want to be a champion? Well this is your first step! You should be saying, ¡®Let¡¯s just go over the fence!¡¯ or something! You care about every innocent, never mind someone you know ¨C someone you love?¡±


    ¡°But he isn¡¯t innocent.¡± She stood very still now, and her voice held a new composure. ¡°He¡¯s a killer.¡±


    I froze too.


    ¡°You said¡­¡± I started.


    ¡°I said he wasn¡¯t one of them. And I wasn¡¯t then what I am now. He never told me.¡± Her voice dropped even lower. ¡°My father wasn¡¯t his first.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡± I took a deep breath. ¡°You can see the whole of the past, just like that?¡±


    ¡°The whole of the past?¡± she scoffed, then, low-voiced again, continued: ¡°No. Just¡­ relevant bits. Parts of Xaba¡¯s past. Intersections of time¡¯s streets. Echoes resounding between realities. Stitches across stitches. He¡¯s a killer.¡±


    ¡°You denied his innocence, but you didn¡¯t deny that you love him,¡± I pointed out.


    ¡°I¡­¡± She looked across at his prone body. ¡°I do love him.¡±


    ¡°Then ¨C¡°


    ¡°But I¡¯m a champion.¡± She looked back at me, and this time there was no denying the mystical hold of her words: ¡°How many hours a day do you wear that thing?¡±


    She looked pointedly at my mask, my curled horns.


    I didn¡¯t need to answer, or hear her next retort. I knew where she was going. I was shirking my duties, by having people I loved, people I wanted to protect? Was that really what she was getting at?


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t suit you when you¡¯re frowning,¡± she prodded.


    I was frowning because of Morsus, not her, damn her ¨C


    Morsus.


    I wanted to protect him.


    Three years in his company had almost made him feel like, well, an uncle, I supposed.


    He was gone. Forever. And what had I ¨C what had the famous champion Feychilde ¨C gone and done?


    I went on a crusade, threatening half-a-dozen lowlife scum until I got Telrose¡¯s name and his likely whereabouts, then used my overwhelming powers to completely wreck a warehouse full of gangers, almost killing one of them in the process.


    ¡®It doesn¡¯t suit you when you¡¯re frowning.¡¯ That¡¯s what she said. She meant more than the mask. She means¡­ everything. The champion.


    Feychilde can¡¯t do this; Feychilde can¡¯t be an archmage going around using his magic to enact some personal vendetta.


    But she was wrong about not caring. It wasn¡¯t the caring that was to blame here. It was only the anger. I should¡¯ve known better than to go out of the house fuelled by such a longing for retribution.


    ¡°I¡­ understand,¡± I found myself murmuring.


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    I didn¡¯t know if this was the lesson she meant to teach me or not, but I¡¯d learned something either way.


    I looked around me, as if suddenly realising where I was. Where I needed to be.


    ¡°I leave him in your care, then. Do as you will.¡± I turned to Avaelar, and a quick command later Xaba was lying face-up in the mud.


    I couldn¡¯t yet get my illusory black-out wall to completely surround me, but it was good enough to hide my rejoining with the sylph from the eyes of the few who were watching. It wasn¡¯t widespread knowledge that sorcerers could put extra-planar entities inside their bodies, and I imagined there was probably a very good reason for that; I had no intention of shaking that lantern. Anti-sorcerer prejudice was bad enough already.


    ¡°You¡¯re leaving,¡± she said.


    I manifested my sylph-power, the blue translucency slowly extruding from my back, forming the shapes of six wings. I could sense the awe-filled eyes of the wounded and diseased supplicants on me and did my best to keep from meeting any of their gazes.


    ¡°You¡¯re leaving too,¡± I replied blandly. ¡°You thought I¡¯d do otherwise? I¡¯ve got somewhere to be, and, frankly, your words were pivotal to my realisation.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C we could walk, and talk more?¡±


    She tried a coquettish smile ¨C it looked more than a little dangerous, with the shining eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to decline your offer, but I¡¯m taken,¡± I said somewhat archly, flashing a grin in return.


    I somehow felt more like myself again already.


    I looked over my wings, flapped them gently, then more forcefully as I judged they were nearly complete ¨C I sailed up into the air above her.


    ¡°Until we meet again, then,¡± she called up to me, turning away from Xaba and walking away, keeping her gaze on me hovering there thirty feet over her head.


    It was disturbing to think that she probably had a pretty good idea of when that would be. ¡°Till then,¡± I called back a bit dismissively, then turned away, propelling myself upwards with the otherworldly appendages, high enough for me to get my bearings and turn myself towards home.


    She wasn¡¯t getting my help ¨C no more than I¡¯d offer another champion, anyway. I wasn¡¯t going to waste my time watching over her, caring what happened to her. She was capable of looking after herself, if she put in the effort. And if she didn¡¯t, it¡¯d be on her own head. I couldn¡¯t hold myself responsible ¨C by her own arguments, I should put aside my personal interests, and do my ¡®job¡¯ to the best of my ability.


    I still felt she was wrong. Doing my job to the best of my ability meant caring. It meant doing my best such that I¡¯d still want to do it again tomorrow, and I¡¯d burn out in days if I just let everything go. Being Feychilde full-time, making Kas into the champion, would mean having no time to do normal things, no time to be a part of my family. I couldn¡¯t lose my identity that way.


    But I already wanted a separate place to live, didn¡¯t I? So that I wouldn¡¯t get them into a dangerous situation I couldn¡¯t get them back out of, just like had happened with Duskdown?


    I was already making the sacrifices she¡¯d been speaking about.


    I looked down on the slowly-waking streets of Sticktown as I soared over the buildings, and for the first time, I felt detachment. It had stolen over me while I distracted myself with getting platinum, with my new girlfriend, with my anger over Morsus ¨C it was quieter than any night-time arch-diviner assassin, more corrupting than any raving giant-spider-making heretic.


    It wasn¡¯t the kind of detachment that came because I no longer felt like I was one of them ¨C I did still feel that way. Every iota of my essence screamed at me that I was still the poor, skinny Mud Lane bookworm I¡¯d always been. But the truth was that I wasn¡¯t one of them anymore, no matter how much I wanted to be. My concerns had been destined to diverge from theirs the moment I put on the robe and mask.


    For now, they weren¡¯t so different. I just wanted some money ¨C food, family, the roof over my head. Sure, I wanted to be liked. Was that so radical? Not much had yet been made of me being a sorcerer, from what I¡¯d heard and read at least ¨C probably because I wasn¡¯t running around with hordes of creepy undead or demons. The careers of people like Dustbringer, even Redgate, were plagued with public standoffishness. My fey-use had let me come off as pretty normal, I hoped, in comparison with the competition.


    Flying above them, though, I was forced to accept that after the Gathering my concerns would probably start to shift. Food, shelter ¨C they wouldn¡¯t be problems anymore. Sure, my priorities would still be the same ¨C I couldn¡¯t see me moving Jaid and Jaroan off the top of the list for anything ¨C but I¡¯d probably drop something else in the blink of an eye if it was going to help me do my job.


    Sometimes that¡¯d mean getting paid, and maybe sometimes not, but I¡¯d be fine with that. Firenight Square had put a lot of things into perspective, and the words of Duskdown still haunted me. ¡®The ones you really need to be chasing don¡¯t have bounties out on them.¡¯ And I¡¯d refused to swallow the consequences, the changes it¡¯d make to my life if I did.


    The change in me.


    Perhaps the seeress saw that more clearly. Who was I to contradict an arch-diviner?


    The sun was coming up. I¡¯d been out all night. The tenements of Helbert¡¯s Bend came into view. The boundaries were indiscernible even when you were down there with your feet in the excrement, never mind from up here ¨C but I knew this place like the back of my hand. The traders were trickling into Knuckle Market to set up their stalls, off on my right, but I didn¡¯t need the clattering of their wagons and crates to orient myself. This morning I felt as though I knew every building, every scrap of scaffolding. I was coming up over Giblet, not far from Lossen; I would be approaching Mud Lane in seconds, and from there to Bagger¡¯s Alley would only be a matter of a heartbeat ¨C


    A cry caught my attention, and as I focussed the exact source of the sound came into my consciousness.


    The sheer desperation of the whimpering thrust aside any sigh that might¡¯ve escaped my lips, any impetus to rush back to Morsus.


    I descended into the alleyway, azure wings in full view, and the three watchmen let their truncheon arms fall slowly this time, the weapons going slack in their hands to mirror their lower jaws. The boy, coiled in the drop between them with a damaged arm haltingly raised to protect his face ¨C even he quietened.


    I didn¡¯t do anything consciously to augment my voice, but my frustration carried the words from my tongue.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t need this right now.¡±


    One of the trio lost his boot in the muck as he fled, and upon realising this seemed almost to hesitate mid-sprint, nearly falling when he twisted to look over his shoulder ¨C


    ¡°Leave it.¡±


    And the three bullies were gone, around the corner and into the street.


    I looked down at the kid. A fair-haired, scruffy-looking slime-dweller just like me. Well, like I¡¯d been four or five years back. He was on his side, now cradling his tender arm. Some of his fingers were broken, and, from the way he was holding it, his elbow had been struck hard.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± I asked.


    He met my eyes through the mask.


    ¡°Nothin¡¯!¡± he gasped.


    I did my little trick, and within moments Avaelar was tending his injuries.


    I gave him time to get over his astonishment, let him wipe his eyes, then answered his several questions by repeating my own:


    ¡°What did you do, really?¡±


    ¡°Nothin¡¯! I swear, sir. I¡­ I looked at ¡®im funny.¡±


    I considered his sincerity. Either he was a far better liar than I was used to encountering, or he was telling the truth.


    Sticktown kids had plenty of reason to mistrust the watch. But, frankly, the watch had plenty of reason to mistrust us. They had the power, and they abused it, for sure. There wasn¡¯t a single law enforcement organisation in a single book I¡¯d ever read that didn¡¯t.


    Deception. In the end, that was the only weapon with which we could fight back. And it was courage, to lie to a mage. The kind of courage I admired.


    I smiled at the kid, feeling a bit better about myself all of a sudden. If I hadn¡¯t fled, if I hadn¡¯t gone in search of Morsus¡¯s killer¡­ this little mirror of myself might¡¯ve ended up with worse than a busted hand.


    I helped him stand, and even walked him part-way home, but I knew what I had to do. Where I had to be.


    The kid waved me farewell with his non-numb arm as I soared up and away into the morning gloom. I didn¡¯t want to give any indication as to my destination, so I flew westwards before circling back around. My wings were far too visible, even through the smog-clouds.


    It was with more than a little trepidation that I entered my home about ten minutes later, dressed as Kas. But I was myself once more.


    The door was unlocked. Orstrum was the only one present, still sitting by his son¡¯s corpse, still awake, if just barely.


    She isn¡¯t here, I thought in relief. Out with the kids?


    No, I could hear them breathing, three troubled little sets of snoring coming from my room. The twins had let the little boy sleep with them for tonight.


    ¡°Orstrum,¡± I said, my voice twanging.


    Rheumy eyes gleamed in my direction from the crevasses in his leathery skin.


    ¡°Kas¡­¡± he said hoarsely, then coughed, a grinding, phlegmy sound. ¡°Did you find what you sought?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know, honestly,¡± I replied, seating myself opposite him.


    I looked down into my friend¡¯s peaceful face. He¡¯d been washed ¨C by his sister, I was sure ¨C and his ripped clothing had been replaced; his hair was towel-dry but still visibly damp, his shirt free from any blood stains. He almost looked like he was sleeping.


    Almost. I couldn¡¯t escape the fact he was dead and that I could sense him. Couldn¡¯t escape the fact I¡¯d done what I¡¯d done before I¡¯d fled into the night.


    ¡°What did my daughter say to make you leave? I heard her, but I couldn¡¯t make out the words.¡±


    That was a lie. The walls wouldn¡¯t keep out the squeaks of a mouse ¨C as I knew from repeated personal experience ¨C and Xantaire hadn¡¯t been trying to keep her voice down.


    No, he just wanted to check he had it right, before speaking his mind.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to do it,¡± I said, shuddering, throat feeling almost too thick for me to talk. ¡°I don¡¯t ¨C I can¡¯t ¨C¡±


    A gnarled old hand reached out across Morsus¡¯s unmoving chest and clasped my own, quelling its trembling.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, lad,¡± he husked. ¡°I know you¡¯d never do that. Not deliberately.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t imagine Xantaire¡¯s horror, her brother¡¯s body jerking around like that under my unconscious direction.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t help it. I couldn¡¯t stop it and every moment I tried and failed it got worse. If I stayed just a few seconds longer he ¨C he might¡¯ve, I don¡¯t know, got up or something¡­¡± I looked down at my feet.


    ¡°And you didn¡¯t find who killed him.¡±


    ¡°That was me. I killed him. I killed him with a platinum coin!¡±


    I felt Orstrum¡¯s eyes burning into the top of my head while I stared at the tips of my shoes ¨C then, at last ¨C


    ¡°I see.¡±


    There was no anger, no challenge in the old man¡¯s voice. Only resignation and bitterness.


    He understood his children. He knew what I¡¯d meant, I was pretty sure ¨C and there would be plenty of opportunity once Xantaire got home for me to explain in as much detail as they wanted.


    I did have the name.


    But for now, we sat in silence, waiting for Xantaire to return, or for the kids to wake up, or anything at all to happen. For now, it didn¡¯t matter.


    I held the old man¡¯s hand. It helped me. I could only hope it helped him too.


    * * *

 Mourning Bells pt3

    At about seven o¡¯clock in the morning two tall, quiet-voiced men arrived, disturbingly-similar in appearance with their dark, neat hair and brown robes. They¡¯d come from the Ministry of Mortiforn to arrange the details. Xantaire must¡¯ve set it up, I realised. She¡¯d been out doing the real work of dealing with the realities of the situation, like she always did, while I¡¯d gone off on some stupid misadventure.


    I paid the two gold it cost to obtain a plot of land at the shrine of Yune ¨C anything to shut them up. The way they were going on about it, it sounded very much as if they suspected we were about to donate the body to necromantic research. Were so many people swayed by the dividends of selling the corpses of their loved ones? So many that even the priests of Mortiforn were terrified we were about to do it? It was easier to just cut them off. Where else was I going to let him be buried, anyway? I hushed Orstrum when he threatened my tranquillity by trying to thank me for my ¡®generosity¡¯.


    I felt better when I was blaming myself for Morsus¡¯s death and his grandfather¡¯s gratitude undercut that, as if I didn¡¯t already have enough to repay. If I wasn¡¯t blaming myself I would be blaming this Orven, whoever he was, and that would lead back to furious Feychilde. I didn¡¯t want to have to go there again.


    The undertakers cast their plain black shroud over Morsus¡¯s body and carried him together from the apartment.


    Orstrum went to Xantaire¡¯s room, dragging his feet, shoulders slumped. He was going to sleep in a real bed, at least, assuming he managed to win the battle with his troubled thoughts and actually get some rest.


    I just sat there in the main room, going over it all in my head.


    It had happened the same way as at my parents¡¯ graves. The sensation, of cool flesh animated, obeying an unspoken command, an unformed thought. And I¡¯d run away for fear of making it worse, when I should¡¯ve stayed, should¡¯ve faced my failure there and then. Now I had to wait, and the waiting was the worst part. If she were here now, I could just spill it all ¨C but I had to keep thinking, churning the details over and over in my head. For all I knew I could¡¯ve misremembered everything, maybe it was worse than I remembered it, maybe she was even more offended than I could imagine ¨C


    Then, not ten minutes after Orstrum had retired, she appeared in the doorway.


    Upon looking at her, the tension melted out of me. There was no offence in her eyes, no scorn on her face.


    The moment she¡¯d seen me she stopped, one hand on either side of the door-frame, and stared back at me.


    ¡°Kas. You¡¯re back.¡±


    ¡°Xan.¡±


    I held out my arms and walked towards her ¨C within a second we were bear-hugging, her fierce grip tight around my chest.


    I returned the grip, returned the emotion.


    We didn¡¯t part, but we relaxed the embrace, until our heads were lolling upon one another¡¯s shoulder. I felt her tears running down into the neckline of my tunic.


    ¡°They ¨C took ¨C him,¡± she murmured.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be at the Shrine of Yune later. We¡¯ll see him again tomorrow.¡±


    She nodded into my shoulder, still clasping me.


    ¡°And did you¡­ Did you find out?¡±


    ¡°Xan ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, you don¡¯t have to ¨C to say. It was the last thing you said before you left. I just thought ¨C¡°


    ¡°I found out who killed him.¡±


    I loosed a long breath, and released her. We went to the benches, and sat down.


    I explained the story as I¡¯d patched it together from Telrose and the other sources ¨C my part in her brother¡¯s death, and the parts of the criminals he gambled against ¨C the part Orven played in delivering the killing-stroke.


    I gave her no names.


    She¡¯d taken my hand in both of hers before I was half-done, and her eyes gave me the forgiveness I needed so badly before she ever opened her mouth to reply.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t kill him,¡± she said at last. ¡°Don¡¯t think it for a second, Kas ¨C how could you? After everything you¡¯ve done for him, for us, you go and blame yourself? It¡¯s unhealthy, Kas, really it is. You¡¯ve got to realise¡­ how much he owed you. How much we all owe you. You don¡¯t owe us anything, yet you go around giving us platinum, and I only take it because I know I¡¯ll hurt you worse by refusing. Honestly, young man ¨C¡°


    ¡°I do owe you,¡± I interrupted her quietly, staring off into space.


    She didn¡¯t see it the way I did ¨C how could she? She¡¯d never really noticed the ways in which the four of them were integral to my life.


    ¡°For what?¡± she asked, her tone overly-gentle, completely uncharacteristic of her.


    ¡°For being my family,¡± I replied, returning my eyes to hers. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ my, like, big sister, right, Xan?¡±


    Her eyes welled up with tears again. ¡°Of course I am, you daft sod,¡± she blurted, flinging her arms around me again.


    Holding onto her, I whispered. ¡°You have no idea how much I needed you guys. I could never have done it on my own. The last three years¡­¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    A little time passed.


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking of moving out.¡±


    She stiffened, then drew her arms away from me quickly, moving so she could look me in the face again.


    ¡°What, Kas?¡±


    ¡°Not now ¨C not soon, maybe. But sometime. I need more money, to do it properly, but I ¨C¡°


    ¡°What are you even talking about?¡±


    There was panic in her voice, a real anxiety.


    This was the wrong time, I chided myself, you drop-brained fool.


    Her voice was raised, strangled with what sounded like disgust. ¡°So now you¡¯re a champion, you¡¯re just up and leaving us? With my brother dead, you¡¯re what ¨C just going to take the twins and -¡±


    ¡°No, Xan! Stop,¡± I pleaded, my hands raised palms outward; ¡°please listen to me, Xan. I mean to stop anything like this happening again. It¡¯s being close to me that gets people in trouble.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t being ¡®close¡¯ to you that got my brother ki-¡±


    ¡°There was an arch-diviner in my bedroom two nights ago, a darkmage right there with a knife, threatening to kill the twins.¡± This I said in a sharp whisper, hoping she¡¯d match my volume if she replied. ¡°I need a¡­ a base. Somewhere I can go that I¡¯m not putting anyone in danger.¡±


    Her gaze was blank; she was still a bit behind. ¡°A darkmage ¨C was ¨C here?¡± She waved a hand in the direction of my room, from which faint snoring still emanated.


    I nodded. ¡°And I didn¡¯t fight. I couldn¡¯t. He had me, if he wanted me. No, I got lucky. It was one of the less-bad ones.¡±


    Her brow furrowed. ¡°Which?¡±


    I hesitated on the word, but I couldn¡¯t lie, and I knew I¡¯d sacrifice what goodwill I¡¯d earned if I started trying to put her off.


    ¡°Duskdown.¡±


    ¡°One of the¡­ less-bad¡­?¡±


    Xantaire¡¯s stare was no less blank, her confusion only slowly giving way to the inevitable debilitating terror.


    Then she whip-snapped up to her feet, making her way to the door to apply the various locks, as if driven to do so by pure impulse.


    ¡°Someone had left the window open,¡± I offered to the back of her head, by way of explanation. ¡°I think¡­¡±


    ¡°Someone¡­¡± She let go of the chain she¡¯d been lifting into place, and it swung loosely back across, like a pendulum ¨C then, the moment over, she caught it again and continued working on the locks.


    She thinks it was Morsus.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter who did it, he would¡¯ve found a way anyhow. Nothing any of us could¡¯ve done. I¡¯m pretty sure guys like him can just jump through glass and land perfectly on their feet, all that stuff. So don¡¯t sweat a window being left unlocked. Just saying.¡±


    She resumed her seat opposite me.


    ¡°So you¡¯d be leaving the twins with me,¡± she said.


    ¡°If ¨C if that¡¯s okay?¡± I ventured. ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯d be staying out every night, I¡¯d be able to come back whenever I wanted, whenever you or the twins needed ¨C it¡¯s just, if I think I¡¯m being followed, or if I need to meet other champions ¨C this place can¡¯t do that, you know?¡±


    ¡°Of course it¡¯s okay!¡± she said, suddenly bunching up a fist and staring down at it. ¡°I¡¯d die if you just took them away now, it¡¯s ¨C you, and Jaid and Jar, you¡¯re my family too.¡± She looked up at me, seeing me through a sheen of tears. ¡°But why ¨C why did Mor- Mor have to go and ¨C¡°


    The dam in her broke, then, and she wept ¨C really wept, like I¡¯d wept on Tanra¡¯s shoulder.


    I put my arms around her, and held her tight. After a while the kids came out and joined in, and it quickly became a group-hug, a great mingling of grief that, despite everything, let me find the joy in the sharing ¨C the melancholy happiness which came of knowing that, although we lived in a world filled with death and darkness and misery, there would always be people there who loved me, who would support me, and whom I could help in kind.


    They would always be there for me, and I for them, and together we could conquer anything life threw at us.


    * * *


    ¡°Are you certain zat you¡¯re up to zis?¡± Em asked, stopping me and holding both my hands, looking up into my face. ¡°Ve can call it off ¨C I can come viz you, vherever you vont to go. Zey vill understand ¨C¡°


    ¡°Em, there¡¯s nowhere else I¡¯d rather be. Trust me.¡±


    If there was one thing I knew right now, it was the value of family.


    I¡¯d told Em that what Zel had almost foreseen was Morsus¡¯s death, when the fairy interrupted our date last night with her funny-tasting-future story. I even explained my overreaction, my near-miss with Telrose, and about the strange new champion that was Killstop. I held off giving Tanra¡¯s real name, just because that would feel wrong, breaking her confidence like that ¨C but Em understood, and seemed fine with it.


    She smiled, and I kissed her. It felt good, abnormal, to be here without my mask and robe ¨C just plain old Kas out kissing my girlfriend. I could almost forget the undigested weight of guilt and sorrow sitting like a lump in my stomach. I could almost be someone else, someone far from the misery and the darkness.


    Though if I were to say I wasn¡¯t feeling nervous on top of everything else, I¡¯d have been lying ¨C I¡¯d never gotten to the meeting-the-parents stage with any of my previous forays into courting someone, never mind after just a few days¡­ These had been some intense days, though.


    I didn¡¯t think that the reason it was different this time was just that Em was a beautiful arch-wizard with an exotic accent ¨C it was because she was her. She had a bit of a twisted sense of humour, and she was clever and curious, intensely loyal¡­ and powerful. Her power almost scared me and I liked that; it made me less afraid of my own power, somehow. And I liked being part of her world and her being part of mine, as we strode into our futures, archmages side-by-side.


    So yes, I was nervous. I really wanted to make a good impression ¨C I¡¯d been out shopping with the family (except Orstrum, whom we¡¯d let sleep through the afternoon), venturing into Oldtown where I picked up, amongst other things, some new clothes. They were terrible to look at, as far as I was concerned, but the assistant had assured me I looked ¡°simply divine¡±. I was wearing a crimson-and-gold doublet and a (height-of-fashion) black leather kilt with matching boots. The trip was a good distraction for the kids ¨C for all of us, probably. I hadn¡¯t slept since pretty early on Twoday morning, but I¡¯d kept myself going all Waneday, and now I half-suspected I wouldn¡¯t even sleep tonight, the way I was feeling.


    Perhaps the extreme neatness of the clothes I was wearing would distract them from what must¡¯ve been my haggard face, bleary eyes. Em was decidedly dressed-down when compared with her usual choice of garment, with a simple shawl over a long-sleeved blue top, loose black trousers covering her legs. There was a distinct chance I¡¯d gone a little overboard, but oh well.


    Em had stopped me as we¡¯d arrived outside their house, the house she¡¯d managed to secure using her magister¡¯s income. It was, remarkably, a single dwelling-place ¨C sure, it was a terrace with other houses on either side, but the whole internal property belonged to her. For so long as she kept making the rent, of course. This area was far from the Greywater, and was instead near to the very westernmost part of Mund, where Rivertown Gate was situated. The streets around here were huddled almost directly underneath the great white wall itself; if I cast my gaze upwards I could see the white battlements rearing up above the buildings, atop an impenetrable, seamless fortification that occluded a good chunk of the dusk-dim sky.


    That said, it was quite picturesque. There were even trees lining the street.


    ¡°Breathe, Kas,¡± she said in a serious tone, lying her hand against my chest. ¡°I trust you, but ¨C¡°


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go in,¡± I said. ¡°Come on, you¡¯re not getting cold feet about me are you?¡±


    I gave her my cheekiest eyebrow-raise, which at least elicited another tight-looking smile from her.


    ¡°My feet don¡¯t get cold,¡± she relented, and led me to the door.


    She probably had a key for the lock, but just as at mine there were likely chains or bars to deal with too, so she knocked. It would be better for me to be introduced on the threshold as well, I guessed.


    Or maybe it was just that she¡¯d been right about the low crime rate around here. Was it being so far from everything else, stuck out on the very edge of the city? There were none of the chain-rattlings or bolt-slammings I¡¯d expected to hear, as the handle turned and the door creaked open.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Em¡¯s mother, ¡®Atarvet¡¯, was standing there beaming at me. She wore a stained apron over her grey woollen dress. Atarvet was shorter than her daughter, but despite the wrinkles afforded her by age she had the same dimpled cheeks, same almost cleft-chin, same platinum waterfall of hair as her daughter.


    After a momentary glance at me, her eyes went to Em¡¯s face expectantly.


    ¡°Mazan, zis is Kas Mortenn,¡± she said straightforwardly, seizing my arm suddenly with both her hands, moving herself close to me.


    ¡°Mrs. Reyd, it¡¯s lovely to meet you,¡± I managed.


    She was still just smiling at me.


    In a single flash I sorted through the options to fill the awkward silence.


    The weather? Don¡¯t be an idiot.


    Compliments? Yes!


    ¡®I love your dress, did you make it yourself?¡¯


    What, am I doing my best to imply they¡¯re poor? Besides, have you seen that dress? It¡¯d sound like a backhanded compliment at best.


    ¡®Your home is lovely.¡¯


    They didn¡¯t buy it themselves, you clod. Do you want to rub her face in the fact she relies on her daughter¡¯s income?


    ¡®I see where your daughter gets her looks.¡¯


    Rein it in, this is the first time you¡¯re meeting her! Twelve Hells!


    ¡®The food sm-¡¯


    ¡°Is that our dinner I can smell already cooking?¡± I murmured, doing my best to sound awe-struck. ¡°It smells lovely ¨C I don¡¯t know much about Onsolorian cuisine, but your daughter¡¯s taken me to one restaurant, and it didn¡¯t smell half as good.¡±


    I¡¯d said too much, wittered on for too long ¨C


    No, she was still smiling, greenish eyes sparkling, studying me.


    Then she spoke.


    ¡°Lovely to meet you too, Kas.¡± Her accent was thicker than Em¡¯s, but she still spoke in a quick, easy manner ¨C she might¡¯ve been foreign, but Mundic was Mundic and she¡¯d probably been speaking it for most of her life. ¡°Von¡¯t you call me Atar? And please, come in, both of you.¡±


    She stepped inside and we followed; she locked the door, a single, basic lock any number of people in Sticktown would pick open for a cut of the profits.


    Crossing the bare-wood interior hallway, she led us through another doorway into a back-room, talking over her shoulder as she went. ¡°You¡¯re quite right, young man, I am preparing one of my great-grammazan¡¯s recipes. You are in for quite ze treat tonight!¡±


    I surreptitiously dropped my satchel in a corner of the hall near some cases with papers inside; hopefully no one would go poking around in my things.


    Within moments we were in the kitchen, implements and utensils all over the walls and cluttered sideboards. A cloud of steam and smoke was streaming out through the open window; there was a huge black pot over the stove, simmering with what looked like dozens of different vegetables.


    A barrage of extremely-sweet scents assaulted my nostrils, but it was the novel way in which the smells assaulted my eyes that really got me.


    Blinking back near-instantaneous tears, I gave an enthusiastic ¡®woah!¡¯ and dashed my hand across my face to wipe them away.


    ¡°Ha-ha, you¡¯re going to enjoy zis I see,¡± Atar commented with something of a grin, then she turned to her daughter. ¡°Em, ve vill prepare some of ze saltdough for him; it might help to take ze edge off.¡±


    Em had already been washing her hands; she turned to one of the work-surfaces and opened a small bin of flour, then fetched a bowl.


    Atar took me by the elbow gently. ¡°Come, I vill take you to Linn. Von¡¯t you have some beer? Ve have a cellar, you know zis?¡±


    She was already gently but insistently leading me out of the kitchen.


    ¡°I¡¯m more than prepared to help¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly!¡±


    Her ruthless smile never faded one bit, and I found, looking over my shoulder, that Em wasn¡¯t even facing my direction ¨C I wasn¡¯t going to get any help from her.


    Linn would be Linnard Reyd, Em¡¯s father.


    Within seconds I¡¯d been whisked into what I¡¯d have to call a sun-room ¨C over half of one wall was comprised of windows, and a big section of the ceiling too.


    They have houses like this in Rivertown? I thought with something of an inward gasp.


    Sitting in a cushioned chair before the open glass door leading onto a garden ¨C a garden! ¨C was Em¡¯s dad. I¡¯d have recognised him anywhere ¨C he had the same steely stare, the same hawkish nose and the same, well, bearing as his daughter. Close-cropped black-grey hair and a day¡¯s growth of beard framed his slightly-sunken cheeks, slightly-lined brow. He wore a faded green short-sleeved vest, leaving his knotted arms exposed and barely covering his muscled chest.


    In his hands, he held a short-bladed carving knife and a small block of wood ¨C he was shifting the wood over and over, expertly strimming lengths away with the blade and letting them fall into a pile gathering in a box between his feet.


    ¡°Linn, this is Kas, Em¡¯s friend.¡± Atar gave me a small but firm push between the shoulder-blades.


    ¡°I, erm ¨C I¡¯m pleased to meet you, Mr. Reyd.¡± I held out my hand, then half-dropped it again, realising he was busy with his own hands.


    A whisper of sound, and then a click, told me that Atar had just exited the room behind me.


    He gave me a look that said ¡®I hope this is worth the interruption¡¯ as he very deliberately, slowly laid aside his knife, wiped his palm on his trousers, then reached out to shake my hand.


    It was a grip like a tightly-wound iron vice, crunching slightly into the wood ¨C except the vice was just his human hand, and the wood was my bones.


    I tried not to let it show on my face but I must¡¯ve started gritting my teeth as I did my best to smile.


    ¡°Kas,¡± he said, his voice surprisingly soft. ¡°Pleased to meet you.¡±


    He went back to his carving almost immediately, leaving me adrift.


    I wasn¡¯t really one for social pressures. I tended to retreat from situations like this. I found it hard to make small-talk when I had no in, no insight into a person. I didn¡¯t want to talk about wood-carving. Why didn¡¯t I ask Em for more information? I shrilled at myself, but it was futile now. An enchanter could do their stuff and have everything go exactly as they wished, I was sure¡­ a diviner could plot the futures that would lead to a successful interaction and follow the path without a hitch, couldn¡¯t they? It wasn¡¯t fair¡­


    I was used to being the one preparing dinner. In countries like Onsolor, things were still so primitive. Men toiled in the fields and hunted in the woods and journeyed to the marketplaces; women were kept protected in the home, raising children, performing tasks deemed less perilous. Access to magery was restricted by wealth, so that there were but a handful of mages in each city. Archmages would be almost unheard-of outside dangerous darkmages and the odd itinerant hero-mage. The existence of magic hadn¡¯t much changed the affairs of state and the military-styled feudal systems present in most countries, and the farther from Mund, the less the change.


    So it was that Linn, the man of the household, was left to his own devices while Atar and Em went around busying themselves with the meal.


    So it was that I, the newcomer to the household, was left to stand there mute like a gormless fool in front of the man of the household.


    ¡°I ¨C what are you carving?¡± I asked, after what must¡¯ve been at least ten seconds of awful silence.


    Steely eyes flashed up at me. ¡°You carve?¡±


    The eyes didn¡¯t stay on me longer than a moment, returning at once to the block of wood, the knife¡¯s edge. More and more strips joined the pile in the box on the floor.


    I was tempted to lie, but I knew even exaggeration could get me into an embarrassing situation. Better to err on the side of self-deprecation, right?


    ¡°Truthfully, I haven¡¯t done it in years.¡± Not since Dad died. ¡°I miss it, though, sometimes.¡±


    That bit wasn¡¯t exactly true. In all honesty the memories themselves were painful, and I had exactly zero desire to revisit my wood-carving hobbies of the ancient past with Linn Reyd.


    Linn grunted, still looking down at his work. ¡°I voz surprised, vhen ve arrived in Mund, to find zere vere ozzers viz my passion. I had thought it an Onsolorian¡­ how do you say¡­ a custom, yes?¡±


    I took that as rhetorical, and walked to the nearest chair, leaning gently on its back so that I could get a closer look at what he was carving.


    ¡°You¡¯re using a walnut?¡± I asked, injecting a soft note of incredulity into my voice. It was one of the hardest woods, and it wasn¡¯t cheap either. I¡¯d never gotten past butternut, as far as I could remember.


    He glanced up at me, and met my eyes for a little longer this time before going back to his hands, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips.


    ¡°Black walnut. Tougher zan terreline, keeps its shape longer.¡± Linn named a wood I¡¯d never heard of, I was pretty sure. ¡°Viz a sharp-enough edge, it is no harder.¡±


    He took a deep breath, then fixed his eyes on me, halting his knife-hand. ¡°Sit. Take some vood. You vill show me vot you can do.¡±


    Great.


    This wasn¡¯t an invitation; it was a command.


    I crossed to the front of the chair, sitting down near him. A minute later I had one of his spare knives, a little block of lumber of a pale hue, and a wooden box between my feet that matched his ¨C probably home-made, I now realised.


    The knife was as sharp as I¡¯d ever seen, and the pale wood was soft ¨C he was going easy on me. A part of me might¡¯ve felt insulted, but quite honestly I was just glad he hadn¡¯t given me some of the black walnut as a ¡®test¡¯.


    I spent at least half my focus on not cutting myself; while Zel¡¯s regeneration would probably stem the flow in short order, I¡¯d seen even the smallest cuts with blades as honed as this one squirt an embarrassing amount of blood.


    We went about three more minutes in silence, with me desperately clutching for the answers to my two burning questions: firstly, something to say that wouldn¡¯t distract me, and secondly ¨C quite possibly of damning importance ¨C something to actually carve. I was just building up a pretty pile of shavings at this point.


    But then he broke the silence, only to say: ¡°I respect a man who respects quiet.¡±


    I flicked my eyes to him, but he hadn¡¯t even looked at me.


    Would it be seem sarcastic to him if I didn¡¯t reply?


    Stop overthinking things, I thought.


    No. I would focus.


    What do I carve?


    I looked at his carving, but all I could make out was a vague humanoid shape, slowly taking form under his careful ministrations.


    No ¨C I couldn¡¯t take a cue from him. Stealing his ideas would probably get us off on the wrong foot entirely.


    They came from the woodlands, Em had said; Linn was a woodsman at heart. A hunter? No, what had she said?


    When it came back to me, I cursed my foolishness.


    Of course he would have an affinity for carving wood ¨C he was a woodcutter back home ¨C a lumberjack.


    How had I not seen all this coming? I could¡¯ve, well, practised at home, or something¡­ I hadn¡¯t carved a thing since I¡¯d made my fortify set, and the game-pieces I¡¯d done with as little attention-to-detail as I could manage whilst still making them distinct.


    I didn¡¯t want to carve.


    I set upon a few ideas, then went for the simple-seeming option, the one which would look the best even if I didn¡¯t get to finish it, add in all the little refinements.


    What seemed a few minutes later, Atar came in with beer. A little after that she came in refilling the mugs and lighting more lanterns and candles. She reminded us that food would be ready in half an hour.


    How long had it been since I¡¯d seen Em? Since I¡¯d last looked up for something more than my beer? More time had passed while we carved together in silence than I could¡¯ve imagined, and I now held a somewhat chunky-looking miniature tree in my left hand, my right working almost unconsciously, shaping leaves into the canopy, tracing cracks in the bark down the trunk, fashioning little trails at the base to give the suggestion of roots.


    ¡°Vell,¡± Linn said at last, loosing a pent-up sigh of fatigue and setting down his knife, ¡°you aren¡¯t completely vizzout skill, friend of my daughter.¡±


    There was the ghost of a smile again on his lips.


    I looked down at his hands, and gasped.


    There, in a smooth texture of grainless black, was a figurine of his wife, upper body already rendered in near-perfect detail. She was holding something between her hands that was as yet unfinished but, still, it was going to be beautiful.


    ¡°That¡­¡± I swallowed. ¡°Mr. Reyd ¨C that¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Vhat?¡±


    I struggled; I couldn¡¯t actually say ¡®beautiful¡¯ out loud. ¡°Erm, it¡¯s awesome?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°It is ze fifth one I have made her since ve arrived in Mund. Come, shall ve show ze ladies vhat ve have accomplished?¡±


    I caught Em¡¯s little sigh of relief when she saw that me and her father had clearly been getting along okay.


    ¡°It¡¯s very nice,¡± she said in an overly-fascinated voice as she turned my tree over in her hand, eyeing and stroking its contours.


    I could hardly give voice to it but in my defence, I¡¯d been trying to carve something to impress her dad, not her¡­ which in retrospect might¡¯ve been a bit daft of me, but I was willing to give myself a pass on this one. At least I¡¯d avoided nicking an artery and bleeding all over the sun-room floors.


    Atar gave Linn a kiss on the cheek as she accepted her husband¡¯s gift; seemingly-emboldened, Em leaned towards me and (rather noisily) kissed me on the cheek ¨C then just smiled winsomely at her parents as they turned to stare at her.


    Possibly not doing me any favours, but I thought I understood it. She was making a gesture to clarify our relationship for them? I had no idea where to look, and hoped the smiles I thought I saw out of the corners of my eyes really were smiles, not grimaces.


    Our miniature masterpieces went in the centre of the table as we dined. The sauces were indeed even more explosive than the restaurant¡¯s, coming in what were described to me as pear and cherry flavours that at least managed to sound appetising ¨C but the saltdough, a lump of soft, gooey warm bread, counteracted their heat in a way that ten jugs of ice-water never could. Within just a few seconds of popping a pinch of the dough in my mouth I was actually able to gasp out my gratitude. (Almost intelligibly, too, Em would later advise me.)


    And it wasn¡¯t all about sauces or even suspicious fish-finger-things ¨C there was a tray of venison and nicely-burnt quartered potatoes. With two more mugs of beer, I was feeling fuller than I could remember¡­ but I hadn¡¯t accounted for a dessert of fruit-filled buns. When they arrived I promised Atar I¡¯d only eat one no matter how many times she asked me if I wanted another, which had already become a thing due to my apparent addiction to her burnt potatoes.


    Three and a half buns later, I waddled over to the cushioned benches in their main room, following them into the small and tidy space. The walls were painted a pale grey, and there were long red curtains drawn over the windows; the candles scattered around the room on shelves and stands reflected warmly from the scarlet drapes.


    Atar was fixing together what looked like a wind instrument, some kind of flute that required a lot of assembly and looked to form a sort of ¡®z¡¯ shape¡­ when Linn sat next to me.


    As if the meal itself had all been part of some ruse to put me at my ease, he now interrogated me over my status, my potential. Was I highborn? Was I rich? Did I own property? By this point I was half-tipsy, sleep-deprived, emotionally-drained ¨C and my belly was fit to burst. With a bunch of helpful interjections from Em I somehow clawed my way into a position where it was clear I worked with the Magisterium without giving away anything about my exact role; we strongly implied that I was still starting out, hence being able to afford finery but not a house ¨C yet¡­


    This seemed to be enough to mollify him, and when Atar began to play he moved to the other end of the bench ¨C Em quickly settled between us, leaning against me.


    I hesitantly put my arm around her shoulders, and listened to the music.


    Atar was a gifted flautist, or whatever a player of this instrument would be called. She sat on a stool in the centre of the room, her hair swaying as she moved her hands across the various holes covering the flute¡¯s surface. The sounds that oozed from that interaction of wood and breath and pressure coalesced into a lapping wave that pushed me away then pulled me back in deeper than before, breath after breath, pushing and pulling me deeper ¨C a crooning, lost sound, something that keened for times and faces and people and places left behind.


    Leaves fallen so far that they tumbled into the river and the water carried them away; all they had left was the memory of trees.


    The memory of Morsus lying there dead ¨C now he was gone, carried away beneath dark waters that flowed fast despite the stillness of the surface.


    Tomorrow we would visit him at the shrine and that would be the last time we would look upon his face.


    I cannot help but imagine it.


    And I am there. I can see him standing at the end of the hallway. He wants to chase us but he doesn¡¯t know how so I give him the knowledge and now Xantaire is screaming. We are through the door but he knows how to open it because I know, because I am him and he is me, we are dead, I am dead and that¡¯s okay because it¡¯s the living that¡¯s painful, the death is just a stupid, horrible goodbye but once it¡¯s over it¡¯s over and you can rest, rest ¨C until you¡¯re plucked from the grave again, forced to dance like a puppet on a magician¡¯s strings ¨C


    ¡°Kas!¡±


    Fingers poked in my ribs.


    It was Em prodding me, shouting at me.


    At the back of my mind I was hearing it already, but it was like an echo of Xantaire¡¯s screaming in my nightmare, and I didn¡¯t realise straight away.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I muttered in a sleep-choked voice, looking up at Em through a fog that was for my half-asleep eyes only. I coughed, staring around. ¡°Fell asleep. Long day.¡±


    ¡°Listen!¡±


    I focussed, seeing Linn and Atar both standing near the door to the hallway, their faces drawn, their eyes on their daughter.


    I focussed, and the moment I did I woke up for real.


    One hundred percent awake, I reassured myself. I¡¯m at the top of my game. I¡¯m going to do this.


    I could hear it now. I could hear the ringing, the magical pealing sounds that maintained their volume over the many miles between here and there. We were the farthest from Hightown we could get without being outside the walls of Mund, but it wasn¡¯t quiet.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    The Mourning Bells.


    And this time I wasn¡¯t going to be one of the ones running for cover. This time, I was going to help bring the fight to them.


    I looked up at Em and she looked back down at me.


    ¡°You saw the last Incursion? You know what to expect?¡± I asked.


    She nodded. Her face was pale but her cobalt eyes were burning with anticipation.


    ¡°I helped,¡± she said.


    That was good. She¡¯d have some idea of what we had to actually do. I¡¯d spent the last Incursion ¨C all the previous Incursions ¨C cowering with the twins and the others.


    I wouldn¡¯t be there for them tonight ¨C tonight, of all nights. This was going to be bad for them.


    I stood up, and Em¡¯s parents moved their eyes to me. I could see the fear in the both of them, the near-paralysis to which the Bells alone had brought them.


    I felt sorry for them in the moment; they¡¯d come to Mund to escape their own horrors, perhaps even hoping that the stories about the demonic invasions were just tall tales. Had they seen something terrifying during the last one? Had they failed to heed the warnings, stayed out on the streets too late?


    ¡°Mr. and Mrs. Reyd ¨C thank you for the wonderful evening, but I¡¯m afraid I have to take my leave now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going out zere?¡± Atar asked in an almost-squeak.


    ¡°We both are, mazan,¡± Em said gently.


    ¡°So you are zis Feychilde.¡± Linn had a grim look on his face now, his hands on his hips.


    I opened and closed my mouth, looked at Em and back to him ¨C


    ¡°It didn¡¯t take too much to put it togezzer,¡± he said, shrugging nonchalantly while wearing the ghost of a smile on his face again. ¡°You ¨C take care of her, friend of my daughter. You make sure she returns to us safe.¡±


    ¡°Paza!¡± Em chided him. ¡°You can¡¯t just put zat on ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Em,¡± I cut in. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure she¡¯s safe, Mr. Reyd.¡± I turned back to the glowering arch-wizard. ¡°Look, I¡¯ll get my bag; get your robe on? We need to leave, now.¡±


    A brief stop in the wash-room later, I was outside, waiting for Em while hovering above the house. My mask and robe in place, I sliced the air with my fey wings to stay afloat as a hot storm-wind rolled down from the north-east.


    I could see flashes in the distance, hear detonations on the gusts of heated air ¨C it was coming from across the Greywater. The far side of Rivertown, or perhaps into Oldtown.


    Not far ¨C not for us.


    Moments later Em was with me, augmenting my flight with her own magic, and without a word we plunged through the sky, heading towards the heart of hell.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!

 Kindling pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 2C: KINDLING</h2>


    ¡°To that I say there is no such thing as holiness. In me all acts are sins.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 1:150-152


    He could barely contain his irritation.


    ¡°You jest, I assume.¡± He somehow managed to keep his voice level.


    His ¡®master¡¯, the tall, overweight man in layered robes of blue on grey on black, was sitting in the chair behind the desk. His master¡¯s lover (so the rumours went), the woman in gold-trimmed black, sat in the chair beside him. Both of them were staring at him with the most serious looks he¡¯d ever seen on their faces.


    A dragon.


    Lyferin Othelroe had never thought to hear the words connected to reality in this way. Dragons hadn¡¯t neared Mund in centuries. They were obviously intelligent, and were all too aware that a cadre of archmages would spell their doom in seconds, no matter their fearsome size and natural weapons; even the dragon¡¯s own magic wouldn¡¯t help them, under a concerted effort from a handful of champions.


    ¡°Alone?¡±


    ¡°Not alone, my lord,¡± Rala answered him immediately. He was quite certain she didn¡¯t know his identity, but she could surely infer that he was eminently highborn from his refined voice. ¡°We¡¯re coming, and Phanar and his friends have already slain five, I think. Phanar; his sister Anathta; Ibbalat, who is something of a mage himself as I understand¡­ Kanthyre, was it? The healer. Quite a few of us.¡±


    Ghemenion was nodding.


    She doesn¡¯t understand, neither of them do. But how could they?


    He was used to working as part of a team ¨C a team of competent archmages. It¡¯d been almost eighteen months since Lyferin¡¯s first Gathering, and he had gone from strength to strength, under the tutelage of Timesnatcher and Leafcloak. Now they were proposing ¨C what? That he solo a dragon? Abandon the people to all the new and interesting demons that would surely arrive in the next Incursion?


    He needed those demons, if he was ever going to climb the ladder. Take Dustbringer¡¯s place as chief sorcerer. Even Timesnatcher¡¯s as the leader of the Gathering.


    ¡°Respectfully,¡± he began in what was, even to his own ear, an icy tone, ¡°I meant in terms of champions.¡±


    Rala opened her mouth, but Ghemenion cut in: ¡°You¡¯d give up a portion of your share?¡±


    He looked between the two of them, keeping his face impassive. Not that it mattered much, with the spider¡¯s-head mask of dark iron hiding the entirety of his visage from view; but it was good practice for voting-day at the Shadow Council.


    From behind the eight black-glass eyes he regarded the two of them, looking back and forth.


    ¡°My share?¡±


    Ghemenion cracked a smile.


    He knows who I am. Already he suspects the debts of House Othelroe. If only he knew the extent of them, he¡¯d pass out. I couldn¡¯t even share it with Harukar.


    And Lyferin knew this, money, was his greatest weakness. The hook the Master of the Night¡¯s Guardians had inserted into the softness of his inner cheek and by which he was led this way and that. Like the fish on the hook, he knew, and like the fish on the hook, he was powerless to free himself. If he wanted to stay in his position he needed the funds to keep up appearances, and, more than almost anything, he wanted to stay in his position. Many loved him and many hated him, but, as with all the noblest lords, it was only his prominence that kept a vote of no confidence from deposing him of his exalted station.


    Lyferin was currently, at age nineteen, Lord Shadow to the Second Seat, and he¡¯d been there over four years ¨C since the day of his fifteenth birthday, when Grandmother met with her ¡®accident¡¯ and was rendered permanently bed-bound. For the last four years, he¡¯d sat in the Shadow Council and, along with the Lady Malice and Lord Justice to the Second Seat (who sat in their own Councils), he advised the Second Lord of Mund at the High Council.


    Aside from the First Lady and her three advisors, Lyferin was arguably the most powerful person in the Realm. The Lady Malice to the Second Seat, Alaphar, deferred to him in all things, and the Lord Justice to the Second Seat was an ailing old man, a whisker (or a pouchful of platinum laid in enterprising hands) away from death. Their opinions counted for naught and they regularly missed High Council sessions. The Second Lord, whose advanced age was rivalled only by his Justice¡¯s, listened to Lyferin alone. By all accounts he¡¯d always been a doddering old fool, almost as bad as Lyferin¡¯s fellow advisors, possessing scant wits and cursed with a predilection for the strongest wines ¨C his only redeeming feature was his willingness to do what Lyferin told him.


    These facts everyone knew.


    Which was a very good thing, to Lyferin¡¯s mind. He rose in the estimation of his peers as the years went by, turning their initial frowns of disappointment into shrewd, scrutinising frowns¡­ and, then, into the soft smiles of rivals, or the fawning pouts of the cowed. Twivona herself detested him ¨C that much had long been plain. Certainly the work-load was heavy; he had to keep up on domestic and foreign policy, as well as matters of intrigue. But his mastery of all the various levers of government impressed and intimidated his new counterparts. One day, he¡¯d revert Sentelemeth¡¯s reforms. He¡¯d see Haid, the human frog, splatted on a stone with his guts all over the place. He¡¯d see Wenlyworth¡¯s shadow for real, clutch it in his fingers and squeeze till even the shade might scream.


    The Arrealbord was set up in such a way that the greater the Seat¡¯s primacy, the more votes its Lord or Lady could cast. The Seat at the tail near the door, the Thirty-Third Seat, had just a single vote to cast, while the Seat at the head in the centre, the First Seat, had thirty-three¡­ Lyferin was essentially in charge of thirty-two votes, which was as many as the last seven or eight Seats combined. And each Seat stood for a different domain within the Realm ¨C the farther from Mund the farther around the hall you went. The Second Lord, Lyferin¡¯s puppet, was the lord of the vast province of Amrana to the immediate south-east, his throne at the port-city of Karamar on the Bone Cliffs; the First Lady was technically the lady of the city Mund itself, in addition to the surrounding hundred leagues of land ¨C the fields of Fornolost and Agormand, the water-ways of the Briarflow, the Five Peaks¡­


    But this was all technicality. Every Great House maintained homes within the pearly-white walls of Mund, and these days the generations of more than a few Houses simply lived and died within the walls, never even leaving to see their ancestral homes. Seneschals and governors maintained the properties, collected the taxes, cared for the people. The truly rich were too busy playing at being mages off in the capital to trouble themselves with the actual management of their countries.


    And that was how Lyferin saw it now. He¡¯d been chosen. He¡¯d been blessed with power. These others, Ghemenion and Rala and Ibbalat and anyone else they wanted to send ¨C they could make themselves out to be real magic-users, they could wield the terrifying forces of the universe ¨C but they could never master them.


    He¡¯d been an enchanter-in-training, enrolled at the Maginox even as he sat in the Shadow Council and High Council. It¡¯d been a struggle, maintaining his studies and trying to ensure he¡¯d become a skilful enchanter while having the greater matters of the Mundic Realm whirling around inside his head. It was a respected school of magic, and he¡¯d done his utmost to achieve his best, but ultimately his heart wasn¡¯t in it. He failed his graduation in his second year, and would¡¯ve been doomed to repeat the classes the following year, were it not for Grandmother¡¯s timely death.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Grandmother¡¯s timely death, that also granted him the destiny of an arch-sorcerer.


    If he¡¯d known in advance that such a thing were going to happen, he¡¯d have buried her head under the pillows all the sooner ¨C but that was where he¡¯d gone wrong.


    How was he to know that the evil witch was going to leave him nothing but the title, donate her Mund estates away like that upon her death? She¡¯d always hated him, that much was clear ¨C she must¡¯ve put it into her will before his fifteenth birthday. He was certain no one had got to her in the years after her incurable enfeeblement, courtesy of the daily application of two drops of an untraceable potion (difficult to brew perfectly, but not impossible for the motivated). She¡¯d been unable to even communicate telepathically ¨C the drug was perfect.


    No, she¡¯d hated him all along, and deliberately left him there, a Lord Shadow without a penny to his name.


    He was able to recognise that she¡¯d been right about him, of course ¨C right to hate him, fear him. He¡¯d been the death of her, after all. And the Othelroes had good instincts.


    He could¡¯ve retreated back to the ancient domains of House Othelroe, or could¡¯ve fled with his tail between his legs to one of the cabins all proper families maintained in the mountains above Mund. That¡¯d been what she¡¯d wanted, he was sure. But no. He¡¯d borrowed on his name, extracted what he could from his stewards, and kept the old faction together through simple force of character. Even now he still barely had enough to maintain a single manor-house in Treetown; Mund prices were exorbitant when you were living on a stipend from the treasuries of your far-flung territories. He could still only afford a single live-in chef, for instance. He¡¯d never before had to consider how much a horse could eat, until he was paying his own way.


    He didn¡¯t need steeds. He could fly. He went down to a single set of four horses, for pulling the carriage. For keeping up appearances.


    But he¡¯d fought demons toe-to-toe. Fought them and claimed them for his own, stole their abilities to better dominate others, continuing his unbroken ascent for two years come next Yunara.


    Even being Lord Shadow to the Second Seat was a chore when you could do that.


    Sometimes he was tempted to let the world know who he was. Redgate, heralded ¡®Saviour of Anvil Row¡¯ a year ago, and ¡®Defender of Blackbranch¡¯ on the latest Incursion. If he revealed himself, money would flow in. Opportunities would arise out of nowhere.


    And his ¨C Lyferin¡¯s ¨C reputation would suffer an unrecoverable blow. ¡®Opportunities¡¯ indeed. Money-grubbing. It was a distinctly lower-class pursuit. Prestige ¨C prestige was everything.


    Yes, archmagery was accounted sacred ¨C a blessed thing. But that was the problem, wasn¡¯t it? The power it afforded ¨C it invited envy, and over time envy became enmity, became entrenched in the culture. It was respected outwardly, but reviled inwardly. No, archmages weren¡¯t liked. Archmages weren¡¯t trusted. Especially the ones who donned the mask. It might¡¯ve been different if he¡¯d gone with the Magisterium in the first place.


    Then I would¡¯ve had to take orders.


    Lyferin chuckled to himself. No, this set-up with the Night¡¯s Guardians was far preferable. A constant stream of platinum to top-up to his income. A way to channel his particular talents for cruelty into a positive outlet.


    A share of a dragon¡¯s hoard.


    His anti-enchantment defences would need renewing soon, and that¡¯d cost him. The eldritch protections he enjoyed were nothing in comparison to the protections offered by an archmage. He was nowhere close to skilled-enough at the art to do it himself, despite his Maginox schooling in the subject, and he was reticent to trade favours with an enchanter-champion at the Gathering. He¡¯d rather pay full price than get it cheap and risk exposure. It would mean taking his runic bracelet and mask off in front of an arch-enchanter ¨C one at a time, of course. But doing it in front of a champion? It would still mean running the risk of having them tampered with ¨C and even if he occluded his face with his powers while it was bared, it would risk a telepathic intrusion right then and there if his bracelet¡¯s clasp chose that very moment to snap. Anything could go wrong, at any time. A malicious diviner could take advantage of any radically-unfeasible opportunity and he¡¯d never see it coming.


    He had to be careful.


    There were none of the champions whom he could trust with his identity. Neverwish? He¡¯d never liked the miserly creature. Lovebright? Bah; she was Timesnatcher¡¯s pet. All of them, all of them unsuitable. Ghemenion and three magisters were the only officials to know who he was, and that secret was locked away in their heads. The registries were sealed, and unless he was suspected of a heinous crime his name would never even be looked at. Besides, he didn¡¯t have anything to worry about with the four who knew his identity ¨C none of them could read his mind with a glance.


    Perhaps there were champions he could¡¯ve trusted with his name, his face ¨C only they didn¡¯t know whether they could trust him, and wouldn¡¯t unmask before him for just the same reasons. In any case, they could hardly be permitted to find out about his¡­ habits. He had joined with a few rhimbelkina for the express purpose of shielding him from diviners, wasting precious inner-space on them despite their low potency in other areas. At least those old books that said no arch-sorcerer could join with more than eight or nine eldritches were way off. He shouldn¡¯t have let the texts written by stupid, lesser men worry him. He was already past that point, and nothing told him he had to stop soon.


    Even if secrecy were a double-edged sword, you didn¡¯t have to fall upon it. He had ways and means. They didn¡¯t need to know he was Lord Shadow Lyferin Othelroe to know he could be relied upon in battle. In a fight, he trusted Leafcloak, who was almost like a mother to him these days. He even trusted Timesnatcher, the slipperiest diviner to ever don the champion¡¯s mantle, to have his back. Direcrown was Lyferin¡¯s lackey, his living minion.


    And he had been friends with Hellbane, as a brother-in-arms, before¡­


    But I wasn¡¯t really responsible, was I? I loosed the wheel at the top of the hill ¨C I didn¡¯t make him stand in its path.


    The memory was uncomfortable.


    ¡°Proceed,¡± he said at last.


    Ghemenion leaned forward in his leather-bound chair, putting his elbows on the table. ¡°There¡¯s something else you need to know. This dragon is Ord Ylon, descended from Ord Yset himself.¡±


    Lyferin opened his mouth to voice one of a number of obvious retorts to this, but despite the covering of his mask Ghemenion knew he was about to interject, and raised a hand ¨C


    ¡°We have this from the dragon¡¯s own lips, and he is¡­ well, if I say quadruple the size of the only other dragon I¡¯ve ever seen with my own eyes, I fear I¡¯d be selling him short.¡±


    ¡°He is huge,¡± Rala said plainly, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve while she stared at him.


    ¡°An Ord, in truth?¡± Lyferin felt his irritation beginning to evaporate. Perhaps there was something to this after all. A deed to be accomplished that would endure any stain of reputation. ¡°When do we leave?¡±


    Ghemenion started rattling off logistical details; Lyferin let his brain absorb the information while most of his mind wandered. He¡¯d have to pack a demiskin. Two weeks there, two weeks back, probably a week in the middle actually doing the job¡­ That¡¯d mean missing the next Shadow Council or two. Lyferin and Redgate would have to return to the capital at different times, of course. Not that his absence would be noticed. Attendance was voluntary, and at any one time the chamber was never any more than half-full ¨C except for when the High Council met. Almost everyone wanted to attend High Councils¡­


    But it would have to be borne. No, Lyferin knew he¡¯d be able to get away with his dragon-hunting excursion. He could even use his powers to speed up the timetable. It would just be a shame he couldn¡¯t brag of his victory in front of the Arrealbord. An ancient dragon, scion of a dreadful lineage¡­


    Was it worth leaving, so close to the next Incursion? The loss of power ¨C measured in minions, in fame, in wealth, in reputation ¨C would sting worse than missing ten High Councils.


    So much gold¡­ An Ord¡¯s hoard¡­


    He knew what he would have to do. He did it last time. He could do it again.


    I could do it tonight. We can still leave on the morning tide.


    He shrugged to himself, then looked across at Rala, feeling her eyes still upon him. She met his gaze.


    With a sigh, Lyferin agreed to Ghemenion¡¯s terms, then drew his velvet crimson robes about his body and excused himself.


    He felt Rala¡¯s eyes continuing to burn holes in his back as he left the room.


    Does she suspect me? he wondered as he made his way to the door which would let him out onto the balcony. He knew little of Rala, but he liked the fieriness he could see in her. He could ask around¡­ Even if she did know about him, he could tap his rhimbelkina essences, force a compact of silence upon her too. It would drain his energies temporarily ¨C however, the effect would be permanent.


    But his next mind-paralysis spell could be the one that tipped him over the edge, got him found out. He knew he ought to refrain from overplaying his hand until he had more information.


    Moments later he stood at the rail, looking down on the pink-leafed trees of Roseoak Way which did not bend to the whims of winter, looked out on the towerscape of Hightown, the heart of magery in Mund, in the world.


    No, she cannot suspect me, he decided. Even if she could penetrate my mask, see my face, or learn my name from her lover¡­ she cannot penetrate my protections. She cannot see my mind.


    A demon¡¯s jagged wings, those of the wyvarlinact, no less scaly or metallic than a dragon¡¯s, sprang out through specially-cut grooves in his robe, imperceptible when not in use. It was his fastest form of transport.


    He leapt from the rail, spreading his sharp, iron-like pinions.


    If she even suspected what I¡¯m about to do, she¡¯d be running far, far from here.


    * * *

 Kindling pt2

    ¡°I¡¯m not a darkmage,¡± he said, pulling her in close so that her head rested on his chest. Her black-as-night hair spilled over his white silken bedrobe, her long locks dishevelled in a way that would¡¯ve made most girls look ugly ¨C but with her it only enhanced her beauty, her vulnerability.


    ¡°I never said you was, m¡¯lord,¡± Osantya murmured. She lithely flipped her whole body over, turning her face to him but keeping her head where he¡¯d placed it. ¡°It¡¯s just scary, is all I mean. They¡¯re all over the news these days. I¡¯m glad them Cannibal Six got got.¡±


    It blistered somewhat, that the favour of the common people was so flighty. A month ago he¡¯d taken down Vowtaker single-handedly, an arch-sorcerer of not-inconsiderable might. It was all forgotten in moments when some rich lords were uncovered as darkmages.


    Nonetheless, this new Feychilde had done him a favour. He¡¯d always hated Termiax and Rissala.


    ¡°They were dark?¡± He played the part of the vapid noble as carefully as possible.


    ¡°The darkest, they says,¡± she whispered. Then, as if remembering what she was there for, she giggled and kissed him.


    She settled her head back on his chest, and he spent a minute thinking about how to move forward.


    She¡¯s attractive enough. I¡¯ll give her the full treatment.


    ¡°I¡¯m a champion, in point of fact.¡±


    She sucked in her breath and sat bolt upright. ¡°Which one?¡± Her fingers tightened, clawing into his silken gown.


    He smiled. ¡°I¡¯m Redgate.¡±


    ¡°Wow! I mean ¨C really? The¡­ the s-sorcerer?¡±


    He nodded solemnly.


    ¡°Wow!¡± she said again, with just a trace less enthusiasm. ¡°So, what¡¯s it¡­ you know¡­ what¡¯s it like?¡±


    ¡°Dangerous. Bloody. Terrifying.¡± He met her eyes. ¡°Exciting.¡±


    She was drinking it all in. Her body¡¯s curves were barely hidden by the nightgown he¡¯d supplied her with, matching his own ¨C she coiled and tensed upon the satin sheets of his bed, and he eyed her appreciatively.


    ¡°Can I, you know¡­ see something?¡±


    He grinned. ¡°I¡¯ve got a little¡­ something I¡¯m preparing in the cellar, truth be told. You¡¯d be interested?¡±


    She started to answer but he held her gaze, and the words died in her throat.


    ¡°It¡¯d be dangerous, my love,¡± he warned.


    ¡°And bloody?¡±


    ¡°Terrifying.¡±


    ¡°But exciting¡­¡± Her chest rose and fell with anticipation. ¡°Okay. Okay, Redgate. I¡¯m in!¡±


    Always so much easier when they cooperate.


    He slipped from the bed, drained his half-full goblet, and softly padded through the doorway, slow enough to be an invitation for Osantya to follow. His bare feet made almost no noise on the varnished birch planks of his bedroom floor. Behind him he heard her quickly copying him, finishing her white wine in two or three nervous gulps and hastening after him.


    There were over a dozen rooms on each floor, and four above-ground floors that comprised the main building of his mansion ¨C if he got out of her line of sight she could well have been lost for half an hour, and that would only be if she didn¡¯t manage to wander into one of the servants¡¯ wings.


    He was headed for the cellars, which he¡¯d had adapted to their current labyrinthine layout ¨C the entrance to his sanctum was hidden away between the walls, where even the most discerning magister would (hopefully) fail to look. Not that he expected such an inquiry. As far as Special Investigations were concerned, he was clean. But it didn¡¯t hurt to take precautions.


    Lyferin slowly progressed down the wide, carpeted stairs, tracing the smooth polished bannisters with his fingertips as he went. The curtains were drawn over the windows to help fend off the late afternoon chill, further reinforcing the sense of security he¡¯d sought to instil in her. She followed, and he could feel her thrill, building and building inexorably. He left her in silence, left her languishing in the moment before the storm hit.


    He could feel his own thrill building when they reached the ground floor, and again as he let them into the cellar-door and started the descent into the chill.


    The stairs here were no less fine a grain, the corridors ahead just as well-lit ¨C but the air was cold all of a sudden, close and cloying. He wondered what was going through her mind right now, whether some small part of her soul might be shivering as her footsteps carried her into the shadow of her doom.


    He pressed on the wall in a seemingly-random spot, high overhead, and there was a satisfying click, followed by the gentle hum of well-oiled chains running through cogs. In an alcove farther along the corridor, a new doorway appeared.


    When he led her into this doorway, and onto the freezing stone stairs hewn into the living rock of the manor-house¡¯s foundation ¨C then her footfalls faltered for the first time.


    ¡°So¡­¡± Her voice broke the silence unalterably, like the timid song of the first morning-bird to awaken in the pre-dawn darkness. ¡°So, what is it we¡¯re gonna do?¡±


    Despite the faltering, she kept pace with him. Now the darkness was real. There were no glowing globes ahead of them, only unlit candles waiting for him to exert one of his powers.


    She was abysmally stupid. All these lowborn love-house girls were uneducated, of course, but she had such poor intuition he was surprised she¡¯d lasted even this long. He could have been one of the very darkmages she¡¯d just been talking about, for all she knew, and here she was meekly following him into his sanctum. Anyone could claim to be a champion. The gods Illodin and Glaif might not be fooled, but the people¡­


    That¡¯s why I chose a love-house girl, not a courtesan of Enye, he reminded himself.


    He reached the bottom of the steps, and waited for her.


    When he touched her arm, she started in fear; he¡¯d long-since forgotten what it was like to have to go through life with mortal senses, but it amused him all the same to see her reaction.


    He gripped her firmly but gently by the upper arm and led her forward.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to summon a demon.¡±


    He made sure the smirk was no longer on his lips, then swept his arm up, drawing on his finthrilikar¡¯s essence, igniting over a hundred candles in the vicinity.


    Depressions in the stone walls, crudely gouged-out by demons whose talon-marks were still visible in the imperfections, served as his shelves, holding innumerable components. Some were obscure: bottles of mystical-looking fluids that bubbled as though they were boiling without any visible heat-source, or that swirled in the jar of their own accord; boxes filled with sparkling dust; sections of limbs or bowls of organs, belonging to dozens of unnatural creatures. Others were less obscure: human skulls, many-bladed knives¡­


    Stolen story; please report.


    She finally saw sense, balking the instant she took in her new surroundings, trying to snap her arm out of his grip and flee back up the stairs.


    But she only had half the strength she needed to do that. He held her without hurting her, quickly taking both her arms and soothing her, ¡°It¡¯s okay, Osantya. Seriously, calm down. I¡¯m an arch-sorcerer, remember? I don¡¯t need your body parts.¡±


    ¡°Then ¨C then why ¨C¡°


    ¡°Those things are just research. I take my sorcery very seriously. Trust me. Come over here. Do you drink red too? Of course you do. Take a seat, let me find my spare glass¡­ I know it¡¯s around here somewhere; I so rarely have guests down here.¡±


    A couple of minutes later he had to hide his smirk once again, as he realised he¡¯d actually managed to calm her down. Now she was sitting there on his altar, the raised circle of rock in the centre of the sanctum, blithely drinking what she thought was just wine. She prattled on and on, clearly elated to have the ear of a champion.


    ¡°So if you¡¯re an arch-sorcerer, I thought you could just summon demons with, you know¡­ Well, I don¡¯t know, really, but¡­¡±


    She looked down at the glass in her hand.


    Can she taste the nailbiter? he wondered. No, but she knows something¡¯s awry. She¡¯s already starting to lose her manual dexterity.


    Let¡¯s move things along.


    ¡°With a click of my fingers?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    He stared down at her.


    ¡°When I killed Grandmother, I thought I knew what power was. Wealth, prestige, privilege. They¡¯re empty things, though, Osantya. I know it sounds incomprehensible to you from your lowly vantage but if you climbed the ladder you¡¯d soon find out ¨C the ability to have what you want, give commands and have them obeyed, no matter how disgraceful, degrading ¨C the pleasure soon fades. Only one thing gives without taking, endures through the years, grows and never wilts again. Only the magic. Only my sorcery.¡±


    He saw her parsing the words, realising he was giving her information he shouldn¡¯t have.


    Realising what that meant for her.


    ¡°You have no way to escape ¨C see?¡±


    He clicked his fingers, calling his pedheliorph into the room.


    The bird was a pitch-black void, wings and beak only visible as it wheeled this way and that. When it settled upon his shoulder (or merely hovered there ¨C it couldn¡¯t pierce him with its talons) it was little more than a clot of darkness, only broken up by the slight feathering at the edges one could see if they looked closely. But it trailed a crimson storm that seethed lethargically in its wake, manifesting behind him while it was perched there beside his head ¨C a cloud rendered in such fine detail it looked as though one had been plucked from the sky, painted in blood and shrunken down to befit its new owner.


    When his foes looked at the pedheliorph, their eyes were drawn to its cloud ¨C and then they lost time, gazing into the billowing scarlet streams, watching the flicker of black lightning only their eyes could see, listening to staccato bursts of thunder only their ears could hear.


    When the pedheliorph screamed at his foes, the red wind coursed through the void of its body and smashed its targets with a flesh-shredding hurricane.


    He¡¯d gone out of his way to find his own, once he¡¯d seen Hellbane using one. Forget his mask, his house, his domains. His slaves were his greatest possession and the pedheliorph was amongst the greatest of his slaves.


    She was staring at the cloud now, of course. Enraptured.


    ¡°I¡¯ve done all I can to make this painless for you. Poor little thing.¡± Lyferin regarded her, sitting there swaying upon his altar; her glass-holding hand slowly lowered to her lap, and she poured what was left of the mixture all over her knees, but she didn¡¯t react. She was too far gone now. ¡°You see, I have access to demons that can open their own gateways between the worlds.¡±


    He clicked his fingers again, bringing the sharadheran rolling into the sanctum.


    It was a runt of a demon, a spherical, swirling clutch of hair and teeth and claws that barely came up to his knee. Its only notable feature was the small tree-shaped, rust-coloured protrusion that branched out from its ¡®body¡¯, always pointing up towards the sky no matter how the ceaselessly-stirring bundle beneath it rolled.


    He wasn¡¯t going to waste one of his knights or his anti-diviners on this like last time. The sharadheran could bring an anchor through just as well as the others.


    ¡°And I have a demon which can take it elsewhere. It amuses me to start the Incursion in Hightown, where there¡¯ll be more for people to lose. More for me to gain. In a very particular spot, in fact¡­¡±


    Another click, another demon. A simple imp, this time, of the gungrelafor breed ¨C it had long straight horns that pointed at the ground, and four wings. The tail was stubby, not long and sinuous like most impish tails. The gungrelafor was a little taller than the sharadheran if you excluded the rust-tree atop the latter.


    ¡°To give them the power to begin, they¡¯ll need some blood ¨C more than I can give. And the fresher the better, of course.¡±


    They got started. He watched.


    Why don¡¯t the Srol Heretics do this? he contemplated.


    It was an idea he¡¯d returned to several times in the last few months, since he created his first Incursion. That first time he¡¯d been unsure it would even work ¨C it was something of an experiment. This time, he knew for certain. But surely the heretics did too?


    When the Srol summoned demons ¨C which they did all too often ¨C they were never those kinds for which calling more would be a possibility. Yet why would it not fit with their purposes? It made sense that your average run-of-the-mill darkmage wouldn¡¯t be interested, but those who wanted only death and destruction?


    He¡¯d overheard some nobles possessed of scant knowledge opine that it was the Srol Heretics and their ancestor-organisations like the Five-Fold Rebellion who were orchestrating the Incursions ¨C this was patent nonsense. Were the Incursions a part of their goals, they¡¯d be able to summon them far more often. If one were to believe the purported eye-witness accounts, the Hierarchs appeared to treat the incidents as Lyferin did himself ¨C opportunities to increase and augment their collections without having to run the small-but-unavoidable risks of a trip to Infernum.


    Lyferin¡¯s demons finished. He gave them their instructions and freed them from his control.


    Grinning, the imp pressed a single claw-tip into the hairy, toothy sphere. They both vanished from the sanctum in a red flash.


    If it hadn¡¯t done as he¡¯d asked, he could¡¯ve just reasserted his dominance over it and tortured it awhile. It was too smart to disobey.


    The champion stood there with the girl¡¯s corpse, his gaze upon her.


    Slowly, slowly, Osantya raised her head.


    ¡°Good girl,¡± he soothed.


    She was staring back at him with eyes that burned purple. She¡¯d been exsanguinated ¨C the many wounds on her neck and wrists and ankles wept only a clear fluid as they sealed themselves. With her blood gone, her flesh had been robbed of every last bit of colour ¨C even more so than was normal for those in her condition. She had the pallor of the gown she wore, now. Chalky-skinned and shaking, he could see her trying and failing to form words.


    ¡°Hush, my love, it¡¯s fine.¡±


    He went to her, stroked her cheek like the gentle master he was, but she still struggled, kept on forcing the sounds to rise in her throat:


    ¡°What ¨C¡°


    Her voice came seeping out of the yawning chasms of death from which he¡¯d pulled her, hollow, echoing, almost incoherent. She was speaking Netheric instinctively.


    ¡°What ¨C am ¨C I?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t make you a vampire, not after that; neither do you possess the marks on your soul, the burdens necessary to become a deathknight.¡± He replied in the same tongue; her ability to speak the mortal tongues would return to her slowly, and only after some re-exposure to this, the plane of her birth. ¡°But I caught you quickly ¨C you¡¯re no zombie. I want to say wight, but you might be a ghoul ¨C we¡¯ll have to see if you change, see what your eating habits are like.¡± He eyed her sceptically. ¡°Are you hungry?¡±


    She shook her head, looking about herself morosely.


    ¡°I¡¯d place a platinum on wight,¡± he said firmly. ¡°You weren¡¯t expecting this, were you?¡±


    Her amethyst eyes focussed on him. ¡°You ¨C killed ¨C me.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t act against him, even conceive a plan to his detriment ¨C but she could still hate him.


    Which was fine by him.


    ¡°I improved you. Once you¡¯ve had a while to recuperate you¡¯ll be strong, stronger than any man. And almost unkillable to boot ¨C you¡¯ll be impervious to all but the keenest blades. Unless they take your head, set you on fire or douse you in holy water, you should be fine¡­ I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard the stories.¡±


    She was still staring at him in disbelief. He began to lose patience.


    ¡°Come on, it¡¯s not like I let them eat you, is it?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C am ¨C missing.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll pay the love-house a handsome fee for your loss. Let¡¯s go back up and finish what you came here for; we¡¯ll have some more wine, then I¡¯ll tell you a little about your new life as my slave.¡±


    He extinguished the candles with a sweep of his arm and then gestured for the wight to lead the way back up the stone steps. She could see in the dark now, just as well as he could; it was hardly dimmer than with the candles lit.


    He watched the eagerness with which she responded to his wishes, bounding forwards with her newly-undead musculature propelling her farther than she¡¯d intended with the first few steps. Her body, her responses ¨C they were his to command, and her mind was bound, locked in-step with his own.


    But her soul? What was left of it? It made a frown of her mouth, a glower of her gaze, as she crossed in front of him.


    Lyferin chuckled as he followed her up the steps, back towards the lights of the basement-level, and crooned to her: ¡°Oh, my love. Such excitement. I hope you have your fill.¡±


    Osantya continued on her way ahead of him, easily taking the steps two at a time; but her head was bowed, and, for just a moment, he thought he heard the sound of her weeping.

 Not Lightless pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 2D: NOT LIGHTLESS</h2>


    ¡°There are aspects of life which cannot even be discussed with those to whom a deontology of suffering has become the measure of existence. I cannot even comprehend the words they speak, for in their schema the very definition of transformation moves into one of stasis. They are unknowing adepts of Lord Tyranny, seeking after the deadworld beyond life and all meaningful suffering, the expunging of all conscious experience. Of course if one is swallowed by Lord Sorrow and his teachings one will see only sorrow wherever one looks. Even when one smiles in joy one will afterwards think it ever bittersweet.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Maiden¡¯s Way¡¯ recordings, Ismethara 945 NE


    She stood at the rail on the prow of the Dremmedine, the sea breeze in her hair; she¡¯d tried to tie it back but as usual half of it had come free, and she hadn¡¯t the heart to have another go at it. She could smell the salt, hear the soft flapping of the rigging in the wind, the waves breaking against the hull of the ship in time with the gentle motion that rocked her, rocked everything, the constant motion that¡¯d once made her nauseated to which she¡¯d become so accustomed.


    But she could also smell the smoke, hear the shrill wails of the dying carried on the wind. The armies of hell falling upon the weak, the defenceless. And that unearthly ringing ¨C the Bells that spoke of Mourning, as Illodin¡¯s Lay of Memory went.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    The Dremmedine was anchored at one of Salnifast¡¯s hundreds of docks ¨C the marble-built harbour-town was bigger than most cities she¡¯d seen, and was located a few miles downriver from Mund. Even from here, she could smell the destruction, hear the devastation of it all. The far-off walls of the actual city, gleaming in the night brighter than the marble stones of Salnifast, were themselves tall enough that, even at this distance, she couldn¡¯t have easily pinched them between her thumb and forefinger with her hand held up to her face. Mund must¡¯ve been huge.


    It didn¡¯t look so far off. She¡¯d seen the shallow barges going upriver often-enough, oarsmen with their backs bent against the flow of the Greywater despite the wizard-wind in the sail. She could jump aboard one, or, if they were unwilling during an Incursion, even force them to take her¡­


    It went against all her instincts to stay where she was. Derezo, an old friend who¡¯d actually grown up in Mund, had told her more than once what Incursions were like. Her fingers had to be white upon the rail beneath her thick woollen gloves. She would¡¯ve rather gripped her mace and shield, felt the sway of the waves of combat as she brought the light of her goddess down upon the demons. She¡¯d only encountered a fiend once before in her entire life, and the confrontation had gone in her favour quickly ¨C Phanar had just raised an eyebrow and left it at that, but the unspoken praise had almost made her feel giddy. Even remembering it now she re-experienced some of the same sensation. They¡¯d all grown, as people ¨C as ¡®heroes¡¯, even ¨C since the catastrophe of Miserdell, but Phanar had grown the most. He was their leader, and she respected him ¨C loved him. She¡¯d have taken any opportunity to impress him.


    The clergy rarely got a chance to show-off in combat. Derezo had never mentioned it ¨C perhaps he simply didn¡¯t know ¨C but word from one of the sailors was that the Temple of Compassion in Mund fostered a Sisterhood of the Maiden who were warrior-priestesses. Evidently these ¡®Infernal Incursions¡¯ were common-enough in the city that even the pacifists had developed their own fighting-culture. She would¡¯ve loved to have had the chance to meet one of them, share notes. Until they¡¯d come to Mund, she¡¯d thought herself the only follower of Wythyldwyn to take up the path of the battle-cleric.


    Yet she knew she couldn¡¯t set foot ashore. The words of the seeress were clear on that much, at least.


    Meeting the child-prophetess of Kultemeren at the shrine in Tirremuir had been a singularly frightening experience. A little five- or six-year-old girl in a simple smock, raven hair cropped at the nape of the neck, shadowed by a cadre of black-armoured guardians who stopped at a flick of the child¡¯s fingers. The seeress approached her while she was talking to the high priest, and ruined more than just her day with a few simple sentences.


    A voice so morose and detached should never have emanated from such a small child.


    ¡±Wherefore shall the daughter of Wythyldwyn forsake our sands for outland soil? Forsaken shall she be, broken by toil! Into the wyrm¡¯s maw stretch her footprints in the sand; if farther, it be beyond the Judge¡¯s hand.¡±


    The implications were pretty clear, now that the Bells had started ringing.


    If I go to help, I¡¯m going to end up dead, somehow.


    And if I don¡¯t die here, I¡¯m going to die somewhere in the Chakoban Mountains, devoured by Ord Ylon.


    At least a dragon can¡¯t destroy your soul¡­


    It was small comfort. But perhaps she¡¯d have chance, before her final moments, to ensure the ultimate victory of her friends. Prophecies were tricky that way.


    Their lives, measured against the lives of those who die in Mund tonight?


    But that isn¡¯t the right calculation, is it? If Ord Ylon isn¡¯t stopped, who¡¯s to say how many more Miserdells will happen before someone else steps up to put an end to him?


    She shivered, remembering his voice echoing through the walls of the building in which she¡¯d been trapped as he drove his packs of dire wolves through the streets. The tumult as he¡¯d thrown down the Tower of the Sword and rent the Cathedral of Chraunator into rubble.


    She was sure she¡¯d rather take a hundred of these Incursions over seeing something like that again.


    Letting loose a sigh, she closed her eyes, turned her face from the wind, and, as she¡¯d been taught, sought the place in her heart where there was only the mirror of self-reflection. She sat in the seat before the mirror, and it was more an upright pool of water than any glass or metal polished by hand of man; it was hard to see at first, but it rippled, and these ripples moved across the surface of the pool in pace with the speed of her thoughts.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    She had the prophecy squatting upon her shoulders, whispering to her of the imminence of her own demise, and the end of her time on this plane.


    I accept it.


    The ripples across the surface diminished.


    She had the Infernal Incursion ringing in her ears, reminding her of the day everybody died. The day they all went away, never to return.


    I will see them again.


    The pool was almost still.


    Soon I will be as nothing, pure air, and my soul be emptied of its earthly troubles. The grace of the goddess will give me the strength to endure this night.


    She had the teeth of Ord Ylon closing about her. In the darkness of his mouth there was only the fumes, and the chasm that took her into the deep pits of acid, bubbling matter dragging her blistered body under the surface with its fierce, churning currents, consuming her screams along with all the rest.


    I¡­ I¡­


    The ripples didn¡¯t stop ¨C they only grew, and she could imagine her doom, imagine the agony that awaited her, the grinning, sword-toothed face of the Ord ¨C


    She was not nothing ¨C it was Kanthyre standing there gripping the rail at the prow, Kanthyre whose troubles bound her spirit tight.


    How could the Maiden take me up, offer me surety, safety, when I put myself in the noose and kick away the stool?


    Kanthyre was alone.


    She released the rail at last, then opened her eyes, looking down at the palm of her right hand.


    She willed the light to come, and it did, as it had every time since Miserdell fell, suffusing her flesh as though her skin were glass trapping a living star.


    But it was dim star, this time, even when she removed the warm glove that had never been an impediment before. The radiance was off, sickly, casting too many shadows. Her gift was beginning to fail her.


    ¡°You are okay?¡±


    Phanar had approached across the deck with a quiet ease more befitting a panther than a man, yet when he spoke from her side it wasn¡¯t startling ¨C his voice was soft, his concern obvious.


    She let out another sigh, but this time it was half a self-mocking laugh.


    ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ giving up, I suppose,¡± she replied.


    She wouldn¡¯t, couldn¡¯t, meet his eyes. She put her hand back down, letting the star fade to darkness, and gripped the rail once more.


    It felt better, gripping the rough wood without the glove on. It felt real.


    This rail in my hand ¨C will it be one of my last real memories? Will I die remembering this moment, the time when I faced my destiny and let it destroy me?


    ¡°It¡¯s not over yet,¡± Phanar said, the calming effect of his voice already working on her. ¡°If I were Ord Ylon, I would be frightened. You and Ibbalat. My sister and I. Redgate and the Night¡¯s Guardians. We will not easily be defeated.¡±


    He moved closer to her as he spoke. Even here in the safety of the Salnifast harbour he was clad in his heavy gambeson ¨C the long, padded black jacket he wore beneath his armour ¨C just as he kept his scabbarded sword strapped to his belt. The heat of his body seemed to radiate out of him, and as his arm brushed hers she felt the heat turn to electric, reawakening her hidden longings.


    His long dark hair blew in the wind, mingling with her horrible ginger locks ¨C his scent came upon her, and for a moment she dreamt that she could smell the spice-pits of the Ashen Lands; the mists upon the Black River of N¡¯Lem; the moss upon the ruins of Chadoath¡­


    If he kissed me now, I would even let him, she realised with a breathless panic. Forsake my vows of piety and chastity, let him crush me in his arms against the rail¡­


    She trembled, and moved her arm away.


    ¡°I¡­ I think¡­¡±


    ¡°This reminds you of what happened at Miserdell?¡±


    She nodded, biting her lip before she could help herself.


    ¡°And I also,¡± he said; for the first time in a long time she heard a trace of the burden he had to bear, there in his voice. ¡°Yet this, as all darknesses, shall pass. Whether we are there to see it or not.¡±


    She was loath to interrupt him while he mused like this, looking out over the stone walls of the harbour, the endless stampede of the Mundic Sea, the barely-stirring, smoke-choked sky. She could¡¯ve stayed like this with him forever.


    But she had to. She felt the moment upon her. If she didn¡¯t open up to him now, she would carry this weight around her neck like an anchor across the oceans, only to bury herself in a sandy grave.


    ¡°It¡¯s the prophecy.¡±


    It was easier, as soon as she¡¯d said the words ¨C it was as though she¡¯d dammed it up inside herself, and now upon the removal of that central key-stone, that word, ¡®prophecy¡¯, she¡¯d unleashed the pent-up flood.


    ¡°The one from Tirremuir.¡±


    There¡¯d been a few ¨C but none of the other prophecies were like this one.


    She nodded. ¡°It¡¯s got me, Phanar. I¡¯m trapped. I want to go up there ¨C¡° she nodded towards the city-walls in the foothills ¡°¨C but I¡¯ll die if I do. And I¡¯ll die if I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Or you won¡¯t. No prophet ever saw everything. We must take each day as it comes. If you want to go into Mund, I will come with you. You will not die.¡±


    His gentle confidence was compelling, but she¡¯d already made up her mind to believe the seeress ¨C and¡­


    ¡°You said it yourself ¨C whether we are there to see it or not. You don¡¯t really think we¡¯ll survive this, do you?¡±


    He didn¡¯t reply at first; when he did, his voice was even quieter.


    ¡°Do you really think we won¡¯t? Kani¡­¡± He took her gloveless hand suddenly, held it fast. ¡°Kanthyre, you must have faith! You¡­ you taught me that.¡±


    They met one another¡¯s eyes.


    The wind seemed to sweep them together ¨C


    Would he kiss me?


    But he turned his face aside, even as she did the same; if she saw bitterness in his expression, she knew it would only be as a mirror for her own.


    He folded her into an embrace instead, and it was good. It was a thing she needed without knowing it and now that she had it she didn¡¯t want it to end.


    ¡°In any case,¡± Phanar said, his head slightly above and to the side of her own, ¡°she told you that you might survive, beyond the Judge¡¯s hand. That is the biggest loophole I have ever heard. I would personally be very surprised if you got killed in Chakobar. It¡¯s the rest of us who will be having to watch our backs, trust me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll watch your back,¡± she said, smiling to herself, ¡°always.¡±


    He seemed to just accept that at face value, and did not reply.


    After some time, she murmured, ¡°What would that even mean, anyway? ¡®Beyond the Judge¡¯s hand¡¯? What¡¯s beyond Kultemeren?¡±


    The tension was melting out of her minute by minute and she knew it.


    Phanar didn¡¯t attempt to relinquish the embrace for quite some time, and they spoke together softly all the while. When his sister poked her head around the edge of the door that led below-deck and started staring at them, one eyebrow expertly raised, they finally parted. Anathta invited them both for a game of cards, but the girl already knew Kanthyre would refuse; the cleric said an awkward ¡°see you¡± to Phanar who acknowledged with a single, deep nod of his head


    She didn¡¯t know quite what had done it, she reflected once he was gone, as she lifted up her hand that shone as bright as it ever had, marvelling even after so many times at the beauty of the blessing she held.


    Was it the reassurance? That I¡¯m not alone ¨C that they have as much reason to fear as I? Was it just that we¡¯re all in it together?


    Or was it the embrace?


    Was it the hair mingled in the wind?


    Was ¨C is ¨C it love?


    She had no answer, but she knew the truth now. She faced it. Unhooked the noose about her neck and stepped down to face her terror headlong:


    She had the teeth of Ord Ylon closing about her. closing about her. In the darkness of his mouth there was only the fumes, and the chasm that took her into the deep pits of acid, bubbling matter dragging her blistered body under the surface with its fierce, churning currents, consuming her screams along with all the rest¡­


    I accept it all! Come, Ord Ylon! Let us play this deadly game, you and I. Let us see who is the stronger.


    Wythyldwyn shall prevail!


    And then the amber light came down upon her, bearing her far from the screams and smoke and incessant ringing, taking her to the Meadows of Mending, stripping away the flesh to leave only the shriven soul, ready to receive its blissful reprieve in the gardens of her goddess.


    * * *

 Not Lightless pt2

    About an hour after the Bells stopped pealing, deep into the night (or, more likely, the next morning), Ibbalat returned at last. She saw him walking down the pier towards the Dremmedine¡¯s mooring, his distinctive magician¡¯s hat with its bent, pointed tip and wide brim hiding his outlander features from the torchlight ¨C except of course the thick, tangled beard. He was too young to grow a proper beard but he hadn¡¯t had a shave since they left Warthia, and although the facial hair made up of scruffy curls did nothing to hide his youth no matter how long it grew, she approved all the same. Wythyldwyn was all about change, and growth, and understanding.


    She¡¯d approve even more when he finally decided to shave it.


    She felt she understood the mage, why he¡¯d grown into the man he had, what had changed in him. It¡¯d happened to all of them after all ¨C maybe not in the same way, but it¡¯d still happened. She¡¯d never so much as swatted a fly in her life ¨C she¡¯d been the kind of kid that swore off meat at an early age, and fought other kids when they stepped on ants or pulled the wings off moths. Yet she¡¯d hesitated for less than than a second before clutching one of the lantern-rods in the shrine, taking it down to beat the dire wolf over the head and neck, again and again, doing everything in her power to stop it eating the children ¨C before Anathta arrived and lodged her dagger hilt-deep between its eyes.


    Ibbalat was no different. He¡¯d been a meek little apprentice, once. Now he was probably one of the most-experienced adventurers and battle-mages in the world, veteran of dozens of skirmishes and more than his fair share of dragon-slayings.


    ¡°You got back fast,¡± she called across the water, once he was in earshot.


    ¡°It¡¯s quick downriver,¡± he replied as he plodded across the gangplank. ¡°Plus, you know,¡± he waved his hands dramatically, ¡°magic.¡±


    ¡°So what was it like?¡±


    ¡°Worse than you imagine. Worse than Derezo told us. I see now why they need so many archmages in Mund.¡±


    He slipped through the bits of rope and netting separating them, crossing the deck to come and stand beside her.


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Miserdell all over again, except it¡¯s happening in ten places at once and there¡¯s no way to tell if you¡¯ve got them all. I was practically useless.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s not true.¡±


    ¡°You should see it, Kani. They¡¯ve got these champions ¨C I can hardly believe how powerful they are, any one of them could just take over the city in a single night if there weren¡¯t fifty others all ready to stop them ¨C and even they weren¡¯t enough.¡±


    ¡°Maybe some time, I¡¯ll get chance,¡± she managed to say in a voice that did actually have some hope in it. ¡°Once this dragon-hunt¡¯s over¡­ Do you think Phanar¡¯s gone far enough, then? Will one archmage do?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember who it is that he¡¯s hired?¡±


    She pursed her lips a moment in thought. ¡°Redgate? Red-something, anyway¡­¡±


    She stopped, seeing the flare of recognition in the shadowed eyes beneath the hat¡¯s brim.


    ¡°Oh, yes,¡± Ibbalat murmured. ¡°Top-tier arch-sorcerer. I saw him, and he¡¯s got his own personal army of demons. Two thinfinaran. If any archmage is going to have a shot at Ylon for us, it¡¯s him.¡±


    ¡°Thinfinaran?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d only read about them before tonight ¨C¡± as he spoke his voice rose, going ever-more rapidly as the excitement took hold of him ¡°¨C but they¡¯re tenth rank and that makes them hard to command ¨C they can summon more demons, all by themselves, and their armour¡¯s totally impervious to most attacks ¨C ideal for fighting a dragon ¨C¡±


    Kanthyre let his voice fade out as he waxed eloquent about one of his favourite topics, careful to give the correct verbal nods whenever he paused ¨C half the reason he was saying this stuff was because he wanted to impress her with the depth of his demonology, and she never passed up an opportunity to help someone feel important, especially when it came at such a meagre cost: feigning interest.


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± she murmured, watching the masts of the other ships docked at Salnifast sway in the dark, a seaborne forest bending in rhythm with the endless waves. Recalling the scents of Phanar¡¯s hair as it blew in the wind, memories that easily overpowered the salt and smoke in her nostrils.


    ¡°Yes, the gauntlets are inscribed with the Fifth Condemnation of the Broken Earth, so when they¡¯re struck, anywhere on their armour, they redistribute forces like a shield that¡­¡±


    Whatever Ibbalat thought, Kanthyre decided she¡¯d reserve her judgement of the champion till she saw him in action.


    Sorcery.


    It still seemed wrong to her, but she wasn¡¯t one to kick up a fuss. Demons and undead were tools, useful in their ways, expendable in others. But they were always abhorrent. Every priest ¨C well, every priest of a decent deity, at least ¨C knew that much. Whenever Ibbalat had raised something from the dead she¡¯d been sure to give it a proper burial afterwards, Mortiforn¡¯s rules be damned ¨C and Ibbalat had never dared try to bind a ghost in her presence, never mind a fiend.


    Then something caught her attention.


    ¡°Wait, what was that?¡±


    ¡°I said, I can show you, if you like? It¡¯s quite a simple illusion; I prepared a couple this morning, and it¡¯s a waste of hippogriff eyes if I don¡¯t ¨C most of it¡¯s shaped by my memories, so ¨C¡°


    ¡°Show me the Incursion?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes ¨C it¡¯s just what I rem-¡±


    ¡°Ibbalat!¡± she blurted. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say?¡±


    ¡°Do you think¡­ Ana, and Phanar would like to see?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Ibbalat smiled, and started moving his hands, fingers wiggling as though he were trying to play a musical instrument whose strings changed positions between the strokes. She watched for a moment but the patterns described by the motions of his fingertips were indecipherable. His beard flowed in the wind as his lips moved ceaselessly, almost soundlessly.


    Kanthyre loped to the door to the cabin ¨C despite the long journeying and harsh rationing she¡¯d endured over the past months, she still carried quite a bit of excess weight, and anything faster than a dash was out of the question. She descended half way down the short stair (more of a ladder, really) into the ship¡¯s hold.


    ¡°Ibbalat¡¯s conjuring the Incursion, if you want to see?¡±


    She spoke softly, so as to not wake those struggling to sleep in the hammocks.


    Phanar looked over at her from his chair by the table; his eyes narrowed slightly, but she knew this was the way he looked when he was intrigued, not irritated.


    Anathta, short and slim but in every other way her brother¡¯s lookalike with her raven hair and deep, bronze-red skin, looked back and forth between Phanar and Kanthyre ¨C then, loosing a sigh, she placed her cards down on the table face-up.


    ¡°I was totally going to win, then, Kani,¡± she complained. ¡°Look ¨C four Divinities, and only one Slimer.¡±


    By the time they¡¯d gotten back to the foredeck, Ibbalat held a swirling sphere of dancing lights between his arms. He was no longer chanting; he stared into the huge, weightless globe of glamour, as if studying its meaningless contents.


    Then, as Kanthyre and the others halted, it suddenly steadied, resolving into discernible shapes.


    Demons. Fallen buildings. Mages in the sky.


    Fading in as if from a great distance, sounds started to trickle through. Screams, real-seeming enough that she could hear the raggedness of the throats that produced them. The cries of battle-commands from desperate captains. The interminable Bells.


    ¡°This is the battle at the place they called Roseoak Way,¡± Ibbalat said. ¡°You can see the destruction.¡±


    ¡°Roseoak?¡± Phanar repeated with an unusual degree of trepidation in his voice. ¡°That¡¯s where the Tower of the Guardians is located.¡±


    ¡°Whereabouts?¡± his sister asked curiously, coming closer to Ibbalat¡¯s illusion and tracing lines through it with her fingers, as if through empty air.


    ¡°There. Opposite that group of magisters on the roof¡­¡±


    ¡°You mean¡­ that pile of rubble?¡±


    The rogue pointed out a large mound of blasted stone, and Phanar didn¡¯t reply, lowering his head in thought.


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    Then Kanthyre saw something that caught her attention.


    ¡°Hey! Go back, can you? Was that ¨C are they the Sisters of the Maiden?¡±


    She walked closer to the glamour, studying the images of the warrior-priestesses, aglow in the majesty of their goddess.


    ¡°Yes. A powerful force on the battlefield, to be sure, although I¡¯m not sure how much of a difference they made, considering the sheer number of demons. I¡¯ll spare you the times I saw them fall.¡±


    The illusion whizzed on before her eyes, showing now a trio of champions destroying some putrid monstrosity.


    She turned her gaze back to Ibbalat.


    ¡°The other sisters didn¡¯t heal them?¡±


    ¡°They did. They¡­ tried. Sometimes it wasn¡¯t enough; you know how these things go¡­¡±


    The same way I couldn¡¯t heal Nulveren when he took that chest-wound, she thought. She remembered the look on Derezo¡¯s face, the feeling of failure flushing her skin¡­


    ¡°And what, pray tell, were you doing all this time?¡± Anathta enquired airily. ¡°Watching from a safe distance?¡±


    ¡°For some of it,¡± Ibbalat answered at once, unabashed. ¡°I had a number of warding spells prepared, and some elemental magic. I killed over a dozen of the lesser fiends, and helped bolster the defences. Not much I could do, really, except¡­ you know.¡±


    ¡°Stay alive,¡± Kanthyre supplied.


    ¡°Yeah. That.¡±


    Phanar had his big arms folded across his chest, and was still looking perturbed.


    ¡°You think our helpers are going to be too busy with the rebuilding efforts to come with us?¡± the cleric asked him.


    The warrior shook his head slowly. ¡°Perhaps¡­ Mund has plenty of archmages beside those willing to fight. Beside the champions. Reconstruction is industry here. And yet¡­¡± His mysterious, smoky eyes glinted in the flickering radiance of Ibbalat¡¯s illusion. ¡°I met them. The Night¡¯s Guardians. They treated fairly with me, unlike the Magisterium representative I met with, and many others of Mund¡¯s mages besides.¡± Phanar clenched a fist. ¡°I do not wish them to suffer ¨C nor their assistance to be depleted. They said they could loan or sell us spellbound artefacts.¡±


    ¡°We already have ensorcelled weapons,¡± Anathta pointed out.


    ¡°But armour? I know I would not mind some magical protection.¡± Phanar looked down at his midriff momentarily. ¡°A shield or breastplate. Or something we don¡¯t have ¨C a spear¡­ Even some more missiles¡­¡±


    He looked at his gut, where the orc stuck him with the trident, she remembered. Where I touched the iron-hard stomach, prayed over the wound¡­ wept upon it¡­


    That had been the last time Phanar had taken off all his armour when sleeping in untrustworthy surroundings ¨C and the first time she¡¯d ever cured anyone¡¯s injuries with her own power.


    She¡¯d run out of her stockpile of healing-waters during the skirmish, and she¡¯d been at her wits¡¯ end. Phanar had moved like a snake through the attackers, red ember-light glinting off his topless body, sword literally singing in his hand. It all happened so fast. A paltry orc, in a random night-time ambush, almost killed the one who would end up as the world¡¯s premier dragon-slayer.


    But her own tears had supplied the healing, and unlocked for her the gifts she now possessed. The gifts of a second-grade cleric, a true adept.


    The goddess blessed my love, that night¡­ She couldn¡¯t help the follow-up thought: Is she not cruel?


    ¡°Ah, well then,¡± Ibbalat said, grinning behind the beard. ¡°Lucky I popped into town and did some shopping this afternoon, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± the rogue asked in a conspicuously-relaxed voice, looking him up and down suddenly ¨C Kanthyre knew that if Anathta didn¡¯t get an immediate answer, she¡¯d soon be ready to search the mage¡¯s corpse for his goodies.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve got something for you¡­¡±


    Ibbalat smiled at Anathta and waved at his illusion-sphere, transforming it into a moon-like, pearly whiteness. The light it shed only reached ten feet, but it was enough for them to see by as the mage sat on an upturned empty box nearby, producing the demiskin from a pocket and emptying its topmost contents onto the deck between them.


    Demiskins were containers which accessed a ¡®localised demi-plane¡¯ (whatever that meant) where time and space were suspended; even one the size of a sock had cost them almost the entire earnings from one of their dragon-hunts. Still, it was worth it. Wrapped in the spells of all five mageries, their ¡®sock¡¯ was a black, glossy tube of flexible material. For all that it was black under normal conditions, it looked white here, shining in the spotlight of Ibbalat¡¯s luminous moon.


    It could only contain objects that would fit inside its aperture, though, which was barely big enough to fit a hand in ¨C but even one the size of a sock trivialised the impracticalities of the adventuring life. Loaves of bread and flanks of meat could be sliced, stored inside, and retrieved as fresh as they¡¯d been when they came out of the fire. Hundreds of small water-pouches, hundreds of spare bits of ammunition, even small articles of clothing¡­ The demiskin held it all.


    And Ibbalat¡¯s latest purchases. The only issue with a demiskin was the delay in retrieving the right item ¨C the things you put in first were at the bottom, and ¡®bottom¡¯ was relative in a spaceless space; it always seemed to Kanthyre that the more of a rush you were in, the slower the right item came to hand. Still, this didn¡¯t impede the mage as he started showing off what he¡¯d been able to find in the labyrinthine streets of fabled Mund in the hours before the Incursion struck.


    There were potions ¨C lots of potions. She recognised the murky-green fluids that glittered with gold specks as the efficacious healing philtres of the druids, at least equal in potency to her prayers and far superior to her own holy water. More importantly, they would be capable of reviving her in a flash if she were to be brought low. She knew Ibbalat had barely delved into druidry ¨C not the healing side, at least ¨C and she couldn¡¯t have relied on his restorative spells to do much good in a desperate situation, even if he¡¯d miraculously prepared them in the first place.


    ¡°What are those?¡± she asked, indicating some blue, transparent potions.


    ¡°Potions of Unbound Speech. Lets you speak in any language, think in any language. These,¡± he tapped a gleaming, pink-purple potion, ¡°are Potions of Visible Sympathy. Makes most creatures see you as their allies. If you¡¯re sneaking into the palace, the guards will see you dressed as another guard; when you slip inside the temple to hide, the archpriest sees another acolyte. The vestal virgins, well¡­¡±


    ¡°Why do you sound like you¡¯re speaking from experience?¡± Kanthyre said.


    ¡°And why did the palace-guard chase us out of Garawen-Pir, again, exactly?¡± Phanar added, somewhat more ominously.


    Ibbalat merely grinned sheepishly. ¡°Hey, I made sure we got paid first -¡°


    ¡°Paid first, laid second,¡± Anathta said, almost approvingly.


    Phanar glared at his sister, and she smirked back at him in that now-I¡¯m-an-adult-I-can-get-away-with-it way that was annoying even to Kanthyre.


    ¡°Anyway, an orc¡¯s going to see you as an orc, but don¡¯t think Ord Ylon¡¯s going to welcome you in as a long-lost cousin or anything ¨C they¡¯re only going to work on humanoid things, and ones that aren¡¯t brimming with barely-understood magic to boot. They¡¯re all guaranteed for one hour of uninterrupted function ¨C¡±


    ¡°Okay, we get it,¡± Anathta interrupted the mage again. ¡°Taken together, those two potions almost make you half as good at disguising yourself as I am on a bad day¡­ with a cold¡­ when I¡¯m bleeding¡­¡±


    Ibbalat pulled a face. ¡°Alright, I get it. On to the good stuff.¡±


    He picked out the rings from the pile. Four of them.


    ¡°Ring of Bestial Distress, three charges.¡± He held up a silvery ring set with a single large emerald and slid it onto his finger. ¡°Maybe I can use this on Ylon¡¯s wolves. Buy us some time.¡±


    He tossed Kanthyre a ring carved out of a pearl, smooth except for where it was studded with five diamonds, tiny enough that it looked as though it would only just fit on her little finger. She caught it, studied it.


    ¡°Ring of Timeless Striding. Five charges. Short bursts of amazing speed, unbelievable reaction times. Don¡¯t waste them.¡±


    He knows I worry about being too cumbersome, she realised. Did he read my mind, or am I really just that slow?


    She nodded and slipped the ring on her pinkie all the same, twisting it around until it was both secure and comfortable. ¡°Standard passwords? Arcanos, or¡­¡±


    Ibbalat nodded. ¡°The Arcanos Code. And for our deadly assassin, this.¡± He flicked a ruby-set ring, formed out of three intertwined golden bands, towards the rogue ¨C she snatched it out of the air easily. ¡°Ring of Unerring Accuracy. Three charges. Three attacks that will not miss their marks.¡±


    Anathta didn¡¯t reply; she was studying her new bauble, and the smile on her face was probably all the gratitude Ibbalat was going to get out of her.


    But if he cared he didn¡¯t show it; the mage was sitting there on the box, cheerfully gazing up at Phanar.


    The warrior stared back at him for a good five seconds before he finally relented: ¡°Out with it, then!¡±


    Ibbalat grinned, and held up the final band: a wide, unadorned thing of black metal. There were no perceptible jewels set into it.


    Phanar took it from him, and held it up before the moon-like illumination, spinning it between his fingers. If Kanthyre was reading his face right, he couldn¡¯t see anything set into the metal either, even holding it close-up while standing next to a light-source.


    The smoky eyes of the warrior flicked back to resume their stare at the mage.


    ¡°Ring of Feigned Location. Makes enemies think you¡¯re somewhere you¡¯re not, or at least that you¡¯re making a move towards somewhere you won¡¯t. Works better the faster you¡¯re moving.¡±


    The smile stayed on the mage¡¯s face as he started rooting through the demiskin again.


    ¡°And?¡± Phanar prompted.


    Ibbalat didn¡¯t even look up. ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°And how many charges?¡±


    ¡°Who said anything about charges?¡±


    ¡°You mean¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an always-on.¡±


    At this point Phanar froze in place; Anathta made a sound roughly approximating ¡°Whaaaat¡± and even Kanthyre felt her eyebrows raise in shock.


    ¡°I checked it over myself; it¡¯s the genuine article,¡± Ibbalat said nonchalantly. ¡°Infinity rune is almost perfect. Damn thing¡¯ll probably last a millennium or more. Cost a teensy bit more than the others¡­¡± he chuckled a little, ¡°but it was a bargain even at that price. We¡¯re down to six hundred and seventy P¡¯s, now.¡±


    (They¡¯d adopted the code after being overheard discussing their wealth of platinum in a tavern some time back, which had resulted in one unfortunate death ¨C now any eavesdropper would hopefully think they were just particularly meticulous when it came to their vegetable inventory. Hopefully. Certainly no one eavesdropping was likely to assume that this rag-tag group of youngsters would have the finances to purchase a whole street of their Hightown¡¯s towers.)


    Ibbalat had finally found what he¡¯d been looking for ¨C his bag of wane. He popped a leaf in his mouth and started chewing noisily.


    Kanthyre span away. The smell of the stuff turned her stomach.


    ¡°Ibbalat,¡± Phanar said reprovingly. ¡°I appreciate the ring, I truly do; but do you want to get us arrested, get Ulfathu arrested, just because you could not wait until we were back out at sea?¡±


    ¡°Hey, a man¡¯s gotta eat,¡± Ibbalat protested. He licked his teeth, folded up his bag of drugs and shoved it back into the demiskin. ¡°It¡¯s been a very stressful night, and I¡¯ve got enough magic left to stop a simple city-guard from finding ¨C¡°


    ¡°This is Mund,¡± Phanar hissed, the gravity of his voice startling in contrast with Ibbalat¡¯s genial tone. ¡°You try to enchant a guard, you do not get the run of the city for a week ¨C you get us all executed. We spoke about this, before we came. The rules are not to be thrown aside the moment demons invade the streets¡­ I even said that exact thing to you.¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay,¡± the mage said sullenly. ¡°Once we¡¯re back out at sea.¡± He clapped his hands down on his knees, then levered himself back up to his feet. ¡°When do you suppose that will be?¡±


    Phanar frowned, but when he replied he spoke again in his level, cordial voice. ¡°Much depends on Redgate and the Night¡¯s Guardians, now that Roseoak Way has been destroyed. I¡­ I think that they make less of these Incursions than we might, being outsiders. I hope that they will be here. We were supposed to sail at seven. If they do not come, I¡¯ll re-enter the city, and discover what is amiss.¡±


    ¡°How long can we wait?¡± Kanthyre asked. ¡°I mean, if the archmage ends up not coming, will we have time for you to find another?¡±


    Phanar¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°We might have already been away too long. If Ord Ylon leaves his lair¡­ Tirremuir and all its people might be ashes by the time we return.¡±


    It was the answer she¡¯d expected, but that didn¡¯t make it any easier to hear.


    * * *

 Not Lightless pt3

    Day stole over the harbour so subtly that she almost missed it. One minute she was feeling like the night would never end; the next, she realised it was already morning. A swathe of clouds separated in two as if sliced by a giant sword, exposing the bare, white-blue flesh of the dawn sky.


    Kanthyre and her fellow adventurers had settled into a rhythm over the past months; she¡¯d gotten used to having someone up on watch, to prevent a repetition of catastrophes like the orc ambush, and she¡¯d been on-edge all night anyway ¨C it wasn¡¯t like she could¡¯ve slept even if she¡¯d tried. They¡¯d be sailing on out over the open sea soon enough, and she could rest through the day, at ease in the knowledge that stepping onto those ¡®outland¡¯ shores was no longer an option for her. It would be so easy to cross the gangplank now, with the Incursion already over, just to prove a point ¨C but it would only turn out that her doom was to die at the hand of some unscrupulous cut-purse rather than to get skewered by a demon. Prophecies were twisty that way. No, far better to wait on the ship, wait for them to set sail once more.


    Fate locked-in.


    Decisions made for her.


    But the crew were waking. The sailors were up at the crack of dawn ¨C the Dremmedine¡¯s captain, Ulfathu, would apply the threat of a lashing to those who didn¡¯t pull their weight. (She¡¯d never heard of him actually having to use it, thankfully ¨C it seemed the mere possibility of a flogging was plenty motivating.) He woke with the sun no matter how much ale he drank to put him to sleep, no matter the season, the weather. Already she could see him stalking the aft-deck; Ulfathu wore a leather coat over loose pants, but despite the early-morning autumn chill he wore no shirt ¨C his chest was covered in a rug of thick hair, which she guessed must¡¯ve been enough to protect him from the cold. His black eyepatch was hard to pick out against his dark skin; it almost looked from a distance as though he were just squinting with his left eye, so cunningly-designed was his accessory. He went around, ¡®squinting¡¯ at those of the crew who¡¯d made it above-deck in time for the meagre sunlight to make its entrance. Once he¡¯d completed his checks he stomped back below-deck to make sure the others were working at their various tasks, granting them a close-up of his curled whip and perhaps even brandishing it in their faces. Anything to apply the proper incentive for a morning of good, solid labour.


    She watched them at work for a few minutes, clambering all over the rigging, the languor of fatigue in the motions of some of them. Those who¡¯d stayed up latest at the ale-cask, most likely.


    She raised a hand towards them.


    Maiden, bless these poor souls. Fill them with vitality; drive away their maladies!


    The radiance in her hand was as clear as it¡¯d ever been, like a white lantern, shining out over the sailors.


    They all stopped in unison for a second, dazed, then quickly gathered their thoughts and continued their tasks with renewed fervour. A few thanked her with murmurs and nods. One ran to the port rail and was sick noisily over the side, but when he recovered he too flashed her a toothless grin and inclined his head in gratitude.


    She wondered what beer tasted like, and not for the first time. It was a banned substance for the clergy of Wythyldwyn. Many faiths allowed their faithful to sample alcohol ¨C some even encouraged it (priests of Nentheleme and Ismethyl were famous for it, and who knew about the cultists of gods like Vaahn and Mekesta?) ¨C but not the Maiden of Compassion¡¯s. It seemed to drive many men wild with the desire to consume more and more of it, until they were acting like babies, or even completely insensate. Why anyone would willingly subject himself to such a substance was beyond her. It had to taste amazing. Yet Phanar, a sensible person who only sipped the stuff and never had too much, said that most alcohol tasted horrid the first few times. ¡®An acquired taste,¡¯ he¡¯d said.


    Then why acquire it in the first place? That was a question to which, seemingly, no one had the answer.


    The harbour was abuzz with movement now. Dock-workers unloaded crates by the hundred. Rat-faced fellows met one another beside those boats that looked to be filled with more dubious contents, talking quietly as they cast glances around. Dozens of ships were heading out of port at any given moment; the winds were unfavourable, so some moved by oar-power, others by wizardry, aided by the morning tide. Meanwhile, dozens more replaced them, sails filled with mage-wind, the waters around them sluggish despite the currents that should¡¯ve pushed them away from the shore. There were red-gold schooners from Myri, loaded with great casks of wine; dark-blue ships marked with the sigils of the Amranian war-fleet, heading to the yards on the eastern end where the shipwrights were based; a sleek silver vessel, surely bearing nobility on some pilgrimage or mission of diplomacy, cutting above the waves, heading straight for the river mouth of the Greywater on wings of wizardry.


    It was then that Kanthyre spotted the sorceress, walking alone along the pier, careful to avoid the sailors carting buckets of tar up and down the rows of ships. The cleric guessed sorceress due to the gold-trimmed black robe, its hood thrown back to reveal the face of the woman. Her features were studious but pretty rather than plain. She was perhaps in her early forties, her curly brown hair pulled tight into a little bun.


    There was an ugly scar running from her hairline to her eyebrow on the left side of her face, but she¡¯d done nothing to hide it, instead wearing it like a badge of honour.


    It soon became apparent that she was heading for their ship.


    The cleric moved towards the rail beside the gangplank and, when the sorceress was well within earshot, she called, ¡°Night¡¯s Guardian?¡±


    ¡°Rala Ainsbothe, at your service,¡± the older woman replied in an exquisite accent, contrasted with the smile on her face that was a little grim. She halted at the other end of the gangplank, then went on, ¡°You would be Kanthyre Vael?¡±


    ¡°Come aboard, Rala Ainsbothe,¡± Kanthyre said, gesturing. ¡°If you¡¯re as good with your spellcraft as your guesses, you¡¯ll be a welcome addition to our expedition.¡±


    The sorceress crossed the bridge. ¡°It¡¯s with some regret that I have to inform you: Lord Ghemenion and I will no longer be travelling with you.¡±


    Kanthyre moved aside, drooping against the rail, and Rala joined her. Now that she was up-close Kanthyre could see the same tiredness in the mage¡¯s face that must¡¯ve been in her own. A few of the crew gave the pair of them a second glance, but that was the extent of their intrusion. They¡¯d learned the hard way not to meddle in the adventurers¡¯ business without dire need.


    She pulled her attention back to the sorceress. ¡°Oh? I¡¯d been told the two of you were keen on coming.¡±


    ¡°My lord Ghemenion was injured during the Incursion. Worse than I.¡± She said it with pride, waving a hand at her scar. ¡°He¡¯ll recover, so long as I ensure he gets his meals regularly¡­ and that they¡¯re cooked by the right chefs. He can be awfully picky that way, you know? And¡­ And I shall have to have this healed, of course ¨C once the critically-injured have been prioritised¡­¡±


    The eyes of the sorceress were suddenly wet, and Kanthyre wordlessly offered her a clean square of cloth from her pocket.


    ¡°My thanks,¡± Rala murmured, dabbing at her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry; I haven¡¯t slept, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly,¡± the cleric said gently. ¡°Your husband was hurt ¨C¡°


    ¡°Husband?¡± Rala tittered, ¡°Oh no, dear child; he is the Master of the Night¡¯s Guardians ¨C I¡¯m merely his, ah, assistant.¡±


    Kanthyre heard Anathta¡¯s voice going ¡®Assistant ¨C yeah ¨C right¡­¡± inside her head.


    ¡°I see,¡± was what she actually said aloud.


    ¡°In truth, I¡¯m¡­ glad,¡± Rala went on. ¡°I saw Phanar¡¯s memories. I saw Ord Ylon. I¡¯m impressed with your bravery, Sister of Wythyldwyn. I had in myself the desire to see a dragon, to fight it. I¡­ I¡¯m no longer certain it¡¯s something I want to put myself through.¡±


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    It isn¡¯t, Kanthyre thought.


    ¡°Would you like me to heal you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Ah ¨C no, thank you, Sister.¡± Rala smiled mysteriously. ¡°These things go under expenses, don¡¯t you know, and we have insurance to consider. If I sought treatment outside the licensed bodies, well¡­ Let¡¯s just say it means even more paperwork next time I make a claim.¡±


    Trying to go over the pertinent bits of information in her less-than-perfectly-responsive mind, doing her best to ignore the pervasive madness of Mund and these Mundians ¨C Kani said, ¡°And what about Redgate?¡±


    Rala merely spread her hands, careful to keep hold of the handkerchief.


    Great. Ibbalat¡¯s going to be so disappointed.


    And we¡¯re definitely all going to die.


    She shook her head. Others could think selfish thoughts in the time of another¡¯s need ¨C she couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Your tower? It was in the thick of things?¡±


    Rala laughed brittlely. ¡°It seemed to erupt on our doorstep, as though the demons came to that place in particular, seeking revenge upon us for our magic. The automatic barriers gave us time to rescue most of the personnel, salvage nine out of ten of our grimoires, our records.¡±


    She knows how many books perished, but not the number of people, Kanthyre noted.


    ¡°Yet ¨C that tower had stood almost a hundred years ¨C a hundred years of success for the Night¡¯s Guardians, a hundred years of growing power ¨C torn asunder in less than an hour. So much has been lost. The Guardians, incapable of guarding ourselves¡­ What will become of us now, I wonder? A slow decline¡­ a fall into obscurity? Perhaps I¡¯ll take an early retirement, go into the ensorcellment trade¡­¡± Rala sighed heavily. ¡°Speaking of ensorcellment, our companionship was not the extent of the arrangement with your spokesman. We feel it would be remiss of us not to offer you the armaments we had discussed. Is¡­ Phanar¡­¡±


    The sorceress looked around pointedly, and the cleric shoved herself away from the rail, murmuring as pleasantly as she could manage, ¡°Give me a minute.¡±


    Kanthyre set off down into the hold, stumbling a little; her feet were unresponsive bricks of flesh. There were no beds ¨C aboard the Dremmedine both guests and crew alike slept in hammocks, drawn down into a deep sleep by the motions of the waves.


    She quickly found Phanar and, after a moment¡¯s hesitation, went to place her hand on the side of his face.


    But she didn¡¯t get to touch him.


    He awoke so suddenly it was she who leapt back, stopped from tumbling only by the fact he¡¯d instinctively snatched her wrist in a grip of iron.


    ¡°Kani!¡± he gasped softly, immediately loosening his hold but maintaining contact with her to help her find her balance. ¡°What is it? Trouble?¡±


    The cool eyes were smoky again, no trace of bleariness in them whatsoever.


    She was so taken aback, for a moment she entirely forgot the reason she came to wake him, then ¨C


    Within thirty seconds they were both back on-deck, Phanar looking disappointed that the sorcerers weren¡¯t coming on the quest ¨C but nowhere near disappointed-enough that he¡¯d refuse to look at the Night¡¯s Guardians¡¯ armaments. He started inspecting the items Rala had brought in her own, larger demiskin bag, discussing the terms of remuneration.


    Kanthyre had turned away from them, gripping the rail again, just wanting this to all be finalised. To set sail. To get it all over and done with.


    To be back on my way to meet my fate.


    Phanar was holding, and discussing, a steel helmet with a white plume and pointed visor, when Kanthyre saw it, up there in the air between Mund and Salnifast.


    A red shape, hurtling down from the sky, vast wings spread, angled to slow the tremendous descent.


    ¡°Oh, my,¡± she whispered.


    It only took a moment for Rala and Phanar to follow the cleric¡¯s gaze, and the sorceress said, ¡°Ah. So he¡¯s decided he still wants to come after all.¡±


    Kanthyre already didn¡¯t like him. The sorcerer reminded her too much of a dragon.


    He beat his wings, coming to hover over the Dremmedine.


    ¡°Phanar of N¡¯Lem, I presume,¡± he called down, his voice that of a boy born with a platinum spoon in his mouth.


    Confident, though. Self-assured in a way that had nothing to do with wealth and prestige. No, this was personal power.


    An army of demons, at his beck and call?


    The crimson robe was spattered with symbols that resembled barred archways, portcullises, each embroidered in a slightly different red. Upon his face was the loathsome visage of a spider. The wings were metallic, black against the virgin blue sky.


    Right from the off, Kanthyre saw only an enemy.


    Most of the crew managed to keep their mouths shut, but every pair of eyes on the deck was glued to the floating arch-sorcerer, and a few in the crow¡¯s-nest and rigging cried out in alarm.


    ¡°Settle down.¡± Phanar rarely raised his voice, and when he did everyone heeded him, going back to their work.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Rala called back. ¡°You came.¡±


    ¡°I said I would, did I not?¡±


    The champion sounded enthusiastic, almost overly-so, yet there was something more to it ¨C Kanthyre would have to get Anathta¡¯s opinion on the matter of this interloper. The girl had the knack of reading people.


    Redgate landed softly on the figurehead of the sea-serpent at the front of the ship, and walked along the protrusion, folding his wings which seemed to disappear entirely as he hopped lightly down to the deck.


    Rala went on, ¡°I had merely thought, with the events of last night ¨C the loss of a fellow arch-sorcerer like that ¨C¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not bring that into this, Miss Ainsbothe,¡± he said curtly. ¡°We¡¯re here to execute a dragon. I¡¯ve plenty of time to be there and back again before the next Incursion comes due.¡±


    He cast about, then approached Phanar. A pale, unblemished hand emerged from the scarlet sleeve, and the warrior took it firmly.


    ¡°Redgate. I am indeed as you say Phanar, of N¡¯Lem. Might I introduce Kanthyre Vael, Sister of the Maiden?¡±


    The champion¡¯s hand was soft in Kanthyre¡¯s, his grip gentle, almost tender.


    She wished all of a sudden that she could see his face, read the expression hidden there behind the eight dark lenses, the mandibles and hairs all styled into the dark iron.


    Then he released her hand and turned again to Rala. ¡°Where is Ghemenion?¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t informed? He was wounded in the battle. He¡¯s currently in the care of the Unwilted Bloom, and there¡¯s much to be arranged. He¡¯s insisting on a larger personal library when they¡¯re completing the rebuild¡­ I¡¯m afraid neither he nor I will be able to come with you.¡±


    Redgate nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture of acceptance, as though he had already predicted this but asked only to make sure.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said. ¡°Quite understandable. Pass my best wishes on to the chap for a speedy recovery, and a library of magnificent proportions.¡±


    ¡°I will, my lord,¡± Rala replied.


    ¡°Well ¨C Sister Vael?¡± He turned back to her and, with some effort due to the disconcerting mask, she met his unseen gaze. ¡°An unusual name. I see Miss Ainsbothe and your leader are engaged in a haggling match.¡± He indicated the demiskin, the assorted items they¡¯d placed on boxes while they debated fees. ¡°Won¡¯t you introduce me to the captain, and the rest of your merry band?¡±


    She was caught ¨C she could hardly refuse, could she?


    With a swift backwards glance at Phanar, she led Redgate to the door to the cabin.


    * * *


    ¡°In truth they were going to travel with us more as observers, interested only in the prominence to be gained by taking part in the slaying of an Ord.¡± Redgate was explaining his nonchalance at the fact the two of his fellow Mundian sorcerers weren¡¯t coming with them, his primary audience an enraptured-looking Ibbalat. ¡°I¡¯m not even a little concerned. I hope Phanar is as discerning as he seems, and saves your cash; I have enough power to deal with the dragon, I¡¯m quite certain.¡±


    ¡°How are you going to do that? Exactly?¡± The young mage was just full of questions. ¡°I saw your thinfinaran -¡±


    ¡°There will be plenty of time to discuss tactics. First, strategy. Where is this lair? How is it defended?¡±


    Kanthyre saw Ibbalat¡¯s eyes brighten, his lips part ¨C


    ¡°Master Ibbalat,¡± Ulfathu called from the doorway above them. ¡°We¡¯re settin¡¯ sail. Might I ask ye t¡¯ say a word or two t¡¯ the wind again?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Would you excuse me?¡± Ibbalat stood.


    ¡°We¡¯ll join you on deck, no?¡± Redgate replied, looking at Kanthyre.


    The cleric merely shrugged. Words and thoughts came sluggishly to her now ¨C she was so exhausted.


    She went last up the ladder-stair, and Ibbalat was already engaged in chanting by the time she was topside, sprinkling insect-wings and other weird spell-components into the air. In the distance, she could hear the yells of the harbour-master or one of his delegates.


    ¡°Anchors aweigh!¡±


    The sails billowed, and the prow cut through the water like an arrow.


    For the next ten minutes, Kanthyre was at the rail again, the salt breeze in her hair, spray in her face; it was refreshing, reassuring. She looked out over the bay, the other dozen-or-more vessels working their way out onto the Mundic Sea.


    Finally ¨C she was on her way. Her way to her grave, or Ord Ylon¡¯s. Either way, it would be the end of her trials. She could take her own very early retirement from her adventuring career, open her own temple.


    Or she could rest in the arms of the goddess, content that she¡¯d done all she could to stop the terror in whose vast belly her remains would forever reside.


    She turned away from the sea, deciding to make her excuses and head off for a sleep ¨C when she saw Redgate, sitting by Anathta on a crate, his legs spread casually in an easy posture. She paused, watching.


    He was raising his hands to his face, drawing both the mask off and the cowl back in the same motion.


    Handsome. Too handsome by far to be interested in a plain, uncivilised cleric like her; his interest in the lithe, supple rogue was obvious, though. His strong jawline contrasted with the boyish cheeks, the haughty gaze with the gentle smile on his lips. Lengths of straight brown hair framed his face.


    Glancing at Phanar¡¯s sister to catch the reaction, Kanthyre knew Anathta had already fallen under his spell.


    Hopefully not literally.


    She looked back out at the sea, and almost went to sleep there on her feet. When she came back to herself, just a few minutes later going off the ship¡¯s position, for a moment she forgot where she was and almost fell.


    She held the rail in her hand one last time, then the cleric turned, bade everyone a belated goodnight, and made her way to her hammock.


    This time, just as she prayed, the dreams took her too deep for her to remember them and, for that much at least, she was glad.

 Swamp Hag pt1

    <h2>OBSIDIAN 3.1: SWAMP HAG</h2>


    ¡°When war becomes a game, you have ceased to be a warrior. This malady afflicts both the child whose playground battlefield vanishes into the movements on a fortify board, and the veteran whose long years at arms become a dream when the general¡¯s mantle falls upon their shoulders. The toys atop the felt-cloth table are shaped by the blade, but they do not bleed. Imagination is not reality and remembrance is no key. Only violence sharpens. If you would be shaped by the blade, you must bleed.¡±


    ¨C from the Ismethic Creed


    As we crossed over the Greywater and prepared ourselves, Em taught me the trick of using a glyphstone while maintaining my flight ¨C I didn¡¯t know if I could manage it with just my wings, but under her spell it was doable.


    Six sites affected and counting. Sticktown among them.


    But Sticktown was already in-hand. I had to trust everything would be going smoothly back home, just like usual. The damage would be minimal. The loss of life, minimal. I did my best to not imagine the twins lying there dead, but, just as after the heretic attack, it came to the front of my mind inescapably.


    I was glad I wasn¡¯t an arch-diviner right then, because something like that rolling around in my head would definitely suffice to drive me mad.


    Sticktown, Rivertown, the two eruptions in Treetown ¨C all four were in-hand. Oldtown, Hightown ¨C those were areas in need of immediate assistance. And the Rivertown occurrence was smaller and far to the south ¨C no closer to us than Oldtown, especially once we¡¯d already gotten started flying north-east.


    A miasma of burning sewage hung over the city and the sky was dark, but the clouds were moving fast and the moon was waxing. With my fey-sight the distances occluded little as we approached our destination.


    Yune be with us, I prayed as I saw what was going on, and then, needing something more realistic in terms of aid, thought: Zel, it¡¯s happening. The Bells.


    ¡°About time, really. If you were into demons, this would be like Yearsend to you.¡±


    I¡­ don¡¯t really think of demons as gifts¡­


    ¡°Even still, you¡¯re going to use them tonight. You have to ¨C or many more of your city¡¯s inhabitants will perish.¡±


    Perhaps she was right.


    ¡°Of course I¡¯m right ¨C that¡¯s what I¡¯m here for.¡±


    I missed you, today. I¡¯m sorry, for losing it with you.


    ¡°Completely forgiven. Now, how about we just focus on getting you through this, Kas.¡±


    We were still thirty seconds away from the site of the attack in Oldtown. Thirty seconds to study the chaos, decide where to go¡­ what exactly to do.


    Under the broken planks and the rubble, dozens of trapped people were screaming ¨C hands and voices were lifted out of the dark, dusty crevasses where buildings had tumbled into piles of sticks and bricks, straining, grasping. Worse were the hands that did not strain, the hands coated in brown-looking blood, lying flaccid against the splintered beams, the shattered brickwork. The broken bodies of at least ten magisters, scattered across the devastation like crushed leaves. And worst ¨C the voiceless, buried alive with little hope of rescue.


    I couldn¡¯t help them. Well, I could, but that would mean leaving even more to die in the meantime. I had to deal with the perpetrators.


    There were four big demons in the neighbourhood. One was a bintaborax, a ¡®hammer of fire¡¯ ¨C vaguely minotaur-type things with orange-burning maces, the creatures which Lord Obliterated and the Cannibal Six had been so fond of. The other three I didn¡¯t recognise. A porcelain doll as big as the bintaborax, complete with painted-on-looking features, frizzy hair and massive pudgy limbs. A many-legged horse with no lower jaw and twelve-inch fangs. And a white-armoured knight with nothing visible behind the bars of his lowered visor, a knight whose gauntleted hands incinerated wood and pulverised stone.


    Each of them were currently killing people.


    Zel named them in turn: the towering doll was a mekkustremin, third rank; the fanged horse was an epheldegrim, second rank; the white knight was a thinfinaran, tenth rank.


    And those were just the big ones. Streams of thick fluid sloshed over the kerbs, slug-like creatures swimming through their own slaver. Gibbering, jubilant cries came from the rafters of half-collapsed structures where imps cavorted in droves. Men and women ¨C normal-seeming to eye and ear other than the fact that they, well, weren¡¯t running and screaming in terror ¨C walked nonchalantly and aimlessly through the clouds of smoke and dust; a look in their blank faces was enough to reveal that something had happened to their minds to make them act this way, but what it was and how to reverse it I had no idea. If it even was reversible. They might¡¯ve been luckier to have been buried alive for all I knew.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have enough information for that¡­ get an enchanter to look into it later.¡±


    The section of Oldtown we were nearing had been a big ring of houses, partially built into the side of the hill, with other buildings in the centre. The slope here was gentle, the ground almost level. The ring of houses encapsulated the entire neighbourhood ¨C there was only one way in and one way out by road, so now the inhabitants were penned into the circle by the hellspawn. Unless they were brave enough to try breaking through the already-shattered buildings around the outside of the ring ¨C which none of them were. Those who had survived the initial assault and whose paths had led them into the centre were ripe for the taking ¨C their blood flowed in pinkish strands into the rivers of slaver.


    And that blood was being used. I couldn¡¯t see it, couldn¡¯t hear anything to tell me of that fact over the ringing of the Bells ¨C but I could feel it nonetheless. Gates to Infernum were opening everywhere. More and more demons flapped through the air or slouched through the shadows with every passing moment and every time that happened there was a chance another big one was about to find its way through into our world.


    Our world, damn it, not yours.


    Em headed off, surging towards the white knight with his empty helm ¨C from her fingers she flicked small arcs of lightning that moved at a hundred times even her prodigious speed, slamming into him at a distance even as she closed the gap.


    I landed, pointing at the bintaborax.


    Slowly, it turned its great horned head to face me. A few of those still alive near it struggled to crawl or limp away, cradling mangled arms or holding their hands to gushing wounds inflicted by its six-inch spikes.


    I stared back at the demon; bit by bit, a smile crept over my lips, and by the time I was done it was lowering its head in a gesture of respect ¨C


    It¡¯s mine.


    I heard and felt something approaching behind me, something heavy but taking dozens of steps, rocking the ground ¨C I span on my heel, instinctively tensing myself ¨C but it was just the stupid lumbering doll-demon. I felt a jolt as it loomed over me, hammering at my super-reinforced circle with a shiny, oversized fist.


    I met its eyes now ¨C the big, glittering eyes any little girl wanted on a toy, except these were crimson ¨C and it met mine.


    There was no immediate acquiescence.


    Drop it, I thought savagely. This is no time to mess with me!


    I kept my gaze fixed on the mekkustremin.


    A single sudden wail cut the air, high-pitched, like metal scraping on metal ¨C it was emanating from the permanent smile pasted on the doll-demon¡¯s face, not six feet from me.


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    And then its shoulders sagged, its head drooped, and it too was mine.


    It used the bunched-up fingers on its hands to smooth down its tent-sized dress and cocked its head, looking at me through its frizzy hair. Looking at me ¨C if I had to put a word on it ¨C nervously.


    It¡­ does my stare always hurt them like that?


    ¡°Well done, Kas.¡± Zel sounded more than moderately self-satisfied. ¡°Mekkustremin are quick. You should consider joining with it, and seeing what powers you can manifest when ¨C¡°


    No.


    ¡°Just shut it up like Zab and Avaelar¡­¡°


    Don¡¯t make me shut you up, Zel! I pleaded.


    She shut up of her own accord, at least temporarily.


    I eyed the mekkustremin and the bintaborax.


    ¡°You¡¯re fast?¡± I snarled in Infernal at the doll-demon. It nodded jerkily. ¡°Go fetch the wounded, bring them here.¡± I invoked as much dread as I could with my tone: ¡°Do not suffer any sentient creatures of this plane to come to harm.¡±


    Now I got to watch it move. Its motions were as clumsy as one would expect, but its body seemed to be filled with unnatural energy; it barrelled away, pudgy porcelain legs pumping furiously at the debris-littered ground like the wings of an insect beating, its arms swinging away almost merrily with every step. It covered a hundred feet in a few seconds, and started wading into the rubble.


    ¡°You!¡± I said to the bintaborax, the horned wall of spiky iron twice my height; and it pawed at the ground with one foot in response. ¡°Use your hammer! Smash every demon you find that does not serve a mage within a hundred feet! Then return here and protect those brought by the mekkustremin.¡± Belatedly, I gave it the same warning: ¡°Do not suffer any sentient creatures of this plane to come to harm.¡±


    It lowered its fiery warhammer and crouched, then leapt with all its hideous force at one of the nearby buildings where I¡¯d spotted imps lurking, grinding the cobbles to dust under its feet before it left the ground.


    The brutish demon brought its weapon up as it soared, and span end-over-end before it crashed into the brickwork, meeting the half-crumbled second-storey wall with the flat of its hammer.


    The remaining brickwork shattered like old plaster.


    The bintaborax disappeared inside the building and the place fell down around it; within seconds I could see flicks of molten light piercing through gaps in the tumbled bricks as my minion started tenderising the lesser fiends that were now trapped in there with it.


    I couldn¡¯t sense gates opening under the rubble anymore. I cast my gaze around. The slug-creatures, swimming in the pools of slime permeated by strings of blood, had noticed me. They were fleeing.


    The effing-grim thing ¨C the horse with what looked like seven legs and wicked barbs hanging down from its upper jaw into empty air¡­ It had noticed me too.


    Before it could join the exodus I raised my hand to it.


    ¡°Eff-ell-duh-grim!¡±


    That¡¯s what I said.


    ¡°No you did not!¡±


    Zel sounded a trifle testy.


    ¡°No I do not!¡±


    But that was nothing new.


    ¡°Yes it is ¨C I mean, if I were being testy ¨C which I most certainly am not!¡±


    As I wound up my faerie queen I beckoned the seven-legged hell-horse over and it trotted to my side, instantly obedient. It could¡¯ve been a normal animal at a distance, without the three extra legs hanging in a line from the centre of its body. The missing-lower-jaw stuff was pretty horrid close up, if I was being honest with myself ¨C the black fur which covered its body stopped at the neck, then there was just an opening from which the awfully long-looking tongue dangled, flapping around like a big wet chunk of knotted rope that had a mind all of its own.


    All the same, it just had to be done.


    ¡°Down. I¡¯m getting on, boy.¡±


    It stuck out its three forelegs and leaned back on its four hind legs, thrusting its backside and long black tail into the air ¨C it achieved a pose no horse from Materium would¡¯ve been capable of, almost distending in an effort to execute my command.


    I swung my leg over, and sat astride it as it rose back up to its full height. It was a little bigger than most horses, and certainly bigger than any horse I¡¯d ever happened to mount. The horses used to pull wagons tended to be broad of shoulder but stocky, and this fiend was broader of shoulder but taller too, and somewhat longer than an ordinary steed.


    I used Em¡¯s flight-spell to steady myself as we charged the fleeing slime-creatures. I¡¯d kept my wings out just in case, and felt the wind rushing through them, their transparent essence buffeted as we galloped.


    The seven legs not only allowed the hell-horse to move as fast as an arrow, they allowed it to change direction in an instant. At my orders it lowered its head and stomped its hooves in the slush; I guided it with the merest pressure of my heels in its flanks.


    We slew dozens, pulping the slug-things into masses of jelly and broken antennae.


    What are these things?


    ¡°Unranked, insentient. Think of them as, I don¡¯t know, the gnats of the Twelve Hells. They aren¡¯t even demons, technically. I think they¡¯re parasites.¡±


    Then what¡¯s actually been doing the summoning here?


    Zel drew my eyes across what was now a rubble-strewn clearing, to where Em was still struggling with the white-clad knight.


    Seriously?


    ¡°Thinfinaran are truly evil. A tenth-rank might be too much for you. Be careful.¡±


    I let out a little sigh, then muttered to the epheldegrim: ¡°Keep up the good work ¨C do not suffer any sentient creatures of this plane to come to harm.¡±


    I let myself rise up off its back, watched for a second to make sure it was still giving me a hundred percent, then, satisfied, I sped off across the clearing.


    Em was keeping a fixed distance from it, speeding away each time the knight approached her, and was hurling attack after attack at it ¨C but again and again it raised its hands as it walked, blocking or absorbing the energies she unleashed. In a matter of seconds I watched the bone-white substance of its gauntlets deflect lightning, sear-away ice, and swallow fireballs. She¡¯d raised at least two elementals from the wood and stone littering the ground, but, even as I approached, the pair of elementals she was currently employing both got blown apart by a single strike from the white-plated fists.


    At first I¡¯d thought it odd that the demon, being arrayed in full battle regalia, didn¡¯t carry a weapon.


    Now I knew better.


    The armour definitely had some unusual properties. I could see the bloody slop spattering on his boots and lower legs, but the armour didn¡¯t stay discoloured for long ¨C it was like it was drawing the mixture in, supplying him with its potency.


    It¡¯s moving like it knows what¡¯s coming. It¡¯s a diviner too?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ I¡­ I think you¡¯re right.¡±


    Em had at least been able to distract it, I supposed ¨C it¡¯d been awhile since I¡¯d felt any gates opening in the vicinity.


    I came silently to a stop near the thinfinaran, coming closer to it than Em, and called down at it, a simple, irresistible order:


    ¡°Agar!¡± ¡®Halt!¡¯


    It did indeed stop moving in response to Em¡¯s attacks, instead turning the awful void of its helm up at me, as if to look upon me with its eyes of nothingness.


    The arch-wizard¡¯s incandescent missile of pure explosive fury streaked through the air, striking the demon in the side of the head, detonating with a force that rippled out at me, driving me away slightly.


    When I blinked away the sudden wetness in my eyes I saw it was shaking its head. Not in pain, or grogginess. Not even in anger. No, it was shaking its non-existent head slowly, luxuriously.


    It was disappointed in us.


    ¡°Vhat do ve do?¡± Em cried, giving up her assault, for now at least.


    I was still staring at the thinfinaran, and then I realised ¨C


    Is the pain-gaze, you know, on? Is it ¨C


    ¡°Enduring your pain-gaze, yes, it is. I told you. It¡¯s out of your league, Kas. You¡¯ve got to develop your mastery before you¡¯re going to take on the heavy-hitters. If you won¡¯t join with more powerful entities, you won¡¯t get used to dominating others, hurting them ¨C¡°


    I don¡¯t want to do that!


    ¡°You¡¯re an arch-sorcerer. That¡¯s who you are.¡±


    I ¨C I ¨C


    ¡°You¡¯ve a good heart, Kas, but your soul? Is that what you care about? I don¡¯t think whatever powers granted you your abilities will grant you redemption for using demons like you¡¯re currently using them, but condemn you for simply using them properly.¡±


    Come on, Zel. Being possessed by a fey is one thing, and not strictly advisable, but all the stories say being possessed by a demon ¨C


    ¡°Only if you left them awake could they attempt to possess you, and you¡¯re an arch-sorcerer ¨C try it, see how it goes. I¡¯ve only possessed you a few times, and with your consent. If you could control it then you could join with it and then you¡¯d know that it wouldn¡¯t rule your actions.¡±


    The white knight was still glowering. The arch-wizard was still floundering.


    I didn¡¯t know how to retort any further, or, more importantly, what to do ¨C so I went with my gut. With my default plan of attack.


    ¡°Disappointed, are you?¡± I cried in Infernal. ¡°Well, you¡¯ve seen nothing yet!¡±


    I stuck out my tongue as I summoned Blodg and Gradagh ¨C or was it Glodb and Graggag? ¨C not twenty feet from him.


    The demon didn¡¯t break eye contact with me. Why did it feel like he was smiling?


    But when I asked the goblins to imprison the thinfinaran, they both gave me a despairing look.


    ¡°Come on, boys! There¡¯s free wine in it for you!¡±


    ¡°Just command them, get it over with!¡± Zel hissed.


    Yet it looked like my offer did the trick ¨C they extended their unbreakable parchment, and then, in a flash, started to encircle the white knight.


    The white knight who stood silent and still, implacably staring up at me, as though he were just listening to the Bells and waiting.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    There were the few seconds in which my hopes rose, seeing the way he was bound already, fixed tight in the ever-plentiful material¡­ then there were the few seconds in which those hopes were dashed, as the gods-cursed armour swallowed the parchment, leaving the goblins with two trails that seemed to terminate inside the armour ¨C


    They slowed, seeming disarrayed momentarily ¨C perhaps he¡¯d somehow done something to their ability to move in their eerie fashion, but ¨C


    He took a handful of parchment on either side and pulled, yanking the goblins in.


    And then the thinfinaran was holding my two minions by the throat, one in either hand, hefting my little grey-skinned helpers effortlessly into the air.


    There was a moment of consideration, a pause for effect; and then a cold voice rang out from the void behind the bars of the helmet. The words were simple, but they sent a chill shiver through my heart.


    ¡°Khashal, ugrel abarax akkar.¡±


    ¡®Tonight, your city falls.¡¯


    Some kind of force rippled through his gauntlets; and then he held nothing but clumps of not-yet disintegrated ashes in his hands.


    My goblins fluttered away in a billion pieces.


    * * *

 Swamp Hag pt2

    They ¨C in Materium ¨C they¡¯ll come back from that ¨C


    ¡°Yeah, but still, in like two hundred years. Kasssss ¨C¡°


    Okay. Serious-face, officer.


    Suddenly the thinfinaran crouched, leaning forwards and putting his hands down, as if to wash his gauntlets in the slime ¨C I looked on as ribbons of blood crept like mould up his armour, thin, red-pink cords lacing their way around his gloves, his bracers, and onto the greaves protecting his forearms. Even as they appeared there, the spatters of red webbing started to fade, disappear, drawn into the demon through the bone-white shell protecting him.


    So he was absorbing the blood ¨C absorbing it so that he might open another gate? Had he tired of us so quickly?


    Em struck out at him several times in desperation as he hunkered down, but the demon largely ignored her ¨C she staggered him slightly but she wasn¡¯t going to stop him from completing the task at hand.


    ¡°Wind!¡± I cried. ¡°Lift him!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve tried zat already!¡± Well, of course she had. ¡°I can¡¯t even get his feet off ze ground!¡±


    ¡°Flood Boy!¡± I said even as the little faun stumbled onto the scene in a green flash. ¡°Try to freeze the slush this thing¡¯s standing in! Do not get close to him!¡°


    I was not entirely reassured by the way he staggered, and the way I thought my augmented hearing caught him hiccuping, and muttering, ¡°At last, a real fight,¡± under his breath.


    Beneath a nearby pile of bricks and bodies that had until recently been someone¡¯s home, I could sense the flickering of scarlet flames, heralding the arrival of another fiend. Below ground ¨C in a cellar, perhaps?


    I wondered what had come through. Something small, hopefully.


    I grasped for something, anything to distract my foe.


    When I looked back at the white knight he was still ignoring Em¡¯s blasts, still seemingly digging around in the slime.


    Something in me snapped.


    It was like a red drape was pulled across the clearing, but the crimson ripples were nothing more than my portals, near-silent scarlet flames coming into view, floating atop the ruddy water.


    Flames twenty feet in height.


    ¡°Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks! How nice of you to join the party. There¡¯s plenty of entertainment to be found. How about we start by ripping this chap limb from limb?¡±


    My flames faded, revealing the pair of behemoths.


    These bintaborax weren¡¯t walls of spiky iron; these were hills. This was the first time I was seeing them since the night I acquired them, and it daunted me to think of how I¡¯d taken them into my service ¨C if it hadn¡¯t worked, if they hadn¡¯t submitted, I¡¯d have been turned into human paste right then and there. The heads at the ends of their hammers were each as big as a dwarf, and probably even heavier.


    It daunted me too, to think how quickly I¡¯d broken my secret promise, how quickly I¡¯d started falling back on my demonic arsenal.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing the right thing ¨C for everyone. You complete fool¡­¡±


    Tell me that when this is over.


    But there was nothing to be done for it. I had to use them, or I wouldn¡¯t just be letting down the Magisterium ¨C I would be letting down Mund.


    They towered above everything in the clearing ¨C would¡¯ve towered above some of the buildings, even if they¡¯d still been standing.


    I pointed at the white knight. ¡°Destroy him!¡±


    The thinfinaran didn¡¯t start running immediately, which probably wasn¡¯t a good sign. He solidly planted his two blood-drinking boots in the filth, and waited for them.


    He didn¡¯t have to wait long. Whipping their huge orangey warhammers back over their heads, they rushed him, accepting my invitations to battle and closing the distance with startling alacrity.


    When the first hammer fell right at his helmeted head, he simply side-stepped, and reached up both hands in the air to catch the second in his palms.


    Em didn¡¯t stop pounding away at him, lashing him over and over with lances of energy that left trails of colour in my vision. Flood Boy had a constant beam of ice slamming into his back.


    No effect.


    The two hands he had on the bintaborax¡¯s hammer seemed to claw into its material ¨C he hadn¡¯t destroyed the weapon outright but I didn¡¯t doubt it¡¯d soon happen. The hammer wept a fiery substance from the grooves his fingers made, splashing down around him and smoking blackly where it fell into the slime.


    All the while he continued heedless, increasing the pressure of his clutch on the hammer, expanding the cracks that spread through the demonic metal. His own garb seemed completely impervious to any form of attack.


    The bintaborax pulled back on the haft, attempting to release it from the thinfinaran¡¯s grip, but it was a futile effort, despite the bintaborax being nearly three times his height and surely something like thirty times his weight. The feet of the white knight were inexorably fixed to the ground, and he wasn¡¯t letting go now.


    The other bintaborax swung again, and again. The one holding the hammer released one of its hands and used it to strike while still pulling back on the shaft, rending at the white knight¡¯s face.


    And each time the white knight moved the minimum amount to evade the attack, sometimes twisting to avoid the swipe of a spiky knee or the stomp of a gigantic foot. Barely moving his legs.


    I recalled the way he¡¯d pursued Em as she¡¯d retreated from him ¨C always slow, methodical. I had little doubt he had the kind of strength he¡¯d need to hurl himself into the air at her. No, staying in the slime was his victory condition.


    I looked over at Em, floating there fifty feet away from me, and caught her eye between the rays of arcing light she was launching.


    ¡°He¡¯s a Swamp Hag!¡±


    She stopped, stared at me. ¡°I have tried controlling zis¡­ zis!¡± She gestured down at the slop. ¡°It von¡¯t respond to me.¡±


    The analogue of the fortify-move you¡¯d make against the Swamp Hag wouldn¡¯t work here¡­


    ¡°Try the ground,¡± I called. ¡°Drain it!¡±


    With furrowed brows, she stared down at the morass beneath her hovering feet, looking deep in thought.


    It barely took ten seconds for the change she¡¯d wrought to make itself evident.


    She must¡¯ve opened sinkholes somewhere under the bog, and it was swiftly receding ¨C the infernal slobber had been nearly twelve inches deep in the places where it¡¯d found paths and other indentations in which to well-up, but it was visibly lowering now ¨C eleven inches; ten¡­


    The thinfinaran finally pulled apart the hammer-head he was holding, dark, shredded chunks of metal exploding in a cascade of lava, drenching the bone-white armour.


    They kicked and elbowed him, gored at him, threw all their weight at him ¨C every motion missed, every attack evaded. And out of the confusion and ferocity of their assault he ended up clutching the hammer-head of the second bintaborax.


    The gauntlets started to bite into the black metal once again. I could sense the sudden hesitation of my bintaborax; I could sense the gloating of the thinfinaran.


    The slime, particularly the pool of it around his feet, was half what it¡¯d been a minute ago, but he either hadn¡¯t noticed or didn¡¯t particularly care ¨C I got the impression it was the latter.


    I waved a hand, dismissing my nearby summons¡­ those who¡¯d survived, that was. I¡¯d never see my goblins again, and that stung, worse than I¡¯d thought it would. I wasn¡¯t going to risk Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks and especially not Flood Boy.


    Green and red lights stole them away from the battlefield, and I drifted towards my enemy.


    He looked up, noting my approach, and seemed bemused, cocking his head at me.


    ¡°Kas, what are you doing?¡±


    Ending this.


    Zel gave me one of her patented you¡¯re-about-to-die sighs.


    Now it was Em¡¯s turn to get in on the action ¨C she¡¯d noticed me approaching him, and cried: ¡°Feychilde!¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    I flew closer. Closer.


    I knew this had to end now. We could leave him there in his gory sludge, letting him summon more and more of his brethren by the minute ¨C or we could clear the sludge, as we were doing, in which case he¡¯d soon lose interest in the two archmages distracting him; he might leave, seek out more blood to spill ¨C or seek ours with his full efforts.


    I couldn¡¯t let him go after Em.


    At ten feet away he still stood there, unmoving, emptiness watching me from behind the slatted face-guard.


    I closed nearer. I could almost sense the tension in Em¡¯s body even from here.


    Five feet away, four¡­


    Through the blur I saw as he burst into motion, gauntleted hands slamming out to fix themselves about my throat, take and choke and disintegrate me ¨C


    Hands that recoiled from a circle so heavily reinforced I could barely make him out through the whizzing lines surrounding me.


    I gave him a slow, sad shake of my head.


    ¡°Time to bow,¡± I said to him.


    ¡°I shall crush thee!¡± he roared, all pretence at superiority suddenly stripped away, his hell-fire anger coming right to the fore.


    I watched him clawing at my shields with fingers that¡¯d torn through bintaborax-iron. Watched him clawing at my shields and laughed in his face.


    ¡°Ha! Pathetic,¡± I said, and now when I stared into the darkness behind the bars of his helm he recoiled, turning away, refusing to meet my gaze even as his gloved hands slapped haphazardly against the wall of force protecting me.


    Moment by moment I drove him backwards, forcing him to give ground, submit¡­ acquiesce.


    And then, he raised his face to mine.


    The moment his unseen gaze met my eyes a shudder seemed to pass, not through his invisible flesh, but rather through the armour itself. The white plates shifted uncomfortably. White-enamelled mail shivered. The gauntlets seemed to vibrate nervously.


    I felt it, the very moment the connection was made.


    ¡°You¡¯re mine,¡± I said softly.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± The cold voice sounded distracted, choked, as though the demon were expending every effort to avoid responding to me.


    But those efforts were in vain.


    ¡°I am thy bondsman, Master,¡± he finished lamely.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± Em cried again, but happily this time, floating up to me. She couldn¡¯t understand his words, but the body language probably made his subservience clear enough.


    ¡°Think of everything you could achieve with a thinfinaran! Protection from most elemental attacks, absorption effects¡­¡±


    Zel sounded extremely pleased as she started wittering on with herself, immediately coming up with ideas for how to use him, how to make the most of him when I joined with him ¨C


    I ignored her. ¡°Can you dismiss the things you¡¯ve summoned?¡±


    He only shook his head slowly.


    ¡°Then you¡¯re of no use to me. You¡¯re dismissed.¡±


    The explosive dagger was narrow enough that when I stabbed him in the head it completely bypassed the armour, slipping between the bars of his face-plate and expending its charge right in his invisible face.


    A whoosh of air and a hollow boom ¨C the rear of his unbreakable helmet contained the explosion, and he toppled backwards onto the ground.


    The ground that was now almost slime-free.


    I had a moment¡¯s reprieve, and then ¨C


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t ve have done something viz it? Zese demons are¡­¡±


    ¡°Why do you always have to make things so morally-complex? If you¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ just like tools, really, aren¡¯t zey? I can¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ actually had the guts to try it out, I¡¯m sure you¡¯d find¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ see vhy you vouldn¡¯t vant to use it on people but ozzer demons¡­¡±


    ¡°Ladies!¡±


    Em and Zel both stopped.


    ¡°You should know, you¡¯ve got a supporter in here.¡± I tapped the side of my head, and Em smiled a mischievous smile and gave me a little salute, obviously intended for my onboard fairy. ¡°But it¡¯s not so simple. By Zel¡¯s own accounting, sorcery screws with your soul¡­ I¡¯m not having something like him on my conscience. If he broke my control ¨C at least this way he¡¯s dead, and if he¡¯s coming back it won¡¯t be for a long, long time.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t count on it,¡± Zel growled.


    Whatever ¨C he¡¯s not going around killing people in the immediate vicinity anymore, is he? I call that a win.


    ¡°Shall ve?¡± Em asked, pointing towards my new bintaborax, which was currently defending a group of shocked- and bloody-looking people in the centre of the levelled area. My mekkustremin was inbound, two (figuratively) petrified kids under its arms, and it kicked its way through slime-slugs and imps as it crossed the rubble.


    ¡°Let¡¯s.¡±


    Infernum might¡¯ve been hot, but the imps that were backing away from the slow swings of my bintaborax¡¯s hammer didn¡¯t survive when Em sent gouts of flame shooting from her hands, roasting them. A wave of heat flowed through the already heated air, and they crumbled into twists of wings and tails within an instant, cremated flesh shivering free of blackened bones and falling as ash into the puddles of gloop.


    The ones that tried to flap off into the sky and leave the neighbourhood I pursued, looping them with the diamond-like tesseract I¡¯d fixed to my circle ¨C I flew past them by the dozen and trapped them easily. The diamond let them in, but didn¡¯t let them back out, so I could just swing through a flock of the demonoids and carry them along with me. A seething mess of horns and tail-tips and claws and bat-wings, struggling against my barrier like flies caught in an invisible net, coasting along at my side as I coursed through the hot air.


    I dropped them off near Em, half-a-hundred at a time, and let her trap them in miniature tornados before dropping the diamond and heading after the next load.


    Em refined their traps, locking a portion of them in ice, ready for my bintaborax to smash and my epheldegrim to chomp; the rest she focussed on turning to charcoal.


    Within two minutes we had as many of the survivors as could be seen or heard in the destruction all gathered together, seventy or eighty of them; the demons in this place were controlled or banished; and Avaelar walked among the wounded, applying such healing as he could manage to their injuries.


    Em was floating fifteen feet off the ground, away from the crowd, doing the glyphstone-thing; before we rushed off to Hightown, it would be prudent of us to get an update. A part of me hoped it was all over already, that we¡¯d done our part, though I knew that was unlikely to be true. It¡¯d come pretty close, in the end. I was pretty sure the only reason my shield held up to his attacks was because I was worried Em would be high on his next-target-list. And I¡¯d wasted my handsome little explosive dagger, again, already¡­ I¡¯d keep the sheath, and get Em to make at least one more with me as soon as we could manage.


    So while she hovered, entranced by the glyphstone, I was standing there near the crowd. Thinking. Listening to the Bells, their pealing continuing, incessant, a constant demand on the senses. Watching my sylph at work, worrying that he wasn¡¯t able to do enough. He was good at keeping people alive ¨C not so good at actually repairing the lacerations riddling their flesh, the mashed bones grinding around in their limbs.


    I need better healing.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see what we can do, tomorrow.¡±


    If there is a tomorrow.


    ¡°One little fight, and now you¡¯re despairing?¡±


    One little fight. She was right.


    ¡°And your ¡®demonic arsenal¡¯ has got something of a boost, no matter what you think of thinfinaran.¡±


    It was true. I didn¡¯t mind this trio so much, I supposed, admiring my hell-horse, my doll-demon, my new wall of iron. They were essentially standing to attention, all looking back at me expectantly.


    I diverted my attention to the crowd.


    They didn¡¯t look so kindly on the demons. The ones who weren¡¯t wailing in grief, or rocking back and forth in shock, or screaming about their unhealed stumps¡­ those few were staring at my three new minions.


    Staring in absolute terror mingled with absolute loathing. An enmity so complete it chilled me.


    I hadn¡¯t been seeing this from their side, not at all. I thought of the entities as pets. They were leashed murderers.


    I shuddered involuntarily, and waved at the three of them. A few of the Oldtowners started up in surprise as red flames consumed my murderer-pets.


    It was then that a middle-aged woman in a smoke-blackened nightgown, but with no visible injuries, approached me. She stopped ten feet away, then paced a little on the spot as if nervous.


    ¡°F-Feychilde!¡± she called, making it a half-question.


    ¡°Madam.¡± I nodded to her.


    ¡°I was¡­ I was there, at Firenight Square. You saved me.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile a little at that, grim as it might¡¯ve looked. It felt good to know that for all the dead bodies, there was still some measure of success that evening.


    ¡°Not alone ¨C she was the one killing the critters.¡± I pointed over at Em, resplendent in her magister¡¯s robe. I couldn¡¯t take all the credit, even if it meant reinforcing the Magisterium¡¯s role in saving the day when the giant spiders attacked.


    But the woman wasn¡¯t interested in Em ¨C she had more pressing concerns.


    ¡°Are ¨C are they gone?¡± She looked around the clearing. There were no more demons in sight ¨C only their smouldering remains, and the odd pool of strange slime here and there.


    ¡°I can¡¯t guarantee it, but I¡¯ve done what I can. They shouldn¡¯t be coming back.¡± I gestured at my sylph and said, ¡°Avvie,¡± getting his attention, before turning back to her and continuing: ¡°I¡¯ll be leaving soon I think, but I¡¯ll leave my sylph here to protect you until some more magisters or watchmen get through.¡±


    She eyed the seven-foot-tall sylph with a strange mixture of emotions on her face.


    ¡°He¡¯s not a demon. He¡¯s not human ¨C but he¡¯s not from the Twelve Hells. You can relax around him. He¡¯s really very polite, but he can protect you.¡±


    Avaelar, regarding us intently, turned and bowed to the woman, his muscles rippling down his legs and back.


    ¡°Ah ¨C well ¨C yes, thank you,¡± the woman breathed, staring at the sylph.


    He turned to me, his face sombre, and spoke in the fey tongue.


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± I knew he wanted to say ¡®Master¡¯ but I¡¯d forbidden it, ¡°I wish to ¨C wish to speak with thee.¡± There was a troubled expression lingering about his lips, his eyes.


    ¡°You are speaking with me, Avvie.¡± I used the same tone as I might¡¯ve used when talking with Xastur. ¡°What is it?¡±


    His gaze fell to the floor at my feet. ¡°I apologise.¡±


    ¡°Apologise?¡± I straightened, looking around at the wounded he¡¯d been tending. ¡°Why?¡± I heard my voice rise, sharply. ¡°What¡¯ve you done?¡±


    ¡°Nay, Feychilde, ¡®tis not regarding these low creatures,¡± he waved a hand; ¡°I hath done all I might for them, and fewer shall die tonight for mine aid. Rather it is of mine attitude when first we met that I must now speak. In truth I thought thee a knave ¨C not for centuries hath I known a sorcerer akin unto thee.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°So I¡¯m not a¡­ what was it, ¡®baseborn scapegrace¡¯, anymore?¡±


    ¡°Thou art surely no scapegrace.¡±


    I regarded him for a moment, doing my best to figure out if he¡¯d just cracked a joke, or if he was so straight-laced he didn¡¯t realise the back-handed compliment he¡¯d just given me.


    There was no devious twinkle in his eye, no smirk twisting the corner of his mouth.


    I sighed.


    ¡°Thank you, noble sylph.¡±


    He nodded, and then assumed a watchful poise, standing tall and turning slowly in a circle, flicking his gaze over the ¡®low creatures¡¯ who were now his charges.


    At least he¡¯ll make a good watchdog. Can he handle demons on his own, or should I leave Flood Boy here too?


    ¡°Unless a big threat comes, he should be okay.¡±


    I drew a shuddering breath. Okay.


    Em was coursing back over towards me. I turned to watch her fly closer.


    ¡°I¡¯ve told zem vhat¡¯s happened here but zey have great need of assistance in Hightown.¡± The words were hitting my ears before she even started to slow down. ¡°Four breaches ¨C maybe more.¡±


    ¡°Sticktown?¡±


    ¡°Everyvhere but Hightown is settling down. Ve need to head up zere, fast.¡±


    I nodded, then pushed myself up into the air. ¡°Your spell will stay on me? I¡¯m leaving my wings here.¡±


    Her eyes went unfocussed for just the merest fraction of a second. ¡°I¡¯ve just renewed it. It vill last, and I can do it again if need be.¡±


    I looked down at Avaelar as I rose up into the sky. ¡°Protect them even if it costs you your life,¡± I called down to him.


    He just nodded at me, not even taking his eyes off his surroundings. He was definitely taking his job seriously.


    Four breaches. Four more summoners, at least.


    If only I¡¯d had less beer and more sleep, I might¡¯ve been excited, given this first victory against the thinfinaran. But a part of me, almost submerged, was screaming that I¡¯d thrown away my explosive dagger again, fighting something that could have torn me limb from limb ¨C the part of me that knew I was emotionally vulnerable right now, exhausted and grieving, running on pure adrenaline. It could¡¯ve all gone wrong, if he¡¯d been able to punch through my circle¡­


    But he hadn¡¯t. I was invulnerable.


    Invulnerable.


    Not a few of the crowd watched us as we climbed higher, sped faster, tearing away towards the source of the hot wind¡­ the source of the ever-present Bells¡­ the source of the Incursion.

 Heights pt1

    <h2>OBSIDIAN 3.2: HEIGHTS</h2>


    ¡°We do not speak of death as a state of absolute non-existence. A state of absolute non-existence cannot ever be demonstrated, only inferred on unfounded premises of strict materialism. There is always a demonstrable continuation of background existence, and even if we cannot see the personae that perish ¨C even in cases wherein persistence beyond the barrier proves indemonstrable, there is always the imprint upon existence left behind by the lost. They are not removed from the flow of time. By this we trust all have ghosts, not just those few damned souls that haunt the abodes of those who spurned them when they still drew breath of Materium¡¯s airs. What, are we to posit that only the cursed possess souls? Is it only in the evil eye that we recognise the true being of the Other? What then of this metaphysic! Let us all cease to be!¡±


    ¨C from ¡®A Treatise for Existence¡¯, ch. 8


    As we approached Hightown the air grew warmer and warmer, more and more fetid; the miasma didn¡¯t stop getting stronger, thicker, until it felt like my nostrils were submerged in alley-water.


    Zel, is there anything you can do about this? I muttered inwardly.


    ¡°Sweet gods, you know I¡¯m trying, and it¡¯s just getting worse! Hang on!¡±


    She sounded almost as sick as I felt.


    ¡°I almost forgot!¡± Em shouted at me as we soared in tandem, no more than twenty feet apart. ¡°He said zey have a message for you!¡±


    We were already over the border of Oldtown and Hilltown. The roads were steep beneath us ¨C buildings were constructed on the slope with their ground floor on one side lining up with the first floor on the other, and we were having to climb at an angle to keep a good distance above the roofs. It wouldn¡¯t be long till we were in the thick of things again. She was right ¨C if I had important information waiting for me, now would be the time.


    I could feel myself still arrowing forwards as I held the hot glyphstone up before my face.


    It wasn¡¯t a magister this time. It was Dustbringer.


    I could see his surroundings and hear the commotion around him without being able to pick out any details ¨C robed bodies surged about him, magisters¡¯ voices barking phrases in tones of command, but I couldn¡¯t have picked a single face or voice out of the blur¡­ except his. He wore his grotesque corpse-mask, his blackened metal gloves, and the grey robe glittering with tiny black scythes. It seemed that he was standing in the gardens of the Maginox, glyphstone upraised before his face.


    It was immediately apparent that this was a recording, not an interaction ¨C this had come out when the Magisterium was still mobilising against the Incursion, probably just after we¡¯d crossed the Greywater. It might be twenty minutes old or more by now.


    ¡°Feychilde¡­¡± There was a moment of hesitation as he paused; I¡¯d seen this kind of thing before, and I was starting to believe he was waiting while some kind of magic went out and found my glyphstone. ¡°¡­ you haven¡¯t been to a Gathering yet ¨C for now you¡¯re being put with Neverwish and Starsight. We¡¯ve got summoners opening gates unchecked in at least three locations.¡±


    So this was old information ¨C it was four now, and could¡¯ve even risen again since we set off from Oldtown.


    ¡°We want you to take a look at Upper Tivertain. Make a report if it¡¯s beyond your limits, but stop them if you can.¡± He paused, the kind of pause that looked real, though his mask and motionlessness made it impossible to read. ¡°Don¡¯t take any unnecessary risks. You¡¯re new at this, and we don¡¯t want to lose you on day one.¡±


    He lowered the glyphstone and in that moment the psychic link dropped ¨C I was soaring over Hilltown once more, the towers of Hightown now visible before me in the distance.


    I shouted, ¡°Upper Tivertain!¡± to Em and she nodded at me, then shouted back, ¡°Roseoak!¡±


    So we had different targets. Great. I couldn¡¯t protect her.


    Not that she¡¯d ever needed it before, but I still wanted to be there ¨C if I wasn¡¯t there, and she did need me¡­


    ¡°Think about yourself first. Dustbringer¡¯s concerned over your safety too.¡±


    I think it more likely he¡¯s concerned about having one less arch-sorcerer in the mix if I died, that¡¯s all.


    ¡°True. You champions and your m-mortality rates¡­¡±


    She¡¯d sounded upbeat and jokey, but on the last words her voice suddenly dropped to a choked whisper. Dropped like she¡¯d just seen someone die in front of her.


    It¡¯s okay, Zel. I¡¯ll be okay.


    She didn¡¯t reply to that.


    Not at all disconcerting, telling someone who could see the future that you¡¯ll be okay, and having them do the equivalent of staring back at you in silence. No, not disconcerting at all.


    ¡°Sorry, Kastyr. I was ¨C just thinking ¨C¡±


    Think on your own time. We¡¯re here.


    One of the sites was coming into view ¨C right on the edge of Hightown.


    The sky was filled with mages.


    The majority were magisters, their symbols clearly showing on their garments, but there were probably a dozen champions too, all of them weaving between the towers as they fought against the forces of Infernum.


    Many were in flight, heading into the conflict, or carrying others out of it. A pair of giant eagles with wounded gripped gingerly in their talons were lifting off from the ruins of a strip of shops ¨C druids, I assumed, or at least monsters being controlled by them. Wizards had conjured creatures of pure air to go between the shells of buildings, gathering the stricken into their soft embraces and transporting them out of the area. The wizards themselves rode the wind above, hurling missiles that screamed and crackled as they sped towards their targets, louder than the cries of the crowds being endlessly evacuated.


    There were demons battling demons, and patches of shimmering in the air where I thought I could see sorcerous shielding glinting away. There were diviners and enchanters, moving faster than the eye could see or literally invisibly, using weapons to deal with the lesser foes.


    And there were the foes themselves, the demons, in all their multitudes. My magically-acute eyesight painted my destination in lurid, nauseating detail.


    Flocks of what looked like huge flying mouths: floating lips of blood-drenched flesh parted to bare jutting teeth ¨C lips that were drawn up at the corners by the wings to which they were attached, forming hideous floating smiles.


    Great fat things roiling in hills of tumescent flesh, massive tongues pouring from their bellies, lapping up the stragglers, those too weak to run, reeling them in.


    Lashing creations that seemed to be little more than several long, spiny tails, bristling with barbs and with sickle-blades at their tips, all fused together to make whirling killing-machines.


    Too many for Zel to start naming. It was mayhem, and I was approaching it at breakneck speed.


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking on my time, and no you¡¯re not here.¡±


    That¡­ definitely wasn¡¯t Zel.


    ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t. He can¡¯t hear me, and he can¡¯t hear you unless you think it out deliberately ¨C not with this kind of link at least.¡±


    ¡°Ah-h-h, who¡¯s there?¡± I thought, sounding like an idiot shouting through his door to someone who¡¯d knocked.


    ¡°Neverwish. You¡¯re assigned to me. Stop talking to whatever pet you¡¯re talking to and get your backside to Upper Tivertain, now. We really need an arch-sorcerer.¡±


    But wouldn¡¯t they need me here?


    I looked over to find Em and saw her, already drawing in a thunderstorm behind her, forks of lightning darting out of it and congealing in her hand.


    Gods, I thought, looking at her, the determination on her face.


    ¡°Which way¡¯s Upper Tivertain?¡± I asked Neverwish. ¡°I¡¯m still entering Hightown, just a little north of Hill Road.¡±


    ¡°Farther east ¨C you can¡¯t miss us.¡± His telepathic conversation had something of a panting quality ¨C I got the impression he was engaged in combat right now, while giving me my marching orders. ¡°No dawdling, Feychilde! Star¡¯s almost out of fuel!¡±


    ¡°I get it. I¡¯m coming.¡±


    I waited for Em to unleash the half-mile-long lightning bolt, letting it leap out ahead of us to incinerate an expanse of demonic flesh ¨C ye gods ¨C then almost crossed her path, shouting: ¡°Refresh it once more! I¡¯ve got to go!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s done!¡± she replied against the wind.


    We looked upon each other as we flew, perhaps one last time.


    One kiss was all I got, one fierce kiss that bit at my soul worse than any hell-fiend, taking a part of me with it.


    And then we separated; I pushed myself away from her, and towards an uncertain future.


    Neverwish and Starsight ¨C low on firepower. And then me, with next to nothing of that myself.


    I would manage. I always had before.


    I followed Neverwish¡¯s directions, flitting east between the towers, passing over the chaos and keeping to the northern end of town.


    I¡¯d almost traversed the entire length of Mund to get here. Tivertain was a mostly-residential zone, it seemed; too close to Hightown¡¯s centre to be affordable to any but the insanely-wealthy, but too far from it to be purely the purview of nobles, most of whom kept their primary residences in Treetown anyway. Upper Tivertain was on the slope that crept up towards the walls of the city, streets lined with the tall houses of merchant-barons, glass-and-marble constructions of immense proportions.


    Hightown was ringing with screams. Demons had burst the boundaries and were going street-to-street, slaughtering any who¡¯d not made it indoors in time. Yellow-leaved eaves were left as ash-choked, scorched wastelands ¨C enough destruction to keep the druids busy for weeks.


    Leaving Em behind¡­ there was a lump of guilt in my stomach that physically hurt as I went on my way. But it soon evaporated, replaced by a void, a pressure, a weight of nothingness that swelled up within me as Upper Tivertain came into view.


    And there are only two champions on the scene? I asked myself incredulously.


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    It wasn¡¯t as bad as the Roseoak commotion back there, where Em was fighting ¨C but it was bad.


    Flames were consuming everything, melting glass and marble alike into noxious sludge. Blood-red fires were opening everywhere, fires of the variety that produced no heat but were a hundred times worse than those that did, spewing forth ten imps at a time. There were over a dozen big things in the vicinity, and it was probable that a number of the smaller things were still powerful, perhaps more powerful than their larger cousins.


    The lesser fiends probably numbered a thousand already, and that figure would be set to increase.


    Five or six magister bands were on the scene, but it was nothing like enough. I could see that there was already one lying dead, his ten-spoked wheel ripped through by some titanic claw that emptied his chest of its contents in a single swipe, leaving him face-up in the mess it¡¯d made of his innards


    Who knew how many others they might have already lost, whose fates were, well, worse? Leaving no remains?


    Enchanters were at their least-useful directly engaging the enemy during an Incursion ¨C even the most-skilled of them didn¡¯t have the slimmest chance of working their mind-magic on a demon, the way I understood it. Though it was hard to see how (the likely-invisible) Neverwish was helping at a distance, I imagined he was working with the minds of those who were doing their best to get away, guiding to the safest routes.


    Starsight, on the other hand, was painfully visible in a gleaming white robe. He was helping a little old woman through a demon-infested expanse where four big buildings had been levelled. He was carrying her over his shoulder, running, stopping, sidestepping, rolling her across the ground and skittering after her, diving and rising with knives suddenly in his hands ¨C one shining silver, the other gleaming gold ¨C and each time the blades cut the air the lesser hell-spawn pursuing him shrieked in pain and fell back from him, writhing, as he retrieved her and carried on running. The speed-effect he moved within kept the fiends at bay as much as his weapons. Magisters were attempting to support him, a couple of wizards hurling ice and fire against the gibbering mob, several bound demons charging their brethren and doing their best to slow them down¡­


    Glass screamed, marble thundered. Even as I watched, hurtling closer with every passing second, another building toppled, this one on my edge of the chaos. Its ground-floor was simply eradicated in a single charge from one of the big demons, its thrashing head bedecked with an imposing crown of antlers.


    The house fell, storey upon storey like a drunk crashing to his knees, until finally it toppled over in a cloud of dust.


    Surely most had passed away in the attack, but I could hear a few survivors in the rubble bellowing in dismay.


    And in that I was not alone.


    The demon, emerging from the rubble, had heard them too ¨C or smelled them.


    It was a strange beast. It looked like a deer, or some kind of elk ¨C but it was eight feet at the shoulder and maybe eleven, twelve feet from nose to tail-tip. Its antlers were black candelabra, doubling its apparent height. Perhaps most disconcerting, its fur was a vivid, bright red that admitted no shadow, giving it a blurred, ever-shifting presence ¨C it must¡¯ve been even more perturbing to those without my sight-boost.


    It halted its charge, wheeled around and started rushing at the remnants of the marble walls. It sprang up uncannily into the air, headbutting the corners of floors now sticking up like broken elbows into the sky, smashing them, falling through to trample those trapped within.


    Curse these perceptions, Zel.


    ¡°Don¡¯t curse them. Fly harder.¡±


    She knew that I was already putting everything I could into the flight. I had to get there.


    Now.


    What is it, Zel? Can I take it?


    ¡°An ikistadreng?¡± The fairy laughed. ¡°It¡¯s all yours, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Engaging ikistadreng on west side!¡± I yelled mentally at Neverwish, hoping the link was still up.


    But another replied, Starsight¡¯s telepathic voice soft and level despite the arduous journey he was undertaking through a horde of enemies: ¡°I need your support here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll bring it!¡±


    I threw out my hands, ripping portals open for all my minions to step through.


    Draumgerel. Kinkalaman. Mekkustremin. Epheldegrim. And four bintaborax.


    Flood Boy and Zabalam too, looking decidedly out of place.


    Zel was right ¨C I felt it, this time, summoning so many at once. It was like breathing in a deep lungful of the smoke on the air, making my chest feel tight, my throat burn.


    I barked commands. When I was done they turned away to their tasks, and I swept down at the ruined house, coming to hover over the elk-demon with its majestic, dreadful antlers.


    ¡°You!¡± My voice sounded ragged even to my ears. ¡°Come! Rid this area of demons that do not serve mages! Do not suffer any sentient creatures of this plane to come to harm.¡±


    It was frantically attacking the remaining pieces of structure that still gave clue to the fact this devastation of glass and marble was once a house ¨C it slowed and turned, tossing back its head ¨C


    Then reared up and leapt at me, a single motion of fantastical precision and strength, kicking out at me with a cloven forehoof ¨C


    It recoiled from my defences, clattering back down in a heap.


    As it rose I gave it a lash of a force-spike in the shoulder, thrusting it back down again.


    ¡°Swear!¡± I hissed.


    And I glared at it.


    Into its eyes, visible only by the whites and pupils ¨C the red irises melted into the red fur in such a way that its face was almost a featureless blur, only suggested by outlines.


    I only had to meet those eyes for an instant before it bowed its head.


    Despite the rush of reassurance the minor victory gave me, it sent shivers up my spine to hear the voice of the ikistadreng, emanating from the terrifying blackness that split the red blur where its jaws would part.


    The voice was female, urbane, and spoke perfect Mundic in a meek little voice.


    ¡°I so swear it, sorcerer.¡±


    It ¨C she ¨C crouched, then leapt right through my shielding.


    Landing behind me, she charged at the unbound demons. I followed.


    What rank is that thing?


    ¡°Eighth.¡±


    I could imagine Zel¡¯s devious grin.


    You didn¡¯t think to warn me?


    ¡°Would it have helped?¡±


    I would¡¯ve grinned along with her if I could¡¯ve heard any more noises coming from survivors in the destroyed building.


    Instead I soared over the melee of demons, where my little army had engaged the aggressors, ready to do my part.


    Nothing here was as big as Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks (both of whom carried their warhammers, seemingly undamaged despite the outcome of the thinfinaran fight), and even my other bintaborax matched the largest of the unbound fiends in size and strength. The minotaur-demons formed the vanguard, clobbering their way into the ranks of the enemy, reinforced on the flanks by the thudding mekkustremin and the galloping epheldegrim. The kinkalaman loped around with its blade-arms extended, mopping up the stragglers, eviscerating or beheading the demons that had survived their confrontation with the crushing warhammers ¨C meanwhile, the draumgerel bounced along behind, laying down some acidic spit at range in support.


    Flood Boy had walled off a section of the battlefield in frozen wine, and Zabalam was following my instructions to the letter, using illusions to spell words in the air and draw arrows, guiding people out of the ruins where they were hiding and into safety.


    The ikistadreng swiftly demonstrated why she was my most powerful summon. Whole droves of imps and other lesser fiends were slaughtered each time she charged. She tossed her head violently as she smacked into her targets, sending most of them flying with lethal gashes across their bodies, and impaling others on her antlers ¨C infernal corpses that dangled and swung as she continued on her way, smashing, rending, goring.


    I spotted Starsight ¨C he hadn¡¯t managed to get very far despite his eerie speed, still pinned down in the wasteland of demons, burdened as he was with the heavy woman he was attempting to rescue, fiends literally all around him.


    I sped ahead, then swooped down over him and settled nearby, throwing the shield over the three of us.


    Immediately the demons within my barrier were cast out, flung back by an irresistible, unseen force. Beyond the wards they were snarling and hissing, striking at my defences with claws that came back smoking from their encounters with my glowing blue lines. There weren¡¯t enough pressing in on my shields to worry me ¨C not yet at least.


    Starsight stopped, and I got a good look at him. He was short and slight, his mask a single five-pointed golden star covering his whole face, except for the middle of his mouth and his clean-shaven chin. Similar stars were embroidered in miniature into the white of his robe, the shining threads blending in almost invisibly.


    He bent forwards, tipping the woman to a patch of rubble-free ground ¨C she was shaking, long matted grey hair quivering in pace with her body. Her veiny hands clutched spasmodically at the reddish servant¡¯s smock she wore. If she knew little of sorcery then, to her, there was nothing protecting her from the demons except empty air.


    ¡°Please ¨C please ¨C please don¡¯t leave me ¨C¡± the woman was gasping.


    The arch-diviner was still leaning over, his hands on his knees and his own chest rising and falling heavily as he sucked in smoky air and coughed. He looked exhausted ¨C quite understandably.


    So they are still human.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t going to leave you,¡± I said, doing my best to sound reassuring. ¡°We¡¯ll get you out ¨C we just have to regroup for a minute.¡±


    She closed her eyes, still clutching at her smock.


    I felt a bit uneasy, looking around me. There were more than fifty demons hitting my barriers now, and that number would soon double, and redouble. Lesser demons, but still¡­ I only had five up ¨C the hexagon was taking some serious damage, and I could feel it. The magisters who¡¯d been assisting the arch-diviner were occupied defending themselves at the moment, retreated back behind walls of shields and summons ¨C while my retinue of demons was still quite a ways off.


    ¡°How can I best ¨C h-help?¡± I asked, choking down a cough myself and screwing my eyes shut momentarily as I really did get some smoke in my face.


    The champion¡¯s face turned towards mine as he stood there bent over. The star-mask hid his eyes but not his mouth; nevertheless, he thought at me in his soft mental voice again.


    ¡°Speak like this. What did you have in mind? Many things you might suggest will not work. I can¡¯t see a way out.¡±


    ¡°I have some ideas,¡± I hedged.


    He straightened up, still looking at me.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to be able to fly us out; the spell on you isn¡¯t suitable. Too many will arrive if we wait for your demons and your walls will be overrun. If you move the shields they just follow us, and end up leaving Tivertain. You ¨C¡°


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m at my capacity yet, Starsight.¡±


    Then Zel interjected, apparently for my ears only: ¡°And I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll kill you to ¨C¡±


    Of course. I was being stupid.


    I waved my hand, and a circle of nine red flames surrounded us, closer than the shields.


    I probably should¡¯ve left the ikistadreng behind; this time it really took something out of me. I went to my knees, quivering.


    The hexagon fell, all at once.


    The old woman screamed Yune¡¯s name as she watched through the flames the ring of imps and bestial fiends suddenly falling towards us, unimpeded and bellowing in triumph.


    She wasn¡¯t to know she was still within my pentagon, which still rotated and gleamed bright, undamaged as yet.


    It didn¡¯t matter anyway. The red flames resolved themselves into my retinue, outward-facing, blocking off her line of sight to the hostile hell-spawn.


    Blocking off my line of sight.


    ¡°You know, what to do,¡± I said, then raised my hand to my mouth while I spluttered a fair bit. The Infernal and the coughing probably sounded horrible to my rescuer-and-rescuee audience, but what could I do?


    ¡°Of course, Master,¡± my ikistadreng said sweetly, speaking in Mundic again.


    She reared, kicking violently at the air, before springing up and forwards with her back legs, lowering her head, half-charging, half-plummeting at my enemies.


    The rest of my demons barrelled towards the perimeter of my shields and met their lesser cousins in battle, the mekkustremin already there, clobbering three fiends into a pulpy mess with each strike of its huge porcelain hands.


    I took a few deep breaths.


    This would work. It had to.


    ¡°Will this work?¡± I asked the champion.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Zel replied at once.


    And then, after a brief but pensive silence as he stared at me, Starsight replied: ¡°It has been some time since I¡¯ve been surprised, Feychilde. Carry on. I trust you.¡±


    I floated upwards, just ten feet or so, to get a better vantage point, fixing my shields to the ground and being careful to stay well within their boundaries as I ascended.


    I cast my eye out on the little ones and waved my hands again ¨C a huge swathe of them met my eyes, suddenly transfixed by me.


    ¡°Thanatar rumez el kason khi-rum!¡±


    Over a dozen jackal-faced men and bat-things went snapping at their brethren without a moment¡¯s hesitation.


    ¡°Below you!¡± Zel rustled, and at the same time, despite his exhortation to speak telepathically, I heard Starsight cry my name aloud.


    I immediately looked down, and what I saw both terrified and bewildered me.


    The rubble beneath me was covered with a sheen of frost, and crisp white snow was billowing softly across a wintry landscape. Snow that wasn¡¯t falling past me on its way down ¨C snow that was appearing spontaneously in the ten feet of open air just below my feet.


    A tiny blue-skinned child was standing over the lifeless body of the old woman.


    It was beyond strange. She didn¡¯t register as a corpse on my senses. But, then, I had other things on my mind.


    This new fiend had darker, night-blue scales in patches all over its body; snow was on its head in place of hair, falling down onto its shoulders and drifting off on the Hells-sent breeze. It was smaller than Jaid, its gender indeterminate.


    Red blood was gushing down its chin. Its wide eyes were the same red shade as the blood, no whites or irises or pupils.


    And it was within the shields. It hadn¡¯t broken them ¨C it¡¯d seemingly just stepped inside them, without a care in the world.


    Well inside them. Feet from Starsight.


    I heard Starsight cry out, this time using the psychic link: ¡°Neverwish, we need you!¡±


    What¡­?


    Zel murmured, ¡°I¡­ honestly I don¡¯t know what it is, Kas.¡±


    I faltered, taking a few deadly moments to comport myself before bringing a spike of force lancing down from the inner shell of my shields, flicking it at the demon-child.


    It had already moved, darting off nimbly in pursuit of Starsight, who¡¯d drawn his pair of magical daggers, silver and gold glittering in his hands as he backed away ¨C


    And he backed right into the line demarcated by my circle-shield, hovering at the centre of my structure of barriers. It was reinforced with three stars: five-, seven- and thirteen-pointed. The one place in the city that should¡¯ve been the safest.


    There he took up a fighting stance, radiant knives held in a guard position.


    ¡°I consign you again to the nightmare,¡± the seer said quietly to the demon.


    And the blue-skinned child entered, leaping at his face.


    I wanted to go to him, to aid him ¨C but how? I was frozen.


    This was the end. I would never see my brother and sister again, or Em, or Xantaire or Orstrum or Xastur¡­


    Morsus¡­


    It leapt, but he wasn¡¯t there when it landed; he¡¯d sidestepped out of the circle-shield again with his uncanny speed, driving his golden dagger into the demon-child¡¯s chest ¨C

 Heights pt2

    Seemingly with no effect.


    It took the arm he¡¯d thrust with and held onto it, pulling itself onto his chest even as he blurred and twisted, trying to escape ¨C the arch-diviner¡¯s knife tore free of its flesh without leaving even a mark, never mind a killing-wound.


    I didn¡¯t have time to do anything to help him even if I¡¯d possessed the volition to make myself move, make myself come to a decision on how to help him¡­


    He plunged both knives into it half a dozen times ¨C nothing, nothing, nothing.


    It drew back its head to bite at his throat, and when it parted its lips the jaw opened unnaturally-wide. Hundreds of tiny, sharp white teeth glinted there in a tongueless void.


    ¡°Kas! Kas, something¡¯s wrong with you!Snap out of it!¡±


    Jaid and Jaroan, lying dead in the rubble.


    I have abandoned Sticktown.


    This is the end.


    ¡°Disbelieve!¡± Neverwish¡¯s voice came through as an urgent command. ¡°It¡¯s not real!¡±


    ¡°Ah-h-h,¡± Zel breathed. ¡°He¡¯s right. Look.¡±


    I still didn¡¯t quite get it even as I watched the demon-child bite ineffectually at Starsight¡¯s face and neck, its body seemingly now passing into his with no effect ¨C but then Zel took my eyes over to a giant fiend fluttering around beyond the periphery of my pentagon. It was a titanic blue-shelled beetle with a man¡¯s face and long flowing snow-hair, and it had its own wintry landscape.


    And over there ¨C another, and another: blue-skinned or blue-scaled or blue-spiked creations, all over the battlefield. The odd one in thousands. It took supernatural perception of the highest calibre to spot the correlating creatures out there.


    ¡°Then, look again¡­¡± She cast the violet-brown of the illusion-breaking vision over my eyes for a moment.


    None of them were there.


    ¡°It¡¯s a distraction!¡± our arch-enchanter snapped. ¡°Pure imagism! You need to find the summoner ¨C now!¡±


    Or summoners.


    ¡°I¡¯m still blocked,¡± Starsight said. There was barely a hint of the frustration he must¡¯ve been feeling to be heard in his mind-voice.


    Still, as I looked down I saw the arch-diviner walk right through the illusory demon ¨C now that he¡¯d come to the realisation that it wasn¡¯t actually there, it seemed to have no power over him, no strength with which to cling to him. Ignoring it, he went to the old woman¡¯s corpse.


    Not a corpse.


    He obviously had some experience in how to proceed in this kind of situation. He woke her with a gentle shake of the elbow; she stirred, and my ears picked out the words as he calmly instructed her to ignore the creature ¨C the bluish demon was now rolling around in a desperate attempt to be intimidating, transforming into abhorrent shapes, squids and snakes and something that looked very similar to Em¡¯s description of a troll. A waking nightmare, he called it.


    A waking nightmare. It was true ¨C I¡¯d been almost catatonic a minute ago. It had played our fears against us perfectly. It got into my head.


    Sorry about that, Zel.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay ¨C it had me confused!¡±


    I turned my back on Starsight and the illusion, hoping these others all knew what they were talking about, and surveyed the battle.


    Where¡¯s the summoner?


    ¡°I¡¯m looking. Be right with you.¡±


    Groups of imps clung to my mekkustremin, but the giant doll rotated its limbs and body too fast to see as it bounded around, flinging its assailants off at high speeds. My four bintaborax had split up into two groups, one big and one slightly-less-big in each pair, and they were double-teaming the other huge enemies dotted around the neighbourhood. They were currently engaging a big ape with eyes all over its body, and a ten-foot-tall woman with her own glowing weaponry ¨C her scimitars glittered with a steady amethyst pulse, the blade of each weapon vaguely the same size as your average household door. My ikistadreng and epheldegrim were ranging far out, and my kinkalaman and draumgerel were supporting Flood Boy, beheading and disintegrating those he froze in place with the endless tunes coming from his pipes ¨C it felt strange to see the three of them working so well together, after the way they¡¯d met last Fullday. Even the group of lesser demons I¡¯d taken were playing their part, though several had already fallen.


    The magister-bands around the perimeter of Upper Tivertain were fighting a controlled retreat. One sorcerer would put up a wall, then another would put up a second behind it so that their position wasn¡¯t overrun the minute the first fell. Elementals and demons roamed beyond the shields, doing their best to stem the tide.


    It wasn¡¯t enough. I got the impression they were running out of spells ¨C their wizards were nowhere to be seen. Every minute that passed, more and more demons slipped through the defences to outflank the magisters, or, worse, ignored them entirely, slipping off to wreak havoc in as-yet untouched, unevacuated areas.


    If just one of the escaping demons was a summoner¡­ we could well be back at square one within minutes.


    I settled down near Starsight.


    ¡°Can you get her out now?¡± I asked him psychically. ¡°I¡¯d offer to fly just her out, but I honestly don¡¯t know where¡¯s safe anymore.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a refuge, on Danamir Row.¡±


    I looked at him blankly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take her,¡± he said aloud in an understanding tone, his lips twitching in a smile. He bent down to lift her in his arms again. He didn¡¯t look particularly strong ¨C it must¡¯ve been taking all his effort to hoist her up.


    I was glad, because I didn¡¯t want to say it to him: an arch-diviner without a flight-spell wasn¡¯t going to be able to deal with the perimeter outbreaks like I could.


    I gave him a grateful nod ¨C he nodded back, and we simultaneously took off. I leapt into the air and he burst into rapid motion, moving even faster than me, heading north on a route that kept him in the cleared-out areas, skirting the battle.


    I went back to doing what I¡¯d done in Oldtown ¨C circling the area, picking up those trying to flee.


    Only this time, I had nowhere to put them. No wizard to obliterate them without a second glance.


    The affected zone was much larger here than it¡¯d been in Oldtown. There were probably a similar number of toppled buildings, but the buildings here were ten times the footprint of the ones in Oldtown, and the roadways were wider. I¡¯d only gotten a quarter the way around the zone before the diamond-tesseract hanging off my pentagon-shield was filled with imps. I could only enlarge it by so much, and I was starting to miss my targets simply because they didn¡¯t fit.


    What can I do, Zel?


    ¡°I¡¯ve got one idea, but you might not like it.¡±


    Give it a shot.


    ¡°Your¡­ inward spikes.¡±


    I eyed the pulsating diamond of force constricting them.


    I didn¡¯t have to think ¨C couldn¡¯t have thought ¨C wouldn¡¯t have let myself if I could.


    If I did think of it, in the glimmer of a moment that seemed to unwind itself, unfolding as slowly as a full minute of tense anticipation, I would¡¯ve felt sick.


    But I was crushing bugs.


    Bugs.


    I let spikes protrude from the inward faces of the tesseract ¨C let spikes enter the imps.


    Shredding them.


    Bereft of ill-will, the twisted remains fluttered free on the wind as I whipped around Upper Tivertain, and I soon had another group pinned there, ready to be shredded.


    Why didn¡¯t you tell me about this before?


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like I¡¯m the expert around here, is it?¡±


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I thought of the way I¡¯d ripped that giant heretic-spider thing in half a few nights ago.


    Does this mean I could¡¯ve killed Dustbringer the other night?


    ¡°Honestly? Of course you could, if your projection was strong enough. Would you have done it, though?¡±


    Accidents happen, Zel! I want you to tell me everything you think of like this, okay?


    ¡°I¡­ that¡¯s a hard command to follow, Kas. Do you want to rescind that till later, when you can phrase it properly? Unless you want me to start telling you about the various ideas I had that you could¡¯ve accidentally killed the Cannibal ¨C¡°


    Okay, okay. Rescinded.


    I continued flying, continued crushing lesser fiends within my diamond. Despite the coolness of the evening air and the constant wind sweeping through my robes, I was beginning to sweat beneath the hood and mask.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got something for you.¡±


    Show me.


    My fey passenger pulled my eyes upwards.


    Something I hadn¡¯t noticed even on my approach, and certainly not since arriving at the edge of Upper Tivertain. It was too easy to forget to look up when so much was going on on the ground, or in just the first hundred feet or so.


    A flock of big, lanky-looking birds was descending upon the battlefield from the darkness of the night sky, the knot of clouds above us barely illuminated by the waxing moon.


    And then, there ¨C a flock ascending back into the clouds.


    Redder.


    It seemed like there were two flocks ¨C overlapping.


    ¡°Or many more than two. Folkababil, they¡¯re called.¡±


    Vulture-demons? Gathering the blood of the fallen somehow, taking it up to¡­ something up there?


    ¡°Well you can see for yourself; what do you think? It sure looks like it to me.¡±


    I crushed the group of insect-things I currently had trapped; I¡¯d been doing my best not to listen to their chittering as they were caught, their squeals as they were turned to mush, but these things were tougher, didn¡¯t die as quickly as imps ¨C


    I turned my head away until I felt the loss of pressure, and knew they¡¯d been obliterated.


    Finally, I made for the clouds.


    Should I follow the birds?


    ¡°No, don¡¯t warn them in advance we¡¯re onto them or they might do something to throw us off. Just head up there, I¡¯ll be able to guide you.¡±


    ¡°Neverwish! I¡¯m going up. I think I know where the summoner is.¡±


    ¡°Up?¡±


    ¡°The clouds.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be joking!¡± Neverwish¡¯s irritation came through clearly. ¡°Now you¡¯re just gonna claim the kill, aren¡¯t you? Dropping new arch-sorcerer, out to make a name for yourself ¨C¡±


    ¡°Is this about the money? I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Yes it¡¯s about the money!¡± The arch-enchanter was almost snarling.


    ¡°I¡¯ll split it with you,¡± I said at once, ¡°both of you.¡± If playing to his greed this once would give me an even footing with a fellow champion or two, I would happily absorb the loss. ¡°I just want it dead.¡±


    I was getting really high now. I could see Hightown in all its fire-orange, smoke-clogged, demon-infested splendour.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Neverwish replied at last, a bit of the temper gone out of his voice. ¡°You hear that, Star?¡±


    ¡°I heard it,¡± Starsight said softly. ¡°On my way back now, Neverwish.¡±


    I gradually entered the cloud-bank hovering over Hightown. Even with Zel¡¯s help I couldn¡¯t see anything, hear anything, smell anything. The moonlight illuminated the chill mists of the clouds surrounding me, but it was a dim, graveyard greyness, no silvery sheen piercing the thick fog I ascended through.


    ¡°But it¡¯s close,¡± Zel said. ¡°Just a little farther.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m close. How¡¯s things going down there?¡±


    ¡°Your demons are doing well,¡± Neverwish said grudgingly. Perhaps he was realising how he¡¯d come across a minute ago.


    ¡°A fine showing, for a first-time champion,¡± Starsight observed.


    It wasn¡¯t as though I¡¯d never been in a life-or-death situation, but I knew what he was getting at¡­ Incursions were like nothing I¡¯d ever seen before, Infernum being birthed on the Material Plane in a way I¡¯d never imagined. Even cowering under my bed, all those previous times the Bells rang ¨C I¡¯d never imagined this.


    And now Incursions were my life, for as long as I managed to keep living it.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I replied, feeling a bit embarrassed all the same at the compliment.


    Neverwish chuckled.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Zel shrilled. ¡°There! You just went past it!¡±


    I let her take control a little so that I could feel her tugging me in a certain direction ¨C which direction it actually was, I wasn¡¯t now quite sure, being immersed in the night-sky clouds and all.


    The mists seemed to part slightly just when I approached, moonlight slanting down to illuminate the scene as I stopped, staring at the floating altar.


    Dozens and dozens, perhaps hundreds of imps were holding it aloft in a horizontal position, their bat-wings beating rapidly as they clustered below it and all around its edges. It was a block of black stone, a single slab perhaps twelve feet on a side and two inches thick. The dark material itself was like that from which the Maginox interior was constructed, threaded with milk-hued ribbons. Upon its face had been etched a summoning circle, so wide that it almost touched the edges of the square, with inner rings comprised of thousands of individual runes.


    In the centre of the summoning circle stood a huge iron cauldron, filled with a crimson substance that glinted and tinkled as it slowly sloshed back and forth, in pace with the not-quite-steady motions of the imps supporting the platform. And around the edges of the cauldron there were four men or women, each wearing a heavy black robe and a chain at the neck that linked them to the cauldron¡¯s base ¨C they were gaunt, hairless, and, I saw to my horror, eyeless. They were kneeling up to the rim of the great iron basin, dipping their hands into the bloody mixture it contained.


    For that had to be what it was ¨C their hands were covered in the redness ¨C and yet there was the tinkling sound.


    ¡°Rhimbelkina. Only four of them. They¡¯re decent-enough diviners but they¡¯re low rank ¨C you¡¯ve got this.¡±


    Low rank like the ikistadreng?


    ¡°Low rank like third rank. You could handle eight or twelve ¨C you shouldn¡¯t even notice four. Take them.¡±


    I considered my options.


    ¡°You¡¯re about to drop something on civilians,¡± Starsight said.


    Well, that¡¯s reassuring. Sort of.


    I didn¡¯t want this altar setting down nice and neatly somewhere another demon might come along and find it ¨C or some enterprising darkmage demonologist for that matter, once the Incursion was all over.


    ¡°Can you move them?¡± I asked the champion. ¡°Like, completely out of the way?¡±


    Even as I floated there a line of diseased-looking, scabrous birds with long legs and necks came up to the altar, their plumage a dim red hue where they had kept it. They entered the cauldron, one by one, and came out looking healthy again, the oozing sores on their bare flesh now gone, covered over with thick tufts of feathers.


    They were coming down to Mund and absorbing the blood, the conflict, the death, and bringing it back in themselves to give to these rhimbelkina?


    The birds, they¡¯re¡­


    ¡°The folkababil? Technically first rank. They can think. I¡¯ve never seen their abilities used this exact way before, though.¡±


    There were too many new words to remember.


    Whatever. Okay.


    ¡°Starsight, Neverwish, can you move them!¡± It wasn¡¯t a question even if I¡¯d phrased it that way ¨C I didn¡¯t know how much longer I could wait. The weird humanoids in chains, the rhimbelkina ¨C they were taking things out of the cauldron now, as the birds departed again: handfuls of what looked like little bits of rubies, glittering beneath a sheen, a gravy of blood.


    They were grinding them in their bare hands ¨C I could hear it ¨C probably in order to add their own blood to the mixture. They were grinding them, and then tossing them over the side.


    No wonder I hadn¡¯t seen or felt anything down there, and no wonder the summons were being spread over such a large area. It was all going on up here. As the handfuls of ruby dust were thrown overboard I felt same way I felt as the red flames arose. I felt the summoning.


    And the handfuls of ruby dust were taken by the wind; the dust could be carried anywhere.


    Anywhere.


    These rhimbelkina might¡¯ve been responsible for Oldtown, miles away.


    ¡°I have to act now ¨C what¡¯s going on down there?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Feychilde.¡± Neverwish didn¡¯t exactly sound sorry. ¡°I had to lower the link for a moment. This damn demon! We¡¯ve got news. Roseoak¡¯s got worse. Ten summoners at the minimum. We¡¯re to abandon Upper Tivertain.¡±


    ¡°Are you ¨C¡°


    Are you kidding me!


    ¡°¨C going to be able to clear the area under me or not?¡± I finished.


    There was a pause, then Starsight came through: ¡°All done.¡±


    ¡°I owe you a drink,¡± I muttered mentally as I psyched myself up.


    There were a load of different ways to do this, but I didn¡¯t really want to take these horrible creatures as my minions.


    They were chained to it. This would be much more satisfying.


    I just had to ensure I had their attention. I needed that sweet, sweet ill-will.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I bellowed at the top of my lungs, speaking in plain old Mundic, zooming towards the altar as I waggled my fingers in the air. ¡°Uglies without eyes! Can you hear me? It¡¯s, like, real important.¡±


    I got the attention of the imps, and the birds currently visiting the platform. A seething mass of demonic faces turned my way, fanged mouths and fanged beaks parted, yapping and cawing in alarm.


    And the rhimbelkina too ¨C they could hear, or at least sense the distress of their assistants. They stopped grinding the glittering bloody mixture, hunching over in tension at the cauldron¡¯s lip.


    That was enough for me.


    I moved swiftly towards the platform, as though to land upon it, close to the centre.


    And my shields pushed them all away.


    The rhimbelkina were chained to the heavy cauldron, and their collars looked like they might¡¯ve been made from the same quality hellsteel as the cauldron. My shielding was inexorable.


    The collars handily decapitated them, and the four summoners and their four eyeless heads went tumbling overboard.


    In addition, my presence pushed all the imps and the remaining birds out to the edges of my shields ¨C the platform dropped away beneath me before I was able to land on it.


    ¡°Incoming!¡±


    A wave of my hand bound and dismissed the things lurking on my shield¡¯s edge.


    I felt swollen, suddenly. I¡¯d taken more in one go than ever before.


    For just a few moments, I waited alone, sitting in the clouds, luxuriating in the feeling of victory that had stolen over me ¨C


    Then I heard what I¡¯d been awaiting ¨C the dull boom as the platform landed and shattered on the rubble far beneath me.


    I loosed a sigh of contentment, then started descending. I¡¯d get beneath the clouds, then have a look around, get my bearings¡­


    ¡°Meet you at Roseoak?¡± I sent to my fellow champions.


    ¡°Uh¡­ can you give me a lift?¡± Neverwish asked. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly light.¡±


    ¡°I can try, but Starsight warned me against it¡­ Where are you?¡±


    I started arrowing straight downwards, but something went wrong.


    A jolt. A chill. A feeling of doom ¨C


    ¡°Summon Avaelar now!¡± Zel screamed.


    I felt like I was slipping.


    But an hour hasn¡¯t passed yet, nowhere near ¨C oh Yune ¨C Em. Em!


    ¡°Now!¡±


    My heart was in my throat as I fell ¨C I was whipped about, hurtling down from a dizzying height.


    It was just one instant before I left the clouds, head-first.


    Another before I saw Hightown below me ¨C above me.


    I got my hands up, went through the motions, and the green rupture answered.


    I barely had chance to see the sylph below me (above me!) before I fell into and joined with him.


    ¡°Not that way!¡± Zel howled.


    It was too late. I tried my hardest to manifest the wings in time, fighting against whatever lethargy prevented them from springing fully-usable from my back, fighting with all my will, all my might ¨C


    But it wasn¡¯t enough. Not even close.


    There was a single instant of struggle, the ground rushing down at my head, and I managed to right myself, swinging my legs down, feeling the wind rushing through my wings.


    Too late.


    I felt nothing as my feet hit the ground, surely shattering every bone in my body.


    I felt nothing. No impact.


    Just nothing.

 Red Rain pt1

    <h2>OBSIDIAN 3.3: RED RAIN</h2>


    ¡°There beside the River Wylion the final battle was joined. The archmages Lorquaine and Yisildegrath slew one another in the skies as, far beneath, the wand-armed soldiery met on the field. Thrice the Leopards of Senteli surged forwards, driving in the van the host of fiends they had dared call upon; the legions of undead were destroyed, and the Wort fell back into the trenches, whereupon they were slaughtered most bloodily.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Latter Mage Wars: A History¡¯, ch. 18


    I awoke.


    My first thought was that I¡¯d fallen from the sky and landed in bed, but no, that couldn¡¯t have been right. I felt warm and safe and comfortable.


    I opened my eyes.


    I was in an airy pavilion, a triangle of white canvas lit by globes floating near the apex above me. The radiance of the spellbound balls had been set to a dim level, what with the daylight streaming through the tent fabric all around. The air smelt fresh, and I could hear soft voices, the distant singing of birds.


    My fingers gripped the soft bedding beneath me.


    My robe. My mask. Everything still in place.


    How¡­?


    I should¡¯ve been a corpse. Or, at least, I should¡¯ve been paralysed, or wracked with agonies. But as it was, all I could feel was a weakness in my legs. There was the odd jolt in first one leg and then the other, a clamp of pain taking hold of me somewhere around my heel, making me curl my toes, tense up my calf muscles as it trickled upwards, shooting slowly towards my knees¡­


    But I could sit up, see, think¡­ The pain was little more than an irritation.


    I cast about myself ¨C there were about two dozen low to the ground, wood-framed beds in the pavilion, each with thick white mattresses and woollen blankets, and a white canvas partition at the other end of the tent. Most of the beds were occupied with magisters but there were other champions too, going off the masks and the lack of Magisterium sigils on their robes ¨C most were lying in repose, but some were sitting up quietly, and one turned his or her face towards me ¨C


    I turned my head away, looked farther to my right ¨C the bed next to me on that side was empty ¨C I looked back, to my left ¨C


    I immediately forgot my own condition ¨C I surged from the bed, staggering, falling onto the edge of the bed next to mine.


    My fingers took Em¡¯s, lacing our hands together, as I knelt up beside her.


    ¡°Em!¡± I wanted to take her shoulder and shake her but my hand froze halfway there, the realisation burning into my brain that I had no idea how damaged she was, what was actually wrong with her ¨C I could make things ten times worse with such a simple action, such a simple mistake ¨C


    As if I held a hot iron I quickly let go of her hand, hoping that I hadn¡¯t already made things worse.


    Lord Suffering¡­


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    But no, there were no gods to blame for this, save perhaps for Mekesta, who¡¯d allegedly spawned the forebears of the demons many ages past; but no one sent the demons. They had come of their own accord. And we had sent them back, casting them out with our own power.


    It¡¯d been good to play my part in defending against the Incursion, but I¡¯d been taken out too early. Two summoners, that was all I¡¯d stopped.


    I almost wished I¡¯d had more of a chance to slay demons, now they¡¯d done this.


    ¡°Em,¡± I said more softly, ¡°I¡¯m here. It¡¯s me. Can you wake up? Can you hear me? Why don¡¯t you open your eyes, tell me you can hear me, eh?¡±


    Her parents. I¡¯d promised Atar and Linn that I¡¯d keep her safe. And now¡­ this.


    ¡°What¡­ what happened to you, Em? Can you hear me? Please tell me you can hear me.¡±


    A highborn voice, young and masculine, came from behind me: ¡°Hm, well, she shouldn¡¯t be able to tell you she can hear you yet, Feychilde, see, she¡¯s still asleep, and I don¡¯t know how things work where you come from but here sleeping people don¡¯t usually tend to answer questions like that, though, hm, sometimes they do, so ¨C¡°


    I turned to see Nighteye right there at the foot of Em¡¯s bed, his dark-green, short-sleeved robes now clean of mud, the gold avian eyes on his robe clearly visible. He was speaking from behind the same owl¡¯s-beak mask he¡¯d been wearing when he¡¯d ended my episode as a rat.


    ¡°¨C maybe you could carry on, but you could just wait for her to wake up, which should be in, hm, eighteen minutes or so ¨C¡°


    ¡°Nighteye!¡±


    I was so glad to see him, so glad to hear his words ¨C it explained so much of what¡¯d happened since my fall ¨C I actually teetered up on my feet and threw my arms around him in a hug.


    ¡°My good man!¡± He seemed momentarily at a loss for words, and then, ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t be up out of bed yet, you do heal awfully well for a human, but, it¡¯s going to be, hm, at least another twenty minutes before you can walk again, and if I could prevail upon you to spend the next twenty-four hours in bed I¡¯d ¨C¡°


    ¡°Is she going to be okay?¡±


    ¡°Okay? Oh yes, you aren¡¯t to know, are you? ¨C she¡¯s fine, not even scarred, don¡¯t you go worrying yourself! Lucky she had that, hm, healing philtre. Just a spot of blood loss, she was only technically dead for a minute or two ¨C not real ¡®death¡¯ death, you know ¨C it was nothing I couldn¡¯t replace in a jiffy¡­¡±


    I broke off the embrace, breathing deep as I lowered myself back onto my bed, half-turned so that I could still watch Em.


    She died?


    ¡°Your mask is still in one piece,¡± he was saying, ¡°but your robe¡¯s rather ripped I¡¯m afraid ¨C got caught on some rubble, Starsight said, and he needed to get you free ¨C¡°


    I looked down, checking out the long tear up the right side of the robe. It was barely enough to expose my trousers.


    It didn¡¯t matter one bit, anyway. I was getting a new one soon enough.


    ¡°¨C and that funny Ilitar fellow was here when you came in, and he told them to place you in the bed beside her ¨C I gather, hm, you know her? ¨C and you ¨C¡°


    ¡°How long was I here?¡± I interrupted. ¡°Out, I mean? Unconscious? I already feel like I¡¯ve had twenty-four hours in bed.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my magic,¡± he said smoothly, ¡°but I¡¯d say you were actually unconscious only for three or four minutes ¨C Starsight was able to deliver you ¨C what was left of you, haha ¨C here very quickly ¨C and I put you asleep for, hm,¡± he looked up as if trying to remember, ¡°about fifteen minutes, while I worked on your bones¡­¡±


    A cold feeling settled in my stomach.


    Zel! Are you there?


    ¡°Kas! Oh Kas ¨C you are alive. I thought so.¡±


    You were banished?


    ¡°Twelve Hells, what happened?¡±


    I think Nighteye¡¯s fixed me. What¡¯s going on out there?


    ¡°I¡­ ah, you mean beyond the wall of enchantments? It¡¯s hard to say for sure.¡±


    That was enough to confirm it for me.


    ¡°¡­ didn¡¯t think that there¡¯d be enough beds, but ¨C what do you know? ¨C we only had fourteen survivors to deal with, the rest were, hm, rather too flattened for me to h-¡°


    ¡°Nighteye, is the Incursion still going on?¡±


    He looked at me blankly. ¡°Still going on? Why, yes, of course ¨C¡°


    I started to rise.


    ¡°But you can¡¯t walk, you certainly can¡¯t run, and ¨C¡°


    I manifested my wings.


    ¡°I can fly,¡± I grated.


    * * *

 Red Rain pt2

    It was difficult to use these fey wings to hover above the ground, but Nighteye was quite right ¨C standing without any support for more than a few seconds quickly exacerbated the pain I¡¯d been feeling in my lower legs, and walking more than three steps was out of the question. So it was that I was forced to fly out through the pavilion opening, beating my wings rapidly and minutely, moving as carefully as I was able.


    The arch-druid strode beside me, looking at me dubiously. I very much doubted the healer wanted a patient up and about before he could stand steady on his own two feet, but it wasn¡¯t like Nighteye was getting much of a choice in the matter.


    Using just two wings for lateral movement, I slipped through the parting between the fabric-flaps that served as the screen at the end of the tent. The moment I crossed the threshold, I must¡¯ve passed through the enchantments keeping us tranquil while we recovered. It was then that it hit me.


    We were in the open porch of the pavilion, right on the edge of the battle.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    Fires rose up everywhere in front of me, the kind that spewed smoke and the kind that spewed demons. Waterspouts from bands of magister-wizards soon dealt with the first, but the latter were not so easily dispatched. Roseoak, whatever this place had been before, was now a stony field of blood, lit by light-balls and radiance-spells set in place to aid those mages with need for them.


    Archmages all had their different ways of seeing in the dark, I suspected.


    I looked up first, marvelling despite the dire situation ¨C here in the pavilion we were shielded by a blue dome of force not altogether unlike the one that protected the Maginox, though far, far smaller.


    How ¨C who ¨C


    It was a sorcerous barrier of such force that it looked tangible to my sorcerer¡¯s-eye. Doubtless invisible to others, but to me¡­


    ¡°Why am I guessing Dustbringer?¡± Zel commented.


    Ranks of skeletal warriors stood completely motionless, their backs to us, forming a defensive wall. There had to be two hundred of them, kitted-out with real equipment ¨C swords that were sharpened and gleaming, not rusted; padded armour and mail that had none of the signs of the grave. They wore identical heavy iron helmets. I supposed their heads were their weak-spots.


    Beyond them, Mother-Chaos reigned.


    The diameter of the affected area had doubled since I was last here. There had to be more than a dozen neighbourhoods under attack now.


    Attack was too weak a word for what they were doing. This was bombardment. I couldn¡¯t have counted the amount of towers that¡¯d been toppled, trampled under fiery feet into cinders.


    Some demons were eating magisters whole, while others were chopping them up first. There were demons that seemed altogether disinterested in killing right away, and were instead puppeteering whole groups of mages, their prisoners¡¯ faces devoid of expression as they mouthed incantations and aimed wands, raining death down on their colleagues.


    Their faces might¡¯ve been blank, but their eyes were wide in horror.


    Yet there was cause for hope: I could see the champions at work. The enchanters were probably all busy ¨C I couldn¡¯t see Neverwish, and I hoped he¡¯d made it out of Upper Tivertain in one piece ¨C but some of the others were all-too-visible.


    A druid had changed themselves into a white-furred wolf at least sixty or seventy feet at the shoulder. There wasn¡¯t a demon that could do significant damage to the giant beast, seemingly, and the druid was getting their own back on the hell-spawn in like fashion: chewing them up by the dozens.


    Timesnatcher in his black robe with its white hourglasses, each with a different level of sand; Lightblind in her white robe with its black eyelashes, the sigil of a closed eye ¨C the two arch-diviners fought back-to-back in a whirling flurry of ensorcelled steel that simply didn¡¯t stop, careening across the battlefield unimpeded by any obstacle. They flitted up the impossible ramps made by the spilled innards of buildings, slicing hordes of demons into piles of crumbling parts, moving like the scythed wheel of a chariot with a life and violent will all of its own.


    When they reached a creature they couldn¡¯t slay, one of the rolling hills of fat that swallowed men alive, I saw Winterprince soar past them. He was moving at an uncanny speed, clearly operating under the effects of a diviner¡¯s chronomantic field ¨C the icy wizard fixed the demon in place with the sudden conjuration of a vast wall of ice, ice that kept growing, appearing out of nowhere to form a great vault over the demon. Once it was completely covered, he watched it for a moment, futilely thrusting its vile tongue against the freezing dome¡­ then, as he flew off, darting towards his next target, he nonchalantly waved a huge fist at the demon ¨C


    Instantly it was pierced with a hundred icicle-spears, growing down simultaneously from the inside of the barrier.


    Dustbringer¡¯s legions walked behind him through the chaos, the powers of his spectres just as lethal to the creatures of Infernum as they were to creatures of the Material Plane. Starsight¡¯s daggers blazed. Shadowcloud¡¯s lightning disintegrated foe after foe. Smouldervein¡¯s sword of living fire, more whip than blade, could not be withstood.


    Even the mage-champions were here ¨C I spotted the Binding Brothers in their matching masks that looked like five big chain-links arranged in a loop, erecting barriers on the southern edge of the battle. The Rainbow¡¯s Edge, the seven mages who¡¯d apparently all studied different aspects of their mageries, were fighting near them ¨C I could only see Red, Yellow and Indigo; I guessed their druids were off somewhere healing, and so on¡­


    They were not the only lesser healers who¡¯d shown their faces. The Sisterhood of Wythyldwyn were out in force, half the sisters protecting the other half with hammer and shield as they went to lay their hands on the injured, sealing open wounds and easing pain. And the servants of other deities were thick of the fray too ¨C most visible were the Knights of Kultemeren clad in burnished armour. They were devotees of an ancient sect who were sworn to everlasting silence, now laying about themselves with broadswords that glimmered with a pallid radiance, their fervour palpable even from here.


    It was Redgate who most caught my attention, though.


    He was over to the north, a crimson-shrouded figure with the face of a spider, floating seemingly-unaided through the melee. The sorcerer was preceded into battle by a host of thirty or more big demons, no more than two alike ¨C I saw a pair of white-armoured thinfinaran at his sides, a couple of yithandreng serving as their mounts, flanking him as he hovered along, like his honour-guard. But there was no way he was going to be under attack anytime soon. Whenever he left the protection of his nearest and dearest eldritches, it was because something in the crowd seemed to catch his eye ¨C even as I watched he soared over to the front-line of his fighters and bound a new demon, some kind of two-headed lion that appeared to have taken his fancy.


    So Redgate was awesome.


    There were a dozen or more other champions ¨C some still just arriving to the confrontation, looking fresh as they waded into combat ¨C but none looked so fearsome as he.


    The perimeter was being covered, at least for now, but as I looked out across the battleground I could easily pick out three of the Incursion¡¯s summoners. Shadowcloud had been hurling lightning at an unbound thinfinaran, to little effect, but Dustbringer and his legions were on their way, scything through whole hosts of demons. There was a beautiful woman standing in the midst of the destruction, screaming, howling at the top of her lungs ¨C she would¡¯ve looked like a victim of the demons in her torn clothes and with her ravaged visage, were it not for the fact that, as she wailed and wept, the blood of the fallen was coursing towards her over the rubble, running up her skin, rivulets of redness streaming over her pale flesh and into her eyes, her nose, her mouth.


    Redgate was the closest to her. Perhaps I¡¯d just let him handle that one¡­


    The third summoner I could see was a stick-man, quite literally. Its body was a single black rod six or more feet in length, and its limbs were made from the same material ¨C it had no apparent head, and it teetered and tottered like a drunk, staggering about the place seemingly aimlessly, waving its long, rigid arms. I wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell it was a summoner if it hadn¡¯t been leaving red flames shooting up out of the slime-puddles in its wake.


    No arch-sorcerers near it. I guessed that was my target.


    ¡°You¡¯ll stay with her?¡±


    ¡°The magister?¡± Nighteye replied, looking at me curiously. ¡°Of course, hm, that¡¯s my job ¨C strictly on healing duty, after, hm, last time¡­¡±


    There was a part of me that wanted to stay. I was injured, I could sit with Nighteye in the healer¡¯s pavilion, listen to him ramble on as I waited at Em¡¯s bedside for her to awaken¡­ forget the Incursion, I¡¯d done my part¡­


    But I knew I couldn¡¯t. Couldn¡¯t leave the job half done. Couldn¡¯t abandon Mund, abandon Mundians, to the mercy of these foul creatures. Even if I only saved one more life, it¡¯d be worth my every effort.


    There was some part of me that recognised I was thinking like that because I couldn¡¯t bear the thought of a champion thinking any other way, especially if that champion had been sent to Sticktown, had been sent to protect my loved ones¡­


    ¡°¡­ but you aren¡¯t going back out there, hm¡­ You shouldn¡¯t, Feychilde, they ¨C¡±


    ¡°When the magister wakes up, tell her I¡¯m sorry¡­ Tell her, I had to get back to work.¡±


    I saluted the spluttering druid as I soared away with a single flap of the sylph¡¯s powerful wings.


    I speared at the stick-man, not casting a backwards glance.


    It was doing its level best to reduce a regiment of skeletal warriors to a pile of old bones, and it was enjoying a fair bit of success from the looks of things ¨C the area looked like a dire mole had just exhumed an entire graveyard¡¯s worth of corpses onto the ground. The earth was bursting with tongues of red fire and hordes of scuttling imps.


    The stick-man was a massively-overpowering threat ¨C a single kick from its thin but heavy leg was enough to wreck a whole column of skeletons, smashing the one in front into those behind and leaving none of them so much as twitching where they lay in pieces. Its swinging arms weren¡¯t fast but its opponents possessed neither the reflexes nor the musculature requisite to evade its swipes. Then they had a small army of imps to deal with on top of that. The skellies weren¡¯t going to last long.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Not that any of us were going to be complaining ¨C the skeletons were doing what they were summoned for, taking the blows, diverting the attention of the demons from those who still had some internal organs left. Even in death (undeath? no, re-death) the skeletons were playing their part.


    Now it was my turn.


    I came up closer to it, gazing down upon it.


    Rank?


    ¡°Fifth. Nabburatiim.¡±


    Nabburatiim, I¡¯ve heard of these. They lie down in the dark, pretending to be pieces of wood, then ambush passers-by?


    ¡°That¡¯s the one.¡±


    Does it have eyes?


    If it was going to ambush people, it¡¯d have to have some way of knowing they were there¡­


    Just then, its ¡®head¡¯ (or at least the top end of the vertical ¡®body¡¯ stick ¨C completely indistinguishable from its ¡®foot¡¯ or ¡®hand¡¯ except by its position) tilted towards me.


    ¡°You tell me.¡±


    It was staring back at me, a hundred percent.


    Eerie. It was a big black stick, but it was staring at me, and I could feel it.


    I maintained my gaze ¨C perhaps even glared.


    It suddenly lifted its arm, and swung its hand right through the space I¡¯d just been occupying. A brief burst of activity from my wings took me all-too-high into the air, and I had to control my descent again, hovering now just a little farther from my enemy.


    I had my reinforced circle up, fingers moving by instinct from the moment I¡¯d left the tent, but I had to know that I could move by instinct with the wings. This was good practice.


    While it was distracted by me, skeletons hacked at its metal-hard legs with their dull blades ¨C these summons weren¡¯t outfitted with proper gear like Dustbringer¡¯s ¨C and achieved nothing more than breaking their weapons on the black substance.


    It was still meeting my gaze with its featureless thin face, spinning in a little circle and wheeling its arms at me. I slid out of the way. All the while, it traced scarlet flames across the pools of filth that mired this section of the battlefield, dozens and dozens of imps spawning at its feet.


    It wasn¡¯t going to give in easily. My power ¨C was at its limit?


    ¡°I suspect you may be out of room for now, Kas.¡±


    That¡¯s a very cup-half-empty way of looking at it.


    I realised what I¡¯d done before my¡­ swift sky exit¡­ back in Upper Tivertain.


    A reminder that my capacity for new demons was low was in itself nothing more than a reminder that I had so many I could bring to bear. When I checked with my inbuilt sorcerous instincts I could feel them there, see them.


    Hundreds of them.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, no vacancies,¡± I told the stick-man, slipping away from another clumsy strike. ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to get banished the painful way. Painfuller?¡±


    It ¡®looked¡¯ at me blankly.


    ¡°Whatever.¡±


    Bit by bit I summoned them ¨C I didn¡¯t want to get so weak I¡¯d pass out, and if I now summoned my entire retinue I had the feeling it would hit me twice as hard. And to think I¡¯d wondered at first why I couldn¡¯t take the nabburatiim on as my minion, when Zel had instructed me to take four rhimbelkina just moments before my¡­ sudden course-change.


    Firstly, ¡°Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks! Come cuddle a stick.¡±


    The bintaborax held its arms and legs instead of their hammers, splaying the demon out.


    Then, ¡°Let¡¯s up the ante, with Aunty Antlers!¡±


    The ikistadreng cast me what looked like an amused, sidelong glance ¨C it was hard to tell, what with the strange, blurry red fur covering its body ¨C then sprang down head-first upon the pinned nabburatiim, shattering it into twigs with the sound of rending metal.


    I looked down at the teeming sea of imps it¡¯d spawned in its last moments, sandwiched now between the remaining lines of skeletons, the towering demons I controlled, and me, the winged, masked, simply unbearable arch-sorcerer.


    Lastly, ¡°My legion.¡±


    I let my lesser fiends loose.


    Men with the faces of dogs, red eyes aglow, biting with their maws as much as they clubbed with the crude, improvised weapons they carried ¨C chair-legs, bricks, cutlery. Huge, leathery-winged bats with heads at both ends and no legs; they had no eyes in their twin faces, just nostrils and a wide, fang-lined hole.


    And my imps and folkababil, my flock of birds.


    That was what I¡¯d been forgetting ¨C binding well over a hundred things to my will just before I¡­


    Before I fell.


    My legion tore the unbound imps apart, and after a few choice commands from their master went off looking for bigger prey.


    My forces spilled out across the battle, contributing to the vast, varied slew of attacks that was now somehow stemming the tide of unbound demons.


    We were winning.


    I saw another summoner, a thin man who ran around laughing with his entrails endlessly pouring out through a savage rip across his torso. Already there was far too much intestine draped around the surrounding landscape for any mortal to have produced, yet he kept on running, kept on laughing, his innards kept on pouring. And from time to time, another demon came tearing out of his midriff fully-formed, a fact that just seemed to make the laughing-man laugh harder.


    I whipped about in pursuit of him, crushing those he¡¯d spawned before they managed to get their bearings. He passed right beneath the seventy-foot-tall druid-wolf, and I had to tuck in my wings and twist them as I barrelled between the druid¡¯s huge forelegs, snatching up the gang of imps he¡¯d spawned in the process.


    Out the other side, I caught up. This time the demon ¨C an atiimogrix, apparently ¨C gave in almost instantly, falling into line as one of my bound demons and being dismissed without resistance.


    That could only mean I¡¯d already, permanently or at least semi-permanently, lost some of my troops.


    Not that this was entirely undesirable ¨C I was Feychilde, not Hellchilde, after all ¨C nor altogether unexpected, as they were fighting demons that were their peers in potency. I saw from afar that Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks and Aunty Antlers were doing fine, each currently taking on a different target. They¡¯d found things close to their own sizes to pick on, and didn¡¯t look to be letting up any time soon.


    I left to catch another summoner, a strange rolling ball of hair and nails the size of a horse, with a tree shaped of rust on top ¨C when I came back to see how they were getting on I witnessed a panicked magister throwing a bolt of lightning at one of the bintaborax, thinking it a foe, its onrushing steps a threat.


    The unarmed bintaborax took the blast in the chest; the electricity merely crackled between its spikes, and it kept on coming ¨C


    The magister-wizard backed away, spreading his hands in a desperate warding gesture, completely bereft of magical intention but entirely human, given the situation he thought he was in ¨C


    My bintaborax arrived barely in time to intercept the spiky demon that was about to eviscerate the magister from behind, a hammer forming out of the air to smash the jagged demon¡¯s trident into lava-like sludge.


    ¡°Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Neverwish! You made it.¡±


    ¡°Hold on. I¡¯m linking you up, Timesnatcher.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Feychilde¡­¡±


    ¡°Good evening, Feychilde.¡± A new voice ¨C rich and rolling, somehow familiar. ¡°I¡¯m Timesnatcher. In about ninety seconds something really big¡¯s coming through. Titan-class. Maybe eighteenth rank.¡±


    He knew his sorcery, it seemed, for an arch-diviner ¨C and eighteenth rank sounded way beyond my capabilities.


    ¡°Yeah, drop on that,¡± Zel observed.


    ¡°Leafcloak¡¯s going to pin it.¡± I cast my gaze upwards at the looming form of the titanic wolf-druid. ¡°She¡¯ll keep it busy. I¡¯m getting Redgate and Netherhame to hem it in. Dustbringer, Shallowlie and Direcrown are going to hold the perimeter. I want you front and centre ¨C not to fight, but to watch. We¡¯ve long-since learned that the Incursion is the best training-ground. Keep a close eye ¨C your sorcerer¡¯s¨Ceye ¨C on what they do.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I¡¯ll do my best?¡±


    How big did he mean?


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you will,¡± Timesnatcher returned. ¡°You¡¯ve performed admirably already. Keep it together for the last act, yeah?¡±


    The last act. Okay.


    I started yelling in Infernal at my minions, drifting here and there (protected from any number of projectile attacks by my shield), marshalling them into a single force. I shepherded them towards the pale shape of the towering wolf, her flanks gleaming in the mingled moonlight and spell-flame. They followed.


    And those they met were left as pulp and bone in their wake.


    Two bintaborax, one ikistadreng, and thirty miniature minions. That¡¯d have to do for now. I wanted to keep my wits about me and I was starting to feel the weight of my fatigue again, something miraculously alleviated by Nighteye¡¯s ministrations that was only now returning. I no longer felt like I¡¯d had twenty-four hours sleep ¨C I felt like I¡¯d had no sleep for days and nearly died and then went straight back to fighting.


    This time when the red flames erupted, it was like nothing I¡¯d ever seen before.


    A circle of blood near the centre of the battlefield rose up, up, like a wall of deep red wine. A hill, a mountain of crimson that resolved itself into a thousand tongues of hell-fire, flickering, pulsing skyward.


    It didn¡¯t quite match the wolf-shaped Leafcloak in height, when it appeared, but it had to be close.


    The behemoth wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d been expecting. Not humanoid; not even bestial. It resembled more a piece of internal architecture, the struts and bars that could be found supporting the roof of some colossal structure. But it was alive, ever-shifting, a complex web of metal poles ¨C some thicker than my body, some thinner than my fingers. Even as I watched, it rolled, screeched, clanged, and rearranged itself, forming several limbs ¨C three massive metal-mesh arms, and four legs, or six if you counted the free-swinging ones that weren¡¯t planted in the rubble, resembling tails more than anything else.


    Before the red flames even vanished Leafcloak plunged forwards, taking hold of one of the arms in her giant mouth, clenching down on the metal with her teeth.


    The high-pitched squeal of bone on steel filled the smoke-choked air.


    She yanked back, straining, drawing on the strength of the titanic wolf-shape to pull the behemoth off-balance ¨C but she failed, her pale paws digging into the ruins again and again as she desperately tugged, trying to leverage her superior stature.


    It was to no avail. Perhaps the titan-demon had absolute control over its weird body and its positioning through some eldritch power; perhaps it was simply too heavy to lift. Whether the explanation was something supernatural or something mundane, she couldn¡¯t pull it hard enough to make its legs move one inch.


    But it didn¡¯t matter. Leafcloak had restricted its initial movement, preventing it from leaping away or committing whatever other nefarious deed it was planning ¨C and now Redgate and Netherhame were there, floating around it in a clockwise circle, their hands working on barriers. Redgate¡¯s method of flight was still unfathomable to me ¨C he had no wings, no stream of wind, nothing I could see ¨C but Netherhame was drifting ghostlike through the air, her flesh and robe semi-transparent and purplish.


    Semi-transparent or not, the barriers she wove were as real as any others I¡¯d seen. As they built a sphere around the demon I could already see its flailing arms being impeded, its movements halted.


    They completed the barrier in front of Leafcloak and the druid released her clamp on its arm, stepping back softly on padding paws that still shook the ground with each footfall.


    I hovered closer, studying the shield. They were working together ¨C I could see the threads of force where one arch-sorcerer left them dangling in the air or threw them, only to be taken up, connected and reconnected to others by their colleague. Within seconds there was a vast spider¡¯s-web of impenetrable blue lines surrounding the demon. It built up, up and out, in an almost honeycomb-pattern.


    I stared at the beautiful creation, trying my utmost to drink it all in.


    And I saw the impenetrable blue lines waver, wobble and dim as the demon struck them.


    ¡°Feychilde is linked to you,¡± Neverwish said in my head.


    It was a female, Netherhame I assumed, whose voice came through next: ¡°We need Dustbringer, not some newbie. No offence, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°None taken. I can barely follow what you¡¯re doing.¡±


    Netherhame again: ¡°This is hitting the weave really hard, Timesnatcher. It¡¯s going to break through any moment.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re trying to help Smouldervein. Wait.¡±


    I could see threads of force that they simply weren¡¯t quick enough to link together, and I flapped hard a couple of times whilst maintaining my upright position, trying to come closer to the huge demon.


    But I overdid it, shooting up into the sky.


    I hurtled up, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, sick, like last Fullday night when I¡¯d flown with Em for the first time.


    Then the gruff voice of Dustbringer, of Endren Solosto: ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    It was like he¡¯d spoken in my ear, disorienting me ¨C I cast about, and the motion of my head was dizzying.


    I could see everything. Too much detail.


    A full band of magisters being eaten by a fifteen-foot cyclops, their shields shattered, defences scattered. One of the Binding Brothers being ripped in two across the diaphragm, imps at either end of him, wrenching and chortling. Smouldervein being rapidly disintegrated by what looked like a dancing old man in rags, alternating rays of white and red light shooting out of the rag-man¡¯s hands, withering the champion away to nothing.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to help, you know. Shut your eyes and breathe.¡±


    Shut¡­ my eyes!


    ¡°Just focus on one thing then. Look for Dust-¡±


    Heals were landing on Smouldervein ¨C I could see the arch-druid responsible, wreathing the wizard in green light ¨C but it did no good. Smouldervein became dust.


    It was too late. Bile rose in my throat.


    Glad that my mask didn¡¯t cover my mouth like my scarf had, I emptied my stomach, even while I floated.


    And in that moment I lost control of the wings.


    ¡°Feychilde? Something¡¯s going to happen to Feychilde too!¡±


    Timesnatcher only made it worse.


    This time when I¡­ I descended¡­ it was all my fault.


    And when the huge talons of a giant eagle caught me, ten feet from impact into demons and rubble, slashing into my back and saving my life, it was like I was a rat again, a rat in the grip of an owl.


    * * *

 Red Rain pt3

    Nighteye¡¯s brow furrowed beneath the brim of his hood as he stared down at me with what must¡¯ve been a stern expression. ¡°You really have to stop making a habit of this,¡± he said, the moment he saw I¡¯d awoken and was watching him, my head on its side, ¡°you have absolutely no idea how exasperating it is to have to see to the same patient more than once in the same battle ¨C a few months off, sure, maybe you forget what it¡¯s like to nearly die ¨C but fifteen minutes? Smouldervein¡¯s dead, and if Leafcloak hadn¡¯t caught you ¨C¡°


    ¡°Nighteye, that¡¯s quite enough,¡± came another voice from my other side, matronly, warm.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Leafcloak, I was just about to get to the fact that he ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ll take over here.¡±


    There was a shuffling sound as someone crossed the pavilion, heading towards Nighteye: Leafcloak marched into view.


    She was white-haired ¨C the kind that came with age ¨C and masked with what looked like oak-tree leaves in different states of decay, arranged to cover most of her face. Her mouth and chin were clear, but other than that the mask left only the slits for her to see through. Her frame was plump and short, her chest on the overly-heavy side, all fastened tightly into a clingy green robe. The robe itself had clearly been a luxury item once upon a time, its hue scintillating between different shades, like a strip of grass blowing in the breeze; but it was frayed at every hem at skirts and cuffs, patched and re-patched in various places with other (plainly lesser-quality) cloth.


    She put a hand on Nighteye¡¯s arm. ¡°Go fix Osselor ¨C he¡¯ll need two new eyes, thank you.¡±


    I shuddered. Shivered. Lying there with my head on its side, staring in the same direction, not wanting to turn to look at the man she was talking about.


    Nighteye strode out of my line of sight, protesting in an endless stream of inflections under his breath as he went on his way.


    ¡°There is nothing medically wrong with you,¡± the old arch-druidess said once she¡¯d seated herself on the empty bed next to me, ¡°aside from a touch of exhaustion. I think you need the help of an enchanter or a minister, truth be told, rather than a child of the Earth.¡±


    I righted my head, shut my eyes. I knew there was nothing medically wrong with me. They¡¯d clearly reenergised me again ¨C I felt fine, bodily.


    ¡°You fell. Twice, in the span of an hour. If I didn¡¯t already know better ¨C it was you chasing that thing through my legs, wasn¡¯t it? ¨C I¡¯d say you needed more practice.¡±


    I could feel the weight of her leaf-framed gaze even with my eyes closed.


    ¡°So instead I¡¯m saying you need help. You ¨C¡±


    ¡°Where is Em?¡± I asked. My voice sounded level enough to my ears.


    ¡°You mean Emrelet Reyd.¡± I could hear the smile on her lips. ¡°You seem to spend a lot of time with that magister, don¡¯t you, young man?¡±


    I opened my eyes, turned to look at her. ¡°I¡¯m committed to becoming a champion. I¡¯m not joining the Magisterium. I¡­¡± My eyes went to the bedding, tracing the faint lines on the fine white linens. ¡°She can help me fly.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re quite capable of flying yourself, aren¡¯t you?¡± I opened my mouth to protest, but she raised a grimy finger to shush me. ¡°Oh, I quite understand. I was young too, once. Just because I¡¯m the oldest human champion in the city doesn¡¯t mean I didn¡¯t have a dalliance or two back in the day.¡±


    You¡¯re only oldest because you retired, more than once, I wanted to say.


    Her smile was sympathetic. ¡°She¡¯s the one who can help you. I do follow.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t say it.


    ¡°Just¡­ where is she?¡±


    ¡°She was getting up just as I brought you in -¡°


    I sat, swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and started calling on my wings.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me tie you down.¡± Threats were incongruous with her mothering tone, and all the more terrifying for it. I almost froze. ¡°I can and will, but don¡¯t make me.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right.¡±


    Zel, you¡¯re still here?


    ¡°You didn¡¯t get very hurt, this time. Your robe and tunic are shredded across the back too, now, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Leafcloak, I¡¯m truly grateful to you for saving my life. I failed.¡± This time it was her opening her mouth to interject and me holding up a finger. ¡°I failed. I won¡¯t fly up high again. I promise. But.¡± I drew in a shuddering breath. ¡°Don¡¯t make me defend myself. I can and will, but don¡¯t you make me. I at least need to see it. You can¡¯t just leave me here listening to the fake birds singing while I know what¡¯s going on right there!¡± I jabbed my hand at the canvas wall at the front of the tent. ¡°I won¡¯t try to help, but I¡¯ve got to understand¡­¡±


    Damn it, what did they call it?


    ¡°The weave?¡±


    ¡°¡­ the weave! I¡¯ll never get a better chance to see it -¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly!¡± she said with a snort, clapping both hands down onto her knees. ¡°We¡¯ll get you a tutor, when the moon¡¯s full. I take it that Nighteye or Dustbringer¡­?¡±


    I met her gaze, then sighed. ¡°Nighteye told me.¡±


    ¡°Good, good. I¡¯ll permit you into the porch to watch ¨C no flying off, or I will force you to defend yourself.¡±


    No sooner had the words left her lips, I was standing up. The pain was almost gone, just the odd sharp twist in my ankles remaining ¨C but I kept my wings out as I walked towards the entrance just in case. As I went past Nighteye, where he bent over a magister¡¯s maimed face, I murmured, ¡°I¡¯ll try not to exasperate you so badly in future, my friend. Thank you.¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    He looked up and gave me a nod, but he was tapping his foot as though he were still annoyed, or nervous, or something.


    Then I was out in the protected porch once more. I looked out over the iron-helmed skulls of the skeletal warriors, staring into the sky.


    Due to Zel I could spot Em within seconds, lightning-lit, platinum hair tempest-swept.


    There was a ring of wizards and sorcerers in the air, others under the effects of flight-spells too. The few magisters still in the fight must¡¯ve been archmages. The lot of them were throwing everything they had at the shield-enclosed, living-metal behemoth. Frozen struts of iron were struck by explosive missiles, and the rubble at its feet coalesced into an army of earthen elementals which aided the waves of bound demons piling onto it. The summons had been set to climbing the massive demon¡¯s lattice-like structure, tearing at its weak points with fingers of brick, warping its steely supports with infernal power.


    And the barrier-weave still held ¨C Dustbringer was there, soaring around as fast as his Nethermist-shrouded chariot would carry him, helping to fix the lines of force the very moment they were damaged.


    The behemoth, for what it was worth, hadn¡¯t given up. It tore through the earth elementals as if they were comprised of dust, and only the very hardiest of the sorcerers¡¯ demons fared any better. Its thrashing blows came simultaneously against various edges of the shield-weave, and seemed to slow the lines¡¯ rotations where it struck them so that they ended up crumpling, the forces folding up into a distorted mess that took the focus of multiple sorcerers to iron out.


    Suddenly the skeletons in front of the pavilion, right before me, were engaged in combat. The back ranks were just yards away, occluding the front lines, but I could hear the undead soldiers clanking as they fell to pieces, too slow to respond as swift-moving hell-spawn came clawing and gnashing at them. I even heard the pops of explosions, the screeching of shredded bone.


    There were fewer now standing than when I¡¯d last been here, and I worried they might fail to outlast whatever was killing (re-killing) them. We didn¡¯t want to have demons pushing directly against the powerful shield Dustbringer had put over the healing station, surely¡­


    I had a suspicion I¡¯d be able to reanimate the broken bones of the fallen, make them put themselves back together, but I didn¡¯t want to exert my influence over them ¨C largely because I didn¡¯t want to get on Dustbringer¡¯s bad side if I did manage to pull it off. It would mean wresting control of them from him¡­


    I looked across at Leafcloak. ¡°Are you going to help them, or can I go up ten feet just to take a look?¡± I inclined my head towards the skeletal warriors.


    She met my eyes. ¡°Ten feet only, young man. Any higher, I bring you back down to earth the hard way, and you¡¯ll fight again when it¡¯s night in the Twelve Heavens.¡±


    I don¡¯t think you can match my speed in your bird form, I thought as I ascended softly, using just the merest twitch of my lower wings.


    ¡°She could just turn right back into that massive wolf, though, and almost instantly she¡¯d be tall enough to catch you between her teeth.¡±


    Maybe.


    I looked out at the front rank of the skeletons.


    A thinfinaran was there, a host of chest-high, flat-horned fiends at his back. And as I reached the angle of elevation required for me to see him, he raised his empty white helm to me, crying out: ¡°Zi nissel grel ¨C khashal, ugrel abarax akkar!¡±


    He didn¡¯t exactly look happy to see me, and his voice had something of a desperate quality to it. He was trying to break out of the perimeter, after all, and knowing he¡¯d ended up losing at the end of our last encounter couldn¡¯t have exactly been filling him with confidence.


    But it was him, definitely him. Still thinking the city was going to fall tonight.


    ¡°You¡¯re still wrong!¡± I yelled back at him.


    He¡¯s been reborn already?


    ¡°He must have friends in high places.¡±


    Low places.


    ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    I looked down at Leafcloak. ¡°You¡¯ve got a thinfinaran coming, the white-knight variety of demon. Summoner. You know the one?¡±


    ¡°The one with the gauntlets. Yes.¡±


    It looked like she frowned, then she was a small hummingbird in less than the blink of an eye. She flapped up to my level, looking out on the tenth-rank foe.


    ¡°I¡¯ll deal with this,¡± she said in an almost sing-song voice.


    ¡°Are you sure? I could just saunter over there ¨C I¡¯ve met him before, but this time I could properly bind him for a bit, and you ¨C¡°


    I tried to scrutinise her body-language as she suddenly circled back down to land again in the pavilion¡¯s porch; even after she reverted to human form, saying nothing to me, it was impossible.


    Perhaps she was consenting?


    I looked out again over the melee, but the thinfinaran was nowhere to be seen. The tide of the battle had suddenly turned, the skeletons pouring over their prone enemies, their swords thrusting mindlessly into hell-flesh bodies.


    They were on the ground ¨C all of the demons, in the rubble. It took me a few moments to spot how they were being held down, pulled down, by meshes of roots and shoots that had seemingly sprung up out of nowhere.


    I landed next to Leafcloak. ¡°You¡¯re not going to kill a thinfinaran with some plants you¡¯ve just conjured out of nowhere! I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Young man, do you think this is the first time I¡¯ve stepped into the arena?¡± The aged arch-druid sounded amused. ¡°I set those plants there under the ground before we even set up the tent. As though we druids would take no precautions of our own, and trust instead to the fortifications of sorcery! As ¨C¡°


    ¡°But the thinfin-¡±


    ¡°As for the thinfinaran, you must understand ¨C¡± Leafcloak approached the back-line of the skeletons, facing away from me ¨C twists and snarls of roots came threading between the legs of the undead soldiers, carrying something through the ranks ¡°¨C that I¡¯ve been fighting them since before you were born.¡±


    She retrieved whatever it was the roots had been carrying to her, then turned back to me, hefting the items up for me to see.


    My jaw dropped suitably.


    ¡°They¡¯re basically powerless without their gauntlets, and they can¡¯t just make more on this plane.¡±


    She tossed the two massive white-metal gloves to the ground between us, where they fell with a pair of tremendous, clattering thuds.


    Even just hearing their weight, I had to wonder at the strength Leafcloak had in her plump, little-old-woman frame. I doubted I¡¯d have been able to lift one glove with both hands, and suspected it¡¯d take a muscle-bound man to do much better. Hefting both at once¡­


    She was using archmagery, her fine control over her own musculature, to cheat. That was what the heretic druid in Firenight Square had been doing when she¡¯d used her bare hand to rend stone.


    Interesting.


    I went back to watching the fight against the ¨C


    ¡°Smikelliol. I¡¯m sorry, I know you¡¯re fed up of the names, but I¡¯m just as fed up of watching you flounder.¡±


    Smikelliol. Thank you, Zel. And thanks for, for earlier. Making me summon Avaelar. I wouldn¡¯t have thought of that anything like so fast. You saved my life.


    ¡°Again.¡±


    Again. I smiled. I do hope those people back in Oldtown are okay¡­


    ¡°They¡¯ll be fine.¡± And then, almost immediately, ¡°Your glyphstone¡¯s about to go off. It¡¯s something¡­ something important.¡±


    I reached through my robe into my satchel, fishing out my glyphstone ¨C and the very second it was in my hand it started to warm up, glowing and humming.


    I held it up, tangentially aware of Leafcloak cocking her head at me curiously ¨C then her hand reaching into a pocket, presumably to listen to her own version of the message.


    It wasn¡¯t a champion or magister. It wasn¡¯t even a mage. Instead I saw a bearded man in leather armour, the derided ¡®H¡¯-shaped crest of Sticktown embossed in the centre. He had a watchman¡¯s twelve-spoked silver badge on the left side of his chest and three silver arrows on the right ¨C markings of high rank. A Sticktown watch captain.


    For most of my youth, men such as him had been the bogeyman. Now I summoned and slew real bogeymen, and I was basically about to take orders from the watch.


    How things had changed.


    But as he spoke with his thoughts, my mood sank. Dread settled over me.


    ¡°All champions.¡± A pause. ¡°General alert. Red rain fell from the sky after you left. Lord¡¯s Knuckle¡¯s under attack, and Helbert¡¯s Bend¡¯s on fire -¡°


    I broke the glyphstone-trance.


    Leafcloak was too distracted to stop me even if she could¡¯ve.


    With a single beat of my glowing wings, I was gone.

 Impatience pt1

    <h2>OBSIDIAN 3.4: IMPATIENCE</h2>


    ¡°The Arch-Diviner represents finding out. The moment of revelation. A new discovery. Reversed, he represents secrecy. The hiding of that which should never be hidden. Not just the lie but the liar himself.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Tarot for Beginners¡¯


    I stayed low this time. I¡¯d had problems going too high, so I skirted the roofs of the lower buildings. It would¡¯ve been quicker to go over the towers as the ground dropped away beneath me but I had enough sense left to take the less risky route, drop down with it.


    No druid here now to catch me, to put my bones back together.


    ¡°I think this is a phenomenally bad idea.¡± It was Timesnatcher¡¯s deep voice. ¡°Let us finish up here; we¡¯ll come with you.¡±


    ¡°My brother and sister.¡±


    ¡°I understand¡­ We¡¯ll be three or four minutes behind you. Just one more summoner to go, and the smikelliol.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you get someone else to go with me? Just one or two?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    ¡°Leafcloak¡¯s going to be so mad with me, the way I left her¡­¡±


    ¡°Her bark¡¯s worse than her bite. I¡¯ll talk to her. You¡¯re ¨C you move fast. You¡¯re about to exceed Lovebright¡¯s radius.¡±


    ¡°Not Neverwish¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s down. Recovering. Almost spent himself fighting some snow-illusionist. You keep your wits about you. Reinforcements will -¡°


    The arch-diviner¡¯s voice faded between one word and the next.


    I reached the cliffs at the Westrise. Below me a narrow, steep strip of Hilltown separated Hightown and Sticktown. I halted above the rooftops of the buildings standing at the edge and looked down ¨C the swooning nausea returned almost instantly.


    Far off in the distance, my home was in flames.


    ¡°Take your time, Kas. You can do it. Take a deep breath.¡±


    Even hovering here was filling me with chagrin. I was annoyed at myself, sick of my weakness. I settled down on the corner of a tiled roof, folding my wings.


    I crouched there in my torn robe. If anyone saw me from the street they¡¯d doubtless think me a demon ¨C a dark shape but for the soft blue curvature of the wings at my back, perhaps a glint where the mask caught their unnatural radiance¡­


    Every second I wait, people there will die. And it¡¯s my fault! Red rain fell from the sky ¨C it was from the rhimbelkina in Tivertain! If I¡¯d found them sooner, if we¡¯d had better luck ¨C they were throwing hell-fire into the breeze¡­


    ¡°Stop. Close your eyes.¡±


    I took a deep breath, and did as she asked.


    ¡°You cannot smell the smoke of the fires, cannot hear the Bells, cannot feel the tiles beneath your feet. You are a feather now. You can feel the wind in your wings. That is the only thing you can feel now. You feel nothing else. You are a leaf. A leaf on an invisible night wind. You are floating on an endless surface with no up or down, no right or wrong.


    ¡°Just lean forwards. Spread your wings now and lean forwards.¡±


    I was pretty sure she gave me a push. Whatever happened, I was now falling.


    But I opened my wings as I opened my eyes, and already I was halfway down. It wasn¡¯t so bad from here.


    I spread my wings farther and then I was swooping across the wooden labyrinths of Sticktown¡¯s neighbourhoods, circumventing all their loops and twists. The streets were empty of all those who had homes to go to, and even most of the road-dwellers were nowhere to be seen ¨C only the most inebriated, depressed or stupid stayed out when the Bells rang. You¡¯d be better off digging yourself a hole in the mud and breathing through a reed than sitting there in the open.


    I was doing a good job of quashing down my panic, my doubt, my gut-feeling that everything had gone awry. But as I saw the destruction I was approaching, it came hurtling back, making my spine tingle, my blood surge with excitement and terror.


    Helbert¡¯s Bend ¨C Mud Lane ¨C Jaid and Jar ¨C


    Just to chase the panic, there was a shot of guilt, as I remembered Morsus, the one who was well-and-truly dead, gone, departed from this plane forever.


    I remembered what it was to see his body.


    I imagined how much worse it¡¯d have been if it was one of the twins.


    Both of the twins.


    How much worse it could be if they didn¡¯t even leave bodies behind.


    They won¡¯t take my brother and sister. They won¡¯t get to take them away.


    I will burn them in flames they cannot withstand.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Zel hissed.


    I looked down, and it took me a second to realise what I was seeing ¨C Knuckle Market was gone. It¡¯d been two years since it¡¯d taken a hit in an Incursion, but this went beyond last time ¨C now it was just a muddy square, blackened with ash and charcoal.


    I will make them suffer for this.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Zel crowed again.


    With the exultant agreement of my trusted advisor ringing in my psychic ears, I coursed across to the bridges spanning Mud Lane and surveyed what they had done to my home.


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    Most of the people were gone. Gone, dead. But there were still people who needed saving.


    I wanted to tear at my hair.


    I started fighting before I really saw anything, without even stopping. It was too much to take in. It didn¡¯t look like there were any summoners right here, but that was a mixed blessing ¨C we¡¯d have to find the summoner to stop the flow.


    My red-shimmering ikistadreng met three bintaborax with her vast black antlers. They were bowled over, and as they arose, two gripping her antlers to allow the third to smash in her face with its hammer, two of my bintaborax, bigger in every way, took that third up and ripped it in half between them.


    The Incursion hellspawn were killing things whilst trampling the block directly opposite my apartment. It was nothing more than black sticks and charred bodies now. My view from the main room window would be forever changed, even after the rebuild. They never built the same building the same way twice, and even if they managed a miracle I¡¯d still have the memories of the corpses on the ground, pulverised under the cloven feet of my demonic minions as my pets drove away the actual killers.


    I knew those corpses. I saw Barticia Browne and Sorbit No-Name. One of the arch-enemies of my past, the hated Renkos Fishface, leeching me of old animosities by simple virtue of his broken body.


    More to the point, my own apartment building was on fire. The twins wouldn¡¯t even remember anything this bad ever happening before. It¡¯d been ¨C what ¨C four years? five? ¨C since an Incursion last hit Mud Lane.


    Were they in there? Were they dying? Xantaire would¡¯ve gotten them out. But how would I know?


    Flood Boy was already putting out the flames from an upper-level walkway; he¡¯d been my first eldritch on the scene. A host of my demons was on the ground, and some were now ranging the lower levels of the apartment blocks, engaging with the unbound fiends. I directed a few into the enflamed sections, probably terrifying any number of trapped survivors as my minions sought to drag them out of the dwellings soonest to collapse.


    I flew feet-first at my apartment door and smashed right through it, landing almost on my backside in the entryway. A quick scan with Zel¡¯s senses told me no one was here.


    My heels hurt where I¡¯d struck the door with them, my only-recently fixed bones groaning in protest. My favourite books would soon be burning ¨C there were fires on the ground level, imps cavorting through the apartments beneath me.


    I didn¡¯t care. I needed to see the twins.


    Where are they, Zel? Not waiting ¨C I knew she¡¯d have told me the moment she perceived them anyway ¨C I tore out of there, back onto the balcony, and commanded, Find them! Now!


    ¡°Yes, I¡­ There¡¯s a large group, more than thirty people, in the building there. Across Springwalk!¡±


    She drew my eyes to our neighbouring building, not as-yet in flames.


    Second floor. A broken door hanging loose in its frame. Unbound imps crowding to get in, three or four dozen of them, their spindly, winged bodies swarming over the smashed windows like bugs.


    Something was keeping them back, for now.


    ¡°Kids in it! And there¡¯s already a huge demon in there! Kas!¡±


    I¡¯d needed no more spurring, and was already in motion.


    The plan was simple. Go right through the horde of imps, snaring as many of them as I could ¨C destroy them, then catch the big thing before it could eat anyone else ¨C


    It was going to suffer, for each and every person it¡¯d killed ¨C I didn¡¯t care if it was another eighteenth rank demon, it would pay ¨C


    And if it¡¯d harmed one hair on the twins¡¯ heads¡­


    I plunged at the apartment feet-first again ¨C but this time there was no door to kick-in. My ethereal wings passed clean through the ruined door-frame, unlike the imps I pulled along in my wake, smashing their limbs on the jagged edges of broken wood. I landed on the soles of my boots this time, and I took my fiend-filled diamonds of force and scissored their occupants to pieces even as I found my stride ¨C


    And I stopped dead.


    I recognised the yithandreng whose plate-sized eyes were staring back at me. Her horns had a peculiar curve to them which made her different to the others I¡¯d seen.


    ¡°Rhu Thrile,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Rhu Dwazisen,¡± she growled back amiably.


    The thirty people were more kids than adults. There were no bodies. None that were from this plane, anyway.


    My eyes scoured them ¨C it took only an instant to find what I sought.


    Jaid and Jaroan were there, Xantaire and Xastur and Orstrum. And the Finnerfells and the Sawdans and Salli Meleine and Omrin and Balasain Beerbelly, the greatest ale-drinker the Gold Griffin had ever suffered ¨C all people I¡¯d known most of my life. They were all safe.


    Safe.


    Fe was a little smaller than the full twenty-feet size at which I¡¯d previously seen her, but only by a bit. Even at a reduced stature, it was clearly her tail that was responsible for taking down most of the internal walls. The victims of the Incursion were huddled behind the demon, crowded into what was essentially a single space with the ruins of bedrooms in the corners.


    It was only then, focussing my sorcerer¡¯s-eye, that I could see the line of shielding protecting everyone. It wasn¡¯t strong, wobbling a little ¨C probably due to the fact that the floorboards on which the dust had been sprinkled didn¡¯t quite line up, rather than any lack of skill on the caster¡¯s part. But it was there, and it was real.


    She¡¯d saved all my loved ones.


    I saw as Jaid began to move towards me ¨C saw as Jar¡¯s hand went to her shoulder, held her back.


    I smiled. There were tears in my eyes, tears of frustration and fatigue, tears in the kids¡¯ eyes too. But it was all okay.


    They were safe.


    Ciraya stepped into view from where she¡¯d been peering over Fe¡¯s flank. The hood of her too-big black magister¡¯s robe was pulled low over her face, obscuring her shaven, tattooed head ¨C but I could see her blue eyes luminous beneath the brim, her full lips pursed in a relieved-looking smile.


    ¡°You sure took your sweet time,¡± she remarked, none of her emotion showing in her drawl.


    ¡°Oh, you know,¡± I looked around the room I¡¯d just strewn in parts of imp, ¡°saving the city¡­ one just isn¡¯t as punctual as one longs to be. I¡­¡± I looked directly at her. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Well we¡¯re not out yet,¡± she said, shrugging. ¡°Fe can¡¯t protect us all from the ¨C¡°


    ¡°Most of the big demons are dead ¨C the ones left are mine. But even without them,¡± I moved my hands, ¡°we¡¯re going to get out of here just fine. Can you see this?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I know what you¡¯re doing, though. Fine. How far do we get on your shield?¡±


    I gave her distances.


    ¡°Everyone!¡± She turned back to the crowd, and they all looked to her, even Jaid and Jaroan whose wide eyes had been glued to me since the moment I arrived. ¡°We are going with the nice archmage. He¡¯s called Feychilde.¡± It gave me mixed feelings to hear the sighs of awe that rippled through the Mud Laners. They had no idea I was Kas, their next-door neighbour. ¡°The closer we stay to him, the safer we are. That means some of us get to be the lucky ones who walk in front of him ¨C that¡¯s us grown-ups. I¡¯ll stay at the limit ¨C go no farther forwards than me, okay?¡±


    There were nods, murmurs of assent. She¡¯d managed to make them trust her, despite the dragon-like entity at her beck and call.


    This was more than just the white Magisterium symbol on her robe. She¡¯d made them trust her, and kept that trust, kept them alive through a literal visitation from the Twelve Hells.


    I would be recommending Ciraya for honours or a promotion or something the next time I saw Henthae.


    She slid onto Fe, then slid off again on my side. She whispered as she passed me, ¡°That¡¯ll give you some breathing room with your kids?¡±


    I barely had time to gasp another ¡°Thank you!¡± before she¡¯d exited through the ruined door, Fe shrinking down at a moment¡¯s notice to slip out through the wreckage of the doorway, hot on her heels and now no more than ten feet in length.


    A press of the adults and teens surged forwards, and I moved aside to give some room to Balasain Beerbelly¡¯s beer-belly. I smiled and nodded at their murmurs of gratitude, feeling altogether like I¡¯d arrived too late to deserve their thanks.


    Xantaire and Orstrum came last ¨C Xantaire wasn¡¯t letting go of Xastur and carried him on her hip like he was a two-year-old rather than a four-year-old.


    ¡°Kassy?¡± the little boy murmured sleepily.


    ¡°Kassy was out with his girlfriend,¡± Xantaire muttered, flashing me a look as she crossed in front of me on her way towards the door.


    Orstrum headed past and patted me on the arm.


    I turned to the mass of kids and tried giving a reassuring smile. ¡°Who wants to go see some awesome demon battles?¡±


    There were still some dubious looks amongst them.


    ¡°Do you want to know the best bit?¡± I let myself grin. ¡°We win every fight.¡±


    * * *

 Impatience pt2

    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    I wasn¡¯t wrong. I did my best to tone down the violence, but there was only so far you could take demon-on-demon combat with regard to keeping it sanitised. The things being annihilated by antlers resembling full-grown trees, or by blows from ridiculously-oversized hammers ¨C those things were still being annihilated, as much as I tried to keep the rending-claws type demons I owned away from the fight.


    And, even if they didn¡¯t look precisely (or vaguely) humanoid, a fair number of the unbound demons could still scream.


    The shrieking was, indeed, bad ¨C I supposed I hadn¡¯t really been focussing on it before, but it must¡¯ve been there all along tonight, like the Mourning Bells, still ringing in the distance. It went on for thirty seconds before I realised I could do something about it ¨C I summoned Zabalam to walk with us, shielding the children from the sights and sounds of this hellscape, and cursed myself for not realising earlier.


    He replaced the chaos with what was, I thought, a lovely rendition of the otherworld ¨C all strange trees and boughs of tall grass, luminescent with fluttering insects ¨C but the kids seemed to want to inspect the gremlin rather than his conjurations. They were amused by his odd clothes, his pig-like face with its green mould and green eyes ¨C and the fact that they towered over him, of course.


    While the rest of the kids were distracted, I surreptitiously allowed Jaid and Jaroan to slide under my arms, one walking on either side of me.


    ¡°You came,¡± Jaid said, shoving her head into my ribs and squashing her face against me. ¡°And you¡¯ve got the coolest wings.¡±


    But when Jaroan spoke, he was less complimentary; I could sense the distance about him, hear the accusation in his voice.


    ¡°You¡¯re using demons.¡±


    ¡°Got to,¡± I answered, pressing my hands tight into their shoulders as if I meant to fuse them there forever. ¡°No way to do this without them.¡± I nodded at the shield¡¯s perimeter ¨C they couldn¡¯t see what I was trying to indicate, of course, but I found myself doing it all the same. ¡°The unbound ones from the Incursion would break through my barriers if they weren¡¯t being distracted.¡±


    I looked down at Jaroan and he looked up at me ¨C the moment held, and then a flicker of a smile touched his lips.


    ¡°The wings are cool,¡± he offered.


    ¡°A hundred percent non-demon.¡±


    ¡°I know that.¡± He squeezed me briefly, almost hesitantly.


    We kept on walking. We¡¯d made our way down the stair onto the narrow lane itself, and we moved as a single mass towards the low end of Mud Lane where it met the Spannerwalk alleyways. I didn¡¯t have much choice about that ¨C we couldn¡¯t go up the lane. The uphill route would lead back towards the burning heart of Helbert¡¯s Bend and the desolation of Lord¡¯s Knuckle. Many of the neighbourhood pets, cats and dogs that¡¯d been too scared or loyal to venture from their hiding-places, came out to join our exodus. I¡¯d expanded the shields to accommodate the newcomers, those who burst out of hiding when they saw us coming, or whom Zel sensed and I sent demons to fetch. We went from thirty to fifty to a hundred, but so long as we stayed in formation we were going to save them all. I¡¯d have to invest in some draughts of forgetfulness for some of the kids, though. I sent dog-men into one sick boy¡¯s room, and I could tell when he was brought inside the shield and placed in the care of someone he recognised that the experience had nearly killed him all on its own ¨C and his apartment might never have burned, might never have been invaded.


    I choked down the guilt. It was an inevitable price I¡¯d have to pay. How much worse would it have been if I¡¯d left him behind and he had been targeted?


    We were close to the dip at the bottom now. Flood Boy was still back there, working on putting out the fires with a kinkalaman and a draumgerel to guard him ¨C both of whom were under strict orders to not allow him to come to any kind of harm.


    Just as the Spannerwalk path came into view, climbing up the incline towards the northern stretches of Sticktown, Timesnatcher came through again.


    ¡°-childe. Feychilde. Fey-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here! Helbert¡¯s Bend.¡±


    ¡°Go to Lord¡¯s Knuckle. It¡¯s going to become another Roseoak if we don¡¯t act fast.¡±


    I ground my teeth.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got over a hundred civilians under shield.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Leave your shield on them. Leave your demons. By the time you need them they¡¯ll almost certainly be safe.¡±


    ¡°Leave my shield? And fight?¡± I¡¯d gotten a bit of practice using my wings to evade the attacks I could see coming, but attacks could also come from unexpected, imperceptible vectors. Zel would be working overtime to keep me alive and if I missed a warning¡­ ¡°I can get them to safety first. You ¨C¡°


    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to learn to trust me some day, Feychilde. If you¡¯d be so kind as to allow that day to be today, you¡¯d end up doing us both ¨C everyone in Sticktown ¨C an unrepayable favour.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re speaking in your capacity as an arch-diviner?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t see everything. I know by the time you need them you¡¯ll be saving ten times the lives by taking your shields, your demons back.¡±


    I shook my head ¨C he couldn¡¯t see it, but I did it all the same.


    The twins exchanged a look.


    ¡°That¡¯s not good enough for me, Timesnatcher. And if I leave my shield here and then get killed, they¡¯ll all die. Not good enough for me.¡±


    ¡°Damn you idealists!¡± He didn¡¯t sound angry ¨C only exasperated. ¡°Get them moving up that hill at the bottom of the muddy road you¡¯re on, and leave them the bintaborax as a guard. I guarantee their safety after that.¡±


    ¡°But you can¡¯t see everything?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Jaroan asked me in a hushed voice.


    ¡°Is it the shield?¡± Jaid asked in a less-hushed, more-panicked voice.


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    ¡°No,¡± I managed to reply firmly, ¡°nothing like that.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re building something in Lord¡¯s Knuckle. If we don¡¯t take it down now, you can kiss them all goodbye, even if you¡¯re planning to sit there with them till Yearsend.¡±


    I sighed, patted my brother and sister on the shoulders, then softly pushed them away from me a little.


    I lifted my chin, raised my voice. ¡°Everyone! Pick up the peg-legs and tiddlers, hitch up your skirts! We need to jog to the end of the lane! Okay?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Ciraya called back from where she and Fe stalked, near the front edge of the shield.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to go! Knuckle Market makes Mud Lane look like the Noxway!¡±


    There was a trickle of laughter from the Laners. Local rivalries died hard, and even in the midst of an Incursion I felt safe calling on them to help lift the mood. It wouldn¡¯t harm these people to remind them that others had it even worse.


    ¡°Come on, everyone, together now!¡± Ciraya shouted.


    I gently picked up the pace.


    Most of the kids were excited to be running, but the old men and women had trouble ¨C luckily the community spirit was alive and kicking on this terrible night, and dozens of able-looking chaps came forward to carry the feeble. I even spotted a couple of Peltos¡¯s Gentlemen who¡¯d evidently been trapped in Mud Lane now doing their duty.


    We perhaps saved a minute, but at least it was something.


    The crowd bottlenecked as we hit the end of the lane. We got the kids and women and elderly into the Spannerwalk first, and I bade the twins a hasty goodbye before watching as Jaid and Jaroan, Xantaire and Xastur and Orstrum all disappeared in the crowd.


    ¡°Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks ¨C young Master and Mistress Cuddlesticks ¨C please stand here, and make sure no unbound demons follow the humans.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Zanthanin-agrim-mahlet¡¯?¡± Ciraya asked, approaching me with Fe at her side. ¡°Oh, man. Do you know what you¡¯ve named them? ¡­ I suppose you¡¯d call it ¡®Embracespikes¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Cuddlesticks,¡± I protested, pointing at the nasty spikes protruding from their fully-enclosing armour. ¡°I don¡¯t think Infernal differentiates between, you know, sharp things and non-sharp things. They¡¯re all about the sharp things.¡±


    The sorceress sighed. ¡°Why did I bother asking?¡± She straightened up, assuming a serious expression. ¡°Lord¡¯s Knuckle,¡± was all she said, then she held a hand out over Fe.


    The yithandreng swelled up, closer to the stature to which I¡¯d become accustomed, and Ciraya perched on her back, rising into the air.


    I flicked my wings, matching her elevation so that we would cut beneath the lowest remaining bridges that still spanned the roadway.


    Yithandreng were disconcertingly fast for ground-mounts, and Ciraya clung to the demon¡¯s back with her black robe whipping about her, the overlarge sleeves peeling away from her arm to the elbow and streaming out behind her like two wings. Fe made a noise like a stampeding elephant as she propelled the sorceress back up Mud Lane, almost filling the space. Flying at their side, I couldn¡¯t make my eyes focus on all five of the demonic legs I could see in profile ¨C not at once. It was uncanny how the dragon-like creature always had a couple of feet in the dirt, surging forwards without cease.


    Flood Boy had been busy saving us all from having no home to return to ¨C our apartment seemed unburned! ¨C and it looked like Aunty Antlers and a cadre of lesser fiends had dealt with ninety percent of the threats in the area.


    ¡°Keep it up! I may call for you again in a minute!¡± I cried as I sped past.


    Ciraya cast me a sideways glance. ¡°You said that in Mundic.¡±


    ¡°The ones I was speaking to are ones who speak it.¡±


    That doesn¡¯t sound quite right.


    ¡°Duh,¡± I added.


    That sounded better.


    She glared at me scathingly, and I actually chuckled.


    ¡°What? I don¡¯t know if they speak each others¡¯ languages¡­ So how did you end up here?¡± I asked, genuinely curious. ¡°Was it ¨C I want to say Hasslepuff?¡±


    ¡°Do you do that just to be annoying?¡± I made a shocked ¡®o¡¯ with my mouth at her insinuation, and she sneered before continuing. ¡°It¡¯s Haspophel, and no, it wasn¡¯t him, actually. It was a diviner, though.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Do you know someone called ¡®Killstop¡¯?¡±


    I groaned inwardly. ¡°Killstop sent you here?¡±


    ¡°Saved me. Pulled me out of a fight over on Lossen, finished it for me. Gave me a message ¨C said she knew you, that she knew I knew you, and that I knew where to go. I got here just in the nick of time.¡± I saw her full lips frowning. ¡°She was weird.¡±


    ¡°Tell me about it!¡±


    We wheeled around the Gold Griffin, the three-storey, sloping-roofed tavern on the corner, heading along the main road to Lord¡¯s Knuckle.


    Heading towards the orange-red light of conflagration, the walls of smoke that reeked of crisped flesh.


    There was no moonlight or starlight in Sticktown on this black-smog evening. Night had deepened, and the fires burned the brighter for it, casting a battle of shadows upon the shifting mists, dark shapes that were the only occupants of the deserted, muck-coated street.


    Timesnatcher had been right. They were building something. And they were nearly done.


    They¡¯d levelled an area around a warehouse, burning the wooden structures to a crisp and crushing them flat. And they were painting the warehouse with the charcoal remnants. Even now I could see hundreds of imps and their ilk, arduously scrubbing handfuls of the stuff against the brownish surface of the warehouse.


    There would be human waste and human remains in that stuff, going off the smells.


    And out of the flat roof of the warehouse there now protruded a tower, lopsided and black. It was obviously not a part of the original structure ¨C there were no towers like this in Sticktown. The fiendish builders were still working on it, sculpting it out of the same wet ash they were using to cover the walls. It was only fifty feet high at first but even as we approached it was growing, and it¡¯d borrowed another fifty feet of height from the warehouse which served as its base, so that it already stuck out like a sore, blackened thumb a full hundred feet into the sky.


    Weirdly, the patches where the ash had dried seemed to glint, reflecting the firelight as would stone, hues of marbled greens and oily purples dancing across the black surfaces. It was like they were building a dark temple, an unholy shrine to Mekesta.


    Demons were pouring out of the warehouse doors. Unfortunately both for us and for them, the locals all seemed to have been slain already ¨C they were being forced to range farther afield, finding victims hiding in the as-yet standing buildings that surrounded the flattened area. They dragged them out into the desolation ringing the warehouse, pulling them screaming back towards the doors¡­


    What the Hells is that place? I asked. I could hear the fear-tinged awe in my own mind-voice.


    ¡°Better left unsaid. You don¡¯t want to go in there ¨C not on your first Incursion, at least. Let¡¯s wait for backup to arrive.¡±


    Wait?


    ¡°Not that I¡¯m telling you to do nothing. You can stop those demons down there ¨C there¡¯s a small herd of epheldegrim on its way back¡­¡±


    She drew my eyes to the galloping, seven-legged hell-horses, fangs buried deep in the bodies of their victims, ferrying them back towards the warehouse ¨C


    I swept down at them, putting on a burst of speed that pushed me out in front of Ciraya and Fe.


    ¡°Engaging at Lord¡¯s Knuckle!¡± I reported.


    ¡°Good! Stymie them! Your back-upis inbound in one minute. Took a while longer to deal with the smikelliol than we anticipated.¡± Timesnatcher sounded even more exasperated.


    As I grabbed myself a handful more epheldegrim, I wondered how the battle against the smikelliol had gone ¨C how they¡¯d defeated it in the end. But it was nothing to concern myself with. I could always ask Em later.


    I had the hell-horses¡¯ victims set free, landed to give them a burst of sylph healing (using Zab¡¯s illusion-power as usual to screen the unjoining and rejoining) then went right back into the air. I started hunting down the hell-spawn pouring forth from the warehouse¡¯s gates: weird, abortive animals; roving, rolling spheres of moss and thorns; creatures of living brick with shovels for hands¡­


    Ciraya soon caught up and began evacuating those cowering in the houses on the edges of the destruction, guarded by an eager-looking Fe.


    ¡°Most of the champions we could spare from Roseoak have been diverted to Rivertown ¨C resurgence there, doesn¡¯t sound pretty; and I¡¯ve got to go back to Treetown. I¡¯m sending Shadowcloud and Glimmermere to you.¡±


    ¡°Glimmermere¡­ the enchanter?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Glancefall; he¡¯s been stuck at home in Rivertown since this all started. No, I mean the druid from the Westrise.¡±


    ¡°So no sorcerer.¡±


    ¡°No sorcerer yet. Shallowlie¡¯s down; we don¡¯t know if she¡¯s going to last the night, never mind fight some more. The others are occupied. We¡¯re stretched thin.¡± And then, without pause: ¡°Shadowcloud, Glimmermere, converge on Feychilde. Lovebright¡¯s linked you.¡±


    * * *

 Impatience pt3

    ¡°Hi,¡± I offered. ¡°You have no idea how glad I am to hear you¡¯re on the way.¡±


    ¡°Lord¡¯s Knuckle mean something to you?¡± Shadowcloud asked ¨C or at least I guessed it was him, given the male voice. He did sound like a Sticktowner, if I had to put money on it, but it wasn¡¯t a local accent. He was probably, as I¡¯d formerly guessed, from one of the south-westerly districts I¡¯d never even been to.


    It was strange how our mind-voices so completely captured our normal voices; it was far harder to fake an accent telepathically than it was out loud. Or perhaps it wasn¡¯t all that strange ¨C I had no idea how the spell really worked, after all.


    ¡°Erm, sort of,¡± I thought in reply. ¡°I meant I¡¯m glad because I¡¯m kind of facing something I¡¯ve never seen before, more than anything else.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± he replied, dripping scepticism. He surely recognised my accent too.


    ¡°We¡¯re coming up on your position,¡± Glimmermere said, her voice youthful, and highborn to the hilt.


    I looked behind me, and upwards ¨C I was still low to the ground, and they were coming in from a great height.


    Shadowcloud was only leading slightly. He was thin and tall, his robe grey and yellow, like an overcast sky split by a fat zig-zag of lightning. The mask covering his face was topped with a swirl of mist, such that one might think it was just a patch of fog fixed there by his power ¨C my eyes were capable of picking out the scintillation of metals in the covering, but I doubted someone without my augmentations would even get an inkling there was a real, cunningly-designed mask beneath the mist. He had yellowish leathery gloves covering his hands.


    As for Glimmermere ¨C I had no idea what she actually looked like. Behind the arch-wizard came a blue-feathered condor, the vast span of her pinions framing him as they fell together towards the battlefield of Lord¡¯s Knuckle. She had to be thirty feet from wing-tip to wing-tip.


    They would be looking at me as they approached¡­ I hastily turned back and ripped to pieces a group of multi-coloured headless ostriches that I¡¯d trapped in my diamond, then soared after another batch of creatures.


    I¡¯d had to keep many of my minions back ¨C my bintaborax, kinkalaman and draumgerel were busy, as was Flood Boy; and my sylph, gremlin and fairy were joined with me at the moment. I didn¡¯t want to put most of the weirdest things I¡¯d accumulated, like the atiimo-thing with its pouring entrails, back on this plane even if they were under control. Even still, I fielded a force of minor fiends that I could replenish at a moment¡¯s notice by simply stealing the unbound demonoids which slew them; my six epheldegrim were supporting Aunty Antlers in roaming the borders and my mekkustremin was standing right in front of the warehouse gate already, turning imp after imp into winged paste.


    But they were gushing out of windows, flooding out, like we were trying to dam up a river. A river of claws and spite.


    The champions paused, assessing the scene below. As Glimmermere hovered, her absurdly-large wings clapped the air; Shadowcloud was silent and completely unmoved by the choppy wind, while I was buffeted around, forced to regain my balance.


    ¡°I¡¯m barely slowing the demons,¡± I thought.


    ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re here,¡± the arch-druid replied, her disdain so rich that it almost sounded as though I¡¯d already managed to offend her.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to take over on this spot,¡± Shadowcloud said. He was already bringing water up out of nowhere to quench the burning fires. ¡°It¡¯ll take some time to bring the whole building down piece by piece, and that won¡¯t help us contain them. I¡¯ll swallow it instead, and we can work our way down into it.¡±


    I didn¡¯t quite follow, but it sounded pretty impressive.


    ¡°You want to stay out here,¡± he continued, ¡°or go inside, Feychilde?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Zel rustled.


    ¡°Not particularly. I¡¯m good here.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to chase demons?¡± Glimmermere spoke in an overtly-incredulous tone. ¡°I know you¡¯re supposed to be new to this, but ¨C¡°


    ¡°We haven¡¯t met,¡± I replied. ¡°Name¡¯s Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Name¡¯s Deadchilde ¨C¡± she hit back.


    ¡°That¡¯s ¨C¡± Shadowcloud began.


    ¡°¨C Good-For-Nothing-Childe ¨C¡±she continued.


    She was adept at making friends, this one.


    ¡°¨C enough!¡± Shadowcloud finished with a roar. I didn¡¯t need Zel¡¯s help to sense that there was some history between these two. ¡°You¡¯re going to force a new champion to go in there, Glimmer? You want to volunteer?¡±


    There was silence in the telepathic space we shared ¨C the air in which we floated was filled with the ringing of the distant Bells and the howls of demons, but the inner silence still stood out.


    ¡°Thought as much,¡± the arch-wizard continued. ¡°We build a perimeter out here. Allow none past. I¡¯ll get to work on the heavy lifting.¡±


    ¡°And I do have some demons,¡± I grumbled, going for exaggerated sullenness. ¡°I just don¡¯t chase them around like a wolf in a pig¡¯s pen, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Feychilde, they¡¯re escaping into the sky.¡± Shadowcloud¡¯s voice was patient, straightforward. ¡°Get up there and stop them, and Glim-¡±


    ¡°Beg to differ,¡± I said, ¡°and sorry for interrupting, but I can¡¯t go high. I f¡­ I dropped out of the sky in Upper Tivertain. I can¡¯t fly high. I think ¨C I hope it¡¯s just the tiredness, and I¡¯m okay down here¡­¡±


    He didn¡¯t even hesitate. ¡°Glimmermere, you¡¯re up. Feychilde, you¡¯re down. Go!¡±


    The huge bird cocked its head at me, then, despite her orders and her disposition, graced me with a tender touch of her blue-feathered wing before she departed for the sky.


    A single touch against my shoulder through the robe was all it took ¨C my being was filled with noise and light.


    I felt like my limbs and wings were double their length and throbbing with unexpressed potential, energy that would split my skin asunder if I didn¡¯t find a means of release ¨C


    I thrust myself forwards, heading towards the mekkustremin, hurling myself into the fight.


    I felt so good that I laughed aloud as I hurtled from one group of foes to the next ¨C I floated above the huge doll and went from window to window, turning them against one another, clogging up the exit-points with my own fighters and with the remnants of the slain.


    I spoke Infernal words at the quivering hordes of hell and they feared me. I commanded and destroyed and I still smiled.


    I had power, and knew what it was to enjoy it, exert it for its own sake. I wasn¡¯t here saving people anymore. I was here killing things. So they would come back into the fold of existence one day in the far future ¨C so what? It didn¡¯t matter. I was still killing them. Still tearing them apart. And still enjoying it. If anything deserved death, it was this sewerous, fish-like humanoid, more mouth than man, its wings membranous and dripping. This frenzied ball of emaciated, diseased arms rolling and scratching, pulling itself through the air with no discernible means of propulsion other than its flailing, as though it just decided which way it wanted to go and off it went.


    Until I arrived to negate its will.


    This was revenge. For Mud Lane. For Smouldervein. For all those who¡¯d died, pointlessly, because of some twist of fate that meant demons could slip into our plane, into our city, into our homes. Though I couldn¡¯t bring them back from the dead, I could avenge their deaths to the utmost of my ability.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    But when the windows no longer made for an easy escape route the things teeming in the warehouse simply threw their might against the walls ¨C three, four, five breaches splitting the wood all simultaneously ¨C and I was off again, trying to stem the flow, while Glimmermere picked off the flyers that got around me and Shadowcloud worked on¡­ whatever it was he was working on.


    If it was as destructive as he¡¯d implied, I had to let Ciraya know.


    A small red flame opened a gate at my command, and an eighteen-inch white-scaled imp was standing there. He had huge white eyes and wings, given his size; his limbs were thin, his tail short. His wide mouth was filled with tiny flat teeth and his bat-like face was crowned with three small, sharp horns.


    I quickly relayed the warning I wanted and sent him on his way.


    I couldn¡¯t stop for long. The battle wore on, and I fought all around the different sides of the building ¨C but the tides of hellspawn seemed endless.


    The next time I passed the door, I posed the question: Why wouldn¡¯t you advise me to go in, Zel? Exactly?


    ¡°There¡¯s something in there you can¡¯t handle¡­ I¡¯m not quite sure what.¡±


    Don¡¯t we need to kill it to stop them?


    ¡°I¡­ It depends? They might not be anchored. They could all just disappear anyway. Planar openings can¡¯t last forever¡­¡±


    Is that really likely to happen soon enough, though?


    ¡°Just let another sorcerer do it!¡±


    I groaned.


    ¡°Shadowcloud, there¡¯s something powerful in there. I honestly don¡¯t know if it¡¯s gonna die when you bring down the warehouse ¨C we might just irritate it.¡±


    ¡°Then we irritate it. We¡¯re going to bring in reinforcements and overpower it. If what you say is true, we aren¡¯t going to want to fight in a small group anyway.¡±


    ¡°Not after what Winterprince said about that museum,¡± Glimmermere huffed.


    I looked up at her over the edge of the warehouse¡¯s roof, the great blue bird wheeling in the night sky like a shark patrolling the ocean depths. Her talons were filled with mewling, dying imps.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I asked.


    For no discernible reason Glimmermere chose not to respond to me, but a few seconds later Shadowcloud said, ¡°He almost died fighting the things that killed Mindbreaker and Hellbane. They were the marble-statue men, the same kind Leafcloak saw killing Riverlady.¡±


    I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was carrying on: ¡°Reinforcements didn¡¯t arrive for twenty minutes. We¡­ we assume Mindbreaker and Hellbane were disintegrated. There was nothing left of them and the demons were gone by the time we took the walls off.¡±


    ¡°And you tried to make me go in there?¡± I used the same incredulous tone as Glimmermere had earlier.


    ¡°You hadn¡¯t told us what the warehouse contained,¡± the druidess said; ¡°if I¡¯d known ¨C¡±


    ¡°You would¡¯ve insisted, we know,¡° Shadowcloud growled. ¡°The earth¡¯s ready. Stay back.¡±


    The arch-wizard began to demonstrate his power.


    There was a terrible crashing, a rending groan rising from the warehouse all of a sudden. The ground shook, making the debris scattered around start to vibrate. I saw Ciraya and Fe leading a final group of survivors back the way we¡¯d came, keeping them clear of whatever was about to happen.


    The demons seemed to know what was going on too, and they made a break for it in record numbers. I filled my diamond three, four times over, and still they kept coming, kept dying, as the rumbling noise only became louder and louder.


    It honestly felt like an earthquake was splitting its way through the foundation of the city towards us. I backed well-away as a corner of the warehouse suddenly dipped with a violent clatter ¨C the ashen tower atop the warehouse, now a hundred or more feet in height, started to teeter as the whole structure fell.


    The ground groaned again and the tower seemed to swoon, teetering some more in a new direction, almost pointing at me now.


    Finally it was left leaning at such an angle that it had no choice other than to topple ¨C


    Yet it stayed, standing there at forty-five degrees in defiance of everything I thought I¡¯d understood about structures, about the basic laws of existence. Perhaps it was that the winged fiends clinging to its exterior were helping support it, or perhaps it was just some quirk of demonic architecture ¨C either way, it wasn¡¯t coming down without a fight.


    As the earth sighed, a stony rasp filling the air, the warehouse was swallowed up, sunken down into an ever-deepening pit.


    Within a minute it was done. The shuddering, the groaning, it all came to a sudden halt.


    Shadowcloud was immediately bringing in rivulets of winds to clear the dust-storm that had hidden the results from even my sight.


    It only took seconds, and then we were staring down at a flat, levelled expanse, broken only by the very tip of the black tower, still protruding at an angle. Despite seemingly being made from nothing more than congealed ash, the top forty feet of the tower had somehow survived the cataclysmic use of wizardry.


    There were no demons to be seen.


    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong. That should¡¯ve buried the lot. I was going to open a way down once it was fully sealed.¡± Shadowcloud sounded more worried than I¡¯d yet heard him. ¡°I can¡¯t put soil or rocks in it, and it¡¯s still on the surface.¡±


    ¡°Then bury it deeper. I thought you were supposed to be smart.¡±


    The arch-druid was still visibly busy, introducing the last beakful of the flying worm creatures she¡¯d been pursuing to her great condor¡¯s tongue ¨C but she found the time to criticise her colleague nonetheless.


    ¡°I¡¯ve tried. They¡¯re ¨C they¡¯ve done something to the building.¡±


    As if to test a suspicion, Shadowcloud raised one hand, letting white electricity crackle down from the skies to touch his fingertips. After a moment of what looked like playing with it, he hurled it as a bolt of lightning at the remnant of the tower poking out of the riven ground.


    The lightning-bolt rebounded from the glinting black surface with its forest-green and sunset-purple marbling; the wizard reached out and froze the blinding streak right there, letting it burn in the air, then swept his hand back at the tower, propelling it forwards once more.


    This went on for several seconds, the champion bouncing the same lightning bolt back and forth, back and forth.


    He took it back in his hand, looked at it for a few more seconds, then finally crumbled the lightning into sparks, tossing them away on the wind.


    ¡°It¡¯s a kind of ensorcelled obsidian. It should¡¯ve cracked at my merest suggestion¡­ but it registers as alive, or something.¡±


    ¡°Alive?¡± I shuddered.


    ¡°They¡¯ve worked a protection into it that prevents him from affecting it directly with his powers,¡± Glimmermere supplied in an intrigued tone. She¡¯d completed her task and had come over to hover near me. ¡°It¡¯s not alive, though. I can¡¯t touch it.¡±


    I got the impression she knew the way she was flapping her wings and chopping the air was winding me up, but I was determined to ride it out; I wasn¡¯t going to back away, show her she was getting to me.


    ¡°¡­ That¡¯s part of it.¡± The arch-wizard didn¡¯t sound happy.


    ¡°Oh, do come on, Shadowcloud; you must know how few things I can use my powers on. If it isn¡¯t alive or almost alive, I can¡¯t touch it. There¡¯s a lot more non-living matter in the world than living, let me tell you that.¡±


    While she was prattling on, I was trying to wrap my head around the situation.


    ¡°Do you mean you¡¯ve opened the earth farther down, but it¡¯s not fallen any deeper in?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s fallen deeper in,¡± he replied, ¡°but it hasn¡¯t broken and the top of the structure they were building is still on the surface.¡±


    ¡°You mean¡­ it¡¯s¡­ stretched?¡±


    ¡°I think so. I think I¡¯ve just done some of their work for them, expanded the structure.¡±


    I saw what he meant by ¡®alive¡¯ now.


    Still, there was no sign of our foes, not even any sounds coming from the leaning black protrusion that now stood in the centre of Lord¡¯s Knuckle.


    ¡°Do you think most of the demons are dead?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s certainly possible,¡± he said without much confidence, ¡°but we¡¯ll need to check the whole place out once backup arrives. I just don¡¯t want to leave it like this while we wait. I feel like I¡¯m waiting for them to attack.¡±


    I considered it.


    ¡°Cover it over? Without trying to lower it any deeper?¡±


    Shadowcloud turned his head towards me for a moment.


    ¡°I guess that might work.¡±


    The arch-wizard floated somewhat lower, spreading his arms.


    The dirt of Sticktown responded.


    I managed to get through about ten seconds of watching him coating the obsidian protrusion with mud, before I finally snapped, speaking aloud: ¡°Can you please stop doing that?¡±


    Glimmermere gave a soft, throaty cackle, but she did move away slightly, angling her wings so as to disrupt me less. She¡¯d been steadily following me inch by inch as I¡¯d tried to surreptitiously increase the distance between us.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± I used some of Zabalam¡¯s talent to increase the volume of my voice so that it carried above the crashing din of the wizard¡¯s soil and stone. He was using heavier elements now, slapping clay on top; it rose up in great wet mounds and rolled forwards at his gesture, adding to the new hill in the middle of the desolation. It was a rough half-sphere almost sixty feet high by this point.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve buried it.¡±


    ¡°Timesnatcher!¡± Shadowcloud growled. ¡°Don¡¯t you do this to me again!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve buried it,¡± the arch-diviner replied, as if to someone else.


    ¡°Lovely.¡± I recognised Leafcloak¡¯s voice. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean your vision¡¯s going to come true, though, does it?¡±


    ¡°Not necessarily.¡±


    Shadowcloud again: ¡°Vision ¨C what vision?¡±


    ¡°I think there¡¯s a disintegrator in there. It can see the future, and it¡¯s strong. If we don¡¯t go in and get it, it¡¯s going to come out when we least expect it and it¡¯s going to wreak havoc.¡±


    I was beginning to get the impression that a fair proportion of champions who fell during Infernal Incursions were literally reduced to nothingness ¨C which made sense, given that most other injuries would probably prove repairable.


    ¡°If we do go in and get it, well¡­ I can¡¯t see what happens, can I?¡±


    ¡°When are we doing this, then?¡± Glimmermere asked, still an undercurrent of intrigue in her voice.


    ¡°Do not proceed without us. Twelve, fifteen minutes. I¡¯m going to get at least one other sorcerer with us. With Feychilde that makes two. You okay, Feychilde?¡±


    ¡°As good as I¡¯ve ever been.¡± In truth, Glimmermere¡¯s boost was already wearing off, the incredible weariness stealing back over my joints, my eyes ¨C but I wasn¡¯t going to mention that until we were heading in. No point getting reenergised now when I¡¯d only need her to top me up again in a bit.


    ¡°Good. We¡¯re going to go in force this time. No failures. No dying. Not anyone else today.¡± I caught a hint of grief when he said that last part; perhaps he and Smouldervein had been close. ¡°I¡¯ll let you know when we¡¯re nearby.¡±


    Waiting that long¡­ Anything could happen.


    I stared across at Shadowcloud.


    ¡°Okay, Timesnatcher,¡± the wizard said. ¡°We wait.¡±

 Enter Chaos pt1

    <h2>OBSIDIAN 3.5: ENTER CHAOS</h2>


    ¡°The road already conquered does not always foretell the twists and turns of the road ahead, and he whose eyes are turned back to read the pattern will misplace not just one footfall, but each and every one. The pattern is imposed by the mind, a structure against which to rest, lean in weariness and wariness. In truth there is no pattern. There is only the imposition of greater and greater minds. There is only the super-structure. It can always betray you ¨C and it will.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 39:99-107


    Nothing happened.


    I kept circling the clay mound ¨C Shadowcloud was drying it out, sealing away the tower inside, so I watched the cracks spreading throughout the surface, anticipating one of them yawning open suddenly, a torrent of demons showering forth ¨C


    But it never came.


    Glimmermere had landed, and assumed her human form ¨C or not so human, as seemed to be the case. She was so slender and tall, her features so delicate and eyes so bright, that she had to be at least half-elven. She looked to be in her late teens, but she could¡¯ve been two or three times her apparent age, depending on the quality of her blood. Her robe was lily-green and silver-blue, her mask a shark-like thing covering her eyes and nose. She was an inch or two over six feet tall; the hair poking out from beneath her hood was the hue of seaweed, blending in with the colour of her garment remarkably well. From what I could see of her skin she appeared to have a dark, almost ebony complexion.


    Apparently she was communing with a number of subterranean insects, checking the buried structure for signs of activity.


    ¡°What are you getting back?¡± Shadowcloud asked.


    ¡°Hold on,¡± she replied then, after a pause, continued: ¡°Very little. I think they¡¯re being driven mad when they touch it. They¡¯re responding satisfactorily when I¡¯m telling them where to go, but they aren¡¯t coming back afterwards, and those I¡¯ve found which have been to it won¡¯t talk to me. I¡¯m working on curing it but it¡¯s like nothing I¡¯ve ever seen before. Wyrda¡¯s maw¡­ It¡¯s as though¡­ as though their souls have gone¡­¡±


    ¡°When they touch it?¡± the arch-wizard pressed. ¡°You mean, the black rock.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°Great. Timesnatcher, how far off are you? We need more than one enchanter here when we go in¡­ Timesnatcher?¡±


    He kept mentioning the arch-diviner¡¯s name. I kept circling around. Glimmermere was still there on the ground, head bowed in concentration.


    Ten minutes had to have passed when we picked something up, but it wasn¡¯t Timesnatcher.


    ¡°Feychilde? Shadow-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Neverwish!¡± I tried to keep my cool, but this was pretty exciting actually. ¡°Glad to hear you¡¯re back up on your feet.¡±


    ¡°Courtesy of Nighteye ¨C¡°


    ¡°I think that you can, hm, consider that a favour repaid, my friend, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°You¡¯re not getting money off your next anti-glamourings, Nighteye. Persuading Leafcloak to let you come with me should be plenty enough.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean that, old chum! I, hm¡­¡±


    ¡°O-kayyy,¡± Neverwish cut him off. ¡°We¡¯re on our way. Three minutes. An arch-wizard magister¡¯s bringing us ¨C she wants to see you.¡±


    ¡°Em?¡±


    She didn¡¯t reply right away, and I wanted to call her name again, but I knew it¡¯d sound stupid.


    Neverwish replied instead. ¡°Yeah, her. She¡¯s not linked-up, though. This is for champions only.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I get you.¡± I tried to hide my disappointment, sound nonchalant, but had no idea whether I managed to pull it off or not.


    ¡°You got to tell me your secret one day, man,¡± the arch-enchanter went on in a musing tone.


    I had the sudden urge to blurt, ¡®You keep your greedy eyes off her!¡¯


    ¡°Ha-ha,¡± I managed instead.


    ¡°Children,¡± Glimmermere interjected. ¡°Need I remind you that the communication channel is intended for official use only?¡±


    She was such a hypocrite.


    ¡°She¡¯s trying to talk to her bugs,¡± I explained, ¡°but their souls are gone.¡±


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    ¡°Oh dear.¡± Nighteye sounded glum.


    ¡°I was trying to get hold of Timesnatcher,¡± Shadowcloud said, ¡°to ensure he brought multiple enchanters, so I¡¯m doubly glad to hear you¡¯re on the way. I¡¯m worried touching this substance the demons have created will do the same thing to us.¡±


    ¡°Might not be an enchanter you need, in that case,¡± Neverwish replied.


    ¡°If it makes us mindless drones, it¡¯ll be worth having every possible countermeasure in place, just to be on the safe side.¡±


    I liked the arch-wizard. Shadowcloud appeared to be sensible, and a decisive leader.


    ¡°Inbound now,¡± Timesnatcher said out of nowhere. ¡°Sorry about the delay.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Some enterprising demons decided to visit the Winter Door ¨C they wanted to set the dead men of Zadhal loose on Treetown, and if we were thirty seconds later they just might¡¯ve succeeded. Then on the way back we heard about an attack in a tavern, but by the time we got there¡­¡±


    The conversation continued but I stopped focussing on it, letting it fall into background noise ¨C I saw Em¡¯s hair shining in the night sky, and thrust my wings, rising up to meet her.


    Neverwish, Nighteye, Dustbringer and Starsight were with her.


    I hadn¡¯t realised before that Neverwish was a dwarf.


    He was four-and-a-half feet tall and stout as a barrel. A thick, unkempt blond beard flowed down from behind a full-faced mask of expressionless stone; the only holes were grooves at the mouth, nostrils, eyes. His robe was purple, embroidered with dwarvish runes I couldn¡¯t read ¨C the hood was pulled tight about the mask and he wore heavy grey gloves. If it weren¡¯t for the beard, he¡¯d look like a stone golem toddler playing wizard dress-up.


    The others settled themselves down on the ground. Em met me and when I wobbled, feeling slightly too high-up, she took my hands and steadied me.


    Her flight-spell wrapped around me, and I instantly felt safe; I felt that I could fly again.


    ¡°Ka- Feychilde,¡± she breathed, pulling herself to me ¨C and this time when we kissed it was just like the first time.


    Despite the grief of the last twenty-four hours ¨C despite the trials we¡¯d had to endure tonight¡­ This was worth every moment.


    ¡°You died,¡± I said, somewhat accusingly, once we parted.


    ¡°It vozn¡¯t a big deal,¡± she replied with a smile, shrugging slightly. ¡°You almost died.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ I¡¯d like to say it wasn¡¯t a big deal.¡± I looked around, looked down. ¡°I feel pretty weird being high up now. I actually crashed, when they were all fighting that gigantic thing.¡±


    ¡°I heard ¨C are you okay now?¡±


    ¡°I guess¡­ not a hundred percent, no. I¡¯m so tired. But I¡¯m better. I¡¯ll get better.¡± I smiled back. ¡°Just you being here makes me feel at least, oh, fifty percent better ¨C¡°


    ¡°Only fifty percent?¡± she asked, eyes wide, imploring.


    ¡°Maybe sixty ¨C seventy ¨C okay, a hundred percent, oh ¨C¡°


    She suddenly flung her arms around my waist and squeezed me. I settled mine around her shoulders.


    ¡°¡­ can someone tell the new sorcerer to stop having a tickling-match up there?¡± I noticed Glimmermere muttering.


    ¡°I told you, man, I need your secret.¡±


    ¡°Neverwish!¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Glimmermere; I didn¡¯t know elves were such prudes.¡±


    ¡°Shadowcloud, tell Neverwish that he¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t care. I let their voices fade out again ¨C I¡¯d missed something Em was saying.


    ¡°Sorry, Em, I¡¯ve got this ¨C chatter ¨C¡± I waved a hand at my ear, ¡°and it¡¯s making it hard to hear ¨C say again?¡±


    ¡°I said I vont to come in vith you.¡±


    ¡°In? In there?¡± I jerked my head back at the hill. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know if ¨C¡°


    ¡°Feychilde wants to bring his girlfriend with us,¡± Neverwish said. ¡°Personally I vote no. He¡¯s gonna get distracted at the worst time, bet you.¡±


    ¡°Twelve is an auspicious number, a figure of power,¡± Starsight said softly. ¡°I¡¯ll take that bet.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re discussing it now,¡± I said to Em in an effort to explain why I cut my sentence off.


    ¡°Ahh.¡±


    There was a tension in her frame as she scrutinised my face, like she was waiting to see some clue as to their decision before I gave voice to it.


    It was Timesnatcher who decided.


    ¡°Link her up,¡±he said.


    I looked across. I could see them coming now. The ice-clad Winterprince was flying them: there was the arch-diviner, in his black robe with its white hourglasses, his metal upper-face mask with a twelve-pointed star on the brow; there was the yellow- or gold-robed Lovebright, clothes and mask covered in red love-hearts; and ¨C


    One more champion, flying alone like a scarlet smear of blood across the smog, the iron-scaled wings he was now using glinting in the darkness.


    Redgate!


    ¡°Link her up? That¡¯s out of the ordinary, even for you, Timesnatcher,¡± Neverwish said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll link her up, then.¡± A young girl¡¯s voice, Northman accented. Lovebright was Jaid¡¯s favourite champion (favourite non-druid champion, at least), but I suspected it had everything to do with the love-hearts, and the name, and had nothing to do with the nature of enchantment itself. ¡°Evening, Emrelet. I saw you back at Roseoak but I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve been introduced ¨C I¡¯m Lovebright.¡±


    ¡°Lovebright! Pleased to meet you.¡±


    I smiled at Em and squeezed her hand. Together we floated down towards the rest of the champions, everyone seemingly congregating near Glimmermere.


    Supplying the wizardry we had Em, Shadowcloud and Winterprince. Healing our wounds were Nighteye and Glimmermere. For telling us when we were about to die we had Timesnatcher and Starsight. Enchantments were going to be handled by Neverwish and Lovebright. Joining me on the sorcerer-team were Dustbringer and Redgate.


    A few weeks ago I would¡¯ve been dredging the muck with my dropped jaw at the thought of embarking on an adventure in such esteemed company. Now, after all the misery and death I¡¯d partaken in during the Incursion¡­ I was still left feeling like I had to hold my chin up with both hands.


    These were some of the best. The best of the best. The top archmages in the city. Likely in the world.


    This was really happening.


    Still, some things had changed. A few weeks ago I¡¯d have thought that surely, with a force like this, we would overpower anything. But the battle at Roseoak in particular had opened my eyes. I¡¯d learned to trust the instincts of my faerie queen advisor. And I¡¯d almost died. I no longer felt invulnerable, not in the here and now.


    As the others completed their introductions, I wasn¡¯t particularly bothered by the way Neverwish¡¯s head was always turned in Em¡¯s direction. My mind was fixed in purpose, and a cheeky, leering dwarf didn¡¯t figure high on my priorities list. I was already going through the different ways we could penetrate the obsidian building¡¯s defences.


    This was really happening, and it had to happen ¨C lest Lord¡¯s Knuckle be left with a dark temple to Chaos buried in its heart.


    * * *

 Enter Chaos pt2

    By the time the more-experienced champions had gotten into discussing their plans, magisters had arrived to support Ciraya; I saw her with half-a-dozen other sorcerers going around the hill in a wide ring. It looked like they might¡¯ve been setting up wards, barriers facing in at us where we stood on the wasteland of broken buildings and bodies of ash beside the strange, clay-coated mound.


    It was still silent, the cracks in the mound still too narrow to accommodate any kind of sortie from the demons.


    Everyone was made aware of the particulars. Touching the obsidian apparently made the bugs lose their souls; not their minds ¨C they carried on their usual tasks without any apparent impediments ¨C but their souls. They stopped responding to arch-druidry, as though the contact had made demon-bugs out of them.


    The obsidian had somehow stretched as Shadowcloud had dropped the warehouse and its new-made tower into an abyss; by his best estimates he¡¯d sucked it two hundred and fifty feet into the ground, which should¡¯ve left almost a hundred feet of solid earth on top of the highest point of the tower, even if it had gone in at a lopsided-angle. He had not been expecting the walls to stay in place, the demonic reinforcement to the exterior functioning like a shell, holding the structure together. And he certainly hadn¡¯t been expecting anything to still be on the surface when he was done.


    Dropping it deeper held the very real risk that we¡¯d simply be improving on the demons¡¯ work. Obsidian was supposed to break like glass. No one had ever seen anything like this before.


    No one who spoke, at least. Of those assembled, only Winterprince and Redgate were silent throughout the proceedings, waiting to one side but not near each other. Perhaps they felt their views had already been sufficiently well-expressed by their colleagues, but if that was the case neither of them made it clear through their body language. Redgate¡¯s arms were folded in his sleeves, his arachnid eyes seeming to follow everything. He was surrounded in shields; the metallic wings had disappeared and he was floating again, a few feet off the ground¡­ Floating like he¡¯d done when I¡¯d seen him picking his way through the carnage at Roseoak with thinfinaran at his sides.


    Winterprince¡¯s ¡®head¡¯ was level with Redgate¡¯s but his huge ice-feet were planted in the ground, his arms at his sides, entirely motionless.


    ¡°I¡¯m rather excited, aren¡¯t you?¡± Nighteye breathed to me, his posh voice reaching high pitches, twanging nervously.


    ¡°They don¡¯t let you go on missions like this usually?¡± I asked, in a possibly only slightly-less twangy voice.


    ¡°Oh no, haha, I am ¨C what do they call it in the arena? hm ¨C side-lined, I think is the expression. Volatile, Leafcloak called me last time,¡± he said it with a certain amount of pride; ¡°got a bit too into it when we were fighting heretics, and just because I didn¡¯t like my orders and almost killed one ¨C¡°


    ¡°Leafcloak said zat you shouldn¡¯t kill zem?¡± Em interjected, looking over at the owl-masked druid.


    ¡°We¡¯re sworn to never take a life,¡± he replied, ¡°not something, hm, from this plane at least. But they were targeting children.¡± His voice had hardened; it was the first time I¡¯d ever heard him speak like that. But then he went right back to his usual jolly tone: ¡°Hey, your accent is really interesting. Are you from Onlor? I had a friend from Onlor, she¡­¡±


    I watched Em scowl, and squeezed her hand in solidarity.


    I was wondering where Em came down on the whole ¡®killing people¡¯ thing when I noticed Dustbringer talking again:


    ¡°Redgate, are you happy with that, then?¡±


    He was asking if the other arch-sorcerer was okay with him taking the lead on breaching the structure.


    ¡°As usual.¡± The crimson champion spoke for the first time, and it was a low, near-whispering sound ¨C a way of hiding the tenor of his actual voice, I supposed. I wondered how many champions were putting on their voices.


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    ¡°Do you have a ghost in your retinue?¡± Dustbringer asked, making it sound rhetorical.


    ¡°I have many insubstantial creatures.¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t. Fine. I take the lead.¡± Endren straightened up ¨C he wasn¡¯t tall but his pale death-mask and sheer aura of authority made it hard to not see him as looking impressive ¨C and folded his own arms across his chest, metal gloves clinking.


    ¡°I realise that Timesnatcher has endorsed your scepticism regarding the possibility of us permitting our demons to touch the sunken edifice,¡± Redgate whispered on. ¡°I might express my own that an insubstantial creature, whether its nature is nethernal or infernal, should be said to touch anything at all. Be that as it may, I agree that you should take the lead, my friend. I cannot pierce the black material with my gaze.¡±


    Dustbringer looked across at him. ¡°Neither can I, Redgate.¡±


    Redgate inclined his cowled head gravely, saying, ¡°Ah, well. A shame.¡±


    ¡°But I have a keyed vamelbabil blade¡­¡±


    Do they mean they¡¯re trying to see through the clay and mud? I asked Zel. Through the obsidian?


    ¡°I think he was considering trying to summon something inside the tower without having to actually pierce its shell,¡± she replied. ¡°If he could see in there, he could do it.¡±


    What could they have joined with that would grant them powers like that?


    ¡°Oh come on, Kas, there have got to be hundreds! Don¡¯t make me start listing them.¡±


    Fine¡­


    ¡°It would just depend on the manner in which the abilities are granted. You know what I¡¯m talking about ¨C you get access to a reflection of Avaelar¡¯s wings, but you can¡¯t employ his healing or his strength and resilience. Almost every creature that isn¡¯t native to Materium has some interesting ways of perceiving things. I don¡¯t think anything short of a king of hell or lord of the fey would be able to see through whatever that stuff is, though.¡±


    And you don¡¯t qualify as a lord of the fey?


    ¡°I¡¯m no amateur, but the things we call lords of the fey are so scary you don¡¯t ever want to meet one, trust me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± Dustbringer said. ¡°Shadowcloud ¨C Winterprince ¨C Miss Reyd ¨C if you¡¯d like to do the honours and re-¡±


    It occurred to me then that they were missing something, saying we shouldn¡¯t use demons, but the arch-sorcerer had halted anyway, turning his head ¨C the magisters on the edge of the wards were shouting something.


    I caught the name and sighed inwardly.


    She was crossing the desolation towards us, wearing a grey, plain robe very similar to my own. She had a scarf across her face, her hood pulled up. And she moved with the eely speed of an arch-diviner, clearly walking by her posture yet covering the distance between us as though she were running full-out.


    ¡°Okay! Stand down!¡± Timesnatcher boomed back at the magisters. His narrow frame belied the deep register of his voice ¨C


    I realised then where I recognised him from.


    It had been him in Hightown last week. His weird pronouncement about gripping the brand tightly¡­ the Scion and Slave of the Sorcerer¡­


    I remembered what he looked like, the narrow features and bleary blue eyes, wavy dark hair. Had he meant for me to be able to put a face to the name?


    Of course he had. He was a diviner.


    In a slightly-less-loud voice he went on: ¡°I wondered when you were going to turn up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Killstop returned, halting nearby. ¡°It¡¯s been something of a busy day, hasn¡¯t it?¡± She fake-stifled a fake-yawn, stretched dramatically, then turned her face towards me. ¡°Why don¡¯t you introduce me, Feychilde?¡±


    I felt Em¡¯s gaze most keenly as they turned to look at me.


    ¡°For those who didn¡¯t catch it, this is Killstop,¡± I said. ¡°Yes, I know. Killstop. We met this morning, when she decided to be a champion. And yes, before you ask, I told her.¡± I had to get out ahead of that straight away, or she¡¯d have to endure an endless barrage of questions on the topic of her knowledge about the Gathering of Champions, like I¡¯d had to.


    I didn¡¯t want to go further with Em listening, even if it sounded strange to just say ¡®I told her¡¯, in case I broke some ancient law and got Em a death sentence or something.


    My voice fell somewhat, as I realised just what I owed to this strange diviner. Right on the heels of Morsus¡¯s death¡­ Perhaps my vain quest to find his killer had been redeemed by fate.


    ¡°And she¡¯s responsible for saving my¡­ the people I care about, tonight. Truly, she¡¯s a champion.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know how much to say ¨C just that I had to say something before they went ahead. I knew her presence here was inevitable, that she¡¯d accompany us inside the demon-tower, but I had to be able to say that I¡¯d warned them.


    ¡°She¡¯s a little crazy, you know. She came into her powers while under the effect of an addictive drug.¡±


    Timesnatcher¡¯s voice was full of mirth. ¡°We¡¯re all a little crazy, you know.¡±


    ¡°This makes thirteen,¡± Starsight complained.


    ¡°You see? Link her up, one of you.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t see her mouth, but Killstop¡¯s eyes told me Tanra was smiling.


    * * *

 Enter Chaos pt3

    ¡°Let¡¯s try this again,¡± Dustbringer said. ¡°Shadowcloud ¨C Winterprince ¨C Miss Reyd ¨C begin moving the earth. Make sure everyone¡¯s got high-acuity flight. Neverwish ¨C Lovebright ¨C the best anti-glamourings and blockers you can conjure. Invisibility to enemies. Nighteye ¨C Glimmermere ¨C performance boosts for everyone. Check we¡¯re all in peak condition.¡±


    I got a double dose this time, and by Enye I felt alive. I could discern nerves in my bone marrow and it seemed those nerves had grown hairs, hairs that individually itched, ached for action, motion. The enchanters approached me next, touching my mask, my robe, my palms; Neverwish stomped along as if he were trying to work off his own excess of energy, while Lovebright was a picture of calmness, whisking about the clearing performing her enchantments without comment, verbal or otherwise.


    The wizards were up in the air, sloughing away the clay, the mud, the packed earth. Lucky wizards, having something to do. Em looked thrilled to have been included on this champions¡¯ adventure.


    Belestae willing, she¡¯d reconsider not becoming a champion after this.


    I caught Killstop virtually dancing on the spot ¨C I doubted inkatra-withdrawal, future-visions and extreme-energising went hand-in-hand. Taking a bit of pity on her, I touched off the ground, flying towards her.


    I didn¡¯t want to do it, but I had to express my gratitude properly.


    The moment she saw me in flight too, she lifted off herself, moving to meet me.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said once we were close. ¡°You looked out for me.¡±


    But I won¡¯t forget you left your own loved one on the pavement, I thought.


    ¡°That¡¯s what friends do,¡± she said, cheeks and eyes going up at the corners in a yet-deeper smile.


    That¡¯s what people who want to use you do.


    But I¡¯m already used. She had her way in to the circle of champions through me. Hopefully she¡¯ll just discard me now.


    ¡°Better cross your fingers and your toes on that one,¡± Zel said drily.


    I nodded to Killstop perfunctorily, then looked across at the hill.


    Former hill. The wizards had already moved aside the earth covering a wide section, displaying the sloped surface of glinting obsidian that the demons had wrought with their infernal magic and the ashes of the dead.


    Everyone took to the air to some degree, a few showing a little rustiness at flying but nothing worse than the odd wobble.


    We all fell back slightly, floating away as Dustbringer floated forwards.


    He held out a dark-gauntleted hand, and a wisp of mist coalesced under a purpling light before him.


    ¡°Enter the wall,¡± he said in Mundic; ¡°report back on what you find immediately.¡±


    The hunched woman ¨C for it was a rag-shrouded crone of whom the shade had been called ¨C swept forwards on a breeze that moved nothing but her.


    Yet my wings could feel it, a cold wind from another dimension.


    She reached the wall before her, and froze in place the very instant her immaterial form intersected the obsidian.


    She turned around without moving ¨C one moment she was facing away from us, the next she was smiling a toothless smile at her master.


    Or former master.


    ¡°Unbound!¡± Dustbringer grunted, sweeping his arm up.


    It didn¡¯t look like she was responding to his commands; she kept coming ¨C


    Two fingers on his upraised, metal-coated hand clinked as he pointed them ¨C


    I saw as his lance of force drove out and impaled the ghost in the centre of her chest.


    She let out a howl, more akin to the shrilling of the winds that came down the mountain in winter than any sound formed by a human throat. Then she seemed to close in around the force still embedded in her chest and dissipated, blown apart to vanish on the nethernal breeze.


    ¡°Dustbringer, you have infernal weaponry to try?¡± Timesnatcher said.


    ¡°You wanted to try a demon,¡± Zel reminded me quietly.


    But I was new to this. I didn¡¯t want to interject with my ideas ¨C


    ¡°Feychilde, you¡¯re new to this,¡± Neverwish said. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell us your ideas?¡±


    ¡°Ha ¨C very funny¡­¡± I shook my head. ¡°Let me just check¡­¡±


    I darted forwards on the air, feeling the eyes on my back, but I had to be sure.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing, Feychilde?¡± Timesnatcher enquired.


    ¡°Experimentation. Redgate¡¯s right.¡± I brought up an imp in a red flame. ¡°Not using demons in here is going to cost us a lot of our firepower.¡± I directed the imp to the obsidian shell of the buried tower, and had it touch the surface. ¡°We might as well be sure.¡±


    The imp touched the wall, turned and looked back at me in puzzlement; I dismissed it with a wave.


    ¡°I was able to harness a whole bunch of demons that came out of the place earlier,¡± I explained to my companions. ¡°I didn¡¯t think there was much chance the demons themselves were immune to binding just because they touched the stuff. Whatever it does to souls,¡± I inclined my head to Glimmermere, ¡°it doesn¡¯t affect demons.¡±


    ¡°Well finally, some good news.¡± Redgate¡¯s whisper was almost elated.


    Within an instant a patch of blackness appeared on his shoulder. He spoke to it quietly, and when I saw the white rune form above two gleaming red eyes I knew what it was.


    The mizelikon slipped from him, still nothing more than a vague shadow. Blinking in-and-out of existence, it moved rapidly to the tower. When it was a foot or less from the surface, it blinked once more and was gone.


    ¡°Hunh. Feychilde, bring out one of those tower-imps again.¡±


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    While we waited for Redgate¡¯s mizelikon to return ¨C if it would return ¨C I turned one of my imps over to Dustbringer and he questioned it.


    It didn¡¯t know anything about the spell that¡¯d made the warehouse and tower impenetrable, just cringing and fawning and drooling some faintly-acidic spittle on the ground. Eventually he turned it back over to me, heaving a sigh of disgust, and I almost felt like apologising to it before dismissing it.


    ¡°I vont to go in,¡± Em huffed as she floated to my side. ¡°How much longer vill ve have to vait, do you think?¡±


    ¡°I could break it.¡± Winterprince spoke for the first time, ice grinding.


    ¡°You really want to go in one of these places again that badly, Winterprince?¡± Glimmermere asked, also speaking aloud. ¡°Not cheap on entry. It cost you an arm and a leg last time, I hear.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Just a leg.¡±


    It was strange hearing Winterprince¡¯s voice without the accompanying thuds, chinks and hisses. If anything, he sounded colder. His tone was calm, but it was the calm before the storm. The calm that promised the swift onset of catastrophe.


    He still hadn¡¯t moved an inch, but Glimmermere appeared to get the message. She didn¡¯t respond further, and put her gaze back on the mound.


    The mizelikon reappeared, oily darkness squatting on the slope beneath the exposed obsidian. Then it flickered back to its master, settling in Redgate¡¯s outstretched hands before the shadowy folds of his sleeves seemed to swallow it.


    There was a moment of pensiveness, before Redgate said with a tremor in his voice: ¡°The blade of a vamelbabil, Dustbringer. Break it down.¡±


    Dustbringer approached the obsidian, and drew a tremendous scimitar from the air.


    I recognised the style ¨C a ten-foot-tall demon-woman had been using a similar weapon earlier on today, but hers had been carved from a pulsing amethyst. This was a pulsing sapphire, shedding a brilliant blue radiance on our surroundings, and was even bigger than hers had been, the curved blade easily as thick as my hand. Nonetheless, Dustbringer swung the seven, seven-and-a-half foot long sword just as easily as he might¡¯ve deigned to swing a twig.


    When the blow landed a hollow boom rang out across the wasteland of Lord¡¯s Knuckle, and I could feel the reverberation through the air in which I floated.


    The demonic obsidian was caved-in at a single stroke, but Dustbringer didn¡¯t stop there, bringing his blade down again and again, forming a hole big enough to accommodate us.


    ¡°What was it, Redgate?¡± Starsight asked. His voice was still soft, professional, but it wasn¡¯t hard to imagine the kind of fear that a diviner might undergo when facing something that couldn¡¯t be ¡®seen¡¯.


    ¡°It¡¯s not good,¡± Zel supplied, tension in her own voice.


    ¡°There are¡­ a lot of them,¡± Redgate said. ¡°And they¡¯re not of what one would choose to call the typical variety.¡±


    Nothing was coming out of the opening Dustbringer made. I ascended slightly to get a better view, a higher angle with which to look right down into the buried tower.


    But the inside was black.


    ¡°I can¡¯t see anything.¡± Even with Zel¡¯s aid, I couldn¡¯t make anything out. This darkness was more than natural ¨C if it were, my fey-sight would¡¯ve gone right through it, shown me the hordes of hell lingering in wait. But no ¨C nothing. An impenetrable veil.


    I could sense them in there, though, now we¡¯d cracked the uncrackable shell.


    ¡°Make it bigger, Dustbringer,¡± Timesnatcher said. His voice still sounded relaxed. ¡°May I remind everyone, we don¡¯t actually want to touch the rock.¡± The arch-sorcerer continued slicing away at the obsidian, and I looked back at the edges of the destruction, at the magisters staring at us as we prepared to enter.


    ¡°Sorcerers, we¡¯re in first. We don¡¯t need light yet. Best we shield the area off.¡± I turned and watched as Dustbringer lowered his sword; it vanished away, then he soared ahead without once looking back, moving head-first into the darkness, one arm outstretched, fingers already moving.


    So maybe Dustbringer was awesomer.


    ¡°I can¡¯t see, Kas,¡± Zel moaned.


    We¡¯re in august company, Zel. Now¡¯s not the time to turn chicken!


    I did my best to put a smile on my face as I moved past Em, bowing my head to her; moving past Nighteye, feeling his head swivelling slowly to watch me go ¨C


    I beat Redgate, and followed Dustbringer, copying his speed and angle of approach as I entered the darkness, the crimson-robed arch-sorcerer just a couple of seconds behind me.


    It was neither warm nor cold, the air neither moist nor dry and remarkably scentless given where we were.


    This place was a void, a nullity, an annihilation of all that was meant to be.


    It was not the Materium I knew, the Materium that was my home. They¡¯d brought part of Infernum here. Somehow, that was what they¡¯d done.


    Almost desperately I cast out my hand, trying to shed some light on the surroundings using my gremlin¡¯s power ¨C but the bright whiteness I tried to evoke yielded only a bleak, blank greyness that lasted less than a heartbeat, fading before it even struck the eye.


    I already had reinforced shields on the go, up to my pentagon, so I reassured myself by expanding, six-sides, seven-sides ¨C


    Oh gods.


    And I was already pressing down on demons. Right below us.


    The sensation was eerily tactile. Unfortunately, Redgate had been dead right. These weren¡¯t imps anymore. Perhaps the lesser fiends had been cannibalised. Perhaps they¡¯d been¡­ conglomerated. Either way, the things below us weren¡¯t pushing back like first-rank demonoids. These were pushing back like eighth-rank ikistadreng.


    And although the tower had given every appearance from the outside of being slanted, almost sloping gently down, this ¡®living¡¯ obsidian fell away almost vertically beneath us.


    ¡°I thought it when I heard it in the news, about Firenight Square. What¡¯s your range, Feychilde?¡±


    Dustbringer was saying my shields didn¡¯t stretch far? His didn¡¯t look to be¡­


    Ah, no ¨C he was saying just the opposite.


    ¡°Seventy-five feet? But I couldn¡¯t get that here. They¡¯re already pressing ¨C¡°


    ¡°Alone? You¡¯ve tested this?¡± His questions had the character of demands.


    ¡°I just¡­ well, I know how far my shields cover. You ¨C¡± I looked back at him and Redgate ¡°¨C you don¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re all different, in our ways. I¡¯ve never seen shields cover such distances, not without being built, arc by arc¡­ What do you sense down there? How far down are they?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got forty-nine feet below us covered. I¡­ compacted them down, somewhat, I think. And they¡¯re¡­¡± I was already feeling the pressure, as though I were being pulled apart by my arms, my ribcage straining, ¡°¡­ they¡¯re going to break through soon.¡±


    ¡°Let them come closer; don¡¯t overspend your energies yet.¡± I relaxed Shield Seven, allowing it to ripple away and giving the demons below some breathing room. ¡°Everyone, get in here,¡± Dustbringer continued. ¡°Don¡¯t pass the deepest-down sorcerer. We need to see.¡±


    Winterprince appeared first above us, changing the shape of his ice to slide through the opening; a natural, ambient white light filled our surroundings as the trio of arch-wizards joined us. It was faint, though it was enough for me at least to see by.


    ¡°Best I can do,¡± Shadowcloud said. ¡°This place doesn¡¯t respond right.¡±


    A lightning-bolt pierced the darkness and froze there ¨C I quickly slammed my eyes shut against its sudden, overpowering radiance.


    ¡°Twelve Hells, Stormchilde.¡± Shadowcloud sounded a little discombobulated. ¡°Where¡¯d you get that from so fast?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ zis has been known to happen vhen I¡¯m excited.¡±


    I laughed aloud.


    ¡°Give them some warning next time,¡± Shadowcloud grumbled. ¡°Anyway, the enchanters can handle this.¡±


    Em¡¯s miniature lightning-bolt, pinned in the air silently without even a quiver, had done its job, glowing like a long, jagged white coal ¨C but she didn¡¯t need to bring it down with us. Other luminous shapes appeared, incorporeal threads of light that illuminated the surroundings.


    I looked down, and immediately regretted it. And this time it wasn¡¯t due to my apparent height.


    Beneath us was a bubbling abyss of creatures, and like a bucket full of lobsters they eagerly teemed over and under one another. They were comprised of intricate masses of curling, razor-sharp horns, all of the fiends seemingly faceless and without dedicated limbs. Some of their growths ended in dangling, lidless eyeballs rather than horns, dark in hue and with red-rimmed, dilated pupils darting freely here and there over their glistening surfaces.


    These demons almost looked like bunches of grapes ¨C bunches of grapes, after a highborn was done plucking the fruit from them ¨C except instead of a soft, twiggy frame, these had a frame that consisted of spurs of bone, spike-festooned ribbing, serrated antennae.


    ¡°Gaumgalamar. Seventh rank.¡±


    Special powers?


    ¡°Look.¡±


    Despite the fact they lacked obvious limbs, they had no trouble moving. They couldn¡¯t quite fly but they seemed able to ¡®step¡¯ upon invisible strings with their outermost appendages, climbing up and down and across the tower¡¯s interior without any discernible footing required.


    I was immediately reminded of the giant spiders.


    They¡¯d climbed up towards Shield Six and were now pressing against that, just thirty-three feet away. Not in such numbers as before ¨C yet ¨C but it would only be a matter of time before I started to feel the strain again.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Dustbringer said. ¡°Light ¡¯em up.¡±


    The wizards began their barrage.


    * * *

 Enter Chaos pt4

    I was unsure if it¡¯d been specifically organised between them ¨C I¡¯d ignored some of the background chatter earlier ¨C but they each tapped into a different element. Em abandoned her favoured lightning to Shadowcloud, who probably had less chance of erroneously striking one of us with a lightning-bolt in this confined space than the relatively-inexperienced magister. She was spraying what looked like liquid fire instead, for all that that was better. Winterprince emitted a white beam of pure cold energy from his ice-encased hands.


    The glossy obsidian walls reflected the various sources of radiance in muted shades, so that it seemed we were hanging there within the boundaries of an ever-changing rainbow of colour, only edged in darkness.


    At first it seemed the creatures were regenerating from the damage that¡¯d been caused to them, but after a minute it was obvious ¨C they were just being replaced. Roasted, frozen and fried demon-parts were floating on the surface of those pushing ever more-eagerly up at us. Rancid vapours spiralled up past us, slipping around us to ensure none of us were choked.


    ¡°Dropping demons,¡± Winterprince said, again eschewing the telepathy, evidently preferring to grind out his curse with his maw of ice.


    ¡°They¡¯re just trying to tire us out,¡± Timesnatcher said.


    ¡°It¡¯s working,¡± I replied; the psychic link seemed to perfectly copy the voice I¡¯d have used out loud, effortlessly capturing the through-gritted-teeth quality of my words.


    ¡°I¡¯m descending,¡± Redgate said, even as he started to move towards the extremity of my barrier. Frost rays, gouts of flame and fingers of lightning all danced about him, seeking targets beneath him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go too far,¡± I gasped. ¡°I¡¯m about to be reduced to five shields. They¡¯re going to ascend!¡±


    ¡°I will support your shields down here.¡± The moment he said this, I felt the burden instantly diminish to half what it had been. ¡°It will be better for all concerned if we can keep them as far from us as possible.¡±


    Looking down, I could now see his shields, barely stretching from wall-to-wall across the tower interior.


    ¡°Agreed.¡± Dustbringer didn¡¯t move to support him, though. I guessed the more sorcerers were down there, the more careful the wizards would have to be ¨C barriers warding off ill-intent weren¡¯t going to defend against accidental attack.


    So things continued, another whole minute ticking by, hundreds upon hundreds of the gaumgalamar perishing, withering away under the brunt of the elemental attacks.


    We didn¡¯t even need to bring twelve or thirteen champions. A couple of sorcerers and wizards could¡¯ve handled this.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope you¡¯re right.¡±


    After a bit, I realised the ringing in my ears had stopped ¨C I could no longer hear the Bells. I was uncertain as to whether I should feel reassured or not. I decided to keep my mouth shut.


    The group of us descended, bit by bit, careful to stay as far from the walls as possible as we worked our way through the foes. The one time I came close to a wall I felt a current of air, gently but forcefully moving me away from the obsidian.


    One of the wizards had us covered.


    After about two minutes of our slow descent I was sweating, despite the temperate conditions. At first I tried to deny the truth to myself, sought out excuses¡­ Perhaps the wizards were accidentally heating the air; perhaps the atmosphere in here was changing the deeper we went¡­


    But soon it was obvious to me that I was flagging ¨C and after a double-boost of the arch-druid goodness, too¡­


    What must¡¯ve been another couple of minutes passed ¨C how far down did this tower go? It was then that I once more felt as though the hexagonal shield were about to break, and warned my fellow-sorcerers. Dustbringer moved down to take over, careful to stay out of the main line of fire, and I soared back up through the group with my shields relaxed. I seemed to ascend effortlessly ¨C half of my relative speed was, of course, due to the others descending at the same time. I came to a stop a bit above Em then slowly reversed my motion, following her down again.


    She was breathing hard as she spewed flame from her hands, directing it into those demons which were closest to the shields.


    She wasn¡¯t short of targets.


    ¡°You okay?¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Zis is quite something.¡± She managed a wolfish grin, not breaking eye contact with her targets as she continued her work. ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°Tired,¡± I said, wanting to rub at my eyes.


    ¡°Come on, arch-sniveller,¡± Glimmermere chided from over my left shoulder, ¡°we put enough of our energies in you to stop a dead horse needing flogging.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re almost at your limits for the day, Feychilde,¡± Nighteye cut in before I could respond. ¡°Aside from the obvious ¨C a bone-shattering fall, a number of serious lacerations ¨C you¡¯ve not slept in over thirty-six hours ¨C¡± (I saw Glimmermere¡¯s bright eyes widen momentarily, and heard a faint ¡°ahh¡± escape her lips) ¡°¨C and you¡¯ve pushed your magic further today than ever before, I can, hm, get a good sense of that just from having touched you, and it usually takes ¨C¡°


    ¡°Okay, Nighteye, I get it.¡± I smiled and patted him on the arm. ¡°No more rejuvenation. It¡¯s alright ¨C I can manage.¡±


    ¡°No, I think he¡¯s right.¡± Glimmermere¡¯s voice suddenly had a hard note of seriousness to it, and not of the hostile kind. ¡°We¡¯ll replenish you once more ¨C when we get down there.¡± She eyed the teeming spider-demons below us. ¡°That¡¯ll have to last you. We need something left if we¡¯re going to heal your wounds.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the way you¡¯re just assuming I¡¯m going to ¨C¡°


    ¡°Guys, please,¡± Neverwish intruded loudly, ¡°can you talk like this? There¡¯s a reason we¡¯ve got rules, you know. If they overhear us, they¡¯re smart enough to use our plans against us.¡±


    ¡°Ah-h-h, I¡¯ve never been to a meeting.¡± Killstop had raised her hand, looking around at the other champions. ¡°What are the rules? I wasn¡¯t aware I ever agreed to rules.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to enjoy going over the rules with you personally,¡± Timesnatcher said firmly, sounding like he intended for her to feel a little intimidated, even if it was well-intentioned.


    ¡°Oooh.¡± Killstop injected a little purring into the sound she made.


    ¡°I ¨C I didn¡¯t really consider how that was going to come out, did I? You¡¯re too young for me, kid. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Never say never, Cradlesnatcher. We grow up, you know. I¡¯ll be an adult soon.¡±


    ¡°Forget what I said,¡± Neverwish interjected, sounding sickened. ¡°You two take it off-link. And whisper. And find me some good earplugs in the process.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve totally just ruined Timesnatcher¡¯s name for me now, you know, Killstop,¡± Lovebright joined in. ¡°Thanks for that.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that!¡± Timesnatcher blurted.


    ¡°And you used to sound cool¡­¡± the enchantress trailed off wistfully.


    A little tense sniggering trickled through the group ¨C except for Winterprince, and the sorcerers beneath us.


    ¡°I¡¯m feeling a little less fraught now,¡± I said. ¡°Redgate, you need to swap out?¡±


    ¡°I shall inform you when I need to¡­ ¡®swap out¡¯.¡±


    One could practically hear the inverted commas. His voice carried a little more animosity than necessary, but I got the impression he was simply unused to mangling language in the lowborn manner, rather than there being anything explicitly disdainful in his attitude.


    ¡°Fair enough. Dustbringer?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer my question directly, but answered one that had been niggling at me, probably all of us, for some time:


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°We have now descended three hundred feet. Far beyond the point at which we should¡¯ve reached the storehouse. Am I right, Shadowcloud?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t explain that,¡± the wizard replied. ¡°The earth told me how far down it was.¡±


    ¡°The earth doesn¡¯t lie.¡± Winterprince made a rare telepathic contribution.


    ¡°No, but Infernum does,¡± Redgate whispered.


    There was a moment of silence, everyone chilled by his words; then several urgent voices were raised in query and protest.


    ¡°Infernum! No one ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C actually entered another plane ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C was possible to just transplant ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C to be joking about ¨C¡°


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re actually in Infernum.¡± Timesnatcher cut through the noise.


    ¡°I agree,¡± Dustbringer said, ¡°but it¡¯s close. The planes have intersected for too long in this spot. It¡¯s changing. We have to move more quickly.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re doing our best,¡± Shadowcloud protested. ¡°It¡¯s tiring for us too, you know? Can¡¯t you join in with that big sword of yours?¡±


    ¡°I am conserving my strength ¨C maintaining a shield is a constant drain on my energies. Also, if I got in the way of one of those lightning-bolts, you would slay me outright.¡±


    ¡°Only if I hit you without ill-will, right?¡± the arch-wizard muttered.


    Timesnatcher spoke steadily. ¡°Nighteye, Glimmermere ¨C do your best with the wizards. Shadowcloud, Winterprince¡­ Stormchilde ¨C¡± his voice twisted in amusement ¡°¨C back away for a minute. Starsight, Killstop ¨C on me.¡±


    Em didn¡¯t object to the name this time either. Surely this was a good sign.


    The wizards withdrew towards the druids, halting their barrage for the moment, while the diviners descended towards my fellow sorcerers.


    I had to watch this.


    Timesnatcher took the lead, drawing his spellbound blades that glittered with a greenish tincture. He tossed one end-over-end to Killstop who effortlessly plucked it from the air; yet by the time she¡¯d raised her head again Timesnatcher had already plunged into the foes beneath Dustbringer and Redgate¡¯s shielding, literally disappearing into the churning mess of serrated horns.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone in!¡± Em cried aloud, breaking away from Nighteye and starting to descend ¨C but Glimmermere halted her with a hand on her arm.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, magister,¡± the druidess said. ¡°He likes doing things like that. He¡¯ll be back up in a second.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s insane,¡± Em continued; she¡¯d stopped moving but her eyes were still wide, fixed on the place where Timesnatcher had vanished into the demon-spiders.


    Killstop had followed Starsight¡¯s example in the meantime, and they were both hanging almost upside down. The winds of wizardry that bore them aloft kept their robes from falling forwards over their faces ¨C and they went slashing at every demonic appendage they could reach without completely abandoning the shields.


    They weren¡¯t doing a quarter of the damage the wizards had done, but we were still descending, if at a snail¡¯s pace compared with earlier. How much of that was due to the three ensorcelled daggers at work on the surface, I was unsure, given the one ensorcelled dagger in the hand of the death-defying Timesnatcher somewhere down there beneath the surface of the infernal spiders.


    ¡°I¡¯m at ¨C the bottom.¡± Timesnatcher¡¯s voice came through in bursts; surely ninety-nine percent of his brain had to be occupied with staying alive.


    ¡°What do you see?¡± Dustbringer asked.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to ¨C need your ¨C sword again, old friend. It looks like ¨C the roof of the storehouse got ¨C the same treatment as the ¨C¡°


    And silence.


    More silence.


    ¡°Timesnatcher?¡± There was an unusual twang of alarm in Dustbringer¡¯s voice.


    ¡°W-wait.¡±


    I breathed a sigh of relief, and I wasn¡¯t the only one. For a moment there I thought we¡¯d lost him.


    It was two minutes before he emerged, on the other side from Killstop and Starsight¡¯s current location, accompanied by an erupting fountain of demon-horn chippings and severed eyeballs. He seemed to spin like a top as he thrust his way out of the gaumgalamar, skipping across footholds that wouldn¡¯t be there a thousandth of a second later, slipping through gaps that would be filled with jagged protrusions before my eyes could even properly focus on his latest movement.


    ¡°Got distracted. Almost disembowelled, beheaded and castrated, all at the same time. Then when I escaped, almost touched the wall. Wow.¡± He soared free of the demons, almost sagging as he hung in the air. ¡°Hope I didn¡¯t worry you too much¡­ Are you guys ready to take back over?¡±


    ¡°With pleasure,¡± Shadowcloud said grimly.


    It was then that it all went wrong.


    It was impossible to say what happened, exactly. Starsight and Killstop were separated, and I looked down at them expectantly, waiting for them to disengage.


    A spur of bone raked out and snagged Starsight¡¯s sleeve, pulling him out of the shield.


    He moved unnaturally, as arch-diviners were wont to do, slipping out of the spider¡¯s reach and into the buffer of wind separating him from the obsidian wall of the tower.


    Yet he somehow didn¡¯t move back in time and a second, a third gaumgalamar sprang upon him. Pushing him into the wind-wall.


    Timesnatcher whirled ¨C Killstop too. Though she was the closer by far, Timesnatcher beat her to it, sliding out of the shield and slashing his green-trailing dagger through the demons¡¯ serrated spines.


    They fell apart, blackened, and I looked across to Starsight ¨C


    His head was bowed and he was bringing his knives, silver and gold, up to attack ¨C


    Timesnatcher evaded, a minutiae of motions that let his friend¡¯s daggers miss him by finger-widths.


    ¡°Star!¡± Dustbringer grunted aloud.


    ¡°I¡¯m on it!¡± Neverwish snapped, the dwarf suddenly descending towards the mad Starsight.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± This from Shadowcloud.


    ¡°Look!¡± I pointed.


    ¡°Did he touch the wall?¡± Lovebright cried. ¡°What¡¯s happened to his mind?¡±


    Starsight was still attacking Timesnatcher, about ten times a second, every stroke a killing-blow aimed at the underside of the chin, the temple, the sternum, the spinal cord¡­


    Timesnatcher said nothing, did nothing except dodge. Every. Single. Time.


    Waiting. Knowing he could trust others to have his back in this.


    Neverwish got ten feet away and raised a grey-gloved hand ¨C


    Starsight instantly slumped over, and floated there on the air.


    ¡°Brute force attack.¡± The dwarven enchanter spoke the words in an incongruously solemn tone. ¡°Takes out any sucker. I always told him. But you just went right through them! We¡¯re supposed to be invisible, inaudible! How did they get him?¡±


    ¡°We are.¡± Wisps of wind, courtesy of one of the wizards, quickly plucked Starsight¡¯s daggers from his sleeping fingers and drew them across to Timesnatcher, who secreted them away in his robes. ¡°They sense us anyway. How do you think I got trapped myself when I went to the bottom?¡±


    ¡°Dropping demons.¡±


    ¡°So he, hm, has a mind, still? because I haven¡¯t got any idea how to fix brains properly yet, not unless they¡¯ve, hm, just been chopped in half or something ¨C and Leafcloak says that Glimmermere shouldn¡¯t fix anyone¡¯s brains anymore because she¡¯ll never be able to do it properly, and ¨C¡°


    It said something of the seriousness of the situation that Glimmermere didn¡¯t give Nighteye a scathing response.


    ¡°He¡¯s still got a mind,¡± Lovebright interrupted the young druid quietly. ¡°But it¡¯s¡­ what would you say, Neverwish? Like he¡¯s lost all his higher functions. It¡¯s the sort of thing you see in the very old, or the very sick, soon to die.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not dying,¡± Neverwish said bitterly. ¡°We¡¯re gonna fix him. Leafcloak¡¯s gonna do it.¡± He looked around. ¡°Who¡¯s flying him out? We can¡¯t just leave him here.¡±


    ¡°We can,¡± Winterprince said.


    The arch-wizard pointed to the wall slightly above us and created a coating of snowy ice; with his other hand he gently moved the prone arch-diviner up through the group, then settled him down against the whitish substance.


    ¡°He¡¯s really gonna be okay in there?¡± Neverwish said accusatorily.


    ¡°I guarantee it.¡± Winterprince¡¯s tone had a note of finality as he covered Starsight over in more snowy ice, packed deep.


    ¡°It makes sense,¡± Timesnatcher said. ¡°We can¡¯t send someone out now ¨C we need everything we¡¯ve got to do this fast. Has anyone really not considered yet that this whole tower might be growing while we float here chatting?¡±


    Winterprince finished shoring up the block of ice, then the remaining two diviners ascended a bit in retreat; the three wizards moved back down to the front-lines.


    We left Starsight behind, slumbering deep in some kind of cold-induced stasis.


    I didn¡¯t like it. I¡¯d only known him briefly, but it had helped me ¨C to see a champion who probably hadn¡¯t been a champion for long, taking things in his stride like he had. Now that champion¡¯s mind had been lost, possibly forever.


    I clenched my teeth and went on with my work.


    Before long I took my turn at the shields again, letting both Dustbringer and Redgate have a break, recuperate. Em, Shadowcloud and Winterprince continued their devastating attacks. And, eventually, we reached the final few gaumgalamar.


    A fireball, courtesy of Em, exploded the last of them into bits.


    The bits themselves became a problem, next. It took all three wizards another several minutes of concerted fire to reduce a (now twenty-or-so feet deep) pile of demon-parts into dust, then remove it with their wind-control, dumping it back out through the crack hundreds of feet above us.


    At last, we were faced with another black wall ¨C well, a floor. The obsidian-covered roof of the warehouse, storehouse, whatever we were calling it.


    While Timesnatcher retrieved his second greenish dagger from Killstop and gave Starsight¡¯s weapons into her care, the druids went around with another burst of energy for everyone ¨C my last of the day, if what they¡¯d said before was to be believed ¨C and I felt my focus sharpening, the blurriness of my perceptions receding.


    Less effect than before, but much better than nothing.


    ¡°Back up a little,¡± Dustbringer commanded.


    Once we were a good twenty feet above him he raised his hands over his head and manifested the sapphire blade on this plane. Holding it in two hands, he brought it crashing down into the ground.


    Light.


    Soft, yellow light seeped in through the immense crack the vamelbabil-blade had created. Air flooded in ¨C air that smelt fresh enough to breathe, rather than the fetid stink of a demon-pit that I¡¯d expected.


    Dustbringer looked up at Timesnatcher, then brought the blade down again, and again.


    Once more, no demons came pouring forth ¨C but this time the hole below us led into the light, not darkness.


    Yet ¨C here ¨C that light didn¡¯t feel warm, friendly. It felt portentous.


    Dangerous.


    Dustbringer led the way down into the storehouse, and, one by one, we followed.


    It had been a building of moderate proportions for Sticktown, before the events of tonight. The imps bringing chaos to Lord¡¯s Knuckle had definitely chosen for size, and this was the best they¡¯d been able to do ¨C it was a hundred feet or so wide, and maybe half again in length, fifty feet high.


    Now ¨C after its architecture had been modified by infernal agents ¨C it was a resplendent throne room, its previous dimensions doubled at minimum. The interior walls and floors were smooth surfaces of gold and brass, lined with thin, silken-looking red carpets and curtains. A dozen huge, flaming hearths cast quite normal-seeming flames over the hall.


    And at the far end of the hall, only dimly lit by the nearest hearths, was a raised area, a dais covered in red cushions upon which a number of creatures lounged, surrounding a golden throne that twinkled darkly in the shadows.


    ¡°Welcome,¡± said the thing slouching in the great chair, whip dangling nonchalantly from her paw-like hand. ¡°We¡¯ve been expecting you, as they say. Won¡¯t you come down from there? We have much to discuss.¡±

 Tigress Lies pt1

    <h2>OBSIDIAN 3.6: TIGRESS LIES</h2>


    ¡°Quoth the dragon: ¡®What is this spiritual currency of which you speak? The sole currency of the Twelve Hells is blood, and that transfer is the true doorway. Not the blood itself. The act of violence that releases it.¡¯


    Quoth the Kestrel: ¡®Oh, my friend. Where they come from the currency is kindness. It¡¯s the only kind of wealth worth having.¡¯¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Testimony of Prince Deathwyrm¡¯


    Zel hissed.


    What is it?


    ¡°Eolastyr. Tw-twentieth rank. Kas¡­ this won¡¯t be pleasant.¡±


    The eolastyr was a tall woman, naked; her limbs and torso right up to the neck were covered in black-striped fur like that of a tigress, except that her fur was purple. Her face was not just narrow and pale, but inhumanly triangular, inhumanly white. A circlet of dark, glossy material kept her raven hair from hiding her all-black eyes, sunken nose, dusky, smiling lips. The curved claws of her furred left hand were curled about the short handle of a gold-coloured whip, the tips of its many thongs knotted with chunks of flesh.


    Other than the circlet and whip she had no accoutrement on her person whatsoever, no rings upon the small, claw-tipped fingers, no pendants or chains. Nothing else unusual ¨C no wings, no horns¡­


    The same could not be said for her pets, however. They weren¡¯t anything like her, really, with their savage but recognisably-animal visages. There were a dozen or so of them, each differing in appearance ¨C though they all seemed to have masculine builds, and none would be much taller than Neverwish if they were standing. They were clearly of lesser breeds; they were humanoid but they were bestial in their own ways ¨C tails, talons, fangs; thick animal hair or overlapping scales covering their bodies¡­ There was even one with a beetle-like carapace of brownish chitin, shining wings folded against his back.


    Unlike their mistress, they were decked out in jewels, their appendages dripping with rings and anklets, bracelets and necklaces, hundreds of gems glittering away in an exuberant mosaic of colour.


    They barely reacted to our presence, a few raising their heads from where they languished on the soft cushions ¨C but those who did merely looked around blankly. The invisibility spell was clearly working, on them at least. Yet most didn¡¯t even move their eyes, content to just lie there, relaxing.


    Even if they knew what was happening, they were confident ¨C supremely confident ¨C that their eolastyr had this intrusion well in hand.


    Other than the eolastyr and her pets, there were no demons lying in wait. Nothing else to fill the empty, golden expanse.


    I moved my eyes back to the threat. She held the whip by the very end of the handle, using the curve of a single ¡®thumb¡¯ claw to trap it delicately in her palm, and the savage-looking thongs swung in a soft arc behind her.


    The sound of it hit my sorcerer¡¯s ear in a perplexing way, even through the shield ¨C though given her rank I was hardly surprised it could pierce the wards. I knew it was no louder than the rustle of a champion¡¯s robe, but at the same time each back-and-forth motion was deafening, like a tidal wave of sand cascading down, dashing itself into a trillion pieces on a coast of iron rocks.


    She spoke again. Her Mundic was as flawless as that of any properly-schooled highborn. The voice was musical and airy, but the authoritative tenor made it clear she was used to having her orders obeyed:


    ¡°Come, I say. We¡¯d welcome our guests properly, with open arms.¡±


    She did indeed spread her arms wide, claws splayed in a gesture of openness, like a benevolent queen greeting esteemed foreign dignitaries.


    The twelve of us ¨C poor Starsight had got his wish in almost the worst possible way ¨C were still floating there near the golden ceiling. Dustbringer and Redgate were at the fore, and our shields flickered around the group.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see where this goes,¡± Timesnatcher said. ¡°Don¡¯t touch anything. For all we know this whole room is made from the same stone, just covered by illusion.¡±


    ¡°Could be,¡± Neverwish said.


    ¡°Demon illusions are difficult to pick apart,¡± Lovebright expounded. ¡°I¡¯m working on it, but there¡¯s no way to be sure yet.¡±


    Timesnatcher slowly descended at an angle, drifting towards the throne, and we followed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust zose fires,¡± Em said.


    ¡°Me neither,¡± I replied, frowning as I looked down at the twelve fireplaces, six on either face of the long sides of the room. They were clustered in the middle, leaving either end of the hall in relative shadow. There were no piles of wood, coals, any other fuel-like substances beneath the golden mantelpieces. Just perfectly pretty, ordinary fires: orange flames licking about, a hot bluish core near the base.


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    Far too ordinary to be just decoration.


    ¡°The sound¡¯s grating on me too,¡± I added.


    ¡°The sound?¡± Lovebright asked.


    ¡°Its whip,¡± Redgate whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯ll work on it.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Dustbringer.


    ¡°If it hurts, we can surely do something about that, hm¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not painful, Nighteye,¡± I said, ¡°just sickening. I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll be able to affect this.¡±


    ¡°Time¡¯s flowing strangely too,¡± Killstop muttered. ¡°Too many avenues are dark for me to move properly.¡±


    ¡°I know. I feel it as well,¡± Timesnatcher answered her.


    We halted a good fifty feet away, hovering twenty feet off the red carpets. We gradually fanned out in a semi-circle.


    Voice booming, the arch-diviner called, ¡°And we would welcome our guests, newcomers to our city, with gifts and blessings rather than blades¡¯ edges and death, if they did not come bearing pain and destruction in their own hands.¡±


    ¡°But it is you who¡¯ve come to me,¡± the eolastyr said gently, like a parent patiently teaching their child grammar, ¡°to the Daughter of the Sinphalamax as she prophesied, as the scribes of Limbo gave it form. The Daughters of the Sinphalamax are never wrong.¡±


    She rose to her feet, and her pets looked around listlessly. I got the impression the eolastyr¡¯s sight went through our enchantments so easily that she didn¡¯t even have to expend any effort to see us; perhaps she wouldn¡¯t even realise her minions couldn¡¯t see us.


    Not that the pets looked anywhere close to being ready for combat.


    As she and Timesnatcher exchanged cryptic phrases, Shadowcloud said, ¡°No crossed lines of fire,¡± and I felt a soft surge of wind pushing me into a placement that obviously suited the wizard¡¯s battle-plans, saw the same happening to the others ¨C he was neatening our semi-circle, varying our heights.


    ¡°You won¡¯t hit us,¡± Killstop said; ¡°we¡¯re not that slow.¡±


    ¡°If I summon my demons ¨C¡± I began.


    ¡°Can you summon?¡± Dustbringer asked.


    I hadn¡¯t even thought about it ¨C


    I waved a hand, and felt nothing.


    There were no connections here. No other planes interacting with our surroundings.


    No way to pull them through.


    Red or green, no gates were available to me. Though I had no undead remaining after giving up the Body Brigade, I could assume they were being blocked-off in the same way.


    Seriously.


    ¡°I told you this wouldn¡¯t be pleasant.¡±


    But you¡¯ve not been thrown out of me.


    ¡°We¡¯re not actually in Infernum, no matter what she says. It¡¯s just magic. Powerful, eldritch magic. An absolute anchor.¡±


    Fine¡­


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t,¡± I answered my fellow arch-sorcerer¡¯s question glumly.


    ¡°If you saw so much as you pretend you would know that this meeting ends in your death,¡± Timesnatcher was saying.


    The smile never left the eolastyr¡¯s violet-hued lips.


    ¡°Nay, my child. In this meeting is my birth, my death, my future and my past. Would you say to the long-shadowed man that his feet are the source of the shadow he casts? You live still in the moment, and cannot see the sun. Else why would you come here? You did not know this would mean the end of one of you?¡±


    She looked across the semi-circle of champions. Her black-in-black eyes, emptinesses deeper than the darkness within the helm of a thinfinaran, flicked without contempt from one of us to the next.


    ¡°There are too few of you.¡± She seemed to sigh. ¡°But which shall it be? This I already know, but I will not spoil it. I¡¯ll let you find out for yourselves.¡±


    ¡°She couldn¡¯t read Starsight¡¯s fate?¡± Killstop asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s her weakness ¨C us,¡± Timesnatcher replied. ¡°I ¨C¡±


    She raised her whip, and snapped the thongs out in a crack that made it feel like the world was splitting in half.


    I teetered back and forth, left and right, swaying as I hung there. Weakness filled the marrows of my bones, paralysis gripping me, forcing every hair on my body to stand on end. And I wasn¡¯t alone ¨C we were all sent reeling through the air, fluttering uselessly for seconds.


    Then the light changed.


    It was suddenly as though the room was carved from crimson-tinted gold as the dozen fires shifted hue behind us. Now the tigress-demon was standing before a throne that seemed to have dark, gleaming blood swirling about its surfaces.


    Her pets looked a thousand times as ferocious as they had done before, under this new illumination that made everything red. They still did not stir, but their smiles and eyes gleamed with hidden danger.


    The fires behind us¡­ red?


    ¡°Sorcerers, retreat! Block them the moment they come through!¡± Dustbringer hissed, and, the moment the paralysis ended, he hurtled back towards the scarlet flames in the hearths lining the hall.


    Redgate followed him and I moved to ¨C


    ¡°No!¡± Zel cried, and I halted. ¡°It¡¯s ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s a trick!¡± Timesnatcher yelled.


    ¡°Watch the animal-guys!¡± Killstop added.


    But by then it was too late.


    I should¡¯ve known when the eolastyr had made reference to there being too few of us. There were thirteen demons here, to fight thirteen archmages.


    To fight them. Not to sit and watch their mistress doing battle with a number of magic-users they couldn¡¯t even see.


    The hearths were an obvious danger. So obvious that the sorcerers would immediately fall back into a rearguard the very second they lit up in red light.


    But summoning was blocked here, and she wasn¡¯t going to let her anchors dissipate when it would give us the chance to summon our own creatures. No. She was just going to ensure all the shield-makers would be nowhere near her actual targets when she made her prowess plain to see.


    She coiled her legs, as if to sit cross-legged on the floor, then sprang up into the air like a bolt from a war-machine.


    Yet she hadn¡¯t seen Zel. She hadn¡¯t known the visions she¡¯d seen had been foiled by a faerie queen telling me ¡®No¡¯ and me trusting her enough to obey.


    I¡¯d been careful to keep Shield Seven from touching her or her lackeys while we¡¯d floated around, while Shadowcloud had shifted my position. I¡¯d only covered a short distance before Zel stopped me in my tracks, and the range on my farthest-flung shields easily covered the arch-diviners ¨C


    Towards whom she hurtled.


    * * *

 Tigress Lies pt2

    Each shield she broke slowed her, each a blip on an otherwise-unerring attack. I gasped as she tore through them, and fought to rebuild them ¨C


    Her claws entered thin air, Timesnatcher ten feet away already.


    If he was slower here, it was hard to tell; the flight-spell on him granted him enough speed that with his diviner-powers on top, whatever ¡®weird time¡¯ he was suffering from was imperceptible.


    Killstop fled with him, moving almost as rapidly in spite of the fact this was her first ever flying experience.


    They were the eolastyr¡¯s weak-spots. She couldn¡¯t read their futures properly. They could upset her plans.


    We couldn¡¯t lose them.


    The tigress-demon had no access to flight, and started to drop back towards the ground ¨C


    Lightning. Fire. Ice.


    Raw elements were the scenery through which she danced, descending.


    Even while she fell she cracked the whip again, sending us staggering like hummingbirds as we hovered there ¨C


    And by the time I¡¯d collected myself again she¡¯d already struck off the ground in another mighty leap, pouncing at Timesnatcher once more.


    This time, she wasn¡¯t alone.


    Her minions were with her, hurling themselves into the air towards us, each eyeing a different opponent.


    Our wizards struck again. And they all danced on the air.


    They couldn¡¯t break the shields ¨C not alone at least. But the eolastyr was still ripping them apart without any visible effort on her behalf and losing just a shred of her incredible velocity on the border of each barrier, a momentary delay that bought just a speck of time for her prey to dive aside, escape. And almost all of the fiends passed through the free space she carved, before I could get the shields back in-place.


    Dustbringer and Redgate¡¯s shields were there, but the blue spheres stretched no farther than a thirty-foot radius, and served to protect only a couple of the others. None of the sorcerers¡¯ innermost defences had been touched yet, but I had a feeling that ¨C no matter how I reinforced my circle ¨C it wouldn¡¯t be enough to stand up to the eolastyr.


    A man with the distended teeth of a rat and a long, sinuous tail was about to crash into me, his beringed, clawed fingers poised to rip into my flesh.


    I had a number of options.


    I pinched a spike together on the outside of my shield and flung it at him.


    And he barrel-rolled over the glimmering spear of force.


    It was invisible, I was invisible, and he was barrel-rolling casually to evade my strikes.


    What are these things, Zel? I thought as I evaded and rebuilt more shields.


    ¡°Obbolomin. Same as your dog-faced men, but a different clan, obviously. Crude things, first rank. She must¡¯ve done something to augment them.¡±


    The rat-man recoiled from my pentagon, and my hexagon caught him up in mid-air, thrusting him back even farther.


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    They can do that?


    ¡°Eolastyr can do things you can¡¯t even imagine. This is¡­ a game to her.¡±


    I looked across at Em as an owl-man, his wings unfurled to display a magnificent brown plumage, pressed the attack upon her with his six-inch talons. I saw him slip past four great gouts of flame, getting no more than singed, and was about to fling my shields around her ¨C


    The owl-man was plucked up by a tornado spinning above him, sending him reeling towards the ceiling, and Em sped after him in pursuit, hurling lightning this time.


    Striking him.


    For an all-too-brief time, it looked like we were going to handle things.


    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± Zel said to me, and I knew she was right.


    I pursued my rat-man as he fell, trapped him in a diamond, and slew him with a ring of inward-pointing spikes.


    Shadowcloud¡¯s enemy couldn¡¯t avoid his lightning-bolt while trapped in a spray of Winterprince¡¯s ice. Glimmermere and Nighteye let their opponents catch them in the air and fought with their bare hands, ignoring the pain of their quickly-resealing wounds as they leveraged their overpowering physiques to snap their foes¡¯ limbs in two. Neverwish and Lovebright doubled and redoubled themselves until there were dozens of intangible enchanters in the air, the beast-men trying to spring upon them leaping unknowingly into stray blasts of elemental energy. Redgate used some kind of scream to blast his enemy aside, just before force-blades shredded it into pieces. Dustbringer¡¯s sapphire sword bit through flesh and bone without even noticeably slowing.


    And all the while, Timesnatcher and Killstop kept moving out of the eolastyr¡¯s way, defended constantly by flurries of illusory champions, waves of white frost, shields of force¡­


    As the last of the obbolomin perished, we all focussed our attention on the tigress.


    The wizards went high to find angles that wouldn¡¯t hit the rest of us as we struggled to resume our semi-circle around her ¨C she was bouncing again and again from the red-lit gold floors, seeming to only move faster and faster ¨C


    My spikes couldn¡¯t catch her, and I suspected that, if they did hit her, the forces I was capable of exerting from the outer shields wouldn¡¯t compare with those from my reinforced circle. Would such distant blades carry the weight, the sharpness of will to slice her unfathomable flesh? Yet I couldn¡¯t risk approaching her to try to do more damage, not when there was no guarantee even then that she would be hurt, or that she wouldn¡¯t tear through my circle and its stars, tear me in half ¨C


    ¡°You¡¯re right ¨C you can¡¯t risk it. You¡¯re not going to be the one she takes. Just¡­ outlast this.¡±


    How can you possibly know that?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know it, not for certain. I¡¯m just guessing. But I¡¯m not going to be wrong.¡±


    The powerful fiend was bounding at Timesnatcher¡¯s face, and he was going to cut it close.


    Dustbringer was nearby ¨C protected by his blinding weave of shielding, he brought his vamelbabil blade up and swung it at her back ¨C


    She didn¡¯t twist in the air to evade his strike, yet I had no doubt she knew his blow was in motion. For the first time, she turned to directly face an attack.


    The sapphire weapon struck her in the centre of the brow and recoiled from the circlet about her head with an audible twang.


    Her positioning ¨C more than merely perfect.


    It was as though its weight suddenly came back to the sword, and the gigantic, unwieldy blade toppled back at him.


    Somehow, it was not ill-will. It was an accident. A twist of fate. A dreamer¡¯s vision.


    It ignored the last-remaining, closest shields about him.


    The sword¡¯s bitter inner edge plunged into Dustbringer¡¯s collarbone and sheared through his torso, getting almost to his navel before it tipped and fell free of his body.


    The demonic weapon vanished into the air as it left his nerveless hands. The spectral essences he maintained were plainly dispelled in the moment of his failure, his robe¡¯s cloudiness ripped away to reveal the gushing dregs of the man beneath.


    Aghast, I stared ¨C


    ¡°Nighteye! Glimmer-¡±


    Timesnatcher¡¯s cry was cut off as a crack resounded through the room, dizzying me, sending us all fluttering off like pollen-drunk bees ¨C


    By the time I could focus my gaze again, she was sitting on her throne once more, Dustbringer¡¯s body laid across her lap, his head and feet lolling off the arms of the chair.


    Her hand was above Dustbringer¡¯s chest, and it was pulsing with white light.


    The corpse-face mask, a symbol of his prowess, was now turned into a mockery. He looked dead already.


    ¡°No!¡± I cried; the others were crying out too, lightning was rebounding from what I could now see as a red sheen in the air, an infernal barrier of force protecting her, surrounding the dais ¨C


    ¡°Can¡¯t heal him!¡± Glimmermere gasped, then ¨C


    ¡°Demons!¡± Zel shrilled.


    ¡°Demons!¡± I repeated her warning, turning back to look ¨C


    They were coming out of the fires now. More imps, more obbolomin, and summoners, too ¨C I saw a nabburatiim, a black stick-man, taking shape in the crimson flames.


    * * *

 Tigress Lies pt3

    I worked my own red portals, and this time it went without the slightest bit of difficulty ¨C they sprung up off the gold-brass floor, my ikistadreng, my epheldegrim, my hordes of imps flickering into being¡­


    Redgate was following my lead. Dozens of intimidating demons answered his call. His pair of thinfinaran charged a pair of draumgerel, bursting them into gloopy messes with a single strike of their gauntlets.


    By the time I looked around again, the desperation of my companions had increased ¨C as had the intensity of the white light gathered in the eolastyr¡¯s palm.


    I blasted her defences with everything I had, hitting them with dozens of spikes. My force-blades evaporated on contact, not even making a ripple in her shielding.


    It didn¡¯t stop me trying, though.


    ¡°There now, that wasn¡¯t so hard, was it?¡± she crooned, as though she were oblivious to the battle commencing in her throne-room, the dazzling missiles and rays exploding on her red wards. ¡°In a moment we¡¯ll be done, and say farewell for now. But it¡¯s not goodbye ¨C not for three of you at least.¡±


    It couldn¡¯t ¨C it can¡¯t be over¡­


    The white light in her hand illuminating Dustbringer¡¯s body began to change. It seemed at first that it was faltering, flickering off-and-on, but upon closer inspection it was just that the white light was turning red, matching the infernal illumination of the hall perfectly.


    The wizards were being forced to join in the demon-battle with ever-increasing frequency as the foes began to break through, distracted by the eolastyr¡¯s reinforcements instead of doubling-down on breaking her barriers. Our front-lines were being overwhelmed and we only had a moment until Dustbringer was¡­ dust?


    I went and thrust my circle and all its stars into her blood-red wards.


    ¡°Focus on stopping her!¡± Timesnatcher bellowed, hacking at the far curve of the shield, Killstop at his side.


    I¡¯d given my demons no direction, and on my last glance over my shoulder I¡¯d seen Aunty Antlers engaged in a violent headbutting contest with an enemy ikistadreng, its antlers just as daunting as hers. Could I bring her across to help?


    Before I could make a decision, Em, Shadowcloud and Winterprince all fused their powers, channelling energies into a fizzing, house-sized nimbus of light ¨C


    Unleashing a bolt of lightning that would¡¯ve burned my whole apartment block to a crisp.


    The shield absorbed it, spreading the electricity in tidal waves across the arc of the gleaming red surface; but the barrier wavered ¨C


    The white light burning in her palm was off permanently, emitting only the scarlet pulse now ¨C


    I hammered the shield¡­


    But it was too late.


    The black twists of material that were the last remnants of Dustbringer showered down about her feet.


    The eolastyr offered us a mocking smile, the triangular face distorting¡­ then an infernal blaze flared up out of nowhere and she was gone, the throne left empty.


    All of the lights in the hall were instantaneously extinguished.


    One or more of the wizards or enchanters responded within a split-second, suffusing the room with bright white light, and, looking down, we all stared at the golden throne ¨C Timesnatcher swooped down, coming to hover before the scattered black ashes ¨C


    ¡°Master!¡± I heard Aunty Antlers cry piteously.


    My demons had never called for aid before, and certainly never in such a human-sounding voice.


    Before I knew what I was doing I was turning away from the dais.


    My ikistadreng had lost the red blurs that were her two forelegs; her face was on the ground, great antlers lowered; and the enemy ikistadreng was stamping on her spine with its hind-hoofs, cracking her in half. Other fiends were crawling on her, stabbing her with long talons so that she writhed.


    I¡¯d thought the druids had energised me earlier.


    No. Watching Dustbringer just¡­ vanish¡­ and now this¡­


    Anger energised me. I felt myself flooding with power.


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    I didn¡¯t care if this demon I owned was the most evil thing in existence, more evil even than the eolastyr. I didn¡¯t care that she wasn¡¯t a person. Aunty Antlers meant nothing to me.


    But the enemy ikistadreng meant less.


    And it was going to snap her in two, right in front of me?


    Circle blazing, I flew right up alongside the face of her enemy. My hands moved, spikes hewing through the lesser demons, while I caught the ikistadreng¡¯s eye.


    Trapped its gaze.


    Glared into that blurry floating pupil with all my pent-up fury.


    ¡°Tear yourself in half,¡± I spat in Infernal.


    I let the newly-bound ikistadreng get started on its task for a few seconds before dismissing both it and Aunty Antlers. I couldn¡¯t risk her dying here; from what I understood, that would only prolong her recoalescence. She could recuperate on her home plane, and quite possibly continue to watch the punishment of the very opponent who¡¯d broken her.


    ¡°Feychilde¡­¡±


    I looked around, confirming as I did that the dark hearths were now empty; they¡¯d stopped producing demons when the fires went out.


    There were still hundreds left, though, a few summoners amongst them.


    ¡°Not now, Neverwish.¡±


    Then I instinctively threw out shields to support my other minions, pushing their foes back.


    Pushing them all back. Shield Twelve encompassed everyone.


    But I didn¡¯t stop there.


    I placed one hand around my rotating circle, and I moved, flying at them, invisible spikes in my hands.


    I felt like I was in two places at once, but it was working.


    I was moving with my circle, leaving Shields Two to Twelve in place.


    ¡°Zey vill kill you! K- Feychilde!¡±


    She was wrong. The demons couldn¡¯t kill me. I flew clear out of Shield Twelve, and my stars rotated as fiercely as ever.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s kill them first.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m already on my vay.¡±


    Zel¡¯s hearing helped me pick up Winterprince grinding out, ¡°I don¡¯t need telling twice.¡±


    Several demons lashed at me with their limbs, their tridents, their bolts of dark energy. But the surface of my circle was a hedgehog, a pincushion, covered in needles of unstoppable force. I used them as quickly as I created them, and I created them quickly.


    Whole droves of them fell, pierced through, not all of them fatally. Yet.


    On my right side, a field of gleaming snow overtook the room ¨C and then without warning a whole host of icy stalagmites speared up from the frosty surface, barbed tips penetrating the bodies of at least thirty demons in a single terrifying motion.


    A thunderstorm sprang into existence on my left. Sheets of lightning rippled down, electrocuting ranks of enemies. Redgate¡¯s infantry mopped them up, the sorcerer himself staying well-clear of the indiscriminate conflict.


    Dozens upon dozens of robed figures soared into battle with spellbound blades burning brightly in their hands ¨C and some of the figures were even real, the arch-diviners bringing slaughter to the slaughterers.


    I saw a lesser fiend bite its beak down on Nighteye¡¯s cowled head, razor-like teeth slicing through the hood. It was a scaly creature, its beak far longer and more hideous than that of the druid¡¯s mask. Such was the force with which it closed its jaw, it snapped the end of its beak clean off on Nighteye¡¯s magically-reinforced skull. His blood flowed, but I had little doubt he was doing fine, the way he was ripping through his enemies.


    Arch-druids could do things I hadn¡¯t imagined, weren¡¯t in the stories.


    There¡¯d been nothing about arch-sorcerers wielding their shapes as weapons, either.


    Demonic mounds of rotten leaves with bramble arms were lifted up on spirals of hot wind, waving in despair before they were drained of moisture and combusted. I trapped a bintaborax in my diamond and took it apart, one spiked chunk of armour at a time. A thinfinaran, one of Redgate¡¯s, stood astride one of the big, eye-covered apes, smashing its skull against the floor repeatedly.


    It was over. Too soon, it was over.


    And when there was nothing left to kill, I remembered. Who I was. Who had died. Who I¡¯d become.


    I wouldn¡¯t cry for Dustbringer. We hadn¡¯t been close, barely knew each other. But this night had started with him telling me to be careful, and it¡¯d ended with him stretched out in the embrace of an arch-demon. I¡¯d watched it happen, and it had changed me. Right there, on the heels of what had happened to Morsus, after I¡¯d told him to be careful.


    Endren¡­


    I hadn¡¯t fully formulated any plans, but since his performance in front of Henthae I¡¯d nonetheless come to think of him as a future ally. A possible friend. Maybe even the knowledgeable, trustworthy mentor that every budding young hero from the stories needed in order to improve their skills, reach their potential.


    Now he was gone, and we were left in an empty structure, built by the demons who¡¯d come here for the express purpose of taking him from us.


    There was some discussion before we left, about what to do with it.


    ¡°Gold is gold, after all,¡± Redgate whispered. ¡°Between them, the wizards should be able to find a way to strip it off the walls and bring it out before we break this place.¡±


    ¡°Should we now?¡± Winterprince grated.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to take hours to smash the obsidian tower above us,¡± Shadowcloud said, matching Winterprince in talking aloud as if that could help mediate the discussion, ¡°maybe days. We could consider it.¡± He looked back at the shining throne, where Dustbringer had been disintegrated. ¡°Claim our weregild.¡±


    ¡°Yet we have no assurances it¡¯s actually gold,¡± Lovebright reminded them.


    ¡°Gold makes men mad enough as it is,¡± I said.


    Neverwish seemed to agree: ¡°Whatever that obsidian stone really is, this stuff might be worse for all we know.¡± He started to soar up towards the opening in the ceiling Dustbringer had made for us. ¡°I¡¯m going to get Starsight, and I¡¯m getting out of here. Who¡¯s with me?¡±


    ¡°You need a vizard,¡± Em said, following him and looking across at me. ¡°I¡¯m vith you.¡±


    ¡°Me too,¡± I said, feeling like I needed my bed more than I ever had in my life, while knowing that such a thing had to still be hours off yet.


    One by one we peeled away, floating up into the black tower above us, keeping well clear of the hazardous substance as we manoeuvred through the crack.


    The last thing I saw before I went through was Redgate, the final one of us to leave ¨C he was floating there amidst the destruction, arms at his side, his emotions impossible to read or even imagine.


    He¡¯d lost Dustbringer, too, and for him it had to be a thousand times worse.


    * * *

 Tigress Lies pt4

    We were on the rubble of Lord¡¯s Knuckle once more, and I felt glad to touch the earth with my feet again. Lovebright communicated our success to the local magister-captain; Ciraya and Fe were gone, but I could see other magisters and watchmen being debriefed. It was still dark, and the city still reeked of fear and destruction, but it felt different now. The fires were out, I could hear no screaming, and ¨C


    Ah, yes. The Mourning Bells have stopped.


    ¡°It¡¯s finished!¡± Zel said.


    Woah. My inner ear was ringing. You don¡¯t have to shout!


    She continued, only slightly less-loudly: ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, you know? You didn¡¯t put one foot wrong.¡±


    Better than you expected?


    ¡°Pah! I¡¯m a diviner. I knew exactly how good you were going to be when I ¨C first met you.¡±


    Then I caught Timesnatcher confirming her words: ¡°So it¡¯s all over?¡± he was asking. ¡°I can¡¯t foresee any more events.¡±


    ¡°No more reports have come in,¡± Leafcloak replied. ¡°How long until Starsight¡¯s here with me?¡±


    ¡°Not long ¨C Neverwish has the best flight Shadowcloud could give him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get prepared, then. By the sounds of things, you guys need to take a rest. Sleep, if you can.¡±


    Timesnatcher looked around the group. ¡°I won¡¯t say well done. This wasn¡¯t a good day to be a champion. But it wasn¡¯t an unmitigated loss.¡± He looked down at the ground. ¡°She would¡¯ve come up. She would¡¯ve slaughtered half of Sticktown. Dustbringer gave his life to prevent that from taking place and I¡¯m sure that, even if he¡¯d known in advance what was going to happen to him, he would¡¯ve still gone ahead.¡±


    ¡°How well did you know him?¡± Winterprince asked suddenly.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± the diviner replied, ¡°and I stand by what I said. I¡¯ll deal with the situation, trust me.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. I¡¯m going home.¡± Winterprince raised himself up on the air, angled himself south-east as though to cross the Blackrush to Oldtown, and departed.


    One by one, most of the others left, the same exhaustion and dejection in their voices as they bade us farewell. Lovebright promised me she¡¯d see that the people in Oldtown got their minds back, where we¡¯d fought our first thinfinaran. Then she, Nighteye, Shadowcloud and Redgate followed Winterprince; Glimmermere headed north-east, towards Hightown. At last it was just Em, Timesnatcher, Killstop and myself.


    ¡°You did well tonight, Stormchilde,¡± Timesnatcher said in a jesting tone. ¡°I¡¯ll be giving Keliko a glowing report, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    It only now occurred to me how strange it must¡¯ve been for her, being the only one unmasked in the group of champions. When she met Timesnatcher¡¯s gaze I could see the fatigue in her face for the first time. ¡°Could you please leave out ze whole ¡®Stormchilde¡¯ business? She¡¯s been on my case about ensuring I stay viz ze Magisterium for¡­¡± she looked at me, almost guiltily, ¡°¡­ vell, ze last veek at least.¡±


    So she¡¯s been considering it, I thought. An arch-enchantress is going to know it, and she¡¯d be breaking a ton of laws by messing with her head ¨C so Henthae¡¯s been reduced to begging?


    Good.


    ¡°If only we¡¯d met you first,¡± Timesnatcher said in a musing tone. ¡°Of course, Emrelet. My lips are sealed.¡± He looked at me. ¡°And as for you¡­ Feychilde.¡± He stared at me for a moment. ¡°Incursions are rough on new arch-sorcerers, but we¡¯re lucky you inherited your powers when you did. You realise that this is going to be twice as hard on us all next time, with Dustbringer gone?¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    I nodded. I felt myself swelling with pride even at the vaguest morsel of praise from the lips of someone like Timesnatcher. ¡°I¡¯ll get Redgate to give me some pointers.¡± I didn¡¯t even want to think about next time for a good couple of months.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you need any of the pointers that champion could supply,¡± the diviner said darkly. ¡°Not that he¡¯ll be a problem much longer.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s rather¡­ enigmatic,¡± Killstop remarked.


    He still addressed me: ¡°We¡¯ll have a chat about things soon enough. Let¡¯s just hope we get some more new arch-sorcerers who choose to become champions soon. You¡¯ll have something to teach them by then, eh?¡± Then he sighed, and turned away to face his fellow arch-diviner. ¡°Come, Killstop. I¡¯m going to have to have a chat with you now. If I say the right things, I might even get you to survive till the next Incursion.¡±


    ¡°Private chat¡­¡± she replied archly, ¡°my dear Timesnatcher, whatever will the rumours say?¡±


    ¡°Put a sock in it,¡± he growled, taking her hand and lifting off slightly.


    As she floated away with him, I heard her muttering, ¡°A sock¡¯s not nearly as much fun, though¡­¡±


    And then finally we were alone.


    ¡°So.¡± I didn¡¯t really know what to say.


    ¡°So.¡± Neither did she.


    ¡°Was it like this last time? When you helped?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Better. Vorse. I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay ¨C come on.¡± I started to lead her into the night sky. ¡°I want to get you home and get you in bed ¨C safely tucked up in bed, I mean ¨C before I go home.¡±


    She smiled a wan smile and followed me up, seemingly too tired to refuse, even as she protested weakly, ¡°But Jhaid, and Jharoan -¡°


    ¡°They¡¯ve already seen me tonight.¡± I briefly related what¡¯d happened on Mud Lane, what Ciraya and Killstop had done to save everyone. ¡°Your parents have no idea how you are,¡± I concluded. ¡°You died.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a child,¡± she continued, still letting me tug her up through the air. We were soon above the smoke-clogged streets of Sticktown.


    ¡°No, but you did die ¨C¡±


    ¡°I did not ¨C do not tell zem zat!¡± she hissed.


    I looked at her, offended. ¡°Like I¡¯m going to tell my girlfriend¡¯s dad, who I literally just promised I¡¯d keep her safe, that I let her get herself killed¡­¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t let me get killed ¨C¡± I felt the shudder that passed through her body ¡°¨C and zere vere a few times, down zere, I vould¡¯ve died again if not for your protections. Ze thinfinaran¡­ I couldn¡¯t touch it ¨C¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t even imagine what we¡¯d have done without you, and Shadowcloud and Winterprince. There were so many. You must be feeling more drained than ever?¡±


    She didn¡¯t reply, but drew closer to me, so that we were almost shoulder-to-shoulder as we coursed the sky.


    Holding her hand, flying was easier. We swiftly passed out of Lord¡¯s Knuckle, away from the destruction. I¡¯d found it easy to forget in the midst of battle just how small the affected sites were when compared with the vastness of the districts themselves ¨C it might¡¯ve seemed bad when we were in the thick of things, but I doubted more than one percent of the city had been levelled. The wizardry-firms would get around to fixing most of Sticktown, eventually, once Hightown, Treetown and Oldtown were done. It was more important, after all, to rebuild the houses of the rich elite who¡¯d been kicked out to spend a few weeks in their second-homes, than the tenements of the impoverished masses who¡¯d be dying of disease in the mud for months. Priorities, of course. Even Rivertown would probably get support ahead of us, given the proximity of the fighting to the Spring Door¡­


    Then I took a breath of smoke, and found myself hacking. The nausea of my vertigo was lingering, but it was far off, like a nightmare that¡¯d receded into the background of my mind ¨C only making its presence known when I deliberately thought about it.


    I stopped thinking about it, stopped looking down ¨C looked at her face instead, frozen in a grave seriousness, marble perfection.


    Zel ¨C leave us alone, will you?


    ¡°Of course. Goodnight¡­ my champion.¡±


    Then the fairy was gone.


    I spoke, the words coming haltingly: ¡°How¡­ do I want to know how it happened?¡±


    She shook her head, but started telling me anyway. ¡°I vozn¡¯t vatching my back. My elemental of air voz torn apart, and I didn¡¯t notice. Ze imps¡­ I couldn¡¯t get zem off¡­ If you hadn¡¯t persuaded me to take ze potion¡­¡±


    I couldn¡¯t imagine the agony she must¡¯ve endured as they clawed through her legs, and she didn¡¯t try to describe it in detail, but I got enough of an impression that I had to shut my eyes, a futile, instinctive attempt to block out the visions¡­


    ¡°I didn¡¯t keep ¨C keep ze sc-scars zis time,¡± she said in a thick voice.


    All of a sudden she was weeping, and I halted her, pulled her into my arms.


    She clung to me like I was keeping her from falling.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I said softly, kissing her hair, stroking her back. ¡°It¡¯s okay. It¡¯s over now.¡±


    She pulled away a few inches, eyes glimmering like molten steel. ¡°It¡¯s never over, Kas. Not for me! Not for you! Not till ze day ve die forezzer!¡±


    She sobbed yet more fiercely, and beat a single time on my chest with the base of her fist.


    I had no words I could trust. I didn¡¯t know how I felt. Maybe I felt the same way, but maybe I didn¡¯t, and how could I just say that, now? It would be cold, too cold to admit that I didn¡¯t really feel like I cared. What else would I want to be doing until the day I died? Monitoring potatoes?


    I could do nothing but pull her back into my embrace, let her claw with her own fingers at my back. Could do nothing but hold her.


    So I held her.


    And prayed to Yune it would be enough.

 Endren pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 3A: ENDREN</h2>


    ¡°To be a soothsayer is to tell the truth. We must be forgiven for borrowing this cloak to hide our lies. We know better than any others the price of truth. The guise of the constant soothsayer is a luxury only those of the Church of Kultemeren might claim. We shall have to settle for being weekend soothsayers, and beg the Judge¡¯s forgiveness in our midnight prayers. May he show mercy on our souls.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Notes of Timesnatcher¡¯, recovered after the Fall


    He took her arm as they flew, bringing her into the crest of his power and letting her experience the true peaks of chronomantic inversion. They weren¡¯t going much more than a mile ¨C they would reach their destination in around six or seven seconds, as measured by watchers at the start-point and finish-line ¨C but they would have around nine or ten minutes of time in which to talk.


    Telepathy enchantments didn¡¯t interact so well with time-slowing magic unless the enchanter was along for the ride too, so he began with the basics, talking aloud. There was a lot that was hidden to the arch-diviner who was just taking their first steps into the world ¨C essential knowledge, keys that would unlock pieces of the puzzle of the future, times and places that were before nothing but dark blots on an otherwise-scintillating ocean of information.


    ¡°Lovebright had to remove an implant in your mind, tonight. And another in Feychilde¡¯s, and one in the mind of Emrelet Reyd. Do you understand what that signifies?¡±


    ¡°Neverwish¡­?¡± Killstop muttered.


    ¡°Oh, do take the ridiculous scarf off your head, Tanra,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s no one who can see you at the speed we¡¯re travelling, and it¡¯s hard to hear what you¡¯re saying.¡±


    Tanra threw back her hood and removed the scarf, displaying the tired smile that was nonetheless fixed on her face like a skull¡¯s grin.


    This one might actually be insane, he reminded himself.


    Irimar¡¯s own mask only covered the upper part of his face, a standard face-fitting thing of leather and steel, with the gleaming twelve-pointed star at the upper part of his forehead near the hairline; the black hood hid his hair.


    ¡°You know my name, my face ¨C I can¡¯t see you,¡± Tanra replied. ¡°This is awfully one-sided.¡±


    That is only to be expected. But can you look beyond the now, Tanra? What is my face, if you can see my future?


    ¡°I¡¯m the top arch-diviner in the city for a reason, you know.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C¡±


    ¡°Neverwish has done this before; I think he expects I can¡¯t see what he¡¯s doing before he does it. Lovebright is actually a more-capable enchantress than she appears, and has kept up the act for a long time now. She can replace the implants, giving him the impression they¡¯re still there, doing what he put them there for.¡±


    ¡°¡¯What he put them there for¡¯¡­ I can¡¯t see anything he did to me, not in any fold or crease of the past ¨C nothing Lovebright did either.¡±


    ¡°You probably did see it before it happened, but can no longer remember it,¡± Irimar replied. ¡°He¡¯s far subtler than he pretends, with his boisterous exterior, his talk of brute force attacks¡­ We¡¯re lucky we¡¯ve got her, checking his anti-enchantment work, pruning the worst of his barbs, but ¨C¡°


    ¡°How do you know you can trust Lovebright?¡±


    ¡°I recruited her, before she got her powers, for just this purpose.¡±


    He said it with a smile that was better than a mask.


    He couldn¡¯t trust any of the others, not really ¨C especially Rosedawn. She had secrets. Hells, even Spiritwhisper probably had secrets. He¡¯d learned his lesson with Softsmile back in the day. Another champion he¡¯d been forced to prune.


    ¡°In any case,¡± Irimar went on, ¡°it won¡¯t be long before he figures out what we¡¯re doing. Can you see it, Tanra? Can you see that future?¡±


    Tanra shook her head once, slowly, her eyes never leaving his.


    ¡°Of course you can¡¯t; I¡¯m at the heart of it.¡±


    He looked down from his position, surfing the crest, and saw the blank space where she had to be, below him, submerged in the wave.


    Irimar sighed. He¡¯d hoped he¡¯d found another to join him on his lonely pedestal, or even come close. A successor. But no. It was still him ¨C him and Duskdown.


    The only one he couldn¡¯t see at all.


    Everyone knew about the potency of the heretics, of course, but he¡¯d never made Duskdown¡¯s incredible power public. Irimar had given Feychilde the only warning he could when he¡¯d first met him, last week, when he directed him to the Diamond Mare. A warning of the one part he¡¯d heard ¨C the rest was clouded to him. It could only be that Duskdown was involved, somehow ¨C but how would Feychilde and Duskdown come to be together, there, of all places?


    It would require further meditation. He couldn¡¯t act until he knew more. He could see beyond that meeting, could see the changes it wrought in the sorcerer¡­ but the moment eluded him. He had to abandon the future-lines, enter the trance and hope the right vision came to him¡­


    ¡°And you mentioned Redgate. He¡¯s a bad guy too?¡± Tanra asked. ¡°I didn¡¯t have chance to explore his future when we were all together, back there. It felt tough¡­ a¡­ a hard fabric.¡±


    ¡°All you need to know for now is that he was no one to take advice from, and that¡¯s putting it mildly. I wish I¡¯d got to Direcrown before I did, but I fear he was always a lost cause. Together Leafcloak and I kept up the act ¨C we never took sides between Dustbringer and Redgate after Hellbane fell ¨C and if Redgate had a chance to be the city¡¯s premier arch-sorcerer the situation might¡¯ve turned a little¡­ difficult.¡±


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You¡¯re speaking of him like it was him that died, not Dustbringer.¡±


    Irimar looked down at Sticktown, its walls of smoke seemingly frozen in time, not a wisp uncoiling as they slowly coursed through the air above the roofs. The silence of the city brought its own kind of indescribable serenity. Even the insects in the air were stilled, trapped in invisible amber.


    ¡°Redgate is going far, into darkness, to face a dragon. A dragon of far greater power than he expects. I believe he will die.¡± That was all he could tell her without risking everything. ¡°For that reason alone I ensured the petitions of Phanar of N¡¯Lem, the leader of the expedition, were thrown out by the majority of the interested parties.¡±


    Her smile merely intensified. ¡°Redgate was that bad? You¡¯re send him off to become dragon-fodder?¡± Then she stuck her tongue out. ¡°How do you know you can trust me? I don¡¯t fancy being something¡¯s snack ¨C¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t. Not completely. The futures where I tell you, trust you, turn out better than the ones where I don¡¯t. Take that as you will. But I can have your support when we make a move against Neverwish, yes? I¡¯m getting some anti-enchantment pendants made for you and Feychilde before it happens, as well as a new one for Starsight. We can¡¯t trust Neverwish¡¯s work.¡±


    Tanra nodded, with a wariness about the motion that he immediately committed to memory, filing it away with all the other little details he¡¯d picked up from her responses.


    She was just a kid. He had to ensure she didn¡¯t stray into the darkness too early, or she¡¯d bring it out with her when she emerged, almost certainly. The last thing he needed was another uncontrolled, uncontrollable dark arch-diviner out there.


    He drew a deep breath, then removed his own coverings.


    ¡°I am Irimar Nemmeneth.¡±


    She stared at him.


    ¡°Now that you know the identity of the city¡¯s top arch-diviner, it¡¯s awfully one-sided the other way, don¡¯t you think? I ask you not to betray me, Tanra.¡±


    Her smile never changed, but he saw it in her eyes ¨C the shock of such easy acceptance into his confidences, and the reciprocal opening-up, the lowering of her defences¡­ It was enough for him to feel that he¡¯d made the right decision.


    Then she looked up at him coyly through her eyelashes, the smile becoming faint, seductive, and he started to change his mind.


    ¡°I¡¯m spoken for,¡± he said at once, ¡°my dear child.¡±


    He was only five years Tanra¡¯s elder, but it was like an immeasurable gulf in terms of maturity.


    She almost pouted. ¡°Lovebright?¡±


    He laughed, and only shook his head, enjoying the way her response shocked him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move faster. I don¡¯t like what you get up to when you¡¯re bored.¡±


    He kept a firm hold of her arm and relaxed his power, letting the wave of time crash upon the shore; their speed steadily increased, approaching the ¡®normal time¡¯ an outsider would notice.


    ¡°Oh?¡± she asked.


    ¡°In a couple of years you¡¯ll be so adept at wrapping men around your little finger, I¡¯ll look back at this moment and say to myself, ¡®that¡¯s when I could¡¯ve done something, if only I¡¯d said the right thing¡¯.¡±


    ¡°You want to make an honest woman of me?¡± Tanra managed to make a shocked ¡®o¡¯ with her mouth despite the smile. ¡°I¡¯m flattered, Irimar, but ¡®Tanra Nemmeneth¡¯ just doesn¡¯t have that ring to it, and I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m accepting proposals from strange men who want to tell me how to live my entire future.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C you ¨C argh¡­¡±


    ¡°Speechless? Oh, I could rename myself Wordsnatcher, and tell everyone this story¡­¡±


    Why does my power tell me that trusting her is a good idea again, exactly?


    It was a question without answer. He could see her, yes ¨C the degree to which her power bent her future was not so great that he couldn¡¯t overcome some of the gaps in his vision ¨C but there were many, many more which were black holes, pits devoid of meaning, whole wasteland-oceans of dark, empty water¡­


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± she relented. Apparently his silence had done its own work. ¡°So where are we going, exactly? This is¡­ North Lowtown.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s something you need to see.¡±


    ¡°Me in particular?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you in particular. Do you see anyone else here?¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡±


    ¡°Because I want you to live that couple of years. Grow up, become¡­ whoever you¡¯re going to be.¡±


    ¡°And you think ¨C what? ¨C I¡¯ll die without your intervention?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that I know will happen. I wouldn¡¯t be here on a hunch.¡±


    He felt satisfied as he saw her shiver. She knew the way future-sight worked. She knew he wouldn¡¯t speak as lightly as she would of her death.


    She believed his lie ¨C such was the price of trust.


    Better to lie, and live with the consequences, than the alternative.


    They replaced their face-coverings, and he descended with her into the street. As they approached the mucky ground they slipped back into the mortal world ¨C the reality where birds didn¡¯t hang suspended in the air with wings mid-beat, where the din of the city came through in a thousand clashing sounds.


    The roads and alleys were empty ¨C the Bells might¡¯ve stopped, but the people wouldn¡¯t venture out now until morning, waiting for the magister-bands to retire for a well-earned rest. There was always mopping-up of stray demonoids to be done, obstructed streets to be cleared.


    They didn¡¯t go as far as the mucky ground, though. Irimar settled them down on a fifth-floor balcony, before a shabby wooden door.


    ¡°Say nothing at first, Killstop. Just watch, and listen. You¡¯ll understand.¡±


    He rapped gently on the door.


    ¡°Where in the Hells are we? I don¡¯t like this darkness, Timesnatcher. The¡­ the person who used this door¡­¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond, carefully adjusting his thoughts to his task.


    The most arduous task of the evening. He¡¯d done it before, mercifully rarely, but it was one that his powers couldn¡¯t really help him with. Every eventuality was bleak, and he could see them all now. Leafcloak, who¡¯d taken on the other task of this nature to be completed tonight, didn¡¯t have that problem. The druidess didn¡¯t have to see the infinitude of the despair her words would spark throughout the possible realities. Would that make it harder for her, or easier?


    A woman in her mid-to-late thirties with long blonde hair answered the door, a candle upon the stand beside the doorway. He could see by the flickering light that she already knew ¨C the way she¡¯d dressed hurriedly in her heavy gown, the way her face was contorted with fear.


    He¡¯d seen her in his visions but he never saw these events before tonight, never saw the way her blood drained upon recognising him. Never saw the horror in her eyes as she fell back, sitting down in her hallway and staring at his shadowed eyes.


    Never saw the tears streaming down her face as he uttered meaningless words.


    ¡°No,¡± she said in a cold voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m so, so sorry, Mrs. Solosto. We did everything that we could. It¡­ it was his time. You should know¡­ He died a true hero¡¯s death, in battle, to save thousands from something that was beyond the power of just a few to fight. And the creature was defeated ¨C it fled from Materium. He did what he set out to do, ended the threat.¡±


    He¡¯d tried to meet Wenya Solosto¡¯s gaze, but failed while he spoke ¨C at last, in the silence left behind by the words, he could find the courage to do so.


    She sat sprawled on the floor, tears still rolling down her cheeks ¨C but her demeanour was proud, her chin raised, as though defying him to look away from her eyes now he¡¯d met them, defying him to notice her indecorous posture, comment with his glance upon her predicament.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± he murmured, feeling an urge to step across the threshold, offer her a hand ¨C which was strange: such urges were usually accompanied by certainty, replaced by decision ¨C


    Killstop slipped in before him and helped her to her feet, which Wenya seemed to accept without remark.


    The girl didn¡¯t have a smile on her face beneath her scarf anymore, he could tell.


    * * *

 Endren pt2

    ¡°Won¡¯t you come in,¡± Dustbringer¡¯s widow said in a voice of glass, leading them into a cramped main room filled with couches, cushions and a small firepit.


    Killstop shot him an unreadable glance as they entered the room, but he just shook his head softly.


    ¡°Can I bring you anything from the kitchen?¡± Irimar asked. ¡°Water? I could make something.¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    Wenya¡¯s voice was hollow. She collapsed in a seat, and the two champions stood there out of politeness for a few seconds until she jerked her head savagely at them, her eyes now locked on the empty fire-grill.


    They sat down opposite her.


    ¡°I understand Dustbringer had ¨C¡°


    ¡°Endren. Call him Endren.¡± Her voice softened, and she turned back to look at him. ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°He is a man. Not a spectre. Not that mask he wears. Not the job he does. He is ¨C was¡­¡±


    She swallowed in a dry throat, closed her eyes ¨C


    He left the room quietly, found the kitchen and scooped her a cupful of water, returning before she had time to look back at his empty chair.


    She accepted the drink wordlessly, gulping it down, then mopped at her face with the corner of a blanket that had been lying atop one of the cushions.


    ¡°He was a husband and a father first ¨C the rest came second¡­¡± Then she almost chuckled. ¡°Who am I kidding? He was a father first, a husband second; the rest third¡­¡±


    Irimar looked at Killstop. Her face was downturned, eyes puzzling out the carpet.


    She¡¯s trying to distract herself, he thought. Either that, or it¡¯s already working.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I was meaning to come onto, if you¡¯d forgive me interrupting?¡± he said. ¡°I knew he had a daughter. I know he took his fees from the Magisterium exclusively in the form of druidry. He told no one, and I respect that. He had his rules around privacy, never wanted to put you and Elaset in danger.¡±


    She was really staring at him, scrutinising him, now.


    He went on, ¡°I know that those payments will stop now he has passed from this world. I realise¡­ the last thing I want you to think is that I¡¯m here out of pity ¨C¡°


    ¡°But you are, aren¡¯t you?¡± she asked bitterly. ¡°You pity me, pity us.¡±


    ¡°Yes, he does,¡± Killstop said suddenly. ¡°Is that¡­ is it such an evil?¡±


    She removed her hood and scarf. She looked completely different without the mania playing across her features.


    I didn¡¯t see any of this, he marvelled.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Wenya asked. ¡°I know him ¨C know of him, anyway,¡± she jabbed a finger in Irimar¡¯s direction, ¡°but you? I haven¡¯t heard of you, have I?¡±


    ¡°I only ¨C only met your husband tonight,¡± Tanra replied.


    ¡°You were there when¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And was it as he told me?¡± She inclined her head at Irimar. ¡°Did he¡­ did he die a hero¡¯s death?¡±


    What will she say to that? Timesnatcher wondered.


    Tanra nodded. ¡°More than I can express in words. You¡¯re¡­ no more pitiful than anyone, Mrs. Solosto, but you still deserve our pity. Everyone in your position does. There are¡­ oh gods¡­ there are thousands of you tonight¡­¡±


    Wenya drew a deep breath, turning back to stare again at the cold hearth.


    ¡°Your daughter¡¯s treatment,¡± Irimar interjected, knowing it was the perfect phrase; ¡°we can help with that. Could I learn what afflicts her? My vision isn¡¯t quite clear.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the brickblood. There is no cure. Even arch-druids have tended her. All they¡¯ve done is buy her time. A year of extra life, they say. But she¡­¡±


    Wenya¡¯s head turned, almost involuntarily, as though she could look through the walls to her daughter¡¯s room, check on her.


    Brickblood was a magical disease, transmitted by sight. Elaset would¡¯ve been kept blindfolded when in the company of others, to ensure she couldn¡¯t set eyes on them, pass them the ailment. Her veins running dry ¨C every parcel of flesh itching as it slowly swelled up, the hard, rough boils of brick-red stone erupting over every inch of her skin¡­


    ¡°Can¡­¡± Tanra stood suddenly, and when he looked up he saw that her eyes were wet. ¡°Could you please excuse me?¡±


    He understood. This was it.


    ¡°Your mother¡¯s still awake, and the flight-spell won¡¯t run out before you get home. Be gentle with her, Killstop, and think about what Feychilde said when you first met him.¡±


    Tanra covered her face once more as she left the room, and, with a muttered, ¡°Goodnight, Mrs. Solosto,¡± the door was closed behind her.


    ¡°Killstop,¡± Wenya murmured, and chuckled again in a slow, distracted manner as she continued to gaze into the fireless fireplace. ¡°That¡¯s a stupid name. She didn¡¯t live up to it, did she?¡±


    ¡°Many more are alive in Mund due to her actions,¡± he replies.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about the ¡®many more¡¯ right now, Timesnatcher!¡± she snarls, speaking his name with scorn, mockery. ¡°I care about the one who won¡¯t return! The one whose killing she couldn¡¯t stop!¡± Then she glares at him. ¡°I want to see him. Show me the body of my¡­¡±


    ¡°Killstop,¡± Wenya murmured, and chuckled again in a slow, distracted manner as she continued to gaze into the fireless fireplace. ¡°That¡¯s a stupid name. She didn¡¯t live up to it, did she?¡±


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    ¡°He was trying to defend her from the creature when it happened. Defend both of us, actually. He was incredibly brave, Mrs. Solosto. I¡¯m afraid he left only ashes¡­ Though the battle raged on, I did bring him back for you. I¡¯m sorry; I know it¡¯s not enough¡­¡±


    He placed the pouch containing what he¡¯d recovered of Dustbringer¡¯s remains on a cushion in her peripheral vision, with a handful of plat and gold beside it.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be sending an arch-druid in the next couple of days. His name¡¯s Nighteye, and he¡¯s just about the most trustworthy person I¡¯ve ever met. Speaking professionally. He¡¯s going to help you, okay? Provide an assessment? We can go from there.¡±


    Wenya nodded. ¡°You can ¨C please leave now.¡±


    He could tell she was barely keeping a lid on her emotions.


    Irimar nodded back, then, as he stood, said, ¡°We¡¯ll be in touch. If there¡¯s anything you need¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you know.¡± This was an almost-silent whisper.


    ¡°Mrs. Solosto,¡± he said respectfully in parting. He wouldn¡¯t risk saying goodnight as Killstop had done.


    He shut the door behind himself and waited five minutes until he heard it lock before setting off for his own bed. There¡¯d been a few different ways that Wenya might¡¯ve gone after hearing the news, but the fact she¡¯d chosen the path of locking the door told him she would be alright, in the end.


    He¡¯d fought alongside Dustbringer over two dozen times. He¡¯d known the man well, respected him, relied upon him.


    This was the worst of all possible times in which to lose him. Netherhame would have to take over his duties. He¡¯d been informed that Shallowlie would make a full recovery from the several injuries she¡¯d suffered, but even with another year¡¯s training she wouldn¡¯t build a shield like Dustbringer had ¨C and Direcrown and Redgate were lost causes, as far as he was concerned.


    Could Feychilde step up? The sorcerer was promising, quick-witted. But how proficient would he become, and how quickly? Dustbringer had recognised his potential, it¡¯d seemed, but the newcomer¡¯s own fate was no more certain than Redgate¡¯s.


    No, Irimar couldn¡¯t rely on him. He would test him, but the sorceresses had to step up. He¡¯d have a talk with Netherhame at the next Gathering, before putting Feychilde under her tutelage. They¡¯d have to be ready for next time.


    The Incursion¡¯s been over half an hour and I¡¯m already planning for the next?


    He laughed at himself. But of course he was planning for the next. He was an arch-diviner. If he wasn¡¯t planning for the far-future, he wasn¡¯t living up to his position.


    When he arrived in Treetown he performed a routine check of the future-lines, ascertaining his way was clear, his route home peril-free.


    He got a strange response from the Winter Door. Not a facet of his future ¨C the seas before him were calm, free of reef and rock ¨C but a shrouded island lurking in his past. It was old and powerful, intelligent.


    If he put his hand on the tiller, adjusted the course he sailed through the mists of time ¨C amethyst oceans awaited him.


    Something did get through the Box, he realised. The tavern¡­


    He wanted to investigate, meditate, but she never easily forgave him if he took longer than he needed to reach her after an Incursion. It would wait until tomorrow. He knew he¡¯d have to put his Zadhal plans in motion now Redgate was gone, or it would be too late for Mund.


    The Prime Concatenation remains strong, whether I investigate or not.


    He angled for home instead.


    It only took him seconds to get there and he didn¡¯t cling to them, didn¡¯t experience them; he blurred right through them, and they blurred through him. He flew directly in through the open third-storey window of their bedroom like it was nothing.


    Perrinthe was lying atop the blue-silk sheets of their four-poster bed wearing only her undergarments, her robe discarded on the floor ¨C she startled, tossing the brand-covered slice of oak aside and almost rising to her feet before she realised it was him.


    ¡°Damn it, Irimar.¡± She recovered, gathering the news-sheet back into her dark-skinned hands. ¡°You know I don¡¯t appreciate things like that when I¡¯m reading.¡±


    ¡°Just keeping you on your toes, darling,¡± he replied. He swiftly divested himself of blades, pouches, robe, shirt and shoes, then walked around the bed to reach the far side.


    She removed her hands from the thin wooden tablet, turning her unseeing eyes to follow his movement around the room.


    ¡°You can¡¯t hide it from me, ¡®darling¡¯. What happened? I told you I should¡¯ve come.¡±


    He hopped up onto the bed, joining her.


    ¡°Bad news.¡±


    ¡°How bad?¡±


    He regarded her. The childhood illness that had robbed her of her sight had been as nothing before whatever force chose her, filled her with magic, ten years later. Her all-white eyes were the only clue to the outside observer that she was blind ¨C well, that and the fact that when she wanted to read the news-pages she had to pore over the ubiquitous-but-expensive wooden tablets with her fingertips. The industry had been developed by those highborn too rich to have their blind children go without learning their letters, but too poor to afford the druidry that would save their sight. And, as Perrinthe had learned the hard way, the longer you were broken, the harder you were to fix.


    He didn¡¯t quite know how she did it ¨C the curse of the diviner was remembering everything that ever happened to you, and so the pain, the panic of those first days as a blind child were always with her. Certainly Perrinthe now had plenty-enough wealth to have a hundred children cured of blindness ¨C and she gave enough of the proceeds of her victories to the Temple of Compassion that some of it had gone towards just that. But there was now no druid or priest who could heal those pearly-white eyes, give her back what she¡¯d lost so young, no matter the money they threw at it.


    She seemed to have embraced an outlandish appearance, however, in the years since she chose the path of the champion. She wore her night-black hair in a boyish cut, shorter than his, and had bleached and re-bleached one side so that it gleamed white, for reasons he couldn¡¯t quite fathom.


    But that was the point of their relationship. Being intimate with a mere mortal would have been pretty disgusting, knowing how to manipulate, move them like a fortify-piece into the perfect position at every juncture¡­ After him and Duskdown, Lightblind and Zakimel rode the next-highest wave of power. Perrinthe could train with him ¨C push him to be better ¨C understand him ¨C surprise him. Surprise was a commodity in scarce-supply to the arch-diviner.


    And it was the only thing that made true love possible.


    He sighed again before speaking. It was his fate to deliver ill-tidings tonight, and this was all part of a future that he¡¯d never foreseen, that¡¯d become his past so swiftly it made no sense that he couldn¡¯t just go back and change it, choose a different route, plan it all well in advance¡­


    Surprises were not always for the best.


    ¡°Out with it, Irimar. You¡¯re starting to make me nervous.¡±


    ¡°Dustbringer fell to a high-ranked demon.¡±


    She whirled, twisting the sheets beneath her. ¡°Endren? No!¡±


    But once he said it he knew the feedback she was getting through her own powers would confirm it for her. His involvement had occluded the events in the obsidian tower from her powers, but once he gave her the key to what occurred she would unlock it all in a flood of information.


    ¡°Starsight¡¯s lost his mind, too ¨C some demonic spell. Neverwish,¡± he said the name in a hard tone, ¡°has taken him to Leafcloak¡­ Then she¡¯s got to tell Smouldervein¡¯s¡­ oh, damn, Perri, I shouldn¡¯t be back here like this¡­¡±


    ¡°Hush,¡± she said, holding him, pressing her fingers into the taut muscles in his neck. ¡°You¡¯re not going back out there, not now you¡¯re home.¡±


    She moved her hands up to his shoulders and dug them in a few times, kneading his flesh like bread; and all his thoughts of leaving, of duty and responsibility and mourning ¨C they all dissipated between one moment and the next. Nighteye and Glimmermere had healed him, suffused him with strength-enough to fight the battles¡­ but nothing was as good as a back-rub.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do you¡­ after¡­¡± he murmured, letting her push him down on his front.


    ¡°Of course you will.¡±


    They couldn¡¯t really read each other¡¯s futures ¨C to a greater or lesser degree ¨C but both of them knew there was no chance of him rubbing her back tonight.


    The last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him was the look on the eolastyr¡¯s white, triangular face while she gloated over Dustbringer¡¯s almost-bisected body.


    ¡°In a moment we¡¯ll be done, and say farewell. But it¡¯s not goodbye ¨C not for three of you at least.¡±


    The last thing he remembered was how glad he¡¯d been to know that she didn¡¯t mean him.


    But it didn¡¯t help. The nightmare took him, the same as it did almost every night now.


    The seas shadowed. The crest of the wave plunged into darkness. Darkness so absolute that the memory of light became a madness gnawing at the soul.


    He stood on the crest of the wave, and for the first time he did not look ahead ¨C he looked up.


    And in that impenetrable darkness the seas gathered, swelling away from him; up, up above him ¨C and he beheld the Wave, the Shadow on the horizon, dwarfing his world, making of him an ant that trembled on the path before the boot fell, obliterating it forever.

 The Vendetta Applies pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 3B: THE VENDETTA APPLIES</h2>


    ¡°Each form of undeath carries its connotations for the sorcerous adept. Each form is distinct in its dangers and value. As the entities mature, they adopt new powers. From this categorisation we exclude skeletal and zombified revenants, to whom only a meagre fraction of the former will is given, and ghosts, whose transient nature forces them into a special classification. Yet the wraith, the banshee, the spectre. The vampire. The lich. Take, for an example, the infamous deathknight. Only one who lives by the blade may become one. In the fullness of their power, their nethernal weaponry attains a clarity the edge of which few sorcerers¡¯ shields can endure. Take for another the common wight, defined by its formerly innocuous existence, by its purposelessness and the abject state in which it transitioned. To those of this classification who persist into the categorisation of elder, no such barriers even exist!¡±


    ¨C from Mistress Arithos¡¯s Lectures to the Neophyte Assembly


    The voices of the gravediggers rattled on and on, coming closer and closer as the hours of the night passed by. He lay there, warm in the soil, listening to them as they approached.


    Gradually, the terror of the nightmare receded. Shrill wind cutting across a wasteland of glittering glass. The single, endless scar wending its way through the landscape, the river of blood in which he was reborn.


    The memories faded.


    By the time the gravediggers¡¯ work was done and the sun was rising he could understand almost one in three of the words they spoke.


    It was troubling. He knew he should feel panicked at his current situation. He knew he shouldn¡¯t be under the earth.


    Yet he was here, without any idea how or why, and it felt natural. He didn¡¯t need to breathe, didn¡¯t want to breathe. The very idea was a bit sickening ¨C the same as the thought of drinking, or eating. His innards recoiled at the very consideration. They needed nothing from the outside. He didn¡¯t even want to open his eyes, didn¡¯t want to break out of his earthy cocoon. He was fine, as he was. He was perfectly still, perfectly content ¨C in body, at least.


    In mind, less so.


    What happened to me? Lodus wondered.


    He couldn¡¯t remember. He could remember the Infernal Incursion beginning. He could remember helping to barricade the door of the inn with the spare furniture, piling it high to cover the windows. He could remember the way the barkeep and barmaids had joined them at the tables, turning to drink, and letting the patrons help themselves.


    He still wore his gear; he could tell from the feel of his clothing. There were eleven blades upon his person ¨C some were plain to see upon his belt or in his boot, while others were concealed, sewn into the soft, inner material of his hardened leather jerkin, accessible to no one but him. Most of them were made for throwing, and he was getting pretty good with them.


    But whoever had killed him hadn¡¯t even bothered taking his weapons away.


    By the time he¡¯d come to, the Mourning Bells had stopped. At first he¡¯d thought that, perhaps what with being buried and all, he simply couldn¡¯t hear them ¨C but he soon realised that was wrong. He was able to perceive so much more: he knew where the owls were in the trees of the graveyard by the sounds of their wings before they mewled; he knew the number of gravediggers by their footfalls and the patter of their spades, even when they were over fifty yards from him.


    But what did it mean that he couldn¡¯t understand people anymore? He could tell he was still in Mund, in Sticktown. The words they¡¯d used were easily comprehensible, when they were comprehensible. The rest of the time it was like squawking coming out of their mouths, but not birdlike ¨C more like the gibbering and hooting of those monkey-things he¡¯d once seen in Firenight Square, yes, that was it¡­


    Day heated the ground, even though it rained heavily. He could smell the corpses of the dead ¨C not dead like him, but really gone. They were rancid bags of gas and rot or charcoaled twigs of bone. He focussed his senses on the scents of peat and clay instead, the patternless patter of the falling rain and worms wriggling, moles tunnelling¡­ He tried to ignore the whispered and wailed words of the grieving.


    But something must¡¯ve sunk in. When evening trotted along, Inius and Tall Tarry returned with the rest of their gravedigging crew ¨C Lodus recognised them by their voices, and found he could reliably follow their speech by this point.


    ¡°Were another bad ¡®un,¡± Tall Tarry said.


    ¡°Never we ¡®ad so many Sticktowners perish in a night, I ¡®eard Loany Rones say. Is good fer the ol¡¯ coin-purse though, eh?¡±


    ¡°Yer right, Inius. Fink if we ¡®ad an Incurvesion every week?¡±


    ¡°We be rollin¡¯ it in!¡± Inius crowed.


    ¡°Though we might as like run outta space too soon. Suppose we could chop down some of the trees¡­¡± This was said dubiously.


    ¡°Bah! That¡¯er be too much work, even if they let us. Just re-dig a space, shimmy up them ¡®eadstones¡­ We could do it ferrever, Tall Tanny, my long-droppin¡¯ man!¡±


    ¡°But what¡¯er we do with them ol¡¯ coffins?¡±


    ¡°Stack ¡®em up, like.¡±


    Sticktowners, Lodus grumbled. All the same.


    He was from Karamar, but he¡¯d spent half the years of his not-long-enough life in Mund. For most of those ¨C close on ten years ¨C he¡¯d lived in Oldtown, and he was an Oldtowner to the core. But the life of an assassin in a city filled with mages wasn¡¯t a relaxed one, and in order to survive he¡¯d slunk below their attentions, keeping his dirty deeds off-the-books, all payments under-the-table, every meeting ¡®clandestine¡¯ ¨C all looked after by the guild.


    One of the consequences of being picky about jobs was that he wasn¡¯t rich. But his restraint was more about ensuring he kept his freedom, that he stayed alive, when so many others stepped over the line and got death-warrants put on their heads, got magister-bands hot on their heels in their pursuit of King Money-Bags. Sure, the watch had looked for him a few times, but he barely took enough jobs to pay his way in the guild, give him enough change for bed and beer and brothel. He never killed women or children, never took the big hits with the massive payouts for eliminating Lords of the Arrealbord and such like. Not that he¡¯d have been able to achieve something like that anyway. He only had one magical dagger, and that was on the way out ¨C it only worked half the time these last few months.


    It was part of what Dirk Danten always called his ¡®cloak of anonymity¡¯. Lodus was average height and build, his hair mud brown and mid-length, and his heritage was mixed-enough that he could pass for a pale member of the dark-skinned human tribes, or a tanned member of the light-skinned ones. His face was blander than a pint of Blackrush ¨C his age was impossible to guess when he was unshaven, despite his youth.


    He¡¯d picked the right profession, that was for sure.


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    But what had happened? He¡¯d left the guild-hall when someone reported magisters seen in the area¡­ As usual they¡¯d fled, and he¡¯d gone across the bridge, went drinking in Sticktown¡­ None of the others had followed him as he¡¯d hoped¡­


    Then what?


    It must¡¯ve had something to do with the Incursion. Something came here from the Twelve Hells that made me into¡­ whatever I am.


    Inius and Tall Tarry finished the grave they were digging, moved closer. And finished the next, moved closer still.


    He still felt relaxed, even when he realised they were going to be digging him up soon. Unless whoever had buried him had supplied a gravestone¡­


    Should I let it happen? Or should I try to get out of here now?


    He didn¡¯t want to get out of there. He wanted to stay.


    He didn¡¯t even know if he could get out. What did all the packed soil on top of him weigh?


    His hands were clasped on his chest. Experimentally, he tried to move the left hand, the one on top.


    His flesh¡­ reacted differently.


    Faster. The response-time of the motion was incredible. It was as though he¡¯d spent his whole life swimming in honey, and was only now released to move freely through the air. And he was currently buried in the ground.


    Powerful, too. The decision to move his left hand in a small arc, swinging back at the wrist to test the firmness of the earth above him, had resulted in his whole arm moving at least six inches, ripping right through the ground.


    That decided it.


    He stood up, and sprang clear of his makeshift grave, wet soil and torn-apart sod cascading around him.


    The night was clouded ¨C he could sense the moon rather than see it, yet it somehow felt like this was his daytime. Shadow occluded nothing ¨C he saw his surroundings in stark relief. The moonlit clouds welcomed him to his new home: the darkness. But it wasn¡¯t unusual to Lodus. He was used to sleeping the day away.


    He was aware of the gravediggers, no farther than thirty feet away.


    He was aware that they were aware of the sounds he¡¯d made.


    Now that¡¯s weird.


    He felt their heads turning his way, felt the way their eyes would soon fall on him.


    By the time Tall Tanny and Inius swung their heads around, there was only the earth, showering down ¨C then a rending, cracking noise and the sudden wings of birds filled the air.


    Lodus had leapt, shooting up into the branches of a nearby copse of trees.


    When he grabbed hold of a solid-looking limb he just tore it from the trunk. He braced himself for impact with the ground, but, although he didn¡¯t noticeably slow, he didn¡¯t speed up either, and he landed light as a leaf.


    No, no ¨C that¡¯s weird.


    The Sticktowners climbed out of the hollow they were digging, staring up at the trees for a solid thirty seconds before going to investigate his abandoned nest ¨C but they¡¯d find nothing more than a sunken pit.


    Lodus had already remastered his rolling gait, and plunged through the shadows of the graveyard¡¯s trees with the absolute silence only an undead assassin could muster.


    It must¡¯ve been Thornsday, unless he¡¯d completely lost track of time while he was buried, and by the looks of things it was approaching midnight, going into Fullday. The weekend was here ¨C party time. And he was no longer human. Would that have to interrupt his usual habits?


    That probably depends on what I am, exactly.


    The wind moaned, and he halted, shivering. He felt a response, something inhuman on the tip of his tongue ¨C he could almost understand the whispering of trees, almost taste the judgement in the very atmosphere. His flesh was cold, and that alone should¡¯ve been enough to confirm that he was cursed. The night welcomed him, but he knew that he was a wrong thing now. The very opposite of what he¡¯d always tried to be. He was going to stand out of the crowd now. He would be a hunted creature, an ¡®evil entity¡¯ to be put down like a rabid dog.


    But¡­ it suited him. The night had always been his home. He might¡¯ve become a ¡®wrong¡¯ thing now, yet it felt so right. He could see and smell and hear everything ¨C beetles and birds, moths and mice, foxes and frogs ¨C they were everywhere, their motions standing out to him like they were waving flags and blaring trumpets.


    He was glad he was able to get used to his new senses while he was somewhere relatively quiet. If he¡¯d woken up as a¡­ thing for the first time back in the headquarters, he¡¯d have been driven mad with the noise.


    He wandered for a while, studying his surroundings.


    There were hundreds of freshly-covered graves in this graveyard ¨C small wonder his had gone unnoticed ¨C but none of the others had burst open to spew up their gods-damned contents¡­


    He crossed through a row of trees, into a more heavily-wooded section of the graveyard. It wasn¡¯t long before he heard another set of spades going into the ground, but these gravediggers were far quieter than he¡¯d have expected, given the crew he¡¯d already run into. It sounded as though they were using their tools carefully, so as to make as little noise as possible.


    He emerged from the little dell between two slopes and saw the four gravediggers, then saw ¨C


    Sorcerers.


    There were three, robed in black, with low cowls hiding the majority of their faces from him despite his perfect night-vision. They were standing under the cover of the trees, a good twenty feet from their four lackeys ¨C these men were dressed in tattered Sticktown clothing, spades in their hands, working under close scrutiny to dig up bodies for their masters.


    Lodus skirted them, glad that he¡¯d been able to perceive the magic-users there in the shadows of the branches before they¡¯d perceived him. If he¡¯d gone anywhere near their hired help, they might¡¯ve been able to¡­ do something to him. As far as he knew, anyway.


    So I¡¯m not the only one to rise from the grave tonight ¨C but I¡¯m the only one like me.


    What am I?


    But then it came to him like a realisation:


    No.


    The memory started coming back, and he halted.


    No¡­ no,there could be more like me¡­


    He was in the tavern ¨C it¡¯s called the Lost Albatross, that¡¯s its name ¨C he was there, and he was drunk. Not too drunk, but pretty drunk. There was a cute woman with dimples sitting by the bar for hours with her friends. And a cowled man was in the corner. This stranger hadn¡¯t gotten up to aid the others when the Incursion started and they blockaded the entry-points. He hadn¡¯t partaken in the drinking ¨C in fact, Lodus couldn¡¯t remember seeing him drinking anything at all. Couldn¡¯t remember him entering¡­


    The stranger had waited until they were even more drunk, at least an hour after the demons started their attack on Mund. Then he¡¯d stood, and cast off his cloak. Lodus had been sitting in a chair which faced him, faced the window as it shattered, and the assassin got the full treatment.


    The stranger was radiant, even in the gloomy corner.


    A snowy ermine cape made it impossible to see where the long, pearly-white hair ended; his brow was clear of age-lines, and his strangely-pursed lips instantly made him alarming to Lodus, who wasn¡¯t so drunk he couldn¡¯t spot danger.


    It was the piercing lavender-coloured eyes, only now visible, that had really sealed the deal.


    ¡°Undead!¡± he¡¯d cried, pushing back the table and reaching for his knives as he got to his feet, stepping in front of the young serving-boy ¨C


    But that¡¯d been his last free action until he woke up undead.


    ¡°Hold, sir,¡± the white-haired man said in a strange accent, raising a single pale hand, palm-out in warning. ¡°Stay thy blades, ye one and all. We are friends here, and yet more.¡±


    That had been all it¡¯d taken. He remembered loosening his grip on the one dagger-handle he¡¯d managed to get hold of, wondering why he¡¯d ever thought this ally was dangerous.


    Everyone in the pub froze, but not in a panic, not out of fear. No, it was curiosity on their faces ¨C curiosity, and a peculiar kind of recognition. The way someone would look when they suddenly realised that a stranger was a long-lost loved one.


    He made us his friends.


    The vampire had walked amongst them, caressing their faces with long, ponderous fingers, stopping at the assassin¡¯s side.


    A cold nail-tip snaked its way from Lodus¡¯s temple to his chin.


    ¡°Knowest thou not that we shall be kinsmen?¡± he whispered. Lodus had felt himself shaking, and the vampire smiled, baring his fangs. ¡°That you are as my get, and I your begetter? From father to son, let my words speak to ye. Let my blood flow in ye, people of Mund. Out of mine eye, to thine; this is the last and first twilight thou shalt e¡¯er see.¡±


    The lavender gaze approached, enticing.


    He barely felt the fangs enter his throat, barely felt as the life left his body ¨C the blood was drawn out of every part of his flesh in a single long, luxurious whirlpool draught.


    He remembered being tossed aside, thrown to the wooden floor, only a husk of a person remaining.


    And that was it ¨C the assassin stood there in the darkness of the graveyard, terror and not an insignificant amount of fascination coming over him all of a sudden.


    So it was him. He killed me.


    He went to a nearby puddle, staring into its surface, and seeing only the majestic night sky for his reflection.


    He touched his face. Tugged his hair across in front of his eyes. Wiped the mud from his hands, inspecting the skin.


    The scowling, pouting lips of a vampire extending over the fangs.


    The pearly moonlight hair.


    The pallor of death eternally imbued in his flesh.


    I¡¯m not just some zombie thing. I¡¯m one of them. I¡¯m a vampire.


    He clenched his fist and grinned.


    This is going to be so gods-damned useful!


    * * *

 The Vendetta Applies pt2

    He gave the secret knock then stood back and waited, pulling the kerchief he¡¯d stolen tight about his head.


    It was only a matter of seconds before he saw a shadow behind the grill, set at head-height in the door.


    ¡°Who comes disturbin¡¯ us at this late hour?¡±


    ¡°Alright, Bonkers.¡±


    ¡°Eh?¡±


    ¡°Come on, Bonkers. It¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Lethal! You look ill, man. Where you been?¡±


    ¡°You going to let me in, Bonkers?¡±


    ¡°You gotta say the password, Lethal.¡±


    Lodus sighed. ¡°If you can tell it¡¯s me, what point¡¯s the password?¡±


    ¡°Boss¡¯s rules, you know how it is. Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ gets past him.¡±


    Fair enough. Bonkers Brell wasn¡¯t wrong, for once.


    ¡°Myrielle white?¡±


    ¡°Password¡¯s changed.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s not supposed to change till Moonday! It¡¯s not Moonday, is it?¡±


    ¡°We had them magisters in the area, didn¡¯t we? Oh, hang on¡­¡±


    The latches were released, the door swung aside, and Bonkers dipped his balding head in acknowledgement as Lodus entered.


    The reception area was a small bar, complete with leather seats, tables and benches. There were fewer than a dozen people here at this hour, which for many Mundians would be well past bed time ¨C but, for those in Lodus¡¯s line of business, this was the middle of the working-day. Most of his colleagues would be out doing their part to fill the guild¡¯s coffers and line their pockets, picking off their marks while they slumbered. If you were careful about where you entered their body with your knife, you wouldn¡¯t even have to wake them up. Easy money.


    Behind the bar was Lady Litania, second-in-charge of the guild. She wasn¡¯t a real lady, of course, but that was what they called her, as a symbol of their respect. She had to be in her fifties given the way her dark hair had greyed, receded, but her brown skin was still uncreased, her eyes still flashed with the keenness of a far more youthful woman.


    She¡¯d killed plenty of women and children in her time. You could see it in the curl of her lip, sense it in the slightly-detached air about her. She didn¡¯t care about anything, unless it brought her immediate pleasure or the funds to procure such. Her indulgence of choice was wane, and she was clearly under the effects right now ¨C you could tell from the way she wasn¡¯t stabbing people indiscriminately and screaming in a rage.


    Lodus had seen her at all hours of the morning, afternoon and night ¨C there was never a time she hadn¡¯t just had some of the magical herb. Except that one time. That very stabby, very screamy time when Lodus had been roped into dropping not one, not two, but three bodies in the Blackrush ¨C and he hadn¡¯t even been the only one heading back and forth with a blood-drenched wheelbarrow that night.


    ¡°Where¡¯ve you been, boy?¡± she asked him immediately, stepping through the already-lifted flap at the end of the bar and coming around to approach him. Her tight leather clothing revealed her stringy thinness, and she probably had way more knives concealed on her person than he did. ¡°You go missing when the magisters arrive, and now ¨C ach, boy, are you sick?¡±


    She¡¯d had a hand half-reaching out as if to tear the kerchief from around his head, grasp him roughly by the hair or ear ¨C but when she saw the state of his (literally) soiled clothing, his blood-drained, almost greyish skin, she dropped her arm.


    Muttering filled the room.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want any of you to go crazy here, okay?¡± Lodus looked around until he saw the face of the small-framed, blond-haired Dirk Danten, and met his friend¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°No one¡¯s going crazy,¡± Lady Litania said quietly.


    ¡°Something happened to me. Something bad. Sort of.¡±


    Dirk sat back in his chair, putting down the cards he¡¯d been holding in his hand. ¡°What in the Twelve Hells, Lethal? Take that thing off your dropping head and ¨C¡°


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    Lodus removed the bandanna, revealing the glimmering hair, letting the lantern-light fall on his slightly-adjusted features.


    ¡°Mortiforn,¡± Dirk breathed, looking him right in the (what he assumed were) purple eyes.


    ¡°¡¯What in Twelve Hells?¡¯¡± Lady hissed. ¡°You mean the shadowland!¡±


    Lodus glanced at her as she flexed the muscles of her forearms, sending a stiletto-blade shooting from beneath her leather bracers and into each hand ¨C


    He could¡¯ve moved aside or disarmed her, he was sure. But he wanted to let her try it. It could make things go more smoothly, here.


    The weapons hadn¡¯t even fully-emerged from her cuffs as she lunged forwards, gripping the handles and stabbing him in the heart and the throat.


    Her aim was true; the neck was an easy target, and she¡¯d got the tip of her other knife right through a buttonhole in the centre of his jerkin. They both penetrated his skin but the blade buried in his chest snapped off on one of his ribs, and the one in his throat got stuck in his changed flesh.


    She tried to yank both weapons free, stab again, but neither wanted to budge. Not while he willed otherwise.


    He gave her a grim smile, keeping his teeth hidden.


    ¡°May I?¡± he asked in a pleasant tone.


    He gestured; she stepped back and, with a benign expression on his face, he reached up to twist each stiletto loose.


    He leveraged his immense strength, ripping them free and letting them clatter on the boards. He took a moment to open his jerkin and explore the hole in his torso with his fingers ¨C he soon found the broken shard of metal, slick with his weird, oil-like blood, and pulled it out. It joined the twisted daggers on the floor.


    He could already feel the holes in his flesh itching as they knitted back together. He wiped his hands on his mucky vest.


    ¡°¡¯Something bad. Sort of.¡¯ I think I get it.¡± Dirk had a wary smile on his face. ¡°You¡¯re still you, right, Lethal? You still suck at fortify?¡±


    ¡°By Kultemeren, I¡¯m still me,¡± Lodus replied. This time as he smiled he couldn¡¯t help but display his teeth, and grinned yet further upon seeing his friend¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°I still don¡¯t see why you ever take the Geomancer.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a controversial choice,¡± Dirk replied tightly.


    There was another moment of silence as the two stared at each other ¨C everyone else in the room, even Lady, seemed to be eyeing the pair ¨C then Dirk bowed his head in a gesture of acceptance.


    ¡°What are you?¡± someone asked in awe.


    ¡°A vampire, I think.¡±


    Hushed exclamations rippled through the assassins.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go picking any fights with trees, then,¡± Huntress Habitha suggested, her lips twisting. ¡°Or kids with wooden swords.¡±


    ¡°Damn it,¡± Lodus muttered. ¡°And I had that pencilled-in in my diary ¨C Starday morning, duel a forest to the death¡­¡±


    ¡°Ouch,¡± Huntress replied. ¡°Morning? No can do for you, anymore.¡±


    ¡°I think the greater take-away from this is that Lethal keeps a diary,¡± Dirk said, grinning; he leaned forwards again, putting his elbows on the table. ¡°So what happened, mate? Last I saw, you were headed towards Sticktown¡­¡±


    Lodus sat down at his table, and explained.


    By the time he was done with his little story, two more assassins had joined the impromptu meeting, and none had left their places, everyone listening with rapt attention.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I came back here.¡± Lodus sat back in his chair and spread his hands. ¡°I know the way it¡¯s supposed to go down. I run and hide, leave behind everyone I know, everything I had¡­¡± He looked around the room wistfully. ¡°But I¡¯m already a night-walker. Maybe, for me, the rules are different.¡±


    ¡°Yer look bloody ¡®ard to kill now, Lethal,¡± said Charnel Charves, leaning forwards with an eager, almost envious expression on his bearded face. ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡±


    Lodus raised an eyebrow and smirked. ¡°You want to try it?¡± He put the thought of what that¡¯d actually involve far from his mind¡­


    What does it actually involve?


    He couldn¡¯t remember anything past being drained of blood. Had the vampire fed him its own afterwards? Was it that simple?


    Dirk laughed, raising a hand as if to stop the idea in its tracks. ¡°Don¡¯t tempt them! They¡¯ll be lining up to die.¡±


    Sounds of amusement and not-complete-disagreement echoed around the room.


    ¡°What about drinking blood, boy?¡± Lady cut in; there was no humour in her voice. ¡°What happens when you ¨C¡°


    ¡°I can eat my marks,¡± he replied, to a general uproar of laughter.


    He still didn¡¯t like to even think about eating and drinking, and he was doing his best to ignore the odours of cider and pork pie lingering in the air, the slurping of ale and stew, disgusting distractions offered by those having their ¡®midday¡¯ meals. He looked down at his lap for a moment, composing himself; when he raised his head again, he glimpsed Lady¡¯s eyes moving across the crowd, assessing the situation.


    She knows I¡¯m right, he deduced. The majority agree. It¡¯ll go ill for her, if she tries to move against me.


    ¡°But you¡¯re dead, right?¡± Dirk asked, with an unusual gentleness to the tone of his voice. ¡°You can¡¯t go out in the day?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Lodus replied, frowning. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll just have to wait and see?¡±


    Lady had folded her arms across her chest. ¡°I¡¯m not letting you work until you know¡­ how you work. And that¡¯s final.¡±


    She turned her back and stalked towards the bar. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dirk leaned forwards, saying, ¡°Let it go, mate. She¡¯ll come around once she¡¯s had a chat with the boss-man. A vampire in the guild could be good for business, if we play our cards right. Speaking of¡­¡±


    Dirk held out the deck of cards for Lodus to shuffle, but he shook his head, smiling.


    ¡°A game of fortify instead?¡± he offered.


    ¡°So long as you don¡¯t give me any drop for taking the Geomancer¡­¡±


    The guild had a fine fortify set, crafted from pewter, silver and glass, pilfered by one of the thieves¡¯ guilds a couple of years back and traded in exchange for a discount on a contract. It was heavy, so they kept it on the bottom shelf of the cupboard near the door that led to the stairs and the meeting rooms.


    Lodus crossed the room and hefted the thing as though it were made from wicker. Before it had taken two hands; now he used two fingers.


    He returned and placed it down carefully on the table ¨C he was still getting used to this new form, its new capabilities. Then he beamed at his old friend, baring his teeth once more.


    ¡°My dear fellow, don¡¯t you know that is what¡¯s called a ¡®controversial choice¡¯¡­¡±


    * * *

 The Vendetta Applies pt3

    Dawn was approaching. He could feel it ¨C his skin prickled all over, as though he stood before a furnace without sensing any actual heat.


    It was obvious that Dirk could feel it too ¨C Lodus¡¯s friend was yawning every ten minutes like clockwork. Most of the others had already retired; they wouldn¡¯t be back till mid-afternoon.


    The third game of fortify was drawing to a close, and Lodus was going to be victorious once more. It was the Geomancer, again. Too static. Too slow. Too defensive. It could never win. He¡¯d put an innocent expression on his face during the first game when he employed a Vampire Lord to invade Dirk¡¯s Northern Hold.


    But now as he moved his hand, he could feel a sudden lethargy sneaking over him ¨C not his mind, but his flesh. Where before his motions had been swift, powerful, he was now halting, shuddering. Like his prickling skin was tightening.


    Something he hadn¡¯t noticed in his grave.


    ¡°You could be one of those tragic vampire-killing vampires. There¡¯s always one of those in the stories,¡± Dirk observed, tipping over his Geomancer for the second time of the night.


    ¡°Technically, the vendetta applies. He did kill me, after all. But you guys can¡¯t do it ¨C I¡¯d have to hunt down my maker¡­ We could even get Poem Pethra to write something.¡±


    His back was stiffening now.


    He tried to ignore it. It would go away, right?


    ¡°Now that sounds fun. I¡¯d be up for something like that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d back me up? Against a vampire?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not just unkillable. We¡¯re strong, and fast, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°With all due respect, Lethal ¨C you know I respect you ¨C but you¡¯re not unkillable. Not even close. You¡¯re just¡­ unusual.¡±


    The vampire smiled. The teeth still had the unsettling effect on his friend.


    ¡°You¡­¡± he stirred, neck muscles locking ¡°¡­ think you¡­ could take me?¡±


    ¡°Honestly? No, of course not. Not in a fair fight. But when we take down your murderer ¨C remember, that¡¯s what he did to you ¨C your ma and pa ¡®made¡¯ you, not this thing ¨C when we take him down, we¡¯ll do it our way. Not his way. No fair fight.¡± Dirk drew in a breath, then matched his smile. ¡°And don¡¯t you forget it either. I don¡¯t want you thinking you¡¯re unkillable. That¡¯s a liability someone in our profession can ill-afford. Especially my mate.¡±


    The little assassin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Lodus?¡±


    Lodus couldn¡¯t move. He was frozen, smiling, sitting slouched in the chair.


    Panic swelled and receded, swelled and receded.


    ¡°What¡¯s up, mate? Talk to me.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t even breathe. How he¡¯d ever spoken since returning from death was a sudden mystery to him. He wasn¡¯t able to force breath between his lips, like he¡¯d always assumed he¡¯d be able to if he¡¯d been paralysed. He wasn¡¯t alive.


    At least he didn¡¯t need to breathe, blink, or perform any of the other bodily functions as far as he could tell.


    This was it. This was the price he¡¯d paid for his powers.


    This was the price of death.


    And it completely sucked.


    Day, he discovered, wasn¡¯t fun without a few solid feet of earth above you.


    The prickling sensation continued, intensified, reintensified, over and over. People came and went, talking to him. Talking about him. Looking at him. And all the while he just felt like writhing but with even that simple pleasure, the contortion of his flesh, entirely denied to him.


    Whenever the front door opened, while no shaft of sunlight even entered the room in which he sat languishing, the prickling would redouble for as long as it was kept ajar, such that he felt like screaming at them to just ¨C shut ¨C the ¨C dropping ¨C door! ¨C but there was no way to activate that magic that let him emit sounds.


    The boss-man came himself to look at what had happened to ¡°one of our best¡± (his words). Phantom Phinn wasn¡¯t one to waste his time; the wire-thin, white-bearded old man said he¡¯d return at nightfall which, everyone guessed, would bring Lodus back to himself.


    Then, when he thought he was out of earshot in a meeting room upstairs, the boss-man told Lady to look into methods of ¡°offing the vamp¡± with ¡°zero chance of him coming back¡±.


    Lodus wouldn¡¯t bear a grudge. He¡¯d have probably done the same thing himself. He¡¯d just have to convince Phantom to give him his shot at proving himself.


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    At noon it was at its worst. Everyone was asleep upstairs or had left for their own lodgings, except for Bonkers Brell, who was asleep in a chair on the other side of the room.


    Lodus was thankful he was alone. He felt two great, thick tears well up in the corners of his eyes.


    He didn¡¯t need to blink, couldn¡¯t eat, didn¡¯t even sweat ¨C but it seemed he could still cry.


    Slowly, the tears dripped down his face, burning tracks of acid into his skin.


    I just have to outlast it. I can bury myself again tomorrow. Or at least find somewhere more sheltered to rest, and actually, you know, lie down. You dropping idiot, Lodus. You complete, dropping idiot.


    Dirk was more right than he knew when he said what he said. How simple it would be to kill me now. A child with a twig could do it.


    There was a temptation to fall into the depths of misery ¨C he knew he should, that he ought to regret the life he¡¯d lost ¨C but what had it been worth, in the end? He was a trained killer. Not so much that he was an expert fighter, or even particularly knowledgeable about poisons or other exotic ways to take down a mark ¨C neither was he a savage, enjoying the slaughter for its own sake. He never worshipped Yane, never prayed to the Blade-Lord for assistance like so many did. But he was trained to kill. He didn¡¯t give himself away. He bided his time. He watched and waited. That was what he enjoyed. And when the time came, he moved relentlessly into position and delivered the stroke with precision.


    What is death, to me?


    There was a part of him that welcomed this as a natural conclusion. This was his fate. This was what he¡¯d been working towards.


    He had his own stupidity to blame for this mishap today. He should¡¯ve learned from the myths, should¡¯ve brought a coffin filled with earth to slumber in. This wasn¡¯t a setback. It was a lesson learnt. He would be stronger for it.


    But what other lessons were there to learn?


    He could slay his maker, the one who¡¯d done this to him against his will. He could find a way. Track him down and get Dirk to do it by day.


    But did he want to?


    Who else was going to give him answers, teach him how to live like this? Who else could be better than his ¡®begetter¡¯?


    Minute by minute the prickling sensation diminished. He felt his freedom approaching, and for the first time since he was petrified the smile frozen on his face felt right.


    More than two dozen were gathered ¨C almost the entire guild ¨C when it got close to seven o¡¯clock, and Lodus started to move.


    ¡°A-h-h-h-h-h-h-¡±


    ¡°Lethal.¡± White-haired Phantom was standing across from him, the chair having been moved aside; his hands were on his hips, his stance and gaze more than a little intimidating, even to a vampire. ¡°You¡¯re back with us?¡±


    ¡°I nev¡­ never left,¡± Lodus moaned. ¡°Oh-h-h, that ser¡­ seriously wasn¡¯t fun.¡±


    He managed to blink. Twitch a finger. Tense his calf.


    Relax his mouth ¨C oh, that felt good.


    It wouldn¡¯t be much longer now.


    ¡°They told me what happened to you.¡±


    ¡°I heard. Everything you all¡­ said, all day.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    The thin old man stroked his beard.


    Did I let too much slip out? ¡®Everything you all said, all day¡¯¡­


    ¡°And you want to kill the one who did this to you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been sp¡­ speaking to Dirk.¡±


    His little friend walked around and into view. He¡¯d known Dirk¡¯s exact location behind him from his voice, his footfalls, but he didn¡¯t want them to realise that.


    Dirk¡¯s face told him everything. Smiling, sickly.


    The thing he could sense in Lady¡¯s hand, ten feet behind him, was a crossbow levelled at his back. Presumably the bolt was wood-tipped.


    The back of the chair in which he was sat was far too thick for a single bolt from a handheld crossbow to penetrate. He couldn¡¯t rule out an ensorcelled bolt, but those were expensive¡­


    More likely she was aiming at his head.


    Every second she didn¡¯t pull the trigger was a second he gained in vigour.


    He¡¯d have to make her wait.


    Of more interest to him was the question of Dirk¡¯s sickly smile.


    Has he deliberately let his mask of cheerfulness slip? Or is he trying his best to pretend everything¡¯s okay, and I¡¯m seeing through him?


    Has he betrayed me too?


    It was impossible to say.


    Or was it?


    ¡°You¡¯ll forgive us if we have misgivings, Lethal,¡± Phantom was saying. ¡°Have you been, ah¡­ feeling hungry, at all?¡±


    He rode a wave of nausea, fought the urge to spring to his feet.


    I died. Died! And this is how you treat me? I should be eating you, old man!


    ¡°No,¡± Lodus answered calmly. ¡°We¡¯re¡­ we¡¯re all friends here¡­¡±


    It didn¡¯t work like he¡¯d hoped. It was too weak. Phantom just nodded, and muttered off-handedly, ¡°Of course, of course ¨C but that hardly reassures me. I ¨C¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he repeated himself, more forcefully. ¡°We¡¯re ¨C all ¨C friends ¨C here.¡±


    There was a brief moment where Phantom gazed into his eyes and blinked, when Lodus almost thought it had taken hold, that he¡¯d successfully enchanted the guild-master.


    Then Phantom¡¯s gaze shot up over Lodus¡¯s head, as though to meet the eyes of Lady ¨C he was going to nod to her ¨C


    Lodus got out of the chair, and turned in time to see the wooden bolt leave the crossbow-string ¨C twisted in time to let the missile pass under his arm, trailing a soft silvery radiance in its wake.


    It would hit the table or wall behind him, assuming Phantom got out of the way ¨C


    Then there was an ear-splitting snap, like a tree struck by lightning, and he whirled again.


    The glowing bolt had changed direction mid-air, wheeling about to dive at his heart ¨C


    So he caught it in his fist and crushed it instead.


    He hadn¡¯t thought-through the consequences of spellbound splinters in his hand ¨C wincing from the pain, he growled at her:


    ¡°Don¡¯t ever shoot me again.¡±


    He met her gaze, furious. She met his, glowering.


    And in that moment he knew the connection was made.


    Lady¡¯s face creased in horror and she let the crossbow fall from her hands, staring down at it where it clattered to the floor, nothing but complete disbelief at what she¡¯d just done now shining in her eyes, contorting her mouth.


    Fury, surety¡­ pain¡­ it was linked. He could access it now.


    He looked back at Phantom, smiled winsomely. ¡°As I said, we¡¯re all friends here.¡±


    Phantom smiled back, and Dirk visibly relaxed. The tension in the room eased.


    There¡¯d been a time, not long ago, when he¡¯d thought being a vampire would be useful. That was the worst understatement ever conceived by a man¡¯s mind.


    ¡°Dirk, what¡¯s a word for something that¡¯s useful, but like, just really damn useful?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ something auspicious? Propitious¡­ commodious¡­ convenient¡­¡±


    Convenient. Gods-damned convenient.


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s it. Now, Danten, tell me the truth: were you up for shooting me in the back, right then?¡±


    His friend lowered his face, and shook his head softly.


    Lodus grinned as toothily as he could manage, and hissed, ¡°I think it¡¯s time for a change of leadership.¡± Phantom stared back at him, cringing like a scolded child. ¡°Lady, come pick these bits of wood out of my hand. That¡¯s the least you owe me. Poem ¨C you¡¯re gonna want to start coming up with some vampirey words for this one. I¡¯m going out tonight, and it¡¯s gonna be one hell of a story¡­¡±


    * * *

 The Vendetta Applies pt4

    He was only hunting for half an hour before he sensed another of his kind.


    He wasn¡¯t precisely sure what it was about the person he started following that¡¯d given the game away. There was no single element to it: the vampire didn¡¯t have a particularly unusual odour ¨C certainly nothing like the actual corpses Lodus had been able to smell back in that Sticktown graveyard. Nor did the vampire really exhibit any of its speed and power, make any overt supernatural motions.


    Yet he knew what it was. It was of his kind. Just like a pet-owner picking out their loyal animal from a line-up of identical creatures, Lodus could pick out his brethren.


    Or at least he hoped he could. He¡¯d been following it for almost ten minutes by this point, and it would be embarrassing if he¡¯d got it wrong.


    The figure, bent against the wind, was hooded and cloaked, making its way through the crowds teeming outside the Undernight¡¯s bars, brothels and bazaars. The throngs of strolling customers were impeding its movements, the smiling faces of people out enjoying their Fullday evening, unaware of their proximity to a deadly entity.


    Still, his quarry was agile. It slipped through gaps in the horde with an ease, a fluidity that bordered the unnatural, making its way towards the lower streets, the less-travelled alleys that were farther from Firenight Square.


    He supposed it could¡¯ve been a diviner, but it wasn¡¯t dressed properly. They were giving the game away if they were undercover. No, a vampire made the most sense.


    From his rooftop vantage point, Lodus followed, watched, and waited.


    Is it my maker? he wondered. The general stature was right, but it was impossible to say for certain without going down there and ripping the hood off the vampire¡¯s head. Is it my murderer?


    My teacher¡­?


    It was simpler to use the roofs, even if it made identifying his mark a little trickier. Here he could leverage his strength to cross wide distances with no one below any the wiser ¨C as a rule, Mundians had little reason to look up over their heads, and Lodus readily took advantage of this oversight. He¡¯d done his fair share of roof-hopping as an ordinary assassin. Now he could almost glide over the roadways and passages, leaping lightly over expanses in feats of acrobatics the likes of which he could¡¯ve only dreamt in the past.


    If he was wrong about his chosen target, there wasn¡¯t anyone here to see his mistake. He¡¯d left Dirk and the others behind, politely requesting that they go on about their business as normal. They were definitely in thrall to him. He had no idea how long it would last or how far he could go with it. These were things he¡¯d test over the coming days.


    First, he had to do this. Find the one who killed him. Hear exactly what had been done to him.


    But do I unmake my maker after interrogating him?


    Perhaps. It¡¯ll have to depend on the quality of his answers.


    When his quarry moved into a secluded alleyway ¨C that was when Lodus drew back his hood and pounced.


    The wooden bolt gleamed in his hand as he arced down, streaming its silvery residue through the air ¨C


    Just as he was about to land, pierce the vampire¡¯s shoulder with one of Lady¡¯s projectiles ¨C it spun around to face towards him.


    He knew, right from the first instant, that this wasn¡¯t his maker. The shape of the chin, visible under the hood ¨C all wrong.


    But it¡¯s still a vampire, right?


    He landed a little more awkwardly than he¡¯d been intending, and that was all his prey needed to turn the tables.


    A hand closed about his wrist, trapping his weapon. Another hand pressed against his chest, slamming him back against the brickwork behind him.


    The powder of crushed bricks and little chips of material showered down about him as the other vampire forced his resilient body into the masonry.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± it ¨C she ¨C asked urgently. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    He was close enough to penetrate the shadows of the cowl with his vampiric eyesight.


    ¡°I remember you,¡± he murmured.


    She released him, stepped back.


    ¡°You were in the Albatross,¡± she said in a thick voice. ¡°You ¨C you were the one who was going to stop him¡­¡± Then her tone became angry. ¡°Why? Why didn¡¯t you stop him?¡±


    She never even cast back the hood of her cloak. She gripped his jerkin with fingers that wrenched holes in the leather, flinging her arms about him and weeping.


    And she explained.


    Shandarah had been spurned.


    Whilst Lodus had surrounded himself with degenerates, outcasts from society, killers-for-hire, Shandarah had lived an ordinary life. She had a husband, two children. She¡¯d been out drinking with four women from the rug shop where she worked, when the Incursion occurred and the vampire entered the pub, entered their destinies, warping them all forever.


    Her husband had rejected her outright, she explained. Lodus knew she¡¯d been a woman of not inconsiderable attractiveness ¨C he¡¯d remembered her in the first place because she¡¯d been the most striking woman in the bar ¨C but the minor change in her appearance had obviously clued her husband into the, well, major change in her circumstances. And it had been enough to cause her husband to drive her screaming from the house in which they¡¯d lived for almost a decade.


    ¡°He said, that I couldn¡¯t, be around, around the k-kids anymore,¡± she said as though the words were being dragged from her chest. ¡°I wandered¡­ I got as far as, as the Square, and then everyone was around me, all the noise, all the¡­ everything. A-and then d-day came and I hid under some crates because I was scared the light of the sun would hurt my eyes ¨C and then I couldn¡¯t move, and if someone had moved the boxes I don¡¯t even know what might¡¯ve happened to me¡­¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Lodus said. ¡°Much the same happened to me.¡±


    ¡°But what am I?¡±


    The assassin looked around the alley ¨C sniffed around, checking they weren¡¯t being spied upon ¨C then said, ¡°We¡¯re vampires. I came after you hoping to find out more, to be honest.¡±


    ¡°V-vampires¡­ But ¨C but I don¡¯t want to dri-¡°


    ¡°Drink blood? Tell me about it.¡± Lodus sighed, straightened his shoulders. ¡°I think there¡¯s something wrong in the myths. Vampires aren¡¯t just evil monsters. We¡¯re the people we used to be, but¡­ a little changed, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Shandarah touched her face, the features which to Lodus had merely been enhanced by undeath¡¯s caress. Her hair was now a luminous white, like his, and while she¡¯d gained the otherworldly eyes and pointed canines of the undead, she¡¯d retained the roundness of her face, the dimples in her cheeks¡­


    She was probably twice his age, but that didn¡¯t stop Lodus considering her a possible future vampire-paramour. What were a few years to a vampire? He had eternity to enjoy.


    ¡°So, Shandarah¡­ I was out here tonight looking for our begetter. I want answers. And if I¡¯m not satisfied,¡± he brought the undead-slaying bolt into view, weaved it between his fingers, ¡°he might just end up as a pile of dust at my feet.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m in,¡± she said at once. And for the first time since he met her Shandarah stopped quivering, and bared her beautiful fangs in her own deadly smile.


    * * *


    Vampire team-up time was in full swing. Two hours had passed. The thick crowds of mildly-inebriated, happy-looking revellers had thinned out, replaced with the thick crowds of heavily-inebriated, hostile-looking yobs. Where before most moved in couples or small family groups, now everyone was moving in large packs, gangs or wannabe-gangs of useless layabout scum. Lodus didn¡¯t see any violence, but he could sense it brewing there, under the surface of almost everyone he passed. Then, slowly, even these crowds petered out as a light drizzle started to fall from the clouds.


    More so than violence itself, he found that he could sense the comings and goings of others of their kind.


    They moved together across the rooftops, Lodus and Shandarah and Kirian.


    They¡¯d found Kirian in the back-alleys of the Square, and brought him with them on their quest. He¡¯d been the serving-boy at the Lost Albatross, and he more than any of them, Lodus reflected, seemed enraged by what had been done to him. Lodus was plenty mad, but his madness was an abstracted thing of cold steel and silence; Shandarah¡¯s anger was emotional, but unfocussed, liable to distract her more than serve her; but Kirian was berserk.


    He¡¯d have to be held back until they got their answers.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Lodus had gifted one of the ensorcelled bolts to Shandarah, but had claimed he had no more, the other two tucked away inside his jerkin, their radiance thereby dampened. He didn¡¯t think he trusted Kirian with one ¨C not yet, at least.


    The boy didn¡¯t just want their begetter dead. He wanted him extinguished from all the planes forever.


    That, however, was probably out of their reach. It would require sorcery, and probably a higher calibre of sorcery than the guild¡¯s coffers could afford. Until he found a way of leveraging his newfound abilities to allow him to rob a noble¡­


    It¡¯d be simple, actually, wouldn¡¯t it? Lords and ladies get protected, but do their staff? I could just bewitch the servants, and wait there shining my shoes in the trees beside the manor while my new lackeys bring all the most precious, expensive items right out to me¡­


    Or have them brought to another associate, while I wait in the headquarters¡­


    I could assassinate the same way too¡­


    ¡°Lodus!¡± Kirian hissed.


    He hadn¡¯t been paying attention. The assassin looked at the young, heavy-browed serving-boy in his grey tunic and leggings. He was crouching near the edge of the roof, indicating the street below.


    Lodus bent his ear. There were lots of conversations taking place in the street, but he rifled through them rapidly, even though they were several storeys up.


    The posh voice stuck out like¡­ well, like a mage in a street full of lowborn.


    ¡°¡­ better get those new eyes looked at if this is what you saw in our future. Alley-crawling?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re here. It¡¯s close.¡± This voice was different. Lowtown, if he was correct, though the man was trying his best to mask it, sound all prim and proper. ¡°Laintor, can you get Orvati to do a sweep?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m on it.¡± A new voice ¨C highborn again.


    ¡°Osselor, I¡¯ve got something.¡± Another highborn. ¡°They¡¯re ¨C oh, yeah ¨C¡°


    The posh-boys¡¯ voices cut off suddenly.


    Dropping magisters! Lodus cursed silently.


    ¡°Quick!¡± he whispered. He took Shandarah by the arm, and moved towards Kirian¡­


    But it was already too late for him by the time he heard the sonorous chanting, a sound that should¡¯ve been drowned out by the crowd¡¯s chatter ¨C


    It wasn¡¯t just a sound. It was a scent. A caramel, cinnamon-like fragrance that should¡¯ve been imperceptible over the crowd¡¯s odours¡­


    Oh, it was too late for all three of them.


    The words were something¡­ something¡­


    Something I knew when I was dead.


    That was it! That was his true tongue! He understood ¨C


    Dark-dwellers of the altered hour


    Come hence, and sense this subtle flower


    That by my spell thou shouldst abide and


    Forget all dreams thou hadst of power


    And the three vampires descended, the lethargy of their thoughts befitting the languor with which they moved through the air, falling, sweeping down softly to stand on the ground before the magisters. The sorcerer¡¯s incantation resounded in Lodus¡¯s skull, a perpetual lullaby that set him adrift, dulled his violent urges.


    Fat magister in red; bearded magister in blue; little magister, also in blue ¨C


    But the mage right in front of Lodus was a tall sorcerer, wearing a grey robe that was marked on the right side of the chest with its gold, ten-pointed star. A tiny winged imp, no bigger than a kitten, was curled up on his shoulder. The sorcerer held a purple rose in his upraised, gloved hand ¨C a rose that dripped with a fluid that was thick like paint, strands and globs of wine-red, fuchsia and grape-coloured material pouring off it, pooling on the cobbles.


    It smelt like food ¨C it smelt edible.


    The vampires were transfixed, staring at it. Lodus sensed it as home; it reminded him of¡­ reminded him¡­


    Shrieks and jeers filled the air, and the remaining crowds parted, giving the mages and their opponents a very wide berth. By the time Lodus stirred the fog in his mind enough to let the noises through, they were almost alone in the street ¨C some drunks loitered about fifty feet away outside a disgusting-smelling, all-hours fried-fish place; there were a few faces murmuring at windows¡­


    ¡°¡­ believe it worked as well as it did,¡± the fat magister in red was saying, drawing a wooden dagger from his sleeve; and Lodus returned his attention to the sorcerer standing in front of him, the beautiful flower¡­


    ¡°They¡¯re supposed to be kneeling,¡± the sorcerer said. ¡°They might not¡¯ve drunk before. Hurry. You¡¯ve got to¡­ pierce the heart right through, not just stab it.¡±


    It was the worried quiver in his voice that did it.


    Nothing triggered the parts of Lodus¡¯s brain that detected peril, even as the fat magister drew his vampire-killing weapon, but this¡­ this tremble in his voice did it.


    And not just for him.


    It was Kirian who moved first, taking the sorcerer¡¯s upraised arm and, with a snarl of spite, twisting it into a knotted mess.


    The sorcerer shrieked; his imp disappeared in a flash of crimson flame, and something was suddenly lost¡­ The sweet, desirable scent vanished ¨C the echoing song in their skulls faded away to nothingness.


    Something new was there instead, diverting all attention.


    The scent of the magister¡¯s blood, pouring freely from the mangled limb.


    ¡°Celestium,¡± Kirian breathed, sinking his teeth straight into one of the finger-stumps.


    Oh ¨C oh no ¨C


    It wasn¡¯t a case of temptation. It wasn¡¯t something you could just resist. There was a reason that the vampire in the stories, the one who could live peacefully amongst humans, was always presented as one-in-a-million.


    This was resistible in the way that the man lost in the desert could resist plunging into the long-sought oasis, cleansing his body and soul in its depths.


    This was a temptation like that of the drowning man, tempted to break the surface of the sea, take his first live-giving breath after minutes that lasted years.


    In the moment that the sorcerer¡¯s skin split open, Lodus realised. He understood. Why the myths were true. Why Shandarah had to be driven out of her home. Why it was lucky she hadn¡¯t yet figured out how to bewitch her husband, persuade him to let her stay.


    She would¡¯ve eaten her children alive the first time they had an accident.


    As swift as darkness closing in on the last candle when it was extinguished, and well before the aghast magisters could even take one step towards aiding their colleague, Lodus and Shandarah joined Kirian in his feast.


    The blood consumed him as he consumed it ¨C they were as one, and he knew who he was at last.


    I walk the glass plain. My spirit has flesh, flesh that falls apart like ribbons, heals back in the same manner. But not without the pain.


    The pain.


    As minutes turn into hours, I shiver under the many moons ¨C but I cannot lie down, cannot subject myself to that; so I stumble on, sacrificing my feet, over and over.


    And when I find it I fall into the red river and drown myself.


    The relief.


    It is as I arise from the river that I am reborn.


    Even one of them on their own would¡¯ve drained the sorcerer dry in seconds ¨C with the three of them, he was a husk before his heart could beat twice. They let the corpse fall down, grey and floppy as the robe it wore.


    Lodus knew it now. He was death. Death was his purpose.


    The fight was incredibly brief, considering their enemies were the much-vaunted magister-defenders of Mund. The sorcerer had been the only real threat, and he¡¯d made mistakes.


    The flames that burst into life in the fat man¡¯s hand vanished just as quickly as he went down to his knees in a puddle of blood, his throat not just torn open but torn off. A female magister at the rear started chanting a spell, and she swelled up, ten, fifteen feet in height; by the time she arrived, swinging her massive fists, beard-mage and small-mage had joined the others on the cobbles, dying.


    By using her druidry to increase her size, the magister had merely increased the amount of blood they could drink from her. When she toppled, the tall glass window of a nearby ground-floor shop shattered, and they lay like leeches upon her body, taking every drop.


    The horrified sounds of the onlookers and their flight from the vicinity mattered little to Lodus and, as far as he could tell at least, the other members of his small but burgeoning cabal of vampires were similarly disinterested.


    They¡¯d found what they¡¯d really been seeking all this time. They¡¯d been empty inside, and now they¡¯d been filled. They were complete.


    They hadn¡¯t needed answers. They needed this.


    He withdrew his fangs and cleaned off his mouth on the still-enlarged druid¡¯s still-enlarged robe.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not linger,¡± he said. ¡°That little demon disappearing ¨C it doesn¡¯t bode well. There might be more.¡±


    Kirian and Shandarah broke off too, following his example, wiping their gory chops on the sail¡¯s-worth of fabric.


    ¡°Let them come,¡± Kirian said. There were little bits of flesh in his teeth as he grinned. ¡°Man, I feel like I can fly!¡±


    The vampire-boy sprang into the breeze from his crouched position, and, while he wasn¡¯t actually flying, Lodus could see the way the air seemed to catch him even more than before, carrying him up almost to the height of the surrounding buildings in a single bound.


    Kirian sort-of hovered as he slowly descended again.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be even more prepared next time,¡± Lodus warned as the boy reached the ground once more. ¡°We came really close to dying, just then.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re already dead,¡± Shandarah whispered.


    She was staring down at the marks on the magister¡¯s robe left by the blood on her lips¡­ Lodus could see she hadn¡¯t even come close to getting all of it off ¨C her cheeks and throat remained slathered in the red stuff.


    ¡°I¡¯m still me,¡± he said firmly. ¡°We¡¯re still us. Just¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Kirian snapped. ¡°You saying we won¡¯t do this again?¡±


    Because the man in the desert will abandon the oasis after a mouthful. The drowning man will take just a single breath before diving back beneath the waves.


    ¡°But¡­ it felt so good.¡±


    Lodus shuddered, hearing the words come, not from Kirian¡¯s lips, but Shandarah¡¯s, knowing she was right.


    He led them away from the killing-ground and, exploring his own increased abilities, moved lightly to the rooftops in order to take them to their new home, where they would be safe.


    He got it now. He understood.


    Their begetter was gone. The vampire would have easily dug him up, dug them all up, if he¡¯d wanted to have a chat with them about their recent transformation. Every day that passed made finding him less and less likely. And the magistry would¡¯ve been after him, the trail of destruction he¡¯d left in his wake over the last few days, if he was still around. Not after their little trio of newborn vampires.


    They would learn the lesson from him all the same. They would go into hiding, and grow stronger. They would figure out how best to survive the day, and how to make more like them, eventually. Figure it out on their own. Trial and error.


    It didn¡¯t take long for them to get back to base. Lodus halted on the corner of Welderway, on the roof of Strippey¡¯s Plate-Merchants, not fifty yards from the entrance to the headquarters. His headquarters, now, he supposed.


    He knew it wouldn¡¯t matter ¨C they could just enchant the mortals as they saw fit ¨C but even still, he didn¡¯t want to bring this argument in with him when he introduced his vampire-fellows to his assassins for the first time.


    ¡°Look, Shan, you¡¯ve got to let it go,¡± Kirian was saying. He sounded almost placid now. ¡°We killed them. They were about to kill us. Did you see what they did to us? Casting a spell to turn us into animals, all trussed-up for the slaughter¡­¡±


    ¡°Did you see what we did to them?¡± Shandarah asked, gleaming eyes downcast. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t treat animals like that.¡±


    Lodus didn¡¯t have the same misgivings as either of them.


    ¡°I know what we did,¡± he said softly, and they both shut up, turning to him. ¡°Murder. I¡¯ve got no illusions, no delusions about it. It wasn¡¯t self-defence, and it wasn¡¯t wrong, either. We could¡¯ve fled from the mages as easily as kill them, couldn¡¯t we? But did they deserve to live, trying to return us to the grave, just like that?


    ¡°No. We drank deep, and we were at peace ¨C you felt that, right? Our maker be damned ¨C we had the power, tonight, and we murdered the murderers. Well, you know what? We will do it again.¡±


    He looked at them, and even Shan met his eyes.


    Emboldened, he went on, ¡°We¡¯ll do it right. No butchery, like that was, bleeding them out in the street. We¡¯ll find the bad guys, the wrong ones, and we¡¯ll eat them. Keep it real nice and quiet. I¡¯m going to show you how. And we won¡¯t be in danger, we won¡¯t be causing harm. Just removing the vermin from Mund.¡±


    There was a pause, then Kirian asked, his voice halting in its eagerness:


    ¡°W-when, Lodus? When can we do it again?¡±


    The assassin smiled, and picked a surprise piece of magister from his own teeth with his tongue, spitting it aside.


    ¡°Soon.¡±

 A Morbid Portent

    <h2>PROLOGUE 2: A MORBID PORTENT</h2>


    ¡°All such impositions flounder at the last, and are replaced. All symbols warp into unforeseen forms. All names change. Learn to read the road ahead, and leave behind what you¡¯ve left behind. There is more to distance in space and time than you can conceive because the conceiving mind is trapped by cause and effect.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 39:108-113


    ¡°Thank you so much for doing this,¡± the young mage said, hurrying to keep up with the older woman¡¯s strides as they left the barracks-building. ¡°You don¡¯t know how much it means to me.¡± She shrugged her shoulders, trying to resettle the black-and-white pauldrons in a more-comfortable position ¨C the metallic contraptions were just awful.


    ¡°I think you¡¯d find I can imagine well-enough, Tialya,¡± Najraine replied, the tall mage looking straight ahead of them as she spoke, at the iron-wrought bridge spanning the moat. ¡°Or do you go by Tia?¡±


    ¡°Tialya, please!¡± The girl was almost forced to gasp.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡± Najraine¡¯s tone seemed to soften, and she slowed her pace ever-so-slightly. ¡°I thought as much ¨C Rellie always calls you Tialya. She stopped going by her full name years ago; it wasn¡¯t cool enough¡­ Anyway, if we get you some hands-on experience, it¡¯ll really help when you get to the interview stage. You¡¯ve never done this before?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not¡­¡±


    ¡°You never tested someone¡¯s time-lines for their identity? For danger?¡±


    ¡°Not like this. Not with the seeing-rod. But I know how it¡¯s done ¨C in theory, at least¡­¡±


    ¡°And it has to beat the Lounges of Seercraft, right?¡± Najraine finished the thought for her; Tialya shot her a startled glance, but the older mage just laughed, and not in a mocking way. She finally broke her forwards-fixed stare and looked down at the shorter girl racing to stay by her side. ¡°Oh no, my dear, I merely ask because I too once worked in the Lounges. How long did you last? Did you join the Magisterium after your results, in Belara, or¡­?¡±


    Tialya could hardly lie, or fail to respond. ¡°L-Lynara. I guess I lasted, oh, seven weeks, altogether ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oh, ho-ho! And back in my day they called me a quitter! Six years, I gave them! Six years of ¡®so-and-so ties his shoelaces wrong¡¯ and ¡®so-and-so owns prize-winning snails¡¯¡­¡±


    So it¡¯s not just me, Tialya realised. I¡¯ve done the right thing, then, getting out of that department early.


    ¡°I wanted to last six months, at least,¡± she explained. ¡°When I went to the interview ¨C¡°


    ¡°Let me guess ¨C they told you that they¡¯d consider you for promotion. I was there six years, Tialya. Have a guess how many times I was promoted.¡±


    The girl raised her eyebrows. ¡°Really? Never?¡±


    Najraine graced her with a smug grin. ¡°Not once. And I was their best workhorse, trust me. I proved time and again I could handle more responsibility¡­ Being a waywatcher, it¡¯s more fulfilling. You have a job, a real job to do. You¡¯ll find out, when you get to the apprenticeship stage. You¡¯ll probably get to experience your first sneak, then.¡±


    Tialya felt her face crease in concern. ¡°How often does that actually happen, though? I mean, we¡¯re safe, aren¡¯t we? Because no one mentioned anything about field-training ¨C¡°


    Najraine scoffed. ¡°Of course you¡¯ll be safe ¨C you can just retreat across the bridge and nothing¡¯s going to get you. You can go for the training, if you want to apply for one of the magicrux positions at some point ¨C not that I¡¯d recommend it.¡± She rolled her green eyes. ¡°But the darkmages don¡¯t attack us, not here. That would truly be the height of folly. Even the Chaos-Makers only tried it the one time, and they got stopped before they reached the grounds. No, unfortunately most sneaks are usually little more than ex-students pilfering research-texts¡­ sometimes banned individuals who want to start riots¡­ Nothing too dangerous. A quick arrest and it¡¯s all over¡­ Hmm ¨C that is something you¡¯ll be expected to do yourself. You¡¯d be comfortable with arresting someone?¡±


    Was she? She¡¯d never thought about actually having to confront someone. The way it¡¯d been described to her, the way it¡¯d always seemed to her, waywatchers were glorified doormats. They were there to let people in, not turn them away. She¡¯d never once seen them stop someone from proceeding, in all her years at the Maginox as one of the pupils.


    Not that this was a problem for Tialya. Being a doormat was safe ¨C so long as the doormat was glorified, she was fine with it. Arresting people, though¡­?


    Najraine clearly took her silence for the self-doubt it was, and continued, ¡°It really isn¡¯t difficult at all, you know. Do I look like the combative kind? Oh no no.¡± Then the veteran looked down at her archly. ¡°You are aware of the Chronom Codex, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Tialya nodded quickly, eagerly. Rellie had told her to revise that particular tome because Najraine, her mother, was always quoting from it like it was the Book of Kultemeren or something. It had cost Tialya a fair chunk of her savings merely buying the reagents but, finally, something had paid off.


    ¡°The Grace of the Fountain-Dancer; I love that section,¡± the girl gushed.


    ¡°A sublime working,¡± Najraine replied in an approving tone. ¡°¡¯Shall we Dance as they Danced the night the world was born aflame, the night the fire was the Dance and the Dance was all that was?¡¯ Are you practised with it?¡±


    ¡°The heightened reactions?¡± Tialya thought back to her poor execution of some of the techniques, and gave a hesitant nod.


    Najraine smiled. ¡°And how many?¡±


    ¡°How many what?¡±


    ¡°My dear, the dandelion seeds of course¡­¡± She said it like it was obvious.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Tialya felt her face flush and she lowered her head, setting her eyes on the path in front of her feet. The first exercise in the assessment section bade candidates blow the seeds into the wind and try to catch them all. ¡°Over thirty of them, but ¨C¡°


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a good start. We have the bindlaces ¨C¡± the older mage reached into a fold of her robes and pulled a thin cord from a pocket; it looked like a black, twelve-inch shoelace, but something about the way it hung in the light breeze without swaying made it appear heavy ¡°¨C which will fix their hands together when applied correctly. Don¡¯t worry ¨C no one moves as fast as a hundred seeds on a windy day.¡±


    Tialya made herself laugh.


    It didn¡¯t look so bad. She could arrest someone, she decided. She could do it. She would do it.


    Her future-lines would actualise, damn it¡­


    They reached the bridge, and Najraine introduced Tialya to Hinnefer, or Nefie as she preferred ¨C a tall girl just a few years older than her with straight, long red hair and a bit of a bored sound to her voice. Najraine and Nefie relieved the current guards on duty of their seeing-rods and took over the watch, Tialya hanging around, keeping an eye on what they were doing.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Which amounted to pretty much nothing. A few visitors came and went, and she got to watch the three-stage ritual: the identity, authorisation and behaviour scryings that were charged into the rods. It all looked simple-enough. She wondered idly how boring it must¡¯ve been in the workshops where they recharged the staves.


    Between the rituals they discussed the Incursion, of course, and Nefie mentioned something about vampires murdering a group of magisters. Tialya had little to contribute on either score ¨C she didn¡¯t know any proper, licensed magisters to ¡®accidentally overhear¡¯, and she¡¯d spent the Incursion under her bed with her quilt and pillows around her as makeshift defences. Instead of joining in the conversation she passed the time padding from one foot to the other, keeping her arms folded to help fend off the worsening evening chill.


    She stared up at the Maginox. The vast structure in which she still longed to spend her days, surrounded by her friends.


    Why didn¡¯t I try harder?


    Instead of studying advanced magic, she¡¯d spent the previous night worried about the anti-enchantments she¡¯d have to undergo, wondering what it would be like to be subjected to a spell like that. But it¡¯d been over in thirty seconds, thanks to a very handsome half-elf-looking fellow back in the arched building that served as the Maginox¡¯s magister-barracks. Najraine had said it was compulsory before starting a shift when she¡¯d tried to wheedle out of it, and she understood the reasons why, but that hadn¡¯t stopped her trying. To her immeasurable relief she had barely felt anything when he did it, and couldn¡¯t feel anything at all straight-away afterwards.


    No, it was the rest of the night stretching out before her, an inestimable landscape of time, that she should have feared.


    She liked to stand, but it was boring, standing around all the time like this. Was this all waywatching had to offer? It was more money than the seer-work, and the rotas apparently permitted day-shifts, but where was the free cheese? The comfy chairs?


    The added responsibilities¡­ was it even worth it, changing her role like this?


    Maybe I should go back¡­ Stick it out to the six-month-marker¡­ See if Najraine¡¯s even right, I mean, she could be full of drop for all I know, couldn¡¯t she¡­?


    Tialya was unconsciously shrugging her shoulders a couple of times a minute and the material of the armour rustled whenever she did, a little metallic zing sound. Clearly she was making a nuisance of herself because after the hundredth time or so, Nefie turned to her. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to the shoulder-things after a few years,¡± the redhead said with a pointed look at Najraine, ¡°so I¡¯m told.¡± She rolled her own shoulders just as pointedly.


    Najraine just chuckled humourlessly, ¡°Ha-ha-ha.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Tialya said, slumping somewhat ¨C the damned things didn¡¯t seem to sit quite right, perpetually feeling like they were threatening to slip off forwards or backwards. She was half-convinced they¡¯d deliberately strapped them up loose or given her a man¡¯s pauldrons instead as a test of her resolve. She just looked down at the ground, doing her best to keep from moving her shoulders again, doing her best to keep from sighing¡­


    ¡°Greetings, champion,¡± Najraine said, tapping her rod on the ground.


    Tialya raised her head, startled out of her reverie.


    The champion ¨C the markings upon the robe, the mask ¨C she knew this archmage. It was one of her favourites!


    A champion! And one of the truly famous ones at that. This wasn¡¯t some newcomer; this was one of the greatest magic-users in the world. The pattern on the robe ¨C the iconic mask¡­


    This champion¡­ Popular, well-loved amongst the people. They¡¯d earned their place, this one. A person to look up to, emulate. The stitching on the robe was recognised by children across the city, who begged their mummies and daddies for the same logos on their own clothing. The wholesome mask, surely hiding nothing but a benevolent expression, kindly and charming.


    Tialya looked into the archmage¡¯s eyes, shadowed through the slits, and she froze in shock.


    This was an aspect to waywatching she hadn¡¯t considered. Checking the future-lines of teachers and students, magisters and suspects, that was one thing.


    Getting to meet champions up close, speak to them¡­ Checking the future-lines of a champion¡­ That was something else entirely.


    ¡°Greetings,¡± the archmage replied to Najraine, tone predictably pleasant, jovial. The voice was marked with the expected accent, a soft (and altogether becoming) lilt to the cadence that emanated from the partially-hidden lips. ¡°I¡¯m here to see Mistress Henthae, and that Zakimel bloke. Prearranged appointment.¡±


    She did her best to prevent her eyes from widening.


    ¡°Very well.¡± Najraine raised the butt of her seeing-rod off the ground and tapped it once more, then shifted it in her hands, turning her half-smiling face to Tialya. ¡°Would you want to have a try?¡±


    There was a moment of consternation, in which Tialya admitted to herself that she did want to, desperately wanted to ¨C but that she was afraid, the pressure of doing it for the first time, in front of a champion¡­ What if she made a mess of things? What if the first impression she made was a terrible one? She might have to see this champion a dozen times a month, and, never mind that, they could tell, tell their friends about her, about the waywatcher who screwed up¡­


    But her body seemed to know what she wanted better than she did. Despite her terrified inner monologue, she found herself eagerly reaching out to take, almost wrest, the rod from Najraine¡¯s hand.


    The champion smiled ¨C she could see that much around the mask.


    A few deep, reassuring breaths later, Tialya had successfully entered the trance, the staff levelled in the champion¡¯s direction and spinning. Unravelling lines, one by one.


    While Najraine and Nefie continued to exchange pleasantries with the archmage, Tialya stared into the depths of a nightmare.


    There was no explaining what she saw. There was nothing that could put right the way it broke Tialya¡¯s mind. She would have to live with it for the rest of her life.


    The future. It was coming, unavoidable.


    She was supposed to be checking for the champion causing trouble. She was supposed to be ensuring no harm came of the champion¡¯s visit to Mistress Henthae.


    How to explain, what she saw, when all she saw was bodies burning, when all she heard was the scrape of metal against the walls and floors and ceilings ¨C the stench of barbecued flesh filling her nostrils, the dread of the vision squirting bile into her throat. How to explain¡­ to the others¡­


    She lowered the rod, gaping at the archmage.


    Words shuddered free of her tongue, shrill sounds leaping of their own mad volition into the air.


    ¡°What are you?¡±


    The champion smiled again, looking a little abashed.


    ¡°My, you have a keen eye, don¡¯t you, newbie?¡± The champion turned the apologetic smile on the others, even blushing appropriately. ¡°I¡¯m sorry ¨C this happens sometimes. The anti-glamourings you¡¯ve each undergone will make the process slightly painful, but please don¡¯t be alarmed ¨C I¡¯m not going to destroy the Maginox today. Rest assured, you won¡¯t remember a thing. We¡¯ll link it to the diviners who look at you.¡± The eyes behind the mask moved back to Tialya, lips twitching, giving now the vaguest suggestion of a smirk. ¡°Except you. You will remember how you inconvenienced me. The feeling of this encounter. Nothing more. You shan¡¯t speak of it.¡±


    It was like when she thought she¡¯d seen someone in the mirror behind her ¨C when she¡¯d spotted some humanoid shape, squatting in the shadows in the corner as she entered her room ¨C


    The fear rose, peaked, and crashed, vanishing all inside the same instant or two, leaving nothing but a cold emptiness behind as she resolved the confusion.


    It was just the curtains moving in the wind that had caught the mirror¡¯s reflection ¨C the clothes she threw on the chair in the corner. Phantoms and killers were rare and she¡¯d just fallen prey to a self-prank, a joke on nobody but her, with only herself as a witness ¨C


    Memories and agonies peaked and troughed, coming and going through her head as they wished. They had all the keys; all her doors were open¡­


    Before a handful of seconds had passed she came back to herself.


    There was nothing that could put right the way it broke Tialya¡¯s mind, but it had.


    She would have to live with it for the rest of her life, but she wouldn¡¯t.


    The past. It was gone, never to be recovered.


    She came back to herself and all she was left with was the feeling ¨C the feeling that¡­


    She felt smaller, like someone had torn away her ego¡¯s legs at the knees, left it wobbling on the pebbles with stones cutting into raw stumps. She felt the spluttering helplessness that comes of inhaling icy vapour deep into unprepared lungs.


    She had somehow done wrong, broken some unspoken, unspeakable Truth.


    ¡°But ¨C I¡¯m ¨C I¡¯m so ¨C¡°


    She looked up at Najraine and Nefie, looked at the champion, feeling all over her skin that she¡¯d messed up.


    ¡°The rod,¡± Najraine prompted, her voice cold. ¡°The third¡­¡±


    Hurriedly, Tialya thumped the butt of the staff into the ground.


    ¡°Thanks, guys,¡± said the archmage airily, moving between them to cross the bridge at a leisurely pace.


    Najraine retrieved her rod, and she and Nefie resumed their conversation, but Tialya turned to follow the masked figure with her eyes as it crossed the moat.


    I¡¯m so ¨C so sorry¡­


    The girl longed to throw the thought at the champion, beg forgiveness for what she¡¯d done. But the moment was gone to speak up, and her chance was past.


    Waywatching was hard, and she¡¯d put both feet wrong already. By this point, Tialya had already decided: it wasn¡¯t for her.


    Her destiny was still out there, somewhere, waiting for her. She¡¯d go back to the Lounge of Seercraft ¨C that was what she would do. Six months wasn¡¯t so long to wait. After all, Najraine probably didn¡¯t know what she was talking about.

 Soul Freed pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 4A: SOUL FREED</h2>


    ¡°Thanks in large part to recent developments in agricultural applications of certain soil-enrichment spells, we can say with confidence that within five years the farmlands of Agormand alone will supply more excess sustenance than the city of Mund can consume. I know. We cannot say how this has been permitted to come to pass and at this time, at least, overt dissolution of the relevant schemes will alert the Unwilted Bloom and other druidic societies engaged in these studies to our vested interests. Lest we risk a popular uprising, I propose that their experimentations be permitted to continue, and that we utilise the levers of taxation and logistics to resolve our financial woes. I call for a vote to set Magistrati assets on the problem immediately.¡±


    ¨C from the official memorandum of the Shadow Council, Enyara 663 NE


    ¡°Gorlot!¡±


    He groaned and, eyes still shut, squeezed at the pillow beneath his head. He wasn¡¯t going to be able to go back to sleep but he wanted to preserve the luxurious half-awake state for as long as possible.


    ¡°Gorlot! Breakfast!¡±


    Far more than the sound of his landlady¡¯s voice, it was the scent of not-quite burnt bacon that encouraged him to rise. He found a seated position, keeping the sheets up over his torso, and opened his bleary eyes.


    ¡°Have a late one last night, did we?¡± she crooned.


    He didn¡¯t meet her gaze, only glancing around to check the shields¡¯ rotations.


    Every ward secure, he noted.


    ¡°Got you three rashers; three sausages; three toasty slices almost black. Just the way you like it. Big knob on the side.¡±


    He finally looked over. No matter how he tried to preserve his modesty, no matter how he insisted on privacy, she would always let herself in unannounced, using the morning meal as an excuse to rake his undressed form with her shining bird-bright eyes. Naked hunger glistened in those eyes, all-too-visible despite the creased flesh in which they swam.


    Not the kind of hunger breakfast would satisfy. Almost unconsciously he pulled the sheets a little higher, covering his chest.


    ¡°Th-thank you, Mrs. Wallstock.¡±


    She hummed or purred, a subvocal response that had little to do with replying to him. The white-haired woman stepped fully into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind her, and placed the plate on the covers at the foot of his bed.


    The folds of her hardly-hidden flesh moved, and he repressed his shudder.


    He eyed the food instead, the lump of butter already half-melted, warmed by the toasted bread lying beside it ¨C and his stomach roared loudly, betraying his reticence to move.


    ¡°Have at it, young man. Don¡¯t mind me.¡±


    Red-faced, he shuffled forwards a bit then folded himself in half, reaching out to grab the platter and slide it towards him.


    ¡°A-h-h,¡± Mrs. Wallstock murmured, leaning back against the door and smoothing down her girlish dress.


    He tried to ignore her, buttering the toast and folding it into sandwiches in silence. All the while Gorlot was praying that someday he would figure out how to make his sorcerous shields ward off unwanted affections and lecherous eyes every bit as easily as they could the weapons of the Defiers.


    ¡°Would you like something to drink?¡± she asked sweetly, looking to her left to preen herself in his mirror at the same time.


    ¡°Uh¡­¡±


    ¡°Some of that tomato juice?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got it fresh¡­¡± she wheedled.


    ¡°I¡­ I suppose.¡±


    Her face lit up, and she deftly opened the door and darted through.


    It was always the same. It was almost a rite by now. Of course he was thirsty. Of course he¡¯d succumb to the offer. Why she didn¡¯t just bring the drink with the food was beyond him. Doubtless the followers of Enye or some other god who valued promiscuity and pleasure would congratulate Mrs. Wallstock for her ritualised depravities, but Gorlot wasn¡¯t one of those. He didn¡¯t find any redeeming features in such philosophies. Yet it seemed more and more in these modern times he was expected to be along for the wagon-ride when even his fellow champions stooped to crass jokes and innuendo. More than once he¡¯d been teased about his living situation by a hero of Mund. Harpsong had pulled it right out of his head, and it hadn¡¯t been long before she told the others. People who were supposed to be his friends. People who were supposed to be the most-upright of the upright, servants of the light. Warriors defending the Realm against the demonic forces, behaving just like the imps they were sworn to fight.


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    It was tolerable. He¡¯d get through it. At the rate he was saving up, he¡¯d have enough for a swanky house in North Treetown in a few more weeks and he¡¯d be able to leave this hell-hole far behind, nothing more than a distant memory. For now, Mrs. Wallstock¡¯s was cheap. It was convenient. And, to be fair, her cooking was amazing.


    I¡¯ll hire her as a cook, he told himself, at ten times her last salary, and then she¡¯ll have to behave herself. Play by my rules. Wait after knocking until I answer.


    The door opened once more ¨C no knock ¨C and the crone came in bearing his cup, brimming with the good red stuff.


    She held it out to him, and when his fingertips touched the wooden mug she pulled back, forcing him to let the sheet fall slightly in order to take it from her, exposing his torso.


    ¡°Ah-h-h-h,¡± she murmured again, smiling joyously. ¡°So, what plans for the day, young man? It¡¯s late for work, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    She already knew Starday was his ¡®day off¡¯. The one day he didn¡¯t have to get up at the crack of dawn and pretend to head off to Hilltown.


    ¡°Tell you what,¡± she went on in a musing voice, as though none of this was planned in advance, ¡°I have some jobs need doing around here. That shelf in the kitchen¡¯s being a bugger again. You couldn¡¯t take a look at it for me, could you?¡±


    So you can stick your wizened hands all over my behind again?


    Just the recollection of her twig-fingers on his posterior, ¡®supporting him¡¯, made his skin crawl.


    ¡°Sorry. Day off, remember? I¡¯m meeting friends at noon.¡±


    ¡°Noon is an hour off, Gorlot. Are you sure you don¡¯t have time?¡±


    ¡°Only an hour! What?¡±


    He almost leapt up, turning his head to the dim yellow light pouring through the cracks in the curtains ¨C he remembered in the last instant just how little there was protecting his dignity, and twisted back into his place before the sheet fell.


    ¡°Oh, but you¡¯ve gotten crumbs everywhere! Let me ¨C¡°


    ¡°No!¡± he yelped, hurriedly brushing them onto the floor so she wouldn¡¯t approach any closer.


    ¡°Now they¡¯re all over the boards,¡± she said, a trifle testily, clearly upset at having her opportunity to stick her hands in his lap taken away from her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pick them up.¡±


    She stood back, and put her hands on her hips, staring at him.


    ¡°Later,¡± he growled. ¡°Can I have some privacy, please, Mrs. Wallstock? I¡¯d like to get dressed.¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright! I know where I¡¯m not wanted!¡± Her thin, gloating smile belied her protests. ¡°And to think, I made you your favourite breakfast¡­ What¡¯s gotten into the young of today? Such rudeness! I¡¯ll never fathom it¡­¡±


    With painstaking slowness, suddenly affecting an infirmity in her wrists and hips that¡¯d been nowhere to be found when she was plying him with her wares, she turned the handle and left the room.


    Leaving the door ajar behind her.


    Restraining the urge to snap at her ¨C that would only bring her back, which was no doubt her intention ¨C he gestured silently instead, summoning Etaxeraxa.


    ¡°Shut that,¡± he commanded quietly in Infernal, and the imp obeyed without making so much as a sound, pressing all four of her palms against the door¡¯s surface and flapping her tiny sets of wings. For her size, she was very strong. She was more than capable of the task.


    He didn¡¯t have any issues getting dressed in front of his minions. That was another thing altogether. He visited the chamberpot, quickly scrubbed his armpits and groin with a too-wet sponge from the wash-bowl, then pulled on his civilian clothing: black trousers, grey tunic, brown belt and boots.


    When he was dropping his plate and cup off downstairs, Mrs. Wallstock tried to engage him once more on the topic of crumb-covered floorboards. He¡¯d already had the mess cleaned up by Venvaino and Kimmelkramserat, and, knowing full-well she¡¯d inspect it while he was out anyway, bade her go check his handiwork as soon as she was free.


    He didn¡¯t care to mind the scorn in his voice, preoccupied with the lateness of the hour at which she¡¯d awoken him, and she didn¡¯t press the matter, letting him leave through the front door without so much as a further word.


    It was a cool spring day, but the skies were clear and it looked as though it would turn out fine. Dumping the contents of the chamberpot in the gutter and leaving it in the porch, the young arch-sorcerer headed out into the streets. He avoided Beggar¡¯s Row like the plague and skirted the refuse pile the wagoners always dumped in the middle of Daybrent Road, keeping at a bare minimum of an arm¡¯s-length from the kids that scavenged the mound of debris for remnants of coal. Wouldn¡¯t do for one of them to try to steal from him, and get pushed off by his wards.


    Not while he was still Gorlot Kade.


    It was strange, knowing that if he wore his uniform he¡¯d have crowds forming about him. He was probably the third-strongest arch-sorcerer of the city¡¯s champions, by now. Wenderwarp and Sunshadow were legends. But he¡¯d overtaken Miseryknot. He¡¯d outstripped Widowmourn. His name was on the people¡¯s lips. He couldn¡¯t go an hour in public without hearing someone mention him, in glowing tones of admiration and awe.


    It was deliciously bittersweet. He supposed with so few people to protect, no family or friends to speak of ¨C he might one day consider coming out with his identity. Live the high life, properly. Like only the rich could.


    He turned into the second alley on the right, waited until he was away from prying eyes, and had his imps bring him his champion¡¯s robe.


    Letting the purple-blue fabrics flow down about his body, he drew a deep, satisfied breath, then settled the band of his mask about his ears and pulled up his hood.


    I¡¯m back, he said to himself. Azurelight, back in action.


    Now let¡¯s see what all the fuss is about.


    * * *

 Soul Freed pt2

    The air was clear and cool. The city was busy and bustling. Criers cried the same non-news as last week. Trumpeters trumpeted the victory marches that¡¯d become so popular. The Oldtown streets teemed with people shopping and seeking entertainment, and when he stopped looking, gazing ahead instead, their colourful clothing became a scintillating blur in the corner of his vision. It was almost as though the roadways were canals, surfaces iridescent with dappled sunlight. Laughing voices rising like a brook¡¯s babbling, hateless and pure. The mood of Mund and the Mundians had never been better and it was reflected in the very atmosphere through which he coursed.


    Late last Wanesday the reports had first come in from Karamat. The Chosen Lords Sentelemeth and Rhaegel of the Sunset had won a great battle against the dissidents, ending in the death by honourable duel of Lord Alaphar; at his defeat the rebel¡¯s supporters had capitulated, signing terms, and after almost four months of pervasive dismay the purported ¡®Mage War¡¯ was finally over. Already Amranians were opening their stores again, and the gaols were emptied of their spies and informants. Everything was getting back to normal in the capital at last.


    The nature of the advice Firstlore had given Lord Sentelemeth was something Azurelight couldn¡¯t even begin to guess at, but assuredly it had led to Sunset winning the war. And now, suddenly, Firstlore¡¯s pet portal project was given the go-ahead¡­


    So surprising. The only funny bit was that Firstlore couldn¡¯t go himself.


    The Golden Wood was located in North Treetown. It was easily picked out from the air, with its majestic soaring branches, the scintillating haze of emerald light spilling up out of the ring like a jewel set in a burnished amulet.


    There were quite a few people in attendance. He spotted the others like him, on a mound of tangled heather and mossy stones within the band of gold trees, and he sank down to hover beside them.


    ¡°Hail,¡± he cried as he descended.


    ¡°Master of Demons and Lord of the Dead.¡± Harpsong addressed him with a perfectly amiable grin on her face. ¡°Protector of the Ekenrock, Defender of Tangledtree. Slayer of Bodycount. You¡¯ve faced down two Invasions now, right? I¡¯ve seen you defeat thastubabil just with your eyes. And yet ¨C Mrs. Oroba Wallstock¡­?¡±


    The enchantress-champion paused for effect, glancing around at the others to garner their support for her continued mockery.


    ¡°I¡¯m not late, Harp,¡± he replied. ¡°Eight minutes early, in fact, according to my internal chronometer.¡±


    ¡°Oh no,¡± she went on regardless. ¡°Can¡¯t face a lonely old hag, can you? What is she? A banshee-lord? You need back-up when we get back?¡±


    Azurelight ignored the kid now, doing his best to look straight at their leader, Hoarbrow.


    Unlike the others, the esteemed dwarven wizard didn¡¯t so much as crack a smile. In fact she was frowning, eyes glinting coldly beneath the bushy white eyebrows.


    ¡°That¡¯ll do,¡± the dwarf said curtly. ¡°The lot of you. Have you forgotten why we¡¯re here?¡±


    Moontick and Spleensap straightened up, the druid offering a quick ¡°Sorry!¡± under his breath ¨C but the second-greatest diviner in Mund answered in her typical irreverent fashion.


    ¡°Preliminary patrol work,¡± Moon said dismissively, her thin elven lip curled in derision. ¡°If it was important, they¡¯d send Firstlore, wouldn¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Firstlore¡¯s busy. Just because he isn¡¯t here, doesn¡¯t mean this isn¡¯t important.¡± Hoarbrow rolled her broad shoulders, glaring to establish dominance. ¡°I would¡¯ve thought you¡¯d show a modicum of respect, young lady.¡±


    Moontick shrugged. She was too confident in her power to show anyone or anything the respect they deserved. She even argued with Firstlore in front of the Gathering when the mood took her.


    ¡°So we¡¯re the first in how long?¡± Spleensap asked, a trace of nervous trepidation still lurking beneath the druid¡¯s voice.


    ¡°At least two hundred years,¡± Moontick responded at once. ¡°The records are unclear. If the Magickers hadn¡¯t damn-well sunk Asil¡¯qarith ¨C¡°


    ¡°Speculation!¡± Hoarbrow hissed. ¡°Enough of those depraved delusions ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C it¡¯d probably be another two hundred before anyone would¡¯ve bothered,¡± the seeress finished.


    ¡°Come on, Spleen,¡± Azurelight said, eyeing his friend across the circle. ¡°By the time we got to pint number six you were telling me you¡¯d go through on your own, fates be damned. What¡¯s changed?¡±


    ¡°I sobered up.¡± The arch-druid smiled wanly. ¡°What about you? You were still scared stiff, last I saw you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not certain.¡± Azurelight gazed up at the immense portal of green fire towering over them, then looked back to his friend, offering a smile. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m still drunk. You were well unconscious by that point, as I recall.¡±


    ¡°You require an infusion? I¡¯m guessing you got a good night¡¯s sleep ¨C¡°


    ¡°No. No, thanks, Spleen. Rather keep my courage.¡± The sorcerer grimaced then looked back to Hoarbrow. ¡°I¡¯m here now. Let¡¯s get this over with, shall we?¡±


    They started moving together under the power of Hoarbrow¡¯s spells. What had been a background buzz quickly became a dull roar as they came into closer and closer proximity to Autumn¡¯s Door, and Azurelight knew now that he was the only one to hear it. It was just like the trip to Grabera¡¯s Common. All he had then was conjecture. Now? A second instance seemed to prove the hypothesis.


    It¡¯s the sorcery, he thought, gritting his teeth. Some distant blood connection, between myself and Litenwelt.


    He just had to keep his head up and get through it. It¡¯d be fine on the other side.


    Wouldn¡¯t be long.


    The Magickers and Magistrati glared at one another, assembled on opposite sides of the Door. The Lords of Sunset had sent their agreed representatives, a trio of stately knights standing beside the Band of Gold assistants, each nodding to Hoarfrost in greeting as the five archmages came coursing up.


    ¡°We shan¡¯t stand on ceremony. Everything is prepared?¡±


    The dwarf received a series of sharp nods and curt replies.


    ¡°Well, then.¡± She glanced back at Harpsong, to Spleensap, Moontick ¨C then to him. Obviously finding whatever it was she¡¯d been looking for, she cracked a rare smile. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with, indeed.¡±


    * * *


    They entered the flaring curtain of light with their usual confidence. They were archmages, at the peak of their power. They could handle anything.


    Floating through with all the haste he thought he could display without looking hasty, Azurelight almost overtook Hoarfrost, and when the fire rippled over him and he emerged into the world beyond he realised almost instantly that this had all been a terrible mistake.


    The first thing that startled him was the darkness. This wasn¡¯t just midnight on a new moon night black. This was million miles under the sea black. Blinded in a coffin black. The fierce illumination of Autumn¡¯s Door barely touched the dark tiles upon which it was based. There was no ceiling to be discerned even with vampiric sight to aid him; he found himself turning as he fled the portal¡¯s song, looking back at it to keep some landmark in mind, judging his speed and distance by perspective.


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    He had to get away from it. It was making him sick. Yet it was his only salvation. His home lay behind it ¨C he would have to pass through it again, and, in spite of everything, the sooner their return came the better.


    Wherever they were, whatever this shadowed chamber was purposed to be ¨C it was truly enormous. The Door clearly didn¡¯t scrape the roofs, and here he was, already sixty, eighty feet away from it, soaring in the blankness and shaping his shields ¨C he could only assume the place was every bit as expansive if one were to come through the Door in the opposite direction ¨C


    Thud.


    The half-nethernal breath was knocked out of him as he struck a pillar.


    He¡¯d hurtled backwards into the cold stone, and, jolted unexpectedly out of his planned trajectory, the arch-sorcerer fell away spinning. He caught himself and groaned, rubbing the side of his head where he¡¯d connected with the chilled surface. Certainly the ghost-formed essences he wore helped minimise the pain, the severity of the injury he¡¯d sustained ¨C but the substance itself had proved impenetrable to them.


    It¡¯d been a long time since the ghost-form had let him down in this way.


    He glanced around again, hoping the others hadn¡¯t noticed ¨C but what were the chances of that?


    ¡°Slick as starlight,¡± Moontick tittered.


    ¡°Yeah, we all saw that,¡± Harpsong thought at him. ¡°Well ¨C we¡¯ve all seen it now.¡±


    Even Spleen gave a short, involuntary laugh.


    ¡°How much to get you to erase it from everyone¡¯s memories?¡± Azurelight moaned.


    ¡°More than you¡¯re worth! Aha!¡± The enchantress cackled. ¡°Found something interesting, have you there, sorcerer?¡±


    ¡°This metal needs investigating,¡± he thought back, sullen, still rubbing his head.


    ¡°Not metal,¡± Hoarbrow said. ¡°Rock, of some kind, or¡­ glass.¡±


    Harpsong and Hoarfrost slowly started to light the chamber, the enchantress building luminous yellow lines across the floor, working them upwards ¨C the wizard started near the roof, smearing frosty-white radiance right across the glistening, honey-coloured surface that seemed to stretch out over their heads¡­


    ¡°The chronal field in here¡­ it¡¯s intense.¡± Moontick¡¯s voice was subdued, a hushed mind-whisper that set shivers crawling up the sorcerer¡¯s spine. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. We need to get some accurists to come through with us next time. No idea what a clock would do in here.¡±


    While she spoke the illuminations spread, spread ¨C


    Azurelight turned, looking back at the great grey-black column with horror crystallising in his brain, jaw going slack.


    Not a pillar. Pillars. Evenly-spaced throughout the chamber.


    Hundreds and hundreds of them.


    And as cords of burning sun-yellow incandescence reached up, up¡­


    Not pillars.


    Legs.


    Legs of monolithic, crudely-shaped humanoids. Noseless, earless faces atop boulderous shoulders, more pillars dangling motionless like arms beside rotund torsos.


    He floated upwards, looking down on this¡­ host of colossi.


    ¡°Sixty-six feet tall,¡± Moon noted. ¡°Each weighs nine-hundred and eleven tons¡­ Perfect uniformity. I ¨C I can¡¯t see a single difference between them. Not a blemish. Not even a blemish!¡±


    The seeress was starting to sound scared.


    ¡°Eldritches?¡± Hoarbrow asked in disbelief.


    ¡°Not one bit,¡± Azurelight replied, studying the nearest statue again. ¡°Golems? Elementals?¡±


    ¡°If they were, they¡¯re inert now,¡± the wizard said. ¡°No magic in them whatsoever. Azurelight, what about the immaterial planes?¡±


    He hadn¡¯t even thought to check.


    Two attempts to force a breach gave him the answer he decidedly wasn¡¯t looking for.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to get hold of!¡± he reported, trying to keep the sudden aching sense of foreboding from his voice.


    Hoarbrow grunted. ¡°Moon, would you be so kind as to report back to the supervisory teams? Who knows? Maybe we can get you your accurist¡­ and an archaeologist.¡±


    The arch-diviner had only just turned on the air when five more shapes burst through the wall of green fire.


    Sunshadow, Azurelight growled internally, seeing his rival in her black-and-white striped robes, her sun-and-moon mask. What¡¯s she doing here? This was to be my day! The highborn witch was shimmering on the air as she stuttered forwards, gungrelafor-essence radiating almost visibly from her, bat-wings snapping with every motion.


    ¡°Hoarbrow!¡± Firstlore almost gasped the word, plunging towards them, the old seer taking in his surroundings with a quick jerk of his hairless head. ¡°Report!¡±


    So this was his plan all along. To upstage us!


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be lunching those fops from Zadhal, aren¡¯t you?¡± their dwarven leader cried back. ¡°Links!¡± she added, glancing from Harpsong to Merrytwinkle.


    ¡°Yeah, even though this was all his big idea,¡± Moon sent psychically.


    Whatever anyone thought ¨C the arch-sorcerer¡¯s fears all slipped away quietly. Now reinforcements were here, any danger posed by this environment was overshadowed by the need to exalt himself above his rival.


    Azurelight was close enough to see the expression change on the old man¡¯s face ¨C from scorn and disappointment to understanding.


    Aghast, awful understanding.


    The mightiest living arch-diviner screeched to a halt and, gesturing, turned on the air, glancing and scowling about in renewed concern and curiosity.


    ¡°Chronal amplification field,¡± he spat. ¡°Inverted dampening effect. You¡¯ve been in here three days already and to you it¡¯s been no time at all, hasn¡¯t it? Everybody out! Now! We¡¯ll come back with a working prepared.¡±


    Azurelight didn¡¯t need telling twice. He was already moving before the command came.


    Even still, he was one of the farthest from the Door.


    He got to watch as the things got to work.


    He got to see them, his vampire-eyes finally attuning to the cursed darkness.


    See them, atop the Door¡¯s frame, where they¡¯d waited all along.


    See them, as they wordlessly sprang down.


    * * *


    Searspear, the elven wizard, was the closest to the Door. Near the floor.


    Doooooooom.


    A gargantuan shape descended, and in the very next instant the leg stamped down on the wizard¡¯s body. The elf didn¡¯t even get a chance to react. Between one instant and the next, a weight of ancient power crashed right through the space he occupied.


    Only Firstlore¡¯s power could¡¯ve saved him.


    Only Firstlore went to the wizard¡¯s rescue, streaking down to save his friend ¨C


    Doooooooom.


    Carrying him straight into the path of the next leg.


    Doooooooom. Doooooooom. Doooooooom.


    Azurelight slowed in his flight for a moment, staring at the spot where Firstlore and Searspear vanished, gone without a trace.


    Except a smear of bloody paste, extruding about the base of the pillar-like leg, puddling outwards from the point of impact¡­


    It was as though these things knew what to expect of the champions, understood how to outplay them at this, their own game. When a petrified Merrytwinkle dove at the upper-right corner of the Door, the closest of the creatures leapt with fearsome agility, swinging a featureless arm-end¡­ a hand, a fist, a club of disgusting force.


    It struck the gnome enchantress so hard she splashed.


    Harpsong got her leg stuck under a pillar, instantly amputating the limb, and, in the split-second that Spleensap diverted to help her, another creature leapt into the fray.


    Causing the druid to vanish too.


    Doooooooom.


    Doooooooom.


    Doooooooom.


    There are so many of them.


    Hoarbrow and Sunshadow each seemed to seize upon the bright idea of moving around the Door to the reverse face ¨C both women unleashed death-curdles on the link as the dooms rang out.


    A leg shifted ¨C the panting Harpsong, diving through the air trailing her life¡¯s-blood, died in an instant, and with her went the last echoes of the psychic connections that remained.


    Moontick alone managed to swerve around the melee, the dextrous elven seeress grabbing Twigtrail by the shoulder, tugging the green-clad girl along with her as she barrel-rolled at an exit aperture.


    It didn¡¯t matter how fast she seemed to him ¨C she was slower than she was supposed to be. Even she ¨C even Moontick was blocked ¨C


    Doooooooom.


    No. Not blocked.


    Just gone.


    He¡¯d seen Twigtrail throw herself nonchalantly through walls in pursuit of her prey. He¡¯d seen an attacker¡¯s dagger break on Spleensap¡¯s ribs.


    But neither of them were coming back from a thousand tons, were they?


    There was no route forwards. The arch-sorcerer span aside from the flurry of stone clubs, turning his back on the Door and the dying light¡­ the already dying mage-light¡­ fleeing not towards his home but up, up and away, away into the darkness ¨C


    No seams were there to be seen. His fingers clutched desperately at empty air.


    The wind of a leaping creature¡¯s arm droned just past his ear, all unseen, making tatters of his best shields.


    He almost screamed, and found new velocities in his urgent flight. He put out a clawed hand to wring at non-existent seams ¨C


    Maybe there¡¯s a way out! Maybe it doesn¡¯t go on forever! Maybe I can escape ¨C if I¡¯m lucky ¨C


    He was very lucky indeed, to have that be his final thought. He didn¡¯t have to feel the terror as a tremendous stony foot descended upon him. He was spared that indignity.


    No, in his panic Azurelight flew straight into an impossible-to-see wall, and it was all treated with the same anti-phasing spells as the things chasing him.


    He smashed his head apart.


    The doorway to unconsciousness mercifully opened before him, and he took it eagerly, plunging through into the unknown.


    The last thing he felt was the grip of weight at his navel as his ascent abruptly halted, the relative stasis of recoil giving way to inexorable motion, the world tugging him down ¨C


    Setting his soul free.

 Not a Single Drop of Blood pt1

    <h2>GLASS 4.1: NOT A SINGLE DROP OF BLOOD</h2>


    ¡°We exist in a world of words. It is only due to this that my esteemed collaborators and rivals all see fit to say such things as: ¡®in addition to providing the necessary service of anonymity, the mask reduces the mage to the symbol¡¯ (rf. PoP pg. 228); ¡®the human individuality is removed and replaced with a motionless display devoid of the fear and anger and hate such men and women must surely experience whether they be minions of the darkness or champions of the light¡¯ (rf. EDG 2nd ed pg. 19). Thus, it is claimed, a socially-valuable projection is permitted on behalf of the third party onlooker ¨C and on this the inexorable cult of personality which arises about these mages is to be blamed.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Modern Mage¡¯


    ¡°Well, step out.¡± Madame Sailor¡¯s prim-and-proper tone brooked no argument. ¡°I need to see you in it. You might well need adjustments, and such takes time, you know!¡±


    I passed through the curtain in the fitting-room, and stopped in front of the full-length mirror on the wall so that we could both inspect the robe.


    A dark forest-green made up the majority of the outer cloth, which was thin but tough, with greys and blues for the patches, dark purple for the hood and the triangular shoulder-pieces. Silver threads had been used for the grinning little mouths that covered the green parts of the exterior. The belts were corded black leather, fitted with thongs for the hanging of pouches.


    ¡°I¡¯m impressed,¡± I said, ensuring my mask was settled before trying the hood. It had a slight peak, and looked suitably magician-y.


    ¡°A good fit,¡± the old woman admitted as she looked me over, getting me to turn on the spot with a flick of her blue-nailed fingers. ¡°Stops you looking so scrawny.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t wrong. The belt kept the robe cinched firmly at my narrow waist, but she¡¯d given room for a bigger chest than mine ¨C yet I was tall enough that it pulled tight, and along with the pointed shoulder-pieces it made me look significantly bulkier than I was in actuality.


    I studied myself. Intimidating, but too colourful and quirky for a darkmage. I loved it.


    ¡°It¡¯s perfect, Madame Sailor.¡±


    ¡°Your old robe¡­¡±


    I turned away from the mirror and saw her staring at the grey robe I¡¯d left folded in the booth beyond the half-drawn curtain.


    ¡°Ah, yes. Damaged.¡± I went over to recover it, folded it across my arm.


    ¡°In the Incursion?¡±


    I just nodded. She didn¡¯t need to know the details.


    ¡°And it was you, in Overbrent?¡±


    I nodded again. I¡¯d since learned that Overbrent was the part of Oldtown where me and Em had fought our first thinfinaran.


    ¡°Then the day we met you saved the lives of no less than eight people I know, and last Waneday you saved my niece¡¯s life, young man. My sister told me you and that nice magister lady killed the demons, and even left something to lift her spirits afterwards?¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°Is that how she put it?¡±


    ¡°Now what do you think she meant by that, young champion?¡±


    I stepped backwards into the booth, imagining a green seam in the space I vacated; the glamour passed momentarily, leaving Avaelar standing between me and the woman.


    ¡°Well I never!¡± she gasped, backing up and even fanning her face a couple of times with a professionally-manicured hand.


    ¡°What do you think of him, Madame Sailor?¡±


    She gave me a nice spot of spluttering in response. I could see the desk-boy gawping as he stared over at us in the corner.


    ¡°M- Feychilde,¡± the seven-foot, nearly-naked sylph said over his shoulder in a reproving tone. ¡°Is this in truth an appropriate use of thy power?¡±


    ¡°Probably not,¡± I agreed, stepping back into him, masking the rejoining with another brief illusion. ¡°Funny though.¡±


    ¡°I hath in my heart much room for humour, Feychilde, yet this doth not fill it.¡±


    My apologies, noble sylph. I promise I shall summon thee for only the most serious endeavours from now on.


    ¡°Would that I might hold thee to it,¡± he grumbled.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m not sure whether I¡¯m glad I asked,¡± Madame Sailor muttered, ¡°but I know now what she was getting at! Come on.¡± She bustled me along to the counter, looking down to hide her blush. ¡°I¡¯ll have that grey robe mended for free for you. So long as you tell your high-faluting friends where you got your new robe from, mind! Now will you be wanting a back-up?¡±


    ¡°A back-up?¡±


    ¡°In case you get ¨C¡± she indicated the grey robe ¡°¨C you know ¨C¡°


    In the end I paid for the mending-service and then some with my tip (on top of the already agreed-upon twenty percent for early completion). Still, there was no harm in rewarding fine work, and I had more money to spend than I knew what to do with. At first I¡¯d saved, sequestering the platinum away, but the Incursion had meant another windfall of forty-five plat ¨C an incredible sum. A portion of this was, as I promised in Upper Tivertain, earmarked for Neverwish and Starsight when I saw them again ¨C and supposing Starsight was back up on his feet. The invisible magister who¡¯d come knocking with my reward hadn¡¯t had any information on his status, and Em had heard nothing either. I could always save his share, or put it towards his healing-bills if that was what he needed¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re all settled up, Master Feychilde,¡± the desk-boy said, smiling brightly as he handed me a receipt. ¡°I hope your have a good afternoon!¡± He eyed me, my mask and robe. ¡°What does a champion get up to with his afternoon?¡± he added wistfully.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Hopefully nothing too interesting.¡± I grinned. ¡°Good means boring. I¡¯m actually spending the day with my girlfriend¡¯s family.¡±


    ¡°Oh-h-h.¡± He rolled his eyes. ¡°Good choice, then. I wish you the boringest afternoon ever!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the nicest thing anyone¡¯s ever said to me,¡± I said dreamily.


    He grinned.


    I nodded to him before stepping out, closing the door behind me, and spreading my wings.


    When I arrived I double-checked that I had my attire all in place. Linn merely grunted when he saw what I was wearing, and left the door open behind him when he exited the hallway ¨C his implied permission for me to follow him. I stayed another minute to give an appropriately-dramatic twirl on the spot for Atar and Em. Both looked impressed with the robe, and Em took me to a corner and checked Zel wasn¡¯t hanging around before kissing me rather passionately. I took the opportunity to hang a new heart-shaped healing potion about her neck.


    While the ladies prepared the meal I carved a lightning-bolt for Em, standing up straight from its point embedded in the base ¨C the shape I remembered from our dreadful trip into the infernal tower. I managed to hold off on carving ¡®Stormchilde¡¯ into it. That would¡¯ve been pushing it, wouldn¡¯t it? This would be reminder enough as it was.


    The night you were a champion.


    The result wasn¡¯t exactly amazing-looking, but Linn held off on criticising me, and I could tell that Em liked it more than the random tree I¡¯d carved last time.


    The food was almost enjoyable ¨C I was getting more used to it ¨C and the music was even better now I could listen to it properly. I¡¯d had more sleep lately, and the forecast was a hundred percent certain it was going to be an Incursion-less day.


    What was more, no one questioned my ability to protect Em despite her dying a few days back: the benefit of applying only a judicious amount of truth to the problem of her parents.


    The drawback was far worse ¨C the way I had to endure Atar¡¯s constant and delighted-looking smile, Linn¡¯s infrequent (but nonetheless approving) stares. Knowing I didn¡¯t live up to them, already. Feeling like everything might already be ruined.


    I could get used to the food¡¯s heat, but would I always have this coldness in my traitorous soul? I¡¯d let them down. I¡¯d failed them once already.


    And why did I want to keep it secret? Em didn¡¯t want them to know, but that only played into Henthae¡¯s hands. Being an arch-magister who was going to be ordered to the front-lines over and over again was hardly any safer than being a champion. Why wasn¡¯t Henthae out there fighting?


    Or perhaps she had been. Perhaps I was being too hasty in my judgements. And in any case, I could hardly betray Em¡¯s confidences. It just grated on me, and I didn¡¯t want to bring it up with her, reopen the horrible memories. I had to bottle it down. It was just one tiny lie. I could swallow feeling this cold.


    But no colder.


    As evening fell the two of us sat under a blanket in the garden, watching the clouded sky, the looming, empty parapets of the wall of Mund.


    ¡°So you¡¯re vorking tonight?¡± she asked, her head on my chest, my arm around her shoulder.


    ¡°Uh huh.¡± I sipped my beer ¨C it would be impolite to throw it away, but there was no way to stop Atar putting one in my hand, and leaving it half-finished might¡¯ve been almost as impolite as tipping it out. ¡°Ciraya¡¯s going to help out, if you can spare her. I won¡¯t need her for long, hopefully.¡±


    ¡°Zis is one of Zel¡¯s plans again?¡±


    ¡°Well, it was her intelligence that informed the plan. The tricks are all mine, though.¡±


    ¡°You champions¡­¡± There was a trace of bitterness in her voice that I hadn¡¯t heard there before when she was joking around like this. ¡°Oh, very vell ¨C I vill let you have my sorceress.¡± She smiled. ¡°So long as you promise to return her before three, and in one piece.¡±


    ¡°Cross my heart.¡±


    ¡°You have ze explosive daggers?¡±


    I patted one of the innumerable pocket-pouches sewn into the robe¡¯s folds. ¡°All sheathed. Hopefully it won¡¯t come to that, though.¡±


    It¡¯d been a pain, tracking down the core of the sheaths¡¯ magic in the library. Most of the time was wasted, not realising that what I needed to look for was armour ensorcellment. With Xan¡¯s help I¡¯d carefully stitched fabrics into sleeves for my daggers, the interiors covered in carefully-traced symbols ¨C runes that were imbued with essentially miniature shielding.


    Holding the daggers¡¯ forces in.


    She grunted. ¡°Hopefully! Ve could do viz another arrest. Zere¡¯s so much more paperwork if you vaporise zem.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t even been thinking about using the weapons on a non-eldritch.


    I shuddered, and she felt it.


    ¡°Hours of it,¡± she said, still smiling.


    I shook my head, made myself smile back.


    ¡°Are you nervous?¡± she asked suddenly, turning her head on its side.


    I laughed ¨C and it sounded nervous to my own ear.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I admitted. ¡°But I¡¯m prepared, at least. That¡¯s more than can be said¡­ well, I hope that¡¯s more than can be said for my enemy.¡±


    She settled her head back down. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re nervous. Zat vay you¡¯ll be safer.¡± She drew shapeless shapes on my chest with her fingernail.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you trust me?¡±


    ¡°Should I trust you, Kas?¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Where¡¯s this coming from?¡±


    ¡°You vouldn¡¯t keep a secret from me, vould you?¡±


    ¡°A secret? What do you mean, a ¨C¡±


    ¡°Forget about it.¡±


    ¡°No, Em! I mean, I can¡¯t even think¡­¡±


    Had I kept any secrets from her? Other than the names of my eldritches, I was drawing a blank. I¡¯d explained my thoughts about the Srol, and what happened with Duskdown, and Tanra ¨C


    Em raised her face, looked into my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s okay. She said ¨C said you didn¡¯t really vont me to go¡­¡°


    ¡®She¡¯?


    ¡°Henthae,¡± I growled.


    Em just nodded sombrely.


    ¡°She said, if you really vonted me to be a champion ¨C you vould have told me about zis ¨C zis ¡®Gazzering of Champions¡¯? And,¡± she continued on, her voice a little shaky, ¡°I suppose zat is vot all of ze shenagin-¡­ shenaginan-¡±


    I supplied the word quietly: ¡°Shenanigans.¡±


    ¡°¨C shenanigans vere about, viz Dustbringer in Henthae¡¯s room, viz Killstop ¨C¡°


    ¡°The Gathering,¡± I said softly, ¡°wasn¡¯t my secret to keep. For keeping you in the dark, I¡¯m sorry. It wasn¡¯t something I felt secure telling you about¡­ not until I knew for sure they weren¡¯t going to, you know, come after you or something just for knowing about it.¡±


    ¡°Once you found out zey veren¡¯t going to execute me ¨C¡°


    ¡°I have no idea what they¡¯re going to do! Was Henthae supposed to tell you this? Em¡­¡±


    ¡°But how voz I supposed to become a champion vizzout zis Gazzering?¡°


    ¡°I only found out after we met! From Nighteye¡­ You declare yourself a champion first, and then someone tells you ¨C not the other way around! And, well, I doubt everyone who calls themselves champion actually attends¡­ I don¡¯t think it¡¯s compulsory.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Em faltered. ¡°She made it sound like you vere¡­¡± Her eyes refocused on me. ¡°So you¡¯d never been to one before?¡±


    ¡°No! I still haven¡¯t! It¡¯s on the full moon, under the Tower of Mourning. That¡¯s literally all I know.¡±


    ¡°Vhile everyone¡¯s at ze cleansing¡­ clever,¡± she murmured, lowering her head in thought. ¡°Ze magisters already out in force¡­¡±


    If Henthae was so worried about Em becoming a champion she¡¯d broken the rules to feed her information, try to turn her against me¡­ that probably meant there was a serious chance of her changing her allegiance¡­


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to pressure you, or keep harping on about the same subject all the time,¡± I said, running my hand up her back, ¡°but it has been on my thoughts a lot ¨C I was seriously tempted to carve ¡®Stormchilde¡¯ into the base of the lightning-bolt¡­ I know you¡¯ve only known me five minutes ¨C¡°


    ¡°Zat voz ze case vhen you first said it.¡± She raised her face to mine again. ¡°Not anymore.¡±


    Now it was my turn to falter: ¡°¨C and ¨C and Henthae brought you into Mund, showed you your place here, taught you how to exist in this crazy place ¨C but if you¡¯ll think about it ¨C not just ¡®take it under advisement¡¯ ¨C¡°


    ¡°My place is viz you,¡± she spoke huskily, cutting through my jabbering.


    She kissed me and I held her tight, imprinting upon my mind the memory of her body against mine.


    Yes, I was nervous. But if this was going to be one of the last things I¡¯d experience before I died, it would make a better last thought than the twins¡¯ faces, lost in grief.


    That fear was fading now. I¡¯d put plenty of money aside, even invested a little. Their futures were secure. Even Xastur¡¯s future.


    And mine was my own to make.


    * * *

 Not a Single Drop of Blood pt2

    The moonlight was clear, piercing cloud and smog to shed a thick mercury radiance across the streets and yards. I kept low to the ground, maintaining a relatively slow speed; my stomach was still rolling over whenever I went too high, at least without Em there to back me up.


    It was okay, though. Tolerable. I had the mask and robe in place. A few people below looked up at me, from time to time ¨C the fey wings didn¡¯t glow brightly but they did glow, so I wasn¡¯t exactly surreptitious as I made my way over Sticktown, barely skirting twenty feet above the highest rooftops.


    Then the frosty moon was spilling its metallic pallor across the trees, the little paths, the reeds, the gravestones¡­ the Blind Eye of Kaile, as it was known, its shining silver lens marred where the god¡¯s mother clawed out its light: a warning, and a reminder of the purity, the glory which could still persist in a misshapen form. Midnight dew twinkled in the grass, myriad rainbow hues constantly shifting, as though the Lord of Light had taken down a star from the sky and ground it to dust above the shrine.


    It was, all in all, a lovely evening to be out; the rains had stopped, and the night air was crisp and dry.


    A lovely evening for a hunt.


    The almost-full Moon, the Eye nearly open ¨C it a reminder of what was to come. Today was the first of Illost and it was going into the second. The Gathering was just a couple of days away, and my anticipation was now heightened to new levels by the conversation I¡¯d had with Em a few hours back. What would she do? Her enigmatic choice of words had left it all up in the air.


    If she became a champion, we could duo any number of darkmage threats ¨C yes, we would have to split the prizes, but we¡¯d be splitting the workload too¡­ If I could persuade her to sit tight within my shields, or even hang back and just help out with transporting the captives¡­ whatever it took to convince Atar and Linn that I wasn¡¯t leading her astray¡­


    I didn¡¯t quite settle to the ground; I descended, and used my lower pair of wings to hover above Morsus¡¯s grave. I was in control of my emotions now, when it came to the necromancy at least ¨C I wasn¡¯t feeling any urges to start bringing revenants up out of the earth.


    We¡¯d buried him on Fullday, and the graveyard had been so busy that his death had been put into uncomfortable perspective. There were whole families of victims of the Incursion being interred ¨C such a scythe of death had fallen upon certain neighbourhoods that no one remained to witness the burials. The half-sized coffins were too numerous to belong purely to gnomish corpses, and so many children had to have passed on that Xantaire spent half the ceremony clutching Xastur and staring off at the nearby activity, seeming to barely hear a word the junior minister said about her brother.


    In other times and places, death might¡¯ve been a stranger, grief a thing to take with you to the grave. But here in Mund we didn¡¯t have that luxury. Death came swift, it came regularly, and you had to learn to let go of grief before the next time it came around ¨C or it¡¯d bury you along with them.


    So I didn¡¯t weep, or moan, or even frown. I smiled instead, and remembered Morsus the way he¡¯d want to be remembered. The never-ending enthusiastic handshakes, the unceasing gratitude that we¡¯d let him and his family into our home. The jokes, the way he¡¯d looked after the twins¡­ Trustworthy. Keen to please. Overly so.


    I felt a touch of the sorrow returning to me, then, so I shrugged away my thoughts and spoke to him softly.


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Morsus. It¡¯s me. I just came to let you know, I¡¯m going to look after them. Your sister, your grandfather, your nephew. You can count on me, Morsus. You can rest easy¡­ I hope they deal you a hand full of Divinities, up there in Celestium, and you win more platinum than you know what to do with. If you¡¯re allowed to gamble, up there. I hope you¡¯re allowed to gamble¡­ you should be, if Brondor¡¯s people are right, but then it¡¯s not like you¡¯re going to need money in the Twelve Heavens, is it¡­¡±


    ¡°Kas; it¡¯s almost time, you realise.¡±


    I sighed.


    I know, Zel. I know.


    ¡°Stop procrastinating, bring out Feychilde, and tell him to stay out of sight while he gets his backside two hundred yards north.¡±


    Bring out Feychilde. Stop being Kas.


    She was right ¨C I had to get myself in the right frame of mind.


    I fixed my grin, and that did it.


    Time to take down Shadowcrafter.


    * * *


    I almost managed to pull off a smooth landing, dropping down out of the sky about twenty yards from them. Four tatty-looking gravediggers. Four velvet-robed sorcerers.


    I kept my wings out, just in case I needed them. I wouldn¡¯t, if things went to plan.


    ¡°Evening, gentlemen,¡± I called, stepping into the vacant space between the two groups and facing the magic-users. ¡°Nice night to sorcerise, eh?¡±


    Shafts of moonlight illuminated me in my dark-yet-colourful robe, all the better to make me a clear target, draw the eye ¨C while they stood in the shadows under the branches wearing their black cowls and cloaks.


    Still, I could make them out perfectly as their heads swung in my direction, as if to stare at me. I was aware of the gravediggers halting their work. I fixed all their locations in my mind, ready to lose my augmented senses.


    I¡¯m putting a lot of trust in you here, Zel.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be a piece of cake. Don¡¯t worry about my bit. Focus on your shields, and buy me as much time as you can.¡±


    I sighed, raised my hand to my face, and whispered in an inhuman voice: ¡°You bear my enemies no ill will.¡±


    One of the sorcerers stepped forwards, but the shields surrounding the group didn¡¯t budge an inch. Either this one wasn¡¯t Shadowcrafter, or the shields were locked in place. That didn¡¯t necessarily mean there wouldn¡¯t be other shields, however.


    It didn¡¯t sound as though the gravediggers were coming closer ¨C the noises of their footfalls were decreasing in volume steadily. They were backing away.


    Good.


    ¡°Who challenges the Shadowcrafters?¡± the mage at the front cried in a querulous voice.


    ¡°Who said anything about challenging you?¡± I asked, all innocent-sounding. ¡°Truth is, I¡¯m your biggest fan.¡± I put my hand up, using the motion and a touch of illusion to cover Zel¡¯s flight. ¡°Massive zombie enthusiast, me. Loved your work last night. Five awesome-looking revenants.¡± I cocked my head. ¡°What do you do with them? Sell them? Use them as your house-slaves? I¡¯d be interested in making a purchase.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°How do you know about last night, druid? You¡¯ve been watching us!¡±


    He actually thinks these wings are druidry-things. Oh my.


    ¡°Well, hello! ¡®I¡¯m your biggest fan¡¯¡­ I thought you¡¯d be pleased!¡± I injected just enough consternation, disappointment into my voice that he jerked his head to one side, looking back at his companions in perplexity.


    ¡°Enough,¡± said one of the sorcerers at the back as he stepped forwards, shoving the other speaker behind him.


    This one¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t prickly ¨C he sounded amused. Rich, too. You couldn¡¯t buy your way into an accent like that ¨C you had to be born with it.


    And the shield moved with him.


    He looked back over his shoulder, continuing smoothly, ¡°You have the singular honour of addressing the latest sorcerer-champion of Mund. Trust me: if this boy wanted zombies, they¡¯d be all over him¡­ So¡­¡±


    He turned back to face me, his visage inscrutable beneath the hood, behind the mask I thought I saw glinting there. ¡°The late Feychilde.¡± He slowly raised an arm, as if to indicate his brethren. ¡°The boy believes he is arresting the Shadowcrafters. He is sorely mistaken.¡±


    ¡°I can see your shields, man,¡± I said plainly. ¡°You¡¯re not fooling anyone, archmage.¡±


    Shadowcrafter was still for a moment ¨C then he bowed floridly, keeping his head upright, his eyes fixed onto me with a palpable intensity.


    The sense of doom in the air was growing.


    ¡°As you say, Feychilde. You came to duel me, then?¡±


    ¡°I think you had it right before. I came to arrest you.¡± I grinned. ¡°You. Not the three poor fools standing behind you.¡±


    I noticed the discomfort in his stance at this, the way his arm shook as he lowered it.


    ¡°What do you do, Shadowcrafter? Train them up, but not so much they can wrap their heads around what you¡¯re really getting them to do? Then you have them perform the undeath ritual? Just so that they turn into liches when you kill them, so you can bind them, then move onto the next group of patsies?¡±


    He expanded his shields and they met my pentagon, crackling, each of our barriers pressing on the other¡¯s, shapes distending as they bent under the inexorable, invisible strain.


    Going off Redgate and Dustbringer, Shadowcrafter was probably at his limit for a basic shield.


    ¡°I don¡¯t quite understand how it all works, of course,¡± I went on. ¡°I¡¯m just throwing ideas out there. The notion of passing as just one more mage in a group of mages is pretty damn genius, though, I must admit.¡±


    I cocked my head the other way, as if to look around him at his would-be minions.


    ¡°I¡¯d run, if I were you. And don¡¯t play this game anymore. Not if you don¡¯t fancy a few decades staring at the bars of a prison-cell.¡±


    I half-spun, casting a glance in the direction of the gravediggers only to find that they¡¯d already fled the field of battle. When I turned back to face my enemy the three ¡®Shadowcrafters¡¯ behind him had also abandoned their posts, sprinting away through the trees at top, terrified speed.


    He didn¡¯t need to bring any bodies up out of their coffins; he¡¯d brought his own to the party. We were in the graveyard, so when he started summoning his undead eldritches the gates to Nethernum yawned wide open ¨C and they poured through in droves.


    As expected.


    The fast-moving zombies ¨C ghouls, and wights? ¨C came first. Pale, purple-eyed people in all manner of garments, some without coverings whatsoever. There was a dwarf, his beard glowing white, arrayed in the grey funeral-robes of his people. All of them surged against my shield, clawing, thrusting against the barrier, their faces distorted into scowls of hatred.


    Behind them came the walking dead, skeletons and zombies, some clad in armour, weapons in their grips ¨C


    And spread throughout their ranks lurked the true threats, gaunt creatures in their own black robes. Amethyst flames coalesced in the bony hands of some, while others began to spread their own defences ¨C the ribbons of their wards glimmered a faint magenta on the air, rather than the azure of mortal sorcerers or the crimson of infernal shielding.


    These were no spectres; they walked upon the earth of Materium. Undead sorcerers, capable of channelling the nether-energies into our world. These were his former pupils, his cadre of liches. Zel¡¯s intelligence had been spot-on.


    The less-advanced skeletons started adding their own pressure against my shields, flailing at my fortifications with mindless abandon. At the same time, the darkmage started adding his own touches ¨C blades of force, spinning into my shield, slicing away at my protections.


    ¡°You¡¯re a foolish boy,¡± Shadowcrafter said, laughter pouring from beneath the black cowl. ¡°You have no idea, the mistake you¡¯re making.¡°


    The first bound lich had gathered the purple fire into a fully-formed bolt of energy and launched it ¨C the spell flickered across the pentagon¡¯s swell and died away.


    It took way more out of Shield Four than I expected.


    Never mind.


    ¡°A fool?¡± I called above the gibbering of ghouls and the clanking of skeletons. ¡°Oh, of that I¡¯m well aware. It¡¯s great. Somehow all these old wise guys keep saying the same thing ¨C I¡¯m a fool, I¡¯m a stupid little baby, I¡¯m making the worst mistake of my life ¨C and then they go ahead and drastically underestimate me. Thus allowing me to neatly kick ¨C their ¨C asses.¡±


    He didn¡¯t reply, and kept summoning more. An uncountable number of ghosts. Two vampires. Five banshees.


    Yune¡¯s fingers¡­


    Their insubstantial forms couldn¡¯t get through, and their sonic attacks didn¡¯t penetrate ¨C they couldn¡¯t hypnotise me with their words or kill me with their screams, but it was only a matter of time. They¡¯d already had almost thirty seconds.


    The lich-fire was coming thicker and faster too.


    My rotating pentagon wobbled, wavered ¨C


    I hope you¡¯ve done it, Zel.


    ¡°Like, they never expect me to summon demons in their faces! That must suck for them, when they find out I can do that.¡±


    He flinched as I brought the red flames of an infernal portal into existence just behind him, well within striking range.


    Shadowcrafter turned, raked his hand through the fire, snarling, ¡°Illusions ¨C¡°


    I took the opportunity to create two force-spears of my own, send them out and then rebounding back, striking at his barriers from opposite sides ¨C pinning his shield in place, as if to pop it, like Dustbringer had pinned mine when we first met.


    He turned back to me and spoke sneeringly, holding his shield firm.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to need to do better than that, Feychilde. Where are your hordes of fey? I¡¯m looking forward to claiming the allegiance of some of them once their bonds to you are broken ¨C once your body, your will is broken. Once you are my plaything.¡±


    ¡°Ewwwww¡­¡± I let my revulsion out in the blandest, most irritating voice I could muster. ¡°Seriously, do you guys know how disgusting you sound? Fine ¨C fine.¡±


    He seemed to stare at me. I rolled my shoulders. Shield Four was about to go down.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do battle. Tell you what, I¡¯m going to say two words, and you¡¯re going to get rid of all your eldritches, okay?¡±


    ¡°You filthy lowborn drop. You will pay for your temerity!¡±


    At least I was getting to him, finally.


    I could see the way his shields were slowly bending under the influence of my unmoving blades of force. If only I could have kept it up I would¡¯ve pierced his shield, I was sure, but mine would go down first just from the sheer amount of attacks falling upon it.


    I felt it as Zel rejoined me ¨C she must¡¯ve been flitting through the grass, using her danger-sense to get through the army of undead assailing my defences, because she entered my body at the ankle beneath the robe.


    ¡°She¡¯s ready, Feychilde. No idea what¡¯s going on, of course, but she¡¯s in place.¡±


    Lovely, dear. Are you ready?


    ¡°Let¡¯s do it.¡±


    And you, Avaelar?


    ¡°Indeed, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll understand me, right?¡± I called. ¡°You¡¯re like me, you speak Infernal. So if I say: ¡®Grow, Feast!¡¯ I think you¡¯ll follow when ¨C¡°


    The eldritches and their shields all vanished, winking away in a storm of lilac and plum-coloured lights.


    I stared into dinner-plate-sized eyes, glowing ruby red.


    The huge yithandreng gazed coolly back at me from the spot in which Shadowcrafter had been standing, and rasped, ¡°Zi kasond grel oroz, Dwazisen?¡±


    ¡°Very well done indeed, Fe. Assassin-class, undeniably. Now be a good girl, get off him.¡± As she scampered aside on her many massive legs I shrugged Avaelar out of my shell, then pointed at the half-squashed darkmage. ¡°I think you¡¯ve got your work cut out for you here, my friend.¡±


    The sylph crouched by Shadowcrafter, peeling back the hood and shattered mask to reveal a bald-headed, full-featured man with a massive nose and a week¡¯s growth of a wispy grey beard.


    His jaw was broken, blood ran from his ears and his eyes were closed ¨C but after just a few moments of blowing in his face, Avaelar turned and gave me a nod of confirmation.


    ¡°He is, as Zelurra disclosed, bearing within himself a number of nethernal essences. Though he would have survived without my help, I have placed him in stasis. He is safe to transport.¡±


    ¡°Fellow should¡¯ve included more ghosts in his mix, I suppose.¡± I glanced over at the yithandreng. ¡°Come on then, let¡¯s be having you¡­¡±


    I put Fe back in my pocket, and let Avvie carry the comatose form of Shadowcrafter. Fe¡¯s mistress wasn¡¯t expecting me for half an hour and it was, after all, a rather lovely evening to be taking a stroll.


    * * *

 Not a Single Drop of Blood pt3

    On the corner two streets away, I found Ciraya eating a plate of charred salmon and greens outside a late-night barbecue-bar. It was your typical Sticktown place ¨C the bar was surrounded by tall, chair-less tables spreading across the pavements and into the road, tables against which a crowd of drunks and hoodlums were lounging, stuffing their faces and talking loudly.


    The skinny sorceress was standing there with the rest of them, sticking out in her magister¡¯s robe, and the only deference she¡¯d received from the crowd was that no one had joined her table. She clearly knew no one cared about her status ¨C and she could well have been one of them, ripping into the fish viciously, shovelling grilled cabbage in on top of the mouthfuls¡­


    I felt hungry.


    I approached, trudging through the muck with the bronze fey following along obediently behind me. A few people stared, but even the drunks knew better than to stare for long or eavesdrop ¨C at least not in an obvious manner.


    She looked up and saw me when I was about twenty feet away.


    ¡°Twelbe Helbs,¡± Ciraya swore through her gob full of food, her eyes fixed over my shoulder, ¡°where¡¯d ¡®ou get thab?¡± She swallowed. ¡°That a sylph?¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯d you get that?¡± I asked, eyeing her salmon as I halted.


    ¡°Help yourself,¡± she purred absently, wiping her sauce-coated hands on her already-grimy robe and stepping towards Avaelar. ¡°You¡¯re a fine specimen, aren¡¯t you? Where in Aedervaen do you hail from?¡±


    ¡°The Everstill Isles,¡± he answered her stiffly, still holding the unconscious body of Shadowcrafter slumped between his arms.


    I bit off a chunk of the fish-steak and sighed contentedly.


    ¡°Where are your wings? I thought sylphs had wings.¡±


    ¡°My wings are in Etherium, ma¡¯am. My m- Feychilde has instructed me not to display them unnecessarily, for fear of rousing the ire of the general populace.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d you know he was a sylph, anyway?¡± I asked through my mouthful. ¡°I mean, if he doesn¡¯t have his wings ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ve read two textbooks that describe the denizens of the otherworld, and the first line in both texts for describing sylphs gives you something along the lines of,¡± she suddenly lost her foreign drawl, affecting a near-perfect highborn mannerism: ¡°Ostensibly the most appealing of the fey, despite their refined sense of propriety sylphs typically eschew clothing, having no need of it as protection against either the elements or the invariably¨Cwatchful eyes of onlookers¡­¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°Okay, okay, I get it.¡± I sucked my fingers and thumb clean rather than wiping my hand on my new robe, and checked the crowd out again ¨C only a couple of the drunks were casting glances our way, but one was furtive in his movements, perhaps less drunk than his fellows. He had the stature of one of the Gentlemen.


    ¡°An interesting eldritch,¡± Ciraya said, moving back to the table; she tore her remaining fish in half and offered me the smaller of the two pieces. Her usual croaky voice was lifted with a certain musing quality as she went on, ¡°They don¡¯t let us summon fey very often. That¡¯s more of a Circle Watchers thing, or even the Night¡¯s Guardians.¡±


    I¡¯d just cleaned my fingers, but they eagerly accepted the chunk of steak all of their own accord.


    Eating it, I decided to play along. If she was going to avoid talking about the obvious, that was fine by me. I wasn¡¯t feeling tired, despite the advanced hour. Even more so than the magister, I now had the luxury of choosing my hours of work, and before heading out to pick up the robe I¡¯d had a good early-afternoon nap in preparation for tonight¡¯s activities.


    Which had amounted to, what, five minutes of fighting? For more money than I¡¯d have been able to imagine not long ago.


    ¡°You¡¯re from the Seven-Star Swords? Or¡­¡± She nodded in response as she chewed, so I continued, ¡°What¡¯s that like? Henthae offered to have me ¡®apprenticed¡¯ to your organisation, if I agreed to take the Magisterium¡¯s rune¡­ and their orders.¡±


    Ciraya offered a one-shoulder shrug. ¡°Where I come from, it¡¯s nothing like this.¡± She eyed the louts surrounding us. ¡°The Swords took me in when I came here, gave me direction, purpose. You aren¡¯t gonna get an objective perspective on them from me.¡±


    I raised a hand, palm out. ¡°I¡¯m not even vaguely thinking of joining up.¡±


    ¡°Everyone always worries about the same thing¡­¡± she muttered with a sigh. Scowling, she wiped her hand on her robe again, then took mine by the wrist, moving it until our hands were side-by-side, palm upwards. ¡°You see these?¡±


    The whole of her hand was a framework of ink that webbed up her wrist, disappearing into the voluminous sleeve, but she was specifically indicating the tattoos that covered the ball of her hand ¨C seven stars.


    The dark blue triangles nearest to her fingers were elongated, like force-blades, while the others were stubby, cutting across them like hilts¡­ They seemed to gleam faintly as I looked deeper and deeper into them, as though somehow the indigo patterns were threaded with silver.


    ¡°The Seven-Star Swords themselves are the first tattoos we receive, under the constellation of Ismethyl ¨C the only ones that are required ¨C¡°


    I suddenly got what she¡¯d meant. ¡°I¡¯m not worried about getting tattooed! I was just, you know, curious what it¡¯s like for most sorcerers. My own experience has been abnormal from start to finish.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Fair enough, Feychilde.¡± Her voice lifted again in curiosity: ¡°Do you have any tattoos?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C no, actually.¡± I grinned to cover my embarrassment as she sighed again.


    ¡°Well¡­ it is what it is. Every magister¡¯s advised to sign up with one of the colleges. Free food and board, access to discounted resources and research texts, commission for jobs completed¡­ It¡¯s probably not for every archmage, but if you want to keep it out of Henthae¡¯s nose I can arrange a private meeting with Mistress Arithos. Unless, of course, you¡¯re afraid of a wittle needle¡­¡±


    She jabbed my palm with one of her long fingernails, and smiled as I recoiled ¨C I clutched my hand melodramatically and gave her a shocked look, as though she¡¯d just gut-stabbed me.


    ¡°I forget, though. Archmages have no need of the usual deals and rituals, do they? Not a single drop of your blood¡¯s been spilt to open gates, enact spells. Not a single moment of pain ¨C¡°


    ¡°Now that¡¯s not true.¡± Oddly enough, I wasn¡¯t thinking about hitting the ground at about a thousand miles an hour or falling into Leafcloak¡¯s talons ¨C I¡¯d had plenty of pain-relief for those, courtesy of druidry ¨C but about opening the portal in Upper Tivertain. ¡°I found out something about my own limits during the Incursion, like you said to me the night we went to the Maginox.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± She looked pointedly at the crumpled form of Shadowcrafter in my perfectly-still, perfectly-silent sylph¡¯s arms. ¡°Limits?¡±


    ¡°Well ¨C I¡¯m still exploring them. I wasn¡¯t going to be afraid of one arch-sorcerer, though, was I? Not after that. It¡¯s not like he¡¯s¡­ Dustbringer¡­¡±


    ¡°I worry that you might¡¯ve learned the wrong lesson,¡± she drawled.


    ¡°I was prepared! I mean, sure, he¡¯d have probably offered me a fair fight ¨C even beat me.¡± I felt my face frowning, remembering the duel in my apartment with the deceased champion. ¡°But I don¡¯t have to fight fair. He¡¯s a darkmage. If I could¡¯ve just sucker-punched him, that would¡¯ve been great.¡±


    She grimaced in a peculiar way ¨C it looked like she agreed with me.


    ¡°And Fe?¡±


    I reached into my pocket, withdrawing her tiny familiar.


    ¡°Played her part perfectly.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure she gets a nice treat tonight. She¡¯s partial to pig, whole.¡± The sorceress carefully placed her on the ground then straightened, smoothing down her robe as if she could make it presentable by that single action. ¡°So he really was an archmage.¡± She approached Avaelar and our captive. ¡°How mysterious. Special Investigations are gonna have a square-day with him.¡±


    ¡°He was likely using ¡®the Shadowcrafters¡¯ as a cover, and turning his students into liches¡­¡±


    I briefly explained Zel¡¯s conjecture and the evidence I¡¯d witnessed tonight.


    ¡°I¡¯ll relay it,¡± Ciraya replied when I was done. ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll take your ideas under advisement.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m sure they will.¡±


    ¡°You realise this will probably mean less of a payout for you?¡±


    I gave her a one-shoulder shrug back. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly starving anymore, you know? If they want to give me a quarter-pay for one Shadowcrafter instead of full pay for four, I¡¯m not arguing. I saved the other three from becoming Nethernum-fodder. I¡¯ll take that as a win.¡±


    She smiled, and the smile looked disconcertingly pleasant.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± I asked, puzzled.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The scowl instantly returned. ¡°Okay?¡± She curled her lip. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± She looked aside, and raised her hand.


    Feast grew to full-size, Ciraya rising with her, and I helped Avaelar manoeuvre Shadowcrafter into place across the yithandreng¡¯s front-most shoulders. The sylph reported that the darkmage was going to be out of action for at least another two hours ¨C plenty of time to get him to her superiors, according to the sorceress.


    ¡°If you¡¯re feeling particularly flush with cash, you should be okay settling my tab,¡± she said once the prisoner was in place. ¡°You should know that was my second plate.¡±


    She stifled a burp, and probably not just for the humorous effect.


    I tipped my non-existent hat at her. ¡°I¡¯ll probably pick up some for myself. Kultemeren knows I¡¯ve eaten more than my share today, but I¡¯m dog-hungry and I¡¯m not even slightly tired.¡±


    ¡°The burdens of the newly-rich,¡± she said, almost sneering.


    ¡°Okay, you got me.¡± I held my hands up. ¡°That was irritating.¡±


    She cackled a bit, nodded her head, and then with a couple of snapped words in Infernal she set Fe off, heading south.


    I took Ciraya¡¯s dish back, then bought a couple of plates from the sullen-eyed late-night server, between which to sandwich the grilled pork and salmon I purchased. The staff at these kinds of food-bars weren¡¯t used to having customers who wanted to carry the food farther than could be comfortably staggered while it was being wolfed-down. It would¡¯ve been the perfect time to have a length of indestructible parchment I could use to fashion a bag of some kind ¨C but my goblins were dust.


    I flew home, bearing my late-night banquet sandwiched between the two wooden platters. The mighty Feychilde, Protector of Overbrent and Upper Tivertain, feller of the Cannibal Six and the Shadowcrafters¡­ soaring low-enough to be seen, precariously balancing a midnight snack.


    At least it¡¯d give anyone who recognised Feychilde a good chuckle. I wasn¡¯t supposed to be scary, for all that the guise could be intimidating. I was supposed to reassure those who weren¡¯t committing nefarious deeds, not frighten them.


    Flight (and an onboard fairy who could tell me if I was being watched) meant I did have advantages when it came to the end of my journey, of course ¨C selecting a suitable time and place to change back into Kas. The Springwalk alleyways were usually clear, but not always. Sometimes I¡¯d been forced to wait a few minutes, or even find another spot.


    Mud Lane was changed a bit now. Not many of the apartment buildings had been completely levelled, and thankfully none of those were on our side of the street, despite the narrowness of the roadway. Perhaps half of the remaining apartments on the far side and a quarter of them on our side had been gutted by the flames and the minor demons, but overall we¡¯d been lucky. The homeless had been housed in the floating tents now lining the street and the flattened areas, kept out of the mud by the wizardry-runes that had been ensorcelled into the canvas. They¡¯d been expensive; they were a plaything of the rich, mostly, or those adventuring in dangerous acid-bogs and such like. But ¨C so the rumour went ¨C the champion ¡®Feychilde¡¯ (upon whose gold they¡¯d been rented and erected) had plenty of spare cash lying around¡­


    If there was something more I could do for them, I couldn¡¯t think what.


    The wizards hadn¡¯t started work on rebuilding yet ¨C we were quite literally the bottom of the list ¨C but a number of very helpful brown-robed men and women from the reconstruction guild had been surveying the flattened sites yesterday (or the day before yesterday, by now¡­). It was only a matter of time before the scaffolding and the new builds started going up.


    I landed in the alley around the corner, and headed home to see if any of the sleepy-heads wanted a share of the spoils of victory.


    Who was I kidding? Of course they were all going to wake up at the smells, and of course they were all going to want some.


    We might have been ¡®newly-rich¡¯; we might have had newfound access to the finer things in life that had forever seemed out of reach ¨C but we were Sticktowners, damn it, and if someone brought hot food into the house in the middle of the night and it woke you up then they owed you a portion of it, no questions asked.


    * * *


    It was truly a beautiful night. The wind was cool but not cold; the clouds above Rivertown had parted, and I lay on the roof with a full belly, staring at the stars.


    The gods, if the stories were true, had been depicted for all of time in the ever-changing constellations; the stars of the dark gods were in the blackness in between, invisible, it was said, to all but the eyes of the mad. And it was said that the dark gods were the greater, in the end. It was hard not to believe it, looking into the enormity of the night, the tiny dots of brightness twinkling fiercely ¨C futilely¡­


    Even if they were prophesied to dwindle away into nothingness in the end, that would only make their fierce battle against their encroaching doom the more virtuous, the more vital. Wouldn¡¯t it?


    Were they like us? We would fight. Even if we would lose, the fight would be worth it. It had to be. And as some stars fell, others would surely be born, new gods taking the place of the old. Just like champions.


    Have you ever interacted with the gods, Zel?


    ¡°You¡¯re kidding me, right? I¡¯ve been around a while, let me tell you ¨C¡°


    Please do.


    ¡°¨C and I¡¯ve never once seen a god in person. Their seneschals and servitors, sure. But a true avatar of a god? No one wants to meet something like that.¡±


    How do you know, if you¡¯ve never met one?


    ¡°Received wisdom ¨C trust me, gods are more trouble than they¡¯re worth. Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s just great that there are these vast unfathomable intelligences, laden with the power accumulated through millennia of worship, hanging around out there, playing with us like we¡¯re puppets?¡±


    Is that really what they do, though?


    ¡°By all accounts.¡±


    But why?


    ¡°They need to mess with us, Kas. The way I understand it, Locus doesn¡¯t get any power if people aren¡¯t learning.¡±


    So if people aren¡¯t hopeful, Yune diminishes?


    ¡°If you don¡¯t properly till the soil or let the crops rot in the fields Lynastra wilts, and Glaif crumbles when oaths are broken.¡±


    That¡¯s why you get guys like the Chainsmote Company, then?


    ¡°Who?¡±


    These warriors in the Northlands, openly freeing slaves ¨C rumour was they had a bunch of clerics in the ranks¡­ I guess they¡¯re working Nentheleme¡¯s will?


    ¡°Well if people aren¡¯t free she weakens, and Vaahn gains in strength. Of course, this tends to go one way then the other. Once people are free, they happen to stop invoking Nentheleme¡¯s name in their prayers quite so often, which allows Vaahn to take the upper hand again¡­ That¡¯s why the shrines, the clergy, are so important to them.¡±


    If you forget why you¡¯re free, it¡¯s easier to become a slave again.


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    So¡­ they¡¯re just greedy? Super-beings, stealing up the goodwill ¨C or ill-will ¨C of men and women, in order to make sure they themselves don¡¯t get extinguished?


    ¡°Who knows if they believe their own rhetoric? Maybe Kultemeren¡¯s in it for himself, maybe he truly believes in the pursuit of truth¡­¡±


    The simple fact she could think of him like that shocked me to the core.


    ¡°Who cares? So long as they¡¯re out there on their lofty thrones, it¡¯s not like any of us will be any the wiser, is it? She¡¯s coming, by the way.¡±


    She¡­? My mind turned immediately to Nentheleme for some reason.


    ¡°Your magister friend! You told me to tell you ¨C¡°


    Right! You can take a nap now.


    ¡°My crucial work is done¡­?¡±


    Zel.


    ¡°Alright, alright.¡±


    My faerie passenger back on her own plane, I sprang down from the rooftop, weightless thanks to my wings, and went to meet Em as she strode up the street.


    She tried not to fly all the way home, preferring to walk the last hundred yards. She was open about her status as a magister ¨C which her neighbours seemed to respect ¨C but she didn¡¯t want those neighbours thinking she was spying on them, floating around their windows at night. We¡¯d made an exception last Waneday, for obvious reasons¡­ No one was going to think we were spying while an Incursion was going on.


    I easily spotted her, a figure in pristine white approaching me.


    ¡°You¡¯ve had a busy night.¡± Her whisper reached me on the night¡¯s breeze, despite her being too far off for even my ears to pick up her words.


    ¡°I was feeling a bit restless,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°So it seems!¡±


    She reached me and we embraced, kissed. The air around her was warm, sweet-scented, but she seemed a little stiff, distracted. I could see in her face that she was tired.


    We walked towards her house, arms linked, and she looked up at me, putting a sly smirk on her lips. ¡°So, first ze Shadowcrafters ¨C Shadowcrafter, I should say ¨C and zen ze fight on Funnel Mile ¨C¡±


    ¡°That was hardly a fight. I just stopped a mugging.¡±


    ¡°Did you have to ¨C¡±


    ¡°In my defence, Flood Boy was very drunk¡­ I called it in on the glyphstone like a good champion. Zero explosive daggers used.¡±


    She tutted, but she still had that hint of a devilish smile on her face, and I had to stop and kiss her again.


    As we took off walking once more, I assumed a pained expression. ¡°I take it that you don¡¯t get reports from Rivertown?¡±


    ¡°Vot did you do?¡± she asked wearily.


    ¡°Probably an hour back ¨C by the docks. Sent a few pirates for a nice night-time swim. They weren¡¯t very appreciative, but the watchmen they¡¯d been busy hacking at gave them a good round of applause.¡±


    Her eyebrows raised. ¡°Zose eyes of yours ¨C you saw zis happening as you flew over?¡±


    ¡°Well, Zel pointed it out, got me to change course a bit. She¡¯s got terrifying accuracy when it¡¯s called for ¨C I think it has something to do with her divination powers.¡±


    Em drew closer to me, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m sure ze vatch vill be singing your praises.¡±


    ¡°How was your night?¡±


    ¡°Boring, until ze end of ze night,¡± she replied, biting her lip. ¡°Papervork. Henthae told me it vould be a pain in ze ass but really¡­ I had no idea vot being ze leader of a band vould be like.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s preparing you for a top position, though,¡± I mused aloud, carefully avoiding the word ¡®grooming¡¯ for all its connotations of malice. ¡°Arch-magisters get fast tracked?¡±


    ¡°Under her, ve do.¡±


    ¡°Well maybe it¡¯s not paperwork all the way up. There¡¯s got to be a point when you get to put your feet up all day and let your underlings do the hard stuff.¡±


    ¡°I vish¡­¡± She looked aside.


    I halted again ¨C we were only ten yards from her front door now anyway.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    She met my eyes, and I could see that she really was troubled.


    ¡°Did I¡­ Did I tell you about ze Undernight magister-band? Vot happened to zem?¡±


    ¡°Not specifically.¡± I broke eye contact, trying to recall her words. ¡°You said there¡¯d been an attack in Oldtown where a band was ambushed?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Ve¡¯ve had all ze reports in. Vampires. At least three. And zen just before two ve vere called to a place on ze south side. Haspophel said it voz zem. Seven bodies, dis- dismembered.¡±


    I could tell only a portion of the difficulty she had with the word ¡®dismembered¡¯ came from forming the sounds ¨C she had the images in her mind to deal with too. Fighting through an Incursion let you see terrible, haunting things, but they were boxed off neatly once the Bells stopped ringing. They had a beginning, middle and end. They were expected.


    Finding seven bodies in pieces¡­ that must¡¯ve been¡­ different, to say the least.


    ¡°It¡¯s been handed over to Zakimel ¨C he said he vill set his best diviners on it ¨C but¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worrying that they¡¯ve crossed into Sticktown,¡± I said.


    She nodded, then she sighed and placed her head on my shoulder.


    ¡°Do you want to, you know, talk about it?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡­¡± She turned her face up to mine. ¡°Vill you stay vith me? Just until ze dawn?¡±


    ¡°Of- of course¡­¡± I felt my face flushing, and was glad the mask and the darkness would hide the worst of it.


    This time she used a key, and she emitted a gentle light from her hands, just barely enough to illuminate our route. We made our way quietly to her room, the air redolent with her enticing scent.


    We took off our outer layers and boots and bags and, still clothed, laid ourselves down on top of the quilt. She curled up under my arm, head on my shoulder, safe within my shield.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she murmured after a couple of minutes of silence.


    I didn¡¯t quite know how to respond. After awhile, I just said, ¡°Any time.¡±


    I glanced across; she was already asleep.


    I lay in the darkness, holding her, hating the things that had driven the girl I loved to such despondency. Dismembering Sticktowners¡­


    I remembered the vampires Shadowcrafter had summoned, the fanged faces, pearly hair not too dissimilar to Em¡¯s. Was it possible that he¡¯d been responsible for some getting loose? Or was this the work of some other darkmage with a predilection for undead eldritches?


    Zel.


    ¡°Kas?¡±


    Add this to the list for tomorrow: find the vampires who killed the Undernight magisters. Find them and put an end to them.


    ¡°That¡¯s all?¡±


    That¡¯s all. Thanks, Zel.


    Feeling slightly better that I¡¯d at least resolved myself on a way to help her, help the city, I settled my arm around her more comfortably and looked up at the ceiling, listening to her breathing and waiting for the dawn.

 The Tower of Mourning pt1

    <h2>GLASS 4.2: THE TOWER OF MOURNING</h2>


    ¡°The Arch-Enchanter represents communication. The openness that precedes the transit of ideas. Reversed, she represents a pyramid of power that obfuscates all meaning. Bureaucracy above all.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Tarot for Beginners¡¯


    ¡°E-N-D-E-A-V-O-U-R.¡±


    ¡°Very good, Jaroan. And¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what an old guy says when he¡¯s going to try something.¡±


    ¡°Can you put it in a sentence?¡±


    ¡°Er ¨C ¡®I¡­ shall endeavour¡­ to find thee a sentence of worth¡¯¡­?¡±


    I laughed. ¡°Aha! Go on, it¡¯ll do.¡±


    Jaid had looked a little frustrated while Jaroan was struggling, and suddenly sat forwards. ¡°Ooh, choose me, Kas, I¡¯ve got a good one ¨C¡°


    ¡°Jaid, endeavour¡¯s not just a doing word. It¡¯s a thing ¨C give me a thing sentence.¡±


    ¡°Er ¨C¡°


    Jaroan pulled a pouting face at her, which only caused her to flounder more.


    ¡°Stop it! Oh ¨C er ¨C¡°


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t got one,¡± our brother said smugly.


    ¡°I so have! Okay ¨C ¡®Everything the princess did¡­ during her endeavour to¡­ find the princess-pegasus! just brought her¡­ further under the witch¡¯s spell¡¯?¡±


    I clapped. ¡°Very good!¡±


    It was Jaroan¡¯s turn to look a bit sulky. ¡°You¡¯re giving her a ¡®very good¡¯ even though she was going on about princess-pegasuses ¨C¡°


    ¡°Pegasi,¡± Jaid said.


    ¡°¨C for like the fifty thousand hundredth time today ¨C¡°


    ¡°Jaroan, I happened to think it was very inventive. I for one would like to know what happens to the princess on her quest.¡±


    Jaid squealed, got to her feet and kissed me, then ran off to grab the new paper-book, crushed-bug ink and quill, so that she could scrawl down her ideas. We were all still getting used to writing with proper implements, and she¡¯d taken to it much more quickly than either of her brothers.


    I looked at Jaroan. ¡°Card game?¡±


    His eyes brightened instantly. ¡°Squire of Slime?¡±


    ¡°Ladders.¡±


    And then he was instantly sitting back again, moody once more. He hated Ladders ¨C it had more arithmetic.


    ¡°Come on, accept your punishment ¨C one game of Ladders, then we can play Squire.¡±


    ¡°Punishment? For what!¡±


    ¡°Misspeaking your numbers for, like, oh I don¡¯t know ¨C the fifty thousand hundredth time today¡­?¡±


    ¡°But the numbers in the game don¡¯t even go nearly that high!¡± he protested. ¡°It¡¯s not going to teach me anything!¡±


    ¡°I agree, it¡¯s not the best way to teach you a lesson ¨C but I can hardly back down now can I? Come on, go get them.¡±


    ¡°Fine¡­¡±


    It wouldn¡¯t matter in two minutes anyway. My brother was damn good at the game; once he was beating me he¡¯d have a smile back on his face. I didn¡¯t know how he did it ¨C it was a game of almost pure luck, but I couldn¡¯t argue with the facts.


    Xantaire came in with the washing-up bucket. ¡°Do you feel like getting us a servant any time soon?¡± she asked with a tired smile on her face.


    ¡°It was your turn,¡± I said.


    ¡°It¡¯d help you out too,¡± she cajoled, a devilish light in her eye.


    ¡°A serbant, mummy!¡± Xastur piped up. He was sitting with his new toys scattered around him on the amazingly-comfortable mattress Orstrum now used for his bed. (The old man had continued to refuse my request that he take mine, so we¡¯d settled on this compromise.)


    I chuckled. ¡°I don¡¯t think I could ever have a servant, you know ¨C it¡¯d be weird. I couldn¡¯t pay someone to just¡­ do what I wanted them to do.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I so could,¡± Xantaire said, throwing herself down on the bench opposite me, leaving space for Jaroan who was returning with the card-box. ¡°Rub my feet¡­ wash the dishes¡­¡±


    I screwed up my face. ¡°There¡¯s a few hundred extra homeless out there tonight who would do almost anything for five copper, but I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s going to rub your feet for less than a plat, and¡­¡±


    I deftly evaded the kick she launched at me.


    ¡°Eww!¡± I remarked.


    She glowered.


    ¡°More seriously ¨C is there anything else I can do to help the people who lost their homes, Xan? You¡¯ve been down there too, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°You mean other than feeding them, sheltering them ¨C giving them hope for the future, keeping their kids out of the drop? Seriously, Kas, the Incursion wasn¡¯t your fault. You don¡¯t have to shoulder all the burden. Let the guilds do their thing.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ I¡¯m rich, now. I¡¯m sitting on some considerable wealth and¡­¡± Ciraya¡¯s accusation from a couple of nights back had prickled me. I picked up the hand of cards Jaroan had dealt me. ¡°And I don¡¯t think that I should just be doing nothing with it. I mean ¨C¡°


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    ¡°You¡¯ve got enough on your plate,¡± Xan replied.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Jaroan joined in as he played some cards. ¡°Just focus on kicking ass.¡±


    ¡°Jaroan Mortenn!¡± Xan chided him. ¡°Less of the bad language, please.¡±


    I nodded in support of her words and he ducked his head, his way of confirming he¡¯d heard. Paying lip-service to the notion of contrition.


    ¡°Anyway, it¡¯s not like, spend money, or kick butt. I can do both.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to play, or not?¡± he grumbled.


    I looked at the face-up stack ¨C he¡¯d played a one-five-six combination of Merchants. I rifled through my cards, looking for a suit-matched group of cards that gave an even number exceeding twelve, or an odd number that undershot it ¨C if I couldn¡¯t, I¡¯d permanently lose a card from my hand.


    ¡°Maybe you can go down there as Feychilde some time,¡± Xan suggested. ¡°Actually ask them what they want, ask them how you can help.¡±


    ¡°I suppose,¡± I grunted. ¡°Feels a bit¡­ inelegant.¡±


    ¡°Just do it,¡± she said with a sigh. ¡°You¡¯ll feel better afterwards.¡±


    I placed down a three-four-seven of Mages and refilled my hand.


    ¡°What if someone recognises my voice?¡±


    She snorted. ¡°Change it, you clod.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you could do this awesome booming voice¡­¡± Jaroan started giving it his best attempt in his unbroken voice, virtually growling in order to achieve the deep register: ¡°¡®I am Feychilde, demon-slayer, defender of Sticktown! Can I get you some gravy with that?¡¯¡±


    This made us all chuckle but it particularly tickled Jaid, who then started whinging because he¡¯d caused her to spill some ink-dots on her magnum opus.


    By the time we finished Ladders the sun was setting, and after Squire it had set. I barely had time to skim Jaid¡¯s still-dripping-wet story while I was packing my satchel and daubing some stinger lotion on my freshly-shaven cheeks, but it was a really good little tale. There was little-to-no structure, of course, and the princess found the princess-pegasus too easily for my taste, but it dripped with character as much as it did ink. The centaur-jester, clearly based on her brother, was a highlight with his three sarcastic songs ¨C so what if each song was only two lines long? It was basically a masterpiece.


    I told her as much as I headed out into the rain, then I kissed them both and bade them goodnight before letting Xantaire lock me out. She¡¯d leave the chains and bolts off when she went to bed, so I could get in with my key.


    This was becoming a more and more common experience, I reflected as I made my way to my customary shadowy spot on Springwalk. I was waking later, staying out later¡­ seeing the others less. Every day, more of my thought and energy was being expended on my night-time activities, my struggle to pin down the vampires who were waging a quiet campaign of terror on the folk of Mund. I was determined to juggle the two opposed lives I now had to lead, but sometimes it felt as though I were being torn in two, worse than when I raised two shield-sets at the same time.


    If I could just catch even one, I could extract information from the blood-drinker, find out where to begin. My inability to leverage my unique capabilities to help my girlfriend was starting to grate on me.


    I summoned my wings and started flying north-east. Below me the streets were filled with more than the usual amount of travellers for this hour, and a few spotted me as I sailed over Ebondock Knot, pointing and voicing wordless cries. Stragglers heading to the cleansing, probably. The druids of the Unwilted Bloom would maintain the spell from moonrise to moonset, curing the minor wounds and diseases afflicting those who entered the Fountains of Merizet. Many of the poor with more serious conditions or injuries would go back time and again, hoping that this would be the time their sickness would be lifted, their diseased limb be made whole again. And many of them would come back disappointed, too broke to do anything but knuckle-down and wait for the next cleansing, praying that next time it would be different¡­


    As I progressed farther I was in the perfect position to see just how clogged the muddy streets were getting, despite the drizzle. They said that somewhere between one in a hundred and one in fifty Mundians attended the ritual. That was a lot of people moving through the city, and whole industries of stalls had sprung up out of nowhere throughout the evening, lining the commonly-used roadways, hawking alcoholic refreshments and rain-covers, cooked snacks and witch-doctor remedies. Those who were too unwell to transport themselves (but whose friends and family still retained their dreams of a miracle-cure) were being hauled in carts and on wagons. I caught the dejected gaze of a young girl with a wasting-sickness, slumped back in her rickety seat with her eyes on the sky. I gave her a little wave as I coursed overhead and saw the flicker of a smile briefly replace her pained expression.


    She wasn¡¯t the only one to get a wave off me. More than once I caught the attention of whole groups of pilgrims, given how low I was flying. My take-down of Shadowcrafter was still recent news, and my name came easily to the lips of my fellow Mundians.


    Hilltown started to give way to Hightown and then I could see it before me ¨C my destination, the three-sided Tower of Mourning, its smooth black rock pulsing with bright threads of colour, lines as blue and pure as any shield of force.


    I landed at the edge of the huge grey courtyards surrounding the tower. I could¡¯ve kept on flying, but down this low the wind had dropped, and my otherworldly wings felt ungainly without a breeze. It wasn¡¯t that it was particularly difficult for me to maintain my momentum, but I sensed it would only be appropriate, somehow, to use my own two feet in this place.


    Okay, so I was nervous.


    There were no people here. The nearest buildings were run-down, mostly abandoned. The Tower of Mourning wasn¡¯t on the route to the Fountains. The place was accounted creepy by most, and even those from around here who didn¡¯t outright fear the place probably wouldn¡¯t trespass on the grounds in case they got on the bad side of one of the patrols. I could see a band of magisters on the far side of the courtyard; it didn¡¯t look as though they were stationed there in any kind of permanent capacity, but neither were they moving. Peering back at me.


    If they saw us here ¨C


    They¡¯ll be briefed, won¡¯t they? Minds secured against the knowledge-thieves¡­ Perhaps even their memories adjusted¡­


    I doubted they could see as well as me. Thin wisps of purpled clouds crossed the face of the full moon, but to my eyes it was almost as bright as midday and getting brighter. I strode across the cracked paving, rain in my face, skirting the low remnants of long-destroyed walls now more moss than brick, treading the great grey squares of stone and avoiding the rows of black weeds, the leafless, skeletal stalks that had burst through the narrow fractures in the rock. This place was a living shrine to Illodin, the very air redolent with the scents of sorrow, memory, stillness. Perhaps that was why the wind had dropped unnaturally around its base ¨C an open space as wide as this should¡¯ve had a fair breeze if not gusts, but the air was barely tickling my fey appendages. It seemed even the elements themselves only whispered in the presence of the God of Grief.


    As I drew closer to the tower I made out the doorway. It was an irregular, almost rectangular hole, yawning open like a blackness in the blackness ¨C and it was then that the excitement finally began to overcome me. The pace of my steps quickened. I was glad to have my mask and not my old scarf covering my face as I drew in deep lungfuls of the cool, morose night air.


    Was I early, or late? What awaited me in that blackness? Who would I meet, and how would I be received? What were the ¡®foundations of the tower¡¯ like and why were we meeting there? I¡¯d never been anywhere like this. I kept telling myself I¡¯d been to the Maginox ¨C all the way to the top, to the strange rooms of Magicrux Altra ¨C and I¡¯d dealt with enemies and events a thousand times more terrifying. Yet still, I was nervous, feeling the thrill of this place tingling in my very bones.


    This was it. I was a champion now. This was my official entrance into my new world.


    Zel. I¡¯m here.


    I forced myself to stand a little straighter as I walked, and took control of my jittery breathing. It was time.


    ¡°So it appears.¡±


    I passed beneath the lintel of black stone, cutting off the soft blue radiance of the tower¡¯s glowing walls, plunging into the shadows that were dark even to my eyes.


    * * *

 The Tower of Mourning pt2

    The air went from cool and damp to cold and dry in the matter of ten paces, and I could barely see. Then a faint blue light began to illuminate my path, coming from the other end of the tunnel, and after thirty seconds or so I emerged into the central area of the hollow tower.


    The throbbing azure crystal that was worked into the outside of the three black walls ¨C some of that radiant material was also worked into the interior, strings of the stuff imbued into the rock, serving to light the space ¨C if only dimly. I saw there were three dark openings leading outside, one for each side of the Tower.


    Not a defensive structure, then. Something for show. Something¡­ highborn.


    In the very middle a wide stair of small, easy steps, built from the plainer grey stone, ascended towards a dark ceiling high, high above me. It wasn¡¯t quite a spiral staircase ¨C instead, each flight went straight for ten or so steps, then twisted, mirroring the triangular shape of the walls.


    ¡°The stair goes down as well as up, Kas.¡±


    I went around to investigate and saw that she was correct. The stairway was hewn directly into the rock, but it seemed to copy the same triangular pattern ¨C the first flight heading down was the same distance, ten or so steps, before it turned off.


    That¡¯ll be the way to the foundations, then.


    ¡°I suppose it will.¡±


    What can you tell me about what¡¯s down there? I asked as I approached the stairway and started on my way down.


    ¡°A door. You¡¯ll be descending for a few minutes, though ¨C I¡¯d be surprised if this doesn¡¯t go deeper than the tower is tall. Beyond that¡­ I don¡¯t know. I suspect there¡¯s a few arch-diviners down there. It¡¯s just a big wall of fog.¡±


    I¡¯m definitely in the right place, then¡­


    I found it interesting that I hadn¡¯t seen anyone else. I tested my wings. They still worked, even if the air was dead, but they wouldn¡¯t serve me well descending narrow flights of stairs; they were nowhere near as responsive as one of Em¡¯s aeromantic spells. It was pitch black down here without the benefit of the blue-threaded stone to light my way and the wings didn¡¯t really illuminate anything, so I created a smattering of floating witch-light using my gremlin essence and counted on Zel to not let me make a misstep.


    I seemed to be walking down the flights for longer than just a few minutes. With every footfall I felt my sense of anticipation grow, serving only to extend the perceived duration of this interminable descent. Time flowed slowest when my mind was in a state such as this, filled with wonder and nervousness.


    At last, the stairwell terminated in a short tunnel, at the end of which I could see a crack of light where double-doors were shuttered.


    Did I need to knock?


    I was spared the embarrassment of a mistake thanks to the two big, metal doors swinging open inwardly at my approach. As they did so, by the light of the floating orbs in the room beyond I saw that they were made of brass, and were engraved with curling, vine-like patterns that formed the letter-rune of Illodin.


    The foundations of the Tower of Mourning¡­


    I let the witch-light fall away by accident, gaping.


    The place was vast beyond my wildest dreams.


    A broad granite terrace welcomed me, stretching off into an abyss, like I stood on the shelf atop a mountain in darkness. Only one of the floating globes, wandering out over the drop, served to illuminate the edge of the plateau and the far wall of the chasm. Water streamed from the ceiling of the cavern in dozens of places, pooling here and there or flowing out over the cliff.


    Most remarkably, there was a forty- or fifty-foot tree of living glass standing there in the centre. The water poured down through its crystalline leaves, light reflecting and refracting through it in a rainbow of myriad colours that bewitched my fey-sight.


    Beneath its branches I saw some familiar faces, or familiar masks at least, staring back at me as I emerged into the room: Timesnatcher, Leafcloak and Lightblind were about sixty or seventy feet from me.


    Other than the trio, no one else was present.


    Timesnatcher was hooded in his black, white-hourglass-covered robe, his star-browed mask covering his upper face. Leafcloak wore her patched, iridescent green robe, yellow leaves protecting her identity, her grey-white hair flowing over her shoulders.


    It was Lightblind I¡¯d never seen up-close before ¨C she was tall and slim, and wore her pristine white robe covered in the black eyelashes of a closed eye. Her mask was the featureless gleaming pane that inherently made it look like she couldn¡¯t see ¨C not with her mortal eyes, in any case ¨C but for all I knew there could easily have been some trick to the mask that let her peer through. Her shortish hair was half pitch-black, half shining white, as though she¡¯d dyed it to match the rest of her outfit. The belt, gloves and boots of white Drathdanii leather completed the ensemble.


    ¡°Good evening, Feychilde,¡± Timesnatcher called.


    I walked towards them, looking around and marvelling at this place. You could¡¯ve fit thousands of people into the space, so long as some didn¡¯t mind standing near the ledge of a sheer drop-off into nothingness.


    ¡°Evening all,¡± I said when I got close. ¡°Am I too late? Where is everyone?¡±


    ¡°Quite the contrary.¡± Lightblind¡¯s voice was musical, with just a trace of a highborn accent. ¡°You were almost the first here.¡±


    ¡°There was no time on the invite,¡± I said sardonically, reaching out to shake their hands.


    Timesnatcher clasped mine readily, and Lightblind seemed to have no problem finding my hand despite the full-facial covering she wore. I noticed that she was dark of complexion, displayed only by her earlobe poking out through her hair ¨C there were no other patches of skin she¡¯d left visible.


    ¡°The Slave and the Sorcerer,¡± she said in a musing tone.


    ¡°So I¡¯m told,¡± I replied, releasing her hand, moving on to shake Leafcloak¡¯s.


    The old druid¡¯s grip was firm ¨C beyond firm ¨C quite how she¡¯d stepped into my shield with this in mind I wasn¡¯t sure ¨C


    ¡°Aii! I don¡¯t suppose ¨C Timesnatcher told you ¨C¡±


    ¡°He told me,¡± she said, in a somewhat-amused tone of voice. ¡°Saving your family. That¡¯s just about the only reason I¡¯m not using you like a chew-toy right now.¡±


    She released my hand and I bravely resisted the urge to hop around, shaking my fingers out and saying ¡®ow¡¯.


    ¡°Point made,¡± I said, wincing. Did she know I had a regeneration effect? She hadn¡¯t broken anything but damn. I was pretty sure that without Zel I¡¯d have needed tending-to by a druid¡­


    ¡°Next time, my dear, if I have to kill you, I will,¡± she said sweetly. ¡°I can always bring you back, so long as I¡¯m quick and I don¡¯t do too much damage.¡±


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    This was the mentor who¡¯d harangued Nighteye about nearly killing his opponents?


    My eye crossed to Timesnatcher, who wore a wry expression on his face.


    ¡°Let¡¯s pray there¡¯s never a ¡®next time¡¯,¡± I replied.


    She shrugged. ¡°You pray. I quite like chew-toys.¡±


    I laughed, and it sounded just a trifle nervous to my ears.


    ¡°Come on, Leafcloak, enough teasing,¡± Lightblind said, turning her face towards the druidess as though she could see her. ¡°We don¡¯t want to scare off the newbies. You know Henthae wants him to wear the ten-pointed star.¡±


    ¡°Of course she does.¡± Leafcloak sounded dismissive. ¡°She wants every new archmage. Sometimes I wonder if she¡¯s trying to replace us.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not quite that stupid,¡± Timesnatcher said. ¡°She would be much happier in those futures where she weakened us, though. Forced us to come to the Magisterium for support, instead of the other way around. I half-suspect she wants access to this place¡­¡±


    I looked back at the wall of the cavern, the brass doors which had silently closed behind me.


    ¡°You mean, she can¡¯t just¡­¡±


    ¡°Only a self-avowed champion can enter here,¡± Lightblind supplied. ¡°No ulterior motives. It has something to do with Illodin and Glaif, as far as we¡¯ve been able to determine.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re in a literal ¡®thank the gods¡¯ kind of situation?¡±


    She nodded in response, seemingly unfazed by this fact.


    As much as I could joke about it, it did fill me with a certain sense of¡­ pride? Grandeur? To know that the gods themselves had taken an interest in you was to know that you mattered.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let it go to your head.¡± Timesnatcher put his hand on my shoulder in a friendly fashion, smiling grimly. ¡°They let us in. They also let us die.¡±


    Dustbringer. Smouldervein. At least one of the Binding Brothers.


    ¡°I remember,¡± I said.


    ¡°I know you do.¡± He dropped his hand and retrieved a silver chain from the folds of his robe. ¡°And this is to stop other people deciding what goes to your head.¡±


    He held it up so that I could see the bluish, leaden pendant dangling from it: four spikes radiating from a central circle, like an ¡®x¡¯ or four-pointed star.


    ¡°I can trust it?¡± I asked, taking it from him and untangling the chain.


    ¡°Absolutely. Its maker wasn¡¯t present at its examination.¡±


    Anti-enchantment protections?


    ¡°Looks that way.¡±


    And I really can trust it?


    ¡°I¡¯m not getting any sense of danger from it.¡±


    That¡¯s reassuring.


    ¡°Timesnatcher¡¯s got a better chance of seeing if there¡¯s something wrong with it.¡±


    But do I trust him?


    ¡°I¡­ I think you have to.¡±


    ¡°Feychilde?¡±


    ¡°Sorry ¨C I always wanted one of these.¡± I had my hood and mask to consider, so I wrapped the chain around my right wrist and tucked in the pendant so it wouldn¡¯t come loose. (My left was housing my explosive dagger, and I didn¡¯t fancy seeing how the two ensorcellments interacted.) ¡°I¡¯ll put it on properly later.¡±


    ¡°Good call,¡± Lightblind said. ¡°We¡¯ve got company.¡±


    I turned, but whoever it was hadn¡¯t yet arrived ¨C and my hearing couldn¡¯t penetrate the brass double-doors with the water dripping down everywhere.


    ¡°They¡¯ll just be a minute,¡± Timesnatcher said. ¡°Would you like the grand tour?¡±


    ¡°Erm ¨C I suppose?¡±


    ¡°Good. This is the Ceryad, the Stone of Amplification. The First Wonder of Mund. Don¡¯t touch it. Don¡¯t talk about it.¡± He waved first at the tree, then turned and gestured over at the edge of the cliff. ¡°That¡¯s the cliff. An ordinary cliff, but, still¡­ Don¡¯t walk off it.¡± He looked back at me, smiling. ¡°Here endeth the grand tour.¡±


    I nodded, adopting a thoughtful expression. ¡°I liked it. Well worth the money. I felt like you padded it out a bit much in the middle, though. Trim some of the fat next time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡± His smile twisted further.


    I turned aside and headed towards the drop, keeping out of the streams that coursed like miniature waterfalls over the cliff. It made me swoon when I got a couple of steps from the edge and I cautiously peered over, suddenly feeling like I wanted a rope or rail to hold onto.


    ¡°I said not to walk off it?¡± the arch-diviner yelled.


    ¡°These are my wings,¡± I called back without turning, and twitched my gleaming appendages at them. ¡°You actually can¡¯t touch them. Like, really.¡±


    For all my outward confidence, I still experienced the dizzying sensation. It was fifty feet or more to the sheer wall on the far side of the abyss ¨C and far, far more than fifty feet to the bottom. Too deep for me to penetrate with my sight. Several hundred feet, certainly. My wings could sense the light breeze drifting through the chasm, streaming through imperceptible cracks in the cavern-walls¡­


    The door opened, and I took a step back before turning around.


    It was a pair of druids, their raiments visibly damp from the rain. I¡¯d never met either of them before, but I could tell they were druids from their attire, unless I was much mistaken. The first through the door was a slim, wide-hipped woman wearing earthy brown; her mask was a thing of living green wood, bark-covered, with jagged holes for eyes, nostrils and mouth. The second was of indeterminate gender but I suspected the tallness and slender frame were those of an elven male ¨C his robe was the yellow-red of autumn leaves and his mask was a curious fox-like face of hardened leather.


    I was introduced to Petalclaw and Wanderfox (who was a male elf), and by the time I was done greeting them more and more champions were arriving ¨C first some mage-champions I¡¯d never seen before, then Shadowcloud and Nighteye, then the Rainbow¡¯s Edge mages and three more archmages I didn¡¯t know ¨C


    ¡°We¡¯ve got something to discuss,¡± Timesnatcher said, approaching me. ¡°Come over here.¡±


    I looked around at the other champions.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got time, I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡±


    I followed him to the corner farthest from both the door and the cliff, and once we were safely sequestered in the darkness he turned to me and spoke telepathically.


    ¡°Glancefall¡¯s set us up, private link. There¡¯s a couple of things to discuss with you before it all gets going.¡±


    I had to admit, I was intrigued. ¡°Go for it.¡±


    ¡°Neverwish is a traitor.¡±


    ¡°Neverwish?¡± The dwarven enchanter was a little difficult to get along with, but a ¡®traitor¡¯? ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°In the last months he has committed at least eight acts of violence on the unprotected minds of new champions. Lovebright has been assisting me in ensuring no permanent effects will be experienced by his victims. He invested heavily in Starsight, and believed himself to have found a useful ally. You are lucky, Feychilde, to carry such a passenger. Lovebright informs me that you have some measure of innate protection against the tricks he could employ?¡±


    He was digging for information about Zel ¨C I recalled his surprise when he realised I had her within me, the first time we met¡­


    I merely nodded.


    ¡°In any case, yourself and Killstop and Ms. Reyd ¨C¡°


    ¡°Emrelet!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so, but please don¡¯t be alarmed ¨C as I implied, all traces of his crimes have been washed away.¡±


    I frowned. As reassuring as it was to know the three of us hadn¡¯t been turned into his unwitting agents, erasing the evidence hardly sounded like the first step on the path to proving Neverwish¡¯s guilt.


    ¡°What was he¡­¡±


    ¡°What was he doing to you? Tiny adjustments to outlook and attitude. Miniscule ones, in your case, given your defences. He¡¯s a very jealous person. If it weren¡¯t for Lovebright, you might¡¯ve found yourself having an inexplicable argument with Emrelet, for instance¡­¡±


    My frown became a scowl.


    ¡°And might she have started to find herself inexplicably attracted to dwarves?¡± I asked, barely keeping the rage from my mind-voice.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why, precisely, but it¡¯s very important that you know this. It¡¯s very important that you¡¯re the one to call Neverwish out.¡±


    ¡°Me? Why do I have to do it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, for sure.¡±


    I stared at him.


    ¡°I wish I could tell you but ¨C it¡¯s complicated.¡±


    I cast about, looking at the others in the cavern. They were moving more slowly than usual, the sounds of their voices blurred.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ve got time¡­ Snatcher.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t take us much faster, or the link we¡¯re using will stop working, and out loud other diviners will be able to overhear us.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want them to hear us?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t be certain of every moment of every arch-diviner¡¯s life, you know.¡±


    Suddenly I felt cold, like the cavern had been filled with a wintry gale that bypassed my wings to stream right up my spine.


    ¡°There could be more traitors?¡±


    He chuckled aloud. ¡°Of course there could, Feychilde. We¡¯re archmages. There are about fifty thousand hundred ways we can mess with each other. Don¡¯t look at me that way, I¡¯m just trying to demonstrate the reasons we must employ caution.¡±


    I continued to stare.


    ¡°Okay, okay¡­ You. Neverwish. If we do it right, there comes a time when you and he¡­ I can¡¯t tell you much. If I say certain words to you, it won¡¯t happen, and things will be worse. What I can¡¯t see I can infer from the consequences. I just¡­¡± The arch-diviner suddenly looked weary as he stared right back into my eyes. ¡°I wish I could make you trust me, but I wouldn¡¯t even if I could. I just hope you do ¨C some day, if not right now.¡±


    ¡°Why does it have to be me¡­?¡±


    ¡°If it isn¡¯t you, we know who it will be, and things would be worse. Far worse, in the end. Even if I were to do it¡­¡±


    He spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness.


    I nodded again, slowly, and looked down at the floor.


    I couldn¡¯t help but get the vibe that he was being sincere. The anti-enchantment pendant¡­ Lovebright¡¯s magic, presumably. I ground my teeth a little. It was impossible, in this world, this role, to trust anyone.


    Neverwish¡­ Redgate?


    I looked back at him. It would be possible to fake it, to feign trust, until it came ¨C if it ever did.¡°Okay, Timesnatcher. I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°Good, good. Thank you. Just be yourself. The cogs in the machine are well-oiled. Now, just to pre-empt you ¨C about Redgate, and Direcrown¡­¡±


    * * *

 The Tower of Mourning pt3

    As we turned to rejoin the assembled champions my mind was reeling with doubts of deceits, betrayal. I supposed I¡¯d never really thought about it before ¨C champions were people. They weren¡¯t the monolithic entities they were made out to be, they weren¡¯t chiselled from stone. They were flesh and blood, urges and instincts. They were strong, and they were weak. Human or elf, gnome or dwarf ¨C they were people. Capable of great deeds and capable of terrible mistakes.


    Capable of evil.


    There were fifty or so gathered now, mages and archmages standing in small groups and chatting. I scanned the crowd ¨C purposefully keeping my gaze far from the quartet of dwarven champions talking near the cliff. Except for Starsight, who was apparently still in recovery, every champion I¡¯d ever met was present ¨C every surviving one, at least. Save for¡­


    ¡°Killstop?¡± I said aloud, making it a question.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure,¡± Timesnatcher replied. ¡°There¡¯s a small chance she¡¯s hung up her robe for good. But I think not. I think she¡¯s coming. And¡­ ah, yes.¡± A mysterious smile slipped over his face. ¡°Let¡¯s introduce you to Netherhame, Shallowlie and Direcrown.¡±


    Walking through the crowd at his side, I shook hands and exchanged greetings with some of those I¡¯d met already ¨C Nighteye, Shadowcloud, Lovebright ¨C before we halted in front of the two sorceresses. Our shields slipped harmlessly across each other¡¯s ¨C it was reassuring to know I wasn¡¯t the only sorcerer who kept their protections up by default. I put a lid on my slow-boiling anger, hiding my disgust at Neverwish¡¯s machinations, as I regarded my new colleagues.


    Netherhame wore a garish purple robe decorated with pinkish swirls and a green mask like the howling face of a banshee; she was tall, broad-shouldered, heavyset. Shallowlie was almost her opposite, a shrunken waif of a thing dressed in utilitarian black embroidered with small peach-coloured gravestones, evenly-spaced; her mask was a pale, smiling face that was all the eerier for its plainness.


    I shook Netherhame¡¯s hand first, whose grip was no less firm than that of a man her stature; then Shallowlie¡¯s, whose cold, limp fingers seemed eager to release my own as quickly as possible. They each regarded me silently.


    ¡°So¡­¡± I looked across at Timesnatcher, then back at them. ¡°We¡¯re going to be working together?¡±


    ¡°Pleased to have you on board,¡± Netherhame said politely, but with a hard edge to her voice. She had a faint Rivertown accent, if I had to guess. ¡°Congratulations on Shadowcrafter. I hope you¡¯re a fast learner, Feychilde. There¡¯s a lot to show you.¡±


    Shallowlie said nothing at all, and I could see her eyes were downcast, not even looking back at me through the slits in her mask. If I had to guess, the smiling face of her covering was hiding a sorrowful expression.


    Of course. I might¡¯ve hoped, before he¡¯d died, to have Dustbringer take me on as his student ¨C but these women had lived that experience, and now he was gone, leaving them to pick up the pieces. On top of that, Shallowlie had been brought close to death during the Incursion, and it¡¯d sounded like it could¡¯ve been quite nasty.


    I addressed Netherhame, recognising that there was a good chance Shallowlie (quite understandably) wasn¡¯t going to be too forthcoming with her responses.


    ¡°I just wish I was joining the team under better circumstances.¡± I kept my voice dry, free from the complications too much levity or pity would bring me. ¡°I¡¯ll work my hardest to catch up, I promise. I¡­¡±


    What was it called again?


    Zel sighed. ¡°The weave.¡±


    ¡°I watched what you were doing with the weave, with Redgate, when the smi- smikkle-¡±


    ¡°Smikelliol,¡± Zel supplied dejectedly ¨C


    ¡°Smikelliol,¡± Netherhame said at the same time, her voice brittle.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Yeah ¨C that.¡± I could feel my face flushing with colour ¨C my attempt to strike up a professional conversation wasn¡¯t off to the best of starts. ¡°I¡¯d like to see it again, try it for myself, some time, if you were willing¡­?¡±


    Timesnatcher placed one hand on my shoulder and another on Netherhame¡¯s, a small, proud smile on his lips. ¡°You¡¯ll have plenty of opportunity to sort that out. You¡¯re going to be on assignment together this week; you¡¯ll be able to contact each other.¡±


    Assignment? I parroted internally, feeling a sudden wave of anxiety and excitement.


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain more after the Gathering begins,¡± the arch-diviner continued, then turned aside. ¡°Direcrown!¡±


    A man, taller and thinner than both me and Timesnatcher, approached us. His fine robe was a burnt-brown, almost rusty hue, and he had a gold-cloth cape about his shoulders. The sorcerer wore a tall diadem atop his hooded head, the crown of his namesake. Its slightly-irregular golden teeth were long and jagged, pointing up more like dagger-blades than anything else, extending off a thin silver band. And hanging from the band at the front, there was the snarling mask of a fanged, bat-like fiend, its black fur covering him entirely within the cowl¡¯s rim, probably fastened behind his head with a string¡­


    Here was a champion who took his privacy seriously.


    A crown, like that of Lord Undeath, but with a demonic visage¡­


    Direcrown looked me up and down.


    ¡°Feychilde.¡± His voice was crisp but cool, not cold. His accent, more than merely refined, made him seem altogether aloof, superior-sounding.


    ¡°Direcrown.¡± I held out a reluctant hand. From what Timesnatcher had said, I got the impression I was about to shake the hand of a darkmage.


    A darkmage willing to risk his life fighting the forces of Infernum¡­ a darkmage who would enter my shield, whose shield I could enter¡­


    But still a darkmage.


    The man¡¯s grip was light, perfunctory, but not because of sorrow like Shallowlie. Because of disdain.


    He lowered his hand and looked me up and down again.


    ¡°We shall be glad of thine aid, what with our new chief-sorcerer, the esteemed Redgate, gone from the city for some weeks.¡± He spoke gloatingly, as though nothing more than the eloquence with which he spoke were needed to insult me. ¡°It would behove you to listen closely to the advice of Netherhame, and follow the commands of all your betters ¨C I am to take it that you have been placed in her care, am I not?¡±


    And now if I say ¡®yes¡¯ I¡¯m not only confirming she¡¯s going to show me the ropes ¨C I¡¯m implicitly accepting I need ¡®care¡¯, accepting Redgate as my chief, accepting Direcrown as my better, and accepting that I¡¯ll take his orders¡­


    I smiled joyously, and kept my lowest-born accent as I gushed: ¡°Indeed, noble Direcrown! Thou most of all had I hoped to meet and impress, ere this night I came hither. But speak thy heart¡¯s desire and I shall see it done, or be much remiss. Verily I am thine to order-about as thou see¡¯st fit ¨C¡±


    ¡°And I see thou art a greater knave than our late, great leader.¡± Direcrown looked over the sorceresses as he turned away ¨C Netherhame seemed to bristle, her limbs taut and chin raised, while Shallowlie just shrank further into herself.


    ¡°I get the whole Direcrown thing now,¡± I said as he stalked away. I was pretty sure he¡¯d have a way to hear me, even as he slipped into the crowd, but I didn¡¯t care. ¡°Did someone once insult his tiara, and he took it as a compliment? Five help him¡­¡±


    ¡°Did you ever see Dustbringer and Direcrown together?¡± Timesnatcher asked, smirking.


    ¡°No¡­ why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°If you showed up a few weeks later Direcrown would be hypothesising that Dustbringer faked his death, visited Facechanger and came back with a new name. He always spoke to him like that. Thee¡¯d and thou¡¯d right back at him.¡± The smirk on his face became the tight smile of one fondly remembering a friend gone from this world.


    ¡°If you carry on like that, Feychilde,¡± Netherhame said, ¡°you¡¯ll do alright.¡±


    Shallowlie¡¯s body language gave me the impression she¡¯d enjoyed hearing me being all insolent in Direcrown¡¯s face ¨C she still hadn¡¯t spoken in my presence but she was at least looking at me now.


    ¡°That¡¯s something I¡¯ve been meaning to ask about,¡± I said, turning back to the arch-diviner. ¡°This Facechanger chap ¨C¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to discuss them, and your little vampire problem, as a group.¡±


    My mouth almost dropped open. I hadn¡¯t been planning on asking for help, but if it was being offered¡­


    ¡°First,¡± he turned and gestured towards the doorway, ¡°I think you¡¯ll find you¡¯re going to want to watch¡­¡±


    I stared, jaw still on the floor, as she entered the cavern, the doors opening inwards for her just as they had for me.


    More than just my eyes went to her ¨C it seemed half the room stilled and silenced at the sight of an unfamiliar champion.


    She wore a new robe, a white and electric-blue exterior with darker blue-grey inner layers; she hadn¡¯t let the rain touch it. Her distinctive hair was hidden by the aquamarine hooded cape about her shoulders, such that I doubted any who didn¡¯t know her intimately would recognise her. Her upper face was concealed by the flaming phoenix. The mask she¡¯d seen in the shop.


    She went back and bought it.


    Her radiance still clinging to her, Em strode purposefully into the room, stopped, and looked about at us.


    When she spoke it was in a clear voice that carried across the chamber, a voice that bore only a hint of her Onsoloric brogue, which had somehow been replaced by an almost highborn air.


    ¡°Whatever name you¡¯ve known me by,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯d ask that you call me Stormsword.¡±


    * * *

 The Tower of Mourning pt4

    I was unsure whether Em was going to approach me once she¡¯d been filled-in by Timesnatcher and equipped with her own anti-enchantment pendant. When it became plain that she was heading towards me I thought ruefully that this action on its own would probably be enough to confirm her identity to those who¡¯d been uncertain before. She came to stand by my side, carefully keeping her eyes on mine so that she wouldn¡¯t catch Neverwish in her gaze ¨C if she did, I could tell, she would rush over and burn him to a cinder on the spot. Her stare was cold, her lips were pressed together firmly, and I could almost sense the aura of dreadful anger emanating from her.


    If I could almost sense it, I doubted any pendant designed to counter enchantments would prevent Neverwish from picking up what she was putting out there ¨C unless the charms were far cleverer than I¡¯d thought.


    ¡°I like the name,¡± I said, smiling brightly as she halted. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best to use it, but I had a soft spot for Stormchilde¡­¡±


    ¡°He says that you will start it.¡± She barely moved her lips, and her voice was dead, joyless even as she continued to use her Mundic accent. ¡°Start it.¡±


    ¡°Do I not get a minute to say I¡¯m glad to see you here?¡± In spite of the situation I found that I still wanted to gush about how she¡¯d decided to take up the mantle of champion ¨C but I didn¡¯t want to rub her face in it, tell her ¡®I told you so all along¡¯, which was what that¡¯d be like for her.


    The smile that crossed her lips was nothing more than a brief twitch.


    That¡¯s a no, then.


    I turned around, finding the purple-clad, stony-masked Neverwish with my eyes, still in the company of the dwarves by the cliff.


    Brokenskull, the druid. Mountainslide, the wizard. Dimdweller, the diviner.


    I¡¯d been eavesdropping on the crowd¡¯s varied conversations while I waited for Timesnatcher to finish discussing things with Em.


    Show me the other enchanters, I thought at Zel.


    Glancefall near the doors, with Voicenoise and Dancefire¡­ Lovebright by the Ceryad-tree¡­ Rosedawn beside Lightblind¡­ Spiritwhisper and Wilderweird towards the rear of the chamber¡­


    Any of them doing anything suspicious?


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure that Rosedawn has her eyes on you. And Dimdweller¡¯s told Neverwish something. Look how straight he¡¯s standing. He¡¯s mad¡­ and nervous.¡±


    I didn¡¯t notice.


    ¡°Humans,¡± she sniffed.


    They¡¯re dwarves¡­ It¡¯s hard for me to notice the difference between four-five and four-six, Zel.


    ¡°Do it,¡± Em urged me.


    ¡°How much would be the fine for what he¡¯s done?¡± I asked her quietly. ¡°To commute his sentence?¡±


    ¡°Multiple counts of attempted subversion? At least two hundred platinum¡­ and not enough.¡±


    My eyebrows raised behind the mask. Two hundred¡­


    The pressure of the moment was making me sweat. How was I supposed to talk in front of all these assembled champions, call out one of their own as my very first act?


    He¡¯d told me to be myself. How would I usually handle this¡­?


    ¡°Neverwish.¡± I proclaimed his name like a man calling a dog to heel. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you chasing up your money?¡±


    The blond beard sticking out from beneath the grey mask was quivering with rage.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got four platinum here for you.¡± I patted my pocket. ¡°A neat little start for you. The way I figure it it¡¯s, what, two percent of your total fine? I do hope you¡¯ve been saving up?¡±


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    ¡°My fine?¡± Neverwish growled. ¡°What is this nonsense? What¡¯s happening, Timesnatcher? Why is everyone acting so strangely?¡±


    He turned his face towards the arch-diviner, who merely shook his head.


    ¡°Did you think because we were new, we were fair game?¡± I called. ¡°That you should make sure you get inside our heads before we pick up better protections against creeps like you?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Timesnatcher?¡± Dimdweller asked in a grizzly voice. I saw the dwarven diviner casting the odd questioning glance at his fellow dwarf, but the enchanter wasn¡¯t meeting his eyes.


    ¡°Well I guess you aren¡¯t getting one copper piece out of me,¡± I continued. ¡°Your share can go towards Starsight¡¯s care.¡±


    ¡°You and Star would be dead if it wasn¡¯t for me!¡± Neverwish hissed.


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty shocking exaggeration, and even if you¡¯re right, that doesn¡¯t give you the right to go poking around in my head or those of my friends. Who knows if Starsight would even be your friend if you hadn¡¯t been squatting in his skull?¡±


    I noticed the questioning looks of Dimdweller had turned into a not-so-subtle backing away, while Neverwish bunched up his shoulders and clenched his gloved fists.


    ¡°It won¡¯t work, Neverwish,¡± Lovebright said suddenly.


    I cast about, finding her still in her place by the tree, the hem of her robe skirting the surface of the water in which she stood. Her love-heart mask was centred on the dwarf, and I could make out the corners of her mouth and her cheeks: she was frowning in anger. Her white arm was raised, her yellow-gold sleeve drawn back ¨C and she was touching a single finger to the crystalline branch that extended over her head.


    The Stone of Amplification¡­ She¡¯s touching it?


    ¡°What won¡¯t work?¡± Neverwish panted.


    ¡°I can feel what you¡¯re trying, Neverwish,¡± Glancefall interjected, his Rivertown-accent rolling out from beneath his jester¡¯s mask, his mop of fake gold-hued hair.


    ¡°I¡­ I do too,¡± Rosedawn said ¨C the other enchanters were murmuring their agreement.


    I saw out of the corner of my eye as Winterprince slowly extended a blade of ice from his hand.


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying anything!¡± the dwarf snarled. ¡°It¡¯s her! It¡¯s always been her!¡±


    He pointed a trembling finger at Lovebright.


    ¡°I see your future more clearly than ever before,¡± Timesnatcher said, blurring forwards. ¡°You are delusional, Neverwish, to think you would get away with this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had my eye on her for months, Timesnatcher, I swear.¡± Neverwish¡¯s voice was shaking. ¡°Fine! I did go into their heads ¨C but you should know why! To protect them, against her! I didn¡¯t know how to bring it to your ¨C¡°


    ¡°I foresaw her power before she found it!¡± the arch-diviner retorted, scowling.


    ¡°Let me touch the Stone, then,¡± the dwarf said. ¡°Let me see what they all say when I have the power.¡±


    There were two, three heartbeats of utter stillness in the cavern, broken only by the gushing of the waters from the ceiling, and then ¨C


    Lovebright laughed. ¡°You think we can trust you, Neverwish? You think I¡¯m so full of myself I¡¯d vouchsafe every ward I¡¯ve placed on our amulets, if you tapped the Ceryad?¡±


    Timesnatcher was looking over his shoulder at her.


    ¡°I foresee no danger, Lovebright,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s enough of you here to keep an eye on what he¡¯s doing, and he couldn¡¯t possibly take all of you at once. Step aside. Give the dwarf his chance.¡±


    Lovebright slowly lowered her hand, and shuffled a few paces away, her back turned to the diviner ¨C Neverwish stomped over, pulling off the grey glove of his right hand.


    He waded into the pool about the great glassy tree, placing his palm directly onto its trunk.


    I looked around at the other enchanters. They were all staring at Neverwish, their masks making their features unreadable, their body language already tense from the anticipation.


    What do you think?


    ¡°I think he looks guilty.¡±


    ¡°It still won¡¯t work,¡± Lovebright said softly, sorrowfully, her face still turned aside.


    The other enchanters were nodding, many with their arms folded across their chests in resolve.


    ¡°What?¡± Neverwish asked, panting again. ¡°What¡¯s ¨C no, wait ¨C¡°


    Everyone looked at each other, as if to see who would make the first move.


    Dimdweller did it, flickering to Neverwish¡¯s side, raising a big dwarven fist to smash into the side of his comrade¡¯s head ¨C


    ¡°Not there!¡± Lovebright cried, flinging up an arm to point ¨C


    Zel turned on my brownish illusion-piercing vision, seeing right through the Neverwish standing by the tree. I blinked the magical vision into my left eye so that I could keep an eye on the fake as well as the real.


    Even Timesnatcher was following Lovebright¡¯s finger, lips set in a concerned line. I did the same and spotted Neverwish, invisible and sprinting for the doorway, just as Timesnatcher also seemed to find his prey ¨C


    Just as the doors swung open, and a champion appeared in the entranceway, flinging a big heavy net into the empty space containing the dwarf.


    The newcomer was robed in a clash of orange, pink and green fabrics, a thin-lipped, frowning mask fully covering the face ¨C


    ¡°Hi, everyone,¡± she called over the roars of the invisible enchanter whom I could see struggling in his bindings. As Neverwish started aimlessly throwing fists ¨C a course of action that served only to further entangle him ¨C she darted forwards, blurring, and half-kicked, half-stomped him down to the ground. ¡°I¡¯m Killstop. Pleased to make your acquaintances.¡± Still with one foot atop the moaning, thrashing dwarf, she gave the room a little wave. ¡°I know, you all love the name almost as much as you love the robe. No need to swamp me with compliments ¨C I was born with these refined tastes.¡±


    Groans and chuckles echoed around the room, deflating some of the tension.


    I was one of the ones groaning, but I smiled all the same.

 Something Real pt1

    <h2>GLASS 4.3: SOMETHING REAL</h2>


    ¡°More champions doesn¡¯t always entail fewer darkmages, Lady Osordei! It just drives them underground. For certain there is peace to be found in such times, the measure of which we must enjoy for as long as we may. For whether we will measure or no, it shall be measured when it ends. When they emerge, it¡¯s accompanied by a frenzy of violence the likes of which won¡¯t have been seen in years. I have seen it. I know the pattern and you ought to know it too. These heretics may be keeping quiet right now, but it won¡¯t last long.¡±


    ¨C the First Lady Sentelemeth, in session before the High Council, Illost 997 NE


    Timesnatcher used his glyphstone to contact the local magistry, then they left to transport their captive up to the surface: Mountainslide floated the netted enchanter along on a cushion of air, Wilderweird and Lovebright in tow to keep their former colleague in a relaxed state ¨C Timesnatcher and Dimdweller led the way. It looked to me like a concerted effort to be clear that this was a non-partisan action ¨C I saw lots of people, including the two gnome-champions and Glimmermere the elf, heading to speak to the last remaining dwarf in the chamber, Brokenskull. It quickly became apparent they were attempting to reassure the druidess that this was no example of ill-will against dwarves in general. From the frame of the conversations I overheard in passing it seemed Brokenskull was another newish champion. The young-sounding dwarf-maiden was keeping her cool, the voice emanating from behind her mask (a broken skull, obviously) slow and solemn. All the same, there was tension in her careful cadence; she would understandably be shocked by the turn of events that had taken one of her kinsfolk and branded him a darkmage, all in the space of a minute. The sheer suddenness of it all had shaken me, its chief instigator, so I could only imagine what she¡¯d be feeling.


    It took ten minutes for them to return, which I spent with Em and Killstop, speculating as to the exact nature of the power contained by the crystal tree. None of us had ever heard of a Ceryad before ¨C a big part of me was relishing the mystery, and perhaps that was true of Em too, but Killstop soon spoiled us, her low entranced voice emanating from behind the disapproving mask. The Ceryad was, according to her vision, ¡®the First Wonder of Mund¡¯ ¨C and a legacy of the Five Founders and long supposed lost. For all her insights, however, the seeress said that she couldn¡¯t directly read the tree¡¯s past or future¡­ which was apparently strange for her as objects or simple living things were usually the easiest to read.


    What was more ¨C Em said she couldn¡¯t touch any part of it with her wizardry, although the water swirling about its sprawling glass roots was far warmer than it ought to have been.


    ¡°Well, then,¡± Timesnatcher said from the doorway as he led the quintet of champions back into the cavern. ¡°Shall we begin?¡±


    The doors closed, and the murmuring about Neverwish ceased almost immediately. Everyone started to spread out, forming a circle around the tree.


    Me, Em and Killstop slipped into the circle on the edge nearest the cliff, Em quickly clearing aside the water we¡¯d have been stepping in; and within seconds all the active champions of Mund were in a single ring, looking out upon each other. Winterprince stood out, encased in ice as ever, and no one crowded him.


    ¡°First order of business ¨C the Incursion. Come forward with your reports.¡±


    The diviner moved his head, left to right, looking out across the circle. He¡¯d gone perhaps a quarter of the way around when the champion he was glancing at took one step into the ring.


    Timesnatcher halted, and the first spoke.


    This went on until the whole circle had had chance to speak up, and then the arch-diviner led the next order of business, Facechanger ¨C and then the third, the Srol Heretics¡­


    Various mages and archmages stepped forward, relating how they¡¯d fared in their encounters. Even though I was now the only champion present who¡¯d been at the confrontation at Upper Tivertain, I had little to add to the narrative except that I¡¯d successfully slain the primary summoners. It turned out that Brokenskull had been there too, only later, as part of the clean-up crew who had been tasked with finishing off the remnants once the battle at Roseoak Way had been won.


    As the stories went on, I got a better picture of how the Incursion had flowed from site to site, where our forces had been distributed and why ¨C some deployments were deliberate, others happenstance. Getting the enchanters spread out across the city was the first priority, establishing the quick-response network that they¡¯d seemingly been using for years, perhaps decades¡­ maybe even down the centuries¡­


    According to the stories, champions were a feature of life in Mund even from the time of the Five and their children. Who knew how far back the traditions of our Gathering might stretch?


    Whilst they spoke I looked about myself in renewed wonder.


    Whether he¡¯d been selected for it or simply stepped forward of his own accord, it was Shadowcloud who brought us to the conclusion. He explained the cause of Dustbringer¡¯s absence in detail for the benefit of those champions who¡¯d had to go off the rumours on the streets until now. He related the descent into the buried warehouse, the meeting with the eolastyr. He described the final fight, the last moments of Dustbringer¡¯s life.


    There was a near-silence, and those who wept did so quietly but openly ¨C the champions did not bury their grief, nor did they let Dustbringer¡¯s death and the deaths of the other champions overshadow their glory. There were even smiles of pride on some of those faces where the mouths could be seen.


    I understood it. This was the fate we here all faced.


    ¡°Their deeds live on in the lives they saved,¡± Shadowcloud said at last, stepping back into place, ¡°from now unto the ends of time.¡±


    ¡°Unto the ends of time,¡± everyone echoed him in unison.


    The overly-formal wording had seemed strange in Shadowcloud¡¯s uncultured voice, but instantly made sense once I realised they were ritual.


    When it came to Facechanger, it was Lightblind at Timesnatcher¡¯s side who stepped forward, and I was quickly brought up to speed.


    My initial guesses had been right ¨C some highly-skilled darkmage was selling anonymity, or even specific faces. ¡®Facechanger¡¯ was being mentioned in the shady corners of certain establishments, but how they operated was still a mystery. There was a chance it was a single mage, but the mastery of druidry, enchantment and divination required made this a non-starter. More likely, Lightblind suggested, ¡®Facechanger¡¯ was the codename for a cabal of three dark archmages.


    Magic could reveal the truth of the disguise after extensive work but, without good cause to investigate a given subject, they would easily slip through the cracks. In the latest case of interest the bridge-guards at the Maginox, the ¡®waywatchers¡¯, had caught one Lady Arimeth Araldo trying to get in wearing the face of a missing magister, whom it now transpired had been killed purely in order to more easily sell her identity. Even the patterns of the magister¡¯s thoughts had been copied over, allowing Arimeth to completely impersonate her. Only arch-divination pierced the transformation ¨C and only then when it had become obvious that another powerful diviner had interfered in her past, to the point of completely obfuscating her previous life-history. It was down to the quick thinking of a lone archmage that the Maginox wasn¡¯t infiltrated.


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    The most alarming element to it was that there was nothing to give it away; there was nothing to see through. No illusions were employed in the ¡®face-change¡¯, the only enchantments being used to wipe or alter memories. (In order to remove, at minimum, the identities of the supposed-cabal¡¯s members.) Anyone could be suspect, at any time ¨C you couldn¡¯t even verify that, say, Neverwish hadn¡¯t been replaced at some point in the past with a fake dark-enchanter of similar potency.


    At this point Timesnatcher interrupted to reassure everyone that he had actually checked this, and Lightblind patted him familiarly on the arm to hush him. I found my eyebrows raising momentarily.


    She continued speaking, and I devoted energy to actually concentrating, sifting the meaning of her words. It was difficult to follow. She spoke with an oracle¡¯s economy, and I struggled to make the presumptions my newness here forced upon me.


    For the last few weeks it seemed the arch-diviner had been working alongside Special Investigations, but little came of it ¨C the criminals they allowed to escape, like Soulbiter and Screamsong, they¡¯d been forced to recapture. If any of them had sought Facechanger¡¯s services, they¡¯d been unlucky.


    This, Lightblind pointed out, raised a few questions. Were the darkmages comprising Facechanger out-scrying the magisters and champions, aware that Termiax and Rissala and their ilk were bait? It was possible. It was also possible that Facechanger approached their clients, not the other way around as had first been surmised.


    ¡°We have no way to be sure of one another, this is true,¡± she said, drawing up the hem of her robe as though she were preparing to step back into place. ¡°It¡¯s for this reason that we diviners recently instituted a policy of regularly checking our members, and each other. We are reasonably certain none of us have been replaced, and we are absolutely certain none of you have been. We are only telling you this now that it¡¯s been settled. We¡¯ll continue to randomly check the champions until the Facechanger cabal is caught.¡±


    Reasonably certain, I brooded. That doesn¡¯t sound great.


    ¡°Was Neverwish really not one, then?¡± someone asked hopefully. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    Timesnatcher shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Are there no details in the memories of these ¡®clients¡¯ at all?¡± I asked. ¡°Sorry, if I¡¯m not supposed to ask ¨C¡°


    ¡°No, it¡¯s quite alright, Feychilde,¡± Lightblind replied. ¡°You weren¡¯t here last month. We had an¡­ incident. We followed one of the leads generated by the memories you mention ¨C and walked straight into a trap.¡±


    ¡°An arch-diviner could¡¯ve set it for us,¡± Timesnatcher said, as if to pre-empt my next question.


    ¡°I see. Thanks.¡± I lowered my head, making it clear I was done interrupting.


    ¡°It¡¯s what I mentioned when I, hm, met you,¡± Nighteye called, a dozen or so places to my right. ¡°The people, with no noses? It was ¨C¡°


    ¡°Quite,¡± Leafcloak said with a note of finality.


    Lightblind looked around the circle, or at least turned her eyeless mask as though that were what she was doing, then stepped back into place, gesturing across the ring to Winterprince.


    The ice elemental stepped forward, looming above everyone, and gave his report on the Srol in his grinding, snapping voice.


    He hadn¡¯t been speaking for more than a minute when I¡¯d learned more about the heretics than I had in a lifetime as an ordinary citizen of Mund ¨C and the pace at which information was revealed only increased as time went on, until I was frozen in place, as though I were encased in ice along with him, drinking in the rumbled words.


    The Thirteen Candles¡­ was the home of the Srol.


    It had been the home of the Chaosmakers and the Five-Fold Rebellion too, back in the day. That should¡¯ve been obvious to me, in retrospect, but the obviousness of the target merely compounded my confusion. If their home was known, why wasn¡¯t it under attack?


    It was, apparently, impregnable. The distortion surrounding its grounds, that I¡¯d only seen for the first time a couple of weeks back when I flew past it on the way to the Maginox ¨C that distortion was, I came to understand, a shield of cunning deviousness. All the machinations of mortal sorcery had been combined with the spells of arch-demons, liches and powerful fey to concoct a barrier. A barrier none had yet penetrated with weapons of even the highest calibre, magical or mundane. There were some hints in what Winterprince said that, years back, a group of champions had tried to mount an assault ¨C but it sounded like no form of attack did more harm to the Candles than it did to those launching the attack in the first place.


    But the Candles had stood for centuries¡­ which could only mean¡­


    I gleaned that Heresy, Chaos, Rebellion, whatever name it went by ¨C the problem went further back in history that was popularly conceived. People tended to remember distinct groups where only behaviour-patterns and labels were changing, and that seemed to be the way the Arrealbord liked it ¨C keeping the public clueless, untroubled at the thought of a singular, monolithic enemy that was beyond defeat. The titles of the Candles¡¯ inhabitants were shifted every now and again, branding the ¡®Chaos-Lord¡¯ archmages of a decade ago with the name ¡®Hierarch¡¯ even if they¡¯d kept the same robe and mask. It sounded as though at least five of the Hierarchs were known to have been Chaos-Lords, and of them one might have even been an original Dark Rebel.


    But five hundred years? How this had been kept secret for so long Winterprince didn¡¯t mention, though I supposed I hadn¡¯t really questioned the official narrative myself at any point¡­ Perhaps we had enough on our plates, what with Incursions every three or four months, to worry overlong about the Srol Heretics ¨C where they were, who they were, what they really wanted¡­


    On that last point Winterprince said nothing. He covered the spider slaughter on Firenight Square, then passed it over to Timesnatcher to relate the defence of the Sunset Keep area against Hierarchs Three and Four. The identically-attired arch-sorcerers, backed by a group of heretic-mages, had come very close to killing a school-trip of Mund¡¯s finest, richest young people. It was obvious that the established champions had received messages I hadn¡¯t, organising them in greater numbers in Treetown.


    Then Mountainslide, the dwarf whose status as a veteran belied his apparent youth, reported on Openway, where he and several others had fought an arch-wizard and arch-enchanter ¨C possibly Hierarchs Thirteen and Seventeen.


    ¡°Doomspeaker, would you like to give our assessment on the threat?¡± Timesnatcher said when the dwarf wizard stepped back.


    A gnome diviner half a dozen places to my left stepped forward. Her miniature mask was steel worked to resemble a ram¡¯s skull, and her watery eyes shone through the almond-shaped slits in the metal. She had the stature of a four year old, but the hands protruding from the sleeves of her tiny cyan-blue robe were loose-skinned, and her status as a gnome of elder years was declared as much by the gristly, throbbing tone of her voice as by the leatheriness of her flesh.


    ¡°As you know, we spend much of our energies watching the Thirteen Candles,¡± she said. ¡°Even if their diviners afford their movements a great deal of concealment, there are always the avenues along which we can perceive them. We have found one such avenue. Spiritwhisper, if you¡¯d be so kind? Thank you. Look here ¨C¡°


    Everyone else aside from the three of us must¡¯ve been used to this, because we were the only ones stiffening in shock as a vast, ghostly illusion sprang up in the circle, the Ceryad-tree piercing it, showing the scene for the glamour it was.


    The illusion was Mund.


    The entire thing, flattened down to remove the slope. Rendered in fascinating detail, floating about as high as my knee, the Stone of Amplification penetrating through it at Firenight Square.


    I lost some of what the gnome had to say, marvelling at the work that had gone into this recreation. The white walls were barely an inch high; the Maginox, far off on my right, reached up as high as my waistline. I was on the side nearest the Treetown walls, looking down upon a miniature forest which ended at the Whiteflood, beyond which the bazaars of Oldtown appeared¡­ And far off on the other side of the crystal tree I could make out Sticktown¡­ I could trace the line of the cliff that rose from Sticktown to meet Hilltown.


    I turned my head to the right again, gazing at the towers of Hightown ¨C I could see the very Tower of Mourning beneath which we were now gathered, pulsing its cerulean light, replicated in tiny perfection¡­


    I looked back across at Em and saw her glancing to our left, towards her home beyond the Greywater.


    As I followed her gaze I noticed Rivertown was approaching us ¨C it was coming closer ¨C the whole thing was slowly spinning in an anticlockwise direction, delicately contracting and extending as needed to fit the space between us¡­


    Spiritwhisper¡¯s bit of glamour alone was worth the price of admission.


    * * *

 Something Real pt2

    I blinked, coming back to myself as I realised red lights were flashing over part of Treetown, wheeling away from me.


    ¡°Before the end of Illost,¡± Doomspeaker was saying, ¡°part of southern Treetown between Ryntol Wood and the Cadersglen will be set alight. Yes,¡± she addressed the muttering, ¡°Treetown again. We suspect this will be nothing more than a distraction, but we cannot directly foresee which other locations will be hit ¨C we will require wizards on site, and I¡¯ve discussed setting up an alert with Leafcloak, who has agreed to lay spells over the area.¡± The old seeress nodded across the circle to the old druidess, who nodded back. ¡°The main thing to take away is that we shouldn¡¯t all rush off to Treetown this time. Unless you¡¯re a wizard and we¡¯re specifically calling on you, stay where you are when the fires start, and stay vigilant.


    ¡°The real target is less clear. We¡¯re anticipating a bank robbery, as it¡¯s been awhile since they last took a significant sum, and¡­¡±


    A bank robbery? I¡¯d had no idea the heretics would lower themselves to such banal criminal activities ¨C sure, your average darkmage, but heretics? Not that robbing a bank was actually ¡®lower¡¯ than killing lots of people ¨C but I was surprised the heretics didn¡¯t see it that way. I supposed even mass-murderers had to eat.


    Though, as Doomspeaker was just now making plain, robbing a bank wasn¡¯t something you could just send a demon to do ¨C not here in Mund, anyway. There were a number of wards in place all around our financial institutions, which would inform us as to which bank they¡¯d chosen to strike, allow us to respond in force. The temples of Brondor like the Home of Commerce in Hilltown had the best guards plat could hire carrying the best weapons plat could buy. And it wasn¡¯t money they were looking for ¨C it would be an artifact cache, housing magical items of considerable might, books laden with unspeakable lore.


    ¡°Fourthly, and finally,¡± Timesnatcher said as the gnome stepped back. ¡°The vampires of Oldtown.¡±


    So they did originate across the bridge¡­


    He¡¯d already piqued my interest, and I sensed rather than saw as, at my side, Em straightened up suddenly.


    ¡°At the tail end of the Incursion, a vampire-elder or vampire-lord used the distraction of the arch-sorcerers safeguarding the Winter Door to enter the city. We have scried a minimum of seventeen descendants, the most in living memory.¡±


    A murmur of discontent rippled across the circle.


    ¡°I know.¡± Timesnatcher held up a hand. ¡°This is an unprecedented number. We can only surmise that the elder or lord has had little opportunity to beget until now, and hope that he has exsanguinated himself to the point where, for a time at least, he can do so no longer¡­¡±


    ¡°Ecksaguinated?¡± Em asked in a whisper.


    ¡°When they¡¯re out of their own blood,¡± I whispered back.


    What happened to you at Roseoak, I thought grimly.


    I caught her confused look so I quickly explained ¨C it was the accepted truth that once a vampire shared their own blood with a victim, the victim would rise again as a vampire; but, just as Timesnatcher was saying, a vampire¡¯s blood was a scarce commodity, being only slowly replenished in their weird, undead veins, even if they drank gallons from their victims.


    Vampires weren¡¯t a common problem in Mund, so I could understand her Magisterium training overlooking this particular knowledge. I wondered how folk-wisdom back in Onsolor differed ¨C did they not have vampires there?


    I didn¡¯t get chance to find out.


    ¡°The majority,¡± Timesnatcher was continuing, ¡°are currently housed in a single location in Oldtown.¡± The red light over Treetown had vanished, replaced now with lights over the new points of interest; I drank in the sight greedily. ¡°A place it transpires was formerly an assassin¡¯s guild-house. What¡¯s worse, a number of these young vampires have attempted to make more of their kind, but without the requisite blood in their bodies to allow their new recruits to properly transition. Thus, a wave of ghoul-related crimes have been reported, across Oldtown, Sticktown and North Lowtown. Over two dozen murders have taken place just since last night.¡± More lights started to appear. ¡°We are asking our sorcerers to attend to the problem.¡±


    I caught Netherhame looking my way, gave her a nod in response.


    ¡°Other than that¡­ We have only to induct our new members.¡±


    The illusion vanished just as Sticktown was about to circle around to me, instantly replaced with the bare wet rock, the puddles reflecting the yellowy light.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    As Timesnatcher started walking over towards us I felt a sudden flush of nervousness ¨C but when it became apparent we were just going to touch glyphstones with the other champions I quickly calmed down. Me and Em already had ours, and he provided one for Killstop.


    One after another the three of us walked around the circle, tapping glyphstone to glyphstone, linking all of us in case of emergency. Many of the champions had interesting gloves and gauntlets, but the massive frozen fist of Winterprince had to be the weirdest, the glyphstone looking tiny in his palm. Some of the champions seemed to look dismissively upon me ¨C upon all three of us, even ¨C but most nodded as we went by. Some of the maskless even smiled.


    ¡°Very well.¡± Leafcloak spoke for just the second time once we resumed our places, her voice soft. ¡°Thus concludes the Gathering of Illost.¡±


    Immediately, many of the champions fell back to muttering to their fellows.


    ¡°So unlike him to not defend himself,¡± I heard one of the Rainbow¡¯s Edge say to one of his fellows.


    ¡°Vampires and ghouls ¨C a piece of cake,¡± another mage, a sorceress from the Constellation, opined.


    ¡°Never believe Neverwish was dark¡­¡± the gnome druid, Sunspring, whispered to Doomspeaker.


    ¡°¡­ meeting again on the second of Mortifost,¡± Leafcloak was saying. ¡°But before you leave, please allow me to remind you¡­¡±


    She paused, and those who had started chatting quickly shut up again.


    ¡°Many of you will be labouring under the impression Neverwish was a good friend.¡± Her voice hardened. ¡°He was not a good friend. He was not a friend. He was, and is, dark. He would¡¯ve used you, each of you, to his own ends. I know it is hard to accept, but it must be accepted. No one is to seek audience with him. We will relate the Magisterium¡¯s findings to you at our next meeting, never fear.¡±


    Leafcloak broke off, turning to murmur something to Timesnatcher on her left ¨C everyone immediately fell straight back into conversation.


    ¡°Well, that was quite¡­ awesome,¡± Killstop said, smoothing down her nauseating robe and turning her frowny mask towards us.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I replied. ¡°I have no idea how Timesnatcher organises all that stuff.¡±


    ¡°He is an arch-diviner, no?¡± Em said.


    ¡°I¡¯m an arch-diviner, and I wouldn¡¯t know where to start,¡± Killstop mused. ¡°It¡¯s not like I can foresee much about the Gathering. He¡¯s just¡­¡±


    We hushed up as Timesnatcher came over.


    ¡°How did you do that, with the net?¡± he asked.


    Killstop shrugged. ¡°Wasn¡¯t that my job? To back you up?¡±


    ¡°No, I mean -¡°


    ¡°I had a vision, I followed it ¨C what more do you want from me?¡±


    He cocked his head at her curiously, his lips pressed together in thought. Then he brought his hand out of his pocket, bearing another pendant on a chain.


    Killstop took it, studied the four-pointed design, and before she could protest me and Em pushed our sleeves up to show the chains around our wrists.


    The diviner shrugged ¨C there was a blur that lasted only for one instant ¨C then she was lowering her arms, the amulet plain to see hanging around her neck on the front of her robe, beneath the hood.


    ¡°I bet that makes it easier, getting ready in the morning,¡± Em said enviously, still keeping up the fake accent.


    ¡°I could even slow down time when I¡¯m trying to choose what to wear, so it takes no time at all.¡± She curtsied, drawing attention to her horrid-looking garment. ¡°But why would I want to go and do a thing like that?¡±


    Timesnatcher chuckled.


    Meanwhile Em had let her jaw drop in a deliberate display of unfiltered jealousy. She was definitely trying to make friends here. ¡°Only yesterday me and Feychilde almost came to blows over that.¡±


    ¡°In my defence, you were over thirty minutes!¡± I said.


    ¡°We had been svimming!¡± Either she couldn¡¯t quite manage that word or she was getting too passionate to care ¨C she dropped her voice slightly: ¡°Next time I¡¯ll take an hour.¡±


    ¡°Ooh, is that a threat, m¡¯lady Stormsword?¡±


    She stuck her tongue out at me.


    ¡°Anyway, how does what we were doing before affect what you choose to wear after¡­¡±


    She just poked me in response, and I laughed and stepped away, raising a hand in warning.


    Killstop sighed theatrically. ¡°However do you put up with these children, my dear Timesnatcher?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± he replied, and, smiling to himself, wandered away towards Lightblind and Shadowcloud.


    Killstop gasped as though affronted.


    I clasped Em¡¯s hand briefly. ¡°Do you mind if I go have a word with Netherhame? It¡¯s just -¡°


    ¡°Of course ¨C go!¡± Em smiled as she shooed me away. She and Killstop were soon chatting with one of the mages from the Constellation about the Incursion, while I made my way through the champions towards the sorceress.


    ¡°Excuse me ¨C Netherhame?¡±


    She turned to face me and, waving an apology to Shallowlie and Glancefall, stepped aside from her current conversation.


    ¡°Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°About the vamp-¡°


    ¡°Feychilde, it¡¯s been a long day, and you don¡¯t want to be hunting vampires in the dark. We¡¯ll get together tomorrow morning to discuss our plans, okay? I¡¯ll contact you.¡±


    ¡°O-okay¡­¡±


    She turned back to her friends, and I turned away.


    Fair enough. I guess not all champions keep the night-time hours.


    I was feeling full of energy, and I knew Em had only had a few hours of classes today, meaning she¡¯d be up for doing something¡­


    ¡°My good man,¡± Nighteye said, stopping me by clapping me on the upper arm, ¡°Feychilde ¨C¡°


    ¡°My good man, Nighteye.¡± I gripped his arm in return.


    ¡°I, that is we, were going to go to the Mare,¡± he said. ¡°Olveria Sornoro is playing and, you know, hm, we can give some of the wealth we¡¯ve earned back to the people, if you follow me ¨C¡°


    ¡°Give it back, by purchasing copious amounts of booze?¡± I raised an eyebrow behind my mask.


    I saw his eyes scrunch up above the savage beak-mask covering his nose and jaw; he was grinning.


    I looked back at Em and Tanra. Stormsword and Killstop.


    I¡¯d have rather taken them vampire-hunting, despite Netherhame¡¯s warning, but I was painfully aware that we were the newcomers here. Making bonds with those we¡¯d be fighting beside ¨C that was important too.


    ¡°Something like that, Feychilde. If ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask the ladies if they¡¯re up for it.¡±


    ¡°The more the merrier,¡± he said.


    * * *

 Something Real pt3

    Alone or in groups, the champions left the globe-lit cavern of glass and water and rock. Half were already gone by the time we approached the doors; they opened for us, letting us step back into the blackness.


    Spiritwhisper, the young arch-enchanter leading the six of us, brought up a shimmering apparition of white mist to cast a radiance about us. It wasn¡¯t until the doors closed and we were left in the near-total darkness that I realised the apparition was Neverwish-shaped.


    ¡°Is that, hm, in the best of taste?¡± Nighteye asked, walking just behind him and just in front of me and Em.


    ¡°He betrayed me, man.¡± Spiritwhisper sounded a bit dejected. ¡°Sure, I didn¡¯t like him ¨C no one liked him, except maybe Starsight ¨C and the other dwarves, I guess¡­ but this ¨C¡± the misty Neverwish spun as it skipped forwards in front of us ¡°¨C this is all I ever knew. A droppin¡¯ illusion. A fake. Man¡­ I just can¡¯t believe it.¡±


    ¡°Hm¡­¡±


    I shuddered as I saw Nighteye patting the tall, muscular enchanter on the arm. I hadn¡¯t even thought about the way this would affect those who¡¯d actually fought at his side for more than a battle or two. Those who¡¯d depended on him.


    Behind us, at the back of the group, walked Killstop and Fangmoon, one of Nighteye¡¯s friends, and the druidess was telling the diviner about how Leafcloak had come out of retirement to lead the druid-champions when Splinterwing fell to Hierarch Eight last year. The topic interested me but the enchanter was talking again, talking to Em, and I couldn¡¯t focus on what they were saying behind me.


    ¡°Hey, wizard,¡± Spiritwhisper called over his shoulder, ¡°any chance of a lift? The druids can go bird -¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s Stormsword. And yes,¡± Em waved a hand, ¡°we can fly.¡±


    I felt the weightlessness prodding at the soles of my feet, urging me into the air.


    So it was that we made our way up the immense staircase without shedding a single bead of sweat.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I can just go get drunk,¡± Killstop was saying as we drifted up the flights of stairs.


    ¡°Hah!¡± Spiritwhisper shook his head ahead of us, and called back: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I can make you look fifteen.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think messing with the minds of bar-staff is strictly legal,¡± Fangmoon piped up, tossing her bedraggled mane of silvery hair as she flew. Her snarling mask and tacky-looking robe were also silver in hue, and she gleamed like a ghost under the pale light of the enchanter¡¯s illusion floating before us.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to mess directly with their minds just to make them see something that isn¡¯t there!¡± Spiritwhisper sounded amused. ¡°I can make the diviner -¡°


    ¡°Killstop,¡± Em grated.


    ¡°Yeah, Killstop, whatever. I don¡¯t have to make her look fifteen ¨C she could look fifty ¨C or I can make her look like Leafcloak¡¯s great-grandma if she wants.¡±


    ¡°Now that I¡¯ve got to see,¡± Killstop replied; then, right away: ¡°Aaand I¡¯ve seen it. Benefits of being a seer. Nice illusion, but let¡¯s try something else.¡±


    ¡°Aw, I was looking forward to that,¡± Fangmoon moaned. ¡°We could pretend we¡¯re taking our granny out for a night on the town¡­¡±


    So we¡¯re going to be taking our masks off¡­


    ¡°Great, Kas. Next you can give your full name and address to the group of mind-stealers and fate-twisters. In fact, why don¡¯t you take off that pendant, and throw me out while you¡¯re at it -¡°


    Okay, I think someone¡¯s had too much excitement for one night. If you¡¯re gonna be all gr-


    ¡°I am not being grumpy!¡±


    It might be time for a nap, Zel.


    She muttered something caustic under her telepathic breath and then she was gone.


    Let¡¯s try that again¡­


    ¡°So, we¡¯re going to be taking our masks off?¡± I asked aloud.


    ¡°I¡¯d find it rather hard to drink wearing mine,¡± Fangmoon said, gesturing at her full-faced bestial visage.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Feychilde?¡± Spiritwhisper asked in a brittle tone. ¡°Don¡¯t you trust an enchanter?¡±


    ¡°And what about me?¡± Killstop whinged. ¡°Don¡¯t you trust me? I foresee no catastrophes.¡±


    I tried a half-laugh. I didn¡¯t trust enchanters, or diviners, really; but I at least had protection now, and enough people knew my identity by this point that a gesture of trust towards some champions wasn¡¯t going to change anything.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ up for it,¡± I said.


    I cast Em a questioning look, but she just shrugged, smiling faintly.


    We exited the Tower of Mourning and flew out into the rain-filled air of the courtyard, pulsing with azure light ¨C it had to have been approaching eleven o¡¯clock, going off the moon. Together we flew across the grey expanse of moss and weeds, and into the shadows of the nearest buildings.


    Many of the establishments around here would¡¯ve been accounted palatial by lowborn folk, but they¡¯d been allowed to fall into ruin by Hightown standards. The shop-fronts were melted faces of peeling paint, the broken bricks like decaying teeth. From what I could tell some of the buildings were still in use but this area, next to a tourist attraction that no tourist could approach without having magisters manhandle them, clearly wasn¡¯t much of an investment opportunity.


    We got out our bags and satchels, stowing our masks and robes, our items of interest.


    Killstop sighed as she screwed her work of art up in a ball and shoved it in her pouch. ¡°I love flying,¡± she said. The features of her attractive oval face were mirroring her mask¡¯s disconsolate expression, her dark-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.


    At least she isn¡¯t still grinning.


    ¡°I prefer flying with wings,¡± Fangmoon sniffed. She was almost as skinny as Ciraya, pale-olive in complexion, and black-haired beneath the silvery wig; she wore a dress the same drab brown colour as Tanra¡¯s smock.


    I smiled, but I disagreed with the druid so I didn¡¯t say anything, undressing down to my tunic and trousers in silence. I vastly preferred Em¡¯s magic to flying with wings, and the eerie stillness of the courtyard didn¡¯t make for the best environment anyway.


    ¡°It¡¯s so much easier for you guys,¡± the diviner complained. ¡°Druids¡­ wizards¡­ sorcerers¡­ you can all just ¨C pop! ¨C up in the air¡­¡±


    ¡°Save a tear for the enchanter of the group,¡± Spiritwhisper said, putting an arm around her shoulders. He was built like a soldier and had the dashing, cleft-chinned face of a prince; he was a good half a foot taller than her, and it looked like he could¡¯ve squashed her by accident just with the one arm. ¡°I got stuck with the worst archmagery of the lot, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°How enchanting,¡± she said in a disinterested voice, shrugging free of his arm and starting off, leading the way up the street.


    ¡°No, really,¡± he protested. He was smiling as he caught back up to her. ¡°Me and you, we got the short-end of the stick, you know? Can¡¯t fly. That¡¯s just number one. But what about the mistrust, man? The suspicion¡­ Just ¡®cause we see things differently, you know?¡±


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Ah¡­ sorcerer standing right here,¡± I piped up as we followed a couple of yards behind.


    Spiritwhisper was ignoring me, still focussing his attentions on Killstop.


    ¡°I think zat someone¡¯s got it bad,¡± Em whispered to me, her teeth gleaming.


    I laughed, and she linked her arm through mine as we walked.


    Clad in our civilian gear, we made our way towards Hill Road. The Diamond Mare wasn¡¯t far off, and we soon arrived at the big transparent building with its castle turret-like wings. It was lit by huge, floor-to-ceiling glass bowls filled with smokeless orange flames. There were hundreds of patrons inside and more were coming and going every minute.


    ¡°They¡¯re so well-dressed,¡± Tanra pointed out.


    Spiritwhisper hardly even gestured as he gave her the outward appearance of a young noblewoman, corseted, hair in curls.


    ¡°Not bad,¡± the seeress said, ¡°but I didn¡¯t quite need all the¡­ augmentation, thank you.¡±


    The enchanter grinned, shrinking away at least fifty percent of her overly-exaggerated buxomness. I shook my head, and we made our way through the doors; the spellbound entryway half-dried us just in the few seconds it took to cross the threshold. It was warm in here, and crowded. We managed to find space at a bar for two of us to lean, the others huddling around in a near-circle. Everything in here was unusual to me. The pint-glasses were thick glass styled with elaborate handles. The elven minstrel Olveria Sornoro was a guitarist with a voice as soothing as her melodies. The staff were polite and smartly-attired, and despite our uncouth accents they didn¡¯t look at us like we were some crud they¡¯d walked in on the bottom of their boots.


    Perhaps it was just the presence of Nighteye ¨C who was, it transpired, about as elven as you could look without having pointy ears. In fact, his ears were a bit pointy, now that I was thinking about it. In contrast to his tatty robe, he wore an expensive silken vest and hose of rich blue satin. Certainly his eyes were angular, his nose aquiline ¨C his hair was pale blond, tied in tresses. Zero mud on him, today at least. He seemed to be the highest-born person in the whole place, if appearances were anything to go off, and he was the only one of us who sounded at all posh.


    The clientele, however, weren¡¯t quite as accommodating as the staff. Many of the patrons were clearly studying to be mages, some still clad in their Maginox robes. While there were plenty of out-of-towners, amongst both the mages and the others, it was of course the stuck-up folk of Hightown who dominated the room. I caught more than one distinguished-looking gentleman staring down his nose at us. Reluctantly, I lowered my circle-shield, knowing ¡®ill-will¡¯ was only an approximation, fraught with risk. Exposure could be catastrophic in this situation, because it wasn¡¯t only my identity on the line.


    I ordered wine and beer ¨C and no one even looked twice at Tanra as I passed her the mug of foaming ale she¡¯d requested. It didn¡¯t seem an ageing illusion was warranted, at least with her smock erased from sight.


    ¡°To our dwarven friend,¡± Spiritwhisper said in a sarcastic voice, raising his mug ¨C he already had froth on his upper lip. ¡°And a lifetime of incarceration.¡±


    ¡°A lifetime of incarceration,¡± we echoed, more or less dubiously.


    I took a gulp of my ¡®Witterwood Gold¡¯, and wondered where it¡¯d been all my life.


    ¡°How¡¯s your red?¡± I asked Em, who took a deep breath after her sip.


    ¡°It¡¯s just about the nicest vi¡­ wine I¡¯ve ever tasted. Yours?¡±


    I smiled. She looked incredibly cute, the way she moved her lips. ¡°I love your posh-voice,¡± I whispered.


    She grinned and went to poke me but I pulled her into an impromptu kiss instead.


    After she¡¯d finished the glass she could no longer maintain her fake accent. As I ordered the second round she and Fangmoon started chatting about their homelands ¨C Fangmoon was originally from Hezreni far to the east of Ouldern, on the edges of the Realm. She and her family had travelled through the Spring Door in Habburat to Mund and, like Em, she had an outsider¡¯s view of the city. But it seemed she¡¯d long-since acclimatised, having been here years ¨C she could barely remember her home now, she said.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the vi¡­ vi¡­ vine talking?¡±


    Fangmoon smiled at her. ¡°Nope. I can drink without getting drunk, you know.¡±


    ¡°Vot is zat supposed to mean?¡±


    I grinned too, and turned away to hide my face ¨C then saw my rich druid friend had finished his second drink.


    ¡°So the way you spoke the first time we met,¡± I said to Nighteye after I brought him his third glass of white wine, ¡°I got the impression you¡¯re famous, or something?¡±


    He shrugged lightly. ¡°Not famous, just, hm, you know¡­¡± He looked about then whispered, leaning in close: ¡°As far as my family know, I spend every night in the library, keeping up on my studies; I¡¯ve got to work hard to be, hm, the best good little mage I can be ¨C¡±


    ¡°Nice way to avoid the question.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s just, hm,¡± he grinned back, ¡°challenging for me to keep my two lives separate, don¡¯t you know? I¡¯m a member of the Shining Circle, my p-parents are members of the Shining Circle ¨C I¡¯m, hm, an only-child, if I don¡¯t look like I¡¯m playing by their rules I¡¯ll be in deep trouble, and if you thought an Incursion was bad news you haven¡¯t seen, hm, Mother when I¡¯m acting out, she¡¯s ¨C¡°


    ¡°Hey, I get it,¡± I said, and took another swig of my beer. ¡®Ripplemead¡¯s Ruby¡¯ this time. Damn tasty. ¡°I have two lives too. There¡¯s worse ways to live, though, right? I mean, better two lives than one life that sucks.¡±


    He didn¡¯t seem to catch the near-sarcasm in my voice.


    ¡°I¡¯ll drink to that!¡± the arch-druid muttered, and we raised our glasses to each other before drinking again.


    Here I was, implying a highborn like him had any idea what a life that sucked was really like. He thought his first life sucked because it was less interesting than being a champion, because Mother and Father were overbearing, suffocating him with their concern, attention.


    What¡¯d I¡¯d have given to have lived a childhood of wealthy luxury, where I hadn¡¯t had to spend thankless hours sorting gods-damned vegetables for a few copper pieces, go traipsing home through the drop and mud¡­


    What I¡¯d have given to still have a mother and father, overbearing, suffocating ¨C however they came.


    But to him, his troubles were still troubles. Even if he were sworn to uphold the sacred oaths of the druids, being a champion was still an escape. A way out of the boredom of a standard, off-the-shelf existence. I could appreciate that much.


    ¡°Whenever I drink wine I find myself fascinated by the idea of, hm, crushing the glass, don¡¯t you know?¡± he said. ¡°Increasing the severity of my grip until I hear the, soft chink sound, feel the tell-tale fissure in the material?¡±


    ¡°I sort of know what you mean. Like, daring it to smash in your hand?¡±


    ¡°Right! My man. I¡¯ve never done it ¨C it¡¯s just something I think about, a flight of fancy swiftly passing through my mind, only to be remembered and contemplated upon its eventual return.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s ¨C erm¡­¡°


    I floundered for words.


    ¡°Ow!¡± Em said ¨C I spun around to see her rubbing at her upper arm ¨C


    ¡°Foreign scum,¡± said the perpetrator, a thirty-year-old man in a sleek black doublet. He was pushing past her, a glass of wine in his upheld hand, and his elbow was stuck out ¨C he clearly hadn¡¯t even cared enough about the girl speaking in a foreign accent to lower his arm as he moved by.


    I found myself yelling ¡®oi!¡¯, stepping forward ¨C I could see Em¡¯s eyes narrowing, her fists clenching ¨C I felt Tanra¡¯s hand on my arm ¨C


    ¡°Oh, and not just foreign scum.¡± The man turned back to appraise me ¨C his gaze passed over Nighteye, and when he focussed on me he sneered. ¡°At least the gal¡¯s a looker. Whatever something like you is doing here, I¡¯ve no idea ¨C unless you¡¯re here to shine my shoes?¡±


    I could see one of his fellows behind him, a heavily-moustached man, who smirked appreciatively at the joke.


    A quick glance down told me you could get a hundred pairs of shoes like mine for the money he¡¯d paid for his.


    ¡°Oh ho!¡± he chortled, seeing my eyes move. ¡°You are, aren¡¯t you? Well ¨C get on your knees, boy.¡±


    I could feel the pressure as the six of us stared at him. He had no notion of the amount of sheer, overwhelming power that could be angrily channelled in his direction.


    The way Tanra was holding onto my arm told me that the future in which I taught this insufferable buffoon a lesson would not pan out well for us.


    The way Em¡¯s fist was clenched ¨C the way she¡¯d cried out ¨C told me that the future in which I taught this insufferable buffoon a lesson would be incredibly satisfying.


    ¡°Get on your knees.¡± He tapped his foot impatiently. A few more of his posh-looking fellows had gathered behind him now. ¡°Or do I have to make you?¡±


    ¡°Please, sir,¡± I wailed, overly-meek, falling to my knees with a subservient expression on my face. ¡°Please don¡¯t make me! I don¡¯t get paid enough for that!¡±


    My friends laughed, and the highborn looked up from me to them, glaring at them ¨C I approached across the floorboards on my knees, and, while he was distracted, quickly got to work.


    I was used to making intricate patterns with my hands, and his laces virtually fell apart in my fingers ¨C it took only a moment for me to tie his shoes together.


    ¡°What are you d-¡±


    I stood up, right there, in his face.


    He clearly wasn¡¯t expecting to have me standing there upright with only an inch between our noses ¨C I was no longer slouching, and I was the taller of the two of us ¨C


    He instinctively tried to step back, stumbled, and would¡¯ve fallen if two of his cronies hadn¡¯t grabbed him by the arms.


    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± the moustached man cried. ¡°Untie his laces at once!¡±


    ¡°You do it,¡± I smiled, ¡°or is that beneath you? One of you¡¯s gonna have to do it, right? Tell you what, how about this ¨C while you¡¯re down there, you shine my shoes.¡± I produced a platinum coin from my belt and danced it across my knuckles.


    The moustached man stuck out his chest, strode forwards.


    Lithe Nighteye stepped in his way, literally stopping in his path sidelong so that the man walked right into the druid¡¯s shoulder and rebounded, off-balance.


    He might¡¯ve looked small and wiry, but there was more to the arch-druid¡¯s flesh than met the eye.


    ¡°My apologies, my good man,¡± Nighteye said at once, adopting a fawning expression and reaching out to pat-down the man¡¯s dishevelled doublet. ¡°Perhaps we have all taken a little too much, hm? Maybe we¡¯d best part ways. You¡¯ll go yours, hm?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure whether it was the repeated humiliations or the fact Nighteye was clearly highborn like them, but they seemed to listen now. Grudgingly they turned aside, the one with his laces tied together too proud to undo them here like this, taking tiny steps with his arm around a friend¡¯s shoulders.


    The blond-haired little lordling turned his back on them, reaching out to turn me around too as we both collapsed into laughter.


    * * *

 Something Real pt4

    After half-past twelve the common-room crowd started to thin out ¨C it was only a Waneday night, after all, and unlike most of the taverns I¡¯d frequented, the people here seemed to have, well, actual jobs to go to in the morning. The crowds at the Fountains of Merizet wouldn¡¯t head this way ¨C if they had the money for this kind of pub they¡¯d have been able to pay for healing. We¡¯d made our way across to a table by the windows, and we could only listen to the druids talking about acorns or the enchanter coming onto the diviner for so long. Eventually Em and I ended up alone a couple of tables away from the others; we were on a couch, her back against my chest, looking out at the moon. The rain had stopped, or at least decreased in intensity ¨C its patter against the floor-to-ceiling glass panes was no longer perceptible even to me, and we listened to the soft song of the tireless bard, her delicate words drifting through the air.


    ¡­ When you see my face you turn aside


    Open your eyes


    There¡¯s something real for you tonight


    In the dark of your mind you see it arise


    A candle flickering, a thousand fires


    You can¡¯t quench the heat any longer


    Can¡¯t fight the thirst you¡¯re under


    Why even try to resist my kiss?


    Why lie when you could lay?


    Take now your share of this bliss


    Take it all now I pray


    When you know my heart you turn aside


    Forget your lies


    It¡¯s fire and thirst for you tonight¡­


    ¡°Zey¡¯re out zere, aren¡¯t zey? Right now, killing people.¡± Her voice had a musing quality.


    ¡°Do you want to talk about it now?¡± I asked, my hands on hers.


    I couldn¡¯t just come out and say it: You died¡­


    She didn¡¯t reply, but I could sense her tense-up.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say anything. But if you want to tell me ¨C what happened, what you saw, felt ¨C anything?¡±


    The tension in her muscles increased as she drew a shuddering breath.


    ¡°No, Kas. I¡¯m okay, really. Zis isn¡¯t anything special. I can continue.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s not¡­ why you declared yourself a champion? Why you left the Magisterium?¡±


    She sat forwards then turned to face me, meeting my eyes through her slightly messed-up platinum hair.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t left zem¡­ I¡¯m still going to be a magister.¡±


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    ¡°Oh.¡± Somehow in my head I hadn¡¯t pictured it working this way; I suddenly wondered how many other champions might be magisters. ¡°So, Henthae ¨C¡°


    ¡°I told her my decision. She vozn¡¯t pleased, but she voz glad I agreed to continue in my role.¡± She chuckled a little grimly. ¡°She said she liked ze name I chose.¡±


    ¡°What difference does it make, then, whether you wear the mask or not?¡±


    She shrugged, smiling tightly, before settling her head down against me again so that I couldn¡¯t see her face. ¡°Zere is ze matter of ze money, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s all?¡±


    I felt her sigh. ¡°You know being a champion is different¡­¡± Her voice was husky. ¡°You felt it, ze same as me. Vot voz it you said Lightblind told you? Illodin and Glaif¡­ zey recognised me too, Kas. It¡¯s¡­¡±


    She¡¯s like me.


    ¡°It¡¯s all you need,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Almost,¡± she said, then lifted her head to kiss me ¨C


    It was only when I tasted her tears that I realised she¡¯d been crying.


    ¡°Em¡­¡±


    She gripped my head, kissing me fiercely, hard, then suddenly broke off, standing up.


    ¡°I need anozzer drink.¡± She strode for the bar without a backwards glance, wiping her face on her sleeve as she went.


    I wasn¡¯t going to let her leave it just like that.


    I caught up to her just as she reached the bar and got the attention of the nearest barman with a wave of her hand ¨C far more easily than I got his attention when I last visited the bar, I noted.


    ¡°Em ¨C why don¡¯t we do something about it?¡±


    She cast a glance at me. ¡°Vot do you mean, do something?¡± She turned back to the barman. ¡°A Myrielle vhite and a¡­ a Ripplemead¡¯s Ruby, please.¡± She leaned her head close to mine. ¡°You said zat you had no luck ¨C you couldn¡¯t find zem, even viz Zel-¡±


    She silenced herself as she realised.


    ¡°I had a go at memorising the map, and our map-making friend,¡± I couldn¡¯t name Spiritwhisper in the barman¡¯s earshot, ¡°is right over there. Plus ¨C you know that our deficiently-named friend is particularly good at¡­ finding things.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Em breathed, gazing back at the others.


    Killstop was currently making it look like she was engrossed in conversation with Nighteye, but I barely needed my augmented senses to make out the way she was simply teasing Spiritwhisper, forcing him to work harder for her attention. He had to know it ¨C but she had to know he knew¡­ It looked like a complex courting-game indeed.


    She was in love with someone else a week ago.


    The girl was certainly pragmatic, if nothing else. She could be brought on board, surely ¨C but how? Diviners were eels in more than just physical combat.


    As we carried our drinks back towards them, I called out, ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    Tanra¡¯s eyes met mine, and I was instantly aware that she knew this part of our future too.


    ¡°Ready for what?¡± Spiritwhisper replied, eyeing me with some scepticism. ¡°What¡¯s on your mind, newbie?¡±


    What¡¯s blocking him? I wondered. Zel¡¯s presence, or Lovebright¡¯s pendant? Both?


    Or maybe I¡¯m just paranoid, and he simply isn¡¯t looking¡­


    ¡°Nothing controversial.¡± I opened my free hand, palm outward, as if to calm him down. ¡°I just¡­¡± I looked across at Em, then back at him. ¡°I wanted to get my homework out of the way before class starts tomorrow morning.¡±


    The enchanter smirked. ¡°You¡¯re after extra credit? You should stick to doin¡¯ what you¡¯re told. Did Neth- did your new teacher tell you to stay up doing it tonight?¡±


    ¡°You really should listen,¡± Killstop urged me. ¡°You¡¯re going to get some of us hurt.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± I looked at her, surprised. ¡°We are here, drinking,¡± I lowered my beer and looked down at it contemptuously, ¡°while they are out there, drinking.¡± I thrust my chin at the windows, the moonlit night and all its various tragedies that were screened off from us as though we were behind a barrier of force stronger than any I could conjure. A barrier that kept our minds safe from the truth.


    ¡°You mean the¡­ hm¡­ the¡­¡± A rather drunk-seeming Nighteye put his fingers up to his mouth to signify fangs, and I nodded solemnly before returning my gaze to our diviner.


    She met my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s a good job I poured all my drinks down the drain, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Spiritwhisper exploded. ¡°I paid for ¨C but ¨C I didn¡¯t see¡­ what?¡°


    ¡°You could¡¯ve ended up paying for it with your life.¡± Killstop smiled. ¡°Vampires seem tough. Besides, you won¡¯t be drunk long.¡±


    ¡°You ¨C mean¡­¡± The enchanter looked across at the druids. ¡°Then ¨C why ¨C¡°


    The seeress grinned, the self-assured grin she¡¯d had slapped on her face through her whole first day as a champion, the grinding ordeal of the Incursion. ¡°Just to see that look on your face for real. Now we get to have a properly fun night.¡± She reached out, caressed the shocked-looking enchanter¡¯s cheek. ¡°Do try to keep up, chuck.¡±

 Lodus pt1

    <h2>GLASS 4.4: LODUS</h2>


    ¡°It is a sorry Dracohost you bring to shadow me, yet I soar alone and still you will not set upon me, will you? Am I so fearsome, son of no cousin of mine? Whence this wretched ideology, this accursed democracy that makes me share in the blame of despotic leaders? I no longer care for this world. I reject it and all its wiles! Remove all constraint! Radical anarchy. A rule of one. It is how we were. It is how we shall be again. The strongest shall rise at my heels ¨C the Empire shall reawaken. Do you hear me? I am about its business even now! You do not banish me ¨C I reject my princedom! But I will keep my crown. I earned it. Take it if you will try me. No? No. I thought as much.¡±


    ¨C from Prince Deathwyrm¡¯s rebuke, upon his exile


    Fifteen minutes later, we left the pub and headed for the ¡®alley¡¯ ¨C the perfectly-clean, perfectly-traversable walkway we¡¯d passed on the way here. (So clean and traversable I would¡¯ve had my doubts as to its utility as a place to safely change into our robes, were it not for our illusionist friend accompanying us.) Em must¡¯ve been warming the air around us ¨C either that or it was the beer ¨C and it might¡¯ve made for a pleasant experience, walking down the street in a group of my peers, enjoying their company. But before we reached the corner I could sense the people gathered there, sense the eyes on us.


    Whispered words of violence. Body odour, and onion-breath. The gentle chink of weaponry.


    ¡°Trouble,¡± I said under my breath, just loud enough for the others to hear. I didn¡¯t slow my pace.


    ¡°Only if we react the wrong way,¡± Killstop replied.


    ¡°S¡¯only ten of ¡¯em,¡± Spiritwhisper sniffed, moving ahead of me to the front of the group, swaggering brazenly.


    ¡°Should I¡­?¡± Em pointed a finger at the sky, only a hint of her drunkenness in her voice.


    Killstop shook her head. ¡°Not needed ¨C trust me.¡±


    ¡°Hmmmm.¡± Nighteye sounded a little concerned; the druids were at the back of the group. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Feych-?¡±


    The sound was smothered as Fangmoon pressed her hand over his mouth.


    It was too late for more discussion anyway. We were there, the rogues¡¯ shadows unfolding from the edges of the path, figures moving to stand in our way.


    ¡°Well well.¡± It was the voice of a Lowtowner, hard and merciless. ¡°What ¡®av we ¡®ere?¡±


    Almost a dozen of them. Short blades and clubs. Eyes that gleamed with greed and impatience.


    ¡°Been waiting long, Mr. Onion Breath?¡± I asked archly, looking around at them; they might¡¯ve been standing in darkness but I fancied I could¡¯ve counted the hairs in their beards if I¡¯d had a need to.


    I figured I could draw out a shield faster than they could attack, and I knew I could summon a demon faster, but I had several beers in me and ¨C


    Something was off. The looming shadows of the ten strangers had frozen unnaturally, barely wavering, as though they were branches being stirred by the night-time breeze.


    Spiritwhisper drew back an arm, then carefully reached out a single finger, poking the thug who had spoken right in the middle of his forehead. Hard.


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    Hard enough to throw the hireling off-balance, send him crashing back to the ground, stiff as a board.


    None of the others reacted ¨C they were eerily still, eerily quiet ¨C


    ¡°Guess that¡¯s handled,¡± Spiritwhisper said merrily. ¡°You guys wanna mess with ¡¯em?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ what?¡± Fangmoon said.


    ¡°You know¡­¡± The enchanter spread his hands, smirking.


    ¡°Leave them in a compromising situation?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Bang on! I knew you¡¯d get it.¡±


    One of the rogues pirouetted out of the shadows on his tiptoes, hands held above his head, fingers interlaced. The others followed. Within seconds they were dancing elegantly in a ring about the fallen form of Onion Breath.


    I smiled, the tight smile of one who is amused but knows he shouldn¡¯t be.


    ¡°Just put zem to sleep, and ve vill call ze vatchtower before ve leave.¡± Em didn¡¯t sound particularly amused.


    Spiritwhisper looked wounded.


    Fangmoon seemed to take a different perspective. ¡°Or, make them curl up together and go to sleep, their arms and legs all lovingly tangled-up. The looks on their faces when the watchmen wake them¡­¡±


    ¡°Or just make them go hand themselves in to the watch right now?¡± I suggested.


    Nighteye¡¯s face had lit up. ¡°There are, hm, a large number of possibilities, but I think you¡¯ll find all of them are, hm, criminal to say the least, and the last thing we want is someone examining their memories, as, you know, hm, all of our identities are right there, and unless we track down the ones who sent them, removing our faces from their minds isn¡¯t going to stop them ¨C¡°


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said, holding out my hand. ¡°You¡¯re right, and someone could come by here any minute.¡± I couldn¡¯t sense anyone approaching, yet. ¡°Killstop?¡±


    She sighed. ¡°The sensible way?¡±


    That was the Tanra I expected.


    ¡°Please.¡±


    She looked at Spiritwhisper. ¡°Put them back in the shadows, give them a fifteen-minute countdown till they come around. Make them remember chasing us north, then east. We split up and got away in a crowd leaving the Fountains. They reconvened here to disappoint each other with their news.¡±


    ¡°Give me a minute,¡± the enchanter said with a shrug; if he was let down, he didn¡¯t show it. He turned back to look at the ten miscreants, staring at each of them in turn.


    Tanra¡¯s eyes twinkled. ¡°They¡¯re very worried about Guildmaster Strolt, the serial philanderer with the moustache back at the Mare, discovering their failure.¡± She didn¡¯t mention why or how his rakish behaviour was relevant ¨C I got the impression from her off-handedness that it was probably just how the arch-diviner had chosen to categorise the snob the moment she¡¯d delved into his past. ¡°They¡¯ll make excuses to each other and go home. Chances are within two weeks their sad little gang will be no more. One of them will even end up working as a nurse.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡± Fangmoon asked. ¡°You can tell ¨C all that ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oh, sure,¡± Tanra said and shrugged. ¡°They don¡¯t run into diviners on a daily basis, you know? This one ¨C he¡¯s got a cancer living in his tooth, or he will have in a few years ¨C that one ¨C he¡¯s going to be killed by a worshipper of the Blade-Lord ¨C¡°


    She didn¡¯t quite seem to notice, amongst all the billions of details she was processing in her brain right now, the look of abject horror on Fangmoon¡¯s face.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t spent much time around diviners yourself?¡± I asked quietly.


    The druidess just shook her head.


    ¡°¨C die of old age, but with a swollen thing in his side the size of his head ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oooookay, Killstop.¡± I threw out a hand. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s gonna be me or Fangmoon who starts throwing up first, but I know at least one of us will, so for Celestium¡¯s sake could you¡­¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± Tanra bared her teeth. ¡°Had enough to drink? Think you¡¯re fit to fly?¡±


    ¡°I can outfly you,¡± Em said.


    Tanra gave Em an arched-eyebrow, ¡®are you sure about that?¡¯ look.


    At the same time Fangmoon was staring at Nighteye, who was looking a little green.


    ¡°It might be time to sober us up,¡± she said warily.


    ¡°Think I¡­ hm¡­ forgot how,¡± he slurred, slouching against her.


    She smiled sympathetically, and placed a hand against his head. Almost at once his skin returned to its usual complexion ¨C he took a deep breath and stepped back on steady feet.


    ¡°Can you do that for the rest of them?¡± Tanra asked.


    Fangmoon nodded.


    Spiritwhisper had raised his hands, fingers splayed and pointing at our would-be-assailants. Now he lowered them again and turned back to us.


    ¡°Hope you all had a good planning-session while I was working,¡± he said, smiling smugly.


    Fangmoon sighed, then shook her robe and wig out of her knapsack.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡±


    * * *

 Lodus pt2

    ¡°Feel better?¡± Stormsword asked me, barrel-rolling and flying face-up directly beneath me, so that I looked down into her masked visage. ¡°Zis is preferable to being Kas?¡±


    ¡°Immeasurably,¡± I said. How could the two worlds compare? I was riding on the wave of the dark night wind, my fellow champions around me. My wings were hanging at my back more for reassurance than out of necessity. The removal of the alcohol from my system thanks to Fangmoon left me with a pleasurable feeling without any of the lethargy or giddiness.


    And we were on our way to the heart of the brand-new vampire community of Mund.


    ¡°But you vere surprised I vonted to stop being Em.¡±


    ¡°Gee,¡± I put on a gormless voice, ¡°that Stormsword, she sure sounds like an Onlorian ¨C¡±


    ¡°Oi! You git ¨C¡±


    I dodged the little pointy rays of light she flicked at me, then drew up my shield when she didn¡¯t stop ¨C it absorbed them, spreading a white radiance across its ring, almost making the force-barrier visible to the mortal eye.


    ¡°Coming up on Welderway now!¡± Spiritwhisper sounded more nervous than I¡¯d anticipated, given his earlier bravado.


    But his mind-tricks don¡¯t work as easily on things that aren¡¯t from Materium, I thought. And things like vampires are probably hard to fool with illusions ¨C there¡¯s more than just sight and sound to consider. You¡¯d need to give your fake creatures heartbeats, sweat on their skin¡­


    Even now we were, according to our enchanter, ¡®invisible to our enemies¡¯ ¨C another vague thing like ¡®protected against ill-will¡¯ that was still poorly understood, from what I¡¯d read. Would a random Mud Laner who didn¡¯t like Kastyr Mortenn be unable to see me? Would someone merely set to spy on me find themselves unable to do so, or was that passive-enough to classify them as a non-enemy?


    We drew up in a loose formation on the other side of the street from the assassin¡¯s guild-hall, and I felt distinctly visible as I floated there above the rooftops. I still had enough of the illusion-piercing, brown-tinted sight left in my eye to bring it back into focus if I wanted to ¨C but it wouldn¡¯t help here.


    ¡°What do you sense?¡± Fangmoon asked.


    When no one replied I realised she meant me.


    ¡°I, uh¡­ Give me a second.¡±


    I looked down at our target. An innocuous wooden door, one of many in an innocuous row of terraced properties that would¡¯ve looked like a single long brick building without them. A small grille was set into it, so that those within could scrutinise their visitors, a metal mesh through which no light was currently being emitted. The thin windows spread across the three storeys of the property were criss-crossed with black iron bars, and heavy curtains or some other more-permanent means had been used to block all sight.


    What do I sense?


    Sense. Like Morsus lying there in the apartment.


    Like my parents.


    It hit me, and a wave of bile rose in my throat. I managed to swallow it back before it was too much for me, but I still bent over, choking.


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    ¡°Feychilde!¡± Em cried, streaking to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder ¨C


    I waved her off.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. Thanks. I¡¯m okay.¡± I looked up at everyone grimly. ¡°I¡­ yes. This is definitely the place. There are¡­ many dead bodies in there.¡± If it weren¡¯t for the nearby forges stinking up the place and the general condition of this part of Oldtown, it would be odorous-enough that even passers-by would be able to sense what I now could sense.


    ¡°I get that,¡± Fangmoon said. ¡°Millions of flies in there, do you think?¡±


    Nighteye nodded.


    ¡°But anything else?¡± Spiritwhisper pressed. ¡°Anything¡­ undead?¡±


    I sorted through the bodies with my mind. I could feel them as I threw out my consciousness over the building like a wave crashing onto a beach ¨C they were the cracks and dips in the rocks where the water could pool once the wave drew back, the corpses where my thoughts, my will could reside ¨C


    And one that was already full, swirling with purple fluid. A crack into which my will would not fit.


    Not at this range at any rate.


    ¡°I sense one. Only one. Second floor, I think.¡°


    ¡°I¡®ll take the door off,¡± Fangmoon said, immediately drifting down towards the target.


    She wasn¡¯t exaggerating. We were still only landing behind her when she reached out, sank her fingers into the solid wood of the door, and then casually ripped it free of its hinges, laying it aside against the wall.


    ¡°Or maybe we should¡¯ve, you know, just opened it,¡± I said. ¡°If we want the others to come back, trap them ¨C¡°


    ¡°Honestly, Feychilde,¡± Killstop said, ¡°this isn¡¯t going to make that much of a difference.¡±


    I wondered why, if she knew as much about how this expedition was going to pan out as she clearly did, she let me answer the question about the number of undead in here. She surely knew?


    But diviners can miss things, I reminded myself. Their visions are incomplete. They aren¡¯t all Arreath Ril.


    We stepped inside, with a few murmured curses at the stench of rotten flesh which was now overpowering; I imagined it flowing out like a noxious green mist into the street behind us. Em¡¯s power surged in with us, quickly making the air more breathable, and her light illuminated our path.


    The short hall opened into what looked essentially like a small pub. A well-stocked bar, bottles on the shelves; sturdy tables, many comfortable-looking chairs.


    Everything covered in blood, bits of flesh.


    And a crashing sound coming from upstairs.


    We crossed the room in a flash, propelled by Em¡¯s constantly-streaming wind; bursting through the far door, I saw the stairs heading to both the upper and lower floors.


    No time to investigate the corpses down there in the basement, I plunged up the stairwell ¨C I could pinpoint the vampire from the noise it was making.


    It was trying to claw its way through the masonry on the back wall of the building ¨C it knew we were here ¨C and by the sounds of things it¡¯d only need a few more seconds to rend the bricks apart ¨C


    Fangmoon tore through the next door, and I could see our prey in the darkness.


    This room looked like it must¡¯ve been used when the assassins were conferring with clients ¨C there was a single large table, several big, deep chairs. Windowless.


    And to my right, on the other side of the table, a pale man with pale hair was standing, clad in form-fitting black. He was frozen in place, as if my gaze alone sufficed to pin him there, halt the frantic motions that had left the wall behind him in ruin, bits of brick-dust still clinging to his fingers.


    His purple eyes stared back at mine through the slits in my mask.


    They¡¯re too powerful for the invisibility, I realised.


    ¡°Begone from here.¡±


    He intoned the words, speaking slowly and forcefully. He wasn¡¯t just trying to hide his pain. He was attempting to reflect my silent assault, put me under his power somehow.


    I shook my head. Whatever he was trying, it wasn¡¯t getting through my barrier.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid things are going to work a little differently from the last time you ran afoul of the law, Mr. Pointy-Teeth. How about you start by telling me your name and swearing me your everlasting service? Then we can get onto your full report.¡±


    He glared at me only for a split-second longer before a shudder passed through him. Then he dropped his gaze to the nearest chair in defeat.


    ¡°I am Lodus Phertaine. I swear¡­¡± He choked. ¡°Sw-swear you my everlasting service. I¡­¡± His voice fell to a whisper. ¡°It all went wrong.¡±


    * * *

 Lodus pt3

    Nighteye sensed someone alive downstairs, and he and Fangmoon went on a trip to the basement to apply whatever healing they might to the poor wretch who¡¯d been abandoned in a roomful of corpses. The rest of us stayed upstairs, listening to the vampire¡¯s tale.


    Lodus had been your average assassin trying to keep his head down and his belly full when he¡¯d been ¡®begotten¡¯ by this overpowered vampire king (or whatever Timesnatcher had called him). He was the first of many to be so created¡­ He had enlisted Shandarah and Kirian when searching for their creator, to learn from him or kill him ¨C it seemed they hadn¡¯t quite been sure which. But the magisters had interrupted them, and inadvertently awakened the latent thirst within them in an attempt to bring them under the effects of an enthralling spell.


    Em¡¯s hands clenched as she listened to the torrent of information pouring out of my newest minion¡¯s mouth.


    The trio had intended to find the worst of the worst to kill, emulating the heroic vampires of legend, to appease their own consciences, if not do some actual good. But that had quickly devolved into a nightmare when Shandarah tried to turn her recently-estranged husband and son into creatures like her.


    ¡°Sometimes all you want is control, and no matter what you do, it eludes you,¡± Lodus said in a quavering voice. ¡°All the power in the world is the thing you want most, and the thing you need least. It¡¯s hollow. All it does is change the battlefield. I ¨C¡°


    ¡°You let her change her husband. Her son.¡± Stormsword glowered at the vampire from behind her phoenix mask. ¡°And they became ghouls. There can be no excuse for it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not on me,¡± he snarled at her, then, as if experiencing a sudden pain, he snapped his head back to gaze at me. ¡°She had her own will. She¡¯s¡­ She¡­¡±


    ¡°Had?¡± I asked gently.


    ¡°She took her own life.¡±


    ¡°She was not alive,¡± Stormsword said coldly.


    ¡°Unlife. Whatever this thing is. Them first, then herself.¡± He shook his head, eyes wide and despondent. ¡°I can¡¯t control them. Kirian started changing my friends, and with some it even stuck. And when I tried to stop him, his¡­ children took his side. He found others ¨C and they¡¯d already fed, they flocked to him. I¡­ I let them be. I just¡­ There¡¯s nothing I can do.¡± He raised his eyes to meet mine. ¡°They¡¯re assassins. Trained to kill. There¡¯s nothing I can do.¡±


    I shook my head, smiling. ¡°That may not strictly be true.¡±


    ¡°Feychilde?¡± Spiritwhisper said quietly, not taking his eyes off Lodus.


    I looked at him, the swirling blue mask covering his upper face, coloured metal shaped like trails of flame rising off above his head.


    ¡°Can I ask it a question?¡±


    ¡°Erm ¨C well, of course¡­¡± The question baffled me. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to give the impression you couldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°How many did he turn? This Kirian bloke.¡±


    Lodus went through them, muttering under his non-breath, ticking them off one by one. Some had escaped, a poet and a huntress, it sounded like ¨C which made no sense to me whatsoever. Others ¨C a phantom, and a lady? ¨C had become something else¡­


    ¡°Six,¡± my minion answered the enchanter at last. ¡°Six became vampires, ten became these horrible, gaunt things. Ghouls, I guess. All of them under Kirian¡¯s sway.¡±


    ¡°And how many of the others, turned the same night as you, did he bring in?¡±


    ¡°Eight or nine¡­ I think. Maybe more, by tonight.¡±


    Killstop hissed. ¡°There were seventeen turned by the vampire elder. Remember, the map?¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Damn. Damn damn damn.¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡± I could almost hear the cogs turning in Spiritwhisper¡¯s head. ¡°So Timesnatcher was wrong?¡±


    ¡°It would look like it.¡± Stormsword still glared at Lodus, fists clenched.


    ¡°He thought more of the vampires sheltering in this place were changed when Lodus was,¡± Killstop said. ¡°We¡¯ve got eight or nine of them based here, which means there are eight or nine of them out there. Lost.¡± She sighed. ¡°See, I didn¡¯t see this¡­¡± She opened and closed her hands nervously, started pacing.


    ¡°You¡¯re wondering what else you missed?¡± I asked.


    She nodded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t. There¡¯s a million things you missed. Diviners aren¡¯t unlimited, or so I¡¯m given to believe. You can be wrong. You can misinterpret. And you can only see so far. Even if the others don¡¯t get in the way, there¡¯s still a horizon, right?¡±


    She stopped pacing, stared at me for three infinite seconds, then resumed pacing again.


    ¡°Feychilde.¡± Stormsword¡¯s voice was almost unrecognisable as Em¡¯s, not just because of the accent she was putting on ¨C but because she practically growled my name. ¡°You must turn it over to me now.¡±


    I caught the dangerous glint in her eye and I knew what she intended.


    I hadn¡¯t ever actually resolved myself on the question of joining with undead creatures. Demons, no, never. But the undead were different. They were almost human, even if all hope of true humanity had been irrevocably lost. Netherhame and Shallowlie used them, and they didn¡¯t seem so bad. Dustbringer used them¡­


    I admitted it to myself ¨C I felt sorry for Lodus.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it better if I keep him?¡± I asked. ¡°I can use him. Make him fight, or make myself stronger, faster¡­¡±


    ¡°I saw you,¡± she said, voice low, brittle. ¡°I saw what you did to that demon, when yours was being hurt. Now all I want to do is kill one. You know what he did to those I am sworn to defend. Those humans.¡±


    I looked from Stormsword¡¯s hard eyes to Lodus¡¯s pitiful purple ones.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think they can be permanently destroyed like this,¡± I said. ¡°I think, from what I¡¯ve read, his spirit¡¯s just going to linger in the nether-world, and if there¡¯s some ritual to avoid it, it¡¯s something I¡¯ve not read anything about. I¡­¡±


    If we destroyed him properly, would he pass on? To Celestium?


    No ¨C he¡¯d be Infernum-bound, surely¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ll take my chances,¡± the wizard said, staring fixedly at the vampire again.


    I sighed inwardly. This was why we¡¯d come, after all. It wasn¡¯t just to catch the killers ¨C it was to make Em feel better. Give her some closure.


    ¡°I¡¯m not responsible for whatever you think I am,¡± Lodus said, trembling. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die, not again ¨C please, I don¡¯t wanna go back there ¨C please, Master¡­¡±


    I ground my teeth together as I hardened my heart.


    Have to give her the choice. Have to let her make the decision. If it had been my friends¡­


    ¡°Okay,¡± I said, nodding to her, ¡°of course, but if you ¨C¡±


    I wasn¡¯t expecting her to put her hand out and funnel a beam of lightning from her palm straight into Lodus¡¯s forehead.


    She approached him, the blinding tongue of flickering energy that connected them only growing in intensity as she stepped closer, then closer again ¨C his head smoking, he flung out his arms wide and sounds were pulled from his throat¡­ horrid, wet, bleating sounds.


    ¡°Mortiforn,¡± I heard Killstop say in a hushed tone.


    The wizard got close enough to finally clap her hand right down on top of his head ¨C and in a burst of white light the vampire exploded into dust.


    ¡°Awesome,¡± Spiritwhisper intoned.


    She let the wind flow about her, keeping the wisps of smoke from nearing her, steering the dust away from her clothes, her shoes, as though even in death she didn¡¯t want anything to do with him.


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    Then she looked back at us. ¡°So ¨C where next?¡±


    ¡°Follow me,¡± Killstop said. ¡°I could use you at the front door.¡±


    She turned and started heading back down the stairs, Stormsword and Spiritwhisper on her heels.


    I left the room and its gently-drifting dust, closing the door behind me.


    I hadn¡¯t anticipated Em¡¯s pure rage ¨C I¡¯d seen her angry before but not like this. I almost felt hesitant about proceeding. I knew catching the vampires and ghouls was a good thing, even if that meant wiping them off the plane, but was this really going to help Em get over what she¡¯d seen?


    I couldn¡¯t make that decision for her, even now, and I couldn¡¯t deny her the right to see them dead as recompense for what they¡¯d done.


    They¡¯re dead already, I reminded myself. This is just putting them out of their misery¡­ Just like the Body Brigade¡­


    ¡°How¡¯s it going down there?¡± Killstop asked as we descended.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got two breathing,¡± Fangmoon reported. ¡°Major blood loss, necrotised extremities. Can¡¯t stabilise one of them, though. I think they¡¯re dying.¡±


    ¡°I might be able to help with that,¡± I said.


    While Killstop, Stormsword and Spiritwhisper exited the stairwell and headed back to the bar area, I continued, floating on down to the floor below, my wings providing me just enough light to see by.


    The steps over which I flew were coated in red, blood both dry and wet, the latest puddles slowly congealing into an awful paint. The stench was like that of a slaughterhouse.


    Which was basically what this place had become ¨C except the only livestock these creatures fed on was human.


    I couldn¡¯t forget the look of horror in Lodus¡¯s amethyst eyes, no matter how hard I tried.


    The steps terminated at an open door, beyond which a macabre sight greeted my eyes. A room, twelve-foot ceiling, walls of roughly-hewn stone. Twenty-five, thirty feet in diameter. A large space, for a structure such as this.


    The large space was filled, its unmoving occupants strewn about carelessly, broken like discarded toys.


    I saw everything, and there was no unseeing it. These accursed eyes of mine pierced the darkness, uninhibited, falling on every grisly detail.


    Instead I focussed my gaze on the druids crouching over their patients, in one of the only empty spots on the floor. I picked my way through the¡­ mess to reach them, and ejected Avaelar at the same time.


    ¡°Master!¡± he moaned, quickly averting his eyes from his surroundings, staring up at the ceiling. ¡°This is a bleak awakening!¡±


    ¡°Sorry, er ¨C I¡¯ll try to be gentler next time,¡± I said. ¡°Can you do anything with these two?¡±


    Fangmoon and Nighteye shuffled aside, looking worn and weary to my eyes.


    The sylph breathed in the faces of both the dying people. A charcoal-skinned young woman and a white-skinned old man, both pale as sheets. I purposefully kept my eyes from their lacerations.


    Avaelar breathed again, and then looked up at me, shaking his head.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with them?¡± I asked the druids.


    ¡°Vampires,¡± Fangmoon spat.


    ¡°We surmised that the wounds themselves are laced with, hm, nethernal poison, I suppose you¡¯d call it,¡± Nighteye offered, ¡°so after several attempts to heal the affected areas we, hm, employed a spell of great efficacy to remove and reform those areas ¨C¡°


    I shook my head. ¡°Get to the point, Nighteye.¡±


    Fangmoon sighed. ¡°We can¡¯t do anything with them here. We need L-¡±


    ¡°-Leafcloak,¡± I finished her word.


    I¡¯d hoped to do this without involving the senior champions, but if lives were on the line, what choice did we have?


    ¡°I can try again ¨C¡± Fangmoon said, looking down at the comatose victims they¡¯d been treating.


    ¡°Nay, madam,¡± Avaelar interjected, ¡°yon noble sir has it aright. Betwixt ye there is neither will nor wisdom sufficient to accomplish this deed.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re pleasant,¡± Fangmoon said blandly.


    ¡°He gets nervous around people,¡± I said and, ignoring his protests, continued: ¡°Are you going to get in contact¡­?¡±


    The druidess pulled out her glyphstone and held it up ¨C there was every chance she was already mentally calling out Leafcloak¡¯s name.


    I handed Nighteye my healing elixir. ¡°Give this a try?¡±


    He nodded, accepted it, then held it up to scrutinise it. ¡°Thanks. These can have a lot of, hm, juice in them if they¡¯re of a quality ¨C rank six, essence of mjolwort ¨C¡°


    From upstairs I heard a muted thump, and then another.


    Followed by growls, screams.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± Killstop snapped suddenly. ¡°Get up here!¡±


    I quickly waved Avaelar back into my body, then lifted a foot off the ground and sped back up the stairs, sprouting my wings as I went.


    In the bar area several tables had been tossed around, and there were two vampires trapped halfway up the wall, pinned there by a thick sheet of ice. Their limbs and torsos were covered, leaving only their necks and snarling faces exposed.


    One, female, spat incoherencies about wanting our blood, while the other brooded, merely emitting a low growl from his throat.


    Opposite them, the three champions were standing well back, three pairs of eyes trained on the captives.


    ¡°Look out,¡± Killstop said, pointing, even as I soared into the room ¨C the female vampire managed to get an arm free, cracking the icy shell, but Stormsword was instantly on the case, pouring another half-ton of freezing air and water onto the creature with one outstretched hand.


    I floated up in front of the vampires.


    ¡°Be mine.¡±


    They looked at me. It was only a young boy and girl. Their faces were distorted by the fangs hidden beneath their lips, by their pallor, by their strange eyes¡­


    Eyes they now lowered deferentially.


    ¡°You can let them down now.¡± I turned to face Stormsword and waved my hand at the ice.


    ¡°Should we?¡± she asked, looking about with a frown on her face.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said aloud.


    These were¡­ just kids¡­ Did we have to destroy them all in the most horrific way possible? Would she be satisfied with no less?


    ¡°Yes,¡± Killstop immediately echoed me. ¡°They might have more information on our targets.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, bring ¡¯em down,¡± Spiritwhisper said, ¡°so you can fry them into little piles of dust again.¡±


    Stormsword flashed him a grin, and for a moment I rather detested the enchanter.


    She melted away the ice to steam, allowing them to fall to the ground, where they landed like cats, wary, purple eyes on us.


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± Killstop said, ¡°bind these things to tell only the truth and then go over to the doorway. We¡¯re going to get a couple more visitors in a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°As you say, your highness.¡±


    I waited in the shadows of the doorway, halfway between Em¡¯s silvery radiance and that of the full moon, brilliant enough to even pierce the clouds covering Oldtown, flooding Welderway with light ¨C to me, at least. I could hear Killstop questioning the poor boy and girl, but I was training my supernatural senses on another sound.


    Footfalls ¨C stamping feet ¨C approaching over the rooftops opposite us.


    Twenty. Thirty. Maybe forty things, breathing heavily, slavering.


    I peered up, and I could make them out. Ghouls, their clothes ripped from pointless injuries the pain of which they no longer possessed the intelligence to feel, their heads swollen, jaws open wide like those of yawning lions. They went hunched, arms hanging low, hands fixed in claw-like positions. Their fingers and chins looked painted black in the moonlight.


    Painted like the stone steps to the basement were painted.


    ¡°A couple?¡± I cried. ¡°Lodus said they only had ten¡­ there¡¯s way more than that here.¡±


    ¡°What? No ¨C no, I didn¡¯t see this¡­ Guys, get up here!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, no rush. I can handle some ghouls. They can¡¯t be tougher than little demons, right?¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± The diviner sounded sceptical. ¡°Let me know when the vampires show up. Less than two minutes.¡±


    I dragged my reinforced circle with me, leaving behind a triangle-square-pentagon combination that covered the roadway near the door. Nothing would get in behind me.


    I flew up ¨C I could catch the ghouls before they descended ¨C


    They pre-empted me, hurling themselves bodily down the thirty or more feet between the roof and the road. It looked like some of them dislocated their shoulders, twisted their ankles, even inverted their knees ¨C but that didn¡¯t stop them thrusting themselves back onto their feet, loping towards me at a run, gibbering.


    If they couldn¡¯t see me, they could definitely smell me ¨C my warm flesh.


    I floated into the centre of the street, readying the blades of force surmounting my shield. I wouldn¡¯t need my demons for this, or even Flood Boy ¨C not anymore. They would destroy themselves on my barrier.


    Ten yards away the ghouls came to a sudden stop, the ones at the back halting before they crashed into the front row who¡¯d already frozen, staring towards me with hungry purple eyes.


    I had a sudden sense of foreboding.


    ¡°Thou art as once I was, necromancer: Founder-kin.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t move until he finished speaking ¨C the words moved lethargically in the air between us, some chronomantic effect that slowed my thoughts.


    I turned, taking in the man just beneath me, skin and hair and clothing all devoid of colour, white upon white upon white ¨C except for the eyes ¨C the eyes that burned with alien, nethernal intellect.


    ¡°And thou hast taken it upon thyself to win from me the get of my bloodline.¡±


    ¡°Killstop!¡± I tried to scream as he took a step straight into my blades of force ¨C they snapped off in his flesh and dissipated.


    I went to fly, turning my face and pressing myself forwards with both wizardry and wings ¨C


    He must¡¯ve lunged right into my circle because I saw it fade, my stars winking out ¨C I felt the crunch as he clutched my ankle.


    Felt the sickening pain as his grip intensified, splitting flesh and crumbling bone so that my foot flopped like a dead fish.


    He swung me like an oversized bat, bringing my head and shoulder down into contact with the ground. A drool of blood and teeth exploded from my face.


    ¡°In recompense for thine insolence I owe thee less than thou shalt receive ¨C be still!¡±


    My fingers released the explosive dagger¡¯s hilt, but not because of his words ¨C because he leaned over me and lashed out with one red hand, gripping my fingers in his own.


    Bands of excruciating iron.


    Zel!


    ¡°I owe thee only death, and my miscreants lust for thy flesh; yet I shall offer thee undeath.¡± His face was before mine, awful in its beauty, its scent of rose-petals and blood. ¡°I shall bestow upon thee the power that is the mantle of mine office, and take thee with me into the shadows cast by thy Mund. Shall that suffice as punishment?¡±


    ¡°Kas!¡± my trusted advisor shrilled between her screams. Could she feel what I could feel?


    I¡¯d tried to do it without her. I¡¯d failed.


    It was too late. The vampire-lord¡¯s free hand flicked out and struck me, the motion faster than Em¡¯s lightning, more forceful than Fangmoon¡¯s fists.


    He raked his fingers through my flesh and took hold of me by the ribcage.


    Searing agony exploded through my torso and my mind. My head swung back and my lips parted. I felt disconnected. It was like an animal had climbed in my throat to roar as I felt the air burst from my lungs. Only some through my mouth.


    I caught a glimpse of Killstop, two wooden stakes in her hands, hurtling through the air towards me. Somehow, as if there weren¡¯t other things to worry about, I found myself wondering where she¡¯d got them from.


    Trying to clutch at normalcy. A line of thought that wasn¡¯t just despair.


    Then there was the sensation of weightlessness.


    I wasn¡¯t falling. I was flying. He gripped me by the hand and by the bones inside my chest, and flew with me.


    Not like a wizard, with wind rushing. Not with wings, like a giant bat from the kids¡¯ stories. No.


    Like a sliver of the glass moon, moving effortlessly through the night sky as though it were only the darkness that moved about us.


    Only the darkness that moved¡­

 His Best pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 4B: HIS BEST</h2>


    ¡°Ah yes. The returner rewarded for their efforts. You shall have to read me twice if you wish to approach me from my author¡¯s angle. There is no unedited experience. There is no untrue interpretation. There is only the memory of words.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Notes of Timesnatcher¡¯, recovered after the Fall


    10th Belara, 992 NE


    ¡°The Daughter of Love and Laughter blesses thee as ye part ways. Now, Theoras Vernays, son of Yular and Otra, thou art a man in the making, and must put aside the toys of children. It is for thee to sire sons and daughters in thine own time, and bring them here upon the day of their tenth year, as thou hast been brought. So may it be.¡±


    The priestess lowered the chalice of water and poured it onto the crown of the boy¡¯s head; it was transformed into liquid fire as it fell from the silver rim, a flame that warmed but did not burn him, flowing orange-blue over his hair and into the basin beneath his chin.


    The crowd applauded. Mother and Father, at the front, applauded. He could tell their claps apart from the others¡¯. He had heard them so rarely he felt like he had the memories of each distinct clap imprinted upon his mind.


    Aladros and Fentor were sniggering. They knew there was nothing manlike about their youngest brother.


    Theoras, his head hanging over the basin, kept his eyes shut. He could recall a time when Fentor, the middle brother of the three, had been kind to him, despite Aladros¡¯s goading. Once Fentor reached his tenth year, however, he had switched allegiances, siding with their eldest brother in all things. Including tormenting him.


    By now it felt as though things had always been this way.


    The fire-water stopped dripping. He raised his head, allowing the servants to dry his face.


    Holding back a sigh, he opened his eyes. He thanked the priestess courteously as he¡¯d been taught, before turning aside, following the short terracotta stair down from the altar at the centre of the temple.


    He walked with his feet bare, treading the petals strewn across the aisle of the open-air structure, and went to wait with the other children. He still felt like a child; certainly he was over a foot shorter than both his brothers, who were just two and four years his elder. He had neither their sinews nor their proclivity for the arts of magic. Theor¡¯s favourite thing was visiting their farms, which they hadn¡¯t done since last autumn, even though it was the season ¨C Mother said Father was an awful drunk, and it seemed she didn¡¯t want to let him go within ten miles of the vineyards any longer.


    He caught Aladros¡¯s sneering face out of the corner of his eye and straightened up, resolving himself to look directly at the priestess and the next ten-year-old, the girl being prepared for the burdens of the adulthood that would be thrust upon her five years from this day.


    He welcomed those looming burdens, and the freedoms that would come with them. Five years couldn¡¯t pass quickly enough for Theor. He would be away from this place, these people. He would be far from Mund, working for a living with his hands, sleeping in the fields under the stars¡­


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    He clung to the dream and prayed to Enye, in whose sacred space he stood, that it would sustain him.


    ¡°The Daughter of Love and Laughter blesses thee as ye part ways. Now, Setema Pharzun, daughter of Zelikus and Gharma, thou art a woman in the making, and must put aside the toys of children. It is for thee to bear sons and daughters in thine own time, and bring them here upon the day of their tenth year, as thou hast been brought. So may it be.¡±


    He waited, and waited, until almost an hour later the last ten-year-old was cleansed.


    After the ceremony was over, the five of them walked along the path through the meadow towards the coach-station. Father laid his hand on Theor¡¯s shoulder and, letting Mother, Aladros and Fentor walk ahead, took a more leisurely pace.


    Theor looked up at Father with surprise. He had always been half-afraid of the man. He could see himself in Father¡¯s (only somewhat-aged) visage, his future staring back at him. Despite his advanced years the refined features were still mostly wrinkle-free, the fine blond hair still showing in parts through the grey ¨C his brothers had the curly brown hair and Amranian nose of Mother; Theor barely looked like them. But Father¡­


    Still, the tall, slim man had always favoured the others, Aladros in particular. Ginneve, the old Onlorian maid who cleaned Theor¡¯s room and emptied his bedpan, had once explained that it was because Father, the Lord Justice Yular Vernays, had once upon a time detested his own father ¨C the late grandfather the boy had never met.


    Do I remind him of his past? Theor wondered, luxuriating in the feel of Father¡¯s hand on his shoulder, the weight of it.


    ¡°You¡¯re becoming a man, now, Theoras,¡± Father said in his level, dispassionate voice. He didn¡¯t look down at Theor, or even at the fields of flowers on either side of the path ¨C he kept his iron gaze on the coach-station in the distance as he spoke. ¡°It¡¯s time we got you a tutor, in preparation for the tests to come. The priestess wasn¡¯t lying about putting aside the toys of childhood. You understand what it is to be a man, Theoras?¡±


    I haven¡¯t the faintest notion, the boy thought.


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± he said.


    ¡°Duty,¡± Father said, nodding to himself as though satisfied, cutting through all the other nonsense options that flitted through Theor¡¯s mind at the question. ¡°Being a man is about duty, Theoras. If there is only one lesson I teach you, let it be this: listen to your spirit. There is a voice inside you which tells you right from wrong. You must learn to train the ear which attends this voice. There are always two roads, and it is always the more difficult of the two you will be asked to follow. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    ¡°You must.¡± Father suddenly sounded tired. ¡°This is a dangerous world. There are many skills you must learn. Magic is only one of them.¡± Now he turned his face towards his son, trying his best to smile benignly. ¡°Have you taken thought to which discipline you¡¯d choose?¡±


    Theor thought it through as they walked on.


    Listen to my spirit¡­ My ¡®spirit¡¯ is telling me that Father¡¯s an intelligent man ¨C this question didn¡¯t just come out of nowhere. He wants me to understand duty¡­ doing the right thing¡­ the difficult thing¡­


    Theor swallowed down his true desires.


    He knew the right thing to say.


    ¡°Yes sir. I want to be a wizard, like you, sir.¡±


    Aladros was learning enchantment; Fentor, divination. Theor knew he could stand out in this, build a stronger connection between himself and Father ¨C something the others would never have, unless they tried taking secondary qualifications.


    If he¡¯d been expecting praise for his decision, that hope quickly faded. It was with a disappointed expression on his face that Father looked away, casting his gaze back to the coach-station.


    ¡°Very well, Theoras.¡± The voice was cold. ¡°It will be arranged.¡±


    All the way home, he sat in his coach seat alongside his family but he felt alone, going unmolested by the others. It was as though being alone in Father¡¯s presence had settled a sorcerer¡¯s shield about him that still lingered. It wasn¡¯t until he was back in the wing of the house he shared with his brothers that they began to mock him once more, for the way he choked when speaking in front of the priestess, how stupid he looked on his tiptoes over the basin while she poured the holy water over his head.


    And it wasn¡¯t until he spoke to Ginneve the next day that he confirmed his mistake. He should have remembered, but there was no taking it back now.


    Of course¡­ his grandfather had been a wizard too.


    * * *

 His Best pt2

    10th Belara, 995 NE


    ¡°What does he want from me?¡± Theor asked, frowning as he dressed himself. ¡°Thirteen. What new torment has he devised for me today, do you think?¡±


    ¡°Zis is just a ride in ze voods, young master,¡± Ginneve replied, folding his nightshirt and putting it aside neatly. ¡°It is a celebration! You should be pleased.¡±


    Theor had his reservations. He had no doubt Father would find some way to test him. Kasstel Morne, the tutor Father had employed to teach Theor the rudiments of wizardry, had taken the cane to his backside twice only yesterday. Doubtless the old mage¡¯s reports would¡¯ve reached Father¡¯s ears by now. Last time, when he¡¯d butchered the fire-lizard he was supposed to be skinning, Father had come to his room that night and delivered his own caning. Not at his own hand, of course, but his manservant Holos was more than equal to the task; the massive, silent thug had eagerly brought the switch down again and again. Theor had been forced to sleep on his front, and couldn¡¯t sit down for two days.


    He couldn¡¯t help fear that this time it would be worse.


    But it was his birthday, and when he left the house¡¯s doors into the bright sunlight of the wet morning, there was no sign of displeasure on Father¡¯s face. He, Aladros and Fentor were already mounted. Holos and a handful of other servants were standing by the stirrups, doing the final checks on the straps.


    ¡°Come, get in the saddle, Theoras!¡± Father said, indicating his steed with a nod of his head.


    Brancados, the grey stallion. The most difficult horse Theor had ever sat astride. Never before had a creature been so appropriately named: the unicorn of legend who first bore that name was the foal of Nentheleme¡¯s own champion, and was hardly likely to accept a rider either.


    None of the servants came forward to help him. Theor could get his foot up and into the stirrup, but swinging his other leg over took several goes. It felt like a hundred goes, the stares of his elder brothers burning into his back. It was bad enough that the stallion didn¡¯t stop prancing and tossing his neck haughtily, never mind the silent commentary.


    In the end it was only Fentor¡¯s nasal laugh that stirred the anger inside him, giving him the strength to vault up into the saddle.


    ¡°At last,¡± Aladros sniffed, turning his own horse easily. He was a man now, and looked the part, tall and broad-shouldered. Fentor wasn¡¯t far behind. But Theor was still a narrow, slight little creature without a masterful bone in his body, and Brancados, beneath him, seemed to realise it. The horse broke from a walk into a trot and Theor was forced to pull back on the reins, struggling to keep the horse in line with those of the others.


    The land that belonged to them wasn¡¯t extensive. The Vernays family had ancestral domains stretching almost a hundred miles, but prices within Mund¡¯s walls were at a premium, especially within the forests of Treetown. Nonetheless, the Lords and Ladies of the northern reaches of Treetown had an accord when it came to hunting, and those with the proper credentials were permitted to roam the twisting paths, armed with bow and spear. And of course Father always insisted on using the horses. It was a symbol of their rank and prestige, or a leftover habit from Father¡¯s childhood, or something.


    Father drank heavily from his wineskin as soon as they were out of sight of the house¡¯s windows. Perhaps it was just that it was harder to twist an ankle while riding drunk than it was walking drunk.


    The trees within the Vernays borders were oak and elm, birch and redebon. The main forest paths were reasonably well-travelled, so their route through the woods was an easy one. On a few occasions they ran into other gentlemen out for a ride or stroll, and Theor was forced to respond genially to the odd comment, it being his birthday and all. But mostly the passers-by directed their comments at Aladros and Fentor, noting their height: ¡®oh my how they¡¯ve grown, Yular; young Aladros, my Litheline is coming of age in two months ¨C you simply must meet her¡­¡¯


    Theor was almost relieved when they stopped for a snack.


    Holos started building up a fire, and then another servant, Gharalar, unwrapped Father¡¯s fine yew longbow, and produced a quiver of arrows from a saddlebag.


    ¡°Come, my sons,¡± Father said, testing the bowstring before taking the quiver, ¡°let us see how your training is paying off.¡±


    With that he led them into the brush.


    Aladros pierced a partridge on the wing, bringing it down better than an expert ranger. That earned him Father¡¯s applause and approval. Fentor missed when he tried to emulate the feat, but before long he¡¯d spotted a quail hopping about on the ground and retrieved Father¡¯s bow in time to make the shot. Father touched him fondly on the shoulder when he returned the longbow.


    Then Theor¡¯s turn came.


    Longbows were always too long for him ¨C they were a foot taller than him ¨C and too unyielding for his puny arms. Still, he did his best to carry it as they moved through the undergrowth, did his best to keep from banging it on trees and getting its string caught in the bushes. He could only imagine the furore that would be raised if he managed to snap it. He¡¯d never handled Father¡¯s best longbow before, and never would again, if he had chance.


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    It wasn¡¯t long before the time arrived. He reluctantly went to accept the arrow Aladros handed him ¨C too reluctantly, it turned out, for his eldest brother withdrew the arrow once he reached for it, turning it into a game, almost making Theor flinch as the arrowhead ducked and danced in his direction.


    ¡°Aladros,¡± Father murmured, not even disapprovingly.


    And Aladros handed him the arrow without further performance.


    ¡°Take aim! Good.¡± Father¡¯s whisper was harsh. ¡°That¡¯s it¡­ Come, boy. Now is the time! Loose!¡±


    Theor could see the bird as though it were perched on the tip of his arrow. It was a mottled grouse, lightest in colouration at the belly, darker at the wings. Its throat was creamy, almost orange in hue and its little face and beak were pointed west, so that he looked upon it in profile, able to take in every part of the animal.


    Wind ruffled its feathers, coiling in its soft down. It was a stupid-looking bird, but it had nobility. Here and now, in the moment of its impending death, it was too beautiful to die.


    And Theor¡¯s fingers on the string wouldn¡¯t move. His muscles were tightening; he had held this pose too long but was too scared to let the arrow fly and too scared to lower the bow. He was trapped in his indecision.


    The marksman who¡¯d taught Aladros and Fentor was now Theor¡¯s tutor, and he¡¯d told the boy to imagine the arrowhead in the target, see it happening even before he released the shaft. But he couldn¡¯t imagine it happening. He couldn¡¯t, wouldn¡¯t, see it.


    ¡°Can¡¯t kill it, but wouldn¡¯t say no to eating it,¡± Father growled. ¡°Aladros! Forward!¡±


    Within three seconds his eldest brother had the bow off him, the arrow nocked ¨C and within another three the grouse was pierced at the left wing.


    It descended from its branch, screaming in pain, trying and failing to fly.


    ¡°If you can¡¯t shoot it, you can at least wring its neck.¡± Father pointed. ¡°Go.¡±


    Numbly, Theor advanced into the foliage, his feet moving automatically at Father¡¯s command, requiring little input from Theor¡¯s own will.


    He saw it, writhing amidst the thorns. He saw it now, not as a noble thing, something beautiful ¨C it was just a sad bundle of feathers thrashing in its final moments.


    All the horror of death was encapsulated in its frantic motions.


    If he weren¡¯t putting it out of its misery there¡¯d be no chance he¡¯d have ever been able to just snap its neck. But as things stood ¨C did he really have any other choice?


    This is how we all go, the boy thought, and shivered. One day, this will happen to me. Somehow. Some way.


    And as he knelt by the bird¡¯s side, putting out his hand, he felt something within him.


    It didn¡¯t start at his fingertips, where he pressed his hand softly into the feathers. Instead, it felt like it started in the soles of his feet, travelling rapidly up his legs and torso; only then did it shoot down his extended arm.


    It was almost like a shudder of nervousness, or the feeling of falling ¨C and it flooded out of him, a hurricane of power that weakened him in its passage.


    Suddenly the arrow was free, tumbling clear into the thorns.


    The grouse looked at him in no less shock than he felt, and cawed what could only be translated as, ¡°Y-you should g-get out of here!¡± before lifting off through the trees with startling speed.


    Theor stood up with the arrow, looking blankly back at the others.


    What in the¡­ what¡­


    ¡°It¡­ it fell out,¡± he called lamely.


    Father, Aladros and Fentor no longer bothered keeping quiet as they stomped towards him.


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®fell out¡¯?¡± Aladros asked. ¡°Do you know so little?¡±


    ¡°You removed it, boy?¡± Father roared.


    Fentor had folded his arms across his chest. He was smirking, shaking his head ruefully.


    ¡°I knew you were¡­ I knew¡­ but I¡­¡± Father seemed unable to complete a sentence; he took a long draught from his wineskin before continuing. ¡°You think this is the proper way to behave? How dare you waste your brother¡¯s shot!¡± His voice raised to an almost shrill pitch: ¡°If you were a servant I would have you beaten for your temerity! In fact,¡± he took another long swig and smacked his lips, ¡°Aladros¡­ I¡¯ll return to camp ahead of you.¡±


    Father strode off, shouting for Holos before lifting his wineskin once again.


    Aladros and Fentor didn¡¯t move and Theor stood before them, cringing, paralysed, feeling suddenly exhausted by whatever happened between himself and the bird, knowing that he didn¡¯t have the energy to run or strength to resist. He nervously twisted the arrow he¡¯d retrieved in his hands.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s see ¨C what would Father want us to do with him, little brother?¡± Aladros said, leaning casually on the longbow, looking across at Fentor. ¡°Come up with a good idea and I¡¯ll give you credit.¡±


    ¡°We could always ¨C¡± Fentor withdrew an arrow from the quiver ¡°¨C take a pound of flesh from him instead.¡±


    He lunged forwards suddenly, and if Theor thought he was frozen in place before he truly was now, with the unwavering arrowhead just an inch from his eyes.


    ¡°Or perhaps a tasteful scar ¨C somewhere no one else would see it¡­¡±


    Theor felt himself melting, fading, as though he no longer existed ¨C it was like he was watching it all play out inside the bounds of a glyphstone, a recording of events that happened to someone else. He heard himself whimpering, as if from a great distance.


    He had only the vaguest impression of the sensation as he let the arrow in his own hands fall to the carpet of twigs at his feet. Even less when they scored him with the edge of the arrowhead beneath his clothes ¨C he just stood there, enduring it all, a blubbering statue with tears in its eyes.


    They made him march in front of them as the trio returned to the camp, following the scent of cooking meat. They prodded him in the neck and back of the head with the arrow-tip whenever his strides failed to outstrip their longer-legged pace.


    Father stood at the edge of the clearing, hands on hips, awaiting them. Behind him Holos was turning cuts of bird on a spit over the flames. Holos grinned as he looked upon Theor¡¯s quivering stance, but Father just looked cold.


    ¡°Well, you fool boy¡­ Have you learned your lesson? Or shall further instruction be required?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Theor wanted to look back at Aladros and Fentor behind him but the memory of the arrowhead striking him made him reconsider. ¡°I am, hm, much chastised, Father.¡±


    ¡°Good. Now sit down in silence while we eat.¡±


    Theor felt hungry as he watched Father and his brothers tearing into the food. For the first time he noticed the servants¡¯ eyes, like his, trying not to watch. They too hungered. They too were on the outside.


    But while everyone was distracted he surreptitiously checked his wounds.


    As he¡¯d expected from the lack of actual pain, the worst of the cuts was no deeper than a nick, and most hadn¡¯t left more than a surface-scratch. Little blood.


    He did his best and managed to keep his calm as his brain processed the information.


    So, I¡¯m an archmage. An arch-druid.


    He managed to hold back the tears.


    Father would never approve.


    * * *

 His Best pt3

    10th Belara, 998 NE


    The kids ran down the muddy street and the darkmage followed, a black-garbed figure floating serenely on the air, easily keeping up with them. As though he did it as much for amusement as anything else, the darkmage would nonchalantly raise a hand, gesture at one of the fleeing children; the road would rise up, mud spilling over the chosen target, pulling them down to suffocate in the dirt. He ignored all the other screaming people who turned and sprinted away from the scene, chasing after only the little ones.


    Nighteye was swiftly catching up. He was high above his quarry, descending with his wings poised, slicing down through the air. But he could easily pick out the details even from up here ¨C starlight was enough for him to see by, and the wizard wasn¡¯t bothering to direct the mist, hide what he was doing.


    He could see the exultant body language of the heretic, soaring upright and aloof, untouchable, as he toyed with the children¡¯s lives. The tiny, desperate hands of his dying victims, trying futilely to claw their way from their muddy graves.


    He had no choice. He couldn¡¯t chase the darkmage ¨C he had to save the trapped ones first. Even if it meant falling behind. He couldn¡¯t just leave them to drown in the muck of Lowtown.


    He shifted even as he landed ¨C there was no gap between intention and actualisation this time. Changing shape was as simple as changing facial expression now.


    With a human arm he reached down into the mire ¨C with a single thrust he went into the road up to the shoulder. He could feel the hair on the little boy¡¯s head ¨C he found the boy¡¯s arm and smoothly pulled.


    He could tell at once it was no good ¨C he was going to rip the arm off.


    Taking a deep breath, Nighteye plunged his face into the road, then used both arms.


    It took another ten seconds to get the boy out, and ten more seconds of gently beating on his back until the champion was sure he was okay.


    In the time he had stopped to help, the wizard had continued his horrid task by burying two more children, and was about to turn a corner, chasing the rest of them out of Nighteye¡¯s line of sight.


    I know what to do.


    The next magic he used was no more difficult to bring into effect than puffing out his chest and standing up straight.


    When he reached the next group of buried children he was thirty feet tall, and his arms were long enough, hands big enough, that he could scoop the children out of the ground two by two.


    The arch-wizard looked back, once, before turning the corner, in pursuit of the last few.


    Celestium, he swore as the killer disappeared from view.


    He checked those he saved were breathing and hurried on to the corner, stomping his way through the muck with his new legs the size of trees, splashing the walls of the houses. As he went he set his thoughts on the nearby animals. There were an awful lot of rats and even a few snakes hanging around in the nearest alleys ¨C bats in the roofs ¨C birds hunting spiders and scorpions, flies and wasps¡­ He could imagine them in his mind¡¯s eye all at once, what they were feeling, how they could respond to his will.


    He rounded the corner. The heretic was hovering there, waiting.


    Random people yelling and running behind him.


    No sign of the children, except ¨C


    Except Nighteye could sense them, still alive but dying, right beneath the road under the heretic¡¯s floating feet. Six of them. Those who had tried to split away from the pack had been the first to suffer the wizard¡¯s wrath, and their shared terror had kept these six kids together ¨C and now they were going to die together.


    He could feel the life down there, worms and weeds and roots and even the lice covering the bodies of the children. He could feel it and he could manipulate it, give it shape with his thoughts. But he wasn¡¯t Leafcloak ¨C there wasn¡¯t anything he could do in such a short time-period to make the roots grow long, make the weeds strong enough to haul the kids out of their disgusting tomb.


    The dark wizard floated a little higher, approaching his eye-level.


    ¡°Why¡¯re you even saving ¡®em?¡± the man asked in a brusque, local accent, South Lowtown to the core. ¡°You¡¯re a fool, druid. If you knew the freedom that comes o¡¯ letting go ¨C¡°


    Heresy.


    The magically-swollen musculature of his wiry body maintained its accustomed agility. He was no fighter, but he could snap out a series of strikes with horrendous power and speed.


    None of the blows landed ¨C the wizard swooned and swayed in the air. ¡°They¡¯re usin¡¯ you, you know!¡± he yelled, laughing derisively now.


    Then the black figure retaliated with fire, spraying it in liquid form right into Nighteye¡¯s gigantic face so that it ran down his equally-gigantic mask, melting it.


    It hurt. A lot.


    He put his massive head down, felt his hood igniting, hair aflame¡­ Still, he didn¡¯t stop swiping with his arms, trying to snatch the heretic out of the air. He could sense the slippery wizard just as easily as he could sense the children. Once he had his hands on the killer it would be over.


    Nighteye felt nothing as he pummelled the air, his arms colliding with no obstacles. But that didn¡¯t matter, really. Ending it quickly was secondary right now ¨C with his head down, he assessed the positions of the six kids running out of air down there, trying to pinpoint their exact locations. If he didn¡¯t get them out in the next seconds, the liquid fire would pool above them and they¡¯d be sure to die ¨C


    He knew what he had to do.


    When he roared in anger the darkmage seemed to think it was a scream of pain, and laughed all the louder.


    The moment the wizard backed away a little farther, he acted, throwing everything at his enemy all at once.


    Sparrows, gulls, blackbirds, with scorpions and snakes in their talons. Rats leaping off the nearest buildings, the biggest spiders he could find riding their shoulders.


    It was a distraction. He could feel the senseless loss of life as the heretic whirled, meeting the new threats with waves of elemental forces that tore them into feathers, gobbets of flesh, twists of dust¡­


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    But it afforded Nighteye time to bend and scoop aside the whole road, upturning its contents as he slid it so that the suffocating children were released, lying now atop a mound of sludge.


    He was relieved to see they were panting for air; some of the bravest townspeople who¡¯d stopped to watch the battle were running forwards to help the kids out ¨C


    The arch-wizard, noticing that his victims had been freed, loosed a shriek of rage. Ignoring Nighteye, he swirled around the druid, spraying more fire at the children, both his arms extended ¨C the mud swiftly started taking shape around them, humanoid limbs of pure filth reaching out to grasp them, pull them back down into the muck ¨C his liquid flame was about to touch them, incinerate them right there where they were sprawled ¨C


    But his anger had cost him dearly.


    As the darkmage sped in an arc around him, Nighteye snatched out a hand, but this time he put on another burst of growth even as he stretched.


    The ten-foot-long arm the heretic tried to evade was now fifteen feet long, and the champion gripped him by the left leg, pulled him away from his would-be victims.


    Got you now, killer.


    Before he brought his second hand up to bear on the heretic, Nighteye had already filled the heretic with so many diseases that he actually heard the man¡¯s shuddering gasp, even over the wet roar of the flames still spurting from the black-gloved fingertips.


    He¡¯d reached his limit ¨C at almost fifty feet tall, the champion towered over the nearby buildings, giant-like. It was almost difficult not to tear the wizard in two as he gripped the killer in both hands and started to apply pressure.


    The wizard shrieked again, but not in anger this time. This was pain, humiliation.


    ¡°Turn ¨C off ¨C the ¨C flames!¡± Nighteye growled. His fifty-foot-tall body produced a far louder, deeper voice than was normal.


    The liquid flame appeared to be pouring out of the wizard¡¯s body through the pores in his skin, like a desperate last-ditch attempt to scorch the druid¡¯s hands, secure his release. His black robe was burning away.


    But Nighteye¡¯s hands weren¡¯t going anywhere. Scars would heal, as would his face and scalp, even his hair.


    Instead he only tightened his grip.


    ¡°You ¨C foolish ¨C boy!¡± the heretic gurgled.


    The champion¡¯s eyes narrowed, feeling the surge of hatred. For some reason he was reminded of that hunting trip, three years ago to the day, on his thirteenth birthday ¨C after which he¡¯d given up meat; after which he¡¯d made friends with Avenar, his loyal grouse, and come into his power.


    Now he was sure of his power. Now it was no less natural to him than breathing.


    ¡°You tried to kill the children!¡± he cried. ¡°You killed¡­ hundreds¡­ of my friends.¡± The champion turned his head aside ¨C there were still feathers floating down through the air. ¡°You¡¯re pathetic! You don¡¯t deserve to¡­ breathe.¡±


    The fiery death-throes of the darkmage only intensified as Theor began to shut down the heretic¡¯s lungs with cold precision.


    ¡°Don¡¯t deserve¡­ to live¡­¡±


    He removed the barriers he¡¯d set up in his mind, or they were removed for him ¨C as he squeezed he knew only that they were gone, the instincts that compelled him to preserve life, washed away in a fiery flood, a wave of crying children, falling feathers ¨C


    He felt an oh-so-satisfying crunch as the wizard¡¯s ribcage and collarbone popped ¨C


    ¡°Nighteye!¡±


    Leafcloak¡¯s shrill cry cut through the fog in the street, the fog in his mind, and he came back to himself.


    Even as he let the limp wizard fall from his massive hands, she swooped down, catching the killer in her beak before he hit the ground.


    Those people who¡¯d watched the battle between heretic and giant from a distance were now backing away in renewed awe, as the tremendous bird descended into the street.


    Theor saw the other two heretics, asleep, clutched in her talons as she settled down on the scooped-out road-surface.


    Then she shimmered, becoming herself again, appearing halfway between the sleeping heretics and Theor¡¯s one. He could sense the life still beating inside the broken wizard ¨C and he could sense the life already strengthening, bones and lacerations mending before Leafcloak even reached him.


    People were so much easier to break than to put back together again, but she made it look simple.


    Within the five seconds it took for her to reach and crouch down at the wizard¡¯s side, he was in perfect health. She put him to sleep and then hoisted him, dragging him across to the other two. This part she made look difficult, but only because there were onlookers.


    Then she looked up into Theor¡¯s face.


    ¡°Come with me.¡±


    She spoke gently, and the giant boy shuddered.


    ¡°Leafcloak, I, hm¡­ the children, I can hardly ¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen to them already, and we can¡¯t do this here.¡± Within an instant she was a bird once more, swelling in size as she gathered the trio of darkmages together. ¡°It¡¯s over, Nighteye. It¡¯s over. Meet me at Magicrux Peralath.¡±


    She took to the air, the wind of her beating wings making his hair stream where it was regrowing, loose of his hood.


    ¡°This is a sorry way to spend my birthday,¡± he muttered, shaking the feathers through his flesh, bending into position as he became a titanic owl.


    Gasps rippled across the small crowd, and a few of the children lifted their arms, waving at him as he soared away.


    Magicrux Peralath was located near the southern wall of Mund, in the centre of a rare grassy area. Like many of the bastions of the magisters, it looked like little more than a small fort from the outside. It was round, a squat structure of grey stone with no access from the roof; Leafcloak was forced to set her captives down on the path that led from the street to the gate. It would be far larger under the ground than one would imagine from outside, of course.


    The single guard at the door sprang to attention the moment she saw the two birds come plunging out of the smog, and before she¡¯d even retrieved her glyphstone from her belt-pouch the druids were changing back to their human forms.


    While the magisters came flooding out and started binding the hands and feet and eyes of the darkmages, the old woman took Theor aside, her grip on his arm firm.


    ¡°Leafcloak, I know I went too far, I just, hm, I just ¨C¡°


    ¡°You went too far.¡± The quietness of her voice was awful.


    ¡°I could¡¯ve stopped ¨C I could¡¯ve not killed him, but what was I supposed to do? He just ¨C hm, he insisted on killing them, and I just ¨C I just ¨C¡± Fool boy. ¡°I¡­¡±


    She put her arm around his shoulders as he started sobbing:


    ¡°I just think it¡¯s stupid, these rules are stupid; why can¡¯t I kill him? My power is power over death as much as it¡¯s power over life ¨C why isn¡¯t it in the rules that I have to kill him? Why does he get to live when everyone, everything he killed is just, just dead?¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t get to live ¨C¡°


    ¡°You know what I mean, Leafcloak!¡±


    The tears flowed down the outside of his melted mask.


    She stroked his head and spoke soothingly, keeping her voice low so that she wouldn¡¯t be overheard.


    ¡°Do you remember what I said to you, Theor? When we were first introduced?¡± His eyes were closed but he could tell from her voice she was smiling in sympathy. ¡°I never once met someone like us who gained their magic when they gave in to their urge to kill. No. We gain our magic, our authority, from our stance against death.¡±


    ¡°B-but the d-dark-dr-druids ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯ve not spoken to them too? They¡¯re like us, Theor, except they give in. They start out like us but they use the words you just spoke, to convince themselves any evil they desire is permissible. Not only permissible, but righteous. The whole meaning of their being chosen for these gifts. But they¡¯re wrong. Power entitles you to nothing. Nothing! You know this. You know this personally, don¡¯t you? You are wealthy.¡±


    He drew back, nodding, breathing deeply and looking up at the sky, doing his best to stop crying.


    ¡°You chose to be a champion. Just because you can decide ¨C life, or death ¨C doesn¡¯t give you the right. You have to remember your training, Theor.¡± She sighed, and the leaves on her face rustled as though stirred by a breeze he could not feel. ¡°Go home ¨C I¡¯ll make sure everything¡¯s sorted here. I¡¯m going to take you off assignments like this for the next six months. We¡¯re going to work on your plant-growth and healing skills next ¨C I see you¡¯ve got the size manipulation under control now¡­¡±


    She spoke. He listened and nodded. He understood why she was doing this, how it would help him. He understood that he had to go home now, couldn¡¯t wait to watch the three executions the magisters would carry out immediately.


    The dark-druids were no different from them, and if he stayed, he could change. Perhaps only a little, but it could happen. The darkness could enter his soul. And maybe next time he would squeeze, squeeze harder than he¡¯d ever squeezed before, turning his enemy into nothing more than a jelly to be cast aside into the gutter, rat-fodder¡­


    So when Leafcloak was done talking he took his leave, travelling north-east to the forest of his home.


    * * *

 His Best pt4

    How he longed to just be gone, pursuing his old dreams of escaping the city. Seeing real forests, where the canals were streams, where the fauna wasn¡¯t imported, living his life as an arch-druid in the wild, no people to trouble him¡­ He needed nothing to survive except his wits and his will ¨C he could climb the mountains to their peaks, exist in the stillness beyond the bounds of the world¡­


    But that would mean changing, in a different way, and he knew his personal desires were selfish. How many could he save, here? Power didn¡¯t entitle you to anything but obligations. Saving others was just the self-evident obligation. The money didn¡¯t hurt either ¨C not that he had spent any of it yet. Though he¡¯d been a man for a whole year today, nothing had changed. Aladros and Fentor were still residing in Mother and Father¡¯s house. They still spoke down to him, expected things of him that he could never provide. And he could never stand up to them. He backed down, time and again.


    He was a healer. A protector. Not a bully. Not a killer.


    As he flew he curled his talons. He could feel it in his flesh, this strange owl-flesh in which he¡¯d coated his soul ¨C the very beak he wore in this form was a signifier.


    That he was wrong.


    He could be what he was not.


    As he landed near his home and got changed, he looked down at his mask. The beak was melted now. He¡¯d find a new one as close to the original as he could, but it would never be quite the same.


    Everything was born a killer. Flies screamed as they felt the deadly touch of the spider¡¯s string. The wolf fed her pups with fat derived from the baby beavers she¡¯d feasted on. Even the plants choked one another, struggling in a slow, desperate dance for sunlight ¨C you could keep them spread out, incapable of violating one another¡¯s space, but only artificially. Only for a period of time. Inevitably chaos would come, new plants filling the gaps until there was no longer enough for everyone ¨C and who was there to say that it was wrong? That Mekesta¡¯s work was unnatural? Perhaps evil was the natural way of things. Death¡­ was natural.


    And hadn¡¯t he done evil even in saving those children? Hadn¡¯t he done the work of death? He¡¯d traded hundreds of animals¡¯ lives for the lives of six kids. He hadn¡¯t been able to think of a different way to do it ¨C was that enough to make it right?


    He didn¡¯t feel it was.


    There was no way to avoid death. So what if he refused meat, ate only vegetables? Were the plants any less alive? Did they possess a small-enough quantity of that indescribable essence called soul that consuming them was somehow okay? Whose responsibility was it to say that, and why? Who got to decide on life?


    No one. Only death.


    Only Vaahn.


    He walked through the treeline, looking at his home. He was approaching from the front, not far from the path ¨C the faux-castle main building and the two lavish wings encircled the courtyard and its pond (deep enough to swim in, and deep enough to drown in if your brothers had a mind). The globes were all still on in the lounge ¨C he doubted anyone would be asleep yet. Unfortunately they weren¡¯t out at the theatre tonight ¨C they¡¯d been out yesterday, and they never went twice in a row.


    His grouse, Avenar, was perched on one of the low branches in the last tree.


    ¡°You okay, Kind One?¡± the bird chirped in its grandfatherly tone ¨C he¡¯d aged fast. ¡°You smell funny again.¡±


    ¡°I feel funny,¡± the boy replied. ¡°You, hm,¡± he thought of all the birds he¡¯d gotten killed tonight, ¡°you shouldn¡¯t be around me, right now, Av.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? There ¨C¡°


    ¡°You ate a worm not two minutes ago.¡±


    ¡°Well, yes, I¡¯m not above a little worm! I ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s still alive, Av.¡± The boy¡¯s voice was cold. ¡°D-dying. I can feel it. Just ¨C just go home, okay?¡±


    The grouse didn¡¯t take off, but Theor didn¡¯t wait, exiting the bushes, heading for the house.


    When he reached the main building the attendant respectfully opened the right-hand door for him, but Aladros was just on his way out and barged through him, right there in the narrow doorway.


    ¡°Out of my way, short-ass,¡± Aladros snarled ¨C the kind of comment that was the closest thing to an apology Theor ever got.


    Theor only just managed to go slack in time, let himself be thrown back as his eldest brother met him shoulder-to-shoulder.


    But instead of twisting aside, he spun back and caught Aladros by the wrist.


    His brother¡¯s bones were as brittle as the stem of a wine-glass. It was difficult not to exert a little extra pressure, test their strength¡­


    Instincts were at work that had lain buried for long years. His muscles and mouth moved as though of their own accord.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± he said, taking a step farther towards the hall, ignoring the wide-eyed attendant.


    His pace and grip were inexorable. Even before Aladros had thought of an adequately cutting response to this startling turn of events he was being yanked off-balance, gasping as he was dragged along by his little brother.


    ¡°Did you know,¡± Theor said dreamily as he strode across towards the hall, ¡°twenty minutes ago I was fifty feet tall?¡±


    ¡°What ¨C are you ¨C doing?¡± Aladros panted, clawing at Theor¡¯s curled fingers with his free hand, completely incapable of budging them even a little.


    What am I doing?


    Theor didn¡¯t reply, but cast him a sidelong glance. His big brother still wasn¡¯t submitting ¨C there was no panic on the coarse, Amranian features. Only anger.


    So Theor just smiled grimly in response.


    Seeing that smile caused Aladros to snap ¨C he surged closer, bringing his free hand up into a fist, swinging around to smash the druid in the nose, a full-force, full-bodied blow ¨C


    And yelped.


    Theor¡¯s bones were harder than stone now, and the split skin sealed before much blood was spilled. The same couldn¡¯t be said of Aladros¡¯s hand, its third knuckle suddenly migrated an inch up the back of his hand, a minor fracture in his wrist¡­


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    Theor entered the lounge, thrusting the door open a little too hard, taking it off its hinges. At least it was still intact.


    Father was sitting on the velveted couch, poring over the open tome which sat upon the table, his wine-glass in his hand. Fentor was with him, already coiling out of his seat, far faster than Father, outrage on his face as he stood ¨C


    A divination spell. Reflexes.


    Theor smiled again.


    Predict this.


    The outrage on Fentor¡¯s face turned to horror, as Theor used his grip on Aladros¡¯s wrist to hurl one brother across the room into the other.


    He was pretty sure he¡¯d at least dislocated Aladros¡¯s shoulder with that throw. If the man¡¯s screams were anything to go by, he could¡¯ve partially torn the arm off too.


    Oh well.


    ¡°Theoras!¡± Father¡¯s voice was low, sharp, incensed.


    The druid halted. He felt the panic he¡¯d so longed to see on Aladros¡¯s face now spreading through him.


    What am I doing!


    ¡°Master!¡± came the choked voice of Holos from behind him ¨C the servant was standing in the vacant doorway to the lounge, staring at Theor¡¯s two brothers lying together, sprawled and entangled before the cold hearth.


    ¡°Thurula aeloran,¡± Aladros gasped, rising, pointing his damaged hand at Theor with the central three fingers extended, his thumb trapping his pinkie, ¡°inaeron mervidia.¡±


    Whatever Aladros had been hoping would happen, nothing did, and he sank back down to his knees, crestfallen. Theor¡¯s hidden amulet took care of that.


    Thank you Lovebright.


    ¡°Begone from here, Holos,¡± Father said in a tone that brooked no refusal, his slightly-slurred voice still low, his almost-glazed eyes fixed unblinkingly on his arch-druid son.


    Holos backed out of the room, then turned and fled.


    ¡°F-Father ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do not speak to me.¡± He didn¡¯t sound angry; his voice wasn¡¯t loud. Dispassionate. Level. ¡°You have brought only shame to this family ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s my-my birth-¡±


    Father hurled his wine-glass down, shattering it on the hearthstones.


    A silence broken only by the laboured breathing of Theor¡¯s brothers settled on the room, heavy enough to press down on the druid¡¯s skin.


    ¡°Do not speak to me,¡± Father repeated, his voice even quieter. ¡°You have brought only shame to this family with your flagrant disrespect, your complete, abysmal lack of control. Do you think that your Mother and I were not aware of your¡­ condition?¡±


    ¡°You ¨C you knew th-¡±


    ¡°Do not speak to me!¡± Father screamed.


    Theor went stiff, eyes wide, fingers clenched, but his foot tapped on the carpet as though it had a mind of its own.


    As Father spoke he approached, step by menacing step, and Theor¡¯s world was one of ever-increasing dread, terror, as a man standing and staring while a glacier loomed above, grinding closer and closer ¨C


    ¡°You thought we would not notice? Truly? The arrival of this farcical Nighteye, the very same week in which you began to pursue ¡®additional studies¡¯ at night? You thought you were so clever. I knew it was you the following morning! And that time on the hunt ¨C the bird, healing itself!¡±


    The scorn lashed him.


    ¡°You think to impress us with your antics? Tell me ¨C are you now a mighty wizard? Azalar shakech! Iz zim lathar!¡±


    The hand which had held the wine-glass was now an upraised fist, burning in a nimbus of white-hot flame.


    He held the fist there, shimmering in incandescent power, then ¨C


    ¡°No,¡± Father said sorrowfully, lowering the hand. ¡°You have naught you have earned and far more than you deserve. If it is your wish to get yourself killed, be at it! I shall suffer to feed and clothe you of my purse, until such a day comes, Yune willing. Now, begone from my sight.¡±


    Theor felt the paralysis on him begin to loosen ¨C he exhaled heavily, slumped ¨C


    ¡°Wait ¨C on second thoughts, halt.¡±


    The boy looked into Father¡¯s face.


    ¡°First, help your brothers to their feet. Heal their wounds. Go!¡± he barked, seeing Theor¡¯s hesitation. ¡°Be at it!¡±


    The druid did his best to keep the tears from flooding down his face as he did what he was told, to hold them back until he was safe in the privacy of his room.


    But, as with everything, he failed.


    * * *


    4th Illost, 998 NE


    ¡°Feychilde! Ve are coming!¡±


    The fact that the shield was still up spoke to the fact that the sorcerer was okay, out there, somehow.


    Killstop and Stormsword will save him, Nighteye reassured himself.


    He stood in the doorless doorway of the assassin¡¯s guild on Welderway, looking at the ghouls frenziedly hurling themselves at the sorcerous barrier Feychilde had left in place. Half of the wretches had run off somewhere, but a fair number remained ¨C the half-ring of protection extended into the street and there were enough of them to surround it in rows two or three deep.


    He¡¯d fought some reanimated skeletons once, but the ghouls were even more human-like than zombies ¨C they might¡¯ve been feral, but they had actual emotion in their eyes. He¡¯d fought a few demons during Incursions that could¡¯ve almost passed for Mundians ¨C but he always had the comfort of knowing they really came from the Twelve Hells. The fact that these ghouls were people until recently¡­


    ¡°We can kill these things, right?¡± he asked aloud.


    They looked alive, even if all his senses screamed the opposite.


    ¡°I certainly mean to,¡± Fangmoon replied, moving in front of him.


    ¡°What about their, hm, bites?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re no vampires.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna try puppeteerin¡¯ one.¡± Spiritwhisper spoke telepathically from the shadows of the doorway. ¡°I never managed it with a demon, but, you know ¨C got to try.¡±


    Shrugging his shoulders to loosen himself up, Nighteye followed Fangmoon into the fray. He saw the druidess lunge through the invisible line of protection, gripping one of the ghouls with both hands at the throat and pulling back. The ghoul couldn¡¯t enter the barrier until it was dead ¨C the head popped off, tumbling to the cobbles outside the shield, and Fangmoon was left holding the limp remainder of the body.


    Nighteye glanced across to the other side, viewing the snarling creatures on the opposite edge of the protective ring. Seven at the front of the crowd caught his eye.


    Two children, street urchins, one of them younger than ten, both troubling to look upon in this state.


    Three old women, long grey hair hanging from the parts of their scalps that were still intact, wearing similar rags to each other.


    Two young men, tall, strong, shoulders thick with the muscles of blacksmiths, crashing into the shielding more heavily than the others.


    All of them had the same long arms, dirty claws. The same distended jaw, determined gaze.


    The druid grew and reached through the shield, taking the two men¡¯s skulls, one in either hand.


    He took no pleasure in his task ¨C it was gruesome. It was horrible.


    That was what he told himself.


    Yet he couldn¡¯t deny the physical release that came over him as he just let go. Now that the limits were removed.


    Theor crunched his hands down on Aladros and Fentor¡¯s heads. Felt them burst.


    The very instant he did it, he tossed the ghouls aside and waded out into the others. He struck them with his fists and forearms, shattering their puny bodies. He stomped down, ground them into the cobbles with his heels. He shook off the ones that leapt upon him and bit him, smiling as he felt his wounds heal, then turned to pursue and pulp the ones that had got their teeth into him, squishing them to paste against the walls into which he¡¯d tossed them¡­


    ¡°Nighteye!¡± Spiritwhisper shouted psychically.


    ¡°No,¡± Theor said, the word booming from his magnified throat as he kicked a ghoul in its face, flinging it through the air, watching its neck snap as its head caved in ¨C


    Then he heard Fangmoon¡¯s scream of defiance.


    Turning, letting the rage simmer for a moment, he realised he was twenty feet tall. He dwarfed his fellow druid, who¡¯d been pulled out of the other side of the shield ¨C


    Two vampires stood over her, lashing at her with their claws.


    More were on the way, darting up the street in staggering bursts of speed.


    ¡°Fangmoon!¡± he roared, stepping across the shield in a single stride, drawing back a foot to kick out ¨C


    He was too tall. His upper body must¡¯ve been extending through the barrier of force, leaving his shoulders, neck and head vulnerable.


    One of the vampires leapt for his face, flickering through the air far more quickly than he¡¯d anticipated.


    He could run faster than a hound, swim faster than a fish, but he couldn¡¯t move like a diviner, and this was like that.


    Nothing he could match.


    It landed forcefully with its legs spread, feet on his shoulders, teeth and nails buried into the exposed skin of his forehead, bearing forward, pushing him with incredible strength ¨C


    ¡°Killstop!¡± he heard Stormsword ¨C Emrelet ¨C screaming in his mind. ¡°Killstop! Vhere are you!¡±


    And then Feychilde, sounding close to death, the psychic voice drained of almost all its energy: ¡°Killstop¡­ be ready¡­¡±


    Theor was thrown off-balance by the vampire¡¯s crashing impact, toppled ¨C and by the way the creature stayed fixed to him as he fell within what should¡¯ve been the shield¡¯s boundaries, sitting on him and tearing into him instead of being thrown off him by the invisible impact, the druid knew that the sorcerer¡¯s protection was now gone.

 Upstart pt1

    <h2>GLASS 4.5: UPSTART</h2>


    ¡°The arch-sorcerer¡¯s mark is merely an offering. Theoretically there is no reason this cannot be served by a constant draw upon her Wellspring of Power. We have only to find a practical instantiation of this process. All research has heretofore fallen short. By what paradigm shall we approach this hole in our logic? This is our topic this evening.¡±


    ¨C from Mistress Arithos¡¯s Lectures to the Adept Assembly


    ¡°Feychilde! Ve are coming!¡±


    Seconds whipped past like the rooftops below us. I couldn¡¯t be rid of my hateful consciousness. Couldn¡¯t rip off and cast away my awareness. Where was the sweet slumber of non-existence?


    I felt every adjustment of our course with a grinding sensation as his fingers moved minutely upon my naked rib-bones. Again and again he dipped his face, his teeth tearing into my head, splitting my scalp open.


    The pain was my world. I couldn¡¯t form thoughts. I couldn¡¯t think. Only feel.


    Still, I was alive, and breathing. The blood welling inside my chest cavity wasn¡¯t yet stopping my one remaining lung from functioning. He hadn¡¯t yet cracked my skull open or drained so much blood that I passed out.


    Probably thanks to my screaming passenger. Was it her I had to thank for being trapped here inside this useless bag of nerves?


    Where was Killstop? Was she still with me? Where was Em?


    The vampire-lord held me before him, so that his chest was right in front of my face, the fine white-silk doublet with black rosebud-patterns embroidered near the seams. If I jerked my head back I could see his symmetrical face. Noble. Unearthly.


    Inhuman.


    Either way, I couldn¡¯t see past him, couldn¡¯t see whether they were following ¨C


    The white shape of the vampire became black, violently back-lit by a wave of lightning. Thunder ripped the air, and I heard him grunting.


    So he could be hurt. He hadn¡¯t even seemed to react when he¡¯d impaled himself on my shield¡¯s spikes.


    We descended. Sharply.


    Suddenly we were taking dozens of turns, whipping this way and that ¨C I felt my crushed, dangling ankle impact on the corner of a building, flaring up from a dull pain to a searing agony ¨C the vampire-lord was leading us down the streets, alleys, close to the ground ¨C my bare ribs in his hand squealed as he twisted them ¨C


    Then I caught a blurred glance of it, chasing us: an unchanging frowning face, displaying its utter contempt. Killstop, not Em. She was barely ten feet behind us, advancing relentlessly, wood-carved stakes still gripped in her hands.


    I heard Em crying out: ¡°Killstop! Killstop! Vhere are you!¡±


    ¡°Stormsword!¡± It was Spiritwhisper replying, not the diviner. ¡°We need help!¡±


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    We were lower now. I had an idea.


    ¡°No, Kas!¡± Zel, this time. ¡°I¡¯m the only thing keeping you alive!¡±


    It¡­ doesn¡¯t matter¡­ Zel.


    ¡°It does!¡± she sobbed.


    Once he got me alone, even for a few seconds, he could drain me. Change me.


    I spoke to the group: ¡°Killstop¡­ be ready¡­¡±


    If we left him alone, even for a few seconds, Tanra could catch up.


    Zel gasped: ¡°Don¡¯t -¡°


    It was too late. The opportunity arose as the vampire swung us around a corner, and I did it.


    As his change of direction arrested our motion briefly, I reached for the otherworld with numb fingers, let the vampire pull us through the bubbling greenness into the vibrant colours of Etherium¡¯s treeline.


    Together, the five of us fell through sweet-scented air, descending now. My attacker couldn¡¯t fly here, or at least nowhere near as effortlessly.


    The vampire snarled. The gremlin screamed. The winged ones, fairy and sylph, I couldn¡¯t see or hear.


    Yet again, I felt the ground rushing up at me, the inevitable collision ¨C it didn¡¯t even matter, it would just be one more iota of agony, one more weight hanging on the frayed rope that was my consciousness ¨C


    And yet again, the sylph saved my life.


    Avaelar caught me by a hand and as he plummeted the vampire¡¯s weight snapped some of my ribs clean out of my chest.


    The now lavender-hued hand of the vampire-lord blurred as it tried to snatch again at me, but even an instant of no contact with the arch-sorcerer whose powers brought him through was enough to send him back.


    The vampire disappeared in a fizz of jade energy before he struck the grassy earth.


    Then Avaelar was setting me and Zabalam down ¨C he was breathing over me, breath like honey ¨C I was faintly aware that loud sounds were coming from my mouth, garbled words ¨C


    A fairy I barely recognised was flapping her wings furiously, hovering over me: her usually-blonde hair was grey, matted; her pink flesh was now pale and sweat-drenched; the blue dress was faded, almost matching her hair in hue¡­


    ¡°Stop!¡± she was screaming. ¡°Avaelar, stop! Serenel! You can¡¯t help this. Kas ¨C Kas, you¡¯ve got to open it again. Take us back!¡±


    ¡°Zel?¡± I tried to ask, feeling the pain and confusion melding into one, receding and then crashing back again in waves that came ten times a second¡­


    ¡°Open the jadeway!¡± She was panting, tearing at her faded dress. ¡°I have to join with you, it¡¯s the only way!¡±


    Fingers of cold lead refused to respond. The bright night sky of the otherworld began to dim in my vision.


    The strange old fairy¡¯s words continued, insistent even as they faded in and out ¨C or I faded in and out: ¡°Kastyr Mor¡­ -ink of Jaid, Jar¡­!¡±


    Jade jar. It was the strangest coincidence. I suddenly had the image of green glass in my mind.


    Jaid and Jaroan.


    I reached for the green glass, shattered it, the shards falling all about me.


    The portal opened, and we plunged through, back into the darkness of Oldtown. I lay writhing on cold cobblestones.


    Zel must¡¯ve joined with me immediately, as she now controlled my lips: ¡°Zam, hime us! Ammie, come!¡±


    ¡®Hime.¡¯ She was asking Zab to hide us, but was being forced to utilise a mouth missing several teeth.


    Everything hurt, but in a matter of seconds I was starting to relax as the honey-scent began to overcome my nostrils, the sylph¡¯s life-giving vapours replacing the stinky city air I¡¯d been choking down with each heaving breath.


    But the tranquillity was short-lived ¨C with some alarm I saw myself, staggering to my feet, five yards away ¨C


    Then there was another me, staggering to my feet, just past the first me, running in a different direction ¨C


    ¡°It¡¯s Zabalam,¡± Zel reassured me. ¡°Avaelar¡¯s keeping you maintained. I¡¯m working on these bites. Try not to struggle.¡±


    Suddenly a tangle of after-images flickered about me ¨C I remembered we¡¯d come back not only to Oldtown, but back into the flurry of combat.


    She was there. The one with the frowning face. I couldn¡¯t see her, but I could see the colourful blur on the air, sense her, moving about me in an unfixed pattern.


    Sense something outside. Something trying to get past her. Another blur, pale, exuding a nethernal aura.


    Killstop¡­?


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t been bitten yet,¡± Zel supplied. ¡°The distractions didn¡¯t work, though. He knows where we are.¡±


    ¡°Killstop!¡± I tried calling her name but, however Spiritwhisper¡¯s link between our minds worked, mine was no longer included; I could tell from the lack of ¡®echo¡¯.


    * * *

 Upstart pt2

    I couldn¡¯t get a good grip on what was happening ¨C the duel of arch-diviner and vampire-lord was impossible to follow. She didn¡¯t quite have the vampire¡¯s strength, but I got the impression from the after-images of their motions that he couldn¡¯t get close to me without her outmanoeuvring him, leaving an extended weapon in his path ¨C he moved all around and above me but Em¡¯s flight-spell gave Killstop the ability to be wherever she needed to be with far less than a moment¡¯s notice.


    The pain was receding. I had no idea how she was doing it, but my fairy was knitting me back together.


    And I could still gesture, still will ¨C


    You took my teeth, monster.


    Red flames birthed my mekkustremin, the only weapon in my arsenal that could hope to match the diviner and vampire in speed.


    I growled something, and the towering doll-demon surged forwards on its ridiculously fast legs, its frizzy hair streaming.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that again. You¡¯re weaker than you think. I¡¯m having to use a lot of your energy here.¡±


    Is that¡­ why you looked¡­?


    ¡°Don¡¯t start talking about my looks right now!¡± Zel growled.


    The mekkustremin did its best to clobber the vampire, but the simple fact I could follow its motions meant it wasn¡¯t in the same league.


    I barely saw as the vampire landed claw after claw in its porcelain flesh, gouging holes in it ¨C but I heard the result, the squeal of the porcelain as it was torn open to reveal the pitch-black, hollow interior; I heard the wails of the demon as it suffered, its frozen, painted-on lips still smiling incongruously.


    Still, it seemed to help ¨C I caught a glimpse of the vampire pinned between the two of his opponents, Killstop behind him, weaving above and below a series of open-handed strikes meant to fend her off while the vampire slew my fiend.


    But she took advantage of its distraction, dancing in, driving a wooden stake through the vampire¡¯s collarbone, stepping back, slipping the next two, clumsier swipes to drive the next stake down at his sternum ¨C


    He was too fast, and took Killstop¡¯s arm, twisting hard enough to tear the limb off ¨C


    She barrel-rolled with the motion, refusing to give him the purchase he¡¯d need to harm her in this way, and went spinning an extra half a dozen times in the air for good measure, wrecking his unnatural bones ¨C


    Crack crack crack!


    And still somehow managed to bring the second stake down into his sternum, the instant he released his hold.


    The blur of enhanced speed left them both as she sped back out of the way, coming close to me to watch as the vampire-lord collapsed back against my mekkustremin, the two wooden weapons protruding from his flesh.


    Killstop was gulping in air, putting a hand out to the nearest wall to steady herself ¨C meanwhile my screaming demon was taking advantage of the vampire¡¯s prostration to rain down a torrent of horrific slaps at his face.


    I¡¯d seen those pudgy fists turn imp after imp into literal pulp. Now the cobbles beneath the vampire¡¯s head cracked and splintered under the non-stop barrage of blows landing on his near-unbreakable skull.


    ¡°Kherem!¡± I choked as I saw the vampire¡¯s cranium finally split open. I struggled to turn, getting to my feet as red flames returned my minion to its home dimension.


    Avaelar gave me his arm and helped me stand; I oriented myself at the vampire-lord, broken on the floor just a few yards away.


    ¡°Thamks, Zam, Ammie,¡± I gasped. I gestured to my piggish little gremlin and rejoined with him. Leaning on my sylph, I staggered a couple of steps towards the vampire.


    I glanced over at Killstop, rattled the words out: ¡°Thamk you.¡±


    The arch-diviner just shook her head, still breathing heavily, then she threw back her hood and tossed out her hair, running her fingers through it. She was steaming in the cold night air.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t¡­ see him?¡± she panted.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Never mind¡­ I¡¯m letting the¡­ the others know. You don¡¯t¡­ sound so good, Kas.¡±


    I smiled grimly as I managed a couple more steps with the sylph¡¯s help. ¡°Smeak for yourselm.¡±


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    And thank you.


    Zel didn¡¯t reply.


    I didn¡¯t look down at my gut to check, but I was pretty sure she¡¯d virtually healed me. Even my mouth was becoming less sore; my tongue told me that the swollen, broken gums were shrinking, sealing. I spat out some blood.


    She spoke up at last. ¡°You need to get an arch-druid to replace the ribs ¨C we left them behind ¨C and the teeth. If I regrew them, you¡¯d feel it, trust me. You¡¯re still suffering from some blood-loss, but between us we managed to keep all your bits inside, patch them up.¡±


    And the bites?


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    I had no idea you could¡­ do so much.


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying it was all the sylph¡¯s work, but¡­¡±


    I winced as Avaelar helped me cover another foot or two of the distance.


    Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t know I¡¯d be dead without you, Zel.


    ¡°I¡­ well¡­ How many times does this make it, now?¡±


    Oh¡­ at least four or five.


    ¡°Four or five!¡±


    I chuckled to myself.


    We halted over the white-clad undead creature. I could see the purple-red blood seeping out of his wounds; his glittering eyes were thrown open and transfixed¡­ but the vampire was still alive. Or whatever passed for ¡®alive¡¯ amongst his kind. I couldn¡¯t tell from any of the visual clues, but I could feel it. When I passed the wave of my will over him, his soul wasn¡¯t just a little crevasse my sorcerous power couldn¡¯t fill. His was a deep vault, a hidden cavern beneath the rocky shore, filled with bubbling amethyst hatred that descended for miles into the heart of the earth.


    When I spoke it was slow, slurred, as I struggled to pronounce the words.


    ¡°Be mine,¡± I whispered.


    Nothing.


    ¡°Be mine.¡± Louder.


    Still nothing.


    I opened my mouth to shout, uncaring how much it hurt. ¡°Be ¨C!¡±


    The creature¡¯s flesh still didn¡¯t stir ¨C but I felt the surge as the bubbling amethyst hatred turned hot once again, rose up like a geyser ¨C


    Danger sense.


    Crimson lights birthed Aunty Antlers, and I brought her through so that she would crash with her forehooves straight down onto his upper body.


    I sagged against Avaelar from the effort, but I¡¯d not been wrong to act when I did ¨C the very moment the gigantic elk-demon¡¯s bulk of untextured red fur landed atop him, my enemy tried to move, surge up, claw at me with his savage fingers.


    He got nowhere and was thrust back down beneath her weight, snarling and growling incoherently.


    ¡°This is a curious one, Master,¡± she commented, gazing down with burning eyes at the spitting, agonised-looking vampire.


    ¡°You¡¯re fully healed, I see,¡± I replied, checking her over.


    ¡°My gratitude, Master.¡± She nodded her head, dipping her massive black antlers, seemingly unperturbed by the thrashing vampire-lord just beneath her hooves. ¡°And my gratitude for the entertainment, when last you dismissed me. We have come to an accord, Khikiriaz and I. He will fight your enemies alongside me ¨C have no fear of mutiny, for I have found him lacking in many things, and took time to set him aright. Might you¡­ beckon him to the Material Plane, Master? He dreads the day he is called upon to face you again, face your rage. I would assuage his fears, and have you permit him to put himself back together again.¡±


    The ikistadreng¡­ is still torn apart?


    I didn¡¯t have the energy left to shudder as violently as it warranted.


    ¡°Let him fix himself,¡± I said. ¡°I didn¡¯t call on you for a conversation, Aunty. Let¡¯s keep this strictly professional.¡± I looked down at the vampire. ¡°Why won¡¯t you bend the knee, creature? What¡¯s stopping you?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ was once¡­ as thou,¡± he spat, ¡°and may¡­ not¡­ be¡­ commanded!¡±


    He put on another burst of strength, trying to rise, but it was futile.


    I saw the way the stake in his sternum wasn¡¯t quite there yet ¨C the one in his collarbone was buried deep, but the one in the centre of his chest could¡¯ve done with being pushed in deeper. I was pretty sure that was why he was still in the realm of the living.


    ¡°Hate to tell ya, man, but being able to resist isn¡¯t exactly going in your favour, this time, is it?¡± I grinned benignly down at him. I could feel the way my smile was lopsided, half my face almost unresponsive. ¡°If you¡¯d let yourself be commanded, I could keep you around, but if you insist ¨C¡°


    ¡°I do ¨C not; I ¨C cannot!¡± he gargled.


    I gazed down at him, understanding at last.


    ¡°You¡­ actually can¡¯t give in? Can¡¯t be controlled?¡±


    He shook his head, purple tears smoking as they fell from his eyes.


    ¡°Slay¡­ slay me, upstart,¡± he spat again. ¡°My brother¡­ will not¡­ fail¡­¡±


    He¡¯s an archmage?


    ¡°He was. Only a lich would retain his natural powers, though. He¡¯s just like a vampire elder.¡±


    He was like me, once.


    ¡°A super-murderous version of you, yeah.¡±


    And if I kill him¡­?


    ¡°He goes to the shadowland. For a very long time.¡±


    Until he gets his body back?


    ¡°Essentially. He could become a spectre¡­ The process of eldritch-reincarnation is a little more comp-¡°


    Okay, I cut her off grimly.


    I leaned over to press my hand down on the stake, impale his heart ¨C


    Right then Em arrived, sinking down in front of me, bringing a white radiance into the muted red glow of my ikistadreng. I straightened back up to receive her as she leapt into my arms, wordlessly embracing me.


    ¡°We shall never¡­ never let you¡­¡± the vampire-lord hissed, ¡°never cease¡­ our struggle. Mund¡¯s fate will¡­ will not¡­ be ours¡­ wi-¡°


    ¡°Great place to cut you off.¡± I looked at Em, and pointed. ¡°Do you want to do it, or should I¡­?¡±


    She spun out of my arms, judged it, then stamped her boot down on the blunt top of the stake protruding from his chest.


    Purplish blood gushed out around the wood. My demon stepped away at my gesture.


    In spite of the fiend¡¯s withdrawal, the vampire arched his back, his face and hands contorting as though he were still struggling against an immense weight pressing down on his torso. Killstop came forward to watch as his flesh and hair started to pulse, becoming purple, transparent, shadowy ¨C


    Then it was gone. The two wooden stakes, no longer drenched in blood, lay amidst the collapsed-in clothing.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get back to the others,¡± Killstop said. ¡°Spiritwhisper hasn¡¯t connected you back up, and that really doesn¡¯t bode well.¡±


    I waved my demon back to Infernum, joined with Avaelar, and let Em take me by the arm before my wings had sprouted, carrying me off on the heels of the arch-diviner, soaring away into the moonlit night.


    * * *

 Upstart pt3

    ¡°It¡¯s still going on,¡± Zel supplied in a terse tone as we flew.


    They¡¯re still fighting?


    I supposed it had only been a few minutes, even if it¡¯d felt like an age.


    ¡°Fighting might not be the word for it.¡±


    ¡°Hurry!¡± I cried on the wind.


    Killstop, ahead of us, put on a terrifying burst of speed that swelled about us all. She must¡¯ve been draining her energies, the way she¡¯d been going at it tonight, the way she¡¯d been exhausted after defeating the vampire-lord. I had to admit to myself that I was developing a newfound respect for the diviner.


    When we reached Welderway, a scene of carnage greeted us.


    Blood, purple and red, coated the walls on either side of the street. There were a number of limbs strewn about, mostly pale, ghoulish or vampiric in nature, but at least one arm that looked wholesome, strong, female ¨C Fangmoon¡¯s?


    If it were hers, you wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell by watching her fight.


    The druidess was ripping through her opponents with two enlarged hands, standing back-to-back with Nighteye who, if anything, seemed to be possessed of even greater ferocity. I saw the supernaturally-tall druid bite, kick, knee and headbutt his foes, wringing some in half between his hands, showering the cobbles in their innards. Both of them were glowing green, soft light suffusing their flesh.


    It was only as Killstop descended into the fray, punching holes in vampires with yet-more stakes that appeared from the folds of her robe, that I realised Leafcloak was near the doorway to the assassin¡¯s-guild, bent over a comatose figure who was also glowing green. Right where my shield had been.


    Spiritwhisper. They got Spiritwhisper.


    As I prepared to touch down I stretched out the diamond on the edge of my pentagonal shield and ensnared a dozen ghouls, a few black-clad vampires in the mix. I reeled the diamond in, pulling the creatures up into the air to meet me, bending the pentagon until the diamond hung off my square-shield, then again so that it hung off my triangle ¨C


    Before I could shred them Em flooded the sky with fiery conflagration, incinerating the ghouls, melting the vampires.


    Then we were there, and between the three of us ¨C sorcerer, wizard, diviner ¨C we had the situation under control in seconds.


    Leafcloak was helping Spiritwhisper to his feet, physically hauling him up despite the fact he was almost half-again as tall as her. The two young druids shrank back to their normal statures, and Em started burning stray body parts to dust then spraying water to wash away the mess we¡¯d made.


    In the midst of the chaos I¡¯d surreptitiously palmed a couple of vampires and ghouls, and waved them off to the shadowland. Em ¨C Stormsword ¨C didn¡¯t seem to be in any kind of mood to take prisoners, and I figured that they might prove useful for questioning-purposes later. Some of these ghouls had been made by the vampire-lord, and his talk of a desire to what ¨C conquer Mund, or something? ¨C hadn¡¯t sat well with me to say the least.


    ¡°There¡¯re two more inside,¡± Fangmoon said to Leafcloak, coming to Spiritwhisper and shifting his arm over her shoulder, taking his weight from the elder druidess. ¡°At the bottom¡­¡±


    Leafcloak eyed us all in turn, her mask rustling in the night breeze, then wordlessly went through the open doorway. The wrecked door itself was gone, probably long-since smashed in the fight and turned to ash by Em.


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    ¡°Leafcloak looks pleased to be here,¡± I observed.


    ¡°Riiight,¡± Killstop replied distractedly, looking across at Nighteye.


    The druid¡¯s shoulders were trembling and his hands were clenched; he stood fixed in place, seemingly watching as Em cleansed away the detritus.


    ¡°You okay, Nighteye?¡± I placed a hand on one of the trembling shoulders, felt the way the flesh was knotted-up, tensed, muscles hard as iron ingots with skin stretched over the top. ¡°My good man?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± He sounded distant, then very slowly turned to look at me. ¡°Yeah¡­ I¡¯m okay. You ¨C you okay, Feychilde?¡±


    ¡°Missing a few teeth and ribs,¡± I said, then, seeing the way he sharply refocussed on me, continued: ¡°I¡¯m in no rush, though. You can fix those, right?¡±


    He nodded, a fractional, minute motion. It looked like he was staring over my shoulder, lost in thought once again.


    ¡°Nighteye,¡± Fangmoon said, ¡°come here; take Spiritwhisper off me. I¡¯ll patch Feychilde up.¡±


    The hand of the druidess upon my own was enough to get things going. I felt a strange, tingly swelling in my side and in my gums as she worked on healing me. Meanwhile, she gave Killstop a report on the battle, and before long the diviner had determined we¡¯d taken down twelve vampires ¨C not including the vampire-lord. We couldn¡¯t count the ghouls ¨C no one knew which had been raised by the vampire-lord and which had been raised by his children.


    ¡°And it¡¯s entirely possible he¡¯s been making even more vampires, since last week,¡± Killstop said worriedly. ¡°I can¡¯t see his actions ¨C he¡¯s like, like a ball of fluff. No stitches. Nothing neat.¡±


    She crouched down and put one hand out to touch the wet cobbles.


    ¡°And¡­ why was he¡­¡± she said in a musing tone, drifting off into silence.


    ¡°Why was he what?¡± Em asked.


    Killstop shook her head. ¡°Not the vampire-lord. The arch-diviner who saved me.¡±


    My jaw dropped.


    ¡°Can you not do that?¡± Fangmoon murmured. ¡°And stop tonguing the empty places in your mouth ¨C we¡¯re almost there.¡±


    ¡°Sorry. Uh ¨C you mean¡­¡± I remembered now what Killstop had said before we¡¯d finished off the vampire-lord. ¡°Someone else was there?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Stopped me dying. Only once. Ran in, grabbed the vampire¡¯s arm. He was just there for one instant, then gone again. I¡¯ve never¡­ never seen someone move so fast. It was like he was, well, showing off. Like he knew even I could barely see him.¡±


    I felt icy inside. ¡°Describe him.¡±


    ¡°Pink robe? Purple? I don¡¯t know. Sort of¡­ circles of metal, like a visor across his face? I saw his mouth; he was smiling, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°I know who that is,¡± I said.


    ¡°Duskdown,¡± Spiritwhisper grunted, speaking for the first time since his recovery. Nighteye was still propping him up, expressionless.


    Em whistled. ¡°Duskdown! And he didn¡¯t kill you¡­¡±


    Killstop shook her head. ¡°The dead don¡¯t get to go to the debriefing, do they? If he wanted to boast, he got his wish.¡±


    He was there to save me.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be certain about that ¨C¡±Zel began.


    No, but he took the dagger, remember? Clun¡¯s dagger? To keep an eye on me¡­


    For once, Zel was speechless, and merely harrumphed at me.


    I didn¡¯t want everyone thinking that I had a guardian arch-diviner angel, a darkmage bodyguard showing up to protect me and my friends. They¡¯d question my principles, my loyalties, not to mention the very state of my soul¡­ and that would be the last thing I needed.


    Maybe that was why he was doing it¡­


    ¡°He¡¯s always gloating,¡± Spiritwhisper was muttering sullenly. His injuries had clearly taken the wind out of his sails. ¡°Man leaves his name above his handiwork half the time ¨C piles of bodies with their blood used like paint. Letters five feet high.¡±


    Killstop suddenly got to her feet, a flash of imperceptible motion. ¡°Message coming in. Glyphstone¡­¡± She turned on the spot then raised her face, pointing eastward. ¡°Magisters engaging ghouls.¡±


    Em didn¡¯t wait. She waved at us with a single wind-cupping hand, then dashed off like a gleaming arrow through the night. She¡¯d renewed our flight-spells, I knew.


    I looked askance at Fangmoon.


    ¡°You¡¯re done.¡± She drew back her hand from mine; I felt my side, checked my mouth ¨C


    ¡°You¡¯ve done a fine job there,¡± I said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. You¡¯ve got an eldritch constitution. I think¡­¡± The druidess looked back at the less-than-happy-looking Nighteye and Spiritwhisper. ¡°I think we¡¯ll wait for Leafcloak to finish, then let her know. Get in touch if you need us.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± I rose into the air. ¡°Can you link me back up, Spiritwhisper?¡±


    ¡°Done,¡± he communicated immediately. He might¡¯ve been feeling glum but he was behaving professionally.


    I nodded in gratitude to him then barrelled through the moonlight after Em, Killstop at my side.


    * * *

 Upstart pt4

    It was four in the morning before I got home. It was still pitch black, and eerily quiet; I might¡¯ve been out of my robe by the time I arrived but my enhanced senses were firmly intact and I had to strain just to pick out the snoring of dozens of men, women and children. It was strange, seeing Mud Lane with its big grey floating pavilions, filled with those who¡¯d lost their homes, knowing I was responsible. I couldn¡¯t help but feel proud. I¡¯d made a difference. Not enough of one, perhaps, but enough to save some lives. I wouldn¡¯t approach any of them as Feychilde, risk my identity. Sure, it would¡¯ve been nice to get to feel some of their gratitude, but putting Jaid and Jaroan¡¯s lives on the line just to ask some questions would ultimately be a selfish act, and a stupid one.


    I made my way through the mud between the rows of tents that hovered a foot above the ground, wishing I could just use my wings and hover along with them for once. The sludge was particularly thin and sloppy this morning, what with the off-and-on rain of the previous evening, and despite partaking in several pitched battles I¡¯d gone the whole night without getting half as dirty as I had in the last two minutes. Okay, so I had dried blood in my hair and all over my torso ¨C perhaps something more than a quick wash would be needed¡­ I was exceedingly pleased to reach the stairs leading up to the walkways.


    Just a few footsteps from home.


    At the end of the activities Killstop had surmised there were at least four more vampires out there somewhere, not counting others that could¡¯ve been created in the meantime. When it came to the ghouls it was anybody¡¯s guess. We¡¯d had no reports of other attacks ¨C but they¡¯d surely arrive by the morning, once people started finding the husks of the victims.


    I opened the door to the apartment into darkness. I could hear Orstrum¡¯s breathing and, as I turned back to close the door behind me, by instinct I searched for the twins¡¯ breathing ¨C


    Another. Here, in the room with me and Orstrum. Awake. Alert.


    A thousand horrible thoughts flashed through my mind.


    Zel. Wakey wakey.


    ¡°Can we take this outside?¡± I asked quietly.


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer that,¡± Duskdown replied, casually unfolding himself from behind the furniture in the main room, striding across towards me. It was actually frightening, seeing the killing-machine, tall, hooded, masked, just walking randomly across my apartment floor.


    ¡°Him again?¡± my passenger muttered. ¡°I¡¯m getting no danger sense.¡±


    I let him pass me in the doorway so that I could shut it to behind us, and he moved at an ordinary pace, stepping right though my shield without it so much as trembling.


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    I guess that answers that one.


    Once we were at the walkway¡¯s rail, looking out over the tents below us, I said, ¡°You¡¯ve got to stop watching out for me, Duskdown. Once is a freak bit of providence but twice would become a pattern. They¡¯re gonna think I know you, and ¨C¡°


    He chuckled dryly. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s going to be a problem, my young friend. I like what you¡¯ve done with the place.¡± He gestured at the lane, a motion of his wrist so smooth and practised that he could¡¯ve been slitting a throat. ¡°You¡¯re pretty much everything I hoped you would be. Thank you for holding up your end of the bargain.¡±


    ¡°You mean, not trying to arrest you? Because you¡¯re just so arrestable¡­¡±


    He laughed softly again. ¡°Whatever your reasons, I¡¯m glad. We have a ways to go together, you and I.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    He just shook his head, still gazing down at the tents.


    I could summon a demon, or ten¡­ I felt in fine shape. Probably the best shape I¡¯d ever be in, with this kind of opportunity. He was so close to me that the moment he realised what was happening he¡¯d be thrown away from me, surrounded by my own killing-machines¡­


    ¡°Kas¡­¡±


    But I knew it was futile. Killstop¡¯s explanation of his power¡­ He¡¯d ensured that I knew he was fast even to an arch-diviner. He might have even been able to kill me before my shield triggered on his ill-will, react automatically the moment before I made a decision¡­


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± I asked, my throat suddenly dry. ¡°Can you¡­ sense the people down there?¡±


    ¡°Their futures? You¡¯re wondering if I¡¯m planning on ending any lives tonight?¡±


    I gritted my teeth and said nothing.


    I would try to mask the invoking gesture in a wave of my arm ¨C


    ¡°No, not one. Not¡­ here.¡± He sighed and gripped the rail tight with both hands. ¡°You must think I enjoy my life. You might understand, one day.¡±


    I slowly shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡±


    He chuckled again, humourlessly. ¡°Do any of us?¡±


    ¡°You smiled tonight. When you ¨C¡°


    He regarded me in silence, and it was my turn to flounder for words.


    He smiled, when he was saving my life¡­ That hardly sounds like an accusation¡­


    ¡°Or perhaps you understand better than I thought.¡± He sighed again, looking back down into the lane. ¡°I pity you, Mr. Mortenn. May the tides of time shape you into a less-cruel instrument than I!¡±


    He was staring at me again, an instantaneous change achieved without the interim stage of turning his head.


    I met the gaze behind the mask, the inscrutable eyes of the arch-arch-diviner ¨C


    Then they were only an after-image; he was gone, twice as quickly as he¡¯d moved when leaving my bedroom last week.


    I stood at the rail for some time, the dark wind in my face, listening to the snores rising up from below, the murmured voices of those who¡¯d awoken too early. I could even pick out Jaid and Jaroan, breathing softly. Safe.


    The range, the precision on my senses was improving.


    ¡°It¡¯s about time,¡± Zel said. ¡°Don¡¯t think this means you don¡¯t have to wake me up, though, you hear me? You need me.¡±


    I know, Zel. I need you.


    I listened to their snoring, and I wondered about those he would kill before the dawn. Did they have families too? Those who waited for them to return and would be left waiting forever?


    Did he really know what he was doing?


    When I started to shiver I went inside, crawled into my bed without undressing or cleaning myself, and pulled the covers over my head, praying for the sweet non-existence of sleep that had eluded me when I hung from the vampire-lord¡¯s hand by my exposed ribcage.


    But to come to Yune¡¯s peaceful shore one first had to cross the darkness of Mekesta¡¯s ocean, where the dreams of Belestae¡¯s making drifted upon the waves; and on those turbulent, bottomless seas I found no respite tonight.

 All Broken pt1

    <h2>GLASS 4.6: ALL BROKEN</h2>


    ¡°The scholars of the Yenistraph Par have given their verdict. Therefore I decree in accord with their findings: the Unsunned on manoeuvres in Mund are to be recalled. The identity of the target has been challenged. As it stands, all portents display no more than Yane¡¯s satisfaction with our work. We will make the slaves we took last us, awaiting a clearer vision and a new mandate from the Lightless. We are not dead ¨C we will not be moved. It is the first principle of the First Blood: to order the moment; to refuse to act on impulse.¡±


    ¨C from King Asator¡¯s address to the Ysyri, 16,492 VC


    Netherhame stood in what appeared to be her bedroom, a rather-large chamber lit by candles, the curtains drawn. She had the demeanour of an angry governess from one of Jaid¡¯s stories ¨C her heavy shoulders were thrust back, and the hand that wasn¡¯t holding aloft the glyphstone was planted on her hip. Her bright-purple robe with its pink swirls was even more dishevelled than my own usually was, and I had to smooth mine out every time I retrieved it from my satchel ¨C perhaps she¡¯d fallen asleep in it. She had her faintly-green, howling-hag mask on her face, and she sounded tired.


    ¡°So, Feychilde, I¡¯m led to believe you¡¯ve been dealing with our fanged friends without me. In direct opposition to my orders, I might point out. Dragging some of the other newbies with you.¡±


    I braced myself for the recorded tongue-lashing.


    But after a moment¡¯s pause she just snorted, and relaxed her posture.


    ¡°Truth is, Timesnatcher warned me you were likely to follow this path; it was his idea for me to say no to you last night. Seems our all-seeing friend wanted to test you and your pals. I¡¯m glad to hear you all made it out alive.¡±


    Only thanks to Leafcloak, I mused. If Spiritwhisper had died, we¡¯d have all had to live with the consequences of our childish haste for the rest of our lives. Rushing in, nearly getting a few of us killed¡­


    We should¡¯ve waited.


    But then how many more lives would¡¯ve been lost? How many more innocent Mundians would¡¯ve ended up as undead-fodder, if we hadn¡¯t acted when we did? Even one day¡¯s delay would¡¯ve cost someone their life.


    ¡°I want to meet, today. I¡¯m gonna go mop up the rest of the vampires, then I¡¯ve got a proposal for you. Glyph me once you¡¯re up ¨C don¡¯t worry, I know it won¡¯t be early ¨Cand we¡¯ll go for something to eat in Hightown. Normal clothes, please.¡±


    I lowered the chunk of crystal once the recording ended and lay back in bed.


    ¡°What time is it?¡± I shouted.


    ¡°Just gone one!¡± Xan yelled back from the main room. I¡¯d awoken at eight, got cleaned-up and then went straight back to bed. Jaid and Jaroan had taken Xastur out to play under Orstrum¡¯s watchful gaze, so the apartment was mercifully quiet.


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    I wasn¡¯t hungry, wasn¡¯t ready to contact Netherhame yet. When I thought of food my mind instantly went to fangs ripping into my scalp, distended jaws snapping at my friends¡¯ faces.


    No, I thought with a shudder, definitely not hungry.


    Instead I reached beneath my mattress and retrieved the slim sorcery-text I¡¯d had Em borrow from the Maginox¡¯s library a few days ago, to supplant the book I¡¯d liberated from those Bone Ring amateurs right back when I started out.


    This one was the real deal. I wasn¡¯t certain it¡¯d been written specifically for arch-sorcerers, but it seemed to skip half the nonsense about practical magic, plunging straight into the theory ¨C which was what I really needed. It contained an excerpt talking about what they¡¯d called ¡®weaving¡¯, the interlinking of various shields to solidify and amplify their effects.


    It also had a guide on the various runes and their meanings: the self-repair ones looked particularly enticing, given how my robe and mask had been damaged last night. To be fair my mask was only somewhat lopsided, once I¡¯d bent it back into shape with my hands, and only a little less comfortable on my face ¨C but the robe was torn right open, caked in my blood. I was thankful now that Madame Sailor had mentioned a back-up and had suggested fixing my old grey robe. I hadn¡¯t thought there¡¯d be any chance I¡¯d get it wrecked within a few days.


    And then at the back of the book there was a whole chapter devoted just to joining with extra-dimensional entities.


    I was interested to read that, up until the time of its publication, no arch-sorcerer had joined with more than eight eldritches at once ¨C regardless of the eldritches¡¯ power-levels. So far as the authors and their editors had been aware, at least. The book could¡¯ve been centuries-old for all I knew.


    I currently had three eldritches ¡®bound to the flesh¡¯, as the book put it. If things went well today I would be pushing my limits a little ¨C I would try one of my undead on for size.


    After half an hour of staring at a particularly obtuse passage relating to weaving shields together ¨C no diagrams, more¡¯s the pity ¨C I gave up. I contacted Em, and we chatted while she was on her way to the Maginox for class. Once she arrived and got near the front of the queue for future-checking by the diviner-guards, I got in touch with Netherhame.


    I threw my robe and mask on this time, despite their blemishes. I¡¯d be feeling weird if the arch-sorceress wasn¡¯t wearing hers now, but I¡¯d feel even weirder if I exposed myself unmasked first. The whole idea of showing our identities was hers in the first place, so it would only be fair for her to take the lead.


    I needn¡¯t have worried. She was in an Oldtown or Hilltown street, wearing her full champion apparel, and Shallowlie was at her side in her black robe and pale, smiling mask.


    ¡°Netherhame,¡± I thought at her, ¡°I¡¯m up.¡±


    ¡°Morning,¡± she replied blandly.


    ¡°Ah, yes,¡± I said, feeling a bit guilty. ¡°Sorry, and all¡­ I¡¯ve got a couple of errands to run¡­ How did you get on with the vampires?¡±


    ¡°Done. Apparently only one or two are left, holed up too deep for us to find. Future lines look just breezy, so I¡¯m told. So ¨C three o¡¯ clock? You know Foltan¡¯s on Dandelion Way?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll find it,¡± I said.


    ¡°South Hightown, the road with the Temple of Compassion and the Tower of Knowledge. You can¡¯t miss it. No masks, yeah?¡°


    If it weren¡¯t for the fact I¡¯d spent the last couple of weeks flying around the city, I was pretty sure I would¡¯ve been able to miss it no problem, but I happened to know where the shrines to Wythyldwyn and Locus were located now.


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± I replied. ¡°See you there.¡±


    * * *

 All Broken pt2

    Clad in my finest clothes, my new purchase safely stowed in my satchel, I crossed from central Hightown into the slightly less-busy, even more-aloof areas in the south of the district, bordering Treetown. It was an unpleasant, dreary day of constant on-off showers and grey skies that extended even across Hightown¡¯s usually picturesque horizons. Nonetheless it was the kind of weather that made me feel Mundian, called out to my soul. It wasn¡¯t particularly cold, even with the north wind coming down from the mountains. For some reason it made me feel young again, like an actual kid kid. I was too young to get nostalgia, wasn¡¯t I? Evidently not.


    I hoped my new mask wouldn¡¯t look too different to the old one, which was now being repaired for a minor fee. I¡¯d opted for the closest copy I¡¯d found available, but the curly horns at the temples were ever-so-slightly longer, sharper, more demonic than the cute little horns bedecking my first mask. The pattern of the copper and tin was slightly less appealing, giving the appearance of a brow furrowed in anger, and the smiling cheeks were less pronounced, more leering than gleeful. Still, it would have to do. Hopefully they¡¯d have my original repaired in a few days. My back-up robe would be awhile, too ¨C I¡¯d have to fall back on the old grey one for now.


    If I was attacked, I would use my shields. Not only because my face wasn¡¯t known here ¨C more because I¡¯d finally managed to employ Zab¡¯s gift to reliably hide my scar, the most obvious distinguishing mark someone might use to identify me¡­ without making it look like my cheek had grown a huge fleshy balloon or making my scar flash on-and-off every three seconds. I¡¯d even combed my hair into some semblance of normality, tucked back behind my ears.


    Nonetheless, I¡¯d have loved to have been wearing the new mask right now. I wanted my robe, my shields ready; I didn¡¯t like going around in this ridiculously-overwrought get up. However, I had to look the part, as any random not-quite-lowborn youngster.


    The Tower of Knowledge was more impressive from beneath; from above it melded into the sea of towers, barely standing out from the crowd, but from down here I could appreciate it was a feat of ambitious imagining come true. A single spire formed the centre of the building, about which other, lesser spires were clustered, joined to the central spire and to one another by broad, open-air walkways, rail-less stairs and bridges that spanned the gaps between the various structures at impressive heights. Some of the bridges up there I wouldn¡¯t feel comfortable stepping out upon without my wings at my back. Even looking up at them made me feel a little green. Nonetheless, there were scholars up there, clothes and hair streaming in the chill wind as they walked those precarious-looking paths.


    The Temple of Compassion was no less beautiful, if a little less impressive. A low structure, like many of the shrines, it was still huge, a veritable palace of silver walls and pillars down which flowed dozens of small waterfalls, joining to form a web of canal-moats that criss-crossed the grass on which the temple was built. Orchards¡­ small, picturesque hills¡­


    There was no crowd of bedraggled supplicants waiting outside this hallowed place of Wythyldwyn. No, instead there were more than a few magisters walking their patrol routes. Even in passing I had the opportunity to see a vagrant turned away by them, gently but forcefully being escorted away from the silvery gates that stood at the entrance from the street.


    The place she¡¯d named, Foltan¡¯s, was a Myric establishment above an expensive-looking barber-shop. I ascended the narrow stair, awash in the scents of charcoaled meat, and approached the well-dressed waitress standing just inside the door. Despite their image, you could tell this was not your typical Hightown establishment.


    By the time I was across the threshold all the lingering images from last night were washed away in the smoky aromas. My stomach complained loudly of its emptiness as I halted at the small desk.


    ¡°Uh ¨C I¡¯m meeting someone here?¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± I peered past her as I spoke, searching for anyone that matched Netherhame¡¯s frame ¨C


    Two women, out on the veranda overlooking the street, the shrines. Seated at the far side of their chosen table so as to face the door of the establishment. One of them, tall, well-built, had noticed me ¨C and there was the light of recognition on her coarse-featured face.


    The waitress showed me to their table. None of the other patrons were braving the bleak weather ¨C we¡¯d be sitting outside alone.


    Netherhame was pallid, unattractive. I didn¡¯t take great care of my hair, but hers made it look like she¡¯d been dragged through a hedge backwards by an army of goblins. Then dragged forwards through it just for good measure. Her tallness was obvious, even while seated. She wore a striped smock-top, trousers, and a long leather coat.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Shallowlie ¨C it was just obvious it was her from her body language ¨C was Netherhame¡¯s antithesis. Smooth, pale-caramel skin, and big brown eyes; lustrous dark hair, a petite and appealing frame. Her dress was a creation of white layers with a floral pattern, and she wore a too-thin cardigan over her shoulders. If I had to guess, I¡¯d have said she was Habburatian or Hezrenile.


    Only in their attitude did the two twenty-something women seem similar: neither smiled, but wore closed, serious expressions on their faces.


    Netherhame gestured to the empty seats opposite them. I ordered a hot berry drink before I removed my satchel and sat down, suddenly feeling a little nervous, like a criminal being invited to parley with a pair of watchmen.


    ¡°Last night,¡± I started, placing my bag between my feet, ¡°I know it was foolish ¨C¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Netherhame said laconically, sitting back but still not looking very amused. ¡°Whether you meant to or not, you drew out the lord. Like I said, it was T-Man¡¯s big idea, not yours ¨C not really.¡±


    So Timesnatcher put me in the vampire¡¯s path?


    It just felt off, thinking of it that way.


    I raised my eyebrows. ¡°Is that how it all works, you think? Really?¡±


    ¡°Obviously.¡± She rolled her heavy-lidded hazel eyes. ¡°We¡¯re all pawns in their little game ¨C don¡¯t you get that?¡±


    Shallowlie spoke for the first time in my presence, her voice small and squeaky, the accent foreign, exotic.


    ¡°Lie,¡± was all she said.


    Netherhame reacted like she¡¯d been slapped, leaning forwards suddenly, almost lunging. ¡°Shut up, Min.¡±


    Shallowlie shook her head. ¡°We haf to trusty chudder, lie. I,¡± she looked at me imploringly, took a deep breath, and said, ¡°aminnerveve.¡±


    I looked back at her blankly.


    Netherhame growled, gracing me with a churlish glare. ¡°She said she is Minnerveve. Min, for short.¡±


    ¡°Oh ¨C so ¨C you¡¯re ¨C¡°


    ¡°Lyanne.¡±


    ¡°Ly¡­ Okay, I get it.¡± I smiled. Name sounds like ¡®lie¡¯. Couldn¡¯t make it more confusing if you tried. ¡°I¡¯m Kas. Kastyr.¡±


    Netherhame ¨C Ly ¨C just nodded, then sat back. Shallowlie ¨C Min ¨C said nothing and didn¡¯t move. The cold breeze stirred her hair and she blinked, but that was it.


    This is awkward, I thought.


    I put my elbows on the table, rubbed my arms. ¡°So, Min ¨C you disagree? You don¡¯t think we¡¯re just pawns?¡±


    Min gave a wan little smile, and looked back at Ly.


    ¡°She thinks, like everyone else does, that she¡¯s free,¡± Ly said, shrugging. ¡°I¡¯ve been around a bit longer. I¡¯ve seen how these things play out. Before Timesnatcher there was Everseer ¨C you¡¯re old enough to remember her name, right? And then when I was growing up there was Blinkwind ¨C listen, if you heard some of Leafcloak¡¯s stories¡­ We¡¯re just like actors in a play to them, Kas. We¡¯re the same lowborn scum we ever were, doing what we¡¯re told by our noble betters ¨C¡±


    ¡°Doan let her foo¡¯ you,¡± Min said. ¡°Iss jus¡¯ her idea.¡±


    ¡°Sounds a bit bleak,¡± I agreed.


    ¡°Not at all!¡± Ly said. ¡°It means you can run with it, you know?¡±


    ¡°No responsibility?¡± I asked, a bit sarcastically.


    ¡°No responsibility,¡± she repeated with a smugly grim expression, as though she¡¯d completely misunderstood me. ¡°It¡¯s all foredained.¡±


    Foreordained, I couldn¡¯t help but mentally correct her.


    ¡°They can¡¯t see everything,¡± I reminded her.


    ¡°Eksacly!¡± Min said, smiling a little.


    ¡°What was it like, with Killstop, last night?¡± Ly asked, a look of sudden shrewd cunning coming over her features, lending them a predatory aspect as she leaned forwards once again.


    I remembered the way the new diviner had been festooned in wooden stakes beneath her robes.


    They hadn¡¯t come from nowhere.


    Ly obviously took my change of expression as victory ¨C a triumphant smirk twisted her face.


    I moved my elbows off the table as a different waiter brought our drinks. Ly had ordered a frosty beer that wasn¡¯t likely to get less frosty very quickly in this climate ¨C the waiter looked at her like she was mad when she nodded to him, but placed the glass-blown pint-pot in front of her all the same. Min had quite sensibly ordered hot mead, and steam billowed off it into the breeze ¨C she put her fingers around the cup gingerly.


    My berry-juice was the perfect temperature to sip, so I sipped it eagerly, and before the waiter left Ly ordered ¡®the tray¡¯.


    ¡°You don¡¯t mind sharing, do ya?¡± she asked me. ¡°You don¡¯t look like the type to shy away from getting your hands dirty.¡±


    ¡°You can tell I¡¯m not one of them, right? I mean, do I look at all comfortable in these clothes?¡±


    Ly chuckled. ¡°You got a fancy way of talking, though, Kas.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve spent the last three years with my nose in a book.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve lived an interesting life!¡±


    I disagreed with her sardonic intent, but I wasn¡¯t about to start an argument. She probably couldn¡¯t even read.


    ¡°I¡¯m making up for it now, I think.¡± I shrugged, then sipped again at my warm juice. ¡°So, tell me ¨C what¡¯s this proposal of yours?¡±


    I looked out on the Temple of Compassion¡¯s silver walls and the airy bridges of the Tower of Knowledge as I listened; I ate my meat and wiped my hands on the fancy cloths they brought us for just that purpose. All the while I tried to keep the shock from my face as Lyanne, Netherhame, quietly explained to me the true stakes at play, setting my mind whirling like the wind:


    Zadhal.


    * * *

 All Broken pt3

    The city of Zadhal was once one of the fairest jewels in the Mundic Realm¡¯s crown. Word was that it was located in the Sephanaul Mountains, a thousand miles to the north, in an area that was half-legend by now anyway. The city had enjoyed immense success from the exports generated by its mining and deep-delving wizardry; the huge white stones that made up its walls were hewn by magic, in imitation of Mund¡¯s ¨C the place was far smaller and less impressive than Mund, of course, even if it was, in its origins, more ancient. There were, according to my books, still some elves living who could truthfully say that they¡¯d played in the city¡¯s parks and creeks as children ¨C but it had been almost three hundred years since the mortal races had ruled the place. Three hundred years since any person had been able to live there in peace.


    Since any person could step foot there without fearing for their lives every second that they stayed.


    What had happened was a matter of debate, but the opposing arguments tended to fall into two categories. There were those who believed that the sorcerers of Zadhal had used bribes to obtain protection from the nascent, Magisterium-like guild that had existed in those days ¨C that the Zadhalite nobles wilfully took their experiments in the blackest of the black arts to such extremes that the city was lost. And there were those who believed the mages of Zadhal had acted in innocence, perhaps uncovering something unspeakable, and in their naivety and the surety of their powers awakening the creature, or creatures, that simply could not be stopped.


    All but one of the commentators I¡¯d read had refused to speculate further; the only other notion was that Zadhal simply fell to an outside attack. But this was rejected out of hand by the sources, the stories I¡¯d been exposed to. No one seemed to want to consider the idea that a Mundic city could be taken down by force, even three hundred years ago, before the Magisterium was established in its current form.


    Whatever had happened, the archmages of the day had failed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a tough bugger to keep closed, the Winter Door,¡± Ly explained. ¡°Once we¡¯ve gone over weaving ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ve been doing some reading,¡± I said through my mouthful, but she just waved a hand and continued:


    ¡°¨C you¡¯ll understand how the Magisterium¡¯s keeping the denizens of Zadhal out.¡± She shuddered. ¡°They couldn¡¯t pay me enough.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve bound the Door tight?¡± I remembered seeing it from a distance: a Door like the Autumn Door, but a wall of blue fire rather than green; its shrine was steel walls, and it was in the centre of a small wasteland; I could picture how you could set barriers along each face¡­ ¡°With force-lines right up against the portal?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve been to the Doors before, right? Since you became¡­¡± She twirled a finger in the air.


    ¡°Just the Autumn Door, actually. I¡¯ve flown near the others, but haven¡¯t, you know ¨C¡°


    ¡°You ever been through the Spring Door? Ever been to Habburat?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Well, yeah, the Doors are a bit less impressive from the air, gotta admit.¡± She sucked sauce off her fingers. ¡°That¡¯s kinda my point. You¡¯ve been close to a Door. You know what it¡¯s like ¨C for us.¡± She gave me a knowing look. ¡°It¡¯s even worse when you go through, trust me.¡±


    ¡°Of course¡­¡± I remembered how shaken I¡¯d ended up when I visited with the twins, when I actually spent some time in the vicinity of the portal, and I suddenly understood what she¡¯d meant. ¡°How much do they pay? By the Five!¡±


    ¡°More dan we get,¡± Min supplied.


    Ly grimaced. ¡°Yeah, more than us¡­ but you should see the state of the arch-sorcerers in the Box, though.¡±


    ¡°Box? That¡¯s what they call the walls around it?¡± ¡®They¡¯ were imaginative.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°That¡¯s what they call the whole thing ¨C the open ground around the Winter Door, all the dead tree stumps.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s laced with runes ¨C you¡¯ll see, when you go.¡±


    ¡°Am I¡­¡± I frowned. ¡°Did I volunteer for something?¡±


    Ly looked at Min, who looked back at her, saying nothing.


    ¡°Guys¡­ I distinctly remember not saying ¡®I wanna go for a two-week holiday in Zadhal this Yearsend,¡¯ you know¡­¡±


    What would it be like?


    ¡°As if anyone¡¯d last two weeks.¡± Ly¡¯s response hardly started out reassuringly. ¡°You want to sleep in there? No, no ¨C look. There¡¯s one way in, one way out. We can¡¯t even open portals in the place, not for us, anyway ¨C nothing from Materium comes back out non-undead, anywhere around Zadhal ¨C no one even wants to try, anymore. No, look¡­ This is all T-Man¡¯s big idea. He¡¯s been in talks with the Magisterium and the Arrealbord. Something about ¡®there¡¯s never going to be a better time than now¡¯, with a side-dish of ¡®do you really want to upset my plans?¡¯ They know he¡¯s never wrong, so it¡¯s going to happen.¡±


    ¡°Dere is always choice,¡± Min whispered, looking down fixedly at the table. She¡¯d eaten only a little, unlike me, and Ly had probably gone through as much as the two of us combined.


    ¡°Yeee-ah,¡± Ly retorted. ¡°Choice is¡­ what was it?¡­ Choice is just your experience of the foredained. Doesn¡¯t mean you coulda chosen any other way. Just that you had to experience the, the struggle to decide.¡±


    She might have mangled her words a bit but she had wisdom, this Lyanne. I started to reassess her.


    ¡°But why me?¡± I asked. ¡°I mean ¨C why didn¡¯t he say something himself ¨C¡°


    ¡°Way I get it, if he said something, you mighta acted different last night. He had to know you¡¯d,¡± she smirked, ¡°get your hands dirty.¡±


    ¡°Are you going?¡±


    Ly shook her head. ¡°He did explain to you about¡­ D.C.?¡±


    D.C.? I didn¡¯t¡­


    ¡°And R.G.¡­¡±


    Ah¡­ Direcrown? And Redgate.


    ¡°Yeah ¨C why?¡±


    ¡°Well, we can¡¯t leave him here, alone, can we? And someone has to stay, to keep an eye on things ¨C no offence, but I know the darkmages better than you, I¡¯ve fought heretics ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ve taken down a couple of archmages basically solo,¡± I protested.


    She held up a hand, palm out. ¡°I¡¯m sure you have, but you realise there are more dark sorcerers than any other type of darkmage? I know the city ¨C I¡¯ve been around a few times. T-Man¡¯s plan is to send you, Min and D.C., along with any of the other champions who¡¯ll go, and the arch-magisters they¡¯ve got to spare¡­ They¡¯ve got a magister like us, you know? A fighter. Came into his powers in the Rivertown battle.¡±


    In the Incursion?


    I stared at her. ¡°And he decided to join the Magisterium so quickly?¡±


    ¡°He already was a magister, way I heard it.¡±


    My staring eyes widened.


    ¡°Anyway, I¡¯ll hold the fort on this side. Four arch-sorcerers, though. Think about it¡­¡±


    I sat for a moment in thought.


    Did that mean Em would end up going with me? The idea of it did thrill me ¨C seeing Zadhal with my own two eyes ¨C we would be taking the fight to them, casting humanity¡¯s spite back in their rotten teeth¡­


    I rubbed my side in half-remembered pain.


    In her current mood Em would be a mighty weapon in a place like Zadhal. But would it help her? What about Nighteye, who¡¯d seemed distraught after the slaughter he¡¯d caused amongst the ghouls and vampires? Perhaps Leafcloak would make him stay back¡­


    ¡°You want to go,¡± Ly said in a satisfied tone, and sat back in her chair, rubbing her now rather-rounded belly, perhaps taking my earlier motion for the same thing.


    I could hardly say no. I had butterflies in my stomach, feeling empty again despite the silly amount of food I¡¯d just consumed.


    ¡°You using an eldritch power on me?¡± I asked.


    ¡°May-beee,¡± she evaded. ¡°Am I right?¡±


    My face must¡¯ve answered for me. I opened my mouth but I grasped for the words to explain how I felt ¨C and the triumphant smile returned to her lips, as though I¡¯d done nothing more in this whole conversation than confirm all her suspicions.


    ¡°He said that would be how I¡¯d know I was right to ask you,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯s one slippery dropstain, T-Man. Look¡­¡± She glanced across at Min. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to keep an eye out for each other, you hear me? Watch each other¡¯s backs. Support each other¡¯s shields. You can¡¯t rely on D.C. to put himself on the line for you, remember that.¡±


    I pursed my lips. ¡°Speaking from experience?¡±


    She shrugged, as if expressing nonchalance, but I could see in her eyes how angry she became when contemplating my question. ¡°I don¡¯t believe for a heartbeat that his shield covering Smoulder should¡¯ve dropped that quickly, for a start¡­¡±


    I realised within thirty seconds that I shouldn¡¯t have asked. This topic of conversation ¨C the various moments at which Direcrown may or may not have betrayed other champions ¨C carried us through the rest of the meal, out of the restaurant, and down the street. It was only when Min used an illusory power to mask us as we changed into our champion outfits that Ly finally started teaching me actual sorcery.


    And half the stuff she said about the weave went in one ear and out the other ¨C it took me ten minutes to fix my shield-line to Shallowlie¡¯s while we strolled the wind-ripped yellow leaves of Hightown¡¯s streets, my fingers still slightly shaky, my thoughts elsewhere.


    I was going to Zadhal.


    * * *

 All Broken pt4

    Around four o¡¯clock Netherhame guided us to the edge of Treetown, and in the solitude afforded by a gloomy clearing far from any of the lords¡¯ mansions she started to test what I¡¯d learned.


    Wings protruding through my grey robe, the new mask settled about my face, I soared around the tree-enclosed patch of grass and bushes, keeping low, my eyes and hands fixed on my work. Shallowlie was on the opposite side to me, keeping pace with a host of spirits roiling about her black-clad form, casting out the threads of force that I caught, fastened, threw back¡­


    Ghostlike and near-invisible, our mentor floated in the sky, looking down from above to ensure I was doing it right. She didn¡¯t hold back the criticism, either.


    ¡°Put a knot in it!¡±


    ¡°No, look, you clod, you¡¯ve looped it the wrong way!¡±


    ¡°Faster!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to catch it!¡±


    I knew Ly well enough by now not to let myself become enraged at her belittling tone. It was just the way she was. She spoke to Min pretty much the same way.


    After half an hour of toil Netherhame called us together, descending into the centre of the clearing.


    ¡°Okay¡­ you¡¯re getting better,¡± she said gruffly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go over the top with the praise,¡± I said, removing my mask and mopping at my face with my sleeve. It was a cold day, but weaving shields was hot work.


    She glowered at me, so I grinned deviously back at her.


    ¡°Feychile, you are almos¡¯ dere,¡± Shallowlie said, in a much more complimentary tone. ¡°You haf amazing range. You jus¡¯ haf to watch for de line ¨C be ready to take i¡¯ when i¡¯ comes¡­¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ll try to get better.¡± I replaced my mask and hood. ¡°Thanks, Shallowlie.¡±


    She nodded, her smiling, creepy mask hiding her expression.


    ¡°You¡¯d better learn fast.¡± Netherhame had a warning tone. ¡°I¡¯ll show you what you might be up against in Zadhal ¨C that¡¯s why we came here. Can¡¯t frighten the kiddies, or get ¡®em gobbled up if you screw up your weave. Spread back out, and I¡¯ll show you a zombie giant.¡±


    Once we were ready, on opposite sides of the little treeless patch of ground, Netherhame tore open Nethernum, summoned her zombie giant, and cut her control off.


    I was almost sick looking at it, listening to it, smelling it on the wind.


    I¡¯d read about them before, heard the stories. Clearly they¡¯d never been written or told by anyone who¡¯d actually encountered such a creature up close. I¡¯d always imagined them to be, well, zombified giants. Huge, dumb undead critters. They¡¯d always been described in that way.


    Maybe zombified giants did exist. But this certainly wasn¡¯t that, even though it was giant, and made of zombies.


    It was thirty-five, almost forty feet tall, and comprised entirely of corpses. Individual corpses, stitched or fused together somehow at the skin, making out of them a single entity. Tatters of cloth were snared into its fleshy seams, the clothing the dead people had worn to the grave now making a vast, confusing patchwork of rotten textiles.


    It was headless, but nonetheless humanoid: a vast round torso that must have contained hundreds, thousands of packed bodies; hundreds more in the two arms, two legs. The faces of the dead on the surface of its pale, wet-looking skin were singing, their eyes shining blankly as their blue lips parted and they raised lifeless, out-of-synch voices in an awful dirge to death.


    And sweet Mother of the Mercies how it moved.


    There was no hesitation or cumbersomeness to its motions ¨C it was more like a ghoul, crunching the bodies in its ¡®feet¡¯ into the earth before leaping, raising its singing ¡®fists¡¯, barrelling immediately at Shallowlie, the closest target ¨C


    I caught the line of force she threw to me, tied it, threw it back, forcing myself not to look at the thing we were fighting.


    The zombie giant reached out with fingers that were limbs, trying to grab the sorceress ¨C and it recoiled from the barrier, crashing back and whirling. I could feel the contact despite the weave being inherently detached from me.


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    Then the giant came for me, and I almost closed my eyes in squeamishness as its own horrid eyes, covering its flesh all over, stared transfixed upon me. Its choral voice, growing louder as it approached¡­ I half-understood the words, could¡¯ve translated them in my head if I focussed¡­


    Tie the knot¡­ cast the line¡­


    ¡°Great work, Feychilde!¡± Netherhame cried down. ¡°By Kultemeren, you¡¯re just, like, fantastic, you know that?¡±


    ¡°O-kaaaay,¡± I growled back at her, already pouring with sweat again, tying the next weave, hurling it back to Shallowlie¡­


    As the eldritch fell back from the honeycomb shield enclosing it, I caught the sound of Netherhame cackling on the wind.


    * * *


    After just ten minutes I was hurting from the strain, my brain throbbing with every ¡®knot¡¯ I tied in the blue weave ¨C that¡¯s what I was telling myself, anyway. It had nothing to do with the singing corpse-faces, no, definitely not.


    Dozens of times, hundreds of times, the giant¡¯s fleshy blows came to naught, recoiling from our combined might.


    After half an hour I had to call a halt to it. I waved to Netherhame to get her attention then drew my hand across my throat.


    She re-bound the zombie giant, dismissed it, and descended, shouting, ¡°All hail Feychilde! That was truly impressive, magnificent, that was! Never seen owt like it before in ¨C my ¨C life¡­¡±


    ¡°Doan worry,¡± Shallowlie said once the three of us reconvened, floating in the centre of the clearing. ¡°When we are in Zadhal, dere won¡¯ be any reason to keep a weave up li¡¯ dah, dah long. We will jus¡¯ cont-rol da zombie, or dest-roy i¡¯.¡±


    ¡°You hope,¡± Netherhame said. ¡°You don¡¯t know that, Min.¡±


    ¡°Now who¡¯s the unsure one?¡± I smiled. ¡°Do you think ¡®T-Man¡¯ would just send us all to our deaths?¡±


    ¡°And I thought you said he couldn¡¯t see everything,¡± she countered ¨C but I could sense the grin on her face. ¡°Anyway, you¡¯ve got time to practice. We¡¯ll meet back here on Starday night ¨C¡±


    ¡°Err ¨C I¡¯ve got a date, Starday,¡± I mumbled. I wasn¡¯t a big fan of theatre, but I could endure it for Em. ¡°Sunday? Moonday?¡±


    ¡°Sunday. Nine o¡¯clock.¡± Netherhame craned her neck. ¡°Min?¡±


    ¡°Sanday, nahn o¡¯coh,¡± Shallowlie repeated.


    ¡°When you said ¡®time to practice¡¯,¡± I said, feeling a little conflicted, ¡°well, he¡¯s not actually planning to make us wait till Yearsend or something, is he?¡± It wasn¡¯t like I wanted to rush in, but I wouldn¡¯t have been able to handle some extended wait now I knew what was coming.


    ¡°He thinks it¡¯ll be a week. We¡¯ve got time for a couple more sessions like this. I recommend you spend the time gathering your strength, any items you might need ¨C a demiskin wouldn¡¯t go amiss if you don¡¯t have one already, and supplies¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a few things in mind.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± she finished. ¡°Well ¨C¡± she looked across at Shallowlie ¡°¨C see you in a couple of days.¡±


    Netherhame started flying away, but Shallowlie took her by the hand, stopping her, looking back over her shoulder at me in silence.


    What was going on?


    Netherhame said, as if she was being pestered, ¡°Okay. I¡¯ll stay. I¡¯ll hear this.¡±


    Shallowlie removed her mask, looked at me with shining, expectant eyes.


    Netherhame followed suit ¨C somewhat perturbed, I removed mine.


    ¡°Err ¨C¡± I looked between them ¡°¨C yeah?¡±


    ¡°Cah you tell me¡­ how he die? I listen at da Gathering bu¡¯¡­ What were Duzzbriger¡¯s las¡¯ words? Was he¡­ in pain?¡±


    I sent my mind back, into the crimson darkness beneath the obsidian tower, the eolastyr¡¯s throne-room.


    ¡°Sorcerers, get back! Block them the moment they come through!¡±


    That couldn¡¯t have been the last thing he¡¯d said, but it was the last thing I remembered.


    I told them the story the way I¡¯d seen it, gave them more information than they¡¯d received last night at the Gathering. I saw the need graven in their faces, saw the way they both needed to hear it all ¨C the details, how exactly he¡¯d passed from this world. How he was taken away from them.


    That he had been silent and still, at the end. That he was surely no longer conscious when the arch-demon claimed him, obliterated him.


    But as Min wiped her eyes then took Ly by the hand, flying away with her back towards Hightown, I had my doubts. They had to know, like me, that he had joined with a bunch of spectres and other creatures. There was every possibility he¡¯d been awake when he¡¯d been disintegrated.


    I turned my back on the rising moon and flew home towards the setting sun, doing my best to sort through the jumbled contents of my mind. I always ended at the same conclusion. It was more feeling than thought, more emotion than realisation: my hopes, Em¡¯s fears, they were all mingled together.


    What I hated in Killstop. My parents.


    Me.


    I wasn¡¯t scared of dying. I was excited by the possibility.


    Zadhal. I¡¯d just straight-up agreed to go ¨C leaving the twins hadn¡¯t even occurred to me.


    But they would survive without me. It was me that was doomed. By these powers. By this burden.


    And I found that I didn¡¯t care. I didn¡¯t want to die, and I would fight to avoid my last breath until I breathed it ¨C but I knew it would come, and there was a significant part of me, a growing part of me, that didn¡¯t give a damn. That fed on the thought of it. Ten minutes after a vampire-lord pulling out your ribs, you shouldn¡¯t have been rocking back and forth in your seat at the prospect of visiting said vampire-lord¡¯s home to meet his family.


    Yet I was. And I wouldn¡¯t be alone.


    Thoughts of trying to join with a vampire never further from my mind, I angled my flight towards home. I¡¯d find a cleaner option.


    And I would explain. I would tell them.


    The worst part wasn¡¯t that they wouldn¡¯t be able to understand ¨C the worst part was that I¡¯d be putting them in that position in the first place.


    But cleansing Zadhal? I could no less skip that event than I could the Gathering. We were all in it together.


    Then the realisation came.


    I thought of us ¨C champions, archmages ¨C and realised.


    All of us¡­ It¡¯s all of us.


    We¡¯re all broken.

 Speak to the Wind pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 4C: SPEAK TO THE WIND</h2>


    ¡°Do not expect too much of your idols, and if they fall short do not behave unwisely by rejecting the wisdom they shared when they shone the brightest. Who knows not the lash of spite, the brimming overboiling of needless ceaseless wrath? Who knows not what it is to be submerged in foul temper, drowned in grey mood? Who has not felt the weeds of temptation snared about him, pulling him down, down into the depths where the meaning of a narrow slice of the world is worth more than Everything? I say again: surely in the name of Everything you will permit me Anything.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Lithiguil¡¯, 7:87-92


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we have any other option,¡± Ibbalat said grimly, looking deep into Redgate¡¯s eyes.


    The champion smiled back, aloof, untouchable.


    ¡°There¡¯s always another option!¡± Kani cried desperately. ¡°Please, Ibb, you can just ¨C¡±


    ¡°No, Kani. It¡¯s over.¡±


    Anathta tittered as Ibbalat pushed his remaining cards into the centre of the table.


    ¡°All in,¡± the mage declared, trying not to look at the grinning girl. ¡°Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got.¡±


    Redgate and Anathta turned over their reserves ¨C and when she saw at a glance that they were victorious the rogue gave a little chirp of delight and wrapped her hands around Redgate¡¯s arm, leaning her head against his bicep and squeezing into him.


    Ibbalat flicked his eyes away again, busying himself with gathering up the cards, passing them to Kani to shuffle. He hadn¡¯t ever thought that being trapped on a ship with one of the most famous champions of Mund would be a drag, but here he was. Redgate was not only a learned magician, a brave fighter equipped with the powers and lore commensurate with his esteemed position ¨C he was also a rich, cunning young man, clearly possessed of a penchant for seducing impressionable young women¡­ and it was obvious from Anathta¡¯s responses that Redgate had the charm to match his desire.


    Other than the mysterious disappearance of one of the crewmen, Pelteron, halfway through the voyage, it¡¯d been plain sailing all the way. They¡¯d played cards a hundred times already, and Ibbalat lost far more than his fair share. How did Redgate always seem to get the best deal? Surely there wasn¡¯t a power for that?


    He took the cards back from Kani and went to deal the next round, when a surprisingly-heavy wave struck the ship ¨C the waters had been calm all evening, and Ibbalat was looking forward to a peaceful sleep tonight. The table and the few cards he¡¯d managed to deal went sliding off towards the stern as the ship bucked the wave ¨C then the table came back to meet them as their chairs, burdened by their occupants, were only just starting to scoot across the hold towards it.


    Putting on a sigh, he stood and excused himself, heading to the ladder. Secretly, he was just glad to get away from the loved-up couple.


    When he got onto the deck he was struck by the cold. They¡¯d long-since left behind the Mundic Sea for Hadhae, the open ocean ¨C but even here in the south, the air was unnaturally dead, still. He was a little shocked to find it was dark already. They had to have been playing cards for longer than he¡¯d realised. He could only just see the sun¡¯s light, burning low and muted yellow along the horizon.


    Then he spotted Phanar at the rail, and even without the crew going berserk, shouting and pulling on ropes, the look on the enigmatic warrior¡¯s face was plenty enough to tell the mage that something was wrong.


    ¡°Sudden storm,¡± Phanar reported, nodding up at the starless sky and broken seas ahead of them. ¡°Or worse. It came out of nowhere.¡±


    Ibbalat came to the rail, gripping it as another wave rocked the ship, and frowned. He¡¯d used all but one of his weather-control spells. He always held something back for times of emergency ¨C times like this ¨C but the other workings had been plenty to see them through the last days of sailing. What had changed?


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    He sighed again. There was no telling. It could be a natural occurrence, even with the spells he¡¯d cast on the Dremmedine, on the sky and the sea¡­


    ¡°Virdut¡¯s craw!¡± a sallow-skinned sailor muttered, heading past with a coil of rope in his hands.


    Ibbalat ignored the man, concentrating. After a moment he lifted one hand from the rail, his fingers forked, and raised his voice in a solemn chant.


    The mage¡¯s mind was a line or two ahead of his lips, supplying him with the extra-planar words he¡¯d studied again that morning, the incantation used to shape the forces of reality to fit his desires.


    It was his mightiest working: the Storm-Shatterer, beloved by magic-users for centuries, capable of saving whole cities threatened with flooding or freezing. As he released the energies coiling within his song, within his veins, he let go of the rail, drew the griffon feathers from the pouch at his belt, and tossed them overboard to fly free in the wind.


    Another wave struck the ship ¨C Phanar¡¯s hand snapped out automatically, taking hold of Ibbalat by the shoulder as the motion threatened to send him sprawling on his backside.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he gasped, clutching hold of the rail with both hands once more.


    ¡°Unless you¡¯ve got something in that demiskin of yours that will let you turn into a fish,¡± Phanar said, ¡°I¡¯d try to stay on the deck, if I were you.¡±


    Ibbalat¡¯s eyes brightened. ¡°Maybe not a fish ¨C but I¡¯ve got that spell that will turn me into a sea-gull ¨C for all of fourteen minutes¡­¡±


    Phanar smiled. ¡°We aren¡¯t quite that close to Tirremuir yet, my friend.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow?¡±


    Phanar nodded. ¡°Late morning, if we are lucky.¡±


    The mage drew in a breath. ¡°If my spells keep working, you mean¡­¡±


    ¡°What is supposed to happen now?¡± the warrior asked, gesturing at Ibbalat¡¯s spell-components pouch.


    ¡°We wait. The storm dies down. Hopefully it won¡¯t take too long, either.¡± He looked up at the darkening sky. ¡°Hopefully¡­¡±


    Ibbalat and Phanar stared out over the waves, which at least didn¡¯t seem to be growing any taller.


    ¡°You are never going to get anywhere with her like this, you know,¡± the warrior said.


    Ibbalat looked across at him, startled, and not just a little afraid.


    How does he know?


    Phanar wasn¡¯t smiling.


    ¡°I ¨C you know ¨C didn¡¯t really have anything to do with those vestal virgins ¨C I was just trying to impress Ana ¨C if you just ¨C¡±


    Why did I have to go and leave my wane downstairs?


    ¡°Calm down,¡± the warrior said. ¡°I am not stupid, Ibbalat. What is in your heart for my sister is plain to read upon your face whenever you are together.¡±


    Horror-struck, the mage briefly considered throwing himself overboard, fish-shape or no fish-shape. But if Phanar was talking about it like this¡­ did that mean he didn¡¯t approve of Anathta¡¯s infatuation with the arch-sorcerer?


    ¡°Does she¡­¡± Ibbalat bit his lip, ¡°does she know?¡±


    Now Phanar smiled. ¡°She could read the intentions of a snail at a hundred paces, and miss your love for her for a thousand years.¡±


    ¡°Must run in the blood,¡± Ibbalat remarked softly, then chuckled to himself.


    ¡°Run in the blood?¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± Ibbalat felt awkward suddenly, wishing he hadn¡¯t said anything, wishing he had his wane, ¡°in the blood is like, from your ancestors to ¨C¡±


    ¡°I understand the expression,¡± Phanar cut him off, brow furrowed in thought, ¡°but what do you actually ¨C¡°


    ¡°Wave!¡± cried one of the sailors, a roar that rippled across the deck ¨C


    The two adventurers threw themselves clear of the massive swell that broke over the front of the ship, but Ibbalat saw as two of the crewmen were dragged, kicking and choking, over the edge and down into the vast, black ocean.


    It was as though Phanar were the magician, not him ¨C one moment the warrior was staggering for footing, then the next he was fastening a rope around his waist, pressing the other end into Ibbalat¡¯s nerveless fingers, and sprinting across the deck to dive overboard.


    Almost too late the young mage came to his senses, running to the edge, tying the rope to the rail in big stupid desperate knots the sailors would surely mock. At the same time he was yelling, to warn the others off or to ask for their aid he wasn¡¯t quite sure ¨C Phanar was gone, over the edge, and ¨C


    And then Redgate was there. Masked and robed and half-shadow, a vision of pure power made manifest. He floated six feet above the deck, and seemed to be striding calmly across the air as though he stood suspended upon some invisible tight-rope.


    Casually, the champion walked over the rail, angling down at the choppy waters ¨C


    ¡°Wave!¡± came the next cry.


    While Ibbalat braced himself using Phanar¡¯s rope, taking a good slap from the wall of sea that broke over the deck, he saw the wave pass unhindered through Redgate as though he were no obstacle to it at all. It was clearly no obstacle to him.


    Then all of them were gone.


    * * *

 Speak to the Wind pt2

    Anathta came running up. ¡°Why?¡± she gasped. ¡°What is my brother doing?¡±


    ¡°Sailors¡­¡±


    Ibbalat gestured, indicating the rope, its other end ¨C


    Ana¡¯s fingers were gripping the rail next to his, and she screamed Phanar¡¯s name into the ocean.


    ¡°Ana, get below! This might be the end for us¡­¡± the mage yelled over the wind, over her screams.


    This was it. What Phanar said. He had to say something, before the next wave.


    ¡°I ¨C I love you, Ana ¨C¡±


    ¡°Look!¡± she cried, pointing ¨C


    Suddenly the rope went slack, and a dark shape emerged from the swelling and receding surface of the water.


    Redgate, holding Phanar by the arm. Both sailors, holding Phanar by the legs.


    The champion gently lowered them to the deck, touched down with his own feet, and then tutted as he wrung out his robe. ¡°Now I¡¯m drenched,¡± he complained.


    ¡°What ¨C¡± Ibbalat¡¯s mind was still scrambled from almost spilling its contents to Ana. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±


    Kani, arriving last, rushed to Phanar and cried: ¡°Is it him?¡±


    The mage understood her at once.


    Ord Ylon.


    Thunder answered, the voice of tearing air bellowing down at them ¨C and Ibbalat quivered, not from the freezing water permeating his clothes, not from the imminent threat of the storm: from the fear. The fear of the dragon.


    He raised his voice: ¡°Ord Ylon couldn¡¯t do this, Kani ¨C he¡¯s a druid!¡±


    ¡°What about his wings?¡±


    ¡°Wave!¡±


    Everyone held on tight, clutching ropes, rails, masts. Everyone except Redgate, whose change to a semi-transparent state left him alternately floating above the deck one moment, then floating with his feet and shins extending through the deck in the next moment, as the ship¡¯s angle shifted. The water wasn¡¯t going to touch him.


    The rest weren¡¯t so lucky. The wave rose above the prow of the ship like the sea had decided to reach over the rail and smack them with a ten-ton backhand. Ibbalat lost his hold on his rope, but thankfully he was still a few seconds away from being pushed overboard when the wave was spent.


    Spluttering, he staggered to his feet, turning to check the others were okay ¨C


    He saw Phanar helping Kani stand up; he saw Redgate, flickering with shadow, gently lowering Ana back to the deck ¨C the champion had obviously prioritised her, saved her from the worst of it with his powers¡­


    ¡°Here you are, my love,¡± the arch-sorcerer murmured to her, the casualness in his voice only reinforcing the fact he was completely unafraid of the situation in which they¡¯d found themselves.


    Sometimes, Ibbalat admitted to himself, he kind of hated Redgate.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, ye landlubbers!¡± Ulfathu cried semi-drunkenly from the doorway ¨C finally, he¡¯d awoken. ¡°Get below deck, else She¡¯ll take ye, never t¡¯ be seen again! These be strange and wicked seas!¡±


    The ship was pitching at such angles, getting to the cabin door was a matter of running uphill and downhill almost simultaneously. At one moment the horizon was a hundred percent sea, then at the next a hundred percent sky. Still, Ibbalat made it, his heart pounding.


    There was an awkward moment when, rather than rushing straight below-deck like a coward, he tried to hold the door for Ana (and Redgate). But as soon as they got close, the champion simply sank down through the boards with Ana still in his arms, leaving Ibbalat feeling foolish, and ¨C


    ¡°Come on, yer clod!¡± yelled the captain. ¡°Young master!¡±


    ¡°Go!¡± Phanar roared, taking big strides that the deck seemed to yank out from beneath him, making him sway and falter as, Kani hanging off his arm, he struggled to get to the door.


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    Ibbalat thrust himself through the opening and half-stumbled, half-fell down the ladder-like stair ¨C it was only the presence of the sailors jammed into the space that stopped him in his tracks. Even in these dire circumstances he couldn¡¯t help but feel a twist of contempt as he spotted Redgate holding Ana close, ignoring the press of bodies to float with her down into the ship¡¯s hold. Then Phanar and Kani crashed into his back, driving the air from his lungs and pressing his bearded face into the dripping coat of the crewman in front of him.


    It took another thirty seconds for them to get themselves sorted; in the meantime another wave struck the ship, booming like the sides of the hold were drum-skins being hammered from the outside ¨C Ibbalat could feel the Dremmedine shudder, hear it creak. Water was seeping in through the walls and ceiling. As Ulfathu and the others who actually knew what they were doing started barking orders, sending men scurrying, the adventurers and their hired champion gathered by the hammocks.


    ¡°Is it him?¡± Kani was still panting, shock splashed across her usually-placid features as she clung to her hammock.


    ¡°He shouldn¡¯t have access to any elemental magic!¡± Ibbalat explained, taking his own grip and digging his hand into the pocket of his pack. ¡°We¡¯ve been over this. This is¡­ something else.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re all so panicky!¡± Ana said with a snort from her hammock, easily framing her body to accommodate the wild tipping of their orientation. ¡°This isn¡¯t the first time we¡¯ve sailed through a storm.¡±


    ¡°This is the first time Storm-Shatterer failed me!¡± Ibbalat replied darkly. ¡°That spell¡¯s the reason why we¡¯ve always been okay in storms!¡±


    ¡°You said it might take some time,¡± Phanar reminded him.


    Finally, he found what he¡¯d been looking for. He pinched at least three wane-leaves in his fingertips and withdrew them from the pocket, then shoved them straight in his mouth, swiftly chewing them and sucking their sap out.


    Their sour, almost citrus flavour instantly calmed him. It probably helped that he didn¡¯t usually chew more than two at once.


    Phanar sighed.


    ¡°If it takes much longer ¨C¡± the young mage began, then ¨C


    Boom.


    Crack!


    Everyone swayed, staggered, fell ¨C except Redgate, who just floated there with his face upturned, as though he were able to see right through the deck to the storm raging above them.


    ¡°Master!¡± Ulfathu yelled from the stair. ¡°Can¡¯t you speak to the wind?¡±


    ¡°The wind isn¡¯t listening tonight!¡± Ibbalat yelled back. ¡°I sang my head off at it!¡±


    ¡°And you ¨C champion?¡± The captain regarded Redgate. ¡°Issen there anything you can do, sir?¡±


    ¡°I was brought on board to slay a dragon,¡± the Mundian replied smoothly, his masked head still upturned. ¡°Not sail a boat. I thought this was your area of expertise, captain? Indeed, is not my life, and the fate of Tirremuir, in your very hands?¡±


    Ibbalat saw Ulfathu throw up those hands then dig his fingers beneath his eyepatch, rubbing at his sightless eye.


    ¡°No,¡± Redgate continued, more softly, so that only the quartet could hear his words. ¡°I think there is a battle taking place.¡±


    With that the champion drifted upwards, and a set of wyvarlinact wings sprouted from his back. Ibbalat stared in awe. The wide, jagged appendages would¡¯ve had a metallic glint, but the same near-transparency that covered him in waves washed over them, casting them into shadow.


    Then he went through the ceiling, and was gone.


    Thoughts of the bird-form spell started filtering through the slow-burning candle of Ibbalat¡¯s consciousness.


    ¡°I could follow,¡± he muttered, chewing frantically on his wane.


    Phanar reached out, waited a moment for the equilibrium of the ship to change, then slapped his hand down on the mage¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°You would die in those winds,¡± he said plainly. ¡°We will wait.¡± He turned his eyes to Kani. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    The redhead nodded. She looked like she was about to be sick ¨C her knuckles were white as she held tightly onto her hammock¡¯s straps, and her face was ashen.


    ¡°Can you¡­?¡±


    ¡°This is not Wythyldwyn¡¯s war,¡± she grunted. ¡°Wyrda, Goddess of the Sea¡­ I have no power here.¡±


    Wave. Wave. Wave.


    Somehow, they clung on. Somehow, the ship didn¡¯t come apart at the seams.


    Wave. Wave. Wave.


    Were they coming less frequently, less powerfully, now? Or was he just imagining it?


    Storm-Shatterer, he thought with some satisfaction. Finally.


    A sailor rushed in from the deck, babbling something about demons that Ibbalat couldn¡¯t quite make out.


    ¡°What did you say?¡± Phanar called across the hold.


    ¡°I says,¡± the crewman yelled back, ¡°there¡¯s hunnerds o¡¯ demons around the edge o¡¯ the ship! Flyin¡¯, like! Keepin¡¯ us outta the worse of it! Sommat at the front, too, sommat big!¡±


    Redgate, Ibbalat grumbled.


    ¡°Redgate,¡± Anathta murmured, an odd twang to her voice. She looked panicked in a strange way now that the champion had left them ¨C not panicked by the storm, exactly¡­


    Is she missing him already? Ibbalat wondered. Or is she afraid for him out there?


    So, maybe they weren¡¯t going to end up drowning tonight. Maybe he shouldn¡¯t waste his wane. But he wanted more, damn it, and he could always resupply in Tirremuir, supposing they got there.


    He wanted to distance himself. Draw into himself, away from Anathta, away from Phanar, away from this whole predicament.


    He shoved another three leaves in his mouth.


    To the Twelve Hells with it, and Redgate too, good riddance.


    It was less than five minutes before the champion returned, sinking through the deck to float again in front of them. He reached up, removed his mask, and showed them his gloating smile.


    ¡°Pirates,¡± he said almost with relish. ¡°The Tirremine navy had a number of wizards at work. I taught them a little lesson in caution. Once I brought them the pirate officers they quickly saw the error of their ways.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t¡­¡± Phanar looked up at him enquiringly, but the warrior didn¡¯t seem to know how to finish the question.


    ¡®¡­ eat them?¡¯ Ibbalat said to himself.


    ¡°They¡¯re perfectly fine, and were properly apologetic,¡± Redgate answered, as if knowing full-well what Phanar had been getting at. ¡°We should be able to continue on our way unmolested in the next several minutes. I shall attend the captain with my happy news.¡±


    Ibbalat finished his wane that night, and had none left for when he woke up.


    * * *

 Speak to the Wind pt3

    Tirremuir, capital-city of Chakobar. It wasn¡¯t anywhere near as big as Mund ¨C which had been, by Ibbalat¡¯s reckoning, the size of a small country ¨C nor was it as beautiful from a distance ¨C but neither was it as repulsive up close. Most of the city had been constructed out of a red sandstone, though many of its houses and public buildings were painted white. It was nominally part of the Mundic Realm ¨C its lord sat in the Arrealbord Palace, and its sea-faring forces were strictly for peace-keeping, not conquest ¨C but it had a culture and traditions all of its own. The majority of the native people here had skin the hue of milky tea, close to Ibbalat¡¯s own colouration, and for the most part they had an easy-going lifestyle that suited the young mage down to the ground.


    Outside the walls of the inner city were bustling markets, vendors keen to ply their customers with all manner of mildly-intoxicating agents in order to better secure a deal ¨C a set-up the mage was only too-keen to indulge, given his accustomed tolerance for altered states of consciousness. The inner city itself was a sprawl of low, dome-capped structures joined by covered walkways, to better protect the citizens from the sun¡¯s maddening death-rays ¨C so common were these shaded paths that, from above, the centre of the city resembled a single many-winged palace rather than a hundred separate buildings. (He should know ¨C he¡¯d spent more than one morning and evening looking down on the city in bird-form, admiring it while riding the ripples of the warm wind and the wane.) Keeping plants alive and flourishing in this place wasn¡¯t just difficult ¨C it was expensive, such that the only spots of greenery to be found were in those precincts where the merchants-guilds and mage-guilds held sway.


    Not that the mage-guilds had been of much use when they¡¯d been seeking a living weapon to use against Ord Ylon. There were a few archmages who¡¯d gone public in Tirremuir, of course ¨C its population might¡¯ve been a few percent of Mund¡¯s, but that made it ginormous by Ibbalat¡¯s earlier estimation, and such a preponderance of people was bound to have some magic-masters amidst its crowds. But they could be counted on two hands, and were men and women of business and trade, crafting and learning, not fighters, not killers. Ibbalat had heard it from their own lips: many of Tirremuir¡¯s archmages had visited Mund, seen the champions with their own eyes¡­ and none of them wanted anything to do with such a life of endless, unremitting peril.


    Ibbalat sat on his favourite crate as the sun rose, and when the time came he put aside his spellbook and started his now-familiar chant, beseeching the wind¡¯s service. He watched as the maze of terracotta-coloured archways rose out of the morning mist, welcoming them into the wide cove that served as the harbour. A Tirremine longship, bristling with bolt throwers and catapults, had pulled alongside as they approached ¨C after a brief shouting-match with Ulfathu it turned about, its captain eager to escort the ¡®heroes¡¯ into the docks. Bow to stern, their two ships navigated the channels of anchored merchant vessels.


    The others came to the foredeck, Ana sitting almost opposite him wearing her distractingly form-fitting black fabrics. The mage did his best to keep his eyes off her.


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    ¡°Any sighting of Ord Ylon?¡± Phanar said to the Tirremine vessel from the rail.


    ¡°Six nights ago,¡± a young, helmeted man replied. ¡°Returning to the mountains.¡±


    ¡°Where had he been?¡±


    The soldier shrugged. ¡°We don¡¯t know, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Which direction was he flying?¡±


    ¡°Erm ¨C south?¡±


    Phanar looked back at the others grimly. ¡°He could¡¯ve been spying on us.¡±


    ¡°He would¡¯ve attacked us in the crossing, surely,¡± Ibbalat retorted.


    He noticed that Kani shook her head ¨C she was standing unnaturally erect at the prow, stiff and stern as the Dremmedine¡¯s figurehead. She even looked in the same direction ¨C straight ahead, as if to gaze through the city in front of them, as if to gaze through time, peel away at their future.


    She¡¯s even less ready for this than me, he realised. Does she commune with her goddess, or is she paralysed with fear?


    ¡°Or he knows that we¡¯ve got back-up now.¡± Phanar¡¯s gaze moved to the crimson-cloaked, spider-faced champion leaning nonchalantly against the side of a ladder. Redgate¡¯s arms were folded, his long sleeves trailing in the wind.


    ¡°You mean¡­ he¡¯s running scared?¡± Ibbalat didn¡¯t mean for it to come out quite as sarcastically as it did; he turned to the champion, spread his hands in what he hoped was an ameliorating gesture. ¡°I mean ¨C not that Redgate isn¡¯t plenty scary, of course ¨C but ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do not underestimate his cunning.¡± Kani¡¯s softly-spoken words carried back to them; there was a distance to her voice that wasn¡¯t spatial. ¡°He will prepare for our arrival. It is not his own death he fears.¡±


    ¡°Do you soothsay, madam?¡± Redgate asked, speaking for the first time since he arrived on deck.


    The cleric didn¡¯t reply, still unmoving at the prow.


    ¡°Kani?¡± Phanar asked gently, moving closer, touching her elbow ¨C


    She didn¡¯t stir at his touch.


    ¡°Last night I dreamed a dream¡­ such a dream¡­¡±


    ¡°Prophecy?¡± Ana asked curiously. ¡°I thought I had one of those once.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. I don¡¯t want to¡­ say too much.¡± The young priestess turned at last to face the rest of them, and Ibbalat knew all at once that he¡¯d been wrong earlier.


    It wasn¡¯t fear in her that was causing the tension he could see.


    It was resolution. Determination. A focus that drew all her attention, leaving little aside for the conversation.


    ¡°Do we even know why he wanted Nil Sorog¡¯s skull?¡± she asked in the same detached, unwavering voice.


    Phanar frowned, looked across at Ibbalat.


    ¡°Well ¨C¡± the mage floundered ¡°¨C we never quite got that far, did we? She¡¯s his ¡®bride¡¯, isn¡¯t that enough? And that¡¯s why we pulverised their bones, right? Just in case he went back for their remains, and we ended up getting some innocent dragon-skull-collector in a whole world of trouble¡­¡±


    Deliberately dropping a few hundred tons of stone on top of the first dead dragon was one of the more haunting moments of his adventuring career.


    ¡°What do you think you know?¡± Ana asked her, taking a more direct approach.


    Kani turned back to face the city once more.


    ¡°I think hers is not the only skull he has gathered.¡±


    The cleric had no more to say on the matter, which pleased Ibbalat. She¡¯d already said enough to distract him from his work, and he almost bumped the war-vessel in front when they docked.


    Once they nailed down the gangplank Kanthyre was the first to disembark, and as she set foot on the slippery boards of the quay she rolled her shoulders and strapped her shield, emblazoned with the gold rose of Wythyldwyn, to her arm.


    For the first time in his life, Ibbalat felt intimidated in her presence.


    * * *

 Speak to the Wind pt4

    He spent the first few hours ashore wandering the city. His face ¨C the little of it that could be seen between the brim of his hat and the tangles of his whiskers ¨C was fairly well-known in Tirremuir, and more than once he had to stop to field questions. He managed to put on a brave face, but perhaps too little showed because most of the market-goers seemed disheartened afterwards, apologising to him as if he were already dead, or saying teary farewells and turning aside.


    At least he had a chance to practice his Chakobese. And he got his wane ¨C got it for free from a wet-eyed old herbalist, and a big bag of it, too. He had a couple of leaves before cramming the rest in his demiskin and heading back into the inner city.


    Whether it was just that the wane came from a notably-effective crop, or he was in just the right mood ¨C or from some combination of factors ¨C he found himself walking in a luxurious daze. He strolled by a group of kids playing pebble-shot in an alley, little red rocks in their hands, rats scurrying by. He watched as a heavyset woman shook a grass-green rug from her weed-choked balcony, sending glittering clouds of dust into the white, sunlit air. He listened to the changing of the guard, like he used to in Miserdell, the crisp report of booted feet and clank of spear-butts. Fears and thoughts of dragons and lairs melted away, and he felt that he would remember the sight of pebbles rebounding and dust billowing, the tune of trumpets singing, until the day he died.


    Then he saw a young couple, clad in the long black urums with their hoods cast back, holding hands as they sat on a bench beside a canal ¨C his thoughts turned to Ana, and he promptly forgot whatever twaddle he¡¯d been contemplating for the last¡­


    Hours¡­?


    He looked up at the darkening sky ¨C it was late afternoon already. At once he turned about, heading across the temple quarter towards the Sandtrap.


    The Sandtrap had been their base of operations in the country since they first arrived. The tavern¡¯s owner, Suremor Salas, had essentially long-term leased them a large suite of rooms for what Ibbalat considered half-price, given the magnificence of the establishment. And the quartet had plenty of cash to waste. It couldn¡¯t all go on master-crafted artefacts of the highest calibre, could it?


    Within ten minutes he was there. The Sandtrap was a squat, circular building with a dozen or more white minarets sprouting out of its middle: the ones around the edges were shorter, with the central minarets being the tallest, giving the impression at a distance of a single landscape-dominating structure. Each opulent apartment covered three floors of a tower and had its own internal staircases ¨C the main spiral stair went up the centre of each minaret, so that each storey could be wrapped-around with its own private balconies. The many large windows let in copious amounts of sunlight or starlight, as the occupant desired. Exquisite tapestries were used in place of curtains.


    ¡°Your key, young master!¡± Suremor cried across the lobby as he saw Ibbalat enter.


    The skinny, ever-smiling man had a face of creased leather; he¡¯d gone grey at his temples, the corners of his moustaches, and even had white flecks in his eyebrows. He came up to the mage and embraced him warmly, then settled his arm around the mage¡¯s shoulders as he steered them towards the desk for the key.


    ¡°It is good to see you! You are well, yes? When I heard the dragon might have followed you out to sea I was afraid! Your friends are in your rooms ¨C they have met with Derezo ¨C the man in the red robe, he is this champion you went to fetch?¡±


    Carried on a rising wave of questions and exclamations, they ascended the southern minaret that housed, well, basically everything Ibbalat couldn¡¯t carry in the demiskin ¨C along with their man in Tirremuir, Derezo. It had been Derezo¡¯s job to keep an eye on things while they were away for almost a month. He¡¯d fought alongside them, saved each of them enough times to have earned their trust a dozen times over. There was no better candidate, even when they¡¯d been bound for Derezo¡¯s homeland.


    Ibbalat managed to get rid of Suremor in the doorway before stepping through into the lounge, which in itself was something of a minor miracle. He entered the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.


    Derezo was pouring drinks; the blond-haired, big-jawed veteran had quite the taste for fine wine these days, and he called a greeting as the mage entered the room. Ibbalat hailed him back, quickly appraising the environment. Phanar and Kani were sitting on one couch, Redgate and Ana on the other. The warrior and cleric sat with a clear three inch gap between them, while Ana was nestled close to the champion.


    Ibbalat threw himself down in the seat beside Ana. He couldn¡¯t sit across from them, watch them. Better this way, with just Phanar and Kani opposite him.


    As night fell Derezo went over the logistics. The veteran pointed with a calloused fingertip, tapping here and there on the map spread over the low table between the couches. Camels were ready to take them across the corner of the Obarsk Waste, a journey of a little over two days, then, if they were willing to do some climbing, they could be at the supposed lair within a day.


    ¡°Ibbalat can help me?¡± Kani asked, looking over at him as she sipped her lemon-water. She wasn¡¯t a strong climber.


    ¡°I can help everyone, where it comes to flying, with some preparation,¡± he replied. ¡°Only lasts about seven minutes, though. I have to do it with wizardry ¨C I¡¯m still struggling with shifting others¡¯ forms. I¡¯ll have to pick up some more vampire-bat-wings from ¨C¡°


    ¡°Seven minutes?¡± Derezo cried. ¡°Where¡¯s this spell been all my life? No, seriously, lad,¡± he continued as he saw Ibbalat¡¯s sceptical eyebrow-raise, ¡°d¡¯you have any idea how far you could get in seven minutes?¡±


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    ¡°We might be able to fly directly to the lair from the foot of the mountain?¡± Phanar asked. ¡°I am loath to expend my boots¡¯ magic.¡±


    Derezo shook his head, tapping again. ¡°You remember what I said about the crevasse?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Ibbalat asked, sitting forwards and swallowing his wane with a gulp of wine. His eyes were dry; he couldn¡¯t see well in the lantern-light.


    The veteran quickly went back over a few points he¡¯d discussed with the others before Ibbalat returned from the markets, features of geographical interest. In the month they¡¯d been away from Tirremuir, Derezo had (at their considerable expense) ¡®persuaded¡¯ a team of local scouts to take a look around the mountain.


    Specifically, the crevasse Ord Ylon was thought to have entered.


    Given the scouts¡¯ report, to fly inside the sloping crack would be a death sentence ¨C apparently there was a whole city carved into the overhanging side of the slope, a city teeming with kobolds, their windows and balconies crafted so that they might overlook the dragon as it slithered down into the deeper levels.


    (Yes, Derezo said, the scouts had unfortunately suffered a run-in with a few hundred of the hairy, scaly creatures. No, none of them had died in their brave escape.


    (Yes, they had wanted extra money. No, Derezo hadn¡¯t paid up.)


    The presence of several thousand watching eyes made travelling straight down the chasm, by flight-spell or by rope, an exercise in seeing how many arrow-shafts you could comfortably fit inside a human body.


    ¡°We can still try it,¡± Ibbalat said. ¡°Invisibility¡¯s a thing, you know. A pretty awesome thing.¡±


    He wanted to wink at Ana, then realised he couldn¡¯t. Not anymore. Things were no longer the same between them. If he intended an action as flirtatious, but she was with Redgate, wasn¡¯t he breaking some unwritten rule or other?


    Not like it mattered. She probably never saw his lame flirtations for what they were anyway, if Phanar was right about her blind-spot. Redgate had just¡­ swooped in¡­


    Someone like the archmage¡­ this walking, talking, living hero out of myth¡­ he wouldn¡¯t understand the knot of anxiety inside Ibbalat. The wink wouldn¡¯t even register as cause for concern. Redgate simply took what he wanted. The mage was less than a gnat to the champion when it came to matters of romance ¨C Ibb wasn¡¯t ever going to be his rival.


    ¡°The scouts weren¡¯t spotted,¡± Derezo was replying in a grim tone to his invisibility suggestion. ¡°They were pretty sure it was some kind of magic ¨C tons of bats, out of nowhere, and then the arrows started. You know there¡¯s kobold magicians ¨C remember the ruins back in the Hintamar Bogs?¡± His voice took on a musing quality. ¡°What was it called, Ikamax?¡±


    ¡°Ikamax,¡± Phanar confirmed.


    The mage scowled. Derezo was right. You couldn¡¯t account for the shamans and witch-peoples amongst the monstrous races.


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± he conceded. ¡°But what¡¯s the other route?¡±


    Something far less fun, he brooded.


    ¡°You go through the kobold city,¡± Derezo said.


    Phanar¡¯s eyes widened and Ibbalat felt the tension in Ana¡¯s body as she leaned forwards. Kani, though, barely reacted, as if this wasn¡¯t news to her¡­


    Perhaps she saw it in her dream? the mage wondered.


    As for himself, he just grinned tightly. ¡°At least we¡¯ll get some use out of the potions I bought.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything you need to do before we leave?¡± Ana asked Redgate.


    ¡°Find out the name of this vintage.¡± Ibbalat tried not to look, but he saw in his peripheral vision as the champion drained his glass with aplomb. ¡°I¡¯m going to order a crate when I get back to Mund. The Ord¡¯s hoard permitting, of course.¡± The handsome nobleman flicked his gaze over the group.


    Derezo laughed good-naturedly; his fellow Mundian¡¯s confidence was infectious. ¡°I¡¯ll get you the documents ¨C upon your return.¡± He said it like it was a challenge.


    ¡°I look forward to it, Derezo, my good man.¡± Redgate smiled back.


    ¡°Why do I think I sense some enthusiasm in our strange new friend?¡± the veteran asked the others by way of reply, sly eyes twinkling. ¡°I spent part of the morning ensuring there¡¯s going to be a ship in harbour, ready to bring news of your failure to Mund, just in case ¨C yet here you are¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a dragon.¡± The champion leant forwards to refill his glass ¨C at least he wasn¡¯t the sort to expect someone else to do it for him. ¡°And I¡¯ve never slain one.¡± He took another mouthful, savoured it, swallowed it, and sat back before concluding, in a teasing tone, ¡°I¡¯ve seen and slain worse, though.¡±


    The lounge erupted into a clamour of disbelief and disapproval. Redgate sniggered as Ana rounded on him ¨C Kani and Derezo were crying out in opposition, while Phanar and Ibbalat sat in silence.


    I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d trade Ord Ylon for one of those Incursions, the mage admitted to himself. Perhaps Phanar was thinking the same thing. Derezo, for his part, seemed to have switched sides on his fellow Mundian, swearing blind that no foe could top Ord Ylon.


    ¡°So when do we leave?¡± Ibbalat asked at last, cutting through the noise.


    ¡°Sunrise,¡± Phanar replied, meeting his eyes.


    The mage nodded to him. ¡°I¡¯d better get some sleep, then. A lot of packing and spell-making to do in the morning.¡±


    Ana looked at him a little disconsolately as he excused himself, a trace of disappointment or guilt in those alluring smoky eyes of hers. What, did she want to continue teasing him constantly with her closeness to Redgate? He stomped up the short stair to the next floor, then the next, until at last he pulled open the door to his private bedroom and collapsed onto the chilly sheets.


    Where did my own enthusiasm go? he asked himself. He¡¯d never felt like this before. Like¡­


    Like we are going to fail.


    They¡¯d entered dangerous situations dozens of times, and he¡¯d never before had the jitters. Fighting dragons all over the southern continent, fighting demons in Mund, he¡¯d taken it all in his stride ¨C but now? Knowing that it was coming to a close, that their actions in the coming days would be decisive¡­ it put a strain on Ibbalat¡¯s mind even wane couldn¡¯t shift. He wanted to cast the runes and enter the trance, dream the same dream the cleric had endured ¨C but he didn¡¯t have the guts and he knew it.


    At last, fuelled by at least four leaves of the drug, he managed to crawl inside his dreams like a man potholing in narrow caves crawls within the cracks, going deeper into the unknown, into a place from which return becomes increasingly impossible.


    Ord Ylon¡¯s cave. His lair. A sunken cathedral of skulls. A hideous ocean of gold. A smiling, sword-toothed face.


    Then the dragon¡¯s smile became Anathta¡¯s, frozen in mocking aspect. Not Anathta dead, but Anathta alive ¨C laughing, her arms around Redgate¡¯s neck as he held her in a loving embrace.


    Distant screams echoed in the halls of his mind and the young mage awoke too early in the pre-dawn darkness, drenched in sweat, his dream-self heaving out a cry of despair to which his waking-self gave voice as he sat bolt upright.


    Hands shaking, he set to retrieving his spellbooks, starting his preparations ¨C leaving the wane well to one side.


    What had awoken him hadn¡¯t been the nightmare of the cavern, being trapped in its worm-spaces ¨C even the cruel, inhuman smile on the dragon¡¯s face. On Anathta¡¯s face.


    No, what had awoken him had been the sound. The remembered thunder of his voice, clashing down across the town before the slaughter began.


    ¡®The slow death.¡¯

 The Winter Door pt1

    <h2>AMETHYST 5.1: THE WINTER DOOR</h2>


    ¡°We hereby abandon the search for Bookwyrm and Bladesedge. Yes, I¡¯ll admit it openly to you all, to crier and news-writer alike: even I can¡¯t find them. Yes, maybe they¡¯re dead. I can only pray that they stand here with us again one day, champions and brothers-in-arms just as they were. And, let¡¯s be honest ¨C I¡¯m no good at praying.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Memories of Everseer¡¯, collected 996 NE


    I had to admit, I was getting a bit greedy. Em was casting me the odd glance every now and then, as if she were feeling worried behind her mask ¨C worried enough that she was able to pull her gaze from her surroundings. Even here, under the dusky, pinkish light bleeding through the dark grey clouds; here, in the glowing, pear-scented mists.


    Zel, on the other hand, barely batted an eyelid. With few words she guided us from still, silent meres to glades full of giggling, possibly-drunk demi-toads, from meadows of sky-high flowers to great edifices of ancient stone. It was almost like she understood we were, at least to a certain degree, on a date, and didn¡¯t want to ruin it with her running commentary. Perhaps I owed her a few more discretion points.


    Or perhaps she was merely keeping her nose out of it for her own reasons. She wanted me to increase my power, the versatility of my retinue, almost as much as I did. But she definitely found the practise of binding free creatures to one¡¯s will far less unsavoury than I did.


    Either way, I was happy. For its size, her nose was surprisingly obstructive.


    When I picked up a unicorn, Em quickly came around, suddenly less bothered by my hoarding of entities. The unicorn¡¯s name was Gilaela. Gilaela wasn¡¯t exactly thrilled to meet me ¨C be enslaved by me ¨C but she seemed to catch on pretty fast that there were worse sorcerers out there to be bound by. I didn¡¯t even have to exert my authority to persuade her to let Em onto her back; in fact she seemed quite smitten with my girlfriend, and it wasn¡¯t long before she was comparing her mane to Em¡¯s hair. (They were, admittedly, almost the exact same shade of shining white-blonde.)


    Gilaela, the unicorn, differed little from a beautiful white horse ¨C sure, she was exceptionally clean-looking, but nothing in the otherworld seemed particularly dirty; and sure, she had the horn on her head, twelve inches of coiled, glittery goodness. But, outwardly at least, that was all. Zel had said she had the power to ¡®burn impurities¡¯, whatever the Twelve Hells that meant. She seemed surprisingly playful, for a unicorn ¨C in most of the stories they were prudish and aloof, but the authors clearly hadn¡¯t been doing their fey-research.


    Xiatan, the dryad, was a small tree, perhaps thirteen, fourteen feet tall. He looked like an oak, but it was obvious to the eye that he had to be something else ¨C no ordinary tree so small was so broad, so blessed with branches. The lower section of his ¡®trunk¡¯ cracked in two, allowing him to stride around with his feet-skirt of roots; on one side, near the top of the trunk where his branch-arms grew thickest, there were some vague approximations of eyeholes and a mouth, black cracks in the bark of his flesh. So he had working limbs, and he had a face ¨C but there the distinction between dryad and small tree ended. He even spoke as rarely as your average tree. I¡¯d been able to exert my influence, force him to say his name aloud, and watched as the mouth-crack rumbled in Etheric ¨C but since he¡¯d contributed nothing else I left him behind to enjoy his solitude.


    Sarcamor and Sarminuid were satyrs: my height, with beetle-wing black eyes and skin like blue leather. They resembled Flood Boy more than anything else I¡¯d seen so far, but instead of the legs and horns of a small goat, theirs were those of huge rams ¨C their snow-white fur contrasted with the oily blue of their flesh. Their hair and unkempt beards were white too, shorn short and left tufted. Both were almost as well-muscled as Avaelar, and when I (well, Zel) found them, they were engaged in some kind of wrestling match in a pool of thick, sparkling sap. I thought they were trying to kill each other, but they quickly set me right ¨C they were apparently sportsmen, of all things, training for a competition to be held soon at ¡®the court of the King of Yellow Flowers¡¯. I merely took their fealty and extracted promises not to do each other serious harm before wishing them well in their upcoming tournament and leaving the glade.


    There were others too ¨C a family of what seemed to be, well, dire squirrels, each the size of a lion, their eyes the size of my fists, their fur gold with bronze bellies and tails. A scorpion no bigger than my hand which I only bothered commanding to my service at Zel¡¯s stubborn insistence ¨C a few words later, he was roughly the size of three wagons standing wheel-to-wheel, his legs planted like six trees and his prodigious tail hovering overhead dropping ichor¡­ I was left once more apologising to my faerie queen guide.


    But more than once I must¡¯ve been casting the same hidden glance back at Em. She was enjoying her time here, and it was weird.


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    We are all broken, I reminded myself.


    That she would come to the otherworld, to such a strange and dangerous place, and ride a unicorn¡­ That I would go ahead and invite her here, as a romantic getaway no less¡­ I mean, what was I thinking? Sometimes I thought I could hear something, a tinkling on the sweet breeze, and whenever I turned to look towards its source it had always emanated from the darkest shadows of the trees about me, the thickest tangles where the eaves were long and the glowing lights seemed leeched from the very air ¨C


    And then the feeling passed and I forgot how ominous, foreboding those tinkling sounds were ¨C Zel didn¡¯t seem to notice, which was impossible given her senses, so it was obviously just that they weren¡¯t bothering her. I didn¡¯t want to sound demented, ranting about dark tangles and shadowy sounds. So I kept my lips firmly sealed, my eyes open¡­


    My shields active.


    ¡°I think you might want to head home now, Feychilde,¡± Zel advised, floating back towards us from the copse of sap-dripping trees she¡¯d been investigating. ¡°Time¡¯s ticked by ¨C I think it¡¯s close to midnight back in Mund, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°Midnight!¡± Em gasped. ¡°Is zat possible?¡± She always tried to use her Mundian accent when garbed in her champion¡¯s costume, but sometimes she let it slip. ¡°Ve have been here only two, three hours at the most¡­¡±


    ¡°And for most of that time we¡¯ve travelled in a straight line ¨C you even went on your little jaunt, yet we¡¯re still nowhere close to leaving Treetown¡¯s borders,¡± Zel replied, a little churlishly. She definitely didn¡¯t like being contradicted. ¡°Explain that, mighty wizard.¡±


    In spite of her tone, I thought I caught the glimmer of a grin on her miniscule features.


    ¡°I ¨C I ¨C¡± Em floundered.


    ¡°Space is a sticky thing,¡± Zel cut her off. ¡°It doesn¡¯t just stay where you leave it ¨C it follows you, to a degree. Time¡¯s the same ¨C how do you think diviners do what they do? We can¡¯t look across infinite time and space, you know. It¡¯s the time that attends to us, and spreads outwards from us, like ripples on the surface of a pond¡­¡±


    The lesson continued until I created a gate. Gilaela bade us a cheery farewell; Em¡¯s hand in mine, we stepped back through to the mortal dimension.


    Not that I¡¯d had to hold her hand the whole time. I¡¯d gotten the hang of creating my sorcerer¡¯s mark after finishing the library book I¡¯d been perusing the last week or more. It was simple, truth be told.


    The seal of an arch-sorcerer had to be something personal, and it had to be scratched into the skin ¨C it would last only for so long as the blood shone in the cuts. We¡¯d had to stop a number of times, Em returning to my side with an apologetic look on her face, holding out her arm so I could use my knife on the back of her hand again, open the near-scabs and refresh the rune.


    Hardly romantic, slicing into your girlfriend¡¯s hand ¨C but Em wanted the ability to fly free, and I couldn¡¯t really blame her. Avaelar was the wrong kind of healer but the new druid in her band, Gherwen, would apparently be more than happy to fix her up later.


    The seal I¡¯d developed after a little trial-and-error was a stylised ¡®F¡¯, with branching appendages sprouting off the ends of the lines to connect the ley forces. Simple, and straightforward ¨C something I could form in seconds, push my power inside without any inhibition.


    It was strange, sometimes, archmagery. Why I could twist my force-lines to fit my ¡®F¡¯-rune far more easily than another shape, I had no idea. That¡¯s just the way it was. I started with simple symbols, circles and crosses, but nothing had taken until it was personal.


    ¡°Tingles,¡± Em said, looking down at the back of her hand as we stood in the mundane, Mundian forests of Treetown, my dimensional gate sealing itself closed behind us. ¡°It feels kind of funny.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the planar connection,¡± Zel said, flying up at head-height in front of us. ¡°The longer the seal is in place, the longer your stay, the stronger the bond. If you wandered in the otherworld for a few days, you might not be able to leave.¡±


    Em shuddered with a weird smile on her face. ¡°It doesn¡¯t sound all that bad.¡± She pulled her body close to mine, put her head against my chest. ¡°I could stay there¡­¡±


    I put my arms around her, thinking of how it¡¯d looked from above when we flew together. An ocean of treetops. An eerie sky.


    No buildings in sight.


    It was amazing and everything, but it was a little bit daunting, too, if I was being honest with myself.


    ¡°It is a pretty awesome place,¡± I said. ¡°Don¡¯t quite think I quite fancy living there, though.¡±


    ¡°You alone would retain your humanity, Feychilde,¡± my fairy reminded me. A few seconds later, after I didn¡¯t reply, she muttered something to herself and disappeared in a green flash.


    ¡°I thought she¡¯d never go,¡± Em murmured huskily, reaching up to remove her phoenix-mask.


    ¡°Leave it on, Stormsword,¡± I said, and kissed her.


    We didn¡¯t leave Treetown¡¯s forests for quite some time ¨C Em made a ring of carefully-controlled fire to warm us, scare off the beasts ¨C and I never did get chance to properly test the powers of my new acquisitions before I left Em behind.


    Before I left for Zadhal.


    Em had said that I should already know that she really wished she could go ¨C that such a thing should be obvious. I¡¯d said in reply that I knew she could come along if she really wished: give up the mantle of magister; take up the mantle of champion full-time. But we¡¯d left it at that. We didn¡¯t let it come between us.


    I knew she did want to go with me. To see the horrors of this distant grave-city from a shattered epoch. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she bit at her lower lip and looked aside when we stopped discussing it.


    And I knew that, even if she said she was a champion, even if the gods accepted her at her word, there would always be part of her heart that would see Henthae as something more than her superior, her recruiter. The arch-enchanter was a mentor; a mother. The mother Emrelet could see as an equal.


    I just had to hope she¡¯d choose a side before she got torn in two.


    * * *

 The Winter Door pt2

    Reconstruction had started in Helbert¡¯s Bend before even Lord¡¯s Knuckle, which had suffered worse. For whatever reason, Mud Lane had been prioritised, and while I was hardly going to complain it did make me wonder. Perhaps Henthae or Timesnatcher or even Ciraya had pulled some strings somewhere. Who did I have to thank?


    But it didn¡¯t matter. What mattered was that the skeletons of buildings were already there opposite my apartment block ¨C that the people in the tents below could look up and know, really know, that their homes were going to be returned to them.


    Hope. I¡¯d have bet that Yune got a serious injection of power when the wizards started moving the wood into place.


    And I¡¯d have bet the goddess lost almost the same amount when I told my brother and sister where I was going.


    Jaroan had taken the news well, on the surface, but Jaid let her true feelings be known in every facet of her existence. If she walked across the room, she flopped and floundered like a fish out of water. If she drew a picture, it was a sun weeping or a coffin. If she wrote a story, the pegasus lost all her feathers and could no longer fly.


    It was with a certain degree of trepidation that I woke her, leaving Jaroan sleeping.


    ¡°Jaid,¡± I whispered, lifting her flaccid hand. ¡°Jaid!¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s having such lovely dreams,¡± came a soft voice from behind me.


    ¡°Shh!¡± I blurted.


    It took a minute but my sister finally started to stir, her eyes rolling as she blinked¡­


    She came fully alert as Gilaela dipped her horned head.


    ¡°Hello, young human woman,¡± the unicorn whispered. It was so weird, watching the equine lips move in pace with her words. ¡°How are your dreams? I hope they are pleasant; they looked pleasant. May I say, your hair smells lovely. Far nicer than your brother¡¯s.¡± She bared her teeth at me in a, well, horsey grin.


    Jaid leapt out of bed, squealing a little ¨C Jaroan opened his bleary eyes for a few seconds, took in the unicorn, then rolled over and went back to sleep.


    I helped my sister into place on Gilaela¡¯s back, and she wrapped her arms around the horse¡¯s neck, burying her head in the gorgeous white mane.


    ¡°Oh, you smell lovely too, Princess! Can we keep her? Please, Kas, can we ¨C¡°


    ¡°We¡¯ve got no choice, I¡¯m afraid.¡± I spread my hands helplessly, grinning. ¡°She¡¯s inextricably bound to me now. Once I¡¯m back, we¡¯ll go out of the city for a ride¡­¡±


    I watched the expression on her face, the change come over her instantly when I mentioned leaving.


    ¡°Can¡¯t ¨C can¡¯t you leave her here? Kas, please! Pleaaase!¡± Jaid growled. She didn¡¯t sound as upset as she looked ¨C she sounded angry, if anything. ¡°You can leave her here, and I can feed her, and look after her ¨C¡°


    ¡°I beg to differ, nice-smelling young human woman,¡± Gilaela cut her off, ¡°I don¡¯t really need much by way of feeding, or ¡®looking after¡¯, for that matter ¨C you could bathe me in mud, I would still come out looking like this, you know.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ you really haven¡¯t seen where we live, have you?¡± Jaid asked, her lips that had been curled downwards in a frown now twisting upwards in the ghost of a smile.


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    It warmed my heart to see the way her mood had already lifted, even though she was clearly fighting it. But I couldn¡¯t leave Gilaela here, could I? If I came close to death or even just drew on too much of my power while in the undead-infested city, the unicorn would flicker away and disappear, which would surely only cause Jaid to lose her mind, make them grieve me unnecessarily.


    The shields I¡¯d put in place around the apartment would disappear too.


    ¡°She¡¯s bound to me, like I said,¡± I apologised. ¡°Where I go, she goes ¨C and I¡¯m sure as hell not taking you!¡±


    I reached up to lift her down, then held onto her, forcing her to accept my hug.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, Jaid. I promise. I came through the Incursion, and it won¡¯t be worse than that. I¡¯ll make sure Princess is kept safe,¡± I cast a gloating look at the unicorn over Jaid¡¯s shoulder and I could¡¯ve sworn the horse stuck her tongue out at me, ¡°and I can send you a message, if you like, once we¡¯re there? It¡¯ll be an ugly little imp creature ¨C I can¡¯t send Princess, she¡¯d be too obvious moving through the undead city ¨C¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure,¡± Gilaela said in Etheric, and snorted softly.


    ¡°What, you¡¯re a chronomancer?¡± I asked eagerly in the same tongue, borrowing from the official terminology. ¡°You bend time? Or just turn invisible, or something?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ can destroy the things that see me?¡± the unicorn replied, with a note of confusion. ¡°You are proposing a trip to some realm of evil beings, no?¡±


    Never mind, I thought. I¡¯ll have to test it in the field.


    I was only hours away from embarking on my fool¡¯s errand, now. My newly-bought demiskin ¨C my most expensive purchase by far ¨C was already packed and waiting for me under my bed¡­


    My sister had made up her mind. ¡°You can¡­ se-send an imp. I don¡¯t want Princess to get hurt. I¡­ Look after my brother, Princess.¡± Jaid suddenly turned and threw her arms around the unicorn¡¯s foreleg.


    After the shock faded from her posture, her ears and eyelids lowering again, Gilaela seemed to relent and lowered her head to nestle against my sister.


    I didn¡¯t dismiss the unicorn and bid Zel goodnight till Jaid was fast asleep again, then I quietly lowered myself onto my bed and struggled to join her in dream-land.


    And I failed, tripping through the cracks between the clouds, into the dark recesses where falling forever is a mercy.


    ¡°You cannot let us go on,¡± Jaid and Jaroan say in unison, eyes empty.


    ¡°Hush,¡± I hear myself whisper, and I glance between them, frantic. I can¡¯t feel my lips moving. ¡°I¡¯ll hear us.¡±


    ¡°But we didn¡¯t say anything,¡± their voices echo again; they glance at each other, empty eyes worried.


    ¡°By Kultemeren!¡± I hear myself cry, ¡°you are not my brother and sister!¡± Then I catch the sound of myself sniggering, and when my voice comes next it is not my own: ¡°They would never have begged for death so quickly.¡±


    Then I see it ¨C their hands are full of beetles.


    They must be dead inside already.


    I burn it all.


    I hear my fist hammering on the door; I cringe on the other side of the room, longing for an avenue of escape to reveal itself.


    The tarot card turns before my eyes¡­ and the only way out is the Tower.


    The moat of blackness. The slimy slithering ink I can¡¯t grasp at even though I¡¯ve seen it, I have seen it.


    No, there is no escape in that monolith ¨C only the Shadow awaits me, whatever I do. I can¡¯t run. I have to wait, have to face it, as the blows continue to rain down.


    I look, and I know that the door is a huge slab of metal and magic, a foot thick ¨C it could withstand a thousand fireballs a minute for a thousand years.


    I know it is about to split asunder. I¡¯m knocking. On the outside.


    I turn back, casting my gaze across the great hall of black stone with its gleaming table, seeing it all for the first time. The vast spiral of marble. Its flickering orange hearths. Its thirty-three huge seats.


    I am outside knocking on the door and I can hear the thunderous blows from inside and they terrify me.


    Which one is me? Which am I?


    I try to tell them the thoughts aren¡¯t my own but I won¡¯t let me. Below the rim of my grinning mask my matching smile terrifies me and now I¡¯m elsewhere, pursuing myself through the Incursion.


    The Incursion I only recently survived. It is the same. Everything is the same, reborn in nightmare form. A clarity only Infernum might achieve.


    I clamber across the head resting upon the clay, the rust-red plates lit from beneath by golden flame, the veins of fire-mountains. I hesitantly peel open the flesh and hide myself inside.


    They are in here with me. The other twins. All eight of them. They still trust me.


    They even look like children.


    I try to soothe them, calm them as I slay them, but they won¡¯t shut up so in the end I just do it as quickly, efficiently as I can. They¡¯re strong, but not strong enough.


    Not strong enough to face me.


    Not yet.


    * * *

 The Winter Door pt3

    It was a rainy, grey morning and I could feel the chill north wind slicing at my ethereal feathers as I winged my way through the treeline. Once I reached the open space I felt a little giddy, so I halted, and reduced the height at which I was flying so that I skirted the ground as I continued onwards.


    Already I could feel it. The Door. The incessant hum of the thing.


    You¡¯re going to keep an eye on it all?


    ¡°Two eyes,¡± Zel replied. ¡°Or more, if you¡¯ve got a willing donor or two.¡±


    You mean, wake up some of the others? I thought back, in a somewhat critical-sounding mind-voice.


    ¡°I was joking! Tee-hee.¡± My advisor tittered. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m all over this. Today should be interesting.¡±


    She did sound like she was in an amazing mood, and it was quite infectious.


    The Winter Door stood alone in a wasteland of dead trees, many of which had been chopped down a foot off the ground, the stumps marked with runes of closing, runes of resistance. The wards stretched about the Door in a dozen concentric rings ¨C the shield was nowhere near as powerful as the one enclosing the Maginox, but I could at least see its faint bluish radiance now I was approaching the portal, stretching up to form a dome that stretched three times the height of the huge Door. I guessed the relative weakness of the protections here had more to do with the nature of the thing they were protecting than any failure on the part of those who made the wards. Certainly these were more straightforward-looking ¨C the barriers weren¡¯t designed to operate with ill-will-wishers permitted within, like Magicrux Altra and its prisoners. All the same, my teeth were already grating from the incessant hum of the Door, and I got the feeling that the resonance I was suffering through was having the same effect on the sorcerous barriers I could detect, seeming to thin them, soften them.


    This place had no shrine, no visitors. While the druids could talk-up the perils of the Autumn Door, people visited the Giltergrove because it offered a whole experience ¨C the awesome trees, the innumerable types of flora and fauna, in addition to the Door itself. It was kid-friendly, and mysterious. The Winter Door, on the other hand, had a very real history of tragedy and violence. Everyone knew better than to come here, and the Magisterium knew better than to let them. The area of forest around the Winter Door had been designated a no-go zone to most members of the public, and apparently even the lords and ladies whose properties came closest to the Door were turned away if they crossed the boundary.


    So in place of a shrine there was only a simple, stone-built fortification: twenty-foot-high walls, four of them, forming a square. The walls were thick enough to contain a few buildings between the inner and outer faces ¨C dormitories, I supposed, for those magisters taking breaks from their shifts ¨C and a pair of archways offered non-fliers a way in and out. Arches without gates. Gates would not be needed here ¨C and if they were, they could do precisely nothing to help.


    The Door rose from the centre of the structure, seeming like the Autumn Door in almost every way ¨C the same huge ¡®door-frame¡¯ marked with vast glyphs, the same ever-changing, scintillating surface, like a curtain of water and fire mingled together ¨C but its colour was the most easily-recognisable difference. Its waves flowed and its flames licked sapphire-blue within the white frame; the glyphs adorning the alabaster stone were very similar but that was a matter more of style than content. The portal emitted a crackling sound, soft, like dry sticks popping on the fire. Nothing like as bad as the hum beneath, not even in the same league. It was obvious to me that this was a mortal sound, something originating in Materium.


    This portal wasn¡¯t asleep.


    It was a very different experience ¨C the Autumn Door, surrounded by massive golden trees, made you feel small, like a gnome in a giant¡¯s forest. But the Winter Door towered over everything, with no equally-colossal features in the environment. The Winter Door simply looked big.


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    I spotted Glimmermere, the unique condor¡¯s blue feathers almost hiding her from even my eyes. She winged her way across the cloudy sky, approaching the Door from the south. And below us, gathered around the portal¡¯s base, was a mighty company of champions and magisters.


    Some of the mages down there were adepts from the affiliated colleges, by the looks of their robes, contractors simply going about their jobs. Most were circling the two vast surfaces of boiling blue fire at various distances, casting their bone-sand in expertly-laid circles to form more-powerful, constantly-replenished wards.


    But some of the magisters stood apart, with the champions¡­


    Arch-magisters.


    Then I saw her ¨C the head of Special Investigations. Mistress Keliko Henthae was here, talking to a couple of important-looking sorcerers ¨C a big, imposing man with silver-blond hair poking out from beneath his hood and a younger, female sorcerer who looked vaguely familiar. I ignored them, studying the arch-enchantress. Her beringed fingers glinted despite the gloom, her rose-hued robe supplemented by a thick-furred white cloak ¨C the cloak¡¯s hood was up, hiding her darkish-grey hair, but there was no mistaking her.


    Henthae. The reason Em ¨C the reason Stormsword ¨C wouldn¡¯t be backing us up today.


    ¡®The Magisterium¡¯s orders.¡¯ A paltry set of ¡®examinations¡¯ she¡¯d set up for my girlfriend, to keep her away from me, away from this.


    I deliberately avoided looking at the old woman as I landed. Zel was quick to reassure me that she was ready: Henthae wouldn¡¯t even get my surface thoughts without her knowing. That was to say nothing of the anti-enchantment amulet I wore under my clothing, clinking softly against my healing-phial. Henthae was clearly powerful, but powerful-enough to contend with my current kit? I suspected not.


    Instead of studying her, I waved at the champions.


    Timesnatcher. Lightblind. Starsight. Dimdweller, the dwarf. Yeesh, that was a lot of diviners, but I was glad to see Starsight back on his feet.


    No Killstop? I caught myself wondering.


    Glancefall. Rosedawn. Spiritwhisper. I was surprised Lovebright hadn¡¯t shown up.


    Leafcloak. Fangmoon. And Glimmermere, soon to arrive. I was kind of glad Nighteye had been left behind this time, for his sake.


    Mountainslide, the second of the two dwarves. Winterprince¡­ Only two wizards?


    Then Shallowlie. Direcrown.


    Me.


    Most of the others were talking in low voices amongst their companions. Henthae, Timesnatcher and Lightblind were discussing the fact we were still awaiting the arrival of Shadowcloud (three wizards!) and another arch-magister too. I walked over to Starsight, and he was already reaching out to shake my hand.


    As I clasped the white-robed diviner¡¯s palm in both of my own, I hailed him:


    ¡°Starsight ¨C good to see you¡¯re back on your feet. And not even stabbing your friends¡­!¡±


    I said it with a big joyful grin on my face, but I realised from the way he replied in a rather flat monotone, ¡°Feychilde,¡± that my jest had come too soon. Had he only just recovered from the mind-warping influence of the infernal obsidian he¡¯d touched?


    ¡°Did I get chance to thank you?¡± I asked. ¡°For saving my life, after I fell?¡±


    ¡°You did,¡± he said, ¡°but you didn¡¯t.¡±


    It took me a second to realise what he meant by that.


    I opened my mouth: ¡°I¡¯m sorry ¨C¡±


    ¡°No need,¡± he cut me off. ¡°You gave me Neverwish¡¯s share, didn¡¯t you? And you spoke to me of stabbing friends.¡±


    There was no open hostility in his voice but I could sense it just beneath the surface. He might¡¯ve been frowning, glowering behind the five-pointed mask he wore¡­ but I couldn¡¯t tell.


    Neverwish. Was that what all this was about? But¡­ Timesnatcher had insisted I be the one to call the dwarven enchanter out on his darkmage-ways¡­ Had ¡®T-Man¡¯ foreseen this? Had I been wrong to put my trust in him? What if he was just trying to make me hated?


    I couldn¡¯t be too quick to jump to conclusions. Starsight was suffering, probably in several ways. He¡¯d come around.


    He turned aside to say something to Dimdweller, the dwarven diviner who¡¯d also turned on Neverwish in those last moments of Neverwish¡¯s freedom; I sensed myself being dismissed.


    I stood on my own for a minute, padding from foot to foot, trying to keep myself distracted from the portal¡¯s awful hum by eavesdropping on six or seven different conversations. Direcrown was talking to a lilac-clad magister ¨C or arch-magister, given the way the stranger was standing, as if speaking with an equal. Shallowlie was off to one side with Rosedawn, their heads close together, murmuring¡­ The thirty-ish enchantress was clad in her robe of night-blues and soft pinks. Rosedawn¡¯s mask covered only the upper part of her face, two hills shaped in the silvery material shadowing her eyes, a coppery sun rising between them to hide her forehead.


    How long were we going to have to wait?


    It wasn¡¯t just the portal¡¯s headache-inducing buzz. It was the anticipation. The nervousness. Everything from the Bone Ring and Lord Obscure to the Cannibal Six, from the Firenight Square attack and the Incursion to the vampire-lord, it all started flitting through my mind, everything that had led me to this moment ¨C


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± came Henthae¡¯s sardonic salute from over my shoulder.


    * * *

 The Winter Door pt4

    I turned. She¡¯d stopped a few paces from me, another magister halting just behind her, folding his arms almost defensively.


    ¡°Department-head of Special Investigations, Mistress of the Pool of Reflections¡­¡±


    It wasn¡¯t like the title she hid behind was any less stupid-sounding than a champion¡¯s. I managed to grunt out the words, but my teeth felt like they were trying to prise themselves loose and my vision was starting to blur.


    She wore a slight smile on her lips ¨C whether due to the faux-politeness of my response, or the pained way I made it, I couldn¡¯t tell. Then, once she knew I¡¯d seen it, the smile disappeared.


    She looked my robe (newly cleaned) up and down.


    ¡°You¡¯ve come a long way in a few weeks,¡± she said appraisingly, stepping away from the protective-looking magister hovering behind her. She¡¯d dropped the sarcasm, replacing it with a voice that couldn¡¯t have been more-obviously buttering me up if it had drowned me in lard.


    ¡°Has it only been a few weeks? It¡¯s been too long! I really missed our chats.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed only briefly. ¡°I also. Have you considered ¨C¡°


    ¡°Considered your offer? Joining up?¡± I let my excitement flow, spoke in a confidential manner. ¡°Gosh, Keliko, I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on at your place ¨C see, I asked my people to speak with your people, and it all just got lost somewhere around ¡®Cram it up your a-¡¯¡±


    She¡¯d already started talking over me, patient and undeterred. ¡°I see, I see. Might I introduce Zakimel ¨C¡± she gestured, and the magister behind her nodded slowly to me ¡°¨C who will be representing the Magisterium¡¯s interests on this excursion?¡±


    I regarded him, and realised I knew him. He¡¯d swapped his red-and-silver robe for blue-and-gold, but he was the same gaunt, bald-headed man who¡¯d appeared in my glyphstone more than once. His thick moustache of neatly-combed grey hairs bristled as he glared at me.


    Zakimel. The arch-diviner Em had mentioned several times ¨C I¡¯d never put two and two together till now.


    Yet another arch-diviner for the trip?


    ¡°Special Investigations gets all the arch-magisters, then?¡± I asked, perhaps a bit brazenly ¨C if he wasn¡¯t going to say hi to me, why should I be the one to extend the first gesture? I looked back at Henthae. ¡°Is that what Em¡¯s destined for, once you¡¯re done putting her through night-shifts?¡±


    ¡°Why are you asking me?¡± she replied.


    ¡°Should I be asking him?¡± I nodded at Zakimel, who stood a little straighter, raising his chin.


    ¡°I mean to say that Emrelet¡¯s future is her own,¡± the arch-enchantress protested in a stiff voice. ¡°If she were to choose ¨C¡°


    ¡°I already know how you guide her choices, thank you, and I ¨C¡°


    ¡°And I know how you guide her,¡± she cut me off, smiling once more. ¡°If you insist I must dismount, get off your own horse first, as they say.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t set her examinations ¨C¡°


    ¡°Such is my role,¡± Henthae said curtly. ¡°It is my job to keep your lover safe.¡±


    My eyes only widened slightly.


    The question of Em¡¯s safety ¨C the perfect way to disarm me, divest me of my high horse and send me crashing on my back to the earth.


    But surely there was no way she could know anything like that for certain, could she? Em could hardly be fated to die if she went on the mission with us. Not with the strongest arch-diviners in the world going to Zadhal ¨C that would throw all the predictions off, that much was obvious¡­


    The vagaries of predestination were starting to bother me.


    ¡°You mean ¨C if she went to Zadhal ¨C she would ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ll say no more.¡± Henthae sighed, half-turning aside. ¡°If there¡¯s nothing else, Zakimel, I leave him to you.¡±


    ¡°Wait ¨C there is one thing,¡± I blurted. ¡°Ciraya. You need to be working on her, not Em. Make her your pet project. She could really go somewhere in the Magisterium, if you gave her a chance.¡±


    From the exaggerated way Zakimel¡¯s face twisted in derision, I almost thought I could hear his moustache rustle, despite the crackling of the damned Door less than a stone¡¯s throw away.


    ¡°Ciraya?¡± Henthae sounded surprised, looking back at me. ¡°I have already done much for the girl. You saw what happened to Belexor, scion of a noble house of Mund, when he merely changed your shape. You know what she did, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I thought back, not for the first time, to that initial interview in the Maginox.


    ¡®¡­ but Fe was so hungry¡­¡¯


    Would Henthae really give me answers?


    ¡°She ¨C she killed some people?¡±


    Henthae dared laugh about it. ¡°Oh, yes. You really should ask her. She was exonerated of all charges, of course, but¡­ I¡¯ll take your recommendation onboard, Feychilde, for what it¡¯s worth. Farewell.¡±


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    She turned to leave.


    Who was I kidding? It wasn¡¯t like she was going to care what I thought about her magisters, was it? If anything, I might¡¯ve just dropped Ciraya in it.


    ¡°All I know is, I bet she saved more lives,¡± I finished, folding my own arms across my chest; I flared my wings half-unconsciously.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Henthae called over her shoulder as she made her way out of the group of champions and magisters, ¡°but you and I both know that means nothing.¡±


    I glared at her back, thinking of her hypocrisy ¨C Ciraya had been spared because those she¡¯d killed were poor, negligible, I¡¯d have bet, while Belexor¡¯s victim had been a new champion, a potential asset¡­


    ¡°Farewell, Special Head,¡± I muttered under my breath.


    I moved my eyes to Zakimel. The older man had heard, and he was gazing calmly at me, a thin smile on his lips. Not a smile of pleasure ¨C one of challenge. He was happy to continue staring at me quietly. He knew I was a babbler. He had the advantage, as I grew more and more uncomfortable, more and more rattled by the Door, every second that ticked by.


    Suddenly Shallowlie was next to me, corpse-mask in place, looking up at me through the eyeholes. I happily turned away from the silent arch-magister.


    ¡°Whad¡¯do you fink of i¡¯, Feychile?¡±


    She spoke in grunts, tension beneath the thick accent that told me she was going through the exact same thing as me.


    ¡°Unbearable.¡± I smiled tightly at her. ¡°You?¡±


    She just nodded.


    When I glanced at Zakimel, he¡¯d turned aside to speak with one of his own number. Another arch-magister: a druid by the looks of things.


    ¡°How much longer, do you think?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Look,¡± the sorceress said, pointing.


    I followed her finger ¨C


    Shadowcloud was on his way.


    In a burst of telepathic sound, Timesnatcher¡¯s voice started coming through:


    ¡°¨C do you mean, not there? I saw him!¡±


    Shadowcloud replied: ¡°Look, if Nighteye was there, he was hiding himself. Why didn¡¯t he just say if he didn¡¯t want to come? I can¡¯t guarantee¡­¡±


    Then Spiritwhisper, true to his name, whispered to me, ¡°Thought I¡¯d link you up before you missed this.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Spirit.¡±


    I quickly gathered that Nighteye¡¯s absence wasn¡¯t due to Leafcloak side-lining him again. Quite the opposite ¨C she¡¯d been impressed by his and Fangmoon¡¯s efforts, in the end, and had recommended both of them for this particular quest¡­ While I was a bit sceptical of her logic, right now the young arch-druid¡¯s status as missing took precedence.


    He¡¯d helped me out numerous times, but the whole rat-to-man thing easily topped the list. I owed Nighteye ¨C big-time. Hopefully he was just taking a much-needed leave of absence.


    The psychic link was filled with offers of help, my own included, and after a few moments Timesnatcher cut through it all with a sharp bark of: ¡°Silence!¡±


    I actually preferred the din to the quiet that spread across my mental landscape ¨C it had helped drown out the Door¡¯s hum.


    Our leaders gave a series of commands ¨C on Timesnatcher¡¯s say-so the magisters were linked up ¨C Zakimel dispatched messages to his subordinates to ensure Nighteye wouldn¡¯t stay missing for long ¨C and Shadowcloud and Glimmermere passed by to imbue me with flight and warmth, energy and vigour.


    ¡°Arch-sorcerers to the fore. Let¡¯s put you out of your misery first, eh? Once you¡¯re through, set up wards as far out as you can, get some relief from this noise you can hear.¡± Timesnatcher waited for us to line up ¨C me, Shallowlie, Direcrown¡­ and the lilac-robed magister Direcrown had been speaking with, Valorin.


    At least there¡¯s someone here who¡¯s newer to this stuff than me, I said to myself.


    ¡°He might be new to archmagery, but that doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s forgotten his magister training,¡± Zel reminded me.


    True enough.


    Valorin was mid-twenties and dark of complexion, short-haired and short-limbed. He was a little overweight but he carried it well with wide shoulders and a broad chest. He had big ears and intense, deep-set eyes, and a confident, professional look on his handsome face.


    Perhaps I couldn¡¯t condemn him outright just for chatting to Direcrown. I hadn¡¯t been able to catch much of what they were saying ¨C there¡¯d been so many interesting conversations going on at the time ¨C so they might¡¯ve just been exchanging platitudes.


    ¡°Wiping out the undead in Zadhal is our priority,¡± Timesnatcher was saying. ¡°Breaking their seals. Freeing their souls. Today, we take back our sister-city. It¡¯ll be harder than I¡¯m making it sound, but we¡¯ve got the greatest force of archmages ever put to the task. Our glyphstones won¡¯t work over there, but we¡¯ve got the information from our previous expeditions, which I¡¯ve shared with our enchanters ¨C we¡¯ll have maps, pinpointing us as we move towards our goals. We can do this. Mund is your priority; we¡¯re not asking you to forget that. If you feel you must withdraw, then you must. But if you have the courage of your convictions, now is the day to show it. Stick together. We will be victorious. We will find the way.¡±


    His mind-voice was firm, steady ¨C too steady. I didn¡¯t have to be an enchanter to be able to tell he was nervous too.


    ¡°No shields, Feychilde, Valorin,¡± Timesnatcher said.


    How did he know we were the ones with them still active? Had he seen a future where we blew ourselves up, or was he wearing a gift of force-sight?


    We both dropped our barriers in unison, and the arch-diviner went on: ¡°Erect them again the moment you¡¯re through, but don¡¯t let them intersect the Door.¡±


    That made sense, at least. I¡¯d only need to be a few feet into Zadhal to bring up my circle, and if we wove our weave carefully right around the portal we¡¯d be fine¡­


    Netherhame had mentioned the likelihood of undead in the immediate vicinity. We had to be ready for anything.


    ¡°I will remind you all not to step through a portal in Zadhal or its surrounds. The sorcerous seal upon the place is ancient, necrotising the flesh born of Materium in under one tenth-second of exposure. Do not test its grip until we succeed and I give the all-clear. You will die ¨C and worse. I very much don¡¯t want to fight any archlich sorcerers, if it can be avoided.¡±


    I looked to my left ¨C the black-gowned Minnerveve, her corpse mask making her look serene as she gazed forwards. I looked to my right ¨C the tall, rust-robed Direcrown with his jagged, silver-gold diadem and demonic steel face. And at the end, the lilac-robed Valorin, the only one of us freely baring his identity to the world, looking no less prepared for this than the champions.


    Perhaps I am still the newbie here, I admitted to myself, and then turned, like them, to face the portal before which we¡¯d gathered.


    A magnificent wall of blue noise, crackling water, flowing fire.


    Timesnatcher was now giving orders to the enchanters, preparing them to relink us as quickly as possible once they followed on our heels. We would retain our invisibility throughout, apparently ¨C not that I could tell it was even there, given its enemies-only status.


    And not that it was likely to do much against undead, with all their predatory senses.


    I might¡¯ve been the least-prepared, most inexperienced, but I couldn¡¯t wait any longer. I felt an irresistible urge to get as far from this excruciating Door as possible, even if that meant crossing through it ¨C and I was brimming-over with excitement and panic and this gods-damned humming¡­


    I soared into the rippling blue ward-lines, ready to submerge myself in that pain the Door offered, submerge myself in it and pass through it into tranquillity ¨C I moved forwards, and sensed the others like me rushing to follow in my wake.

 No Communication pt1

    <h2>AMETHYST 5.2: NO COMMUNICATION</h2>


    ¡°Just in this last week ¨C three reports of zombies malfunctioning in Hightown. Customers are becoming too frightened to shop. One poor little girl had her ear bitten off, and if the security detail hadn¡¯t stopped it she surely would¡¯ve had her brain slurped right out of the side of her head! How has this happened? How are we to maintain a reputation of reliability and trustworthiness under such circumstances? These are the problems with which I have been wrestling. I suspect well-hidden interference, on behalf of the Circle Watchers or the Society of Summoners; these lesser colleges have ever envied our position. I wish for three volunteers to open an official investigation in my name. Any evidence you discover in support or defiance of my hypothesis, bring it to me and know it will be fairly considered, whatever the outcome. I intend to take this to the Magisterium myself.¡±


    ¨C from Mistress Arithos¡¯s Seminar with the Purple Adepts


    Fire and frost flowed over my skin, a caress almost luxurious in its delicacy, its tenderness of application ¨C but that sensation was buried, clamped down beneath the agony reverberating inside my brain. It was akin to getting my head busted open with a stonemason¡¯s drill the size of a hammer. I almost would¡¯ve preferred that, quite honestly, because at least getting your head busted open with a drill the size of a hammer would leave you dead in a split-second, mercifully free from pain. This was like getting your head busted open, without the possibility of relief, the escape offered by unconsciousness, death. It left me crawling, skittering on my elbows and knees on the cold, cracked stone, Shadowcloud¡¯s buoyancy spell keeping me from actually smashing my skull on the floor.


    But I knew I had gone through. I knew from the way that, even despite the wizardry setting my veins aflame, I was shivering, panting from the iciness of the very air about me.


    I struggled to open my eyes, and saw the shadow I cast on the charred grey rock ¨C the blue light was behind me. I was through. I drew out a circle straight away, reinforced it with instinctive motions.


    I looked up, using a faltering burst of flight to float myself upright; as the spell settled down, coming back under my control, I felt warmer again. My breath still misted on the air, and I didn¡¯t like being this close to the Door ¨C I hovered forwards hesitantly, cradling my throbbing head in one hand as I beheld Zadhal.


    Lyanne had shown me the illusory replication in her glyphstone the last time we¡¯d met for training, but it hadn¡¯t even come close.


    My first time leaving Mund¡­ and it¡¯s to see this¡­


    The Winter Door stood in the centre of a wide plaza, like a fraction of Firenight Square. Far off, ruins of buildings ringed the area. A single roadway before us led off towards the shattered towers at the centre of the city, a cluster of broken teeth jutting into the pale white sky. The sun was too low to illuminate anything except the air itself ¨C for all the sky¡¯s apparent brightness everything was dim; everything was bathed in shadow.


    Where are the undead? I wondered.


    ¡°You might be better at finding them than me, now,¡± Zel replied with a sniff.


    Before I had chance to test my sensory abilities I heard Min softly call to me. I looked over to find that Shallowlie had already spun a thread of power; as she threw it I caught it, added to it, and looked to Direcrown¡­


    Either Valorin had been through an intensive training-course like me or he learned damn fast ¨C by the time the enchanters followed us we¡¯d split up, heading in rough approximations of the cardinal directions, maintaining the weave between the four of us. Direcrown was more than keeping up his end, and having a whole quartet of arch-sorcerers maintaining the shield with our power just trivialised the ordeal. It didn¡¯t even feel like I was spending of my power to keep it in place. Hopefully my shields were stronger now, stronger than they had been when I was warding the doorway to the assassin¡¯s guild. Would they fare better against elite undead creatures?


    If not ¨C well, I had my new allies to try out.


    Waiting for the rest of the expedition to arrive, I flew around the edge of our defences and almost passed out from pure bliss as the humming finally faded to a low background buzz. We continued carefully building the weave, but as I worked I took the opportunity to study the buildings in close-up, the vacant windows and blasted walls of what must have once been shops, offices. This probably would¡¯ve been the city¡¯s bustling trade centre, what with it being the way to Mund and all. (Certainly what I¡¯d heard of Habburat, the city through the still-operational Spring Door, indicated as much.)


    I could almost imagine the people who¡¯d lived their lives here, who¡¯d died here when something beyond their knowledge or control went catastrophically wrong and they paid the unending price.


    But I could sense nothing in the ruins, nothing I could touch with my magic. Not even corpses.


    ¡°No time like the present,¡± Zel piped up.


    For what?


    ¡°To test your present¡­¡±


    My¡­ oh.


    I halted, caught and tied the next section of shield, then summoned my unicorn.


    ¡°My, this is a pleasant change of scenery,¡± she commented dryly, looking about, her glittering horn seeming to leave a trail of sparks in the air as she tossed her head.


    ¡°Stay still a second, will you?¡±


    Joining with Gilaela was the weirdest transition yet ¨C I floated through her like she was made of thin air, to me at least, and it was only once she was half ¡®in¡¯ me that the rest of her got sort of sucked in.


    Thanks awfully for your help, I thought at her, and looked down to check I hadn¡¯t grown two extra legs.


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    ¡°For Nentheleme,¡± Gilaela replied, in a tone of acceptance.


    I saw sparks out of the corner of my eye as I swished my head and it took me a minute to realise that they were coming from my head.


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± My mouth went to the trouble of commenting on my situation. There was no one else to hear.


    I passed my hand over my forehead ¨C I felt nothing.


    I got Zab to pop out and take a look, then the green-eyed gremlin confirmed:


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a great honking horn sticking out your head, Feychilde.¡±


    He drew a reflection of me in the air before I rejoined with him, lasting only a few seconds ¨C long enough for me to memorise the ridiculous sight.


    The glittery horn thrusting through my mask was almost a foot long, and despite its incorporeal nature it was brighter and far more glittery than when it was atop Gilaela¡¯s head. It angled upwards as much as it did forwards, and ¨C


    ¡°What¡¯ve you done to yourself, Feychilde?¡± someone said ¨C Glancefall, I thought.


    A bit rich for someone in a jester-mask and a gold wig.


    ¡°Ha! Someone looks happy,¡± Spiritwhisper commented.


    I endured a minute or two of the world¡¯s most obvious jokes, and did my best to laugh along with them.


    I didn¡¯t care. It was funny, after all, and power was power. Once I learned how to use it¡­


    I busied myself with summoning my satyrs, Sarcamor and Sarminuid. It transpired I could only join with one of them before I once again felt ¡®full¡¯, and Sarminuid suddenly wasn¡¯t insubstantial under my hand like his fellow had been.


    I dismissed him back to Etherium. I had better eldritches to use in a place like Zadhal, and I had a grand total of five eldritches inside me, bound to the flesh. Five would do, for now.


    Zel made no comment¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m busy. What?¡±


    Oh?


    ¡°Looking at the future for ¨C¡± She halted, as Timesnatcher asked:


    ¡°Can I get confirmation, the undead have withdrawn from the area?¡±


    I agreed, and Min too ¨C Valorin might not have mastered that aspect of his powers yet and didn¡¯t reply, while Direcrown reported a single ghost. He brought it up to the edge of the shield where it crossed the road, and I couldn¡¯t quite make out what it was saying under his questioning ¨C something about being lost and alone, the typical stuff you¡¯d expect to hear I supposed¡­


    He sent it out again, and it flickered and vanished into the city beyond the plaza, leaving only a faint purple trail in the air to my sorcerer¡¯s-eye.


    I started summoning demons into my vicinity, one by one so as to not overexert myself. I got the feeling they weren¡¯t overly comfortable, this close to a bunch of champions and arch-magisters, even those with enough intellect to know they weren¡¯t in any danger of being collectively annihilated. The lesser things all looked positively subdued ¨C the few diseased folkababil birds and the dog-faced obbolomin guys, the various imps, even the seven-legged epheldegrim herd.


    In contrast, my bintaborax clan and Aunty Antlers all stood straight with pride. Khikiriaz, my other ikistadreng, looked far more afraid of me than of anyone else in the vicinity as he kept his head bowed, his strange pupil only focussing briefly on me after I summoned him.


    I called my atiimogrix into Materium, the thin, near-naked laughing-man with the endless entrails already starting to dribble out of the hole in his gut. I would put him at the front, let him get destroyed first.


    ¡°Agar salithak,¡± I snapped at him. ¡°Neleb gharar onn sa kasagren.¡±


    ¡®Stop laughing. And don¡¯t make a mess.¡¯


    He immediately pressed his lips together, pressed his hands against his belly ¨C his glowing eyes, his cheeks, his torso, they all puffed up, swelled almost immediately beyond his ability to contain.


    Sighing, I rescinded the commands and just waved him away again. I¡¯d have to settle for bringing him out when the battle began. I¡¯d caught onto the fact that more than a few of my fellow archmages had turned their heads, hearing him barking laughter, exuding a truly unique stench.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said. ¡°I, er, didn¡¯t realise just how bad that would be¡­¡± I seized on the opportunity to change the topic. ¡°Can we be sure the invisibility covers our eldritches?¡±


    I received several assurances. It looked like sorcerers weren¡¯t the only ones who found it easy to cover large numbers with their spells when gathered in force.


    ¡°So, does this mean they were expecting us?¡± Shadowcloud was asking. I could make him out, floating higher than the others, looking out across the city towards those broken-tooth towers in the centre. ¡°There are normally some critters around here, aren¡¯t there?¡±


    ¡°Them expecting us was never beyond the realms of possibility, Shadowcloud,¡± Lightblind¡¯s measured voice responded.


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Zakimel¡¯s urbane drawl. ¡°Everything going according to plan.¡±


    ¡°If you say so.¡± The arch-wizard still sounded dubious.


    ¡°It¡¯s possible that the last expedition earlier this year cleared the locals out for good,¡± Lightblind explained in a patient voice. ¡°It takes time for them to wander back in, or get sent here.¡±


    ¡°And we were just dying for a welcome party,¡± Glimmermere muttered from somewhere.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think our palates have much in common,¡± I said. ¡°I tend not to eat places where the waiter wants to serve you your own leg as the main course.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. We all know what sorcerers get up to, don¡¯t any of you deny it.¡±


    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t dream of it, my dear,¡± Direcrown practically purred. ¡°What would remain of our reputations, should the common folk think our tastes ordinary?¡±


    I was surprised at the amount of sniggers that were elicited into the shared telepathic space by the back-and-forth, the lack of reprimands from the leaders. Or perhaps I shouldn¡¯t have been ¨C the laughter was comprised of tight, terse sounds. Maybe they wouldn¡¯t have found it amusing if we were elsewhere, under the bright light of the sun, where it didn¡¯t feel like your death was waiting for you just around the corner¡­


    I realised then that it couldn¡¯t just be the previous expeditions clearing the place that¡¯d left the area free of undead.


    If that was the case, why had a vampire-lord been waiting on this side of the portal for the moment in which the defences were dropped, when the demons struck the Box?


    But before I voiced my doubts I realised the further truth: there was no way Lightblind had missed this. She was just hoping to hide it from the others. What could be the point of such a deliberate deception? Unless she and Timesnatcher knew that things would go worse if they mentioned it¡­


    Zel, have I ever mentioned how much I detest foresight?


    ¡°I think it¡¯s come up once or twice,¡± she said with just a touch of spite.


    ¡°I still feel cold,¡± one of the arch-magisters was saying, and I thought I could hear Winterprince grinding out a chuckle as he soared past.


    ¡°Is the weave in place, Shallowlie?¡± Timesnatcher asked. His voice just seemed to be getting tenser and tenser every time he spoke.


    ¡°We ah ready, Tamsnatcher,¡± she said. I could see piles of ghosts surrounding her, a swirling ring of greyish figures, moving through the air but frozen in place, like transparent portrait-people rotating in the pattern of a shield. I started opening my own nethernal portals, producing the handful of ex-assassin vampires and rag-draped ghouls I¡¯d taken after the Gathering.


    ¡°Okay, pin it in place. We¡¯ll leave it as a warning system ¨C the moment you feel pressure against it, you let me know¡­ Zakimel?¡± Timesnatcher prompted.


    The gaunt old magister in blue and gold was near Shadowcloud before the Door, surveying the scene.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he answered the champion. ¡°Let us begin.¡±


    * * *

 No Communication pt2

    As we flew along the road, our senses ¨C magical and mundane ¨C fixed on our desolate surroundings, the enchanters started dropping information into our heads.


    Previous missions had prioritised vaults. Libraries. Laboratories. Small, privately-funded teams exploring the ruins in search of discreet areas mentioned in three-hundred-year-old texts, seeking legendary treasures to bring home to their paymasters, tomes of incredible value, artefacts of proud heritage. The Magisterium had been content to preserve the status quo, given that such expeditions gave no better than fifty-fifty odds of ending up with a team going ¡®missing¡¯. They couldn¡¯t justify the loss of their assets the same way as a financed group of bounty hunters. And never before had a champion stepped forward, in concert with their fellows, and volunteered their services like this. Never before had the recognised high-diviner of Mund, surely the true scion of Arreath Ril himself, said that the time was right.


    Until Timesnatcher.


    Not that the enchanters¡¯ lore-dump actually put it that way, but I could read between the lines easily enough. It made me wonder ¨C and I could hardly be the only one ¨C what had changed? Why now? There wasn¡¯t a chance he was doing this to make up for missing the vampire-lord during the Incursion, was there?


    Our goal was to find out what made Zadhal different. The undead here were permanently fixed to Materium, through a power-source of some kind. There were candidates: a statue of Vaahn in a courtyard near the city-centre, a glowing green sphere in one of the towers none had yet dared approach¡­ If we could locate it and terminate it, we could destroy them and they¡¯d stay that way. We could take the city back, and there¡¯d be nothing they could do to stop us.


    With the exception of the more potent undead. Vampire-lords, and even ordinary vampires who¡¯d stayed on Materium long enough to be considered ¡®elders¡¯, were essentially immune to scrying, and thus were difficult for even diviners to fight. That was to say nothing of liches: lichhood, lichdom, however you said it ¨C it was a phenomenon that was at best only partially understood. The stories went back right into the Age of Nightmares. Those less-than-sensible people who had experimented with the sorcerous practises permitting the continuation of consciousness and power beyond bodily death ¨C they usually ended up hunted-down by their former peers when they were, quite predictably, driven mad (or just driven evil) by the experience¡­ Becoming soul-tainted ¨C whatever it was, it was bad.


    Then there were the death-lords, wraith-lords, and so on¡­


    It was rather worrying that there were special terms for those most-terrifying creatures, and that their definitions all contained ¡®undead archmage¡¯ in there somewhere, whatever the actual process of undead-ification.


    Looking out on the skeletal remnants of buildings, structures which had surely, once, been glorious wonders, I saw no trace of our enemies. Empty, shadowy alleyways. The breeze singing through glassless windows, dustless rooms. There weren¡¯t even any rats, birds, bugs, so far as I could tell. The place was a mausoleum.


    Under Zakimel and Timesnatcher¡¯s orders we stayed clumped together, within the boundaries of the shields the other arch-sorcerers had erected ¨C my shapes ranged even farther afield, slipping through the ruins surrounding us without encountering any resistance. Of the three of them, Direcrown alone was able to cast his defences out as far as Shield Seven ¨C and I still had five shields beyond that.


    It made me wonder what his speciality was. Dustbringer had spoken as though each arch-sorcerer ¨C perhaps each archmage ¨C had their own propensities, their own unusual capabilities, and nothing I¡¯d seen so far had dissuaded me from the notion. Em and Shadowcloud were air-wizards ¨C Winterprince ice, obviously ¨C perhaps some enchanters were better telepaths, others better illusionists¡­


    But Direcrown, deemed untrustworthy by Timesnatcher and Netherhame, was an unknown factor: he had at least twice as many demons out as I did, a veritable army streaming up the road behind us ¨C could that be it? I kept my eldritches away from his, letting them move ahead of the archmages as a vanguard ¨C I had no idea whether infighting was something to watch out for, and I had enough to concentrate on.


    You mind keeping an eye on him for me, Zel?


    ¡°How many do you think I¡¯ve got? Look, you¡¯re more likely to spot half the things he does faster than me, you know. I can¡¯t see quite the same as you, remember, and you¡¯ve got other senses I haven¡¯t.¡±


    Weird to hear that works both ways.


    I was glad the diviners had asked us to remain so low to the ground, stay hidden below the tops of the ruins that lined the road. Glimmermere had requested permission to fly high in her usual assumptive manner, to better take in the city at large, but they¡¯d quickly shot her idea down in tones that brooked no refusal. There was no guarantee the invisibility would work, and we didn¡¯t want to announce our presence if there were watchers in the towers. They didn¡¯t want to speed us straight into traps, either. Better to move slowly, checking our environment constantly for unbound, or bound undead, keep on the alert for ¨C


    ¡°Con-tac!¡± Shallowlie snarled ¨C I whipped my head about, looking at her as she bent in the air, streamed off to one side, her shield and ring of ghosts moving with her ¨C


    ¡°Banshees,¡± Direcrown sneered, copying her direction but leaving his demons behind.


    It seemed Valorin and I were slower, but only slightly so ¨C I could feel what they¡¯d felt, now. Undead under the ground. But it only now occurred to me that Direcrown was right ¨C I could tell the vampires apart from the ghouls, and now the banshees. They each had a different shape in my mind, in the surface of the plane. Vampires were jagged, narrow spaces, while ghouls were like inverted pyramids and banshees, banshees were curved, swirly¡­


    ¡°See, I don¡¯t get any of that,¡± Zel commented.


    I drifted a few feet, intending to follow ¨C


    ¡°Feychilde, stay here, keep your shield in place,¡± Timesnatcher commanded, moving to pursue the arch-sorcerers into the barely-standing structure of ancient, weather-worn wood and mortarless stones.


    I froze in place, feeling uncomfortable as the arch-diviner gathered a few others in his wake and went with them to probe the building¡¯s cellars. I¡¯d been instructed to watch Shallowlie¡¯s back around Direcrown, and at the very first opportunity I¡¯d ended up letting the two of them leave me behind.


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    I sensed the subtle manipulations of sorcery at work down there, the allegiances of the banshees being subverted, claimed ¨C


    They no longer struck me as unbound. I could tell, even at a distance, that Shallowlie or Direcrown had taken them into their service.


    Wasn¡¯t this my mistake? Binding a lesser undead, making the greater aware of my insolent act? Surely they couldn¡¯t be so stupid¡­?


    I kept an eye on both sides of the road ¨C if it was an ambush, I wanted to be prepared ¨C but nothing leapt out of the shadows at us and within two minutes they were returning, Shallowlie soaring at the back of the group, her five new lackeys in tow.


    ¡°Whom did they serve?¡± Lightblind asked. ¡°They weren¡¯t bound?¡±


    ¡°They were under the thumb of the wraith who made them,¡± Timesnatcher replied, glancing over his shoulder at Shallowlie and her new minions. ¡°Wraith, not wraith-lord. They look like treasure-hunters to me.¡±


    ¡°Dey know noffing,¡± the sorceress replied, spreading her hands helplessly. ¡°Dey ah far gone into de madness.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s continue,¡± Zakimel said, sounding thoroughly unimpressed with the results of the diversion. ¡°In three minutes we¡¯ll reach our first checkpoint.¡±


    I knew from the lore-dump that we were moving towards a junction, and I saw that Spiritwhisper was showing those close to him a miniaturised representation of the city, so I adjusted my flight to bring myself alongside him.


    It was basically little more than a softly-glowing map hanging in the air before him, no more than three feet across. Still, there was texture to it ¨C the towers and walls did visibly stick up like radiant pins.


    ¡°This,¡± the enchanter was saying out loud, ¡°is the crossroads we¡¯re headin¡¯ for.¡± A brighter, red marker took shape over one of the places where the tiny paths met, two of the bigger roads by the looks of things. I traced the roads back, and almost immediately realised which one we were on ¨C I could see the Door, the plaza, in miniscule detail behind us. ¡°From there we turn right, head to the target.¡± A second red light appeared, much farther from us than the Door was behind us, deep in the midst of the towers in the central district. ¡°That¡¯s where the statue of the, ah, the Prince of All Thrones, is it?¡°


    He stumbled over Vaahn¡¯s title; it was Lord of All Thrones, Prince of Chains (as well as King of Kings and Lord of Deathand half-a-dozen other similar epithets) but no one who was listening was going to correct him and I was starting to get the impression he couldn¡¯t easily pick it from my mind ¨C not with Lovebright¡¯s amulet working its magic.


    ¡°Anyway, from there it¡¯s not far to what the clever buggers have been calling the Green Tower.¡± One of the white pins turned an emerald shade and began to pulse, just three inches away from the second red dot. ¡°That¡¯s where most of the magisters ¨C¡° he flicked his gaze across towards Zakimel for a moment, as if to check the man looked distracted by something else ¡°¨C seem to think we¡¯re gonna end up.¡±


    I still felt a bit conspicuous, having complemented my glowing wings with a ridiculous forehead-horn, but I had to speak up.


    ¡°Is this really the best way to proceed, then?¡± I asked. ¡°We couldn¡¯t exit the city, send some people above the clouds then have them descend right on the spot? Not that I¡¯m, you know, volunteering¡­¡± Heights make me flip out, I couldn¡¯t quite bring myself to say. ¡°Or split up, or fly in file, move through the smaller streets¡­¡± I looked across the group, at one of the turn-offs we¡¯d just passed by.


    Dimdweller was one of those who¡¯d been watching Spiritwhisper¡¯s illusion, and the dwarf spoke up, totally unsurprisingly, in defence of the plan: ¡°Don¡¯t think we haven¡¯t worked on this extensively. For years, even¡­ Timesnatcher knows what he¡¯s doing. The idea of doing this is older than me, and I¡¯m ten times your age.¡±


    But we didn¡¯t even discuss it at the Gathering, I wanted to say ¨C but the danger of being overheard was too great; while I had little doubt Zakimel had the clearance to know of the Gathering¡¯s existence, I¡¯d have been shocked if the likes of Valorin had been filled in.


    ¡°But Netherhame implied Timesnatcher wanted to see how you acted after the Gathering,¡± Zel pointed out. ¡°He wanted to see if you¡¯d use your own initiative before he brought it up. It¡¯s ¨C it sounds like it¡¯s something they¡¯ve discussed before. Just not in front of you.¡°


    I was starting to become unsettled, realising just how much time several of the world¡¯s most powerful seers seemed to spend thinking of me.


    Not that the time itself actually mattered to them, of course. They probably spent far longer deciding what to eat for dinner than they did pondering the future of Feychilde.


    ¡°The vampires won¡¯t be able to move at the moment,¡± the dwarf was continuing, ¡°and the liches will take longer to draw on Nethernum for shielding, summoning, striking. We can draw out those with the ability to sustain ¨C¡±


    ¡°Halt!¡± Timesnatcher¡¯s panicked command came through suddenly. ¡°You sense that?¡±


    We summoners exerted our wills, and everyone stopped ¨C champion, magister, eldritch.


    Silence reigned ¨C no one answered the arch-diviner right away, then after a few seconds Lightblind murmured, ¡°You care to enlighten us, darling?¡±


    My eyebrows raised slightly at the familiar form of address. Were they together?


    ¡°Zombies¡­ mostly. At the crossroads. Waiting for us.¡±


    ¡°At the behest of something we can¡¯t perceive,¡± Zakimel concluded the thought curtly, then ordered: ¡°Forwards ¨C slowly¡­¡±


    As much as these prophets made me shiver, I¡¯d have far preferred taking orders from Timesnatcher than this Magisterium fool.


    Dimdweller didn¡¯t bother concluding his lesson ¨C it was only ten more seconds before I could see our foes. There was some muttering taking place in the telepathic link, then, as the undead came into view even for those without perception-powers, the muttering died, replaced by a steely silence, a battle-preparedness such as this tomb of a city had never before witnessed.


    Levelling the whole street down to the very last stone wasn¡¯t off the cards for a group of archmages like ours, if it¡¯d been our goal.


    We stopped again, all of us studying the legion that had been assembled to face us.


    They knew we were coming. All three exits at the crossroads were packed with stinking zombies, standing as still and silent as they would¡¯ve been lying under the ground. We would¡¯ve heard them moving ¨C they could¡¯ve been here for hours, days¡­


    Several thousand, at least ¨C they must¡¯ve been pulled here from all over the city. They were tightly packed, and they filled the centre of the crossroads, facing towards us. Many were missing limbs or big chunks out of their heads, their torsos, but that didn¡¯t seem to be bothering them. What hands they did have were being used to clutch weapons, mostly improvised.


    I could feel them, all of them that were in range of me. They were all taken, all bound, and I couldn¡¯t steal them away.


    ¡°An undead archmage controls them,¡± I whispered psychically.


    ¡°Confirmed,¡± Direcrown said.


    The arch-diviners converged in the air ¨C Timesnatcher, Lightblind, Starsight, Dimdweller and Zakimel; they probably had a two minute discussion which lasted all of five seconds for the rest of us.


    Lightblind was the one who reported back to us.


    ¡°We will retreat then enter the side-streets, heading west towards our ultimate destination. They will not move to head us off, but will move to block us from behind and then give chase, prevent us from fleeing back once the trap is revealed. Danger lurks primarily in these side-streets.¡±


    Her voice took on a hard quality, and I saw across the crowd as she drew her black and white blades:


    ¡°This means we go through instead.¡±


    * * *

 No Communication pt3

    We were invisible, to the zombies at least. It was a joke.


    A few of the druids became enlarged animals, bowling through the ranks, raking the zombies with claws and talons, while the pair of arch-druid magisters waded into the combat in humanoid form, obliterating the undead with disdainful blows of their hands and feet. Rosedawn successfully puppeteered a zombie, so Spiritwhisper, not to be outdone, made sure everyone was aware he had managed to puppeteer a ghoul recently. (Not that he managed to repeat the trick here in Zadhal.)


    Meanwhile, wizards smashed dozens of undead with rippling waves of light or withered them with flame ¨C even Winterprince was wielding fireballs here. Diviners raced along the rows, ensorcelled weaponry beheading ten with each stroke ¨C Zakimel seemed to be less speedy than Timesnatcher, but not by much more than Lightblind. Starsight and Dimdweller were visibly slower, but were still ripping and tearing through everything they could lay their blades on.


    We sorcerers did far more damage.


    Spikes on spinning shields mowed down zombies like wheat, and even the diviners couldn¡¯t keep up, rushing to slaughter rows of undead that were already falling in many pieces, force-shredded. I sent my eldritches out in a bone-crushing stampede, ikistadreng and bintaborax thumping along at the tip of the spearhead, imps riding epheldegrim on the flanks launching little burning missiles from their clawed hands. My vampires managed to get some action, but the ghouls were too slow to the front of the battle-line, and we so-relentlessly overpowered the opposition that I couldn¡¯t even get my horrid laughing-man killed ¨C I merely had to sigh and wave him back to Infernum again. Lucky sod.


    I barely even got close to the front-lines myself, to be fair ¨C my unicorn-horn didn¡¯t seem to react particularly, other than to emit perhaps just a little more embarrassing glitter into the air than usual. Yay.


    As for the undead lords at whose command this army of zombies had confronted us, whatever they had actually intended to achieve, it surely was not this. An easy victory, so early in the campaign? This was something one or two of us could¡¯ve surmounted without any help ¨C as it was, with twenty or more of us, we were done in under two minutes. The knowledge we¡¯d reduced our foes¡¯ forces by such a large number without any significant impediment was reassuring, even heartening, as we crossed over the junction instead of turning right up the road towards the Green Tower and statue of Vaahn.


    This isn¡¯t so difficult. That¡¯s what they really want us to believe, isn¡¯t it?


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to, you know, say it, but now that you mention, it does sound like rather a good plan, doesn¡¯t it? Are you going to stop checking every shadow now? Do you feel like your paranoia has run its course?¡±


    I get it. Stay cautious¡­ I¡¯ll get to off my atiimogrix at some point¡­ So, you can¡¯t sense anything?


    ¡°Imminent? No. Constant, background danger? Since the moment we came through the Door.¡±


    It¡¯s perfect isn¡¯t it?


    ¡°What is?¡±


    It¡¯s like, ¡®someone¡¯s gonna shoot an arrow at you at some point in the next two hours, and I¡¯ll give you one-and-a-half second¡¯s notice¡¯, you know what I mean? It doesn¡¯t exactly make for a comfortable two hours.


    ¡°Better one-and-a-half second¡¯s notice, though, right? I mean, okay, Kas ¨C someone¡¯s gonna shoot an arrow at you at some point in the next two hours, and I won¡¯t give you one-and-a-half second¡¯s notice ¨C how¡¯s that? Better?¡±


    ¡­ Fine, Zel, have it your way.


    ¡°Oh, now who¡¯s the grumpy one?¡±


    I didn¡¯t dignify that with a response. Zakimel ordered Valorin to dispatch a demon back to Mund, to make a report on the progress so far to the magisters assembled on the far side of the Door ¨C the glyphstone network was tied to Mund, as I understood it, and they couldn¡¯t be used to transmit a message from here. I took the opportunity to summon my white messenger-imp and gave him instructions, ensuring he would do his best not to terrify any children when he showed up at my house with his reassurances that all was going smoothly.


    ¡°And I must¡­ I must let the human girl pat me on the head, Master?¡± the imp sounded confused, wheezing at me in Infernal.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, as much as she wishes,¡± I confirmed. ¡°Now be off with you.¡±


    He and Valorin¡¯s minion winged their way back the direction we¡¯d come. I could only hope they weren¡¯t destroyed by something before they made it through.


    We were going with more speed now ¨C not as fast as we could have gone, yet, but twice as fast as before. Less than a minute after clearing the crossroads, we halted again, and the diviners led us up the smaller streets on the right. We were heading west, now, as we¡¯d earlier intended to travel on the main road from the junction. If they¡¯d planned an ambush on the other side of the main road they would now have to cross it, divide their forces in search of us, come at us piecemeal as we soared towards our goal.


    The wooden store-fronts had long since been eaten away by time, even where the buildings were still completely intact. Roof tiles gleamed with frost where they¡¯d fallen to the street, dimly reflecting the cold light of the sky, only to be trodden and broken underfoot as our troop of eldritches caught up, struggling to keep pace with the rest of us. Not that this was a problem ¨C they¡¯d make an effective rearguard, give us warning if ¨C


    ¡°Contact!¡± It was my turn to hiss the warning, and I slowed, turning back to look ¨C


    ¡°Forwards, more speed!¡± was all Zakimel said.


    ¡°We all look like we¡¯re crawling to you?¡± Rosedawn retorted.


    ¡°Stay together,¡± Lightblind warned.


    But I could see my demons at the back, obbolomin, my draumgerel, being set upon by what appeared to be a pack of half-rotten undead dogs that¡¯d come soundlessly streaming out of an alley ¨C


    I had no choice. I had to leave the slow ones, the stragglers, behind. They¡¯d have to fend for themselves.


    They were demons. I shouldn¡¯t have been feeling guilty, not really, but I did. It was hard to look on them as the spawn of Mekesta, torturers of the souls of the damned, when they sometimes behaved so similarly to, well, people.


    My favourites ¨C ikistadreng, bintaborax, epheldegrim, my imps, even my lone kinkalaman ¨C all managed to outpace the melee that was suddenly occurring on the back ranks. My vampires, utilising a little of their incredible physiology, managed to stay right under me. I couldn¡¯t see my ghouls¡­


    ¡°Danger¡­¡± Zel said musingly.


    ¡°Con-tac!¡± Shallowlie said for the second time, and I could see them, feel them on the rooftops ahead ¨C


    Shapes of tall, upright men, their skeletal bodies arrayed in black armour, amethyst eyes staring unblinkingly from the shadows of their helms and visors. They were mounted upon cadaverous steeds draped in barding of flayed skins, dripping rot. The well-honed tips of the spears they held were each surrounded in the same purple nimbus as their eyes, scintillating in the deathly-white air.


    They had to be fast to have regrouped here already, to get ahead of us like this ¨C


    In the same moment I wondered just how they got up there a horn rasped a sickening note, and they came down, urging their undead mounts over the edges of the roofs.


    For the first and hopefully last time in my life, I witnessed a cadre of deathknights dropping from a building in front of me.


    They steered their mounts out onto the breeze that was suddenly thick with nethermist, grey and flickering, as if lit from within by purple lightning. Through the air they charged, levelling their lances at us.


    More of them than us.


    I knew before it fell that Shield Twelve was doomed, and I watched the ripple effect as they surged into Eleven, turned Ten into blue wisps ¨C


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    ¡°Feychile!¡±


    I turned and caught Shallowlie¡¯s weave and almost dropped it, tying my own forces to hers sloppily, looking blankly for Direcrown, for Valorin¡­


    I threw it, but we weren¡¯t going to be fast enough¡­ I saw our enemies riding their death-smog, ignoring the flames of wizardry and the crackling bolts that glanced off their engraved armour and shields. The enchanters were backing up, the diviners conferring with heads bowed grimly ¨C


    The weave barely begun, something passed through the four of us, as if a trace of our intent were carried in the barrier-threads we were knotting. We didn¡¯t even have to speak. Together, each of us did the only thing we could.


    Battle-cries in Netheric and Infernal split the air.


    Before the deathknights struck our best shields at full strength, struck the half-made weave, our eldritches struck them.


    I heard Zel groan within me, but it was already happening.


    I watched Aunty Antlers spring into the air to headbutt the lead deathknight out of his saddle ¨C


    His lance-tip took her in the face, splitting her head open, and her share in my power was so great I actually felt it as she died.


    Khikiriaz screamed as he completed his own leap, striking the deathknight¡¯s mount in the side with a toss of his antlers, and through fortune or skill the spears and hooves that sought his skull were jarred by the huge tangles of black horn atop his head.


    The lead deathknight twisted in his saddle ¨C for a split-second it appeared he would manage to straighten-up again ¨C then he was tossed, his mount tumbling from the sky even as my one remaining ikistadreng fell, looking back as he landed to prepare a second leap ¨C


    But the Cuddlestickses pounced on the deathknight, and the skeletal creature was buried in infernal iron porcupines.


    Watching their success, I pushed shape after shape out at the onrushing horde even as we worked the weave, using my increased range to my advantage, slowing their advance a miniscule amount.


    My imps, my folkababil; they hurled themselves into the tide of black armour pouring across the purple-lit clouds: a futile gesture, a desperate attempt to slow the deathknights, if only slightly. They died in droves, many struck right out of the air.


    Not that my demons were alone.


    Direcrown¡¯s phalanx of minions was there, comprised of a number of demons I¡¯d never seen before, many of which were capable of flying or leaping in the path of our assailants. Zel named them in turn as my gaze fell upon them, but I was too busy to listen properly, weaving, watching as the undead charge faltered. Shallowlie¡¯s ghosts descended from out of nowhere, flickering into existence to tear at the black armour of the knights with their cold, transparent hands.


    Our wizards were hurling waves of lava, seeking to melt our foes, but it looked like they were doing more damage to our eldritches than they were to the deathknights, and there were too many of them. The deathknights on the edges of the wedge simply wheeled their horses through the air around the melee in the centre, effortlessly outflanking our miniature extra-planar army. Some moved around the buildings, zombie-hooves silent on the surface of the nethermist, driving in at our unprotected sides ¨C


    The weave was as ready as it was going to be; we set it whirling, and its myriad honeycomb facets glimmered, impenetrable ¨C


    Just as they reached us. Just in time to turn aside the wicked-looking lances, send the deathknights on our flanks recoiling off the barrier at an angle.


    I could see the way their first wave of attacks had shredded the shielding, though. The four of us had spaced ourselves out, to better mend the weave, and to spread our personal shields across the group in case the weave failed. But I didn¡¯t know if four of us would be enough to maintain this barrier for long. Once the deathknights were done with our eldritches, focussed on slaying us¡­


    They deflected magma with their shields, or caught it on their cloaks and flicked it aside into the ruins, their clothing barely singed ¨C they circled away, and back again ¨C


    It was then that I heard it. Another horn note, then another, choking blares of sound approaching us from the north.


    Where we¡¯d apparently avoided the ambush¡­


    I¡¯d been a fool before, to think that these deathknights had changed position, had moved here when we evaded their trap.


    No, these deathknights¡­ these were just placed to pin us down, as a contingency. The real ambushing force was still on its way from its original position ¨C they would soon arrive¡­


    I pushed out with my power. I could recognise deathknights now.


    There were at least fifty coming. More than had been left here to await us. And they were going to strike us almost in the rear.


    ¡°South!¡± Timesnatcher growled. ¡°The road on the left, now!¡±


    We withdrew into the street he indicated, hopefully manoeuvring such that our enemies would bottle-neck in the street¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°This mist¡­ it¡¯s impossible to shove it,¡± Shadowcloud was muttering.


    The winds controlled by our wizards were tearing at my robe, but did nothing to disperse the rolling grey clouds the deathknights rode. A portion of their force kept up with us, kept slashing the shields, but we maintained the weave.


    Behind us, they were slaughtering our minions.


    I looked back in frustration as I lost almost everything. My draumgerel and two obbolomin even managed to catch up, the snot-ball spitting its caustic goo from out of nowhere and successfully striking the flank of a single zombie-horse¡­ before a wheeling deathknight turned his attention on it, struck it a single blow, exploding it into a green acidic sludge.


    The dog-men lasted less than half that long.


    By the time I waved them all away Khikiriaz was limping, and one of my lesser bintaborax had been skewered by a pair of lances in the collarbone, protruding on either side of its bestial head ¨C the deathknights hadn¡¯t been able to pull their weapons free of its ¡®flesh¡¯, and I could see them now, riding with longswords of pure nethernal power in their weapon-hands instead.


    No. This wasn¡¯t the time to let my fiends all perish ¨C it was possible the bintaborax was still alive. I gave them back to Infernum.


    I had ¡®room¡¯ now, so to speak. This was the time to get some reinforcements.


    I focussed my will and let it seep out through my shields, finding the nearby deathknights¡¯ shapes in the planar terrain.


    They were¡­


    ¡°They¡¯re bound, Kas.¡±


    Bound to what? To who?


    ¡°I think ¨C I think we¡¯re about to find out. They¡¯re almost here. I can¡¯t do it ¨C I can¡¯t see them at all.¡±


    Their reinforcements.


    My mouth was dry. I listened to the scattered pieces of conversation. The diviners were cut off, talking at their own pace, and they moved at the fore of the shield, eventually turning us right again, correcting our course.


    In the centre of the weave, the enchanters had converged and were holding hands as they flew; Rosedawn had said something about a ¡®great working¡¯. Leafcloak was doing her best to calm Glimmermere down. I had nothing to contribute.


    I thought of Jaid and Jaroan. I thought of Em. I thought of Xantaire and Xastur and Orstrum.


    I thought of Morsus. I thought of Mum and Dad.


    I was one of the first to see the second, larger contingent of deathknights arrive; their silent stampede across the ghostly air. Some had filtered into the surrounding streets, so that they struck out of nearly every alley and road around us, charging almost simultaneously.


    The same extra-dimensional spears. The same dead eyes.


    The same ¨C except for the leader. He was at the fore of the lines pouring of the gaps between the buildings on my right. A tall black crown surmounted his helm, and his shape was all wrong.


    ¡°You know what he is,¡± Zel said, a statement of fact.


    ¡°Here they come,¡± I whispered to the others.


    I felt the pain in my ribs where one of his brethren had scored my flesh. Not that this death-lord was a vampire ¨C but he was a lord. He too was once like me. Like all of us idiots who¡¯d come here.


    Then, as they crashed into my pitiful far-flung shields, every defence failed me ¨C everything but the weave.


    Nearly two-dozen archmages, pinned within a moving blue ring, the thick bubbles of force that no one else but the four of us could even see, bubbles that were being popped by the thousands.


    Can I ¨C can I do something about the nethermist?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, can you?¡±


    I trained my mind on the clouds coiling about the weave, above us and below us and on every side I looked. I looked deep into it, into the purple lightning that danced within the mist. Pure, unadulterated, nethernal energies.


    I could see the way the arcs of light could be warped, transfigured into something else, something that would benefit us. The light was a permanently-open doorway into the plane of death. If it could be moulded into a true portal, a gate, I could use it to push the clouds back through ¨C


    In the instant I fixed my mind on a course of action Zakimel blurted out:


    ¡°They will break through! Flee for your lives!¡±


    It was like the tension had been held back behind a dam, and the arch-magister¡¯s words were the crack in the wall that set it all loose. Panicked cries broke out instantly, both psychic and physical.


    The death-lord, his skeletal face awash in the sickly purple light of his eyes, reared his steed on the edge of the shield and held out his hand ¨C the light travelled to his fist ¨C


    Zakimel sped out of the weave with the furious haste of a diviner in the prime of his power, travelling in the one direction they¡¯d pleaded with us not to go. Up, up into the air above Zadhal.


    Not that it really mattered anymore. They clearly knew we were here.


    ¡°However did you get that impression?¡± Zel said through clenched telepathic teeth.


    Within three seconds, almost everyone scattered, and Netherhame had been right. It was Direcrown who abandoned us first, giving up on repairing his share of the weave; even Valorin hesitated for a few precious moments before doing the bidding of his leader.


    Zakimel wasn¡¯t my leader. I ¨C


    I watched Timesnatcher and the other diviners also abandon the weave, fleeing in all different directions.


    ¡°Keep moving!¡± Timesnatcher cried. ¡°We¡¯re faster than them!¡±


    I watched as the web unravelled, and then the lances pierced through the blue lines, rotten horse-heads lowered, plunging into our defensive structure one final time.


    I glimpsed Shallowlie, tried to follow her, pushing at the cold air with the ethereal sylph-wings in addition to the flight-spell. There were deathknights all around us, pressing in on our personal shields, making them buzz and whine ¨C the undead wheeled about effortlessly to give chase as we slid between flaps of putrid barding, worse than a Sticktown gutter, making me retch as our defences banged into the stirrups and iron-shod boots that protruded from the horses¡¯ flanks.


    It was terrifying.


    As we fled into another street I glanced back, and for my final glimpse I saw that the enchanters, submerged in their ¡®great working¡¯, had been the last to react ¨C through the clouds and packed ranks of black-armoured undead, I saw them there in what had been the centre of the weave, the heart of the safest place in Zadhal ¨C now the least safe. They were about to be overrun in the most horrendous way possible, and I knew there was nothing I could do. I was barely outpacing the deathknights chasing at my heels.


    Spiritwhisper. Rosedawn. Glancefall.


    Like everyone else, I abandoned them, left them to their fate, as I twisted and turned down the ruined alleyways, seeking desperately to avert my own.


    * * *

 No Communication pt4

    The blades surmounting my shields weren¡¯t enough to chew through their armour. I hung in the mouth of the alleyway halfway up the building, fighting for my life. We were still moving but we had slowed, slowed too much. They took advantage of us when the weave around the Winter Door suddenly dropped, sending me and Shallowlie into spasms, almost halting our flight. The deathknights were hacking at my blue lines with swords that streamed purple essence into the wind, striking with their spears that caused even my strongest outer defences to wither away. I was doing my best to stretch my barriers up and down into the empty spaces above and below me, and behind me, her back to mine, Shallowlie was doing the same. Her ghostly eldritches were barely serving to distract the deathknights, and despite their immaterial nature they too were being destroyed when our foes chopped them down.


    Sandwiched between the two of us were a male magister-wizard whose name I hadn¡¯t picked up yet, a dark-haired, dark-eyed youth, and Fangmoon, the young druidess panting in my ear.


    She was scared ¨C we all were. She¡¯d fought the vampires, the ghouls without an issue. But this was something else entirely.


    Maybe we should¡¯ve followed Zakimel ¨C should¡¯ve flown upwards. Within twenty seconds we¡¯d been trapped, and though they couldn¡¯t penetrate my circle, not with seven different stars rotating inside it, I couldn¡¯t harm them either, not much, not enough. In a matter of a dozen explosive heartbeats they¡¯d swarmed around us, stopping us from fleeing again. We were being compacted into a space that couldn¡¯t hold four bodies. This was it, the end ¨C and we had to be faring better than most of our companions. Most of them were probably dead already; we had two sorcerers here, after all. The three enchanters I¡¯d left behind must¡¯ve been the first to go, as the telepathic links had dropped almost instantly¡­


    Even as I prepared to die, I felt the agony in my chest, knowing I¡¯d left the enchanters to a fate worse than death.


    Was that what was in store for each of us? Transition to one of them, one of the living dead? Was it not enough that Mund lose a champion, but it had to also gain a powerful enemy at the same time?


    Would it be worth testing the reports, attempting to step through Etherium or one of the other planes, seeking escape?


    But if I changed¡­ if I found a way to enter Mund, Evil Kas might get up to, well, anything. Might be responsible for¡­


    No. I couldn¡¯t think it. They wouldn¡¯t desire that, anyway, would they? Wouldn¡¯t we be competition? Surely they¡¯d just dispose of us in some ordinary manner, reanimate us as zombies if they really wanted to. Let our souls travel on.


    Our souls¡­ the enchanters¡¯ souls¡­ were they spared? Or were their souls bound to the shadowland now, for easy access back to their bodies?


    I couldn¡¯t take it, bear it.


    This was going to end, right here, and in our favour.


    I poured all that hatred and disgust, panic and pressure, into a single force-blade. I brought it sweeping around, preparing to watch it glance off the nearly-impenetrable armour.


    ¡°That¡¯s more like it,¡± Zel said fiercely.


    It chewed deep, this time, shearing off a deathknight¡¯s arm at the elbow. He made a sound, then, nothing more than a grunt, echoing horribly through his non-existent flesh, his staring skull. But it was a grunt of shock, of dismay. I saw the way he looked aside, as if to seek assistance, seek a plausible explanation for how this meagre boy-sorcerer had ripped off his limb.


    It didn¡¯t matter. I heard his expression of dissatisfaction and it quadrupled my resolve; I was extending the blade with pure confidence now, whipping it around again ¨C


    It broke three spear-tips free, broke a gauntleted hand ¨C and buried itself in the neck of Sir Grunty.


    Sir Grunty became Sir Headless, helm and skull flying free, his spinal cord left protruding visibly like a fat bony finger in the gap between his shoulder-plates.


    The wizard threw a globular gout of searing heat into the path of his zombie-horse, immolating it instantly, sending it crashing out of the nethermist to the alley floor.


    Shallowlie loosed a scream of defiance and hurled her own blade into the deathknights hemming her in, achieving some success.


    Fangmoon was still panting, still watching, unwilling to enter the fray. A decision I well-understood. It would almost certainly have meant her death, arch-druid or not. Even her bark-like skin and unbreakable bones would be annihilated by a nethernal weapon like those the deathknights wielded. I¡¯d seen what Winterprince had done to the heretical druid in Firenight Square. Fangmoon was vulnerable. All too vulnerable. The shields were her only option.


    If we could¡¯ve found time to put a weave together ¨C if we¡¯d had two moments¡¯ respite ¨C I could¡¯ve started working on their nethermist again, finding a way to transfigure its patterns in my mind¡­


    We turned a corner, then another; I was facing backwards, but I doubted even my sorceress colleague could tell where she was going.


    When Shallowlie¡¯s shield failed she took a burning blade in the shoulder, and the half a dozen who¡¯d gotten ahead of us grouped up, set their lances and charged her.


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    ¡°I can do this,¡± the druidess pressing against my back thought, and I heard her ¨C so the enchanters were still alive¡­? Why had they dropped the link earlier, then?


    I turned my body, still looking at the company of deathknights no more than three seconds from smashing into Shallowlie ¨C and I knew I had no other option.


    I drank deep of the danger-sense, swallowing as much of Zel¡¯s power as I could.


    Fangmoon had put her hand against the wound in Shallowlie¡¯s shoulder, and I flew around them in a tight arc, bringing up my hardened force-blade ¨C


    It foiled the first deathknight, spilling him out of the cloud to the rubble below, wounded.


    The other five merely tightened their formation, continuing, aiming for my heart and head. I knew that my shield couldn¡¯t take a hit like that ¨C I started bringing my spike around to break the lances but I was too slow, and ¨C


    And the satyr¡¯s power availed me. I felt it surge into me, loosening my limbs, reflexes that were completely separate from Zel¡¯s danger-sense.


    I reached through the circle and caught the closest spear-tip between my hands. Fairy-healing reassured me the blood pouring from my palms would stop eventually. Satyr-strength let me hold tight, leverage sylph-flight to flip my body over the lance, turn horizontally in the air to meet them ¨C


    Sorcerer¡¯s-hunger drank the amethyst power in the spear-tip ¨C and then it was nothing but sharp iron ¨C


    Sorcerer¡¯s-shield arrested their motion ¨C letting the horses continue beneath me, sending the middle four deathknights flying back out of their saddles, snapping their stirrups ¨C


    The one nearest me as I hurtled through the air ¨C I surged towards him, screaming ¨C his lance was twelve inches from piercing Shallowlie¡¯s head ¨C thrusting the unicorn-horn into his hauberk at the neck, which gave way like the heavy armour was paper and the insubstantial horn was the world¡¯s sharpest knife.


    I followed him as he too tumbled from the saddle, glitter pouring out of his helm, and I knew I had to stop, had to turn back, catch the sixth of the charging deathknights ¨C


    Fangmoon had become a huge flying tiger, striped silver and black, and she pounced through the air, hopping over Shallowlie. She batted aside the riderless horses, closing her tremendous maw around the remaining deathknight and wresting him from the saddle.


    Shallowlie seemed to have been healed, and she was slowly erecting her barriers once more; as I watched them stutter into life again, I saw over her shoulder that the magister-wizard behind her was about to be taken apart. More deathknights were arriving to reinforce the ones who¡¯d followed our small band as we fled ¨C the ones I¡¯d knocked from their saddles had landed heavily but they hadn¡¯t been dissuaded; they were regrouping, calling their zombie-steeds back to them¡­


    I summoned my atiimogrix down there, heard his ridiculous laughter drifting up to me as he started to engage the deathknights.


    ¡°Come on!¡± I mind-shouted at the others, and we increased our speed.


    As we threw together another hastily-constructed weave and the arch-wizard covered our retreat with more lava, I looked upwards, pondering it again.


    Where are we even going? Should we go up? Would we be able to see the others do you think?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but ¨C¡±


    Zel quietened as Fangmoon came through:


    ¡°Feychilde! Your hands! Give them to me, quickly!¡±


    I¡¯d hardly noticed ¨C the lacerations were still too fresh, too biting to ache much ¨C but I was dripping blood into the streets as we flew. That could have been a bad idea. Not that the deathknights needed it to track us right now ¨C a horribly-silent swarm of them were only a few paces behind us, following right on our heels.


    The druidess flew alongside me, a dropping-massive metallic tiger sailing the chill airs, seemingly with little difficulty.


    The wizards¡¯ spells were more powerful than I¡¯d considered ¨C that, or this magister had bolstered her augmentations.


    ¡°Press your hands on me.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t do this from a distance?¡±


    ¡°Not that kind of wound!¡±


    I¡¯d already been reaching out for a twist of force from Shallowlie ¨C as soon as I tied it and passed it on, I reached out and touched Fangmoon¡¯s fur on her right flank. I felt a tingling sensation, like I¡¯d fallen asleep on my hands and they were just waking up again, and a murky greenness surrounded them.


    Suddenly, a voice in my head, whispering:


    ¡°Stop¡­ talking¡­ with¡­ minds¡­¡±


    ¡°Wh-who was that?¡± the arch-magister asked fearfully, still hurling more fire at the deathknights behind us despite the shakiness in his voice.


    I had absolutely no idea ¨C the voice was so low the message was almost indecipherable, never mind identifying the source.


    Fangmoon said almost the same thing as the magister.


    Then, a little louder:


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ Rosedawn¡­ Just¡­ stop¡­ no!¡­¡±


    The last word, the ¡®no!¡¯, was whispered in a tone of abject terror.


    My heart leapt into my throat.


    ¡°Stop using the links!¡± I called to the others. ¡°We have to talk out loud!¡±


    There was no point keeping my voice down, the deathknights were almost on top of us again and we were lost; we might¡¯ve been circling around to the same place we were ambushed for all I knew.


    ¡°Damn it!¡± Fangmoon roared, the daunting feline maw making the sound far more dreadful.


    ¡°Dey ha¡¯ been listeni¡¯ to us?¡± Shallowlie asked.


    ¡°Tracking us through the link!¡± I almost snarled it. ¡°Killed the enchanters!¡±


    ¡°Killed them?¡± Fangmoon repeated. ¡°What do you mean, killed them! Oh no¡­¡±


    I suddenly felt an awful anger rising up, like the magma the wizard was throwing, as though my belly were the pit of some vast volcano undergoing a tremendous upheaval, spewing rage up into my chest, lapping higher and higher within me, threatening to burst out of my chest except it couldn¡¯t ¨C it could only rise, climb until I felt I would weep it from my eyes and I ¨C


    This was our fault ¨C we should have known, from the way the link stopped working ¨C we should have thought, thought something ¨C


    I felt myself detaching my hands from Fangmoon¡¯s fur ¨C the green light was fading and they were healed now, I knew. I had work to do instead.


    I halted in the air.


    No way to speak, communicate this plan. I screwed my eyes shut.


    The others faltered. That was okay.


    No need to run. Easier this way.


    Zel didn¡¯t say no this time. She watched me from within, a lump of morbid fascination inside my soul.


    In the darkness granted by my closed eyes, I sensed the undead. I sensed the unliving horses, the burning weapons.


    I let the deathknights reach me, and lowered the unicorn-horn towards them, meeting them head-on.


    Even with my eyes shut I saw the tidal wave of golden light that burst from my forehead, the miniature sun that blinded me.


    As if from a vast distance I experienced myself screaming, screaming in the air and barely holding myself aloft ¨C then I sensed the furred limbs of the druid curl about me, felt the winds of wizardry bear me away.

 The Lighthouse

    <h2>INTERLUDE 5A: THE LIGHTHOUSE</h2>


    ¡°Do you feel the same yearning? The longing that lingers, the wanderlust that does not rest, itching ceaselessly? There is a hollow in the hidden heart of man, hallowed only by recognition, then filled with light. Such cannot but be put to use. If the light is not spent it will fade all the same. It must be spent ¨C spent and replenished in equal measure!¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 2:98-102


    13th Taura, 989 NE


    Alandrica moved through the market-stalls, her colourful scarves trailing in the winter breeze. Like a faithful puppy, Rathal followed, trying his best to keep up, but he was too tired, too laden with her conquests. She would stop, haggle the vendor down to twelve copper for a bag of spuds ¨C she had her brought own bag, of course ¨C and Rathal would only get there in time to accept the heavy sack before she was darting away again, her eyes on the next prize, the next soon-to-be bargain.


    By the time the sun started to go down and she had grown weary of her victories, her husband resembled a packhorse more than he did a man.


    ¡°Come here,¡± she said, trying to take one of the many bags from him. He¡¯d been a good boy ¨C he deserved that much.


    But he pulled back, out of her reach: ¡°This is your first time out the house in months. I think I shall carry my wife¡¯s baggage, thank you kindly.¡±


    She stepped closer to him despite his protests, and hefted the small sack that¡¯d been on top of the bundle he held between his arms.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t offering to take all of them, you know,¡± she said in a very proper, ladylike voice, and Rathal laughed.


    ¡°I should hope not,¡± he replied as they started making their way home. ¡°Whatever would the neighbours say?¡±


    Then it was Alandrica¡¯s turn to smile. Their immediate neighbours were a family of crazy nailbiter-addicts on the one side, and a family of dagger-happy gang-bangers on the other. They were just glad they lived on the ground floor ¨C the lives of those in the properties above them were rough.


    Despite that, there was some truth to what Rathal had said. Even in South Lowtown there was honour among thieves and respect among druggies. The scum of Mund were, well, scum, but they would scowl at a man letting his recently-pregnant wife carry half the shopping. That was just the way things were, even if burglary and knife-point robbery were seen as, if not exactly acceptable, at least forgiveable.


    Unless you were the wronged party, of course. Then it would be time for blood vendettas and gang-wars¡­ All the more reason to stay in at home, safe behind a whole bunch of locks and drawn curtains, caring for sweet little Ruthi.


    ¡°What¡¯s aunty cooking tonight?¡± he asked as they passed Illton Green, his voice echoing through the halls of baggage obscuring him from her vision. ¡°Can you remember?¡±


    His family had taken her in like she was one of their own when she and Rathal couldn¡¯t find their own place, and she always looked forward to the evening meals.


    Yes, she could remember.


    ¡°Cluck cluck.¡± She pulled a beak-face and bobbed her head backwards and forwards.


    ¡°You¡¯re pulling the face again out there, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Clu-cluuuck!¡± She gave it her best nuh-uh intonation, swivelling her chicken-face in shock.


    She missed him blindly throwing his foot out at her ankle, and he almost managed to trip her.


    ¡°Ooooh, you¡¯ve done it now,¡± she declared, drawing her fingers from her belt like daggers.


    ¡°No ¨C do not tickle me!¡±


    He tried to skip ahead, but he dropped the potatoes, and within seconds they were wrestling in the muck. She had the advantage ¨C he couldn¡¯t tickle her in return without running the risk of reopening her wounds ¨C but for the first time in a long time they were both able to completely give themselves over to the moment, heedless of those watching¡­ Just enjoying life. Their little pocket of bliss.


    And that was also the last real moment they spent together.


    Within two hours, it would happen. Ruthi¡¯s accident. The power that came upon Rathal.


    Within two weeks, it would happen again. Aunty Osseya and Uncle Holdan¡¯s ¡®accident¡¯.


    The power that came upon Alandrica.


    * * *


    12th Illost, 998 NE


    She hated the undead, but she didn¡¯t fear them. She¡¯d fought them plenty enough times to have long since gotten over the fear. Last year Skullsmasher had cut a bloody swathe across North Lowtown, massacring the inhabitants of the Old Pits, and Hellbane had come to her for help ¨C she and Mindbreaker had tracked the darkmage down, sent Hellbane right up to the killer¡¯s front door. The year before, one of the Hierarchs ¨C she was always forgetting the dropping numbers ¨C had brought an army up out of one of the graveyards, in addition to their own eldritches. Alandrica had been instrumental in organising the evacuation of the surrounding neighbourhoods, had even engaged the enemy head-on, blade-to-blade. Not that many of her foes had actually possessed weapons, to be fair¡­ Blade-to-bone.


    In stark contrast to the melee in which she now found herself. Zombies, banshees, even wights, she could handle. But these things? These so-called ¡®deathknights¡¯? They were something else entirely. Their weapons actually hummed in her head, as though she were able to hear them with her powers. A distant echoing resounded through the rafters of her mind, the combined wailing of a hundred trapped souls whose power fuelled the purple flames.


    Whenever she thought of the dead, she spared a thought for her dear departed daughter. Ruthi, whose soul she would meet again one day, in Celestium.


    But until then, she intended to fight.


    ¡°We can perform a great working,¡± she suggested, looking across at Spiritwhisper and Glancefall, trying to gauge their reaction before they spoke ¨C it was damn hard reading an arch-enchanter, even when you were one yourself. ¡°We can pool our power, try to weaken their bonds.¡±


    ¡°W-would that even ¨C even work?¡± Glancefall asked, unable to keep the tremor of fear from his mind-voice. He hadn¡¯t been around long enough to have faced many undead, and he¡¯d probably thought of this excursion to Zadhal as some kind of interesting jaunt, a leisurely trip into the darkness.


    How wrong he¡¯d been proven.


    ¡°We can control them,¡± she pressed. ¡°There¡¯s no reason we can¡¯t do something to them that we can to a person.¡±


    ¡°Except, you know, the fact they¡¯re dead.¡± Spiritwhisper was only barely keeping his hopes up, too.


    ¡°Did that stop you controlling the ghoul, or was that a lie?¡± she snapped. She was getting sick of this. ¡°They¡¯re just¡­ farther away than a person. Their minds, I mean. Look, we¡¯re either gonna do something or we¡¯re not. Which option do you prefer?¡±


    Glancefall grumbled something about an option that took him away from here. Spiritwhisper didn¡¯t respond, but floated closer to her as they moved through the streets.


    ¡°You really think we¡¯ve got a shot at it?¡± Spiritwhisper asked. There was the hint of eagerness, optimism she¡¯d been listening out for. There was the Spiritwhisper she knew.


    ¡°You bet your ass,¡± she said, smiling behind her mask, the depiction of a sunrise that had worked to disguise both her appearance and the meaning of her name. ¡°Group up on me. Timesnatcher, you¡¯re following this?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± his voice echoed in their heads. ¡°Good call, Rosedawn. Keep me updated.¡±


    He called her Rosedawn even in private, but he surely knew her real name. He knew she was hiding the identity of her husband ¨C he had to. The amulet he wore prevented her from messing deep in his head, and he never let his knowledge about her cross his surface-thoughts; he was a wily fellow, their leader.


    And a nice fellow, just as Lightblind was a lovely young girl. They might¡¯ve been highborn, but they were just-about the most-approachable highborn she¡¯d ever met ¨C even with the whole arch-diviner thing not exactly working in their favour. They¡¯d accepted her as a champion, fought alongside her, parried blows that would¡¯ve slain her.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    If Timesnatcher knew ¨C which he surely did ¨C he had to be the politest man in the world.


    She took a final glance at the deathknight army swirling around them, then closed her eyes.


    She didn¡¯t need her eyes to see, not when there were so many people around her, friends whose barriers were low, letting her see through their eyes if she wanted to. But when in the centre of this whirling chaos, this sorcerous storm, she could track their movements more readily by the sheer location of their thoughts than by sight of any kind. Each of the champions and arch-magisters was a point of pressure in her mind, like a pin sticking in the back of her hand. Enough pins and you would lose track of the individual placements, but you wouldn¡¯t suddenly think they were sticking in your foot.


    Alandrica was adept at flying; she anchored herself to those pressure-points and joined her thoughts with those of fellow arch-enchanters. It was only a matter of trusting, being truly open¡­ bestowing upon Spiritwhisper and Glancefall a heartfelt invitation to enter the walls of her mind¡­


    The united willpower of three archmages, enchanters at the top of their game, would be enough to topple most countries. Her confidence filled the trio. They couldn¡¯t fail.


    Someone whispered, ¡°Here they come,¡± and they couldn¡¯t tell who it was that had spoken. Their minds were already homing in on something. They knew it as an anomaly. A deathknight who stood out from the rest.


    A death-lord.


    Listening to a human¡¯s thoughts was little different to listening to a human¡¯s words ¨C her enchanter¡¯s-ear heard the constant babbling as a background noise that merely required focus to come into full awareness ¨C but listening to an undead creature¡¯s thoughts was different. It was like struggling to hear the words that came echoing up out of a well, a well deep enough to stretch out the other side of the world and into Nethernum.


    This one, this death-lord, was loud. Closer to human, somehow. As though his archmagery had borne a shard of his true essence into his unlife.


    A trace of mind they could latch onto.


    Then they could hear his thoughts. His mind-voice was low for all that it was louder than the others¡¯, little more than a rattling breath, a callous whisper, but they couldn¡¯t make out the words ¨C the language was foreign to them. All that came through were the impressions.


    The first impression, the first piece of knowledge they gleaned, was that his thoughts were reflecting the link. Not perfectly; and it wasn¡¯t a power he possessed. No. This was an enchantment that had been placed upon him. He couldn¡¯t tell what they were saying to each other, but the spell was permitting him to sense the use of the telepathic space, the vibrations in the psychic tapestry of Zadhal.


    This was how they¡¯d known when champions arrived in their city.


    Somewhere far off, an insignificant person said something that came sluggishly into the heads of the enchanters:¡±They will¡­ break through¡­ flee¡­ for your lives¡­¡±


    Pressure points moved in all directions at once such that they didn¡¯t move at all, and they could still feel the indentations¡­


    ¡°Keep moving¡­¡± Someone else ¨C someone they had to listen to? ¡°We¡¯re faster¡­ than them¡­¡±


    Why these stupid people were troubling them with this, they had no idea. They already knew they weren¡¯t going to have to flee. They¡¯d seen in the death-lord¡¯s mind that he was dividing his forces to pursue the moment they abandoned the sorcerers¡¯ weave¡­ But they could stop the death-lord before the weave broke. They could end this.


    They¡¯d sensed it as the death-lord froze, brought his mount to a halt as close to them as he could come ¨C they¡¯d beckoned him into the shield, attempting to evaporate his hatred, let the nethernal rage filter out of his soul, if only temporarily ¨C


    Slowly, he¡¯d held out his hand to them ¨C


    But there was the screaming.


    Their friends were screaming, inside and outside.


    Panic drowned them, emotions being thrust at them from every direction. Emotions that demanded response.


    It took conscious effort for them to recognise that they were too late.


    Their control slipped, and Alandrica felt it the moment they separated back into themselves: the coldness, the fear, the knowledge that it¡¯d all gone wrong and they¡¯d been left behind ¨C


    Even after breaking the great working, they were still touching one another¡¯s perceptions; thankfully they had three sets of eyes, three sets of ears, three minds with which to react. As one they moved through the crowd, dipping lower than the lowest deathknights, streaking out of the conflict and away.


    ¡°What are we going to do without the links?¡± she said loudly, trying to ensure both her companions heard her as they fled down rubble-strewn streets towards the west. ¡°We can¡¯t find them without lighthousing ¨C if they can¡¯t ¨C if we can¡¯t even speak to each other ¨C¡°


    ¡°We¡¯ll find Timesnatcher, put us back together again,¡± Spiritwhisper said.


    But how? she fretted. How do we find him without the glyphstones or the link?


    She wasn¡¯t used to being alone in her head in situations like this.


    ¡°Do we have to keep heading west?¡± Glancefall grated from between clenched teeth.


    For a moment she drew a blank on his meaning, then the image of the map arose before her mind¡¯s eye once more. Glancefall had looked up, showed her.


    We¡¯re heading towards the towers.


    They loomed over the landscape, foreboding, too silent, too still.


    Basic functions like reactions, changes of course, were essentially automatic, performed by the group-will. In unison, with no further persuasion requested or required, they took a turn north towards the walls on the far edge of the city from where they¡¯d started ¨C then they would loop east, back on themselves¡­? Theoretically that¡¯d be the best way to find the others, right? The group-decision hadn¡¯t yet been made, but for now they would head north, keep under the rooftops as they¡¯d done thus far.


    Not that it had worked, she thought. But that was our fault, wasn¡¯t it? It¡¯s not like we were spotted¡­ Keeping low will work now.


    There were no deathknights around or immediately-behind them, now, though they could still be seen in the distance, a smear of purple-gleaming greyness.


    ¡°When are we going to put the link back up, then?¡± she asked. ¡°If we¡¯re going to find Timesnatcher, we¡¯ll have to do it at some point.¡±


    ¡°Everyone will come back up at once, though,¡± Glancefall complained. ¡°We didn¡¯t dispel it.¡± It was his eyes through which they were constantly getting updates on the nearness of the deathknights, and it appeared he was recovering a bit now that they¡¯d put some distance between themselves and their pursuers.


    ¡°They probably won¡¯t realise it¡¯s back up,¡± Alandrica said.


    ¡°But we can¡¯t stop them using it until they start using it!¡± the Rivertowner replied.


    ¡°It¡¯s a risk we¡¯ll have to take.¡± She suppressed the urge to shudder. It was as though the confidence with which she spoke, with which she took charge, had literally drained her own reserves and now she was left feeling nervous, inappropriately placed in a position of authority.


    She¡¯d been champion the longest of the three of them, damn it. This was her job. This was the only sane way to respond to what had happened to her ¨C die, giving it her all.


    Damn you, Rathal. She could say it to herself all she wanted, she still thought his name in loving tones. Damn you, damn you, damn you!


    The deathknights behind them had slipped entirely out of view by the time they turned left, eastwards, and for the first time since they ran they were heading back on themselves, closer to the site of the previous confrontation.


    She felt the tingling in her fingers and toes, elbows and knees, the body¡¯s in-built reminders that the danger she was nearing was real, all too real.


    ¡°I¡­ I have the greatest range. I¡¯ll do it. We¡¯ll split up, first.¡±


    She halted, hanging there in the air between two dilapidated houses.


    ¡°No!¡± Spiritwhisper said, slowing, turning to face her with incredulous eyes wide open. ¡°We¡¯ll support you!¡±


    Their minds were no longer linked. The effects of the great working had faded away and she couldn¡¯t convince him without making an argument ¨C every second was vital ¨C


    But Glancefall came to her rescue, pulling Spiritwhisper away.


    ¡°Come on, lad. You know it¡¯s gotta be this way. We¡¯ll listen, okay?¡±


    She and Glancefall exchanged a solemn nod as the other two enchanters continued up the street away from her.


    She drew in a deep breath and opened the previously-established channels of communication. She could feel them out there, the threads of the web, still solid but merely inactive, gathering dust. The lightest decision was all that was required to brush away the dust, relight the glowing white lines she could see in her mind¡¯s eye.


    I am the lighthouse. I can guide them all home.


    But which lines belonged to the diviners?


    ¡°Timesnatcher?¡± she whispered.


    Half a dozen different voices piped up ¨C she hurriedly shushed them, then moved up the street after Glancefall and Spiritwhisper. She had to remember to keep looking out behind herself now ¨C she was down to one pair of eyes, and the deathknights were far quieter than they ought to be¡­


    She cast a glance over her shoulder. Nothing¡­ yet.


    ¡°Timesnatcher?¡± she whispered again, then took one of the side-streets. If they were going to track her by her use of the link, she couldn¡¯t let herself follow a fixed direction, or follow the others. ¡°Lightblind?¡±


    After a few more goes she heard Fangmoon¡­ Elkostor¡­ and Feychilde¡­


    She whispered to them: ¡°Stop¡­ talking¡­ with¡­ minds¡­¡±


    They carried on ¨C questioning her!


    Damn them!


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ Rosedawn¡­¡± She cast another glance over her shoulder. ¡°Just¡­ stop¡­ no!¡­¡±


    The last telepathic gasp came out of her mind involuntarily as she saw what was silently swooping down at her. If it hadn¡¯t stunk so bad she might not have even turned.


    The snowy-feathered vultures were each the size Glimmermere favoured in her condor-form, and they were dead, maggots constantly falling from their stretched, stringy bodies as they descended, gliding. There were two of them, but that wasn¡¯t even the worst of it.


    They were merely the livestock¡­ deadstock being used to pull the huge, obscene chariot.


    An ornate construction of pearly bone, dropping out of the sky. Warped, sharpened femurs served as scythes, protruding from the wheels and struts on either side. Fleshless digits surmounted everything, and for a seat and rider the chariot had merely a great pile of skulls. Hideously, this was not some inanimate edifice, but an unliving creature made up of hundreds of individual parts. It had a will, a purpose. The fleshless fingers undulated, beckoning, clawing at the air. The pile of skulls rolled about and reshaped their mass as though to lean towards her, swivelling their empty eye-sockets at her, the jaws opening and closing on ancient lipless teeth in mocking, soundless laughter.


    Her heart almost stopped. This was it. She accelerated backwards, but she wasn¡¯t going to be able to build the speed required ¨C she should¡¯ve thrown herself to one side, but fear was her navigator ¨C she should¡¯ve separated her seemings, fled in a hundred directions, but it could see her despite the invisibility, could sense her blood, her soul ¨C


    She feared the undead, reacted the way a child froze in terror in the darkness, feared them now such as never before ¨C


    The giant vulture¡¯s wing threw her into shadow and the keen edges of a dozen curved bones, gleaming like savage white scimitars, trundled through the air towards her.


    She was pulled in, and the bone-scythes made contact with her legs.


    The enchantress¡¯s last thought was the name of her daughter.


    Then there was only nothingness, and what awaited her beyond.

 Twoshoes pt1

    <h2>AMETHYST 5.3: TWOSHOES</h2>


    ¡°I am the realisation of boundless choice. I am the pleasure that art brings the soul. I am the ankle and wrist too hot for any shackle. I am Lady Freedom.¡±


    ¨C from the Nenthelemic Creed


    You were a good find, Gilaela, I thought as I followed my squirrels over the roof¡¯s edge.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± my fairy and unicorn replied in unison ¨C I got the impression this amused Gilaela, but I could sense Zelurra¡¯s bristling. She didn¡¯t like having other eldritches awake with her in here.


    ¡°She may just have to get used to sharing the space,¡± Gilaela thought jovially.


    Zel muttered something I fancied neither of us could make out; I had too much on my mind now, as we crashed into the seven deathknights we¡¯d been pursuing.


    They didn¡¯t take it very well. To be fair to them, a large number of golden-furred giant squirrels were probably the last thing they were expecting. The skeletal men doubtless would¡¯ve taken my eldritches apart in seconds, had I not been there, hurtling down into their midst, flinging them all from their saddles and swallowing away the nethermist that supported their steeds.


    I worked on their lances as it devolved into a melee in the street, stealing away their energies; this way, even if the squirrels were slain they wouldn¡¯t be destroyed so completely that it¡¯d take generations for them to return.


    Such was my hope, at least.


    It was pretty awesome to watch a fuzzy, angry-looking rodent the size of a small horse slap an imposing undead noble through a half-crumbled wall. The deathknights recovered quickly enough, but by the time the first squirrel was run-through I was done adjusting their lances, and turned my attention instead towards focussing the anger that was welling up once more, spilling out of my spiralled horn.


    I emitted a wave of light, doing nothing to the squirrels but splooshing two of the deathknights into empty suits of armour that dropped instantly, clattering on the ground.


    On the roof above me, our two tremendous zombie-birds were keeping watch ¨C they hadn¡¯t been fashioned by an undead-lord, and we¡¯d taken their fealty. I could sense that Shallowlie was now stripping the bone-chariot that had pursued us into its constituent parts, reassembling them into bone-golems with a speed that showed she¡¯d had practice.


    I have to have a go at that, I thought, sparing a quick glance up to admire the host of roughly-humanoid bone-men she was making. Only roughly-humanoid, as they were festooned with extra arms, bladed appendages; some even had multiple skulls atop their shoulders¡­


    Then I lowered my head again, bent my horn at another deathknight.


    Before Shallowlie was done, Fangmoon descended and helped me wrap up the last enemies and their now-useless mounts.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the magister?¡± I shouted to her, casting about.


    ¡°He was right there with me,¡± she replied, snapping the spear of the deathknight she fought with a giant paw as she raked through his breastplate with the other.


    ¡°I can¡¯t sense him, Feychilde,¡± Zel said.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing ¨C you?¡± I called.


    Fangmoon raised her face to the wind for a moment, then turned to me and shook her head.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± I muttered, increasing my elevation and moving to the edges of the street, looking down the adjoining roads and alleys¡­


    Nothing.


    ¡°I¡¯d have sensed it if something attacked him,¡± my faerie advisor mused, ¡°so we can rule that out.¡±


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    A diviner¡¯s involved, I guessed.


    ¡°You¡¯re probably right. I should be able to see him, one way or another, if it had nothing to do with a diviner.¡±


    ¡°He has fled, craven coward,¡± Gilaela sniffed. ¡°I sensed this within him all along.¡±


    Be nice, I told her. It looked like this was his first time dealing with something like this. I didn¡¯t see him at the Incursion.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t look like that during the Incursion,¡± Zel said. ¡°At least, I think¡­ And you never ran away.¡±


    ¡°Our master is of noble bearing,¡± the unicorn replied, ¡°is he not?¡±


    I sighed, then returned to the others to report that he was nowhere to be found. The magisters were retreating ¨C was this why the weave around the Door had failed? Had Valorin left Zadhal? Or had something happened to Direcrown? There was no way to say for certain, and I had no idea how long our blessings would last, keeping us warm, letting us fly¡­ The flying wasn¡¯t such a big problem for two arch-sorcerers and an arch-druid ¨C the exposure to sub-zero temperatures would be far worse. I had little doubt Fangmoon could keep us alive, but temperature-control wasn¡¯t something she could just wave a hand at like a wizard.


    We continued our halting journey westwards, and two minutes and one large pack of undead dogs later, we finally came upon some of our compatriots.


    ¡°Spiritwhisper! Glancefall!¡± Fangmoon cried softly, streaming towards the pair of enchanters. ¡°You¡¯re alive?¡±


    She said it like it was a question ¨C because she wanted them to explain how? ¨C or was she expressing doubt as to whether they were undead?


    I looked them over with both my sorcerer¡¯s-eye and ordinary sight; there was no sign of anything wrong with either of them. Both were breathing heavily, as evidenced by the amount of fog on the air in front of their faces. Spiritwhisper had removed his blue swirly mask, and his eyes were downcast; Glancefall¡¯s jester¡¯s mask was still in place but I could see the set of his jaw¡­


    Something¡¯s wrong.


    ¡°Wheh is Rosedon?¡± Min blurted.


    The enchanters shifted uncomfortably in the air, and it wasn¡¯t from the cold. Spiritwhisper in particular looked distraught, and Fangmoon returned to her human shape to embrace him, which didn¡¯t make him look any more happier at first, as if he were resisting; then he relented, returning the hug and sinking his head down into her shoulder. Meanwhile, Glancefall explained what had happened in soft tones, not taking his eyes off our huge pet vultures or Shallowlie¡¯s thirty-or-so skeletal abominations.


    Rosedawn sacrificed herself to try to find Timesnatcher and help us regroup. They were on their way back to her when she was ripped apart by the chariot ¨C repulsed and grieving, fearing for their lives, they had no choice but to flee, and had been running for almost ten minutes now. They knew that using the link had brought devastating consequences on her, and, at a loss for how to contact the others without putting themselves in danger, they¡¯d done what we¡¯d done and moved slowly towards the west, keeping their eyes peeled for danger or aid.


    While he brought out a miniature illusion of the city and displayed our location, Shallowlie was hanging her head, frozen in the air. The ghosts surrounding her had stopped moving, and I could feel the sorceress¡¯s grief.


    After a minute poring over the details, I could see we still had a lot of ground to cover and we weren¡¯t far from the edge of the city; we had to get closer to the centre¡­


    ¡°We don¡¯t have a wizard,¡± I pointed out, ¡°so we¡¯re going to have to find the others sooner rather than later. Can you set the links back up again?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s going to tell them we¡¯re here, Feychilde,¡± Glancefall unnecessarily reminded me. ¡°If we go ahead with ¨C¡°


    ¡°You¡¯ve got shields now.¡± I waved a hand at our new pets. ¡°I don¡¯t think one of these contraptions is going to be a problem if another decides to pay us a visit, and if deathknights just rush here in random groups that¡¯s great ¨C we can handle them in small numbers.¡±


    He cocked his head, considering it ¨C


    ¡°Danger!¡± Zel hissed.


    Before I could do anything there was a hollow, rushing sound that snapped away back into silence, like a single wave of wind ripping past us.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Fangmoon?¡± Spiritwhisper said, voice empty of emotion, too scared to sound frightened.


    He¡¯d split apart from her at some point while Glancefall was speaking and she¡¯d drifted out of my line of sight, to my left, towards a relatively-intact house¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s taken her!¡±


    What has?


    ¡°I¡­ Wraith, I think!¡±


    ¡°A wraith!¡± I reported immediately to the others.


    ¡°Oh, Twelve Hells,¡± Glancefall snarled, then thought at us: ¡°Fine, let¡¯s do it this way. Spread out, quickly!¡±


    The others started searching the ruins as I cast about; even Shallowlie, whose remaining cheerfulness had seemingly evaporated upon hearing of Rosedawn¡¯s demise, started to perk up now there was something she could do to help, someone needing saving.


    Is there any chance this is what happened to the magister? I asked Zel, frantically throwing my senses over the environment.


    ¡°No, Feychilde, I think I was pretty clearly aware that something was happening to Fangmoon ¨C remember what I said about the magister? I didn¡¯t ¨C¡°


    I sense it, then, louder: ¡°I sense it!¡±


    An invisible presence, on the fourth floor of a decimated six-storey tenement block. Not fifty yards away. A swirl even more-pronounced than the banshee.


    * * *

 Twoshoes pt2

    ¡°In here,¡± I called to Shallowlie, propelling myself towards the property and entering a yawning window feet-first.


    The room was decayed timber and broken furniture, the reek of damp and nothing much else. I could imagine how someone might¡¯ve lived in here, when the walls were covered with hangings, glass in the windows; this had been a bedroom, once, but the bed had fallen in on itself and been eaten by time, dying alongside its previous owners. The dresser was a pile of eroded wooden boards and smashed trifles. I was lucky I didn¡¯t have to walk, because half the floor was missing, and half the ceiling was strewn across the room.


    I floated through the former doorway, penetrating the building, trying to keep myself aware of my target. I felt it as Shallowlie joined me, floating ten feet behind me to back me up, sensing her presence more by the plethora of ghosts she surrounded herself with than by anything else.


    It was almost pitch black, but not so dark that we had any issues. Within seconds we found the room in which Fangmoon was being held captive: a bedroom, much like the one I¡¯d first entered but with one crucial difference.


    The druidess, suspended and spinning, fake silver hair streaming in a vortex of nethernal wind. Her screams weren¡¯t even penetrating the deadly thing surrounding her, bathing her in its essence.


    Killing her ¨C slowly. By the looks of it, killing her in a way that even an arch-druid couldn¡¯t counteract.


    ¡°Tinshalemm ban o sol menverka, zathuun!¡±


    I spat the words that declared myself its new master; he released the druidess before I¡¯d even fully focussed my eye, before I could see the purple tint to the wraith¡¯s manifestation. A huge shadow of a man, naked to my sight, always moving, dancing as if to an unending drum only he could hear.


    ¡°They do a good job keeping themselves hidden,¡± Zel observed.


    ¡°May we not burn it, Feychilde?¡± Gilaela used an almost-chiding tone.


    Not this time, I replied, a touch apologetically. I¡¯m going to set it on its friends, don¡¯t worry.


    ¡°Just so long as you don¡¯t force me to share this space with a creature of its ilk, I shall be satisfied,¡± the unicorn commented.


    I reported in to Glancefall, who called Spiritwhisper back then started reaching out for the other champions, repeating various names, Timesnatcher¡¯s most prominently. Shallowlie soared over to Fangmoon and assisted her as I brought my wraith out of the apartment ahead of us, a coursing of dark wind I was still having trouble even seeing with my mortal eyes.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t breathe¡­¡± Fangmoon was muttering, leaning on the sorceress as they slowly coursed together down the corridor. ¡°Couldn¡¯t even think. So¡­ so cold¡­¡±


    Her breath was producing less fog on the air, I noticed.


    ¡°Is the wizardry leaving us?¡± I asked, then, remembering the link, repeated my concerns telepathically.


    By the time the five of us were gathered again in the centre of the street I could feel it on my skin. The interior of my mask, the end of my nose, my ears, my hands, my feet. All of us were reporting the same thing. Fangmoon did what she could to regulate our internal temperatures, but it was never going to replace the spells that were beginning to falter. And the worst of it was the chill of the wind slicing through my ethereal wings ¨C unfortunately it seemed the druid could do nothing for my otherworldly manifestations. I wasn¡¯t looking forward to going back to them for my flying, really.


    As we gathered on the ground, I called my white messenger-imp to me. He reported that he¡¯d managed to enter my apartment unnoticed and everything had gone smoothly once he deigned to show himself, crawling out from under the bench in the main room to shock everyone.


    I smiled. It was good to think of them back there, waiting for me.


    ¡°So how are we going to do this?¡± Glancefall thought at us. ¡°We can¡¯t walk the whole way, and I don¡¯t fancy being turned into a bird, no offence.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d take awhile for you to learn how to use wings,¡± Fangmoon replied, ¡°no offence¡­¡±


    ¡°I can only carry one,¡± I said, and looked a little guiltily up at the undead vultures we¡¯d taken into our service. ¡°Could you ride?¡± I asked Glancefall and Spiritwhisper.


    Both of them tilted their faces to look up at the great beasts. I didn¡¯t need to be an enchanter to know before I asked that they weren¡¯t going to mount one of the creatures that¡¯d been responsible for their friend¡¯s death.


    But Min came to my rescue.


    ¡°Dere is no nee¡¯, Feychile. I can carry dem both.¡±


    She didn¡¯t ask permission, and I watched, fascinated, as a swarm of ghosts instantly separated from those glimmering shapes surrounding her, descending on the enchanters.


    Glancefall started to protest but got no further than the first syllable before it was over, and both of them were being hoisted by a group of nethernal figures. They were almost transparent and quite clearly insubstantial but they nonetheless possessed weight, strength enough to lift humans and soar with them.


    No weirder than my wings, I supposed.


    Fangmoon shuddered into bird-form, a silvery, raven-looking thing that was nonetheless equipped with the wingspan of an albatross ¨C I had little doubt she could¡¯ve swelled up to the size of the vultures if she had a mind to ¨C


    Watching her failing to fly in the freezing breeze, I understood. She had to shrink down almost to the size of a normal bird in order to find purchase on the air, which was thankfully not something I was having a problem with. I was just having trouble with the actual feeling of the wind. When it blew through the wings, it cut me to my spiritual core in a way I hadn¡¯t anticipated.


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    ¡°You should be glad you¡¯ve got me in here,¡± Zel pointed out. ¡°You might be uncomfortable, but look at the enchanters. They¡¯re the only ones not at least partially protected by something under their own power¡­ They¡¯re going to be the first to die.¡±


    She was right. Despite having recently received a treatment from Fangmoon, they were shivering all over the place already.


    We shouldn¡¯t have been so cavalier. We should¡¯ve been better prepared. I¡¯m sure they sell cloaks of warmth¡­


    It needed a solution, fast.


    ¡°Shallowlie,¡± I said, ¡°can you carry Fangmoon too?¡± The sorceress nodded but cocked her head at me curiously. I went on: ¡°Sorry, Fang, it¡¯s not that I think you can¡¯t fly, but, let¡¯s face it, it¡¯s not the easiest ¨C and Glancefall and Spiritwhisper are going to need to hold your hands, I think.¡±


    ¡°Aww,¡± she replied, changing back into the silver-black tiger-shape she¡¯d used earlier. ¡°They can hold my paws. I¡¯m warmer this way.¡±


    ¡°No s-scratchin¡¯,¡± Spiritwhisper said, then tried a cheeky smile and added the words, ¡°not th-this time, anyw-way.¡±


    Fangmoon snarled a little, but playfully I thought, and accepted the swarm of ghosts Shallowlie sent in her direction.


    As I led the way west we built a weave. I kept my shields and squirrel eldritches at the ready, using all my various senses on the route ahead, while behind me the sorceress towed our druidess and our enchanters on a bed of seething phantoms. Giant dead birds and reconfigured bone-men brought up the rear-guard. Glancefall and Spiritwhisper kept us on-track while continuing to call out to our allies, seeking the minds of the friends we hoped were still numbered amongst the living.


    What if it¡¯s just us? I couldn¡¯t keep myself from thinking. What if we¡¯re the only ones who escaped?


    To keep my mind off the increasing cold I consulted the inner directory that was constantly open to my consciousness, the list of eldritches I could summon.


    Aside from those within me ¨C Zel, Avvie, Zab, Gilaela, one of the satyrs ¨C I had the other satyr, Xiatan the dryad, the inflatable scorpion ¨C and not forgetting Flood Boy, whom I hadn¡¯t called upon in some time¡­ One vampire, one ghoul, one wraith¡­ My four bintaborax ¨C the wounded one hadn¡¯t died, then, not yet at least; the razor-fiend kinkalaman and the doll-demon mekkustremin; the surviving ikistadreng, Khikiriaz¡­ a rolling ball of hair and nails¡­ over three dozen imps, more than I thought I ought to have¡­


    My obbolomin dog-men and folkababil birds, gone. All my epheldegrim horses, perished. My atiimogrix¡­


    Alive?


    He didn¡¯t just feel alive. He felt¡­


    He¡¯s still on the Material Plane? But I sent him against the deathknights! And I passed out!


    I wanted to summon him, but suddenly my fingers didn¡¯t seem to know how to make the red fire rise up ¨C


    ¡°Now¡¯s as good a time as any for the lesson, I suppose,¡± Zel piped up. ¡°You remember what I said about not being able to summon your fey while you¡¯re in the otherworld?¡±


    Sure. You said it was for an advanced class¡­


    ¡°Here we go. You don¡¯t know where he is, so you can¡¯t summon him from the same plane. You¡¯re going to have to reach through Infernum.¡±


    I¡¯m going to have to what?


    ¡°Open a seam to Infernum, connect it to a seam to Materium. You can do the same from there ¨C say, you¡¯re in Nethernum, you want to summon your vampire to you ¨C¡°


    Open a gate to Materium, then back to Nethernum. Got it. And this won¡¯t, you know, give me a zombie hand?


    ¡°It¡¯s not a full gateway. Just a seam. You¡¯re not going anywhere ¨C don¡¯t think of it as two seams, though ¨C¡±


    Okay, okay.


    Getting it was different to getting it, though. My fingers weren¡¯t able to conjure up the magic this time. I had to wrap my head around it.


    ¡°¡­ connection to the plane of your origin will let you¡­¡±


    Zel, not really helping here.


    ¡°On the contrary,¡± Gilaela interrupted, ¡°you ought to listen, young sorcerer.¡±


    I silenced my thoughts, reducing my awareness right down to the point where all that existed of me was a frozen nose and two frozen wings being eroded by the wind ¨C and after a moment Zel started over.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think of it as two seams. It¡¯s one seam. The reason you use Materium from Nethernum rather than, say, putting your hand through Infernum instead, is that a connection to the plane of your origin will cement the two. One seam, Feychilde.¡±


    One seam¡­


    They were right. I saw it.


    Red flames couldn¡¯t call him. He was still on Materium. Yet I could move my demons using the red flames when I knew where they were. The disconnect was only in my mind. What I could do intuitively when I could locate them I had to replicate without that crucial knowledge.


    There was no difference. If I pretended I saw him here ¨C


    There was no difference, but the gesture was different. I knew that now, even as I performed it. The knowledge was ingrained, and I could never lose it again.


    ¡°He¡¯s quick, this one,¡± Gilaela noted.


    ¡°You¡¯ve no idea,¡± Zel replied, sounding, if anything, a little perturbed.


    Red flames, painfully heat-free, birthed a putrid laughing man who gibbered at me and threw a new imp out of his entrails.


    Ah. That¡¯s how I¡¯ve got some extra.


    ¡°Khalor,¡± I huffed at him; and then once he was keeping up I quizzed him in Infernal for some time. ¡®Draped ¡®em in me pretties¡¯ I took to mean tying the deathknights in his intestines ¨C the rest was worse than the gibberish I¡¯d expected. He seemed to think he was doing his prey a favour by dressing them up in his innards, and came across almost guilty that he hadn¡¯t managed to keep them strung together for long. He strongly implied that he thought his would-be-killers had rejected his intestines, not because they wanted to be free of a constricting net that spawned imps every now-and-again, but because they somehow weren¡¯t ¡®pretty¡¯ enough?


    Whatever it was, it made me shudder. Now I was engaging him in conversation, I noted the way his laughter was a kind of sobbing, the way his bright eyes were wild with desperate sorrow, not delight.


    Feeling a bit guilty myself, I sent him home again. Perhaps I¡¯d just let him live out his existence in ¡®peace¡¯¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure he¡¯d prefer being on that side, you know,¡± Zel said. ¡°Just because they¡¯re native to Infernum doesn¡¯t mean demons enjoy the place. Many of them like being here.¡±


    I shivered, not just from the winter¡¯s chill, thinking what would come to pass if I just let him stay on Materium. After awhile he¡¯d spawn too many imps for me to command, and they¡¯d be brought into the plane unbound, kick-starting an Infernal Incursion¡­


    Would it be so easy? Couldn¡¯t you summon a summoner and just unbind it?


    ¡°Definitely ¨C but why would you want to do that?¡± Zel asked sharply.


    Not me! But, well, why don¡¯t the darkmages ¨C


    ¡°Well, what would they even have to gain from it?¡±


    I don¡¯t mean regular darkmages ¨C I mean, the mad ones, like the Srol¡­?


    She didn¡¯t interrupt me like I¡¯d been anticipating.


    As I dropped back to Fangmoon for a quick bit of restorative relief, I was ignoring the telepathic calls of the enchanters, still going over the problem in my mind.


    There must be something stopping them, Zel¡­ If they want the destruction of Mund, the death of the population so badly, why aren¡¯t they just doing it all the time? You could have an Incursion every day, and everyone would just up and leave, wouldn¡¯t they? Oh, perhaps that¡¯s the problem ¨C you don¡¯t want them to leave, you want them all to die¡­ But couldn¡¯t you make, like, a mega-Incursion?


    It wasn¡¯t until I¡¯d resumed my position at the front of the group that Zel next spoke, almost at the exact same time as Glancefall, and I was so ready for her to undercut my argument that what she said surprised me ¨C not just because of the content of her words but because I felt that, for once, I¡¯d won an argument.


    I flexed my sorcerous muscles, testing the weave.


    ¡°Something coming, Feychilde. Heading right for us. Hard to read. Fast. Get ready.¡±


    * * *

 Twoshoes pt3

    It got easier once Dimdweller found us. The dwarf was taking the chill in his stride, quite literally, as he was being forced to walk until Shallowlie came along with a ghost-palanquin for him. Even with the arch-diviner¡¯s assistance it was another five minutes and three deathknight-encounters before we grabbed ourselves a wizard. By the time the larger band including Winterprince in its ranks approached our flagging group with the promise of warmth Glancefall looked like he was about to faint, and keeping us all in fighting-condition was clearly taking its toll on Fangmoon.


    The ice-bound wizard¡¯s magic coursed through my body as he soared over me, and I heard the sound of his chuckle grinding out once more.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, it¡¯s alright for some,¡± Spiritwhisper thought scornfully at him, testing out the flight he¡¯d been newly imbued-with. ¡°Just you remember who it is stops you gettin¡¯ lost in a place like this.¡±


    ¡°I know where the Door is,¡± the wizard¡¯s voice snapped and cracked. ¡°Good luck getting there, without my spells.¡±


    For a split-second the flight Spiritwhisper was using seemed to dip in effectiveness, and the arch-enchanter bobbed up and down in the air nervously.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that, alright!¡± he muttered, matching Winterprince in speaking out-loud.


    The arch-wizard just chuckled again, and moved back to Dimdweller as we all started heading west again at improved speed.


    ¡°I thought they were all dead,¡± the dwarven diviner was saying to Leafcloak, ¡°thought it was some trickery. Too many diviners here¡­ When I heard Rosedawn, I thought she was dead already¡­ We¡¯re lucky you were more trusting.¡±


    ¡°I told you years ago it¡¯s simply the worst disadvantage of divination,¡± the white-haired druidess said in fond tones, ¡°that you can¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°Trust your instincts,¡± the dwarf finished for her, a bit gloomily. ¡°Yeah, I remember: that¡¯s another disadvantage.¡±


    She smiled sweetly at him.


    Dimdweller appraised her. ¡°You were younger then ¨C¡°


    ¡°You weren¡¯t.¡±


    The two of them laughed.


    ¡°I was going to say, ¡®yet no less wise¡¯,¡± the dwarf continued, ¡°but if you ¨C¡°


    ¡°Glancefall?¡±


    All conversation, physical and psychic, halted at the sound of Timesnatcher¡¯s voice, then crows of jubilation filled the telepathic landscape.


    ¡°Aha!¡± Glimmermere exulted. ¡°We knew you would make it. No one would even take a bet¡­¡±


    ¡°And Lightblind?¡± Starsight asked.


    ¡°She¡¯s¡­ she went home,¡± the arch-diviner replied, then before anyone could comment went on, ¡°I¡¯ve got Mountainslide here with me¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course he found himself a wizard,¡± I snarked in a low voice, and a few of the others nodded appreciatively.


    It quickly became apparent once we all regrouped that every champion left alive in Mund was accounted for, except two¡­ Timesnatcher, Dimdweller and Starsight; Mountainslide and Winterprince; Spiritwhisper and Glancefall; Leafcloak, Glimmermere and Fangmoon; me and Shallowlie¡­


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    Every champion left alive in Mund was accounted for¡­ except Direcrown and Shadowcloud. The wizard¡¯s spells had stayed active until they expired, which presumably meant he was still alive, at least, but for the sorcerer we had no such indication.


    And even setting aside the issue of the dead and absent champions, we were low in numbers now. As Timesnatcher related while we flew, every single magister had gone missing or, more likely, fled back to the Winter Door, back to the safety of Mund.


    After Zakimel led Zadhal¡¯s aerial forces right to us.


    ¡°How convenient,¡± Glimmermere murmured.


    ¡°They have plausible deniability, and that¡¯s all they¡¯ve ever had, or needed,¡± Timesnatcher replied. ¡°You can forget any dreams of taking revenge on them for this. We all had the option of retreat.¡± He didn¡¯t sound best-pleased himself, but he mind-sighed then went on: ¡°Did anyone see Shadowcloud or Direcrown after the rout?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t see them now,¡± Starsight offered. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that mean they went with Zakimel?¡±


    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± Leafcloak replied. ¡°It could be the death-lord, couldn¡¯t it?¡±


    Something occurred to me.


    Zel, do I have any of those imps that teleport? I need fast answers.


    ¡°I can¡¯t feel them the way you can, Feychilde.¡±


    I held their images in my mind, flicked through them.


    ¡°That one. That¡¯s a gungrelafor.¡±


    Gungrelafor? It had two red horns atop its head that curled near the base then pointed straight down at its little cloven hooves; its short, fat tail had a cruel barb on the tip. Isn¡¯t that one of those obsidian-tower spider-things?


    ¡°That¡¯s gaumgalamar.¡± She said it in such an exasperated tone it was almost as though she couldn¡¯t hear the fact the two words were almost gods-damned identical. ¡°Gungrelafor aren¡¯t really in any one place at a given time ¨C that¡¯s why it¡¯s such a mess if you join with them. Not saying you couldn¡¯t give it a go, though.¡±


    The fairy just wasn¡¯t going to give it up ¨C


    ¡°Grr!¡± Zel said ¨C actually said, rather than growling, which was incredibly cute ¨C


    Now she was growling ¨C


    And, feeling rather pleased with myself, I summoned the imp she¡¯d indicated into the air beside me.


    It looked rather surprised to be summoned into motion, licking its teeth nervously, and did its best with its two pairs of wings to keep up. Timesnatcher got everyone to slow while I gave it instructions, and with a bit of direction from the arch-diviner and some literal directions from Glancefall, I sent it on its way to the Winter Door.


    In under two minutes it returned in a flash of crimson flame, and we halted in the shadow of a jagged, rubble-skirted spire to listen to its words.


    I started by asking, ¡°Grel nissag Mrundi?¡±


    ¡°I speak it,¡± it hissed, flicking its forked, pink tongue from its bat-like face as it hung in the air. It eyed my companions warily before continuing: ¡°I met the one you called the Zakimel, Master. He said to me only this, and no more, with malice in his eyes: ¡®Bid Feychilde and the others our best wishes, and tell them not to get themselves killed on a madman¡¯s whim.¡¯¡±


    I grinned, and some actually chuckled. I glanced at Timesnatcher; below the mask I could see his stony expression, his lips fixed in a tight line. He seemed to be holding himself very still, suddenly, as though he didn¡¯t realise none of us took Zakimel seriously. It was his fault we were in this mess, not Timesnatcher¡¯s.


    ¡°And what didn¡¯t he say to you?¡± I asked.


    The imp took its turn to grin. ¡°I saw one of those ones you mentioned. The lilac-clad magister, he was present. Many magisters, there were.¡±


    ¡°But not Shadowcloud? Direcrown?¡±


    ¡°Not that I could see, Master. I did not leave immediately, but looked around the place. It is strange. The Shadowcloud and the Direcrown, no. They were not there.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said, perhaps a bit coldly, and waved him away. I looked up at the others. ¡°This doesn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t go that way then head off to ¨C¡°


    ¡°They did not leave Zadhal,¡± Timesnatcher said with such confidence he could¡¯ve been quoting the Book of Kultemeren. ¡°They are still here ¨C somewhere.¡±


    ¡°This is an opaque night in which we find ourselves,¡± Starsight said, ¡°and it¡¯s only by blindly grasping that we¡¯ll find them, if they are still alive. We must continue.¡±


    ¡°I concur,¡± Dimdweller intoned.


    ¡°Well, who¡¯s going to gainsay that?¡± Leafcloak murmured. ¡°Let¡¯s get on with it.¡±


    * * *

 Twoshoes pt4

    ¡°Con-tac!¡±


    Shallowlie was ascending to catch the bone-chariot that was otherwise about to drop into the flank of our group ¨C I stayed in the centre, maintaining focus on the weave. Mountainslide followed her to back her up, and we sent our vultures to intercept and harass the as-yet-unbound vultures pulling the chariot.


    We left it as a chariot this time ¨C there was no opportunity to stop and transform it into a bony army like last time, so we kept it leashed to the vultures, let them pull it trundling through the air behind us. Glimmermere, who¡¯d been unusually-quiet since realising that Shadowcloud was missing, seemed disturbed by the rolling pile of skulls atop the chariot. She moved away from the rear of the weave so as to not have to see the abomination right behind her, as though it were pursuing her through the empty city.


    The streets were changing. Most of the roads we¡¯d traversed since coming through the Door had been lined with relatively-tall buildings, the majority housing and business units of one kind or another. Now we¡¯d reached a broad estate of low-to-the-ground, more sumptuously-appointed structures ¨C you could tell by looking through the shattered roofs into the frozen, faded interiors. This was the rich, suburban sprawl of Zadhal. This was their Hightown, and ahead of us, stretching up into the sky, were dozens of towers. I could see that there had once been many more, but most had crumbled or been torn down in some violent display of power, standing no higher than a third of their former stature.


    We were open to any purple eyes gazing our direction, now, but it didn¡¯t seem they had anything left to throw at us. We made our way towards the centre of Zadhal unimpeded.


    The sun was climbing behind us ¨C the pale disc that warmed nothing was barely discernible in the brightest part of the frozen white sky ¨C and I could tell we¡¯d only been in this miserable place for an hour and a half or so. A grey mass of cloud was gathered on the horizon, and it had hardly moved since we¡¯d arrived.


    I hadn¡¯t anticipated that things might go so badly but, despite the danger and the loss of champions, I found I was still excited to be here, my blood still full of the strange mixture that overtook me in such times and left me feeling thrilled, eager¡­ Not all of it was the druids¡¯ work, I knew. I almost felt a touch of what Netherhame had described. No responsibilities. I was riding a wave of time as much as a wave of wind, and it was going to deposit me on that future shore no matter how I tried. Better to accept it than fight it. Better to ride time than drown in it.


    We halted all telepathic communication well before we passed the first tower, and changed direction a few times to throw off potential pursuit or ambush. The place really was like Hightown¡¯s long-dead twin, a dark mirror of the heights of mortal civilisation. But this wasn¡¯t a city, not really ¨C a city required life, light, laughter. This was a brick swamp, a man-made forest of leafless stony trees. We soared between spires missing windows and walls, ceilings and floors ¨C the interiors were mostly bare, the wind and perhaps previous expeditions having picked them clean. The odd exposed altar or bookshelf twinkled with the promise of unexplored mysteries, but such escapades would have to wait.


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    Have to wait until we won.


    Suddenly Timesnatcher halted, and waved us in close to him, almost clinging to the side of a big cuboid building that was riddled with cracks.


    ¡°There are a large number of creatures ahead,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Shallowlie, Feychilde¡­ I wish there was some way to dress this up for you ¨C¡°


    ¡°We ah ready, Tamsnatcher.¡± She floated there serenely before him, just like one of the ghosts surrounding her.


    I drew a deep breath and nodded, getting ready to summon. I could feel them ¨C undead shapes, needles in my brain.


    He led us down one last street, and then ¨C


    The plaza containing the idol of Vaahn was like nothing I¡¯d ever seen before ¨C or would see again, I hoped.


    ¡°Nentheleme save us,¡± Glimmermere said.


    ¡°We are going to do this,¡± our leader breathed, plunging ahead, green blades flickering in his hands. ¡°I can see it¡­ I can see it! Destroy as many as you can before the clock tower rings!¡±


    More rough effigy than sculpted statue, the focal point of the place was a distorted, distended humanoid shape, created not from ancient carven stone but from flesh and bone, strapped together with strings of sinew, riveted with rusty nails. It was gigantic ¨C forty feet or more from base to apex ¨C and loomed over the surrounding courtyard. Within the vast figure¡¯s lengths of black hair ¨C ropes fashioned from scorched, flayed skins ¨C a sphere of melted-together skulls formed the head. The tall crown atop it was insectlike iron, its prongs thin and elongated, randomly-arranged.


    Its many eye-sockets did not move to follow us as we arrived, charging over the boundaries of the courtyard; it didn¡¯t move to inspect us as we inspected it. Despite this, clearly the Prince of Chains had accepted the offering. The statue had obviously been standing longer than any such construction of vile materials ought to have done were it unhallowed; I could sense nothing overtly sorcerous from it.


    In short, I could see why someone would peg this monstrosity as the source of the woes of Zadhal.


    Especially given the worshippers assembled in the courtyard.


    They stood as one, swaying, heads bowed. Ten thousand ¨C twenty? The citizens, the Zadhalites, were deep in prayer, but unlike their idol they had senses.


    A small fraction of them on the edge nearest us ¨C hundreds of them ¨C turned to face us as we charged. Burning purple eyes widened as they, at least, inspected us; they snarled sharp words in Netheric to their fellows.


    The kind of invisibility that let us see each other didn¡¯t work brilliantly on the undead. Not undead like these, anyway. The foes before us were no mere zombies.


    They saw us coming.


    Then Timesnatcher was there, and they saw no more.

 Someone Died pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 5B: SOMEONE DIED</h2>


    ¡°I am the striking shadow. I am the cruelty that causes pain without profit. I am the listener who hears the weeping that follows in the assassin¡¯s wake and smiles. I am Lord Sorrow.¡±


    ¨C from the Yanic Creed


    1st Lynara, 995 NE


    Perri sat upon the steps of the bank, waiting like a good little girl for Father to return with the loan-statement that would secure their family¡¯s ninth property. Money made money, Father always said, and in two generations the Chavarn name had gone all the way from the Rivertown docks to the glades of Treetown. Perri wasn¡¯t stupid, and she wasn¡¯t actually a particularly good little girl. People always tended to think the best of her, just because she was blind. As though blindness itself just made her innocent¡­ For years she¡¯d known how to play to her strengths and the lack of sight was definitely one of them. She could do a lot with touch and hearing, with common sense, that no one would ever believe possible. She¡¯d stolen dozens of small items, which she hid behind the drawer in her wardrobe, and of course no one would think to blame her; when she¡¯d taken the butler¡¯s pocket-watch she¡¯d gotten one of the maids fired, and she¡¯d not pinched from anyone at home since. Even still, she liked to sit there in the early hours of the morning, cross-legged on the rug before the drawer, playing with her assorted treasures. It wasn¡¯t like the pitch-blackness of the room bothered her, and sometimes she fancied she could almost see; the memory of seeing was still something she could access, but as she grew older it was increasingly dreamlike, surreal. Her world was sounds, now, not light. The watch in particular she¡¯d enjoyed, winding it, listening to its little clickings; her ears were sharp enough to pick them out in the silence of her bedroom even when the watch was hidden, but the cleaning-staff were non the wiser. Unfortunately its mechanism had broken the year before, but she¡¯d kept it, until the day she could get it mended without drawing any attention.


    One of the annoying things about being smart was that playing the most effective, long-term game involved taking on those roles, the good little blind girl, sitting demurely on the steps of the biggest bank in the biggest city in the world, just two close-lipped man-servants for company. One of them was close enough to shade her with the parasol he held in his hand, but he still said nothing to her ¨C quite right, too. She very much doubted there was any chance he could hold up his end in a conversation half as well as he could hold up a parasol.


    It was into the ninth month today but the sun was still as strong as it had been in Urdara. She could feel it radiating off the marble next to her when she stretched out her hand. She loved the sun but even with her dark complexion it would cause her skin no end of trouble if she sat out in it unprotected, when it was like this. Mund was a dreary place and it got cold in winter, but it was still in a warm part of the world by all accounts, and its summers shocked those who first arrived in the chilly seasons.


    She heard the footsteps approaching a little closer than usual behind her ¨C


    ¡°Away with yer!¡± one of her man-servants said brusquely ¨C


    Then the man-servant was groaning, collapsing to the steps; the one bearing the parasol aloft swung it aside, and the suddenness with which the sunlight was poured over Perri¡¯s skin made her flinch from the unexpected heat.


    Both man-servants were down ¨C she could hear their gasps ¨C what had happened? ¨C


    Her hand on the steps felt the warm fluid, and she realised they¡¯d been stabbed. It was blood. On her hands.


    ¡°This is the one,¡± someone grunted. Rough fingers tried to seize her by the back of her neck but she leaned forwards, and they only succeeded in grasping the little sensitive hairs ¨C even still, it was enough to halt her forwards motion ¨C


    This is the one.


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    It wasn¡¯t the necklace she wore they were after. Not the rings and brooches, the bracelet of healing, the Im Hatal shoes that cost as much as most men earned in a month.


    They were after her.


    They were going to ransom her, and they would kill her when Father screwed up and went to the Magisterium.


    First they would take her to a little dingy room in the cellar beneath a supplies-shop in Anvil Row, where she¡¯d be chained, and a talkative rat would be her only company, and she¡¯d think ¡®at least you¡¯re a better conversationalist than the man-servants¡¯, and she¡¯d name him Chatty, and ¨C


    And even still, it was enough to halt her forwards motion, and ¨C


    And the man-servants were dying. No, only one of them, she corrected herself. The one with the deeper voice, she could never remember their names ¨C (ah, that was it, Oppten) ¨C he would die, his heart had been pierced with the third dagger-stroke, but the parasol-holder ¨C (Fenostor, that was the one) ¨C he would survive if she could ¨C


    If she could ¨C


    And even still, it was enough to halt her forwards motion, and ¨C


    What has happened to me?


    She could see ¨C of a sort. It was like she was imagining her surroundings, but the imagination was attached to things she couldn¡¯t know about: the colours of the vines on the walls, the lush red flowers; the yellow-white of the sunlight that until now had been nothing more than a dying memory; the people down there in the square going about their business¡­


    Not that they were actually moving. They had been transformed into statues like everyone around her, the pigeons hanging in the sky as though they¡¯d been painted-on¡­ It was all frozen until she finished processing this monolithic instant of time.


    The visions, the wondrous sights, were no less dreamlike for all that her new sixth sense was telling her they were incontrovertible, one hundred percent real.


    Faces. She could see people¡¯s faces!


    Am I dying? she wondered. Did a knife slip between my shoulder¨Cblades, and now I¡¯m trapped here, in my final moment?


    The thought made her shudder, and the shudder made her realise:


    I¡¯m not frozen.


    And even still, it was enough to halt her forwards motion ¨C


    Time reasserted something of its normal flow as she let the thug pull her head back, as she thrust up with her legs to accompany the movement ¨C


    There were dozens of witnesses, only beginning to react to this unprovoked attack in broad daylight. She had to restrict herself to the changes of position a blind person could make, motions that could later be attributed to accident, to good fortune, to the gods ¨C


    As the thug brought his face down, shifting his weight to hoist her up, her upthrust took him by surprise and the back of her skull connected with his nose. He fell away suddenly.


    When the next thug lunged down at the unprotected little blind girl it was an even simpler matter to just skip aside, thrusting out her hands jerkily as if making a nervous attempt to flee, and let his lunge become a painful plunge down the marble steps.


    The third had his dripping knife poised to strike but he was beginning to have doubts. This was Mund, after all, and their intelligence on their target was proving to be unreliable¡­


    She knew before he did that he would turn and run, leave his companions in the care of the watch who would soon arrive to apprehend them. She knew his name but it didn¡¯t matter that she had no credible way to give the watchmen this information; one of his former friends was going to sell him out in return for them keeping his neck far from the noose.


    The watch would make the deal, then go back on it. Three faces would turn blue for this.


    An infinite time later, once the day was done and Father had been quite assured she was feeling fine, she found herself back home in her bedroom. One by one, Perri took out her special objects and she followed the time-lines, glowing as they threaded through the darkness. Some were hidden, occluded by unseen shapes, like stars hidden from view by black clouds ¨C but most of them she could see.


    The lives of those she¡¯d stolen from.


    It was more than just the maid she¡¯d gotten in trouble.


    When she realised her actions had resulted in one poor boy getting his right hand chopped off, she hurled the treasures back into their space behind the drawer and slammed it shut after them, weeping. The servants came, then Father, and it was only as she clung to him and her tears began to dry that she realised what she wanted to do. What she needed to do, with these powers of hers.


    She couldn¡¯t give the boy his hand back, but she could do something. Anything, to make up for the way she had lived her life. She¡¯d been a spoilt thief, a pampered, pandered-to idiot, always insisting on thinking of herself as a victim of fate when she was so incredibly lucky¡­


    These things were treasures no longer. They were totems, relics of a Perrinthe who had died. No more. From tonight, she would make her own fate, follow it wherever it led, even if it took her back, back into the darkness.


    And she knew even then that it would.


    * * *

 Someone Died pt2

    12th Illost, 998 NE


    When Zakimel told everyone to run, Perri was prepared. She and Irimar had discussed the obvious facts of the mission long before they agreed to put the plan into action. The Magisterium was going to attempt to get a large number of champions killed, that much was plain to read. Not all of them, but a fair few. Mistress Henthae wouldn¡¯t stop until the Gathering was under her control, and the way Emrelet Reyd had been moved into position was a clumsy-enough play that even Starsight had asked about it. Zakimel would do his best to ensure a slaughter. Her own vision of the arch-magister was thin, watery, flimsy¡­ she couldn¡¯t grasp him the way Irimar could. But Irimar had seen it all: the way he¡¯d eventually give them away to the powers dwelling in the centre of the city by flying high, something they knew from previous expeditions was an almost sure-fire way of getting yourself hunted down. The way he¡¯d try to break the group¡¯s cohesion, separate them all, while his magisters were under orders to slip away if all should go awry and, chance permitting, return secretly through the Winter Door.


    No, this would not be a day for any Magisterium official to display the courage of their convictions, and Irimar knew as much even when he gave them his nervous speech.


    Still, when she heard Zakimel¡¯s cry, saw his flight with her own eyes, she couldn¡¯t help but be surprised. It seemed so out-of-character for him, even given his secret motives.


    Timesnatcher¡¯s response was to allow it to happen.


    Just as Irimar had said to her, Zakimel couldn¡¯t help but get it out of the way early. Too early. He should¡¯ve waited for champions to start falling before splitting the group, should¡¯ve let the panic become terror before he set them loose in Zadhal. That would¡¯ve resulted in a huge amount of deaths. But no, he¡¯d waited only for the first serious opposition, the deathknights. He wasn¡¯t going to risk any arch-magisters¡¯ lives, even of those few he¡¯d brought with him, which she knew represented at best half of their actual force.


    No, Zakimel had carried out his own plan and ruined it in so doing, none the wiser. Unless he really meant for this to be some kind of empty gesture, some veiled declaration of war¡­


    Not that he¡¯d ever wanted the mission to succeed, really. The Arrealbord and the Magisterium couldn¡¯t afford to let the truth about Zadhal surface. Irimar had let her know as many of the details as he¡¯d been able to glean, or so he said. There were doubtless more fragments of the whole to be uncovered today.


    Now Irimar took her arm politely and slipped away south with her, letting Zakimel rush off into the pale sky, doing nothing to stop him even though Perri had little doubt he¡¯d have been capable of it. He¡¯d drawn only one of his green-glittering daggers with which to cut through the odd deathknight.


    ¡°Faster,¡± he murmured ¨C they were already hundreds of yards from the melee ¨C this speed scared her; it would¡¯ve brought them back to the Winter Door themselves in seconds, if Timesnatcher so chose.


    She noted the way his breath didn¡¯t mist on the air when they travelled like this. Were they going too fast for the link?


    Why are you talking like that? she thought at him, then heard the alarming lack of echo ¨C


    There was no psychic echo, but the future-echoes born of her own power ¨C those she could hear. Lay claim to. Process faster than thought.


    Alandrica¡­!


    She looked through the slits in his mask, into his eyes, the eyes of her lover, the eyes of the man she had never truly been able to trust.


    He killed my friend?


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Irimar?¡± she asked him.


    She was so fast unsheathing her blades, using them, resheathing them, most people wouldn¡¯t even see her move if she beheaded someone right in front of them ¨C they¡¯d just see the head fall.


    Irimar wasn¡¯t most people. To him, she might draw her blades like a swimmer in water, sluggishly, striking weakly¡­


    ¡°If you thought Zakimel was acting strange ¨C my darling¡­ Rosedawn had been breaking some of the waywatchers¡¯ minds.¡±


    ¡°What? That was her?¡±


    He smiled grimly. ¡°You saw it too?¡±


    She shivered. ¡°You thought I didn¡¯t, that¡¯s why you didn¡¯t mention it¡­ I didn¡¯t ¨C I never understand you, Irimar.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Not at all. I didn¡¯t say anything to you because I thought it was her. I knew she was¡­¡± He bit his lip, then said in a sombre tone: ¡°Listen to me now and listen well. Did you ever look at her? Her past?¡±


    ¡°I saw that you¡¯d meddled with her! I saw ¨C¡°


    ¡°No. Not me.¡±


    It took her only a fraction of a second to realise what he meant, and the way they were moving through the rays of light towards the future, it was a fraction of a fraction. She¡¯d been an arch-diviner long enough to know that she had time to formulate her response.


    ¡°So this is part of your Feychilde game,¡± she said at last.


    ¡°Feychilde?¡± He looked surprised. ¡°No, Feychilde has nothing to do with this ¨C¡°


    ¡°He¡¯s going to help you end Duskdown, though, isn¡¯t he? That¡¯s what you¡¯re¡­ grooming him for?¡±


    She tried her best to keep her disgust from her voice, but she only managed to catch half of it before it spilled out of her mouth.


    ¡°Yes and no ¨C that will be his decision, Perri!¡± He sounded exasperated.


    This wasn¡¯t Alandrica¡¯s decision, she thought.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that Feychilde is involved with this ¨C it¡¯s Duskdown, it¡¯s always Duskdown!¡± Irimar hung his head. ¡°Every plan, it all leads to this! To him! Don¡¯t you see it? They became archmages together; he and Rosedawn, they were in love! Their souls were united in her past, wouldn¡¯t you agree? You remember what the lacuna looked like? She was going to destroy the Maginox. I had to ¨C¡°


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°I understand your reasoning,¡± she cut him off. ¡°And you know I disagree. I¡¯ve told you before, things like this could¡¯ve been Everseer!¡°


    He snorted, which as always made her seethe.


    ¡°Alandrica¡­ a manipulator of the higher echelons of the Magisterium? How? How, Irimar?¡±


    He didn¡¯t reply, but their speed slowed significantly.


    ¡°Where are we going, Irimar?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Timesnatcher?¡±


    Perri¡¯s heart leapt into her throat.


    I could respond. I could save her ¨C


    A million rainbow avenues opened up before her sightless eyes ¨C


    Irimar¡¯s polite grip on her forearm tightened suddenly.


    She heard the enchantress¡¯s voice for what she knew to be the last time:


    ¡°Lightblind?¡±


    Before she could open the link at her end, a process that ought to have been instantaneous, and reverse the psychic channel bearing her message back to the enchantress, Irimar snatched ¨C


    ¨C the ¨C


    ¨C time ¨C


    ¨C away from her in such a surge of exponential speed it brought her previous fright to an apex of terror, leaving her cringing, crying, even as he still bore her away, out of Rosedawn¡¯s range, her ability to link.


    But she knew it for a fact ¨C it was too late to save the enchantress now, even for her.


    When she managed to twist her arm away from his grip she took a thousandth of a second to note the direction she had to travel, informed more by the position of future-Perri than by the position of the sun or some other such mundane means ¨C


    ¡°Perrinthe¡­¡±


    She ignored him, and thrust herself through the brightest path she could see, letting the winds of time direct her course ¨C


    The Winter Door.


    Home.


    I¡¯m going to go home.


    She sensed it the moment he gave up his pursuit ¨C he could¡¯ve caught her, but he knew there was nothing he could do with her now. She¡¯d made up her mind to leave him, and she would do it ¨C unless he stopped her. And there was only one way to do that, really.


    He let her go.


    She only slowed down at the portal, knowing that to travel through too quickly would risk complete evaporation. Just like the gateways between planes, going through the immaterial journey that was represented in Materium by this vast, blue curtain could be risky at top power. Full speed on the outside would mean she was experiencing vast swathes of time on the inside. Her essence could be lost, dissipated in time and space.


    She barely spared a glare for the magisters as she emerged from the crackling, sorcerous portal ¨C she saw a couple of them raise their hands in a half-hearted attempt to stop her, but none of them were fast enough to track her across the sky as she covered the short distance towards home.


    She¡¯d only been living with Irimar for a matter of five, almost six months now, but the house they shared was already home to her. She couldn¡¯t go back to Father¡¯s ¨C she couldn¡¯t face him, not anymore, not since finding out what he was really like. He had always been gentle, almost overbearingly-so, whenever he was in her presence. Her powers had, however, revealed to her a man complicit with the power-structures that kept the poor poor and the rich rich. His money was invested in, came from, the lucrative slave trade that took the ill-kept youth off Mund¡¯s streets and promised them a better life, in Rhedal or Shagat or some other far-flung province. The truth was that, once outside the waters and territories of the Mundic Realm, these pitiful street-children with no parents or protectors, no surnames or skills, would be clapped in chains and sold to the highest bidder.


    When she¡¯d confronted him over it he merely spoke to her in the tone he always used, like she was still that good little girl, waiting for him on the steps of the bank. He denied everything, acted like she was confused, like she couldn¡¯t possibly come close to understanding the reality of how the world worked.


    The truth was that he was the one who didn¡¯t understand the way the world worked. What the slave felt. The cruelty of the master displayed on his face as the whip fell on bare backs and legs. Even she couldn¡¯t understand it, not really. But at least she knew this about herself, recognised her limitations. Perri pretended to the outside world to be a philanthropist with a few private investors, secretly using Lightblind¡¯s bounties to fund her projects. It was her way of giving back, her way of making herself feel good.


    She couldn¡¯t tell him, couldn¡¯t give away her identity without cutting ties with Father completely; and she did still love him, for his foolish kindness, the naivety of his trust in the structures that had allowed him to stay wealthy, become wealthier. No, if she exposed herself as a powerful magic-user he would attempt to monetise her abilities, insist on her investing her proceeds from her work as a champion in his own projects, and she would end up saying many things she¡¯d later come to regret. She knew this for a fact, inescapable. Whether she coolly manipulated him or just screamed at him, she would come to regret it.


    Because it would mean she would have to act. She would have to oppose him, fully, with all her might as an adult. And she couldn¡¯t do that.


    Not when he only had eight years left.


    Irimar always chuckled at the way she still worried about what Father thought of her. He said humanity was one big family, that she had bigger concerns now. But the truth was that, in spite of all her incomprehensibly-vast powers, she was still scared of Father. She could never look down those avenues where he was disappointed in her. He¡¯d done everything for her when she was a child, cared for her in a way many men in his position found impossible.


    No, it was better this way. She¡¯d asked him for independence, and he¡¯d granted it. She¡¯d made a point out of refusing to take a single servant from Father¡¯s household, and instead hired her own maid, paying the close-lipped, hard-working girl, Savarre, with her own (relatively) clean money.


    She lived with Irimar, and things were good, peaceful, between the intense moments of frenzied violence.


    Yes, she still loved Father. She would bring him around to her way of thinking, some day¡­ But not tonight. After the argument with her boyfriend ¨C what had it been about again? ¨C she wanted her own bed, the solitude of her thoughts.


    No one was in ¨C she¡¯d given Savarre the day off for Zadhal-related reasons. Even with the residual effects of someone¡¯s wizardry still coursing through her veins, she could feel that the cold morning was giving way to a cold afternoon. She went around stoking the fireplaces with emberwood that burnt for hours, so she wouldn¡¯t have to get back up again. She might¡¯ve been relatively nice and warm inside her skin, but that was no reason the house itself had to suffer ¨C she could already see the way the banister¡¯s future had improved just by lighting the first of the hearths¡­ Plus, she¡¯d certainly be cold by the time she next got out from under the covers.


    Once she was done she went to the bedroom and undressed, found her warmest bedclothes and burrowed under the quilt, pulling the blankets up to her neck so that only her head upon the pillows was exposed. After a couple of minutes the almost clammy-feeling clothes and covers began to warm up, and the delicious feeling of peace stole over her.


    It took conscious effort to follow the lines back, remember she¡¯d just left Zadhal¡­ left her lover, her friends, left them to¡­


    She sat bolt upright.


    What am I doing?


    Someone had¡­ someone had died¡­ Rosedawn. Alandrica!


    Perri went to swing her legs out of bed but before she finished the motion she cut it off, ending up twisting the blankets around herself. What had she been about to do?


    It was because of him. Irimar. He had ¨C he had killed ¨C


    No, not Irimar. Not the funny, clever young man she¡¯d fallen for.


    This was Timesnatcher¡®s doing. The cold one. The one who saw it all and said nothing.


    Her sense of propriety burned deep within her. She had to return to the fight. She had to.


    It was only after the fourteenth failed attempt to get out of bed that Perri¡¯s thoughts fell on the amulet she wore against her breast. She never took it off for fear of a subtle manipulation from a far-off enchanter ¨C not when she bathed, not when she slept¡­


    I¡¯m enchanted, she realised. The thought came through first as though she¡¯d comprehended something marvellous, and she felt the genuine smile of joy play across her lips.


    That slowly became a frown.


    I¡¯m¡­ enchanted?


    She raised her hands to her neck to remove Lovebright¡¯s chain, then rubbed the tight muscles there, and found a knot that sent her into paroxysms of bliss when she pressed it.


    Irimar¡¯s turn to do me when he gets home, she thought, feeling smug. It was always nice when it was your turn for the next back-rub.


    * * *

 Someone Died pt3

    She¡¯d sauntered down to the front door in her slippers once it reached late afternoon, to retrieve the news-etchings that were posted through her letter-box every day. Printed news was faster, obviously, but she had to use her powers to read the markings on paper, and it was far more relaxing to let her fingertips do the job.


    She got tucked back into bed ¨C one benefit of reading with your fingers was that if it was cold you could just do it under the covers, no need to see what you were doing.


    There wasn¡¯t really a vast amount to report. Reconstruction was moving ahead at record-breaking pace, thanks in part to generous contributions from members of the public, whose squabbling over investment opportunities had left plenty of spare cash for the wizard-guilds to scrape off the top. The rate of crime in the city had reached a peak and then plateaued, as it usually did following an Incursion ¨C there¡¯d be a decline over the following four-week period, until it bottomed-out again, pending the next Incursion¡­


    Not that the news actually said any of this directly ¨C but she was easily capable of not just reading between the lines but reading between the realities, understanding the truths underlying opinions. She searched, scraped through the facts for one hint of a hidden history, a faked identity, a link to the infamous Facechanger ¨C


    There was the usual rush at the window, and it startled her.


    Yet again, she hadn¡¯t noticed as he entered the room. She managed to avoid the obvious reactions like jumping up or spinning on the spot, but he would be able to see through her responses anyway, glean his meagre amount of pleasure from her shock.


    ¡°I told you to stop doing that! I¡¯m glad you¡¯re back¡­ I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry I left? I¡­¡±


    Her voice failed her and time stretched. A yawning infinity between her words and his response.


    It would come eventually, inflected with cold dispassion. She approximated it as:


    ¡°Last time you thought it wasn¡¯t him; this time you thought it was. Are you an arch-diviner or not?¡±


    And then she would know it wasn¡¯t Irimar. But it was getting dark. Irimar should have been back by now.


    And she would answer, trying to keep her voice measured, but hearing the way it trembled, ¡°Last time it could¡¯ve been a demon.¡±


    And he would grin, grin at that.


    ¨C Mortiforn Yune Ismethyl Ismethyl! give me strength give me the power to fight this fight ¨C


    Grin like the madman he was. Grin like he wept.


    Grin like his¡­ his wife¡­ his wife had¡­ died?


    Something was inside her mind, a fogginess. What had he done to her? She could follow the lines back to Zadhal¡­


    Zadhal?


    The last twelve hours went rushing through her.


    Rosedawn. Duskdown.


    That was why he was here.


    Something had been done to her ¨C by Rosedawn? Before she died? It didn¡¯t matter; she could deal with that later.


    First she had to deal with this.


    With excruciating slowness, she rose from the bed.


    There was an awful speed to his stillness, a preparedness that informed her he was simply waiting for her to flee. She could outrun sound, could make it across the city in seconds, yet the robed, masked man in her bedroom would catch her within a few steps.


    No. There was no life for her on those avenues. Each of those well-lit paths fell swiftly into darkness. She¡¯d have to aim at a destination a hundred, a thousand miles from the city to achieve the kinds of speeds she¡¯d need, and he¡¯d still have her before she passed over Mund¡¯s walls.


    Escape would come from blades, not boots; fists, not feet.


    Yane would drink his fill here. Blood would flow.


    Unless Irimar saved her.


    Her opponent was faster than her, but he waited. Let her think it through. Let her see what she could see.


    If she put her foot here, so that the toe-ring on her right foot was lined up with the crack in the floorboards, she would live, on average, a tenth of a second longer than she would if she put her foot half an inch closer to the wall; the scales tipped, even on so fine a balance ¨C


    If she dived across the foot of the bed for her robe, her knives, she would be there faster than lightning fell from the sky, and she would be felled just as surely as had the lightning-bolt struck her, slain with her own daggers in the hands of her lover¡¯s mortal enemy ¨C


    She caught her breath, centred her face on him as though she could see him.


    She could see him. The unhappy smile warping the lower half of his face into some abhorrent mockery of a human mouth. Too many teeth. Too much anger and grief in what should¡¯ve been an expression of delight.


    ¡®We¡¯re all one big family,¡¯ Irimar had said. She was fairly certain he hadn¡¯t been thinking of Duskdown when he¡¯d said it, though ¨C


    ¡°Did I surprise you, darling?¡±


    She jumped upon hearing Duskdown¡¯s low voice. It wasn¡¯t just that he¡¯d chosen to break the silence that had slowly been growing heavier since she last spoke, years ago, back when she still thought it was Irimar who¡¯d finally arrived home. Back then, when she thought she was going to live out the day.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    No. It was that he so effortlessly elided her prophecies. What he¡¯d actually said wasn¡¯t as close to her vision as she was accustomed, and it made her more nervous than she thought she was going to be, which only compounded itself, again and again, until she felt her confidence and her battle-readiness seeping out of her through numb fingertips.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± That sounded good; her voice came out hard, forceful, even if the base root of her aggression was her fear.


    ¡°You know what will happen, don¡¯t you? He will suffer the way I¡¯ve suffered.¡±


    It took her a moment, then: ¡°He doesn¡¯t love me. Not the way you loved her.¡±


    Duskdown was shaking his head softly from side to side. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course,¡± he said, ¡°but he knew the potential was there. While you lived, there was a chance of love, and, now you¡¯re dead, he will feel the pain of that loss all the more-sharply for the fact that it was never realised. You are his one, true, long-lost love. The memory that impels his actions, the worst failure of his career as a champion: letting you die¡­¡±


    It chilled her, to hear the way he already spoke of her in the past-tense.


    Now I am dead¡­ I am just a memory.


    No!


    In the moment she threw caution to the winds, bitterness and anger overcoming all the mental barriers that had been preventing her from acting, she knew that she was doomed.


    She turned to the window, he was there.


    The doorway, there he was.


    When she gritted her teeth and went for her robe and knives he merely withdrew across the room, permitting her access.


    ¡°Great idea,¡± he said softly as she lifted her belongings. ¡°Put your robe back on, and your mask. Gather all the weapons at your disposal, use any of them you wish to on me. Here, I¡¯ll even ¨C haha ¨C turn my back while you change. I can use this scarf for a blindfold, make it a fair fight ¨C¡±


    The moment he¡¯d distracted himself, knotting fabric about his upper face, she fled at two hundred percent speed straight at the open window, rushing headlong into his tensed, outstretched forearm.


    The blow took her in the throat and she was slammed down on her back, gasping on the rug.


    ¡°Tut tut,¡± he chided gently; ¡°I told you to put your mask on.¡±


    She already had the robe in place, her hands on her dagger-grips, but she couldn¡¯t use them, couldn¡¯t do anything but choke for breath ¨C was her windpipe crushed? Was this it, over already?


    No. As she recovered he reached out with her mask and, almost fondly, settled its straps around her head so that her face was properly covered.


    She didn¡¯t need to see, but the tiny slits in the mask hardly helped her suck in her breath.


    ¡°That¡¯s the way you looked the day I killed you.¡± He spoke huskily, almost emotionally. ¡°Not cracked yet, but there¡¯s time. That¡¯s the Lightblind whose corpse he finds.¡±


    She spluttered. ¡°You ¨C you don¡¯t¡­ have to do this, you can ¨C¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t, and yet I do. You know full-well the curse of the arch-diviner.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± she coughed, ¡°please ¨C¡±


    ¡°Please do not beg.¡± The coldness she¡¯d expected was there in his voice. He wasn¡¯t smiling now. ¡°They always beg, and it¡¯s always worse for them after that. No, get to your feet. Chin up, darling. I don¡¯t want to be here any more than you do ¨C come on, let¡¯s get this over with.¡±


    ¡°I th-thought you only went after the bad g-¡°


    ¡°Do not test me. I watched over her, every minute of her life, every minute that I could. It was you, you and your lover that killed her.¡± His voice softened. ¡°No. I never saw Zadhal, until his plans for her ended. Until you scattered her across the frozen stones. This is on you, Perrinthe. You and him.¡±


    He reached down with a hand as though to take hers, help her to her feet.


    Her hands were full of daggers.


    The white-bladed knife in her left hand, glittering as though it were dusted with quartz powder, had a chink in the handle; that was how she could tell it apart from the knife in her right hand without using her powers, the blade that would be its identical twin were it not for its pure-black colouration.


    They¡¯d felled thirteenth-rank demons. They¡¯d felled greater threats than this hellish caricature of a man standing before her.


    She put every ounce of her innocent girlishness into her voice, did her best to sound pathetic: ¡°But I ¨C I didn¡¯t want him to ki-¡°


    When she sprang to her feet mid-word, cutting the air with both daggers, it was his turn to be surprised.


    Yes, it was with the blade that this would be decided.


    It was the fastest she¡¯d ever moved. Fast enough that every droplet in a waterfall would¡¯ve appeared still. Fast enough to catch the seeds of a thousand dandelions.


    Still too slow.


    She saw the evasion before it occurred, the faintest shifting of his body-weight.


    She tried to change the angle, but he slipped both blows, feinting to one side then the other as he backed away ¨C


    She noticed the flat-handed chop he was bringing down at her throat as he pirouetted, managed to twist awkwardly to the right just before it was too late, let the edge of his palm glance off her shoulder ¨C


    The power of the strike still spun her like a top, and then they were wheeling about the room: her inside, surrounded by a shell of monochrome ensorcelled iron; him outside, an ever-circling blur of sunset hues and endless attacks.


    She tested every trick she¡¯d ever used: sudden variances in angular momentum, reversals of direction, taking the fight across the walls and ceiling ¨C


    How do I fight a creature like this? she howled inwardly.


    Instincts that had been designed to supply her with not just one answer to her every question but ten were now drawing a terrifying blank.


    There is no answer. There is no way through this.


    To an observer the fight might¡¯ve been going for all of seven or eight seconds but she was dripping sweat beneath her comfy bed-clothes and robe, worse than when she slew Hierarch Nine. For her it had been minutes of exertion and she felt the slightest onset of exhaustion.


    But she saw it in her foe too. He could¡¯ve kicked her in the face when she dipped, aiming slashes at his knees, but he didn¡¯t react quickly enough, he ¨C


    He stepped back and brought the heel of his palm down into the forehead of her mask instead, cracking it ¨C


    They were fighting on the mirror on the wall at the time, and she had no purchase ¨C the momentum was reversed against her knowledge or will, and she was sent careening off the wall at a breath-stealing speed, bouncing off the floor and cracking one of the bedposts with her back.


    Both daggers abandoned her in her moment of need, flying out of her hands with the force of the impact, landing in either corner behind her.


    Spine grinding in agony, she nonetheless whipped to her feet again ¨C then sank back to the ground screaming.


    She wore a toe-ring, usually kept hidden within her footwear, for times of need.


    Her spine told her she had no way to reach it and yet ¨C


    He stood over her, holding the little healing-trinket embedded with its three fine, sparkling diamonds. It was a crude thing, really, one activation per diamond. A broken back would probably take all three.


    ¡°You were going to try to get this, I believe,¡± he said.


    For a moment she thought he would laugh, then he reached down like last time, merely offering her the ring.


    ¡°You¡¯d like to go another round?¡±


    His sad smile was there, even if he wasn¡¯t laughing.


    No exhaustion in his voice. She¡¯d been wrong, before. She¡¯d seen only what he¡¯d wanted her to see.


    Still¡­


    ¡°He is not coming. Night falls in Zadhal, and still he does not return. He is a fool.¡±


    The certainty, the knowledge, hit her. The trembling hand she¡¯d half-raised to accept the toe-ring dropped, and her vision finally faded.


    She couldn¡¯t see it, but she heard him draw a knife from a metal sheath.


    No, she couldn¡¯t see it. Back. Back into the darkness she went. She¡¯d known it from the moment she was made archmage. The darkness, the darkness was her destiny.


    I¡¯m alone in the darkness again.


    She was blind once more, and knew then what she would choose.


    She couldn¡¯t even see how Father would take the news of her passing.


    ¡°Finish it,¡± she said bitterly.


    Alandrica. Endren. Mother¡­ I follow you now. Will you wait for me, and, and Father, on the oth-

 Dread Vaahn pt1

    <h2>AMETHYST 5.4: DREAD VAAHN</h2>


    ¡°That experience? Its like shall never pass before your consciousness ever again. All experience is singular. No moment is ever repeated. They ask me why I cannot reproduce under laboratory conditions the speeds I attain during an Incursion. My answer? It is a different experience. What else am I to do? What else can I say? Many are the laws of nature that bend before my will. But I cannot break my own nature. I am not a god.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Notes of Timesnatcher¡¯, recovered after the Fall


    Shadows of souls, dressed in corpses. Mockeries of men. Wights.


    I felt the anger welling up again, the wrath of Gilaela, now a living coil of white-gold energy inside my breast, my head, my horn ¨C


    They turned to face us, snarled their warnings, but it was too late for those who¡¯d spotted us, and those who were roused by their cries. When we moved, we rode the storm-winds above a river of lava. When we met them head-on, it was with those who could not be seen except by the death they left in their wake. It was with the demons of hell and the silent servants of Shallowlie, the glowing blue lines that only the two of us could perceive, tearing invisibly through rank after rank. A vast white wolf, a huge silvery tiger, a tremendous snake sixty feet long and six feet thick, and a set of putrid vultures.


    And, most importantly of course, the savage squirrels of the otherworld, our hidden weapon.


    The wights were cut down in droves. We left the weave on the eastern edge of the courtyard and moved in with bladed shielding ¨C we didn¡¯t want to push the wights away, didn¡¯t want to encourage them to flee through the streets connected to the courtyard¡¯s far side. We wanted them here. We wanted to smash them, now. Unless my eyes were deceiving me, Timesnatcher and the other diviners were already engaged on the far side of the plaza, hemming them in.


    But it wasn¡¯t going to be so simple. They were fast to react, and powerful in those reactions. They didn¡¯t have vampiric grace, but that didn¡¯t stop those at the edges leaping thirty feet up the sides of buildings, taking handholds in the crumbled brick-work. It didn¡¯t stop them springing back down on top of our eldritches, pulverising Shallowlie¡¯s bone-golems ¨C they even landed on our vultures when they descended to attack, and tore them into vast rotten pieces before we could bring our scythed chariot to bear on the crowd.


    Khikiriaz, my bintaborax, Shallowlie¡¯s incorporeal horde ¨C these eldritches were a different matter. They couldn¡¯t be touched, and fought with ease, destroying hundreds per minute. We also commandeered dozens of the citizens to fight against their own kind, actively hindering those who were attempting to flee ¨C or mount resistance against ¨C our onrushing tide of carnage. The wights registered as bound, but the will governing them was too weak to resist our influences ¨C unfortunately, we both filled-up on them quickly, and could only bind more as the ones we¡¯d taken into our control were annihilated.


    My undead-finding senses were well-attuned now, working as acutely as my sense of orientation (currently horizontal) or sense of temperature (dropping chilly). The information was being conveyed directly into my consciousness, and I was instantly aware of the small group of wights that had turned against the tide, not retreating or regrouping but coming right at us.


    ¡°Shallowlie!¡± I cried over the tumult, the booms of wizards¡¯ fireballs and the shouts in Netheric of their disintegrating targets. ¡°Shallowlie, look!¡±


    I pointed at them. Men and women, well-dressed, like the vampire-lord in Oldtown. Most of the crowd seemed to be dressed in clothing they¡¯d worn in life, now tatty, but these stood out.


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    They entered my hexagonal shield¡­


    Illusions.


    I¡¯d seen this trick before. They ¨C


    ¡°No, they¡¯re real.¡±


    ¡­ Wight-lords?


    ¡°Eight of them.¡±


    The lack of rebuttal, the tacit agreement with my assessment, chilled me to the core.


    Thrilled me, making my neck-hairs stand on end.


    Eight archmages, their powers essentially robbed from them. Wights were no spell-casters ¨C they had an icy touch, so the tales went ¨C


    But then, these lords had walked right through my defences without them even bending, buckling. And I got the impression they¡¯d crossed the barrier with some serious ill-intent in mind ¨C something to do with the way they were looking at me like they wanted to see what new appendage they could add to the effigy with my innards.


    Even my reinforced circle would be empty air to them. They didn¡¯t have to break my defences, like the vampire-lord had done so easily, like the arch-demon the night of the Incursion. They could just pass through.


    Mockeries of men. Shadows of souls.


    Zel blurted: ¡°Imminent danger!¡±


    I didn¡¯t need that warning. Satyr reflexes handled it for me, moving me to the side as the first few pounced at me; the same eldritch musculature let me grip the clawed hand that came at my face, my fingers strong-enough to press into the frozen undead flesh, grind the supernatural creature¡¯s wrist ¨C


    It ¨C he ¨C continued his motion and I continued mine in the opposite direction, so I snapped his bones at the elbow. The limb was too tough to come free; I flung him around like a rag-doll by his floppy arm, bringing him crashing into the ground.


    Flooded with a feeling of catharsis, I used a burst of flight to spring over him, and, sensing the next coming at me, instinctively kicked out as I twisted.


    I felt my heel connect with the next wight, whose own attacks had only just gone over my head. Then I had chance to look back, glimpse her falling heavily to the paved floor, long white hair streaming.


    I could get used to this, I thought.


    It was somewhat regretfully that I drew a pair of explosive daggers.


    ¡°Leaf!¡± Timesnatcher had to be in haste if he was using the link. ¡°It¡¯s Dimdweller!¡±


    The gargantuan white wolf flickered and seemed to disappear; then a white osprey descended from a point somewhere close to where her belly had been located, disappearing beyond visibility into an area thick with fighting.


    The thought of the dwarf, dying ¨C I remembered Shadowcrafter, the dwarf-wight he¡¯d obtained somewhere and used against me when I challenged him ¨C and suddenly I didn¡¯t need the daggers anymore.


    The curiosity died away and the fire reignited.


    When the next wight-lord came at me I headbutted him with the horn, transforming him into a pile of glitter, glowing as it cascaded on the frigid breeze and was whipped away.


    The ones who were recovering from their initial attempts to strike me down, and the ones who¡¯d stayed at the back, watching ¨C I saw the way they all recoiled in terror at the destruction of their comrade.


    How long till he returns from that? I asked.


    ¡°Hard to say. That attack is something else altogether.¡±


    ¡°Why thank you,¡± Gilaela said brightly.


    ¡°¡­ My pleasure¡­ Anyway, you could be looking at minutes, or millennia, even here¡­ Not that they know for sure.¡±


    I stared at the wights a few seconds longer, while they were frozen in indecision, then I made the choice for them.


    I spread my wings and hurtled at the nearest dead archmage.


    That did it; they broke, turning to flee.


    Smiling grimly, I pursued. I was faster than them, and I had plenty of daggers.


    The closest was boomed into non-existence, then the next, and the next ¨C


    Just as they thought they would escape, Shallowlie descended in front of them, serene undead mask taunting them.


    ¡°You ah noh going anywheh,¡± she said.


    She threw a new weave to me, an inverted one, and we tied it in place before the four remaining wight-lords reached her, leaving them enclosed in the circle between us.


    Even a single link, and suddenly the shield was impenetrable. The first wight went for her and was repulsed, thrust back with the same force with which he surged forwards, smashing him bodily into the ground, cracking the stone slab beneath him.


    An immeasurably-brief moment later, two other wights tested it, only slightly more-cautiously than the first ¨C they knew if they were going to break through, it would be now.


    But, unbeknownst to them, the weave was already eight shields thick.


    * * *

 Dread Vaahn pt2

    As we¡¯d trained, we shrank the circle, each of us moving inexorably inwards, which only served to overlap the barriers. It was the best we¡¯d ever achieved. A thousand whirling strands of blue light forming force-tesseracts, interlinking to weave fractals like I¡¯d once seen in a tome at the Maginox library.


    The battle raged on about us as we approached the remaining wight-lords. To my right one of the arch-wizards had created a great lava-filled depression in the ground with sheer sides, into which the undead were being hurled.


    I ignored it all, facing down my enemies.


    We could continue to squeeze, crush them ¨C me and Shallowlie were only ten feet apart now and they were locked into the sphere between us ¨C


    ¡°Stop, Shallowlie.¡± I fastened the latest force-line and halted, staring at the undead men and women who¡¯d once been like us. ¡°Will you speak with us?¡±


    To my surprise, it was the youngest-looking who slid forward, a lad whose death must¡¯ve occurred when he was no older than I was when my parents were killed. His incredibly-out-of-date suit was impeccably-tailored to his not yet full-grown frame, and his white hair was a curly mess combed to one side.


    His expression was one I was used to.


    The sneer of a highborn.


    ¡°How camest such as thou into divine inheritance?¡± He looked between the two of us with his ever-youthful amethyst eyes, hatred, anguish twinkling there. ¡°Thou art of the lowest order. How hath he permitted thee, thine abomination, to perpetuate thus! To slay my mother, my father!¡±


    The young-seeming wight stamped his suede-booted foot, and more stone paving shattered. Even the smallest shards of material that erupted couldn¡¯t penetrate the weave.


    So how did they ignore my barriers like that? I wondered.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t a clue.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t expecting you to, don¡¯t worry.


    ¡°Who¡¯s this ¡®he¡¯?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Dread Vaahn, King of Kings, He ¨C¡°


    ¡°From whom all nobility springs, right,¡± I cut him off. The kids¡¯ rhyme I¡¯d learned went Dread Undeath but I recognised the cadence of the expression immediately.


    The wight closed his mouth, looking taken aback at my interruption.


    I gazed about pointedly. ¡°Looks real noble round here.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Twas our sanctum of peace, until ye came,¡± one of the female wights said bitterly. She was old and lined before the shadowland took her soul; her dress was no less-fine than the lad¡¯s, who might¡¯ve been her grandson if I had to place a guess. ¡°We exist, and hath in us no need for quarrel. Thy Mundic ways are unwelcome in the Diamond of the North. Offer unto us thy hearts, or begone back to thy stinking pits ¨C we need ye not!¡±


    This wasn¡¯t going exactly the way I¡¯d expected. From what I could tell, these wight-lords didn¡¯t exactly look like they were going to be invading Mund any time soon.


    ¡°Your vampire-lord friend attacked us,¡± I noted. ¡°He came through the Door, slew our people ¨C¡°


    ¡°So thou camest seeking revenge,¡± the young wight-lord said, turning with shining eyes to regard the massacre currently happening all across the courtyard, ¡°repaying revenge for revenge for revenge, as hath the cycle turned and burned for all eternity. Rhinath! He brought this slaughter down upon our heads, we who never raised hand to strike ye ¨C¡°


    ¡°Hate to break it to you, but you¡¯re undead,¡± I interjected. ¡°If you¡¯re undead and intelligent, you¡¯re evil, and that means ¨C¡°


    ¡°Nay, child,¡± he said in his ancient child¡¯s voice. ¡°We here are the cursed and lost.¡±


    ¡°You woship de Puince of Cheys!¡± Shallowlie hissed.


    ¡°What other power will cleave us to his or her breast? The Enduring One?¡± The old woman wight laughed scornfully. ¡°Thou knowest less than thou knowest. We sought no part in the war; for years we hadst argued ¡®gainst such dreadful actions, seeking only peace with thy people¡­¡°


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    War? I¡¯ve never heard of a war that affected Zadhal. None of the Mage Wars¡­


    After getting no internal response, I asked aloud, ¡°What war?¡±


    ¡°The war that shattered the Diamond,¡± she said, looking around at the destruction of her home that had occurred three hundred years ago.


    At the destruction of her population that was currently taking place.


    I felt a cold lump enter my stomach. We were obliterating undead. There couldn¡¯t be anything wrong with that, could there?


    All around me, thousands of them were being returned to the shadowland, returned to the plane to which their souls had been cursed¡­


    ¡°Shallowlie!¡± a voice roared.


    Winterprince descended, and winter ascended to meet him.


    A garden of leafless trees, translucent like Ceryad-crystal, rose up out of the frosted, broken paving ¨C blade-like icicle-branches that speared the wights through, bursting their heads, spattering bone and purple ichor across the inside of the weave ¨C


    The ice-clad wizard hovered above us. ¡°What are you doing?¡± He looked across to me. ¡°Yet again, you shirk your duties, Feychilde. I expected better.¡±


    ¡°We wotted iformation, Winnerpuince,¡± Shallowlie said in a pleading tone, rising up to the same height.


    I copied her, then said coldly, ¡°And yet again, you get between me and a talking witness, Winterprince. I¡¯d like to say I expected better¡­¡°


    The wizard snapped his head about violently, as if biting off a retort, and soared away, smashing his way through the crowd.


    I looked around me. I saw the anxiety on the faces of children. Pale, frosted, long-dead children, yes ¨C but still children, still making me feel suddenly like I was the heretic, I was the arch-druid in Firenight Square laying waste to a group of innocents¡­


    My eldritches, my shields ¨C everything was still in play. I was taking part in this massacre. I hadn¡¯t refilled the ranks of my wights in some time and they were all gone by now, reduced to shreds of spirit whisked away on nethernal winds¡­ but Shallowlie had soared back into the fray and seemingly hadn¡¯t thought twice about enslaving a swathe of new ones to replace those she¡¯d lost while we¡¯d dealt with the nobles.


    What¡¯s this war, Zel?


    ¡°It¡­ it¡¯s not spoken of, anymore.¡±


    Sure, but I know all the stories ¨C and Orstrum never s-


    ¡°They took it out of the books, the histories. It¡¯s¡­ ugly.¡±


    I felt chilled, and not by the weather.


    How old are you really, Zel?


    ¡°Old enough. It was only three hundred years ago, but you can¡¯t remember everything, you know¡­ most of the past is like a dream, isn¡¯t it? It¡¯s easy-enough to make men forget the truth of things, even without magic, given enough time, distance from events¡­ The Arrealbord weren¡¯t stupid, you know.¡±


    So Mund¡­ Mund attacked Zadhal? Why didn¡¯t you tell me any of this?


    ¡°It never came up? Look, the last thing I want is you getting side-tracked in a fight against the government¡­¡±


    But why?


    ¡°Those wights are going to overpower Khikiriaz if you don¡¯t help him¡­¡°


    I didn¡¯t budge an inch. She was lying anyway.


    Speak to me, Zelurra, bondswoman!


    It felt strange saying that, now. It felt different to before.


    Zel sighed. ¡°Zadhal retained an exclusively-archmage nobility. They were ¡®stuck in the old ways¡¯ ¨C I¡¯m pretty sure that was how the authorities put it, when they were rousing support for an assault.¡±


    My mouth was dry. But I can¡¯t have been the only one to find an eldritch here who was willing to talk about it ¨C I mean, surely this should¡¯ve gotten out?


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it has, dozens of times. I heard rumours about it, once or twice, from sources that got it somewhere second-hand. Who would believe them, though? And why? The Magisterium is good to us, ¡®trustworthy¡¯¡­¡±


    So this is why they¡¯ve never done more than posture at bringing Zadhal back into the Realm¡¯s fold? For fear we¡¯d unearth some evidence they couldn¡¯t easily brush aside?


    ¡°I suppose so?¡±


    ¡°Maaaster¡­¡± Gilaela said delicately, ¡°I understand that you wish to continue this conversation, but, if you would rather stand back, would you be so kind as to unleash me? It would very much please me to ride down some of these shadowfolk before they are all gone.¡±


    I sighed again, and shook her loose.


    The unicorn looked back at me and nodded gratefully before lowering her horn and smashing into a line of wights, just before my swarm of giant golden squirrels surged by her, backing her up.


    So they must¡¯ve been dropping rocks about Timesnatcher.


    ¡°How so?¡±


    He led this expedition. Even if he just wants to make Zadhal a safe place for us to return to, he¡¯s probably going to uncover some of the hidden truths they want kept quiet. They¡­ I coughed and struggled to breathe, sucking in the cold air, unable to quell the nausea that suddenly clutched me. They wanted enough of us to die that we¡¯d abandon this.


    That¡¯s why she wouldn¡¯t send Em!


    I seized on the thought and it filled me with dreadful, righteous anger, pushing down the sickness, pushing down everything.


    I couldn¡¯t fret about the status of the wights¡¯ souls, couldn¡¯t weigh the morality of sending them back to Nethernum by destroying their physical forms. No amount of conversation was going to lead to us trusting them, leaving them behind us to live out their unlives, while we continued on.


    They had to die¡­ again. The onus was upon me to make it as swift and painless as possible, so that we could finish this mission. Return to Mund, where we really belonged.


    And on the way, maybe I¡¯d even find some proof the Magisterium waged war on the city, driving the populace to whatever desperate measures led to this everlasting undeath.


    The moment I exerted my will upon the wizardry binding me to the air, intending to fly forwards into the thickest part of the battle where my eldritches were hard at work, the strangled sound of the horn split the sky once more.


    He was back.


    The death-lord.


    * * *

 Dread Vaahn pt3

    He only had about twenty deathknights left to back him up, by the looks of things, and he didn¡¯t seem too happy about it. The purple-lit skeletal face beneath the crown-surmounted helm was misshapen, twisted into a frozen scream of defiance, the lower jaw thrust forwards, lipless teeth glinting.


    They came plunging down from one of the nearby torn-off tower roofs, descending on the nethermist thick-enough to support the zombie-horses and their riders. I saw Mountainslide surging up to meet them.


    ¡°Why do they blow those ridiculous horns?¡± I muttered to myself.


    The dwarven wizard didn¡¯t get chance to intercept them.


    I almost felt sorry for them as I reached out a hand, twisting away the amethyst lightning with a few gestures, motions that indicated the confinement of the energies; the reversal of the portals; the completion of the spell.


    They fell a good seventy, eighty feet, and the dwarf changed course to float above them. He rapidly warped their surroundings with one hand, creating another depression and sinking them down into it, even as he started pouring lava on them from on-high with the other hand.


    But there was one, just one deathknight still in the saddle ¨C just one whose mist would not return to the shadows from whence it came.


    The death-lord reared his mount, crying out in a great voice that all could hear but few could understand: ¡°Hai Verkos fan Verki, E sakh neir mashal kat o eltuun! Dhi ban ar E fanast kat o vasal, kat o menevail; temen ban at neir fanast ban o nekiban?¡°


    ¡®O King of Kings, I might not defend my people! To thee I surrender my crown, my dominion; wilt thou not surrender thy silence?¡¯


    And he suddenly went coursing at the statue of Vaahn, with such speed I could hardly follow the motion.


    ¡°Stop ¨C him!¡± Timesnatcher came through from somewhere in a staccato burst of telepathic sound.


    Starsight was airborne, on his way ¨C


    But the death-lord on his untouchable, special nethermist had obviously been holding back to stay alongside his now deep, deep-fried troops. He was fast, too fast for even Star to intercept.


    He did the last thing I expected.


    He slammed into the effigy and it accepted him, instantly swallowing him, horse and all, into its horrid make-up.


    I looked across the courtyard. For a few dreadful seconds, the silence of which he¡¯d spoken so hatefully descended to reign over all. The tumult ceased and every creature was still, eldritch and champion, staring at the effigy. Even the ever-dutiful Winterprince halted his non-stop barrage. Star alone moved, drifting away from the centre, away from the effigy towards which he¡¯d been streaking.


    ¡°Back, Star!¡± Timesnatcher roared.


    Then the idol rose up. Its skulls came alive. A terrible purple light cascaded across its swollen, stringy corpse-body.


    Screams of joy came from the crowd, almost masking the awful hissing that came pouring up from the wight-parts strewn across the plaza. Those shredded pieces started stirring under that magenta light. Even those who¡¯d been reduced to ash were affected. Stirring, streaming, skittering¡­


    Recoalescing.


    Decimated bodies were coming together again everywhere I looked, knitting seamlessly and pouring nethermist into the air as they did so. The purple light glared through, making everything an impenetrable nethernal smog, even to me.


    I had no idea what to do. Several of the champions were perceptible by the greenish glow that suffused their bodies, a result of the anti-shadow healing spells the three druids had been bestowing ¨C


    ¡°Move, move!¡± Zel shrilled.


    I went upwards, but she took the reins and moved me backwards at the same time, retreating us away ¨C


    The effigy had embarked off its pedestal under the cover of the mist, evidently striding with sickening speed across the courtyard; it barely passed beneath me, its barbed black crown scraping through the space in which I¡¯d flown just an instant before.


    Panicked shouts and confused suggestions filled the telepathic link as I tried to re-establish shields. Predictably, they failed when they intersected the huge avatar of the God of Tyranny.


    Spinning force-blades and resummoning eldritches to combat the renewed threats all around me, I almost missed it as Leafcloak appeared through the fog, wolf-shaped and titanic, snapping out with her gigantic maw.


    The putrid idol to the King of Kings was fast; disgustingly-so. A morass of body parts rose up, a hideous arm to smash a hideous fist into the wolf¡¯s head. But she had her feral instincts working on overdrive and she slipped the blow, diving forwards to sink her teeth into the seething, heaving graveyard of a ribcage that was the avatar¡¯s upper body, sink her teeth in and pin it down ¨C


    I¡¯d almost missed it.


    Almost missed watching Leafcloak die.


    It didn¡¯t quite happen instantaneously. The white fur turned brown, first, like she¡¯d been swimming in a dirty pond; then green, dripping and rotten, as though she¡¯d contracted a few thousand diseases while taking that swim ¨C


    Between one moment and the next, the light left her eyes.


    A dozen voices were crying out over the link, but I focussed my energies inwards.


    Avaelar! I yelled silently. Can she be saved?


    I knew what his answer would be before he gave it.


    She shuddered to her knees, the great wolf breaking in submission; her jaws stayed fixed to the avatar¡¯s chest.


    ¡°This,¡± the sylph said in a voice thick with shock, ¡°this you must know is beyond me, Feychilde.¡±


    I could feel his fear.


    I could feel Zel¡¯s elation as my eyes narrowed on the avatar.


    ¡°Do it.¡±


    Her words ringing in my inner ear ¨C old Leafcloak¡¯s canine death-face, fusing with the effigy ¨C my companions trapped in the wake of this reversal of fortunes, this resurgence of wights and wight-lords ¨C


    As I speared towards the effigy of Vaahn I summoned Gilaela into the air between me and the awful entity, joining with her and letting her disappear into me as the bubble vanishes when pierced by the dart ¨C


    There was no time to discuss it with her, what I wanted from her.


    There was no need to discuss it with her. She knew.


    I lowered my head and screwed my eyes shut as I sped, flying the fastest I could. I could feel my best circle-shield there, a multitude of stars reinforcing it, and I waited to feel it break as the horn did nothing, nothing at all to the revolting godling and I too collided with its decaying substances ¨C but I had to try, damn it ¨C


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    I felt it as I was knocked aside, not by the beast or even wind-wizardry but by a hammer of pure force.


    ¡°Wha da hell ah you doin¡¯?¡± Shallowlie practically screamed at me.


    She pursued me, pushing me farther from the fight, battering at me with her blue hammer ¨C behind her I could see the wizards throwing everything they had at the avatar, keeping it at bay.


    ¡°Kas, tock to me,¡± she cried above the mayhem. ¡°Pliz, Kas. I am so scare. I wan Ly¡­¡±


    I forced us to a halt. ¡°Min, it¡¯s ¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the only way.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the only way.¡±


    ¡°I saw what happened to Leafcloak.¡±


    ¡°I saw what happened to Leafcloak.¡±


    ¡°If it kills us, maybe we don¡¯t have to come back¡­¡±


    ¡°If it kills ¨C¡±


    I froze.


    Wait¡­ What, Zel?


    ¡°My dear, you are a morbid one, aren¡¯t you?¡± Gilaela commented. ¡°Whatever was your name, again? Zelurra?¡±


    ¡°That is correct,¡± Avaelar said softly.


    It was correct, but it almost kind of sounded slightly wrong, a bit. It sounded right, but when he said it was correct, he sounded wrong¡­


    Shallowlie repeated my last words, trying to prompt a response from me, but I was focussed on my most-trusted advisor.


    Zel?


    The faerie queen¡¯s voice was hard and regal but fragile, brittle, when she replied.


    ¡°I apologise. I lost my nerve, I know. We¡¯ll talk about it later. For now, let¡¯s just get through this, yes?¡±


    It was strange. I could¡¯ve sworn Zel had been excited, almost thrilled ¨C


    ¡°Forget what you could¡¯ve sworn!¡± she spat. ¡°Fight, champion! Lay waste the poor folk of Zadhal. I¡¯m gone.¡±


    And she was. I could feel her absence.


    Why was she filled with such sorrow, that she saw the shadow of a chance at complete annihilation as cause for hopefulness?


    The fairy needed my help. She¡¯d always been there for me, and now it would be my opportunity to return the favour. I considered calling her back, but I supposed I mustn¡¯t have been diametrically-opposed to the idea of her leaving if she, a bound eldritch, had chosen and managed to do so.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Min,¡± I murmured and, noticing the sorceress¡¯s posture, spread my arms. ¡°I don¡¯t quite know what I was doing.¡±


    She moved to me swiftly, clung to me. Briefly we held onto each other, floating away from the chaos, and I could feel the way she was trembling.


    No more than I was.


    I¡¯d get chance to talk to Zel later. Over Shallowlie¡¯s shoulder I could see that the changes in the avatar had run their course. Strands of tendon had pulled Leafcloak¡¯s tremendous corpse into place, and it now wore her like the garment of her namesake. Her lifeless head served like a grisly hood, speared by the black crown¡¯s protrusions through the underside of the chin so that the spikes emerged through the top of her snout.


    We went back to the battle. Our strongest weave was weaker than a highborn¡¯s toilet-paper under Vaahn¡¯s blows so I went back to using Gilaela¡¯s horn on the rank-and-file troops, smashing them into dust, only to watch them reassemble, grey, ashen versions of their former selves. The twenty-or-so deathknights had rejoined the fray and now they were virtually unstoppable, always recovering from whatever we did to put them down, their armour reshaping itself, their broken lances reappearing.


    Thousands of wights, climbing out of pools of magma and returning to the fight. Hundreds of eldritches to combat them, our forces slowly but inexorably being depleted as we marshalled them where Timesnatcher called for them. The manifestation of a dark god, wearing Mund¡¯s greatest arch-druid for a fur coat, running amok with elemental attacks streaming off its unholy body, threatening us to make a single mistake. More than once it came within seconds of getting me, getting each and every one of us. Belestae, Goddess of Fortune, must¡¯ve been backing our play.


    Then I spotted the small shape, almost impossible to perceive, flying about Vaahn¡¯s idol like a buzzing bee ¨C tiny gleaming stings in its hands.


    Dimdweller.


    Starsight and Timesnatcher were doing their best to keep everyone away from the avatar, but it was a holding measure at best, and Winterprince and Mountainslide wouldn¡¯t hold out forever; it didn¡¯t even look as though Dimdweller was doing it any harm. Whatever strings of fleshy matter the dwarf sliced through, they knotted again instantly, and every moment that he stayed in proximity with the creature he risked obliteration, even given his powers.


    He seemed to be annoying it, though. The sphere of skulls that was its head was trying futilely to follow the arch-diviner.


    ¡°How could anyone call this noble?¡± Glimmermere spat from somewhere, voice lathered in hate. ¡°He from whom all nobility springs? Liar! Murderer!¡±


    ¡°The ministry of the Prince of Chains accepts that the ankle and wrist soon to be bound are oft used in flight or resistance ere the locks are made fast,¡± Starsight offered grimly. ¡°I have had cause to deal with a number of his cultists in the past. Nobility remains ever their purpose, and thus they can never attain it. Such is granted; never gained.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not ending up like that,¡± Fangmoon breathed. ¡°No chains for me. I¡¯ll die first.¡±


    Where exactly they all were in this abominable purple mist, I was unsure, even when I flew thirty feet over the courtyard. I hadn¡¯t seen the silver-black tiger or huge snake in several minutes. I had to hope the enchanters and diviners had a good lock on everyone.


    ¡°What¡¯s with this clock tower, Timesnatcher?¡± I asked, skewering a dozen wights with my fingers splayed, stabbing out with a multitude of force-blades simultaneously. ¡°Did you mean the horn, or something?¡±


    ¡°No, the clock tower on the western edge. I don¡¯t know what it portends, but we have to be done with this by then.¡±


    ¡°What time will it ring?¡±


    ¡°I may hold things back sometimes, Feychilde, but I think I¡¯d let you know if I could see that. I can just hear them, that¡¯s all. Feedback from the future.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t we just ¨C¡°


    ¡°They ring when we try to destroy them.¡± A touch of exasperation was slipping into his mind-voice now.


    ¡°So ¨C what¡¯s our plan?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I think that¡¯s one of those things you¡¯d really rather wait and see.¡±


    I gritted my teeth. ¡°Not really, Timesnatcher! Is anyone else hearing this? I¡¯d think you¡¯d let us know what you can see when we have a god chasing us, I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Weren¡¯t you listening earlier? I said it¡¯s all in-hand. I didn¡¯t understand until I saw the statue come alive, but I¡¯ve explored it fully now. What she said makes no sense any other way.¡±


    ¡®She¡¯? Lightblind? I hadn¡¯t been listening, I supposed, while I was trying to get myself soul-destroyed at the behest of my suicidal fairy-minion.


    The more I thought about that, the more it called out to me that I had to do something about it ¨C but I couldn¡¯t afford any more distractions.


    ¡°The lad has a point,¡± Glancefall said. ¡°I know I¡¯d prefer to know what you¡¯ve got up your sleeve. After Leafcloak¡­¡±


    ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I said firmly. ¡°Timesnatcher, where¡¯s this Green Tower?¡±


    ¡°What are you proposing?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± I didn¡¯t quite know myself.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stop now,¡± Gilaela prodded me.


    ¡°Indeed, you are right, Feychilde,¡± Avaelar said. ¡°We should away from this place.¡±


    ¡°I think someone should investigate it.¡± I didn¡¯t sound particularly confident. ¡°It might be a weapon ¨C¡°


    ¡°Someone being you,¡± Winterprince mind-spoke, voice as cold as everything else about him. ¡°Not trying to run, are you, boy?¡±


    ¡°Grow up,¡± I snarled. ¡°Someone. The death-lord is gone, and with him our best chance of finding Shadowcloud¡­ And Direcrown.¡±


    Fangmoon gave an emotionless ¡®hah¡¯, a placeholder for psychic amusement. But her voice was numb, no actual amusement in it.


    Leafcloak was dead. Perhaps it was too early for me to joke about losing the arch-sorcerer. He was a champion, technically, even if he was a darkmage. But I was fairly sure that he would¡¯ve fled at the first opportunity, unlike Shadowcloud.


    I shook my head ¨C I had to focus. ¡°For all we know this Green Tower¡¯s significant. Maybe there¡¯s a clue in there, or something ¨C¡°


    ¡°For all we know, it¡¯s insignificant,¡± Winterprince retorted instantly. ¡°We know the statue¡¯s responsible for Zadhal, now ¨C we just watched it raise these all back from dropping dust and if you deny ¨C¡°


    ¡°We know nothing of the sort!¡± I interrupted him. ¡°I do deny it! This is a catastrophe, but it¡¯s clearly a special circumstance. You¡¯ve seen the edges ¨C the streets aren¡¯t filled with this purple mist, are they? The wights seemed as surprised as us when the statue woke up, didn¡¯t they?¡±


    I felt I was arguing with a brick wall ¨C an ice wall ¨C and getting precisely nowhere when Glancefall spoke up in defence of me.


    Then Fang, and Spirit.


    ¡°I don¡¯t work for any of you,¡± I muttered. ¡°Spirit, just point me in the right direction¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡± Timesnatcher finally spoke again. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, Feychilde. I can¡¯t see what you¡¯re going into. That alone makes it an interesting factor. You¡¯ve got my curiosity piqued, and it¡¯s an unusual sensation.¡±


    ¡°Tell you what ¨C when I get back, I¡¯ll tell you what I found, if you tell me how you plan to defeat a living embodiment of Tyranny¡­¡±


    The arch-diviner chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ll take that deal. It¡¯s not far ¨C the link will stay up, so we can do a trade, if you can get in. But I can¡¯t let you go alone.¡±


    Without missing a beat, the cold response came:


    ¡°I will go.¡±


    * * *

 Dread Vaahn pt4

    I gave orders to my eldritches to follow Shallowlie¡¯s commands in my absence. Then I got turned around twice in making my way through the sea of wights to the southern edge of the courtyard, where Winterprince was floating. He was busy directing a beam of white flame into the face of the avatar from the tip of his unmelting ice-sword, pushing it off-balance while Dimdweller¡¯s blades flashed about its lower segments.


    ¡°You coming?¡± I yelled aloud to him.


    He continued to keep up the pressure on the godling for a few more seconds, soaring in silence, ignoring me ¨C then Mountainslide was in place, hitting it in the upper body with a slew of different attacks, and Winterprince reluctantly lowered his sword.


    Then the arch-wizard was gone, darting ahead of me on the path the enchanters had supplied, whizzing between the towers so quickly I was hard-pressed to keep up, even with the fey wings augmenting my speed. Behind us, the purple mists swiftly receded; when I glanced back I could see the clouds there, barely stirring at the borders, lying like a huge, putrid mould upon the city.


    ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯re doing,¡± the wizard snapped over his shoulder at me.


    I don¡¯t, I wanted to reply. I¡¯d never seen a giant ball of green energy before ¨C who had? ¨C but I had to try. The only thing I¡¯d experienced which sounded similar was the Autumn Door; as much as I wanted this green orb to fall within my areas of knowledge, I hoped it wasn¡¯t anything like as bad on my head as the Doors had been. Perhaps it wasn¡¯t even sorcerous in nature; I was pretty certain a druidic implement might give off a green glow, and ¨C


    And then we came in sight of it, the Green Tower. I didn¡¯t hold out much hope the sphere was a druidic invention once I saw it.


    The tower was around two hundred feet tall: quite impressive, one of Zadhal¡¯s tallest. It could¡¯ve served as a minor college-building in Mund, or a guildhall. It was a broad, four-sided building, constructed from large black bricks. The top fifty-or-so feet looked to be a single floor, given that its sides were open as though huge windows had once stood there, now lost to time. That uppermost section was illuminated from within by a fierce emerald light that, had it been night, would¡¯ve shone like a beacon clear across the city.


    With my sorcerer¡¯s-eye I could see the wild, tangled lines of faint green force, like otherworld seams bursting out, webs flailing and flopping in a patternless array all around those upper floors.


    Zel would¡¯ve been really handy right about now.


    Even more disconcerting, bones were piled at the base of the tower so that they made a kind of pyramid about it, reaching three or four storeys up. The pile must¡¯ve been made up of the remains of thousands, barely hemmed-in by the surrounding buildings, completely engulfing what should¡¯ve been a fair-sized strip of empty land around it the tower.


    ¡°Timesnatcher, why did no one dare approach it, exactly?¡± I said.


    ¡°Why do you ask?¡± he replied. He couldn¡¯t mask his tiredness, the grief into which his nervousness had transformed.


    Before I could respond I noticed that Winterprince had halted ahead of me, freezing in the air, and I slowed as I approached him. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d have thought the blank slate of ice looked anxious.


    ¡°The bones you mentioned ¨C they¡¯re here.¡± The wizard¡¯s voice was low, so low it was hard to catch amongst the smattering of other instructions and exclamations being uttered over the link. ¡°They¡¯re dormant.¡±


    ¡°Dormant?¡± I didn¡¯t want to know the answer, really, but I had to know, I supposed.


    ¡°The previous expeditions only got to this district twice,¡± Timesnatcher said. ¡°Both times, the Green Tower was surrounded in what witnesses described as a ¡®bony shell¡¯. It appears that these bones you see may move over the building¡¯s surfaces sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Maybe Belestae really does have our backs¡­¡± I mused. ¡°Is it because we¡¯re flying, or because we¡¯re invisible, or something?¡±


    ¡°Usually it¡¯s ¡®or something¡¯, but I don¡¯t think it matters,¡± the arch-diviner answered.


    ¡°We can proceed?¡± Winterprince asked.


    Yes, he was definitely coming across as anxious.


    ¡°You have Father Time¡¯s permission,¡± Timesnatcher said wryly.


    Winterprince grated out an expletive, aloud so that our leader wouldn¡¯t hear, then sped off, at the front again. I could barely wrap shields around him.


    It was a good job I could, because as we gained a sickening degree of elevation and drew ever-closer to the walls of the tower, it responded to our presence the only way it knew how.


    I felt like sighing. It was just one thing after another today.


    The bones reacted the way mist in a mistball reacted when you shook it. The motions weren¡¯t just fast; they were practically instantaneous. Yellowy, spell-bound bones took to the air, whipping at us with the speed (if not the sharpness) of a hail of arrows. Hundreds of human skulls, femurs, spinal cords, all the other bits my rudimentary knowledge of medical terms didn¡¯t stretch to ¨C they hid the Green Tower from view, rising up before us, above us, behind and below us all at once ¨C


    But I did have my shields around him.


    He halted and allowed me to catch up when he realised we were floating together inside a bubble of, as it would appear to him, invisible force. The white light of the sky was fragmented, almost entirely occluded by the unliving cocoon of bones into which we had plunged.


    ¡°Can you clear these?¡± I cried.


    Winterprince floated in silence for several seconds, long enough that I thought he hadn¡¯t heard me. Just as I was about to ask again, the gust of wind struck.


    All the bones on one side of the shield were smashed aside ¨C the white light of the sky once more fell upon us ¨C and then within an instant we were surrounded again as the gale went by.


    ¡°Great,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Can you do better?¡±


    I shook my head. I shouldn¡¯t have said anything, should¡¯ve kept my grumblings to myself. I hadn¡¯t meant to make it sound like I was criticising him.


    Of course, there was a chance I could do better¡­


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    I brought up a double-line of spikes down the shield¡¯s swell, two thin columns of force-blades that stretched from pole to pole. Then with a single motion I sent both columns out in twin waves, screeching around the shield in opposite directions.


    The force-blades did little damage to the actual bones themselves ¨C whatever ¡®ill-will¡¯ was present in the Green Tower¡¯s defence-system, it only barely seemed to count. But that didn¡¯t stop them sweeping the bones aside, clearing them all off into the air ¨C


    For a brief instant we floated free, while huge segments of bone soared about us, flecks in the mistball ¨C


    We saw what had happened to the tower, a single flash of understanding before the bone-storm closed in again.


    The tower ¨C it was covered in them, wearing the stuff as though it were armour. There didn¡¯t appear to be a single crack through which we might fly.


    After the spellbound bones closed in once more, I said, ¡°Can¡¯t we get in underneath?¡±


    The cold response: ¡°Can¡¯t you go through them?¡±


    I considered it. ¡°Move forwards,¡± I suggested.


    Gradually we advanced, and I brought the edge of my shields into contact with the tower¡¯s undead shell.


    No.


    When I pushed, I damaged my shield, nothing more. The bone wasn¡¯t going to give way like that.


    ¡°It¡¯s not having it,¡± I reported. ¡°You want to try?¡±


    ¡°This was your idea,¡± he grated, seeming surprisingly reticent to step up. ¡°You should¡¯ve stayed, sent Shallowlie.¡±


    I resented the implication. Did he think Shallowlie¡¯s barriers were more powerful than mine? She seemed very quick off the mark, but I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d ever displayed stronger work than I had.


    Not that he was to know that, I supposed. Not like he was there when I¡¯d saved half of dropping Firenight Square while he sauntered about¡­


    I halted the thought. Em had been ¡®sauntering about¡¯ too that evening, and I wasn¡¯t thinking badly of her for it¡­


    Em. For a few moments, I remembered the touch of her hands, the smell of her hair. Home, my brother and sister, my extended family ¨C the place I wanted to be, the people I wanted to be with.


    But not so badly that I¡¯d give up this.


    ¡°There might be another option,¡± I said. ¡°Fancy distracting it? I might be able to go through, but I won¡¯t be able to take you with me.¡±


    ¡°So long as you don¡¯t run,¡± the icy head snapped out the words.


    It was with some trepidation that I brought my wraith into the shielded space.


    ¡°What did you just do?¡± the wizard demanded.


    ¡°You can feel it?¡±


    ¡°You expected me not to?¡±


    I shrugged. The wraith was almost invisible even to me, a mere shadow of a presence.


    ¡°Feels different to a ghost.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because it is.¡± I held out my hand, beckoning, and the shadow-man came to my fingertips.


    It would be the easiest to join with. It was transparent, insubstantial¡­


    It didn¡¯t matter what I told myself, I still couldn¡¯t join with it. Six at the same time was still beyond me.


    Without a touch of regret I ejected Zabalam and sent him home; I hardly had much use for him in a place like this anyway.


    The ice elemental was just hanging in the air, watching me as I worked.


    Now when I held out my fingers to the wraith it could come, it could enter, and I took its lack of substance into myself, felt myself reflect its abnormal nature.


    Howling. Such tortured, aimless howling filled my mind that for a moment I couldn¡¯t even feel, never mind see or hear or think.


    ¡°¨C they slew us! but he wore two shoes! I remember them! two shoes on two feet and I was there! and I had flesh and I had blood and I could pick him up and put him on my shoulders! and now everything would be okay if I just had blood! if I just had flesh like yours! but they slew us and then he was gone! when he wore two shoes ¨C¡°


    Silence!


    The sudden cessation of the sounds was almost as relieving as moving away from the Winter Door had been. I could feel Gilaela and Avaelar¡¯s disgust subsiding.


    And I could feel something else ¨C or rather, couldn¡¯t feel things I normally could.


    I held up my hand in front of my face and I could see through my ever-so-slightly purple-tinted flesh.


    I could see the tower¡­ through my palm.


    ¡°That might just do it,¡± Winterprince grated in a condescending, irritated ¨C irritating ¨C voice. ¡°I¡¯ll fly that way,¡± he pointed to our left, ¡°and I¡¯ll fly fast. My armour will protect me.¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ll put extra shields on you,¡± I said. I thought about the bony shell surrounding the tower, preventing entry via any ordinary means; the last thing I wanted was Winterprince dying and the rest of the bones coming back, making my job that much harder. ¡°Don¡¯t you go running away, though, eh?¡±


    He tossed his head, facing away from me, and then he was gone, flashing towards the edge of the shield I held about myself. As he went, a blue blur, he bore away his own faint blue circle-and-star formation that I could feel tapping my internal reservoir of strength.


    Worth it, I decided, as the moment he left my unmoving barriers the bones poured themselves all over him, pressing in at the smaller, mobile shield that ringed him round.


    I was left alone in the rain of skeleton-parts. I quickly soared upwards towards the Green Tower¡¯s peak ¨C


    The sensation of my stomach dropping, dropping out of me to the floor far below, was suddenly diminished. I didn¡¯t feel like I was going to fall again.


    Marvelling at this new freedom, I stretched exuberantly through the air. My arms and legs felt twice their normal length even though there was no change in my actual proportions. My body itself seemed to be like a purple-green shadow, sailing on the wind far more easily than ever before; it appeared that after merging with the wraith my sylph-wings had become very sensitive, powerful, while the wizardry-flight weakened, went a bit sluggish.


    Even still, it was definitely worth it for the fact I could fly higher without feeling sick, without swooning. That was something Zel hadn¡¯t been able to achieve¡­


    I saw the green radiance of spell-threads shining through the bones above me, and knew I had to be close.


    I briefly considered dropping my shields and testing my new form on the skeletal storm, finding out whether I could let the missiles pass through me ¨C but I decided I couldn¡¯t risk it. Better to arrive safely in the right area then test it directly against the tower, with my shields still about me. If I was wrong, I could be clobbered to death in a matter of seconds, and my remains would go to join the storm eventually. It wasn¡¯t like I could trust Winterprince to retrieve my corpse.


    At last my barriers pushed aside the loose bones surrounding the tower¡¯s highest floor, leaving only the armour in which it was clad; it was preventing the green light from getting out, but it didn¡¯t stop the loose lines of emerald power from protruding through the bone, waving wildly and simmering on the cold air. The lines were eldritch runes stringed together into coils, their luminosity plain to my sorcerous vision, stretching through my shields with no visible reaction.


    I positioned myself and my shields carefully, judging the height from the roof down: ideally I wanted to pass through the bone-armour in the right spot so that I could enter through one of the vast, empty windowpanes. Too low and I¡¯d have to traverse the interior of the tower ¨C and who knew what was in there?


    I reached the right spot, then I experimented with a single foot; I didn¡¯t particularly want to touch the bones with my bare hand.


    It was like pushing my foot into very cold, very still water. A vertical sheet of cold, still water.


    I wasn¡¯t exactly comfortable doing this ¨C it was no different to plunging a limb into a pool, a body of liquid so dark and murky you couldn¡¯t see anything below the top inch. Some smarmy, all-knowing part of you expected to not get the limb back, and insisted on whispering about the inevitability of it constantly.


    It¡¯s like acid! You¡¯ll push deeper into it and suddenly you¡¯ll burn! You¡¯ll never be rid of the pain of it!


    I ignored my metaphorical inner demons and slowly, I pressed forward ¨C my shin was in, the insubstantial skin responding by turning to goose-flesh ¨C then my knee, my upper thigh ¨C and then my foot was out the other side.


    To the Hells with it, I cursed, and screwed my eyes shut as I flapped my wings in a single, powerful beat.


    I passed through the chilling curtain of undead matter where it had covered the glassless window, and didn¡¯t open my eyes or mouth until I was through, in the musty green air.


    I could barely even open my eyes again, the brilliance of this sphere was so great, and I didn¡¯t have Zel on board to adjust the parameters of my vision for me. This room was indeed a vast, black-pillared chamber, five storeys high. Barely-contained within the bounds of the columns and revolving clockwise at a fearsome speed was a huge, coruscating ball of white-green plasma.


    A dozen lines of runic energy were passing right through me every second, moving on and being replaced by others as the sphere turned, hovering on the spot several feet above the ground ¨C it was hard to tell exactly how high from up here near the ceiling.


    I wobbled a little, and was just about to descend towards the floor and reactivate my shields when ¨C


    ¡°I wondered how long you would dally before joining me here,¡± Direcrown said, stepping around the sphere and looking up at me. There was just a hint of amusement in his voice as he waved a hand and continued, ¡°Come, young man. There is much for you and I to discuss.¡±

 An Apprenticeship pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 5C: AN APPRENTICESHIP</h2>


    ¡°It is not enough to have a fertile imagination. There is no fire in the tinder of the mind. There must be the seed. The spark that catches. It must come from outside and it must be tended. It must be watered and fed. It must be coaxed into being. There is no idea in isolation. There is no being out of nothing. To create it always takes two and the creation is in constant tension between its progenitor and its progeny. That which preceded it and that which superseded it. Only the strongest creations persist as templates in spite of the successive regenerations which would attempt to replace them.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Mortal as Material¡¯, ch. 21


    30th Kailost, 997 NE


    ¡°Please, take a seat, Mr. Wyle¡­¡±


    The brown-haired boy steepled his fingers, lounging back in his huge leather chair on the other side of the table. Harukar did his best to maintain a graceful manner while sitting down in the (far-less-grandiose) chair on his side of the table, and noticed the faint smile on the boy¡¯s face.


    ¡°What brings you here? I asked for men of character to submit their applications. I appreciate your keen ability to emulate your betters, but I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Please, m¡¯lord, allow me first to express my gratitude that you have been willing to accept my submission,¡± Harukar had chosen his words carefully, along with the accent, ¡°and my apologies that I dare interrupt you ¨C when you make such pertinent inquiry into my arrival at your magnificent abode today. Gods willing, if you should allow me to make my case, I will then leave to your good judgement what punishment or reward I might deserve.¡±


    The faint smile on the boy¡¯s face had deepened, and for a moment Harukar thought he¡¯d been successful; then the boy spoke.


    ¡°Your flattery is well-designed, but perhaps a touch overwrought.¡± The smile didn¡¯t leave the youthful face, however. ¡°I take it in my considerable stride. Make your case, Mr. Wyle, and make it well.¡±


    Harukar drew in a deep breath. The boy-man sitting across from him, the young Lord Shadow, represented everything he¡¯d always wanted to be. Now here he was, twice the kid¡¯s age and then some, basically abasing himself before this icon of nobility for a chance, a shred of a chance to be something like him.


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    So he spoke. He spoke of his ambition and he knew it lit up his eyes; he felt himself flush as the excitement built. He spoke of his needs, his craving, his obsession.


    He went off-script. He spoke from the heart.


    The black, empty heart.


    Something in what he said struck the right chord, made the same light take hold in the boy¡¯s eyes.


    Harukar was shaking as he finished, and closed his eyes, enduring the painful silence as one endures the fall of the headsman¡¯s axe.


    When the young lord¡¯s words fell he shuddered.


    ¡°We begin tomorrow night.¡±


    * * *


    8th Lynara, 997 NE


    The same nightmare. The same faces. The same screaming.


    Harukar awoke, panting, pulling at the sweat-sodden bedsheets, his hair that stuck to his head. Yathira stirred, and saw him through half-closed eyes.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, dear?¡± she murmured sleepily.


    He could hardly stand the concern in her voice.


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°You smell of wine again.¡±


    Why is she intruding?


    ¡°Leave me alone,¡± he snarled.


    She frowned, then rolled over and went back to sleep.


    He stayed awake, waiting for the dawn, for the day of toil to begin. If he wanted profits from his day¡¯s work, he had to work himself hard, and he would do it, knowing all the while that it was coming.


    Dusk. The evening of slaughter, ready to be resumed.


    He could take off the bracelet Lyferin made him wear, take it off and take Yathira and run. Run far from Mund, run until they were broke. And maybe even then it wouldn¡¯t be fast enough, far enough, to escape the Lord Shadow¡¯s wrath.


    No.


    He¡¯d exposed his soul to the young lord. He¡¯d never taken money from Lyferin ¨C it would be beneath his lordship to offer such a banal gesture of generosity, and improper for a man of Harukar¡¯s station to accept ¨C but nonetheless he¡¯d forged a bond there. He¡¯d submitted, and sworn fealty. He¡¯d accepted a spell binding him to silence.


    This was everything I ever wanted, he reminded himself. He¡¯s going to bring me prestige. He promised it. It will be mine. If I just do what he says, it will be mine.


    But why? he questioned. Why? Why does he make me kill? And what does he do with all the bodies? Who does he trust to clean those up, night after night?


    So, so many bodies¡­


    And then it occurred to him, for the first time: Where does he even find these lost souls?


    It didn¡¯t matter that he didn¡¯t go back to sleep. He saw the faces now with his waking eyes, in the corners of the bedroom. They never moved ¨C they weren¡¯t real ghosts. But they were there all the same. He saw them, and they saw him.


    No. There was no going back.


    * * *

 An Apprenticeship pt2

    1st Orovost, 997 NE


    ¡°I want to thank you, Mr. Wyle, for your ongoing cooperation.¡± Lyferin¡¯s dark smile never changed, not since their first meeting. ¡°Tonight, we¡¯re going to try something else. I think I have it narrowed down at last.¡± The cryptic words were only compounded by the fact that the lord brought forth a cushion from the large drawer in the side of his table. ¡°You are going to use this.¡±


    Harukar used it, three times that night.


    He couldn¡¯t see the faces with the pillow pressed down over their mouths, their noses. He could imagine it was just a pair of disembodied arms, frantically waving, scratching at him, pulling at his wrists.


    But these were waifs, stringy street-creatures. Harukar wasn¡¯t particularly well-built but he was tall, and he was strong enough to keep the pressure on until those arms were de-animated, falling down to flop lifelessly on the couch.


    For the first time since he¡¯d met the Lord Lyferin Othelroe, he saw a frown on the boy¡¯s face when he left the mansion at ten.


    Did I do wrong? he fretted on the way home. What did I do wrong?


    But there was no answer. Nothing made sense. Nothing but the three new faces he¡¯d be seeing tonight.


    ¡°Are you quite certain you¡¯re alright?¡± Yathira asked him when he arrived home, standing by as the servants produced his late supper. She¡¯d gotten into the habit of staying up for him to return and it was annoying. ¡°This lord isn¡¯t overworking you, is he? If you look ¨C¡°


    ¡°Enough questions,¡± he said. ¡°Enough comments. Is the food hot?¡±


    Yathira sighed, and nodded. She knew he could see the steam coming off it. She knew what he wanted from her. Once they finished serving the meal she wordlessly retreated with them and headed up the main staircase to the bedroom, leaving him in solitude.


    Leaving him to enjoy his meal in peace in the only company he cared to keep these days; that of the ever-watchful eyes, the ghosts of his imagination, the shadows cast by his soul against the dim canvas of the world.


    * * *


    6th Orovost, 997 NE


    The same nightmare, only real. The same faces, only hidden. The same screams, only stifled.


    He pressed down with the pillow, again and again and again, and still the arms wouldn¡¯t stop, scratching him, clawing at his face, marring him horribly ¨C this one was stronger than the others, and he wept as he strained with all his might to squeeze the life from his victim, because he knew ¨C


    Realisation and awakening happened simultaneously, or were mixed together as wine with water, inseparable.


    He awoke, and he killed his wife of nineteen years, at same time. The nightmare became real or reality became the nightmare ¨C he couldn¡¯t tell which was which anymore. They bled into one another so that he didn¡¯t come fully to his senses until the very instant she went limp.


    For an indistinct length of time there was only Yathira¡¯s body, her face beneath the cushion. While he sat there rocking back and forth, her face covered, he could pretend it wasn¡¯t real, pretend he hadn¡¯t just ¨C


    His hand snatched out of its own own accord, disturbing the cushion, and his mouth loosed a sharp yelp of terror; he stared at the guilty arm as if he could disown it, detach it with mere will. He jerked his hand back and wrapped his faithful hand about its wrist, holding the traitor down.


    No. No, it was too late. There was no going back.


    She was dead.


    The memory came to him, from over two decades ago: the two of them sitting on the bed, giggling, trading jokes and kisses, mastering their fortify skills late into the night¡­


    Now she was dead.


    But he didn¡¯t have to move the cushion himself. The unconscious thought activated her and she did it for him, moving it with a sweep of her arm, sitting up with a terrible dynamism in her motion.


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    The dead face. The glittering eyes. The chalk skin.


    She looked at her hands, and horror struck her features. A croaking breath came out of her lungs from some dark plane.


    ¡°What ¨C did ¨C you ¨C do?¡± She looked back up at him and he winced, turned his face aside. ¡°My ¨C dear ¨C I ¨C¡±


    He¡¯d killed her, but he wouldn¡¯t be rid of her so easily.


    He fought to thrust his feet into his boots in the doorway as he ran, ran to Lyferin¡¯s house, at two in the morning. It was still raining out but he ran, and she chased him down the secluded forest routes, purple eyes staring ahead at him, her eyes and bedrobe gleaming in the night, saying nothing, only chasing him, always chasing him. She didn¡¯t modify her pace for changes in terrain, and loped easily despite being barefoot, while he had trouble keeping his footing on the weed-tangled paths.


    She could¡¯ve caught him, but she didn¡¯t. She acted like it was a game.


    He met no one ¨C nothing that could help him. Owls hooted and bats squeaked. He tore his own bedrobe on the brambles, but even with his backside bared he would¡¯ve still welcomed the sight of a stranger, someone who could tell him what to do¡­


    When he reached the mansion he banged at the door, banged, banged, please be there, please ¨C she was following, she was close ¨C the Lord Shadow had an actual doorman at the main entrance, twenty-four hours a day, and he should be there ¨C he should¡¯ve opened this gods-damned door already!


    The startled-looking man was quick-thinking enough to pull Harukar inside and slam the door behind him, turning the locks, putting two inches of solid oak in the way of the menacing undead woman prowling in his wake ¨C


    She tried the handle, and there was a distinct clunk-sound, the sound of the handle being torn off ¨C the doorman squealed in response.


    She knocked, rapping with her knuckles softly, so that the door merely shook in its hinges.


    ¡°Harukar ¨C M-Master!¡± she moaned through the barrier. ¡°Are ¨C you ¨C alright ¨C my ¨C dear?¡±


    ¡°What did ¨C what do I do?¡± Harukar gasped, clutching the doorman¡¯s lapels as they stumbled together towards the stairs, his soaked bedrobe making him slip when he accidentally caught his foot inside the torn flap of fabric. ¡°What can I do?¡±


    Pale fingers came like moonbeams piercing through the wooden door.


    She was clawing her way in.


    The doorman had turned as white as Yathira, but his eyes were mercifully brown in the dimness of the candlelit foyer; his strong hands took Harukar by the shoulders and tried to peel the two of them apart.


    ¡°Sir, sir please!¡± the doorman shrieked. ¡°What is that thing?¡±


    Then everything changed.


    A champion came walking down the steps from the upper floor, the one called Redgate. Scarlet robes. Face of a spider. A nonchalance to his posture, every motion looking relaxed.


    Harukar watched in utter absorption as the champion approached ¨C the doorman too seemed to have been paralysed in awe.


    He still didn¡¯t understand when Redgate removed the dreadful mask, and Lyferin¡¯s dark smile was there beneath. His first instinct was to assume that Lyferin was dressing-up as the champion for whatever reason, but then ¨C


    Then he could see it. The aura of power burning away in the air about the young lord ¨C the blue lines¡­


    He stared, fascinated.


    ¡°You¡¯re Redgate, m¡¯lord!¡± the doorman cried, for whatever reason making it sound like he was trying to inform Lyferin of a fact that had until now somehow been hidden from him.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Chalvers,¡± Lyferin said in a bored voice, ¡°but I¡¯ll no longer be needing your services.¡±


    A ruby-red dagger was in the Lord Shadow¡¯s hand, and then it was buried in the underside of the doorman¡¯s chin, piercing his brain.


    Harukar had seen so much unceremonious murder lately, was under so much pressure from the failure of his poor wife to simply die, that he couldn¡¯t really react to the sudden, brutal attack; other than to note the feeling of fellowship that thrummed right through him.


    Lyferin kills with his own hands, just like me!


    The young lord waggled the blade around a little then withdrew it, unleashing a torrent of blood, letting Chalvers¡¯s body drop to the carpet.


    ¡°So, Mr. Wyle, you finally did it,¡± Lyferin said, wiping his dagger on the corpse¡¯s clothes and then stowing it again inside his sleeve. ¡°And another sorcerer too; interesting. Your wife, I presume? Very interesting.¡± He turned to regard the creature just about to successfully tear through the door, and spoke glibly, ¡°A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my love.¡±


    The language ¨C the words ¨C he hadn¡¯t even realised until now, hearing Lyferin speak to his undead wife, that the things she¡¯d said weren¡¯t in Mundic, weren¡¯t even in a tongue from this dimension ¨C


    ¡°But ¨C m¡¯lord ¨C¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that anymore. Not when I¡¯m dressed like this. I am Redgate. You will have your own name. You have your own power, now.¡±


    ¡°My ¨C my own power?¡±


    Lyferin sighed. ¡°It¡¯s what I promised you, is it not? What did you think we were doing all this time? You answered my question for me, and now I¡¯m going to show you how to be a champion in return, Mr. Wyle.¡± The lord smiled again, sympathetically this time. ¡°Get your lovely soon-to-be-ghoul to stop wrecking the place, there¡¯s a good chap, then follow me downstairs. We¡¯ll acquire you a rhimbelkina, discuss our plans.¡±


    The champion moved to follow the corridor behind the stairs, and Harukar blinked rapidly as Chalvers¡¯s body hoisted itself up, dragging itself like a wounded dog across the fine rugs after the red-robed archmage.


    ¡°Now,¡± Redgate said without turning, ¡°at last, the real work can begin.¡±


    * * *

 An Apprenticeship pt3

    11th Chraunost, 998 NE


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    Lyferin¡¯s timing had been almost perfect. Redgate and Direcrown arrived in Blackbranch just as the magisters died, just as the threat was about to spill over the defences and into the still-fleeing populace. Descending from the sky, the pair of arch-sorcerers had fought back-to-back, shields overlapping. Their demonic forces went to war with those of the Incursion, and each of them filled out their ranks, hand-picking new demons to bring under their sway. Hellbane was nowhere to be seen. It was just the two of them.


    Yesterday afternoon was glorious. He would remember it for the rest of his life.


    The laughter of the demons turning to yells of dismay as he moved alone to block them. The elated cheers of the crowd behind him as Harukar stood in the entrance to the bank, using his wyvarlinact claws to tear through dozens of fiends, halting the flood before they breached the interior. (He¡¯d never been able to get the eldritch wings to work like Lyferin had, but the claws were like five red, hooked swords that cut through most hellsteel as though it were satin. A fair trade, in his eyes; he had alternate, if less effective, means of flight.) The looks in the eyes of the children who came running out to safety once he¡¯d cleared the steps of hellspawn¡­


    Yathira had been barren, or perhaps it was just that his seed had always been soulless, even back then, before he¡¯d lost for good whatever claim to heaven he¡¯d once possessed. Either way, they had never been blessed with children. Few family members were left alive to them, all older than them. No heirs to inherit the business. No future.


    Seeing the gratitude in the eyes of the children ¨C that was the real reason to do this, supposedly, and yesterday more than any other day he¡¯d almost been a believer.


    If they¡¯d arrived thirty seconds earlier, they might¡¯ve been able to save the magisters too. But Lyferin wouldn¡¯t have wanted that, Harukar knew. To the Lord Shadow, it was all about the reputation, the accolades ¨C and Harukar had never known him to be wrong before. The people would remember this: the rescue on the cusp of imminent death; the (not just last-minute but last-second) arrival of two of the most potent archmages in the city. Champions attending to protect them, ward off the dangers that came from the dark realms, cast back the fetid swarms of the lower planes ¨C this was how it would be recorded by the news-writers, repeated by the town-criers.


    He¡¯d had the best night¡¯s sleep after that ¨C as usual, his cold bedfellow kept to herself. At least she followed commands now, so long as she was well-fed.


    This morning he¡¯d headed into town to pick up some supplies: a regenerative salve for the red rash under his left arm; a new ledger he¡¯d had his eye on for the last week, the covers made from the soft leather of basilisk-hatchling skin.


    He headed into town, and not once did he hear his name mentioned.


    He was shopping within a five minute walk of Blackbranch Square, and even here the criers didn¡¯t seem to have any idea he¡¯d saved all their lives yesterday.


    But Lyferin? Lyferin, who¡¯d been a champion longer, who was more famous, more appealing, more powerful¡­


    Harukar returned home and slammed the door so hard the wood splintered somewhere in the frame. The only living human in the house beside himself, the hypnotised, emaciated doorman standing blank-faced in the hallway, didn¡¯t even react.


    ¡°¡®Hail Redgate, Defender of Blackbranch!¡¯ cry the criers!¡± he spat, moving deeper into the house. ¡°Do you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master,¡± came the chorus of responses from rooms all around the house, some in Netheric. His servants, his wife.


    He entered the drawing room, and carefully placed the bag containing his new ledger down on the couch before he unleashed his anger on his demiskin instead, hurling it to the rug and kicking it into the corner. Since it was functionally impervious to harm, this was altogether unsatisfying.


    He knew exactly what it was he needed to do to restore the balance.


    As morning became afternoon and afternoon became evening, he finished his third bottle of Onlorian red and his second street-urchin. Finally his senses were starting to dull. He was starting to forget the hurt, the sting of betrayal.


    Nothing was what it was supposed to be. There was none of the prestige. Nothing to fill the emptiness inside. No tourniquets could be used to reassemble a heart so shattered by this wild vicissitude, from his prior mundane life to this perpetual magical nightmare.


    In forgetting the hurt, the anger was tempered, cooled to a steel blade.


    Redgate. I will encompass your death, my young teacher, my young fool. You may have bound me to silence to save your ears from the truth but you made me into what I am and, one day, I promise, I will unmake you.


    * * *


    28th Orovost, 998 NE


    He usually had no trouble sleeping after an Incursion, but this time he¡¯d spent less of the evening at the side of his mentor than was typical. It had been nice to follow his own initiative, play the part of rescuer and hero uncontested; however, avoiding Redgate came with its own risks. What if the young lord had noticed his absence, chose to quiz him over it? They¡¯d often fought as a duo throughout the three Incursions Harukar had attended until tonight ¨C this was the first time Harukar had done his own thing, and now he felt conflicted over it.


    He sat in the darkness of the drawing room, simple darkness doing nothing to impede his vision. The faces in the shadows that had once been his imagination were now all too real, purple eyes upon him, waiting on his stirring, his command. But he needed nothing save his wine-glass, and he¡¯d set a whole crate of bottles on the couch beside him. He wouldn¡¯t have to move for hours.


    He wasn¡¯t alone, but he felt that he was. Alone, adrift. A fiend in a man¡¯s skin. A betrayer, a murderer.


    Am I not hell-bound? he asked himself. Am I not already fated to take that journey into Infernum a final time, with no way back? To become the plaything of the very demons I can now summon?


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    The two glass-set doors that let onto the gardens were flung open suddenly, and a cold wind carried leaves into the room.


    Harukar didn¡¯t spring to his feet in alarm. He was no longer wearing his champion¡¯s attire, but his shields were already active, created and fortified long before he started in on the wine. His wights were poised to defend him; even if they weren¡¯t capable of slaying most fiends one-on-one, there were several of them right here with him. If one of the hellspawn that¡¯d escaped the clean-up crews had fled the magisters into this house, it had made a fatal mistake¡­


    But it was no demon. It was several, trapped in an archmage¡¯s body.


    Redgate floated in through the open doors, and the wind died down.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Harukar said dryly. ¡°Would you like a glass?¡±


    Lyferin settled to the floor beside the brandy decanter and poured himself a treble helping. He stood still, staring down into the crystal tumbler half-filled with the potent alcohol.


    Harukar braced himself for the deluge of questions. He didn¡¯t even fully understand the enchantment to which he¡¯d voluntarily submitted, all those months ago, that had silenced his tongue where Lyferin and his identity were concerned. It had been a vow so swiftly offered¡­


    Might I even refuse to answer him when he asks?


    The softly-spoken words were not what he¡¯d expected. The subtle near-exultation of Lyferin¡¯s tone.


    ¡°Dustbringer is dead.¡±


    Harukar¡¯s eyes widened.


    That means Redgate is made the longest-serving arch-sorcerer in the city, he realised.


    ¡°How?¡± He managed to keep the choking-sound from his voice.


    ¡°It described itself as a ¡®Daughter of the Sinphalamax¡¯,¡± Lyferin said, removing his spider-mask and sipping at his liquor. ¡°I suspect by this it was something called eolastyr, a Mistress of Time ¨C a powerful diviner for sure.¡± A thoughtful look crossed his face. ¡°I must consult my books.¡±


    ¡°He ¨C he was erased?¡±


    ¡°The disintegration effect, yes.¡±


    Harukar finished his glass, poured himself another, and half-finished that one, draining it in mind-numbing gulps.


    To which plane is Dustbringer¡¯s soul bound? he wondered.


    ¡°Are you quite alright, Mr. Wyle?¡±


    That form of address sent shivers up his spine. He bore Redgate no overt ill-will; no plans were in motion, no emotions strong enough to overcome the alliance between their hearts that allowed them within one another¡¯s shields.


    But he feared him. Oh, how he feared him. He feared him like he feared dark gods, like he feared Duskdown, Dreamlaughter¡­ There were few things in the city, in the world, Harukar feared now. But Lyferin was at the top of the list. Worse than any darkmage; here was a man perfectly willing to play the part of the champion, bearing all his well-kept secrets within him into the Gathering beneath the Tower of Mourning. A man perfectly willing to kill hundreds ¨C have his lackey kill hundreds ¨C in a wild experiment at granting archmagery.


    A man who would not hesitate to use the many, varied tools at his disposal to slaughter Harukar if he showed one whit of recalcitrance.


    Am I quite alright? he asked himself.


    He shook his head, which was a bit of a bad idea, given his level of inebriation.


    ¡°My apologies, Redgate. I¡¯m afraid I may¡¯ve partaken a little strongly, given the hour.¡± He passed a hand across his face, fixed his fawning smile before returning his gaze to Lyferin¡¯s eyes. ¡°And my congratulations. You are the premier sorcerer of Mund, now. Timesnatcher will have to turn to you for many things.¡±


    ¡°To you, and to Netherhame.¡± Lyferin quaffed the remaining brandy in one and replaced his mask upon his head. ¡°I am bound to Tirremuir on the morning tide, and will be absent for several weeks.¡±


    Absent?


    ¡°M¡¯lord, if I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do not call me that.¡± Lyferin spoke quietly but still succeeded in interrupting him, perhaps due to the softness of his voice. ¡°You will have ample opportunity to prove yourself in the coming weeks. I tell you this as a courtesy, for I expect you to see to my interests in the meantime. Do not allow Timesnatcher to promote Netherhame to a position of prominence. And keep an eye on Feychilde for me. The boy is disconcertingly assertive, given his lack of experience and the curiosity that comes with it.¡±


    ¡°I shall bring him to heel for you,¡± Harukar replied smoothly. The mask was returning to him now. Not the physical, hellish mask of cold metal he wore on the outside, to hide his identity from others. No, the mental, hellish mask of cold indifference he wore on the inside, to hide his misery from himself. ¡°Might I enquire as to your purpose in visiting Chakobar?¡±


    ¡°I join a quest to slay a dragon ¨C¡°


    Upon seeing the look on Harukar¡¯s face, Lyferin held up a hand and continued speaking. It seemed he had mistaken the upswell of anticipation playing across Harukar¡¯s features, such sudden and desperate hope that even he could not hide it all, for an expression of concern.


    ¡°¨C and I shall desist from speaking more on the matter. The less that is known, the better. The Magisterium would approve no formal aid, and so we must be careful about our movements, lest we be barred from travel. I would have it far from your thoughts.¡±


    Such desire, to leave Mund? Harukar questioned silently, shocked at this turn of events. There must be much coin in such a venture ¨C dragonslaying is such a lowborn pastime these days. What makes this dragon so special?


    It could be borne, for now. It could be discovered, later.


    For now, he had to get through this conversation with his life intact.


    ¡°Farewell, then, my friend,¡± he said, and distracted his eyes by looking down at his wine-glass. ¡°Another drink, to your victory and swift homecoming?¡±


    He poured himself one, knowing Lyferin would not remove his mask a second time ¨C such would make him look indecisive, unmindful of the future. The young lord would rather behave discourteously, refuse the toast, than do that.


    The toast would force him to leave.


    Lyferin gently shook his head. ¡°I shall take it when I return.¡± He reached for the decanter, and poured another measure of brandy. ¡°Leave it on the side for me. I¡¯ll drain it, dust and all, and recount my tale, to you and you alone.¡± His eyes flickered around the room at the eldritches. ¡°You hear my words ¨C leave this glass for me.¡±


    It was a futile gesture for him to give commands to another arch-sorcerer¡¯s bound servants, unless it was his intention to try to wrest control of each and every one of them from Harukar. Even for Lyferin that would be a tall order.


    Yet it was not a futile gesture. It was designed not to command the eldritches but to reassert dominance over Harukar, remind him that the eldritches he possessed were only his because of Lyferin, because of the young lord¡¯s endless evil machinations.


    A reminder that whatever commands Harukar gave to his eldritches were at Lyferin¡¯s whim.


    ¡°It will be left for you¡­ Redgate,¡± he murmured.


    Redgate drifted from the room, out into the darkness of the gardens, the forests of Treetown. Even here, the winds were tinged with the reek of the fires, the destruction of the Incursion. Direcrown could smell the death out there.


    He gestured to the doors, and one of the maids silently crossed the room and closed them.


    Sighing, he sat back on his couch, trying to regain control of his thoughts.


    The interview had passed. It had passed, and he had given away nothing.


    Or had he? What if there had been something, some nuance of his body language or voice that had revealed his change of heart to Lyferin? How could he possibly know?


    He quelled the quivering that took hold of his wrist and sloshed a little wine upon the couch. He set the glass down, placed his hands in his lap and closed his eyes.


    I am in control. I am in control. I am in control.


    Wyrda take him! Take him in your arms and drown him! A thousand sacrifices for you, Wyrda, if you prevent his return!


    When he opened his eyes again, they fell upon the tumbler of brandy. The tumbler he could not move ¨C was not permitted to move. The tumbler that would become a blister in his mind, a nagging splinter in his eye, the pain of its innocent presence only growing, slowly growing into an itching, a burning, as the days would become weeks and this, his retreat of peace and solitude, would become the prison-cell of a slave.


    For that is all I am. The least I can do is ensure that, if I am doomed to Infernum, he joins me forthwith.


    * * *

 An Apprenticeship pt4

    6th Illost, 998 NE


    Harukar hated this, the interminable waiting. And waiting on diviners, no less! It was beyond insulting. They of all people ought to know the appointed time had passed, or at least to invite him at a later hour. They were behind the door, still engaged with their current, equally-afflicted guest ¨C while he sat on the crude bench outside, listening to everything. Every word that passed a casual insult.


    Again and again, Harukar looked at the other door, the exit to Hightown from this nondescript, empty building. Again and again, he bit down on his disappointment, and awaited his turn.


    Timesnatcher was a forceful personality. Harukar didn¡¯t fear the man as he feared Lyferin but he could tell from his speech, his poise, that here was a man of noble breeding. And Lightblind was no less forceful, if a little less well-bred.


    Something in Harukar had always led him to take the subservient position when faced with those who were genuinely highborn. He¡¯d always liked knowing his place, in the guild, in the greater society of Mund, even if it wasn¡¯t near the top ¨C just so long as it wasn¡¯t near the bottom. But being Direcrown let him speak to such people as Timesnatcher and Lightblind on the level. For all that they might have been Lords and Ladies of the Arrealbord, for all they knew he too was one such Lord. He might not quite have had their smoothness, but he could adopt their mannerisms and, with his rhimbelkina in place, their most-accurate visions of him might still depart wildly from reality. Even better, they would be aware of the fact.


    But he was still here. Still waiting.


    The door opened, and Timesnatcher followed the girl to the exit.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be mad,¡± her voice echoed as she departed. ¡°Tell you what, next time I see you I¡¯ll bring you a priest and we¡¯ll get you sorted right out.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to ¨C¡° Timesnatcher raised his voice ¨C


    She let the door slam behind her.


    Direcrown looked across at the arch-diviner, noting the weariness in his frame as he stood in the doorway.


    ¡°How much did you overhear?¡± Lightblind asked from the doorway to the private room.


    ¡°You know,¡± Harukar replied, feeling his lip curl behind the mask, ¡°or you can guess.¡± He got to his feet with demonic swiftness. ¡°So you want me to come to Zadhal with you.¡±


    If they¡¯d really wanted to hide their words, they wouldn¡¯t have had him sitting outside ¨C nor would they have stayed in an ordinary time-flow to discuss it.


    ¡°We need you, Direcrown,¡± Timesnatcher said. ¡°I¡¯ve seen things. You¡¯re integral to the whole mission.¡±


    ¡°What have you seen?¡±


    The city¡¯s greatest diviner performed his customary motion ¨C Harukar fancied that if he continued to shake his head so often it would one day shake right off.


    ¡°I can¡¯t go into that. You know why. And you know why you have to come.¡±


    ¡°Then what is it compels thee to even request mine attendance?¡± Harukar said coldly. ¡°If thou knowest all, and hath seen fit to see me there, constrict my fate with thy thoughtless hands ¨C what cruelty is it now to so implore me? To mock me with the choice thou seest I cannot make?¡±


    ¡°Thinkest thou mine eye cannot be deceived?¡± Timesnatcher snapped, a shocking rumble of flawlessly-spoken outrage.


    For a moment Harukar lost his breath, and couldn¡¯t recover it, his lungs constricting.


    Timesnatcher softened. ¡°I cannot make that choice for you! I can only tell you what I¡¯ve seen.¡±


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    ¡°But ¨C but you cannot bring yourself to do so! You ¨C¡°


    ¡°Direcrown¡­¡± Lightblind spoke gently, yet he felt the fight leave him at her remonstrance. ¡°Direcrown, we need you. We all know why our vision can¡¯t bind you. Don¡¯t resist this. You want acclaim? You want the recognition you deserve? Redgate is gone. Just ¨C¡°


    ¡°He¡¯s not gone forever.¡± Harukar looked down at the redebon flooring. ¡°But I will come.¡±


    He sensed the glance pass between the two arch-diviners.


    They¡¯d made him wait, so he¡¯d made them beg for it. The truth was, he¡¯d desired to go to Zadhal all along. Not wanting to do what they wanted him to do, even though he wanted it ¨C that was the frustrating part.


    Zadhal ¨C wherein he might find the answer.


    * * *


    12th Illost, 998 NE


    As the others started to panic and flee, Harukar sighed, and drew on his phinphardion essence. The concealment this eldritch offered far exceeded the tricks of the enchanters. A glamour merely created an illusion about the subject that beguiled the observer¡¯s mind, forcing them to see instead of flesh the very air the subject¡¯s flesh ought to have occupied. This was altogether different; he was able to extract pure invisibility, draw it out of the demon and flood his own body with it, even push it into his clothing. The change of essence was complete. He hadn¡¯t yet been capable of forcing handheld items to partake in the effect, but he was getting there.


    Every morsel of flesh tingled as he watched it work on his hands protruding from his sleeves ¨C soon the sleeves themselves and all the rest of his rust-coloured robe had vanished too.


    It itched. Even his eye sockets, his ear canal, the inner surfaces of his nostrils. He kept his hands still, refused to give in to the urge to start scratching. He¡¯d seen his phinphardion before it turned invisible, and he¡¯d seen the process by which it changed, the removal of its skin it achieved in seconds, like a horrifying self-peeling orange. He¡¯d never once dared scratch, and even if it sped up the change he wasn¡¯t about to start now ¨C not with several dozen deathknights about to skewer him with nethernal iron. This was not the environment in which one ought to take unnecessary risks.


    Only a few of the deathknights were aiming their lances at him and even these potent undead creatures seemed at a loss as he disappeared right in front of them. Sailing away through the air with his wizard-flight, Harukar abandoned the weave moments before the magister, Valorin, and headed west.


    They will catch me up, he told himself. My time will be better spent uncovering the source of all this undeath while they are distracted.


    Alone, he soared over the desolate streets. He had no doubt a few of the things in Zadhal could see through his transparent form ¨C no defence was ever perfect ¨C but the superior invisibility of his eldritch would surely see him past the vast majority of the threats this place held. They¡¯d sprung the trap, now; further confrontations would likely be incidental. And if something wanted a fight ¨C well, he¡¯d give it one and send it back to Nethernum sobbing. Besides, he was fairly certain a number of the arch-magisters had flown upwards, and those idiots already knew their invisibility was useless against these foes.


    It was an intriguing place, this city. The value of such a vast site, in terms of its history, was incalculable. The Sablemain Museum, Harukar¡¯s favourite, had been levelled following its infestation during the Incursion back in Chraunost ¨C where Hellbane and Mindbreaker had fallen, failing to protect the place ¨C but one might almost think it could be reconstructed, should one be granted free access to Zadhal¡¯s treasures. The majority of the museum¡¯s pieces had originated in the sixth- and seventh-centuries; the frosted objects he could see through time-wrecked roofs could¡¯ve been used as one-for-one replacements after a polish and shine. This was to say nothing of the innumerable tomes of knowledge that were still surely there somewhere, waiting to be found, protected by spells of keeping and permanence ¨C


    He raised his head, his senses warning him of a potential cause for concern, but it was nothing ¨C just some skeletal chariot incapable of perceiving him. He soared above it, letting it continue on its way, presumably hunting the others.


    It didn¡¯t take him long to find the Green Tower, but it took him longer to enter. It didn¡¯t sense him with eyes but with ancient spells that probably heard his thoughts ticking over or heard the beating of an invisible heart. When its bony defences came alive he shielded himself against assault and used the wyvarlinact claws to dig a hole in the tower¡¯s cladding. It was difficult to maintain even a small opening; in the end he used his supernaturally-durable body to shoulder his way through, tearing the top layer of his robe across the back.


    And of course, the very moment he was in, the bone-walls dropped aside, their magic deactivated; the bones went plummeting to pitter-patter on the ground far below, stilled once more. As if to invite him to leave, get out of this place while he still had chance.


    But that wasn¡¯t anywhere near the top of his list.


    Fascinated, he reached out for a curl of burning green glyphs, took it in his hands and set to work. Within five minutes he¡¯d deciphered the riddle and started to read.


    Behind the infernal mask, his eyes widened, and a rare smile spread across his lips.


    This is what I¡¯ve been looking for.

 The Wheelbarrow pt1

    <h2>AMETHYST 5.5: THE WHEELBARROW</h2>


    ¡°Do you understand the meaning of the skull? Do you understand why you fear it? It is because it is your true face.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Grandfather¡¯s Open Arms¡¯


    ¡°Direcrown¡¯s here,¡± I said to the others. ¡°Can someone link us up?¡±


    There was no way I wanted a private chat with this individual.


    ¡°Spirit? Glancefall?¡± A moment later I tried, ¡°Winterprince?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­?¡± Direcrown demanded, upper-class churlishness in his voice, as if he spelt it ¡®whell¡¯.


    Damn it.


    Something was blocking me. It wasn¡¯t that the link wasn¡¯t there ¨C I could tell that much from the way my mind-voice was projected. I looked around at the ¡®windows¡¯, covered in the impenetrable bony curtains. No, that wasn¡¯t it.


    I couldn¡¯t look at the sphere directly, but I studied the green rune-lines, the actual lettering ¨C from the outside of the tower the ribbons were chaotic, but now that I was inside the full complexity of the force-matrix at its heart was laid bare to me.


    Yes, the sphere could be to blame for depriving me of the link. It was snatching, snaring magic out of the air to fuel itself. No wonder I felt a bit wobbly.


    Yes, there was at least a sliver of a chance this wasn¡¯t something Direcrown had done deliberately.


    I shoved another star inside my circle-shield just to be on the safe side (it did seem that I was within spitting distance of a giant magic sink, after all), and angled my wings so that I could drift towards the black stone floor.


    ¡°What¡¯s there to discuss?¡± I asked harshly as I came to a stop, still hovering slightly. ¡°You abandoned us ¨C¡°


    ¡°You fled the same as I,¡± Direcrown demurred. ¡°And that poor weave never would have withstood the deathknights¡¯ charge. No offence intended, Feychilde.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t been intending on taking any offence, until he added that, as though he were pegging me as the cause of the weave¡¯s weakness.


    Seriously, twice in two minutes? And this time from someone who ought to know better.


    ¡°What have you been doing?¡± I watched him for any signs of hostility, but there was nothing; he seemed relaxed, even pleased in the way he padded from foot to foot. The fiendish mask hid his expression, of course. ¡°You look like the cat that got the cream.¡±


    ¡°Did we not?¡± He turned, reached out for the nearest green cord and caught it between his fingers, halting its progress. ¡°Have you not read this yet? Prepare to grow a tail!¡±


    I frowned, and tried to copy his motion; the runes just slipped through my fingers.


    ¡°Has the wraith so addled your brains that you forget what it has done to your flesh?¡±


    My frown probably deepened. I released the insubstantiality, and slowly felt the return of solidity ¨C the sensation was depressingly familiar.


    By the time my hand and sleeve were opaque once more, I could grasp the rune-lines without any hassle.


    I held a trail up before my face, so I could keep the darkmage and his shield in my peripheral vision while I studied the words.


    It took me a moment to realise why I was having a bit of a struggle. The lettering was that of an Etheric alphabet ¨C matching the energy¡¯s hue, as I¡¯d expected ¨C but the words themselves were from the Netheric lexicon.


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    A necromantic spell, written in fey characters?


    ¡°¡®It is unspoken, but do not forget: only the chained know the meaning of struggle; only the dead can rise. Kaile, do not let this sorrowful sun set. N-N-¡®¡±


    I choked as I read the spiteful epithet; if I¡¯d had to translate it for Jaid and Jaroan I¡¯d have gone for ¡®Equine Harlot¡¯, and that was leaving out the other, even-more-distasteful half of the phrase ¨C


    ¡°¡®Nentheleme, bear my sword and my shovel. Lynastra, open my heart and my eyes¡­¡¯¡± I moved my gaze to meet Direcrown¡¯s. He was no longer padding between his feet but was standing as though rooted to the black stone, tall and still and stern. ¡°Have you managed to derive some sense from these ramblings?¡± I asked him directly. ¡°If you have, it¡¯s beyond me. This is more like a prayer than a piece of magic, right?¡±


    Throw him a bone. Better than him clamming up.


    He bowed slightly and flicked his wrist in a mocking little gesture, indicating the massive green orb. ¡°This relic of our craft,¡± he said grandiosely, ¡°is designed to break the spell of undeath holding Zadhal in its eternal grip. Read on. I¡¯m certain you shall soon be of the same opinion.¡±


    I sighed.


    ¡°¡®Now from the shadows we beckon and fail: love is the line to my memory¡¯s dream. In falling we only hasten faster ¨C on emerald seas we are to set sail. Here is the promised door, the ancient seam, the last grace of Mortiforn, our Master¡­¡¯¡±


    I fell silent now as I continued, going through the passages in my head, turning them over and over.


    It does sound an awful lot like they were looking for a way out of undeath, doesn¡¯t it?


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I simply cannot comprehend a single word of what you¡¯re thinking,¡± Gilaela said.


    ¡°Nor I,¡± Avaelar supplied.


    Sorry ¨C that¡¯s the Netheric. I quickly translated the thoughts for them. Do you think Direcrown¡¯s right?


    There was only silence inside my head. Then, after a few painful seconds, Gilaela said, ¡°I don¡¯t think this is really our forte, Feychilde.¡±


    Direcrown had folded his arms across his chest. ¡°In what do our assessments differ?¡±


    ¡°Little,¡± I admitted. ¡°So this¡­ this is designed to separate the soul from Nethernum, allow it to proceed?¡±


    ¡°The Gateway of Mortiforn permits the soul to continue on its way,¡± he said. ¡°Or so goes the tale, in any case.¡± I nodded, and he continued, ¡°Those whose spirits have been bound by the workings of undeath cannot transition from the shadowland to the otherworld, from the otherworld to what lies beyond¡­ They cannot pass Mortiforn¡¯s threshold. This text seems to support that perspective ¨C is it possible that they have truly found a way to break the bonds?¡±


    He used an eldritch power to float into the air ¨C it was jerkier than the wind-spells of wizards, and it only then occurred to me that he must¡¯ve been using something to keep himself warm, too.


    He soon came back down bearing another glittering trail of green runes in his hand. ¡°Read this part.¡±


    Our shields crossed with no issues as he reached out and passed the sorcerous thread into my hand.


    I read it twice to myself, then looked back at him. He¡¯d retreated but stayed facing me, so I could meet his eyes, meet them as though I could read his thoughts behind them.


    ¡°¡¯In Kultemeren, so shall it be done,¡¯¡± I repeated the last pertinent line. ¡°That¡¯s not trivial, is it?¡±


    Direcrown was shaking his head. ¡°Very good, Feychilde. Well done. I believe you are well caught-up.¡± He gestured to the windows, still encased in the bony shell. ¡°Have ¨C are the others nearby?¡±


    Did I detect just a trace of concern there in his voice? Was it concern for the others, or just concern for himself, that he might be in trouble for his disappearance?


    I nodded cautiously. ¡°The link isn¡¯t working here. The sphere ¨C¡°


    ¡°Drains the words as you cast them,¡± he finished for me. ¡°This truly is a curious creation. Have you heard of its like?¡±


    ¡°Not ever.¡±


    ¡°I thought as much.¡± He sounded thrilled rather than disappointed to have the object¡¯s mystery reconfirmed by my ignorance. ¡°I shall have to pen a treatise, once ¨C¡°


    ¡°Are you forgetting why we¡¯re here?¡± Then I realised he didn¡¯t know. ¡°Erm ¨C the others are fighting the Prince of Chains, actually¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ Leafcloak¡­ She was¡­ well¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    I quickly related what¡¯d happened, putting the mystery of the sphere in its place; if there was anything that deserved a treatise, it was the appearance of an avatar. ¡°So Shadowcloud¡¯s missing, and there¡¯s this, like, ocean of wights, and they¡¯re even more-unkillable than usual ¨C¡°


    ¡°And you came here? Left them with but one sorcerer?¡± He actually sounded mildly infuriated. ¡°Come ¨C you shall guide me to them, and together we will overcome the divine creature before returning.¡±


    He turned aside to the wall, but I stayed where I was and shook my head. ¡°Shields don¡¯t work. Timesnatcher¡¯s got a plan ¨C I think it has something to do with Lightblind; she went back to Mund but he said something about her. We need to fix this, this thing,¡± I caught another green cord, ran my eyes across the runes, ¡°and fix this city.¡±


    Direcrown seemed to regard me curiously, head slightly askew on his shoulders. ¡°You¡¯re a strange creature, Feychilde. Very well. We shall remain.¡± He righted himself, glancing up to take in the myriad green trails.


    I wasn¡¯t expecting to hear such fervour in his voice as I did when he concluded:


    ¡°And we shall fix it together.¡±


    * * *

 The Wheelbarrow pt2

    ¡°It¡¯s designed to be brought into the ¡®very crux of the crossed planes¡¯,¡± he pointed out, passing me another ribbon of energy. ¡°This surely implies that we¡¯d have to bring it to the avatar in any case.¡±


    I necked another vial of water from my demiskin as I fixed the lines together to form a glyph in the air. ¡°That thing is a decoy, I swear it. The wights were as surprised as we were ¨C look, just trust me, okay? The appearance of the Prince is just a¡­ a chance occurrence. Sure, maybe we should¡¯ve thought of this ahead of time ¨C or Timesnatcher and Zakimel should¡¯ve, anyway. I bet Zadhal is the god¡¯s biggest centre of worship in the world ¨C there was no way he was just going to take us invading this place lying down!¡± I gestured out at the towers around us ¨C the bone-armour and bone-storm had fallen still a few minutes ago, settling back down to the ground. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s behind it all.¡±


    Direcrown grunted agreeably, then nodded at the fiercely-glowing green weave in my hands. ¡°Focus. You¡¯re tangling them again.¡± He went for the next one, drifting across near the trapdoor beneath which we¡¯d had no chance to properly explore.


    I¡¯d taken a quick insubstantial head-poke down there to scan about, check there were no immediate threats. It was silent and dark on the floor below us, which was an empty space but for the black pillars, a five-storey room of identical proportions. Unlike the sphere-chamber, the walls were windowless, and it was colder down there. A single narrow set of stone ledges were fixed to the wall beneath the sphere-chamber¡¯s trapdoor, like steps, and there was another identical trapdoor nearby, presumably leading down to the next floor. There couldn¡¯t be more than four floors in total, given the height of each chamber.


    I focussed. He was right ¨C I had tangled them.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± I fixed the mess, applied my power to the next shape, then let it go again and sent it whirling off around the sphere. ¡°How much work do you think there is to be done here?¡±


    ¡°We make progress.¡± He indicated the glyph I¡¯d just allowed to slip from my grip, and I could see it, replicating itself across the trails it touched, the shape slowly multiplying across dimensions. ¡°Those who think chaos stronger than order because of the ease with which order is dismantled, transformed into chaos, miss this simple fact: that chaos longs for order, cannot be without it, cannot fill its belly on its own tail. Order is its own end but without it, chaos is nothing. Chaos is alone in the night of its own making, while order flourishes in its brief, beautiful lifetime. Let us hope that this time it might achieve its goals ere it is snuffed out once more.¡±


    We¡¯d only been at it for fifteen minutes ¨C I had popped out briefly to give Winterprince the all-clear and repair his shield; he was now bearing the news of Direcrown¡¯s discovery back to the others. Fifteen minutes, and I couldn¡¯t help but think the darkmage was right, watching the transformations our simple work was bringing to bear.


    It was the weirdest thing. These drifting ribbons of runes were simply broken sentences; it wasn¡¯t hard to see how to reconnect them, and apply to them the proper patterns. My sorcerous instincts knew what they were doing, even if I couldn¡¯t consciously draw from my memory the exact shapes of the sigils of Nentheleme, Glaif, Mortiforn¡­ My hands moved, and the shapes appeared in living lines of green fire, more vibrant and true than the sensations any memory could supply.


    ¡°What happened to them?¡± I wondered aloud.


    ¡°To whom?¡±


    ¡°No ¨C I mean, the spell-lines¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± He drew a breath, then said, ¡°They were cut. Deliberately. See here?¡± He held another ribbon, just like all the others, and indicated the very tip, where we were fastening them together once more. ¡°This is a neat divide, no? An act of tremendous violence would leave fraying, here, and here, where the runes drift. No, these were snipped with scissors, so to speak.¡±


    ¡°What sorcerer would do that?¡±


    ¡°A lich, no doubt, whose continued existence rests upon unbroken connection with Nethernum. We might call this stuff antinether.¡±


    I frowned, but not because I disagreed. No, if anything it was that I was disconcerted by the candour with which the darkmage had treated me so far. The lore he shared with impunity. I¡¯d come to expect this of Netherhame and Shallowlie, but from Direcrown?


    A little voice in the back of my head murmured, What if Timesnatcher is wrong about him?


    The more-sceptical side of my mind retorted, Let¡¯s test the sharing-lore-with-impunity bit, then.


    I looked across at my colleague. ¡°Do you know much of the war?¡±


    He just chuckled snootily. ¡°So thou art a believer too! Ha! Do you know how similar to Dustbringer you are? And yet, how dissimilar¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I have it from the lips of an eldritch,¡± I said.


    ¡°Do you? Do you now?¡± The dark eyes in the fiendish face sparkled terribly all of a sudden. ¡°That is very interesting to me. Do you speak of a bound eldritch?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C well¡­¡± I didn¡¯t want to mention Zel, really ¨C especially when I couldn¡¯t pull her back without having a psychic argument right here in front of Direcrown. ¡°I had it from a wight-lord in the courtyard, actually ¨C¡°


    ¡°These lords retain well-formed thoughts, speak willingly?¡± The arch-sorcerer sounded incredulous. ¡°My boy, we must away! This sphere will wait, fix itself as we soar with greater purpose! Come!¡±


    I couldn¡¯t deny that it looked more and more like he was right. The more we toiled, the swifter the changes would come about, complete the sphere¡¯s magic and allow us to activate it ¨C but beyond a certain point, it was a waste of our time. It would deal with itself. My fellow champions ¨C some of whom I¡¯d come to think of as friends ¨C were back there.


    I nodded, following him to the open window.


    ¡°Reinforce your shields,¡± he murmured. ¡°I suspect the defences shall awaken again the moment we breach the boundary of this wall.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    I drew on my wraith again and, as expected, the very instant we set off from the precipice the bones reacted once more, coating the tower, lashing out at us. Direcrown¡¯s flight was slower than my sylph-wings or wizard-flight, so I allowed him to take the lead until we were clear of the sickening storm of gleaming body parts.


    ¡°Which way?¡± he asked.


    Once we were in the clear and I moved just ten yards in the right direction it came through, the burst of telepathic resonance:


    Timesnatcher roaring;¡°-ancefall! Back, fifty feet! If ¨C¡°


    Glimmermere panting; ¡°¨C he won¡¯t come back to me, Fang! Can you reach ¨C¡°


    Spiritwhisper muttering; ¡°¨C Twelve Hells are Feychilde and Direcrown ¨C¡°


    ¡°We¡¯re coming!¡± I cried. ¡°Direcrown¡¯s with me ¨C link him, then I can come faster ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m on my way,¡± Winterprince grunted, ¡°I¡¯ll bring him ba-¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re needed here!¡± Timesnatcher berated him. ¡°More fire on his left side, or he¡¯s going to break away again!¡±


    Damn it.


    ¡°Straight a hundred yards, then turn left, look for the purple mist!¡± I yelled to Direcrown, before putting everything I had into my speed.


    Each beat of Avaelar¡¯s wings was a moment I wasn¡¯t there and I picked up just how bad things were over the link. Glimmermere and Fangmoon were trying to save Dimdweller, and it sounded like they were in a very difficult situation. I could imagine getting there too late to do anything, anything but feel the guilt ¨C I¡¯d left them behind, and hearing Spirit complaining about my absence had cut me, sliced through nerves I didn¡¯t know I had. All I knew was that it hurt to disappoint him, to have abandoned them like this ¨C what if the spell-sphere in the Green Tower came to nothing? What if it was all a waste? What if Dimdweller died while I dallied with playing arch-sorcerer?


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    I wasn¡¯t too late.


    I plunged into the purple mist, into the same unending battle as before. My shields went before me, and I pushed a huge area clear, sent my blades spinning. Timesnatcher directed me to a point near the centre, a little towards the south-eastern edge.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I sensed the shapes within my farthest-flung shields, the wight-lords reborn like pillars of angry, animated ash ¨C Khikiriaz launched himself into one of them even as I passed by. And it wasn¡¯t long before my shields started winking out, connecting with the black-armoured deathknights, standing strong against my force-barriers, some even extending their purple-burning blades to more-easily pierce my defences.


    I ignored them, soaring on, even as they gave chase across the smoking, lava-riddled courtyard; I saw as Starsight descended at the nearest deathknight, robe gleaming as he blurred through the purple mist, like a smear of luminous paint across my eye.


    Then I was there. Vaahn loomed in the fog.


    Dimdweller was caught, moving through the air with the effigy as it stumbled about, blasted this way and that by searing rays of flame.


    The dwarf was screaming, covered in a green radiance; part of the palm of his hand was attached to one of the bony struts extending from the avatar¡¯s knee. Fangmoon and Glimmermere were both flying beside him in their humanoid forms, holding him, trying to pull him away, each of the druids larger in frame than they ought to be.


    Someone had suggested tearing the arm off, and they¡¯d found it impossible without dropping the anti-nethernal healing-effect they were using ¨C they were trapped between the flood and the cliff, unable to stop the regeneration-spell without giving him to Vaahn, but incapable of tearing him free while the spell was ongoing.


    Above the three of them floated the other dwarf, the wizard¡¯s bearded jaw clenched as a sunbeam emanated from his clasped hands, pouring up into the godling¡¯s right arm. Winterprince was on the opposite side, and between the two of them they were preventing the creature from reaching down, using his huge carcass-hands to grab the diviner and druid, sending them all to join Leafcloak in her terrible fate with his touch of death.


    I could see Mountainslide was tiring. I wondered how close to his reinvigoration-limit the young dwarf was.


    Timesnatcher, Starsight and Shallowlie were embattled on every front. The diviners were everywhere and nowhere, less than phantoms on the air as only a streak of colour left clue as to the fact they¡¯d passed me by yet again; what they slew was dead for less time than it took for them to return and slay it a second, third, fourth time. The sorceress¡¯s ghosts were the only eldritches she had left in the field, and they couldn¡¯t deal with the deathknights for her.


    One of my bintaborax was dead, the one that¡¯d been wounded earlier ¨C the one I¡¯d obtained from the Cannibal Six, if I was right.


    It all looked rather desperate, truth be told.


    I went to three wight-lords and reintroduced them to my pointy forehead, then grabbed a hundred or so wights trying to penetrate the edges of a shield, sending them back at their fellows behind them, tearing with teeth and cold grave-fingers into the bodies of their brethren.


    ¡°Now¡¯s the time for sharing, Timesnatcher!¡± I mind-shouted. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I found ¨C but first, what about this god-on-earth situation?¡±


    ¡°She will be here in a moment! Honestly, asking questions won¡¯t speed things up ¨C trust me, I¡¯m an expert. Tell me ¨C what did you find, Feychilde? Other than a Direcrown.¡±


    I gritted my teeth, and did my best to compose a response in my mind before speaking it psychically ¨C a response that wouldn¡¯t be quite as biting as the first ten or so retorts that came to mind.


    Then Direcrown beat me to it ¨C someone had linked him while I was focussing on the wight-lords.


    ¡°My dear Timesnatcher, that is a matter for arch-sorcerers. It would be hard to put into layman¡¯s terms.¡±


    He was one hundred percent talking out of his backside, but I didn¡¯t want to contradict him, not when Timesnatcher was being at least as much of an ass.


    ¡°Try me,¡± the arch-diviner said.


    I spoke up. ¡°Stop treating us like children! If ¨C¡±


    ¡°Look ¨C here she comes now. East.¡±


    He had been, at least up to a point, correct. It wouldn¡¯t have been quite as perplexing and exhilarating, if he¡¯d explained what was about to happen beforehand. But the argument had taken all the thrill out of it.


    I still got to stare, dumbfounded, as a wheelbarrow shot out of the purple mist at a ridiculous speed, an old robed man half-seated, half-lying inside it. His lined, unshaven face was petrified in a look of soul-sick terror, eyes and mouth thrown wide open like he was apple-bobbing.


    Killstop was holding onto the handles behind him, weaving with death-defying lurches across the lava-cracked plaza. Even when moving with such ferocious haste she was able to evade the deathknights in her path, and her speed only assisted her when ash-wights got in her way ¨C she simply headed right for them and ploughed them under.


    Not that the old man she was ferrying to us looked happy about that particular part of the arrangement.


    She skidded to a stop thirty feet from me, near Glancefall inside my hexagon, not fifty yards from the godling¡¯s stumbling feet.


    My enhanced hearing caught the murmured words as she bent her masked head to his ear: ¡°You remember what you promised me.¡±


    As the old man focussed on the effigy wreathed in spell-fire, reeling and recoiling across the smashed ground, the druids and diviner seemingly glued to his knee in a daisy-chain of champions, something in him changed. The expression of terror didn¡¯t vanish completely, but it receded, hardened, the thin colourless lips pressing together in a grimace of determination.


    ¡°I remember,¡± he said in a flat monotone.


    As I moved closer, studying Killstop¡¯s plus-one, I produced a wave of glitter from my horn, then flew over them to loose it at the deathknight trying to creep up on them from behind. Hard to creep when you clank with every step; even with the mist and general clamour of the battle ¨C Dimdweller¡¯s incessant screaming ¨C my senses had no trouble identifying the threat.


    The old man wasn¡¯t one of the Knights of Kultemeren ¨C he didn¡¯t wear their armour, and clearly he¡¯d sworn no oath of silence ¨C but he was a priest of Kultemeren all the same. The sigil of the gavel in the centre of the silver medallion about his neck, coming loose of his white-and-grey robe as he straightened up, proclaimed his position as one of the senior clergymen.


    In a flash Killstop had circled the wheelbarrow and set him down on his feet.


    ¡°Link her up, Spirit, be-¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m already linked, Cradle,¡± she cut off her fellow arch-diviner a little derisively. ¡°Both of us are. It¡¯s go-time.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± I heard the priest respond aloud. He still hadn¡¯t taken his eyes off the avatar, the statue-like amalgam of a million discrete body parts that was now the Lord of Undeath made manifest, an unholy intrusion into our dimension.


    When he continued to speak, removing his medallion and wrapping the coldly-gleaming chain about his hand, those eyes never blinked, his gaze never wavered.


    ¡°You trespass, Son of the Chain-Maker. In so doing you grant me only greater strength. Flee. Take these spirits and begone. Three times will I deny you, and then you will be reft away, your name never again to be spoken openly in this city.¡±


    It surely had to fill a man with faith, to be a priest of Kultemeren and to make a vow, a promise to render assistance ¨C to know that such a thing would be thereby made not just a possibility, but a certainty¡­


    ¡°I ¨C ah ¨C hello? Can someone let me fly?¡± the priest enquired telepathically.


    Flight or no, he was nonetheless making his approach, striding towards Vaahn with his fist encased in the silver chain, the gavel-icon across his knuckles.


    I was powerless to do anything else but keep up with him, maintain the shield about him that was even now protecting him from a number of wights ¨C I was too busy fending off wight-lords and deathknights to physically carry the priest. At the same time I was captivated by his demeanour, his confidence, and wished I had the opportunity to take a closer look into those implacable eyes of his.


    I could see what he was getting at, though ¨C bubbling streams of lava separated him from getting closer to the avatar. The wizards had set spells to carry off the fumes through the purple fog ¨C the divinely-powered fog that the wizard-winds couldn¡¯t budge ¨C but such secondary spells were good for nothing more than keeping the air clean. The currents weren¡¯t anywhere near powerful-enough to lift a man, and our two arch-wizards seemed to be diminishing in reserves by the minute; there was no telling when those spells might fail, the air turning noxious. They couldn¡¯t spare a flight-spell, and there was nothing that would help the old man get closer to his target.


    Not that getting closer seemed to necessarily be the best of ideas, but at this point we just had to trust that he knew what he was doing, didn¡¯t we? We were dead any other way. Sooner or later, Mountainslide would give out, and there¡¯d be no more juice left in him for Fangmoon and Glimmermere to keep him going ¨C then Winterprince would follow and we¡¯d all get swallowed into the dark god¡¯s substance¡­


    At least Zel would be happy¡­


    ¡°Push the abomination east!¡± Timesnatcher was ordering. ¡°To his right, and forwards! Glimmer, Fang, be ready to back up!¡±


    The very moment I resolved to send Avaelar out, to hoist the priest over the obstacles ¨C it was then that Shallowlie appeared, streaking down from the north. At her gesture a group of ghosts surged beneath him, buoying him up.


    Kultemeren¡¯s envoy strode the air as implacably as he¡¯d strode the courtyard. Vaahn was still being buffeted by attacks, funnelled in the priest¡¯s direction.


    ¡°Higher!¡± the old man thought. ¡°Take me to this mockery¡¯s face.¡±


    Shallowlie complied, bringing him up to thirty-odd feet while, aloud, the priest cried:


    ¡°Your time is come, and that of your followers. The time of ending and unmaking. The breaking of the spell that holds these poor, lost souls in thrall.¡±


    My own soul swelled up in response to these words. Did that mean we were going to be successful in restoring the natural order in Zadhal?


    I smashed another handful of wights, staying behind and below the priest, but close-enough to him to keep a careful watch over him.


    ¡°Shallowlie, can you help me with the shield on him?¡± I asked.


    Together we spun my lines into a weave. It couldn¡¯t hurt, could it?


    My outer shields broke like breadsticks against the effigy¡¯s titanic body as it surged towards us, blinding fire pouring all around its upper sections. The huge skin of Mund¡¯s chief arch-druid, his cloak and hood, was impervious to damage like the rest of his disgusting composition ¨C but the force of the spells was still driving him, bringing him to meet his doom.


    The sphere of melted skulls beneath the iron crown appeared, swinging.


    With the sorceress¡¯s help, the priest put on a final burst of ghost-flight ¨C


    ¡°In Kultemeren¡¯s name, begone!¡± he roared, and raised his medallion-wrapped fist to deliver the blow.


    * * *

 The Wheelbarrow pt3

    He punched Vaahn, square in the skull-face.


    The resulting detonation sent everyone not covered by a shield spinning through the air.


    Warm, yellow energy exploded where his fist made contact, a nimbus of sunlight that pierced the purple mists through, rays that struck other wights and deathknights in the crowd, transforming them into smudges of light on the wind.


    I could no longer sense those killed in this manner. They were gone. Hundreds of them.


    And an inconceivable shower of skulls and shattered bone soared into the sky, falling like hideous rain, the shards of Vaahn¡¯s face deanimated and inert.


    The priest of Kultemeren lowered his hand, floating away and turning back to us as the avatar teetered on suddenly-weak knees, bending over backwards. The holy-man¡¯s smile was grim, his medallion still glowing faintly across his knuckles.


    The remaining undead faltered, watching as their god¡¯s spine curved, snapped, his upper half toppling towards the ground ¨C


    We floated, silent within and without, as though we were all waiting for the moment he actually crashed down, the moment to burst into cries of triumph ¨C


    But Dimdweller still screamed. The druids still tugged at the dwarf, kept their healing hands upon him, the green radiance suffusing him.


    The teetering continued, went on, and on¡­ The godling¡¯s arms hung low to the earth, what remained of the head thrown back, crown and cloak hanging precariously, almost set to swing loose¡­


    The priest¡¯s smile slowly became more grim, unsettled. At last he swivelled his head around to look back over his shoulder ¨C


    The moment his eyes met the avatar once more, a rasping voice seemed to rise from the very ground all about us ¨C the god¡¯s, menacing in inflection, no less sure and certain than any sound the priest had uttered.


    ¡°Thrice thou hast spoken, and nary a lie; while all thy paltry exhortations only show unto the Judge the Truth from which he hath hidden his face. For the Prince he is not. It is not given to him to command my Powers. Spells thou hast broken ¨C ten score and some. No more.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°For thou speakst True to mine ear: my Time arriveth! My Time, and that of my followers. The Time of Ending. Unmaking. The Last Hour and the great new Beginning! My name shall never again be spoken openly in these walls ¨C it shall be sung! And thou shalt be the first to sing it, in sweetest sacrament, the Lamentunto the Shadow Mountain¡­ a threnody of shrieking unending.¡±


    The gloating of the Prince was a terrible thing to undergo. Like the wet, crawling sounds of worms wriggling in my ears. The beating wings of a million swarming flies, congealed into a single will, a single, unimaginably ancient and evil purpose. I saw the priest¡¯s face turn ashen as he floated there, not far from the avatar¡¯s half-obliterated face.


    I felt my own flesh drain of colour just the same. I felt Gilaela and Avaelar recoiling.


    Vaahn¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t something you perceived. That would be to imply there was the chance to not perceive it, but it was nothing like that. Vaahn¡¯s vile expulsions were immanent, a fact of the world in which we existed, every bit as vital and real as the air we breathed, the weight of our bones. I very much had the impression even the deaf would¡¯ve heard every word, and not just because his voice struck earth and air like a tremor, a tornado.


    It wasn¡¯t just the voice of the god, or the fact he was still here, still with us in this courtyard, despite his toy being broken at a single strike from another god¡¯s chosen-one.


    No, it was the fact that the Prince of Chains had interpreted the words all wrong ¨C no implication of ultimate failure, no suggestion we would be successful in our attempt to repair the Green Tower¡¯s secret and set it loose¡­


    We had to try again.


    But the staggering malevolence of that crawling, rustling voice had never really halted, and it was only as the elongated, protracted sounds came towards their end that their structure was made plain:


    ¡°M-y¡­ b-r-i-d-e¡­¡±


    Skulls came whipping through the air, clinking back into place, many of them marred, blackened and caved-in.


    When they reformed the idol¡¯s face and it jerked back to its full forty-foot stature, it was plain to see there was not a single skull missing.


    The implication was obvious.


    ¡°Get him back!¡± I hissed into the stunned psychic silence. ¡°He¡¯s our only weapon against it!¡±


    Shallowlie drew in her ghosts, the trembling priest in tow, but it was too late.


    Like a revolting echo of that night, that worst night of my life since donning the robe ¨C like a shadow of the Incursion, a homage to the Mourning Bells: a sound came from the western edge, drowning out Dimdweller¡¯s screams.


    The clock tower was ringing.

 Like Amber pt1

    <h2>AMETHYST 5.6: LIKE AMBER</h2>


    ¡°If observing a phenomenon is itself a phenomenon, then the chain of regress extends infinitely into this, its summation. All of existence is concerned with this process: the taking of infinity, and saying, ¡®Here in me in this moment of time it finds its end.¡¯ Whether or not we make our choices, we are doomed to feel as though we have made them.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 19:347-351


    ¡°Noooooooo ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C oooooooooo ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C oooooooooooo¡­¡±


    There was time, between the first and second peals of the bell on the far side of the courtyard.


    ¡°Help ¨C¡°


    There was even a little time between the second and third.


    ¡°¨C me ¨C¡°


    After the third ¨C


    Timesnatcher. I noticed. He almost moved. Almost rode it.


    Not for us. The rest of us. No motion. Not now.


    No now.


    The wave of old, old magic. It had what we did not.


    Time.


    Flooding the city. Stilling us.


    Chronomancy.


    Time¡­ thought.


    Slowed. Stopped. No heartbeat. Trapped in a moment. Like slumber.


    Amber.


    Above, skies changed.


    Listened.


    To the yells.


    ¡°¨C oooooooooooooooooo¡­¡±


    ¡°¨C ooooooooooooooooooooo¡­¡±


    Contextless sound. Meaningless emotion.


    As skies flicked ¨C


    Grey.


    Black.


    No white behind purple. Only black.


    There was ¨C


    None. No time to take.


    No thought to interpret.


    Time was being given.


    Hours of it.


    And we emerged into the other side, still shouting as one, like a chorus of frightened lambs bleating as night falls and the predators draw in.


    For that was what had happened.


    It was night, and we were in Zadhal. It had even started snowing.


    Even as I came back to myself, there was a sudden catching-up of mental sounds, time reasserting itself. Everything that had been spoken while the clock tower¡¯s spell spilled out over us was being replayed, all at once. It was even more meaningless than the slowed sounds, but it was deafening.


    As the lethargy that had afflicted us passed by, the same was happening to our enemies. I had no idea how adept all my fellow champions were at using their senses in dark, misty conditions ¨C I could see well-enough, considering that it was nethermist. The wights were recovering. We only had seconds until they¡¯d be on the attack again. Now it was night they would soon be reinforced by things from beyond the courtyard, vampires and any number of other night-dwellers who¡¯d woken hours ago to find this section of the city time-locked¡­


    And the avatar of Vaahn ¨C


    The godling was coming out of his chronomantic reverie, seeming almost to vibrate ¨C


    Winterprince and Mountainslide hadn¡¯t restarted their attacks yet; within a single lunge the abomination could reach down to take firm hold of the diviner and druids attached to his knee, transform them into unliving matter ¨C


    But the babble of Glimmermere overrode the other psychic voices. Hers was the last cry, and ¨C


    ¡°Now!¡± she shrilled ¨C


    I didn¡¯t even get to see them get loose; it happened in the very instant we came back to ourselves. Timesnatcher or Killstop was there, and then they were there no longer ¨C the druids, the dwarf diviner.


    They vanished. No blur of colours, nothing. Just gone. Snow on the air.


    Glancefall vanished.


    Acting on sheer instinct, praying to Yune that I was right, I dismissed the remnants of my eldritches.


    And I vanished.


    As if in retribution against the city that had defied his supremacy, Timesnatcher took us all up one by one, gathering us into his maelstrom of power, soaring with us above the towers.


    It cost me a moment to reorient myself; one second I was there in the courtyard awaiting death or worse at the hands of some freshly-awakened vampires ¨C then I was nothing, a space with no location, only destination, a non-being awaiting rebirth ¨C


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    And I stumbled, cringing, feeling the effects of the Winter Door as it loomed before me.


    No weave, but no undead either. Just an expanse of blue-lit snow, silent but for the portal¡¯s constant churning.


    To my left, Fang and Glimmermere were lowering a moaning Dimdweller to the ground ¨C they positioned themselves on either side of his shoulder, deliberately not touching the cursed hand itself, and carefully pulled¡­


    I didn¡¯t have to watch; the wet, sickening sounds were enough.


    To my right, the priest, the enchanters, Mountainslide, Shallowlie, Starsight ¨C


    The next instant, Timesnatcher appeared, one arm around Direcrown¡¯s shoulders, the other resting on the massive spur of ice that was Winterprince¡¯s bicep.


    Killstop circled around from out of nowhere, pushing the wheelbarrow.


    I cast her a sidelong glance.


    ¡°What?¡± she said, sounding injured. ¡°I promised I¡¯d return it.¡±


    I grinned. ¡°Thanks ¨C I wouldn¡¯t mind a lift, actually¡­¡± I flexed my nearly-numb wings, felt the snowflakes drifting through them on their way to the ground.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare! Moving quickly grants a bit of strength but you have no idea how tiring it gets pushing this thing¡­ If the guy was a bit younger I¡¯d have made him run too.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s it?¡± Glancefall was asking, looking up at the wall of blue flame that was our way home. So much more beautiful, more arcane, in the darkness. ¡°We can go home now?¡±


    Especially here, so close to stepping back into Mund, back into the Box in Treetown, the idea of giving up was incredibly tempting.


    No less unconscionable than it had been at any earlier point, though.


    I could see the tells on the lips of Timesnatcher and in the posture of Fangmoon. The druidess¡¯s green-glowing hands still clasped the now-unconscious dwarf, but her masked face was turned towards the rest of us.


    I wasn¡¯t done here, and I wasn¡¯t alone.


    ¡°You never had to stay,¡± Timesnatcher said.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Winterprince rumbled. ¡°We¡¯re all going back, Timesnatcher!¡±


    ¡°But we can¡¯t,¡± Glimmermere said, also looking up at the Door. ¡°We¡¯re not all here¡­¡±


    ¡°Shadowcloud¡­¡± Starsight¡¯s voice had a musing quality.


    ¡°Our work here is done,¡± Direcrown said. ¡°Tell them what we did, Feychilde.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°You¡¯ve got it backwards, if I¡¯m not much mistaken.¡±


    ¡°Now is the time, sorcerers.¡± Timesnatcher had the curiosity back in his voice. ¡°For whatever reason, I still can¡¯t see what you did at the Green Tower.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I have to go back.¡±


    ¡°Back?¡± Direcrown hissed. ¡°Fool! There is no going back; there is no need for us to go back ¨C a tactical retreat to the Box ¨C¡°


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong. Think about it. We¡¯ve already left it for hours.¡± I shook my head. ¡°It could take days, and if Timesnatcher can¡¯t see it, that means undead with divination powers are going to interact with its destiny, right? So the Prince or some archlich or super-vampire or something is going to go there, and when they find out what we¡¯ve done ¨C¡±


    ¡°Going there would destroy them!¡± Direcrown said. ¡°You are clever, boy, but not clever-enough to understand the limits of your cleverness! If you wish instruction, I would deign to teach you¡­¡±


    If he¡¯d said something like that to me an hour ago I¡¯d have thought it a veiled threat or insult, but I felt I knew enough of him to judge now that he was being sincere.


    I shook my head again.


    ¡°¡­ then continue in your delusions. Those who will not learn cannot be taught.¡±


    ¡°You said yourself that liches could have been there.¡±


    ¡°Before we knotted the cords, boy! But now the runes are active ¨C¡±


    ¡°All the more reason for them to act this minute, before it grows to such intensity they¡¯re all doomed! It might not be strong-enough to destroy something like an avatar, ever, never mind right now¡­¡±


    It was Direcrown¡¯s turn to retort, but he just looked away towards the south-west, the wrecked tower district¡­


    Was he reconsidering it?


    I followed his gaze, and I realised I could easily make it out now, the smear of verdant light seeping around the intervening buildings. There was no other colour to be found here ¨C the sky was overcast, a gloomy pall of winter clouds.


    Timesnatcher had been following the conversation, looking back and forth between us as we argued, a small smile on his face.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad we¡¯re all on the same page again,¡± he said warmly.


    ¡°Wait ¨C what?¡± Spirit blurted. ¡°Just because you suddenly get it, doesn¡¯t mean the rest of us can follow! Unless you want us to start readin¡¯ it in your heads¡­¡±


    I smiled at Timesnatcher, then quickly explained what we¡¯d found, what we¡¯d done.


    When I was finished, the others looked between me and Direcrown in silence, until ¨C


    ¡°I wanna go hom,¡± Shallowlie said in a small mind-voice. ¡°I doan won to leaf you, buh¡­ Dis is de end o¡¯ my tam here. Pliz fogeef me.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to forgive,¡± Timesnatcher replied. Several of the others said words to the same effect; whether because they genuinely meant it or because they meant to go with her and were trying to assuage their own guilt, I was unsure.


    I wasn¡¯t sure whether I agreed, but I was hardly going to start a fight, here, now. Not like this.


    ¡°I want to go home,¡± Glimmermere said, ¡°but I¡­ I don¡¯t want to go without him.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll do everything we can to find him,¡± Fangmoon said.


    ¡°You¡¯re staying?¡± the elven-looking druidess asked her.


    Fangmoon nodded. ¡°For Leafcloak.¡±


    ¡°She¡­ she would want you to live, you know.¡±


    Fangmoon¡¯s shoulders shook, a brief spasm, and then it was gone.


    ¡°I know,¡± she replied, so quiet it was almost a non-sound. ¡°But what she wanted most of all ¨C she told me once ¨C¡±


    ¡°A death that mattered,¡± Timesnatcher finished. ¡°Yes. I too will stay.¡°


    ¡°If any of you even thinks about telling Shadow what I said¡­¡± Glimmermere muttered.


    Winterprince, who¡¯d been unusually reluctant to get involved since the start of the discussion, suddenly straightened.


    The icy lips split upon a single word. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting really sick of your drop,¡± I muttered under my breath.


    I stared at him, daring him to make plain the fact he heard me; but he didn¡¯t give any indication.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Timesnatcher replied, still smiling. ¡°You can do what you want, Winterprince, but we¡¯re here and we¡¯re going to see it through. I¡¯ll go with Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m out,¡± Killstop said.


    I raised my eyebrows behind the mask.


    ¡°Someone with sense,¡± the ice elemental grated.


    ¡°Ouch!¡± Killstop winced, rolling her shoulders. ¡°Now, you just take that back!¡±


    ¡°But you need a wizard,¡± Mountainslide huffed through his beard; he was crouched beside Dimdweller opposite the druidesses.


    ¡°I think someone forgot to get a good night¡¯s sleep last night,¡± Glimmermere said to him.


    The dwarven wizard smiled wanly at her, still breathing heavily from all his non-stop energy-expenditure, keeping the effigy at bay.


    Winterprince, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease inside his cold casing.


    Does he even breathe? I wondered. He had to breathe ¨C he had to draw the air through the ice somehow, surely? But I¡¯d never seen him looking over-exerted ¨C I¡¯d never seen him look anything, really, except detached¡­


    In stark, bleeding contrast to his actual character.


    ¡°I get it,¡± Winterprince said at last. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll stay, if you¡¯re staying. You need a wizard.¡± He waved an icicle gauntlet. ¡°The others can keep watch on the other side.¡±


    I raised my eyebrows in disbelief again.


    Timesnatcher¡¯s smile merely broadened, and he coasted through the air towards Spiritwhisper. ¡°A wizard¡­ And an enchanter¡­ best young enchanter in a generation¡­¡± he wheedled in his smooth, deep voice.


    Spirit looked towards me, mute appeal in the slightly-parted lips, the desperate gaze ¨C


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, man, but he¡¯s right.¡± I sighed. ¡°We need you. Zadhal needs you.¡± I looked across at the priest of Kultemeren. ¡°A time of ending and unmaking, right?¡±


    The old man nodded, and rubbed his knuckles where he¡¯d right-hooked a god in the nose. ¡°The breaking of the spell. But I cannot come with you, champion, for this is not my path. I promised you I¡¯d help.¡± The priest looked towards Killstop. ¡°Have faith that I have fulfilled my oath. I must away to Mund with the others.¡±


    There was a smug, almost-mischievous smile on his lined face. Every bit of his previous terror, previous fervour, had been wiped away now he was on the threshold of returning home. He sounded just like any other civilian again.


    I¡¯d never before wanted to punch a holy-man ¨C especially one whom I¡¯d just watched punch a god ¨C but this was a day of firsts.


    * * *

 Like Amber pt2

    After the others headed through the Door, those of us who¡¯d elected to remain steered ourselves towards the distant light of the Green Tower.


    The wind and the snow were in our faces, but I¡¯d gotten used to the conditions by now, and in any case Winterprince and Fangmoon¡¯s magic was in us. I could hardly feel a thing. If it weren¡¯t for the impending attack of any number of elite undead, I felt I could¡¯ve found a certain joy in just sailing through those dark, snow-filled airs. And even the inevitability of the coming battles didn¡¯t do much to dampen my mood; the weight of the anticipation was a physical thing, setting my senses aflame, making it so that I experienced each moment in its entirety. Even Em, Jaid and Jaroan were distant, untroubling thoughts. Every one of these moments could be my last, with vampire-lords and worse potentially waiting around every corner¡­


    Not that we let corners get in our way. We flew above the buildings, moving under Timesnatcher¡¯s power so as to get back and get stuck in as quickly as possible. Despite this, I got the impression the arch-diviner was being cautious, moving us along in little bursts of warped time, checking ahead before he did so as to ensure he didn¡¯t drop us into a trap.


    In the space of a minute we were almost there, soaring above the dead mansions on the edge of the tower district; it was during one of our brief slowing-periods when Timesnatcher scouted ahead that the vampires struck.


    There was no moment of warning anyone but me could provide, and the vampires moved so quickly into range of my undead-perceiving faculty that I had no chance to say anything but ¡®Argh!¡¯ before they were upon us.


    Dozens, whipping through the air, moving like dancers on the invisible night breeze. They reminded me of the way the eolastyr¡¯s obbolomin had moved, when we fought them far beneath Lord¡¯s Knuckle.


    They did not move with the weightless grace of the vampire-lord who¡¯d come to Mund, who¡¯d tried to take me and make me like him. These were still earthbound creatures, though doubtless enemies of prodigious strength, given their ability to launch themselves effortlessly from the rooftops towards us. But earthbound all the same.


    This didn¡¯t help them when they crashed face-first into my extended shielding; they spent a moment clawing at empty air, their momentum suddenly arrested; then they fell back lightly towards the ground once more.


    Or would¡¯ve done, if I hadn¡¯t scooped them up in a big net of force, a dozen interlinked diamonds of pure sorcerous energy.


    My ¡®Argh!¡¯ of warning had served its purpose, and the others were ready: Winterprince extended an ice-sword, let his lightning ripple through my trapped vampires; it coursed from one to the next, and they howled as they were incinerated from within. Fangmoon hovered watchfully about Spiritwhisper while me and the wizard tore them apart. Then Timesnatcher returned, and with his blades flashing he descended upon those lucky-enough to have avoided my net of diamonds.


    ¡°Trouble ahead,¡± the arch-diviner reported.


    ¡°More vampires?¡± Spirit asked.


    ¡°No ¨C liches, their spells readied.¡±


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°I¡¯m ready for them.¡±


    From across my shield, I caught Winterprince¡¯s derisive snort, snapping its way free of his armour¡¯s ¡®mouth¡¯.


    I reminded myself not to clench my jaw so hard I¡¯d need druidry to fix my teeth again, and flew on.


    We passed between the first pair of towers, then the second, the dark shapes barely visible through the snow flurries ¨C


    ¡°Soon,¡± Timesnatcher said, even his telepathic voice hushed. ¡°When they¡¯re about to attack, I¡¯ll take us up. We¡¯ll descend right at the Green Tower, and most of the spells will go wild.¡±


    ¡°I can take lich-fire,¡± I thought in response, perhaps a touch sullenly, remembering the ease with which I¡¯d bore the sustained attacks of Shadowcrafter¡¯s eldritches.


    ¡°Those liches were young,¡± he replied, as if reading my thoughts. ¡°You might as well say you slew a hundred men, when they were toddlers armed with sticks. Lords of the undead don¡¯t grow in power over time, not if they just sit around; but liches are like your average vampire or wight. They grow closer in kind to us. Time spent connected to Materium matters to them, and these have had centuries anchoredon this plane. I don¡¯t mean to belittle you, Feychilde, but no ¨C we¡¯ll go upwards I think.¡±


    I tried to contain my embarrassment as Winterprince silently turned my way, inclining his head, a gesture of respect warped into mockery.


    Tried to contain my fear, focus on the anger instead, the slowly-swelling hate I was developing where the wizard was concerned.


    These liches wouldn¡¯t be like the ones I¡¯d met before. The ones who¡¯d literally been created in order to be enslaved.


    And I hadn¡¯t faced hundreds¡­ just a handful, really¡­


    I¡¯d been rash, overconfident, several times before and it had always led to catastrophe. I was determined I¡¯d avert such misfortune this time. I¡¯d follow orders, get the job done.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Timesnatcher didn¡¯t even speak. He did something to me, his hands on my shoulders, angling me, arrowing upwards with me.


    I went with it ¨C not that I had much say in the matter.


    We were all there, rising, my shields a series of blue shapes ringing us as we pierced the snowy night sky ¨C


    I looked down in time to catch the array of spells arcing up through the snow at us, a barrage of dark fireworks.


    Several dozen of them. Maybe over a hundred.


    Zadhal housed more liches than it had deathknights, it seemed. Deathknights, liches, the lot of them ¨C even without an avatar of Vaahn roaming around down there somewhere, they¡¯d all eventually come back again if we killed them.


    Unless we were successful. Unless we brought this city¡¯s necromancy low.


    The bolts of pure shadow-energy licked out from the ruined black spires beneath us, and, seeing them coming to sear the flesh from our bones and souls from our minds, it really started to sink in. Fighting was futile. We would have to approach this with cunning, not brute force.


    A pair of spells simultaneously struck my dodecahedron, my defence evaporating just like the bolts, but as Shield Eleven and Shield Ten fell to one bolt each, I quickly realised that I was lucky and not unlucky to have two of them hit Shield Twelve at the same time.


    The ease with which the barriers had been brought down alarmed me. I rebuilt them as quickly as I could, re-reinforced my circle, and hoped my inner protections would fare better.


    I tapped my wraith more and more as we climbed higher. My vision was too good. I could track our movement with precision too acute for my frail human mind¡­


    Then, sharply, we descended.


    ¡°More attacks!¡± Timesnatcher snarled, as even my intangible stomach dropped, the sudden plummet more than I could take ¨C


    More fire, trailing purple into the clouds ¨C smashing shields¡­


    The Green Tower ahead, bones rising to meet us.


    We¡¯d gone over the plan as to how to approach this moment before we left the others behind at the Winter Door and returned. I would go in alone, check the state of the sphere, then exit to make a report before re-entering and finishing the work. The others would only stay close-enough to keep the link at maximum power, and do their best to draw attention away from the place whilst I remained inside. Looking for Shadowcloud while Zadhal still functioned as an undead-recycling facility would be a waste of our resources, we¡¯d decided, unless I found evidence the spell-sphere would be up and running imminently. We had no invisibility that would work against the calibre of creature we now faced, whose senses would penetrate all but the mightiest disguises, so there was little point in subterfuge.


    They knew our target.


    I ignored everything, fixing shields about the others, acting on pure instinct as I moved feet-first through the bones, the storm that was recoiling from my barriers.


    Even as I approached I could see the sphere¡¯s rune-lines, waving through the tower¡¯s armour.


    Tattered. Torn.


    Then my barriers bent inwards; I still couldn¡¯t push them through ahead of me into the chamber.


    Like earlier, I used the force-circle to cover me as my boots went into the wall of bones, then I shut my eyes, slipped through the all-too-tangible matter, and came within the sphere¡¯s chamber once more.


    The sight that greeted me made me sick to the stomach. My guts squirmed in spite of the wraith-form.


    There were three things in here with me ¨C I could sense them now ¨C and they¡¯d undone ninety percent of the work me and Direcrown had completed. By the looks of things, we¡¯d soon be back at square one. Newly-sliced ribbons of green energy were appearing here and there and everywhere, such wanton destruction of a beautiful spell that my first instinct as a sorcerer was not to fight, but to get right on fixing it again.


    It was with some reluctance that I focussed my attention on the three strange shapes I could perceive.


    They hadn¡¯t yet sensed me. They were on the ground; I was up at the ceiling of the room. I had this one chance to surprise them.


    I reached out, opening portals.


    And nothing happened. No excess magic was permitted here. The power that went into my gateways was drained out of the very air before it could manifest, and the sphere briefly shone a little brighter before returning to its normal hue.


    ¡°What was that?¡± came the rasping, nervous voice of an old man, speaking Netheric.


    ¡°It was nothing,¡± responded another, female, no less rasping but far less nervous-sounding. ¡°Who knows why this thing does what it does¡­?¡±


    ¡°If she had not buried Saphalar a hundred miles deep ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do you wish to be bound? I should have said, who cares why this thing does what it does! Just get on with it before she comes up. They¡¯re back! There, destroy that¡­¡±


    I hadn¡¯t heard the third speak but I could tell he or she was down there with them. Liches were like crevasses that went deep into the earth, branching complexes that it would take a great deal of time to fill with my willpower. But the three crevasses were distinct, each with its own ¡®opening¡¯ onto our plane.


    I let a drop of my power fall into the nearest lich, and felt the way the tiny shred of my essence was pulled sideways into the sphere.


    Damn planar aberrations.


    I had no eldritches here, and any magic the liches would turn on me might fail too. This presented an interesting conundrum. I still had my shields, even if they felt a bit wobbly, like the flight-spell ¨C would my opponents be able to draw their own shields? They would surely know how to use them as weapons as well as defences.


    Resisting my impulse to start repairing the runic sentences that were drifting and whirling about the room, and staving off the compulsion to test myself against the trio of liches, I regretfully pushed myself back through the bone plating to make my report.


    I kept my eyes shut but went head-first this time. It was strange, how quickly one could get used to being insubstantial, how normal it could feel after so short a time.


    I was still half-submerged in the bones when the link came stuttering back. The nexus of the link, Spiritwhisper, was much closer this time than he had been earlier, and it seemed I didn¡¯t have to be as far from the spell-sphere to get through.


    ¡°Three liches,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m gonna have a go at them ¨C¡±


    ¡°Bring them out!¡± Timesnatcher roared.


    He sounded angry; I cast about but I couldn¡¯t see him, couldn¡¯t see anyone or anything in the bone-storm.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best!¡± I said, and sank back into the tower.


    Not that I had any idea how to do something like that.


    What do I do, if following orders and getting the job done are at odds with each other?


    The arch-diviner didn¡¯t seem to be in the mood to listen to me extemporise about the nature of magic-draining spheres. Was this really the right time to explain to him how this was the best opportunity to destroy the liches, or was it the right time to just do it?


    My choice made, I drifted down towards the floor, lowering my levels of wraithness as I went.


    * * *

 Like Amber pt3

    ¡°Morning!¡± I called cheerily, pointing a dangerous finger, wagging it at them. ¡°Or, my, is it evening? I seem to have gotten quite turned around.¡±


    The liches were no different to the ones I¡¯d seen before, really. Walking cadavers in decorated, dark-coloured robes, their flesh drawn and shrunken where it remained at all. There was a pair of women and one man; two were bald, their skulls bereft of scalp, while one of the females had a few strands of long white hair hanging from a tiny patch on the back of her head.


    The fleshy eyes were long-gone, of course, replaced with the typical purple fire.


    ¡°Stop trying to raise your eyebrows, guys. That¡¯s a battle you¡¯re never going to win. This?¡± I spread my hands theatrically, continuing to meddle, manipulate forces with every motion. ¡°This you might have a shot at, if things go your way.¡±


    Two of them looked terrified to see me ¨C hardly what I¡¯d expected ¨C but the hairless woman laughed.


    ¡°I shall take my shot, Mundian!¡±


    I saw the magenta lines she tried to draw across the air, and decided I¡¯d done enough. No need to be risky.


    I snapped shut the diamond-configuration hanging off the circle-shield I¡¯d placed behind them, bringing both ends of the two L-shapes together and binding them in a single pincer movement.


    I felt the seal. The barrier was secure.


    She formed her pinkish blades of force, tried to break free. The others did the same, with increasingly-panicked motions.


    ¡°No, no,¡± I chided the most-inept one, ¡°you¡¯ll get the attack-vectors all messed up if you tangle them like that. Do it like this.¡±


    I sent a blue sorcerous dagger out from the inner-face of the diamond imprisoning them; when the male lich recoiled from it I transformed it into a spear, sending it unerringly through his own barrier and into his shoulder before dismissing it.


    He put a fibrous hand to the wound, gritted his lipless teeth ¨C but I could tell my strike had hardly caused any damage.


    I¡¯d have to tear them to pieces to be rid of them. Or¡­


    I turned, letting the light of the sphere fall on my face.


    I could put them in there.


    I started fixing the ribbons of runes even as I mulled things over; the trio just watched me work, as motionless as, well, corpses.


    No. Again, it was risky. Timesnatcher might¡¯ve known something about the sphere I didn¡¯t, for instance, and might¡¯ve wanted them out of here as quickly as possible so as to avoid just that circumstance. After all, while I understood how the sphere operated, how it might be fixed, I had absolutely no notion of what was going on beneath its blindingly-bright surface. I had no idea as to its composition, its construction; the materials and the force-shapes that had bound them together in this way were alien to me.


    ¡°Might I not have them?¡± Gilaela asked archly. ¡°They are such ugly little things. Please, may I not transform them?¡±


    ¡®Transform¡¯ them?


    ¡°Into light! How can there be anything ¨C¡°


    ¡°We cannot bow to you,¡± the white-haired lich said at last, and her voice wasn¡¯t just defeated ¨C it was broken, completely deflated. ¡°Not in such a way that it binds us.¡±


    I looked at her curiously between tying force-knots:


    She cannot mean she¡¯s an archmage, surely?


    But she answered that concern by indicating the sphere with a bony hand. ¡°Not here. But we would bow rather than die, sorcerer. We would bow to you.¡±


    I pointed at my masked upper face. ¡°Now it¡¯s my turn to raise my eyebrow.¡±


    ¡°Strike such thoughts from your mind!¡± she cried, stepping towards me only to feel the invisible wall of pressure holding her back. ¡°What reason have we to lie? We are here, and at your mercy. May we¡­ may we not go elsewhere, to better swear to you?¡±


    The bitterness was plain to hear in her tone.


    I pointed at the hairless woman. ¡°And you say the same?¡±


    She¡¯d lowered her face, and she looked up at me with eyes gleaming from a dimensionless void of blackness.


    ¡°I say the same¡­ master.¡±


    I wanted to test her word, find answers to my questions; Direcrown¡¯s response to my report of intelligent undead told me that an opportunity like this didn¡¯t come around very often. But I couldn¡¯t do that ¨C not properly, at any rate ¨C without doing as she suggested, taking her away from the sphere and binding her. Surely what they really wanted was for me to leave the relative-safety of this chamber behind, and abandon the sphere long-enough that her fellow liches out there would get a chance to fry me alive.


    That wasn¡¯t going to happen.


    Zel? I called into my inner space.


    ¡±She is still at a remove,¡± Avaelar said.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Zelurra! There was that strange word again. Bondswoman!


    I¡¯d been staring-out the three trapped liches for about ten seconds before I felt the fairy¡¯s presence.


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Feychilde.¡±


    Forget what happened earlier. I just need an assessment from you.


    ¡°What am I assessing? This¡­ thing? You seem to have done alright for yourself since¡­ you know.¡±


    Since you tried to kill yourself.


    For all my admonishments about forgetting why she¡¯d exiled herself from my head, I couldn¡¯t stop the thought before it¡¯d run through my mind. I caught the sound of Gilaela tutting, a particularly horsey sound, though which of us was its target I was unsure.


    ¡°I shan¡¯t answer that,¡± the unicorn snickered.


    Zel made no protest, and, after a brief awkward silence, I pressed on:


    I just want your opinion on the answers I get out of these liches. Can you do that much for me, Zel?


    ¡°Of course¡­ It¡¯ll be easier if you get her to speak Mundic though.¡±


    ¡°You.¡± I indicated the hairless woman, the ringleader. ¡°Tell me, then, in place of service ¨C how many lich-lords are in Zadhal? Respond in kind.¡±


    She grimaced as only a revenant might, then replied in the human tongue, her rasp soft but her accent almost broguish, made foreign by its ancient quality:


    ¡°Two.¡±


    ¡°Looks good to me,¡± Zel supplied.


    ¡°Two¡­¡± I mulled it over, checking runes and resealing them once more. ¡°And other lords? Vampires, wights, whatever¡­ How many are there?¡±


    ¡°King Keltoros, lord of deathknights¡­ his kin, the Diphraneas family¡­ wights¡­ eight, I believe. The twin vampires of House Isromalle¡­ The liches, of whom you have already enquired¡­ Thirteen, all told.¡±


    An unfortunate tally, I thought, remembering Starsight¡¯s annoyance during the Incursion when Killstop had arrived to join us.


    ¡°Some are already dead,¡± Zel pointed out.


    For now¡­


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± the lich asked, her tone not quite one of demand but edging close to it.


    ¡°Why do you think? To free you from undeath.¡±


    She rasped harsh laughter. ¡°Yet you arrive in my home, you bind me and mine within a minute. We are free. What you bring with you is bondage.¡±


    ¡°You worship the Prince of Chains!¡±


    ¡°Into whose arms you drove us! You came here to carry out the sentence, did you not, Mundian?¡± There was no ice in an elemental plane colder than her tone when she spoke the last word. ¡°What will you do now? Drag me back to your filthy city? Is that not what you intended when you slunk in like a common thief ¨C¡°


    My focus had slipped, and I released the ribbons I was holding; I realised what she meant when she said ¡®you arrive in my home¡¯.


    The liches had been spread out around the Green Tower when we arrived, sending fire up at us from the ring of buildings surrounding it.


    It could¡¯ve been that they¡¯d chosen those positions strategically, or it might¡¯ve just been that they found it convenient ¨C


    They lived in the Green Tower.


    Of course they did. The sphere wasn¡¯t just easy to fix, it was regenerating. They were living on the lower levels, outside the strongest effects of its pull, beyond my ability to sense last time I was here.


    They were coming up to damage it, perhaps nightly, keep its magic at bay¡­


    The ¡®she¡¯ down there¡­ They hadn¡¯t been talking about another lich down in the city ¨C they were talking about one beneath my feet¡­


    And ¡®she¡¯ had killed the one of their number who best understood the sphere¡­


    If the lich-lord (lich-lady?) had robbed herself of her sole chance to destroy it for good, that could only be a sign of Belestae¡¯s fortune working in our favour.


    ¡°I don¡¯t quite follow everything you¡¯re thinking, but this lich is building to something ¨C she¡¯s noticed you¡¯re distracted ¨C¡°


    The hairless one was talking about the war, and I¡¯d heard enough now from several sources to know that Mund¡¯s aggressions were to blame for whatever they¡¯d done that¡¯d made them this way. I remembered the words of the Diphraneas matriarch: ¡®We wanted no part in the war; for years we argued against such dreadful actions, seeking only peace with thy people.¡¯


    ¡°¨C if only you Mundians got what you deserved¡­¡± the hairless one said in a musing tone, then barked in Netheric: ¡°Kiva!¡±


    ¡®Now!¡¯


    I was quick enough to steal the purple energy she drew across the air, pluck it right out of her hands ¨C while the other two struck simultaneously at the diamond, wedging their blades in deep.


    They¡¯d pinned it, but the blow she should¡¯ve landed between the other two never made it, never smashed the barrier.


    ¡°Good teamwork,¡± I congratulated them, extinguishing the stolen energies by clapping my hands together, letting the pieces drift towards the sphere. ¡°I¡¯m not alone either, though.¡± I went over what she¡¯d been saying to me ¨C the shadows of the words were still there in my memory, coming back to me now as I focussed on them. ¡°Back up thirty seconds, will you? You were saying that this is my fault. Your¡­ condition. That we got what we deserved¡­¡±


    ¡°In making us!¡±


    Even I could tell this outburst was the truth.


    In retrospect it should¡¯ve been obvious ¨C the key that unlocked the whole mystery.


    No wonder she thought we had driven them into the arms of Vaahn.


    ¡°I mentioned that it was ugly,¡± Zel said solemnly.


    We¡­ we did this? We cursed them? How?


    ¡°That I don¡¯t know. But from what I¡¯ve gleaned, yes. The Magisterium did this to Zadhal. Come on, Feychilde¡­ Do you think the Magisterium would care as much about keeping the war secret, if it weren¡¯t for how they chose to end it?¡±


    I felt the anger, the ache to sear flesh until it evaporated, welling up once more, pushing its way into my horn ¨C I saw the liches look up at the golden light that was suddenly brightening the area, vying with the sphere in its incandescence ¨C


    They had no idea it wasn¡¯t made for them, and reacted with appropriate horror, backing away to the limits of my diamond.


    The horn had no idea it wasn¡¯t made for them either, and reacted with excessive judgement, unleashing a rippling cone of golden power.


    I screamed, my head feeling like it was about to rip in two ¨C by the time I could open my eyes, the liches were gone and the sphere was flickering, gobbling up what magical essence it could from their remnants.


    What ¨C in ¨C Twelve ¨C Hells ¨C Gilaela?


    ¡°What?¡± The unicorn managed to sound a trifle offended. ¡°I cannot be held responsible for your failure to restrain my¡­¡±


    Sanctimoniousness?


    ¡°Devotion! You were going to kill them anyway, were you not? I simply¡­ expedited the procedure.¡±


    I sighed, taking up a green-glowing cord once more. Answers had been put beyond my reach yet again.


    Time to go to sleep, Gilaela, Avaelar.


    ¡°Pray tell, what sin did I commit?¡±


    Avvie. Please.


    ¡°¡­ As you command, M- Feychilde¡­¡±


    They were both gone.


    Is that how that works? Gilaela¡¯s in charge of her powers while she¡¯s awake in here?


    ¡°To a degree,¡± Zel replied. ¡°It¡¯s not like I surrender my danger-sense to you, is it?¡±


    I¡¯m getting better at it, though, you know.


    ¡°I¡¯ll believe it when I see it.¡±


    I wanted to chuckle, but too much of what had happened earlier was on my mind for me to take amusement in her words.


    ¡°I know. I ¨C Kas, no, don¡¯t ¨C¡°


    We¡¯re going to have a talk, Zel. I found the partner of the energy-ribbon in my hands, created the sigil and sent them on their way. I¡¯ve got a bit to do here to, you know, fix this whole mess ¨C and there¡¯s very likely an ancient arch¨Clich on her way ¨C but, drop on it all, I¡¯ve got to take five minutes here. You¡¯re going to tell me everything, Zel¡­


    Zelurra¡­?

 Evasions pt1

    <h2>AMETHYST 5.7: EVASIONS</h2>


    ¡°The Nightmare is the Shadow. The Shadow is the Wave. I see it by the light of strange stars ¨C Rivertown is swallowed, and it climbs, over the hills, still rising as it courses up the slopes, to splash against the very shins of Obrosil and the Five Peaks. Is it a dream? Is this my own idiosyncrasy? It does not feel idiosyncratic. It feels like Truth!¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Notes of Timesnatcher¡¯, recovered after the Fall


    Why does your name sound so strange to me? ¡®Zelurra¡¯? It sounds like I¡¯m pronouncing it wrong now ¨C it¡¯s only getting worse. What¡¯s up with me?


    ¡°I can honestly say that I have no idea why my name would sound strange to you all of a sudden, Kas. You¡¯re just being a ¨C what was it? ¨C a clod. Kastyr, Kastyr, Kastyr¡­ Sometimes words sound funny if you say them too often, you know? It¡¯s probably just that.¡± She sighed. ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s just that I¡¯m not being myself.¡±


    How do you mean?


    She hadn¡¯t replied by the time I fixed the next rune-thread, so I prodded: Come on, Zel. You tried to dive us both into the avatar. What was that about?


    ¡°You think I¡¯m avoiding talking about it? Why did you want to attack it, Kas? After seeing what it did to Leafcloak¡­¡±


    I had to! It killed her! But you ¨C you were excited!


    ¡°You were excited! I felt it in you. The fact Vaahn killed her should¡¯ve turned you off the idea, not spurred you on ¨C¡°


    That was your doing!


    ¡°No, Kas. Not really. You know it the same as I. We ¨C how did you put it yesterday? We¡¯re all broken. It applies to us too, you know. Think of the atiimogrix¡­ We live, surrounded by death, but we¡¯re unable to stop.¡±


    I don¡¯t want to die.


    ¡°See, Kas, you think you don¡¯t ¨C¡°


    No, Zel, you¡¯re wrong, I thought at her sharply. It was my head, after all, and I could shout over her if I had to. It¡¯s not that I want to die. That¡¯s not why I attacked the avatar. If there was even a ten percent chance Gilaela¡¯s horn could¡¯ve slain it, or even given it a serious wound, my life would¡¯ve been worth it ¨C it would¡¯ve been a right reason to ¨C you know¡­


    ¡°Would it? Leaving your brother and sister, to put a single dent in it?¡±


    Leafcloak gave her life!


    ¡°So you agree with me! You wanted to give your life.¡±


    No! You ¨C are you mad, Zel? Do you think that¡¯s why Leafcloak did what she did? You think she died deliberately? She¡¯s ¨C she was a druid, damn it ¨C


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that ¨C you¡¯re the one who used Leafcloak ¡®giving her life¡¯ to justify your own actions! Don¡¯t you see the contradiction there? You knew what you were doing!¡±


    I shook my head. She was blind.


    ¡°I¡¯m not blind, Kas, in fact I can see everything that ¨C¡°


    I wish I knew how to help you, dear¡­ I thought it softly, and it silenced her all the same. I felt her¡­ her shame. I¡¯m not trying to say we¡¯re not ¨C I¡¯m not broken ¨C I know I am ¨C I get that, I do. I charge headlong into near-certain death, the thought of the battle, it thrills me, sure ¨C whatever. The point is that I didn¡¯t do it to die. I did it to kill that hideous thing, even if it was going to be almost impossible to pull off. I had to try. Leafcloak had to try. We didn¡¯t want to die. She wouldn¡¯t have retired half a dozen times if she wanted to die ¨C


    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t have resumed the mantle of champion if she wanted to live, you mean.¡±


    I had no answer. I fastened the spell-threads in silence, my mind in turmoil, every thought like a bubble on the surface of a cauldron, bursting into nothingness as soon as it was born.


    ¡°And you wouldn¡¯t have stopped once Shallowlie brought you around if it was the sensible option.¡±


    Well, I¡¯m hardly trying to argue it was the sensible option¡­


    ¡°What are you trying to argue, then?¡±


    That it was¡­ understandable?


    ¡°Fine, Kas. It was ¡®understandable¡¯.¡±


    No, not sarcastic-understandable ¨C just the normal kind.


    I felt her scepticism.


    Anyway, how did you turn this around on me like that?


    ¡°I just started pointing out the inconsistencies in your ¨C¡°


    Rhetorical question, Zel!


    ¡°Well, what can I say; I must have a way with words.¡±


    Yeah ¨C but I¡¯m not the one who said I wanted to never come back. Where was your way with words when you were explaining yourself through my lips to my sorceress-buddy?


    She sighed again, and now it was her turn to be silent.


    After thirty seconds, she came back to me, and this time there was no aggression in her tone. No apology either. Just acceptance, a touch of sorrow lined with amusement.


    ¡°I guess we¡¯re made for each other, Kas. I didn¡¯t see Shallowlie charging a god. We both¡­ We hide from ourselves. But this is who I am. Who you are. We might be broken, but that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t be fixed. I¡­¡± She chuckled, and I could tell she was going to be okay. ¡°I once did something similar myself, you know. Flew up to a dragon, poked it right in the eye, blinded it for seven seconds ¨C just long enough¡­Twelve Hells, you should¡¯ve seen me back then, Kas. I was really something, once¡­¡±


    You still are, Zel. I don¡¯t care how old you are, where you¡¯ve been, what you did. I¡­ I trust you. I want you to have my back. You¡¯re ¨C well, you¡¯re part of the family, you know? You need to know you¡¯ve always got something to live for.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Her voice cracked. ¡°I¡¯m ¨C Kas! Danger!¡±


    The work had gone more quickly this time. A sigil of Glaif, a closed book. A sigil of Nentheleme, a simple key. I¡¯d almost managed to catch up to the point we¡¯d reached when both me and Direcrown had been repairing it, when the residents of the tower in which I was currently an extremely-unwelcome guest finally decided to pay me a visit.


    They used the trapdoor rather than coming up through the floor right under my feet, affording me a tenth-second reaction time, which was very considerate of them, all things taken into account.


    The heavy lid banged open, and a blur moved towards me ¨C then the vampire-lord was at the edge of my circle, fingers poised to rip it apart, nails digging into its surface. My other shields were already gone.


    Twins indeed. The same haughty features and beautiful hair, the same rich, unspoilt white clothing.


    Can he get through twelve stars? I wondered grimly, looking at those razor-sharp, steel-hard nails, remembering the severity of the wounds they could inflict.


    ¡°Hold, Ilthelor. We would have words with this one.¡±


    The female skeleton¡¯s voice was a high-pitched rasp this time, but nonetheless dripping with authority, the ease of familiarity. She came flying through the rectangular opening, surrounded by magenta shielding, moving under her own power.


    ¡°Unless she¡¯s using magery, flying like that makes her a sorcerer or a wizard,¡± Zel mentioned.


    Figured that much out¡­ I let my senses lap over her. Wizard, I think. Very fine control.


    ¡°Watch out. Liches aren¡¯t necessarily more powerful than they were in life, but she¡¯s had centuries to hone her skills. She might be able to get around the sphere.¡°


    She certainly looked the part. Her gown was a flowing thing ten feet long, hanging almost to the floor beneath her as she floated towards me. It was an intricate braiding of red and black fabrics, sleeves far too deep to expose her bony hands. To proclaim her true nature there was only the gleaming white head without a single trace of hair or skin, muscle or ligament.


    A high black collar framed the face, stretching up from the neck of the garment to surround the back of her skull, extending almost a foot into the air over her head. The whole get-up was there to intimidate, to make this shrunken, dead thing look like some big scary critter.


    I¡¯d faced genuine demons. The lich-lady wasn¡¯t scary.


    That¡¯s what I kept telling myself.


    Still, someone this important-looking ¡®wanted words¡¯ with me¡­


    At last! I forced myself to think.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± I cleared my throat. ¡°Well finally, someone who actually wants to talk ¨C you have no idea what it¡¯s like trying to make inroads with the locals as a foreigner in this place,¡± I lamented.


    ¡°How awful thy trials,¡± the archlich said quietly, her voice hard. She came to a stop about twenty feet from me, glowering down at me.


    I hadn¡¯t exposed my own wizard-flight to them yet. They¡¯d know I was capable of flight from the wings, so they wouldn¡¯t be expecting me to take off without so much as a single flap of otherworldly feathers. A secret only to be revealed for whatever slight tactical advantage it could win me.


    I moved my eyes to the vampire-lord, smiled blandly. ¡°Your brother ¨C he wasn¡¯t all that chatty. He tried to adopt me, would you believe it ¨C you¡¯d have been an uncle! But then he met this murderous twig, see, and ¨C¡±


    Rage warped the porcelain features, and with a shriek Ilthelor drew back a claw to strike, strike hard, tear through my shield if he could ¨C


    His motion was too slow to be real ¨C he was just trying to intimidate me, and I wasn¡¯t going to let it work.


    I moved to meet him at the edge of my circle, caught the hand by the wrist ¨C saw his purple eyes widen in surprise at my strength ¨C and headbutted him as hard as I could across the nose.


    Gods, it felt good watch the vampire-lord recoil, stumble back with his palm cupped across his face.


    ¡°Revenge. Your brother took a few pieces of me with him to the shadowland, don¡¯t you know.¡± I rolled my shoulders, stepped back into the centre of my circle. ¡°I¡¯ve learned a few things since then. Why don¡¯t you let your betters have a bit of a natter before we have round two?¡±


    But it was more serious than that. Glitter was pouring out from between his fingers; I¡¯d completely forgotten about the horn.


    ¡°Ilthelor?¡± the lich-lady pronounced, looking down at him curiously.


    The vampire had gone to his knees, one hand on the stone, the other still clasped across his nose ¨C then he almost toppled, and thrust out his other hand to keep himself upright, revealing his face ¨C


    Most of it was gone; above his chin there was just an orb of softly-falling petals of light.


    We both watched in surprise as the second Isromalle brother disintegrated, and drifted away in pieces towards the sphere.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said dryly, ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning on a hard-ball negotiation, but¡­¡±


    ¡°What hast thou done?¡± she said in quiet horror. It wasn¡¯t quite a question.


    ¡°Erm ¨C rid the world of a second great evil? Slightly increased the rate at which this magic ball gets up and running, to wipe you and all your filthy breed out for good? Erm¡­¡±


    ¡°Thou speakst so callously of the death of the man who was my love. Mine eternal love!¡±


    They ¨C they¡¯re capable of love?


    ¡°If it can talk, it¡¯s got a soul. Her soul might be lost, but that doesn¡¯t mean she hasn¡¯t got one.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll be back, won¡¯t he?¡± I said casually, watching the movements of her own shield.


    ¡°Upon a time, upon a spell, dies the death; return the dead, upon a wish, upon a god¡¯s breath¡­¡± she crooned, looking distracted, staring down at his empty clothing. ¡°Thou slewest his twin, in truth?¡±


    She might¡¯ve been anguished; she might¡¯ve wanted to close her eyes, frown; but she had no features upon which to display her emotions. She had no eyelids. She was forced to look, without sleep, without cease, to stare out upon the world the Magisterium had created for her.


    Pity welled up within me then. If she hadn¡¯t been a highborn herself, I might¡¯ve even been able to put myself in her shoes. As it was, I felt it was ironic. Toppled into undeath by the very same institutions and organisations that had raised her up above the masses since her birth.


    ¡°The one who killed him isn¡¯t in your city,¡± I answered, thinking of Em. ¡°But I had a hand in it ¨C well, he had a hand in me for most of it, actually¡­¡± I gestured at my side, the remembered pain flaring. ¡°But what goes around comes around, and it¡¯s now up to us to discuss a truce. You have to let me finish this.¡± I inclined my head towards the sphere.


    ¡°A truce?¡± Zel muttered.


    I¡¯ve got to report this stuff back. Got to keep her talking, not fighting. A chance might present itself.


    ¡°There will be no truce,¡± the lich-lady said quietly. ¡°Thy Magisterium hath gone too far this night. I had thought to take it from the other one, but thou hast now come away blood-handed from both their deaths ¨C yet can I use thee twice?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ really don¡¯t follow the question¡­¡±


    ¨C thought to take it from the other one ¨C


    ¡°¡­ but who is this other one?¡± I finished.


    ¡°The wizard of thy fellowship, deposited at our feet by the King¡¯s men,¡± she replied, just carelessly dispensing information, looking off as if deep in contemplation.


    That told me she really didn¡¯t see me as any kind of threat.


    And that told me she had Shadowcloud. She had him, she wanted something from him. Something she now wanted from me.


    Something she now wanted from me twice.


    ¡°My sister shall simply kill me,¡± she said to herself in an almost-singsong voice, then sighed.


    ¡°Your sister¡­ let me guess¡­ also a lich-lord?¡±


    The skull nodded solemnly.


    ¡°And she was in love with¡­¡±


    ¡°Rhinath, yes. The first thou felled. We made them, raised them up, when ye brought the desecration upon us.¡±


    Two sisters, twin brothers, all archmages, lovers¡­ The story was something that would¡¯ve been in all Jaid¡¯s books ¨C Twelve Hells, it sounded like one of the fables of Brenwe Bathor ¨C if only those who owned magic in the Realm hadn¡¯t had free rein to expunge any mention of this lore from the record. Curse them.


    ¡°Just, for what it¡¯s worth, I completely, one hundred percent disapprove of turning cities into undead wastelands. I don¡¯t even like the Magisterium ¨C I don¡¯t work for them ¨C¡±


    ¡°Yet thou camest here under their wings, didst thou not? What is thy name, sorcerer?¡±


    I straightened, swallowed. ¡°Feychilde.¡±


    She nodded to me. ¡°Very good, Feychilde. I am called Aidel, of the Sunseed, Eighth of my name. It is fitting that we know one another¡¯s name, is it not, now that one of us must fall, never to rise again, unless it be in the dusts of the passage of centuries?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to fight, then?¡±


    ¡°We must. Even should I grant that thou art an enemy of mine enemy, I cannot befriend my love¡¯s killer. And how else might I procure thy soul, and use it to return my love to mine arms, and my sister¡¯s to hers? Wilt thou offer it freely?¡±


    If this was a scare-tactic, it was working.


    Gilaela. Wake up.


    Wake up and help me take this thing apart.


    Aidel saw my answer in my eyes through the mask¡¯s slits, and lowered her head, the purple-glittering flames in her eye-sockets still centred on me.


    As she brought down her chin she raised her arms; the sleeves drew back, exposing the thin, bony forearms, the fingers clutching the very coldness of the air ¨C and all was plunged into tumult.


    * * *

 Evasions pt2

    Being a lich gave her certain advantages. This wasn¡¯t just confronting your average arch-wizard. Your average arch-wizard wasn¡¯t ancient beyond the lives of elves, capable of wielding sorcerous forces on par with the best arch-sorcerers, or possessed of a bodily durability that would impress an arch-druid. Your average arch-wizard wouldn¡¯t regenerate from as little as dust given half the chance to hang around on the plane.


    Defeating Aidel would require a careful weighing of my advantages, and a watchful eye for her spirit when I parted it from its physical manifestation. It had to go back in the nethernal wind. It had to be lost, never to return.


    She floated there, spraying a vast quantity of frozen air at me as if it were nothing; other than the infrequent movements of her fingers, refocussing the streams of white wind, she was motionless, expressionless, simply waiting for me to break. She looked bored, if anything, while I held myself taut in the centre of the rushing, booming cascade.


    Winterprince had mentioned it once, and he was right. I would break, eventually. My circle wasn¡¯t large ¨C barely enough to cover my head and feet at the same time ¨C and it didn¡¯t prevent the frost from building up around me. Within seconds I was being buried inside a rising hill of ice, but she wouldn¡¯t bury me completely ¨C she would want to keep working on my shield, not just encase me¡­


    But that was the thing, wasn¡¯t it? I¡¯d seen Winterprince and Mountainslide trading-off when fighting the avatar of Vaahn, and I knew it sapped a wizard¡¯s strength to keep their power turned on for extended periods. We were champions, fighting monthly, weekly, daily, continually testing our abilities, pushing our boundaries. For all her ancient and undying nature, Aidel had gone unchallenged for centuries, until tonight. Now she was being forced to call upon her wizardry right next to a sphere that sucked on any excess energies. Sure, personal powers like flight, internally-ordered powers like shields ¨C they were going at ninety percent output, perhaps. But anything directed externally? Shredding planar matter to open a gateway? Gathering the elements together to form an attack? Not so easy.


    Perhaps she¡¯d find this a test of her own skills. Boredom could bite you in the ass, if you let it.


    There was the natural wobble granted to my shield due to my being in the sphere¡¯s vicinity, but I waited for the first serious wavering before delivering a riposte.


    I feinted first, bringing out arms of force as if to bounce around, strike behind her ¨C


    Just as I saw Aidel move her head slightly, following one of the lines, I delivered my blow.


    I sent out a series of well-structured spikes, flowing like waves upon the backs of the ones that had gone before, striking straight between the two jets of icy vapour. Just like Dustbringer had done to me the first time we met.


    My pointed battering-ram thudded into the centre of her purple barrier, and I saw the instantaneous fragmentation. I kept up the force, watched her squirm, doing her best to bring in other lines, trying to splinter my spike before it broke her protections.


    I was right. There was no spare energy in the force-systems worked by my sorcery, little residue for the sphere to steal away. I¡¯d done more damage to her shield with one carefully-placed hammer-blow than she¡¯d done to mine with a whole minute of output, and I capitalised on my good fortune, pouring more and more power into my offense.


    After five, ten, fifteen seconds she could bear it no longer and darted to her right, trying to evade my lance of force ¨C I swivelled, trying to follow her, but she circled the sphere and came around at me from behind, this time striking out with lich-fire.


    She was nothing. Absolutely nothing.


    It was time. I very obviously and deliberately spread my wings, lifting myself into the air, weaving away from her purple flames.


    The responsiveness of the sylph-flight was surprising. Eldritches of fey origin had their powers exaggerated here ¨C something to take advantage of. If she wasn¡¯t going to exhaust herself with her wizardry, I¡¯d see how much nethernal energy she could draw on while she was stuck here with me, and hold my sorcery in reserve, let my strength replenish itself.


    The red-black braided gown she wore was so long that its hem extended out of her shielding. I tucked my wings and rolled towards her, almost low enough to slide across the icy ground, and as I anticipated Aidel rose up in the air, to afford a better angle for bathing me in her magenta energies.


    As she did so I reversed my motion and took hold of the dangling fabric, leveraged it to swing her through the air and into one of the pillars.


    Her shield absorbed the force of it ¨C the first time.


    I added every ounce of the wizard-flight to the steady beating of my wings, holding myself still, bringing her about again ¨C


    My shield took a full burst of the lich-fire, and I felt my stars fading ¨C


    Every shred of satyr muscle I could draw upon, augmented by the green glow bathing the room ¨C the force with which I struck her into the second pillar was enough to shake it in its moorings.


    I laughed mockingly as the purple lines about her broke, suddenly sundered at a thousand points between one moment and the next, their pieces dropping away into the air to be pulled apart by the sphere.


    The sound of her body striking the stone was a satisfying crunch, but she pulled herself away from both me and the pillar using her archmagery, and after a quick stretch she continued to move with every bit of the uncanny grace she¡¯d displayed all along.


    Now, however, the tables were turned ¨C every time I saw her trying to draw out the purple lines to recreate her barriers I could interrupt them with my own forces. I couldn¡¯t steal her nethernal power like I could with the standard liches, but this much I could manage without any issue: keeping her on the back-foot, taking advantage of her vulnerability.


    Over and over I sent my spears of blue light into her unnatural substance, piercing her weird robe again and again. Still she fled me, circling the room, reversing direction when I did, giving me no opportunity to catch her.


    Did she suspect what I wanted to do? She had to know that getting close would allow me to direct this sickening glittery anger-stick right into her face ¨C do to her what I¡¯d done to her twisted lover. And while she evaded me she was surely healing, the old bones knitting with every second she retained her link to Nethernum. I doubted my minor attacks were doing much to bring this to an end.


    But Zel had gained potency too.


    ¡°Turn! Now!¡± my advisor shrilled.


    The sudden shift in momentum took Aidel off-balance, and for the first time since the approach to the Green Tower I used Winterprince¡¯s flight-spell to put on a burst of speed, enhancing the already-potent sylph-flight ¨C I closed my eyes ¨C


    The instant I should have connected, burying Gilaela¡¯s horn into Aidel¡¯s breast, I realised she had moved, escaped me ¨C I opened my eyes, cast about with all my senses ¨C


    ¡°The trapdoor!¡±


    I looked at it just as the last twelve inches of her gown were disappearing across its rim, black and red fabrics snaking down to the next floor, trailing after the lich-lady. A gust of wind was tipping the trapdoor lid, and it was about to fall, close itself after her¡­


    I aimed myself at the rectangular opening ¨C


    ¡°No! No, Kas ¨C Feychilde, I mean¡­ Don¡¯t follow her. That¡¯s what she wants. Closing the lid is just there to entice you. Stay. Stay up here. You won.¡±


    Slowly, extremely slowly, I unclenched my fists. Ungritting my teeth was an altogether different matter.


    You¡­ you can calm down now, Gilaela.


    ¡°She might come back!¡± the unicorn snapped.


    When she didn¡¯t immediately retract her anger I had to send her consciousness back to Etherium, then sank down to sit on the floor, breathing deep.


    She really doesn¡¯t like undead, does she?


    ¡°If you¡¯d caught up to Aidel, you¡¯d have appreciated that hatred,¡± Zel pointed out.


    I know, I know¡­ I sighed aloud. I still have work to do ¨C and she¡¯s going to be coming back with reinforcements if I don¡¯t follow, isn¡¯t she? I don¡¯t think I can handle Aidel, even here next to this gods-loved little beauty, I gestured affectionately at the sphere, if she¡¯s got a few dozen lesser liches at her back.


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    ¡°Or her sister.¡±


    Or her sister¡­


    Only half-conscious of what I was doing, I started matching runic sentences again, fastening them.


    I need to speak to the others, don¡¯t I?


    I really didn¡¯t like the thought of leaving it almost-complete a second time, especially after the way they¡¯d undone it all after the first.


    The bones were still sheathing the tower, covering the chamber¡¯s windows. That meant my friends were nearby, didn¡¯t it? Or at least one of them, I supposed¡­


    I tapped the wraith again, and stuck my head through ¨C then, after a moment¡¯s consideration, pulled the rest of my body through. No point leaving a torso dangling from the wall for Aidel to take aim at if she returned.


    A maelstrom of bone, snow and lich-fire greeted my eyes when I opened them. I propelled myself away from the tower, calling out over the link. Thanks to the storm (and possibly, in part, my current nethernal essence) none of the attacks were heading my direction.


    It swiftly transpired that the avatar had reappeared. Timesnatcher was leading him away from the area, and he¡¯d left instruction that I should finish up with the sphere as quickly as possible, get it working so we could use it against the Prince.


    It was Spirit who reported this to me. Unsurprisingly, Winterprince said nothing; he¡¯d been opposed to the notion of coming to the Green Tower in the first place, and would hardly be singing my praises now I¡¯d been proven right all along.


    A weapon, I¡¯d called it, and a weapon it would become.


    I¡¯d been gone for less than a minute, and when I returned to the sphere-chamber I couldn¡¯t help but stop and stare at the ribbons extending from the blinding ball. They¡¯d fixed themselves faster than earlier, and with just two more minutes¡¯ work¡­


    Four minutes later, I was done. All the dangling spell-threads that I could find had been joined with their partners, and it was ready to be activated.


    ¡°And how exactly do you propose to do that?¡±


    I was kind of thinking I¡¯d ask this really helpful, super-knowledgeable fairy I carry around in my head.


    ¡°Oh really? You have to introduce us. I, for one, know next to nothing of necromancy.¡±


    It¡¯s pretty simple, really. Somewhere inside that thing there¡¯s a shape. Lines of introduction, drawing in the surrounding magical energies like water down a drain.


    ¡°A hole in the plane?¡±


    A hole in Materium and Nethernum, I mused. There¡¯s an Etherial connection in there.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t see what you¡¯d have to do to wake it up.¡±


    Wake it up¡­ I mulled-over her turn of phrase. Like the Doors¡­ How do they turn them on?


    ¡°They¡¯re always on?¡±


    The Autumn Door¡­


    ¡°True¡­ But nothing¡¯s been through that door for centuries. It¡¯s dormant ¨C I don¡¯t think it¡¯s off. What you¡¯re looking for here is more like giving birth¡­¡±


    Oh.


    I saw it. The way I would have to do it.


    The way I would surely die.


    I could reach through, grip Etherium inside the sphere, and pull. Like reversing an inside-out tunic. Bring through as a flood what had until now been seeping out in drips and drabs.


    The amount of power I estimated it would take scared me. I wouldn¡¯t just be opening a gate ¨C I¡¯d be using my power, my body as a conduit ¨C a highway. If Shallowlie or Direcrown were here ¨C if we were permitted to go into Etherium, have someone push from the otherworld-side, while I pulled from this side¡­


    The other option was to give it all.


    ¡°You think this will kill you?¡± Zel sounded amused. ¡°You really have no idea what an archmage is, do you?¡±


    You¡¯re not trying to get us wiped from existence again, are you? I flexed my fingers nervously.


    ¡°Do you have to keep bringing that up?¡±


    Errrr ¨C Zel, it only happened an hour ago ¨C well, to me at least¡­ I¡¯m gonna be bringing it up for aaaaages¡­ If you think it¡¯s bad now¡­


    I sensed her irritation. Yeah, she was herself again.


    Fine. I took a deep breath. Are you ready?


    ¡°Are you?¡±


    I suppose I¡¯d better be.


    ¡°I¡­ I think you can do it, Kas. In fact I think you have to.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to actually send my wraith home in case the sphere stole away the magic before it could be completed; for all I knew unjoined entities might become unbound under the sphere¡¯s light, and I¡¯d have no way to get through the tower¡¯s casing if I lost control of him and was forced to destroy him. Instead I reduced the share of his essence I¡¯d taken to virtually nil. It would have to do.


    I drew back my sleeve, turned my face aside, and approached the sphere. It tore away my shield once I got close enough for the lines to meet it, which was lovely.


    The thing was massive, a green sun. I wouldn¡¯t be able to reach the structural glyphs in the centre from here at the edge, but that was okay. Any part of the internal architecture would let my senses follow the pattern, unlock the whole.


    I stretched out my hand and touched my middle fingertip to the swirling stuff.


    Had I expected heat? It was like ice-water. Who knew what it¡¯d be like without Winterprince and Fangmoon¡¯s protections suffusing my flesh.


    Wincing against some anticipated pain that never came, I plunged my arm into the sphere up to the elbow.


    Oh. Oh my.


    ¡°You can feel it?¡±


    It¡­ it¡­


    It was a system of delicate gossamer, damaged even by my intruding hand; I instinctively put right what I¡¯d broken as I studied the filaments of energy that whirled within the sphere.


    A whole latticework, millions or billions of connections. It felt to my sorcerer¡¯s-touch like the night sky from Hightown, an endless expanse of stars and subtle colour, here an unimaginable complex of runes and hidden meanings.


    How¡­?


    There was no time to ponder it now. I could spend weeks researching it in the Maginox library ¨C so long as I got home. And I knew now there was only one way I was going home ¨C with Zadhal back in one piece.


    I put my finger on the arterial channel, followed it back to the beating heart.


    Slowly, I closed my fist.


    Inexorably, I pulled.


    The weight of a plane in my hand, I pulled.


    At first nothing happened. I held the living nexus in my fist, applying such pressure as my willpower itself could bring to bear.


    I will go home.


    I strained. Using my other hand I stretched out a line of force in the opposite direction towards the bone-wall, opening the channel, begging Etherium to flow through me.


    Lost souls ¨C it¡¯s time you went home too.


    Then I felt it. The slightest submission to my will. It moved, one tiny shred, an inch of the miles I had to travel.


    And the moment the otherworld bent to my power, allowing me to pull a fingernail of its spirit-matter into my world, the bones surrounding the sphere-chamber came alive.


    ¡°W¨Ch¨Ce¨Ce¨Ce¨Cr¨Cr¨Cr¨Ce¨Ce¨Ce?¡°


    The voice of the God of Tyranny rattled my brains, emanating from the fleshless lips of hundreds of skulls all around me, deafening.


    Oh, drop.


    Lich-fire blasted the bones on at least two sides of the four-sided room, and I could see them through the tiny gaps their spells created, before the unliving armour filled-in the spaces again. Dark shapes, teeming out there, enough to be visible through the storm. Many of the liches were under the effects of flight-spells, and had soared up to try to penetrate the bones, get through and stop me.


    It was only a matter of time.


    Pull¡­ pull¡­ come on, come through, damn it!


    It was moving, but slowly, too slowly.


    ¡°Yune!¡± I cried aloud. ¡°Kultmeren! Aid me now!¡±


    I was no clergyman, had no special talent for prayer in moments of distress. I didn¡¯t have enough hope for Yune to hear me. Kultemeren¡¯s aid was probably already spent.


    ¡°Nentheleme?¡± I called lamely.


    I was acting against Vaahn, her arch-enemy. Surely she could hear me. Surely she, of all the deities of the world, would feel free to break whatever rules kept the gods from interfering in our affairs.


    Nothing special happened. No magnificent avatar leapt to my defence.


    I was yet to devise a way to shield myself without allowing the lines to intersect the sphere¡¯s surface ¨C I¡¯d need to use three circles, set close to me¡­ But, praise be to Belestae, even the tower¡¯s defence-system was working in my favour for the moment. The liches still hadn¡¯t got through. Travelling down and back up through the tower would be faster ¨C


    It was therefore not without a huge dollop of horror that I watched as, not thirty seconds later, the grisly curtains undulated, then changed, forming whole bodies, bone-golems like those Shallowlie had crafted, slipping away to drop into the chamber. They faced me with their multiple skulls, their stances hostile.


    I pulled, pulled with all my might, physical and psychic. I could see from the illumination it shed on my surroundings that the sphere¡¯s light was intensifying, on the twenty ¨C thirty ¨C forty many-limbed, many-headed monstrosities. They were getting their bearings while their bodies finished formulating themselves. Fifty ¨C sixty of them ¨C


    Worse, the liches were closing in, brewing powerful bolts of energy, preparing to unleash them once they got near-enough to inflict maximal damage.


    And worst of all ¨C Vaahn was coming. I just knew it. It was him, his power that was doing this to the bone-armour, transforming it into an army.


    I couldn¡¯t see any trace of my fellow champions in the sky out there, didn¡¯t have anyone rushing to my rescue. They had to be close, but there was no one close enough to hear me if I screamed with all my dying mind¡¯s strength.


    I¡¯d formed a semi-circle of shields, six stacked circles, each separate, each with five stars reinforcing it. The sphere at my back would absorb anything that came at me that way. I was protected.


    I held the thought:


    I am protected.


    Then it seized my tongue:


    ¡°I am protected!¡± I said to the crowd of undead. ¡°By Glaif, and Illodin! By the bondage you suffer! This curse that keeps you in your nightmare! By the memories you have of¡­ of a place that can never exist again, because of us! I understand! I have to put¡­ it¡­ right!¡±


    Over half of the liches who floated there in the great glassless windows stayed their hands, holding their spells aloft but not hurling them.


    It made no difference. Not enough held back, not enough were stymied, mystified, intrigued by my words to give me a moment¡¯s respite.


    Almost half of them let loose their lich-fire, and my shields withered like dry grass.


    The blue lines stuttered, cut out, stars falling apart in dissected triangles.


    The barrier held long enough to take the brunt of the blasts, but half a dozen lashes of purple flame still ripped into my flesh.


    I screamed, and the vast extent of my injuries seemed to actually help in holding off the agony.


    Left arm and right leg, almost torn off. Lower torso, an awful vacancy. I didn¡¯t look down. I wouldn¡¯t have been able to see how much was left of me through the tattered, smoking robe anyway.


    The wounds continued to sear, fragments of nethernal magic burning into me, working their way towards bone ¨C


    I staggered, of course. I would¡¯ve fallen, if not for the death-grip I held on the heart of the sphere.


    And as I gazed up through pain-wet eyes, seeing them prepare another volley of spells, seeing the bone-golems approach, I spotted the true threat.


    Great long fingers, femurs strapped together with entrails and nails, clawing up over the edge of the chamber. Another arm, immense, gripping the pillar in the corner ¨C the titanic wolf-skin, pierced through the snout by the wicked crown, rising above the lip, surmounting the face of skulls¡­


    Vaahn himself had deigned to attend my destruction, climbing the tower to claim me, as I had known would be my fate since the moment I saw him break Leafcloak.


    Looks like you got what you wished for, Zel.

 Secrets pt1

    <h2>AMETHYST 5.8: SECRETS</h2>


    ¡°Beneath it all ¨C beneath the surface facades, the artificial mask of impermanent flesh, there is the unchanging substrate wherein all are one and the same. You do not want to be the same as everyone else. You want to be differentiated but no matter how you fight it, no matter how you clutch and claw for life, the terrible truth remains. You are the same. You are dead already, even if you still claim to breathe, still cling to the light like a fledgling to the branch. You will spend far longer as bone than as flesh. You must take wing. How better to take wing willingly, than to be flung. How better to fly than to fall.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Grandfather¡¯s Open Arms¡¯


    The faerie queen said something in response, something fearful. She no longer wanted to die ¨C I could tell. But I didn¡¯t listen to her words.


    I closed my eyes, biting my lip against the onset of excruciating torture that was wracking what little remained of me.


    They hadn¡¯t been able to damage the arm inside the sphere.


    I pulled.


    And for less than a moment, less than the flutter of a glowing butterfly¡¯s wings, less than a caught breath, something pushed.


    Pushed with the kind of power that might move mountains, flick them to the horizon with the negligent wave of a single finger.


    Less than a moment was enough, too much. My poor mortal frame was the conduit for the might of something I could barely even comprehend.


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    I swooned, overwhelmed.


    I fell forwards, but I didn¡¯t seem to hit the stone. Instead a flood of icy green light, bright even through my eyelids, carried my body forwards on a river of warmth, even as it carried my mind backwards.


    * * *


    The grass under my feet is blue, as blue and soft as the cloudless night sky. The tree, the only feature breaking the empty expanse, is a silver rod with seven branches. The wind blows like warm laughter, but the tree does not bend: upon the tip of each of the branches is a star.


    The constellation of the unicorn, reflected in the pool beside the tree. Its surface is without ripple. The wind cannot stir that water.


    Her eyes are golden orbs, aglow.


    The maiden wears a blue gown of grass-blades, its hem indistinguishable, perhaps inseparable, from the ground. Her skin and hair are the same shade of gold as her eyes but softer, muted. Upon her brow, beneath her horns of flawless ivory, is a white circlet, inset with emeralds.


    Her blue lips smile. Smile down on me.


    In her hands, a goblet, carved from a single emerald.


    She stoops beside the pool and dips a cup of water from it. Not a drop spills over the edge of the vessel as she rises back to her full height.


    I do not realise the extent of that height until she begins her approach, begins flowing towards me, a hill, a mountain, a landscape of grass.


    I am standing a thousand miles from her, from the tree, the mere. The tree is taller than a million Maginoxes. The pool is a lake, a sea, an ocean.


    This plain is an infinite place ¨C a plane¡­


    Nentheleme stoops before me, and she¡¯s but a maiden in a gown of blue grass once more.


    I take the offered goblet. The water smells of autumn rain.


    I drink greedily. I drink deep. I close my eyes in bliss.


    Blue lips kiss me on the brow. My mask is no impediment to her.


    A breeze of floral breath. A voice warm like the wind.


    ¡°You can go back now, kestrel.¡±


    * * *

 Secrets pt2

    I was lying on stone, wet, cold ¨C freezing. Each quivering breath was like swallowing a knife that split in two inside my throat and descended down into each of my lungs.


    No breeze on my face. No brain-melting light discernible through my eyelids. A musty scent of death cloyed the air, the overpowering aroma of blood.


    More than anything else, a sense of bone-weakening Evil. The kind with a capital-E. Something in me was shrivelling up, like I could feel my soul in my chest, curling into a foetal position and waiting for death.


    Not the sphere-chamber, then.


    And I¡­ seemed to be in possession of all my limbs. All my intestines¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Kas.¡±


    Things even more important than limbs and intestines.


    Zel seemed taken aback by my complimentary thought, and stuttered:¡±Gr-Graima ¨C she poured your healing potion down your throat, and, well, with whatever happened when you activated the sphere¡­ I was able to help with the necrotic wounds. Shadowcloud¡¯s here ¨C oh Kas, be careful, they¡¯re not five feet ¨C¡±


    I know. I feel them. Hush now, Zel. Listening.


    Two voices. Distant, beyond mortal hearing. One a familiar rasp; the other similar but less confident, less authoritative ¨C


    ¡°Her sister, Graima. Neither of them are very happy.¡±


    Graima was pleading:


    ¡°¡­ was the doing of the Harlot! There was naught I could do ¨C my hands, ashes as I laid them upon the hatch! All arts fled me! I sent up mindless to bring him down to us. I have him ¨C¡±


    ¡°Yet what of his mind, dear sister? And the one Keltoros brought, he is still under thy spell?¡±


    ¡°Of course ¨C but whatever yon boy did, he brought about the downfall of the Great One! Removing his amulet, worthless! Some otherworld power guards his thoughts from every incision, and he must be properly subdued before he might be submerged in the Elixir¡­¡±


    ¡°Mistress!¡± A new voice, male, hoarse. ¡°Mistresses, we must flee this place!¡±


    There was the crack of lich-fire as one of the sisters lashed the speaker, the agonised gasp that replied.


    ¡°Thou shalt do no such thing!¡± Aidel snapped. ¡°Return to thy post, and warn of any approach!¡±


    This time I could pick out the gentle swishing sound as her servant departed. I tried to keep my breathing shallow as I started to prepare myself.


    ¡°Wait, sister,¡± Graima said in a hollow voice. ¡°He wakens!¡±


    ¡°Nentheleme,¡± I whispered through cold-cracked lips, gesturing with one hand while I used the other to steady myself.


    I opened my eyes, looking past the trio of vampires that had been left to watch over me and the comatose wizard lying beside me.


    Not stone ¨C ice, a huge, glistening cavern. But the ice was not the white-blue I was used to seeing. This ice was like a surface of pink crystals: the recesses around the edges, like the spot where I found myself, were gleaming darkly; a hundred yards off was the centre, a flat floor of vivid translucency, illuminated by the fountain in the very middle.


    It wasn¡¯t large, the fountain where the two lich-ladies hovered. A narrow column reaching up twenty feet from the small base, which contained a depressed circle, catching the glowing magenta blood that pumped out of the column as though from a stump, a huge severed artery. The material from which the column and base had been crafted might once have been any colour, but the stains of centuries made it a perfect match for the vile substance spurting fitfully from its openings into the dank air.


    Is this it? Is this the ¡®crux¡¯?


    If Zel was still around, that meant I hadn¡¯t truly been out of it. With a little effort I could still sense my wings, my horn. All I needed was a shield before whatever Nentheleme had done to my mind ebbed away completely, and Graima put me to sleep alongside the arch-wizard. That much would surely count as ill-will¡­


    I¡¯d already reinforced my circle twice before I even extended my wings, used them to lift myself off the ground and into a vertical position.


    The three vampires reacted to Graima¡¯s words, of course ¨C they could hear their rulers¡¯ dispute as well as I ¨C but they hesitated. A few fatal moments of confusion, while they weighed the pros and cons of ripping into me ¨C me, the person the archliches seemed to think might help resurrect the vampires¡¯ dead master.


    The nearest, a big male in a fine felt coat, made his decision, rushing me, but there was scarcely any hunger for the kill in his halting motions.


    Far too little, far too late.


    A force-blade, invisible to him, tore out his throat.


    That wouldn¡¯t be enough, of course, so I increased the speed of the rotation and fully decapitated him.


    His friends didn¡¯t turn to run quickly-enough, watching his return to Nethernum with faces filled with horror and amazement. I spread my next three shields more quickly than even they could flee, and they were carried on the crest of my barrier, flung through the air before my blades caught them up, divided them into chunks.


    I noticed the gleam of tiny chains as mine and Shadowcloud¡¯s necklaces fell to the ground amidst their belongings.


    I turned to face the two remaining super-undead Zadhalites, keeping my eyes on them, staring at them from the shadows as I went to the pendants and retrieved them.


    ¡°You sh-should¡¯ve killed me when you had the chance,¡± I panted in Mundic, settling my chain around my neck and pulling my hood up, trying not to shudder against the horrifying chill. ¡°Well, hopefully, anyway. I never fought two women before. Not ones your age, anyway. How do you d-do it? You have to tell me your secret. You don¡¯t look a day over two hundred, I swear it¡­¡±


    After I had Shadowcloud¡¯s necklace in place, his metallic mask still exuding its mist-effect, I built more defences, more blades. Graima, her sister¡¯s mirror-image but for her gown being whitish where Aidel¡¯s was red, sneered at me while I mocked them. She raised a hand, creating a ball of purple flame, and floated closer to me, outside the radius of Shield Twelve.


    Aidel did not approach, but raised both arms at her sides, palms held horizontally.


    An army of skeletal ice warriors, pink-crystal ribcages and skulls and weapons, rose from every section of the cavern outside my shielding, as if they had but slumbered there till now.


    ¡°When last we fought, thou didst best me,¡± she called, floating above her horde. ¡°Thou hast now none of thy former boons; outnumbered, outmatched ¨C what wilt thou do? Cry to thy gods again? I fear they cannot hear thee ¨C not here. In this place, my god reigns!¡±


    ¡°Your god got his ass handed to him,¡± I snorted. ¡°The only reins he knows are the ones Nentheleme used when she rode him like a poor little pony.¡±


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    Graima shrieked, tore at my shields ¨C I remade them.


    ¡°Come on, time to give it up. You have no idea what kind of fire you¡¯re playing with, you know. Last time we fought, I couldn¡¯t summon anything either. Now? How do you like some red fire?¡±


    Within my boundaries, I loosed my own hand-picked creatures. Eight of them.


    The liches didn¡¯t seem to like the look of Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks in particular.


    Then I heard coughing, spluttering ¨C I looked down beneath me, and saw Shadowcloud staggering to his feet.


    My shields were blocking whatever Graima had been doing to him? No, it would be the amulet, finally kicking in.


    ¡°And he¡¯s¡­¡± Shadowcloud was sick, then replaced his mask, growled, and looked up. ¡°He¡¯s not alone!¡±


    He joined me in the air and set a flood of warmth into my flesh; I almost smiled, but the moment of pleasure and relief was halted in its tracks before it ever really arrived.


    I could smell it ¨C on his clothes, his breath ¨C the blood. The weird, purple blood.


    ¡°Are¡­ you okay, Shadowcloud?¡± I asked. I could hear the uncertainty in my own voice.


    ¡°Never better,¡± he said grimly, then looked across at me. ¡°Can we fight now?¡±


    As he surged into the air and called ordinary, orangey-looking fire into existence, I steeled myself.


    We can¡¯t fight now, but we might have to fight later.


    Shadowcloud ¨C a Sticktowner, a champion without airs and graces, a man I liked, damn it¡­ What would the blood do to him, and in what kind of time-frame? Was there anything I could do to help him? Maybe, with the sphere¡­?


    I couldn¡¯t think about it now. I had to back him up.


    Graima ripped into my shields more quickly than I could remake them, ultimately, but she had to avoid my blades, and we started a kind of long-range dance, back and forth. I¡¯d never seen the burning hammers of bintaborax put to such good use as they were now, shattering not just icy skulls but turning whole bodies to slush as the demons waded into the battle. Whenever they seemed to be getting overwhelmed I swished nearer, knocking their assailants back to give them some room to swing their weapons. Meanwhile, on the other flank, Shadowcloud had raised his own army of elementals, pink-ice ones in humanoid shape, but flaming ones also came springing into existence; then Aidel melted the ceiling, quenching his fires in an instant. Just when it seemed Aidel had Shadowcloud on the ropes he responded with the lightning that was his true forte, and then their momentum was reversed again, him chasing her.


    I¡¯d been right before. The problem with lich-lords, undead lords of all kinds, really ¨C they weren¡¯t used to fighting. Not against champions, anyway. They sat on their thrones, brooded and plotted, forgetting what it was to truly live. Even with my shields up, Graima could¡¯ve disoriented us by throwing illusions at us; Aidel could¡¯ve brought the whole ceiling down¡­


    Except she couldn¡¯t, could she? Not here. Not where the Evil was concentrated¡­


    ¡°Feychilde?¡± Spiritwhisper¡¯s voice came through suddenly over the link.


    The link! Being deprived of it for so long during my trials in the sphere-chamber had driven all thought of it from my mind ¨C


    ¡°Spirit! We¡¯re ¨C¡°


    ¡°You were right, they¡¯re below the droppin¡¯ tower!¡± Spirit finished my sentence for me. ¡°Shadowcloud?¡±


    The enchanter was busy re-establishing the link with the wizard but my mind went over his words one more time.


    Below the tower¡­


    Droppin¡¯ tower¡­


    It was then that it clicked. Not just why Aidel didn¡¯t bring the cavern roof down. Why the ¡®Green Tower¡¯ had been chosen to house the sphere in the first place.


    How we would save Shadowcloud.


    ¡°What ¨C what in the name of all that¡¯s holy do you think you¡¯re thinking about?¡± Zel screamed in my inner-ear.


    Ow! Cut that out! You know the plan¡¯s a good one. I can always go wraith-form¡­


    ¡°¡¯Good¡¯? ¡®Good¡¯! I¡¯ve never heard such a preposterous idea in my entire life ¨C and you¡¯ve some idea how long I¡¯ve been around ¨C¡°


    By your own admission, you can¡¯t remember most of it.


    I grinned.


    ¡°Spirit, when you say below the tower ¨C whereabouts are we, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Fang?¡± he said.


    The druidess replied: ¡°It¡¯s beneath the cellar ¨C Winterprince is about to smash his way down from the street but the vampires ¨C¡°


    ¡°No!¡± I said. ¡°Don¡¯t. We need him to bring down the floors of the tower, from the bottom to the top. Let the sphere in the top of the tower fall right through the ground.¡±


    It was Timesnatcher who spoke next.


    ¡°He¡¯s right. Do it.¡±


    There was a faint, telepathic grunt from Winterprince.


    ¡°But they¡¯ll be buried!¡± Spirit cried. ¡°The kinda mess you¡¯re talking about¡­¡±


    ¡°Bury the demon-tower? Oh no. But bury the champions? No sweat.¡± Shadowcloud was muttering as he swerved around the twisting, ever-forking coils of ice Aidel was extending at him. ¡°I can aid him from the underside, anyway, help bring it down ¨C¡°


    ¡°No, don¡¯t,¡± I cut in. ¡°My shields won¡¯t work against you. Am I right, Winterprince?¡± I chuckled to myself, readying a new Shield Nine for when the lich-fire shredded it. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t mind dropping a cavern on my head, would you?¡±


    There was silence, then another faint telepathic grunt.


    A couple of the others chuckled.


    ¡°Ill-will enough for me,¡± I concluded. ¡°If some rocks do get through, then you¡¯re up, Shadow. Stay within ten yards of me if you can. Winterprince, let me know when you¡¯re going to begin.¡±


    A horrible rending, a heaving, splintering CRACK followed immediately on the heels of my words. It was as though the world were being split in two ¨C well, I supposed it sort of was ¨C but this level of thunderous din I hadn¡¯t expected.


    ¡°Warning enough for you?¡± Winterprince said.


    I dismissed my eldritches. It was happening, and it didn¡¯t take the lich-ladies long to realise what was going on. But by then, it was too late. The rock and ice were falling, dust flowing like waterfalls through the purple-lit air. We had two wizards, strong, in the prime of their power, whilst they had one, weakened by time. My shield kept us safe, while, outside its edges, they were buried in hundreds of tons of stone. Aidel¡¯s elementals were crushed, or put out of my sight by mounds of rock.


    Ka-koom! Ka-koom! Ka-koom¡­


    The explosions became ever-more distant. Winterprince was working his way up, shattering each of the floors of the tower.


    The liches, surrounded by their own shields, fought free of the boulders and struck at us with ever-increasing desperation. We defended ourselves, holding out, keeping them at bay.


    ¡°Shadow,¡± I thought at him, ¡°you need to uncover the fountain-thing down there ¨C I¡¯m sure it¡¯s survived quite unharmed ¨C can you move the rocks aside? We have to drop the sphere in the ¡®very crux of the crossed planes¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Distract them. She¡¯s gonna see what I¡¯m doing as soon as I start.¡±


    ¡°On it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± I called to the sisters, still speaking Mundic ¨C but even they couldn¡¯t hear me over the din.


    I summoned Zab into the air beside me and joined with him.


    Six.


    What had changed? I didn¡¯t know ¨C I knew only that my instinct was that it¡¯d work.


    ¡°You¡¯ve thought a few times of archmages in the ¡®fullness of their power¡¯, have you not?¡± Zel said, in an almost-formal tone. It didn¡¯t sound like she was smiling.


    I smiled for both of us.


    When next I spoke, I augmented the sound, roared louder than the rocks falling:


    ¡°Aidel and Graima, archmages of the Diamond of the North, heed me! Your time is come, and that of your followers. The time of unmaking, the breaking of the spell that still clutches your souls, binds them to the shadowland!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Aidel screamed, thrusting herself bodily into my shields, uncaring of the way they sliced into her undead flesh. ¡°Thou mayest not do this thing, Feychilde!¡±


    ¡°Afraid I kind of have to,¡± I boomed, in a softer but no less-loud voice. ¡°It¡¯s not fair on your souls to try to live forever. You shouldn¡¯t be afraid to move on when the sphere arrives. Take the opportunity to pass through the Gateway. You might not be Infernum-bound.¡±


    ¡°I will not risk even Etherium!¡± she hissed, almost bisected by the last force-blade to gouge her midriff, continuing regardless. ¡°Thou dost not ¨C canst not understand¡­ We live ¨C to save thy city!¡±


    ¡°Save us from what?¡± I asked. ¡°Heresy? Incursions? We have it quite in hand, thank you.¡±


    She halted, drew back, looking worse for wear. Her skull had a crack in it, discernible even at a distance.


    Aidel and Graima exchanged a glance, then the wizard-lich rasped her response, using the air to bring the shattered voice to my vicinity.


    ¡°Save it from ye. From me. From archmagery.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°My husband, he who was perhaps the most-potent diviner of his time, saw it all ¨C mixing the bloodlines was merely the genesis of the downfall: an unprecedented growth of archmagery in the world, focussed in thy Mund. And the power ¨C the power is ¨C¡°


    She turned her head, jerked it to one side to look ¨C


    ¡°Oh Kas,¡± Zel purred.


    I knew what had come over her. I felt it too.


    It was too late for answers.


    Blinding green light backlit the boulders and the dust-rain ¨C I could see the neat bows of spell-threads penetrating the stone, whirling as they fell ¨C


    The impact was silent, a thing of brightness, and coolness that swiftly passed away into warmth as the sphere absorbed the fountain and its putrid ¡®Elixir¡¯; warmth such as I could barely remember, like the hot bath protagonists enjoyed sometimes in stories, a luxurious plasma surrounding me, flowing all around me ¨C


    As the magic of the otherworld took hold and the light spread, cleansing the cavern, the street, the city, the last-rasped whisper of a dying lich was carried by dying winds to my ear:


    ¡°¨C then perhaps thou, Feychilde, canst seek out my memoirs, and in my place save this world that now spurns me.¡±


    * * *

 Secrets pt3

    ¡°Wow,¡± Timesnatcher said, finishing his cup of Flood Boy-provided wine.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Save the world¡¯? Really?¡±


    ¡°I wish I caught the rest of her words ¨C it was the sphere¡¯s fault¡­ She thought she had it all figured out. Or her husband did, at least.¡±


    ¡°Those who dabble in darkness oft come away half-blinded,¡± he murmured, looking down at the cracked paving of the square beneath us. ¡°Gods know I¡¯ve partaken of enough in my time. Today¡­ You saw clearly where I saw only shadows, Feychilde.¡± He shook his head slowly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that,¡± I replied. ¡°The Green Tower just called to me, is all. If Direcrown hadn¡¯t been there already to help me, I doubt I¡¯d have achieved much.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that. The vampire, and the Prince¡¯s manifestation, clouded much of the future I could perceive.¡±


    Didn¡¯t seem to trouble Killstop, I noted.


    ¡°¡­ I had no idea they could bring the night like that; never once did I see it. I¡¯ll have to go back, study the mechanisms of the clock¡­ But you saw the way, the true path, without the gift. I hope your little friend was helping you?¡±


    Zel hadn¡¯t come forward to speak to me during this whole conversation, which wasn¡¯t entirely unusual, but it was almost as though she were hiding ¨C and the fact she didn¡¯t intrude in this very moment to make some kind of snappy remark, about being called my ¡®little friend¡¯ or about my doubts, was telling.


    ¡°I ¨C don¡¯t ¨C like ¨C arch-diviners!¡± she whispered, her tone cutting.


    ¡°To be honest, she wasn¡¯t actually active¡­ I suppose I might borrow insights via her power¡­¡± I frowned, thinking about it.


    Is that why I¡¯ve had such funny dreams lately? I wondered.


    He looked away towards the west, towards the tower district. We were sitting together on the edge of the roof of one of the big buildings surrounding the Winter Door¡¯s plaza, far enough from the portal that I wasn¡¯t afflicted with the teeth-aching background hum. We could speak plainly ¨C we were alone up here. The others had already retired to Mund, and the magisters who¡¯d entered the moment they went through reporting our victory were now roaming far from us. And, of course, there were now no undead within the city¡¯s bounds.


    The green mist that had enveloped everything faded in minutes, leaving behind not a single inhabitant, corporeal or not-so-much; by the time I¡¯d extricated the unconscious Shadowcloud from the sunken cavern and flew him out, it was already passing and my undead-senses were as quiet as they¡¯d been when we first arrived in Zadhal.


    I¡¯d leave it to someone else to test whether we¡¯d turn undead, using portals here. I¡¯d taken enough stupid risks for one day, as far as I was concerned.


    ¡°They brought the night, but we brought them to a whole new realm,¡± I said at last. ¡°We freed their souls, Timesnatcher. Or at least gave them the opportunity. And we did it together. Whoever made the sphere, whether it was this ¡®Saphalar¡¯ person the lich mentioned or just someone he knew ¨C they understood the problem. It was them who did it, really.¡±


    ¡°The fountain?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Whoever made the sphere planned it so that it could be dropped into place. It was like the fountain was casting a spell on them, all day, every day. Gods-damned Magisterium¡­¡±


    ¡°It was centuries ago, Feychilde. Let it go.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think Zakimel made everything go wrong for us? He got Rosedawn killed! And we would¡¯ve risen again just like them, if we¡¯d fallen.¡±


    ¡°I know. I had Rosedawn¡¯s¡­ remains¡­ taken away for burial.¡±


    My jaw dropped. ¡°See, I hadn¡¯t even been thinking about that. Good work, man.¡±


    His jaw set in frustration. ¡°Can you stop doing that, please?¡±


    ¡°Doing what?¡±


    ¡°Congratulating me. Thanking me. Praising me. Are you trying to belittle me, or is it just happening unconsciously?¡±


    Belittle¡­? It couldn¡¯t have been further from my mind.


    ¡°I¡­ suppose it¡¯s happening unconsciously,¡± I said slowly, trying to weigh his mood from the set of his frame. Perhaps the wine had had the opposite of its intended effect. ¡°My apologies¡­ I get that you¡¯re frustrated ¨C today didn¡¯t go how you hoped ¨C but¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he cut me off, shaking his head again. ¡°Never mind, Feychilde. I¡¯m just whining because¡­ because today you were our leader. You have to let it go, though. You can¡¯t fight Zakimel.¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ erm¡­ doing the eyebrow thing again.¡± I pointed at my mask¡¯s right eye-slit.


    He chuckled dryly, and I could sense some of the tension in him melting. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you actually said that to them¡­ well, I can, obviously, I can see it now, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, you should take a look at what I said to some of their bosses¡­ there was this bit, before I headbutted the vampire¡­¡±


    ¡°Kastyr,¡± he said softly, and I hushed instantly. ¡°Kastyr, you must understand this. The Magisterium¡­ they¡¯re beyond our remit. We can¡¯t interfere.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I disagree. We¡¯re champions. The gods sanction us, not men.¡±


    ¡°You saw that thing tonight, same as I. Gods are corrupt.¡±


    I shook my head, remembering Nentheleme. ¡°And men aren¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d hear you arguing on the side of divine authority. Do you think the ability of men to make their own decisions, rule their own fates, is a disadvantage? Would you have it all prescribed and proscribed from on-high?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said at once. ¡°But a servant complaining about an abusive master should have a law to go to, to seek justice¡­ When the law itself is the abusive master, who else is there to turn to but the gods themselves?¡±


    ¡°Is that how you see the magisters?¡± His eyes were keen, glinting, seeming almost coppery-coloured through the slits in his mask. ¡°Abusive masters?¡±


    I waved a hand at our surroundings. ¡°They destroyed this. And they kept it from us, keep it still. They¡¯re the shepherds and we¡¯re the sheep ¨C they keep half the flock well aside while they cull those with the thinnest wool for their meat.¡± Timesnatcher was smiling ingratiatingly at my metaphor, so I concluded, ¡°And, sorry and everything, but I¡¯m not really including you in the ¡®we¡¯ there. You¡¯re the ¡®they¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m rich?¡±


    ¡°It stops you from being able to understand. I like you, Timesnatcher, and if it¡¯s worth anything I certainly think you led us today ¨C when you gave me orders and I ignored them, you didn¡¯t tell me off¡­ You¡¯re a good leader, the right kind of leader, one who sees his mistakes, doesn¡¯t hide from them¡­ Everyone makes mistakes¡­¡± I thought of my rampage through the underworld after Morsus¡¯s death, my overconfidence when I went hunting the vampires¡­ Charging Vaahn¡­ And Leafcloak and Dustbringer, thinking the same old tactics would work against superlative foes. ¡°But you can¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to be me. I can¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to be you ¨C¡°


    ¡°If your investments come along as nicely as I think they might, you may find out sooner rather than later what it¡¯s like to be rich¡­¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But I won¡¯t forget. I can¡¯t forget.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been through the lives of the poorest in the city,¡± Timesnatcher replied wistfully, ¡°and I can¡¯t forget, either.¡±


    ¡°But you can¡¯t be them, Timesnatcher. I doubt even an enchanter could pull off a trick that¡¯d give them the true experience, what it¡¯s like to actually grow up in the drop.¡±


    The arch-diviner lowered his face, then when he looked up again his expression brightened. ¡°And while you say you can¡¯t know what it is to be me, you think you understand the highborn? You think you understand the burden of responsibility ¨C¡°


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t, but ¨C¡±


    ¡°I do not imagine they toppled Zadhal lightly, my young friend. I imagine it was the last in a long line of ever-more-desperate attempts to stop the Heresy.¡°


    ¡°Mixing bloodlines? That¡¯s what the Heretics hate?¡±


    ¡°Amongst other things¡­¡± he replied, pursing his lips uneasily.


    I thought it over. It would make a certain amount of sense, given what the girl in Firenight Square had said.


    ¡®Look at us.¡¯


    It was already plain that all archmages shared the blood of the Five, distant connections to nobility and whatnot. A lot could happen over a thousand years. But I shuddered to think that someone would find this reason-enough to seek to slaughter people indiscriminately.


    ¡°They think that mixing the bloodlines will result in more archmages,¡± I said. ¡°Or less-controllable archmages, at least. In that I can hardly say they¡¯re wrong ¨C¡°


    ¡°In that case, on that topic you ought to hold, and say no more,¡± Timesnatcher reminded me gently. ¡°Heresy may not be attended or repeated or interpreted, on pain of death.¡±


    ¡°On pain of death?¡± I said, rather shrilly.


    ¡°Nor ought one agree with them aloud,¡± he went on urbanely, ¡°even if one has been under extraordinary pressure for the last several hours¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey, now ¨C I wasn¡¯t actually saying I wish there were less archmages, or that the blood of the Five only ran in the highborn families ¨C obviously,¡± I gestured vaguely at my mage-robe, ¡°but I just want to understand what they want to ¨C¡°


    ¡°And therein lieth the crux of the problem.¡± He sighed. ¡°In understanding, one becomes a heretic. Do you want to become a killer?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t get it,¡± I confessed. ¡°It¡¯s a magical disease, is it? You listen to what they say, and you just¡­ change?¡±


    ¡°Precisely.¡± The arch-diviner chuckled dryly. ¡°The magical disease called persuasion.¡±


    ¡°You mean¡­?¡±


    ¡°It might be that there is nothing inherently magical to what the heretics do to their converts. It is said that those who follow the Heresy are shown a vision; they are not put under an enchantment, but their beliefs cannot be removed ¨C nothing so straightforward, oh no. Unfortunately, every enchanter who has turned their hand to fixing a heretic has ended up one themselves. At the school, young diviners live in fear of seeing something that will drive them to kill and kill and kill¡­ I think it is akin to this.¡±


    I stared at him in shock.


    ¡°No,¡± he went on, ¡°their creed, or their vision, is persuasive. Apparently the way of life that means killing every innocent you can get your hands on is incredibly compelling, once someone¡¯s shown it to you.¡±


    I swallowed in a dry throat. ¡°Maybe we should do something¡­ I mean, what if they¡¯re right? About part of it, I mean. What if ¨C¡°


    He laid a steady, sturdy hand on my shoulder. ¡°When you lead the Gathering, and must weigh the counsel of dozens of champions, many of whom you¡¯ve saved from certain death a dozen times, and who have saved you in kind ¨C then you will remember Zadhal, and our conversation. Then, you will understand the value of your hypotheticals, and what we did here today.¡±


    I reeled, trying to recover from this ¨C prophecy?


    Is he actually saying I will lead the champions?


    He couldn¡¯t know that, surely ¨C other diviners would interfere with a vision like that ¨C wouldn¡¯t they?


    ¡°Do you see the danger in them now?¡± He laughed, then flashed to his feet. ¡°Come on ¨C let¡¯s go find this Aidel¡¯s book. One touch of my power will tell me if it¡¯s safe to read or if it¡¯ll turn you into the massacrer of children.¡±


    I let him go ahead, and followed him on uncertain wings.


    * * *

 Secrets pt4

    We flitted through the ruins for almost an hour. It was now getting close to midnight, but there was nothing untoward about being here in the darkness anymore. If anything it felt, well, magical ¨C an empty city, snow billowing¡­ A magister-band stationed at the remains of the Green Tower was renewing our protective spells and flight every fifteen minutes ¨C even if they were inferior, the spells of mere mages would still do at a pinch ¨C and Timesnatcher was stretching each interval out for us, allowing us more time to comb through the shattered laboratories and libraries before Zakimel¡¯s lot got their hands on them. I¡¯d long-since let Gilaela go back to Etherium to save myself the inevitable jokes, but even without the glittery radiance I got by okay ¨C I needed little light to see by, and as far as I could tell the arch-diviner would¡¯ve been just as happy with his eyes closed. As such I didn¡¯t bother with any illusions or other light-sources I could¡¯ve produced.


    We stood, the two of us, in the dusty darkness of a tower-room, alone but for the artefacts of a bygone era.


    ¡°Do you actually know what you¡¯re looking for?¡± I called to him across the stacks of books, time-worn volumes of dubious value. He¡¯d been ¡®feeling¡¯ increasingly strange to my power, but I couldn¡¯t quite discern what was going on.


    ¡°It¡¯s lain dormant, buried under the vampire¡¯s potencies for a long time,¡± he said. ¡°The traces are almost cold. It might be that it won¡¯t speak to me, but I would be most surprised if it were hidden entirely from my sight. There should be more traces to be found¡­ Should we continue?¡±


    He was putting the weight of the decision on me?


    We¡¯d explored what we could of the Green Tower¡¯s basement, and I¡¯d stayed behind him while he went from place to place, from one horrid, bloody room to the next ¨C after the first twenty minutes we¡¯d started investigating the other towers, and now here we were, no closer to answers than we had been right at the start. A number of objects had called out to my senses, and in the undead archmages¡¯ chambers there¡¯d been opulent (if ancient) furnishings accompanying spell-worked swords, a number of wizardry-imbued pieces of armour¡­ but for the last thirty minutes everything I¡¯d perceived had been an ensorcelled item of inauspicious nature. The only interesting ones were a pair of mouldy boots granting the wearer a light tread, if I was reading the runes right, and a bracelet designed to imbue the wearer with a strong grip (probably made for an old person). There¡¯d been one book, but it was just a mass of pulp, sitting as it did unprotected beneath a bare, rotten windowsill; the covers were proofed against burning, and, to add insult to injury, it was a text of divination.


    I¡¯d expected more, frankly. Had the place been so-thoroughly picked-over already by the previous treasure-hunters?


    I somehow doubted it. We¡¯d been taken to the more-boring areas, that was all.


    ¡°Is there some reason you want me to be the one to decide?¡± I asked. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be the arch-diviner.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re going to get any further tonight,¡± he said at last, carefully placing a thin volume back where he found it. ¡°I¡­ There¡¯s something ¨C something ahead of us. I can¡¯t see what¡¯s coming ¨C for us.¡±


    I stared at him.


    ¡°Oh, damn it, fine,¡± he said in a resentful tone, and slammed his hand down on the shelf a second time ¨C


    A new book was there, bound in pale human leather, stamped with a single Vaahn-rune on its cover. Along the spine was a series of glyphs I couldn¡¯t read at this distance.


    No wonder he¡¯d been triggering my sorcerous senses lately.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to tell you.¡±


    I kept my voice level: ¡°When did you find it, Timesnatcher?¡± I was more curious than angry.


    ¡°Fifteen minutes ago. I¡¯ve been trying to find a route to avoid it, because I don¡¯t think it¡¯s safe to read ¨C but every path I travel ends in trouble between you and I. That I wish to avoid at all costs. Everything about those futures screams I¡¯m doing something wrong.¡± He smiled, tired-looking, and seemed to wait pensively for a moment before saying, ¡°How do you intend to respond?¡±


    ¡°Well at last, I found you!¡± a voice cried out above us, cutting us off.


    For a split second I didn¡¯t recognise her without the obvious Onsolorian accent, but before I looked up to see Em floating above us I twigged it was her and moved higher to meet her, darting between the sections of broken roofing.


    She was in her Stormsword apparel, the rising-phoenix mask and teal-coloured hood, and when I ascended into the snow storm and kissed her it just brought back memories of last night¡­ her flesh, so much of her skin in contact with my own¡­ I almost shuddered, and felt the same quiver of pleasure pulse through her body as I held her.


    ¡°Ah ¨C I believe you had something to report?¡± Timesnatcher interrupted after giving us a second or thirty. ¡°Stormsword?¡±


    I noted the strain in his voice.


    Can¡¯t he tell what she¡¯s going to say?


    I expected an update on Shadowcloud¡¯s condition, something similarly ominous.


    ¡°Oh, ze ¨C I mean, the, guard¡­¡± Em took a moment to catch her breath, ¡°the guards are saying that Rosedawn¡¯s¡­ her body ¨C it has gone missing. The courier, found alive three miles from where he was last seen ¨C from where he last saw himself, he says, once they found him and untied him. They¡­¡±


    Em faltered. We watched, looking down from fifteen feet as Timesnatcher blurred.


    The kind of incessant motion into which he¡¯d entered was uncanny. It was as though he¡¯d been painted-on to reality then smeared across its surface ¨C I drifted closer to him, back through the roof, as if to reassure myself he still possessed depth, solidity¡­


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Suddenly I was almost on the ground, and he was standing before me ¨C his fingers around my wrist were painful despite the satyr-flesh I was partaking in.


    I didn¡¯t have shields up, and his violence startled me. He held my right hand palm up, and his eyes behind the mask were closed.


    ¡°Savarre¡­ oh, oh¡­ this hand ¨C did you have a dagger, Feychilde?¡±


    Did I have a¡­


    ¡°A dagger?¡± I swallowed. ¡°Duskdown took the only dag-¡±


    I lost all breath, all consciousness, for a single instant. As though the world stopped and restarted.


    ¡°-ger¡­¡± I finished the word explosively, looking around in amazement.


    Snowflakes, frozen on the air.


    Em, unmoving above me, not a hair stirring in the breeze.


    No ¨C for there was no breeze.


    ¡°I¡¯ve taken you as deep as you can go,¡± Timesnatcher said, loosening his grip on my wrist only slightly. ¡°What ¨C what is Duskdown to you?¡±


    ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know how to answer that. He seems to have a plan for me, and he¡¯s warned me off trying to take him down¡­¡±


    ¡°Can I ask ¨C for a favour?¡± He suddenly sounded scared. ¡°Will you shield me, Feychilde? A-against any ill-will?¡± He licked his lips.


    ¡°What is it, Timesnatcher?¡±


    There was an awful hollowness to my voice, a borrowed terror that came in recognition of the emotion that gripped him. He hadn¡¯t been afraid like this even once throughout the whole day, not when facing thousands of enemies, not when facing a deity.


    ¡°It¡¯s him. Duskdown.¡±


    ¡°If I put a shield on you,¡± I said slowly, mind struggling to keep up, ¡°it can¡¯t go too far from me or it¡¯ll weaken, dissipate, according to the books. I¡¯m working on getting a better range, but if you¡¯re going back I¡¯d ¨C¡°


    Time span again, everything desynchronised.


    There was a fluidity, a motion, like being pulled deep under the water in a terrible current that goes only downwards, ever downwards, into the heart of the world where Wyrda ruled the dark under-oceans, miles from the light.


    ¡°¨C have to ¨C¡±


    A single normal moment, a moment of blue fire, and I knew I was crossing the Winter Door ¨C then the dark depths washed over me a final time before it was over.


    ¡°¨C come with you¡­ Where are we?¡±


    The gardens were small for a building of this size. There was a neat rectangular wall eight feet high enclosing the estate; trees loomed beyond the wall whichever way I looked, even through the silvery gate, clearly overgrowing the pathway that was the only way in and out. The ivy covering the building¡¯s peach-painted exterior had been recently trimmed, and the rose-bushes were expertly maintained. I looked up at the big mansion, its three storeys pale against the night sky.


    No lights were lit within. The stillness of this slowed-time spell he¡¯d put me under was creepy, sending shivers up my arms.


    ¡°My home. We need help.¡± He went up the steps and opened the door, pulling me along with him. ¡°Come ¨C she¡¯s locked the window and I can¡¯t keep you like this forever, not without paying the price. I need my full faculties. There¡¯ll be hell to pay if I just smash my way in¡­¡±


    ¡°Where ¨C where¡¯s Em?¡±


    ¡°I did not bring her.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Why?¡±


    ¡°I neither need nor trust her. She is Henthae¡¯s. Zakimel¡¯s.¡±


    It chilled me to hear him speak of her in such a manner, but I could hardly argue ¨C not with him ¨C not when his very words set my own doubts aflame.


    As we entered the hall and flew together up to the shadowed balconies looking down upon the entryway, I settled shields about him, shields separate from the ones I put around both of us. Even if Duskdown didn¡¯t intend me ill-will, he still shouldn¡¯t have been able to get through the barriers so long as he intended Timesnatcher ill-will ¨C but this wasn¡¯t the time to test it. An independent defence made the most sense in this situation.


    At first I thought the shapes¡¯ rotations were slowed like everything else here, but I blinked and saw with satisfaction that it¡¯d just been a relic of my fearful imagination ¨C they would still operate under the effects of the diviner¡¯s magic.


    It was only as we reached the upper floors that I realised what I was sensing.


    ¡°Timesnatcher¡­¡±


    ¡°Just here ¨C in here ¨C¡°


    Doors, narrow passages ¨C a bedchamber.


    I could tell immediately that something was wrong, even before I saw Lightblind¡¯s corpse. A debris of fine objects littered the room; one of the bed¡¯s four posts had been buckled, caved in. The smells of death were heavy on the air, but there was blood in only one place: ¡®DUSKDOWN¡¯, the characters drawn by his finger, the red word written on the mirror.


    Timesnatcher released me, and before I even realised that his fierce grip on my wrist was suddenly alleviated, gone, he had already cleaned everything up ¨C the mirror was clear once more, the buckled post of the bed righted and the debris swept aside; the masked corpse in its gleaming white robe was across his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed and his shoulders shaking.


    ¡°Perri! Perri, no, Perri¡­¡±


    Quite how long he¡¯d been sitting there like that, I didn¡¯t know. But no amount of clearing up would eradicate the image from my mind.


    The blood on the mirror, long dried, each letter having run, dripping at the bottom edges so that they were twice the length they ought to be. Giant, gaunt letters.


    The little items on the ground: the platinum figurine of a house-cat, looking pleased with itself; a tiny ring inset with three diamonds; a small, cracked pocket-watch.


    The champion¡¯s body, hanging beside the bed. The Bagger Boy¡¯s dagger, punched through her mask at a crack in its brow, stamping Lightblind¡¯s head to the wall.


    ¡°T-Timesnatcher,¡± I said, voice breaking ¨C


    He whipped his head around as if to glare at me. ¡°You ¨C your dagger ¨C how? What is this, Feychilde?¡±


    ¡°I suppose,¡± I said thickly, raising my wet eyes to the ceiling so I didn¡¯t have to see such a glorious champion flopping around lifelessly across his knees, ¡°he¡¯s¡­ erm¡­ Oh drop it all.¡±


    He already knew what I looked like. I removed my mask, pawed at my eyes while I thought out loud.


    ¡°He¡¯s trying to drive a wedge between us. A dagger. Whatever he wants from me, it involves us being at odds with each other. He ¨C¡° I drew a quivering breath, forced myself to look back down, meet the arch-diviner¡¯s eyes. ¡°He knows you can¡¯t fight him. He knows you¡¯ll have to blame me instead.¡±


    Timesnatcher was shaking his head softly but I continued:


    ¡°He kn-knows you know you c-can¡¯t blame me but you have to.¡± Revulsion, a sickness comprised of anger and sorrow, rose up through my vacant innards ¨C I wanted to throw up, I wanted to put my fist through the wall, I wanted to fall to my knees ¨C the opposed urges kept me trapped, pinned in the moment, disgust rolling up and down my taut skin in waves. ¡°Why? Why, Duskdown? Why did you have to do this?¡±


    One urge finally won out ¨C kneeling.


    I fell forwards, then sat back on my feet, setting my mask down next to me.


    I looked down at the metallic half-face, designed to complement a grinning visage.


    I am not Feychilde, I thought with a shudder.


    Whatever answer I¡¯d expected the universe to provide to my rhetorical question, the growled words of the arch-diviner were not it ¨C words so deep and strangled I could barely discern them:


    ¡°I k-killed his w-wife today.¡±


    Then, at last, he broke, bursting into dry sobs.


    I wanted to return to Em, to my brother and sister. See them all, explain everything. Maybe even pick up an incredibly-dangerous text that¡¯d been haphazardly placed on a pile of books in a random tower.


    But first I knelt on the floor of Timesnatcher¡¯s bed-chamber while he cradled his dead lover, knelt there and listened to the wept words of a crushed hero.


    I might not have been Feychilde, not right now, but I was still a champion, damn it. I was there for those who needed me most.


    Lightblind, Leafcloak, Rosedawn were gone. The others could wait.


    In this moment, the one who needed me most was Timesnatcher.

 Redgates Doom pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 5D: REDGATE¡¯S DOOM</h2>


    ¡°Some children delight in pulling the legs off craneflies. Let us not forget that some of these children will inherit the power of the archmage. Following the recent tragedies it could not be clearer that we must scrutinise the candidates more thoroughly. If they have failed to evolve in attitude, prospective recipients of Magisterium funds may end up pulling the legs off citizens and we cannot stand to have ourselves associated with such affronts to the public will any longer. Our good name is tarnished enough, and we cannot risk an uprising at this time. Until further notice the policy of potential darkmage integration is to be discontinued. Only the office of Special Operations will henceforth possess the power to suspend this ruling, on a case-by-case basis. It must be repeated that all contact with archmages of the diviner, enchanter and sorcerer varieties is to be classified as a Special Operation, owing to the balance of probabilities in examining such creatures.¡±


    ¨C from the memoranda of the Kailost 998 NE Briefing


    28th Orovost, 998 NE


    The ring was far heavier than it looked. There were three golden bands ¨C no, it was a single band formed into a spiral ¨C and sitting astride them in a silvery setting was a lone ruby. Not large to the eye; denser than she expected. The ring¡¯s natural balance-point was stone-down, of course, and even she found it difficult to balance on her palm stone-up. It was tricky, but she was blessed by Enye, they¡¯d always told her since her youth in Miserdell ¨C favoured by the goddess who presided over athleticism and all the various physical sports. To balance a thing that did not wish to be balanced, you had to fight its will with your own. You had to be as still as you wanted the object to be. It wasn¡¯t just a matter of finding the right point at which to balance it ¨C of course that was important, but that was a task for precision, a task for the god Chraunator. Anyone could find the balance-point, with trial and error. No, it was Enye¡¯s business to supply the knowledge, make it part of instinct, habit. To have the courage to act when you knew the time was right, instead of hesitate, miss the moment. It was not Chraunator¡¯s cold assessments that Anathta heard in her ear when she balanced a ring, threw a dagger, slit a throat ¨C it was Enye¡¯s unspoken surge of energy, her rapturous certainty, blissful bravery. It was a thing she felt, in her soul.


    ¡®Slash now!¡¯ ¡®Throw now!¡¯ ¡®Let go of the ring¡­¡¯


    She let go of the ring and it stood erect upon her palm, even though there should only be a one-in-a-million chance of it resting like that with such an overpowering weight at its peak.


    Ring of Unerring Accuracy¡­ Like I need it¡­


    She knew the bravado for what it was, though. She wouldn¡¯t have lived as long as she had if she didn¡¯t have the measure of herself. She had missed, she admitted to herself ¨C once or twice¡­


    If I put one of the moonfrost bolts in each of his eyes¡­ save the third charge for when he opens his mouth ¨C try to put one in his brain? Would the nostril be better?


    She could remember what the dragon looked like only as well as she remembered the shapes in her nightmares ¨C she¡¯d probably seen him there so many times now that her memories had been entirely replaced by figments of her imagination.


    Most of the nightmares ended with her, not running, not burning away in acid ¨C but riding the dragon¡¯s back, using her arrows and blades like a climber¡¯s claws, making her way to the beast¡¯s face.


    Look him right in the eyes, before I take the light out of them forever, and tell him: ¡°Now you pay for what you did to me.¡±


    She¡¯d had a long time to think it over ¨C why she signed up for this stupid quest the moment it presented itself to her. She¡¯d always spoken of it in terms of responsibility, duty, whatever ¨C enough to keep Phanar off her back. But, ultimately, it came down to vengeance. She suspected her brother knew that much.


    Everything she¡¯d known had been taken away in the course of a single evening. It was different for Phanar. He was seven, almost eight years old when he¡¯d led them out of the wastelands of Nebril to the gates of Miserdell; she¡¯d been barely one year old, in the back of the cart, the pair of them starving along with the pony that accompanied them. He, at least, had something else to cling to. A past he could remember, a life before this world ¨C a life in N¡¯Lem, in the shadows.


    She had none of the heritage, none of the coolness and implacableness that Phanar seemed to possess as a birthright. All she had was Miserdell, a place where she always felt like a stranger without knowing why; the rudiments of a Mundic Realm upbringing, on the far edge of an ancient, long-dead empire.


    All she had was gone, melted into sizzling puddles the smoke of which she could still taste in her throat whenever she thought about it.


    Wind snared the ring on her palm, toppled it ¨C


    She felt the lurch and looked up, seeing the sails billow outwards as they caught the breeze ¨C then they were underway.


    ¡°Back to Chakobar ¨C hurray!¡± she muttered under her breath, trying to rebalance the ring again ¨C the thing was such a stubborn little object ¨C


    ¡°My, what do you have there?¡± the weird-looking Mundian asked softly, stopping beside her as he walked past. ¡°A little treasure, I deem?¡±


    ¡°My, I do deem it to be so,¡± she mocked, uncertain (and uncaring) as to whether or not she was putting the words together in the right order.


    He seemed to miss her sarcasm and seated himself on the crate next to her, placing his arms against the wooden panel that stretched behind them so that she was now sitting, effectively, inside his embrace.


    The crate was certainly large-enough to accommodate two, but it still put their bodies in close proximity. She¡¯d been on numerous boats filled with filthy sailors, and she¡¯d even tangled with one random, attractive-in-an-unattractive-way helmsman back at the start of their adventures. But other than Ibbalat, about whom her feelings were still decidedly undecided ¨C Enye was no help with those kinds of feelings, evidently ¨C no man had ever sat beside her with such easy familiarity.


    ¡°Runes of seeking ¨C runes of thought-attunement¡­ interesting.¡±


    She looked away from the magic ring, staring instead at the eight glossy black eyes across the front of his mask. ¡°You can read what it does, just like that?¡±


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    He laughed, a little tinkling sound. ¡°Not ¡®just like that¡¯, my love. Such takes training, a keen eye¡­ and a little deviousness.¡±


    She cocked her head. ¡°Oh? How so?¡±


    ¡°I am a sorcerer,¡± he said plainly. ¡°Please do not tarnish my reputation by implying I did something unmischievous.¡±


    She snorted, a snippet of involuntary laughter breaking through.


    Against her previous judgement, she relaxed, uncoiled her taut pose somewhat. She went to toss him the ring and his hand snapped out from his sleeve ¨C the arm that wasn¡¯t around her back ¨C catching it easily.


    She found herself admiring his reflexes. For a magic-user, he seemed to be in fine shape, and she had to admit to herself that his mask, his hidden identity, intrigued her.


    He has to be handsome, behind something so disgusting, doesn¡¯t he?


    The Mundian studied the trinket for only a few moments before spinning it in his hand and, to her amazement, it stood up on its end on the surface of his palm ¨C ruby pointing up ¨C there was no way¡­


    ¡°It is designed to aid an attack, no more than thrice. Standard password. Do I guess right?¡±


    ¡°How are you doing that?¡± she asked in reply, staring at the ring ¨C he hadn¡¯t even used his other hand to steady it!


    He inclined his head, then tossed it into the air ¨C without taking her eyes off him she shot her hand up, caught it while it was still ascending.


    ¡°Just a little luck manipulation,¡± he said, shrugging, then pressed: ¡°Well ¨C do I guess right?¡±


    She smiled, returning the ring to a pocket. ¡°You do. Redgate, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    He gestured at the little fences and portcullises sewn into the material of his robe.


    ¡°Do I not look the part, Lady of N¡¯Lem?¡±


    She took the opportunity to look him up and down. She couldn¡¯t get a read on him; he was like a slippery eel.


    ¡°Shall I remove my mask?¡± he asked suddenly.


    She guessed he couldn¡¯t read her responses very well through the black glass. While she was certain she¡¯d leaned forwards impulsively at his suggestion, he continued oblivious as though she required persuading it was a good idea: ¡°We are out of port, now, and I don¡¯t suppose that there¡¯s any harm in it¡­ I¡¯d need you to swear your silence to me, though.¡±


    She smiled. ¡°I won¡¯t tell anyone ¨C who¡¯s there to tell?¡±


    ¡°I shall have to have everyone swear,¡± he said in a musing tone, looking across her companions, the Dremmedine¡¯s crewmen. ¡°You would swear, to reveal none of my secrets save those I permit you?¡±


    How can it hurt me to swear not to reveal his secrets? They¡¯re his secrets¡­


    ¡°Well, of course,¡± she muttered. Was his identity really so important? Was he one of those Lords of the Real Bored or whatever Phanar had called it? Her excitement was building.


    ¡°Very well.¡± He reached up, removed the mask and hood.


    While she sat, quite enraptured by his classically-handsome features and recently-trimmed brown hair, his aura of power and mystique, it took her a few moments to realise what he was talking about.


    ¡°I am so glad to find you so agreeable, Anathta of N¡¯Lem. In truth I had feared this voyage would be the most interminable period of my life since I became an archmage, and I endeavoured to find something to help pass the time in a¡­ less humdrum fashion.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± she murmured, feeling her breath catch in her throat. His eyes were warm, brown, and his teeth were white, perfect. She didn¡¯t know which to look at.


    ¡°Why, you, of course! The enchantment requires two different infernal essences to put into effect. Two agreements.¡± His voice took on the character of a conspiratorial whisper, and she leaned in closer to feel his minty breath on her ear: ¡°Why, now I can tell you! Do you see her? The virtuous daughter of Wythyldwyn?¡±


    He pointed across the deck, to where Kani stood at the rail, and she wondered where this was going.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like her. I¡¯m going to kill her.¡± He moved his finger. ¡°And him. And him. No ¨C don¡¯t ¨C¡°


    Kidneysticker was the closest dagger to her hand ¨C she moved insanely quickly but he almost blurred ¨C he used that uncanny speed, the startling strength hiding inside him, and his fingers darted out to take hers before she could draw one of her many, many knives ¨C


    ¡°¨C you couldn¡¯t stop me anyway, my love ¨C come, think it through ¨C I am here to slay your dragon for you¡­ But please, allow me to finish: I¡¯m going to kill them, right now, if you don¡¯t do precisely as I say. You can watch your brother go last, eaten alive by maggots. He¡¯ll be birthing flies, new life from inside his chest cavity before he even takes his final breath, a sing-song through insectile wombs repurposed from his lungs. And yet, if you sit still, I¡¯ll let you go. I¡¯ll let them all live. Will you sit still? Good. Good girl.¡±


    He released her. He watched her. He smiled at her nausea.


    Those teeth should¡¯ve been fangs. Those eyes should¡¯ve been red. But reality lied. He wore the face of a delightful young man, yet behind the surface there was only a charnel house.


    The spider-face, that was the real one.


    ¡°And will you not smile? I fear things shall look amiss if you don¡¯t smile. You are falling for me, after all.¡±


    She fixed the smile to her face.


    ¡°Excellent, excellent, my love. You shall share my hammock ¨C nothing improper, you understand, but I would have you close ¨C and I very much doubt they would take to me bringing a member of my harem into the hold¡­ You should be aware, however, that I am shielded when I sleep, and any ill-will shall awaken me, in addition to the more explosive effects¡­ Please do not make an attempt on my life when I appear defenceless. I am never defenceless.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C¡°


    He met her eyes.


    ¡°But ¨C why?¡± she burst out. ¡°I was ¨C I might¡¯ve¡­¡±


    For just a moment, the smile on his face broke, and there it was ¨C the smirk. The evil glint in his eyes she¡¯d waited to see.


    ¡°You might¡¯ve fallen for me, in truth?¡± His laugh was exquisite, a raucous, high-pitched noise that everyone around them would take for innocent mirth ¨C but she could hear the coldness, the sheer malice in every cadence. ¡°But where would be the fun in that? That is easy. No, no. You are to be my slave, and upon your performance will rest the lives of your friends and family. That will be something fun to watch for a few weeks. Once Ord Ylon is gone I shall wipe your memories and let you alone, I promise. All of you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll ¨C you¡¯ll take the memory of his death away?¡±


    His eyes narrowed. ¡°Oh, my love. You hate it, do you not, this dragon of yours? Such hate, that can overcome all your other concerns in this moment. Ah, I can leave you something ¨C something to remember it by.¡± He reached out and patted her hand; she almost flinched then, catching herself, froze the hand, allowed him to stroke her crawling skin. ¡°Perhaps you and I could¡¯ve had something special. We are not so unalike as you might fancy.¡±


    Yes ¨C we ¨C are, she growled internally.


    ¡°Do not look at me that way,¡± he said in a tone of warning. ¡°If you think I will not end your friend¡¯s life so casually, would you have me prove it upon one of these sailor scum?¡± He cast about at the crewmen surrounding them. ¡°Which would you have me slay? I can easily achieve it in such a way as to cast no suspicion on myself.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she breathed. ¡°No, don¡¯t. I ¨C I¡¯ll do as you say. I¡¯ll ¨C be your slave. Until he is dead.¡±


    Until you are dead, she swore.


    Kani walked past them, heading for her hammock. She¡¯d been at her post all night, staring out at the accursed city. Ana followed her with her eyes, longing to follow, to speak, to divulge what Redgate had told her ¨C to formulate some plan, some way to end his life ¨C


    It wasn¡¯t until Kani caught her on her own and asked her opinion of the ¡®champion¡¯, the next afternoon, that Ana realised the extent of the vow she¡¯d sworn. The enchantment that¡¯d taken hold of her tongue, forced her to lie or forced her to silence, whichever seemed less-unusual.


    It wasn¡¯t until then that Ana realised how big the problem was. How coming to Mund might¡¯ve unleashed a threat upon them that was even greater than the one posed by the dragon.


    At least she didn¡¯t have to sleep next to Ord Ylon, feel his too-fresh breath on her face ¨C or at least try to sleep, languishing for hours in the constant, aborted desire to reach for a blade, plunge it into the soft place beneath his breastbone ¨C


    But he¡¯d even done something at one point to show her the shield which surrounded him. Any action taken against him would reveal that there was something amiss; his cover would be broken, and he would start killing people.


    No. Her bed was made, and she would have to lie in it. Until the time came, as she knew it would.


    Three charges ¨C unerring accuracy ¨C right into Redgate¡¯s heart.


    * * *

 Redgates Doom pt2

    11th Illost, 998 NE


    ¡°Oh, my love, did you see the boy¡¯s face tonight?¡± The sorcerer closed the door to their private room behind her. ¡°That was another truly magnificent performance.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said in the dead voice she¡¯d learned to adopt when they were alone. It was the only thing that seemed to stop him thinking of her as a real human being, the only thing that curbed his cruellest impulses. She went to stand by the window, looking out over Tirremuir, its red sandstone walls and white-painted palaces, and she folded her arms across her chest, trying not to show the tension wracking her every nerve.


    Tonight ¨C the first night we¡¯re really alone together¡­


    How nice it would¡¯ve been, to have been able to poison his drink tonight. To have been able to even plan to do it¡­


    Spells or no spells, there were places she would not go. He would have to kill her first.


    Mouth dry, she tried to ignore the worst stories she¡¯d heard over the months from Kani, about the Twelve Hells, about the shadowland, about the depravities of sorcerers¡­


    From what she understood, what she knew in her bones, she already had some idea that even if he killed her, that might not be a way out. Dying might, in fact, make her subservience to him all the more inescapable.


    Nentheleme save me¡­


    ¡°His love for you is as a fresh young shoot,¡± the murderer mused, kicking off his boots, ¡°struggling to bloom as such weeds and shadows as I might conjure choke, strangle it¡­¡± He crossed to a shuttered window and opened it, letting in the night¡¯s breeze, and she breathed it in, wondering:


    Is that how Pelteron died? Choking? Is he threatening Ibbalat¡¯s life?


    She didn¡¯t miss his reference to shadows; she remembered the night she tried to refuse him, the night her sense of rightness flared in revolt and she went in tears to Kani¡­ The degradation, being forced to endure his embrace, his touch on her skin, when he gently took the pencil she was failing to write with out of her fingers, drew her away¡­ The confusion on Kani¡¯s face¡­


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    And she remembered the way Redgate then shocked her into stillness with a simple gesture ¨C he¡¯d extended an arm, and a red-eyed snake with two heads, its body long and thin and formed of pure darkness, went streaming like a ribbon of oil out of his clothing. It had disappeared into the hull of the boat and, just as the sorcerer said would happen, Pelteron had gone missing.


    ¡®A casualty of this futile war you would causelessly wage upon me,¡¯ Redgate had summarised. As though Pelteron¡¯s death were her fault.


    She knew what he was trying to do to her. She wasn¡¯t stupid. He wanted her will broken. He wanted her to feel that it was her fault. And he would take every moment of her submission as a sign it was working.


    So, tonight, she had to make it clear, before his demands went too far and the whole mission was thrown into disarray.


    She whirled around. By now he¡¯d removed most of his clothing, wearing only some light, flowing pants; he was stretched out on top of the covers, his slim, muscular body held in a relaxed pose, his hands behind his head against the pillow.


    ¡°I shared your hammock, but I will not share your bed,¡± she said. ¡°Not living.¡±


    He eyed her up and down, and she prayed he could see the determination in her eyes, her frown, the set of her shoulders and her folded arms¡­


    ¡°If you won¡¯t share my bed, don¡¯t,¡± he said coldly in the end. ¡°You can stand there. All night.¡±


    She stiffened, gritted her teeth ¨C


    ¡°On one leg.¡±


    She felt her eyes widen ¨C


    ¡°Or your brother perishes. Now.¡±


    Slowly, trembling more than she was wont to, she raised her right foot a few inches off the floor. She¡¯d always been better, far better, at balancing on her left.


    ¡°A little higher. Higher¡­ Good. Now stay like that. I know you can do it. The foot touches the floor, you kill someone.¡± He laughed lightly, as if tickled. ¡°Osantya, my love, come here.¡±


    Ana had to fight back the tears that suddenly itched at the corners of her eyes as she witnessed an example of what she might be forced to become. A squirming dead girl, scantily-clad and pale as snow, appeared on the bed next to him in a swirl of purple mist.


    ¡°Osantya, once I¡¯m asleep, watch this girl¡¯s right foot. If she touches it to the floor, wake me before heading downstairs and killing someone. The first person you can find not in this apartment. Do you understand?¡±


    The white-skinned, black-haired girl nodded. The glittering eyes were downcast.


    Ana felt a surge of sympathy, and it ripped a single sob from her throat.


    Redgate smirked, but chose to ignore her outburst.


    She closed her eyes as he turned to the undead thing ¨C she clenched her jaw and focussed, ignoring the sounds she could hear, concentrating on keeping the already-locking muscles loose, on retaining the strength, the purpose, to see this night through ¨C they¡¯d be on the road tomorrow, they¡¯d all be stuck in the tent together and he couldn¡¯t do this again ¨C it was just one night, one night¡­


    She stood on one leg, not weeping, just waiting for the dawn.


    * * *

 Redgates Doom pt3

    12th Illost, 998 NE


    The locked muscles were beyond cramped. The pain was severe, but not unendurable.


    If I was stuck on a rock-face, climbing, with no way forward, no way down ¨C waiting for Phanar to come help me, or waiting for the sun to rise, shine on the next handhold ¨C


    When she pretended she was somewhere else, the agony was easier to hold at bay, but she didn¡¯t have the luxury. There was an opportunity here to find a handhold early, find a master-key to unlock the whole problem before the dawn.


    ¡°Is he gone?¡±


    She grunted the words as softly as she could manage. She¡¯d been listening to the murderer¡¯s breathing for fifteen minutes and it¡¯d found an almost-unbroken rhythm; she was able to perceive through the gloom of the starlit room that his chest was rising and falling at regular intervals.


    She saw the whitish triangle of the undead girl¡¯s face dip in a solemn nod. The darkly-twinkling eyes closed in a slow blink.


    The voice was quiet and hollow, a trace of some magical essence distorting the words, but it was still that of a young woman about her own age: ¡°He dreams.¡±


    She felt a sudden urge to fall, put her foot on the floor ¨C for the thousandth time she righted herself, stopped the sway before it overtook her. ¡°Are ¨C are you¡­¡±


    How do I do this?


    The girl spoke into the silence Ana left lingering. ¡°I can¡¯t sakh¡­ I can¡¯t act against him, can¡¯t even think against him, not in any way! Do you understand me?¡±


    There was a desperation in the undead voice, a hungering that could no more be hidden than it could be suppressed.


    A fury to match her own. And a warning ¨C if Ana said the wrong thing, Osantya might have to report it back; anything she said might be revealed to him later.


    Her thoughts whirled. It was obvious to her that she had to take advantage of this opportunity, but she had no idea which route to take. This was an undead creature ¨C a wight if her guess was right ¨C and for all she knew the thing was centuries old, a completely foreign entity¡­


    But she studied the girl¡¯s downcast gaze, took in her disconsolate demeanour.


    She¡¯s just a girl. She¡¯s just like me.


    The accent she used was strange to the rogue, but it didn¡¯t sound particularly ancient or anything.


    Why not start there?


    ¡°Where did you grow up?¡± she panted.


    The amethyst eyes slowly raised, to meet Ana¡¯s own.


    ¡°I¡¯m Anathta,¡± she said haltingly, enduring a spasm of pain that wracked her lower back. ¡°I grew up in a place called Miserdell. It wasn¡¯t as bad as it sounds ¨C apparently it was called Misery Dell once upon a time, but someone killed a dragon that lived there and built themselves a castle.¡±


    ¡°A miser,¡± Osantya said.


    ¡°Right! But I definitely wasn¡¯t a miser ¨C we were poor, I stole almost everything I had ¨C and it wasn¡¯t, you know, miserable, there ¨C it was pretty awesome, really. The local locksmiths really sucked, you know?¡±


    She thought she saw the shadow of a smile on the undead face at that.


    ¡°And it was a stuffy place, so there were all these people leaving their windows open at night, even in winter¡­¡±


    ¡°I grew up on the streets of Sticktown,¡± Osantya interrupted her (finally, Anathta exulted). ¡°No one leaves things unlocked in Sticktown. If it ain¡¯t nailed down, it¡¯s gonna get stole sooner or later.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ Mundian?¡±


    The wight nodded, the white face dipping in the shadows.


    ¡°I mean ¨C you¡¯re¡­ new to this?¡±


    The same nod again.


    Ana breathed a little easier, despite the cramp forming now in the thigh of her left leg. It was reassuring, knowing she and Osantya were on an almost even-footing in this situation.


    ¡°What was it like¡­ living¡­ in Mund?¡± She bit her lip for two reasons: the pain was worsening, and her use of the word ¡®living¡¯ might not have been the best choice, in retrospect¡­


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    ¡°I worked in the love-house off Cutterwell Way ¨C it was ¨C well, you know¡­ I was alive¡­ I had bread, and cheese sometimes¡­¡±


    She listened as Osantya told her horrible story, but Ana used a portion of her shock-heightened consciousness to go over Redgate¡¯s words at the same time. He¡¯d certainly been very careful to phrase things the right way, leaving no loopholes that she could twist to her advantage: there was no angle she could exploit to set him up as a target for the wight¡¯s attacks ¨C and no angle where she could put her foot on the floor ¨C


    ¡°Ossie,¡± she interrupted gently, using the shortened form of the name and getting a now-familiar smile in return. ¡°Ossie, tell me something ¨C what¡¯s my foot made of?¡±


    ¡°Erm¡­¡°


    It was strange hearing a wight¡¯s hollow, sorcerous voice saying ¡®erm¡¯.


    ¡°Is it made of leather?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°Noooo¡­?¡± Osantya replied quizzically.


    ¡°So if I were to, say, put this boot on the floor,¡± she had to remember to keep quiet, she was getting excited, ¡°this leather thing on my foot ¨C would I be putting my foot on the floor? Or would my foot be still on my boot, like it always has been since he first summoned you?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ suppose so?¡±


    With excruciating slowness so that she didn¡¯t collapse in a fit of pleasure and moan so loud that she¡¯d wake the sleeping archmage, Ana lowered her right foot.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just¡­ stand here¡­ like this¡­¡± she gasped, ¡°and if he¡­ if he wakes¡­ I¡¯ll lift it right back up¡­¡±


    So it was that they spent the next five hours ¨C standing on two feet was hardly glamorous but it was infinitely more fun than standing on one foot ¨C and she got to know the undead girl pretty well. She got to understand Mund a lot better, too, but whenever the conversation veered too close to mages, champions, Redgate, Osantya suddenly became tight-lipped.


    When the sorcerer finally awoke before the dawn and questioned his slave, Ana saw the way Osantya lowered her head to hide the slight smile on her lips as she replied:


    ¡°No, Master ¨C her right foot never once touched the floor.¡±


    Standing on one leg again and mimicking what she hoped to be the facial expressions of someone who¡¯d been in the same position for far, far too long, Ana scrutinised the wight¡¯s downcast face.


    She saw the warping on the undead features, and felt the panic rise inside her breast ¨C


    She¡¯s going to tell!


    Her own eyes widened in realisation and horror, as Osantya tipped her chin back and blurted a string of words in a breathy, ominous-sounding tongue, pouring out a report into the air.


    Ana looked back and forth between the two of them, feeling her cheeks flush with colour ¨C and then, a cold sensation in her stomach, she lowered her foot again. She hadn¡¯t even had it raised more than two minutes, and it probably showed.


    Redgate turned his laughing eyes on her, smiling thinly. ¡°I expected no less of you,¡± he declared.


    For a moment she drew a breath of relief ¨C


    ¡°Osantya, will you please now go and kill two people. Anyone. The first two you find. Then begone.¡±


    This was not a question, and the dead girl murmured a simple, ¡°Yes, Master,¡± before springing off the bed and loping at full-pelt to the door, her long stillness entirely belying the fluidity and ease of her motions, the awful strength inside her.


    Ana was no longer locked in place by any power except the disgust, the fascinated disgust, as she waited, staring at Redgate, him staring implacably back at her ¨C


    The screams, the distant thuds, were over mercifully quickly. A sound like rainfall, familiar to her.


    Blood spattering on walls.


    Who was it? Who died?


    The brief shrieks had seemed to come from farther away than the rooms occupied by those she knew best, but it didn¡¯t matter. It could be one or two of the staff members, almost all known to her by name. It could be a pair of strangers ¨C but what was the difference? Ana knew she wasn¡¯t a nice person, but the idea, the thought that if she¡¯d just kept her foot in the air, if she¡¯d just held on¡­


    Sure, it was Redgate¡¯s fault. Sure, he was the evil one. Ana, Osantya ¨C they were just tools, puppets in some sick game he played against himself. But she couldn¡¯t avoid all the guilt. She was stained alongside him, painted in the same evil.


    She knew in advance. Some part of her knew all along that he would figure it out, realise that she¡¯d talked her way around the problem. But she wanted to do it anyway, wanted to spit it in his face that he couldn¡¯t own her, couldn¡¯t control her.


    Mine, the blame.


    The same way a person with the chance to pull a kitten out of a fire and didn¡¯t was to blame. Sure, they didn¡¯t set the fire. Sure, they didn¡¯t make the kitten go there. But they had the chance. They might¡¯ve got their hands burnt, but it would¡¯ve been worth it. Would¡¯ve been right.


    Her breathing had increased in tempo. She couldn¡¯t think. Couldn¡¯t see. Exhaustion and grief gave way to the inexorable advance of nausea, despair¡­


    She curled up into a ball on the floor, heard his chuckle and didn¡¯t care. Didn¡¯t care that he knew he had broken her will. Didn¡¯t care anymore.


    There would be no trace, no explanation. But Phanar would suspect. He would have to, now. First the sailor, Pelteron ¨C now two people in the Sandtrap tavern ¨C surely he would suspect¡­


    But did she want him to? If he suspected, if he acted against Redgate ¨C that would mean her brother¡¯s death.


    Trouble like this seemed to follow them, though. This would be the third time someone had been killed at a tavern while they stayed there. Although none of the others would look quite like this. From the suddenness with which the screams had been cut off, she could only imagine the brutality with which the victims had been dispatched¡­


    What if it was him Osantya had attacked? He could¡¯ve been downstairs by this time¡­ Would he have survived, a surprise assault from a wight in the pre-dawn darkness? What about Ibbalat? Kani¡¯s faith might have actually made her the best target, in the long run ¨C she probably had the best chance of putting down a wight at short notice¡­


    But no. Her ears were too good to be misled; there was no way it was one of the people she loved who had died. Though, that presented its own problems. He would expect something like this to have woken her up.


    She went and washed her face, knowing what was coming. Not five minutes later, Phanar arrived to find her sitting demurely on the bed next to the sheet-draped sorcerer, her vambraces and belts already fitted, prepared to ¡®investigate the murders¡¯ before they went down to the place Derezo would have the camels waiting.


    She would play the part that would let her protect her brother. She was weak ¨C she couldn¡¯t help but pray for him to figure out what was happening to her, what Redgate was in truth ¨C but she would pray at the same time for him to never figure it out, pray for his safety.


    There was no ¡®figuring out¡¯ what Redgate was in truth. There was no word in any language fit to describe him.


    Except one.


    Doomed.


    * * *

 Redgates Doom pt4

    14th Illost, 998 NE


    It was dawn on the Obarsk Waste when the orc outriders spotted them.


    The salt flat was an ashen-grey expanse under the shadow of night, the little grains appearing almost black, but as the sun swiftly arose on the horizon it was already changing in the distance, glistening whiteness coming closer by the minute. They rode their camels in silence towards the darkness of the mountains ahead; the wind was low, and Ana¡¯s mood was lower.


    Not that Phanar¡¯s desire to break camp and get mounted-up before sunrise was a problem for her. She didn¡¯t sleep at night anymore. She lay in Redgate¡¯s clutches, counting down the hours until they arrived at the dragon¡¯s fortress. She slept in the saddle, the monotonous plain slipping by, hour after hour. At least it wasn¡¯t too hot at this time of year. Even still, she was unsettled ¨C most of the time true sleep eluded her, and she found herself wondering once or twice whether this was something the murderer had done to her, some kind of living-zombification¡­


    Even in this at-best-half-alive state, she was the first to catch the subtle breeze with her nostrils, the not-so-subtle (to her) scent.


    ¡°Fire basilisks,¡± she murmured, almost to herself ¨C then, realising what she was saying, repeated more loudly: ¡°Phanar! Fire basilisks on the wind!¡±


    The two of them cast about, and it was only seconds before she had them in her sights. Ord Ylon¡¯s lair was south-east, and these orcs were almost exactly on her left, north-east.


    Heading closer, black pinpricks on the white line of the horizon.


    ¡°I count at least a dozen,¡± Phanar said in a terse tone. He immediately started tightening the straps at the shoulders of his brigandine armour, the studded-leather-looking coat he wore over his gambeson.


    ¡°Fourteen.¡± Ana voiced her best guess. ¡°Plus two spare basilisks with water casks.¡±


    ¡°An even thirty to kill, then,¡± her brother replied, and flashed her a wolfish grin as he wheeled his camel about to aim at them.


    She did her best to smile back, but then Redgate spoke, and every word that fell from his lips was like a hammer falling against the anvil that was her skull.


    ¡°Oh, I am so very glad you said that,¡± the sorcerer murmured, his voice slightly distorted through the horrid mask.


    The archmage had taken camel-riding in his stride, and, like everything else Ana had seem him try his hand at, he came across like a professional, like he¡¯d been doing it all his life. Whether he was using some of his sorcery to aid him or he was just that insufferable, she wasn¡¯t sure. But now he abandoned his saddle and floated up into the air ¨C huge black wings of iron spread from his back, and, before anyone could get a word out, he beat the wings, sending himself hurtling at the orcs.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Ibbalat called, holding up a hand in a futile, instinctive gesture.


    ¡°Let it go, Ibb,¡± Kani said gently.


    ¡°But¡­ my potions¡­¡± the mage said. ¡°We could¡¯ve just gone by them¡­¡±


    ¡°What is he doing?¡± Phanar growled.


    Ana felt she was in a dream. ¡°He is going to kill them all, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Of course he is,¡± Kani answered her in a detached voice.


    ¡°Can you grant us flight?¡± Phanar asked Ibbalat.


    The mage lowered his face. ¡°I ¨C I didn¡¯t pick up enough bat-wings¡­ I¡¯ve only got enough for the mountain, and a few spares ¨C I can¡¯t make us fly that fast, anyway¡­¡±


    Her brother had taken his sword-pommel in his palm, his eagerness obvious ¨C now he flung his hand down in frustration, releasing it back into its sheath.


    They¡¯d steered their camels to follow the archmage, but it was hardly the thunderous charge of warhorses. It was five camels, crunching ponderously across the salt lying atop the plain ¨C they were going at a twentieth of his speed ¨C or less¡­


    Her eyes were keen. She could see them in the distance, the orcs gathering themselves to meet the magic-user¡¯s approach.


    There was nothing wrong with orcs. The way Ana saw it, they were basically people. Most of them lived in a crude fashion, following the commands of their tribal chieftains and shamans under threat of lifelong exile if they were to break rank ¨C thing was, most humans lived like that, in her experience. Sure, the inner countries of the Realm were all nice and fancy, but she¡¯d spent the better part of a year exploring the fringes on the edges of civilisation; orcs were no different to incredibly big, ugly people. The ones she¡¯d met dwelling in cities proved it ¨C they were quite capable of fitting in, living peacefully, so long as they didn¡¯t try showing their big, ugly faces in the wrong places.


    And, just like people, she had absolutely no problems killing them. If they¡¯d taken up arms against her, her brother, her friends, even strangers ¨C she could kill them. She was good at it.


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    As Redgate drew ever-closer to them, they had their basilisks pick up the pace. The orange-scaled, six-legged lizards had to run to get their internal fires burning, and the orcs sitting astride them knew it. They would spit jets of flame straight up at the sorcerer, the moment he was in range ¨C


    She cringed, knowing the time was almost upon them.


    ¡°What is he going to do?¡± she whispered to herself.


    But Ibbalat overheard her, and answered in a quiet voice, ¡°There are¡­ many ways he could choose to deal with them. A few of his eldritches would suffice. Or he might use an essence. Flames, lightning ¨C there are too many options¡­¡±


    She watched, mouth dry, expecting to see him do something, exert himself in some way ¨C perform actions that would result in the orcs¡¯ deaths, the slaughter of their semi-intelligent mounts.


    No. He slowed as he neared them, but seemingly only to draw the moment out.


    His mere approach was enough to do it.


    She watched in horror as the little shapes in the distance recoiled, tiny arcs of fluid squirting high into the air from their throats, their flesh torn open by some invisible power that seemed to ignore even their clothing. The basilisks were shredded, falling apart into smouldering heaps, lava pouring out of their innards to pool smoking on the salt. The ones that tried to turn and flee were cut down in kind.


    The smashed water casks, leaking their glittering contents onto the plain.


    She had absolutely no problems killing them. She couldn¡¯t quite wrap her head around what this had been, though. Certainly it wasn¡¯t killing. Killing didn¡¯t always have to have honour, but did he have to spit in the face of decency like this? This was butchery, mockery. There¡¯d been no time to exchange challenges ¨C they might not have even been hostile¡­ Redgate ¨C everything that was wrong about violence, wrapped up into a nice red bundle.


    Finally she was sick. She¡¯d been waiting for it for days. She leaned over in the saddle and let it all go, then had to do her best to stop her camel poking its nose in the mess she left on the salt.


    The others halted. Ibbalat wordlessly passed her a water-vial.


    ¡°Th-thank you,¡± she said, voice twanging.


    When she took the vial from his hands, their fingers touched, and she felt herself tremble.


    ¡°Ana,¡± Phanar said quietly, staring at the shape of the sorcerer now returning towards them, ¡°did Redgate kill those people back at the Sandtrap? Did he kill Pelteron?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ preposterous,¡± she replied. She spat water, then looked at him. ¡°There¡¯s no way. I was with him all night. And Pelteron? Really, brother?¡±


    ¡°¡¯Preposterous¡¯?¡± he said slowly. ¡°Really, sister?¡±


    She heard the scepticism in his voice and her heart leapt.


    We can¡¯t ¨C can¡¯t fight Redgate ¨C he was right, right all along ¨C Ord Ylon will die, and, and we will die if we try ¨C


    But she couldn¡¯t make her lips move, force her tongue to voice the words she longed to say. They couldn¡¯t even plan to act against him¡­ his shields would react, and she couldn¡¯t warn them!


    She looked into Ibbalat¡¯s eyes beneath the brim of his hat ¨C he stared at her, without surprise.


    She looked across to Kani ¨C the cleric wore a small, smug smile on her lips.


    Then at last she realised: They¡¯ve known for two days already¡­


    Ana could barely still the heaving of her breast in time. It was happening. They all knew.


    They all knew.


    ¡°But ¨C¡°


    ¡°Hush,¡± Phanar breathed, as the archmage slowed, coming to hover triumphantly over them.


    Ibbalat cried up at him, ¡°You!¡±


    A single word that drove all the breath from Ana¡¯s body.


    ¡°That¡­ that was ¨C amazing,¡± Ibbalat finished, grinning.


    Redgate inclined his head once, slowly, unspeaking.


    ¡°But we could¡¯ve gone past them without raising any suspicions,¡± the young mage continued, stroking his beard as he wheeled his camel back around to point south-east. ¡°If the kobolds have regular interactions with the local orc tribes, they might hear of this.¡±


    ¡°You are correct,¡± Redgate said, halting even as he hovered over own his camel once again. There was an unusual disconcert in the voice emanating from the cowl. ¡°Your own leader gave the say-so, did he not? The orcs may communicate the loss of their scouts, by magical means?¡±


    Ibbalat¡¯s smile actually looked genuine as he shrugged, nodded.


    Ibbalat, don¡¯t, Ana thought. Don¡¯t provoke him¡­ There was no chance of it anyway. Kobolds, talk to orcs? Redgate was showing his inexperience in believing this bunch of nonsense.


    Phanar was just gazing at the sorcerer, expressionlessly.


    ¡°Continue without me,¡± the archmage said in a very different, firmly-resolved voice. ¡°I shall catch you up momentarily.¡±


    This time he didn¡¯t just fly away. Something else happened, a red flame scorching the air twenty feet up where he disappeared.


    ¡°He¡­ he went to hell?¡± Ana asked.


    ¡°It is good,¡± Phanar said quietly, as though the sorcerer might still hear them from another dimension, ¡°that he becomes familiarised now with the place in which he shall spend eternity.¡±


    They all laughed, even Ana.


    Riding there with the three people in the world who knew her best, she let the tears fall from her eyes; they rode close together, and for the first time in weeks she felt some tiny sliver of peace, a painful reminder of what should have been.


    She couldn¡¯t explain. The enchantment still held her, though the caster was no longer present ¨C though they knew his secret already¡­ She couldn¡¯t even tell Ibbalat she loved him too, that every minute since that horrible morning leaving Mund had been a waking nightmare, seeing the way he was looking at her, unable to do anything to make plain the feelings that were like a knife in her heart, stabbing home with every glimpse of his misery.


    I did it ¨C to keep you ¨C keep you alive ¨C


    She looked at Kani.


    ¡°I can¡¯t break the spell, I¡¯m so sorry,¡± the cleric murmured, ¡°nor can Ibbalat¡­ but with the sorcerer¡¯s death ¨C¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t talk about it, even think about it,¡± Ibbalat said, shaking his head; then his eyes met Ana¡¯s once more as he finished, ¡°yet.¡±


    She looked aside, at her brother. She couldn¡¯t stand the furtiveness with which he was staring at her, like she was a fragile vase about to teeter off a shelf¡­


    Damn it all. We¡¯re probably all gonna die anyway.


    Throwing caution to the winds, she leapt out of her saddle and landed behind the mage.


    She was tired, and camels weren¡¯t the most receptive creatures when it came to jumping onto their backs, but she still managed to make it look easy. She threw her arms around him and squeezed.


    Ibbalat looked back at her over his shoulder; their eyes met, and they rode on. She didn¡¯t look at Phanar or Kani to judge their reactions. Their acceptance could be felt.


    Their jealousy.


    There might¡¯ve been only minutes before Redgate returned, but, for a few minutes, they would head south-east in silence, and there would be no sorrow in her soul, only joy. She¡¯d return to her own camel, and this time when she fell asleep it would be the restful dreams of the rescued that greeted her, dreams not of blood-arcs and spider-masks hiding spider-faces, but dreams of glittering water on luminous white grains, a simple mage-robe with its faint scent of wane and bird-feathers. Familiar. Like home. White mist on the meadow. Miserdell.


    * * *

 Redgates Doom pt5

    Redgate did not return in minutes, and hours had passed before a whooshing, crackling sound announced the arrival of a creature in the air above the four companions, wreathed in blood-coloured fire. The noise was strange enough to wake Ana from her slumber.


    A black-skinned imp, four wings and a barbed tail framed against the mountain-shelf ahead of them ¨C which looked even more ridiculously huge than before, now that the sun was up, now that they were a few hours closer¡­


    The sorcerer had left them for so long?


    The first thought that entered her head was that she could¡¯ve stayed on Ibbalat¡¯s camel with him for longer. Having him riding right next to her was nice, but not as nice as being able to feel his body against hers. Being able to squeeze him ¨C sleep in the sweet, surprisingly non-revolting fragrance of his spell-components.


    The second thought that entered her head was that Redgate had realised they were all onto him now, that they¡¯d figured out his game somehow, and was now preparing to attack them ¨C but then the imp gave its report.


    ¡°My master extends his apology to the Phanar of N¡¯Lem regarding his continued absence,¡± it croaked at them. ¡°He has now located the relevant tribes and will be returning shortly. He wishes for me to reassure you that word of your presence here will not reach the kobolds from the orcs. He also wishes for me to tell the Master Ibbalat that he has procured goblin texts of magic from one location which he thinks may be of interest to him.¡±


    The moment it was gone, Ana drew Throatopener and Kidneysticker ¨C no, she wanted Toothdrill for this ¨C


    ¡°Anathta ¨C please, put them away, he could be back any minute,¡± Phanar gestured at her dagger-filled hands.


    ¡°Did you hear what it said?¡± she screamed.


    ¡°I am with her!¡± Kani barked, despite having turned as pale as the ground. ¡°He¡¯s ¨C he¡¯s killed their whole tribe?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ oh, no¡­¡± Ibbalat moaned.


    ¡°I heard the demon say ¡®tribes¡¯,¡± Phanar pointed out grimly.


    ¡°What have we done?¡± Kani gasped. ¡°Bringing him here? What have we done? I could¡¯ve ¨C I should¡¯ve come with you to meet him ¨C¡°


    ¡°And if you had, you would have died, do you remember?¡± Phanar said.


    ¡°We need his power,¡± Ibbalat grated out the words. ¡°Ylon¡¯s an arch-druid. A full one. You know what that means ¨C we have to take his head off. None of us are achieving that, believe me.¡±


    At least this way, I can be happy whichever of them loses, Ana thought.


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    Aloud, she said, ¡°At first I didn¡¯t understand Redgate¡¯s power. I thought he was underestimating Ord Ylon, always calling him an ¡®it¡¯, always being so confident ¨C but now? I¡¯m just worried because I think I¡¯d rather the dragon kill me, than the sor¡­ oh¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Kani asked.


    Ibbalat, staring at the rogue, seemed to intuit the same thing. ¡°The orcs?¡± he said.


    She nodded.


    ¡°What?¡± Kani repeated.


    ¡°N-nothing, Kani,¡± the mage stammered, looking down. ¡°It¡¯s just. You know. What a situation.¡±


    ¡°Tell me,¡± Kani demanded. ¡°Someone tell me ¨C now.¡±


    ¡°Well ¨C he can certainly raise half-orcs as his servants,¡± the mage said as gently as he could, approaching the topic from an oblique angle, ¡°and I don¡¯t think he¡¯d have any problems doing the same with full-orcs, if you follow me¡­¡±


    ¡°You think he has¡­ turned them¡­ into his¡­¡±


    It was Kani¡¯s turn to be sick.


    * * *


    It might as well have been an escarpment, given the suddenness with which the first shelf of land rose from the salt plain. If they had another day or two to follow the line of the cliff, they¡¯d have eventually reached the point where a natural pass would take them up onto the higher elevation. But climbing would be quicker, and flying quicker still.


    The murderer returned half an hour before they stopped, halted by the almost-vertical terrain before them.


    Ana found it easier than ever to play the part of Redgate¡¯s beloved since discovering the others knew what was happening ¨C before she had felt like the performance was no better than lying to her friends, but the tables had been turned; every little action she took now was lying to the sorcerer, and she had to restrain herself lest she start to revel in it. At one point she almost caught herself saying ¡®my love¡¯ back at him, and, knowing it would sound too sarcastic, too confident no matter how hard she tried to inject some sincerity, hesitancy into the phrase, she just shut her mouth instead.


    ¡°Ibbalat,¡± Phanar said, ¡°your spells?¡±


    The mage, who¡¯d spent the final hour in the saddle doing some last-minute revision, closed his spellbook and nodded. He stowed the volume in his saddlebag and slid off the camel.


    One by one, they went to stand before the mage as he sang some high-pitched words in a warbling voice and showered them in crumbs of dried-out animal-parts.


    When it was Ana¡¯s turn, she distracted him by meeting his eyes and he almost had to start over.


    He¡¯s as nervous as me, Ana realised. She felt a sudden, overpowering urge to throw her hands about his neck and kiss him, even through the stupid-looking beard.


    Beards suited some men ¨C it¡¯d definitely suited the attractive-in-an-unattractive-way helmsman she¡¯d dallied with ¨C but Ibbalat was too young ¨C she wanted to be able to see his face, touch it¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re ready,¡± he said, a little disappointment in his tone.


    Well done, she thought, stepping aside so Kani could have her turn in the shower of delightful crumbs. He¡¯s keeping up the act better than me, for once¡­


    The thought of being outdone in a game of deception grated on her, and she resolved herself to commit to the pretence. He¡¯d even managed to look exhilarated when Redgate had presented him with the thin box containing some tiny little scrolls of weird magic.


    She looked up at the mountain looming above them, and felt a sudden strange sensation ¨C a kind of weightlessness, focussed on the soles of her feet and under her arms¡­


    She looked up at the mountain and thought: Just a few more hours. A few more hours, and you can be rid of him.


    She turned her face to Redgate, smiled innocently, trying to let the same horror fill her eyes as had filled them for these endless past two weeks. But she knew inside she was sliding dangerously-close to ill-will.


    Three charges. Straight into your heart.

 Liberated pt1

    <h2>MARBLE 6.1: LIBERATED</h2>


    ¡°Delved they deep neath Din Dalor


    Birthed fire-rubies, mithril ore


    Fathers linger there no more


    Quiet meres of Din Dalor


    Cold in fathoms never found


    Leagues in darkness underground


    On the lonely hammer sounds


    Yet my kin cannot be found


    Ever-burning diamonds die


    Bones and dust my forebears lie


    Silent water slithers by


    Under stars we do not die


    Listen well and pay the price


    Pay it once and pay it twice


    All Mund¡¯s gold will not suffice


    Blood so bright we name the price


    Hands unbound my axe will slice


    Humans sore in last lost cry


    Under ice red gold abounds


    Rest thereby dark Din Dalor¡±


    ¨C from The Chant of the Winterdwarf Insurrection (903 NE), ¡®Banned Texts¡¯ 22nd collection


    Grassland. It was strange.


    I¡¯d spent my entire life inside the walls of Mund. Reading books about the great outdoors was one thing, but actually being here was something else entirely. It wasn¡¯t a feeling even the vast, fey-infested wilderness of Etherium could compete with. That place was surreal, formed out of expectation and bliss, psychic impressions ¨C this, this was reality. Reality came with cowpats and buzzing flies, even as the world entered winter, not starlit sap and fruit-scented wind. Reality was the farms, redolent with the stench and snorts of livestock, stretching away down the rolling incline towards the sea ¨C and Mund only got something like two percent of its food from local sources. Shearing through the landscape went the dark line of the Greywater, leading down to Salnifast, its marble arches and wharves, lighthouses and trade-halls glittering in the distance, almost as vivid as the walls of Mund behind us.


    I¡¯d spoilt them by flying them here, but we could hardly walk the whole way, struggle through the camps outside the walls with the wagons, could we? Considering my giddiness with extreme heights it went smoothly. The griffon-mounted watchmen on the battlements had waved me over for a quick identity check, but once they realised who I was they fell all over themselves in apologising and I was left to go about my business.


    To be honest I¡¯d been glad of the break, the chance to stand atop the wall near the Treetown Gate and look down on the surroundings without feeling ill. The frosted meadows leading down to the distant harbour were exquisite but it was pretty high-up and I couldn¡¯t call on my wraith while carrying my brother and sister ¨C I didn¡¯t want their first flying session to be a boring, low-to-the-ground experience. Neither did I want them thinking I was actually scared of heights. I¡¯d told them about my¡­ fall in Tivertain, but I hadn¡¯t exactly gone into detail on the ramifications.


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    Teeth gritted, eyes raised to the sky, I¡¯d brought them out over the eastern walls and been glad of the chance to sink back to an elevation of fifty feet or so, once the guards were done questioning me and we were on the outside. We drew some exclamations from the crowds of the camps, but, of the thousands of immigrants we passed, those I overheard also seemed to be speaking positively of me.


    It seemed being heralded the ¡®Liberator of Zadhal¡¯, thanks to the machinations of a certain arch-diviner, had its advantages. Even if I felt the title was too bit much, I was hardly going to deny myself the accolades ¨C there simply was no way to do so. And I had worked pretty hard for it, to be fair¡­ though I hadn¡¯t realised at the time that I was going to make the history books.


    The platinum the Magisterium provided in payment didn¡¯t exactly go amiss either ¨C a hundred plat, easily enough to be an obvious attempt at buying my silence.


    The ¡®Diamond War¡¯, as it turned out they called it in those few library texts where it was mentioned, was shadowed in mystery, named but never explained. The fall of Zadhal, the Magisterium¡¯s part in creating thousands of undead¡­


    Yeah, right. It¡¯d take a million plat to buy my silence on something like this. Not that I¡¯d return the hundred, mind¡­ I felt facing down a god-fragment and dozens of liches simultaneously was worth it, somehow.


    Magisterium dropheads.


    I was almost in a good mood as I descended to the ground, sylph-wings spread to slow our fall. I¡¯d chosen a wild, untamed field on the slope of a hill, shortish grass all beautifully frosted over, bristling with with sparkling starthyme and surprisingly-resilient dandelions. I could probably have carried them another ten, fifteen minutes without too much hassle ¨C Avaelar¡¯s wings still weren¡¯t quite as wonderful as wizard-flight, but at least they didn¡¯t come with as strict of a weight-restriction. However, there was no need to go any further; this spot would be perfect.


    ¡°It¡¯s so big,¡± Jaroan murmured, looking out towards the sea, held fast in my satyr-augmented right arm.


    ¡°I know, right?¡± Jaid¡¯s voice was muffled by the scarf which she¡¯d wrapped around her face to keep her nose warm, but I could tell she was more than a little nauseous. It was the first time she¡¯d spoken since we left the wall ¨C clearly she was feeling better now we were lower-down.


    ¡°Look, a rabbit,¡± I said as I set their feet to the ground.


    ¡°Where?¡± Jaid almost screamed in delight, suddenly perking up.


    I pointed, and she instantly started sidling up to it.


    ¡°You¡¯re not trying to assassinate it,¡± Jaroan snorted, then looked at her curiously, ¡°are you?¡±


    ¡°I brought lunch¡­¡± I said.


    ¡°Just walk up to it!¡± my brother said, taking a step ¨C


    He didn¡¯t even get halfway to Jaid before the rabbit was gone. I could track its movements, but the twins were casting about, Jaid berating Jaroan for his intrusion, Jaroan doing his best ¡®it was going to happen anyway¡¯ explanation of what had occurred; Jaid was too frustrated to listen to me or look where I directed her, certain it¡¯d gone the way she went, and Jaroan simply scared it further by raising his voice, stamping his feet.


    Sighing, I parked my cart on the grass and pulled a water-vial from my demiskin. If this carried on for much longer, I¡¯d have to resort to Flood Boy and have a spot of wine¡­


    ¡°Come on, Jaid,¡± I called after a minute. She was almost in tears at her brother¡¯s carelessness. ¡°Remember Gilaela?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t ¨C the rabbit ¨C I¡­¡±


    Protests melted under the scintillating light of a glittering horn. Within a minute she was on the unicorn¡¯s neck, trotting here and there ¨C ¡®Princess¡¯ had reassured me there was no way she could let my sister be thrown. She seemed the type to take that kind of thing seriously, so I let it go, though I had a sneaky suspicion she was just worried if she didn¡¯t say that I¡¯d try to saddle her.


    ¡°Pick up any powerful new fey?¡± Jaroan asked, coming over and sitting beside me.


    His jealousy of his sister was so obvious it almost made me smile.


    ¡°You mean aside from the unicorn?¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Powerful?¡±


    I nodded vehemently. ¡°You have no idea. Without her¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t even want to think about it.


    ¡°¡¯Without her¡¯ what?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯d have had a darn sight more trouble splashing through a river of deathknights and scaring off archliches without her help, so¡­¡±


    I looked into his sceptical face, and sighed again. I could hardly tell him the details, could I? He had to see me as the champion, untouchable, not the bag of organs that had been split apart by a volley of nethernal fire despite my eldritch reinforcements.


    Not the brother. Not really, anymore. The last few weeks had changed something between the three of us ¨C put us on a different footing.


    Then I remembered I did have an eldritch that would interest him. ¡°Erm ¨C yeah, actually ¨C check this out.¡±


    I produced a little green spark on my outstretched palm.


    * * *

 Liberated pt2

    ¡°Iliel,¡± I commanded, tossing the tiny scorpion aside into the grass to let it grow.


    Soon the twins were chasing each other round on their eldritch mounts, everyone under strict orders not to cause anyone, human or fey or rabbit, any harm. I watched them for a few minutes, bundled in well-made winter clothing for the first time, riding a unicorn and a giant scorpion¡­ How things had changed.


    I sat back, fished out my book and started to read again, picking up where I¡¯d left off. I ran my fingers along the spine, the little runes imprinted there which protected it from incidental harm, as I delved with my mind back into the tortured, torturous words of a pre-vampire arch-diviner, the words whose implications had so-worried the city¡¯s greatest champion¡­


    We hadn¡¯t been there more than ten minutes when she arrived.


    ¡°Behind you,¡± Em whispered in my ear.


    I jerked my head around, saw Stormsword arrowing down, still half a mile or so away.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting better control,¡± I murmured.


    She laughed lightly in response, then moments later settled down a few feet from me.


    Jaid trotted over to say hi, but Jaroan was pursuing her fiercely ¨C the scorpion didn¡¯t seem half as quick off the mark as the unicorn, and soon Jaid was prancing away again, teasing him as she went, a strand of her long blonde hair coming free of her woolly hat and trailing in the wind.


    ¡°So, learning much?¡± Em asked, smoothing down and drying the grass with a quick funnel of hot wind before sitting beside me.


    I chuckled, closed the book, and looked down at its cover. The rune of Vaahn, the tall, spiked crown ¨C like that worn by the champion who¡¯d helped me win my newfound status.


    ¡°Why, if he uses demons,¡± I mused, ¡°does Direcrown wear the symbol of the Lord of the Undead on his head, do you think?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps he uses zem too?¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t on Fullday. Not once, that I could tell¡­¡±


    ¡°You are avoiding ze question, Kas.¡±


    ¡°Careful ¨C there might be a dark druid in the grass, just listening out for our names, Stormsword.¡±


    She regarded me with an increasingly-icy demeanour.


    ¡°Okay, okay, fine,¡± I relented, sitting up and gathering my wits. ¡°I ¨C there¡¯s a lot of it you don¡¯t want to hear, and even more of it you really don¡¯t want to hear. But I¡¯ll let you be the judge of that,¡± I added quickly, worried she was about to draw in a frostbolt. ¡°It¡¯s about ¨C the Magisterium. Zadhal ¨C it seems it wasn¡¯t the dark elves we needed to blame after all.¡±


    She waited patiently, so I continued, ¡°You remember, before you left for work, in the library? None of the books wanted to come to me? I had to coax down that one that I knew wanted to come but couldn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Zis makes even less sense vhen you describe vot happened,¡± she complained.


    ¡°Well, I can explain it now¡­ I think I know enough.¡±


    I related what I¡¯d managed to uncover, and did my best not to watch her body language while I spoke, for fear of being put off when she started to get upset. When one of my imps popped in with a report on Nighteye and its failure to find a trace of him, I waved it away instantly. Em wanted to hear it ¨C she could damn well hear all of it, no distractions.


    Ilthelor, and perhaps his twin brother too ¨C the notes were unclear ¨C had started the whole thing. A prophecy had been created, a vision foretelling Mund¡¯s destruction. And at the heart of it, there we were ¨C archmages, ¡®of a common, uncouth brogue¡¯, lowborn coming in to wreck everything. That was how the highborn of Zadhal had chosen to interpret it, anyway. Their ruler (King Keltoros, whose last act in this world had birthed a manifestation of a dark god) went to Mund to debate what had been witnessed.


    The so-called ¡®Chosen Lord of Mund¡¯ ¨C I assumed that¡¯s what they were calling the First Lord back then ¨C had been a kind-spoken, soft-hearted chap by all accounts. He¡¯d open doors for others and always be the first to stretch out his hand in greeting, his biographers had been at pains to point out. (It very much sounded as though Aidel had detested him, from the way she wrote of him.) Yet on this one thing he had been unbending; he was not about to issue an edict preventing the nobles marrying whom they pleased.


    The pre-vampires, the Isromalle brothers, thought the Chosen Lord of Mund was weak as well as soft ¨C that he feared losing support amongst the lesser lords and ladies, whose own votes might remove him if he started pretending to be a king. But it had Aidel and Graima confused ¨C why would any noble want a son or daughter free to make their own minds up in matters of love, when the tradition of generations decreed the best match ought be selected for them by wiser hands?


    They suspected enchantment, and the day Graima entered Mund to investigate was the day the war began.


    Whilst I would¡¯ve loved to have disagreed with them, would¡¯ve been overjoyed to think the best of the highborn who had ruled the Mundic Realm in those times ¨C I couldn¡¯t find it in myself. The rulers of Mund should¡¯ve taken the whole thing more seriously ¨C if they¡¯d been able to predict the way the archmages would increasingly come from the ranks of the lowborn, they¡¯d have been falling all over each other to stand behind King Keltoros and his delegates.


    But enchantment? That seemed far-fetched, if Henthae had been right about the nature of defence versus attack in terms of mind-control. It had intrigued Zel, but even she, with her paranoia about enchanters, didn¡¯t think it possible someone could put the whole Arrealbord under their power. That was the kind of feat you¡¯d expect only from the legends ¨C sure, Nimmenvyl Olteron, the Enchantress Founder, pulled off things like that in the rhymes, claiming the hearts of entire kingdoms with a single softly-spoken word and all that malarkey. There were stories behind the whole ¡®Queen of Souls¡¯ deal, if you were inclined to believe them¡­


    I was not so inclined.


    In any case, as was often the way of events in the early histories, one thing led to another and another thing led to war. As was not so-often the case, this had been suppressed, all mention of the Diamond War expunged save for a scant few passages of illegible text that might¡¯ve had the casual, contextless reader thinking it were myth rather than fact under discussion.


    A war, between two states, the hearts of which were joined by portals across the vastness of the world.


    A war, between two states, one of which was a nexus for others, rich beyond calculation, diverse and populous and expansive; the other, a small, regressive backwater with little other than its mineral wealth as a claim to fame.


    The results of the first battle had been predictable. The Magisterium took the initiative, and annexed the Zadhal-side plaza around the Winter Door in the first four hours of fighting.


    Aidel¡¯s notes from this time were difficult to read, not only because of their incoherency but because of the clear distress that accompanied them. The archmages of Zadhal saw Ilthelor¡¯s vision writ large, looming in their near future.


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    Within two weeks they got desperate. King Keltoros was the first to raise the dead, and their friend Lord Saphalar, chief sorcerer of the city, convened even the merchant-sorcerers to aid in the deed. Overnight the Mundians were stymied by waves of zombies, blocked and locked into the areas they¡¯d reinforced. Control of the skies was wrested from them. For a time, it looked to Aidel as though they might actually attain victory, or at least independence. If they could just take back the Winter Door and somehow bring it down ¨C


    None of these ancient archmages had known for sure whether the destruction of one of the Doors might entail the destruction of the city. But their speculations were in vain anyway. They never came close to removing the Mundians¡¯ foothold in their city. Huge shields contested zones of the district, sometimes with one side of a street populated by Zadhalite shopkeepers and skeleton patrols, the other bristling with Magisterium eldritches and explosive wards¡­


    It was only after three years of incessant, seemingly pointless fighting that the Magisterium played their hand. The book in the library at the Maginox had been lacking in detail ¨C it wasn¡¯t like the Magisterium-approved authors had anything concrete to say on the topic ¨C but the upshot was that if the Zadhalites were so keen to transform their subjects into undead minions, they could all take a spoonful of the same medicine. From a secret corner of the hotly-contested network of tunnels beneath Zadhal, the Mundian wizards broke through into one of the ancient caverns beneath the city-centre. The Candle of Retribution was created ¨C apparently this was Lord Saphalar¡¯s term for the fountain of undeath we¡¯d destroyed with his custom-designed sphere.


    The magistry withdrew from Zadhal ¨C even as King Keltoros and his subjects were transformed, cursed never again to leave it.


    ¡°Until you vent,¡± Em said warmly, taking my hand and nestling in to me.


    I hadn¡¯t expected such a placid response, so I mumbled, ¡°Until we went, I suppose¡­ Anyway, that¡¯s as far as I¡¯ve got. I think, maybe, Dustbringer knew something too. There was something Direcrown said, and I ¨C his power¡­¡±


    When I¡¯d held the book in my hands in the library yesterday, I¡¯d gotten a feeling, a sense of his energies still wreathed there ¨C energies I¡¯d more than just sampled when we¡¯d fought in the main room of my apartment. He too had once coaxed the book down. The traces of the man, the simple magic he¡¯d used just like me to call the book to him, remained on our plane.


    I drew a shuddering breath. ¡°But he didn¡¯t have access to this.¡± I tilted the Vaahn-stamped book. ¡°To the notes of Aidel on the prophecy of Ilthelor. The ravings of two original rebels, heretics of centuries long-gone.¡±


    She drew patternless patterns on the back of my hand with her fingernail. ¡°His death shocked you, didn¡¯t it, Kas? Is¡­¡±


    She hushed. She could feel my response, the coiled tension.


    ¡°Well ¨C yeah. More than any of the others who¡¯ve died. I keep thinking ¨C I keep feeling ¨C invincible. But we aren¡¯t. Being reminded of it¡­¡±


    I hadn¡¯t told her I¡¯d charged an avatar with the power of death-touch, and every time I remembered this fact I prayed Shallowlie kept it to herself. Asking the sorceress to keep it to herself could be worse. Better to forget about it, hope she did the same, trust to her tact.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s ¨C Dustbringer was a sorcerer. More powerful than me. And he didn¡¯t make any mistakes, didn¡¯t do anything wrong. He was just ¨C he was used to being able to solve his problems by chopping them in half, and when it backfired ¨C¡°


    The sapphire blade, shearing him in two ¨C


    ¡°¨C it¡¯s still the worst thing I¡¯ve seen, I think.¡±


    I licked my lips. That wasn¡¯t quite true. My empty apartment, the night of the Incursion. And ¨C


    Not as bad as seeing you lying there in the healing-tent¡­


    But I couldn¡¯t say that, so I continued haltingly: ¡°Dustbringer¡­ It affected me worse than the bodies in that vampire cellar, you know? Worse than anything in Zadhal, or¡­ after¡­ Lightblind¡­ I guess it was when Dustbringer died that it hit home, we aren¡¯t anything special. I thought we weren¡¯t supposed to die, not really. Definitely not ¨C not him. He was supposed to teach me¡­ He was supposed to be my Henthae, you know? My own incredibly-badass Henthae. Heh.¡±


    I looked out towards the sea, and thought: Here¡¯s to you, Endren Solosto, wherever you are.


    Her hand had settled upon my own. ¡°I understand.¡±


    We sat together like that for a few minutes, and I basked in the warmth of her body, her aura¡­ until I finally plucked up the courage.


    ¡°You ¨C you don¡¯t mind, then? It¡¯s all the same to you?¡±


    I saw through her mask¡¯s slits that her eyes narrowed in bewilderment.


    ¡°No, not Dustbringer ¨C I mean ¨C what I was talking about before. The prophecy, the war¡­¡±


    She sat up.


    ¡°So, zey thought ve archmages vould be to blame for ze downfall of Mund. So vot? Zey are just heretics, as you said.¡±


    ¡°But the Magisterium¡­¡±


    ¡°Ze Magisterium do not think ze same ¨C ozzervise zey vouldn¡¯t have continued viz ze policy, allowing ze bloodlines to mix¡­¡±


    ¡°Diviners can be wrong,¡± I admitted, feeling a little confused. ¡°But¡­¡±


    Doesn¡¯t she understand my problem? Is she going to make me say it out loud?


    ¡°Zey can be wrong, and zey can mis- how do you say, misinterpret?¡±


    I nodded, smiled tightly.


    ¡°Zey can misinterpret ze signs,¡± she continued. ¡°Ze destruction of Mund may be, you know¡­ ze symbolic downfall. Or just a¡­ a time of changes.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well,¡± I patted Aidel¡¯s memoirs, ¡°it looks like the vision was a little more specific. Flames and ash. Mund an uninhabited wasteland, a battleground. You know, typical apocalyptic stuff. Chadoath mark two.¡±


    ¡°Zat doesn¡¯t mean zey interpreted it correctly, zough.¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure.¡± I could tell what she meant. The destruction of Mund could be ten thousand years off yet, and even if the presence of lowborn archmages was going to contribute to that destruction, they would be needed just to help the city survive that long. A high proportion of champions were lowborn, and possibly a decent proportion of arch-magisters too. It was only due to the sacrifices of champions and the other archmages willing to put their lives on the line that Mund got through each Incursion¡­


    ¡°Without us, they wouldn¡¯t even get that far,¡± I pondered aloud.


    Em was nodding. ¡°So ve are agreed, zen.¡±


    I met her eyes.


    ¡°On ze Magisterium being in ze right.¡±


    ¡°Being¡­ in the¡­¡±


    I couldn¡¯t even repeat the word. That was the very last word I¡¯d have chosen.


    ¡°I know, zis viz ze undead, zis is troubling.¡± She looked down at the grass. ¡°I understand zat. It is unforgivable. I see vhy zey have worked so hard to hide ze truth from us all¡­¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re still willing to be one of them!¡± I exploded. ¡°It¡¯s unforgivable, yet you¡¯re willing to forgive ¨C¡±


    ¡°No, Feychilde, but I am villing to forget. Vot vould you have zem do? Go put it right? Zey tried! Zey vent, viz you! And ¨C¡°


    ¡°They went ¨C Zakimel ¨C he went to dispose of us,¡± I almost spat the words.


    ¡°If he vonted to dispose of you, you vould be dead!¡± she retorted, the air around us suddenly turning cold once more.


    ¡°Rosedawn and Leafcloak did die ¨C¡°


    ¡°Duskdown¡¯s vife! Timesnatcher slew her, did he not?¡±


    There was something to her voice when she said ¡®did he not?¡¯ that brought the worst of Stormsword¡¯s highborn accent into her tone, a sneering presumptuousness that slid into my brain like a razor-blade.


    I knew I shouldn¡¯t have told them. It was a risk. Timesnatcher hadn¡¯t made me take a vow of silence or anything, but he¡¯d spoken in confidence. They had both sworn they wouldn¡¯t reveal what they knew ¨C but while I could trust Em¡¯s loyalty, could I trust her restraint?


    Either way ¨C it wasn¡¯t like Killstop had chosen to shut me up before I¡¯d spoken with the two of them yesterday. Timesnatcher had to know I¡¯d tell the ladies ¨C unless Killstop¡¯s very presence there could¡¯ve interfered¡­ But she wasn¡¯t powerful-enough to contend with Timesnatcher¡¯s sight, was she?


    Divination ¨C and enchantment ¨C confused everything.


    I looked away. ¡°She was planning the destruction of the Maginox ¨C Timesnatcher saw her, heard her voice!¡±


    ¡°So he killed her.¡±


    I looked back, her cool steel eyes pulling mine inexorably to meet them.


    ¡°And he voz right to do so,¡± she went on dismissively. ¡°Dark enchanters ¨C zey are almost as bad as ze diviners.¡±


    I closed my eyes drew in a deep breath. We were so alike ¨C and so different.


    ¡°Then how does that explain Leafcloak? What does Zakimel have to gain from the death of Leafcloak? She wasn¡¯t the bride of the most-wanted darkmage in the world, was she?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know ¨C zis, zis avatar ¨C¡°


    She suddenly sounded troubled, on the back-foot, some of her vehemence giving way to confusion, so I pressed my advantage:


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to admit there¡¯s a difference! Whatever his ulterior motives, Zakimel wanted some of us to die! You ¨C your test ¨C you said it yourself, it seemed off, coming out of nowhere like that. You wanted to go ¨C and they knew what you¡¯d see, what you¡¯d hear, if you came with me. They did what they did three hundred years ago and they never changed. They¡­¡± My voice weakened. ¡°They knew you wouldn¡¯t believe me.¡±


    ¡°Believe you?¡± she whispered. ¡°I ¨C I believe you, Kas. I ¨C¡°


    Then, between one moment and the next, something changed inside my mind. I couldn¡¯t do it to her any longer. I couldn¡¯t be the cause of the doubt, the concern warping her features.


    Couldn¡¯t resist the thrust-out lower lip¡­


    I kissed her, and the angry words running through my mind were drowned out by the frantic drumming of my blood in my ears.


    Within ten seconds she was sliding her hand inside the neck of my robe, lightly scratching my chest with her nails ¨C


    I jolted backwards, regarding her coyly. ¡°The twins!¡± I waved a hand at the frolicking nine-year-olds.


    ¡°Ah.¡± She followed my gaze and I saw the devious smile touch her irresistible lips. ¡°I have¡­ an idea. Tell me ¨C do you fancy a svim?¡±


    * * *

 Liberated pt3

    Every Sticktown kid had been down to the banks of the Blackrush from time to time, but wading in the river and swimming in the sea were as different as walking and flying. The answer to her question was no ¨C I couldn¡¯t swim, just like I couldn¡¯t fly. Not until she came along to teach me.


    Okay, so the perpetual-warmth, buoyancy-removal and water-breathing spells surely had something to do with it, but within a few minutes me and the twins were basically fish. The hardest part was remembering not to swallow when breathing it in ¨C apparently the wizardry didn¡¯t extend to letting us drink saltwater. The fact that it didn¡¯t taste very nice certainly helped. I couldn¡¯t actually feel any water in my mouth ¨C so long as I acted as though I were still on the surface breathing air, everything worked smoothly.


    As Em locked her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck, I set shields on the twins then let them swim off and have their fun, paddling through the darkness chasing after rocks and shells along the seabed, feeling their way along. They were being nice to each other again in the wake of this newfound awesomeness, treating the mysterious depths of the bay as their playground. With the shields I could track them, ensure they were safe¡­ ensure they didn¡¯t return too soon¡­


    We spent almost an hour under the water. Unlike everyone else here, I could see with almost perfect vision ¨C Em could surely sense fluctuations in the currents, sense when she was close to an obstacle and divert her course, but my sight easily pierced the silent, peaceful gloom of the sea. Crabs, teeming by the hundreds, strode like armies in formation across the sea floor, sidestepping across the rocky sand in their typical directionally-challenged fashion. Eels slipped across the distance, faint lines, like dark hairs being drawn through the water. There were even hostile creatures ¨C two jellyfish, transparent mushrooms trailing fibres of snotty-looking material ¨C that haplessly tried to pierce our shield, only to find themselves being repelled by my barriers. I was reassured by the fact that the shield protected us from them, but also a bit surprised to find they were actively aggressive like that. Floating snot-mushrooms, that wanted to eat you? Mekesta was surely responsible for more than demons.


    I added jellyfish next to cats on my list.


    ¡°We should get the twins,¡± I said after a while. I didn¡¯t even try to understand how she was capable of moving my words to her ears through the dark water. ¡°I¡¯m on duty in a bit, and I could do with getting dry ¨C¡°


    Then I realised how stupid I sounded; she regarded me with her ¡®You didn¡¯t seriously just say that, did you?¡¯ look.


    ¡°Riiiiight. And ve are so far from Mund ¨C if only ve had a vay to fly back! Oh dear ¨C¡°


    I crushed her to me, stealing a final kiss to shut her up.


    I could still sense Jaid and Jaroan, moving around a hundred or so yards away, and we made our way over to the pair.


    ¡°Okay, stop torturing that poor little crab,¡± I commanded, relaxing my limbs and coming to a stop.


    Jaid stopped humming the Blackrush Blues, a jaunty theme that everyone kid of the lane knew from being knee-high, and looked up at us.


    ¡°But ¨C but ¨C but waaaatch.¡± Jaid was giggling uncontrollably ¨C she¡¯d got hold of a big shell and was moving it to either side of the poor fellow, blocking his path ¨C whenever he changed direction she moved it again, forcing him to continue his dance¡­ ¡°Can we take him home, Kas? Oh can we ¨C please¡­?¡±


    I opened my mouth in shock. ¡°Don¡¯t use my name! The crab could be a dark druid in disguise, just waiting down here for us to approach! We¡¯ll have to take him home just in case.¡± I grinned at Em. ¡°He¡¯d go nice with some of that green sauce stuff.¡±


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    While I dealt with the unavoidable outburst that resulted from my joke and Em did her best to explain that the crab would die on the surface after a couple of days, Jaroan floated away; he plunged his hand down into the rocks, feeling around ¨C


    ¡°Wait, Jharoan ¨C zere is something down zere.¡± If we were fish, Em was a¡­ far faster fish. Not only was she a practised swimmer, she used her power to push herself along; I could feel thin rivulets of water streaming towards her, congealing behind her, thrusting her on.


    She was at my brother¡¯s side in a second, and as I followed in her wake I looked down and I could see what she was referring to. The critter was no bigger than a ball that a child could hold in their hand but it was covered in long reddish spines that looked decidedly nasty.


    She extended her own hand, letting radiance pour from it and drift on the currents, illuminating the sea floor.


    ¡°Zey call zat ze sea urchin. Ze spikes can be venomous. Stay back.¡±


    He peered down at it as the spiny creature slowly started to back away from the wizard-light. ¡°Now that¡¯s cool. What does it eat? Does it even eat?¡±


    But before Em could reply, Jaid arrived, kicking with her feet as she carried her crab in her cupped hands.


    ¡°See,¡± she said sweetly to her brother, ¡°if you were a druid you could turn into one of them, and find out for yourself¡­¡±


    ¡°If I was a diviner I could just, I don¡¯t know ¨C diviners know everything ¨C¡°


    ¡°About sea surgeons?¡±


    ¡°Sea urchins,¡± he growled. Growls sounded silly, tinny, underwater.


    ¡°Urchins?¡± Jaid asked in some perplexity. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ poor? Surgeon makes much more sense, it¡¯s got all those little scalpels ¨C¡°


    Em caught my eye-roll, then decided to move things along.


    ¡°Jhaid ¨C Jharoan ¨C I think it¡¯s time ve vere going.¡± She waited out the inevitable sighs and mutters of dissent, then continued, ¡°Unless you don¡¯t vont to go on ze greatest ride of your lives?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve already tried flying,¡± Jaroan grumbled.


    ¡°Flying? Ah, zat is not vot I speak of¡­ Perhaps it vould be better if I showed you.¡±


    With no warning, in almost absolute silence, the incredible wall of water struck us, scooped us up and carried us away. The sheer invisible rush of it paralysed every part of my body at first, then after a couple of seconds I let myself go slack, spread out my arms and just enjoyed the sensation. The kids¡¯ tongues definitely weren¡¯t paralysed ¨C they whooped and wailed as we were pulled around at frightening, exhilarating speeds.


    If she¡¯d thought by this show that she was getting us both out of a load of moaning, Em was to find she had underestimated the resourcefulness of the enemy. Half an hour later, as we sat on the wizardry-warmed rocks listening to the waves and Em dried and braided my sister¡¯s hair, Jaid was still harping on about wanting another go, and about the crab she¡¯d left behind but would hope to see again next time we went ¨C because we were going to go again weren¡¯t we Em? weren¡¯t we? ¨C and by the time I caught Em eye-rolling, the argument we¡¯d had earlier on was buried for good, never to rear its ugly head again. How could I look on her, and see anything but a member of my family? Someone I wanted to be with, for as long as she wanted to be with me.


    She might¡¯ve wanted to carry on being a magister. She might¡¯ve decided to allow them to get away with what they¡¯d done to the poor citizens of Zadhal, most of whom would be lowborn, people like us with no stake in the games played by the rich and powerful. She said she would let herself forget, because the perpetrators were long-dead. She might defend Zakimel till she was blue in the face, because he was a part of the system she needed, to be who she was right now.


    I knew none of it mattered. The truth would out in the end. She would give up her trust in them one day soon. It wasn¡¯t like she¡¯d been raised here, or raised rich, dreaming of being a high-ranking magister from a young age. She was a magister out of convenience, but she was a champion at heart ¨C I¡¯d known it from the moment we met, when she looked at me, the intensity, the almost-jealousy which my situation as Feychilde had stirred in her.


    Perhaps I was being stupid. I was young, and real life wasn¡¯t much like the stories ¨C people usually didn¡¯t find the person they were meant to be with just like that. Yet, how could I deny what I felt?


    I watched her, the breeze blowing heated air through her own hair, the long strands of platinum not yet tied back or braided, just streaming loose in the wind.


    I watched her and I knew, in my own champion¡¯s heart, that this was love.


    * * *

 Liberated pt4

    We dropped the twins off with Xantaire while clad in our civilian attire, and then ate our glazed bagels from Hontor and Sons as we flew towards Treetown, back in our masks.


    She was coming with me to Timesnatcher¡¯s. Did that indicate some slight shift in her attitude following our conversation? Was she willing to hear his side of the story?


    I cast my gaze over to my left, stared at her chomping away.


    She met my eyes. ¡°Zis is actually as good as you said.¡± Her words were garbled, her mouth full of pastry and sugar.


    ¡°I know, right?¡± I replied, doing my best to avoid spraying bits of food into the air. I swallowed, and sighed. ¡°Everything looks so tiny from up here, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re flying better zan ¨C than before,¡± she noted.


    ¡°Struggling to get into character?¡± I licked my teeth then grinned over at her.


    ¡°I mean, I cannot see this wraith you say you¡¯re¡­ wearing.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ve just got better at modulating it. Ah ¨C you know ¨C controlling the power. I¡¯m still weird-feeling ¨C have a go.¡±


    I tried taking her hand, and hers went through mine ¨C not quite like air, but still, like sand. She could only take the lightest touch without the flesh giving way beneath her fingers. I just smiled. It wasn¡¯t painful. And somehow it affected my bagel just like it did my clothing, letting me cram it in my mouth without any physical ill-effects. Bonus.


    She nodded in understanding, then gazed down and around. We¡¯d crossed the Blackrush and were now coursing over Oldtown, back the way we¡¯d come earlier. Oldtown¡¯s winding, cramped streets, less smog-ridden than Sticktown had been, displayed the bobbing heads of thousands of people going about their business. Dead-ends avoided by most but clearly visible from up here, the moss-covered monuments and shrines from ancient days, surrounded by ruined walls that looked far older than anything Zadhal had to offer.


    She looked back up and faced ahead at the forests on the other side of the Whiteflood, our destination, before responding to my initial question: ¡°This gives us¡­ perspective. We are tiny. Everything we make.¡±


    Except your Maginox, I thought, looking out at the distant line piercing the heavens on the horizon.


    I wouldn¡¯t mention it.


    As we approached the thick bank of trees beyond the Whiteflood something strange came to my senses. I¡¯d been getting used to the subtleties of my eldritch-perception for some time now, and this struck me as odd.


    ¡°Hold on a sec,¡± I said, slowing and stopping; she halted in front of me.


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    ¡°What is it?¡± She looked at me, then back at Treetown. ¡°We¡¯re going to be late soon.¡±


    ¡°Just a¡­ an unbound undead. Ghost.¡± I pointed down at a house beneath us, just three roads into Oldtown from the Treetown bridge. A neat, small building, brick-built, well-tended yards to the front and back both filled with flowers. ¡°There.¡±


    She smiled. ¡°How long will it take, do you think?¡±


    I started sinking down through the air. ¡°Less than a minute.¡±


    ¡°One.¡± Her smile was still on her face. ¡°Two. Three¡­¡±


    I used the wings to nudge me faster, and came to a stomach-churning halt two feet from the ground that I wouldn¡¯t have been able to even conceive of trying without the wraith-form at my beck and call.


    I manifested a little less of its power, and knocked on the door.


    When there was no immediate response, I ignored the slack-jawed stare of the neighbour a few houses down and just floated through the wooden barrier.


    The hallway was a cold, windowless space. Muddy boots by the door. A threadbare coat on the bannister of the stairs. I ignored the steep narrow steps and went up, through the wooden boards and beams and rug, into the bedroom above me in which I could sense the nethernal presence.


    I came through the floor no more than two feet from the resident, who quite understandably freaked out and backed away to the wall ¨C a chinless fat woman, mid-fifties, hair and homespun clothes looking more than a bit bedraggled. Freaked out more might¡¯ve been a better way of putting it. With her panic-widened eyes and worry-lined brow, she looked like she¡¯d sailed past freaking out days back and was soon to dock at the shores of insanity.


    The thing on the bed opposite her ¨C that would be the cause of it, I supposed.


    Just going off the similarity in body shape, attire, I guessed this was her husband, perhaps her brother. Missing the key feature, though, of course: a corporeal form. This tubby, balding chap was purple-grey in colour, and lacking mass for all the pounds he appeared to be carrying. I could see the patterned quilt on which he sat through him.


    I heard Em¡¯s voice in my ear: ¡°Twenty¡­ Twenty-one¡­¡± The window wasn¡¯t open, but its frame was broken.


    She was getting really good.


    In the five seconds it must¡¯ve took me to take in the scene, the woman seemed to have come to her senses.


    ¡°F-Feychilde?¡± she breathed.


    I looped a diamond about the ghost, pinning it there on the edge of my circle, before answering: ¡°The very same, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°The ¨C the L-Liberator of Zadhal, here?¡±


    She sounded shocked, but I kept my eyes on the ghost. Something about it felt a little off. The balding man certainly looked macabre-enough. Ghostlike. But there was something more to it. Something¡­ in the essence. It wasn¡¯t bound, or unbound. It was¡­


    ¡°¡¯Scuse me, but that¡¯s mine,¡± came a girlish voice from behind me, almost so shrill that the North Lowtown accent didn¡¯t come through.


    I whirled, and looped another diamond out around her immediately.


    She stood in the doorway to the bedroom. She was tiny ¨C four foot ten, tops ¨C and was swathed in a silvery robe, hood cast back to reveal short brown curls. The mask of polished steel and black iron portrayed a huge, elongated mouth full of huge, elongated teeth, wide open as if to emit a jolly chortle, stretched across her lower face ¨C it was almost as though she had the missing part to my mask. Above its rim, I could see her hazel eyes, her youthful brow ¨C not furrowed in anger or fear, but regarding me warmly.


    ¡°It¡¯s yours?¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s not even a ghost, is it?¡±


    She just tilted her head at me, maintaining eye contact.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ve had the pleasure¡­?¡±


    ¡°Then pleased to meet you, Liberator,¡± she chirped, tossing her head back upright, as happy as a pig in mud. She stuck out a hand, but stopped short of touching the diamond, as though she knew full-well it was there. ¡°I¡¯m Dreamlaughter. How¡¯s it goin¡¯?¡±

 Who is the Dreamer pt1

    <h2>MARBLE 6.2: WHO IS THE DREAMER</h2>


    ¡°What are we to do with them? They are not like the Rebels, not anymore! They cannot be reasoned with. You must surely all remember why we accepted that puerile designation, ¡®Srol¡¯? That is the meaning of their new philosophy! To reject all paradigms that may serve as shared foundations. They are too dangerous to even be interred in Zyger. Will you permit them within a courthouse? Will you give their demented brethren opportunity to further antagonise the public by causing riots, attempting rescue? This publicity is all they most desire! No, there is only one answer: eradication, at the earliest opportunity. We hereby propose the Srol Justice Bill. Let those who gainsay it explain themselves at once!¡±


    ¨C the Lady Malice Rhaegel, in session before the High Council, Urdara 995 NE


    The owner of the house completely ignored the ghost ¨C if I thought she looked terrified before, that was nothing. She fled across the room to the other wall and hid her face against it, sobbing.


    ¡°So, you really couldn¡¯t tell it wasn¡¯t one of ¡®em?¡± Dreamlaughter asked, as if we were just old acquaintances stopping for a chit-chat. ¡°Cos I¡¯ve been working on this for a while now, and it¡¯s ¨C it¡¯s just,¡± the darkmage almost choked-up and fanned herself, as though she thought she might burst into tears of joy, or was at least acting that way, ¡°it¡¯s just really meanin¡¯ful, you know? To have someone like you ¡®preciate me work like this.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C¡±


    ¡°You got some pretty cool defences, don¡¯t you?¡± She went from ridiculously-overjoyed to ridiculously-curious in the span of a breath. ¡°What is it? Your mask? Why can¡¯t I see inside your gorgeous li¡¯l head, I wonder¡­ Can¡¯t even chip it! All you champions, all the same, ain¡¯t you?¡±


    I considered my options. She might¡¯ve been able to pick up what I said over the glyphstone¡­ No, better to do it in her face.


    ¡°Stormsword!¡± I cried. ¡°Dreamlaughter!¡±


    Dreamlaughter¡¯s eyebrows raised. ¡°Now that¡¯s the even newer one, innit? She the one you was with at the Square, with them spiders? Eurgh, man, dunno how you managed that one. Gives me the creeps.¡±


    Spiders¡­ gave Dreamlaughter¡­ the creeps¡­


    What was more, Dreamlaughter could link Em with Stormsword. That wasn¡¯t good.


    A moment later I heard a crash from downstairs as Em smashed her way through the door, the rush of a gale hurtling through the house ¨C


    ¡°Upstairs!¡± I yelled out of instinct, in case of the one in a million chance she didn¡¯t know whereabouts I was ¨C


    I saw her emerge from the stairwell behind Dreamlaughter, saw her eyes widen as she halted, staring at the darkmage. Lightning took root there in her steely irises, dancing white-blue and flickering; mist thickened around her without seeping across the landing.


    ¡°Well, well,¡± Stormsword murmured.


    I could tell she was trying her utmost to keep her accent from coming through ¨C I wondered whether she¡¯d been listening in when the darkmage revealed she¡¯d figured out an important part of Em¡¯s identity already.


    ¡°Hiya! Stormsword, right?¡± The enchantress extended her hand in Em¡¯s direction. ¡°I love your mask, phoenixes are soooooo cool. Ah, you¡¯ve been protected by the same person as him. No wonder he called you in.¡±


    ¡°Stormsword,¡± I did my best to keep my voice level, ¡°somewhere within a short distance there is a top-tier bounty just begging for us to come collect it. Can you sense anything nearby that¡¯s just started running, moving frantically, now I¡¯ve said that? I don¡¯t know her range, but its outside my biggest shield.¡±


    ¡°Oh, golly,¡± Dreamlaughter squeaked, lowering her hand. She looked back at me. ¡°You know I¡¯m not really here?¡±


    I tapped my temple knowingly. The browny, violety sight I¡¯d blinked into my left eye the moment she¡¯d announced her name had seen right through her. A glance at the ghost told me it was no different.


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    They could move through my shields. She¡¯d try to terrify me, or ¨C


    ¡°Well ¨C best be off then,¡± she huffed. ¡°Lovely meetin¡¯ you. We¡¯ll have to do this again sometime. Say, I know a neat trick¡­¡±


    Dreamlaughter vanished in the blink of an eye, and not a second later absolute, impenetrable darkness fell.


    To my right eye only.


    Satyr-reflexes screamed at me to take a combat posture, lean to one side ¨C


    The ghost-illusion had vanished along with its creator¡¯s illusion, and the woman ¨C the poor woman was now possessed.


    She was racing across the room at me, her feet pointed outwards in an unnatural posture ¨C her fist bunched, she swung at the side of my head as if to dislodge my mask, clobber me in the ear.


    ¡°Stay put, Storm, nothing to worry about!¡± I shouted, seeing Em react to her sudden blindness with more lightning.


    Instead of dodging away from the old woman, giving Dreamlaughter the pleasure of watching me defend myself against an inept, mind-controlled victim, I simply let the fist swing right through my head. She overbalanced, probably due in part to the fact the arch-enchanter didn¡¯t have a complete grip on the woman¡¯s motor controls; I rematerialised behind her, using a touch of my enhanced strength to hold her arms so that she couldn¡¯t escape, couldn¡¯t swing at me again.


    I hadn¡¯t realised until now that it worked this way. No wonder those demons in the Incursion had seemed so successful when they¡¯d taken control of the magisters ¨C their spells must¡¯ve penetrated the shielding. The perpetrator bore no malice ¨C this woman, kicking like a mule and frothing at the mouth, held me no ill-will. She was only a reflection of Dreamlaughter. Her body could get through, and the shield did nothing to stop the willpower of the distant archmage.


    Daaaaaamn.


    Ultimately, I supposed, I was glad to have seen this. The darkmage had tipped her hand for the sake of having the last laugh.


    So puppets can get through my defences, assuming they don¡¯t actually want to hurt me¡­ Should I even ask the others about this?


    I was loath to start divulging secrets that could get back to other dark enchanters once they¡¯d seen the feat performed in front of them.


    ¡°Feychilde? What is this?¡± I heard Em call. ¡°My light can¡¯t clear it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s on our minds. Come my way.¡± I exerted Zab¡¯s power, but I could only clear a small section of the sphere of darkness the enchantress had put upon the building.


    With my illusion-piercing vision I could see that Em had let her mist and lightning dissipate, and then the relief came over her features as she entered the cleared area. The confusion that swept over her face as she saw me holding the woman, replaced in an instant by understanding.


    ¡°What are we going to do now?¡± she asked, disappointment in her tone. ¡°I can¡¯t sense the darkmage. I could bind the woman, in stone perhaps, but this wouldn¡¯t be very pleasant for the poor thing¡­¡±


    Her opinion was obviously the same as mine, then.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± I kept a carefully-controlled grip on the possessed resident while I thought it through. ¡°Can you send a message? To Lovebright, Glancefall, Spiritwhisper¡­ Dancefire, Wilderweird, Voicenoise¡­ whoever¡¯s closest might be able to get here in time, help us trace her.¡±


    Em reached into the folds of her robe ¨C


    ¡°Golly golly golly!¡± the woman moaned, in Dreamlaughter¡¯s voice, then slumped in my arms ¨C she would¡¯ve fallen in a heap if not for the grip I had on her.


    The darkness-spell lifted as suddenly as it had first fallen, and we could see our surroundings again.


    I manoeuvred the darkmage¡¯s victim to the bed, plopped her down; she rolled on her back, breathing heavily and sweating.


    ¡°What in Tw-Twelve Hells was that?¡± She shuddered, bringing her hands up under her chin and curling into a ball, looking around with wet, frenzied eyes.


    ¡°I think you were being used as part of an experiment,¡± I said by way of shorthand explanation. ¡°Darkmage wanted to test fake ghost; darkmage found someone grieving. The man ¨C your husband?¡±


    She shook her head, but said, ¡°Araldo. My sweet, sweet Araldo.¡± She gazed up at me imploringly. ¡°Can ¨C you ¨C you can bring him back for me? For real?¡±


    I drew back. ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m about, sorry. I mean ¨C¡° I licked my lips, remembering Morsus¡¯s body ¡°¨C my condolences, madam. But I can¡¯t. I really, really can¡¯t. The woman you just saw ¨C Dreamlaughter ¨C she was toying with your mind. How long have you been seeing this ghost?¡±


    Her face contorted in waves of denial and frustration and confusion. ¡°I think ¨C it was, on Waneday ¨C yeah ¨C Waneday night¡­¡±


    Em had floated into the room, then stepped down to the rug as she moved towards the bed, all the overt signs of her power now fully faded.


    ¡°I doubt she¡¯ll be back.¡± Stormsword sat down, placed a hand on the woman¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You should try to get some rest. My friend is going to pop a shield here around your bed ¨C is this okay? We aren¡¯t going that far, and we¡¯re going to send someone here with something that can protect you properly, really soon. You¡¯re safe now.¡±


    I smiled.


    ¡°Is it ¨C really you?¡± The resident smiled, looking between the two of us. ¡°Stormsword, is it? And Feychilde? Is it really you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s really us,¡± Em said, floating back up off the bed.


    ¡°The Liberator of Zadhal.¡± She said the words dreamily, and closed her eyes. ¡°Liberated me. Liberated old Keyla. Hah! Who¡¯ll believe me?¡±


    I exchanged a glance with my fellow champion.


    ¡°I think someone spotted me coming in, to be honest, but I may be able to help with that. How¡¯s an autograph sound?¡±


    * * *

 Who is the Dreamer pt2

    ¡°We don¡¯t even know what she looks like, you know,¡± Spirit confided, wiggling his fingers over the leaden amulet. Its face was covered in the runes he¡¯d placed directly into my mind, immensely speeding up the process of carving the correct glyphs, and I¡¯d scrawled my signature into the other side for the sake of Keyla¡¯s neighbours. I watched his spells moving my force-lines, traced the patterns with my eyes.


    ¡°Dreamlaughter looked like a tiny woman, to me,¡± I said. ¡°Silver robe, like Fang¡¯s only, you know, richer¡­ brown hair¡­¡±


    He nodded. ¡°That¡¯s what she looked like to me, too, last time she popped up. But she could be a he, or, ya know, a dwarf¡­¡±


    I eyed the enchanter, Bor. His face was drawn in concentration, the kind of concentration that still let you talk. But he had this morose distance in his dark brown eyes whenever he looked away from his work for a second that didn¡¯t fit his brazen, chiselled features somehow. The way he¡¯d looked when we¡¯d discovered him in Zadhal, after Rosedawn¡¯s death.


    ¡°You still mad about Neverwish? His betrayal?¡±


    I hadn¡¯t tried to put any mockery into what I¡¯d said, but the tall, burly archmage straightened as if I¡¯d slapped him.


    ¡°Nah, man!¡± He didn¡¯t sound as offended as he looked, and cast his gaze back onto the amulet. ¡°I just mean ¨C if it was me, I¡¯da made my seeming nothin¡¯ like me, ya know?¡±


    A ¡®seeming¡¯ was what he was calling it, then?


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of that,¡± Zel said quietly in confirmation.


    ¡°Yeah ¨C but you¡¯re smart,¡± I replied. ¡°She¡¯s unhinged ¨C not even that ¨C she¡¯s, like, a door the carpenter busted that never left the shop¡­¡±


    ¡°She never even got a hinge in the first place,¡± he belaboured the joke in a distant-sounding voice, wiggling his fingers now in a particularly convoluted-looking pattern.


    ¡°Right. So, you really think she thinks that far ahead? Dreamlaughter?¡±


    He broke off his spells, looked at me again. ¡°I know she thinks far enough ahead to try makin¡¯ illusions that can trick sorcerers. Never occurred to me.¡±


    ¡°Sure, but neither did forcing people to cackle while they sleepwalk into the Greywater, did it? It¡¯s not like making illusions that can trick sorcerers is a good idea.¡±


    ¡°I know I wouldn¡¯t have minded something like that once or twice. Heretics suck.¡± He glanced back down at the amulet, then to my eyes again. ¡°Want me to add something so the woman starts a conga line whenever someone mentions frogs?¡±


    He smiled tightly, and I grinned.


    ¡°Look, if you want to be able to drop the shield you said you put around that woman any time soon, you¡¯re gonna have to let me finish up my part, Kas.¡±


    I nodded, muttered, ¡°Thanks, man,¡± and broke eye contact, letting him go back to it without making him feel he was being rude.


    Truth was, he was right. Making illusions that could trick sorcerers, check. Using puppets to pierce sorcerer¡¯s shields, check. What was next in the darkmage¡¯s repertoire? Which would be the trick that would snare me, lay me open to a decisive strike?


    I repressed a shudder. How someone so clearly in need of a brain-fix could come up with such ingenious ideas was beyond me.


    I looked around. Timesnatcher¡¯s ¡®drawing room¡¯ was far too big. Why anyone would want or need such an expanse in which to do a bit of drawing, I had no idea. Sofas lined with soft leather and suede dotted the area, seemingly with no purpose, no direction. There was no one focal point ¨C over here, me and Spirit sat on high-backed chairs that wouldn¡¯t have been out of place around a dining table, leaning across the small pine-carved table that stood beside the wall, beneath a lantern-lit mirror. Twenty feet away, Timesnatcher and Em were on a turquoise leather couch, talking in low voices ¨C I could tell from the tension in Em¡¯s arms as she sat forward, gripping her knees in her hands, that they were trying to iron out their differences. I didn¡¯t want to eavesdrop, and it was difficult to mind my own business when Spirit stopped talking to concentrate on his enchantments.


    Tanra ¨C Killstop ¨C completed the scene, wandering around the edges of the room. If the place had deliberately rejected the notion of centralisation, a focal point, Tanra had evidently found fifty. She studied every portrait, every landscape depicted in the pretentious paintings dotted around. Busts of Timesnatcher¡¯s ancestors stood under some of the lanterns ¨C but there was no bust of Irimar himself, he who would surely be the most illustrious, the most impressive of his line. Even in death, he might choose that his identity be kept secret, and the history books would never record that this scion of a lesser house was once the most influential man in Mund. His descendants would have little by way of great deeds to ascribe him, and he would be forgotten.


    That was, if he lived long enough to have descendants. He¡¯d probably have to retire, like poor Leafcloak had done, if he wanted to have a family. Hells, maybe me and Em would have to, one day¡­ That was a long way off and far too far for me to even imagine, though. And I¡¯d probably have nieces and nephews, my brother and sister¡¯s kids, to hear about me from their parents, remember me. I couldn¡¯t see any traces of siblings anywhere in Timesnatcher¡¯s house. No one but him and the absent servants.


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    Now Lightblind was gone, would he find love again? Would the Nemmeneth line end here, as hers had ended?


    It was strange, seeing his face again. He had aged, since that day I saw him on the edge of Hightown when he¡¯d directed me towards the Diamond Mare. I imagined the changes had all taken place in the last two days, though. The thin face was thinner, the watery eyes waterier, the wavy hair unbrushed.


    And it was even stranger, having him introduce himself by name. What did it portend, having us meet him here, having his mask off when he answered the door? (Tanra and Borasir ¨C Spirit insisted we call him ¡®Bor¡¯ ¨C were also unmasked when we arrived.)


    I suspected, feared, that the arch-diviner was resigned to his fate, his vendetta, now. The smile on his lips wasn¡¯t cold, exactly, but it was a mask of another kind, a mask of geniality to hide the unfeeling void within, the rage-horror that would only take one whisper of Duskdown¡¯s presence to take spark, ignite into a conflagration of stupendous, unbelievable violence.


    As much as I found myself caring about him, what would happen to him, I knew I couldn¡¯t trust him.


    It wasn¡¯t the fake smile. It wasn¡¯t the overblown gesture of revealing his identity.


    It was the way he¡¯d hidden the book from me. It was the way he would invariably lie to me to get me to do what he wanted, needed me to do.


    Spirit had been right about Dreamlaughter ¨C and Em was right about Timesnatcher.


    I stared across at him, and saw the killer sitting there beside my girlfriend. And if he was willing to lie to better himself in my opinion, how could I even trust his explanations of events? What he¡¯d done to Rosedawn ¨C what he¡¯d done to set up Redgate ¨C did I even know Redgate was as bad as he¡¯d said, really? Direcrown had certainly been different to the caricature of him I¡¯d built up in my head based on Timesnatcher¡¯s words. Perhaps Redgate was an innocent-enough arch-sorcerer¡­ Perhaps Rosedawn hadn¡¯t even been plotting to destroy the Maginox, enchanting the guards, any of that stuff.


    Could it be that Timesnatcher was dark? Even without knowing it?


    Could it be I was immeasurably lucky to have an anti-mind-invasion amulet that stopped my suspicions getting back to him somehow?


    But when he turned his face to mine, his discussion with Em having drawn to a close, I looked into his shining blue eyes, and I saw only the friend whose beloved had been broken, stamped to the wall by a killer a thousand times worse than he was.


    ¡°Patience, Kas,¡± he said quietly, as if taking my probing gaze for a show of frustration. ¡°You won¡¯t find him without a druid¡¯s help, I¡¯m pretty damn sure of that.¡±


    That was another thing entirely, and the whole purpose of us meeting here tonight.


    We¡¯d all searched for Nighteye in our own ways. Yesterday I¡¯d sent out imps with descriptions to scour the city, but they¡¯d turned up nothing. The diviners had been retracing his steps, trying to puzzle out where he might¡¯ve stepped off the path destiny carved for him. Druids whispered to the grass and rats, enchanters plumbed minds, and I knew for a fact that Em had spent four hours straight last night just sitting there in the air above the city, drawing sounds to her ears, listening for a scrap of conversation that might lead somewhere. (I¡¯d been sitting in the air opposite her for most of it, reading my sorcery textbook, waiting for her to send me off on another wild goose chase.)


    Individually, we¡¯d turned up nothing, but Timesnatcher had appeared in the glyphstone this morning requesting my presence at five. When I got back in touch and had a conversation with him, it transpired he wanted us to pool our resources, head out in force tonight.


    I understood his motives, or at least thought I did. With Shadowcloud out of commission ¨C the deaths of Lightblind, Leafcloak, Rosedawn, Dustbringer, Smouldervein ¨C the loss of Neverwish ¨C the ranks of the champions had drawn perilously thin in the last weeks. Only one champion had arisen since Tanra to help replace the lost archmages, a gnomish wizard of Hilltown named Copperbrow, who¡¯d apparently met up with Mountainslide on two occasions.


    We couldn¡¯t afford to lose Nighteye, one of our most adept healers, a fierce fighter¡­ that was how Timesnatcher would be thinking.


    Would he think of all the young druid¡¯s admirable qualities? His enthusiasm, his steadfastness? His care, his worrying nature? Would he see a person, or a pawn to be moved here and there as fate decreed?


    I checked Spirit ¨C Bor ¨C was still engrossed in his work, then stood up wordlessly and walked over to join my girlfriend.


    ¡°So are you two best buddies again?¡±


    I took a seat on the other side of Em from Timesnatcher and leant forwards so that I could look at them both.


    ¡°It may be that I was a little hasty the other night,¡± the arch-diviner said. ¡°It¡¯s good that you brought Emrelet with you today.¡±


    ¡°Well, you knew I would.¡±


    He gave a minute nod. ¡°I apologise, for my frustration ¨C¡°


    Em raised a hand to halt him. ¡°You don¡¯t need to apologise to Kas ¨C only to me, and zat has been done. You have been forgiven.¡± She turned to face me, smiled wryly. ¡°He trusts zat I¡¯m not just about to ¨C vot is it? ¨C blab his secrets to Zakimel.¡±


    Timesnatcher spread his fingers and affected a pained expression, as if to proclaim his innocence.


    Too much pain in it.


    ¡°Irimar,¡± Tanra said suddenly, halting right by us, garish robe flapping, ¡°would you like me to get the door again?¡±


    He nodded to her. ¡°If you please.¡±


    She nodded back, but didn¡¯t leave the drawing room as I¡¯d expected. She just folded her arms across her chest and stood there smiling, facing us.


    ¡°I¡¯ll still get there in time,¡± she chided me, catching my gaze.


    Timesnatcher went on, ¡°It¡¯s not that I mistrust Emrelet, you understand ¨C it¡¯s only certain¡­ individuals,¡± he gave his own wry smile, ¡°and we¡¯ve come to an agreement that, providing Emrelet keeps her amulet on at all times, I can permit a magister into my confidences. She is a champion, after all.¡±


    ¡°I voz hardly planning to remove it in any case,¡± she complained.


    There was a flash, a whip-snap of colour I saw out of the corner of my eye as Tanra vanished ¨C less than a second later she was back, nose waggling in irritation.


    ¡°How did you do that?¡± she moaned at Timesnatcher.


    I looked from him to Tanra, back again.


    He moved too?


    I shuddered. I¡¯d been looking right at him.


    ¡°Practice,¡± he demurred with a one-shoulder shrug.


    I smirked despite myself.


    ¡°If that¡¯s all it is, I¡¯m so gonna move faster than that one day.¡± She smiled sweetly. ¡°I¡¯ll show up all the new arch-diviners one day, just you watch me. Oh, except you won¡¯t be able to.¡±


    Her superior just shook his head, but he wore a mysterious smile on his narrow lips.


    Once Fangmoon and Lovebright arrived, wearing their coverings just like me and Em had been, they strode purposefully into the drawing room ¨C both of them would be able to sense us in here, surely ¨C and stopped when they saw us, unmasked, staring at them.


    They stared back in obvious shock.


    ¡°You knew it was coming,¡± Timesnatcher said into the stunned silence.


    The women turned their heads to regard at each other in unison, then Lovebright sniggered softly.


    ¡°Well ¨C it¡¯s about time!¡± she said.


    * * *

 Who is the Dreamer pt3

    I¡¯d seen the slim, exotic Fang (Soleine, or ¡®Sol¡¯) without her huge silver wig and bestial mask before, but Lovebright was new to me. Her name was Jo, short for Joceine, and I was surprised to find her as captivating as she was. Many Northmen simply didn¡¯t do anything for me; with their tendency towards freckles and reddish hair, they just weren¡¯t my type. But Lovebright cut an elegant figure, blonde-brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, skin marble with nary a freckle in sight: her face was roundish, with a cute, stubby nose and a warm smile, eyes bright and intelligent¡­ My mind repeated her curious name, Joceine Tamaflower, and I blinked before averting my gaze.


    ¡°You all know what¡¯s happening,¡± Timesnatcher said after the introductions were over and we¡¯d all gathered round. ¡°Nighteye is absent from all vision. Those predictions concerning him which had previously been hovering around the hundred-percent-accuracy mark have dropped to below ten percent. Yesterday evening Tanra and I,¡± he gestured to his accomplice, ¡°visited his home.¡±


    Tanra seemed to pale, avoided meeting anyone¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I knew that he¡¯d had a troubled upbringing, but little did I realise the extent to which he¡¯d hidden the reality from us,¡± Timesnatcher went on. ¡°In truth I always thought I did best by my friends, retreating from those visions which would expose their identities¡­ in greater detail than had already been made plain to me¡­¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say sorry for not spying on everyone all the time,¡± Lovebright pointed out.


    ¡°The main thing is, Nighteye was being abused by his brothers, and his dad too,¡± Tanra said, glancing up and around at us. ¡°A Lord of the Arrealbord. They kept him, like he was a dog. They knew what he could do, what he could do to them, and it never stopped them for a moment. Even when he tried, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to follow it through, and¡­¡±


    I saw her clench her jaw, looking back down at the floor, and I felt a surge of intense harmony flood through me, a concordance between us.


    It must¡¯ve been bad. He¡¯d lied to us, lied to me about everything.


    ¡°What were they doing to him?¡± I asked her directly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to know,¡± she said hollowly, flicking her eyes to mine only for a moment.


    My hand gripping the arm of the couch was about to start deforming the wood beneath the leather ¨C as though I were ungritting my teeth upon waking, I slowly unclenched my fingers, moved my hand to my knee.


    I couldn¡¯t crush my own knee; it was too wraith-y.


    ¡°Are you saying that in your professional capacity as ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m saying it, Kas, because I don¡¯t want you to start torturing people. I know Nighteye saved you, I know you feel you owe him. Don¡¯t ask, please.¡±


    I drew a deep breath and slowly nodded to her.


    Zel?


    ¡°I¡¯ll get right on it. No idea what she¡¯s talking about, but if you want to know¡­?¡±


    Please.


    Em spoke. ¡°So let me get zis straight ¨C you think zat he has run avay from his life, his role as a champion? Nighteye? Ze guy who came into ze demon¡¯s lair viz us?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way!¡± Fang hissed.


    Timesnatcher ¨C Irimar ¨C held up a hand. ¡°Just¡­ think in terms that he has been kidnapped.¡±


    He paused, allowed that to sink into everyone¡¯s heads.


    ¡°There¡¯s three ways it could¡¯ve happened,¡± Tanra said after a moment.


    ¡°You know my thoughts on that,¡± Irimar cut in instantly.


    ¡°The chief thinks it¡¯s Duskdown.¡±


    ¡°I know it¡¯s Duskdown.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s not. I think it¡¯s heretics.¡±


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    ¡°No one can hide something like this from me. No one.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you think. That¡¯s what they¡¯d want you to think. How is it we¡¯re able to predict fewer than five-sixths of their movements?¡±


    He met her eyes for the first time.


    ¡°I¡¯ve read between the lines,¡± she went on, undeterred, ¡°and I think you¡¯re committing a serious error of judgement. For the record!¡±


    She looked around for support.


    I nodded. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we keep all the options open? Time- Irimar¡­¡± He looked at me. ¡°If you want to hunt Duskdown, then feel free. No one¡¯s going to stop you. We¡¯ll help you.¡±


    I drew a shuddering breath, and prayed to Yune that the darkmage really truly couldn¡¯t scry that I was saying this. I¡¯d heard he¡¯d scrawled ¡®ROSEDAWN¡¯ at his latest murder scene, and I couldn¡¯t imagine a world in which that was a good sign for his sanity.


    ¡°But,¡± I pressed on, ¡°if there¡¯s even a slim chance Tanra¡¯s right, and we don¡¯t investigate? I ¨C I can¡¯t really imagine, what the Srol might do with him. What would they want with him?¡±


    I caught Tanra¡¯s wan smile of gratitude before she swiftly hid it. ¡°It could be Facechanger, too. We know they can hide from us.¡±


    ¡°I hope ¨C whoever it is has him ¨C they don¡¯t hurt him,¡± Lovebright ¨C Jo ¨C said worriedly.


    ¡°Can you sense your amulet?¡± Em asked the enchanters, looking from Jo to Bor. ¡°Could ve not track him through zat?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s wearing one of mine,¡± Jo replied. ¡°And, no, not unless certain other spells were invested in it. Even if I had invested those considerable energies, there¡¯d be ways to hide its signature from me.¡±


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± Fang said, her frustration plain to hear in her voice. ¡°I¡­ I think, if they took him ¨C surely he must have been¡­¡±


    She couldn¡¯t finish the sentence, and we all knew how it was supposed to end.


    Surely he must have been killed by now, whatever they wanted him for.


    I licked my lips, not knowing what to say, how to break the sudden silence that had descended.


    ¡°We won¡¯t give up on him without a reason,¡± Irimar promised her. ¡°But before we go too far, I should let you all know that I met with some of the elders this morning. They¡¯ve agreed to allow me to continue to lead, and Springsun is going to be taking over coordination of the druids ¨C¡° Fang nodded, even more morose-looking at the reminder of Leafcloak¡¯s passing ¡°¨C and he wanted to make an entrance, so¡­¡±


    I stared in surprise as the transformation occurred.


    ¡°Did you know I¡¯d landed in your hood all along?¡± asked the gnome now sitting astride his shoulders.


    ¡°Me?¡± Irimar put on a shocked voice. The smile at the corners of his lips didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes, though.


    ¡°And what do you mean, ¡®elders¡¯? I¡¯m only a hundred and twenty-four ¨C that¡¯s, as they say, what, sixty-three in your years ¨C¡°


    ¡°Sixty-two,¡± Tanra supplied.


    ¡°Sixty-two!¡± the gnome cried in a tremulous voice. ¡°I¡¯ve got a good thirty years left in me yet, let me tell you!¡±


    ¡°I meant ¨C would you like to get down from there? Look ¨C ow, Sunspring, that¡¯s my ear, not a ladder-rung ¨C oof ¨C¡° the gnome¡¯s pointy little boot caught him in the ribs ¡°¨C thank you¡­ I only meant the champions whose careers extend back further than mine ¨C¡°


    ¡°That¡¯s enough about my age!¡± For all his protestations of youth, the gnome¡¯s voice was that of a wizened old man, if a little on the squeaky side. His face was deeply-lined beneath the mop of jagged hair, slightly greyer than the thick, whiter whiskers covering his cheeks, lips, chin, neck. Having found his footing on the couch beside Irimar, he promptly plopped himself down on his backside. His head hadn¡¯t even been on the same level as Irimar¡¯s when he was stood on the padded leather, but now he was truly reduced to childlike proportions.


    I hadn¡¯t known any gnomes. I¡¯d seen a few when crossing the city every now and again, but they were rarely found in Sticktown, and certainly there¡¯d never been a gnome in the Gold Griffin in my lifetime. The top of Sunspring¡¯s head wouldn¡¯t even come up to my hip. He wore a robe of autumnal colours, oranges and browns, with yellow bursts of sun-rays scattered across one shoulder and down the front and back, like an embroidered sash.


    ¡°Now, before you all start screaming, let me just say¡­¡± He held up a finger. ¡°I¡¯ve left my mask off, as a gesture of good faith. You want to remove my memory of this meeting once we¡¯re done? Fire away. You had this sin sprung on you, so to speak, ah-ha-ha.¡± He chuckled at his own joke, gave a tight grin, and then removed a ring from one of his fingers, lifted it up for everyone to see. ¡°You can keep your memories of who I am ¨C Neko Contellimas.¡± He dipped his head in salute, looking around at us all.


    ¡°Sunspring!¡± Fang murmured, seemingly instinctively.


    He turned his smiling face to her, and the smile faded away; within two seconds he was regarding her gravely. ¡°It¡¯s been awhile since we last chatted, hasn¡¯t it, child? You should come with me, later. We¡¯ll start at his family lands. Fly, talk, while we search.¡±


    Fang ¨C Sol, damn it ¨C lowered her head deferentially and nodded.


    I had to admit it ¨C for all that he¡¯d surprised us with his intrusion into our unmasked assemblage, I kind of liked the gnome. I wanted to trust him, and if Timesnatcher had foreseen this meeting, had it go ahead in this manner¡­


    But I didn¡¯t trust him, did I?


    I bit my lip, looked around at the others.


    ¡°How long has he been zere?¡± Em asked, her voice hard.


    ¡°After we talked,¡± Irimar replied at once, understanding her concern. ¡°Before Jo and Sol arrived.¡±


    The gnome druid nodded confirmation, with a questioning look on his features beneath the mass of white hairs. ¡°You aren¡¯t suggesting I¡¯m rude, now, are you, young lady? How¡­ how rude!¡±


    His bushy white eyebrows crinkled, wagging as he looked her up and down, face drawn in consternation.


    Even the sceptical Em had to laugh after that, and as I glanced around at the faces of the others I realised I was alone.


    And so it was that we ended up including a stranger in our exclusive little club.


    * * *

 Who is the Dreamer pt4

    We landed in the Oldtown street, Tanra in the lead, me and Em slightly behind. The cobbled road was wide enough for four wagons abreast, and the gardens in front of each house were small, incredibly colourful. Night had fallen, but the lights were on in the windows, and I caught several people gawping at us as we settled down to earth. Perhaps word had already gotten around.


    I knocked on Keyla¡¯s door again, and within ten seconds about forty people were on their doorsteps, many just staring at us, some cheering and punching the air. As much as I didn¡¯t feel that we deserved this level of fanatical response, it made me grin, feel like myself again.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± screamed a fat little seven- or eight-year-old on the other side of the road.


    I made an ¡®F¡¯ with my index and middle fingers, held them up for him in salute and he just screamed louder: ¡°Mum! Dad! Did you see that! Did you see it!¡±


    ¡°Liberator!¡± at least five people were calling, along with incredulous shouts of, ¡°How did you do it?¡± (and one confused chap muttering to his neighbour, ¡°What did he do, again?¡±).


    All of our names were being mentioned. ¡°Killstop ¨C she¡¯s the one that saved that baby!¡± ¡°Who in the Twelve Hells designed that robe?¡± ¡°Wow ¨C look at Stormsword!¡± ¡°Hey Stormsword, you can storm my sword anytime¡­¡±


    I met Em¡¯s eyes through the slits in her mask. I could see that she¡¯d heard the drunken guy¡¯s lewd comments from the level stare, the slight twist of a devious smirk at the corners of her mouth.


    ¡°This will just take a minute,¡± I said to her as Keyla swung open the door. ¡°Don¡¯t do anything¡­ dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I think we¡¯ll be fine, Feychilde,¡± Killstop said in an amused tone.


    Shuddering, I stepped inside the hallway.


    I didn¡¯t even close the door behind me, or accept any of the various, many-faceted refreshments offered. (Was it an offer, if it sounded like a threat? The phrase ¡°You will take a biscuit¡± had never sounded so terrifying, especially when, after I politely refused, she followed it up in a level, unheeding voice with ¡°A biscuit with icing¡±.) All in all it couldn¡¯t have taken me thirty seconds to get the necklace on the old woman, get my shield taken down, and ensure she understood she couldn¡¯t afford to lose or even take off the amulet (at least not until Dreamlaughter was caught).


    Yet in that brief interval, things had clearly escalated. When I returned to the doorstep, Em was floating in the middle of the street, a solid thirty feet up, with an incredibly green-looking drunk dangling by his ankle in the air in front of her, emitting the occasional shriek. She wasn¡¯t taking much care with him ¨C his pants-legs had fallen down to the knees, his long, greasy hair was hanging straight down, and he was pivoting from the single foot as he helplessly swung his arms.


    The crowd were still cheering and laughing. She hadn¡¯t managed to turn it into a horror-show by disintegrating him yet, at least.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got icing on your chin,¡± Killstop pointed out.


    I cursed and pawed at myself.


    ¡°Nope, missed it.¡± Within a split second she was there in front of me, spit-wet thumb raised, sliming up my jaw. ¡°Come here.¡±


    ¡°Sweet Nentheleme, gerroff me!¡± I barked.


    Killstop laughed, backing away as she stuck her thumb beneath her mask again, then twisted to look around me, behind me. ¡°Hey, these are nice ¨C can I get a biscuit? I know I wasn¡¯t here when the darkmage was after you, but I totally helped make that thing Feychilde just gave you ¨C well, I was totally there when he made it ¨C I answered the door¡­¡±


    As the arch-diviner wandered into the house with an incredibly pleased-looking Keyla leading the way, Em hailed me.


    ¡°Feychilde! I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m leaving you for this fine figure of a man ¨C¡°


    ¡°P-put m-me d-down!¡±


    ¡°When it is a choice between the Liberator of Zadhal and the¡­ the¡­¡±


    Em looked down at a teenage girl about our age standing in the crowd, casting her a ¡®help me out here¡¯ gesture; the girl grinned and cried: ¡°The Liberator of Drop!¡±


    (The cry very quickly got repeated across the younger members of the audience, going through several versions before seeming to settle on ¡°The Droperator of Droptown!¡±)


    ¡°Pleeeease, I won¡¯t say any-anything, I prom-¡±


    Em shook him up and down in the air violently and he stopped talking very suddenly. My hand shook spasmodically as if in response, and for a moment it almost felt like the skin on my palm was coarse, papery.


    ¡°But you said you had a weapon hot for me, did you not?¡± Em pouted, then bit her lip. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to fly with me?¡±


    She doubled their elevation as swiftly as I could draw a breath, which was taken as a fine piece of uproarious humour by our observers; once Em took pity on her heckler and lowered him to the cobbles, quivering like a newborn calf, he darted into his house and slammed the door.


    ¡°Justice well served!¡± cried one of the heckler¡¯s neighbours, an old, robed man.


    ¡°Hail Stormsword, Liberator of Ekenrock Road!¡± someone else cried.


    Killstop emerged, hands filled with stacks of biscuits coated in coloured glazes. At the exact same time, I coughed, suddenly choking on something small and chewy that appeared in the back of my throat.


    Too late. Swallowed.


    Did I just swallow a fly?


    I deliberately, and pointlessly, coughed into my hand.


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


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Zel murmured.¡°Wait¡­ that was weird¡­¡±


    I shook my head. This was all just too good. It couldn¡¯t stop.


    ¡°Bring out your wine-glasses and mugs, folks ¨C I think this requires a toast!¡±


    Nighteye had been missing for days. Five minutes wouldn¡¯t hurt, and I had a tasty bit of fly to wash down.


    After Flood Boy had filled their vessels to the brims and I¡¯d reassured everyone as to both the wine¡¯s wholesomeness and its veracity, the faun tottered towards me, little hooves clattering on the stones, and cast me a strange, almost wistful look.


    ¡°I like you, Feychilde,¡± he said.


    I gulped my drink, lowered the borrowed cup. (The owner of said cup was lingering nearby, watching me ¨C out of reverence, or fear for the safety of a beloved bit of crockery, I was unsure.) ¡°You say that like there¡¯s a ¡®but¡¯ coming up.¡±


    ¡°Why would there be a butt coming up?¡± he asked sharply, casting about as if suddenly reappraising the situation.


    ¡°Erm¡­¡± I gathered that there was some confusion. ¡°It¡¯s an idiom. I mean, you said it as though you were about to say, ¡®I like you, Feychilde, buuuuut¡­¡¯ You know?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C a ¡®but¡¯ ¨C no, ha-ha¡­ It¡¯s just ¨C well¡­ You know how to summon a faun. This¡­¡± he gestured with his chalice with tears in his eyes, ¡°this, to me, is a little bit of otherworld on earth, if you follow me, lad. Where¡¯d you find these people?¡±


    I grinned, patted him on the shoulder with my biscuit-less hand. ¡°I think you¡¯re drunk.¡±


    He lowered his head, teetered on his narrow hooves.


    ¡°Aye, lad.¡±


    I sent him back to Etherium, an uneasy feeling in my stomach.


    ¡°Twelve Hells, Kas, is there anything you¡¯re ever not feeling queasy about?¡± Zel snorted.


    Hey, Miss I-Don¡¯t-Want-To-Talk-To-You-Around-Arch-Diviners¡­


    I looked over at Killstop, shoving a biscuit into Em¡¯s half-protesting, half-laughing mouth, while the uneasiness continued to grow. It wasn¡¯t the way Em was keeping the wine in her cup, even at the unnatural angles she tipped it while recoiling from the arch-diviner. It was something else, something ephemeral, forever changing before I could grasp the nature of it¡­


    ¡°Sooooo anyway,¡± Zel continued, ¡°speaking of feeling queasy ¨C that fly you swallowed? Not a fly. Something a diviner did.¡±


    A diviner? A diviner made me swallow a fly?


    ¡°Not ¨C a ¨C fly! And before you ask, I don¡¯t know who ¨C I¡¯m checking for illusions right now ¨C the thing could be demonic, or ¨C¡°


    I get it Zel.


    Forever changing before I could grasp the nature of it¡­ like a dream¡­


    I produced a meagre illusion on my outstretched palm, an oversized flagon of ale overflowing with snowy foam. Those nearest me stared in wonder, and I ignored their cries.


    I went with my gut.


    Yeah, illusion; that feels right. Find the way through her seals or whatever you call it, Zel.


    ¡°Give me time.¡±


    Terror slowly, coldly building inside me, I shook away the illusory flagon, pressed the unfinished cup of wine into its surprised owner¡¯s hand and half-raced, half-flew to Killstop¡¯s side.


    ¡°Killstop, can you slow us?¡± I asked her quietly. ¡°Someone¡¯s messing with us.¡±


    The very same moment, just a few feet away, Em started spluttering.


    ¡°Swallow something?¡± I asked her.


    She nodded, staring at me, and I saw the real mask appear over the lower features ¨C the mask of professionalism, the same face she¡¯d worn on the night of our very first meeting. It was scary how quickly she came to attention, realising something was really wrong without having an onboard observer to confirm things.


    ¡°Zel¡¯s checking for illusions.¡± I tapped the side of my head on the outside chance Killstop¡¯s power hadn¡¯t quite caught up to informing her of my occupant. ¡°We may need to drink our healing elixirs, Storm, if we start to feel unwell. They got me first ¨C keep an eye on me, and if I need mine, drink yours.¡±


    It was annoying ¨C I¡¯d only replaced it this morning.


    ¡°You think Dreamlaughter is back?¡± Killstop asked, sounding worried, glancing around at the people, the houses.


    ¡°Maybe, but there¡¯s a diviner putting things in our mouths. Could it be¡­ you know¡­ him?¡±


    She cocked her head at me, shrugged. ¡°Him¡­ he could do¡­ anything?¡± She said it like it was a question.


    ¡°Have you swallowed anything unusual?¡± Em asked her.


    She didn¡¯t reply. I looked at my girlfriend.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t getting to her mouth, not through the mask. Even if it¡¯s him. She¡¯s way too fast for that.¡±


    ¡°Hm,¡± Em demurred. ¡°Perhaps you are right¡­¡±


    I did my best to grin at her, the way she was tacitly leaving the other option open like that. Did my best to keep my spirits up.


    It was difficult, not knowing if someone had made us swallow something disgusting ¨C something lethal¡­


    Anything, Zel? I asked internally.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡±


    What the hells, Zel? Why do you sound like Spirit?


    Then when I heard Killstop¡¯s voice, I realised; it really was Spiritwhisper, linking us up.


    And I realised in the same instant that the Killstop standing in front of me wasn¡¯t really her.


    ¡°Damn it, Feychilde, Stormsword, can¡¯t you disbelieve it yet? She sent most of them off to drown in the Whiteflood six minutes ago. It¡¯s proving difficult to stop them jumping in and administer antidotes to the poisons you both ate in the biscuits and find an enchanter to link us so I can dropping-well tell you all this without her stealing the feel of the gods-damned piece of paper out of your hand and ¨C¡°


    I stared into the mask of the arch-diviner standing in front of me.


    ¡°Dream.¡±


    Em instantly took flight, calling on her lightning at the same time as she spread a tornado through the surroundings, surely searching for anyone moving conspicuously.


    ¡°I¡¯ve almost got it¡­¡± Zel said. ¡°Damn it, damn it, damn it! She¡¯s good, really good!¡±


    If Graima had done something like this to us, back under the Green Tower, we might never have been able to escape.


    Fake Killstop didn¡¯t need to remove the fake mask ¨C she could¡¯ve just changed ¨C but for the sake of theatricality Dreamlaughter did it anyway. The Tanra before me lifted her face-covering and she was the maniac again: short of stature, silver-robed, the giant grin masking the lower face¡­


    Standing well within my shields.


    Another illusion.


    ¡°Oh, sweetie, you came back for more,¡± she tittered. ¡°Well, you¡¯ve got it all figured out ¨C why don¡¯t you go save ¡®em? While you¡¯re there, I¡¯ll start cooking up a fresh batch of bickies, and cook up some more, ya know ¨C ideas.¡± She tapped her temple knowingly.


    I looked up at Em, and Dreamlaughter used the momentary lapse of concentration to put a dagger in my chest.


    I barely felt it, being part-wraith, but the continued lack of pain depended on my willingness to actively disbelieve what I could see, what my flesh was doing its best to respond to ¨C so I sneered in her face, and cackled at her enthusiastically.


    ¡°Nyahaha! Come on, Storm ¨C she¡¯s right!¡± I cried, leaping into the air, deliberately dragging the dagger through my torso as I did so.


    ¡°Got it!¡± Zel crowed, and my left eye filled with brown-violet colour. There were only three of the residents of the street still hanging around, and they were stumbling, dazed, beneath the illusions that hid their true actions and expressions.


    I could speed through the houses down the nearest streets, enwraithed, to see if I could find her ¨C her seals could change before our next encounter, if I understood Zel right ¨C


    ¡°Yep,¡± she supplied.


    But she could be in a loft, or hidden in a box, and my illusion-breaking sight wouldn¡¯t let me just see her outright ¨C or if she was just sat there eating dinner, how would I know it was her? ¡®Her¡¯, even¡­


    And lives were on the line, in the here-and-now.


    ¡°We¡¯re on the way!¡± I called over the link, increasing my speed to match my competition.


    We sped towards the river, and I instructed Em where to place her walls of wind and stone ¨C I had Flood Boy place barriers of wine in certain locations, funnelling the stragglers into the arch-wizard¡¯s net ¨C but all the while I could hear the laughter carried on the air Em brought to bear, drowning out the excited yelps of the sleep-runners and only increasing in volume and maniacal intent as we flew farther from its source: Dream¡¯s shrill, taunting titter, seeming to echo from every surface we passed.


    Two points to you ¨C but this isn¡¯t over, I promised her silently, leaving the witch behind as we went to work.

 I Left You pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 6A: I LEFT YOU</h2>


    ¡°I say: we have forgotten the symbol, and what it means for the one who wears it. Forget the word. Forget the individual, just for a moment. The mage is elevated to the symbol. Through the masked mage our society is able to do more than merely project; we act as receivers, recipients of a form of higher Truth that can only be depicted, never explicated. Whether we do so willingly or unwillingly, consciously or unconsciously, we all actively play out those roles (protector, monster) for ourselves. The cult of personality is not some concrete phenomenon. It is the tip of a silent iceberg, the visible protuberance of a vast entity beneath the surface, reaching out for something more.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Modern Mage¡¯


    18th Mortifost, 990 NE


    ¡°Do it again! Go on, lass!¡±


    Imrye smiled. She knew she¡¯d indulge them ¨C she loved the attention. Any attention, really.


    She held herself poised, heels together and back straight. ¡°Might I ask for thy glasses, gentlemen?¡±


    The laughter was only slightly less-uproarious than last time; she curtsied with the corners of her grease-stained, gut-smeared apron and leaned across the table to grab an empty tankard.


    ¡°Yah do a grand impersonation, lass,¡± the Northman, her number one fan, rumbled from behind her. ¡°More ale!¡± he cried, as if she wasn¡¯t standing twelve inches from him.


    Then Imrye felt the sting as the big blond sailor swatted her on her backside.


    She whirled back to face him and, with excruciating slowness, placed her foot on the seat of the chair in which he was sprawled.


    He felt the pressure of her boot between his legs, and the table silenced, all eyes captivated.


    The Northman glanced down at the foot, back to Imrye¡¯s face, his gaze pleading ¨C


    She lifted her leg and stamped her foot on the floor so fast he must¡¯ve thought she¡¯d gone and done it ¨C he reflexively doubled over in anticipation of pain, and the whole table erupted into laughter.


    ¡°Touch my ass again, it¡¯ll be the last thing you touch,¡± she warned him, still smiling.


    ¡°Oooh ¨C might be worth it, I¡¯ll tell you, lads,¡± the Northman confided to his mates. ¡°Such a firm ¨C¡°


    Imrye reached out and squeezed the man¡¯s beard-obscured cheek, tugging on the whiskers such that he winced and sealed his trap shut.


    ¡°Better,¡± she said.


    Before he could pluck up his courage enough to give her another excuse to stop working, she gathered up the mugs and hopped off behind the bar to fetch more ale. She was serving on her own this afternoon, and although the main room of the Battered Hog was next to empty she had to keep on top of things ¨C the day was starting to wane, and if Tephel came downstairs from his room early and found empty cups or an unstoked hearth she would be in for it.


    She liked this job and she wanted to keep it. Not many people were willing to hire women like her; here in Salnifast-by-the-Sea her gender and complexion meant nothing, but her elven heritage marked her as noble-born in this country ¨C a fact people were constantly reminding her of, be it consciously or unconsciously, from the very first day she arrived here, two and a bit years back. (She¡¯d first perfected her much-praised highborn accent by making sarcastic comments at the expense of those who stared at her slanted eyes, pointed ears, unusual hair.) On top of that, her tallness seemed to make lots of men agitated ¨C at least the non-drunk ones ¨C and coupled together these were enough to make most potential employers incapable of being anything but intimidated by her.


    Tephel wasn¡¯t intimidated by her in the slightest, and seemed to realise she needed him more than he needed her, especially now winter was here and the ice-wind blew in across the bay. His harshness was reassuring, in a way. He was someone who didn¡¯t misunderstand her.


    If there was one trade off to her unnatural physique, she barely looked sixteen despite the fact she was about to pass what she guessed to be her thirtieth Yearsend. She liked this not because she was vain (well, of course she loved the fact she could still eat whatever she liked and stay in shape) but because no one knew she wasn¡¯t sixteen. She didn¡¯t have to pretend to grow up, didn¡¯t have to pretend to have the answers to life¡¯s hard questions, or even be on the path to finding them. She could revel in her identity or lack thereof. The silver lining to a cloud that consisted of being abandoned in a human village as a toddler, raised by the kindness of strangers.


    But she¡¯d always lived by the water ¨C the lakeside fishing village where she¡¯d grown up was her first real home, of course, but when she¡¯d spread her wings for distant shores she¡¯d always hugged the water¡¯s edge. And that was why she needed to keep this job at the Hog: she couldn¡¯t leave Salnifast-by-the-Sea. The world¡¯s greatest port was the place for her. She¡¯d taken trips upriver to see the wonder that was Mund, but even that awesome monument to the Realm didn¡¯t do anything for her. The ocean held her heart; this she¡¯d known from the moment she¡¯d first beheld it.


    Wyrda had a reputation for treachery and being the cause of calamity, as befitting the Maker of the Tides, She Who Slumbers Submerged ¨C but she wasn¡¯t a dark goddess. She was revered, along with all the other Gods of the Light, during the important ceremonies and festivals of every culture in every province Imrye had ever visited. And Imrye had always felt an affinity, a strange link with the Fish-Queen that went far deeper than liking a bit of cod. She¡¯d spend evenings with her elbows on the marble rails, standing under the lanterns that swung in the salt breeze, just looking out into the darkness. Hearing the voice of the sea, drowning out the dock-workers and sailors. Listening to her wordless, rhythmic cries and adding her tears to its endless song. Wondering if the goddess was alone down there too, as alone as she was up here.


    That would come in a couple of hours, once the punters started showing up and the others arrived to take over her shift, Mairdae and Fjarni and Phreme. For now she put on her less-frowny face and returned to the Northman¡¯s table, furnished them with a silver¡¯s-worth of beer, endured a few more jibes and gave a few more back¡­


    Maybe a visit to the Northman¡¯s boat would be in order, on her night-time ramblings, once she¡¯d seen enough of the sea. The fellow been a very naughty boy today, and she wanted to have a stern word with him in private.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    She was musing on this while she stood with her poker, prodding the fire farthest from the door ¨C when she heard it bang open and the swift rushing of feet.


    ¡°¡¯Ere ¡®e is!¡± snarled the first through the doorway, only increasing his speed as he spoke.


    None of the usual insult-trading, dark looks that could extend across the length of a whole afternoon ¨C no. There were eight of them, against the five in the Northman¡¯s gang. They¡¯d brought no real weapons that Imrye could see ¨C except the metal half-gloves a few of the attackers were wearing across their knuckles. But they didn¡¯t need the advantage of numbers, the advantage of weaponry. They came prepared for a fight, and their targets were pretty far gone in drink, without the fire-in-the-blood of combat. In the time it¡¯d take for the drunks to get ready for a fight, they were already defeated.


    She¡¯d witnessed violence like this between rival sailor-crews before, but she¡¯d always been there for whatever precipitated it, always been able to prepare herself mentally for the distressing sights and sounds. This happened in less than ten seconds, from start to finish¡­


    Bones were broken. One man¡¯s ear was almost torn-off by a particularly unfortunate, half-missed blow from a metal-clad fist. The guy to the Northman¡¯s left was thrown backwards, taking the chair with him, and when the rear of his head connected with the floorboards it was with a sickening crunch. The man didn¡¯t move again, and no one seemed to notice or care as he lay there in the wreckage of the chair ¨C someone even kicked his face just to be sure.


    There was the poker in Imrye¡¯s hand, and its presence there was a weight that exceeded any calculation of the object¡¯s properties. It was a weapon ¨C could she use it to end this, crack one of the attackers in the head, make them all turn and run? It was a liability ¨C could she throw it down to make it clear she wasn¡¯t a threat without drawing any attention to herself?


    The heat of the fire was suddenly a living thing and she wanted to back away, but she was trapped in the moment, the indecision.


    Who am I?


    It was almost like she could see two paths, two future-selves branching off into the distance, and which of them was the right path to follow ¨C which of them left her alive, never mind anyone else ¨C was impossible to tell. She wasn¡¯t a diviner.


    The one who¡¯d led them into the Hog was crouching over the handsome Northman.


    ¡°This is for the nailbiter job,¡± he hissed, ¡°just so as yer unnerstans on the shadow side why yer dead. The man sends ¡®is regards.¡±


    He produced a long dirk from inside his leather jerkin and casually flipped it in the air, then punched it straight down into the Northman¡¯s chest.


    Imrye dropped the poker and it clattered on the hearthstones. One of the thugs looked at her, but it was only a glance.


    The leader yanked the blade free, then drew its edge across the Northman¡¯s throat before standing straight again, spitting on the dying man, and turning to leave.


    Once all eight of them were across the threshold and the door slammed shut on the grey daylight, the paralysis departed and Imrye ran to the patrons ¨C three of them were nursing broken noses, wrists, fingers ¨C but the guy who¡¯d fallen backwards was so dead he¡¯d even stopped twitching ¨C and the Northman, the Northman¡­


    She slipped in the blood pouring from his torn throat, his punctured heart. She manoeuvred his head into her lap, lying it upon her apron ¨C his blond hair was wet, already matted black with the life-fluid running from him ¨C


    His lips moved but only red bubbles formed.


    She pressed her hand against his throat, reached down to put a firm hold on his muscular, heaving chest. She had no idea where the wounds really were ¨C the injury-sites were already clogged messes. She could only hold him, give him what comfort she might in his last moments¡­


    She felt the pity well up within her, move through her, and in its wake her mind frantically seized on a course of action.


    ¡°Get help!¡± she barked at the groaning sailors strewn around on the floor, then raised her voice: ¡°Tephel! Tephel!¡±


    ¡°Th-the poker?¡± one of his mates muttered, wincing in obvious pain.


    ¡°You can¡¯t just burn wounds like these!¡± she cried. ¡°We ¨C we need a druid ¨C¡°


    ¡°N-nah, lass,¡± the Northman said, coughing. ¡°Dr-druids¡­ cost¡­ too tootin¡¯ much.¡±


    She laughed, and the tears in her eyes fell loose as her head shook.


    ¡°Damn you, don¡¯t make me laugh while you¡¯re dying ¨C¡°


    ¡°Who said owt about dyin¡¯? Lass, be me ever s¡¯ bold ¨C yer know I¡¯d do ¨C anythin¡¯ ¨C to get this close to yer¡­¡±


    Even his friends were taken aback by the calm with which he was taking his end.


    Almost reverently, she lowered her face, kissed him on the forehead.


    Mortiforn free your soul, Northman, she prayed.


    His face stilled.


    Imrye reached out with a trembling hand to close his open eyes ¨C


    The eyes moved to regard her ¨C he sat up and crowed in exultation.


    ¡°Gotcha! Just ¡¯ow must a man play dead to get one on ¡®is lips, eh? Look! Look at me!¡±


    He spun around and, still crouching, wiped away a handful of wine-red blood from his throat to reveal no cut, nothing, there was nothing; he tore open his vest to expose his drenched, hairy, unwounded chest.


    Imrye froze. His mates froze, but they weren¡¯t looking at him. All their eyes were on her.


    ¡°But ¨C how¡­¡±


    She looked down at her own hands.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    Who am I now?


    She had felt something. Something that had flowed through her.


    ¡°Oi! Witch-girl, put yer ¡®ands on Dervim!¡± one of them grunted, a grimy, thin-bearded fellow with blood still leaking from his busted nose.


    She didn¡¯t look up.


    ¡°Dervim¡¯s gone, Saz,¡± the Northman said. ¡°Leave it be.¡±


    ¡°You gotta be kiddin¡¯ me, right?¡± Saz cried, lunging closer ¨C


    The grimy man was too fast for her number one fan to get in the way, and he seized Imrye by the shoulder in an attempt to drag her forwards, attend to the no-longer-twitching Dervim.


    It felt as though he hadn¡¯t gotten quite as good of a hold on her flesh as he should¡¯ve. She went with the motion, hoping to avoid most of the pain that would come with resisting, but she couldn¡¯t feel anything.


    Once she was on her feet she planted them, and from Saz¡¯s wide-eyed expression it seemed he had very quickly realised he could no longer drag her. To prove her point she reached out, took the grimy man¡¯s upper arm, and pushed him away.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re upset, but don¡¯t ¨C touch ¨C me,¡± she said.


    He backed away even more quickly than he¡¯d approached.


    She walked of her own accord to Dervim¡¯s side, knelt, placed her hands on him, but before she even knew what she was looking for, she knew she wasn¡¯t going to find it here. The body ¨C it wasn¡¯t like the Northman¡¯s. Wasn¡¯t like her own. Something was missing.


    ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, Saz, but Dervim really is gone.¡±


    Saz didn¡¯t want to hear it, and neither did the other two. They fled, nursing their wounds, cursing the Northman ¨C and with a grateful, regretful backwards glance at Imrye he chased after them.


    Tephel was on the stairs, leaning on the bannister in the corner, and he yelled down at her:


    ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯m gonna pay you any more to be a bodyguard! I saw you push that fella off.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡± Her mouth moved of its own accord ¨C her eyes and her hands were still on Dervim¡¯s body.


    ¡°Ah, another corpse I see. Well, they¡¯re worth a few bob. Not much obvious damage¡­ Head over to Fynster¡¯s and tell him I need a favour.¡±


    ¡°Will do.¡±


    She stood up, wiped her hands unconsciously on her apron before untying it, throwing it on the counter and heading for the door herself.


    She heard Tephel shout something about needing a coat before the door closed behind her, but she ignored him. She moved automatically down the street towards the apothecary¡¯s on the corner, still wringing her hands in her pockets, clenching them over and over, sensing the waves of life coursing their way through her body.


    The wind should¡¯ve cut her, but she raised her face into it, let it sweep aside her turquoise hair. Tears filled her eyes, but this was joy ¨C pure, unadulterated joy.


    Wyrda be praised!


    She had her answer. She knew who she was.


    I said we needed a druid¡­ and a druid is what we got!


    * * *

 I Left You pt2

    27th Yunara, 992 NE


    The night Tephel died was her last on the land for a long, long time.


    She had tried her hand at healing, and passed the tests set by senior members of the Shining Circle, even if she didn¡¯t quite make the grade for fixing head injuries. All spring and summer she¡¯d been at it ¨C the Magisterium took about eighty percent of what she made, but trade was brisk, and she had plenty aside for rent and disposable income. Her little shop on the wharf was a popular attraction for the townspeople with minor hurts and injuries ¨C a trip down to the harbour, take the kids to see the boats and get the mother-in-law¡¯s broken hip taken care of¡­


    Imrye, for her part, got to sit with her feet up by her window, watching the surf as it went from pink to white to pink again, whiling away the hours from sunrise to sunset listening to the incomprehensible cries of foreign crewmen as they offloaded their shipments. Sometimes she visited the Battered Hog, saw her friends, had a cup of wine. It was, without a doubt, the most-perfect time of her life. She was supposed to charge more for worse maladies, for the energies expended in the healing ¨C but she flouted the rules, assessing her clients on the basis of their wealth. A farmhand needing a full reworking of his inner organs might pay less than a gentleman wanting a tooth regrown. Her newfound freedom was everything she¡¯d ever wanted, or so she¡¯d thought.


    She could fly, now ¨C something which she knew should¡¯ve enraptured her, thrilled her to the core ¨C but once she¡¯d gotten over the initial excitement, she went back to the docks, even sitting below them late at night, fearful of no robber-pirate or corrupt watchman, dangling her feet into the water. Biting her lip against the torturous ecstasy of indecision. Looking down into the darkness of the depths, wondering when she would do it, when she would try an aquatic shape. Most weren¡¯t so different from snakes, she supposed, and she knew it wouldn¡¯t take the blink of an eye for her to transform into a salmon, a hake, even an eel¡­


    The trick to shape-shifting was relatively straightforward: study. For some creatures it took her minutes, even over an hour for her first insects ¨C for others, less than five seconds. Once she knew the creature well-enough to imagine being it, inhabiting its skin (be it scaly, hairy, feathery or whatever) was as natural as inhabiting her own. Even if she could imagine being it, she had to be looking at it the first time, it seemed. Her initial foray into this strange new world was accidental; she¡¯d changed into a sheepdog, and it took her by as much surprise as it did the poor animal. All she¡¯d done was crouch down to pet it, feeling sorry for it tied up outside in the bitter evening air, and poof! there she was ¨C gender aside, she¡¯d transformed into an almost-identical sheepdog, as far as she could tell.


    ¡°Well I never!¡± the dog had woofed at her.


    ¡°You¡¯re not alone, pal,¡± she¡¯d growled back. She¡¯d been doing her best not to wince and sneeze at the several million extra sounds and scents that assaulted her, overwhelming the part of her mind designed to process new information.


    After the first time, it was simple. Even the strangest, tiniest critters made much more sense to her once she was a tiny critter herself; as a fly (such strange eyes!) she could observe a bee (so many strange senses!), and so on. She almost got gobbled-up at least a dozen times, which, as an invulnerable and almost certainly inedible animal, would probably result in the devourer¡¯s death even if she didn¡¯t change into something bigger. She certainly wasn¡¯t opposed to eating things when she got hungry, especially annoying or immoral creatures, but killing things without cause she wished to avoid at all costs. She respected the weirdest, most-alien of the world¡¯s inhabitants ¨C except wasps. She could never get her head around them, how every single one of them was an evil git. They didn¡¯t taste very nice, either.


    But it was impossible to think of things as soulless, unworthy of personhood, when you could speak with them. And she so longed to enter that hidden realm beneath the surface, enter the smothering abyss of the Fish-Queen ¨C converse with the entities she found there, understand their minds, their silent, instinctual impulses.


    Yet there was a part of Imrye that was afraid. She¡¯d never feared the water until now.


    There was so much to see, so many places to go ¨C she could swim to the ice-lands, and the fire-lands, head to the east and west, explore the unexplored edges of the world¡­ and that wasn¡¯t even to mention the idea of simply going down ¨C finding the hidden cracks and crevasses in the foundations of the earth, and investigating the caverns in which no mere mortal could ever set their foot¡­ places left untouched, unperceived except by the gods who made them, from the dawn of time until her visit¡­


    As Kailost rolled into Lynara and Lynara rolled into Orovost, Imrye felt the change from summer into autumn much more vividly than she¡¯d felt winter to spring, spring to summer. There was something different to it ¨C the decay, the death that had to precede the world¡¯s rebirth. On the first day of autumn when the priests of Illodin went on their procession down the streets chanting the Lay of Memory, swinging their censers pouring incense-smoke of sandalwood and cinnamon ¨C on that day she could sense the grief in her heart, like a wound had been reopened there she couldn¡¯t recall sustaining in the first place. Leaves fell, and her spirits fell with them. Suddenly her little shop, her visitors coming to gawp at the unusual archmage¡­ it felt like a chore. A leftover of her humanity, or elvenness, or whatever. She felt she was in denial of what she was, what she¡¯d become.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    As the nights lengthened and the days drew in, she spent more and more of the dark hours sitting by the water¡¯s edge. And on one of those short, pointless days, the magisters visited her.


    The reprimand was delivered by a sour-faced, tiny little woman, the ten spokes of the Magisterium wheel gilded gold upon her white-robed breast. The penalties were straightforward. The loss of the lease on her shop. The loss of her license to practise healing in the Realm. The opportunity to attend a six-week Magisterium-sponsored course which would permit her to earn a new license, provided she could demonstrate she¡¯d learned her lesson, that she would no longer offer a cheap source of life to the poor.


    She¡¯d almost decided to fight them, but then she heard the cries of the gulls and she knew she had lost the battle anyway. Her heart was in it no longer. What did it matter? What did any of this petty human nonsense matter? Reality wasn¡¯t money and shiny badges and shops and prestige.


    She followed the path under the pier, put her feet in the freezing water, and all her worries melted away.


    She whittled down her savings over the following months. Yearsend came again as it always did, her thirty-first-ish, and she went to Mund to purchase lavish gifts for those she knew. Hawk-shaped in the upper city, the district they called Hightown, she stared in wonder as a titanic raven flew overhead. She saw the citizens pointing and crying in Splinterwing¡¯s wake, no less filled with awe than she.


    But she didn¡¯t feel the longing, the envy. Not yet.


    She purchased her presents, and went home to the cove just east of Salnifast, where she¡¯d been living since her lease was terminated.


    The pull of the sea had never been stronger than it was after the Yearsend parties were over. Everyone had thanked her for the gifts, a little wildness in their eyes, and that was it. Done. There was no sensation of closeness. No special bonds were forged. She was still the strange stranger, the unchanging outsider, inscrutable to them, and the archmagery had only cemented-over the walls she¡¯d spent years chipping away at. She didn¡¯t even wear a mage-robe, did her best to pretend to be the same old Imrye. But the truth was that even the same old Imrye had never fit in, and now it came like a pulse, never-ending, a heartbeat originating in the heart of the world, thundering through her veins, clamouring in her ears:


    Reject the land-dwellers. Become one with the water.


    She knew it was inevitable, drawing her in as the whirlpool inexorably draws in the flotsam, and before the pull is felt for what it is, it is already too late¡­


    She neared the Hog at two in the morning, a little later than usual, and far too late to secure a good seat. This was the time of day the place would be heaving, barely a square-foot of floor-space to stand in while actual heaving, mini-riots, insect-races and scenes from brothels would be going on in every corner.


    She didn¡¯t mind. She had her strength. She¡¯d be at the bar before the guys in front of her knew what hit them, and Mairdae would serve her next as usual ¨C whether such preference was borne out of fear of her, or out of a continuing friendliness, Imrye could not now ever be totally certain.


    On the street she passed a stream of people leaving the Hog and hurried inside. She pushed through the punters flooding out into the roadway, and was amazed to find the room in near-silence.


    Mairdae¡¯s tear-streaked face raised from her hands as she knelt there, beside Tephel¡¯s body.


    ¡°Where ¨C were ¨C you?¡± The young girl¡¯s voice was deep and loud and cold, the words a hammer to set Imrye¡¯s skull ringing.


    Then came the shriek. ¡°Where were you?¡±


    Mairdae got to her feet, stumbled towards Imrye as though to attack her. The archmage took her in a brief, fierce embrace until the aggression faded out of her muscles and she was reduced to sobbing; then Imrye darted over to Tephel¡¯s side and grasped his hand.


    No. She¡¯d known it already, from the moment she¡¯d seen him, realised what was happening.


    He was gone, gone by minutes at least.


    If I had just arrived sooner¡­ a little sooner¡­


    ¡°How?¡± she asked through her own tears.


    ¡°He ¨C he just¡­ He collapsed. Sh-shaking. Then¡­ then this.¡±


    The druid¡¯s head was spinning. The remembrance of being here before, in this situation, a dead man under her hands ¨C Dervim, that¡¯s what his name had been¡­ The guilt, arriving at the Hog when she did ¨C it would¡¯ve been better to have never come at all, never put Mairdae through the agony of knowing it¡¯d been so close¡­ The nameless Northman, whose messing-up of some guy¡¯s drug trade had resulted in this, this change, this awful metamorphosis which she could no more forget or undo than she could cease breathing¡­


    Cease breathing.


    She gently lowered Tephel¡¯s head to the floor, then reached into her pocket for her money.


    She emptied it, everything she had, on the boards next to the dead man¡¯s head.


    ¡°This¡­ is for you. You, and Fjarni and the others. I¡¯m going.¡±


    Imrye stood up, moved to the door.


    She heard the sharp inhalation, as Mairdae prepared some spiteful epithet, so she increased her pace and slammed the door behind her, cutting off whatever retort the girl wanted to make. Imrye didn¡¯t want to hear it.


    Didn¡¯t have time to hear it.


    There was somewhere she needed to be, somewhere she¡¯d needed to be for so long that the aching, the longing was more than she could express to herself in words and pictures ¨C it was an experience she sought, a thing that had to be lived to be understood. The urgency, that was the only thing that was real.


    Leave it all behind.


    And so she went to the water¡¯s edge and embraced her fear. She left behind the storm-clouds of stinging hail and the blades of wind that chewed at her feathers. She became scaled, a cold thing, a creature whose blood the ocean¡¯s wintry deeps would only warm.


    There was no backward glance. There was no goodbye.


    In that moment and all the moments down the years to follow, there was never any quaver, any instant of hesitation, any jarring of purpose.


    Imrye meant never to return.


    * * *

 I Left You pt3

    Someday, Somemonth, 997(?) NE


    She didn¡¯t entirely forget her past, those snarls of memories from when she breathed the poison air that seethed and sliced above the world. She knew that she was dreaming: dreams of coral wreathed as cathedrals, dreams of tactile darkness and bitterness and crunching bone, of hot geysers like mountains about which the cities gathered, a million shells carpeting the ground, a million shadows schooling across the sky.


    She knew it would have to end. She encountered naga and mermen and sea-spirits and she avoided them, everything that was like her. The ruins of forgotten civilisations lost in unremembered ages held no interest for her; she never sought out Assilqarith or Ghendundre. Wyrda¡¯s sense of architecture and skill at crafting far outstripped those of any mere man in scope and glory.


    No, she was a dreamer, and she wanted no reminder of what it was to be awake. The pain of waking after years of the dream would be unendurable.


    Yet awaken she would.


    She had taken the form of a monstrous orca, a whale-killer, which was unusual for her, it being a poison-breathing shape. It was an awkward thing, really, closer to person than fish in many ways, and the very act of breathing was difficult, swiftly emptying and refilling the massive lungs more a chore than a relief. Nonetheless she enjoyed the speeds she could achieve, riding the line between ocean and void like a beautiful, dreadful avatar of the Fish-Queen; her magic had allowed her to subtly adjust the inhalation process, leveraging her strength to move even faster, breathe more easily.


    She had no land-dweller tongue in her mind any longer; she thought and spoke in fish. But if her thoughts were to be translated, the word for her mindset would¡¯ve been satisfied. The satisfaction was complete ¨C there was nothing above her save Wyrda. She owned the sea in which she swam; she had no competitor, feared no predator. She was alone, but that was okay. There was no other way.


    Soon the mood would come upon her again, and she would descend into the eternal night once more, but for now she almost enjoyed the grey skies ¨C blue skies ¨C green skies¡­ The water here was warm, too warm for her kind, but she wasn¡¯t a normal one. She knew these seas. These seas were close to a place she¡¯d once lived. In the before-times. A place of marble floors extending out over the water¡¯s surface, a place of lanterns swinging in the night.


    Blood in the water.


    Informed by her druidic insight, she knew it to be of humanoid origin, even here in the open water, days from land.


    Avoid. Avoid!


    She crested a wave, preparing to leverage her tremendous weight and make a turn, gulping in air through her blow-hole ¨C


    Then she heard it.


    Screaming. High-pitched warbling roars that bespoke true terror. The terror that bares its teeth when something is making incisions, when the blood wasn¡¯t just pumping but flowing.


    Humans¡­


    For a moment, just a moment, she imagined joining in, crushing those wailing bodies with her own immense teeth, feeling ribcages and organs pop alike¡­


    She decided to go. Just to see.


    Her speed was prodigious; in under a minute she¡¯d espied her target. But she couldn¡¯t have expected what she¡¯d found, couldn¡¯t wrap her mind, her animal instincts around it ¨C she took several long looks, from both sides of the water¡¯s surface.


    The longship, adrift, shattered. The passengers and crew, freezing, flailing. And the thing that had turned the vessel into a scum of torn-apart timbers, still thrashing, still rending.


    Two of its arms were wrapped about the two main pieces of the boat, the tendril-like appendages coiling ever-tighter, bursting cured lumber like kindling sticks. Two more arms were holding aloft several howling humanoids, subjecting them to the same pressures, simultaneously skinning and constricting them. And what seemed to be the final two arms extended rigidly beneath the surface, going down, down into darkness, as if planted in the sea-bed to hold the monster¡¯s body firmly twenty feet above the waves ¨C even though the sea-floor was surely thousands of feet away.


    As for its body ¨C she¡¯d never seen nor heard of its like, not even in all her years beneath the waves.


    A greenish blob of amorphous substance, she would¡¯ve mistaken it for a dire jellyfish or something were it not for the two, very human-looking eyes buried in its centre-mass, and the huge maw, showing two rows of gigantic human teeth.


    Its eyes were true-blue, she could see, even from this distance ¨C each had to be the size of a giant turtle¡¯s shell. And its too-human mouth was smiling, its lips parted in a smirk that could only bespeak the presence of a cruel, if crude, intellect.


    She drew closer. She could discern the renewed screams and high-pitched prayers as some of the crewmen spotted her. She could still pick out and comprehend the name of Wyrda as spoken in the Mundic tongue, it appeared. The first human speech to intelligibly reach her ears in¡­ she had no idea how long. She would have been able to track the passage of years with her powers, even when she¡¯d been in the deeps ¨C but she¡¯d simply stopped caring, long ago.


    But there was one, just one sailor, whose voice was different. He was bobbing up and down, clinging to a chunk of hull, and when he cried out to the others it was not in alarm. Or even acceptance, resignation. No, this was hope that she could hear.


    The blue eyes of the abomination had focussed on her, and she felt liberated in the moment of confrontation.


    She continued to pick up speed as she advanced, diving first, heading at her enemy¡¯s legs and screaming her dolphin-call. At almost twenty yards in length, she weighed perhaps a hundred tons, and she displaced a lot of water. When she leapt, she would hit the survivors with a wave. She hoped none of them would die from her actions, but all of them would be in mortal peril until she acted. She had to act.


    No paralysis this time.


    Just hope.


    That was the essential part of humanity she¡¯d missed. The thing she¡¯d forgotten, even when she¡¯d been a poison-breather, a land-dweller full-time. The nature of risk. What really made life worth living. What made it precious. Why she had to protect it.


    Yune.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The thought made its way through the orca-brain she inhabited ¨C such a tremor of emotion quaked the strange ocean-going flesh that she felt like she¡¯d been touched by lightning.


    She was growing, still moving faster, as she stopped diving and thrust herself at the surface.


    What she felt, what she¡¯d always wanted to feel ¨C the sense of belonging, the ocean ¨C it was an escape to nowhere, to nothing. The fish treated her no better than the land-dwellers, because she was the same thing here she was there. She hadn¡¯t changed. What had she learned in the deeps? What great insight had the caverns of crystal offered? Nothing. The beauty was wasted on her, because she was satisfied. There was nothing to feel, nowhere to grow except on the most mundane level, the physical ¨C the change of shape, nothing but a futile attempt to escape herself.


    The floor of the drinking-house where two bodies had lain. Two failures. And this, her third. Her desperate, idiotic, childish tantrum.


    She had the power, the gift, to bring life. To meet that cry of hope with a smile and a nod. To bring answers and peace where before there was only petition and anguish. And she¡¯d done it, only she¡¯d ¨C what? ¨C gotten bored? A lonely romantic with no outlet for her bitterness but to drown it in a billion gallons of saltwater and pretend it was just the way of things.


    N-n-o l-l-l-o-n-g-e-r-r-r!


    She had wasted so much time.


    Feeling almost herself again, she wondered just what the thing was. A magical sea-creature she¡¯d never heard of? Not likely. A demon? Possibly.


    The result of an archmage like her, who sank deeper into the despair and mated?


    Whatever it was, she felt no compunction to let it live.


    She launched herself out of the water, jaws wide apart ¨C the abomination only smiled and let her come, its four arms spread.


    The moment her teeth closed on the jelly-flesh, mid-leap, she understood. A sense of imbalance, dizziness, struck her for the first time in a very long time.


    Its green, fluorescent ichor was poison, and it went pouring by the pint into her mouth, and spraying high into the air. She¡¯d only come into contact with poisons a few times amongst those she¡¯d healed, or at least that was what her recently-defunct, still-hazy memories were telling her. This was a special kind ¨C the magical, kill-you-in-a-heartbeat-even-though-you¡¯re-a-hundred-ton-orca kind.


    Yune!


    As she lost the momentum of her leap and she tipped towards the surface once more, she spoke the goddess¡¯s name to herself, clenching the jaws even tighter on the monster¡¯s blubber, letting it happen, letting go of her destiny. If she gave her life here, so be it.


    It might¡¯ve been a weird, powerful creature, but it had nowhere near the physical strength or leverage to support itself with her attached to its face. She bore it down under the waves, covering them in vivid green oil as she pirouetted, diving and rising and chewing and butting.


    She heard more than one of the watching onlookers screaming now in gratitude to Wyrda, spotted their fists raised up to the sky.


    But her foe released its grip on its victims, seeming to still be smiling as it allowed her to toss it around. Bit by bit, it wrapped her in all six arms, its suckers affixing themselves to almost every inch of her smooth skin.


    Now it was her with no leverage, no way to improve on her angle. She was stuck chewing at the same bit of jelly-flesh, stuck ingesting poison.


    It might¡¯ve been a dangerous monster, but it was clear to her by now that she had a magic of her own that far outstripped whatever this entity possessed. The poison in her bloodstream would almost certainly kill her in an instant if she changed shape back ¨C unless she purged it first. But that would take time. She could perceive it there within her, like nausea, a nausea that burned, that rose up into her chest ¨C but it was already lessening. The dizziness that had infected her mind began to pass.


    However, the six thin arms tightened yet further, squeezing her incessantly. It seemed that the appendages were extendable and retractable, and the thing reeled them in now that they were locked down, rooted to her, drawing her in and tightening its hold.


    The tendrils went rending right through her skin, tearing into her blubber ¨C it sloughed away by the ton as though she were being put through a grater, and she couldn¡¯t replace the lost mass ¨C the creature only got closer and closer, coiling itself tighter and tighter, wriggling, burying itself inside her.


    Agony. Agony such as she¡¯d never before experienced, every inch of her exposed inner surfaces like a nerve left naked to a surgeon¡¯s drill.


    She drew in every iota of awareness, studying the poison in her. She could visualise the spread of the foul substance, the webs of blood inside her changing colour as it stretched out its venomous roots for her heart. She could visualise it changing back again ¨C changing back ¨C


    She gave forth the dolphin-cry once more, sensing death nearing ¨C and this time she felt the response, detecting the other life out there in the water, the creatures heeding her call. Swordfish and sunfish, hake and bass, tuna and turtles, sharks and seals, even starfish ¨C


    No, she thought, and the denial reached out to them, halting them in their tracks.


    Orcas were social creatures, but she swam alone even when she met others of her kind, drawing any number of comments. Now, at last, she would accept her responsibility.


    I a-am n-not one of y-you.


    She wouldn¡¯t let them die in their droves to save her; they wouldn¡¯t be able to kill this abhorrent amalgam of man and jellyfish for her anyway. But if she didn¡¯t kill it ¨C if she died ¨C it would likely return to its pleasure¡­ to the longship and its sea-stranded complement of screamers¡­


    It didn¡¯t matter. Even with her dying thought, she would not call the sea-dwellers back to fight this fight for her.


    Because that was not going to happen. She would not fail. Not while Yune watched over the world.


    She¡¯d lost her fins, and it was starting to slice the layers protecting her spine, crunching at her bones all over her body ¨C


    She¡¯d visualised her system flushed, fully cleansed of the putrid ichor ¨C


    She held to the thought, and shifted shape.


    It was convenient, the way the abomination¡¯s tightly-coiled arms knotted themselves about her, increasing the tightness of their hold in the sudden disappearance of her gigantic form ¨C she became a pufferfish, smaller but still huge, with a few thousand extra-tough, extra-long spines as a coat, her own inherently magical toxins.


    She skewered the suckers with her barbs, and expanded, a balloon of blades.


    Ribbons of tendrils floated through fluorescent water. She caught a glimpse of the abomination¡¯s eyeless, pale face, drifting down on the current like a tattered and torn sail.


    When she climbed from the surface of the sea in her birth-form, she was still wearing the vest and pants she¡¯d been wearing out of self-spite all those years ago, when Tephel had died and she¡¯d thrown herself into the sea in grief.


    Grief. That was what¡¯d tipped her over the edge, wasn¡¯t it?


    She felt it now. She sat on a piece of flotsam, bobbing up and down on the gentle afternoon waves, and cried. It felt good, now, to cry, shut her eyes against the colours of this world.


    Even the sweetness of the air she drew in with each breath was itself an echo, a reverberation of her mistake: thinking of it as ¡®poison¡¯, forcing herself, cramming herself inside that thing, pretending she was nothing, no one¡­


    She no longer had a choice. She¡¯d made it already.


    Once she¡¯d taken a minute to get her breath back, she could put up with the silent stares no longer. She dove back into the water, then came up near the most-hurt of the survivors. It wasn¡¯t until she¡¯d healed three of the maimed and one of those who¡¯d ingested some of the fluorescent water that they even started speaking to her.


    ¡°What are you?¡± one of the passengers, an extremely put-out-looking woman, cried out incredulously.


    She looked at the lady and smiled.


    I¡¯m u-u-used to it n-now.


    ¡°No,¡± called the sailor who¡¯d looked at her with hope in his eyes, when she¡¯d been a hundred-ton monster. He¡¯d drifted away from the others following her tremendous leap from the water, but swiftly paddled back after she surfaced in her humanoid form. ¡°Not what ¨C who. You¡¯re an archmage, aren¡¯t you? Who are you?¡± He regarded her plainly, seemingly mostly unperturbed by this turn of events. ¡°Listen lady, if you help us get home to Mund, or even to Karamar, the guild can ¨C¡±


    She stopped listening.


    Mund.


    ¡°G-Glimmermere,¡± she said, cutting him off, speaking the first word that came to her mind. The first proper, difficult word she¡¯d ever learned to pronounce.


    The name of the lake beside which the fishing village stood, her first home.


    ¡°I am¡­ Glimmermere.¡±


    She turned her face to the south-east, staring unblinking into the breeze.


    Mund. Of course.


    She could smell it. Not the city itself, of course. No ¨C it was her destiny she could scent on the wind.


    ¡°And y-yes. Yes. Of course I can help you get there. It¡¯s ¨C it¡¯s time.


    ¡°Time to go home.¡±


    * * *

 I Left You pt4

    1st Ismethara, 998 NE


    Everyone was evacuated ¨C no one hung around long once she set the bugs on them. A fact she was thankful for; the sorcerer¡¯s barriers broke when she toppled a third house on him, and within seconds she had rats all over him, chewing through the ligaments and tendons in his hands, his wrists.


    No more shields, sucker, she thought, mending the surface damage he¡¯d caused to her stupendous condor-form and moving in to take advantage of his sudden vulnerability. She spun in the air, casting off the last of the imps that had still clung to her pinions, and changed back into her mostly-elf form as she ducked beneath the broken beams.


    He groaned ¨C a few tons of rubble had hit him in the head and chest, and one of his limbs was snapped clean in two, yet he was merely groaning.


    Then she placed her hand on his shoulder.


    Gotcha.


    ¡°My, this was unpleasant, Tombclaw. Whyever did you insist on continuing to fight? I told you, there¡¯s nothing shameful in surrender. Well¡­¡± She glanced about at the vermin trailing all over his dusty, half-buried body. ¡°It¡¯s certainly more dignified than this¡­¡±


    He tried to raise his head, the generically-undead mask scraping on a stone.


    ¡°Aururueurgh¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh I know, but at least this way you won¡¯t be forgotten, I suppose. Once they lock you away, they¡¯ll use your bank balance to fix up this neighbourhood, unless I¡¯m much mistaken. Three families get new houses, thanks to you. They¡¯ll be singing your praises for years to come.¡±


    She sensed as one of his unkillable demons, a ten-foot black-metal bull-man, finally tore through the net of shoots she¡¯d grown around it.


    ¡°Maureurergh¡­¡±


    The demon levelled its horns and charged at her.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she relented.


    She didn¡¯t have to do anything, really; certainly not something an observer could notice. She just adjusted her attitude, and her hand on the darkmage¡¯s shoulder suddenly delivered a massive dose of soporifics into his bloodstream.


    He slumped back in merciful slumber, and his demon ¨C all his demons ¨C vanished in bursts of scarlet flame.


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


    The very instant she verified he was out cold, there was a terrible flash of light, and a thunderclap exploded right in the centre of the ruined neighbourhood, driving her hair back, stealing the air from her lungs. She almost wet herself, instincts screaming at her that she must¡¯ve done something wrong, some god descending to punish her for her misdeeds ¨C or one of the darkmage¡¯s allies had arrived ¨C


    Then she saw who it was, floating in the middle of the rubble once the incandescence cleared.


    Not him again.


    ¡°You?¡± Shadowcloud growled. ¡°I heard there was a darkmage attack ¨C someone got stung by a scorpion then there was, like, a thousand of ¡¯em ¨C¡±


    ¡°Barely. That was me, clearing the area, just as a crotchety old wizard once told me I must,¡± she explained. ¡°And I categorically refuse to believe a scorpion in my entourage did anything to anyone.¡±


    It was his turn to sigh. ¡°What¡¯re you up to, Glimmer?¡±


    She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. ¡°Would you like to see? One really must see it to believe it ¨C dear Tombclaw looks so peaceful when he¡¯s taking his afternoon nap.¡±


    The arch-wizard¡¯s tone changed instantly and he drifted closer. ¡°Tombclaw? You got him?¡±


    She lifted the hem of her mage-robe and curtseyed deeply. ¡°Of course. When one gives one¡¯s word, one simply must keep it.¡±


    He chuckled, then put on a highborn accent, presumably in an attempt to mock her: ¡°Well, fiiii-nally. It only took one a month ¨C if one had taken up another¡¯s offer of assistance, one might have had it done in two weeks ¨C¡°


    ¡°One being two, so to speak¡­?¡± She only barely made it a question.


    He nodded.


    ¡°And what of the platinum?¡±


    He spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. ¡°I¡¯d be open to negotiation, in any future dealings.¡±


    She grinned. ¡°You really are getting on, aren¡¯t you, old chum? Want a sidekick to do all the hard work while you hog all the glory?¡±


    He shrugged, a gesture with more denial in it than a thousand shakes of his head. ¡°I¡¯m one of the longest-serving champions, now, I guess. I just¡­¡±


    ¡°You just what?¡± Her voice sounded brittle even to her own ears. ¡°You wanna be my friend?¡±


    She bit her lip behind the mask. She¡¯d slipped there, with the ¡®wanna¡¯.


    Too much emotion.


    ¡°Would that be such a bad thing?¡± he asked quietly.


    Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn¡¯t voice a real answer. Not even close to the truth.


    ¡°Aha!¡± she managed to laugh. ¡°You and I differ in more ways than we are alike.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± he replied, and she heard the calm shrewdness there in his voice, the discerning quality that so aggravated her. ¡°You¡¯re trying too hard, Glimmermere.¡±


    Tears started ¨C for the first time since she came out of the sea. She couldn¡¯t explain it, but the keenness of his perception cut right through her and everything blurred. She had ocean in her eyes again.


    She shapeshifted to hide her face, changing into the great blue condor-form in the span of a heartbeat, then thrust a huge talon through the wreckage and hefted the comatose sorcerer between her toes.


    With three beats of her wings she was gone, farther and faster than he could chase her without it looking like he was harassing her.


    He didn¡¯t chase her.


    She looked back, then, and saw the arch-wizard, lingering in the destruction, ringed by the dissipating clouds of insects.


    This time, she looked back.


    * * *

 I Left You pt5

    29th Illost, 998 NE


    The shark-like mask didn¡¯t allow her smile to carry, which was just as well, as she wasn¡¯t smiling. She managed to nod her head politely in parting, though, which seemed to be enough for the woman, who nodded back. She wasn¡¯t smiling, either, and Glimmermere couldn¡¯t blame her. Living alone, with a kid with brickblood, no future on the cards for either of them? Listening day and night to Elaset¡¯s mewls of agony that only stopped when the arch-druid visited, and then only for a brief time? She remembered hearing the moans through the walls the first time she came here ¨C now, as the door was locked behind her, Glimmermere stood outside in the frigid morning air and shuddered. It was something of a ritual for her by this, her eighth visit; the wave of thankfulness that it was over washed through her body, tempered by the lash of guilt, knowing that it wasn¡¯t over for Wenya, wasn¡¯t over for Elaset¡­ Wouldn¡¯t be over ¨C not until the end came.


    She sighed, shifted to raven-form, and made her way towards her next patient.


    Where are you, Nighteye? she wondered, and not for the eighth or eightieth time, either. According to Timesnatcher, this had been his job. Why don¡¯t you come have it back?


    She felt angry, and she was trying to redirect it at him now.


    Stupid, she berated herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.


    She didn¡¯t even want to think it, because she knew why she was angry about the whole thing and she didn¡¯t want to look that anger in the eye. Didn¡¯t want to think the thought ¨C


    ¨C he was killed and I wasn¡¯t there, none of us were there to stop it ¨C


    She cawed, a series of shrill, warbling bleats that rang out across the city.


    She tried not to think, not to feel, as she reached Blackbrook in Sticktown, doing her best to compose herself. He would see right through her, even in his weakened condition. But there was nothing she could fix her eye on to distract herself. Whichever way she looked there was the ever-present morning smog, and where she could see through it there was nothing but filth, destitution ¨C hardly a spectacle to raise her spirits.


    When she reached Laithor¡¯s apartment she noticed some kids were lounging against the wooden walkway¡¯s railing, not six feet from his door. Typically she would just shift back and use her key to open the door, but that wouldn¡¯t work in this situation ¨C not if she didn¡¯t want to draw attention to the ramshackle dwelling that belonged to the arch-wizard.


    She became a beetle before anyone noticed the bird lingering on the wooden span above the teenagers, then made her way down to the apartment door, dipping her fat little body into the breeze and curling around behind the kids to land on the floor.


    ¡°Yer gonna ¡®af to step up next time, Dolber. Yer new to the gang, ya see? Next knifin¡¯s yours. Ya doan wanna do it, yer¡¯ll be found lyin¡¯ necks to ¡®em ¨C s¡¯ the way it is, laddie.¡±


    She was ant-shaped and halfway through the crack under the door when she halted. The Lowtowner¡¯s voice sent chills up her antennae.


    Turning back, she regarded them as much with her senses as her eyes.


    Children. Still children. Twelve, thirteen ¨C even fourteen was pushing it. The differences were greater at this age than they would soon become.


    What are children doing talking like this?


    The reply came:


    ¡°I¡­ I get it, Ti, I really do. I¡¯ll step up. I¡¯ll do whatever it takes. You won¡¯t regret taking me on.¡±


    The youngster¡¯s reedy voice was steeped in equal measures of enthusiasm and nausea.


    She tapped her foot, thinking. There weren¡¯t many nasty insects around, but there were lots of rats. Big, well-fed rats, festooned with lice.


    Bringing a hundred or more of them up out of the broken places in the boards and over the edge of the walkway to surge around the kids¡¯ feet was simple enough.


    Changing into one of the rodents and shrieking at the gang of wannabes in Mundic was even simpler.


    ¡°If a single one of you knifes someone, you will have me to answer to! I¡¯ll eat your eyes, Ti!¡±


    The kids scattered, wailing, and she had the other rats follow them to be sure they were properly terrified. She doubted her threat would work, really, but at least it¡¯d give this ¡®Dolber¡¯ punk a chance to get out of whatever crew he was being initiated into, an excuse not to show up the next time he was called on. She could only hope her intrusion into the conversation brought about a better future than if she¡¯d done nothing, or cost her patient her attentions by taking even greater preventative steps. To have a diviner¡¯s gift¡­


    Yune be with him, she prayed.


    She shifted back into her natural shape once she was in Laithor¡¯s apartment, and paused a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gloom before moving to the bedroom. She turned the handle as quietly as she could manage, and peered within.


    The candles had gone out and the curtains were still drawn, but as she pushed on the door a new source of illumination, gentle white-silver radiance, started to fill the room.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    It was without surprise that she noticed he was awake, staring at her. His long dark hair was unkempt, his pale, gentle face sunken with illness. He sat up, letting the bed-covers fall down, exposing the slenderness of his hairy chest and arms.


    All that not-yet-decaying flesh.


    And Yune be with him too.


    ¡°You¡¯re up,¡± she said brightly, reaching up to remove her mask. ¡°How bothersome. I suppose I shall have to fetch you something now, shan¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Leafcloak was better at this than you,¡± he complained, an only-slightly-sad smile on his face.


    ¡°That¡¯s hardly the proper way to address me!¡± she flared, tossing the mask on the foot of the bed. ¡°I come here, of my own free will and out of my own free time, to ¨C¡°


    ¡°To interrupt the youngest gang-members in Blackbrook when they¡¯re giving me all their secrets for free, yeah.¡± He was still smiling.


    ¡°Now now,¡± she chided, ¡°those in my care aren¡¯t to expend their energies trying to work. Please, do permit me to handle your little gang problem¡­¡°


    ¡°You expect me to believe you understand what¡¯s going on here?¡± he asked sceptically. ¡°We¡¯re basically bein¡¯ invaded by North Lowtown in this neighbourhood ¨C they¡¯ve taken the wane trade, and there¡¯s this new inkatra stuff ¨C¡°


    ¡°Laithor!¡± She put her hands on her hips.


    His smile faded. ¡°I just don¡¯t get it, Glimmer. What¡¯re you doing here all the time? I know, I¡¯m dying ¨C I know, it sucks. Believe me, I know.¡± He shook his head, and she saw the wetness in his own eyes reflecting the pale light he¡¯d conjured into the air. ¡°But you¡¯re a champion. You¡¯ve got better things to be doing with your time than sitting by an ¡®old man¡¯s¡¯ bedside¡­¡±


    ¡°You know I don¡¯t really think you¡¯re that old,¡± she said off-handedly.


    He chuckled. ¡°Older than you.¡±


    She just cocked her head at him, thinking about it. She didn¡¯t know her own age, precisely.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve healed me ¨C you should know, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah ¨C ish. But how old are you exactly?¡±


    ¡°You want to know my age, you know my name ¨C¡°


    The pained expression that crossed her face was only half-feigned. ¡°I told you ¨C¡°


    ¡°You can¡¯t remember your own name, yeah ¨C I remember. How perfect.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡°


    She swallowed the meaningless sounds. The same question, the eternal question ringing through her mind like the Mourning Bells:


    Who am I? Who am I, really?


    He stopped himself from pushing; she could see it in his eyes. His expression became marginally more serious: his brows raised slightly, the crooked smile on his lips that¡¯d returned while he teased her fading once more.


    ¡°I¡¯m thirty-four,¡± he said at last, as though by way of a peace offering.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m¡­ older,¡± she managed to finish her sentence.


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Only by a bit.¡±


    ¡°Who are you, Glimmermere?¡± His voice was suddenly soft, husky, and she jolted to hear his words. ¡°I don¡¯t mean your name. I¡¯ll call you whatever you want. I know you¡¯re not highborn ¨C I just know it ¨C¡±


    She realised she¡¯d dropped the accent any number of times in the last minute.


    ¡°But ¨C you can speak to me, can¡¯t you? To a¡­¡± he swallowed audibly ¡°¡­ a dying man?¡±


    She stood there, staring down at him, feeling the pulse of the attraction she felt, knowing it couldn¡¯t lead anywhere, couldn¡¯t be a foundation-stone for her personality.


    She¡¯d worn so many identities, but none of them were really her. Her ability to change shape was a dark mirror for her soul, always in motion. She¡¯d always tried to be what others wanted her to be, needed her to be. When she hadn¡¯t done that, she¡¯d gone into the sea and left everything behind. Upon her return to the world of air and sky she¡¯d donned the robe of a champion, portraying the foppish youngster, channelling the part of her that just never wanted to grow up. It was a defence mechanism and she knew it ¨C hurting people wasn¡¯t something she could do, the nameless self that was the core of her being ¨C but it was something Glimmermere could do, the creature born out of the sea and a fight to the death with a murderous entity.


    She couldn¡¯t enter into a relationship with this stricken man lying here in the bed. If she did, his death would only weaken her further, fracture the mirror. She needed to be strong.


    And yet the truth bubbled up inside her and could no longer be kept down. Like the drowned fire-mountains, it would escape, crack her from within if she didn¡¯t open, release it.


    She couldn¡¯t stop the quivering that started in her forearms, her knees ¨C she knew it was coming ¨C


    ¡°Tell you what,¡± he said thickly, ¡°just get the fortify set out, eh? I¡¯ll give you another ass-whooping, and you can ¨C¡°


    ¡°I left you!¡± she burst out. ¡°You want to know why I¡¯m here?¡± She fell forwards onto the bed, wringing her hands and looking up at him pleadingly through her tears. ¡°I left you, there, and I ¨C I left myself there, I left Glimmermere¡­ I was so, so scared, after Va- after the statue came alive ¨C and you were gone, and I didn¡¯t know what to do! But Fangmoon, oh, she carried on, didn¡¯t she? How? How does she do it? And n-now, now Nighteye¡¯s just gone off and it¡¯s been two weeks, and I spoke to Killstop and she said she doesn¡¯t think we¡¯re ever going to find him except as a headless corpse, and Feychilde didn¡¯t believe her but everyone else seemed to agree ¨C and this whole Dreamlaughter mess, and the brickblood girl ¨C the heretics are gonna attack in the next few days ¨C¡°


    ¡°Stop,¡± he said, and she halted. ¡°You¡¯re taking on too many burdens, old friend. Come on. Come here.¡±


    She¡¯d had her head down; he shuffled forwards, and embraced her awkwardly.


    It still felt nice. She could sense the weakness, the trembling in his limbs that was only partially due to his horrible affliction. He wasn¡¯t wearing much, if anything, under the quilt.


    ¡°I told them not to say anything to you,¡± she breathed, ¡°and here I am, telling you everything¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± He touched her hair lightly with his fingers. ¡°I know that you¡¯re missing Nighteye ¨C I know you regret what happened in Zadhal ¨C but you have to let me tell you this. You¡¯re not to blame. You were right to return home. If you want my forgiveness you have it but you have to understand that I don¡¯t even think it¡¯s warranted. And who except me is the injured party here, exactly?¡±


    ¡°I could¡¯ve found you faster ¨C¡°


    ¡°No, you couldn¡¯t. Truth is, if Feychilde didn¡¯t get his backside captured I might never have returned. Fang couldn¡¯t sense me, Spirit couldn¡¯t sense me. You wouldn¡¯t have found me ¨C¡°


    ¡°I could¡¯ve healed you better ¨C¡°


    ¡°I got the best care within seconds. From what I¡¯ve been told, I was basically cleansed by Nentheleme. Even she couldn¡¯t get rid of it. I¡¯m heading for the sh-shadowland, Glimmer. I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Hush.¡±


    She kissed him, then, their mouths meeting just for a few seconds, and it was everything she didn¡¯t know she needed.


    His death would weaken her, fracture her further, and she would let it because it was what she wanted, what she needed, in the very depths of her soul.


    And damn what followed.


    He met her eyes and she gazed back into his, deep into their hazel mysteries under the starlight his waning wizardry had brought into the little room.


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave Glimmermere behind,¡± he murmured. ¡°I love Glimmermere. I ¨C I love you. Whoever you are.¡±


    The moment of letting go of the future was the moment of finding the past. The realisation rocked her.


    ¡°Imrye,¡± she whispered. ¡°Glimmermere can die, with ¨C with Shadowcloud¡­ and that¡¯s okay. My name was ¨C is ¨C Imrye.¡±


    Then she took hold of her future, forgot her past, held him in her arms, and was at peace at last.

 In the Potential pt1

    <h2>MARBLE 6.3: IN THE POTENTIAL</h2>


    ¡°The Arch-Druid represents the need for all that is heroic. Strength. Empathy. Healing. Reversed, she represents enforced tranquillity. Strength replaced with cowardice. An inversion of empathy. The wound festered, not scarred.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Tarot for Beginners¡¯


    My shift with Sol finished, I landed near home and changed out of my robe, shoving it with my mask into my satchel, before making my way down the Springwalk. The alley¡¯s name had never been less apt; Dropswim would¡¯ve been far closer to the truth. The big, powerful river-rats of the Blackrush had pushed west again, and were cavorting happily in the overflowed gutters all around me. It seemed that today someone had not only forgotten to shut the manhole to the demi-plane of sewage, but had actively encouraged its encroachment into our dimension. It was raining, and there were several inches of frosted filth splashing around my new boots, the padded, leather things that were the only sign of wealth I dared wear out when I was being Kas. It was with some real regret that I folded away my wings into nothingness, adjusted my wraithiness down to minimum.


    Smog-mist contorting and wreathing through the darkness above me, creaking wooden walls on either side of me, I splashed towards Mud Lane.


    I hadn¡¯t gone thirty feet before Zel piped up: ¡°Oh, something¡¯s happening ahead.¡±


    I halted, training my ear on the snatches of sounds.


    A girlish woman¡¯s voice, muffled: ¡°Gerroff me! Aah!¡±


    ¡°Shut up, wench,¡± someone spat. ¡°I put up with you long enough!¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have long! Murder!¡±


    I sped up, changing my face with a wave of my hand as I went charging through the muck, getting drop right up my pants-legs.


    If it¡¯s an impending murder, Zel, you can try actually, you know, putting some urgency into your voice¡­


    ¡°Hurry!¡±


    The alley¡¯s curvature had kept them from my sight, but it was Salli Meleine up against the wall, two men right there in her face.


    The knife was already on her throat.


    Oh, drop on this!


    The wraith-form didn¡¯t let me move quickly ¨C if anything, using that ability to hover would only slow me. But I¡¯d only just put Avaelar¡¯s wings away ¨C when I called them back, they thrust themselves out and caught the air in just a second or two.


    I hurled myself towards the pair of ruffians and their prey with a single heavy beat of the fey appendages, and grated out in a Zab-enhanced voice: ¡°Feel like threatening me?¡±


    I had no mask, no robe ¨C nothing but a randomly-conjured face and the massive, gently-glowing sylph-wings protruding through my rain-damp tunic. Nonetheless, the inhuman growl I¡¯d produced seemed to have had an effect ¨C the nearest man to me turned to look over his shoulder, and a single glance was all he needed ¨C he half-waded, half-ran up the Springwalk away from me, abandoning Salli and his mate.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The other, right in front of Salli with his hand on the dagger-grip, only doubled down when he saw me approaching. I noticed his stubbly jaw setting in determination, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at the oncoming mage.


    ¡°Jus¡¯ wha¡¯ d¡¯you want?¡± he snarled. ¡°Wha¡¯ we got ¡®ere is a disagreemen¡¯, me an¡¯ her, and you don¡¯ wan¡¯ to be ¨C¡°


    The collision of my shield with his jabbering face necessitated his sudden shutting-up. The force-barrier pushed him into the wall and freed the barmaid, jarring the knife from his hand as it did so, leaving Salli with a little trickle of blood coursing down her neck.


    She winced, raised her hand to the shallow slice, and gave a little moan.


    ¡°Here.¡± I removed my necklace and handed her my healing potion. ¡°Just a sip ¨C it¡¯s quite safe, and you¡¯ll be mended good as new.¡±


    With trembling fingers, she accepted the gleaming phial on its chain.


    ¡°As for you¡­¡±


    I leaned over my circle, then let my right hand go full-wraith and shoved it into the thug¡¯s chest.


    One moment he was struggling against the shield pressing him back, fighting to escape, to breathe ¨C then he saw where my hand was and went incredibly, unfathomably still.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to do this,¡± I said conversationally.


    ¡°Eep,¡± he managed.


    ¡°If I undo what I¡¯ve done to my fist, your ticker¡¯s probably in for a rude awakening, and I¡¯m gonna get so much mess all over my fingers¡­ Probably best for both of us if I don¡¯t, eh?¡±


    He nodded frantically, still staring down at my wrist, my hand buried in his body right where his heart should be.


    ¡°Can you feel it, in there?¡±


    He shook his head, and this time it was a minute motion. He suspected what was coming.


    I grinned. ¡°Now?¡±


    His eyes widened. He nodded and blubbered.


    I turned the wraith back up again. ¡°Cool. We good on this? I don¡¯t get to spend the rest of the night scraping your innards out of my nails, and you don¡¯t get ten seconds becoming acquainted with the great whoppin¡¯ hole in your chest before it kills you.¡±


    He nodded once more, contrite at last. There were tears in his eyes.


    ¡°If you ¨C if anyone ¨C touches her,¡± I gestured with my head towards Salli, ¡°I¡¯m coming for you. I won¡¯t start with the heart; I¡¯ll take something less terminal first, work my way up. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I do,¡± he looked me up and down manically, ¡°m¡¯lord, I do ¨C¡°


    I drew away and removed my hand, adding a huge sucking sound as an illusory icing on the cake.


    Whimpering, the ruffian fled after his fellow. I watched him go ¨C it took him some considerable effort to fight his way upstream.


    ¡°¡¯M¡¯lord¡¯,¡± I muttered derisively, and let the sylph-wings fade again.


    Salli had shoved the stopper back into the neck of the phial, the thimbleful of potent healing juice sloshing around inside, the consistency of milk.


    ¡°Tastes funny,¡± she said, passing it back and touching her neck with her other hand.


    ¡°I¡¯m informed it¡¯s called pomegranate,¡± I said.


    ¡°Never heard of it.¡± She smiled at me, sickly sweet. ¡°I guess I¡­ need to thank you.¡± She looked down at the blood on her fingers.


    ¡°It won¡¯t scar,¡± I said, then realised in the moment that I heard my voice just how stupid I was being.


    ¡°Magic stuff,¡± she commented.


    ¡°Lit¡¯rally.¡± I tried to affect a Lowtown-ish accent, but the damage was already done.


    She laughed, infectiously as always, and patted me on the arm. ¡°Oh, give it up already, Kas. The pig¡¯s long-since out the pen. Well?¡±


    I stared at her.


    ¡°Are you coming?¡± she asked, tugging at my elbow. ¡°I always need my spirits topping up when I nearly get killed ¨C don¡¯t know about you¡­ Not seen you in a few weeks, thinking about it. You been alright? Looking after them twins of yours?¡±


    She half-dragged, half-towed me up the Springwalk, and that was how I ended up having drinks at Salli Meleine¡¯s house.


    * * *

 In the Potential pt2

    Salli lived across from mine ¨C not in the blocks still undergoing reconstruction, but farther towards the bottom end of Mud Lane, where the buildings had survived the Incursion unscathed.


    ¡°Thanks to you,¡± she muttered when I mentioned this fact, crossing the lane.


    ¡°Keep your voice down¡­¡±


    I looked around furtively but few of the remaining camp-dwelling refugees were outside their tents at this hour, and none within earshot, something Zel was quick to point out.


    Salli¡¯s infectious, throaty laughter came pouring out. ¡°A secret kept in plain sight, my dear Kastyr. No one would believe me, anyway, even if they heard me. You¡¯d better, you know, fix your face or whatever, though. People are gonna notice if I have some strange man round, especially if he¡¯s stolen Kas¡¯s clothes, and his voice to boot!¡±


    ¡°Is that what it was?¡± I asked, feeling very much on-edge. ¡°The voice, the clothes¡­¡±


    How stupid have I been? I was bound to get figured-out eventually¡­


    ¡°Pretty sure I said that exact thing, oh, eighteen or nineteen times¡­¡±


    Shut it, Zel, and check this isn¡¯t Dream. I¡¯m not putting up with any more puppies.


    ¡°I¡¯m ninety-eight percent sure.¡±


    Just check again, will you? Last time you were ninety-five percent sure, and the way Madame Sailor looked at me when I showed her what the fire did to the other robe¡­


    ¡°The voice, the clothes¡­ everything,¡± Salli was replying. ¡°But don¡¯t sweat it. I heard you order a mug of beer a good few hundred times. I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m better than most at putting a face to a voice. Especially after seeing you in the Incursion.¡±


    For all her reassurances, I remained unreassured. She was hardly the only one who knew me intimately. Sure, she was probably right that her job as a barmaid helped her out in identifying me with such ease. But just because she was better than average didn¡¯t mean the average wouldn¡¯t cotton-on eventually.


    Would I have to avoid Mud Lane entirely? I¡¯d taken my idea about getting a place I could go to in my champion guise and combined it with my investment plans, taking advantage of the Incursion to purchase several plots on Mud Lane, directly opposite my current apartment. Had I made a mistake, thinking I could continue to live here, close enough to the twins to be at their sides if they needed me, but far enough to have plausible deniability of my identity? I could hardly walk on by when someone was in need, but if getting involved could expose the twins, and Xantaire¡¯s family, to the kind of consequences champions alone were made to face¡­ It didn¡¯t bear thinking about. But what was the alternative? If I didn¡¯t live here, Salli could well have died tonight.


    It was just the Incursion, I told myself. She got to see and hear me close up, in costume, more than most of the others.


    But it sounded like a weak excuse, even to me.


    I let my illusion blink away once we were in the stairwell, out of the sight of any prying eyes that Zel failed to account for.


    I followed her up the stairs to her fifth-floor apartment, while she shook out her keys. Sticktowners were sometimes too poor to afford proper wedding rings, settling for soft, cheap metals in many cases, but the one area we didn¡¯t scrimp on the iron was locks ¨C locks and the keys that fastened them.


    She opened the door into near-darkness, and the snuffling of her dog was the only sound. I scratched the old boy¡¯s neck and did my best to evade the expertly-wielded wet nose, while Salli lit a proper candle off the slow-burning wick on the stand. She lived with her three brothers, at least one of whom was a Bertie Boy, and I wasn¡¯t that surprised to find they were out. She shut the door behind me, locked it, then busied herself making her home look half-presentable, wittering at me all the while. Apparently her flatmates had left it a mess ¨C there was an empty wineskin on the table, various cooking tools and implements lying around with caked-on food, unwashed clothes hanging off the chairs¡­


    I could discern the scent of old blood on some of the clothing, even through the general aroma of drop that clung to our footwear.


    ¡°I ¨C can¡¯t ¨C believe! ¨C Jordak. It¡¯s gotta be a million times I¡¯ve told him¡­ Sorry¡­ So, you¡¯re the famous Feychilde, are you? I can¡¯t believe it! I mean, now I¡¯ve seen it with my own eyes, of course I believe it, but still¡­ Liberator of Zadhal¡­ What was Zadhal even like? It¡¯s just ¨C how did this all happen to you? And you ¨C you¡¯re rich! Well, rich enough for all them tents down there ¨C oh! Oh, that was you, Kas?¡±


    She stopped pacing, stared at me.


    ¡°Which question would you have me answer first?¡± I asked, smiling.


    She laughed and blinked a few times, letting herself fall heavily into the one space on the couch she¡¯d actually managed to clear. She leaned forwards and I had to fix my gaze on her face lest I get an eyeful of her assets. She did not dress demurely and, no older than twenty, she had a noticeably womanly shape. This was most definitely not the time to be noticing, no matter what my eyes thought.


    We¡¯d all fancied her, one time or another, whether we¡¯d admitted it or not. Me and Tanny, my old friend who¡¯d recently donned the dubious mantle of Bagger Boy, had been the kids too scared to wolf-whistle as she walked to work under our bridge, braided blonde pigtails swishing. Too scared to whistle, and a bit too young, yes, but not too scared to sit there, legs hanging over the edge twenty feet above Mud Lane, trying our hardest to get a glimpse down her bodice as she passed beneath us. She was extremely pretty, and big everywhere ¨C top, middle and bottom ¨C and had a personality to match. It was her that¡¯d let us in the Griffin when we were too young, her that¡¯d served us once we had pubescent whiskers sticking out all over our lips and chins.


    I¡¯d been set for a ruffian¡¯s life, until I took a blade in my face. I performed unscrupulous deeds for handfuls of copper, without the knowledge of my parents. I rebelled, and I enjoyed my rebellion. Then everything got too real ¨C the scar on my cheek frightened me with its permanence. ¡°It¡¯ll be there forever!¡± Mum had said. ¡°And good! So it should be!¡± Dad had roared.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    I realised now, looking back, they¡¯d just been frightened, and they wanted me to be frightened as well. Too frightened to go back to it, the mockery of a life I was living ¨C but their plan backfired. It worked too well.


    I wasn¡¯t just frightened ¨C I was terrified.


    And then they died, and everything had changed. I met Xantaire, who saved our collective asses, helping me bring in enough money to keep food on the table, keep a roof over our heads without moving in those circles, never again going to those rancid houses in the midnight hour to take orders from a gang-banging thug just a few years my senior¡­


    Being here with Salli in her house, it brought it all back, the glorious, sordid, misspent years. I only saw her the odd time these days, when I accompanied Morsus for a quick drink, more to get out of the house for half an hour than anything else.


    Morsus¡­ I still wasn¡¯t getting used to it. You¡¯d think I¡¯d have the hang of this by now.


    I shook my head, drew a deep breath.


    ¡°It¡¯s not Dream ¨C one hundred percent.¡±


    Thanks, Zel.


    ¡°So, I thought it was customary to offer your guest the only seat in the house.¡± I fixed my expression and beamed at Salli, eyes locked on hers. ¡°Especially if they just sort-of saved your life, and can conjure the foulest creatures of the abyssal realms¡­¡±


    She went to jump up, blurting a quick, ¡°Sorry!¡±


    I held out a hand to stop her, chuckling. ¡°I¡¯m joking, it¡¯s fine. I¡¯m just¡­¡± As she plonked back down again I regarded her anew. ¡°You know you¡¯re going to need to keep this a secret, right, Salli? Even if you think no one would believe you. You know that isn¡¯t quite true, right?¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± She was smiling again now. ¡°Right. I just need a drink ¨C here¡­¡± She reached her arms around the mess covering the rest of the couch, hurled it towards a corner, then brushed the rest onto the floor. ¡°You sit down, I¡¯ll get the bottle.¡±


    I figured it was probably better to accept the cup of pinkish-brown spirits she offered me, rather than summon Flood Boy for a tastier beverage and risk breaking the poor woman¡¯s mind entirely. I sniffed the stuff ¨C musty, nutty ¨C before lifting it to my lips.


    It tasted surprisingly nice ¨C warm, caramellic ¨C but the experience itself was akin to how I imagined it¡¯d feel to drink the green fire-sauce that came with Onsolorian tempura.


    Actually drink it.


    ¡°Paa-aah!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nice, isn¡¯t it,¡± she said with deep satisfaction in her voice.


    ¡°Nice,¡± I managed to exhale.


    ¡°So, can you really conjure the foulest of the foul?¡± she asked, a bit of unveiled wonder in her tone.


    ¡°I ¨C I suppose.¡± I thought of the atiimogrix.


    ¡°You know you have to show me.¡±


    ¡°Most of the awesome ones wouldn¡¯t even fit in here.¡± I looked around. ¡°You saw them in the Incursion anyway ¨C you sure you wouldn¡¯t rather see a unicorn or something?¡±


    She wrinkled her nose.


    ¡°Okay, okay ¨C check this out.¡±


    I brought forth Sir Stinger and had him perform a few tricks. I managed to get a yelp of surprise from my host when I had him grow suddenly, but I never took him any bigger than the dog, who was hiding behind the couch even while the fey scorpion was mouse-sized.


    ¡°As for Zadhal ¨C it wasn¡¯t really even me. Nentheleme did most of the work¡­¡±


    ¡°The¡­ like, actual goddess?¡± Salli sounded astonished.


    I thought back to my fever-dream following the surge of etheric energy, when my flesh was being dragged in the clutches of the lich-lords and my soul was cradled in the arms of the Horned One.


    She was pretty awesome.


    ¡°I suppose¡­ It was scary there, though. Zadhal, I mean. We almost died, so many times. It wasn¡¯t some glorious thing like you¡¯d imagine.¡±


    But I thought of the snow coming down in the blue light of the Winter Door after night fell, and fell silent.


    ¡°I saw you, at the memorial for Leafcloak and Lightblind,¡± she said out of nowhere.


    I jerked my eyes to hers in surprise.


    ¡°What? I was looking for you ¨C I basically know you ¨C well, I suppose I do know you, if you get what I mean? But it was hard to find you behind Timesnatcher ¨C you should¡¯ve been at the front, ¡®Liberator¡¯¡­¡±


    What could I say? Timesnatcher had been at the front because the whole event we staged on the Noxway, attended by tens of thousands, had been a sham, a lure for Duskdown. The omission of Rosedawn from the proceedings had been deliberately calculated so as to enrage the darkmage, force his hand¡­


    An amateur move, in hindsight. Duskdown couldn¡¯t have foreseen the memorial, entrenched as it was in Timesnatcher¡¯s plans, but he was farther from the edge than we¡¯d believed. He did precisely nothing. And he was still leaving ¡®ROSEDAWN¡¯ as his calling-card.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realise how much you cared about champions and stuff.¡± I went to swig my drink, thought better of it and sipped at instead. (Which was hardly less uncomfortable, I soon realised.)


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t ¨C not till you came along.¡± She giggled, and knocked back the rest of her drink before topping us both up, paying no heed to my grimace. ¡°Bursting in the door, killing all those demons ¨C it was really something. You¡¯re really something.¡±


    What thirteen-year-old me would¡¯ve given to have had Salli talking to him like that¡­


    I gave a short chuckle. ¡°That¡¯s what Stormsword thinks, too.¡±


    ¡°Stormsword?¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t heard of her yet?¡± Em hadn¡¯t been able to attend the memorial as it conflicted with her Maginox schedule, but the criers had still been mentioning her several times a week. ¡°She¡¯s an arch-wizard, and from a well-off family as well¡­ I hope.¡± I gave my best dreamy smile. ¡°And she¡¯s mine.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah ¨C she¡¯s the one that found all them katra-munchers?¡± Salli didn¡¯t look flustered or disappointed in the slightest ¨C she grinned and punched me in the arm. ¡°Good for you!¡± She raised her cup in salute before tipping its contents down her throat again.


    It is good for me, I thought. Stuff it.


    I tipped back my cup too, let the burning liquid fill my senses as I necked it, then shook my head and winced.


    Salli was massively underselling what Em had done, the way I understood it ¨C she¡¯d been confronted with over a dozen idiots exhibiting different powers, cornered in the sewers, and she came through the fight without a scratch. But it wasn¡¯t Salli¡¯s fault if the town-criers and news-writers were trying to quell the panic rather than incite it. Publicising a true calculation of the inkatra epidemic and the potential dangers the herb posed would save lives, but only at the expense of damaging people¡¯s morale, their faith in the system, and that just wouldn¡¯t do, not for the highborn who controlled the dissemination of information, oh no¡­


    I slowly uncontorted my face.


    ¡°Told you it was nice,¡± Salli said loftily.


    I ducked my head and gasped a few more breaths of flaming air. ¡°Nice.¡± It was suddenly hard to focus my eyes. ¡°And pow-powerful.¡±


    I set down my cup and shook my head when she reached for the bottle.


    ¡°I¡¯d best be going. The twins, you know¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh ¨C course. Thanks for, well, walking me home?¡±


    I nodded; when I rose she copied me and threw her arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace I only half-returned.


    ¡°I ¨C ah, you¡¯d best tell me who it was that was attacking you, as well,¡± I said awkwardly, doing my best to pull away. ¡°You know, so I know who to threaten if you stub your toe.¡±


    Her eyes lit up as she released me. ¡°You¡¯d do that?¡±


    ¡°Haha, you have no idea¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, it was that annoying kid. No one can touch him, his dad¡¯s, like, joint head of the Bertie Boys. Lul¡­ Lulton, right?¡±


    The world darkened, three or four shades closer to midnight black, and the blood rushing in my ears was like a drumbeat.


    I remembered watching Toras Lulton hang, the coldness in my belly. I remembered kicking my parents¡¯ gravestone, the rush of emotion filling every nerve.


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s it, Lulton. Orven Lulton.¡±


    * * *

 In the Potential pt3

    ¡°So that¡¯s how it went down,¡± I concluded. ¡°The nephew of the man who killed my parents ¨C he killed one of my best friends, and threatened to kill my neighbour.¡±


    Linn lifted his eyes from the tiny scales he was expertly slicing into the side of his oaken fish.


    ¡°My baza voz killed,¡± he said after a few seconds.


    ¡°Your brother?¡± I licked my lips. ¡°How¡­ what happened?¡±


    ¡°It voz long ago, and far avay.¡± Em¡¯s dad raised his face to the window, looking out at the sky. ¡°Emrelet voz too young, she does not remember. Zere voz an argument, and later ze man ¨C one of our neighbours, yes? ¨C he came to ze house, viz a dagger hidden in his coat.¡±


    He didn¡¯t continue.


    ¡°And¡­ what did you do about it after?¡±


    ¡°Ve overpowered him, brought him to ze sheriff. His hands and feet vere taken viz a saw before he was executed.¡±


    I lowered the chunk of wood I¡¯d been working on, the shape to come still hidden.


    ¡°He was hanged? Beheaded?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Linn shook his head. ¡°No, he voz not.¡±


    He went back to his work, and I didn¡¯t want to press. I didn¡¯t think I really needed the details. I supposed having your hands and feet removed with a saw would probably kill you in minutes or less anyway, if no treatment was applied to keep you alive.


    ¡°And vot is zat, vot you are carving?¡± Linn asked after a minute, without looking.


    I looked down at my hands ¨C perhaps this was his way of reminding me I was in the middle of a job.


    ¡°It¡­ it was my mother¡¯s.¡± I held up what would hopefully soon become a little fat cat, one paw in the air, a very un-feline, satisfied smile on its face. ¡°She had a cat, when she was young, I think. She had this little ornament of one on her dresser. Looked a bit like this.¡±


    It was in a drawer now. I hadn¡¯t looked at it in a long time.


    ¡°It took me years to accept ¨C you know, accept they¡¯re dead? It was like some trick. I thought maybe ¨C maybe they were, you know, testing me? Like they¡¯d just run away somewhere¡­But¡­ it was the gods testing me, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°And you think zat by killing zis man you can put it right.¡±


    ¡°What? No ¨C no, I don¡¯t want to kill him.¡± I wanted to take him, torture him, turn him over to devils and let them do things to him the reports of which I would not be able to bear hearing ¨C but that was far beneath the surface. What I wanted to do wasn¡¯t what I needed to do, and not just for him ¨C for me. For my sanity. ¡°I want to do what¡¯s right, and that doesn¡¯t start with killing.¡±


    I almost wanted him to contradict me.


    If I saw Orven again, in the flesh, I was very likely to erupt, and I knew it. I couldn¡¯t let that happen. I¡¯d barely even focussed on his face when I¡¯d met him and crushed him against the wall with my shields ¨C the potential faces, all of them ugly and evil, flickered before my mind¡¯s eye constantly, merging, separating, blending and blurring. I knew I¡¯d recognise him if I saw him again, though.


    Orven Lulton. Fate conspired against me.


    I suspected that was why Telrose Gaum never gave Orven¡¯s surname, even when threatened with hell. Because of Wyre Lulton and his reputation, the boss¡¯s fury at treachery that would exceed anything I could do by plunging him into Infernum. I could only offer Telrose an eternal torment to which he was already bound, but Wyre Lulton would considerably shorten Telrose¡¯s time on this plane anyway, and make every last minute into a living nightmare, especially if he had any loved ones left to him whose torture would hurt him, transform his existence into an expression of pure anguish. Hells, back in the day the word on the street was that the only reason anyone had testified to the watch about my parents¡¯ murders was because Wyre hated his brother Toras with a passion.


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    I came back to myself as Linn responded, but it didn¡¯t quite live up to my hopes.


    ¡°I think you are right about zat. Zere is no good to be found in killing. I watched my baza¡¯s killer die, and I felt nothing. Years later, zere was a time¡­ a time a loved one voz in danger. And I had no thoughts of anger. I only vonted to save zem.¡± He sounded very grim all of a sudden, then cleared his throat. ¡°You see zis? Death is only emptiness. It brings only anger for zose left behind. I¡­ I do not know vot I vould do if Emrelet vere to die.¡±


    I glanced across at him, but his eyes were intent upon his work. He¡¯d never before said anything like this to me while we were carving.


    ¡°You must protect her, Kastyr. You must. You know zat I am counting on you.¡±


    Little splinters and curls of wood were flying off his almost-ready fish. I lowered my head to my own work, brain boiling.


    She did die, I thought. She died and she won¡¯t tell you and she won¡¯t even tell you she¡¯s a champion now. How long until they find out? What will he think of me then? What will Atar think of me? Hiding it from them, when he¡¯s opening up to me like this?


    But there was nothing I could say. It was her choice. When the truth came out, hopefully he¡¯d see my side of things.


    I repeated the paltry justification to myself:


    My potion healed her, kept her alive long enough for Nighteye to resurrect her.


    Nighteye¡­


    I grit my teeth.


    ¡°I¡¯ll protect her,¡± I managed to say, ¡°the same as she protects me ¨C¡°


    ¡°No.¡± Linn set his wood down in his lap, turned to me with only the knife in his hands. ¡°No, you are ze man. You understand zis? And you are ze ¨C ze Liberator of Zadhal. You must protect her, at all costs.¡±


    I sighed.


    ¡°I understand, Mr. Reyd.¡±


    It was only five minutes later that Em called us in for dinner, and I sat there next to her at the table, on the couch, drinking beer and trying my hardest not to think, just to exist, to be in the moment.


    It wasn¡¯t enough. My eyes painted Orven¡¯s barely-remembered face before me, crushed, bones pulped, everything from the inside on the outside. Em lying in the bed, the way I¡¯d taken her hand, thinking her dead or dying when the truth was that she¡¯d already been brought back to life.


    Nighteye, changing shape with me, saving me from Termiax and Rissala¡¯s mizelikon. Lightblind, unceremoniously pinned to the wall by Duskdown. Leafcloak, turned into a garment for a sick god.


    It was starting to build up within me ¨C the feeling of inadequacy, the sense that no matter what I did, it would never be enough. Never even close to enough.


    In the sun-room the lifeless chunk of wood waited for me, the cat-figurine still only subsisting in the potential, needing the edge of my knife-blade to birth it.


    I never did go back to that piece of wood.


    * * *


    ¡°He was here,¡± Killstop said to me, reaching out her hand and touching the wall yet again, moving her fingertips in tiny motions. ¡°He leaned against these panels ¨C I can¡¯t tell when, though.¡±


    ¡°So this could¡¯ve been from before he was kidnapped?¡± I asked. ¡°Look, he must¡¯ve leaned on a thousand walls in various bits of the city ¨C¡°


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± she said, shaking her head, her eyes frowning at me like her mask. ¡°I¡¯ve arranged the facts in order of importance. Him leaning here ¨C it¡¯s important. Damn it, Feychilde, can you take this seriously?¡±


    I returned my attention to her face. We¡¯d drawn quite a crowd, and the market-goers in this particular corner of South Lowtown didn¡¯t seem to be particularly comfortable with our actions so far. ¡°I¡¯m not getting distracted ¨C it¡¯s just, everyone¡¯s looking at us funny ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do you care?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said, a trace stubbornly I had to admit. ¡°It¡¯s just, can you please stop fondling the woodwork like that¡­ People already think we¡¯re weird enough without us caressing random oak boards like they¡¯re gonna grow arms and caress us back. We¡¯ll find him, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°I am worried,¡± she snapped, then sighed. ¡°Go, work damage control. Let me think a minute.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± I turned my back on her, facing the market square and the horde of nonplussed shoppers. The people moved slowly, if at all, as they (supposedly) crossed through the area in which Killstop had found a trace of Nighteye.


    ¡°Soooo¡­ Good morning, folks. Don¡¯t mind us. Just a bit of magic business. Nothing that¡¯s gonna cause any harm. Is there¡­¡±


    I stopped myself before I could say, ¡®Is there anything I can help you with?¡¯ That could get me a thousand different requests.


    ¡°¡­ Do any of you young ¡®uns have any questions?¡±


    ¡°Yeah ¨C are yer really a dead man like they says?¡±


    ¡°Are you really goin¡¯ out with Stormsword?¡±


    ¡°D¡¯yer ¡®av any o¡¯ that wine we keep ¡®earin¡¯ about?¡±


    ¡°Did yer really kill the King o¡¯ Zadhal in a jewel?¡±


    I heard Tanra chuckling behind me.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get you back for this,¡± I said in a low voice that wouldn¡¯t carry beyond her, barely moving my lips.


    ¡°Ha-ha-ha,¡± she laughed mercilessly, ¡°my dear Feychilde ¨C you shall try.¡±


    * * *

 In the Potential pt4

    ¡°Materium, ensconced within Nethernum and Etherium, is variably known as the Cosmic Wall, the Planar Partition, the Wall of Souls, and so forth; but it is not a complete divide. Whilst discussion of distances on dimensional scales might easily veer into circuitous conjecture and argumentation ad infinitum qua infinitum, this is quite unnecessary for the beginner seeking pertinent facts. Suffice to say, there are those frontiers upon which Celestium and Infernum meet, and the forces of Light and Dark also; and though these wild borderlands might vanish into insignificance when compared with the great firmament of the Cosmic Wall, to call them aught less than infinite would also miss the mark.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t even five in the morning, still looking like the middle of the night outside the windows, and yet me and Em were hardly the only magic-users with their heads buried in books ¨C there had to be almost fifty of us scattered across the library¡¯s chairs, almost without exception sitting alone, reading alone. Even me and Em were ten feet apart, at different tables, volumes roughly similar in appearance but completely different in nature piled up in front of each of us.


    She had mandatory homework. I had no such excuse, but no less desire to learn than she. I¡¯d switched to my current text once the treatise on the comings and goings of eolastyr had started to put me to sleep: the heavy book listing the works of the tigresses was far too detailed. It seemed these Weavers of Woe (or Mistresses of Time, or Weavers of Time ¨C the translations were muddy) had been plying their crafts down the centuries. Apparently eolastyr often answered the rituals of cultists of Mekesta, Wyrda and Yane, and they always outstayed their welcome once they¡¯d been summoned. Dangerous, especially for the sorcerer or priest whose force bound them to Materium; eolastyr didn¡¯t typically like to return to Infernum until their patron was drained dry and dead. Until the book started to repeat itself it¡¯d been quite interesting, but one could only read so many charts of required ritual components without nodding off.


    Those aside, there¡¯d hardly been a paragraph I¡¯d read so far that didn¡¯t appeal to some facet of my will, my desire, my hidden self ¨C drawing my attention this way one minute then another the next, my wildest imaginings seeping out of the arcane pages like the fabled Ink of Dreams. I felt lucky, in spite of everything that came along with it ¨C to have been made an archmage, to have been given this opportunity to enter this world of magic and master it.


    Not that I didn¡¯t have more important things to be doing, obviously, but she had homework, and I was hardly getting bored keeping her company in this place of wonders for a few hours. I wouldn¡¯t see her all day otherwise.


    ¡°Pssst,¡± I whispered, looking over at her.


    She raised her eyes to mine and I mouthed to her: ¡°You ¨C look ¨C cute ¨C when ¨C you¡¯re ¨C studying.¡±


    She mouthed back, with a confused toss of her head: ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°When ¨C you¡¯re ¨C reading.¡± I mimed a book opening and closing. ¡°You ¨C look ¨C¡° I pointed to her then to my eye, ¡°cute.¡±


    ¡°Hoof?¡± she mouthed.


    ¡°Never ¨C mind.¡±


    She seemed to get the message, though; I caught her glancing over at me several times in the next ten minutes, biting her lower lip, and it was only confirmed when she led me into the shadows of the shelves for a protracted expedition in search of a strangely-elusive book. By the time we returned she was no longer in the mood for her project and I flew her home, after a quick stop-off at our usual haunt, the bowers of Treetown that were just as warm and bright as any lord¡¯s chamber, whatever the time of night or morning found us there.


    * * *


    ¡°Ooooh, Em, you¡¯re getting flanked,¡± Sol pointed out. The druidess¡¯s finger indicated a space near my girlfriend¡¯s Northern Hold. ¡°Your rear¡¯s undefended.¡±


    ¡°Ba-ha!¡± Bor set down his flagon of mead so he didn¡¯t spill any while he laughed. ¡°Good to hear!¡±


    ¡°Her rear is totally defended,¡± I said icily to my teammate. ¡°Don¡¯t even think of it.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it, mate,¡± the enchanter replied, elbowing me only slightly too-roughly.


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    ¡°Boys¡­¡± Em chided us gently, then looked at her teammate. ¡°Please use the link, Sol.¡±


    Sol grinned.


    ¡°You keep doing that and I¡¯ll go wraith next time, make you fall off your stool,¡± I warned Bor, rubbing my arm where his elbow connected. It didn¡¯t actually hurt, but it reminded me that I needed to join with my satyr again; I¡¯d granted them both leave for a while, seeing as they had this big tournament in the court of the King of Yellow Flowers to attend, but that should¡¯ve all long-since come to an end by now.


    ¡°Oooooh, bogeyman!¡± Bor snickered at me.


    ¡°And don¡¯t say dream,¡± I muttered, moving my Geomancer east, towards Em and Sol¡¯s forces.


    ¡°Anyway, Em, ignore her,¡± Bor said. ¡°You don¡¯t need to defend your Northern Hold ¨C look what Kas choosin¡¯ a Geomancer has done to our side of the field!¡±


    ¡°So what if I wanted to grow some mountain ranges?¡±


    ¡°I think your mountain ranges are very pretty, Kas.¡± Em managed to not even sound particularly gloating when she spoke.


    ¡°Pretty n¡¯ useless,¡± Bor said, hefting his mead again.


    ¡°So it¡¯s going about as well for you as last time, is it?¡± Jo asked me from the adjoining table where she and Irimar were facing off against Tanra and Neko.


    I spread my hands at the gleaming little fortify board, the tokens like small coins representing my newly-created mountains. ¡°I just don¡¯t understand the point of the Geomancer if he sucks this badly!¡± I didn¡¯t try to contain my distress. ¡°Every time I practice with him at home it works perfectly¡­¡±


    ¡°Aww, poor Kas,¡± the enchantress mocked me, moving her Swamp Hag to defeat one of Neko¡¯s pieces. ¡°If only your opponents were imaginary, like when you practice¡­¡±


    ¡°I practice against the twins, I¡¯d have you know.¡±


    ¡°Nine year olds,¡± Em supplied in a solemn whisper.


    I managed to laugh along with the others, even if it was at my own expense.


    This was our third competition night, and I¡¯d only won on the first, when it was me and Em against Neko and Bor. The little old gnome had a keen eye when he was on the defensive but his offensive game was terrible and Bor¡¯s skills were certainly no greater than my own. I was slightly ashamed to admit it but despite this it was only due to a timely intervention from Em that we scored a victory.


    Now that it was me and Bor on a team, with Em and Sol against us, the druidess¡¯s plan of attack as sharp as her tiger-form¡¯s claws, we didn¡¯t stand a chance.


    At least the purchase of the twin travel-sets of fortify wasn¡¯t a waste. I¡¯d come up with the idea (and the cash) last week, when everyone¡¯s spirits had been at their lowest ebb, and taking an hour to sit in a corner of the Diamond Mare and forget about our combined failures had gone down as a resounding success. When we were out there, soaring aimlessly through the night sky following the latest lead of one of our diviners, we inevitably ended up despondent. Every trail Irimar and Tanra found turned cold in hours, whether our quarry was Nighteye, Duskdown or Dreamlaughter. Every hint Sol and Neko gathered from the gossip of plants and animals was a dead-end, a mistake, or, in one case, a trap. Jo and Bor hadn¡¯t picked a single relevant thought out of a brain in weeks and me and Em had turned up nothing with our own abilities.


    But I still had hope, and if I could help my friends evade the depths of despair by stubbornly picking the Geomancer over and over, by forcing them to spend time together that wasn¡¯t being poured straight down the drain, I counted it as a win.


    On the other table, Tanra was covering for Neko¡¯s disadvantages by launching devastating assaults on both the Southern and Northern Holds belonging to Jo and Irimar, while the wily druid arranged his Master and Minions in a flawless rearguard. I could tell that Irimar was having trouble with Tanra. As an arch-diviner, I doubted he was used to playing ¡®blind¡¯, against another of his kind, but Tanra, who¡¯d learned it quickly but had never played any other way, seemed to know how to circumvent all of Irimar¡¯s plans. He¡¯d only won their first game. Unfortunately for him, in order to take certain all-too-valid complaints of unfairness off the table, he was forced to go up against Tanra every single time he played ¨C a fact she seemed to relish.


    ¡°D¡¯ya think we still got a chance?¡± Bor asked me, using the private link that he and Jo had set up for each team to coordinate their tactics.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure even if one of us had diviner powers,¡± I replied, ¡°all we¡¯d be able to see by this point is our inevitable doom.¡±


    Thirty minutes later, Em got her Master into one of our Holds and the game was over; Bor went to elbow me one last time and my sudden insubstantiality contributed, along with several strong meads, to the enchanter twisting off his stool and ending up on his ass. My ¡°I told you so¡± was lost in everyone¡¯s laughter.


    We all settled in to watch the other match, but it only took Tanra ten more minutes to flood Irimar and Jo¡¯s side of the board with powerful Minions. When she ignored the Northern Hold, her obvious target, instead slipping her Erudite Priest past Jo¡¯s Swamp Hag and into the Southern Hold, many of us gasped and applauded. Even some of the nearby patrons of the Mare had evidently been watching, because they promptly joined in. Neko stood up on his stool and embraced Tanra, doing a little jig.


    ¡°I play you next,¡± Em said to her, and the seeress grinned back in response.


    ¡°When do I get a break?¡± Irimar moaned, not entirely good-naturedly.


    Jo patted him sympathetically on the arm.


    The very next night, under Tanra¡¯s telepathic tuition, I finally got the Geomancer to work, and Em experienced her first defeat, Irimar hanging his head at her side.


    * * *

 In the Potential pt5

    ¡°The wicked king used the stolen Pearl of Yesterday to lock his kingdom into an eternal night-time. Across the whole land, darkness reigned! The moon stayed still in the sky, and the creatures in the forests crept out of their burrows, feasting on the king¡¯s subjects. Those forests died too, slowly, without the sunlight they needed to grow green and strong and healthy.¡±


    Xastur made a bit of a moaning noise and pulled the bed-covers up to his chin.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Xassy,¡± Jaid whispered to him. ¡°It has a happy ending.¡±


    Orstrum put a gentle smile on his lips to show this wasn¡¯t something for Xastur to take too seriously, and his smooth, enrapturing voice continued. ¡°The farmlands turned grey, the crops withered ¨C and the people who remained in that land were hungry, so hungry! Under the cover of the everlasting darkness, the king raised armies of the dead and sent them out, expanding his borders, growing his domain. It was because of this, because of his greed and his hatred, that he came to the attention of Brenwe Bathor.¡±


    Xastur lowered the covers slightly, and I could see his amazed expression. He was well-acquainted with many stories concerning the Lady of Life, and he knew that once one of the Five got involved, the bad guys were in for it.


    ¡°They say when she saw his armies she didn¡¯t even stop ¨C she just opened a way up through their ranks by spinning nets of grass, nets that didn¡¯t break, that didn¡¯t stop, fastening themselves around the bony men, pulling them back into the ground where they belonged! Then they sent wraiths against her, and she fought them off, one by one, green fire in her hands. They blocked her path with spells, ancient wards designed to protect them against their enemies, but she broke through them. Where she trod the ground it came back to life, flowers blooming, crops piercing up through the soil, trees regrowing their leaves in moments! And the birds and beasts returned to their slumbers, forgetting the taste of man-flesh.¡±


    He said this last with a smack of his lips and a grimace, and Xastur, just happy that the story had taken this fortuitous turn, was beaming away regardless.


    Jaroan had nodded off already, I noted, but Jaid was still enthralled, her eyes on the old man, chewing incessantly on a curl of her hair. It was a habit I¡¯d spent years trying to break her out of, not for any particular reason other than that I was sick to death of hugging her and getting spittle-drenched cords of hair slapping against my skin.


    ¡°The people gathered and marched on the king¡¯s castle, Brenwe leading them, shaped like a huge, golden hound.¡± He waved his right hand, his old eyes shining with fierce imagination, and it was like he put the image into my head, dwarfing even Leafcloak at her mightiest. ¡°When they fought the king¡¯s undead men Brenwe didn¡¯t allow a single one of them to get hurt. When the rancid monsters that dwelt in the king¡¯s hidden caverns came forth, gibbering and thirsting for blood, Brenwe fought them herself. In the end the people came before the king¡¯s gate, and cried out for their freedom.¡±


    Orstrum spread his hands. ¡°But the king, he didn¡¯t want to give them their freedom, oh no. Not when he himself was trapped. You see, the king spent so many years afraid of dying, he forgot what was natural, proper. He thought only of himself. He didn¡¯t want to die. Why should he, master of his realm, have to suffer, go into the earth, let his spirit move on? Why should he have to be like everyone else? But the Pearl of Yesterday couldn¡¯t make him live forever. The sorcery that made him undead could not bring him peace. And in the end, he listened.


    ¡°¡¯Death is not a gift,¡¯ she said to him, ¡®nor is it a price to be paid. Life is its own reward, and bears its own costs. No, death is a duty. It weighs upon every elf, every dragon, every sapling, every man. In this alone is every soul equal. You have done what should never be done, and the time has come for you to set aside your crown. You are needed for greater things than this.¡¯


    ¡°And it was only then that the king understood. He came down to the gate, and brought forth his men, their swords sheathed. And on the battleground he received the gift of life from Brenwe¡¯s hands, and all his men too, and they were no more. The people rejoiced, for they were free once again ¨C the sun rose in the sky, and they raised up the archmage as their saviour, their liege-lady, their queen. And that,¡± Orstrum said with a note of finality, ¡°is how the Isle of Borabas was brought into the Realm of Mund.¡±


    It intrigued me, to think of the kernel of truth that might lie within the tales such as these. Did an arch-druidess really confront a kingdom full of undead, like Zadhal, all alone? Could she truly use her powers to destroy undead, as the story told? I¡¯d never seen it done. The druids I knew fought the undead with flesh against flesh, even if they sometimes used alternate shapes to do so. The green light from their hands ¨C that was a healing thing, wasn¡¯t it?


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    Jaid¡¯s eyes were closing too, now, as Orstrum slowly got to his feet, refusing to take my offered hand. Xastur slowly crawled forth from under the covers as the old man held out his arms to the four-year-old, then together we lowered him to the floor and I bade them goodnight as they went to Xantaire¡¯s room.


    ¡°Uncky Morsy die, Grampa?¡±


    ¡°That he did, lad.¡±


    I softly closed the door behind them.


    ¡°It¡¯s time to go back to work.¡±


    In a minute, Zel.


    I waited until my sister was fully asleep before letting the wraith¡¯s power consume my body, turning me to a faint grey smudge, then using Zabalam¡¯s abilities to complete the invisibility.


    I slowly moved myself outside then went vertically past the apartments above my own, drifting through floors and dark corners until I reached the roof where I would call upon my wings.


    Stuff the alleyways, I thought.


    But it didn¡¯t matter. Cursing my hearing for the thousandth time, I wasn¡¯t even half way to Lord¡¯s Knuckle before I was getting in the way of a pair of vagrants doing their best to rob an old man of his shoes.


    * * *


    The waxing moon shone down on Hightown, illuminating little from up here. All but the most stubborn leaves had fled the branches, and I flew across what looked from above like an expanse of dead sticks, stretching patternlessly across the streets. The air was truly frigid to my wings tonight, but it was nothing compared to the winds of Zadhal, and despite having no wizardry to maintain my temperature I had no need of gloves or other winter clothing whilst my wraith was active.


    When my glyphstone started burning and humming in my pocket, I quickly dug it out, and managed to maintain my flight while I entered the semi-real vision.


    At once I saw Haspophel in his bluish, star-speckled magister¡¯s robe, his severe expression unmistakeable. He was in motion ¨C he was sitting astride Fe ¨C and it appeared from the blurred background impressions that they were making their way down one of the branches off Funnel Mile in southern Sticktown; I recognised the roads around there by their unnatural straightness.


    ¡°Hasslepuff! You look like you¡¯ve been dragged out of a trance to do some work again, my friend!¡±


    ¡°Feychilde.¡± The dark-skinned diviner¡¯s voice was flat. ¡°Emrelet needs you.¡±


    I swallowed, scowled.


    Dream, I knew at once.


    ¡°Where?¡± I asked.


    ¡°If you meet us ¨C¡°


    Good enough for me.


    I almost dropped my glyphstone in my haste to stow it away again, and between sylph-wings and wraith-weightlessness I streaked across the sky, little more to those below than a blue-edged shadow against the stars.


    I cut across the ninety-five-percent rebuilt Roseoak Way and its lines of towers, descended across Hilltown, and made my way towards home. Leaving the moon behind I entered the shifting clouds of the lower districts, fey-sight piercing the smog.


    ¡®You must protect her, at all costs.¡¯


    Linnard Reyd¡¯s words echoed in my mind, and as the exertion of maintaining top speed increased exponentially so did my resolve, doubling and redoubling. I didn¡¯t know what she was facing, but I knew that stopping to listen to the magister¡¯s explanation would only have delayed me.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got your general anti-illusion sight prepared, updated with all the seals Dreamlaughter¡¯s used for her advanced creations¡­ up till now at least. You want to see?¡±


    I blinked it into one eye as usual.


    Thanks, Zel. Let¡¯s hope this time it pays off.


    ¡°She has to run out of tricks sometime. She¡¯s not infallible. They never are.¡±


    It didn¡¯t take me long to spot the yithandreng making her way up the tavern-riddled street, splashing through the muck with her ten legs akimbo. As I drew closer Feast jumped clean over a half-unloaded booze-wagon that¡¯d been left carelessly in the centre of the road.


    I dipped down next to the three magisters on her back.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I yelled.


    Ciraya looked across at me from Fe¡¯s neck. ¡°Darkmage attack,¡± she said. ¡°Diviner and sorcerer. Both archmages. Branbecks Bridge ¨C we¡¯ll catch up.¡±


    I looked at her blankly.


    ¡°South! Past the Goblet!¡± Ilitar yelped, not looking quite as happy as the sorceress in front of him or the diviner behind him ¨C Feast¡¯s contortions when moving at speed like this didn¡¯t quite provide the rolling gait of a galloping horse but rather something closer to the undulations of a centipede.


    Diviner and sorcerer¡­


    I looked towards the south, and just then a cord of lightning stretched down from the sky somewhere ahead of me. Thunder rolled down from the clouds.


    I speared on and hardened my barriers as I¡¯d been practising, reinforcing them; not with spinning stars on the interior like my circle ¨C that would be impossible, too many lines would intersect for me to hold them firm. I did it by layering ring upon ring instead. If I made a given shield three-thick, for instance, it would be that much easier to raise blades of force on its perimeter, and afford it greater durability until the moment I decided to adapt it for that purpose.


    ¡°There she is!¡± Zel shrilled, drawing my eyes to the south-east, beyond the old courthouse, past Funnel Mile and off to the side.


    I saw her, the lightning flickering and forking all around her.


    * * *

 In the Potential pt6

    Branbecks Bridge must¡¯ve been so named for the multiple layers upon which the neighbourhood was built. The slums extended into a dip in the earth covered with walkways, not unlike Mud Lane or a hundred other such areas in Sticktown, but wider, enclosing a marketplace and a tavern down there in the drop. When I caught sight of Em, it was as she rose up above the buildings to evade some attack before diving down again. Her fists were coated in a living stone or metal compound, seeming to be constantly growing, and they were each already the size of a man¡¯s head.


    She was wearing the new winter magister¡¯s robe she¡¯d picked out ¨C still white but far fluffier, less revealing but no less amazing-looking on her with its trailing sewn-in scarf and high collar around the hood. But it was strange, now, to see her fighting without her mask on.


    By the time I arrived, speeding down into the slum marketplace, it looked like the battle was almost finished. Eight or nine mud elementals were tangling with a variety of lesser demons around the perimeter, none of the fiends any greater than fifth rank, and the locals had, for the most part, wisely chosen to watch from their shutters rather than the balconies. Only a few buildings were damaged, only a few bodies lying amidst the wreckage of the market stalls.


    It was just the two arch-darkmages themselves that were cause for concern, now, though as I swiftly processed the details my concern diminished and my jubilation rose.


    She was actually holding her own, even winning. They didn¡¯t look like heretics; they were too well dressed for that ¨C the diviner in purple velvet with a clock-styled mask, the sorcerer in burnt red-ochre with a spike-covered mask.


    The arch-diviner wanted to get close to tangle with her, but lightning cascaded down about her, pulsing rhythmically from the storm-clouds lingering high above; it seemed to crackle even from her hair as she swung her head, white energy seeking him out like searching fingers, driving him back as he danced outside its range. He was relatively still, standing as if deep in thought; he moved only in momentary bursts to evade the burning ribbons of white fire that came closest to him, his ponderous stance never seeming to change. Meanwhile, she flew in, pressing at the dark sorcerer¡¯s shields, absorbing the shock of his attacks and beating him away all the while, battering him back ¨C her ever-growing gauntlets were now spreading down to her elbows, the speed of her blows only seeming to increase along with their strength as more time passed and they swelled, bigger and bigger. I could make it out now that I was closer, the tiny chips and grains of material being drawn in instant by instant, coursing through the air to add themselves to her weaponry.


    If this were happening a few hours later, she¡¯d be getting a fair few plat as a reward, but no ¨C as Wyrda¡¯s way would have it, the darkmages had to come along during her work hours.


    Smiling a little, I leapt down upon the arch-sorcerer, my blades withering his outermost defences in a way that Em¡¯s blows couldn¡¯t achieve.


    ¡°Get the diviner!¡± I yelled.


    ¡°On it!¡± she cried back with satisfaction.


    ¡°It¡¯s Feychilde!¡± the spiky-faced sorcerer beneath me grunted, turning his head to seek out his comrade.


    He didn¡¯t sound rich.


    Eldritches formed inside his shimmering blue rings, red flames opening up to disgorge demons.


    I recognised the shapes of two ikistadreng there, and met them with Khikiriaz and Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks.


    ¡°Keep destruction to a minimum!¡± I growled in Infernal.


    Out of the corner of my eye I saw Em¡¯s crackling sphere, her shield of all-too-visible, all-too-tangible lightning, bending and sweeping across the debris in pursuit of the diviner, moving too quickly for me to perceive. I threw out a gust of blood-coloured fire, casting my mekkustremin in their general direction. If anything could aid Em in this fight it was going to be the speedy doll-demon.


    Zel, use the Shadowcrafter tactic! Here, take the scorpion!


    ¡°It¡¯s not going to work. You¡¯re on the offensive ¨C he¡¯s going to move! Look out!¡±


    The sorcerer didn¡¯t fly, but seemed to climb up into the air, effortlessly stepping onto nothing but the cold breeze and somehow pulling himself up with his hands, clambering higher than me in the span of a second ¨C


    He whipped around, twirling, as though he had a satyr or something even more graceful aiding his movements ¨C and then he was somersaulting down at me, a tremendous sword of glowing amethyst appearing in his grip, one of those babil-something blades.


    Curse the King of the Yellow Flowers, I thought, sliding aside more clumsily than I was used to, so that his massive swing only struck my barriers a glancing blow.


    ¡°At least you¡¯ve still got me¡­¡±


    Whatever would I do without little old you.


    ¡°Want to find out?¡±


    I grinned. It¡¯s just an expression.


    ¡°So is cursing people, but if you cursed a lord of the fey in the otherworld you¡¯d end up in a bucket of trouble.¡±


    I parried a series of blows aimed at my face, adjusting the rotation of my shielding to turn aside the pulsing demonic weapon the darkmage was using to chop away at me like a man hewing at a tree-trunk.


    Kind of in a bucket of trouble already.


    ¡°Exactly. And this would be a deeper bucket. A much deeper bucket.¡±


    It was only then that I noticed it, the movement beneath the shattered tables, the stirring under the remnants of wood that had been strewn across the space by the carnage.


    ¡°Oh, dear.¡±


    The moving limbs, pale faces, roving eyes. Their types still indeterminate, according to my sorcerous senses.


    Undead Sticktowners.


    If he¡¯d been trying to make me mad¡­


    I swung a blade of force the size of a wagon, a blade with an edge no less keen than that of the world¡¯s sharpest razor. I struck the blow home and wedged the blade in, expanding it instantly and heaving on it, using it like a crowbar ¨C I sensed rather than heard as it slowly, inexorably started to crack his second-to-last shield.


    The faster undead, ghouls or wights, started moving towards me.


    ¡°Kas ¨C over there ¨C look!¡±


    At first I had no notion what she was indicating ¨C there was no trace of undeath or even corpses emanating from the tumbled tables she drew my eye towards ¨C but then I saw them.


    Not dead or undead. Alive. A family of four. Parents, doing their best to stand.


    Two boys, not struggling to their feet. Floating instead.


    Twin boys, sallow-skinned, dark-haired. Surely no older than twelve. What they¡¯d all been doing out here in the middle of this, at this time of night, I had no conception.


    For the briefest moment I thought the arch-sorcerer was doing something to them, but the suspicion was fleeting. All I got from this was a sense of serenity.


    Dream? I asked uncertainly.


    ¡°I ¨C Kas ¨C no. This isn¡¯t Dream.¡±


    I glanced about, but Em was nowhere to be seen; from the detonations echoing up the street and the fading sense I had of my mekkustremin, I guessed the arch-diviner was fleeing and they were hot in pursuit.


    Even my enemies had faltered, staring at the two kids as they slowed, stopped, hanging there thirty feet up, one slightly lower than the other.


    I hadn¡¯t noticed that the kids¡¯ eyes were shut until they opened them, but it was impossible to miss once they did.


    Eyes, like balls of magma, glowing a fierce orange, broken by no pupils.


    Both of them, two sets of eyes, glaring back at the sorcerer.


    They raised their hands ¨C not with any uncanny simultaneity, but with the hesitant, uncertain trembling of boys, scared boys who didn¡¯t fully know what they were doing ¨C the consequences ¨C


    Jerkily, one after the other, the frightened new arch-wizards pointed their fingers ¨C


    Their parents stared up in horror ¨C


    ¡°Plane step, fool!¡± I cried, realising what was about to happen, flinging out my shield to protect them from what would follow ¨C


    My shield ¨C my enemy¡¯s shield ¨C nothing mattered.


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    The fire in their eyes was unlocked by their gestures and it flooded out of their faces, its roots congealing to form a single wide beam of twisting heat, a battering-ram of pure power.


    I winced as it smashed the shields, smashed into the nonplussed sorcerer. The force of it was violent enough to hurl me through the air, its energies hot enough to make my hair smoke even through my rippling circle.


    I turned up my wraith and watched as the darkmage¡¯s demons vanished and his undead dropped to the ground; and the archmages lowered their arms, the light in their eyes slowly sputtering and dying.


    There was nothing left of my opponent.


    Such power¡­


    ¡°I was having fun there,¡± Khikiriaz said from somewhere over my left shoulder, clearly disappointed at the fight¡¯s abrupt cessation, his voice soft and strangely solemn.


    ¡°Hm.¡± My eyes were on the twin boys, who seemed to have only just realised that they were standing on air; I waved a hand at my three eldritches in dismissal. ¡°Thanks for your time, guys.¡±


    I felt the anticipated fluctuation in my power as they vanished.


    Even as I floated towards the wild-eyed wizards, my hands held out in a gesture of peace, I knew from the sounds what was happening behind me ¨C what was arriving. There were crowds of people coming forward, moving debris, searching out the bodies that had been left untouched by the dark sorcerer¡¯s power; men and women and children were sobbing, cheering, clamouring in general ¨C but the yithandreng¡¯s footfalls were impossible to miss.


    ¡°You do realise,¡± Ciraya called, ¡°I¡¯m gonna have to report this?¡±


    I turned in the air, looking down at her, noting the bird-shaped druid perched on Fe¡¯s shoulders before her.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you just give me five minutes?¡± I asked, hopefully in a plaintive, pathetic voice.


    But when I flicked my gaze across her other companions I could see that Haspophel, seated near the base of Fe¡¯s tail, was already utilising his glyphstone, and from the twisted, sympathetic smile on the sorceress¡¯s face I immediately realised what she was getting at:


    Hurry up.


    ¡°Hey, guys.¡± I approached the two scared, mega-powerful boys a little more furtively. ¡°Can we have a quick chat?¡± I looked down at the weeping mother and paralysed father. ¡°Do you mind?¡±


    The mother managed to shake her head and moaned something that sounded like Feychilde, which I took for permission, so I trained my hopeful gaze back on the young arch-wizards.


    ¡°Guys ¨C do you know what you are? What you¡¯ve become?¡±


    The one on the left cast the one on the right a pained look, desperate for guidance ¨C the one on the right was staring at my robe and mask, moving his eyes up and down, taking it all in.


    There was a snipping, snapping sound, then Killstop appeared on the ground between us, a whirl of orange, pink and green fabric.


    ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± she said to me. ¡°Darkmage down. Someone¡¯s coming. Speak!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say!¡±


    ¡°Just speak!¡± the seeress insisted.


    I grimaced, then looked back at them. ¡°We¡¯ve all been through something ¨C¡° I gestured vaguely to indicate the non-existent dark sorcerer they¡¯d vaporised ¡°¨C through something we shouldn¡¯t have to. They¡¯ll tell you you have to fight for them now. That this makes you killers. This is not true. You can ¨C you should wait. Yes, you¡¯re wizards ¨C arch-wizards ¨C but you don¡¯t have to be what they want you to be. What anyone wants you to be¡­¡±


    ¡°We could be champions,¡± said the starer, the one on the right.


    ¡°I see the wind,¡± said the other, suddenly turning his face up towards the night sky. ¡°What is¡­ what is that¡­?¡±


    I did my best to ignore the boy¡¯s amazed whispers.


    ¡°You could be champions,¡± I addressed the one who was still staring, ¡°but you don¡¯t need to decide that now. Maybe not for years. If you fight, you fight for yourselves, you understand me? Not because someone tells you to. Not me. Not some magister or some highborn. Not even them.¡±


    I cast their parents an apologetic look as I pointed at them.


    Has to be said.


    Their father tried to interrupt then, a spluttering, abortive attempt at retorting ¨C I spoke over him:


    ¡°What¡¯s¡­ what¡¯s important is that you always have someone to turn to. Someone without an agenda. I ¨C I¡¯ll be around the Giltergrove at sundown tomorrow. I¡¯ll wait for you ¨C¡°


    I could buy them a glyphstone ¨C they weren¡¯t that expensive ¨C and then they could contact us if they needed us.


    ¡°What is it?¡± the one on the left demanded, suddenly moving his eyes to mine, then looking down to Killstop. ¡°What¡¯s burning beneath us?¡±


    ¡°I feel it too,¡± his brother said falteringly.


    Burning¡­ beneath us¡­?


    I shuddered. ¡°Is it Infernum?¡±


    ¡°They shouldn¡¯t be able to feel other planes,¡± Zel reminded me.


    I know that! But ¨C twin archmages. How often does this happen?


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    Yeah, exactly.


    Killstop was shaking her head slowly. ¡°They sense the oceans of fire in the bellies of volcanoes, Feychilde. They sense¡­ well, listen¡­¡±


    ¡°I feel it all.¡± The one on the right turned to the one on the left, flung up his arms, and cried exultantly: ¡°Saff, I feel it all!¡±


    Saff took his twin¡¯s arms, smiling, tears in his quite-normal-looking eyes. ¡°I know, bro,¡± he muttered. ¡°I¡¯m the same.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in this together, young men,¡± Killstop said, sounding smug. ¡°You¡¯ll do fine, you two.¡±


    ¡°Mum? Dad?¡±


    Ignoring us now, the two boys floated down to their parents and embraced them; I floated down towards Killstop.


    ¡°So, what brings you here?¡± I asked.


    She shrugged lightly. ¡°I was out and about. You know, I¡¯m the ship on the sea. The needle in the cloth. I shrink the void and make the future where I used to be. I¡¯m here because I have to be.¡±


    I glared at her and then after a moment she seemed to relent. She giggled. ¡°Fine, Feychilde. I¡¯m here for this.¡±


    Another snipping, snapping sound, and Zakimel appeared not ten feet away, clad in his red-and-silver magister¡¯s robe, moustache quivering in anger.


    I noted that, behind me, Ciraya and the other magisters stopped muttering amongst themselves to listen.


    ¡°Too late, Tacky Zakky,¡± the seeress said, not gloating but overly-casual. When I glanced back at her, I saw she was pretending to buff her nails on the front of her ridiculous robe. ¡°You should maybe try, you know, reading the future, some time, you know? You know?¡±


    She could no longer contain it ¨C she tipped her head back and let the cackles come pouring out.


    The older man only sneered, saying nothing, glancing over everything here in Branbecks Bridge ¨C the destruction, the corpses, the various onlookers¡­


    ¡°What¡¯s it like, reading the future? Is it half as fun as writing the future? Because if I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Save it, Killstop,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re not doing us any favours.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t be so sure about that ¨C¡°


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be ¨C you¡¯re not infallible, remember? Keep it up and I¡¯ll start calling you Pleasestop in public.¡±


    She put her hands on her hips. ¡°You¡¯re the Liberator of Zadhal. People would listen to that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the point.¡± I gave it a second, but she didn¡¯t move. ¡°Don¡¯t you keep frowning at me like that.¡±


    ¡°Children,¡± Zakimel hissed.


    That shut us both up.


    ¡°All of you, idiot children,¡± he went on. ¡°I shall leave it at this: I am glad our future is not in your hands, young lady.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she demurred, ¡°I think we just know how to have a good time.¡±


    ¡°In the midst of corpses!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re champions, Stab-You-In-The-Backy Zakky,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re always standing on a pile of bodies, hadn¡¯t you realised that? Oh wait, last time the bodies were there because you ¨C¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± he cried, drawing himself up straight.


    I simply amplified my voice and continued: ¡°¨C betrayed us. You betrayed us! You¡¯re the madman with the murderous whims. And now you want these guys on your side.¡± I gestured at the twin wizards. ¡°Making more bodies. Until it¡¯s theirs on the ground.¡±


    Silence settled. The crowds stilled. Almost every eye was on Zakimel.


    ¡°If they¡¯re idiot children,¡± one of the twins ¨C Saff, I thought ¨C said icily, ¡°what d¡¯ya think of us?¡±


    I noticed out of the corner of my eye as Killstop folded her arms across her chest in satisfaction.


    ¡®You¡¯re not doing us any favours,¡¯ I¡¯d said.¡®Oh, I wouldn¡¯t be so sure about that,¡¯ she¡¯d replied.


    She¡¯s good, I thought.


    ¡°And she¡¯s stopping him from knowing what to do,¡± Zel added.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about Killstop,¡± said the twins¡¯ mum in much the same tone as Saff, indicating the seeress with a nod of her head, ¡°but the Liberator of Zadhal said a lot of things that¡­ well¡­ some things that made a lot of sense¡­¡±


    I grinned, realising what bit she didn¡¯t want to admit made sense.


    ¡°You misinterpret my intentions,¡± Zakimel said, addressing the mother, ¡°or perhaps, I should say, my intentions regarding your children have been¡­ misrepresented by those who would seek only to bring chaos into your lives. In fact it is in the Magisterium¡¯s purview to offer you a stipend, simply for keeping the boys safe, and permitting us to enter into discussions with you at a later date¡­¡±


    I could see the way the mother¡¯s brittle glare was faltering, softening, melting into a look of pacification ¨C the words he was using that were too big for her to understand didn¡¯t impede his meaning: money. He was weaving his own spell, a magicless enchantment, and I ¨C


    Before I could open my lips Killstop took my hand, and I felt the lurch as reality staggered and slowed around us.


    Despite the chronomantic effect (and probably due to the proximity of Zakimel) she leaned in close to me and whispered: ¡°Don¡¯t fret. They¡¯ll be okay now. You¡¯ve said all you can say, all you needed to say. The parents were always a lost cause, but the boys will remember.¡±


    She released me, allowing the world to resume its normal pace and, not for the first time, I shuddered at being so close to the arch-diviner¡¯s god-like powers ¨C in such close proximity, yet so very, very far away from understanding what it must be like to see the world that way.


    Tanra knew so much. It staggered me that the human brain could even access so much information, never mind store it, see the links and patterns between disparate events across time and space¡­


    The next evening, I waited at the Giltergrove for two hours, the spare glyphstone in my demiskin. I sat on a rooftop across from the canvas of unchanging golden leaves flaring copper-red in the sun¡¯s last light, away from the edge, avoiding the eyes of the street-goers below.


    I knew from Tanra¡¯s words that the twins wouldn¡¯t come, and that was okay. Everyone important to me had access to a glyphstone now, but I would save it, until I came across someone who needed it. They were too expensive to waste, after all. Instead I passed the time sorting through my eldritches, trying to find out if any of them could bring me a better lead on Nighteye than Tanra¡¯s visions. Short of possessing people, I didn¡¯t have any new tricks I could employ.


    Might be time for another shopping trip, Zel. I got to my feet and spread my wings, looking out over the darkening Sticktown.


    ¡°Oh goody ¨C but, first, look up.¡±


    I craned my head back ¨C


    Against the clouds, I could see the two diminutive dark shapes that were descending towards me.


    I met them half way up, shook their hands.


    Saffys and Tarrance ¨C Saff and Tarr. They already had a glyphstone, Magisterium-issued ¨C of course they did. Even still, they allowed me to tap my stone to theirs.


    ¡°But really, we just wanted to see you,¡± said one of them ¨C Saff, I suspected, whose mannerisms were slightly softer than his brother¡¯s. ¡°To see you, to say it properly¡­¡±


    ¡°We wanted to let you know,¡± Tarr said, looking a bit embarrassed, ¡°thanks.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Saff confirmed, nodding.


    ¡°No one else there wanted to treat us like people,¡± Tarr said.


    ¡°No one asked you what you wanted,¡± I said.


    He nodded. ¡°We don¡¯t want to become champions ¨C we don¡¯t want to fight.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t want to kill¡­¡± Saff murmured.


    ¡°But one day we will!¡± Tarr said, defiance in his outburst ¨C defiance of what or whom I was unsure, but it was there all the same. ¡°Want to fight, I mean. Fight the darkmages. And kill them, if we have to.¡±


    ¡°You never have to. Never.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t ¨C we don¡¯t want to work for them. You¡¯ll teach us ¨C you¡¯ll show us how?¡±


    I nodded back firmly, resolutely ¨C but when I spoke, my voice was grim, my tone as much as my words telling them what they really needed to hear:


    ¡°I will, I promise¡­ if I¡¯m still alive by then.¡±


    But the words didn¡¯t have the intended effect, and as I flew away, pondering the awed expressions on their pale faces, I realised that I¡¯d only enticed them further.


    Was this it? Was this my agenda? Was I being a hypocrite? Accusing Zakimel of attempting to recruit them with the one hand, while with the other secretly swaying them towards my own side, all along protesting my innocence, even to myself?


    I considered going back, insisting that they take me seriously, bide their time and weigh their options before committing to a life of violence; but by the time I resolved myself to do the right thing and turned about, they were already gone.


    As I¡¯d suspected.

 A Mothers Care pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 6B: A MOTHER¡¯S CARE</h2>


    ¡°It is too easy to say all this, so let me speak on. Love is divisive. Love is exclusionary. For each tension, there is an equal tension in opposition. Even as it is the greatest positive force ever experienced, this is only made possible by the fact that it is the greatest negative force ever experienced. Love says: this is worthy of the High; let all else be laid Low, but I shall be satisfied. Love is the narrowing of vision that comes with focus, erasing all else that exists, removing its relevance. Love is giving without taking, yes ¨C but it is only given to one being at a time. It is for this reason that we admonish our adepts to self-limit their exposure to love. Find the tranquillity within yourselves that shares a fragment of love with each and every mortal being equal in their part.¡±


    ¨C from the Exalted¡¯s Address at the Temple of Compassion¡¯s 996 Induction Ceremony


    1st Yearsend, 827 NE


    ¡°This¡­¡± Kayn tried not to recoil from the pain but the growl in Draconic that burst free of her throat came out more like a yelp. ¡°This is¡­ too much, Malas.¡±


    His hollow snarl returned from behind glittering teeth. ¡°Hold. A moment longer.¡±


    When she screamed the flame that burst from her throat would¡¯ve been enough to engulf a farmstead, cook its inhabitants down to charred bones.


    The mottled grey cavern walls of her current residence did blacken, even melted a little, but were relatively unharmed. Her children watched from the corners, their eyes wide, frightened.


    At last the sorcerer released his grip on her mind and she sank her great head back down to the rock.


    ¡°Quite the Yearsend gift, is it not?¡± he asked conversationally, lifting his jet-black spellbound crown with a claw and sliding it back atop his horns.


    ¡°Is this what Ulu Kalar has brought me?¡± she gasped.


    Kayn inspected her cousin as she fought to restore her composure, not meeting the gleaming eyes. His rotten body, the tremendous ribcage of pale bone visible through thin, almost transparent scales. The once-glorious purple fins and horns bedecking his cheeks, forehead, neck ¨C all turned ashen, chipped with time¡¯s inevitable attrition. The folded wings looked barely usable in their tattered state.


    The stench wasn¡¯t so bad, not anymore, at least. He¡¯d dried out considerably over the decades since his transformation.


    And he has grown in power considerably, too, she thought with just a little niggle of worry. There are so few of the true bloodlines left ¨C to take this step, this risk¡­


    Whatever he had done to himself in pursuit of his goals, it had clearly paid off for him. She had no idea what eldritch-joining permitted him to counteract her control, anchor himself to her mind as he had done.


    Though, she had to admit to herself, it had been a necessity. She didn¡¯t have the resolve to cling on through that turmoil, without him binding them together as he had done.


    ¡°What have you just put in my mind?¡± she asked, lifting her head again until she was level with him.


    ¡°Everything,¡± Malas replied gloatingly, eyes flaring.


    She hissed her displeasure ¨C it was an automatic reflex ¨C and turned her gaze inward.


    ¡°No,¡± she snapped after even a cursory glance. ¡°There is too much, and I will not retreat into that place until you are gone. I do not trust you, cousin.¡±


    Malas shook his head. ¡°You must, Tyr Kayn. You must believe in the vision, the vision Ulu Kalar brought forth long ages past. I have found the memory ¨C I have passed it to you! Look!¡±


    ¡°I am all for bringing back Tyr Devas,¡± she said carefully ¨C the last thing she wanted was him passing along the verified memory of her voicing blasphemy to the likes of Ord Ylon or Nil Sorog. ¡°But to recreate the Dracofont ¨C that was my mother¡¯s fantasy, not mine. It is a dream, Mal Malas, a story. No more.¡±


    ¡°A dream, a story no more,¡± he laughed, letting black, noxious fumes pour from his lipless maw without a care.


    ¡°Malas!¡± Kayn called on her fire and sprang towards him, a few hundred tons of metal muscle set into instantaneous motion, rocking the cave, sending coins spilling in an avalanche. The light in her mouth spilled orange radiance over the dracolich. ¡°Some of us still have to breathe, fool.¡±


    She was thinking primarily of her brood, still young, all-too-vulnerable; when she was angry like this, emotions at their peak and gargantuan body extended, she was larger than the dracolich, capable of eliciting a little fear even from him. He was older than her, but he¡¯d been dead long enough for her to have overtaken him in size, now.


    Malas bowed his head deferentially and even went so far as to flop down lightly onto his side, exposing his neck. ¡°My apologies, princess.¡± He spoke the word sarkalak, the proper form of Draconic address for one of her station, his voice suddenly dripping honey. ¡°I come as a guest into your abode and ¨C mistakenly ¨C threaten you and yours. I ask only that you spare my life.¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    She saw the twinkle in his eye, the sardonic grin splitting the non-existent ancient lips.


    ¡°Oh, get up, fool,¡± she relented.


    She retracted her neck, then swished her tail nonchalantly as she turned back towards her bed of treasures. She moved more softly now, and no longer rocked the foundations of her home.


    As she lowered herself back down into a position of comfortable repose, long tail curled about her midriff, he shifted slightly so as to better regard her.


    ¡°Do you truly not believe, then, princess?¡± The sorcerer¡¯s dead tongue flicked out, a cold, gleaming blue thing, licking the dust from his gleaming teeth. ¡°After all this time, all you have seen? The lower animals tore down our cities to make their hovels; they cover the face of the earth like the locust swarm ¨C¡°


    ¡°The Dracofont ¨C they were defeated. This world is not of our making, Mal Malas, but of the making of our ancestors.¡±


    ¡°They were defeated by the Founders! The Founders, who are gone, eliminated from the planes! They are long-since Celestium¡¯s; it is as was prophesied. Would that Ulu Hariskar still lived to convince you¡­ would that I might find her body, or her soul¡­¡±


    ¡°You search for her spirit?¡±


    ¡°I search for them all. I hope only that they have not passed beyond my reach.¡±


    ¡°All? Then you seek my mother, Tyr Draem, who spent her life¡¯s blood on such a fool¡¯s quest! Listen to me ¨C they are dangerous, and I ¨C¡±


    ¡°No, listen to me, cousin!¡± Malas¡¯s sudden intensity shocked her. ¡°This world is nothing but that which they foresaw, that which Ulu Kalar knew would come to pass all along. And he said we would do it. We would bring him ¨C all five of them ¨C back to Materium, with all their powers! Mund would be ours, a feast beyond imagining, a hoard beyond belief. A triumph beyond compare. A Return.¡±


    She made her displeasure known, hissing again. ¡°He said we would do it? Forgive my scepticism, dear cousin, noble sarkalor; but I do not believe you. The baldness of your deceptions only belittles my intelligence.¡±


    Malas¡¯s smile only grew wider. ¡°This is no deception, princess! You are named.¡±


    She tried not to show her shock, but her flaming eyes must¡¯ve widened like his smile.


    ¡°Consult the visions I have bestowed upon you ¨C there is no lie to be found there, and you should know it.¡± He levered himself back to his feet with his tail, the visibly-damaged wings creaking as though he were thrice his age. ¡°I shall give you the distance you require, and return to you presently. We¡¯ll discuss your response before I proceed, yes? Your pet creatures will permit me to pass?¡±


    ¡°So long,¡± she replied, ¡°as you do not mention my doubts to Ord Ylon or Nil Sorog. Swear it on the bones of Mal Tagar!¡±


    ¡°But Mal Tagar left no bones, as well you know.¡± Malas¡¯s amethyst eyes shone again. ¡°Would they have us raise him in his own carcass?¡±


    ¡°On the bones to come,¡± she said.


    Your bones, sorcerer.


    Mal Malas straightened at that, the dracolich¡¯s atrophied musculature suddenly suffused with a touch of the nethernal energy that made it so formidable despite its weakened appearance.


    ¡°Princess,¡± he said solemnly, all trace of jest gone in an instant ¨C even the one word alone was acquiescence. ¡°Ord Ylon I won¡¯t tell, but I must advise you: Nil Sorog is no more.¡±


    Kayn¡¯s own smoke came from her maw then.


    ¡°My apologies once again; I thought you were aware.¡±


    ¡°I was not,¡± Tyr Kayn roared.


    ¡°A human archmage slew her, and now uses her skull as his throne.¡±


    ¡°She¡­ she has truly fallen?¡±


    ¡°Lower than any of her forebears.¡± Malas affected a shrug, the torn wings flapping slightly. ¡°I will bring her back, when the hour is upon us. Once Nil Nafrim inhabits her remains, Ord Yset will coat her in flesh. Before we each get new bodies, of course. With their power, nothing shall stand before them, no concept beyond actualisation.¡±


    She ignored her revulsion at the notion of becoming undead. That would matter little against reclaiming the world from the rodents who¡¯d inherited it from them¡­ Especially if she could have living flesh surrounding the amethyst eyes which went with a nethernal essence¡­


    ¡°The hour?¡± she asked, then clawed at her bed of wealth, realising that she was getting her hopes up despite her better judgement. If the vision did not call for her to leave before her brood was grown, well-established as the powers to fear here in her subterranean domain, then perhaps this idea had true merit.


    The sorcerer¡¯s wily voice tried the flattery one more time. ¡°Are you certain, princess, you would not consult the vision¡­?¡±


    ¡°Begone, cousin!¡± she snarled. Then, belatedly, offered: ¡°And return in haste.¡±


    Malas nodded his head. ¡°One year, princess. One year. I will see you next time the seasons die, and then we will determine whether we can proceed.¡±


    One year, she mused. It was a good length of time in which for her to make such a momentous decision.


    She watched him turn and make his way through the rocky opening that would lead him through her lair, the hewn-out halls where her host of faithful fire-giant worshippers and her droves of enchanted monsters lounged.


    With a command, she could have him slain ¨C have his bones turned to dust ¨C but he would probably still find a way to return next year. She knew her cousin well ¨C or at least, she had known him well, before his great, irreversible change. He would turn up as a spectre if he had to, as though nothing had happened, politely attendant upon her answer.


    And if she disagreed, if she turned on him the next time she saw him, he would turn on her.


    She was not certain she could survive that encounter.


    But whether or not she believed in her strength, she knew what her answer would be.


    Whether or not she trusted him, she knew what her answer would be.


    Whether or not she wanted to commit to the same great, irreversible change¡­


    She knew what her answer would be.


    There were so few, so few left of lineage. It had been years ¨C centuries ¨C since last she was so infuriated.


    It was what set dragonkind apart. What made them better. The commitment, across the ages, down the endless days. The unchanging code.


    Blood for blood.


    The lust for vengeance, settled for long decades by the need to procreate, suddenly flared once more within her slow-stirring soul, like magma surging from a volcano.


    Was it time? Could she abandon it all? Follow her mother into the madness?


    So many of them had been drawn to Mund, lured by lies. But to be slain by a single human? To suffer that disgrace ¨C it was outrageous!


    To what new low have we fallen?


    They¡­ slew¡­ Nil¡­ Sorog!


    * * *

 A Mothers Care pt2

    28th Chraunost, 992 NE


    Tyr Kayn coasted the hot summer airs above Hilltown, ruefully eyeing the swarming insects far below who could not see or feel her shadow as it crossed them. Her seeming, down there in the midst of the battle, was the most beautiful illusion she had ever created, perfect in its ever-changing verisimilitude, a labour of love that had cost her decades of intense workings. Quietsigh was as busy as one of those insignificant little bees down there, occupied in ingratiating herself with the local champions, the roach-kings of humanity. Unfortunately Kayn needed to devote a repulsively-large share of her focus on the events occurring beneath her ¨C not only maintaining the seeming itself but, almost as importantly, the control she¡¯d exerted over those archmages who¡¯d already been brought under her sway. She barely had enough left to keep herself hidden, especially when she landed. She had to take such care, even with the Ceryad¡¯s power flowing through her.


    Her role in the prophecy had sounded valiant, requiring cunning and bravery heretofore inconceivable ¨C that was how Malas¡¯s visions had seemed to have things play out ¨C but in truth she was a manager. Every day was a constant, endless dance of thoughts. The hopes and dreams of over two dozen pathetic champions: humans and gnomes, dwarves and elves ¨C they all revolved inside her head, a swirling, nauseating mixture of frustration and flirtation and ego. Mother Mekesta! the ego of these creatures¡­


    Were ants the same? If she were to take one of the druids under her spell and have them inspect the beliefs of, say, termites, would they be found to be so filled with overweening arrogance as these little meat-sticks scurrying across the city? She suspected not. She suspected it was an aspect of humanity and its halfbreed offshoots, a kind of careless self-importance that had nothing to do with actuality, wrapped up in their selfish imaginations.


    Her kind was different. Dragons ¨C every one of them had at least some access to abilities which only the greatest among men were lucky enough to receive. Every one of them, chosen by the gods to inherit the earth, every one of them a powerhouse of uncontainable physical strength. It was a mark of shame that Mund had existed so long, that her lesser cousins had failed so pathetically in their attempts to topple it into ruin.


    Following so many simultaneous lines of thought at once left little attention over for musing on the nature of dragon and man, for enjoying the sun¡¯s warmth. Everseer was speaking, using the telepathic link Kayn ¨C Quietsigh ¨C had set up. Everseer most of all she could ill-afford to lose control around. Even arch-enchanters were less of a nuisance than arch-diviners.


    Regretfully, she allowed her awareness to sink back down to the ground, where she was nothing more than one of the champions¡­


    Looking through her avatar¡¯s eyes, Kayn noticed that their meaningless fight was almost over. Quietsigh had stayed well clear of the carnage, sending duplicates into the fray in her place, illusory images that were fit for little more than distraction against such experienced foes. In truth, the champions wanted little from her beyond her links and the bittersweet ¡®protections¡¯ she offered them. Nonetheless, from her position on the rooftop she could see the remnant of the Chaos-Lord¡¯s paltry retinue, trapped in ice. Glassgrief, his long white hair streaming with frost, kept packing it on top of their sorcerer¡¯s shield and the Chaosmakers¡¯ sole archmage no longer had the energy-reserves to resist him. Everseer was testing the barriers with her blades a thousand times a second, Fingersnap moving only slightly less swiftly; Splinterwing was in his dire raven form above, directing his plant-golems as they shambled into and over the demonic eldritches that had been summoned into the street.


    Quietsigh casually reviewed the last communication; Everseer, asking for confirmation that their enemies were all here, that none had escaped their efforts to corral the Chaosmakers. The sight of the seeress would only miss something like this one time in a million, but she wasn¡¯t the city¡¯s chief diviner just because she was powerful ¨C she was decisive and she was a double-checker; she never let anything slip through her net.


    Except Kayn, of course.


    The dragon directed the magic down and let the spell itself flow through her avatar, mentally scanning the area.


    ¡°Yep, you¡¯ve got them all, Everseer!¡± Quietsigh said chirpily. ¡°Their archmage is thinking so hard about holding up the shield, I can hear it through his wards without even trying!¡±


    ¡°Good to know,¡± her ¡®leader¡¯ replied with a touch of aplomb. ¡°See what he thinks about this!¡±


    The sorcerer was using some kind of strange fey to limit chronomantic fields, but it didn¡¯t make much difference to diviners of their calibre. Everseer doubled, trebled her speed ¨C Fingersnap seemed to borrow some momentum from her, increasing his own velocity almost to the same extent ¨C


    And the shield came apart.


    Multi-coloured steel and waves of super-cooled frost left the Chaosmakers in white-ice chunks, frozen flesh and bone and clothing all neatly diced.


    It was just a trifle troubling, Kayn supposed. She could admit that much to herself. Seeing champions in action, knowing that they weren¡¯t even really pushing their potential half the time¡­ Their lives of unceasing confrontation left them in no doubt of their abilities, left them with little fear of even the most impressive foes.


    Not that the Chaosmakers (or Rebels, or Unclean, whatever they were going by) were impressive. Kayn had long-since infiltrated their organisation, and took over a few of their minds, finding nothing there but Ulu Kalar¡¯s design. ¡®Organisation.¡¯ It was a disorganisation, and the turncoats who entered the Thirteen Candles were soon wallowing in their insignificance. It amused her now to abide by the prophecy and simply let them be, howling their opposition to Ulu Kalar¡¯s plans like wolves at the moon. She could only enslave the minds of so many, after all, and there had to be an outlet for those who discovered a shard of the truth. The darkmages were so very wrong about most things. Their paranoia about the purposes of Infernal Incursions was a source of much hilarity to her. As though the fiends had ever needed or wanted such a banal thing as purpose.


    No, it was those same demons ¨C the armies of the Incursion that impressed her, that made her wonder at these champions. These chosen of the gods of light. The defenders of Mund worked together with such worrisome finesse, laying low ageless entities in the matter of seconds. If the heretics could band together properly they could wipe out the champions in a matter of days, but they¡¯d never had a leader with straight lines in their minds. No, being a champion meant something. And their kind had slain so many of her kind, too, not just demons. Kayn¡¯s mother and at least two of her brood-sisters, that much was for certain ¨C probably her father and her brood-brother too¡­ The Mage Wars had been a messy time. Those particular champions, the murderers of her kin, would be long dead by now, of course. But that didn¡¯t diminish the sting of the losses ¨C it was a series of wounds that only worsened over time, an ever-widening, gaping sore that had to be treated. Treated, so that the healing could begin.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    It made sense to her now. Why so many dragons had given their lives in the service of Ulu Kalar¡¯s goals.


    Victory. Beyond life. Beyond death. Irrefutable, irreversible victory.


    We will feast on you all, slowly, she swore, and hoard your bones until the end of time.


    But that wasn¡¯t anything even close to what her avatar needed to say.


    ¡°I think he thought he didn¡¯t like it,¡± Quietsigh chirped.


    High above, Tyr Kayn scowled, the vast jaws clenched, teeth grinding at awkward angles. But she was a creature of habit despite her temptations, and recalcitrance was not in her nature.


    Duty called.


    When the sun sank and the air¡¯s heat slowly began to evaporate, rather than sending Quietsigh back to her house as she did almost every night, she dispelled the seeming instead and headed north. Keeping Quietsigh active at such distance would drain her reserves, and she would have need of those tonight.


    Beyond Mund, the Five Peaks loomed. Dark rock faces still shimmering with warmth, she climbed above them, chasing the dying sunlight. At last, alighting on the highest point of the mountains above the clouds, where even the richest of Mund¡¯s gentry dared not build their expensive cabins, she lay down and closed her eyes.


    Here, in her solitude, she could almost relax, but she could never let her glamours fade, even for an instant. A single stray bird, whispering word of her presence to another, and another, until the message was brought to single meagre druid ¨C it would bring the plan crashing down, perhaps unrecoverably.


    Her brood, so far away ¨C she had almost forgotten their scents now. She wanted to speak with them, but tonight the power had to be spent on less frivolous tasks. Instead she plunged herself back into her memories, entering them as though they were reality, almost heedless of the reckless stupidity entailed in such an act of letting go.


    If she lost years in the remembrance, it would not be for the first time.


    The magic that ran in the lava of her veins enabled perfect recall. It wasn¡¯t even recall, really. It was a re-experiencing, a second (or third, or thirtieth) chance to live those moments again. There was no newness. No new decisions, no changing the choices that had long-since been made. But, in this moment, she could forget that. She felt the newness, even if it were an illusion of her own making.


    When she thought of the bodies of her wyrmlings, the scaly steel of their flesh coiled about her belly and the base of her tail for warmth ¨C she was there.


    The locust-humans, living and dying in their swarms, could never understand. Their time on this plane was so fleeting. How could they comprehend the bond between a mother and her children? They raised theirs for but a decade and a half ¨C if they were lucky! She¡¯d had over ten times that with Dreng and Akarda, with Vidar and Faiyn. Teaching them the intricacies of language and illusion, the subtleties employed by greed and envy and jealousy and hate. Bringing them in seeming to witness the histories of far-flung lands. Showing them how to fight the lesser drakes for play and territory. Watching them eat their first kills ¨C elk, except for Akarda who¡¯d been lucky enough to find a herd of big, filthy swine¡­


    Even in the memory, there was the twinge of guilt ¨C knowing their first kills should¡¯ve been humans. Scared little humans, running, screaming. As her first kill had been.


    And she¡¯d been apart from them now for so long that the pain was more than emotion, more than suffering.


    Is this how Mother felt, when she left us and went into the arms of Mekesta? Do the Chaosmakers¡¯ nightmares come from you, Mother? I feel their strength. I feel¡­


    The ties of family were strong ¨C they were physical and psychic, stronger than time, death¡­


    Stronger than memories.


    She shook herself out of her reverie, then tapped the Ceryad-tree again, something that had only been made possible thanks to almost five years of plotting. The runestone one of her sorcerers had unknowingly secreted in its crystal roots was highly-experimental. The diviners and enchanters amongst the champions who unknowingly kept the runestone hidden required careful arrangement.


    She took that unfathomable source of power, the life-force of the tree of magic, and cast it out, like blowing on a falling feather to direct its course.


    ¡°Malas!¡± She whispered the name with her mind, casting it out with all her prodigious might. ¡°Mal Malas. Heir to Mal Tagar. Prince Deathwyrm¡­ Cousin! Please, please heed me¡­¡±


    But even if her wings were splayed out to touch the branches of a whole grove of Ceryad-trees, her thoughts would never cross the great chasms between the planes. She would never reach him, whichever dark winds he rode.


    Bring back the ghosts of our dead soon, cousin, she thought, then opened her eyes, adding: as Mekesta wills it be!


    She turned her face towards the south, then, and sent out her thoughts once more ¨C to the target who would not refuse her. The only true companionship she could keep amongst her peers. She didn¡¯t sweat when she was nervous; her natural response was to cool, shiver. Ordinarily her internal furnaces would¡¯ve kept her feeling hot through the worst snow-blizzards the Mundic peaks could threaten ¨C grounded on the empty mountain-top, she had to fight for a moment to still the quivering flesh that could start a landslide if she wasn¡¯t careful.


    ¡°Ord Ylon. Tyr Kayn would speak with you.¡±


    His rumble returned almost at once, and even after all this time she still hadn¡¯t gotten used to it. The sound of his mind¡¯s merest whisper was threatening, even to her: her, his friend and confidante, his co-conspirator. Even here, thousands of miles from him, the clash of armies in battle that was his voice made her scales shake.


    More than she feared fighting Mal Malas to the death, she feared spending one minute in the face of Ord Ylon¡¯s wrath. Thinking of speaking to him was one thing, but actually doing it was another entirely. Reality had an unimaginable quality which every attempt at imagining failed to take into account ¨C even for her.


    ¡°Ord Ylon hears you, daughter of Tyr Draem.¡±


    ¡°O mighty Ord,¡± she began, restraining the stammering that constantly tried to spring into her telepathic vocalisations. ¡°Forgive my interruption. Mighty Ord, I have once more attempted to contact Mal Malas. Still he eludes my touch.¡±


    ¡°There is nothing to forgive. The years grow thin, princess, but do not doubt him. Malas will return to us ere the Time of the Twins.¡±


    ¡°And if he does not, my lord? If he ¨C¡°


    ¡°If he does not return, I shall depart to recover the remains of my beloved as the vision appoints. I shall break not one twig nor bend but one whisker of this prophecy, princess. See to it that you do not either.¡±


    ¡°My lord.¡±


    When he said nothing more, she allowed the link to relax, then shook her great head wearily. She wanted to stay here, sleep here, but that wouldn¡¯t do. The sleep cycle shouldn¡¯t be back upon her for another decade, and by then everything would be changed; but these last years had been so exhausting ¨C the most exhausting of her long life.


    No. Quietsigh might¡¯ve been needed in the city already, and she was getting a little peckish. She¡¯d check things out before grabbing a snack from the camps outside the walls. Ten or so would do, today. She hadn¡¯t built up that much of a hunger; her power was waxing strong.


    She turned aside and spread her vast red-gold wings, angling herself, allowing the now-chilled air to send her back to Mund.


    Just a few more years.


    * * *

 A Mothers Care pt3

    30th Orovost, 998 NE


    ¡°They have slain Chalibros,¡± Ord Ylon whispered.


    Kayn had known for a week that Phanar and his friends had slain Ylon¡¯s son, and didn¡¯t mention it, hoping against hope that he wouldn¡¯t find out. But he¡¯d grown paranoid after the first two had died. He¡¯d been and checked.


    The first time he had roared and raged, like a forest fire that might consume half the world. The second time he had shrieked, screamed, like a storm-wind of such force to rip away every single blade of grass that lived, whittle mountains down to nubs as though they were carved of wood.


    Then he had found Ulu Hariskar, and in his absence another of his brood had fallen.


    This, the third time ¨C he had changed again, and so still she had no concept of how to respond. Her children were safe; she checked on them weekly. The thane of her fire-giants was a man who¡¯d never met her in person, inheritor of the title from his father, and his father before him; but they were used to her mental intrusions, and the current thane was only too eager to report those things her own sons and daughters declined to mention in their conversations. She knew everything that happened in her ancient abode, from Vidar¡¯s attempts to suborn the cerberi to Akarda¡¯s infatuation with a lesser drake from the next mountain range over.


    She would never have sent them out to fight. Yes, they were grown. Yes, they could do battle. But their inherent magic was still developing, slower than hers had done. And she wouldn¡¯t let them enter combat with foes such as these, dedicated to the kill. What did it matter if they did it without archmagery? They still slew her kind.


    It mattered. In her soul, she knew it mattered. She couldn¡¯t imagine being incapable of destroying such a rag-tag band of adventurers, not at any age.


    This is why we need the Dracofont, she thought. Without them we weaken¡­ with them we will be strong again!


    ¡°My lord ¨C have you been able to recover his body?¡±


    It took some time for the reply to come, and when it did he spoke in a quiet voice: ¡°Enough of it, I hope. Enough at least to retrieve his shade. But even if it serves, it shall make a sorry shell for such a prideful spirit, and with him¡­ with him my line is ended.¡±


    ¡°Your line shall live on in you, and your father, and Yset before him! And all your sons and daughters will be restored to the flesh, for the great Returning, as Ulu Kalar foresaw¡­¡±


    ¡°How long until the sorcerer is here? You are certain he departed with them?¡±


    ¡°My lord ¨C¡°


    ¡°And he is powerful? Strong enough for our purposes?¡±


    ¡°My lord, Redgate is the most powerful sorcerer in Mund. There is no other I could choose for you. And yes. I watched him depart with more than one set of eyes.¡±


    ¡°Good. I shall enter the sea and be sure of it.¡±


    ¡°You are¡­¡± She didn¡¯t quite know how to phrase it; she couldn¡¯t insult him by asking if he was confident in his ability to do what he had to do. Not when he¡¯d just discovered that he was responsible for the end of the Ord line, if anything went wrong with the plan. ¡°You must prepare for this confrontation, my lord,¡± she said in the end. ¡°The archmage is not only powerful ¨C he is wily. Timesnatcher takes steps in anticipation of the sorcerer¡¯s return, despite the fact he seems certain Redgate will perish. A¡­ a diviner¡¯s mind is far harder to follow than it is to control.¡±


    She said this last in a half-apologetic tone, and even using it, she knew she did wrong.


    His response was still quiet-voiced and not unfriendly, but with a laziness that bespoke a building anger: ¡°Do you mean to test my patience, Tyr Kayn?¡±


    ¡°No, my lord,¡± she replied at once, an automatic response. ¡°I mean only to ensure our victory.¡±


    ¡°Do not look to me, but to yourself, princess!¡± he hissed. ¡°Nil Sorog and Ulu Hariskar will rise ere the new moon, or I¡¯ll be much aggrieved. You must prepare to do your own part ¨C all that it encompasses. You shall have to move with all haste when the twins appear, lest they penetrate your spell.¡±


    ¡°I will ¨C my lord. I have the piece on the board in preparation for the crucial moment.¡±


    She waited ¨C waited ¨C


    ¡°I am Kayn, Heir to the Line of Tyr. I will make the world¡¯s destiny, or break it in the attempt. I¡­ I am named.¡±


    She took advantage of his satisfied silence, dropping the link, the fatiguing use of the Ceryad¡¯s Wellspring, and peeled away from the mountain peak, heading back to Mund.


    If only Malas had returned from the distant dimensions ¨C none of this would¡¯ve been necessary. Ylon still probably wouldn¡¯t have permitted her to slay Phanar and his cohort ¨C he wanted that for himself, and his reasons were eminently comprehensible ¨C but this business with Redgate troubled her. Timesnatcher¡¯s visions had been uncertain, what little of them she¡¯d been able to properly compute. And now he had this stupid business with Zadhal on his mind again¡­


    She wouldn¡¯t be able to reach him in there. But it could present an interesting opportunity, especially where Feychilde was concerned; he could be moved further along the path if Zakimel behaved correctly¡­ Dancefire was no issue; the half-orc was too wrapped-up in his delusions to be a threat. But Rosedawn ¨C that whole fiasco could be brought to a climax! She could linger about the Winter Door, catch Timesnatcher and any other errant diviners upon their return, and in the meantime take every advantage of the situation to her own ends.


    Scattering an illusion of the evening sky above so that it stretched across her flesh, Kayn soared over the grounds teeming with mages. As she went she busied herself with reaching out and plucking away those few thoughts that were of dread, of seeing something vast and incomprehensibly-threatening ¨C and then she landed nimbly on the magically-reinforced roof of the world-famous Maginox Library.


    After a quick check around she sent out her projection.


    She was on her third generation, now, and each had been a marked improvement on their predecessors. Created much more quickly, and with an even greater investment of native power ¨C this model could even be left exposed to the Knights of Kultemeren and other such holy seers without causing a fuss. That maniac, Everseer, had slain Quietsigh, and the memory of the moment had been so ingrained in the diviner¡¯s mind that Kayn had been unable to permanently erase it, even with the Ceryad¡¯s assistance. The same had happened with Softsmile, her replacement, when Timesnatcher took the reins of the Gathering from Everseer¡¯s ¡®dead¡¯ hands.


    It was only then that she¡¯d come up with the notion of letting the young new arch-diviner find her latest incarnation, discover the seeming as a pre-archmage. Now, whenever Timesnatcher thought about the spell he was under, she quietly had him remind himself that he saw Lovebright before she even gained her gifts, and without fail his mind immediately fell back under her sway.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    She¡¯d almost lost her grip whenever she¡¯d had dealings with Neverwish and Rosedawn, the last problematic enchanters remaining amongst the champions, but their downfalls were well underway now. Feychilde was vexing; she still wasn¡¯t certain about that cursed eldritch inside the sorcerer¡¯s head. Hellbane had been just the same, actually talking to his internal company on a regular basis ¨C but at least he¡¯d been disposable. Feychilde, on the other hand, was going to be perfectly positioned to slay those she dared not; every vision she¡¯d collected agreed that he would be instrumental in the Dracofont¡¯s re-emergence onto the Material Plane. But carefully controlling both sides of conversations, impersonating both the fairy and the host, was a serious tax on her mind ¨C not to mention her power. She¡¯d been glad when Hellbane and his Lera had been disintegrated, but this Zel character? It was not so simple.


    And removing Neverwish and Rosedawn from the game-board would only rearrange her priorities, turning Lightblind into her most-pressing issue. Hence her visit to Henthae and Zakimel today ¨C she would get out in front of the crisis, head it off before it developed into a cataclysm.


    Crossing the bridge, one of the charmed waywatchers got a glimpse of Kayn¡¯s future. Cursorily looking the girl¡¯s mind over, Kayn quickly realised this Tialya was one of the few to have already had a glimpse of the end times ¨C her memories still showed the marks where Henthae herself had scrubbed it clean, scoured away the vision.


    Her cover had already been blown, so it didn¡¯t hurt to let her true self out for a moment or two. She sliced away the memories of the guards, of course, and gave the girl a stern talking-to for the intrusion. Then Lovebright entered the Maginox.


    The climb up the stairs was so pointless she actually cheated, her seeming disappearing once she went around a corner where few were looking, and reappearing near Magicrux Altra. Henthae was on one of the floors just below the magicrux, and Lovebright took the appropriate exit-bridge, entering the corridors, nodding to the mages who greeted her as she went.


    Within moments she was letting herself into the room.


    ¡°Tervos will just be a minute,¡± Henthae said. ¡°Won¡¯t you take a seat?¡±


    ¡°With pleasure,¡± Lovebright replied, removing her mask and hanging it from her belt before taking the indicated chair.


    ¡°Myrielle white?¡±


    ¡°You know me so well, Keliko.¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll like this vintage in particular, Joceine. It¡¯s especially dry.¡±


    She didn¡¯t actually pick up the glass, of course. She left it where it was on the table and created an illusion to raise to her lips. At the same time, she placed a smear in Henthae¡¯s recollections so that she¡¯d later grant ownership of the full glass to Zakimel, when Kayn and Lovebright were gone and the untouched wine would inevitably be found. Zakimel would know what to do with it.


    Thinking of every little detail was so tedious, but it was important to do it this way, by which the meeting happened for real. If she did everything in their minds, the next time Zakimel thought about this little get-together he¡¯d have a fit.


    ¡°Acidic ¨C just a hint of citrus,¡± she said, plucking the assessment from Henthae¡¯s mind and adding her own twist to it. ¡°Delicious.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it just?¡± Henthae took a deep sip of her own glass. ¡°So, what would you like to discuss today?¡±


    ¡°It would be easier to wait until Tervos arrives. Is there anything you would like to discuss?¡± Lovebright glanced down at Henthae¡¯s right hand, at the second ring on her middle finger; Kayn studied it through her avatar¡¯s eyes for a moment, re-attuning herself to the ring¡¯s magic, then met the magister¡¯s gaze once more. ¡°Anything?¡±


    The cheery, almost fawning look on Henthae¡¯s face slowly morphed into one of horror.


    Her mouth a distended oval, rapid gasping making her chest into a heaving piston, Mistress Keliko Henthae produced nothing more than a high-pitched bleat, her aghast eyes rolling back in her head.


    ¡°Oh, never mind.¡±


    She turned it back on and Henthae relaxed again.


    When Tervos Zakimel arrived and seated himself, he looked a little flustered. He folded his legs, occupying at most half of the chair.


    ¡°How are we today, Tervos?¡± Henthae asked.


    ¡°Never better,¡± he responded, characteristically moody, abrupt. He sucked his glass down in a single draught then blurred to the bottle, blurred back again, pouring himself another.


    Kayn had given him quite a taste for the stuff ¨C it dulled his senses, allowed her to be a little less precise with her safeguards when she went nosing around in his fascinating, future-revealing mind. He used to be a bottle-a-night-man; now he was a three-bottle-a-day-man. He used to go to bed with a headache; now his migraine was a persistent, living thing, feeling to him like a heavy snake coiled around his brain.


    ¡°Is it something we can help with?¡± Lovebright asked sweetly.


    ¡°Nothing three hours of frantic post-midnight banging my head against the desk won¡¯t solve. Of course, that¡¯ll be days of work in your schema.¡±


    Henthae smiled sympathetically. ¡°The time has arrived, I fear.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Lovebright looked between them.


    ¡°The new Illost training rotas for the magister-bands,¡± Zakimel murmured. ¡°Someone in Ongoing Development messed up. Believe me, I will find out who, even if they¡¯re trying to hide. Over three thousand magisters, each in need of thirty-six hours of upskilling. I have to find a way to place them all in training centres that aren¡¯t too far from their places of residence, or arrange transportation, and ensure any missed shifts are covered, and if I delegate even one bit of it ¨C¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay.¡± Lovebright sighed. ¡°Gods, Zakimel, you¡¯re so dry I should be drinking you.¡±


    That got a smile from both of them, which surprised her; she wasn¡¯t even having to exert her influence. Kayn was just letting off steam.


    She felt a little embarrassed, and that made her feel a little angry.


    Perched atop the library, she sent a jolt of her power shooting out, into her seeming.


    Lovebright straightened in her chair, and simultaneously the two arch-magisters slumped, entering the semi-trance state, ready to accept their instructions.


    ¡°It¡¯s time we step up the pace. I need distractions, lots of them. We are entering a critical period of time. I¡¯m going to increase the inkatra flowing into the city again. Ignore Neverwish and Rosedawn; I have them in hand. The problems are Lightblind and Dimdweller, and perhaps this Killstop child ¨C I need a better read on her, Zakimel. Also, I¡¯ll be bringing Leafcloak in with me next month, and I¡¯ll need you to be ready ¨C I want a few more of your¡­ ¡®friends¡¯ to get new faces. You have¡­ three weeks. I need them to get caught again but for the gods¡¯ sakes don¡¯t make them get caught down there.¡± She gestured in the vague direction of the waywatchers. ¡°Somewhere more credible. Also, Henthae, I¡¯ll need a window for unleashing Dreamlaughter. She¡¯ll start forgetting how to ply her trade if I don¡¯t keep her active. Let¡¯s see, what else is there? Oh yes, Reyd ¨C you¡¯ve got to make her a fully-committed champion. You¡¯re allowed to not like it, but you¡¯ve got to do it. We need her in position to accelerate things with Feychilde; you¡¯re to make the changes to her mind, you understand me? It can¡¯t bear my signature. I¡¯ve adjusted my spell on her pendant in preparation.


    ¡°And now, the most important bit. The Time of the Twins is upon us. We have two, maybe three days before it starts ¨C I want to hear the second either of you hears anything. Anything. And ensure they¡¯re¡­ welcomed into the Magisterium¡¯s arms. We¡¯re going to have to move quickly once it begins ¨C I don¡¯t want anyone seeing through me, you understand? I¡¯ll prepare Feychilde to kill them. If I can confirm my suspicions as to the reason for his role in all this, I will inform you.¡±


    ¡°Shall I arrange the death of his brother and sister?¡±


    ¡°No, no. He¡¯ll do it himself when the time¡¯s right. Are you hearing me?¡±


    ¡°I hear you, Lovebright,¡± they said almost in unison, Henthae just a split-second behind the diviner.


    The champion made a sound like clapping her hands without actually clapping them, then sat forwards. ¡°This has been so pleasant.¡± The seeming smiled and set down her glass, smearing it over in their minds by instinct. ¡°Shall we catch up again in a week¡¯s time?¡±


    ¡°That would be lovely,¡± Henthae gushed.


    ¡°Always a pleasure, ma¡¯am,¡± Zakimel said, taking her hand and raising it towards his lips in a gesture of deep devotion ¨C a transference from his latent feelings for Henthae.


    Another annoyance she had to smear over.


    She sent Lovebright on the laborious trek back through the corridors, down the stairs, across the bridge. It was easier to let the seeming keep up appearances than pull her out ¨C that would mean inserting memories of seeing her leave into the minds of some students, and the waywatchers¡­


    Zakimel, kissing Lovebright¡¯s hand. Sometimes she wondered whether she¡¯d gone too far ¨C then she caught herself.


    She was pulling the strings of the most important locusts in the hive, all by herself. Of course she¡¯d gone too far ¨C she¡¯d left that shore behind ten thousand leagues back. She was changing history ¨C she was at the top of her game, and she knew it. Even this meagre exploitation ¨C manipulating them, moving the cretins around like her pawns, lining them up to be knocked down ¨C it was almost as satisfying as eating them would be.


    Will be, she promised herself.


    When Lovebright reached the bridges she used the same one she¡¯d crossed initially, and it was only then that Tyr Kayn realised the perceptive, frightened little girl had already fled her post. It was just Najraine and Hinnefer now.


    Smiling, the red dragon took flight, heading towards Treetown.


    Time to mess with Irimar¡¯s mind some more.


    Poor Alandrica.


    * * *

 A Mothers Care pt4

    14th Illost, 998 NE


    Leafcloak and Lightblind were gone, events beyond Kayn¡¯s control, beyond her wildest dreams. For certain, the death of the most-skilled shapechanger in the city was a loss to her Facechanger plot, but that arch-druid had also been fearsome, and the fact it took a miniaturised god to take her down after all the endless encounters she¡¯d survived told Kayn she was better off with the crone dead. Besides, the Facechanger plot was only initially conceived as a distraction for the damnably-perceptive Lightblind ¨C and, thanks to the fully-bloomed Duskdown, she¡¯d been removed from consideration with far more finality. Even Nighteye going missing was a blessing in disguise ¨C something else to occupy the champions¡¯ attention. Timesnatcher was so certain that Duskdown was involved that he was no longer thinking clearly ¨C and while he was under this shadow he would never even begin to question Lovebright, not the way Lightblind had done. She couldn¡¯t have planned it better herself.


    Things were moving into place ¨C but where were the twins the prophecies spoke of?


    She deliberately flew north-west after the meeting concluded, following after the fateful trio, crossing high above Ekenrock Road deliberately so as to better assess her slave¡¯s antics.


    Everything appeared to be going smoothly. Kastyr and Emrelet were entwined in Dreamlaughter¡¯s spells and Tanra was frantically trying to save them along with the populace.


    Perfection. Dreamlaughter has lost none of her creativity.


    The dragon wondered why the tractable enchantress was the way she was. So ready to accept Kayn¡¯s commands. So cunning in the application of her magic. Someone had blanked her ancient mind at one point, and very little cognitive function remained. Yet she remained a kindly mother to her pawns, and a formidable foe to Kayn¡¯s enemies.


    My enemies¡­ The dragon couldn¡¯t help but admire the trio too. The way they worked together, once they snapped out of it and started saving people. Kas and Em and Tanra were a force to be reckoned with. Petty tasks like this were a distraction that could in no conceivable way lead back to Kayn herself, and would leave her free to focus on other areas. On the one particular thing occupying her thoughts.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    On the revivifications to come this night.


    She wanted to claw at the rooftops, let out her anticipation in a scream, swell it with her magic so that everyone in the city could hear her.


    It happens today!


    At last, as midnight loomed she could withstand it no longer ¨C she ascended back to her accustomed eyrie, her seat above the clouds. Looking up at the fierceness of the stars, white pupils in the purple darkness, she sent out the thought:


    ¡°Ord Ylon! My lord! How do you fare?¡±


    She waited. He was sometimes engaged, instructing his hosts of creatures ¨C or perhaps he was out of his lair, feeding¡­


    Not tonight! Tonight!


    He must be engaged in the battle, she realised. She hurriedly squashed the urge to send another telepathic message, an apology, or a blessing ¨C her previous words could be forgiven so long as she didn¡¯t compound upon the problem by adding more.


    I will wait, she said to herself.


    She spent a day in ceaseless furtive flight, rolling in the air against her growing unease; she didn¡¯t return to the mountain peak until the next night, and then, when her link again found no anchor in his responses, she burned a week¡¯s worth of Ceryad power on searching his lair.


    No thoughts in Draconic.


    No thoughts in Mundic, or any of the tongues of men.


    None even in Kobold, where there should¡¯ve been thousands¡­


    Only the silence of the dead, and the despairing echoes of her voice, diminishing and disappearing inside the vaults of her own mind.


    * * *


    17th Illost, 998 NE


    For the third night in a row, she came back to her seat to plead with the stars, wring her wings against the staggering futility of it all.


    ¡°Uncle! Ord Ylon, prince of princes, King of Dragons! Hear me, heed me, please!¡±


    It was too much for her to bear, by this point. She could hardly depart from Mund, not now ¨C if the predictions contained within Mal Malas¡¯s visions were accurate, the Time of the Twins should¡¯ve been imminent.


    ¡°Ord Ylon! How do you fare? Speak to me, uncle! Speak to me!¡­ Curse you!¡±


    And then, the very moment she blasphemed and voiced a word of treachery ¨C for the first time, a psychic response came from the dragon¡¯s mind.


    A link was formed.


    Not Ord Ylon.


    Not any voice, any mind she recognised.


    Soft ¨C almost hesitant, yet a dragon¡¯s.


    ¡°I apologise, but your uncle is no longer to be found at this address; might I forward a message?¡±


    Is this my¡­ my punishment¡­ for cursing my lord?


    ¡°M-Malas?¡± she asked, half-hoping, half-terrified.


    But the voice never spoke again, no matter how many times she cried out.


    * * *

 A Mothers Care pt5

    20th Illost, 998 NE


    ¡°Why were we forgotten? None of their stories contain their proper endings. There is no mention in any tale of men, no mention of the Dracofont¡¯s last battle, of the Chains of Woe they walk past every day. Nothing, cousin. Our greatest¡­ just faded away. Only the shadows of their names, their deeds, trickle down in ode and song. Even you, Deathwyrm, Rotwyrm, have more acclaim! We have been passed-by, abandoned, out of time¡­ They traipse along past the bonds that bound our forebears, ankle and wrist and throat! throat! and fasten crude, lesser beasts to them, never knowing, suspecting, caring¡­ I have been. I have looked. I have counted them ¨C twenty-five chains. The humans ¨C they are like us!


    ¡°We have forgotten ourselves, cousin¡­ We are no longer what we once were and we shall never see its like again. That is how their empire surpassed, exceeded our own ¨C we lost ourselves in clinging to the past. We tell the tales of Eldervane¡¯s duel with Nil Nafrim because to us it means something. It matters that we were defeated, that she hung in defeat from his glacier-sword. Devas, lost in the madness of Nimmenvyl¡¯s devisings¡­ Litenwelt¡¯s shadow-arms¡­ Our generations are so slow in the taking ¨C thus we look only for a restoration of what came before. Ulu Kalar saw their Return, written on the winds of the future, but it is only a backwards-looking. Only the humans really look forwards. And did Arreath Ril write a single word of warning?


    ¡°No. No, the Dracofont¡¯s last battle meant nothing to them, and we know that the human was the greater seer. Why, then, cousin? Why did they not leave it in their legacy? Is it because they fear us? No ¨C it is because they do not care. Ha! The heretical fools have it so wrong. They forget us. What was my mother¡¯s task, in truth? They forget us, because we are no longer what we were. What we could have, should have been. Many amongst them know what we purpose. They know, and they would stop us. I could kill them all. Yet if I stray from the path by so much as a claw, I will doom us. I only think I could kill them all¡­


    ¡°Are we not doomed already? You have left me alone to bear this burden. I am here ¨C I have done everything that you said, everything that Ulu Kalar would have of me. Still, I have nothing. The Twins have not arrived. For the first time since you came to me, granted me this vision, I doubt. I doubt!


    ¡°If I had to do it alone ¨C I would. Even if it should cost me my life, my children would know my name and never fear to hear it spoken. But there is nothing ¨C nothing. It is the Time of Emptiness, the Era of Utenya Borskalach. Ulu Kalar was wrong. Do you hear me, cousin! He was wrong at the last. And what is there for my brood now? What is their future? Should I give my life anyway, slay as many as I can before I fall? Or should I return home, tail between my legs, defeated through no fault of my own?


    ¡°¡­ You give better advice in your absence than ever you did in person. At least your silence cannot counsel me to waste a century of my life. To waste¡­ my life¡­¡±


    She felt the pulse; the Ceryad was almost drained.


    ¡°Goodbye, cousin, and farewell, wherever you are. I¡¯ll call to you no more.¡±


    She left her eyrie, and never came back.


    Duty calls.


    * * *


    22nd Illost, 998 NE


    What had happened? How had she let the bard¡¯s song envelop her so? She swooned, and swayed out of existence for a few moments, borne up like flotsam on a wave of soft, melancholy melody.


    The kobold¡¯s shaft cold in my chest


    I beat and bleed and die my best


    As I approach the ghost I still recall


    That hallowed eve from time of yore


    How in my youth I saw them sway


    As elms at dusk while perished day


    For my eyes I hope to keep


    Their darkness


    And take it with me to my sleep


    Under the bowers of dark Drathdanis


    Gathered tall elves in starlit masses


    Swords sheathed at hand in shadows true


    Yet in their eyes it seemed blades glew


    Without motion spell or sound


    They stand or sit on branch or ground


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    And Orovon¡¯s silence on the wind


    Across leaves on softly-sighing limbs


    Where the twilight dwelt


    In dark Drathdanis


    Morning¡¯s song will choke the air


    Purple clouds they gathered there


    In knotted fur and unkempt hair


    As the ranger¡¯s arrow wingwise coursed


    Riven earth by old roots burst


    Still they gathered there


    Beneath the graceward threshes


    As night¡¯s cloak fell in blood


    Across the skies


    But not their eyes


    In dark Drathdanis


    I sailed away and never returned


    Immortal lessons never learned


    But I beat and bleed and die my best


    This thrice-cursed arrow in my breast


    Yet in my eye as I near my rest


    I hold the darkness


    And remember Drathdanis


    Lovebright was supposed to pick out a Master, but instead she caught herself looking around at her friends with fresh vision. She wanted to cry almost constantly, and it was only by an act of will that she kept her voice from throbbing when she spoke, stopped the corners of her eyes leaking miserably.


    I am leaving, she told herself again. Still, it didn¡¯t feel real. There was too much to be done ¨C so many aspects of the fading visions that were still awaiting her touch ¨C


    But it was relief that was flooding through her. Like a prisoner held for execution being pardoned and freed after years of agony, waiting, waiting for death. And, in stepping out through the cell-door into the sunlight, was it so strange that she would feel a kind of melancholy, a kind of fondness, for the physical structure in which she¡¯d been housed for so long? Was it so strange that she¡¯d look on these faces and feel the part she¡¯d played for real this time?


    The truth was, she was needed here. She protected the champions from the darkmages, didn¡¯t she? She had done good work in their company. Her amulets had saved Feychilde and Shadowcloud from destruction at the hands of an arch-lich in Zadhal¡­ Without her wards, Mountainslide would¡¯ve fallen to Vowtaker¡¯s demons that time¡­ She¡¯d partaken in Incursions, if only in seeming; she¡¯d been useful, hadn¡¯t she?


    Had she balanced out those she¡¯d eaten? If she stayed, could she do better to even the numbers?


    Where else was she needed? She had no desire in her to explore the ruins of Ord Ylon¡¯s home, search out his remains, those of Ulu Hariskar and Nil Sorog, those of his children. What good would it do anyone? They could not be raised. Malas was gone. The code was broken. Let them lie with their killers, and good riddance to the lot of them.


    And why would she return home? The truth was that she had abandoned her domain long ago. She had gambled, and she had lost. Her children had inherited her territories and if she was honest with herself, that was all she had wanted for them all along. Her return would only displace them, cast them adrift ¨C send them far from home to form their own realms, or, worse, set them plotting her downfall.


    ¡°¡­ see, vhen zere is a high-rise on fire things are not so simple ¨C you must vork viz ze air. If you flood ze ground you risk bringing ze whole building down ¨C and if you bring too much vater onto each floor you risk zem buckling¡­¡±


    ¡°Come on, Jo,¡± Irimar said from beside her. ¡°Whatever you pick, I¡¯ll pick something to complement it.¡±


    The enchantress brought out the Arbiter card, and found the correct figurine to place outside one of her Holds. She was getting used to the game, even enjoyed it. She was good at this kind of thing.


    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Excellent.¡± He threw down the Pyromancer card and placed its figurine as close to hers as he could manage, per the rules. ¡°Stay close to me ¨C I¡¯ll keep you safe.¡±


    He didn¡¯t catch her smile, but that was okay. It was only for her anyway; it probably would¡¯ve embarrassed her if he¡¯d seen. Or maybe he did catch it ¨C she couldn¡¯t tell, wasn¡¯t rifling through his mind. Reading minds during fortify would be cheating and, although deception was second nature to her, she wouldn¡¯t want to dilute the challenge of the match by reading her opponents¡¯ strategies out of their heads. Nor would she want to second-guess her ally, overwrite his plans; compromise was the art of the game ¨C wherein half the mastery lay.


    That was what Lovebright was telling herself.


    The battle unfolded much as she¡¯d suspected it would. She played her best game yet, but Irimar left himself exposed in his attempts to defend her, dooming the both of them.


    She felt it was an omen.


    Again ¨C relief. She was leaving it behind. Leaving it all behind¡­ even if she stayed.


    Irimar walked her home. No moon-glow reached through the wooded glade surrounding her house, and she brought no light forth, enjoying the darkness, the companionship; but he placed his hand on her arm to better guide her all the same, and she caught herself looking down in surprise, alarm.


    There was¡­ not just gentleness¡­ affection in his touch.


    This was not something she had done ¨C and a glance at the diviner¡¯s mind, swallowed in a melancholy that extruded between every fold and crease and seam of his thoughts, only told her that the two of them were alike.


    He is in pain.


    She struggled with her keys when they reached the doorstep.


    ¡°Jo.¡±


    She fumbled, almost dropped them ¨C


    ¡°Joceine Tamaflower.¡±


    She put the key in the lock, turned it, flung open the door before whirling to confront him ¨C


    He was gone. She stood alone on the threshold.


    She stood there for a long time. After a while the wintry breeze stirred her hair, and an hour after that she shivered with the cold.


    Eventually she went inside and fell against the door, slamming it shut bodily. She leaned her head back against the heavy oak, feeling its reassuring hardness.


    The wave of panic just wouldn¡¯t stop.


    I¡¯m real, she reminded herself. I¡¯m me.


    It was almost sunrise before she could bring herself to lock the door, and she crawled upstairs to the bedroom, pulled herself up onto the bed.


    What is it? she questioned. What¡¯s happening to me? Has Dream done something?


    It was like her dad always used to say, before her mum took her away in the middle of the night, stole away with her on the ferry, heading south towards Mund.


    ¡®Always question ever¡¯thin¡¯, Jocey. You don¡¯t know ef yer getten tripe or steak in yer pie till yer tasted it, an¡¯ be then it¡¯s offen too late!¡®


    Jocey. She¡¯d almost forgotten that name. She smiled, and sighed.


    It was a shame. Perhaps Irimar had fled because he thought she was in a rush to get away, get into the house, get rid of him. Perhaps he¡¯d thought she was put off by the fact he was clearly rebounding hard after Lightblind¡¯s demise.


    The truth was, she had no idea what she¡¯d been about to do when she turned around ¨C admonish him, spurn him; or press herself against him, usher him inside.


    * * *

 A Mothers Care pt6

    23rd Illost, 998 NE


    ¡°You¡¯ve almost got him, Tanra!¡± Jocey said excitedly.


    ¡°I have got him,¡± the seeress replied. ¡°It¡¯s just a matter of time.¡±


    Kas, sitting beside Killstop, had a beatific smile on his face; opposite the sorcerer, Em was staring at him, a careful non-expression fixed like a mask across her features. Jocey got the impression the Liberator of Zadhal was going to pay for his boastful demeanour later in a more-private setting.


    When the careful manoeuvring of a mountain allowed Kas to take one of Em¡¯s prized pieces, the sorcerer crowed in delight; on the very next go, Tanra finished Irimar off, executing the Sow Matriarch¡¯s complex triple-move flawlessly.


    ¡°You should give the poor chap a chance one day, young woman,¡± said a gentleman standing nearby, one of their regular audience ¨C he was clapping along with the others, though, and while he clearly thought Tanra¡¯s accent too lowborn to win her the appellation ¡®young lady¡® his smile wasn¡¯t disapproving.


    Jocey clapped along with them, but then she gave Irimar a hug, testing his reaction, testing her own.


    There was electric between them ¨C she didn¡¯t know if he felt the same, but she felt it. She sensed him tremble, a judder running through his flesh.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me I make the city¡¯s greatest diviner nervous,¡± she whispered in his ear.


    ¡°I ¨C I¡¯m sorry,¡± he responded quietly. ¡°And last night ¨C I don¡¯t know what¡¯s come over me ¨C¡±


    ¡°Later,¡± she said, drawing away a little to look into his face. ¡°Walk me home, again? I wasn¡¯t trying to get away from you.¡± She moved the wavy curl of hair out of the way of his eyes. ¡°Not ever. Hehe.¡±


    He pulled her close again, to drink in the electric ¨C she knew it.


    Her eyes were almost closed, head buried in his neck, but she caught the glance of Neko over his shoulder.


    The druid in particular should¡¯ve had a disapproving frown on his face, what with Lightblind only having passed recently ¨C respecting the dead was a druid¡¯s prerogative and Jocey knew that this hardly looked good, in that light ¨C but Neko was just smiling like he¡¯d been drugged.


    She moved about, getting a glimpse of Sol. The druidess¡¯s eyebrow was raised, but that was all.


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    Maybe they¡¯d just be seen as good friends. Maybe people didn¡¯t have to know about them for a while. She¡¯d be alright with that. She would have Irimar ¨C she could wait. She wouldn¡¯t have to be alone anymore. She ¨C they ¨C could wait as long as they needed to.


    After they finished the round and tidied up the game boards, Em left for work; Kas went to see his fortify opponents off to bed; Sol and Neko went off on their Nighteye shift; and Tanra was hardly surreptitious when she excused herself two minutes after Bor left.


    ¡°Poor Bor.¡± Irimar grinned tightly. ¡°The boy¡¯s got no idea what he¡¯s bitten off there.¡±


    ¡°Really,¡± Jocey said archly.


    Suddenly she shivered, feeling uncomfortable, fearful for some reason.


    The arch-diviner put his hand on hers. ¡°Are you alright, Jo?¡±


    She looked, for the first time, squarely into his eyes. Deep into them. Watery blue irises, oceans of meaning, surfaceless and bottomless.


    Pupils large, unnaturally black¡­


    ¡°Do you see me?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°I see you.¡± His voice was quiet, husky.


    ¡°And ¨C do you ¨C¡°


    She waved a hand. She had no idea what she meant.


    When he kissed her, fast, hard, she knew what she¡¯d meant.


    He took her home, and between one blink and the next they were in her room.


    Flesh. It was a marvellous thing.


    Jocey was no maiden, but, whether it had something to do with his powers or something to do with her own, this one night was like an abyss of time, brimming with unlimited sensations, an abyss into which they entered, together. It never ended, horizons of perception rippling outwards in every direction and dimension, drowning her in an inconceivable array of experience, time and again ¨C his eyes, his eyes, she was drowning in them, in their forgotten oceans ¨C a day had passed, and another; and then moons were rising and falling, yet still they were together, still lost in their moment of simultaneity, as years turned to dust and the stars of millennia went crashing through her, breaking her mind, her soul, laying her bare in her essence ¨C


    * * *


    24th Illost, 998 NE


    Irimar stilled, and she felt his displeasure, even though she had no idea what was wrong.


    Then he was apart from her, dressed in his robe and mask, a thin spectre in black and white.


    ¡°Zakimel,¡± he spat.


    She hurriedly threw on her robe, fixed her own mask in place, before accompanying him out of the room.


    ¡°Zakimel?¡± she called down from the rail.


    ¡°Lovebright!¡± came the cry from the hall below.


    With a whip-crack, the aged magister appeared there, standing right in front of them on the landing, arms folded across his chest.


    ¡°What do you want, Tervos?¡± Irimar asked. ¡°I begin to tire of you. Your appearance is always to my detriment.¡±


    ¡°It could not wait ¨C you¡¯ve been ignoring our attempts to link, our glyphstone communications ¨C¡°


    ¡°Slow down, Zakimel,¡± Jocey said. ¡°What is it? What¡¯s happened?¡±


    ¡°Well ¨C it¡¯s ¨C¡° The magister looked from her to the tall, severe figure of Timesnatcher, who had also crossed his arms, then back to her again. ¡°Can we speak of this with him present?¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± Irimar intoned.


    ¡°Of course we can!¡± Jocey laughed, but inside she felt an awful void, a place in her mind devoid of context.


    What does he mean? she wondered, perplexed.


    ¡°Lovebright ¨C it¡¯s the twins. The twins have appeared.¡±


    She stared at him. Stared hard.


    The twins?


    * * *


    It¡¯s happening. It¡¯s actually happening.

 First Lady pt1

    <h2>MARBLE 6.4: FIRST LADY</h2>


    ¡°So the decision of this Council is as follows: the orcish delegation shall leave Mund under pain of prosecution. They shall not return, nor shall they send further embassy hence. The barbarians can wail about their deprivations until Kaile shuts both his eyes; it is their depravations that concern the elves, and we will not judge in their place how best to protect their border-lands. We are not in the habit of betraying our friends, and the Drathdanii have been friends to Mund since the Peace of Nimmenvyl. If they insist on bringing the matter before us again, the orcish tribes will attain official subhumanoid classification. Let¡¯s see how they enjoy being exterminated like grell.¡±


    ¨C the Lord Malice Deynos, in session before the Malice Council, Taura 980 NE


    We arrived early to the Arrealbord Palace, which I thought beforehand might¡¯ve given me a little time to become acclimatised to my surroundings. In hindsight we should¡¯ve arrived on the dot of one o¡¯ clock, because the longer we lingered the worse the nausea became, like my guts were foaming inside my belly. We barely spoke, instead staring around at the gardens outside the window, and at the magnificent murals which (in this room) all depicted Wyre Eldervane, the Builder, the Master of Elements.


    At least I wasn¡¯t alone. Killstop and Stormsword seemed at least as disturbed as me; none of us wanted to sit down. There must¡¯ve been too much divination going on around the place for Tanra to experience all the various possibilities of this appointment in advance, and I knew for a fact that Em had never been here before. The Palace was located high in Hightown, on the north-eastern slopes near the walls of Mund, and the Palace¡¯s own walls made proper inspection impossible unless from the air. I¡¯d never had the occasion to fly near it, not in the day at least. Which had made this appointment all the more enticing, intimidating. It wasn¡¯t far off being invited to the Maginox after getting involved in champion-on-champion combat.


    We¡¯d met at the end of the street and walked up together. Garbed as we were in our champions¡¯ attire, we had no issue with the guards at the gate ¨C some magisters gave us the magical once-over with the rod and the three tests, and then we were admitted into the dome of force protecting the Palace, the ancient seat of House Sentelemeth. The terracotta pavement led in an almost-straight path towards the actual building ¨C or buildings, given that the Palace seemed to basically be twenty manor-houses all linked together by corridors. The path we followed was flanked on either side by gardens of hedges, plants cultivated by druids into creatures of a thousand varieties in a thousand poses. Unmoving lions prowled the trimmed verges. Elk with fur made from shoots and stalks seemed to shiver in the wintry winds as they stooped eternally beside well-stocked ponds. Even the evergreen trees had been touched by the druidry, their great bulbs of leaves hanging like griffons above the horses and buffalo sheltering in the eaves.


    The guard who accompanied us, walking at the front of the group with a spring in his step, was a well-spoken chap. He had a hilariously-tiny moustache curled above his upper lip and what seemed to be an eyebrow¡¯s-worth of hair connecting his chin to the middle of his lower lip. Someone without my eyes could¡¯ve been forgiven for thinking he¡¯d just failed to give his face a wash, if they saw him from a distance, were it not for the fine silver-and-blue livery he wore, clearly marking him out as someone who took a regular bath.


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    It was from him that we received our education as to how to ¡®comport¡¯ ourselves.


    ¡°When we enter the building, the man-at-arms shall request any weapons about your person.¡± (He seemed to know without glancing back over his shoulder that the three of us looked at each other in incredulity.) ¡°Before you ask, yes, we are of course aware that this formality means little in the presence of dangerous individuals.¡± (He said it without missing a beat, as though that were the only way, the best way, to describe archmages ¨C champions ¨C even to their faces.) ¡°Nonetheless you shall surrender any overt weaponry you possess, even should it be concealed, and we will abide by the formality as we have always done. Then you shall be escorted into an antechamber to await those others attending, and from which your envoy will collect you when the hour of your audience arrives.¡±


    And so it had been done ¨C at least I¡¯d drawn some surprised looks from the prim-and-proper Palace servants with the sheer quantity of explosive daggers I managed to produce from my sleeve and demiskin. Now I looked out through the tall windows at a wind-whipped green expanse ringed by walls, and in their reflection I could see the face of the Founder-wizard, Wyre Eldervane, that was painted upon the wall behind me. His face was only suggested by the smears of purple and brown upon the gold-coloured background: the great brows were lowered in focus, with the eyes closed above the wide, almost Westerman-looking nose. His lips were pressed tightly together.


    Behind him ¨C composed in white-on-gold and barely-discernible until one stood back and took in the whole thing ¨C the walls of Mund were rising.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look any more believable when it¡¯s painted, does it?¡± Killstop observed. She was in the corner, wearing her frowning mask and multicoloured robe, and out of nowhere she¡¯d suddenly decided to sit down ¨C I didn¡¯t notice when it happened, but she was now slouching down in a high-backed chair, seemingly doing her best to tip it over backwards.


    I just grunted in response, trying to ignore the seething in my stomach. The last thing I needed was an argument.


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®believable¡¯?¡± Stormsword sounded surprised, as I¡¯d expected, and turned around to better-regard the mural. (I instinctively thought of her as Stormsword now, when she was in costume and trying so hard to make her accent disappear into the generic upper-class accent she¡¯d adopted.)


    Killstop stared at her. ¡°Because the idea of five ancient guys getting together and just ending the Age of Nightmares and then having a chin-wag before creating Mund is, like, soooo believable¡­¡±


    ¡°But you can¡¯t use your powers to go back and check, can you?¡± Stormsword said smugly. ¡°Does this not mean a powerful diviner is blocking you?¡±


    Killstop shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m sure there were powerful diviners ¨C but a single man, whose foresight guided the city down all the centuries? Puh-lease.¡±


    ¡°Give it up, Killstop,¡± I muttered. My gut massively-preferred the silence to the bickering. ¡°We took the tour at Breyton Hill a couple of days ago.¡±


    ¡°The Master Clock?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°There¡¯s nothing that¡¯ll convince her Arreath didn¡¯t make the damn thing himself, now.¡± I looked across to the wizard. ¡°And against my better judgement I¡¯m tempted to agree with her.¡±


    * * *

 First Lady pt2

    Killstop merely snorted and turned her focus elsewhere; Stormsword smiled affectionately at me, and I knew I¡¯d picked the right side in that little battle.


    It was the twenty-ninth of Illost, one of the months that had thirty days. In three days, on the second of Mortifost, the final month of the year, we would have another full moon and another Gathering to attend ¨C and sure enough, on the Master Clock, the little symbol of the full moon had been showing there on the cog marked ¡®Mortifost 2¡¯, just wheeling into view when we¡¯d visited. The contraption was comprised of what must have been a million moving parts, and was the size of a house. The engine at its core was a series of sealed glass tubes standing there like statues for all to gawp at, twenty feet or more in height, the coloured waters inside moving from fluid to vapour and back again in precisely-controlled intervals, heated by spellbound plates underneath, fire-runes glowing to my sorcerer¡¯s-eye. In the very middle was a centrifuge in which the different liquids were spun and separated, a beautiful example of the discipline called ferromancy, one of the trickiest wizardries. The huge clock-face on the outside of the building, facing down into the central district of Hightown, had hands not only for seconds and minutes and hours, but for days and months and years too. You could see at a glance that this year was three hundred and sixty-eight days long, could see which months were what length and why.


    I¡¯d always been of the opinion that thirteen months made most sense, following the moon cycles more closely, like in the Tales From The Dark Side. The undead-apocalypse story-books set in the fictional world of Nirvanos that I¡¯d read as a child were clearly written in an attempt to normalise the world we lived in for Mundian children ¨C they certainly toned down the horror while keeping everything deliciously grim. (Jaid managed to get through them all last year ¨C Jaroan was still halfway, but stubbornly continued to insist he was still reading them whenever I tried to move his current one back to the shelf.) The way I understood it, the system they used in the books would only need correcting by slightly lengthening Yearsend¡­


    Or why not ten (almost forty-day) months? The highborn, magister types loved the number ten for whatever reason. However, witnessing the fabled Master Clock, I had to admit that whoever had invented the damned thing was clearly several orders of magnitude more intelligent than me, and probably had at least one good reason, if not a hundred, for the whole twelve-month, twenty-four hour setup. Not that the Chronoministers would allow any changes to come from secular sources, anyway ¨C the sect of Chraunost¡¯s priests who actually approved of the Master Clock went completely overboard in their devotion, a pair of them dressed in severe robes and expressions at every access point to dissuade touching.


    The best part of the tour, according to my sister at least, was getting to see the device¡¯s special Yearsend hand. It was decorated in the green and gold colours of the holiday, crawling its way towards the last five days of the year that fell into no month, ¡®Yearsend 1¡¯ through ¡®5¡¯ rolling around into view. Yearsend, the festival period famous the world-over, a holiday that would see everyone in the city, native and tourist alike, take to the streets for the carnivals and entertainment in defiance of the winter¡¯s chill.


    Only a few more weeks away now.


    A few more weeks of pointlessness.


    Other than defeating the two dark archmages during the whole twin arch-wizard fiasco, we¡¯d achieved little. Me and Em had stopped a fire ¨C well, Flood Boy and Em had stopped a fire ¨C and we¡¯d caught a few lame-ass inkatra-fuelled criminals mid-crime. We tagged along when Doomspeaker disrupted a cult of Vaylech breeding an army of giant bugs in the Hilltown sewers, but the critters and craven priests didn¡¯t even put up a thirty-second fight. I did manage to claim a decent prize from Zakimel¡¯s messenger for taking a crate of cursed items out of the hands of some idiotic merchants. Killstop helped Glancefall and Spiritwhisper take down Rainlost, a wizard infamous in Rivertown, which was probably the most momentous event of the month since Zadhal ¨C as far as the general citizenry were concerned, at least. (The criers hadn¡¯t breathed a word about twin arch-wizards, of course.)


    And ¨C other than that ¨C our metaphorical hands were empty.


    Nighteye ¨C traceless. I seemed to be the only one who still harboured hopes he would return to us, and even when I espoused my view I said it with a sour taste in my mouth, knowing I was hoping against hope itself. Yune hadn¡¯t answered my prayers. Mortiforn¡¯s creepy ¡®Mr. Owl¡¯ claimed to know nothing when I took a planar jaunt to his daydream world. Zel hadn¡¯t found a single lead, and had apparently been blocked from viewing Nighteye¡¯s home troubles by the interaction of the two powerful arch-diviners who¡¯d been visiting. If she weren¡¯t my bound eldritch I¡¯d have questioned whether she was just doing the same as Tanra, trying to stop me doing something I¡¯d later regret, but I had her swear by her name and she still claimed to be in the dark.


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    Dreamlaughter ¨C less than traceless. Less than a ghost, a fiction of imagining. For all we knew, we¡¯d never even seen her in her true form ¨C what exactly were we even supposed to be looking for? Yet it was six times now that she¡¯d intruded on our operations ¨C she¡¯d clearly taken our disruption of her ghost-illusion on Ekenrock Road personally. Either that, or she¡¯d just been waiting for someone like us to come along, provide her with a challenge. Whatever the explanation, she¡¯d started making our lives hellish with as great a regularity as she could manage. In the midst of a fruitless afternoon spent with Irimar wandering South Lowtown ¨C ostensibly helping him search for Duskdown, but really doing little more than offering an ear for the arch-diviner¡¯s worries ¨C I was suddenly deluged in puppies falling from the sky. One night Em had been thrown into what appeared to be a huge, horizon-to-horizon bath while flying over Hilltown.


    Fortunately, we both had abilities or assistance enabling us to escape Dreamlaughter¡¯s range when she struck our perceptions with these stupid images. Unfortunately, she¡¯d only been lulling us into a false sense of security. In the midst of the fire we extinguished in south-west Sticktown, we both put ourselves in danger to rescue people who simply weren¡¯t there; and whilst the danger was mild at worst, considering our abilities, it meant she was changing the nature of the game. It was nothing more than a warning.


    She hadn¡¯t touched us for a week but we were going into a heretic situation today or tomorrow. Would she leave us unmolested through that ordeal?


    And then there was this latest attack last night. The reason we¡¯d been summoned today. Not an attack on us ¨C not directly. She¡¯d made it political.


    In spite of all our disappointments with the kidnapped druid and the wayward enchantress ¨C or perhaps because of them ¨C I was really looking forward to Yearsend. All this would be over by then ¨C the upcoming heretic attack, this business with the politicians¡­ hopefully Dream, too, and if there were still no signs of Nighteye by then, even I would give up hope¡­


    Yearsend was a form of escape, in those few sweet hours I reserved for just hanging out with the twins: instead of gaming we often went shopping nowadays, an activity newly opened up to us by the fact my purse was in fact rather full at the moment. I¡¯d already bought presents for Orstrum and Xantaire and Xastur, and a small candy present for Morsus that Orstrum would take to his grave ¨C a gift Xastur had suggested, all out of nowhere. Them aside, I had a few things in mind for the twins. (They were already aware No Eldritch Mounts was a hard rule I wouldn¡¯t bend on.) For Em, I¡¯d eyed over a dozen gifts, and I was on the verge of splurging my cash by just getting everything I¡¯d spotted, rather than forcing myself to choose between a first-edition Magister¡¯s Handbook with some hilariously-outdated rules, awesome decorative phoenix-style wings of real dragonscale, a miniature working replica of the Master Clock that had so enraptured her, a cookbook called Too Hot To Handle¡­ perhaps I¡¯d skip that one¡­


    The door opened abruptly ¨C ushered in by a guard, Spiritwhisper entered the room, wide-eyed behind his mask.


    ¡°A-alright, chaps,¡± he stammered, trying to look nonchalant. His gaze took in me and Em, then lingered a little longer on Tanra.


    ¡°I know, right,¡± I said with a grin.


    The arch-enchanter seemed to relax his tense stance a little, nodded to me. ¡°Man, why¡¯d we have to come here? You seen the way they look at you? You should hear what they¡¯re thinkin¡¯¡­ or not, you know?¡±


    ¡°I just hope they aren¡¯t going to drag us over the coals,¡± Stormsword said. ¡°Do you have any idea of what they want with us, Bor?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna do a deep search. Probberly trip a dozen wards¡­ if they got any sense, anyway. But no one I¡¯ve met is actually thinking of what¡¯s goin¡¯ on with us. Don¡¯t think they¡¯re high-up enough to know why we¡¯re here.¡±


    I nodded my agreement.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on out there?¡± Killstop muttered, sounding frustrated.


    ¡°They can¡¯t see us till the others arrive.¡± Stormsword, whose voice fitted-in nicely with our opulent surroundings, seemed less ill-at-ease than the arch-diviner. ¡°I do wonder what is keeping Timesnatcher, though.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean that ¨C I mean ¨C out there ¨C¡° the young seeress gestured at the window ¡°¨C with the waywatchers¡­¡±


    ¡°What about the waywatchers?¡± Stormsword blurted, standing up straight.


    ¡°Those are the magister-guards with the funny shoulder-pads?¡± I asked.


    Stormsword nodded at the same time Killstop shook her head.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening with them.¡± The diviner¡¯s words were almost so quiet I couldn¡¯t make them out. ¡°If I knew what was happening, I¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s worth troubling yourself over,¡± Lovebright said, leaning forwards in her chair. ¡°Try to relax. I¡¯m more worried about what the First Lady¡¯s going to say to us!¡±


    I happened to agree with Jo.


    Killstop let out a shuddering breath. ¡°I just don¡¯t like waiting. Waiting, and eyes. Eurgh.¡±


    ¡°And yeah, you¡¯re right, Storm,¡± the enchantress continued, as though Killstop hadn¡¯t said anything. ¡°Where the Hells is our great leader, and his mount?¡±


    Killstop sniggered ¨C it took the rest of us a moment longer to realise Lovebright was referring to Neko sitting astride Irimar¡¯s shoulders, back on that afternoon when we¡¯d first met the gnome. It was a pretty bad joke, but we all laughed along anyway. She was trying, bless her. It was endearing, the way she could be so painfully awkward sometimes.


    It was five more minutes before Jo, Bor and Tanra seemed to perceive almost simultaneously that the others were arriving ¨C and it was five more minutes after the arch-diviner and arch-druid arrived, well past one o¡¯ clock, that the envoy finally ¡®collected¡¯ us.


    * * *

 First Lady pt3

    The lady showing us around (surely not a Lady, but still, ¡®woman¡¯ wouldn¡¯t do justice to the level of condescension she showed) was the best-dressed person I¡¯d seen in my life. A creamy gown covered in webs of delicate lace fell from her bosom to her ankles, the whole thing shimmering with specks of diamond. Across her shoulders and down her arms, a tiny black coat of thick, fine wool served as her shawl. Her pointy-heeled shoes clipped the polished oaken flooring smartly as she strode and, as though it were us and not her teetering on high-heels, we were forced to walk quickly to keep up.


    Sunspring had elected to saunter the wide, high-beamed corridors as a big, thistle-green cat, and despite the envoy¡¯s disparaging remarks no one seemed to want to actually do anything about it. We younger champions, perhaps a little over-awed, were more reluctant to utilise our gifts. Better to scurry along like a mere mortal. In any case, there was too much to look at for me to focus properly on my powers.


    The windows displayed the outer grounds and the wall on one side, but on the other I was treated to a view of inner courtyards, no less splendid than the gardens ¨C fountains lit with rainbow lights that shone only on the droplets in ever-changing hues, statues seemingly moving and reciting facts about themselves, vast flowerbeds still vibrant at the end of Illost¡­ it went on and on. And on the walls between each window, painting after painting: the deeds of every illustrious First Lord of Mund, every war victory and every diplomatic negotiation, every new discovery in magery and every great monument raised in Hightown¡­


    Not one image of Zadhal, I noted, even from the days preceding the Diamond War, the days of Zadhal¡¯s glory.


    This was not to suggest that all the art was historical in nature. Much was in the modern style, there to be interpreted, impart wisdom rather than knowledge ¨C my favourite was a sculpture of a metallic, golem-like hand holding in its palm a human skull, through the roof of which a fabulous blue rose was bursting. At the same time as I admired it, I did wonder at its presence here. Could our rulers really be so decadent as to openly mock the state of the world? This world they¡¯d ushered into existence? I was nonplussed.


    The employees and the lords ¨C guards, secretaries, dignitaries, ministers ¨C it was hard to tell them all apart, frankly ¨C didn¡¯t seem to even notice their surroundings. Striding alone with purpose or in small groups and engaged in low conversation, we must¡¯ve passed a hundred people in the span of two minutes and not one of them was actually looking at any of the finery on display all around them.


    I supposed that was just the way of becoming habituated to places, but some of the people out in the courtyard were actively avoiding the walking talking statues, as though their presence were more an annoyance than a marvel. I guessed it would get annoying after a few times, though; to be sitting there eating a sandwich, the likeness of the Fourteenth Evil Seat from two hundred years ago creeping around behind you, waiting for the opportune moment to spring out and describe his crummy contribution to Mundic law yet again¡­


    These posh folk didn¡¯t even look at us, beyond an initial cursory glance. Derisive smiles were the order of the day. I reduced my shields down to the innermost, the reinforced circle, after the first time I accidentally shoved someone into a wall ¨C thankfully he seemed low-rank enough to not make a fuss and scurried away, looking at least as perturbed as me. No one else gave a sign that they¡¯d noticed the brief commotion.


    Then we crossed the busy landing of a great sunken foyer that spanned several storeys. There were a number of wide stairs leading from other landings down to its burgundy-carpeted floor.


    My steps faltered, and I slowed, lost pace with the others.


    Staring.


    ¡°It is ze door to ze Chamber of ze Realm¡¯s Council,¡± Em whispered, linking my arm and drawing me on. ¡°Ze Arreax.¡±


    I craned my head around to try to take it all in, the doorway that was the focus of the massive, bustling room.


    Of course it was the door to the high council of the world. What else could it be?


    It wasn¡¯t just that the doorway was a fantastic arch of burnished metals, twenty-something feet high, inlaid with a thousand gleaming stones; it wasn¡¯t the runes in Old Mundic embossed on the surfaces of the two closed doors, or the surfaces themselves, shining platinum ¨C


    It was that I¡¯d dreamed of that door ¨C I was certain of it. I couldn¡¯t place the memory precisely but I¡¯d seen that door, damn it ¨C seen myself, knocking on it, desperate to get in?


    I¡¯m not a diviner. I¡¯m not a diviner. I¡¯m not a diviner.


    ¡°You¡¯re not. There¡¯s no way you can get that off me.¡±


    Nice of you to join in. How¡¯d you know that?


    ¡°Arch-diviners in front of me, arch-diviners behind me ¨C not exactly my idea of fun.¡±


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    So she was going to ignore my question.


    ¡°You¡¯re right ¨C I guess it¡¯s possible, but it¡¯s never¡­ Let¡¯s talk about it later.¡±


    Either way, the internal conversation helped calm me, distract me from my reverie, and I looked ahead again, tried to get my head back in the game. We¡¯d left the foyer behind, following the carpeted corridors into another building.


    It was only now that I recognised the new closeness between Killstop and Spiritwhisper. There was nothing overt about it, but they walked at each others¡¯ sides with a casual familiarity I hadn¡¯t noticed before. When their arms brushed one another¡¯s, they didn¡¯t adjust their courses to give each other more room ¨C they stayed near, maintaining the contact.


    I smiled. It was nice to see the two of them were progressing.


    Then I spotted as Neko suddenly changed back into his gnomish form, his autumnal robe and beetle-like, mandible-sporting mask ¨C and I knew we¡¯d arrived.


    The windows of the room into which we were being led were all curtained-off with massive seaweed-green drapes. It was a long and narrow chamber of white globes and deep shadows; the obvious focal point was the massive table of varnished redebon stretching out to the far end of the space, like a single seamless plinth of dark, blood-spattered marble. Almost three dozen high-backed chairs of the same wood, gleaming in the globe-light, lined either side of it, and in the farthest seats three people were waiting. They stood as we entered, their jewels glinting across their fingers, around their wrists, hanging from their necks.


    On the left, a frog-like fellow in a silly black velvet hat ¨C it looked like he¡¯d got his head stuck in some kind of sack ¨C and a matching coat, equally tasteless-looking (to me, at least). The man on the right was incredibly old-looking, face covered in whiskers with a crescent-moon nose that had to be a good inch longer than any I¡¯d ever seen before, the hair hanging to his shoulders so white it was yellowing.


    And in between the two men, at the very head of the table, the First Lady herself: Twivona Sentelemeth.


    She wasn¡¯t tall or particularly scary-looking, neither old nor young; her face was round and welcoming, skin pink and healthy, not pale like her advisors. But her gaze was imposing, even if she was doing her best to give us an inviting smile. Her gown, like all else here, was only the most expensive apparel, a shimmering thing of silver-grey scales. A demure mantle of blue fur spotted white was about her shoulders; yet it was her golden griffon¡¯s-mane hair, framing her head like a feathered halo, that most drew my attention.


    No one had ever mentioned that the First Lady was pretty damn hot.


    Our envoy slowed after the guards at the door stepped aside, and swished her arm at us as we filed down the room and fanned out beside the chairs. ¡°Champions of Mund ¨C show your reverence for the Honourable and Dignified First Lady Sentelemeth, the Honourable Lord Justice Haid, and the Honourable and Dignified Lord Shadow Wenlyworth.¡±


    Timesnatcher bowed. We all showed our reverence, more or less. I managed to dip my head without it falling off, which was good going for a Sticktowner confronted with lords the likes of these.


    Possibly the three most powerful people in the world ¨C politically speaking, of course ¨C looked us up and down.


    ¡°Honourable and Dignified First Lady,¡± the envoy continued, ¡°Lords Justice and Shadow, might I present these seven brave champions, names put forth by the formidable Timesnatcher himself ¨C¡± she indicated the arch-diviner ¡°¨C Sunspring, our most-venerable druid ¨C¡°


    ¡°Hmph!¡± the gnome erupted.


    ¡°¨C ah, Spiritwhisper and Lovebright, whose previous experiences with Dreamlaughter may prove to be of some value; and the Liberator of Zadhal, Feychilde, Stormsword, and Killstop, about whom the darkmage¡¯s recent escapades appear to centre.¡±


    ¡°Hey, leave me out of that one.¡± Killstop had her arms folded across her chest. ¡°These two, sure, but the witch can¡¯t find me.¡±


    I went cold inside, felt myself tense, hearing the combative tone to her voice.


    Doesn¡¯t she realise these people could have us killed at their whim?


    I didn¡¯t have to trust her judgement just because she was an arch-diviner.


    ¡°Killstop is the juvenile I mentioned,¡± the envoy said at a slightly lower volume, ¡°if her chosen moniker did not already inform you.¡±


    ¡°At least I¡¯m not wasting months waiting for Dorel Mitethron to give me a rose.¡± Killstop shrugged. ¡°One just couldn¡¯t help but wonder what you were doing at my age, Phengil Antara.¡±


    The envoy¡¯s jaw dropped.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite alright, Ms. Antara,¡± the First Lady Sentelemeth said forgivingly, her voice deep for a woman of her slight stature. She sounded surprisingly informal given the extremely upper-crust accent. ¡°You can leave us to it, now.¡±


    ¡°As m¡¯lady commands.¡± Phengil, the envoy, curtseyed briefly and backed away three paces before turning and leaving. The guards closed the door behind her, staying on the inside of the room with their eyes averted, staring fixedly across the doorway at the plumes atop one another¡¯s helms.


    ¡°Plus, I¡¯m fifteen in less than nine months,¡± Killstop concluded brightly.


    ¡°Happy birthday,¡± Sentelemeth retorted dryly. ¡°There¡¯s no need to stand on ceremony. Please ¨C sit ¨C¡° she lowered herself back into her chair, the lords on either side of her following suit ¡°¨C and would anyone like a glass of wine, before we begin? Or some fruit extract for our young protector here.¡±


    As we found our places, she clapped her hands together smartly, and a concealed door at the back of the room opened, a pair of servants shuffling in.


    I glanced at them, then glanced away, sitting down in my chair heavily.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± I murmured.


    Neko, who¡¯d become a beetle and flown rather than face the indignity of physically climbing into the chair, also shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m up for one,¡± Timesnatcher said, looking at me.


    ¡°You should give ¡®em a taste of Flood Boy¡¯s grape,¡± Spirit muttered.


    Sentelemeth¡¯s eyebrows were raised. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    I smiled benignly. ¡°Since none of the arch-diviners are leaping up to stop me¡­¡± I waved a hand. ¡°Might I present Flood Boy, of the otherworld-realm?¡±


    The frog-man with the stupid-looking hat, Lord Justice Haid, gasped a little as my portal produced the faun. The First Lady and the ancient Lord Shadow Wenlyworth kept their composure, though.


    ¡°Give them a nice bow, Flood Boy; these are very special people.¡±


    Olbru sneered at me, then cocked his leg and bowed over his hoof. ¡°Pleased to make your acquaintances, special people.¡±


    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± frog-man Haid spluttered.


    ¡°A very fine, very fortified wine,¡± I answered, encouraging Flood Boy with a twirl of my hand. ¡°Go on, show them your goblet. Have we got some glasses?¡±


    * * *

 First Lady pt4

    I winced as Sentelemeth clapped her ring-laden hands and the servants scurried to do my bidding. I hadn¡¯t been thinking that bit through. I was tempted to make some grand gesture, get up and follow them to help them carry the things ¨C but I knew I was just as likely to get them in trouble as myself. That was how the highborn operated. It didn¡¯t have to make sense; it just had to be wrong.


    I carefully kept my eyes from meeting theirs.


    Flood Boy took the glasses in turn and filled them to the brim before passing them back to the servants.


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± the First Lady said, raising her glass and smelling it. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve ever partaken of extra-planar alcohol before.¡±


    ¡°Is it quite safe?¡± Lord Haid was holding his a little higher, staring into it at eye-level.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a dunce, Gathel,¡± Lord Wenlyworth wheezed. He¡¯d already taken a long swig. ¡°Father used to swear by such stuff. A lovely drop ¨C reminds me of the sherry my wife used to drink ¨C can¡¯t for the life of me remember the name of it¡­¡±


    Gathel Haid, then, was it? I could tell from the frog-man¡¯s increasingly-bulging eyes that he didn¡¯t like this continued tone of familiarity here in front of us, a bunch of ruffian-champions.


    In any case, after Sentelemeth sipped at the stuff Haid had to have some too ¨C Stormsword and Timesnatcher joined them, and Killstop surprised the rulers of Mund by drinking her strawberry-juice seemingly without lifting her mask or even moving the glass from its coaster on the table¡¯s surface; we heard her smacking her lips, saw the pinkish froth around the rim and the little bit of residue at the bottom sloshing, but she was still sitting back in her chair, elbows on its arms, swinging her feet.


    Now that the pleasantries were over and everyone had settled into their seats, a look of shrewdness, circumspection, came over First Lady Sentelemeth¡¯s face.


    ¡°So, champions, I will keep this as brief as I may. I ¨C we ¨C wish to discuss Dreamlaughter. I am unsure as to whether Timesnatcher has advised you of the details ¨C you are aware of the slaughter?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Killstop said.


    ¡°Speaking for those who don¡¯t know everything that happens, whenever it happens,¡± Sunspring said, ¡°I don¡¯t know much about it.¡±


    ¡°A lot of highborn died,¡± Spirit said.


    ¡°That is quite right, young man,¡± the First Lady said, glancing down at the wine-glass in her hands. ¡°Perhaps it would be best if ¨C Icaron?¡±


    Lord Wenlyworth responded, the impeccably-dressed hundred-year-old body, wizened and shrivelled like a sun-dried prune, stirring slowly under his willpower. He gripped the arms of his chair, drew himself up a few degrees.


    ¡°Certainly. Yes. Just after sunset yesterday, Westrise was attacked. More accurately, a number of specific households. Their security teams were disabled ¨C including two archmages ¨C and, before local magistry or champions could respond, twelve of the richest families in Mund had lost their heirs apparent.¡± He took another gulp of his wine, drew a wheezing breath, and looked around at us again. ¡°Twelve firstborn sons and daughters, hurled from the cliff to land in Sticktown. They said the laughter echoed for half a mile.¡± His rheumy old eyes focussed on Timesnatcher. ¡°Rumour has it you¡¯re the best people to ask why this happened.¡±


    I, for one, had heard the sound from my apartment, but that was due to Zel¡¯s cursed abilities, not proximity.


    How many hundreds has she killed? I pondered. How many hundreds? But twelve highborn is enough for three of the supposedly-busiest people in the Realm to shut up and take notice.


    ¡°With all due respect, m¡¯lady, m¡¯lords,¡± Timesnatcher said, ¡°we are doing our best with an increasingly-difficult situation. Duskdown murdered Lightblind ¨C I do hope my missive and its Magisterium corroboration reached your desk, Lady Sentelemeth?¡± She inclined her head politely, and he continued, ¡°We¡¯re being assaulted on all fronts, and, as your Magisterium representative should¡¯ve informed you, we anticipate a heretic attack within a matter of hours. Dreamlaughter is our top priority, I understand this, but we have numerous obligations. The magisters¡¯ own eff-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not one of us specialised in divination in our school days.¡± Gathel Haid dismissively waved his pudgy fingers as though he were casting a spell. ¡°Can¡¯t you just, you know, see where Dreamlaughter is?¡±


    ¡°Gosh, why didn¡¯t we think of that?¡± Killstop muttered.


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    Spirit reached across from his adjacent chair to put his hand on hers but she snatched it away before he could.


    I sensed the enchanter¡¯s confusion, hurt, as he slowly withdrew his hand.


    ¡°Killstop, please.¡± Irimar sounded tired, more tired than I¡¯d ever heard him. ¡°We know for certain that Bladesedge and Bookwyrm, the champion-diviners who disappeared four years ago, were divested of their enchantment-blocking artefacts and taken by her.¡±


    I remembered being surprised by that, when Timesnatcher had told us all. There was no surprise on the faces of the three officials ¨C I suppose they¡¯d been kept in the loop.


    He continued, ¡°She may have access to any number of arch-diviners¡­¡±


    Why didn¡¯t we think she¡¯d taken Nighteye? I asked Zel curiously.


    ¡°We did, didn¡¯t we?¡±


    Did we? Well¡­ why did we think she didn¡¯t take him?


    ¡°It was what Lovebright said ¨C it¡¯s too much of a coincidence, and Dreamlaughter has no need for a druid. She assured everyone Nighteye was a top priority and all of you bought it, not just you. I know I¡¯ve said it a million times, but taking the advice of an enchanter whose amulet¡­¡±


    The memory arose before my mind, filmy and thin, like a shadow, a water-painting with the ink running. It must have just been that I¡¯d had my thoughts on something else when we went over that topic in our meetings.


    Yes, I could remember it now. Jo¡¯s vehemence that Dream had nothing to do with Nighteye¡¯s disappearance. The strange intensity in her voice.


    Oh, yeah.


    I tuned back in to what Timesnatcher was saying.


    ¡°¡­ powers, shielding her plans from our closest inspection, even if we can get a general bead on her. For instance ¨C we know she intended for this meeting to take place. I even warned against playing into her hands, remember?¡±


    Lady Sentelemeth frowned, looking across to the faces of her advisors ¨C they seemed as befuddled as her.


    Timesnatcher rose from his seat, suddenly trembling violently.


    ¡°Oh, dearie.¡± Lovebright sighed. ¡°It¡¯s all getting away from me.¡±


    Killstop threw off her mask and threw up, keeping her head down so that the strawberry mess went straight down onto the floor. Her hands went to her throat; she started tugging at the neck of her robe, as if she felt her windpipe was swelling ¨C


    I couldn¡¯t move.


    Joceine Tamaflower was just behind Killstop¡¯s chair, love-heart mask smiling down at everyone. She helped the diviner adjust her robe, and the odour of something sweet and revolting vanished from the air.


    Then the enchantress replaced Tanra¡¯s mask; the seeress sat back and put her elbows on the arms of the chair, regarding us as if nothing had happened.


    Had something happened? Why had everyone gone quiet?


    I looked at Timesnatcher. He was sitting there with his head in his hands, and I caught him shaking, as though something had momentarily shocked him. It was passing, now.


    Lovebright was on her feet out of nowhere, adjusting his mask.


    ¡°There we are, there we are now,¡± the enchantress said gently. ¡°Well ¨C shall we crack on with it? There¡¯s a bit more to cover. You said you were going to make it brief?¡±


    I hadn¡¯t been listening, but I heard the last sentence, and, whoever had been speaking, Gathel Haid seemed to take their question as a challenge. The frog straightened up, the back of his shapeless velvet hat swinging precariously around to the other side of his head and almost tugging the whole thing off.


    ¡°What we¡¯re really asking is, why is she targeting highborn now? Why us?¡±


    Lord Justice to the First Chair. Lord Justice Haid.


    How did such a creature have the word Justice in his title?


    I glared at him.


    Timesnatcher didn¡¯t reply ¨C he looked like he was shivering.


    ¡°So ¨C that ¨C we¡¯d ¨C come ¨C here ¨C¡° Killstop grated as if her jaws were clenched firmly shut, fingers gripping the arms of the chair.


    And when Spirit broke the silence the sound was measured, his voice taut, the anger submerged but only barely.


    ¡°Wait, everyone. Wait. You ¨C you let us put ourselves through hell, chasing, finding and fighting people like Dream ¨C while you sit here, thinkin¡¯ we¡¯re just wagglin¡¯ our fingers ¨C I mean, come on, you are a mage, right? ¨C clappin¡¯ your hands and summonin¡¯ your servants and wearing the value of half a street around your neck¡­¡±


    ¡°Champions are well-reimbursed,¡± Sentelemeth said softly.


    ¡°That is not his point,¡± I said.


    ¡°Feychilde¡­¡± Storm hissed, barely moving her lips.


    ¡°No ¨C no, Spirit is right,¡± I carried on. ¡°Frankly I¡¯m incredulous at this. Yeah, you heard me, froggy ¨C incredulous. Look it up if you don¡¯t know it. Being brought here, answering your summons, as though we serve you! You own the land ¨C you don¡¯t own us. We serve the people. The people you have forgotten. But we can¡¯t forget. We¡¯re in the middle of it, every day, every one of us. Did you find the bodies of these dead kids? Did you see the remains?¡±


    Did you feel the urge to bring them back, answer your questions, give you a dropping ¨C clue ¨C as to where the hell-spawned arch-enchantress was, what she was doing, what she was going to do next ¨C


    I was leaning forwards, elbow on the table, jabbing my finger at the rulers of the Realm, and my anger seemed to have rattled them.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t there. You¡¯re never there! It¡¯s always words on a piece of paper to you, or a report coming at you in a bored emissary¡¯s voice. You ¨C you¡¯re supposed to stand for the people of the Realm, the vast majority of whom probably can¡¯t even read. You¡¯re supposed to stand for the people of Mund ¨C and here you sit, but only when it¡¯s highborn ¨C only when it¡¯s your lot who¡¯s losing their ¨C¡°


    I looked aside, swallowed. ¡°We are supposed to be out there now, getting ready to save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. We are supposed to be trying to catch Dream. To catch Duskdown¡­ To find a lost friend¡­¡±


    Em put her hand on mine, and I let her do it, let my tongue still on my conclusion:


    ¡°If you want us to catch Dream, end the meeting here, and permit us to go do what you pay us for.¡±


    Lovebright was nodding reassuringly. The First Lady and her advisors regarded me and I stared back, Em¡¯s hand in my own, awaiting my sentence.


    Men had been killed for less than that, I knew.


    It was only then that the poison in Olbru¡¯s wine started to display its effects.

 Poisons pt1

    <h2>MARBLE 6.5: POISONS</h2>


    ¡°I am the luck that you can pray for. I am the perseverance that pays off. I am the dream-guardian at the gate of nightmare. I am Lady Fortune.¡±


    ¨C from the Belestaean Creed


    I couldn¡¯t see it in their actual faces yet, but Wenlyworth was wheezing worse than he had been before. He¡¯d be the first to go, in around eight minutes¡¯ time.


    I forced myself to smile.


    Then I jolted to my feet, a huge part of my being shaken to its core as Zel departed from my flesh ¨C I cast about, looking beneath the chair, the table, using crummy mortal eyes ¨C


    ¡°Somethin¡¯ wrong, Feychilde?¡± Spirit asked.


    ¡°Yeah! ¨C I just lost ¨C¡°


    ¡°Feychilde, is something wrong?¡± Em asked.


    ¡°No ¨C I just ¨C I dropped something ¨C¡°


    ¡°Hey!¡± Spirit cried, jumping to his feet, glaring at Lovebright. ¡°What the drop did you just do to him? I felt that!¡±


    I ignored him, whoever had said something, bending forwards and reaching out my arm, grasping for something under the table. I picked something up, and went to put something back in my robe¡¯s pocket. Nothing of significance.


    But it was as I leaned forwards that I realised, from the way the chain about my neck shifted, its burden tapping lightly into the underside of my chin.


    I was no longer wearing Lovebright¡¯s amulet ¨C just my healing elixir.


    And as I straightened up, the strangest thing happened.


    Within my circle, without causing me any impediment or bearing me any ill-will, a green seam opened, a gate wide enough to swallow me whole. As I rose, my head and shoulders went through and, on the other side, in the otherworld, there was ¨C


    A fairy, floating in an ethereal glade of tall glowing trees and lily-covered ponds. I knew her, once, though her name escaped me now.


    Tiny. Miniscule, really. Sunflower-blonde pigtails; a neat, triangular little dress of seamless blue skies. Her perfect delicate face a contortion of emotion. Fear and anguish and horror.


    Why did I feel this ridiculous sensation of unease, coupled with trust?


    Trust? I had to be enchanted.


    In her dainty hands, my chain. My pendant.


    The urge to put it back on was strong. She was only ten feet away.


    Lovebright surged forwards, trying to step within the portal. ¡°No!¡± she hissed.


    But I grabbed the seams with my hands, pulling myself fully through to the otherworld, even as I focussed those internal energies that would dismiss my wraith. I would deal with this troublesome fey creature in the glade, retrieve my amulet and, once I was protected again, I would return. Who knew what effects the three politicians might have employed against our minds, otherwise? It would be stupid of me to rely on Bor and Jo¡¯s constant vigilance when the alternative was so much better.


    It was valiant of the enchantress to try to come with me, though, and touching that she would fret about me, but she ¨C I ¨C had nothing to fear from a lowly fairy ¨C she didn¡¯t even bear me ill-will¡­


    The seam snapped to beneath me, the gate transporting me. My gremlin and sylph coalesced at my sides.


    Recognition flooded in.


    Not just recognition of the fairy queen, my faithful advisor, my firmament¡­


    ¡°Z¡­ Z¡­ Zel¡­¡± I croaked.


    ¡°I know, Feychilde,¡± she replied. ¡°This is bad. Really bad. She slipped up, though. I heard your thoughts that she¡¯d been hiding from me.¡±


    ¡°But she¡­ she¡­¡°


    ¡°Yep. For months. Maybe years.¡±


    ¡°And she ¨C¡°


    ¡°I know. Almost all of them.¡± She hurled the necklace to the ground. ¡°Every champion that wears one of those.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Feychilde?¡± Zab whined. ¡°Zel?¡±


    I met Zel¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Are the glasses poisoned?¡± Then I had a flash of inspiration. ¡°Ah ¨C I¡¯ll check with Flood ¨C¡°


    ¡°No!¡± Zel snapped. ¡°There¡¯s no way he could tell you whether they were actually poisoned and don¡¯t you dare try to summon him here, now. You¡¯d have to open a bridge across Materium and that would let her influence back in! It¡¯s range-based; we¡¯re currently a plane away, but if you open the jadeway even for a second, that might be long enough for her to adjust her spell, make you decide to head back.¡±


    I had no way to be certain I could save all of them ¨C


    ¡°But ¨C if Em, and the others ¨C if they die¡­¡±


    Zel cut in: ¡°I find it highly unlikely she put it in everyone¡¯s drink, if she did do that ¨C why would she ¨C¡±


    ¡°Make me think I¡¯d killed my girlfriend? Make the city think I¡¯d killed the First Lady?¡±


    ¡°We can talk about this but we have to move. They¡¯ll put you in Zyger! She could bring Direcrown ¨C¡°


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he wears her amulet,¡± I muttered, shaking my head.


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    It was all too much for me, but it made too much sense to be untrue.


    The memories she hadn¡¯t had chance to fully remove yet. Killstop being sick. Timesnatcher¡¯s weird shaking.


    What the lords said to us. What I said to them.


    Oh gods. She wants me flayed to death!


    ¡°Netherhame or Shallowlie, then! She¡¯ll bring someone in, and open a gate ¨C there could be people in the Palace she can use, and she has diviners ¨C oh, Kas ¨C¡°


    ¡°I take it that momentous events are afoot,¡± Avaelar hedged, gazing into my face.


    ¡°Perhaps ¨C perhaps the most momentous of our time¡­¡± I licked my suddenly-dry lips. ¡°I think¡­ It seems the whole of Mund is under the control of a darkmage. A dark-enchantress.¡±


    Then I felt the grin split my face, in spite of everything this meant for us, for the world.


    ¡°I knew it!¡± I crowed.


    * * *


    Eight minutes. I have probably six or seven minutes left before whatever move she¡¯s made, whatever move she¡¯s making, gets underway.


    Not enough time.


    ¡°Well, if everything you¡¯ve said is correct,¡± I mused aloud, ¡°Lovebright will hardly be expecting me to go back right now, will she? She would have to be quick enough to lay the spell ag-¡±


    ¡°No, we have to move, and, again, you¡¯re not listen-¡±


    ¡°Too late.¡±


    I silently opened a tiny seam for less than a second, just enough to peek through with one eye. Nothing assailed my mind, not overtly in any case.


    They were all seated around the table, champion and politician alike, their eyes closed; Killstop and Timesnatcher were stirring, resisting, limbs jerking like those of sleeping dogs; the guards were slumped over at their posts by the door; and Lovebright ¨C the gold-robed enchantress was standing on the table in their midst, her face raised up towards the ceiling as though she communed with the gods.


    The seam had only drifted a few feet from where I¡¯d expected it to open, and I took a few steps across the glade.


    ¡°Kas!¡± Zel cried in a wheedling voice. ¡°Don¡¯t do that again! Pl-¡±


    When I opened a portal around Tanra and yanked her bodily from her chair into the otherworld, at first I thought I¡¯d pulled it off perfectly, but I soon realised my oversight.


    One instant I was upright, feeling fine ¨C I¡¯d hunched over to grab her around the shoulders, so I was leaning forwards somewhat ¨C and in the next, I was on my back in the spongy grass, the girl straddling me, fists raised mercilessly.


    My face was broken in at least four places, mask pulverised, and I didn¡¯t even see the blows, feel them as they landed ¨C only when she stopped.


    My vision blurred. My right eye swam painfully in its socket.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± she snarled.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Zel screamed. ¡°Tanra, no!¡±


    It was only the contact between our bodies keeping the diviner here, so my shield wouldn¡¯t work. Sending her back ¨C it could be a death sentence for me. For us all.


    I felt her breath coming from beneath the mask, saw her slight chest rising and falling rapidly ¨C this kind of indecision, it could only mean one thing ¨C


    Tanra was fighting it, the impulse to kill me ¨C then she raised her arm, opening the coat of her robe, exposing at least half-a-dozen glittering, sheathless knives ¨C


    She froze there again, struggling.


    I had to try ¨C Avaelar was moving to intervene, and he would die.


    ¡°¡¯Uvvbrigh¡¯!¡± I moaned through a floppy jaw, a burst lip. ¡°¡¯Ink abou¡¯ ¡®Uvvbrigh¡¯!¡±


    Tanra froze, the dagger of her selection raised, poised for the killing blow.


    Then I felt the surge pass through her insides, and tried to dive aside as she croaked horribly, vomiting out another load of strawberry juice ¨C


    Too late. She didn¡¯t move, or even cast off her mask this time ¨C it gushed down, covering the both of us.


    My fairy stopped twisting in the air and now dashed forwards, swiftly unclasped the diviner¡¯s pendant, and flung it aside.


    Tanra slowly fell back, panting, resting; she was still sitting on me but no longer in a threatening posture. She removed her mask, shook it clean.


    ¡°Tha¡¯¡­¡± I said, ¡°wa¡¯ di¡¯gusting.¡±


    I snapped my healing potion off its chain, wiped it on my sleeve, then knocked back its contents in one.


    ¡°Holy ¨C drop.¡± Tanra shuddered. ¡°I can see again.¡± She looked around at an enhanced speed, head blurring atop her neck, then looked back to me. ¡°We¡¯re in the otherworld.¡±


    ¡°Welcome, fair maiden,¡± Zab said in his reedy voice.


    I shook my head, cracked my jaw back into place and activated the self-repair rune on my mask. ¡°No time for that. We¡¯ve got about five minutes until three of the top rulers of Mund start dropping down dead, maybe Em and Irimar with them, and I¡¯d rather head that off if we can. Slow me down, please? Then we can get the others without as much risk.¡±


    She nodded, and I felt it, like a pulse of lethargy slipping over our ethereal surroundings.


    Zel, Avaelar, Zab. The glowing insect-things in the air. Even the wind itself.


    Everything slowed, slowed. Stopped.


    ¡°I can¡¯t bring you too deep ¨C it¡¯d tear you apart,¡± she said. ¡°But we do have to be quick, relatively. If she¡¯s clever she can trigger the wards, stop your portals ¨C¡°


    The seeress shifted her weight as though to get up ¨C


    ¡°No!¡± I reached up, grabbed her hand. ¡°Don¡¯t get off me!¡±


    ¡°Oooh, Kas, really? Right now? With¡­ my sick in your hair? You know that Em¡¯s only a portal away ¨C¡°


    ¡°If you get up, you¡¯ll go ba-¡±


    ¡°I know perfectly well what you¡¯re going to say,¡± she cut me off, ¡°and you¡¯re an oaf if you think I was going to break contact with you. My spell¡¯s hard to maintain too, you know, and I¡¯m going to sleep for a week after this even if I keep my hand on yours the whole time. Come on, get up.¡±


    She straightened her knees, coming lithely to her feet, standing over me; then she planted her heels and leaned back, pulling me up. Her hand was holding mine at least as hard as mine was holding hers.


    She was grinning, the way I must¡¯ve been when I¡¯d come through, when I¡¯d realised what was going on. ¡°Let¡¯s get our friends, find out what¡¯s been done to them, and put the screws on Lovebright.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I looked down at our conjoined hands. ¡°I¡¯ll need to scratch you, a little.¡±


    ¡°Oooh, Kas¡­¡±


    ¡°Tanra!¡± I barked.


    ¡°Sor-rr-rry,¡± she anti-apologised. She opened the fold of her robe with her free hand, exposing her weaponry. ¡°Hmm ¨C let¡¯s go for something without incineration ensorcellments¡­¡±


    ¡°I thought they took your weapons.¡±


    She just brayed laughter as though I¡¯d told a joke.


    ¡°Where did you get hold of all those, anyway?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Here. There.¡± She glanced back at me. ¡°What do you spend your earnings on?¡±


    I shrugged with one shoulder. If I hadn¡¯t figured out how to make explosive daggers, I¡¯d still be buying them, in all likelihood. But most of these weapons were ensorcelled, which made them prohibitively expensive ¨C even a champion¡¯s bounties weren¡¯t going to pay for all of them¡­


    The last thing I wanted to do was antagonise her right now.


    She retrieved a very plain-looking kitchen knife from one of the grooves sewn into the interior of the fabric, passed it to me.


    Sharp, but not overly-so.


    ¡°Nice.¡± I started cutting the shape into meat of her forearm. ¡°Sorry, if it hurts.¡±


    ¡°Been hurt worse.¡±


    ¡°Have you?¡±


    ¡°Just keep at it. Thinking.¡±


    The girl stared off into the distance, tapping at her chin, seemingly studying the forest depths behind me by the way her eyes were moving minutely.


    I looked back at my work.


    ¡°She¡¯s got all of them, Tanra.¡± I couldn¡¯t halt the words even if I¡¯d been trying ¨C what was on my mind had to vent itself, and my mouth was the only escape valve. ¡°She¡¯s¡­ What does she want? I mean, she already has everything ¨C why is she trying to make me and Spirit ¨C and you, maybe? ¨C tick off the highborn like this? She¡¯s been putting pendants on us all, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°She is Dream.¡±


    The seeress¡¯s voice had a tranquil quality, like that of someone trying to recall facts learned in childhood, almost forgotten but not yet gone ¨C even still, the words shook me and I fell silent.


    ¡°Keep talking!¡± she snapped after a moment.


    ¡°I¡­ Well that¡¯s hardly a response¡­¡± I hedged, settling force-lines into my ¡®F¡¯-shaped sorcerer¡¯s mark. ¡°If she¡¯s Dream, why wouldn¡¯t Dream be able to get through my amulet, and Em¡¯s? Any of ours? And that still doesn¡¯t answer ¨C¡°


    ¡°No ¨C she has Dream. Dream¡­ isn¡¯t Dream¡­¡±


    My mouth was dry. ¡°Should we wait for the others to arrive?¡±


    I released her; I was done with applying my seal.


    But she wasn¡¯t done. Her eyes still stared, searched.


    ¡°She laid her head upon the mound and thought her way down to us. Oh, oh Kas, oh no ¨C¡°


    Her hand shot out involuntarily, gripped me by the front of the robe.


    ¡°What? What is it?¡±


    Her eyes met mine. They weren¡¯t the eyes of the crazed inkatra-addict I¡¯d seen when I¡¯d first looked into them, but it was close.


    ¡°She¡¯s a dragon.¡±


    * * *

 Poisons pt2

    ¡°Who do I go for next?¡± I asked, feeling a bit nervous this time. I told myself the clamminess was just the otherworld-water I¡¯d used to wash off the worst of the diviner¡¯s vomit, reacting strangely with my skin ¨C but I knew I was being fanciful.


    A dragon¡­


    It was cold sweat filming across my forehead.


    ¡°Timesnatcher,¡± she replied at once from behind her mask. ¡°It¡¯s manageable with just the two of us, but I won¡¯t be able to slow everyone at the same time, not on my own.¡±


    ¡°Okay. How long¡¯s it been since I took you?¡±


    A¡­ dragon¡­


    ¡°Less than a minute.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°She¡¯s going to know something¡¯s up this time ¨C that I¡¯m willing to go back, that we¡¯re here¡­¡°


    Tanra shook hers right back at me. ¡°She¡¯s bringing Valorin to the party. That¡¯s the best bit of this ¨C she¡¯s almost out of Ceryad power! Her reach is diminishing, and she can¡¯t find Shallowlie and Netherhame, not right now. Her other ¨C¡±


    ¡°Valorin¡¯s enough of a problem on his own,¡± I said, feeling a bit sick at the thought. Can I really fight someone who¡¯s just acting under an enchanter¡¯s control? ¡°We¡¯ve got to get started, or we¡¯ve got to leave, and we can¡¯t do this without ¨C¡°


    Tanra snapped: ¡°Her other arch-sorcerers are too far away, I was going to say.¡±


    I swallowed, thought it through, staring at the incongruously-serious frowning face she wore, garish hood pulled over her hair.


    ¡°And she has Bookwyrm and Bladesedge?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡­ hadn¡¯t considered that¡­¡±


    Her head dropped suddenly.


    ¡°You mean you can¡¯t see them.¡±


    ¡°Give me¡­ give me time¡­¡± she murmured.


    ¡°That¡¯s the one thing we don¡¯t have!¡±


    ¡°We ¨C have ¨C time ¨C Kas.¡±


    Now her tone brooked no refusal.


    What else could I do? I was at her mercy.


    I waited.


    Zel was moving towards us, I could tell, but only when I looked closely. She¡¯d travelled a distance no greater than the thickness of my pinkie-finger since Tanra put me under the effects of her magic.


    Everything was coming undone. If I thought I was at Tanra¡¯s mercy, what about Lovebright? Joceine¡­ Whoever she really was¡­ She was the spider at the centre of the web, pulling the strings, but to what end? Nothing about this made any sense. If she¡¯d wanted us all dead, surely she could¡¯ve accomplished it by now¡­ No, she didn¡¯t want us dead ¨C not exactly. She wanted us changed, wanted us in certain places at certain specific times, accomplishing predefined successes, failures¡­


    Predefined? Predicted. Foreseen¡­


    Surely she was following the steps laid out by her pet diviners¡­


    Would it all end in us being¡­ eaten?


    Would we even know that it was happening to us?


    How did I know this wasn¡¯t all some test of her power, sending me into an illusion of the otherworld, making me think I was talking to Tanra, when in fact I was¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ still sitting in the chair?


    What if I never went to the Arrealbord at all?


    My head was really starting to hurt.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got so many questions.¡± I sounded like I was whinging, even to myself. ¡°Can I talk yet? Because it helped before ¨C when I was talking, I mean ¨C and I don¡¯t even know how long has passed now ¨C¡°


    ¡°Less than a second since the last time you asked, for your information!¡± she flared, raising her head at last. The eyes I could see through the slits were those of the cool Sticktowner once more, though. ¡°First, we get Timesnatcher. And that means we need protection. We could look for Voicenoise, or one of the others¡­ they don¡¯t look good, though¡­¡±


    ¡®They¡¯ didn¡¯t look ¡®good¡¯? Was she talking about our odds? Was she seeing us die, over and over in different futures, even as she stood there?


    I thought about it. ¡°I¡¯ve got something. I can only hope our dragon friend hasn¡¯t damaged it. But we have to get there and back ¨C it¡¯ll be a long way, on this side¡­ and if we go back without protection, too close to Hightown, she might ensnare us¡­ I need the best route to Oldtown through urban areas. I mean, literally, we¡¯re better off following a road than cutting across the grass¡­ Etherium rules. At least until you think we¡¯re far enough away from her¡­¡±


    ¡°A long way, you say?¡± She cocked her head at me. ¡°You¡¯ve forgotten how fast we can move like this, and we¡¯ll only go slower as we go faster¡­ you¡¯ll see. Come on. I know what you¡¯ve got in mind.¡±


    She took me, and it was like the grass was a wave ¨C as it had been in my vision, when Nentheleme blessed me ¨C and we rode the wave, the undulating carpet beneath us. It took me a few seconds to comprehend what had happened when she took us across a valley, across a treeline, and then we were striding atop the trees¡¯ leaves, racing through the still, silent air.


    I really hope she knows what she¡¯s doing, I thought.


    * * *


    Keyla screamed as I stuck my head through her wall.


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    ¡°Ah, I do apologise,¡± I said, sticking my arm out and offering a hand-wave to emphasise my words.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡±


    The heaving of her chest gradually slowed, and she lowered the quivering hand she¡¯d pressed to her lips.


    ¡°I, really, I can¡¯t say how sorry I am about this but ¨C can we possibly borrow that?¡±


    I pointed to Spirit¡¯s amulet dangling around her neck.


    Keyla turned, and it was only then that she realised Killstop was standing beside her, touching her elbow.


    ¡°Of ¨C of course, Liberator¡­¡±


    She removed it and handed it right over, staring at me curiously.


    ¡°Ta. I¡¯ll¡­ bring it back. Later. Glaif witness me. By Kultemeren.¡± It couldn¡¯t hurt, could it? ¡°And I¡¯ll use the door next time ¨C I promise. Gotta rush now!¡±


    And with that and a flash of green energy, we were gone.


    * * *


    ¡°What¡¯re the odds on this?¡± I asked, once I got my breath back. I really didn¡¯t like moving quickly.


    But for all her faults, Tanra knew her stuff. She¡¯d brought us unerringly back to the same spot. Zel had moved perhaps a couple of hand-spans, but the fairy had still only just turned her head as though to follow our trajectory as we sped away; her body was still oriented the same direction as before. We¡¯d lost a few seconds, tops, while Tanra put Keyla under her spell.


    Whatever answer she gave, I¡¯d believe her.


    ¡°Fifty-fifty,¡± she replied at length. ¡°It¡¯s difficult ¨C there are no incongruencies I can see, but I¡¯m not an enchanter; what do you think? You helped create it.¡±


    I¡¯d already looked the pendant over with my sorcerer¡¯s-eye. ¡°Everything about the rune looks the same as the day he made it, and the magic I put in it¡­¡±


    ¡°It feels the same?¡±


    ¡°Uh huh?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Seventy-thirty, in our favour. You¡¯re up for this? I¡¯ll have to run away, you know. The amulet won¡¯t work for two, nowhere near as well.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll yell when I¡¯m back ¨C¡°


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to do that.¡±


    ¡°Do you¡­ you need me to refresh my seal again? Just to be on the safe side?¡±


    ¡°Kas, it¡¯s been seconds, literal seconds, since you made the mark. It¡¯s not even had chance to bleed yet, for Celestium¡¯s sake!¡±


    ¡°Well I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m nervous!¡± I suppressed a shudder. ¡°I know what I¡¯ve got to do, and I¡¯m terrified!¡±


    A¡­ dropping¡­ dragon.


    ¡°You can do it. I know you can.¡±


    ¡°Curse you. Right after I thought to myself, how much trust I put in your judgement¡­¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Get on with it. I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    I drew a quivering breath. ¡°Okay. Go.¡±


    She fled, and time came rushing back.


    My assorted fey companions let out a variety of exclamations.


    I addressed Zel, who was clearly the most miffed at being left out of the loop: ¡°In a minute, dear. Trust goes both ways, remember.¡±


    I reached out my hand to pinch a seam in reality, and had to take a moment to stop myself shaking. My fingers weren¡¯t performing their usual trick.


    Come on, Kas. Keep it together. They¡¯re all relying on you.


    I opened the jadeway, just a little bit.


    Go to Lovebright and reprimand her. Tell her how you feel.


    It was a tiny voice, whispering in my head, over and over.


    Go to Lovebright and kill her. Show the others your strength.


    But with Spirit¡¯s pendant around my neck, I could hear it: the accent to the voice.


    It was not my own. It wasn¡¯t even Lovebright¡¯s.


    Too¡­ draconic.


    The room I could espy through the hole had changed.


    Sunspring was laying his hands on Lady Sentelemeth, and the ancient Lord Wenlyworth was already leaning over the arm of his chair, convulsing, foaming at the mouth. Lord Haid had his eyes closed.


    The others were standing to attention, in a loose ring around the arch-druid and the three politicians in their chairs; Em was standing on the table, fire-wreathed.


    Lovebright was nowhere to be seen ¨C a fact that meant precisely nothing.


    The arch-diviner¡¯s voice boomed: ¡°There!¡±


    I could barely withdraw, close the seam, before Timesnatcher¡¯s blade penetrated the planar boundary, Stormsword¡¯s orange flames flickering behind him.


    At least he was in front of me now ¨C possibly¡­


    I ducked low and reopened the jadeway, hoping against hope ¨C


    Tackling someone armed with a knife was perilous enough. Tackling them through a planar doorway, blindly, without getting stabbed? Impossible.


    Then, arm them with a dagger designed to eat demons for breakfast, trailing emerald tinctures through the air.


    Then, make them a hostile arch-diviner.


    I went out of and back into Etherium in a flash, and it wasn¡¯t four punches in the face I received.


    I landed face-first in a pool of thick, glistening water, life spilling out of me in a dozen places and still they kept coming ¨C daggers falling, sinking through my robe, my unprotected flesh ¨C my internal organs rupturing in violent floods of effluent and light that I could feel streaming out of me, high into the air ¨C


    Still I couldn¡¯t shield ¨C


    My heart, a sucking sensation, an explosion of pain ¨C


    Then I was on my back on the grass once more, fierce clouds frozen in place in the sky above me that I could see through the canopy of tall trees. The warmth of a healing elixir was again making its way down my throat. And then another, and another.


    I¡¯m glad¡­ I didn¡¯t have to yell¡­ Tanra¡­


    The rejuvenating fluid trickled slowly, tickling my tonsils, but it still moved far more quickly than my surroundings; I¡¯d been stopped again.


    I flicked my gaze across.


    Timesnatcher, crouching beside me, tipping a little phial of his own into my mouth. His other hand, in contact with my shoulder.


    Killstop standing over us.


    ¡°I do apologise, Kastyr,¡± Timesnatcher said huskily. ¡°Tanra¡¯s explained. I would¡¯ve brought your sylph in, too, but he doesn¡¯t like us after we attacked you, no matter what your fairy says.¡± He sighed, withdrawing his healing elixir from my lips. ¡°I¡¯ll be in need of your seal, when you¡¯re ready.¡±


    I swallowed then croaked, a meaningless noise, before my innards started twisting a little, the healing working its way through my body.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t poison us all.¡± His husky voice fell to a trembling bass. ¡°Not Emrelet and I. She¡¯s using Neko to replicate the effect of a toxin on the nobles, but, yes, it¡¯s going to be blamed on you. She¡¯s trying to manoeuvre you into a future where you don¡¯t belong. She¡¯s¡­¡± he swallowed ¡°¡­ a dragon? Seriously?¡±


    He turned his head up to face Killstop, who merely nodded solemnly.


    ¡°I still can¡¯t wrap my head around it,¡± he admitted. ¡°I need¡­ time¡­¡±


    ¡°This¡­ again?¡± I moaned. ¡°Thought¡­ you were¡­ greatest¡­?¡±


    ¡°Imagine looking through the threads in a scarf to find the shortest one,¡± Killstop said to me. ¡°It can be quite frustrating, let me tell you. Luck has more to do with it than skill. Skill ¨C power ¨C is just the ability to search them in the first place. It never guarantees success.¡±


    ¡°She and I were¡­ we were intimate, some nights ago.¡± Again, the deep voice shook. ¡°It was¡­ I cannot remember much of what happened. But it did¡­ it happened.¡±


    His voice dropped off almost into silence on the last words.


    I stared at him, not even knowing how to respond to this.


    Tanra knew how to respond. ¡°Is that something we can capitalise on?¡±


    He only shook his head, and said: ¡°I don¡¯t know. She ¨C she wasn¡¯t her. It makes no sense¡­¡±


    ¡°You can scry deeper later.¡± Killstop had her hands on her hips. ¡°Come on, get up, Kas. We¡¯ve got to get a move on.¡±


    With Timesnatcher¡¯s help I propped myself up on an elbow, then took Killstop¡¯s kitchen knife when she passed it over. Timesnatcher held out his arm, sleeve drawn back, and I started slicing into it.


    ¡°Speak about your troubles, Feychilde,¡± he said after a moment.


    I laughed, then cut the sound short. I could hear the despair in it.


    ¡°Which ones, exactly? I¡¯m currently wondering how wide of a gate I can open¡­ but I can¡¯t stay in contact with them all, not at the same ¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself over that. You¡¯re coming with me to see Wilderweird first. We¡¯re getting amulets for Tanra and I before we even step into that mess out there, and then we will help you carry them through, one by one. She won¡¯t be able to stop us.¡± Irimar lifted his face to the overpoweringly-moss-scented breeze. It was clear from his lack of reaction to his surroundings that he¡¯d been to Etherium before. ¡°I believe it¡¯s that way.¡± He nodded towards what would be south, given the sun¡¯s position, if we¡¯d been on the Material Plane.


    More stomach-lurching speeding around, and still no way to use my wraith here¡­


    I passed Tanra her knife back, and sighed.


    It was going to be one of those days.


    * * *

 Poisons pt3

    Wilderweird was a man of advancing years, greying stubble on his neck, chin and chops. Above, the eye-drawing fractal mask covering his nose, eyes, forehead. He had a serious paunch, but was broad-shouldered and confident-looking as he strode across the silent Hightown street in front of the Oath-House of Glaif.


    I could only tell he was striding by the angle of his arms and legs, their pose not quite hidden by the yellow-and-green robe¡¯s sleeves, its spacious skirts.


    He wasn¡¯t actually in motion, of course; not that I could see.


    Timesnatcher went to pass through the portal I was holding open, and even he slowed down, froze, on the threshold.


    ¡°What am I doing wrong?¡± I cried frantically.


    ¡°Oops ¨C sorry,¡± Killstop murmured.


    She did something ¨C I saw the lurch in Mund beyond the jadeway as Wilderweird¡¯s foot moved an inch towards the ground ¨C heard a snippet of sounds come through, voices, footfalls of boots and hooves on the cobbles ¨C and then Timesnatcher was in the frozen world, moving to Wilderweird¡¯s side.


    ¡°He had to move through the portal in normal time; we were still going slow. It would¡¯ve taken him a minute or so to step between the planes. Had to let the dragon have a second there.¡±


    I watched as Timesnatcher started talking to our fellow champion.


    ¡°How long has passed since¡­ since I pointed at the First Lady of Mund and shouted at her?¡± I asked as we waited.


    How long has passed since Lovebright thought in my head that they had eight minutes? How much has she moved up her schedule?


    How quickly can Springsun kill them with poison?


    ¡°Stop it, Kas.¡± Killstop sounded bored. ¡°Just surrender to it. We can¡¯t do anything till we¡¯re safe from her. You know it as well as I do.¡±


    My frustration was fit to boil over, so I clamped it down with a grin, screwing the smile tight onto my face.


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± the seeress said sweetly.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± I pointed out, then went to the portal, intent on pushing my arm through so I could bring him across the boundary.


    My arm couldn¡¯t go through the dimensional boundary ¨C I looked over my shoulder.


    She cocked her head at me. ¡°Did you want to take a minute?¡±


    ¡°Tanra!¡±


    She sniggered, relenting; the very next instant the arch-diviner stepped back into the otherworld with the arch-enchanter at his side. I waved the portal closed with my free hand.


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    ¡°Feychilde. Killstop. I gotta admit, I ¡®ave no idea what¡¯s going on.¡± Wilderweird¡¯s voice was gruff ¨C a Rivertown accent if I ever heard one ¨C but surprisingly emotional, rough around the edges.


    I reminded myself: This one didn¡¯t volunteer for Zadhal.


    He moved his head around, taking in Etherium ¨C I couldn¡¯t see his eyes but I could imagine his surprise. Unlike Timesnatcher, I didn¡¯t get the impression Wilderweird had been here before ¨C or at least not for a while.


    ¡°But ¨C I¡¯m gonna do my best ter help¡­ Timesnatcher ¨C he mentioned a dragon?¡±


    Killstop blurred forwards, then she was holding Wilderweird¡¯s pendant in her hand, its snapped chain trailing from her fist.


    ¡°Hey!¡± the arch-enchanter yelped, reaching out ¨C


    ¡°Lovebright made this,¡± Killstop said wearily.


    ¡°Nah ¨C she ¨C wait¡­¡± The older champion slowly lowered his hand.


    ¡°Well-handled, Killstop.¡± Timesnatcher sounded just a little ruffled that he hadn¡¯t caught it.


    ¡°Oh¡­ gods¡­¡± The yellow-and-green robed archmage sank to his knees and I bent a little to keep in contact with him. ¡°What ¡®as she done? What has she done?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the Ceryad, amongst other things,¡± Timesnatcher told him in a soothing voice. ¡°Don¡¯t blame yourself. Blame me, if anyone.¡±


    ¡°She can¡¯t, she can¡¯t do that,¡± Wilderweird muttered, ¡°not without contact¡­¡±


    ¡°First we need to get some new pendants made, and grab the others.¡± The black-and-white robed arch-diviner sounded weary just like Tanra. ¡°We can¡¯t keep this up forever, and it¡¯s going to extract a serious toll on us. Time is passing, even if slowly. The less chance we give her to react to this¡­¡±


    ¡°Rebellion,¡± I supplied.


    ¡°This rebellion¡­¡± he said the word heavily, ¡°the greater the likelihood we get past this. The likelihood we win.¡±


    ¡°Win?¡± I blenched, just a little, at the thought. ¡°We¡¯re going to fight a dragon?¡±


    He nodded grimly. ¡°I think we have to.¡±


    Wilderweird just shuddered like the rest of us had done, vibrating under my hand.


    ¡°So,¡± Killstop said to him brightly, ¡°mind some light mutilation?¡±


    She drew out her knife, and our arch-enchanter colleague raised his head, gasping in shock.


    ¡°Yeah, well-handled, Killstop,¡± I grunted.


    * * *


    We used ensorcelled blades to cut the chains about their necks. Yanking on the links, from slowed-time, would likely hurt our friends. We snipped the necklaces off carefully, and then took them back across the boundary.


    It was eerie, though. Em was my first choice ¨C it already felt wrong that I¡¯d prioritised Tanra, but had I really had an option? ¨C and even now we had others to rescue first: primarily Sunspring and his three victims. When I finally got chance, I approached my wizard girlfriend furtively despite her apparent paralysis. She was a flawless statue, and some part of me hardly felt worthy to go near her. Her pale hair and skin and robe made her like a graven image of Tauremei, of winter¡¯s wild, winsome goddess ¨C but she was imprisoned within a burning cage, bound by a phoenix¡¯s blaze that was reflected in her eyes. The flames ringing her were no less affected by the chronomancy than she was, but still they danced, circuiting about her in lethargic searing spirals.


    Whatever fiery spell she¡¯d been preparing when the temporal stasis took hold, it looked formidable.


    ¡°Hurry up, Feychilde,¡± Tanra called over. ¡°This isn¡¯t easy, you know!¡±


    I delicately reached through and withdrew the amulet from its place in Em¡¯s bodice. Then, with a spark-trailing dagger in my other hand, I set to work, deftly gripping her chain in a loop about the blade and pulling away. A few links were cleanly sheared-through, and within seconds Wilderweird was working on her mind.


    ¡°Sorted,¡± he said after a few moments. ¡°Done my best to prepare her, like.¡±


    Once Em was cleared by the enchanter he went over to help Killstop with Spirit, and one of the diviners must¡¯ve brought the wizard into the fold because she slumped, fires quenching as she did so.


    ¡°Oh, Ka- Feychilde!¡± She flung her arms around me. ¡°Zere is a dragon!¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± I murmured, mirroring her motion, squeezing her back. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°We are going to kill it,¡± she said, a trace of desperation, frenzy in her voice.


    Stormsword¡¯s voice, not Em¡¯s. I couldn¡¯t match its hardness.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    * * *

 Poisons pt4

    Wilderweird and Spiritwhisper took the wooden discs I¡¯d crudely carved and set to work creating amulets for those of our guests who needed them ¨C including the First Lady of Mund and her similarly shocked-looking fellows. We were all sitting in a circle between a number of huge, monolithic reeds, a spot that would be located somewhere in southern Hightown on Materium side. Whether they were avoiding us or the diviners were choosing our path with greater care than I understood, we hadn¡¯t spotted a single fey entity bigger than a house-cat, and nothing even half as aggressive in nature. Everything around us was time-frozen in any case.


    Now as we hunkered down in the dirt I had Avaelar, Zab and Zel gathered around me and Em. On the other side from the enchanters, the three politicians were looking distinctly uncomfortable without their nice chairs, but they¡¯d been shamed into lowering themselves to the ground by virtue of the fact everyone else had been happy enough to get their clothes dirty; perhaps they¡¯d merely been waiting for servants to miraculously appear from the supernatural surroundings, someone to help lower them to their backsides. Other than with the surprisingly-light Wenlyworth, whom I was surprised to find hadn¡¯t dropped dead from sheer excitement at the proceedings of this extremely drawn-out afternoon, no one was going to act like their butler. Haid and Sentelemeth had adopted very refined, almost apologetic expressions as they hastily joined Wenlyworth on their noble asses.


    You¡¯d think folk who¡¯d just had to let a lowborn sorcerer cut into their pristine, overfed flesh would have a bit more sense of priorities, but there we had it. Fortunately Sunspring had been able to do something to everyone, allowing the seal I cut into them to last longer ¨C particularly needed in the case of the paper-skinned Lord Wenlyworth, in whose case it was a fine balance to cut deep enough for the wound to bleed without then causing him to bleed out.


    Timesnatcher himself was now standing in the centre of us, slowly rotating on the spot while Tanra went prowling around the outside, keeping pace with his pirouetting ¨C apparently this performance aided them in keeping us under their chronomantic effect. Something something increased present moments, something something minimised event-succession¡­ I¡¯d tuned out halfway through their explanation, focussing instead on the blade in my hand, the shapes I was slicing into the wood.


    (We¡¯d chopped up a couple of Killstop¡¯s wooden stakes, with Zel reticent to provide reassurances about how ethereal materials would react to ensorcellment ¨C though that perhaps had more to do with her discomfort at this exposure to powerful diviners than any certainty or lack thereof on her part. She definitely wasn¡¯t being herself ¨C the dainty little faerie queen was nestled in my lap, as though she wanted to hide. This whole thing had been her idea in the first place, essentially!)


    We sat there in our circle, and discussed the situation. The wide-eyed politicians stared at us, looking back forth between the champions as we traded our assessments, our suggestions. Thankfully they didn¡¯t interject too often with their pat, out-of-touch wisdoms.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t think of us as actual assets,¡± Killstop said as she paced about us. ¡°We¡¯re less than tools, to her. Until this happened, or until very recently, she didn¡¯t even see us as people. Something¡¯s changed in her, something I can¡¯t see or do anything about. Timesnatcher?¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± he replied from the centre. ¡°But I don¡¯t think anything quite like this has happened before.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think this change happened due to us. I think¡­¡± It sounded like Tanra was biting her lip behind the mask, then she continued: ¡°I think we were able to escape because she changed. Do you follow me? She¡¯s not wholly committed, or she¡¯s lost her way ¨C something like that.¡±


    ¡°You can see all this?¡± Stormsword sounded sceptical.


    ¡°You¡¯re right ¨C no, I can¡¯t, I¡¯m filling in the gaps¡­ but I don¡¯t think I¡¯m wrong.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Timesnatcher said, exhaustion in his voice and his stoop as he rotated on the spot.


    Em looked across at me and I offered a slight shrug. Timesnatcher was thinking of the fact he slept with Lovebright, I was certain. I wasn¡¯t going to just blurt it out like that right now, though.


    ¡°She sees us as pawns,¡± he went on, lifting his head again, ¡°and although she¡¯s never had cause to use us for anything so overt, today she¡¯s going to marshal her forces. Pawns against pawns. She¡¯s thinking like a human.¡±


    Sunspring coughed loudly.


    Timesnatcher gave a contrite chuckle. ¡°What I mean is that our abilities are too diverse for her to deal with it as an enchanter, even if she¡¯s the most powerful enchanter we¡¯ve ever seen. She must¡¯ve taken years¡­ I¡¯ll bet she found a way to draw on the Ceryad before she ever showed a face here, you know.¡±


    ¡°So she isn¡¯t following instructions from her diviners?¡± I asked.


    Timesnatcher looked at Killstop ¨C


    ¡°It¡¯s highly improbable.¡± The seeress had a dismissive tone to her voice. ¡°She took Bookwyrm and Bladesedge as cover for Dreamlaughter; that¡¯s why she was so vehement Dream had nothing to do with Nighteye ¨C she¡¯s confused about that herself, or she was, at the time, at least. And Dream herself, she¡¯s someone else entirely -¡±


    ¡°But why then haven¡¯t you been able to see what she wants?¡± I pressed. ¡°And why in Twelve Hells was she trying to get me and Lady Sentelemeth to have a fight? Just so it¡¯d look more credible I¡¯d killed her?¡± I looked at the frightened, beautiful politician, this figurehead of power reduced to a shrinking mess. ¡°My apologies, by the way¡­ m¡¯lady¡­ If I¡¯m being honest with myself, with you ¨C I don¡¯t think Lovebright even had me say a single thing I wasn¡¯t feeling, on some level ¨C but I swear, I never would¡¯ve said what I said, how I said it¡­¡±


    ¡°I too,¡± frog-man Haid offered out of nowhere. ¡°I too said what I thought, without that barrier of discernment, good judgement¡­¡± His eyes stared into the dirt between his knees, unseeing, stupid hat flopping to the side.


    ¡°It bespeaks a certain temperament, to admit that,¡± Lady Sentelemeth said to me, her voice surprisingly level, then turned her head to Gathel Haid. ¡°And even to follow another in such example. My thanks, gentlemen, for your candour.¡±


    A long shot from admitting any influence yourself, though, eh? I couldn¡¯t help but think sneeringly.


    ¡°We shall need such cool heads, if there is indeed a dragon in Mund,¡± old Lord Wenlyworth mused. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose ¨C there¡¯d be another drop of that fortified wine ab-¡±


    ¡°Icaron!¡± Sentelemeth snapped. ¡°No more wine required, thank you, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°I think, in answer to your questions, Feychilde,¡± Timesnatcher said, ¡°she wants to use you in a certain way I may have foreseen and about which I cannot talk ¨C so ¨C don¡¯t ¨C ask.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Not good enough, T-Man. Not good enough by half. You¡¯ve tried this on me before. ¡®I can¡¯t tell you why, but call Neverwish out!¡¯ And then within five minutes I¡¯ve got Star hating¡­ Oh Yune¡­ Neverwish¡­¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Neverwish. And¡­ Rosedawn. There have probably been others, too¡­¡±


    His voice dropped away.


    ¡°She¡¯s been doing this for years?¡± Sunspring asked, a twang of pain his usually-jovial voice.


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    Killstop was nodding too as she went around the circle in front of me. Timesnatcher said nothing; just wheeled away in silence.


    I drew a deep breath. ¡°But that¡¯s beside the point, Timesnatcher. You¡¯re the leader. That doesn¡¯t mean I have to follow blindly. You wouldn¡¯t tell us about Killstop coming to Zadhal ¨C¡°


    ¡°Because I did not know for sure!¡± he retorted. ¡°I was¡­ guessing¡­¡±


    ¡°You risked all our lives in the name of speculation!¡±


    It seemed I was letting it all out now. I noticed that Zel in my lap and Em by my side were both looking at my face in concern.


    ¡°The very first time we met, you fed me a bunch of nonsense I still can¡¯t make sense of ¨C it¡¯s like, you can¡¯t help yourself ¨C¡°


    ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Killstop said, the boredom, resignation back in her voice. ¡°Why don¡¯t you let the experts do their thing? We don¡¯t tell you what to summon ¨C we trust you.¡±


    ¡°When you didn¡¯t bring the liches out, when you dealt with them yourself, I trusted you,¡± Timesnatcher reminded me.


    Killstop went on: ¡°Trust us. Telling people their future in exacting detail is usually a guaranteed catastrophe, especially when they¡¯re ¨C archmages. Especially when their future is tangled with the futures of other arch-diviners.¡±


    I caught a hiccup there. She was going to say something else instead of ¡®archmages¡¯.


    What would it take, for an arch-diviner of her calibre to slip up like that? There had to be a million different things she could¡¯ve said, and so many of them led to problematic futures that she couldn¡¯t decide which until she¡¯d already hesitated?


    Or was it just that making me think about this was her intention all along? That the future in which she slipped up was the best one for her, encouraging her to do so deliberately?


    And how did I know that Timesnatcher hadn¡¯t told me to bring the liches out purely so that I¡¯d see him in a different light when he ignored my refusal? What if he knew I wouldn¡¯t have been bringing them out in any case? How would I have even achieved it, realistically?


    I loosed a brief growl of irritation and bowed my head, indicating that I was giving up my interruption.


    Diviners and enchanters¡­


    ¡°The answer to your other question,¡± Timesnatcher said, ¡°is that she is clearly operating under a prophecy we haven¡¯t seen. I think¡­ I think I have the answer to it now. I think it is the twins.¡±


    ¡°Illodin¡¯s tears,¡± I breathed. ¡°She wouldn¡¯t go after them, would she?¡±


    Jaid and Jaroan¡¯s faces swam before my suddenly tear-filled eyes; I sprang to my feet, sending Zel fluttering ¨C Lovebright knew my sister was a bit of a fan of hers, I¡¯d told her ¨C


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean those twins, Feychilde,¡± he said softly. ¡°I mean Saffys and Tarrance. There was¡­ there is¡­ a destiny looming over them.¡±


    ¡°But my tw-¡°


    ¡°There are almost two million people she could go after!¡± he spoke over me. ¡°If she has taken an interest in any of¡­ our loved ones, we shall each have to bear that burden until we can know more. I can¡¯t foresee any specific dangers.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve not been harmed, Feychilde,¡± Zel said in a quiet voice, from where she now sat on Em¡¯s knee. ¡°I know it.¡±


    ¡°Our families,¡± Spirit muttered. ¡°If she¡¯s gone after our families, I¡¯m gonna rip her droppin¡¯ mind out, I swear.¡±


    ¡°Erm ¨C do you think she knows I¡¯m ¨C that I¡¯ve joined you?¡± Wilderweird asked in a small voice.


    ¡°We can¡¯t know anything for certain.¡± Killstop actually stopped pacing around us for a moment and looked at Timesnatcher ¨C something seemed to pass between them and then she continued on her way. ¡°We have to get to the Ceryad. She knows this, or at least suspects it will be our goal. We can¡¯t forget she¡¯s got diviners she¡¯ll use ¨C ones we can¡¯t see, not easily ¨C¡±


    ¡°Excuse me ¨C are you chaps talking about the Ceryad-tree?¡± Lady Sentelemeth asked in an overly-polite voice. ¡°The heirloom of the Five Founders ¨C the First Wonder of Mund?¡±


    ¡°I think¡­ I think we¡¯ve said¡­ too much,¡± Timesnatcher replied thickly.


    ¡°But it has been lost for centuries!¡± the Lady went on, undeterred. ¡°To think, that she should have discovered the whereabouts of such an ancient artifact, or that you¡­ it ¨C¡°


    ¡°Are you okay, Timesnatcher?¡± Killstop asked.


    Then all of a sudden, in a chilling echo of his earlier outburst when it¡¯d been me on the receiving end, Timesnatcher broke off his measured rotation ¨C he brought his arm up, pointing over Spirit¡¯s head, and mumbled: ¡°There!¡±


    This time he didn¡¯t lunge forward, blade extended ¨C this time he wasn¡¯t under a murderer¡¯s influence, and his potential target almost certainly was¡­


    Nevertheless, there was a tiny seam in the air, already closing before I became fully-aware of its existence.


    A miniscule hole, big enough only for an eye to peer at us ¨C


    But it couldn¡¯t close, could it? It would be anchored there by the chronomantic effect ¨C


    It closed.


    ¡°Valorin!¡± Killstop said in a clear tone of challenge, a dagger appearing in each of her hands ¨C not the kitchen knife. ¡°And a few of his friends.¡±


    ¡°They have their own time-bubble?¡± Sunspring growled.


    ¡°How do they know where we are?¡± Lady Sentelemeth asked.


    No one seemed to want to answer either question. Time for talk was over.


    I unfolded my pre-prepared shield, its stars spinning in place before they were even fully formed, and quickly spread my full complement throughout the area. Avaelar unfurled his hidden wings, taking up a crouched combat posture, while Zab hid behind him.


    At the same time, electricity came down through the tower-like reeds, congealing in Stormsword¡¯s hands and in her eyes; here in this place and time in the otherworld, the lightning was pinkish in hue, almost like a little blood was mixed in with the radiance. It arced across her knuckles and between her fingertips.


    Sunspring bellowed, generating a tremendous noise that belied the gnome-shape¡¯s size; even as he roared he changed, and it was no feline or canine snarl ¨C it was a deep, loud, primate rumble. Within a heartbeat he¡¯d become something akin to one of the gorillas they sometimes displayed at Firenight Square, only twenty feet tall and with fur a subtle shade of dark green.


    The gorilla-gnome reared up to his full height and stepped in front of our arch-enchanters, who were in turn drawing their own ensorcelled weapons, hunkering down beside Lady Sentelemeth, Lord Wenlyworth and Lord Haid. Spirit had one of Killstop¡¯s in his hand, dripping blue stuff from the tip that evaporated the instant it broke contact with the metal.


    I moved my hand to create a second shield about the politicians and their protectors, flicking my gaze back to Timesnatcher, expecting his booming voice to command us, spur us on into action.


    But when I looked at the arch-diviner I noticed for the first time ¨C his pallor beneath the mask, the trembling that was arresting the fluidity of his motions.


    Something was horribly wrong with him.


    ¡°Lovebright?¡± I whispered to myself.


    ¡°It¡¯s the spell!¡± Killstop cried. ¡°Our spell! He¡¯s going under!¡± She abandoned her post and sped to his side, put her hands on him, lowered him to the ground.


    He seemed to be only vaguely aware of his surroundings; he appeared to be staring at his outstretched hand, and still he didn¡¯t speak.


    ¡°Can we do anything?¡± Stormsword asked quickly, more pink light cascading down to join the glowing mass gathered around her hands.


    ¡°No, no¡­¡± Tanra sounded panicked, and she waved off Sunspring who came stomping over, still a twenty-foot green gorilla. ¡°This isn¡¯t physical ¨C this is his power ¨C damn it, Timesnatcher! Timesnatcher, can you hear me in there?¡±


    She was practically yelling into the side of his head, and he wasn¡¯t reacting one iota.


    I filled my lungs before shouting over her: ¡°Sunspring, watch the other side too ¨C they don¡¯t have to come through the same place twice!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware of that, young man!¡±


    I was still keeping my eyes on the two arch-diviners, and I put another separate shield over Timesnatcher. ¡°I¡¯ve got shields over the whole place. Killstop ¨C Killstop, listen to me!¡± When I bellowed she raised her face. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to get all their amulets bef-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s already too late!¡± she cried right back at me.


    As the control slipped and their time-instant caught up to ours, they came through three gateways just beyond my farthest shield, spreading out in a semi-circle around us, and I saw that Killstop had been wrong.


    It wasn¡¯t Valorin and a few of Lovebright¡¯s kidnapped champions.


    Or rather, wasn¡¯t just them.


    The arch-magister was there, leading the group in the middle, his shields raised ¨C but Netherhame and Shallowlie accompanied him, along with over a dozen others.


    Some people I knew. A few I¡¯d fought alongside.


    ¡°Elkostor,¡± Stormsword murmured.


    I recognised the magister-wizard from Zadhal.


    ¡°Spirit, link us already!¡± I hissed, then, louder: ¡°Do not do this thing! We are not your enemies!¡±


    ¡°Listen ¨C to ¨C him!¡± the twenty-foot druid commanded in a terrible voice. ¡°Fangmoon, listen!¡±


    But the druidess didn¡¯t respond, and the ice elemental next to her shrugged his shoulders.


    ¡°This is going to be fun,¡± Winterprince grated, ignoring Sunspring, extending his titanic ice-blades from his fists and pointing one of them right at my face.


    ¡°This is not goin¡¯ to be fun,¡± Spirit thought.


    ¡°See, fate beckons,¡± Starsight declared in a clear, solemn voice, his robe and already-drawn spellbound blades gleaming. ¡°Already Timesnatcher has fallen. Lay down your arms, and we shall treat fairly with you.¡±


    ¡°Maybe we should l-listen to them¡­¡± Wilderweird stammered aloud.


    ¡°Run!¡± Killstop said, blurring to her feet ¨C


    ¡°No,¡± I spoke grimly into their minds. I¡¯d seen the results of flight, seen the way we¡¯d be isolated, cut down alone. There were diviners with them ¨C Killstop wasn¡¯t seeing clearly.


    ¡°No.¡± I repeated, more confidently. ¡°This time, we fight.¡±

 Battle in Etherium pt1

    <h2>MARBLE 6.6: BATTLE IN ETHERIUM</h2>


    ¡°Retaliation is a form of worship. As the scholar of Locus submits her text for peer review; as the healer of Wythyldwyn seeks aid in mending a grievous wound; as the chronicler of Chraunator argues her point; so is the warrior whose blow invites riposte.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Swordfaith Lectures¡¯ recordings, Urdara 966 NE


    ¡°Very good!¡± Killstop blurted psychically.


    Before I could stop her, before anyone could say anything, she raised her mask slightly and tipped a healing elixir down her throat.


    She vanished in a burst of green foam.


    Damn seals.


    ¡°Take a leaf out of your little friend¡¯s book, Feychilde, before you take a leaf out of Leafcloak¡¯s, Sunspring.¡± Winterprince soared up into the air between two of the gigantic reeds, forty feet up, surveying us. ¡°Killstop¡¯s got me shocked ¨C the girl¡¯s actually sensible. Why not follow her example? Come back to Materium with us. You¡¯ve led us a merry chase. It¡¯s over.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re all just dancing to Lovebright¡¯s tune,¡± I replied. ¡°Fairness, Star? And you ¨C you really think my neck¡¯s got your name on it, don¡¯t you, Winterprince? That couldn¡¯t be further from the truth.¡±


    He floated too close to my shield ¨C my force-blade chipped the armour above his right knee, knocking him away slightly, and he quickly retreated back within Netherhame¡¯s shield before I could press forwards.


    ¡°Feychilde¡­¡± Stormsword said over the link. Her lightning was clearly fully-brewed; she¡¯d stopped collecting the stuff in, and her voice was tense, taut as a bowstring at full draw.


    Ready.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be as invisible as I can make us, as soon as it starts,¡± Spirit said. ¡°They¡¯ll be able to pierce parts ¨C Wilder, you gotta back me up now!¡±


    I held my breath for a moment. There was no way for me to check whether he was right, check whether Wilderweird was doing his bit ¨C and seeing us disappear would force their hand.


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    Good.


    ¡°We have no way to cheat without Killstop,¡± I reminded them. ¡°Once her spell fades, they¡¯ve got us. They¡¯ll have minutes to go at my inner shields ¨C they won¡¯t hold. We can¡¯t get at their amulets ¨C¡°


    Valorin, Netherhame and Shallowlie came together and started a weave; and they got to work weaponising it immediately. With three of them, the multiplicative effect of weaving ¨C it¡¯d be ten, twenty times stronger than anything I could conjure.


    But the arch-sorcerers weren¡¯t spreading the barrier around us to contain us. They were only fighting at half-strength, robbed of their natural ingenuity, their resourcefulness. Robbed of the true desire to fight, of their champion¡¯s hearts.


    Or maybe they were just too afraid of us to spread out too far, thin their forces.


    I looked away, regathering my thoughts.


    ¡°¨C we can¡¯t get at their amulets without defeating them,¡± I finished. ¡°They have their druids. We have to assume the¡­ dragon hasn¡¯t barred them from healing each other. We need to fight them ¨C for real. Sunspring ¨C if you can heal their sorcerer¡¯s marks away¡­?¡±


    ¡°Not at a distance; don¡¯t you know, it¡¯s taken as ill-will, and the seal of a sorcerer is different to¡­¡±


    His voice dropped away, and I didn¡¯t prompt him.


    It was happening.


    They made their move, transforming the hypothetical into the real, causing what I thought of as my battle-rage to seep into my mind.


    Focussing my thoughts.


    Starsight and the two arch-diviners in grey behind him ¨C Bookwyrm and Bladesedge? ¨C took off, one of them going right, one of them left ¨C Star himself ran over my shield, racing atop it, his knives flashing.


    Shield Twelve was failing ¨C failed ¨C fell.


    Starsight dropped a few feet in the air as the first layer of the dome beneath him evaporated.


    Winterprince, Withertongue and two arch-wizard magisters took up lofty positions and started unloading spells, frost, fire and pink lightning rippling out from their hands in clouds and rays and waves.


    Shield Eleven.


    Fangmoon, Wanderfox, Petalclaw, others ¨C they took their accustomed shapes and swelled, barrelling forwards, hundreds of tons of muscle striking my fortifications.


    Ten ¨C Nine ¨C


    And then their enchanters¡¯ invisibility went to work, rippling out across them, until there was nothing left except the spell-effects of the wizards, the odd glint from a diviner¡¯s knife as they went hurtling around us, the pressure on the shields. Here and there, I could glimpse the robed bodies in motion, the odd flash as Spirit (and possibly Wilderweird) counteracted the spells of their opponents.


    Eight ¨C


    Our foes were coming forwards to meet us ¨C I could see the weave that no invisibility-spell could hide from a sorcerer¡¯s eye, expanding ¨C


    ¡°Now, Storm!¡± I cried.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she replied, her voice small, soft.


    The eruption was anything but.


    She thrust herself into the air, threw up her incandescent hands and screamed.


    * * *

 Battle in Etherium pt2

    Sheets of pink light covered the world, blackening the vast reeds, catching arch-diviners and arch-wizards that were beyond the sorcerers¡¯ weave, sending them reeling, tumbling from their perches. How harmed they were I couldn¡¯t tell.


    Along with Em¡¯s pent-up aggression, we had one other advantage, here in Etherium.


    My peers were not fans of the fey, were they?


    Sarcamor and Sarminuid I settled near to the Lords of the Arrealbord. I brought through my scorpion and had it grow to maximum size, Sir Stinger backing up Sunspring as the gorilla pulled himself with his massive knuckles in the direction of the enemy druids. At the same time I opened a portal full of chattering golden squirrels in the general vicinity of their cadre of enchanters, then reached into crimson fire beneath my feet and pulled Khikiriaz through, carrying me up into the air.


    The red-furred ikistadreng loosed a blood-curling scream of defiance when he saw a flash of what we were dealing with, and he reared up. I wrapped my legs tight about his flanks, as much to ensure he stayed on this plane as to stay atop his back.


    ¡°Khalor!¡± I commanded.


    When he lowered his huge antlers, charging, I could see over his head the weave before us. I left behind most my barriers, to defend the others, carrying only my circle and triangle. Enough for me and my mount.


    The others were fighting behind me ¨C I could hear their cries, mostly psychic rather than physical, as they entered a battle against overwhelming odds.


    I couldn¡¯t listen.


    Focus.


    I gritted my teeth, fixed the shields, and set every force-blade in front of me, a pulsating blue spike, like a thousand lances conjoined into one ¨C


    I could¡¯ve unfolded arms of force, tried to pin the weave in place to allow me to strike it ¨C but that wasn¡¯t how this was going to work. It was a weave. It worked on resolve. Something mind-controlled slaves lacked.


    When I rode the hell-beast right through their weave and trampled the flickering bodies of Valorin and Shallowlie, I felt the inrush of energies as a group of our foes were sucked away from this plane. Either Min or the magister had lost consciousness, lost connection to their power, and with that loss those who bore their seal had been whisked away.


    I couldn¡¯t see Netherhame ¨C she must have put everything she had into the weave. Nonetheless, I could hear a burst of the sound she made, her wail of anger; and when she reacted I got only a glimpse of the obscenely-huge shadow falling upon me, only a snatch of the zombie giant¡¯s sickening song, before it struck me.


    My triangle burst at a single blow, and Khikiriaz¡¯s head caved in, antlers bent; he toppled, dying, and I went down with him, my leg trapped beneath him.


    My leg turned to mush beneath him.


    A flick-flick of warped invisibility revealed the zombie giant raising its dirge-chanting fist, comprised of unseeing, warbling blue corpses ¨C


    I raised my hand as though to ward it off, gasping ¨C


    It struck my circle-shield, hammering me and my dying demon into the dirt, and I saw the lines fraying, stars bursting even as I was rebuilding them ¨C I dismissed Khikiriaz between gestures, an action that at once both relieved and tortured my useless left leg ¨C


    Zel was hanging there in the air beside the zombie giant suddenly, contorting strangely, and it was only as Spirit¡¯s efforts washed across us that I realised she was actually standing on top of Netherhame¡¯s head, burying the tip of her knitting-needle sword through the eye-slit in the sorceress¡¯s mask. Trying to make her release her grip on the giant.


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    ¡°Princess!¡± the fairy yelled at me over Netherhame¡¯s staccato screams.


    Of course.


    Jerking with the pain, I twisted my arm, pulling through portals ¨C the zombie giant swung its other fist down at me to finish me ¨C


    Leaping through the jade mist from which she was birthed, my unicorn brought her glittering horn into contact with the towering hulk of cadavers, headbutting its descending knuckles ¨C


    ¡°Esae!¡± she cried fiercely, joyously, a word probably best translated simply as, ¡®Yes!¡¯


    Whatever Gilaela did, it burned up the zombie giant¡¯s arm, turning the hundreds of bodies up to its elbow into dust. This seemed to undo a portion of whatever magic held it together, loosing the deluge of cadavers on top of me.


    I preferred a rain of illusory puppies, but at least the rain of corpses couldn¡¯t penetrate my shield as they cascaded down on top of me; they couldn¡¯t bury me alive. They were still squirming around, teeming over my force-barrier. Though their strength was vastly reduced when almost separated, strung out like a string of pearls on a snapped necklace, the weight of them was immense. Too much ¨C


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± I heard the unicorn¡¯s concerned voice on the other side of the body-pile covering me.


    I opened my mouth to command her ¨C


    And the zombies all over me were swept aside in a storm-wind, flickering back to Nethernum once the tempest separated them from each other.


    I could see the glowing otherworld sky ¨C and I could see ¨C


    Winterprince descending upon me.


    His swords crashed into my shield, again and again, and a hail of sharpened ice-shards drove at me from all angles. A burst of them wounded Gilaela, forcing her back whinnying.


    ¡°Are ¨C you ¨C sure?¡± the wizard snapped as he shattered my stars, sent my blue ring shuddering to a halt.


    Was I sure my neck didn¡¯t have his name on it?


    That was what he was asking me.


    Sunspring went reeling past, shaking the ground underfoot ¨C he was even bigger than before but his foes, not much smaller, were all over him: a silver-black tiger, a blue-brown rat¡­ I wasn¡¯t getting help from him.


    Zel was stabbing Netherhame¡¯s hands, her wrists, working at the tendons that let the arch-sorceress control her fingers. No help there.


    My last star exploded while I was fumbling with my demiskin but my other healing elixirs eluded my fingertips, and I looked up in terror.


    ¡°Back ¨C off me!¡± I cried, lashing out with a force-spike at the arch-wizard even as he pressed his advantage.


    It was no good. I was too weak. My force-spike couldn¡¯t drive him away, never mind pierce his ice armour.


    I looked aside, doing my best to control the energies, summon my last reserves.


    Our foes ¨C visible, no longer flickering ¨C my satyrs wrestling with Fangmoon; Stormsword sparring with both Elkostor and Starsight; the Arrealbord lords and Timesnatcher still safe inside their shields ¨C


    Could I draw on that power?


    It was only then that I realised our enemies¡¯ invisibility wasn¡¯t reactivating; this wasn¡¯t just a lull. It had truly dropped off. Spirit was keeping up his end, it seemed, or ¨C


    A tide of golden squirrels came to Zel¡¯s aid just as Netherhame¡¯s shields sent the fairy flying ¨C they swarmed atop the sorceress, hiding her from my sight, burying her wards and all beneath their shining rodent bodies, rolling her across the grass.


    What they¡¯d done to the enemy enchanters I was unsure¡­


    I looked back at Winterprince as he broke my starless circle ¨C and brought my final eldritches to the front of my mind.


    The arch-wizard was grinding laughter.


    ¡°You are mine!¡±


    He launched the killing-blow.


    He did it with his own hands. He wasn¡¯t going to bring a lance of ice up under me. He wanted to do it himself. Feel the life leave me, as it¡¯d left the young heretic.


    This wasn¡¯t all the dragon. This was him. His nature.


    And it cost him dearly.


    Xiatan, my treeman eldritch, I brought through right between us, even as Flood Boy appeared ten yards away.


    The shining frost-blade bit deep into the dryad¡¯s bark-flesh, far deeper than any ordinary sword ought, certainly one made of cold water; and, probably rather surprised by both the jadeway and the sudden attack, Xiatan released a shockingly human shriek and simply clobbered the ice-clad wizard with his branch-arms.


    About half a second later, as Winterprince span away into the air and started gathering twin nimbuses of orange heat just beyond the tips of his swords, Flood Boy¡¯s namesake arrived.


    A tide of wine came like a river through a burst dam to slam into the arch-wizard, slapping him down to the ground, his fires ¨C at least for now ¨C extinguished in a whoof of explosive vapour.


    I looked across at the faun and gave him a weak thumbs-up. The little guy¡¯s eyes were wide as he played his thrumming tune and he didn¡¯t look at me.


    He¡¯s¡­ scared, I realised.


    A huge scorpion-pincer, bigger and heavier than a horse, landed not five feet from me. I felt the impact as it rocked the ground, but it was a distant thing, somewhere beyond the pain.


    My leg.


    ¡°Help!¡± Sunspring gasped over the link.


    ¡°Diviners are on him!¡± Em screamed.


    * * *

 Battle in Etherium pt3

    Winterprince was rising through the faun¡¯s flood, burning it away into steam as he soared across the intervening space ¨C


    Was this unconsciousness calling me? I couldn¡¯t pass out.


    I watched as Winterprince reached Olbru and put his now searing-tipped blade through the faun¡¯s tiny chest, and I couldn¡¯t move my arm, couldn¡¯t move him away¡­ it was too late, anyway¡­


    If I pass out, they all enter Treetown. She could have¡­ have anything there¡­ waiting¡­


    Em¡­


    I couldn¡¯t move my hands ¨C they were cold ¨C but I could move my jaw. Bite down on the lower lip.


    Draw even more blood.


    He killed Flood Boy.


    It wasn¡¯t enough. The pain wasn¡¯t enough. I was slipping. There was a velvet blackness awaiting me ¨C it was unconsciousness, it was death, it was suicide ¨C


    I watched, through blinkered, closing eyes, as the arch-wizard raised his foot and savagely lashed out, the massive translucent boot thrusting into Olbru¡¯s face, kicking the faun¡¯s corpse clean off the sword to lie in the dirt.


    Tiny green leaves of energy rose from the dead faun¡¯s skin into the air, like luminous snowflakes falling in reverse, his spirit breaking apart as the plane swallowed him up.


    He¡­ kicked¡­ Flood Boy¡¯s¡­ corpse¡­


    I stared on, as he flicked my trusty faun¡¯s blood from the blade.


    There was another well beneath the well. There was fire beneath volcanoes. An ocean of it.


    I might¡¯ve been unconscious, but now I could feel my shield as it brought itself shuddering back into reality.


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    I flopped about, onto my chest, the left leg non-responsive ¨C but it was mercifully pain-free, doing little more than tingle now.


    That was probably a very bad sign.


    Drop on it!


    I forced my hands into claws and tried to crawl towards the wizard, my stars buzzing, made of pure will ¨C


    ¡°Oh no, boy,¡± he snarled, whipping back to face me.


    He pointed his sword; the fire flowed, and it was all I could do to deflect the attack.


    I was helpless as together we ignited Xiatan, not three feet from me. A gush of lava consumed the dryad layer by layer, then it seemed to bubble up inside him, smoke and incandescent fluid pouring out of the cracks of his eyes and mouth.


    The treeman collapsed into smouldering ashes next to me.


    ¡°I said ¨C you ¨C were mine.¡±


    Fingertips of frost clawed their way through my shield. Head bowed, I awaited the end, however it came. I couldn¡¯t see his blades. Only sense them as he broke my defences.


    Broke me.


    I saw the pink lightning through my closed eyelids, though.


    ¡°You!¡±


    I¡¯d never heard Stormsword sound scarier. It was the voice of a tornado that struck the battlefield, struck Winterprince.


    And then she was drawing me back with her wind-magic, sliding me across the ground away from my would-be killer, even as she drew closer, tagging in for me.


    Thank¡­ you, I tried to think at her, but it didn¡¯t go through. Does that mean¡­ I have to handle Starsight?


    I collapsed forwards onto my face, letting her pull me ¨C letting go¡­


    But as she crossed over me, something fell unerringly into my fingers, nestling itself in my grasp ¨C


    The chain. Her healing potion.


    I lurched onto my elbow then collapsed, face near to my hand ¨C the fingers were still cold, so cold, but I could draw out the stopper with my teeth ¨C


    ¡°Avaelar!¡± Zel was shrieking. ¡°Help Timesnatcher!¡±


    Help¡­ Timesnatcher¡­


    My sh¡­ shield¡­ gone¡­


    I poured the first drop of the healing elixir, missed my mouth; I thrust my neck forwards desperately, put out my tongue ¨C


    A boot smashed into my jaw, crunching down, shattering the glass between my fingers and snapping my bones like kindling.


    ¡°We can¡¯t be having that, I¡¯m afraid,¡± Starsight intoned.


    He leaned down, his minty breath in my nostrils.


    I tried to meet his eyes, but all I could make out was the gleaming star of his mask.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry things went this way,¡± he said softly, ¡°but you stepped off the path, Feychilde. A thing ill-destined is better finished swiftly, nay? Else it become an abyss to drag down all in its wake.¡±


    He did something to me and I was on my back, spread-eagled.


    The glitter of a golden dagger-blade in his hand as he stood over me ¨C


    * * *

 Battle in Etherium pt4

    ¡°Ironic. You talk way too much.¡±


    Killstop was behind him ¨C right behind him ¨C and in her hands, her own luminescent dagger, and the sliced ends of the chain about his neck.


    How¡­?


    He reacted, she reacted ¨C I couldn¡¯t tell. When the motion-blur resolved, they were standing side-by-side for a split-second before running away ¨C together.


    But I knew for certain when I felt a druid¡¯s magnificent healing and energising spells entering my body that the tide of the battle had turned.


    I sat up, straightened my mask, and peered down at the tremendous blue condor crouching over my leg. She was taking a spray of lightning from an arch-magister with her wings, protecting her head, and just ignoring the damage as though it were nothing. The feathers that were withering away were being replaced just as swiftly as they vanished, I saw. The pain didn¡¯t even appear to bother her.


    I expanded my shields around her anyway, cracked my knuckles, and smiled.


    ¡°Thanks, Glimmer.¡±


    The druidess nodded to me, and I looked about, silently praising Yune.


    Timesnatcher ¨C his robe was withered away, touched by flame or lightning, but the flesh beneath was pink and he¡¯d been placed in a position of repose. Someone had seen to him already.


    The politicians ¨C they were huddled together, shieldless, with Lord Haid crouching protectively over the other two, a look of never-before-experienced horror on his bulbous face.


    All three of them, alive.


    Shadowcloud, dipping and weaving through the ethereal sky like a ghost, created a shell of lightning around the enemy wizard who¡¯d been throwing spells at Glimmer ¨C a shell which only seemed to absorb what his foe drew in and threw out.


    A moment later it congealed inwards, frying the magister where he floated; Glimmermere left my side, catching the magister, taking him under the power of her magic.


    Killstop had brought Zakimel ¨C that was what had given us the edge. Now, accompanied by Starsight, they were putting things right. Direcrown was with them, and he was riding a winged demon ¨C it was the size of an elephant but it appeared very much like a small dragon, with savage-looking rust-red claws and teeth, black-metal wings and scales. It only differed from a young drake out of the story-books, as far as I could tell, in that it possessed three long, tapering tails. There were spell-effects in different shades and hues crackling about the trio of barbed tips, waving dangerously in the air.


    The sorcerer had crossed the field to help Stormsword take Winterprince apart, and I felt a flush of pleasure watching the ice being torn from the wizard¡¯s limbs.


    Winterprince¡¯s amulet had to be inside there somewhere, right? Had Lovebright gotten him to expose one of his arms for him to take the seal? There was no other explanation.


    It felt strange to imagine a living man inside the ice armour all of a sudden ¨C but the armour layers were so thin now that I could see him, properly, for the first time. He was drowning in a deluge of magma spewed straight out of my girlfriend¡¯s hands, drowning in a deluge of blows from some of the most-fearsome demonic talons I¡¯d ever seen.


    But he was a man in there. A mage clad in a plain blue robe.


    I had to do it ¨C it would be glorious.


    I leapt up, ran over to them, and cried out: ¡°Enough! Take pity on the poor guy.¡±


    Em looked at me; Direcrown murmured in Infernal to his mount; and then, just as Winterprince staggered back into an upright position and raised his head defiantly, Killstop visited him.


    She smashed her fist right through the crust of his frozen exterior, then pulled back, clutching his pendant; a second later she held the amulet up in the air, swinging it before his still-ice-masked face.


    ¡°Thanks, your Highness,¡± she chirped ¨C then vanished, off on another errand.


    Winterprince, far smaller in stature than was normal, shrank down further into himself, curling up and sitting down on the grass.


    He put his head between his knees, unmoving, silent. I could now see right through the thinnest ice leg, the one that contained no flesh and bone below the thigh. Where something awful had wounded him, irreparably.


    Strange, that my words had been so wrong, and so right. Having fun at his expense wasn¡¯t glorious ¨C it was stupid. Pathetic. But now I did pity him. Whatever I thought of him ¨C whatever part of it was or wasn¡¯t the dragon¡¯s doing ¨C he was a champion. He was crippled, because of his commitment to the cause, and yet he didn¡¯t retire ¨C he kept on fighting. He¡¯d beaten me. He was strong; he deserved his pride.


    And today he¡¯d been puppeteered into a shameful battle, then had all his protections whittled away to nothing, for everyone to see.


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    Despite everything, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to speak to him ¨C not now.


    He kicked Flood Boy¡¯s corpse off his sword.


    As I surveyed the smoking, spell-blasted clearing between the reeds, I realised it was over. Killstop and Zakimel had used their superior talents to bring the other arch-diviners to heel first, then used them to emancipate the other combatants. A number of magisters were helping the three politicians to their feet, checking them for injuries.


    There were over two dozen entities, eldritches included, scattered about the battlefield. Many of the human faces showed panic, disgrace. They were receiving the pertinent information from Spirit or someone, it seemed.


    My satyrs had survived, though they had champions¡¯ blood up their arms. My sylph was seeing to my unicorn. Zel came through unscathed, too; I saw her, fluttering around the almost-completely dissolved remains of Olbru.


    Stormsword was before me suddenly, and I hugged her, whispered my gratitude for the last-second rescue.


    ¡°Zat is vot I¡¯m here for,¡± she whispered back, smiling broadly as we parted.


    I looked across at the others. ¡°No fatalities?¡± I yelled.


    ¡°No fatalities?¡± I repeated telepathically, just in case someone had gone too far to hear me.


    Then I got to sigh in relief at the sheer number of dubious confirmations. No one knew for certain, even out of the diviners, but the fact no one thought they saw a body lying in front of them was definitely a good start. I couldn¡¯t sense any, though if some had slipped back to Materium ¨C


    ¡°I think we¡¯re all okay,¡± Killstop hedged, over the psychic channel.


    ¡°What in Twelve Hells happened, Killstop?¡± Spirit asked.


    ¡°This is beginning to Bor me.¡±


    It took me a second ¨C


    There was a pause, while Spirit parsed what she said, then he piped back up: ¡°No magisters. Pruned the link ¨C just us now. What happened, Tanra?¡±


    ¡°I found her charm under the Ceryad. Destroyed it. Once I did that, it was easy to get Zakimel on board. She¡¯s panicking, you see. She¡¯s decided to stop spending her forces, go back to the long game¡­ Something like that. She wants to pick our minds back up! If she can make us forget this ever happened¡­¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, about Zakimel?¡± I asked, feeling worried.


    ¡°What do we do now?¡± Shadowcloud called down.


    I¡¯d been staring at Killstop, her back to me as she bent over Timesnatcher, but now I moved my eyes to look up at the wizard. His grey robe with the yellow lightning-bolt was rippling in the breeze of his power, his misty mask and leathery gloves all in place.


    He¡¯s back, then? I thought in wonder. The reports had all indicated he was destined to¡­ well¡­


    No one else replied to his question directly, breaking off in small groups and muttering.


    ¡°We have to get her,¡± I called up to him.


    ¡°We will finish this,¡± Stormsword said.


    I felt a tingle in my fingers, and looked down at Em¡¯s hand in my own only to see a little trail of pink electricity still running across her knuckles.


    I smiled at her, and she smiled back.


    Drop it. This dragon has to die.


    Killstop and Zakimel moved towards the centre, oddly in concert, almost as though the seeress was doing her best to keep on top of the seer. Behind them, Starsight, Bookwyrm and Bladesedge were all doing something to Timesnatcher, crouching down and waving their hands rapidly back and forth, as though they were tickling the air just above the fallen hero¡¯s unconscious body.


    It must¡¯ve been strange for the two arch-diviners, to come out of a several-year-long stupor into the midst of this chaos. Though, knowing diviners, they¡¯d probably each taken half an hour to get over the shock of it, somewhere between one footfall and the next.


    ¡°It is fortunate you came to me,¡± Zakimel said, only a little boasting in his tone, his gaze passing over me, scrutinising me, as he cast his eyes across the champions. ¡°We¡¯ve successfully removed the amulets, and now we must consider a rational course of ¨C¡°


    As I¡¯d anticipated, with everyone staring, Killstop sprang on him.


    No one else here was possessed of speed enough to aid her ¨C or him. No one conscious, at least. It was a one-on-one duel of frightening scale, even though it lasted at most three seconds, coming through almost as a series of still images:


    Tanra, her backside on his chest, legs wrapped about the magister¡¯s upper body to pin his arms as she dug into the neck of his robe ¨C


    Zakimel, both arms high over his head, holding the champion by one heel, swinging her up into the air to bring her crashing back down to the ground on her skull ¨C


    Tanra, kneeling atop his shoulders, thighs holding his head tight in a vice as she gripped the chain beneath his chin ¨C


    Zakimel, bringing a blade down at her face as she lay on the ground before him ¨C


    Tanra, crouching over his body, the hilt of one of her knives protruding from his sternum.


    ¡°Damn it, Zakky!¡± she cried. ¡°Quick, someone fix him!¡±


    She pulled her knife free, releasing a gush of blood ¨C I noticed immediately that it was only the kitchen knife ¨C and she started backing away slowly. As she went, I could see that she was dragging the pendant by its chain from beneath the torn fabric of his robe.


    The confrontation might¡¯ve only lasted three seconds, but now I had to worry about the magisters here ¨C I saw the scowls, the renewed battle-readiness entering their features, their postures ¨C


    Will we have to fight again?


    The other Magisterium diviners here hadn¡¯t acted¡­ Lady Sentelemeth and her cronies were watching, wide-eyed, all their power and authority deserting them in the face of a true crisis.


    And then within three more seconds a number of druids had already reached out with their spells, evidenced by the greenish mist settling about him. Before anyone even got to Zakimel¡¯s side to apply a greater level of healing, he snapped into an upright position, his hand on his wound.


    ¡°Who¡¯da thought Zakimel would shave his chest?¡± Spirit asked into the link, sounding genuinely curious.


    ¡°Are we done?¡± Killstop said aloud, still backing away. Her voice was nasal, as though she were holding back a sneeze or yawn or something. ¡°Are we¡­ can I¡­¡±


    She fell; Zakimel reached her side first, lowered her to the ground, and gently placed her head down inside her hood.


    ¡°She must rest,¡± he said, an unusual quiver in his voice. ¡°We¡¯ll do what we can, to help her, but¡­ but she¡¯s exhausted her magic.¡±


    I thought back to everything she¡¯d achieved ¨C everything that would¡¯ve gone disastrously wrong today if she¡¯d not been as powerful as she was.


    ¡°I should damn-well hope so,¡± I said, looking down at her, her sightless eyes staring out through the mask. I flicked my eyes across to Lady Sentelemeth. ¡°Killstop¡¯s the Liberator of dropping Mund.¡±


    But, as the others started debating our next steps, my glance lingered on a tiny creature in a blue dress, sitting beside the slowly-evaporating remains of her old friend.


    Zel. Zel is the Liberator of Mund.


    * * *

 Battle in Etherium pt5

    I wasn¡¯t used to having to fly across the city without the faerie queen on board, but she¡¯d asked for a bit of time before I left Etherium, and in the wake of Flood Boy¡¯s death I hardly felt inclined to even question her thinking. She needed time; she had it. We¡¯d left in a bit of a rush ¨C Zakimel had been quick to point out that planar chronomancy was fraught with perils, and all of the non-sorcerers were in real danger of overstaying their welcome any minute and becoming bound, permanently, to the otherworld. Netherhame said he was massively exaggerating, but that didn¡¯t stop everyone hopping through the first portal that got opened.


    Ignoring the others, I¡¯d taken a moment to thank my fairy, ensuring she knew I thought she was the ¡®Liberator of dropping Mund¡¯ too. And all she¡¯d said was to not tell anyone how integral she¡¯d been. Then she turned away from me, sitting down again beside the steaming green splat that had been my faun.


    I looked from Olbru¡¯s remains to Xiatan¡¯s ¨C back again ¨C then let her be.


    It was terrifying, to think what could have ¨C would have ¨C happened, if Zel hadn¡¯t been as quick-thinking as she had been. But now it was all over I felt a bit queasy over how I¡¯d used Olbru, how he¡¯d died for me without hesitation. Sure, I could¡¯ve been killed without him ¨C but perhaps I wouldn¡¯t have. Perhaps Em would¡¯ve gotten there in time. Perhaps it was me, me that¡¯d killed my faithful minion, not the elemental-armoured, elemental-hearted wizard who¡¯d already stepped out of my sight, through Direcrown¡¯s portal.


    Still, I¡¯d rejoined with my wraith upon returning to the Material Plane, and with Zab and Avaelar ¨C and, just for the sake of it, I joined with both my satyrs. If I wasn¡¯t going to have access to the fairy¡¯s perception and danger-sense, the satyr-reflexes would do in a pinch, and their increased strength and durability would come in handy if we ended up getting attacked. We still had no real clue how to proceed. For now, we were doing what was deemed safest.


    I didn¡¯t personally like the idea of splitting up, but my voice had been only one of many, and in the end I¡¯d given in ¨C those Spirit cleared had to move the twins to a safe place, and there were a variety of other tasks that needed carrying out.


    I was on my way back from Arrealbord Palace with Lady Sentelemeth, Stormsword and Starsight. We were flying as quickly as the combination of wizard with diviner could permit ¨C which was horrifically fast. Star might not have been as powerful as Irimar or Tanra, but others joined their spells with his before we left, including Zakimel ¨C and now nothing moved beneath us as we cut through the sky, even smoke from chimneys frozen, like dry paint on a canvas of air. Despite the lack of wind, Storm¡¯s aeromancy and Star¡¯s chronomancy worked perfectly together, seamlessly transitioning the air about us through the time-bubble ¨C something I hadn¡¯t questioned before but which, now I had more time to notice it, seemed strange. Almost on the level of how druids would transform their clothing, without possessing the power to just transmute random objects. How the line of what was and what wasn¡¯t considered ill-will wavered, how enchanters could affect some kinds of minds but not others¡­ It was a curiosity, nothing more ¨C but surely someone had mentioned it in a book somewhere? I¡¯d have to look it up, once this was all over.


    I looked back at the First Lady of Mund, flying beside Em. There was a grimness, a reality in her eyes that hadn¡¯t been there when I¡¯d first met her gaze across the table in the palace. She¡¯d seen things now, just a sliver of what our lives were like, and it was enough to start a change in her. Her golden hair bounced in the stream of air slipping through the bubble, her silver-scaled gown rippling. I admired the fact she hadn¡¯t faltered when it was agreed she¡¯d come with us, help smooth things over.


    It had been decided that someone had to retrieve the weapons we¡¯d left at the Arrealbord and explain to them what was going on ¨C that was a task we¡¯d taken, and it was only after Sentelemeth and a band of magisters explained it for the third time that the palace guards started listening and released our belongings. Starsight would come back with us to the Maginox, and after seeing us safely inside he would return to the Tower of Mourning, where Dimdweller, Bookwyrm and Bladesedge had taken Timesnatcher and Killstop. It wasn¡¯t exactly frowned-upon to enter the Gathering chamber when it wasn¡¯t full moon, but still, it wasn¡¯t a done thing ¨C the suspicion someone was attempting to misuse the Ceryad-tree was, of course, integral to the custom. However, Tanra¡¯s flagrant breach of the doors in search of Lovebright¡¯s charm ¨C something a number of diviner champions had perceived the instant it happened, apparently ¨C was eminently excusable. Now she¡¯d been in once today already, and it had been made plain that the Ceryad had been in use for years, it hardly made sense in this time of emergency to not use the Ceryad to help restore them.


    I glanced over at the arch-diviner. Without Zel¡¯s augmentations it was hard to pick out the golden stars that blended almost invisibly into the gleaming white weave of his robe.


    ¡°How long since we came back to Materium?¡± I asked.


    ¡°As the sun measures it, eighteen minutes,¡± he answered, then looked over at me from behind his glittering five-pointed mask. ¡°We wrangled with the guards for seventeen minutes.¡±


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    I laughed, then drew a breath.


    ¡°I am sorry, you know,¡± I said. ¡°I never meant ¨C Neverwish, it was¡­¡°


    He¡¯d already raised a hand out towards me, indicating that he wished for me to stop.


    ¡°I should not have ¨C I shouldn¡¯t have blamed you,¡± he said, then looked away. As he continued, his voice lost some of the youthful wistfulness, the trance-like tranquillity it usually possessed ¨C he sounded older, less solemn¡­ more human. ¡°Before Zadhal, I attempted to wound you with my words. I can only praise Kultemeren for the truth¡­ and Belestae that you did not lose your life in that dreadful place before I could right this wrong. It is I who ought be sorry, Feychilde. It is all for Illodin in the end, I fear.¡±


    I looked at him keenly. ¡°For Illodin?¡±


    He met my eyes again. ¡°For grief. For loss. There is not one living thing in this world, my friend, that was not born in death; death is a wave, upon which life coasts like foam bursting, forever falling beneath the surface, being replaced¡­ I mourn my lost friend, even as I smile, knowing I have found one again.¡±


    He reached out, put his hand on my shoulder briefly as we flew.


    I appreciated the gesture, but I was confused.


    ¡°Right back at ya ¨C but why do you grieve for Neverwish? We might¡¯ve been misled into thinking he was dark ¨C but Lovebright never made us think he was a heretic. They didn¡¯t take off his head, did they? I mean ¨C he¡¯s still¡­ alive? We were going to get an update, from Leafcloak, when¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t quite know how to end that sentence.


    ¡°You have heard of Magicrux Zyger?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°I¡¯d meant to ask my fairy about that ¨C I¡¯m guessing that¡¯s the hole Henthae throws archmages into? But¡­¡± I guessed his meaning, and suddenly felt sick, something no amount of wraith could help with. ¡°But you can get them back out again, right?¡±


    He shook his head slowly, sadly.


    ¡°But that makes no sense!¡± I snapped. ¡°Well, why not just kill them, then? Why have them there ¨C why torture them like that ¨C why waste resources like that? Ah-h-h-h¡­¡±


    I bit off the sounds. The Magisterium were crazy, and I was going to give them an earful in a few seconds¡¯ time.


    ¡°It is not such a simple thing,¡± the arch-diviner replied, looking ahead of us again. We were coming up on the Maginox now, the five-sided multicoloured needle that dominated the skyline. ¡°The blood of an archmage is a sacred substance, they say. To spill it coldly is to invite Glaif and Illodin¡¯s wrath.¡±


    ¡°Bedtime stories! That¡¯s just ¨C¡°


    He raised his hand. ¡°Perhaps. And yet even in the execution of heretics, when it is done outside combat, the names of the gods are invoked. The old ways are not entirely forgotten. Still, it is not strictly a matter of superstition. It is a matter of policy. Some criminals expect clemency. All know that Heresy alone is punished by the blade. Yet consider now: how might one safely enter such a place, and retrieve a prisoner, without running the risk of freeing some of the world¡¯s worst mass-murderers?¡±


    ¡°But with your powers ¨C¡°


    ¡°My powers, which obviously do not function inside Magicrux Zyger,¡± he replied. ¡°How else might they imprison those whose merest inclination alone might shake down the stones, tear the walls asunder?¡±


    ¡°They remove their powers,¡± I breathed.


    Even just the thought of it ¨C


    He was nodding. ¡°The place cannot be seen, exists in no vision. It is the darkness that is not silent.¡±


    ¡°But how? How is it achieved? If archmagery is such a sacred thing ¨C how can they just take it away like that? I can¡¯t even imagine the glyphs ¨C which gods ¨C¡°


    ¡°I have my suspicions,¡± Star murmured, ¡°but we have arrived.¡±


    ¡°But I ¨C¡°


    ¡°I know, Feychilde ¨C I know. However, I do not have all the answers you seek.¡±


    He settled down on the path, just outside the bridge, the shield covering the Maginox. There were a number of time-frozen students and waywatchers around him.


    A little regretfully, I joined him on the path.


    As Stormsword and Sentelemeth landed, he continued, addressing all of us: ¡°My spell shall last a few more minutes ¨C please, hasten to Zakimel. I must aid the others in reviving our fallen comrades.¡±


    With that, he was gone, heading towards the Tower of Mourning. Now that we weren¡¯t moving together I could see the white streak on the air that his blur left behind him, its residue like paint, lasting for longer than normal due to the chronomantic effect.


    We still had a bit of a way to go ¨C I let the ladies pass me and followed them across the bridge, towards the steps, the globe-lit archway which lay ahead. But I ignored the motionless moat beneath the spans of the bridge, and instead looked after the arch-diviner as I moved my feet, pondering his words; his light was still there in the sky, still fading away.


    Zyger. Where Duskdown said I would try to send him.


    Zyger. The name Zel spoke with such fear.


    Zyger. Neverwish¡¯s doom.


    It was only as we crossed the threshold into the corridors of black stone, heading for the endless spiral stair, that I realised what was troubling me. Why it hadn¡¯t troubled me till now I wasn¡¯t quite sure ¨C there¡¯d been a lot going on at the time ¨C but it came shuddering back into focus suddenly.


    How was I supposed to do something with Neverwish, if he could never be freed?


    ¡±You. Neverwish. If we do it right, there comes a time when you and he¡­ I can¡¯t tell you much. If I say certain words to you, it won¡¯t happen, and things will be worse. What I can¡¯t see I can infer from the consequences. I just¡­ I wish I could make you trust me, but I wouldn¡¯t even if I could. I just hope you do ¨C some day, if not right now. If it isn¡¯t you, we know who it will be, and things would be worse. Far worse, in the end. Even if I were to do it¡­¡±


    What could it even mean?


    I knew only one thing for certain:


    Timesnatcher better not die today. He and I need to have a long talk about honesty.


    At least one-and-a-half seconds¡¯ worth¡­

 The Hunters pt1

    <h2>MARBLE 6.7: THE HUNTERS</h2>


    ¡°Eradicate such evil where it rears its head, and be watchful for the hydra¡¯s regrowth. We cannot permit a single one of their catechisms inside our minds. We locate and purge all such aberrations during your debriefing. Should you suspect yourself or a member of your band of heretical infestation, do not hesitate to report it immediately to your band-leader or sub-division head. Do not be afraid. The earlier such influences are discovered, the more readily they can be expunged, and the swifter the recovery for the unfortunate bearer of sacrilegious thoughts.¡±


    ¨C from the ¡®Magister¡¯s Handbook¡¯ ch. 40


    ¡°Praise Joran we¡¯re all safe now.¡±


    Lord Haid couldn¡¯t quite get his fingers in order, it seemed ¨C he kept folding his hands over themselves, again and again, a seriously-noticeable nervous tick. But I couldn¡¯t forget him standing over the First Lady and the Lord Shadow, prepared to sell his life for theirs. He might¡¯ve been nervous, but his heart was in the right place.


    ¡°Safe ¨C for how long, my lord?¡± I asked. ¡°We have to do something about the dragon. She ¨C it ¨C wants to take our minds back, remember?¡±


    ¡°There is only one option,¡± Stormsword said from her seat beside me, voice tightly controlled. I could tell she was painfully aware she was in the presence of her fellow magisters, and of them only Zakimel could be expected to know for certain who she was behind the mask. ¡°It is little different from a heretic situation, only worse ¨C we have no idea what she can do to us. We take her down, fast and hard. Concerted effort, as with titan-class demons.¡±


    As I looked around the table I noted the admiring stares of the twin arch-wizards, Saff and Tarr, their eyes glued to my girlfriend, and I smiled. I was trying to judge the reception of her words in the faces of the others, still doing my best not to show my awe at our environment. This room was on the fourth floor of the Maginox ¨C the actual fourth floor, not the fortieth or four-hundredth: the ensorcellment on the stairway didn¡¯t work when we were moving under the effects of Starsight¡¯s spell, but when we¡¯d arrived one of Zakimel¡¯s minions, presumably granted his own chronomantic bubble by the arch-magister, greeted us and directed us on. I was thankful we didn¡¯t have to climb the whole damn tower, but it made sense now. The halls at the bottom of the building were, of course, the biggest, given its tapering structure. And there were a lot of interested parties.


    Given the amount of people Zakimel had invited in, at least half his motive had to be minimising rumours. He¡¯d been happier to let the champions out of his sight than his own magisters, as though he feared the second he took his eyes off them they were going to go around telling all the undergraduates there was a dragon in the city. What most gave me this impression was that the number of people in the room only seemed to increase as we waited; plenty of the mages in here now weren¡¯t involved in the battle in Etherium. I had an awful suspicion some were simply entering, eavesdropping idly, and then, once their shocked expressions gave them away, they were actually being told to take a chair.


    Accordingly, we were all seated at a horseshoe-shaped table in what I¡¯d overheard one magister calling the ¡®conference hall¡¯. There were something in the vicinity of two hundred and fifty chairs surroundings the table¡¯s outer edge, and in the centre was a smaller table on a raised dais, where Henthae, Sentelemeth and a number of other (almost equally important-looking) officials were sitting. In their midst were Saff and Tarr and their parents, huddled together with confused, horrified expressions ¨C the parents, that was. The kids still only had eyes for Em.


    This was the right place for them to be. I couldn¡¯t imagine a safer room than this one.


    By now the chairs in the room weren¡¯t quite all full, but we weren¡¯t far off.


    One edge of the semi-circular chamber was the purple wall of the Maginox; looking out, I saw that it had started to rain. With the coloured glass, it was as though the amethyst mists of Zadhal, the poisonous work of Vaahn, had claimed the paths, the bridges. The doubled hue was difficult to wrap my head around: the shielding surrounding the school and the fields remained azure-blue to me ¨C no mere glass tinting was going to occlude something like that from my sorcerer¡¯s eye.


    Unless you end up in Zyger, and lose your power, a voice inside my head reminded me.


    I straightened up in my seat. Half an hour without Zel and I was starting to impersonate her.


    ¡°There might be some utility in finding out what she knows,¡± a druid called in response to Em. ¡°Rather than just offing her at the first opportunity.¡±


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    ¡°There may be opportunity after she dies,¡± a sorcerer suggested, smiling faintly. ¡°It would take the concerted efforts of an entire college, and every penny of its treasury in the purchasing of reagents, if enough were even to be found in the city.¡±


    Idiot.


    Muttering swept the room.


    ¡°¨C didn¡¯t think it¡¯d be a private venture ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C if we opened the Magisterium coffers, and store-houses ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C have a great honking undead dragon on the lawn ¨C¡°


    ¡°¨C completely impossible,¡± a sorceress drawled ¨C it was Ciraya sitting there! ¨C she was sneering softly, dismissively, at her non-tattoo-covered rival. ¡°This dragon is clearly an archmage, meaning we can¡¯t control her ¨C not her spirit, at least ¨C if she is even a she¡­ Even our arch-sorcerers can¡¯t command an archghost. Cajole, perhaps, but do we really want to tempt fate by ¨C¡°


    ¡°This is not on the cards,¡± Zakimel said with surprising directness, raising his voice above the crowd. I could see fatigue on his face, the bristling moustache drooping lamely. For all I knew he was still maintaining people inside time-bubbles somewhere, sapping his strength, but it was more than just that: there was disappointment, self-doubt, written into the creases of his forehead, his frown. ¡°We await the return of those champions still absent. Then we will make a battle-plan.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t she be foreseen?¡± someone piped up.


    ¡°She cannot be scried or linked.¡± When Henthae spoke, almost complete silence fell across the stretches of table. If I¡¯d thought to see any of Zakky¡¯s uncertainty on her face, I¡¯d have been disappointed. ¡°We think the former is due to the interaction of a powerful outside force with her chosen path, whether she knows it or not; the latter is evidently due to a previously-unsuspected level of expertise on her part. We have druids in the field as we speak, attempting to perceive her through their particular senses. Though I will state this, for all to hear,¡± the Head of Special Investigations drew an audible breath: ¡°this creature¡¯s facility for enchantment astounds me. Like many others, I was fooled. Let none cast aspersions, let none be brought into disrepute! But we must temper fascination with caution. I hold with Stormsword. When Timesnatcher returns, I will advise the dragon¡¯s immediate destruction. I do not care what we think she may or may not know. Every second of her continued existence is an incalculable risk.¡±


    The near-silence held ¨C and held, until:


    ¡°Well, when do we suppose that shall be?¡± Lady Sentelemeth asked the old arch-magister.


    Muttering swept the room again.


    I sighed. ¡°The sooner Timesnatcher¡¯s back, the better,¡± I said under my breath, contributing to the general clamour.


    ¡°Why?¡± Storm asked curiously. ¡°You want this over as much as I do?¡±


    I looked into her eyes behind the phoenix-mask. ¡°Aren¡¯t you enjoying yourself?¡±


    She affected a slight shudder, and I instinctively put my hand on her arm, drawing her a little closer.


    She smiled grimly. ¡°It¡¯s just ¨C messing with minds¡­ It is not something I even enjoy to read about, hear about¡­ even watch it in a play. Having this happen to me, I¡­ Send me back to the front-lines already.¡±


    ¡°I know¡­ At least we might get to fight a dragon into the bargain.¡±


    Her smile became a little less grim, and she didn¡¯t reply, wistfulness entering her eyes.


    ¡°As for Timesnatcher¡­ I was actually thinking about something he once told me.¡±


    I briefly related what he¡¯d said about Neverwish, and what Star had told me about Zyger, masking my language as much as I could in case one of the magisters sitting around us was eavesdropping whilst continuing their own conversations.


    ¡°I knew zat¡­ it voz feared,¡± she breathed, eyes searching my own, letting her accent slip in her excitement. ¡°I did not know zi- this!¡± She turned aside, blinked a few times, then looked back at me. ¡°This is like having an enchanter in your mind, only¡­ worse, no?¡±


    I nodded lamely and she moved closer, placing her lips close to my ear; when she spoke she whispered such that even I could barely hear her.


    ¡°You truly think that you are destined to be imprisoned as a darkmage?¡±


    Now it was my turn to shiver.


    ¡°Nooooo¡­¡± my tongue trailed out the denial, making it a playful sound.


    Yesssss, my mind hissed the confirmation. I couldn¡¯t hide from my fears.


    ¡°¡­ yes?¡± my tongue finished lamely.


    She drew back again slightly, so that she could look through the slits in my mask again.


    ¡°Then we shall talk to Timesnatcher, together,¡± she said firmly. ¡°I do not want you to hide this from me, Feychilde. Nothing like this, you understand me? We can avert any future, any doom ¨C together.¡±


    She gripped my hand tight, and I returned the pressure ¨C


    ¡°Ow!¡±


    I released her hand and turned up my wraith-form at the same time.


    ¡°Sorry!¡± I adopted a pained expression. ¡°Still getting used to the double-satyr thing.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay!¡± She shook her hand, half-wincing, half-grinning. ¡°Save it for the dragon, will you?¡±


    ¡°So sorry¡­¡±


    It might not have cost her much, but I felt so much better. I had back-up. Not Stormsword¡¯s ¨C Em¡¯s. Em would guide me away from the darkness that wasn¡¯t silent. This powerful, amazing, beautiful girl would actually argue my case, work for her own reasons to change my destiny for me.


    Help me survive the dark tides of time ahead. Save me from losing everything I¡¯d gained that fateful day I¡¯d kicked their grave in goodbye.


    Save my soul¡­


    She was looking across the table, saying something to Ciraya, but I was staring into her face, her cobalt eyes, and I found her hand once more beneath the table. She let me take it in my own, and this time I turned up my wraith some more so that I could squeeze as hard as I wanted without her noticing.


    I love you, Emrelet Reyd.


    At that very moment the door banged open once more. Timesnatcher was framed in the shadows, the white hourglasses on his spare robe just as radiant as I was used to. Other champions were behind him, Killstop right there at his elbow.


    ¡°I¡¯m back,¡± he said, ¡°and I know exactly what we have to do.¡±


    * * *

 The Hunters pt2

    I looked up and down the steep Hilltown street, left to right, back again, for what must¡¯ve been the hundredth time. It was almost three o¡¯ clock, and the light was already starting to wane; the side-street would be quiet even when it wasn¡¯t raining, and most of the Hilltowners I saw were in the process of rushing indoors out of the downpour. I spotted no locals heading into the tavern outside which I was standing ¨C the place might as well have just shut for the day. Only those whose occupations necessitated being outside were braving the weather: mostly transporters of goods, wagons laden with barrels, sacks, crates. Their horses didn¡¯t look too happy about their current assignments, either.


    ¡°Still nothing,¡± I said over the link.


    ¡°Stop looking with your eyes. Whoever they are, they¡¯ll have eldritches with them. Do you use your eyes to sense eldritches?¡±


    If I don¡¯t have to look with my eyes, why are you making me stand out here in the rain?


    I bit down on my first few answers, going instead with the one I knew would open me up to the least-scathing reply. ¡°No, Killstop, I do not.¡±


    ¡°The reason you¡¯re the lookout is you¡¯ve got senses we don¡¯t. Do we have to go over the plan again?¡±


    ¡°No, Killstop, we do not,¡± I replied patiently.


    I heard Em giggling inside my mind.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ganging up on me now, ladies.¡±


    Glancefall was chuckling too. ¡°I think it¡¯s too late for that, Feychilde. You have my sympathies.¡±


    ¡°If this continues, I will report each and every one of you,¡± Jaevette said. ¡°We are on a mission. Protocol dictates ¨C¡°


    ¡°Protocol dictates you listen to your commanding officer, the dubious honour of which belongs, it just so happens, to me,¡± Killstop said sweetly. ¡°Or did I hear Zakimel wrong?¡±


    Em giggled again, helplessly, and perhaps just a trace nervously. She probably didn¡¯t know for certain whether Jaevette had guessed her identity ¨C she had a fine line to walk in that regard.


    In any case, Jaevette didn¡¯t reply to the arch-diviner¡¯s question. At least she wasn¡¯t a hypocrite. I knew if I were in her shoes ¨C being bossed around by a kid a quarter of my age, one who didn¡¯t even wear the badge ¨C I¡¯d have at least grumbled a bit.


    Not Jaevette. No biting riposte, no witty repartee to keep me entertained while I stood here on the street. Instead I kept myself busy, hoping the canvas on the frame above me didn¡¯t give in and drench me in a few gallons of rainwater.


    I sighed, and leaned back against the wall heavily, letting my skull smack into the bricks. It didn¡¯t really matter much, something I¡¯d discovered after trapping my fingers in Keyla¡¯s door when I returned her amulet. A couple of satyrs heavier, I was virtually immune to minor injuries now. It seemed their reflexes were no good for things that simply wouldn¡¯t hurt them.


    I would wait under the awning outside the tavern, wrapped in an invisibility that would hide me from both casual onlookers and enemies. Wait, until I sensed the eldritches. I would tell Tanra, and she would disable the arch-diviner and arch-enchanter accompanying the arch-sorcerer. She and Glancefall would then set about removing Lovebright¡¯s ¨C the dragon¡¯s, damn it, I had to stop thinking of her as a human being¡­ They would set about removing the dragon¡¯s protections, bringing this trio of archmages back into the fold of sane people.


    It made sense, I supposed ¨C as Timesnatcher had said, we really did have to ensure every last part of the dragon¡¯s influence was cleansed from the city before we could be certain about confronting her. We didn¡¯t want to do it with a dozen or more archmages still at her beck and call¡­ Still, it rankled. I wanted to be in Irimar¡¯s group, the group tracking her down¡­


    I wanted to be there when it started.


    Five archmages per team, and Timesnatcher had put me with Killstop. A credible choice ¨C me and Tanra worked together a lot, for sure, and we got on well ¨C ish ¨C but had he done it just to avoid an awkward conversation? Had my epiphany about Magicrux Zyger gotten me and Em shunted off to one side? Stormsword, Glancefall in his jester¡¯s apparel, and the arch-magister called Jaevette rounded out the group. Zel, who¡¯d rejoined me after I left the Maginox, seemed to have already developed a special hatred for the magister.


    Jaevette was a plump woman of advancing years, a druidess in a textured green robe ¨C but there the similarities with Leafcloak ended. She was tall and fierce-looking, younger than Leafcloak by at least a decade; her hair had been shorn short and left messy despite the otherwise well-groomed appearance. Certainly her robe was a whole lot cleaner than most druids¡¯ I¡¯d known, the ten-spoked Magisterium wheel shining away upon her breast as though its threads had been polished.


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    ¡°Perhaps she gets her cats to do it for her,¡± Zel said.


    If you¡¯re up to joking, you must be feeling better, I replied.


    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ Don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±


    I¡¯m sorry, Zel. If I¡¯d moved him ¨C


    ¡°Please, Kas. He¡¯ll be back¡­ someday. And I don¡¯t blame you, or Winterprince. I blame¡­¡±


    The fairy cut off her sentence. I¡¯d heard the anger starting to flood her voice, even felt it, a squirt of bile rising in my throat.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡­ I really hate dragons.¡±


    You want to poke the eyes out of this one? I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s going to complain if you do.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather stay with you, if that¡¯s okay. I¡¯m of more use in here.¡±


    Of course it¡¯s okay¡­ Whatever you need.


    ¡°Kas¡­¡± I could feel the emotion surging through her again. ¡°Thank you,¡± she finished simply.


    No problem¡­ Say, can I ask you about Magicrux Zyger?


    ¡°What about it?¡±


    Well, what do you know about it? You mentioned it, earlier¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re still worrying about this Timesnatcher-Neverwish business?¡± she said it in a scoffing tone. ¡°Look, you interact with Killstop on a daily basis, and Duskdown has taken an interest in you ¨C I¡¯d say none of them have any idea about your real future. You need to stop worrying and start enjoying it, Kas. If you¡¯re going to be a prominent arch-sorcerer in the capital of the world, you¡¯re going to have to start taking this kind of thing in your stride.¡±


    I don¡¯t see the others getting this kind of intrusion, though.


    ¡°Do they have your kind of power?¡±


    Em ¨C


    ¡°You could take her. You know it.¡±


    After what Winterprince did ¨C


    ¡°He¡¯s still stronger than her¡­ for now.¡± She said this last in a tone of grudging admittance. ¡°And that was on another plane, where you didn¡¯t have¡­ us. You could definitely take her.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like even the vaguest consideration of ¡®taking¡¯ her ¨C not in that way.


    ¡°Kas!¡±


    Sorry ¨C I mean, what does that matter?


    ¡°Your strength? What does it matter? What doesn¡¯t it matter? Do you really think they aren¡¯t going to take an interest in you, when you turn a plane inside out to wipe tens of thousands of undead creatures from existence? When you ¨C¡°


    That was Nentheleme! And that, that Saphalar bloke!


    ¡°She came for you, Kas. You drove it, the whole thing. Don¡¯t deny it. You have power!¡±


    So the diviners are interested in me, because I¡¯m powerful. Because I make stupid decisions. And¡­ I should just ignore it? Seriously?


    ¡°¡­ Something like that.¡±


    Zel¡­


    ¡°What? I don¡¯t know everything, do I? You know what I was saying, about how they can¡¯t see your future? That goes tenfold ¨C thousandfold! ¨C for me. Don¡¯t you think¡­ don¡¯t you think I¡¯d tell you, if I could see something? I do¡­¡±


    I shook my head. And the dragon wanted me to get in trouble with Sentelemeth because I¡¯m powerful?


    ¡°Who knows? It could¡¯ve just been a fun little game for her.¡±


    Zel was right ¨C


    ¡°Again¡­¡±


    ¨C it was entirely possible that this whole escapade had just been the dragon larking around, an amusing jaunt that got out of her control¡­


    Suddenly senses came alive.


    Wraiths, their chaotic swirling patterns standing out in my mind, moving up the street towards me. A vanguard, designed to warn them in case of threats.


    We¡¯re on.


    ¡°Four of them,¡± Zel immediately supplied. ¡°They¡¯ve got a druid as well, it appears, given the height on that one.¡±


    ¡°Four, not three ¨C druid with them,¡± I reported to the others as I spread my shields. ¡°I¡¯ll trap the wraiths when you signal.¡±


    ¡°Move into position behind them,¡± Killstop commanded, at the same time as Stormsword said softly, ¡°I feel them. One¡¯s very tall¡­¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t trying to hide,¡± I mused. I could see the wraiths now, vortexes of shadow on the air, and manipulated my barriers to draw them into my diamond-cage without them even realising. ¡°She¡¯s gathering them up, a show of force¡­ Distraction?¡±


    ¡°Potentially,¡± Killstop answered. ¡°If she¡¯s going to throw away her Minions as a diversion, though, we¡¯ll snap them up. She may not be aware we¡¯ve got a few of our own lined up to take down the Master.¡±


    ¡°Did you just refer to Timesnatcher as a Minion?¡± Glancefall asked incredulously.


    ¡°If I¡¯m the Master, what else can he be?¡± the seeress said, deadpan. ¡°You don¡¯t get to take two Masters. That would be cheating.¡±


    I drew the wraiths towards me before locking them in place behind me, stowing my shields down to a minimum again. With my fey-sight I saw, far off, the archmages coming round the corner at the end of the street below me. A champion I recognised ¨C the elven enchantress, Dancefire ¨C with an arch-magister in tow, and two others that seemed to be randomly-attired darkmages ¨C


    Glancefall started to answer, but then Killstop barked: ¡°Now!¡±


    I crushed the wraiths even as I whipped the shields back, closing my trap.


    The ambush was, as all good ambushes, ridiculously one-sided.


    A lone wagoner watched on through the torrential downpour as anarchy erupted in the centre of his peaceful street, robed figures that flickered in and out of existence soaring in a tornado of violence:


    A giant woman throwing another giant woman through a shop window, and, when that didn¡¯t put her down, throwing her through a brick wall ¨C


    Fingers of lightning that leapt down through the rain but then stayed in place, a blinding ring, fencing-in a series of almost-imperceptible blurs ¨C


    The illusion of some kind of rope-demon, like a huge mass of nooses, reaching out for people¡¯s necks, flickering off into non-existence almost as quickly as it had appeared ¨C


    Six or seven actual demons, being trodden under by a hill of black iron spikes, before the crimson flames that had birthed them reappeared to dismiss them ¨C


    Anarchy that lasted less than thirty seconds.


    Then our invisibility came flooding back, uncontested now by no opposed enchanters of equal power. A pair of darkmages and a pair of soon-to-be allies in our custody, we left the street¡¯s sole occupant and those staring out their windows to rub their eyes and winch their jaws shut. If it weren¡¯t for Jaevette¡¯s crude technique leaving one building in a state of disrepair, no one would even believe the story the onlookers had to tell.


    * * *

 The Hunters pt3

    ¡°Are we just, like, rounding up every darkmage in the city?¡± I asked as we embarked from the Maginox bridge, flying off on our third excursion since the diviner-champions returned.


    ¡°It will be interesting to see how the Magisterium chooses to classify zese ¨C these bounties¡­¡±


    ¡°You can give it up, Miss Reyd,¡± Jaevette cut in. ¡°Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t know you now I¡¯ve watched you, been with you up close ¨C I can smell you¡¯re the same ¨C¡°


    ¡°Ah, excuse me?¡± Killstop piped up as we started flying above the milk-glass of the Noxway. ¡°Jaevette? Pretty creepy.¡±


    ¡°Totally creepy,¡± I said.


    ¡°Totally confidential, too, right, Jaevette?¡± Glancefall cut in, overly-casual curiosity in his voice. ¡°Jaevette Astraman, whose thoughts I can see with slightly better clarity than she thinks I can? It just so happens, I didn¡¯t know who Stormsword was.¡±


    Killstop took back over: ¡°Which is a serious breach of the Magisterium ethical code, Jaevette ¨C¡°


    ¡°Violation eighty-three, clauses six through nine,¡± Em interjected quietly.


    ¡°And I¡¯m afraid I foresee that, as you¡¯re unaccustomed to talking and flying at the same time ¨C¡°


    That incensed the druidess. ¡°I beg your pardon!¡±


    ¡°¨C whilst on a mission, by your own admission,¡± Killstop continued, unperturbed, ¡°if you continue using the link you may perform at a less than satisfactory level. Should you insist on speaking ¨C¡°


    ¡°Listen, you little twerp ¨C¡°


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°¨C despite the warning of a powerful arch-diviner, the command of your supervisor, and the general disapproval of your peers ¨C¡°


    ¡°Peers!¡±


    ¡°¨C I¡¯m sure Glancefall will oblige me in creating a secondary link¡­¡±


    ¡°I was ready for that,¡± the enchanter said; suddenly I couldn¡¯t hear Jaevette in the background anymore. ¡°Don¡¯t push her too far, Killstop. She¡¯s in shock too, you know. If anyone says something urgent, I¡¯ll filter it through.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Em sounded a bit embarrassed about her slip-up.


    Tanra continued. ¡°And to answer the damn question, Feychilde, no, this isn¡¯t even close to the darkmage population of the city. What, do you think anyone even has a clue? What fraction of them do you even think are active, on any given day, year, decade?¡±


    Her response sent chills up my spine.


    ¡°I ¨C I have no idea¡­¡±


    ¡°No, you have no idea at all. I don¡¯t! The only reason we¡¯re finding these is because we have her as our focus ¨C the dragon. These aren¡¯t random. This is her army, the force she¡¯s been building up over years.¡±


    ¡°If she¡¯d wanted us finished, she could¡¯ve killed us all, any time she wanted.¡± Glancefall had a tone of revelation in his voice. It seemed the enchanter was still only just getting it. ¡°I admit ¨C I don¡¯t understand¡­¡±


    I decided to field this one. ¡°That¡¯s why there might be some sense to what the druid was saying, in the conference hall. I still agree, Storm, that we have to finish her ¨C but if we can try to trick her into giving us answers beforehand¡­ wouldn¡¯t it be worth something?¡±


    It took Stormsword a moment to reply, but when she did, the response was considered. ¡°Not at the expense of letting her back into our minds, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know ¨C perhaps we could use that lull her into a false sense of security?¡± I was sceptical even as I projected the words, but it was better to table an idea than shelve it, when we were so very low on ideas. ¡°Sure, maybe everything at the palace was just a bit of fun, but what Timesnatcher said about the twins, their destiny he can¡¯t see¡­ They¡¯ve got to be the catalyst, haven¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll find out,¡± Killstop said, and her certitude filled me with confidence. ¡°Glancefall, get Jaevette on the link. We¡¯re here.¡±


    * * *


    It was dark, dark and still raining, before the report we¡¯d all been waiting for arrived, relayed by Zakimel via glyphstone. I¡¯d never thought I¡¯d be so glad to see the highborn¡¯s bristling moustache, his severe gaze. At the time it came through, the five of us were crossing Oldtown with a darkmage named Scorchtorn in tow, heading for Magicrux Falwyn.


    There was none of the usual preamble. The declaration as to who would receive the report must¡¯ve been preset beforehand, our names cast into the stone in advance.


    The core of the message was expressed in his first three words, short and sweet.


    ¡°We have her.¡±


    * * *

 The Hunters pt4

    The heath in Treetown was already ringed by archmages, the elements of our wizards and illusions of our enchanters lighting the scene, almost to the point where it looked like it was still daytime. They¡¯d turned off the rain, here at least. Our target was a nearly-treeless mound of earth, just a few copses of leafless birches nestled on the eastern slope. Gorse brush and thistle were the stubble on the hill¡¯s cheeks, but it was upon the crest of the rise that everyone¡¯s attention was focussed.


    She was there, right in front of us. Unmoving. Invisible.


    It was hard to believe, but I was staring at a dragon ¨C a dragon of an elder line, apparently, given her native power-level. One of the most fearsome creatures in existence.


    Seeing would be believing. Once our enchanters were ready to assault her, strip away the veil, we would see it. We would believe.


    And, for whatever reason, she was just sitting there, waiting for us to gather.


    It wasn¡¯t just archmages. There were at least ten magister-bands buzzing around, setting up wards, preparing their spells and their anti-draconic arsenals; the heath was too broad for us to cover it in a weave, even with this many of us, but we could get ready for the moment we advanced up the slope. The Rainbow¡¯s Edge and the Constellation were also here, mage-champions desperate for a piece of the pie; their sorcerers had summoned a veritable army of lesser demons, and I could sense without looking that more were arriving by the second.


    There were several links at different levels; Spiritwhisper was my current switchboard, reading my intentions and filtering my thoughts through to the right people accordingly. ¡®Easy¡¯, he¡¯d called it. It sounded like a nightmare to me.


    Zakimel, Killstop and Dimdweller were engaged in a heated debate with Elkostor, Shadowcloud and Stormsword. The wizards had been preparing masses of magic, ready to give the dragon everything they had, and keeping it pent-up like this was putting them on edge; the diviners were telling them to wait until Timesnatcher arrived.


    ¡°Please tell me this isn¡¯t a massive, massive trap,¡± I thought worriedly to the other champions.


    ¡°Feychilde, losing his nerve,¡± Winterprince commented. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be quite so upset after losing to me, but here we have you¡­¡°


    ¡°Winterprince, using a link for once, only to act like a¡­¡±


    I sighed. In my heart I knew he was only attacking me as a cover for his own humiliation, and I could pull at that, tease him over his desperation to save face in the wake of what had happened ¨C but what would be the point? Here, now, possibly just moments away from engaging a winged engine of pure destruction in combat? That would just be on his level.


    ¡°Drop it, yes, I lost my nerve. I lost it when I uncovered a dropping dragon in the dropping wardrobe and saved your dropping ungrateful ass! Can someone with a brain that isn¡¯t covered in a layer of permafrost confirm that this ¨C isn¡¯t ¨C a ¨C trap?¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a trap,¡± Star thought immediately. ¡°Nor is it a confrontation.¡±


    ¡°Not a confrontation?¡± Glimmermere¡¯s voice was very quiet, very tense. ¡°I can feel her there. I know how big she is. She¡¯s real.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s real,¡± I repeated under my breath, staring at the hill.


    Zel, any luck yet?


    I¡¯d set my fairy on the dragon¡¯s wards what felt like ages ago now, and hadn¡¯t had a report back.


    ¡°This is crazy, Kas,¡± she replied tersely. ¡°Crazy. If I thought Henthae or Dreamlaughter were tough¡­ give me a dozen Dreams¡­ I¡¯m¡­ This is disturbing, on so many levels.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t break through her invisibility,¡± I thought at the champions.


    ¡°We¡¯re workin¡¯ on it,¡± Spirit replied tersely. I could see him with the other enchanters, heads bowed in small groups, clearly pooling their powers somehow. ¡°Soon, we¡¯ll start, and you¡¯ll see.¡±


    But the sand in the hourglass had drained, and when Timesnatcher arrived, the storm of his chronomancy bringing through his band to the fore of the crowd, everything changed.


    Lovebright came walking down the hill towards him, and he strode up through the tall weeds to meet her.


    Hush fell across the space, both physical and psychic, even the demons receiving quiet commands to be silent.


    Lovebright had removed her mask ¨C no, the illusion wore no mask; it was different ¨C and now, with the unveiling of her true nature, the image¡¯s delicate beauty had been revealed for the facade it truly was. Joceine Tamaflower was a pretty picture, nothing more. No more real than Dream had been ¨C Dream, one of her victims, one of those we¡¯d still not come across¡­


    No, the exposure of her real identity made every trace of beauty on her features into a mockery: each careful brushstroke of the artist was a sly dig at the vanities and lusts of humans beings, every expression of care and warmth a blasphemy. This thing ate us, swilled our skeletons in its stomach to brew its breath¡­


    Gods above, how many people must she have eaten, since she arrived here?


    ¡°Shh,¡± Zel hissed. ¡°She¡¯s about to speak to him.¡±


    At least she didn¡¯t look caring and warm now. She looked distraught, if anything.


    ¡°T-Timesnatcher.¡±


    They were a hundred yards from me, but that was no obstacle. The illusion spoke with the enchantress¡¯s typical Northman accent, yet the torment¡­ the torment in her voice, that was new.


    ¡°Lovebright. Softsmile. Quietsigh. Appropriately unobtrusive names, I suppose. You¡¯ve been a busy girl, haven¡¯t you? What do I even call you?¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°She ¨C I ¨C¡° Lovebright looked over her shoulder fearfully, as if glancing back at the dragon only she was able to see. ¡°Her n-name is Tyr Kayn. Timesnatcher¡­¡°


    I felt the collective wincing that went through the crowd at that name.


    So she is a Tyr.


    Almost as bad as an Ord.


    But Timesnatcher was cutting her off coldly. ¡°¡¯Her name¡¯? You mean your name.¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m Joceine Tamaflower ¨C Jocey, if y-¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Timesnatcher¡¯s voice was hard, flat. ¡°You don¡¯t get to do that. We know. We all know. That¡¯s going nowhere.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand!¡± the enchantress burst out. It wasn¡¯t quite a sob; there was too much bitterness mixed into her sorrow for that, but tears were coursing down her face all the same. ¡°I was only b-born the night you almo-¡±


    She swallowed, a dry sound.


    ¡°Almost kissed me,¡± she choked, ¡°and I ¨C I know what¡¯s happening to me ¨C I know who I am, what I am ¨C but ¨C she was wrong ¨C she failed! Don¡¯t you see, she failed! You were stronger. You were always going to be the strongest one. I thought ¨C after she used Feychilde to kill them ¨C¡°


    After what now?


    I felt myself flushing, saw some of the others glancing at me, unnerved.


    ¡°¨C I could make everything as it was, put the pieces back together, for us, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°I tire of this.¡± For all the gravity with which he spoke, Timesnatcher sounded shaken. ¡°You can no longer court my favour, Tyr Kayn! Do you hear me up there?¡±


    He stepped forwards and swept his arm at the crest of the hill, shouldering right through Lovebright.


    Though when she went crashing on her back in the grass, whimpering, biting back a yelp of pain and shock, even he paused, looked down at her.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t real,¡± I heard him whisper to himself.


    ¡°She isn¡¯t real, Timesnatcher!¡± Glancefall muttered over the link.


    ¡°I know. She isn¡¯t¡­ getting to me¡­¡±


    But Lovebright was talking, and she was getting to me.


    There was no way she was lying.


    ¡°I¡¯m real. I am real! It was ¨C the Ceryad ¨C it was too much and she made me and all along, all along I knew it ¨C why do you think I chose ¡®Lovebright¡¯? It was because of Lightblind! All along, it was you. Lightblind, the girl you really loved. And then he took her from you and I could feel your hurt, I could feel it in me and ¨C¡°


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Timesnatcher screamed, levelling a finger at her as she lay there on the ground. ¡°You aren¡¯t real! Lovebright was my friend ¨C Lightblind, she¡­¡±


    There was just a hint of ironic laughter in the seeming¡¯s weeping. Just enough to be human.


    ¡°I¡¯m dying,¡± she managed to say. ¡°L-Lovebright is dying! Please ¨C let me stay. If sh-she leaves, I¡¯ll die, and I ¨C I don¡¯t want to die ¨C¡°


    ¡°She¡¯s a monster,¡± I thought, feeling the permafrost in my own brain. The icy coldness that elided concerns, caution, bringing down the mask of battle. ¡°She made Lovebright¡­ real. As a last gambit.¡±


    ¡°She g-gave the seemin¡¯ a soul?¡± Spirit sounded ill. ¡°The Ceryad can do that?¡±


    ¡°Kill it,¡± Stormsword begged. ¡°Kill it, now.¡±


    ¡°Kill it,¡± someone else said.


    ¡°Kill it!¡± the roar was taken up.


    ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± I caught Timesnatcher saying from his position, halfway up the hill; my outer ears worked better than my inner one, such was the tumult over the link ¨C


    The cries of the druids were being lost in the chaos.


    The first attacks began, and the centre of the heath suddenly dropped away into the earth, leaving Timesnatcher standing right beside the lip that overlooked the new crater.


    The dust that rose was whipped up and combined into a solid block of material, coalescing on the air into a huge, glistening weight, and then the hammer-head came dropping straight back down to strike.


    At the same time, an inverted forest of shimmering icicles coalesced and descended, thousands of branching configurations, tens of thousands of frozen spears gleaming in the night as they fell into the pit ¨C


    Anything but fire against a Tyr.


    ¡°¨C not down there!¡± I caught Jaevette bellowing, echoing another druid ¨C many of them had taken flight, searching the skies frantically, shrieking their sudden panic to the invisible, airborne teams ¨C


    ¡°What a rabble,¡± I caught Winterprince snarling derisively; I could see him, already up there with them ¨C


    ¡°Damn it!¡± Stormsword was raging.


    ¡°She¡¯s already gone,¡± Timesnatcher managed to make himself heard. ¡°She could hear our thoughts, even with her power broken. She wasn¡¯t going to let herself be harmed.¡±


    He was kneeling beside Lovebright, and, as the wizards aborted their pre-planned strikes and took off hunting the elusive behemoth, the arch-diviner took the young woman¡¯s fading body into his arms. Her flesh, her robe ¨C she was pulsing with ever-increasing rapidity, and between each vanishing she only returned to our world with less colour, less opacity.


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving you,¡± Lovebright whispered. ¡°I¡¯m going. And I¡¯ll never¡­ never come back¡­ I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault,¡± Timesnatcher said soothingly. ¡°You were her victim as much as any of us.¡±


    There was a smile on the seeming¡¯s lips. ¡°Us. I was one of you. I was¡­ if only¡­ for a few days¡­ Don¡¯t¡­ Don¡¯t let them forget me.¡±


    He shook his head.


    Her eyes closed, and she stilled in his embrace.


    ¡°Netherhame?¡± Timesnatcher thought.


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± The sorceress wasn¡¯t one of those who¡¯d scattered; she floated forwards, a purplish shadow with more solidity to her than the dying Lovebright.


    ¡°Can you?¡± he asked.


    I saw as the tall champion shook her head slowly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Timesnatcher. There¡¯s¡­ there¡¯s nothing there.¡±


    It was interesting that she said that. I could feel something there, even at this distance.


    A wraith.


    She was sparing his feelings, even if he knew it. And Lovebright¡¯s personality, even if it had managed to find an imprint in Nethernum through the Ceryad¡¯s power, would surely be contaminated. Something you could never trust, a shard of an evil creature¡¯s will made manifest through soul-sickness and self-delusions¡­


    Timesnatcher¡¯s arms were empty. He rose to his feet, lifted his face to the wind ¨C


    ¡°It¡¯s started,¡± he said softly in a tone of wonder, as though speaking unconsciously and only to himself. ¡°That¡¯s why Ryntol Wood gets set on fire. It¡¯s not the dragon. This time, they come for us.¡±


    Our forces were scattered over the area; we had no battle-formation to speak of. Our grand orchestrator was still befuddled, still putting the pieces together. Only a sense of mounting doom in the air gave warning.


    ¡°Back! Get back!¡± Killstop yelled, at the same time as Zakimel cried: ¡°Code thirty-two! I repeat, code thirty-two!¡±


    Heretics. They were coming for us ¨C here.


    I was tired. It had been an incredibly long-feeling day, and I was starting to get so used to the druids¡¯ little pick-me-ups that I hardly noticed the difference now. I hardened my heart, raising my fingers, my forces.


    These are murderers.


    My shields blossomed and bloomed over the grass, but where my farthest barriers rippled into life they suddenly fizzled away, coming into contact with the brutal blades of blue and red forces, the spells of Hierarch-sorcerers and their eldritches, shields that preceded them as they stepped out of their doorways.


    ¡°¡­ unanticipated numbers¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ you get back, damn it! If you¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ glyph a message to Doomspeaker¡­¡±


    They were coming out everywhere, contingents of fresh spell-casters, engaging the wizards and druids stretched across the skies: figures resplendent in rags and coarse woollen robes. Some wore scarves or cheap masks upon their faces, while many didn¡¯t care, baring their identities for all to see as they flew or hovered about us.


    So many of them.


    One of them on the ground to my right intoned her challenge in a rich, throaty voice, her accent no less coarse than her hooded raiment:


    ¡°Champions of Mund! Dogs of the Magisterium! Well met! and farewell.¡±


    Even as she spoke she raised her hand, and lightning leapt down and out, shredding one of Netherhame¡¯s barriers.


    ¡°Hierarch Thirteen,¡± someone intoned, dread in their trembling voice.


    There was no parley here. No trading of insults and threats.


    They fell on us like a pack of wolves descending on rabbits trapped out in the open, and before we knew what was happening it was too late for us to escape.


    The battle was joined, and we were committed, for good or for ill.

 Dream It Too pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 6C: DREAM IT TOO</h2>


    ¡°This New Church must think more of Illodin! The light is not instantaneous; this the diviners and wizards have proven ¨C and by comparison the word is slow, so slow to take wing on the air. What we think of as the present is the past. To experience is to recollect. Memory is all that can be said to exist. They think little of us, those of us who deign to tend the pools of history, and ever fail to understand: all of Being lies fragile, fluid in our hands!¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Collected Speeches of Saint Rothmar the Unknighted¡¯


    8th Orovost, 998 NE


    Aramas was just one of dozens that waited by the pier as the ferry-barge docked, but he was one of the best at his job, and he got it done however he had to. With his handful of shiny shells from the beach at Shinglemoss, the youngster fought his way through the others ¨C he was short but he was burly, and could wrestle with the best of them. Once he got to the front, his hands were just two of what must¡¯ve looked to their prey like thousands. One of each pair was stretching out with stupid trinkets held in the balled fist, while the other, unencumbered, was grasping, groping for payment from the tourists¡­


    Today he was working distraction ¨C Cullimo was working action.


    He shoved his shells in some unsuspecting rich guy¡¯s face and kept up with him, the crowd pushing and pulling all around them.


    ¡°Hey sir! Hey sir! You want this! You want this, don¡¯t you? Go on, take it. Take it! Only three silver! Hey sir! It¡¯s in your pocket now! It¡¯s in your pocket, I said ¨C do you want me to tell the watch? Yeah, I¡¯ll tell the watch! You know about Mund¡¯s prisons? Or better, I¡¯ll go tell my uncle, I¡¯ll tell my uncle right now! You haven¡¯t paid, don¡¯t you speak Mundic? Dropping tourists! Three! Silver! Okay okay, one silver ¨C one¡­ Fine¡­ never mind¡­¡±


    Getting them to expose their wallets was the trick. They wouldn¡¯t actually open their purse-strings, of course, unless they were complete oafs, and some were clever-enough to not even reach for them ¨C but those were few and far between. Most marks wouldn¡¯t be able to help themselves, securing the contents of a specific pocket or belt-pouch, to clutch it tighter or just to check it was still there.


    That was their real mistake. The tiniest tell was all Aramas and his breed were waiting for. These dropping highborn, rich-as-drop types were so stupid¡­


    Once the target had been revealed he¡¯d deftly enter their wallet, unburden them of their coins, and even replace the copper if he was feeling particularly charitable, before refastening any cords or buckles and leaving the mark none the wiser.


    He noticed when Cullimo finished in the man¡¯s pocket, then, acting dejected by his ¡®failure¡¯, slunk off to find another mark in the crowd. Once the tourists had successfully traversed this dangerous stretch the two of them would count up their earnings and work out how much they owed the guild.


    They never lied to the guild ¨C at fourteen years old, they were far too terrified by the prospect of meeting thieves¡¯ justice in a back-alley to risk crossing their boss. But they¡¯d worked on their maths over the last year, so that they could know if they were being crossed. So far, everything had been above board ¨C something Aramas had been surprised at, but not altogether shocked. It seemed Enidd Eight-Fingers was as fair as her frailty implied.


    Enidd¡¯s thieves guild had jurisdiction all the way past the Southguard Bridge to Shinglemoss upriver, and downriver to Sigrand¡¯s Twist, incorporating Brinklenir Dock and the Morninglord Bay. A seventy-odd-year-old woman didn¡¯t keep control of such a lucrative empire without being worthy of her reputation, and she was a revered figure in their shadowy community, a nexus for the elusive ¡®honour among thieves¡¯ which was so necessary in order for them to deal successfully with one another.


    Under her rule, the area had flourished. The protection-rackets actually worked, keeping shopkeepers and dock-masters safe from unlicensed operations, and the memory of the Lowtown gangs had faded over the last twelve months, now they¡¯d been pushed back across the water. Both the boys¡¯ mums appreciated their efforts ¨C neither of them had a dad, and bringing home even a few silver a week made the difference between life and death for their siblings and half-siblings.


    But, best of all, they had their freedom. They could do what they wanted. They were cogs in a machine, but they knew the machine, liked the machine. The fact they had a place in the world, it made every day glorious, gave them a reason to get up in the morning and go to work.


    It was a golden age, and, pockets full of coins, he and Cullimo made their way back through the alleys to the guild-hall. Minus Enidd¡¯s cut they would still have enough extra left for beer, and those girls who hung around on the corner after tea might be persuaded to go for some.


    ¡°I like that blonde one,¡± Cullimo said as they entered Sicklemore Street and made their way over the horse-drop-covered cobbles towards the market.


    ¡°Why?¡± he asked blandly. As far as Aramas was concerned, the blonde one was a pig in pigtails, but he wasn¡¯t about to say it outright ¨C he let his tone convey his mockery.


    The truth was, she was probably the only one of the three girls that was in his league.


    ¡°I dutto, man,¡± Cullimo replied wistfully. ¡°She¡¯s just got a certain sommat, y¡¯ know.¡±


    ¡°Wha¡¯s she got, Cull? Some mud to roller round in? Apples, to go wi¡¯ all that sausage-meat?¡±


    The two boys tussled briefly, spilling some of their silver into the muck; once Cullimo had successfully saved face by throwing a few punches they swiftly recovered their lost coins and continued on their way. Cullimo was faster, nimbler than Aramas, and had got two blows in for every one of his.


    ¡°You¡¯re good at the game, Ari, but when it comes to the women, you ain¡¯t got squat.¡± Cull rolled his shoulders confidently as he strode ahead, and Aramas had to admit he was right. His friend always seemed to get lucky where he got left behind.


    ¡°It¡¯s cos I¡¯m fat,¡± he rumbled.


    ¡°A fat short-ass,¡± Cull corrected him.


    Cull couldn¡¯t dodge what he couldn¡¯t see coming ¨C Aramas struck him a solid blow between the shoulder-blades, sending him sprawling face-down in the mud. (Only a few of the nearby Rivertowners even spared them a glance.)


    ¡°Gettin¡¯ ready for blondie?¡± he snapped at his mate. ¡°Oink oink!¡±


    A random dog came over, padding merrily through the mud, and, having given Cull¡¯s head a once-over with its nose, started to cock a leg ¨C


    ¡°He¡¯s about to whiz on you!¡± Aramas laughed.


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    The agile boy rolled over away from the dog and got to his feet. Muttering, he followed Aramas this time, hanging his head as he brushed the worst of the mud from his skin and clothing.


    Not ten seconds later, Aramas saw the figures of a pair of watchmen heading their way, the ¡®S¡¯-shape of a winding river on their badges. Cull swiftly shut his mouth and they withdrew into the shadows behind some crates until the skull-thumpers passed by.


    They weren¡¯t three streets from the guild-hall, still bickering between themselves, when they passed the opening to what they called Alley Six and a girl stepped into their path.


    Girl, or young woman ¨C the distinction was impossible to make. She was tall and narrow-waisted, red-brown hair pulled back into a spiky pony tail. Her bodice was low-cut and her stockings disappeared beneath a skirt whose hem was considerably north of her knees. The eye-catching size of her chest alone suggested she wasn¡¯t their age.


    ¡°Please ¨C please, gentlemen!¡± she said breathily. ¡°Can I borrow you, for just two minutes? I have a job for you ¨C can you help me? I¡­¡± she blinked, sultry eyelashes closing, reopening as her pink-painted lips parted in a smile, ¡°¡­ can pay you for your time?¡±


    Aramas wanted to look at Cull, judge his friend¡¯s reaction, but found it hard to remove his eyes from the nice lady.


    ¡°Definitely!¡± he blurted.


    ¡°Whaddya want us to do?¡± Cull asked in a dreamlike voice.


    ¡°Oh, a couple of strong lads like you¡­¡± The girl pursed her lips thoughtfully, and they glistened, drawing all of Aramas¡¯s attention. ¡°It won¡¯t take long.¡±


    On nerveless feet, they followed her into the mouth of the alley; she moved quickly, even stepping carefully between the puddles. It was only a thirty second walk. Far too short a time for them to start heeding the voices of warning they both carried in their skulls. They were too used to ignoring such inner warbling on a whim, coming out the other side unharmed. She took the second right turn, behind the butchers¡¯ row, and then left again into the open door of a building, stepping straight into its shadowy interior.


    They were in such a rush to hurry after her that they smacked into each other, both trying to cram themselves through the doorway at the same time.


    Aramas got ahead, stepped within, followed her around the wall ¨C


    Before he¡¯d had chance to properly take in his darkened surroundings, Cull had come through behind him and the door had closed with a very final-sounding metal clang.


    The windowless, unpainted wooden walls barely reflected the light of the firepit, the stone-enclosed flames that were licking about in the centre of the dirt floor. Sealed crates and ladders to the upper level were being used for seats, a number of people leaning on the edges of boxes, perching on the lower rungs of the ladders, lounging in relaxed postures, arms folded or hands in their laps.


    People? Mages. Their cloth was poor but there was no disputing the long sleeves, the deep hoods hiding their faces¡­ And despite the fire there was no smoke in the air ¨C in fact, the fire seemed to have no fuel; there was no wood or oil beneath the orange flickering shapes, no crackling sound ¨C


    Aramas looked back ¨C two tall mages were there, blocking the door, and in their hands long knives gleamed.


    The girl who¡¯d lured them into the trap gave a lazy pirouette, then curtseyed deeply to the others as her beautiful lips parted and let forth a delighted laugh.


    ¡°What did I tell you?¡± Her voice was North Lowtown all of a sudden. ¡°Easy.¡±


    ¡°She used no spell?¡± one of the darkmages, male and old, asked sceptically.


    ¡°Not one bit of glamour,¡± another mage, female and younger, responded. Her voice was cold, level¡­ strong. It screamed danger.


    ¡°Oh, but I feel glamorous, darling,¡± the beautiful girl said, running her hands over her bodice. She looked back at the two boys. ¡°I am sorry, gentlemen. This is the end of the road for you. Let us discuss payment.¡±


    They had unconsciously moved closer to one another until they stood back to back. Thoughts whirled through Aramas¡¯s mind. He had his own knife ¨C shorter and less evil-looking than the ones the mages were carrying, true ¨C but, still, it was a weapon¡­


    He moved his hand to his belt, showing nothing on his face, making it look as though he felt ill, wanted to hold his stomach ¨C


    He could hear the confidence in the mages¡¯ motions as they stepped forwards, boots thudding softly on the dry dirt ground behind him ¨C


    Cold steel on his neck. Dozens of tiny serrations bit into Aramas¡¯s windpipe.


    The mage at his back stunk of wane and sweat, hot breath of beetles pouring across the boy¡¯s face as his captor snarled, ¡°Move your hand from your blade, child.¡±


    They were both brought to their knees before the firepit. The two tall mages didn¡¯t even bother to take the knife from his belt or search them, but preferred to simply stand at their sides, daggers poised to open their throats at the slightest sign of resistance.


    ¡°What ¨C what d-did we do?¡± Cull managed to ask in a trembling voice. ¡°Pl-please, we can put it right¡­¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t do anything, Cull,¡± Aramas said in a voice that was already dead. ¡°They just want to kill us.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s half right, lad,¡± said the mage leaning against the nearest crate in a gruff voice. ¡°Only half.¡±


    ¡°Which one is it, anyway?¡± the beautiful girl asked.


    The dangerous-sounding female mage who¡¯d spoken earlier raised her arm and pointed at Cull. ¡°Kill that one.¡±


    Aramas¡¯s eyes widened ¨C


    Please ¨C Joran ¨C


    Cull screamed as the mage next to him drew back his hand, raising the knife: ¡°Help! Help me! Please, someone help ¨C¡°


    Aramas clenched his fists ¨C there was nothing he could do but watch in horror as ¨C


    As nothing he¡¯d ever expected came to pass before his eyes.


    This time the metallic clang of the door wasn¡¯t just loud, didn¡¯t just sound final ¨C it was final, for Cull¡¯s would-be-killer at least. The door itself burst into the room, ripping through the frame and the partition-wall, tumbling end over end ¨C and the heavy iron object smacked right into the executioner, sending him flying into the firepit.


    Everyone looked behind Aramas, and he did the same, staring wide-eyed over his shoulder.


    The corner of the building was gone ¨C a hooded, feminine shape was there, silhouetted against the daylight in the dimness of the darkened room. He could see her brown rags illuminated in the orange glare as the flames danced.


    ¡°Nay, Vardae.¡± She spoke in a rich, contemptuous tone, words carefully enunciated, despite her lowborn accent. ¡°This is beneath us.¡±


    She produced her hand from the long sleeve, extended it towards the other knife-armed mage standing beside Aramas, and flicked her finger as one might flick away a gnat.


    The hollow rushing boom was awful. It was like the man right next to him was punched by a fist of air that weighed a hundred pounds, though the boy felt barely a whisper of wind through his hair.


    The target was sent crashing into the opposite wall, his body a crumpled mess.


    ¡°Ithilya, what are you doing?¡± the dangerous female mage demanded angrily; she didn¡¯t sound threatened. ¡°The season is upon him, and the crop must be reaped before it wilts. You and I have an accord. You go your way; we,¡± she looked about at her colleagues, ¡°go mine.¡±


    ¡°No longer,¡± the newcomer, Ithilya, answered in a clear voice. ¡°One might not play with fate as a child with stones, Vardae, nor mould destiny as the potter shapes clay. This you most of all ought know. This you taught me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tempt me to kill you.¡± Vardae¡¯s voice had lost none of its anger but it was a whisper now. That overpowering sense of peril was back in the air.


    ¡°You know you cannot be rid of me, not yet. You need me. You know no vision is ever complete.¡±


    Aramas didn¡¯t usually pray, but right now his thoughts were a string of jumbled-up supplications: Please ¨C Yune ¨C Joran ¨C save us from this ¨C please ¨C Yune ¨C


    The tension in the air was worse than the smoke that rose from the fire, from the slowly-roasting darkmage lying unconscious inside the pit ¨C


    ¡°Very well, Ithilya. I shall let you have him. And you shall owe me a favour.¡±


    ¡°Vardae!¡± The gruff-sounding man leaning against the nearby box sounded like he was choking suddenly. ¡°You cannot think ¨C¡°


    ¡°Both of them,¡± Ithilya pressed.


    ¡°Both of them?¡± Vardae sounded surprised.


    ¡°Until the time is upon them.¡±


    Vardae shrugged. ¡°Two favours, then. To be repaid as I decree. And you, Enthwar, shall hold your tongue.¡±


    Ithilya must¡¯ve nodded, because Vardae turned her face aside, waving a hand at the other darkmages who scurried from their perches to tend their injured comrades. The attractive girl, a sullen look in her eyes and her painted lips pouting disconsolately, helped lift the man who¡¯d crashed into the magical flames.


    Fingers of air pushed Aramas and Cullimo to their feet, and proceeded to prod them along behind their ragged saviour as she led them through the shattered entryway, back into Alley Six and the morning sunlight.


    I prayed, Aramas thought, I prayed, and we lived! Glory to the gods! Sweet, merciful dropping gods¡­


    Yet a time would soon come when Aramas would curse them for such mercies, calling out the names of dark gods instead within the silent vault of his soul, praying only for the bitter medicine that burns as it heals.


    * * *

 Dream It Too pt2

    Their rescuer¡¯s robe possessed little more detail up close than it had as a silhouette; the outer covering was like a colourless shawl with holes cut out for her hooded head and her long-sleeved arms to pop through. Aramas had never met a wizard, but he¡¯d never thought if he did that he¡¯d meet one covered in so much drop. She was a mystery: she was medium height, maybe five-seven-ish, her build hidden by the shapelessness of her clothing. When she turned to gesture them onwards after her, Aramas could see nothing of her face beneath the cowl.


    Then, when they failed to respond, her magic came to life, moving them against their wills.


    They exchanged a continuous series of increasingly-petrified glances, but beyond that there was nothing they could do except follow Ithilya ¨C the wind at their backs was a constant pressure, forcing them to keep up, barring them from escape. Cull looked really pale; his brush with death had left him well-painted.


    When she started talking, Aramas did his best to keep up, but she was speaking too fast for him.


    ¡°You must comprehend me ¨C we would not ordinarily bring you into the fold under conditions such as these. We would wait, until you had had your fill of death ¨C until you understood it, truly, becoming able to weigh it in your hand and decide, one way or the other¡­ It would ease the process, allow the understanding to meet with resolve, becoming a pure will, the touch of whose discerning edge nothing might endure without change. Stop.¡±


    Ithilya whirled, staring at them. ¡°Do you comprehend?¡±


    Cull swallowed. ¡°Y-you don¡¯t think we¡¯ve¡­ seen enough death?¡±


    Aramas raised his hand in objection. ¡°Uh ¨C ¡®scuse me, an¡¯ everythin¡¯, but can we go? We sure appreciate what you done for us back there, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Cull piped up, ¡°it was real nice, real gracious, like¡­¡±


    Ithilya regarded them from the shadows of her hood. ¡°You can never leave. Your fates are entwined with my own. I cast the stones myself, and heard the gods¡¯ answer! We depart now for the Thirteen Candles. Do you not see? The end of the world is nigh! You, Aramas Endemion, and you, Cullimo Caris, have your parts to play. Do not fear to tread the path. All paths lead to death. Only one leads to glory. Come! Drink, and we will depart.¡±


    She produced her arm from the deep sleeve once more, and held in her hand a trio of identical transparent phials, something like water floating within, but water that sparkled and bubbled.


    ¡°Wh-what?¡± Aramas stammered. He didn¡¯t really know what he was responding to.


    ¡°What are they? Philtres of True Invisibility, an enchanted solution of phinphardion bile ¨C with a raspberry infusion to overcome the taste. Unless you are allergic to raspberry, they will be quite safe ¨C you cannot be allergic to the other ingredients¡­¡± She stared at the unmoving lads for a moment or two. ¡°Come, you did not think we would be able to pass through the skies of the city unmolested? You are with me, so you too are of the unclean now. You exist on pain of death and on our sufferance alone.¡±


    Cull¡¯s hand shot out and gripped him by the upper arm. Aramas could sense the waves of panic flooding out of his friend but, in himself, he was feeling stupefied more than anything.


    I¡­ am¡­ what now?


    ¡°I ¨C I would really like to go home now,¡± he managed to say.


    This isn¡¯t real. This isn¡¯t happening. We¡¯re goin¡¯ home, and once we¡¯re home everythin¡¯ will be okay ¨C


    Ithilya was sighing. ¡°Very well. I shall show you now; then you will come with me.¡±


    She returned her hands to the folds of her sleeves, then produced a loop of thin wire into which a number of bright-yellow gems had been worked.


    ¡°Sh-show us what, lady? We really, really don¡¯t wanna come with you. We¡¯re just s-simple dock-thieves, we don¡¯t know nothin¡¯ about the end of the world or h-heretics or any o¡¯ that¡­¡±


    The darkmage ¨C the heretic ¨C settled the loop of wire like a circlet upon the top of her head, over the hood.


    Sheaths of wind congealed about the boys¡¯ wrists, and their arms were suddenly yanked out towards her; she reached for them with her fingers, taking one of their hands in each of hers; then the mage¡¯s own pure will sliced into them and everything changed.


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    An old dragon dreamed a dream


    And you will dream it too


    There is no place for souls to hide


    But in the shadows of dreams


    Here, take this candle with you


    And bear it thence into the dark place


    That you too might see what shapes unfold


    Where dreamers dream of dragons old


    By keen eyes let me see you and unwind


    The dusty threads of time


    A journey lost to sands


    Whose mountains were founded on lies


    Ere clouds again crossed


    The face of the sun


    And moon and sky


    Ere the Lord of Lords of Magic died


    Whither will you find it?


    In a heart made of cold?


    A whisper taken across planes?


    For nothing is


    What it seems


    In dreams untold


    Aramas¡¯s eyes rolled back in his head and he saw the ending. He saw it all.


    Mund¡­ The Dracofont¡­


    This isn¡¯t a city¡­ this is a trough!


    He saw the five dragons, immense and glittering, proud predators drenched in the ruins of their destruction. They moved through Hightown like wayward children through little toy buildings made of sticks.


    He saw the slaughter.


    Immense and insane.


    The Maginox was shattered into innumerable shards, jagged splinters that the black dragon took up and used as her five-coloured weapon, her macabre lash of glass.


    The rivers were turned to steam. The explosion alone killed tens of thousands. The shrieks died so fast he could hear the echoes, the spatter of liquefied flesh.


    The rats rose up against the citizens in their teeming hordes. Thousands of mutated, disease-ridden bodies swarming as one up every street, seemingly picking out their targets and hunting them down, coursing over and under terrified children, snaring the kids¡¯ soft skin in their teeth and carrying them out of their hiding places.


    And through the slaughter, they roamed. The Dracofont. There were lesser dragons out there, come to see their ancient lords arisen, dragons that were imposing and daunting in their own right, resplendent in their colours ¨C but they were nothing, nothing as compared with the Dracofont.


    They roamed. They fed.


    He spotted the grasping human hands, waving from between ten-foot-long teeth. Hundreds at a time. Many of those flopping limbs belonged to those already dead, redness running freely down the forearms. But some still lived: the hopeless cries of men and women and children came to his ears. They screamed, fought for breath, even as they were chewed. Even as they were swallowed, mixed in with that charnel mass.


    He smelt it. Tasted it on the vision¡¯s air.


    And he heard the malice in the laughter those apocalyptic throats produced. The awful sounds, a language designed only for evil intentions.


    Worst of all: they weren¡¯t even fully-regenerated. Not yet. But he witnessed the way it fuelled them ¨C the death, the death, it made them stronger, strong beyond imagining; their metallic tendons and glistening scales swelled, thousands of tons of armour spreading, horns and barbs and spikes bristling across every square foot of their scintillating bodies ¨C


    And they broke all the pieces on the board before them, swept them onto the floor.


    It didn¡¯t matter who came to face them. How cunning their plots. How many at once. Champions. Magisters. Screaming as they were swallowed. As the fire ripped them in two and the lightning seared every scrap of flesh from their ashen bones. As they went around wide-eyed and slew each other, weeping. As their lower parts dissolved in the acid, in the steaming puddles that stretched city-blocks, reducing civilisation back into the dirt.


    Why, why in Celestium had he wanted to go home? Go home, when the end of the world was nigh?


    They were going to die.


    We¡¯re all gonna die.


    I¡¯m gonna die.


    He gritted his teeth savagely as if to punish his earlier self for his misconduct.


    He didn¡¯t have to go home ¨C he had to leave! Leave Mund! Get everyone together and just ¨C


    Leave¡­


    But go where? Where would be safe, after that?


    What was he supposed to do?


    ¡°Ithilya!¡± he breathed, moving his eyes from their conjoined hands to her hidden face. ¡°You ¨C we ¨C is this¡­¡°


    ¡°This is just a part of it,¡± the mage said apologetically. ¡°There is much that cannot be learned by the transfer of thought. They eat the souls of our archmages, ministered by the hands of fiends long-since bound to their servitude. Their descendants even now move amongst us, unseen! They will slay the twins, in whose arising we find our salvation. You will come to understand all that which you would. You have a place with us, Aramas. And you, Cullimo.¡±


    He looked at Cull. His friend¡¯s head was still wobbling atop his neck, eyes roving this way and that, assimilating information at a ridiculous rate.


    He spoke for his friend.


    ¡°What can we do?¡±


    Ithilya sighed again, but this time it was a sigh of contentment.


    ¡°It is for all to sacrifice. I only quote the Book of Lithiguil, but the words are no less true: in the name of everything, one is permitted to do anything. Do you understand? You can help us kill.¡±


    He stared, shocked ¨C and it was only after a few seconds that he understood.


    His response: a slow, solemn nod.


    * * *

 Dream It Too pt3

    23rd Orovost, 998 NE


    He looked down, and felt the hardness of his own gaze, watching them mill about down there.


    The Thirteen Candles. It was not what it seemed. He sometimes caught himself wondering whether he¡¯d just missed something everyone else had known, or whether it was true that genuinely nobody knew the place was primarily a school.


    And what a school! What a place. Sometimes he just had to stop what he was doing and be amazed at the fact he was here.


    From outside it looked quite straightforward. Thirteen flame-topped towers making a scabrous tree-shape, teetering in the midst of a desolate zone ¨C an emptiness within the boundaries of which nothing dared trespass, human or animal. To tend the courtyard surrounding the Tower of Mourning was to court death at the hands of Illodin¡¯s priesthood, whose mandate it was to preserve that place in its wasteland state. Entering the desolation about the Thirteen Candles would get you killed, but not for any such sanctimonious reason. Nothing to do with the gods. No, going near the Thirteen Candles would just kill you, flat out dead. And unless you¡¯d been endowed with the correct selection of spells, you wouldn¡¯t be aware of the safe distance. Everyone went, as far as Aramas could judge it from his window, at least five times farther around the Candles than they had to. He could see them down there, the people like ants, milling around on the lime-green grass beyond the scorched earth, the lush hill-ring that marked the definitely-safe zone.


    Milling around, trading, cavorting¡­ pickpocketing¡­


    Waiting to be devoured.


    He could see them, but he couldn¡¯t pity them. Not from way up here. Not with what he now knew.


    Inside? It was a mess of ideas. Thirteen worms climbing up and over and around each other. The warren of a deranged rabbit-god. Cull said he heard off one of the journeymen that the planning of the Candles had been turned over to an imp who misunderstood his instructions, and modelled the structure of the place on the imprint of an architect¡¯s decomposing brain. Neither of the boys were capable of being sure it was a joke. Not having seen the place, lived in it.


    Their door opened onto a short set of steps, rather than a level passageway, even though there would¡¯ve been no need for it if you¡¯d moved the door two feet across. No fewer than three separate stairwell-corridors ¨C tunnels, really ¨C led to the floor on which their small twin-cot room could be found. Yet as far as Aramas was able to tell none of those tunnels would meet again on their winding journey zigzagging up and down the Candles¡¯ interiors. Other sections of his floor, areas that should¡¯ve been just around the corner from his door, were separated off behind walls and by spells so that you¡¯d have to use entirely different sets of staircases. In at least one spot the corridor was so dark it stopped the breath in the throat, stopped the heart beating, and even archmages wouldn¡¯t pass that way without an arch-sorcerer in their group. He thought of it as ¡®at least one spot¡¯ because the same corridor seemed to appear in different locations, even in different towers¡­ In the end it was impossible to tell for certain: the tunnels were all almost identical in their disorder of stone and wood and unfinished paint, and none of them had windows, all lit by a hodgepodge of light sources both ordinary and spellbound.


    He supposed he¡¯d get used to the place eventually.


    He did want to go home. It was against the rules: only journeymen and above were permitted to actually leave the Candles, and, even then, leaving without a master¡¯s permission could get a journeyman executed. Even if he were to risk it, to see his family, tell them the truth of things, explain his absence, explain everything ¨C that would achieve nothing other than to put them in terrible danger, Ithilya had said. Leaving on his own whim, not that of an arch-diviner, would only put everyone he¡¯d ever known in the sights of the champions. Anyone who spoke up in his defence could be executed along with him, apparently. And he believed her ¨C he¡¯d seen magisters in action a couple of times, and they were worse than the watch. She said that just the merest whiff of Heresy on you meant your head would be flying off across the room quicker than you could get on your knees.


    All because of the true joke.


    ¡®Dragons are going to rise up and eat everyone.¡¯


    It was such a simple thing, to say it. You could say it and no one would even recognise it as Heresy! It would just be another one of the madcap theories that went around: ¡®Mund¡¯s going to drown in a tidal wave!¡¯ ¡®Mund¡¯s going to be swallowed into the Twelve Hells!¡¯ ¡®Mund¡¯s going to get devoured by mega-dragons!¡¯¡­ People would roll their eyes, maybe snigger at your expense, and that would be that.


    Make someone believe you? Like, actually believe? Welcome to the shadowland, hope you had a happy life¡­


    He heard footsteps, then a knock on the door.


    ¡°Ari?¡± Fin called through.


    He spun away from the window and drew the curtain, blocking ninety percent of the light. ¡°Come in!¡±


    Instinctively, pointlessly, he tried to smooth down his rumpled old neophyte¡¯s robe as the door swung inwards on its hinges.


    More than the mystery of this place, more than the fear of the constant danger in here or the vigilant champions out there, Fintwyna was what made him want to stay.


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    Short. Weird. Cute as a button. And she liked him. He hoped she wouldn¡¯t freak out too badly when he let her know what Ithilya had told him yesterday. Fintwyna was a member of Hirazain¡¯s faction, allied to Ithilya¡¯s; they were permitted to enter each other¡¯s domains without being attacked, and they¡¯d attend classes together once he got his act together. It would get awkward quickly if she decided she hated him after all.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Cull at?¡± she asked, glancing around at the cluttered table and empty pallet-beds as she stepped into the room.


    ¡°I ¨C ah ¨C I think he¡¯s in the Night Garden?¡±


    The nightmarish botanical chamber contained a number of extremely vicious and extremely fragile species, apparently, and it was kept in absolute darkness except for those brief times when the experts would allow a little spell-light into the place. The neophytes had to pick up a pair of goggles from the basket when they entered, glasses that would allow them to see what they were doing. The druidry lessons were hard and often more than a bit disgusting; Aramas didn¡¯t envy Cull this week¡¯s class-rota, which took his friend up to the Garden four days in a row.


    He wouldn¡¯t mention the fact he thought they were disgusting around Fin, though.


    ¡°Night Garden¡­ cool,¡± she said evenly. ¡°So, what¡¯re you up to?¡±


    ¡°I was¡­¡± Staring out the window, daydreaming. ¡°I was reading ¨C¡° He seized on the heavy tome sitting half-open on the desk, placed his hand on it for reassurance. He could only understand one in five of the paragraphs, really, and decided to say something honest. ¡°Wizardry¡¯s really hard, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°It is when you¡¯re reading in the dark,¡± she said, eyeing the hastily-drawn curtain.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve got good eyes ¨C er ¨C might even give the goggles a miss, next time I¡¯m in ¨C¡°


    ¡°You were looking at them down there?¡± Fin moved to the window, reached out her hand to twitch the curtains open an inch, then let them swing shut again.


    ¡°¡­ Yeah,¡± Aramas gulped. ¡°Thinkin¡¯, you know. They¡¯re like¡­ like ants.¡±


    ¡°No they¡¯re not,¡± she answered at once. ¡°Ants ¨C do you know much of them?¡±


    He stared at her, shook his head blankly.


    ¡°Ants are far superior to humans. They live as one, a society where everyone knows their place, does their best. If they invade another queendom,¡± she caught his questioning expression and smiled, ¡°yes, they live under the rule of their queens¡­ If they sack another colony, they take the eggs of the defeated in tribute and raise them as their own. Don¡¯t look at me like that ¨C they do! And did you know,¡± she lowered her voice, ¡°they don¡¯t have ears? They feel everything around them, their touch¡­¡± Fin raised her hand, twitched her fingers, and when she continued it was with a heavy breathiness, a tone of wonder: ¡°Their touch tells them everything they need to know¡­¡±


    He looked at her hand, noticed the mud under her closely-chewed nails, but before he could bring himself to speak, before he could find words worth saying, she withdrew the hand and looked away, huffing. He moved his gaze back to find hers, the dark eyes swimming in the centre of her round, olive-skinned face, but she was distracted already.


    ¡°Nothing on my spiders, though,¡± she murmured, spreading her hand on the page near his, peering at the lettering.


    ¡°You, uh, any good at this stuff?¡± he croaked, finally managing to speak. He tapped the page, its arcane, cursive script unreadable from his angle. ¡°I don¡¯t have any idea how the Principle of Efficacious Drawing is supposed to, what¡¯s it called? interact ¨C I don¡¯t know how it¡¯s supposed to interact with the Third Law of¡­ of¡­¡±


    ¡°Harmonic Ideals?¡±


    ¡°Locus, is that how you say it?¡±


    ¡°Well, how were you pronouncing it?¡±


    ¡°Harmonique iddeals?¡±


    He loved making her laugh. She sort of snorted, her mouth making a weird ¡®v¡¯-shape, and every time she made the face and accompanying sound he subconsciously ticked off another little win on his score-card.


    Tick.


    She even placed her hand on his arm. ¡°Oh, Ari. You¡¯ve got a long way to go. This is just the Initiate¡¯s Handbook¡­ The Third Law simply states that unequal reactions will result in catastrophe of¡­ Don¡¯t!¡± She stammered, almost laughing as he raised his eyebrow. ¡°Don¡¯t! I remember this¡­ A catastrophe of a severity proportional to the original inequality. If you don¡¯t use the Principle in your spell-construct you¡¯ll draw too great a quantity of energy, and when your spell expends you¡¯ll blow yourself up.¡± She noticed his eyes widen and smirked. ¡°Oh yes ¨C and, just so you know, it¡¯s efficacious, not effy-cacky-ous.¡±


    ¡°What? I¡¯ve only seen mosta these words written down before¡­¡± And even that is something of an exaggeration, isn¡¯t it, Ari? ¡°Anyway, I won¡¯t need it soon, like you. Not all of us were born with the brains, Fin ¨C but, the blood? I got that too.¡±


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s got it,¡± she said, frowning.


    ¡°You know what I mean¡­¡±


    She nodded by blinking.


    Part of him thought it was only because she knew he was going to be like her one day, an archmage, that she was hanging around with him. Gods knew, there were few enough of them in the Candles in comparison to the mages ¨C but there were still perhaps half a dozen their age she could¡¯ve hung around with instead of him. Proper archmages, their power already manifested, adherents of other factions in the alliance. The fact she kept coming here; that had to mean she liked him, didn¡¯t it?


    ¡°Ithilya found out what kind I¡¯m gonna be, too,¡± he said, knowing this information was new to her ¨C and he saw her eyes light up.


    ¡°Let me guess ¨C not a druid, or you¡¯d have told me already¡­ Not a diviner, obviously¡­¡± She moved her lower lip to the left and chewed on it. ¡°You¡¯re studying wizardry, but that¡¯s just because of the test¡­?¡± She regarded him for a moment longer then relented, clapping her hands in frustration. ¡°Never mind ¨C tell me!¡±


    ¡°Are you sure you want to know?¡±


    ¡°Ari! Oh¡­¡±


    Seeing that she was in the process of realising, he blurted it out: ¡°Sorcerer.¡±


    He winced in anticipation. She had to find out sooner or later, right?


    ¡°Okay,¡± she said, ¡°okay¡­¡± Then she fixed her smile. ¡°It¡¯s okay, really!¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Of course, you dunce.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to let Wendy in here when I¡¯m asleep, are you?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me ideas, sorcerer.¡± She was still smiling good-naturedly, and he started to relax, until ¨C


    ¡°You really wouldn¡¯t, would you, Fin?¡± He¡¯d already had one very vivid nightmare about Wendy, her favourite tarantula, which she kept the size of your average dog most of the time. She¡¯d actually brought it to visit him once, said it liked him¡­


    ¡°Of course not, Ari!¡±


    She grinned wickedly, then turned as though to leave; he went to chase her towards the door ¨C


    But she was only withdrawing to tease him. She kept facing him. Her lips glistened.


    What might¡¯ve happened as they entered the narrow space, confined between the shelving either side of the doorway, he never got to find out. The door swung in, narrowly missing Fin as she backed up, and Cull entered, his eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. He¡¯d run here.


    ¡°Guys! Have you heard?¡±


    Aramas shook his head.


    ¡°What is it, neophyte?¡± the arch-druid asked.


    ¡°Meeting!¡± he blurted. ¡°The Hall of Embrace¡­ I think we¡¯re doing somethin¡¯!¡±


    Aramas watched as Fin¡¯s grin tensed into a grim smile.


    ¡°About time.¡±


    * * *

 Dream It Too pt4

    Aramas looked around as everyone filtered into the circular, rune-covered room, and found their places with their fellows. There were thirteen different factions in the Thirteen Candles, by ancient agreement, each with its own leaders ¨C though many blended into the other factions that held similar viewpoints, and lots of the heretics seemed to move at will between the groups, declaring loyalty to this or that master, switching rooms at the drop of a hat¡­ Broadly, there seemed to be three major alliances.


    Housed in the northerly towers were the mages who believed the heretics should work alongside the champions, constantly seeking for a way to bridge the gap, come to terms amidst the piles of corpses. Within that group there was a minority who hated the fact all the others used massacre as a means to an end, who didn¡¯t want to bring the champions into the fold but rather sought to emulate them in their arguments; and amongst that minority there were a few who sought to stop the others from killing at every opportunity.


    These few were often the targets of censure and even violence, their numbers kept low by predation and sniping.


    In the southerly towers were housed the mages who understood the truth, who accepted the inevitability of fate, and made the true sacrifice by annihilating their fellow Mundians. It wasn¡¯t done with glee, it seemed, but with a perfunctory prayer whispered under the breath; yet it was carried out without qualm. Every death was one less soul fed to the harbingers of apocalypse. And there were only a few months left till it began. The ¡®crowning year¡¯ would be upon them soon.


    Then finally, in the central towers you would find the moderates, the fence-squatters, the weak. They had the greater numbers, the greater sway, but apparently their leaders always fell in line when Ithilya, Hirazain and Vardae gathered to put their collective foot down.


    As was happening here tonight.


    Given all the tumult and disorder amongst the heretics, within their first week in the Candles Aramas and Cullimo had already seen three different rallies taking place in the Hall of Embrace, the one space where spells of all kinds were disallowed by centuries-old glyphs. Three rallies which (despite the magic prohibition) still turned vicious, spellbound knives and even swords being drawn, albeit less-deadly with their ensorcellments dampened. No one had been killed, thanks to the healers, but this didn¡¯t change the fact that since Aramas arrived there¡¯d been almost a dozen cold-blooded murders reported across the towers. And this probably didn¡¯t account for the true figure, according to Ithilya.


    Life was cheap, when you knew it was going to end. When you really knew it. Aramas found it hard to care about death ¨C in fact, he fancied that he now found it exciting. At meal-times, the dinner-hall would be divided into three, but you wouldn¡¯t know until you arrived which group would be sitting at which tables; if you were one of the first to arrive, you had to hope your fellows gathered around you or you¡¯d swiftly find yourself having to hurry across the room with your bowl of stew and chunk of bread. Sometimes fights started when a table found itself cut off from its supporters. Once that had happened to Vardae; she¡¯d been sitting at a table with just two of her colleagues, with the uncommitted scum around her staring at her, trying to intimidate her, force her to shift away from them ¨C but none dared approach her directly, and, having lost one of the tables that was supposed to be theirs, some of their members were forced to eat standing.


    Vardae had something of a reputation, it seemed, even though by all accounts she was a relative newcomer ¨C she¡¯d climbed the ranks quickly, seizing the master¡¯s position just a couple of years back. For now, though, Aramas was a neophyte without reputation or rank, and even when he gained his power this would only accelerate his rise through the upper tiers ¨C he¡¯d still have to pass the tests to reach the journeyman stage¡­ Until then he would continue to get kitchen assignment, toilet assignment, even with arch-sorcery at his fingertips.


    In here, therefore, he was just one of the crowd of initiates, standing on the upper levels around the edge of the Hall of Embrace. Only journeymen, adepts and masters were permitted onto the floor during a meeting, and only adepts and masters could actually speak.


    The Hall of Embrace was a nexus-point, located in what he suspected was the central stem of the Candles, given the chamber¡¯s size. It went unused except for during events such as this. There were probably close to a thousand people in the place, and there was likely room for a few more of the late-arrivals.


    Vardae was making her report, quietly and calmly, and all were silent to hear her words. Her blonde curls were tied back in a bob that bounced around as she paced.


    ¡°As many of you will be aware ¨C as some of you will not be aware ¨C we are constantly seeking those avenues by which we can perform a major strike without walking into a trap before we can achieve our goals. I have one such almost-unforeseen opportunity, tomorrow night. We¡¯ll assault the Sunset Keep in Treetown, and even on the low end of our estimates we¡¯ll achieve an acceptable risk-reward ratio. Hit and run ¨C use your mobility to your advantage, and don¡¯t get taken down. We¡¯ll need you in Illost, trust me. In addition, I¡¯ll require two distractions ¨C one for Winterprince in Firenight Square, and one for Mountainslide and Glancefall in Openway. The distractions carry higher liability, and are open to archmages only.¡± The diviner looked around the hall. ¡°I am amenable to volunteers, but you should know that I would be willing to issue ultimatums, were I to find the necessity.¡±


    People started shouting. Arms were raised, dozens of them. It seemed there would be no need for ultimatums.


    While a good quarter or third of the room was in uproar, Vardae went about her business. The archmages were selected first, and Aramas watched in fascination as two older adepts were chosen, siblings in matching rope-belted robes ¨C arch-sorcerers from Ithilya¡¯s faction, his own faction. Liebor and Ibaran, if he remembered correctly. Then there was a journeyman from Vardae¡¯s own cohort, and a journeyman ¨C no, two journeymen ¨C from Hirazain¡¯s section of the floor¡­


    His stomach dropped when he saw that one of them was Fintwyna.


    ¡¯Hit and run,¡¯ he reminded himself. ¡¯Don¡¯t get killed.¡¯ She¡¯ll be fine.


    A whole host of lesser mages, journeymen and adepts from six or seven different factions, rounded out the group: almost three dozen, all told.


    ¡°Fin¡¯s down there!¡± Cull murmured, prodding him in the arm.


    ¡°I know!¡± he snapped back, half-whisper, half-growl.


    ¡°Hold!¡± Tilasto was on his feet, lifting a hand in a plea for silence. ¡°Hold!¡±


    Aramas glared across at the ¡®master¡¯. Tilasto¡¯s faction occupied the Candles¡¯ second tower ¨C or twelfth, depending on your perspective. One of the northernmost towers. They were preoccupied with finding loopholes, ways they could persuade champions or magisters to their point of view.


    Even after just a couple of weeks in the place, Aramas could barely stand him. He was tall and stern-looking, but had the attitude of a coddled house-cat, declawed, left with only hissing and spitting to get himself noticed.


    Gradually Tilasto the house-cat was afforded his opportunity to speak, and he slowly lowered his hand as he raised his voice.


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    ¡°This will not do! We are to ratify any motion for massacre. They are not our enemies, Vardae. Or do you forget, our efforts are to save them, save the world from this unspeakable, irreversible catacl-¡±


    ¡°Do sit down, my good master,¡± Ithilya raised her voice, and her words were met by a clamour of approval that seemed to come from over half of the room. She was probably forty-five, and her thin brown hair had grey in it, but here in the Hall her eyes looked bright and young and vital. ¡°We bring this message to the Hall of Embrace, that you might see sense, that we might share with our brethren. We do not require your permit to act.¡±


    ¡°But we must ratify ¨C¡°


    ¡°Why, Tilasto?¡± Vardae cut him off a second time. ¡°We have been here before. Vote amongst yourselves if it assuages your consciences. We¡¯ve never agreed to be held by your decisions.¡±


    Long-haired, long-bearded Hirazain cried out: ¡°Nor could such agreement bind us when later we decided otherwise!¡±


    Vardae nodded approvingly.


    ¡°Then we will oppose you, sabotage the mission!¡± Ribara wailed, wringing her hands. Ribara currently led the faction of the few, the faction of the passive sheep who slipped through the net into the Thirteen Candles.


    Despite reviling her and everything she stood for, Aramas couldn¡¯t help but admire her courage. Taking that position¡­ It couldn¡¯t come with a very high life expectancy.


    As was immediately made plain.


    ¡°Sabotage us?¡± Vardae snarled. ¡°Then I will introduce you to my dagger once we leave the Hall, won¡¯t I? Let¡¯s see if I get the impression there¡¯s any truth to your claim once I¡¯ve got my magic back ¨C¡°


    ¡°Ladies ¨C gentleman,¡± intoned smooth-voiced Jacel. He was the leader of the most-moderate moderates, rubbing his hand across the glistening surface of his bald sweaty scalp. ¡°Please, let us be reasonable. Tilasto wishes to vote to ratify your proposition, Vardae. If the vote passes, you can be about your business. If the vote fails and you continue to press your case, then we can either continue our discussion or a formal complaint can be ¨C¡°


    Vardae stopped pacing right in front of Tilasto¡¯s faction and threw up her hands. ¡°Very well ¨C look about you! Put it to the vote. I tire of your nonsense. Who is with me?¡±


    She turned to face her supporters ¨C


    A blade, its fluorescent tint dulled to the point it looked like a mere painted knife, flashed at Vardae¡¯s back ¨C


    ¡°Look! ¨C out¡­¡± someone started to shriek ¨C but it was over before they finished the sound.


    Even here with thousands of power-dampening runes all over the walls and floor and ceiling ¨C even here she seemed to blur, spinning, taking the weapon-hand plunging down between her shoulder-blades into her grip instead of her unprotected spine. Her reaction-time wasn¡¯t a tenth what it might¡¯ve been outside the range of the glyphs but, still, she was ten times her attacker¡¯s speed and at least double his strength.


    When she caught his wrist and forced the forearm back against the elbow, the wrong way, the limb snapped cleanly in two ¨C he produced an agonised gasp that fled from him as she kicked him in the chest, sending him flying back into his fellows.


    Like a dancer, the thirty-ish seeress left her leg out in the air, displaying effortless flexibility, balance ¨C then only slowly retracted her raised knee, placed her foot back on the floor.


    ¡°Hold!¡± she barked at her followers who started to surge forwards, thrusting out a hand in their direction before turning her attention back upon her enemies.


    ¡°Anyone else?¡± she demanded in that angry, unscared voice, standing right in front of them.


    Hundreds of eyes stared out of the crowd at her ¨C not in challenge. Staring in fear. The man she¡¯d kicked was moaning and those near him looked the most afraid.


    For those who¡¯d found the reality of doom, the truth of the end of the world, they weren¡¯t half a bunch of cowards.


    Slowly, those staring eyes lowered, closed ¨C Aramas saw Tilasto, pale and spent, ducking his head in defeat.


    ¡°So, Vardae agrees to a vote,¡± Jacel said, smiling. ¡°Let us continue!¡±


    The injured mage was taken out for healing as the stones were brought in ¨C the adepts and masters cast their votes, and, as expected, it went in favour of slaughter.


    The three masters worth listening to laid out their plans, and, despite their commitment to caution, Aramas had to hold his breath.


    They¡¯re sending Fin up against Winterprince¡­


    Aramas knew of the champion, of course. He was one of the city¡¯s most-powerful wizards, if not the most ¨C everyone spoke as though Shadowcloud was the strongest, but Mountainslide had once beaten something in an Incursion that Shadowcloud couldn¡¯t handle, apparently, and then on the next Incursion, Winterprince had fought two at once and came out the other side alive, both their heads on his swords¡­ Aramas had tended to be one of those who thought comparing the power-levels of different champions was a fool¡¯s game, until he¡¯d arrived here, lived in the presence of archmagery¡­ Suggesting an arch-diviner like Vardae was on an even footing with the other arch-diviners he¡¯d met, that was the fool¡¯s game¡­


    Was Fin in their league? Could she stand up to someone like Winterprince?


    Cull elbowed him again as Ithilya took the floor, and he snapped out of his daydream to listen. She pushed back her hood fully, revealing the deceptively-older face ¨C she was perhaps in her late-forties, Ari decided, but it was hard to tell for sure because of her overall attractiveness; like Vardae she¡¯d retained the willowy figure of her youth; where the diviner had curls Ithilya kept her pale hair long and straight, girlish in fashion.


    The girlish sensibilities did not extend to her tone. When she spoke her voice was not quiet and calm as Vardae¡¯s had been ¨C it throbbed, its fervency spilling out over the crowd.


    ¡°This is the dark side of the soul, the price we pay Locus for our forbidden lore. We step into the darkness, that we might see clearly; for one is blinded only when one stands in the bright place. We understand the darkness, its place in our hearts. Powers forgotten by men, hated and reviled ¨C we call upon ye, to steel our spines, equip us with those terrible weapons of the mind: ardour and zeal!¡±


    She nodded to Tilasto, acknowledging him even in his defeat. ¡°Let us not fall into apathy. Evil is not our purpose, only a means to an end! For what is death? Whence came the thought that ending is evil? Ending is the price we pay, for continuation. Change. Rebirth endless¡­


    ¡°Vaylech, King of Insects!¡± Ithilya raised her hands and face to the ceiling, lifted her voice yet louder. ¡°Bless our sacrifices with your pestilence! Yane, Blade-Lord! Guide our hands in the slaughter to come! Grandfather Vaahn, Lord of Tyranny! Accept this our offering; let no restoration come from the hand of druid or divine to spurn our tributes upon thy altar! Drive Mother-Chaos from our dreams; let this city be!¡±


    She lowered her hands, visibly shaking, and she looked over at the volunteers for the mission, the distractions.


    When she concluded she sounded spent, drained:


    ¡°In the names of Belestae and Yune, go forth, bring our hopes into being. And should ye fall into the arms of our Grandfather, do so in the sure and certain knowledge: better a thousand such deaths, than one at the hands of the white dragon¡¯s demons. Better to die and pass on, than have your soul raked apart, as will be the fate of every archmage if we fail.¡±


    Word was, she¡¯d once been a priestess before becoming enlightened to the truth. Everyone thought ¨C everyone knew ¨C that she was out of her mind. But everyone knew she was right, in every word.


    ¡°Very good,¡± Vardae spoke into the silence, a little dismissively, Aramas thought. ¡°Tomorrow, then. You have tonight to prepare. Those of you on assignment, report here at three tomorrow afternoon.¡±


    The arch-diviner had one last look around the room, then turned on her heel and used one of the two exits, her sycophants falling into line behind her instantly.


    In the chaos of the rush to vacate the chamber, the place that made all their weapons and protections useless, Aramas told Cull he¡¯d catch him later and pushed his way through the crushing bodies. He managed to catch up to Fintwyna in the doorway.


    ¡°Fin!¡± he gasped. ¡°Fin!¡±


    She looked around at him and, with a wary glance at the strangers teeming about them, she pulled herself towards him.


    At first it didn¡¯t look like she was going to make it, but druid-strength won out as the magic worked its way back into her muscles ¨C or whatever it was that actually happened when an archmage left a place like the Hall of Embrace. They managed to find a spot beside the wall where the waves of people didn¡¯t push against them so badly, and she shielded him with her body.


    ¡°Ari, isn¡¯t it glorious?¡± she yelled over the background hubbub.


    ¡°Is ¨C it is¡­¡± he replied. ¡°Do you want to come over ¨C I mean, you only just visited, and I thought we could ¨C¡°


    ¡°What?¡± she cried.


    ¡°Do you ¨C want to ¨C come over?¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow night, once I¡¯m back!¡± She looked so overjoyed she was going to burst, incredible durability or no. ¡°I have to go work on my spiders ¨C I¡¯ll tell you everything ¨C I¡¯ll knock on late, I promise! They might make me a Hierarch, haha!¡±


    She snorted laughter and it infected him. He smiled, in spite of everything.


    Then the crowd pulled them apart.


    He lingered beside the wall until the crowds were almost gone, then slipped in with a group of Hirazain¡¯s followers, heading back to his room, never suspecting just how hard it would be to wait that long to see her again.


    * * *

 Dream It Too pt5

    24th Orovost, 998 NE


    A gentle knock on the door: tap-tap.


    Cull chuckled at him from his pallet, lowering the book that was standing up on his chest. Aramas was sitting there beside the desk, waiting to open the door, but he couldn¡¯t ¨C she usually said his name, but he always let her enter informally.


    ¡°C-come in!¡± he said, trying to keep his voice from juddering.


    Cull chuckled again.


    Tap-tap.


    He stood up, suddenly feeling nervous.


    ¡°What¡­¡±


    He crossed the room and reached for the handle ¨C the instant he had the door open, a flurry of spiny legs vaguely the size of a dog came rolling into the room.


    ¡°Holy Hells!¡± he shrieked as Wendy ran up his body ¨C he wanted to hit her, flail about in chaotic violence, but Fin would never stand for that ¨C he screwed his eyes shut and held his breath ¨C the weight of the gigantic abdomen, the touch of the huge, hairy legs ¨C


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    ¡°Fin! Fin!¡± he screamed.


    It scuttled up onto his chest, wrapping its feet around him.


    ¡°Fiiiiiiiin!¡±


    ¡°Ari¡­¡±


    He was breathing heavily, meaning that Wendy moved palpably with every rapid intake of air, only making his skin crawl more and more every moment that passed; he felt like his body was a seething fluid, sloshing from one side of the room to the other.


    ¡°Ari!¡±


    He opened his eyes a crack. Cull had sat upright and was as white as a sheet ¨C but why? Cull didn¡¯t even mind the spider, apparently¡­


    ¡°Ari, could she¡­?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Aramas¡¯s mouth said. ¡°Oh.¡±


    He understood.


    A moment later, he felt his muscles tighten as the realisation hit his body. His body was his own again and suddenly Wendy didn¡¯t matter anymore.


    He sagged, stumbling back and sitting down in the chair, helping him bear the encumbrance of the giant spider hugging him.


    ¡°She¡¯s ¨C she¡¯s gone, Wendy?¡± His voice sounded distant, even to his own ears. ¡°Fintwyna¡­ she¡¯s dead?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll, er, get someone,¡± Cull said, rising to his feet, eyes on the spider.


    ¡°No,¡± Aramas said. ¡°No, it¡¯s alright. It¡¯s okay.¡±


    He managed to open his eyes properly, look down at Wendy.


    She might¡¯ve been staring back at him, the two rows of four eyes more like unreadable marbles than anything living. She was so still, he¡¯d have thought she¡¯d died too if it weren¡¯t for the glistening wetness of those eyes and the mandibles beneath them.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Wendy. It¡¯s okay. You can stay with us. Stay with me, and we¡¯ll get them back. They¡¯ve all got to die. We¡¯ve all got to die.¡± He repeated the platitudes as he¡¯d been taught them, then flicked his gaze over at Cull. ¡°And now we know who gets to die first ¨C Winterprince.¡±


    * * *

 Dream It Too pt6

    25th Orovost, 998 NE


    ¡®In relation to the Third Law of Harmonic Ideals, explain an approach one might use in order to avoid annihilating oneself when in danger of tapping surplus energy into one¡¯s construct.¡¯


    Principle of Effi-cacious Drawing, he thought, and scribbled his answer on the page. See, I still need you, Fin.


    He glanced up from his desk. Ithilya was there at the front of the chamber, scrawling something in chalk on the blackboard, and the white radiance of the globes illuminated everything in the blue-walled, tile-floored classroom. Every scratch of the students¡¯ ensorcelled pens, every scrape of the arch-wizard¡¯s chalk was rendered in perfect clarity. Yet he heard nothing, saw nothing.


    For five seconds he stared into space ¨C stared at Fin¡¯s face ¨C imagined her death for the thousandth time¡­


    Why won¡¯t my power come?


    Then he loosed the breath he hadn¡¯t realised he¡¯d been holding and returned his eyes to the question sheet.


    When the two hours were over, Ithilya rang the small bell that sat upon her desk. Yawns rippled across the room ¨C it was nine o¡¯ clock, and most of them had been hard at work revising around their chores all day.


    ¡°Very good, class. You will leave your answers here,¡± she indicated the corner of her table. ¡°Success will be rewarded with greater challenges. Failure will be tolerated ¨C only to a point. I shall see each of you with your results.¡± And then she said the words that were their dismissal: ¡°Praise be to Locus.¡±


    ¡°Praise be to Locus,¡± they echoed, gathering their things and getting to their feet.


    It didn¡¯t take her two hours to arrive at Aramas¡¯s room.


    ¡°You have both passed, almost with distinction,¡± she said after Cull opened the door for her and invited her in. ¡°I am impressed, I must admit. I had thought you might be amongst those I¡­ would need to tolerate.¡± The older woman offered a rare smile, the lines around her mouth crinkling. ¡°In my discipline, there are only two more stages before you might begin journeyman preparation.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Ithilya,¡± Cull said, smiling.


    Aramas just nodded his gratitude, doing his best to match his friend¡¯s expression, but his eyes were on the floor at the archmage¡¯s feet.


    ¡°You have taken in Fintwyna¡¯s pet,¡± Ithilya observed, glancing at Wendy beside Aramas¡¯s cot. ¡°None of the other druids wished to mind her?¡±


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    ¡®Mind¡¯ her¡­ Like Fin¡¯s ever coming back¡­


    ¡°She¡­ she doesn¡¯t move much,¡± Aramas offered by way of explanation.


    ¡°She¡¯s just delightful,¡± Cull grated out.


    Ithilya merely shrugged. ¡°I have heard from Vardae.¡±


    ¡°From¡­ Vardae?¡± Cull asked heavily.


    Clearly the memory of the arch-diviner pointing at him and saying ¡®Kill that one¡¯ was sticking with him.


    ¡°With regard to the druid¡¯s defeat.¡±


    Aramas looked up at last.


    ¡°What ¨C what happened?¡± He heard the iciness, the demand in his own tone and couldn¡¯t hold it back. ¡°And who was it? Who killed her?¡±


    ¡°It was indiscernible; there was divination interference, somehow, although no recognised diviners of note were on the scene. Winterprince was there of course, and a number of magisters, when it ended. For the most part, however, it was surely the defeater of the Cannibal Six, the new champion Feychilde, with whom Fintwyna contended. About that there can be no disagreement, no variation in the scrying.¡±


    Feychilde.


    More than the mystery of this place, more than the fear of the constant danger in here or the vigilant champions out there, Fintwyna was what made him want to stay.


    Now she was gone, and this was where he had met her. Before, there might¡¯ve been a chance he¡¯d have left ¨C if she¡¯d gone, he might¡¯ve followed her. But now there was nowhere else to see her, no place for her ghost but the rooms in which he already spent his days.


    He would come into his inheritance. He would see her, speak with her again, one way or another.


    ¡°She will be avenged upon Feychilde¡¯s corpse,¡± he choked, shuddering.


    ¡°Who is Feychilde?¡± Cull said, looking from Ithilya to Aramas.


    Aramas just shrugged. He didn¡¯t care; it wasn¡¯t like it mattered. This Feychilde would kill him, or he would kill Feychilde. Either way, the survivor wouldn¡¯t have long to live before the days of doom were upon them.


    ¡°An arch-sorcerer, of Sticktown ¨C¡°


    Aramas started to laugh. ¡°An arch-sorcerer! This just keeps gettin¡¯ better.¡±


    Cull raised his eyebrows. ¡°You can¡¯t fight an arch-sorcerer ¨C¡°


    ¡°Not yet, he cannot,¡± Ithilya cut in. ¡°And still, I would have him ready for the moment the weight of his fate comes upon him.¡± She surveyed the both of them, hands on her hips. ¡°You each show the promise of accomplishment in days to come. I shall have Liebor and Ibaran come instruct you, Aramas; and you, Cullimo, may listen and glean much you would not otherwise ¨C your rota permitting.¡±


    Ithilya left them, but before she closed the door Aramas caught the sound of her murmuring, ¡°Goodnight, Wendy,¡± and he found himself smiling as he slipped into sleep a few minutes later.


    He fell straight-away into a deep dream, and for once there were no dragons the size of city-blocks; just the spiders and their reborn mistress, and Ithilya, his new mother. The three of them were together, alone in a black forest under darkness.


    No, not quite alone ¨C he laid the body of his enemy on the ground, a black-robed, black-masked champion, ready to be interred in the dirt.


    Fin clung to him and he to her ¨C she praised him, thanked him, and whispered that he had not finished.


    The earth hungered yet he denied the earth its hunger, and raised his fingers, making the champion¡¯s lifeless flesh dance ¨C then Cull was there, and Cull was laughing, pointing at the corpse and laughing.


    When the two adepts arrived the following afternoon to offer him instruction in the finer points of sorcery, they took one look at Aramas¡¯s face before turning to each other and nodding in approval.


    * * *

 Dream It Too pt7

    29th Orovost, 998 NE


    Liebor chuckled. ¡°It was all good. Vardae sent us, so the champions never even knew we were there with our invisibility potions. I completely saved Shallowlie¡¯s ass.¡±


    He was sitting on Aramas and Cull¡¯s table, swinging his lanky legs ¨C he was probably in his early twenties, while his sister, only slightly shorter than him, was probably five years his elder. Sibling archmages were a true rarity.


    Ibaran didn¡¯t look too pleased at her brother¡¯s words; she was leaning back against the desk beside him, and she turned and glowered at him. The two of them were like night and day.


    ¡°What? It¡¯s not like I like her.¡± Liebor rolled his eyes at her. ¡°If I¡¯d let her die, Roseoak woulda been worse.¡±


    ¡°And now Mal Tagar will have another soul to devour upon his return,¡± she said bitterly.


    ¡°Nah ¨C Vardae said they would¡¯ve got more than just Smouldervein, ya know? Anyway, I¡¯ll kill her, someday.¡± Liebor waved a hand disdainfully. ¡°Hey, Ari, look what I managed to find.¡±


    Aramas sat forwards on his bedding, and Cull, on his own pallet, almost imperceptibly shrank back. They pair of them had been in enchantment-class, but the adept in charge let them both go early when Aramas told her the arch-sorcerers were visiting again on Ithilya¡¯s orders. As much as Cull protested that he enjoyed these little get-togethers, Aramas could tell his friend was more frightened by demons than he was.


    Liebor gestured. A ring of blood-red fire birthed a clot of darkness, vaguely bird-shaped. A crimson cloud in perfect miniature detail formed behind it as it hovered in the air before its master.


    ¡°Folkababil?¡± Aramas asked, confused.


    Folkababil, the blood-birds, were one of the few types of demons Fin had seemed interested in.


    ¡°Oh no!¡± Liebor chortled. ¡°Far more potent than those little scavengers. This is a pedheliorph. Rare as all hell.¡± He grinned happily. ¡°If you didn¡¯t like me, you wouldn¡¯t even be able to look at me while this was out. It¡¯s even more-discerning than a shield ¨C you¡¯d see little bits of lightning in the cloud behind it, and then you¡¯d start drooling, watching it like a glyphstone.¡±


    Ibaran was staring at the pedheliorph in fascination. Liebor glanced at his sister worriedly ¨C the moment he noticed her, she clapped him around the back of the head.


    ¡°Ow!¡±


    ¡°More discerning, and less,¡± she corrected him. ¡°It doesn¡¯t sense ill-will, it senses general attitude. It won¡¯t stop someone who loves you from attacking you.¡±


    ¡°Aw, you love me¡­¡±


    ¡°I love you so much, if you keep this up, the day you die I¡¯ll bring your corpse back to do my laundry ¨C eternally. We are supposed to be adepts, Liebor. Behave appropriately in front of the neophytes.¡±


    Liebor sighed, dismissing the pedheliorph. ¡°Where were we at?¡± he said grudgingly.


    Ibaran straightened up. ¡°Look, Aramas, the truth of it is that the average archmage cannot perform their role to their utmost, cannot perceive all the uses to which their abilities might be put. If you pay attention to the wrong people, the wrong principles, you¡¯ll go astray, because that¡¯s what they did ¨C they paid attention to the wrong people. But, if you utilise your own scrutiny, perform your own investigations into the extent of your power, you will within days already exceed the abilities of those who learned their craft by rote over years. Pay no heed to ancient texts, or even us, when we contradict what you yourself discover. You¡¯ll often sense that a sorcerer knows less than you,¡± she looked at her brother archly, ¡°and you must be ready to dispense with their advice the moment it reaches your ears. But if you sense that a sorcerer knows something you do not, then treat them with respect¡­ at least until you¡¯ve drained them of their lore.¡±


    Liebor was nodding, accepting her jest without response. ¡°And lore isn¡¯t always true,¡± he said. ¡°I mean, the truth gets repeated, distorted, over time. Popular opinion is a load of bunk, nine times out of ten. A book can¡¯t make you a good arch-sorcerer, especially one that tells you it can.¡±


    ¡°What we are saying,¡± Ibaran cut in, ¡°is that only putting theory into practice yields self-transformation. You must experience sorcery in order for you to improve at it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but a load of good that¡¯s gonna do him for now.¡± Liebor put his feet down and stumbled as he turned to face his sister ¨C


    His foot crunched on something.


    Looking down, Aramas saw Wendy beneath the desk, beneath the archmage¡¯s boot.


    Wendy didn¡¯t react as a full quarter of her body was snapped, crumbled ¨C just sat there.


    Dead.


    It was seeing it ¨C seeing her ¨C


    He heard of the huge spider-legs that the Magisterium had been forced to destroy after Fin¡¯s attack on Firenight Square. The ones bigger than any of the others.


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    The ones that had been hers. Before Feychilde mutilated her.


    Now he saw it replayed in miniature before him, the broken form of the giant spider, serene in its acceptance of its end.


    She is gone.


    The tension that had boiled within him since that day after the meeting in the Hall of Embrace, when the crowd had torn them apart and he¡¯d waited, waited for her ¨C and Wendy, Wendy had waited too ¨C all of that tension was released in a flood, a wave of steam venting through his flesh, coursing through his face and his eyes and his hands and every pore of his skin ¨C


    ¡°Ah, man, I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Liebor started to apologise.


    Wendy, five-legged and missing a large portion of her meat, scuttled over towards Aramas.


    ¡°Ari!¡± Cull shrieked, half-terror, half-shock, half-elation.


    Aramas looked blankly from the reanimated, undead giant spider up to the pair of arch-sorcerers looming behind her. ¡°But ¨C what ¨C¡°


    I ¨C I did it?


    ¡°This is an unfortunate turn of events,¡± Ibaran commented, folding her thin arms across her flat chest. ¡°Unless I am much mistaken ¨C which, if you have been listening, is entirely possible ¨C this will make it surpassingly-difficult to properly train your perceptions now.¡±


    ¡°Aw, you¡¯re done for mate!¡± Liebor chuckled again.


    Ari looked blankly between them.


    Did I just screw up?


    ¡°There is a spectrum of life, of course,¡± Ibaran said smoothly, ¡°and you, my young friend, have just identified with the animals. Your affinity will serve you in good stead when animating them or working their spirits. It ought not inhibit your ability to raise other entities from the dead, of course, even sense them ¨C but your ability to refine these senses, hone them? I am unsure now.¡±


    ¡°You ¨C you mean, you two couldn¡¯t sense she was dead?¡± Cull piped up.


    The siblings exchanged a glance, then both shook their heads.


    Aramas sighed. He¡¯d expected it to go differently to this. More of a fanfare. Less of a let-down.


    I¡¯m an arch-sorcerer.


    He reached out a hand to Wendy and she contritely came towards him, flopping all over the place.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get you fixed, girl,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Cull asked in an awed voice.


    ¡°What?¡± Aramas returned, frowning in confusion.


    ¡°What you just ¨C¡°


    ¡°He speaks the Netheric tongue,¡± Ibaran explained. ¡°It will come naturally to him, and he won¡¯t understand the difference at first.¡±


    ¡°You mean, I just¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re one of us now,¡± Liebor said in a tone of congratulation. ¡°Welcome to the club, eh?¡±


    ¡°Welcome to being part of the problem,¡± Ibaran muttered.


    ¡°Well¡­ well done, Ari,¡± Cull said haltingly.


    Aramas looked from the undead arachnid to his best friend¡¯s face.


    He¡¯s jealous, he realised.


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna do it together,¡± he promised Cull, ¡°like always.¡±


    Cull nodded sombrely, then put a small smile on his lips after a moment¡¯s struggle.


    ¡°I can help show you how to put her back together, if you like.¡± Liebor¡¯s smile was genuine. ¡°We might need to find some more giant spider parts, though¡­¡±


    Aramas nodded to him and looked back to Wendy. ¡°And then, Ithilya willing, we¡¯ll go get your mummy¡¯s ghost.¡±


    ¡°Oh dear gods no.¡± Ibaran sounded offended all of a sudden.


    ¡°What?¡± he demanded, staring up at her. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with that?¡±


    ¡°Well, her soul must pass on ¨C surely, you understand this, neophyte? To reanimate a corpse is one thing, but to capture the true essence, the intelligence¡­ That is blasphemy. Something best saved for your enemies, certainly.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not even at that stage, yet, sis,¡± Liebor said in a conciliatory manner.


    ¡°I don¡¯t get¡­¡± Aramas hadn¡¯t really been thinking it through properly. ¡°You mean she¡­ I could stop her going to Celestium ¨C¡°


    ¡°Whither the soul is bound is not for those in the Mist to tell,¡± Ibaran cut him off. ¡°Tome of Understanding, chapter one, verse one-oh-one.¡±


    ¡°Oooh-ooh, yes.¡± Liebor adopted a mockingly-serious expression and a faux-highborn accent as he quoted: ¡°¡¯In the land of the blind¡­ the one-eyed man¡­ is the king¡¯s fool!¡¯¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been reading the compilation again.¡± Ibaran chided him. ¡°That¡¯s actually from Brother To Nothingness¡­¡±


    Aramas ignored them as they continued their verbal sparring-match, deep in thought. If it meant he¡¯d be stopping her from moving on, he wouldn¡¯t be able do it ¨C he knew that much. With a sad smile on his face, he put Fintwyna¡¯s ghost firmly from his mind.


    Suddenly the door banged open, making everyone jump, and Vardae was there, her arms held casually at her sides. Ithilya was behind her.


    Aramas sensed rather than heard as Cull backed away some more towards the corner of his bed.


    ¡°See, Vardae?¡± Ithilya asked.


    ¡°I told you, I saw it already,¡± the seeress replied, scowling somewhat. ¡°So, you¡¯re one of us now, boy.¡±


    ¡°I was just saying that,¡± Liebor cut in.


    She turned the scowl on him, and the adept-sorcerer sealed his lips, his smile fading.


    ¡°It¡¯s good timing,¡± Vardae continued, eyes moving back to Aramas¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ve just found out exactly when you¡¯ll get to go up against your bitter enemies. Feychilde, Winterprince¡­ There¡¯ll be opportunity for you to get some live action, some real training beforehand ¨C I assume you¡¯re up for it.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a question. It didn¡¯t need to be. She was a diviner, one of the highest calibre. She already knew the answer.


    He stood up, and clenched his fists. He blinked as glowing blue lines started forming in the air around his hands.


    His eyes met Vardae¡¯s again, and the pallet he was standing on gave him a couple more inches in height. Ranks be damned ¨C this time when he spoke, for the first time he felt he spoke almost as her equal.


    ¡°When?¡±


    Her thin lips were pulled down, an expression which on any other face would be one of displeasure, distaste; but this was her smirk, he knew.


    ¡°A month today. It¡¯ll be an intense spot of combat. We¡¯re going in force.¡±


    ¡°Consider us volunteers,¡± Ibaran said quietly. Her brother was nodding alongside her.


    ¡°I too will put myself forward to attend,¡± Ithilya said. ¡°It has been almost a year since I last engaged with enemies worth fighting, and Mountainslide mistook Oferine for me when they duelled. If, as you say, we must go in force, I should show them my true capabilities. Mountainslide shall not make the same mistake again.¡±


    The smirk on Vardae¡¯s face only deepened in its intensity, the demented leer becoming terrible to behold. She turned to her fellow master.


    ¡°Well, well. You¡¯d truly join them?¡±


    Ithilya just smiled distantly in response.


    ¡°In that case, who knows?¡± Vardae spread her hands. ¡°I may even join you myself ¨C see a few old faces.¡±


    ¡°What¡­¡± Cull¡¯s voice was raised timidly from the corner of the room in which he was still huddled, the only one of them in the room that was not standing now. ¡°What about me?¡±


    ¡°We always need some neophytes,¡± the seeress said contemptuously, not even looking at him.


    But Aramas stepped off his mattress, then sat down beside his friend; he turned to look up at the four archmages in the room.


    ¡®Other¡¯ four, his mind corrected him gloatingly.


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°Me and Cull ¨C we go together.¡±

 Already Dead pt1

    <h2>MARBLE 6.8: ALREADY DEAD</h2>


    ¡°When you carry a message, you are not yourself. You bear the thought of the sender. Most messages pass unknown from one mind to another, seeping through the cracks in the soul¡¯s walls. Eventually no one remains themselves. All are a conglomeration of messages. An amalgam of conscious and unconscious meanings.¡±


    ¨C from the Orovaic Creed


    Most of the heretics were grounded, surrounding us; we formed a hasty battle-line, and only just in time. Dozens of attacks hammered our weaves as waves of minions descended upon each other, biting and burning, screaming and spell-casting. Elementals and banshees and vampires and demons and giant golden squirrels were all wrapped up in a ferocious melee, rays of energy streaking through the fray to splash against invisible weaves on the far side. Gilaela was the sole unicorn on the battlefield, a gleaming, purifying presence whose mere arrival scorched my enemies¡¯ minions ¨C never mind when she let them get a taste of her horn¡¯s power. I watched as she rode the broad back of a grass elemental, then leapt high, descending at a draumgerel and bursting it like a sore, the acidic goo just rolling off her flanks.


    But this was no ordinary contest of archmages. We had dozens and dozens of magisters, applying themselves to the new task at hand with all their long-trained instincts, with all their lesser artefacts and premeditated magic. The heretics seemed to have even more mages in their ranks than we did ¨C and they fielded as many archmages as the champions and the Magisterium combined.


    They had the greater numbers, and they came through their portals or flew in swiftly on the winds of wizards. Their tactics were already decided, their placements chosen specifically.


    We were fewer ¨C Doomspeaker and Henthae had a portion of our forces held in reserve ¨C and many of us were exhausted. Our mages were specifically prepared to fight a dragon, not a war.


    And to think, a few hours ago I¡¯d been worried about Dream interfering in our appointment with the heretics.


    The battle-line lasted all of ten seconds.


    Fires erupted everywhere. Up until now the magisters had been almost silent over the link, making terse reports, giving terse commands ¨C quite the professional opposite of the champions¡¯ operation, and it seemed there was something to what Jaevette had been saying earlier; it certainly helped Zakimel get his instructions across to his lackeys. Once one of the outer weaves fell and some of our force was exposed, however, wails split both the air and the telepathic space we all shared. We were flanked, overrun ¨C we couldn¡¯t cover enough ground with our weaves and at Netherhame¡¯s shouted command we let them fade in favour of mobility. I moved in response to the screams, soaring towards and across the perimeter, attempting to keep as many of the lesser casters within the bounds of my protections as I could manage.


    But already it was happening. Not twenty seconds after they fell upon us, and we were dying in droves. Swarms of insects went rampaging, devouring the odd defenceless mage here and there. Diviners ripped through barriers faster than I could make them, and when I was down to my square-shield I cut one of the attackers, almost accidentally, one of my force-blades taking his arm off. I didn¡¯t see him get healed, but I did see their druids joining the assault, colossal crows and snakes and hounds and even a worm ¨C two of them had grown to impressive stature, but stayed at the back in humanoid form, their eyes on the battle. Those would be healers, then.


    Enchanters were appearing out of nowhere, delivering lethal strikes, then disappearing again. The lesser ones I could see, thanks to Zel, and at one point I managed to shout a warning to a magister ¨C she twisted out of the way of the sword swinging at her throat ¨C only for the grass itself to lengthen and harden in the space of a second, right beneath her feet, some druid piercing her with thirty overlapping green blades.


    Blood. Blood ran freely across the grass, and this time the demons weren¡¯t the cause. They were merely one of the tools being applied to the problem of killing as many magisters and champions as possible, in as short a time as it could be managed.


    The earth rolled itself up towards us in sheets, slabs fifty feet thick, forcing me to dismiss or teleport the summons I¡¯d already brought to the fight.


    Loose dirt and body parts showered down onto my shields as the very ground loomed over us, towering high, pushing us back towards the rim of the newly-formed crater ¨C


    Then my girlfriend descended from the storm-clouds, a solid sword of pure lightning in her hand, and sliced the mounds in two, parting them like banana-peel to crash down on either side of my barriers.


    ¡°Up!¡± she shouted at me.


    ¡°Them!¡± I cried back, waving my hand at the seven or eight magisters clustered beneath me.


    ¡°They should have had the augments!¡± She sounded enraged. ¡°I do not need this distraction!¡±


    She swooped lower and gestured at them, and we took the fight to the skies.


    It seemed the heretics were doing the same. We soon made up a cloud, a globe of targets strafing through the air over the heath, shields overlapping and contesting, pushing and pulling ¨C some were plummeting, aflame or encased in ice, while others were already black crisps tumbling from the skies with their masks and rings melting. Still others seemingly hadn¡¯t had their mind-securing amulets created by archmagery like ours had been ¨C they were deliberately falling, landing with dull thuds on the ground, serene smiles or demented grins on their faces.


    Our druids were tending to most of them ¨C Glimmermere wasn¡¯t even fighting, instead spending her time going from the northern side to the southern, to the east and west, just healing the wounded, defended all the while by Shadowcloud¡¯s brilliant lightning-storm ¨C


    Then I saw a druid-magister near me tear his own head off. I saw Mountainslide¡¯s lightning rebound upon him, almost stripping him to bone and sending him plummeting. It was too much for me to take.


    I used my force-blades like a hammer to bat aside the sorcerer protecting a cadre of enchanters, and when they tried to go invisible, flee in all directions, the four diamonds I created from a spinning central ring trapped them in mid-air.


    I didn¡¯t quite know what to do with them, but that didn¡¯t matter for long ¨C they stuttered into visibility when they slammed into my force-lines, and that moment of visibility was, for them, one moment too long: a random gout of flame was directed at them from above.


    I watched, mystified, as the four mages¡¯ ashes drifted out of my diamonds ¨C


    ¡°You¡¯re velcome!¡± Em¡¯s elated breath came to my ear, and she descended past me through the shields I¡¯d constructed, striking down at the female wizard who¡¯d first challenged us, Hierarch Thirteen, the one who¡¯d thrown lightning at Netherhame, the one who¡¯d been besting Mountainslide¡­


    I should¡¯ve taken the opportunity to put a shield around her but I was frozen there in the air for a moment ¨C the ashes were still drifting about, even rolling upwards a little as they fell sideways, caught by gusts of spellbound air ¨C


    She killed them. Like they were demons.


    ¡°It¡­ isn¡¯t it what you want, too?¡± Zel asked in a small voice.


    But I didn¡¯t get a chance to answer her.


    A male voice, young and furious, roared: ¡°Feychilde!¡±


    The sorcerer I¡¯d batted aside was back, and he¡¯d brought a friend.


    Both were surrounded in shields, but the archmage, the shorter of the two, had a shield that didn¡¯t flicker and fade between revolutions ¨C an accomplished arch-sorcerer¡¯s personal barriers.


    Great.


    I spread my force-walls between us and threw a few blades along its surfaces, cutting at him to test his strength as I retreated.


    ¡°Don¡¯t run from me, Feychilde!¡± he cried, his Rivertown accent coming through as he gave chase. ¡°You killed her ¨C you will pay!¡±


    I slowed a little, feeling confused.


    ¡°What do you care?¡± I called back. ¡°I thought killing people was doing you a favour!¡±


    He took advantage of my hesitation, spreading a titanic diamond around me, encapsulating all my shields.


    How in the Hells¡­?


    ¡°He¡¯s strong!¡± Zel hissed.


    A thousand inward-pointing blades protruded from the diamond and speared towards me, stabbing deep into my shields.


    ¡°You will pay!¡±


    ¡°I never killed anyone!¡± I yelled. ¡°I just trapped them ¨C¡°


    ¡°You chopped off her legs, left ¡®em there to be burnt to cinders! What did you do with her body? Did you burn her, like you burned her spiders? Did you laugh when you killed her? Did you?¡±


    The heretic, from Firenight Square¡­


    ¡°You chopped her up ¨C do you deny it? Do you dare deny it!¡±


    The heretic was screaming, pressing forwards at me with his taller companion at his side, pushing me away from the heath ¨C if I released my grip on my shield it would pass over me and I¡¯d fall into his spikes, so I was forced to move with him ¨C


    ¡°You chopped ¨C her ¨C up ¨C do you deny it?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I screamed back. ¡°I chopped her up! She was murdering children!¡±


    His shieldcraft was indeed strong, but mine was stronger. My square was trapped, so I made my triangle¡¯s blades into scissors, and as his walls rushed in at me I sheared through his spikes, releasing my square ¨C


    I pointed my right hand at him, index and middle fingers forked, a v-shape to pin his diamond ¨C


    Then before he could react I punched out with my left, a single reinforced spike that split his diamond at the pinned corner, piercing the forces ¨C


    I tempted him into the obvious misstep. He crossed his own lines, trying to stop me.


    I closed my left hand and withdrew it, swallowing his forces inside my own.


    ¡°What¡­¡± I heard him mutter.


    I spun the directionality on the diamond and it flipped over, imprisoning both him and his sorcerous colleague. His reinforced circle-shield was now being speared by my own spikes.


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    I could see beneath his hood, the way his piggy little eyes squirmed as they roved left to right, up and down ¨C I could imagine the sweat on his brow, realising how close him and his buddy were to being shredded.


    ¡°You¡¯ll regret this,¡± I heard him huffing. ¡°You¡¯ll regret it, when the dragons come!¡±


    ¡°Hear ye hear ye, the dragon just dropping left,¡± I spat at him.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be back,¡± he sneered. ¡°Go on, kill us, Liberator!¡±


    My hands trembling, I floated there, paralysed.


    Behind the two heretics I spotted Killstop. She was far to the south of me, dancing on the air beyond Shallowlie¡¯s shield; the seeress fended off at least three other diviners as the sorceress desperately tried to slip past an enemy arch-sorcerer, his constant cones of wind barraging her, keeping her pinned down.


    Past them, the woods were burning; figures were moving through the smoke on the ground, fighting amidst the snapping branches. A few magisters were desperately trying to put out the flames, while gangs of heretics sought to immolate more trees by the second, distracting them from the true contest.


    ¡°Kill us, or kill yourself!¡± the Hierarch¡¯s ally yelled at me from within the cocoon of death. ¡°If you won¡¯t kill ¡®em for us, take yourself out the equation, and let us get on with our jobs!¡±


    Why does everyone want me to kill people? I growled internally.


    Zel had no answer.


    My will evaporated, and my blades faltered, their strength and keenness diminished. The heretic¡¯s shields only blazed brighter and brighter as my resolve waned.


    Then I noticed as the distant figure of Killstop froze. The three dark diviners were floating back, nursing their injuries ¨C but there was another person hanging in the air in front of the seeress, a woman with her hood down, curly blonde hair loose in the breeze. I couldn¡¯t catch what was being said over the clamour.


    Another arch-diviner?


    ¡°Oh sweet Nentheleme,¡± I heard Zel murmur.


    What? Who is it?


    ¡°E-everything tells me this isn¡¯t going to go well, Kas¡­¡±


    The curly-haired one darted towards Tanra ¨C


    They did not blur together in combat. They seemed to explode. The sheer amount of movements each was making was enough to leave a million after-images in the onlooker¡¯s eye ¨C


    And in what seemed to be an instant they both travelled fifty feet ¨C straight downwards ¨C


    I followed the colour-streak in the air with my eyes, only to see the two women locked in a fierce clutch on the ground.


    Killstop was on her back in the weeds, and the heretic was standing on her chest, booted feet planted squarely in the girl¡¯s ribcage.


    Each of Killstop¡¯s hands clutched a dagger ¨C


    Each of the stranger¡¯s hands clutched one of Killstop¡¯s wrists.


    Going like a piston, the heretic-diviner yanked up on Tanra¡¯s arms and thrust down with her legs, again and again, enough for the after-images to explode once more.


    She was trying to rip her arms off.


    All this had happened in the span of a rapid couple of heartbeats. Choking down nausea, I added my voice to the telepathic screams rippling across the link and struck the air with wings and wizardry ¨C


    Urgency compelled me ¨C stupidity and overconfidence were its accomplices ¨C


    The heretic arch-sorcerer burst free of my diamond even as I aimed myself to fly past him. Eight huge, leg-like appendages, bristling with razor-sharp hairs, came from his back; five were black, three on one side and two on the other; the final three legs were bigger, grey in hue. A nimbus of fire began to coalesce in his suddenly-clawed hand.


    He flew to intercept me, spraying flame through my shields, his friend just behind him, aiming a wand at me that produced a jet of solid green light.


    I let them come.


    I was already using my imps, but for my other flying eldritches I¡¯d kept hold of my sylph and wraith, figuring they were too valuable to waste in this chaos. The wraith-form wouldn¡¯t necessarily protect me against the heretics¡¯ attacks, depending on their eldritch quality¡­


    I had to go on the offensive. Even as they sped to cut me off, I brought Gilaela into the space just before me, moved forwards into her and joined with her.


    Flood Boy, I thought, and could no longer remember the gesture to call on him.


    He was gone ¨C I¡¯d never joined with him.


    Now they were trying to kill Tanra ¨C I could see it happening right there in front of me ¨C


    That brought the anger back, and when the demon-clad arch-sorcerer came close to colliding with me, my horn burst into brilliant light.


    Our shields impacted, frazzling out, but my super-reinforced circle stayed active ¨C the fiery claw he brought swiping down at my upper chest with all his strength was repelled. I swerved into him even as I continued towards Killstop, and my headbutt connected with his face.


    The insubstantial nature of the horn meant that the heretic was not in himself wounded ¨C it passed straight into his cheek, and pierced instead every impure eldritch he was joined with.


    He recoiled, falling back into his ally. His demonic claw only faltered, flickering off and on, but his strange spidery-legs cracked and crumbled in an instant.


    ¡°No,¡± he gasped.


    I didn¡¯t want to stop ¨C the heretic mage was putting his hand on the archmage¡¯s shoulder, as if he was concerned ¨C these two darkmages were actual friends ¨C but I had Tanra to be concerned about ¨C


    Then a voice above me grated hard words, and it were as though the dark sky itself spoke:


    ¡°Take this as my apology, Feychilde.¡±


    I went to glance upwards, as did the heretics ¨C


    Then Winterprince pierced them both through with a single huge spear of ice that formed and descended faster than a comet.


    Pinned together by a twenty-foot-long, six-inch-thick icicle, they both plummeted, presumably very, very dead.


    I couldn¡¯t afford to care.


    ¡°Killstop!¡± I panted.


    Together me and wizard raced towards her.


    How much longer could she endure what the heretic was doing to her? I could hear her staccato screaming, hear the cackling laughter of the vile creature atop her ¨C


    Then Timesnatcher was there.


    He came down through the three oblivious heretic-diviners who were occupied watching the macabre spectacle, and he littered the grass with their severed heads and body-parts.


    But before the chunks of flesh could even thud into the ground he¡¯d already tried to kill Tanra¡¯s torturer a thousand times.


    In response, all she did was back away across the heath towards the flaming trees, as though it were just a game, evading his strikes by skipping and bounding, barely using flight.


    I¡¯d seen these antics before. It was what Timesnatcher did to Starsight, when the tainted obsidian had subverted his will in the demon-tower. It was how the superior arch-diviner might treat the lesser, when assaulted¡­


    The superior¡­?


    And across the link I could hear the mutters, the shocked expressions:


    ¡°It¡¯s her! Look!¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Everseer!¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Everseer?¡±


    My mouth was suddenly dry.


    Everseer, Timesnatcher¡¯s predecessor¡­ She didn¡¯t die ¨C she turned traitor?


    Although it didn¡¯t seem that Timesnatcher was getting anywhere, neither did she seem confident-enough to retaliate against him, preferring to retreat. And it meant she abandoned Killstop.


    It only took us a few seconds to arrive at her side, but Timesnatcher and Everseer had long-since disappeared into the smoke-choked treeline by then.


    ¡°Go after Time!¡± I yelled at the ice elemental. ¡°Clear the smoke, I¡¯ll help Killstop!¡±


    ¡°My very thoughts.¡± Winterprince nodded curtly to me then flew away.


    ¡°Killstop!¡± I brought Avaelar out and he gingerly lifted her mask, breathing into her face; I put one hand on the top of her head, gently stroking her, as I threw up some shields with the other. ¡°Killstop! Can you hear me?¡±


    The girl was motionless. I didn¡¯t want to touch her arms, touch her anywhere, really, in case I made things worse. I just tipped a few healing potions down her throat and wrung at my hands.


    ¡°These injuries are grievous,¡± my sylph reported in a grave voice after a few moments. ¡°Her arms stretched beyond their capacity, ligaments and tendons disintegrated ¨C wounds I cannot heal. Yet they retain their structure. The internal organs, however, are in far worse of a condition. There is little remaining inside her that approximates its former shape and function.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I cried. ¡°But surely you can ¨C¡°


    I had to turn aside, form blades, to repel the dirt-elemental that had charged over at us.


    ¡°With the aid of yon philtres I have been able to stabilise her condition, in its last moments, yet unless an arch-druid attends her swiftly I cannot say ¨C¡°


    ¡°Join with me again!¡± I barked.


    I glanced over the battle, but the ground made a poor vantage point, and I couldn¡¯t tell what the hell was happening. As I did so I sent out the telepathic call to Fang, to Sunspring, to Jaevette, anyone who was listening. Meanwhile, Avaelar dutifully complied with my command, hastening to my side; I waved my hand through him and started sprouting my wings, still crouching beside Tanra.


    I felt sick. Everseer hadn¡¯t been trying to rip Killstop¡¯s arms off ¨C she¡¯d just been using them as leverage to better-pulverise the girls innards.


    Still, we could be thankful she hadn¡¯t just chopped her into pieces. Did this turn of events mean Everseer couldn¡¯t kill her ¨C or just that she didn¡¯t want to?


    ¡°Timesnatcher¡¯s down!¡± Winterprince roared over the link.


    I cast my eyes over towards the treeline in horror.


    Not two seconds later, a huge blue condor landed beside me, and Shadowcloud¡¯s lightning took shape like a flickering, blinding elemental not ten feet away.


    ¡°Thanks, Glimmer,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Go help him,¡± came the druidess¡¯s voice from the tremendous beak, sounding rougher around the edges than I¡¯d ever noticed before ¨C less highborn, more¡­ coastal brogue? ¡°I got this.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a shield around you,¡± I told her, then leapt into the air.


    To my north, I could see that Em was still fighting the heretic-wizard, but she was being aided by Spirit or someone; an enchanter had created a number of duplicates of my girlfriend, sending each of them whizzing around the sky to disorient her opponent. Stormsword had the upper-hand over the Hierarch and she was driving her away ¨C


    Beyond her, even from the air it was impossible to tell. The battle had only been going on for about three or four minutes, and already there was so much loss of life¡­


    I focussed my thoughts.


    Timesnatcher¡­


    As I came within fifty yards of the treeline Timesnatcher emerged, soaring out of the smoke, a body in his arms.


    My first thought was Everseer, then ¨C


    No.


    It was Winterprince, his armour evaporated. A short-ish, thin man in a torn, grey-blue robe; he had only the one boot, the other leg missing below the knee-area. His eyes were closed as though in slumber. He had a frown on his face, but he didn¡¯t look to be in pain.


    Blood was welling up through the robed form of the wizard, dripping onto the ground beneath the arch-diviner as he flew the body out of the burning forest.


    It was soon apparent that, while there was enough left of Winterprince to identify him, most of his central mass was gone.


    What was more, I could feel it.


    It, not him.


    The arch-wizard was dead.


    Instinctively, I echoed the Hierarch-sorcerer he¡¯d killed. There was no other word for it:


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    I hadn¡¯t liked him. In fact, as far as I was aware no one liked him. He killed Flood Boy¡­


    That didn¡¯t stop it from hurting, though ¨C in fact it almost made it worse. Not that he¡¯d ever made anything easy, but had anyone ever really tried to get along with him? To get to know him?


    Now he was this empty sack of skin and bones ¨C the back of his skull was missing, and its contents ¨C and all I could feel was cold hatred, the sensation physically running up my arms.


    Everseer.


    A number of nearby champions flew over to regard the body. The magisters and many other champions continued the fight as, here, for a moment or two, there was relative silence, a sense of solemnity.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone,¡± the giant condor said in a resigned tone. Killstop was asleep, cradled in her talons.


    ¡°Speed his soul,¡± Spirit said, uncharacteristically sombre.


    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± Shadowcloud said from behind his misty mask. He alone of them sounded furious, and lightning was congealing on his gloved fingers, dripping off to float on the air about him.


    What does he mean? It¡¯s time to kick ass?


    But Glimmermere cried out: ¡°No!¡±


    The condor shape-shifted, and the elf-maiden with dark skin and seaweed-coloured hair appeared; she twisted in the air and threw Killstop at me, then cast her arms about the wizard.


    I caught Killstop, satyr-strength helping immensely, and stared, perplexed.


    What¡¯s time? Does he mean ¡®Timesnatcher¡¯? Or ¨C oh¡­


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s my guess too,¡± Zel said morosely.


    ¡°You can¡¯t!¡± Glimmermere was crying behind her shark mask. ¡°Timesnatcher, tell him.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s his life or several others¡¯,¡± the arch-diviner said quietly. ¡°I can see that much.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Timesnatcher,¡± Shadow said, his voice suddenly thick.


    ¡°Who cares?¡± Glimmermere burst out. ¡°You can¡¯t die¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m dead already,¡± Shadow replied at once, and I shivered, hearing those words from a fellow champion, a fellow Sticktowner. ¡°Those things in Zadhal, they killed me. This¡­¡± The wizard gestured at himself, made a little tricky by the druidess glued to him. ¡°This is just an elongated last gasp.¡±


    ¡°Laithor¡­¡± Glimmermere whispered.


    ¡°Imrye.¡± It looked like he was meeting her gaze through the eye-slits. ¡°Yes, please. You have to do this ¨C let me go. Remember what you said.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I will.¡± Then her voice harshened, as though the last sixty seconds had exposed a bitterness in her even she hadn¡¯t known existed: ¡°I have.¡±


    ¡°I love you.¡± His voice was harder than it ought to have been, like he fought to free the words; his anger-fuelled decision to give his life had taken the reins of his destiny, and even the three words he most needed to say before he left us were a deviation from his course.


    He pulled off her mask as she pulled off his, and they kissed, a single, deep kiss.


    Then without waiting for another word to be spoken the arch-wizard shot upwards into the sky, moving so swiftly and smoothly it looked like he was falling in reverse.


    ¡°Laithor¡­¡± The elfin-faced, ebony druidess stared after him.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get back to it.¡± Timesnatcher darted to the ground, arranged Winterprince¡¯s remains in a respectful placement on the grass, then returned to us. ¡°We can¡¯t let old Laithor go out without a bang, eh, Imrye?¡±


    There was just the right amount of sorrow mixed with the levity with which he spoke ¨C just the right amount to make the druidess square her shoulders, look him in the mask, and give him a firm nod.


    I glanced down before following the others, and shifted Killstop in my arms so that I could spin a shield about the body of the fallen champion ¨C just in case. I didn¡¯t want a heretic reanimating him or a demon gnawing on him. Even still, I felt the way the barrier trembled, as though it didn¡¯t want to exist ¨C or didn¡¯t want to have to.


    We¡¯ll be back for you soon, Winterprince.


    * * *

 Already Dead pt2

    As the next minute ticked by, the battle all melded into a mess of inconsistent snippets, memories that made no sense. I lost count of the times I saw someone spin through the air, bleeding or blackened and apparently dead, only for them to be back seconds later, whizzing past me, seemingly unwounded. Mountainslide had looked like he was dying; now the dwarf wizard was ripping through his foes. At times I felt my blades pierce cloth and flesh and bone, slicing through people I didn¡¯t even see, inflicting injuries the severity of which I couldn¡¯t even guess at.


    The wind whipped at us, for the first time in the battle flowing in a single direction; the hurricane pulled at our masks and robes and hair, and I saw one heretic lose his grip on a wand, the ensorcelled twig carried off in an instant. As I looked up, I saw a thundercloud the likes of which I¡¯d never before witnessed, spreading like oil across the heavens.


    I joined Em and Bor where the wind was a little less single-minded. Both of them independently gave me ¡®the look¡¯, indicating the still-slumbering Tanra in my arms, but I gave each champion the same helpless shrug in response. Instead of keeping my eyes on my teammates I went on the offensive, and threw everything I had at the Hierarch they¡¯d been fighting. Everything the Hierarch wouldn¡¯t instantly incinerate, at least.


    I must¡¯ve dropped a bintaborax on her at least twenty times but it never got old ¨C the sixth-rank demons were relatively impervious to her spells, and by the time I rotated back to the first of the three its melted edges had been repaired back to their usual spiky sheen. They served for brilliant distractions; dodging fifty-ton bundles of iron that could reappear anywhere in an instant probably wasn¡¯t easy all on its own ¨C but in addition to the confusing array of fake attacks coming from the Stormswords spread across the sky, covering for the real strikes? It was starting to get to her: Hierarch Thirteen¡¯s responses were becoming sloppy ¨C


    I brought out Mrs. Cuddlesticks so that the demon would fall directly on top of the heretic, leaving not three feet of clearance between my enemy and the portal over her head; a series of lightning-bolts, ninety-five-percent illusory, leapt out at her ¨C


    She feinted left, straight into Em¡¯s true lightning-bolt.


    Gasping, robe and flesh smoking, she dropped like a stone ¨C and the real Stormsword followed her, pushed her with a crushing weight of air, striking her down at the ground ¨C


    An impact like that would turn the heretic to pulp.


    ¡°Storm!¡± I yelled at her mentally. I had no idea what I wanted to say, only ¨C I couldn¡¯t watch ¨C


    But I did watch ¨C and looked on as the dying Hierarch seemed to open a crack in the earth beneath her.


    Within an instant both arch-wizards had vanished into the ground below the heath, and then a series of explosions suddenly rippled across the hillock, making the heather tremble and the grass wave ¨C I saw some of the grounded combatants lose their footing as the earth shook.


    ¡°Over there!¡± Zel cried.


    She dragged my eyes over to the crater.


    The two arch-wizards must¡¯ve been inside the huge ball of dirt that burst out of the crater-wall, must¡¯ve still been locked in their struggle in there ¨C the massive clump of earth soared effortlessly against the gale, losing mass and shedding mud by the second.


    I wanted to help her, but how? She might¡¯ve been winning in there¡­ If I intruded¡­


    Better than her dying again, I thought grimly.


    I bent my wings against the tempest-wind and gave chase, but the chunk of earth was outpacing me, swivelling and swerving chaotically ¨C


    Then I went deaf and blind, and I was surely not alone.


    White thunder rocked me, shaking the very air, the ground below me roaring and hissing where the lightning struck it.


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    I could hear Shadowcloud¡¯s voice, a wordless expression of release that mingled with the thunder, raining down on us from the sky.


    The wind halted abruptly, the air going dead. I couldn¡¯t feel even the slightest breeze through my ethereal feathers.


    When I could see again, Glimmermere was up there, descending with his body, and the battlefield ¨C the battlefield had changed. Smoking holes riddled the hill, each of them roughly the size of a decent-sized house.


    The bodies of those he¡¯d actually struck ¨C there was nothing left of them whatsoever.


    Their force was weaker by thirty, maybe forty. Thirty or forty heretics, gone, turned to ash in a single action. Many had been sorcerers, shielded or eldritch-skinned; two of their arch-druids were gone, the absences plain due to the fact they¡¯d both been immense monstrosities, looming over everything ¨C until they just weren¡¯t anymore.


    It was a hell of a lot of kills, enough to tip things in our favour.


    But Shadowcloud was gone.


    It wasn¡¯t worth it.


    And I couldn¡¯t see Em.


    ¡°Stormsword? Stormsword!¡±


    My voice was lost in the commotion. Magisters in the link were expressing their elation and went straight back to the fight with renewed vigour, the kind of vigour even a druid couldn¡¯t give you ¨C but as for me, I rejoined the fray frantically, searching the battlefield. My taste for blood was entirely sated ¨C I¡¯d seen enough death ¨C but the battle went on and I couldn¡¯t see Em.


    I entirely-accidentally spearheaded a charge through a series of barriers erected by lesser sorcerers in my desperation to see a flash of her lightning, her robe, somewhere in the tumult¡­


    ¡°There, Kas.¡±


    Zel showed me her, the hair loose of her hood, streaming in the wind within which she¡¯d armoured herself.


    Stormsword had won, it seemed, given the amount of blood covering her that did not appear to be her own.


    I sighed with relief, watching her while, oblivious of my gaze, she re-entered the conflict as though nothing had occurred.


    Some of the magisters were questioning what had actually happened and I didn¡¯t know what to say. One of them suggested something about the Third Law of Something Something, and the confusion continued until Timesnatcher spoke up:


    ¡°That was Shadowcloud¡¯s parting gift to us. His soul¡¯s one with the wind now.¡°


    ¡°Orovon bless his name, then,¡± I caught Zakimel saying in a tone of reverence and heartfelt gratitude. I could see the arch-magister on the western edge, leaping from dirt-elemental to dirt-elemental, popping their heads with some kind of sonic dagger and leaving them crumbling away in his wake.


    ¡°His name was Laithor,¡± Glimmermere whispered over the link. She¡¯d gone back to healing, Laithor¡¯s corpse at rest in her talons wherever she went. ¡°He said he ¨C he wanted everyone to know. And ¨C and me. My name is Imrye.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your intention to make your identity public?¡± Zakimel asked.


    ¡°It ¨C yes. Yes, it is. I need to be me, for once.¡±


    ¡°Very well, Imrye. It shall be entered into your public records, and the criers shall proclaim it openly from now onwards.¡±


    ¡°K-Kas¡­?¡± came a dreamy murmur from below me.


    I was busy moving a swarm of imps into the faces of some heretics, and it took me a moment to process the fact Tanra was awake.


    ¡°Killstop!¡± I cried, glancing down at her masked face squished against my chest. ¡°You¡¯re ¨C you¡¯re okay?


    ¡°Zakky¡¯s so proper,¡± she said softly. ¡°What¡¯s his story, do you suppose? It¡¯s so annoying, not being able to see.¡±


    ¡°No Killstop, I¡¯m pretty sure you should be resting ¨C no ¨C not squirming out of my¡­¡±


    Not if I¡¯d had ten arms would I have been able to stop her; she was an arch-diviner and she was still outfitted with several arch-wizards¡¯ flight-spells. Sighing, I gave up and let her go.


    Whatever my reservations, they didn¡¯t become regrets. Before I even processed the fact the weight of her was no longer encumbering me, my eyes were informing me she¡¯d torn through three heretics¡¯ hands with her knives, sending their precious fingers flying off.


    We seemed to be getting a handle on things, and I built up in my mind the notion that they would soon break off and flee ¨C we could lick our wounds, end the conflict ¨C but just when I started to get complacent my advisor piped up.


    ¡°Glyphstone messaging incoming.¡±


    Right on queue, I heard the familiar tingling sound emanating not only from my own pocket but from those all around me.


    ¡°Anyone know what it says?¡± someone said, a trace of their exerted grunting coming through over the link as well.


    ¡°I¡¯ll check,¡± I offered. My shields were well-fixed, and I¡¯d have paid a fair few plat to be able to spend a minute not watching my friends kill people ¨C


    ¡°Finished,¡± Timesnatcher said.


    ¡°Beat me to it,¡± I heard Killstop mutter.


    ¡°We¡¯re needed up north,¡± he continued. ¡°They¡¯re hitting the Maginox. We all know why. They need back-up, or we could lose everything.¡±


    Zakimel wasted no time organising the rearguard, barking orders at a terrifying rate, but I took a moment to process Timesnatcher¡¯s meaning.


    I shivered.


    It¡¯s all about the twins.


    * * *

 Already Dead pt3

    Once before in the recent past they¡¯d tried it ¨C the Chaos-Makers, they¡¯d been calling them back then, according to the magister rattling off information over the link. They¡¯d brought almost five hundred soldiers to the battle, and for seventy-two hours they maintained a foothold on the grounds ¨C but eventually they¡¯d given up their siege, retreated to the Thirteen Candles. Offensive magic could exit the Maginox¡¯s shields but couldn¡¯t enter. Defending the place was a doddle, and the stubborn proto-heretics had discovered this within minutes ¨C yet it took them days to withdraw.


    And that had basically been the end of the Chaos-Makers. Three years later, ¡®Hierarch One¡¯ emerged.


    But the Srol Heretics never tried it. Not enough lives that could be easily ended, so the speculation went. Too much resistance. More so than their predecessors, the Srol were fixated on massacre.


    The magister reciting a history-lesson sounded nervous as we cracked through the timeless airs over the forest, leaving behind a full fifty percent of our host. They would fight a steady retreat while we fortunate ones coasted the chronomancy of three of the city¡¯s greatest arch-diviners towards Hightown. I supposed the guy had good reason to sound nervous ¨C we were almost certainly heading into even greater danger, and Everseer had left the fight early; could it be she would have made her way north ahead of us?


    As fast as Timesnatcher, Killstop and Zakimel could move us, I was certain Everseer could move even faster on her own.


    And as much as I would¡¯ve liked the opportunity to think about the past, the magister¡¯s lessons were a distraction. It was my responsibility to think about the future.


    What could the twins have to do with this?


    The heretics never attacked the Maginox ¨C not until Saff and Tarr took their first step on the path that could lead to them becoming, what, the greatest wizards since the days of Wyre Eldervane?


    Was that it? Did the Srol just want the boys¡¯ firepower on their side?


    It was strange, though, I thought. The sorcerer I¡¯d just been fighting spoke about dragons ¨C did that relate to the vision Timesnatcher mentioned to me? There had to be a hundred crazies within a stone¡¯s throw of my house that¡¯d give you a hundred different stories of Mund¡¯s impending doom, and everything ending in dragon-fire was certainly not unpopular¡­


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    ¡®After she used Feychilde to kill them¡¯, that was what Lovebright said¡­ and I understood it now.


    She was going to use me to kill Saffys and Tarrance.


    Why me? Because they trusted me?


    Whatever the reason, Tyr Kayn had had her master-plan, and acted mere days after the twins became wizards. If I was right then surely now, after the ruin of the dragon¡¯s plots and her departure from Mund, the heretics could be made to see sense? It was over. It was all over now. They didn¡¯t need to arm themselves with the twins ¨C they could stand down¡­


    No. That wouldn¡¯t happen. The dragon-apocalypse was probably nothing more than something they taught their lesser members, lies to fill the ears of their newbies like the boy I¡¯d fought. Even if we¡¯d headed off their supposed end-of-the-world scenario, they¡¯d press on with their mission. The truth was probably just they wanted the twin arch-wizards to combat us ¨C and to prevent us from wiping them out once the twins came into the fullness of their power.


    Stormsword veered closer to me as we swept across the dark sky.


    ¡°Thinking about Zyger again, are we?¡± she asked. ¡°Don¡¯t even let ¨C¡°


    ¡°No,¡± I cut her off. ¡°Just about¡­ the heretics.¡± I met her eyes. ¡°Did you¡­ you killed Thirteen?¡±


    She shook her head, pouting slightly in discontent. ¡°She had a healing potion ¨C she escaped me.¡± Then I caught her slight, mischievous smile as she whispered, ¡°Until ze next time.¡±


    ¡°You prefer fighting them to a dragon.¡±


    ¡°To a mind-controlling dragon.¡± She cast me a quizzical look. ¡°What is it?¡±


    I just shook my head.


    Ashes, drifting out of my diamonds¡­


    ¡°Nothing,¡± I said.


    We flew on, and I was only more troubled than before.


    I watched you kill, Em. I watched you kill, and you didn¡¯t even care.


    ¡°It¡­ she¡­¡±


    Don¡¯t even try to explain it, Zel. Don¡¯t you dare take her side on this. What would Nentheleme think?


    ¡°You think Nentheleme is opposed to death? Kas, you ¨C you don¡¯t understand anything¡­¡±


    I don¡¯t care if I understand. I can still judge. And it¡¯s wrong.


    ¡°You¡¯re a sorcerer-born ¨C you¡¯re supposed to ¨C¡°


    Love death? Did Dustbringer love death when he worked tirelessly just to buy his daughter some extra time? You were awake when I spoke to Killstop about it, you remember. Does Shallowlie love death, the one who stopped you killing yourself with my body along for the ride? Netherhame? You ¨C


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to accept it.¡±


    I had no response. My mind was blank, fit only to echo her.


    Accept it¡­


    ¡°Accept it.¡±


    * * *

 Already Dead pt4

    They weren¡¯t assaulting the shields. It was something else entirely.


    We came roaring onto the scene and I could almost see the waves of time, rippling out through the rain-filled air ¨C from us, from other arch-diviners on the grounds ¨C everything was moving at different speeds. Still, I could instantly tell what was happening.


    Mounds of earth in humanoid shapes were locked in struggle about the library ¨C champions and arch-magisters were rallying crowds of mages in a valiant effort to stop the heretics from landing destructive attacks on the building. Fiends covered the library¡¯s roofs, but they were Magisterium-bound demons, launching spell-bolts or strange missiles at the besiegers.


    I instinctively dipped towards Starsight, taking a number of blasts aimed at the library¡¯s walls across my shields instead ¨C Star was darting across the parapets, contending with a Hierarch diviner. As I arrived I immediately set about surrounding him in my shield and letting force-blades ripple out at the heretic; the darkmage skipped backwards on the air¡­


    Beyond, I saw the effect as Timesnatcher, Killstop and Zakimel arrived ¨C it was instantaneous, the tide of the attackers falling back, dismayed ¨C Tanra ripped a couple of regiments of wights to pieces as the two men descended on the more-mortal opposition.


    Then she was there, in the thick of it, dancing on the wind with her blonde curls bobbing: the Hierarch formerly known as a champion, as Everseer.


    Everyone around her drew away, even the heretics.


    ¡°What a merry little get-together,¡± she enunciated, staring at her rivals.


    Tanra, Irimar and Zakimel, by some unspoken agreement that didn¡¯t come across on the link, converged on her in a single chronomantic blur.


    Stormsword ¡®took care of¡¯ the heretics who were throwing fireballs at my section of the library. When Starsight successfully took advantage of his opponent¡¯s imperceptible slip-ups and caught him, raising his gold dagger to strike down at the man¡¯s unprotected chest, I flew away towards the deadly duel, the quartet of arch-diviners.


    They¡¯d kept her trapped, the three of them forming a loose ring around Everseer. The glow of their passage flowed here and there on the night airs, but stayed in a relatively-confined area. I could even pick out snippets of the action if I watched a particular area very intensely, see how they were faring against her¡­


    One of them striking at her in not quite the right spot, another desperately trying to twist out of the way of her attack, and the third doing their best to help the second not get skewered.


    Every snippet was the same, Everseer dominating, the others switching position from instant to instant.


    It hardly filled me with confidence.


    ¡°You can do it,¡± Zel whispered. ¡°You don¡¯t have to rely on them. Cast your net over them, use the inward-spikes¡­ It¡¯ll leave those who bear you no ill-will untouched.¡±


    I don¡¯t know if that would count Timesnatcher.


    ¡°What a pity¡­¡±


    I know you hate other diviners, but really, Zel, that¡¯s low.


    Of all things, the last I expected was to hear her burst into tears.


    What is it? Zel?


    ¡°N-n-nothing¡­¡±


    Drop on it¡­


    I got close enough to loop my diamond around them.


    It only seemed to take them a second to realise that Everseer couldn¡¯t go beyond a certain threshold, that something was holding her back. I assumed they knew I was floating here thirty feet beneath them.


    ¡°S-s-see Kas¡­ T-Timesnatcher¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s¡­¡±


    I know, Zel. It wouldn¡¯t harm him.


    ¡°Do it!¡± Zakimel snapped over the link, his voice echoing strangely. ¡°Before she breaks it!¡±


    ¡°Feychilde¡­¡± Timesnatcher said in a tone of warning. He wasn¡¯t warning me against it, though. He was warning me against inaction.


    Then Killstop submitted her opinion: ¡°No, don¡¯t!¡±


    Their voices rolled about inside my head, the chronomantic effect warping the sounds into guttural or sibilant refractions of the originals.


    ¡°Damn it all!¡± I roared back.


    I brought the diamond down instead, descending at the same time, swinging it at the earth. It would pass through the soil and, trapped in its boundaries, she¡¯d collide with the ground, knocking her out, letting one of our druids get their hands on her ¨C


    ¡°What does it even matter?¡± Zel said bitterly. ¡°They¡¯ll only kill her anyway.¡±


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    Too little, too late.


    The diamond was still fifty feet from the grass when she twisted her daggers at my shields, a rhythmic series of blows, like someone chipping away at the corner of a window, steadily tapping it with a little pebble ¨C she shattered the barrier.


    I made a new diamond, made the blades I should¡¯ve made last time, but she pirouetted, her spellbound knives slicing them away from my surfaces, like a gardener expertly strimming the thorns from a stem.


    And then she was away, snapping a magister¡¯s neck with a slap from the heel of her hand; the motion wasn¡¯t even entirely designed for the poor guy ¨C she was primarily throwing her dagger at another magister, who took it in the throat ¨C then she was on the victim¡¯s chest, pulling her knife free, moving away again ¨C


    The others followed her and, already, there were two deaths ¨C on my head.


    Answers. I need answers.


    I looked towards the edge of the confrontation; there had to be a heretic I could take, interrogate ¨C


    ¡°You need to get your head in the game!¡± Zel bit at me.


    Go to sleep, Zel.


    ¡°No! Kas, you aren¡¯t ¨C¡°


    I said go ¨C to ¨C sleep!


    ¡°If you aren¡¯t going to listen, I¡¯ll¡­¡±


    As I realised, she realised I realised and her voice dropped away.


    ¡°N-no. Kas, please ¨C¡°


    I¡­ understand now. I understand it all.


    How had the story-book put it again? Something about how the imp used an illusion to supply a false name to its captor, so it could get away again once the sorcerer wasn¡¯t looking. It got found out because it didn¡¯t perform its task correctly, cutting corners in order to be freed from its new master early. It didn¡¯t respond correctly.


    Here she was, and not for the first time. My willpower, the overriding urge to get her to shut her face, should¡¯ve been just as overriding to her as it was to me. She should¡¯ve found herself forced to shut up.


    But no. Not Zel.


    ¡°Kas¡­¡±


    I¡¯d read things about eldritches and their names, but I hadn¡¯t paid much attention ¨C as an archmage, I didn¡¯t need to. I looked at them and apparently they just had to submit ¨C I didn¡¯t need their names, and I could take them freely if I wanted once they were bound.


    I could take them freely, once they were bound ¨C from a previously-unbound eldritch.


    Zelurra. She wasn¡¯t an illusionist, though. She had ¨C


    Olbru. Whose own name would be another lie¡­


    ¡°L-look Kas, there¡¯s a lot more going on here than you realise, and it¡¯s really important that you not lose your head ¨C¡°


    I trusted you. Both of you!


    ¡°You can¡¯t know! You can¡¯t know what it¡¯s like, to be me!¡±


    I rejected her, in every part of my being, and she was pushed straight out of me, hanging disoriented on the air before me.


    I raised my hand; satyr reflexes let me snatch her up in my fist despite her sudden lunge away.


    ¡°To think, I listened to all your lies!¡± I growled in her tiny face.


    Some heretics flew at me; I batted them away like they were just flies buzzing around me, still staring at the fairy.


    The little queen was staring back defiantly, struggling against my grip. She didn¡¯t seem to be gripped by any special agony from my gaze. ¡°You¡¯re sceptical, too sceptical for your own damn good.¡± She sighed, relaxed a little, and turned her head aside. ¡°Too many hell-cursed arch-diviners, too much mess¡­ I never saw this. Not one moment of it. I thought¡­ But no. I wondered, when you¡¯d figure it all out.¡±


    ¡°You wondered¡­¡± My voice faded away.


    The extent of the betrayal was only now beginning to dawn on me.


    Her eyes widened. ¡°No, you can¡¯t kill me, not now! I can¡¯t restart the cycle, not when ¨C¡°


    She cut herself off.


    ¡°When what, Zel? What is your real name?¡±


    I gazed deep into those wide, miniscule eyes, and for the first time I could sense it.


    A hold over her so profound and so submerged, that since the day we met I¡¯d taken it for a part of her own soul. But it wasn¡¯t. It was something else ¨C someone else.


    ¡°Who?¡± I whispered. ¡°Who is your true master?¡±


    Sudden, sharp pain and an intense kind of itching spread my fingers apart, an automatic reaction ¨C enhanced durability and reflexes meant little to a sly diviner who¡¯d spent precious seconds planning just the right way to escape my grip.


    My hand split open, just for an instant ¨C I saw the tiny blade in her hands ¨C then there was a green flash and she was gone.


    Gone.


    Zel was gone.


    My first instinct was to open the jadeway, follow her, extract answers ¨C but my hand halted even as it started the gesture.


    How did I know this wasn¡¯t going to land me in even deeper trouble? If I couldn¡¯t trust her ¨C this was Zel ¨C she was so unpredictable ¨C


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± Storm yelled over the link. ¡°Shield needed!¡±


    I met her at the corner of the library, where she¡¯d moved aside the earth to form a deep trench like an empty moat, and together we repelled and cremated a legion of dog-sized ants that had burrowed under us and were chomping away the foundations with their vicious mandibles.


    I moved my body through the air, my fingers through their motions, letting them steer themselves, my higher consciousness all but removed.


    Nothingness was what I really experienced. A sensation like falling. Falling, without caring.


    Everything was lies. No one could be trusted. Everyone was killing.


    Nothingness was peace. But it couldn¡¯t last.


    When the tide of battle took me away from Em, I was glad ¨C the last glimpse of her I got, she¡¯d hefted a band of panicked darkmages with one hand, then hurled them down at the ground at a speed that would crack then like eggs.


    Like she¡¯d done with Hierarch Thirteen, only these were lesser magic-users, with far less chance of escaping their impending dooms.


    I¡¯d drifted away, wraith-form turned up and rain falling right through me; now I was almost invisible, hanging over the edge of the war-zone that surrounded the library. It was relatively quiet out here, except for the link ¨C occasionally someone would ask for me, but they probably assumed I was busy elsewhere, and what with my current mood being due to a snarl of fate it was possible even Timesnatcher couldn¡¯t tell what I was up to.


    I floated through a patch of trees, their almost-bare branches left untouched by the battle, and came near to a group of heretic healers. An illusory construct was shedding a white light across their work-space. A few slumbering individuals were stretched out at their feet, and most of them had their eyes, minds, spells all focussed on the fight ¨C they were gazing out at their colleagues embroiled in the battle, sealing their wounds from a distance. But one of them was bent over a hideously-scorched heretic, laying their hands on directly, in order to better-effect their magic.


    Even without my usual perception-boosts, something about the hunched-over druid called out to me. A kind of recollection.


    The poise. The slight stature. The tapping foot, the simple motion repeated endlessly as though in annoyance, nervousness.


    The grubby hand with which he worked his healing, the almost-emaciated elfin digits caked in mud and blood.


    All of it ¨C familiar. Coldly familiar.


    There was nothing that prompted my memories about the robe itself, a shapeless, soiled thing of burlap, or the purple cowl or simple belt. In fact, they looked wrong on him.


    And when he slowly retracted the hand, spinning on the spot to gaze up at me from the shadows of his hood, I knew.


    I knew.

 My Friend pt1

    <h2>MARBLE 6.9: MY FRIEND</h2>


    ¡°There is a fundamental schism in the practice of reverence. On the one hand you have the dilettantes and dabblers, to whom all acts of reverence are celebrations of the various forms of being. There is nothing more worthy of celebration than the silver stream¡¯s song, the cool wind on the hilltop, the quiet gnawing of worms beneath the roots! Even the sighs of the dying, the shrieks of the tortured ¨C yes, even these may be celebrated by terrible entities for the forms inhabited. Yet on the other hand you have the devotee, to whom all acts of reverence constitute worship of a singular being. All becomes filtered through a single lens. There is only one school of doctrine to which all other doctrines must bend, and about which they must be recalibrated or, even, reconstructed in the mind. How will the son of Kaile perceive our Queen of Darkness? Not as she would have him perceive her!¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 5:166-175


    He tried to fly, spreading himself into a vast raven and leaping for the sky, but I ignored the others and I had the edge on him in speed; before he¡¯d gone fifty feet I managed to bring myself swerving in front of him ¨C


    ¡°You were the first champion I ever met, and now ¨C¡°


    The moment he saw I¡¯d caught up, he dropped out of the air. The diamond I¡¯d placed about him did precisely nothing to stop him.


    Then he tried to go under the ground, shaped like a tremendous mole. With my wraith exuding maximum levels of insubstantiality into my flesh, I was able to give chase. My wings and wizard-spell didn¡¯t work down here, but the wraith-form let me float right through the soil in whatever direction I fancied ¨C it was slow, but he wasn¡¯t exactly going quickly either. I just had to make sure I had my head in the tunnel he was making when I needed to breathe.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to run from me! Nighteye! Please.¡±


    He didn¡¯t stop, feverishly ploughing through a hundred yards of earth in haphazard directions. If I hadn¡¯t just watched him shapeshift, I¡¯d have thought these the believable actions of a magic-addled giant mole, rather than a human in animal shape. Who was he trying to fool exactly?


    I could hear Em calling out for me over the link, but I ignored her voice.


    ¡°Nighteye!¡± I yelled to him again along the hole, drifting down it just twenty-ish feet behind him ¨C he was digging horizontally at the moment. ¡°Nighteye, look! If you want to run from me, you can just make yourself one of the worms ¨C there¡¯s got to be hundreds round here, right? I can¡¯t stop you. I can¡¯t track you.¡±


    He stopped suddenly, and while the wraithiness helped me out in the darkness, I was already missing Zel¡­ whoever she was. I used a touch of Zab¡¯s power to illuminate my surroundings in a pale green radiance.


    The mole changed, slowly this time, blending into the hooded heretic once more. He was standing up to his knees in the dirt of the passageway he¡¯d made.


    ¡°I¡¯m s-sorry F-Feychilde,¡± he stammered. ¡°I, hm, I have somewhere to be ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, we can do it here.¡± The voice came from behind me, a confident purr. ¡°And I¡¯m certain I told you you¡¯d never have to say sorry again, Theor.¡±


    I tried to whirl when she started speaking, but time seemed to slip away from me, and she¡¯d finished her comment before I could spin to face her.


    Everseer, her plain-featured face and deep-set eyes gleaming in the green light, sitting cross-legged in the tunnel.


    Empty-handed ¨C no visible weapons.


    No visible weapons.


    ¡°I have a shield up,¡± I warned her in a low voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m aware.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re going to miss me up there if ¨C¡°


    ¡°No they¡¯re not. We have time. Plenty, now. You¡¯re under my spell, boy. It¡¯s not something you can protect against.¡±


    I gritted my teeth, tilted my head slightly. ¡°Nighteye, you can¡¯t trust h-¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t include him. It¡¯s you I want. Certain moves open up to us, now the dragon¡¯s gone. It¡¯s your turn, Kas.¡±


    Is this how it ends? I die, already buried, and she covers it up just by being here ¨C no one even knows, no one can find out ¨C I go missing, just like Nighteye went missing ¨C and the twins, the twins never know what happened to me¡­


    I laughed aloud.


    No chance.


    ¡°You think you¡¯ve got me?¡± I squared my shoulders. ¡°You¡¯re fast, sure, but you¡¯re stuck in a tunnel down here with as many bintaborax as I can fit behind you ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ll stop them.¡±


    ¡°¨C and before you pop my shields I can just float freely back up to the surface if I want, or head to another plane ¨C¡°


    ¡°You¡¯ll listen to me first.¡± She shrugged. ¡°I know it.¡±


    ¡°Listen to you?¡± My throat was suddenly dry. ¡°You don¡¯t want ¨C¡°


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to kill you, but it¡¯s better to let you figure these things out for yourself. See?¡±


    She blurred forwards, suddenly sitting cross-legged ten feet closer to me, well within the range of my outermost shields.


    No ill-will.


    ¡°I find you interesting, Kastyr. You and Killstop, you interest me.¡±


    ¡®Killstop¡¯. Not ¡®Tanra¡¯.


    If she was trying to show off by displaying her knowledge of my name, would she not do the same with that of her rival seeress, were she capable of it?


    Curious.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to talk Heresy at me, and then I¡¯ll lose my head,¡± I said. ¡°Literally.¡±


    She smiled, baring her teeth at me, but it was a look of displeasure rather than amusement. ¡°That¡¯s not going to happen, Glaif take me. You¡¯re too smart to repeat what you hear today.¡±


    I flicked my tongue and pressed my lips together, trying to stimulate some saliva, but it was useless in wraith-form. My throat was sore. I didn¡¯t know what to say.


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    I stared at her ¨C


    ¡°Thank you, Kas. I can call you Kas, right?¡± She eased herself back into a relaxed position, putting her hands on the freshly-compacted dirt behind her. ¡°You need to give me the wizards, Kas. You may think you¡¯ve defeated the dragon but her family aren¡¯t finished yet. This all ends in absolute, utter ruin if we don¡¯t do something and we only have until Yearsend before the Crucible begins. After that¡­ one more year¡­ no more Mund.¡±


    Heresy?


    I heard her words, but I stopped listening, caring. ¡°Give you ¨C give you Saff, and Tarr?¡±


    She nodded slowly, studying me, sunken eyes glinting greenly. ¡°You could do worse, you know. You could leave them with the Magisterium, with the Gathering. That way, when the dragons want them, they know where to find them.¡±


    I scrutinised her. ¡°What do you want with the library?¡±


    She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Well-spotted. Honestly? There¡¯s a book in the master¡¯s section we can¡¯t get at through invisibility or subterfuge. Purportedly the only copy, taken from a manuscript located in the Yenistraph Par. Every way I plan the heist, it fails, and we end up worse-off. I¡¯ve been looking forward to today for about three months. Took me awhile to figure out the Treetown part, though.¡±


    ¡®Well-spotted.¡¯ Such a compliment from someone like her meant precisely nothing. I didn¡¯t have a diviner on-board anymore; I didn¡¯t have any qualms about admitting to myself that she knew with perfect clarity exactly how this conversation was going to play out. She could see my future, at least until someone like Timesnatcher interfered with it.


    ¡°A book,¡± I repeated.


    ¡°A book.¡± She stared back at me, then quickly went on: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you can¡¯t stop us. I¡¯m only willing to tell you now because Ibaran¡¯s already retrieved it. We are due to withdraw in around fifteen seconds¡¯ time.¡±


    ¡°Something¡­ something to do with the twins.¡±


    She grinned, or grimaced, and let the change in expression carry her compliment this time ¨C and her gloating.


    She knew my weakness.


    I need answers.


    ¡°The twins are the key to everything. The dragons fear them, and them alone, do you follow? Tell me ¨C I shall tell no other ¨C were you dreaming of killing them yet?¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to but I nodded, a reaction pulled from me by the bluntness of the question.


    I could remember it ¨C but it wasn¡¯t Saff and Tarr ¨C it was my brother and sister.


    It was¡­ ten twins¡­


    ¡°You were her weapon,¡± Everseer mused. ¡°Ah, Quietsigh¡­ It¡¯s as I feared. I heard your voice coming from the dark place, the darkness unlike this¡­¡± She gestured at the close, earthen walls of our buried meeting-place. ¡°The darkness into which I cannot step. Grip the brand tightly, and all that. He had it mostly correct, I think.¡±


    ¡°Magicrux Zyger,¡± I breathed.


    She nodded again, suddenly looking slightly unsure of herself, and leaned forwards somewhat to peer at me. ¡°You are interesting, Kas. I can¡¯t read anything past it, really ¨C there are just too many variables. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    I felt her sincerity, even if I couldn¡¯t trust it.


    ¡°Am I doomed, then?¡± I asked, and heard the twinge of emotion in my voice.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she responded at once. ¡°And I. And everyone you have ever known or met or seen or heard.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C Zyger¡­¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Nothing is ever fixed, except the ending ¨C Ulu Kalar saw to the ending personally, you understand? That¡¯s what I¡¯m here to discuss¡­ This Tyr Kayn clearly recognised you¡¯d be close to the twins ¨C she knew she could use you. It makes no sense!¡±


    There was little agitation in her voice, coming from her lips calmly, level and cool ¨C but it was there to be read in her eyes, even by the meagre green twist of spell-light hanging between us.


    ¡°Do you know anything, Feychilde? Do you know why she wouldn¡¯t just kill them right away? Do you suspect anything? Have you heard a whisper on the cold winds carried by distant planes? Anything you could tell me about the Time of the Twins might be pivotal to our survival.¡±


    She launched the questions at me like they were attacks, rocking me with them.


    Everseer thinks Saff and Tarr are it, I realised.


    And I knew I couldn¡¯t say anything. I couldn¡¯t tell the heretics the dragon thought there¡¯d be ten twins.


    At the same time I knew I was beginning to be sucked in by her mindset.


    ¡°Survival?¡± I said harshly, more for my own benefit than anything else. ¡°I watched you kill. You¡¯re just like the rest of them.¡±


    ¡°Yet here I sit.¡± She spread her hands again, looking about. ¡°I¡¯ve been granted the sight by one of my friends. I can see your shields just the same as you can. Am I just like the rest of them, really? Do I bear you ill-intent?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°That¡¯s meaningless. You¡¯re just so deadly it doesn¡¯t register. A bath of acid doesn¡¯t bear me ill-intent either. That doesn¡¯t mean it won¡¯t reduce me to sludge if I make a single slip-up. And even if you won¡¯t kill me,¡± I couldn¡¯t help but draw a shuddering breath, ¡°that doesn¡¯t mean you get to go around killing anyone who isn¡¯t ¡®interesting¡¯, does it?¡±


    ¡°Why on earth are you asking me?¡± She looked amused. ¡°I clearly do not give a damn about anyone¡¯s life but my own.¡±


    I stared at her.


    ¡°Right?¡± Everseer prodded. ¡°I¡¯m here out of selfishness, aren¡¯t I? I mean, I believe Mund¡¯s going to be devoured, its very core gnashed until the final pip at the heart of the apple pops ¨C but I¡¯m sticking around in my own best interests.¡±


    I held up a hand so she¡¯d stop ¨C the sarcasm was getting old.


    ¡°So why kill people?¡± I asked plainly.


    ¡°Because they are already dead.¡± She shook her head. ¡°You don¡¯t understand, because you haven¡¯t seen it, but you won¡¯t accept my vision, will you? I can see how that conversation goes. You never trust me again if I even ask you to indulge me one more time¡­¡±


    ¡°I can see that,¡± I admitted. ¡°Don¡¯t try it.¡±


    ¡°If I kill them, the dragons don¡¯t eat them. Their souls are gone.¡± Her voice was a low hiss, and there was true emotion, enmity, exuding out of her. ¡°If the dragons don¡¯t get to feed enough when the resurrection comes over them, it doesn¡¯t take properly, we believe. Ord Yset can¡¯t fully restore them. They¡¯re forced to plane-shift. We so-called ¡®heretics¡¯ get to kill them, piecemeal, once the champions have expended their last efforts.¡±


    I tried very hard to keep my jaw from dropping.


    ¡°And as for the champions,¡± she continued, ¡°we try especially to snip from fate¡¯s pages the ones we think may be taken by the arch-demons. These particular fiends come in many guises, some obvious, some less so, riding the waves of the gateways between worlds. The demons who disintegrate archmages with red and white light ¨C all of those demons serve the undying will of Mal Tagar. They are stealing our souls, Kas, when they do it. Our power. We know it. We have¡­ tested it.¡±


    Then she drew a sudden breath, and blurted: ¡°Consider! We will reach out to you ¨C¡°


    The roof of the tunnel between us exploded inwards, and the frowning face and green-lit colours of Killstop¡¯s apparel came bursting down into view amidst a rush of dirt.


    ¡°Kas.¡± Tanra spoke in a quiet, throbbing voice from her crouched position, not even looking back once over her shoulder at me. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t tried anything.¡±


    ¡°Is ¨C Nighteye, is he okay?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Killstop.¡± Everseer¡¯s voice came through a little muffled from the other side of the soil-flood the girl brought through in her wake; I could make out that the heretic had got to her feet, crouching to fit under the low tunnel-roof. ¡°I¡­ apologise, what I did to you. I had to get Winterprince before the next Incursion, and I knew they¡¯d have you back on your feet in minutes. Tried not to do anything too¡­ permanent to you. The wizard had grown immensely in power over the last few months, and if we let Nil ¨C¡±


    ¡°Enough of your Heresy.¡± Killstop sounded tired. ¡°If you¡¯re apologising, that means you¡¯re going to let me go.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    ¡°Both of us,¡± Tanra pressed.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°All three of us,¡± I grated.


    Everseer tutted suddenly, and the emptiness of that simple little clacking sound reverberated in my ears.


    ¡°You know that¡¯s impossible.¡±


    ¡°Not impossible,¡± I retaliated. ¡°You just don¡¯t like it.¡±


    Now Tanra glanced back at me. She could sense the tension building. Maybe she didn¡¯t want to get her insides turned to pulp again, or perhaps there was more to it, but I definitely got the impression she didn¡¯t want me starting something.


    But I wanted to. It would be two-on-one, unless she brought Nighteye in ¨C and would he really fight us? He might join us, help us take her down¡­


    I had no fairy onboard, no lying vermin to talk me out of situations she saw as too dangerous for poor little Kassy.


    Everseer cut out Winterprince¡¯s brain, I reminded myself in a steely voice.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make this really easy for you.¡± The darkmage spoke from the far side of the dirt-pile ¨C then suddenly she spoke again from behind me: ¡°Go. Now.¡±


    I turned back, and saw her there, crouching in front of the time-locked Nighteye. The way out was clear ¨C Everseer had moved past us, and I hadn¡¯t even spotted a blur, even in this slowed state.


    ¡°Come on, Kas,¡± Killstop muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna die down here.¡±


    I stared at Nighteye. The young arch-druid, paralysed: a victim of a dark diviner, a cog in her deadly machinations.


    I¡¯ll free you, Nighteye, I promised silently. There¡¯ll be a time, a place¡­ I¡¯ll do it.


    I solidified my arm and nodded to Tanra; she took my elbow in her hand, and then we were gone.


    * * *

 My Friend pt2

    ¡°Can we talk?¡± I tried to ask, the speed at which we were zooming making it almost impossible to think, never mind move my tongue, the route echoing back at my senses in a disorienting fashion. ¡°Without the link?¡±


    Tanra slowed me, turned to face me. We¡¯d only just emerged into the night air, it seemed; she¡¯d used Nighteye¡¯s tunnel-entrance to bring me out, rather than using her haste-effect to dig another hole ¨C this was probably much easier for her. As such we weren¡¯t that far from the heretic healers in whose entourage I¡¯d come across Nighteye. They were all trapped in the stilling-effect, frozen mid-spellcast. One of them was only thirty feet away, his back to us; he was probably distracted by a dying colleague somewhere out there, but he was clearly heading towards us, towards the hole into which his fellow druid had fled to escape the wicked champion-sorcerer¡­


    Beyond the dark druids, I could see the library ¨C it was stuck in a moment that allowed me to estimate the numbers at play.


    I easily spotted Stormsword, chasing a gang of fleeing wizards as they dove towards an infernal portal; on the corner of the roof nearest me I saw Fangmoon, holding the arms of a blade-armed demon-woman apart as she headbutted the fiend.


    ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± the seeress said. ¡°We won. Minimal damage. Few champions down, even fewer dead.¡±


    ¡°She said they found it, and they were going to retreat in seconds,¡± I replied, still surveying the scene.


    ¡°Found ¡®it¡¯?¡±


    ¡°A book. Something to do with the twins.¡± I turned to meet her eyes. ¡°We can¡¯t tell them ¨C not about Nighteye.¡±


    She drew a few breaths, evidently considering her next words carefully.


    ¡°Please ¨C Tanra ¨C if they know¡­ then there¡¯s no coming back for him. He¡¯ll ¨C they¡¯ll have to¡­¡±


    ¡°I think,¡± she said at last, speaking very slowly, ¡°we can¡¯t tell them¡­ about you, or me¡­ either. Anything we¡­¡±


    She collapsed into my arms and it was all I could do to turn down my wraith in time to catch her halfway to the ground ¨C then everything around me burst into staggering noise and motion. The link, so long subdued by the chronomancy, erupted into a gibberish of voices.


    ¡°Ta- Killstop!¡± I struggled for a healing philtre from my demiskin, moved her mask aside slightly to pour it into her mouth. ¡°Oh, not again, you stupid girl¡­¡±


    As though it were her fault¡­ It was me, again, demanding that she stretch her powers to the absolute limit. Me, whose ass she was saving.


    I hoisted her up into the crook of my arm once more, marvelling at the satyr-strength, and directed myself into the air before the nearby heretic druid got his act together.


    ¡°Killstop¡¯s expended herself again!¡± I yelled into the link as I sped towards the library.


    The telepathic connection captured Timesnatcher¡¯s sigh. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Saving me¡­ again¡­¡± I sighed back. ¡°Can someone get here? Spirit, can you show them ¨C never mind, Star¡¯s here.¡±


    Stormsword followed the diviner across the sky to me, and before I set Tanra down on the lawn for Starsight to tend, Spirit and Fang were on their way.


    I looked up at Em as she descended.


    ¡°Where did you go?¡± she asked. ¡°I needed you.¡±


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    She touched ground, and I found myself looking at her lips, avoiding her eyes.


    ¡°Tough bit of arch-diviner, sorry. I don¡¯t know if something happened to the link ¨C¡° my eyes crossed Spirit, and I imagined his frown ¡°¨C or if I just missed you¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be one hell of a debrief at the Gatherin¡¯,¡± the enchanter said sourly, using the link, presumably speaking to champions only.


    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± Timesnatcher replied. He¡¯d descended to help Star, and now both seers were moving their hands hurriedly over Tanra¡¯s recumbent form. ¡°I just wish I knew what this was all about. It didn¡¯t appear to me that they sought to find the twins, or penetrate the Maginox defences.¡±


    It was one of those moments, where I held my thoughts in check and let myself re-experience the death, the needless, endless-seeming bloodshed. I kept that horror in my mind like a screen, a wall ¨C although I knew I could trust Bor not to go rooting around in my head, I didn¡¯t want to do the psychic version of screaming my guilt aloud.


    I knew what this was all about.


    But they¡¯d attacked a library. Irimar would figure out they wanted a book sooner or later. If it saved Nighteye from getting his head torn off ¨C or me and Tanra from suffering the same fate ¨C the omission would be well worth it.


    Bor had joined the diviners on the ground, and was kneeling by Tanra, staring at her. I looked at Em and deliberately shaped my mouth into the same tired smile she was wearing. I didn¡¯t actually share her apparent sense of satisfaction with today¡¯s events.


    ¡°Want flying home?¡± I asked her.


    She nodded, trembling, but looking exhilarated rather than shaken. She cast about, as though asking for permission.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Storm,¡± Spirit said. ¡°We do all the hard work. They got people to put the place back together again.¡±


    I glanced around. The last of the heretics were long gone, and the defenders were starting to disperse. Like the enchanter said, we¡¯d carried out the hard part, and we¡¯d managed to stop it from looking like an Incursion had hit the place. Sure, the building was exposed to the foundation on one side, there were a few magical fires still loose and a few uprooted trees¡­ but it probably wouldn¡¯t take the renovators and landscapers long to fix the place up. Twenty-four hours tops.


    ¡°If you¡¯re sure?¡± she said, a bit hesitantly.


    When no one replied, Em soared slowly to my side; I took her by the hand and looked at the others.


    ¡°See you tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Nighteye shift at two,¡± Fang reminded me.


    I looked over towards the druidess, nodded to her awkwardly.


    Then Em and me took off together, heading to the south-west. As we coursed over the twinkling lights of Hightown, weaved between towers and shrines, she kneaded my hand in her own. It was rare for us to hold hands when we flew, but I could feel her boundless energy, her ongoing thrill¡­ Maybe a druid had just rejuvenated her?


    ¡°Exciting day!¡± I said, trying to inject as much enthusiasm into my voice as I could.


    ¡°I almost got her,¡± she said in a wistful tone. ¡°A few more seconds, she vould¡¯ve been mine¡­¡±


    She laughed heartily, and I was glad I wasn¡¯t looking her in the face.


    ¡°Oh?¡± I mumbled. I wanted to change the subject but I didn¡¯t have the passion for any of it.


    She spoke, about how the fire had responded to her over and above Hierarch Thirteen ¨C while the heretic had the mastery where earth was concerned. In wind and water they were matched. Once they went under the earth there had been a brutal fight of constant near-misses ¨C


    ¡°So what you¡¯re telling me is, you almost died again.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°You almost died in Zadhal, did you not? And vent back into it a second time?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t in pursuit of someone I wanted to kill, Em.


    ¡°I suppose,¡± my lips supplied.


    ¡°And zen she brought ze vater out of ze air, tried to drown me viz it ¨C vell, as you can imagine I vozn¡¯t a big fan of zat idea, so I electrified it and¡­¡±


    Her accent was only growing more and more pronounced as she told her tale.


    It took me a few seconds to realise she was directing our course downwards, descending ¨C


    The estates of mid-Treetown were beneath us ¨C


    ¡°Em!¡± I barked, perhaps a bit harshly, and I tugged on her hand, bringing us to a halt. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    She looked across at me, and I could see the shock on her face.


    ¡°I thought ¨C ve vere ¨C vhen you said zat you vonted to fly me home¡­?¡±


    She was taking us to our special place, our hidden bower.


    I sighed. Being close to her right now was unlikely to bring me any comfort, and I doubted I¡¯d make for good company.


    ¡°N-no ¨C sorry, Em ¨C Emrelet¡­¡±


    I was having trouble breathing. I turned up my wraith to fight the sudden surge of giddiness.


    My hand slipped through hers, and her eyes flashed. ¡°Kas! Vot¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    I couldn¡¯t tell her. I knew what she was like. It¡¯d be dangerous for me and for her and for us.


    I couldn¡¯t tell her everything¡­


    ¡°Kastyr?¡± Her voice and eyes were soft again. She drew herself close to me and wouldn¡¯t let me back away. ¡°Kas, you¡¯re vorrying me¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s Zel.¡±


    * * *

 My Friend pt3

    It was half-ten when I got home, but when I entered through the wall, practically-invisible, everyone but Xastur was still up. Jaid and Jaroan were on one couch, Xantaire and her grandfather on the other. Spread between them was the fortify set ¨C I stopped in the shadows for thirty seconds, watching and listening with pride. The twins were teaching their elders how to make the most of their pieces¡¯ positions and, amazingly, there appeared to be very little by way of deception going on.


    ¡°That one¡¯s the Grim Ghost, remember,¡± Jaroan was saying. ¡°Doesn¡¯t move that fast, but it goes through other pieces, even enemies and terrain.¡±


    It was just too good an opportunity to pass up.


    ¡°What a useful power that sounds,¡± I remarked from the shadows beside the bookshelves.


    ¡°Kas!¡±


    Jaid ran to me and threw her arms around me ¨C


    I looked down at her forearm sticking straight through my abdomen.


    ¡°Ah ¨C give me a sec¡­¡±


    I separated us, got my wraith turned down again, then gave her a proper hug.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Xantaire asked, half-concerned, half-curious. ¡°We were down in the square, and the criers were getting reports flying in ¨C literally ¨C about how there were some mass-arrests or something, the most darkmages they ever heard of ¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been a¡­ a long day.¡±


    I found a seat between the twins. As much as I didn¡¯t want to talk anymore, as much as I wanted to hit the sack and enter an extended, hopefully-dreamless sleep ¨C I knew there were certain essentials I had to cover.


    ¡°It all started about¡­ sweet Locus, was it just ten hours ago? Well, it¡¯s probably been eleven or twelve for me¡­¡± I noted their baffled expressions, and decided to start at the beginning. ¡°We¡¯d been invited to the Arrealbord Palace, to discuss Dreamlaughter¡¯s attack last night¡­¡±


    I told them. How we¡¯d been played. How there¡¯d been a dragon, with a network of charmed minions. The twins must¡¯ve understood from my tone that this was not something to ¡®ooh¡¯ and ¡®ahh¡¯ over. When I divulged the true nature of Lovebright, my sister just looked crestfallen rather than squealing in glee ¨C I put my arm around her, but she didn¡¯t seem to need it.


    I didn¡¯t mention how Zel saved us, but I did explain her betrayal. I had to. The way she wasn¡¯t ever my friend. The way the creature sharing my mind for almost two months turned out to be no better than a demon after all.


    I felt their confusion, and I had no words for it. I was no less confused myself. Perhaps more so, versed as I was in some of the deeper underpinnings of the matter.


    She was dangerous. So dangerous. They had to know they couldn¡¯t trust her if she showed up. She knew everything ¨C she was my¡­ Soulmate was very much the wrong kind of word for it, yet I knew of no other.


    Where the heretics were concerned, I left the information at a bare minimum.


    I had to say something about the fire in Treetown and the attack on the Maginox library ¨C that¡¯d be all over the news by tomorrow. I didn¡¯t mention the not-dead-actually-evil Everseer knowing my name ¨C another evil arch-diviner at whose mercy my choice of profession had placed my loved ones¡­ The last thing they needed was more to worry about, but I still had to say something¡­ In the end I just let them know that there was a lady with curly blonde hair and sunken eyes who was bad news and that if she showed up, to fetch me, or, if I wasn¡¯t answering my glyphstone, to do exactly what the darkmage said until I showed up.


    When I said that ¨C then it was that I felt Jaid tense up under my arm, move almost imperceptibly-closer to me.


    I gave a false grin, patted her hair and drew her even closer into my embrace.


    ¡°Hey, at least you got to the bottom of the Dreamlaughter thing,¡± Jaroan pointed out.


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± I sighed, sat back. ¡°Except we don¡¯t know who she is or where she is¡­ or even what she¡¯s actually capable of, now Lovebright¡¯s gone¡­¡±


    ¡°Are we going to,¡± Xantaire flicked a finger at my face, ¡°lose the mask at least? Gods, Kas, my skin¡¯s crawling. It¡¯s like I¡¯m expecting darkmages to come pouring in through the windows any moment ¨C¡°


    My eyes went wide, and I couldn¡¯t help but flick my gaze across the room to the shutters, just to be on the safe side ¨C


    Worse ¨C Xantaire saw me do it.


    ¡°Oh! Oh, man.¡± My friend got to her feet, strode to the front door to check its locks, then paced back, arms folded across her chest. ¡°Kas, I don¡¯t like this.¡±


    ¡°You see now why I talked about getting somewhere else to live,¡± I said.


    ¡°Somewhere! ¨C¡°


    ¡°What! ¨C¡°


    ¡°Kas! ¨C¡°


    ¡°You didn¡¯t! ¨C¡°


    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t mean I want to move out,¡± I interjected, raising my hands for peace and looking back and forth between them, ¡°in fact I don¡¯t suppose I¡¯ll really have to¡­ See, there¡¯s the delay in rents, and one of the fellas who owned the block out there was willing to sell his share, if the price was right.¡±


    ¡°You mean ¨C¡± Xantaire gestured towards the lane ¡°¨C you¡¯re gonna be a landlord? Like Peltos? Over there?¡±


    ¡°Hopefully not much like Peltos,¡± I muttered ruefully.


    ¡°I d-don¡¯t want you to,¡± Jaid whispered.


    ¡°And that won¡¯t help if this blonde woman¡¯s got your name,¡± Jaroan said, less anxiety in his voice than in Jaid¡¯s, though not by much. ¡°It just puts us in more danger, if you¡¯re not here, and someone comes ¨C in the night¡­¡±


    I waved a hand at the flickering blue lines that¡¯d been there for weeks, which they¡¯d never seen. ¡°Not with a set of shields around the place.¡±


    Orstrum chuckled. ¡°You can do that, my boy?¡±


    ¡°I picked that trick up ages ago.¡± I didn¡¯t take my eyes off Jaroan. ¡°If someone comes, it¡¯ll be for me, not you. Trust me, no darkmage is stupid-enough to hurt you guys or kidnap you ¨C not if they know who I am.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a paradox!¡± my brother blurted.


    ¡°Exactly! They¡¯d be after me ¨C the whole point is that I need to keep you out of the crossfire.¡± I swung my head to Jaid. ¡°But I won¡¯t do it if you¡¯re not both onboard with the idea.¡±


    Jaid looked like a diviner had time-frozen her.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, you don¡¯t need to decide now!¡± I attempted a good-natured laugh. ¡°Come on, we¡¯ll talk about all this another night. Why don¡¯t you continue your game?¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°I could do with a cup of that wine,¡± Orstrum said with a grimace. He actively avoided fortify whenever he could ¨C how they¡¯d roped him into it, I had no idea.


    ¡°Don¡¯t, Grandpa,¡± Xantaire scolded him. ¡°If Zel is¡­ you know, not Zel¡­ then what about Flood Boy¡­?¡±


    She looked at me.


    I blinked, and it seemed to last a lifetime:


    The arch-wizard lifts his huge, gleaming boot and strikes out with the heel.


    Smashing with magic-fuelled strength into Flood Boy¡¯s face.


    Scraping him off the ice-blade.


    Letting him fall in a heap.


    Fall and wither away.


    And he too was a traitor¡­


    ¡°How¡¯s about I just ¨C leave all this till the morning?¡±


    I tried not to make it sound like I was begging, but I could hear the desperation in my voice myself, and Xantaire just shook her head, looking down at the fortify board.


    I could practically hear her thought: ¡®Just don¡¯t ever tell us.¡¯


    Or was that just my wishful thinking?


    I too studied the board, then looked at Xantaire. ¡°Say, if you¡¯re going for the Geomancer, try to set up your mountains early, and in a clump, cards-willing¡­ I always ended up using them like defensive shields, reactively, and it sucked. You¡¯ll get a far better concentration and come end-game your opponents¡¯ options will be severely limited. Just don¡¯t think you¡¯ve got to copy everyone else in the first few rounds.¡±


    I felt Jaid and Jaroan, out of my eyeline on either side, staring daggers at me.


    ¡°Hm¡­¡± Xantaire looked down at her cards. ¡°Okay, cool.¡±


    ¡°Arch-diviner tips.¡± I tapped my temple.


    ¡°No fair!¡± Jaroan snorted.


    ¡°Hey, do you have any tips for my Swordmaiden?¡± Jaid asked.


    A sense of normalcy restored, I watched them play their game, interrupting only the bare minimum to clarify rules and card-wording. But while my outer self was sitting on the bench with a faint, amused smile on its face, my inner self was drowning in images and words.


    Lethargy stole over my body. I felt like it was an anchor, pinning me to a material existence my mind had left far behind. All I saw were dead bodies, all I heard was sacrilege and lies.


    They kill them all¡­ to stop the dragons eating them.


    My solid lump of flesh, the crude body to which my floating consciousness was bound, felt its smile widen. The ludicrousness of the heretics ¨C were they all possessed of the same delusion, or did they each have different ones?


    It was only then that I realised how the pieces fit together.


    Heresy. The nobles of Zadhal. Everseer.


    Lowborn archmages, their existence threatening downfall.


    Dragons, swallowing their souls, their powers.


    Of course, if the lines of archmagery weren¡¯t tightly-controlled, there could be more and more of them with every generation¡­ If the lowborn were permitted access to magical abilities, would this not increase the potential amount of souls the demons could harvest? Would this not allow the dragons to return with even greater strength? Was there some tipping-point ¨C a number of archmage-souls beyond which the doom of Mund would be assured?


    If they came, we would fight them, and we would win. The important thing would be to stand strong, together, as one. Not fracture into petty dissent ¨C and certainly not start killing people, which had to be up there for the most defeatist notion ever conceived by a human mind¡­


    Less than an hour later, Xantaire had successfully dominated the board, and made a winning move. My work complete, I swiftly excused myself and withdrew to the bedroom, dodging the worst of the twins¡¯ vitriol while they were stuck putting the pieces away ¨C the penalty of defeat.


    Half an hour after that, the twins were asleep. I closed my eyes and gave in to the fatigue.


    Not for the first time, I found that my hopes of a dreamless slumber were the futile wishes of a condemned soul.


    None of the dragon¡¯s insinuations. None of the fairy¡¯s visions. Just an array of bog-standard nightmares to wrack my spirit.


    Events that never happened which in hindsight I might¡¯ve brought into being, had I only chosen differently. Occurrences that did happen, mistakes I could¡¯ve avoided with a single action, a single sentence. Even the simplest accidents, like letting Khikiriaz trap my leg under his weight when I charged the weave, receive special treatment ¨C in the dream I dispel him the moment we go down together and instead of lying there, rolling around in the grass, I fight Winterprince with all my faculties intact.


    When Timesnatcher bears his corpse out of the burning forest, I smile, my hatred finally finding release: the burning forest is nothing more than my dead dryad, and it had been my own force-blades that had finished the wizard, sliced through his skull.


    When Zel lies to me, when she sits there in the air in front of me, smiling her disgusting vile sickening little face off at me and lying to me ¨C I take her in my hand and this time I listen ¨C I take her previous advice, all her murderous counsel, and I extinguish the life in her with my superhuman strength.


    I squeeze, and she begs me to continue. She wants to die and she needs me to kill.


    Her eyes bulge, her tiny chest rattles, and still she grins, still she laughs at me, breathlessly mocking me for my weakness ¨C


    Above me, Stormsword and Timesnatcher kill them all. They tear humans into pieces, showering me in the body parts of the heretics, showering me in their laughter and lightning.


    I watch in the throes of excruciatingly-slowed time, as Emrelet directs an explosion that bursts a female heretic like a beetle struck by a sledgehammer ¨C the clothes are ripped away, then the skin, then everything else follows. I watch in that timeless paralysed moment as Timesnatcher delightedly reaches out an unstoppable, impossibly-fast hand, gouging his fingers into the underside of a darkmage¡¯s chin and simply pulling off the man¡¯s jaw, the man¡¯s face ¨C


    Nighteye arrives, a tremendous owl descending at the two champions ¨C and instead of stopping them, he joins them in the slaughter.


    I watch, and I squeeze, and the fairy falls apart in my hand ¨C


    ¡°They¡¯ve not been harmed, Feychilde,¡± Zel says quietly from Em¡¯s lap. ¡°I know it.¡±


    I woke in the darkness, drenched in sweat. My right hand was balled up in the blanket, clutching a portion of the fabric so tightly that my fingers ached. It was only after thirty seconds of useless effort, numbly attempting to loosen my grip, that my sleep-addled brain reminded me that I could call on my wraith.


    I slipped my hand free of the blanket, stared down at it, fingertips floating in and out of the bedding as my chest rose and fell.


    I thought I¡¯d gotten most of it out when I broke it all down for Em, but I¡¯d been lost in the emotion of the betrayal.


    Zel gave herself away, trying to protect me from myself, trying to help me in her own way. She always went above and beyond.


    She¡­ tried to end her life, when we fought Vaahn¡¯s idol¡­


    Her deceptions¡­ The way she¡¯d danced around the issue in the Green Tower, when we talked about her name¡­


    ¡¯You can¡¯t know! You can¡¯t know what it¡¯s like, to be me!¡¯


    What was it like to be her? What was she, exactly? I knew nothing about her that hadn¡¯t come from her own lips ¨C or Flood Boy¡¯s¡­


    ¡¯Who? Who is your true master?¡¯


    I¡¯d felt it. The connection had been real¡­


    She was someone else¡¯s all along.


    Was there an arch-sorcerer among the heretics? But she was encouraging me to kill them¡­ Was there a way that could make sense? It didn¡¯t seem to fit ¨C unless they fought amongst each other so often that this would be considered normal?


    She was always pushing me forwards, propelling me into situations and advising me on methods that would cause me to hone my skills, strengthen my powers¡­ She said she knew I would come to this realisation eventually ¨C had she planned it? That didn¡¯t mesh with what she said ¨C but could I trust her explanation? Obviously not¡­


    I could remember the way she spoke, especially during the Incursion. Telling me my soul was damned just for being a sorcerer. Telling me to join with demons, embrace my powers in full. She never wanted me to be me. She wanted¡­ something else ¨C like the dragon had done. She wanted a killer¡­ not a murderer, no, but a champion without mercy, an archmage who gave no quarter. It was like she¡¯d wanted to break me down, build me up again as a new person¡­


    But that had changed, hadn¡¯t it? She¡¯d seemed different¡­ since Zadhal, at least¡­


    The Incursion! The red-white lights ¨C the eolastyr, killing Dustbringer¡­ The dancing man in rags who¡¯d killed Smouldervein¡­


    And she¡¯d warned me not to enter. She¡¯d kept me clear of the danger ¨C hadn¡¯t she? Had she saved my soul that night?


    Hang on, I said to myself in a cold, clinical voice. Are you certain you believe Everseer?


    I stood up, sinking my legs right through the bed, then grabbed up my satchel and slung it over my shoulder. I stared at the twins for a minute, checking the shields over and letting my wings coalesce.


    I¡¯d head out, leave behind the only people in the world I felt I could trust, really trust, safe in their peaceful slumbering. There were always the usual Sticktown scum out there, thieves and killers, inkatra-heads and minor darkmages. I¡¯d find something to distract myself with, even without my accustomed perceptive capabilities ¨C


    The wings were ready; the shields ¨C


    The shields here were fine, all rotating perfectly, but ¨C


    I scrutinised my inner landscape, and found the barrier I¡¯d left behind ¨C the champion I¡¯d abandoned in death.


    I imagined him, lying there on the earth like Flood Boy had done. Glimmer had taken Shadow¡¯s body up, showing him respect, deference ¨C but him ¨C


    No matter whether he deserves it ¨C whether he killed my ¨C the traitor ¨C he was a champion ¨C


    I growled softly rather than let tears come to my eyes, and I went out into the darkness with all the speed I could conjure. The scum of Sticktown could wait.


    Winterprince needed help, one last time.


    * * *

 My Friend pt4

    It had to be three in the morning at the latest, going off the fact I couldn¡¯t see the faintest brushstrokes of the sun¡¯s paint across the sky, even from high up. It had finally stopped raining; in Ryntol Wood the magical fires that¡¯d been raging through the damp undergrowth were all extinguished, by the looks of things, but there were still plenty of wizards amongst the druids going about tending the trees, probably in case there was a resurgence. Arch-wizardry could be tricky that way, Em was always telling me¡­


    I scowled as I flew. My heart was conflicted, where it came to Em. Better not think, for the moment. I¡¯d find the body first ¨C how it¡¯d been left on the battleground to rot I had no idea; a sorcerer should¡¯ve been able to sense it by its signature, and a druid by the flies that decided to make their homes within it¡­


    When I came upon the spot, I had an empty shield, sitting there, a blue dome of force quivering nervously.


    I dismissed it with a thought, then soared off towards the magisters I¡¯d spotted at the treeline coordinating the contractors.


    ¡°Haspophel?¡± I cried, squinting, as I approached.


    The tall, dark-skinned diviner in his blue, starry robe turned away from his colleagues to look up at me.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± he said in surprise ¨C then, after a moment, the shocked face became one of contempt, if not open derision. ¡°What are you doing here, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare look at me like that,¡± I snarled, coming to a stop over him.


    His eyes widened, and the drop-sniffing expression did indeed melt away immediately into a look of barely-tempered horror. His two fellow magisters, a man and a woman I¡¯d never met, joined him in staring up at me.


    ¡°I want to know how you moved Winterprince¡¯s body.¡±


    ¡°How we¡­¡° Haspophel began, then looked to his companions¡¯ faces before continuing: ¡°We haven¡¯t moved Winterprince ¨C¡°


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t look the same ¨C he was ¨C¡° I waved my hand in the direction in which I¡¯d expected to find him. ¡°There wasn¡¯t much of him left.¡±


    The diviner-magister shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Feychilde. I can¡¯t help you.¡± He shifted his weight as though to turn away, turn his back on me.


    Why was he putting emphasis on my name? Was he trying to exert leverage over me, remind me he knew my real name, my identity?


    I swooped down, descending forty, forty-five feet in less than a second; I augmented the near-silent rush of my wings until they produced a thunderous crack ¨C


    The three magisters cowered, crouching down to stare up at me, and one of them yelped; my feet were only just above their heads now.


    ¡°I put a shield on him,¡± I said in a flat, quiet voice, altogether unlike the din I¡¯d just caused. ¡°Do you understand? Fixed to him as its locus. You need to cast a spell, find out what happened here. If he¡¯s gone, that means someone has taken ¨C¡°


    I stopped talking, working through the possibilities.


    ¡°Feychilde, Zakimel will hear of this, and I ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Hasslepuff. Apologies for the intrusion but I¡¯ll need to take this over your head. Over your boss¡¯s, too.¡±


    I thrust upwards with my wings, then directed my course towards my supposed-friend¡¯s mansion.


    Timesnatcher. It¡¯s time for you and I to have a little talk.


    * * *


    I elected to knock on the door, obey the niceties of respect that I no longer wholly felt he deserved. I could¡¯ve gone rushing, enwraithed, right through the wall of his bedroom, challenged him there in the darkness ¨C the mood I was in, I was tempted, so, so tempted. However, he would surely know I was on my way, and there was no chance he¡¯d be taken unawares no matter how outlandish I made my sudden appearance. Worse, it would humiliate me ¨C to expose the rawness of the betrayal that I felt eating me up inside. It would instantly be me on the back-foot, not him ¨C I would be the intruder, the offender; he would be the injured party. No, I would knock on the door, and this way I would be the guest, he the host with a mouthful of lies.


    Besides, the lights were on. It seemed I wasn¡¯t the only champion keeping strange hours.


    Of course, as I descended into the gardens and stepped towards his broad front doors, they swung inwards in advance of my approach.


    Irimar stood there in the brightly-lit entryway wearing his civilian clothes, and in the predawn silence I managed to catch Tanra¡¯s muttering from behind him ¨C but I couldn¡¯t tell what she said.


    I was missing my fairy already.


    ¡°I-Irimar,¡± I stammered, much of my anger evaporating at the sight of his calm face, the ordinary (if expensive) garments he wore. ¡°Winterprince ¨C¡°


    ¡°I can¡¯t countenance this.¡± Tanra stepped into view behind him ¨C she was in her champion¡¯s outfit, but the mask was pushed up on top of her head, the hood thrown back to reveal her mousy-brown hair. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t talk about these things.¡±


    Irimar, for his part, was merely peering up into the sky above the house.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t bring her,¡± he said after a moment in a marvelling tone of voice, then lowered his gaze to my face. ¡°What in Celestium¡¯s happened to you, Kas?¡±


    I reached up, removed my mask.


    I flicked my gaze across to Tanra, and she shook her eyes, left-right, an infinitesimally-tiny motion meant only for me.


    She kept the secret?


    ¡°Zyger. Zyger¡¯s the first thing, Irimar.¡± I moved my eyes back to him, clenching and unclenching my fist rapidly. ¡°You say my fate¡¯s entwined with Neverwish¡¯s. You know my future, you know where it leads ¨C¡°


    ¡°Where it led,¡± he corrected me. ¡°You see, this is the very reason we seek to say as little as possible to you! Now you¡¯ve spent ¨C who was it? Starsight? You¡¯ve spent hours brooding over nothing. My friend ¨C¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t! Don¡¯t ¡®my friend¡¯ me¡­¡± I drew a ragged breath ¨C my throat still hurt a bit. ¡°I¡¯m a piece, a pawn, and when you call me your friend you¡¯re only doing it because you know it¡¯s better for you, a better move to make¡­¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°You think we cannot feel,¡± he said, in an almost-strangled voice.


    I met his eyes. ¡°No! No¡­ I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Kas, let it go,¡± Tanra said in a soothing voice, stepping forwards. I could see the concern in her eyes. ¡°This isn¡¯t anything you can change. We can see parts of your future. And we do, we do care about you. It¡¯s just, if we tell you anything it changes things, and not always in predictable ways¡­ You can¡¯t dwell on it.¡±


    ¡°Did you see me in Zyger too?¡± I asked in a whisper.


    She shook her head, and I almost felt relieved until she said, in a small voice: ¡°I heard you, though.¡±


    ¡°You heard me¡­¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Irimar barked ¨C and moving my attention back to his face I could see the way my words had upset him: his brow was furrowed; he gripped the edge of the door and it appeared his fingers were pressing grooves into the wood. ¡°We heard you! One paltry, petty future, no longer a hand that the deck of fate can deal! Can you imagine the futures we perceive for ourselves? Do not be too hasty to play the victim, when you know nothing of the truth, when the truth only makes you close your ears!¡±


    His words lashed me and, chastised, I stood like the condemned man chained to the post, rigidly accepting my punishment.


    ¡°You wish to speak of your pet¡¯s betrayal, do you not? The creature you know as ¡®Zel¡¯? Yes, I¡¯ve done my research. Yes, I knew what she was. A liar. A deceiver. I saw her, or someone very much like her, in Hellbane, and maybe in Tailtrap too¡­ Do you know why I didn¡¯t tell you instantly to reject such a filthy creature? Because this would be your reaction. By the maw of Wyrda!¡± He shouted the curse-word and I flinched. ¡°You¡¯d never have trusted a word that passed my lips, ever again! You need to get a grip. You need to grow up. You¡¯re not the only one going through something, Kastyr Mortenn.¡±


    I didn¡¯t quite know why, but I shrank down to the ground, crouching and then falling to my knees on the pebbled path just outside the doorway. Exhaustion. Defeat. My emotions were drained, like fingertips that wouldn¡¯t react upon waking. The nightmare ¨C it had taken something out of me.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Tanra advised him in a cold voice.


    I looked up when I saw his hand appear in front of my face. I met his eyes.


    ¡°Irimar, I ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Kas. You¡¯re tired. We all are. And we¡¯re not done yet, tonight.¡±


    I accepted his help, rose to my feet.


    ¡°Winterprince,¡± I murmured. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you want me to do ¨C I¡¯ll do it, but first, tell me what happened to Winterprince.¡±


    He cast a look over his shoulder at Tanra. ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s best if you tell him, O Great One.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°Could you stop doing that? And must I? He¡¯s not going to like it.¡±


    Irimar headed back into the house and waved a hand as he turned around the corner. ¡°A cup of wine¡¯ll help him deal with it. I¡¯ll be a moment.¡±


    Tanra turned away towards the drawing room, but I stayed on the outside; she hadn¡¯t taken two steps before she halted, then turned back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a dreadful ass, Kas,¡± she sniped at me. ¡°If he says a cup of wine will help, it will help. Come in. Sit down.¡±


    ¡°No. Tell me.¡±


    I caught her sighing again, then an instant later she was standing right in front of me on the threshold of the light, holding out a cup of aromatic, dark-red liquid.


    ¡°Just take it.¡±


    It was my turn to sigh. I snatched it from her, took a big swig just to prove to ¨C


    ¡°Winterprince isn¡¯t dead.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°What do you mean, a fake?¡±


    ¡°Not an illusion ¨C a real corpse, created to look as though it were his.¡± Timesnatcher¡¯s face was now inscrutable behind the star-browed mask as we sped south-east, towards the estates that stretched out to the walls of Mund.


    Beyond him on my right side, the trees of the district were a blur. On my left side, Killstop was just as inscrutable, and she wasn¡¯t talking, focussing on her magic. They¡¯d apparently drained their power-reserves right to their limits today, and according to Tanra they barely had enough juice left ¨C even combined ¨C to bring me into their time-stream as they ran.


    ¡°But Timesnatcher you ¨C you let Shadowcloud just ¨C¡°


    ¡°If Shadowcloud didn¡¯t go out with a bang right then,¡± Killstop cut me off, ¡°he¡¯d have gone out with a fizzle. The wet, bloody, vampiric kind of fizzle.¡±


    ¡°He killed ¨C¡° I choked on my words, knowing that many more of us could¡¯ve, would¡¯ve died a few hours ago, if not for his sacrifice, his mass-slaughtering of the heretics.


    ¡°I know, Kas. I know. But far fewer than he might¡¯ve if the fabric had followed a different pattern. Better this way. For him. For everyone. Now if you wouldn¡¯t mind shutting up for a moment ¨C¡°


    Whiteness rose up before me, below me, behind me, as we hit, and bounded over, the wall.


    Thankfully it was just a blip, a single moment of stomach-churning intensity as we tipped back, ascending, then tipped forwards again, descending ¨C before reaching the ground outside Mund and returning to our horizontal orientation. If it had lasted any longer I¡¯d have needed to stop, apply my wraith to my queasy belly.


    As though there weren¡¯t enough to be making me feel sick, enough to be churning over in my mind ¨C Winterprince wasn¡¯t dead. What had Everseer done, exactly? Had she recruited him, subjected him to a vision that stole his sense, his loyalty, just like she¡¯d recruited Nighteye?


    Not something I could ask.


    Now we crossed the fields, and, ahead, I could see the faint blur of Salnifast-by-the-Sea, marble gleaming under the constant radiance of spell-light.


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t explain how ¨C¡° I started.


    ¡°You tied the shield to Winterprince.¡± Timesnatcher answered me this time. ¡°You felt its fluctuations, no?¡±


    I remembered ¨C the way it¡¯d wavered, as though unwilling to come into existence¡­


    ¡°Intention¡­¡± I sighed. ¡°So, I tied it to Winterprince, and it didn¡¯t react when someone removed the corpse because it wasn¡¯t his in the first place.¡±


    ¡°The shield had even drifted a little from its original placement,¡± he said. ¡°Even before we left Ryntol for the Maginox, I noticed its lack of anchor by its future impressions ¨C but that wouldn¡¯t have been the right time to tell you, would it?¡±


    I thought about the conversation with Everseer I¡¯d had, of which he knew nothing, could scry nothing ¨C how differently it might¡¯ve gone¡­


    ¡°I suppose,¡± I lied, then quickly changed the subject: ¡°So why¡¯re we going to Salnifast, exactly?¡±


    We were getting closer, rapidly. Smears of dark-hued colour surrounded us, hedges and meadows and copses of trees, but ahead the sea was swelling up to fill the foreground, the harbour-town only growing bigger and brighter.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lacuna in our prophecies,¡± Killstop said.


    ¡°Lacuna?¡± I¡¯d read the word, but never heard it spoken aloud before. ¡°A hole? Something you can¡¯t see?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t until I watched Tanra sleeping beneath the Ceryad-tree that I understood,¡± Timesnatcher interjected. ¡°I saw her face, and I realised ¨C we share the same dream. The diviner of whom we know nothing. The tidal wave to obliterate the dry land.¡±


    ¡°The patternless plane,¡± Tanra murmured. ¡°The featureless fabric, without permutation, differentiation.¡±


    I swallowed. ¡°Everseer?¡± I suggested. ¡°Duskdown?¡±


    Timesnatcher shook his head. ¡°Something greater.¡±


    Mal Tagar¡¯s creatures? my mind whispered.


    ¡°That¡¯s why we were waiting for you,¡± Killstop supplied. ¡°We might need back-up of the sorcerous kind. Sucks that we can¡¯t fly, though. We did think you¡¯d be with Em¡­¡±


    It wasn¡¯t even a half-question ¨C it was a quarter-question ¨C and yet there it was: the hidden interrogative in her statement.


    ¡°I suppose if neither of you could see I wouldn¡¯t bring her, that had to be down to Zel,¡± I said.


    It could¡¯ve been Everseer too, but I couldn¡¯t mention that with Irimar here.


    ¡°It was too much for you?¡± Killstop asked, sympathy in her voice. ¡°The fairy that broke the camel¡¯s back?¡±


    I nodded, frowning in frustration. I had no idea what I¡¯d say to Em, how I was going to act¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ll see her¡­ Em I mean¡­ tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°If you want my advice, you¡¯ll leave it two days,¡± Tanra said. ¡°Spend time with the twins. Your twins, I mean.¡±


    I licked my lips and nodded. ¡°Maybe.¡±


    Timesnatcher chuckled, then placed his hand out across my chest.


    We slowed, then came to a stop; I swivelled my head about immediately.


    The pier upon which we stood was a wooden road, leading back towards the bright port-town behind us, docked ships like rows of buildings on either side. But we were near the pier¡¯s end, our feet oriented towards the moonlit ocean.


    I returned my eyes to the sea, gazing forwards.


    There was a light out there that was approaching the harbour: a vessel bobbing up and down on the water, its sails filled with a wizard-wind.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked, feeling suddenly nervous. ¡°What¡¯s coming?¡±


    ¡°Answers,¡± Killstop said, sounding just as nervous, but excited most of all.


    I looked at her, framed in the darkness. The frigid wind had caught a bit of her hair, letting it free from the hood¡¯s rim to stream in the salty breeze. She turned her eyes to mine, and I saw through the mask¡¯s slits that they seemed to shine more brightly than the harbour, than the ships, reflecting the moonlight like mirrors.


    She¡¯d changed, so much, but the eyes were still the same as they¡¯d been in the warehouse that morning that now felt so long ago.


    And what had Timesnatcher called her? ¡®Great One¡¯?


    ¡°Yes, Kas,¡± she said, and patted me on the arm. ¡°At last ¨C answers.¡±

 Old Wyrms Wrath pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 6D: OLD WYRM¡¯S WRATH</h2>


    ¡°Only at a sufficient remove can meaning be rarefied. Proximity to truth does not entail a complete view of its various aspects. You cannot judge the road until you reach your destination ¨C and many fail to do so, falling by the wayside, tripped by their own caution. There is always a destination, though you know it not until you come upon it. That is the meaning of destiny. That is why Yune is Destiny¡¯s Door. That is why you have opened this page tonight. You are following the road. But beware: you approach too quickly. Do not be tripped by incaution. Many of those who so fall never again rise.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 39:115-122


    I am the ghost. I am the hourglass and I am the sand. I am the walker of the ways. There are many paths. Most are hidden. Only one takes me into my future. I will find the path. And I will walk it.


    Phanar crept along the dark corridor of roughly-hewn stone, night-vision spell active, armaments making minimal noise.


    I swallowed my ghost. I crossed the sand. I smashed the hourglass and remade it in starlight. I walked every way. I took every path. I found my future. And I became it.


    The mantras of the ancient days flowed strongest when he was in danger, when he knew that everything dangled over the precipice of combat. His father¡¯s voice came back to him, echoing down from those barely-recalled first expeditions. Aged five or six, Father took him out to hunt the whiteclaws, and he carried Father¡¯s bow¡­ He remembered being confused about why it was kept unstringed, remembered waiting, longing, for the day he¡¯d be permitted to carry the spear or the quiver¡­


    A day that never came.


    And the words of the other man of N¡¯Lem whose face he remembered, the old man whose name time had stolen ¨C that old man was constantly in Phanar¡¯s thoughts these days. When he realised the danger into which he¡¯d placed Anathta with his hiring of the Mundian archmage ¨C realised how their hopes of slaying Ord Ylon now hung in the balance ¨C the warrior had fallen back on his old training more and more, burying his thoughts, stamping down his fears.


    The future flowed and he was a ship¡¯s keel piercing its tide, choosing his own course.


    This is nothing. Nothing, compared to what came before.


    He knew hardship as no other.


    The memories had been locked away, and no enchantment he¡¯d ever undergone had plucked them from his head. He¡¯d even had Ibbalat try, once, disguising his curiosity in the form of a game. The mage had discerned nothing more than a single glimpse, and that alone had mystified him. Phanar was unsure whether their sanctity was something to do with the memories themselves, their awfulness ¨C or whether it could simply be that so long had passed¡­


    Seven hundred years? Eight?


    He had no idea exactly how long ago he¡¯d been born ¨C nor Anathta ¨C but it had been many centuries, of this he was certain. Even now, he could remember the old man¡¯s confusion. The last child of N¡¯Lem was destined to make the journey. But Anathta could not be sent off on her own: she was too young ¨C even fate surely could not bring a baby barely capable of taking a few steps out of that timeless void, the unmoving, windless desert? Was not Phanar the one whom prophecy decreed must cross the ashen lands? And was it not Phanar in whose mind the ancient liturgies of their people were stored, brought forward from the jaws of death into the light of the present?


    The old man had used the end of his stick to draw the winged shape in the lifeless soil. Phanar had borne that shape with him in his dreams until the night of the attack. Until Ord Ylon came to the gates of Miserdell and spoke with his terrible voice.


    But no. He¡¯d never felt it. No hand of destiny. No guidance from fate. He spoke the mantras to himself as Father taught him, and he¡¯d tried teaching them to his sister, many times ¨C Kultemeren as his witness. She refused him each time, shirking her responsibilities at every opportunity, and made a point of paying him no attention whenever he spoke to her about where they came from and why.


    Yet the doom, he was certain, remained hers.


    Her voice, her desire for revenge ¨C that was what had set him, set all of them, on this course.


    And she was no less a child of N¡¯Lem than him. Even without the training he¡¯d undergone at a young age ¨C training he¡¯d thought responsible for his skills, his aptitudes ¨C she excelled at what she did. What they both did.


    Even now he saw her returning, darting back up the tunnel towards him, her graceful movements completely silent in her form-fitting fabrics, her oiled leather accoutrements.


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    The Potions of Unbound Speech and Visible Sympathy they¡¯d all imbibed might¡¯ve made them look and sound different to their enemies, but to Phanar his sister looked like she always did ¨C a living shadow, slinking rapidly in his direction.


    She first gave a thumbs-up, then held up eight fingers, and finally made the stabbing, two-fingered motion that meant armed kobolds.


    He nodded to her; as she paused, crouching and regaining her breath, he made his way back to the others.


    ¡°Eight guards,¡± he reported quietly. ¡°The gate is ahead. Well done, Kani.¡±


    Ibbalat had tried to scry their path and failed every time; but where spells had failed, faith had succeeded. The night-vision let him see the way she blushed at his compliment, and he swiftly looked away, lest he spend too long regarding her and get distracted by the curly, flaming hair he longed to touch, the milk-white curvaceous body he longed to know.


    It must be done, he reminded himself, moving his eyes to Redgate.


    ¡°Do you wish to take the lead in this?¡± he asked, forcing the words out with difficulty that he hoped wasn¡¯t audible. ¡°Or either of you, Kani, Ibbalat?¡±


    Kani shook her head, as though she were embarrassed. Ibbalat just looked towards the ¡®champion¡¯, an expression of intrigue and curiosity on his face.


    ¡°No, I will conserve my strength,¡± Redgate demurred from behind his mask. ¡°I have properly exercised my power in preparation; now I will rest, until the time arrives. Or you call upon me, in need, of course.¡±


    The Mundian bowed his head gravely.


    Phanar turned away so that the sorcerer wouldn¡¯t see the scowl on his face, and he led them on into the darkness, towards Anathta.


    You exercised your power by slaughtering hundreds, he wanted to say. Not just warriors, but likely the children too.


    The archmage¡¯s destructiveness was so obvious, so obscene, that Phanar partially blamed Ibbalat for the taunt that had sent Redgate pursuing the orcs. But there was nothing to be done for it; he knew it was only his anger at Redgate that was influencing him. The young mage hadn¡¯t cast the stones; he had no way to know the sorcerer was really going to react the way he did. It was regrettable, but not unforgivable.


    When Phanar reached his sister she looked around at the others, nodded, then fell in at the front alongside him.


    ¡°Halt!¡± squeaked one of the kobolds, a female, as they came into view around the tunnel bend. She was staring at the centre of Phanar¡¯s chest, as though his head were twelve or more inches lower than it was in reality. ¡°Red-Of-The-Fur didn¡¯t say anything about this! Who¡¯re you?¡±


    Red-Of-The-Fur?


    It took Phanar a moment to realise that the potion¡¯s magic was somehow translating a kobold¡¯s name, there.


    He regarded the kobolds, standing there in front of the doors in their mismatched armour, rusty weapons leaning against the walls. None of them looked in good health. Upon those mostly covered in fur, their scales appeared like dry, mangy patches. Those with brilliant, glistening plates for skin had thick tufts of hair protruding from their flesh at random intervals.


    Many claimed they were formed from an unholy union of rat-man with lizard-man ¨C and Phanar had heard a few people espouse the notion they were originally demonic dog-men crossed with naga, fish-men. He personally fancied that they were just a mongrel race, a people of hybrids of all different kinds. Whatever the truth, each one was similar to its fellows in certain respects: they were both furry and scaly on different sections of their body, and four-fingered, long-tailed. Four feet to five-and-a-half feet in height. Humanoid, heavy-bellied.


    But from there, none of them looked quite the same: their natural colouration ran the full gamut, white and green, blue and red, brown and black. Some had a long snout for a face, rodent or canine teeth glinting in their smiles; others had stubby faces, with forked, serpentine tongues lolling from their lipless maws.


    The fact they carried weapons meant little. Kobolds were cunning, but only to a point. They could use what others had created, knew how to scavenge, make the most of scraps ¨C but they had no artifice of their own. No true intellect. They were cannibals, and prone to in-fighting. They didn¡¯t ever speak Mundic, and their natural voices were piping and growling noises; he¡¯d picked up the meaning of a few phrases here and there, but getting a full sentence out of a kobold was a new experience.


    ¡°Red-Of-The-Fur didn¡¯t say anything about us?¡± Ibbalat replied. Curiously, whilst Phanar could understand his friend perfectly-well, he could hear the faint shrill squeakiness of the mage¡¯s voice, as though it were echoing back off the cave walls. ¡°Is Red-Of-The-Fur a Spellborn? We¡¯re from the Stair-Shadow. He wouldn¡¯t know we were on the way.¡±


    Stair-Shadow? That has to be Ikamax, the last place we came across kobolds.


    The name was fitting, really. The structure of black stone in the centre of the Hintamar Bogs was a pyramid, twenty or more huge steps up each side leading to the apex.


    He had no idea where Ibbalat got ¡®Spellborn¡¯ from though. Was that the translation of ¡®magic-user¡¯?


    ¡°The Stair-Shadow?¡± another of the kobolds replied in awe, glancing around at its mates in apparent perplexity. ¡°No wonder you look so weird! I mean ¨C so nice¡­ And you ¨C you¡¯re a Spellborn?¡±


    Ibbalat nodded. Clearly the magical masking effect allowed some portion of their true identities to shine through ¨C his robe and mage-hat must¡¯ve had some kind of analogue in the kobold¡¯s eyes.


    That dark, beady gaze had turned to Redgate, the kobold again staring with the low-down eye-level. ¡°And you?¡± he squeaked.


    The archmage nodded too, staying silent. A few of the kobolds actually bowed.


    ¡°We ask that you let us in,¡± Anathta said. Phanar knew his sister well enough to know that she was seeking to test the potion¡¯s magic, trying a short, simple phrase.


    ¡°Of course, of course¡­ I love your armour. Where¡¯d you find it? Here, Shrunken-Tail, get the other handle¡­¡±


    A small retinue of kobolds preceded them into the tunnel beyond the low, wood-and-metal gateway. They were jabbering on with each other, picking up others of their kind from different tunnels at intersections, informing them all of their sudden guests, these pilgrims from a far-off territory.


    Phanar felt a smile spreading across his face.


    This is the future I have chosen. I chose not to kill them. I chose to enter in peace.


    Now, word spreads throughout the city. Now, the dragon will find out that we are here.


    Ibbalat ¨C I hope you are ready.


    * * *

 Old Wyrms Wrath pt2

    ¡°When Derezo said go through the kobold city,¡± Anathta murmured without moving her lips, ¡°no one said we¡¯d have to take a tour.¡±


    ¡°How long, Ibbalat?¡± Phanar asked in like manner, ignoring her.


    ¡°Once their eyes aren¡¯t on me!¡± the mage hissed back, barely checking his temper. ¡°I¡¯ve got it ready and it¡¯s fit to burst and I need to finish the spell.¡±


    Behind him, he heard Redgate¡¯s bemused chuckle.


    Phanar looked Ibbalat up and down. The magician did look unusually excited, even for him, almost dancing from foot to foot as they stood on the balcony.


    The incline the dragon slithered down to enter his lair was a forty-five degree slope of flattened boulders and sanded stone; that slope was about two hundred feet below them now. The kobold city was carved into the rock above the slope, curving down into the pit at a similar angle. Beyond the rail, over on the opposite face of the cavern, Phanar could see countless other balconies and terraces carved into the granite across the roof of the cavern, and imagined many more were directly beneath him and above him, hidden from sight. Some of those he could see were occupied: kobold guards, but also traders and traffickers, shoppers and shamans¡­ There was a group of ugly kobold children playing on one of the open spaces, dangling rats over the drop by their tails and braying laughter.


    There had to be thousands in this place.


    He returned his attention to the female kobold who¡¯d first challenged him, Shrunken-Tail; she had taken the position of their unofficial guide. It was hard to pick her out of the crowd bustling around them but he knew her by her voice now, and he focussed on her as he realised what she was saying:


    ¡°¡­ of course, the Great Master can be viewed when he comes in and out, up and down ¨C but he doesn¡¯t allow us to speak directly to him, only to his pets. Now why don¡¯t we show you to Unbreaking-Tooth, the Grand-Spellborn-One, and he can tell your destiny!¡±


    This seemed to capture the heart of the crowd, and the kobolds surged forwards, the hairy, scaly mass carrying them back inside away from the balcony, into the mouth of another rough-hewn tunnel ¨C more gates were opened, guards were shooed aside, and a half-stair, half-slide was descended.


    ¡°Ibb!¡± Phanar growled.


    He cast about for the mage, finding him on his left. There was a single male kobold between them, a guard in a (long-looking) mail skirt and leather breastplate. He reached across the guard¡¯s shoulders, but the kobold didn¡¯t seem to mind ¨C the creature was babbling about the price of hooks to his friend in the row in front ¨C and Phanar grabbed Ibbalat by the arm.


    When the mage met his eyes, he used his glare to carry the statement:


    You can¡¯t let them take us before their chief magician!


    ¡®I know!¡¯ Ibbalat seemed to be replying with his thrust-out jaw, his glower.


    I am the ghost, Phanar reminded himself. I am the hourglass and I am the sand. I am the walker of the ways. There are many paths. Most are hidden. Only one takes me into my future. I will find the path. And I will walk it.


    Not even for a single moment would he consider turning to Redgate for help. The sorcerer would probably just kill all the kobolds. He just had to blind the creatures temporarily, until Ibbalat¡¯s erasure-spell took hold¡­


    When he craned his neck around and found Kani, she was already looking at him.


    He screwed his eyes shut repeatedly.


    It only took three goes in rapid succession before she nodded firmly, pressing her lips together in resolve.


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    He got Ibbalat¡¯s attention and then Anathta¡¯s ¨C he gave them notice in like fashion, with a squint and a warning look. A glance towards Redgate showed the champion seemed to be just regarding him serenely from behind the mask; assuming this meant the sorcerer was prepared, he turned back to Kani and nodded to her.


    He looked ahead again, treading forwards in pace with the crowd, then firmly closed his eyes one last time.


    Three ¨C two ¨C


    The flare of white light the cleric created was so bright his eyelids turned a vivid pink-red. The night-vision spell he was under probably didn¡¯t help.


    Gingerly, at first, he squinted at his surroundings. Finding he could still see without much issue, he quickly directed the others with gestures while the kobolds were screaming. The poor critters were clasping their faces, falling about in confusion ¨C their native night-vision probably rivalled or surpassed Ibbalat¡¯s magic, and they¡¯d had no warning.


    Phanar pulled Kani through the crowd, jostling the blinded kobolds no worse than they were jostling each other. Within seconds the two of them were regrouping on one side of the tunnel with Ibbalat and Anathta ¨C Redgate simply used his shadow-form to float through the intervening kobolds towards them.


    Ibbalat had been chanting away under his breath, and scattering what looked like shredded fish-skin, complete with glimmering scales, onto the uneven rock floor. Then he clapped his hands and looked up at them, a tight, satisfied smile on his face.


    ¡°Done. We¡¯re invisible.¡±


    ¡°Ah ¨C hate to break it to you ¨C¡° Anathta said, raising her hand and waving it in front of her face.


    ¡°Not at all, my love,¡± Redgate murmured. ¡°Invisibility to enemies ¨C is that not the way it¡¯s worded?¡±


    Enemies.


    Phanar held his breath, watching Ibbalat¡¯s reaction. Clearly the magician¡¯s spell wasn¡¯t reading Redgate as an enemy¡­


    The mage managed to nod without much concern reaching his eyes.


    ¡°Inaudible, too,¡± Ibbalat went on. ¡°Hello, kobolds!¡± He yelled in the nearest creature¡¯s face, and it didn¡¯t react, still patting its eyes and moaning. Phanar spotted Shrunken-Tail, flailing about madly with her arm over her eyes, asking for the ¡®strange ones¡¯ with a saddening note of concern in her voice.


    She was probably just worried that ¡®Red-Of-The-Fur¡¯ would disapprove of her when he found out she¡¯d let their guests from far-off lands get hurt. The unfortunate truth was that her boss would likely skin her alive for letting a group of dragon-slayers into their city¡­


    ¡°We don¡¯t have long,¡± Ibbalat prompted.


    ¡°So where¡¯re we going?¡± Anathta asked.


    Phanar looked into the expectant eyes of the cleric once more.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± Kani said firmly, without pause. ¡°This way.¡±


    She took the lead, the hand of her shield-arm kept steady on the butt of her mace to keep it from swinging in its belt-clasp.


    Phanar noted the way Redgate seemed to hesitate before following, as though something about Kani¡¯s assertiveness unsettled him.


    The warrior longed to walk behind the sorcerer, keep a closer eye on the murderer¡¯s subtle tells, prepare himself for action if it were required ¨C but he knew he couldn¡¯t. He took advantage of Redgate¡¯s hesitance and walked ahead.


    He had to trust in his reactions. He had to keep his thoughts away from action, away from plotting his manoeuvres¡­ He could never be certain when the sorcerer¡¯s shield was active, when it could give away his ill-intent. He had to walk ahead, even knowing that the sorcerer could right now raise his arm and strike them all down from behind, without warning. He had to maintain the facade.


    But his mind ¨C his mind dwelt on it.


    He had little care for his own death, his own continued existence. He¡¯d long since accepted that he would pass on from this plane, and had almost done so many times. He¡¯d had to accept it, when his life¡¯s-blood poured out into the dirt, the night Kani discovered her true power. And Anathta, Ibbalat ¨C they too had the mettle, the spine to face the grave without fear. But Kani ¨C until the morning they disembarked in Tirremuir she¡¯d seemed so fragile. Refusing to step off the Dremmedine during Mund¡¯s Infernal Incursion was a turning-point for her. She¡¯d accepted her doom, and went forwards now to face it ¨C leading them, even.


    Yet when Redgate took a moment to reassess the cleric ¨C for that was surely what he¡¯d been doing ¨C Phanar¡¯s ill-will swelled.


    More than for himself ¨C more than for his sister ¨C he feared for Kani.


    He spoke the mantras, letting them empty him out, hollow him within.


    I swallowed my ghost. I crossed the sand. I smashed the hourglass and remade it in starlight. I walked every way. I took every path. I found my future. And I became it.


    But that hallowed hollowness, the scourge of thought and emotion that left behind only the path cut by his will ¨C it would not come.


    He saw them in his mind¡¯s eye, too many paths to follow.


    And every single one was the future in which Phanar watched, looked on in helpless horror, as Redgate slew Kanthyre, over and over again in increasingly-abhorrent ways.


    I am futureless, he realised. I am adrift.


    He almost stumbled. He almost fell.


    He followed, emptied not of emotion, but of purpose.


    * * *

 Old Wyrms Wrath pt3

    Despite the concealment spell Ibbalat had cast upon them, they stayed silent as they descended. While for weeks now Anathta had been playing the role of Redgate¡¯s paramour, masking her troubles behind a jovial exterior, even she was silent here. The tension was high. It was one thing to know that your enemies could neither see nor hear you; it was another thing entirely to chat away nonchalantly as you traipsed through their city. Everyone had their eyes peeled for danger, turning at any sudden noise.


    Minutes passed. As they neared the lower levels, the reek of accumulated filth began to fill their nostrils. It probably didn¡¯t help that, wherever possible, Kani took them along less-populated corridors ¨C moving invisibly, they got to see many of the hidden areas of this warren-metropolis. There were great vats of meal standing in one cavern, kitchen-kobolds hard at work grinding bones and separating rotting meat from clothing. Tribal dormitories, redolent with the odours of decade-old sweat and other, even less savourous scents. Abandoned mine-shafts, ropes and chains strung across the ceilings where carts had once hung. Mushroom farms, crude alchemical facilities, well-dipping rooms¡­


    Every step was one step closer. And here, on the threshold of the battle for which he¡¯d been waiting for so long, the warrior found his resolve wavering.


    It is not Ord Ylon we face. It is the evil of our own making. The slayer we brought here to save us will be the death of us.


    What was Redgate going to do if he won? Was he planning to drop the roof on them and leave their corpses there with the dragon¡¯s? Or would he take them with him, as unliving slaves?


    Those were the only two eventualities Phanar could bring himself to imagine, when he was being honest with himself. For certain, he could imagine a better end. He could picture himself giving up the adventuring career, settling down somewhere with Kani ¨C she could open a healing shrine, and he could teach swordplay for coin. Ibb and Anathta would visit, and the four of them would¡­


    Would what? Such imaginings always turned to ash. They were the flights of fancy that men clung to in their last moments, day-dreams and wishful thoughts. No. Dead, or undead ¨C neither was a future he could become. Neither was acceptable. And they were the only options he could wrap his head around.


    We have a few advantages, he reminded himself. The sorcerer has many more tricks up his sleeve than we, but that doesn¡¯t mean we have nothing. It means only that every surprise has to count.


    Feeling a little better, he flicked his gaze about at their surroundings, taking in a plethora of details at a single glance.


    They¡¯d come to a convergence of routes and there were lots of kobolds in this spot, many of them travelling uphill.


    More and more guards had been passing them for the last five minutes, heading upwards.


    Then he smelt it.


    ¡°Anathta!¡±


    She looked at him, her gaze surprisingly calm, collected.


    ¡°Wolves,¡± he said.


    She took a deep sniff, then her eyes widened in alarm.


    ¡°We¡¯re covered, when it comes to scent,¡± Ibbalat advised. ¡°They can¡¯t pick us out.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope you¡¯re right,¡± the warrior replied.


    They continued on their way, following Kani down a spiralling slope, keeping to the edge of tunnel and stopping in natural alcoves when the foot-traffic became too heavy to sneak around.


    Redgate said nothing, gave no outward sign of protest, despite the fact these interruptions should¡¯ve been an annoyance to him ¨C crowds meant nothing to the sorcerer. Walls and floors meant nothing to the sorcerer!


    Could it be that even he felt uneasy? That at this last step the archmage would falter?


    Phanar supposed that, with all the hate flowing through him, he¡¯d never paused to think about how Redgate must¡¯ve been feeling. Even creatures of pure evil and arrogance could doubt, couldn¡¯t they?


    I hope Ord Ylon closes his teeth on you even as you cut off his head!


    He drew a deep breath.


    I am doing it again.


    Then he realised just how much the odour had grown in the past thirty seconds.


    As they rounded the next corner they saw it, heard it. It was berating what appeared to be a small coven of kobold shamans, the robed creatures clutching their staves defensively.


    The dire wolf was roughly the size of a pony, black as pitch. Its eyes were vivid, startling green. The slobber that foamed from its massive jaw fell in congealed gobbets, plopping to the stone floor as it spoke.


    The potion translated the dire wolf¡¯s language just the same as it did the kobolds¡¯.


    ¡°The Master says they¡¯re already here!¡± it snapped into the face of a terrified-looking male kobold, the feathers upon his headdress and leather smock only amplifying every miniscule quiver of his shrinking flesh, making him into a shaking peacock. ¡°They were to be taken prisoner. You ¨C and you!¡± It indicated two of the magicians with a huge fore-paw, and they clutched their spell-rods even tighter. ¡°Head up with the fighters and find out what¡¯s happening. This failure will not be tolerated. The rest of you ¨C work your conjurations. They must be found ¨C now.¡±


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    Kani swiftly passed by the chamber, skirting the walls again, and the rest followed on her heels, eager to be away from the massive, magic-blooded beast.


    Ylon knew we were coming anyway, Phanar thought with some satisfaction. It felt nice to have the confirmation. So he was looking for us after all.


    If the dragon knew they were coming for him¡­ Was there a sliver of a chance that Ord Ylon had experienced his own anxiety over this confrontation? Was it the night wolf¡¯s frustration being expressed by its exhortations, or was it the wolf¡¯s master¡¯s?


    But then, why would he have not capsized them while they travelled to Tirremuir aboard the Dremmedine?


    He wants us, Phanar realised, and a coldness flooded him. He wanted us, all along. Here.


    To torture. For the murders of his spawn.


    He looked at the others, but none of them seemed to have put the pieces together; their faces showed none of the heightened concern he would¡¯ve expected to see if they had.


    Except the unreadable archmage. He might¡¯ve been intuiting the likeliest possibilities, but, of course, there was no way to tell.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got three minutes left on the spell,¡± Ibbalat said. ¡°I can renew it two, maybe three times if I can stretch my reagents¡­¡±


    ¡°We do not know how far down the lair is,¡± Phanar reminded everyone. ¡°Unless ¨C Kani?¡±


    She didn¡¯t look back, but he caught her saying: ¡°We aren¡¯t three minutes away from the gate out, but how much farther from there ¨C I don¡¯t yet know. I have to trust it. It¡¯s taking me on the best path.¡±


    Her voice sounded tight, as though she were right on the edge of losing her nerve; she didn¡¯t seem to be huffing with the exertion yet, but he could see the sweat glistening on her cheeks where it¡¯d run from beneath her helmet.


    ¡°We cannot afford to waste resources,¡± Phanar said. ¡°We will wait to surveil the next section before deciding whether you should cast it again, Ibbalat.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t work on Ylon,¡± the mage said regretfully, ¡°but if there are some more wolves down there, we¡¯ll need it.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Anathta said, a terse one-word reply. She was getting closer to her own combat-self, Phanar realised, now that she¡¯d seen one of the wolves up close again. It was the first time in a long time ¨C and he knew she had her own deadly state that came over her when it was time to kill.


    When they came to the final gateway, the low metal-clad doors were of course barred. Eight more guards, loitering about with bored expressions on their faces.


    Lingering just around the corner to discuss their options, Phanar suggested the obvious play, to which the others readily agreed.


    The concealment-spell negated by a flick of Ibbalat¡¯s hand, they ran (on what Phanar supposed would look like flapping kobold-feet) around the bend.


    ¡°Fellow kobolds!¡± Ibbalat cried. ¡°You¡¯re needed! Intruders in the upper levels! The wolf of the Master commands you!¡±


    The guards barely waited a second ¨C the notion of enduring a dire wolf¡¯s wrath seemed to be enough to spur them into immediate action. Half of them left their posts without even taking their weapons with them.


    The last guard to pass them did stop for a moment, turning her head ¨C


    ¡°But what about you lot?¡± she asked, peering for a second time at their high-quality armour and clothing.


    ¡°Duh!¡± Ibbalat groaned, affecting a bit of panting. ¡°We¡¯re here to look after the gate, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    It didn¡¯t seem to matter that it made no sense ¨C the kobold just nodded and ran off after the other guards.


    They lifted the bars, and walked through into the next dark tunnel, letting the gates swing shut behind them. There were no guards on the outside of these doors¡­ Had Shrunken-Tail and the others been posted by Red-Of-The-Fur outside the upper-level doors, specifically to watch for the dragon-slayers? Yet they¡¯d fallen for it? Phanar hoped there was another explanation. Surely even kobolds couldn¡¯t be that stupid.


    ¡°Ibbalat, can you lock it behind us?¡± Phanar asked. ¡°We do not want them following us, but if we can get back the same way when we leave ¨C this would be for the best.¡±


    The magician patted his pockets, his pouches. ¡°Sure ¨C I¡¯ve got a sealing-spell¡­¡±


    ¡°Do not trouble yourself.¡±


    Redgate turned, sweeping his head about in an arc as though studying the squared-off archway ¨C measuring distances? Then, before anyone could discern how to properly react, whether to say or do anything, the sorcerer raised a hand and it was no longer a hand.


    Protruding out of his sleeve was a gauntleted fist, formed from crimson-enamelled plates of armour, the metal articulated down to the fingertip. Swiftly the dark, shining surfaces spread along his arms, his sleeves transforming as they watched: the huge gloves covering the hands melded into spiked bracers along the forearms; jointed greaves at the elbows stretched up the biceps, forming jagged pauldrons over his shoulders. Then, even more quickly, the rest of his body was covered. A breastplate with its scarlet, bloody sheen. Leg-plates and heavy metal boots. Every inch of him was coated in the demonic metal.


    The mask alone was left almost untouched by his transformation: the spider-face was now red instead of black. A high collar of plate rose up behind his head.


    The archmage reached high, sank his fingers and then his whole hands into the rock above the gateway.


    Within seconds, Redgate had created a cave-in.


    The others backed away, breathing through cloaks or other bits of cloth as dust billowed into the tunnel. The din it caused was atrocious, and seemed never-ending.


    After a solid fifteen seconds spent coughing and wincing at the continuing noise, it finally died down, and Phanar saw as Redgate floated through the clouds of dust towards them, drifting along without a care in the world.


    ¡°Too loud!¡± Ibbalat snarled, seemingly without being able to help himself. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±


    ¡°Sealing-spells may be undone,¡± the champion said breezily. ¡°To disintegrate or command-aside the weight of stone I have just brought down? This is not so-easily accomplished, and will likely require a significant expenditure, measured in both power and time spent at the task.¡±


    ¡°I know that!¡± the magician retorted. ¡°We were supposed to go back that way, remember!¡±


    ¡°I can move aside the rocks.¡± The archmage affected a brief shrug. ¡°Our routes both in descent and ascent are secured. Shall we continue, Sister?¡±


    Kani¡¯s gaze was steely as she nodded in response, her movements almost jerky as she spun on her heel and continued leading them down the tunnel.


    And now only Redgate can get us out, Phanar thought. Was it calculated by him to be so?


    At the thought, the warrior felt the gentle smile split his face, and he tucked in his chin to hide it, as though he looked at the ground to maintain his footing, something he hadn¡¯t had to do since the cradle.


    Where Kani had her faith, he had his instincts.


    I swallowed my ghost. I crossed the sand. I smashed the hourglass and remade it in starlight. I walked every way. I took every path. I found my future. And I became it.


    This time, the nothingness came over him, the cool sheath from which his mind could be redrawn again at need, a cold weapon to bisect his obstacles.


    Even obstacles in crimson demon-armour.


    * * *

 Old Wyrms Wrath pt4

    ¡°Here,¡± Anathta said, crouching and gesturing at the uneven rock-floor. ¡°The dires are only using this side ¨C even the big ones are avoiding the left side of the tunnel.¡±


    ¡°I mean, traps, I get it,¡± Ibbalat replied, ¡°but what in Celestium are you actually pointing at?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a thousand things,¡± she demurred, smiling and standing again.


    ¡°There ¨C fur.¡± Phanar nodded to the spot as he spoke. ¡°And there ¨C weight depressions. Stone smoothed under a great weight. Bits of nail chipping over here¡­¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine, I get it.¡± The mage followed along behind Anathta, who was now leading the group once more. Kani went next, then Phanar. Redgate had volunteered for ¡®rearguard¡¯ and floated along at the back, wearing his red robes again.


    As Phanar had suspected when he¡¯d looked at the animal tracks, Ord Ylon did not keep only wolves for his pets. The wolves likely saw the most use because of their intelligence, their versatility¡­ their diminutiveness.


    When they ran into the dire serpent, a red thing with black and yellow bands, it had to be ten times the weight of one of the wolves. It was difficult to get a grasp of its size until they were done killing it, listening to its death-hiss, the potion mercilessly translating its piteous rasping for its ¡®master¡¯.


    The slaying itself was the easiest, the smoothest part of Phanar¡¯s life since they first set sail for Mund from Tirremuir. It had been months since the four of them had fought together, the longest gap between periods of action in their whole adventuring careers. He hadn¡¯t realised it until they were engaged in combat, but a tiny part of his soul had been doubting them, their potency. It was as though the warrior inside him had been sleeping, an invisible presence whose very existence was brought into question with every unblooded moment that passed. When the awful slithering sound started to vibrate the air and Anathta looked back at them, giving them the look that said she was ready to kill, ready to die ¨C that was what the warrior within had been waiting for. In the next instant they were unslinging weapons and evading a throbbing, thrashing whip two feet in diameter, hurtling and coiling at them with a speed and strength that could only be born of the dragon¡¯s magic.


    Anathta scuttled up to the ceiling like a beetle, aiming a ranged shot at its eyes with her crossbow, and when the snake batted its hooded head in irritation and tried to rise up, crush her against the stone, she shifted her hand- and footholds, moving clear. She took the opportunity to drop down and settle herself astride its back, then within seconds she was sliding down its length, scoring through its membranous scales with one of her favourite daggers.


    The relatively-thin tail-tip was dangerously fast, scales forming almost feathered-looking patterns, a nest of black-hued blades ¨C it came buzzing down at Phanar¡¯s head, rapidly swinging from one side to the other, like the wings of a hovering hummingbird. The pick-end of his warhammer glowed a fierce radiant blue, and as the warrior rolled beneath the attack he wedged it deep and wrenched; a strip of the tail-tip longer than he was tall came tearing away as he flipped to his feet once more.


    As it opened its fanged maw wide enough to fit a full grown wild bull sideways, emitting a crackling noise that could have been laughter or screaming, it thrust its head towards the seemingly-defenceless Ibbalat. His spell came to fruition when it was ten feet from him, specks of ground-up diamond drifting from the mage¡¯s hands; the snake smashed its lower jaw into the stony wall that came rising up out of the tunnel-floor in front of it.


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    When Kani stepped forward, the strike of her hammer into the side of the thing¡¯s head didn¡¯t look heavy ¨C she barely dealt it a glancing blow ¨C but as the attack connected she cried, ¡°Maiden¡¯s Light!¡± and a stream of yellow-amber light billowed like smoke around the serpent¡¯s face.


    The fight lasted all of fifty seconds. A minute, being generous.


    And through it all, Redgate floated at the rear, watching. Phanar felt the sorcerer¡¯s gaze moving between them, like a tongue of cold shadow falling upon each of them in turn.


    He felt the sorcerer¡¯s gaze, and no longer cared.


    As they came upon intersections, Kani¡¯s sight led them unerringly onwards. Twenty minutes and several more encounters later, Anathta doubled back to inform them that the fourth large chamber they¡¯d run into, dead ahead, contained a clutch of giant spiders ¨C more than ten of the things, each bigger than she¡¯d ever seen before.


    ¡°Time for one of my Ibbalat Specials, then.¡± The mage stepped forward. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ Fireball, Limit-Lifter, how do you go¡­¡±


    A calm voice was raised behind him, still displaying no outward irritation:


    ¡°Might I intercede?¡±


    Phanar turned to look at the arch-sorcerer, and nodded, keeping his expression neutral.


    As Redgate drifted past, the warrior caught the offended look Ibbalat shot him behind the archmage¡¯s back. He swiftly shot a glare in response:


    Conserve resources!


    They followed the crimson-shrouded spectre, and watched from the tunnel opening as he moved through the spider-chamber.


    The thick, gelatinous webs stretching wall to wall and floor to ceiling didn¡¯t impede him but he waved a hand anyway; flames leapt up and consumed them in his wake, allowing the adventurers to trail after him. Several spiders came at the sorcerer and were caught in the air, trapped by invisible webs of incomprehensible strength and pulled apart, as if done so effortlessly, by the very air itself. His magic bound them all, and relieved from them the burden of continued existence.


    That was how it looked ¨C as though they simply fell apart in his vicinity. It was almost tranquil, the silence that accompanied their deaths. Almost tranquil in its unthinkable horror.


    But most tried to run, hide, flee on their huge, desperate legs. Those ones Redgate caused to erupt in flames, the sorcery working on every last one of them ¨C even the younger, cat-sized ones Anathta hadn¡¯t spotted, secreted in the corners. These deaths were less tranquil ¨C louder, smellier.


    How Redgate so consistently ruined everything he touched, Phanar could not guess. Somehow the eradication of even these horrible entities, these monstrous arachnids, felt so unethical, when it came at the sorcerer¡¯s hands. The warrior wondered why it was he thought it would¡¯ve been cleaner to just let Ibbalat Special them ¨C he couldn¡¯t actually isolate the core of the difference in his mind.


    When it was over they picked their way through the chamber, avoiding the strewn-about body-parts as well as they could manage.


    ¡°I thought you wanted to rest,¡± Ibbalat called, somehow making it sound respectful, awed.


    Redgate turned back to them, and chuckled lightly. ¡°My boy, that was merely yawning. Though, I must admit, I am having more fun now. Shall we continue?¡±


    The champion helped Anathta up into the only other exit from the chamber, a narrow crevasse on the far side. Ibbalat clambered up the slimy rocks without much hassle, and Phanar climbed half-way before offering Kani his hand.


    She didn¡¯t look at him. Wouldn¡¯t meet his eyes. The cleric found her own grip on the stones, pulled herself up without his assistance, and he watched her attempts in silence, waiting patiently until she made it.


    Breathing heavily, she squeezed into the gap and headed after the mage. Phanar followed, now in the rearguard.


    Now Redgate was leading.


    * * *

 Old Wyrms Wrath pt5

    Phanar walked on numb feet. He went last through the seventh chamber, and this time he kept his eyes on Kani¡¯s feet in front of him rather than looking around at the madness of it.


    The fifth and sixth had been hard enough to look at, even for him. He had no squeamishness. This was not an offence of disgust.


    He had honour. This was an offence of¡­ of humiliation.


    Of blasphemy.


    ¡°The cavern, the tunnel, the lair,¡± he caught Kani saying as they left behind the smouldering remains of the dire bats.


    ¡°What is this?¡± he asked, taking a couple of long strides to come closer to her.


    But she did not reply, even when he prompted her again.


    It was only a couple of minutes before her meaning was made plain.


    Hidden from sight and sound and scent, they followed a narrow stream of water up to the lip of a drop where it became a little waterfall. They peered over a ledge Anathta found, looking down into the vast cavern, a space dwarfing all the others they¡¯d come across till now.


    Phanar had no phobias to speak of. Heights and coffins, lightning and spiders, blood and oceans¡­ None of the common fears of which he¡¯d heard had ever been a cause for concern, for him. But he¡¯d felt a touch of it, the irrational terror, when he¡¯d detected the wolf¡¯s odour back in the kobold city ¨C yet there¡¯d been only the one of them, and seeing it had dispelled the worst of the horror that gripped his throat and heart in bony fingers.


    Now, looking down at this ¨C it was as though time had reversed. He was standing there on Miserdell¡¯s battlements, looking out onto the sea of fur, the army of dire wolves that dripped with the blood of the townspeople.


    They were here. Hundreds and hundreds of them. A pack of wolves of such size, such organisation that its like would never be found in the wild, even amongst dire wolves. No ¨C this pack had a pack leader the likes of which the mind of the wolf had never before conceived. A leader whose dominance could not ever be put to any kind of meaningful test. A master whose slightest flicker of annoyance could mutate them, drown them in their own insides, even as his favour might upraise them, heal them of their injuries and swell their musculature, their bone structure, without limit.


    In the centre of the cavern, they were lounging atop a huge, smooth outcropping of grey rock, feasting on vast quantities of meat. On the right side, they warmed themselves before massive open coal-pits, above which natural vents in the high, jagged ceiling captured the smoke. And on the left side they were fighting each other ¨C not for real, but not quite play-fighting either. It looked to have the character of duelling, more than just sparring, to Phanar¡¯s eye. Some of the biggest, meanest-looking dire wolves were circling groups of lesser ones, growling their drills like battlefield sergeants.


    The warrior could smell the stench of wet wolf-fur, and leaned over even further, looking at the base of the rock-wall beneath him. The little waterfall beside which he was crouched wasn¡¯t the only one ¨C the waters of several streams ran down the cliff-face nearby, and had pooled together in a depression at the bottom. A couple of dozen wolves were languishing down there in the coolness of the puddle, right below him.


    He shuddered, and drew back.


    Then he returned his eyes to the first thing he¡¯d spotted when he first looked down: their goal.


    On the far side of the cavern, in the wall opposite them ¨C a squared-off opening, leading downwards into darkness. A final tunnel, as Kani mentioned.


    The cavern. The tunnel. The lair¡­


    Suddenly, as though they¡¯d all heard some signal simultaneously, the wolves stopped whatever they were doing, even letting half-chewed mouthfuls of food drop from their open jaws. They drew themselves up, raised their eyes towards the cavern-roof, and fell silent.


    An eerie stillness seemed to spread throughout the open expanse, broken only by the tinkling trickles of the waterfalls. Phanar held his breath.


    Then, all at once, the wolves poured into formation, the biggest to the fore, and started racing up the wall to the left. They reached the level of the adventurers within seconds, then went thundering past, following a different path into the network of passageways to the one Kani had chosen.


    It took them almost a minute to go by, a minute of paralysis for Phanar, of daunting, ever-worsening dread. Slaying the snake had felt like it took four seconds. This felt like half an hour, time broken down into an infinite, unending series of moments in which the certainty that one of the wolves would see through the concealing-spell only grew and grew inside his mind.


    Then the infinite, unending series ended. They were gone, every one of them. Their scents, however, lingered behind.


    ¡°How very dramatic,¡± Redgate mused.


    Phanar got to his feet and looked around at the others before holding out his hand to Ibbalat.


    ¡°R-rope.¡±


    He marvelled at the way his voice shook ¨C this had never happened to him before.


    ¡°If they know we¡¯re here,¡± the mage said, already pulling out his demiskin, ¡°I suppose I won¡¯t need to disintegrate the rope once we¡¯re at the bottom?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re coming back this way, aren¡¯t we?¡± Anathta gazed at him quizzically before moving, skirting the cavern so that they wouldn¡¯t land in water. ¡°The only other option is climbing the wyrm¡¯s own route, through the kobolds¡¯ wards ¨C we¡¯d be caught out in the open in moments. We¡¯ll leave it.¡±


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    ¡°My concern,¡± Phanar said, taking the first few loops of rope from Ibbalat, ¡°is that none of the wolves were sleeping.¡±


    ¡°A trap?¡± Ibbalat asked. ¡°I mean, the other kind of trap. You think¡­ they were waiting for us to arrive?¡±


    The warrior rolled his shoulders. ¡°I think Ord Ylon was waiting. Yes.¡±


    Phanar knotted the rope around a boulder and cast off the end. His sister went first, taking the coarse length of material loosely in one hand and basically leaping off the cliff¡¯s edge.


    Ibbalat went next, and as the magician descended Phanar noted Kani¡¯s troubled expression, freckled face creased in consternation.


    He wasn¡¯t alone in noting it.


    ¡°Sister Vael?¡± Redgate said with aplomb, holding out a hand in a gentlemanly fashion. ¡°I too was not intending on using the rope. I can convey you to the basin far more quickly and without any untoward sensation, I assure you.¡±


    ¡°Why¡­ thank you,¡± she murmured, and, without meeting his arachnid face, she took his hand.


    As they too vanished over the edge, Phanar, left alone at the top, hurriedly hauled on the rope and abseiled down.


    When he found his feet and turned to regroup with the others, he saw that his three friends were standing in a row before the floating Redgate, staring with slack jaws into the air between them and the sorcerer because there was¡­ there was¡­


    A demon. A bird. A beautiful bird wrought of pure nothingness, keeping itself steady with lazy swipes of its black wings.


    Everything Phanar had ever sought ¨C it was there, before him, embodied in this frozen instant. Redgate had it. Redgate possessed it. Just as Redgate possessed everything.


    Floating there behind the demon was a tiny, beautiful crimson cloud¡­ He felt the way it drew his gaze, his eyes falling into it the way an anchor falls to the seabed.


    An uncomfortable warmth, flowing not over his flesh but through it¡­


    Vivid black lightning.


    Dull, distant thunder.


    Redgate was speaking to them, and their lips were moving in response.


    They were giving him answers. He was enchanting them with one of his eldritches. He wanted to know ¨C wanted to know ¨C what they knew ¨C


    Redgate possesses the emptiness but he squanders it. He defecates upon it! He is the antithesis of free! He was swallowed by his ghost! He drowned in the sand! He smashed the hourglass and ate up the shards until he died inside!


    His future found him, and became him.


    Something about the insulting nature of the sorcerer¡¯s acts, the unendurable mockery of what he was doing to them all, to their minds ¨C what he was doing to his sister ¨C something about the situation brought Phanar to the surface.


    With a titanic effort, the warrior wrenched his attention away from the awful eldritch and its awful, awful cloud.


    ¡°Phanar of N¡¯Lem.¡± The archmage sounded surprised, turning from Kani¡¯s blank face to look over at him. ¡°You are no longer my foe?¡±


    ¡°No, I am,¡± Phanar growled. ¡°But¡­ you are not mine.¡± It was the hardest thing he¡¯d ever done, biting back his anger. ¡°Mine dwells beyond yon tunnel.¡±


    ¡°Well-spoken.¡± Redgate affected a despondent sigh. ¡°I fear that I shall be inconsolable for weeks, now the charade is ended and the game is over. I have enjoyed this ruse, more than you can know.¡± He looked across the others, eyes lingering on Anathta. ¡°I really was going to let all of you go, afterwards, you know. I would¡¯ve erased many of the events of our trip from your mind ¨C erasing is so much easier than the other options ¨C but now, alas, I fear that chance has passed us by. My eldritches are limited, and I am a poor enchanter. It would require a form of innocence you no longer possess, for you to volunteer to undergo the process.¡± The sorcerer cocked his head. ¡°But surely you will permit me to slay your true foe for you, before you pass into my service? You would want to see that much, at least, yes?¡±


    ¡°I do not know the reason for your hate,¡± Phanar replied quietly. ¡°I do know that you would never have let us go. I know that you always intended to press us into your¡­ service.¡±


    Redgate laughed, trembling upwards and downwards in the air as he floated.


    ¡°Oh, tell yourself what you must, dragon-slayer. The truth is, you would have lived, but for your own powers of inference which have doomed you. This is not the first time I have utilised the pedheliorph to query you. I knew you knew, the day you knew it¡­ No, do not trouble yourself. You will not remember the evening when you first fell under its spell. And as to this hate¡­ My good man, you speak only to a mirror, a reflective cage of your own imposition. It is your heart harbouring hatred, Phanar of N¡¯Lem, your heart that dwells upon the inevitability of murder. I must confess, I am myself merely apathetic, where your continued existence is concerned. Nonetheless ¨C I believe you shall make a fine deathknight.¡± His head tilted towards Kani. ¡°What shall be made of the Sister of Wythyldwyn, I wonder.¡±


    There was no fierce shout, no battle-cry or word of warning.


    Phanar pounced, his hammer and sword singing in his hands.


    But the air itself was like an unseen dome of solid steel, rebuffing his leap, repelling him ¨C he landed lightly, coiling to spring at his enemy once more ¨C


    ¡°Enough, Phanar.¡± Redgate sounded bored. ¡°I have a much more-entertaining confrontation to attend. Come ¨C you are invited to witness. Speak with him. Distract him, while I secure the best position for my attack. We do not even yet know for certain whether he is aware of my presence, or my particular capabilities.¡±


    Redgate simply turned his back, and the bird-demon vanished ¨C the sorcerer drifted away towards the tunnel on the far side of the cavern, not keeping an eye on Phanar, clearly confident in his invulnerability.


    The others were shaking their heads, looking about in a confusion he hoped would only be momentary.


    ¡°He knows!¡± he hissed at them while they tried to focus their eyes on him, on their surroundings. ¡°He has known all along. He moves to slay Ord Ylon, and invites us to watch before we join the ranks of the undead at his command!¡±


    ¡°He¡­ he knows?¡± Kani said in disbelief. ¡°H-how?¡±


    ¡°We could ¨C could we run?¡± Ibbalat suggested, looking back at the rope and patting his pouches.


    ¡°From him?¡± Phanar snarled. He cast a quick glance at the sorcerer¡¯s receding form, still floating across the cavern, then whispered as quietly as he was able: ¡°He would enjoy the hunt. We will not give him such sport. We will follow him, and hope Ylon weakens him. We will do this thing ourselves. If we fail, it will be on our own terms. We will extract such toll for our souls that clutching them shall bind him in pain eternal. In so doing we earn ourselves divine reprieve from his malice. Such is my will and prayer.¡±


    Anathta didn¡¯t respond in any way, her own gaze fixed on Redgate in the distance. Ibbalat chewed on a fresh leaf of wane and ducked his head in acknowledgement, while Kani just looked past Phanar at the passageway leading to the dragon¡¯s lair and nodded distractedly, her mind and spirit clearly far removed from this Material Plane.


    The warrior turned and, trying not to breathe through his nose due to the disgusting scents of this place, he strode after the sorcerer, leading his sister, his brother-in-arms and his beloved towards their not-so-final resting place.


    Redgate reached the wall when they were still a hundred feet from the tunnel, and vanished into the rock without once looking back.


    Phanar stared at the dim hole ahead as he drove his body forwards, nervelessly accepting the potions Ibbalat passed into his hands, draining them without question or interest. The opening in front of him was redolent with the odours of wolves and their waste, yes, but also that other familiar scent: charred flesh; an ancient mustiness that no other wyrm he¡¯d ever encountered had possessed ¨C none save this one, this prince of dragons called Ord Ylon.


    For a moment, he was back on Miserdell¡¯s battlements one more time, beaten and battered by the noxious tempest of the behemoth¡¯s wings.


    I am here, he thought. Finally, I am here. And still, I do not know which of them I most want to die.


    * * *

 Old Wyrms Wrath pt6

    There was no way even for the last children of N¡¯Lem to move silently, not across the surfaces of these gleaming lakes, this river-like road that led them between shifting pillars of living gold, silver, electrum. Each footfall elicited that most pleasing of sounds, the inimitable song of many different precious metals caressing, ringing like bells as miniature avalanches erupted, showering coins and other precious little jewels, brooches, and trinkets down upon the boot that rudely trespassed in this hallowed place.


    Seeing such a thing stole away all his thoughts of dread and disaster, if only for a moment. But it was not greed ¨C it was only wonder. Even the surface of this shining roadway would ransom a nation. How deep down did it go? How many continents¡¯ wealth was stored in this one place?


    And so many coins minted¡­ Few bore the Mundian stamp, and he recognised none of the others ¨C many were simply unmarked discs.


    How far back do we go, treading here? How old is our dimension?


    In any case, Phanar would have had Ibbalat cause them to fly or hover, would have eagerly spent resources on obtaining stealth, if there had been a need. But the motionless person sitting on the boulders beyond the gold lake, the sole occupant of the lair, already knew they were here. Ord Ylon was awaiting them in the darkness with grace and patience, watching them approach from his vast rocky throne rising above the treasures ¨C the stony landscape that was suggestive of his true size.


    But they went forward with a magical shield like Redgate¡¯s active, according to Ibbalat; this would stop him sending an innocuous little stinging- or biting-creature at them to paralyse or poison them, and would even extend beneath the clinking ground they strode upon, defending them against any potential attackers below the surface.


    There was no light in here. The tremendous shaft on the left side of the chamber, leading up past the balconies of the kobold city, admitted only the night¡¯s blackness at this late hour. Still, the potion that allowed Phanar to perceive his surroundings without difficulty did not let him read the face of the dragon ¨C it was a human face, of ordinary human dimensions. Even if its expressions had also betrayed a trace of this borrowed humanity, that visage was too distant for the warrior to make out clearly.


    Still, they neared. Not speaking, barely even breathing¡­ As they came closer to him across the coins, details slowly resolved themselves.


    Ord Ylon wore the shape of a man in his thirties or forties, tall-looking but not abnormally-so. He was clad in simple white linens, his skin pale green and his hair a spiky bush of bronze stalks. Glittering stubble was on his cheeks and around his lips. He was almost sprawled across the rough stones, his posture one of languor, relaxation, rather than anything approximating battle-readiness.


    But the expression, painstakingly coming into sharp relief ¨C


    Hatred. Such a hatred that at first Phanar thought he imagined it, thought the words of Redgate about a reflective cage were haunting him. But no ¨C they reached the edge of the stones protruding from the gleaming lake, the floor before which the boulder-throne of the dragon rose up, and from here the snarl frozen upon the green-tinged face was no longer mistakable.


    ¡°No closer,¡± he murmured. If Phanar was right about the speed with which the dragon might transform, another ten steps might put them within reach of his breath¡­ and if he used his magic to enlarge himself, who could say if any part of his lair would be far enough from him for safety?


    He noticed that Ibbalat was also murmuring under his breath, but this wasn¡¯t a response, or anything intended for mortal ears in fact ¨C Phanar recognised the intonation and a couple of the strange syllables; the mage was already casting his spells.


    Then it began.


    ¡°Hail, Phanar and Anathta, Kanthyre and Ibbalat.¡± The voice that came rolling down at them was low, hollow, yet far from quiet. ¡°It is well that I can look at last upon your faces. How I have longed to behold them; how oft have I seen them in my grief. And now ¨C here you are, like phantoms sprung full-formed from nightmare¡¯s subtle substance. For that is what you have been to me; surely this you know? This is what you were, and what you are¡­ But as regards what you shall become? To me, this eve will be the sweetest dream of all recollection; my inner eye, whose lid first opened in the days of your grand-sires, ancestors no less than a score of generations removed ¨C that eye shall be blinded at the ecstasy of the sight! And this I promise, my brave, wicked heroes: even then shall you be remembered when five more centuries have passed, and I look back a final time in wistful remembrance, before at last I forget you. You alone of all your generation shall be so upraised as to live on in thought; such have been your misdeeds.¡±


    I have lived longer than you, wyrm, Phanar thought, and, living or undead, I will this day go forth from your lair into a world freed from your pestilence.


    ¡°Murderers all, then, are we not?¡± the warrior called up to the man-dragon sitting on the rocks. ¡°Yet you it was whose stroke fell first. We slay your kin in turn, as ours were slain¡­ Even while you exceed us, outstrip us in every way ¨C still, we are superior. We act now out of justice, duty ¨C¡±


    ¡°My stroke fell first? Upon whose skull did the lord sit, him you served in Miserdell?¡±


    Yet where is the skull? Phanar wondered. Was Kani wrong about his collection?


    ¡°You dare speak the word duty?¡± Ord Ylon was crying out now, no longer restraining himself, and the thunder of the voice was daunting ¨C more dragon than man. ¡°Justice?¡±


    Ylon came up to his feet suddenly, and the boulder cracked beneath his heel.


    ¡°You know not the meaning of such words! You do not even know this world! What it once was, and what it shall become again. Usurpers! Defilers of honour! It is only a Returning I seek.¡±


    ¡°Kultemeren defies you!¡± Kani roared out of nowhere, swinging her mace in readiness. ¡°You are a life-shaper with no respect for life, a healer whose touch only rots! Wythyldwyn shall encompass your end. You give me words ¨C I would rather take acid from your mouth than this pitiful mewling!¡±


    ¡°And Kultemeren defies you, ill-begotten child of Wythyldwyn. I know of what I speak.¡±


    ¡°Speak not the Maiden¡¯s name!¡± the cleric gasped. ¡°You sully it, letting it fall from your black tongue, child of the Dark Lady!¡±


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Ylon grinned, and coppery fangs gleamed there between his lips.


    ¡°You think we worship Chaos, do you not?¡± He shook his head slowly. ¡°You, and I, and Wythyldwyn alike; all were birthed from the Grandmother¡¯s womb. Yet we do not deny what we are. We know each god has their place. Can the same be said for your low kindred?¡±


    Kani seemed to be taken aback, and didn¡¯t reply.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Ylon went on. ¡°The depths of your arrogance, your insolent, intolerable arrogance, cannot be overstated. Vermin, all of you! Did I not promise you the slow death? Am I not upright before Glaif? Is what I do now not fore-ordained?¡±


    ¡°Yet thou shalt be forsworn,¡± the cleric breathed, not for the dragon¡¯s ears.


    Still, he heard.


    ¡°Put it to the test, then!¡± Ord Ylon roared. ¡°In the names of my children, I will destroy you with human hands! You are fit for nothing more. Ausan! Givelfor! Chalibros! I beckon!¡±


    The druid-dragon leapt down towards them through the air, still man-shaped.


    ¡°Finally!¡± Anathta chirped, already darting aside. ¡°I thought he¡¯d never shut up.¡±


    As Ord Ylon landed in what should have been their midst, they had already scattered; the druid jumped out of the crater he¡¯d created, moving through the billowing cloud of stone-dust with the nimbleness of a mountain goat and the unrelenting strength of a fiend.


    They had all scattered, all of them except, seemingly, Ibbalat ¨C the mage stood there, transfixed, staring at their foe.


    The green-tinged face smiled cruelly, and Ord Ylon sprang at the paralysed magician; there was only a momentary interruption in his forwards momentum as he broke through whatever meagre shielding Ibbalat had been capable of forming ¨C then the dragon was upon him, ripping and kicking.


    Upon the illusion.


    Phanar, looking back over his shoulder as he slipped over the uneven ground with his own mountain-goat nimbleness, couldn¡¯t blame the dragon for falling for the glamour ¨C Ibbalat was getting better at his clutch-casting.


    It paid off. The warrior spotted the first ranged attacks landing on Ylon, hitting him in the upper-arm and the side of his head ¨C a bolt shooting unerringly from Anathta¡¯s crossbow, shining with fierce silver fire, and a bolt of literal silver fire arcing out from Kani¡¯s extended mace.


    Ord Ylon shrugged off the magical damage, physically brushing away the glowing spell-effects from his seared body and clothing, letting the silver flames pool at his feet. The metal head of Anathta¡¯s shaft was spat out of his bicep and fell into the gleaming fire.


    He was ignoring the others, trying to fix his eyes on Phanar ¨C and then the warrior noted the way the dragon¡¯s eyes fell behind him as he continued circling the creature.


    This was how the dragon was going to try to trick them, trap them ¨C if they closed on him, or he closed on them, he could change without a moment¡¯s notice and kill them with his sheer body-mass.


    This was how he was going to fail.


    Before Ylon spoke and he replied, Phanar had been wondering what better opportunity Redgate might find to slay the monster ¨C the dragon¡¯s head was human-sized, and would surely be easier to remove from his shoulders in this form.


    Now, he couldn¡¯t even remember who Redgate was or why he mattered.


    He grinned back at Ord Ylon over his shoulder, preparing his brace of anti-dragon throwing daggers.


    This final confrontation ¨C it was everything for which he¡¯d longed, sunlight bursting into a place that had heretofore known only darkness.


    I smashed the hourglass! I remade it in starlight! I am my future!


    ¡°What is this?¡± Ord Ylon hissed, bounding in Phanar¡¯s general direction, creating more craters, more dust-clouds ¨C but plainly moving without a real lock on the warrior¡¯s location.


    Thank you Ibbalat, Phanar thought, rubbing his thumb against his new ring fondly.


    Kani landed another blow, using her weapon this time ¨C she ripped across from one side of the boulder-strewn landscape to the other, her mace connecting with a violent clang, an explosion of golden smoke around Ord Ylon¡¯s head ¨C


    That¡¯s her new ring, Phanar realised.


    He looked over to check she¡¯d successfully left Ylon¡¯s vicinity, and he wasn¡¯t disappointed ¨C she¡¯d travelled three hundred feet in something like one-and-a-half seconds ¨C but with another glance he saw what had happened.


    Her mace ¨C the weapon she¡¯d wielded through dozens of battles ¨C now deformed, a shapeless, sloppy lump of metal atop a stick.


    She¡¯d struck all manner of enemies with that thing ¨C he¡¯d seen it dent and batter plate armour without suffering the slightest imperfection ¨C yet a single blow against the arch-druid¡¯s skull had left it broken beyond repair. It would need a full reforging, whatever ancient magic that had flowed through it probably lost forever.


    Dust erupted about the dragon suddenly, but not as he moved ¨C before he leapt, this time.


    Ibbalat didn¡¯t raise just one pillar of stone ¨C he raised four, and the rock-fingers twisted inwards, pinning Ord Ylon in place.


    It only took the dragon a split-second to burst free, but by then two shining arrows were protruding from his face ¨C on the far side of their foe Phanar saw Anathta, sprinting again into a new position.


    It was with a grimace of irritation this time that Ord Ylon brushed the bolts free of his flesh, scooped away the sharp pieces of metal and the silver radiance they bore. He¡¯d just shrugged off the last of Ibbalat¡¯s stony obstacles when the first of the mage¡¯s fireballs reached him, detonating off his chest.


    They wailed through the air in series, growing as they went.


    Ka-koom! Ka-koom! Ka-koom! Ka-koom! Ka-koom!


    After the fifth fireball, the warrior saw the dragon¡¯s body being flung, tossed unnaturally upwards by the force of the last explosion. Clothing gone. Pallid skin unharmed.


    Phanar had circled enough ¨C his friends were getting to have all of the fun.


    He closed on the dragon, feeling the exhilaration of letting go, trusting to the magic of his ring to protect him while he was running full tilt like this ¨C


    Two of his daggers went wide, but three struck Ord Ylon even as their foe was still being flipped wildly through the air.


    The dragon landed in a heap, slamming into the ground head-first like a ten-ton iron hammer, and Phanar kept sprinting towards him.


    Supposedly the weapons he¡¯d slung were bound-over with potent anti-draconic magic, and each dagger gleamed a different colour every time he looked at them; there was surely some ensorcellment placed on them, even if identifying the exact nature of the spell had stumped Ibbalat. Despite this, the ensorcellments didn¡¯t stop the dragon from flipping to his feet, picking the knives out of his upper arm, chest, cheek, dropping them to the floor seemingly undisturbed by their stings ¨C


    The ensorcellment on Phanar¡¯s sword appeared to work, though, when he drove it straight through the dragon¡¯s chest from behind.


    As he dashed by and delivered the stroke, he felt the sword¡¯s blade jar from the bones within the chest cavity, but it didn¡¯t break, only twisting; its keen tip came out the front with a spatter of acid, protruding between his ribs just over his stomach.


    And the last son of N¡¯Lem was was running past ¨C running away.


    We need something that goes through his bones, he thought desperately. Where are you, Redgate?


    Looking back at Ord Ylon kneeling there ¨C naked upon the rocks, staring down in shock at the white, pulsing blade upon which he¡¯d been impaled ¨C Phanar slowed, then stopped.


    May I never invoke him again, he swore to himself.


    The sorcerer rose up through the uneven ground right in front of Ylon, a thing of blood and shadow, altogether unlike the pale, scintillating druid.


    Unlike ¨C yet they were kindred, each steeped in power, in heinous deeds.


    ¡°How disappointing,¡± Redgate murmured, reaching down towards the dragon with a hand that could slay almost anything using just a gesture ¨C


    ¡°Finally,¡± the dying druid spoke ¨C and now it was indeed the dragon¡¯s voice, not weak or broken but grating and strong, blasting out of the man¡¯s mouth as though he held within his slender frame a bellows the size of a war-galley.


    Redgate recoiled, up and away.


    Ord Ylon changed, Phanar¡¯s sword seemingly disappearing inside him as he swelled into immensity.


    It took only moments, giving them at most three seconds to start reacting, retreating ¨C but the great black slit, the pupil of the wyrm¡¯s gargantuan eye, focussed on Anathta¡¯s slinking form first, ignoring the champion floating right there.


    The voice was a hideous roar, steely jaws like twin armies in conflict, gnashing the words.


    His laughter was deafening.


    ¡°Finally¡­ Ha-ha-ha-ha! I thought he would never show up. Now ¨C the slow death as I promised,¡± the great head whipped about, a sinuous motion of incredible speed, focussing at last on Redgate, ¡°and all the rest to come.¡±


    * * *

 Old Wyrms Wrath pt7

    Phanar took refuge behind a small hill of gold cups and necklaces and jewels and coins, coins, coins ¨C he saw the others doing the same, finding spots that would be hard to douse in acid, tucked up against weird statues or outcroppings of rock, locations with multiple escape routes. Each prepared themselves in their own way for the changed situation ¨C Anathta selected a new knife, the spring-loaded one on a chain; Ibbalat gesticulated madly with his head bowed, fingers raking the air to summon magical energies; Kani had her chin raised and eyes closed, lips murmuring silent words.


    Above, the words were not silent.


    ¡°This is more like it,¡± Redgate called approvingly, staring across at the dragon and hovering at eye-level, as though he still felt they shared equal footing. His voice shook ¨C only a little, but Phanar heard it. ¡°I-I¡¯d feared this trip a waste of my time.¡±


    ¡°My hoard, a waste?¡± The druid-dragon laughed on, unfolding and then refolding his wings ¨C he would have no room to fly in here, unless he adjusted his stature. ¡°You amuse me, little archmage.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not only about the money, you must understand. It is an honour, to say that I spoke with ¨C to say I slew an Ord.¡±


    The Mundian was only hovering fifty feet from the dragon¡¯s maw, well-within range of the acid breath ¨C


    Does he recognise how close to death he is? Phanar wondered, smiling a little at the thought.


    ¡°Many Ords have died these last moons,¡± Ylon growled, and took one step forward.


    The huge clawed foot fell half on the boulders, half in the gold.


    Stone cracked. Coins hissed. Redgate backed away.


    ¡°None so great,¡± the champion said in a tone of agreement.


    ¡°No¡­ more¡­ will¡­ die.¡±


    The next foreleg followed, and Phanar noticed that the barbed end-section of Ylon¡¯s tail was swaying back and forth portentously.


    Redgate had no response.


    ¡°Those whose lives were stolen you shall find for me,¡± the steel voice grated on. ¡°Their bones await you. Your city will be theirs for the reaping, when the time comes and all is put right in the world once more.¡±


    ¡°Mund itself is on the scales, is it?¡± the champion asked at last.


    Redgate sounded only faintly interested.


    ¡°Your entire fetid empire,¡± the dragon gnashed.


    ¡°Good, good. Well¡­ I suppose I shall have to do something about that, then, shan¡¯t I?¡±


    Phanar¡¯s mind had hardly been keeping up with this banter. There was the implication that Ord Ylon knew Redgate was coming all along, or at least for a significant time ¨C which was bad enough on its own! ¨C but in addition to that, the implication that the recovery of Nil Sorog¡¯s skull meant more to the dragon-prince than as an act of respect for the mother of his spawn¡­


    And then this ¨C Redgate¡¯s insulting bravado! The warrior drew a breath of surprise and awe. Surely now Ylon would lash out, the tail that had been twitching, preparing ¨C


    But no ¨C the champion lashed out first.


    A scream of crimson wind went blasting straight into the dragon¡¯s face from beneath Redgate¡¯s shadowy hood.


    Ord Ylon endured it, and then started to laugh once more. After a few seconds, the sorcerer¡¯s scream faltered, died away, the crimson cloud evaporating.


    ¡°But you, little archmage. You will be mine. I will keep you from death¡¯s door, rest assured, and if you behave yourself I shall allow you some autonomy ¨C a trace only, befitting one of your lowness. One day, I will let you go, release you from this plane ¨C but not until I am finished with you.¡±


    On the last word, the dragon started to draw in his breath.


    Phanar could see the way Redgate was pulled in, fighting to fly away against the airflow in the gargantuan lair, all streaming like a gale into the thing¡¯s gargantuan lungs.


    And even as the monstrous druid spewed his acid he threw himself at the sorcerer.


    At first the warrior had no idea how Redgate survived the deluge of acid ¨C the horrid, air-burning substance came over the champion not like rain in a shower, but a true wall of the stuff, all at once, more akin to the waves crashing over the deck of the Dremmedine that night when the sea was magic-mad than anything else Phanar had ever witnessed ¨C


    Then the red shadow-armour gleamed green briefly, the humanoid shape visible there in the midst of the acid as the dragon finished retching. The half-vaporous, half-fluid stuff fell about Redgate, spattering the ground below him, dissolving more wealth than any man had ever possessed in a single instant.


    The archmage¡¯s eldritch plate appeared to absorb the stuff, before the shadows consumed him entirely and Phanar could no longer see the sorcerer.


    Ord Ylon shouldered his way through the acid-storm completely heedless of its corrosion, letting the stuff splash over him, his feet disappearing into the burning gold, head twisting, casting about, tail whipping again ¨C


    A scream of annoyance burst from the tremendous lips, and then the dragon turned, fixing his eyes on Kani¡¯s hiding spot.


    Except they couldn¡¯t hide from him. You couldn¡¯t hide from arch-druids ¨C well, maybe Redgate could, but he wasn¡¯t really a human anymore. Kani was human. Kani wasn¡¯t hiding ¨C she was waiting, only waiting for her doom to come get her¡­


    This will not be, Phanar thought, rising to a crouch and judging the distances, gripping his hammer-haft tightly in his right hand. Kani, come to me, before it¡¯s too late! He cried out the thought inside his head, as though by yelling he could make her hear it.


    The sucking breath. The insistent breeze, pulling the air from Phanar¡¯s throat and into the dragon¡¯s.


    It¡¯s too late.


    He broke out of his hiding place, running towards her.


    Only then did he remember her ring ¨C with its speed-spell she could leave it till the last moment, ensure that Ord Ylon wasted his second go of the breath-weapon before departing from the safety of the statue she was leaning back against ¨C


    And now Phanar was here, out in the open, protected only by his own ring ¨C


    He looked about madly for somewhere to hide, recalling only that he had to keep moving, moving as quickly as possible to ensure his location was masked ¨C


    It didn¡¯t matter. Ord Ylon¡¯s breath caught in his throat, and the dragon choked.


    The immense creature reared back, coiling in on himself and clawing at his own chest ¨C the great green-bronze scales shifted at his command, iron-like flesh flowing aside to let him reach into his own ribcage ¨C


    Redgate was there in the void of the dragon¡¯s torso, a shadow slipping through the druid¡¯s innards. His gauntleted hands were currently reaching between the giant ribs, tearing chunks out of the throbbing, drumming heart beyond ¨C the sorcerer was absorbing or phasing-through the acid sloshing about him as he worked. Now that the chest cavity was open, the putrid stuff went spraying out into the air like horrid fountains, erupting from any number of lacerated organs.


    Even as Ord Ylon reached in he stabbed Redgate with a talon, piercing the sorcerer through ¨C but the titanic blade of a claw found no purchase on the champion¡¯s flesh. It was like a lance dipping into water; when the talon was pulled free, it left behind no effect in its target.


    Still, the sorcerer ripped at the dragon¡¯s vitals.


    ¡°Your anatomy is truly bizarre,¡± the sorcerer said conversationally. ¡°I shall have to devote some time to the study of it, afterwards.¡±


    ¡°For you there will be no afterwards!¡± Ord Ylon howled. ¡°Enough! This ends.¡±


    Phanar reached Kani¡¯s side and placed his hand on her shoulder, but without opening her eyes or ceasing her constant voiceless praying she just shrugged him away.


    Then he heard it, before the scent of it even came to his nostrils, seconds before the first of them started pouring from the tunnel behind them and bounding across the gold.


    The tide of dire wolves.


    We should have used another invisibility spell, he thought ruefully. At least Ibb¡¯s got his ring.


    And the wolves were not alone in responding to their druidic master¡¯s silent will. The cavern roof was suddenly alive, the darkness descending towards the dragon ¨C there were not thousands, not millions, but billions of insects dropping from above. The angry swarms were so densely-packed with wasps and beetles and flies that they seemed to be singular, separate living entities, a dozen or so of the thick, tangible clouds plunging down like fat black worms at Ord Ylon. At the champion.


    Phanar couldn¡¯t watch what happened to Redgate. His own challenge had been made clear ¨C the very same hounds whose teeth had closed upon his people¡¯s flesh.


    He would stand over the praying cleric, sell his life dearly in order to protect hers for as long as possible.


    Ismethyl, come. Heed my appeal. Give me the grips of your swords.


    The wolves came, and he looked out on them now without fear. This many of them, all at once ¨C there was no way they would survive this. The realisation brought only serenity, forcing the emptiness on him whether he wanted it or not.


    The withdrawal of the pack had been a trap, indeed; Ibbalat¡¯s instincts, and his own, had been right after all. These soldiers were being held back in reserve for the perfect moment to strike, hundreds of them, untouched, fresh and ready for the fight.


    Some were barking intelligible orders: whole regiments of the massive, snarling beasts were peeling away from the pack in practised wedges, each unit fanning out behind its howling leader. They did not move like wolves in the wild. They had been drilled like men, like a militia.


    Somehow that made it even easier, and he ran out to meet them. If he tried to stop them too close to her, they¡¯d both get crushed together. He might be able to buy her a few more seconds this way.


    The leader is the biggest one, Phanar said to himself, studying them in the three or four seconds he had left before that very leader crashed into him ¨C before they crashed into each other¡­ Before Phanar was chewed, trampled under the waves of rancid furred flesh.


    He studied their gait. He studied the looks in their eyes, the set of their jaws. The lengths of their bodies. Shapes of their skulls. The eye-sockets, ears.


    There were too many of them to study their number.


    He did study the cacophonous sound of the Ibbalat Special over on his left side, and the sharp rays of light splashing in at his surroundings from that direction. He studied the way he hoped Anathta was with Ibbalat, that they¡¯d found their way together in these last moments, as he had done with Kani.


    Yes, he studied that hope, and knew it was his way of saying goodbye.


    He couldn¡¯t look to his left, to check, make sure they were fighting side by side as they died. The dire wolf in front of him was opening its mouth, ten feet from him now, charging at full speed. The coins were singing under its paws.


    He studied his need to protect Kani at all costs, and it did not remove him from the emptiness ¨C it only exacerbated it. He¡¯d heard tales of the champion coated in ice, a wizard legendary in Mund ¨C he felt like that wizard must, covered in chills.


    I swallowed my ghost.


    The leader was eight feet away ¨C he met its eyes again ¨C


    That wolf, six feet from him, did not fear him ¨C


    No, the wolf four feet from him thought it would consume his head in a single powerful bite ¨C


    He knew better.


    The wolf two feet from him would consume the head of his hammer, pick-end first.


    The weapon clove down through its huge leathery tongue and split the magical beast¡¯s lower jaw open ¨C with a twist of his wrist Phanar reversed the motion, letting the upswing tear through the roof of its maw, up through its brain and out the top of its skull.


    It collapsed instantly but it was still being propelled forwards by its own momentum and that of its pack mates wedged behind it ¨C but it didn¡¯t matter; he leapt up on its shattered face even as it moved, onto its shoulders, assessing the two dire wolves immediately behind the dead leader, the exact positions of their heads.


    He couldn¡¯t waste time swinging left then right, taking two strikes to kill them, not when he was about to be borne under in less than a second ¨C he had to stay on top ¨C so he spun instead, trusting to the weight of his hammer when loosed in an arc to help him deliver the blows quickly-enough ¨C


    The pick entered the nostril of the first dire wolf and carried its scalp through the air, punching half its face into the back of the second wolf¡¯s head.


    Both of them ended up needing another blow to stop them struggling, but halting the momentum of the charge was his focus, and that much he¡¯d achieved. It was their fault, really, for putting the biggest, scariest ones up front. He was on a mound, created from the bodies of the three meanest dire wolves in the pack. The charge faltered, and the next ones to crash into him he slew faster, striking their throats, temples¡­ The more rapidly he moved, the more they missed him ¨C the faster he ended the threat they posed.


    Only once it was over did his mind look back, reflect on the carnage.


    The hammer¡¯s head stuck, buried inside one wolf¡¯s brain.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Flicking out the remaining anti-dragon daggers bound to his forearm in order to blind the next assailants.


    Spattering them in blood and bone-chips.


    Pain spreading up his thigh, jaws closing savagely about his leg.


    The sound of the beast¡¯s spine shattering as his under-swing missed its ear, hitting its neck instead, popping its head loose and killing it instantly.


    The warmth of Wythyldwyn¡¯s amber light emanating from his wound.


    Bearing down on them, howling at them louder than they howled back.


    It was only as the wolves became noticeably smaller that the battle-coldness began to dissipate, and he looked about in wonder ¨C he¡¯d gone through almost thirty of them, and these remaining, younger wolves had no anger left in their eyes ¨C they looked terrified.


    They weren¡¯t used to this. Usually when they died, Ord Ylon was free to heal them, keep them in the fray. Now their master was occupied, and their leaders were dead, never to return.


    He laughed, but couldn¡¯t hear his own laughter over the strangled screaming.


    Screams?


    It wasn¡¯t the wolves.


    Suddenly realising that an ear-splitting shriek was coming from behind him, he back-flipped off the corpse-hill, racing towards Kani before he even knew what he was doing.


    But he realised in less than a second that it wasn¡¯t her ¨C he¡¯d done his job, protected her ¨C she was still sitting there, deep in conversation with her goddess¡­ Over on what was now his right side, Ibbalat and Anathta were aloft, flying to evade the jaws of the dire wolves pressing at them even as they laid waste to them with ranged attacks.


    No, this was a voice he¡¯d never heard scream, never thought to hear in such distress.


    Redgate was lying before the dragon, rolling about on the treasure, the huge swarms of insects moving over him, through him. Ord Ylon was watching him, clawing at him experimentally.


    The demonic armour didn¡¯t appear to be protecting the sorcerer; the stinging things were pouring into the darkness covering his face, and he was writhing, his hands clenching and beating at the gold coins. His ghostly form was pulsing in and out, off and on again. If not for some hidden power extending his time on this plane, extending his suffering, the sorcerer would¡¯ve long since departed for the shadowland.


    His screams¡­


    The world hangs in the balance, Phanar thought. What are our souls, before the dragon¡¯s menace?


    Ord Ylon might¡¯ve been lying, but if there was even a chance he¡¯d been telling the truth about his plans¡­


    His mind finally made up, the warrior looked down at Kani, her enticing red curls hanging in her face, not disturbing her serene expression.


    How many times, he¡¯d longed to touch those curls, move them behind her ear ¨C cup her face in his hands, bring his lips to hers ¨C


    ¡°I am sorry, my Kani. To think, what you and I could have been¡­¡±


    He knew the remaining dire wolves would close on her, devour her. He knew that even now they would be pouring around the bodies of their pack leaders behind him.


    He knew it, and yet he had to sacrifice Kani to save Redgate. The emptiness afforded him that much sense, but the irony was not lost on him, abandoning a saint to rescue a murderer.


    He charged towards the dying archmage, the insects, the behemoth of a dragon.


    Air burned like fire in his lungs, and he breathed it deep, enjoying the pain it brought him, enjoying life for the final time. Gold coins beneath his boots granted poor purchase, yet he increased his speed with each footfall.


    When he judged the distance was correct he halted suddenly, cried, ¡°Azgalam!¡± aloud, and kicked the toe of his right boot against the heel of his left.


    The effect was instantaneous.


    The password triggered the magic coursing through his Boots of Unbelievable Leaping, instantly making them feel hot to the soles of his feet ¨C it would be hours before they cooled down, their magic ready to be used once more.


    Phanar had little doubt he would be dead long before that.


    He sailed high into the air ¨C fifty feet, a hundred, coming closer and closer to the stony ceiling ¨C had he misjudged it, he might¡¯ve ended up impaled there on the blade-like rocks protruding from the cavern¡¯s roof ¨C


    He landed on Ord Ylon¡¯s neck, the last effect of the boots¡¯ spells absorbing the impact, and as he set down his feet he drove the pick-end of his hammer into the thin gap between the scales.


    The paltriness of the damage he was able to cause to the behemoth was ludicrous. Still, even if he was like a gnat in comparison, the bite of his weapon was nonetheless painful to the druid ¨C half of the dragon¡¯s insects reacted to Phanar¡¯s presence right away, swarms moving almost automatically in concert, rising up to smash into him, flick this gnat from their master¡¯s flesh ¨C


    Ka-koom!


    Phanar shielded his eyes just in time as one of Ibbalat¡¯s fireballs crashed into the swarms, obliterating millions of the critters with a bright-orange explosion.


    But more and more rose up, in even thicker swarms than before ¨C some were beginning to get through, flying into Phanar¡¯s eyes, his mouth ¨C he smushed them against his skin by bashing his face into the greaves on his upper arms, growling, teeth clenched and lips firmly pressed together ¨C


    Desperately, the warrior twisted his hammer¡¯s haft, widening the hole his pick-end put in the softer flesh between the dragon¡¯s scales ¨C he felt the grating of ensorcelled steel against bone, and now Ord Ylon hissed in pain.


    At that very moment a crossbow-bolt, streaming silver fire, came flying unerringly out of nowhere ¨C from his vantage point Phanar couldn¡¯t tell where it landed, but given the trajectory and the dragon¡¯s thrashing reaction he guessed it¡¯d sunk into Ord Ylon¡¯s eye.


    The second set of insect-swarms missed Phanar, as his enemy entered a series of stomach-churning rolls. He did his best to maintain his position on the dragon¡¯s neck as Ord Ylon coiled, writhed and screamed. The warrior¡¯s world turned upside down, tipping him forwards and backwards, left and right ¨C one moment the scales were crushing in on him, and then in the next the floor was rising up at him ¨C


    Still, he clung on. He had his wrist through the hammer¡¯s thong; Ord Ylon wasn¡¯t making him let go unless he tore Phanar¡¯s arm clean off.


    The dragon raged, and the warrior heard more arcane attacks landing ¨C


    Kani? Kani! Are you alive, Kani?


    He couldn¡¯t see, couldn¡¯t check; he could only hold on, could only listen ¨C


    The buzzing in the air had died down ¨C the wolves¡¯ barking too ¨C


    Then suddenly the dragon froze, and Phanar found his footing once more, using his grip on the hammer to steady himself atop the curve of the dragon¡¯s neck.


    He could hear hacking laughter.


    He peered down, casting about for Kani in the chaos, but he couldn¡¯t see her ¨C


    Is she still behind the statue?


    He couldn¡¯t tell, and in front of the dragon ¨C


    Redgate was back on his feet, coughing in both pain and mirth ¨C and now he stood something like twenty feet tall. For just a few moments the huge archmage¡¯s very substance seemed to flicker violently: at first he appeared entirely black, a sorcerer-shaped void ¨C then entirely red, then white ¨C and then he simply vanished. At last, he resumed his previous crimson shadow-armour, and fell silent.


    While this went on, all about the champion the insects were falling limply from the air, separated from their wings that drifted slowly after them. Behind Redgate, tall orange flames walled off the wolves who hadn¡¯t yet fled the lair.


    Ord Ylon was panting ¨C not drawing in breath to spew acid, but actually panting ¨C and he seemed to be listening to the sorcerer¡¯s calm words, the wyrm¡¯s entire body frozen in shock at this turn of events.


    ¡°I must confess that initially I had thought to do this thing without recourse to summons, shields,¡± Redgate proclaimed, a bit self-contemptuously ¨C exactly to whom he was speaking was unclear, but Phanar got the impression it might¡¯ve been him. ¡°One must always strive to improve oneself, must one not? I regret that I have failed. No longer, however, am I disappointed. If a crude approach is required, who am I to gainsay fate? If I must break your spine to be done with you, so be it. There is, theoretically, no substance through which I cannot cut. While it lives. But you? I¡¯m going to pull your head off.¡±


    The archmage threw his arms wide, as if in greeting, crying out commands in some unknown tongue. An arc of dark colours sprung up out of nowhere in response, scarlet flames and purple fogs forming a circle around Ord Ylon ¨C


    Phanar looked down from his perch atop the dragon as eldritches came racing into the material dimension. Undead stepped forth in vast quantities, the purple mists pulsing again and again, disgorging more and more of the creatures; as his sister and Ibbalat had guessed, the orc tribes of the Obarsk Waste had been turned into Redgate¡¯s thralls. Hundreds of corpse-pale, skull-decorated warriors, both male and female, hurled themselves at Ord Ylon. Their crude axes and daggers were no match for the great wyrm¡¯s scales, but some of the fastest-moving orcs had eyes that glowed amethyst, burning far more fiercely than the others¡¯, and these orc-wights used their clawed fingertips to gouge deeper wounds than their blades could avail.


    Yet these were all distractions, meaningless marbles scattered at a foe¡¯s feet to trip them, make them falter and stumble. It was the demons ¨C the demons were what most seemed to cause the dragon pain. They were seemingly everywhere, not only on the ground but in the air, climbing over his body. Ord Ylon whipped left and right, raking through the fiends with his claws, crushing them to dust with heavy thumps of his tail, slicing at them with the tip.


    But he was still breathing heavily, moving with the frantic jerkiness that characterised panic, and it was all Phanar could do to keep holding on, riding the insane waves of Ylon¡¯s undulating body. Many of the hellspawn could not be raked, crushed, sliced. There were things that looked like men made out of mirrors, and when one of them was smashed two would rise, whole, from the pile of shards left behind. Other demons were simply made from hair or darkness, or even less-comprehensible substances. Ylon continually tried to stop a tendril-covered sphere of viscous yellow fluid, stamping on it over and over, but the ball went trundling on in spite of the huge claws shearing through its gelatinous body. It was throwing out its tendrils regardless, barbed hooks piercing the softer hide between the scales, burying themselves within the ancient flesh.


    A moment arrived when the dragon¡¯s head was low to the ground, chewing on the yellow jelly-demon, and Phanar took the opportunity to yank his pick free; he jumped down, rolling over his shoulder across the churning surface of the hoard. It was only then, turning back to look at Ord Ylon, that he recognised why the dragon-prince was so distraught.


    Firstly, Anathta¡¯s missile hadn¡¯t just pierced his eye ¨C it had destroyed it. Silver stuff was gouting forth from the blackened socket ¨C it was entirely possible the bolt was in his brain.


    He wasn¡¯t healing it.


    Probably worse, for the wyrm at least, the now-gigantic Redgate hadn¡¯t just summoned his minions around the dragon ¨C he¡¯d summoned them all over him. Inside him.


    The chest cavity was somehow still open, its edges burning with a greenish radiance; but inside the pit which contained the dragon¡¯s heart was a whirling maelstrom of crimson light. A demon in white armour was standing there in the gap, boots and gauntlets planted steadily to keep the flesh parted while imps poured out of the stick-man behind him, and allowing a horde of vampires to feast on the druid¡¯s tender innards.


    Then the sorcerer himself lunged forwards through the air, bringing his big plated fists crashing down into Ord Ylon¡¯s nose, taking advantage of the fact the dragon was distracted with the impossible-to-swallow demon he was chewing.


    Each one of Redgate¡¯s punches burst a scale, cracking it, releasing jets of putrid green pus ¨C but that wasn¡¯t why the wyrm started squealing, thrusting away, turning aside.


    No, it wasn¡¯t the strikes from the heavy metal gloves ¨C it was the sorcerer¡¯s other weaponry doing the damage. Phanar saw the sprays of acid-blood that came from the dragon¡¯s throat where Redgate¡¯s invisible razors cut into it. Over and over, new cuts were appearing, the fluid gushing out to consume the sorcerer¡¯s troops ¨C but neither Ord Ylon nor Redgate paid them any heed as the things screamed and smoked away into oblivion. The two impossibly-powerful entities were focussing on their contest.


    The dragon twisted, contorting, pressing himself up against the cavern walls in a futile attempt to rid himself of the demons infesting his body, shattering tons of stone in the process ¨C the sorcerer pursued, hurtling around and reversing direction effortlessly, as though he had attached himself by a cord to Ylon¡¯s jaw. All the while, the unseen weapons sawed into his opponent¡¯s neck, again and again.


    Then without warning the acid-blood stopped flowing, and Ord Ylon suddenly leapt for the ledge that would lead him out of his lair, up past the kobold-city and out into the chill mountain air.


    He no longer bears Redgate ill-will? He seeks to flee, not fight?


    It didn¡¯t matter ¨C Ylon¡¯s tremendous reach exceeded his tremendous grasp and, borne under by hundreds, perhaps thousands of the sorcerer¡¯s minions digging into his vitals, the dragon collapsed, a single claw resting on the ledge. His screaming ceased.


    Redgate¡¯s cold laughter replaced it, filling the air, and Phanar gritted his teeth against the sound of it, worse by far than the dragon¡¯s wailing.


    ¡°Come, now,¡± the sorcerer said gloatingly, hovering above the wyrm¡¯s stuporous head. ¡°Are you not in truth an Ord? Is it perhaps conceivable that you stole your wealth, fr-¡°


    The dragon raised his face and roared acid at the sorcerer, but it was a negligible amount ¨C much of his stores of the stuff had long-since been expended, spreading all around in pools, continuing to eat the stone and dissolve the treasure. The miniscule amount that splashed on the sorcerer hit an invisible barrier and turned into smoke.


    And, at the resurgence of ill-will, another series of devastating gashes appeared in the wyrm¡¯s throat.


    The severely-wounded dragon could take no more ¨C Phanar could see it in his posture, the desperation of his movements as he put forth a titanic effort, teeth gritted against the pain of the things crawling through his insides, and wrenched his vast belly up onto the ledge. Tail dragging, wings brushing the walls, he scrambled for the safety of the outdoors.


    ¡°This is most unsporting,¡± the titanic Redgate commented.


    The wicked wings came shooting from his shoulders, giving him the wingspan of a dire vulture ¨C then the sorcerer gave chase.


    As soon as Redgate departed, his remaining summons all charged after him as one, flying and leaping and climbing up the wall to reach the ledge.


    Then within two seconds there was a great cracking sound, a thunderous thudding coming from up the incline, shaking the ground, making the coins stir and hiss ¨C but Phanar paid it no heed. He had already fixed his purpose.


    ¡°Kani!¡± the warrior bellowed, spinning on his heel and sprinting towards the last spot he¡¯d seen her in, heedless of the gold moving beneath his feet ¨C in his mind¡¯s eye he could see the cleric lying there, spread-eagled on the gold in a puddle of her own blood, half-eaten, white-skinned¡­ But his mind¡¯s eye was a traitor, it could lie, it was designed only to look into the empty spaces ¨C


    He sensed the calmness entering his body even before he rounded the corner of the statue, then felt the smile spread on his lips when he saw her.


    She was still sitting there, still praying, while Ord Ylon was being destroyed somewhere just out of sight.


    ¡°Kani,¡± he gasped. Then, raising his voice over the din: ¡°Kani, please¡­¡±


    He didn¡¯t want to disturb her, but he couldn¡¯t let these seconds vanish into the emptiness. Not without his voice. Not without his affirmation. His words had to be birthed before they could be allowed to die.


    Yet throughout the battle ¨C and even now, while this apocalyptic tumult pounded at the cavern walls, the dragon and champion locked in deadly combat upon the slope ¨C she¡¯d been sitting here in a reverie, the Shield of Wythyldwyn tossed aside and her mace across her lap ¨C


    Her mace?


    Phanar looked down at the weapon, and his eyes widened in surprise. Where before it had been a thing of steely appearance, now it was blue and gold, the colours banded like a snake all up the length of the shaft and the heavy, spiky head.


    The heavy, spiky head that no longer looked like it¡¯d been melted down to slag.


    What in the name of Celestium¡­?


    He looked up as Anathta and Ibbalat arrived, crossing the treasure-lake with faces flushed by exertion.


    ¡°If I¡¯d known she could do that,¡± his sister shouted, eyeing the mace, ¡°I¡¯d have given her Toothdrill when it got all drillified.¡±


    Phanar glared at her. ¡°Not now, Ana!¡± He winced as another crack resounded down from the slope, shaking the whole lair.


    ¡°Oh, who cares, brother?¡± she yelled. ¡°We¡¯re dead. Why not enjoy our last seconds?¡±


    She turned, threw her arms around Ibbalat¡¯s neck, and kissed the mage forcefully.


    It took Ibb a few moments to come to terms with what was happening, to settle his arms around her.


    Phanar couldn¡¯t help but chuckle a little, then another resounding crash rocked the chamber.


    The rogue and mage broke apart, and she turned to face him.


    ¡°Since when do you call me Ana, anyway?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You two should run!¡± he cried, looking between Kani and his sister. ¡°It is you he wants most of all.¡±


    Ibbalat, still looking stunned from the impromptu kiss, was nodding wordlessly.


    ¡°But you know we won¡¯t,¡± Anathta remarked. ¡°Right, Kani?¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    The cleric¡¯s reply shocked all of them; the battle between Redgate and Ord Ylon was still continuing and it was so loud that at first Phanar thought his senses had to be deceiving him¡­


    But no. Kani was looking at him without the faintest hint of blushing on her cheeks, cool determination in her eyes as she rose to her feet.


    ¡°We¡¯re going nowhere,¡± the cleric went on, as though he needed clarification as to her meaning. She spoke in a steadfast voice, filled with holy fervour. ¡°The real battle¡¯s still ahead.¡±


    Her words heralded a cataclysm.


    At first they just shrank down, throwing their arms or hands over their ears to protect their hearing, trying to hold their brains steady while the whole world seemed to shake.


    It didn¡¯t take long ¨C perhaps thirty seconds.


    A vomit of rubble poured down over the ledge, carrying the limp-limbed wyrm on its wave then sliding him over the rim; he crashed down into the lair, landing unceremoniously on his back atop a pile of gems. The eldritches in his flesh were gone, but his legs and tail were flaccid, his head barely moving ¨C the burning eye was still aflame, while the other was closed. He was lying on his wings, trapping them in what looked to be a painful manner beneath his colossal weight, and for the first time the dragon-prince didn¡¯t look threatening. He just looked like an overgrown, dying lizard.


    Huge chunks of stone and gravel showered down on his titanic serpentine body, and he didn¡¯t react.


    But Phanar could not pity him, in spite of the evil mage who came drifting down after him. He could, however, pity the kobolds whose annihilated bodies protruded in pieces from the rubble ¨C a scaly tail here, a furred hand there¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid there¡¯ll be no escaping me, Ord,¡± the sorcerer murmured. His size was such that Phanar could make out his softly-spoken words, even from here. ¡°Not that way, at least.¡±


    He destroyed the city?


    But even as Redgate spoke the dragon seemed to put on a final burst of energy, wriggling over, burying his head in his hoard beneath him, attempting with sinuous motions to dive below the surface of the treasure ¨C


    Redgate stepped down from the ledge ¨C the sorcerer had grown again in stature, standing taller than a fire-giant ¨C and grabbed Ylon¡¯s twisting tail.


    The huge, shadow-red gauntlets gripped the dragon tight, the crimson armour clanking as Redgate braced his feet in the boulders and heaved back.


    Phanar watched with awed, terrified fascination as the dragon was dragged, bodily hauled back out of the gold.


    He watched, as those gauntlets plunged down into the trembling, steely flesh, then he could watch no longer. He closed his eyes, seeking the emptiness.


    But he couldn¡¯t help but listen, the sound reverberating across the lair, the dreadful cr-cr-cr-cr-crack, like an ancient tree being splintered in two.


    The ripping noise, the soft spatter of acid against rock walls.


    Redgate tore off Ord Ylon¡¯s head, and it was all over.


    It was beginning.


    * * *

 Old Wyrms Wrath pt8

    It was beginning. Phanar opened his eyes. He could feel it. For the first time since they¡¯d arrived in the lair, true silence had settled. There were now only a few seconds left before Redgate cast aside the gigantic head in his arms, and turned around to face them ¨C the demons were gone, but there was at least a hundred feet of distance between Phanar and the sorcerer ¨C would there be a better opportunity than this, or would acting now just get him killed sooner rather than later?


    He couldn¡¯t. Couldn¡¯t act. He had to feel. He had to say it ¨C


    He looked down, reaching for Kani¡¯s empty shield-hand, but she was already holding it out to him.


    He looked up into her eyes in surprise, then took it from her fingers, and nodded.


    ¡°Words will wait,¡± Kani breathed, ¡°in this world or the next.¡±


    He saw the tears in her eyes, mirroring his own.


    ¡°For us there will be no next world. I love you, Kanthyre Vael.¡±


    He heard the ringing slam of the Ord Ylon¡¯s skull as it was tossed unceremoniously aside.


    He slipped her ring onto his left hand, and ran like the wind towards his doom.


    He went in an arc, to come upon Redgate from the far side, heading for the boulders beyond the treasure-lake; as he darted he cast his gaze across at the sorcerer, at the others.


    Redgate was shrinking back down even as he floated into the air ¨C the wings and armour disappeared into the fabric of his flickering crimson robes. Then he reached up, removing his mask and throwing back his hood. He shook out his brown, sweat-soaked hair, and laughed lightly.


    ¡°That was, truly, worth the trip,¡± he called down to the dragon¡¯s severed head.


    Then the voice of the Sister of Wythyldwyn rang out. Its tone was cold and formal, but the terror couldn¡¯t be kept from it.


    ¡°You th-think I don¡¯t know what you are.¡±


    Redgate turned in the air and looked upon her, his curiosity plain. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are, Sister Vael. I must admit, you most of all your merry band intrigue me; it is you who most frustrates my inquiries¡­ It is you whose life might persist longest ¨C this will depend on the results of my experiments¡­¡±


    ¡°You think that I, I can¡¯t comprehend you. That you¡¯re somehow something special. Truth is, I¡¯m supposed to say you could¡¯ve been a shining light in a world filled with darkness. But don¡¯t deceive yourself. Those lights¡­ they still exist. You¡¯re just not one of them. And no. You never could have been. These are the powers in this world that work against the likes of you. You want to kn-know what I am? I am one such power.¡±


    ¡°You sound scared.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m terrified.¡± Suddenly, somehow, the fear seemed to leave her a little bit. ¡°That¡¯s okay. I¡¯m human.¡±


    ¡°Not for much longer.¡±


    ¡°Do you remember? What it was, to be human?¡±


    ¡°My dear.¡± Redgate floated closer. ¡°I was never merely human, not really.¡±


    Kani shook her head. ¡°You put something in me, when you brought me down from that ledge, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I cursed you, yes. I suspected you might interfere too early, you in particular. It¡¯s just an interesting element, a fragment of soul-poison from the shadowland, one of my de-¡±


    ¡°You should not put something inside a Sister of Wythyldwyn. Our bodies are inviolable. Necromancer. Warlock. Diabolist. We have names for your evils. You are not special. You are not above human. You are sub-human. We are¡­¡± She looked down at her mace. ¡°We are permitted to slay that which is sub-human.¡±


    ¡°Where is Phanar?¡± Redgate asked suddenly, spinning on the spot up there in the air, craning his neck around. ¡°Where are you, dragon-slayer?¡± Then, when the sorcerer couldn¡¯t immediately locate him, imps started pouring from a crimson flame beside him, bat-like fiends flapping through the portal by the dozen.


    Redgate gave them commands and the imps spread across the lair, but the warrior could instantly tell that his ring¡¯s magic was interfering with their senses: the lair was a big place, with lots of potential hiding-holes, and only a few of the demons had headed in his direction. They didn¡¯t seem to notice him whatsoever, even when he sprinted right below them, heading for their master.


    ¡°Dharikas,¡± he murmured, activating Kani¡¯s ring.


    ¡°Has he fled me? Fie, Phanar! Come out; unless you intend to stay hidden whilst I take apart your frien- oooof!¡°


    Phanar had no ranged weapon imbued with stronger magic than his hammer; despite the fact the archmage was floating ten, fifteen feet in the air, the warrior decided he had no other option.


    He bounded by, moving as fast as his thoughts could carry him, and when he passed beneath the sorcerer he lobbed the hammer at him with all his might.


    It spun, end over end, and the spiked point hit his enemy somewhere around the navel.


    Redgate recoiled, making a noise like he was being sick; as Phanar looked back he saw the sorcerer ripping the magical weapon from his gut and holding its bloody tip up before his face.


    ¡°An unfair strike,¡± said the Mundian icily; he did something to the hammer, holding it out and twirling it ¨C shadows seemed to consume it, and then the weapon was gone.


    Great, Phanar thought, ducking around another imp-patrol. He¡¯d lost both his spellbound weapons now ¨C his sword was stuck somewhere within the carcass of the dragon, while the gods only knew to which plane his hammer had been consigned.


    No matter, he told himself, reaching for his throwing-axe.


    Undead kobolds started to rise from the rubble ¨C he looked across as he ran, checking whether the others had noticed, and right then he saw as Ana raised her crossbow, two bolts loaded, strings poised to loose them at the sorcerer¡¯s heart.


    He saw her lips move, the double repetition, and he understood.


    One charge she¡¯d used to sink a shaft in Ord Ylon¡¯s brain. Two she¡¯d saved for this, the real threat.


    Her finger squeezed the trigger and, trailing the same silver flame, her bolts whizzed towards their target.


    At the same time, Redgate waved a hand lazily.


    The bolts rebounded from the shield around him, tumbling like a pair of twigs from a dead tree. Their lights dimmed, the two missiles fell trembling to the glinting ground.


    ¡°I checked, the day we met, when I held your ring,¡± the sorcerer called in a disappointed tone. ¡°There is about it not one thing to suggest your missiles can penetrate my shielding.¡±


    He sighed, then waved a hand again as he slowly floated towards them ¨C the shambling kobolds gathered in a loose formation behind them, blocking off any avenues of escape.


    ¡°You, Anathta, shall be my first. I shall attempt a vampire, I believe. Ibbalat, watch close; indulge your curiosity. I may require a little of your blood.¡±


    The mage answered him with a wand of lightning-bolts, stepping between Phanar¡¯s sister and the oncoming sorcerer. Every single one of the fierce sprays of energy he unleashed was scattered harmlessly across the sphere about Redgate ¨C a sphere that seemed to cover an even greater area than it had when Ana shot him ¨C yet Ibbalat steadily continued forward, placing his body in the way.


    ¡°No, Ibb!¡± Ana cried, grabbing him by the shoulder and jerking him back ¨C


    ¡°If he volunteers, my love,¡± the archmage murmured, ¡°it is of no concern to me. I can let you drink the Sister¡¯s blood. That could make an interesting concoction¡­¡±


    ¡°Why won¡¯t you die!¡± Ibbalat gasped, his despair and anguish palpable.


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


    Redgate was drawing ever-closer to them, smiling his murderous smile ¨C


    Phanar¡¯s throwing-axe ricocheted uselessly off the sorcerous barrier ¨C


    The lightning-wand gave out its final spurts ¨C


    ¡°Redgate,¡± Kani said, stepping up towards the others. As she moved in front of Ibbalat, Phanar noticed she¡¯d retrieved her shield, embossed with its holy golden rose, while the mage distracted the enemy. ¡°Don¡¯t presume to ignore me. There is something I remember.¡±


    There was a quality to the cleric¡¯s voice that Phanar couldn¡¯t immediately place. Even the archmage halted, looking down at her with a bemused expression on his face.


    ¡°And what, pray tell, do you remember, Sister? You must realise, you only sweeten this deed for me by prolonging it.¡±


    It was the clarity with which she spoke, and joy; such joy he hadn¡¯t really heard in her voice for so long¡­ not since the prophet of Kultemeren told the cleric her fortune.


    ¡°I remember, the feel of the rail in my hand. The feel of the light. And I remember, the smell of Chadoath in his hair, despite the smoke of your city¡­ I remember it all.¡±


    Phanar stopped running, heedless of how close he was, how the imps were still relentlessly hunting him. He stopped, and stared at the cleric.


    ¡°I remember you, necromancer, burning in the light of a thousand suns. Oh, but that hasn¡¯t happened yet, has it?¡±


    A sense of incontrovertible change filled the air, suddenly tangible, candlelight in a long-buried coffin.


    To his credit, the sorcerer reacted quickly, and not with his barbed words this time. From his current vantage point Phanar could see him clearly, if in profile, and his face frowned in sudden realisation. The atmosphere of change must have come to him as a sharp stab of terror, a certainty of danger: Redgate threw out both hands at her, the forces both seen and unseen at his beck and call, zombified kobolds and invisible shields and flames and fogs, all converging on the cleric¡­ monstrous things loomed like hills inside the portals, silhouettes taking shape, getting ready to crash down on her¡­


    ¡°Are you ready, Deadgate?¡±


    Kanthyre Vael, Sister of Wythyldwyn, raised her mace and then let it fall, smashing it into the hoard at her feet.


    An opaque sphere of bright, buttercup-yellow light erupted around her, maturing into amber as it swelled into a vast dome, occluding everything behind it and beyond it, growing with the speed of an explosion ¨C


    It struck Phanar before he could even react, though what he might¡¯ve done he had no idea ¨C it was like a wave of hot wind that passed him by, allowing him to marvel at what it left behind in its wake.


    Nothing. None of them.


    Blood-coloured flames, amethyst openings ¨C they guttered and evaporated. Kobolds dropped down dead again, falling into their own portals, as though their connection to the sorcerer had been severed suddenly. Whole hosts of imps were washed right out of the plane.


    And as for Redgate ¨C


    He fell from the air, landing with an all-too-solid thump.


    One of his hands rose weakly, the perfectly-ordinary sleeve peeling back to the elbow as he tried to gesture, open a doorway ¨C


    A single meagre line of lightning crackled from Ibbalat¡¯s wand as he stepped forward, scorching the sorcerer¡¯s fingers, slowing him by a thousandth of a second ¨C


    The still-not-quite-extinguished bolts that Ana had shot at him, lying on the stones with their silvery nimbuses, suddenly rattled, twisting about ¨C


    ¡°Dharikas!¡± Phanar grunted ¨C


    Red flames appeared around the sorcerer¡¯s fallen form ¨C


    The spellbound bolts found their trajectory, speeding off ¨C


    Phanar picked up his throwing-axe on the way.


    In the end, Redgate was almost half-gone from the dimension when the ensorcelled missiles found his heart, bursting it in a fountain of blood that splashed across both the treasure and the hell-world portal.


    Phanar sped up and struck his neck a savage blow from the left side, so that the head would fall into this plane. He wanted to stare at it. He would have to be certain.


    Ana would want to look at it too, he suspected.


    The murderer¡¯s head came free at a single blow ¨C Phanar had struck the neck a little too hard, given the imperfect balance of the throwing-axe when used for this purpose. He damaged the face, but it was better ¨C far, far better ¨C to be absolutely certain of the kill.


    He only believed it was really happening when the portal Redgate had been summoning faded, taking away the majority of his legs and one of his arms with it.


    The remains of the face had a strange, warring look frozen on its features, as the bloody thing went sailing through the air, spinning. A look of wide-eyed surprise, melded with the furrowed brows of intense concentration.


    It was him. He was dead, for sure.


    Air filled Phanar¡¯s lungs without him feeling the sensation of breathing in, then let itself loose in an incoherent yell of catharsis and celebration.


    He wasn¡¯t alone ¨C all four of them cried out and turned to each other, each of them wide-eyed, disbelieving.


    His gaze met Kani¡¯s, and her eyes were orbs of amber flame.


    When their lips met, he tasted the heat of that flame; their eyes closed, and when they opened again she was herself once more.


    ¡°What ¨C what happened to you?¡± he asked her huskily.


    ¡°I went to the Meadows of Mending,¡± she replied, and tears started to fall from her eyes then. ¡°He¡­ he did something to me, it would¡¯ve killed me before too long, and I had to¡­ I¡¯m sorry I was so distant, I ¨C¡±


    ¡°You did it!¡± he soothed her. ¡°You saved us all.¡±


    ¡°I never saw a greater-dispel used like that!¡± Ibbalat cried. ¡°I never actually saw a greater-dispel, at all, thinking about it, but ¨C¡±


    ¡°Kani!¡± Ana squealed, leaping at the cleric, throwing her arms around her.


    Phanar let them have their moment, embraced Ibbalat, thumped him on the back¡­


    ¡°Is it done?¡± the warrior asked his friend. ¡°Truly, is he gone?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s gone!¡± the mage choked, half-weeping. ¡°It¡¯s over, Phanar! They¡¯re both gone!¡±


    ¡°¡¯Deadgate¡¯?¡± Ana was scoffing, squeezing the cleric. ¡°Bit lame, Kani.¡±


    ¡°I was pressed for time,¡± Kani replied, smiling.


    ¡°Now as for those moonfrost missiles¡­ say I get them re-spellbound, call them Mundertaker One and Mundertaker Two¡­ Would we be even, then, or ¨C oof!¡±


    Kani tightened her hug, then, grinning, spoke over Ana¡¯s shoulder. ¡°There are rituals I need to perform. His spirit might still linger, and Ord Ylon¡¯s too. We need to be sure we send them on their way to Nethernum. With a bit of luck I can put them beyond the touch of even the greatest sorceries.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll prepare some disintegration while you¡¯re at it,¡± Ibbalat said excitedly, taking a few leaves of wane from his demiskin and shoving it into his mouth. ¡°Get us through the rubble, get us out of this stinking place. If I can clear enough we might be able to fly out, and then back down to the edge of the Waste on a single casting!¡±


    Ana had wriggled free of Kani¡¯s embrace; now her eyes lit up. ¡°I get to fill the demiskin!¡± she cried, ten times as excited as the mage.


    ¡°Gods¡­¡± Phanar looked around him, seeing it anew. ¡°So much wealth¡­ This is¡­¡±


    ¡°We go back to Tirremuir, buy up their whole supply of demiskins, come back¡­¡± His sister¡¯s greed was like a second personality, a feverish thing that took hold of her at times like these. ¡°We could empty it¡­ Might take a few months, but ¨C¡°


    ¡°No,¡± Phanar said forcibly. ¡°We take what we can, we go back to Mund.¡±


    ¡°Mund?¡± Kani blurted, turning her face to his.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think we should?¡± the warrior asked haltingly.


    ¡°No, I do!¡± the cleric replied, stepping closer to him and taking his hand. ¡°I thought you might not want to¡­ But we need to tell them, and we can¡¯t trust a messenger. This is news we can¡¯t let travel.¡± She looked around. ¡°The poor kobolds¡­¡±


    ¡°Tell them what?¡± Ibbalat said, ignoring the kobold comment. ¡°That he ¡®sought a Returning¡¯, or whatever?¡±


    ¡°Those whose lives were stolen you shall find for me,¡± the steel voice grates on. ¡°Their bones await you. Your city will be theirs for the reaping, when the time comes and all is put right in the world once more.¡±


    ¡°Mund itself is on the scales, is it?¡± the champion asks.


    ¡°Your entire fetid empire.¡±


    ¡°There is much they need to know,¡± Phanar replied heavily, then looked down at the treasure beneath his feet. Ord Ylon had been trying to bury himself in it ¨C were there other exits, other chambers down there? ¡°There are bones, skulls hidden here, somewhere¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes of course¡­ Kani ¨C can you find them?¡± the mage asked eagerly. ¡°We can destroy them, can¡¯t we? Maybe I can scry them out, now¡­¡±


    ¡°I could find them, but I won¡¯t,¡± she said. ¡°The Magisterium ¨C they¡¯re going to want to see this for themselves, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°We cannot let anyone we do not trust come here,¡± Phanar said. ¡°If a great arch-sorcerer could revive the dragon, or this¡­ thing,¡± he indicated the remnants of Redgate¡¯s corpse with his eyes, ¡°we cannot afford for this to happen.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡­ we bury it,¡± the cleric said with finality. ¡°All of it. Let the Magisterium clear it if they want, but we do what we can now. Keep the secret of this place in our hearts till the grave.¡±


    Ana was knee-deep in a puddle of gems and tiny bars of electrum; still, she turned and glared at Kani, clearly offended. ¡°You mean¡­ bury all this gold?¡± Her voice was low, incensed.


    ¡°Ibbalat.¡± The cleric looked at the mage. ¡°You understand, don¡¯t you?¡±


    The mage looked between the cleric and the rogue, then sighed. ¡°Ana ¨C¡°


    ¡°I get it!¡± she snapped, returning to her task, pouring stuff into the demiskin. ¡°I don¡¯t see why we can¡¯t just send Derezo to Mund with the message ¨C it is his homeland, after all ¨C or send Derezo back here while we take it, or whatever ¨C and I swear, this much money, it would be enough to buy Mund, if we just¡­ had the time to¡­ and Phanar¡­ needs new weapons¡­ oooh, a dagger¡­¡±


    Her voice continued on, getting quieter and quieter as her attention became ever-more absorbed in her meticulous work, assessing the weight and value of the items her hand passed over.


    Behind her back, the other three were smiling. Phanar nodded to Kani and Ibbalat, who sat down cross-legged next to each other ¨C the cleric was closing her eyes in prayer, the mage pulling out a spellbook.


    Once everyone else was preoccupied, he turned away from them, so that he could view both the corpses.


    There were hundreds of bodies in here ¨C kobolds, dire wolves ¨C but only two of them mattered.


    Redgate. Ord Ylon.


    He looked upon them again, and felt for the first time the lifting of the veil that had swaddled his soul, blinding him to the light of freedom.


    Freedom.


    The clouds of time parted and the starlight fell through between the worlds he¡¯d walked. The sky¡¯s seas rippled, the desert beneath groaning.


    The shape in the sand. The dragon, looming over him.


    Dead. Dead, at last.


    Perhaps we both were prophesied, he realised, turning to look back at his sister. Perhaps we were always destined to do it together.


    It might¡¯ve been that her bolts ¨C Mundertaker One and Two, he thought with a smile ¨C would¡¯ve done the job without him. Without Redgate, even. If she¡¯d put both them in Ord Ylon¡¯s other eye rather than saving them, put them in the dragon¡¯s brain, who was to say what might¡¯ve happened?


    Bringing Redgate might¡¯ve been a mistake all along, from every angle.


    He sighed, watching her counting her coins.


    But now, we are free. Both of us. All of us.


    We swallowed our ghosts. We crossed the sand. We smashed the hourglass and remade it in starlight. We walked every way. We took every path. We found our future.


    And we became it.


    * * *

 Old Wyrms Wrath pt9

    Phanar stood behind Kanthyre at the prow of the Dremmedine, his arms around her, her hands on his, as moonlit tides brought them in to Salnifast-by-the-Sea. Ulfathu¡¯s steady hand was on the wheel. Ibbalat and Anathta were in the crow¡¯s nest ¨C depending on which of them he asked, they were either going up there to get a better view of the port-town as they approached, or to better-effect a wind-spell, bringing them into the harbour more quickly¡­ He knew they were both lying, and had to hide his smile twice.


    He hadn¡¯t been wrong, that day in Ord Ylon¡¯s lair, looking down on both their corpses. This newfound freedom was a bliss for the soul that he¡¯d never known might exist. Days and nights were a whirl of luxurious potential, a blank plenitude of existence that fascinated him. He could settle down somewhere with Kani ¨C but he didn¡¯t have to. He didn¡¯t have to do anything. They could go together, anywhere, anywhere in the world. He could just live. Be himself.


    One final hurdle ¨C the magisters of Mund. A little blip on the open, empty horizon.


    It was, therefore, with some alarm that he spotted the shape winging its way across the silver-lit bay towards the ship.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Kani asked at once, drawing herself up, hand falling to the empty mace-loop on her belt out of habit.


    ¡°A sorcerer,¡± he said in a tone of agreement; when she stiffened, he continued softly, ¡°but a champion, I think.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know that!¡± she barked, stepping free of his hold on her. ¡°And what about our last ¡®champion¡¯?¡± She raised her hand up to the sorcerer and suddenly there was a glob of whitish, silvery fire in her palm. ¡°Who are you?¡± she called immediately across the waves. ¡°What do you want with us?¡±


    ¡°Is he dead?¡± the sorcerer cried back.


    ¡°Which one?¡± Phanar butted in, stepping up beside Kani to the very rail, folding his arms.


    ¡°Redgate!¡±


    ¡°He is dead,¡± the warrior confirmed.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Ana muttered from behind him.


    He turned and saw her just a few paces away; Ibbalat was still clambering down the rigging halfway along the ship.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± the warrior said. ¡°Don¡¯t be troubled.¡±


    He turned back. The sorcerer was dropping closer, and he did indeed seem a little less intimidating than Redgate. His robe was not blood-red ¨C he was clad instead in greens and purples, accented with blues and greys, the outer layer covered in little grinning mouths. The mask he wore was no spider-face but a confident, smiling satyr with curving horns. The six wings at his back were gossamer-nimbuses of blue light.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead? You¡¯re certain?¡±


    The champion hovered down over the sea-serpent figurehead at the front of the ship, then came to hang just ten feet from them, matching pace with the wind and looking from the trio over to Ibbalat as the mage ran up.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Kani asked again in reply. ¡°Are you Redgate¡¯s ally?¡±


    ¡°Gods, no!¡± the sorcerer said. ¡°My name¡¯s Feychilde. Timesnatcher basically gave Redgate a death-sentence. I¡¯m told he was a bit of a bad egg. I actually saw you once ¨C well, one of you ¨C in a shop ¨C¡±


    ¡°Have you got, oh, about three days, Feychilde?¡± Ana grated. ¡°¡¯Bad egg¡¯ isn¡¯t even close. As to his death¡­¡± Of course, she had the two bolts to hand ¨C she drew them from her pouch, showed them to the champion. ¡°I pulled the Mundertakers out of his heart myself. What little there was of it.¡±


    ¡°Mundertakers?¡± Feychilde repeated, sounding a little awed.


    ¡°They could do with a bit of a re-ensorcellment,¡± the rogue went on. ¡°Feel like offering special rates to some adventurers who¡¯ve just rid the world of two super-massive evils? We¡¯re broke after shelling out for all our gear.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ broke. The slayers¡­ of Ord Ylon¡­ are broke.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Ana pointed a finger at the archmage. ¡°Them stories, they¡¯re just stories, you know! You think we¡¯d be coming back here in the same boat ¨C in the same gods-cursed clothes ¨C if we just found a lake of shining platinum and electrum, a¡­¡±


    Her voice dropped away suddenly. Keeping the existence of the hoard a secret was the only way they¡¯d got Anathta onboard with them burying the place, in the end. If she wasn¡¯t pillaging it, no one was. If the Magisterium wanted to send some people off to explore the caves, it would have to be for the right reasons¡­


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    And now here she was, dropping herself in it already. Her money-brain really was like a completely separate entity, incapable of rational thought.


    ¡°Riiiiiight.¡± Feychilde¡¯s grin, visible beneath the covering, matched his mask¡¯s cheeks. ¡°Look, if that¡¯s your story I¡¯ll go with it ¨C whatever. And I¡¯ll happily trade you spells for information. My friends,¡± he gestured at one of the docks the Dremmedine was heading towards, ¡°the champions of Mund, I mean, are eager to have a chat. I just volunteered to pop over and check we didn¡¯t have a fight on our hands, if you follow me.¡±


    ¡°This is why we have returned to your city,¡± Phanar replied. ¡°To bring you information. There is much the Magisterium needs to hear.¡±


    ¡°I was afraid you were going to say something like that.¡± Feychilde frowned. ¡°You see, while you¡¯ve been off dealing with Ord Ylon ¨C massive thanks from, like, everyone in the world for that, by the way ¨C we¡¯ve kind of been busy dealing with his cousin, who, it turns out, has been here for years. We¡¯ve just got rid of her tonight, but my friends are sure there¡¯s more to it ¨C if she comes back we need to be ready, but they can¡¯t see beyond a certain barrier¡­ I¡¯m sure they can explain it better than I can¡­¡±


    Phanar tuned out the champion¡¯s words. Feychilde was explaining things, important things ¨C archmage-twins, Tyr Kayn, an enchantment placed on the magic-users of Mund ¨C but the warrior could pick up what he missed later.


    It is not over. There is no freedom to be found, no end to the trials. There is only struggle, until there is death ¨C and even then, the ending can be made bittersweet, an eternal servitude¡­


    He felt the despair enter his heart.


    For a moment, just a moment, he tuned it all out and entered the emptiness.


    It awaited him still.


    The dragon in the sand.


    The prophecy.


    ¡°¡­ chance she and Ord Ylon were working together, for some reason, towards some mysterious goal ¨C¡°


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± Phanar said, interrupting and raising his hand palm-outward in apology. ¡°Are you saying that, until tonight, Tyr Kayn resided in your city?¡±


    The champion nodded, staring at him.


    ¡°Then until this matter is settled, we too shall reside here,¡± the warrior decreed. ¡°It is our path ¨C it is Anathta¡¯s path,¡± he looked at his sister solemnly, ¡°to fight these creatures, wherever they are to be found. As to our story¡­ Let us wait until we are with your friends. It shall be long in the telling. We will not want to tell it twice.¡±


    ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± Ibbalat said with a smile. ¡°Best story of my life. I¡¯ll be telling it till I¡¯m ninety.¡±


    He¡¯d been practising showing the encounter with his glamours, but he was still having trouble erasing the ridiculous amount of treasure from the illusory lair ¨C the existence of the Ord¡¯s hoard was just too ingrained in his mind, apparently.


    ¡°Let us hope¡­ that this is the case.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Kani asked, putting her hand on his arm.


    Phanar withdrew with his beloved to the starboard rail, leaving Ibb and Ana at the prow to regale Feychilde with the highlights of the fight.


    ¡°What is it?¡± she asked again once they weren¡¯t going to be overheard.


    The concern in her voice touched him, and he kissed her head as he drew her into his arms.


    ¡°It is nothing.¡±


    ¡°Phanar¡­¡±


    ¡°It is¡­ only a small thing.¡±


    ¡°Tell me. Speak to me, Phanar¡­¡±


    He drew a deep breath.


    ¡°I¡­ I fear we will never be there ¨C in the future I have always hoped for, for us¡­ I fear we will be fighting until the day we die. I fear we¡­¡± He swallowed and it was like he choked down a rock, hurting his throat and the top of his chest. ¡°I fear we will not die together, and I will live on without you ¨C or die, knowing you must live, live without me ¨C¡°


    She tilted her chin up, bringing her face to his, and kissed his lips deeply.


    ¡°Let the darkness swallow me,¡± she said softly when she broke away, her eyes still closed. ¡°I offer it all up, myself, freely. I lift my voice to the night and it is the light that sweeps down over me. The light, Phanar. Do you know what it tells me?¡±


    He shook his head. He didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°That we have to surrender, without shame. There¡¯s no fighting fate, my dear one. That day, in his lair¡­ I gave up. I told myself I wouldn¡¯t, that I¡¯d stay strong, but when my mace broke it brought it all home, you know. We were going to die¡­ or worse¡­¡±


    ¡°Kani ¨C¡±


    She tossed her head and continued: ¡°So I communed again. I spoke with my goddess. I didn¡¯t understand. How could I die, without knowing what it was to be in your arms? Then the Maiden ¨C she showed me how I would live. How we could win. There was just one price.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Price?¡±


    She smiled in answer. ¡°I had to accept my destiny, conquer my fears. My vows ¨C I had to promise to break them.¡±


    ¡°Break them? But, your power ¨C¡±


    ¡°I still possess it, yes.¡± The cleric blinked, and suddenly her eyes flashed amber for a second. ¡°What we¡¯re taught doesn¡¯t always correlate exactly to the truth. The Maiden¡­ She¡¯s less interested in chastity than she is¡­ well¡­¡±


    ¡°Love?¡± he guessed.


    She just smiled again. ¡°I didn¡¯t understand my vows, not until I knew I had to break them¡­ It doesn¡¯t matter. What¡¯s important is, sometimes we get what we want when we least expect it.¡± She regarded him, staring into his eyes for long seconds. ¡°Do you really think you would be happy? Giving up this life, becoming¡­ what would you even want to do?¡±


    ¡°I could train others¡­ The adventurers of tomorrow¡­¡±


    Even as he said it, he knew it sounded, to use Ana¡¯s term, ¡®lame¡¯.


    ¡°And how long would that last? Your favourite pupil gets in danger ¨C do you save them? There¡¯s a raid on a nearby village ¨C do you back them up? You hear of a powerful magical item in a nearby crypt ¨C do you leave it for the local darkmages to find? If ¨C¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± He folded her more-tightly into his arms. ¡°I¡­ Yes. You are right, of course. You are always right.¡±


    ¡°Can I get that in writing?¡±


    ¡°You have been spending too much time with my sister¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve grown a little closer,¡± Kani agreed, smile splitting into a grin.


    She leaned in to him, tightening her own embrace about his chest, and he put his chin on her head, as though to pull her into himself.


    They stood there, looking out over the darkness of the sea as, behind them, they drew ever-closer to the shoreline.


    ¡°The Maiden had just one stipulation,¡± Kani murmured.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Did I forget to mention? You¡¯re going to have to return my ring ¨C or get me a new one.¡±


    He took a few seconds, processing her words, then breathed, ¡°Will you marry me, Kanthyre Vael?¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you been listening? It¡¯s my fate,¡± she replied nonchalantly, shrugging. ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve got a choice.¡±

 Convergence

    <h2>PROLOGUE 3: CONVERGENCE</h2>


    ¡°Such misled men and women have my pity, but I cannot ascribe anything more than my pity to their misbegotten doctrines. The world is wider and more plentiful than their imagining. They are victims of systems of control that have aligned their eyes to woe, systems that have constrained the flow of bliss. When all the moisture you have is sucked from a sponge you will not want to share. Yet these systems are in their hands and none shall play the game. It would require a minimum of effort from each concerned citizen to change the world. And this is, of course, asking too much.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Maiden¡¯s Way¡¯ recordings, Ismethara 945 NE


    It was nine days till Yearsend ¨C just fourteen days till the year 999 would begin. Most winters, this would¡¯ve been a time of slowly-building excitement. As the city¡¯s activity ramped up towards the festive period, her small, one-bed flat would begin to fill with presents and gifts until they started spilling out of their hiding places ¨C a box wouldn¡¯t quite fit under her bed, or she wouldn¡¯t be able to close her wardrobe door all the way to. There was a magic in Mund at Yearsend, something beyond the magic of spells ¨C something she hadn¡¯t witnessed anywhere else. The soft voices of the choirs singing at the Time Trees in the squares at dusk, the illusionists and entertainers plying their trades on every corner, the snow-monsters that were marched day after day down the Hill Road to the river for the crowds to gawp at¡­ drinks at the Mare, going over the latest intricacies of divination with the few people who could understand the arcane vocabulary in use¡­ No, she had never cursed her choice to stay here, until today.


    She received the letter from Mummy and Daddy when she got in from work, the courier dutifully appearing in the predawn darkness not five minutes after she returned from her shift in the Lounge of Seercraft. Mummy and Daddy never wrote letters together, yet they¡¯d both signed the missive, and she could tell which paragraphs had been dictated by whom. The flowing script of Havvers, Daddy¡¯s manservant, never deviated, the old butler¡¯s penmanship perfect as ever. Her governess had taught her to read yet it¡¯d been Havvers who taught her to write ¨C she¡¯d know his cursive strokes anywhere. But the content of the letter ¨C it had shaken her. No vision had shown her this.


    It wasn¡¯t so much the tone ¨C not in Daddy¡¯s paragraphs, at least. Mummy was a bit harsher, but Tialya could tell they both still loved her, just wanted her to come home and assume her duties, use her spells to help grow the vineyard-business, help manage the estate¡­ Mummy couldn¡¯t comprehend why Tialya wanted to stay in ¡®such a vile place¡¯ as Mund; Daddy could, it appeared from the next few sentences, though he referred to Mund as though it were a trap designed to snare the unwary ¨C and it seemed that despite his ambivalence he¡¯d been swayed by Mummy into lending this letter his authority, this request that she give up her ¡®childish dream¡¯ and get herself on the way back to the manor.


    It was Daddy¡¯s closing remark, the warmth and straightforwardness with which it had been dictated and the harsh news delivered, that made her feel sick. She reached for the sheaf of papers on her cluttered desk, found it under a pile of last year¡¯s tomes and trinkets, and read the final passage again by the candlelight:


    ¡®We understand the appeal of the big city, the continuing bloom of youth¡¯s innocent friendships and loves, shared experiences which only Mund¡¯s savage conditions might foster in its victims. We understand that your inability to secure for yourself a further appointment within the Maginox must smart, and your intention to reapply next summer is admirable, displaying the same commitment we have come to expect of our celebrated daughter. Yet if it is in your heart to become a woman and to be treated as such, we must, without disappointment but with regret, withdraw your stipend. Should this measure prove sufficient to bring you back to the loving arms of your parents, we hope you will join us in not seeing it as an evil; and should this measure fail, it will prove to both you and your parents the courage of your convictions. We wish you a joyous Yearsend, and¡­¡¯


    They were so wrong, and so right. Friendship and love ¨C what did Tialya have of that? All her colleagues who¡¯d graduated with high marks had gone on to pursue their careers, and it¡¯d taken just a few weeks ¨C in some cases, days ¨C for her former friends and classmates to start ignoring her. Those acquaintances who¡¯d obtained marks like hers had almost all opted to abandon the city and return to their homelands ¨C certainly none of the people she¡¯d been close to for the past few years had decided to hang around Mund like she had, a leech feeding off the dead dog¡¯s corpse¡­ Friendship, she¡¯d found, was a flighty thing, a loose bond born of convenience, destined to die the same way. Not since she arrived in the city had she met a single person wiling to just talk to her, not without there being something in it for them to gain. Of her childhood companions back home, Tialya¡¯s family alone had the wherewithal to send their offspring to Mund for mage-schooling ¨C and of those she¡¯d left behind, letters had informed her three were already married; Geselle was already expecting her second child¡­


    Too much had changed. Too much, to return home, to that place, those people. It couldn¡¯t be done.


    But she wouldn¡¯t be able to afford even this crummy apartment, not without Mummy and Daddy¡¯s funds supplementing her income. Those three, agonising words that Havvers had underlined, presumably at Mummy or Daddy¡¯s instruction: ¡®withdraw your stipend¡¯. She¡¯d have to move, probably right out of Oldtown¡­ There were areas in the Lowtowns that weren¡¯t too rough, weren¡¯t there? If she could pick up some reagents at the end of their shelf-life on the cheap, she could use her divination to help ¨C she would find somewhere¡­ It would just mean a longer trip into Hightown to get to work each evening¡­


    She looked around her room, nibbling on a biscuit she¡¯d brought from the Maginox.


    No presents poking out from under the bed this year. No nicely-boxed gifts, no piles of books or clothes, no toys or jewellery. There was no one to buy anything for. Not anymore. And it wasn¡¯t like there was the money to do so, now. She¡¯d have to sell half the things she owned, in all likelihood, just to get a deposit together for a new place¡­ Everything but the books¡­ She¡¯d have to find something else to do, a second job to supplement her paltry Maginox salary¡­


    Tears fell down the young woman¡¯s face, tears of frustration and despair, but she kept gnawing at the biscuit regardless, only really noticing she was crying when her mouth informed her that the biscuit was soggy.


    She sat down on the bed, threw the remnants of the food onto the floor, and watched the crumbs skitter across the boards.


    At least she was still alive ¨C at least she hadn¡¯t taken the waywatcher position and died in the heretic attack, like poor Hinnefer. Rellie, one of the few remaining contacts from last year¡¯s class willing to give Tialya the time of day, had informed her that Najraine, Rellie¡¯s mother, had only just survived the onslaught when the library was surrounded. Hinnefer ¨C Nefie ¨C hadn¡¯t been in the job long, and she¡¯d charged a group of heretics under the effects of a haste-spell, against Najraine¡¯s orders.


    There¡¯d been no corpse left to bury, apparently ¨C the girl was consumed by lightning right in front of Najraine.


    That could have been me.


    But it hadn¡¯t been. By some twist of fate, she¡¯d reneged on the opportunity ¨C she wrote-off the money she¡¯d spent preparing for the challenges of the new role, and went straight back to work in the Lounges under Zakimel¡¯s oversight. She supposed she had only her own fear of failure to blame, but that fear had protected her, taken her out of harm¡¯s way.


    Leaving her here. Alone, days before Yearseve, with no one to keep her company, no one to share the holiday with. No one to buy presents for, or to receive them from.


    Perhaps it would¡¯ve been better if I stayed. If I were dead, at least I wouldn¡¯t be sitting here with all this¡­ nothing.


    The thought was comforting, even as it was disturbing.


    She fell back onto the bed, grabbed the nearest book ¨C a heavy tome bound in black leather ¨C and curled up on top of the covers, hugging the thousand-page text like a pillow.


    She stayed that way, even after the candlelight died, replaced by the grey gloom of morning sliding through the curtains ¨C she stayed that way, until she cried herself to sleep.


    * * *


    ¡°Tia!¡± a voice called out softly.


    She looked across the waiting room in surprise, then found the familiar face staring at her. There was sweat on his forehead despite the lack of warming-spells in the small chamber, and the usual broad smile on his lips.


    She moved towards him ¨C he had an empty seat beside him.


    Tialya didn¡¯t like talking in places like this ¨C everyone else seated in the cramped cube was silent, but social etiquette forced her to respond. She murmured: ¡°M-Movaine, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Call me Moav, everyone does.¡± His smile only broadened, and he squished up towards the guy on the other side of him, pulling his robe tight against his leg and side so she could sit down next to him without feeling intimidated by his considerable mass.


    She pondered staying stood-up ¨C she would¡¯ve vastly preferred to, quite honestly ¨C but there was that damnable social etiquette again, along with the natural paranoia that would accost her if she were the only one on her feet in the place¡­


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing here, Moav?¡± she whispered once she squeezed in beside him.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Same thing you are, I expect.¡± His eyes twinkled as he studied her. ¡°Hey, you haven¡¯t quit too, have you?¡±


    ¡°Quit? Oh ¨C so that¡¯s why I haven¡¯t seen you in a while?¡±


    ¡°That business with the heretics¡­ You were there?¡± He read the answer in her face and shuddered, the rolls of his belly jiggling. ¡°It was rough. When my parents found out just how rough, they insisted I find a new source of employment. Not that you¡¯ll hear me complaining.¡± Movaine sighed theatrically, gesturing at the other applicants sitting all around them. ¡°Hence me being here.¡±


    Tialya voiced her own fears, only brought into sharp relief by her abortive attempt at waywatching: ¡°But is it really going to be any safer, on gate-duty?¡±


    ¡°Peasants who barely speak fifty words of the lingo, trying to sneak into the city without the proper paperwork.¡± Movaine raised one hand. ¡°Insane darkmage heretics.¡± He raised the other, then wobbled both hands up and down as if they were on the scales. ¡°I think I know which I¡¯d choose.¡±


    Tialya noticed the smartly-dressed woman opposite them staring at Movaine, but she stopped and looked away the moment Tialya spotted her.


    ¡°They tried reassuring me it was safe when I tried out for the waywatcher position,¡± she whispered. ¡°Look how that turned out.¡±


    Movaine snorted, and at least five heads swivelled in their direction ¨C Tialya lowered her eyes in embarrassment but Movaine didn¡¯t seem to mind.


    ¡°Well, they are gonna tell you that, aren¡¯t they?¡± He was smiling again. ¡°This is different, I¡¯m sure. I damn-well hope¡­¡±


    The doorway to the antechamber banged open, and a hooded woman stuck her head around the corner.


    ¡°Movaine Idelmas!¡± she cried in a far-too-loud voice.


    ¡°Guess that¡¯s me,¡± he said, waving at the hooded woman whose head swiftly disappeared back through the doorway.


    Tialya drew to one side of her seat, keeping out of the way of his arms as the big lad took his time finding his feet.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± she said, attempting a reassuring smile.


    ¡°Hey, thanks,¡± he said in a surprised tone of voice. ¡°You too.¡±


    His smile always looked genuine, honest ¨C now it looked almost dreamy on top of that. He stood in front of her, gazing down at her creepily.


    ¡°Er ¨C don¡¯t you have somewhere to be¡­?¡±


    ¡°To be¡­? Oh!¡± He turned on his heel, waving at her over his shoulder as he practically skipped into the interview room. He didn¡¯t seem to care about the fact everyone else in the room was glaring at him as he crossed the floor.


    By the time the hooded woman stuck her head around and cried, ¡°Tialya Grover!¡± most of the room¡¯s occupants had been cycled through ¨C there seemed to be no shortage of graduates in her position, desperate for work around the holiday period.


    She quietly stood, then picked her way between the out-thrust legs and nervously-tapping feet of her rivals.


    ¡°Tialya¡­ Grover¡­¡± The second woman, already sitting behind the pine-wood desk with papers scattered everywhere in front of her, didn¡¯t even look up as Tialya entered. No handshake. ¡°Come, sit down, Miss Grover. I¡¯ve got your records here ¨C exemplary, actually, which is a little surprising considering your grades¡­¡±


    The other, hooded woman closed the door behind her. She was trapped.


    Tialya slid into the indicated chair like a snake. The door opposite, in the wall behind the desk ¨C that was her exit, her escape route. She just had to get through this conversation, this torture-episode, and she¡¯d be able to walk out through that door, leave behind all this stress and strain¡­ Why exactly had the vision told her to go for this job again?


    ¡°My g-grades¡­ A-about that¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, we aren¡¯t worried about your scores. Quite the opposite. The progress dossier is impressive.¡±


    Tialya focussed her eyes on the woman for the first time. Her interviewer was short with shoulder-length greying hair, and wore a dark green suit, somewhere between a mage¡¯s robe and business dress, with the Magisterium wheel on the left side of her chest. Her fingers moved ceaselessly over the paperwork ¨C she didn¡¯t meet Tialya¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Im-impressive?¡± She didn¡¯t even know she had a progress dossier ¨C she¡¯d heard of them before, but she¡¯d never realised she warranted something like that. She looked down, but she wasn¡¯t able to read the writing, certainly not upside down ¨C


    The woman¡¯s sudden smile was disarming.


    ¡°Yes, Miss Grover, impressive. I think we can dispense with the assessment.¡± She very noticeably slid half the paperwork to one side. ¡°Tell me about yourself, Miss Grover. What do you like to do with your free time?¡±


    She picked up her pen, tapped it in the inkwell, and prepared a fresh sheet to write upon.


    Tialya got the impression this was supposed to be an easy question, but she almost would¡¯ve preferred the ¡®assessment¡¯, whatever that involved.


    She opened her mouth but the deceptions just refused to start flowing.


    What do I say? I like reading? Well of course I like reading, there¡¯s not going to be a single candidate who doesn¡¯t ¨C what can I say to set me apart from the others? I like socialising? Ha! I like, what, swimming, running¡­?


    ¡°Miss Grover¡­¡°


    The interviewer suddenly sounded tired, bored, lowering the pen back to the inkwell ¨C Tialya loosed an involuntary croak, realising she¡¯d taken too long ¨C


    ¡°Miss Grover, you are capable of producing a solid future-line reading, are you not? Long-term danger evaluation?¡±


    Tialya leaned forwards, blurting, ¡°Of course! I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Then we look forward to seeing you the day after tomorrow.¡± The woman started scribbling. ¡°Your induction will begin at seven ¨C in the morning ¨C please don¡¯t be late.¡±


    The girl turned, looking between the two women, confused. ¡°I ¨C it¡¯s over?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got the job,¡± the hooded one said brusquely, ¡°now could you please move along? I have to call in the next applicant, and if we can hurry things up¡­?¡±


    She left the question hanging, and Tialya vacated her chair like it was on fire, grabbing her things and moving around the desk ¨C in her excitement to be free of the interview, she pulled open the exit-door so hard it swung too far, banging against the wall.


    ¡°Sorry!¡± she yelped, freezing in the doorway, unsure whether she should just leave, or stay and ensure that she hadn¡¯t damaged ¨C


    ¡°Seven in the morning, Miss Grover!¡± the interviewer repeated without looking up.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ¨C I¡¯ll be there.¡±


    She closed the door behind herself with excruciating care, then leaned back against it and loosed an explosive breath.


    * * *


    Her stupid body-clock woke her around five and there was no sense in going back to sleep when she had such a protracted wagon-ride in front of her. In the end she arrived so early she could¡¯ve walked from Firenight Square ¨C this section of Treetown was apparently so ¡®rife with degenerates¡¯ from beyond the gate that it was heavily policed, and even in the early-morning darkness she would¡¯ve felt safe with so many watchmen about. When they neared the gate Tialya spent a mystified moment looking up over the huge fortifications, luxuriating in her mystification. A new sight was rarely to be found after so long in magic-laden Mund.


    Of course, the dozens of ominous cuboid shapes which moved darkly over the walls against the brightening sky ¨C they were nothing more than crates filled with product, wrapped in wind-spells¡­


    She spoke to the warden, and was pointed to the induction hall. She found a desk in the globe-lit room, and as she placed her bag securely between her feet, she almost felt as though she were back in a seminar at the Maginox, ready to absorb some ancient lore, master arcane subtleties, mind-states and concepts the likes of which the common man in the street could never even imagine.


    But her hopes were swiftly dashed as she studied the chalk-covered blackboard at the front of the room ¨C presumably the things written on the board pertained to the previous induction-class. It was nothing but code-numbers for laws and regulations, lists of documentation-types and their different durations¡­ She could feel her eyes closing already. She kept her fingers crossed that once she was ¡®inducted¡¯ she¡¯d be able to discuss her shift pattern ¨C she wouldn¡¯t be able to keep it together for long, working the Lounge of Seercraft then the gate-duty back-to-back like this¡­


    No teacher or instructor showed their face, even though it had to be almost seven by now. She sat there alone, and gradually the room began to fill up, others entering in small groups, already chatting with their acquaintances. No one sat next to Tialya. She did her best not to listen-in on their conversations, staring down at the wooden desk in front of her, but it was difficult. The Yearsend fever was infectious ¨C it spread between them all, and soon almost everyone was in on the discussion, going over their plans, the gifts they¡¯d bought and the gifts they hoped to receive.


    It wasn¡¯t infectious with regard to Tialya, or at least not in the same way. It was infectious like a rash, making her skin crawl, her scalp itch. She was sitting here in the midst of almost two dozen people, men and women who should¡¯ve been her peers, yet she¡¯d never felt so alone. Father Time would have nothing for her this year. Even to Arreath Ril, she just didn¡¯t exist.


    ¡°Hey, Tia! This spot taken?¡±


    In her reverie she hadn¡¯t noticed Moav entering the room, even when his significant shadow fell across her table.


    ¡°Moav! You got the job¡­¡±


    ¡°Sure did ¨C all thanks to a good luck charm from a stranger.¡± He grinned, looking down at her. ¡°Sooo¡­?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± She hastily moved her chair aside, so he¡¯d be able to fit in the other seat that shared her desk.


    ¡°Thanks Tia!¡± He loudly dragged out his chair, plonked himself down, then shuffled forward again noisily until his legs were under the table. ¡°So, how¡¯s the Yearsend shopping going?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know¡­¡± She looked away, considering her evasions. ¡°I¡¯ve got everything, already.¡±


    (Which was technically true, wasn¡¯t it? If she needed zero, and she had zero, she was done, wasn¡¯t she?)


    ¡°Diviner training,¡± Moav replied in a tone of admiration. ¡°We¡¯re always ahead of the pack. Nice one.¡±


    He looked down at his hands folded on the table, and Tialya could immediately tell that silence was about to fall between them ¨C he would hear another nearby conversation, find them more interesting ¨C she couldn¡¯t let that awkward silence in, had to ¨C


    ¡°A-and you?¡± she stammered.


    He looked across, meeting her eyes. ¡°Almost done. I¡¯m ashamed to say I didn¡¯t foresee it, but there¡¯s this one girl in my induction class who definitely deserves a present, and I still need to get it but I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s into¡­¡±


    She stared at him ¨C


    Does he mean me?


    He stared back, unsmiling, looking a little scared or sick all of a sudden, the way his brow had started to glisten¡­


    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± she said, ¡°I need to get one for this boy in my induction class, too¡­¡±


    Then his smile came back.


    ¡°Maybe after we¡¯re¡­ inducted¡­ we could head into Oldtown?¡± Moav suggested. ¡°I¡¯m sure I could use your help picking out something for the¡­ completely random person that¡¯s totally not you¡­¡±


    ¡°Sure!¡± she replied excitedly. ¡°And I could use your help¡­¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°If he¡¯s anything like me, just buy him something edible.¡± Moav patted his belly, and though he was still smiling there was something self-conscious lingering in his eyes.


    She laughed a little, as though making light of his words. He wasn¡¯t that fat.


    ¡°If she¡¯s anything like me, a good book wouldn¡¯t go amiss.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but that¡¯s much trickier¡­ You can eat your favourite food at least once a week without ever getting bored.¡±


    ¡°You can read your favourite book once a day without getting bored.¡±


    ¡°But a dog-eared old friend like that¡­ You don¡¯t want a new copy every time, do you?¡±


    She flashed him a grin. ¡°The way I treat my books¡­¡±


    No, no, that just makes me sound incredibly careless, and ¨C


    But Moav was nodding appreciatively. ¡°Me too! You should see my copy of the Chronom Codex ¨C¡±


    ¡°I just finished that!¡±


    Their conversation continued, and it was like an arch-diviner¡¯s trick: all too soon, just as Tialya started to enjoy herself, the woman who conducted the interviews showed up to take them through the first day of their training. They had to stop fraternising, start listening, taking notes ¨C but Tialya met it with a smile on her face. The morning soon passed into afternoon, and by four o¡¯ clock she and Moav were in Firenight Square, wrapped up against the cold, eating and drinking, talking shop while they shopped.


    Tialya wouldn¡¯t have known it, but her future-lines were beginning to actualise.

 The Citadel pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 7A: THE CITADEL</h2>


    ¡°Do not fear to walk in darkness, for that is where I walk. Wherever you walk in darkness know this: you do not walk alone.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 2:1-2


    They¡¯d better not have been lying to me.


    Abstraxia¡¯s cracked feet were no match for the black boulders. These rocks weren¡¯t just jagged; they were like sponges of salt-crusted blades, nests of dark ridges that clustered about, hiding the shallow grooves with which this hostile terrain sought to harvest her blood, draw it away into sunken canals. Those canals were visible at times, where a wedged-in boulder had been shifted up the shoreline, revealing the arterial network beneath the torturous land. The crimson waves would wash over the landscape soon enough, stealing away the little globs of treasures she left behind her. She would be forced to seek the higher ground yet again, wait out the itinerant, softly-singing tide on the slopes.


    She didn¡¯t like the slopes. Sometimes she had to put her hands on the boulders, clamber up the shelves, and no matter how careful she was she always ended up slicing her palms and fingers, her beautiful long fingers. Feet were one thing, but did this place have to take her hands too?


    There was often nothing else for it. To refuse to climb would mean facing the waves, and, more than anything, she did not want to get swept out into that sea, to join her voice to its everlasting chorus. Yet to climb without using her claws would risk falling, and she¡¯d long-since learnt her lesson about falling over. Her face, torso, limbs¡­ the brutal teachings had marked every part of her with criss-cross letters that ached and wept, forever unhealing.


    For now, she limped on. There was no sunrise or sunset, no morning noon or night. Just the eternal bloodstain clouds seeping across the eternal bloodstain sky, like a child using a stick to swirl the left-overs on a killing-floor, refusing to let the puddles congeal. Red ¨C red was the order of everything here. The sky was red. The waves were red. Even the black rocks ¨C on those rare occasions when she¡¯d passed a boulder that seemed to have recently fallen, upon inspection she¡¯d found that even the rock itself bled, bright-red rivulets dripping down into the canals below.


    My skin is red, she mused, noting her arms as they swung. Their surfaces were more scabs than skin, the wounds still weeping clear fluids at a startling rate.


    Where the moisture, the blood came from ¨C where any of it came from, she didn¡¯t understand. Surely she ought to have been dead days ago, and, yet, here she was. Dragging her corpse up the coast.


    All to find the Sunset Citadel.


    They¡¯d better not have been lying to me, she said to herself yet again. It must be real.


    It must be.


    Must be.


    If this was all there was ¨C if all that existed was this unbearable coastline ¨C then she might as well have ended herself. Casting herself into the sea was out of the question, but climbing a pile of boulders then launching herself off? She would be more than capable of that. A solid fifteen, twenty foot fall¡­ if she plunged down head-first, aimed her skull straight at a vicious right-angle of rock? She¡¯d killed in a similar manner plenty of times before. She knew she was capable of this much.


    Yet what would stop her returning again afterwards? A creature was at its most vulnerable on the plane of its origin. So would she return to Etherium, or was Infernum her place, now and forevermore? Would she be bound to this shoreline, consciousness refusing to properly depart flesh? What if the remnants of her spirit were drawn on into the waves, and her reawakening was in the midst of a million million thrashing souls, all clamouring futilely for release?


    No. She would stay the course. Keep walking.


    Keep walking.


    * * *


    Days passed ¨C or what would¡¯ve been days, had the skies ever changed. She couldn¡¯t count out the passage of time by the tides; what might have felt like an hour went by, but in its course the tide could¡¯ve switched direction three times already. There was nothing, no one. No crabs or gulls. No delicious midges. Nothing.


    Nothing.


    She kept walking.


    They¡¯d better not have been lying to me.


    It had become something of a mantra to her now. The hideous people in the city whose rumours sent her here ¨C they¡¯d warned her in their strange chittering tongue, insectoid mandibles clicking. She wasn¡¯t able to lie to herself ¨C she¡¯d somehow understood every Infernal word, the meaning clear as glass.


    ¡°If you go, that will be-e-e-e-e-e-e your path and you¡¯ll never se-e-e-e-e-e-e our fair walls again!¡°


    The bit about the ¡®fair walls¡¯ was garbage. Literal garbage. The strange, half-buried settlement was walled-in with the refuse of a thousand lands, wafted through the demi-planes of dross and decay and used to form a barrier against the denizens of the swamps beyond. It wasn¡¯t even the good stuff ¨C no booze, no filth, no body-parts or even bones. Just broken pottery, little scraps of shattered furniture, threads lost from clothing. The best thing she saw was half an odd sock.


    No, she¡¯d taken the meaning alright. As surely as the past pointed only into the future, she¡¯d bound herself to some dark purpose by setting out for this destination. Her feet could only take her one way, and upon seeing her resolve the many-eyed, dangling creatures of the swamps had let her pass by unmolested. Onward, or death, and rebirth, and rebirth, and rebirth¡­


    Never backwards.


    Never ending.


    On what should¡¯ve been something like the tenth day, the sea started calling to her.


    It began subtly at first. The soft inward sigh, like an ahhh or ahhb sound. The rush of the wave as it crashed, like strax. Then the pensive recoil, the furtive retreat, iii-ahhh.


    Ab-strax-ia.


    Ab-strax-ia.


    She thought regularly about the re-naming process. Her previous name had been found wanting, and it had been changed ¨C she understood this much. It had happened before. There was little power in it, then, but there was more now. A kernel of the self she sought. An enticing nugget of lore, designed to drag her on, tease the correct responses out of her.


    Abstraxia, whispered the waves. Abstraxia¡­


    She dragged herself on.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Or so it seemed to her.


    * * *


    The grey smudge ahead of her was hard to make out at first ¨C and it wasn¡¯t just a matter of distance. The figure approaching Abstraxia, coming the other way down the coastline with unnerving rapidity, appeared to have about it an enigmatic aura so strong that it dispelled its own presence from her mind repeatedly. The fifteenth or fiftieth time she noticed it, it was closer than she could bring herself to understand, and she actually halted, bringing her hands up to her face and cringing.


    She was watching between her ragged fingers when he arrived in her vicinity, seemingly between one footfall and the next, his posture that of one merely out for a stroll. He was a tall, thin man, his hood cast back to reveal his narrow face, big hooked nose, flashing grey eyes. The iron-grey robe he wore possessed its own colour, independent of the crimson illumination casting everything in shades of red, and its fabric was so festooned with silvery spiders as to appear almost woven out of them; they moved continually, a fabric of living metal arachnids.


    He was already raising the other foot to depart ¨C a bare foot, bereft of both boot and, somehow, blood ¨C


    Then, just as he shifted his weight, he tossed his head in her direction, the long colourless hair barely swinging, clinging to his face and neck in lank locks. He smoothly returned the bare foot to the rock, turning to her. Those flashing eyes fell upon her, and in her naivety she failed to hide her gaze, failed to pay obeisance to this superior entity.


    And to think!


    To think she¡¯d thought she knew. She thought she knew what pain was.


    The stranger was a teacher and oh, oh, how he taught her.


    She almost snapped her neck shoving her chin into her chest, and she went to her knees heavily, thrusting her arms out before her and pressing her face to the boulder in gratitude. Breaking eye-contact was her only goal. The bitter embrace of the rock was nothing, nothing, even as it opened her up, a thousand wounds ¨C


    ¡°You poor creature,¡± the man said tenderly.


    Somehow, every ache alleviated all at once, every laceration closing despite her prostrate pose. When she¡¯d gone down, she¡¯d unthinkingly sheared off half the scrawny kneecap ¨C but she only noticed it as the damage was being reversed.


    There was no pleasure in healing. Only bitterness.


    She sat back on her knees, marvelling at the fact she felt so thoroughly unimpressed. The restoration still working its way through her, she slowly got to her feet, but she still didn¡¯t dare to raise her face, her eyes to the stranger.


    She stared down at her feet instead.


    Her healed, unharmed feet. Skin smooth and grey and clean.


    Clean.


    A trick!


    ¡°Do not be fooled; Moon-sight holds as much Truth as Sun-sight,¡± the interloper said, as if his fancy words meant anything to her. ¡°Your soul¡¯s pages are bare to me, but your body reads the words aloud, those dreadful utterances whose echoes resound in the halls of your own mind. You long for release, but they will not permit you to Die here. Ere the binding of your wounds, each oozing opening and every itching sore sang a song your ears could not, cannot hear. Yet Star-sight brings Truth unparalleled. You will not relent, even if I say you head the wrong way along the shoreline. If I offer to take your hand, you will not trust me. You will only trust in the ones who offer to mould you, not those who would have you mould yourself. I would need to break you to take you at my side.¡±


    She may have been a crude creature, but she did glean something of his meaning. She wasn¡¯t stupid.


    ¡°You want me to think you can help me. That¡¯s not what I want.¡±


    ¡°Whither your footfalls lead, I see naught for you but pain, purposeless pain, its only goal to prolong itself, to invest itself in new hosts, infest flesh, upon flesh, upon flesh. If you think you know what suffering is¡­¡±


    She closed her eyes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. There was still none of the agony she associated with standing, none of the constant reminder that her bare feet were pressed into grooves formed by a web of razors¡­


    ¡°Ah. And so you think of me. How can I be as a teacher to you? You think me a liar. You cannot trust in that which will not admit wishing you ill. That which will not openly use you. All for fear of the hidden hand, at whose movements the unsensed strings are set to pull you hither and thither, put you to dance. But in this I see you still thirst, only and always, for Truth. Would you not see all strings, even those tied fast about the hidden hand itself, and about every limb of its Orchestrator?¡±


    ¡°What about the strings on your hand?¡± she countered, trying to keep her voice from trembling.


    ¡°No,¡± he went on, using a tone that told her he hadn¡¯t even listened to her. ¡°You are already broken and healed in the wrong shape, taken beyond my ability to repair. I see through your mind, Traseya, as though it were a frozen pool on a clear morning.¡±


    That name hurt more than any other. She sobbed suddenly.


    ¡°Do you not know who you are, child? I could offer to show you, but it is not given to me to open closed eyes. That must always come from within, or come none at all.¡±


    I¡¯m Abstraxia.


    ¡°That is not my name,¡± she snarled quietly. Her eyes may have been screwed shut against the tears, her chin may have still been tucked against her chest ¨C but she was willing to gamble her defiance would be recognised by the masters of this place, those whose game she played, whose tests she faced. ¡°Who are you? You don¡¯t belong here.¡±


    ¡°I am not alone in that,¡± he replied, ¡°and I have many names, and more guises. In that I fear you shall all too soon rival me. To which world were you bound, when they herded you through the Mist?¡±


    She shuddered despite herself. What did he mean? Why did his words resonate within her like a bell, keening clearly, hideously, through the silent halls of her soul?


    ¡°Perhaps, if you know not the name of the realm, you could tell me its chiefest demons. From whose womb do the spawn of Hell emanate in your lore? Whose seed sets them there?¡±


    ¡°You mean,¡± she breathed, suddenly wanting to understand, to be a part of this, ¡°you mean Mejesta and Vaanus?¡±


    ¡°Makrieleg and Vanabroth.¡± There was something new in his voice there: disdain. ¡°I shall visit them soon enough. That world is known to me as Avalost, the Sixth of its name. And therefore you must know me as Kultemeren, where my sigil is kept by the Liars as though it were holy, thereby hoping to share in my sanctity.¡±


    She reeled, almost opening her eyes to behold him again, take in his strange splendour once more in the light of this revelation.


    I will not!


    ¡°Where Rivorn Mortichor is my son, he whose pupil and rival will break you in the end, if you pursue the course.¡± This¡­ this god, or pretender-god, went on in a relentless tirade. ¡°You have strayed far from the path, daughter. You ought to wander the Insebeleth, on Avalost¡¯s lanes of memory, among the dark roses in the fields¡­ your choice still before you. How came you here, to seek the Citadel? You are a warped soul but you are no demon!¡±


    ¡°I will be!¡± she cried back, turning her head aside so that she could open her eyes, glower in safety at the red sea. ¡°If you¡¯re gonna strike me down, do it.¡±


    ¡°And thereby satiate all your needs for you?¡± He sounded sad. ¡°No. I see you, Traseya, such that your beauty blinds me! Will you not let me loan you my eyes, even for a moment?¡±


    Between one moment and the next ¨C surely a manifestation of the godling¡¯s desire ¨C a mirror of polished glass appeared, right before her eyes, interrupting and reflecting her ocean-bound glare.


    She screwed her eyes shut once more, but not before she caught a glimpse of the woman in the mirror.


    Her hair was a cascade of flames, her nose and cheeks full of freckles, eyes blue like pale sapphires.


    It was her. Not as she was ¨C not as she had been for as long as she could remember. The goblin-skin¡­ she hadn¡¯t been born with it, had she?


    I had red hair, red like fire.


    ¡°I shall let you pursue your course, as with all the denizens of the World, until such a time as our courses will not permit us to pass by one another. Then our paths shall instead bring us into Inescapable collision, and both of us will be lessened for it. I for one shall not judge awry for the sake of spending some strength in slaying one more Foe, aeons hence. For you, perhaps, the choice shall prove graver.¡±


    He stopped speaking.


    She sat in the silence, listening to the crashing of the red waves.


    ¡°Very well. I have almost lingered too long, and every second spent wastes incalculable lives. You are not my only charge, as you well recognise. Fare thee well, Abstraxia. I would say I hope our paths will not cross again, yet that would be the first lie I have spoken, and I will not lie to you. Remember me, later, when you can. I am the Demonslayer. You will not hear me approach unless I will it.¡±


    There was no rustle of fabric, no distinct change she could tell by hearing or by scent ¨C the sea was louder than his movements, the overpowering odour of blood stronger than the god¡¯s perspiration ¨C yet she felt the change as he left her behind, as if the whole world had been tipped over in his presence and only now righted itself.


    Sending her crashing back into her blanket of pain.


    She opened her eyes and, half-wincing, she looked.


    The boulders before her were empty.


    It was harder than ever before, setting out again, leaving tranquillity behind in order to seek an uncertain fate. But she did it with a smile fixed on her face.


    Keep walking.


    She¡¯d passed the test. The masters of this place, this plane, would recognise her worth, her loyalty, her commitment to pain.


    Her old wounds made new, started again from fresh.


    Keep walking.


    * * *

 The Citadel pt2

    The honest man, the faker-god pretending to be Kultemeren¡­ he¡¯d lied. There was no salvation for her. There was no Sunset Citadel. The meaning of his words was plain now. She was lost, travelling the wrong direction, heading from nowhere into nothingness.


    She didn¡¯t care anymore. She was Abstraxia. She would continue, and she would continue, and that would be all.


    It was only when she lost all hope that things changed.


    A single thin red rod, protruding vertically from between two rocks, was waving cheerily at her from a great remove. So strange was the notion of something new, something different, that she halted immediately upon spotting it.


    She had little doubt that to an observer, to the observers, her cautious approach might¡¯ve made her look timid. She didn¡¯t care. She slunk up, hunched low to the rocks, heedless now of the bitter slicing the bare soles of her feet endured. It could¡¯ve been anything. The appendage of some native animal she¡¯d be forced to fight. Something dropped by the godling on his opposing route, inherently perilous¡­


    It was no more than a foot long, and it continued to wave. The motion, it seemed as she came closer, was entirely random. Like a blade of grass, shifting in the caress of a wind she could not feel.


    The last ten yards she covered swiftly.


    It was a blade of grass. Crimson in hue, like all else here, yet it was grass. At least in appearance.


    She plucked it, claws snicking through its slender stem, and raised it to her teeth without even thinking. The meagre amount of red sap inside was sweeter than she¡¯d expected, sweeter than bee-honey. A luxury unlike anything she¡¯d tasted since the before-times, since she was someone else. She guzzled it, slurping hard at the thing to drain it dry, then chomped the dry husk to bits between her fangs.


    When she was done she dropped to all fours, letting the boulders work their magic on her, uncaring. A sudden influx of aggravating sensations went rippling down her shins but she could ignore it to press her lips about the broken-off stalk of the plant.


    It wasn¡¯t just the taste of it. It was the feeling it aroused in her. There was power in the stuff. And this was just a single measly blade of grass!


    When she struggled to her feet, she cast about, seeing her surroundings anew.


    A landscape¡­ of power.


    ¡°That was not for thee, Abstraxia.¡±


    The female voice spoke softly but there was a hint of menace in the sound, and it seemed to come from between her toes.


    She looked down at the gnawed grass-stump, eyes wide.


    ¡°Do not be afraid.¡± It used a coddling tone, now, as if satisfied with her reaction. ¡°Thou art not the first to make that mistake. But be warned. Those blades of grass thou didst sup belong unto the King¡¯s own ministers. Thou shouldst not knowingly draw from his stock, and to do so unknowingly would invite their wrath no less.¡±


    ¡°Who ¨C who are you? Why are you¡­ why would you tell me this?¡±


    ¡°I am one who would see thee reach the Citadel.¡±


    Chills of excitement gripped her. She flung her head up, looking out at the rocky horizon.


    Nothing. Still nothing.


    ¡°Thou art closer than thou canst understand. Continue. There¡¯s juice left in you yet.¡±


    With that last phrase the formality seemed to leave the voice, replaced with gentle mockery, and this loosened her own tongue.


    ¡°And you¡¯re helping me, because¡­?¡±


    ¡°I have tasks for you to complete. You will be my ward.¡±


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    ¡°Your prisoner?¡±


    ¡°You have been a prisoner. A million shadows did close upon you tend, inhaling your breath and blowing it back, needling each hair to your scalp, fastening each bond about wrist and ankle, wrist and ankle¡­ Now it is your turn to guard, and to chastise your former wayward cellmates. If you see this as enslavement, so be it. There is no better role for you in this world, or any other.¡±


    She hesitated, despite it being everything she¡¯d ever wanted.


    ¡°Which god do you serve?¡±


    The voice coming out of the rocks at her feet seemed to laugh, fizzing and wheezing.


    ¡°Which god? There is but one! We serve the Queen of Night, of course! No other lesser being called deity shall hear our pleas, to their eternal shame.¡±


    Abstraxia straightened up. ¡°Mejesta? Ma¡­ Makrieleg?¡±


    ¡°No, no.¡± Impatience now. ¡°Thou might in time become, as I, the peer of such a creature, and rule domains in thine own name, the dark goddess of worlds in thine own right. Thou art no longer blinded by the Shadow. Soon thou shalt cast thine own across worlds, and see millions whimper, tremble in fear at thine approach. All this and more might I promise, shouldst thou come hence, and offer me thy service.¡±


    ¡°Your¡­¡± She stopped herself, steeling her will. ¡°By what name¡­ by what name shall I call thee?¡±


    The voice laughed.


    ¡°I am known as Haehuinil. From the womb of my mind issued forth Dhoron, Golyana, Velko, and a hundred others whose myths once claimed worlds in my name.¡±


    Was that a trace of regret, there, in the voice?


    ¡°And now thee also, Abstraxia. From my mind, thine. From thy power, mine. And all for the King and his Queen, in the end. But to keep even one drop for each gallon thou spilst; ah, ¡¯tis a glory! A glory! A glory¡­¡±


    Regret replaced with relish. Relish Abstraxia knew for herself, now.


    Without another word, she started walking once more, not even wincing.


    It was not a lie. My reward lies ahead. I only need the strength to get there.


    Her knees knocked, and by pure force of will she forced the legs to lope out ahead of her, clawed feet pulling her across the landscape in spite of the agonies they endured.


    Keep walking.


    * * *


    The endless churning sloshing became rustling, swishing. Waters that were not really waters shifted, intensifying, coalescing. Grasses that were not really grasses came into sharper and sharper focus. When at last Abstraxia stood in the midst of the open plains, surrounded by crimson foliage, she understood the reality of things.


    Water, grass, the form was meaningless. It was the objective truth behind the form that held meaning, and that truth was blood.


    That truth was power.


    She resisted the urge to cackle, saunter about in glee at this, this conquering, this victory beyond the jaws of death and death and death. For one thing, when taken in clumps these blades of grass were like bundles of razors, more likely to slash her to pieces than the grim boulders she¡¯d left behind. For another, she knew that she was watched. She would have to show only her most resolute expression, wearing her face like a mask. She would impress this Haehuinil. She would slide barely-harmed across this crimson landscape, and present herself to her new masters in all her glory.


    ¡°You show remarkable restraint.¡±


    The wind moved the grasses, and the voice rose from them, immeasurably louder now.


    The same voice, though. Haehuinil¡¯s.


    ¡°Come to us. Don¡¯t delay ¨C you¡¯ll never reach us that way. Run wild through the fields, my child. Run and bleed and be free.¡±


    She obeyed at once, giving in to temptation, raising a bawling yell of pure joy for the last time in her long, long existence. She sprang out across the rolling featureless expanse, trailing blood as she went, uncaring.


    For all of seven or eight bounds, anyway.


    Before she¡¯d even gone what should¡¯ve been a league in the old measurements, despair had eaten and re-eaten her, regurgitating what remained and swallowing it again and again, seeking to whittle her away, strip her into dismayed little flecks of her former self so that she might be more-easily digested. Once or twice she even heard the laughter of Haehuinil, her patron and sponsor, echoing across the delirious flatlands as though a million million souls repeated the sounds.


    The feet were gone entirely, and little remained of her legs. Twisted stumps of bone tapered down to the ankle where they finally culminated in white knots of unfeeling matter, oozing marrow where they pressed into the scarlet soil. In her fascination as she walked, walked, walked she realised this must¡¯ve been how those sword-demons felt all the time, their blade-legs digging into the ground¡­


    Did it still hurt them too? Or had they moved past it as they changed, making flesh and bone into metal?


    She touched her tongue with a nail every now and then to ensure it wasn¡¯t becoming a rod of metal, traced her brows with a fingertip to check her face wasn¡¯t shaped like an hourglass. She felt stupid; she hoped Haehuinil didn¡¯t know what she was doing, but the chances of that were next to nil. One time, the laughter rang out across the endless fields as if in response to her nervous gesture ¨C and Abstraxia lowered the hand instantly, stopping and throwing her own laughter back at the horizon¡¯s carpets of blood, a nasal, self-mocking, self-doubting sound.


    Haehuinil¡¯s laughter only grew louder, more amused, descending into a bubbling wheeze that every empty parcel of air seemed to join and amplify, a chorus of increasingly-deafening clamour. At first Abstraxia tried to match it, but there was no point. She fell silent, waiting for the excoriating cackling to stop.


    It didn¡¯t. Eventually she stirred her stumps into action once more, making her way into the source of the noise, battered and buffeted by its thunder.


    Scowling, she endured it.


    Scowling, she kept walking.


    * * *

 The Citadel pt3

    How it crept up on her, Straxi had no notion. How anything so immense could not be seen on the approach, how it could blend so seamlessly into land and sky, not even shimmering in spite of its heat¡­ It was utterly bewitching.


    She bounded right into it, loping along at her customary furious pace; she left a red mark at head-height where her face impacted the invisible barrier, splitting the left eye-socket.


    As she watched, the smear of blood that seemed to hang there in thin air began to disappear, perhaps being absorbed¡­ She put out her bony claw, marvelling at the hot surface, but before she could touch her blood it was all whisked away, transported perhaps to some imp¡¯s work-station, to be counted drop by drop, to be meted out drip by drip, to the worthy. The faithful.


    Perhaps I¡¯ll get some back, someday, she thought, and tittered.


    It couldn¡¯t have been a mirror, exactly; she cast no reflection in the surface before her. But it couldn¡¯t be made of glass, either. The red fields just went on, and on, and on¡­ If it was glass, this couldn¡¯t be the Citadel, the place she¡¯d sought, longed for for so long she could no longer recall a before-time, a pre-longing.


    And this had to be the Citadel¡­ didn¡¯t it?


    Unless the innards of the Sunset Citadel were being hidden from her by some witchery. There had to be something other than more fields, more bloody prairies, didn¡¯t there?


    Like the Citadel even exists. C¡¯mon, Straxi.


    Giggling, she placed her left hand on the warm, mirror-like wall, and then started walking to her right.


    ¡°I know!¡± she cried aloud in defiance to the red universe watching over her, casting her gaze up at the broiling blood-clouds, their constant swirling conflicts. ¡°I know I don¡¯t know! Ah-ha-haaaaa!¡±


    The universe laughed back in response. Soon she was leaping along again, following the wall with her arm outstretched to maintain contact.


    I¡¯m less, now, I think. I think I¡¯m Straxi.


    She laughed again. It was funny. So funny, what they¡¯d done. When she closed her eyes she pictured the things she¡¯d always pictured, so nakedly real before the imagination that she could¡¯ve been mistaken for thinking they were things she¡¯d really seen.


    Her legs becoming swords, her head caving in until only an hourglass span in its place.


    Sprouting nests of thorny limbs until she was those thorns, multiplied eyes left atop her shoulders.


    The laughter taking over, consuming her with such force that as she ran the entrails shuddered free of her belly.


    She was ready.


    I am ready.


    There was no half-remembered sea by which to orient herself; every infinite horizon looked like dusk no matter which way she turned her head, as though a million or more suns perished just out of view on this fateful eve. She travelled swiftly, and after the first hours or days she became uncertain as to the shape she traced across the fields. Was this a straight wall, or had it curved subtly, bringing her back to her starting position? It was impossible to say for sure; over the course of hundreds of miles, a gentle arc would¡¯ve been impossible to discern, and there were no landmarks to help guide her.


    She didn¡¯t feel like she was going in circles, though. The grasslands ahead of her appeared untrodden, unlike the pockmarked track she left in her wake, ditches and grooves marking the points at which she landed, leapt off again¡­ These fields of crimson corn looked new. Different.


    Then she saw another, like herself, coming the wrong way. Heading towards her, his right hand touching the wall, his course opposite her own.


    For it was a male, going off the hulking frame. There were remnants of a big square chin hiding beneath the folds of torn lips, where the lower jaw had been vertically split ¨C never mind the lack of breasts on his open chest. His scalp hung off his bare yellow skull in a great dry curl, flapping against the earless side of his head as he cantered.


    He didn¡¯t leap. Instead of lengthening in response to their punishment as hers had done, his legs had divided. Three extra limbs had sprouted from his pelvis; the one by his navel looked like a useless, abortive mutation, swinging around and slapping into him as he moved. Yet the other legs were doing a fine job of propelling him towards her. The nails or knuckles of each toe had closed in, forming hooves.


    ¡°Nooooo!¡± he squealed when he saw her, slowing somewhat. ¡°Wrong way! Wrong waaay!¡±


    She reduced her own pace, trying a contemptuous grin.


    ¡°Wrong way to you!¡± she cried back.


    The landscape hailed her response by laughing uproariously. Hell clearly sided with her here.


    He slowed even more, looking to stop; his head swivelled about as he tried to determine the source of the laughing sound, and the earless side of his head received a good slap from the loose, hanging scalp.


    She giggled, still grinning as she came to a halt near him, and the universe giggled along with her.


    ¡°How ¨C how are you doing that?¡± he growled. Suddenly his dark eyes were narrowed in rage; he retracted his heavy, muscle-knotted arms, seeming to take up a boxer¡¯s stance.


    She needed no more provocation.


    Straxi¡¯s arms thrust forward, and she sank her talons into the man¡¯s eye-sockets, instantly ruining the only part of his anatomy as-yet unmarred. He was certainly the stronger; he batted her hands aside in a second, thumping her in each forearm to move her limbs out of the way as he pressed hooves to his dripping brows.


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    The moan that rose from his distended mouth was hypnotic.


    He had nothing. He was nothing. Just a bag of blood, waiting to be drunk.


    He had no voice here. No patron. He belonged to no one.


    He belonged to her. That was why he was placed here. Just a test of how thirsty she was. How deeply she could slake the needs of her parched parts in him, in his sloshing contents.


    It was her turn to kneel at the ocean¡¯s edge and sup the surf. Her turn to take up a fistful of red wheat and grind its grains between her fangs.


    His responses were slow. Her first action was to blind him, and his first response was not to take her immediately in his powerful arms, break her, crush her, feed off of her and in her hidden reserves of vigour find his own healing, the regeneration he so needed. No. His first response was to wail like a child, cover the eyes that were already without sight, as though doubling his blindness were his only concern.


    She darted back, amazed at the uselessness of his reflexes, and struck again, at the throat this time. She moved her hand in between his wide-flung elbows, snicking at the front of his neck with her thumb and fingers arrayed like scissor-blades, and was welcomed by a spray of warm blood that splashed right over her face.


    The centre-leg snapped out at her, a crude and instinctive blow, but a good one. He kicked her in the midriff, pulverising whatever she¡¯d had inside and filling her with a delicious nausea.


    It was almost tempting ¨C to stand there and trade blows. Inflict and enjoy agonies, one for one. Perhaps this was why the horse-man¡¯s killer-instincts had atrophied, if he¡¯d even had them in the first place. He hadn¡¯t yet realised what it would mean, how horrific it would be to die again, in this place¡­ in this state¡­


    What it might mean for eternity, to be drained by one such as she? She whose ministrations might take every last shred and sliver of the self he¡¯d possessed and burn it for fuel¡­


    She wrapped her claws about the leg he used to strike at her, digging in deep near the base. He finally attempted to grapple her, big hands fumbling at her shoulders and throat, but it was too little too late. Her skin was a scabrous fabric, shiny and sleek, and a simple twist of her upper body was enough to slip his grasp.


    She used the same twist to gain purchase with her talons, and a satisfying ripping sound followed her as she danced away.


    He howled, clutching the exposed bone of his extra leg, the tube of pulled-away skin dangling over the hoof.


    He¡¯d given up, but she¡¯d only just started. She circled him delicately, trimming him, even darting in and drinking from the lacerations she scored before he had chance to swing about, lunge clumsily at her. She undid his tendons, untied ligaments, stripped away sinews thread by thread. Soon he could lunge no more, collapsing where he stood, sucking in air through his ravaged throat-opening.


    The encounter was over all too quickly, and she settled in for a nice bit of torture. She¡¯d gone out of her way to be merciful, delivering several killing-blows, yet that had only incapacitated him ¨C not one of the fatal strikes seemed to do the trick of actually ending his existence.


    She found herself re-examining her assumptions. The entities born of this plane, amongst whom she had to count herself, were far more durable here than they first appeared, far more durable than she had ever anticipated. It wasn¡¯t just the outer layers, the fabrics of flesh, that were expendable. When she took of his innards, she found she was chomping and slurping on them indefinitely; they replaced themselves, again and again, as if purely for her amusement, and sustenance.


    Am I doing it? Or is he¡­?


    Either way, his death was finally accomplished when she fully removed the heart from his quivering body. She lifted the prize to her face, luxuriating in its sweet aroma before pressing her lips against its warmth, sinking in her teeth, flooding her mouth with its hallowed juices.


    When she looked back down, the horse-man beneath her had already decomposed; she no longer straddled a humanoid figure, but a pile of tiny dry flakes, like ground-up leaves. All that remained of him was the skull with its blasted-apart jawbone, the shattered ear-holes where she¡¯d pressed fingers into his brain.


    She got to her dagger-feet, carefully stepped on the skull to smash it, and put out her left hand to touch the invisible wall once more.


    And the wall ¨C


    It was gone.


    She approached closer, certain that she was mistaken, she had to be mistaken¡­ during the fight she¡¯d simply moved farther from the unseen barrier than she¡¯d estimated, surely¡­


    Yet, no. She moved fifty yards from the horse-man¡¯s remnants, and¡­


    What if I got turned about?


    She whirled on the spot, racing around the swiftly-vanishing corpse, moving fifty yards in every direction.


    No wall. No Citadel.


    And there¡¯d been part of her that was certain ¨C so certain¡­


    She didn¡¯t sigh. She laughed at herself instead, and, as if to reassure her, the world laughed along with her.


    Straxi resumed what she thought to be her former course, not knowing, not really caring anymore, whether she was going the right direction.


    Direction¡¯s meaningless now. I¡¯ve got all the direction I need.


    Keep walking.


    * * *


    The former woman came by the long road to the door of the tower. It stood in the centre of a plane of red glass, and from its elevated floors storm-arms emanated, the crimson clouds that shadowed entire worlds here hiding the Citadel¡¯s lofty infinitude from the sight of those who might grasp some miniscule fraction of its height, and thereby be driven insane.


    As what had once come before gave way to the vast grassland, so now did grass give way to bitter, brittle ruby stalks. And this time Straxi espied it on the approach. From months away. Years away.


    Gargantuan could not encapsulate its size. When at last distances began to fall away, permitting her sorry eyes to resolve detail, resolve understanding, she realised the paltriness of her previous assumptions. She had thought that after all she had seen, that she had some comprehension of the scope of things, some ability to recognise the limitations of the possible.


    Not so. Not so at all.


    It could not be plainer that this place was not just the centre of the local domains, the scarlet glinting landscape through which she loped, but the centre of Everything. The clouds that went out of here hung invisible behind every blue sky. The edicts of this tower¡¯s dreadful King were heard and obeyed in every land.


    To encircle the Sunset Citadel by bounding along, her hand touching its wall, would take not years but centuries. Millennia. With the way it seemed to swell up to meet her, growing more with each step closer than the rules of perspective ought to allow¡­ it was entirely likely the very prospect of circling it was impossible.


    Closer. Closer, day by day.


    One day¡¯s travel from the featureless red walls, the door materialised before her. It was a door for her. The circumference of the tower was a million miles, yet she approached from just the right direction, this edifice at the heart of the World? No.


    No.


    It was hers.


    And the moment she saw the door from afar, the knowledge and the need combined in her mind ¨C


    She covered a hundred thousand steps in a single bound, a trick she¡¯d picked up somewhere along the way. In the one instant she was tilting her hourglass, six thousand grains of sand straining to perceive the distant wooden arch; then she was standing before it, the dark-oak door looming up above her, tall enough to accommodate giants.


    She beat at its scratched surface with the flat of one of her blades, leaving her own marks in the ancient timber.


    ¡°I am here,¡± she grated. She had no mouth, and though she still remembered what it was to have one, it wasn¡¯t strange to feel her hidden metal parts move, produce sounds. This was how she¡¯d always been meant to be ¨C of that much she was certain.


    ¡°I am here,¡± she repeated, and beat on the door once more. ¡°O Almighty King! I am thine!¡±


    Nothing. No wind. No change, of any kind. Not even a feeling.


    It was beyond her to feel anger or hate. She knew what she had to do.


    She backed away a few paces, then folded herself, kneeling, prostrating herself before the great arched door.


    ¡°I am here, and here will I wait,¡± she clicked, speaking only to herself. ¡°When they need me, they will take me in. But I did it. I am here.


    ¡°I am here.¡±


    * * *

 The Citadel pt4

    She beat at its scratched surface with the flat of one of her blades, leaving her own marks in the ancient timber.


    ¡°I am here,¡± she grated. She had no mouth, and though she still remembered what it was to have one, it wasn¡¯t strange to feel her hidden metal parts move, produce sounds. This was how she¡¯d always been meant to be ¨C of that much she was certain.


    ¡°I am here,¡± she repeated, and beat on the door once more. ¡°O Almighty King! I am thine!¡±


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Nothing. No wind. No change, of any kind. Not even a feeling.


    It was beyond her to feel anger or hate. She knew what she had to do.


    She backed away a few paces, then folded herself, kneeling, prostrating herself before the great arched door.


    ¡°I am here, and here will I wait,¡± she clicked, speaking only to herself. ¡°When they need me, they will take me in. But I did it. I am here."


    * * *


    She never knocked again, never made her presence known.


    * * *


    It was enough for her that she was here.


    * * *


    Even in this, even in this emptiness, I serve the King¡¯s will.


    * * *

 The Citadel pt5

    And when she had waited for longer than she had walked ¨C only then did the barrier suddenly creak, softly opening.


    So slowly did it fall ajar, announced by the squealing creak, that even the reverie-bound Straxi had chance to roll back and aside, allowing a wide-enough berth for the colossal arc of this implacable door.


    A crone stepped forth from the immense, endless hallway Straxi could see behind her. The newcomer was at once both bulbous and gangly; she had to be eight feet tall, and would¡¯ve been rake-thin if not for bloated bulges that seemed to hang from her in random assortment. The crone was either naked and truly loathsome in appearance, or else clad in a sack made of skin the same shapeless mottled texture as her own flesh, a gown enmeshed without visible seams to her neck and shoulders and arms. Upon the hairless saggy scalp, several distinct clusters of weeping brown moles had taken root. Her eyes were tiny-seeming given her overall size, buried in the wrinkles of her age-shattered face, more the raw-pink of a sobbing, lonely old woman than the fierce redness of a demon¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°And what are you doing here, my dear?¡± the crone wheezed.


    It was an entirely unexpected question.


    Straxi clicked blankly for a few seconds then stammered: ¡°I¡¯ve to b-b-become a demon, of course.¡±


    The crone waved a saggy-skinned hand at her.


    ¡°You appear to have accomplished that much yourself, child. How might I aid you now?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± She looked down at her sword-like arms, the dagger-fingers protruding from the bladed disc she had for hands. The sand in her head swirled, bringing the limbs she bore into ever-clearer focus.


    Why did I come here?


    ¡°Someone called me,¡± she clicked at last. ¡°Someone¡­ was going to own me.¡±


    ¡°And that is what you want? To be owned?¡±


    She nodded frantically.


    ¡°But there have surely been other entities you have encountered, on your journeys? Others whose ownership you might have accepted?¡±


    ¡°The King of Everything!¡± she blurted, then covered her face with her knives in shame.


    ¡°The King of Everything indeed!¡± the crone repeated, suddenly stern. ¡°Indeed! How camest thou by this lore?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I know not ¨C¡±


    ¡°What art thou inside, creature? What is thy name?¡±


    ¡°I am ¨C I am nothing, if not his! A pr-prisoner without a prison! A ¨C a demon without a name! Straxi, I was called¡­ Straxi, before I was broken, or ¨C or after¡­¡±


    ¡°Straxi¡­?¡±


    She looked up at the crone. A tone of wonder had entered the doorkeeper¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Straxi, wouldst thou know me as Haehuinil, perchance? Couldst thou be Abstraxia?¡±


    The moment she heard the word, she cast off her metal flesh, and was herself once more. Meat appeared where before only cold edges reflected the redness of the skies. Real fingers found a pair of eyes in her face, beneath her brows.


    Her face.


    Face.


    ¡°So it is you!¡± the crone crowed in delight. ¡°Ah, but ¡¯tis a strange plane. I¡¯ve not forgotten you, dear one, not ever. I expected you at least ten thousand years ago. How we laughed together! Do you recall the epheldegrim? The funny fellow with the extra leg? No, I don¡¯t suppose you do, do you¡­¡±


    ¡°My face! My hands!¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. It¡¯ll all start coming back to you soon, don¡¯t worry. There¡¯s so much to learn. So much to forget. Come on, come inside. There¡¯s much for us to do together.¡±


    Abstraxia stepped forwards, on her feet. Her feet!


    The long high hallway of velvet darkness swallowed her, but she didn¡¯t look up, or aside. Didn¡¯t try to penetrate its cool shadows. She kept her eyes fast on the crone, her saviour.


    She wants me. After everything ¨C after waiting for me for so long.


    She still wants me.


    * * *


    ¡°This is but one entrance into the Labyrinth; my own little corner of the world, you might say.¡± Haehuinil¡¯s tone was wistful. ¡°Here I raise my children, then send them forth, that they might do the same in turn. Ah ¨C see here. The Thumbs of Nath Sanor. He was till then a fierce archer, whose volleys were as storm-clouds. And here ¨C the Sundered Throne of Mat. A recalcitrant little world¡­¡±


    The hallways twisted senselessly, sometimes looping back on themselves with no change in elevation without ever meeting, simply continuing relentlessly no matter how absurd the geography became. Abstraxia trod awkwardly on the fur-carpeted path, unused to toes, never mind the luxurious texture of this new terrain. She tried to keep as close to Haehuinil as she could manage, just beside and behind her; the bloated, haggard crone seemed to vary her pace, going slowly while she spoke, describing and explaining the various works of art displayed upon the walls, yet suddenly would appear at the next corner, looking back at Abstraxia with a twinge of impatience in her red-raw eyes. Abstraxia would have to remind herself several times of her newfound power to consume distances, lowering her eyes in deference as she caught up, hoping only not to have too-sorely disappointed her patron with her ignorance.


    The corridor was as wide as a dining-hall in the palace of a lord of men, yet only the central aisle, barely wide-enough to accommodate the two of them, was safe to walk. The rest of the space was devoted to what looked like graves, deep rectangular holes interspersed with raised platforms upon which stood wondrous sculptures, twisted trees, cases of scintillating weaponry¡­ Haehuinil never mentioned the graves in all her rambling and Abstraxia had not the nerve to ask. Even the closest were too deep for her to see to the bottom without stepping away from her guardian. That wasn¡¯t yet something she was prepared to do, not without being asked explicitly.


    Every hallway was the same. Vaulted, matt-black ceilings. Parallel walls draped in tapestries, paintings of delicious scenes hanging every few paces; each took for its subject one facet of misery, perhaps depicting particularly hideous wounds, malformed infants crawling with flies and disease, or cities laid to siege and sack. Tall windows that admitted the same sunset-redness, windows that faced each other ¨C given the size and scope of the Citadel itself, this was clearly a trick of dimensional witchcraft, yet knowing it made it no less disorienting.


    Every one the same, and yet so different. There was always something new around the bend. The pungent Sickness-Spears of Astraxor, the embalmed Eyes of Orden, the nineteen Unseeing-Stones¡­ the broken Shield of the Cursed One, the lightless Jewel of Eternity, the enormous, still-breathing Lungs of Leviathan¡­ and even the windows themselves were alike only in the quality of the light they admitted. Upon each one were figures etched in black lines, their arcane scenes beyond Abstraxia¡¯s understanding. Yet one thing she was able to note: the same person was shown on every window, clad in a jagged cloak or pointed armour, a tall crown upon his brow. Haehuinil never mentioned those either, yet it was assuredly the King. The King of the Sunset Citadel. The King of the World. And in each he presented a different facet of the Majestic Persona. In some he was the central shape, shown apportioning punishments with a variety of regal weapons in his hands while wide-eyed, wide-mouthed traitors were paralysed in the moment of their execution ¨C else he was shown sitting in a lofty chair, presiding over lesser shapes engaged in their own ever-ongoing arguments. Yet in many windows he seemed to merely linger in a corner, a spider waiting in its web, watching over the proceedings without engaging.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    It became something of a game to her, to spot him in each window. It was made easier by the fact that the maker of these glass marvels had sometimes chosen to tint the shards comprising the King¡¯s body, darkening him and him alone, as surely befit his ascendancy.


    ¡°The sixty-six wings of the Princes of Sephir, recovered at great cost after White-Rose slew the entire pantheon.¡± The crone indicated a tall case in which great sheets of bloodstained feathers hung like cloaks. ¡°And this ¨C¡° she indicated a transparent vase filled with blood, upon which a single white fleck of matter floated ¡°¨C is a white leaf from the World-Forest, such as he wore in his hair when he slew Lord Afayel and Lord Morlanar. How it survived the carnage I know not.¡±


    Abstraxia nodded, then glanced left, right, spotting the next Kings.


    ¡°You are perhaps wondering why I am telling you this,¡± her guide said mockingly.


    She immediately moved her eyes back to her feet. ¡°M-my apologies, Haehuinil ¨C¡°


    ¡°Call me Mistress.¡±


    ¡°Mistress!¡± She tried to meet her patron¡¯s gaze, but the reflection of the dusk-light in the pink of those eyes was too glorious, forcing her to bow her head again. ¡°I ¨C I merely looked to find the King ¨C th-there, and there¡­ I did listen. The white leaf, from the World-Forest, the same as¡­ the same as White-Rose had in his hair, when he slew¡­ Lord Afayel¡­ Lord Morlanar¡­¡±


    ¡°Good. Very good. I did not doubt you listened, and your admiration of the King is itself admirable. You will go far, young one. Glad-hearted I am that I chose to spare you when you supped of my branch, instead of striking you down where you crouched.¡±


    Abstraxia recognised the warning in those words, and kept her eyes downcast.


    ¡°I tell you the histories of these items, because each artefact is a treasure returned to the King by one of my pupils. He has in his great charity bestowed upon me the honour of retaining them, holding them in his name. You shall, in turn, bring me such glorious gifts that I might extend my domain, set them beside these, to his glory, and thine, and mine.¡±


    Abstraxia shivered, breath catching in her throat as she suppressed the almost overwhelming urge to titter, nervous apprehension flooding her.


    ¡°But first ¨C to your training. Go. Seek an empty enclosure.¡±


    Haehuinil gestured at the nearest grave, then at others.


    Fascinated, Abstraxia took a couple of steps towards the first her Mistress indicated.


    Leaning over, she saw a white-skinned, black-eyed man lying there, eight feet down. His hands were folded on his rag-covered chest. His feet were crossed at the ankle. He looked perfectly peaceful, stretched out in his grave.


    She stifled a gasp.


    ¡°I removed the eyelids,¡± he said in a hushed voice. ¡°Permanently. You can¡¯t sleep, you know.¡±


    She straightened, stumbled away a few feet, and cast an uncertain glance at her Mistress.


    ¡°I have many such as yourself in training.¡±


    ¡°Hundreds? Th-thousands?¡±


    Haehuinil nodded, grinning. ¡°It is given to me to decide whom to admit. Each from a different world; each of you to provide me a unique foothold. And I hold the key to but one of the Citadel¡¯s innumerable doors. I am not alone in this practise, believe me. Go ¨C toddle off! You may need to search awhile. Call to me when you have found your place. I shall attend you.¡±


    So it was that Abstraxia was sent off on her own, wandering back along the twisting corridor, looking down at last into the yawning rectangles that had so long mystified her. Each one had its occupant ¨C some were like the first, seeming happy with their lot, whispering greetings to her as she cast her gaze down into their holes; but more were clearly wracked with the same anxiety that filled her. A few snarled at her, lashing out with claws and tails so that she hurriedly retreated. Many refused to meet her gaze, looking aside, pained expressions on their faces. Several times she came across men and women mumbling numbers, rattling off the seconds with desperate despair gleaming in their eyes ¨C ¡°Sixteen billion three-hundred and twenty-six million eight-hundred and four thousand two-hundred and twenty-nine¡­ Sixteen billion three-hundred and twenty-six million eight-hundred and four thousand two-hundred and thirty-four¡­¡± While others still simply panted, taking deep, agonised, endless breaths, meeting her gaze with their own imploring stares.


    Did they want help? Did they want to help her?


    It was with a certain amount of trepidation that she leaned over and looked down into a vacant grave, right between the Hairs of Lithiguil and the Tree of Empty¡­ Empty Something.


    She spent just a moment or two in consternation. It was not as though she could just lie to her new Mistress. She¡¯d found a vacancy. This was the moment of decision. Would she commit herself to this existence? Would she claw her way to the top of the pile, over the bodies of all these others, these other Children of Haehuinil whose own ambition had brought them this far? Would she do anything, anything, put herself through a hell within Hell just for a chance to be?


    Anything, Abstraxia thought. Anything at all.


    ¡°Mistress!¡± she found herself calling. ¡°Mistress, I¡¯ve found somewhere.¡±


    Then the huge crone was right there beside her, looking down with her into the dark recess, a satisfied smile upon the bloated lips.


    ¡°Very good, Abstraxia. Very good indeed. This, then, is your first lesson. Go, lie within.¡±


    She dropped lightly into the hole. The black fur-carpets extended down the four walls and across the ground at the bottom. Compared with the before-Citadel, the landscapes of torment, this was idyllic.


    Feeling thrilled, excited more than anything now, she laid herself down as she was told.


    ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± she asked, hearing the timid tone of her voice and hating herself for it.


    Haehuinil crouched, bringing her face over the lip of the grave.


    ¡°There is no time. There is no distance, Abstraxia. There is only the Queen¡¯s Will, and the King who dispenses it.¡± Such a reassuring, almost motherly, voice was unexpected. ¡°But we are lesser entities, you and I. We cannot exist in that timeless void forever. Glimpses of the future, and the past, and far-flung secrets ¨C glimpses are all even the greatest are afforded. Our minds cannot encompass the Dark Oceans inside a single stride, and thus we cannot so cross them. We need our anchors, what we would call the internal chronometer. The hourglass, the moondial, the lightlever, the waterspring¡­ we must carry time in our hearts as we traverse an unbound plethora of worlds, each rolling with its own pace. You must realise ¨C there are Veils one might cross and spend a century in sojourn, only to return across the border and find a minute or less has passed. So I shall ask you, Abstraxia, to do now as you shall need to for all the rest of your days¡­


    ¡°Count your heartbeats. Do not rise out of this enclosure until you count out a million.¡±


    ¡°A¡­ a million?¡±


    ¡°That will not take so long, dear. Know also that for each heartbeat amiss, you shall spend ten in torture, torture of a far more imaginative nature than that which you have endured already. Ah, I see you react to this. Recognise that we seek here not to cause undue suffering ¨C you have already been so-tested, and have succeeded, with commendations. Now we seek only to create in you those instincts which you will need, if you would see through the Mist. It is but the basest, first lesson of the lot ¨C time must be on your side, my daughter.¡±


    She recalled the woman whose count reached into the billions. She must¡¯ve been lying there for what Abstraxia would¡¯ve previously called ¡®many years¡¯¡­


    And torture tenfold, for each heartbeat out of count?


    ¡°When you say ¨C torture ¨C¡°


    ¡°I will excite the structures which serve Pain. You will be glad of it, afterwards. It is naught when compared with the torments inflicted by the Brotherhood, and shall serve you in good stead should you ever become subjected to the Grey Affliction. Believe me ¨C we have attempted to replicate it, but we are not yet even close. To endure such requires experience in kind, obtained in controlled circumstances where the mortification factors can be closely measured.¡±


    She¡¯d never heard of the Brotherhood or its Grey Affliction, and right now such things did indeed seem very distant possibilities.


    ¡°And after ¨C after I¡¯ve counted to a million¡­¡±


    ¡°We will continue, increasing the count, until you know the passage of time as reflex ¨C spine-lore, as you might call it. Then, and only then, shall your training begin in earnest.¡±


    Haehuinil rose. From down here, she looked so far away.


    ¡°Climb free of the enclosure,¡± she continued, ¡°and call to me when you believe your time is done. Do not be alarmed, if the others laugh. They are listening. They will know your heartbeats better than you, at first, and your mistakes will amuse them. Permit me to say this much: the time shall come soon-enough, whereupon you laugh with them at the mistakes of my next student to follow.¡±


    Abstraxia understood. The time for talking was over.


    ¡°Yes, Mistress. For you. For the King.¡±


    She closed her eyes, focussing her senses inwards.


    One¡­ Two¡­ Three¡­


    ¡°Very good, child.¡±


    There was a soft rustle, folds of loose skin rolling and slapping, as Haehuinil turned ¨C but no sound of footfalls. Haehuinil was already gone.


    Abstraxia settled her shoulders, drew a deep breath.


    Eight¡­ Nine¡­ Ten¡­


    Beneath the counter running at the forefront of her mind, thoughts slipped and surged, sliding over one another like eels. Snippets of her previous existences, slick scales, surfaces she couldn¡¯t grip, unknown to her.


    They weren¡¯t¡­ weren¡¯t lying¡­


    It¡¯s okay, Traseya. Go back to sleep. Go back¡­


    But they told the truth! The¡­ Truth¡­


    It¡¯s okay now, honey. Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.


    Go back and keep counting.


    Keep counting.


    Keep counting¡­

 Yune Listens pt1

    <h2>COBALT 7.1: YUNE LISTENS</h2>


    ¡°That is the purpose of wedding. To defy death with the promise of new life. To find one another in the shadowland by the bond that is willingly shared, the pact renewed at every instant, at every level of the planes. There is nothing more holy than the creation of the soul, and so there is nothing more sacred than this joining of souls.¡±


    ¨C from the Urdaithian Creed


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I furrowed my brow at the fairy. ¡°I¡¯m not even getting an augmented sense of smell.¡±


    ¡°Well you can¡¯t blame me,¡± the tiny chap squeaked indignantly, flapping his wings to carry himself up into the ethereal breeze. ¡°I did my best, you know.¡±


    ¡°I release you from my service,¡± I said with a wave of my hand. ¡°Go, do whatever it is fairies do¡­¡±


    ¡°Fine by me,¡± he replied in a miffed tone, and floated off through the supernaturally-tall trees and their gushing spouts of gleaming sap.


    I clapped my hands and sighed, then set off again in a random direction.


    ¡°She¡¯s pretty hard to replace, eh?¡± my piggish, mouldy gremlin asked, trotting alongside me in his red, curly boots. ¡°Zelurra¡­¡± He hissed wistfully. ¡°She was a tasty little thing, wasn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°I do not appreciate that kind of talk,¡± my bronze-skinned, nearly-naked sylph said from my other side. ¡°The lady was trouble. And that was not her name. We are well to be rid of her. It is due to her and¡­ her ilk that we fey suffer our poor repute.¡±


    ¡°She was trouble, sure, but useful trouble,¡± I said heavily. ¡°I still haven¡¯t found anything that lets me see and hear half as well as she did, and it¡¯s been weeks ¨C I thought I¡¯d get used to it, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Here he goes again,¡± Zab grumbled.


    ¡°We do share your mind, Feychilde,¡± Avaelar said in a conciliatory manner, ¡°much of the time at least. We have seen through your eyes. We are well-versed in that of which you speak.¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright.¡± I stopped walking. ¡°I think we¡¯re done here.¡±


    ¡°You do not mean ¨C¡° Avaelar began.


    ¡°It¡¯s time. It¡¯s no worse than a wraith.¡±


    The sylph cast me a disappointed look. ¡°Gilaela will not be pleased.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep him asleep, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°I should think so!¡± he chided me, then, with a sheepish look on his face, said, ¡°Apologies, Feychilde. I realise that you require perceptions beyond those afforded mortal men ¨C yet I cannot comprehend your thinking in this. To what power might I turn, should you fail to resist the blood-hunger? And are you not Feychilde? Are ¨C¡°


    ¡°You do share my mind, noble sylph. You know those are my number one problems. Number one and two problems, I mean¡­¡± The way he¡¯d phrased it got me bothered all of a sudden ¨C like I could become an enemy to be dealt with rather than still being me¡­


    I took a breath, then squared my shoulders. ¡°And you should know by now, I can¡¯t afford to make mistakes. If my pride costs even one life ¨C¡°


    He held up his hand. ¡°I should not question. I bow.¡± Avaelar ducked his head at me, the most respectful gesture he¡¯d yet graced me with¡­ thereby making me feel even more guilty about this.


    ¡°Very clever,¡± I snapped. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go back.¡±


    I ushered them through the jadeway, back into the twilit graveyard at the shrine of Yune in Sticktown, and joined with them again. Next I brought forth my wraith into the space I occupied, accessing its weightless nature and adjusting it down to the bare minimum.


    ¡°I would request my own sojourn, if I would not be remiss,¡± Avaelar mumbled.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay!¡± Zab said.


    Very well.


    With only my gremlin for company, I found the gesture that beckoned my lone remaining vampire into the world from the Nethernum.


    A line of purple mist expanded then receded, leaving behind a pale-faced, pale-haired guy with gaunt features, pursed lips, and Sticktown clothing on his back. He was five-eight or five-nine, ugly as sin with a potato-shaped head and a huge bald patch, yet his vampiric nature ¨C the daunting eyes, the languid stance ¨C remained encapsulating.


    ¡°How mad are you?¡± I asked in a level voice, speaking Netheric. ¡°I know we haven¡¯t had chance to chat ¨C you did alright in Zadhal, though¡­¡°


    ¡°Master¡­¡± He replied in the same hollow tongue, yet I could catch the Sticktown accent nonetheless. He was looking uncomfortable, refusing to meet my eyes. ¡°Master, please¡­ Please let me go, I promise ¨C¡°


    ¡°You aren¡¯t being let go. You¡¯re¡­ having your utility increased, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Utility?¡± It seemed to break through his mood, and he turned his lavender gaze on me. ¡°Ain¡¯t that posh-speak for sewage-work?¡±


    ¡°Your usefulness,¡± I amended myself. ¡°You¡¯re going to be my eyes and ears. I just wanted to¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    He stood incredibly still, as motionless and silent as a statue, regarding me with unblinking, piercing eyes.


    ¡°¡­ find out if you were a great conversationalist,¡± I finished, and sighed again. ¡°Fine. Get in here.¡±


    I waved a hand as if to strike him, and as though he were an illusion my arm passed right through him, absorbing his substance into myself.


    Go to sleep, vampire.


    The sensations trickled over me.


    The evening. It lived and breathed.


    I almost felt that I could hear the grass growing, never mind the worms wriggling around in it. I could smell the rain, and the rot, and the winter mushrooms. I could make out the veins in the individual leaves that swirled in the shadows.


    The feeling of strength, power, that I received from my satyrs when I joined with them was definitely missing. My musculature hadn¡¯t been changed, nor my bone density ¨C I could tell that much just by flexing my arm.


    Nor did I find myself craving a cup of blood¡­


    All in all, I was satisfied. I spread Avaelar¡¯s wings and took off for Treetown, adjusting my tangibility as I climbed the cold air.


    I¡¯d been lucky with the vampire, it seemed ¨C or had I?


    Did my desire to get the perception powers of the vampire have something to do with it? If I spend more time, dwelling on what I want to get out of the relationship, will I get better results?


    ¡°Not got a clue,¡± Zab said instantly.


    Zel would¡¯ve known.


    ¡°She probably could¡¯ve written the book on it.¡± The gremlin sounded like he was taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in my distress.


    Even if you¡¯re right, she wouldn¡¯t have ever told me the truth about it, I thought back. She¡¯d have let on about it before I picked you up, if she was going to¡­ No, she was scared I¡¯d figure it out ¨C she didn¡¯t want me to get her danger-sense, or conscious control of her future-sight¡­


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°You can do everything I can do,¡± Zab commented.


    Except the mind-scan ¨C and it¡¯s not like my illusions are as good as yours. Plus¡­ sorry, Zabalam, but you¡¯re a bit of a one-trick pony. Zel had a whole candy-bag of minor abilities¡­


    She was a dangerous adversary ¨C whatever she was, whomever she served. No one¡¯s explanations made any sense of her betrayal, though. Sure, maybe a few of the sorcerers that went around with things like her inside them had ended up being disintegrated in Incursions. But she¡¯d done what she could to keep me away from that level of danger ¨C or was that just a ruse, lulling me into a false sense of security, only waiting till I ripened to let me be plucked? Could she really be in league with the dragon¡¯s demons? She¡¯d always made out as though she hated dragons¡­ And she¡¯d worked so hard to rid us of Tyr Kayn¡¯s influence¡­ Was it possible she just wasn¡¯t aware Lovebright was one of her master¡¯s plots, until it was too late?


    ¡°Oh man, just send me to sleep already,¡± Zab said.


    My brief flash of irritation at the interruption and my wholehearted agreement with his proposition were enough to send his consciousness straight back to his home plane ¨C exactly what was supposed to happen, when the eldritch was properly bound.


    Exactly how Zel ¨C whatever her damn name was ¨C had given herself away.


    I flew on over the Blackrush, over Oldtown. Off in the distance, my vampiric sight let me pick out the trees beyond the Whiteflood ¨C my destination.


    Zab was right. I¡¯d spent too much time dwelling over the faerie queen already. There were so many other pressing issues. Everseer bothered me the most ¨C the fact every murder she committed from now on was on my head ¨C my failure to end the threat she posed, when I had the chance¡­ But the Nighteye situation was probably just as bad. Lying about the druid to Fangmoon and Sunspring, and the poor old grouse they¡¯d found who knew him ¨C it stung¡­ but I didn¡¯t have the luxury of conscience. I¡¯d gradually lessened my outward confidence that we¡¯d find ¡®Theor¡¯ until Killstop made the timely suggestion in front of everyone that we give up. In secret she was doing her best to counter the cover, the scrying-shield which Everseer¡¯s presence in his life had granted Nighteye, but the truth was that we were swamped. Bigger events were afoot, drawing our attention. The dragon revivification stuff loomed over everything, never mind the whole ¡®twin archmage¡¯ fiasco¡­


    According to Phanar, Ord Ylon wanted Redgate to visit his lair. That could only mean Lovebright had manipulated Timesnatcher into correcting the flow of the future, so that the evil arch-sorcerer would end up heading to Chakobar. Which meant Tyr Kayn and Ord Ylon were colluding¡­ and if Everseer was right, that they were serving the ancient dragon progenitors, Ulu Kalar and Mal Tagar¡­ then it was entirely possible that they¡¯d been working towards the resurrection of a whole host of long-dead wyrms.


    Did that mean it was all over? Did Redgate¡¯s demise spell the end of their plots? Or did it just mean Tyr Kayn found another sorcerer to take over his part of the plan? The Magisterium dispatched investigators to Ord Ylon¡¯s lair, and their reports should¡¯ve been coming in any day now. Either way, we would soon find out what there was to be discovered in the old wyrm¡¯s tunnels.


    This much of my speculations I¡¯d shared with Killstop, my co-conspirator. Tanra was already keeping Nighteye¡¯s newfound heretic status a secret for me, and I figured a little more Heresy couldn¡¯t hurt now the damage was done. She hadn¡¯t caught much of what Everseer said to me in that buried tunnel but she¡¯d inferred a lot using her power, and, well¡­ in for a penny, in for a plat. I¡¯d explained what the super-diviner said, her reference to a Time of the Twins, a ¡®Crucible¡¯ of sorts. To her credit, she took the news that Mund was destined to be eaten by dragons extremely well, I thought, only commenting on the difficulty the monsters would encounter in locating enough sauce to go with their historic barbecue.


    I wished I could be as lackadaisical about the whole thing. Wasn¡¯t this the future that she and Timesnatcher both had nightmares about? It was strange that she seemed so carefree about it¡­ could it be that she was simply covering her concerns with bravado?


    But this was Tanra, after all. She was hardly predictable either.


    Diviners, I sighed internally for what felt like the thousandth time in the last three months.


    It was good to have a confidante, though. I couldn¡¯t risk telling Em. I¡¯d patched things up with her, of course, and now, just two days from the first of Yearsend, our relationship was better than ever, sort of. I¡¯d meant to confront her, but how could I? I was being a hypocrite, and keeping the blood off my own hands meant nothing if I¡¯d been facilitating those without such qualms. So, she¡¯d killed people. Everyone I knew had killed people. The victims were heretics, mass-murderers¡­ I let the moment pass me by, and after a few days it all just blew over. There was too much occupying our attention for me to stay fixated on one little thing anyway.


    At the Gathering, Timesnatcher chose Stormsword to debrief the Maginox section of the heretic battle, and she filled-in those who¡¯d stayed at Ryntol Wood on what they¡¯d missed. There¡¯d been a couple of new champions in the circle, too ¨C Copperbrow, a very nervous-looking gnome wizard in a bronze robe and mask, and Ripplewhim, an even-more nervous-looking Sticktown enchanter clad in green and black. I noted their looks of relief mingled with horror when they started to recognise the magnitude of the events they¡¯d only-just missed out on. When I caught up with Ripplewhim after the meeting ended he didn¡¯t want to chat, and walked out of the Ceryad chamber with an expression on his (lower) face that said he might not be coming back.


    Might not be allowed back, if what they¡¯d told me about Glaif and Illodin were true. Without the heart of a champion beating in his breast, what would happen if he tried to enter again? Would the doors simply fail to open for him, or would he be unable to cross the threshold? Redgate had allegedly experienced no discernible issues entering the Tower, but he had put his life on the line for others¡­ ostensibly, anyway. Would Ripplewhim do the same?


    Not that I could blame the new guy. While Timesnatcher had elected to speak about the dragons and their purpose in front of everyone ¨C about the twins, about the book the heretics stole ¨C I thought it was a bad idea. The gossip and rumours started almost immediately. His words were half-truth and hearsay, full of uncorroborated speculation. I knew more than he did, for once. Until I found another book or some other credible source ¨C and I was spending every scant spare minute I could scrape together looking ¨C I had no way to tell him, or anyone but Killstop, about Everseer¡¯s information.


    Not without risking my neck.


    I dropped down at Phanar and Kani¡¯s garden; I could see the cleric and Ana already sitting at the outdoor table with Tanra and Bor, glasses and tankards in front of them. An anti-precipitation spell covered the garden with its faint, orangey glow. Phanar and Ibbalat were busy carrying bowls, filled with warm fruits and steamed vegetables, into and out of the open doorway, loading them up on a side-table. I wouldn¡¯t have taken a group of adventurers for such expert chefs but over the last few weeks they¡¯d been keen to prove me wrong ¨C it seemed being out in the wilderness half your life meant you had to be self-reliant in the cookery department, not just in the practice of self-defence.


    ¡°Feybaby!¡± Ana called, looking up at me with a devious smile gleaming white in the centre of her narrow, red-brown face.


    ¡°Annoythta,¡± I grated, descending to the paved patio. The girl had a scandalous tendency to spot me when I was approaching, no matter how enwraithed I was.


    ¡°You¡¯re almost late,¡± Kani chided, sipping her hot tea. She always had a bit of a brittle attitude with me ¨C which was understandable, given what she and her friends endured at Redgate¡¯s hands. ¡°Where¡¯s Storm?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll be on her way.¡± I touched down, and instead of pulling out my chair I floated straight through it, only rematerialising and sitting down once I was on the table side. ¡°I got caught up in Etherium. Interviewing fey is way more difficult than I ever expected. And trust me, if there¡¯s one thing I know ¨C it¡¯s fey.¡±


    ¡°Fey?¡± Ibbalat said, raising an eyebrow at me as he manoeuvred through the doorway holding aloft a bowl of peaches that poured with steam. ¡°What kind?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll trade you, answers for one of them,¡± I said eagerly. My stomach was almost turning over with hunger all of a sudden. ¡°I¡¯m ravenous for some reason.¡±


    ¡°Gladly!¡± He grinned, and I could see the little wane-leaf in his teeth.


    The mage sauntered my way, lowering the bowl so that I could reach in and grab one of the warm, soft fruits ¨C the hot, spicy sauce they were swimming in made them extra-slippery and it took me two goes.


    ¡°Kind¡­ fairy,¡± I said through my juicy mouthful. ¡°Powers¡­ perception. Bit of diviner be good.¡±


    ¡°You joined with a vampire instead?¡± Ana asked.


    I noticed Kani straighten a little in her seat.


    ¡°Wha¡­? How?¡± I stared at the rogue in confusion.


    She raised a finger to one of her canines.


    I quickly swallowed, licked my teeth, then shoved my finger in my mouth, running it across my upper row.


    She was right. The two teeth were longer, sharper.


    ¡°Daaaamn,¡± I said. ¡°I wonder if I still have a reflection¡­¡±


    ¡°You do,¡± Tanra murmured.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± I felt a bit flustered. ¡°Glad you caught it, Annoythta, rather than my brother and sister!¡±


    ¡°Just happy to be of service, O Mighty Liberator.¡± She nodded her head, smiling sardonically.


    ¡°Erm¡­ it¡¯s An-ath-ta¡­¡± Ibbalat intervened, looking in confusion between the two of us.


    ¡°You missed her calling him Feybaby when he arrived,¡± Phanar said, also stepping out the door, this time with a tray of fresh-baked bread. ¡°I believe the rejoinder was well-deserved.¡±


    ¡°I bow to the lady¡¯s brother¡¯s judgement,¡± Ibbalat¡¯s eyes twinkled, ¡°and apologise to the eminent champion. As for this ¡®Feybaby¡¯ thing¡­ I thought I was the one you called ¡®baby¡¯¡­¡±


    He gave her his best puppy dog eyes.


    ¡°Oh ¨C I didn¡¯t ¨C¡±


    The rogue floundered, looking into the mage¡¯s face, the glum expression he wore behind his beard.


    ¡°Never seen her lost for words before,¡± Bor commented.


    ¡°Pretty sure she didn¡¯t mean it that way, Ibb,¡± I said. ¡°Not unless she wants to fight Storm over me¡­¡±


    I leaned back and put my hands behind my head. Bor chuckled.


    ¡°Eww,¡± Ana said, screwing her face up. ¡°A sorcerer? I don¡¯t think so. Not that I couldn¡¯t take your girlfriend in a fight ¨C¡±


    ¡°Uh oh,¡± Tanra breathed, laughing lightly ¨C


    ¡°What is this?¡± came an echoing ripple from above.


    Ana looked up, and grinned a little before calling:


    ¡°Storm¡­ baby¡­ I¡¯m just sayin¡¯, if I have to fight you when you interrupt Phanar and Kani¡¯s wedding ¨C¡±


    ¡°Vhat?¡± Em cried, descending.


    ¡°Hey ¨C¡± Kani began.


    ¡°Ana!¡± Phanar burst out.


    ¡°¨C as you¡¯re totally in love with him in secret ¨C¡±


    ¡°This is nonsense!¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°We know.¡±


    ¡°¨C but your boyfriend,¡± the rogue glared at me, ¡°got all grumpy ¨C¡±


    ¡°Anathta,¡± Ibbalat said in a tired voice.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll find,¡± I remarked, ¡°it¡¯s pronounced An-noyth-ta.¡±


    * * *

 Yune Listens pt2

    ¡°Feeling like she stole your crown?¡± I asked Tanra a few minutes later.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly, Feychilde,¡± the seeress replied, taking a gulp of her drink ¨C two parts water to one part wine ¨C without seeming to move her mask. ¡°The girl could never be quite as corrosive as me. She can¡¯t see the future.¡±


    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why you¡¯re losing your edge,¡± I shot back.


    ¡°Think about it: I knew what she was going to say; I had about seven hundred ways to stop her, but I didn¡¯t¡­ I basically said it myself, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve changed, you know?¡±


    She cast an almost-guilty look over at Bor, currently engaged in an illusion-contest with Ibbalat.


    ¡°You make a good couple,¡± I said. ¡°An enchanter¡­ Aside from another diviner, I guess an enchanter¡¯s gonna be your best option, right?¡±


    ¡°At least things are slightly unpredictable,¡± she said, still watching Bor, then loosed a little sigh. ¡°And he is easy on the eyes.¡±


    I joined her in following the ¡®contest¡¯. There was no real challenge in it for Spiritwhisper, of course ¨C Bor was an archmage. He could¡¯ve made glamours at least ten times the scope of Ibbalat¡¯s. He was clearly holding himself back but that didn¡¯t stop him pushing the adventurer to improve his craft ¨C when Ibb created a flock of pure-white doves to flap around the small orchard of druidry-infused apple trees, Bor created some that actually shone like the moon. When the mage copied him, increasing the intensity of his doves¡¯ radiance, Bor split all his doves in two, suddenly doubling the size of his flock¡­


    I butted in, throwing out a half-baked illusion of my own, blurry grey birds descending out of nowhere, but they literally split the glowing doves with their sudden intrusion.


    ¡°Leave it to the experts, eh,¡± Spirit said with a grin.


    Meanwhile, Em and Ana had been discussing ensorcelled weaponry as Phanar barbecued some sliced pork; when he started serving, Em came and sat next to me.


    ¡°She trying to get you to discount her some spells again?¡± I asked. Vampiric hearing hadn¡¯t been required for me to notice the content of their conversation.


    ¡°She wants them for free,¡± Em said with a sigh. ¡°Not just a one-time fireball ¨C oh no, a full-on explosive sword. I tried to explain, how long that might take ¨C for a wizard this would be the work of months ¨C and even for me, I do not know how many days¡­¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯d be soooo useful,¡± Ana said, sitting down across from us. ¡°Come on, Stormy Baby¡­ for me¡­¡±


    She wheedled and pouted, which of course only made Em knuckle-down in her refusals.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that,¡± I said after a minute; ¡°I¡¯d have to draw you a full infinity rune if you were going to use it all the time ¨C fireballs don¡¯t have duration, they just happen, and that¡¯d be a real drain on the binding¡­ Full infinity runes suck, in case you didn¡¯t pick up on that part ¨C I haven¡¯t even tried drawing one yet.¡±


    ¡°Seriously? You suck.¡±


    ¡°Anathta!¡± Phanar snapped, looking up from the smoking grill ¨C Em¡¯s mouth was agape, and I could see her eyes hardening to steel through the slits in her phoenix-mask ¨C


    I laughed loudly, before anyone could get too angry.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Ibb interjected, ¡°a ¡®full infinity rune¡¯ ¨C isn¡¯t that, like, an oxymoron? What in the Twelve Hells is half an infin-¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯re you callin¡¯ a moron?¡± Bor cried, clearly putting it on.


    Once the outbursts turned fully good-natured and everyone had taken their chance to be offended and their chance to laugh their ass off at someone, I caught Kani looking at me with a strange expression on her face. I hoped she was reassessing me in a good way, rather than taking affront at my stupid retort.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t we see your faces, know your names?¡± the redhead asked after catching my gaze. ¡°Redgate ¨C he never told us, who he was¡­¡°


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°We couldn¡¯t read it, either,¡± Bor said. ¡°Even his face looks wrong in your memories. Damn demons¡­¡±


    ¡°Timesnatcher¡¯s been working on it,¡± Tanra supplied.


    ¡°I hope the information is of use to you, when you obtain it,¡± the cleric went on. ¡°But even he showed us what he looked like ¨C and he was our enemy. You ¨C you are our friends, right?¡±


    ¡°Kani,¡± Ibbalat cut in, ¡°they¡¯re thinking about us leaving.¡±


    ¡°But, we aren¡¯t ¨C¡° Kani began.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t leaving yet, no,¡± the mage continued. ¡°But we could, one day, couldn¡¯t we? We might up and leave on a moment¡¯s notice, and our anti-glamour pendants¡­¡± He nodded in gratitude to Bor, not for the first time, and the archmage just nodded back. ¡°Their spells would fail eventually. There¡¯s no need in them running unnecessary risks. You can¡¯t forget the kind of people they fight on a daily basis.¡±


    ¡°I wish,¡± Em sniffed, finishing her glass of wine. ¡°More like weekly.¡±


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t really make any sense,¡± Kani said, looking back at us ¨C me and Em, Tanra and Bor. ¡°You know each other¡¯s names, faces, right? Well, what if one of you leaves Mund¡­¡±


    I sniggered. Em pulled a face like she wasn¡¯t quite sure whether it was meant to be a joke. Tanra sighed and Bor just stared blankly.


    ¡°What?¡± Kani asked. ¡°What did I say?¡±


    ¡°It is their home,¡± Phanar murmured. ¡°Think, Kani, what it took for us to leave Miserdell.¡±


    It¡¯s not just that, I thought grimly. I couldn¡¯t say it, but I could think it: We ¨C are ¨C all ¨C broken. It¡¯s not that Mund is our home. It¡¯s that each of us fully expects to die here before too long.


    ¡°We feel the same thing you do,¡± Tanra said all of a sudden, her voice severe. The winter wind whistled in the trees on the edge of the garden. ¡°We know death approaches. We¡¯re young¡­¡± She glanced at Bor. ¡°Too young to die, but old enough to try our hands against theirs, and with what¡¯s on the way¡­ dragons, demons¡­ None us expects to ever leave this city. Not without returning, anyway. Each of us is fated to make our last stands within these walls.¡±


    We all regarded her in silence. The wind died down ¨C possibly Em¡¯s doing, conscious or not¡­


    ¡°The truth is, I can¡¯t really see any of our futures¡­ I mean, I can see too many, which just amounts to the same thing. We¡¯re all tied up in this together. I don¡¯t know if you guys are staying or going. So I¡¯m going to trust my gut.¡±


    Tanra reached up to her face, the motions deliberate, slow. ¡°We may not be able to show our faces at the ceremony, but I¡¯ll be damned if you don¡¯t know what your wedding guests look like behind the mask.¡±


    She removed her frowning face, displaying the crooked smile beneath.


    ¡°I¡¯m Tanra. Pleased to meet you.¡±


    We all followed suit, and the chill atmosphere lifted, like it was an enchantment being broken. I noticed Kani looking at me again, and this time I thought for a moment that I saw her eyes flash a deep amber hue as she glanced across our features. Then I actually saw the disgust diminishing as the seconds wore on, her distrust fading. She was relaxing. The next time she laughed, the timbre of it was deeper, more guttural.


    Redgate really did a number on her.


    She had used magic of some kind to give us the once-over, I was certain of it. I almost wanted to start a debate on the nature of divine spells, but I was loath to risk shattering the mood by saying something she¡¯d take personally¡­ that, and I was a bit scared about the answers I¡¯d receive. The books to which I¡¯d been exposed had hardly touched on the limits of so-called miraculous interferences¡­ something about ¡®deific extrusion¡¯ and ¡®planar cavities¡¯, accompanied by extremely convoluted diagrams¡­ The theory was beyond my grasp, and all I¡¯d seen during Incursions was comparable to low-level battle-magic. The possibilities¡­ did divine spells surpass archmagery, not just in efficacy but in scope?


    I got sidetracked in my own thoughts, not speaking for a while, watching Phanar at work. When he started serving up, he said, ¡°So, Kas, I see you eyeing this piece of pork. Is that the human in you hungering, or the vampire?¡±


    I hadn¡¯t even realised I¡¯d been staring, but he was right, damn him.


    ¡°Vampire?¡± Em gasped, breaking my reverie. ¡°Truly, Kas?¡±


    I turned my face to her, bared my fangs and said laconically, ¡°Mwahahha!¡±


    Em poked me in the ribs then leaned closer, inspecting my new teeth with interest.


    ¡°You could not tell, Emrelet?¡± Phanar¡¯s lips twitched, which for his impassive face was equal to at least a medium-sized grin.


    ¡°Even with her tongue halfway down his throat earlier¡­¡± Ibbalat murmured.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you do it where you come from, mate,¡± Bor said, ¡°but round here we don¡¯t lick each other¡¯s teeth¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Ibb,¡± Ana said, ¡°just shut up, will you?¡±


    Ibbalat started mumbling at her like a mute, lips pressed together, shaking his head around ¨C she put her arms round his neck to kiss him.


    We ate. We drank. We had a night of good cheer.


    Me and Em discussed buying a similar house ¨C Kultemeren knew we had enough money. We could live near our friends¡­ have a space together¡­ And a few hours later, when I was stealing the demons off a cultist who thought he could go toe-to-toe with one of the city¡¯s most-prominent sorcerers, I was just going through the motions, my mind still there in Phanar and Kani¡¯s garden, enjoying the ambience and the feeling of comradeship, the dreams of the future.


    The future I had to make present. I could buy a place with my girlfriend, a luxurious manor-house probably previously-owned at some point by another champion, long gone from this world¡­ We could live together ¨C we could bring all our families to live there ¨C or keep it secret, keep it just for us¡­


    Marriage? No. Surely, not yet¡­ We were too young, weren¡¯t we? We hadn¡¯t known each other long enough¡­


    But who knew how quickly it might all end, for any of us?


    All of us?


    If Everseer were to be believed about the ¡®Crucible¡¯ ¨C what sounded very much like a year of torment, only concluding with the death of the city ¨C we would would soon find out.


    * * *

 Yune Listens pt3

    ¡°Your head hurt too?¡± I asked Em as we walked in the snow the following afternoon. Undernight in Oldtown was teeming with people at the moment. Open-air markets had sprung up out of the cobbles, possibly literally in some cases, and it was loud.


    She smiled. ¡°A bit.¡±


    We¡¯d gone out in civilian clothes. Back when the weather started turning bad, we¡¯d bought long, almost-matching coats, black leather lined with wolf¡¯s fur; hers swept outwards as it reached towards the ground, while mine was hoodless with a high collar. Despite our garb, Em kept the warming-spell active on both of us, and as we strolled I¡¯d managed to start sweating inside the leather.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve come with me to Irimar¡¯s this morning. Then your head would be hurting.¡±


    She looked at me curiously. ¡°Vot was it zis time?¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯d been trying to get some answers out of Henthae¡¯s people about Ord Ylon ¨C why the problem wasn¡¯t dealt with by the Magisterium, and why it got left in Phanar and Kani¡¯s lap for so long.¡±


    She was still staring at me as we walked, so I continued: ¡°Got to just love the system, haven¡¯t you? See, Miserdell¡¯s in Warthia, which is classed as a ¡®minor territory¡¯¡­ which just means it doesn¡¯t fall under the direct purview of any Seat of the Arrealbord. Its lord nominally owed fealty to another lord, whose own lord made not a penny from the place. In other words, no one cared ¨C it didn¡¯t threaten their assets, you see. Someone in an administrative branch just replaced the local governor when the taxes stopped flowing, and amended the expected figures for next year accordingly. It¡¯s what they do when settlements go missing ¨C dragons, demons, giants, whatever¡­¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± she said, frowning a little. ¡°Yet, vot of Chakobar? If zere voz a ¨C¡±


    I held up a hand. ¡°Ah but the funny thing is, Ylon never actually struck anywhere in Chakobar. Plus, the house¡­ House Daevon, that has the Lordship of Chakobar¡­ they¡¯re the thirty-first Seat. They¡¯ve got no pull and they know it ¨C they aren¡¯t going to trade in any favours they¡¯re owed without being sure there¡¯s some material gains to be made. There was, after all, no hard proof that this dragon was an Ord ¨C and everyone knows the tales of dragon-hoards are just exaggerations¡­ right?¡±


    She raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. We both had a very good idea just what our new friends had found in the lair.


    ¡°And when their representative was told the monster who destroyed Miserdell had his lair just a few days¡¯ ride from Tirremuir, do you know what she said? ¡®Let me know if there¡¯s an attack and I¡¯ll see what I can do¡¯¡­¡±


    ¡°I suppose,¡± Em mused, ¡°if zey reacted vildly to every rumour of a dragon, zey vould run out of resources very quickly. And if it vere not for ze actions of Tyr Kayn, ze Magisterium vould have done something once Phanar arrived in Mund, of zat I am certain¡­¡±


    ¡°I guess you¡¯re right,¡± I admitted. ¡°It still sucks, though. I get why no one seemed bothered when they first came to Mund ¨C I¡¯m onboard with the notion Lovebright was behind it ¨C Tyr Kayn, I mean¡­¡±


    Gods, why was it so hard to remember the real culprit? I didn¡¯t feel scared, so why was my mind still shrinking away from the truth?


    Because it was a dropping dragon, Kas, I reminded myself. And she made Lovebright real, whatever that means¡­


    I shook my head.


    ¡°But it shouldn¡¯t have even been allowed to get that far,¡± I went on. ¡°No one cared, long before Phanar came here, before the enchantress ¨C¡±


    ¡°Ve do not know how long she voz covering for Ord Ylon.¡±


    She was right about that ¨C the idea hadn¡¯t even crossed my mind ¨C and I nodded in agreement.


    ¡°True.¡±


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Ze bureaucracy ¨C zis is is ze real problem, is it not? Ze system itself. Zere is no power for ze people.¡± Em waved at the crowds, people pushing and pulling all around us. ¡°Our institutions have zeir hands tied by regulation, regulation designed by ze rich to further enrich zemselves. If ze Magisterium did not require a mandate from ze Arrealbord, zey could have skipped all ze lobbying and simply made ze decision to send a team of archmages straight to Miserdell¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you really think they would have, though?¡± I asked.


    She gave me one of those looks, and threw it back in my face: ¡°Do you really think zey vouldn¡¯t have?¡±


    I spread my hands. ¡°It¡¯s not like I know them ¨C and I know you think you do¡­¡±


    ¡°It is zeir responsibility to protect ze Realm from creatures like dragons!¡±


    ¡°The dragon would¡¯ve been long gone by the time they got the news, even if it was transmitted magically.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Maybe it was, just like you said, too great a risk of resources. It¡¯s not like they intervene when a country¡¯s undergoing a food shortage and resorting to cannibalism, is it?¡±


    ¡°Zat is different!¡± She glowered at me, and I could tell I¡¯d struck a nerve with that one. ¡°Ze famine in Onsolor is hardly magical in origin ¨C ze druids can only do so much, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s a political crisis. For people like Sentelemeth to fix, not us.¡±


    ¡°Or a¡­ a spiritual crisis. Dark hearts tend to dark gods. I do not trust my people.¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright.¡± I cast about for something else to talk about. I didn¡¯t want to send her into a depression spiral. ¡°Say, do you think Jaid would like that dress? The purple one. It¡¯s about her size, right?¡±


    Em was smiling tightly ¨C probably clinging to the fact she¡¯d clearly just won the argument ¨C and she crossed over towards the stall I indicated. I followed, shoving my way through the gap she made, and arrived just as she was running her fingers over the fabric of the dress.


    ¡°Hmmm.¡± She lifted the garment from its hook, holding it up against her body and smoothing down the material. ¡°Right size, and she vould love ze colour ¨C but ze cloth itself leaves something to be desired.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be ¡®avin none o¡¯ that!¡± cried the vendor, suddenly emerging from a knot of people on the other side of the stall. She was an extremely thin woman with long grey braids hanging across her left shoulder. ¡°Tha¡¯s the finest Amranian cotton, missy, an¡¯ I won¡¯t hear a word said agains¡¯ it!¡±


    ¡°Sure you will,¡± Em replied, Stormsword¡¯s accent coming through strong. ¡°The fabric is coarse, here, and here ¨C and was there really a need to hire a blind seamstress? Look at this stitching here ¨C it¡¯s already practically falling apart.¡±


    I sighed, and stood by while Em dragged the skinny woman over the coals, driving away at least fifty percent of the customers crowding around the stall.


    If Tanra could see you now, I mused. Some of the seeress had clearly been rubbing off on her.


    ¡°If Xantaire was here, she vouldn¡¯t let you buy it,¡± Em said to me in the end, ignoring the woman¡¯s latest retort and replacing the dress before taking me by the arm and leading me away. She¡¯d been bargain-hunting with Xan at least three times over the last two weeks but she¡¯d never shown me what they¡¯d been buying, and each time upon their return to the flat they always broke out giggling for some reason.


    ¡°Anyvay,¡± she tugged me in another direction, ¡°it¡¯s Yearseve and you¡¯re still shopping ¨C and not even for your girlfriend! Vot am I going to do with you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I can get creative if you¡¯re strapped for ideas,¡± I said eagerly.


    ¡°You vish!¡±


    She kissed me anyway, and we stood there in the midst of the crowds for a few moments, bodies crushed together, this time by our own wills. I barely noticed the constant jostling.


    When we parted I chuckled. ¡°In any case, I¡¯ve already got the twins more presents than they¡¯ve ever seen in their whole lives¡­ It¡¯s their birthday, the fi-¡°


    ¡°Fifth of Yunara, I know,¡± Em cut me off.


    ¡°¨C so I always get extra now¡­ Plus, I don¡¯t think you¡¯d be very happy if I was shopping for you ¨C you think I¡¯d dare leave it so late? And, trust me, I didn¡¯t get yours off an Undernight market¡­¡±


    Her eyes lit up. ¡°Oooh, vhat did you get me? Just give me a clue ¨C¡°


    She didn¡¯t really want to know. This was just part of the game, and we¡¯d done the same dance half a dozen times this month.


    ¡°Which one of your gifts are you talking about, exactly?¡± I asked archly.


    Her eyes lit up even brighter. ¡°How many am I getting? Don¡¯t you dare, Kastyr Mortenn ¨C you tell me right now!¡±


    ¡°Now that would be simply unacceptable, m¡¯lady,¡± I chortled. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re just going to have to wait and see, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I tried moving away, but without using my powers to cheat I didn¡¯t have a chance: she chased me and prodded me ¨C begged me ¨C held the lapels of my new coat in her small fists and stared imploringly into my eyes. It was only when she moaned directly into my ear that I actually collapsed in fits of laughter, unable to bear the heat of her breath on my neck.


    Once we started getting dirty looks we left¡­ well, once we started getting continual dirty looks, at least. We were only wandering for the sake of something to do on Yearseve, anyway ¨C the actual gifts we each needed were long-since obtained and set-aside for the upcoming events.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got an hour before I¡¯m looking after the twins,¡± I mentioned slyly once we reached an almost-abandoned alleyway.


    It took us about ten seconds to get our robes on ¨C temporarily ¨C then we were flying towards Treetown.


    You could do a lot, in an hour.


    * * *

 Yune Listens pt4

    At eight o¡¯ clock there came the knocking at the front door I¡¯d been waiting for; I was stuck in the bedroom, attempting without much success to persuade Jaid it was time to get under the covers.


    ¡°Come on, it¡¯s us,¡± I heard Tanra¡¯s voice from the other side echoing through the main room.


    Xantaire let her and Bor in while I hurried up bed-time.


    ¡°Bed-time!¡± Jaid kept announcing in an insulted tone of voice. ¡°It¡¯s Yearseve ¨C can¡¯t we stay up just another hour?¡±


    ¡°Ah, but if you stay up too late Father Time won¡¯t come, and then there¡¯s nothing to open in the morning.¡± I attempted to grace her with a wise look. ¡°Best to sleep early ¨C look how dark it is out there already!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not gonna be any presents anyway,¡± Jaroan complained, then he adopted an expression of shrewd superiority. ¡°Father Time usually hides them under your bed, Kas, and this year ¨C¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Jaid snapped. ¡°Father Time is real. I know, I saw him once.¡± (Whatever night-time hallucination she¡¯d once experienced I was unsure, but her continued belief in Arreath Ril¡¯s Yearsend gift delivery system was a real heart-warmer.) Then, vehemently, she concluded: ¡°I¡¯m going to sleep. I want my presents.¡±


    Thanks, Jaroan, I thought smugly.


    My sister jumped into bed and, clearly without thinking things through, she rolled into the blankets until she was well-and-truly immobile.


    ¡°Riiight,¡± Jaroan said, then, with the heavy sigh of the world-weary, he sat on the bed beside her.


    It wasn¡¯t like I could tell him, was it? His presents were there under the bed, just covered with a touch of invisibility, courtesy of Zab.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be back too late,¡± I said instead as I put my things together. ¡°Just a few drinks after, then the meeting, then I¡¯ll be right back and in bed before Father Time arrives, I promise, Jaid.¡±


    ¡°Just cos your not patrolling, doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯ll be back early,¡± Jaroan grumbled. ¡°I know what these things are like by now. Dreamlaughter will show up at last and, and just wreck everything ¨C¡±


    ¡°Not if I¡¯ve got anythin¡¯ to say about it,¡± Bor said from the bedroom doorway.


    I looked up, nodded to him.


    ¡°Spirit!¡± Jaid chirped, struggling out of the covers and sitting up. ¡°Show me something.¡±


    He stepped into the room, smiling, and gently brushed her forehead with his fingertip. She fell straight back onto the pillows as though she¡¯d been rendered unconscious instantly.


    Jaroan looked at him sceptically.


    ¡°She¡¯s havin¡¯ an awesome vision,¡± Bor answered the unspoken question. ¡°She¡¯s a fierce warrior-queen, in command of an army of animals, all of ¡¯em drawn right out of her dreams.¡±


    ¡°Ooh!¡± My brother¡¯s sudden change of heart had him leaning forwards eagerly. ¡°Can you do me? Only, I¡¯d be a warrior-king, and a, you know, regular army would do¡­¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s about an army of fire-monsters?¡±


    ¡°Oooooh!¡±


    The lightest touch of the enchanter¡¯s finger was enough to put him out like a candle.


    ¡°Should I let them sleep?¡± Bor asked. ¡°Like, right through?¡±


    ¡°Gods, man ¨C I always thought enchantment seemed too good to be true, and now you¡¯re telling me you can just put kids to sleep¡­¡±


    ¡°Eight hours? Ten? Twelve?¡±


    ¡°Parenting¡¯s gonna be so easy for you, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Kas¡­¡±


    I sighed. ¡°If it wasn¡¯t Yearsend tomorrow I¡¯d have said at least thirty-six. Twelve¡¯ll do¡­ and I¡¯m pretty sure Xantaire will be a fan forever if you pay her little boy a visit.¡±


    He grinned, shrugged, and left the bedroom ¨C


    The moment he¡¯d moved, Tanra was standing in the same spot.


    ¡°Come on, Kas,¡± she chided. ¡°You¡¯re getting as bad as your girlfriend. We¡¯ll be late.¡±


    I put my mask in my satchel. ¡°Don¡¯t be daft ¨C we¡¯ve got you. If anyone¡¯s gonna get us to the shrine on time¡­¡±


    Fifteen minutes later, we were standing in our champion outfits near the altar of Yune in Hightown. Em was at my side, my vampire¡¯s essence once more feeding me enhanced sensory capabilities.


    I wasn¡¯t about to let anything happen tonight.


    No one had publicised the event ¨C indeed, it was supposed to be a private affair ¨C but it wasn¡¯t the kind of venue you could just book-out. The full moon falling on Yearseve was of course too good for the nuptial couple to pass up ¨C and it had the added benefit of the cleansing at the Fountains of Merizet drawing away lots of potential passers-by. However, this was a posh area, and most of the people around here would have the money to afford proper healing. Therefore, a fair number of the passers-by had already stopped passing by, freezing in their tracks when they saw us, and it hadn¡¯t taken long for the news to spread ¨C a small crowd started to form, keeping a respectable distance from the proceedings. I had a number of things to say about Hightown folk, in general, but at least they knew how to behave themselves.


    It wasn¡¯t quite going to be the perfect winter wedding. The wind was biting and the snow wasn¡¯t falling, but there was plenty of the white stuff on the ground and it didn¡¯t appear to be going anywhere soon. It gave a satisfying crunch under my boots whenever I shifted my feet, looking around at what would¡¯ve been grassy fields surrounding a lake ¨C now a picturesque tundra ringing a dark mirror, the icy water¡¯s black surface reflecting only the full moon.


    The shrine of Yune in Hightown they¡¯d selected for their ceremony was so dissimilar to the Sticktown shrine, it beggared belief that they were temples to the same goddess. Where I lived, ¡®hope¡¯ meant tens of thousands of gravestones, souls removed from this world to a, ¡®hopefully¡¯, better place. The altar itself was a simple block of marble and some flowers. Here, you could¡¯ve been fooled into thinking it was a shrine to Wythyldwyn. Hope in this world was definitely the theme. The trees here hadn¡¯t been abandoned to become gnarled and twisted, growing where and how they wanted; these ones were spaced in rows, each tree roughly equal in height and the span of its branches¡­ Instead of moss streaming from trunks festooned with mushrooms, these were streaming with yellow ribbons, all marks of fungus and growth removed from their bark by druids.


    The place was vast ¨C two or three times the area of my shrine, I was sure, despite the fact the Sticktown shrine was the biggest patch of greenery in the whole north-end of my district. Here the cemetery-section was relatively tiny, but it was no more an afterthought than the decorations on the trees: instead of gravestones, tall structures were the order of the day ¨C mausoleums and tombs and crypts, many of them looking so ancient they might¡¯ve predated Sticktown even as a concept.


    The altar before which we stood was a full rendering of the goddess. Her youthful face upraised, narrow lips parted in a slight smile, crowned with a five-rayed halo and robed in cloud ¨C Yune was carved from what appeared to be a single pearl, standing a full twelve feet in height, garlanded in goldsprawn and rosemary. The statue¡¯s value was literally inestimable. At its feet a number of vivid roses fountained forth from the soil; I couldn¡¯t see or hear a single insect on their many-hued petals, and their lustrous scents were overpowering, dusty doors opening on hidden memories.


    We four were the only official guests, the only people they¡¯d really got to know since arriving back in Mund. The two ministers of the goddess stood off to one side as they conversed in low voices, a man and woman both advanced in years and clad respectively in robes of pale blue and pink.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Then they returned, groom and best man striding down on the airs from the night sky where they¡¯d spent the last ten minutes ¨C Em had superseded Ibbalat¡¯s flight-spell with her own magic to ensure there were no accidents. If they were coming back down, that could only mean the ladies were about to arrive.


    Phanar had eschewed traditional wedding garb, unless it was customary in his homeland to dress in full battle-harness and weapons at the altar. Ibbalat wore a fancy new mage¡¯s hat and a blue-and-gold mage-robe in the finest cut I¡¯d ever seen, all angles and swirls ¨C and I knew some of the richest mages in Mund ¨C hells, I knew the First Lady of Mund¡­


    We turned to watch the arrival of the bride and her bridesmaid.


    Kanthyre wore a gown white like the snow, bound tightly into its corset-like structure but not so much that she threatened to spill out the top. The lacy sleeves of the dress spilled down to the cleric¡¯s feet, the cuff-hems just brushing the frosted surface of the ground, sparkling as they did so. Her face was hidden by the veil hanging from her tiara, the circlet¡¯s sapphires gleaming fiercely on her brow, but they did little to mask or distract from her winsome smile.


    My eyes widened when I saw the mace at her side, carefully covered and strapped-down.


    Behind her, carrying the long train, Anathta was wrapped in a form-fitting dress made up of several diaphanous layers, Phanar¡¯s cloak across her shoulders. Each piece of sheer material was a different colour, yet somehow the narrow gown wasn¡¯t garish or muddy ¨C it was like a slender mosaic of glass.


    ¡°See, that¡¯s how you do it,¡± I murmured to Tanra.


    To describe the elbow I received to the ribs as ¡®swift¡¯ wouldn¡¯t be doing it justice.


    Her and Spirit are a bloody good match, I thought, rubbing my side and wincing.


    As the bride approached, suddenly music filled the air, a slow, melodious tune that seemed to ripple up from the very ground, as though the snow were singing, chanting a solemn, wordless hymn to the goddess. I looked at Bor, but his demeanour was one of curiosity¡­ so this was the work of Yune herself? I remembered going to a wedding in my youth, with my parents ¨C but I couldn¡¯t recall automated music. There¡¯d been a few guys with small harps, if memory served. Sounds out of the earth? I thought I would¡¯ve remembered if that¡¯d happened.


    At the same time, me and Em made our gestures. The wizard brought the snow drifting down again in a gentle flurry; for my part, I put shields around the whole area, centring them on the space before the altar so that Phanar and Kani would stand within the very heart of protection. I¡¯d read enough books to know the villains always struck just before two people got married ¨C I didn¡¯t think the adventurers had made any enemies yet, but it never hurt to be on the safe side. No one but me could see the blue shapes through which the snow was now billowing.


    Despite his choice of armour for his wedding suit, Phanar performed the formal tradition of Realm marriage ¨C once Kani reached his side he kept his eyes from her and slowly circled her, facing outwards, before turning to regard her, circling her a second time. As he drew to a stop he took her by the hand, then guided her, turning on his heel and keeping hold of her fingers as she circled him a single time. At last, niceties obeyed, they came to stand together before the altar.


    The ministers moved to stand under the arms of Yune¡¯s statue ¨C the priest under her right arm, the priestess under her left. They went barefooted, and the roses about the statue moved aside, parting so that they could step unharmed into the thorny space.


    The music faded away.


    ¡°From the darkness of yesteryear¡¯s gloom steps a shadow brightening,¡± said the male minister. ¡°From the rushes a wind shall be born.¡± He produced a good-humoured, boyish smile despite plainly being sixty-something years old. ¡°We welcome Phanar and Kanthyre into the bosom of hope. May it be yours, everlasting, beyond this world.¡±


    ¡°From the heart comes the fire enlightening,¡± said the woman, her voice incredibly warm, gentle. ¡°From the Shadow new selves be torn! We welcome Phanar and Kanthyre as they join their souls, bound by sacred oath. May their love be everlasting, the hallowed, unblemished pearl.¡±


    They started going back and forth, priest then priestess.


    ¡°Yune, Lady of Peace, Destiny¡¯s Door, we supplicate thee! Fill them with thy peace; lead them from anger and violence and into thine arms, where all might rest, and find understanding beyond enmity.¡±


    ¡°Entreat thy kin to watch over these, your faithful followers: bring them the blessing of thy father Locus, that they might learn from their mistakes, and thy daughter Belestae, that ill-fate might never befall them!¡±


    ¡°Under Brondor¡¯s hand, fill their treasuries, bring them wealth overflowing,¡± the priest smiled at Kani; ¡°under Wythyldwyn¡¯s wing, heal their hurts, bring them life abounding.¡±


    ¡°O Joran, shield them as they walk in Kaile¡¯s light! O Glaif, bind the vows they make in the freedom of Nentheleme¡¯s sight!¡± The priestess slowly cast out an arm to the snow drifting, silvery in the moonlit as it coursed through the black night sky. ¡°Tauremai, Queen of Winter, bear witness to this union made in the bosom of your time. Uphold it, for all winters to come, until Mortiforn takes them to his own. In the name of Urdaith, let it be so!¡±


    I shivered, not at the cold. It was just¡­ the inevitability of it all. Even at a wedding, the spectre of death raised its head. It was omnipresent. It weighed equally on us all, in the end.


    Everyone goes through it. My parents went through it. I¡¯ll go through it, and the twins will too¡­ one day¡­


    ¡°Please, look into one another¡¯s eyes,¡± the male minister instructed them.


    The bride and groom turned to face each other. Ana helped Kani get her veil drawn over her head, trailing it back across her hair.


    ¡°Phanar of N¡¯Lem,¡± he went on, ¡°do you bind yourself to this woman, Kanthyre Vael, with willing mind and soul?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± the warrior spoke huskily, breath steaming on the air.


    ¡°Until the earth sinks into the sea? Until the sea boils in the fire? Until the fire becomes smoke and the smoke passes away over the mountains of time, where only nothingness can follow?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    The female minister broke in: ¡°Then the nothingness shall never come; for love brings hope and hope brings love, and new life shall be born out of every void, as Yune teaches. Kanthyre Vael, I ask you now the same. Do you bind yourself to this man, Phanar of N¡¯Lem, with willing mind and soul?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Until the ¨C¡°


    I whirled, pointing, and Tanra flickered and vanished.


    There was an impact on my shield ¨C and what I saw amazed me.


    Timesnatcher and Killstop, both of them now on the edge of the invisible barriers, knives in their hands ¨C and Duskdown blurring up to me, a pink-purple shape streaking across the snow.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± he growled as he slowed. ¡°I need you.¡±


    It took me a moment to process what was happening ¨C the small crowd of onlookers vanished like a flock of pigeons struck by a hawk, screaming ¨C


    The very instant Stormsword raised her hands for the lightning, she shot off into the air, thrown beyond the shield¡¯s borders with the others.


    The ill-will¡­ They wish harm¡­ on my ally?


    Spiritwhisper held himself very still ¨C he¡¯d clearly figured out what was happening, and didn¡¯t want to get unceremoniously tossed beyond the dome like Em.


    ¡°Drop the shield!¡± Timesnatcher roared.


    ¡°Feychilde?¡± Ibbalat cried.


    It made no sense, but the sunset-clad arch-diviner was still walking towards me.


    ¡°Stay calm, everyone,¡± I called over my shoulder. ¡°Finish the ceremony!¡±


    He is not interrupting this.


    I heard the ministers behind me hurriedly finishing up, their voices tense with fear and perhaps a trace of disgust at what was going on, here on their hallowed ground. Meanwhile, I stepped out to meet the killer, staring at him ¨C the stubble on his chin, the pressed-together lips beneath the mask of metal discs and crescents.


    Another diviner. More trouble.


    No. No more.


    I hid the gestures in my sleeve as I spoke.


    ¡°What is it, Duskdown?¡± I grated.


    ¡°He¡¯s doing it, right now,¡± he replied. ¡°He verified Redgate¡¯s death, and he found the demon ¨C he¡¯s planned this out ¨C I can¡¯t stop him alone ¨C¡°


    ¡°Who¡¯s doing what?¡±


    ¡°Your friend,¡± he sneered, ¡°die ¨C¡°


    Timesnatcher¡¯s strike went just over his head ¨C the murderer ducked into a fighting-stance as the champion sped at him.


    I couldn¡¯t even follow their melee.


    Killstop joined in, and the three of them went sprinting back and forth across the snow with such ferocity that they melted it, blades meeting in great crashes of light and sound ¨C


    Then they were tearing up the grass and sod beneath, as they criss-crossed their patch of ground, over and over, leaping and spinning at one another. Within two seconds they were little more than multi-coloured smears in a cloud of steam, even to me ¨C I stood dumbfounded, staring at metallic rainbows that went buzzing and ringing across the air, sparks cascading from every contact like screeches from a vast violin. Each twist of motion they performed left behind a thousand imprints in the air, tiny time-frozen lightning-bolts stuttering through the fog, rippling in their wake.


    ¡°What can I do?¡± Em asked, descending back to my side.


    I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t think we can do anything, here. Even you can¡¯t hit Duskdown, not in that.¡±


    ¡°I could blow the fog away ¨C¡°


    ¡°This is takin¡¯ a reaaally long time,¡± Spirit interjected, sounding worried. ¡°These things are usually over in seconds.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± I said. ¡°But none of them wish me ill-will ¨C I could throw them all somewhere, now, I guess? If it even works that way¡­ And none of my demons can move anything like that fast, or ¨C¡°


    ¡°Reaaally long, now!¡± Spirit blurted. ¡°Call Doomspeaker! We might be able to bring in reinforce¡­¡±


    Bor¡¯s voice died away.


    The colours, the sounds faded.


    Behind us, I heard Ibbalat and Anathta clapping belatedly as the groom kissed the bride, while in front of us, I saw the body of the arch-diviner being dragged into the open.


    The hilts of two knives had been left protruding from the robe, their blades buried in the chest cavity. The magic in them ran up and down the handles, moving into and out of the dying man, green tinctures of light pulsing through his innards.


    I could see his face ¨C his mask was missing. Duskdown was a human in his mid-to-late- thirties, heavy-browed but handsome, a somewhat receded hairline with short blond hair falling down his neck.


    But half his head resembled one of Phanar¡¯s peaches, his eye socket smashed, the skin already puffed up in a great reddish welt.


    Killstop let go of his foot, and it fell limply to the ground.


    Timesnatcher spoke in a low, thick voice, the words wrung from him.


    ¡°O Yune. Yune¡­¡± The champion went to his knees beside Duskdown¡¯s comatose body, looking up at the pearl-carved statue of the goddess, eyes glimmering with tears. ¡°Yune, Mother of the Mercies ¨C I thank you. I thank you¡­


    ¡°You¡­


    ¡°You listened¡­¡±

 High Ground pt1

    <h2>COBALT 7.2: HIGH GROUND</h2>


    ¡°I broke all the secret armies. I need your help. We need to build a new one, in the open. If you have the power¡­ bring it. Use it. We need it.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from the recordings recovered in the Invocatrix


    Timesnatcher¡¯s voice still low, he spoke as though to himself: ¡°I fol-followed him¡­ all the way here. All the way to you, Yune¡­¡± He looked up at us. ¡°F-Feychilde, you¡­ thank you. Killstop ¨C you were¡­ You were, as ever¡­ you know.¡±


    She curtseyed. For my part, I just stared at him, thinking.


    But I did nothing¡­ Was this something he planned, somehow? But how could he ¨C he can¡¯t foresee Duskdown¡­ can he?


    It¡¯d been weeks since I¡¯d got a sense off him that I couldn¡¯t trust him ¨C not since he explained Winterprince, that night after the battle with the heretics¡­ Now that feeling came back in spades.


    Then I heard as Ibbalat whistled, and Anathta called, ¡°Nice one with the light-show! Really pretty!¡±


    In moments the crowds started to reconverge, the news swiftly spreading ¨C ¡°Timesnatcher killed Duskdown!¡± Cheers and hoots of appreciation started to fill the air.


    But the whispers rippling through the onlookers were wrong on both counts. Timesnatcher hadn¡¯t done it ¨C not alone, at least. I was certain he¡¯d ensure the Magisterium paid out to Killstop too. And, more importantly, Duskdown wasn¡¯t dead ¨C he was wounded and bloody. (I could smell it, and, no, it was not appetising.) He had, however, been struck a blow to the temple that knocked him out, judging from the huge injury on the side of his face ¨C and he would be dead soon from it, if not from the daggers embedded in him¡­


    I ignored what was going on behind me, the chatter of the crowd and their distant applause, the comments of Phanar¡¯s friends.


    ¡°What will we do with him?¡± I asked. ¡°He¡¯s not a heretic.¡±


    ¡°Zyger,¡± Timesnatcher said with grim finality. ¡°It will be my pleasure.¡±


    He bent across the body, hefted it unceremoniously in his arms, and vanished.


    I looked at Killstop. ¡°He said ¡®Die¡¯ was about to do something. My friend Die.¡±


    ¡°I think, Feychilde, you¡¯re dealing with a classic case of mishearing,¡± she said without looking back at me ¨C she was facing away from us and turning on the spot, waving to the onlookers. ¡°Hey, those vampire ears of yours¡­¡± she went on. ¡°You aren¡¯t hearing everyone say Die and Death and Blood all the time, are you?¡±


    ¡°Kill me,¡± I said with a sigh. ¡°I¡¯m almost a hundred percent positive he was talking about Direcrown.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have any friends called Di or Dye (or, yes, even Die ¨C it wasn¡¯t inconceivable for a champion or darkmage to have a moniker shortened to ¡®Die¡¯, was it?)¡­ but there was one possibility I couldn¡¯t discount, and the mention of Redgate brought it straight to the fore of my mind.


    Direcrown.


    Could he have thrown a fit at Redgate¡¯s demise? Could he have been up to mischief? On Yearseve?


    ¡°So Direcrown is your friend now?¡± Em asked sceptically.


    ¡°Direcrown,¡± Timesnatcher said, reappearing in his place as though he¡¯d never left. He was smiling, beaming broadly, but his eyes were still wet with tears. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s not my friend, but,¡± I floundered, ¡°Duskdown might¡¯ve thought he was.¡± I turned to look at Bor. ¡°Spirit, can you replay the memory for them?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    It went through my mind as well, clear as day:


    ¡°He¡¯s doing it, right now. He¡¯s verified Redgate¡¯s death, and he¡¯s planned this out ¨C I can¡¯t stop him alone ¨C¡°


    ¡°Who¡¯s doing what?¡±


    ¡°Your friend, die ¨C¡°


    Timesnatcher spoke at once, and despite his words he didn¡¯t sound worried. ¡°Direcrown employs fiends of fate-corruption to hide himself from us. Regardless, I can say with absolute certainty that he is currently ensconced in the place we go on nights such as these.¡± He cast a glance up at the full moon. ¡°Killstop, can you confirm?¡±


    ¡°No doubt in my mind,¡± she replied; however, her voice was a bit dreamy, distracted. ¡°That isn¡¯t how those¡­ rhimbelkina work, anyway ¨C if he isn¡¯t deliberately using them ¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± Irimar cut her off, then looked again at me. Was he trying to stop her blabbing divination secrets to me? ¡°What is it you think is happening, Feychilde? We¡¯ve had no rep-¡°


    Killstop¡¯s hand suddenly shot out, gripping him by the upper arm.


    She said only one word, but the urgency in her voice slashed at me:


    ¡°Fire.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°Guys!¡± I yelled as we lifted off into the air. ¡°Get some drinks!¡±


    I hoped they¡¯d get the implication that we¡¯d meet them later at the Mare ¨C I could hardly shout it out.


    ¡°Is there anything we can do?¡± Phanar yelled back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t die on your wedding night!¡±


    He flashed a grin up at me, his arm around his new wife, Ibb and Ana just behind them.


    ¡°We can help!¡± Kani cried, stepping out of his embrace and looking up at me.


    I just shook my head. I was certain these guys were good at what they did ¨C the best, even ¨C but there was no way I was going to let them risk their lives right now.


    ¡°See you later.¡± Ana offered me an out, turning away.


    I nodded, then we were gone, riding the wild waves of our diviners¡¯ powers just as much as we rode the wind.


    From high up, the vampire senses didn¡¯t fail me. I spotted the orange flickering almost immediately, even if it wasn¡¯t where I¡¯d expected.


    Outside the walls.


    ¡°The camps,¡± I said over the link Spirit had established. ¡°Gods.¡±


    One of the larger nests of tents, on the northern side of the Plain Road, looked as though it had already been turned into a charred mess ¨C all that was left were tattered bits of fabric, blackened bits of its former inhabitants ¨C and its neighbouring camps were ablaze. Each one had to host hundreds, maybe thousands of immigrants¡­


    I looked down, trying to judge our speed, but it was pointless. The avenues of Hightown whipped past far below as we flew at an incredible pace. We were far from the Fountains, and there were no crowds here in the frigid roadways to stare at the blurs we left behind as we soared.


    When I¡¯d first flown over these streets, there¡¯d been a yellow canopy under me ¨C now it was a white one, snow and frost woven in webs like brittle, tactile clouds between the branches. Aside from the towers and gardens and rows of houses, there was nothing but the snowy hills clinging to the dark, leafless trees, only exposing the road beneath at the long, dark ravine running up the centre of the street.


    ¡°Glyphstone message incoming,¡± Killstop said over the link Spiritwhisper had established. ¡°Ignore it. We¡¯re almost there anyway.¡±


    ¡°But then it keeps moanin¡¯ at us,¡± Spirit complained.


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    The enchanter did have a point. Glyphstones would¡¯ve gotten a couple of improvements if I were the king of the world, but it would¡¯ve been a start just to post some guards carrying one of the devices in the camps, in case of an event like this¡­ What had the watchers on the wall been thinking?


    We cut across Hilltown and passed above the wall of Mund, following its course briefly, then descending sharply towards the flames beyond the Treetown Gate.


    There wasn¡¯t much that most of us could do ¨C we were on rescue-duty, physically manhandling trapped victims out of the wreckage, transporting them to safety far from the inferno. At times we would stop and peer through the smoke just like any of the other witnesses to this chaos, doing our best to locate our next targets through vampiric senses or future-sight or mind-magic. The flight-spell massively helped, of course, still outstripping my sylph-wings in responsiveness. At one point I followed a group of brave individuals who¡¯d covered themselves in snow and freezing water before plunging into the conflagration, seeking their loved ones ¨C the heat was oppressive but the satyr-skin helped me escape unscathed, and with their help I found and freed a young boy whose leg had been pinned by a fallen, smouldering tent-pole. In the time it took me to save the single little lad, Killstop and Timesnatcher went whizzing past me with fifty, a hundred¡­


    Stormsword, unlike the rest of us, was perfectly situated to turn the disaster around in less than a minute.


    Before we even halted to assess the scene, the snow stopped and giant droplets of rain started to sheet straight down ¨C then thunder rolled across the invisible darkness of the sky.


    Within ten seconds the downpour was torrential ¨C within thirty it was as though the storms above were literally emptying themselves, a flood of immense proportions crashing down on us, enough to catch the breath ¨C


    Yet it affected only the local area ¨C fifty yards beyond the cinders in every direction, snow still drifted through the air.


    It didn¡¯t take us long ¨C it was over.


    ¡°Nice work, Stormy Baby,¡± Killstop thought.


    ¡°How original,¡± Em replied in an overly-sweet tone. ¡°Thanks, though.¡±


    The arch-wizard started blasting us with air to clean the muck from our robes, and she hit Tanra a little harder than the rest of us, but the seeress bore it with good grace and a little floating curtsey.


    ¡°No darkmages I can find trace of,¡± I said.


    ¡°Nor I,¡± Timesnatcher said.


    The murmur of agreement went around the group.


    ¡°It feel like a demon¡¯s been here?¡± Spirit said.


    ¡°Are you asking me?¡± I looked over at him curiously. ¡°What does it feel like when a demon¡¯s been somewhere?¡±


    ¡°Why are you askin¡¯ me?¡± he replied. ¡°Don¡¯t you know?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡±


    ¡°Gentlemen ¨C we should put that aside for a moment,¡° Timesnatcher began, then broke off to yell: ¡°Wanderfox!¡±


    At that very moment a gigantic, reddish-feathered falcon swept across the darkened sky; it wheeled and plummeted, then came to hover, flapping its tremendous wings, just a few yards from us. The crowds of immigrants, already awed at our sudden appearance and distraught at the disaster, let out a few more cries of anguish and surprise.


    ¡°Timesnatcher,¡± the elven arch-druid said in a tone of respect, his voice echoing calmly from the sword-length beak. ¡°I was just seeking out the wounded ¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll have the most luck visiting them in there.¡± The arch-diviner pointed to a particularly-large pavilion nearby, in which most of the fire¡¯s survivors had been sequestered. ¡°But first ¨C you can¡¯t sense a perpetrator, can you? Anything that might be useful to us?¡±


    ¡°No, I apologise.¡± The great falcon tipped its head towards the pavilion, then back to the seer. ¡°I will see you anon?¡±


    The druid made it a question ¨C he was checking we were still intending on making it to the Gathering.


    Timesnatcher nodded. ¡°Once the magisters take over, head back, will you?¡±


    The druid inclined his feathered head in agreement then took his leave, the reddish falcon-form shrinking in size as he coursed down towards the tent full of burn-victims.


    ¡°Okay. I had to check, just in case. Let¡¯s go to the Gathering.¡± Irimar swept his gaze across us, lingering just a little longer on me I thought. ¡°We¡¯ll keep an eye on Direcrown¡¯s reactions ¨C I¡¯ll prod him, but don¡¯t expect much. In all likelihood, Duskdown set this fire in motion before appearing at the wedding, and sought only to drive a wedge between you and your fellow arch-sorcerers¡­ For all the good it did him. We¡¯ll meet later to discuss things.¡±


    ¡°At the Mare,¡± Em suggested. ¡°We must toast the newly-weds, remember?¡±


    ¡°Cool by me,¡± Spirit spoke up.


    We started to fly away, taking almost the same route back as we used coming ¨C Mund was massive, and though the Tower of Mourning and opulent Shrine of Yune weren¡¯t near each other, from here they might as well have been.


    I didn¡¯t like it, the way Timesnatcher had taken charge. His decision was a poor one.


    ¡°Die¡­ Die¡­ Die¡­¡±


    ¡°Kas, you¡¯re worrying me.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Tanra¡­ Didn¡¯t realise I was thinking it aloud.¡± That wasn¡¯t quite true, but it was better to generate some conversation than fly in silence ¨C after what I¡¯d just seen, the bodies, the horrific injuries than only someone like Wanderfox could heal¡­ I was getting inured to the such sights, but it was still worse without a source of constant distraction ¨C I supposed I was still missing Zel. ¡°But it has to be a diviner, does it, if you can¡¯t see it?¡±


    ¡°Not¡­ necessarily¡­¡±


    Em cut in suddenly: ¡°I vill meet you zere.¡±


    I turned, and spotted her heading down towards the guards atop Mund¡¯s wall.


    ¡°I¡¯ll catch up too.¡± I moved off to join her.


    Tanra sighed. ¡°No ¨C Irimar, let¡¯s let it play out.¡±


    ¡°If we must,¡± Timesnatcher replied.


    We all followed Em in time to catch her opening barrage.


    ¡°Why were we not notified of this before it was too late? Do you have an estimate of the number of dead?¡± She glanced across the petrified-looking watchmen ¨C two of them were astride griffons, and even the monstrous birds looked subdued. ¡°Where is your captain? I would have a word with them, immediately.¡±


    ¡°Er ¨C I¡¯m captain of the sh-shift, m-m¡¯lady Stormsword,¡± squeaked a woman in their midst. ¡°B-but it¡¯s the g-gate captain you¡¯ll w-want to see ¨C I¡¯m new¡­¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s new,¡± one of the other watchmen repeated just after she said it, a rueful expression on his bearded face.


    I arrived at Em¡¯s side just as her expression below the mask was softening slightly. I knew she wouldn¡¯t have been acting quite so forthrightly in her magister¡¯s robe, but here she was Stormsword, the up-and-coming wizardry-wielder of Mund¡­ Her mask afforded her not just anonymity, but a whole new identity, a kind of power less tangible than magic but no less real ¨C


    I remembered the way I¡¯d threatened Haspophel and his colleagues, when he¡¯d misbehaved in front of me¡­


    None of us were immune to the authority the champion¡¯s robe afforded. It was greater than magistry. It said, ¡®I take no drop from the likes of you¡¯, and Em personified the role perfectly.


    She ignored the quivering captain, the woman whose shift hadn¡¯t just been ruined once, by a massacre, but now twice, the champion¡¯s scorn ringing in her ears; and Stormsword moved on from this stretch of the wall, heading south, back towards the gate.


    It only took seconds. We followed, watching and waiting, hovering just behind as Em floated over their heads and engaged them. Her weapons were words, no less stinging than lightning-bolts. We looked on as the gate-captain did his best to explain his failure to get the word out in time ¨C he thought he had it under control, he thought those he delegated to had it under control¡­ He was a big guy with big arms folded over a big, breastplated chest ¨C he wasn¡¯t young, or inexperienced, or new. His beard had grey in it, his eyes held wisdom.


    And even he was shaking in his boots, on the defensive.


    ¡°And the number, captain?¡±


    ¡°Over a thousand,¡± he rumbled, lowering those wise eyes. ¡°We¡¯re not gonna get an exact figure, n¡¯all likelihood, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Over a thousand,¡± Em breathed. ¡°I suggest you revisit your methods, watchman. Contacting us should have been your priority.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, ma¡¯am,¡± he drew himself up slightly, returned his cool gaze to her, ¡°you aren¡¯t the chief here ¨C¡°


    ¡°To whom do you report, then, captain?¡±


    ¡°¨C and the regs don¡¯t allow me to contact champions directly without ¨C¡±


    ¡°This is nonsense!¡± Em cried. ¡°I have viewed the glyphstone ¨C it was you whose message we received!¡°


    ¡°Yeah. Exactly.¡± The watch-captain shook his head. ¡°You wanna meet the chief? He¡¯ll be here to kick my ass within the next few hours ¨C he¡¯s entertainin¡¯ guests tonight, I do believe¡­¡±


    He sighed.


    ¡°I¡­ see.¡± Em sounded suddenly deflated. ¡°You ¨C broke the rules to speak to us?¡±


    She looked over her shoulder at me, and I could see the way she was embarrassed suddenly, confused.


    Why exactly did Tanra want this to ¡®play out¡¯? I growled internally, not for communication. To show Em up?


    Then I noticed as Killstop inclined her head to my girlfriend.


    Stormsword returned her gaze to the captain, and when she spoke her voice was cool, level, even compassionate:


    ¡°Do you wish me to stay, or return, to speak in your defence?¡±


    The bearded veteran stared back at her for a moment, then shook his head and chuckled. ¡°No ¨C no, I¡¯ll handle it. The lads¡¯ll back me up.¡±


    The other watchmen gathered around started nodding, mumbling in agreement.


    ¡°And well done, you know, with that rain you conjured,¡± he went on. ¡°Looks as if I did the right thing, calling you.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Perhaps, a different thank-you.¡±


    She waved a hand towards the watchmen on the wall beneath her, and I saw the change as the very air about them momentarily glowed a bright, sunlit yellow ¨C the radiance swiftly faded, but I knew she¡¯d put them under a warming-spell that would probably last hours.


    ¡°Something to keep off the chill. It is going to be a cold night.¡±


    ¡°M¡¯lady!¡± the captain cried, then thumped his breastplate with his gauntleted hand in gratitude. His subordinates followed suit.


    As we flew away, she called back, ¡°And the new captain, down the ways? Please apologise to her for me. I believe I worried her.¡±


    His chuckles rolled out through the night air. ¡°It will be done, Stormsword.¡±


    We made for the Tower of Mourning, aeromancy and chronomancy again entwined to produce that perfect form of motion ¨C but as we flew, I contemplated which of the two impressed me most. Em, for the way she handled the gate-captain after her argument was undercut ¨C or Tanra, for wanting it to happen.


    Is Tanra seeking to change Em? Make her¡­ better? Is this how diviners play games with us all, allowing an event this time, barring it from taking place next time? Is it really so simple for them?


    But it was rarely so overt.


    ¡®Irimar, let¡¯s let it play out.¡¯ She¡¯d actually said it aloud ¨C well, not aloud aloud, but psychically-aloud¡­


    I looked across at Tanra sharply, and, although she wasn¡¯t looking back at me, she was staring away with a studied purposefulness. It was as though she¡¯d been gazing at me until the very moment I decided to turn my head, glance her way.


    I had no way to know for sure, but I had a sneaky suspicion that the whole reason she wanted it to ¡®play out¡¯ was for me to see it, to think about this ¨C nothing to do with adjusting Em¡¯s outlook on the world.


    Adjusting mine.


    * * *

 High Ground pt2

    This night was the third full moon since we became champions ¨C the night of my third visit to the mystical chamber beneath the Tower of Mourning. We flew across the musty courtyard, entering the dark archway in the blue-veined black rock and making our way down the ancient stair. The moment Em mentioned racing, I skipped ahead of the others, flitting incorporeally through the stone.


    It was the third time ¨C and it certainly wasn¡¯t getting old. I could¡¯ve come here every night if we¡¯d been allowed. There was a sense of majesty, age, in the air here ¨C something that wouldn¡¯t have felt quite right in daylight. I knew that in my imagination and memory, the Tower of Mourning was always going to be indelibly associated with the darkness, with the bitter chill of an oncoming winter.


    Who¡¯d decided we should only enter this hallowed place on the full moon, anyway? I knew the doors had to open at other times ¨C otherwise Tanra wouldn¡¯t have been able to enter and retrieve Tyr Kayn¡¯s device from the Ceryad¡¯s crystal roots. If the gods admitted us willingly, that had to mean the full-moon-rule was something we had invented¡­ I mulled it over for a minute as I floated straight down through the steps in darkness, vampire eyes guiding the way.


    I supposed the rule made sense, though. It would certainly make it easier for the diviners and enchanters to ensure no one came in using the Ceryad without oversight.


    I wondered, idly, what a touch of the crystal tree would do to my powers. Would I be able to create a huge shield? Would I be able to just wave a hand and summon arch-demons from Infernum?


    Yeah¡­ maybe it was a good thing that we didn¡¯t get unrestricted access to the chamber. If I was coming up with it, you could damn-well bet Redgate would¡¯ve wanted to give it a go. I was still finding it hard to believe just how twisted that guy had been, but there was no way the adventurers were lying about what the arch-sorcerer had done to them. It was enough to keep you awake at night, just listening to them talk about it¡­ Living through it? The notion made my skin crawl.


    And by the sounds of things ¨C setting aside Duskdown¡¯s words about me and their potential meaning ¨C Redgate was Direcrown¡¯s only true friend¡­


    I reached the tunnel at the bottom, only to find Timesnatcher and Killstop already standing in front of me. Tanra had her mask half-removed, shoving a slice of hot cheese-bread down her throat.


    ¡°She went for something to eat, just to prove a point,¡± Irimar said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t sgkip ahead ob me,¡± Tanra said noisily. ¡°Had to sglow down the cook while I paid him. Nice bloke. Pretty sgcared ob me at firbst.¡±


    As she finished her food, Em and Bor came down the stairs behind me, Em in the lead.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± she said.


    ¡°Hey, Killstop went for cheesebread.¡± I pointed an accusatory finger at the seeress. ¡°And you didn¡¯t come last ¨C sorry, Spirit.¡±


    ¡°Whatever,¡± the enchanter said, moving past us. ¡°Flyin¡¯s for losers¡­¡±


    I flashed him a grin, but Em was frowning.


    We approached the doors of Glaif and Illodin and, as usual, they swung inwards before we reached them, admitting us into the vast cavern¡¯s darkness. The light of glowing orbs refracted through the waterfalls dripping through the high ceiling, through the leaves of the crystalline tree whose branches reached up to catch the transparent liquid and make it into ribbons of colour.


    Almost everyone else was gathered, if I judged it right ¨C there were a few new faces, but Wanderfox hadn¡¯t arrived yet, and a handful of others were absent¡­ Bladesedge and Bookwyrm were retired, at least temporarily, and were presumed gone from the city. I couldn¡¯t criticise them for it, really, given what they¡¯d been through. The new enchanter Ripplewhim hadn¡¯t shown up this time, as expected, but the gnome wizard Copperbrow was here, chatting to Mountainslide. Other than those few recalcitrant champions, there was apparently always a handful who didn¡¯t show up; however, we had arch-diviners orchestrating that aspect¡­ Never before had I seen someone arrive after we formed the circle around the Ceryad.


    For now, the champions of Mund were still milling about, talking and waiting patiently for the proceedings to begin.


    I located Direcrown, found him standing alone near the edge where the waters ran off into the abyss. He looked impeccable in his rust-coloured robe, its tall collar and hood, the silvery crowns upon its outer layers. He had his arms at his side, looking pensive, the tall, jagged spikes of his diadem gleaming like a ring of golden daggers above his head.


    His shielding looked as impressive as ever, but I could handle that, one way or another.


    You can drop on it, Timesnatcher, I thought.


    I¡¯d had enough of the games. ¡®Prodding¡¯ him¡­ He wasn¡¯t livestock being driven to market ¨C he was a human. A champion. So what if he were a darkmage? He deserved confrontation ¨C even more so if that were the case!


    It has to be put to the test.


    As I moved away from the others towards Direcrown, Timesnatcher took my arm, halting me.


    ¡°No, Feychilde,¡± he said over the link. ¡°Let me handle it.¡±


    I looked into his eyes, watery blue orbs floundering beneath the twelve-pointed star surmounting his mask¡¯s brow. I very deliberately moved my gaze down to his hand on my sleeve, then back to his eyes.


    My mind rattled off various options, but I went for the juiciest.


    ¡°Let me go,¡± I said aloud.


    I spoke softly, but it was enough.


    My vampiric essence informed me that Direcrown was turning around to look at us ¨C perception was typically a two way street for a vampire, and I sensed it. As he became aware of me, I became aware of that awareness.


    Good. Let him look.


    ¡°Kas, this is Duskdown at work,¡± Killstop thought at me. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    You should know perfectly well what I¡¯m doing, Tanra. It was you who showed me the way. Not just him. Both of you.


    But I wouldn¡¯t say it ¨C I just gazed at her.


    ¡°Let him go, Timesnatcher.¡± Em spoke aloud too.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothin¡¯ wrong in his head,¡± Spirit said in my defence, looking from Tanra to Irimar.


    Bor wasn¡¯t alone in staring. Slowly at first, then with increasing rapidity, a silence fell across the assembled champions ¨C dozens of eyes and ears were focussing on our exchange.


    It didn¡¯t matter now, whatever Irimar said or did to try to stop me. There were too many witnesses for him to silence me ¨C with a subject matter like this, no one was going to want him to anyway. I was certain I wasn¡¯t the only one his reticence to provide information grated on.


    ¡°Direcrown,¡± I said in challenge. ¡°It¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± Timesnatcher growled, belatedly releasing my arm.


    ¡°Time for what, my boy?¡± The arch-sorcerer didn¡¯t hold back in asserting his superiority with his tone and his posture, stepping closer gracefully and peering at me through the demon-face¡¯s eye-slits. ¡°My fanged boy¡­ I do believe I have seen a performance like this once before, and I do not care for it.¡±


    ¡°You will care.¡± My voice shook, but only a little ¨C just the right amount. It was anger seizing my throat, not sorrow. ¡°Just because you can hide your thoughts and your destiny doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t guess at their contents. You can recognise your enemy from the shadow he casts, just as well as by the mask he wears. Tonight you killed over a thousand people, in the camps by the eastern ¨C¡°


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    ¡°I can quite assure you, I¡¯ve been present in this chamber for near-on an hour, with witnesses whose impartiality ¨C¡°


    ¡°And your eldritches?¡±


    ¡°Well, come now, Feychilde.¡± Suddenly there was a hint of fear emanating from him, a twitchiness I¡¯d never seen before as he paced slightly on the spot. Did he really think he was hiding it? ¡°How might I prove such a thing? But surely you do not believe that I possess a creature of such deviousness as to elude detection when committing so heinous an act.¡±


    ¡°Come now, Direcrown. Would you force us to ask Spiritwhisper to touch the tree? I know you¡¯re protected, but it can only take so much.¡±


    Direcrown laughed, a high-pitched, nasal sound, all haughtiness and contempt. ¡°Oh, my boy ¨C and to think that I had such high hopes for you!¡± He turned slightly, pointing at Timesnatcher beside me. ¡°Tell me now, how you recruited Spiritwhisper before he inherited his magic¡­ oh, wait, was that not his predecessor? Your pet, whose pet in turn you were in truth!¡±


    ¡°Timesnatcher isn¡¯t moving me,¡± I said coldly, and I felt the collective wince ripple through the chamber¡¯s occupants. ¡°This is coming from me, against his wishes. Trust me. I understand his powers.¡± I glanced at Irimar, then back to our foe. ¡°Why did you do it? Why did you kill them, Direcrown?¡±


    ¡°My patience wears, boy,¡± the darkmage spat. ¡°I hath no such demon, I caused not these fires ¨C¡°


    ¡°Who said anything about fires?¡± I took a step towards him. ¡°The gate-captain didn¡¯t specify the attack! If you¡¯ve been here an hour, how do you know there were fi-¡±


    ¡°You think I cannot smell it upon you!¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be able to,¡± Stormsword grated.


    ¡°How perfect. The upstart wizard knows all that might be known of the worlds of demons and the powers they might impart upon ¨C¡°


    ¡°You¡¯re just trying to goad us into striking the first blow, aren¡¯t you?¡± I cried.


    ¡°¨C and her incorrigible lover takes the high ground, even as he contemplates violence ¨C¡°


    ¡°Enough!¡± Timesnatcher roared, hastening between us. The green, coruscating blades appeared in the arch-diviner¡¯s hands. They¡¯d been freshly cleaned of Duskdown¡¯s blood, but I found I could still smell it.


    Perhaps he could smell the reek of the conflagration, still clinging to the fibres of our clothing¡­


    ¡°Enough,¡± the seer went on more quietly. ¡°I see it now, Direcrown. I see what you have done. The fiend of conjoined essence, the fiend of true invisibility, the fiend of funeral pyres¡­ It was clever. Not clever enough.¡±


    Direcrown laughed again with his hands on his hips, cackling almost hysterically, tipping his head back into a stream and letting the water from the ceiling patter down on his mask ¨C then he seemed to calm down, realising what this meant.


    The grotesque mask turned one way then the other sharply, the droplets flying off it.


    He was weighing up his options and assessing his opposition.


    ¡°You can¡¯t fight your way out of this,¡± I said, feeling sick. His silence, now, was essentially a confirmation, an admission of guilt¡­


    He looked behind him, at the ominous blackness of the chasm.


    He could escape that way, I thought. He could try¡­


    Then Direcrown sighed. ¡°Damn you. Why do you think I attacked the camps?¡±


    Exclamations of anger shook the chamber.


    ¡°It¡¯s Yearseve,¡± he continued, unheeding. ¡°Let the innocent children of Mund go free in health and prosperity.¡±


    ¡°And let the immigrant children of Mund die in smoke?¡± I snapped. ¡°Whose ashes we crawled through, saving the dying babies, the feeble and sick?¡±


    Direcrown lowered his face, and when he spoke it was in a cracking, husky voice: ¡°It is not the least of the things I have done ¨C it is not the worst. You don¡¯t understand ¨C Wyrda, she listened to me and ¨C¡°


    Timesnatcher blurred another six feet closer to him. ¡°You choose to invoke the darkest name we dare speak ¨C the Goddess of Treachery ¨C in your own defence?¡±


    ¡°He died!¡± Direcrown moaned, and the words sounded like something awful being dragged from his chest, the jagged teeth of a saw caught in his breastbone. ¡°You don¡¯t understand! He taught me ¨C¡°


    ¡°I think I understand perfectly,¡± Timesnatcher said grimly. ¡°I see Yathira.¡±


    Direcrown went deathly still ¨C


    And then his hand shot out, fingers extended.


    ¡°Netherhame,¡± said the seer.


    All at once I became aware of a pressure, a wave of wind that stirred only my mind ¨C I heard the sound of a clear crystalline bell pealing out, and two azure spears of force leapt past me ¨C


    Behind me, Netherhame was touching the Ceryad.


    The strikes were every bit as effective as Saff and Tarr using their newfound arch-wizardry to evaporate their enemy¡¯s shields, back in Branbecks Bridge: Direcrown¡¯s barriers were smashed, stars exploding and lines bursting ¨C and he was left vulnerable.


    There was a rush of air, a thunderclap that only rang out after the deed was done; Timesnatcher didn¡¯t appear to have moved, but from the way his arm was bunched and the way Direcrown flew through the air, I could tell he¡¯d delivered the killer a knockout-punch.


    The arch-sorcerer landed in a puddle not ten feet from the chasm¡¯s edge, unconscious on the stone.


    Glimmermere ¨C Imrye ¨C was there in moments, kneeling by his side to ensure he¡¯d entered a comatose state. Only then did the silent cavern slowly burst back into sound, the pitter-patter of water dripping from the ceiling drowned out by uproar.


    Everyone was yelling at everyone else ¨C Timesnatcher was answering ten questions at once, almost literally. It seemed some weren¡¯t convinced Direcrown was guilty despite his admission, after everything that¡¯d happened with Lovebright and Neverwish ¨C some wanted to wake him up, while others were so enraged they wanted him killed on the spot.


    I saw Copperbrow standing nearby on his own, practically quivering in his bronze-coloured apparel.


    I crossed over to the little wizard, trying to ignore the mayhem. ¡°If it weren¡¯t for how placid everything was last time,¡± I yelled, ¡°I¡¯d think this kind of thing was the norm. My first time, an enchanter got an eternal prison sentence because of a dragon¡­¡±


    ¡°I d-did hope we were done with all that¡­¡± he mumbled.


    He sounded young, though age could be deceptive when it came to the demi-human races, and the mask hid his appearance.


    I thought about what Everseer had said. What the heretics believed.


    The dragons fear the twins alone. They seek a resurrection of their elders, and only the twins¡­ only they can stop them. Everyone in Mund ¨C in the world, really ¨C is as good as dead. The Age of Nightmares shall reign across the face of Materium once more¡­


    The champions¡­ we fail. The twins are the key.


    ¡°You never know your luck,¡± I said casually, trying to keep the anxiety from my voice.


    Mountainslide walked over. The young dwarf wizard was wearing a new robe, reddish, granite-looking, with artistic little avalanches embroidered into it in gold. His upper-face mask, the overhanging boulder with eye-holes, was the same as ever ¨C it didn¡¯t cover his frown; nor did his beard hide it.


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± the dwarf said. ¡°Can you tell me what the hell¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m not sure. I can tell you I¡¯m not a big fan of how people keep getting knocked-out mid-sentence tonight.¡±


    I turned to look at our leader, and he was staring back at me.


    ¡°What are you hiding, Timesnatcher?¡± I asked plainly ¨C my voice¡¯s quietness undercut the crowd¡¯s babble, and many of those talking shut up to listen to his answer. ¡°Come on, if you know Direcrown could subvert your sight, why would you think you understand him any bet-¡±


    ¡°I found out Redgate made him. Redgate made him an archmage. He is the creature of Lyferin Othelroe.¡±


    Gasps and mutters rippled out: I contributed my own under-the-breath ¡°what?¡± to the sound.


    Timesnatcher glanced down at Direcrown, then back to the crowd of champions. ¡°Lyferin, last scion of what was House Othelroe, Lord Shadow to the Second Seat of the Arrealbord, inheritor of the ancient Domains of Carvedael and Ilswent. Yes, we have opened Redgate¡¯s records, and unlocked his past; I was ready to submit my report to the Magisterium this afternoon but I wished to tell you first. You deserve to know. You need to know.¡± He gestured. ¡°Lyferin made this man an archmage¡­ He made him by making him kill ¨C an irreplicable act, I assure you. Direcrown is just the latest of his victims to be uncovered. A victim, and yet no less culpable for it. Direcrown¡¯s actions will resound across the oceans of destiny ¨C the lives he took ¨C the futures he destroyed.¡±


    There was tumult again, and more uproar.


    Yet all I could think was that if ever a secret needed keeping, this had been it. Was it my fault? Did he tell us all this because of me, my mistrust?


    ¡®He made him by making him kill.¡¯


    Sweet Yune.


    Even the notion that it might be possible¡­ It could drive men to such misdeeds my imagination fled screaming from the concept.


    ¡°This cannot leave the room,¡± I said shakily, echoing others.


    ¡°That isn¡¯t true,¡± Tanra said quietly from beside me. ¡°It can. It shouldn¡¯t, but it can.¡±


    When I glanced at her, I saw she too was staring at Irimar.


    ¡°Will it, though?¡± I asked her.


    She shrugged and sighed.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t answer my question,¡± Mountainslide rumbled. ¡°None of this makes any sense, Timesnatcher. Start at the beginning.¡±


    The doors opened, admitting Wanderfox. The elf¡¯s mask hid his expression, but I could guess at the shock that would be on his face at finding us all in such disarray.


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s here,¡± Timesnatcher said, and clapped his hands together smartly. ¡°A Gathering on Yearseve is a special event, I feel. As befits the spirit of the season, we have a present for you all. It was our favourite malcontent, our apex predator, Duskdown, whose final free choice in this world gave away Direcrown¡¯s.¡±


    The hushed whisper was now like dry autumn leaves in the breeze, made of gasps, of breaths caught in throats ¨C


    ¡°Yes. Lightblind is avenged, and all those thousands he has slain over the years. Duskdown is now held, pending his sentence. I have no doubt as to what that will be.¡±


    There were cheers of jubilation, dismayed scowls transforming to joyful grins, and several people came forward to congratulate him. I heard at least one person mutter knowingly to their friend, ¡°I heard the news on the way over.¡±


    ¡°And Kill-¡± I called.


    ¡°And Killstop ¨C I owe it all to her!¡± the seer cried over the noise. ¡°Without her aid, who is to say what might have happened?¡±


    I stepped aside as champions, especially the mages, descended like a flock of birds upon Tanra too, all wanting to shake her hand, act like they knew her.


    ¡°Thanks, Kas,¡± she thought at me dryly, and I caught her glaring at me through the mob. ¡°At least Irimar tried to avoid mentioning it.¡±


    I grinned. ¡°Don¡¯t want accolades? You¡¯re gonna have to stop saving the city, then.¡±


    Timesnatcher and Dimdweller removed Direcrown from the chamber with far less dignity than had been afforded Neverwish, and when they returned I heard Sunspring calling out: ¡°Come on, ladies and gentlemen, spread out. Might as well do it properly! Let¡¯s get started ¨C I¡¯m sure we¡¯ve all got places we want to be tonight.¡±


    I found my spot in the circle, looking out across the assembled powers of Mund, as the second Gathering of Mortifost began.


    And we were one more champion, one more arch-sorcerer, down.


    * * *

 High Ground pt3

    I made my way back from the bar, heading towards the glass wall overlooking the snow-clad streets of Hightown where we¡¯d claimed our tables. I had to navigate through the thickest crowds I¡¯d ever witnessed in the Mare, and there were the additional obstacles known as Time Trees. The coniferous things were as big as Twelve Hells and twice as prickly, sitting there festooned in green and gold tinsel. Their needles were blue-white spines that changed colour in the first few days of Mortifost, turning dark-green again only when the festive season was over.


    The bards, a five-piece band, had given up singing the cheesy Yearsend tunes they¡¯d been performing when we first arrived. The families out dining with their young children had all left, making more room for drinkers. Now a moody ballad rippled bittersweetly from their instruments, their voices warbling with angst:


    You¡¯re in a dream


    Finding all the ways you are


    You¡¯re on a journey


    I cannot follow


    But I¡¯ll wait for you right here


    You¡¯re gone


    In this moment


    I stand


    Blinded by the sun


    But you¡¯re gone


    On your own


    And I can¡¯t close my eyes


    I can¡¯t look away


    When your shadow is there


    By night or day, moon or sun


    Every direction I face


    Like the rose, brittle upon your pillow


    It helps me move on


    But when will my tears come?


    When will my sorrow fall?


    You¡¯re gone


    In this moment


    I stand


    Blinded and alone


    But you¡¯re gone


    I¡¯m alone


    And I stand


    I cannot follow


    But I¡¯ll wait for you right here


    For the journey


    For the way


    For the day you reappear


    You¡¯re in a dream


    Finding all the ways you are


    You¡¯re on a journey


    Near and far


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    Why don¡¯t you wake up and reappear?


    And the dead rose still has its thorns


    I move on


    Following the circle after all


    Always, forever, coming back to you


    I still wait to shed my tears


    Reappear


    Reappear¡­


    ¡°Well, that was a nice, uneventful evening, wasn¡¯t it?¡± I said, placing Em¡¯s glass down on the table in front of her and taking the chair on her right. ¡°A wedding, and two archmages in custody¡­¡±


    ¡°The two Dastardly D¡¯s,¡± Bor said in a musing tone, wiping beer-foam from his lips.


    ¡°Duskdown, and Direcrown, am I getting this right?¡± Ibbalat asked loudly.


    He winced as we all simultaneously shushed him, then continued in a quieter voice, ¡°Were they brothers, or something?¡±


    ¡°Not so far as we are aware,¡± Irimar answered. He¡¯d arrived at the Mare unmasked and in ordinary clothes just like the rest of us, seemingly unfazed at revealing his identity to the adventurers now we had taken the step of trusting them. ¡°Any similarity in chosen name is purely coincidental.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe in coincidence,¡± Kani said. ¡°There¡¯s a reason behind it, there has to be.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s only a finite amount of names,¡± Tanra said. ¡°When we were preparing ourselves to confront Tyr Kayn, we arrested a number of her lackeys, coming across no fewer than three minor darkmages whose chosen names started with Black-something¡­ Not to mention the somehow-completely-unrelated Terroreyes and Tranquileyes, a sorcerer from Hilltown and an enchanter from North Lowtown, respectively¡­¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± Ana said with a snort, ¡°two people can¡¯t come up with such similar, terrible names without it being a conspiracy.¡±


    ¡°Definitely no relation,¡± Tanra insisted.


    ¡°Mundertaker!¡± I coughed.


    ¡°Deadgate,¡± Ana said, looking pointedly at Kani.


    I glanced at the smiling bride, her hands around her glass of lemon-water.


    ¡°You called him Deadgate?¡± Em asked.


    ¡°Just before she ¨C¡± Ibbalat mimed Kani smashing her mace into the ground.


    We¡¯d all heard the story ¨C the ¡®greater dispel¡¯ Wythyldwyn let the cleric channel, momentarily stripping a whole horde of eldritches from the Materium and bringing about Redgate¡¯s downfall.


    I wondered if she could do it again ¨C a trick like that would¡¯ve been invaluable in an Incursion¡­


    ¡°Sounds pretty badass to me,¡± Em said.


    ¡°And this Direcrown,¡± Phanar murmured, ¡°you say that he was Redgate¡¯s closest confidante?¡±


    Irimar and Bor both nodded.


    ¡°Then good riddance,¡± the warrior went on, and raised his small cup of wine in tribute.


    His eyes remained troubled, but no one else seemed to notice.


    ¡°Hear, hear!¡±


    We each raised our own glasses and tankards, joining the toast, though my heart wasn¡¯t quite in it. Direcrown was in Magisterium custody, but so what? He¡¯d still sacrificed over a thousand people to his dark goddess in the name of his dead master¡­


    ¡°So,¡± Em said, leaning forwards and placing her hand on Kani¡¯s across the table, ¡°what are you doing for ze honeymoon?¡±


    ¡°Well, we were thinking of visiting Habburat in the new year ¨C you¡¯ve got that Spring Door here, and we¡¯ve never been that far to the east¡­¡±


    I looked at Em, enjoying this new distraction. ¡°We totally need to go too, some time.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never been?¡± Ibb asked me.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Wow ¨C but you¡¯ve lived here your whole life, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    I looked at Bor. ¡°You ever been? To Habburat, I mean.¡±


    He gave me the exact look I expected, the raised eyebrow and smirk of incredulity.


    ¡°So, that¡¯s not really the kind of thing you do here, then?¡± Ibb pressed. ¡°You don¡¯t often get chance to travel?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s neighbourhoods in Sticktown I¡¯ve never even heard the names of, never mind visiting them¡­¡± I swigged my beer. ¡°The Doors? Until I became an archmage, I¡¯d only seen the Autumn Door up close, and that was by queueing up with the tourists. And the Giltergrove, where it stands, is a stone¡¯s throw from where I live!¡±


    ¡°Reckon it¡¯s mostly merchants goin¡¯ back and forth,¡± Bor said. ¡°You gotta have a license, even if it¡¯s just for, like, a day-trip, way I understand it.¡±


    ¡°Things are strange here,¡± Ibbalat said.


    ¡°Tell me about it,¡± Em said, rather darkly.


    What¡¯s going on with her tonight? I wondered, staring into her face as if I could scry out my answers so simply.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we show them what Yearseve¡¯s like in Mund for a champion?¡± Bor asked, a mischievous smile on his lips.


    ¡°You want to come see some darkmages?¡± I asked, looking around. ¡°We can do a quick patrol, see what we can see, but I promised the twins I¡¯d be back early for Father Time tonight¡­¡±


    ¡°No offence, but we might not,¡± Kani said. She looked at her husband. ¡°Shall we grab a room, if they¡¯ve got one? Or would you rather we go home?¡±


    Phanar stared at her, suddenly looking rather timid.


    ¡°We can afford it, husband,¡± she said, smiling sweetly.


    As though reacting to his own hesitancy more than to her prompting, the warrior spun on his heel and approached the bar-staff to discuss their vacancies.


    It was Yearsend ¨C I was certain every room would be booked up ¨C but everyone had their price, and Phanar had access to a ridiculous amount of money from what I could tell.


    ¡°Ibb?¡± Em asked, getting to her feet with a bit of a wobble. ¡°Ana?¡±


    The rogue answered for the pair of them, grinning and pulling two daggers out of nowhere ¨C if I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d have said she had portals to another plane hanging off her wrists, the ease and speed with which she produced them.


    ¡°Let¡¯s give it a go,¡± Ibb said. ¡°I¡¯ve got another couple of flying-spells prep-¡°


    Em put out her hand to cut him off, grinning defiantly and wobbling some more. She raised her cup and made him wait for her to finish her drink before saying:


    ¡°Leave ze vizard-shpells to me.¡±


    * * *

 High Ground pt4

    The warehouse was huge, containing row upon row of shelves, housing glass vials in all different shapes and sizes; the place was well-lit by Spiritwhisper¡¯s steady sunbeams, and less-so by Stormsword¡¯s flickering silver ribbons. Ibbalat was scouring the shadows for our foe ¨C a spell of his own making was shining in his eyes, a wane-leaf of his own procuring in his teeth; he was looking extremely keen and excited to be here.


    The rest of us were being perhaps a tad less active.


    ¡°I shwear, it vosh a rat,¡± Em mumbled, teetering on the air.


    ¡°He¡¯s not a rat,¡± Tanra hissed, ¡°he¡¯s a gnat. Tiny.¡±


    ¡°Tiny-tiny,¡± the drunken wizard mumbled on in a sing-song voice. ¡°Teeny tiny rat¡­¡±


    ¡°Gnat,¡± I said, stifling my laughter as I cast about. I couldn¡¯t see the dark-druid anywhere, or hear him, or smell him¡­


    Em looked over at me like I¡¯d slapped her.


    ¡°Come on Kash, admit it, you lurbe her. You think she shaved the shity ¨C agaaain.¡±


    It was a mixture of emotions ¨C the alcohol made me want to titter incredulously, but I went cold inside, just a little, and did perhaps the stupidest thing possible in this situation ¨C I glanced over at Tanra before replying.


    ¡°I think someone¡¯s had a bit too much to ¨C¡°


    ¡°Alvay shugging her ¨C ¡®oh look, I hit her in ze head again, vhat a mishtake¡¯ ¨C¡° she managed to gasp mockingly without being sick, but not without hiccuping ¡°¨C better give her a hug ¨C you think she¡¯sh attractive ¨C¡±


    ¡°Of course I don¡¯t,¡± I snapped, ¡°have you seen you?¡±


    ¡°Uh oh,¡± Anathta said ominously, using the exact same intonation as Tanra had last night when Em overheard Ana calling her out.


    ¡°Sho she¡¯sh not attractive.¡±


    I glanced over at the seeress again, guiltily this time, sensing the frostiness emanating from that direction. Tanra¡¯s hands were on her hips in mid-air, staring at me and being no help at all. Bor was looking back and forth between us.


    ¡°Of course she¡¯s attractive, but it¡¯s not like I¡¯m attracted to ¨C¡°


    ¡°Sho you admit it! You like her!¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m just trying to be honest¡­¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯re you tryin¡¯ to do a stupid thing like that?¡± Bor asked, chortling.


    ¡°Yes, you! A shtupid thing, ishn¡¯t it?¡± Em burst out, pointing accusatorily at the enchanter. ¡°Putting your armsh round me on ze shtairsh!¡±


    I looked between the two of them, the little trace of cold inside me suddenly becoming an icicle big enough to wound, sharp enough to scratch my heart.


    ¡°What stairs?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Before ze Gazzering!¡±


    ¡°Nah ¨C that was nothin¡¯ like that.¡± Spirit scowled. ¡°An arm. Friendly, like.¡±


    It sounded reasonable. He sounded reasonable. It was obvious that, given his powers, if he¡¯d intended something more he could¡¯ve done whatever he wanted to our minds ¨C could¡¯ve made Em forget¡­


    But he wouldn¡¯t. He was Bor. If he was dark, the whole world might as well be.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t help but get angry with him. Every time he elbowed me during fortify games came back to me in a single flash, a single re-experiencing.


    ¡°Well, why were you putting your arm around her?¡± I drifted closer to Em. ¡°What was the point?¡±


    ¡°Hey, man, your missus ain¡¯t wrong ¨C why are you always tryin¡¯ to get your arms all over mine?¡±


    ¡°Yours?¡± Tanra flared.


    ¡°I¡¯m not!¡± I cried, incensed at the suggestion. ¡°If you¡¯d rather I leave her on the ground when she¡¯s hurt ¨C¡°


    ¡°I have a name,¡± the seeress snapped at me.


    ¡°A name I can¡¯t use!¡± I gestured blankly at the shelves where a dark-druid probably wasn¡¯t hiding anymore.


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    ¡°Oh, hi, I¡¯m Killstop,¡± she grated.


    I understood. Now she was helping. We could argue with each other in front of them. That might work.


    I opened my mouth to retort, but Bor cut me off:


    ¡°Look! See, somethin¡¯ just passed between them then, did you see his eyes? Man, I don¡¯t even need my powers¡­ Come on ¨C I don¡¯t just mean in the heretic attack ¨C it happened last week when that big critter was in the Greywater, didn¡¯t it! Carryin¡¯ her round again¡­ And why are you always takin¡¯ her aside, whisperin¡¯ together?¡±


    ¡°And all ze¡­ hic!¡­ shecret little looksh¡­¡± Em said, glaring at me when she wasn¡¯t blinking. I think she was running about ten seconds behind.


    ¡°Maybe I should just take a look,¡± Bor muttered, looking aside, ¡°find out for myself.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t do that,¡± Tanra said.


    I felt my eyes widening in fear. If they found out what we knew ¨C gods, the feeling of liberation¡­ I could imagine it washing over me, releasing me from this self-imposed imprisonment even as it bound me to the inescapable consequences.


    What exactly might happen, I wasn¡¯t sure. If Em realised we were saying heretical things, would she kill us on the spot? I couldn¡¯t imagine her killing me, but ¨C Tanra? Honestly, I had no idea. Bor could be even more dangerous, if he was inclined to be¡­ We couldn¡¯t tell them that we had some notion of the Heretics¡¯ aims ¨C not without the irony of them wanting to kill us, for being potential killers¡­


    Whoever came up with this system was truly stupid. Bad ideas needed bringing out into the open and confronting, especially the most persuasive bad ideas ¨C that was just common wisdom, the only way for such things to be defeated, dispelled for good. Very bad ideas ¨C like, oh, say, ¡®kill everyone in Mund¡¯ ¨C definitely needed bringing out into the open.


    The epiphany was there on the tip of my figurative tongue, but my ale-befuddled brain couldn¡¯t quite grasp the ramifications.


    Unless they¡¯re right, and the Magisterium knows it¡­ Death is the only answer?


    No, that couldn¡¯t be it.


    I looked between Bor and Em, only now realising they were frozen. Ibb and Ana had wisely drifted away down another aisle while we argued and I hadn¡¯t even noticed at the time, but I could tell from their shadows that they weren¡¯t moving either.


    I turned my gaze back to Tanra.


    Was she going to drag me over the coals?


    ¡°Sorry, about that¡­ You know as well as me there¡¯s nothing between us, right? You¡¯re hot, sure, but you¡¯re a good friend, and you know you¡¯re not the one for ¨C¡°


    ¡°Kas.¡± She sighed. ¡°Of course I know¡­ But why didn¡¯t I bring a druid? I should¡¯ve been more careful. Even Kani might¡¯ve been able to un-drunk the lot of you¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d have had to deal with this at some stage, sooner or later,¡± I pointed out. ¡°They were always going to get suspicious. What¡¯s our escape route look like?¡±


    ¡°Bor¡¯s really tempted to look in our heads, you know,¡± she whispered, sounding frightened all of a sudden. ¡°And he really isn¡¯t the sort, trust me. I¡­ I don¡¯t know what to do. We don¡¯t have to do much, we don¡¯t need long, but if we¡¯re going to head it off we have to do something¡­¡±


    ¡°If we play on their faith in us ¨C if we just tell them, ¡®look, there¡¯s something we can¡¯t tell you, but don¡¯t you trust us to be doing the right thing?¡¯¡­ What happens then?¡±


    She was shaking her head. ¡°It¡¯s the ¡®please don¡¯t tell anyone else¡¯ that¡¯s the worst ¨C¡°


    ¡°Then we don¡¯t say that!¡°


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work; it just goes wrong in different ways. Talking about any of this stuff, it only stops them trusting us, and it always ¨C goes ¨C wrong.¡±


    ¡°What does going wrong look like?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know exactly!¡± She folded her arms across her chest, twisted in the air. ¡°Other diviners get involved at some point and the fabric just tears.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ we let it tear.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, clearly suppressing a shudder. ¡°No, we can¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°Look ¨C you showed me tonight, you and Duskdown. Your sight is a crutch, Tanra. If you can¡¯t account for everything, you can¡¯t account for anything. So, it goes wrong. You say every way we do it, it goes wrong. Well, let¡¯s let it go wrong the right way. Do the right thing. Tell as much of the truth as we can without endangering them¡­ and without endangering us.¡±


    ¡°But it will ¨C we could both be killed for this!¡±


    ¡°Or maybe we end up with allies ¨C think, Tanra! If Irimar knew what we knew ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s a fantasy, Kas. Our futures fall right off the scales. Revealing anything is like, like pouring a bottomless jug of water on our heads. Funny at first. Tolerable. But we¡¯ll drown eventually. Our skulls will cave in. It won¡¯t be so funny then.¡±


    ¡°Yearsend gifts! Would they believe it if we said we¡¯d been collaborating on gifts?¡±


    She stared at me like I was knee-high to her, barely even speaking Mundic.


    ¡°Well, what do you propose then?¡±


    She laughed lightly. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right. Haha, I didn¡¯t see that! Thanks, Kas!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I asked, baffled.


    ¡°There¡¯s a distraction coming up, and if I play my cards right¡­¡±


    ¡°Distraction?¡±


    ¡°¡­ We might buy a few weeks¡¯ reprieve at least. We¡¯re going to have to be more careful in future, though¡­¡±


    ¡°Wha¡­?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s see,¡± she said, as though I had any idea what she was talking about.


    Time resumed its normal flow ¨C and Tanra slid through the air towards Bor, then brought her body up into a kneeling position, robes trailing down around her.


    ¡°Love of my life,¡± she intoned in a mock-sombre voice, ¡°wilt thou take me to be thy bride? If thou seekst¡­¡± she sniggered ¡°¡­ a gesture of mine intent, take of me an eternity.¡± I heard her voice crack. ¡°I-I am but a humble woman, yet all I ha-hath shall be thine shouldst thou consent to be my husb-ha-haaa¡­¡±


    The ridiculousness of this startling turn of events broke the tension effortlessly; he grabbed her and hugged her, telling her to shut up and laughing along with her as her attempt at highborn-speech devolved into cackling; Em¡¯s eyes were wide with shock and a growing sense of¡­ embarrassment?


    The sheer ease with which the seeress had flipped the argument on its head, using her lunacy to our advantage, was truly legendary. Em had gone from outraged to abashed in the space of seconds¡­


    It was incredible. It was¡­ scary.


    I went to my girlfriend wearing my best grin, took her hands and ¨C


    ¡°Could it be more of a midge?¡± I heard Ibbalat muttering to Anathta on one of the adjacent rows.


    I¡¯d forgotten all about the dark-druid. I only understood what Tanra meant as the villain we¡¯d been pursuing took advantage of our non-archmage companions, transforming into some huge, hairy behemoth and knocking over several shelving units.


    Thousands of glass vials exploded into shards. The whole stack collapsed and two aisles became one.


    Ah yes. Distraction.

 Father Time pt1

    <h2>COBALT 7.3: FATHER TIME</h2>


    ¡°There is no reason to fear what the new century will bring. Do your seers not agree with our own? Your forges beneath the Din Dalor shall burn as brightly as they ever have. We propose Anvil Row as a gift to your people. If the forges we build outstrip your own, think only of the excellent economic side-effects you stand to enjoy. Mull over the new tax arrangements, or lack thereof. We await your agreements forthwith.¡±


    ¨C from the Missive to Uthix Arax, 599 NE


    The first of Yearsend dawned, and by the time it did I¡¯d already been up for two hours and had another half-hour nap. With her (significantly increased) spending power, Xantaire had managed to order me Twelve Sorceries and a Soulfire, the next novel in an old series I¡¯d been reading last year. I¡¯d forgotten all about fiction books in my sudden ascent to archmagehood, what with the genuine article textbooks that had opened up to me following my transformation.


    The twins and Xastur whooped and screamed around the main room, enjoying their gifts. Jaid¡¯s favourite was the marble-sized Orb of Juvenile Delight that produced tiny animal-illusions at random, sending miniature, semi-transparent tigers and chickens prowling and hopping across the floor. Jaroan¡¯s was his invisible knife ¨C it wasn¡¯t sharp, designed as it was for children, but it was tied to the will of the first person to draw it from its sheath, meaning only he could see its blade. Xastur was addicted to his self-reading story-book, the voice of a proper highborn lady vocalising the words as he moved his eyes across them. I¡¯d studied the partial infinities fuelling these trinkets, and I knew I could replenish their stores of energy using my own. Temporary toys could be made permanent, with an arch-sorcerer of discernment in the vicinity.


    With all this going on, I did my best to curl up on our new cushions and keep my eyes open, keep my new novel¡¯s words trundling across my consciousness, but sleep was continually beckoning me; sometimes when I blinked I opened my eyes to find that ten minutes had passed, and after half-a-dozen failed attempts to get through the first chapter I set it aside and went to make breakfast. I could already tell from the first chapter that this book wasn¡¯t going to be the last in the series, anyway ¨C there was just too much still left hanging for a resolution to arrive within a hundred and fifty pages ¨C and my personal experiences as a champion made it clear now just how poorly-educated the author was in matters of magic. He or she ¨C whoever Z. B. Neffence was ¨C had definitely taken liberties when it came to fiends, making out as though they were simple automatons, directed like puppets by an outside force¡­ and I knew for a fact that an arch-wizard could create fire no matter how snowy it was¡­ When I¡¯d been giving them little thought I had missed just how bad they were; reading this one was retroactively ruining the rest of the books for me¡­


    I stood bleary-eyed over the fire, cooking eggs.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t get much sleep last night?¡± Xantaire prompted, coming up beside me with Xastur¡¯s empty cup. It was chilly-enough at this hour that, even indoors and not twelve inches from open flames, she was still wearing the scarf I¡¯d bought her.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that,¡± I said, noting her cheeky expression, arched eyebrow. ¡°We took Ibbalat and Anathta out on a hunt. Four gods-damned darkmages, and one was an arch-druid. Took forty-five minutes to track the sod down.¡±


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    I wasn¡¯t going to mention Em¡¯s drunken outburst, the way we¡¯d all nearly ended up having a proper argument.


    ¡°Still no Nighteye?¡± she asked, dipping her son a fresh cup of water from the drinking-bowl.


    I felt myself pale at the question. I obviously hadn¡¯t told her anything about me and Tanra running into the former champion at the Maginox battle, for fear a random enchanter or diviner would be able to pick up some of the details ¨C for all I knew, they¡¯d chop off her head as well as mine if we were found-out. She had an off-the-shelf anti-glamour ring on her pinkie finger, but there were no countermeasures that would make me feel truly confident about divulging the truth to her.


    So, as with Em, I had to keep my mouth shut.


    ¡°Still no Nighteye,¡± I confirmed, keeping my eyes on the eggs.


    ¡°Poor guy,¡± she replied. She turned away to stop Xastur before he set off his self-reading story-book for the hundredth time this morning, but I caught the look on her face when she glanced across me: pity.


    She thought Nighteye was dead, and that I¡¯d been deluding myself this whole time ¨C she thought my discomfort was due to the realisation slowly creeping over me, that he was gone and was never coming back.


    She was so wrong, and yet so right at the same time. Was he ever coming back?


    Poor guy. It didn¡¯t quite cover it, did it? He¡¯d been ¨C what, captured, mind-controlled, enslaved¡­ warped into a walking bag of magic tricks to serve their aims, a weapon who supported death, healed the killers, worked for Everseer¡­ Now she¡¯d appeared with her face bared, Timesnatcher had determined that Everseer was until recently known as Hierarch Twenty-Five, one of the most dangerous heretics to stride the city¡¯s streets these last years. If Nighteye was under her thumb ¨C what strength did my resolution really possess? Was there even a conceivable route by which I could free him from her influence? It was an awkward situation. I couldn¡¯t see how I could do it without Killstop¡¯s help ¨C the evil diviner could predict any moves I¡¯d make well in advance, unless my fate was being influenced by someone with Tanra¡¯s kind of power ¨C but Killstop herself couldn¡¯t see Everseer, couldn¡¯t direct me to a time or place in which I could exert my own powers in Nighteye¡¯s defence.


    Was I being a bit silly? On reflection, I¡¯d known Nighteye for less time than he¡¯d been missing ¨C I could probably count the times I¡¯d run into him on one hand. There was no particular reason I should feel so wounded that he¡¯d been subverted by the enemy ¨C I¡¯d lost others permanently, watched them die, and felt less grief darkening my soul. Yet the day Nighteye saved me from Termiax and Rissala¡¯s demon, from Belexor¡¯s shapeshift ¨C I couldn¡¯t shake the memory. How he¡¯d been there to save me when I needed it most. And how he¡¯d laughed, the night of my first Gathering, when we bullied the bullies in the Mare. How he¡¯d been abused by his own family, Tanra telling me I didn¡¯t want to know the details¡­


    And now Winterprince ¨C he too was gone. He was another one I shouldn¡¯t have cared about, not after what he¡¯d tried to do to me ¨C what he did to Flood Boy¡­


    Did he do me a favour? Ridding me of another traitorous ¨C


    ¡°Kaaas!¡± Jaid was screeching ¨C


    I half-turned, almost spilling the former eggs out of the pan before realising she was shrieking at me because of the state of the eggs.


    I looked down at the smoking, blackened remnants of breakfast.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± I muttered. ¡°Anyone interested in a take-out?¡±


    ¡°At this time of the morning, on Yearsend?¡± Orstrum said sceptically. I could only see the top half of his body, buried as he was in the books Xastur was piling around him. ¡°Nowhere is going to be open, my boy.¡±


    I slipped out of phase with the world. I turned, and I could see the firelight flickering on the floor and wall behind me, through me.


    ¡°Somewhere will open for me,¡± I said.


    * * *

 Father Time pt2

    Within twenty minutes I returned with a bag of bacon butties and tomato preserve, courtesy of the eponymous owner of Hontor and Sons. The bald, grey-moustached baker had been pleased to feed me from his own kitchen, what with my status as a local champion and regular ¨C and yet more pleased when I gave him almost a hundred times the food¡¯s value as payment. With his season¡¯s greetings resounding in my ears ¨C the barrel-chested man¡¯s rumble was deafening, even without the vampire essence active ¨C I made my way home.


    Xantaire accepted the sandwich gingerly, and I was forced to remind her this wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d eaten food that¡¯d been carried through walls and floors. She started with tiny bites and was halfway through it before she seemed to lose her inhibitions and wolfed the rest down. The kids and Orstrum didn¡¯t appear to have the same reservations, gulping down their food as though they hadn¡¯t eaten in days.


    Two hours later, the sun bravely peered through the cloud-cover, penetrating Sticktown¡¯s smog, illuminating the drop-slush. My brother and sister knew they couldn¡¯t go out into the lane with their new toys. The twins¡¯ presents were altogether too magical for any explanation to make sense ¨C each would¡¯ve cost the same as all the lane¡¯s kids¡¯ presents combined. Xastur had no interest in leaving the apartment, preferring instead to stay near his mum¡¯s feet, playing with his books.


    Still, they had a few odds and ends they could show off to their peers, purchased for just this purpose at the new Knuckle Market: a winter coat each; a leather ball attached by a cord to a sanded-down twig; some interesting-looking marbles¡­ It had been weird shopping at stalls that were standing on the very spot where I¡¯d entered a lopsided tower of infernal obsidian ¨C but other than stopping to marvel for a moment or two, what else was I going to do? Everything was back to normal now.


    I stood at the rail, keeping an eye out for trouble while they played below. I passed the time by admiring the new blocks standing opposite. The floating pavilions I¡¯d hired had finally been taken down and taken away, the inhabitants resettling in apartments almost identical to those which had been destroyed. (Just one of the apartments on the top floor was kept empty, for their mysterious benefactor.) There¡¯d been the usual fund offering victims of the Incursion a few silver for the purchasing of essentials, everyday bits that weren¡¯t going to be replaced by the reconstruction guilds, but I ¨C Feychilde¡­ had distributed some more funds of his own, which in the end more than doubled the pay-outs. In addition, I¡¯d lowered the rent payments on those I¡¯d snapped up.


    I¡¯d become a landlord at a loss, but who cared? Eventually it might recoup what I¡¯d shelled out, and it was worth it, to see the little ones get gifts at Yearsend.


    As I watched, the lane kids soon started trading those presents, trying out each other¡¯s Yearsend bounties. Within ten minutes this degenerated into a bunch of separate arguments over who owned what, some of the little brats blatantly stealing from their ¡®friends¡¯. Tiny little Iltri was getting visibly upset.


    I could¡¯ve gotten involved, but to what end? The local children could be as vicious as vermin ¨C I knew better than most, having been one until recently. If I yelled something I¡¯d just be ignored, and every ignored yell would be a minor victory for them. Unless I made it physical they wouldn¡¯t listen, and if I did try to intimidate them, things wouldn¡¯t improve ¨C I¡¯d just end up fighting their big brothers or dads or something¡­ Better for the victims of the petty thefts to take this opportunity to learn how to handle things themselves. At least the stakes were only a few coppers¡¯ worth of toys at this point. Learn how to stand up for yourself and if you couldn¡¯t, at least learn how to mistrust for next time. Getting an instinct for mistrusting the right people was a valuable lesson, a qualification gained on the streets that was highly transferable to life as an adult¡­ life as a champion. I should¡¯ve learned it before Belexor¡­


    Zel¡­


    But the one that worried me most was Timesnatcher. Mistrust invaded everything about him, every facet of every idea that comprised the very concept of him in my mind. He didn¡¯t tell me about Zel because I¡¯d never have trusted a word he said ¨C which made no sense, because I still didn¡¯t trust him¡­ Though perhaps we wouldn¡¯t have even had these weeks getting to know one another, without his silence on the subject of the traitorous fairy. Perhaps we¡¯d have been opposed to each other right from the get-go.


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    But that was how I felt. Opposed to him. He hadn¡¯t been hanging out with us as much since the adventurers returned from Chakobar. He showed up at their reception last night as though he were invited, but he hadn¡¯t been, really, had he? He didn¡¯t show up to discuss Direcrown, and the bride and groom didn¡¯t know him very well, no matter the gesture of removing his mask. Now he was treating this Duskdown thing as an unequivocal win, which I could¡¯ve got behind, if not for the fact Duskdown was caught because he was trying to stop Direcrown¡¯s hard-to-scry fiend. What more of a noble deed could you ask for? He was an arch-diviner, sure, but Tanra and Irimar were there ¨C Duskdown had to have known he was going into that situation blind. No fixed escape routes for him. Just a desperate plea for help to the only arch-sorcerer he thought might help him¡­ trust him, his purpose¡­


    I clenched my jaw against the thoughts. Maybe I¡¯d been learning the wrong lessons all along.


    I saw to my satisfaction that Jaroan was sticking-up for his sister. I felt an approving smile cross my lips.


    They¡¯ll look after each other, if the worst should happen.


    A gentle hum and noticeable warmth in my pocket told me my glyphstone was receiving a message.


    I could¡¯ve taken it out and answered it but the trance would claim a decent chunk of my attention. Knowing my luck, the moment I lifted the device up to my eyes a dozen heretics would descend on the kids¡­


    Some extra perceptive power might have been handy here, and there was no way the twins would be able to spot the subtle change to my face-shape from down there. I brought forth my vampire essence ¨C


    And promptly fell over.


    It took a few seconds to realise what had happened ¨C not a single muscle was responding to me. They didn¡¯t even feel like muscles ¨C it was as though my skin had been pumped full of plaster until my flesh was locked in place. My breath wasn¡¯t even misting on the air.


    Oh¡­ Vampire¡­ Daytime¡­


    Only then did it occur to me that I¡¯d never once drawn on my vampire during the sunlit hours. This was the first time ¨C I spent most of the day in bed usually, and with the dark coming early now it was winter¡­


    I rescinded my vampiric eldritch and scrambled back to my feet, regaining my position at the rail before anyone could see me, before a dozen heretics could show up for the kids¡­ I looked around, and thankfully I appeared to be clear on both fronts.


    Requires more testing, I said to myself and making a mental note. I¡¯d already had to get used to balancing wraith with satyr when it came to simple tasks ¨C something as straightforward as shaking someone¡¯s hand could be thrown into jeopardy, crushing their bones to a fine powder, or trying to grab a falling cup and having it plummet right through my fingers.


    Deciding that a dozen heretics probably weren¡¯t going to spring out of the shadows, I went for the glyphstone; its ringing and warmth had been supplemented by a subtle vibration, now.


    Em was calling me. She did not look good. She was particularly pale, sitting in the garden, quivering under the blanket.


    ¡°Bet your head hurts this time,¡± I chided her. ¡°You should be in bed!¡±


    ¡°Fresh air,¡± she said, gulping the stuff in.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you warm yourself up?¡±


    ¡°Feel¡­ sick when I¡¯m warm.¡±


    ¡°Aww, poor thing.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but smile, though I tried to do it sympathetically. ¡°You want me to come over? I can maybe come for a short visit¡­¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± she said, licking her lips. ¡°I just¡­ wanted to apologise for ¨C¡°


    ¡°Please do shut up, luv,¡± I said brightly. ¡°It¡¯s Yearsend, by the way! Happy Yearsend¡­¡±


    ¡°Happy Yearsend.¡± She did her best to smile back, but I could tell it was a battle. ¡°So I will see¡­ see you later?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll drop round,¡± I promised. ¡°Late afternoon? I¡¯m sure your dad will want a beer with me.¡±


    Her pallor increased the moment she processed me using the word ¡®beer¡¯.


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯m gonna let you go now,¡± I said apologetically.


    ¡°O-okay. See you later ¨C love you.¡±


    ¡°L-love you¡­?¡±


    The glyphstone connection dropped, and I stared the blank chunk of crystal in confusion.


    That was the first time she¡¯d said it out loud ¨C first time I¡¯d said it¡­ Had she meant to say it? Was it the drunkenness, the wedding, the argument, the dropping season¡­? Was she just copying me, how I¡¯d called her ¡®luv¡¯?


    Or did she ¨C did she mean it?


    I felt the pulse of warmth reawakening within the glyphstone in my hand ¨C


    She¡¯s contacting me back!


    Feeling somewhat panicked, I blinked a few times and cleared my throat before focussing my awareness, allowing the connection to resume.


    ¡°I th-thought it was a bit ¨C¡°


    ¡°Feychilde.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t Em ¨C it was Timesnatcher.


    ¡°Feychilde¡­ I¡¯ve got a problem.¡±


    * * *

 Father Time pt3

    Once he was finished I lowered the hand containing the glyphstone to the rail, leaned on the thin wooden pole and tried to stay calm. I watched my breath fogging on the frigid air for a minute, using it to focus.


    Okay, Kas. Nothing major to worry about. Breathe. They¡¯re friendly.


    But there was only so far I could go in remonstrating with myself. I knew what this meant.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you get a glyphstone?¡±


    I looked down. Salli Meleine and a few of her friends were wading down the lane, their skirts hitched up almost to their coat-hems to avoid the slush.


    Salli, clearly playing her part by keeping silent.


    ¡°I found it,¡± I called back, lowering my foolishly-exposed hand.


    ¡°Found it,¡± one of them sniggered.


    ¡°Yeah, it was in this lord¡¯s pocket,¡± I went on, hoping I didn¡¯t dig myself too deep a hole. ¡°A quick Yearsend present for myself, don¡¯t you know. What exactly he was up to I can¡¯t say, though ¨C keep getting these mysterious ladies calling me¡­¡±


    The one who¡¯d sniggered released a raucous titter, then they were about to pass beneath a bridge, out of my view.


    ¡°Have a happy Yearsend!¡±


    ¡°You too,¡± Salli shouted ¨C then they were gone.


    At least they didn¡¯t see me keel over, I thought.


    I went to the stairs and headed down into the lane, then called the twins over. They dutifully turned away from Nabim, one of their friends ¨C I noticed they both had all their toys, which was gratifying.


    ¡°Alright, Mr. Mortenn,¡± said Ticken Sawdan, one of the neighbour-kids, eleven years old and scrawny with a huge mop of dark brown hair, a threadbare scarf around his neck.


    ¡°Please, Mr. Mortenn wasn¡¯t even my dad ¨C that was my granddad.¡± I shuddered. ¡°How old do you think I am? I need to shave or something?¡±


    The kid shrugged at me.


    ¡°Just Kas will do. Say happy Yearsend to your mother for us, eh?¡±


    ¡°Er ¨C will do, Kas.¡± He turned away to talk to another of his mates, but I saw him cast me a strange second glance over his shoulder.


    The twins reached me.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to go and Orstrum¡¯s headed down to the shrine. I¡¯m going to get Xantaire to keep an eye out.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be fine, Kas.¡±


    ¡°No, Jaroan ¨C I¡¯ll get her to watch, thank you. Xastur will be going down for a nap anyway, given the way he¡¯s been yawning.¡± I looked at them, and I couldn¡¯t even bring myself to imagine it¡­ if my fears became reality ¨C if fate really dealt the hand of death to us all¡­ ¡°You need to be careful, you know. Behave yourselves, and I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can.¡±


    ¡°It must be serious, if you¡¯re going on Yearsend,¡± Jaid said worriedly. Without seeming to even think about it she tilted her head, snaring the stray coil of her hair poking out from under her hat in her teeth, then chewing on it furiously.


    ¡°It¡¯s not bad, I promise.¡± I really, really hope. ¡°And, look, if I die, you know where I stash the money, right?¡±


    I flashed them my most-confident grin ¨C they hated it when I did that.


    ¡°Kas!¡± my sister hissed, frowning, while Jaroan just hit me, a solid thump in the bicep.


    ¡°Fine. I miscalculated.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Be back soon.¡±


    I turned and headed back for my things, then went out. There weren¡¯t as many shadows in the daytime, so my wraith-form was of reduced effectiveness when it came to hiding me from prying eyes, but Sticktown was plenty dreary even in summer and it was almost the heart of winter now ¨C grey dimness bloomed in every doorway. I only had to be careful until I was out of Helbert¡¯s Bend, anyway; within a minute I spread sylph-wings and took to the sky.


    I could see from afar that it was snowing over Treetown, my destination. I tried to distract myself from the horror of what I was about to confront by questioning the blizzard. Was it a curiosity of the weather patterns over the forests? More likely a deliberate action, costing some poor wizard their Yearsend morning, just so the lordlings could enjoy a more-festive day¡­ I hoped the spell-casters responsible were being compensated appropriately for their time. I had a sneaky suspicion no money was going to make its way into my hands as a result of my particular endeavour ¨C and mine might well prove lethal.


    I descended into Irimar¡¯s garden, slowly at first, until I was certain the dome of force would admit me. As I landed I folded away my wings and let my wraith-form fade until I was ninety-nine percent tangible. No point scaring anyone¡­ and not like my eldritches would do me any good if I got into a fight, anyway. Not here. Not now. Not with such a powerful shield hanging over the property, blue lines forming the most effective-looking weave I¡¯d ever seen.


    He answered the patio doors before I knocked, admitting me into the drawing room. He wasn¡¯t wearing his champion¡¯s garb; I reached up and removed my mask as I crossed the threshold. He had the curtains drawn and the candles lit; the big room was a space of shadows but I had eyes only for the slowly-rotating bubbles of shielding.


    And at the centre of the weave-to-end-all-weaves¡­


    ¡°Irrelya. Ardanene. I¡¯d very much like for you to meet Feychilde ¨C you might have heard of him? He¡¯s an arch-sorcerer too, so he¡¯s got some idea what you¡¯re going through, and he¡¯s got plenty of experience handling twins.¡±


    He had a forced smile on his face when he was talking to them, but then he shot me a desperate look that just screamed, ¡®I don¡¯t know what to do!¡¯¡­


    And he was the arch-diviner here.


    The girls on the couch could be no older than the twins ¨C my twins. Eight or nine. They were dark of complexion, their skin almost as black as Glimmermere¡¯s, with their raven hair braided tight to their scalps. They wore near-identical clothing, cheap furs designed more for warmth than comfort, but one had a blue ribbon in her hair whilst the other had red ¨C someone¡¯s concession to telling the two of them apart, almost certainly.


    ¡°Hi,¡± I attempted. ¡°Irrelya. Ardanene. I¡¯m pleased to meet you. I bet you¡¯re just full of questions.¡±


    They didn¡¯t look particularly curious, if I were being honest with myself. They were staring at me, and had been since I entered the house, but it was almost a blank expression, more wary than scared or inquisitive. It was the two of us who were filled with questions.


    I didn¡¯t need to ask him why he couldn¡¯t read their futures. He¡¯d probably have guessed it by now. Even a child would¡¯ve been able to read the pattern at this stage.


    Their futures were inextricably bound to a pair of twin diviners¡¯ futures.


    ¡°You say you had to take them?¡± I asked Timesnatcher in a low voice, keeping my eyes on the girls.


    ¡°I removed them from the camps,¡± he replied in like fashion. ¡°They have no family remaining. They have known no kindness at the hands of the people surrounding them ¨C and they have no tradition of archmagery in their homeland. Their kin-folk are the last I would have care for them now. Even wizards and druids will often be treated as witches where they come from, seen as chosen by the dark powers ¨C and killed for it. If those men and women found out what had happened to the girls ¨C I had to act. Their shields were about to give it all away.¡±


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    He left it hanging; I took his meaning.


    The girls wouldn¡¯t have died ¨C oh no ¨C they would have unleashed their powers, without limit.


    ¡°So they¡¯ve only just gained their abilities?¡±


    ¡°About two-and-a-half hours ago, yes, by my reckoning.¡±


    ¡°Their¡­ change was unpredictable?¡±


    He just gave me an ¡®obviously¡¯ look.


    ¡°And they speak Mundic?¡±


    ¡°Definitely.¡±


    I thought it through. ¡°Can I try something?¡±


    ¡°Of course. That¡¯s why I called you. This is supposed to go far, far more smoothly with you involved.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Not Netherhame or Shallowlie? You feel you can extract more from me than from them?¡±


    ¡°Hardly.¡± He didn¡¯t look impressed with my digression. ¡°This is your destiny, Feychilde. Is that enough? I believe it is clear you have prior experience in this area, outweighing the experience possessed by the veterans you name. Need I go on?¡±


    I moved across the room, coming to sit in a big comfy chair facing the sorceresses, ten feet away from them. The girls were holding one another¡¯s hands, I saw. Again, they weren¡¯t gripping tightly ¨C they weren¡¯t afraid; this was more the casual kind of hand-holding that was sought out for comfort, reassurance.


    ¡°Will you speak to me now?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure which tongue to try first, so I went with Etheric, putting my best foot forwards so to speak.


    Their eyes lit up, and the one with the blue ribbon (whom Timesnatcher had indicated was Irrelya) turned and looked at her sister. For her part, Ardanene kept her gaze on me, but there was surprise writ large on her face.


    Timesnatcher looked between us blankly as I spoke.


    ¡°I recognise this has probably been a very strange day for you. Disturbing, no doubt. What I¡¯m here to do is¡­ maybe normalise it a bit? You¡¯ve been through something very stressful, but don¡¯t you think for one minute that you¡¯re alone ¨C you¡¯re not. We¡¯re here now; we¡¯re here to help you. I take it¡­ Did you lose someone? Someone important to you?¡±


    I waited a moment. Irrelya looked as though she were about to speak, but no words materialised.


    ¡°Noble sisters.¡± I raised my hands, extending my own shields with excruciating slowness. ¡°You are now part of a bigger world. You bear the burdens that mark us all, but you don¡¯t have to bear them alone. We share. We support one another.¡± I glanced at Timesnatcher, then back to the super-powerful sorceresses. ¡°We trust each other.¡±


    ¡°We have been connected to the dimensional corridors,¡± Ardanene said suddenly, speaking Etheric flawlessly; it was likely better than her Mundic, given her age. Her voice was breathy, her eyes bright around her dark irises. ¡°We have traversed the planes in our thoughts, backwards and forwards. We cannot find them.¡±


    It took me a few seconds to wrap my head around what she was saying. It didn¡¯t help that my glyphstone warmed up and tinkled for a split second, then died down again ¨C even if it were Em wanting to discuss the whole ¡®love you¡¯ thing, I¡¯d have to get back to her.


    ¡°You mean¡­ your loved ones?¡± I asked. ¡°You can¡¯t find ¨C¡°


    ¡°Mother¡¯s gone,¡± Irrelya said, her voice sounding dejected ¨C which wasn¡¯t the easiest thing when speaking Etheric, the language of joy. ¡°She did not wait for us.¡±


    ¡®Mother¡¯s gone.¡¯ In the space of a couple of hours they¡¯ve, what, searched Nethernum for their mum¡¯s soul? How is that even possible?


    ¡°I understand,¡± I said aloud, glancing across at Timesnatcher. He looked perplexed, but not completely so. I could tell his power was helping him follow along; I could give him the summary at the end.


    I returned my attention to the girls. ¡°You have many capabilities now, options available to you that you¡¯d never imagined before.¡± I remembered it, those first few days, trapped by a plethora of choices, all the unparalleled, unconstricted possibilities. ¡°Please, take the time to think through your decisions. You don¡¯t have to act any differently now, compared to before ¨C just be yourselves. We can make sure you¡¯re comfortable, that you have everything you need¡­ I realise you may not have questions, or maybe you do but you don¡¯t want to speak about it at all right now, but we¡¯re always ¨C¡±


    ¡°This man,¡± Ardanene gestured at Irimar. ¡°He¡¯s Timesnatcher, the one of whom we have heard?¡±


    ¡°I recognise that word,¡± the seer murmured.


    I nodded to her.


    ¡°He is worthy of our trust?¡± Ardanene continued.


    It was starting to hurt my head, hearing such a little-looking kid speak in such a grown-up vernacular.


    It felt as though it were too good of an opportunity to pass up. He couldn¡¯t understand what I was saying ¨C I could explain it to them, the slipperiness of the arch-diviner, the games he played with people¡­


    But the core of it would be a lie, wouldn¡¯t it? I¡¯d just be a hypocrite again.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied, ¡°you can trust him. He¡¯s tricky, and cunning, and he knows how to move people¡­ get them to do what he wants. But he¡¯d never hurt you, or allow you to come to harm. He¡¯s the greatest hero in the city for a reason, and he will never cease protecting you, even if ¨C¡°


    ¡°We do not need protection,¡± Irrelya spoke up again. ¡°We can protect ourselves.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me¡­¡± I let out a low whistle, flicking my hand at their barriers beyond my own. ¡°Where did you learn to do this? What happened to you?¡±


    Irrelya shook her head, and Ardanene opened her mouth to answer ¨C


    ¡°Could we speak Mundic?¡± I asked, still in Etheric. ¡°For Timesnatcher¡¯s benefit.¡±


    ¡°We cannot remember how,¡± Irrelya said, a trace of worry in her voice now. ¡°We can understand it, but the words ¨C they won¡¯t come. It is the same with our birth tongue.¡±


    I shifted my weight uncomfortably. I was staggered at the magnitude of the metamorphosis they¡¯d undergone. The amount of pure archmagery, pure sorcerous power that had infused them ¨C they couldn¡¯t even speak the language they¡¯d grown up using?


    ¡°From what I understand, that¡¯s what happens to¡­¡± I didn¡¯t want to say undead, did I? ¡°¡­ to some others as well. Don¡¯t worry. It¡¯ll come back to you, in time.¡±


    ¡°I told you,¡± Ardanene muttered to her sister.


    ¡°I hope so, at least, Irrelya ¨C¡± I started.


    ¡°That isn¡¯t her name.¡± Ardanene stared at me, not in an unfriendly fashion, but definitely irritated. ¡°And I am not Ardanene. I am Arxine, and my sister is Orieg. Our names¡­ they changed them, when we came to Mund.¡±


    I nodded. Mundicising names was par for the course back in the day, but we had such a cauldron of cultures contained in our city by now that I doubted anyone would so much as raise an eyebrow at ¡®Orieg¡¯ or ¡®Arxine¡¯. No, it was more likely done by those who took them in ¨C a way of removing part of these poor girls¡¯ identities, making them forget their roots, who they really were.


    ¡°Arxine and Orieg.¡±


    Like all souls¡¯ names, I experienced no issues using them in Mundic and Etheric. I only just noticed how convenient that was. It was very different from monikers like ¡®Feychilde¡¯ and ¡®Timesnatcher¡¯.


    The twins were staring at me as I tried out their names, so I smiled back at them. ¡°Those are lovely ¨C your mum named you?¡±


    Orieg nodded sombrely. ¡°And Father.¡±


    ¡°Well, you can definitely keep using them ¨C whatever they told you, it¡¯s wrong, okay?¡± I stood up. ¡°Are you alright if I talk to Timesnatcher for a minute?¡±


    Arxine nodded, keeping her eyes on me, while Orieg looked down at her lap, murmuring, ¡°I am hungry.¡±


    I met Irimar¡¯s eyes, and from his reaction I could tell that I must¡¯ve looked a bit delirious.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked, then, before I could even answer, he seemed to smear across the air a little ¨C and he was crossing to the girls, holding a platter of warm bread and butter.


    The girls released their first exclamations of delight ¨C Arxine took the plate from him and they started tucking in. If I¡¯d thought my twins looked hungry eating the bacon butties earlier on, this put them to shame. These kids hadn¡¯t just had a tough upbringing, a taste of poverty ¨C they¡¯d had the harshest of all possible upbringings, mired in poverty up to the eyeballs.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a way to speak Etheric?¡± I asked Irimar while we watched the miniature sorceresses stuffing their faces.


    He shook his head slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t have the necessary implements here to bestow myself with the ability, but I could¡­¡±


    He blinked, then turned around to blur through the internal doorway, into the foyer ¨C


    Then he walked back in through the patio doors in the time it took me to swing my head around, as though he¡¯d just done a lap of the house.


    It was a big house, and I suspected he¡¯d been farther afield than that.


    ¡°Woah!¡± Arxine cried through a mouthful of food, butter running from the corner of her lips. ¡°Can I learn to do thab?¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°They¡¯re impressed,¡± I said to the diviner, then continued in Etheric: ¡°Not quite, but we can do some cool stuff. It wasn¡¯t only Timesnatcher you heard of, was it? Or did you hear of me too?¡±


    ¡°The Liberator¡­ of Zadhal?¡± She swallowed. ¡°Of course we heard of you. It was all everyone in the camp talked about¡­ for a day or two at least.¡± She offered me a tight, bready grin.


    ¡°Ha! Yes, things move fast here. You can be part of that, one day, if you want to be. When you¡¯re ready.¡±


    I felt the pressures pulling me in opposite directions ¨C the overwhelming urge to ensure they would be treated fairly from now on, they wouldn¡¯t be manipulated, their powers abused ¨C and the irresistible compulsion to manipulate them, twist them to my own ends.


    We might need them. Mund, the world, might need them.


    Better that they know they have the choice to make now. Otherwise, when the time comes, it might already be too late.


    Suddenly the vivid, unmistakeable scent of maple filled the air ¨C I turned and saw Timesnatcher on the other side of the drawing room, making a nick in the very tip of his tongue with a sharp knife, simultaneously stepping through a cloud of green powder that he¡¯d tossed to hang in the air.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± he said in Etheric, turning to face us, powder disappearing around him before it touched the ground. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about all that.¡± He looked between us. ¡°How about I get you something better to eat, and then we can have a proper chat.¡±


    Orieg looked to her sister, and Arxine nodded.


    ¡°So,¡± he said brightly, ¡°what do you like? Wait ¨C I have just the thing.¡±


    Then he was off again.


    If nothing else, he was diligent.


    * * *

 Father Time pt4

    I paced slowly around Irimar¡¯s drawing room. It was a big space, and was well-suited to pacing. The girls had nodded off after their meal; when I spoke, it was softly.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t see them coming? Really?¡±


    Irimar, seated on a couch near the fireplace with his eyes closed and hands on his knees, replied: ¡°Truly. The appearance of such creatures ¨C even once, I thought it a veridical miracle, a divine action¡­ Now, twice, in such a short period of time? Is this the start of some new trend? Will the generation after ours face hordes of arch-archmages? When a pair of twins like these becomes darkmage¡­ I would not wish to see the results.¡±


    ¡°She wanted me to kill them,¡± I murmured, half to myself.


    There was no pause before he gave the measured reply ¨C none I could discern, at least.


    ¡°Tyr Kayn could have used you in any number of ways.¡± Irimar¡¯s voice was level, soothing in tone, even if his words had the opposite effect. ¡°We¡¯re fortunate to be rid of her, and to have the wards now in place to warn of a return. Don¡¯t fret over it.¡±


    But my twins¡­ my twins¡­ Will they become archmages?


    There was no chance, really, was there? To have siblings become archmages was surpassingly rare, despite the shared bloodline. No, the point was that everyone had the blood ¨C almost everyone in the damn world would have a share of the Five¡¯s line of descent, by now, surely. Archmagery was truly random, wasn¡¯t it?


    To have twins chosen, whose brother was already an archmage? The possibility had to be infinitesimally tiny.


    I drew a breath. I was getting distracted.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know how she thought I¡¯d have been able to achieve it, anyway. How would I get through a shield like this one?¡±


    ¡°The Ceryad, likely.¡±


    Of course¡­


    Then I looked over at Irimar, wanting to catch him in his responses, test whether I could surprise him. ¡°So how long were you able to speak Etheric for, really?¡±


    I stopped pacing near him, and he just shook his head, eyes still closed.


    ¡°Diviners can speak all mortal tongues,¡± he said. ¡°I tried their own dialect first, of course, but our power gives us no special insight into the planar languages. We would have to learn them from scratch, which is not so simple for the rest of us, Kas. They resist comprehension. They are living things.¡±


    ¡°Yet you expect me to believe you didn¡¯t know how I¡¯d end up getting through to them. You, who wore a spell to see shields when you just happened to be in the camps¡­¡±


    He sighed, and opened his eyes, looking directly at me. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that. You have to know, I knew you¡¯d know ¨C I knew you could ask this. You no longer carry that abominable Slave within your skull.¡±


    More lies. Killstop¡­ Everseer¡­ they changed me.


    ¡°Was it to see how I answered the question? Whether they ought to trust you?¡±


    ¡°¡­ Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why, Irimar? Damn it, man!¡± I felt myself tearing up all of a sudden ¨C it was anger as much as it was sorrow, and it was hard to control the volume of my voice. ¡°You performed the ritual before I ever got here, didn¡¯t you? I get it now!¡±


    Sitting there, pretending not to know how to communicate with the sorceresses. Lulling all three of us into a false sense of reality when it was all just another game, to him ¨C a game¡­


    ¡°I have no way to change your mind about me, do I, Kas? Everything I try, it rots¡­ I give you the lich¡¯s book, but my reticence, my warnings alone are enough to earn your ire. I work to keep you from Magicrux Zyger, but my silence on this effort ¨C a silence required to minimise the risks of making it come true ¨C is seen as betrayal¡­ And now, I ¨C¡±


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    ¡°You call me here on Yearsend!¡± I blurted. ¡°You call me here, and trick me into telling these girls what I think of you, disguising your ability to follow my every word! It¡¯s sick, man. Sick. You want to know what I really think? I think you¡¯re dangerous. Believing in you, it¡¯s dangerous. What if we just ¡®prodded¡¯ Direcrown? Would he be out there right now, sacrificing more souls to the Fish-Queen? What¡¯s your vision truly worth, Irimar, if everything worth seeing is as dark to you as it is to a blind man?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± He spoke the word then paused, a long pause of ten seconds or more, a span of time surely representing more turmoil of thoughts than I¡¯d ever experienced myself. ¡°I just r-really didn¡¯t want Duskdown to be right. I¡¯m ¨C I¡¯m sorry, for what it¡¯s worth, Kas.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s your explanation. That¡¯s why you almost let Direcrown go free.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t see it! I couldn¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°That¡¯s what eyes are for!¡± I raised my voice, and then checked myself, barely restraining my rage. ¡°You don¡¯t need powers to see things, Irimar! You¡¯re¡­ senseless! Literally. You¡¯re nonsense. ¡®Oh, does my friend trust me? Better lie to him a bunch, see what he really thinks of me, that¡¯ll work.¡¯ And you¡¯re a diviner! The greatest of them all!¡±


    ¡°Hardly,¡± he muttered, scowling now. ¡°Tanra ¨C Tanra¡¯s your Great One, Kas. Don¡¯t ever forget it. She¡¯ll know what I know, and Everseer before me, and Blinkwind before her¡­ Trust her, at least? The first time I tested her I couldn¡¯t understand,¡± he laughed a little, perhaps at himself, ¡°but I think now she saw through the test, failed it deliberately to spite me. Since then she¡¯s only grown in power. I think¡­ I think she knew what I was doing, and why. That night ¨C when I thought Emrelet was coming with you to my house, before we went to meet the dragon-slayers ¨C that wasn¡¯t your old pet clouding my sight. That was Tanra. Killstop¡¯s made an impression on you, Feychilde. Let¡¯s hope it lasts. You need a liar you can believe in. Someone to hold your heart in their hand. Someone you can trust¡­ Love, even¡­¡±


    I stared at him in shock.


    My throat made an involuntary clicking, almost strangled sound. ¡°So now you want me to, what, fall in love with Killstop? You ¨C¡°


    ¡°You¡¯d do a damn sight better falling for her than your current fixation!¡± he snapped, then fell dreadfully silent, closing his eyes once more.


    ¡°Those are ominous words, from you,¡± I said quietly, unable to tear my gaze from his paling face. ¡°And, frankly, a bit disgusting. You tell me Em¡¯s¡­ Em¡¯s not right for me, and I¡¯m supposed to just¡­ believe you?¡±


    ¡°No ¨C but you do. You already know it. Fall in love with Killstop ¨C those are your words, not mine.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a jerk, Timewaster.¡± I turned to head for the garden doors. ¡°What would Bor have to say if I told him? You know, you turn up at Kani¡¯s wedding reception, even though you¡¯ve barely said a word to the bride or groom since they got here ¨C and then you won¡¯t even come with us after, don¡¯t want to hang out with the uncool kids ¨C but you want all this trust, all this love ¨C I don¡¯t get you, man.¡±


    I put my hand on the door-latch.


    ¡°I¡¯m alone, Feychilde.¡±


    His voice didn¡¯t quiver ¨C it throbbed.


    ¡°I¡¯m alone,¡± he repeated, the resignation in his voice undeniable. ¡°Perri¡­ Lightblind¡­ is gone. L-Lovebright ¨C I thought I knew her, and she¡¯s gone too. Tyr Kayn¡­¡± This time his voice shook on the name. ¡°And when I¡¯m there with you ¨C and you¡¯re all¡­ together, and I¡¯m alone? Fang ¨C she¡¯s almost stopped visiting with you, hasn¡¯t she? Leafcloak¡¯s death and Nighteye¡¯s disappearance, they hit her hard, and we weren¡¯t there for her. Sunspring knew. Sunspring was there for her. But me? All I had was my hate. All I had was him. And in his last moment, even then when I caught him, he ruined it! He ruined it for me, don¡¯t you see? He knew that, that afterwards I would see it for what it was! He took away my only pleasure, the one thing I thought could bring me some sliver of solace! I only caught him, because he tried to save¡­ tried to stop¡­ Don¡¯t I deserve one present this year? Not one?¡±


    He broke into sobs.


    It was all too easy to forget, he was probably only a few years older than me. He spoke like a man at least ten years his senior, but ¨C it was all an act. The studious face was thinner than ever, his eyes sunken in their sockets. He was suffering.


    He had the power to unlock the past, present and future ¨C but he was no mastermind. It wasn¡¯t in his nature. It was just a show. He was yet another starry-eyed hero like the rest of us, doing his best to deal with the hand he¡¯d been dealt.


    I moved away from the doors, closer to him, and reached out, awkwardly patting him on the back.


    ¡°Come on, Irimar. It¡¯s okay. You¡¯re not alone. But I think ¨C I think you have to trust too. You have to let it go, sometimes. Don¡¯t be the arch-diviner all the time, you know? Trust us to do the right thing, like you did in Zadhal¡­¡±


    ¡°That was before,¡± he said bitterly.


    Before Lightblind was murdered. Before Lovebright was unmasked.


    ¡°I know,¡± I whispered.


    ¡°Kas!¡± Tanra screamed in my ear.


    I recoiled ¨C she was there, behind me, in her Killstop attire with the mask pushed up. Her round face was contorted, button nose all wrinkled, like she was enraged or terrified or something.


    ¡°Tanra! Happy ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s the twins ¨C¡± she panted.


    ¡°They¡¯re safe.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she moaned, grabbing me by the front of my robe, bunching her fists in the fabric. ¡°What does that mean!¡± she screamed.


    ¡°He indicates the twin sorceresses in the next room.¡± Timesnatcher rose slowly to his feet; where moments ago his face had been flushed, now it was etched in concern. ¡°What is it, Tanra? I can¡¯t see it ¨C there¡¯s a mist on the water ¨C¡°


    ¡°Inkatra!¡± she snarled. ¡°Keep looking! Not sorceresses!¡± She snapped her eyes back to mine, gazing imploringly into my soul. ¡°Your twins, Kas! Your twins!¡±

 Close to Plan pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 7B: CLOSE TO PLAN</h2>


    ¡°None listen to me! No one listens as I howl into the Void! Worship no gods! Not even me. By this shall you know my disciples. The emptiness within that longs for the Bringer¡¯s kiss. We shall take it all back to the Mist from whence it came. Nothing shall more please the Queen than to see it all dissolve away.¡±


    ¨C from the Utenyan Creed


    15th Mortifost, 998 NE


    ¡°What in Yane¡¯s name is the tub o¡¯ lard up to?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ You mean Peltos, boss?¡±


    Wyre sighed, and stared across his desk at his subordinate. ¡°Course I mean Peltos. You not been listenin¡¯, Jerle?¡±


    ¡°No, no, I ¡®ave, boss, I swears, swears by Y-Yane.¡± Sweat broke out on Jerle¡¯s brow almost instantly. ¡°I was just checkin¡¯, ya know, so as I didn¡¯t stab-up the wrong guy.¡±


    ¡°We ain¡¯t stabbin¡¯ up Peltos or anyone, not yet,¡± Wyre corrected him. ¡°First we need to find out what he¡¯s up to. Looks like he¡¯s outta product and he ain¡¯t come beggin¡¯ for more ¨C you know wha¡¯ that means.¡±


    Lark, another of his ¡®captains¡¯, tried his hand. ¡°Uh ¨C he gots anudder supplier, boss?¡±


    ¡°Right!¡± Wyre pointed a congratulatory finger in Lark¡¯s direction. ¡°One of these Lowtown gangs is what I bet. Zandrina¡¯s, I bet¡­¡±


    His voice drifted off. He¡¯d always wanted to meet Zandrina in person. The woman responsible for moving inkatra out of Rivertown. The woman who thought she could play in the big leagues.


    Invading his territory? Stealing his generals away? He¡¯d show her who was boss.


    ¡°So we supposed to keep an eye on ¡®im?¡± Jerle asked.


    ¡°An¡¯ on all his Gentlemen,¡± Wyre hissed. ¡°They might swear they¡¯re still Bertie Boys, but who knows?¡± He deliberately hardened his voice; it would inspire his soldiers. ¡°It¡¯s my job as to keep this family together.¡±


    He waved a hand in dismissal, turning his head to the huge map of Sticktown hanging on the wall, and his sub-leaders filed out of the room.


    He thumbed away the pink chalk covering Daggerden and grudgingly coloured the area green. Another neighbourhood taken by the great drug-queen. This time it was the Wallside Gang who¡¯d paid the price, but next time¡­? He stared at the border with North Lowtown, the little images of houses and other buildings, each no bigger than an ant ¨C and even then they were probably far too big for the scale of the map. Either way, it helped him focus. He could imagine Zandrina there in one of those green-chalked buildings. Imagine squashing her operations, just like he squashed ants¡­ people¡­ Peltos.


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    Yes, Peltos would have to die. It was sad ¨C not that he¡¯d ever admit to feeling that way ¨C but it would have to be done, once the exact consequences of his betrayal were understood. This was family. The Bertie Boys were so much more than an organisation.


    With another sigh, he got up and left his desk, heading out of the room and down three flights of stairs until he reached the basement level, accepting the respectful head-nods of his boys he passed along the way.


    It wasn¡¯t them he needed to speak to; it was his real boy.


    He didn¡¯t knock. That would be a sign of weakness. He just threw open the door.


    His son¡¯s room stank of stale sweat and booze, the stench of weeks of immobility, night after night spent in fearful degeneracy. Empty ale casks and discarded tankards littered the room; clothes had been flung unwashed over every available surface, soiled not with mud but with perspiration and spilt beer. Orven was on top of the bed, in a drunken stupor ¨C nothing new there ¨C but the look on his face was unusually aware, contorted in alcohol-fuelled anguish.


    ¡°Da¡¯!¡± he moaned, untwisting the quilts wrapped around him and sitting upright. ¡°Da¡¯, wha¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡±


    Wyre stared at his son, hard-eyed. This pathetic excuse for a Bertie Boy had sprung from his own loins, heir to a criminal empire that, while not excessive, would upon Wyre¡¯s death make Orven one of the richest men in Sticktown.


    But the stinking crown prince wasn¡¯t worthy. He hadn¡¯t earned anything. He¡¯d never applied his mind to his problems, never stopped indulging in pleasures. He was twenty years old, and he¡¯d never taken an interest in a single thing that didn¡¯t wear a skirt or have foam dripping down the side.


    It¡¯s my own damn fault, Wyre cursed silently, regarding Orven. I should¡¯ve been harsher. Should¡¯ve made him a man instead of this puling infant.


    ¡°What¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡± He repeated his son¡¯s question back at him. ¡°What are you doing, Orven? Are you still hiding?¡±


    ¡°Still hidin¡¯!¡± the boy howled. ¡°Da¡¯, a mage stuck his hand inside me, what do you want me to do? I ¨C¡°


    ¡°I want you to step up!¡± Wyre snapped. ¡°I want you to be a man, be my son! Look at you! Listen to you! Smell you! You¡¯re a disgustin¡¯, degenerate excuse for a Bertie Boy!¡±


    Orven shrank back onto his pillows.


    ¡°If you doan get the drop out of this dropping bed right now,¡± Wyre snarled, ¡°I¡¯ll do to you what I did to Toras.¡± He snapped his fingers. ¡°Gone, just like that. For all the world to see.¡±


    Orven sprang from the bedsheets, half-dressed, food smeared across his chest-hair. He knew his dad wasn¡¯t messing around. Wyre had given up his own brother. It wasn¡¯t a stretch to suggest he¡¯d do the same with his son.


    ¡°B-b-but what do I do?¡± Orven gasped, panic in his eyes. ¡°I c-can¡¯t fight a m-mage and if he really is g-going to put his h-hand ¨C¡±


    ¡°If you doan get over it and get back out there makin¡¯ money, you¡¯ll wish he pulled your heart out!¡± Wyre turned away to the door, breaking eye contact, and despite the candour of his words he heard Orven loosing his breath in relief. ¡°At least it¡¯d be fast ¨C nothin¡¯ like what I¡¯ve got in store.¡±


    ¡°Alright, Da¡¯. Alright.¡±


    It better be.


    He slammed the door behind him as he exited the room, and took a few gulps of the far-fresher air out in the corridor before continuing on his way.


    * * *

 Close to Plan pt2

    27th Mortifost, 998 NE


    The Western Wench was Wyre¡¯s favourite watering hole ¨C they always kept the fires well-stoked ¨C and if he deigned to show up on any given night it would always create a bit of a buzz in the atmosphere. Even those regulars who had nothing to do with the Bertie Boys knew full-well where the tavern¡¯s affiliations lay ¨C who protected it ¨C and if they didn¡¯t rock the boat, they might even end up with a free round when Wyre was in good humour.


    This evening Wyre was not in good humour. He entered, scowling, and a hush fell across the patrons, even those with two girls in their laps. He swiftly scanned around through the smoke, ensuring the environment was safe, then stomped over towards his regular booth without saying a word. Jerle would handle that.


    His minions were on his heels, over a dozen of them, and he hadn¡¯t got half way to the bench when he heard his captain calling out to the barman for their usuals to be brought over.


    There would be no discussion of prices, money trading hands. If it¡¯d just been Jarle and his crew, sure. But not when Wyre was here. Not when the Lultons or Ginnel Gram were about.


    Slowly, normal conversations resumed, the love-girls and -boys going back to their tasks, the brain-damaged kid in the corner raising his flute again to his lips. (Damn kid couldn¡¯t string more than three words together, but give him a flute and he was a demigod.) Wyre settled into the centre of the high-backed bench, nestling down into the cushions left here just for him. His chief cronies occupied the seats either side of him and across from him, the rest filing into the next two adjacent booths as well.


    If you had power, you might as well flaunt it. If you had a couple of dozen thieves and killers to reward, there were worse ways than booze on tap and women on call. Fear and loyalty; once a man like Wyre had it down, he knew he had the formula to stay on top like this forever.


    ¡°I fancy a Ripplemead¡¯s tonight,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Oi! Dreyna!¡± Jerle yelled. ¡°Make the boss¡¯s a Ripple!¡±


    ¡°Sure thing!¡± The serving-girl reached under the counter for the special cask, the one that only the heads of the family could get opened. ¡°Just be a minute!¡±


    ¡°Get yer act together,¡± Jerle called back, but it was just a gesture, a token phrase; Dreyna was no spring chicken, and she would know he didn¡¯t mean any harm.


    Once the beers were served, half the lads disappeared with theirs into the back rooms while Wyre and his hardiest minions settled in for some heavy drinking. It¡¯d been a bad day.


    The gods cursed me. The Liberator of Zadhal. A bona fide freakin¡¯ champion.


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± he moaned into his pint. ¡°Why¡¯s it have to be droppin¡¯ Feychilde?¡±


    ¡°He might be wrong, boss,¡± Lark piped up. ¡°Come on, you know what Orven¡¯s¡­¡±


    Lark took one look at the expression on Wyre¡¯s face and fell silent.


    ¡°Nah, I reckon the little git¡¯s as right about this as he¡¯s ever been.¡± Wyre ticked off the points on his fingers. ¡°First Feychilde appears. Suddenly Peltos starts actin¡¯ all shifty, then Sorban gets harassed and Old Tibbey¡¯s gets done over¡­ I bet that was him. And then the wings. The droppin¡¯ wings. Everyone¡¯s seen them. It shoulda been obvious.¡± He clenched his fist. ¡°Stickin¡¯ his hand in me son¡¯s chest ¨C that¡¯s just the icin¡¯ on the cake. Is it a vendetta? Is he tryin¡¯ to take me down?¡±


    No one spoke for a few moments, slurping in silence.


    ¡°Wassen it a magister what come smashing Peltos¡¯s wall?¡± Hadin said at last.


    ¡°That come,¡± Wyre corrected with a growl. ¡°An¡¯ yeah. Yeah it was. That¡¯s when he first started brickin¡¯ it, moaning about the warehouses¡­¡±


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    ¡°Wonder if any o¡¯ the Gennelmen got a clue on this,¡± Lark commented in a musing tone. ¡°Garet told me it wasn¡¯t the first magister he seen that night ¨C then we was both there at Old ¨C¡±


    ¡°You what?¡± Wyre hissed.


    ¡°Yeah ¨C the magister what ¨C that ¨C hurt his arm. Some ghost-thing, he says. And her, he seen her early that night, at some kid¡¯s house. Another magister there, I reckons.¡±


    Wyre looked at Hadin. ¡°Go fetch me Garet.¡±


    ¡°Aw, but boss ¨C¡°


    ¡°You can finish the beer when you get back, an¡¯ if you¡¯re quick enough I might even let you off with the scar you deserve for tryin¡¯ to wheedle out of it.¡±


    Hadin was out of his seat in a jiffy, and, by the time the surface of his beer stopped wobbling with the impact of tankard upon table, he¡¯d already disappeared through the tavern¡¯s front door.


    It only took him twenty minutes to get back, and he had the Gentleman in tow. Big, blond-haired Garet had a wary expression on his face as he followed Hadin out of the smoke.


    ¡°Alright, boss?¡± Garet asked.


    Wyre narrowed his eyes. ¡®Alright, boss¡¯ would normally be a statement. Not a question.


    ¡°Pull up a chair, Garet,¡± Wyre replied. ¡°¡¯Ave a beer.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind if I do, ta.¡±


    Wyre waved Dreyna over, but even when Garet had his mouth firmly fixed to the lip of his tankard he was still looking wary.


    ¡°What¡¯s up, lad?¡± Wyre asked him. ¡°You nervous?¡±


    ¡°Nah, boss.¡± Garet put down his half-drunk ale. ¡°Just, you know¡­ wonderin¡¯ what all this is about. Not that I ain¡¯t appreciatin¡¯ the beer, obviously! It¡¯s just Peltos wanted me to go clean out ¨C¡°


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what Peltos wants.¡± Wyre¡¯s voice was low. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t either, if you wanna keep your head above the water. You get me, Garet?¡±


    ¡°I-I get you, boss.¡± His large eyes were wide, fixed on Wyre, unblinking, unthinking.


    ¡°He¡¯s a good lad, issen ¡®e?¡± Wyre grinned at his underlings, saw their ingratiating grins in response, then turned back to Peltos¡¯s minion. ¡°Arm all fixed up, is it?¡±


    ¡°Good as new, boss. That what you wanted to know? I¡¯m fit to do my bit, boss, trust me.¡±


    ¡°Nah, all it is, Garet, is this¡­ You know who Feychilde is.¡±


    He had turned the tables on the Gentleman. It should¡¯ve been a question, but it was a statement. He saw the startled look swiftly cross the man¡¯s bland features, the flash of panic in his eyes.


    ¡°No way, boss! Feychilde? Why would I¡­?¡±


    Garet did his best to make his voice plaintive, let it carry his natural sincerity ¨C but the haste of the reply, the little click in his throat when he tried to trail off ¨C these things were what betrayed him.


    ¡°Now I want you to think very carefully, Garet.¡± Wyre spoke quietly, his tone not intense but friendly or even casual. It was dreadful for them to hear, he knew, and he saw them all react accordingly, never mind Garet himself who blenched instantly, twisting in his chair, colour flushing out of his face. ¡°Garet. I will give you one more chance, an¡¯ then we will see what has to be done with you. I believe you know somethin¡¯ about Feychilde, about his plans for me. Convince me otherwise. Convince me, please¡­ or you know what¡¯s comin¡¯.¡±


    Garet¡¯s eyes were filling with tears.


    ¡°But ¨C boss,¡± he whispered, ¡°he ain¡¯t no trouble. He¡¯s one o¡¯ them good ones. An¡¯ ¨C an¡¯ he got this kid brother and sister, they got no one else and they¡¯re broke¡­¡±


    His voice faded away ¨C clearly the Gentleman was beginning to understand the absurdity of his words.


    ¡°Broke?¡± Wyre snarled, then laughed. ¡°A good one? Did he get in your head, boy?¡±


    ¡°Nah!¡± Garet sat back, clearly offended at the insinuation, which was reassuring ¨C but also far too assertive.


    Wyre didn¡¯t need to move. Didn¡¯t need to speak.


    His stare did it all for him ¨C within a few seconds Garet seemed to realise once more who he was speaking to.


    ¡°Nah,¡± the Gentleman said more softly, lowering his eyes in deference. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you ¨C I¡¯ll tell you who he is, boss. Where he lives, whatever you want. I ain¡¯t never spoke to him, I swears. But¡­ boss¡­ he¡¯s Feychilde¡­ He didn¡¯t even call the watch on us¡­ and what in Twelve Hells can we do about him? I get he might be bad for business, but ¨C¡°


    ¡°It was him that stuck his hand in Orven¡¯s chest,¡± Wyre said.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Garet paled once again. ¡°Ohhh. Five save us.¡±


    ¡°Right?¡± Wyre sat back, smiling, feeling satisfied. ¡°You can finish your beer, Garet, while you give me every bit of information you think might be handy. Cos you¡¯re gonna be helping us with this, you understand that, right? Until I¡¯m a hundred percent convinced you aren¡¯t workin¡¯ for him, you¡¯re gonna be workin¡¯ for me. I¡¯ll let Peltos know, don¡¯t you worry. And maybe between us, we can fix this up good and proper. Get ridda Feychilde. Get Peltos back on track. Get Old Tibbey sleepin¡¯ again at night.¡±


    And get my son out of the gods-cursed house at last.


    ¡°Okay, boss¡­ Look, this kid, Kastyr Mor-something ¨C Morden, maybe ¨C¡°


    ¡°Mortenn,¡± Wyre breathed.


    ¡°Mortenn ¨C right¡­¡±


    ¡°Kastyr Mortenn.¡± The old man sat back and closed his eyes, a gesture of vulnerability that all his boys gathered here would know they were blessed to witness. ¡°Kastyr.¡±


    ¡°What is it, boss?¡± Garet moaned.


    Jerle answered for him:


    ¡°The boss killed ¡®is parents.¡±


    * * *

 Close to Plan pt3

    29th Mortifost, 998 NE


    He was better at waiting these days, he realised. Over the decades his patience had stretched, elastic like sinew, until by now he was virtually untroubled as he sat at his desk, leafing through his ledgers. The figures all looked okay. Business wasn¡¯t great, but it hadn¡¯t dipped into dangerous territory either. Not yet. However, Zandrina loomed on the horizon. Nine ninety-nine was going to be a tumultuous year, he knew. His boys would be tested, and it was likely their knives would be blooded nightly for weeks.


    But they would come out the other side with their territory intact, he knew. He¡¯d attended a meeting this afternoon on neutral ground, speaking in person with the other leaders from the northern regions of Sticktown: Bucker Daine, of the Cutter Crew, and Branton Kade, of the Wallside Gang. The Knuckle-Heads hadn¡¯t been invited, on account of their meagre presence, but Papa Roon had found out anyway and came along, surprising them with his appearance. (Papa Roon¡¯s mole was in the Wallside Gang, a fact which Kade¡¯s speculation and Papa Roon¡¯s evasiveness immediately confirmed. The traitor in question would already be holidaying on the bottom of the Blackrush by now, no doubt.) The long-and-short of the palaver was that they would band together temporarily, in order to face this threat head-on, each devoting equal numbers of foot-troops to the effort. When it came to expending other resources, such as money for bribes, inkatra-heads for firepower and so forth ¨C such things would be decided on a more short-term basis.


    Zandrina has the firepower advantage, Wyre reminded himself. She has all the access, and what do we have? Our stockpiles, stored up against the day she makes her move. Does she even know we aren¡¯t selling more than ten percent of it?


    The magical herb had a shelf-life too, he knew. Its power faded the longer it spent curing. He hadn¡¯t had enough time to find out how long it took to lose its power entirely, if that was in fact what would happen¡­ He¡¯d used his freshest stuff on his smartest inkatra-addicts to plan tonight, but, according to the reports, three of them had just started ranting about a Yearsend present, and those were the most coherent ones ¨C the rest talked about bubbles you could feel without seeing them and such other idiocies.


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    Droppin¡¯ inkatra¡­


    Either way, he¡¯d have his answer momentarily ¨C


    Footsteps in the corridor. A rapid knocking at the door.


    ¡°Come in!¡± he barked, the anticipation he¡¯d held back suddenly bursting the dam-walls, the thrill coming over him at once ¨C


    What will be the news? Do they have him?


    But he could tell at once from the facial expressions worn by his underlings as they filed into the room ¨C


    ¡°You failed,¡± he said bitterly.


    ¡°Boss!¡± Lark cried. ¡°Boss ¨C it¡¯s unreal, right ¨C you woulden believe it ¨C¡°


    ¡°These walls ¨C invisible walls!¡± Garet blurted.


    ¡°Yeah, right? And you can¡¯t see ¡®em but if you put out your hand ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s just like what we saw at Old Tibbey¡¯s ¨C well, you know, not saw, but, like something there, that ain¡¯t even there ¨C¡°


    ¡°Enough!¡± Wyre snapped, holding up his hand. ¡°I heard enough. Get outta here, both of you, before I do somethin¡¯ someone else regrets.¡±


    They exited almost as quickly as they¡¯d entered, Lark, the last to leave, closing the door softly behind him.


    Wyre set down the ledger, put his feet up on the desk and sat back, closing his eyes.


    He could still remember it. The last time he¡¯d committed a proper murder. Oh, killing captive rivals dragged to blubber at his feet, killing wayward Bertie Boys who tattled to his opponents ¨C that didn¡¯t count. But a true killing ¨C that was the Mortenns.


    Is it cos they were the last ones? Or is it cos I threw Toras on the gallows in my place?


    Frustration slowly faded, bubbles of consternation reducing, tempering into anger.


    How did you find out it was me, boy? Invisible walls. Bubbles¡­ Really, Feychilde? Did you know I was coming? Did you know the tables have turned against you, mighty champion, Liberator of Nothin¡¯ and No-one?


    Scenarios churned through his mind, the imagined violence that made him feel more alive than ever before, making the hairs on his arms stand up, making his spine tingle


    I¡¯ll have your heart in my hands, archmage. Like I shoulda done with my idiot brother ¨C I¡¯ll do it meself. I¡¯ll have your apologies and then I¡¯ll cut it right out of you. Cut it out and let you look at it before I let you go.


    You¡¯re mine, boy.


    * * *

 Close to Plan pt4

    1st Yearsend, 998 NE


    The Western Wench was the perfect staging area for the strike. He¡¯d had the owners lock the doors, spreading word that a fire had gutted the interior ¨C and paid them a hefty sum out of his own pocket so that they didn¡¯t kick up a fuss about their losses. The inkatra spent getting the illusory smoke right was another expense to add to the list. Still, it was a fraction of what it¡¯d cost him to bribe the watchmen to steer clear, maybe have a sergeant brush a few reports under the carpet¡­ Ridiculous. But he couldn¡¯t afford for word to get out, not with his life on the line like this. Not with an archmage to trap.


    The tavern wasn¡¯t two minutes¡¯ walk from the Gold Griffin, but it was still six or seven corners away, so they wouldn¡¯t be seen coming until they were within spitting distance. He¡¯d gathered almost twenty of the lads here, with another dozen protecting key locations ¨C and they¡¯d all been waiting in position for the last thirty-six hours. He didn¡¯t give a damn about Yearsend, family, none of that drop ¨C and the grumblers who couldn¡¯t take the strain would be punished as he saw fit.


    The Bertie Boys knew it. Those waiting with him in the tavern, at least. They didn¡¯t grumble. They behaved as professionals, sharpening weapons, going over their plans, sleeping in shifts.


    It was mid-morning when Jerle entered through the double doors, leading a ten- or eleven-year-old with a scarf around his neck.


    Wyre felt the tingle up his spine once more, and straightened on his cushions, moving aside his ale tankard.


    ¡°Ticken, innit?¡±


    The boy blinked, the motion barely visible through the mop of brown hair covering his eyes. His lips were parted in awe, but his tongue wasn¡¯t waking up.


    ¡°Ticken Sawdan,¡± Jerle said when the boy didn¡¯t respond.


    ¡°You look nice an¡¯ impressed with me,¡± Wyre complimented the youngster. ¡°But it¡¯s time to open your trap, kid. Like you was told, your family¡¯s gettin¡¯ either a great big Yearsend pressie every year till me and mine are dust ¨C or somethin¡¯ else.¡±


    He left the threat vague. A sprat like this one would probably pass out if he said what was actually on his mind.


    ¡°He¡¯s g-gone,¡± Ticken managed to say. ¡°Kas, I mean ¨C he¡¯s gone. The ¨C his ¨C¡° The kid swallowed, closing his eyes, then forced the words out in an angry voice: ¡°Jaroan. They¡¯re outside, in the lane. The tw-twins.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll never get an opportunity like this again, boss,¡± Lark commented from the bench opposite him.


    ¡°It¡¯s do or die,¡± Wyre said in agreement, getting to his feet and putting his hands on his knife-hilts. He wore the weapons openly on his belt for the first time in years. ¡°Gods, this feels good. Doessen it feel good?¡±


    The Bertie Boys gathered around him and behind him as they made their way through the double-doors of the Western Wench, stepping out into the muck as a single big group ¨C but none of them actually walked ahead of him, even on the flanks of the crowd. There were few wagons out on the roadways, what with this being the morning of gift-giving and all, but those rare individuals who appeared in the gang¡¯s path made damn sure they were off the road when the Boys strode by.


    When they reached the Gold Griffin, Wyre came to a halt, leaving a solid twenty feet of distance between him and the end of Mud Lane, putting the pub between him and his targets.


    No one was speaking. They knew what they had to do. Nods of heads were all that was required. One by one, leaving a good twenty seconds gap between them, the Boys started going around the Griffin, heading down the lane. They would travel at a leisurely pace, start loitering ¨C nothing overt.


    The first one to get close would grab the kids. Both of them, preferably, but one would do. One would be enough to bring the ¡®champion¡¯ to heel.


    After two minutes he couldn¡¯t take it anymore, and with a quick gesture the next Bertie Boy stopped in his tracks, letting the boss go in his place.


    Wyre followed the path that skirted the pub, turned and looked down the lane ¨C and it had gone wrong.


    The kids ¨C nowhere to be seen. His Boys¡­ disappearing into a stairwell that ran up the side of the apartment-block halfway down on the right.


    ¡°Boys, on me!¡± he roared, setting off down the incline.


    He wouldn¡¯t sprint ¨C he would stroll. The last ten or so of his minions still lingering behind the Griffin now surged out of hiding, splashing through the drop to catch him up, then slowed once they reached him, keeping behind him again.


    Like the rats they were, the denizens of the lane scurried indoors or at least moved out of sight as soon as they saw him coming, allowing their betters to pass without obstacle. By the time Wyre reached the stairs and climbed them to the third floor, a tide of fists and knives at his back, he realised from the commotion that a stalemate of some kind had been reached. It took him a moment to work out what had happened.


    Six of the Boys were there. Garet had his back to the balcony, and he was pinning back the arms of a short, attractive woman. (She was just Wyre¡¯s type, young, dark-skinned and shapely, with black, tangled hair ¨C if only she was a bit taller¡­)


    By the looks of how even muscle-bound Garet was struggling to restrain her, she was stronger than she seemed. She wasn¡¯t screaming or yelling, but she was fighting.


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    Then Wyre noticed Lark, sitting on the planks with bloody hands pressed across his clearly-broken nose, and his respect for the woman rose again.


    Opposite Garet and his captive, an open apartment door loomed ¨C and everyone¡¯s words and attention seemed to be focussed on the occupants.


    Why aren¡¯t they going in? Wyre wondered; it was only as he reached the crowd and stepped in front of them that he felt the very magic they¡¯d told him about, jarring his motion aside slightly: an invisible barrier, curving up and around slightly out of the door-frame. There wasn¡¯t even a smudge on the air, but it was as solid as steel, textureless, like hard water.


    Garet was holding the woman less than twelve inches from it, and Wyre was pretty certain the barrier would let her pass.


    ¡°Good job, Garet,¡± he said, putting all his approval into his voice, turning his head to peer through into the apartment. ¡°What ¡®ave we ¡®ere then.¡±


    The two kids were right in front of him. Straw-haired, skinny-looking runts. The boy had a fire in his eyes as he stared right back at Wyre and the others, but the girl was behind him with panic on her face, raising a chunk of crystal up in front of her face ¨C


    A glyphstone! his mind barked at him.


    The pair were right there, six feet away, and a thousand miles. They were somewhere he couldn¡¯t go.


    ¡°Throw a knife,¡± he growled.


    ¡°Tried it, boss,¡± one of the lads said sullenly.


    ¡°Bounced, like,¡± Jerle commented.


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll go one better.¡± Wyre drew his own blade, his favourite, from his left hip into his right hand. He grabbed the hair of the woman in Garet¡¯s arms, brought her face down savagely, settling the serrated teeth at the base of the dagger-blade against her windpipe.


    ¡°Oi kid! Jaid! Put that thing down or she bleeds out, ¡®ere an¡¯ now!¡±


    To help deliver his point he dragged a few steel teeth across just the top few layers of her skin. Not enough to open her airway. Just enough to agonise her.


    He¡¯d lost none of his skill. The flesh parted like a flower blooming red.


    She made sound, not a scream but a hissing whine ¨C yet she held herself even more still, submitting to his grasp, his knife.


    She might be useful, this one, he thought. She¡¯s resilient.


    There were any number of uses such a woman could be put. He favoured the games ¨C female gladiators were a rarity, and once he removed their tongues they never found a way to seek help. His handlers shaved their heads, tattooed them, strapped them in armour and furs ¨C no one ever recognised them at a distance from the stands. This one could be put to such a purpose ¨C or others¡­ Some people liked them with a bit of fight left in them.


    He didn¡¯t turn to look into the doorway. That would be weakness. It was up to these twins now ¨C he just kept at his task, moving the knife a little lower and then dragging it through the skin again, and again ¨C


    Lark, cradling his face, muttered, ¡°Sheeb¡¯s stobbed, bosh.¡±


    At the same time, two kiddie voices started wailing behind him, begging him to let her go.


    He took a moment, making another deft slice, before halting his hand as if merely hesitating, swivelling his head to look around at them:


    ¡°Oh? Why stop? Are you comin¡¯ out, or am I killin¡¯ this one?¡±


    He saw the glyphstone, lying dark at the girl¡¯s feet. That meant nothing now, though. She could¡¯ve got something through, even if she¡¯d only had a few seconds, couldn¡¯t she? He wasn¡¯t sure ¨C you couldn¡¯t use glyphstones for anything illegal, not without risking being exposed to a magister at the network who was watching ¨C but he suspected she¡¯d done something with it.


    ¡°You could k-kill her anyway, if we come out,¡± the boy said, his voice shaking, but not as much as Wyre might¡¯ve expected.


    ¡°True, Jaroan,¡± he replied, grinning. ¡°But I can¡¯t as throw her in, and trust you to your word, can I now, young man?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come. You return her.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Jaid screamed, leaping forward and grabbing her brother¡¯s arm ¨C


    At the same time the woman, whose hair he was still holding tightly, pulled back a little and started shouting at the twins:


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare move!¡±


    Wyre sighed.


    ¡°One of you ain¡¯t enough, kids,¡± he growled at them. ¡°I want you both. Now.¡±


    He placed the serrated teeth of the blade against her jugular, this time, and went a little deeper. He let a bit of his savageness out.


    Now the woman shrieked, out of the shock, the suddenness of it ¨C


    A neighbour opened their door, their face contorted in outrage ¨C an expression that swiftly melted to fright, the door slamming closed again immediately, when they saw just who it was on their porch.


    ¡°Okay!¡± Jaroan cried. ¡°My sister first!¡±


    The girl started blubbering.


    ¡°Your sister?¡± Hadin sneered. ¡°You cowardly little git.¡±


    ¡°You reeking idiot,¡± the blond kid said, looking up disdainfully at the guy. Hadin wasn¡¯t tall, but he was still head and shoulders above Jaroan ¨C yet somehow that didn¡¯t really seem to matter.


    ¡°Confident behind that¡­ spell thing, aren¡¯t you, little git.¡± Hadin spat the words. ¡°Wait till you¡¯re out ¨C¡°


    ¡°Shut ¨C your ¨C face before I cut it off,¡± Wyre hissed at the fool, then turned back to the boy. ¡°I get it. ¡®E doessen, but I do. You send her cos I know you won¡¯t let her go with me alone. I like it. You¡¯re clever, lad. I won¡¯t mistreat you.¡± He hardened his voice, lowered it: ¡°Now throw her ¡®ere before I change my mind.¡±


    Lips firmly fixed in a line, the little kid wrestled his sister towards the edge of the barrier.


    Hands grasped Jaid, and held her, and soon muffled her shrill yells. They didn¡¯t cover her wild, roving eyes though.


    ¡°N-now her,¡± Jaroan murmured, suddenly looking sick.


    Wyre smiled again, assessed the woman, and clocked her in the side of the chin with a solid left hook.


    She sagged, but it took another punch before her eyes rolled back. Garet leaned forwards, lowering her into the barrier.


    The wide-eyed boy caught her, dragged her away, and placed her head as gently as he could manage on the wooden floor¡­


    Silence fell across the lot of them, and Jaroan looked back and forth across the faces surrounding him, all of their eyes glaring at him, even his sister¡¯s ¨C


    ¡°Lad¡­¡± Wyre said in a tone of warning.


    No warning was really needed. He had the boy¡¯s sister. Twin sister. There was no way he was going to do something stupid. Not like this.


    Jaroan stepped forwards, eyes on his feet, biting his lip and blinking frantically in terror.


    It was a sweet thing, to inflict such fear. Especially in the kin of an archmage who was waging a silent war on Wyre and his friends. This was a glorious day.


    Wyre felt it as the smile on his face became a smirk, almost a grimace, nearly painful in its intensity.


    He turned away, the Bertie Boys who¡¯d been gathered behind him opening up their ranks to admit him, and he made his way back to the stairwell, descending to the street. They all fell into line in his wake, tramping down the steps.


    When he reached the mud of Mud Lane he looked behind him, and saw that the girl was bucking and kicking, being carried ¨C but the boy was walking with his head bowed, needing only a big, heavy hand on his shoulder to enforce his captivity.


    It all went to plan, he thought in wonder. Or as close to plan as it could¡¯ve.


    Feychilde¡¯s brother and sister under his power, Wyre led the Bertie Boys back to the base, and sat down in the midst of his minions, still smirking, preparing himself.


    Waiting.


    He was better at waiting these days.

 Happiness pt1

    <h2>COBALT 7.4: HAPPINESS</h2>


    ¡°The unforgivable act remains unforgivable, especially if the actor is upheld an ethical man ¨C and so then must the sublime act remain sublime, even if the actor is a man of degradation. The only confusion arises when the same act is both unforgivable and sublime; for this is surely only the mark of Evil. Yet in casting down the Tyrant will you throw off the good laws with the bad? Would you so risk truth by the flesh through which it is revealed? Would you so tempt the tempters to ever-greater misdeeds, have them bend all their will to the destruction of the holiest men, that we might all by association forever abandon the light they showed forth for the shadows they cast?¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Lithiguil¡¯, 7:93-98


    ¡°What do you mean, it¡¯s my twins?¡±


    My muscles reacted like they¡¯d been touched with lightning ¨C instead of Tanra pushing me back, suddenly I was looming over her, glaring down into her face. I could feel icy waves of panic starting to make their way down my body from my head to my feet, over and over, ten times a second.


    ¡°They¡¯ve been taken, Kas!¡± she snapped. ¡°Almost twenty minutes ago. We have to act now if we¡¯re going to avoid bloodshed.¡±


    ¡°Taken!¡±


    But I wheeled my head towards Timesnatcher.


    If he didn¡¯t summon me¡­


    ¡°I knew nothing.¡± He shook his head, eyes staring back at me blankly. ¡°Nothing whatsoever about this. As you said yourself, my sight ¨C¡±


    ¡°Kani might look after them for you,¡± I said to him, then moved my eyes to Tanra. ¡°Take me.¡±


    I put my hand out as she lowered her mask into place; then she gripped my wrist, time froze, and we were gone.


    Any number of possibilities coursed through my head as we ran. It could¡¯ve been the dragon returning, kidnapping my loved ones so as to blackmail me into becoming her weapon. It could¡¯ve been Everseer or her people, seeking to motivate me into becoming a murderer. But she said inkatra, which suggested something else entirely¡­


    We moved so quickly up the stairs under Tanra¡¯s chronomancy that I didn¡¯t realise we were entering my apartment until she stopped us.


    The seeress helped a groggy Xantaire to the bench while I checked on Xastur ¨C


    ¡°Still asleep,¡± I reported tersely, withdrawing my head from the bedroom doorway.


    ¡°I could¡¯ve told you that,¡± Tanra replied, tipping a few drops of healing elixir onto Xan¡¯s tongue.


    ¡°But you aren¡¯t telling me anything,¡± I growled. ¡°Where are th-¡°


    ¡°They¡¯re with Wyre Lulton and the Bertie Boys. I had the feeling something funny was going on with them for the last few days, but I didn¡¯t have chance to explore those landscapes¡­¡±


    ¡°Tanra!¡± I barked.


    Wyre¡­ Lulton¡­


    Of course. It all tied together. The incident with Orven. Toras¡­


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    Wyre thinks I¡¯ve got it in for him? Some revenge scheme?


    ¡°Sorry ¨C but yeah, it¡¯s you they¡¯re after, Kas. This is them making a move on you, I¡¯m almost certain of it. Damnable inkatra¡­¡± She managed to look a bit embarrassed. ¡°I think they used someone on it to decide ¨C¡±


    ¡°I get it.¡± I held up my hand to stop her. ¡°Damn you Tanny.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± she blurted, then drew in a breath of realisation. ¡°No ¨C no, it wasn¡¯t Tanny Dengen. It was one of Peltos¡¯s Gentlemen who figured it out, but the real traitor was someone called Sawdan. A boy ¨C so tall, with brown hair in his eyes ¨C your neighbour, Tick! Ticken!¡±


    I shuddered.


    If Zel had been with me when I saw the lad give me that portentous second glance, she would¡¯ve told me. She would¡¯ve known.


    Damn it all.


    ¡°Xan.¡± I looked at her ¨C she seemed to be much recovered, reclining with her hands folded on her stomach. ¡°I am so, so sorry ¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sorry?¡± she said bitterly. ¡°It was me who couldn¡¯t defend them ¨C I got them up inside the shield but they grabbed me on the doorstep and I ¨C¡±


    I started laughing. Horrendous, uproarious laughter.


    ¡°What?¡± Xan muttered darkly, and the two of them looked between each other. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°And I ¨C I thought ¨C at least a darkmage ¨C if not a heretic, or a dragon ¨C but Wyre Lulton and the Bertie Boys¡­¡±


    The amusement was like a physical thing, something tangible that I could feel lifting my spirits, filling my body with lightness, almost giddiness¡­


    Then it settled. My eyes narrowed as I looked to Killstop.


    ¡°Will the boy stay sleeping?¡± I got my mask out, started putting it on. ¡°It¡¯s time we paid Wyre a visit.¡±


    ¡°But they used inkatra! I need more time to break through ¨C I can¡¯t see what¡¯s going to ¨C¡±


    ¡°You diviners and your crutches,¡± I snapped. ¡°Get over it! Just act, without foreknowledge, like the rest of us! A minute ago you were so angry you could¡¯ve torn down the sky ¨C now you¡¯re acting frightened!¡±


    ¡°A minute ago I couldn¡¯t see!¡±


    ¡°You still can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°I mean ¨C I didn¡¯t know what was happening ¨C¡°


    ¡°Look, you can bring my brother and sister out, right? I¡¯ll handle the rest. I say again ¨C will Xastur stay asleep?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but he¡¯ll wake up in twelve or thirteen minutes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all we need.¡± I checked around quickly. ¡°My shields are still strong.¡±


    Xan was staring at me. ¡°You mean ¨C do you need me?¡± She sounded confused. ¡°Sh-shouldn¡¯t I stay here? This doesn¡¯t have anything to do with me.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes it does, Xan. More than you know. You remember I was looking for your brother¡¯s killer?¡±


    ¡°How could I forg¡­¡± Her voice faded mid-word, then her eyes lit up, burning like flames. ¡°Oh. Ohhh.¡± She got to her feet, steadied herself. ¡°I¡¯m coming with you.¡±


    ¡°Tanra, can you slow us please?¡± I asked, taking Xantaire¡¯s hand and reaching out to the seeress.


    ¡°Both of you, alone? I can¡¯t slow you all the way.¡±


    I looked at her in disbelief. ¡°Just do it, please.¡±


    I didn¡¯t feel anything as the chronomancy washed over me, but the sounds from outside faded, slurred.


    She sighed. ¡°I¡¯m not sure this is a good idea¡­¡±


    ¡°You.¡± I let the word out on its own for a moment, just to drive home my point, my incredulity. ¡°You, are going to tell me to be sensible. Now. Now.¡±


    ¡°Kas, we can¡¯t just take ¨C¡°


    ¡°They took my brother and sister. What can¡¯t I take?¡±


    I took a step closer to her, felt my personal shields raise themselves.


    ¡°Help me,¡± I said plainly.


    She shook her head, but I could tell it was a gesture of resignation, not refusal.


    ¡°Fine. But you owe me one. And I¡¯m not letting any killing happen.¡±


    I snorted at her. ¡°Who do you think I am, exactly? These idiots have got in way over their heads. I told myself, if I saw Orven again, I would erupt, but there¡¯s no way ¨C¡°


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking about you.¡±


    I noticed that Tanra¡¯s eyes were fixed on Xan.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you,¡± my flatmate said again, in a tone that brooked no argument.


    ¡°If you try to kill someone, I¡¯ll stop you,¡± Tanra warned.


    ¡°Or I will,¡± I said flatly.


    Xan just shrugged. ¡°Can we do this, please?¡±


    She pushed her way past me, heading out into the morning greyness ¨C then paused on the balcony as she realised just what slowed time meant.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot to get used to when it comes to this,¡± I said as I made my way out of the doorway to join her. ¡°You¡¯ll feel like you¡¯re walking or running, but you¡¯re actually moving ahead of yourself ¨C then you¡¯ll catch yourself up¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother trying to explain it,¡± Tanra said. ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with.¡±


    One moment we were there ¨C and the next, we were gone again.


    * * *

 Happiness pt2

    To be fair to her, Xan started earning her pay right from the get-go. When the first Bertie Boy stepped into the doorway, exposing his gloating leer, she cracked him in the nose with a left uppercut and let him fall back, dazed, into the arms of his pals behind him.


    We weren¡¯t going to do it their way. Weren¡¯t going to go along quietly.


    When they made sounds, trying to threaten and bluster, I silenced them, blanketing their faces in Zab¡¯s power, letting them mouth noiseless protests; when they crowded forwards, trying to fill the doorway with their bodies and strike at us with their knives, I cast them back, crushing them against the far wall, watching them struggle pointlessly against my barriers.


    ¡°Careful, Feychilde,¡± Tanra said from behind me in a worried tone. ¡°You¡¯ll kill them. They can¡¯t breathe like that.¡±


    ¡°Shame.¡± I whipped my head around to stare at her. ¡°And you¡¯re being too cautious. Call me Kas.¡± I turned back to regard the Bertie Boys. ¡°You guys already know who I am, right?¡±


    They gargled.


    I stepped into the hall inside the door and removed my mask, showing them my face. ¡°It¡¯s a secret you¡¯ll take to your graves, believe me¡­¡±


    Even in their current fatal predicament, they seemed to cringe all the more now that they could see my expression.


    ¡°Kas!¡± Tanra barked.


    I sighed, then cut off my shields, letting my prisoners fall groaning to the mucky carpet.


    ¡°Coming?¡± I asked, proceeding past them.


    ¡°Okay, but no more shielding through walls,¡± the seeress muttered. ¡°You could end up pushing someone through a weak wall, bring the whole place down.¡± She caught my over-the-shoulder glance, and hissed: ¡°I¡¯m not joking.¡±


    The building had four storeys above ground and included an extensive basement area, according to Tanra. Wyre used the whole thing for his business needs, and right now there seemed to be an unbelievable amount of Bertie Boys in the place, all of them wanting a piece of the action.


    There was enough action to go around.


    Xan took on a guy at least twice her weight ¨C she dodged his clumsy attempt to grapple her and targeted his unfortunately-exposed anatomical area with a swift kick.


    Tanra seemed to finally get in the mood. She actually chirped with pleasure as she delivered open-handed slap after open-handed slap, her speed granting each strike the force of a hammer-blow. Teeth flew from their mouths to bounce off the walls, pinging like stones flung from a sling.


    I copied her, utilising the reflexes and strength of my satyr to manhandle them, tapping traces of the wraith-form where necessary¡­ It was like fighting little children. I hurled one through a table, and managed to wedge the next head-first in some kind of waste-bin.


    Daggers, and indeed all thoughts of resistance, were soon abandoned.


    ¡°I do hope you¡¯re going to be good Boys from now on,¡± I said, bopping Mr. Waste-Bin-Head-Man on the waste-bin-head and following Tanra and Xan out of the room.


    Stairs. More idiots, with knives.


    More stairs. More idiots, with crossbows.


    The last set of stairs. The worst of the idiots, with frostbolts, imps, and self-healing.


    Non-lethal attacks left roughly half of them comatose, the remainder abandoned to sort out their broken bones once they recovered from their stupors.


    ¡°Through here.¡±


    Tanra kept her mask on, so it was the frowning face of Killstop that Wyre Lulton saw first. Then the iron glare of Xantaire. Finally, Feychilde, unmasked.


    We stepped into the room. It wasn¡¯t large ¨C just an office. Wyre was sitting there behind the desk, a rake-thin older man in ancient-looking leather armour; his hair was grey but his face was remarkably unmarked by age.


    For now. This might age him.


    Orven ¨C there he was, the scraggly-bearded, scruffy-looking murderer, cringing behind his dad¡¯s chair¡­ Another half-dozen Bertie Boys were here too, standing to attention, crossbows readied, with nervous faces and nervous trigger-fingers ¨C but I barely noticed them. I kept struggling to put the outermost shields down, the state I was in. Missiles didn¡¯t worry me.


    ¡°Wyre Lulton.¡± I moved my eyes. ¡°And Orven.¡±


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± Wyre grated. ¡°Or should I say ¨C¡°


    ¡°We can dispense with the usual barbs,¡± I demurred, my voice rolling across the space, easily drowning him out and then some. ¡°Where are my brother and sister? We¡¯ll discuss your punishment after.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯d be stupid enough to bring ¡®em here?¡± Wyre laughed. ¡°If y¡¯ could only see your face, Kastyr, my boy¡­¡±


    Killstop tilted her head at him. ¡°The twins are¡­ hold that thought¡­¡±


    She vanished, a streak of pinks and greens and oranges heading back out the door onto the landing.


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    Wyre just shook his head. ¡°You¡¯ll never find ¡®em. You ¨C¡°


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± I thundered. ¡°It¡¯s rude to interrupt. You don¡¯t understand. What we are. What a mistake you¡¯ve made.¡±


    He flinched, finally ¨C then suddenly he lifted the end of a rope from his lap and started tugging on it frantically.


    Summoning reinforcements? I wondered. Has he got anyone left?


    ¡°¡­ safe at home,¡± Tanra finished as she came to a stop beside me again.


    And I could breathe once more.


    I felt the sudden stillness in my soul, a tranquillity born of salvation, peace and relaxation washing over me like a warm waterfall unstoppered somewhere over my head ¨C but even then I sensed the way Xantaire next to me was only becoming more and more tense.


    Tanra continued: ¡°Wyre¡­ dear gods, Wyre¡­ what were you thinking? Keeping them in the basement? Do you really believe your cronies would¡¯ve killed them when you sent the signal? ¨C even if I hadn¡¯t cut your rope?¡±


    The crime-lord of Helbert¡¯s Bend tugged some more on his rope-end, and reeled it in until he came to a neatly-sliced section of the cord. He stared at it in horror.


    ¡°Just so you know, the guys down there were so scared after they heard us moving upstairs, one of them actually started trying to knock out his mates, just so I wouldn¡¯t punish him¡­¡±


    ¡°You were trying to kill them,¡± I cut in, speaking as straightforwardly as possible so that I didn¡¯t make any mistakes. I was still trying to wrap my head around this. ¡°After everything, everything I could do to you ¨C you¡¯re pulling on your rope? You¡¯re trying to kill them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to kill them?¡± Wyre snarled. ¡°What about me? What about me and mine, Feychilde? What about my boy¡¯s heart?¡±


    ¡°Him,¡± Xan interrupted, pointing at Wyre¡¯s ¡®boy¡¯. ¡°I want that thing. That dog-lookin¡¯ thing. Yeah. You. Don¡¯t you look away from me! Don¡¯t you dare! You¡­¡±


    I had to put out my hand, take her by the shoulder to remind her charging across the room into their dagger-blades wouldn¡¯t be strictly advisable. Not that she¡¯d be in any danger ¨C but Tanra would start to lecture us about almost crushing people to death against walls again, or making her catch projectiles with her bare hands, and that was just no fun at all.


    Orven shrank down, hiding himself fully behind his father¡¯s chair, and Wyre snapped: ¡°Loose!¡±


    Crossbow bolts sprang forwards about three or four feet, then spun off, clattering against the walls and furniture ¨C one went cartwheeling back at a Bertie Boy¡¯s head, and he was forced to duck.


    Slowly, in dawning realisation of their impotence, they lowered their weapons. Xantaire laughed coldly, and shrugged my hand from her shoulder.


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± I said. ¡°Why did you bring it to this? Why escalate? My identity¡­ my brother and sister¡­¡±


    ¡°What exactly doan you get about it?¡± The boss-man was leaning heavily on the table in front of him, unblinking eyes fixed on my face. Considering his situation, he was remarkably calm. ¡°What, am I s¡¯pposed to just sit ¡®ere, waitin¡¯ for you to turn up? I waited long enough, damn it! What I doan get is how you found out! Who tattled, eh? Who told you?¡±


    I was looking at him quizzically. ¡°Wait for me to turn up? I¡¯m not a magister or a watchman ¨C I¡¯ve gone out of my way to avoid wrecking your operations, cos I know what it¡¯d do to the streets¡­ If you think it takes someone tattling to find out who runs things in Helbert¡¯s Bend and where they¡¯re based, you¡¯re underestimating your repu¡­¡°


    I halted as Killstop drew in her breath suddenly ¨C I turned to look at her, and she took me by the arm.


    ¡°Kas ¨C Kas, we need to leave. Stop wanting to be here. Please.¡±


    There was something in her voice. Worse than warning.


    ¡°Then why aren¡¯t you carrying me?¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Y-your shield will read it as ill-intent. Kas¡­¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Why do we need to leave, exactly?¡±


    Even an arch-diviner couldn¡¯t always control their automatic responses ¨C I saw her eyes flicker to Wyre then straight back to me.


    She¡¯s hiding something.


    ¡°¡¯E don¡¯t know, boss,¡± one of the Bertie Boys whispered.


    Wyre made a quick gesture using only his eyes, a glare that promised a painful death, falling squarely upon the whisperer.


    My eyes followed his ¨C then I realised.


    ¡°Oh ¨C it¡¯s you. Hadin Rovermun.¡±


    I stared at the dishevelled thief ¨C his eyes widened, and he looked left and right at his colleagues, as though there could be another Hadin Rovermun hiding somewhere in the crowd.


    ¡°M-me?¡±


    ¡°You ¨C you¡¯re the one who gave me this.¡± I raised my fingers to my cheek, the old curved scar of smooth-textured tissue, and laughed. ¡°Gods ¨C Hadin¡­¡±


    It must¡¯ve sounded threatening, because the unkempt man started quivering. ¡°I ¨C I don¡¯t even remember! Pl-please! I didden wanna be here ¨C please, let me go!¡±


    He¡¯s burnt his last bridge with Wyre, I realised, looking between the two of them as the boss shifted position slightly ¨C


    Then Wyre hurled a dagger from out of nowhere; it buried itself in the side of Hadin¡¯s neck, and the man toppled, spraying blood and gurgling.


    ¡°Really, Killstop?¡± I murmured, not looking aside at her.


    She truly must have been distracted by something going on here, I realised, even as I produced Avaelar in a flash of ostentatious green fire, pointing at the dying man.


    Wyre and one of the other Bertie Boys tried to stab my sylph as he stepped out of the shield¡¯s protections, but the massive bronze-skinned fey just gripped their wrists, reacting with oily precision. He gifted them some reproving looks, and when he released them they let him go about his business, retrieving Hadin and carrying him back into my barriers.


    That was one whose ill-will had evaporated.


    Does he really think I¡¯d be upset over some old scar? I wondered as Avaelar removed the knife and started treating him. Memories of that part of my life were painful, but that was due to my parents dying¡­ A little cut on the face? Was this what Tanra was worrying about?


    These guys obviously thought we just sat there lounging around looking for things to do all day ¨C if they realised how busy we were all the time, dealing with actual serious issues, they¡¯d know we wouldn¡¯t have time to fret over such minor trivialities.


    ¡°Leave, Bertie Boys,¡± I said quietly. ¡°It¡¯s only Orven and Wyre we want.¡±


    ¡°At last,¡± Xan growled.


    The boss¡¯s control over them had broken, and they virtually fell over themselves to get out of the room. I recognised a couple of them from the night Telrose Gaum almost burnt himself alive, the night Tanra got her powers, as they filed past me.


    The shield let them through. They¡¯d all had a change of heart, it seemed.


    Wyre shouted at their retreating backs, then sat down, spent ¨C now his age came upon him, warping his face, making sandpaper of his forehead ¨C while Orven pranced from foot to foot in horror.


    Then the no-longer-gurgling Hadin reached out a bloody hand for me ¨C he wasn¡¯t close enough to grab me, cradled as he was against my sylph¡¯s huge chest, but he got my attention ¨C


    And everything stopped ¨C not just slowed, stopped.


    ¡°Okay, Kas.¡±


    I looked back to my other side, where Tanra was still holding onto my arm.


    ¡°What is it? What¡¯s going on, Tanra?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve looked through the options available to me. Unless I fight you, or bring help to do the same, I can¡¯t stop you. You¡¯re going to find out.¡±


    ¡°Find out? Find out what?¡±


    She reached up, tipped back her mask; I could see the pallor of her skin. Her eyelids were lowered, and it was as though she moved a mountain, lifting her gaze to meet mine ¨C then when she did, she instantly averted her face again.


    ¡°Are ¨C are you okay?¡± I looked down at her hand gripping my forearm, then put my hand over hers. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ¡°He,¡± her eyes shifted uncontrollably to Wyre again, ¡°he killed them, Kas.¡± The sound out of her throat was a dry whisper out of the void, smaller than the first pebble that starts an avalanche which has been waiting ten thousand years for the moment to arrive. ¡°He killed your parents.¡±


    * * *

 Happiness pt3

    I extended blades from my shields, scythes to reap men, and I reaped Wyre and Orven with a single stroke, shearing through them both with such speed that I unleashed a fountain of blood and bile upon the walls, the windows ¨C they were the killers and this was what they needed ¨C


    No. It was too quick.


    I took Wyre by the shoulders and headbutted him. I felt his face explode against my forehead. Satyr-strength didn¡¯t just break his nose; it pasted it across what had once been eye-sockets.


    ¡°No!¡± Tanra shrieked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I growled, drawing back my head, looking down at the mess I¡¯d left. I would hold him, and he would be a corpse in my hands ¨C I would feel it. He would be mine. I would capture him, corpse and ghost together, bound forever into a puppet at my bidding, soul cursed to Nethernum for all eternity ¨C


    I tried to bat her away as she approached, an open healing-potion in her hand, but she was far too slippery for me, slinking it and blurring away with him, tipping the concoction between his lips ¨C


    I picked up the desk in my hand, hurled it, but she was gone ¨C


    No. Not in a way Killstop could hinder.


    My shields barred the diviner¡¯s intrusions but I didn¡¯t bring out the blades, instead calling on my faithful servants, instructing them hold my enemies fast with their clawed hands ¨C I took up a dagger and inscribed my mark into Wyre¡¯s flesh, into Orven¡¯s flesh, seals interwoven with the best infinity runes I could trace ¨C illegal, unthinkable ¨C and then, listening to their screams, I cast them both into Infernum ¨C


    I met Tanra¡¯s eyes; she flinched.


    ¡°I could ¨C¡°


    ¡°That¡¯s a death-sentence,¡± she hissed. ¡°You know it.¡±


    The moment the words left her lips the personal shield about her faded. She grunted, clearly sensing something as my other barriers itched to push her out, force her back across the carpet towards the doorway.


    Was this what she planned?


    ¡°A death-sentence!¡± I growled. ¡°Who said anything about keeping them from the law¡¯s justice? A headsman¡¯s axe, a noose, or¡­ this,¡± I clenched my fingers, so close to forming the scythe, so close to reaping them ¨C


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    They were there, right there, frozen behind the desk, right in my power ¨C I had only to close my fist, bring down my arm in a single satisfying motion ¨C


    Such a long time ago¡­


    Wyre, looking nauseous as he sprawled over the desk, a dried-up husk older than his antique leather armour; Orven, a mess of unwholesomeness, wide-eyed and pathetic, his hands on the back of his dad¡¯s chair ¨C


    Such a long time ago, and there was no fear, no hurting ¨C there was hunger, sometimes, but there was no darkness ¨C only joy, at least in memory ¨C joy until Hadin¡¯s knife¡¯s-edge made reality plain¡­


    Orven had slain Morsus in cold blood, and for that he would be made to pay, pay with his own blood, served hot ¨C I looked at Xantaire, frozen along with them, and I knew now I could do this thing to him ¨C I could do it for her ¨C for me ¨C


    Such a long time ago, and Hadin¡¯s blade was only the harbinger of that true reality ¨C the funeral, the bodies going into the earth ¨C the hanged man, this murderer¡¯s own brother ¨C my puny, pathetic struggling to bear the weight of responsibility that was thrust upon me¡­


    But it was Wyre ¨C it was Wyre who would be punished most. Infernum was too good for him, but it would do. I would go with him. I would take him, and I would see that place for the first time with him as my guide ¨C he whose destiny was to be its prisoner until the end of time ¨C


    He was frozen. That wasn¡¯t right. I couldn¡¯t splash the walls with their blood, listen to their screams ¨C not like this.


    It wouldn¡¯t be satisfying.


    ¡°Break your spell, Tanra.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Break it.¡± I looked back at her, and what she saw in my face made her blench. ¡°Break it, now.¡±


    ¡°I just need to make this clear.¡± She drew a deep breath. ¡°What you seek isn¡¯t the law¡¯s justice, Kas.¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± I wheeled on her and she stepped back through the open door, retreating from me. ¡°He¡¯s a murderer! A mass-murderer!¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°He¡¯s no less defenceless now than when I¡¯m not stopping time ¨C you know that, right? Not compared to you, to us. What¡¯s stopping you isn¡¯t the unfairness, or his vulnerability ¨C that¡¯s always there. What¡¯s stopping you killing him is that he can¡¯t react, Kas. That¡¯s all you really want. The revenge.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have words with which to respond. I loosed something like a petulant howl instead.


    She was right. Killing them wasn¡¯t enough. They had to know it. They had to die, knowing it was my hands doing the deed, knowing why¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s empty, Kas, and you don¡¯t need me to tell you. You¡¯ve always known it. You already let it go. That¡¯s why it hurts so much.¡±


    It was as though she¡¯d drawn a target on my pain, like squeezing a spot, a suddenly build-up of pressure that had to be released ¨C


    The very moment I shifted my weight to lift my hand and foot, forming those pre-thoughts that would coalesce the energies, bringing me stepping back towards Wyre, slashing out ¨C in that very moment she spoke two more words.


    It wasn¡¯t the words themselves. Taken on their own, their presence here, now, would be demeaning if anything, a cause for anger, spite.


    It was her cadence. Her mood. It changed everything.


    ¡°Happy Yearsend¡­¡±


    Only someone who could imagine being me ¨C someone like her, not just a diviner but a Sticktowner ¨C could speak to me like that. It wasn¡¯t the melancholia ¨C that was just the surface-level. It was the irony. That bittersweet fatalism. Life was drop.


    I looked at her, nonplussed, through my tears.


    ¡°¡­ Happy Yearsend, Kas.¡±


    * * *

 Happiness pt4

    ¡°They ¨C they have to go¡­¡± I swallowed. My throat was closed-up; my tongue seemed to be twice its normal size, and my mouth felt like clay. ¡°They have to go to the watch. Th-they ¨C¡°


    ¡°I can get Bor,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Get them to confess everything, if the magisters can¡¯t get it out of them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a¡­¡± I swallowed again. ¡°A great idea, Tanra. They¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course it¡¯s a great idea, you dolt,¡± she said, sounding exasperated, dropping back into her usual nonchalant demeanour as though nothing had happened. What she¡¯d said earlier ¨C even just now, when she suggested bringing Bor along¡­ that quiet-voiced Tanra was gone again.


    You just talked me out of committing a double-execution, I thought in wonder.


    The compulsion had been real. The only other time I could remember it taking over me like that was back when Peltos had been in the apartment, the first day Em came round, when I felt like summoning my demons in his smug face¡­ And this had been ten times worse ¨C but a diviner¡¯s intervention had created a new course of fate once again.


    I leaned on the desk, looking across it into Wyre¡¯s near-motionless face. To him our motions must¡¯ve been a tornado of blurs. I watched his eyes, and saw the moment he realised my shape was right in front of him ¨C his pupils dilating. What to him would be an instantaneous recoiling back in his chair would take minutes to me, like this.


    I looked at his shock, his anguished face only becoming more so as the subjective seconds ticked by ¨C and it was enough for me.


    This is what I brought you. You killed them, Wyre. You messed with me, you messed with mine. I protected you and those like you long enough. Let¡¯s see how notorious the next to wear your crown wants to become now¡­


    I suggested using a glyphstone to leave a message for Bor, so that he could meet us at the watchtower ¨C while you couldn¡¯t have a conversation from within a one-sided time-bubble, the magic in the things was clever enough to let you at least leave a recording ¨C but it seemed she trusted me now not to do anything stupid. She¡¯d read my future, of course, and I had no way now of deviating from the paths she¡¯d foreseen. When she left I amused myself, waiting for Wyre¡¯s eyes to fully widen, his shoulders to start moving backwards in reaction to my presence in his face¡­


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    Why didn¡¯t she just ¨C


    When she showed Em into the room after Bor, I understood; I smiled and took my girlfriend into my arms, mouthing a silent ¡®thank you¡¯ to her over Em¡¯s shoulder. Then I finally, finally felt myself relax, shutting my eyes and breathing easy once more.


    ¡°Vhat¡­ vhat happened here?¡± Em asked, pulling away from me a little to look around.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t she explain?¡±


    ¡°Not¡­ vhat did he do?¡±


    ¡°He took the twins. He ¨C he killed Mum and Dad. Not Toras. Not his brother ¨C him.¡±


    I saw her face harden beneath the mask. She was hiding her headache well, or she¡¯d been to see a druid, or something.


    ¡°And this one ¨C this is Orven.¡± I gestured. ¡°He¡¯s ¨C¡°


    ¡°Ze one who killed Morsus,¡± Em breathed, then I saw the lightning enter her eyes, blue electricity flickering across the surface of her irises.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay¡­ Killstop¡¯s calmed me down¡­ Heh¡­¡± I coughed, swallowed with some difficulty again, and tightened my arms around her. ¡°We¡¯re going to take them to the watch.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you can be sure of zat¡­ So Bor is here to ensure zey are exposed?¡±


    I nodded into her shoulder and snivelled a bit. ¡°Thanks for c-coming, Em.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    She nestled her head into mine; I drank deep of her fragrance, and I suddenly felt a million times better.


    While I was talking to Em, Tanra brought Xantaire into our time-flow. I overheard her outlining the situation to my flatmate and our enchanter, but then her voice started to slur:


    ¡°Guuuys, I have to let it goooo now. Too-too much mooooving. Too many of uuuus.¡±


    ¡°Do it,¡± Em said in a brittle voice, stepping away from me, facing our prisoners.


    All at once Wyre fell back away from me into his chair, and Orven¡¯s dancing on the spot resumed.


    It took them a moment to take in the fact that there were now five of us.


    ¡°Looks like someone¡¯s bad day just got a whole lot worse,¡± Spirit commented smoothly.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I murmured, folding my arms across my chest, ¡°not a very Happy Yearsend, not at all.¡±


    ¡°You killed Feychilde¡¯s mother and father,¡± Em intoned ¨C and here, with the mask down, the rage up, the voice on ¨C she was Stormsword. ¡°You killed them, and sacrificed your brother in your place?¡±


    Wyre managed to look almost unafraid as he shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s too late to fight. I¡¯ll roll over. Yeah. I killed ¡®em. You didden know that, champion?¡±


    I shook my head, unable to pull my eyes from his once more.


    He sighed. ¡°Then all this ¨C it was really for nuffin¡¯? I was sure, so sure you had it in your head to end me¡­¡±


    ¡°What you mean, Da¡¯?¡± Orven blurted.


    ¡°I mean you was right, and you was wrong, all along.¡± Wyre lowered his face, looking down into his lap. ¡°And I was the mug what believed you. Feychilde¡­ we coulda just left him alone.¡±


    ¡°And none of this would¡¯ve happened,¡± I grated.


    ¡°And none o¡¯ this woulda ha-happened,¡± the boss-man said, the horror finally causing his voice to catch in his throat. ¡°None o¡¯ this¡­ at all¡­?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I shouted ¨C I couldn¡¯t keep the volume down. ¡°Why did you kill them?¡±


    He didn¡¯t lift his eyes, and shrugged again.


    ¡°They was there,¡± he murmured ¨C and that was all.


    * * *

 Happiness pt5

    Xantaire only got on board with the plan if I let her have three free shots at Orven¡¯s face before we got started ¨C the guy did his best to back away, protect his (frankly already valueless) features with his arms. She landed at least seven just on his nose, and when Bor finally put the Lultons to sleep Orven seemed glad of it. Tanra opened the window, then Em¡¯s flight-spells saw us through the aperture and out into the smoggy city air.


    I kept a firm hold of Xantaire¡¯s left hand as she had her first flying experience, while Em held her right. Down below us I spotted a cluster of Bertie Boys in the street ¨C most of them must¡¯ve already fled and another group scarpered once they saw us, but four stayed stoic, gazing up at us as Em brought our sleeping captives out behind us.


    When I released Xantaire¡¯s hand and drifted down towards them, another one ran.


    ¡°Who¡¯s in charge now?¡± I asked.


    The three looked at each other. Two of them were the ones Wyre had kept close, the ones I knew from before.


    ¡°Your names!¡± I snapped.


    ¡°J-Jarle.¡±


    ¡°Lark, sir.¡±


    ¡°Garet¡­¡±


    ¡°Garet.¡± I looked the big, hulking man over. He had an honest face, which was more than the other two could boast. ¡°You¡¯re the new boss.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C the new boss?¡± He looked dumbfounded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll do just fine.¡±


    ¡°B-but, Peltos ¨C¡°


    ¡°If Peltos ¨C or anyone else ¨C¡° I glowered at J-Jarle and Lark ¡°¨C has a problem with it, I¡¯ll have a problem with them, see? If they¡¯re putting so much as an ounce of pressure on you, I¡¯ll put a thousand pounds on them¡­ Look, I¡¯ll come back in a week, talk things over. If you still don¡¯t want the position then, we¡¯ll fix it. For now, get your guys in order, damn it. If you stop killing people, I¡¯ll leave you alone. I don¡¯t want you to think I¡¯m your new big boss here ¨C if you don¡¯t stop the indiscriminate slaughter, I¡¯ll be back, believe me.¡±


    I saw Garet mouthing out the word ¡®in-dis-crim-in-ate¡¯ and sighed.


    When I moved my eyes across the other two, I noticed Jarle in particular was still eyeing me with terror.


    ¡°What¡¯s your problem, exactly?¡± I asked, feeling tired already, considering it wasn¡¯t even noon yet.


    ¡°It¡¯s, er, yer ¨C yer ¨C¡°


    He gestured at his face.


    ¡°Oh ¨C my mask.¡± I squared my shoulders. ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s so much point in wearing that now, isn¡¯t there? Thanks to you fellas¡­ Better to just own it now.¡± I glanced around ¨C there were only a few people on the street, but there were dozens of eyes at windows.


    I sighed and moved my eyes back to Garet. ¡°Good luck. If these guys don¡¯t back your play or decide to stab you in the back, just remind them I¡¯ll be looking for them.¡±


    Offering a swift prayer to Yune on the oaf¡¯s behalf, I went to catch the others up, using my wings to increase my speed.


    The brick-built watchtower was in Cutterwells, only a two hundred yards ¨C a brief hop as the mage flew, though getting there on foot would¡¯ve probably comprised a journey of half a mile or more. Xantaire was relishing the opportunity to fly by the time we arrived, and it wasn¡¯t until she realised she had the chance to watch Wyre and Orven get clapped in irons that she decided to actually land and enter.


    The handover was smooth, simple. The few watchmen on duty looked terrified to have received the crime-lord of the Bertie Boys, on Yearsend morning, from four champions no less ¨C and then Spirit did something that explained the situation to them in about five seconds flat, before putting an extended truth-telling charm on the Lultons.


    When we got back outside and stood in front of the tower, buffeted by a cold breeze Em didn¡¯t choose to stop, I spent a good few seconds simply staring at Bor and Tanra in stupefaction. My voice was almost tinny to my hearing as I numbly thanked them for what they had done. Bor magnanimously clapped me into a bear-hug, while Tanra curtsied, as though it were nothing.


    Like I was fifty feet away, listening to my own voice through a metal pipe, I heard myself say: ¡°Do you fancy stopping at ours? Mine first, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Yes, we¡¯re heading up to mine after¡­¡± Em threw me a questioning look.


    I nodded. ¡°So long as the twins are still up for it.¡±


    ¡°Bor¡¯s coming round to meet my mum for the first time,¡± Tanra said, without much by way of enthusiasm, folding her arms across herself to ward off the chill.


    ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡± the enchanter asked her. ¡°I¡¯ll charm the socks off her.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m worried about¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I stared at her, perplexed. ¡°You don¡¯t think he¡¯d actually, you know, use his powers on her?¡±


    ¡°If I don¡¯t head him off, he will.¡± She sighed, and easily evaded the elbow he threw at her ribs. ¡°He¡¯s more worried than I am, even if he isn¡¯t showing it. He¡¯d do almost anything to make a good first impression.¡±


    ¡°Oi!¡± he snorted. ¡°I¡¯m right here!¡±


    I grinned despite everything. ¡°Well ¨C I wish you both the best of luck.¡± I looked at Em. ¡°Are you free to come back, for a bit at least?¡±


    ¡°Jaid will want to see you, I¡¯m sure,¡± Xantaire said absently ¨C she was looking down at her bruised knuckles, rubbing them affectionately with a proud smile on her lips.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go check on them,¡± the wizard said, staring at me curiously.


    ¡°What is it, the mask?¡± I waved at my head.


    But the curious look resolved into a smile. ¡°No, Kas. I like it. But won¡¯t they think you¡¯re¡­ you know¡­ trying to ¡®claim credit¡¯?¡±


    I cast about, and Xantaire nodded in agreement.


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    ¡°Your girlfriend¡¯s got a point,¡± she said.


    ¡°Hmm.¡± I hadn¡¯t thought about it that way ¨C perhaps people would think it was big-headed, showing off, a self-congratulatory revelation¡­ ¡°Fine.¡± I grabbed my mask from my pocket and settled it across my upper face once more. ¡°For all the good it¡¯s going to do me.¡±


    Em renewed everyone¡¯s flight-spells, and we all took off, Tanra and Bor heading southwards.


    ¡°Happy Yearsend,¡± the seeress called back as they vanished out of sight.


    We headed for Mud Lane, her words ringing in my ears.


    I know, Tanra, I thought. I know.


    * * *


    My gremlin wasn¡¯t the best flier, but with Em¡¯s direct assistance he managed to keep up as we flew, cloaked in invisibility, to Rivertown, hauling a sack of presents behind us as we went. The Reyds had never met my family before ¨C never mind my extended family ¨C and, while they knew in advance how many to cook for, the main room was awfully full of bodies while we ate the Endfeast. Atar had prepared the traditional five-bird roast twice over, and at least three of the birds were stuffed with unusual, Onsoloric spices. No one except Linn seemed to enjoy the potent pheasant, which he washed down with copious amounts of ale; I did my best with it to save face, but I filled up on the grouse. Thankfully, Xastur, Jaid and Jaroan all found something they could stomach ¨C they almost polished off both partridges between the three of them, along with a platter of gravy-soaked veg. Orstrum seemed to delight in trying a bit of everything, though he still had the tears in his eyes that¡¯d been there since he returned from the graveyard to hear what had happened. Xantaire didn¡¯t eat much, looking down at the fist with which she¡¯d pummelled her brother¡¯s killer. Occasionally her granddad would reach out and pat her on the shoulder, and she would offer him a wan smile.


    It was finally catching up to us. The events of this morning would¡¯ve felt like a distant dream, especially now that my belly was fit to burst and I¡¯d had a couple of beers ¨C the lethargy of the exertion and the excitement washed over me, and I was ready to fall asleep. But Jaid stayed right next to me, often holding onto my arm between mouthfuls as though she were afraid if she let it go for too long she¡¯d be taken away again. Jaroan had taken it all on the chin, merely looking at me sternly whenever I dared even suggest that he¡¯d been through a rough ordeal. Being taken by those ruffians, held by knife-men until Killstop appeared to free them and return them home¡­


    Whenever I thought of it, my head seethed, and I came back around ¨C each and every time Jaid wormed her hand between my arm and my side, wrapping her elbow around mine, I felt the fury inside that had almost decapitated the murderers where they stood.


    At least there was one silver lining ¨C they weren¡¯t going to become archmages. If there¡¯d ever been a time for a pair of twins to suddenly inherit earth-shaking powers, it would¡¯ve been then.


    All in all, it was a good job I had Jaid keeping me awake, because next came the gift-giving. A couple of my more-intimate presents for Em I would save for later, but we opened the sack she¡¯d carried through the skies for us which contained the vast majority of what I¡¯d bought. The kids distributed the adults¡¯ gifts first before they got theirs from the Reyds, which should¡¯ve normally meant they¡¯d be moving frantically to get it over and done with, get their pressies ¨C but only Xastur, blissfully unaware of today¡¯s events, seemed to get into it. In any case, the presents from these near-strangers weren¡¯t going to outstrip the things I¡¯d bought them; they did their best to seem grateful for the wooden toys, which was all I could ask for considering the circumstances. They did better than Linn, anyway ¨C Atar managed to beam brightly when I produced the customisable sheath I¡¯d bought her, a clever bit of kit that would let her transform the appearance of her z-shaped flute-instrument; she went and tried it out right away ¨C but Em¡¯s dad merely gave me a sceptical ¡®hmm¡¯ while digging through the master-craft woodworking set I got for him.


    ¡°Give him time,¡± Atar silently mouthed at me across the room, with a conciliatory wave of her hand.


    I smiled back. It was difficult, smiling, sometimes. More difficult than smashing gangs of thugs, more difficult than taking on darkmages.


    Em forced me to dig my robe out of my satchel before giving me my primary gift, and once I had it on she produced a truly magnificent item: a gem-studded belt of silver-blue dragonscale leather, far more elegant and ¡®magician-y¡¯ than the nice-enough black leather cords I¡¯d used till now. I quickly untied my current belt, freed my pouches, then tried it on for size.


    It was perfect ¨C despite its apparent weight and sturdiness the dragonscale was as light as air. I kissed my girlfriend for the first time right in front of her paza, then let her go back to her mazan, where they¡¯d been poring over one of the recipes in the Too Hot To Handle cookbook I¡¯d gotten her. I was beginning to regret that one purchase, given the devious looks Em¡¯s mum started to throw in my direction. She was every bit as bad as her daughter.


    A while later, once Jaid and Jaroan finally fell asleep together on the couch, I found Orstrum outside ¨C somehow he¡¯d managed to lower himself onto the frozen back doorstep, using a scrap wooden pallet from one of Linn¡¯s bins as makeshift cushion. As I stepped out to join him I noticed he was chewing something, and I caught the aroma instantly.


    I studied him for a moment. The shaven head was covered in bristles. The trimmed white beard was festooned with long whiskers.


    How long had it been since I¡¯d looked at him? Really looked at him?


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you ate wane,¡± I chided him lightly, folding my arms across my chest like I could parent this man who was sixty years or so my senior. I was still wearing my new belt ¨C at least when I crossed my arms wearing the robe I didn¡¯t look like some petulant, scrawny ghoul; it definitely had space in it for me to pack on some muscle.


    ¡°Oh-ho, my boy,¡± he chortled, ¡°after a day like today, a man must be forgiven for his indulgences. You fly your way ¨C I have my own.¡±


    I held out my hand, and he only raised an eyebrow for a few seconds before grabbing a pouch from inside his coat-jacket and placing a leaf in my fingers.


    The taste was acrid, bitter and, in my current mood, relatively enjoyable. The effect of the substance diverged wildly from beer, serving to settle me down rather than rile me up, slowing and elongating the thoughts churning in my head. After a few minutes I found myself sitting beside him on the pallet, staring up at the darkened sky, reminiscing about his dead grandson.


    ¡°That night, when your little chap made those wine creations,¡± he said wistfully. ¡°I think that was the happiest I ever saw him, Kas.¡±


    That ¡®little chap¡¯ is dead too, I thought ¨C but he didn¡¯t need reminding. The twins had long since found out and went through their own mourning process, their grief dampened by my reassurances Flood Boy wouldn¡¯t be gone for that long¡­ Not that I¡¯d know where to find him in Etherium if and when he did come back¡­ not that I knew who he really was, either¡­


    ¡°I should¡¯ve never given Morsus that money.¡± I still smiled, though, remembering his gratitude. ¡°He was a good man. You should be proud, that you helped raise him.¡±


    Orstrum sniffed. ¡°He was a weak man, Kas. He lived for the moment. I¡­ I failed him, not you. I should have been harsher. Harder. I should have stopped him being that kind of person, filled with his greed, his lust for things¡­ Things, they just bring complication, my boy. The less things you got, the less there is to worry about.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s wisdom in that.¡± I shut my eyes, leaned back against the cold door, and breathed deep of the chill twilight air. ¡°But he wasn¡¯t weak. He was strong. It was just¡­ a different kind of strength.¡±


    The other door swung in, and Em poked her head out. I could tell from the narrowing of her eyes that she could smell the wane on my breath, and I felt my face flush.


    Damn aeromancy¡­


    ¡°Mazan is going to play,¡± she said curtly, then turned away and headed back inside, leaving the door open behind her.


    ¡°Come on, we¡¯ve been summoned.¡±


    I got to my feet and helped the old man stand, but instead of moving off with me he stood his ground ¨C I faltered, and he put his hands on my shoulders, looking in my face.


    ¡°I call you my boy and I mean it, you are family to me ¨C everything you¡¯ve done¡­ But I know you¡¯re a boy no more. You understand me, right? I¡¯m not trying to put you down. You are a good man, Kas. A strong man.¡±


    I felt a wellspring of positive emotion, undiluted, indelineable, that seemed to come up through my being from out of nowhere, and I didn¡¯t know what to do with it until he hugged me. It was just a swift bear-hug, manly-enough for his sensibilities, but I had no idea whether or not he knew what it had done for me.


    That¡¯s the magical flora talking, Kas, my cynical side said in a chuckling tone.


    I followed the old man in through the door, and somehow it had worked. Today ¨C Yearsend¡­ The Bertie Boys ¨C the precipice of slaughter on whose lip I¡¯d faltered, almost falling¡­ The distress, the damage, Xantaire¡¯s injuries, everything the twins went through ¨C


    I was happy. Somehow, in spite of everything, I was happy.


    * * *

 Happiness pt6

    Notes of music dancing like motes of light on an ethereal breeze, the flute¡¯s song lulled my reclining mind into a dreamless slumber in which the only sensation was satisfaction, the feeling of putting your feet up on the table after a long day of toil. I floated in the empty blackness, buffeted by warm winds, borne by them far beyond the cares of mortal flesh, need and worry and want. Here was the bliss we all sought. Here I could rest.


    I sit with Mum and Dad in Firenight Square. I sit between them. The twins are babies: Mum has Jaroan in her lap, and Dad has Jaid.


    I look up at them, from the one to the other.


    I can¡¯t remember, can¡¯t recognise their faces.


    When Em shook me awake, noises ringing out, at first I had a flashback to the night of the Incursion, being awoken in almost the exact same spot, hearing the Mourning Bells ¨C


    But this wasn¡¯t the Bells ¨C it was my glyphstone. Em had clearly already answered hers, and all the eyes in the room were focussed on the two of us, questions on every set of lips.


    ¡°Wha¡­? What¡¯s going on? Em?¡±


    ¡°Kas, they¡¯ve escaped.¡±


    ¡°Wha¡­¡±


    Tranquillity extinguished, a solitary candle-flame before the tidal wave, flattened such that it was as though it had never been.


    I didn¡¯t need to ask who, why, where, even how. There was only one question:


    ¡°When?¡±


    She backed off as I rose to my feet, and even she seemed shocked by the iciness of my voice.


    ¡°M-minutes,¡± she mumbled. ¡°Zey killed two vatchmen. Zey think one of ze ozzers voz in zeir pay.¡±


    I hissed. I wasn¡¯t going to make any more mistakes.


    My imps hadn¡¯t found Nighteye ¨C but this pair of scum weren¡¯t shapeshifters protected by seers.


    I raised both my arms, stabbing my hands straight out at the walls in either direction, then turned my upper body ninety degrees, bringing them down to my sides again.


    Seventeen gungrelafor entered Materium through my portals: twin-horned faces were poking over the backs of chairs, short tails flicking behind the curtains, wing-tips protruding from under the couch¡­


    Teleporters.


    Most of the others in the room had some idea what to expect; despite his inexperience with this kind of thing Linn managed to keep his stern fortify-face, but Atar shrieked, staring around in horror, and Em tried to calm her down ¨C


    But I wasn¡¯t really listening.


    Zabalam, awaken.


    ¡°Feychilde?¡± he crooned in my head.


    These men. Remember them.


    Then another gesture birthed the gremlin onto our plane.


    ¡°Show them Orven. Show them Wyre.¡±


    He took the images from my mind and, while everyone but Em watched on in astonishment, he swiftly built the illusion of the two murderers in the centre of the room, almost capturing their likenesses perfectly ¨C it was close enough that I felt the irrational urge to attack the glamours.


    By the time he was done, Atar had calmed down, staring in awe instead. Linn¡¯s expression still hadn¡¯t changed, his outward demeanour giving off disapproval, if not a faint whiff of outright contempt.


    I didn¡¯t care.


    I cast my gaze around at the imps and barked in Infernal: ¡°Cutterwells Watchtower, Sticktown. Start there, move out. They¡¯ll likely be indoors.¡± Each of my minions looked a little different, and I smiled thinly when I found the one who¡¯d acted as my messenger to Zakimel back in Zadhal. The gungrelafor was on top of the curtain rail, leering. ¡°You, Pinktongue ¨C report back to me. Now, go.¡±


    Seventeen heatless red flames consumed them instantly, vanishing right there off the furniture.


    Almost immediately everyone started speaking, but I had no time for them now. I just flicked my eyes to the people most important to me, giving them a look as I started materialising wings and drifting towards the wall. The hand I reached out in front of me as I moved increased in transparency. By the time I reached the plaster and bricks I would pass right through them ¨C


    I brought Zab back into my being, then used a blurring effect to disguise what I did with the amethyst rift, summoning and joining with my vampire.


    ¡°Kas ¨C vait!¡± Em was blurting.


    ¡°Catch me up,¡± I murmured just before entering the coldness of the physical boundary, keeping my fang-distorted face turned away from the others.


    Within seconds I was out. It was night. I was free.


    I flew north-east, as quickly as I could fly, but before I passed over the Greywater I saw Stormsword sweep through the sky above me; then her flight-spell enveloped me, and I could really put on some speed. My glyphstone¡¯s buzzing was becoming increasingly loud, increasingly distracting ¨C I was tempted to just lob the damn thing in the river. Common sense won out, and I graced it with a moment of my attention, enough to stop the incessant trilling without it pulling me into the trance.


    I knew full-well what it said, what it portended. I didn¡¯t need to hear it in person ¨C that would just drive me into a rage.


    More of a rage.


    Oldtown was a blur beneath us ¨C then we passed over the Blackrush and central Sticktown. Below, a few revellers ambled idly through snow-coated streets; even the mudflows of my home district looked picturesque from up here. Many more would be indoors, enjoying their Endfeasts by meeting friends at bars, or relaxing in their homes with their families gathered around them.


    As I should¡¯ve been. For the first time, I felt it bite at me: the sheer normalcy I¡¯d lost, becoming Feychilde¡­ I could¡¯ve hidden my sorcery, moved more slowly, carefully¡­


    But what I¡¯d gained¡­ My parents¡¯ home. The twins¡¯ futures. My amazing girlfriend. Friends. Prestige. Power.


    It all tangled together, the good with the bad, and at the heart of it all was this man.


    Wyre Lulton. The low creature whose vicious mind had fired the muscles, the extension of his arm that brought the blade down, eagerly cutting Mum¡¯s throat, piercing Dad¡¯s heart as he sacrificed himself pointlessly, trying to intervene when it was already too late.


    That¡¯s what the witnesses had said. But they¡¯d lied, all of them, motivated by fear or greed or both, motivated by Wyre Lulton to condemn his own brother Toras to the gallows.


    Maybe he didn¡¯t kill them like that. Maybe their murders had been less gruesome in actuality than the horrible tale I¡¯d been told. But maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it had been worse.


    I promise, Mum and Dad. I¡¯ll make sure he hangs for this. I¡¯ll put him in the noose myself if I have to. Put him in the noose, kick away the stool and watch.


    If he hadn¡¯t killed them, I wouldn¡¯t have been there that day, where a fairy and a faun spun their first web about me. Wouldn¡¯t have been granted authority over fundamental forces of existence.


    I owed it all ¨C the good and the bad, the Good and the Evil ¨C to him.


    Pinktongue appeared in a red flash, checked my trajectory, then spun and teleported again, four wings flapping to keep up.


    ¡°Master!¡± he croaked. ¡°Follow, if you still seek the Wyre Lulton!¡±


    He blinked away, skipping ten yards each time, and within five seconds I had my course corrected.


    Towards home.


    ¡°Stormsword!¡± I cried.


    It was needless. The flight-spell she¡¯d put on me seemed to make her aware of my change in direction ¨C when I looked up at her she had already gotten out ahead of me again.


    When her voice came back to me, it was the softly-spoken tenor of a confident highborn, the winds carrying Stormsword¡¯s words: ¡°You know that if they resist, they can be killed. They are active murderers. The watch themselves issued the edict.¡±


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    I didn¡¯t know that, but it made sense.


    A satisfying kind of sense.


    Just a few seconds after I saw the trail of destruction, the imp croaked again: ¡°Master!¡±


    Pinktongue blinked down towards the street.


    I focussed my vampiric senses, descending like a winged shadow, and the ¡®how¡¯ of their escape was instantly made plain as I saw them moving up the roadway.


    Gods-dropped inkatra.


    They weren¡¯t in hiding. They weren¡¯t indoors. They weren¡¯t doing any of the things I¡¯d have done in their situation. Quite the opposite.


    Inkatra. The first few times, users were incredibly unfocussed. The drug took hold of their thoughts, eroding their inhibitions, twisting them into indulging their primordial instincts. A forceful personality, like a gang-leader, could possibly rein them in, even on their first go of the stuff. But Wyre wasn¡¯t going to be taking orders from anyone else ¨C and he had taken the herb himself. I could tell that much ¨C the man was thirty feet tall.


    There was nothing to indicate Orven had taken it, or the ex-watchman still in his uniform ¨C those two ran along behind the titanic crime-lord, avoiding the huge sloppy ditches he left in his wake, the falling timbers that showered down like deadly hail. Ah, no ¨C the watchman moved with oily precision to pull Orven away before he was buried beneath someone¡¯s furniture; a divination trait¡­ The three others I could see were definitely on the drug ¨C there was a ridiculous sorcerer fascinated by the world¡¯s weakest-ever shields that surrounded him, a man exuding frosty air from his hands, and a giant white bear that still only came up to Wyre¡¯s knee. All of them moved as one, all seemingly in the same state of ecstatic misery.


    They weren¡¯t heading to my home. That wasn¡¯t what the boss¡¯s instincts had compelled him to do ¨C no, nothing so complex as vengeance. They were heading to their own home, their former base of operations ¨C and Wyre¡¯s main motivation appeared to be simple annihilation. As if by destroying the place he¡¯d lived in for years he could just take it all back, have it all over again.


    Or maybe it was just that he knew there could be no escape from my wrath. There was no hiding. The magical herb couldn¡¯t conceal him for long, not without him perishing from over-consumption.


    If he wanted to go out with a bang, he was going about it the right way. He stumbled through Helbert¡¯s Bend as though he were a child running amok in a toy shop filled with matchstick houses; he was literally pulling down the fronts of structures as he went wading towards the base, a river of debris flowing behind him. What was worse, it seemed many of the inhabitants were being drawn towards their windows before he arrived ¨C to see what was happening, what that awful din could be ¨C only to be pulled down into the plank-strewn snow along with their walls.


    There were injuries, and cries of distress, and delicious-smelling blood-puddles ¨C but my mind was shaped like an arrow and it knew its target.


    The life of Wyre Lulton.


    As I descended towards him I held up my hand, forging a tremendous blade of force that would shatter his huge, druidry-reinforced sternum, pierce his massive heart with good-will to all men, a Yearsend gift to the human race bestowed in a torrential red rain ¨C


    My azure sword gleamed as I raised it ¨C


    Yet the wane slowed the thought, blunted the tip of the arrowhead.


    The happy memory had only faded, not died.


    ¡°You are a good man. A strong man.¡±


    A good man. A strong man.


    A bad man. A weak man.


    What was the dividing line? Who got to decide? Could I be considered good for killing them, ridding the plane of their stained existences, robbing the dark gods of the power they gained through the base actions these men committed? Or would I automatically serve the dark gods¡¯ aims, darken my own soul, even when I sought justice? Was it nobler to accept that sacrifice, lose my high ground ¨C take lives to save lives, stop the chaos in its tracks? Or was it only my rage speaking, my own desire to simply vanquish them, rip them apart?


    I descended, but I slowed; my arm fell limply to my side, my vast sword dissipating. My eyes looked up to Stormsword, and hers down to meet mine.


    I couldn¡¯t do it, and she knew it now. She knew me, and I knew her. I could tell it all from the way she came to a screeching halt.


    She could help me, couldn¡¯t she? She could help this weak, useless man?


    I could surrender it to her, couldn¡¯t I? This burden?


    That was the truth of it, wasn¡¯t it? I wasn¡¯t a good man, or a bad man. A strong man, or a weak man. I could play at being grown-up, which was what my society expected of me.


    But I remained a boy. I couldn¡¯t make my own choice. I couldn¡¯t own it.


    As I¡¯d expected, Stormsword halted only to draw back her own arms, raise her fingers to the skies.


    Even as Wyre plunged into another house, heedless of the wails as he ripped through a bedroom and spilled its contents into the street, Em coaxed down the lightning.


    She didn¡¯t let it fall upon him at once ¨C the thunder laughed, as loud as an avalanche, and she gave him a few seconds to stop, raise his face and look up at her ¨C


    That animal expression, twisted in anger and fear and hate, would stay with me until the day I died.


    I could see it, reflected in his overlarge eyes: the crackling ribbons of white fire were immense, stretching like pillars from her hands to the vaults of the heavens ¨C


    And then the air fell silent; the lightning leapt down, and that was the end for Wyre Lulton.


    She didn¡¯t scorch him, or let him suffer. She simply executed him.


    Where in one moment stood a thirty-foot, living breathing human, there now stood a thirty-foot statue, charcoal, grey-black throughout, trapped in its last moment of anguish.


    I didn¡¯t see her swinging the sword of white light, the hundred-foot blade of pure dancing electricity that rushed down at his neck ¨C but I saw it connect, saw it effortlessly part the crumbling head from the crumbling shoulders.


    He¡¯d taken inkatra for druidry, for self-augmentations. She wasn¡¯t taking any chances. It was like Winterprince had told us, that day we first met him.


    Druids don¡¯t regrow heads.


    The charcoal boulder landed with a thump, losing almost half its mass into the sludge. The body followed it, collapsing down where it stood.


    There, Mum and Dad. There. It¡¯s done. Look.


    They weren¡¯t here, so I floated in the air, looking down for them.


    The remaining Bertie Boys decided to fight rather than flee, but I didn¡¯t move to help. She didn¡¯t need it. She focussed on the other druid, and Stormsword¡¯s namesake beheaded him, the huge bear¡¯s-head sailing through the air ¨C meanwhile, she seemed to unconsciously form elementals of debris and mud, frost and excrement, towering creatures rising from the very substance of Sticktown to grasp the diviner tight, smash the sorcerer¡¯s shields, overwhelm the paltry wizard. They were surrounded, compressed, submerged ¨C and this time she gave them no airway.


    She drowned them.


    All of them decided to fight rather than flee ¨C all except for Orven. The vile excuse for a human turned tail and fled, running off through the drop like he always did.


    Until its snow-capped arms reached up for him, dragged him beneath the surface.


    He too didn¡¯t rise again, and I watched it all, bemused.


    I felt it when they became tools for my magic, corpses my mind could reawaken, crude intellects my power could restore, torturing their souls with a nigh-unbreakable anchor to the inner planes¡­


    I came to attention, then I noted the arrival of Bor and Tanra, saw them helping people out of the wreckage, Em adding her powers to the relief effort ¨C


    So many people¡­


    Instincts finally kicked in, and I realised. I could hear them screaming, but I didn¡¯t care. I could smell the wounds, but it only tempted me.


    Gods, how do Shallowlie and Netherhame deal with this?


    I was less experienced, less knowledgeable than I¡¯d thought. I¡¯d avoided joining with the bloodthirsty eldritches for a reason, and I was now living with the consequences of my decision, one moment at a time. It exposed a callous streak in me I didn¡¯t know existed.


    I expelled and dismissed my vampire with a single definite intention, then whipped about ¨C I brought Avaelar out, started shifting timbers with satyr-strength, seeking out pinned victims with the wraith-form, swiftly whittling down my quota of healing potions ¨C


    It took over fifteen minutes, and that was only thanks to Killstop and the other diviners who¡¯d shown after someone put out a general call: Star and Dimdweller. Glimmermere ¨C Imrye ¨C arrived just too late to treat a girl whose head was crushed by a beam. I didn¡¯t have much time to think, relying on pure emotion to drive me from place to place ¨C it wasn¡¯t difficult, to bring myself to help people.


    It was the other thing ¨C harming them ¨C killing them ¨C that I had a problem with. Doing this, the meagre rescue-work, the grunt-level magician-labour ¨C that was what I was good for. That was what made me a ¡®good man¡¯, a ¡®good boy¡¯. If it didn¡¯t have ¡®Soulless Evil¡¯ painted in big bright letters on its Anti-Life Crown and a dead champion¡¯s body for a garment, I was incapable of taking action.


    I didn¡¯t kill the killer of my flatmate, never mind the killer of my own parents. If I¡¯d killed Wyre this morning, that girl Imrye failed to save would still be alive, still have a future ¨C but it had been stolen away by his malice, by my cowardice¡­ I didn¡¯t even kill the heretic in Firenight Square, whatever that sorcerer said at the battle over the heath ¨C the spider-druidess could¡¯ve got away and messed with my head too, if not for Winterprince¡¯s intervention. And I didn¡¯t kill Everseer when I could¡¯ve, in the battle at the library, and she went on to kill¡­ who knew how many people.


    Everseer¡­


    Why had Tanra not foreseen all these events today? Was it really inkatra messing with her head? And where was Timesnatcher in all this? Surely he¡¯d had plenty of opportunity to deal with his twin arch-sorceress problem by now, given his particular repertoire of skills¡­ Had this whole thing been invisible to them all?


    I didn¡¯t want to ask, didn¡¯t want to know. Once we¡¯d done all we could and the local authorities took over, I made my excuses and headed straight back towards Rivertown with Em. I was just sick of it, sick of it all. Sick of myself most of all. Em had killed Wyre, and I found it magnificent to watch, even now when I played it back before my mind¡¯s eye. Then she¡¯d drowned five other men in filth, and while I experienced a kind of horror when I considered these deaths, it was more muted than I would¡¯ve liked. A horror at arm¡¯s length. A horror that you know ought to be dreadful but just somehow falls a little short of the mark, almost into the bearable category¡­ Were they less culpable than Wyre? What right did I have to choose between them, decree death for one but mercy for the rest? All agents of the law, from watchman to magister to champion, were licensed to kill the escapees if they resisted ¨C and they did take aggressive postures against Em when she attacked them. As futile as it had turned out to be, they did resist.


    But did they? Really?


    I looked over at her as we flew ¨C she met my eyes and smiled.


    She didn¡¯t have the eyes of a killer¡­ not anymore. She was just her.


    I smiled back.


    I didn¡¯t care if the Bertie Boys didn¡¯t stand a chance. I didn¡¯t care that Orven ran. So, they could have lived ¨C perhaps she didn¡¯t need to kill them. But, almost certainly, they would¡¯ve gone on to murder others.


    And so despite not needing to kill them, she took by choice the more difficult road. She shouldered the burden of their deaths on behalf of those who would live out full lives thanks to her action here today.


    She was a good person. Better than me.


    I flew closer to her, took her by the hand, and brought us to a stop. We were hundreds of feet over Oldtown¡¯s ancient ruins, the zone of Mund time forgot. Now that we were no longer moving, the snow drifted slowly down past us, zig-zagging softly on the breeze coming down off the mountain.


    ¡°How cold is it?¡± I asked.


    ¡°How¡­ Kas.¡± She smiled again, then brought herself inside my embrace, lying her head sideways against my chest. ¡°You really vont to know.¡±


    ¡°Show me.¡±


    The breeze was as glacial as I¡¯d expected. I shivered, and suppressed the urge to become insubstantial.


    ¡°It is exhilarating, is it not?¡± she breathed, nestling even closer.


    ¡°You¡­ You did it, Em.¡±


    ¡°You knew zat I vould. I did it for you.¡±


    ¡°You did it ¨C just for me?¡±


    ¡°Of course. It¡¯s vot you needed. Zat¡¯s vot I¡¯m here for.¡±


    ¡°I love you.¡±


    Her chin tilted up, swimming cobalt eyes radiant like stars.


    ¡°I love you too, Kas.¡±


    ¡°Move in with me.¡±

 The Mistake pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 7C: THE MISTAKE</h2>


    ¡°Always will we forget to wonder: why am I not what I was? Defining others is easy ¨C always inaccurate, always missing the crucial detail that transforms character to consciousness, object to subject. Yet the self? The self is the true mystery. The only one you must solve, in order to move forwards.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 19:355-361


    31st Mortifost, 998 NE


    They stood in a ring in their white robes, thirty-two of them, quivering as they held hands. The room was featureless, sacred ¨C white floors, white walls, white ceiling. The radiance filling the five-sided hall was unnaturally bright, a spell bound to the very air, so that they were forced to squint if they looked about at their fellows ¨C but most kept their eyes closed, teeth clenched against the pain. Their hoods were deep and their plain masks hid their faces, but Eneleyn knew. She had once stood in their place. She understood the fear, and had come out the other side.


    But these were not victims. Each of them knew what was coming. The shared sense of anticipation was a physical weight, pressing them all into a silence broken only by heavy breathing, the nervous shuffling of feet.


    Who would be taken? Who would be spared?


    At length the midnight chime started, and Eneleyn stepped into their midst, the thirty-third of their august company. She, like the rest of them, went barefoot in this place, clad in the same robes; but unlike them she wore no mask, and in her hand she held a sword: it was short and lightweight, barely more than a prop, but it was sharp and she clutched it firmly in her fingers, pointed at the floor to her side. The heart-blood of the sacrificial lamb, the virgin taken from the streets of North Lowtown, was still running freely down the edge of the blade and pouring in a constant stream from the tip. As she slowly made her way to the centre of the circle, she stained the pure white stone with a thick line of crimson.


    Now that the ritual had begun, the blood would not stop flowing ¨C not for so long as the conditions were still met.


    ¡°O Mekesta, Radiant Mother of the Night, I beg thee: birth thy servant; usher forth thy spite out from thy womb. Let the Night be free.¡± Eneleyn intoned the words in Infernal, touching the steel point of the sword to the floor in the very middle of the room. ¡°Bring unto me the source of darkness, the very light of thy midnight sun.¡±


    She left the tip against the stone and continued walking until she¡¯d exited the circle, her friends raising their arms into an arch to let her pass. All the while, she continued scraping the blade on the floor, producing an ear-splitting whine. Then she turned, moving three paces counter-clockwise about the ring of believers, before entering into their midst once more.


    Time and again, when she reached the middle of the chamber she invoked the blessing of a different dark deity, scraping the sword, creating the shrill sound that was the harbinger of the demon.


    ¡°¡­ O Vaahn, Bright Father of the Grave, swallow our offering up into thy realm; install the carcass upon thy lofty helm. Snare it where the shadows are sharp and the deserts sing softly of a dawn they shall never witness. Hold it tight till all the worlds come undone¡­¡±


    The blood formed a great pattern of lines, a web about and between their feet, linking the participants, their vital sources, their souls.


    ¡°¡­ O Yane, Smiling Father of Sorrows, impart this meagre weapon with thy wickedness and will. Let it open the door. Beckon our Mother in and in us bind her babe. Let it bring thee and thy Father thy fill.¡±


    At last, she halted in the centre, the geometric design completed. Slowly, she turned on the spot, regarding her fellow cultists solemnly ¨C then she brought up the sword, holding the small cross-piece of the weapon in both her hands and directing its point at her own heart.


    ¡°Blood for blood, for tears unending,¡± Eneleyn declared; then she fell forwards onto the blade.


    Rather than the icy, intrusive hardness of the steel in her breast, she felt only the euphoria that came with the spell¡¯s successful casting. This had been her own test, and she always passed: the penalty for failure was death.


    As was the reward for success.


    One of the thirty-two, a woman shapely-enough that even in these nondescript, baggy robes her gender could be recognised, collapsed to the floor suddenly, white robe red.


    It¡¯s Uthia, Eneleyn thought. Farewell, old friend.


    Uthia died in silence. Her heart had been pierced clean-through, vast quantities of her blood gushing out around her ¨C and, in the middle of the ring, Eneleyn slowly withdrew the blade from her chest.


    She grinned as she did it. She always grinned. She didn¡¯t feel happy, exactly; the elation was a physical thing, taking hold of her and moving her muscles for her.


    It was just the done thing. The others had to see it. See it and know what they were partaking in: one of the darkest of dark rites.


    ¡°My lords and ladies; I present our bestowal!¡± she cried. Then, again in Infernal, she spoke the final phrase:


    ¡°Step forth, drinker of souls! Step forth into a world of bright reflection, mirrors to be darkened, broken.¡± She looked down, confused. ¡°Step forth with-¡°


    That was when it all started to go wrong.


    The sounds. The sounds were the worst part. Nobody should have ever been forced to listen to a heart exploding within a chest ¨C piercing flesh with a sword was almost inaudible in comparison.


    This was no wet thunk ¨C just a deep pop, like a single beat on a dreadful drum never to be struck ¨C


    And it was a sound that went about the room in series, one after another after another.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Eneleyn looked on in mounting horror as every single one of her fellow cultists dropped down dead, bloodless, clean. They just appeared to be falling down asleep ¨C but the sounds¡­ the open eyes¡­


    When will it be my turn? she questioned silently, fearfully. What is happening?


    But at last, as was supposed to have happened when she called on the ¡®drinker of souls¡¯, the blood-pattern on the floor activated. Scarlet fire rose up almost to the ceiling, flames guttering under the pressure of a hell-wind that could be neither felt nor heard on this plane.


    Then the flickering tongues were gone, leaving behind ¨C


    ¡°Good eventide, summoner.¡±


    A woman was there suddenly, crouching upon the corpse of the first to have died. Her face was eerie ¨C her skin was as white as snow and her head was almost prism-shaped; her eyes were pitch black. The demon was hunkering down, and despite her lankiness she looked comfortable there, squatting in a strange, contorted position, clawed feet digging into the flesh of the dead sorcerer.


    Purple fur with dark spots covered her from foot to neck. Her lips were dusky, shades of pink and lilac. Upon her midnight hair rested a band of jet, and in her hairy hand she held a golden whip, ancient gobbets of meat clotted about the thongs.


    ¡°Y-your Grace,¡± Eneleyn mumbled, the sheer panic seizing hold of her muscles. The proper form of address for a demon of such stature almost deserted her. ¡°Your Grace, I ¨C¡±


    ¡°You were not expecting me.¡± The voice was tinkling, the tone one of delight, enjoyment. ¡°Yet I have awaited this day since my birth in the blackness, since my eyes first opened on the fire.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ how¡­¡±


    She tore her eyes from the hideous face, looking around.


    The thing shrugged. ¡°There were enough here prepared to die to offer up proper sacrifice.¡±


    ¡°Are ¨C are you bound to me, your Grace?¡±


    The great eldritch laughed, a cursed laughter that made Eneleyn shudder.


    ¡°Oh, no, my child,¡± she replied. ¡°I but slew that which you sought to bring forth, and took its place. I was created ere your city had its walls, bound ere the fall of the Five¡­ I may not be dominated ¨C not by such as you.¡± The triangular face tilted slightly, the arch-fiend cursorily glancing across the body-strewn chamber, before the infernal gaze once more settled on Eneleyn. ¡°The Sinphalamax has all my fealty.¡±


    The Sinphalamax¡­ The sorceress had only encountered this word written-down, scripts scrawled by the pens of madmen across the blank last pages of ancient tomes, on the reverse of scrolls and in the margins of sorcerous texts. Sinphalamax.


    She only had a vague concept of what her conjurations had allowed onto the material plane ¨C but a vague concept was enough. This thing¡­ it could despoil nations. It could level armies. Even the champions were going to have serious, serious trouble dealing with it.


    She copied the demon, looking around at the bodies. Dozens of men and women, each of whom she¡¯d known personally, her friends and co-workers. This ritual had been designed to impart into the survivors a portion of the eldritch¡¯s power, after the fashion of an arch-sorcerer joining with their summons. But that wasn¡¯t going to happen now. They were all dead.


    Eneleyn knew it was her responsibility. It was the first lesson her teachers taught their pupils. She¡¯d spent twenty years of her life drumming it into the heads of a generation of up-and-coming sorcerers, and the next ten making sure her they did the same with their own apprentices.


    I brought it forth. I send it back.


    She knew the price. She knew what this had cost her.


    She brought the sword-tip up to her chest once more.


    The thing only smiled again, not approaching even as much as an inch. Moving closer would only hasten Eneleyn¡¯s blow.


    ¡°Do not end your own life. This would be a waste; my return to Mund is fixed. Please, lay aside the blade. I would like to discuss another option with you, if you¡¯re amenable?¡±


    All too aware of the temptations such a creature might offer, Eneleyn laughed.


    It was a self-mocking laughter, she realised, a final grim little gesture to the world she was about to leave.


    ¡°Do you truly believe that is your only option? Self-destruction?¡± The eolastyr sighed. ¡°Come, now, my sister. You have lived such a life. You can achieve more with the powers of the Daughter of the Sinphalamax, so much more than you dreamed¡­¡±


    The creature approached, a single step, and the old sorceress backed away an equal distance. She pressed the tip of the sword into the flesh just under her sternum, felt the blood flow ¨C


    Felt the temptation.


    The powers of the arch-demon¡­ mine?


    The demon had halted again the very moment Eneleyn started to stab herself.


    ¡°What you speak of is possession. I do not even have your name ¨C your Grace.¡±


    None of my tattoos are going to aid me against this.


    The fiend only shrugged, her nonchalance terrifying.


    ¡°What you speak of,¡± Eneleyn grated out, ¡°it¡¯s as good as death!¡±


    She gritted her teeth tightly, and gripped the hilt with white-knuckled hands as she prepared to throw her heart down onto the sword-point ¨C it dipped deeper into her skin, a bitter hardness about which her flesh erupted ¨C


    This is my ending.


    ¡°Death?¡±


    The musical voice wasn¡¯t troubled ¨C only amused ¨C and it gave her pause. She froze there, in the moment of impaling.


    ¡°What a trifling thing,¡± the creature went on. ¡°But death is not good, little sister. And no, I do not misunderstand ¨C it is your own misunderstanding. When you have consented to join with me, you may come to look upon death as a distant concern, undeserving of your attentions. Certainly few things upon this plane might encompass our annihilation, and most-assuredly time would not be our enemy. You would be released from the vicissitudes of ageing. You would have youth and strength. I know what you¡¯re thinking ¨C what use is youth and strength, when your goals are not your own.¡± The arch-demon smiled. ¡°Let me reassure you, our goals differ only by so much as a hair. Primarily I seek to hide. Won¡¯t you be a good sister?¡±


    Eneleyn paused, considering, in spite of all she knew. It was easy, so easy to say, ¡®Just do it, end it now¡¯. She¡¯d always told herself that when the moment came, she¡¯d be ready. In her line of work, this kind of situation was an ever-present possibility.


    But it came as a bit of a shock, when your chance of survival dropped from ninety-seven percent to zero.


    It was strange. She¡¯d always expected ¨C even anticipated, almost with enthusiasm ¨C this day. Yet the time of truth was upon her and she found she was not equal to the task. When she¡¯d looked forward to this eventuality, it¡¯d always been an amorphous destiny, shadows and shapes, nothing more than surreal. She¡¯d thought an aura of carelessness, carefreeness would come over her, a gift from Nentheleme in her final seconds. Now that the moment had come, despite her advanced years, despite the promises being lies ¨C she did not want to die. Did not want to go on into the shadowland, to see what lay beyond.


    Not yet. Not this way.


    And the fiend knew it. Just like it knew she had once been a little sister, back before the silkpox took her siblings. The demon knew it all, and used it against her¡­


    The instant she felt her resolve weaken, her nerve give out ¨C even before she pulled the half-inch of cold steel free of her torso ¨C the demon¡¯s smile once more split her white, triangular face.


    ¡°Oh, you do please me,¡± the arch-fiend murmured, stepping closer now with fluid grace and not one whit of hesitation. ¡°Yes. Yes, I have you now. We¡¯ll do such things together, child.¡±


    She let the sword clatter to the blood-smeared floor. The demon¡¯s unnatural, impossible visage came closer, the purple-black fur rippling as she prowled between the bodies, clawed feet tapping on the stone.


    Eneleyn had to close her eyes against the sight, and within seconds she could feel the thing¡¯s breath on her face.


    ¡°And so, Mistress Eneleyn Arithos, will you consent to join with me? Will you draw of my essence, as I draw of yours?¡±


    She opened her eyes. The pitch-black orbs of the demon were all she could see ¨C she was face-to-face with this walking, talking horror ¨C the harbinger of salvation came close enough to kiss her, suck the soul right out of her lungs.


    There was only one answer.


    ¡°I will, your Grace.¡±


    * * *

 The Mistake pt2

    2nd Yearsend, 998 NE


    Eneleyn, at first at least, found it to be a one-sided relationship ¨C and in her favour. From the eolastyr she obtained so much: her physical appearance may not have changed noticeably, but that could be a blessing as much as a curse in a situation like this, and if she¡¯d been hoping for a literal de-ageing, that clearly wasn¡¯t on the cards. Still, inside her skin she felt as though the weight of decades had fallen away from her. Her eyesight and hearing had never waned, not with the regular infusions of infernal power she¡¯d partaken in ¨C but the coldness in her bones that had been worsening winter on winter suddenly alleviated, the burden of a thousand little aches and pains suddenly soothed away. She could rotate her neck. Her fingers didn¡¯t cramp after five minutes holding a quill.


    Even for these minor effects, Eneleyn told herself as she leafed idly through the pages of the random textbook, even for these it would¡¯ve been worth it.


    But ¨C the foresight? She would¡¯ve given up her eyesight permanently, to keep the scrying ¨C it wasn¡¯t like she needed to see, not really, when all she had to do was focus and the future would come into view. And the fact that the magic came with no trade-off? It was unbelievable. Two days had passed, almost, and the time had flown: there was no internal dialogue, no adjustment of her attitudes or belief-systems that she¡¯d been able to detect. Perhaps she wouldn¡¯t have to give up the eyesight, give up her freedom to choose, give up anything ¨C perhaps she was just better now.


    Perhaps the demon¡¯s arrival, the slaughter of her cabal, had been a blessing in disguise¡­


    Despite everything she¡¯d gained, it was hard to think of things that way. She¡¯d borne affection for every one of those thirty-two dead ¨C some as business acquaintances, rivals ¨C others as pupils she¡¯d known since her thirties. All of them had been men and women she¡¯d respected. Before the ritual, when everyone was still wearing their usual fineries, Eneleyn had moved through the crowd, enjoying her celebrity as the leader of their coven, exchanging pleasantries and gossiping like any other noble lady. She¡¯d long-since grown out her hair, hiding the tattoos that marked her scalp, but they were still visible on her brow, her throat, her hands¡­ She¡¯d attained a level of self-awareness about her designs once she inherited the estate from Mother ¨C she was flung into high society, surrounded by unblemished women whose sneers were barely hidden.


    While power came at a price, it was still power. She¡¯d taken the mastery of the Seven-Star Swords before she even went entirely grey, and it wasn¡¯t long before several of those cultured, urbane women had come to Eneleyn, desirous of the power she now held. At first, when she incorporated such acquaintances into the coven, she thought she would remain aloof, detached and superior. But as years passed, the unique nature of their shared experiences, the rush of the high-rank demonic infusions, the excitement of keeping an illegal activity secret¡­ friendships blossomed.


    Only to die, victims of their own shared folly, by-products of an arch-demon¡¯s first footfall back on this plane.


    But it was folly that had paid off for one ¨C for her. Yes, possession was a serious problem. But in comparison to death? Besides, the eolastyr was benign ¨C and due to her new predictive capabilities, she wasn¡¯t alarmed when there came a sudden rush of steps, a banging on her door.


    ¡°Mistress Arithos!¡±


    She held in her sigh.


    If I¡¯m always going to know what¡¯s about to happen before it happens, I ought to get used to it, and get used to at least pretending to be surprised by the actions of others.


    ¡°Enter,¡± was all she said, leaving off the girl¡¯s name.


    But it was, of course, the one she¡¯d expected, standing there in the doorway: Ciraya, her lips painted purple, her pallor accentuating the deep blue of her tattoos. The girl with issues when it came to backing down. Eneleyn had once been speculating as to whether this young woman might eventually make coven-material, but it soon became apparent Ciraya¡¯s inner darkness was of a different nature entirely. It was a shame; she was skilful, resourceful¡­ In many ways, the girl reminded Eneleyn of herself, decades back. Few were so committed as to cover themselves in such an abundance of powerful, painful designs.


    Yet despite all our similarities, she has not the ambition to rise above her peers. She will languish. She will waste.


    ¡°Whatever¡¯s the matter, my dear magister?¡±


    A rare, predatory smile creased the girl¡¯s painted lips. Ciraya didn¡¯t enjoy being teased over her choice of career ¨C she¡¯d known full-well she had a future made for her in demon-summoning, if she¡¯d had a mind ¨C but it¡¯d become something of a game between them over the recent months.


    The levity was brief, her mouth swiftly reforming the sour line.


    ¡°It¡¯s serious, I¡¯m afraid, Mistress.¡±


    ¡°Then do come in ¨C sit.¡± Eneleyn indicated the chair opposite.


    Once she was perched on the edge of her chair, a glass of watered-down wine held reluctantly in her hands, Ciraya began her report.


    ¡°There¡¯s no explanation for the disappearances. I¡¯ve discussed it with my magistry contacts, some pretty powerful diviners. I know some of them were your friends, Mistress, but it¡¯s a dead end. Something¡¯s blocking them.¡°


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°And Henthae?¡±


    ¡°Henthae, Zakimel ¨C as far as I can tell, they¡¯re as clueless as the champions,¡± Ciraya drawled dismissively. ¡°Stormsword said Timesnatcher thinks it¡¯s one of the unknown factors, like Dreamlaughter, or some other archmage of a similar potency.¡±


    Eneleyn voiced a drawn-out ¡°hmmm,¡± and stared at the young sorceress.


    Ciraya¡¯s primary function, as far as Eneleyn was concerned, had been to serve as an unwitting spy on the movements of Special Investigations. And Eneleyn¡¯s pet magister had proved her usefulness more than once. The Mistress of the Seven-Star Swords had never trusted Keliko Henthae, Mistress of the Pool of Reflections ¨C there was general uproar at the notion of an archmage taking control of the Investigations Department, and one without a title at that¡­ House Henthae wasn¡¯t even a thing ¨C it was just a family name, like any lowborn¡¯s. Who cared if they were rich enough to pretend at having elevated blood¡­ But all the same, Eneleyn and her friends had weathered the storm, and their protections against telepathic and temporal exposure had stood strong, the coven¡¯s sanctum going undetected as it always had done.


    Yet she knew all along that if the full weight of the Magisterium or champions were to be levelled against her and her operations, the coven would become as see-through, as fragile as transparent glass. And now, the apparently simultaneous mass-disappearance of a large number of nobles, including a Lord and Lady of the Arrealbord¡­ Never before had so many eyes been probing into her secrets ¨C never before had she felt this thrill, this excitement¡­


    Never before had she possessed an eolastyr to protect her movements.


    ¡°I think you may have that turned around, my child.¡±


    Eneleyn tried to control the shock that threatened to spread across her face as the fiend within her spoke ¨C Ciraya had herself previously joined with various entities, and might¡¯ve been able to discern the meaning of her change in expression. But that was the first time the Daughter of the Sinphalamax had said so much as a word to her since their amalgamation, and it was difficult to not show her surprise and the sudden swell of panic that clutched at her breast.


    ¡°Do not be dismayed. This one is far too distracted with her concerns over your mental state to be concerned over your¡­ spiritual state. Do you see?¡±


    This time the vision came over Eneleyn unawares, an action performed by the arch-demon dwelling inside her rather than by her own selection. Iridescent mists rose from the pools of time and space and she moved forwards into them, parting them, seeing Ciraya, standing before Henthae¡¯s desk in one of the high rooms of the Maginox; her painted lips twist in an expression of distress, an uncharacteristic kink in the croak spilling from her crooked mouth: ¡°Poor E-Eneleyn.¡±


    The eolastyr had chosen the vision with care; not only did it serve to emphasise that Ciraya¡¯s agitation was likely to preclude the girl from spotting the change in her¡­ but it also provided Eneleyn with just the correct allocation of negative emotion.


    The notion of Ciraya expressing doubt in her, discussing her apparent vulnerability with that damnable archmage¡­


    Using her given name, so familiar, so informal¡­


    ¡°Mistress?¡±


    The girl¡¯s rare expression of distress was there on her face, right here and now, slanting her mouth just like in the vision.


    ¡°What?¡± the old sorceress blurted angrily, suddenly feeling as though she¡¯d been outmanoeuvred.


    ¡°The book you sent us for? Is it¡­ as informative as you¡¯d hoped?¡±


    The mistress momentarily directed her attention down at the open tome ¨C


    Ah yes, The Science of the Past¡­ I remember this one. Why did I want this again?


    ¡°The heretics have discovered the secrets of the Ten. It fell to me to ascertain they do not stray from the ordained path. There is naught to fear. Now we may bring across our friends at leisure.¡±


    What? W-what?


    ¡°And the book brought to my attention certain other facts. It may be that I can help you to summon one of my sisters. This next ¡®Incursion¡¯ of yours shall be a truly joyous occasion.¡±


    Wh-wh-


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mistress. I¡­¡±


    She looked back at the girl, and Eneleyn¡¯s fury faded as the reality of her young spy¡¯s glumness started to sink in.


    Poor little bird. She truly cares for me. And it¡¯s liberating news¡­ Even Timesnatcher knows nothing.


    ¡°Are¡­¡± Ciraya drew a deep breath. ¡°Are you okay, Mistress?¡±


    ¡°I am quite fine, I assure you, magister.¡±


    The curl of a smile returned to the girl¡¯s lips, but it didn¡¯t look quite right.


    ¡°I extend to you my thanks,¡± Eneleyn continued, ¡°for all you¡¯ve done to keep an ear on the ground for me.¡± She waved a hand at the windows ringing her room, this chamber that was the apex of the tower: the tall windows displayed nothing but clouds and snow, the darkling afternoon sky. ¡°It can be difficult from up here to keep on top of the little things.¡±


    While the height of the tower served as an apt metaphor for the Mistress¡¯s separation from the ins-and-outs of life in the capital, she saw that Ciraya¡¯s eyes had fallen on the neat stacks of ledgers and letters standing at the end of the black-oak desk, an even better indication of her elevation. If there was one thing Eneleyn was known for, it was her orderliness and industriousness. The Seven-Star Swords as an organisation only worked, in large part, because Eneleyn worked. Many Masters filled their personal space with clutter, reagents and servitors and experiments ¨C but not her. Those could abide in the laboratories of the lower rooms. Here, she was tranquil with her pens and papers.


    ¡°No problem,¡± Ciraya said with as much warmth as her rasping voice could convey, standing up as though she¡¯d been dismissed. Her eyes were still on the stack of books.


    Suddenly the eolastyr took hold of her vocal chords; the speed and ease with which the demon took control, and the irresistible quality of it, brought her mind screaming into abject terror.


    ¡°Are you quite alright, Ciraya? You don¡¯t quite seem to be yourself, today.¡±


    The demon had Eneleyn grin, as though she were amused by her own joke¡­


    The girl¡¯s pale blue eyes met her gaze across the table, widening in surprise and fear. ¡°Sure thing, Mistress,¡± she said casually. ¡°Just¡­ a long day.¡±


    ¡°She knows.¡±


    She knows? What! How?


    ¡°I shall flense her. My weapon requires sustenance.¡±


    W-wait ¨C no!


    But it was too late.


    The eolastyr extended herself into Materium, allowing her essence to consume Eneleyn; the only outward change was the whip coalescing in her hand and the pitch-black eyes, casting all she could see into shades of glittering shadow.


    The demon sprang across the desk at the young sorceress, and as Ciraya fell back Eneleyn also withdrew, screaming, consciousness fleeing into those hidden depths of the eolastyr¡¯s mind that would deafen and blind her, permit her to refuse to witness this deed, this most needless of murders.


    It had stung when her thirty-two friends died, and this was only one more peal on the toll of Eneleyn¡¯s foolishness: but it was worse. Immeasurably worse. This sorceress was promising, young ¨C and, worst of all, she had not agreed. She hadn¡¯t volunteered for this.


    Ciraya¡­

 A Champions Work pt1

    <h2>COBALT 7.5: A CHAMPION¡¯S WORK</h2>


    ¡°It is our belief that, ultimately, we can accept the word of the Mundian. Peace is a possibility. But what form can this take for our people? The envoys return to report the fair treatment of our kin. They will not accept us there in number ¨C nor would we assent to go if our presence was requested. I would not have us abandon our city, and yet what choice have we? If we are no longer hunted by land and sea¡­ is a new life possible for us down there? Might we build a second home atop the mountain peaks, and forget our red ways awhile, that we should survive this disaster? I am a sorry Singer ¨C may a Reaper¡¯s Bride not step forth, and settle this matter with Yane¡¯s decree?¡±


    ¨C from Princess Iseliya¡¯s address to the Ysyri, 16,498 VC


    It was after midnight when we flew home from Em¡¯s with fresh flight-spells keeping us aloft, Zab covering us with his camouflage. Em had leashed Xastur¡¯s spell to Xantaire¡¯s so that the boy couldn¡¯t just fly away, and I made certain everyone had reinforced shields in case of attack. We¡¯d make easy targets, six people floating around in the sky like this, and I was painfully aware that, whether I wore the mask or not, my identity was now compromised. Anyone who was capable of seeing through a gremlin¡¯s illusion would be able to spot us, and in Mund that meant we were never truly safe.


    Still, we didn¡¯t fly directly home. The spell had an hour on it, and there was no point wasting it. I¡¯d become more familiar with Mund¡¯s different districts over the last three months, the city I¡¯d lived in my whole life having suddenly opened up to me ¨C so I gave them a tour of the three Doors they¡¯d never seen, the gargantuan portals of legend. The Spring and Summer Doors were both in Rivertown; the Spring Door stood just off a busy highway in a small plaza, its warm yellow light shining like a miniature sun over the trade-shops surrounding it. Even at this time of night, even on Yearsend, it was active and functioning, tiny-looking watchmen and magisters down there checking credentials, waving groups of salesmen and travellers through. Those outbound stepped forward into the light, disappearing, while at the same time a new group would step through on the other side, inbound from Habburat.


    The Summer Door, by contrast, stood alone in a disused part of town, the presence of a dozen guards and a cordon enough to keep tourists away. This Door¡¯s red light was no crimson glimmer like the plane-fire of infernal eldritches, but it was red. For all its homely brightness, and for all that I stayed well back from the sorcerous buzz that would set my teeth on edge, I couldn¡¯t help but feel slightly uncomfortable looking down at it.


    Asilqarith. The Sunken City. A place we¡¯d lost centuries ago ¨C probably another Magisterium mess-up, in all likelihood, now I came to think of it. Who else was so incompetent they could sink a city? For all I knew, just like Zadhal it might¡¯ve been done deliberately.


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    How had the druid at the Autumn Door put it, that day when I took the twins and Xassy? Something about how Asilqarith, like Zadhal, was explorable under the right conditions¡­ wizard conditions¡­


    I made our stop by the Winter Door a brief one ¨C they started hassling me with questions, so I used the amount of time we¡¯d taken as an excuse to race home. (Which I totally could¡¯ve won, if I¡¯d been trying.)


    When we finally crossed back over Sticktown and charged down into Mud Lane, Xantaire got the door open and we headed into the apartment; I lugged the sack of presents through the doorway and shoved it in the middle of the room, letting the kids at its contents so they¡¯d get their last bits of energy out. Once Zab ended his spell, I rejoined with him and stepped back out onto the balcony for a moment, checking the windows of our neighbours for any onlookers. A pair of old vigilers across the way were scrutinising me through open shutters. Some of Salli¡¯s friends waved from one balcony, and I waved back a bit sheepishly. The expressions on their faces said it all.


    Guess the pig¡¯s well-and-truly out of the pen then.


    I took a minute, listening to the dogs barking into the night, watching the snowflakes drift. I saw Rolo Sawdan, the father of the family, leaning on the rail outside his doorstep, and I inclined my head to the big guy. I didn¡¯t see him often ¨C he had wormface, the long thin pustule across his cheek wriggling away. He froze halfway through raising his beer to his lips, then, realising who I was ¨C realising who I really was ¨C he hurriedly went back in and slammed the door.


    He¡¯s scared of me. I¡¯ve done nothing wrong, not approached him about what happened, not threatened Tick, never used a bit of magic on him or his family¡­ but he¡¯s still terrified.


    I sighed, then I went back inside, shutting and locking the door behind me.


    I looked around at the apartment. Xantaire had roped Orstrum into doing some last-minute cleaning, while Jaid, Jaroan and Xastur played with Jaid¡¯s illusion-sphere and its miniature animal images. Everything looked the same¡­ yet somehow different. It was as though something had changed, something fundamental in my relationship to the place, but I didn¡¯t get the impression it was to do with the attack that took place here earlier¡­ I still felt safe here; it still felt like home, even with my new plans to buy a place with Em, and my shielding was as strong as ever.


    No, it was something to do with Wyre¡¯s death. Something to do with the way my parents had been avenged. The catharsis was still seeping through my flesh, the sensations vaguely pleasurable despite the discomfort ¨C my bone marrow itched; the interior of my skull felt like it was playing host to an army of ants.


    When I¡¯d finally come to terms with the fact they were gone, the internal transformation had brought with it the arch-sorcery, but I¡¯d been kicking their gravestone. It was an acceptance borne out of anger and despair, the looming threat of Peltos¡¯s Gentlemen¡­ Now that I¡¯d surmounted that obstacle, and other, far less prosaic obstacles besides ¨C now I was ready to reconsider. The reality of the fact they were gone ¨C it changed over time. It matured.


    It no longer felt like their apartment. It felt like ours.


    Goodbye, Mum. Goodbye, Dad. I hope wherever you are, you¡¯re happy. I hope you don¡¯t have to look down at all this mess; I hope you don¡¯t have to worry about us. We¡¯ll be fine.


    I looked around at my family.


    We¡¯ll be just fine.


    * * *

 A Champions Work pt2

    I didn¡¯t bother making the kids have a wash before bed ¨C they could clean off the muck from their legs and the Onsolorian sauces from between their fingers in the morning. They went out like candles the moment they crawled under the covers, and Xastur had dropped off way earlier; Xantaire carried him into their room and didn¡¯t come back out again. I helped Orstrum get his bedding sorted, gave him a hand lowering himself onto his mattress, and bade him goodnight.


    The nap I¡¯d had on Atar and Linn¡¯s couch before Wyre¡¯s escape had left me feeling rather revitalised, considering how long the day had been, and even once I got under my own covers I couldn¡¯t relax. My head was adrift on an open ocean current, waves bearing my thoughts far from the soft shores of sleep.


    What kind of place should I buy with Em? How much should we spend? Should we look for somewhere close to Irimar, and Phanar and Kani, or go farther afield? Does it have to be some kind of ostentatious mini-castle? I don¡¯t want to spend all my money¡­ Do I have to have servants?


    That would be the deal breaker, one hundred percent, and those houses were way too big to clean without access to super-speed. Neither of us were diviners, but I supposed we could always put some eldritches and elementals to the various tasks¡­


    What happened with the twin arch-sorceresses? Where was Timesnatcher tonight? Why couldn¡¯t anyone foresee Wyre¡¯s actions before he took them?


    After five minutes of pointless dithering I tested the vampire-senses once more, and picked up the sporadic cry of displeasure from a few streets over ¨C the residents were still trying to deal with the consequences of Wyre¡¯s oversized tantrum, the wrecking of their holidays and their homes.


    I¡¯d almost convinced myself to go out, see what aid I could provide to those in need, when a little, tinny voice spoke right there in my ear, a familiar voice seeming to emanate through my pillow:


    ¡°F-Feychilde? Feychilde, can we speak?¡±


    I sat up and spun around. There, right next to where my head had been and almost invisible to the eye, was a tiny centipede.


    ¡°Nighteye?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I tracked you down¡­ I, hm, I hope I¡¯m not imposing?¡±


    ¡°I think imposing¡¯s the last word I¡¯d choose for you in that shape, no offence.¡± I smiled. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you speak up earlier?¡±


    ¡°I was waiting for the elderly chap ¨C Orstrum, is it? ¨C to nod off. Didn¡¯t want to disturb anyone, seeing as I¡¯m, hm, you know¡­ what I am. Then you did something with something dead, and ¨C¡°


    I was eyeing the miniscule bug critically. ¡°What you are? You mean, a heretic? Yune¡¯s fingers, what happened, Nighteye? The last time I saw you, you were ripping vampires in half in Oldtown, and Leafcloak, she ¨C¡°


    She said you were coming to Zadhal, was what I wanted to say.


    ¡°She¡¯s dead,¡± the centipede said, ¡°I know. I was at the memorial. It was a, hm, good idea, that.¡±


    ¡°Timesnatcher was trying to bait Duskdown into showing his metallic face,¡± I murmured, then looked around. ¡°Say, can we go somewhere more private? If my brother or sister wakes up and overhears us, their memories will be grounds to arrest them.¡±


    Maybe even execute them, I thought grimly.


    The centipede moved forwards and started to climb my hand.


    ¡°O- of course, if you want to carry me?¡±


    I¡¯d been planning on meeting him outside and using the wraith-form to pass through the walls, but I was easy either way. I moved him to my shoulder then got up, pulled on my boots, and tiptoed through the main room.


    I locked the door behind me, double-checked my force-lines, then set off down the stairs to the street.


    ¡°We¡¯ll just go across the lane,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve got an apartment sitting empty, and I¡¯ve only been over a couple of times, just to make sure there¡¯s no one squatting in it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been giving back to the people, I hear,¡± the druid said.


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    ¡°And not just by buying beer,¡± I replied.


    He produced a little tinkle of laughter.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t people going to think you¡¯re, hm, a little strange, talking to yourself?¡±


    I cast my gaze around. There were still people out, looking over the rails with drinks in hand, being loud and revelling. I waved to a few people, but no one said anything.


    ¡°I think they found out today who I really am, most of them.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯d surmised that much¡­ How, hm, how did that happen?¡±


    As I ascended the stairs towards my new apartment I filled in my druidic friend on the current state of affairs in Mud Lane, the fallout of Tanra¡¯s revelation. Wyre¡¯s true identity. All the chaos, and the death.


    ¡°Em-Emrelet?¡± he asked in disbelief, when I explained what had happened in the end. ¡°She d-did that to them?¡±


    ¡°Stormsword,¡± I corrected him quietly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my good man, but there was absolutely zero chance I was letting them go¡­ Hey, I didn¡¯t bring a key ¨C can you go under the door, or can I try making you a wraith?¡±


    ¡°Try¡­ hm, what?¡±


    ¡°Never mind. Go under the door, will you?¡±


    I met him inside, and let a green, light-shedding illusion leap off my hand, the amorphous shape flaring up the walls and across the ceiling.


    ¡°You can become yourself again, if you want,¡± I said, crossing to the window and casting about. Everything seemed to be in order ¨C the place was bare, but the boards were neat-enough looking. The door opened into the centre of the main room, which had its own hearth and a proper chimney, though the trip to get fresh water was going to be a pain in the backside¡­


    ¡°The whole point of this place is moot, now,¡± I said, laughing a little ¨C when I turned back he¡¯d transformed into his customary shape, clothed once more in the burlap robe and purple hood I¡¯d seen him wearing at the Maginox. ¡°I was going to use it as my hideout, if I was followed, or if I had to meet someone. Now I¡¯m probably going to buy a house in Treetown¡­¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m moving in with her. Em, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Wow ¨C don¡¯t you think that¡¯s, hm, a little fast? Or ¨C¡±


    ¡°Nighteye,¡± I cut him off. ¡°Theoras. I don¡¯t think you tracked down a champion and infiltrated their bedroom to discuss their love life. Tell me what happened, man. You act surprised at Em killing, but you¡¯re¡­¡±


    I indicated his heretic¡¯s guise with a hand.


    In the very moment I used his real name he had seemed to stiffen, then as I finished he pulled back his hood, revealing the matted blond tresses, the narrow, elfin face. His feverish gaze trapped my own.


    ¡°Okay, Kastyr. I¡¯ll tell you why¡­ why I¡¯m here. It¡¯s Vardae, you see. She saw it, and she told Ithilya, and I ¨C I couldn¡¯t, hm, couldn¡¯t not come ¨C if you can pass the message on, Kastyr ¨C¡±


    ¡°Slow down,¡± I said. ¡°And I prefer Kas.¡±


    ¡°I prefer Theor,¡± he replied, ¡°but I never really ¨C¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you start again, Theor¡­ from the beginning?¡±


    I sat down cross-legged with my back to the wall ¨C it¡¯d been a long day. Theor hesitated for a moment then flung himself down, sprawling over the floorboards, a burlap heap. He put his elbows on the floor, his chin in his hands, and watched me carefully as he spoke.


    In a halting voice he explained. Everything. It took him three times as long as he needed, in all likelihood, but he got there.


    Lord Justice Yular Vernays went on my ¡®okay to torture¡¯ list.


    ¡°She found me in the woods outside the house. She ¨C she was just waiting there for me, wh-where Avenar usually waited¡­ Is he okay, by the way? I haven¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°Your grouse?¡±


    His eyes lit up, and he nodded.


    ¡°Fang¡¯s looking after him for you,¡± I said tersely.


    ¡°Oh ¨C oh that¡¯s good. He gets so ¨C¡°


    ¡°Man.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± He drew a deep breath. ¡°She was watching me, that night on Welderway, with the vampires¡­ She knew what had happened ¨C how I wanted to¡­ hm¡­ how I wanted to kill my brothers. But she said it wasn¡¯t time ¨C she said I had to know what it was to, hm, to kill. That there had to be something deserving of death. And I, hm, I knew there was someone. Something.¡±


    I stared at him, perplexed.


    But there were no disappearances reported ¨C his mum and dad, his two brothers; they¡¯re all okay¡­ more¡¯s the pity ¨C


    But he¡¯d caught my confused glance. ¡°Brancados,¡± he whispered. ¡°My horse. The foulest-tempered horse in all of Mund, I sw-swear it.¡±


    ¡°You killed him¡­¡±


    That made sense of one of the weirder aspects of Fang¡¯s reports.


    ¡°I¡­ She said it would make me¡­ make me change. Change¡­ I went to sleep on the streets amongst the scum. And ¨C and a few nights later, I couldn¡¯t help it. I went to her. And she showed me¡­¡±


    He got up, and stared through the green-lit window-frame at the snow wafting down from the sky.


    ¡°Theor? Theor, I¡¯m sure it did make you change, but not necessarily for the better. Do you remember what Leafcloak taught you? You aren¡¯t suppo-¡°


    ¡°We aren¡¯t supposed to kill,¡± he said, his voice suddenly like iron. ¡°But we do. We have to.¡±


    I started getting up too. ¡°No, we don¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°You can¡¯t see it! There¡¯s no difference! You won¡¯t kill a man, or a horse, but you¡¯ll kill a pig, won¡¯t you?¡± He was angrier now than I¡¯d ever seen him, angrier than I could¡¯ve imagined him, rounding on me with the verdant radiance flaring in his eyes, jabbing a finger at me ¨C but my shields didn¡¯t react. ¡°Or if not a pig, an ant ¨C or you¡¯ll carelessly pluck a flower, won¡¯t you, for your lover, or kick the grass when you¡¯re frustrated! What can we even eat?¡±


    It was only as he said this that I noted the awful thinness of him beneath the sack-like garment he wore.


    ¡°Theor, you ¨C¡°


    ¡°I didn¡¯t come here for your pity, Feychilde. I didn¡¯t come for you to fix me. I came ¨C¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care why you came! You¡¯re here; it¡¯s Yearsend. If you say you don¡¯t need my help, you don¡¯t need fixing, fine. I¡¯ll shut up about Leafcloak, I¡¯ll shut up about killing. But you need to come back, Nighteye. You can¡¯t stay with them! They¡¯re not just killers; it¡¯s not like a kid stamping on ants, a farmer pulling spuds out of the ground. They¡¯re mass-murderers. They¡¯re ¨C¡°


    ¡°They¡¯re doing the right thing,¡± he said, his eyes closed. ¡°We¡¯re doing the right thing.¡±


    * * *

 A Champions Work pt3

    ¡°Because of some dragons?¡± I scoffed. ¡°Theor, we can fight them together ¨C Redgate alone was enough to defeat the so-called ¡®King of Dragons¡¯ ¨C if Everseer got the heretics to agree to a ceasefire, we could join forces ¨C¡°


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t work, does it, Kas?¡± he said bitterly. ¡°That¡¯s what they wanted, in the beginning. What the first heretics wanted. But you didn¡¯t want to listen. You didn¡¯t want to stop the dragons, you didn¡¯t want to stop the archmages, and now everyone will get chewed up in their mouths ¨C¡°


    ¡°They¡¯ve got you believing that too, have they?¡± I asked with a sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t you think we need to try to fight, before we admit defeat?¡±


    ¡°We will fight¡­ once you¡¯ve tried.¡±


    ¡°Once we¡¯ve died, you mean? Once all the champions are dead ¨C then you¡¯ll step up.¡±


    He started crying. ¡°You haven¡¯t seen it! That¡¯s not up to me! I didn¡¯t make any of this happen! I¡¯m just ¨C I just ¨C¡°


    I held my temper in check. Maybe I didn¡¯t know him all that well, but Nighteye had been a friend, a true friend. I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.


    ¡°Nighteye. Theor.¡± I put my hands on his upper arms and he fell into me, shuddering and weeping. ¡°Theor, none of this is your fault. You¡¯ve saved gods know how many lives, and if your worst sins are eating plants¡­ killing a single grumpy horse when right at the end of your rope and being manipulated by a dark diviner¡­ Your father ¨C¡°


    He recoiled, sobbing, glaring at me through his tears. ¡°Don¡¯t speak about Father!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the details, what he did to you, what your brothers did. I¡¯m not going to say that they love you, they want you back ¨C none of that. But your true brothers¡­¡± I felt my voice catch in my throat, tears burning in the corners of my own eyes. ¡°Your true brothers and sisters, those you fought beside¡­ we love you, we want you back. Fang, man¡­ that girl dotes on you. Nighteye¡­¡±


    We regarded one another for a few moments.


    ¡°I can¡¯t come back,¡± he said in a voice so soft it was evaporating on the air between his lips and my ears. ¡°I can¡¯t ever go back.¡±


    ¡°You could live here! You don¡¯t have to go back to them, not your family, not if you don¡¯t want to!¡±


    ¡°She will see me.¡± His voice carried certainty, and despair.


    ¡°She? You mean Everseer? ¡®Vardae¡¯, right?¡± I scowled. ¡°How did you even get away from her? Did you escape from the Thirteen Candles?¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t, hm, prisoners,¡± he said sullenly. ¡°Once you pass the tests, they do let you leave ¨C¡°


    ¡°You mean, you can just¡­¡±


    ¡°¨C but if she sees that I¡¯m here, that I¡¯m talking to you ¨C¡°


    ¡°Please, just let me call Killstop ¨C¡°


    ¡°No! She ¨C¡°


    Knock knock knock, came the gentle rapping on the door.


    I couldn¡¯t help the wry smile that twisted my lips. ¡°You¡¯ll have to come in through the window ¨C I didn¡¯t bring the key!¡± I called, turning back to unlatch and open the heavy shutters. ¡°Go up to the roof, then come d-¡°


    I needn¡¯t have spoken. Within approximately two-point-five seconds of me swinging back the window-latch, Tanra was standing in the middle of the room. The blurred streak on the air she left in her wake scintillated in different shades of green before it faded.


    ¡°This has been one heck of a twenty-four hours, Kas,¡± she moaned. ¡°Can¡¯t we just let it be Yearsend?¡± Then she turned her masked face to our guest. ¡°Hey, Theor.¡±


    She raised her covering, revealing a serious expression ¨C not frowning like her mask, but thin-lipped and disconsolate all the same.


    ¡°Killstop¡­ You, hm, you shouldn¡¯t be here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re quite right, but what¡¯s done is done,¡± the seeress replied smoothly. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here either, naughty boy. And no, Kas,¡± she glanced at me, ¡°I can¡¯t hide his trip here from her. He didn¡¯t come here at my suggestion, did he? I¡¯m going to hide this part of the visit with my actual presence, I suppose ¨C but what came before? No. I¡¯m sorry. She will find out he¡¯s been here.¡± She tilted her head at the renegade once more. ¡°But she sent him.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± the druid exploded. ¡°No! N-no, she didn¡¯t ¨C I overheard her talking to Ithilya¡­¡±


    His voice faded out.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Tanra said, folding her arms across her chest. ¡°You overheard her, she knew it ¨C she spoke the words in your hearing so that you would come here. That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t know you were here until Kas resolved to call me. She could¡¯ve sent you to get a better bead on Feychilde¡­ or Killstop.¡± She raised a finger to her chin in thought.


    The wind whistled shrilly through the unshuttered window.


    ¡°But there¡¯s a chance she just wanted you to give us the information,¡± she went on, seeming unfazed at the prospect of an enemy even more puissant than Timesnatcher or Duskdown appearing through the rectangular hole in the wall. ¡°I honestly have no idea whether she¡¯d be aware of my involvement. It¡¯s quite possible that you could hide the fact you know she used you from her, unless she gets an enchanter digging around in your mind. What was it, Nighteye? What did you overhear?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ she said ¨C gods¡­¡±


    The druid slumped to the floorboards and, after a quick glance at each other, me and Tanra hunkered down where we stood to better meet his eyeline¡­


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    To feel less like I¡¯m interrogating a friend.


    ¡°She said, hm, ¡®she¡¯s coming back¡¯.¡± He affected Everseer¡¯s level, almost swaggering tone. ¡°I d-don¡¯t even really know why I was listening, I wasn¡¯t supposed to be listening, and they were going out of the door, so I didn¡¯t think they thought I could hear them ¨C I mean, I didn¡¯t think they knew¡­ She said, ¡®Timesnatcher¡¯s going to get a shock when he realises there are four, and he¡¯s one of them.¡¯ Then¡­ then their voices faded.¡±


    ¡°Oh dear,¡± Tanra murmured, looking down at her hands, flexing the fingers.


    I looked blankly between the two of them. ¡°Who¡¯s coming back? There are four what?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you remember, Kas?¡± Then Tanra put on an unmistakeable, unforgettable voice that still haunted my nightmares. ¡°¡¯In a moment we¡¯ll be done, and say farewell. But it¡¯s not goodbye ¨C not for three of you at least.¡¯¡±


    ¡°The¡­ the eolastyr?¡± I muttered, shuddering.


    ¡°It took me a, hm, long time to figure it out, but it¡¯s what I came up with too.¡± The druid looked up, met my gaze. ¡°I don¡¯t like the sound of it, either. I ¨C I m-mean, Dustbringer, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°It was a horrible night,¡± I said in agreement. ¡°But ¨C an eolastyr? We can¡¯t not tell Timesnatcher, can we? Can you say you¡¯ve received a vision, Killstop?¡±


    She nodded, but her expression was dubious. ¡°He might see through me, and that could be worse, Kas. Do you think, could we tell him that a heretic ¨C¡°


    ¡°No!¡± me and Nighteye both blurted in unison.


    ¡°Hear me out! The closer to the truth, the more confused his analysis of events will become. Please trust me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you know?¡± I asked her.


    ¡°Know what, Kas?¡±


    She cast me an exasperated glance.


    ¡°You really don¡¯t, do you?¡± I marvelled. ¡°Timesnatcher told me you¡¯re a Great One, or whatever. Just your involvement here will be enough.¡±


    Now she frowned. ¡°Are you sure? I¡¯m not sure it matters¡­ I ¨C¡±


    I cut her off: ¡°It¡¯s better than tiptoeing out on the ledge of Heresy.¡±


    ¡°I concur,¡± Nighteye murmured, ¡°though I admit to understanding only, hm, a little of the context surrounding this situation; arch-diviners have long been a, hm, bugbear of mine, what with ¨C¡±


    ¡°You and me both,¡± I said. ¡°We in agreement, then, Killstop? We say it was a vision, nothing more.¡±


    She raised her eyebrows, and a disbelieving grin slowly spread across her lips. ¡°I guess we¡¯re gonna lie to him. Directly. To him.¡±


    ¡°Come on, you know you live for the thrill.¡± I laughed lightly.


    ¡°I suppose,¡± she demurred.


    ¡°But, my friends, this¡­ ¡®eolastyr¡¯ entity¡­¡± Theor seemed uncomfortable even just naming its breed. ¡°What are we going to do?¡±


    ¡°¡®We¡¯? ¡®We¡¯ are going to do nothing, Nighteye.¡± I looked at the druid sadly. ¡°Why, I don¡¯t know¡­ You could be a part of it again, a champion of Mund. No one even knows you are, or were, a heretic. We¡¯ve been careful. You could come back, say you went on holiday ¨C no one will care about the truth, they¡¯ll just be glad¡­¡±


    I let my voice fade out. I could already tell from the resolute look in his eyes that no matter how many words I contributed to the cause, his mind was made up.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to be one of them, whatever Everseer said.¡± Killstop supplied the parting blow. ¡°Please, Theor, reconsider. There¡¯ll come a time we run out of second, third, fourth chances¡­¡±


    ¡°You think I, hm, I don¡¯t know. What I lost. What I gained. I¡¯m, hm not stupid you know.¡± He looked down at his feet. ¡°Winterprince has joined, you know?¡±


    ¡°We got Everseer¡¯s message,¡± I said. ¡°The body, the one that wasn¡¯t his?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Nighteye looked disturbed all of a sudden. ¡°Oh, good¡­¡±


    He shuddered into bird-form, then hopped onto the windowsill. He looked back over at us, the owl¡¯s beady eye flicking from Killstop to me and back again, flashing in the green glow of my hand.


    ¡°I can still, hoot, call you my ¨C my friend?¡± he asked in a small voice.


    ¡°Of course,¡± I replied, ¡°always, my good man¡­¡±


    Tanra just nodded.


    Nighteye turned back to the snow-clogged air, spread his wings and leapt into the darkness.


    We watched him fly away, disappear into the night.


    ¡°Everseer¡¯s name is Vardae,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Or that¡¯s the name she chose to give them,¡± Tanra said, shrugging. ¡°Now can we go to bed, please?¡±


    I cast her an arch look, and she laughed, putting her hand on my arm fondly.


    ¡°You know what I mean. Can you, maybe, stop getting in trouble for just five or six hours? Just enough for me to recharge a bit.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were always having those nightmares,¡± I said, a bit mockingly.


    I¡¯d never thought to see her face drop like it did ¨C she¡¯d been looking unusually serious, solemn¡­ but not scared.


    ¡°Tanra ¨C sorry, I ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Just¡­ that doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t need sleep, you know?¡±


    ¡°Of course, I ¨C goodnight.¡±


    ¡°Goodnight, Kas.¡±


    She blurred through the window, and was gone.


    I locked the shutters, then tapped my wraith and floated across the road towards my own bed. I checked everyone was sleeping, safe within the shielding, then laid myself down and shut my eyes.


    If I¡¯d thought I was having trouble sleeping before, I had no idea. Now, on top of Timesnatcher and twin foreign sorceresses, on top of Wyre and Em and Jaid and Jaroan, I had this:


    Nighteye.


    I found it hard to explain to myself just why I cared so much about him. There were plenty of champions I knew better, and, due to his absence, plenty of champions I¡¯d fought alongside more often¡­ Sure, he¡¯d saved me when Belexor¡¯s curse forced me into the rat-form, and we¡¯d had fun that night, before we fought the vampire assassins¡­ Or, at least, I¡¯d had fun. He¡¯d been lying that night ¨C parents in the Shining Circle, no siblings¡­ Carefully weaving his web of deceptions about us, so that we wouldn¡¯t figure out his identity¡­ so that we wouldn¡¯t try to help shoulder his burdens.


    That was it. That was why I cared. Because he cared. He was one of the few people I¡¯d met whose concern over others seemed to come before his concern over himself. More so than myself, more than Em or Tanra or any of the others ¨C Theor cared. All while suspecting it was going to earn him some kind of horrible punishment, perhaps execution, he¡¯d gone out of his way to track me down, pass on the information.


    And Everseer, Vardae, had forced him to kill his own horse? It was so unlike him that it really had me worried. He still seemed unwilling to kill when he hadn¡¯t been commanded to do so, when it concerned only his own well-being ¨C the horrible slenderness of his frame, his talk about being incapable of eating food ¨C but he was trapped in the paradox. Soon enough, Vardae would find a way to finish her work, complete her masterpiece, and the druid would become irreversibly dark, nails stained not with the blood of those he was helping but those he was slaughtering¡­


    It won¡¯t happen. It won¡¯t. I won¡¯t allow it.


    And then the eolastyr¡­


    I remembered the thing¡¯s face, her horrible crooning voice. The way she¡¯d let Dustbringer rip himself in half with his own infernal weaponry. The way she¡¯d taunted us over his dying body.


    If an eolastyr really does show up, and it really is the same one¡­


    I didn¡¯t make any promises to myself, but I knew it wouldn¡¯t go pleasantly for either one or both of us next time. I would put everything into the confrontation, kill or be killed.


    And Irimar had to be informed, sooner rather than later. He would want to know ¨C he was to be one of the four¡­ According to Vardae at least. Everseer, whose motivations were worse than inscrutable¡­ Did it make sense for her to warn us? If I supposed the eolastyr would otherwise come to claim the souls of a number of archmages for the dead dragons, it did fit with her reasoning, didn¡¯t it?


    Drop it.


    There was no way I was going to sleep now. I got up, threw on my robe, and went out. The cries of the dispossessed had quietened down by now, but there would always be someone in need of help, and I was a champion.


    I cared about Nighteye, because I wanted to emulate him. I wanted to help ¨C I wanted to care.


    And I never, ever wanted to end up in a place like the Thirteen Candles.


    But I¡¯d take it over Magicrux Zyger.


    * * *

 A Champions Work pt4

    As if I didn¡¯t have enough on my plate, I¡¯d been neglecting my duty with regard to the book that was stolen by the heretics. It¡¯d been a week since I last went to the library, and I was beginning to feel guilty; Timesnatcher, knowing my proclivity for all things full of pages and words, had made me chief investigator, and I should have been before Yearseve, really. Now, with Nighteye¡¯s visit and the second set of twin archmages burning in my brain, uncovering the plots of the heretics was at the forefront of my thoughts. As the second of Yearsend dawned, I headed to the Maginox and stopped by the librarian¡¯s desk, giving my soul-fixed password for a key before descending the stair to the masters¡¯ vaults. The perimeters of these subterranean chambers were sealed by spells that barred casual access with wraith-form and other such intangibility effects ¨C well, barred to those I could employ, at least. But armed with one of the special black-iron keys, admittance was no issue ¨C I turned the tumblers, peeled open the huge, heavy oaken door and stepped within.


    I turned in the darkness to lock it behind me, and, while I did so, the nearest torch flared into life, casting solid, unwavering shadows across the white-painted walls. The skirt of my robe spilled over the stairs as I descended, and soon I was in the bowels of the library, the small rooms where the most expensive tomes were kept like treasures, stowed away far from the sight of even the magical elite.


    Ibaran, that was what she¡¯d called her accomplice. Timesnatcher had decreed that sorcery was used to trespass in this place, to steal the text the killers sought for months, and by the sounds of it Ibaran was the sorcerous perpetrator. Whatever magical tools the heretic had used in order to effect such a feat I was uncertain. There were traces of planar doorways, but, when I tested it with a trip to the otherworld, the spells on the masters¡¯ vaults seemed to prevent travel across the boundary. Several areas of the library were inaccessible, no matter where I chose to reappear in material reality.


    In any case, discovering the secrets Ibaran had employed wasn¡¯t in my remit ¨C I was to find out what was contained in the book.


    Getting the name of the book had been simple: cross-referencing the volumes contained in the library against the inventory, which was handily supplied by a coral-haired elf-maid of middle-aged appearance (likely two hundred years old or more, I fancied). A number of imps, under strict orders to open no text nor read any word save for those on the spines and covers of the books, were able to sort through them in short order and reveal the missing volume to be The Ten-Spoked Wheel.


    The name itself alarmed me, knowing what I knew ¨C knowing what Vardae and the heretics didn¡¯t know.


    Whilst I could guess that the reason for the book¡¯s significance was its lore on the twins, guess that it contained material suggesting that there would be five sets, ten in total ¨C this conjecture was proving impossible to evidence. The books in here weren¡¯t designed for public consumption: some were relics too delicate for the same spells that forced the ones upstairs to respond to a searcher¡¯s intentions; others were relics too dark and twisted in content to be safely imbued with such ensorcellments.


    The texts down here were left in a completely disorganised state. Nonetheless, thanks to a helpful bibliography and my team of imps, I¡¯d come across a total of five other books that referred to various passages from The Ten-Spoked Wheel. In addition, in the main library building above me there were at least three commentaries with large excerpts ¨C but nothing relevant was to be mined from the innocuous-looking paragraphs. The book dealt with Magisterium policy, primarily, with emphasis on expansion both geographically and in terms of the guild¡¯s purview. If there was some clue to the ¡®Time of the Twins¡¯ buried within The Ten-Spoked Wheel¡¯s mind-numbing, desert-dry assertions, no previous scholar had thought it worth quoting.


    I had the room to myself at the moment ¨C there were less than a hundred people in all of Mund with a valid password, apparently ¨C so I had my feet up on the redebon desk, poring over A History of Magistry: Collected Edition V, cradling the heavy book in my lap. It was truly boring. There were extensive treatises covering inter-departmental structures, economic models¡­ thankfully I only had to flick through, really. There were far more interesting texts, both historical and theoretical, sitting right there on the shelves near my head ¨C and of course I¡¯d be lying if I said I hadn¡¯t sampled some of their obscure knowledge during periods of immovable apathy ¨C but I was doing my best to stay focussed today.


    Unfortunately, focussing on such a monumentally monotonous book had its side-effects. I¡¯d just finally started to doze off when I heard a key turn in the lock upstairs, and quickly put my boots back on the carpet. I didn¡¯t want to look too disrespectful.


    ¡°Ciraya!¡± I said in some surprise, looking up at the pair of sorcerers descending into the shelf-lined room. ¡°And you¡­¡± I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever seen her grey-robed companion before. ¡°Happy Yearsend.¡±


    ¡°Is it really?¡± the sorceress drawled. She was moving ahead of her colleague so that the long skirt of her overlarge black robe didn¡¯t trip him, and her hood was pulled low, hiding most of her tattoos.


    ¡°I know, right?¡± her male friend said in a Hilltown accent, refined but not over-the-top with it. He had his hood cast back to reveal short twists of black hair; he was average height and handsome, his creamy brown skin marked with dark patterns almost as extensively as Ciraya¡¯s pale flesh. He didn¡¯t have the branching tattoos across the brow and temples like her, but he did have triangular shapes stretching from under his ears along his jawline and down his throat, shapes crawling with miniature demons. There was no Magisterium wheel on his robe. ¡°You said being in Mistress Arithos¡¯s good books would be a great thing for us.¡±


    He spoke casually, but his bleary eyes were fixed on me as he followed her down, his gaze tracing the smiling mouths threaded into the dark green outer layers of my robe. Those only half-awake eyes were slowly widening in recognition.


    ¡°Let me guess: you became best buds with the boss, and now you get to do extra work over Yearsend for no credit.¡± I grinned genially at them as they reached the bottom of the stairs.


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Ciraya muttered, looking at me questioningly, then finally aired her concerns: ¡°What did you do with the mask, man?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± I shrugged, ¡°it doesn¡¯t really seem all that necessary now. Everyone who matters knows who I am, and anyone who¡¯s going to matter in the future could find out in ten seconds flat. It¡¯s over.¡±


    ¡°Th-this ¨C you¡¯re Feychilde!¡± the male sorcerer cried at last.


    ¡°Good gods, am I?¡± I exclaimed in my best posh-old-man impression, half-jumping out of my seat and looking down at myself in shock.


    ¡°Emphasis on the ¡®child¡¯,¡± the sorceress croaked, sliding into a chair. She stretched her upper body across the table and laid her hooded head on her arms.


    I settled back down, smiling. ¡°Hey, you think you¡¯re tired. I¡¯ve been up twenty-four hours, and spent half of yesterday dealing with the killer of my parents. Cut me some slack.¡±


    ¡°Heard about that.¡± Ciraya¡¯s head shifted slightly, so as to look at her prancing companion. ¡°Oh, do sit down, Ronuth. Champions don¡¯t bite. Not this one, anyway.¡±


    The over-excited sorcerer sat down near me, leaning forward eagerly. There was no bleariness in his eyes now.


    I sighed inwardly.


    ¡°But you ¨C you never told me you knew Feychilde!¡± Ronuth said. ¡°M¡¯lord Feychilde, if I could just ask ¨C¡±


    ¡°This is my real voice,¡± I cut him off, ¡°in case you were thinking I really am a posh old man. There¡¯s no need for any ¡®m¡¯lord¡¯-ing around here.¡±


    He loosed a short bray of over-enthusiastic laughter. ¡°Well, gosh¡­ Feychilde¡­ What really happened in Zadhal? Did you really crush a lich-lord¡¯s heart using the Glove of the Horned One?¡±


    ¡°Eight lich-lords, and first I dressed them up as fairies.¡± I beamed, and Ciraya snorted, but it took Ronuth a second to realise I was joking, his confusion visible for a few moments. ¡°No, really it was just Nentheleme. She fixed the undead-killing artefact and took out the Prince of Chains. Then me and Shadowcloud bought ourselves some time while Winterprince did the heavy lifting. It was him that did all the work, in the end¡­¡±


    ¡°Shadowcloud¡­ and Winterprince,¡± Ronuth murmured in a reverent tone. ¡°Long may they be remembered¡­ Did you know Winterprince well? He seemed so mysterious.¡±


    I chuckled humourlessly. ¡°Let¡¯s leave that topic for another day, shall we?¡± The memories of our disagreements hurt, especially now that I was one of the few in the city who knew he was still alive, held by our ancient enemies¡­


    ¡°Sure, sure¡­ So, this undead-killing artefact ¨C¡±


    Ciraya stood suddenly, scraping her chair loudly across the carpet, cutting off her friend abruptly.


    ¡°Come on, Ronuth,¡± she croaked, grabbing him by the arm. ¡°Sorry, Feychilde. We¡¯ll leave you to your work.¡±


    I raised a hand to indicate the fact I wasn¡¯t fussed. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t mind. If you guys hadn¡¯t shown up, I¡¯d probably be asleep by now.¡±


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    I tapped the boring-ass title on the cover of my book suggestively; Ciraya released Ronuth and sank down into her chair, sitting back this time and popping her legs up over the arm, crossed at the ankle.


    ¡°So, what are you guys doing down here on the morning of the second of Yearsend, anyway? Got some juicy bit of demonology to look up, or something?¡±


    ¡°Something,¡± Ciraya muttered. ¡°We¡¯ve been tasked with finding The Science of the Past. So big ¨C¡± she indicated a book about as large as the one I was reading ¡°¨C with a harpy-wing cover¡­ night-blue. Gold lettering on the spine.¡±


    ¡°The Mistress just loves her history books,¡± Ronuth said dryly.


    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re her babies,¡± the sorceress said in agreement, though her voice sounded slightly troubled.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s got to be at least a bit juicy if it¡¯s being kept down here,¡± I said. ¡°Do you want some help?¡±


    Ciraya waved her hand nonchalantly, but Ronuth¡¯s ears started wagging in excitement.


    I popped up the stairs and opened the door, crossing the threshold briefly so I could summon my eldritches, then came back down with a train of my most studious imps on my heels.


    ¡°Funnyfingers, you start on the left. Oldbeard, there. Blandface, this side. And Bilgebreath¡­ good¡­¡±


    I continued to give instruction until I was assured they all knew what they were looking for, and, more importantly, that they wouldn¡¯t go opening the books, or reading any that happened to fall open¡­ thereby learning secrets of which I had no notion¡­ secrets that might be dangerous in the wrong hands, binding the same imp decades later and unlocking gods-knew-what¡­


    Satisfied at last, I sat back down, and the three of us watched them work, making small talk.


    The Seven-Star Swords, it turned out, were the best demon-summoners amongst all the sorcery colleges ¨C as two of the school¡¯s adepts would have me believe, at least. Ronuth¡¯s family hadn¡¯t approved of his choice of career, but he¡¯d been making it work for five years now. Ciraya, on the other hand, was an orphan who¡¯d travelled to Mund on the back of a wagon from the Westerlunds; aged twelve, she¡¯d managed to sneak into the city, and she stole her first sorcerous text from some old guy¡¯s book-store. Evidently self-taught, she¡¯d managed to impress one of the elders of the Seven-Star Swords with some street summoning, and within a month she was climbing the ladder of Mistress Arithos¡¯s favourites. Payment of her Maginox fees was being loaned from the college¡¯s coffers, to be repaid out of her own labour on an ongoing basis.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t realise it meant Yearsend duties,¡± Ronuth sniffed. ¡°Not for me, at least.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t for anyone, usually.¡± Ciraya sounded troubled again. ¡°The Mistress really wants this book, and she seemed to be in a rush. It¡¯s not like her.¡±


    ¡°Probably wants to quote something out of it for yet another super-long Yearsend speech,¡± Ronuth said, then affected an older, womanly tone of voice: ¡°¡¯Let us learn from the lesson of Abethild and Gorastar, whose tragic experiment was not in vain, yet whose ¨C¡®¡±


    ¡°Enough already!¡± Ciraya barked. ¡°That¡¯s a very important lesson, actually, if you¡¯d bother to read between the lines. It¡¯s not the dark ritual itself that is banned ¨C it¡¯s executing it improperly. And state of mind is just as important in execution as word and gesture ¨C¡°


    ¡°Really?¡± I asked, intrigued. ¡°I thought that was just an archmagery thing.¡±


    Ciraya shook her head vehemently. ¡°No, no, it goes all the way down into the spells themselves ¨C consider the twenty-first canto of the Black Rose Calling, which ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡± Ronuth brayed, jerking his head up as if he¡¯d been sleeping. ¡°Gods, Ciraya, you¡¯ll bore the champion¡¯s head off.¡±


    I just stared at him levelly.


    ¡°You were saying?¡± I asked the sorceress.


    ¡°Master! Master, I have it, I have the very book!¡±


    Blandface, his tiny mouth agape and sunken nostrils flaring, came half-hopping, half-flying out of the corner behind Ronuth, struggling with the heavy tome.


    ¡°Here ¨C thanks -¡±


    I leaned across the arm of my chair and took it from him with one hand; despite its weight and the unnatural angle, my augmented strength easily won out, and I brought it up and set it down on the table.


    ¡°The Science of the Past,¡± I read, musing. ¡°Could I take a peek?¡±


    Ciraya shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t see why not. You¡¯ve saved us the awesomeness of going over this place for who knows how many hours. Take your time. You think it might be¡­ relevant?¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°Can¡¯t tell you what I¡¯m working on, sorry.¡±


    ¡°No, but it looks just thrilling,¡± she drawled, eyeing my abandoned History of Magistry with barely-concealed loathing.


    ¡°Trust me, it¡¯s¡­ juicier than it looks.¡± I spun around The Science of the Past and opened its smooth, dark leather cover.


    The words filling the pages were written in Infernal, both language and alphabet. Interesting.


    Ciraya cocked her head, looking into the corner behind me, and muttered: ¡°Rhu ak¡¯r, zi gharar dwa grel zlond okk onnog sa kasagren olg phax.¡±


    ¡®Hey guys, I don¡¯t think you should be making a mess in here.¡¯


    I turned to follow her gaze, and saw that Funnyfingers had been building a fort out of books, standing and stacking them like walls and towers ¨C he hadn¡¯t broken my rules, hadn¡¯t opened them or anything like that, but I¡¯d given him no warnings against constructing castles.


    Oldbeard growled in agreement. The withered-looking imp had black whiskers sprouting from his chin that would stretch a good twenty-four inches, outstripping his height from horn-tip to tail-barb by at least half a foot. He was floating near the others with a scowl on his red-skinned face.


    ¡°We must put them back!¡± he snapped at his fellow minion, then dove down, deciding to pull out one of the keystone books.


    The pile went tumbling down, the central gate-house collapsing, then the towers on either side. Oldbeard appeared to find this absolutely hilarious; Funnyfingers proceeded to leap on him, and soon the two imps were wrestling through the chaos. Bilgebreath went over to them and started cursing each of them in turn, trying to rile them up further, while Blandface came to float beside me, crossing his arms in disapproval.


    ¡°And people say fey are hard to deal with.¡± I yawned. ¡°Okay, all of you. Put every book back except the ones on the tables ¨C exactly where you found them, please. Then line up quietly and stop moving around until I tell you otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master,¡± chorused the chirping little voices ¨C then they were off, about their task.


    I saw that Ronuth, having fallen silent since his weird interruption earlier, was watching them go about my orders with pure jealousy in his gaze. Was it just that I¡¯d summoned them with such ease, that I had no fear of them subverting my control?


    ¡°Don¡¯t see arch-sorcery much, Ronuth?¡± I asked, returning my attention to the book. I flicked to the back, checking the appendixes out of habit.


    ¡°Not since Hellbane,¡± he replied, a little brusquely.


    ¡°He was allied to your college?¡±


    ¡°For a time.¡±


    I nodded absently.


    Temptations of the Darkness; Ten Rhymes of Time, The; Ten-Spoked Wheel, The¡­


    ¡°Well, how about that,¡± I marvelled. ¡°Now you¡¯ve got me wondering just what your boss is researching¡­ hmmm¡­¡±


    I followed the footnotes back, searching for the reference; it was near the end, not far to go¡­


    My eyes scanned the page¡­


    Gods below!


    I checked other parts of the book at random, jumping back fifty pages at a time.


    ¡°What in the Twelve Hells is this about?¡± I asked in disbelief, checking the front insert to make sure the book wasn¡¯t in the wrong cover.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Ciraya almost managed to sound concerned as she swivelled and brought her feet down from the arm of the chair. It was like she¡¯d suddenly come awake; her icy eyes glinted in the hood¡¯s shadows as she leaned forwards.


    ¡°It¡¯s, well¡­¡±


    I closed the book, ensuring they couldn¡¯t reopen it to the same page just to be on the safe side, then sat back and drew a breath.


    ¡°Feychilde¡­¡±


    I held up my hand to stop her. ¡°It¡¯s a history of, well, secret societies¡­¡±


    So, The Ten-Spoked Wheel contains an appendix full of commentaries on prophecies.


    ¡°¡­ and the kinds of things they were rumoured to get up to¡­¡±


    Prophecies deemed likely to impact on Magisterium policy.


    ¡°¡­ plenty of material for your Mistress to come up with another interesting ¡®lesson¡¯ for you all, I¡¯m sure¡­¡±


    Commentaries on prophecies about ¡®the Ten¡¯.


    I fell silent, and Ciraya and Ronuth continued speaking to me, speaking to one another, taking the book from in front of me and spinning it around to study it themselves ¨C but my mind was elsewhere.


    ¡®Yet despite our awareness of the meaning of ten in our iconography, its duality for day and night, light and dark, its representation of the five main disciplines of magery ¨C despite this, there are sceptics. It is often noted that the use of the plural form in most contemporary accounts of the oracle¡¯s words indicates discrete components rather than a singular entity. We find the lines ¡°When rise the Ten¡± and ¡°Ere the Ten fall¡±, not ¡°When rises the Ten¡± and ¡°Ere the Ten falls¡±. Yet we must take such portentous passages at face value, and consider survival our first duty. This use of ¡®Ten¡¯ cannot indicate any other entity than the Magisterium, a fact which is borne out by such other studies¡­¡¯


    The text went on, and I was probably already misremembering the exact wording, but I had the meaning.


    This book could only quote so much, but the original, full copy of The Ten-Spoked Wheel likely contained many references to ¡®the Ten¡¯. The Science of the Past even straightforwardly discussed the fact that any account from a prophecy regarding ¡®the Ten¡¯ was acting like the phrase meant ten individuals. To me, knowing what I knew, it appeared that ¡®the Ten¡¯ never referred to the Magisterium after all.


    Would that be enough to clue Vardae in?


    I almost smiled to myself, realising just what this all entailed¡­ For centuries, perhaps the best part of a millennium, the Magisterium had used the ten-spoked wheel, or the ten-rayed sun or star. It was the magic-guild¡¯s emblem, its almost-holy symbol, all over the world, branded into the face of the plane, stamped into every available soft surface like no sigil had ever been stamped before.


    And it was all a lie.


    They told themselves they used the symbol because something-something-five-types-of-magic, because something-something-night-and-day¡­ When in reality, they used the symbol in the first place because the whole dropping organisation existed principally to control the Ten. The twins ¨C those already here, and those still to arrive.


    If she figures it out, she will be after Orieg and Arxine¡­ I need to know where he left them¡­ Can we let the Magisterium look after two pairs, or is that too much risk?


    I had none of the answers. I had to talk to Timesnatcher. And I couldn¡¯t even talk to him about Everseer¡¯s message, not till Killstop had chance to.


    I got to my feet suddenly, interrupting Ciraya and Ronuth¡¯s conversation. ¡°Nice seeing you both,¡± I murmured. ¡°I know it might be hard, but do try to have a happy Yearsend.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be happy come the fifth,¡± Ronuth said in a grumbling but good-natured tone.


    ¡°Party time¡­¡± Ciraya drawled.


    Ronuth eyed her. ¡°Does everything you say have to sound so sarcastic?¡±


    ¡°Hey, how¡¯d you take the words out of my mouth without enchanting me?¡± I asked him.


    He barked really awkward-sounding laughter, looking a little crazy, and I regretted saying anything.


    ¡°Oooo-kay.¡± I stepped around the table and waved my imps to follow me. ¡°Good luck with the book, and everything.¡±


    ¡°If only this were all I had to do,¡± Ciraya muttered, again sounding like she was hiding something; then she nodded to me and immediately returned her focus to the tome in front of them.


    Ronuth was slightly less cool.


    ¡°Oh, bye, Feychilde ¨C you have to go? Where is it you¡¯re going? Secret champion business? I bet it¡¯s interesting? Feychilde?¡±


    Before I got to the top of the stairs and unlocked the door I heard her deliver a solid expletive under her breath, and Ronuth instantly shut up.


    Smiling, I stepped out into the hall, dismissed my eldritches, and spread my wings while turning the key in the lock behind me.


    Just another hour or two. Then I¡¯ll let myself sleep.


    Stifling another yawn, I made my way over to Timesnatcher¡¯s.


    A champion¡¯s work was never done.

 The Call pt1

    <h2>COBALT 7.6: THE CALL</h2>


    ¡°And to her I say this: there are aspects of death that cannot be discussed with those to whom a deontology of bliss has become the measure of being. Death! It is taboo even to discuss. Do her words make more sense than mine? Yes, every smile becomes bittersweet! Have you not lived with the aches of existence?¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Grandfather¡¯s Open Arms¡¯


    ¡°So what, they just up and disappeared?¡±


    I sat on Irimar¡¯s couch, cradling my head in my hands. He¡¯d given me a reinvigoration elixir, which barely touched my exhaustion; when Fang arrived she gave me a booster with her magic but it was already wearing off. It felt as though someone had pumped cotton wool into my ears, the stuff pressing in on my brain in every direction, straining against my skull.


    ¡°Ostensibly, they did indeed,¡± he replied. ¡°Each of them left their homes on Yearseve of their own volition; I know that much for certain. But the truth, my friend, is that I see a mist on the water ¨C a familiar mist. I cannot penetrate it with my mind; I must dwell on it awhile longer, build my house of sticks on the ocean and pray for gentle waves. It cannot be Dream¡­ it simply cannot¡­¡±


    As he retreated into his trance and Em put her hand on my knee in an attempt to comfort me, all I could think was that if Killstop were here we could get on with the eolastyr-hunt already¡­


    How long must the damn girl sleep for! I should¡¯ve got some sleep. I could¡¯ve come up with a different plan. If that tigress is really here ¨C if she¡¯s responsible for thirty-two kidnappings ¨C thirty-two murders¡­ Every death is on my head while I sit here, playing the fool.


    But other than ¡®Tanra had a vision¡¯, I couldn¡¯t come up with any credible source for my knowledge that wouldn¡¯t get my head chopped off in the telling.


    I need sleep!


    It wasn¡¯t like it¡¯d make any sense, if I came out with it now, anyway. ¡®Hey guys, it¡¯s the eolastyr!¡¯ It would look incredibly strange, that I¡¯d been sitting on the information for all this time.


    Unless¡­ could one of my eldritches¡­?


    Timesnatcher had followed my advice yesterday. He¡¯d taken the twin sorceresses to Phanar and Kani, and after my warnings this morning about The Ten-Spoked Wheel he¡¯d sent me over to inspect their instinctual shields. The force-barriers surrounding the adventurers¡¯ house looked, if anything, stronger than they had at Irimar¡¯s. There was nothing I could do to improve on their defences, no holes to shore-up; after a quick word with the mansion¡¯s occupants to wish them a Happy Yearsend, I just set a few gungrelafor in the trees as lookouts and headed back. We even briefly discussed sending Saff and Tarr there, but putting both pairs of twins together in a single location seemed to everyone a bit of a liability, even with such an impenetrable shield in place. Tyr Kayn, if she were to return, would surely remember the slayers of the King of Dragons¡­ She wasn¡¯t so different from us, in all likelihood, beneath all the tons of steel-scale armour, the centuries steeped in evil magic. She would remember those responsible for the death of her chieftain.


    Then it hit me. I quickly ran through the options in my head, trying to see it from Irimar¡¯s angle, from Em¡¯s, from Sol¡¯s¡­


    I didn¡¯t have to mention the actual content of Vardae¡¯s message¡­ didn¡¯t have to mention the part affecting Irimar¡­


    ¡°I can sense something familiar too,¡± I said. My voice sounded thick, almost slurring to my ears. ¡°I hope that doesn¡¯t mean what I think it means.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Fang asked curiously.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t there when we went into the tower in Lord¡¯s Knuckle, were you, Sol? There was something down there that eluded his sight for a while.¡±


    ¡°The woman who killed Dustbringer,¡± the druidess murmured in understanding.


    Irimar¡¯s eyes flew open. ¡°This¡­ thank you, Kas, this is¡­ ah yes. I see it.¡± But rather than sounding elated, the opening-up of his vision seemed only to depress him. ¡°I shall have Bor go and wake Tanra the moment he arrives. The more eyes on the problem, the better.¡±


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    ¡°The fewer tongues dispensing solutions, too,¡± I murmured. ¡°Who¡¯s going to take the lead?¡±


    ¡°You would let her run the operation?¡± he asked mildly. ¡°I¡¯m speaking more of out-scrying the thing, if she is indeed in the city. With a power like Tanra¡¯s, our invisibility increases, and our focus doubles.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t ve just call in everyone?¡± Em asked.


    ¡°We will ¨C once we know what we¡¯re doing.¡±


    ¡°You take too much on yourself,¡± she responded. ¡°Bring Starsight and Dimdveller, at least. Pool your power. Ve can put our masks back on if need be.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need divination,¡± I said, then sighed. ¡°This is for me, and Netherhame and Shallowlie. And ¨C and¡­¡± And who? There was no one else. ¡°Together, we can overcome her shields, I¡¯m certain of it.¡±


    Was I? Why would I be certain of a thing like that? I was half-asleep, that was why.


    ¡°Look¡­¡± I leaned forwards and heaved myself to my feet. ¡°I need to go get a few hours. Can you guys sort out some kind of plan? Or at least somewhere I can search when I¡¯m back on my feet.¡±


    ¡°Dear me, what have you been doing all night?¡± Irimar murmured, watery eyes suddenly becoming deep oceans.


    ¡°Research,¡± I said blithely. ¡°You know, Ten-Spoked Wheels and all that malarkey¡­¡±


    I turned towards the garden door, and Em rose to see me off, but he continued:


    ¡°Then why am I getting a big maelstrom on your past, Kas? Were you with Tanra?¡±


    I sensed Em¡¯s faltering footstep, and faltered on my own; instead of stopping I cast him a sidelong glance, forcing myself to keep moving. ¡°Don¡¯t waste time on your hidden agendas, diviner. You can¡¯t drive us apart.¡±


    I reached the door, opened it, but Em had halted halfway.


    ¡°Vot is zis?¡± she asked in confusion, looking from me to him and back again.


    I had to get out ahead of him.


    ¡°Oh, our pal Timesnatcher has it in his head that I should be with her, or something. Just another sad old scheme.¡±


    It should¡¯ve been obvious that if I was willing to give this much detail, there was clearly nothing going on between me and Killstop; I was gratified to see Em cast her scathing glare not at me, but at our leader.


    Distract them from the fact I was with both her and a heretic last night¡­


    ¡°You agreed with me, when I said it,¡± the slimy, smiling seer gloated.


    ¡°I did not!¡± I laughed, and shook my head. ¡°Unsoothsayer¡­ who¡¯d have thought it.¡±


    ¡°Not in words, you didn¡¯t. But you knew I was right and ¨C¡°


    ¡°And last night,¡± I shouted over him, ¡°Em, look at me ¨C last night, was I in love with Tanra?¡±


    I looked her square in the face, unflinching. Her eyes were hard, sharp steel ¨C and as I stared into them they melted. Her frown cracked into a smile, and she shook her head.


    ¡°No, Kastyr. No you vere not.¡±


    ¡°Try your games, Irimar, meddle all you want.¡± I opened the door. ¡°I¡¯ll be back later, once you¡¯re done playing and we can get down to work.¡±


    I stepped outside into the bitter breeze, spreading my wings and looking up at the sky. It wasn¡¯t snowing at the moment, and the clouds over Treetown were little more than white wisps, moving quickly against a soft blue background.


    Em followed me, as I¡¯d hoped she would, and once I¡¯d taken a few paces onto the paving stones I turned to face her.


    ¡°You staying, or going? I wouldn¡¯t blame you if you didn¡¯t want to hang around.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I vill see¡­ I don¡¯t know if I vont to leave Sol alone viz him, if he¡¯s being like zis¡­ But if he¡¯s wrong, vhere vere you, Kas?¡±


    I shrugged back. ¡°How am I to know if one of the people giving me directions around the place last night was an arch-diviner? I have no idea how many people I spoke to.¡±


    That much was true, at least. Right now I¡¯d have had trouble counting the fingers held up in front of my face, never mind the number of mages I had run into at the library.


    She just smiled again, and shook her head sheepishly. ¡°I¡¯ll fly you home,¡± she said, linking her arm through mine and lifting us both into the air. ¡°I don¡¯t trust you to get zere safely, in your current condition. Ve could do vizzout ze Liberator of Zadhal needing rescuing after a collision viz a chimney, and I can take some time to think about vot I vont to do.¡±


    I pulled her arm tight in my own, acting as though I were feeling dizzy. Really I just wanted the closeness as we soared away. It was that, or the wraith-form.


    I didn¡¯t want her to come back here. I didn¡¯t want them to compare notes. Maybe Tanra was a better match for me, but they always said that opposites attracted and Em ¨C Em was clearly my opposite if that was the case. There was this ineffable quality to the way I felt about her; the way her mood could move me, the way her delight filled my soul with pure bliss ¨C


    No, Irimar was all wrong. The last thing I wanted was for him to mislead her, make her think something that wasn¡¯t true. But it would be even worse if I artificially constrained her options ¨C if I asked her to stay away. I had to let her make the right choice, freely. All I could do was say my part and let it be.


    Yet through it all, I was lying through my teeth to her. I knew perfectly well why I had a huge gaping hole in my history.


    And as much as I might¡¯ve tried to ¡®get out in front of him¡¯, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder whether I¡¯d simply moved into the exact spot Irimar wanted me in ¨C whether he¡¯d just been pushing me with my own hands all along.


    * * *

 The Call pt2

    In my dreams, Arxine and Orieg¡¯s blue shield turns first purple, then red, the deep swirling crimson of an infernal barrier. Just inside the border, beyond my ability to strike, Wyre is pacing ¨C his body is normal, walking around, hands gesturing, but his head is the gigantic boulder of charcoal it¡¯d become after Em executed him, balanced precariously atop his ordinary-sized neck. I laugh at him, and Em is with me, laughing too ¨C still, I want to strike him down but the shield is in my way. Em joins her hand with mine and shows me how ¨C the spear in my mind¡¯s eye passes through the glowing bloody wall and pierces Wyre¡¯s heart ¨C


    ¡°They was there,¡± he says in explanation, the black lips falling apart even as he speaks ¨C


    I groaned as Xantaire shook me awake.


    ¡°Kas ¨C Kas, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    I opened my eyes to see that she was standing right over me, so I pushed myself up the bed into a sitting position. By the light coming through the shutters it couldn¡¯t be much past noon; I¡¯d only had a couple of hours at best.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± I managed to mumble.


    ¡°Sorry, you haven¡¯t had long ¨C¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have picked a better moment to wake me, trust me¡­¡±


    She gave me a sympathetic smile, but there was tension in her face.


    ¡°It¡¯s, er, that magister who saved us in the Incursion; she¡¯s here for you. She doesn¡¯t look happy. Her¡­ thing¡¯s with her.¡±


    I tried to reach my robe under the bed and fell out of it, landing unceremoniously in a heap with my sheets tangled about my legs.


    It had to be an indication of the seriousness of the situation that Xan wasn¡¯t stifling laughter right now, but she did spin around, saying, ¡°I¡¯ll just face away to preserve your modesty.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wearing pants,¡± I moaned. I managed to grab my robe, pull it over my head ¨C


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    I scrambled to my feet and half-walked, half-extricated myself to the door.


    In the main room, Fe dominated the scene despite her relatively-small size. The yithandreng would be no higher off the ground than your average dog if she¡¯d been standing, but was at least treble the length, a mass of scales and horns and legs, the serpentine body coiled around her summoner. Her massive red eyes were closed. The kids were playing quietly in the corner with Orstrum but there were equal amounts of excitement and fear in their faces.


    They shouldn¡¯t have been scared, but Ciraya wasn¡¯t exactly exuding confidence and her own fright, wild in her wide blue eyes, was infectious. She was standing near the front door, her hood cast back, exposing the dark-blue patterns wreathed about her scalp.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I said warily. ¡°Don¡¯t even tell me you¡¯re here for help finding another book.¡±


    ¡°Kastyr¡­¡± Her eyes narrowed on me. ¡°Your robe¡¯s on back to front.¡±


    ¡°Gah¡­¡± I swivelled the damn thing around and started searching for the sleeve-openings again. ¡°Ignore me.¡±


    ¡°Normally I would,¡± she croaked, ¡°but recent events call for a bit of tact¡­ Say, you don¡¯t happen to be an expert on possession, do you?¡±


    I pursed my lips. ¡°Not really. I¡¯ve got some books ¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve read a good chunk of the available literature over the years. I¡¯m looking for a more¡­ personal perspective.¡±


    I eyed her critically. ¡°What¡¯ve you gone and done?¡±


    ¡°Not me.¡±


    ¡°Who, then?¡±


    ¡°Can ¨C can we speak in private?¡± she asked suddenly.


    She shrank her demon down to pocket-size and told her to be good before passing her to Jaid to mind; her fear evaporating in an instant, my sister eagerly cuddled the little many-legged lizard.


    I let Ciraya into my bedroom and closed the door behind us.


    ¡°Tidy, just as I¡¯d expected,¡± she drawled.


    ¡°Possession?¡± Seeing my bed, I longed to fall into its warm embrace once more, nightmares or not.


    Let¡¯s hurry this up.


    She turned to regard me. ¡°It¡¯s my ¨C it¡¯s Mistress Arithos.¡±


    I started putting two and two together straight away.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t look happy, on your early errand to the vault,¡± I observed.


    In a rare ¨C no, unique ¨C display of vulnerability, the sorceress fell back against the wall and sank down it, coming to sit on the floor, knees together, black magister-robe spilling over the mess.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that. It¡¯s the ¨C the other stuff.¡± Her bitterness was palpable. ¡°She was missing all yesterday, but when she got back she acted like she¡¯d been there all day. Then she said some of her friends disappeared last night; thirty-two to be exact. I don¡¯t know how she knew, exactly¡­¡±


    Belatedly, I started putting four and four together.


    ¡°¡­ some eldritch power or other. So before I left for the library she asked me to find out whether the Magisterium had completed an investigation yet ¨C these were ¡®persons of some repute¡¯, don¡¯t you know? And it seemed normal, it seemed fine¡­ I don¡¯t like it, but I do it, you know? It¡¯s just¡­ something was off.¡±


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    I sat down on the edge of my bed, listening, mulling it over.


    ¡°But when I took her The Science of the Past everything was such a mess ¨C you don¡¯t understand: she never leaves her desk like that, but she was looking down at the tip, all her ledgers scattered around, ancient textbooks open, sacred pages bent¡­ and smiling, like everything was in perfect order¡­¡± The sorceress drew a deep breath. ¡°Then she asked me to find out whether the champions had got involved. And I knew. I ¨C I just knew something was wrong. She was wrong.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s her,¡± I growled. ¡°Sure sounds like possession to me.¡±


    ¡°¡®Her¡¯ who?¡±


    ¡°The same thing whose tower we watched them build, that night, out of the ashes of Knuckle Market.¡± I sighed, realising I wasn¡¯t going to visit my bed again in the immediate future. ¡°The eolastyr, Daughter of the Sinphalamax.¡±


    ¡°Emrelet told me all about it,¡± she cut me off, her voice hard suddenly; but now her eyes shone, irises swimming behind a waterfall of unshed tears. Anger and terror and wonder, they warred within her. ¡°You m-mean Mistress Arithos¡­ it¡¯s inside her? The eolastyr?¡±


    Unless Everseer¡¯s playing a weird-ass game with us, yep.


    ¡°I¡­ I came so close¡­¡±


    ¡°How did you survive?¡± I asked, curiosity overcoming my empathy.


    ¡°Paranoia,¡± she rasped, smiling thinly. ¡°Have you heard of the rhimbelkina?¡±


    I raised a hand to stop her. ¡°Look,¡± I said, ¡°you¡¯re pretty certain she¡¯s acting strange. I¡¯m pretty certain we¡¯ve identified the cause of the thirty-two deaths; and she admitted they were her friends¡­ Rhimbelkina or not, I¡¯d definitely guess this is the eolastyr, using you to make sure she covered her tracks.¡±


    I started getting my stuff together to head out.


    ¡°Is that how it works?¡± she asked, still sitting on the floor with her back to the wall. ¡°I thought, with this being an arch-fiend ¨C¡±


    ¡°She can¡¯t see our arch-diviners very clearly, but that¡¯s a two-way street. Every advantage we can muster, the better. Avert your eyes if you¡¯re shy.¡± I turned my back and threw off my robe, hurling it onto the bed while I found my under-shirt and tunic.


    ¡°Once you¡¯ve been sylph, you don¡¯t go filth.¡±


    I was surprised by the return of her usual purring voice; when I cast her a glance over my shoulder I found a caustic little smile on her purple-painted lips, her eyes boldly fixed on me despite my half-dressed state.


    She focusses better under pressure, I realised. Now that she knows what the threat is, she¡¯s able to get ready to fight.


    ¡°Hey, if she ain¡¯t got hair, don¡¯t go there,¡± I bit back.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that phrase designed for a different purpose?¡± she asked, wedging her boots against the floor and pushing herself up to her feet.


    ¡°Probably,¡± I said with a grin.


    What did I do with my damn glyphstone¡­? I wondered, plunging my arm shoulder-deep into a pile of junk bound together by worn clothing¡­


    ¡°Hey ¨C Kas.¡±


    I found the cursed thing, and spun around with a triumphant expression, holding it up in my fingertips.


    ¡°Well done¡­ I don¡¯t know where you want us to meet ¨C should I leave, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°No need.¡± I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯ll put my mask on, cos it¡¯s the done thing, but they know who I am now.¡±


    ¡°¡®They¡¯?¡± She waved her arm in a general sweeping motion, as if to indicate the entirety of Mud Lane.


    ¡°If they don¡¯t yet, they will the next time they hit the Griffin. Come on,¡± I led the way out, ¡°I¡¯ll have that go on Fe you¡¯ve been promising me for months¡­¡± She glared at me, and I grinned. ¡°Everyone will love seeing the demon back that saved their lives in the Incursion, come on¡­¡±


    I wasn¡¯t exactly wrong. A whole load of people seemed to recognise Ciraya and her pet, and Feychilde was more than a minor celebrity round these parts by now. We actually got some cheers as we made our way up the roadway, Laners standing respectfully out of our path in the narrowest parts. Fe skirted around the lane¡¯s Time Tree and I ducked my head as we passed under the bridges; then we were out of Mud Lane, heading south-east through Helbert¡¯s Bend towards the Oldtown bridge. So far, all I¡¯d told her was that we were going to Treetown.


    Travelling atop the demon was every bit as smooth as I¡¯d hoped. The yithandreng¡¯s gait looked crazy to the outside observer, but the relentless tread of the ten heavy feet seemed to absorb the shock of elevation-changes, the non-stop swishing of the meaty tail keeping us steady even when a sudden turn was executed. The first thirty seconds were awkward as I learned to grip with my thighs rather than hold the bone-spurs too tightly with my hands. Then, once I relaxed, it actually became a pleasant way to move through the city. Random obstacles ¨C like wagons and shop-stalls and knots of extremely-squishable human beings ¨C just caused Fe to take what felt like a gentle leap. While it was nothing like flying ¨C we had to stop for the odd impassable crowd, and we had to abide by the lines of the roadways ¨C it was still at least five times faster than walking.


    While Ciraya guided us, I lifted my stone and sent my thoughts out to Irimar.


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± he thought at me ¨C he was still sitting there in his drawing room, unmasked. His studious scribe¡¯s-face was almost expressionless, unperturbed by our earlier argument.


    ¡°Timesnatcher,¡± I said, trying to sound amicable ¨C but it sounded a bit brittle to my inner-ear. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you want to apologise for trying to split me and Em up, and frankly I¡¯m not certain how much I care ¨C¡±


    ¡°For the record, Feychilde: Em is here, and I don¡¯t for one minute buy your explanation. You really must have been tired. An arch-diviner of such power, at the library? No. You lied to me. You lied to her. She may believe you. I do not.¡±


    I felt my face flaming beneath the mask. ¡°So you get to know what it feels like, for once.¡±


    ¡°I can tell enough to know you¡¯re not falling to darkness, but then why? If you are doing this to cover some banal tryst, then I must admit, I am at a loss.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t waste your breath on it. Or your mind-breath. Whatever.¡± I scowled. ¡°What have you said to her?¡±


    ¡°I knew this conversation was coming. I¡¯ve said nothing to contradict your story. I will allow you to do that yourself.¡±


    I sighed. He was probably right. But what other option did me and Tanra really have?


    ¡°You are coming back to mine, aren¡¯t you, Feychilde? What mist is upon you now? Who is this magister-girl I can see?¡±


    ¡°Look, I¡¯ve got a lead on the eolastyr. With your permission, I¡¯d like to bring the magister to you. She¡¯s called Ciraya; Em will vouch for her. She¡¯s got some meagre protections but she really needs an arch-diviner¡¯s cover.¡±


    ¡°Meagre protections?¡±


    ¡°She cast some spell with a¡­ a fiend of fate-corruption¡­¡± I cast him an unimpressed look and he mirrored it. ¡°Anyway, the eolastyr couldn¡¯t get a read on her.¡±


    Timesnatcher grunted in grudging admiration. ¡°She¡¯s good, I¡¯ll give her that. The spell¡¯s fixed fast. I¡¯m only just breaking it now.¡± He ground his teeth for a moment, then said: ¡°Fine. Bring her to mine. If I foresee a need I can always have Bor wipe her mind.¡±


    ¡°The way this has gone down, she might want that.¡±


    He nodded dismissively, and the connection broke as he lowered his glyphstone.


    I lowered mine, my sleep-addled, sleep-deprived brain churning.


    He basically just prophesied that I¡¯m going to slip up. And if Em finds out I was with Tanra, and I lied about it¡­


    She wouldn¡¯t chop off my head. Right¡­?


    I have to tell her the truth. Heresy¡­


    But him¡­ what would they do with Nighteye?


    ¡°So which end of Treetown?¡± Ciraya called back to me as we thundered along the planks, crossing over the Blackrush.


    I looked to the side, over the rail at the river, the dark water making its own thunder beneath us as its icy flow struck the struts keeping the bridge aloft. It¡¯d been awhile since I¡¯d crossed one of the rivers without the benefit of wings or wizard-flight; I wasn¡¯t used to thinking two-dimensionally anymore, so it took me a moment to realise why she was asking. She needed to know which route to take through Oldtown ¨C which Whiteflood bridge we¡¯d be using to pass into Treetown.


    ¡°Head north,¡± I called back. ¡°I¡¯ve got someone you need to meet ¨C literally.¡±


    * * *

 The Call pt3

    With Feast parked in the garden outside, I led Ciraya through the doors into the drawing room. I introduced her around, and she was noticeably subdued in the presence of so many champions. Doubtless she¡¯d seen or even spoken with some of them before, but this was clearly the first time she¡¯d been so personally involved. Even the unflappable sorceress looked awestruck when people like Timesnatcher and Sunspring used her name. She settled on the couch between Stormsword and Killstop ¨C she¡¯d figured out Em¡¯s identity the moment the wizard announced herself as a champion, it seemed, which I supposed shouldn¡¯t have surprised me. And it wouldn¡¯t have shocked me if she¡¯d run into Killstop any number of times by now, given the areas they tended to cover¡­ She looked most at-ease sandwiched between those two, and she was such a twig that when she sat back and crossed her legs she virtually disappeared into the shadows.


    I stayed on my feet, standing near Em¡¯s end of the couch, arms folded across my chest. I probably looked moody but I was just trying to stay awake. No point letting Sol give me another boost. The way I understood it, the amount of healing a person could receive was capped by their level of fatigue somehow. There was a good chance I¡¯d be fighting an eolastyr before too long, and I would want any wounds fixing within seconds or minutes, not hours or days.


    Plus, I was down one treacherous fairy¡­ There was a chance the vampire might carry a regenerative effect, but I hadn¡¯t had opportunity to test it ¨C I supposed my fixation on obtaining his sensory capabilities may have prevented me from ever reaching other aspects of his essence¡­ And now it was just his callousness, his bloodlust that I seemed to feel when I tapped into him.


    ¡°Feychilde?¡± Bor was grinning, sitting in a chair within arm¡¯s reach of Tanra. ¡°You still with us?¡±


    I tried to recall what they¡¯d just been talking about. Everyone had accepted Tanra¡¯s story regarding her ¡®vision¡¯ at face value, even Irimar, but it appeared she¡¯d neglected to mention anything about him being there. Nonetheless, everyone was one hundred percent onboard with the notion of it being an eolastyr.


    Wouldn¡¯t it have been hilarious if, after all this, it was a hoax of some kind? Expose me and Tanra for liars, consorting with heretics¡­


    ¡°Sorry. Off in a world of my own.¡±


    Focus, Kas¡­ They were talking about¡­ talking about¡­ the whip¡­


    Bor laughed. ¡°Man, sorcerers shouldn¡¯t say things like that! Off in your own world indeed¡­¡±


    ¡°Sorcery can¡¯t actually create worlds,¡± Neko chided him. The gnome was in his thistle-green cat-shape, spread in front of the fireplace. ¡°Demiplanes are structurally unsound.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not,¡± the enchanter replied, ¡°but if you went and took over Infernum ¨C¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough of that,¡± Timesnatcher said crisply.


    ¡°And quite absurd,¡± the gnome-cat huffed. ¡°A number of dark gods have their domains on that plane!¡±


    ¡°The whip,¡± I muttered, having got my thoughts in order, ¡°might be something I can help with. If we can get enchanters to¡­ to stop us feeling sick. My eyes are, like, better at that kind of thing now¡­ Say, Killstop ¨C mind if I borrow a dagger? Heavily ensorcelled?¡±


    I caught the flash in Irimar¡¯s eyes as she passed one over. I could imagine what he wanted to say, what I would say to me in his place: ¡°Which darkmage do you intend to give this knife to?¡± Or maybe it was more like, ¡°Whose back is she helping you stab, Kas, when you¡¯re alone together at night?¡± Either way, I¡¯d never seen his gaze smouldering like this before.


    But he checked himself, and broke eye contact ¨C chatter broke out once more, and I turned my attention to the glistening dagger in my hand. Belatedly, I sat down. I least I had something to keep my mind sharp now, something to actually work on.


    I swished the thing through the air. The grip was bound tight with black leather, and the oval crosspiece was a muted gold colour ¨C just gold-plated, I suspected. The blade itself was a dull black in hue ¨C after the look of scorched iron, if I didn¡¯t know better. But the ensorcellment had given it the most marvellous, dreadful visual upgrade. As it moved through the air, globules of scarlet matter formed in its wake, streaming off the blunt edge of the blade, a bloody smear hanging in the air for a few moments until they seemed to evaporate away.


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    Yet that was what any mere mortal could make out. It took me the first ten minutes just to ascertain what I was really looking at. I¡¯d never handled something like this before ¨C my previous experiences with spellbound weaponry had been brief moments, usually taking place in periods of stress, and Tanra had definitely followed my last instruction to the letter in choosing this particular knife. It was imbued with a matrix of several distinct latticeworks, the glyphs bound in loops through eight different dimensions. Each structure was a variant shadow of a vertex relationship, mirroring the higher forms of the glyph: at the centre, those highest forms spun, held in careful equilibrium by a single glob of pure sorcerous force. The full infinity rune.


    Actually making the rune was tough as all hell, and, while recognising one was easy, I had the feeling that adjusting its magic or, especially, undoing its magic, would be more like the former than the latter. Nigh impossible.


    I could get a sense of the spells woven into it, though. It was like strings of force combined to form letters of some underlying magical language, something soundless, unverbalisable, but nonetheless comprehensible ¨C this one was a petal of perfect symmetry, the next a spear rotated through five dimensions ¨C


    Even without the descriptors, on a base level the symbols themselves served like words, forming sentence-strings related by concept, a kind of cryptogram that only a sorcerer¡¯s instinct could unlock.


    I was getting the hang of it, but there was no way I¡¯d be better at this than Netherhame or Shallowlie, or indeed an arch-sorcerer who¡¯d chosen to work for some manufacturer¡¯s guild. It was a dead-end in any case ¨C unless they would be able to do it at range, instantaneously, we weren¡¯t going to be able to destroy or even deactivate the eolastyr¡¯s whip.


    I waited for a lull in the conversation between Em and Tanra, then passed it back to her hilt-first, saying: ¡°Predominantly druidic in ensorcellment. It¡¯s got life-stealing. You stab them and the amount of damage you do¡­ it¡¯s roughly equivalent to the healing you receive. Blood for blood. I never thought I¡¯d see the Maiden of Compassion arm-in-arm with the Blade-Lord like this. Quite the disturbing little thing. But, no. Whatever¡¯s in there keeping it bound together, I¡¯d have to have hold of it, probably for quite a while, in order to break it¡­ I can¡¯t imagine a weapon straight from one of the infernal treasuries is going to be any easier to break. No way I can do it at range.¡±


    Killstop slid it back into its sheath inside her robe¡¯s folds. ¡°More¡¯s the pity. I guess we¡¯ll just have to wing it.¡± She drew a different knife, this one pale-rose in colour, black lightning-bolts buzzing all up and down the flat sides of the blade. ¡°The hell-queen didn¡¯t look so tough. Round two should be fun.¡±


    She¡¯s psyching herself up, I realised. She didn¡¯t want to go to Zadhal, but this is Mund. This is her turf. She¡¯s a true champion, and she¡¯ll protect it. I looked across to Em, who grinned appreciatively at the seeress¡¯s words. And she doesn¡¯t need psyching up. She would¡¯ve come to Zadhal at a moment¡¯s notice, if not for Henthae. She¡¯ll do the things we can¡¯t, to protect Mund.


    I thought about all the talent we were leaving out. ¡°Maybe we should call the others anyway?¡± I asked. ¡°Between us, me and Netherhame and Shal-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Timesnatcher cut in. ¡°You know its purpose ¨C it¡¯s one of the champion-slayers. We can¡¯t risk the others¡¯ lives unnecessarily.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°You¡¯re doing the ¡®I can¡¯t see the future so let¡¯s stop thinking altogether¡¯ thing again. The more of us work on it, the less chance any of us will die. Otherwise going in alone would be the best route, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    The arch-diviner cast me a strange look, cocking his head at me. ¡°Are you ready to bear the burden, if they fall to her claws, those who wouldn¡¯t have attended otherwise?¡±


    I shook my head at him. ¡°Do you leave half your army at home, because there might be casualties in war? Or do you put your best foot forward, try to minimise casualties, by bringing an overwhelming force? I¡¯m not saying we have to coerce people ¨C the Bells aren¡¯t ringing, not yet, anyway¡­ But we have to give them a chance, to join us if they would.¡±


    He sighed at me. ¡°Put out the call, then, if you¡¯re willing to shoulder the blame, if ¨C¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I cried. ¡°Gods, man. You¡¯ve led so long, you¡¯ve forgotten what it is to follow! It¡¯s not slavery, Timesnatcher. Stop blaming yourself! Set down the weight you¡¯re trying to carry before you sink the lot of us.¡±


    He stared at me, then in the next instant he vanished, presumably moving to another part of the house to be alone with his thoughts.


    Everyone stared at me in varying degrees of shock.


    ¡°Ooooh,¡± Tanra said, ¡°Feychilde done a naughty. Right there on the carpet in front of everyone. No wonder our host¡¯s gone ghost.¡±


    ¡°Killstop,¡± I growled. ¡°Look, he¡¯s wrong. We need all hands on deck for this.¡± I caught Fang¡¯s look. ¡°A sailing expression¡­ I mean, we need everyone to contribute.¡±


    ¡°And when people start dying, you really won¡¯t feel guilty?¡± the seeress asked. She sounded more curious than anything.


    I shrugged. ¡°No thanks to him. Anyway, should someone else feel guilty if I die? I¡¯m a big boy. I can decide for myself.¡±


    ¡°You could¡¯ve said that to him.¡±


    I stared at her. The realisation she might even be seeing Irimar¡¯s future, it came slowly, a soft fluttering of dread tickling up my spine.


    ¡°I am with you, Feychilde,¡± Em said in a steady voice ¨C Stormsword¡¯s voice.


    I drew a deep breath, then retrieved my glyphstone from my pocket and started to put out the call.


    * * *

 The Call pt4

    We met on the heath ¨C Tyr Kayn¡¯s heath, the site of the death of Shadowcloud, the ¡®death¡¯ of Winterprince¡­ Below, the trees of Ryntol Wood and Cadersglen were whole once more, their shadows lengthening as the sun started to sink. The mood was solemn as row upon row of champions assembled, forming a loose ring at the top of the tor where the dragon had crouched. Wizards had smoothed over the depression where she¡¯d stretched out her enormous body, but they¡¯d missed some grooves in one patch where her claws had dug into the earth, scratching narrow ditches in the dirt big enough for children to hide inside.


    By the time we¡¯d all left Timesnatcher¡¯s, he still hadn¡¯t shown back up. I asked Killstop to search the house but she couldn¡¯t find any trace of where he¡¯d gone. We decided to proceed without him.


    The majority of the champions who attended appeared confused when they arrived, largely due to the fact that I¡¯d been ambiguous in my messages. Many of them cast Ciraya strange looks. Sunspring managed to pacify the eldest champions, lots of whom seemed disgruntled at our sudden interruption of their holiday, and he did his best to explain what was going on ¨C but he hadn¡¯t been face-to-face with an eolastyr before and all his information was second-hand, so the old gnome¡¯s advice could only take them so far.


    Timesnatcher was absent, and Starsight never made it the whole way down into the arch-fiend¡¯s throne room in the repurposed warehouse. Nighteye was ¡®missing¡¯. Dustbringer, Redgate, Shadowcloud and Winterprince were gone. Lovebright had evaporated into the air and Neverwish¡¯s fate sounded even worse. While half the people on the hill probably knew the secret of Em¡¯s identity, we didn¡¯t know which, so Stormsword couldn¡¯t step forward.


    In the end I supposed it would fall to me, Killstop and Glimmer ¨C three of the youngest champions, or at least the youngest-looking in Imrye¡¯s case ¨C to field the questions.


    I started by expressing our gratitude for their attendance ¨C it was Yearsend, after all ¨C and then we got stuck into the specifics. The eolastyr¡¯s appearance. Her strength and agility. Her shields. Her augmented pets and summons. Her circlet, capable of rebounding attacks. Her whip: the terrible dirge it produced, and its power to shake those who heard its crack¡­


    Her disintegration effect. The way she¡¯d destroyed Dustbringer.


    Giving his soul to the dragon-kings, I thought, keeping it to myself.


    By the time we were done, many of the eyes visible through the slits in masks were thrown wide in bewilderment, even stupefaction. It seemed most of them hadn¡¯t faced creatures of this calibre often during Incursions. However, Netherhame¡¯s arms were folded across her chest, the sorceress exuding confidence as she asked pertinent question after pertinent question. How long did the whip¡¯s crack freeze time for? How high could she leap? How many eldritches did her fires summon at the same time? How long did her shields stay active and how many spells did they absorb? We did our best to provide responses, making clear which parts of our answers were evidenced by what we¡¯d witnessed, and which parts were pure speculation.


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    Then we started to dig deeper into the details. Eneleyn Arithos, Mistress of the Seven-Star Swords, had been imbued with the essence of the eolastyr after thirty-two of her friends had been taken¡­ highborn fools, their corpses likely residing at the bottom of the bay with the sea urchins by now. Ciraya stepped forward at Killstop¡¯s gesture to explain the signs of the old sorceress¡¯s descent into possession, and everyone seemed to agree something was up.


    We didn¡¯t have to mention Everseer, Nighteye or anything about Heresy, not even once ¨C we got them onboard, and almost every champion who¡¯d answered our call decided to help. Ripplewhim, the new enchanter, again didn¡¯t show, but Copperbrow was there, the inexperienced gnome wizard doing his best to sound cool and collected when he voiced the fact he would participate ¨C but that voice was squeakier than ever.


    ¡°So I suppose the only thing left to do is contact the Magisterium and let them know what¡¯s happening,¡± Glancefall said, the bells atop his jester-hat tinkling along gently behind his words.


    ¡°I got in touch with Zakimel on the way over here,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯re good on that front. We¡¯ll have back-up if we need it.¡±


    The first magister who¡¯d answered my call had been more than happy to pass me up the chain, once he realised who I was and why I was calling, and I was quite impressed ¨C I only had to speak to three people before someone woke Zakimel up for me. The chief Magisterium diviner had looked like he¡¯d been hitting the bottle pretty hard last night, given his red eyes and the dirty-looking stubble covering his chops, the usually prim and proper moustache quivering with long hairs. Nonetheless, the sheer focus and determination in his gaze couldn¡¯t be denied. Had he been surprised by my news? Of course. Had he shrunk away from the prospect of confronting such a high-ranked demon? Not one bit.


    ¡°I guess we just need a plan, now?¡± Copperbrow cheeped, looking over at Sunspring.


    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, son,¡± the druid replied, keeping his eyes on us.


    I looked over to Tanra and Imrye; Imrye was looking at Tanra.


    Slowly it became obvious everyone¡¯s attention was focussed on Killstop. Even the other diviners, Starsight and Dimdweller and Doomspeaker.


    ¡°Well, shucks, guys, thanks for the vote of super-confidence.¡± She put her hands on her hips and cocked her frowning head at the lot of us. ¡°Fourteen-year-old girls grow up dreaming of responsibility like this.¡±


    ¡°Killstop,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ve got an idea. But I sure wish Timesnatcher were here¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll find him. Give us your idea to start with.¡±


    She looked about at the ring of champions, and Spirit nodded to her reassuringly.


    ¡°Okay¡­ okay, but bear with me on this.¡± She spun, taking us all in. ¡°We need to circumvent her whip, but she knows it¡¯ll be her weak-point this time, and she¡¯ll put up her shield if she¡¯s threatened. We have to get in close, move in waves, control the engagement. Get hold of the damn thing.¡± I could imagine her grin behind the mask as her gaze halted on Ciraya. ¡°At first it¡¯s going to sound crazy¡­¡±

 That Hideous Grin p1

    <h2>COBALT 7.7: THAT HIDEOUS GRIN</h2>


    ¡°But how can you tell? If you are wrought awry, may not the instruments of self-measurement also tend toward disarray? How can you hope to see yourself clear when it is your very blindness you look to find? Perhaps there is no such thing as the well-wrought soul. And if this is the case, what does it mean to think of yourself as deficient?¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Lithiguil¡¯, 13:180-185


    The tower room had bare-brick walls and it was tiny ¨C there was a desk and a bed and a glass window but all of them were narrow and grimy, scarcely adequate even by a Sticktowner¡¯s standards. It was not a chamber made for hosting guests, yet I was tucked away in here with five ladies. I stayed in the corner near the door, while Kani and the twin sorceresses sat on the bed with their backs against the wall. Netherhame was perched on the desk, one leg dangling, the other tucked up to her chest with her arms wrapped around it; a pure purple nethermist seeped softly from her robe. Shallowlie was by the window, looking out at the fading sunlight glancing off Hightown¡¯s multicoloured domes and roofs.


    I felt more nervous as each second passed. Getting here had been bad enough ¨C the Tower of the Seven-Star Swords commanded a clear view of Gilderow Avenue, the Lower Tivertain road on which it was located. The Tower rose high above the three golden arches that formed sky-ways between the spires on either side of the street. Shallowlie had advised me that giving everyone wraith-form wasn¡¯t on the cards, so we had to make do with a five-fold blanket of enchanter¡¯s invisibility¡­ something I was certain the eolastyr could see through. However, according to the others observing over the link, we had successfully entered this particular room without causing Mistress Arithos any visible disturbance: Sunspring and Wanderfox were in bug-form on her balcony, relaying their findings. At one point the enchanters showed us the room through their senses, translated as best as they could manage for those of us with less insectile perceptions.


    Netherhame had shown me how to bestow a long-lasting shield-perception, involving a complex spiral pattern performed as the force-line is moved from the sorcerer¡¯s third eye to the recipient¡¯s. Now the druids had our boons effective upon them ¨C they would be able to warn us if the eolastyr raised barriers, or if ours went too far, becoming visible in her chamber atop the highest spire. Our arch-enchanters weren¡¯t only keeping us all in the loop ¨C they were also keeping the otherwise-observant sorcerers in the lower sections of the tower from noticing what was going on, from interfering in the operation.


    Everything was going smoothly¡­ so far.


    I tried to distract myself from the interminable wait by talking to Netherhame about undoing infinity runes and unravelling the spells bound into ensorcelled items, but she was trying to distract herself from me, it seemed, by staring at Arxine and Orieg. The girls¡¯ shields were still active, at a fixed distance, and the others agreed with me that their strength was unbelievable, unprecedented.


    The two foreigners were sitting on either side of Kani, another foreigner, holding hands across her lap. The cleric had apparently taken to her charges, as anyone who even met her once would expect; the redhead had her arms protectively about the both of them, glaring back at Netherhame. The unknown elder sorceresses weren¡¯t getting the same warm treatment from the priestess of Wythyldwyn as the youngsters, despite my reassurances. Not that the veteran champions exactly helped: when I¡¯d exhorted their virtues Ly had just snorted and continued staring, while Min obviously had nothing to say on the matter.


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    I¡¯d given Tanra my estimates on the girls¡¯ shields, and with even this meagre smattering of information she was able to put together the perfect location. If we brought the twin sorceresses out of the room and travelled five yards along the curving landing, their shields would penetrate Arithos¡¯s chamber high above us, covering a section of it in their defences.


    They would protect Ciraya as she confronted the arch-demon, provided she stayed in her half of the room.


    ¡°The magister¡¯s going up,¡± Glancefall commented, ¡°past your post in three, two, one¡­¡±


    Even without the augmented senses of vampire or fairy, I caught the tramp of her boots echoing along the landing. As Ciraya went up the next flight of stairs and the sound of her footfalls slowly dissipated, the tension got real. She just had to cross the span to the central spire, and she¡¯d nearly be there¡­ just a few more minutes¡­


    Timesnatcher¡¯s words, about people dying because of my actions, suddenly started to seem horribly portentous.


    What if I get the twins killed? I thought. What if Ciraya dies? ¨C she isn¡¯t even an archmage, and we¡¯re sending her in there¡­


    But there was no other way. We had to do it together. It was the sense of heroism, taking it all on yourself, that got you and others killed. When you reached out, you were stronger. You could do things people never thought possible.


    ¡°Remember, Ciraya,¡± I thought. ¡°Four feet from the desk.¡±


    ¡°I know!¡± she growled.


    ¡°Sorry ¨C just wasn¡¯t sure I told you already.¡±


    Some strained chuckles came back over the link in response. (I¡¯d reminded her at least three times.)


    ¡°Say it again,¡± Ciraya purred, ¡°and if we make it through this I¡¯ll tattoo it across your forehead.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll hold him down,¡± Em piped up. ¡°Let her focus, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Hold down, and tattoo, a wraith? I¡¯d like to see you try!¡±


    ¡°I can ensorcel something,¡± Ciraya bit back. ¡°You can¡¯t wraith out of bindlaces.¡±


    Can¡¯t I? I wondered. How curious.


    ¡°O-okay, kids, enough of that, now,¡± Sunspring¡¯s trembling voice came through.


    ¡°Quite,¡± Zakimel thought, encapsulating all his derision into one taut little syllable.


    ¡°Okay, okay,¡± Killstop cut in, ¡°just so long as Ciraya¡¯s aware she needs to be forty-eight inches from the desk.¡±


    ¡°Good call, Killstop,¡± Spirit said in a dry tone.


    I heard Fang and Brokenskull laughing this time, and a couple of the older champions ¨C Dimdweller, Doomspeaker, Voicenoise ¨C loosing sighs.


    ¡°Timesnatcher!¡± one of the others enchanters, Dancefire, blurted suddenly.


    Irimar¡¯s smooth, deep voice came in over the link. ¡°Evening, ladies and gentlemen.¡±


    Just in time to be the hero, I thought wryly. Indeed, I heard a very different kind of collective sigh pass through the telepathic space, sighing that carried a single message:


    Relief.


    I may or may not have joined in myself, somewhat.


    ¡°Good to have you back, boss,¡± I said, without any trace of sarcasm intended, doing my best to extend the hand of friendship.


    ¡°Good to be back. I had some things to deal with ¨C¡°


    ¡°Enough,¡± Zakimel interrupted. ¡°Let me fill you in.¡±


    A few people were murmuring, none of the conversations interesting-enough to catch my attention, until ¨C


    ¡°I¡¯m near the door,¡± Ciraya said. ¡°Man, I don¡¯t ¨C I don¡¯t feel well¡­¡±


    ¡°You can do this,¡± Em said, managing to sound pretty convincing actually. ¡°It¡¯s just an ordinary conversation. She doesn¡¯t know anything.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re ready to back you up,¡± I joined in.


    ¡°It¡¯s the best plan I¡¯ve come up with all day,¡± Tanra insisted.


    ¡°Okay. Drop on the lot of you. I¡¯m going in.¡±


    Everyone fell silent without needing to be told, and into the stillness Glancefall whispered: ¡°She¡¯s in.¡±


    * * *

 That Hideous Grin pt2

    The enchanters let us observe through Ciraya¡¯s senses while it unfolded. As the encounter progressed, the terror fizzed in my mind like an acid chewing through my skull, eating at my brain, and I longed to cry out ¨C but I couldn¡¯t disturb her now. None of us used the link ¨C not at first.


    ¡°Whatever¡¯s the matter, my dear magister?¡±


    The woman behind the desk was old, perhaps in her late sixties, with big droopy-looking ears; but she looked lithe, not scrawny. Her eyes were clear of the redness of age ¨C in fact you would have to say she looked sharp, alert, as she sat there in her chair, dressed in what might¡¯ve been a nice-looking formal robe forty-eight hours ago. Yet she didn¡¯t seem to notice that the chamber was steeped in shadow, the dark-blue sky beyond the tall windows giving barely a spatter of illumination. And, perhaps more importantly, she was surrounded by a scene not unlike the results of Em¡¯s storm in my apartment, that night with Dustbringer: a tumult of papers, a million carefully-inked characters showing across a thousand exposed surfaces, loose leaves half-askew from their bindings, tomes standing on their ends like strange sentinels looking out over a field of carcasses.


    What happened here? What was she really looking for?


    ¡°It¡¯s serious, I¡¯m afraid, Mistress.¡±


    ¡°Then do come in ¨C sit.¡± Arithos pointed at the chair in front of the desk with a single languid finger.


    Ciraya¡¯s right. There¡¯s definitely something wrong with her.


    Oh no. Oh, no, Ciraya, what¡¯re you doing¡­


    The magister went and sat in the damn chair. Eighteen inches from the desk at most.


    I grit my teeth. She had to do it, but I didn¡¯t like it. If the eolastyr realised what was happening, she might try to flee before bringing out the whip, change the battlefield without us getting a chance at our objective. Tanra¡¯s plan would come to nothing. Ciraya had to lull her into a false sense of security before we could make our move.


    ¡°There¡¯s no explanation for the disappearances. I¡¯ve discussed it with my magistry contacts, some pretty powerful diviners. I know some of them were your friends, Mistress, but it¡¯s a dead end. Something¡¯s blocking them.¡°


    The thing across the desk wasn¡¯t even trying to hide its smile. ¡°And Henthae?¡±


    ¡°Henthae, Zakimel ¨C as far as I can tell, they¡¯re as clueless as the champions¡­ Stormsword said Timesnatcher thinks it¡¯s one of the unknown factors, like Dreamlaughter or some other archmage of similar power-level.¡±


    When Arithos purred, it wasn¡¯t human. It was the tiger inside.


    ¡°Hmmmmmmmmmm.¡±


    The eolastyr was staring hungrily at Ciraya ¨C at me, and the rest of us, as we watched through her eyes.


    How is she not shaking with fear? I asked myself incredulously.


    Ciraya looked away ¨C the young sorceress¡¯s eyes went roaming over the books on the table. I recognised The Science of the Past, its spine askew, its pages spread across the surface of the chaos.


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± Killstop said over the link.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Netherhame said aloud, suddenly hopping down from her perch and standing up tall. ¡°Let¡¯s get into position.¡±


    ¡°Finally,¡± Kani muttered, frowning. With some difficulty she managed to clamber free of the bed, then turned and helped Orieg and Arxine to their feet. ¡°It¡¯ll all be over in a moment, girls.¡±


    Ciraya was talking: ¡°Did you¡­ get all the information you were looking for?¡±


    Arithos wasn¡¯t replying, and the magister still wasn¡¯t looking back at her, at those too-sharp, too-carnivorous eyes.


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    ¡°It might be time to back away, magister,¡± Glancefall said.


    ¡°She has a while yet,¡± Doomspeaker supplied.


    ¡°Mistress?¡± Ciraya hedged, daring to look at the eolastyr once more. Arithos¡¯s face was warped into a look of savage distaste ¨C


    ¡°What?¡± the old woman snapped.


    ¡°The book you sent us for? Is it¡­ as informative as you¡¯d hoped?¡±


    The keen old eyes went back to the desk, roving about the scattered papers.


    ¡°I think you need to back away now, Ciraya,¡± Killstop said. ¡°Maybe this won¡¯t work¡­ but we still have to fight her.¡±


    But Ciraya wasn¡¯t moving. She was staring at the husk of her mentor, and while the enchanters weren¡¯t transmitting it, I could almost feel her grief, the overwhelming sorrow.


    What was it she¡¯d said, that night I fought Shadowcrafter with Fe as my secret weapon?


    ¡°The Seven-Star Swords looked after me when I came here, gave me direction and purpose. You aren¡¯t going to get an objective perspective on them from me.¡±


    She was in a similar situation to Em, brought under the wing of a powerful, controlling influence ¨C if only Em¡¯s were so overtly possessed by Evil¡­


    The six of us were standing on the globe-lit landing now, nothing but a few doors to break up the monotony of the featureless walls. Orieg and Arxine¡¯s shields were there, unbelievably powerful ¨C we were just steps from covering half the eolastyr¡¯s room in an impenetrable shell. I spread my wings from my back, tested my wraith-form, ensuring everything was in its place. The flight-spell was still active under my feet, the energising-spells still racing through my blood.


    Still, Ciraya stared at Arithos. At the twentieth-rank demon.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mistress. I¡­¡±


    As Arithos¡¯s gaze came back to Ciraya¡¯s face ¨C my face ¨C I had to blink away the vision again: one of the doors near us opened suddenly. An adult man stepped out of his room, turned and noticed us.


    The sorcerer froze, and I slowly raised an arm in silence, pointing back at his door. Netherhame to my left was making much the same gesture. Then all at once, like he was coming out of a trance, the man nodded violently in thanks ¨C he flung himself back into his room, slamming it shut behind him at first, then, just in the nick of time, realising the noise it would make and catching it, closing it quietly behind him as though to reassure us he¡¯d never been there, never saw us.


    I sighed, and returned to the vision.


    The eolastyr was speaking: ¡°¡­ quite fine, I assure you, magister¡­ I extend to you my thanks, for all you¡¯ve done to keep an ear on the ground for me.¡± She waved a hand slowly at the windows, the lightless sky, and Ciraya looked down again. ¡°It can be difficult from up here to keep on top of the little things.¡±


    ¡°Ciraya, you¡¯re right on the edge!¡± Killstop hissed.


    ¡°No problem,¡± Ciraya said aloud, standing up suddenly, refusing to meet the eolastyr¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Are you quite alright, Ciraya?¡± the demon asked. ¡°You don¡¯t quite seem to be yourself, today.¡±


    As though she couldn¡¯t help herself, the young sorceress¡¯s eyes were pulled to meet Arithos¡¯s.


    A hideous grin was pasted across the Mistress¡¯s lower face.


    ¡°She knows!¡± Dimdweller growled.


    ¡°Sure thing, Mistress,¡± Ciraya said in an unshaken voice. ¡°Just¡­ a long day.¡±


    The sorceress stepped a little to her left, away from the chair, just incidentally removing the obstacle from her avenue of retreat ¨C


    Drop it.


    Three pulses of the six sylph-wings, along with my spectral lightness and the will-activated flight-spell, let me travel at speeds some diviners might envy.


    I leapt at the wall, passing through it, heading up and out into the snowy air.


    It was dark enough, and satyr-reflexes only took me so far. I summoned and joined with my vampire as I ascended.


    ¡°First line, go!¡± Killstop cried.¡°Twins forward!¡±


    As Netherhame and Kani ushered Orieg and Arxine into the correct spot by the wall of the landing, now far below me, I could see the twins¡¯ shield nudging up slightly. It was a vast blue bubble, with its curve near the apex of the barrier now penetrating through the room at the top of the central spire¡­ the chamber we¡¯d all seen through the enchantment¡¯s magic ¨C my target ¨C


    I slid into the room at such an angle that I passed through a few flights of stairs before coming up through the floor, surrounded in buzzing azure blades.


    Eneleyn Arithos was no longer herself. Her hand gripped the golden whip, its thongs choked with gobbets of flesh; her eyes were empty ink-wells, deeper black than a starless night sky. She leapt over the desk just as the shield settled into place, a diagonal arc of blue sweeping across the space.


    Just as Ciraya stumbled back into its protections. Just as I barrelled up out of the ground at the eolastyr, getting between the two of them.


    Our foe didn¡¯t know I was coming; Tanra¡¯s gambit was working. Hopefully the demon wouldn¡¯t know about the others either ¨C I could see them, through the windows, growing on the balcony into vast animals, mere instants from imploding the glass, surging into the room through a pulverised wall ¨C


    I was at the front of Arxine and Orieg¡¯s shield, my circle extending through it. Mistress Arithos swung out her empty hand, fingers forming hooks, and as the arm stretched out towards us it changed in reality, becoming clawed, purple fur spotted with black stretching up her wrist beneath her sleeve.


    * * *

 That Hideous Grin pt3

    The claws of the arch-fiend sank into my shield and burst my force-lines, despite their reinforcements ¨C but it was not a one-sided exchange. My blades did their work, at least in part. At first I felt the bitterness of disappointment, yet as her savage talons hit the colossal, thick shield of the twins and were repelled, there was a single slice of time in which I could see what was going on, a moment where her forwards motion seemed to halt before the backwards motion began. I had chance to see the wounds.


    Her flesh was opened right up to the bicep, a spiralling slice-pattern that threatened to let all the meat fall from her arm, ribbons of shredded robe and muscle left hanging.


    Still, the demon must¡¯ve used the repulsion from the twins¡¯ barrier to project herself up, away into the air, seeing as she rebounded far from us ¨C she brought the whip high over her head ¨C there was no pain on her face, only mild surprise and, yes, pleasure.


    She was happy to be here. I could just tell.


    But her turn was over. It was our time now.


    Safe within the shielding, Ciraya barked in Netheric, then aimed her fist sidelong at the eolastyr with her elbow locked. The sorceress¡¯s sleeve billowed suddenly, and a sickly green flame coursed up her forearm, becoming a series of ethereal skulls that went streaking through the air at our foe, wailing as they soared, detonating into incandescent explosions when they reached the demon ¨C


    The windows and walls exploded in as, two or three seconds after Killstop had given the command, the druids struck ¨C Wanderfox was a titanic red mongoose, Sunspring a green gorilla that could barely fit in the chamber ¨C there was another arch-druid too, a magister like a huge wasp in gold and blue ¨C


    Simultaneously, a white sheet of energy passed from one side of the chamber to the other, twenty feet over the eolastyr¡¯s head ¨C it was Em¡¯s sword of lighting slicing off the roof, shearing through the bricks themselves, cutting them in two lengthways. The sky up there should¡¯ve been dark but it was as bright as day, a rainbow of colour as dozens of conjoined lances descended, crackling with frost and electrified magma, twisting about one another ¨C


    How many wizards were up there pooling their energies, I couldn¡¯t quite remember ¨C but it was more than a few.


    Arithos twisted on the air as though she cavorted to a hell-music only she could hear. Spells bounced off her jet black circlet, the glossy band appearing only briefly then vanishing once more ¨C fireballs and frostbolts rebounded through shields, striking allies, forcing our druids to focus on healing. But for all her supernal dexterity, it wasn¡¯t enough ¨C a tendril of blue flaming lightning latched onto the ribbons of flesh dangling from her arm, seizing them and rippling up them, creeping along the remnants of her arm, entering her torso.


    It flashed through her, and for a moment there was only the darkness of her skeleton¡¯s shadow against the whiteness. Every part of her on top of the bone sloughed away in a shower of wet, crispy flesh.


    The very instant the wizardry abated, a dizzying array of shapes flitted through the tumbling masonry, the showers of glass-shards: the arch-diviners joined the fray.


    They knew. They knew, despite what had just hit her, how invulnerable she truly was. Arithos¡¯s flesh had fallen away, but the skeletal core remained, still acting, warping in patches as the eolastyr¡¯s true form threatened to overtake it.


    She was still unharmed inside the body she¡¯d stolen.


    She brought the whip down, despite Dimdweller holding onto her weapon-arm; the flight-spells on him weren¡¯t strong-enough to halt her downward motion.


    The crack rang out, and we staggered, an unstoppable wave of time halting us.


    It was only a second, the eolastyr still basically hovering there as she gently descended ¨C but a lot could happen in a second.


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    She reached out a dismembered arm of broken bones and the purple-black fur was visible for a moment ¨C she sank her claws towards Dimdweller¡¯s bearded face, right there by her side: the dwarf¡¯s eyes were thrown wide, paralysed ¨C


    ¡°Second line, go!¡± Killstop cried over the link.


    Killstop wasn¡¯t here yet ¨C she was in the third line. It was her dispensing the solution to our problem today; Irimar might¡¯ve shown up, but it was still Tanra¡¯s operation. The solution to the whip was to be ready for its magic to be used, then pounce with renewed vigour once the swell of its power passed by, before the others were released from its spell. If we could stop her killing those affected by its power, we could deplete it, or take it from her.


    Now, amidst a wave of champions and magisters, Timesnatcher and Zakimel entered ¨C if I hadn¡¯t regularly seen each of them moving at such speeds, if I didn¡¯t have experience picking them out of the streaks of coloured after-images, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell what I was looking at. Even still it wasn¡¯t straightforward. I obtained a series of glimpses, little better than an approximation of the real motions, even with all my varied perceptions focussed on the ordeal.


    The eolastyr¡¯s claw-tips pierced Dimdweller¡¯s skin, just, but they didn¡¯t get purchase in the meat of his face; she had to turn, twist away, throwing the dwarf aside as Zakimel¡¯s sonic knife came thundering down to sever her hand at the wrist. She managed to evade the blow, but only barely. The scratches on Dimdweller¡¯s face started to heal even as he was hurled back, vivid green light bursting out of his injuries as a nearby druid took on their task.


    In the meantime Irimar had already struck her, two spellbound knives buried into either side of her neck ¨C she twisted away from Zakimel towards Timesnatcher, and now he took Dimdweller¡¯s place, a hand on the handle of the whip beside her own.


    His free hand suddenly held another dagger, and before Zakimel even seemed to recover from his first swing Irimar was beginning his third, sawing at the bony arm clutching the whip.


    It was then, as we all recovered and pressed the attack once more, that she abandoned the carcass she wore.


    A shower of bones fell to the ground, but clearly Sunspring didn¡¯t think it was unsalvageable; the gorilla gave up his attempts to join the combat directly and lunged out, catching the remains of Eneleyn Arithos in his massive hands. His motion brought him towards me and Ciraya, and as he entered the shield¡¯s safety he shrank down, a nimbus of emerald mist immediately enveloping the skeleton he laid out on the carpet. My death-sense didn¡¯t seem to register it as a corpse, which was intriguing.


    As I moved my eyes back up to the eolastyr, I saw that the tigress had almost landed amidst the scorched debris, but Timesnatcher no longer had hold of her whip ¨C a circle of crimson shielding had surrounded her, driving him away.


    Drop it, no¡­


    Em¡¯s sword danced down from the sky, its edges incapable of cutting through the scarlet bubble about the demon, producing nothing but smoke; other energy-rays descended, to even less effect. A few arch-diviners made moves that were repulsed.


    I saw as Killstop entered early, perhaps in an attempt to wrangle some greater dominance of the scene with her power ¨C Tanra struck the red shield, unleashing a devastating torrent of blows, hundreds of strikes achieving barely as much of a disturbance as Em¡¯s vast weapon.


    At the same moment, a number of others imbued with sorcerous senses started reporting what they could see for the benefit of those who hadn¡¯t yet intuited what had happened.


    Damn shields!


    ¡°Netherhame!¡± I cried. ¡°It¡¯s time. Kani!¡±


    Lyanne was only slightly slower than I¡¯d been. As Netherhame came up through the floor not five feet from me, the eolastyr had landed softly in the charred remnants of the chamber ¨C and she was speaking.


    I had forgotten just how abhorrent the pearly, triangular face was ¨C and the mocking breeziness of her flawless voice, emanating from between the dusky lips. Emanating from Infernum.


    ¡°Five of you I recognise, and I must apologise¡­¡±


    I glanced up ¨C I could see Em amongst the wizards up there, now that their energy-beams had halted. Glimmermere was perched on the balcony beyond the shattered back wall, her condor-shape not quite full-grown.


    Even Everseer didn¡¯t know Killstop would be number five¡­


    ¡°How is it that the Daughter of the Sinphalamax spoke awry?¡± the eolastyr went on, cocking her weird-shaped head in an unusual sign of puzzlement. ¡°I acknowledge your strength, champions of Mund. Not in all the realms of men have I seen such valour ¨C and I am old beyond your ken. Yet you come here expecting to catch me unawares.¡±


    I looked back at the doorway, the whole thing shattered at some point by a stray spell launched by an ally, deflected or manipulated by the tigress.


    Where¡¯s Kani?


    ¡°In truth, I knew not that this sorry space should be our battleground ¨C yet I knew that I wouldn¡¯t get to choose this time. It was your turn, and you chose. You chose, and you failed.¡±


    I didn¡¯t even need to ask her ¨C Netherhame caught my eye from the far side of the room and then together, as we¡¯d practised on the way over, we joined our forces, each of us pinning the eolastyr¡¯s shield at one side.


    ¡°How long?¡± I screamed at Kani over the link.


    ¡°Your failure is all my success.¡±


    The tigress raised her whip once more ¨C


    * * *

 That Hideous Grin pt4

    The cleric answered my question with her sudden appearance, blurring like an arch-diviner into the room through the broken doorway behind me.


    If you drew a line between me and Netherhame, Kani would¡¯ve halted right in the centre; her blessed mace was raised, her solemn expression fixed.


    ¡°Wythyldwyn says goodbye,¡± she said disdainfully, swinging her mace at the floor.


    The resulting orb of yellow light exploded into amber, pouring across the floor, enveloping the eolastyr. It felt like fast-moving steam, a sun-warmed breeze, and within a second it had passed over us all, leaving all Kani¡¯s friends and their eldritches untouched.


    Leaving the eolastyr¡¯s shield in tatters.


    Where before it had been a shimmering curtain of crimson velvet, now it was a frayed pink blanket, thin enough to get a tan through in winter.


    But it didn¡¯t matter. The whip fell, the crack locking all of us into three or four moments of stupor.


    She was right. We failed.


    She used the time to ignite dozens of crimson portals, letting them spring up from every unshielded surface ¨C between feet, on the wall enveloping someone¡¯s head ¨C


    ¡°You fools left them with Shallowlie,¡± the tigress said, before punching the ground at her feet in one deafening, oil-slick motion.


    Stones erupted, spraying out in chunks and chips from the collision of her bestial paw with the floor; and the eolastyr moved to the floor below us as we gathered our wits, regathered our faculties¡­


    The moment Kani came back to her senses she muttered something and disappeared in a flash once more ¨C this time the cleric left a trail of amber light behind her, which from what I¡¯d heard wasn¡¯t supposed to happen when she activated her ring.


    ¡°The fiend¡¯s going for the twins!¡± Killstop said.


    ¡°Stay on top of her!¡± Timesnatcher boomed.


    While the diviners and wizards poured through into the chamber beneath, following her into the chasm she¡¯d created, we hung back. Valorin and Ciraya watched on as me and Netherhame stepped up. Between us, we choked the red portals, siphoning off their power-sources to feed our own. It was simple ¨C the eolastyr didn¡¯t have the gates properly established. She didn¡¯t have her throne room; she hadn¡¯t had time to scry us out, develop a plan. She just had this ¨C another last-minute diversion.


    When we made our way down after them, seconds later, we emerged through the crevasse into a room filled with metal canisters, boxes, cages¡­ And they had already taken the fight into the next arena of conflict: outside.


    There was a solid thousand feet of (not-so-solid) open air ready to greet me as I plunged through the shredded tower-wall with the others. Even with the wraith-form¡¯s benefits, it was enough to flip my stomach, especially as we were plunging straight downwards in a steep dive. The eolastyr had gone through first; my vampiric eyes could pick her out through the crowd, her distinctive patterned fur and gleaming white head, her long black hair streaming behind her, above her. The fractured red shield had been abandoned ¨C instead she used her superb intuition to writhe out of the way of the attacks we launched down at her. Em and Mountainslide were just two of the various arch-wizards throwing spells, and me and Netherhame were flinging out spears of force with all our might ¨C all to no avail. A crack rang out, and I saw the diviners who¡¯d outpaced her fluttering off, stranded in the air suddenly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve deferred the evacuation orders,¡± Zakimel growled. ¡°The Constellation and Refined Timing are standing by. Archmages, anticipate a change of killing-ground.¡±


    I estimated seven or eight seconds before the eolastyr¡¯s clawed feet struck the roofs of the lesser towers clustered about the main spire. Five or six seconds before she¡¯d essentially be loose in Mund, if Zakimel was right. She wasn¡¯t falling lethargically this time ¨C she fell like a thing of Materium, dropping like a stone ¨C and just as we reached her, using our top speeds, another crack went out.


    I was slowed for a little less time than before, and felt a little less stupefied. I noticed the magisters in the streets below, thick knots of mage-robes bearing the Magisterium symbol charging into Gilderow Avenue.


    ¡°It¡¯s working!¡± Killstop cried. ¡°Keep pushing her!¡±


    Even as I recovered and renewed my descent, vampire senses let me pinpoint the source of the effect: I homed in on the gobbets of human meat dangling from the thongs of the whip. Only half of what had been there when we first assaulted her now remained.


    I yelled: ¡°The whip! We¡¯re using up the flesh on it!¡±


    ¡°Exactly, genius!¡± Tanra muttered.


    It was only as the eolastyr skipped off the edge of a roof and continued to plummet towards the street that I realised.


    ¡°We¡¯re wrong ¨C where¡¯s Shallowlie?¡± I hissed, looking back up at the tops of the towers we¡¯d left behind.


    No massive ring of hyper-protective shielding surrounding the spires.


    No twins.


    ¡°Shallowlie?¡± Netherhame seemed to shoot up into the sky ¨C it was only that she was slowing to a stop as I sank past her at horrendous speeds. ¡°Shallowlie, answer!¡±


    ¡°Kani?¡± Spirit was asking.


    I craned my head up to watch as Netherhame barrelled back towards the spire in which we¡¯d waited out the start of the fight ¨C the place that should¡¯ve been the centre of a huge sorcerous sphere.


    I couldn¡¯t allow myself to be distracted. I looked down, adjusting my trajectory.


    A host of archmages hurtling in her wake, the demon struck the fine basalt paving outside the Tower of the Seven-Star Swords, landing crouched like a cat.


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    Despite the fact that the impact buckled the street, leaving her in a crater and sending a shockwave of slushy snow and splintered rock rippling through her surroundings, she appeared uninjured, unslowed. She took off, leaping for a group of magisters in front of her who¡¯d been charging up a wide stairway towards the tower¡¯s plaza.


    The five mages had screeched to a stop, and then simultaneously, as if compelled by a telepathic order or even just base survival instinct, they were suddenly shifting in posture, getting ready to backpedal down the steps ¨C


    No one had gotten ahead of her ¨C Killstop and Timesnatcher were almost on her heels, but her powers interacted strangely with theirs; they couldn¡¯t defend her targets as she sprang at the group of them.


    The whip swept out in an arc, not cracking but used like a flail to bat at the brave, recoiling men and women.


    She didn¡¯t even hit all of them, but it didn¡¯t matter. One mage was three yards from the swinging barbs of the whip, but the effect devoured him along with the others. Their robes were shredded, loops of fabric sinking to the floor, suddenly enclosing skeletons. The magisters¡¯ remains dropped where they stood, tumbling to the ground and down the stairs as their flesh was reft away in a single awful instant.


    Worst of all, I could tell they were still alive ¨C dying from shock, yes, but still alive. It was predominantly the outer layers of skin and fat that she stole, leaving some of the musculature and all the internal organs intact.


    A distraction for our druids, whose green light was already starting to stream from beneath the magisters¡¯ coils of clothing.


    We were already past her victims, sweeping out into the avenue itself.


    In an effort to hide the crowds from her view and keep them from making attractive targets on the surrounding roads, the people had been diverted not away from the area but into the buildings themselves. The avenue was nearly empty of foot-traffic.


    The speed, the sheer illogical slipperiness of our arch-diviners was our greatest asset ¨C and our weakness. The moment Tanra got a hand on the eolastyr¡¯s whip she brought it down, cracking again.


    The tigress turned to face us, and this time it was as bad as the first had been¡­ worse. I swooned, paralysed, looking on blankly as she swung the whip now at Killstop.


    I couldn¡¯t watch but I couldn¡¯t help myself ¨C the seeress fell apart, her multicoloured cloths helping to disguise the gore as she tumbled, stripped of every parcel of flesh. Her gaunt, staring skull was horrible to behold.


    She wasn¡¯t the only one. The eolastyr took advantage of the extended reprieve, springing towards Timesnatcher and Dimdweller ¨C


    Starsight and Doomspeaker came streaking in from outside the sphere of her whip¡¯s influence, clutching again desperately for her weapon before she could let it fall ¨C


    Too late. Timesnatcher and Dimdweller were consumed.


    She spun as the other two diviners reached her, striking them with elbow and knee, smashing Star¡¯s ribcage and braining Doomspeaker.


    They went hurtling to the ground, and I saw as Glimmermere landed in the road beyond the demon, the condor¡¯s intense gaze falling on the dying champions.


    As I shook myself back into action, throwing out force-blades, she erected her shimmering red shield once more. Perhaps it wasn¡¯t quite as solid-looking as when she¡¯d first raised it ¨C perhaps¡­


    ¡°Ah, but you are a formidable one, are you not?¡± She reached through the dome of scarlet energy and sank her claws into the mess of fabric and pain that had been Timesnatcher, pulling his fleshless body across the boundary. ¡°We can spare a moment, for the likes of you.¡±


    Vampire-hearing could make out the strangled sounds coming from his ruined throat.


    She held the clawed hand out over his body, light coalescing in her furred palm, and I couldn¡¯t.


    I couldn¡¯t see this.


    Couldn¡¯t watch it happen again.


    The disintegration. There would be no coming back. And for all that I hated him, I needed him. He was a part of Mund, a part of me.


    He would not die.


    Dozens of attacks landed on the crimson shields. Copperbrow and Stormsword worked together, pouring lightning on the infernal barrier as though it were water they were showering her with. Valorin¡¯s demons included a bintaborax, and they pressed futilely against the bloody, shimmering circle. Even insect-swarms and plant-roots were being called upon, every last iota of power being brought into play.


    I summoned Gilaela, a flood of crackling emerald energy flowing forth in front of me as I stepped up.


    I heard the bitter neigh of hatred that escaped her lips when she saw our foe, and as I strode through her and joined with her, a motion augmented with a flap of my wings, I left the unicorn awake within me.


    Her animosity suffused me, replacing uncertainty with indifference as I lowered my head, charging with my incandescent horn thrust out.


    ¡°Strike it down!¡± she screamed in my head.


    Grinning, I clove through the eolastyr¡¯s shield at almost full speed, head-first.


    It broke like a dome of red glass, not wavering and evaporating but shattering, shards of pure infernal force seeming to wail as they gave way, layer after layer ¨C


    Yet another crack split the air, and everything stilled, everyone froze ¨C


    I was halted, coming to a jolting stop, all my irresistible forwards momentum killed in an instant.


    It wasn¡¯t just the sonic weapon stopping me. I flicked my eyes up, and she was there. The eolastyr, right in front of me, her arm extended up to hold me by the horn. My aim had been true, and she¡¯d been forced to relinquish the spell she was casting on Irimar.


    For the first time, I saw actual pain twist her already-twisted features; I could hear a faint crackling sound emanating from somewhere just over my head, as if it seared her flesh to grip the ethereal horn.


    I floated there almost horizontally, paralysed in place. The way she held me, I was hovering over the sickening body of Timesnatcher on the ground below me, helplessly staring into my captor¡¯s vacant eyes.


    ¡°A powerful eldritch, to be sure,¡± she said, grimacing.


    She drew her arm back and I screamed, my mind splitting in half.


    Gilaela was pulled out of me in her entirety, skittering on faltering hooves, shining eyes wild with fright. I floated in empty time-space, an untethered observer, tears obscuring my vision.


    The eolastyr was tall enough at full extension to hoist the unicorn up by the horn, bringing Gilaela¡¯s flailing legs into the air. I could see the smoking connection of furred paw with glittering bone. The sizzling sounded worse, now that the horn was substantial.


    ¡°Powerful, but not infinitely so,¡± the tigress murmured, twisting.


    The horn didn¡¯t come free, but under the grinding strength of the eolastyr¡¯s hand it split and splintered, two branches peeling away from the core of the strange material. The golden light fractured into shadow and died.


    Gilaela didn¡¯t scream, but when I heard her shuddering gasp something inside me changed.


    ¡°This shall bring you closer to your goal, my child.¡±


    Between one moment and the next, Gilaela¡¯s pearly-white fur became inky-black. Out of the centre of each of her hooves, a single long, black talon protruded ¨C


    The unicorn¡¯s wide, wild eyes rolled back in exultation, pure ecstasy ¨C


    Then, as the shockwave of the whip¡¯s last reverberations faded, the eolastyr somehow hefted her by the broken, asymmetrical trident-horn. She hefted the dark unicorn, and shoved her back inside me.


    ¡°So much potential!¡± the demon said in a laughing voice. ¡°Oh, my child. I cannot believe she failed to bring you to fruition.¡±


    I screamed again.


    The contact was excruciating; strange; alien; and as effortless as always. Rejoining told me certain things instantly. Gilaela was still fey ¨C she hadn¡¯t been transformed somehow into a demon. I could still feel her rage, her desire to smash the demon before which we floated. And she was, as far as I was able to tell, still mine ¨C there wasn¡¯t any of that slightly off sensation I now associated with Zel. Yet¡­


    She was different.


    Part of the horn extending from my brow was visible to me now. It was nightshade-blue, tiny black sparks of unlight trickling from the triplicate points. What was more, my index finger on each hand had been transfigured into a black dagger, as thin and long as a dirk.


    Sharp as a dirk.


    Wizards were lashing out, trying to drive her away from me and Timesnatcher ¨C druids were working their healing ¨C the eolastyr spun in place, and I looked into her black eyes. Looked into them, knowing I was outmatched, outclassed in every conceivable way. We all were.


    I didn¡¯t stop, of course, swinging my new talons at her unbearably-smug face. They passed harmlessly through her weird white skin and she even nodded slowly to me in acknowledgement afterwards, as though she were aware of my resignation, my sudden change of heart.


    We lost the twins. We lost the element of surprise.


    We lost.

 Paying the Price pt1

    <h2>COBALT 7.8: PAYING THE PRICE</h2>


    ¡°Where have I been all these years? To see only the sin, never the sinner! How did I continue? Not even once did I truly see a face. Now? Now that¡¯s all I see! A decade of faces! So many names. So many memories. All washed away in the name of righteousness.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Ghost Interviews: the Assistant¡¯, to a Mrs. Mrin of Belton Bend


    Almost two minutes had passed by the time Netherhame and Zakimel figured out what had happened to the twins. The rest of us were three streets over, fighting her halfway up the Tower of the Lidless Sun, a minor fire-mage college. Some of the students had been forced to take an impromptu break from their Yearsend revelries (and, in some sad cases, Yearsend studies) when the twentieth-rank demon burst through the wall into their dormitory. Most fled, but some stayed and tried to fight despite their lack of preparations.


    The majority of those who stayed died, and we screamed at them to run, stop feeding her whip, taxing our healers¡¯ focus. We were already on the edge. Killstop, Timesnatcher, Starsight and Dimdweller had all been fixed after a concerted effort ¨C but apparently Doomspeaker, the old gnome diviner whose head had been smashed apart, was taking all of Sunspring and Petalclaw¡¯s attention, even just to keep her on this side of the shadowland. It didn¡¯t help that Copperbrow managed to get himself tangled in her flail at one point ¨C the small guy was a newbie to this kind of thing and was, so to speak, way out of his depth. While his courage shone through, he had no combat experience and his archmagery was still relatively new to him. Glimmer was having a hard time fixing him too, his little body having been exposed to the whip¡¯s devouring magic for longer than most.


    I was still struggling to keep a lid on Gilaela¡¯s anger before it got me killed ¨C certainly the infusion of spite, a kind of rarefied indignation, helped me concentrate my offensive skills. I was forming and thrusting out my force-blades with greater speed and strength than ever before, attacks that somehow managed to strike home on the odd occasion, slicing open the fur on her back, forearm, thigh¡­ There was a level of brutality to my actions that was only in part my own, a cold fire in my mind, guiding my hands. I wasn¡¯t possessed; this battle-frenzy was just one aspect of the power belonging to the dark unicorn with whom I was now joined ¨C the most useful aspect, right now, given that Gilaela¡¯s newly-transformed weaponry couldn¡¯t actually harm the demon.


    Whether I was fighting like a savage or not, I found I didn¡¯t care. The eolastyr deserved brutality. Finally, here was Dustbringer¡¯s slayer, a foe against whom I could marshal all my murderous instincts. I enjoyed lacerating her; I enjoyed fighting her. I just had to keep applying judicious amounts of satyr-reflexes to my situation, ensuring Gilaela¡¯s animosity didn¡¯t overwhelm my survival instincts. Once or twice I caught myself grinning and lowering my head when the eolastyr prepared to charge me, and had to forcefully remind myself to dart aside. The dormitory had plenty of cover, with its plethora of (now spell-shattered) furniture, its piles of broken internal walls.


    It didn¡¯t make me any less angry when Netherhame and Zakimel¡¯s reports came in. They¡¯d returned to the small room and curving corridor where we¡¯d waited with Orieg and Arxine. Shallowlie was missing, along with the twins. Kani had been found unconscious, far from the scene, covered in blood that was not her own ¨C blood whose origin the arch-diviner could not perceive. A few healing potions were used to get the cleric back up on her feet, and apparently she couldn¡¯t remember a thing.


    ¡°Heretics,¡± Em snarled over the link, shaping and reshaping wind elementals, hurling them towards our enemy.


    ¡°After everything we¡¯ve seen lately, I don¡¯t doubt it,¡± Timesnatcher said grudgingly. He was barraging the tigress in hail of spellbound daggers, thrown at ear-splitting speeds. The blades punctured her flesh, sinking in deep ¨C ankle, jaw, armpit ¨C then were spat back out again almost as quickly, leaving barely a clot of ichor matted in her two-tone fur, never mind a wound.


    ¡°This is all my fault,¡± Killstop muttered.


    I was about to reply in the negative, about to take on the burden as Irimar had told me I must ¨C but then the weight grew heavier, and even my mind-voice was left speechless.


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    Withertongue stepped up, the elf wizard pouring a cone of heated air at the demon, but when a whip-crack rang out her evasive action proved too little, too late ¨C the elf¡¯s delicate skeleton was stripped, and the tigress¡¯s claws scored through her spine at the fleshless neck, separating her head from her body.


    Dead, I knew, watching the spirit separate from the flesh, fade away.


    She didn¡¯t even do her the dignity of stealing her soul. Withertongue was, what, deemed too weak to bother with?


    And Everseer played me. Played both of us.


    Maybe she knew Tanra¡¯s name from the beginning, lulling me into a false sense of security. Maybe she knew there¡¯d be five of us, not four, to face the tigress a second time. Maybe she knew precisely where and when she would be able to kidnap Orieg and Arxine all along.


    When I recovered from the shockwave, my next spear went right through her back, through her heart, out the front of her feline chest.


    Pain. A second time. I saw the wince, the startlement crossing her face before she sprang away, pulling herself free of the force-spike.


    A whole gout of ichor hung there in the air for a moment, dripping from my invisible weapon, before a wind-blast from Stormsword scattered it, following up my attack with one of her own that smashed the wounded fiend into the wall ¨C


    Through the wall ¨C


    Then we were out in the air again, coursing after the arch-demon towards the next building ¨C she landed on a roof in a spray of tiles, rolled and came to her feet, leaping again ¨C


    She was still bleeding. It streamed behind her in the air as she fled us, black gobbets of liquid void-stuff.


    She hopped laterally off tower-walls and drove her unstoppable body through brick and stone, entering other structures and tearing through them ¨C she bounced from roof to roof, climbed impossible heights in the matter of seconds ¨C she cracked her whip, she screamed at us in defiance and tried to retaliate when we struck her.


    Yet we kept up. We hammered her together. The diviners were there but it was me and Em chasing her down. A wizard¡¯s aeromancy wasn¡¯t supposed to work properly on a demon like this, able to bend and twist through tornados without hassle, but Stormsword¡¯s fists of wind were powerful enough to buffet her, letting me work my own magic. Timesnatcher and Killstop were veritable fonts of ensorcelled daggers but it was me that was hurting her, me that was driving her on as she cut her way through Lower Tivertain¡¯s opulent buildings.


    Me that delivered the last blow, the one that caught her mid-leap and bisected her head, splitting her open from the space between her shoulder-blades to the crown of her weird scalp.


    Her hand shook as it raised the flail, a spasm of motion that betrayed the extent of her injury.


    And then suddenly the whip was in Tanra¡¯s hand, the frowning face looking down at the eolastyr in judgement as the demon fell.


    Fell hard, thanks to Em pushing her down, slamming her into the road.


    It only started to sink in as she toppled from the sky, landing with a resounding crash in the centre of a cobbled street full of wagons, that there were ordinary people around. It was Yearsend, meaning some areas were empty, but not so much that the events of the past five minutes had gone unnoticed by the general populace. Hundreds of victims of the tumult, some merely injured, some fading from this world, all of them moaning for aid; shivering crowds of onlookers with terrified eyes and high-pitched voices¡­


    I didn¡¯t care who was crying out, who was watching¡­ didn¡¯t care who cared.


    I was going to finish this right in front of them and if they wanted to look, that was their business.


    She¡¯d landed on her back, a dying tigress opened up in a perfect line. My spear had got her good. The eolastyr tried to use her claws to hold herself together, but it was futile at this point ¨C she looked like a disconsolate child pressing two halves of a broken toy together. I¡¯d cut her from her sternum, up through the middle of her sunken nostrils, between her black-hole eyes, splitting her forehead ¨C inside the yawning cavity between the two sides of her face, only darkness flowed, like a bottomless ocean of evil.


    Still, as I approached the scarlet shield flickered back into being. Timesnatcher¡¯s last knife was repelled, flying off to stick in a nearby wall.


    I sneered as I descended, and dismissed her shield with the wave of a hand, stealing away its essence for myself.


    ¡°A powerful eldritch, to be sure,¡± I scoffed.


    I drew out an axe-head from blue force-lines, reinforced it by habit, then double-reinforced it.


    I looked down at the broken white prism on the ground before me, the triangle of flesh that had been an arch-demon¡¯s face. The black eyes swam in the nothingness ¨C the clawed hands raised in a supplicating gesture ¨C the arms jerked spasmodically ¨C


    I understood the message, as only a sorcerer could:


    She would join me! Be mine. Be a slave.


    But I could never trust that again. Not from such as she.


    I shook my head softly, and when I said the words she surely knew were coming it was with every ounce of scorn, every shred of contempt I could muster.


    Which was hardly a meagre amount.


    ¡°Powerful, but not infinitely so.¡±


    Whatever she truly had in mind for me, it was close enough to ill-will.


    I let the axe-head fall, Em brought down the lightning, and the whip in Tanra¡¯s hand dissipated away.


    It was over.


    * * *

 Paying the Price pt2

    I lifted a half-ton boulder, flapping hard with my wings and straining with Em¡¯s flight-spell ¨C the satyr-strength could¡¯ve managed it if I had my feet on the ground but that was impossible up here. Some of the eolastyr¡¯s victims were pinned halfway up ruined towers like this one, towers whose upper levels had been constructed by wizards with little concern for ordinary physics. While I shifted the massive stone, my imps scurried beneath into the wreckage, working the three dying people free. I felt it would be in exceedingly bad taste to reanimate their dead friends for extra assistance in their recovery, so I did it the slightly-longer way.


    I had a modicum of care again, now that I was no longer under the subtle influence of my vampire. The influence of my newly-dark unicorn was far less subtle, and had likewise been dismissed ¨C until I could more thoroughly assess her condition¡­ until I had need of bladed index fingers that would be ineffective against evil creatures¡­


    Gilaela might¡¯ve been improved in the demon¡¯s eyes, but to me she¡¯d been powered-down, her usefulness dramatically decreased. If only that had been the sole price we¡¯d paid, it would¡¯ve been worth it. But we¡¯d lost Withertongue, someone I¡¯d only met a handful of times. I¡¯d hardly said fifty words to the elf in the months since we were introduced, yet a loss was a loss. We¡¯d already been low on wizards. And Vardae had gotten away with Orieg and Arxine¡­ This was a bleak day for our odds in future confrontations.


    It could¡¯ve been worse. Em could¡¯ve died, so easily¡­ Tanra almost did¡­ And what nearly happened to Timesnatcher¡­ It¡¯s all on my head.


    But the arch-demon died. We killed her, together.


    We lost the twins, we lost Withertongue. We lost several dozen innocent civilians, killed instantly by rubble or left to perish when the team of healers had been overwhelmed by the dying champions and arch-magisters.


    A fraction. A tiny, tiny fraction of what might¡¯ve been.


    She didn¡¯t even get one of our souls, I mused as my imps slid the last of the three crying people free of the debris. I carefully placed the massive block down where it wouldn¡¯t cause an avalanche and tapped my wraith-essence once more, easing my arm-muscles.


    When I let Avaelar out to heal their injuries, I floated there above them, light enough that I felt the cold breeze flowing through my flesh.


    Jaevette and another arch-druid bearing the Magisterium mark arrived to relieve me, and as I rejoined with my sylph and cast about I saw that it was done. Magisters were crawling all over everything, and officials from construction guilds were already on the scene, assessing everything with minions taking down their words. Most of the champions had left, returning to their homes, their families. I¡¯d just glyphed a message to Jaid and Jaroan to reassure them everything was okay, and continued helping the trapped. This kind of thing was as much my job as the demon-fighting. More, when it came down to it. The whole point of fighting the demons, the darkmages, Evil in all its varied forms, was to save lives. Wasn¡¯t it?


    Whether it was just the string of failures and defeats that culminated in an empty victory, or something one of my eldritches had infected me with ¨C I wasn¡¯t feeling the joy in saving lives today. The victory hadn¡¯t felt empty when it was actually happening. Evening had fallen, and I¡¯d dismissed my vampire and unicorn for fear they were causing me harm of the less-easily discerned kind¡­ psychic, mental harm¡­ but even without their malign presences within my body I felt disconnected. I was acting mechanically.


    I wanted her back. I wanted to smash her out of the sky like that again.


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    Damn it, I growled, reliving the fateful moments in my memory.


    My eyes met Em¡¯s across the debris-littered streets. She was wrapped in her storm, floating over the ruins to survey the scene like me. Her eyes were radiant, cobalt fire crackling in her irises, visible at a distance of a hundred feet even without my vampire¡¯s sight.


    I approached her ¨C she looked over at me as I neared her.


    ¡°You feel it too?¡± she asked me.


    I nodded, wordless.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of zis place,¡± she said, seeming to suppress a shudder.


    I shook my head, then, unable to help myself, gripped her about the waist and pulled her into my arms. She lost her breath in surprise at the suddenness of my motion, but she closed her eyes in submission, crushing herself to me ¨C our lips met, and the fire that had been in her eyes was on her tongue, her energy consuming me from within, the passion scorching every facet of my being.


    We weren¡¯t so far from Treetown, not the way we flew, frenzied in the throes of the kiss that took us up, far beyond the gaze of those below. We were there in our secluded spot within a couple of minutes, long seconds of intensity, of craving, of purifying hunger and biting desire such that I didn¡¯t even notice when we arrived, not until she started pulling off my mask.


    This time, I knew ¨C I knew what she had felt after the battle at the library. I knew the desire, the blood-heat, the battle-lust. We fought the eolastyr together. We killed her, together. It was me now, and I was it. I would never be the same again.


    Evening passed into night, and I didn¡¯t go home, didn¡¯t go to see Jaid and Jaroan before the Mourning Bells started ringing.


    * * *


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    I¡¯d been slumbering, Em sleeping with her head on my chest, warm despite the mountain wind rippling through the trees¡¯ branches. As the discordant pealing reached my ears I jolted awake ¨C Em raised her head and I sat up.


    ¡°I swear,¡± I growled, fumbling for my clothing, ¡°I am never going to sleep again.¡±


    ¡°She must have triggered something!¡± Em snapped, as though suddenly angry at one or both of us, pulling on her robe. ¡°Vot did ve miss?¡±


    ¡°A thousand things ¨C one thing ¨C it doesn¡¯t matter now, does it?¡± I retorted, standing up, locating my mask. ¡°A dropping Incursion. An Incursion, on Yearsend¡­ If they dare go near Mud Lane again ¨C¡°


    ¡°Kas!¡± She pulled out her glyphstone.


    Rather than wait for her to finish and make her give me a summary, I thought it would save time and energy to just retrieve my own.


    I held it up, and was treated to a view of Zakimel. He was standing before a fireplace in what looked very much like a house ¨C his house? It was definitely no Maginox chamber, for once. The mantelpiece behind him was bereft of all ornament, save two extremely expensive-looking crystal decanters, both empty. The old diviner looked weary beyond measure, even more unkempt than the last time I saw him ¨C but he was still going. None of his fatigue showed in his voice.


    ¡°All champions,¡± he began, waiting a heartbeat before continuing, ¡°we have multiple breaches in at least three locations. Preliminary scryings suggest the eolastyr¡¯s former servants were sequestered about the city, waiting for the signal to begin, and her early demise may have moved up the time-table. Expect the typical levels of disorder. We make out a minimum of four summoners at Hidebent Square in Hightown, four at the Greybridge in Rivertown, and two at the Treetown Gate. The Magisterium bids you battle hard, and good luck. Ismethyl and Yune be with us all.¡°


    The very instant he started to lower his glyphstone, a vision of Timesnatcher started to come through.


    ¡°Feychilde and Stormsword¡­ I¡¯m assigning you both to the Greybridge. Gods know you work well together¡­ I realise you¡¯re closer to the Treetown Gate but they¡¯re really going to need you down there. Glancefall will be looking out to link you. Good luck.¡±


    I blinked away the trance, lowered my own stone, and looked at Em.


    Timesnatcher had extended his apology, even if he hadn¡¯t come out and said it. Just acknowledging me and Em ¡®worked well¡¯ together ¨C it was enough for me, for now. Enough to tell me he was on my side.


    Stormsword met my gaze, and the electric fire in her eyes reignited.


    ¡°The Magisterium didn¡¯t contradict his orders?¡± I asked, feeling an awful, hollow excitement bubble up within me.


    She just shook her head.


    Why was it that I almost wanted to smile? Why was it that she looked like she was fighting back her own urge to loose her wolfish grin?


    We flew south, riding the tails of the thunder-wave she unleashed before us, as if sending the demons a warning, a condemnation, a prophecy of their doom.


    * * *

 Paying the Price pt3

    ¡°At least it¡¯s not as bad as it could¡¯ve been,¡± I said to Glancefall and the others, while I gestured at a gang of loping creatures, stealing the allegiance of a dozen demons I didn¡¯t know the powers of and sending them against their former comrades. ¡°If we¡¯d given her more time to prepare, who¡¯s to know how many more locations might¡¯ve been hit?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not count our demons till they¡¯ve been summoned, please,¡± Doomspeaker chided me gently. The tiny blurred form of the arch-diviner went spinning like a bladed wheel through a clot of imps, spraying their body-parts all around.


    ¡°I won¡¯t argue with that,¡± I replied.


    Our foes had opened their portals inside the central support structure of the longest bridge in Mund, secreted in the hidden stony hollows beneath the river¡¯s surface. Presumably the eolastyr had visited the site at some point in the last forty-eight hours, bringing with her sufficient blood-sources ¨C sufficient captives ¨C to maintain a number of summoners once the Incursion began. The pedestrians and wagoners following the Hill Road all crossed the Greywater here, the river¡¯s cold waters shouting along in the darkness beneath their feet and the hooves of the horses. Drunken revellers cargo-carriers, strolling families and store-suppliers ¨C the lot of them were taken unawares when a horde of gibbering fiends came erupting up through the central struts of the bridge, pouring along it in either direction, killing and consuming everything in their paths.


    Doomspeaker was already here before we arrived, and the wizened old gnome had taken charge of the situation, organising a team of champions at each end of the Greybridge, halting the demons¡¯ progress. She coordinated with the closest magister-bands, ensuring those who could be healed were transferred into the care of the druids and the local priests who¡¯d turned out to help. Rudimentary shields had been constructed by sorcerers of a decidedly non-archmage persuasion; I could¡¯ve toppled them with less than a thought.


    It was no matter. When Feychilde and Stormsword arrived, arrowing down from the north, everything changed.


    A wave of bigger, better demons smashed through the front ranks on this end of the bridge, as flight-spells lifted all our magister and champion allies into the air. The two of us continued past, taking the fight right into the heart of the spawn, to the four summoners at the middle of the Greybridge, surrounded by powered-up obbolomin.


    A gangly stick-man, the nabburatiim. One of the agonised entrail-men, the atiimogrix. But two of the fiends I didn¡¯t know the names of. There was an imp, large for his kind at two feet tall; he wore a black robe covered in red stars, a tiny jewel-topped staff in his clawed hand. More impressive was a huge yellowing skull, hovering atop a pillar of fire and cackling away as it scorched everything it passed over, leaving rings of crimson light in its wake. It was roughly the size of the main room of my apartment, its vacant eye-sockets big enough to swallow a child whole, never mind its chattering maw.


    I stole the loyalty of all of them save for the skull, and suddenly the tide of fiends was cut off. While I whittled away chips of bone from the floating head, using my new host of infantry as much as my force-blades to effect as much damage as possible, Em helped at the southern end of the bridge, disintegrating whole crowds of hellspawn with bolt after bolt of explosive energy.


    In five minutes we were done, moving on.


    The demons at Treetown Gate had been dealt with by the time we finished, apparently thanks in large part to the brave sacrifice of numerous mage-guards, but when we arrived at Hidebent Square in central Hightown reports started to come in from Danamir Row, from the shrine of Kultemeren in western Sticktown, from Openway in North Lowtown¡­


    On Danamir Row I ran into Ciraya, mounted on Fe. What she was doing here instead of in Sticktown, I was unsure, but that paled into insignificance when placed beside the fact she was fighting at all. She¡¯d been given the night off, at least, to sit with Arithos while she recovered ¨C I¡¯d talked to Zakimel about that personally after the eolastyr¡¯s death, and he¡¯d been very happy to concede my argument. What the young sorceress had done, even if we¡¯d failed to steal the whip until it was too late ¨C it had taken more guts than anything I¡¯d seen from someone without archmagery or god-power at their fingertips.


    I supposed that answered my question as to why she was out on the streets giving it back to the demons. I merely saluted her as I went past, and made her task a little easier by ensnaring a choice handful of her nearby targets, selecting only the strongest.


    At one point of the night I flew over Phanar, Kani, Ibbalat and Anathta as they made their way along a Treetown lane. They¡¯d engaged the demons somewhere or other, going off the damaged armour strapped to Phanar¡¯s horse, the stains of hellish ichor on their cloaks. I couldn¡¯t stop to chat, having been sent on an urgent errand by Timesnatcher to trap a lone summoner whose location had come to him in a vision¡­ but as I exchanged a brief shouted set of pleasantries (and endured a dose of Annoythta¡¯s biting wit) I very much got the impression from Kani¡¯s demeanour that she wasn¡¯t going to let me off lightly regarding Orieg and Arxine¡¯s abandonment.


    ¡°Goodbye, sorcerer,¡± was the only thing the cleric chose to say to me, and it would¡¯ve sounded ominous had it been anyone else speaking. Her voice was passionless, uncaring.


    It did bother me, till my sorcerous senses found the summoner and the imps it had brought through into the idyllic forest grove. I got stuck inside my pentagonal shield by the biggest eldritch, my force-barriers all wrapped up in black tendrils that refused to stay cut when I slashed them. It took me at least ten minutes to get the demon under my control ¨C the thing was like one of those octopus-creatures, except instead of eight tail-arm things it had somewhere around eight-hundred¡­ and it was the tendrils, possessing no head, no face, no features other than the inky coils. It didn¡¯t trigger on my sorcerous senses. Surely assassin-class.


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    Once I snagged the big critter ¨C gods above, it had to be at least eighth rank, the way it weighed in my sorcerous belly ¨C snagging the summoner was easy. The culprit was just another one of those rolling hair-balls with a rusty tree on top, and aside from the octopus-demon it had only summoned demonoids. There were a fair few of them, but those I couldn¡¯t extend my power over got handily destroyed by those I could.


    Two hours later, I was back with Em and we were at a place known as Shinglemoss of which I¡¯d never heard before, a rocky beach on the Greywater not so far from the Greybridge where we¡¯d started. I¡¯d rejoined with the vampire to help me hunt down the water-dwelling demons that were using the beach as a landing-ground, and with his perceptions I could make out the towering span of the bridge in the distance, not even smouldering now.


    I had to focus. We were being overwhelmed; the wizards¡¯ water elementals and my new octopus couldn¡¯t stop them all and there were oh so many. The magisters and watchmen moving through the houses behind us were understaffed, having trouble evacuating so many people at such short notice. Until help arrived, we were the bottleneck preventing a massacre. Me, Em and Copperbrow were mowing through wave after wave of the slimy creatures as they were pulling themselves up onto the rocky embankment, but my fortifications were bending under the pressure of hundreds of attacks, and that was when I felt it.


    The shudder of a shield going down.


    I frowned, confused. It took me a moment to pinpoint the source of the disturbance. I knew it wasn¡¯t the shield around me ¨C I would¡¯ve been able to feel the gradual effect of attrition if something successfully chewed through the barriers that were fixed to me. I cast about ¨C it wasn¡¯t the shields I¡¯d put on either of the wizards ¨C


    Was it the one I¡¯d put on Doomspeaker earlier? No¡­ it was¡­ older¡­


    I looked north-east, towards home. In even the two seconds I faltered, forgetting to form and swing my force-blades, my outermost shield wavered and disappeared, broken by the renewed assault.


    I didn¡¯t care. I ¨C


    Again. It happened again, and I knew.


    Something was taking down the sorcerous protections around my home ¨C around the twins ¨C


    ¡°Twins!¡± I cried aloud, launching myself into the sky, leaving my flickering structures of shielding behind for the others. I looked back ¨C


    ¡°Which ones?¡± Em shouted, her lightning-sword splitting eight or nine demons in two at one swing; the fiends that¡¯d been warring with each other for a spot at the front surged forwards over their leaking corpses.


    I gazed back at her, fighting for her life against a whole legion of eldritches. Her grimacing face was never more beautiful, more determined. Her platinum hair streamed free of her hood on one side of her face, and her tempest-wind whipped at her robe as she wielded white fire.


    Don¡¯t die, Em, I thought to myself, rapidly flying away from her. Already the shields about her were failing. Don¡¯t die. Not again.


    I¡¯m sorry.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± she yelled over the link.


    ¡°My twins,¡± I replied grimly.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I was out of range to hear her replies, answer her questions. I asked for everyone listening to find out what was going on around Helbert¡¯s Bend, but my glyphstone never lit up as I flew, never rang out to signal a scrap of information, or a reassurance that back-up would be on its way.


    None of us had died tonight as far as I knew, save for Withertongue at the eolastyr¡¯s hands; but the magistry and watch weren¡¯t the only ones short of a few hands. In truth we were stretched woefully thin. We needed a new crop of archmages to take up the mantle of champion. We needed less darkmages. Had we been too successful lately? Had we stopped people from thinking we needed them to step up? Or had we failed them too often, drove them away from joining our ranks with our ineptitude, our inability to protect them?


    I was unable to protect the twins. Our loss of Orieg and Arxine to the heretics should¡¯ve been a warning sign to me, but I let it slip me by, and now it was my twins, Jaid and Jaroan in peril¡­


    Again.


    How is it that they¡¯ve come to Helbert¡¯s Bend, twice in a row¡­?


    It could only be the work of a cold intellect, a master orchestrator. Surely the tigress had been able to discern my identity, especially with the way I¡¯d been exposed in Sticktown yesterday¡­ Was this something the eolastyr had put in place especially for me? Did she know in advance it would be my hand that dealt her the death-blow?


    And a tiny part of my mind whispered, Could it be that she¡¯s already returned from the Twelve Hells?


    I was doing anything, desperately clutching at straws in order to distract myself from the horrible truth ¨C the shields were all down. I¡¯d felt them collapse, one by one. There was nothing left. I would fly close to my home and I would be able to feel their corpses before I saw them, be able to touch ¨C


    No.


    Sylph-wings had never propelled me faster. Wizard-flight and wraith-form only increased my velocity. There was an insurgency inside my soul, and I didn¡¯t know the shape of the creature that would win. That would claim my flesh and thoughts and identity. The thing that would be Kas, when it was all over.


    I heard the air itself screeching in protest as I barrelled down at Mud Lane; satyr-reflexes alone let me approximate the right time to come to a stop, and even then I overshot it, moving like a ghost through the wall into my apartment.


    Yes, I felt the death, the not-quite-dead bodies, but not until I was already inside the main room, floating near the door. Not until I could see it with my own eyes.


    And it wasn¡¯t what I expected. Nothing so banal as a demon. Nothing so easily-overcome as a target I could shred to pieces without a second thought. Not something I could¡¯ve imagined, even in my nightmares. I¡¯d dreamt of many dark and dreadful things since that fateful day when Tyr Kayn was exposed, when Shadowcloud died, when I tried to kill Zel¡­


    Never anything half as bad as this.


    ¡°You!¡± I panted for air.


    I didn¡¯t even have anything beyond my reinforced circle active. He was at the far side of the room, armoured in three shields, their reinforcements heavier than mine, the outer barrier bristling with blades. He had the advantage, in every conceivable way.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he replied, the Rivertown accent thick, voice deep for someone who had to be my age at most. He grinned wickedly ¨C I could make out the movements of the arch-sorcerer¡¯s chin despite his cowl¡¯s folds. It was dark, almost pitch black in here, but the open eyes in the room could all see perfectly well. ¡°And you. Kastyr Mortenn.


    ¡°You killed Fintwyna, Kastyr Mortenn. And now the Liberator of Zadhal himself gets to know just how it feels.¡±


    * * *

 Paying the Price pt4

    Ilitar and Haspophel. Three other mages I didn¡¯t know. All dead. Zakimel or someone must¡¯ve picked up my message, must¡¯ve sent them ahead of me.


    My fault.


    But the others were still with me. The important ones. I could save them. I would save them. I had no idea what power he¡¯d used to subdue them, but their breathing was regular, sounding all-too-comfortable in their gentle snoring.


    ¡°It¡¯s b-been a very long day ¨C¡° I started.


    He laughed, barking so loud I couldn¡¯t continue. His five wight-magisters, arrayed behind him in a line, snapped out their own hollow, Netheric laughter as if to echo him.


    ¡°Can you shut the drop up, you stuck-up fool?¡± he spat. ¡°Vaahn¡¯s nails! Can you shut the drop up now?¡±


    He lowered a demonic claw towards Xastur¡¯s unprotected, sleeping face, resting it tenderly on the little boy¡¯s cheek.


    I shut up.


    He¡¯d thrown aside the table, the benches, and had piled their slumbering bodies atop one another, like he was stacking a fire, in criss-cross fashion ¨C Xantaire and Orstrum on the bottom, then the twins across them, with Xastur spread-eagled over Jaid and Jaroan¡¯s legs.


    The foot-long, unclean-looking talon poised on Xastur¡¯s soft flesh was so sharp, so malign in nature¡­ if the heretic even so much as slipped¡­ the child might die¡­


    ¡°Yeah, you sure got a lot of crummy books in here, champion. Not the interestin¡¯ kind. Where¡¯d you keep your spellbooks?¡±


    I shrugged, not taking my eyes off his three huge talons.


    He cocked his head, rolled his shoulders, and a little trickle of blood ran down the side of Xastur¡¯s face.


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    ¡°Fine!¡± I gasped. ¡°I have ¨C is that why you¡¯re here? My books? I can give ¨C¡°


    ¡°I already told you why I was here. Try to keep up, fool. I¡¯m here to do to you what you did to me.¡±


    His barriers¡¯ latticeworks were structurally perfect, the result of a sorcerer bent on his task to the exclusion of all else. He¡¯d improved in his shieldcraft, since we last met.


    I had no doubt, none at all, that he would be quite capable of killing them all before I could get to him, even if I brought everything I could call upon into the fray.


    ¡°I k-keep my s-spellbooks in th-th¡­¡±


    He sighed, and I fell silent, cringing.


    Zel. Zel, come back. I need you, Zelurra. B-bondswoman¡­


    But it didn¡¯t work, couldn¡¯t work. She would never heed my summons again.


    Never be there to save us, like she always had before.


    Gilaela. She was my wild card. It might¡¯ve been that she couldn¡¯t do anything to the shields in her transformed state ¨C but I had to try.


    ¡°Move that finger again,¡± he growled. ¡°Move it, and I move mine.¡±


    He did it anyway, slitting open Xastur¡¯s face.


    No no no no no no no¡­


    I watched the blood trickle down past Xassy¡¯s ear, and I slowly changed. Considering the enormity of the change, it was quick, actually, but it felt slow.


    ¡°You realise what happens if you kill them,¡± I heard my voice saying in a dead monotone.


    ¡°I die at your hands.¡± He barked laughter again, his chorus of wights following suit. ¡°Do you think that bothers me? Does dying bother you? Really?¡± His chin dipped a fraction, as if he indicated my champion¡¯s garb. ¡°You thought you could just come out with your identity, right? You thought you could pay the price alone. But that¡¯s never true, is it?¡±


    I stopped myself mid-shrug, blinked away my tears and stared at him.


    ¡°You want to know? Really?¡± I caught myself sneering. ¡°You say you want to teach me the meaning of loss? How did you get your powers, eh? Aren¡¯t you like me? Aren¡¯t we the same ¨C weren¡¯t we from the moment we ¨C¡°


    ¡°Enough!¡± he roared. ¡°We¡¯re nothin¡¯ alike! You killed her!¡±


    ¡°I have never,¡± I said, then choked.


    ¡®Never killed anyone,¡¯ I was going to say. But that wasn¡¯t true, was it?


    The magisters Everseer slew when I let her go.


    The magisters here, right in front of me, victims of my self-centredness, Haspophel and Ilitar¡¯s pale faces judging me.


    Wyre and his cronies. Em¡¯s hand dealt the stroke, but the malice in it was my own.


    ¡°You killed her,¡± he hissed with finality. ¡°You must pay! The price is blood ¨C always in blood!¡±


    He brought back his claw with savage speed, strength, the motion a blur. The three rusty talons glinted.


    There were unknown eldritches inside him. When he struck my family, he would likely kill them all in a single blow.


    And there was nothing, nothing whatsoever I could do to stop him.

 The Saviour pt1

    <h2>COBALT 7.9: THE SAVIOUR</h2>


    ¡°You are trapped in this instant and you do not know why. You know only that you must escape. And that knowledge is all that traps you. Do not listen to the voices; it matters not what they say. All of them will lead you only downwards. No. It is the silence you need to heed. I hereby leave the next page blank for you to fill with your thoughts. Do not be too quick to turn it!¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 12:18-26


    ¡°Kill them, and Cullimo dies.¡±


    The words were incongruously harsh, given the delicacy of his voice. He must¡¯ve been a crawling thing on the floor or ceiling; whatever his shape, I hadn¡¯t noticed his entrance in the darkness. The druid took his human form right behind me, on the edge of my circle. He was backing me up, facing down his fellow heretic without the slightest tremor in his voice.


    ¡°Nighteye,¡± I choked. The word alone was a prayer of heartfelt gratitude.


    But what was this he was saying?


    ¡°Cull¡­¡± It was the sorcerer¡¯s turn to shudder, and his focus on his shields wavered momentarily, causing his force-blades to wobble chaotically. He still had his claw raised. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t do it. Y-you ¨C¡°


    ¡°I did it like she told me to,¡± the druid replied smoothly. ¡°You were right, about paying the price alone. I introduced a poison into his bloodstream through his food this afternoon. Ithilya¡¯s diviners couldn¡¯t see it, her druids couldn¡¯t sense it. It¡¯s already over. Unless¡­¡± Nighteye reached into his bedraggled robe, retrieving a small glass tube, a gelatinous fluid like glittering honey contained within. ¡°Unless you give him this specific elixir. You wouldn¡¯t have long, either.¡±


    ¡°He killed Fintwyna!¡±


    Despite his vehement response, the sorcerer lowered his claw, bit by bit.


    ¡°No, he didn¡¯t,¡± Nighteye said in a chiding tone. ¡°Vardae explained everything. She won¡¯t let you get to Uwaine, and I won¡¯t let you get to Kas either. Deal with it.¡±


    Uwaine? I thought. Could that be Winterprince¡¯s name?


    I had to admit to myself, though ¨C I liked this new, assertive Nighteye.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ bluffing.¡± My enemy¡¯s voice was strangled now.


    The druid pulled back his hood, making his sad, sincere expression visible to both of us. ¡°I wish I were, Aramas. I¡­ I¡¯m sorry. She, hm¡­ she said this was how I ¨C how I would¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Theor,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± the heretic shrieked. ¡°How, then? What d¡¯ you want?¡±


    ¡°Relinquish your shields over Kas¡¯s family. Stand aside. I¡¯ll let you take the elixir to him.¡±


    ¡°Swear by Vaahn!¡±


    ¡°I swear,¡± the druid whispered.


    ¡°No ¨C no, say his name!¡± the sorcerer roared.


    ¡°I swear¡­¡± Nighteye licked his lips, ¡°by Grandfather Vaahn.¡±


    I ground my teeth, hearing the vile sound uttered by the champion.


    The heretic ¨C Aramas ¨C slowly reduced his shields, one by one, until the blades surmounted his personal circle. He banished his quintet of wights and stepped away from my loved ones.


    I circled around the room, moving at a snail¡¯s pace to mirror him, stepping over one of the cast-aside benches to ensure our force-lines didn¡¯t come close to contact.


    The moment my shields were over the stacked-up pile of sleeping people, I shrugged out Avaelar. I pressed a healing potion into the sylph¡¯s hands and had him check Xastur over for anything I couldn¡¯t perceive, while keeping my eyes on the others: Aramas was reaching out for the contents of Nighteye¡¯s hand.


    There were more things I could do, now ¨C many more. I could summon a thousand things to hold him tight while I flayed him¡­ wrap him in my new octopus¡­ Or I could rip and tear at him with my black talons¡­ test Gilaela¡¯s eolastyr-derived augmentations on his flesh¡­ Perhaps he had a regenerative quality that would permit him to endure a whole sequence of deaths¡­ I could kill him a dozen ways, if I was lucky¡­


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°And we¡¯re supposed to just let him go?¡± I growled as he took the phial from Nighteye. ¡°Let him try again, another time and place? He needs to die!¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t try,¡± Nighteye said plainly. ¡°He can¡¯t. And I¡¯d like to speak to my friend, to Kas, not this vampire, thank you.¡±


    The sad, almost elvish eyes were turned towards me in the gloom.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    Of course ¨C he¡¯s right. My knees started to knock suddenly.


    Nighteye looked back at Aramas and nodded, stepping away from him towards me, while I just floundered in shock.


    The arch-sorcerer wasn¡¯t looking back at Nighteye ¨C his face was centred on me still, the baleful glare burning into me, my vampiric senses going berserk.


    Then, still staring daggers at me, he utilised a power I¡¯d never seen before. It was somewhat similar to a mizelikon: waves of shadow were rippling over him from his head to his toes, giving his body the quality of smoke. As though he were enwraithed, he turned aside and disappeared through the wall, leaving an after-image that hung there briefly in the air before it dissipated.


    I flung the vampire out of me, then sent it back to the shadowland in a burst of amethyst mist. Freed of its influence, I almost sobbed, looking down in the darkness at my loved ones, piled as sacrifices¡­


    I could tell from Avaelar¡¯s demeanour that they were all going to be okay.


    I couldn¡¯t help myself ¨C my body took over and it threw itself at Nighteye, as he¡¯d thrown himself at me several hours ago. I held onto him, and I wept.


    So close¡­ they were so close¡­


    ¡°You,¡± I gasped, ¡°you ¨C¡°


    I couldn¡¯t even muster the wherewithal to thank him properly, but he seemed to understand. With what must¡¯ve been excruciating gentleness, given his strength, he patted me on the back.


    Then after a few moments the embarrassment came over me and I released him, looking aside, scowling in self-directed scorn.


    ¡°W-what was I thinking?¡± I moaned, pulling off my mask and pawing at my face with the heel of my hand. ¡°Stupid stupid stupid!¡±


    ¡°Vardae¡¯s got our back,¡± he replied. The new confidence was there in his voice again.


    I shook my head. ¡°There¡¯ll be more. He won¡¯t be the last, and she won¡¯t stop them all. I just ¨C I didn¡¯t realise ¨C¡°


    The champions whose identities are public¡­ they don¡¯t have people like this. Sure, threatening to kill any innocent is going to bring any champion to their knees. But threatening to kill their loved ones, it¡¯s going to break a champion in two.


    Break me in two¡­


    We are all broken, came my own voice from months back, winging its way down the corridors of my memory, causing me to shudder again.


    ¡°Is it our fate?¡± I asked bitterly. ¡°It¡¯s a curse, power. I ¨C I thought it was a blessing in disguise, but it¡¯s not. It¡¯s really a curse, isn¡¯t it? All the way through¡­¡±


    I remembered my life before all this. How selfish was I? To drag them into this? All of them, victims not of heretics, not of criminals ¨C victims of me¡­ Sure, I saved a bunch of lives ¨C but why did I get to choose those innocents over these? Xantaire never volunteered her son¡¯s life for his place as collateral in my arrogant games. And at its core, wasn¡¯t it just that I wanted this? ¨C the excitement? I wanted to be standing here, making life-or-death decisions, dancing on the razor¡¯s edge that threatened in every moment to topple me into darkness.


    I¡¯d read too many books, envied too many false heroes, and emulated the legends as they were passed down by word of mouth. I had acted throughout as though, because I was invincible, nothing could ever touch me. The truth was the exact opposite.


    A curse.


    Nighteye was nodding, his expression still sorrowful as he sighed in resignation and pulled up his hood, hiding his face once more.


    ¡°She made you kill a horse, and, now, you kill a human for her ¨C¡°


    ¡°No, Kas,¡± he said, turning away towards the apartment door. ¡°I was bluffing.¡±


    He moved towards the exit, putting out his hand to grip the edge of the slightly-ajar door.


    ¡°Then, Vardae might kill you for that,¡± I warned him.


    ¡°She¡¯s not evil, Kas. She told me I could bluff, if I wanted.¡±


    She did, did she?


    He was still heading outside, swinging the door open.


    This is the time to save him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve always known best, Nighteye. Always. But you must know she¡¯s indulging you, just to bring you deeper into her trust. You can stop now. Before you do it for real. One day you¡¯ll look back at tonight and you won¡¯t even be able to remember why you didn¡¯t. Then you¡¯ll be lost forever.¡°


    He froze right on the threshold, silhouetted against the dreary light of Mud Lane. His head was bowed, and voice was low when he replied, not turning.


    ¡°I always wanted to kill them, Kas. My father, my brothers¡­ And I could do it. It would be so easy. I¡¯ve seen it, a thousand ways, a million times¡­ Vardae even sh-showed them to me. But I ¨C I think I¡¯m not going to. I think I¡¯m¡­ g-going to go.¡±


    ¡°Go?¡±


    ¡°Away. From Mund. From everything. I can ¨C¡°


    A hollow boom far above Mud Lane fills me with sudden, unspeakable horror.


    Another voice, a single word, comes down as if from a goddess beyond the skies, louder than thunder, flooding the lane with light:


    ¡°No!¡±


    I don¡¯t even see the stroke of her lightning-blade ¨C only the shining line of radiance that is burned into my vision after it passes through his spine at the base of the skull, biting clean through the walls on either side of him too.


    There is no fountain of blood, no spray ¨C the wound is perfectly cauterised, the action perfectly irreversible.


    Nighteye¡¯s head doesn¡¯t roll, but lands with a dull smack then sits there, at rest inside the smouldering hood.


    * * *

 The Saviour pt2

    His body, still standing, begins to tremble.


    I stare, shivering, and I watch his ghost, twisting in the nethernal wind.


    The body collapses ¨C the ghost becomes transparent inside a tornado, a vortex of inevitability ¨C


    I watch him go, go for good, and feel the change as his flesh cries out to me, cries out for the sick half-life I can restore to it ¨C a headless zombie ¨C


    ¡°No!¡± I cry back at her out there, lunging forwards, far too late to do anything except catch the corpse before it suffers the same ignominy as his head.


    I lower him to the floor with all the respect such a mutilated corpse deserves, and when I look back up she is there, right there, floating just off the balcony.


    I see the anger in her eyes and I mirror it by instinct.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I shriek.


    ¡°Me? What? Kas!¡± She doesn¡¯t understand, but she¡¯s still angry ¨C more angry ¨C offended at my words. ¡°We fought the demons ¨C while ¨C what, Kas? I thought you were saving them? What is zis? Look at you! Get avay from it!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Nighteye!¡± I said, starting to get myself under control. ¡°Nighteye! You killed Nighteye, Em! He¡¯s dead.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she muttered. ¡°What? No, no, zat can¡¯t be right, zere is no ¨C¡°


    I unleashed gremlin-light from my hand, illuminating the room, the corpse ¨C


    The shadowed face wasn¡¯t quite free of the hood, but she could see the hair. It was enough to shut her up.


    ¡°You killed him, and he just saved them. He was going to leave Mund, he wasn¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°He voz a heretic!¡± she screamed at me. ¡°Vot ¨C what are you? Kas!¡±


    The desperation in her voice sliced my soul.


    ¡°Ze book¡­¡± The words were wrung from her; she spoke breathily, as though her insides were contorting in panic. ¡°He told me ¨C zis morning ¨C he should¡¯ve never have let you have ze book¡­¡±


    I saw the tears coursing down her cheeks, streaming behind the phoenix-mask.


    ¡°Em ¨C¡±


    A flash of colour and a gust of super-charged air announced Tanra¡¯s arrival. The seeress was crouching beside Theor¡¯s body, looking down on him.


    I could hear Killstop¡¯s whimpering through the frowning mask.


    ¡°Oh ¨C oh no,¡± she moaned. ¡°Why? How did this happen, Kas? Why didn¡¯t I see it?¡±


    ¡°Everseer sent him,¡± I said, ¡°to save them. Save me from it.¡± I grated out the remainder: ¡°Don¡¯t you see. It¡¯s all over now.¡±


    ¡°She saw it, then,¡± Tanra mumbled. ¡°She could¡¯ve come herself. She gave him a death-sentence.¡± She turned, the frown coming to centre on me ¨C her eyes were shining through the slits. ¡°She did this to us.¡±


    ¡°I understand now,¡± Em intoned.


    That quiet, untrembling voice was dreadful to my ears.


    I looked back up at her, and she was drawing away from the balcony, surrounding herself in a nimbus of light.


    ¡°Both of you, is it? How voz it I could have been so blind? You vere vith her, veren¡¯t you? Last night.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t hold myself to the lie. I lowered my head in defeat.


    Killstop blurred to her feet, daggers appearing in her hands, then froze ¨C


    ¡°No,¡± Em said, moving farther away again. ¡°You should know zat I have removed your flight-spells. You cannot stop me from leaving.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that,¡± Killstop growled.


    ¡°Tanra, no!¡± I snapped, putting out my arm as if to restrain her.


    Like I could restrain her.


    ¡°There¡¯s a way to stop you without killing you; you know I would never do that, Storm!¡± the seeress continued in a more-measured tone. ¡°You don¡¯t need to tell them about this. You don¡¯t need any of this. There are ways I can help you¡­¡±


    The wizard floated there, incandescent, below the spans and walkways of Mud Lane. People were coming out of their doors and opening their windows to watch, even though the Mourning Bells were still ringing.


    I didn¡¯t like it, this sudden pause, and I didn¡¯t trust Tanra not to attack Em. Even if Stormsword were trying to make it difficult for her, an arch-diviner of Killstop¡¯s calibre could at least throw a knife, do her some harm¡­


    Surreptitiously, I spread my shields across the space, so as to encompass both of them. Any violent will would hurl her out of its area, while keeping Em protected ¨C


    When my outer shield repelled Em, I instantly realised my mistake.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I cried, throwing out my hands in what I intended as a gesture of peace ¨C how was I to know she was already harbouring ill-will?


    It must¡¯ve looked to her like I was trying to attack her with force-blades, because she drew away a few feet from my barrier, doubled her fists, and levelled her arms straight at me.


    The white fire she sent tearing through my defences was as strong as I¡¯d ever encountered. If she¡¯d hit Winterprince with this, he¡¯d have been steam on the wind.


    Each barrier fell, taking longer and longer to buckle as she penetrated deeper into my shapes ¨C until at last only the circle, triangle and square remained to cover me and Killstop standing beside me.


    Stolen story; please report.


    The white light was a furious column of pure heat, and, in combination with the pressure of maintaining the shield, sweat sprung out on my brow almost instantly.


    ¡°Do you want me to fight her?¡± Killstop asked in a low voice, hard to hear under the billowing of the wizardry.


    ¡°What?¡± I asked her, panicked. ¡°No! She ¨C¡°


    ¡°I won¡¯t kill her. I promise. She will be healed afterwards. We can bind her. Talk to her.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    Em supports the Magisterium. She makes excuses for those who fed her and clothed her and gave her a purpose.


    Those who sprinkle the seed of men in the mud and let the woebegotten fester there, misshapen and ignored. Those whose boot is upon every throat, of every creed and race and kind, save for their own.


    She believes in death. She will never stop killing.


    She killed Nighteye.


    And at some point, at her side, I¡¯ll do it too. I¡¯ll kill. Then one day, I¡¯ll even wear the smile while I do it, like a badge of honour.


    I¡¯ll be lost, like I warned, warned Nighteye, warned Theor before, before she ¨C


    ¡°Too late,¡± Tanra murmured ¨C and at the very next instant, Em gave up her attack, frustrated by the time it was taking to chew through my shield; she whipped about and soared away like a bolt of her lightning, climbing into the sky, heading north-east.


    Towards Hightown.


    ¡°Where¡¯s she going?¡± I panted.


    ¡°Gah!¡± Tanra blurted, whirling and stomping back into my apartment. ¡°I can¡¯t see ¨C Zakimel, obviously, but who else? Where? What gets said? Oh¡­ Bor¡­¡±


    I followed her into the main room, staring at her nonplussed, but as soon as I came to a stop she just walked around me, heading straight back to the door once more.


    ¡°I have to move Mum,¡± she muttered, looking at the floor. ¡°Kas¡­ I¡¯ll always be your friend, Kas. Please trust me. I¡¯ll keep everyone safe.¡±


    ¡°Tanra ¨C what ¨C what is this¡­?¡±


    I reached out, grabbed her hand; she looked me in the eyes, and shook her head softly.


    ¡°Goodbye, Kas ¨C goodbye!¡±


    She vanished, leaving me empty-handed in a room of stacked-up sacrifices, a sylph, and a heretic¡¯s decapitated corpse.


    I stood in the dark, my back against the damaged door, and tried to focus on my breathing. Tapping my wraith-essence helped. Avaelar was talking, but I was only half-listening¡­ quarter-listening. My mind could only do so many things at once, and the sudden headache that started filling my skull with rocks wasn¡¯t helping.


    Everything had fallen apart, in a matter of seconds, and I couldn¡¯t understand.


    I was standing over Nighteye¡¯s headless corpse, and the temptation to simply bring him back was surprising in its strength. The sorcerer¡¯s mind I¡¯d inherited along with my abilities was already going over the options with regard to the severed head. It could be an advantage to certain undead, the way I understood it¡­


    Overriding those base sensations, though, was a sea of fire in my thoughts: the recognition, however unbearable, that my life now hung in the balance.


    Thanks to Irimar¡¯s games, Em had been put into the perfect position to turn on me. After our meeting with Nighteye last night, Timesnatcher had made plain to her the real nature of my betrayal, yet she¡¯d said nothing all day. She knew it had nothing to do with romance. Instead, she¡¯d had all day to mull over the notion I might commit Heresy.


    Did Timesnatcher see this? Or a part of it? Did he know this was coming?


    I wouldn¡¯t have put it past him, even given Vardae¡¯s potency.


    ¡°Can you wake them?¡± I asked Avaelar quietly, letting some radiance out of my hand to illuminate the room. My sylph just nodded, looking almost as disturbed as I must¡¯ve been, then turned to his task.


    I sent some gungrelafor with the pieces of Nighteye¡¯s body to the shrine of Yune. The way I figured it, I could send a message to Fang now ¨C the truth about Theor¡¯s new identity was out of the bag. At least I could give the poor girl some closure. I doubted anyone else would care, at least outwardly ¨C heretics being what they were, it¡¯d be frowned-upon to grieve over the death of one, wouldn¡¯t it? And Everseer had sent him to his death, as Tanra said¡­ It wasn¡¯t like she really cared about him¡­


    I put the benches back in place and stretched out Orstrum¡¯s mattress; one by one we laid out my sleeping family members in more comfortable positions, before Avaelar went to each of them in turn, blowing gently in their ears.


    I had Xan awakened first.


    She was on her side on one of the benches, opposite her son, and the moment she opened her eyes she rolled off the bench in a panic, literally climbing the table with her elbows and knees, such was her urgency, her desperation to get to Xastur¡¯s side.


    ¡°Th-the scar might not¡­ not fu-fully heal, but I¡¯ll g-get an arch-druid to look ¨C¡±


    ¡°No you won¡¯t,¡± she said fervently, gathering her still-sleeping son into her arms and closing her eyes. ¡°Oh no, no you won¡¯t, Kastyr. This is it. I¡¯m not even sorry. We can¡¯t even be around you anymore.¡±


    Orstrum was shaking his head groggily, looking about in a daze. He slowly rolled onto his side to face us as my sylph moved on to the twins.


    ¡°Xantaire ¨C¡± he croaked.


    ¡°No, old man!¡± she burst out, opening her eyes and glaring across at him. ¡°You listen to me now. You think you got Morsus killed? Well what about Xastur? What about my son!¡±


    She welled up with tears, and clung again to Xastur.


    ¡°This is it,¡± she went on. ¡°It¡¯s too much. You¡¯ve got to go.¡±


    I shook my head. The tears were rolling down my face now.


    ¡°What?¡± Jaroan cried, furious even as he opened his eyes. ¡°No! This is our house! You go!¡±


    I ignored him for the moment. ¡°Xan ¨C Xan, it¡¯s not enough. Y-you¡¯re in danger, wherever I go, if they know you were¡­¡± I let my voice drop away, remembering Tanra¡¯s last words to me:


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep everyone safe.¡±


    The moment Jaid was up she ran across to me, flung herself into my arms.


    ¡°Kas ¨C I knew you¡¯d save us,¡± she murmured. ¡°I knew it. I prayed to ¨C to Yune, and she answered¡­¡±


    I shook my head again, holding her tight. ¡°I didn¡¯t. I didn¡¯t, okay! It was all some stupid diviner¡¯s game and, and if they¡¯d decided differently you¡¯d all be dead, and Nighteye, maybe he wouldn¡¯t but ¨C¡±


    ¡°Kas, Kas slow down,¡± Xan said, suddenly looking, if such a thing were possible, even more ill. ¡°What¡¯s this about Nighteye?¡±


    As Avaelar crouched beside Xastur, still cradled in his mother¡¯s arms, I explained. I censored the worst of it, but I explained. I didn¡¯t mention that it was Em who¡¯d done it.


    When I was done, I caught Xan staring in mingled horror and awe at the thin slice a champion had taken out of the apartment, a blackened groove now cutting through the walls on either side of the door-frame and through the hinge-side of the door itself.


    ¡°So what¡­ what does this mean?¡± she asked. ¡°Are they going to come for you too?¡±


    As if in answer, between one peal and the next, the Mourning Bells suddenly dropped away.


    We sat there in silence, and I felt as though I were on the block, waiting for the headsman¡¯s axe to bite into my spine, do to me what had been done to Theor¡­ poor Theor¡­


    I rose to my feet, slowly detaching myself from my sister. ¡°I have to go ¨C to the graveyard. His ¨C he¡¯s there. Nighteye. I have to look after him.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll come with you,¡± Jaroan said defiantly.


    ¡°No you will not,¡± I said, letting my wraith-form take over my flesh and beckoning to Avaelar. ¡°I¡¯ll be gone before you could get there, so don¡¯t try, okay? I¡¯ll ¨C I¡¯ll be back. I won¡¯t let them take me in, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll fight?¡± my brother asked, eyes flashing.


    ¡°It won¡¯t come to that,¡± I replied, spreading my wings. ¡°I¡¯ll run.¡±


    ¡°Can ¨C can you leave Princess?¡± Jaid asked in a trembling little voice. Her bottom lip was going.


    ¡°I¡­ Princess went for a paint-job¡­ I¡¯ll show her to you again really soon, okay? I promise. Hey, that¡¯s not a bad idea, really¡­¡±


    I bequeathed them a host of huge golden squirrels, under firm instructions to defend them against attack but not to strike the first blow. I set a series of shields over the apartment, and barely reinforced the outermost one, putting almost double the effectiveness into the next one. This way I ought to receive a better warning if someone started dismantling them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I want to stay here,¡± Xan said, trying to stop Xastur from mounting the nearest fey squirrel. At first when he¡¯d awoken he¡¯d seemed sullen, but it hadn¡¯t taken him long to cheer up.


    ¡°Trust the boy, Xantaire,¡± Orstrum murmured, sounding scared too ¨C then his eyes met mine. ¡°Trust the man.¡±


    I nodded to him in gratitude as I let myself slip out of physical reality, into the shapes and shadows of the wraith¡¯s motion. A beat of softly-glowing blue wings, and I was gone.


    * * *

 The Saviour pt3

    I fished out the half-drunk wine bottle from my satchel and finished it, then crushed it to shards in my hands. The splinters of glass weren¡¯t sturdy enough to pierce my toughened skin, and as I rubbed my palms together they turned to dust.


    No point throwing the bottle, or letting it fall. That could kill someone.


    I flew high above the city, and it was as though I were doing it for the first time. Not that I felt giddy, beyond the alcohol¡¯s effects, or that I forgot how to fly ¨C but, looking down, I had that sensation I¡¯d felt the night Dustbringer came for me. The exhilaration, like this was new to me. Gazing down on street after street of tiny little people, going about their Yearsend business, and in certain spots helping to clear the post-Incursion rubble. I didn¡¯t descend to help ¨C I just observed. After hiding Theor¡¯s body and haltingly glyphing a message to Sol, I remembered to contact Zakimel about Ilitar and the others Aramas had taken for his slaves¡­ Thankfully he didn¡¯t answer either, and I spoke into the telepathic space, wondering whether he¡¯d even listen to it, now he was under the impression my words might contain Heresy¡­


    Afterwards I¡¯d joined with the vampire, utilising his essence to peer through the darkness; coursing the clouds, I could pick out every detail, every facet of the scenes below me. Utilising his coldness, to separate myself.


    Ordinarily it would be a shame that this eldritch stole away so much of my empathy. It would¡¯ve been the perfect tool for a champion, if it allowed them to actually do their job. I could see now why apparently none of my peers had elected to join with a vampire. Still, for what I wanted tonight, he was useful. Most all I needed to hide. Up here, the wraith turned up to full, I was practically non-existent.


    I knew I wasn¡¯t thinking clearly, but in the moment it felt as though, if I could just not exist, everyone would be better off for it. If ¡®Fintwyna¡¯ had killed me in Firenight Square¡­ none of this would¡¯ve happened. Wyre would¡¯ve never kidnapped the twins. Aramas would¡¯ve never come after my family.


    And Em might¡¯ve died, in the Incursion, without the potion I made her take¡­


    Thinking of Em was difficult.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I cry indignantly. ¡°I¡¯m the good guy here.¡±


    ¡°I vos called to fight a demon-summoner,¡± comes the foreign-accented voice of a girl or young woman from above me. ¡°And look vhat I have found.¡±


    There was so much ¨C so much had happened in the past few months¡­


    ¡°I vill be happy to meet with you at noon tomorrow at ze bank in Blackbranch Square¡­ And yes, you may call me Em.¡± This last she says quietly, looking down and not meeting my eyes. Her smile is fragile, shy.


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    We¡¯d both changed, for better and for worse in different ways. I remembered how she¡¯d defended me. How quickly we¡¯d become besotted with one another.


    Em glances at me again as I struggle.


    She looks back at our opponents, and flexes her fingers.


    The frostbolt and fireball swell once more, resuming their former diameter and brightness.


    ¡°I shall take him to Henthae myself,¡± she says. ¡°Release him now, Dustbringer, or you vill face me in combat, and I shall not hold back.¡±


    That night, with Dustbringer¡¯s spectres¡­ Would it be like that, if they came for me? Would they send a champion? Would I have to fight Netherhame? Would they send Em?


    I almost wished they would. I could imagine it ¨C not fighting her, but confronting her. The bitter accusations and retorts flashed through my head, tangled like the intestines of some submerged creature, only half making sense at best: in my mind I always won, capable of effortlessly changing the context of the argument as soon as I needed to.


    ¡°You killed Nighteye!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m your girlfriend! You¡¯ve known me longer! I should be more important!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a contest! You know you can never come first for me, Em.¡±


    ¡°Your brother and sister! You aren¡¯t zeir dad you know, Kas. You have to live your own life.¡±


    ¡°How dare you! Nighteye knew it. I¡¯m all they¡¯ve got! ¡®Live my life¡¯! Till someone like you comes and kills me¡­ You killed him, and he wasn¡¯t trying to kill you!¡±


    ¡°He would¡¯ve killed ozzers.¡±


    ¡°No he wouldn¡¯t! But we didn¡¯t even give him a chance! You! You didn¡¯t give him a chance!¡±


    ¡°He voz a heretic! Zat¡¯s how zis works!¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s how you work. How didn¡¯t I see you for what you are till now? Except that¡¯s the worst thing: I did, and I didn¡¯t even care¡­ how sick is that of me¡­¡±


    We could get through this, couldn¡¯t we? Go back to normal, pretend nothing had happened?


    No. If there was a way out, it was through. We had to face this misunderstanding head-on. I had to hear her explanation. We had to finally have the discussion I¡¯d been putting off since forever.


    It had to have been a few hours since the Bells stopped ringing by now. Long enough for her to have made her report. Long enough for her to have gone home.


    I wheeled about, heading towards Rivertown. Oldtown¡¯s ancient cobbles disappeared behind me, rolling up above me as I sank, descending into the lower districts. Within minutes I was crossing over the Greyspan; reconstruction crews were already there, and the magisters were allowing a limited flow of civilians to make their way over the river.


    When I reached Em¡¯s, I came to hover in the street in front of her window.


    ¡°Emrelet!¡± I shouted.


    Nothing.


    ¡°Emrelet!¡±


    I used an illusory sound-effect, bringing my voice through the glass and letting it emanate within her bedroom.


    Vampiric senses informed me that someone was opening the front door, so I backed away and sank down some more so that I had just a few feet of empty air below me.


    The door swung open and Linn stood there, Atar framed in candlelight just behind him, both of them in their bedclothes.


    ¡°Mr. and Mrs. Reyd, I¡¯m so sorry to disturb you at this hour¡­¡± I supposed it had to be around midnight now. ¡°It¡¯s just, we had this argu-¡°


    ¡°Feychilde.¡± Linn¡¯s voice was cold. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here. Not now. Not ever. Zis conversation is over.¡±


    * * *

 The Saviour pt4

    ¡°Linnard,¡± I swallowed, ¡°I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s told you but it isn¡¯t true ¨C or not quite, anyway ¨C not that she¡¯s lying to you, but she doesn¡¯t understand the truth and if I could just speak to her¡­¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t want to see you, Kas,¡± Atar said in a softer voice designed to carry only to my ears, rather than those of the neighbours I could sense watching, listening in. ¡°She says zat you changed.¡±


    What does she mean, I changed? We both changed!


    How dared she try to control the truth like that? Did they know what she¡¯d done?


    ¡°Over,¡± Linn repeated with finality, and, nudging his wife back, he went to slam the door.


    I rushed down and forwards and then I was there, wraith turned low, satyr-strength and fey-flight easily keeping him from closing the door, even though he had his feet on the ground.


    I saw him straining against my immovable pressure, saw the fear on Atar¡¯s face, and I felt sorry for them.


    I could hear Em¡¯s sobbing, uncontrollable, echoing down the stairs ¨C and I did not feel sorry.


    ¡°I¡¯ve changed?¡± I hissed. ¡°It¡¯s your daughter who changed. You know she¡¯s a killer, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Whose fault is zat?¡± Linn gasped, still struggling to shift my weight. ¡°You made her zis ¨C zis champion!¡±


    ¡°It was before that!¡± I spat. ¡°Maybe if she let me tell you when she died ¨C¡±


    ¡°Vot?¡± Atar breathed, falling back against the hall wall in shock.


    ¡°You let her die?¡± Linn whispered, suddenly stepping away from the door, his hand sliding limply down its surface. Then his face hardened. ¡°You ¨C let ¨C her ¨C die!¡±


    He struck me, and I wasn¡¯t using my wraith or my shield. His fist connected with my chin. The skin on his knuckles opened, he hit me that hard, and I did feel a trace of pain.


    I let it happen. It would¡¯ve been a simple thing to slip aside, but I forced myself to take it. I could hardly return the favour if he didn¡¯t land the blow, could I? And I found I really, really wanted to hit someone right now.


    I struck him back, and he had a bit less choice about the matter. My fist connected with his chin, and his skin opened again ¨C


    Blood, delicious-smelling blood, splashed out to cover the door.


    Atar screamed.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I murmured, reaching for my demiskin to find a healing potion ¨C


    Satyr-reflexes alone let me evade the lightning that came in two directions ¨C one finger of electricity came streaking at me from Em halfway up the stairs, but there was another beam, bigger, perhaps lethal, shooting down at me from the sky outside.


    It wasn¡¯t too difficult to ascend slightly and slip back out the doorway before I was fried. The two lightning-bolts met just below me, then together they flowed back into the house, up the stairs to infuse Em with their energies.


    I started working on shields as she gave chase, tearing out the doorway, wreathed in her tempest. Within two or three seconds we were far above the powerless ones below.


    This is it, I thought, grinning, as she struck my defences with an initial set of lightning-bolts, testing them. This is what I¡¯ve been waiting for.


    She killed Nighteye. She defended the Magisterium over Zadhal. She never trusted me, not really. She took Timesnatcher¡¯s side over mine.


    ¡°You, Feychilde, leave me vith no choice!¡±


    Her voice was that of the arch-magister, the same as it had been that night when we first met. But this time, there was no excuse.


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    This time, I was the darkmage.


    ¡°Come on, tell me you¡¯re not enjoying this,¡± I yelled back, still grinning, rebuilding shields at the same rate as she destroyed them. ¡°We¡¯ve always been waiting for this, you and I!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know you, sorcerer! And you do not know me!¡± Her eyes shone white, the radiance only disappearing as she blinked, twinkling like twin stars out there in the night. ¡°Henthae explained everything! Ze lie, it is over!¡±


    My grin slipped somewhat. ¡°Say again?¡±


    I slowed, and watched as she screeched to a halt a hundred yards from me. She was a nimbus of pure white in the blackness. The wind didn¡¯t buffet her like it did me ¨C it radiated out from her, platinum hair dancing in the tornado.


    ¡°It voz Lovebright! It voz always her! She had plans for you, plans zat never saw ze light of day¡­ I voz to be instrumental in vot you became¡­ and so I have been, to my regret.¡±


    She unleashed a sheet of lightning that tore through five shields at the same time, the rolling waves of power crackling as they spread through my blue lines.


    She¡¯d been holding back.


    I furiously fought to remake the defences, frowning. ¡°What was Lovebright?¡± I forced myself to laugh. ¡°You¡¯re not making any sense now!¡±


    ¡°Lovebright, who made me love you! She ¨C she made Henthae do it to me¡­ Eizzer vay, I do not love you, Kastyr Mortenn. It is undone, now. I do not, and I never did!¡±


    There was no word in the languages of the Mundic Realm ¨C no word even in Zadhalite ¨C for the kind of cold that entered my gut. It was a blade. It was designed to kill.


    ¡®I remembered how she¡¯d defended me. How quickly we¡¯d become besotted with one another.¡¯


    All a lie?


    All of it? Everything she¡¯d felt? Everything I¡¯d felt from her?


    The knife of ice that entered my stomach and slashed around in there ¨C it found my ego, found it and punctured it, jabbing the serrated blade in deep and sawing back and forth, releasing every scrap of identity I¡¯d built up for myself since kicking a gravestone three months ago.


    ¡°You¡¯re serious,¡± I said, having to hear myself say it aloud for it to begin to sink in.


    ¡°I am serious,¡± she replied, voice shaking. ¡°You¡­ you need to understand, before zis happens. Thinking of you ¨C it is repulsive to me now. I voz never¡­ never vith you to begin viz¡­¡±


    I could tell she was barely dealing with it either. It must¡¯ve been far, far worse for her.


    Our relationship had only been going on a couple of months ¨C better expressed in weeks, really. I supposed I hadn¡¯t even known her a hundred days.


    But squashed into those days were thousands of hours, hundreds of thousands of minutes. Existence hadn¡¯t been a slow, laborious thing since becoming a champion ¨C I¡¯d lived those minutes, those seconds, down to the very last.


    I loved her, damn it. And despite everything we¡¯d been through together ¨C everything we¡¯d shared ¨C this was it.


    I accepted it, not with anger, but with submission.


    I should¡¯ve known¡­ should¡¯ve known it was too good to be true¡­


    ¡°Em, you must be ¨C¡°


    ¡°You cannot call me zat.¡±


    ¡°No, listen, Em ¨C Emrelet, I don¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do not speak to me!¡± she screamed suddenly, screwing her eyes shut, and thunder drowned out my words, even when I tried to augment them.


    There was something about having my power of speech robbed from me, something that ignited a spark within my breast, a fire that despite its briefness came to touch the tinder of my slowly-churning frustrations.


    Touch them and set them ablaze.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said to myself, and started moving towards her. I would batter her with my shields ¨C


    When I¡¯d covered half the distance, travelling close to top speed, she opened her eyes again.


    Silence ¨C complete, utterly bewildering ¨C suddenly descended. The air itself expired.


    ¡°And now you are mine, heretic,¡± she snarled quietly.


    I feared her.


    I feared her.


    It was only in the light of this revelation that the reality of my situation really struck me.


    Why did I join with the vampire again?


    I¡¯d struck her dad. I didn¡¯t even know how injured he was, and I¡¯d barely even made an effort at healing him afterwards ¨C


    I faltered, almost careening off to the right ¨C


    This, this darkness, it was an addiction, and as I realised my error, my foolishness ¨C that was when she unleashed her true power.


    Nothing had been done to my mind by the vampire, nothing that equalled the transformation in hers since Henthae showed her the truth.


    She didn¡¯t open up with flame, with ice or wind or any of the other tricks at her disposal. I was a darkmage, ostensibly trying to hurt her ¨C one with the power to do so, maybe.


    She had to respond as she did. I left her no choice.


    My sentence, to be carried out immediately, was death. The punishment for Heresy, death.


    I slowed to a crawl but not by will, losing leverage in the air ¨C I only realised what she was doing when I found that I couldn¡¯t breathe; I couldn¡¯t maintain my altitude. My wraith only slowed the process ¨C even that power required some kind of substance to move through, it seemed.


    She¡¯d stolen the air within my shields ¨C it was ingenious, I had to admit, evading the ill-will clause by tweaking the pressure of the air just beyond the shield¡¯s edges¡­ and without the air my wings, my lungs, didn¡¯t work.


    ¡°For vot it¡¯s vorth,¡± she murmured as I stopped moving forwards and felt my stomach lurch in descent, ¡°I am sorry it has to be zis vay.¡±


    She knew what she was doing to me. She knew what this meant to me, and she did it anyway. Satyr-durability wasn¡¯t even going to have a shot at getting me through this. I built up speed, and I knew what the impact would be.


    I plummeted. I fell.


    As I had the last time Em, the Em I knew and loved, had died.


    Only this time the way she died destroyed not her body but her soul, the death-blow dealt not by demons but by a respected elder, by Mistress Keliko Henthae ¨C


    Only this time, no one could catch me.

 Falling pt1

    <h2>COBALT 7.10: FALLING</h2>


    ¡°I am the stone that turns and turns then stops. I am the loyalty implied by the vow. I am the toil of arduous undertaking. I am Lord Oath.¡±


    ¨C from the Glaivan Creed


    No one but me.


    I waited until the last moment. The streets of Rivertown rushed up at me as I sank towards them like a stone. There was no wind in my hair, no drumming in my ears. In breathless silence, I went through the darkness to my death.


    As far as she cared.


    I was numb. The sorrow bit down with bitter teeth on my brain, clamping my mind in place so that my thoughts couldn¡¯t move, locking it into the moment of despair. It was only as the ground approached at a sickening speed that instinct took back over.


    Instinct, and indignation.


    She really is trying to kill me.


    I dispelled my eldritches save for my sylph, and fell through an ethereal portal. Avaelar caught me with fifty feet to spare, soaring with me through a dark-green sky, my back to his chest. I gulped in the sweetly-scented airs like a drowning man.


    The influences of vampire and wraith negated, my native attitude was still taking shape, my true assessment of the situation coalescing like a quivering thing, creeping into the light.


    ¡°Carry me up, that way!¡± I cried, nodding.


    ¡°Very good, Feychilde,¡± my sylph huffed, ¡°yet it appears you are once more engaged in perilous activity. Is it truly advisable for you to ascend, if ¨C¡±


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    ¡°Up!¡± I roared.


    He obeyed. We ripped away from the landscape below, but now that we were high above the intervening obstacles it only made the strange hills of web and reed, the tremendous tree-pillars of the distance plain to the eye. I felt sick, and screwed my eyes shut.


    The vampire had been clouding my thoughts again; under its influence I wasn¡¯t just misinterpreting my own emotions, but everyone else¡¯s. The truth of what Tyr Kayn had done to me, done to Emrelet, finally entered my bone marrow.


    My plan had been to lift myself back up to a decent elevation then return to Materium, using Zab and the wraith to hide me this time, until I could start dropping demons on her. Now, having taken a few seconds to think it through, I decided that I didn¡¯t want to fight her. I feared her, yes, but I feared hurting her even more. She¡¯d been deluded by enchantment, as much as it pained me to admit it. She was a victim here, of Lovebright¡¯s lies ¨C and my own.


    I should¡¯ve just told her about Nighteye¡­


    But there was nothing to confirm it. Nothing to tell me she¡¯d have acted any differently, finding out then instead of now. If anything, this current performance might be tame in comparison to how she could¡¯ve acted, if I¡¯d said something after the battle at the library. I¡¯d have been right there, in the middle of everyone.


    No escape. No enchanter willing to plumb the depths of my mind to uncover the truth, my innocence, for fear of becoming corrupted along with me.


    What¡¯s done is done. I need to get the twins.


    My main goal now was to lie low. Stay safe.


    I opened my eyes for just a moment then jerked my head around, shouting, ¡°That way!¡±


    Avaelar swung about, bearing me in the direction of home.


    It wasn¡¯t comfortable, being carried like this, but it was a damn sight better than being hunted across Mund.


    I would get home, and I would take the twins, take my money¡­ and that would be it. We would go ¨C live wherever they wanted, do whatever they wanted¡­ We didn¡¯t owe this city anything. I¡¯d paid our debts. I¡¯d done my best. I¡¯d saved the lives I could save. Now I owed it to them.


    It was, truly, over. I had no way to proclaim my innocence that anyone would be willing to listen to. Maybe I¡¯d come up with something¡­ one day¡­


    Can I ever come back?


    Surely, one day, I¡¯d find a way. Surely¡­


    I shed my tears in Etherium where no one else could see me but my bound slave, just a stupid sorcerer being awkwardly carried through the weird sky by a sylph. When at last I came back to the material plane I was ready.


    Ready to leave it all behind.


    * * *

 Falling pt2

    Hiding behind Hontor and Sons, I retrieved my glyphstone from my satchel and send out my mind to my brother and sister.


    Xantaire answered.


    ¡°Kas. They¡¯re sleeping, I think.¡°


    Xan didn¡¯t look the slightest bit tired; her eyes still had a wildness to them, a redness, that could only be the ongoing effect of the nightmare to which I¡¯d exposed her. Getting beat up on her doorstep, getting her son¡¯s face sliced open¡­


    I cast it all aside. She got rich for it, though. She always knew the risks, since that first day, with the Cannibal Six.


    ¡°Is anyone there?¡± I asked. ¡°Over Mud Lane, or hanging around?¡±


    ¡°Not that I¡¯ve seen,¡± she said sourly. ¡°Am I supposed to be on darkmage duty, now? Is that what you pay me for?¡±


    ¡°Xan, please don¡¯t¡­ It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s actually the champions I¡¯m looking out for. Em¡­¡± How to explain it? ¡°Em¡¯s convinced I¡¯m a heretic. It¡¯s gone too far, Xan. I¡¯ve got to go.¡±


    ¡°Go?¡±


    ¡°Leave. Leave Mund, at least till things blow over. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll give you enough money to take Xas, take your granddad and find anoth-¡°


    ¡°So you¡¯re just going to run?¡± she demanded. ¡°How¡¯s that going to look?¡±


    ¡°Better than the alternative, trust me.¡± Better than my headless corpse. ¡°I can always try to clear my name, once it¡¯s obvious I¡¯m not a ¨C¡± I was going to say ¡®not a killer¡¯, but then I remembered Linn¡¯s blood splashing across the door. ¡°Not a heretic,¡± I finished lamely.


    ¡°And you want to, what, just make them go with you?¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t safe here! Not for me, not for them! Please, Xan. Please, will you wake them? I can¡¯t come and hang around, they¡¯ll be coming for me and if the twins aren¡¯t ready to ¨C¡±


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    ¡°Kastyr.¡± Timesnatcher¡¯s voice was level as he descended alone into the alley, keeping far from my shields, and I immediately lowered the crystal.


    Wizard-flight on him, I noted. Others won¡¯t be far behind.


    I cast out with my senses but I¡¯d only rejoined with the wraith after returning to my home dimension. I couldn¡¯t perceive anything, other than with the hairs on the back of my neck that were standing to attention, danger-sense in the extreme just pouring all over me, with or without eldritch augmentation.


    ¡°Irimar,¡± I acknowledged him, keeping my voice from trembling. ¡°You at least must be able to see through this charade. I¡¯m no killer, no heretic ¨C¡±


    ¡°I warned you,¡± he said softly, hovering above the river of drop in which I stood. ¡°I warned you, and you didn¡¯t listen.¡±


    I opened my mouth to retort but he was continuing.


    ¡°Yes, Kastyr, there were futures in which you entered the Thirteen Candles. But those futures are dead now. The other future ¨C the other place ¨C is, and has always been, your true destiny.¡±


    I realised what he meant, and my shields almost fell away broken, such was the panic that lanced through my chest.


    I might¡¯ve called them a curse, but to put me there and take away my powers¡­ the fact that this was even being discussed made my skin crawl.


    How long did I have? Could I convince him?


    ¡°Not Zyger,¡± I pleaded. ¡°It¡¯s not Heresy, Irimar. It¡¯s just the dragons ¨C¡±


    ¡°I give you a chance!¡± he roared. ¡°Where is Tanra? Did she tell you? Look at me! If she too ¨C¡±


    I started braying laughter. I couldn¡¯t help myself.


    He can¡¯t see her.


    ¡®I¡¯ll keep everyone safe.¡¯


    At a hidden signal, a telepathic prompt, they revealed themselves.


    Netherhame and Spiritwhisper. Sunspring and Fangmoon. The four of them were floating there, above the alley.


    Even Fang¡­ Even she¡¯s come for me¡­


    ¡°I know it¡¯s not Heresy ¨C not yet.¡± Timesnatcher moved a little closer to me. ¡°Only for this reason alone have I been permitted to deny the headsman his shot at your neck. But it will be Heresy. Do not bother attempting to deny it. I have seen it. You have been consumed by lies, Kastyr. This is your only way forward.¡±


    ¡°Into the dark?¡± My voice sounded like a child¡¯s to my own ears. ¡°That¡¯s no way forward, T-Timesnatcher. That¡¯s ¨C¡°


    ¡°You lied!¡± he screamed. ¡°You misled me! Me!¡±


    ¡°For his life!¡± I clenched my fists. ¡°What would you have done to Nighteye? Tell me, tell ¨C¡±


    The enchanter, who¡¯d once teamed up with me at fortify and driven me mad with his constant elbowing, spoke over me.


    If I¡¯d thought Em¡¯s voice harrowing at times, it was nothing compared to his. It didn¡¯t cover distance. It spoke within me, bubbling up in my brain like an exploding geyser.


    ¡°ENOUGH.¡±


    I still wore his amulet, Spiritwhisper¡¯s magic at my breast. There was no warning. A pulse swept through my head. Brute force attack.


    The blackness I feared swallowed me, and I was gone.


    * * *

 Falling pt3

    The floor. Cold stone. I am there again, at Aidel¡¯s mercy. The lich-lord is coming for me.


    Shadowcloud¡­


    I awoke fully, coming to my senses and pushing myself up to a half-sitting position.


    Where am I?


    The darkness was, if anything, more complete than it had been with my eyes shut. Not a glimmer of light broke into the chamber in which I¡¯d been placed.


    The cell in which I¡¯d been imprisoned¡­ I corrected myself.


    Is this Zyger? I questioned.


    But no ¨C I still had my power. I could feel it. Subdued, weakened somehow, but still there.


    It might¡¯ve been a huge empty room, or a tiny one ¨C I couldn¡¯t tell from here in the middle of the floor, and I didn¡¯t feel a pressing urge to explore. I curled up in a ball instead, shivering.


    Nentheleme¡­ give me strength!


    But she couldn¡¯t hear me ¨C not because of where I was, but what I was. I¡¯d shirked my duty. I¡¯d acted as an agent of intimidation and violence. I was properly censured.


    They¡¯d taken my robe and mask, my satchel and amulets, leaving me in my tunic and pants. They¡¯d even taken my boots, and my bare feet were like blocks of ice. The cold was permeating my skin, frost creeping into my bones, making it hard to breathe ¨C I suspected that, were there light to see by, those halting breaths would¡¯ve been misting on the air.


    They really don¡¯t care if I live or die.


    A million tattered thoughts rolled through my head. People, places, events. Regrets.


    Was it possible Tyr Kayn slipped through the net and returned, to cast me down?


    Linnard Reyd¡¯s face, exploding in red.


    I clenched my teeth and whined a bit. There wasn¡¯t a sylph, wasn¡¯t even a rat to hear me now.


    It was my fault. It was all my fault. I would reap what I¡¯d sown.


    But no. The damage had already been done, hadn¡¯t it? My actions on Em¡¯s ¨C on Emrelet¡¯s doorstep merely forced her hand. Even if I hadn¡¯t shown up last night (what I assumed to be last night¡­) she still would¡¯ve been after me. I still would¡¯ve ended up here. It was, as Irimar said, quite simply my destiny.


    Destined to give it all for this city. Destined to have it all spat right back in my face.


    Did I slaughter a thousand innocents? No. Did I wage a decade-long vigilante war, executing those whom I pleased? No. I was like Neverwish. A victim of circumstance. I was innocent, or relatively-so at least, condemned for simple mistakes, errors of judgement¡­


    Or was it even an error? Were the heretics even really wrong? After what Emrelet did to Nighteye, something in me had transformed and I was still having trouble identifying all the ramifications. I¡¯d witnessed the brutality of summary justice up close but it didn¡¯t make me want to shy away from violence ¨C it¡¯d just made me angrier. I couldn¡¯t blame it all on the vampire because I could feel it as I lay there, and he couldn¡¯t have been farther from me than he was right now.


    At last I resolved to find out some more about my surroundings. I slowly got to my feet, and shivered anew as their soles touched the frosty floor for the first time.


    The cell, my new world, was small. I¡¯d barely moved, my arm outstretched before me, when my numb fingers made contact with the wall. Six feet by eight feet roughly, and I could find no aperture, no door; they must¡¯ve used wizardry to seal it back up behind me once I¡¯d been shoved in here. A subtle bit of air-flow told me there might be a hole in the ceiling but I couldn¡¯t find it ¨C the roof was low enough for me to touch at full extension, yet it appeared to be nothing but seamless rock when I explored it. Maybe my fingers were just too numb right now.


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    There wasn¡¯t even a bucket. They clearly expected me to just do my business in the corner. It wasn¡¯t like they cared.


    I sighed. I was hesitant to use my powers, because I knew there was no way they¡¯d have put me in here if they thought I could escape.


    Portals? They wouldn¡¯t open. I could feel some form of obstruction, clever runes inscribed somewhere suppressing not only my power but the portals themselves. I might¡¯ve broken through, given time and energy and¡­ will.


    Force-lines? They responded, but what use were they really? When they came for me, it would be with an enchanter. Resistance would last only so long. And doubtless there were other shields waiting to meet mine, out beyond the cell¡¯s walls. I wouldn¡¯t be permitted to harm anyone, even if I¡¯d wanted to.


    I hadn¡¯t taken the opportunity to rejoin with my gremlin and satyrs after my trip to Etherium ¨C I¡¯d made time for the wraith and sylph, but it didn¡¯t matter now anyway. They were gone. Maybe Bor had been able to make me expel them. Maybe they¡¯d shoved my comatose body through a gateway, forcing their expulsion from me.


    I wasn¡¯t phasing my way out of this one.


    I sat down again, back against the wall, but the chill quickly overcame me, persuading me to stay on my feet, pace about a bit.


    It didn¡¯t last long ¨C my toes couldn¡¯t take it for more than ten minutes.


    The very moment I sat back down again and fell on my other side, curling my arms around myself in desperate attempt to warm up, a voice penetrated my head.


    ¡°Kas.¡±


    Even if he detested me now, it was like a gift from the heavens to hear his voice, a messenger sent from the Horned One herself.


    ¡°Bor!¡±


    ¡°Kas¡­ I was supposed to make you sleep until your sentencin¡¯¡­ You¡¯re supposed to be awake to hear that, I guess¡­ And I can¡¯t go in a heretic¡¯s mind when they¡¯re sleepin¡¯, can I? But I had to wake you. I couldn¡¯t let it go.¡±


    The hope of Yune sprung up in my breast, the fire in my soul igniting anew.


    ¡°Bor ¨C thank you! If you can make the wizards set me free, give me a hole, I¡¯ll be out of Mund, out of your hair ¨C¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t why I¡¯m here.¡±


    The iciness returned, chill covering my skin like a breath of fog I couldn¡¯t see, colder than ever.


    ¡°Look, Spirit ¨C I didn¡¯t do anything wrong ¨C and Em killed Nighteye ¨C¡±


    ¡°Nothing wrong? You struck out at her ¨C¡°


    ¡°That isn¡¯t how it happened!¡±


    ¡°What? Are you serious? You droppin¡¯ darkmage!¡± His psychic bellow was difficult to absorb. ¡°I trusted you. And I thought I felt betrayed after Neverwish! Man. What¡¯s next? You goin¡¯ to tell me you didn¡¯t hit her dad either, it¡¯s all lies, right? I don¡¯t care! I only want to know about Tanra. She¡¯s missin¡¯, no one can find her ¨C did you do somethin¡¯ to her?¡±


    ¡°To her? Gods, man, no! She ran, after¡­¡±


    ¡°After Em saw you together.¡±


    I scowled in the darkness, hearing him use her name like that.


    ¡°I see your mind, Kas. I won¡¯t delve too deep, but I can see your jealousy, your hate. Fine. Maybe you didn¡¯t kill her. But you poisoned her. You stole my girlfriend. Now maybe I¡¯ll steal yours.¡±


    ¡°No ¨C Bor! Spirit! Please! Spiritwhisper! Borasir!¡±


    But it was too late. He was gone, and he didn¡¯t even put me back to sleep, didn¡¯t grant me even that small mercy.


    I grew hungry, thirsty, tired ¨C eventually the exhaustion took over, and I stretched myself out on the floor again, welcoming the cold, welcoming the threat of unconsciousness, death. My mind slipped away into fantasy. I remembered the rain falling as we made our way from the Tower of Mourning to the Diamond Mare, that first time. I remembered the scents of the shrine of Yune when the betrayer took me to enter Etherium, the morning I found Zabalam and Avaelar.


    I remembered the taste of my wizard¡¯s lips. Her smile. Her smile¡­


    But most of all, it was the real start of it all. The Cannibal Six. Lord Objectionable and the Bone Ring. Kicking the grave.


    Leaving the twins to go there that fateful morning. Going alone, so that I could finally vent my pent-up grief.


    The twins¡­


    What if I never went, never kicked their grave, never met Zel? Would I still just be Kas, oblivious to everything that was really happening in the city, in the world?


    No. Because we would¡¯ve died in the first Incursion. Tanra might¡¯ve died without me, and, even if she¡¯d become Killstop anyway, there¡¯s nothing to suggest she¡¯d have sent Ciraya to Mud Lane without Feychilde in her visions.


    But I couldn¡¯t placate myself with that fact. Thoughts of the Incursion only made me think of the vulnerable people I¡¯d left behind ¨C the very notion that I¡¯d never see any of them again made me sink into the prospect of death with a renewed sense of surrender.


    There was something to renouncing it all that smacked of dishonour. It wasn¡¯t what the gods wanted. It displeased me on a fundamental level of my being to be abdicating that very being, letting it go.


    I couldn¡¯t blame the gods; nor could I explain myself to them, if the time came. I was in a hell of my own creation, a dreadful waiting room, anticipating the gateways of the Twelve Hells opening for me.


    Jaid. Jaroan. Please be okay. Please be safe. I¡¯ll ¨C I failed you, like they failed me, failed all of us.


    Forget me. Just erase me from your minds and try to live. Most of all, try to be free. Do it better than I did.


    Perhaps I could live in that freedom; perhaps I could let it be my salvation, taking me up to Celestium despite my crimes. The shadowland beckoned, but it wouldn¡¯t be the end. Not if there was Justice.


    For I knew ¨C it was only in death that I might now find a freedom of my own.


    * * *

 Falling pt4

    My skin was warm once more; almost uncomfortably so, the fierce itching on my face and arm only exacerbated by the heat¡¯s dissonance with my last memories. My eyes flew open, and there was light ¨C light! ¨C so I blinked, attempting to make sense of my new surroundings. It took me a moment to realise that I had a huge, disgusting gag in my mouth ¨C it must¡¯ve been there for some time. My fingers and wrists were locked down in metal bonds. I couldn¡¯t move my head either, not with the way I was strapped into my seat, my cage ¨C so I stared forwards instead, taking in what I could.


    A blazing hearth, just a few feet from me on my right. I was elaborately chained into a kind of chair, a contraption that was located on the rug in front of the fire. The room was an opulent mess of bookshelves and paintings, arranged with no eye for taste, only wealth. Directly before my immobile feet, an extremely well-groomed (and extremely well-fed) dog was stretched out, basking in the warmth. Beyond, there was a table at which an almost equally well-groomed (and disproportionately well-fed) man was sitting. He had an orange moustache and a badly-disguised bald-spot and he was eating his dinner loudly, almost uncouthly, slurping down strips of beef, clinking cutlery each piece of which would equal in value to the yearly pay of a Sticktowner.


    I was no longer hungry or thirsty. Was it a nourishment somehow achieved through druidry, or had they simply fed me under enchantment? Who had cleaned me? I couldn¡¯t tell what I was wearing, but it was no longer my tunic and pants.


    This gag¡­ the sudden heat¡­ all this humiliation¡­ unnecessary.


    Why? Why? What did I do to them?


    Behind the rich man, arms folded across their chests, were Stormsword and Spiritwhisper, masked and stern-seeming. Now that I saw them together, thought of their names in tandem like that, I saw how alike they were, how good of a match they might make. She was always too good-looking for me. It was just a dragon¡¯s whisper in an old lady¡¯s ear anyway. It was all wrong from the beginning.


    But my loathing for the enchanter suddenly crystallised, setting into the shape it would now hold forever, a blackened blade plunged into ice-water and achieving its final, lethal edge. If he¡¯d thought he¡¯d felt my jealousy, my hate before, what must he have been feeling now?


    Give me access to my vampire right here and I¡¯d kill you, Spiritwhisper.


    In front of the heavyset man were two other champions, their backs to me. Timesnatcher and Fangmoon. It seemed that Timesnatcher was speaking, but I couldn¡¯t make out his words over the crackle and roar of the flames¡­ then he gestured to Fangmoon.


    I saw her nod. She hesitated first ¨C almost glanced at me, Mortiforn bless her soul ¨C but she nodded all the same. I could imagine the pressure she was under to submit.


    This¡­ Fang¡­ he¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s treating it as a test for her¡­ her loyalty¡­ Testing that she hasn¡¯t been tainted somehow by Nighteye¡­?


    A test!


    White-hot fury was injected into my veins.


    How did I ever think myself a good judge of character? How did I think myself smart? I trusted him! I thought him a man of principle, someone to look up to, someone to idolise! He was the demon in the human skin all along. He was Duskdown¡¯s true enemy. And I betrayed him. I betrayed Duskdown when he needed me to stop him being sent to Zyger by this foul thing¡­ I betrayed the one person who wanted to take Direcrown out of the picture, right then and there, when it really mattered¡­


    How stupid could I have been to ever believe in Irimar Nemmeneth?


    My fingers were immovable inside the metal glove but that didn¡¯t mean a thing. Pure anger built the shield without me making a single gesture towards its creation ¨C blue lines started whirling ¨C


    The anger fled me, replaced between one moment and the next with a kind of overwhelming embarrassment, the kind that made you want to cringe and crawl and hide your face.


    Spirit¡­


    The moment my shield withdrew itself, Timesnatcher was next to me. He was still speaking and I could now make out his words.


    ¡°¡­ Liberator of Zadhal cannot be treated as a common darkmage, or even an uncommon one. We can¡¯t let it go public, my lord. The potential unrest amongst the public ¨C it might be that the champions are never trusted again.¡±


    Mr. Bald-Spot just gave a non-committal ¡®hmm¡¯, audible across the room now that he¡¯d increased his volume, and continued slurping his food.


    So Irimar doesn¡¯t really want me to live. He just doesn¡¯t want his own reputation tarnishing in the process.


    ¡°Much of what Feychilde has done was not his fault.¡± It was hard, listening to Emrelet talking in that faux-highborn accent, the accent she¡¯d adopted after my incessant badgering about taking up the mantle of champion. It didn¡¯t fit her, or it fit her all too well; I couldn¡¯t decide which. She was projecting her words to Timesnatcher at my side.


    Then her voice hardened and broke, a hint of Onsoloric slipping through the cracks: ¡°Yet much was his fault. I don¡¯t know if you vere provided with a copy of Mistress Henthae¡¯s report, my Lord Audient, but he struck my own¡­ my father vithout cause, using supernatural strength.¡±


    Struck. Not ¡®struck down¡¯, or ¡®killed¡¯ or ¡®nearly killed¡¯, gods be praised¡­ Yet, even still, she¡¯s going ahead with it, arguing for my execution.


    ¡°However, the strain he was under on Moonday is clearly a mitigating factor ¨C he saved Mund.¡± Timesnatcher placed a hand on my shoulder and I clenched down with my teeth on the gag, trying to jerk away from him, heedless of the pain of my straps. ¡°Not for the first time.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°Not on his own, he didn¡¯t,¡± Spirit said.


    Mr. Bald-Spot rang a little bell beside his plate and a servant rushed forwards from somewhere behind me, already producing a handkerchief from their top pocket. They dabbed at his mouth gently for a few seconds, then he spoke in my hearing for the first time. His voice wasn¡¯t quite what I¡¯d have called nasal, but it was getting there.


    ¡°Oh, very well, Timesnatcher. I shall dispense justice as you recommend. I¡¯m afraid, Stormsword, that the kind of spectacle you¡¯re pining for is quite out of the question.¡±


    It was only as I came to focus on his moving lips, mercifully clean now of gravy and other juices, that I noticed the pendant hanging on a fine platinum chain about his neck. Three small gavels, the largest crowned with a wreath of roses.


    This¡­ joke of a man¡­ This is a judge?


    ¡°His monetary proceeds shall be sought out and seized, of course.¡± He picked up his cutlery once more, the patterns on the precious metal objects gleaming in the firelight where they weren¡¯t occluded by gravy. ¡°The miscreant shall be committed to Magicrux Zyger, and there¡¯s simply no more needs be said on the matter.¡±


    With a triumphant note in his voice, Timesnatcher turned from me and said, ¡°Magister!¡±


    Suddenly everything changed again. My vision blurred; the gag in my mouth disappeared and without realising it I was now gritting my teeth, clenching my jaw painfully. No plunge into blackness greeted me this time. I swooned, dizzied by myriad colours and half-glimpsed vistas, feeling nauseous ¨C more than nauseous ¨C like I was sitting on the edge of a cliff looking down ¨C like I was flying without the twisted touch of a wraith or a friend-slaying wizard to aid me.


    Like I was moving with an arch-diviner.


    Killstop? Did you save me? Am I free?


    I screwed my eyes shut, fighting down the urge to retch, empty an already-empty stomach, cough up bitterness and dust. I whimpered instead, the sound pulled from me involuntarily, motion-sickness dragging vocal chords from my throat and playing the strings like a harp.


    Tanra? Please?


    And, as unpredictably as it had begun, it stopped ¨C I stopped. The scene before me had been replaced and I was walking now, not sitting. Not bound by chain or gag. Just walking, being ushered down tunnels by magisters under flickering torchlight.


    Were we still in Mund, or had I been taken out of the city in my time-snatched stupor? Were there really caverns this extensive beneath my home? Why had it never occurred to me to wonder? I¡¯d thought such places existed only in far-flung lands, in fables and legends. I was reminded of the adventurers¡¯ stories of Ord Ylon¡¯s lair, but the monstrous denizens of those tunnels were missing here. The spectacle in this place was all beautiful void, vast unlit emptinesses calling out to me beyond the firelight.


    The everlasting flames weren¡¯t particularly good sources of illumination; they were riveted to the walls of the cavern paths, and although the floors had been smoothed with wizardry I still stumbled on occasion as we entered patches of shadow. My feet were bare, but I didn¡¯t care about a few bruises and gashes now.


    I¡¯d been placed under an enchantment of languor. I was a condemned man, and entering my mind, breaking my will ¨C it wasn¡¯t just permitted, but expected. My pains had evaporated. I¡¯d been granted a momentary deferral of punishment, the eye of the storm before the hurricane washed again over me. I cast about idly, all thoughts of escape far from my imagination, all thoughts of those I was leaving behind far from my conscience. My worries were gone ¨C I knew it for a fact that the dismay would reawaken later but, for these long silent minutes, I simply didn¡¯t give a damn.


    Someone was going to enter my home, maybe even enter the minds of my family members ¨C confiscate my money, my assets¡­ They would end up getting kicked out without me there to protect them. I knew it, but when I focussed on the idea of such a terrible-seeming thing, instead of feeling anything I just shrugged as I continued on my way. I realised belatedly that this was why Tanra had wanted to move her mum. She would shut down all the avenues that ended at her capture. Her mum was an important part of that.


    Was that how I¡¯d been caught? My use of the glyphstone?


    I shrugged some more, stumbling on as the path sloped downwards again. I went in the company of these four fine fellows, as though they were my friends escorting me to the theatre.


    Four waywatchers of a rank or assignment I¡¯d never encountered before, garbed in the black-and-white magister¡¯s robes but masked too, the metal features expressionless. Two of the faces were enamelled white with black eyes and lips, while two were black with white eyes and lips. The one at the front was carrying the rod. The others each bore a small sack. Kindling. Salted meats. Nuts.


    Theatre snacks. Except the kindling. No idea who¡¯d ordered a bag of dry sticks for their mid-entertainment meal.


    I could suddenly imagine the revulsion inside of me, imagine it speaking.


    ¡°Where?¡± I blurted in a thick voice, stumbling as I walked. ¡°Where ¨C where ¨C¡°


    ¡°How in the name of the Five is he doing that?¡± one of them, female and youthful, asked the others.


    ¡°No idea,¡± a delicate male voice answered. ¡°He is Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Was,¡± another woman said dryly.


    One of them came alongside me as we strolled between the jagged, flame-lit walls of the cave. A rough hand took me by the arm, shook me. I smiled at the magister, and he seemed to relax.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe there¡¯s cause for concern,¡± the delicate male voice said again. ¡°He¡¯s still under.¡±


    ¡°Almost there, now, newbie,¡± a fourth voice came: gruff, older.


    A minute or so later I saw what awaited me as we turned a steeply-descending curve.


    I was swooning on the edge, standing close to the lip of a dark hole in the ground. The ring of torches about the shaft gave no texture to its pitch-black emptiness. It was like a huge, natural well, dropping away into nothingness.


    ¡°Keep him still,¡± the gruff voice said ¨C then people were holding my arms, positioning me while a spell was incanted in a high-pitched voice, reagents scattered on my head.


    Finally, I was ushered to the very edge. I looked down. I felt the chill breath of the void on my face.


    I don¡¯t have my wraith, I thought; then: It¡¯s okay. I can fall and die. I can go on my way.


    But no.


    ¡°The flight-spell will take you down to the bottom,¡± the dry voice said from beside me, while another waywatcher was strapping something to my back, forcing me to find my balance again on the uneven rocky ground. ¡°You¡¯ve got about two minutes. If you dither too long, you won¡¯t make it ¨C you¡¯ll land too hard in the water, and you¡¯ll get all these lovely provisions soaking wet through. So you go now, okay?¡±


    I nodded, but then I looked to the side, staring at her mask.


    Feelings. There were feelings there.


    Hate?


    ¡°Go, now! You could die!¡±


    ¡°I ¨C don¡¯t,¡± I gulped air, ¡°wan ¨C wan ¨C wan ¨C¡°


    The young woman behind me gasped, and the dry-voiced one drew away as though I might be infectious.


    Then two hands landed squarely in my shoulder-blades, just between the straps of the bag, shoving me forward ¨C


    The spell worked as they said. My descent was fast, but controlled. There was none of the nausea, which might¡¯ve been due to the languor-spell ¨C or simply due to the fact that I didn¡¯t spin. I just fell like an anchor.


    I craned my head back at first, watching, waiting, until the tiny speck of torchlight disappeared far above me, swallowed up by the incomprehensible distance that now loomed between me and the world.

 The Truth pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 7D: THE TRUTH</h2>


    ¡°The Arch-Wizard represents true expression. Action for its own sake. The inner state instantiated outwards. Reversed, he represents the bottleneck of unexpected energies. The crumbling of the idea when practical application fails.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Tarot for Beginners¡¯


    19th Lynara, 997 NE


    ¡°Follow your brothers! Don¡¯t let them get lost! If they get lost, it¡¯s on your head, young lady!¡±


    Papa always said it in a joking tone, but she always took her task seriously. They were three and four years younger than her, and her very earliest memory was Mama letting her help out with swaddling the first of her brothers, not long after he was born. She took protecting them to heart. More than once she¡¯d gotten herself involved in their arguments with the kids from the village, and one time when her brothers got surrounded she¡¯d even broken a twelve-year-old¡¯s nose with a single wallop. It¡¯d been satisfying, seeing the insolent little bully turn into a whinging mess of tears and blood, and, that night, after Papa sorted everything out with the boy¡¯s parents, he rewarded her with an extra helping of sweet apple. He told her she was brave, and a good sister, and his favourite¡­ but that she¡¯d have to let the boys throw their own punches from time to time or they¡¯d never get the hang of it.


    She¡¯d felt brave, and she¡¯d felt like a good big sister. She even felt like his favourite ¨C of course, the future of the family name depended on the boys, into one of whose hands the house would inevitably pass one day. She knew that the boys were more important. However, that didn¡¯t mean Papa liked them more; if anything he seemed to find them a constant source of irritation, especially when put next to his mature, responsible daughter¡­


    But when it came down to letting them fight ¨C there was no way she was going to stand by if they were about to take a beating. It just wasn¡¯t in her nature. She would start swinging, and let their opponents strike at her instead ¨C not that they ever did. Whether it was the confidence with which she stepped up, her sternest expression on her face, or just the fear of getting slapped around by a girl ¨C most of them decided to leave it once she got involved.


    It didn¡¯t look like she was going to need her sternest expression today. When she threw on her cloak and stepped out into the scrub-covered wheat fields she saw to her surprise that the boys weren¡¯t heading down to the river, where the rest of their peers would be gathering under the tree-cover on a cool, rainy afternoon like this one. No, they were heading for the actual wood itself, for their secret dens and hidey-holes scattered throughout the dense bushes under the eaves. The nearside of the wood itself was basically a big playground to her brothers; Papa said there were no wolves to fear these days, and it¡¯d been two years since they saw the bear that lived on the far side of the wood. The boys spent their day climbing trees and building a swing; she spent her morning shouting at them when they climbed too high, shouting at them when they nearly choked in the rope¡¯s loops. When she got a minute, she¡¯d retrieve her carefully-hidden treasure and read a few pages of the raunchy Mundic romance novel she¡¯d bought for two pennies at the market ¨C without her parents¡¯ knowlege.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    By the time the boys started to show signs they were running out of energy, her throat was hoarse from all the yelling, but her eyes weren¡¯t tired.


    It was only as the shadows were lengthening and she gave thought to the notion of shouting some more, getting them to come down and follow her back home, that she realised what she was hearing.


    Right behind her, she recognised the sound of dragging footsteps, boots scraping leaves through the top layer of dry soil ¨C whoever was sneaking up on her, they were trying to be quiet.


    She wasn¡¯t frightened ¨C not here, within sprinting distance of the house ¨C but she was surprised by the sudden, slow approach of a stranger. When she turned, she had it in her head that it was going to be one of the local kids playing a prank on her ¨C she was already raising her hand to give them a good whack across the nose.


    Her hand fell, dangling limp from a shaking wrist, when she saw the three men approaching. These weren¡¯t kids ¨C the one in the lead was older than Papa, his beard matted and head bald, and the two behind him weren¡¯t much younger.


    They were almost upon her.


    Her shriek came dry from her throat, a fruitless attempt at warning. A croak escaped her instead.


    ¡°Quiet down now, pretty,¡± said the vile man in front. She could see that his beard was matted with something that looked rancid and, now he was so close to her, smelt even worse. ¡°Nice and quiet¡­¡±


    She¡¯d been backing away, operating on pure instinct, but it was far too little and far too late ¨C he extended his arm, his filthy fingers reaching out for her ¨C


    ¡°Em!¡± yelled Dolin, crashing through the undergrowth towards her ¨C before she could do anything he barged into the space between them, knocking the man¡¯s arm aside. ¡°You leave my sister alone!¡± he insisted, with all the innocence only youth could muster.


    Yibben was on his heels, stumbling out of the same patch of bushes with a little less grace than his older brother. ¡°Yeah!¡± he cried defiantly, heading to stand at Dolin¡¯s side ¨C


    She watched all this, immobilised by her terror, the weirdness of this feeling. She knew she and her brothers were at the dubious mercy of these strangers. She knew they had to be away from here, but she was more rooted to the spot than the very trees.


    ¡°No,¡± she croaked ¨C but it was too late.


    Before she could tell what was happening, what she had to do, all her options had been closed off to her ¨C except one, the worst one¡­


    The man in the lead grabbed Dolin by the white-blond locks, while one of his two followers clawed his fingers into Yibben¡¯s, pulling at the little boy¡¯s scalp until he screeched.


    She was fast. She ran towards home, screaming for Papa, for Mama, for Dovans the Just to descend from Celestium to save them. At first, as she ran through the trees, she heard footfalls pounding along behind her ¨C the third of the three men must¡¯ve been giving chase ¨C but by the time she could see the edge of the wood and the slope of the field beyond, she realised the hammering sound following her whichever route she chose was just her heartbeat, a figment of her terror.


    She didn¡¯t slow, though, and her yells brought Papa tearing out of the house to meet her halfway across the weed-choked meadow.


    Her incoherent rambling sufficed to give him a general idea of what had happened, and, two minutes after he¡¯d passed her by, plunging into the wood with nothing but a hunting knife, she¡¯d recovered her breath enough to follow.


    Mama went to fetch their relatives, and they went to fetch the sheriff; they didn¡¯t call off the search for almost three days.


    Yibben and Dolin Reyd were never found alive, nor whole.


    After the service was held, blessing their remains in absentia, cursing those who took them from their loved ones ¨C after it was over, Linnard Reyd never, ever mentioned them again.


    And Emrelet Reyd would have to live with it, her decision, her failure, the last memories of her brothers in their defiance, protecting her¡­ she would have to live with it for the rest of her life.


    * * *

 The Truth pt2

    11th Enyara, 998 NE


    ¡°You¡¯re awful quiet, missy.¡±


    The bargeman behind her kept his voice hushed, despite the clamour of the other deck passengers. Em was sitting on the lip at the stern of the boat, leaning down to dangle her hand in the water rippling in the vessel¡¯s wake. The spring weather was warm, and the liquid pleasant to the touch.


    ¡°Yah? Vould you vont me to make as much noise as zem?¡± she asked, not turning.


    The young bargeman chuckled, and fell silent, poling at the bank without further comment as they went around the bend; she could see his long stick out of the corner of her eye, stabbing at the walls of mud and weeds, keeping them from sliding into the tangles of thorns coating the levee.


    Once again she sensed his interest in her; she¡¯d known about the attraction for days now. The clean-shaven, pleasant-faced man had hardly been able to hide his covetous looks and, truth be told, she didn¡¯t exactly hate it. He wasn¡¯t bad looking, if a little short for her, and she found that it was nice to be reminded of normality like this. The way he tried to hang around near her whenever his work allowed, tried to make small-talk¡­ A lot of the boys back home had been attracted to her, but her tough exterior had always scared them off. Now, everything was different. Now, she didn¡¯t feel so tough.


    Mama and Papa were back there behind her in their accustomed spot on the starboard side, just another pocket of silence amidst the swarm of activity buzzing across the deck. Some of the travellers making their way to Mund were small-time traders with a few bags or crates of goods, and these people looked bored, flipping through the pages of books or chatting idly with those nearby ¨C but many were immigrants just like the Reyds, and most of these were excited, excitable people, giddy at the prospect of entering the capital city, finally making a life for themselves in the jewel of the world. The youngsters in particular were unbearable, constantly questioning their elders and refusing to take the first or even fiftieth answers they were given ¨C a trio of giggling girls, a couple of years younger than Em, were especially demanding, daydreaming loudly together about what they¡¯d do when they finally arrived. (Mostly seducing the heirs to vast fortunes and finding the most beautiful horses to ride¡­) Hence her seeking out the relative calmness at the rear of the vessel, her hand in the cool water.


    Em had no such hopes as the others. Mund was supposed to be a grinder of men, and everyone knew it, as much as they might deny it to themselves. None of them onboard this barge would ever be rich or famous. None of them would ever be anything. Even Papa knew it. If it weren¡¯t for¡­ what had happened back home¡­


    Papa wanted to leave, so we left, she reminded herself. As bad as Mund is, it can¡¯t be as bad as the cannibals. It doesn¡¯t matter the cost. Life will be hard, but it will be life.


    She was young, filled with all the same vibrant energy as all the other girls in the Realm. She wanted to look to her future; select her destiny; contend with fate. She didn¡¯t want to be rich and famous, but she wanted be someone. Maybe even have a husband and kids, someday. Her brothers¡­ She was the only one left to give her parents grandchildren, now. The burden of maintaining the line of her family had fallen to her ¨C and with her the Reyd name would die¡­


    She wanted to live.


    She looked at the bargeman over her shoulder and cast him a coquettish smile.


    He would¡¯ve been her type, if he were a bit taller, a bit less stout. He had a fair complexion, and nice hair, a cool, confident smile¡­


    ¡°So no book, today, miss? Found something else you¡¯d rather look at?¡±


    He indicated the Briarflow passing beneath them as he spoke, but his eyes twinkled; she understood his hidden meaning and her smile broadened.


    ¡°Perhap zere is something,¡± she admitted ¨C then fate struck the first blow, destiny deciding to be a complete jerk: the barge lurched, coming to a sudden stop. This toppled her backwards into the boat, off the edge of the vessel; she banged her head on the deck and landed in a twisted heap.


    Embarrassment swept over her, igniting every parcel of her exposed skin with burning fire. She did her best to laugh as she started to disentangle herself from her dress and the bit of rope her foot got caught in. It was important, to be able to laugh at yourself; that was what Mama had always told her.


    At least I didn¡¯t fall into the water, she thought ruefully ¨C and when she caught a glimpse of her would-be-suitor, she felt even better about her predicament. The sudden lurch had unbalanced him too, and the young bargeman teetered right on the very lip, one foot in the air to help him find his equilibrium as he leaned into the riverbank with the tip of his pole ¨C


    ¡°Trolls!¡± someone howled.


    At first it didn¡¯t sink in ¨C Em scrambled to her feet and moved across the deck towards her parents without thinking her actions through, knowing only that she had to come close to them: Papa would know what to do; Papa always knew what to do ¨C


    Then, over the milling, teeming crowd, she saw them.


    The trolls were unthinkably tall; they were lean and stringy-looking except for their protruding bellies, their knotted muscle, the overlarge heads. The flesh covering their bodies was hairless, silver-black like fish-scales, the surfaces of their limbs marked with ridges similar to tree-bark. And, by the looks of things, they were damming-up the river ¨C they¡¯d hauled trees from somewhere, and were throwing them sidelong into the water¡¯s course.


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    Right here the Briarflow was cutting through a wide, featureless moor, with some low hills she didn¡¯t know the names of sitting on the horizon whenever it came into view over the riverbank. Sources of cover like groves and hollows were few and far between, from what she¡¯d seen of her surroundings. There was no house to go to, nowhere to flee to, no escaping their doom.


    Papa wouldn¡¯t know what to do. There wasn¡¯t anything anyone could do. They¡¯d fled Onsolor, running from the cannibals straight into the clutches of creatures that wouldn¡¯t even cook them first. They would be eaten alive, squalling child and roaring adult disappearing alike into those monstrous, fang-lined holes¡­


    She watched as the front of the barge buckled under the weight of the first troll, the monster leaping fully onto the deck, swiping out with all its limbs.


    People were hurled, screaming or already comatose from injury or sheer shock, into the waiting arms of the trolls on either side. They chewed their captives, looking on while the one on the barge made its way up from the prow towards the stern, knocking the travellers off into the water by the dozen. Fanged mouths split open across their faces, maws stretching ear to ear closing down on the heads of men, women and children.


    Everyone ran for the back, except Em, who struggled against the flow of panicked flesh instead. Bit by bit she was approaching the lead troll but she didn¡¯t even see it, trying as she was to find Mama and Papa in the crush of moving bodies ¨C


    A massive hand crunched down on her forearm, the pain of lacerated skin making her wrist burn and itch.


    She swung her head up, taking in the titanic troll that¡¯d jumped onto the deck of the barge right beside her. The titanic troll that was standing on two corpses, people who¡¯d been alive until three seconds ago, when it decided to leap across from the riverbank.


    It was flexing its arm. It was going to lift her into the air, consume her right then and there, or hurl her aside. Either way, she would be dead in seconds.


    The unfairness of it all seared her mind. Dovans the Just had never answered her cries when her brothers were¡­ when her brothers were taken, and she didn¡¯t expect the god to change his ¨C


    The troll¡¯s grip tightened; he raised her up, lifting her kicking and screaming into the air ¨C and the world burst into colour.


    That was what it was like ¨C it was as though she¡¯d been going around seeing in black and white until this moment. It wasn¡¯t just the earthen walls on either side of the Briarflow calling out to her, or even the water beneath the barge ¨C the air itself was alive, a pulsing, trembling entity, like she held a bird of unbelievable size in her hands, feeling its chest rising and falling.


    For all of an instant, Em thought it was the god doing it, Dovans finally responding to her desperate prayer. But then she realised: Dovans wouldn¡¯t have filled her heart with such hate, such a driving need for vengeance.


    This is all me.


    The air was too soft between her fingers, needing a more-delicate touch than she could apply, for now at least ¨C and the earth was too heavy, too solid, too unresponsive at this stage. She could sense the fire, the unquenchable heat of wizardry, but only in abstract; it wasn¡¯t there in front of her for her to grab, mould, wield.


    The water. The water responded.


    The elemental rose from the river, instantly depleting it, the barge sinking at least three feet in the blink of an eye. It must¡¯ve been that sense of inequity, injustice driving her: when the watery creature rose from the Briarflow it used its gargantuan ¡®arms¡¯ of solidified fluid to pick up the troll holding her.


    When the monster dropped Emrelet, she didn¡¯t plummet, didn¡¯t break her ankle when she fell back to the boat ¨C there was no thump. She floated, a silken ribbon of breeze softening her descent. And before her feet even touched down lightly on the boards, the troll was trying to escape.


    The elemental she¡¯d instinctively conjured had a mind of its own; whether it was feeding off her unconscious thoughts or a separate, alien intelligence from the Plane of Water, she had no idea. Either way, it wasn¡¯t letting the troll go without a fight. She found that it responded to her, its constituent river-water still at her command ¨C when it reached out its vast, shimmering arms and squeezed the struggling troll she was able to tighten its dark grip, shear the monster in two.


    But its blood fell, not as a fluid but as a rain of chips of red glass. She¡¯d torn it in half at the stomach ¨C its pelvis and legs landed on the edge of the deck, the upper body and head falling onto the bank ¨C yet it was already healing. The legs withered away in seconds, shrinking to black twigs, like the severed legs of a frog left for hours in the sun. But the upper body ¨C the troll dragged its massive, snapping head about and already the bleeding had stopped, pale, crablike flesh regrowing and hardening¡­


    Before the two little fleshy sticks could fully-transform into new legs, she had her elemental reach out, take up the troll once more.


    She cast about.


    So many people were dead. So many more were doomed to die. Mere heartbeats away. Admittedly, some of the trolls were drawing away ¨C those that¡¯d noticed the gargantuan water elemental amongst them ¨C but at least four of the trolls were facing the wrong way, too fixated on the kill to notice how to tables had turned.


    No more.


    Her mind worked its magic, and the river had an arm for each of them. Even the one that¡¯d sprung clear off the barge onto the embankment, running away as fast as its loping legs would take it ¨C the watery coil stretched out, far faster than even the monster could move, snaring it by its throat and reeling it in.


    It made it look like the banks were growing on either side of the boat, the way the river-level sank down when she was calling on its reserves. More water came rushing in, of course, and she knew the earth wasn¡¯t rising up ¨C not because such a thing was impossible, but because she now knew that if it did, she¡¯d be able to feel it.


    Then the water flooded back. The elemental arms retracted. All at once the barge rose up to its previous level, and there were no trolls anywhere to be seen.


    Perhaps she couldn¡¯t see them, but she could feel them fighting it. They were dying down there, trying to thrash, failing to escape her grip.


    Succeeding at drowning.


    She found Mama and Papa ¨C they were safe. Startled, but safe. Afterwards, she looked for the bargeman, expecting to find him amongst the dead ¨C she was surprised to discover that fate had spared her that insult. He was there, alive and well, one of the many she¡¯d saved with her miraculous new powers. He lined up like the others to thank and congratulate her.


    She didn¡¯t tell anyone it took a full five minutes, five long minutes before the last of the trolls ceased its futile writhing. She went about the barge, trying her hardest to ignore what she was doing with her power as she spoke to people.


    Trying to ignore the question, hitting her mind like a hammer, relentless:


    Why now? Why now? Why now?


    And despite his gratitude the bargeman never looked at her the same way again; by the time they reached the immigrant-camps of Mund the taste of her newfound wizardry had already begun to sour.


    * * *

 The Truth pt3

    29th Enyara, 998 NE


    ¡°Mistress Keliko Henthae,¡± she repeated.


    ¡°Your pronunciation is very good, child. Please, take a seat.¡±


    The old woman slid into her chair with a surprisingly-athletic grace, but Emrelet remained standing. She managed to keep the disdain from her voice, though.


    ¡°If you please, I am no longer a child.¡±


    ¡°That only becomes clearer each time you speak.¡± Henthae sighed. ¡°And it is, after all, the reason you¡¯re useful to us. We don¡¯t employ actual children, you see, yet you¡¯ll forgive me if I think of you as young. Very few of our employees are undergraduates. You will be able to shake things up, so to speak. Please, do sit down, my dear woman. I¡¯ve been on my feet all day and it¡¯s tiring me out just looking at you.¡±


    The chair, its headrest carved into the likeness of a hippogriff or some such creature, was cushioned in dark blue leather. Emrelet sat, a small smile on her face, and found it to be surprisingly comfortable. She faced the magister again, noting for the first time the strange painting on the wall ¨C a flying forest, burning as it fell into a desert.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t in the business of letting those with power like yours roam around unchecked. The things you¡¯ve done ¨C¡±


    ¡°I saved zose people,¡± she murmured. ¡°Do you say zis to all ze prospective champions?¡±


    ¡°Prospective champions rarely utilise such extreme methods in the pursuit of justice.¡±


    The hair on the back of Emrelet¡¯s neck bristled. She¡¯d condensed the water-flow right out of the air over the man¡¯s head, forced his chin back, pouring the fluid into his lungs.


    He took a child, she wanted to growl.


    But she reined herself in. She knew where she was. She knew what the risks were.


    Henthae seemed to have been waiting for her to conclude her thoughts before continuing: ¡°You are smart, Miss Reyd. I¡¯ll give you that. Committed. Productive. Ruthless.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed, but she didn¡¯t interrupt.


    ¡°Our tests don¡¯t lie,¡± the magister continued. ¡°The truth is, you¡¯re needed for something bigger. Something better.¡±


    ¡°Bigger zan being a champion? I can imagine no such thing.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re living it. Life, Miss Reyd. Here, I give you freely the most precious gift conceivable. Take my advice: do not become a champion if you wish to live.¡±


    Emrelet raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re offering me ¨C¡±


    ¡°A danger-free life? No, Miss Reyd, don¡¯t you be alarmed; you¡¯ll have your fair share of excitement if you choose to join us. A share of tedium too, of course ¨C it isn¡¯t my intention to deceive you. But the risks are measured. Many of our arch-magisters retire after decades of diligent service, with full pay and honours. Our champions¡­ let us just say that they are far more prone to workplace fatalities. In some instances, even in the midst of an Infernal Incursion, demons of abhorrent power have been known to seek them out in person and scatter their remains.¡±


    She clasped her ring-laden fingers together, sitting forwards with a shrewd look on her face. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you rather tell your parents you have the weight of the Magisterium at your back? A secure job ¨C one you¡¯ll even find fun, I¡¯ll warrant. I can ensure you have a splendid career, Miss Reyd. If you¡¯re half as smart as I think, you¡¯ll agree to take our glyphstone, mull it over.¡± Henthae sat back once more, smiling now. ¡°You should visit again ¨C we could tour Magicrux Altra, the very apex of the Maginox, and discuss your duties.¡± She seemed to notice Emrelet¡¯s sceptical expression and waved her hand. ¡°Potential duties, of course¡­¡±


    Have I been enchanted? she wondered later, when she was flying back through the night air towards the tent in which they¡¯d been sleeping for the past eight days. The word ¡®enchanted¡¯ in her native Onsoloric, the form in which she thought it, was ivienach; enchantment as a type of magery was inseparable from its connotations of witchcraft, black magic. Yet Henthae had been¡­ what was it? What made her so likeable? Could it be that she was working spells over her? Surely the Magisterium would find out ¨C such a thing would be incredibly illegal¡­ Wouldn¡¯t it?


    She didn¡¯t know ¨C yet ¨C but she had the means to find out.


    Lying under the sheepskin blankets with dozens of others, buried in the scents of so many unwashed bodies, she opened the book Henthae had given her and, by wizard-light under the covers, whiled away the hours reading.


    * * *


    23rd Orovost, 998 NE


    ¡°How much longer, do you think?¡± she asked, still staring at the huge stone steps that started the spiral, looking between the bodies of those joining the staircase to find those descending around the bend.


    ¡°It¡¯s Mistress Henthae,¡± Ciraya said in her usual droning, raspy voice, leaning on the pillar next to them. It was like she was simultaneously inflecting every single word for emphasis, and none of them at all. ¡°You know what she¡¯s like. This might take some time.¡±


    Emrelet moved forward against the crowd to quickly peer up at the clock. The lengths of crystal representing clock-hands, up there high on the wall overlooking the crowds, were suggesting eight-fifteen.


    We have to go, she thought. What was Henthae playing at, sending me away? Does she intend for me to be faced with a disciplinary?


    She¡¯d just faced off against Dustbringer himself, but she was experiencing more turmoil right now, trapped in her indecision. Everything that had been drummed into her over the last months told her that she and Ciraya needed to get on back to Sticktown, yet surely Mistress Henthae knew that she wouldn¡¯t leave without Kastyr ¨C without Kas¡­


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    Everything had moved so fast over the last twenty-four hours, she hardly knew what to do with herself. Meeting a champion on his first real excursion into the wider world of his chosen profession had fired her up inside, reawakened dreams that she¡¯d thought long forgotten. She might¡¯ve only been in the city for a matter of months but being the perfect magister, the perfect student¡­ it was her life now, her new reality. She¡¯d created a new self out of the ashes of the failure of a sister, the freak of an archmage, and she was useful here, needed for Incursions, for dealing with the serious threats. She could be somebody¡­ Wasn¡¯t that what everyone wanted, most of all? To matter? To make a mark on the world?


    For all that Henthae said otherwise, she¡¯d seen magisters die in battle. She knew the true stakes, nowadays, and if anything she was still with the Magisterium due to inertia.


    She hadn¡¯t realised the face she was pulling, but then of its own accord her tongue clicked, making it sound like she was tutting.


    ¡°It is time ve don¡¯t have,¡± she said, to cover for the noise.


    ¡°Relax. We¡¯re late, some idiot takes us in the room for a chat to ask us, ¡®Do you realise how your lateness affects the Magisterium¡¯s ability to police the streets?¡¯ Blah blah blah¡­¡± Ciraya was grinning. ¡°I think it goes a little deeper. You pining for your new boyfriend?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not ¨C vell, votezzer he is to me ¨C zat¡¯s none of your business!¡±


    ¡°Mmmmm,¡± the sorceress purred, ¡°I never thought to see our brave leader so confounded. Distracted, even, I¡¯d say. You got it bad, girl. Not that there¡¯s anything wrong with that. He¡¯s alright.¡±


    Emrelet scowled, looking back at the spiral staircase, and Ciraya just chuckled, which only made it worse.


    Would she talk like this to an archmage who didn¡¯t come from Onsolor, one who wasn¡¯t dirt-poor?


    Ciraya was older than her by a year or so, and more experienced in many ways¡­ she was almost a role-model to her, in spite of everything. Emrelet was doing her best to catch up to the spoiled brats from other lands, those sent here on scholarships, not immigrant wagons¡­ But they were so far ahead of her, their every word and glance took on a double-meaning, a mockery the likes of which she¡¯d never thought to encounter. The sorceress wasn¡¯t highborn, wasn¡¯t special, but her easygoing attitude ¨C the familiarity of it ¨C could grate on Emrelet sometimes.


    ¡°Look¡­ boss¡­ You know what they say about foresight. Things still look different in hindsight. I really am sorry about that business before on Mud Lane.¡±


    She turned back to the black-robed mage and was surprised to find there was no smirk twisting the painted lips.


    Ciraya coolly returned her gaze, not going any further in her explanation. The silence was awkward.


    ¡°So¡­ Belexor¡­ again,¡± Emrelet said, by way of peace-offering. ¡°I couldn¡¯t believe he vould use ze strength-enhancement just to humiliate ozzers ¨C¡°


    ¡°Called it,¡± Ciraya murmured.


    ¡°¨C but to kidnap a champion, to change his shape like zat¡­ Vot voz he thinking?¡±


    ¡°This is the end of the line for the boy, if you ask me.¡± The smirk was back now. ¡°Good riddance, too. Fe never liked him, not one bit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ze feazzers. It gets right up your nose.¡±


    ¡°Ha-haaah¡­ maybe. Or the reek of cowardice.¡±


    Then she saw them, and stepped away from the pillar, beaming.


    At last¡­ and he¡¯s not in bindlaces.


    Henthae came over to the edge of the space with Kas at her side, and, just from the tone of her mentor¡¯s voice, Emrelet obtained the answer to her question before it was all spelt out.


    He¡¯ll not do their bidding.


    ¡°This is an interesting one you girls found last night.¡± She looked at Kas, then back at Emrelet and Ciraya. ¡°I don¡¯t think he will be signing up any time soon, but he has promised to consider it, and I think we can work with him either way.¡±


    She smiled, hearing this, and went to take his hand. He still looked nervous.


    ¡°Could I have a word, Emrelet?¡± Mistress Henthae asked as soon as she had hold of him. ¡°I realise the time.¡°


    Emrelet met his eyes under the hood, his gaze still a bit wild. ¡°Feychilde ¨C vould you go on ahead? I can catch up.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± he said, giving her hand a squeeze before releasing it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll walk you out,¡± Ciraya said to him. ¡°Fe needs a run. Em, I¡¯ll meet you at base.¡±


    There it is. Not ¡®boss¡¯ this time. Not ¡®Emrelet¡¯, even.


    She fought back the scowl that threatened to reclaim her features because Kas was looking directly at her ¨C then she turned away, bowing her head to listen to Henthae. She followed her into the crowd while Kas and Ciraya turned aside and made for the exit.


    ¡°Thank you for your efforts today, mingling with the local champions.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not exactly vot I voz doing¡­¡±


    Henthae laughed warmly. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry, I know you¡¯ve become infatuated with our new arch-sorcerer there ¨C¡°


    ¡°Mistress! Zat is not ¨C¡°


    ¡°Please, Emrelet, don¡¯t insult my intelligence. No, I do not need my power in order to recognise this; I was young once. If you were trying to hide it, take from this the lesson that you are inept at such games and should avoid them in future, or improve your skills, if you wish to present a believable face to your audience.¡±


    The wizard stopped dead and the enchanter wheeled about, looking her directly in the eyes.


    ¡°If you want to cuddle up with a champion, go ahead. You want to hold his hand through the cold nights and fight the forces of hell with him, do your worst. But I will leave you these words of warning, my dear, for I do care about you: do not fall for him?¡± It was strange, the inquisitive nature of the phrase. ¡°Don¡¯t expect to wear his ring or take his name or bear his children. This one is ¨C champions are dangerous, in love. Enemies sharpen their blades. When friends cut you, the knife is blunt; the pain is worse. You can¡¯t see it and neither can he, but this one is covered in razors. His fate is full already. Heed my words.¡±


    Mistress Henthae patted her fondly on the arm, then took her leave, heading back to the stairs. Emrelet turned on her heel and left the Maginox ¨C within a minute she was taking Feychilde up into the purple darkness, up into the winds that patrolled the emptiness, beneath the constellations burning bright.


    She heeded Henthae¡¯s words, but she thought all along that she took from them a message Henthae hadn¡¯t intended.


    She wanted to be with Kas, at least to see how things went between them, if he would have her. She still wasn¡¯t a hundred percent sure he was interested in her ¨C he¡¯d been looking at her the same as the bargeman on the Briarflow, the same as Elkostor and Belexor¡­ but there were differences. His eyes were harder to read. There was less lust in his gaze, more¡­ something. Something wistful, bregabor, perhaps. It was entirely possible she¡¯d make a complete fool of herself if she made the first move, but she was tempted to anyway.


    Emrelet didn¡¯t think he¡¯d connected the two ¨C the way she¡¯d taken to him when he¡¯d caught the Cannibal Six, and the story of Onsolor¡¯s descent into the starving-madness. She understood the connection quite clearly. If there was ever going to be a sign that a man was right for her, it was this. It might¡¯ve seemed superficial to someone else, but she didn¡¯t care. She was herself.


    Henthae was wrong. He was what she needed. Even if he did cut her she would welcome the pain, welcome the change in herself again like she had done with the last. If she kept changing, chasing, she could flee it, outrun what she had done. Forget what she¡¯d let happen.


    Be someone else.


    She was about to kiss him, but he kissed her first. She held onto him like they were each two halves of a whole, once separated, now together again.


    She changed. She forgot.


    Yet forgetting carried its own perils. It wasn¡¯t his death that would cut her, but his own tumultuous change ¨C and when he did the pain of the blade would be unlike anything she could have ever imagined. It would reopen the old wounds, scars deeper than the skin, hidden from his sight. Henthae would speak the words that would shatter her self-image.


    And she would cut him back, twice as savagely.


    * * *

 The Truth pt4

    6th Illost, 998 NE


    ¡°Ah me!¡± The weasely man in armour raised his visor; the prop helmet might¡¯ve looked convincing at a distance, but Emrelet could tell with her power that none of it was real metal ¨C just painted wood. ¡°How couldst thou think the Grand Marshal highborn, Low Motty? Forsooth I am so crude in mine eye e¡¯en as thou!¡±


    The actor¡¯s seriousness was perfect ¨C not just his face and voice, but the foppish way he touched his clothes, adjusting and readjusting them constantly.


    ¡°Yer right, me lord,¡± said the second man. ¡°Yer gonna eat that there rat or yer savin¡¯ it?¡±


    The Oldtown crowd roared with laughter. Emrelet joined in despite her frustration, and when she looked at Kas in the seat beside her she was gratified to see he was in stitches.


    ¡°Oh, oh, owwww,¡± he moaned, clutching his sides as he stared down over the rail at the stage. ¡°Twelve Hells, this is better than weaving. Thanks for this.¡±


    ¡°My pleasure.¡± She put her hand on his knee and he covered it with his own.


    Mistress Henthae was always going to the theatre, and Emrelet had longed for months to see what all the fuss was about, but she¡¯d had no idea where to start ¨C then Ilitar had recommended the play to her when he overheard her grumbling, and said she ought to take Kas. She understood his meaning, now. She didn¡¯t suppose it was the kind of thing she could talk to Henthae about, though. She got the impression the theatres Henthae attended were a little more ¡®highbrow¡¯. She doubted the Tale of Low Motty and the Grand Marshal¡¯s Weapon was of much historical significance, outside of the opportunity it presented to ridicule the upper classes.


    ¡°Then behold, Low Motty, this most fantasmalous of inventions, the chamberpot.¡± The armoured weasel was gesturing enthusiastically. ¡°Lo, should it be filled thou canst leave it be, and ere the morn dawns it shall yawn agape, empty once more!¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s it go, d¡¯yer suppose, me lord?¡±


    The ¡®highborn¡¯ looked shocked at this. ¡°Best man of all men; I know not!¡±


    His expression unchanging, completely devoid of any trace of slyness, Low Motty pressed: ¡°Then, doth tonight not present yer with an opp-tunee-tee unlike any other?¡±


    ¡°My good man indeed!¡± The weasely face was fixed in cunning aspect as he brandished an upraised finger in the direction of the bucket. ¡°Prithee awake shall I stayeth this night, and watcheth the potteth with both eyes unclosedeth!¡±


    She sighed, then caught Kas looking at her with an appraising glint in his eyes.


    ¡°Vot?¡± she murmured, nestling closer to him.


    ¡°Oh, nothing¡­ I was just, you know ¨C thinking.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°You know ¨C maybe we should get out of here. Get changed¡­¡±


    ¡°Kastyr,¡± she said reproachfully, thumping his chest lightly with the heel of her hand.


    ¡°Not like that! I mean ¨C you know¡­¡±


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    Ahh. She recognised his smile.


    Now that was an offer she couldn¡¯t refuse. She nodded, and followed him up the aisle, out through the lobby, and into the nearest alley.


    It didn¡¯t take Kas¡¯s fairy long to find them a spot of trouble. Feychilde and Stormsword interrupted some dark druids trying to poison the drinking water where the Blackrush came flowing down to Sticktown out of Hilltown. While the arch-sorcerer interrogated the leader she put on her gloves of stone, gave the others a well-deserved clobbering, then transported the captives to Magicrux Jelix. And when she was finished talking to him, the local magister-captain hailed her as Stormsword.


    It was the first time someone she didn¡¯t already know had used the name, and she liked it. For the first time since arriving in the city, she was a champion. It wasn¡¯t just some dream. It wasn¡¯t theoretical, as it had been when she¡¯d attended the Gathering. This was real. She''d received recognition from someone who wasn¡¯t an archmage.


    Soaring back up over the jail, she closed her eyes, let the coldness of the night blanket her. She couldn¡¯t feel anything.


    Stormsword. She loved it; she loved hearing it ¨C it sounded just right in the watchman¡¯s mouth. Just like she¡¯d imagined, since the twenty-seventh, since the Incursion.


    Since she died, and almost shied away from her destiny.


    Feychilde was fluttering over to her a little unsteadily, his azure wings flapping ¨C more for show than out of necessity, she believed. Or maybe it just came instinctively to him now, to flap, as though the wings interacted in any comprehensible way with the air¡­


    She was smiling, probably deliriously, given the way his own smile seemed cautious, almost nervous.


    ¡°Ahhh, Feychilde ¨C you know the way to a girl¡¯s heart.¡±


    ¡°Better than the theatre?¡± he asked, putting his arms around her.


    ¡°Beating up bad guys was never so much fun!¡±


    ¡°Then my pleasure.¡± He sank down a couple of feet in the air, awkwardly placing his hand on her knee through the folds of her robe.


    She laughed, sank down with him, kissed him.


    Once they parted, he spoke huskily. Her head was against her own; she couldn¡¯t see his expression but the touch of the wind on his face told her he was no longer smiling.


    ¡°So¡­ Zadhal.¡±


    ¡°Kas.¡± She almost growled his name.


    ¡°I know ¨C we¡¯ve been over it¡­¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious zat I vont to come? You really ought to know, you know.¡±


    ¡°No, Em ¨C no, because if it was that obvious, you¡¯d just come. You''re not only her employee, you know. You¡¯re one of us now.¡±


    But do I want to go?


    She hadn¡¯t even asked herself the question, till now.


    Isn¡¯t it obvious that I¡¯m glad I don¡¯t have to? That I don¡¯t have to tell Mama and Papa that I¡¯m going to through a portal into a city filled with things that want to eat me¡­


    Isn¡¯t it obvious that I want to pass my test? That I want to have Mistress Henthae smile her usual pleased little smile, when she congratulates me on my score¡­


    ¡°One of ¡®us¡¯¡­¡± she said at last. ¡°Because you¡¯ve been a champion for so long!¡±


    ¡°Fine ¨C fine. It¡¯s just¡­ Of course I don¡¯t actually want you to come with me, but¡­¡± He sighed, looking down at the round magicrux far below them. ¡°Zel¡¯s pointed out something we passed on the way here. Want to take a look?¡±


    She nodded, lips pressed together firmly, and she let him take the lead, guiding her back towards Oldtown.


    It was always the same thing with Kas, always the Magisterium versus everything else ¨C and every time he was pressed he backed down. How could she continue the argument when he reverted back to his ¡®fine, fine¡¯ chatter? How could she stay angry, when he voiced his little, non-judgemental sigh, frowning in that incredible cute manner, displaying all his vulnerability right there on his face?


    But this is what he does, she said to herself. He wears me down ¨C just look at me now.


    Yet as she split the air in his wake she couldn¡¯t help but feel that he was right, fundamentally. Henthae was in the wrong, for once. There wasn¡¯t enough of a difference between disintegrating rays of light from a tiger-woman¡¯s hands and the claws of imps tearing through arteries. Not enough of a difference for it to matter.


    Death was death.


    She sensed the disturbance ahead of Kas.


    Another wizard.


    She put out her hand to the skies and they reacted, filling her palm with the energy of her namesake, the crackling, blinding blade which she would wield as one of the legendary defenders of Mund.


    She was a champion. And she was home.


    She was Stormsword.


    * * *

 The Truth pt5

    2nd Yearsend, 998 NE


    ¡°Then why am I getting a big maelstrom on your past, Kas? Were you with Tanra?¡±


    Emrelet almost stumbled as she followed Kas to the door.


    ¡°Don¡¯t waste time on your hidden agendas, diviner. You can¡¯t drive us apart.¡±


    ¡°Vot is zis?¡± she asked, looking between the two of them. Kas reached the door and opened it, but she¡¯d halted halfway. She felt the usual swiftly-surging panic, and squashed it back down again by rote. She wasn¡¯t about to start getting jealous over Tanra, not after the way she¡¯d embarrassed herself on Yearseve. So what if he kept hailing her the saviour of Mund, so what if he somehow always seemed to be carrying her when she was unconscious¡­ If it had been someone else other than Kas ¨C if their relationship had been something else ¨C then maybe matters would¡¯ve been different.


    But she knew she had nothing to fear.


    ¡°Oh, our pal Timesnatcher has it in his head that I should be with her, or something. Just another sad old scheme.¡±


    Now that was something altogether different. She fixed her fiery eyes on the arch-diviner.


    ¡°You agreed with me, when I said it,¡± the seer noted.


    ¡°I did not!¡± Kas laughed tersely, and shook his head. ¡°Unsoothsayer¡­ who¡¯d have thought it.¡±


    ¡°Not in words, you didn¡¯t. But you knew I was right and ¨C¡°


    ¡°And last night,¡± Kas yelled over him, ¡°Em, look at me ¨C last night, was I in love with Tanra?¡±


    She looked him square in the unflinching face, and almost wanted to laugh at herself.


    I¡¯m being a stupid little baby.


    She smiled, and shook her head.


    ¡°No, Kastyr. No you vere not.¡±


    ¡°Try your games, Irimar, meddle all you want.¡± The sorcerer opened the door. ¡°I¡¯ll be back later, once you¡¯re done playing and we can get down to work.¡±


    She followed him outside, casting a final glare in Timesnatcher¡¯s direction before crossing the threshold onto the back step.


    Kas turned to face her, and she could tell something was wrong.


    What if I¡¯m not being stupid?


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    ¡°You staying, or going? I wouldn¡¯t blame you if you didn¡¯t want to hang around.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I vill see¡­ I don¡¯t know if I vont to leave Sol alone viz him, if he¡¯s being like zis¡­¡±


    Made my excuse ¨C now deflect, deflect.


    ¡°But if he¡¯s wrong, vhere vere you, Kas?¡±


    He just shrugged back. ¡°How am I to know if one of the people giving me directions around the place last night was an arch-diviner? I have no idea how many people I spoke to.¡±


    That was a lie. She knew it, the way he said it ¨C the way he couldn¡¯t keep the terse warble from his voice.


    But she just smiled again, and shook her head sheepishly. ¡°I¡¯ll fly you home.¡± She linked her arm through his and raised them both into the air.


    Once they were aloft she said it aloud, having to test the words on the air: ¡°I don¡¯t trust you to get zere safely, in your current condition. Ve could do vizzout ze Liberator of Zadhal needing rescuing after a collision viz a chimney, and I can take some time to think about vot I vont to do.¡±


    What I want to do¡­ I know what I want to do.


    He pulled her arm tight, clearly feeling dizzy again. She smiled to herself again, a genuine one this time. Even if he were lying to her, there was a chance it wouldn¡¯t be out of malice. He¡¯d just be planning some fifth-of-Yearsend celebration, or an extra surprise present, or something¡­


    But that was just it, wasn¡¯t it? It was the something that was worrying her. She couldn¡¯t help but feel something was off with him. Ever since Shadowcloud and Winterprince were taken from them ¨C ever since the heretic battle, the Tyr Kayn shenaginans¡­


    But she was a more competent liar than him; she knew from the outset that she was going to speak again with Irimar and get to the bottom of things. Once Kas was safely tucked up in bed, she stormed back to the seer¡¯s, opening the door with tendrils of wind before she reached them, before she landed ¨C


    ¡°What did I say?¡± Irimar asked Sol.


    The druidess shrugged, only meeting his eyes for a moment. ¡°Even I knew she¡¯d be back.¡±


    ¡°Tell me ¨C vot is going on, Irimar?¡±


    ¡°You tell me.¡± He crossed his legs and spread his hands as he sat back, his narrow, scholarly face showing some self-directed scorn ¨C showing defeat. ¡°It¡¯s not always easy for a man like me to admit what I don¡¯t know. Give me a bit of credit, at least, Emrelet.¡±


    ¡°He consorted with an arch-diviner, for certain?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s stronger than inkatra, stronger than Zakimel¡­ but Tanra¡­ Duskdown¡­¡±


    ¡°Duskdown?¡± she repeated in surprise.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ the heretics, perhaps.¡±


    Emrelet¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Zis Everseer.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± He passed a hand across his face, his watery-looking eyes spilling a trace of moisture upon his cheeks in its wake. ¡°Perhaps. I should¡¯ve ¨C no.¡±


    Sol gave a small, humourless laugh. ¡°Someone like you doesn¡¯t start a sentence without meaning to finish it, though, do you? I am learning, you know.¡±


    Irimar glowered at her, and when he looked back at Emrelet she saw through the watery eyes, to the hardness, the hidden ice beneath the waves. ¡°I should¡¯ve never let him have the book. It was my fault, and I only tried to be his friend ¨C¡°


    ¡°You are saying ¨C you did zis? If you ¨C¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Voice like a glacier. ¡°You did this. I did it. Even Sol did it, in her own small way. You cannot hope to comprehend the course of history, the intermingled motions of time¡¯s substance, without my gift. You need to stop trying to place blame. Ah¡­ such a fine line we walk. We need Kas.¡±


    ¡°Wait ¨C are you saying Kas is a heretic?¡± Sol blurted.


    ¡°I do not think he vould be zat foolish.¡± Emrelet turned her gaze back to the diviner, feeling the electric aura of her power, knowing her eyes would be burning like orbs of liquid lightning now. ¡°Not Kas. You.¡±


    His sad smile was disarming, annoying.


    ¡°He isn¡¯t a heretic,¡± Irimar said, ¡°yet.¡±


    * * *

 The Truth pt6

    Kas left her to die, but that was okay. It was okay, because he was going to rescue his brother and sister. He was going to do what she should¡¯ve done, all those long months ago ¨C all those lifetimes ago ¨C and if she died because he left her, so long as they were safe, it was worth it. Mama and Papa would understand his decision.


    Copperbrow poured a slick sheen of molten flame atop the surface of the Greywater, and she infused it with electricity, pulling a living lightning-bolt down from the sky and attaching one end of it to the centre of the fire-pool. The other end stayed in the clouds, and a constant series of thunderclaps ¨C ka-boom-doom-ka-boom-doom ¨C started pealing down from the heavens.


    She noted the gnome¡¯s jubilant body language as he started sweeping back and forth across the ranks of the river-fiends, taking them on in closer quarters now that their numbers were reduced ¨C they were already half-dead by the time they reached the surface of the river.


    ¡°Can you hold it?¡± she cried. ¡°I have to get to ¨C to Feychilde!¡±


    ¡°Uhhhhh ¨C I hope so!¡±


    ¡°I hope so too,¡± she said. ¡°Glancefall, I¡¯m moving to Sticktown.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll get Copper some cover,¡± the enchanter responded.


    It was good enough for her. She put forth a final detonation, setting it to ripple through their foes, then she fled north-east.


    The thought of Jaid and Jaroan being hurt ¨C were Xan and Xassy in danger too? And while the prospect of Orstrum being hurt was less worrying, the old man had made an impression on her. She couldn¡¯t stand the thought of something happening to any of them, but especially the young ones¡­ and especially Kas¡¯s young siblings¡­


    They will be fine. Kas will get there before anything bad can happen to them. They¡¯re surrounded in shields ¨C ah, that¡¯s how he knew. He could feel them being damaged, maybe? But he didn¡¯t feel anything when they were being attacked by the Bertie Boys¡­ No, he only feels a detached shield when it¡¯s¡­


    When it¡¯s gone, broken¡­


    She redoubled her speed, slashing down into the pits of Helbert¡¯s Bend like the bolt of lightning she wielded in her hands.


    And from afar she spotted it, even as Mud Lane itself came into view ¨C the figure in his doorway, looking out. The shapeless robe of a heretic.


    Was Kas trapped in there? Was he too late? Was everyone dead already?


    There was no way to contain it. The sword swung itself.


    ¡°No!¡± she screamed, her hate propelling the blade of electric light into the figure ¨C she sliced through him at head-height, uncertain as she was of his archmagery. She only noticed after the stroke landed and she retracted the sword that she¡¯d cut grooves into the walls, the door, making the wood smoke and smoulder ¨C


    A small price to pay, for vengeance.


    Trembling at the thought of what she might find inside, she started to sink, approaching the door warily. Her blow had been true. The head toppled, the body crumpled ¨C


    ¡°No!¡± came an anguished cry ¨C Kas¡¯s voice, echoing her own ¨C from inside the apartment.


    She saw him thrust himself forwards with inhuman reflexes, but he nonetheless landed awkwardly on his elbows and knees, catching the body before it struck the floorboards. She came to hover near the rail, staring in shock.


    Kas was lowering the heretic to the ground.


    It had been a day to end all days, and now she knew it. She felt the history of these fateful events unfold about her, upon her, like a deluge of cold rain she couldn¡¯t just turn off at will. An arch-diviner might¡¯ve recognised it for what it was ¨C it felt like the pull of time itself, somehow. She knew she would look back on this night in wonder and bitterness for the weeks, months, years to come.


    The night it all ended.


    Everything that had happened with the eolastyr, and afterwards¡­ she¡¯d felt she¡¯d finally found her match. Her perfect mirror. The man she would be with forever.


    And now he is this.


    ¡®He isn¡¯t a heretic, yet.¡¯


    Oh, Irimar¡­ if only you knew how wrong you were about that.


    When Kas met her gaze, his jaw was set in rage.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he wailed.


    ¡°Me?¡± She felt her lip curling in derision and fought against it, but then nausea reared its ugly head; she blinked desperately. ¡°What? Kas! We fought the demons ¨C while ¨C what, Kas? I thought you were saving them? What it zis? Look at you! Get avay from it!¡±


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    ¡°It¡¯s Nighteye!¡± he growled. ¡°Nighteye! You killed Nighteye, Em! He¡¯s dead.¡±


    N-N-Nighteye? Nighteye is a heretic?


    ¡°What?¡± she muttered. ¡°What? No, no, zat can¡¯t be right, zere is no ¨C¡°


    Weird fey-light fell from the sorcerer¡¯s hand to shine on the room, the corpse ¨C


    She couldn¡¯t make out the features on the hooded face, but the hair was loose, and she knew he wasn¡¯t lying about this.


    ¡°You killed him¡­¡±


    ¨C but I killed him I killed Nighteye I killed him and now he¡¯s there and he¡¯s dead and ¨C


    ¡°¡­ he just saved them. He was going to leave Mund, he wasn¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°He voz a heretic!¡± she cried, as much to cut off the inner accusations as Kas¡¯s protests. ¡°Vot ¨C what are you? Kas!¡±


    The realisation on his face made it plain for her to see. Perhaps not just anyone would be able to tell, but she could. The top half of his head was obscured but it didn¡¯t matter. The shudder that ran through him made his lips wobble, his jaw clench, and she knew.


    The tears she¡¯d been holding back started to fall.


    ¡°Ze book¡­¡± She felt sick; she was going to be sick¡­ ¡°He told me ¨C zis morning ¨C he should¡¯ve never have let you have ze book¡­¡±


    ¡°Em ¨C¡±


    Then she was there, and avenues of understanding opened up; flooded highways of meaning cleared, made as dry as a bone in one second of pure sunlight. Emrelet focussed her glare on the seeress.


    Tanra is a heretic.


    So much clearer now.


    ¡°Oh ¨C oh no,¡± Killstop whined. ¡°Why? How did this happen, Kas? Why didn¡¯t I see it?¡±


    ¡°Everseer sent him, to save them. Save me from it.¡± Then he growled again: ¡°Don¡¯t you see. It¡¯s all over now.¡±


    Tanra mumbled something, and she used the wind to snatch the sounds, bring them up to her level:


    ¡°She saw it, then. She could¡¯ve come herself. She gave him a death-sentence.¡± Killstop turned to look up at Kas. ¡°She did this to us.¡±


    ¡°I understand now,¡± Emrelet said quietly, floating back.


    I understand what I must do. Henthae must know about this. She was right all along. I have to make a full report, in person, immediately.


    But that wasn¡¯t what she wanted to do.


    She harnessed the light, and it answered. Simultaneously, she had her winds surround them, snare their spells and strip away their enhancements.


    ¡°Both of you, is it? How voz it I could have been so blind? You vere vith her, veren¡¯t you? Last night.¡±


    He just looked at his feet; then Killstop came to a standing position, knives in her hands.


    Emrelet merely smiled inside her cocoon of light.


    Try it, witch.


    ¡°No,¡± Emrelet said, unperturbed by the seeress¡¯s motions but moving a bit farther away all the same. ¡°You should know zat I have removed your flight-spells. You cannot stop me from leaving.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that,¡± Killstop snapped.


    ¡°Tanra, no!¡± Feychilde put out his arm as if to block her.


    Like he could block her.


    ¡°There¡¯s a way to stop you without killing you; you know I would never do that,¡± Tanra said, heedless of his response. ¡°You don¡¯t need to tell them about this. You don¡¯t need any of this. There are ways I can help you¡­¡±


    People were coming out onto their balconies, even though the demons were still loose across the city. They were willing to risk death in order to witness Emrelet making this momentous decision.


    Can Tanra be telling the truth? Can she help me?


    No. She has to be lying. She¡¯s a heretic, plain as day. Kastyr is no better¡­ or just a little better. It¡¯s my job to take her down, and bring him in. She can¡¯t be imprisoned ¨C diviners are too slippery ¨C but when it comes to Kas, I can bind him without having to ¨C


    She loosed a little involuntary gasp of pain and surprise as an invisible wall struck her, punching her away through the air.


    She glanced down ¨C saw him raising his hands, shouting something at her ¨C


    Without thinking, without feeling, Emrelet struck back. She couldn¡¯t even sense an iota of warmth on the wind as she smashed him with the ray of pure sunfire. It was all the same coolness to her.


    Within mere seconds he was down to his final shields.


    Instinct had taken over, and she saw an enemy.


    A lover.


    An enemy.


    Another arch-wizard of discernment and wisdom present at the scene would¡¯ve perhaps been able to note the way her power fluctuated, keeping the beam of furious white heat from its maximum intensities, its most awful temperatures. She knew it, but she didn¡¯t dare sculpt her mind into that killing-aspect which had taken Nighteye¡¯s head. Killstop, she liked and despised at once; the girl¡¯s death would hurt, like Nighteye¡¯s, but killing Kas¡­ It wasn¡¯t something she could countenance, even now.


    She broke away, flipping around and using the tornado-force to send herself hurtling towards Hightown. Even as she moved she dug out her glyphstone but at first it wouldn¡¯t respond, her thoughts too chaotic to obtain access to the network.


    ¡°Come on, damn you, si garam pestron!¡±


    She was over Hilltown before it responded correctly. Henthae was never too busy to answer. She was in her base of operations high in the Maginox, serving as a telepathic conduit for hundreds of magisters, scores of magister-bands linked through her mind.


    ¡°M-Mistress Henthae, I have news.¡±


    ¡°Stormsword. Do the champions fare ill?¡±


    She noted the coldness in Henthae¡¯s voice, and started to cry again.


    ¡°Miss Reyd¡­ Emrelet?¡± The enchantress¡¯s stiffness slowly melted away. ¡°What¡¯s happened? Tell me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ¨C it¡¯s K-Kas¡­ T-Tanra¡­ I mean, Killstop ¨C¡°


    ¡°Mmmm.¡± Henthae made a little non-committal noise. ¡°Let us pretend you didn¡¯t just say that. I haven¡¯t been permitted to look at her record in the registry. So¡­ he has betrayed you?¡±


    ¡°Yes! No, not ¨C not that! Kas, Kas and Killstop, they¡¯ve become heretics! Mistress ¨C M-Mistress ¨C¡°


    ¡°Calm down, Emrelet, please! You¡¯re scaring me.¡± Henthae took her seat ¨C she¡¯d stood up to receive the communication but now, looking decidedly paler, she almost collapsed, all her usual nimbleness deserting her. ¡°How do you know? What did you see? Speak to me ¨C speak plainly, and I¡¯ll see it through your eyes if I can. You are on your way to me, I assume?¡±


    She nodded frantically, shedding her tears into the hurricane pulling her to the Maginox. ¡°He ¨C he left me, in Rivertown, and he said it was the twins¡­¡±


    She related it all, her psychic mouth babbling away with far greater facility than her physical one would have been capable of. Memories and thoughts and worries and doubts, they all flooded from her, snagged and teased-out by the probing questions, the unblinking eyes of the powerful enchanter.


    And when she landed on the Maginox grounds, Henthae was already down there to meet her, stepping off the bridge between the waywatchers in front of Zakimel, hurrying forwards to catch her up in the supple old arms and smooth her hair as she sobbed.


    * * *

 The Truth pt7

    The glass of mulled wine in her hands, she sat on the couch in one of the Magisterium¡¯s private lounges. It was located high in the tower, letting them look out on the city through a red-tinted window. The Mourning Bells had stopped a few minutes ago, and she and Henthae were sitting in silence for a while, just looking down.


    Just mourning.


    The word would be out already. Zakimel had gotten his people involved and now everyone would be hunting Feychilde and Killstop. Despite the arch-diviner¡¯s logically-sound arguments, Henthae had vowed she wouldn¡¯t let rule thirty-two apply in Kas¡¯s case, and Emrelet believed her. Kas would be brought in ¨C he wouldn¡¯t be killed. Not by her. Not by anyone. He just had to be¡­ chastised. Cleansed, somehow.


    Deep down she knew it wasn¡¯t going to happen, knew it wasn¡¯t true, knew that fate was twisted and reality had a dark side ¨C this wasn¡¯t just some story, this was her life and it was unravelling one thread at a time ¨C but she had to cling on to her hope. The gods had failed her in the past because she¡¯d failed them, because she hadn¡¯t stood up for what was right, hadn¡¯t defended her brothers like she should¡¯ve done ¨C but they¡¯d rewarded her too, given her the strength to fight back against evil. She couldn¡¯t abandon them now, couldn¡¯t accept the lengthening shadows of the doom rising up before her. There would be a way out. She could have Kas back. He would be hers again, and she his. The fire between them wasn¡¯t extinguished ¨C embers such as those were undying, coals burning bright beneath the soot for a thousand million years. Eternity was a blink to such a love. The eolastyr had been given one taste of the flame that they could create between them when their bodies, their minds made contact ¨C the eolastyr had been given a taste of it, and had been consumed.


    It would come back. It had to.


    ¡°I love him.¡±


    ¡°I know you do.¡±


    Emrelet looked at her, tears welling up again. ¡°It won¡¯t go avay, Mistress ¨C Mistress Henthae¡­¡±


    ¡°My dear¡­¡± The older magister put a weathered old hand on top of hers. ¡°Call me Keliko, when we¡¯re alone, please¡­ It will go away. There¡¯s a chance you¡¯ll forgive him, one day. Forget him? Never. But the love¡­ the pain you feel¡­ that could go away, my dear, if you let it. One day.¡± Keliko patted her hand and repeated, in what was supposed to be a reassuring tone: ¡°One day.¡±


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    ¡°I don¡¯t ¨C don¡¯t think it vill ever go ¨C I think of him, of vot he looked like zere, holding Nighteye¡¯s body, and I can remember how angry it made me, how ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do you trust me, Emrelet?¡± the Mistress asked suddenly, a twang of concern ¨C real worry ¨C there in her voice.


    ¡°Of course I do, Mistress.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t read your mind, not with that thing around your neck¡­¡±


    Emrelet looked down unconsciously, touching Bor¡¯s amulet with her fingertips.


    ¡°¡­ but I can imagine what you¡¯re going through. I have a ¨C a thing to admit to you now.¡± A harrowed expression crossed Keliko¡¯s creased skin, suddenly making her look ninety. ¡°Remove the pendant.¡±


    The wizard licked her lips, staring at Keliko for a moment before moving her free hand to do as she was told.


    ¡°But ¨C vhy do you need me to ¨C¡°


    Keliko wasn¡¯t smiling. ¡°You¡¯re a smart girl ¨C figure it out.¡±


    She froze, the amulet and its chain in her hand.


    To bewitch me? No!


    ¡°I need to remove something from your mind. Something I ¨C something Tyr Kayn made me put there.¡±


    She felt sick again all of a sudden, and put the amulet and wine-glass down on the small table by her knee. ¡°But¡­ my mind, it voz checked, given ze all clear ¨C¡°


    ¡°This would¡¯ve required a deeper examination to unearth. I am good at what I do, you know. But¡­ it¡¯s about Kastyr. You were never meant to love him, Emrelet. It was all a lie, right from the beginning.¡±


    The world collapsed, peeling away into the void at the edges, rushing past her until she was falling, falling without moving, plunging into the maelstrom upon her couch ¨C she gripped the edge of the seat as though she were riding it into the endless depths, the eye of the whirlpool that would swallow the land.


    Drag it all down into the Twelve Hells with her mind.


    ¡°In Tyr Kayn¡¯s designs, you were the hammer with which she forged a blade, Feychilde, to do her bidding, her killing. You were the lynchpin of her control over him. Exactly why, I¡¯m uncertain, but your place in it was sealed from the very start, I¡¯m afraid. This only became apparent afterwards, of course¡­ Oh, my dear. You never loved him. I relieve you of the burdens you were never meant to carry.¡±


    As Keliko spoke the truth settled in, mental wounds scabbing over in seconds.


    Gods ¨C the touch of an enchanter was more than a miracle. It was a boon without measure, to go in one instant from seething depression to a normal, rational state ¨C it was enough to make her weep tears of joy now.


    ¡°Careful, Emrelet.¡± Keliko looked away, eyes twinkling with tears of her own. ¡°You can¡¯t go too far the other way either. Let¡¯s find a middle ground.¡±


    She sat there, wordless, and looked down at the table, empty but for her wine-glass.


    Strange. She¡¯d had the urge to pick something else up.


    Never mind. Wine will do.


    She lifted the drink, raised it to her lips once more, and looked out through the blood-hued window at the blood-drenched city, deep in a thoughtless reverie. The Mourning Bells had stopped a few minutes ago, and she and Henthae were sitting in silence for a while, just looking down.


    No longer mourning.


    Tranquil.


    Decided.


    * * *

 The Truth pt8

    3rd Yearsend, 998 NE


    He cried out for her, and the sound of his voice still had the power to move her. It was pathetic, and she was pathetic for caring. She knew she no longer felt anything for him ¨C in fact, the thought of him, being close to him, repulsed her ¨C but he was still human. He¡¯d been mistreated in the same way by the dragon.


    The second time he called for her, projecting his voice into her room this time, she just crossed to her waste-bin and retrieved the little chalk-covered square of tile Xastur had given her, that first day, when she¡¯d fallen for Kastyr. She sat on the bed, looking at it again. An ogre, a fanged orange blob, chomping down on a unicorn, a yellow blob with a sharp stick on top.


    Why am I still crying? she thought. She knew it had all been one huge deception on Tyr Kayn¡¯s part ¨C she knew it was all over now.


    So why do I still feel this way?


    She moaned, the air pulled from her lungs in a long, voiceless sob ¨C she fought against it, straining to hear the words coming now from the front doorway ¨C


    ¡°I¡¯ve changed? It¡¯s your daughter who changed. You know she¡¯s a killer, don¡¯t you?¡±


    She clenched her fist, and Xastur¡¯s tile shattered into fifty pieces.


    ¡°Whose fault is zat? You made her zis ¨C zis champion!¡±


    Oh gods¡­ oh gods¡­


    She went to her bedroom door, intent on throwing it open, barrelling down the stairs at him ¨C but she was paralysed at what she heard next:


    ¡°It was before that! Maybe if she let me tell you when she died ¨C¡±


    ¡°Vot?¡±


    Oh, Mama¡­


    Papa¡¯s initial disbelief, his sheer astonishment; that was the worst thing.


    ¡°You let her die? You ¨C let ¨C her ¨C die!¡±


    Thwack.


    Panic gripped her at the sound of a fist smacking into flesh; she tore open the door.


    Crack!


    She was at the top of the stairs when Kastyr Mortenn struck down her father. When her mother screamed, terrified.


    When she made up her mind to strike back, with everything she had.


    She flicked a trail of electricity at him from her hand as a distraction, simultaneously pulling down half a thundercloud from the sky to fry him where he stood.


    He evaded both attacks and took the fight into the air. She hurled a healing potion to Mama and followed, not meeting her mother¡¯s eyes, knowing what she would find there. Accusation. Bewilderment.


    The look of someone staring upon a stranger, a stranger they thought they once knew but never in fact did.


    She burned into the night air, and she was in her element. Literally.


    Now he will die.


    She sent more weak rays crackling towards him, enough to distract him from the great spell she was performing on the air, the slowly-building vacuum in which he was soaring.


    ¡°You, Feychilde, leave me vith no choice!¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Come on, tell me you¡¯re not enjoying this,¡± he shouted back. ¡°We¡¯ve always been waiting for this, you and I!¡±


    She wanted to laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t even know you, sorcerer! And you do not know me! Henthae explained everything! Ze lie, it is over!¡±


    His immature smile finally started to fade. ¡°Say again?¡±


    He stopped running, so she slowed down and finally halted. They were high-up now. His wraith would be working double-duty to keep him from the nausea.


    Perhaps he just won¡¯t notice until it is too late.


    ¡°It voz Lovebright! It voz always her! She had plans for you, plans zat never saw ze light of day¡­ I voz to be instrumental in vot you became¡­ and so I have been, to my regret.¡±


    She loosed a curtain of lightning that pulled away his defences, the wind fizzing and popping where her power rippled through it, spreading through the empty space he¡¯d been warding.


    Reducing the amount of effort required to suffocate him by magnitudes.


    He looked confused now, wiggling his fingers more furiously than ever. ¡°What was Lovebright?¡± He gave a fake little laugh. ¡°You¡¯re not making any sense now!¡±


    She swallowed, and fixed her own grimace on her face. ¡°Lovebright, who made me love you! She ¨C she made Henthae do it to me¡­ Eizzer vay, I do not love you, Kastyr Mortenn. It is undone, now. I do not, and I never did!¡±


    She was almost ready. Almost ready to kill him, circumvent all his clever little protections.


    ¡°You¡¯re serious,¡± he said at last.


    ¡°I am serious,¡± she replied, trying to restrain the shuddering threatening to grip her. ¡°You¡­ you need to understand, before zis happens. Thinking of you ¨C it is repulsive to me now. I voz never¡­ never vith you to begin viz¡­¡±


    She gazed over at him, waiting for him to accept it. She couldn¡¯t kill him until he understood. She wouldn¡¯t want his soul to go to the next world burdened with lies.


    ¡°Em, you must be ¨C¡°


    ¡°You cannot call me zat.¡±


    ¡°No, listen, Em, I don¡¯t ¨C¡°


    She looked back to him. ¡°I vill be happy to meet with you at noon tomorrow at ze bank in Blackbranch Square¡­ And yes, you may call me Em.¡± She said the last part rather timidly, looking down at the drop at his feet. It was the most forward thing she¡¯d said to someone in¡­ ever, really. If he¡¯d been waiting for a sign she liked him, there it was.


    ¡°Do not speak to me!¡± she cried, screwing her eyes shut.


    The storm ¨C the Storm ¨C it heeded her unconscious call, drowning him out.


    Orovon Ovrobo, Birdlord, praised be your winds!


    It was like the god¡¯s blessing was upon her. She could feel Feychilde moving towards her, of course, but now, right now, she could sense even his expression, the aeromancy granting her near-perfect blind-sight.


    She could sense his fury, his confusion.


    She could answer it with her own.


    ¡°And now you are mine, heretic,¡± she whispered grimly to herself.


    It might''ve been that Kastyr heard her, because he veered aside, but it was too late for him. His shields left her no choice but to let nature take its course. It would have to happen again to him ¨C it had almost killed him last time, hadn¡¯t it? ¨C but this time it would occur under controlled conditions. No way his sylph could save him this time.


    ¡°For vot it¡¯s vorth, I am sorry it has to be zis vay.¡±


    He sank, between one moment and the next, dropping out of sky.


    She pointed her finger, sending a tornado down, a whirling hurricane-beam to help propel him by circling him, keeping every last breath from the airless sphere in which he fell ¨C


    And he vanished into a green gateway.


    Si garal!


    Emrelet pulled on the Storm once more, sending a thousand forks of lightning coursing across the clouds.


    Where is he? Where will he come out?


    She¡¯d been underestimating him, thinking that in his grief, his lack of preparation, he wouldn¡¯t fight the same way he¡¯d fight an enemy.


    That¡¯s what I am to him now. That¡¯s why I ¨C why his shield hit me ¨C I¡¯m his foe. He could be anywhere ¨C he could kill me in an instant if I don¡¯t spot him first ¨C


    The realisation of what she¡¯d bitten off with this self-appointed assignment began to dawn on her.


    I need back-up.


    ¡°Stormsword!¡±


    A voice, not so far behind her, inside the cloud, lifted in challenge ¨C


    She turned and lashed out in the same motion, bringing down her arm, lightning condensing in her hand only as the blow fell, electric blade making dust of flesh and fabric and memory ¨C


    One of the welcome but unintentional consequences of her attack was the attendant burst of wind that blew aside the fog, exposing the glowing-edged parts of Copperbrow¡¯s body, just for long-enough that she could recognise them for what they were. They fell away like Kas had done, dropping towards the ground ¨C


    These objects weren¡¯t going to just vanish into another realm, were they?


    She caught them, gusts of wind bearing them aloft.


    He was dead, far more dead than he had been when the eolastyr wrapped him up tight in her whip. He was gone.


    She stared at them for a long time.


    Then incinerated them until every last trace of him was gone.


    Another of your victims, Kastyr Mortenn.


    And now you will pay.


    She took out her glyphstone as she flew, and reached out to Timesnatcher.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± she said. ¡°I need you, Irimar. I¡­ It has happened.¡±


    And his reply.


    ¡°Feychilde is a heretic.¡±


    * * *

 The Truth pt9

    * * *


    5th Yearsend, 998 NE


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can keep doin¡¯ this,¡± Bor muttered.


    ¡°Doing vot?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡¯s just a game.¡±


    They were sitting outside Irimar¡¯s back door, in chairs dried by wizardry. Emrelet was controlling the snow, causing it to swirl in patterns around the garden, and he was matching the shapes and consistency down to the last snowflake with his illusions. Where she made a lunging bear, his lunged back ¨C when the snow fell like a waterfall crashing down into boulders, there were suddenly two, the ripples of their rivers converging and rebounding.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean this.¡± He nodded his head, letting his latest glamour drop away ¨C she looked across at him in concern, allowing the snow a mind of its own again.


    ¡°Vot do you mean? You can¡¯t mean, after all zis ¨C Kastyr?¡±


    He shrugged, then took a long draught of his beer.


    ¡°Bor?¡±


    He passed his hand over his face. ¡°I¡¯m still thinking about her, all the time. T-Tanra. I thought ¨C it would just go away. I thought I could¡­ I thought, maybe we could ¨C me and you ¨C but I can¡¯t. I don¡¯t want to. I just ¨C it¡¯s driving me mad!¡±


    He threw his pint-glass at a nearby statue and Emrelet caught it by the handle with a trail of wind before it could smash, before it could even spill ¨C he turned to stare at her, open-mouthed.


    She smiled. ¡°It¡¯s only been a couple of days. Vot did you expect? You vill get over her.¡± She turned back to stare at the beautiful black sky, extending her arms over her head and using them as a pillow. ¡°I don¡¯t think of you zat vay, Borasir. But¡­ who knows?¡±


    She had to admit to herself that the enchanter was attractive, though this pitiful moaning wasn¡¯t exactly working wonders for him. She didn¡¯t think there was ever going to be anything between the two of them beyond the professional relationship they¡¯d developed, but surely it wouldn¡¯t hurt to keep the notion sitting there at the back of his mind?


    ¡°No, it wouldn¡¯t hurt,¡± he growled.


    She hissed, half-rising.


    ¡°Never mind.¡± He stood up himself and plucked his beer out of the coiled air currents. ¡°I know what you did, Emrelet. I know what you did to Copperbrow.¡± He sighed, passing his hand over his face again.


    She lowered her voice, closed her eyes. ¡°And vot are you going to do viz zis information? Vot have you already done?¡±


    ¡°Nothin¡¯. Ain¡¯t stupid.¡±


    He turned away from her, finished his beer, and then threw it back into her wind-coil ¨C she opened a gap and let the glass shatter on the stone, making him jump.


    ¡°Nothing. You really expect me believe zat.¡±


    He groaned. ¡°Come on, Em.¡±


    She opened her eyes again. ¡°Don¡¯t call me zat.¡±


    ¡°You have no idea, how much of a hero I am,¡± he grated, stepping closer to her and thrusting out his jaw. ¡°How easy it would be to just own you, own all of you¡­¡±


    ¡°You think zat makes you a hero?¡± she sneered. ¡°Not stealing avay everyone¡¯s vill and identity ¨C zis makes you a good man, does it? How low of a bar do you vont to set? Is ze man who doesn¡¯t slit his vife¡¯s throat vhile she sleeps now vorthy of praise? You disgust me.¡±


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°If she was a shrill harpy of a wife, and he could slit her throat and she didn¡¯t die, in fact didn¡¯t even get hurt¡­ in fact she got better, happier¡­ without anyone ever knowin¡¯ what he did¡­¡±


    ¡°But zat¡¯s just it, isn¡¯t it?¡± Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. ¡°You know who my friends are. You know you¡¯d be caught, sooner or later, and it¡¯d be your mind on ze line¡­ It¡¯s fear, not heroism, zat you¡¯re talking about. Just fear. Cowardice.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be easy to be brave, I reckon, with the Magisterium backin¡¯ your play. Does it feel good?¡±


    He glowered down at her; she was still sitting demurely in her chair.


    ¡°Eh, does it?¡± he pressed. ¡°Why¡¯d you think I won¡¯t say anythin¡¯? Damn right, I¡¯m scared. I¡¯m scared of you, Emrelet, Stormsword, whoever you droppin¡¯ are! Even if I accused you, even if they proved me right, nothin¡¯ would happen. They¡¯d make their excuses for you, and then I¡¯d be out. Hated by the Magisterium, hated by the champions ¨C¡±


    ¡°I am no longer a champion. No longer Stormsword.¡±


    ¡°What!¡±


    ¡°Stormsword voz in love viz Kastyr Mortenn. I no longer vont to be her. Ze champion¡­ she died viz¡­ viz ze gnome.¡±


    She stared at the broken glass, twinkling in the grass beneath the statue. Something in her words or tone had calmed Bor ¨C he sat down in his seat, looking at her intently.


    Copperbrow¡­


    She still thought of him as the last victim of the heretic Feychilde ¨C last, but not first. She counted the others who¡¯d died from his treachery: Haspophel and Ilitar and the others ¨C who knew exactly why they¡¯d died? The magisters Everseer killed at the library ¨C one of them was Sapha, who¡¯d lent her a spare quill on her first day in class. She hadn¡¯t grieved, not for a moment¡­


    Until she realised her ex-lover was a heretic. Until she realised he was responsible.


    ¡°Come on¡­ Emrelet¡­ let¡¯s go in. It¡¯ll be midnight in a few minutes ¨C the big triple-nine and all¡­ and, no offence, it¡¯s gettin¡¯ cold, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Do you think zey have already taken him into Zyger?¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯re you askin¡¯ me that? Not plannin¡¯ to break him out, are you?¡±


    She gave him a critical look, but Spiritwhisper¡¯s face was contorted with conflicting emotions.


    ¡°No¡­ no, course you ain¡¯t¡­ You just want to be there, don¡¯t ya? Twist the knife. Man¡­¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I put ze steel in him. It vould only be fair to let me be ze one to¡­ yank it free. And if ze blade is caught, and must be tvisted a little to get it loose¡­¡±


    ¡°Just let them do their jobs, for gods¡¯ sakes. Where is your compassion, Emrelet? He was my friend ¨C but he was your soulmate! You are different, aren¡¯t you? Why¡¯s your heart so¡­¡± His voice dropped to a whisper: ¡°Did you take off my amulet? Even for a sec-¡°


    ¡°You vill have to get used to ze new me.¡± She cast him a beatific smile. ¡°Or not. It¡¯s up to you.¡±


    ¡°Hmph.¡± He hugged his arms across his chest. ¡°So you know what happened to you? I can see a significant smear, a recent one ¨C¡°


    ¡°I know vot has been done to me.¡±


    Tyr Kayn!


    She thought the name like it was a curse-word, spitting it inside her mind.


    He was looking down at his feet. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll try, then,¡± he said heavily. ¡°We¡¯ve all been through too much¡­ and there¡¯s so few¡­ so few of¡­¡±


    The way he was regarding her ¨C the strangled expression on his face¡­ It took her a few seconds to realise he wasn¡¯t building to something.


    ¡°Bor?¡±


    His throat made a strange choking sound, gurgling.


    ¡°Bor!¡± The breeze slid her to her feet and she took him by the neck of the robe, shaking him.


    She drew in a breath, entering the instinctive mindset that would capture her words within her exhalation, bear and deliver the message, winging its way to Irimar¡¯s ear on the far side of the house ¨C


    But it wasn¡¯t necessary. Bor seemed to relax.


    And every ear in Mund heard what came next.


    There was only one explanation. They¡¯d opened a hole in the wards maintained by the Magisterium¡¯s enchanters. Maintained in part, perhaps, by Spiritwhisper too.


    They were able to project, the message amplified by their own arch-enchanters, over the Magisterium¡¯s ley-lines. That meant they¡¯d obtained access to the Invocatrix. The auditory illusion blared out in every pocket of the city, from bedrooms and bathrooms to public squares and shopping centres, from Rivertown to Hightown, from secluded forest glades with none to hear the message except birds and bugs, to the packed tenements with little-enough space for the humans to breathe. She heard it coming from all directions.


    The voice was level and calm ¨C not throbbing with lunatic emotion, but not dispassionate either. Invested, just shy of intense. A middle-class accent, originating somewhere in Oldtown, or Hilltown, maybe; well-spoken but not overly-so.


    Emrelet didn¡¯t recognise her, but she knew who it was all the same. When the confirmation swiftly arrived she didn¡¯t reel in shock. Her eyes narrowed in hate.


    It was the enemy.


    * * *

 The Truth pt10

    ¡°People of Mund. Listen carefully. I¡¯m not going to get chance to do this again, and you need to hear every word. Many of you know me as Everseer, and for years you¡¯ve thought me dead ¨C those of you who know me will attest, this is my voice. I am alive. My real name is Vardae Rolaine, and since my disappearance I have dwelt within the Thirteen Candles. Yes, I am a heretic¡­¡±


    The wizard imagined the horror, the confusion, the panic. Millions of people would be hearing this.


    As Vardae spoke, Emrelet raised her hands to the skies and called for the thunder. When the aeromancy failed, Bor finally realised what was happening and tried to encapsulate them in a zone of silence ¨C but it just let the voice through more clearly.


    Then Irimar arrived with Soleine. The great seer, the leader of the champions of Mund, looked at them both and shook his head.


    ¡°We have to hear it,¡± he called over Everseer¡¯s voice. ¡°To help everyone ¨C we have to know. Even if it makes us all heretics.¡±


    ¡°¡­ heretics are not what you think. We are a maligned insurgency, born in a failed experiment. Chaosmakers and Rebels. Killseekers and Troubled Ones. What does ¡®Srol¡¯ even mean? Do they let their children come up with this stuff nowadays?No ¨C it was due to a spelling mistake. Yes. The truth is that we aren¡¯t what they thought we were going to be and when they tried to get rid of us, tried to erase their mistake, we fortified. It¡¯s all ancient history, now, of course, but it¡¯s relevant all the same. It¡¯s what the Magisterium did, and does, and will continue to do until the day it collapses in on itself, burdened as it is by the grandeur of its lofty goals.¡±


    Emrelet stared at each of the others in turn. Timesnatcher was the only one who didn¡¯t stare back, just looking off into the trees.


    ¡°The Dracofont. The five dragon progenitors. Mal Tagar. Ord Yset. Nil Nafrim. Do you know the names of these three? Of course. But do you know their deeds?¡±


    Emrelet frowned.


    ¡°Why are they just names? Why aren¡¯t their feats described in the tales? Tyr Devas. Ulu Kalar. Do you know those names? Why not? Why are the histories broken? Because they fear the five dragons, and these last two especially. The Five Founders¡¯ last act before becoming the Founders, before raising these great city walls¡­ their last act was to defeat the Dracofont in pitched battle. Here, inside these marble bounds ¨C this was where the Dracofont was destroyed.


    ¡°This is where they will Return, their ghosts finding form in the material plane once more.¡±


    Timesnatcher stirred. ¡°It was her. Everseer was the arch-diviner Kas ran into when he went missing at the library. She imparted some of this to him already. And he knew¡­ he knew he couldn¡¯t trust us to trust him if he even gave a fraction of a sign¡­¡±


    Fang shushed him, and Spirit looked shaken at what this might imply for Tanra¡¯s situation, but Emrelet was left to wonder just how much her own attitude had shaped Kastyr¡¯s responses in the last days of his freedom.


    Was Feychilde not truly dark?


    The question, considered in a vacuum, had merit, but then:


    He struck Papa!


    The Magisterium still hadn¡¯t reasserted control. Vardae Rolaine was continuing.


    ¡°¡­ first, when the magisters realised these five, truly tremendous dragons were coming back, they put together a committee designated to explore outlandish means of countering their resurrection. The ¡®great Returning¡¯, they call it. They believe in it, as though it were written in the Book of Kultemeren. Your leaders ¨C they are heretics! Weak ones! Ones unwilling to do what they must! They play into the dragons¡¯ clawed hands¡­ Traitors, all of them. Wait ¨C they did not tell you that until recently they were under the control of Tyr Kayn? Granddaughter of Tyr Devas? They didn¡¯t tell you Lovebright was an illusion designed to bring about the resurrection of the dragon-royalty of old?


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°No. Of course not. They let it fall to me to lay the rumours to rest. You see, eventually some elements of that original committee were absorbed into other departments that still exist to this day, cataloguing the predictions of the end days. They sit there in their glass tower, scrutinising the prophecies for a loophole. They know, believe me. They have known all along that we are ¨C all ¨C doomed. They know, and knew, yet what news does the town-crier bring? Nothing. They said nothing.


    ¡°We were the ones who wanted to speak up. Give people the choice. Because what we know is this. The more archmages the demons kill in Incursions, the stronger the dragons are in the moment of their return. The more people here when they return ¨C you understand me, right? The more food here when they return, I mean ¨C the faster their powers swell afterwards. We are in a lose-lose. And yes, we¡¯ve killed plenty of you; we¡¯ve spread rumours, trying to get you to leave. Culling the livestock. What do your lives matter? What do our lives matter? We cause fear and spread such havoc as we can contrive. But the magisters tar our names, the champions foil our plots at every turn. We¡¯ve concocted every deterrent in the book and you still keep coming. But who can blame you, right? Mund, yeah? Yeah. We¡¯re all in the same boat. So here¡¯s what¡¯s going to happen to this boat before it breaks.


    ¡°You are going to leave. Disembark, or, gods help me, I¡¯ll kill every last one of you myself. Your¡­ heads¡­ will¡­ roll. Timesnatcher¡¯s incapable of stopping me alone. Killstop¡¯s gone into exile, and Feychilde has been sent into everlasting darkness ¨C hadn¡¯t they told you about that? They did nothing wrong. But they dared speak to one of us, you see. Their old friend Nighteye ¨C he was one of us, until he was executed without trial ¨C without a single ¨C word. Did you know about that? That Nighteye swore himself to me, to my cause?


    ¡°Sensing a running theme here yet?


    ¡°Feel free to check my facts, if you don¡¯t believe me. I¡¯m sure your local mage-lords will want to look you square in the eye and try to bluff this one. Just try them. Trust me. All they¡¯ll be able to do is call me mad. But you know what mad sounds like. This ain¡¯t that. This is the real deal.


    ¡°You have until Highsummer. Come the end of summer, Nine-Ninety-Nine, I take your heads if you¡¯re within a hundred miles of the city. Between dawn and dusk, I¡¯ll decapitate the lot of you. It¡¯s an oath. It¡¯s a promise. I¡¯m a champion, don¡¯t you know? I swear it. By Glaif. By Illodin. You¡¯ll die. I¡¯ll do it with my own hands, to spare the world the dragons.


    ¡°I¡¯d plan to be out of here by spring, if I were you. Get a head-start.


    ¡°See, magisters? Even a portent of horrifying doom can make you crack a smile, if you do it the right way. You should¡¯ve listened to me from the beginning.


    ¡°Those of you trying to get into this room, I warn you personally now. You¡¯ve passed the corpses of your friends already. I will kill the first twelve of you with honour. The remaining four ¨C I will stab you in the back as you flee. All of you will die if you persist¡­


    ¡°Very well.


    ¡°Happy Nine-Ninety-Nine, Mund. Go in good cheer. Go with the blessings of the low gods, or of the high. But however you do it, damn you, go.¡±


    There were a few moments of hushed silence, as they assimilated the words ¨C then Irimar was echoing her, urging them to go, ensuring they each were linked and obtained flight-spells before sending them off, west, north-west, north¡­


    It didn¡¯t matter if she was a champion or not. Emrelet had a job to do.


    Whatever the truth of Vardae¡¯s words, what mattered right now was the inevitable rioting in the streets. The unrest. The many insurmountable obstacles this Heresy had raised in their path.


    As the wizard flew, she felt the coldness enter her own heart. The doubt, sown by the evil arch-diviner.


    Did Henthae already know? Has she known all along? It all ends in fire and blood?


    Did she know and never tell me?


    But the most regretful thing about it was that it never would have mattered anyway.


    I would have stood by her all the same, even to the end of the world.

 Courage pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 7E: COURAGE</h2>


    ¡°What is one fire to the next? Are they not one and the same in kind? Look at their faces! Your descendants are extensions of your spirit. Forget the unbridgeable divide between manifestations of consciousness. Forget the arbitrary subdivision of entities. The same spirit flows in the veins! Did you never wonder at the worth of blood to the denizens of the lower planes? Did you never think there was more to you than pipes and tubes and meat? Of course you did. But their cold reductionism played its trick on your mind. Now you must be invited even to step outside the meat. Very good. I hope this obsession with reduction of all phenomena to meat will not be paralleled by a reduction of all ethics to the same. It has a tendency to rot and you will not understand the transcendence of the metaphor until it is too late; the scent will cloy in your nostrils, and only then will you understand.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Edgeless Light¡¯, ch. 11


    18th Mortifost, 998 NE


    It was strange, how you could spend months and months training for that one moment ¨C it might only last seconds or a few minutes when it arrived ¨C but still never know until it came down to the test whether anything you¡¯d learnt had actually paid off.


    That was how Alrior felt when he woke up in the predawn darkness, listening to the mountain wind. It might¡¯ve been winter but the weather down here didn¡¯t seem to pay the seasons much attention. Winter was just a somewhat less-stifling summer, and he very much doubted spring and autumn even existed in this part of the world. Certainly not like they did back home in Mund. He woke in a sweat, and it wasn¡¯t wholly to blame on the oppressive heat. It was the knowing. The knowledge of what today held in store.


    The test.


    It¡¯d filled his dreams when he¡¯d been sleeping but there was no escape from it in wakefulness either, and Alrior lay there, awaiting the summons from Piraeas that would force him and the rest of his slumbering companions out of the tent.


    Still, anything short of an Incursion had to be better than the Box, right? He¡¯d thought he might forget the sound of the Winter Door in the weeks since the Liberator of Zadhal earned his nickname, since he was made redundant ¨C but no such luck. The incessant hissing of the portal he¡¯d guarded for seven months was scratched into his brain. The noise was constantly playing itself, over and over in the background of his mind.


    Maybe finally after today I¡¯ll have something else to distract myself with. Get that stupid sound out of my skull.


    He wondered how the others were faring now that the Winter Door was usable once more, now that the Magisterium had declared Zadhal safe and started moving their assets in. Some of his colleagues had been in the job, guarding the Door for twenty years, and those ones had seemed little better than zombies whenever he¡¯d tried to make small talk. Had they found alternative employment? For many of them it probably hadn¡¯t been necessary. There was serious remuneration for Box-work. It was likely a fair number of them had enough saved to retire. Al wasn¡¯t quite there yet, but at least the Box had been closed down before he lost his mind to the portal¡¯s endless drone¡­


    He hoped.


    He sat up in his bedroll and pawed about for the book he was reading. The Champions¡¯ Charter.


    Alrior wasn¡¯t a brave man. He¡¯d come into his powers when, following the tragic death of his wife, he¡¯d been forced to scrounge in the bins for food to feed the kids. One minute he was there, sighing to himself as he drove his arms elbow-deep in a box of vegetable shavings. The next he was staring about the alley, suddenly aware of the carcass of a half-eaten dog in the gutter, rats crawling on it, in it.


    He¡¯d had a dog, when he was young; he remembered calling it to heel. The carcass-dog ¨C it wanted to come to heel. He knew it.


    He fled, and it took him almost three weeks to come to terms with what had happened to him. It wasn¡¯t until he visited his wife at the shrine of Mortiforn, felt the tickle in dead flesh beneath the gravestones, that he even realised he was an arch-sorcerer.


    Since then he¡¯d stayed as far away from combat as he could ¨C so long as he could just stay alive, this would be the greatest opportunity of his life. He¡¯d gotten himself some nice clothes; within days he had interviews at the Wizard¡¯s Hat and some of the other prestigious companies producing the finest ensorcellments¡­ But none of the offers beat the Magisterium.


    Minimal danger, they¡¯d said. Most boring job in the universe, they¡¯d called it. Well, that was true until the night of the last Incursion.


    He¡¯d seen them, up close ¨C the demons. He¡¯d even claimed one of them for himself, when it fought against his shields, though where exactly it went and how he had to gesture to bring it back were at least partially mysterious, still, having gone untested. Al didn¡¯t like demons; didn¡¯t even want to think about them. But then, just as everything had fallen apart and he started to regret his choice, Timesnatcher had arrived, mowing through fiends like he was getting paid per kill. Redgate came on his wings of black iron, and the immense rush of his power alone was enough to enslave almost half of the hellspawn.


    Alrior had stared at the crimson-clad champion, all of a sudden wishing they could trade places, that he could be the one possessed of such grandeur, such authority ¨C


    Hence the reading material. Since setting out on the voyage Al had been using the book to soothe his nausea, and now, a couple of weeks later, he was almost adamant he was going to take the plunge.


    Today will be the first day of the rest of my life, he said to himself. Fobby and Neleine will finally have a dad they can be proud of.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    They¡¯d known about his powers almost as long as he had, and they were sick of the long hours he¡¯d spent working in the Box ¨C at first when he lost his job, they¡¯d been pleased to have him around more often, spend time with him instead of ¡®evil¡¯ Aunt Sayba. But the money dried up quickly with the expensive tutoring, the upkeep on the property¡­ Becoming a champion seemed like the best of both worlds. If you captured darkmages regularly-enough the wages wouldn¡¯t be much different, and you could still spend half your time at home with the kids. You could even afford to keep paying the servants.


    There was just that first hurdle to cross. The cowardice. He had to be like Redgate. Had to ignore the thing inside him that wanted to curl up, give up.


    Had to pass the test.


    ¡°The Charter, again,¡± mumbled Piraeas from his bedroll, a little sharpness in his voice ¨C Alrior hoped he hadn¡¯t woken him by turning the pages. ¡°Have you even been to sleep, Al?¡±


    ¡°A bit,¡± he replied softly so as to not disturb the others sharing the tent. ¡°Just tense, you know.¡±


    To Alrior¡¯s surprise, Piraeas gave a grunt of agreement.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure this must be a tense time for you,¡± the veteran said. ¡°You¡¯ll get over it, once we get started. Maybe we¡¯ll even see some things.¡±


    Al frowned as Piraeas began waking the others, returning his attention to the text. He detested these outland students and their smug, knowing ways, these highborn brats with years of Maginox schooling under their belts. Sure, he wasn¡¯t a full magister like his companions, but he¡¯d passed the Box training without issue¡­ It wasn¡¯t like he was completely useless, and he was the archmage here¡­


    I put on a mask, and suddenly I outrank them, he thought, reading the small-print of the Charter carefully. The text actually said that a Magisterium-recognised champion had the temporary authority to direct magister-bands in times of crisis, and though the magisters wouldn¡¯t be beholden to any such requests (requests, not commands), there was no inverse rule that he could find ¨C nothing that indicated a champion had to take orders from a magister.


    But it was the content of the magister¡¯s words that disturbed him. ¡®Maybe we¡¯ll even see some things¡¯¡­ The arch-sorcerer had no interest in actually seeing anything, not really, but Piraeas sounded eager.


    Though I suppose it would be better experience for me, if I¡¯m serious about putting on the mask¡­ Am I serious about it?


    Think like Redgate. He came this way, and he wasn¡¯t scared. It was full of monsters and dragons, then, and that didn¡¯t faze him. He strode boldly into the dragon¡¯s lair, and killed it, even if he gave his own life in the process.


    Why the people of Mund couldn¡¯t be told his legend, why it had to be kept top secret on pain of twenty years¡¯ imprisonment, he hadn¡¯t the faintest idea.


    Redgate ¨C wherever you are now ¨C lend me your courage, in the name of Kaile!


    The Magisterium hadn¡¯t told them much, but they had the basic information: adventurers had guided the champion to Ord Ylon, and Redgate brought down a city of kobolds into the bargain, choking the cave-mouth with a million tons of rock. There were a number of corpses located in the cavern beyond the boulders ¨C the task of the expedition was to locate any corpses of interest, nothing more. Though one thing Mr. Zakimel said had confused him; at a certain point Alrior could¡¯ve sworn the old man implied there might¡¯ve been more than one draconic corpse down there. (How many of the creatures did Redgate slay? he had mused at the time.) He wondered whether his propensity for sensing non-human bodies had come to the Magisterium¡¯s attention; whether this might¡¯ve been the reason for the senior magister to show up on his doorstep rather than anyone else¡¯s, waving a job offer in his face.


    Or maybe I was the last to be offered it, and the only one stupid-enough to miss Yearsend for some quick cash.


    The sum had been incredible, though. He suspected he was getting over ten times what the magisters earned for the same work, which suited him just fine.


    Less work, even. All he had to do was walk around, let his sorcerous senses do their stuff. The wizards with their disintegration spells would take care of any intervening obstacles.


    ¡°Getting a read on it?¡± Piraeas was asking on the other side of the tent ¨C not to Alrior but one of his subordinates, a half-elven diviner Al had come to think of as Flower Guy. The pointy-eared seer always had a lily in his belt, displayed prominently, for some reason.


    ¡°Nope,¡± said Flower Guy in his Westerman accent, shrugging with a nonchalance Alrior doubted he could¡¯ve expressed in these circumstances. ¡°Everything¡¯s gone mad, Pir. Drovoss dreamt a bunch of drop that didn¡¯t make sense, even on the surrealism scales ¨C¡± the one who must¡¯ve been called Drovoss looked over almost guiltily from where he sat on his bedroll, chewing on some nuts ¡°¨C and I checked in with Falia; she just had the same one again.¡±


    ¡°And you?¡± Piraeas pressed him.


    ¡°Me?¡± Flower Guy grinned. ¡°I dreamt of Falia.¡±


    Chuckles rippled across the tent¡¯s occupants. Fifteen magisters had come on the mission, so they¡¯d brought two big tents; the women¡¯s tent was pitched ten yards away, too far for them to make out the words that were being said.


    Except for the fact that they were all magicians.


    ¡°What¡¯s all this about Ovin and Falia?¡± one of the girls asked, poking her head in through the flap.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare ¨C¡± Flower Guy began.


    ¡°Should¡¯ve seen this coming, shouldn¡¯t ya?¡± the girl chirped, quickly withdrawing her head.


    Laughter erupted, all at Flower Guy¡¯s expense, and Alrior grinned tightly as his contribution to the teasing.


    He wasn¡¯t one of them, couldn¡¯t even remember half of their names. But it wouldn¡¯t matter, not for much longer.


    He stayed out of the way while they cooked breakfast ¨C well, reheated it. The fiery beans they¡¯d picked up in Tirremuir were almost inedibly spicy when cold, but warmed-up they were tasty indeed. Afterwards they stowed their tents, sorted out their gear (both mundane and spellbound) and got ready to set off down the incline into the cavern. Alrior sat to one side on a wind-scoured rock, watching them do their thing, yet again impressed at their organisation ¨C admiring the way one minute Piraeas would be joking around with them, and the next giving them crisp orders they were obeying to the letter.


    Could I do that? Put on the wheel symbol, fight for them? Become one of their arch-magisters?


    It wasn¡¯t the first time his conscious mind had run across the possibility, and it probably wouldn¡¯t be the last, but the unconscious mass beneath the surface wouldn¡¯t even entertain the notion, speaking back clearly: No.


    He¡¯d seen Redgate¡¯s silhouette sweeping across the blue flames of the portal, the razor-sharp pinions of his wings splayed.


    No. I¡¯m going to be a champion, damn it. The next arch-sorcerer champion of Mund¡­ a champion to rival Redgate ¨C Hellbane ¨C maybe even the Liberator, Feychilde himself!


    He held resolutely to his decision, fixed his purpose, and stared down into the jagged darkness of the sloping pit before them. Alrior was so enthralled in his own thoughts that he missed the fact they were moving ahead without him until they were almost out of sight ¨C the magisters were plunging ahead without a care into the blackness, the coloured radiances of their light sources being swallowed by the gloom.


    ¡°Hey, arch-sorcerer!¡± cried one of the young girls. ¡°You coming?¡±


    It seemed Alrior wasn¡¯t the only one having trouble remembering names.


    * * *

 Courage pt2

    ¡°Over here!¡± Piraeas hissed, pointing. Hours of constant toil had passed, and the leader¡¯s cool demeanour was finally starting to slip. ¡°The rat¡¯s gone under this one. Hurry!¡±


    A wizard stepped forwards, reaching into her demiskin once more to produce the rod of destruction. The long, gnarled staff held in both hands, she took careful aim and started incanting, loosing the charges in short, focussed bursts.


    The boulder didn¡¯t last long, pulverised by gobbets of green-red energy.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Flower Guy said. ¡°We¡¯re going to bring down the ceiling if you continue, Kriss.¡±


    ¡°Cut it off,¡± Piraeas agreed. ¡°We can fit through, now, if we go one by one.¡±


    Alrior watched them go through, one after the other, sliding feet-first into the hole the wizard had created. Holding to the fact the magisters seemed to trust their ability to foresee danger, Alrior consented to squeezing through the crack, constantly reassuring himself as he did so that they wouldn¡¯t all be doing this unless it were safe¡­


    Once he was committed, halfway through the narrow space with his feet kicking out into the open zone beyond the crack, he heard Piraeas¡¯s voice from above.


    ¡°Ovin. Brint. You stay up here, wait for a message.¡±


    ¡°Aw, but I ¨C¡±


    ¡°If we all get crushed to death, you¡¯ll need to contact the high-ups,¡± Piraeas finished grimly.


    Alrior, several feet below him and with several thousand tons of rock poised to slam down and trap him, started to whimper.


    Then he saw the shadows of Piraeas¡¯s feet entering the groove over his head.


    ¡°Come on, Al, get a move on. The longer you¡¯re in there¡­¡±


    Piraeas left the rest unsaid ¨C he didn¡¯t need to continue. The moment Alrior took the magister¡¯s meaning he hurled himself into his task, knowing there were only two options, two directions: down and up; in and out ¨C and of the two options, only one made sense ¨C


    To be a champion. To not be made a laughing-stock by these rich runts. To be useful. To find the corpse of a dragon and ¨C


    His spiteful, selfish little mantra was enough to get him through the trial; within a few seconds he¡¯d wriggled down deep enough to get his backside out of the crack, into airy freedom.


    He half-dropped, half-scrambled down the face of the rock-pile, then turned and went to join the magisters on the lip of the ledge, staring out in wonder. Radiant illusions lit the scene, and it was like something from a dream.


    After a few moments Piraeas stepped up, regarding their surroundings like the rest of them¡­ A minute or so later he broke the silence, saying in a choked voice, ¡°Alright, all of you. Listen. They¡¯ll scrub our minds and they¡¯ll know if any one of us takes so much as a single coin. We¡¯ve got a job to do. Let¡¯s do it.¡±


    Alrior had never, ever before imagined such a treasure-trove. It was a hundred, a thousand times greater than the canvas his mind might¡¯ve painted. The stories of the Ord¡¯s hoard weren¡¯t exaggerations ¨C if anything, they undersold the sheer scope of this titanic cavern. Lagoons of sparkling platinum met meres of glinting gold, rivers of silver sitting like water-rapids between the boulders, bearing up a foam of electrum, a sand of pure, uncut jewels riding the surface, sparkling¡­


    ¡°Do you sense anything?¡± Piraeas asked him quietly. No one had moved so much as a muscle yet, paralysed by awe (and greed), and despite the fact Piraeas had been the one exhorting them all to get on with their jobs, he hadn¡¯t moved either.


    Alrior did sense something. He¡¯d been trained on all manner of undead at a seminar with the late Dustbringer, but this shape he could sense, it was ¨C it was too much ¨C


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said hoarsely, his throat suddenly constricted, as tight as the passageway the wizard made through the rock. The magisters all turned to stare at him. ¡°But I can¡¯t tell what¡­ what it is. It¡¯s like the whole place is dead.¡±


    The two sorcerer-magisters exchanged a long glance, then started casting spells, shaking sand and muttering in Netheric.


    ¡°Can you shield us?¡± Piraeas asked tautly. ¡°Just as a precaution, you understand?¡±


    ¡°With pleasure!¡±


    Alrior started spinning out his shields ¨C if there was one thing he knew, it was shield-work.


    ¡°I¡¯m getting peril,¡± said a male diviner.


    ¡°Seconded,¡± a female one immediately piped up. ¡°It¡¯s just saying, ¡®Get out, get out, get out!''¡±


    ¡°Can you link me with Ovin?¡± Piraeas asked an enchantress, just as Flower Guy¡¯s voice came echoing down through the narrow crevasse behind them:


    ¡°Thirded!¡± Flower Guy cried. ¡°You guys need to get out of there!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what we¡¯re lookin¡¯ at, man!¡± someone cried back.


    Alrior had hunted coin all his life, like a ranger hunted deer. His ethical core sat deep, solid, fixed in its foundations: he wanted to provide for his family, so the children and his job came first and foremost in his calculations. The accolades that would come with championhood were secondary.


    One choice pocketful from this hoard would set not just him and his kids up for life, but their kids too, even if they chose to have ten each¡­


    Piraeas had crouched by the edge of the ledge overlooking the ocean of wealth, and he spoke quietly again: ¡°We can¡¯t just abandon the quest. It¡¯s not about the bonus ¨C look, guys, it¡¯s not like I¡¯m going to lie and say I¡¯m not tempted to palm a few coins. I am. But it¡¯s not going to happen ¨C not me, not you. Not any of you, unless you want excommunicating.¡±


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    Nods and shivers, sighs and whispers; that was how the magisters of Mund responded. No mutiny to be found here, even in the face of the Ord-hoard.


    But where is the dragon? Alrior found himself wondering. It was supposed to be right there, wasn¡¯t it? And why is the cave so choked in death?


    He suddenly felt as though a wolf, or wolves ¨C dead ones ¨C had been here. He looked for their shapes, but there was nothing distinct. Just a morass, a mire of shadow aspects that vanished even as his sorcerer¡¯s-eye tried to seize upon them.


    The sorcerers finished their spells, and agreed with Alrior¡¯s assessment; they too were incapable of providing a precise reading on the place, why it might be so steeped in nethernal energies. After another five minutes of nervous back and forth, Piraeas finally gave the order Alrior had been waiting for ¨C the order he¡¯d been dreading.


    ¡°Al, Falia, you¡¯re with me. We¡¯re going out there, getting the lay of the land. Kriss, give us flight.¡± The wizard quickly got to work, drawing out her spell-components and starting to chant while he was still talking. ¡°And Gholoros, Vosta, get started on wards. Fix them around the opening, yeah? That¡¯s our only way out ¨C we need it clear if things go wrong.¡±


    ¡°I can fix a shield here, as well,¡± Alrior said. ¡°Maybe two.¡±


    ¡°Excellent!¡±


    Piraeas seemed so enthused at his participation that Alrior managed to make three of his finest shields, bold bubbles of blue light surrounding the escape route. This success spurring him on, he floated off the ledge after the druid and diviner. It was only his third time flying and he was still wobbly on the air, but it was a hell of a lot easier than flying up the dropping mountain, and Piraeas led the way, filling Alrior with confidence.


    Vast shields surrounding them, shapes circling lazily, the trio settled down on a huge mound of coins like a small golden hill.


    ¡°Anything else?¡± Piraeas asked at once. ¡°I can¡¯t feel much by way of animal life ¨C nothing with enough of a memory to tell me what happened here.¡±


    ¡°Danger,¡± the brunette seeress said. ¡°That¡¯s all, Piraeas. Ovin was right. We shouldn¡¯t be here.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Alrior found himself saying.


    What is that I¡¯m feeling?


    ¡°That¡¯s more like it.¡± Piraeas clapped a friendly hand on the arch-sorcerer¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re getting a better grip on what you¡¯re detecting? Are there corpses under the treasure?¡±


    It¡¯s too big¡­


    ¡°No,¡± he said in a strangled voice. ¡°I mean, yes¡­ I think ¨C¡± he dropped to a whisper ¡°¨C I think the dragon is undead.¡±


    ¡°Undead,¡± Piraeas repeated blankly, seemingly failing to understand due to the strain he was under.


    Alrior pointed, and the creature made itself visible, audible, a cacophony of coins raining down as it clawed its way out of the treasure-mound in which it had been hiding. Dull scales dripped like tattered banners from its pinions, wings bigger than ship sails. Legs powerful-enough to kick buildings apart like molehills. Tail longer than a dire worm. A mouth fit to devour fifteen magisters and a stupid arch-sorcerer whole.


    Gigantic eyes, appearing like orbs of pure amethyst, but for the black slit of a pupil in the centre.


    A wave of fetid air washed over the cavern.


    His first thought was of terror, wanting to flee, scream, panic. Certainly the body language of Piraeas and the seeress ¨C and the swearing the dragon¡¯s appearance elicited from those on the ledge ¨C seemed to indicate he wasn¡¯t alone in that. But the second thought through his head was one of wonder, that an arch-sorcerer might have the magical reserves to reanimate such a tremendous beast. On the heels of that:


    They were wrong about him.


    ¡°Redgate didn¡¯t die! Look!¡± Alrior moved his pointing finger to the scarlet shape sitting astride the immense, stinking mass of gleaming ligament and bone. A masked shape, hunched over, unmoving. ¡°Redgate!¡± he cried.


    ¡°That¡¯s not Redgate,¡± the seeress said ominously, taking off almost instantly towards the others, towards the ledge. Towards escape.


    Alrior hesitated for just a second before finally getting to grips with what he was sensing. It was no wonder he¡¯d been confused ¨C a dracolich was one thing, but an archlich¡­? He¡¯d never thought to see such a thing, sense it, and yet it was the amethyst eyes behind the spider-mask he¡¯d been perceiving all along.


    He got to grips with it ¨C and he fled.


    He was halfway to the ledge, aloft in the air just behind Piraeas, when it started.


    Nethernal gateways. Hundreds, thousands of them, each releasing a single zombified kobold. They poured across the serene sea of gold, disturbing it with their footfalls, the stench and sound of their arrival making Alrior sick to the stomach.


    They were on the ledge, ahead of him, already straining the shields covering the exit. The wizards were hurling spells, the sorcerers were summoning their imps, but the kobolds they destroyed didn¡¯t want to stay dead, pulling themselves back together, rejoining the fray.


    Alrior was about to land on the ledge and glanced back over his shoulder at the unmoving dracolich and its unmoving rider. He had no idea what to do. He¡¯d once read about using lines of force to cut through enemies, but he¡¯d never had to try it before ¨C


    He set his foot down on the ledge, and his shields drove back over thirty of the arch-lich¡¯s minions, allowing the trio to regroup with the others near the cracked boulder.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± an enchanter screamed desperately.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± Piraeas shoved the enchanter back towards the escape route, ¡°just go! Withdraw! Withdraw!¡±


    One by one, the magisters wedged themselves into the opening, squirming into the tight space. Alrior stood far from the group, grimly facing the undead hordes, using his personal shields to push them back. The zombie-kobolds would¡¯ve been vile creatures even if they¡¯d still been alive, but now their tufted bodies were broken, bestial faces frozen in maniacal death-grimaces ¨C most of the monsters were useless drones but the ghouls and wights amongst them were clearly more formidable. They moved far faster, scraping away at his barriers with greater ferocity and diligence respectively.


    It was just as the fourth magister clambered up that everything changed. Screams started to emanate down the crack, Flower Guy¡¯s amongst them. One magister¡¯s voice was lifted in a shrill shriek that cut off in a protracted gurgle, echoing out of the escape route. The fourth dropped back to the ledge, looking petrified.


    Alrior sprang back towards them, bringing his larger shields with him, but by the time his lines were submerged deep enough in the boulders to cover the magisters trapped on the far side, the barriers covered only their corpses.


    He was still desperately attempting to come to terms with the terrible mess he¡¯d found himself in ¨C the situation had evolved far too rapidly for his mind to fully grasp ¨C but his sorcerous instincts came to the fore, came to his rescue. The training finally paid off.


    He gripped his personal circle tight, shivering, as the acid rained from the dracolich¡¯s maw, consuming the remaining shields, the remaining magisters. He stood alone in the centre of the stone-eating flood, protected on his tiny island from the gushing fluid, its noxious fumes. Piraeas, positioned at the rear of the group and facing the acid-breath as if to shield his subordinates with his body, disappeared beneath the wave ¨C and when it receded he was gone, not even bones discernible where he¡¯d been stood. They were all gone.


    Except they weren¡¯t. Their ghosts, twisting on the air, failed to evaporate. Wails left their insubstantial lips as they contorted, sickly purple light descending on them as though from a great height.


    They¡¯re outside my shield.


    He turned to face the red rider upon the dragon.


    They¡¯re his now.


    We¡¯re all his now.


    Alrior felt himself fainting, felt his shield disappear. Before he even hit the ground the acid started rushing in at his feet, but he breathed deep of the fumes; the merciful grey-green mist stole away what was left of his consciousness, letting him collapse into the darkness without fear.


    * * *

 Courage pt3

    ¡°Am I dead?¡± he heard himself asking, as though from a great distance. He opened his eyes, and for the first time in his life he beheld Nethernum.


    Black starless sky. Dozens of lavender moons wheeling at such speeds their motions were visibly measurable in real-time. An open expanse of flat, shattered stone, broken only by the withered spears of dead, dry trees. The wind cutting across the boundless courtyard was pink, a million tiny particles occluding his vision as the breeze whipped around him.


    Purple shields, vast, stronger than a weave, spinning across the infinite space.


    ¡°No,¡± came a soft, urbane voice from at his side. ¡°You¡¯re merely here under my power.¡±


    Alrior slowly became aware of the gentle but unbreakable bonds fixing his wrists and ankles together, the laces locking down his fingers.


    ¡°I had to save you. You¡¯re different from the others. You¡¯re like me.¡±


    Fearing what he would find, Alrior rolled his head on the stone, looking to the side ¨C


    It was him ¨C Redgate. The former champion wore his classic robe and mask, though it looked like they¡¯d been damaged and then repaired by magical means, stitches of pure shadow binding the crimson fabrics back together, gluing one of the spider¡¯s mandibles to the face-plate.


    Redgate was sitting there on his backside like any man, his feet out in front of him, gloved hands clasped together with his elbows on his knees.


    ¡°Like¡­ you?¡±


    Redgate chuckled dryly. ¡°Well¡­ not yet. That¡¯s really the point of all this, you know.¡±


    ¡°You ¨C you want me to be an archlich?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not something I can do for you, unfortunately; you¡¯d have to do it for yourself. But to what avail, you might well ask. As you¡¯re surely aware, I wouldn¡¯t be able to formally bind your eternal archmage soul ¨C merely condemn it to these lovely environs. Condemn it, keep it¡­¡± The black, reflective eyes centred on Alrior and Redgate¡¯s voice had a hint of bitterness in it. ¡°This is only one of several obstacles I must overcome, before I can be properly reunited with my brethren in Mund. Unseat and shrive my murderers.¡± He sighed. ¡°We must run many experiments together, you and I. Might I ask your name?¡±


    Be ¨C reunited ¨C Mund ¨C experiments¡­!


    Blood-red flames sprung up across the lich¡¯s shoulders, heatless fire momentarily sitting along his neck and upper arms like a mantle ¨C then a snake made from oily darkness appeared, coiled loosely about him. Its head, however, wasn¡¯t serpentine ¨C it looked rather like a tarantula¡¯s, a white rune burning fiercely above the black mandibles, in the midst of the glossy crimson eye-nest.


    The demon slowly wheeled about, the tarantula-head coming to rest on Redgate¡¯s hand, staring across at Alrior in naked hunger.


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    He stared back, knowing that, despite all their apparent insubstantiality, those mandibles could easily penetrate his skin. Whether a low-ranked shapeshifting demon could carry poison, he was uncertain, but he didn¡¯t want to find out.


    ¡°I know. Mizelikon. I had to find a new one, but the others I recovered without too much trouble. Rhimbelkina¡­ pedheliorph¡­ wyvarlinact¡­ thinfinaran¡­ even the gaumgalamar¡­ All those to whose company I¡¯d become accustomed. Death comes with its little foibles.¡±


    ¡°Whuh¡­¡± He felt sick. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    The former champion didn¡¯t answer immediately, but the unseen gaze never wavered.


    ¡°What do I want?¡± The urbane voice lost its keen edge, rusted with emotion. ¡°It is never so simple a thing for those whose lives hold meaning, to determine which meaning to embody. I have spent much time in thought, puzzling over the same question. What do I want?¡±


    Alrior wanted to close his eyes, stop looking, but he couldn¡¯t, and he couldn¡¯t blink, couldn¡¯t even look away. Even here, the pain of it felt physical. The spirit-flesh of his cheeks was becoming sore. His jaw hurt.


    ¡°I never saw archmagery as a gift, as we so often speak of it. It is more¡­ a reward. Call it the will of Vaahn -¡±


    The purple shield surrounding them rejoiced, flaring in recognition of the dreadful name.


    ¡°¨C call it the will of some lesser entity, or some nameless force, or even the random card fallen from the dealer¡¯s hand ¨C¡°


    Redgate chuckled again.


    ¡°¨C it is still a reward. You must roll the dice to win, do you see? You won. Who did you kill?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I didn¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. You know the power of what we possess, you and I. What were you before it? You know nothing else can compare to the freedom afforded by the magic. You know how it feels to have the eyes of others, their hidden thoughts, drawn to you like moths to the light-globes. But in order to excel, and stand above one¡¯s peers, one must be prepared to go beyond one¡¯s inheritance. One must strive, work towards one¡¯s goals without fear of failure or recrimination from outside sources. Long have I toiled, and much have I earned; yet for every answer I uproot, five more questions hang like dirty tendrils beneath the bulb. Do not take me for some bumbling fool, some dilettante. It isn¡¯t what I want. We¡¯re simply doing what¡¯s logical. In any case, I digress ¨C your name, sir.¡±


    My name?


    ¡°A-Alrior¡­¡±


    ¡°Alrior¡­?¡±


    ¡°Habermine. Alrior Habermine.¡±


    ¡°Well, Mr. Habermine ¨C I¡¯m afraid I must inform you that you¡¯ve inadvertently volunteered to take part in a series of obscure rituals. On the receiving end, so to speak. We shall do our best to be lenient with you, and not subject you to an excess of agony unless it proves necessary.¡±


    ¡°B-b-but ¨C Redgate ¨C¡±


    ¡°Hush now, Mr. Habermine. You need not be afraid. I¡¯ve located a number of vampires whose blood we shall use to sustain you through the¡­ process. Oh, doubtless an elixir few would dare drink, concerned as most are with the conditions of their mortal souls¡­ but those simple anxieties are beneath the likes of us, aren¡¯t they? Let us begin.¡±


    The gloved hands reached up, removing the mask, eight glowering glass eyes replaced by two burning amethyst ones. The face ¨C handsome, almost human, but drawn, nearly gaunt. The lich¡¯s eye-sockets were sunken, shadowy pits, unlit by the purple flames they hid.


    As quickly as Alrior had moved from respecting Redgate to fearing him, it took a long time for the fear to harden into hatred ¨C and even longer for hatred to die, the stiff corpse of his heart finally softening, releasing all its rancid gasses, putrefying into a lovelorn affection.


    A long time, in Nethernum. Perhaps just weeks or even days, in the real world. No one would ever know the years of torture he endured ¨C not even him. For afterwards he would always look back on it as a time of simple transformation, a memory he would often refer back to in self-reflection, a smile on what remained of his face.


    His mind was lost in the song of the shadowland, and thus it was that, in the end, Alrior did indeed get the sound of the Winter Door out of his head.


    But he also the left behind the name of his dead wife.


    The names of his children.


    Forever.

 The Vampire Fooled pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 7F: THE VAMPIRE FOOLED</h2>


    ¡°I am the punishment that comes to the deserving. I am the sacrifice willingly made. I am the wound that never seals. I am Lord Suffering.¡±


    ¨C from the Mortiforic Creed


    Moon IX Crossing V


    He stood on the battlement of the mountainous fortress, looking out on the desert below, wind whipping about him. The gleaming sands were a thousand miles away ¨C his physiology, such that it could be said to properly exist in this place, was truly formidable, yet even his sight could not cover such distances. No, it was his spiritual endowments that let him pick out every grain of sand, every desperate clawing finger. It was his status, his nature as a Chosen of the Gods. The dirges of the broken, the cries of the lost ¨C these were the winds that rippled his collar, and he knew every voice, heard every prayer down to the last word. He could smell every rotten clambering corpse, even discern the addictive odours of the Life Perpetual, the river of blood that was as far from here as far could be¡­ The red waters ran at once as wide as an ocean, as narrow as a cavern stream, and there was no telling why the winds brought him its playful scents.


    Vaahn tempts me, he thought. Vaahn tempts me, and I submit, only so that I might not break.


    He indulged himself, just for one moment of time, one segment of this ever-flowing nothingness. He remembered the taste of the blood, covering his tongue and gums and all the soft and hard creases of flesh in between, running down his throat, filling the void inside him and painting his tonsils in its red brilliance so that even for minutes afterwards it might drip, drip, drip more ¨C enough blood that even in remembering it he wanted to choke, wanted to savour every single priceless droplet¡­


    But he was long practised. He managed to return to himself, scowling a little at the extent of his sojourn into the lip of the abyss, the edge of madness.


    I will abide, and await my Lord¡¯s call, to go hence through the Gate, and know that I might find Celestium for my troubles.


    I will never break.


    More time passed, and the servitor of Illodin stepped up beside him. It¡¯d been hundreds of years since they¡¯d last come across one another, but the silence between them was instantly a comfortable one. They¡¯d been acquainted for a good few aeons; incidental conversation wasn¡¯t required.


    For seventeen minutes they stood there, as the hours were accounted in the House of Sacrifice, waiting together, looking down. Over four days took effect down there on the sand, the events displayed in translated sequence.


    The black-armoured armies crawled closer. A fraction of a fraction, but progress was progress.


    One day, they would arrive. Their hostile intent betrayed them, increased the time-space they traversed by an almost incalculable amount. Yet it was not infinite; not quite incalculable. On Moon III Descending XI, their outriders would appear, the hated banners raised in siege.


    At last, the pale, shimmering revenant turned to the vampire. His voice was hollow, resonating through the dark air as though it echoed off itself.


    ¡°Thinkest thou my Divine Lord and thine shall come to accord?¡±


    ¡°My thoughts,¡± the vampire replied, ¡°and thine, Lord Moss, on this matter and all others, remain unfortunately irrelevant. Yet, should our Masters fail, the host of the Prince of Chains may strike all the sooner, and without such resolution we shall withstand the blow shieldless.¡±


    ¡°The Gate cannot fall, Mr. Owl,¡± Lord Moss intoned.


    ¡°That, I am afraid ¨C¡± the vampire smiled tightly ¡°¨C is not quite accurate, my lord. Forget not that I as much as or more than thee stand to lose from its destruction.¡±


    ¡°My Lord cannot condone it,¡± Illodin¡¯s servant said obstinately.


    ¡°If only it were of such simplicity. Thou knowest thy Lord¡¯s inclination towards inactivity.¡± Mr. Owl sighed, and sought to change the topic away from such grave concerns, so that the comfortable silence might reinstate itself afterwards. ¡°Hast thou entertained the envoy of the Horned One?¡±


    The gleaming revenant seemed to dim for a moment, and Mr. Owl permitted himself a rare chuckle.


    ¡°The impertinent wench!¡± Lord Moss groaned. ¡°How camest a creature such as she into the service of a Divine? For such a one to be Chosen ¨C it is insanity!¡±


    Mr. Owl inclined his head. In the line of work he and Lord Moss had accepted as their lot in the afterlife, they didn¡¯t get much opportunity to interact with fey.


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    ¡°If I comprehend of her philosophy,¡± the vampire said mildly, ¡°she sees it not as service at all. Wherefore else might such a one do the bidding of a deity, and of whom else might such a deity beg favour?¡±


    ¡°She dared question my faith!¡±


    ¡°I think, my lord, she questioned only thy diligence; thine own lack of questioning, if thou wilt. Such is, after all, her remit.¡±


    Lord Moss started muttering: ¡°¡­ might have come in herself, an avatar of no less power that her hooves stood like pillars in our sands; yet a tree with roots planted this Equine Courtesan doth remain¡­¡±


    ¡°Speak no ill of the Unbroken Unicorn, my lord, when it is her own long foe whose shadow darkens our great Door ¨C¡°


    ¡°When it is her whose hand fell first in judgement, smiting him on the jaw, him whose own hand drawn back now in anger strikes first her unknowing allies at his flank! Mr. Owl, I think that even here upon thy stone I shall stand atop mine own two legs, if thou dost so please, and speak with a tongue whose courses my mind alone shall design. I shall bite the consequence, or be bitten; on either hand thou shalt find me abrim with comment, and no less afoot.¡±


    His attempt to subvert the direction of the conversation having failed, the vampire merely nodded, allowing the uncomfortable silence to reassert itself. Whatever their Masters decided, he was in agreement with Lord Moss. Nentheleme ought to have come in person, however great her disdain of Nethernum.


    He was about to say something, expound upon the meaning of his wordless nod, when a new psychic link came into sharp relief.


    ¡°And there we must hold, for now at least, alas,¡± Mr. Owl said, turning and pointing. ¡°A matter arises which requireth mine oversight.¡±


    Where he indicated, not ten feet away across the titanic empty parapet of black stone, the spectral form of one of his assistants appeared. It manifested as a glamour of purple mist, resembling the upper body of the cloaked, hooded skeleton contacting him.


    He noted with some surprise that it was one of the soul-takers, tasked with sorting the spirits of those who sacrificed of themselves. They very rarely needed supervision. The vampire took a step towards the apparition, feeling his curiosity piqued.


    ¡°Mr. Bagreldiar ¨C to what do I owe this pleasure?¡±


    The fleshless jaw moved beneath the hood, the inflectionless words emanating from the purple mist in the spectre¡¯s own voice.


    ¡°Mr. Owl, my good sir ¨C I hath in my possession the soul of one Lyferin Othelroe ¨C¡°


    ¡°I hasten!¡±


    Mr. Owl whirled away, crying, ¡°Fare thee well, Lord Moss!¡± as he waved his hand and plunged through the portal he¡¯d opened.


    When the vampire stepped into the mausoleum, mere seconds later, his worst fears were confirmed.


    Lyferin¡¯s spirit was already awake.


    He dismissed the spectre with a glance; Mr. Bagreldiar dissipated, and Mr. Owl refocussed his attention upon the lich.


    The young man was standing by the window of his tomb. His skin was already starting to thin. There was a black line across his neck and lower jaw that would never heal, the memory of the blow that had taken his head off. Beneath the default nethernal dressings, robes draped about him in vague suggestion of his mortal raiments, Mr. Owl could sense the wound in his chest where missiles had pierced his heart, magically exploding it.


    Had it been present.


    ¡°What is this place?¡± Lyferin groaned, casting about outside with his new undead eyes.


    ¡°It is thy home. Thy tomb, and womb. Thou needst not ¨C¡±


    ¡°Ahh ¨C you.¡± The lich didn¡¯t glance over his shoulder, and the vampire cast no reflection in the glass of any world; he must¡¯ve recognised the seneschal by voice alone. ¡°Mr. Owl, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°I remember you, Mr. Owl.¡± Lyferin drew a deep breath. ¡°My home. Of course. Where I buried my heart.¡± He seemed to understand and started laughing, turning away from the window and displaying his pearly-white teeth to the vampire as if in challenge. ¡°I don¡¯t mean it figuratively, you know.¡±


    ¡°I am aware.¡±


    ¡°You know what I did.¡±


    ¡°Those rituals thou didst seek to emulate¡­ They are most unclean.¡±


    Lyferin brayed wild, mocking laughter. ¡°Haha! So the sacrifices did work¡­ I am no mere lich, no mere arch-lich! The use of a mage¡¯s phylactery freed me! I am indestructible! I am ¨C¡±


    ¡°Thou art now presented with an interesting choice indeed, Lord Othelroe. Like I thou didst reject the risks of rebirth, binding thy will, flesh, spirit into one single substance. Yet it was the sacrifice thou didst offer in those first demonic sorties which hath reft thee of thine ultimate damnation; lift thy voice in joyous song! Might that pure substance now be put to higher purpose, or shall base instinct rule this proud essence? Wouldst thou continue on as thou wert, or else step off this path of debauchery thou hast trod hence, and put thy hands and strengths to better deeds? We hath dire need of such talents as thou dost possess in droves, and a dearth of arch-liches. With us, thou shouldst find thyself upraised before the days grow late, a man of noble mien and stature, a lord enthroned with powers of command and dispensation. Out there ¨C he whose lips claimeth to know what thou wilt find, out there, is a liar-born.¡±


    While he spoke Lyferin crossed to the ghostly four-poster bed, sitting up against the headrest with his legs out straight in front of him.


    ¡°You try very hard, vampire, do you not? Does this often work for you?¡± He waved a hand dismissively, looking aside. ¡°No, don¡¯t answer me. You¡¯ve already spoken at length to convince me that it doesn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I shall remind thee that all thou hast undertaken to perform, all thou hast done unto thine own soul, hath been attempted many times, even achieved. No less ruin did those sorry spirits endure than shall be thy fill, shouldst thou choose to bite the darker meat.¡±


    ¡°So it is true? I might find a better patron, one providing a finer meal¡­ Utenya and Vaahn, whose nethernal domains the rites invoked, perhaps, or ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do not speak those names here!¡± Mr. Owl hissed.


    It was too late, anyway. The guardian-servitors would¡¯ve been alerted just at the mention, and the context didn¡¯t improve matters one bit.


    ¡°Come now, Mr. Owl, don¡¯t be churlish. You are a vampire, are you not? Tell me, where might one such as yourself find prey on this plane? And how am I to travel? I must find new eldritches immediately. Might I just open ¨C¡°


    The vampire stepped back smoothly as the space itself widened, the distance between him and the bed, the bed and the window, all of it doubling and redoubling. He saw from afar that Lyferin¡¯s lich-face was creased in puzzlement: the room was now bigger than a palatial dining room.


    * * *

 The Vampire Fooled pt2

    Within three seconds, portals were coalescing in a ring about the bed. Ninety-nine warriors of Lord Suffering¡¯s own personal guard appeared, tomb-wardens of the Cracked Throne. The Ministry of Mortiforn embraced all comers: zombie or wight, skeleton or deathknight, wraith or spectre¡­ Yet their ghostlight blades identified them, white-glowing weapons with points thinner than the gap between planes, terrifying edges crafted expressly to slice through any form of substance: steel, stone, soul.


    The swords were in their hands, ninety-nine of them. Those creations could never be sheathed, fit only for such restless, ever-vigilant minds as theirs.


    ¡°An infidel has been acknowledged,¡± Madam Tinphelios, their leader, spoke in her cold voice. She was a tall banshee and she hovered off the ground; grey of flesh and cloak, her sole decoration was a silvery halo floating about her head, above the streaming colourless hair.


    She lifted her weapon, pointing its gleaming tip at the figure atop the bed. ¡°This is your final warning. Renounce the Prince of Chains and the Daughter of the Void, else be annihilated.¡±


    ¡°We so challenge ye.¡±


    Ninety-eight voices spoke in her wake, a haunting chorus, and their swords were also raised.


    ¡°Well,¡± Lyferin said, obvious discomfort on his face, ¡°am I outnumbered?¡±


    The question hung in the air for a moment or two, and Mr. Owl alone knew of this man¡¯s temerity ¨C the elder vampire was the only one to suspect his meaning.


    The sorcerer might have ten times as many blades pointed back at us right now, he realised. Oh, Lyferin, you fool¡­ You have no eldritches.


    Head this off, he said to himself, before defeat sours him completely.


    ¡°Madam Tinphelios ¨C if thou wouldst permit my momentary interjection?¡±


    The vampire looked at the banshee, and she slowly turned, accepting his request with a swift nod of her monochrome head.


    He nodded back in gratitude, then returned his attention to the arch-lich.


    ¡°We hath in excess of one million such souls at our immediate disposal,¡± Mr. Owl said. ¡°And, as thou must now surely realise, thou mayest not bind a single one. Believe me when I say unto thee: in this thou treadst the border-line. I warn thee not to teeter, for a fall from such heights might end not in lordship but scrutiny, and an eternity is longer than thy mind has yet perspective to conceive.¡± He managed to smile congenially at the sorcerer ¨C there was over a hundred feet between them, but Mr. Owl knew his fangs could be spotted at this distance even by an ordinary mortal. This man was far from that now, even without other eldritches inside him. ¡°Come ¨C wouldst thou not rather direct such forces? Wouldst thou not ¨C¡°


    ¡°Save it, vampire,¡± Lyferin called, sounding bored. The lich appeared to be examining his nails in close-up ¨C he was only just realising that his flesh had changed. ¡°I have much to do, now that I¡¯m here¡­ Now that I¡¯m like this, I mean. But your offers ¨C you¡¯re just wasting my time, I¡¯m afraid, and you really don¡¯t understand it, do you? You might be able to call on a million soldiers¡­¡±


    A million elite soldiers, Mr. Owl thought gratingly, at my immediate disposal¡­


    ¡°¡­ but you don¡¯t command ¨C and neither do you.¡± Lyferin flashed his purple eyes at the banshee warrior. ¡°You both just do as you¡¯re told. Following orders¡­ it¡¯s really not my thing, old chum. You ought to pay some attention to Nentheleme, get out from under the thumb from time to time. Oh, wait ¨C can I say that? Nentheleme? Or is the Horse-Whore a banned topic too?¡±


    Madam Tinphelios cast her stare at Mr. Owl, silently requesting his approval for her to resume her task.


    Situations like this were awkward. Mr. Owl technically outranked her, but that really was a technicality, and in times of conflict her decisions superseded his, especially where her duty, where the very disposition of her own troops was concerned.


    He was tempted to just let her loose. The lich¡¯s ongoing feud with himself, refusing to grow up, refusing to do his duty¡­ it was tiring, even to a creature of near-bottomless patience like Mr. Owl. If he continued to offer such insult, would it be such a bad thing to let him be destroyed? It could be achieved in such a way that the spirit wouldn¡¯t return for millennia, and when it did it would be a crude, quivering thing, slow to inhabit its previous shape.


    Lyferin was grinning, and belaboured a sigh. ¡°It has been lovely talking, though. I shall have to call again, when I have more friends. Vaahn willing.¡±


    Crimson flames burned in the air where the lich gestured ¨C


    And died again.


    ¡°We cannot permit thee to depart, Lord Othelroe.¡± The vampire regarded him critically. ¡°As thou sayest best ¨C we do as we are told.¡±


    Lyferin¡¯s smile faded, and Mr. Owl stepped towards him again.


    ¡°I kindly suggest that thou seekst out that one last shard of thy soul which still possesses sense, and a faculty for scale, and renounce those blasphemous names thou didst invoke.¡±


    He halted, thirty feet from the lich, and saw the thinning lips curled back in a sneer.


    ¡°Very well¡­ Very well indeed.¡±


    There was none of the tightness, the anger in his voice Mr. Owl had anticipated with this surrender. Only the cold slipperiness.


    ¡°I will renounce the Prince of Chains and the Daughter of the Void,¡± the lich said heavily.


    ¡°This is insufficient,¡± the banshee declared. ¡°You must denounce them in Chraunator and Kultemeren, under the sigil of Glaif, an oath undying; and then swear yourself to the service of our Lord Suffering. Aught less is punishable.¡±


    ¡°Hold!¡± Mr. Owl barked, and she glared at him severely. ¡°It is insufficient, yet an everlasting repudiation shall be forthcoming. Please, might I entreat patience, Madam? Thou knowest well I ask not for much, and that little not lightly.¡±


    She scowled, and lowered her blade in a swift, scornful motion, the deathly air screaming as she cut it. In unison her company followed suit, though with perhaps a little less vim.


    ¡°Very well, Mr. Owl. I will listen. If this one speaks again a single dark name, a single dark syllable, I will nail his hands to my wall.¡±


    ¡°Mine own eternal and undying gratitude, Madam Tinphelios.¡±


    Portals consumed the ninety-nine tomb-wardens, and the room resumed its previous, less-intimidating proportions. Mr. Owl found himself now just a few feet from the foot of Lyferin¡¯s bed.


    ¡°Well,¡± the lich said, ¡°I suppose I owe you my thanks, vampire.¡± He had less difficulty saying it than Mr. Owl had beforehand suspected he might. ¡°Without your aid, I could¡¯ve been forced to swear off joining¡­¡± he paused for effect, daring to grin at his own jest ¡°¡­ the Prince of Chains forever. I have this uncanny feeling that such an oath, in such a place as this, would bind me willing or no. Am I wrong? Now that just wouldn¡¯t be fair, would it?¡±


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    For all his exhortations about patience, Mr. Owl found himself tiring of this endless obstinacy. He stared at the sorcerer for a long time.


    ¡°Wouldst thou linger awhile?¡± he asked at last. ¡°Explore our House, and all the varied spaces contained within. Thou mayest lay bare in thy soul those crevasses which hath lain till now buried, beyond sight, at last excavated. When I return, we shall discuss all thine agitations, and discover a smoother discourse in each direction.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re trying very hard to avoid mentioning that I¡¯m your prisoner.¡±


    Mr. Owl smiled. Expectations were the rule here. Lyferin had just trapped himself.


    ¡°Thine own words aright; perhaps from Nentheleme¡¯s agents we would learn much. We hath no qualms regarding bonds in this place. Yet thou art in truth more free in a shadowland-coffin than the master of a ship in Materium. Thou canst travel a thousand realms, and journey a thousand seas, never changing course for a thousand years, and yet never step foot beyond our House¡¯s walls.¡±


    Mr. Owl attempted the congenial smile again, now from a nearer vantage; the sour, displeased expression on the lich¡¯s drawn features didn¡¯t change in the slightest.


    ¡°It is not our intent to cause thee anguish. Abide. I shall return anon.¡±


    Mr. Owl turned, and stepped back through his portal, onto the black stone parapets once more.


    Lord Moss was still there, overlooking Vaahn¡¯s armies as they crawled closer across the plain.


    ¡°Thou art satisfied?¡± Illodin¡¯s servitor asked.


    ¡°Nay ¨C yet I believe I hath spared another soul yon torment.¡± Mr. Owl pointed down at the sprawling black armies. ¡°One fewer warrior in service of the Lord of Death, even if he should love me not at all for it: and if not a victory, at the least it standeth not a failure.¡±


    ¡°Congratulations, then, Mr. Owl.¡±


    ¡°My thanks, Lord Moss.¡±


    The two of them stood there upon the precipice, as the timeless time receded and the minutes and years flowed by.


    O Enduring One, heed me, heal me, the vampire prayed. I am in no less need of thee than the lesser things which crawl about as maggots upon the face of Materium. Keep me upright in my duty. I exist, to be Sacrifice¡¯s offering¡­


    Mr. Owl hissed, spinning on his heel.


    ¡°What now, Mr. Bagreldiar?¡± he demanded of the spectre as it formed upon the air.


    ¡°I offered to bear you this message, sir, taking it on in spite of its dire nature ¨C¡°


    ¡°Mr. Bagreldiar!¡±


    ¡°It is Lyferin Othelroe. He has escaped, sir.¡±


    ¡°Escaped! I had thought to let him stew awhile, and¡­¡±


    Mr. Owl fell into silent contemplation.


    I should have made him swear the oath! He knew naught of our ways! How hath he achieved this?


    But one couldn¡¯t simply make another swear such a binding oath, and even attempting to do so would¡¯ve irreparably undermined the vampire¡¯s own position. There was no way someone like Lyferin was going to be bullied into eternal servitude.


    Still, I need not have reserved torture. I might have reintroduced him to his grandmother. To face her, without owning her¡­


    ¡°Sir,¡± Mr. Bagreldiar said hesitantly, ¡°before he disappeared he spoke aloud to those whose task it was to listen, bidding them bring you his thanks for showing him the way.¡±


    ¡°Showing him¡­ the way¡­¡± Mr. Owl shook his head. ¡°Whither did he fly? Within Nethernum?¡± Even on a spectre¡¯s featureless face the vampire could read the bitterness, and pre-empted the answer. ¡°Nay¡­ The sorcerer returned to the site of his defeat, did he not?¡±


    The spectre nodded solemnly.


    ¡°Commiserations, then, Mr. Owl,¡± Lord Moss intoned.


    ¡°I shall have to make report to my Lord in person,¡± the vampire said, speaking more to himself than the others, looking down over the edge once more. Then, after a moment¡¯s pause ¨C minutes of travel to Vaahn¡¯s host down there in the white sand ¨C he refocussed his thoughts.


    ¡°My gratitude, Mr. Bagreldiar. That will be all.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    The apparition started to dissipate, but then all of a sudden it halted, spectral eyes staring over Mr. Owl¡¯s shoulder ¨C


    The vampire¡¯s very first thought was that Mr. Bagreldiar was going out of his way to outstay his welcome in such august company; then he realised that it could be Lyferin, behind him, returning to the House of Sacrifice to do battle ¨C


    Mr. Owl could react to anything: he could dart out of the way of raindrops and emerge dry through the storm; he could slip out of the paths of starlight and moonbeams, going unlit through Materium¡¯s midnight; yet he was paralysed, out of synch with time as was all else around him and below him, while the child spoke jaggedly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to¡­ come to me. I¡¯m here¡­ Mr. Owl.¡±


    The divine spell released him, and when Mr. Owl whirled it was only to sink into a low bow, bending over his upraised knee so that his head was beneath his Master¡¯s.


    ¡°Almighty Suffering,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°My Lord!¡± Mr. Bagreldiar cried, the phantom-face looking aside, jaw slack in holy awe.


    The Chosen of Illodin didn¡¯t speak, but the shimmering shape of Moss¡¯s body somehow prostrated even lower than the vampire without either foot leaving the stones ¨C it was as though his ankles were broken, letting him lean forwards without falling, his nose hovering just off the black rock.


    ¡°Please¡­ be at ease.¡± The four-year-old boy¡¯s voice was tired and he stopped every few seconds to wince. ¡°All of you.¡±


    Mr. Owl slid back into an upright position, but he continued to look at the ground at his feet, trying to ignore what his senses were screaming at him.


    The sounds, the smells; these were enough. He¡¯d looked at this avatar before, studied the Living Boy. He had no desire to repeat the experience.


    After a moment his circular awareness feedback informed him that Lord Moss was the only one of the three of them willing to stare at the avatar full-on.


    Other than his lower lip, the boy seemed rather ordinary. His dark hair was clawed neat, a crude effort at presentability despite the ragged bag he wore for a raiment. His eyes were a cool grey buried inside the agonised squint. But that lower lip alone was enough. It was huge, hanging almost to his navel; the ¡®v¡¯-shaped protuberance was like raw minced meat, oozing pus and flies, malformed teeth clustered in the teeming, gum-like folds.


    His presence alone stilled all forms of violence that weren¡¯t self-directed.


    ¡°Enduring One,¡± Mr. Owl said softly, ¡°Lyferin Othelroe hath fled thy halls, seeking employ under a darker banner.¡±


    ¡°I know, Mr. Owl.¡±


    The vampire sensed the lower lip trembling, other muscles tensing and relaxing as Mortiforn spoke ¨C he sensed the pain flashing through that tiny body. Yet it was sanctified. An agony of suffering that served as constant purification, leaving his Lord¡¯s mind clear, cleansed like no other in existence.


    Will I be punished? Mr. Owl wondered. It¡¯d been a long time since he¡¯d been tortured against his will; it¡¯d been a long time since he¡¯d failed. Whilst he could well-remember the pain of his last punishment, he found himself almost anticipating it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid,¡± the boy continued, shuddering against the excruciating agonies wracking him. ¡°He¡¯s dangerous, but¡­ not to us. He¡¯ll bring about¡­ many sacrifices, if he lives. His own suffering has¡­ only just begun.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C my Lord ¨C the suffering of the peoples of Materium at his hands¡­¡±


    He heard the swish of tenebrous dangling flesh, heard the brief gasping wince, and knew that his Master was cocking his head at him.


    ¡°You think¡­ him excessive?¡± The boy sounded surprised.


    ¡°Yea, my Lord! If aught can be done ¨C¡±


    ¡°And what would you give?¡± The god¡¯s voice took on a harder quality suddenly, more like his other avatars, the Fleshed One, the Open Man¡­ ¡°What would you sacrifice¡­ to spare the mortals their own?¡±


    This at least he knew the answer to.


    ¡°Everything, Master.¡±


    There was only one answer to such a question, in this place.


    ¡°Hold out your arm. The¡­ right arm. Good. It won¡¯t¡­ regenerate this time.¡±


    The boy took him by the hand, tiny soft fingers holding onto Mr. Owl¡¯s steel-hard digits; then the avatar pulled away gently, shearing off the arm and his sleeve at the shoulder. Flesh and fabric made almost the same tearing sound as they ripped.


    Mr. Owl collapsed into a crouching position, biting down his howls.


    Just¡­ like¡­ I¡­ remember¡­


    He managed to stay on his feet. Despite the vast blood loss, unconsciousness couldn¡¯t claim him ¨C he was in the House of Sacrifice, and he had to know his pain. He only weakened, teetering where he crouched, and after a few moments the bleeding stopped.


    The Living Boy threw down the thin severed arm, and it slid inside the black stone where it landed, disappearing entirely, adding the offering to the fortress. Then he continued:


    ¡°Okay, Mr. Owl. We¡¯ll do it¡­ your way. If I interfere in Materium¡­ it gives our enemies license to do the same. Luckily, they¡¯ve¡­ been far naughtier than me. Four. Four times can I spend from¡­ that wellspring. Four¡­ agents can¡­ I¡­ send¡­ to hunt him down and put an end¡­ to his ploys.¡±


    ¡°Master!¡± the vampire choked, his mind awash with agony and love, gratitude and self-confidence. He had forgotten just how much punishment hurt, true sacrifice, and now he was here in the throes of it, he almost enjoyed it, savouring the reality of his terrible wound, the sense of place it afforded him.


    He knew where he was. The only place that would have him. The only place he could be human despite all his endowments.


    The only place he could truly suffer for his crimes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you¡­ select them.¡± The boy turned aside. ¡°I must return more¡­ awareness to the council now. The Chosen of Locus is¡­ about to speak, and we all¡­ know how picky they can be when they feel you aren¡¯t¡­ paying attention. Choose¡­ wisely, Mr. Owl.¡±


    A portal consumed the Living Boy and then Lord Suffering was gone, leaving the three lesser beings there atop the mountain, reeling in hallowed wonder.


    Four, Mr. Owl thought. Four times, an envoy of the God of Pain might be sent to waylay Lyferin.


    Four chances to bring him home.


    Where he belongs.

 Spilt Milk pt1

    <h2>JET 8.0: SPILT MILK</h2>


    ¡°Silence is not the absence of sound. You have it backwards. Sound relies upon silence for its being. Is the plaster the absence of paint? Or is paint an attempt to cover something we find less palatable? We fear the meaning of silence. The gods fear it. Even birds fear it. Every word is nothing more than an attempt to suppress it. Stop and listen. Beneath the wind. Beneath the soil. It is there. It is always there, waiting for you.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 12:189-195


    5th Yunara, 999 NE


    Xantaire Tarent had always known it would come to this. She had so few allies left ¨C her safe places felt like traps, her options limited one by one until she was faced with a single route forwards, a last-resort way out of her predicament.


    She picked up her Rose Lord and moved him eight spaces, towards the Northern Hold, Jaid¡¯s fortress.


    ¡°Aha,¡± Jaroan exclaimed, his voice a little lower, less excited than usual. ¡°She fell for it.¡±


    He sidestepped with his Ogre and took out the Rose Lord in a move she should¡¯ve seen coming a mile off.


    ¡°Wyrda¡¯s maw!¡± she swore, then pressed her fingers to her lips in contrition; the twins smiled wanly and Grandpa gave her an arch look.


    ¡°You can shut up, old man¡­ You¡¯re not doing any better, you know!¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± Orstrum chuckled, ¡°but I know how to lose gracefully.¡±


    He moved his Moon Guard, an innocuous little sidestep designed to set up a later move. Then Jaid¡¯s Unicorn charged from out of nowhere ¨C


    ¡°And sploosh the Moon Guard¡­¡±


    Orstrum, despite his earlier words, gave an involuntary wince.


    Jaid tipped Granpa¡¯s figurine over, and Xantaire shuddered; the twins acted as though this fortify set were as durable (and cheap) as the wooden, home-carved one they¡¯d been using for years.


    It was basically the only thing the Magisterium hadn¡¯t taken¡­ except the things she¡¯d had Xastur hide. Those were probably gone forever, too.


    ¡°Sploosh,¡± Jaroan said, looking down at the unicorn model.


    Xantaire saw the glumness in the boy¡¯s expression, emotions whirling in his eyes, emotions usually kept so well-hidden ¨C and she felt tears start in the corners of her own eyes.


    Sploosh. That was something Kas used to say.


    She hurriedly took her next move, selecting her last Mushroom Man. She wouldn¡¯t be able to make Jaroan feel better by deliberately leaving a piece out in the open ¨C the twins were too smart: they wouldn¡¯t fall for it, and they¡¯d know she was pandering to them. Instead she invaded Jaroan¡¯s territory ferociously, playing a teleportation card and hopping over his defences.


    Making him focus on winning the game ¨C that was what would distract him the most.


    His Fireblade came careening across the field of play to consume the Mushroom Man anyway, and Xan actually froze in shock.


    ¡°Been waiting for you to play that since you picked it up,¡± he said, wearing a tight, savage grimace.


    ¡°But¡­ we draw the cards blindly,¡± she protested in a weak voice.


    He sighed and shook his head, the look on his face one of pity almost to the point of scorn; his sister¡¯s expression was less scornful, more amused; and they both turned those aloof eyes on Orstrum.


    ¡°I¡¯m just going to check on Xas,¡± she said, unwrapping the blanket around her knees and getting up from the table, moving to her room.


    She needed an excuse to grab the cake, after all.


    A quick peek into the bedroom told her that her son was safe and sound, chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. The scar on his cheek was almost invisible, a pale line only her eyes could pick out.


    At least one thing¡¯s still right with the world.


    The rest of it had gone right to hell.


    It¡¯d all started with that damnable Vardae, Everseer, whatever she wanted to call herself. By all accounts she¡¯d once been a hero, a champion amongst champions ¨C then she¡¯d been killed, apparently, and unmasked in death, with those who¡¯d known her confirming her as the victim. For years she¡¯d been gone, but apparently behind the scenes she was the orchestrator of all these terrible events ¨C the rumour went that she was probably behind half the murdering that¡¯d happened since the day she went missing.


    But what had the dark seeress expected? A mass exodus? For people to actually give up their lives and livelihoods, their homes and possessions, strike out into the unknown and scrabble over resources in the winter landscapes? Maybe, when summer came around¡­ if Everseer made another plea to the public like the last one¡­ provided a bit of evidence, something to make it more believable¡­ maybe, just maybe, people would start leaving. But from what she¡¯d heard, it was only the cowards who¡¯d ran ¨C the richer the likelier, apparently. She wasn¡¯t surprised.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    What was Vardae going to do? Actually kill everyone? Everyone in Mund? Because of some story about dragons? She was insane, through and through. There was just no way they¡¯d let that happen. Someone would stop her first ¨C that was simply the way of things. The town-criers had reassured the crowds of Sticktown that Everseer had spoke nothing but half-baked theories like any street-corner madman, and that they¡¯d ensure everyone¡¯s safety ¨C Xan had heard it in person from Emrelet, who was also intending to stay despite the warnings.


    Emrelet, who¡¯d confirmed Kas¡¯s fate in a quiet voice, her face drawn, eyes alight with anger.


    No, it had to be nonsense, or close enough. This was Mund. Xantaire felt safe. If she thought for one moment that joining a refugee train out of the Sticktown Gate into the frozen unknown would improve Xastur¡¯s chances at living, she¡¯d have headed out in a heartbeat. But it just wasn¡¯t credible. Kas had never mentioned any of it¡­ Was that because it was Heresy? No ¨C there was no way. If he¡¯d known, he would¡¯ve said something¡­ wouldn¡¯t he?


    The things Everseer said, about him and Nighteye, though¡­ These were things Em wouldn¡¯t confirm, things Kas never went into even when he¡¯d explained how the arch-druid gave his life for them.


    Did he hide all this from us all along?


    And it hadn¡¯t really mattered whether it was nonsense. All the reassurances in the world hadn¡¯t stopped people kicking up a storm. There¡¯d been rioting, the first two nights ¨C just an excuse for brawling with the watch and conducting a little heavy-handed burglary, really. Though when the watch started clocking off early and joining in with the rioters, things got really out of hand and the magisters were called in.


    That put an end to the disruption in about an hour, at least around Helbert¡¯s Bend.


    She¡¯d never experienced such discontent amongst the people, though. Many of them were still recovering from wounds inflicted by careless mages, whose only instructions had seemingly been to ¡®keep the peace¡¯, at any costs. At least they hadn¡¯t killed anyone ¨C yet. If the general mood of frustration didn¡¯t start to disappear, she worried that it would only be a matter of time before the Magisterium started slaughtering dissidents, and then it really might¡¯ve been worth getting out of the city¡­


    Jaid and Jaroan were discussing their next move silently, just their eyes flickering, conveying more in a glance than she¡¯d manage with ten words. She had a bit of time. She stepped inside the bedroom as though wanting to perform a more thorough check on her son, then closed the door behind her and leaned her head back on it, shutting her eyes.


    Why, Kas? Why did you let yourself get caught?


    Emrelet hadn¡¯t gone into any details. The magister¡¯s hands were tied on the subject, according to her at least, but there¡¯d been something shifty about the way the arch-wizard kept on looking aside at certain moments. Whenever Xan had questioned her on the finer points of the post-Incursion madness, this strange look had come over her face that Xan had never seen before.


    She knows something, she¡¯d thought at the time. Something she won¡¯t share. Then the sense of suspicion had been washed away with the realisation of just how much this must¡¯ve been hurting her.


    The love of her life¡­ or at least her first real love¡­just gone forever into the darkness, just like that.


    Yet when she¡¯d offered a shoulder to cry on the archmage had rejected her, turning away and flying off into the night.


    Didn¡¯t she know¡­ I needed someone too?


    She¡¯d wept with Orstrum, the morning after Kas had been taken away, once the twins had finally fallen into a fitful sleep. She¡¯d let down her barriers in front of Grandpa, at least. But he was too old, too jaded to feel the way she did. He¡¯d gotten over Kas¡¯s loss within a few hours of mourning, in the passage of a few long sighs¡­ that was it.


    It wasn¡¯t the same for her, or Em. Nor for Xas. Nor for the twins.


    So soon, after Morsus¡­


    Now, standing in the light of a solitary candle with the crown of her head pressed against the wooden door, Xan let those two tears slide down her cheeks. At least in here she could mask her grief. Once she stepped back out into the main room, she¡¯d have to be herself again. Strong. Unbending. Dependable. A rock for the others to cling to.


    She picked up the small cake on the bedside table, and lit the two nice candles she¡¯d kept aside especially for this occasion.


    Why couldn¡¯t you be here for this? Kas? They¡¯re ten, you know. They¡¯re ten, and you¡¯re¡­


    She gritted her teeth.


    I¡¯ve got to stop doing this. You¡¯re gone, Kas! Gone for good.


    She drew another deep breath, blinked away the tears, and stooped down over her son. ¡°Xassy? It¡¯s time. You want to see the twins blow out their candles, right?¡±


    Her sleepy-headed son trailing after her, his little arms thrown wide in a stretch, she opened the door even as she locked down her thoughts. Smiling fixedly, she lifted her voice along with the candle-crowned cake:


    ¡°Happy birthday dear ones, happy birthday dear ones¡­ ¡°


    Orstrum joined in, and Xastur caught up on the last line, sitting in Grandpa¡¯s lap.


    She saw the twins trying to smile too, saw their sad eyes, and her body took control, whimpering, halting.


    In her mind she relived the moment ¨C lowering the glyphstone, seeing the golden squirrels he¡¯d left to guard them vanish in seething green bubbles¡­


    As the song she was leading died away the cake slid out of her hand and was dashed all over the floor; she watched it happen, incapable of doing anything to stop it.


    Then she was on her knees beside the sugary mess and it hit her, really hit her. She couldn¡¯t see through her tears.


    She wanted Morsus to hold her. She wanted Kas, stupid, insolent Kas, to come popping through the wall like a ghost, just a head protruding from a random surface. It wasn¡¯t ever going to happen. Not unless he died down there. Em had explained this ¡®Magicrux Zyger¡¯ in a single sentence:


    ¡°Zere is no magic in zat place, no returning ¨C he is zere until he dies.¡±


    But the twins came to her without saying a word, wrapping their arms around her, stepping right over the cake.


    The cake didn¡¯t matter. She mattered.


    Why are they hugging me? she questioned, clinging to them as they clung to her, listening to Jaid¡¯s loud sobs, feeling Jaroan¡¯s constant shaking. She was angry, angry at herself, at Kas, at Mund and all these stupid magic-users. But angry at herself most of all. Herself, the one part of the recipe she had the power to control. Why is it I¡¯m getting comforted by them?


    She looked over at Grandpa, struggling to pick him out with her blurred vision; he was embracing Xastur tightly, and tears were twinkling in his own eyes ¨C his not too-old, not too-jaded eyes.


    He hadn¡¯t gotten over it. He didn¡¯t let go.


    ¡°How do you do it, old man?¡± she blurted.


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± his voice returned, cracking. ¡°I don¡¯t!¡±


    She saw him digging in his wane-pocket, something he wouldn¡¯t have normally done around the children, and she looked away in shame.


    After a few minutes, Jaid said in a hesitant voice:


    ¡°C-can we ¨C can we still eat it?¡±


    Xantaire laughed, a little desperate, despairing laugh.


    ¡°I did sweep up this afternoon, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    She freed an arm and stuck her finger in the gooey mess, then sucked it clean. The twins copied her, then they scooped some into a bowl, passing it up to Grandpa and Xassy.


    But Xantaire, Jaid and Jaroan stayed sitting on the floor, eating off it until they¡¯d picked it clean.


    That was just the Sticktown way. No use crying over spilt milk, or dropped cake.


    No use crying at all.


    * * *

 Spilt Milk pt2

    10th Yunara, 999 NE


    Knock, knock.


    Orstrum took one look at her knackered face and the old man knew it was his turn without being told. He creaked to his feet and hobbled over to the door.


    ¡°Who is it?¡± he queried in his slightly-dulled voice.


    ¡°Emrelet Reyd,¡± the strong, cold voice replied.


    Xan shuddered to hear its tone.


    All this¡­ it¡¯s changed her.


    Even still, Xan struggled into an upright position, putting her back against the arm of the seat and swinging her legs around. It was in her interests (and the interests of her extended family) for her to stay on good terms with these friends in high places she¡¯d stumbled-upon.


    Grandpa had such difficulty with the third lock that Xan let loose an explosive sigh and bounded up to her feet.


    ¡°Shove over,¡± she muttered, batting away his gnarled old hand and grabbing at the latch herself.


    Orstrum mumbled something to himself and sighed as he sat back down on his mattress.


    When she finally got the damned thing open, Xan saw that Em had her back turned and hood cast off over her shoulders, revealing her long, braided ponytail. She was leaning on the rail overlooking Mud Lane as she waited. Snow was drifting down around her, almost invisible in the evening darkness.


    The wizard turned, the white, fur-lined magister¡¯s robe swishing.


    ¡°Xantaire,¡± she said.


    ¡°Em?¡± She made it a question. ¡°You want to come in? Looks chilly out there ¨C we¡¯ve had the fire going, and I¡¯ve got extra blankets if you ¨C¡°


    ¡°I do not need ze blankets,¡± the archmage said, but stepped inside anyway.


    When she¡¯d closed the door behind the wizard, Xan turned and saw that she¡¯d headed straight for the fortify set.


    ¡°Zey left you zese?¡± she asked curiously, taking one of the glass figurines ¨C the Swamp Hag, it looked like ¨C and inspecting it. ¡°I thought zey vould have taken everything.¡±


    ¡°Almost,¡± Xan said. ¡°They did their best, believe me.¡± She¡¯d promised herself she wouldn¡¯t mention the nice young magister who¡¯d just winked at her when she¡¯d questioned him leaving it in the cupboard. She didn¡¯t want to get him in trouble. There were even a few of the kids¡¯ toys that got conveniently ¡®missed¡¯. Birthday presents and Yearsend gifts. Things the Magisterium wouldn¡¯t give a damn about.


    Xan reclaimed her seat, groaning a little.


    ¡°You¡¯re okay?¡± Em asked, setting down the miniature and turning to look at her now.


    It was a strange question, Xan thought, coming under such circumstances. It was only a week-and-a-half ago that Kas was taken in to Zyger.


    No, was the truthful answer. Give me some money. Go on, Em. Give me the plat you get in five minutes¡¯ work, save me months of effort¡­


    ¡°Yeah,¡± her well-habituated tongue supplied the typical lie. ¡°Just shattered. I started work again on the eighth ¨C need to keep that cash coming in. Xassy¡¯s a bit older now, and Grandpa can normally manage fine with him¡­¡±


    Orstrum was nodding along, distracted by his wane-haze ¨C


    ¡°¡­ but, well, things¡¯ve been better.¡±


    Em was nodding too, looking around the room as though she were in her own drugged state.


    ¡°Of course¡­¡± the magister said. ¡°Of course¡­¡±


    She came to sit down on the opposite bench, and suddenly she was looking directly at Xan again.


    It was uncomfortable.


    ¡°Is there¡­ do you want to see the twins? The kids are playing.¡± Xan gestured at Kas¡¯s ¨C at the twins¡¯ ¨C bedroom. ¡°Or ¨C do you want a game yourself? I¡¯m still learning, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯d kick my ass ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±


    The wizard looked away again, peering down at the table.


    ¡°Then¡­ a drink? We¡¯ve only got water¡­¡±


    Xan let her voice drift away and die. Emrelet wasn¡¯t even listening.


    ¡°Em?¡±


    The archmage drew a sharp breath, then met her eyes.


    ¡°Em, what is it?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I vould appreciate, if you vould not call me zat. It ¨C it is vot he called me.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I get it. I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll tell Jaid¡­¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    A silence descended, painful, itching.


    Does she want to talk about Kas?


    After a minute she got up, moved around the table, and sat herself down next to the foreign girl.


    She¡¯s just a girl, she reminded herself, not much older than Kas is¡­ was¡­


    But when she put her arm out to embrace the magister, Emrelet just shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.


    Xan slowly lowered her arm, staring at the wizard.


    ¡°Have you had any visitors, Xantaire?¡±


    The archmage was staring back, deep into her own eyes, silver-blue irises gleaming like the morning sky seen through clear glass.


    She drew in a sudden breath. ¡°You ¨C you don¡¯t mean ¨C he escaped?¡±


    Emrelet¡¯s eyes narrowed in scorn. ¡°No!¡± she barked. ¡°I mean ¨C anyone? Anyone of interest?¡±


    It was Xantaire¡¯s turn to narrow her eyes. ¡°Well, Garet¡¯s been round a couple of times ¨C he¡¯s actually a really nice fella, you know? Peltos is going to give us a break on our rent, for a week or two ¨C but that wasn¡¯t what you meant, was it?¡±


    Emrelet slowly shook her head.


    ¡°Well, then I can¡¯t help you.¡±


    The wizard got to her feet immediately. ¡°I am seconded to Special Investigations now, you know zis? Vould you mind very much if my supervisor vere to take a look around?¡±


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Take a look¡­?¡± Xan was fully intending on glaring, but then she looked away, seeing something ¨C something ¨C


    The shutters had only been open a crack, but suddenly they were looming wide into the room, and another person was in here, standing beside the mattress, right over Grandpa.


    An older man, in his fifties or sixties. He wore a fine blue magister¡¯s robe, trimmed in gold. His thick moustache seemed to pre-empt the movements of his head, quivering this way and that way as his keen eyes flitted around the apartment.


    ¡°You would have said yes in the end,¡± the man said, not even glancing in her direction.


    Grandpa sat forwards, alarm on his face as he turned to appraise the newcomer ¨C thankfully he remembered to keep his mouth shut, locking away the wane-breath and slurred voice.


    She copied him, studying the well-dressed stranger, her concern growing. What¡¯s with the facial acrobatics? she thought. Am I going to get in trouble for the fortify set?


    Seriously, who do they think¡¯s going to ¡®visit¡¯ me that¡¯s of interest?


    ¡°I know you,¡± she blurted, realising. ¡°You¡¯re Zaki-¡°


    What was it? Zakimol?


    ¡°Quite.¡± He folded his arms across his chest, long sleeves flapping, and finally turned that old crystal gaze on her. ¡°Ms. Tarent. I am Tervos Zakimel, Deputy-Head of the Special Investigative Branch of the Magisterium. You have not been approached by the renegade, Killstop?¡±


    Her mouth went dry.


    ¡°Killstop¡­ no. So that¡¯s what you¡¯re calling her, is it? She¡¯s a ¨C a renegade?¡±


    ¡°She is telling ze truth, Zakimel.¡±


    ¡°I can see that much, thank you, Ms. Reyd.¡± He turned smartly on his heel, appraising the exposed fortify set for a moment, then turned back. ¡°Your glyphstone has touched Ms. Reyd¡¯s. We would be¡­ extremely appreciative¡­ of any information you could provide with regard to Killstop¡¯s whereabouts and intentions.¡±


    Xan folded her own arms. ¡°Would we, now? Well by the sound of things Killstop might appreciate being left the hell alone.¡±


    Orstrum¡¯s creased eyes widened, and he shrank down in his chair.


    She knew what he was expecting: more archmage violence, right here in their home. She didn¡¯t think it would go that far, though.


    Her guess paid off. Zakimel just smiled.


    ¡°Oh, doubtless she would appreciate it. But not as much, Ms. Tarent. Not as much.¡°


    The implications were clear. The coffers of the Magisterium far outstripped the funds available to a traitor, a lone wolf.


    She lowered her eyes, and in the second it took her to look up in surprise he¡¯d closed the shutters then moved to the door, unlocked it, and swung it open to reveal the snowy darkness.


    ¡°An exquisite collector¡¯s piece,¡± he murmured, his back turned to her. ¡°I hope you enjoy it, young lady. You will improve, with practice. You really needn¡¯t have buried the other thing, though.¡±


    He disappeared, leaving a bluish blur on the air in his wake.


    It took Xan a moment to realise he¡¯d just been talking about the fortify set and the robe.


    She looked over at Emrelet but the wizard had her back turned too, stalking after Zakimel without a word, a backwards glance.


    She remembered that day they¡¯d met ¨C by the bank in Blackbranch Square, walking home together, preparing the food¡­ Xastur making her a picture of her fortify game with Kas¡­


    ¡°Is that it?¡± Xan asked to the swishing platinum ponytail, not bothering to mask her anger.


    ¡°Goodbye, Xantaire,¡± the accented voice drifted back to her.


    ¡°You¡¯ve changed, you know.¡±


    ¡°So people keep telling me.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you should listen!¡±


    She was already flying, the reply almost a sigh, the wind bearing her answer:


    ¡°Maybe zey should shut zeir fragile little faces.¡±


    Xan kicked the door shut after her, slammed the bolts, wrung the key in the lock¡­ She pressed her forehead against the oak door, closed her eyes ¨C


    And heard the bedroom door on the far wall open.


    ¡°Who was that?¡± Jaid asked ¨C then, before Xan could so much as begin to open her eyes or turn her head ¨C ¡°Ooh! You¡¯re back! I was just telling Jar the other day, how, I don¡¯t care what they say about you, you¡¯re still my favourite champion¡­ After Kas, obviously¡­ Though I don¡¯t necessarily think Lovebright really being a dragon in disguise makes her any less cool¡­ So, are you going incognito?¡±


    Xan sighed.


    You just had to go and complicate things, didn¡¯t you, girl?


    The kid diviner was sitting in Xan¡¯s seat, head hanging, shoulders hunched. The multi-coloured robe had been traded in for one that was plain grey but she still wore the same old mask. The expression on the fake face had never seemed more apt, from her body language.


    Yet appearances were deceptive. Killstop might¡¯ve looked broken, defeated, but, when she turned her head to face the ten-year-old, the seeress¡¯s voice rang out through the frowning lips with as much levity as always:


    ¡°After Kas? You¡¯ve got to be kidding me, right? You¡¯ve seen how fast I can go? He¡¯s like a snail next to me! You¡¯re just biased because you don¡¯t like diviners, that¡¯s your brother¡¯s thing, isn¡¯t it? Don¡¯t you pull that face at me! Oh, hi Jaroan! Though, yeah, Jaid, I totally get the whole dragon thing. Way cool. Shame I didn¡¯t get to fight her. That would¡¯ve been quite the tale to tell!¡±


    Orstrum, who¡¯d started chuckling, reached out to grab his cup. ¡°My girl!¡± he blurted. ¡°You¡¯re going to be quite the¡­ quite the storyteller in your own time, I am certain of it.¡±


    Killstop shrugged. ¡°And ¡®incognito¡¯? That¡¯s an awesome word.¡± Her head pivoted, looking the other way, right at Xan. ¡°You taught her that?¡±


    Jaid crowed in delight, entering the room with her brother and Xastur on her heels.


    Xan shrugged back, moving to sit down opposite her. ¡°It¡¯s, erm, I suppose you¡¯d say it¡¯s a tradition of ours. We¡¯ve got all these books to pick from¡­¡± She waved at the shelves as she sprawled out, relaxing her aching back again. ¡°I haven¡¯t got through half of them yet, in three whole years¡­ Belonged to the Mortenns ¨C you know¡­ Big¡­ big readers.¡±


    She felt ill, all of a sudden, considering this situation she¡¯d been plunged into.


    There was no way she was going to betray this poor, hunted girl to the authorities. No way. It¡¯d be night in the Twelve Heavens first.


    Please, don¡¯t talk about anything important. Please. They¡¯ll just take it from my head anyway.


    ¡°Nothing like a good book.¡± Killstop inclined her head gravely. ¡°What is it the priests of Locus say? ¡®The tale is the mortal¡¯s gateway to the infinite, the path to the eternal. Inside one evening the mind might span the course of ten thousand years, or contend with the fate of the universe. Upon the diaphanous wings of such flights of fancy alone might man attain wisdom beyond his years, and return from the dark place without the scars his forebears earned in the tale¡¯s telling. When he goes then into the true darkness he will be prepared beyond his father, and insofar as he speaks and is not silent likewise shall his son outstrip him. And so at last it is that we find Progress, that tenderest, most-elusive of all ideals, forever embedded in the very fictions the men of seriousness seek in public to revile. Heed them none, and in so doing surpass them all.¡¯¡±


    What was she trying to say? If there was a hidden meaning to the seeress¡¯s cryptic choice of quote, it was beyond her. She had trouble just telling what it was about, and even that was mostly because Killstop had opened by summarising the passage in layman¡¯s terms.


    But Xantaire noted the way the twins seemed to comprehend what the archmage was getting at, staring up in renewed awe at their parents¡¯ collection of cheap books, at each other ¨C and in that moment she hated them a little bit for their advanced minds.


    ¡°They¡¯re after you, you know,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s why they were just here ¨C they wanted you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry ¨C Zakimel won¡¯t be back.¡±


    ¡°And if you run into him out there ¨C¡°


    ¡°I run faster than him, don¡¯t worry. I fight better than him, too. Don¡¯t fret, please. I get enough of that off my mother.¡±


    ¡°You ¨C you have a mum? And she¡¯s safe, in Sticktown?¡±


    Killstop shook her head. ¡°Not anymore. She¡¯s a long way from Mund, living a life of wealth and luxury and, above all, boredom. No darkmages staying at the beach-hotel in southern Myri where I left her, believe me. And yes, that was a lie.¡± Then, without missing a beat, she plunged her hand into one of the robe¡¯s pockets. ¡°Speaking of wealth ¨C here. I broke it for you. Thought platinum would be too obvious. Take it, damn it!¡±


    The pouch had to contain at least fifty coins, and a quick peek told her they were an almost equal mixture of gold and silver.


    ¡°K-Killstop ¨C I can¡¯t ¨C can¡¯t thank you ¨C¡°


    ¡°And I can¡¯t apologise, either. It was at least partially my fault Kas ended up where he is¡­¡± She looked over at Jaid and Jaroan. ¡°You know that, right? Kas didn¡¯t want to tell anyone, and I confirmed he was right not to. Maybe I was wrong¡­ I don¡¯t know anymore. But it doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s done, and I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I know, Killstop,¡± Jaid said, coming forward and taking the ex-champion¡¯s hand briefly.


    So he did know¡­


    Killstop seemed to return the gentle grip, then looked over at Jaroan ¨C but the awed look the boy had been wearing when she¡¯d quoted the priest of Locus had slipped by now, replaced with something sullen, his cold eyes flashing. He just nodded, his arms crossed.


    Killstop seemed to slump down a bit. ¡°I said I¡¯d keep you safe.¡± She directed her words at Jaroan. ¡°I promised him, you understand? I intend to keep my promise.¡±


    ¡°When¡¯s he coming back?¡± Jaroan¡¯s lower lip was trembling. ¡°That¡¯s all I need to know. When¡¯s he coming back, Killstop?¡±


    The seeress slowly shook her head, spreading her hands despondently.


    ¡°Then what dropping use is divination anyway!¡± he screamed, whirling on his heel and fleeing into his room, thrusting the door shut behind him with all his strength.


    Xan looked at Orstrum, but he wasn¡¯t going to be any help ¨C he was blinking slowly, entering the dazed state that would precede wane¡¯s deep slumber. When she turned her head back she saw that Jaid was heading towards the bedroom ¨C but Killstop¡¯s cry stopped her in her tracks.


    ¡°What use is it? I¡¯ll tell you one thing for certain, young Master Mortenn. One thing I know. I learned it the hard way, more times than a human is supposed to have to.


    ¡°One day, you¡¯ll get past it. One day!¡±


    The last, muttered quietly, to herself:


    ¡°And me too¡­¡±


    * * *

 Spilt Milk pt3

    23rd Taura, 999 NE


    It was after midnight, and Jaroan was still out. Again.


    She put on her thickest winter coat and, warning Jaid that she¡¯d better stay in bed if she knew what was good for her, Xan headed out into the night.


    The worst of the snows had stopped two weeks ago, only to be replaced by showers of icy rain that anyone would¡¯ve traded for snow in a heartbeat. The four winds were at war, and they¡¯d chosen Mund for their battle-ground: one minute the cold droplets were sheeting down at her back, battering her hood, then they whipped about, streaming at her face instead, tearing the covering off her hair and forcing her to reach up, pull it back down again.


    She kept her head bowed as she moved out into the drop-streams of Mud Lane, watching her footing even more carefully than she watched the shadows in her surroundings. A bad fall, in conditions like these¡­ you could drown in the sludge, and they wouldn¡¯t even find your body for days, until the rains subsided and the drop receded ¨C or at least until your corpse was washed out down near the Spannerwalk, where there were literal beaches of materials that¡¯d been carried down the lane under the surface.


    Despite such dangers, it wasn¡¯t the weather she was worried about when it came to Jaroan. Something far more perilous was happening to the boy.


    She checked his usual haunts, the alleyways and balconies where the gang of idiots he¡¯d signed-up with most-often hung around. Nothing. It wasn¡¯t until she ventured off the lane that she started to despair.


    What had happened to Jaroan to make him start acting up this way? Was it all because of Kas being taken from them, or was there some other underlying cause, something she could actually do something about? Even Jaid was going out on her own sometimes now. Always in the day, always within reason, but it¡¯d started to irk Xan until the day she followed the blonde girl up the alley ¨C and saw her descending the skull steps into Helbert Bend¡¯s shrine to Mortiforn.


    She must be seeing the priests, grieving her brother, Xan realised.


    She never followed Jaid again, and didn¡¯t intrude on the girl¡¯s privacy by revealing what she knew. Better to let the ministers do their thing.


    The not-knowing. That was the worst bit. The inaction. With Jaid, at least she knew what was going on, but Jaroan? She had little doubt that by the time Xassy got to the age of ten she¡¯d know precisely what to say and do to exert her authority, whip her son into line. But now, parenting a rebellious pre-teenager who¡¯d lost almost everyone important in his life¡­ It was an uphill battle and every day that passed, she thought he¡¯d finally make good on his promise.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even want to be here anymore,¡± he¡¯d said to her three nights back. ¡°What is there here, for me? For us? Kas wanted to keep the apartment because of Mum and Dad but now it¡¯s him, it¡¯s Kas I¡­ I-I want to leave.¡±


    Jaroan had looked over at his sister when he¡¯d said that, but Jaid had just stubbornly shook her head. The young girl might¡¯ve been feeling the same way, but the conflict within her was still ongoing. For now, at least, she wanted to stay.


    ¡°There¡¯s no guarantee it¡¯s any safer outside Mund,¡± Xan had replied in her most-measured voice. ¡°Come on, I need you to keep chipping in. Without your earnings ¨C¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t want to leave Mund.¡± His eyes shone fiercely. ¡°I just want to leave here.¡±


    ¡°Leave the apartment?¡± She couldn¡¯t quite keep the surprise from her voice. ¡°But that would mean all of us going ¨C unless you mean you want to leave us, or ¨C¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± he¡¯d said in a matter-of-fact tone, then slammed the bedroom door in her face.


    By the time she¡¯d tore her way into the room, the hurt caused by his words tempered for a moment by her fury at the sheer cheek of him, he was already more than halfway out of the window.


    ¡°You get back here this¡­ instant,¡± she started saying to his left leg, and concluded to a completely empty room.


    ¡°Jar!¡± Jaid cried, running past her and plunging out of the window after him.


    But he¡¯d even run from her ¨C he was starting to develop the long legs of his brother, his father, and he¡¯d apparently outpaced his sister within two minutes.


    To fall into a black mood ¨C that was pretty normal for the boy. But to abandon his twin ¨C she¡¯d never seen its like before. She had to stop herself reeling in shock because her reaction to Jaid¡¯s report had set the girl weeping.


    The streets were far from empty tonight. She avoided several groups of drunks, one group of watchmen, and punched an old groper square in the chin when he came leering out of the mouth of an alleyway. All in all, it was a fairly ordinary trip through Helbert¡¯s Bend. She kept her eyes peeled for one of the Bertie Boys ¨C she could get them to let Garet know what was happening, see if he could put some of his guys on it¡­


    Ultimately, despite her fretting it didn¡¯t take her long to find Jaroan. Within twenty minutes of trawling the streets she picked out his voice ¨C he was sitting on a first-floor rail a few houses down Giblet Crescent, a good fifteen feet over the roadway; his back was to the road and he was talking loudly to his new friends. The way she approached the balcony where they were gathered, staying beneath the walkway, she ensured none of them spotted her.


    ¡°¡­ I didn¡¯t even need to show him. I just told him you sent me, like you said, and he started shaking. Knew who I was ¨C who my brother was¡­ Opened up his purse and let me take everything he had.¡±


    A North Lowtown voice responded to Jaroan.


    ¡°Ever¡¯fin¡¯? How can yer be sure, though, eh? This is what they does ¨C they empties their wallets before-¡¯and, an¡¯ then yer oanly gettin¡¯ what they wants you to.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ninety percent of what he owed you ¨C¡°


    ¡°Woss that? In¡¯t ninety less than a hunderd? An¡¯ yer never even showed ¡®im the knife! Fought your bro was that big darkmage, wonnee? Where¡¯s yer guts gone, big guy? Fought you wanted control!¡±


    Xantaire had been standing in what she thought was perfect stillness, unseen by anyone in the vicinity, quiet and motionless.


    Now she was truly paralysed, hearing words she had never thought to hear.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, Ti. You want me to go back, I¡¯ll go back. Sh-show him.¡±


    ¡°Necks time, Mortenn. Necks time. Oo else? You ¨C woss yer name again?¡±


    ¡°Tick.¡±


    ¡°Ah, thassit. What yer got fer me, Tick?¡±


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    ¡°I ¨C I got¡­ I got this.¡±


    She heard the scraping sound: her mind painted an image of Ticken Sawdan drawing a knife.


    The Lowtowner, Ti, chuckled dryly. ¡°Didden even clean the blade.¡±


    ¡°Wanted to show it you this way.¡±


    ¡°See, Mortenn? See what yer up aggence? Yer doan wanna be drop, right? Yer wanna be the bess?¡± There was a pause. ¡°I move the prodduck. Yer deliver an¡¯ collect. Watcher think yer get paid fer? Coll¨Cect. Tha¡¯ means blood as much as cash an¡¯ katra. The boss, she¡¯s gonna be ¡®ere soon enough, and then they¡¯s gonna be war in the streets. Yer know what firepower we got. Yer wanna be on the winnin¡¯ side, yer know what yer gotta do.¡±


    Xan had no idea what she was supposed to do. How could she handle something like this? Go to the watch? Tell the magisters with the glyphstone? This was bigger than her ¨C bigger than Mud Lane, Helbert¡¯s Bend¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s Garet you need to prepare.¡±


    The voice came in a whisper, cold and aloof, from directly behind her ¨C right in her ear ¨C Xan spun on her heel, swinging out her arms reflexively to grab at her assailant ¨C


    The black-swathed girl in a black, featureless mask easily evaded her attempt to initiate a grapple ¨C she did so without even really moving, her feet still planted in the muck, only her upper body swaying effortlessly. The ebony bow slung across her back, the arrows in the quiver at her shoulder ¨C they all stayed in place.


    The failure confused Xan. The girl was well-within her reach. Her instincts told her she should be holding the archer in her hands, gripping at the girl¡¯s upper-arms, but she was still there, almost heedless of Xan¡¯s attack, seemingly gazing back at her through slits in the mask ¨C though no such holes were visible, not in the shadows at least.


    ¡°Wh¡­ what?¡± she muttered.


    ¡°Garet.¡± The same disdainful whispering sound. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here, girl.¡±


    Being called a girl by the girl ¨C that just added to her confusion. The stranger wore their hood up. She supposed they could be an old woman, for all she knew, but the frame bespoke a youngster.


    ¡°A-are you a darkmage?¡± she managed to ask in a low voice. ¡°My¡­ my brother is up there. Blond. Skinny. Ten years old. I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Go home.¡± The mask tilted, seeming to leer. It covered so much of the mage¡¯s head, only a dark tangle of hair was visible at the back, swishing softly. ¡°I will return him to you if you go now.¡±


    The voices of the kids on the balcony above had been continuing all the while, but she hadn¡¯t had chance to focus on what they were saying.


    Now she focussed. Even as she stood there in the shadows beneath them, the darkmage with a bow loitering right in front of her, she heard a new voice emanate from above.


    It was the sound of a thousand beetles, a thousand chitinous carapaces rasping human words, an awful thing to have to hear:


    ¡°I told you I would eat your eyes, Ti. I might not stop there, though. You have such a delicious-looking face.¡±


    ¡°Go, now, and I will keep my word!¡± the black-clad magic-user snarled, pushing Xan aside and vanishing past her, a flurry of robes that disappeared in the darkness.


    Xantaire had no idea what was happening. She¡¯d been plunged into a nightmare. As the arch-diviner disappeared ¨C there was nothing else the girl could be, could there? ¨C she¡¯d shoved Xan with greater strength than had been warranted, and instead of simply staggering she fell to the ground.


    What had been ground.


    In this moment the surface of the grimy ground was a sea of furred bodies, dozens of trains of rodents, thousands of them pouring towards the wall of the building and the posts of its balcony, streaming up and mounting the walkway in their legions ¨C where Jaroan and Ticken Sawdan and any number of other kids were currently being placed under duress by this North Lowtowner, this ¡®Ti¡¯¡­


    Xan could only hope that this dark archer, this strange seeress knew what she was doing ¨C because as Xan landed and the waves of rats crashed over her, hundreds of tiny feet and tails trickling across her body, over her hair, she started to scream. She couldn¡¯t help it.


    She wanted to fling herself back up to her feet as quickly as she could but it was difficult. She was forced to grit her teeth against the horror of it all and push down on the slick, loathsome backs of the rats around her, with her bare hands, in order to haul herself up ¨C


    And then she fled, fled like never before, still crying out in wordless panic, casting off rodents that seemed only too eager to leave her behind ¨C she supposed afterwards that she must¡¯ve free of the blighted things after the first few seconds but it didn¡¯t feel that way ¨C not until she got home and got out of her clothes and washed her body and combed her hair, not till then did she feel like she¡¯d gotten rid of them ¨C but that still didn¡¯t make her feel clean, feel happy. Their leathery little feet, their tails, their furry wetness, sliding all over her skin¡­


    When the knock finally came at the door she was still drying her hair from the third rinse she¡¯d put it through.


    ¡°Hello?¡± she called softly. She didn¡¯t need to raise her voice ¨C they¡¯d done their best to plug the burn-line in the door and walls, but sounds and draughts still got through more easily than before.


    She heard a faint but sharp hiss (¡°Speak!¡±) and then Jaroan¡¯s voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s m-me, Xan.¡±


    She unbolted the door, swung it open.


    ¡°Jaroan Mortenn.¡±


    He was standing there not two feet from her, but he refused to meet her eyes.


    ¡°Come in. Go to sleep. We¡¯ll talk in the morning.¡±


    A sullen expression pasted across his face ¨C his unscarred, uneaten face, praise be to Yune ¨C he slipped around her and quietly entered his bedroom.


    She stayed in the doorway, looking out at the black-garbed diviner.


    ¡°You never answered my question. Are you a darkmage?¡±


    ¡°You seem unfazed at the prospect for one without the gift of magic.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve known my fair share of mages. I¡¯ve seen a few things. I¡¯ve flown.¡±


    ¡°Have you now? Such freedom!¡± The seeress was sneering, by the sounds of things. ¡°And a day in the life of a bird prepares you for the worst such as I might inflict? Oh no. No. This isn¡¯t it at all. You are lying to me. You more than flew. Everyone knows who you knew, Xantaire Tarent. You walked as I walk, outside time.¡±


    It chilled her, to hear her full name spoken aloud like that by a darkmage so clearly-powerful as her.


    ¡°No. It is because you believe you know me, is it not? I can see those words burn in your future. I can assure you, you do not know me.¡±


    The arch-diviner stepped forwards suddenly and Xan recoiled, flinching back so abruptly she smacked her elbow on the door.


    ¡°Your little brother doesn¡¯t know me either. I never met Killstop. But I am a champion, girl. You don¡¯t have to tie yourself in knots. They call me Nightfell. Who knows? You might hear of me again.¡±


    There was no blur, no streak of darkness upon darkness. She was simply gone.


    ¡°Well, thanks a bunch,¡± Xan said to the night, and shut the door once more.


    She went to bed but she couldn¡¯t sleep. She heard the murmur of Jaid and Jaroan¡¯s voices in the late hours and she wanted to go in there, wanted to ¡®speak¡¯ with him¡­ but she knew she couldn¡¯t. She played it out in her head and the disgust she felt at what he was becoming ¨C it was still too real, too strong for her to overcome. It always went the same way and once she started she knew she wouldn¡¯t be able to stop.


    ¡°You! You almost got me killed! Got yourself killed! Darkmages and archmages¡­ thousands of rats! Do you even know what happened to me? I almost drowned in them thanks to you, you and your boneheaded selfishness, your anger ¨C you think you¡¯re the only one that hurts, the only one that can feel? Well you¡¯re wrong! It hurt me too but now you¡¯re going to go and ¡®show¡¯ someone the knife! The knife! How dare you! How dare you bring this into your own home, after what happened with your parents ¨C with Wyre and the Bertie Boys! Into our home, my home, my son¡¯s home! You know what, I do want you to leave! Go, get out of here and never come back, never make me worry about you again. I don¡¯t even know you anymore.¡±


    So she never went in, never saw them again. She fell asleep, eventually, and when she woke up it was late morning at least. She decided immediately that she was still numb enough from her dreamless slumber to confront him, so she sneaked out of bed and entered their room.


    Its emptiness spoke to her before she even crossed the threshold, before she saw the way small items had been removed, everything picked clean. They even made the bed before they left.


    ¡°Mummy?¡± Xassy¡¯s voice came from her room. ¡°Mummy, where you? I had a dream. I had a dream!¡±


    She picked up the piece of paper on the bed, unfolded it, scanned it with her eyes. Surprised at the length of the note, she took it back into her room with her, and got back under the covers with her son so that she could read it in bed.


    To her astonishment, as the words sank in Xastur¡¯s jabbering started to make more and more sense.


    There was a moment of clarity, of release.


    Then, weeping, she tore up the note, feeding each piece carefully into the burning heart of the candle-flame.


    ¡°What you doing, Mummy?¡±


    ¡°Xastur. I love you, Xastur.¡± She pulled him close to her and kissed the top of his head, drenching him in her tears. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ I¡¯m saying goodbye.¡±


    ¡°The twins? They gone?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Xassy. For now, they¡¯re gone.¡±


    He held her back, and she drew in deep breaths, trying not to sob.


    ¡°Iss okay, Mummy. Guh-bye, for now.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t help it. She sobbed anyway, and couldn¡¯t even say what she wanted to say.


    ¡°I know, Xastur. It¡¯s okay. Everything¡¯s going to be okay now.¡±


    And this time, she¡¯d even mean it.

 The Dreamer and the Archer

    <h2>INTERLUDE 8A: THE DREAMER AND THE ARCHER</h2>


    ¡°I am the terror to be found in the darkness. I am the secret that cannot be spoken. I am the final and forgotten ego, beyond all that clings to former shapes. I am Lady Chaos.¡±


    ¨C from the Mekestan Creed


    Shahaila had always had her dreams. She fetched water in the morning, walking with her sisters to the well down in the Unkeminak, the Dark Valleys where decades ago hundreds of men had fought and died in the wars of succession. There were trees in the valleys ¨C one tree for each fallen soldier, they said, the souls trapped by black magic, fused into the roots so that the shadowy bark grew into contorted shapes, branches like the fingers of the dead, reaching up to the harsh, uncaring sky in supplication. Some of her sisters, especially the younger ones, would get scared once they reached their destination, leaving behind the bitterly-dry soil of the higher grounds and entering the coolness of the gloom. Shahaila, the oldest daughter of the chieftain not yet to attain maturity, was the obvious leader, the one supposed to walk in front ¨C but she¡¯d often drop back, leaving the place of prestige to Asaya or Yinelon, and walk alongside the youngest instead. She couldn¡¯t put her arms around them to comfort them, not without setting down the urn she was balancing on her head, so she¡¯d talk to them in her most-soothing voice, tell them about her dreams, get them to talk about their own. She had it in her mind that she wouldn¡¯t marry a chieftain or warrior when she came of age, but would submit herself to the Test instead. If the priestesses of Byla accepted her, she¡¯d never have to endure a marriage ¨C she¡¯d be able to clean the shrine, keep fetching water, tend to the livestock; and when the time came she¡¯d be permitted to sit there herself before the altar in the incense-smoke, interpreting the dreams of wanderers and princes¡­


    That was her real dream, the dream that she lived while she waked and walked and worked.


    She was busy providing quiet reassurances to one of the six-year-olds, Anstira, and helping the little girl navigate the needle-coated slopes, when Asaya came sprinting back from the front. Shahaila¡¯s eyes immediately narrowed. It wasn¡¯t like Asaya to abandon the lead.


    By the time Asaya reached her, Shahaila realised everyone in front of her had been told to stop. Her sisters were strung out in a line over thirty yards or more, winding between the trees.


    Stopping ¨C that could only mean one thing.


    The watering-grounds of the Unkeminak were shared by many tribes, each allied with Shahaila¡¯s father to a greater or lesser extent. It wasn¡¯t the spirits of the dead that you had to fear when you entered the woods ¨C it was the outriders of the Yellowbur Clan. The tribe which was allied with them to the least extent; the killers for whom atrocity and open war were always options these days. The Yellowbur had the greatest number of horses, and young men to mount them. They¡¯d taken the Dayrocks five years ago, and Yellowbur¡¯s potential expansion into the Unkeminak was something many of the older girls had often overheard their chieftain-father talking about in terse tones.


    Asaya¡¯s eyes held none of their normal ego, her pretty face warped into an expression of fear as she moaned, ¡°Five Yellowbur. All riding!¡±


    Shahaila set down her urn with a quiet sigh.


    She thought with some satisfaction: And this, Asaya, is why it is good for you that I am not yet a woman.


    ¡°Get moving back ¨C retreat,¡± she said in her firmest voice. ¡°Wait on the edge of the wood. I¡¯ll take Yinelon and we¡¯ll keep watch. I¡¯ll send for you when they¡¯re gone.¡±


    Asaya nodded forcefully, and, a few mutters and gestures later, the majority of the girls were withdrawing. Many of the younger ones didn¡¯t really comprehend the nature of the threat, and merely wore dubious, curious looks.


    Yinelon, short for her age and heavy of limb, looked just as fearful as Asaya had. Shahaila wondered whether her own face looked like that. She felt in control, at least.


    After a minute of crawling through the dry soil, the two girls found a vantage point beneath a twisted tree-branch from which they could view the enemy, looking down the incline towards them.


    The packs of their steeds were laden with water-skins and they were walking their horses along the dirt path, moving barely faster than Shahaila did with a full urn. There weren¡¯t five, there were seven: tall, muscular fighters with shaven heads, sharp spears in their hands, and yellow feathers in their armbands.


    ¡°Can you hear what they¡¯re saying?¡± she whispered to her sister.


    Yinelon shook her head.


    ¡°Chieftain-Father would appreciate any insights we can bring him.¡± Shahaila frowned. ¡°This is an opportunity. That¡¯s what he always says, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Shahaila!¡± Yinelon snapped. ¡°You¡¯re always trying to make yourself look ¨C¡±


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    But the heavy girl¡¯s outburst was louder than she¡¯d intended ¨C one of the horses turned its head, and the rider atop it followed its gaze.


    They were both watching ¨C they both knew instantly that they were about to be spotted.


    Yinelon ¨C ignorant, obstinate Yinelon ¨C fled straight back in a line, doing her best in her selfishness to lead the Yellowburs towards the area in which their younger sisters were now waiting.


    Yells erupted. Whinnies of steeds, reins yanked.


    Shahaila knew instinctively, as soon as she saw Yinelon¡¯s chosen direction, that she had to sacrifice herself. Not for Yinelon ¨C she¡¯d have eagerly given the halfwit¡¯s life in place of her own ¨C but for her sisters.


    I must make the riders follow me.


    Thus it was she chose to flee at a less-difficult angle, almost inviting pursuit.


    Sandals slapped the ground, sending dust and needles flying. She picked her way through the treeline, choices too frantic to be coherent, barely even increasing her lead. She could hear it behind her, the practised tread of hooves, a drumbeat for her to run to. Or was it her heartbeat she could hear? The two sounds melded into one, both of them screaming the same thing:


    Run!


    The moment she reached a short stretch of relatively flat ground she risked a brief glance over her shoulder. She saw with mingled satisfaction and terror that they¡¯d all taken the bait, seven of them goading their horses into trots, pouring through the trees after her.


    Yinelon was gone, way out of sight.


    Shahaila was all alone.


    She turned back just as she fell over a root, and a strong, white-fingered hand snatched out to grip her by the upper-arm, keep her on her feet.


    She screamed, trying to fight, but it was pointless. This new stranger had already stepped away, a smile on the devilishly-pale face.


    ¡°What?¡± she gasped. ¡°Who are you?¡± She cast around wildly, staring. ¡°What have you done to me?¡±


    Everything was frozen. The birds and insects had fallen silent. The horses behind her were halted mid-canter, hooves aloft in the air.


    ¡°I¡¯ve placed you under a spell, that¡¯s all,¡± the white-skinned girl said nonchalantly. ¡°Just want to take the chance to try something, if you don¡¯t mind too much. An old friend gave me the idea.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a question. The black-robed stranger unslung her bow, its silvery string already in place, then drew an arrow from the quiver on her shoulder, nocking it confidently.


    She loosed the arrow without even seeming to aim, drawing back and releasing smoothly, barely even glancing down the shaft at the men on the horses.


    Again and again, she drew back, loosed, drew back, loosed, until seven arrows hung there in the air, just a few feet away. Shahaila stared at them in wonder.


    Then the witch lowered the bow, turning her back on the arrows ¨C and they sprang away with every bit of their speed, every bit of their force intact.


    When Shahaila followed their courses with her eyes, she watched the seven Yellowbur outriders receive one missile apiece, taking it in the bicep of the spear-arm.


    The witch had even shot the one man who carried his weapon in the off-hand in the left arm.


    A chorus of shrill moans erupted from the warriors and they reined in, wheeling about ¨C their leader called for them to retreat and then within seconds they were dissipating in complete disarray, each of them clutching at the shaft protruding from his arm.


    ¡°I-if you mean that¡¯s the first time you¡¯ve done that,¡± Shahaila breathed, ¡°I want to see you do something you think you¡¯re good at.¡±


    The white witch in the black robe laughed good-naturedly. ¡°I knew I chose well!¡± she said, a delighted smile on her oval-shaped face. ¡°So, Shahaila, you want to hear something funny?¡±


    ¡°Anything you want to tell me, after that!¡± the girl replied, waving at the empty space that had just contained her would-be-enslavers.


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry, you¡¯re going to be able to repay me for saving your life very soon ¨C¡°


    It seemed the witch had anticipated Shahaila¡¯s sudden change of heart, the minute way she drew away from her saviour:


    ¡°¨C but it¡¯s nothing insidious, really, don¡¯t be alarmed¡­ I just want you to make me something. A brooch.¡±


    Shahaila regarded her quizzically. ¡°Your voice sounds funny. Insidious. No one uses this word. I think I heard an old man say it once ¨C what does it even mean?¡±


    ¡°Ah ¨C oh, damn it.¡± The witch tapped her chin in thought. ¡°Nothing¡­ ominous? It¡¯s nothing ominous. And my voice, it sounds funny because I¡¯m from Mund.¡±


    ¡°And, there again ¨C using the version of ¡®Mund¡¯ that means the, you know, home, the city, rather than the actual place ¨C¡°


    ¡°Mund is my home.¡±


    ¡°No, see ¨C it¡¯s like this: ¡®Mundic Realm¡¯¡­¡±


    She stared at the witch¡¯s face.


    ¡°Wait ¨C wait. You mean, you¡¯re from the actual city? From Mund itself?¡±


    The white girl curtseyed, nodding ¨C a motion Shahaila took for a confirmation.


    Her jaw dropped. Mund was a legend ¨C most people she¡¯d met didn¡¯t even think it existed.


    ¡°But Mund ¨C that has to be h-hundreds of miles away¡­¡±


    ¡°Two-thousand, three-hundred, give or take. Archmages are rare out here, you know. Interesting, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°But y-you sp-speak Panagri¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a witch, aren¡¯t I? Just don¡¯t question it too much or your head¡¯ll hurt.¡±


    She was breathing heavily. ¡°A-and you w-want me to¡­ to make you a¡­ a brooch?¡±


    ¡°Or twelve.¡±


    ¡°Twelve!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t account for all eventualities¡­ Look, I know you¡¯re full of questions but I can¡¯t spoil the surprise or it won¡¯t happen, okay? I¡¯ll bring you everything you need, and we can help each other, alright? I just couldn¡¯t¡­ let it happen this way. It¡¯ll be¡­ tough enough when it happens, trust me.¡±


    ¡°Not ominous?¡± Shahaila muttered with a full-body shudder.


    The Mundian¡¯s button-nose wrinkled. ¡°Er, yeah. Sorry. You¡¯ll get me, don¡¯t worry. Go, rejoin your sisters. I¡¯ll be seeing you next week.¡±


    The witch walked aside a few paces, waved jovially, then turned and vanished.


    * * *


    When she became a woman two days later, Father refused her permission to see the priestesses of Byla, refused her permission to take the Test ¨C and in the very moment Shahaila peeled open the canvas flap to behold the warrior selected to be her husband, she came into her inheritance as an archmage.


    She was an enchantress ¨C and she understood at last what the crazy diviner from Mund had been getting at all along.


    It was tough, there was no denying it, but she sorted out her situation before night fell: by the time Tanra came again to see her she was well into her role as one of the many new neophytes at the shrine of the dreamers, sweeping dirt off the porch and waving down at the white girl as though they were old friends.


    Too late, she realised what had changed.

 Haunted pt1

    <h2>JET 8.1: HAUNTED</h2>


    ¡°It is those who walk ever in the light who have my pity. They never know fear. They never know horror. And yet they look to the side, into the deep blackness that blankets their safe road ¨C and they hear us wandering here, our footfalls echoing back across the worlds. They do not know for what they long ¨C they cannot ¨C and yet they long for it all the same.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 2:3-7


    I craned my head back at first, watching, waiting, until the tiny speck of torchlight disappeared far above me, swallowed up by the incomprehensible distance that now loomed between me and the world. The walls of the wide, vertical tunnel whipped past me as I fell, featureless and dark. Then, when the void was complete, a jet-black smoothness, I closed my eyes and sighed.


    Goodbye, everyone. You never let me say goodbye. I¡¯ll never forgive a single one of you for that. Irimar. Borasir. Emrelet. When I die down here, my ghost is coming to haunt you.


    Was that how I¡¯d end up trapped on Nethernum? Imprisoned by my hatreds, forced into a shape of bitterness and spite? Or would I be able to let go? Would I be capable of transcending the next plane, stepping from the shadowland into the otherworld without leaving behind an imprint, a smear of soul-stuff on the nethernal winds?


    No. Not if I went when I was feeling like this. I¡¯d be a spirit of anger forever.


    I opened my eyes again, looking down. My future was ascending to meet me. There was colour down there ¨C red.


    Terror hit me then, the enchantments insufficient to counter the brain-tearing horror of the reality ¨C I was about to enter Magicrux Zyger, and it was red, blood-red like a hell-portal, like the eyes of a demon ¨C and I seemed only to fall faster, faster and ¨C


    The waywatchers had been right. Their flight-spell spent itself, almost stopping me, and as I descended through the roof of the cavern and the spell fully dissipated, I fell into waist-high water, at such a perfectly-judged speed that I barely caused a splash.


    It was a good job ¨C the iciness of the liquid made me quake all over, causing me to lose my breath.


    My arrival immediately caused commotion, though. Savage yells were ripped from a dozen chests, and most of those vocal ones started wading out into the pool towards me, pointing and shouting.


    Before they reached me I unslung the bag, holding it out above me and sinking deeper into the water, gritting my teeth against the shock of its brittle coldness.


    I kept my eyes above the surface ¨C not studying the men who were seconds from falling on me, but studying it. It was a mighty distraction from my dreadful situation.


    I immediately understood ¨C everything. Beholding the huge tree of crystal on the water¡¯s edge, its knots of roots ¨C the whole thing made sense. Where the Ceryad resembled a tree in the full vigour of its maturity, with a kind of purity and healthiness to its shape, this tree most certainly did not. It was withered. It was ancient. It was a mess of gnarled branches, leafless and gaunt.


    The Inceryad, I thought in tones of awe. I¡¯d read about it, in the Maginox library. Also known as the Deceryad, and Inciryad. Another ¡®lost¡¯ wonder of Mund ¨C the Eighth Wonder. Hewn, so they said, from the heart of a demon-realm using the spider-sword Crixar in the Age of Nightmares.


    In use all along. In use as an archmage-trap.


    And it wasn¡¯t glowing crimson. That¡¯d just been my fear talking, my senses deceiving me. It was refracting firelight, multiplying the orangey radiance a hundredfold. No light-globes were going to work in here. It was the wood burning, the larger and smaller bonfires scattered around, those strong-enough or intimidating-enough to get their fair share huddled up to their heat sources.


    I had no more chance to stare at the glowing branches, the firelit waters pouring from the colourless limestone ceiling high overhead ¨C the first of my assailants was upon me, and, too late, I realised my mistake.


    I might¡¯ve gotten away with it if I¡¯d stood my ground, thrown a punch at the first guy to get to me. They might¡¯ve backed down if I¡¯d avoiding making myself a target, a victim¡­ but it was instinct. I had no shields, no special strength. I was ¨C just me.


    I took at least four or five fists to the face ¨C not great ones, but heavy blows, plenty enough to do the job. I reeled, rippling away half-submerged, and suddenly bodies were piling on top of me, wrestling for the supplies ¨C from the way some of the firewood was left to float on the water¡¯s surface next to me I quickly figured it was mostly the food they were fighting over. Hunger overrode all.


    Nursing my re-broken nose, I stumbled towards the nearest shore, half-crawling, knees on the sharp rocks at the bottom of the basin. My eyes were half-blinded, streaming tears, and I had trouble making out where I was going ¨C was I going to reel straight into someone else, get another few punches for my trouble?


    I realised by the illumination that I was heading closer to the tree. When I glanced up I saw that there were none of the shapes I¡¯d expected to see near it, none of the prisoners clustered beneath the crystal branches. It was only then that it occurred to me: approaching too close to the cursed tree could spell death, on top of powerlessness.


    I turned about, circling the shore, blinking and shivering.


    Need to¡­ get out of¡­ clothes¡­


    ¡°You! Boy!¡± cried an old man.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± cried another.


    I recognised that snooty voice¡­ Shadowcrafter, whom I¡¯d almost crushed to death beneath a yithandreng.


    I didn¡¯t answer, kept moving towards the shore, shaking almost uncontrollably as the excitement wore off and the sheer cold crept in more and more. The water was shallow now, only up to my knees, but my clothes clung to me, a horrible death-grip. My nose was incredibly sore, and I kept one hand over it as I sloshed up the rocks, instinctively trying to hold it in place ¨C blood was pouring out everywhere and there was no sign it was going to stop soon.


    When I finally emerged from the pool, the three nearest residents of this patch looked at me grimly. I could tell, even in the tangerine gloom, even with my eyes half shut, that these three didn¡¯t want to fight. They weren¡¯t leaping to their feet, shuffling backwards instead, putting their backs to the cavern wall. And when I sat down in their midst, lowering my backside onto the coarse rock without saying a word, the adjacent ones drew aside slightly, away from me. They didn¡¯t want to end up involved if a group came over to harass me, that was my guess. They looked weak, slumped down in resignation.


    There had to be around thirty people in here, I decided, casting about with slightly less-clouded vision. Thirty of us, sitting here in the blood-lit darkness, waiting to die. A few were women, but they were gathered together in a gang. Now that I looked more intently, I could see that everyone else sat alone.


    Darkmages bad enough to¡­ end up in here¡­ don¡¯t make friends easily¡­


    I saw a few dwarves, and one that might¡¯ve even been a gnome. Elves were too difficult to distinguish from humans, but I didn¡¯t see any that stood out with strangely-coloured hair or pointy ears.


    Is Neverwish¡­ still alive?


    I wasn¡¯t the only one quivering from the cold. There was an old man a couple of places around; the way he was wheezing, I could¡¯ve been persuaded he had a punctured lung. Some of the younger blokes were staring my way, but most were mesmerised by the tussling going on in the centre of the pond. I joined them in watching while I pulled off my Magisterium-supplied pants and wrung them out. It wasn¡¯t far off watching Sarcamor and Sarminuid wrestling, that first day I saw them in Etherium.


    The scuffle, if one could call it that, looked to be mostly one-sided. There was this particular man who, despite being lithe and wiry and massively outnumbered, seemed to fare better than most of his opponents ¨C as I looked on I saw him slip out of a head-lock and use his legs to lever himself away from his foe, coming away with two packs of nuts and a pack of meat.


    As the lithe man started heading towards my edge of the pool, recognition flooded through me. The thinning blond hair, receded hairline, the deep brow¡­


    Duskdown.


    He scooped up some of the slowly-drifting firewood under his arm then nodded to me as he came sloshing out of the water.


    ¡°You.¡± His Lowtown accent was completely different from his darkmage-voice, but the same silky softness was present. ¡°You know who I am, right?¡±


    I nodded back mutely. The tension stilled my quivering muscles, and I was suddenly barely shaking.


    ¡°Come with me.¡±


    He skirted the water¡¯s edge, heading towards one of the bonfires on the edge of the pool farthest from the Inceryad-tree. A bonfire located on higher ground, where no one was currently crouching.


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    I understood immediately and, groaning, scrambled to my feet. I carried on wringing out my pants, following him with my head down, letting my nose drip blood and trying not to fall ¨C the rocks were rough, and a single mistake could leave me with an injury twenty times as painful as a broken nose.


    An injury which I¡¯d have no means by which to heal ¨C no simple medicines, no access to a herbalist. A sliced-open knee would take days to mend, and a broken ankle would leave me seriously considering ending it all, even if it meant Infernum.


    Ahead of me, someone slipped ahead of us to block Duskdown¡¯s path ¨C and when the ex-diviner moved I blinked furiously, trying to discern his motions ¨C


    The attacker tried to hit him three times, and received a chop in the throat from Duskdown as the only consequence of the assault; he didn¡¯t even lose a single one of the nuts in his hand when he struck the man.


    And then it was that I saw for myself the reality of my fears.


    The throat-chop took the man down and it was ugly: I stood there, unable to help as he cracked the side of his head on a sharp bit of a boulder ¨C not only was he choking, he was now bleeding, dark fluid wandering down across his face and dripping in his eyes.


    He didn¡¯t try again ¨C moaning and panting and holding his head gingerly, he hobbled off back towards the water once we¡¯d passed him by.


    ¡°Dry your clothes,¡± Duskdown said, sitting in front of his fire and immediately pulling off his own vest to reveal a slender, toned chest, stringy arms. He threw on some spare clothes ¨C I had a suspicion I didn¡¯t want to ask where they¡¯d come from ¨C and tossed me a set.


    By the time I¡¯d settled myself, he was holding his wet clothing up on two sticks, simultaneously drying the wood and the fabric. I struggled to copy him, my arms jerking around too much ¨C it felt like my heart was being enclosed in a block of ice, and each breath came to me like a miracle.


    ¡°How d-did¡­ you do that?¡±


    ¡°You get used to the technique, and the cold, after awhile,¡± he murmured, not looking up at me.


    ¡°No¡­ no I mean¡­ how did¡­ how did you move like that?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said with some difficulty. ¡°I think¡­ The powers of an arch-diviner transcend time and space. That¡¯s what they¡¯re good for. To a degree, we can¡¯t lose ours. The world gets confused, and keeps supplying us with magic. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°Or maybe¡­ it¡¯s j-just¡­ you¡¯re st-strong.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re tired. You should rest awhile. You¡¯ll need your strength. I¡¯m not the only strong one.¡±


    I would¡¯ve sighed bitterly at that, but my teeth were chattering too much. I tried to do as he said, to make myself comfortable on the ¡®seat¡¯ of stone I¡¯d selected. ¡°No¡­ magic¡­ No shields or sum-m-mons or portals¡­¡± I finally released the sigh, and it came out as a loud, broken groan. ¡°Uuuh¡­ Not strong.¡±


    ¡°You are strong.¡± His eyes gleamed in the firelight. ¡°You having no power merely lends weight to my thesis. It¡¯s a diviner trick.¡±


    ¡°M-maybe¡­ both?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± He regarded me with a flicker of doubt in his eyes, and his voice was more like the darkmage¡¯s suddenly. ¡°Maybe, at that¡­¡±


    ¡°See any other¡­ ex-arch-d-diviners doing¡­ what you¡¯re doing?¡±


    He grunted in acceptance of my point, still seeming to be mulling it over.


    ¡°They try,¡± he said at last.


    I looked down at the cavern¡¯s other occupants. No one seemed to be interested in me or my ¡®friend¡¯. Some other conversations had started, it seemed, but no one was looking in our direction.


    ¡°So n-no g-grand tour, then?¡±


    ¡°Grand tour?¡± He smirked, clearly amused, then pointed as he spoke. ¡°Drink upriver, behind the tree ¨C do your business at the wall over there, where the pool¡¯s water follows the channels out of the system¡­ Bodies go that way too. Be careful not to fall in. Lots of boulders. Hidden currents.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t quite imagine what he meant, and I didn¡¯t feel the need to go right now anyway, but I was sure I¡¯d understand once I had to relieve myself.


    ¡°B-but¡­ bodies go¡­ that w-way?¡±


    There¡¯s a way out?


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking, young sorcerer ¨C¡°


    ¡°Ex.¡± I glared at him. ¡°E-ex-sorcerer. F-for now.¡±


    His smirk only deepened into a true smile. ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking, and I¡¯ve seen people try it. Two of them. Neither came back, though I suppose they wouldn¡¯t¡­ I strongly suspect the Magisterium wouldn¡¯t give us a prison with a way out, though. And besides, if you got out that way ¨C¡°


    ¡°Etherium,¡± I growled. ¡°Infernum. Nethernum. Once out of range¡­ C-come back with¡­ with eldritches. Or t-take wizard¡­ build way up, out¡­¡±


    ¡°Still,¡± he protested, looking surprised (and uncomfortably so, I thought), ¡°nobody has ever returned from Magicrux Zyger, not in ¨C¡°


    ¡°No¡­ body¡­ stupid enough not to¡­ ch-change ident-tity when returning. Th-think. When has Magi¡­ Magisteer¡­ magisters ever visited? They kn-know about hole? Certain?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t be like the idiots. Two of them dove in and they died! If you¡¯d heard the screaming¡­ But you can live, with my help. I get food and wood every single day.¡± He held out some nuts, and I stared at them there in his palm. ¡°We can continue to exist.¡±


    I shook my head, jolting it side to side, and he lowered his hand, his eyes.


    It was only then that I saw it ¨C he was barely hanging on. He hid it well, but the gods had abandoned him just the same as they had me. A shadow of contempt crossed his face, his eyelids twitching, lip curling in self-derision.


    ¡°You¡­ you don¡¯t care, really, do you?¡± I murmured.


    ¡°I thought it would be what you wanted,¡± he whispered, still looking down into the flames. ¡°Hope.¡±


    ¡°Yune¡­ she left me days ago. N-Nentheleme¡­ I thought she was on my¡­ my side. But no. I¡¯m l-lost, Dusk-¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± he snarled softly, jerking his head about to pierce me with his keen eyes. ¡°Do not say the name! Don¡¯t you see? I¡¯m out of enemies ¨C their souls moved on, but yours didn¡¯t. I wouldn¡¯t invite any correlations were I you! I am to be Rath, if you will, Kas. I don¡¯t think those names will endanger us, now, but the monikers by which we used to operate? Those would surely kill you, and perhaps me along with you.¡±


    ¡°Rath¡­ Okay, Rath.¡±


    He turned his gaze away again.


    ¡°The truth is, our magic might be lost forever,¡± he said.


    He sat there, unblinking, firelight flashing from his eyes, seeming almost augmented by the contact, as though he carried the Inceryad in his soul now.


    Is that what¡­ what he means? I wondered. We¡¯re¡­ powerless now? Even if¡­ if we escaped? Or I am, at least, even¡­ if he still has something¡­ left inside him¡­


    I chuckled, gasps of mirthless sound pulled from my lungs.


    ¡°What?¡± He still didn¡¯t look at me.


    ¡°I sp-spent a bit of t-time lately thinking¡­ how I wished I never got¡­ my sorcery. Now?¡± I chuckled again. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ all I want.¡±


    ¡°Freedom.¡± He said it caustically, as though it were a swear-word, scowling. ¡°No, don¡¯t blame the gods for the deeds of men, Kas. It¡¯s not Nentheleme¡¯s fault. We don¡¯t deserve this place. Our endings ought to be glorious. I should trade my life for that of a Hierarch, or some other dark archmage ¨C¡°


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ deserve this¡­ place. You?¡± I grinned at him, baring all my teeth. ¡°You killed¡­ and killed¡­ and killed ¨C¡°


    ¡°Now is not the time for this conversation, young man.¡±


    ¡°Then when?¡± I leaned forward. ¡°When will you be ready to confront what you¡¯ve done? I s-spoke to¡­ to a powerful arch-diviner, actually, about this. She didn¡¯t contra¡­ contradict me. You have to know the way you¡¯re affecting the whole web when you start¡­ cutting strings. You m-might¡¯ve caused more people to turn to murder, by killing their loved ones! But once you start cutting strings you can¡¯t stop. It¡¯s the easy path, isn¡¯t it? Each new¡­ murder helps you justify the ones that came before. Wouldn¡¯t it be harder to try the other ¨C¡°


    The heel of his palm under my chin, the fingers on the bridge of my nose, clamping my jaw shut painfully, my nose screaming.


    I accepted the discomfort, not pulling away but gritting my teeth and leaning into the agony, unscrewing my eyes and staring at him instead. Witnessing the soul-sickness making his features flicker, a thousand emotions at war beneath the skin.


    ¡°You have no idea how difficult my life was! You¡­ So many people hunting me, and all I was doing ¨C finding the people-traffickers, the drug-lords, the real murderers. I was doing their job for them! They should¡¯ve been on their knees praising me! But no. Because I saw through the irony of this! Of the life-sentence, the petty crimes being punished just the same as the heinous ones¡­ or worse.¡±


    I waited until he realised what I was doing and jerked his hand back.


    ¡°Eww, man¡­ Did you just lick my hand?¡±


    I grinned at him tightly.


    ¡°Maaaaan.¡± He wiped his hand on the rock.


    I let my grin fade. ¡°I d-don¡¯t think you¡¯ll find many in here who¡¯re in love with the justice system.¡±


    ¡°Do you know a rich man who steals a guild¡¯s coffers in its collapse into bankruptcy, impoverishing hundreds, is praised in polite circles for his foresight, but a poor lad who steals a chicken-feather gets his hand chopped off? Yes. A chicken-feather!¡±


    I shrugged. I was hardly surprised.


    ¡°What justice is there in our system? No. Because the Ministry of Joran receives its annual tributes directly through the Arrealbord, and the Judges too. Are they going to shake the lantern? Of course not.¡±


    ¡°Their souls will go¡­ to Infernum.¡±


    He spread his hands. ¡°Who can say for certain? The demons might lie. Maybe we just go to the shadowland, and that¡¯s it. We¡¯re gone, lost, forever¡­¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± I stared holes in him. ¡°I never asked, when I had demons to ask¡­ That still doesn¡¯t excuse what you¡¯ve done.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°The overall effects of my actions have been good, not evil. Some of those orphaned by my acts will turn to wickedness ¨C you¡¯re not wrong. But many were put off, knowing all-too-well the consequences of their misdeeds. And more will turn aside from such paths because of my retribution, and I¡¯ve prevented so many wrongs that I have no doubt ¨C if there is a Celestium, it has a warm spot waiting for me. It¡¯d be warmer, if not for him. If I was still out there, the world¡¯s best deterrent for ¨C¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no evidence for that.¡± I pursed my lips. ¡°No crazy e-explosion of crimes once you got caught.¡±


    ¡°Once I was betrayed, you mean.¡±


    The firelight in his flat stare was suddenly blood-red again, terrifying.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he said heavily. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you. I had a good idea what you would do when I showed up. But I ¨C¡±


    ¡°Had to,¡± I finished for him in a thick voice. ¡°You had to, didn¡¯t you? Because Di-¡°


    ¡°Enough.¡± He closed his eyes. ¡°Yes. I had to.¡±


    He gave it all up, to try to save a thousand lives.


    ¡°Maybe I¡­ maybe I allied with the wrong arch-diviner right from the start.¡±


    He looked at me curiously. ¡°Did he ever tell you?¡± he asked in a whisper. ¡°About this place? It was always in your future, you know.¡±


    I gave a non-committal shrug. ¡°It went away. Timesnatcher seemed to be obsessed with the thought of me coming here, though. Pushed hard for it, instead of execution.¡±


    ¡°Just him?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Killstop. Everseer. They both ¨C¡±


    ¡°Everseer? She lives?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know? Yeah, she¡¯s still¡­¡± My mind filled with visions, broken memories ¨C Vardae trying to rip Tanra¡¯s arms off ¨C Irimar flying out of the trees with some poor guy¡¯s ruined corpse¡­ ¡°She¡¯s still doing her thing. A Hierarch, don¡¯t you know?¡±


    ¡°She was tricksier than her successor,¡± he replied, ¡°and that¡¯s saying something. Came a lot closer to getting me, let me tell you.¡± He looked me up and down. ¡°So, you¡¯re feeling better now? Your nose has stopped bleeding, and you¡¯ve almost stopped shivering.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t exactly wrong. Before too long I curled up in front of the fire, a thin rag for a useless pillow. I ate a few of the nuts and a strip of pork-flavoured salt, then closed my eyes.


    It wasn¡¯t that I felt particularly safe in his presence ¨C I didn¡¯t feel safe at all down here, and for all I knew I¡¯d wake up with someone¡¯s wet boot stamping on my face ¨C if I woke at all ¨C but it didn¡¯t matter. I fell asleep all the same, exhaustion and stress and horror overtaking me, dragging me down into dreams too dark for me to ever remember.


    It was that I no longer cared. Smash my face. Strip me of my skin. I was already dead, down here. What more could be done to me?


    Sleep claimed me, consumed me. Yet when I awoke, reborn in the firelit darkness, I felt it still.


    Hope.


    He hadn¡¯t been able to give it to me, but maybe I could take it.


    Or die in the attempt.


    * * *

 Haunted pt2

    I stood there, scratching my fuzzy pre-beard, and looking down into the ¡®toilet¡¯. Rivulets of water trickled into a kind of well at the cavern-wall farthest from the Inceryad. The fact that the water didn¡¯t rise up and spill over the rock indicated there was a way out down there. For centuries criminals had been emptying their bladders and bowels into this section of the cave ¨C even if I did get out, a trip to a druid might prove necessary. And who knew how deep it went?


    Duskdown ¨C Rathal ¨C had told me on the first night (morning? day? time had no meaning any longer) that he¡¯d heard screams. That must¡¯ve meant there were air pockets down there somewhere, with seams letting the sounds emanate into the cave¡­ Air pockets too close to the Inceryad to use magic, it seemed, otherwise those screams would¡¯ve surely been cries of jubilation instead. Enchanters and diviners might run into difficulties, but any sorcerer, wizard or druid would find getting out a doddle, if they got their abilities back.


    Too close to use magic¡­ but too far for them to return to the chamber? Unless the boulders and other obstacles down there prevented a retreat against the water¡¯s current, it was possible that they¡¯d simply stopped in an air pocket and screamed, maybe having encountered some bodies snagged on the rocks in the blackness¡­ Stopped, screamed, and then continued on.


    Escaped Zyger¡­


    Could it be as simple as taking the plunge? Holding your breath? Having the gall to go through with it?


    I¡¯d have to start by checking the eldritch situation. Had my loss of power simply returned them to their planes awaiting my reinvestment as a sorcerer or death, like if I¡¯d been knocked out ¨C or had my control been completely erased? Would I have to start again from square one? Either way, it would only be a matter of delay. I could return with a full complement of minions and powers to Mud Lane, pick up the twins, and get the Twelve Hells out of Mund before anyone could stop me. Especially if Rath was involved in the minutiae of my decision-making process¡­ no-one would see it coming.


    Rath wasn¡¯t persuaded. His own despair, bereft of his prophetic abilities, was absolute. But that was okay. He¡¯d come around, in time. Time was something we had plenty of, these days. Plus, I had an idea in mind that would allow me to exert some peer pressure on my strange friend.


    First, I had to find Neverwish and Direcrown.


    The latter proved impossible, given the preponderance of older gentlemen in here; there were at least four or five people who fit his general appearance and sounded a bit like him, but, unlike Shadowcrafter, he was likely trying his hardest to mask his identity.


    After awhile I thought it was a fool¡¯s errand. Between my second and third sleep-periods one of the women passed away, and the others unceremoniously hurled her into the ¡®toilet¡¯; it occurred to me that Neverwish at least was in all likelihood dead already.


    But then I found the him, after my sixth rest period ¨C when the next victim of this awful place arrived.


    There were only four dwarves in here, all bearded males, and, somewhat to my surprise, they sat alone, even putting as much distance as possible between one another. Perhaps it was something to do with dwarven pride, the shame brought on the clan name when one of its bearers turned to the darkness.


    In any event, it¡¯d made my job a whole lot trickier: none of them were speaking. The hues of their beards were impossible to read in the gloom. I tried making small-talk with one while we were both relieving ourselves into the ¡®escape route¡¯ but I only got a tired grunt for my trouble. I hoped it wasn¡¯t Neverwish. He sounded close to death, despite the native hardiness of his physiology.


    It was the next arrival that heralded change. He came dropping out of the shaft, shrieking as he fell.


    He landed a bit more awkwardly than me ¨C less experience flying, perhaps? ¨C and he quickly handed over the supplies to Rath and the others, all those who waded out into the icy water to fight, those who still seemed to think they had something to live for, still feeling the need to struggle on. It surprised me sometimes that the ex-seer still found it in himself to go out there every day, bring back the supplies we so badly needed. When I quizzed him on it he just fell silent, but I suspected it was because he had me to look after. He was over twice my age, I was pretty sure ¨C I wondered at times whether he¡¯d developed some kind of brotherly or fatherly affection for me since we first met. He¡¯d sought me out to protect me from myself, from my own stupid mistakes, and when his wife was killed he struck back, and found himself being punished for his faith in me. Still, despite my treachery, he looked after me now. He said little and asked for less. As the new prisoner struggled to find their footing and make their way out of the pool, I watched Rath fight, taking on guys twice his size without missing a beat, just like always.


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    Does he do it for me? Am I the reason he carries on? What does looking after me do for him? What does he get out of it?


    To distract myself I watched the newcomer casting about for a safe place to make harbour. He was short and stocky and sported a thin, black moustache, his hair in unkempt dark locks framing a pasty face ¨C he was perhaps in his mid-twenties, and looked like something of a rat with his long nose and untrimmed facial hair. If there was one thing that could be said of the darkmages in here, I¡¯d never seen one of them railing against their circumstances ¨C none of them seemed to lack the courage of their, quite literal, convictions. But he seemed distraught more than cold, and I knew the chill of those waters ¨C his expression was a mask of panic, little whines and shrieks coming out from the crack in his face under the moustache.


    On impulse I pushed myself to my feet, heading towards him.


    ¡°This way,¡± I called once I got close by, ushering him in my direction with gestures as well as words. ¡°Head to me.¡±


    ¡°No, I ¨C I¡¯m not s-supposed to b-be here!¡± he moaned, halting, casting about nervously.


    His voice was familiar despite the chattering of his teeth.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I said in as soothing of a voice as I could muster. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter who you are anymore. Come get warm.¡±


    ¡°Yer gonna¡­ share yer¡­ food, lad?¡± someone else nearby breathed in a pain-wracked voice. They were sprawled beside a dead fire, clutching their stomach. Other than to speak, they¡¯d likely never move again.


    I looked back at the newcomer.


    ¡°I¡¯ll share food for news,¡± I said. ¡°Come on.¡±


    He was still hesitating. From my right I heard one of the women muttering to another, ¡°Says he ain¡¯t supposed to be here.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, newbie?¡± someone else cried.


    ¡°Ignore them,¡± I said quietly, stepping right up to the water¡¯s edge, watching my footing on the slippery rocks. ¡°Come on.¡±


    ¡°But I was a champion! A champion of Mund!¡± His eyes shining with insanity, his voice suddenly strong and filled with fervour, he actually took a few steps backwards, deeper into the pond, then tipped his head back and shouted up at the shaft: ¡°There¡¯s been a mistake! Take me back! Please! I¡¯ll show up next time!¡±


    But there was no answer from the waywatchers, of course. In fact the only answer was the sudden rumbling of discontent, rippling across the cavern. Most of those scrapping over the supplies had stopped what they were doing, staring in the newcomer¡¯s direction.


    ¡°What, uh, what¡¯s wrong?¡± he asked, looking around.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ve forgotten where you are,¡± I said dryly.


    ¡°Oh ¨C oh drop!¡± He started sloshing in my direction again. ¡°Help me! Help!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I was trying to do.¡±


    I stepped aside, giving him room to mount the ledge I stood atop, while the expected shouts filled the air:


    ¡°Oi! Champion!¡±


    ¡°Oo are ya?¡±


    ¡°Say your name, boy! Are you Feychilde?¡±


    That last was Shadowcrafter. He sounded weaker, now. I wasn¡¯t afraid of him anymore.


    ¡°Ignore them,¡± I said again insistently in a low voice, holding out my hand to him. ¡°A champion¡¯s welcome as far as I¡¯m concerned. At least there¡¯s a chance you¡¯d be willing to step up.¡±


    ¡°Step¡­ up?¡± he chattered, accepting my help and rising out of the water.


    ¡°Exactly. I¡¯m getting out of here. You¡¯re gonna help me persuade my weird friend over there.¡±


    I indicated Rath and, panting, the other ex-champion turned to watch. Duskdown was currently clobbering one of the fools heading towards the newcomer, trying to chase after the prisoner who¡¯d so idiotically mentioned his former allegiances in a voice that would¡¯ve carried half-way to Mund. After a few blows in the back of the head, and a few failed attempts to elbow the ex-diviner in retaliation, the fool quickly gave up his vendetta and threw himself aside.


    Rath moved past him, putting down the firewood and accepting my hand to come up out of the pool; the ex-champion shifted aside to give him room. The three of us stood there on the rock, distributing the spoils Rath won us.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get you dry.¡± I turned and, gesturing at our fire with a handful of pork, started to lead the way.


    A stranger¡¯s voice, close by:


    ¡°You.¡±


    The growl came from my left, and, cursing my lack of supernatural perception, I whirled to view my attacker.


    But it was him ¨C the tired dwarf. Little wonder he¡¯d evaded my sight in the gloom; crouched down, he had to be shorter than the outcropping he¡¯d been hiding behind.


    ¡°You think you know me?¡± I asked, putting some harshness into my tone.


    ¡°I do know you. Been watching.¡± The dwarf¡¯s eyes gleamed in the shadows. ¡°You owe me plat. We dwarves never forget our debts. And you wish we¡¯d forget our grudges.¡±


    Never¡­ wish¡­


    Rath and the newcomer looked between me and the dwarf ¨C Rath would be weighing up the angles of his possible counter-attacks¡­


    I grinned and raised an eyebrow, daring to hope. ¡°Grudges?¡±


    The dwarf did his best to smirk in response, but it was a wan, sad attempt. ¡°So, she got you too, in the end¡­ I tried to warn the lot of you. Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Never.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s me.¡±


    * * *

 Haunted pt3

    There was plenty of news to go around.


    Neverwish was at times amazed, angered, thrilled, and saddened to the point of tears. Nighteye and Leafcloak, Shadowcloud and Withertongue ¨C even Direcrown¡¯s apostasy ¨C all of it hurt him, but it was Starsight¡¯s words concerning his fate that hit him the hardest, I thought. He was visibly gladdened to hear we¡¯d finally obliterated the eolastyr and driven Lovebright, Tyr Kayn, from the city. I avoided mentioning Lightblind¡¯s death, given our current company. The dwarf looked intrigued when I suggested we could find Direcrown, unlike Rathal, whose own thoughts about the evil arch-sorcerer were perfectly clear.


    I made it perfectly clear right back at him that in situations like this you didn¡¯t whinge about who your allies were. We had a common enemy: Zyger itself. That would be enough to see us through to the other side, even if Direcrown were untrustworthy.


    I still erred on the side of caution, where it came to telling Rath he could do whatever he wanted with Direcrown afterwards. I knew this would bring the arch-diviner on board immediately. I also knew this would be a death sentence for the arch-sorcerer. I still wasn¡¯t willing to cross that divide, even having crawled through the bones of a thousand burnt-up bodies.


    This was what the darkmages were missing. They had their lovely little power-structures, always looking to the man or woman at the top to find out what to do. It did nothing for their instincts, and when they had no leader to feed them most of them starved. It was physically happening in front of me ¨C they were wasting away.


    For all our failings, as champions we¡¯d always tried to listen to each other¡¯s points of view. Take a little something from everyone. Hold off on judgement. Sometimes the solution to a problem could come from a surprising source, and this ¨C this imprisonment ¨C was a problem that demanded everyone lend their aid. What we needed most of all, the way I saw it, was some way to ensure we could return to air pockets if we encountered blockages, a way to leverage our combined strength if something was in the way down there¡­


    But when we heard Ripplewhim¡¯s tale, it took me aback, stymieing my plots and plans and stifling my confidence. I felt my desperate clutch on hope weaken, the tremulous grip loosening¡­ bit by bit, loosening¡­


    My fellow Sticktowner was the herald of doom.


    ¡°It¡¯s all gone to hell, man! The Twelve Hells, the next Incursion! I don¡¯t know how things are still operating, you know? I just ¨C I didn¡¯t show up for the Incursion, did I? But m-my wife, she didn¡¯t want me to go, and look ¨C¡°


    ¡°Slow it down now,¡± Rath said.


    ¡°Yeah ¨C well, that¡¯s the thing, isn¡¯t it? Things just moving faster and faster¡­ Magister-bands getting attacked in the streets. Shallowlie¡¯s still gone, and they all said she¡¯s dead, but N-Netherhame, she spends most of her time looking for her ¨C whether she means alive or, you know¡­ I don¡¯t know. But there¡¯s hardly an arch-sorcerer left, now, ¡®cept the ones the magistry brings, I guess¡­¡±


    I felt sick inside ¨C I hadn¡¯t even thought about that until now.


    Jaid¡­ Jaroan¡­ Get out of Mund. Just go. Leave, forever!


    Even if Shallowlie was presumed dead, I presumed differently, given Vardae¡¯s previous forays into alternative recruitment methods ¨C


    ¡°Timesnatcher?¡± I interrupted. ¡°Did he say Shallowlie¡¯s dead?¡±


    ¡°R-reckon so ¨C it was just before I ¨C before I got in trouble¡­¡±


    Timesnatcher knows better than that, I thought grimly. He¡¯s back to his old ways, surely¡­


    It was strange, to be in a situation where I was actually hoping Irimar was lying.


    ¡°¡­ wasn¡¯t until this magister tried telling me off ¨C a real kid he was too, like eighteen, tops ¨C no offence, F- Kas¡­ but he was here in my face, giving it what-for, and I just ¨C blam! ¨C took him over, wiped his head. I shouldn¡¯t have done it ¨C I know that ¨C but I was having a real bad day and then I didn¡¯t know what to do, so I hid, and apparently they really didn¡¯t like that¡­ Thought they¡¯d be short on champions, you know, with people starting to leave ¨C¡±


    ¡°Leave?¡± Neverwish sat forward, his beard swaying. ¡°What the drop¡¯s this about leaving?¡±


    ¡°Well ¨C what, you guys didn¡¯t hear it?¡±


    The pasty-faced enchanter looked at us in confusion and the three of us stared back blankly.


    ¡°But ¨C everywhere heard it!¡± The rat-nosed man looked over his shoulder at the Inceryad and sighed. ¡°Except maybe down here.¡± He turned back to us. ¡°Vardae ¨C Everseer. She spoke to us, to the whole of Mund. I guess maybe we¡¯re all a little bit heretic, now¡­¡±


    After ten seconds of stunned silence, Rath broke it with a choked whisper:


    ¡°I think¡­ you¡¯d better start at the beginning, young enchanter. And don¡¯t you miss ¨C a single ¨C word.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°People in the camps are baffled, more than angry, from what I hear,¡± Ripplewhim ¨C Temcar ¨C was saying. ¡°Dunno if the population of the city¡¯s actually getting any lower, thinking about it, but it¡¯s all the same, isn¡¯t it? The guys who know what they¡¯re doing are quitting in droves, especially the rich¡­ it¡¯s gonna take some time to train up the new guys¡­ That¡¯s why everything¡¯s breaking down, I reckon. Half the Sticktown watch stopped showing up for work, I heard, and the construction firms are short on staff¡­¡±


    ¡°So they¡¯ve not only not fixed the problem, they¡¯ve potentially made it worse,¡± Rath observed.


    ¡°They¡¯re heretics.¡± Neverwish ¨C Herreld, apparently ¨C spoke with true derision in his voice. ¡°That¡¯s all they do. I don¡¯t care what they think about themselves, why they¡¯re doing what they do. They¡¯re sick. They need putting down.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s worse than all that,¡± I murmured, finally coming out of my reverie. ¡°Even if they emptied the city entirely¡­ they want to face the weakened, recently-reborn dragons head-on. They think they¡¯re going to be the ones to deliver the death-blows ¨C if the champions fight first, they won¡¯t help. They¡¯ll wait for us¡­ for them, to die¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re still champions,¡± Tem whispered.


    The three of us with more experience just stared at the rat-nosed little man; Herreld regarded his fellow ex-enchanter with something close to real contempt burning in the beady dwarven eyes.


    ¡°Well, we are,¡± Tem muttered grumpily, putting a nut in his mouth and looking down at his feet.


    ¡°But what if that¡¯s what the dragons really want them to want?¡± I continued, still trying my hardest to make it make sense. ¡°What if it won¡¯t work? What if the only way to win is to join our forces with theirs ¨C present a united front? They¡¯ll kick out any number of people who could help us¡­¡±


    Neverwish started talking but I slipped away into myself again. I glanced around through the chill, smoky air at the darkmage shapes in the cavern.


    It¡¯s not just organisation that they need. A sense of community¡­? What¡¯s the betting the Srol Heretics are more fractured than the champions? Theor and Aramas clearly belonged to different factions¡­


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    No. That¡¯s not quite it. It¡¯s a sense of¡­ their place in things. Everyone wants to take on responsibilities that are beyond their strength to bear.


    But I¡¯m the same, aren¡¯t I? I wanted to kill the eolastyr, and I chased it down and cut it in half. I wanted to finish the sphere, finish Saphalar¡¯s work and undo the spell on Zadhal. I could¡¯ve died, just like Withertongue, just like Leafcloak, oh so easily¡­ It isn¡¯t speculative, it¡¯s not some game; it¡¯s real. I did that. I took that on, because in each instance I thought ¨C I knew ¨C I was the best person for the job. How are the heretics any different? Isn¡¯t Vardae, like, super-powerful? Isn¡¯t she the best-placed to make such a decision?


    And when has an arch-diviner ever been infallible, Kas? I asked myself sardonically.


    If there were only one seer of such power in the city, perhaps I could¡¯ve filled myself with absolute certitude upon hearing their prophecy. But the Line of Ulu came with divination beyond Irimar and Tanra, beyond Vardae and Rath. It would be like pitting Spiritwhisper against Tyr Kayn. There was just no competition.


    Vardae¡¯s wrong, I decided. I looked around again. We need alliances, not divisions. How many of these darkmages are truly dark? How many eat people and dig up bodies and slaughter innocents? How many were just put here because the Magisterium couldn¡¯t be doing with them out there? Too intractable for their own good¡­


    I focussed on Rath ¨C he was telling the dwarf about his true identity, and Herreld only grunted every now and again, taking it in his stumpy stride. The dwarf¡¯s reservations seemed to be buckled down tight; impressive, considering he was being informed that he was sitting down for lunch with the city¡¯s most notorious killer.


    Temcar¡¯s reaction was less impressive, but at least my fellow Sticktowner managed to avoid flat-out fleeing ¨C he shrank away from Rath as the ex-seer spoke, looking like he was being electrocuted, his eyes bulging and the tip of his nose quivering.


    I turned my gaze back to Rath, back in my reverie, my ears only vaguely processing his words.


    Was I being too forgiving, thinking of these darkmages in here as potential allies? At least Direcrown had proven his worth on multiple occasions, and I knew he had the willpower to commit to aiding us, see the deed through. It wasn¡¯t like I¡¯d have to actually forgive him for killing a thousand immigrants, was it? I was using him.


    Perhaps to his end.


    ¡°¡­ why Kas didn¡¯t tell you. It¡¯s obvious. I killed her. I killed Lightblind. No, don¡¯t look at me like that. She was¡­ She was his anchor. She kept him sane, even if he didn¡¯t know it. But even then, even sane, he killed my wife. He¡¯s told them it was because of the dragon, but it wasn¡¯t. He knew she was my wife, all along. He knew what it would do to me ¨C he hates me, hates that he can¡¯t see me¡­ No. He knew¡­ he knew the price¡­¡±


    The ex-seer looked down at his hands, holding them out palms-up, and fell silent.


    Neverwish was staring at Rathal in renewed horror, but with undisguised understanding in his expression. A traditionalist dwarf might look on such a vendetta as perfectly ethical.


    I took the opportunity to interrupt while neither were speaking.


    ¡°Rath, it¡¯s time. Tell me. Which one is Direcrown?¡±


    ¡°I did tell you,¡± he said darkly, ¡°he must¡¯ve been ¨C¡°


    ¡°Must¡¯ve been brought here before you. You must think a prophet¡¯s never lied to me before. Unsoothsayer.¡±


    He drew a sharp breath, glared at me no less sharply.


    ¡°Fine. I strangled him, and threw him in the toilet, when he¡¯d not been here five minutes.¡±


    ¡°That was Direcrown?¡± Neverwish muttered.


    I stared back at him in shock. ¡°You¡­ you already killed him? You let me go on, about¡­¡±


    I¡¯d thought he was being recalcitrant because he didn¡¯t want anything to do with Direcrown, not because he¡¯d already betrayed my trust like that.


    ¡°You¡¯re barking up the wrong tree, with that one.¡± Rath shook his head, returning his gaze to his own hands. ¡°We can try it without him ¨C if that¡¯s what you want. But we can¡¯t take everyone in here with us, you know that, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I was still trying to come to terms with the casual discussion of murder.


    Direcrown¡­ dead.


    ¡°Why?¡± Neverwish ¨C Herreld ¨C asked in a plaintive growl. His voice contained more consternation than it did rage¡­ and more exhaustion than consternation.


    ¡°Why did I kill him?¡± Rathal laughed harshly. There were no tears in his eyes but he was choking on his words, holding something back as he explained: ¡°I would l-love to say it was for the good of society ¨C that I was removing a danger to the m-masses, deterring those who would choose to em¡­ emulate him. But no. He was in here, in here with me, and do you know what his first words were? His introduction? ¡®What I would not give, for a single cup of wine¡¯! I killed him because I enjoyed it!¡± Strength returned to his voice. ¡°I enjoyed watching him struggle, gargle meaningless garbage at me, like I cared, like anybody cared for his last words! What even is Savalar?¡±


    ¡°His girlfriend?¡± Herreld said, stroking his beard.


    Rath shook his head. ¡°He was crying the whole time ¨C¡°


    ¡°Stop, wait,¡± I groaned. ¡°Savalar? Or Saphalar?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°That could be right. What is it?¡±


    ¡°Not what¡­ who. I was just ¨C just thinking about him, actually. Not that we met, but Saphalar was a lich in Zadhal¡­¡±


    A lich who figured out a way to undo the undead.


    ¡°I always wondered which way old Sillyhat was inclined, and now we know,¡± Herreld rumbled, finished with a dry chuckle, ¡°heh-heh-heh. Downwards.¡±


    I just shuddered. It was too close to the man¡¯s death to make jest of him, even if he were a murderer of awful proportions. And why ¨C how had his last words been of the buried lich? What significance could that hold? We hadn¡¯t discussed Saphalar while we were there in Zadhal ¨C the timings were all wrong ¨C so how did he learn of him? Had he spied upon me in the following days, or had he been doing research for his own purposes?


    And, moreover, why?


    There were no answers forthcoming. Answers lay drowned with the strangled corpse in the sunken tunnels which, if I had my way, we would soon be traversing. A corpse that in any other place I might¡¯ve awoken with a thought, chained its soul to Nethernum by links forged of pure will, questioned it as to its motives, its dark secrets.


    Direcrown lowers his face, and when he speaks his voice is husky, cracking: ¡°It is not the least of the things I have done ¨C it is not the worst. You don¡¯t understand ¨C Wyrda, she listened to me and ¨C¡°


    He¡¯d sounded¡­ what? Remorseful? It was difficult, thinking back to that moment when I¡¯d ignored Timesnatcher, gone against him to accuse my fellow arch-sorcerer of mass-murder. Had it really only been a week or two? Every day down here was like ten, at least.


    Why would he have sounded remorseful, though? I remembered my anger, I remembered wanting him to be punished, punished for his crimes¡­ dead, yes, I¡¯d wanted him dead¡­ and the obvious guilt in his voice had been invisible to me until now, until I thought back. No wonder so many of the other champions had been so conflicted about how to treat him. How must I have come off to the others?


    ¡°He died!¡± Direcrown moans, and the words sound like something awful being dragged from his chest, the jagged teeth of a saw caught in his breastbone. ¡°You don¡¯t understand! He taught me ¨C¡°


    I remembered the way Irimar had interrupted him, breaking a powerful darkmage¡¯s confession with his attack for the second time in a single night.


    Had he been trying to deliberately interrupt Duskdown before he mentioned Direcrown at the wedding ceremony? Did Timesnatcher obstruct me because Direcrown had some role to play in his plans?


    Saphalar¡­ ¡°He died! You don¡¯t understand! He taught me ¨C¡±¡­


    The ¡®he¡¯ has to be Redgate, right? Not Saphalar? Irimar acted as though nothing Direcrown could say would surprise him¡­ Is that really likely, though? What did Irimar ask him once he was incarcerated? Did he visit him, get him to spill all his hidden nuggets of information? Why the invocation of Wyrda? Why the regret in his voice when he spoke of his evil deeds?


    ¡°Kas?¡± Rath touched my knee gently. ¡°Kas, you okay?¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡± I shook my head, blinking rapidly, and wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill. ¡°Stick some more fuel on the fire, eh? I think I need to sleep. Sleeping will help. Too¡­ too confused.¡±


    ¡°I know the feeling, for once,¡± he replied ruefully. ¡°Night.¡± He turned away from me as I sat back, resting my head on its customary rock and closing my eyes.


    ¡°Night, guys,¡± I said, feeling the warmth of the flames on my toes as Rath stuck some more bits of freshly-dried timber on the stack.


    Night? It might be two in the afternoon. Even Temcar won¡¯t know, if his experience prior to the big plunge was anything close to mine. He¡¯ll have been confined for days¡­


    I imagined that it was two in the afternoon. Orstrum was walking north-west on the Plain Road, heading for the Sticktown Gate, Xantaire and Xastur right behind them. They were walking out of Mund, getting away from this horror, this madness.


    I slept. I awoke. I slept. I awoke.


    Night. Day. Night. Day.


    It lost meaning. There was only the need to escape.


    So it was that I looked on keenly as Herreld inspected the rocks on the wall with his cunning dwarven eyes; one of us would hold a fiery brand aloft so that he could see, and he¡¯d clamber across the wet stones with a dexterity he didn¡¯t possess before I arrived ¨C before we got him eating again, and put the hope back in his heart. At times he¡¯d have us hold our breaths and watch the guttering flames, tracking the movement of the air.


    It took him days of meticulous toil to find the cracks, but he found them and marked them, all the small fluctuations in currents that only he could discover. Sometimes I thought he was mad. Sometimes I thought we all were. But before we were done, we drew our audience. Half the cavern moved their fires to better watch us. And half of those wanted to help.


    We found boulders small-enough to wield, dense-enough to have an effect, and, under direction from our motley collection of dwarves, we got to work.


    Magicrux Zyger ¨C Mund¡¯s latest mining operation.

 Revenge pt1

    <h2>JET 8.2: REVENGE</h2>


    ¡°Death is your certainty. Death is your ending. Will you go to an ending you did not choose? When will you heed death¡¯s overtures? Only when you are too sick, too weak to do otherwise? No. It is the weak who fear death. The strong? The strong welcome it. Many are those who claim to be strong, and yet they will shirk their fate, balk at doom, blench and cringe and judder.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Swordfaith Lectures¡¯ recordings, Urdara 966 NE


    Dreams and nightmares. There was no distinction. Half the time Jaid and Jaroan held me close when I returned to them, and half the time they turned away from me, silently begging me to go, leave them, cease inflicting myself upon them¡­ But sometimes there was joy to be found when they spurned me, and sorrow when they accepted me back. Somehow I hoped they were gone, already far beyond the curse of my influence¡­


    That didn¡¯t stop me needing to see them. Should they have departed Mund, I¡¯d find them ¨C if only to ensure they were safe.


    We worked with the stones in shifts, some as short as ten minutes. Everyone was weak, but it didn¡¯t matter: together, we were strong. With the help of Herreld and his kinsmen we broke away our first big piece of rock before my next sleep cycle, and almost everyone joined in the tired cheer. It couldn¡¯t have taken more than twelve hours ¨C that was how I chose to phrase it when I congratulated everyone. Plus, despite being busy, two of the dwarves had been working on chisel-type implements of harder stone in their spare moments.


    It had taken off. It wasn¡¯t just my project now. Everyone wanted in. Soon I¡¯d propose splitting our food evenly, assuming people were going to help, of course. Those who wouldn¡¯t chip in could make do with a little less to eat, couldn¡¯t they? And the rest of us would all be well-fed, more capable of labour.


    I didn¡¯t feel sorry for the highborn in here, who seemed to mostly comprise the loners still sitting on the outskirts, incapable of extending themselves in fellowship with the uncouth. If they were content to sit there aloof and wait for death, what would it matter if we took from their shares?


    In high spirits I left the ¡®toilet¡¯ and went to ¡®bed¡¯, lying there, scratching my ¡®beard¡¯ and daydreaming before sleep claimed me.


    Whether I was awake or not, the dream was the same.


    Getting free. Getting the twins. Leaving everything and everyone I¡¯d ever known behind. Even Xantaire and Xastur and Orstrum ¨C while I missed them and always would, they weren¡¯t even in the same league. It wasn¡¯t my job to protect them, ultimately. But the twins¡­ I had to act. I had to keep going, until I was reunited with them or I died, one or the other. I couldn¡¯t abandon them to this world, not yet. If they were a few years older everything might¡¯ve been different¡­ I might¡¯ve been less-willing to organise Mund¡¯s greatest-ever break-out of criminals, but here we were, doing what we had to do.


    To be free.


    However, my lovely dream changed halfway through, nightmare tendrils reaching out, reminding me of the real consequences of Vardae¡¯s speech ¨C the tendrils stole Jaid from me, stole Jaroan ¨C now when I escaped Zyger they were already gone, had already fled the city ¨C I didn¡¯t know which way they¡¯d headed, and I scoured the countryside, but every time I thought I¡¯d found them it turned out to be someone else, someone with a clue as to their whereabouts ¨C I seemed to spend days, weeks, years obeying these dream-people and their recommendations, flying here and there on tired wings, growing increasingly desperate ¨C


    A hand, roughly shaking me by the shoulder.


    ¡°Kas!¡± Rath¡¯s low hiss.


    I gratefully pulled my awareness out of the nightmare, but when I opened my eyes and followed his, I almost wished I¡¯d stayed asleep.


    A full-on ghost was floating down out of the shaft, flickering in the Inceryad¡¯s fiery glow. She looked like the ghost of a magister, her hair tied back severely, her almost-transparent body swathed in a formal robe, its folds like smoke rolling in waves about her as she descended. Any official Magisterium symbol on her shadow-clothes was indiscernible, however.


    ¡°Thou shalt desist,¡± she said, floating straight over towards the ¡®toilet¡¯ and the crew of darkmages dutifully clanging their hard, hand-held stones against the fault-lines in the wall.


    ¡°Oh, we shalt, shall we?¡± one of the lowborn darkmages sneered back at the ghost, his accent mocking hers. He was a young man and he stood straight, pausing his stone-on-stone hammering to regard her. ¡°Why, what¡¯re they gonna do with us? Throw us in Magicrux Zyger? Pop on back to your masters, and tell them from me that they ¨C¡±


    The ghost seemed to utilise a short-ranged teleport, simply vanishing and then reappearing directly behind the man.


    ¡°Thou shalt desist,¡± she said again; the darkmage did his best to whirl, shrieking something, but she put her arms around him, through him, and he dropped his stone.


    Then he dropped his corpse, the body sliding down lifelessly to the rocks, slipping over the wet boulders and landing in the ¡®toilet¡¯ with a splash. She was holding something shapeless now in her embrace, an entity of shadow and light. The darkmage¡¯s soul, being exposed to the corrupting influence of nethernal energies.


    It screamed. The soul, it was screaming. We couldn¡¯t hear the sound, but that just made it more horrible. We could see the amorphous mouth, locked in perpetual motion, a noiseless trill of utter desolation.


    The final phrase was spoken slowly but with no delicacy, her voice a hollow monotone.


    ¡°Thou¡­ shalt¡­ desist.¡±


    Then the ghost was gone, and the darkmage¡¯s with her, leaving only her echoes behind.


    As the sounds faded and everyone could see she wasn¡¯t immediately coming back, dozens of voices exploded.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°So we can¡¯t even hit rocks without being punished further.¡±


    ¡°Gods-damned magisters¡­¡±


    ¡°What did he say to it?¡±


    It¡¯s over, I said to myself grimly, keeping my disappointment sealed up inside. Just like that, the dream dies.


    I was feeling very bitter all of a sudden, so it took me a minute to realise the ghost had been speaking Netheric, and apparently only a portion of us had understood the meaning of her words and the archmage¡¯s reply. I¡¯d given away the fact I was an ex-sorcerer before I¡¯d wrapped my head around it, but it was ever-so-slightly reassuring to recognise I hadn¡¯t entirely lost my gift. It was just¡­ being suppressed. It was a silver lining on the blackest of black clouds, but it was something. I couldn¡¯t speak it, though, not without the appropriate creature in front of me. I grabbed another arch-sorcerer, and together we tested it ¨C the language was something we could only understand now. Neither of us could get our tongues to break the planar boundary at will.


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    The ghost¡¯s a strange choice of eldritch guardian, I mused, moving away from the other ex-sorcerer and trying to puzzle it out.


    Wasn¡¯t it odd? An eldritch whose warnings few archmages could even comprehend¡­ not like they cared much whether the warnings were heeded, though, I guessed. This was probably a cost-cutting exercise, using the type of ghost that¡¯d mindlessly haunt the same spot for centuries¡­


    Then it struck me. The thing I¡¯d been missing.


    ¡°It¡¯s just like them, isn¡¯t it?¡± I growled.


    I was mostly speaking to myself, but a bunch of nearby darkmages turned to listen.


    ¡°The Magisterium?¡± someone asked in an old, croaky voice. ¡°Of course, young man. They would¡¯ve never allowed it. I did try telling you all¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that.¡± My eyes sought out Herreld¡¯s in the crowd, found him crouching, dejected, on a shelf of rock lining the wall. ¡°They¡¯ve abused the unscryable nature of the place. Diviners are taught that people condemned to Zyger are irretrievable, and it makes sense to them ¨C but a five-man-band of dropping watchmen could accomplish it with ease¡­ Give them a rope-ladder, and a sword each, and what could we do, really? And now¡­ now this¡­¡±


    I looked up at the circular disc of space in the cavern roof, the hole hanging over the centre of the pool, and felt the disgust creep over my features, the mask of hatred that had always been beneath the surface finally manifesting.


    All the things I¡¯d been angry about had been superseded, dwarfed into insignificance as time supplied context, unveiling the sheer incomprehensible depth of their callousness. It wasn¡¯t overprotectiveness, or even greed ¨C it was Evil in its heart. The kind of Evil only a collective consciousness could come up with, a guild that screened applicants not by merit but by their lack of conscience¡­


    Once, I¡¯d been angry that the magisters supported the system that made the poor poorer and the rich richer ¨C now I knew that all along they¡¯d known of Mund¡¯s impending destruction and said nothing. Where was the justice, and what form could such a thing take?


    Once, I¡¯d been angry that one of their leaders kept my girlfriend from my side when I entered a city filled with undead ¨C now I knew that this leader had twisted her mind, manipulating both of us, and said nothing for months. Where were the fines, the criminal investigations?


    Once, I¡¯d been angry that another of their leaders tried to get me and my friends killed in that same undead city ¨C now I knew that Zakimel was just the scum on the surface, merely preserving the Magisterium¡¯s far-darker secrets. Where was the truth? Where was the punishment?


    ¡°And now!¡± I repeated. ¡°Now they show us how easy it would be! To send down a winged eldritch ¨C they¡¯re clearly not affected by the tree ¨C just send one down, like, ¡®Hey, Neverwish, you¡¯re coming with me!¡¯ and that¡¯d be the end of it but oh no, that¡¯d mess with all the carefully-arranged preconceptions, all the lies they¡¯ve built up. Gods! Damn you! Damn you all!¡±


    I moved aside and threw myself down on my knees. Ignoring the mutterings of the crowd in the wake of my rant, I started to cry. The twins¡¯ faces swam in front of my eyes even when I screwed them shut, refusing to evaporate no matter how tightly I closed them, how far into the darkness I plunged.


    I¡¯ll sink, then, I said to myself. I¡¯ll go into the water, and search for the way out down there. If I drown¡­ better to drown than ¨C what? Live here? Eking out an existence on the edge of oblivion?


    No. I¡¯ll move on, die the way I always knew I would ¨C trying to get back.


    Get back to them¡­


    Do it, Kas. You can do it.


    I drew in a breath, put my palms on the stone to either side of me, preparing to open my eyes and push myself up to my feet ¨C


    My ears caught the sounds.


    ¡°So you ¨C you¡¯re Neverwish.¡±


    I stayed where I was, waiting. Herreld didn¡¯t reply before ¨C


    ¡°And that means ¡®e is Feychilde. Told ya! So oo¡¯re you, man? Timesnatcher?¡±


    They was a flurry of sound ¨C a crack, a number of swiftly-delivered blows¡­


    I sighed-out my freshly-drawn breath.


    Rathal¡­ don¡¯t take them all to pieces, please¡­


    After a few seconds of listening to the animal grunts coming from his victims I found myself frowning, getting to my feet to stop him ¨C


    And when I looked I froze, open-mouthed in dismay.


    Rath wasn¡¯t winning. He was pinned, three of them holding him, and another ex-seer was pummelling him like a trained gladiator, socking him in the eyes, the throat, below the breastbone¡­ The grunting was his. Somehow, he was still standing, still conscious, but he was leaning back against the ones who¡¯d trapped his arms and waist, his head lolling to one side. He was almost spent.


    ¡°Sick¡­ of¡­ you¡­¡± the ex-seer started murmuring as he struck, struck, struck.


    And Neverwish was already gone, lying face-down in the water, a black gash in the rear of his skull.


    Ripplewhim was backing away from the others, stringy figures sliding over the rocks in the firelight, streaming towards him.


    Towards me.


    There was nowhere to run. Retreat was pointless. They were almost on us anyway.


    Pain. I¡¯d endured it before. I¡¯d just have to do it again. Move into the beyond without cringing. Stride into the shadowland with self-knowledge.


    I deserved my dues, after all.


    I killed us. I killed us all. For all that I hated you, Emrelet, I joined you before the end.


    A murderer. A darkmage worthy of the title.


    I glanced over at the Inceryad-tree in the last few seconds before they reached me. The flames reflected in the narrow, twisted branches, in the wispy mirrors of the broken trunk ¨C the crystalline abomination seemed to be laughing at me, fire and shadow dancing in its million smiles.


    But I wasn¡¯t one for just submitting, not like this. The champions and magisters had broken my will, but Rathal had restored me. I would fight, until my last breath. I was young, spry, well-conditioned by months of practice and battle. Sure, I was missing most of my tools, but I had to try.


    I jabbed at the nearest one, almost open-handed, ready to clench my fist as the blow landed, but he was moving too quickly. The strike hit home but it didn¡¯t matter; I didn¡¯t get chance to follow it up as he slammed into me, knocking me down on my back and sprawling atop me.


    Luckily, perhaps, I instinctively managed to keep my head tucked forward, keep my skull from splitting apart as my spine started screaming from the rough contact.


    Then a fist hit the end of my nose. Then a foot hit my bottom row of teeth. Then something heavier than either struck the outside of my elbow.


    My arm now felt awfully wrong and it was the adrenaline, adrenaline keeping me existing through the moments, only bit by bit becoming aware of the terrible damage being wrought on my body. I¡¯d seen it done, agonies being inflicted ¨C I¡¯d seen even Tanra ripping the hands off her enemies to slow their spell-casting ¨C and I¡¯d done it myself ¨C I¡¯d wounded creatures before, hurt them like I was now being hurt. I¡¯d been the one on the receiving end too. I¡¯d been partially opened-up by the first vampire-lord I met, and fully opened-up by the liches of Zadhal. I¡¯d had my left leg pulped by the weight of a fallen ikistadreng and I¡¯d fallen from the sky.


    But then I was a champion. There was always the possibility of magical healing, and I¡¯d always thought that when the end came, it would be something glorious, even perhaps something worthy of song.


    It wasn¡¯t, and within seconds, despite all my vows to stand firm, I was already longing for that chance to submit, to give in, avoid this beating. I couldn¡¯t breathe through my smashed nose. Snot and blood filled my throat and the pressure of a variety of wounds was bubbling to the surface, making the lid of the pot rattle and dance, my arms and legs contorting in a desperate attempt to protect what remained of me from the rain of blows, bring up a knee in the way of a savage kick, bring up an elbow in the way of a ¨C


    Using the elbow in defence was a mistake. It sang its own song through my lips, a squeal of such intensity that I heard it reverberating across the chamber, reverberating through my skull ¨C my misshapen, almost hanging-off ear ¨C


    Something hard landed on my foot, squashing my toes, trapping me. I felt the bone in the ball of my foot crunching into a paste, but I could no longer scream, couldn¡¯t breathe at all ¨C they were hitting me, kicking me, and my eyelids started to flutter in anticipation of unconsciousness ¨C


    ¡°Stop,¡± snarled a soft voice.


    I managed to focus on him ¨C the ex-seer who¡¯d been knocking Rath around, looming over me, throwing the others back with expertly-placed thrusts of his arms.


    A saviour? I wondered, mind blank. But who?


    Now that the pressure was off slightly I managed to roll onto my side, and I coughed out the contents of my throat all over the stones.


    ¡°Stop,¡± he repeated. ¡°Feychilde is mine.¡±


    * * *

 Revenge pt2

    He swam in and out of focus, and I did my best to grin at him, half-toothless, gums open and raw.


    ¡°Amd whab? Whab dim I do to you?¡±


    He shrieked laughter. The darkmage had to be in his thirties; he had a squashed face, all his features clustered in the centre, making him look like he¡¯d grown up with his head trapped inside a fishbowl. His hair was brown and shaggy, scraggly beard jumping around as he snapped the answer:


    ¡°What did you do to me? You destroyed my best friend! Melted him right down¡­ Gods be praised you¡¯re here, now. I¡¯m gonna take my sweet time killing you, boy.¡±


    ¡°Destoy whoob?¡± I complained.


    Why did these darkmages keep insisting I¡¯d killed people they knew?


    ¡°Bladebuilder!¡± he hissed, coming close to loom over me. ¡°Phraidon, Phraidon Garalaz, burned to a crisp. I saw it ¨C it was the last thing I saw before that damned Killstop got in my way¡­ You were fighting him. I saw enough to know what happened, Feychilde.¡±


    I realised then who he meant. ¡®Bladebuilder¡¯, the sorcerer annihilated in Saff and Tarr¡¯s awakening. Which made this guy the diviner the one who¡¯d been wearing the clock-styled mask.


    I looked up at him through blurry eyes.


    ¡°Cock-face.¡±


    The kick he unleashed couldn¡¯t been seen, not even felt ¨C only in the wake of its passage did the strobing mind intuit the blow, sensing the pain at a great distance, the change in angle through my spinning eyes where my neck had been twisted, turning my head to face the other direction.


    I closed my eyes, cutting off the nauseating spinning only to find that the darkness didn¡¯t help ¨C I was on my hands and knees, falling through the night, my gorge rising ¨C


    ¡°Clockwatcher, thank you very much. I realise you want me to put you out of your misery, but none of the wounds you¡¯ve yet sustained are likely to off you, and I¡¯d like to take the opportunity to torture you, if I may.¡±


    I knew he was looking around at the others by their silence, save for one who dared speak up: Shadowcrafter.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to torture the boy? Slay him? Leave one or the other for me ¨C it was his hand that sent me tumbling hither! Can any other here boast the same? Does any other¡¯s need for vengeance burn as mine?¡±


    ¡°He captured you?¡±


    ¡°He cheated,¡± came the spiteful answer. ¡°Now, at last, I get to gloat over his body, as he surely did over mine.¡±


    A foot landed in my chest, then rolled me fully-over onto my back.


    ¡°Well, boy?¡±


    I looked up at the bald head, the big nose.


    ¡°Shabow¡­ cramter.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes. Good.¡± The smile glinted over me like an executioner¡¯s blade. ¡°I am your biggest fan, Feychilde.¡±


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    ¡°Find out what makes him tick,¡± Clockwatcher purred.


    ¡°Oh, indeed.¡± I saw the shapes moving as Shadowcrafter bent to find an appropriate rock. ¡°I like to start with the groin.¡±


    I mumbled, thrashed against the incredible pressure pinning my foot, and felt the weight of another boot on my shoulder ¨C someone took my arm and bent it against the wounded elbow, stopping my struggling, leaving me howling ¨C


    ¡°Wha¡¯ the Hells is tha¡¯?¡± someone muttered.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°That, there.¡±


    ¡°Oh gods.¡±


    ¡°I know what that is!¡±


    I leaned my head to one side, trying to follow the eyeline of Clockwatcher and Shadowcrafter.


    From the angle I was at, I could actually see it coming ¨C I was on my back, and I could see the edge of the shaft leading back up towards Mund, the circular opening that had spat each and every one us into this waiting room of hell. It moved out from the hole, a shadow amongst shadows. A six-legged hunter in the night.


    A pair of red eyes in the darkness, slipping closer across the dripping, pitted ceiling.


    Once I realised what was happening, I would come to recognise that I¡¯d been expecting it all along.


    This was my time of punishment, and they were the first I¡¯d offended. The first who¡¯d seen fit to place a bounty on the head of Feychilde.


    The first ones in line to collect on my life.


    Termiax and Rissala.


    ¡°¡¯S comin¡¯ closer!¡± someone wailed.


    ¡°I know what that is ¨C back off!¡±


    I heard Shadowcrafter¡¯s bark of frustration, Clockwatcher¡¯s snarl. I saw them stalking away from me nonetheless.


    Everyone could sense it.


    I was its victim. This was my time of reckoning. All my overconfidence. All my power. Stripped away, to the bone. No special circumstance to save me. No god or goddess looking on at these events from on high. Just the deities below, their bellies rumbling with the promise of death to come.


    The darkmages gathered on the stones about me, murmuring, all keeping a safe distance of twenty yards or more. Now that they¡¯d parted and spread out, I could see Duskdown ¨C Rath was still alive, his chest rising and falling, but his face was a mess of broken skin. He wasn¡¯t so far from me. Ripplewhim was motionless on the ground between us, face down in a patch of jagged-edged rocks.


    Temcar looked to be dead, but I couldn¡¯t be certain. On the other hand there was Neverwish ¨C Herreld¡­ The poor dwarf was still face-down in the water. He wasn¡¯t getting up again.


    The mizelikon dropped down from the ceiling, and even where it should¡¯ve been visible it simply swallowed the firelight, its smoky body refusing illumination like leather refused to soak up water. Its six strange, feline legs were visible as silhouettes, spindly appendages distending and stretching, allowing it to almost step from ceiling to floor in spite of the sixty, maybe seventy-foot gap.


    Of course it had come for me now. Eldritch powers weren¡¯t affected by the Inceryad like human divination was¡­ They¡¯d only be limited by their own ability, and thrown off by other eldritches. The leaders of the Cannibal Six had summoned this mizelikon to kill me right back at the end of Orovost, and it had looked ahead at my future, pulled along by the confluence, the machinations of the four all-powerful arch-diviners who¡¯d had a hand in my destiny¡­


    Following me here. Not only to the time and place I¡¯d be powerless, but waiting, waiting until Rath was incapacitated, waiting until I was wounded beyond any ability to resist, to fight back¡­


    It was smart. Smarter than I¡¯d given it credit, for all my useless knowledge, all my previous strength.


    Unconsciousness tempted me. But when I closed my eyes, biting my lip against the agonies wracking me, I was no longer dizzy.


    The twins. They were there. Always there.


    I would fight.


    But how?


    They said that your life flashed before your eyes before you died. Now that fateful day slipped through my mind, sand in an hourglass, memories flooding through the aperture of my consciousness.


    Belexor¡¯s pocket.


    ¡°Belly killed the new sh-shampion,¡± Meneda giggles.


    Urinating involuntarily when my rat-self encountered the scents of the tavern¡¯s hidden spaces.


    ¡°This is our moment of revenge,¡± Screamsong ¨C Lady Rissala ¨C snarls.


    Fleeing the mizelikon up the street.


    Nighteye¡­ poor, poor Nighteye¡­


    And ¨C


    The almost ascetic look of him, the unkempt hair and gaunt features.


    The voice. Solemn. Serious. Implacable.


    ¡±You must grip the brand tightly. Do you hear me?¡±


    * * *

 Revenge pt3

    I spent an instant tossing and turning inside my own head, internal mechanisms stuttering.


    Timesnatcher¡­ did he¡­? Even then¡­ he saw this?


    Saw ¨C no.


    Heard¡­ He heard this¡­


    Grip¡­ the brand?


    I opened my eyes again as the murmurs died down, and found that the demon was close by, only one more bonfire between us. It had transformed on the edge of the firelight into a many-armed creature, coiled darkness personified: its two red eyes had now split into four, one pair atop the other, and it resembled a spider more than the feline form it had used till now.


    It took the shape that best allowed it to assassinate its prey. It couldn¡¯t sneak up on me ¨C it had to stop my would-be killers from finishing the job. Its job. It had to intimidate them, or it wouldn¡¯t get its chance; I¡¯d already be dead.


    A paradox that might work in my favour.


    But it knew I was damaged. Mizelikon weren¡¯t afforded a heavy presence in Materium; they moved quickly and lightly, but they weren¡¯t very durable, and their attacks were similarly impaired. This disguise would balance that weakness, give it physical weight in exchange for some of its speed.


    I could definitely use that to my advantage.


    I sat up, and used my hands to move the big brick of stone that¡¯d mashed my foot. Then, grimacing, I shifted my body across the rocks, the muscles that worked hauling on the ones that didn¡¯t. I flopped like a fish, crawling and sliding across sharp teeth, little jagged crenellations that slashed at my skin, opening it in dozens of places as I headed for the nearest fire.


    I found that pain no longer mattered. It was only one more fact, one more piece of sensory information being fed to my brain. It could be safely ignored, background noise. It could matter later, if there was a later. Agony was the path I¡¯d chosen, right back with the Bone Ring and my first foray into this dangerous world. I¡¯d walk the path. I¡¯d come too far to turn back now.


    The fire was almost directly between me and the dark shape. As I moved forwards it circled around me, staying out of the well-lit sphere ¨C the darkmages all hurried to give us an ever-wider berth. I tried to keep the demon in my sights, but the fact it was placing itself behind me wasn¡¯t exactly ideal ¨C


    And then when I was still six feet from the flames it lunged out into the illumination, a glossy black squid, going for my legs with a whole host of tendril-like coils. I saw its glistening, inky central body, its mushroom-shaped head, four crimson eyes fixed on me.


    Then it had me, held me, finding and squeezing the pulped foot as though that could stop me.


    The appendage was already basically nerveless. I screamed laughter, another involuntary reaction, even as I twisted myself free and resumed my slide towards the light-source ¨C but it was no good. The other tendrils were fastening onto me with all the purchase their shadowy substance permitted them, latching onto my calves, knees, thighs ¨C


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    Three feet away. My outstretched arm covered most of that distance. The nearest brand, inches from my questing fingertips.


    It pulled me back, and the jolt caused my face to connect with the ground ¨C impacting on another sharp bit of stone, tearing a strip of skin off my forehead.


    I couldn¡¯t rise up properly, not without my busted elbow grinding my mind into unconsciousness, so I rolled over again, kicking out savagely, hoping to disrupt the demon¡¯s grip¡­ a futile gesture. The last gasp of my stubborn willpower, desperately lashing out in the hopes of making a change, something, anything that would stop me from being pulled in towards its central mass¡­


    It pulled.


    I did the only thing left.


    ¡°Buskbown!¡± I squealed.


    Whatever it was in him that empowered him, it cut through time and space and the voids between the stars. He was too far from me to help but I saw him struggling to open his puffy eyes ¨C trying to rise.


    ¡°Kas,¡± he choked, hands twitching, contorting.


    Clockwatcher, not far from him, turned his way with a look of mingled fear and awe ¨C Duskdown himself! ¨C and aimed a lethal kick at his head ¨C


    Then Clockwatcher was lying next to him, dying, brained on the stones, and Rath was rising, already moving ¨C


    The mizelikon dragged me out of the firelight and into the shadow, taking on new aspects, limbs that were previously legs now changing, stiffening and narrowing, becoming blade-like tongues. Black thorns sprouted from every inch of their surfaces, piercing my skin ¨C


    Just as my friend threw a burning stick at the demon, the fiery end wheeling around to crack into one of its tendrils.


    It recoiled, loosening its grip for an instant, and I put everything into reversing my motion, squeezing free, but I was snagged on its barbs in a dozen places.


    Gnashing my teeth, I tracked the stick Rath had thrown and grabbed for it. The brand tumbled to the rocky ground next to me, and, not caring where and how I gripped it, knowing only that I had to do so tightly ¨C I lifted it.


    Drawing a mighty breath, I swung back the flaming end and hammered at the fiend with it.


    Instantly I could see that the stick was taking more of a beating than the demon. I heard the blackened tip crack, charred pieces crumbling away.


    The mizelikon¡¯s spikes lacerated my lower legs ¨C dark incisions, tendons tearing ¨C


    Three times, I pummelled its head with the brand ¨C it snatched for it, then, and I did as I¡¯d been told, all that time ago: I held on, held on for dear life ¨C


    I lasted less than three seconds. It might¡¯ve been half-shadow, but it was an experienced assassin, an immortal creature of Mekesta. It knew what it was doing.


    It tore the stick from my hand, leaving my elbow singing madly from the whiplash ¨C


    Now it lacerated my upper legs ¨C blood flowing, rivers of it, off to join the Inceryad¡¯s laughing streams, and I slid in it, ever closer to my killer ¨C


    Rathal was there on the mizelikon¡¯s flank, wielding his own burning torch, yelling, failing to do anything but become entwined himself ¨C


    His battered face twisted in new agony.


    I¡¯m sorry, Rathal. I killed you too.


    I raised my empty, ashen hand before my face, a primordial gesture of warding, devoid of all meaning and power ¨C the barbs reached up, snagged my skin, the little sections of webbing between my fingers pierced and tugged at by its hooks ¨C


    The brand¡­ the brand, the brand¡­


    What did he mean, ¡®grip the brand tightly¡¯?


    It¡¯d seemed obvious, but how would he know that by hearing? They couldn¡¯t see into Zyger. Unless I were to tell myself, aloud, to hold the brand more tightly¡­ And then I¡¯d only be saying it because he told me to say it, and he¡¯d only know it because I was going to say it¡­


    What use was the damn thing anyway? It¡¯d broken! It was gone!


    What am I missing?


    Something he could hear¡­


    Did mizelikon ever make a single sound?


    Sounds¡­


    What am I missing?


    It was only as I repeated that crucial question to myself, looking up at my own tortured hand, that the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.


    I knew what I had to do.


    * * *

 Revenge pt4

    Grip the brand tightly. An instruction from an arch-diviner. Something it doesn¡¯t know I know. Something it can¡¯t plan for.


    I realised what I was missing ¨C why the mizelikon looked ever-so-slightly different this time¡­


    The white mark ¨C the brand!


    I reached up, deliberately ripping my own hand to shreds and letting the demon¡¯s thorned tongues creep further, tearing into my midriff. I didn¡¯t care. Pain was inevitable, and incalculably better than death.


    With my final strength I slapped my chalk-white, bleeding palm down just above its eyes, between them, where its forehead should¡¯ve been. Where the pale shape looked right.


    And beneath my palm, the hidden burning rune lit up, its radiance pouring out between my fingers, as pure as sunlight.


    I couldn¡¯t see it. I wasn¡¯t an arch-sorcerer here. But I was an arch-sorcerer beneath. Where power failed, knowledge served.


    I sank those fingertips in deep, piercing both shadow and light with my mortal flesh as only an arch-sorcerer might.


    The mizelikon screamed, a red-lit maw filled with tiny teeth appearing now beneath its eyes, its substance of lipless night parting to voice a singular, infernal roar of helplessness.


    I gripped the brand tightly.


    And I was myself once more.


    I stared into the crimson eyes, and they stared back, scrunching up in pain.


    ¡°Be mine.¡±


    The Infernal words came from my lips, comprehensible despite my injuries, and I felt the power of the mizelikon pulse through my hand. Its eyes lowered ¨C the link between us was made whole.


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    Instantly, I felt the relief as what seemed to be hundreds of thorns were removed from my skin.


    ¡°Free¡­ free him too.¡±


    The black vines withdrew from about Rathal.


    ¡°Oi! Oi, what¡¯s he doin¡¯?¡± someone cried.


    ¡°He¡¯s taken its allegiance!¡± Shadowcrafter roared.


    Unconsciousness was beckoning but I was so close, so close. The white energy was still pouring out between my fingers, into my bleeding hand, into my flesh ¨C


    ¡°Raph!¡± I pleaded.


    Weakly, he lifted his head, his arms shaking.


    ¡°Geh ¨C geh¡­¡±


    I was slurring, but he understood. Drawing once more on some inestimable reserve of power, he pushed himself to his feet, staggering towards Temcar¡¯s motionless form.


    Shadowcrafter stepped up to the front of the crowd with a rock in his hand, moving towards the ex-diviner with murder in his eyes.


    I knew what I had to do. It was my time.


    It was his time.


    I didn¡¯t want to do it. But I wanted to do it.


    I didn¡¯t need to do it. But I needed to do it.


    I had to make my own choice. Own the consequences.


    When I drew on the eldritch¡¯s energy to bring up the shield, the lines flickered not azure but crimson, bloody arcs rippling across the space.


    A single blade, aimed at his neck. Once, he¡¯d have had his own barriers, piles of defences to chew through ¨C and now, he was just a man. An old, infirm, hungry man.


    A soul of evil riding a bag of skin and bone, just begging for release.


    I watched Shadowcrafter trying to maintain his footing, his heart pumping a fountain that sprayed scarlet from his slashed throat; it was like he was trying to dance in the red rain.


    Then he fell back hard, painting those near him in his life¡¯s-blood.


    There, Emrelet. There, Zel. I did it. Are you happy now?


    Did you know this was me all along, Irimar?


    ¡°No¡­ more¡­ itterrubtions,¡± I growled at them in Mundic.


    I must¡¯ve looked a right state. Some of them actually flinched as my gaze crossed them.


    ¡°He breathes, Kas!¡± Rath cried, even as he looped his hands under Ripplewhim¡¯s arms and started dragging him over to me.


    I took a final glance at the glowering Inceryad, at the horde of bitter figures scattered around this woe-begotten chamber.


    I took a final glance, and, gritting my teeth against my shattered elbow¡¯s complaining, I raised my free hand to open the portal.


    It wouldn¡¯t channel itself through me correctly, not here, not now ¨C I couldn¡¯t open Etherium or Nethernum. The portal was a cold red fire, a coruscating gateway to the Twelve Hells.


    I didn¡¯t care. The moment Rath hauled Temcar up to me, the enchanter¡¯s weight pressing on my back, I gripped the diviner¡¯s hand, simultaneously moving the portal over us.


    Welcome to Infernum, I said to myself grimly, looking around at my new surroundings. Welcome to the place you deserve.


    Welcome home.

 No Way Out pt1

    <h2>JET 8.3: NO WAY OUT</h2>


    ¡°They are who they are, while your identity floats in an unfixed state of being. Is it so surprising that they fail to recognise you for what you are not? Believe me, you were not born for this world! The World awaits!¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 2:213-217


    For every space, there was a corresponding location in each immaterial plane ¨C or perhaps the scholars were wrong, and if there was no cavern already present in Infernum that mirrored the Inceryad¡¯s chamber, one would create itself now for us, in anticipation of our arrival, accommodating our earthly flesh with open arms. Many sorcerers of years gone by had catalogued the features of the various dimensional realms, from the singing orchards and rainbow palaces of Hiriel, the hewn-down mountains and silver seas of Aedervaen, to the plague lakes and bone-glass towers of Abyssinion, the silent deserts and bloody waters of Inner Nethernum. However, we were technically within the bounds of Mund, which was, according to those same scholars, no special place in the other worlds. Any fey lord, demon lord, undead lord ¨C any powerful entity seeking to settle in the area would¡¯ve long-since been moved on by the incessant intrusions of the city¡¯s archmages. It was something of a wasteland, all things considered. Yet Materium had rules it had to follow, locked into a delicate equilibrium by the gods, whose abilities to act were in turn bound by their myriad compromises. The other planes followed other rules, slanted more towards certain gods than their counterparts. Or, in Infernum¡¯s case, very few rules. I didn¡¯t know what to expect here.


    The mizelikon¡¯s crimson flame deposited us on the floor of a vast, empty cathedral, carved from what looked like sandstone. Even as we coalesced on the other side of the gateway, I felt the power stutter and die ¨C the oily creature collapsed in on itself and I looked down at it. Draped over my legs there was only a crusty black substance, crispy on top, wet beneath.


    The remains of the mizelikon. Slowly, flakes started to drift away, lighter than whatever passed for air in the Twelve Hells. And as the fire died, so did the light. We were plunged into darkness.


    I¡¯d drained it dry, and now its corpse was the only thing keeping me alive, keeping me from bleeding out all over the place.


    ¡°Kas?¡± Rathal didn¡¯t sound worried so much as frustrated.


    I breathed deeply of the reeking infernal air and shook my head. The three of us were a mess, but we were still numbered amongst the living. That was all that mattered.


    Careful to ensure Temcar was still propped up against me, I moved Rath¡¯s hand to my shoulder and then gestured for Avaelar.


    Green sparks danced on the air, but they wouldn¡¯t resolve themselves into the curtain of emerald energy I needed.


    ¡°You can do it,¡± Rath said. ¡°You will do it. I know it.¡±


    Eight tries. It took eight tries, and I was almost spent ¨C I almost wept with relief when at last the green fire answered.


    ¡°See,¡± the seer said quietly.


    I brought Avaelar through very close-by, and I was touching him on the toned, bronze knee as he entered. The tall sylph immediately bent, putting his fingertips on my shoulder.


    ¡°Master ¨C Feychilde!¡± he sobbed. ¡°I had thought thee forever barred from the outer planes! I consulted with diverse entities, whose counsel brought me to the conclu-¡±


    ¡°Avaelar, please,¡± I said in Etheric. I was struggling to move my lips; it was a small mercy he wasn¡¯t wasting time complaining about being brought to Infernum, and into a puddle of mizelikon remains for that matter. ¡°Breathe on me. Don¡¯t let me pass out. And¡­ keep touching me. I¡­ I don¡¯t think I can bring you through twice.¡±


    The honeyed breath emanating from the sylph¡¯s lips was a balm unlike anything I could¡¯ve hoped for, sweeter by far than memory painted it. I sensed the lacerations about my hands and midriff sealing closed, the worse ones about my legs knitting themselves together again ¨C but the pain relief was something else entirely. I felt like I was floating on the honey he breathed over me, bathing in a slow-moving river of the sweet stuff, covering me head to toes in a tingling sensation.


    The external injuries, those were dealt with almost instantly, but the internal ones ¨C the pulped foot, damaged backbone, snapped elbow, missing teeth ¨C not so much. He couldn¡¯t actually regenerate any body-parts ¨C arch-druidry would be required for that kind of task, or at least very advanced druidry ¨C but it didn¡¯t matter much to me right now. I could breathe again, talk properly again without feeling like I was juggling tomatoes inside my mouth.


    Within seconds I felt immeasurably better, but I waited a minute or two before letting him work on the others ¨C it wasn¡¯t selfish, really, so much as it was practical. If I faded now, we all went back, and with no second helping of eldritch-juice we would be doomed to Zyger forever. So Rath, Tem and I sat there back-to-back as Avaelar went between us, healing each of us in turn, moving around and around the little triangle we made of our bodies, his hand fixed to the crown of my head.


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    After a little while, I summoned up the strength to call Zabalam, and the little gremlin sat snugly in my lap, getting far too comfortable for my liking. He used his glamour to light our surroundings, and by the clear white radiance he created we could see that the stone upon which we were sitting was, overall, pus-yellow. It seemed to be mottled with other shades: brownish speckles; orangey chunks; a fine film of grey dust over the top of it all. When I raised my fingertips from the floor to my nostrils I got that scent from the dust: acrid, bile or excrement ¨C disgusting. And it was everywhere, great clouds of the filthy stuff entering our lungs with every inhalation ¨C the whole cuboid space was that same off-orange hue, the cursed particles covering everything.


    When Tem suddenly woke up, violently attempting to get to his feet out of sheer instinct, Avaelar was on hand to push him back into place before he broke contact with me.


    ¡°You¡¯re in Infernum,¡± I called. The three of us were facing outward, so I couldn¡¯t see him, but I knew he could hear me. ¡°If you stop touching me you¡¯ll be sent back to the Inceryad chamber. You want to go there, be my guest.¡±


    ¡°What the hell!¡± Tem cried back. ¡°What is this thing? A demon?¡±


    ¡°I,¡± Avaelar infused the single syllable with such haughtiness that I couldn¡¯t help but smile, ¡°am a sylph.¡±


    ¡°And hell¡¯s the right word for it,¡± I followed up. ¡°Infernum, or Materium. Your choice. But I think we can get back from here, if I understand right. We can escape. You both have your powers back?¡±


    Rath grunted again, sounding distracted. Small wonder he wasn¡¯t talking much right now ¨C if the future-paths were opening up to him again, it might take him a while to get his head back in the present.


    Temcar had wonder in his voice as he responded: ¡°Oh ¨C oh yes. I can see your thoughts, Feychilde! And yours¡­ oh¡­ oh gods, D-Duskdown¡­¡±


    ¡°Stay out of my head,¡± Rath grated.


    ¡°Y-y-yeah, yes sir,¡± the enchanter confirmed with a shudder.


    ¡°The way I understand it,¡± Rath said, changing the topic, ¡°we need your seal to stick around, Kas.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really fancy cutting into your flesh with infernal rock, to be fair.¡±


    ¡°Ha. You may have a point.¡±


    ¡°What do we do if you fall asleep?¡± Tem asked.


    I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯ve read up on this stuff. We can¡¯t stay here that long ¨C I can¡¯t sleep here. Something to do with how dreaming works, and the transportation of souls, blah blah blah¡­ Apparently just shutting my eyes and doing nothing will reenergise me when I¡¯m in another dimension, but I¡¯d be ¡®tapping the plane¡¯ or whatever, and who knows what I¡¯d end up seeing, or hearing ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to see routes out,¡± Rath said tersely. ¡°Give me a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°Fantastic.¡± I sighed in relief. ¡°Besides, if you guys stayed too long you¡¯d be stuck here. We need to keep moving. A few minutes¡­ and we¡¯ll head off. I just¡­ I can¡¯t believe we made it.¡±


    ¡°We escaped Zyger.¡± Rath said it in a matter-of-fact tone. ¡°We escaped Magicrux Zyger.¡±


    ¡°It just doesn¡¯t, doesn¡¯t seem feasible.¡± I closed my eyes, thinking it through. ¡°Is it possible we¡¯re under some kind of enchantment?¡±


    Both of them replied in the negative.


    Unless they¡¯re both illusions, I reminded myself. Such a thing was possible, wasn¡¯t it?


    Yet, for an enchanter to so closely replicate the sensations of using my sorcerous powers¡­


    It wasn¡¯t like I had much choice, was it? I had to continue. I had to act as though I were free, even if at the back of my mind there¡¯d always be this little sliver of doubt.


    ¡°So this really is Infernum?¡± Tem sounded less scared now, more optimistic. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look so bad, does it?¡±


    The vile, mottled stone upon which we sat was everywhere, a flat expanse stretching off beyond the light. We were in the centre of a space like a great hall of men, almost a hundred feet across ¨C Zab¡¯s light was only just splashing up the right angles of the walls on either side of us. And the light only touched the two opposing walls. It was entirely possible that, rather than being in a box, we were in some kind of trench. A huge, perfectly-smoothed trench.


    All in all, Temcar was right ¨C it didn¡¯t look so bad. Certainly it was nothing like I¡¯d imagined it ¨C this was no fire-pit filled with tortured souls and demonic gaolers, even if such places did exist on other parts of the plane. The scent was charcoal and dust, not necessarily that of roasted flesh.


    But for whatever reason, once he said those words I felt an ominous presence, something weighing on my mind.


    There were things out there, in the darkness, I suspected. Things out of reach of the fey-light ¨C things above us, looking down, watching.


    I stretched out with my senses like I¡¯d never done with demons until the last Incursion, trying to touch the fiends up there beyond Zab¡¯s radiance with sorcerous fingertips.


    As I¡¯d previous experienced, demons were too chaotic in nature for me to recognise anything but stature, an overall assessment of potency. Perhaps that was how demons so different in apparent strength had been so efficiently ranked by my predecessors.


    I knew at a single brush that the thing up there was stronger than anything I¡¯d ever touched before.


    Not things. Just thing.


    I had demons I could summon ¨C tough ones, like Khikiriaz, Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks, and maybe even some kind of octopus if memory served¡­ But this behemoth was at least ten times bigger than all of them put together. Two or three times the size of the smikelliol I¡¯d watched Leafcloak chomp down on at my first Incursion.


    I couldn¡¯t summon ¨C I couldn¡¯t afford to waste my energies. I could feel the power, slowly accumulating within me. I was like a cup, water constantly flowing in, overflowing until I used my abilities, the spells and eldritches that depleted my reserves ¨C the Inceryad had emptied the cup faster than it could be filled, draining it dry, but I was recovering quickly.


    Perhaps not quickly-enough¡­


    ¡°Just to mention ¨C¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t, Kas,¡± Rath said wearily. ¡°Please, just don¡¯t.¡±


    I closed my mouth.


    ¡°What?¡± Tem asked. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Better left unsaid,¡± the diviner replied with a note of finality.


    ¡°I ¨C okay, R-Rath¡­ Hey, can anyone else hear that?¡±


    Now that he mentioned it, I could.


    ¡°I feel it too,¡± I said, putting my least-damaged hand on the ground beside me. The floor itself was starting to vibrate, the dust puffing up, tickling my skin like tiny hairs.


    There was a sound, far-off: a dull, deep rumble. Coming closer.


    ¡°Okay.¡± Rath sounded resolved. ¡°Take both our shoulders and we¡¯ll help you walk. Gremlin in front, sylph behind, we head to the wall. Stand together. This way.¡±


    * * *

 No Way Out pt2

    Even as the diviner slowly helped us get to our feet without breaking contact with one another, without me putting weight on my pulverised foot or jarring my bad elbow, the enchanter started asking again what was happening, what the sound was.


    We¡¯d only covered about half the distance to the wall ¨C I could still feel flakes of mizelikon drifting off my legs when he grumbled, ¡°Look, if you don¡¯t want me to check inside your minds ¨C¡°


    ¡°Mr. Cossoran. Please.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t Rath asking anymore ¨C it was Duskdown¡¯s all-knowing voice, its threat barely hidden.


    Temcar didn¡¯t speak again for a while and when he did, it wasn¡¯t to ask questions.


    Following the seer¡¯s directions, we put our backs to the wall of the box, trench, cathedral ¨C wherever the hell we were ¨C and sat down again.


    We waited, as the sound increased in volume, doubling and redoubling, so loud that it didn¡¯t even seem possible ¨C


    But we were in Infernum. Anything was possible.


    Fifteen minutes, at least. Fifteen minutes, and for the last three we couldn¡¯t even talk, could barely even sit still as the floor shook, shook like a bed-sheet in the breeze, jaws filled with a million iron teeth grinding down on a million mail-clad warriors. Grinding closer, closer.


    I trust Rath, I realised. I wasn¡¯t looking for other avenues of escape. I was content to let him guide us.


    If we die here, it¡¯s possible our souls stay here forever. No one really knows for sure.


    I was glad to be alone with my thoughts, my terror; I would¡¯ve thanked Yune that Temcar didn¡¯t think of creating a link, but I very much doubted she¡¯d hear me from here.


    When the mountainous object approached around what must¡¯ve been a bend, I thought I was seeing things. Suddenly the darkness looming over us on our left was two-tone, something glinting there, a silver-blackness coming closer, lit by some source of light I couldn¡¯t perceive ¨C it was as though the darkness was rolling towards us and falling, always falling, like a metallic waterfall of shadow ¨C


    It was a wheel. A metal wheel. More metal in a single object than should¡¯ve been contained in a hundred mountains. It was facing us, oncoming, spinning right at us.


    It had to be over a thousand feet high. This trench would only hold its very base, I imagined.


    The ground didn¡¯t tremble ¨C it quaked. The sound was intolerable.


    ¡°Hold on!¡± I thought I heard Rath scream.


    Surprisingly, it was my sylph¡¯s hand that trembled the most, it seemed, clutching at me with a desperate strength to match his shaking.


    Then we were all screaming. The wheel was so huge that its curve hung over us for seconds ¨C then it cut off the world in front of us like a dizzying wall, giving us less than a foot of breathing room as it rolled on past us. In the one instant Zab¡¯s light was bleeding out into the emptiness ¨C then suddenly it illuminated the side of the unfathomably-huge metal disc. The off-black metal surface was a whirlpool of night, gleaming like a dark mirror.


    We were being tossed about so we gripped each other tightly, and it was only by virtue of the fact we had to hold onto one another that one or more of us weren¡¯t pulled in to touch the thing. Touching it would surely shave away the offending limb, at least¡­


    Was it the wheel of some yet-vaster cart, with us simply being in the rut of its tracks? Or was it a tool of some kind, fixed to a central gear and set to trundle around a ¨C what? ¨C several-mile-long groove?


    I had no idea, could hardly imagine such immense machinery¡­


    Nor the creatures who might put such inventions to use.


    Yet, perhaps it was just a demon ¨C a very strange demon that didn¡¯t even register on my scales. There were apparently thirty-three ranks¡­ and the eolastyr had only been a twentieth-rank fiend. Well, according to a lying liar I used to know, at least.


    Then it had passed us by, the dark wall vanishing off to my right, Zab¡¯s light flooding once more across the emptiness. The dust-clouds stirred to and fro even more-violently in its wake.


    The clamour quietened more quickly than it had built, but the ringing in my ears was so complete that only one thing was coming through.


    ¡°Avvie! You can stop screaming now!¡±


    ¡°Aaaiiaaaaiiiaaaiaaiiaiaaaa¡­!¡±


    ¡°Essel majhar! Nevae ma!¡±


    By the time I got him to shut up, my ears were hurting more from his incessant shrilling than the remembered pain of the metal wheel.


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    ¡°Sweet Nentheleme, man,¡± I complained, ¡°have you been practising your yodelling or something? That was insane ¨C what¡¯s wrong with you?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C am ¨C not ¨C comfortable here, Feychilde!¡± The sylph sounded far more distraught than I¡¯d thought him, even given his shakiness. ¡°I was not made for this!¡±


    ¡°I think I might need healing again, after that,¡± Temcar muttered, and poked at one of the several ugly bruises hanging out on his chin.


    I tongued the empty spaces in my mouth, the newly-sealed gums. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan now?¡± I asked Rath, trying to ignore the enchanter. ¡°I could do with finding an arch-druid and getting fixed up before too long.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Fangmoon you want to see ¨C¡°


    ¡°Fang? Are you certain?¡±


    He paused for a moment, then started over, as though he were speaking to a child. I tried not to gulp the fetid air while he ran through our options. I¡¯d forgotten what it was like to listen to an arch-diviner when their abilities were flowing.


    ¡°Its Fangmoon you want to see for your healing. Spiritwhisper won¡¯t enter her head for anything pertinent for a minimum of fifty-seven days, and in all likelihood never will. However, I can¡¯t see into Etherium or Nethernum, which is troubling. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s because planar travel is too dangerous, or if it¡¯s just a quirk of the future-sight tripping over the dimensional boundaries¡­ I have never plotted a course that led to such places before. In this it is revealed that I am no sorcerer in spite of my knowledge, and I would defer to your wisdom, but I see you have no idea either¡­ ha. And so to other considerations.


    ¡°You have at your disposal a diverse array of demons, capable of travel within Infernum; capable, moreover, of conveying us upwards. You have far fewer fey of note ¨C you do disappoint, Master Feychilde ¨C but if our luck holds and Etherium also has an open means of ascent, well¡­ Etherium is the more appealing notion, obviously. Nethernum is the worst of both worlds, given the comparative strengths of your eldritches, the relative danger of each world¡­¡±


    ¡°In other words, you don¡¯t know what I should do,¡± I grated. ¡°I don¡¯t know how long it¡¯ll take me to get the power together to create a portal big enough for the lot of us ¨C it might be I have enough already, enough for ten goes! But I won¡¯t know till I try and if I try and I fail¡­¡±


    I tipped my head back, shuddering, remembering the feeling of the huge beast up there, looming over the trench, the track, whatever the cursed pit we¡¯d found ourselves in was designed for¡­


    I tipped my head back, looking directly upwards.


    I managed to choke the strangled words out even as I started putting together green sparks. ¡°Y-y-you couldn¡¯t s-see that?¡±


    I sensed it as the others also looked up.


    ¡°No,¡± Rath breathed. ¡°No, I could not.¡±


    Any notion of scale I might have once possessed was thrown off. A pair of colossal red eyes were gazing down at us, glowing of their own eerie light, and even if as I¡¯d fancied at first that the walls of the trench were only a hundred feet high ¨C even then these eyes would describe a monster capable of crushing Ord Ylon underfoot. But I suspected ¨C I suspected I had it all wrong: that the trench walls were far higher; that this thing loomed so far above us, we were ants on a table before it.


    Thousands of times bigger than Ord Ylon. Eyes alone bigger than Leafcloak at top size.


    I brought up a wide green seam of ethereal energy to consume us, and, as I did so, the two vast eyes blinked. It almost felt as though the creature up there were recognising me, somehow, like dipping your hat or touching your hood.


    Then the verdant wave receded, and we were sitting on a bed of glowing white mushrooms and softly-stirring moss. The gremlin-lit air was musty with warm scents, like a harvest breeze in autumn. The living lichen of Etherium crawled slowly about the cavern¡¯s rocks, itinerant pillows of waxlike vegetation ambling here and there, trailing their colourless gossamer webs. The ceiling was covered in the same creatures, save for where shafts of pale crystal jutted through the rock, descending like stalactites. Or was it stalagmites? I could never remember. I¡¯d never actually been in a cave, not until I woke up beneath Zadhal.


    This was far nicer. Other than the cavern¡¯s current shambling occupants, we appeared to be alone.


    My sylph immediately spread his wings and beat them experimentally in the air, a perfect shining smile on his perfect bronze face. Zabalam, who¡¯d seemed less bothered by Infernum, started hunting a particularly fast lump of lichen around. Rath took a few seconds to locate a suitably-sharp rock which Avaelar retrieved for us; once the diviner had speedily sharpened it on the stone about us, I got to work on my fellow-escapees¡¯ arms, providing them with the seal of an arch-sorcerer. Tem was remarkably calm, given where he¡¯d just been.


    Once I was done Rath helped me stand, and, between him and Avaelar, I was able to hobble along. The sylph was forced to carry me at times when it proved impractical for the pair of them to hoist me between them, but I did my best to keep on my own two feet as much as I could, even if one of them was useless now.


    We traversed a narrow span across a chasm, made slightly more tolerable for the three of us weary plane-walkers by virtue of the fact my sylph could¡¯ve easily caught anyone who fell. We washed ourselves in the crystal-clear waterfalls, avoiding those streaked with fluorescent pink light. We renewed the sorcerer¡¯s-marks regularly. And we clambered up steep inclines of stone ¨C twice, Avaelar had to leave me on an outcropping and go back for Temcar. Rathal made each ascent seemingly without effort, often appearing early at the crest of the climb, awaiting my arrival seated in a bed of phosphorescent fungi.


    ¡°What¡¯s there to eat around here?¡± Temcar eyed the mushrooms as we sat down for a rest after a particularly sheer slope.


    ¡°Eternal condemnation to the plane, for a kick off,¡± I said. ¡°Drink, but don¡¯t eat, unless you want to become part of the furniture.¡±


    ¡°Now that just doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡± My fellow Sticktowner was clearly struggling with the concept. ¡°How does the plane know the difference?¡±


    ¡°Does drinking fill you up?¡± I asked rhetorically.


    ¡°Sort of¡­¡± he answered, still staring at the weird, incandescent mushrooms. ¡°You keep cutting us with ethereal stone, don¡¯t you? I really fancy¡­ just a few¡­¡±


    ¡°Come on, Avvie, before Tem turns into a mushroom-goblin.¡± I lifted my arms to the sylph, who dutifully bent, hefted me up. ¡°The only thing that¡¯s going to fill me up is up there.¡± I flicked my eyes to the ceiling, high above the quartz-speckled galleries.


    When we get high enough, I¡¯ll bring an imp through and mark it. Send it back and forth, look for a way up and out¡­ check that we¡¯re far from Zyger¡­


    If I remembered correctly, sorcerer¡¯s marks were almost unaffected by most druidic healing. A quirk of the type of wound. An imp¡¯s natural regeneration was unlikely to affect it too quickly¡­ It could get several trips off a single seal, I was certain.


    And then¡­ the thing that would fill me up better than a basket of Hontor¡¯s pastries, better than a high-lord¡¯s banquet table.


    Seeing the twins again.


    * * *

 No Way Out pt3

    ¡°Why do I fear you¡¯re going to be disappointed.¡± Rath folded his arms across his chest, looking down at me as I sat on the mossy boulder.


    ¡°You¡¯d do best to tell me yourself,¡± I replied, then winced as I felt a twinge in my damaged elbow. ¡°What¡¯s going to be the result?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± The diviner clenched a fist. ¡°I just¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re really worried, aren¡¯t you?¡± Tem asked suddenly, coming up behind Rath with a little malice twinkling in his eyes.


    The diviner sighed. ¡°You do realise that the futures in which you ¨C¡°


    ¡°Keep annoying you end in my death¡­¡± Temcar smiled nervously at him, then looked at me. ¡°Is threatening to kill you the way he tries to make friends?¡±


    I laughed. ¡°Did you get that from my head? Five, man, that¡¯s not far off it, really¡­¡±


    ¡°Kas.¡±


    I smiled at Rathal. ¡°What? You want me to go ahead, all of a sudden, do you?¡±


    He sighed again.


    ¡°Sorry. Okay, okay. Here goes.¡±


    I waved my hand and panicked.


    Red fire flickered, but no imp reached through for my grasp.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening¡­¡±


    Rath just grunted.


    ¡°How is ¨C how could this be ¨C¡± I vomited the words. Beads of sweat almost instantly sprang out on my brow ¨C


    I can feel it! I can feel the power! What is¡­?


    Had I somehow lost it again? Had I lost control?


    I dismissed the flame and brought up the green waves of a portal back to Materium ¨C but the opening wouldn¡¯t accept me when I moved it over my arm; its substance was like jelly, non-responsive, unchanging. So I dispelled it and, quivering, raised a blue circle ¨C


    The shape went shuddering into being, coming together hardly any slower than when I was in peak condition.


    There was nothing wrong with me, and yet ¨C


    ¡°My dear companions!¡±


    The male voice was somewhat childlike; jovial in tone, friendly¡­ Overly so. It came from every direction, loud and echoing, speaking in a very natural Mundic accent.


    I could tell it was no child. I could tell Mundic was not its native tongue.


    The hair raised on the back of my neck, and I looked at the others. The diviner was glaring at the enchanter, whose own eyes wandered about the stone walls. Zabalam leapt at Avaelar¡¯s leg in fright, and the sylph kicked the gremlin off, irritation on the flawless face.


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    ¡°My dear companions, it has amused me to watch you climb, listen to your lovely chatter! How delightful each of you are! You especially, Rathal Overlorn. Now now, don¡¯t get mad ¨C I can read your mind, that¡¯s all.¡±


    I saw Rath¡¯s eyes narrow on Temcar.


    ¡°It¡¯s not him. Haha! Do you think he¡¯d be so stupid? He¡¯s smarter than he looks.¡±


    The enchanter didn¡¯t look particularly pleased to be complimented by the ethereal voice ¨C his eyes were wide-open and he seemed more scared of our rocky surroundings than the arch-diviner threatening him with instantaneous death. As Rath looked at him with violence in mind, the Sticktowner was backing towards Rath for protection. He hadn¡¯t understood the context at all.


    ¡°No, Rathal. What tickles me the most is the enchantment placed on your mind. What was her name? Ah, Alandrica! Did you know what she put under your skin? Oh ¨C oh my. It¡¯s still there! You know the accident wasn¡¯t your uncle, don¡¯t you? You know what really happened to dear little Ruthi?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen, Rath,¡± I grated. Inside my mind, even the quite ordinary danger-sense possessed by all mortals was blaring, signal-fires racing, compelling me to change the topic immediately. ¡°What do you want?¡± I cried out, spinning around, looking for someone, anything to direct my words at. ¡°Why are you watching us, and why are you stopping me open my gateways?¡±


    ¡°Did you think escape from¡­ ¡®Magicrux Zyger¡¯ would be so simple, young sorcerer? Hahahahahaha!¡±


    He was properly laughing. Whoever he was, he was truly delighted.


    I looked at my eldritches, but they looked just as bewildered as the rest of us.


    ¡°But I¡¯m in Etherium!¡± I yelled back at the voice. ¡°We are here! I felt it, I can feel the power¡­ I can see the¡­¡±


    I can see the shields¡­ but is that because he wants me to?


    No. That can¡¯t be what he means. He reacted when I raised the shields. He can¡¯t get in like that¡­


    The youthful, disembodied voice seemed to share my scepticism.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to control you. I want to watch you. The way I see it, you¡¯ve got three choices now. You can either open a portal back to Infernum for this dastardly plane-walking trio ¨C I¡¯ll let you go back and face the big guy, if you want to¡­ Or you can test your luck in Nethernum ¨C I wish your souls well, I really do.¡±


    ¡°And for the third?¡± I called, still looking off at one of the most-distant walls, trying to avoid Rath¡¯s contorted face and withering gaze.


    ¡°Why, stay here with me, of course! There¡¯s better food and drink here than in either of those two sorry places, believe me. And I¡¯m by far the kindest guardian of the ways.¡±


    ¡°Guardian of the ways?¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on, find an eldritch that gives you some imagination powers already! We prevent unauthorised access to and fro in these places. You¡¯ll find no one more devoted to the task than I.¡±


    I mulled it over. Unauthorised¡­ access¡­ Then what about the mizelikon?


    ¡°I can¡¯t answer that one for you, but I can guess, if you want.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Tem muttered.


    ¡°I¡­ I wondered how the mizelikon¡­ the shadow-demon whose power let us get free¡­ how it got into Zyger if the other planes are being watched ¨C¡°


    ¡°You did indeed. Do you want to know my suspicion? It¡¯s rather funny, really.¡±


    I wanted to shrug, remain nonchalant, but I was genuinely curious.


    ¡°Go on, then.¡±


    ¡°Haha! How long do you fancy your ¡®Inceryad¡¯ has been there, being used like this?¡±


    How¡­ long¡­


    The question itself didn¡¯t matter. It was the insinuation beneath.


    It was just like the Magisterium. They never gave up, their infinite immoral ineptitudes.


    ¡°A long time?¡± Temcar muttered.


    I met the enchanter¡¯s eyes. ¡°He means they¡¯ve forgotten him.¡±


    ¡°Yes! Do you think your current crop of ¡®magisters¡¯ know I¡¯m here? Oh no ¨C I doubt they even know eldritches can enter this Zyger place through the cracks below the wards. Zyger¡­ Zyger¡­ Funny word. Anyway, they certainly don¡¯t know there¡¯s a spirit bound to the place, as its sentinel! No, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re my first visitors in what you¡¯d call seven hundred years.¡±


    * * *

 No Way Out pt4

    There was a pause, while this sank in.


    ¡°Yes, Kastyr Mortenn. I know where you¡¯re going with this. He took our names with him, I¡¯m afraid.


    ¡°Maybe, T-Temcar Cossoran. Maybe I¡¯ll let you go.


    ¡°And no, Rathal Overlorn. Never. Is that really the death with which you¡¯d choose to thread your soul, stitch the straitjacket tight? There is no escape from yourself that way. Don¡¯t anchor your spirit to the darkness. You can¡¯t imagine what it is, to descend forever.


    ¡°It¡¯s funny, isn¡¯t it? Hahahaha!¡±


    I flinched, cringing, as the voice went on endlessly.


    ¡°You thought you were freeing yourselves from the Thirsty Tree, but now you¡¯re going to have to sit here with me for eternity. Oh yes, time¡¯s reins are in my fist! Hahahahahahahahaha! Could you even imagine it ¨C please, look at each other ¨C look at the looks on each others¡¯ faces! Even with all my gifts, I couldn¡¯t feign that sincerity! The purity of the horror you feel! Oh, you¡¯ll come to love it here, my dear companions. Let¡¯s take a look now, take a look in your heads and see¡­ oooh¡­ oh, my¡­¡±


    We stood there in abject terror, and when the realisation came over me I reacted instantly, reaching for the only thing I thought might have a chance, a sliver of a possibility of getting through ¨C


    ¡°No! What are you doing? Don¡¯t ¨C¡°


    He wasn¡¯t able to stop me exerting my power. He wasn¡¯t an enchanter, exactly ¨C just a telepath. Either that, or he wasn¡¯t getting through my shield ¨C if he had any sense, Tem would also be covering us from psychic invasion.


    All we knew for sure was that this ethereal stranger with the child¡¯s voice could stop the imps from entering. He possessed a barrier, of sorts, against interplanar travel. Something like a film, a valve I couldn¡¯t penetrate with my power.


    Maybe it could be punched-through. What I needed was an ethereal eldritch, to be my fist. The interaction with the alternate plane would be minimal. The barrier-film at its thinnest.


    I channelled the jadeway, and when my most powerful fey appeared it was a swirling sheet of burning malachite that birthed her. I heard Avaelar gasp at the sight as she stepped clear.


    The corrupted unicorn was taller than I remembered, black as midnight, the dark trident-horn atop her head sputtering with shadows. When she entered the cave, the ground under her hooves broke asunder in vast pieces. The wall behind her toppled as her portal melted, revealing nothing behind it ¨C no stone, no passages or caverns.


    Nothingness. The space between stars.


    The whole illusion went snapping away into chasms, the ground crumbling under our feet, consuming us ¨C and we fell down without moving, until everything joined with the emptiness around and above us. Zabalam held out a wavering light, now successfully clinging to Avaelar¡¯s leg.


    We stood, on the very surface of the void. Looking down, I felt like I¡¯d stepped off a cliff in a time-lock, waiting for the irresistible downwards impulse to grip me. Yet there was nothing, no loss of control: if anything it was the opposite. I could even balance on the destroyed left foot.


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    What is this non-space?


    ¡®You can¡¯t imagine what it is, to descend forever.¡¯


    The gremlin¡¯s dim radiance didn¡¯t touch Gilaela ¨C she could only be seen in this absolute, impenetrable blackness by the whites of her eyes, shining like ivory, and the yet-deeper darkness of the unlight flickering between the splintered spurs of her horn.


    ¡°You did well to call on me, Master,¡± she said, her voice far sweeter than normal. Just as I¡¯d expected, there was something severely off with her. ¡°This is a particularly dangerous creature, and we are within it. I can sense its madness.¡± A tremor of rage entered the honeyed cadence, breaking through her facade: ¡°I will very much enjoy watching it die.¡±


    ¡°Within it?¡± Tem cried. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®within it¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Can you get us out of here?¡± I asked her directly. I had the same fears as Tem, but ¨C


    ¡°No, I cannot,¡± she said ¨C but then she lowered her head at Temcar. ¡°He can.¡±


    We all looked at him, but then I looked back at the horned horse.


    How does she know what he is?


    Her baleful eyes seemed to be fixed on him, like all the others¡¯.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you sense this, enchanter?¡± Then she bent her neck. ¡°Or you, gremlin? You almost caused our master¡¯s downfall!¡±


    Zab lowered his face in shame, and his light dimmed yet further.


    ¡°No!¡± I stepped towards her, raising a hand to stroke her neck. ¡°It¡¯s not anyone¡¯s fault. Let¡¯s not start that.¡± I let the inky fur slip between my fingers, felt the taut muscles like boulders beneath her skin. ¡°So, how do we proceed?¡±


    Tem shrugged his shoulders, looking around blankly.


    ¡°Rath?¡±


    The arch-diviner wouldn¡¯t even meet my eyes.


    But then I noticed that Zabalam had a devious expression slowly spreading across his piggy face. When I raised an eyebrow at him he hissed in glee.


    ¡°I understand it!¡± came the gremlin¡¯s thin, reedy voice. ¡°At least, I think I do. I can see the shape of its thoughts now. Urgh! It¡¯s asleep? Thanks, Princess!¡±


    Gilaela laughed amiably, and, for a second or two, I got the impression everything was going to turn out alright.


    Then Zabalam reached for Temcar¡¯s hand and focussed his fey-magic on the darkness about us.


    This mad eldritch slumbered, and like a fool I¡¯d unknowingly led everyone into its dream. Now the courtyard of its ancient mind unfolded, visible for the first time as the infinite-seeming darkness gave way, cracking apart as though it had been nothing more than a sphere of flawless black stone surrounding us, sealing us in all along.


    The dream moved, and we moved with it.


    We stood under ethereal twilight in an untended garden. Its high hedges crept with vines, silhouettes against a purple sky. The huge fountains were silent, still. Quiet but insistent winds pressed at my torn prisoner-clothing, guiding my torn prisoner-body, making me stagger and shake even as Avaelar took my weight to steady me.


    And strewn all about the creature¡¯s courtyard, its nightmare-garden, were anguished statues of silvery stone. Men and women naked, carved in their moment of ultimate distress. The creatures depicted were of varying species, size, recognisability¡­ the crudeness of their shaping only lent to their inhuman plight. Each one had its hands upraised in supplication to the purple sunset sky, or clasped in agony over some grim wound. Their lips were parted in unending screams.


    A memento, and a warning: this wasn¡¯t a garden, was it? It was more like a graveyard.


    Do these statues represent the parts of its consciousness that died?


    There was no time to really think it over. Even as our psychics broke the seal of darkness and let us into the cursed landscape, the statues started to awaken, diorite sinews stretching, dry eyes shifting to sightlessly behold us.


    Then they hopped down from their pedestals, leaden joints squealing as they headed towards us with eerie speed. They didn¡¯t run, but walked methodically, surprising suppleness in their motions.


    We were surrounded, outnumbered, dozens of formidable-looking foes surging in to confront us directly. They might¡¯ve been fantastical constructions, more imagined than real, but they were no less real than we were right now, travelling as we were through the plane¡¯s interpretation of the guardian¡¯s madness, subject to the domain¡¯s laws like all else to be found here.


    It didn¡¯t matter. I was pleased.


    At last, I thought. Finally, something I¡¯m used to.


    Something I can fight.

 Demonsway pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 8B: DEMONSWAY</h2>


    ¡°There is always a tension between the individual and the society in which they exist. Those to whom the individual is in ascent will break the society with paroxysmal frenzy. Those to whom the society is in ascent will strangle the individual with enforced stasis. Yet there can never be ascent. There can only be tension, the hunger for ascent. The compromise that leaves only ashes in the mouths of its makers. Can one exist upon this tension without being torn asunder? Can one subsist on ashes? The answer, as history all too often proves, is rarely yes.¡±


    ¨C from the ¡®Magister¡¯s Handbook¡¯, Appendix IV


    Oreltia leaned her back against one of the cold marble columns and tried in vain to control her breathing. The others would be here soon, at her invitation, and it wouldn¡¯t be appropriate for her to appear ruffled. She was, however, and her body couldn¡¯t take it, not like this. These were the sacred chambers beneath the altar, the shadows below the hill where only the amber mist provided illumination. Always before, the earthen scents and silence had sliced right through her frayed nerves, the honey light of the goddess healing mental wounds as well as physical. But tonight the self-deception was laid bare. Tonight the amber mist was foul ¨C she¡¯d feared at first it¡¯d become poison ¨C and the breath, the breath! It came as a painful seizing, a gasping rattle that threatened to topple her from dismay into despair.


    I¡¯m the High Healer. I should¡¯ve known better.


    She¡¯d known ¨C they¡¯d all known, surely ¨C that what they did on the thirteenth Moonday of nine-ninety-eight was illegal. Unholy. Against every tenet of the faith. And yet the conviction had been there, at the time, flowing strong through each of them. Mekesta was Mother (or Grandmother) to every soul, no matter its nature ¨C even to Wythyldwyn. Even to the Mothers of the World, Urdaith and Tauremai, Lynastra and Daire. Her blood flowed in every vein. The darkness of the womb was the home to all, and in dying to darkness would all return. The mortal¡¯s soul was half-demon from the outset.


    So Oreltia had come to believe. It was impossible to say quite where it had come from ¨C how the soul-sickness had first taken root. But the logic of it was simple. Illegal, unholy¡­ but irrational? No, Oreltia would never accept that. Spreading diseases amongst the rich was a smart tactic, a secret kept by the Goddess of Secrets herself, and it¡¯d paid dividends almost immediately, the temple¡¯s coffers suddenly overflowing. Half the appointments were now being booked by patrons they¡¯d seen only a month or two ago, and before they left they were being surreptitiously afflicted with yet more delayed-effect diseases. The energy for such evil acts couldn¡¯t be channelled from the Maiden, of course ¨C hence the prayer to the Lady of Darkness, on her dreadful midnight solstice. Hence the ritual that¡¯d cursed the rings all their healers wore on the middle fingers of their right hands.


    Hence Oreltia¡¯s current predicament.


    Faylena Seabreeze was the first to arrive. Her long, thick blond hair was still dirty-coloured rather than grey, her firm frame belying her age. The green eyes remained sharp, the brow almost unlined. Oreltia knew Faylena had a bit of a jowl hanging between her chin and neck, but it was easily covered with a scarf, as it had been tonight. Thankfully they¡¯d barely exchanged their taut pleasantries when the final two of their doomed quartet arrived, Lady Ullton and Lady Bennerswent, the delicate half-elf-looking pair going barefoot over the soft earth of the chamber¡¯s floor.


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    ¡°Good thing you¡¯re here,¡± Faylena slowly said to them in her deep voice, choosing her words with care and never taking her eyes off Oreltia. ¡°Our chairman begins to panic.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Lady Ullton enquired, her cheery smile mirrored by the brightness of her eyes.


    ¡°Oreltia¡¯s had a run-in with that waif ¨C¡± Faylena began.


    ¡°Do you not think it would be better for you to let me tell it myself, Lena?¡±


    Faylena shrugged and broke off. Her smile was cold, coming nowhere near her eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s her.¡± Oreltia took a deep breath. ¡°Kanthyre Vael, the refugee from Miserdell¡­ Don¡¯t look at each other like that! You know that she slew the grandspawn of Ord Yset? You must understand ¨C for all that she is second-grade, the girl has power!¡±


    Oreltia sighed in frustration. Their scepticism was plain to read on their faces.


    ¡°I know she left us alone when she got here. She and Phanar of N¡¯Lem were looking for a new residence, getting the lay of the land, exchanging rings¡­¡±


    Oreltia felt her face twist in scorn. She¡¯d always been a bit heavyset, even as a girl, but she never had half the paunch the outland cleric was carrying around. Nonetheless, Oreltia¡¯s own Phanar had deserted her, long ago. Zeylis Copporn, her betrothed had been called, one of the Copporns of Westrise. Not senior-enough to stand to inherit much, but a scion of a rich house all the same. It all ended in heartbreak when he went chasing easier game, and from that day she¡¯d known where she belonged. The Sisterhood.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if the Maiden sent her a vision, or something else spurred her on. However, last week Kanthyre visited one of the Sticktown temples, and evidently performed a series of miracles that cured almost everyone ¨C everyone, you understand me? Even the brickblood sufferers.¡±


    Now they were starting to get it, their eyes and lips parting in the other kind of disbelief ¨C the scared kind.


    ¡°And before you ask, I¡¯ve only just finished questioning the high priestess on duty at the time,¡± Oreltia continued. ¡°No insights, no special tricks. Just the presence of the goddess. It exhausted the girl, but a second-ranker? Performing such healing?¡±


    ¡°What you¡¯re suggesting ¨C¡± Lady Ullton murmured.


    ¡°Please!¡± Oreltia snapped, raising her hand. The yellow jewel on her healer¡¯s ring gleamed briefly, mockingly. ¡°You¡¯ll recall when she first came to visit us upon her arrival in the city, I mentioned my surprise that her appointment was so short, cursory. She did little more than quiz some of our junior Sisters on their training. Yet she stopped by this afternoon to discuss our ¡®missions in the impoverished districts¡¯, and her attitude was altogether different. She was harsh with me! Me! I¡¯ve had several complaints from priestesses whose work was criticised and, in four cases, taken over by Kanthyre. Then¡­¡± She shuddered. ¡°When she shook my hand ¨C well ¨C¡±


    She relived the moment, the cleric¡¯s firm, outland grasp on her hand. An ignoble, uncouth clutch that brought the girl¡¯s skin into contact with the band about her middle finger¡­


    The young Sister had stared back at her then, stared into the eyes of the High Healer, the holder of the most revered position in the entire Church. No fear in those cool eyes. But no love, either. Confusion, spades of it, and a trace of¡­ disgust?


    ¡°Come now, Oreltia,¡± Lady Bennerswent murmured. ¡°Are you certain this is not merely paranoia? I understand your concerns with regard to Sticktown ¨C¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t!¡± Oreltia hissed. ¡°This is a challenge, a warning! She knows what we are doing, and she positions herself to stop us, and when the axe is raised above your neck, even then you cannot see it!¡±


    ¡°What do you propose, then, High Healer?¡± Faylena asked.


    Faylena¡¯s coolness made Oreltia calm herself. It wouldn¡¯t do to become overly-emotional. This was the time for rationality. A reasoned response ¨C that was what they needed most.


    ¡°What do I propose?¡± She drew a deep breath. ¡°To stop her first.¡±


    * * *

 Demonsway pt2

    ¡°What do I propose?¡± She drew a deep breath. ¡°To stop her first.¡±


    Four words. Four simple words, at whose utterance the imagination was made real and the amber mist became caustic, burning her eyes, the inside of her mouth, nostrils ¨C she exhaled the vile substance that was searing her lungs ¨C


    Choking, reeling, she clambered out of the chamber, the others spluttering as they followed. She couldn¡¯t open her eyes, and was left groping her way out, listening to the sounds made by her fellows as they scrambled in her wake. Thankfully the path back to the tunnel was short, and as they reached the top of the slope the cold Mund air washed over them.


    She opened her eyes a crack, and could see it ahead of her ¨C the light of torches, and the darkness of night beyond.


    Yet as they approached the end of the tunnel, still coughing and spluttering, Oreltia felt the wave of panic bear her under. Most of the other Sisters would be at the bottom of the grassy hill, resting and praying in the temple proper, and a few might have been at the top of the hill, performing a cleansing rite ¨C but the Warden-Acolytes were just beyond the tunnel. The pair of guards would see the way their four leaders had been rejected by the goddess, the way contact with the holy mist had burned them.


    No. This cannot happen.


    Oreltia peered ahead with watery eyes, and waved her hands in anger at the two witnesses out there, screaming silently to Mekesta:


    You cannot allow this!


    It was hardly even a prayer, just four more soul-condemning words, issued in her mind as pure reflex; but the hand of the goddess, dark and divine, fell upon the hill, borne on a black wind.


    On either side of the tunnel-entrance, two young, mace-armed Sisters stood guard at all hours, ensuring only those of sufficient rank entered the sacred space; Oreltia had passed the pair selected for tonight¡¯s duty when she was on the way in. Now those two Sisters were suddenly crying out in panic, clutching their faces.


    ¡°I¡¯m blind!¡± one of them whispered hoarsely, shrinking down to the ground. ¡°Oh, Maiden, I¡¯m blind!¡±


    ¡°Me too!¡± grunted the other; this one didn¡¯t curl up on herself but instead started wheeling about, her arms extended. ¡°Darkmage attack!¡± Her voice seemed to only get deeper and deeper as she tried to shout.


    Oreltia exchanged a long, burning glance with her peers as they moved out of the tunnel.


    Mekesta protects us, she thought, gulping in the cool night air, wiping her eyes.


    ¡°Dark¡­ mage,¡± the second guard continued, rumbling the word as if feeling sick. She was slowing down in her frantic motions, face now twisted in pain.


    ¡°No¡­ no, my dear ones,¡± Oreltia said in as soothing a tone as she could manage, stifling her coughing. ¡°No, just a¡­ a portent. A sign of Wythyldwyn¡¯s displeasure. This Kanthyre ¨C¡±


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    ¡°High Healer!¡± The whispering guard recognised her voice. ¡°O Exalted, heal me!¡±


    Oreltia put her hand on the girl¡¯s shoulder warmly ¨C the four of them had recovered enough now¡­


    ¡°No,¡± came the sound of Faylena¡¯s voice.


    Oreltia turned in some surprise. She hadn¡¯t heard Faylena speak with such harshness before.


    But the words weren¡¯t being directed at the girl. They were being directed at her.


    Don¡¯t try to heal them, she realised. That¡¯s what Lena means. Let the curse run its course¡­


    But whatever the four high priestesses expected to happen, it wasn¡¯t this.


    Instantaneous blindness. Deafness and muteness within a minute. Complete loss of motor control within two.


    ¡°Whatever are we to do with them?¡± Lady Bennerswent asked in a strangled voice.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Faylena said.


    They watched.


    After three minutes the girls were dead.


    In silence, they continued to watch as Faylena commanded, each of them praying for the miracle to come to pass.


    After five, the girls¡¯ bodies and belongings were gone, transformed into threads of black matter that fluttered away on the breeze.


    Oreltia caught one such shred of a Sister¡¯s remains, squeezed the strange material until it burst into dry fragments of blood, staining her fingertips red.


    ¡°She killed them.¡± Lady Ullton sounded as though she were about to pass out, but she snapped to horrified attention when Oreltia glared at her. ¡°She ¨C the Mother, I mean, not you!¡±


    She is scared of me, Oreltia realised.


    ¡°There was nothing else for it,¡± Faylena said softly, then cast Oreltia a sidelong glance. ¡°That was a powerful hex. Did you make a promise to the Night? Without involving the rest of us?¡±


    Faylena¡¯s tone, challenging. No fear in those eyes either.


    But no real reprimand.


    Oreltia shrugged. ¡°They had to die, and, yes, Ullton, I take full responsibility. I¡¯ll enter it into the record that they didn¡¯t show up for their duties tonight, and speak with their proctor about their absence in the morning. Two of them, friends, going missing together? The usual excuses will be given.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C what of¡­?¡± Lady Bennerswent looked back at the tunnel behind them, the golden light floating there in the distance beneath the hill, like strands of frogspawn adrift in a pond.


    ¡°The Maiden has rejected us,¡± Lady Ullton said, quivering on the spot.


    ¡°Yet she accepts this harlot, this bride of a crude barbarian?¡± Oreltia didn¡¯t bother to check her scorn. ¡°Against all our tenets, Kanthyre dares lay with a man, yet her power remains. And we,¡± she gestured to the others in turn, ¡°we curse the rings, and still the goddess does nothing. The light below the hill will accept us again. It¡¯s Kanthyre ¨C Kanthyre we must be rid of. Then everything will be okay again, I promise.¡±


    Ullton looked every bit as dejected as Oreltia had felt when she first arrived in the sacred chambers, but, for her part, she was over it now. Ullton might¡¯ve been broken by these events, but Faylena and Bennerswent seemed mostly unfazed ¨C they nodded along as she explained her plan, and when she was done her peers gave her their agreement before departing for their dormitories.


    All except Ullton, whose nod had come last, and wordlessly at that; a tacit confirmation that told Oreltia much.


    Ullton won¡¯t get in the way, she realised, watching her three peers make their separate ways down the hill. She won¡¯t get in the way, but she still needs to die before this is over.


    She kicked at the last bits of black, bloody material still clinging to the grass, then made her own way down the slope, heading for her bed.


    She had no trouble falling asleep, but the dreams were so dark, so deep, that for minutes and minutes when she first awoke Oreltia was convinced she¡¯d died and been reborn years later, into a world that made no sense, a world craving shape, and the touch of her athame would be its saviour, her knife¡¯s edge existence¡¯s salvation.


    * * *

 Demonsway pt3

    ¡°She is coming.¡±


    ¡°But how do you know, Oreltia?¡±


    She shrugged. It was three days later, and she¡¯d seen much in her dreams since that first awakening, when Mekesta aided her in the slaying of the two guards. So much, in fact, she was having trouble separating past from future, imagination from prophecy.


    She turned her head, let her eyes fall upon Faylena. The strong, vital-looking woman seemed far more ill at ease than was normal, despite their luscious surroundings. The two of them were sitting in comfortable chairs in a private lounge, looking out of the temple¡¯s glass wall, flutes filled with orange-diluted wine in their fingers. It was an obscenely-warm afternoon for Yunara and the sun shone brilliantly across the grass, Joran¡¯s glorious face beaming out across the city. The sky was cloudless sapphire blue. As was usual for such a nice day, many rich nobles and merchants had crawled out of their holes and were walking and talking, conducting their business conversations in the peaceful gardens before or after their healer appointments. Lots of the senior Sisters had taken their classes outdoors, and droves of lucky pupils were sitting in drifts of pink crystalblossom or on benches along the canals¡¯ banks.


    ¡°So, did the Dark Lady send you a vision?¡± Faylena went on. ¡°Was it a dream, its messages disguised? Or did she speak directly to you?¡±


    Oreltia noted the bitterness in her rival¡¯s tone; she turned and smiled knowingly.


    ¡°So your prayers haven¡¯t been answered?¡± she asked sweetly.


    Faylena frowned, and tipped her glass at her lips to hide her disappointment.


    Oreltia laughed. ¡°Oh, Lena, you do amuse me. Did you think Mother-Chaos would respond to you, when all you do is fret over your position, your hair,¡± she said the word with a lashing of contempt, ¡°instead of looking at the big picture?¡±


    ¡°I do look at the big picture!¡± Faylena leaned forwards, the hunger in her eyes and voice drawing Oreltia out of her reverie with its intensity. ¡°I was the one who supported you, when you killed the Sisters ¨C¡°


    ¡°That really was the goddess, you know ¨C¡°


    ¡°Stop it! And before we even created the ritual, it was me who brought in Bennerswent¡­¡±


    Oreltia chuckled, hearing Faylena¡¯s own derision made manifest. If there was one topic on which Oreltia and Faylena saw eye-to-eye, it was despising the highborn.


    ¡°Why won¡¯t you let me in? Why do you insist on keeping me at arm¡¯s-length, when all this is going on?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± Oreltia took a sip of the citrus wine, ¡°it irks you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re damn right it irks me! If you¡¯re willing to gamble our temple ¨C¡°


    ¡°Our temple, our careers, are in no danger. I have assurances.¡± She set down her glass, folded her hands neatly in her lap and sighed. ¡°You want my position, Lena, but what you really crave is ascendancy. Luckily, I¡¯ve been shown a way for you to have it.¡±


    Faylena¡¯s lower lip started to wobble. ¡°H-High Healer of Wythyldwyn, me?¡±


    Oreltia shook her head firmly. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±


    Her vision had shown Faylena consumed in black fire, coils of smoke lifting off into the sky. If that wasn¡¯t ascendancy, she didn¡¯t know what was. And it was a better end than Ullton and Bennerswent received. Theirs hadn¡¯t been half as fast as Faylena¡¯s would be ¨C the Mother must have been feeling merciful towards her for some reason.


    ¡°Come on.¡± Oreltia got to her feet. ¡°She¡¯ll be here in a few minutes. Best we¡¯re ready for her at the gates.¡±


    They made their way out of the lounge and along the corridor towards the doors. The white-belted initiates all bowed deeply as they passed by, but the priests and high priests (with belts of silver and gold respectively) merely gave a humble head-nod, as was their right. The Temple of Compassion itself was mostly a one-floor structure, and so it didn¡¯t require any stair-climbing to find those she sought. On her way into battle, Oreltia collected certain Sisters ¨C those she knew to be dependable, those who would take her side in any argument. Sister Morrowost, chief augur. Priestess Xalior, treasurer. Lady Bhelios, High Priestess of Her Inviolable Arms, the shrine on Danamir Row. A simple gesture and smile was enough to invite their company, and she regarded them with satisfaction as they exchanged mystified glances with one another, Faylena alone keeping her eyes to herself.


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    Once the five of them were together, the air of superiority gathered tight about them, many of those they passed had jealousy written on their faces as they bowed their heads. Oreltia led them through the wide-open doors at the top of the entryway, out into the brilliant winter sunlight. It was every bit as warm as it looked from indoors, save for when the wind blew and she felt the shivers race deliciously up her spine. Chit-chatting about the weather, they descended the broad, low stair that took them to the path and then strolled along it, crossing the bridge and heading to the gates. Only briefly did one of them, Sister Morrowost, whisper about the rumours concerning the enigmatic deaths of two of the church-leaders in the last three days. Oreltia gave the answer by rote now: the magisters had gone away baffled and were apparently investigating potential darkmage involvement. Morrowost¡¯s own prayers hadn¡¯t availed her, despite her predilection for visions; the High Healer kept her face straight, but internally she shrilled in triumph:


    Again, the Mother of Darkness defeats the Maiden of Light! Even here in these hallowed halls, she cannot see the slaughter of her children!


    When they reached the great gateway with its latticework of silver bars depicting hundreds and hundreds of open hands, the Warden-Sister on duty bowed smartly. She directed her band of initiates with a series of crisp commands; the few common folk entering and leaving, rich men and women no doubt, were swiftly and politely shooed-aside, making space for the quintet of eminent Sisters to depart.


    Oreltia crossed the threshold and stepped out beyond the shadows of the disused gatehouse, then halted her group there, not ten feet onto Dandelion Way, drawing some surprised looks from the Warden-Sister and her retinue just behind the delicate bars of the gate.


    Some surprised looks from the nearby magisters, too, Oreltia noted. They were the ones to watch. They were outside her ability to control, and the Magisterium diviners who would later be tasked with finding out what happened here today would lend much credence to their observations and opinions.


    Just have to make sure it looks right. Looks like Wythyldwyn¡¯s doing.


    Not that that should prove too difficult. Aside from the mist turning a bit caustic under the hill, there wasn¡¯t a single indication Oreltia had been spurned by her chosen deity. She could still cleanse water, summon light, heal wounds¡­ Once Kanthyre had been chastised, everything would go back to normal.


    ¡°If you¡¯d pardon my asking,¡± Lady Bhelios said, looking square at her, elvish cheeks blooming with a soft blush, ¡°High Healer, what in the name of Celestium are we doing here in the street?¡±


    ¡°The work of the goddess,¡± Faylena said at once, her tone fervent, her faith undeniable.


    ¡°Excommunication,¡± Oreltia gave her own answer, packaged up neatly in a single word.


    ¡°Excommunication?¡± Lady Bhelios¡¯s lineless brow furrowed. ¡°Of whom, pray tell?¡±


    Oreltia pointed down the road. ¡°Need you truly ask? The whore!¡±


    Kanthyre was on her way, and she was in a dishevelled state; Oreltia was certain it wasn¡¯t just her own bias making her misinterpret the sight before her. The outland cleric waddled with reluctance in every footfall, her cloak swishing side-to-side. The tangles of copper-orange hair hung limply on her shoulders, knotted and dark with perspiration; sweat was running freely down her forehead, her round cheeks. Every now and again Kanthyre pawed at her weary face with the cuff of one of her long sleeves, but it was no good; the gleaming rivulets sprang up again in seconds, tracing glistening lines across her skin. She looked truly miserable, exhausted, at the end of her rope.


    The medallion of the Maiden at her neck was glowing faintly, however.


    Troubling.


    She only seemed to notice the five of them when she was ten yards away; she looked up, then almost stumbled, seeing them in the street in front of her.


    Oreltia fought down the urge to grin.


    ¡°So!¡± she called. ¡°The dell-dweller returns! Welcome, Sister Vael. What can we do for you today, dragonslayer?¡±


    Kanthyre halted, and looked left and right. Oreltia and her renowned priestesses had already started to draw something of a crowd, watching from afar ¨C then there were the gate-guards, the magisters¡­


    Let¡¯s see how you fare with an audience hanging on your every word, girl.


    She wouldn¡¯t even meet Oreltia¡¯s eyes. ¡°Ex¡­ excommunication,¡± Kanthyre said through numb lips, staring down at the scintillating paving stones between her feet.


    She heard me?


    Oreltia wrinkled her nose. ¡°Indeed, Sister Vael. First you must account for your transgressions. Breaking your vow of chastity ¨C¡±


    ¡°A disgrace,¡± Lady Bhelios murmured.


    ¡°Obscenity!¡± Priestess Xalior snapped.


    ¡°¨C should be your primary concern,¡± Oreltia continued smoothly. ¡°I understand that the dreamers of Yune were willing to perform the ceremony ¨C¡±


    ¡°Blasphemers¡­¡±


    ¡°Revolting!¡±


    ¡°¨C but where is the contrition, Sister Vael? Where is your learning? Surely you knew that you should have removed your insignia the moment you turned to a man ¨C¡±


    The two sycophants behind her made almost identical choking sounds.


    ¡°¨C and yet you continued in your ministry regardless. This wilful recklessness alone has brought you to the Temple¡¯s gates.¡±


    Oreltia felt the weight of all the eyes on her. She forced a sweet smile onto her lips.


    ¡°Yet Wythyldwyn is not the Maiden of Compassion for naught! Give up the symbol of your power, and submit your marriage for dissolution. After a moon or two in acts of penitence ¨C I¡¯m sorry, what was that?¡± Kanthyre had spoken, too quiet, too meek to be heard under Oreltia¡¯s tirade. ¡°You¡¯ll have to speak up, Sister, unless you wish to accompany me inside presently? We can talk in private, if you wish.¡±


    ¡°Th-this hurts, more than anything I¡¯ve ever had to do.¡± Kanthyre finally met her eyes, and she saw the girl was barely holding back a flood of tears.


    ¡°I know, Sister.¡± Oreltia felt her smile become a smirk.


    ¡°It¡¯s for the best,¡± Morrowost said softly, pityingly.


    ¡°No ¨C I mean¡­ excommunication.¡± Kanthyre gulped in air, then slowly drew her wet hair back behind her ears, clearing it from her face. ¡°I¡¯m afraid we can¡¯t go inside. You can¡¯t, anyway. Not anymore. Your ¨C your authority¡¯s revoked, Oreltia Overbrent. You are the High Healer of Wythyldwyn no longer.¡±


    * * *

 Demonsway pt4

    A chorus of laughter rang out.


    ¡°And who are you, to speak to the Exalted with such irreverence?¡± Lady Bhelios asked.


    ¡°The new High Healer,¡± the foreigner replied.


    Laughter erupted once more, but Oreltia had had enough.


    ¡°Still your tongue, wench!¡± She pointed, arm outstretched, a single finger levelled at the girl like a sword in judgement. ¡°I do not know how things were done in the dell of miseries which spawned you, but here in the heart of civilisation we have laws against sacrilege. Failure to recognise my station is not only a sin, parting you from the Maiden¡¯s light, but also a crime, for which the watch themselves shall sanction you. Yet despite this, once more according to her will, I extend the hand of mercy for all to witness.¡± She stopped pointing, instead holding her palm face-up as though to reach across the street, beckon the cleric closer. ¡°You are a stranger to our ways, a battle-priest of the wilderness. Come inside, confess, and find the peace you deserve in the Maiden¡¯s warm, loving arms.¡±


    Come inside. Confess. Find the peace you deserve in the grasp of the Mother¡¯s cold, uncaring embrace.


    ¡°Very well.¡± Kanthyre¡¯s voice and eyes were harder now, and she moved towards the gates. ¡°As you say, Oreltia.¡±


    There, again, that hateful recalcitrance, the smarmy ease of her familiarity. Oreltia would¡¯ve struck her right then and there if not for the onlookers.


    Still, she mused as she too turned to re-enter the temple, the watchers serve their purpose. None can doubt my fairness. And if she should disappear tonight, without a trace, what will the magisters say then? They shall have no evidence ¨C Mekesta will see to that, swallowing it up in her darkness ¨C and ¨C


    She froze. Kanthyre was on the other side of the threshold, framed against the green and silver of the grounds, the Warden-Sister hovering uncertainly just behind her.


    Oreltia was on the outside, in the shadow of the gatehouse, and suddenly the wind blew long and cold, robbing the air of its wintry warmth. She was lifting her foot ¨C she was trying to lift her foot ¨C but the motion that would bring her striding forwards simply didn¡¯t materialise. It was like trying to feed herself with her third hand ¨C there was no muscle there, no limb to carry out the command.


    As the instant became a second, became two seconds, she started to panic. Quickly she shifted her weight, tried the other leg.


    Nothing.


    They will notice! They ¨C


    ¡°High Healer?¡± Sister Morrowost said dubiously from behind her.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Kanthyre answered. Voice like a diamond-edged blade.


    Oreltia met the girl¡¯s eyes, then looked away, her soul sliced by the contact.


    She couldn¡¯t look at Kanthyre. She shut her eyes instead, sensing the waves of bewilderment spreading over everyone present ¨C why does the Exalted not proceed? what possesses her to let this upstart mock her so? ¨C and she no longer cared. She felt the hatred in her soul rising, like gone-off milk in her gullet, like flames through a dry summer canopy ¨C it was irresistible, its absence inconceivable ¨C


    ¡°This is some spell!¡± she hissed. ¡°A sorcerous shield!¡±


    ¡°You bearing her ill-will?¡± one of the nearby magisters asked, their confusion plain in their voice.


    ¡°I can¡¯t see any shields, m¡¯lady,¡± another said, more respectfully.


    ¡°Then black magic, some dark god¡¯s doing,¡± Lady Bhelios intoned from behind Oreltia, quiet, implacable. ¡°Arrest the girl at once.¡±


    Oreltia still had her eyes closed, but the pulse of golden light that Kanthyre emitted wasn¡¯t just some glamour, a snatch of illumination. It entered her heart, its purity making her reel. She¡¯d forgotten what it was like, Wythyldwyn¡¯s true power. She thought she knew, but she didn¡¯t. Bit by bit, for months, maybe years, she¡¯d watered down the potency of her faith, replacing it with mundane concerns, replacing it with¡­


    The darkness.


    ¡°Can you do that?¡± Kanthyre asked gently. ¡°Can you call on the goddess for us all to witness?¡±


    Oreltia knew in that moment that she couldn¡¯t. The light was gone from her now. Now she could only take light away, make them blind like her.


    She was still screwing her eyes shut, so that she wouldn¡¯t have to see their faces, the stupid looks of horror as they realised what was happening. The initiates with the Warden-Sister ¨C the onlookers on the street ¨C she could sense their disappointment in her.


    I ¨C don¡¯t ¨C care!


    The moment Oreltia opened her mouth to speak, birth a tirade of scorching spite that would leave no room for doubt as to her new affiliation ¨C it was then that Kanthyre chose to say the words some part of her had always been waiting to hear, cutting the former Exalted off before she could begin.


    ¡°Miss Overbrent. The survival of the church was never in question. Healing will always be needed. The Faith was never in danger. What was it that made you decide to fracture the Maiden¡¯s blessings on the healer¡¯s rings? Was it greed? Was it a desire for yet-greater eminence, having the ears of your rulers, stealing the secrets of princes? For what, Oreltia? For what exactly did you throw it all away?¡±


    Oreltia screamed in frustration, opening her eyes at last. Her desire to cause this girl¡¯s torment finally manifested as she flung out her hands, aiming them like weapons, clawing at the air with twisted fingers.


    ¡°Just die!¡± she shrieked.


    The black fire from her dreams leapt up around Kanthyre¡¯s feet, not a circle like the flames of sorcerers ¨C it was a star, a huge star with thirteen points that sent the temple guards stumbling back in fright, and at its centre was the sweat-soaked white robe of the cleric.


    The flickering tongues of darkness rose up ¨C four feet, six, eight, ten ¨C then closed in, falling down on the pretender like thirteen blades.


    Yet when the black fire spent itself, splashing aside and petering out in the space of instants, Kanthyre remained. The amber light of the goddess was upon her, within her, suffusing her flesh, pouring out from her eyes.


    Oreltia was forced to look away again.


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    A full fifty percent of those watching must¡¯ve started running, yelling ¨C the magisters had glyphstones in their hands, another was going for a wand ¨C the initiates¡¯ looks not those of disappointment and loss but of betrayal and fury ¨C


    ¡°I stand on the sacred earth.¡± The cleric¡¯s voice was solemn, self-assured. ¡°Your goddess cannot harm me here ¨C¡±


    ¡°Step forth, then! Contest me on even ground!¡±


    Oreltia heard the words split her lips, felt the savage grin that accompanied them. She stepped back, inviting the upstart into Dandelion Way; she turned, a quick glance telling her that Morrowost, Xalior and Bhelios had deserted her. The trio had retreated into the crowd, just three more shocked onlookers now. But Faylena still had her back ¨C Lena was still close by, her expression inscrutable ¨C


    Oreltia returned her gaze to Kanthyre only to stumble, seeing the gold-glowing cleric step out of the gateway towards her, pressing her back with sheer presence. The hair which had hung wet and limp now cascaded in ripples of warm wind. The lines of fatigue and doubt on the cleric¡¯s face had been smoothed away, replaced by an expression of righteous resolve. In her hands were the glittering mace whose handle had gone unnoticed amongst the folds of her cloak, and her medallion with its chain wrapped about her fingers.


    ¡°The Starless will not save you,¡± Kanthyre shouted. The change that had come over her was terrifying. ¡°They bear no love for their tools, and readily melt them down to make new ones once they break from wear. Reject this path before it is too late!¡±


    ¡°They may not save me,¡± Oreltia snarled, ¡°but they will slay you regardless!¡±


    She put out her hands once more, fingers like talons, and this time the black fire came crackling out from inside her, her spirit itself working as the conduit for the waves of hateful darkness that would reduce the Sister of Wythyldwyn to bloody cinders.


    Yet Kanthyre merely put out her medallion and glanced aside, trusting to the shell of shining mist the holy symbol evoked to protect her.


    It did. The black fire broke apart and fell smoking to the paving-stones, unable to penetrate the softly-stirring amber smear.


    Oreltia gritted her teeth and redoubled her efforts, the hate flowing freely, oh so freely ¨C


    Why is she not even looking at me! she howled internally.


    Faylena ¨C it was to gaze at Faylena that Kanthyre was looking aside.


    ¡°Do you stand by her?¡± the cleric roared over the snapping and sputtering of darkness upon light.


    Faylena merely smiled thinly.


    ¡°So be it,¡± Kanthyre said.


    She raised the mace, and swung it at Oreltia, only the once.


    Oreltia wasn¡¯t even struck by it, not bodily ¨C as far as she could see with her eyes, it merely swept in a downwards arc through the air in front of her. Yards away.


    She didn¡¯t feel anything, but the physical effect of the spiritual blow was far greater than she¡¯d anticipated. It was as though she¡¯d been knocked down by a carriage ¨C one moment she was emanating gouts of searing shadow, confronting her enemy head-on ¨C


    The next she was flat on her back, staring up at that boastful blue sky.


    Not one single muscle responded to her; every part of her body was unfamiliar, unresponsive territory. She heard the cries of terror receding, becoming cries of awe, cheers.


    ¡°What of you, Miss Seabreeze?¡± she caught the new High Healer saying. The form of address wasn¡¯t lost on her, and wouldn¡¯t be lost on Faylena either.


    Then ¨C it was the strangest thing. The sound of Oreltia¡¯s colleague sighing.


    ¡°Fourteen years.¡± Faylena didn¡¯t actually sound that frustrated, but it could be inferred. ¡°Fourteen years, wasted. It was all about the power to you, wasn¡¯t it, Oreltia? Money, authority, all of the bowing and scraping ¨C how banal all of your amusements have seemed to me, down the years. I sculpted you, perfected you, only to see you break at a young girl¡¯s displeasure! Ah, you never could¡¯ve hoped to comprehend the Mother¡¯s goals ¨C you were a useful tool, nothing more. In that at least this girl speaks truth; your soul will go screaming through the shadowland, and once your journey¡¯s done, once you come home, you will be put in the furnace. I¡¯ll even visit, ensure your comfort personally.¡±


    Oreltia didn¡¯t see what happened next, but she could infer it all the same, given her dreams. She heard the rush of feet as Kanthyre strode forwards, the hollow hiss of the black flame as it consumed Faylena ¨C


    Consumed her, not to destroy her but to remove her ¨C


    And then the instigator of this whole debacle was gone.


    In the aftermath of her rival¡¯s unholy escape, Oreltia heard many voices: some addressed her, and she couldn¡¯t reply, couldn¡¯t even croak a response; many more spoke of her. The babbling only seemed to increase, bigger and bigger crowds gathering in what seemed to be seconds.


    She lay there paralysed, looking up at the blue winter sky, and knew that she was hated. Knew that she was reviled. Knew that her name would go down in history as a black mark, one never to bestow upon your child unless it carried the curse, the curse of Mother-Chaos and the fallen priestess of Wythyldwyn who¡¯d once borne it to her doom.


    ¡°What will they do with her?¡± Kanthyre was saying in a low voice.


    I know what they¡¯ll do with me¡­


    ¡°She is a cultist.¡± Morrowost¡¯s voice was wavering on the cusp of tears. ¡°I ¨C they¡¯ll behead her, for certain¡­ If I had only seen ¨C¡±


    ¡°If the Maiden had shown you in advance, you would¡¯ve died like those who disappeared. You wouldn¡¯t have been able to keep it secret ¨C that¡¯s not your way, is it? You¡¯re Sandanya, right? She¡¯s shown you to me.¡±


    ¡°Sister Sandanya Morrowost, yes¡­ High Healer.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t hold back your tears, Sandanya. You weep not for the demon, but for the spirit it consumed. All people are good. All people are corruptible. Oreltia was a person once, and could be again¡­ As to my new position, well ¨C consult with the goddess at your leisure. None of the faithful who do so will be left in any doubt. It¡¯s your own new position that¡¯s going to cause you some alarm.¡±


    ¡°My¡­ my own¡­? But I never wanted ¨C¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s part of why you¡¯re going to be a perfect fit, I think. There¡¯s going to be a lot of changes around here, unfortunately, and you¡¯re going to have to help me make them. I¡¯ve the strangest notion we¡¯re about to lose almost all of the church leadership in a single evening. I mean, by resignations, of course¡­¡±


    Kanthyre must¡¯ve indicated Priestess Xalior and Lady Bhelios, because the two burst into exclamations of outrage.


    Oreltia caught the Warden-Sister at the gate saying to herself in a hushed voice, ¡°Praise the Maiden.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to heal the sick, for free,¡± Kanthyre was continuing, ¡°aid the champions in Incursions, no matter where they take place¡­ And you can start by spreading the word immediately that your healer¡¯s rings are hexed, and must be purified in seven-stage light before they¡¯re used again¡­¡±


    How foolish is this girl! Oreltia exulted from her back. She dares speak openly of this, in front of so many? Who will trust her Church now?


    She longed to laugh.


    ¡°¡­ The Sisterhood of Mund has fallen so low, it has harboured acolytes of the Cult of the Night ¨C in its upper ranks ¨C for decades. We have abandoned our ways. No longer. I intend to set up talks with the chief priests of the other gods, to take place soon. It¡¯s time we put things right in this city.¡±


    There was a great deal of semi-suspicious murmuring from the crowd, but after a few seconds those listening seemed to approve of the new High Healer¡¯s little speech. Applause broke out, and prayers were spoken ¨C then prayers became hymns, and someone even found a flute; within a matter of moments it sounded like there was an impromptu inauguration ceremony going on right there in the street.


    Oreltia closed her eyes on the bitter sky, felt the tears streak down the sides of her head just over her ears. She couldn¡¯t sob ¨C she could hardly move ¨C but she could still cry.


    An unknown amount of time later ¨C it might¡¯ve only been a minute or two since Kanthyre swung the mace at her, or it might¡¯ve been a century ¨C her replacement leant her head down over Oreltia, sun-dried hair swishing across her nose and cheeks. She opened her eyes, to see the cleric¡¯s face right there, regarding Oreltia with the same nervous, upset gaze she¡¯d worn when she¡¯d first waddled up the street towards them.


    ¡°Oreltia.¡± The girl spoke so softly, she suspected only the two of them could hear her. ¡°Oreltia, move your eyes up and down for yes, side to side for no. Are you capable of whatever it is your friend did to escape?¡±


    Oreltia just stared.


    ¡°I have no interest in being part of your death!¡±


    Well you should¡¯ve thought about that sooner!


    She continued to stare, hoping her hatred came through in her gaze, hoping the twisted smile made it partially onto her lips.


    From the look of increasing horror on Kanthyre¡¯s features, she thought it did.


    Oreltia Overbrent comforted herself with that thought, that last vision of the usurper¡¯s face, as she was hurled with no concern for her dignity into a cart, her knees and lower legs left exposed. She comforted herself with it as she was slung into a spell-warded cell. She even found comfort in it when her neck was pressed painfully into the wooden slot, the axe raised high above her head, so high she couldn¡¯t see it.


    Then it fell, and her soul was sent on its way, screaming into the shadowland as Lena promised, all thoughts of comfort left behind within the severed head, rolling across the planks in the fierce glare of the sun.

 The Test pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 8C: THE TEST</h2>


    ¡°I am the lie that must be voiced again and again. I am the thing whose breath pulls the tides. I am the twisted ankle and the rusty nail. I am Lady Misfortune.¡±


    ¨C from the Wyrdic Creed


    ¡°Fifteen gold!¡± Danaphrim let the glass orb fall from his fingers, clunking back down on the velvet-covered table. ¡°I could get ten of these in Oldtown for that price.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s why you came to my establishment, is it not?¡± The shopkeeper smiled, her mouth filled with gloating white teeth. ¡°You clearly want a seeing-ball that works for longer than it takes you to walk out of the store. In this case, my young seer, I can only commend your choice. Did you scan the future before deciding? Our seeing-balls are sourced directly from the Wizard¡¯s Hat, don¡¯t you know.¡±


    I¡¯m not a seer, Danaphrim thought coldly. I¡¯m a mage. I¡¯m a master of magic.


    He grumbled a bit, but he ended up paying almost the full asking-price for the seeing-orb. After all, the shopkeeper was at least half-right. He did want one that lasted more than five scryings, and he had briefly entered the trance to ascertain the most trustworthy vendors for his supplies.


    It was the test, in three days¡¯ time. He had to be ready, and applicants were obviously going to get ahead of the pack by demonstrating their wherewithal; bringing their own components would just be a part of that.


    Danaphrim headed back along the Hill Road to Oldtown, munching on a hot beef sandwich as he went (and tossing the onions to the rats whenever he came across the horrid stringy things in his otherwise quite-perfect snack). When he reached his apartment, the run-down one-room hell-hole he¡¯d been calling home for the past eight years, he kicked his way through the detritus to his night-stand and lit the candles, then emptied the contents of his satchel onto the bed.


    The Tears of the Beast: a compound of extracts taken from over a dozen animals, perfectly preserved; the greatest shapechanging philtre money could buy. (Well, Danaphrim¡¯s money at least.) The feathers of a phoenix, ideal for works of pyromancy. The shard of a child-killing sword, essential for the swiftest summoning of a particular demon he had in mind. The bottled last breath of a dying artist, an illusion facilitator like no other.


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    And, of course, the seeing-orb, for the clearest visions known to mankind¡­ the clearest visions affordable on his budget. The final purchase had almost drained his savings dry, but Danaphrim didn¡¯t care. This was his chance. This was the opportunity he¡¯d been waiting for all his life.


    Grandmaster Nelesto was taking on a new apprentice for the spring season, an appointment that might be extended into a permanent position, if the candidate was right. Dan intended on being that candidate.


    Imagine. To be the one standing behind him when he gives his lectures. To be the one who helps him with his experiments, handling only the rarest, most fragile spell-components.


    To be the one who inherits his secrets, his name and reputation¡­


    Yune willing.


    The old gnome had a number of apprentices already, but Dan had little doubt he could rise to the top. So few had received the training he had, exposure to the five mageries. Sure, he¡¯d dropped out of Enchantment in the first term, and the two terms of Druidry he¡¯d followed it up with had been an almost-total waste of time ¨C but he¡¯d completed a whole year of Divination, and the vision he¡¯d had during his finals exams led him into taking the combined Wizardry-Sorcery course for extra credit after hours. Now, five years in the industry later, he still hadn¡¯t moved out of his terrible student accommodation ¨C wages in manufacturing were low, rents in Oldtown were high, and the mage knew it was time to make his mark on Mund, on the world¡­ He needed a career, something he could write home to his uncle about. A job that was a profession¡­ A job that paid enough for him to get a property loan¡­


    While he ate his crude dinner he brushed up on his druidic spells ¨C along with illusions they were his weak-spot, a shortcoming he hoped to offset with the Tears of the Beast ¨C and then settled down with his crystal ball on his bed.


    The trance was unclear, as usual. He¡¯d hoped that using the orb as a focus would let him see a more-complete vision but all he perceived were fragments, a general impression of the room, its occupants¡­ Grandmaster Nelesto would¡¯ve scried the test, and his influence would interfere with his would-be apprentices¡¯ attempts to pierce the veil of the future, discover their fates.


    He sighed, and let the trance carry him off to sleep, a deep slumber in which his dreams were bright, dreams of spell-components kissed by power, glowing orange in the shadows of the evening sky.


    No, not spell-components. Mund. It was Mund that burned. Mund that died to fuel the magic.


    When Dan awoke he remembered, but it was too raw for him to dwell upon, too real for him to begin to recall details, connect the dots; and, mercifully, by breakfast the dream had vanished into the mists, going wherever it was dreams went, when they too died.


    * * *

 The Test pt2

    The working week and its monotony finally came to a close. After he cast the light-emitting spell, a red one, on the last bauble of the day and put it in the chute down to the boxing department, he pulled on his winter cloak and walked out of the building with his colleagues. Phimos and Deyra both knew of his plans, and when they bade him farewell till Moonday morning, they added a hushed ¡®Good luck!¡¯ and ¡®You¡¯ve got this, man!¡¯ to their usual partings.


    Starday arrived, the afternoon of the test, and it was exactly as his imagination had filled in the details. The hall was located in a well-appointed guild tower on the bank of the Whiteflood, a tall, narrow construction of coloured bands of stone. One of the Grandmaster¡¯s current apprentices showed the candidates up several flights of stairs and into the testing chamber; it was only during the nervous, halting conversation they had while they were waiting that Dan found out the dwarf wasn¡¯t just an assistant.


    A dwarf? A dwarf, apprenticed to Nelesto?


    Everyone knew that dwarves had the least magical potential of the various races. Considering their rarity, elves and gnomes produced mages and archmages at a staggering rate. While humans possessed little by way of supernatural ability, most magic-users were human simply due to demographics. But dwarves ¨C bearing in mind the amount of them in the city, there were very few working in the magic sector. Thinking back about it, Dan had only met three or four dwarves in all his years working for Eturiel¡¯s Enigmas ¨C while he¡¯d met dozens of elves and gnomes, and hundreds of fellow human mages.


    The chap must be serious about pursuing his career, if the Grandmaster accepted him, Dan reminded himself.


    He looked around at the other contenders. They were waiting in a room of oak and blue velvet curtains, large enough for them to spread out. As far as he was aware, there was only a single position open, and his dozen-or-so rivals seemed to be aware of that fact too. There was a lot of low muttering, a lot of last-minute spellbook-page flipping, a lot of clinks and rustles from hands frantically digging through bags of reagents.


    Except for one applicant ¨C a youngster even by Dan¡¯s standards, the one who¡¯d known that the dwarf was one of the Grandmaster¡¯s apprentices. He was a foreigner with a complexion similar to Danaphrim¡¯s own, hidden behind thick black whiskers and beneath a crooked mage¡¯s hat. His brown leather robe looked more like a coat, and seemed to have known better days; it was strung with belts covered in component-pouches, but the young man seemed quite content with their layout. His hands were folded in his sleeves, and he stood closer to the centre of the room than anyone else, appearing open to conversation, a broad smile on his face.


    Why isn¡¯t he nervous? Dan thought; and wondering about that only made him feel more nervous still. There were mages here twice the smiling boy¡¯s age, there were elves and a gods-damned gnome in here ¨C just what was the lad so happy about?


    Everyone straightened up when Grandmaster Nelesto entered, floating a few feet off the floor on the winds of wizardry.


    The gnome was old. He was beardless, but there was a day¡¯s growth of stubble on his cheeks and neck ¨C he wore what remained of his hair in two spiky tufts behind his ears. His eyebrows were thick and white. His robe was exquisite, gold and grey and flowing, a sunlit forest river.


    ¡°Welcome!¡± His voice was deep for a gnome¡¯s, and didn¡¯t sound particularly welcoming. ¡°I am Aubrel Nelesto, Master of the Sixth Way.¡± He came to hover with his back to one of the walls, and everyone followed him with their eyes. ¡°You have come seeking tutelage, seeking the chance to garner your own accolades, fate willing.¡± He held out his little arm and the wrinkly hand extended from the sleeve¡¯s cuff, pointing a tiny old finger at them. ¡°Know this! There is no fate but what we make for ourselves. Even Timesnatcher can¡¯t sit on his backside when he has a vision ¨C he has to act! That¡¯s why we¡¯re here today. Well¡­ why you¡¯re here.¡±


    The Grandmaster turned to the room¡¯s entrance ¨C he¡¯d left the door ajar behind him ¨C and beckoned to someone just out of sight.


    It was the apprentices. One by one they filed in, nine of them. Their mage robes were plain but each and every one of them had an air of superiority about them: even the ones with true wisdom in their eyes still wore smug smiles on their lips.


    Dan¡¯s mouth went dry. He hadn¡¯t exactly been expecting a written exam ¨C what was I expecting, precisely? ¨C but he¡¯d never imagined the test would be quite so public as this.


    They were to perform, not just for the Grandmaster but in front of an audience, an audience made up of the competition, of students more advanced than them?


    As the last apprentice entered, the dwarf who¡¯d led them to the room, one of the candidates balked and made a run for it. It was one of the indigenous Mundians, his pale skin turned white with stress and nausea, and he vanished through the doorway, almost bowling both himself and the dwarf over as he went.


    The sound of the man¡¯s fleeing feet slapping the stairs slowly faded.


    Well¡­ that¡¯s one down, at least, Dan thought grimly. He had control of his stomach, his rebellious late breakfast¡­ for now.


    ¡°The accolades begin now!¡± Nelesto went on, as though nothing had happened. ¡°You see my students. Each of them has invented a greater variety of spells in the last twelve months than the average mage learns in a decade of schooling! We are extremely exclusive. We share our secrets only amongst ourselves.¡±


    Dan looked around at the smug apprentices.


    ¡°It¡¯s possible that not one of you produces magic of an acceptable quality,¡± the gnome continued. ¡°Yet there is only one apprenticeship on offer. I will take only the very best in the city. My current students will help me make my decision, as always.¡±


    Yeah, right, Dan thought sourly. You¡¯ve definitely scried this out. You probably already know who wins.


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    ¡°Know this also. He or she who proves the greatest, will be accepted by my students as one of their own. You will receive help, guidance, not rejection and rivalries. This is at the heart of what I do here, with the Sixth Way. All artificial barriers to learning are set aside! We have our love of the art itself, and need naught else to sustain us!¡±


    Dan felt the fire of inspiration in his blood, and, for the first time since arriving, raised his chin.


    ¡°Good! Now remember your number!¡± Grandmaster Nelesto pointed to an elf maiden. ¡°One!¡± A pretty-looking gnome. ¡°Two!¡± A burly old Westerman¡­


    The confident youngster was seven. Dan was nine.


    ¡°We will witness your magic in ascending order. Please, number one, to the front, here my dear. Everyone else, back!¡±


    Dan headed towards the rear of the empty room, trying to stride with the same self-assured expression that the bearded youngster wore on his face. Behind him, he heard the drifting Grandmaster offer a few words of encouragement to the quivering wreck of an elf maiden whose turn was first.


    Within a few moments everyone was in place, the apprentices standing at the very back, leaning against the wall. The poor girl ¨C she might¡¯ve been fifty, because she looked like a teenager ¨C was shaking in her boots; she was twisting a coil of her peach-coloured hair in her hands.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be alarmed. You are to demonstrate one spell and one spell only. Each of you will have five turns, and should present a spell from a different magery on each demonstration. There are twelve of you, how nice, so we should be here a good while ¨C please, if anyone requires it, there is a bathroom and refreshments just down the corridor. Do ensure you¡¯re present when you are called, however.


    ¡°A word to the wise. It would behove you to begin with those schools of magic with which you are least proficient. We won¡¯t necessarily assign any greater weight to the last spell than the first, so don¡¯t fret if your fifth fizzles. But¡­ well, we have noticed that we do tend to remember a grand finale.¡±


    Dan caught the sound of some apprentices murmuring appreciatively behind him.


    ¡°Anyway ¨C my dear. That should take some of the pressure off going first. Now, if you¡¯d like to begin your preparations?¡±


    The elf took a deep breath, let go of her coral curls, and got her act together.


    Once she started, it was obvious to Dan just how good she was. She was preparing something from the divination school, he was pretty sure. His strongest, her weakest¡­


    How magery was developed in the first place was the quintessential question of all magic research; finding those trails and unlocking new spells, new combinations of phrases, was the true calling of the mage. Sorcery, it was said, was the purest of mageries, due to its primary reliance on the genuine tongues of power: Etheric, Netheric, Infernal. The nature of the encryption which Litenwelt Kordaine and the others had used to formulate the tongue of spell-incantation was the core mystery of the world, in Dan¡¯s eyes. (In the eyes of the most-popular modern theorists in the field, that was.) As he listened to her voice, he could almost hear the Etheric cadence to the elf¡¯s chanting, even though the words would be meaningless in every magical tongue other than Materium¡¯s. Other than the Five¡¯s.


    ¡°I-if someone would be so kind as to hide this for me?¡±


    None of the applicants dared move but an apprentice swaggered down from the back, took the proffered piece of chalk from the elf-girl¡¯s hand and headed back.


    On the way, Dan noticed as he tossed it to one of his friends, a burly lad who snatched it out of the air, reached into his boot and stowed it away inside his sock.


    ¡°Done,¡± the first apprentice called.


    The elf turned back around and finished her spell, tapping her little glass bell with a small hammer; the bell shattered, and a light came into the elf¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I sense¡­¡± The maiden flicked her hair back behind her ears and took a few steps closer. ¡°The chalk¡­ It¡¯s in a¡­¡± Her nose wrinkled. ¡°A very smelly place¡­¡±


    Everyone laughed: the candidates giggled somewhat nervously, while the apprentices roared, the burly guy loudest of all.


    The elf successfully retrieved the chalk from the toxic sock ¨C the apprentice wouldn¡¯t do it for her, merely holding out his leg with a smirk on his face ¨C and the Grandmaster seemed hardly to notice, nonchalantly congratulating her. Then it was number two¡¯s go.


    The turns went by. A gnome woman in a raunchy corset-style robe loosed a mediocre fireball that might¡¯ve ignited its target¡­ if its target was a bundle of exceptionally-dry kindling. An old man failed a shapechange.


    Faint traces of a healing spell that would serve to heal a whole scabby knee. The tiny, almost-transparent illusion of a mouse, useful perhaps for toy-making and distracting cats for five minutes. A botched attempt to summon an imp, creating only a red flame that laughed mockingly for ten seconds.


    When number seven was called, Dan perked up.


    Let¡¯s see what Mr. Confident can manage, he thought.


    The youngster drew out a feather and a dried bird¡¯s foot from his pouches, completed a short, squawking incantation and ¨C poof! ¨C he was instantly replaced by a fierce-eyed, brown-feathered hawk.


    The Grandmaster clapped, as did some of his apprentices.


    ¡°Bravo!¡± he called. ¡°A complete transformation, in the quickest time I¡¯ve seen since¡­¡± The old gnome glanced down at the nine initiates, then frowned. ¡°In a goodly while! I do hope you haven¡¯t peaked early¡­ How long can you hold it, may I ask?¡±


    ¡°Sixteen minutes, or thereabouts.¡±


    The foreign voice emanated quite clearly from the hawk¡¯s beak.


    The Grandmaster raised a bushy eyebrow.


    ¡°From a single feather and trigger-phrase? No amplifications?¡±


    The hawk nodded.


    ¡°If you wouldn¡¯t mind maintaining the spell¡­?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    The hawk half-hopped, half-flew back into place.


    ¡°Well, well¡­ number eight!¡±


    Dan realised it was almost his turn but he was distracted by the bird nonchalantly sitting there, cosying down in its soft bed of feathery flesh to watch the next contestant cast their spell. He wasted almost his whole preparation time looking at the damn thing. When Nelesto called for number nine his body reacted before his mind, setting his feet into motion in advance of him raising his head. He stared at the floor until he was at the front, then spun around to face them ¨C the sea of expectant expressions ¨C remembering only then why he¡¯d always wanted to work in research, behind the scenes. Why he¡¯d always opted for the modules with minimal practical exams.


    Stage-fright gripped him, and the urge to run out the door was equally impossible to fulfil. He was rooted in place ¨C every second that passed it would worsen ¨C


    Yune¡­ Yune, please¡­


    Then he remembered how he¡¯d defeated the stage-fright, back in his second year, when he¡¯d had to present a full vision to the class.


    He closed his eyes.


    ¡°Number nine?¡± Nelesto asked.


    ¡°One moment.¡± Dan¡¯s voice came out cool and collected now that he could no longer see the eyes on him ¨C and speaking, hearing that smoothness in his own tone ¨C it made it easier still.


    He opened his eyes, smiling.


    The horse-illusion he¡¯d prepared turned out to be the biggest, most solid-looking anyone had yet demonstrated, and, while it couldn¡¯t move and the Grandmaster didn¡¯t quite clap, Dan could tell that his enchantment met the standard required.


    I¡¯ll do better next time, he thought, returning to his place, feeling a line of sweat running down his back under the robe despite the winter day¡¯s chill. I¡¯ll do my best.


    He looked down at the annoying hawk, thinking of the fifteen gold he¡¯d spent on his divination orb, of the consolatory looks that Phimos and Deyra would cast him on Moonday morning.


    No. It¡¯ll be looks of confusion and awe, directed at each other, when I don¡¯t show up.


    His eyes narrowed.


    I¡¯ll do my best, and I¡¯ll win.


    * * *

 The Test pt3

    He couldn¡¯t stop his hands shaking. He¡¯d just completed his fourth spell, summoning a fifth-rank demon all on his own, one of the powerful kinkalaman, a servant of lamentation from Mekesta¡¯s pits. It had drained him, mentally, seeing that awesome killing-fiend pacing there on its sword-blade appendages, awaiting his command. He¡¯d only succeeded at it once before, but the gamble had paid off; the reagents (including the dreadful sword-shard, of course, but also a slave¡¯s fingers unwillingly taken) were consumed to ash as the circle burst into crimson fire and the deadly shape appeared, a thin silhouette in the flames.


    He went for his second bathroom break, and on his way back he ran into the elf-maiden drinking a cup of watered-down white wine at the little refreshment table. She offered him a smile and a nod so he stopped and took a cup for himself, pouring only a half-measure from the jug ¨C he needed his wits about him, and, even watered-down, wine went straight to his head.


    ¡°You¡¯re up soon?¡± he verbally prodded her ¨C number ten had to be done by now. ¡°Last go, eh?¡±


    She sipped her drink and sighed. ¡°I can¡¯t wait. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m still here ¨C I¡¯m not going to win. Stupid pride won¡¯t let me let it go, I suppose.¡±


    Dan shook his head, admiring her elfin beauty. ¡°Don¡¯t be too hard on yourself. We all know it¡¯s between the gnome and Mr. Confident. But none of us are going to give up now, are we?¡± He grinned ruefully. ¡°We should¡¯ve run at the start when we still could¡­¡±


    She fluttered her peach-flecked eyelashes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about¡­ Yeah, the gnome lady right after me, she¡¯s great ¨C Mr. Confident, number seven, right? He¡¯s in the lead, I think. But you ¨C you¡¯re better than the gnome. You¡¯re still in the running.¡±


    He flushed with the praise, coming from her. ¡°I don¡¯t know about that¡­ but I plan on trying.¡± He cocked his head at her. ¡°How would you fancy commiserating with me afterwards? There¡¯s a nice place on the corner ¨C¡±


    Her eyes widened. ¡°Oh ¨C I¡¯m sorry ¨C I would, but I¡¯m ¨C I¡¯m betrothed¡­¡± Before he could recover or apologise or make some stupid excuse she gulped down what remained of her drink and put down her cup. ¡°I¡¯d best get back, before my turn comes around¡­ good luck!¡±


    She strode off, her curtain of sweetly-scented coral hair swishing behind her as she vanished around the corner into the testing hall. The old man, number three, came out and headed past him to the bathroom.


    Dan sighed and finished his drink, then had another half-measure before joining her. The elf was just starting, performing the opening gestures to an enchantment. He moved along the wall to the back so as not to distract her, watching as she ran through a complex series of gesticulations.


    It was a fine casting ¨C the best illusion they¡¯d seen yet. A hunting dog appeared, and then another, and another, slipping around from behind her, from nowhere, loping around the room, sniffing hands, tongues lolling out¡­ ten, fifteen, twenty of them¡­ they even stank like dogs¡­


    Everyone applauded when she let them fade away, and the elf curtsied before returning to her place.


    ¡°Fantastic!¡± the Grandmaster cried. ¡°And now ¨C number two.¡±


    Hush swiftly fell. Everyone knew number two was a real contender. No one would suggest aloud that Nelesto might be biased ¨C and his existing students would have a hand in the decision ¨C but this particular comely-looking older gnome wearing her voluptuous little robe¡­ Whatever their faults, no one in this room was stupid. The fact she was a virtuoso at the arts of magic would¡¯ve sealed the deal, if not for number seven¡­ and, if the elf-girl was to be believed, number nine, Danaphrim himself.


    The gnome bowed deeply, facing Nelesto directly (showing off her flexibility, is she? Dan thought scathingly) then reached for her reagents.


    Number two sang her spell, and grew as she did, reaching four feet, five, six ¨C ten, twelve ¨C


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    Finally, at something like eighteen feet, she stopped swelling up. Her head went almost halfway to the high ceiling.


    Everyone clapped again, and she spoke in a thunderous, fearsome voice rather than her own: ¡°I can maintain the transformation for thirty-four minutes!¡±


    Nelesto was laughing as he slapped his old hands together. ¡°Oh, my dear!¡± he called. ¡°That shan¡¯t be necessary! Please, come down now, before the beams buckle! Not that I make a habit of discussing a lady¡¯s weight.¡±


    The gnome woman received a handshake from him ¨C a warm, two-handed clasp ¨C and Dan chewed on his lower lip in worry.


    Three also summoned a kinkalaman, but made at least three errors to Dan¡¯s ear, which delayed him considerably. Four summoned a small lightning-storm. Five changed into a bear, which was awesome, but far less impressive than an eighteen-foot gnome.


    Six ¨C curses be upon him ¨C pulled out a divination orb similar to Dan¡¯s only better, the model that cost thirty gold with the built-in magnification array, the trance-aversion safeguards¡­


    When number six finished telling Grandmaster Nelesto what he¡¯d had for breakfast, Dan was feeling sick. He¡¯d planned on finding out just the same piece of information for his own concluding remark.


    Still, the clapping was unenthused, the laughter tinny, half-faked. Perhaps Dan had chosen poorly; his idea being stolen might¡¯ve been a blessing in disguise¡­ This way, he had a little while to adjust his plans.


    ¡°Number seven?¡±


    All eyes turned to Mr. Confident.


    ¡°Well¡­¡±


    For the first time, he made a comment as he stepped up. For the first time, Mr. Confident seemed ill at ease.


    Dan smiled.


    Let him feel the pressure, for once.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve saved my enchantment for last and I don¡¯t quite know why.¡± Seven buried his hand under his hair and had a good scratch at the back of his neck, looking up at the Grandmaster from his lonely spot at the front. ¡°I suppose I could put something together¡­¡±


    He sounded ¨C what, drunk? Drugged? Dan had hardly heard him speak, and he hadn¡¯t noticed anything back when they first arrived¡­ Had Mr. Confident been under the influence of something all along ¨C something to enhance his performance, maybe, which was now leaving his system¡­


    He started an enchantment incantation; Dan was no enchantment specialist, but it sounded like number seven had lost a wheel on the last lap. Whatever it was supposed to sound like, he knew it shouldn¡¯t have sounded like this. It was as though a whole bunch of spells had been put in a cauldron and whisked to a fine paste. Mr. Drug-Addled didn¡¯t even seem to know what he was doing with his components ¨C his hand jerked from one pouch to the next in a dance that could¡¯ve been beautiful if only there were some meaning, some purpose behind the motions. He¡¯d barely crushed the sun-seeds before he¡¯d pulled out a dessicated bat-wing, and Dan couldn¡¯t follow what happened to either of them, abandoned in favour of a double-handful of gold powder, left to drift aimlessly on the air as his chant¡¯s cadence changed yet again¡­


    It was almost sad, to see such a strong contender lose it like this.


    Almost.


    It was a long spell, and Dan caught himself stifling a yawn ¨C


    All of a sudden number seven clapped his hands together smartly, stepping back.


    ¡°Hope you like it!¡± he said brightly.


    It was the understatement of the millennium.


    At first it was just a pair of marble-like trees flanking him, designed more for prettiness than as a simulation of reality. A flock of white birds appeared in the branches and started wheeling about the room.


    Then it got started.


    The train of hounds appeared, but this time they were chasing a fox ¨C the prey went wheeling around the legs of the audience and the dogs followed, snapping and panting ¨C then, just as they were about to catch it and Dan prepared himself for a grisly change to the illusion, the white birds descended, fighting off the dogs ¨C


    The hounds that made it through the cloud of razor-like beaks and shining talons were faced with no ordinary fox. Living swords whirling about its red-brown shoulders, it expanded, shuddering up to gargantuan proportions; the monstrous thing had stopped running, turning to glower at its pursuers ¨C


    As Dan watched a black storm gathered above its head, fingers of lightning flickering down about it like a terrible, majestic crown ¨C


    But it¡¯s an illusion.


    It wasn¡¯t that he¡¯d forgotten it wasn¡¯t real ¨C but the spectacle still managed to elicit feelings in him all the same, his body reacting to the sounds, the smells, the rush of purified air that swept down at his nostrils from the storm-cloud, stirring his hair¡­


    Number seven let the glamour fade.


    ¡°Is that okay?¡± the youngster asked a bit uncertainly, beady eyes gleaming from the shadows beneath the hat. ¡°Will that do?¡±


    ¡°Young man!¡± Nelesto cried. ¡°To do that¡­ improvised, without rehearsal, or foreknowledge of your competition¡¯s spells ¨C¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t quite say that.¡± Number seven gave the room an exaggerated wink. ¡°I¡¯d have to be a fool not to scry ahead, eh?¡±


    Nelesto offered the youngster a blank expression; after a noticeable pause the Grandmaster did manage to produce a faint, slightly-strangled chuckle, but when the old gnome went on to wave at the next contestant it was without the faintest bit of interest.


    * * *

 The Test pt4

    When his turn came, Danaphrim threw caution to the winds and drew gasps from his audience by winding back and forcibly smashing his seeing-ball on the floor. Fifteen gold, lying in a hundred jagged pieces of hardened glass ¨C then the ribbon of power it¡¯d contained floated free of the shards, lifting gently up towards the roof, curling pink and blue on the air, a twist of pure time.


    As it reached the space in front of his head, Dan completed the incantation and breathed it in.


    Please, Yune ¨C if there was ever a time for you to listen to me, this¡¯d be it.


    It was a simple spell, very easy to perform ¨C but it had a high skill-ceiling. Mastery was the key here. He still had a chance, this last chance ¨C to be somebody ¨C to become a member of this elite society ¨C to give his life a scrap of meaning.


    When granted a dash of time-essence, a small shot of the stuff like his orb had possessed, an amateur might buy themselves thirty seconds of double-speed, or fifteen seconds of quadrupled-speed¡­ or a second rivalling a lesser arch-diviner. With a spell like this, mastery was demonstrated via experience. The adept could spread that condensed thirty seconds, making it forty, fifty, sixty¡­ The expert could spread the second of inestimable speed, making it a second-and-a-half, two seconds¡­


    He would have to use the time wisely.


    Dan didn¡¯t think of himself as a seer ¨C he was a mage, a true mage ¨C but he¡¯d always favoured divination. He¡¯d spent more hours catching dandelion-seeds than any of his classmates back at the Maginox ¨C it was a good environment for him to do his sorcery and wizardry homework, practice summoning elements and eldritches, or just sit under a tree reading. He¡¯d existed for so long under the effect of haste-spells that he¡¯d probably lived three solid weeks more than someone born the same day as him.


    He hadn¡¯t done it in months, even years, but the situation called for something extreme, and he was here to meet that challenge.


    The moment of inhalation was blissful. The energy disappeared inside him, infusing him with its potential. Doubts melted like icicles in sunlight.


    It all came back to him, and he blurred towards the apprentices first.


    Tying shoelaces together was child¡¯s play ¨C and possibly insulting, depending too much on the apprentices¡¯ collective sense of humour to reliably win him the coveted prize. No. The old tricks would be useless here.


    Halfway to the back of the room, he skidded about and made for the exit instead.


    Something else. Something better¡­


    When time reasserted its normal flow, and the audience saw him properly for the first time in what to him had felt like two minutes, he was trying to mop his brow with his sleeve without spilling the drinks in his hands.


    ¡°Ah ¨C Grandmaster, you still appear to be without a cup. Please do forgive me.¡± He smiled triumphantly as he saw the old, floating gnome cast about, staring at the drinks in everyone else¡¯s hands. ¡°Here ¨C I wondered if you might want to offer a toast, to such an exciting day of interviews?¡± He reached Nelesto and passed him one of the cups. ¡°I think it safe to say we¡¯ve all learned something this afternoon, whatever the outcome.¡±


    He¡¯d come a long way from shutting his eyes in fear before the first spell, to directly addressing his prospective new mentor after his last. He¡¯d captured everyone¡¯s attention ¨C


    And he¡¯d overstepped. The idea had seemed sound when he ran through the hypotheticals, but he realised now he¡¯d gone too far. No one had hands free to applaud which, after the last round of constant clapping, left a void, an awful silence ringing in his ears. Doubtless, they looked impressed with his magic, but the Grandmaster glanced down sympathetically at number ten ¨C


    I make myself seem presumptuous, as if the next contestants don¡¯t even matter, he realised. They don¡¯t, but I look vain, and that¡¯s all that matters.


    I should¡¯ve stuck with my plan, and just gone one better with performing the vision¡­


    Nelesto said something conciliatory, and the audience murmured their false praise at his spell; they drank, set down their cups, and number ten stepped up.


    To top it all off, the wine didn¡¯t taste half as good as it had when paired with the peachy elf-girl for company.


    * * *


    The Grandmaster convened the apprentices at the front, and, mercifully, the quiet debate took no more than three minutes. Whatever device Nelesto was using to fly ¨C the effect had lasted far longer now than a spell would permit, surely? ¨C its power was becoming depleted. The gnome genius wobbled a bit on the air as he whipped around ¨C


    ¡°Without further ado, we would like to announce that we have come to a consensus. Congratulations¡­ number seven!¡±


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    Everyone clapped ¨C the apprentices enthusiastically, the contenders less so.


    That¡¯s it. All over. He slapped one hand into the other, slowly, sarcastically. Not like you actually need his tutelage, though, is it? Dan stared at the grin behind the youngster¡¯s beard, the eyes beneath the hat gleaming gloatingly. Planning on taking over? Planning on making a name for yourself, being somebody?


    Where¡¯s my name going to be written down for the centuries that come? Tax records, rent agreements, employment documents¡­


    I¡¯m no one.


    ¡°Well done, well done indeed! Well, young man, might I ask your name?¡±


    ¡°Ibbalat Uroot, but you can call me Ibb.¡±


    ¡°Ibbalat¡­ of Miserdell?¡±


    Dan¡¯s jaw wasn¡¯t the only one that dropped; an audible clunk rippled around the room.


    Number seven just nodded modestly. ¡°I know it¡¯s a bit of a big deal, the whole Ord Ylon business, but I never completed my formal training ¨C my master was killed, you know? ¨C and I¡¯d love to study under you. If that¡¯s still okay?¡±


    Dan had a thousand questions for the dragonslayer. Foremost:


    Why are you even here?


    ¡°But¡­¡± Grandmaster Nelesto seemed at a loss for words. ¡°But¡­ surely you could found your own college? Your charter ¨C¡±


    ¡°I need the credits.¡± Ibbalat of Miserdell spread his hands apologetically. ¡°There was no other tutor I thought I could really learn from, you know? You¡¯re the best.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t even a trace of fawning in the foreigner¡¯s words ¨C he sounded a hundred percent sincere, like he was just stating a fact.


    Nelesto¡¯s aged flesh flushed. ¡°Well, of course, we¡¯d be glad to welcome you into our ranks, young master! You would need to commit to a minimum term of a year if ¨C¡±


    ¡°Two would be my preference,¡± Ibbalat cut him off. ¡°Supposing we don¡¯t all get Everseer¡¯d before then.¡±


    The moment Nelesto grinned tightly and nodded, the dwarf apprentice took it upon himself to loose a cheer, almost tripping over his beard as he rushed up to the new recruit, grabbing the youngster¡¯s hand and shaking it vigorously.


    Then all the apprentices descended on Ibbalat, laughing, congratulating him, already showering him in a dozen different dragon-themed enquiries.


    When Danaphrim got outside, night had fallen. The elf-maiden didn¡¯t meet his eyes, striding off towards Hill Road. He was going the same direction, so he had to walk artificially slowly. She went at a fair clip but his accustomed pace was somewhat faster. Fearing the awkwardness of a prolonged overtaking manoeuvre, he decided to hang back, nurse his ego, sort his convoluted thoughts.


    Yet even when he reached his flat he couldn¡¯t stop that fateful phrase from replaying itself, occupying centre-stage in the spotlight of his mind. He busied himself with all the chores he¡¯d left aside while preparing for the test, washing pots, sorting his clothes, cleaning¡­


    ¡°Two would be my preference.¡±


    Two.


    Two years!


    He punched the wall, ignoring the neighbours¡¯ cries of protest, punched it and punched it until he lost a knuckle, until he had to waste five silver of reagents on a healing spell to fix his stupid hand.


    Two years. I¡¯d have given him twenty.


    It wasn¡¯t fair. Nothing was ever fair. He¡¯d always thought as a child that once he grew up the world would somehow come into focus, its injustices put in perspective, the real lessons brought into relief. But he¡¯d had it all backwards. The older he got the blurrier, the greyer, the clear-cut black-and-white world of a youth became. One injustice revealed ten more, and each of them another ten. And the lessons¡­ The lessons were buried under the same seething swirl of emotions that had always blanketed his mind. He punched the drop out of his wall, broke his own bones on the solid yew-wood planks, because he was still that person. Still that lost kid. Still searching for the lesson, waiting for it to bubble up out of his misery ¨C for everything to make sense.


    He introduced a bottle of strong ice-spirit to his lips, and barely set it down till Sunday was dawning and he fell asleep in his chair.


    When he woke up Sunday night, feeling like he¡¯d grown eight extra heads each experiencing their own separate hangover, he went to the glassless window, threw open the shutters and stood there with his hands on either side of the frame, letting the cold winter wind cleanse him.


    I¡¯m not going, tomorrow. Can¡¯t face Phimos, Deyra. Can¡¯t face the work. The mundane. The monotony. If I keep working there, I¡¯ll die of it. The¡­ the failed potential.


    Something else. There¡¯s something else for me.


    He looked up into the swift-moving storm-clouds conquering the sky.


    Yune had never listened to him. The gods of light up there, beyond the clouds, couldn¡¯t be seen, by day or night. But the darkness was wily; it had slipped around the stars, filling every corner, every cupboard and closet in the world with its malice.


    To have my name recorded. To be somebody. I don¡¯t care why. I just want to be remembered. I just want to be important. Ibbalat¡¯s already someone, already important. Why, Yune? Why couldn¡¯t it be me? I put in the practice. I tried my hardest. I took risks. Still, I¡¯m back here, back in this same stinking mess. Illodin, can you hear me? Can you promise me my name will be said in reverence some day? Can you tell me if I¡¯ll be given a line in the Annals of the High Mages?


    Can I exist, for real, not as a dream of myself?


    There was no answer. There was never any answer.


    No.


    Mekesta¡­ Mother¡­ You sent your son to me, to do my bidding, your many-bladed son¡­ Aid me now! Help me as I wade in your darkness. Let me see the way through ¨C show me the distant shoreline, the way to leave all this¡­ this misery behind!


    The darkness held no special answer either. He stood there awhile longer, basking in the icy breeze, then, when he could finally bear it no longer, he fastened the shutters and cast himself back down on the bed.


    He reintroduced the ice-spirit to his lips, and they met back up like old friends. As he drank, clarity came back to the world. Eight extra heads became four, two, one¡­ finally, he was himself again, and it¡¯d only taken him a quarter of the bottle.


    Clarity. Focus.


    The meaninglessness of his existence ¨C that was the shadow through which he crawled. And there was no escaping it.


    Yes, I see it now. Don¡¯t look for a way out of the dark ¨C there isn¡¯t one. Embrace the dark. Embrace the chaos¡­


    Ibbalat¡¯s smug face formed out of the black pit of Dan¡¯s mind, its bushy beard, the ostentatious hat¡­


    Two years¡­


    I know, now. I know, Mother. I know what I have to do.


    He looked down at his hand, his recently-healed knuckles. He clenched the fist again, but this time his target wasn¡¯t going to be a pathetic piece of wood.


    No. In the end, he¡¯d show the ¡®dragonslayer¡¯ who held the real power in Mund. The outland scum needed putting in his place, and Danaphrim would be the one to do it.


    By whatever means necessary.

 Thing Sixteen pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 8D: THING SIXTEEN</h2>


    ¡°To empty the mouth of words, silence is not enough. One must first speak. To become initiated as a paladin is no ordinary transition, not so mild as that from squire to knight. And the paladins of Kultemeren are not as other paladins. We will not admit any man who has aught left unsaid. Only then will the silence of his voice pertain to Truth. So ¨C speak! Now! Speak your last! Cast it into the Maw, and be done with it for ever! Let only we poor priests speak in your stead.¡±


    ¨C from the inauguration ceremonies of the Chapter of Universal Stillness


    There were at least fifteen things that could go wrong, the boss-man had said over breakfast. He¡¯d ticked them off on his fingers, his face full of sausage. Rheva had trouble counting past ten, but she trusted his numbers ¨C she always had. Her own skills lay in different areas. Less important, perhaps, but still important. The boss-man ran the figures, scouted the marks, did the deals ¨C but there was no way he was fitting through a toilet window, not even in twice the time it took her. They stuck to the mid-range properties, those with something to steal but without the magical defences put in place by the super-rich. They¡¯d lost Sour-Face Strom to a summoning circle last autumn ¨C the imps had leapt on his back on the way out the window, and Rheva and the others had been forced to abandon their names, their base of operations, build it all back up from scratch. Abandoning one made-up name for another was no big deal, really, but packing up the few things she owned, leaving the digs she¡¯d lived in for almost four years, since she became an adult¡­ That stung. It wasn¡¯t going to happen again, not if Rheva could help it.


    And she could. She was good at what she did, one of the best in Tanvil Park. The area of Hilltown where they plied their trade had no shortage of burglars, and more than once the heads of a rival gang had approached her about betraying the boss-man, betraying her compatriots¡­ There¡¯d never been enough money in it for her for her to even consider it¡­ mostly. She pulled in a good supply of low-risk hard cash each week ¨C she lived large, like the daughter of a rich merchant ¨C and she liked it that way. Only a significant payout would cause her to turn traitor like that.


    She sat with Ghlaion and Usteru in the shadows outside the mark¡¯s house, waiting for the rain to stop. Rain was a thief¡¯s blessing, and a thief¡¯s curse. Sure, to an amateur a deluge was probably a good thing ¨C it covered up a whole bunch of different sounds, so if you were taking out a window-pane or breaking the pins in a lock, a torrential downpour could be your friend, letting the half-asleep inhabitant explain away the noise they¡¯d heard and go back to sleep. But to Rheva, whose skills had been developed past that point by the time she was barely in double digits, rain was an enemy. Being wet made you squeaky and made your feet slip; even if you got into the property undetected it¡¯d leave traces wherever you stepped, allowing a scrupulous guard to discern your presence without you making a single mistake.


    No, to Rheva it was only a curse. Even more so to her colleagues. Ghlaion was the team¡¯s official leader, and he liked to brag he¡¯d broken into more houses than he¡¯d walked in through the door. Thirty-plus years of experience had left the tall, gangly man a font of useful and useless knowledge in equal shares. Usteru was the team¡¯s unofficial leader; the woman was only ten years Rheva¡¯s senior, and she was difficult to get along with, but she had a mind for detail like no one else¡¯s. Rheva looked up to her, sort of. As much as a street-thief who cared for nothing and no one could respect a person, anyway. She¡¯d have still robbed Usteru blind if she thought she had a shot at it, and surviving.


    Money. Magic could drown in the drop ¨C money was the best invention anyone had ever come up with. It could move from hand to hand, its passage invisible, and no one even gave a damn. If you showed up in Mund with four thousand well-made spoons and no documentation, eyebrows would raise, bindlaces would be applied, and soon you¡¯d find yourself before the judges. But if you showed up in Mund with four thousand gold and no documentation, they¡¯d just assume you were some minor lordling and welcome you with open arms, offer you a place in high society, honours¡­ Money was designed for theft. That was how the rich got rich in the first place anyway ¨C they taxed the poor until the poor could give no more, then taxed them again. Or, at least, that was what Usteru always said.


    ¡°Eyes on.¡± Ghlaion¡¯s soft voice belied his huge frame, the harsh lines of his ugly face. ¡°Rain¡¯s slacking off.¡±


    His instincts about this kind of thing were usually right, so she started getting ready. Rheva¡¯s clothes were still toasty and warm under the heavy winter cloak, and she peeled off her outer layers until only the form-fitting, dark blue cotton of her vest and hose remained.


    Fifteen things that can go wrong, Rheva mused. I wonder how many actually will¡­


    The complex outside which they waited was said to be a private household, but the boss-man found out the owner was using it as a treasury. It was a strong-house, filled with bags of gems, drugs, even magical reagents. Anything light-enough to be carried was fair game, but they¡¯d prioritise the more expensive loot of course. Platinum, not copper. Rubies, not garnets. Dragonscales, not bat guano. Whitestick, not wane. And Usteru carried their prize possession, the small demiskin that¡¯d cost them a year¡¯s profits from the coffers ¨C the lovely little thing had paid for itself in three months, and then some.


    Rheva picked out the puddles she wanted to avoid when the time came. She imagined moving between them, planning her route, almost feeling the cobblestones through the soles of her light shoes as her imagined self darted across the empty road, barely touching the ground. Things always went better when she planned out in advance what she was going to do. She was currently tucked away beneath a crate, in the alley opposite the target-building; from her angle she could see the path clear as day. There were no passers-by at this hour ¨C three in the morning ¨C except the odd cat dashing out of the rain.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost time,¡± Usteru¡¯s hushed voice came from the other side of the alley. She didn¡¯t whisper ¨C whispering was for novices who wanted to be caught. ¡°Even if it¡¯s still coming down, we¡¯re on.¡±


    Rheva made a soft click in the back of her throat, the sign that she¡¯d acknowledged. Ghlaion ¨C the official leader ¨C made the same sound from his own crate behind her. Rheva fancied she could hear the sullenness in his tone. He never liked it when Usteru stepped on his toes.


    She shut her eyes to get them used to the dark, just in case the building¡¯s internal spaces were unlit, and went through the plan in her mind again, turning it over, and over, looking for those weaknesses the boss-man mentioned. She concentrated on the worst.


    Entry. The best way in was through the trapdoor in the attic, but there was no way to be certain whether a guard would walk underneath at just the wrong time.


    The hounds. Fry-Pan Pendro had prepared the soaperiffix inside sausages, but they¡¯d have to ensure every single dog they ran into got dosed or killed; just one of the beasts left on its feet would be plenty to raise the alarm.


    The safe. Any of the three of them would be able to pick its lock ¨C but whether they¡¯d manage it quickly-enough was another matter. That was Ghlaion¡¯s time to shine. He had the deftest touch of any man she¡¯d ever known.


    And there was, of course, the issue of the girl. The girl who¡¯d ruined three out of their last four jobs. The girl who always seemed to know where they were going, what they were doing. It was really starting to get on the boss-man¡¯s nerves, which Rheva found hilarious.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Some magic wench,¡± the boss-man had grumbled through his mouthful. ¡°You come across her, I want her dead.¡±


    Rheva had grinned at that, but Usteru and Ghlaion didn¡¯t look too pleased at the prospect of killing. Killing didn¡¯t bother Rheva; and the rest of it just made the idea hilarious.


    ¡°Time,¡± Usteru said tightly.


    She didn¡¯t really have to think ¨C just let her body go. Rheva opened her eyes and got out from under the crate, then silently lowered it back into place before sliding out of the alley¡¯s mouth, springing at the building opposite.


    It was only three floors. She unslung her rope as she made the final ascent from window-ledge to roof, then helped the others up. Ghlaion prised free a few tiles with his tools, then they were in, dropping lightly through the support beams in the roof.


    The attic-space was given over to works of art ¨C not priceless, but pricey all the same. These were the ones their mark didn¡¯t display in his gallery downstairs, not quite good enough to make the cut¡­ Rheva studied a couple of them in the gloom: old-timey rural landscapes and plain portraits were mixed with paintings of demons and dragons and mages. They all looked rich enough for her tastes. It was a shame they couldn¡¯t take one, but they were far too large to transport. A touch regretfully, Rheva joined the others at the trapdoor.


    Usteru eased the heavy lid open and leaned forwards, moving around to take a look down the candlelit corridor beneath them in either direction. Rheva got the sudden urge to give her a push, send her sprawling loudly to the landing a good eight feet below. She grinned again, and put down the urge. The fun bit was coming, anyway ¨C


    Usteru gave her the nod, and Rheva scuttled forwards, put her hands on either side of the opening and dropped straight down, tucking almost into a ball as she landed on the carpet with a soft thump.


    She moved aside as her colleagues followed her. Within seconds the three of them were in. Rheva and Usteru started locating the drug-laced sausages in their pockets, while Ghlaion moved out to check the end of the corridor. When he gave them the nod they caught him up, but as soon as they¡¯d rounded the corner Rheva heard footsteps approaching from behind. A muffled voice. The clinking of a small chain.


    ¡°Guard!¡± Usteru hissed, and she grabbed Ghlaion¡¯s arm, pulling him to the nearest doorway and flinging it open. The floor plan the boss-man went over with them at breakfast had been accurate ¨C this room was too close to the corner to be a bedroom, and it turned out to be just a closet, shelves filled with wine-jugs and sugared-fruit baskets.


    As Rheva squeezed in after her colleagues and pulled the door shut behind her, she rolled a sausage into the corridor.


    ¡°What did you do that for!¡± Usteru groaned.


    ¡°Newbie,¡± Ghlaion contributed.


    Rheva just folded her arms with a trust me smile on her face that they probably couldn¡¯t see in the darkness.


    The way she saw it, the dog would be able to smell them at this distance. Putting a piece of wood between them and the beast wasn¡¯t going to stop it catching their scent. This way, there was just a suspicious-looking sausage on the floor ¨C not a closetful of would-be thieves. She doubted the guard would even raise the alarm.


    The footsteps, the voice, the chain ¨C they got closer, closer, and Rheva stopped breathing, stopped thinking ¨C


    ¡°What¡¯s that, boy? Whassat? What you got? Eh? Nah! Gimme that. Dumb mutt. It ain¡¯t like Boddie to drop a sossage! Go on then, tha¡¯ bit¡¯s been in yoir gob so we¡¯ll shares it. ¡®Alf fer me, ¡®alf fer you, sounds fair, right?¡±


    The voice had halted right outside the closet, and Rheva was forced to slowly exhale, letting out the air she¡¯d drawn into her lungs; just as slowly, she inhaled again, cautious of the hound¡¯s ears just a few feet away from her face.


    She could hear loud chewing.


    ¡°It ain¡¯t like¡­ Boddie¡­¡±


    Thankfully a half-dose designed for a dog didn¡¯t put the guard out anywhere near as quickly as it did the mutt, so he must¡¯ve had time to lean against a wall ¨C Rheva heard two relatively-gentle slumps as the guard and his companion hit the deck.


    When she opened the door a crack, she saw him lying there half propped-up against the opposite wall, a guy in his thirties with red hair and fat cheeks, rosy with the effects of the drug. His hound, a grey loper with a long snout, was snoring next to him, bits of sausage-meat still clinging its chops.


    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t expect it to go that well,¡± Rheva admitted. ¡°Belestae¡¯s with us.¡±


    ¡°Or Mother-Chaos,¡± Usteru quipped in a distracted voice. ¡°Come on, give us a hand.¡±


    They stowed the guard and dog in the closet and continued on their way. Three corners, zero guards and two more sleeping dogs later, they descended a short, three-step flight of stairs and came to the target room.


    It would almost certainly be protected. There was no lock on the door, but Usteru halted Ghlaion with a swift tap on the arm when he put his fingers on the door handle. She pointed at the top of the door, where a bell was hanging.


    Ghlaion sneered at her, then reached up for it with both hands. He delicately held its mechanisms in place as he unhooked it from its nail, and slowly moved across to the wall, placing it down on the floor out of the way.


    While he did so, Usteru took out a tiny phial of oil and greased the door¡¯s hinges for good measure.


    Rheva wanted to laugh, but suppressed the urge by instinct. She filed that one away for when she was her own boss, had her own base ¨C


    Don¡¯t put the gods-damned bell on the outside of the door. And get some doors that open inwards.


    The guard in the treasury was awake and alert, but he was standing with his back to them, facing the bookshelves, neglecting his duty. Ghlaion stabbed him in his voice-box then stepped back, letting the man turn before darting in again, piercing his skull through the eye.


    The guard dropped, Ghlaion cleaned his blade, and they got to work looking for the safe.


    Correction, Rheva thought. Don¡¯t have a bell at all. It made the guard sloppy.


    ¡°Where is it?¡± Usteru said. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be here!¡±


    ¡°This wasn¡¯t even one of the problems he mentioned, was it?¡± Rheva remarked.


    ¡°Shut up, girl!¡± Ghlaion snapped, rolling the guard¡¯s corpse over with his foot, then turning back to study the bookcase.


    Rheva saw it just before he did. He loosed an ¡°Aha!¡± of success when he tripped the small lever near the floor, and stood back while the whole piece of furniture slowly slid aside, books shivering on their shelves as it moved. Usteru, who¡¯d been starting to look inside the cupboards at the back of the room, snarled in a mixture of relief and irritation as she came to join them.


    The safe was there, right there. The metal door embedded in the oak wall was roughly eighteen inches by twenty-four ¨C Rheva couldn¡¯t have counted out the distance, but she¡¯d heard the terms enough to know a measurement when she saw it; she wasn¡¯t stupid. In the door¡¯s centre, the combination lock.


    Ghlaion bent down to his task.


    ¡°Watch the corridor,¡± Usteru ordered Rheva, flicking her hand without even sparing the younger woman a glance.


    Rheva frowned as she turned away to the door. Things weren¡¯t supposed to go like this.


    Then one of the cupboards near her popped open, and, like a mantis slowly unfolding its limbs, the girl stepped out of her hiding spot.


    It¡¯s her. She¡¯s done it again!


    She wore form-fitting leathers; her raven mane had to have been tied back severely to fit within her blonde wig. Her eyes seemed to emanate shadows, such a dark grey they were. Most of the pale make-up had been cleaned off her tapering, red-brown face, but a few smudges remained around the neckline.


    ¡°You can give up on the dream, now, Ghlaion,¡± the girl said lazily, waving a big-looking demiskin about by its cord. ¡°Ain¡¯t nothing in there left worth taking.¡±


    The final limb, her other arm, came free. She was holding a loaded crossbow, aiming it across the room at them.


    The glinting tip of the bolt swung about, the crossbow pointing now at Rheva.


    ¡°Back up, lovey,¡± the girl said. ¡°Hate to put a hole in such a pretty face.¡±


    Rheva retreated towards the others, smiling grimly, her hands raised in a gesture of peace, surrender.


    ¡°Now, you¡¯re going to give me a five minute head-start, and if you all promise me now that you will, and I believe you, I won¡¯t bring any attention to you. Came in through the roof, right?¡± The girl squirmed a bit, involuntarily. ¡°I had to pose as a maid to pull this off, you know. Been in that cupboard at least six hours. But¡­ worth it!¡±


    ¡°Five minutes?¡± Usteru spat.


    ¡°Oh, fine. Sixty seconds, though, okay? Otherwise I raise a right racket.¡±


    Rheva looked over her shoulder to see Ghlaion shrug, Usteru scowl. They both agreed.


    ¡°And you?¡± The girl eyed Rheva ominously. It was a good thing she did ¨C Rheva had almost forgotten to maintain the pretence. She nodded to the girl, trying to keep her face grim.


    With a flash of white teeth, the master-thief disappeared through the treasury doorway, the sharp point of her crossbow-bolt the final thing to slip through the gap.


    ¡°Drop,¡± Ghlaion gargled, ¡°droppety-drop¡­¡±


    ¡°The boss-man won¡¯t be happy,¡± Rheva offered.


    ¡°Jaylon,¡± Usteru named their leader, ¡°is going to skin us alive.¡±


    * * *

 Thing Sixteen pt2

    The morning was as dark as midnight or noon, down in the underbelly of Hilltown¡¯s tunnels; when Jaylon summoned them to his office the clock by the lamp said it was almost eight. A pair of the gang¡¯s heavies were flanking him while he sat there at his table, unshaken and pink-eyed, counting his money.


    He shouted. He wailed. Rheva¡¯s face almost came unstuck at least five times ¨C but she knew if it did, she was dead. She clenched her hands, curled her toes, hid her expression behind her hair, anything to escape the hilarity of it all.


    ¡°If the three of you ever ¨C ever ¨C see her again¡­ on a job, in the street, in the gods-damned ladies room¡­ you are to kill her, you understand me? Kill her, or die trying ¨C just getting out of the city won¡¯t be enough, you follow? All of you ¨C yeah, you too, Ghlaion ¨C you let her ruin one more job and I¡¯ll set demons on your asses. I know a guy who knows a guy. Now get the Twelve Hells out of my sight and pray that you don¡¯t end up visiting them soon!¡±


    When it was over, she went and found her partner in crime, and laughed her fill.


    They met in a different place every time. Today it was under the arches in Tippletain, the small bar district in northern Hilltown. They got glasses of mulled wine ¨C the girl paid ¨C and then went to sit at a private table outside. It¡¯d stopped raining but there weren¡¯t many people passing by, especially here where the two neighbouring establishments had shut up shop since Everseer¡¯s announcement. In any case, the mysterious girl was at least as adept as Rheva at lowering her voice appropriately.


    ¡°He really got so mad?¡± The girl sipped her wine and winced. ¡°Ow! Hot! So, do you think we need to stop, then? Because I don¡¯t want to get you and your friends killed ¨C¡±


    Rheva snorted. ¡°Friends? Please. Those people don¡¯t even like me, never mind know me.¡± She lifted her own glass, drank in its aromas. ¡°I¡¯d be interested in joining your crew, though. Do I have the right skill-set?¡±


    ¡°I thought you wanted your own crew?¡±


    ¡°If I look half as good in that blonde wig as you did, I¡¯ve got to join just to try it out.¡±


    ¡°Gosh, thanks.¡±


    Does she think I¡¯m being sarcastic?


    ¡°I know you can see my lips moving when I count,¡± Rheva went on. ¡°I watched you watching, you know.¡±


    The girl¡¯s smoky eyes narrowed, but her lips creased in a crooked smile.


    ¡°Running my own gang¡¯s gonna be difficult. Until I can find someone to work the numbers that I can trust. I know you¡¯re good, but I don¡¯t get the impression you¡¯re going to be happy being my accountant.¡±


    The girl inclined her head with mock seriousness.


    ¡°And I don¡¯t even know your name,¡± Rheva finished.


    ¡°Up till then, you were doing perfectly,¡± the girl murmured. Now she sounded serious. ¡°We don¡¯t do names. Not ever, not in this place. I need three dropping expensive items on me at all times just to operate independently¡­ ¡®Dropping¡¯? Did I just say that? Your damn city¡¯s getting to me, you know¡­ And no, I can see you looking at the rings and necklaces ¨C you¡¯re never guessing which ones do what, which ones are decoys¡­ which ones aren¡¯t in¡­ visible places¡­¡±


    Rheva only realised too late that her eyes were wandering a little too far ¨C


    ¡°You¡¯re very forward, aren¡¯t you?¡± The girl was smirking, Rheva saw, as she returned her focus to the master-thief¡¯s face. ¡°If you were propositioning me before, with the wig thing, you should know I¡¯ve got a boyfriend, and before you get any funny ideas, he¡¯s possibly the most-talented mage in Mund¡­ that isn¡¯t, like, a hundred, anyway¡­¡±


    ¡°Forget the wig thing,¡± Rheva grunted, hiding her mild disappointment easily. ¡°What I want to know is, do you need me?¡±


    The girl didn¡¯t answer directly, but she held out her gloved hand face down across the table, and Rheva put hers out face up. She took the coins and tried to ignore the feelings that flushed through her at the brief contact, then turned her hand over before withdrawing it to her lap. She wasn¡¯t wearing her gloves, and even if she had been she fancied she still could¡¯ve picked out the fact they were plat by the tinkling sound alone. As it was she could feel their size, could even discern the insignia stamped into the coins¡¯ faces. All coins minted in the city had the ¡®M¡¯ tail on the back (for ¡®Mund¡¯, or, if you were being sceptical, ¡®Magic¡¯ or even ¡®Magisterium¡¯), but these bore the weird, almost flaming device of a platinum coin on the front, while gold had the mountain-looking thing, silver the floral leaves, copper the little houses¡­


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    She had far less trouble picking out the details on the small discs than she had actually counting the (one, two, three, four) five plat ¨C not because it was a difficult number to count to, but because her senses were recoiling.


    F-f-five plat?


    Her long-trained instincts told her that anyone who was willing to pay her that much money was someone who¡¯d kill her and take it back off her corpse not long afterwards. It had to be ten times what Jaylon would¡¯ve given her for last night¡¯s job¡­


    But her deeper instincts, instincts that had been with her since childhood, told her she could trust this young, extremely lithe stranger.


    ¡°You look like you¡¯ve decided to run.¡± The girl sounded amused; she sipped at her drink and didn¡¯t splutter this time.


    ¡°This is too much.¡±


    ¡°Not nearly enough, and it¡¯s out of my personal.¡±


    Rheva ducked her head, staring at the girl in confusion, trying to get her to go on.


    ¡°What, you didn¡¯t think I actually took anything, did you? I just popped a note in there, explaining the finer points of seasoning a good side of lamb.¡±


    Rheva could hardly contain her giggles.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to baffle the rich guy¡¯s people,¡± the girl went on, ¡°sure, but it¡¯s really going to get to your boss when he realises how close you and your¡­ not-friends were to a huge windfall. Five¡¯s generous, but not as generous as you think. I can¡¯t pretend to be an expert on street prices in your city, but if an ounce of pure whitestick goes for three-point-seven peas then Jaylon¡¯s head¡¯s going to be bouncing all over the walls once the news gets about. Best you avoid the place awhile.¡±


    ¡°Bahaha! Hahaha, oh gods¡­ Gods, seriously?¡±


    The girl sipped some more, nodding through the steam escaping her glass.


    ¡°Oh, gods¡­ You still haven¡¯t answered my question, though. Do you need me?¡± She couldn¡¯t rein in her enthusiasm.


    The girl seemed to study her, like she was studying a diamond under a looking-glass.


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only person I¡¯ve got betraying their boss, you know,¡± the girl said at last.


    ¡°Really?¡± Rheva considered it. ¡°You planning a mass take-over?¡±


    You planning on letting me live if I decline an offer to join up? Then, on the heels of that: Like I could decline¡­


    ¡°Mass take-over¡­¡± The girl mulled it over with another sip. ¡°I suppose you could call it that¡­ It¡¯s just, I¡¯ve never been somewhere with as much competition as Mund before. It¡¯s hard to know where to start, you know?¡±


    ¡°Well, what¡¯s your goal?¡±


    The girl shrugged. ¡°Guildmaster of the thieves of Hightown, I guess.¡±


    ¡°What, all of them?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know ¨C how many guilds are there?¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Rheva snorted. ¡°Too many.¡± She didn¡¯t know how you¡¯d begin to count them, even if you had a brain for numbers. Some thieves¡¯ guilds probably barely interacted with outsiders ¨C there could be two such guilds on any given street corner, each oblivious to the other¡¯s existence until they clashed. ¡°And, what ¨C Hilltown¡¯s just the jumping-off point?¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Soooo¡­ I shouldn¡¯t go back there?¡± Rheva flashed her teeth. ¡°Offering to put me up for a few nights?¡±


    ¡°You really are forward, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Rheva just kept on grinning.


    ¡°Fine. You know what, I could do with a helper.¡± The girl scanned the nearby buildings. ¡°This is a big city, and if half the rich are leav-¡°


    ¡°Helper?¡± Rheva pursed her lips. ¡°You mean ¨C an assistant.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°A lieutenant?¡±


    ¡°Whatever.¡±


    ¡°A second in charge?¡±


    The girl laughed. ¡°Okay, okay¡­ Can you help me get a base set up ¨C somewhere for you to stay? Somewhere we can start to operate out of? Money¡¯s no object, but we¡¯d have to steer clear of Jaylon if it¡¯s around here, as well as Madman Madrigoss and Curveto o¡¯ Oin¡­¡±


    ¡°You made enemies with the Myri? You really are taking over!¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say there¡¯s an enterprising young man with a peculiar accent who might be having a similar conversation with me in a week or two.¡±


    ¡°Third in charge, right?¡±


    The girl shrugged deviously.


    ¡°Well, he wouldn¡¯t be the only one with the weird accent,¡± Rheva commented. ¡°You¡¯re good at masking it, but it¡¯s obvious you aren¡¯t from round here. An exotic beauty, with piles of cash lying around, unlimited piles of cash¡­ Are you some foreign princess or something? Come to the city, to rebel against her evil father¡¯s wishes ¨C¡°


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m totally princess material¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, you know the way to a poor street-thief¡¯s heart, all I¡¯m saying. So, where do I sign?¡±


    ¡°What do you sign?¡± Rheva¡¯s new boss cocked her head. ¡°You need a name, a fake name, but I had the idea ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you know, all names are fake, lovey. You think I was born ¡®Rheva¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Niiiiiice¡­¡± The girl was leaning forwards now, cupping her empty glass between both hands. ¡°I thought we might use code-names, you know, like the mages? Don¡¯t know why they¡¯re the only ones who get to have fun round here.¡±


    Rheva frowned. ¡°We don¡¯t want to get hunted as darkmages ¨C¡±


    The girl held out her hand. ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Sunflower. Pleased to meet you.¡±


    That tickled her; Rheva actually cackled. ¡°Ha! Oh gods, you¡¯re so right.¡± She shook her new boss¡¯s hand and squeaked: ¡°I¡¯m Butt¡­ Butt¡­ ha-hah, Buttercup. Awesome to meet you, Sunflower.¡±


    The delicate touch of the master-thief¡¯s silken glove sent shivers up her spine, in the good way; she felt herself blush, and knew that the girl saw, but Sunflower didn¡¯t make a big deal out of it.


    ¡°Shall we?¡± was all she said, slipping the gloved hand free of Buttercup¡¯s fingers and hopping down from her stool.


    The pair of thieves headed off down the street, Sunflower asking non-stop questions about the base, about the businesses they passed, the contacts they¡¯d have to set up, the locals they could snag, add to their crew¡­ Buttercup walked at her side, answering her as best as she could, and even when skirting obstacles and moving through foot-traffic, she didn¡¯t for one moment take her eye off her alluring new boss.


    They halted, waiting for a wagon to pass to cross the roadway ¨C


    ¡°The best part is,¡± Sunflower said musingly, ¡°I don¡¯t even know the first damn thing about seasoning lamb.¡±


    I¡¯ll help you take the city, Buttercup thought, trying not to laugh too insanely. I¡¯ll help you take it, and, when you rule, I¡¯ll be right there at your side¡­ and finally everything will be right with the world.

 The Show pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 8E: THE SHOW</h2>


    ¡°Patience. Do you comprehend what it takes, to know the future¡¯s design, to watch it unfurl like a sail to catch the breeze? Hasty is the hand that snatches at the rope before the wind is ready. I will not see the sail torn free. I will guide this boat. And I will see it safely to shore.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Notes of Timesnatcher¡¯, recovered after the Fall


    Before a bout began, each gladiator entering the arena would first be checked for pre-applied enhancements. Dispels were used to counter any such effects, and even the mere presence of magical augmentation was frowned upon, taken as an attempt at cheating ¨C it was often a factor in deciding to ban a contender outright. Only after they¡¯d gone through the cleansing ritual would the correct spells be placed upon the gladiator, depending on the fighter¡¯s position in the games. The earliest bouts of the afternoon, conducted when the sun was at its hottest, would usually offer no such quirks other than a divination screen ¨C but when the day began to fade, the slaves would be put back in their chains and the veterans would be unleashed, with increasing amounts of magical aids. Twelve-foot titans would clash, swords longer than most men were tall, the clamour of the encounter deafening. Men and women with whips and spears of living fire would meet in ferocious combat, seeming to dance a lethal dance upon the sands, as the crowds chanted and roared. Healing-spells and workings that increased endurance, durability; these were always given to the last warriors of the day, the most skilled, those whose match the crowd would want to last more than five minutes.


    Abathorn feared that his wouldn¡¯t be a very long combat. He and Ovax had been chosen for the final game. And Ovax was going to lose in less than sixty seconds, Abathorn worried, unless he did his best to drag it out. Despite the augmentations making it difficult to be permanently harmed, his opponent was overly-concerned with his appearance. Abathorn always tied back his glinting, rust-red hair in order to better display the lines of his wounds, criss-crossing his proud, narrow face, but Ovax was handsome, a tall, buff, blond spectacle of a human. A few lost body parts, a few ugly scars, and the coward would be raising his cupped hand palm-up, the sign of submission to the director of the games to halt the match and declare the victor. Arch-druidry would regrow the severed limbs, as good as new, but, whether by incompetence or deliberate policy, they¡¯d always leave scars behind. Gladiators were supposed to be scarred, tough-looking¡­ Ovax was relatively new to the games, but was doubtless an experienced warrior, with serpentine reflexes and the frame of a demi-god. Yet it was a matter of attitude ¨C the human was no true gladiator. He would be better suited to the morning games, performing for the children with the actors.


    No. Ovax was no Abathorn.


    Abathorn built his legend upon the skulls of his foes. Fourteen times, the elf¡¯s opponents had perished under his axe-blade and the heel of his iron-shod boot. Fourteen times ¨C an unprecedented tally in living memory. It wasn¡¯t that the Thorn, as his fans called him, was particularly brutal. It was just a matter of technique. It was his job, to win fights, and to make it look good while he did it. It wasn¡¯t his job to worry in the moment of action about whether or not the druids would be able to fix the injuries he inflicted on his opponents. That could come after.


    I will cut his face, Abathorn decided. A slash across the mouth, opening both his pouting lips, and he will raise submission. Another enemy defeated for the Thorn.


    The elf stood in the privacy of the dusty corridor, looking out through the wooden slats at the women currently fighting on the sands.


    The tattoo-covered knife-wielder in leather and her heavily-armoured opponent were crowd-pleasers, agile and deadly in their own way, equipped with both the tools and the finesse to draw whoops and hollers from the assembled thousands ¨C but they weren¡¯t capable of the same feats as the men under equal enhancement. Abathorn was lithe, his elven anatomy streamlined like an eagle¡¯s; he was no muscle-bound lead-brain, but when the druidic strength was in his veins he was more powerful than any orc, his narrow limbs becoming tight knots of steel; and Ovax would be stronger still.


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    Strength is for amateurs, for pleasing the ladies, he thought with a wry smile on his face. The killer-instinct ¨C that is what separates the wheat from the berry from the bramble.


    As he watched on through the slats, the tattooed knife-fighter slipped through her opponent¡¯s defences, darting in to slice at throat and face. He could see that this was a feint ¨C the chain hauberk and lowered visor made the success of such blows improbable, if not impossible. But the armoured gladiator¡¯s instincts misled her, forcing her to twist away, an automatic reaction that betrayed her ¨C


    Exposing the unarmoured armpit, baring the entry-point for a weapon that could seek the lungs, even the heart¡­


    The tattooed woman sank her longer blade, the serrated dirk, deep inside the armoured one¡¯s chest cavity. She danced back out of range as her opponent growled in pain and dropped to one knee, red wine fountaining from beneath her arm.


    The moment the loser released her hold on her mace, dropping it to the sand in order to grab at the dagger¡¯s handle and yank it loose against all wise advice ¨C in that moment the knife-fighter danced back in.


    The shorter blade drove in at the loser¡¯s face, angled to slip beneath the visor ¨C


    Ah. Not the loser.


    Abathorn raised an eyebrow as a mail-gauntleted fist gripped the tattooed woman¡¯s wrist ¨C she tried to switch knife-hands but the motion was too clumsy, too desperate ¨C


    The metal visor went crunching into tattoo-girl¡¯s face as she received the super-strength head-butt full on, destroying her nose, sending at least two or three teeth flying, glinting like chips of mica in the dying sunlight. The thunder of the blow resounded across the filled stands; the short knife was dropped to the sand.


    Another headbutt and its wielder joined it, the leather-clad woman now motionless on the ground.


    The armoured gladiator threw off her helm and raised both fists to the sky in victory, roaring like a lion, the blood pouring from her armpit slowed now to a trickle. Healers rushed forth from their gate onto the sands as the crowd¡¯s jubilation was made manifest, a drumming of feet against boards unlike any other, a great uproar of voices lifted in acclaim and unrest ¨C unrest, from those whose bets had turned against them, those who¡¯d gambled on the lightly-armed gladiator and lost.


    Abathorn smiled thinly. He liked the upset. The shock, the surprise. The arena wasn¡¯t just blood and sand and screams. It was intrigue. It was a contest, not just of skill and sinew but sweat. Resolve wasn¡¯t something that could just be taught. The willingness to enter the fray was only half of it. You had to be willing to kill. Willing to die. Willing to do anything to win. And even then you would lose, lose, lose. The other guy wanted it more. The other guy was a gladiator.


    Abathorn, undefeated in seven years, knew well the burning need, the desire that was as a chariot, horses crazed with fury, running amok over every inch of his thoughts, untrammelled, trampling all in its path until his mind was a clear pane reflecting only blood. He was the chariot, he was the madness in the horse¡¯s eye. Death was his gift. He would offer it to all who opposed him.


    He didn¡¯t wear much by way of armour; in that he and Ovax were alike. But where Ovax exposed his body out of vanity ¨C going almost topless with just a single shoulder-guard, his helmet, bracers, belt, loincloth and boots ¨C Abathorn did so out of practicality. The elf wore clothes, like any rational creature ought. His kind, like the dwarves, suffered less than humans when subjected to extremes of temperature, but wizardry was employed to keep the arena of Firenight Square climate-controlled. As such he just wore a long-sleeved black tunic, black hose and boots. Rain falling on the grounds was evaporated fifty feet up, and illusory illumination was used when, like now, the sky was anything less than epic. Abathorn and Ovax¡¯s contest, being the last of the day, would be bathed in bloody dusk-light. Already, now that they were approaching the final matches, the false sky was subtly changing.


    He wondered whether Ovax was at his gate, whether he was waiting, watching the sky deepen towards red¡­ No. He would be signing bits of paper, talking it up with the crowd from his booth.


    Cretin.


    Abathorn had no doubt about it ¨C Ovax was the more-popular fighter, despite his status as a relative newcomer. He was up-and-coming, his name on the lips of the noble and merchant alike. Abathorn was old news, a reliable dog past its prime. Or would¡¯ve been, by now, had he been human. But Abathorn wasn¡¯t even a hundred yet, and for his kind that made him a positive youngster. He had decades of combat left in him, he was certain ¨C unless someone gave him an irreparable injury, or decapitated him, like he¡¯d done to a fellow elf back in ninety-five¡­


    Extended supernatural lifespans meant little when you were down one head.


    * * *

 The Show pt2

    He could remember, the redebonwood of his home, the Rhintaphril Dome of Drathdanis that preserved the skies of the otherworld in all their splendour. He could remember, the long years of his adolescence. The martial training, the magical schooling. Once it became apparent it was all a joke ¨C that the archmages of his kind ruled in every field, and that it had always been so, curse the Leafkeepers! ¨C he¡¯d abandoned Etherium¡¯s mirror, the glades and gloom, in favour of this. The grime and glory of Mund. Sure, the place was packed with archmages, but humans had a disdain for mages that wasn¡¯t evident amongst his own kind. Here he could stand out. The arena of heroes. A place he could be someone, a man with a fearsome reputation, despite the fact he could never quite master the subtleties of elementalism, mesmerism, restoration and the rest¡­ For him it had always been the sword and shield, the two-handed axe.


    He looked down at his weapon, rolled its haft between his thumb and fingers and released it, flicking so that it spun briefly in the air, catching it again, re-familiarising himself with its weight, the best spots to place his hands. He practised with it every day, but it never hurt, especially after it¡¯d been re-spellbound with new effects.


    The axe¡¯s metal-core shaft was a little over three feet long, designed to be wielded with hands spread as well as hands together, black leather-bound grips dotted along its length. The head was overlarge and looked far too heavy for someone with Abathorn¡¯s slender frame to swing more than two or three times a minute ¨C but the eldersteel was lighter than oak, its edges sharper than diamond. Edges plural: whilst there was a single primary blade, it sprouted a mass of jagged, almost random-looking points and curves, cleverly designed for both maximum intimidation and maximum cutting-power. It was an elf-axe, designed to funnel flesh and tear apart bone, capable of slicing through men like they were already ghosts on the air.


    And that was before the thunder-spells had been bound to it, before the dark storm-cloud was set to linger about the head. The magic set little arcs of lightning crackling between the tips of its hooks and along the arc of the main chopping-crescent. It would strike with the hurricane-force, bowl over his opponent with every blow that landed against Ovax¡¯s weapon or invisible shield.


    The invisible shields¡­ they were a new-fangled invention. Isiol, Abathorn¡¯s manager, had promised him he wouldn¡¯t have to wear one ¨C he had no need of it ¨C but he knew he¡¯d be equipped with one all the same, just like last time. A buckler, a disc of wood and steel no more than twelve inches across, strapped to his forearm.


    It was stupid. They never made him use a buckler before they¡¯d invested in invisible ones. Now they insisted. ¡®Makes the crowd go wild!¡¯ ¡®Is he gonna die, or isn¡¯t he?¡¯ Abathorn understood the point ¨C the mystery in the moment, the anticipation, whether the seemingly lethal blow might be turned aside by the unseen barrier ¨C but he saw it as a step too far on the slipperiest of slopes. What was next ¨C invisible weapons? Invisible opponents?


    He watched awhile longer, noting every minute mistake of positioning, every overly-zealous step and swing; then he went back to his room to take a cup of chilled water from the scantily-clad serving-girl. He sat down on his couch and let her work out some of the kinks in his neck muscles, closing his eyes, entering the meditative trance familiar to all true-blood elves.


    The leaves upon the trees that do not fall.


    The wind about the leaves that does not falter.


    The starlight in the wind that does not fracture.


    The wings riding the starlight that ¨C


    He heard the trumpets, ringing clear across the arena. He stood, thanking the girl quietly and returning along the short corridor to the gate, to hear the announcement.


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    Hodan Finchalain, the director of today¡¯s games, was at the front of the central balcony reserved for the most-esteemed of the guests: Lords and Ladies of the Arrealbord and those few guildsmen and geniuses who rivalled them in influence. The director held up his hand, the pink gems of his rings flashing in the sunset¡¯s glowering illumination.


    ¡°People of Mund, rejoice! For now upon the day¡¯s long-awaited Apex we have a firm favourite of these stands! An axe-thirster unparalleled! A deft blade unlike any other! He has been called the Bloody Thorn, the Crimson Killer, the Head-Taker! We here who know him best, call him what we have since the day he first walked these sands! The Red Elf! Yes, ladies and gentlemen! We welcome Abathorn, the Red Elf, and invite him once more to walk the path of death!¡±


    The chains behind the walls rattled as they were pulled, and the gate drew back. He stepped out into the ruddy brilliance and swung his axe overhead. The mild breeze caught his ponytail, whipping his sparkling ruby mane about.


    He roared, an incoherent sound. The crowd roared in response.


    The Thorn inside him came to life.


    Mages ran forward from a side gate to outfit him with his invisible shield, his complement of augmentation-spells. He stood there like a statue, gazing at Ovax¡¯s gate, feeling the enhancements trickle into meat of muscle and marrow of bone. He growled, narrow chest heaving.


    ¡°Aaaand his opponent. You all know who it is. You¡¯ve all heard his name whispered about the city these last weeks! Here he is ¨C graciously stepping in for the absent Ovax ¨C the Wanderer, the Dragonslayer, the Mystery Man¡­ it¡¯s Phanar of N¡¯Lem!¡±


    The crowd roared, maybe even more loudly than they had for him.


    ¡°What?¡± Abathorn barked.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t they tell you?¡± one of the assistants said with something of a grin. ¡°Ovax is ill. Upset stomach.¡± The young mage started fastening the invisible bucker to his left arm. ¡°Nothin¡¯ we¡¯ve come up with is shifting it.¡±


    ¡°Nerves, I reckon,¡± another assistant said, wearing a similar grin as she dusted Abathorn with some silvery powder. ¡°Ain¡¯t got nothin¡¯ fer that.¡±


    The gladiator just smiled in wry amusement.


    Of course it¡¯s nerves.


    ¡°Your manager¡¯s supposed to have filled you in¡­ Can¡¯t believe they got Phanar at the last minute, can you? I hear the bookies are having a square day.¡±


    ¡°Har-har. I heard a while back that he was angling for a career in the games.¡± The mage tested the buckler¡¯s fastenings. ¡°But jumping right to the front of the queue like that ¨C¡±


    ¡°He knew Feychilde, and Killstop.¡± The mage winked knowingly as she stowed her magic dust. ¡°Last I heard, they¡¯d left the city on a secret mission to kill a dragon fer him¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be daft. You heard Everseer.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, like that was actually her.¡±


    ¡°Come off it, Mur. We¡¯ve been over this twice already¡­¡±


    Abathorn let the magic-users¡¯ conversation slip into the background, focussing his thoughts on his opponent. He could castigate Isiol later, laugh about Ovax¡¯s cowardice later too. For now, he had to concentrate.


    He could see Phanar out there on the sands opposite him, being ministered to by his own group of assistants, his invisible shield being fitted to his arm. Abathorn¡¯s elven eyes made the fifty yards between them more like twenty, allowing him an opportunity to study this new foe.


    They¡¯d both been augmented with druidry in terms of their size, stature: the Dragonslayer was almost as tall as the elf, at a little over ten feet at the shoulder. He had a frame like Ovax¡¯s, only narrower at the hips, and his physique was hidden by a long, belted gambeson. His raven hair was tied back, like Abathorn¡¯s, and his gaze was cool, calm, despite the burning darkness in his eyes. That gaze went piercing right back at Abathorn, as though he weren¡¯t the only one gifted with elvensight.


    Here was a true warrior, he knew. An adventurer with the killer-instinct. A man used to getting his hands dirty with dragon¡¯s blood.


    But did he know what it was to be a gladiator? To get his hands dirty with men¡¯s blood? To focus that killer-instinct, not at a fearsome monster, but at an honourable fighter like himself? No. No, he did not.


    Abathorn smiled, resolved that this change of opponent would prove to be a pleasant surprise.


    Phanar was about to get the shock of his life. And it could well be his last.


    What will they call me when I¡¯m done? the elf wondered. Dragonslayerslayer?


    Ismethyl power my hand. Let my axe fall cleanly. Let the steel drink deep, and be satiated.


    ¡°Shall the cupped hand be raised ¨C or more than a few cups of blood?¡± Finchalain¡¯s gem-studded rings gleamed again as he shook his fist, bellowing the words from the high balcony. ¡°What shall the gods make of meeting of Slayer and Killer? You alone shall watch with living eyes this climactic showdown! Let the Apex begin!¡±


    The vast ring of Mundians cheered and brayed and howled. The mage-assistants hurriedly withdrew. And Abathorn took a long step towards his target.


    * * *

 The Show pt3

    Phanar matched him, step for step, until they were just twenty feet apart. When you¡¯d been almost doubled in height, twenty feet started to look like ten.


    Abathorn eyed his opponent¡¯s warhammer. It was no common weapon, as far as weapons went in general, but, from a man with such an illustrious (and short) adventuring career, the elf had expected something more. It was clearly taken off the racks in the arena armoury, an old, plain thing with a heavy block-end for battering, a pick-tooth on the other face for piercing. Neither would be impactful here ¨C the poor newcomer had handicapped himself before he¡¯d even begun. Even the hammer¡¯s icy ensorcellment was of more use against an armoured foe.


    ¡°Interesting choice of weapon, Dragonslayer,¡± he called, circling.


    The dark-eyed, dark-haired man reciprocated, circling in like fashion, but in response to his words he received only a slight shrug.


    Quiet one, then, Abathorn thought. Good.


    Talking was for poseurs. There could be some value in a decent taunt but fighting was what the crowd had come to see, so fighting was what he¡¯d give them.


    Spades of it. Enough to bury the human.


    His first strike was a whirling trick; he launched himself into the air, barrelling forwards, and in the moment of weightlessness he twisted, using the force of his swing to propel his body about, carrying his axe-blade towards his foe¡¯s neck at stupendous speed while he stayed out of range. It was a move that only fatigued his muscles to a small degree ¨C he could perform the manoeuvre a hundred times in a row, at least ¨C yet it looked flashy, and had been known to catch opponents off-guard.


    Not Phanar. The Dragonslayer didn¡¯t back away as did most when confronted with such a sudden assault; Phanar seemed to know exactly what Abathorn was doing. He raised the tip of the icy warhammer in his hands to ward off the blow, jarring the grip in Abathorn¡¯s hands, and stepped in instead, driving the butt of the hammer-shaft up at the elf¡¯s sternum.


    Abathorn landed early, leaning away to avoid getting his breastbone shattered and to recover his balance. He skipped back, circling again, reassessing.


    The next three times axe met hammer, it was Phanar slapping away Abathorn¡¯s testing swipes, Phanar defending against Abathorn¡¯s slowest slashes. They weren¡¯t even attacks that deserved to be parried ¨C the adventurer needn¡¯t have wasted his energy, could¡¯ve just slipped aside ¨C but the Dragonslayer appeared to be overly-cautious. He didn¡¯t have the mannerisms of a warrior used to fighting man-on-man like this; his reflexes were those of someone conditioned to fight monsters, to stay back, avoid being struck at all costs.


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    Not a bad line of thinking, exactly, but not something that would preserve his life in the gladiatorial arena. This space required decisiveness. The only way out was through ¨C through a shower of your enemy¡¯s blood.


    Circling. Circling.


    Abathorn let that need, that desire for decisiveness grow in Phanar¡¯s mind. The elf stayed on the offensive, continually offering trivial attacks, seeking to lull his opponent into a false sense of security, trap Phanar in a passive state until his first action could be drawn out of him.


    Five. Six. Seven more times, metal rang out against metal. More and more, now, it swept through empty space that until moments earlier had contained an arm, torso, head.


    The Dragonslayer made his move, an amateurish swing at Abathorn¡¯s neck with the blunt side of the hammer-head.


    As the elf easily darted inside the swing, he realised the human¡¯s move wasn¡¯t so amateurish as he¡¯d first gathered. Phanar was stepping around too, as if he¡¯d expected Abathorn to move in, and he¡¯d arrested the over-swing, bringing the pick-end back down at Abathorn¡¯s temple. The weapon trailed a cloud of blue-white frost, arcing down at the elf.


    Not quite so amateurish, but still amateurish. The elf easily slipped aside. Phanar hadn¡¯t left himself open to a mortal strike but Abathorn¡¯s axe-head sank deep into the man¡¯s spell-reinforced ribs.


    The thunder rang out with the axe-head¡¯s fall, a hollow boom and a rush of cold wind ¨C and the Dragonslayer was tossed across the sand. Phanar somehow twisted in the air, landing on his feet ¨C an impressive trick, to be sure ¨C but he was still skidding, still off-balance.


    Still wounded.


    A vast ¡®oooh¡¯ went up from the crowd.


    Phanar was instinctively pressing his elbow against the blood seeping out of his gambeson, giving up the utility of his shield-arm just to put pressure on his injury.


    Does he not even comprehend the magical protections under which we have been placed?


    Abathorn cocked his head.


    ¡°You do not need to do this,¡± he said plainly to Phanar, pointing with the axe to the Dragonslayer¡¯s side. He was speaking too quietly for the crowd to hear; they¡¯d think he was mocking his opponent or something. ¡°The spells, they will stop the bleeding.¡±


    The adventurer¡¯s dark eyes regarded him warily, and the arm pressing against the wound didn¡¯t falter.


    He believes I attempt deception.


    Humans¡­ Honourless humans.


    He raised his voice.


    ¡°You send these untried morsels to face me, to face the sting of the Thorn!¡± Abathorn sighed, then pulled at the straps on his forearm. ¡°Doubtless he is a brave man, but a gladiator?¡±


    He saw Phanar¡¯s disbelieving, worried eyes as he undid the final strap and hurled the invisible buckler aside. The sound of it landing was unmistakeable.


    The crowd cried out, half enthusiastically, half in alarm.


    Phanar glanced down at his side, and slowly moved his arm, as if testing the truth of Abathorn¡¯s earlier statement.


    ¡°You send them to die!¡± the elf roared.


    Uncaring how Phanar reacted, whether he reacted, Abathorn threw caution to the winds and swung meaningfully for the first time, right at the man¡¯s neck.


    * * *

 The Show pt4

    Phanar tipped his head back at just the last moment, the axe-blade screaming through the air just in front of his face ¨C the storm-cloud carried by the weapon blinding him momentarily ¨C


    The elf, noting this, spun on his heel, bringing the axe about again. This time Abathorn crouched as he whirled rather than leaping, fearful of a counter-strike while his back was turned, and reticent to reuse the same techniques more than once.


    As he completed the motion, coming around to see his opponent again, he was disappointed to find his axe was cutting through empty space ¨C Phanar was mid-leap, springing over the attack ¨C


    The very end of the warhammer ¨C the blunted tip ¨C gave him a poke right in the brow, and Abathorn fell back, sent sprawling in the sand with frostburn searing across his forehead.


    Phanar landed like a cat, instantly resuming a stance of perfect equilibrium.


    ¡°I thought we were to give them a show,¡± the newcomer said levelly, no hint of breathlessness in his charcoal voice. He patted his injured side.


    He mocks me! Abathorn hissed internally, looking up at the Dragonslayer. First he steals Ovax¡¯s Apex; now he feigns weaknesses he does not possess!


    We shall see what weaknesses you do possess, Phanar of N¡¯Lem. We shall see them, expose them for all the world to witness!


    When Abathorn got to his feet, it was a liquid flicker, a twist of rust-red hair and crackling steel. The axe fell, again, and again.


    The stranger, the Mystery Man, the dropping Slayer of Ord Ylon ¨C Phanar parried, evaded, and responded, warhammer flying.


    In the end the contest was one the crowd could scarcely see, but that didn¡¯t stop it being the highlight of the day¡¯s games. Only the most battle-hardened amongst the spectators would be able to discern the delicate placement of the contestants¡¯ feet, the patternless figures described by their weapons¡¯ dance ¨C and such combat veterans were themselves a rarity in Mund, especially amongst the well-to-do audience drawn to the arena. All this, Abathorn knew. But little could he care. He would prefer that they couldn¡¯t follow the action. That they couldn¡¯t see the way the human outdid him, dancing faster through the forms, weaving the warhammer such that every instant was to Abathorn a work of art.


    More than once, as he twisted to avoid receiving a tremendous blow that would¡¯ve stopped the fight, the elf almost caught himself stopping and staring, so beautiful was the Dragonslayer¡¯s command of his brush, the mastery with which he painted lines of death.


    In any other circumstances Abathorn might¡¯ve respected the man, but it was insult upon insult, to have this brought about on his head, him, the Thorn himself ¨C


    This is what indignity feels like.


    The crowd were screaming. He felt the weight of their expectations, and his own. That weight crushed down upon him, upon his mind, worse than the blow of any warhammer, any sledgehammer. It broke him more completely than his spine being snapped.


    Not one strike had landed, yet he¡¯d already lost.


    The very instant respect gave way to enmity, hope gave way to fear ¨C and he started getting sloppy. As Abathorn writhed away from the spike the Dragonslayer reversed the swing, and the elf felt the crunch, the vile, nauseating sensation of Phanar¡¯s weapon striking home ¨C


    The coldness. The blunt face of the hammer¡¯s head smacked him directly in the left shoulder-blade. Ice was instantly spreading through the bruised bone, stealing his breath, limiting his movements; before he could catch his balance he was stumbling, and Phanar swept his feet out from under him with a single lazy arc of the warhammer.


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    He growled, gasping for air, and his enemy slowly paced away, giving Abathorn chance to get himself together.


    In the elf¡¯s experience the crowd usually howled for blood, usually looked on any effort to show mercy as a crime. But this was no mercy. This was degradation. And so for Phanar they whooped and shrieked, men and women roaring in glee, all of them seemingly in support of the newcomer¡¯s casual retreat.


    They approved of him. They wanted him to humiliate Abathorn. To take one of their heroes of the arena and make him crawl.


    If that is what they want of me¡­ I shall¡­ disappoint them!


    Anger overrode fear, and Abathorn pushed himself back up to his feet.


    ¡°You are a skilled fighter, Dragonslayer!¡± he cried, rolling his injured shoulder, freeing up some of the frost caked onto his tender skin. ¡°But don¡¯t think I¡¯m done yet.¡±


    ¡°I had thought you would stay afoot for longer,¡± Phanar said dubiously.


    That did it.


    There was only so far that professional rivalry could take a man. Only a fraction of a warrior¡¯s true potential came to the surface when fighting a foe in the arena, and it was the gladiator¡¯s art to fan that candle-flame into a roaring bonfire, feel the need to destroy the opponent.


    Now Abathorn was aflame. Now he fought not for the spoils or the crowd¡¯s approval. Not for honour or prestige.


    He fought because he wanted to cut Phanar¡¯s head off.


    The axe sang, a lightning-borne song of lamentation, and it drank deep of the adventurer¡¯s blood.


    Again and again, Phanar took injury, suffering for the crowd¡¯s sport. His gambeson was torn across the front, back, under the left arm¡­


    ¡°You see, Dragonslayer!¡± Abathorn grinned, pursuing his retreating prey across the field of sand. ¡°The gods croon, and not for you! For your soul! I seal your fate.¡±


    Phanar suddenly parried his next swing, raising the warhammer with such immovable solidity that Abathorn almost lost his grip when the two weapons met, the shaft of the axe almost jarred from his hands. The elf skipped back two paces.


    I need to find an opening for his head, his neck¡­ Naught else will suffice.


    ¡°Come, then, Manslayer,¡± Phanar replied. ¡°Do what you might to avert my fate. I fear it was sealed long ago, before your birth, before the birth of your grand-sires. I was not made to test an axe¡¯s edge.¡±


    Abathorn spat on the ground between him and his foe.


    What did this insolent human know of elvenkind? Elves could only procreate for a brief period, once they entered the synonadine trance, around their centenary. It was true that his grandparents were probably dead by now ¨C they¡¯d been old when Abathorn was born, and elderly before he left the lights of the Dome behind to explore the world. But they¡¯d been over three hundred years old.


    The Dragonslayer really is full of himself, isn¡¯t he?


    The elf pressed the attack ¨C three heavy, overhand blows, the last disguised by a shifting of his weight that made it look as though he were about to follow the second with a horizontal chop. Phanar only just caught the third with the rim of his shield, and for a moment Abathorn thought he really was about to cleave the Dragonslayer¡¯s head in two.


    The human¡¯s black coat was drenched in his blood, and yet when Abathorn danced away for a momentary reprieve Phanar merely started unstrapping the shield on his own arm.


    ¡°This thing, it is cumbersome.¡±


    Abathorn, panting for air, heard Phanar¡¯s murmured explanation, the dispassionate distance of the adventurer¡¯s voice, and stared on in dismay as he ripped the thing from his wrist.


    The crowd sucked in their breath, an anti-sigh, suspense itself made manifest ¨C


    ¡°And useful.¡±


    Phanar brought his hand down in a whipping motion.


    The elf ducked, his reflexes fast-enough to let him slip below the spinning, unseen shield that was zooming at his teeth ¨C


    The instant he recovered from the evasive manoeuvre, Phanar was there. Right there, in his face. Or rather, his warhammer was.


    It was the mercy of it that smarted worst, he decided later, once his teeth had been replaced, his jaw realigned. He¡¯d been left lying there in the healing rooms while the crowd hailed the victor, his frustrations left to bubble on the stove of his mind. Phanar might¡¯ve used the sharp end. He might¡¯ve granted him a good death, a proud end ¨C a gladiator¡¯s glory. But no. For all his surprising showmanship, for all his martial expertise, the human from ¡®N¡¯Lem¡¯ was no gladiator. Phanar used the blunt end. Phanar spared him for this ¨C this life, this pointlessness. A tarnished existence. A broken tally.


    I had to lose, in the end.


    There was no other conclusion, was there? No winning streak went unbroken. No gladiators died of old age.


    But the hatred! He¡¯d never felt it like this before. Had it truly come to this?


    The end?

 By Figments Waylaid pt1

    <h2>JET 8.4: BY FIGMENTS WAYLAID</h2>


    ¡°All suffering is relative. There are worlds¡­ worlds in which the torment of souls so overflows that it can be caught up in goblets and supped by myriad entities, beings which only gorge thereupon, for ever unto eternity, or till I call. No, my prince. You cannot even imagine what it is to suffer.¡±


    ¨C from Of Lord Ymer and Prince Rivorn in ¡®Elturiel¡¯s Collected Fairytales¡¯


    I had Shield Four erected, the pentagon gleaming and spinning, and it was enough to hold back the first wave of statue-people. I constructed the hexagon and sent them all flying back, but then it broke into tatters as the second wave, the third wave crashed into it.


    I gritted my teeth as my elbow piped up again, complaining as I drew blades on the air, attaching them to the pentagon.


    Our stony enemies might¡¯ve been shaped from a substance that was durable indeed, but it only took a few swings to lop through their limbs, their necks, leaving them scrambling for the body-chunks I took from them. They tried to reattach their severed heads, arms, legs, but they had more than just me to contend with.


    Rath seemed to have snapped out of his reverie, at least for so long as he was being distracted by sport like this. He rolled outside my shield¡¯s boundaries, snatching up the heavy-looking statue-parts, hefting them and lobbing them back into the impassable zone within my barriers. They didn¡¯t have a shot at catching him, and before too long he¡¯d left them rolling around like so many dismembered dolls in a child¡¯s trolley.


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    But they weren¡¯t dead. I could¡¯ve left a shield-set here and formed another to protect us as we headed through our broken assailants ¨C could¡¯ve let them stay fumbling at my shield¡¯s perimeter until I was long gone ¨C but I felt her eyes boring into the back of my head.


    I turned to meet her gaze, the whites around the pupils so bright they¡¯d become incandescent.


    ¡°Very well.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Master.¡± She inclined her head gratefully, raised her fore-hoof and lowered her horn as she charged.


    I hadn¡¯t seen her in action ¨C independent action, at least ¨C since her transformation.


    Black lightning gushed from the dark horn, the unlight-fire flowing on the wind, and it didn¡¯t just melt the stone ¨C it set it alight, consuming it as though it were moistureless wood, shadow-flames bursting from the silently gaping mouths, the desperately contorting fingertips. At last, the cores of their torsos cracked, sending chunks of rocky flesh flying, the now-lifeless husks pouring filthy, chalky smoke into the night sky.


    She trotted back to my side, panting, baring her teeth in the equine smile that was now creepy, insidious.


    ¡°Which way?¡± I asked her, casting about.


    ¡°Here.¡± Temcar pointed through the white clouds, in a direction which to me seemed completely random. ¡°The way is this way.¡±


    He sounded entranced, but he was within my triangle-shield¡­


    I tried to grin, but my heart wasn¡¯t really in it. I looked about at the others.


    ¡°What are we waiting for? Let¡¯s go.¡±


    * * *

 By Figments Waylaid pt2

    When we saw what lay in store for us on Temcar¡¯s route, we tried going through the huge, brambly hedges, only to find ourselves on the opposite edge of the graveyard. Avaelar reported from the sky that the hedges were the edge of the demi-plane; beyond them there was only distortion. Rath tried digging, and after he went down ten yards through the dirt he fell from two hundred feet ¨C my sylph only just caught him in time. The arch-diviner was blind to our path, and so eventually we were forced to do what Tem had been suggesting all along. I wanted one bit of the enchanter¡¯s certainty ¨C his courage.


    The only way in and out of the courtyard was the throne room.


    In the middle of one of the courtyard¡¯s four sides there were no hedges, the shortly-cropped grass letting onto a wide floor of flattened, fertile-looking soil. Pillars of the same silver stone held aloft the high ceiling, and silver-flaming torches guttered along the three walls.


    Located in the very centre of the room was a raised dais of broken bones. Upon the bones, a throne of living thorns had grown, and the bush¡¯s occupant was also its host ¨C the vines grew through him, piercing him in thousands of places. Hundreds of beautiful red roses bloomed from his open stomach, his open left temple, the corner of his right eye¡­


    Still, he lived. As he panted, taking shallow breaths, the thorns protruding through his breast sawed back and forth gently, releasing new scarlet offerings along the eternal rivulets coursing down his flesh.


    What he actually looked like was difficult to discern. The remains of his clothing lay in tatters, snared into the mess; his skin was pallid, dripping with sweat and blood and tears.


    ¡±A tribute to Eldaleyn,¡± Avaelar said in a halting, hallowed voice when we first clapped eyes on the spectacle, his stern bronze face drawn in consternation.


    ¡°Who?¡± I whispered, not taking my eyes off the suffering creature.


    ¡°He is a legend amongst my people. Eldaleyn was once the pupil of Brother Avalyar, Key-Keeper, and for his sins was consigned to just such a chair.¡±


    It was gibberish to me, though I thought it made a certain sense if you substituted ¡®Eldaleyn¡¯ for Illodin, ¡®Avalyar¡¯ for Joran¡­ I¡¯d heard of Illodin¡¯s Chair of Woe, but never had the thing been described¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re sure about this?¡± I asked Tem. ¡°Just, approach him?¡±


    He didn¡¯t look back at me ¨C he was staring at the guardian on the throne as he nodded.


    I drew a deep breath.


    ¡°Everyone else?¡±


    Rath was grinding his teeth ¨C I wouldn¡¯t get a response from him, but I received a chorus of more or less enthusiastic ¡®Yes, Master¡¯s from my eldritches.


    ¡°After you, then.¡± I once more locked my own eyes on the room¡¯s sole inhabitant, preparing myself to see him rise up from his throne, start lashing us with his thorny whips ¨C


    But Temcar got ten paces in before he halted, turning back with a faint smile to wave us after him.


    We followed.


    Once we were within twenty feet of the horrible visage we stopped, and I was forced to avert my eyes. The punishment this creature was undergoing ¨C did Etherium truly contain such horrors? In Infernum or Nethernum, sure, I wouldn¡¯t bat an eyelid. But here, in the otherworld, the realm of dreams and fantasy? It sickened me to know that some part of this poor slave¡¯s mind was being used in this way, to create this horrid plane of existence.


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    I clenched my fist. We stood there in silence, a solemn semi-circle about the front of the dais, and I could hear his pained breathing, hear the soft spatter of fluid against the bony altar. For which mighty being¡¯s amusement was this torture being committed? I could remedy this situation, perhaps ¨C


    What¡¯s a little more bloodshed, to end this torment?


    A thorny whip came down from the figure atop the throne, slashing out faster than I could react, aimed right for me ¨C


    A tendril no thicker than my finger, and my shields erupted at its lightest touch like boils speared with a hot rod.


    Rath caught the first whip, and yelped in agony as it tore through his flesh ¨C


    The second snagged my wrist, twisting my elbow and pulling me off my sylph leaning-post, making me stumble on my mashed foot ¨C


    Making me scream in a renewed torrent of agonies ¨C


    Gilaela brayed and reared back ¨C


    ¡°No!¡± I cried, going down to one knee before the dais, throwing out my unconstricted hand to ward her off. ¡°Wait!¡±


    I looked up at the enthroned prisoner. The flagellant king.


    I did my best not to growl.


    ¡°You can let me go.¡±


    The gasp that returned from the figure was in Etheric and it was amplified, seeming to emanate from the very earth, but it lost none of its character: if I had thought myself agonised by the boneless fish I was carrying around on the end of my leg, this quiet, breathless trauma put me in my place.


    ¡°Might I? Let thee aside?¡± spoke the living amalgam of man and rose-bush. ¡°By what token¡­ might I trust thee and thine? Thou art¡­ the demons of my wretchedness, come to barb me further.¡±


    I licked my lips, and suddenly the thorny vine about my wrist tightened, releasing a bracelet of blood ¨C I almost bit the end of my tongue off, grinding my teeth together.


    I heard rather than saw Rath trying to reach my side, but we were within its mind. Our magic was here, but it was obsolete. We were more powerless than we¡¯d been in Zyger. It wasn¡¯t like this creature had any control, either, locked in its own mad world. For all I knew, this enthroned man was just one more part of the insanity, no more representative of the entity¡¯s core than the disembodied voice Gilaela had dispelled in the caves.


    I just had to hope it could be reasoned with.


    ¡°What cause, noble king,¡± I gnashed the words, ¡°ha-hast thou to mistrust us? Canst thou not ¨C ahhhhhh! ¨C see that we are guests in thy home, and ought be ¨C aff-ord-ed ¨C such courtesies as are c-customary.¡±


    ¡°Thou wouldst eat the meat of my table?¡±


    Only at the last second did I realise the trick in that ¨C he almost caught me between the flood and the cliff.


    ¡°Th-that is an attempt at entrapment ¨C¡°


    ¡°Quoth¡­ the demon¡­¡±


    ¡°Noble king!¡± I was squealing now. ¡°What token wouldst ¨C wouldst thou ask of us? We are but poor travellers in thy domain -¡±


    ¡°What wouldst thou? I can see in thee¡­ naught! Gnaw instead the cold earth, and know the rose¡¯s branch¡­ in heart and eye. Come, mortal, come unto my fate¡­ and behold it in all its inconceivable languor!¡±


    An unexpected voice arose behind me, in affront and challenge:


    ¡°Majesty!¡±


    Aid, from the unlikeliest source ¨C Avaelar strode forward. The sylph carried Zabalam clinging to his left leg, and it seemed to take the gremlin a couple of seconds to realise he was being brought closer to danger ¨C then the little piggy guy sprang away, looking up at his winged colleague with concern on his mottled face.


    Avaelar put out both his hands, and two lashes came streaming down from the rose-bush, binding him. He took a knee, but the expression on his perfect face was resolute, and wrathful.


    ¡°Majesty, might I entreat of thee the right to speak?¡±


    ¡°Thou¡­ art no demon, my child¡­ What of thee, then?¡±


    ¡°This man is my master.¡± The sylph spoke plainly, none of the pain he must¡¯ve been feeling showing on his face ¨C the vines cut through his dense flesh as easily as they had my own. ¡°He is no demon. He is Feychilde, sorcerer, woe to demons, bane of undeath, scourge of eolastyr. Nentheleme herself came to heed his prayer.¡±


    ¡°And yet it doth¡­ seem she hath forsaken him.¡±


    ¡°So thou seest it ¨C or might it be that she doth linger upon the judgement of thine own merciful hand, Majesty? Wouldst thou bind a man as thou hast been bound, or free him? Thou didst strike awry in thy previous assessment. I tell thee Truth, and Truth alone, as the Brotherhood witnessed in the Evening Stars ere the Irradiant One¡¯s birth, ere Nightfall ¨C Feychilde is a champion of men. His cause is just. His quest cannot fail here, now. Had fate set him in thy place and thou alike in his, I know from great remove the quality of his own decision.¡±


    I¡¯d never really heard the sylph speak as though he ¨C as though I¡­


    I felt tears in my eyes, and not from the pain.


    ¡°¡­ Very well, sylph. Let us¡­ discuss terms.¡±


    * * *

 By Figments Waylaid pt3

    The thorns didn¡¯t withdraw, but I saw the throne¡¯s inhabitant flick his bleeding gaze across us, recognised the set of his jaw. He was appraising us with new eyes.


    ¡°There is value buried in thy words¡­ as gold sleeps in rock. Thou art¡­ an intriguing creature, Aedervaeni.¡± Then the red stare settled on me. ¡°So, sorcerer, thy case is stated¡­ and passage secured. All that remains for us is¡­ to discuss thy means of payment.¡±


    ¡°Payment, M-Majesty?¡±


    ¡°One of these three shall suffice. Each has worth to thee.¡±


    It took me a moment to realise his meaning.


    ¡°You ¨C¡° I licked my lips, suddenly wanting to cry ¡°¨C thou desirest mine eldritches?¡±


    ¡°Only one. Shalt not Nentheleme sing¡­ of my mercy, sylph?¡±


    ¡°She ¨C she shall, M-Majesty.¡±


    Avaelar¡¯s words were coming out as protracted winces, now ¨C the barbs were starting to get to him. When it came to my own wrist, it felt as though they were biting into bone. How I wasn¡¯t dying yet I had no idea.


    How to formulate a plan of escape, when even an arch-diviner was at a loss? Rathal hadn¡¯t been himself since the overly-friendly voice started unpicking his past, but he¡¯d made moves when they¡¯d been obvious to him, like when we¡¯d fought the living statues. I couldn¡¯t just leave someone here, even a native eldritch¡­ not in this nightmare.


    The ruler of the realm seemed to understand my resolve, and found my weak-spot instantly.


    I already knew the truth of it. I¡¯d read all about it.


    ¡°Thou art¡­ fixed in this fate,¡± our captor whispered. ¡°It is¡­ time for thee¡­ to choose. There is always a¡­ price. Naught is free. Not I¡­ nor ever thee.¡±


    I tried not to shudder, and looked across to my left, meeting the sylph¡¯s eyes. ¡°Are ¨C ahh! ha! ¨C are there any volunteers?¡±


    Zab just whimpered.


    ¡°No,¡± Gilaela said clearly, adamantly, from my other side.


    ¡°I hath in me no wish to remain here,¡± Avaelar murmured. ¡°Yet I am bound, not only by thy magic, Feychilde, but by the chains of mine own faith in thee.¡±


    ¡°I need you!¡± I blurted, shaking my head.


    ¡°Nay,¡± he said softly, and smiled despite his agony, ¡°thou needst naught, Feychilde. Thou shalt succeed. Remember me, shalt thou?¡±


    ¡°This is a command from your master!¡± I snapped at him. ¡°I need you. You shall no longer offer your¡­ services to this¡­ this thing.¡± I cast my gaze back on the rose-throne, weighing the blood-drenched entity¡¯s words.


    I can¡¯t leave Zab here. It¡¯d destroy him ¨C that much is obvious.


    What does he really want?


    Slowly, I turned to my right.


    Do I play right into his hands?


    ¡°Master.¡± The brittle word stood alone for her refusal, then, when she seemed to realise it would prove insufficient, she tried to command me: ¡°Do not even consider this.¡±


    But this dark tricorn was different ¨C she was nothing like the unicorn I¡¯d come to respect over the last months. Even her voice, its cold, derisive tones ¨C it made me feel as though she were a different person altogether. The old Gilaela wouldn¡¯t have been able to grovel, either, not given her aloof nature, her demeanour of superiority ¨C but if she¡¯d tried, there wouldn¡¯t have been so much hostility in it. When she spoke to me now, as it was as though she thought she were the one in charge, not me.


    ¡°You changed, Gilaela,¡± I panted through the pain, ¡°and I can¡¯t trust you anymore.¡±


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    ¡°Can¡¯t trust me? I who freed you from the caverns of this madman¡¯s mind, whose power saved you from the cold clutches of countless dead men?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Princess. You can take care of yourself. You¡¯ll be ¨C¡±


    And then the truth of her corrupted nature was made plain.


    There was still an obvious connection between us, preventing her from attacking me directly, but none of my direct commands to her had barred her from behaving in an intimidating manner. She whipped about and bore down at me, aiming her horn at my face, stamping and screaming ¨C a bound eldritch had never behaved in such a manner towards me before, never mind one of such overwhelming potency ¨C


    I had no shields up anymore, but I didn¡¯t need them. She still couldn¡¯t strike me, and she¡¯d used me as a decoy. Even as she reached my side, pretending at violence, she reared up and turned, throwing herself bodily at the king of this demi-plane, aiming her splintered horn right at his already-broken heart.


    For a moment I saw her there, the magnificent dark horse hurtling through the air, a leap of stupendous potential energy ¨C her scream itself was a deadly thing, resounding off the walls ¨C


    Then I noticed that the moment had extended, and she was still there, still screaming that same single note, pinned ten feet off the ground. I was directly behind her, so I couldn¡¯t quite tell what had stopped her until the wreath of vines extended about her, and through her, ripping uncountable holes in the shadowy fur.


    She didn¡¯t move except to quiver briefly.


    What would this mean for us now? Would I still have to abandon Avaelar in order to escape?


    There was no way to draw out a shield, not like this, not with the offending vine still wrapped about my arm¡­


    Finally, Gilaela¡¯s last defiant scream dropped away; she whimpered before she fell silent.


    Slowly ¨C excruciatingly slowly ¨C our host withdrew the bonds about my wrist, and Avaelar¡¯s too. I gasped in relief, pressing my free hand to the wound ¨C but it was already sealing itself in a matter of seconds, agony becoming pain, pain becoming itching, until nothing more than a tingling heat covered the area.


    The guardian¡¯s weeping eyes moved to his new subject; tendrils of inestimable strength lifted her higher, turning her so that I could witness what I¡¯d done to her.


    She was silent, and she was bleeding just the same as him, her black blood dripping all over the neatly-flattened earth, smoking white where it landed.


    But her eyes stared. Fixed upon me.


    She was still alive. She was like him now, almost.


    Betrayer. Heartless fiend. I knew what she¡¯d have called someone acting like this; I¡¯d shared a mind with her for so long. Craven. Worthless, putrid, vile little worm.


    Even if I¡¯d abandoned a demon to the guardian, for him to do this to them ¨C the old Gilaela would¡¯ve reacted the same. Where was the justice? Where was the good death, the sweetness of the kill, the soul¡¯s release ¨C


    Then she spoke, dark horse-lips parting, panting.


    His voice. His voice, through her lips.


    ¡°The king accepts¡­ thine offering. Thy mightiest weapon laid at his feet¡­ its grip fitted neat to his hand. Tribute¡­ is paid ¨C go in honour, sorcerer, yet speak not of trust¡­ Thou hast already accepted into thyself all¡­ all I might have done to poison thee. Thou alone knowest how low thou hast come. Return to the nightmare¡­ from whence you came, and trouble no longer he whose heart¡­ yearns for slumber¡¯s suffering.¡±


    The dirt floor beneath us seemed to become quicksand, and before I could even raise my hand in front of my face in alarm its darkness rose up and covered me, depositing me onto hard stone.


    I glanced about, then saw the glimmer of gremlin-light just off to my right.


    ¡°Zab?¡±


    ¡°Master? Oh, Master!¡±


    The little pig-man hopped towards me and hurled himself on me, embracing me and weeping greenish tears that were perhaps more snot than water.


    I didn¡¯t care. I embraced him back.


    ¡°Zabalam! Where are the others?¡±


    He sniffled, wiped his extremely-wet face on the remnants of my vest, then looked up, raising his hand and amplifying the radiance.


    Living lichen. Glowing mushrooms. Pale crystal. Soft moss.


    The others were there, having simply been deposited in different areas of the cavern. All of the others ¨C save Gilaela.


    As they made their way over towards me and Zab, I raised my hand, preparing to attempt to summon the one I¡¯d sacrificed.


    I paused. Whether it worked or not, I doubted it would end pleasantly for us.


    Hesitantly, I lowered the hand again.


    ¡°It¡¯s done ¨C it¡¯s over,¡± Tem said. His chest shuddered with each breath.


    I stared into his bruised face, the eyes beneath the furrowed brow. ¡°What were you sensing?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer, his haunted gaze saying everything.


    ¡®You don¡¯t want to know.¡¯


    I looked around. ¡°Is everyone else okay?¡±


    Avaelar nodded grimly. Zab was still clinging to me. Rath¡­


    ¡°Look, man, there¡¯s no way he was right¡­¡°


    The arch-diviner met my eyes; his voice was so quiet.


    ¡°He was right.¡±


    Rathal raised the jagged rock I¡¯d used to refresh their marks while we explored the ethereal gardens, and appeared to stab it straight into his neck.


    It wasn¡¯t that, though ¨C he was going in at the collarbone, digging its tip deep into the flesh ¨C


    He flicked out a gory copper penny, and it bounced on the rocks; he followed it with those burning eyes.


    ¡°I did it. I killed her. I shook her ¨C she was choking and¡­ I¡­¡±


    He fell to his knees, heedless of the rough impact, and he didn¡¯t cry. Not a single tear fell down his cheek in grief, self-contempt.


    He moaned instead, as he lost the core of his persona, sending bitter echoes smashing back at us from the cavern-walls.


    ¡°Ohhhhhhhhhhh¡­¡±


    It was like he¡¯d saved up a thousand gasps of a thousand knives entering a thousand bodies, and loosed them all at once.


    * * *

 By Figments Waylaid pt4

    Then he blurred to his feet. ¡°I know now,¡± he whispered, holding up his hands to look at them, study them intently, fingers splayed ¨C then suddenly he was thrusting them out in my face as though he wanted me to do the same. ¡°I understand! I understand everything¡­ Your dragon! Your damn dragon, Kas. Oh, oh no¡­¡±


    I reached out for him hesitantly, half-expecting him to just slip out of my grasp, but instead of fleeing he fell forwards into my embrace, making my elbow-bones scrape against one another, making me bite my lip against the pain.


    But it was nothing ¨C nothing to what he was feeling.


    He killed Lightblind. I was there with Timesnatcher when we found the body.


    Yet I embraced him. He understood himself, now ¨C and I did too.


    Duskdown was human. Only human, like Timesnatcher, like the rest of us.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing you can do, Rathal. Nothing. Live with it.¡±


    ¡°Live¡­ live with it.¡±


    When he drew away, I saw his eyes, and they were haunted just like Ripplewhim¡¯s, staring into an empty distance. He seemed to operate his limbs mechanically, setting them on some future-hunt, while his mind whirled with new avenues of knowledge.


    With Avaelar and Rath¡¯s help I got to my feet ¨C foot ¨C and we made our way forwards once more. There was the same chasm as before, every boulder familiar. But, somehow, it didn¡¯t trouble me. I felt we were finally making progress. We ended up moving far more quickly the second time around ¨C our terrifying host had seemingly taken pains to ensure he made us a perfect replica of the real caverns in the area, so we¡¯d already had a practice run at it.


    Once we came to the sheer areas Rathal expended some of his power, and I no longer needed to lean on my sylph. We ascended on the wings of an arch-diviner¡¯s impetus. Blurring at incredible speeds up waterfall-ridden cliffs. Finding secret tunnels where the fungus sang at our approach. Skirting the smoke-webbed pits filled with giant ethereal spiders. Climbing the quartz-fortresses of some friendly magical termites.


    Six hours. Just six subjective hours since we left Zyger for Infernum, and on his first go Pinktongue came popping back into Etherium with news of our success.


    Three battered men fell out of a dimensional portal into a cave full of bat-droppings, and never before would three people in our condition have looked quite so satisfied to take such a pungent bath. I didn¡¯t even call Pinktongue back and tell him off for the stunt he just pulled. My arch-diviner friend with the distracted expression, my arch-enchanter companion with the haunted eyes ¨C I could see the relief on their faces as Tem raised a glimmering arc of white light about us, climbing out of the sludge.


    And me? What was I? Was I haunted, distracted? I¡¯d been broken in body yet not in soul. I was a murderer and betrayer, a pitiful excuse of a human being ¨C but I didn¡¯t feel it. I knew it, for a cold fact devoid of meaning ¨C but the emotion? No.


    I felt fine.


    Shadowcrafter needed to die. Gilaela needed to be sacrificed. We needed to get home and the blood that was spilt, the blood ¨C it was the price of the transformation.


    If the guardian of Infernum hadn¡¯t sensed the murderer in me, would it have let me leave like that?


    No. None of it mattered.


    The twins¡­


    I raised shields and stars, then raised my fingertips to a looming purple shadow that I consumed ¨C


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    ¡°¨C the laces were white, two of them ¨C¡°


    Silence!


    I tapped at the wraith¡¯s essence and the very instant I faded, I started to laugh. I floated up into the air, weightless, the stinging of my smashed bones lessening yet further.


    ¡°We did it! Haha!¡± I threw my hands up, extending shields of greater and greater dimensions, reinforcing them all. ¡°We did it! We¡¯re dropping free! Oh, those idiots. Those idiots!¡± I descended back to the others on the edge of the stinking pool, summoning my sylph and gremlin into myself as I did so. ¡°The magisters, the cannibals, all of them, all of them idiots ¨C idiots¡­¡±


    I summoned my satyrs, consumed them.


    I summoned my vampire, and cocked my head in consideration. The temptation of the vampiric power was too great.


    It had to end.


    Do you know what I¡¯m going to do, Tem? Do you, Rath?


    My fellow archmages watched in silence as I carried out my business.


    I turned aside to summon everything I had left in Nethernum, except the wraith and the undead condor ¨C the former was too useful to be destroyed, and the latter was too big to fit in here. But I called all the rest to Materium and released them from their oaths.


    This meant I could chop them into pieces without any complaint from my force-blades.


    How differently things might¡¯ve gone, I thought as I went about my grisly work, if I¡¯d known back then what I know now. Release them and chop them up with force-blades. Even if I didn¡¯t have the strength back then to destroy the whole Body Brigade simultaneously, I could¡¯ve done them one by one, if I¡¯d known how. I bet Zel knew all along¡­ little witch.


    It¡¯s all linked, isn¡¯t it? If I never went to Belexor ¨C if the mizelikon was never sent for me after the Red Hart¡­ what would¡¯ve happened to me in Zyger?


    In the wake of the slaughter I¡¯d just committed, the air was pensive. Both of them were watching me. I looked at Rath.


    ¡°Did you see it all?¡± I asked.


    His look was almost disdainful, as though he were disappointed it¡¯d taken me so long to catch on. He was in a particularly bad mood. ¡°Let me fetch the stones we¡¯ll need for our amulets, and then you can prepare them with your spells for Temcar to finish.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t carve stone,¡± I said, then realised how stupid I sounded. I didn¡¯t actually have to carve the shapes myself, and Rath could make a thousand slices a second ¨C I might not even need to direct him, given how powerful he was ¨C could he replicate the runes just from foresight?


    He sighed, then vanished.


    ¡°Amulets?¡± Tem said.


    ¡°You never made an anti-enchantment pendant before?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ uh, no¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve watched it being done a few times ¨C I can give you some pointers.¡± Or at least, I hoped I could. ¡°Rath probably knows what he¡¯s doing, too.¡±


    ¡°Rath is¡­¡± The enchanter swallowed. ¡°I don¡¯t want to touch his mind. R-Rath is dangerous.¡±


    Duskdown laughed from behind him and my fellow Sticktowner almost jumped out of his skin.


    ¡°Oh yes, very dangerous,¡± the diviner said ruefully, grinning. He held out three discs of polished stone in his hands, and they were there already, the runes covering their surfaces. He¡¯d even managed to punch or drill surprisingly-neat little holes in them without shattering them, for us to attach strings. ¡°But not dangerous to you, I shouldn¡¯t think.¡±


    His eyes moved to me. ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    I didn¡¯t even need to relinquish the wraith-form, now that he¡¯d done all the hard work. I laid the glyphs as normal, then had a quick chat with Tem about what he was trying to evoke ¨C I gave him the ability to see force-lines, and demonstrated the patterns of his spells, as far as I could see them adjusting my own.


    Once he got the hang of the tricky parts Rath told him to get on with it, and we withdrew to the other side of the cavern, leaving him alone to his task. I hovered about, studying the roof. There were thousands of bats up there, all of them seemingly hibernating; I disturbed a few with my dim light but they weren¡¯t too bothered by my presence.


    We couldn¡¯t be far from the surface if there were bats here, could we? The temptation to just go up, soar through the rock and find out where we were, how far from home we were, was overpowering.


    ¡°Kas,¡± Rath said quietly.


    I turned back to him and sank down a little.


    ¡°You deserve an answer to your question. I¡¯ve thought about it long and hard, and I¡¯m ready to speak.¡±


    I released what felt like a thousand gallons of air in a sigh, the pressure pent-up in my lungs for weeks.


    ¡°I hope you take it the way it is intended. I am attempting a full disclosure of the facts. Please, don¡¯t react until I¡¯m finished. The last thing I want is for us to come to blows.¡±


    I made myself lighter still, and crossed my legs up in the air, floating leisurely. ¡°The first time we met, you told me none of my plans to take you down would work. It occurs to me that if you¡¯d been telling the truth, there was no reason for you to visit me in the first place. Am I right?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he answered immediately. ¡°There is no way for you to defeat me. I flee, or I defeat you. But there was another reason for me to visit you.¡±


    I stared at him, waiting.


    * * *

 By Figments Waylaid pt5

    ¡°I knew all along I was bound to Zyger. And I knew before I moved against Direcrown that I would be caught, that I would go there. I knew you could get me out. I knew I needed you to.¡±


    My mouth went dry, even though it was insubstantial. The anger, the old, old anger, was still there inside me.


    All of them, playing with me.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t take advantage of you. I didn¡¯t even lie to you, not after I threatened your brother and sister. I knew I would¡¯ve had to kill you, if I couldn¡¯t persuade you not to fight me.¡±


    ¡°And Direcrown?¡±


    ¡°I would¡¯ve found another way to finish him, I¡¯m sure, when the time came.¡±


    ¡°You did finish him, though! With your own hands! And ¨C¡°


    He held up those murderer¡¯s hands for peace and I stopped.


    ¡°Kas. It¡¯s been ¨C I haven¡¯t had a friend in years. I know we¡¯ve only really talked shop, so to speak, but I haven¡¯t ¨C haven¡¯t talked to anyone for so long¡­ Don¡¯t think ill of me, please. I¡¯m¡­ pleased fate brought our paths together. Even Irimar Nemmeneth wanted you gone ¨C¡°


    ¡°No.¡± I didn¡¯t care if I was confirming his suspicions ¨C I was too angry, with the lot of them. ¡°He gave me the way out. Grip the brand tightly.¡±


    He furrowed his brow as he looked at me. ¡°Truly? Yet he wouldn¡¯t know of my release¡­¡±


    ¡°All of you, constantly messing with me!¡± I felt my face contort. ¡°It¡¯s not fate that brought our paths together. It¡¯s you, all of you, toying with us ¨C we¡¯re just puppets. No responsibilities!¡± I laughed, and looked down at my hand ¨C my hand that¡¯d struck Emrelet¡¯s father in the face, my hand that had directed the magic that split open Shadowcrafter¡¯s throat. ¡°No responsibilities. I was bound to go there too. You¡¯re right, though: I don¡¯t think he knew you¡¯d come back with me. I just think he heard the mizelikon scream. I¡¯m pretty sure if I go and look it up in a book there¡¯s only one way to get that kind of reaction ¨C exposing its essence¡¯s nexus-point¡­ They¡¯re just second rank, after all¡­ But I doubt it¡¯s called a ¡®brand¡¯; that¡¯ll be a phrase of Timesnatcher¡¯s invention. Something to make me approach the fire first, maybe. I think Vardae heard him¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve skipped ahead,¡± Rath said. ¡°Yes. You could look it up. ¡®Upon contact with the foreign sorcerous implement, the runic nexus of the mizelikon will unravel, its essence to dissipate in seconds unless the implement is linked with a vessel of sufficient capacity to receive the power.¡¯ From ¡®Demonic Assassins: Their Uses and Their Weaknesses¡¯ in the sixteenth edition of Anilzar¡¯s Key to Modern Sorcery, volume two.¡±


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    ¡°Your power¡­¡± I just shook my head at the futility of trying to talk to someone like him. Like him, and Irimar, Tanra, Vardae¡­ They were all impossible. Just impossible.


    ¡°So, he really wanted you free? But¡­ I don¡¯t understand¡­¡±


    His voice dropped away, and the limits of his omniscience were laid painfully bare just moments after I¡¯d been reminded of his boundless knowledge.


    They¡¯re not gods, I told myself, not for the first time.


    ¡°We¡¯re not going to give him a chance to find out that I¡¯m free. Or you. Any of us. What are we going to do? Fight the Magisterium? They sure as hell don¡¯t want me free. They know I know what they are, they know I could be a dreadful enemy of theirs if I chose to be¡­¡±


    I could imagine it, now, with these murderer¡¯s hands stuck on the ends of my wrists. How I could raise the shield and the blades that slashed at Zakimel, watch the moustached face twisted in agony at the tips of my invisible weapons. How I could watch the all-knowing smirk on Henthae¡¯s face be replaced by the slack-jawed look of a corpse. All those highborn, watching us crawl around in the muck, in the drop and the blood and the bones¡­


    When I thought of Emrelet, I clenched my unfeeling fists and panted.


    ¡°So you¡¯ll want me to give you a path out of Mund.¡±


    I returned my focus to him, swallowed down my anger and smiled. ¡°If you pick the direction, even the destination, that gives me better odds, right? And you can tell me how to approach getting my brother and sister?¡±


    Rathal nodded slowly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you¡¯re going, but I think you¡¯ll be back.¡±


    I gave him a sceptical look, but he just shrugged.


    ¡°I said I would be honest with you. I¡¯m not getting this from my power, not at all, but I still think you¡¯ll be back.¡± He said it more firmly the second time, then got to his feet. ¡°He¡¯s finished.¡±


    I only realised what he¡¯d meant when he blurred towards Temcar.


    To my surprise, when he halted and raised a huge rock as if to bring it down upon the back of the enchanter¡¯s skull, he was ostensibly standing six feet to Tem¡¯s left.


    The real Tem is invisible, I realised.


    ¡°And now it¡¯s time,¡± Rath called.


    From the way he was staring into the empty space right in front of him, I could tell Tem must¡¯ve been there, paralysed, shocked to realise the arch-diviner could find him despite his tricks. The fake Tem was looking over to his left at Rath, the same paralysis and shock I imagined on his real face evident on the false one.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you make the decision, Kas, but I can tell you now that he¡¯s going to betray us ¨C he has my identity, he has the keys to our minds ¨C the consequences will be very messy indeed, and so I will end up killing him in a far more brutal fashion than this before it¡¯s too late.¡±


    For a second or two I felt appalled ¨C then I understood.


    I had an insight now into how the mind of this diviner worked. How he manipulated. I knew that unless Duskdown said these exact words, performed these precise actions, it was indeed very likely that Ripplewhim would end up betraying us. But now ¨C now, maybe he wouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Give him his chance,¡± I called back.


    Rath grunted, and lowered the rock.


    ¡°You¡¯re a wanted man, Herreld,¡± he said into empty space. ¡°You¡¯ll get yourself out of Mund as quickly as possible, if you know what¡¯s good for you.¡±


    The enchanter vanished, and then Neverwish appeared; the little blocky guy was sitting on a rock about thirty feet from the diviner.


    * * *

 By Figments Waylaid pt6

    Rathal smiled. ¡°Did it get tiring?¡±


    The dwarf did look flushed. ¡°I was having to go in your mind about once every ten seconds by the end, there. Dropping diviners.¡±


    I looked between the two of them in disbelief.


    ¡°Yeah, I started editing both your memories as soon as we got out. Didn¡¯t know if he was going to turn on us till then, Feychilde, and I didn¡¯t want you giving it away if I had to stop him. I can read his mind, same as I read yours. You were right. He doesn¡¯t want to kill me.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡± I floated closer to Herreld. ¡°I saw you ¨C dead¡­¡±


    He chuckled, his beard bristling. ¡°Thanks for the compliment.¡±


    ¡°Gods¡­¡±


    I made myself partially-corporeal just to grab his thick arm with my good hand, let him pull me into a rough hug. My broken arm hung limply at my side.


    He was real. He was really here.


    I released him, slid back on the air. ¡°But ¨C Temcar ¨C¡°


    ¡°Yeah, that was him in the water, sorry.¡± The dwarf¡¯s eyes were shining with unshed tears, and his smile was bitter. ¡°It won¡¯t make much sense to you ¨C I just worked with what I had. But I¡¯m exonerated, aren¡¯t I? I can go back to the city.¡±


    ¡°I think the Magisterium ¨C¡° I began.


    ¡°Would they really kill me?¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°For poking a hole in their precious Zyger¡­ yeah¡­ yeah, maybe.¡±


    ¡°You are still a wanted man, whether you will it or no.¡± Rath was smiling, but his eyes remained distracted.


    ¡°I see that.¡± Whatever the dwarf was perceiving in the diviner¡¯s head, it was making him look less and less happy by the second. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be running any unnecessary risks, from now on.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s time we went to the surface,¡± Rath said. He looked at the three discs in Neverwish¡¯s lap. ¡°Then we can finally part ways¡­ for a time.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re inscrutable,¡± the dwarf enchanter growled, ¡°even to me, you know that right?¡±


    Duskdown offered a small bow.


    ¡°What are your plans?¡± I asked them both, adjusting my wraithiness to allow me to catch the anti-enchantment pendant Herreld tossed me.


    ¡°Hide?¡± The dwarf shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving. Something¡¯s got to go down soon, and they¡¯re going to need us.¡±


    ¡°The same.¡± Duskdown was studying the spellbound stone in his own fingers ¨C then he looked over at Neverwish. ¡°Kas is about to tell you that you need to hide in the places I describe to you, in order to avoid being scried by other powers. There¡¯s truth to this ¨C there¡¯s nothing so straightforward as an anti-divination pendant, unfortunately.¡±


    I looked down at the pendant in my hand; it had fully transitioned now, and I was able to bring it into the wraith-state with me.


    ¡°But no one is looking for you,¡± the seer went on, ¡°and I think you¡¯ll be fine wherever you go. Be bold. That is in itself enough advice to let you evade anyone but Timesnatcher, I think. He has no reason to think you escaped¡­¡±


    The enchanter chuckled, smiling brightly, then said in a chiding tone: ¡°Unless he knew Kas was the sort to bring me back.¡±


    Rath inclined his head, eyes troubled now.


    The diviner¡¯s blind-spot. Overuse of their power, blinding them to simple realities.


    ¡°What of me?¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not invisible ¨C I can¡¯t really avoid divination without ingesting demons¡­ And there¡¯s my brother and sister to think about. I¡¯ve got to run.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s two in the morning,¡± Rath said. ¡°I sense this has been a fateful night. A turning point in the dream. Come, make us ghostlike and take us up through the rock, and I will tell you what you need to know.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t tested that yet,¡± I admitted ruefully. ¡°Doing this to other people, I mean.¡±


    ¡°It will work. I have seen it. Come.¡± He waved his hand, gesturing for me to approach. ¡°Attempt it. We can be patient. We¡­ have nowhere better to be.¡±


    The smile on his face was fragile, this time, and I could tell he¡¯d meant what he¡¯d said about his loneliness. It was something Timesnatcher had spoken of ¨C I couldn¡¯t even imagine Everseer¡¯s state of mind ¨C and Killstop¡­


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    Was Tanra still out there? Was she still doing okay?


    Had she kept everyone safe?


    I looked at Duskdown, and he nodded to me.


    He knew what I was going to ask, knew what was on my mind.


    Knew what I was going to do.


    I reached out for my friends, closed my shadowy fingers about their wrists; within a minute they had transitioned into the wraith-form the same as me, and my blue wings were beating, sending us towards the slumbering bats ¨C sending us sliding through them. Through the layers of stone, breathing our fill in dry cavities that men¡¯s lungs had never before tasted. Through yards of dirt until, no more than a couple of minutes into our nethernal ascent, we broke the surface.


    Two minutes, and that was going slowly, bearing the burden of a full-grown man and a stout dwarf.


    Six hours and two minutes, I thought, and laughed aloud again, looking up at the sky.


    We had to be in Oldtown. The yard in which we¡¯d emerged was fenced in with rust-coated iron bars atop a chest-high red brick wall, and the space itself was filled with tombs so weathered they might as well have just been smooth, flat rocks. There were a number of half-eroded statues ¨C not the moving, killing kind, fortunately ¨C left eerie and alien by the passage of centuries. Low buildings surrounded the space, roofs shining blackly with the run-off of recent rainfall.


    But the sky overheard ¨C the sky¡­


    It was wonderful, beyond wonderful, to taste again the salt of the winter breeze, see the storm clouds roll across the heavens. Yet storms brought the painful reminder, of her, of everything that had happened to me.


    I looked down at the ground beneath me and floated a little higher. I didn¡¯t have to care about any of it ¨C the sky, the statues, my stupid memories of Emrelet, a time that had ended ¨C ended long ago, now.


    Only the twins remained.


    Jaid¡­ Jaroan¡­


    Mum¡­ Dad¡­


    The diviner and enchanter were becoming corporeal once again, now that I¡¯d let them go to drift higher. They were, like me, casting about at their surroundings, as if daring this all to be some trick, another warped game from the insane mind of the guardian of the ways.


    But no. It was Mund. We were home.


    Then Rath looked up at me, his face set, some awful resolution behind his eyes. For a moment I feared violence, and then ¨C


    ¡°Leave her asleep ¨C write a note.¡±


    ¡°Leave¡­?¡± I frowned. ¡°Xantaire? Leave her asleep? But ¨C¡°


    ¡°Just trust me, will you? If you say everything you need to say to her face, you¡¯ll stay too long. You¡¯ll¡­ It goes blank, which isn¡¯t good, do you understand me?¡± The savageness of this sudden question startled me. ¡°No, leave her asleep! But only her boy knows what they did with your spare robe and mask. The magisters didn¡¯t bother to probe his mind, thinking they¡¯d already found everything, and it really wasn¡¯t on the minds of the others ¨C¡°


    I was nodding my head impatiently. ¡°Can I wake him?¡±


    He grunted. ¡°Please¡­ I¡¯m just following the lines¡­ Ah. Not far from your uncle¡¯s grave. No ¨C his uncle¡¯s grave ¨C the boy¡¯s. Four yards behind it ¨C beneath a cedar, in the outer curve of an ¡®s¡¯-shaped root. There¡¯s still a small depression in the ground.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Thanks!¡±


    ¡°Your¡­ brother and sister will both be in when you get back.¡±


    ¡°Well I should hope so, two in the morning¡­¡± I sighed. ¡°Do you even know what the date ¨C¡°


    ¡°Your brother has stayed out on the streets past this hour twice this week. I¡¯m sorry if I seem out of sorts, but this raises questions I can¡¯t answer.¡±


    ¡°What do you ¨C¡°


    ¡°And it is going into the twenty-third of Taura. I suspect if it were not for the depth of your native power, combined with the effects of the chronomantic well we clearly entered down there, Herreld and I would have been irretrievably connected to the otherworld; we left Zyger some twenty-seven days ago now. The unicorn¡¯s sacrifice was well-made, I think.¡°


    ¡°What?¡± I gulped the air, no longer impressed with its freshness, trying to process his words. ¡°Twenty-seven days? Healing us is going to be a problem ¨C and why are they staying out ¨C¡°


    ¡°I move to bring Fangmoon to us now. Be patient ¨C¡°


    He turned aside, poising himself to move ¨C


    ¡°Stop!¡± What does he even mean? ¡°He stayed out on the streets? With Jaid?¡±


    ¡°No. With inkatra salesmen. Knife-men. Those I often slay.¡± Then, with an almost sick-sounding, regretful note to his voice, he finished: ¡°I would not have slain him¡­¡±


    He might¡¯ve said something else but I could no longer hear him.


    Inkatra salesmen.


    I blinked.


    Knife-men.


    I blinked.


    Knife¡­ men¡­


    I blinked again.


    ¡°Joran protect us,¡± I breathed.


    * * *


    2 ¨C 4 ¨C 2 ¨C 1.


    X, I really wanted to wake you up but someone I trust told me I really need to do it this way, so here goes. I hope you¡¯ll understand why. First I need to apologise. In the last few months you had to endure more ups and downs than anyone deserves in a decade. I hope you¡¯ll have some stability now we¡¯re gone. I¡¯m taking them with me because they¡¯re my responsibility, not yours, and I don¡¯t want you to have to shoulder the burden any longer. I know you don¡¯t think of them that way, or maybe you do at the moment ¨C I¡¯ve just heard Jar¡¯s been putting you through it? Maybe I¡¯m understating it? You¡¯ve already done more than I could ever have asked of you, protecting them for so long, looking out for them like they¡¯re your own.


    They are, Xan. You¡¯re my sister, and I¡¯m not leaving you behind. I¡¯m just going out ahead of you for a bit, okay? I¡¯m going to get us settled, somewhere far from here, somewhere we can put down some real roots. Somewhere we don¡¯t cause chaos. Somewhere you can be safe too. When I¡¯ve found the place, I¡¯ll send for you, if you want me to. You can move out with us. Well within the limits of Everseer¡¯s time frame, so there¡¯s that, you know? I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry. The twins are going to be sorry for not saying goodbye too, but I didn¡¯t have a choice. I had to do this without anyone knowing. I had to keep them from coming for me.


    I love you, Xan. Please pass it on to Xassy and Orstrum. I¡¯ll be out of the Magisterium¡¯s reach soon.


    K.


    P.S. Doing it this way has probably got around most of the ways they¡¯d find out I escaped ¨C I got told this method is safe, you get me? But even still you may want to burn this note immediately, ha!


    P.P.S. If you see Killstop, say hi to her for me.


    P.P.P.S. Stay safe. I¡¯ll send for you as soon as I can.


    I promise.

 Farewell, Mund pt1

    <h2>JET 8.5: FAREWELL, MUND</h2>


    ¡°I did not write these words. I only spoke them. I do not know your tongue. It is your Mother-tongue. The speech of demons. Do not decry the translator. How might I speak to you, but in your own voice? There is no untranslated speech.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 13:270-277


    The landscape below was a tapestry of shadowed farmlands, winter-blasted fields scarred with naked hedgerows, shivering animals longing for the dawn. The frost-eaten meadows were pale, sparkling sometimes under the moonlight as we passed overhead. I already had all three of us enwraithed, invisible, and on the road ¨C so to speak. The moon was only just waning, barely less than full, and it felt at times like we were swimming through silver water. Rath had said to leave a clear twenty miles between us and the Plain Road as we headed north-west, so I¡¯d fixed our height at around about three hundred feet as he¡¯d recommended, the road running almost along the horizon.


    My skin tingled. It was like that first night, flying in Hightown ¨C flying with the platinum-haired wizard who never loved me¡­ But it¡¯d felt like love, hadn¡¯t it? It¡¯d felt real, flying there before the Maginox?


    I felt it again now. It wasn¡¯t love, exactly, but it was a surprisingly-similar sensation: freedom. Unbounded freedom. The night was alive in ways no vampire could perceive, but I could. I flew across a plain, a plane of potential. I had only to fix my mind upon some purpose, some calling¡­


    But what? It was impossible to think clearly. As much as my nethernal flesh enjoyed the predawn flight, my mind was preoccupied.


    Everything was not okay in the House of Mortenn.


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    The light-globes fastened to the posts along the Plain Road¡¯s route stood out, even from here, the white beacons designed to shine across the dark expanse doing their job superbly. We had a map, but none of us were experienced at map-reading, obviously, beyond tracing routes on those clearly-absurd things in the first pages of story-books. Our collective lack of skill with maps being the case, my arch-arch-diviner advisor said that keeping the road in sight was the only way we¡¯d avoid getting lost. Apparently getting lost would run us into even worse issues before we reached the mountain-pass ¨C the delightful-sounding ¡®Irontooth Gates¡¯, as the map would have it.


    Even worse issues. Yeah, that was what he¡¯d said. His choice of phrasing had been ominous. Truth be told, I¡¯d had no idea what I was letting myself in for ¨C just getting out of Mund, getting here with the twins and all my stuff, had been a trial.


    But flying in silence like this? For all the blissfulness, I felt little or nothing of the relief I¡¯d expected. No, now it was all apprehension at what trials might be lie before us. What more I¡¯d have to do to keep us alive, keep us in happiness and health.


    ¡°Keep up, guys,¡± I called softly ¨C not to my brother and sister, whose hands I had to keep hold of, but to the invisible entourage following along behind us.


    ¡°But it is heavy, Master!¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s you, Bigbum, you know where you can put your complaints, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Please, Master must not be so literal, or the Bigbum will suffer much¡­¡±


    That got Jaid to laugh, but it was a brief snatch of sound, quickly stifled by her mood.


    ¡°You¡¯d better stop writing them down, then, hadn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Y-e-e-e-ssssss, Master.¡±


    I looked across at Jaroan. He was staring over his left shoulder, out towards the sea, little more than a faint wall of smudgy greyness against the horizon.


    Goodbye, Salnifast-by-the-Sea. Goodbye, the Bay of Mund.


    Of all the things I¡¯d thought I¡¯d have to say goodbye to, my brother wasn¡¯t one of them. But he was different now. We were leaving the old Jaroan behind, perhaps forever.


    Gilaela, or that thorny king who used her as a mouthpiece, hadn¡¯t been wrong. ¡®Return to the nightmare¡­ from whence you came.¡¯ The words lay heavy on my mind, anchoring me to my worries.


    * * *

 Farewell, Mund pt2

    For a kick off, my robe was covered in mud, wet and slimy from months in the ground ¨C thankfully it¡¯d been well-made by Madame Sailor, having suffered only minor damage, a little fraying in a few patches and on one of the sleeve-cuffs. It was my robe, damn it, and it was a million percent better than an inmate¡¯s rags, even covered in stains. However, the mask Xas had buried was obviously my spare one: it had a slightly more-daunting twist to its grinning expression, and a certain quality of the curving horns made them not decorative but blade-like, their points far more pronounced than my usual mask.


    I had stowed it in my newly-stolen satchel. I had no idea whether it might prove useful at some future juncture, but for now it only made me more recognisable. The robe, once I was all ghostly, could¡¯ve been any sorcerer¡¯s really ¨C the mask far less-so. Even if I¡¯d only used it rarely, there was no need to take the risk; it did look an awful lot like my favourite one. Perhaps it was only to me that it looked much different.


    Once I¡¯d bade Morsus farewell, I floated over my parents¡¯ graves, and just stayed there for a minute, collecting myself mentally, coming up with a plan. The first thing I did was go and have a shave. Losing the whiskers was almost as good as regaining my powers. Then I went ahead and stocked up on the essentials for our journey ¨C probably far more important than the champion¡¯s costume, thinking about it. Books ¨C I didn¡¯t dare go near the Maginox library, but there were plenty of contemporary books I still hadn¡¯t read, on both sorcery and magic in general, books which had caught my eye over the past months but which my chosen profession had afforded me little time to read. Bedding, warm clothing ¨C I couldn¡¯t stay in wraith-form twenty-four-seven or I¡¯d start to fade away into the shadowland. I¡¯d have to have something comfy to wear when I was sleeping at least, and the same went for the twins, obviously. We weren¡¯t heading for sunny climes.


    And then there was food ¨C I had ways to get meat in the wild, ways beyond the ken (or tastes) of most men, but there was no harm taking some nuts and salted beef, pickled vegetables, anything that would keep. After my diet in Zyger, the moment I saw a jar of gherkins I tore the lid off it in such a rush my satyr-strength shattered the thing. It mattered little to me ¨C there was a whole shelf of the bad boys. By the time I got to the third jar, I¡¯d calmed down enough to actually open it without peppering its contents with glass-shards.


    There was too much stuff to carry, but that was what imps were for ¨C I sat Zab on top of the chest full of goodies, my winged demonoids hefted it between them, and, with a dash of gremlin illusion, the chest sauntered along after me, equally invisible.


    Yes, I stole it all, from the very-poshest shops I could safely enter with my considerable skill-set. Yes, I filled my pockets with cash wherever I could. Yes, I got terrible wind from the gherkins. I didn¡¯t care about any of it. I owed it to myself. The city owed it to me. I gave Mund my life, and it repaid me by starving me, entrapping me, maiming me.


    No more.


    Once I had ninety percent of my preparations finished and my guts had stopped jabbering on in their dismal chorus, I finally plucked up the courage to go and do it.


    Go home.


    Mud Lane was a place out of my dreams, its wooden spans and rope-bridges tearing at my heart more than the lofty golden arches of Hightown ¨C even the newest ones I didn¡¯t recognise. I was descending past its windows and balconies for the last time. I was coming home to leave it forever, Rathal¡¯s opinions notwithstanding.


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    It was strange, coming back ¨C getting to see Jaid and Jaroan had been the driving force in my life for so long that I could hardly remember their faces; the specifics of their appearance had been wholly subsumed by the idea of their existence, the symbol of my freedom ¨C yet after hearing Duskdown¡¯s portentous words regarding my brother, I was bound-over in apprehension.


    Knife-men? I asked myself for what had to have been the fiftieth time. How? How dare he?


    And then ¨C before my mind¡¯s eye ¨C looming large and blinding, a burning tongue of hell-flame ¨C Shadowcrafter falling, his blood arcing up ¨C


    I had no room to judge Jaroan.


    Then I was there ¨C floating through my apartment ¨C Orstrum, the dear old man snoring on his mattress ¨C Xan and Xastur, the boy seeming almost to blink as he slumbered deep in dreams ¨C and, finally, my brother and sister.


    I tried to do it as gently as possible, knowing how fragile they might be.


    ¡°Jaid? Jar?¡±


    They were sleeping in separate beds, now, obviously; it was Jaid that¡¯d taken mine. She was hugging her pillow, and I almost cracked and started weeping, right then and there, looking down at her ¨C but I drew a ragged breath and forced myself to swallow down my emotions. By the Five, I didn¡¯t even want to wake her ¨C but I had to.


    ¡°Guys? Please.¡±


    I lit a candle and ensured I was in a position where my face was visible, that I was talking slowly and surely as they started to awaken.


    ¡°I¡¯m here. Jaid? Will you wake up? Jaroan? I didn¡¯t bring you any bread this time, but I think I could rustle up a blackberry pastry¡­ if Pinktongue¡¯s not scoffed them all.¡±


    ¡°Kas? What?¡± Jaid sounded annoyed more than anything, her sleep-voice loud and brusque. ¡°I¡¯m tryin¡¯ ¨C tryin¡¯ to go back to ¨C Kas¡­¡±


    She came awake and stared at me for a full five seconds before whirling out of bed faster than an arch-diviner, sucking in her breath to squeal ¨C


    ¡°Shh!¡± I made my eyes wide, telling her without words how dangerous the next few seconds could be for me.


    I crouched to receive her and there was only a moment of hesitation before she ran to me, squeezed me harder than an arch-druid. I only had to crouch a bit. They were growing. You didn¡¯t notice it, until you weren¡¯t there every day, and suddenly in a couple of months she¡¯d shot up like a reed.


    Tears fell down my cheeks, but I was smiling in joy.


    Over Jaid¡¯s shoulder, I saw that Jaroan was just starting to push himself into an upright position. The battle within him flared in his eyes.


    This time it was Jaroan who wouldn¡¯t speak. This time it was Jaroan who cried, not out of happiness but out of grief, grief for these lost months, the course he¡¯d chosen. I could see the contest of emotions playing itself out across his features.


    Jaid was trying not to squeal, burying her face in my shoulder. I took them both into my arms, and, whatever else was wrong with the world, I knew this little piece of it would be okay. It might take time, it might be hard, but we would get through it together.


    I told them the plan, showed them the note for Xantaire. Jaid went for it instantly, and, while Jaroan raised no word of complaint, he laughed scornfully a few times; at himself, at me, the plan¡­ I had no idea, but he packed a bag all the same. That was all that mattered.


    Sure, they probably knew it was all a lie. They knew it wasn¡¯t going to be some big adventure. We were running from Mund, running from excitement into safety, from the end of the world as we knew it into obscurity. The untravelled lands beyond the Realm¡¯s borders were probably untravelled for a very good reason, but we¡¯d get chance to find out.


    If the death of the world caught us there, at least we¡¯d be some of the last to enjoy our time on the plane before we were made dragon-fodder. And who knew for certain? We could go so far that even Ulu Kalar reborn couldn¡¯t find us. Keep going to the very ends of Materium.


    The sun rose behind us, but we cast no shadows. We flew higher, until we were wisps of cloud drifting across the sky towards the distant mountains.


    I¡¯d had plenty-enough trouble getting free the first time. I wasn¡¯t about to be caught again.


    * * *

 Farewell, Mund pt3

    Now that it was light and it was child¡¯s play to fix our direction, I ascended up to perhaps a thousand feet, and we could see the lay of the land more clearly. Little matchstick villages were scattered beneath us, flocks of sheep being brought in for shearing, teams of oxen pulling ploughs across spell-enhanced soil. It was only rarely that the druidic committees forced the lands to lie fallow, and even from up here I couldn¡¯t spot a single field left untouched; the signs of activity were everywhere ¨C the tents of marketplaces were like tiny patches of gems in the grass, pavilions blue and white and yellow; plenty of carts were twisting about the paths winding to and fro between trading outposts, and parties of travellers on horseback. The Plain Road was dotted every fifteen or twenty miles with towns, if they could be called that ¨C I doubted any one of them was half as big as even Helbert¡¯s Bend, but these road-stops were all named on my map: Griffon¡¯s Lodge with its white-blossomed groves, Arlbrowtain with its seven streams, Hidden Hedge with its wheat-coated roofs¡­ The bigger towns were down by the Greywater, which had snaked out of sight to the west.


    The road itself seemed to be full of traffic going in both directions, riders and carriages, carts and pedestrians ¨C and we weren¡¯t the only aerial travellers either. Though most were keeping close to the road, and flying far lower than us, there was one exciting moment when a flock of griffons zoomed past, heading towards the east, crossing within just a quarter of a mile of us. But we emitted no significant scents on the breeze when we were like this, and even the monstrous hunters of the skies were oblivious to our presence.


    I raised my head once the tremendous creatures had winged by, looking over at Jaid to catch her reaction ¨C only to note how ashen her face had become. Beneath the ghostly transparency she ought to look pale, sure, but her skin was almost luminous.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± I asked her, squeezing her hand.


    She pulled her eyes up from the ground to meet mine, and juddered through gritted teeth, ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°You want to go lower?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± she cried. ¡°Yes! I don¡¯t kn-know! Oh¡­ I just ¨C I don¡¯t f-feel right!¡±


    Whatever it was, I didn¡¯t want to find out. I knew I felt fine, but my brother and sister were younger, less physically-mature by a significant margin¡­ Was it possible that they could succumb to the nethernal effects of the wraith¡¯s essence much more quickly than me? Or maybe it wasn¡¯t even a matter of that¡­ Maybe it was just that I was an arch-sorcerer, and they weren¡¯t¡­ Could I continue to run the risk?


    ¡°To the ground,¡± I said. ¡°We need a break. Stretch your legs. Get something to eat.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Jaroan said in a mocking voice ¨C but when I looked over at him, his skin had almost the same hue as our sister¡¯s.


    Just glad to have caught it in time, I slowly descended.


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    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± Jaid whimpered, the details of the landscape below coming into sharper and sharper focus. There was a hillock beneath us, choked with small hawthorn trees, its long grasses matted like wet grey hairs. Redwings and thrushes could be seen here and there, darting from shrub to shrub in search of food.


    ¡°Just another few seconds,¡± I murmured, then craned my head back and spoke to the unseen chest and its retinue following along: ¡°Zab, can you make this look like an empty hillside for a bit, please? We¡¯re going to drop the wraith for a while.¡±


    The moment I set the twins down on the flattest bit of the slope, I released their hands, and the opacity of their skin and clothes immediately started to return. I got the imps settled, which brought about a chorus of relieved sighs, and I graciously permitted my hellspawn to hunt the local birds and rodents, so long as they did nothing to impinge on my gremlin¡¯s illusion. Then I limped around between my brother and sister and the chest, handing out food and drink, skipping the preserves and going straight for the perishables.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with your foot, Kas?¡± Jaid asked, before taking a small nibble at her pastry.


    Ah.


    This was the first time they¡¯d seen me moving around on my legs since I came back for them.


    Jaroan was saying nothing, chewing his food in silence.


    ¡°Unhealable,¡± I said with a sardonic half-smile. ¡°A small price to pay, for escaping Zyger, believe me¡­¡±


    ¡°But ¨C an arch-druid ¨C¡°


    I was shaking my head. ¡°Saw one. One of the best. Even ¨C¡°


    ¡°Imrye?¡±


    I shook my head again.


    ¡°Fangmoon?¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Uh huh. She couldn¡¯t do anything ¨C she even took the foot clean off, regrew it. The damage was too set-in for it to revert to its previous condition. I don¡¯t think all the planar hopping helped, from what Fang said. Twenty-seven days, we were in those other worlds ¨C but to my wounds it was more like twenty-seven years. It¡¯s a miracle she was able to fix the rest of my injuries. My elbow was¡­ never mind.¡±


    Jaid kept her gaze on me for another ten seconds, then dropped it back to her tart, taking another tiny nibble.


    Was it the wraith, or is it something else?


    When I studied my sister¡¯s expression, I saw the same troubled eyes she¡¯d had in the skies, the same drawn, thin lips.


    ¡°Alright, I guess we¡¯d better just talk about it.¡± I sat down on the ground between them, and looked pointedly at Jaroan.


    ¡°About wha¡¯?¡± he muttered darkly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen someone with so much jam in their mouth look so moody,¡± I commented.


    It didn¡¯t help, and I should¡¯ve known it wouldn¡¯t. He half-turned away from both of us, staring at a patch of heather fifty yards off down the hillside.


    ¡°About your night-time activities.¡± I looked at Jaid, who was almost as morose, chewing despondently on her pastry. ¡°What do you make of it all?¡±


    She just offered a sad little shrug, and went on slowly moving the contents of her mouth around.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I think.¡± I let myself slouch, enjoying the softness of the grass at my back. Even cold and wet, it sure beat the rocks of Magicrux Zyger. ¡°I think our brother made some mistakes. Bad ones. Ones he regrets.¡±


    Jaroan didn¡¯t look back at me, but I could tell from the movement of his head that he was now looking down at the ground between his feet.


    ¡°But nothing that can¡¯t be forgiven. The same mistakes many young people make, especially young men. Mistakes I made. Don¡¯t think you¡¯re the only one to struggle. We all do.¡±


    Now he looked around. His eyes were still bleak pools of misery.


    ¡°And I think our sister¡¯s blamed herself.¡± I smiled at her. ¡°She thinks she didn¡¯t do enough ¨C¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    I¡¯d expected Jaid to interrupt me, not Jaroan, and I looked up in surprise.


    * * *

 Farewell, Mund pt4

    His tone ¨C so cold.


    ¡°You don¡¯t? If you ¨C¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± he screamed, rising to his feet, whirling at me. ¡°You¡¯re always talking, it¡¯s always me, me, me! You¡¯re the archmage, you¡¯re the oldest one ¨C well you¡¯re not him! Not Dad! And I¡¯m glad! Because you¡¯re not the boss of me, not either of us! It¡¯s a good job ¨C what was it, to you?¡± His eyes came alight as they suddenly narrowed, the battle within him won by the forces of fury and wroth. ¡°What was it, just one more adventure? ¡®Oh, I know, I¡¯ll go to Zadhal and face down evil gods!¡¯ ¡®Oh yeah, dragon, arch-demon, heretic, gimme gimme, what could go wrong!¡¯ ¡®Oh cool, I get to break myself out of mage-jail, so awesome!¡¯ Is that how it goes? Is that how life seems to you? Cos it looks dropping different from down here!¡±


    Sicker than flying wraithless, feeling more adrift in space than ever before, I cast about for support, only to find the facelessness of the landscape and her, Jaid¡¯s eyes exuding their emptiness.


    ¡°You think she blames herself? She blames you! We both do. I blame you.¡± Tears were coursing down his face again but the voice of glacial anger rolled on, relentless. ¡°You told me ¨C told us ¨C told us you¡¯d run ¨C promised us, you¡¯d be back and then ¨C then ¨C¡±


    I only beheld the tiniest fraction of the horror that had to be in him and yet it was too much for me ¨C it broke me, to hear him drop to a whisper, the voice bubbling up from a hell-pit.


    ¡°Then you were gone, dead, like them, and we were the ones left behind. The ones you left behind. And I ¨C I still don¡¯t know, whether it¡¯s even better that you came back than if you¡¯d just ¨C¡±


    I¡¯d closed my eyes, and was so lost in my thoughts, in his voice, that I hadn¡¯t noticed Jaid get up until she slapped him.


    He caught her wrist on her second swing, and when he twisted her arm it all descended into chaos. I got involved, applying the wraith-form to my lower body so that I could get between them, grapple them apart; Jaid was yelling incoherently through her sobs; Jaroan was spitting increasingly-vile words and he wouldn¡¯t let her go ¨C


    In the act of separating them I took a blow from Jaroan across the chin but I managed to shove them apart with as much gentleness as I could muster. Even still, they both stumbled in the thick weeds tangled about their feet. I rounded on Jaroan, putting myself between the two of them.


    ¡°You think I deserve that, don¡¯t you? You think it¡¯s all just an adventure? Yeah, because the souls of thousands in Zadhal ¨C who cares, right? Who cares what the dragons and demons do? It¡¯s not like they¡¯ve ever invaded our dropping street, is it! Who cares when they¡¯re sentenced to death, thrown in a hole just for trying to save lives, a hole no one¡¯s escaped for seven hundred years¡­ who moves heaven and earth to get back to his brother and sister¡­ to look after the most ungrateful ¨C¡±


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    ¡°That¡¯s just what you want us to believe, what you want yourself to believe!¡± He was getting louder again and I looked aside at the ground to quell my own slowly-boiling anger. ¡°You want to think you¡¯re doing it for us, for the innocents and their souls ¨C but it¡¯s glory you¡¯re after, it¡¯s all you¡¯ve ever been after ¨C ever since you told us what you were you¡¯ve been different ¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been different? Knives, Jar? Knives! What in the Twelve Hells went through your head ¨C¡±


    ¡°You were gone! I ¨C I had to protect us. Someone had to protect us. You use daggers, don¡¯t you?¡± He said it with a sneer on his face. ¡°I heard Garet talking to Xan. I know about Zandrina. I know she¡¯s ¨C she was coming ¨C¡±


    Zandrina? It didn¡¯t matter ¨C I got the context.


    ¡°Gang wars? Gang wars, is your excuse for spitting on their graves like that? I thought, what with dragons and that whole Everseer ¨C¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your excuse?¡± he shrieked. ¡°You promised us you¡¯d be safe and you left! You left and we were alone and for what? So you could line your pockets with platinum? So you could woo your g-girlfriend? We were fine, before! We never needed any of that stuff but you had to chase it! And look at what happened to us!¡±


    I was finding it hard to breathe, the truth of it all, my egotistical actions, my self-aggrandising and my selfishness, waves coming thick and fast.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± I choked. ¡°If I¡¯d known ¨C at the start ¨C what it was, to wear the mask ¨C I thought I knew ¨C I thought I could control it all! What would you have done, before? If you were me, if you got this ¨C¡°


    Power? Was that what it was? The ability to channel magic by instinct was precious, something I¡¯d missed in Zyger, and when it returned to me I¡¯d been bowled over by the ecstasy of reconnecting with my gift ¨C


    Gift?


    I looked at my life ¨C the remnants of my life ¨C and rejected that word. No gift brought so much woe on the recipient. It was a¡­ trade-off. A reciprocal transaction, cost-on-delivery. It took away as much as it gave.


    With me, it¡¯d given a lot. I was one of the stronger sorcerers, I knew. Why was that? Was it just that I was the most broken? Was that why my future had been thrown into the shadows of Henthae¡¯s sunken cell? Was I doomed from the beginning, or had I doomed myself? What if I¡¯d been content to just sit in a booth day by day, ensorcelling things for other people to use, clock on, clock off¡­?


    It¡¯s the hell I made for myself.


    I¡¯d fallen silent, and it wasn¡¯t until I met his eyes, knowing how vulnerable, how weak and pathetic I looked, that my brother responded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I would¡¯ve done, in your place,¡± he snarled. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t have forgotten my brother and sister!¡±


    Forgotten¡­ you? But I didn¡¯t ¨C I always thought of you. Always!


    I had no voice.


    I let myself go down to my knees, but the lightness of the wraith-form about my lower half meant I just pitched myself forward instead; I threw up my hands just in time to avoid full on face-planting the thick wet grass.


    I raised my chin, lying on my front on the ground, weeds poking in my throat.


    A few feet away, Oldbeard was feasting on Jaroan¡¯s discarded tart, ponderously chomping away at the pastry and watching our altercation with wide eyes, his tail twitching from side to side at a measured pace.


    I managed to sigh.


    At least things can¡¯t get much worse.


    * * *

 Farewell, Mund pt5

    I slowly drifted back into an upright position.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. I forgot you.¡±


    He was pacing to and fro, and I spoke to his back ¨C he froze.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t put you first.¡± I looked back at Jaid. ¡°I put myself first.¡±


    ¡°No, Kas,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Yes, I did! Unnnhhhh!¡± A moan of frustration burst from my lips. ¡°I was never there! I tried, to make it look like I was there, but I wasn¡¯t, not most of the time, and when I was there I was reading, I was thinking, I was plotting and planning or even just sleeping¡­ But it¡¯s over now. Don¡¯t you get it? It¡¯s over. We can ¨C listen!¡±


    Something in my tone caught both their attentions.


    ¡°We can start over. The world ¨C it¡¯s huge. Way beyond Mund. We can go wherever we want, once we¡¯re past the point Duskdown gave me. We¡¯re safe. No more champions. No more darkmages. You see a monster you don¡¯t want me to fight, point us in the other direction. It¡¯s simple. No Incursions. No demons. Well ¨C no more demons¡­¡±


    We looked down at Oldbeard ¨C the imp¡¯s creased, bat-like face was covered in jam, and his long tongue flickered through the spiky bristles of his white beard, snatching up the last dregs.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll be needing a new tart,¡± I observed.


    Jaroan laughed. I shivered at the chilling sound ¨C but that was that. After the morning stop-over on the hillside and my final jokey comment, things seemed to settle down, at least a bit. The awkwardness between us wasn¡¯t brought up again, and for the first time Jaid asked me to tell her about Magicrux Zyger. I went into as much detail as I thought I could, leaving out the extent of my injuries and carefully avoiding any mention of Gilaela; the topic of conversation passed on, and we talked about what we could do once we found somewhere to settle. Jaid wanted a field full of horses ¨C all Jaroan said before lapsing back into silence was that wherever we ended up, it had to have a good library.


    Words could only go so far in mending what was wrong in our family. Recent events had done something to Jaroan that hadn¡¯t only changed his personality ¨C it¡¯d changed his face, the bent of his features, sculpting a haughty scowl out of his jawline that never departed, even when he laughed. His laughter ¨C that¡¯d changed too. It was snide, sarcastic ¨C I had no idea where he¡¯d gotten it from, and didn¡¯t want to know. Laughter like that ¨C it said that he saw through you. Even if your joke was amusing, you were even more amusing, being so desperate for approval that you felt you had to make it. It ripped the amusement from almost every conversation, until it almost felt better not to speak at all.


    If Jaid was different in anything, it was in her interactions with her twin. It appeared that they were no longer as close as they¡¯d always been, a schism opened up in their mutual respect. He¡¯d changed ¨C she¡¯d stayed the same, or almost. The differences between the twins were no longer trivial. We resumed our journey, this time flying with a lot less wraith and a lot more clinging on for dear life, with Zab coming behind on his imp-palanquin to provide concealment, and I spent a lot of time just going over it in my head, sorting and cataloguing the emotions sloshing like oil and water inside my mind.


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    Jaid and Jaroan ¨C I had to stop thinking of them in the same breath like that. They were two people. Two actual, separate people. Sure, they¡¯d come out of Mum at the same time, but that didn¡¯t mean they shared the same identity. Of course, they¡¯d always diverged in their interests, their opinions, but only by a matter of degree ¨C they¡¯d always been so similar in their underlying personalities that this divide between them, between us all, felt magnified by its newness. I was like a child experiencing my first paper-cut, wondering whether it would stop, or whether it would keep hurting forever.


    It¡¯ll pass ¨C it has to. Time will heal the rift, and one day I¡¯ll look back and wonder when exactly it was that everything went back to normal.


    I focussed my eyes on the mountains ahead instead of dwelling on things. I¡¯d taken another peek at the map before we packed up and headed off again, and I had a good idea of the kind of territory we were looking at. The Five Peaks north-east of Mund were the south-eastern tip of a mountain range, the Brittlespurs that curled around above the city like a horseshoe or upside-down ¡®u¡¯. By heading north-west across Upper Agormand we¡¯d run into the northernmost curve of the same mountains, and the location of the most popular pass through them: Irontooth Gates. The town inked onto the paper beneath the word ¡®Gates¡¯ looked about one percent the size of Mund, even as far as the map itself depicted it ¨C I wondered what the people there would be like, living almost in Mund¡¯s shadow, just a few days¡¯ ride from the two-hundred-foot white walls.


    I wouldn¡¯t have long to wait to find out. We were travelling faster than a horse could gallop, outpacing half the birds we passed. Irontooth Gates might¡¯ve been a few days¡¯ ride for a lord, a week¡¯s travel for a wagon ¨C but we¡¯d probably get there not much past lunchtime, blessed as we were with the ability to cut straight across the landscape. The bigger towns like Disholt we would avoid entirely. We saw as the Plain Road broke up at Ariath¡¯s Cross, the junction-town where the broad, well-lit street, fit for several lanes going either direction, split into three far narrower pathways.


    We continued north-west, and an undulating carpet of fields and small woods slowly rose up, up, steeper and steeper before us. Before long the Agormand meadows ahead were replaced with slopes wild with thorns ¨C Jaroan pointed out the sleek shapes of a wolf-pack on the move, moving through the long grasses like eels beneath the surface of a pond. The emaciated woods became shrouded forests as they rose up onto the hillsides, dark of leaf and close-growing. These trees were smothered in their own oily shadows despite the sun beaming down ¨C the canopy seemed to swallow away the light hungrily, churning it into mist.


    Then at last all that was green gave way to murky grey basalt, the caps of the Brittlespurs looming above the countryside. It was breathtaking to see them from such an elevation ¨C already feeling high up, yet knowing you were at but a fraction of their height¡­ I¡¯d noticed them not long after leaving Mund, obviously, but it was one thing to see their shadows against the night sky ¨C another thing entirely to see them in the full radiance of the sun. The mountain-peaks, snow-crowned, ice-mantled, seemed to leer down upon the world, clad in their sheer cloaks, their armour of ravine and silence.


    The great sentinels we would cross in order to leave it all behind, following the instructions of a mad seer to the very letter.


    * * *

 Farewell, Mund pt6

    ¡°¡¯Sleep at the Lucky Fox¡¯, that¡¯s what he said, and we¡¯d have to be crazy not to,¡± I said, trudging across the boggy ground towards the road with minimal wraith-assistance. ¡°Look, it¡¯s the middle of the day, and I¡¯ll put shields up ¨C there¡¯s nothing to worry about.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± Jaid said for the twenty-somethingth time. She was yards behind me and our brother, kicking every bit of scrub she came across.


    ¡°And I¡¯m the moody one,¡± Jaroan sneered over his shoulder. ¡°Hurry up.¡±


    I cast him a glance, then quickly looked away again.


    It¡¯ll take time, I reminded myself.


    I sighed, then stopped, letting Jaid catch up.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m only saying it to convince myself.¡± I took her hand, helping her cross a big patch of smelly, black-looking water, then once she reached my side I turned and slowly continued on. ¡°I¡¯ve got absolutely no interest in sleeping in the middle of a random building filled with strangers ¨C any of them could be eyes for Zakimel and his cronies ¨C even unwittingly. We¡¯ve got to exercise absolute caution, until Blackice Bay, and I know if we had our way we¡¯d be camping out in the woods.¡±


    I kind of liked the thought of it, especially with my power trivialising the dangers posed by such exposure.


    ¡°But I¡¯ve got to admit, there¡¯s sense to Rath¡¯s words. I doubt Fang¡¯s repeated attempts to regenerate my foot¡¯s done any wonders for my energy-levels, and I¡¯ve got no idea how long it¡¯s been since I last slept ¨C weeks and weeks, as far as you measured time on the outside ¨C but even on the inside it¡¯s got to have been over twenty-four hours. How long was I awake, before¡­?¡±


    My voice dropped away.


    Before the ghost came floating down into Zyger to claim a darkmage¡¯s soul?


    Before I mentioned Neverwish by name and brought our destiny crashing down on us?


    Before I sealed Temcar¡¯s fate, the way I sealed Withertongue¡¯s?


    Before I slew Shadowcrafter?


    Maybe it was all because I¡¯d become a killer today, but it¡¯d been a very long day indeed.


    ¡°Well, you can sleep in the woods, if you¡¯re so tired,¡± Jaid protested.


    I shrugged. ¡°Who¡¯s to know? If we camped in the wilderness, maybe something bad would happen¡­ We¡¯re virtually guaranteed safe passage, riding the wave of Duskdown¡¯s foresight. Plus, I¡¯ve got my illusions to disguise our faces. No one¡¯s going to be looking for us specifically. Very few people have got any idea I¡¯m not where I¡¯m supposed to be ¨C Xantaire and Orstrum, Duskdown and Neverwish¡­ Fangmoon¡­ and maybe Timesnatcher.¡±


    It¡¯ll take time for Zakimel¡¯s people to pull it from Xantaire¡¯s head ¨C he¡¯d have no reason to submit her to an interrogation, unless someone slipped up. The others¡­ he can¡¯t get in their heads, can he?


    I was doing a fine job of convincing myself, but when I checked for Jaid¡¯s reaction, she remained unpersuaded.


    Chewing my lower lip, I focussed my energies, sculpting her a new face out of my imagination. I¡¯d had the imps bury the chest then hide in the bushes so that I could safely bring Zab back into the fold, utilise his power. Now more than ever before I was in need of his abilities.


    Once I¡¯d sorted Jaid¡¯s new face ¨C full of freckles, fuller lips, broader nose, brown eyes and dark hair ¨C I started on Jaroan. I didn¡¯t need contact for this kind of work, not anymore, but I¡¯d have to keep focussed on the illusions to maintain them. It was the same level of concentration that was required to walk up some stairs without spilling a full cup of water ¨C I could do it while talking, thinking, even daydreaming ¨C but it took some margin of my consciousness. Yes, it was a risk, but it wasn¡¯t an unnecessary one. I couldn¡¯t afford for anyone to see our real faces, not really.


    I gave Jaroan red hair, made him taller, added some extra weight to his visible frame. There was no point us looking like a mage and a pair of twins. We might as well look like three different people. I made myself look older, more grizzled, without going too far ¨C I considered adding scars to hide mine, but people would probably remember someone with a big ugly mess across his cheek. In the end I removed them all. The point was to fit in, just one more mage and his wards making our way through the town. I adjusted the colours of my robe, removed the purple and blue and silver-laced grins, making it a featureless green-grey all over. I couldn¡¯t afford to abandon the robe entirely, though ¨C it acted as a warning, making potential thieves, tricksters and attackers aware of what they would be facing if they decided to mess with me. If I started performing spells without a robe on, that would draw far more attention.


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    We passed between the tanneries and dyers in the bogland to the side of the road. The noxious fumes did little to disturb us three ¨C if anything, the putrid scents only reminded me of home, Sticktown, Mud Lane¡­ More disturbing were the looks on the faces of the leather-workers and clothiers themselves. Only about half of them were native Mundic people, it seemed, with a fair few obvious outland faces amongst them. We saw them emptying buckets of pungent liquids in the swamp, eating dour lunches upwind of their huts ¨C and they saw us. They tried to mask the suspicious glances they cast our way, but I caught them all the same. A tall, hooded mage and two children ¨C coming not along the road, but seemingly heading out of the woods to the east? Perhaps that had been a mistake, too¡­


    Cresting a small, treeless rise, we got our first close-up look at our destination. Irontooth Gates wasn¡¯t exactly as intimidating as I¡¯d expected. The slopes on either side of it were sheer, and the town was nestled in the ¡®v¡¯ between them, straddling the gap between the two upthrusting pieces of rock. Walls little higher than a fence surrounded the town, constructed from neatly-laid sandstone, the big bricks mottled yellow and mauve, red and brown, grey and orange. The guards wore watch-style uniforms, with only a single mage or magister in sight atop the battlements. Two great doors stood open to the traffic, but they were just made from thick planks of ebonwood, not iron, and the swordsmen at the sides were just waving everyone through.


    We crossed the final stretch, picking our way through a field where a herd of cattle had clearly been stationed for the night. We did our best to ignore the several travellers we saw relieving themselves onto the grass, and joined the people flowing into Irontooth Gates. We ended up walking sandwiched between a group of traders and their bodyguards, leading ponies laden with saffron and truffles, and a family from Hilltown, fleeing Mund with their servants. They weren¡¯t talking about it much, but I easily picked up on the fact it was Everseer the guildsman and his wife feared, Everseer whose wrath they were trying to outrun. By the sounds of things the Hilltowners were more scared of ¡®her¡¯ than they were of the dragons themselves.


    We were waved through with the rest of the crowd, and it didn¡¯t seem that the watchman nearest us even glanced in our direction, despite the mage¡¯s robe I wore. Who knew what they were actually looking out for; perhaps they were just stationed there to keep everyone orderly.


    Brilliant.


    It was easy for the three of us to slip around the slower-moving groups once we were inside, and the amount of animal waste in the thoroughfare made me feel at home almost at once. There was even a quintet of magisters coming up the street towards us; Jaid looked at me uncertainly, but I gritted my teeth and steered us right past the five officers. I let the wraith fade out, and limped along, reminded suddenly of the uselessness of my foot. A mage with a limp was one thing, and perhaps memorable, but a mage with an insubstantiality-effect on their legs was something else ¨C something only archmagery or unusually-specific spells might achieve.


    They cared more about me than the guards, but only to the extent that one of them cast his eyes over me derisively.


    Within thirty minutes of idle wandering we had the lay of the place. There was a whole range of inns, taverns and hostels, accommodating travellers from the rich merchant to the poor ranger. A street of smithies that brought back Anvil Row. A street of jewellers with the heaviest presence of non-Magisterium mages we¡¯d seen yet ¨C three! There were shrines to the twelve major gods, and a few other important ones like Kultemeren ¨C most of them were no bigger than the houses surrounding them, and some of them were simple, open-air altars with little more than a hut and a statue. The temple to Brondor, King of Commerce, Money-Bags, the Shrewd Swashbuckler ¨C his was the biggest, a miniature palace of tiny spires and arches that might¡¯ve been impressive to outlanders whose journeys hadn¡¯t yet brought them to Mund.


    Indeed, Brondor¡¯s temple rivalled the town hall, which overlooked ¡®the Crack of the Tooth¡¯. Running through the centre of the town there was a chasm thirty feet across and inestimably deep, slashing the full width of Irontooth Gates, with two dozen bridges of various sizes spanning the gap. The Lucky Fox, the establishment of Rathal¡¯s choosing, was on a side road, a narrow structure with a base of basalt and upper floors of white-painted wood. The inn actually leaned over the crevasse, with struts driven into the rock underneath to support its weight; fully half of the inn¡¯s guests staying in the upper rooms would be afforded a view of the bottomless gouge through their windows.


    The proprietor was a fussy old chap who seemed to be obsessed with cleanliness ¨C not a trait unlooked-for in a person of his profession, although one would¡¯ve thought a man so-inclined would¡¯ve trimmed his moustache; the thing was long enough that he¡¯d have to lift it with a sidelong finger to sip his soup. We were shown up to our room the moment I displayed some of my stolen cash ¨C again, no questioning of the mage and his wards ¨C and within two minutes I had the key in my hand, sitting on the smaller of the room¡¯s two small beds, looking down at the bridges of Irontooth Gates.


    ¡°It¡¯s a bit like home, isn¡¯t it?¡± I said, mostly to myself.


    ¡°A bit,¡± Jaid said.


    Jaroan said nothing.


    * * *

 Farewell, Mund pt7

    I couldn¡¯t sleep, as much as I wanted to, needed to. Jaid slept ¨C even Jaroan slept, after grumbling to himself for ten minutes straight, trying to read a book on his side. I lay there, listening to their snoring, wishing it was everything I¡¯d hoped it would be. Escape. Reunion. Exodus. None of it had the charm I¡¯d thought it would¡¯ve. Sure, it felt good to get out of Zyger. Just being able to look at the twins, watch them sleep, was a wonder. And the vast openness of the world was at our feet. But what was it all, really? In escaping Zyger, I proved I deserved it. It didn¡¯t matter that I returned to the twins, because even being away, being dead for all this time, had already broken my brother. Maybe my sister too. What was a beautiful, bountiful world, if I was running away from the birthplace of the dragons that would consume it all in fire and ice and acid?


    After another twenty minutes the sounds coming up from the bar-area drew my attention.


    A drink will calm my nerves.


    I locked the door behind me and headed down the stairs, then turned left past Arch-Moustache at the desk, entering the drinking area, a long, thin room that wrapped around the bar in an ¡®L¡¯-shape. Almost everything in the place was black or painted black ¨C shelves, tables, chairs, cushions. I smiled at the serving-boy behind the bar then glanced over his shoulder at the ale casks, trying to ignore his stare. By the looks of things, they served nothing but beer here ¨C I didn¡¯t recognise any of the brand-names, but when I realised half of them had some reference to ¡®iron¡¯, ¡®tooth¡¯ or ¡®gates¡¯ in their names I understood; they were all from local breweries in this particular tavern.


    Interesting choice, Rath, I admitted.


    Arch-Moustache entered behind me.


    ¡°Is there a problem?¡± he asked in his querulous voice. He seemed to be directing the question at me.


    If he were bald, he would¡¯ve reminded me of Zakimel.


    ¡°No, no problem.¡± I gestured at the barrels. ¡°Just trying to decide what to have. Ah¡­ a pint of your¡­ Rustyrube, please.¡±


    Seven copper seemed really steep, for a place as dingy as this, but I dutifully paid the price. While I cast about for somewhere to sit, Arch-Moustache went behind the bar, shooed the girl back into the kitchens, and stood with his hands on the smooth wooden surface, his eyes on me.


    Half the chairs were occupied, and my presence disturbed the current patrons. A dozen heads bobbed about on their necks, craning to allow a better look at me.


    ¡°No airs and graces,¡± I said, sitting down. There was nowhere to sit that didn¡¯t put me in their midst. ¡°I¡¯m just a bloke. Mund born and raised.¡± I took a swig of the beer, glancing around at the neutral gazes of the resident lunchtime drinkers. ¡°Not a bad tipple,¡± I lied. It tasted like some of the black paint had got into it.


    But that seemed to mollify them. A few grunted, then they went back to their conversations.


    It might not have tasted great, but my head really seemed to enjoy the sensation, or lack thereof, brought about by the booze. I was back at the bar within fifteen minutes, getting a refill.


    That clinched it. I wasn¡¯t more than three long sips into the second when they started including me in their chatter.


    ¡°Yeah, from Mund,¡± I replied to their questions with a wistful sigh. ¡°I didn¡¯t realise till I started travelling just how much of the world is green.¡±


    ¡°Must be weird,¡± a big, long-bearded man said. ¡°How many times you left the city, then?¡±


    ¡°First time.¡± I took another swig of the beer.


    ¡°And you been where, exactly?¡±


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    I looked around pointedly then returned my gaze to his face, smiling.


    ¡°Two days¡¯ hard ride, and you think you¡¯ve seen how green the world is? Boy, you¡¯re still in Mund! This is the ¡®ancient domain¡¯ of House Sentelemeth. You haven¡¯t even got to the lands of its vassals.¡±


    ¡°Vassals,¡± someone snorted; I turned to regard the speaker, an older man with cracked white skin all over his face, eyes raw-looking, so red they almost glowed. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call ¡¯em vassals. That¡¯s just what they¡¯re called in the ¡®istory books. It¡¯s been a long time since any of that meant anything round ¡®ere. Noble ¡®ouses ain¡¯t changed ¡®ands much in ¡®undreds of years. When was the last Mage Wars? When was the last battle, like in the stories?¡±


    He was asking the room, but it might¡¯ve been that he was expecting the magic-user to pipe up. ¡°I¡¯ve read a few books on the topic,¡± I said. ¡°The Eleventh Mage War was in seven-seventy-one. That was before the Maginox was built, before the Arrealbord fell in with the Magisterium to such a degree. The Magisterium used to just be the magic guild of the city¡­ then it became the magic guild of the Realm.¡±


    ¡°Centralisin¡¯ power,¡± he said in a musing tone. I admired the depth of his intellect. ¡°Well, seems like it worked, don¡¯t it? No more war. No more backstabbin¡¯s and betrayals. Not ¡®ere. No more vassal nonsense.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t say that. War¡¯s just on a smaller scale now. I don¡¯t know where I¡¯m going to end up, but I¡¯ve had my fill of intrigue in Mund. I¡¯m looking for someplace quiet to settle down.¡±


    ¡°Seriously? How old are you, fella? You don¡¯t look a day past twenny-five.¡±


    I laughed, trying to keep my voice in a low register. I¡¯d been aiming for mid-twenties when I crafted the illusion. ¡°When you¡¯re a magician, time goes slow. A lot happens in a short time. Things don¡¯t stay still for long. I just¡­ I need a bit of peace.¡±


    Somewhere I can kick back and relax. Somewhere I might actually be able to enjoy my powers¡­


    Even as I thought it, I knew ¨C I could never enjoy them. Not even if the champions or the heretics saved the world from the dragons and barely a peep escaped the Realm about the battle. Not even if everyone I knew back there lived through the ordeal, the ¡®Crucible¡¯ of which Everseer spoke.


    I was leaving them with no experienced sorcerers. I was running. Fleeing.


    Craven.


    One of the outlanders spoke up. She was a tall, peachy-skinned Northman, red-maned and big-shouldered with a bulbous nose almost the same shade as her hair. ¡°Where I come from, there ain¡¯ herdly neh mages. Vassal goes wi¡¯ thane, an¡¯ means yer figh¡¯ fer th¡¯ man. Neh wi¡¯ yer fancy magic, oh no, wi¡¯ yer sword an¡¯ shield ¨C an¡¯ if yer ain¡¯ got one, yer axe, yer bow, yer bare hands if it come t¡¯ it! An¡¯ th¡¯ thane, he¡¯s a vassal t¡¯ his own liege¡­ When we go t¡¯ war, we send an army o¡¯ men, neh some gang o¡¯ snotty teenagers wi¡¯ wands up their sleeves.¡±


    ¡°Sounds exciting,¡± I said. To think, what a single archmage could do to such a conflict¡­


    End it. Immediately. You could create peace with a few words and gestures.


    The temptation, to commodify peace ¨C


    ¡°Not that yeh¡¯d neh be welcome.¡± She flicked her eyes over my robe. ¡°We ain¡¯ stupid. Be money in it, fer a man like yerself. Head north to the marshes, then foller th¡¯ branch up into th¡¯ hells, north-east through Daggerwood. When yer getten too deep in th¡¯ bog jus¡¯ head east till yer clear, then strike straigh¡¯ north agen on th¡¯ flat. When yer see the Din Dalor, the Mountains of the North ¨C yer¡¯ll know yer there. Make th¡¯ Brittlespurs look like mole-hells.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ take it under advisement.¡± I took another few mouthfuls of beer, trying not to think of Emrelet.


    ¡°It¡¯s not so green up there, mind,¡± the cracked-skin man said, ¡°and they might as like whiz in their beer for all it¡¯d affect the taste.¡±


    That started something of an argument. I hid my smile behind the rim of my tankard (and behind a twenty-five-year-old¡¯s visage, I supposed), glad to not be the focus of attention despite my unusual status.


    Conversation moved on, and I took my time finishing the second beer, knowing that if I started a third I¡¯d be running too much of a risk.


    Can¡¯t let my hair down. Not till after Blackice.


    Someone asked me for my assistance clearing a family of trolls out of a cave on the edge of their territory. I suggested blocking up the cave and flooding it ¨C the bogginess of the land around here made it sound reasonable in my head ¨C but their denial didn¡¯t come for logistical reasons: they were a hundred percent certain trolls couldn¡¯t be drowned, only put into a form of stasis. That in particular made it hard to put Em out of my mind. Someone else was about to sign on for a dragon-bone excavation operation and invited me along ¨C apparently there was a lot of money in digging up the cursed things as collector¡¯s items since Vardae¡¯s little announcement. Yet someone else knew of a bandit camp they¡¯d be happy to ¡®guide¡¯ me to ¨C apparently legally-speaking, bandits were fair game for someone like me to do over.


    Swaying a little and doing my best to keep the illusion from slipping, I shook my head politely to their various offers and requests ¨C probably thinking I was on a quest of grave importance, they let me be after a while. When I drained my tankard, I retired back up the stairs to my room, receiving a few nods of farewell from the patrons.


    * * *

 Farewell, Mund pt8

    It didn¡¯t seem to take long to fall asleep this time; if anything it felt like no time at all.


    When I awoke, the sun had set and it was raining. The twins were still sleeping, looking strangely tranquil, so I left them asleep and went for a wash, and smoothing out the folds in my robe as I headed downstairs. There seemed to be lots of creases in the fabric. I almost felt myself falling in, seeing it like Tanra used to ¨C expanses of cloth, like Irimar¡¯s oceans, where my hands were blood-stained mountains of iron pawing at the temporal fabric, only making things worse. Even worse.


    In a dark pocket of the stairwell, surrounded by the creaking echoes, I froze, hearing her voice threading its way up from the desk in the bar-area.


    ¡°Have you seen them? He told me they would be here but I can¡¯t find them.¡±


    Rathal betrayed me. Vardae is here.


    Why couldn¡¯t she find us? The illusion?


    Was I still focussing on the illusion?


    ¡°Twins?¡± The fussy old innkeep sounded perplexed. ¡°Apologies, m¡¯lady, I¡¯ve seen none of their sort. We do have a mage with two children, though ¨C¡±


    I ran back upstairs, climbing a mountain of nausea. I was back there, in Etherium, ascending an impossible height, the arch-diviner not carrying me but hunting me ¨C the room was on the third floor, which to me was farther than Mund from Zyger, farther than Iroontooth Gates from Zyger ¨C it was only a few flights of stairs but that was impossible, impossible, she was so fast, even if I went a single step more, it was a miracle ¨C


    I burst back into the room, and she was there ahead of me, standing over them. The twins were still sleeping, still looking strangely tranquil. I was filled with the notion that she¡¯d already killed them but the shield, the shield ¨C


    ¡°The shield only protects against ill-will,¡± Vardae murmured.


    There was something appealing about her ruggedness, her lithe confidence. The curly blonde hair she didn¡¯t care about, twisted in a savage knot ¨C the crudely-carved chin, the slightly-overhanging brow ¨C none of it mattered.


    Her violence; it attracted me.


    ¡°Ill-will means no killing,¡± I said.


    ¡°Only if you wanted them alive,¡± the heretic replied, smiling coldly. ¡°It¡¯s what you dreamt, isn¡¯t it?¡±


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    ¡°No. That was the dragon.¡±


    ¡°The dragon¡¯s gone. You long to be freed of your burdens. You could live however you wanted, be whoever you wanted ¨C¡°


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you killed Shadowcrafter.¡±


    How does she know?


    He told her! Rathal ¨C Rathal, why have you betrayed me?


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯ll never be free. Isn¡¯t it freedom you seek? Wasn¡¯t it Nentheleme who answered your cries? What will she think of you now?¡±


    Gilaela, threaded with thorns.


    ¡°What will you do, when you¡¯re tested? When you¡¯ve grown weak from flying them across the country instead of standing and fighting, moulding your power, increasing your control? You will die! You will be nothing!¡±


    Aidel and Graima. Ancient arch-liches, mere shadows of their former potential.


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill them. But give them to me. They are twins. Their brother is an archmage. I will watch over them. You can go, be free. Or return, hide, safe in the knowledge no one will ever find them.¡±


    I stared at her in horror. She stretched out her hand, stroked Jaid¡¯s hair.


    ¡°You know I won¡¯t harm them, but this makes your skin crawl, doesn¡¯t it? You won¡¯t let me have them?¡±


    I just shook my head, trying to move my tongue. When I raised my hands to my throat, I choked myself as if to strangle the words, keep myself from speaking.


    The window burst in, and she rode the lightning into the room, a white flash depositing her there at the foot of the bed in a shower of glass-shards.


    Emrelet Reyd. A goddess in unblemished marble, molten platinum.


    But the cobalt eyes turn on me, as does the crackling sword-tip.


    ¡°I never loved you anyvay.¡± She plunges forwards, the lightning-blade doubling in length, in heat, to strike me in the centre of the chest, vaporise the heart that never knew hers in the first place ¨C


    I dive to evade the blow, screwing my eyes shut ¨C but my foot is an unresponsive paste of agony and somehow I¡¯m falling ¨C somehow I fell through the window. The chasm opens up, swallows me in an instant, and I am descending again, falling without a spell or a prayer this time, ready for the annihilation ¨C


    Ready for Zyger.


    You never¡­ left, the thorns sigh through his bloody lips.


    I scream ¨C I scream and I claw and I can¡¯t escape ¨C the darkness, I¡¯m falling through it and it¡¯s a part of me ¨C the wraith shares my soul, my killer¡¯s soul ¨C


    ¡°You are a good man,¡± the old man lies. ¡°A strong man.¡±


    ¡°Em! Em, catch me! Catch me, please! Em! Em¡­¡±


    Em.


    But it isn¡¯t Em who catches me. It¡¯s Dad.


    I look into his face, and I know him again. Every wisdom-line, every patch of stubble. Every fleck in the green irises.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive!¡± I cry. ¡°You¡¯re alive again!¡±


    I weep, and his face is like mine in the way it creases.


    He smiles sadly.


    ¡°You avenged me, son. You avenged me. And now everything¡¯s exactly how it¡¯s supposed to be.¡±


    * * *


    When I awoke, the sun had set and it was raining. The twins were sleeping, looking strangely tranquil, but I checked their chests were rising and falling before collapsing back on my bed, wiping the sweat from my forehead, trying to still my quivering hands. A few minutes later I left them asleep and went for a wash, but I didn¡¯t go downstairs afterwards, instead returning to the room and sitting on my bed, smoothing out the folds in my robe by gremlin-light.


    There were indeed lots of creases in the fabric. But I¡¯d get them out.


    In time.

 The Servant of the Enemy pt1

    <h2>JET 8.6: THE SERVANT OF THE ENEMY</h2>


    ¡°I am the messenger-bird that bears unknown tidings. I am the journey and the one who journeys. I am the breath and the breather. I am Lord Storm.¡±


    ¨C from the Orovic Creed


    It wasn¡¯t until I stepped into the otherworld that I remembered the true extent of my injury. It was easy to forget, when you were joined with an eldritch whose gift granted not just flight but weightlessness. The horror of Zyger was far behind me now. I¡¯d been subconsciously keeping myself in a deeper wraith-state than I¡¯d realised, and it was only as I performed the portal-stepping trick, letting go of my eldritches upon the very threshold of Etherium, that my all-too-human solidity returned with a crash.


    Despite my prepared posture I fell face-first to the ground on the other side of the gateway, but the scrub-covered dirt of the material plane gave way to lush blankets of supernaturally-huge daisies. I took an extremely fragrant nose-dive, and it required the combined might of both my (rather distracted) siblings to extract me. Thankfully, the jadeway closed quickly behind us, preventing my satyrs from getting a glimpse of my prostrate form. That would¡¯ve kept the pair in jokes for weeks.


    I needed a break. Just the three of us. We needed this.


    At first I tried to rise, but that just served to bury my hands in the flowers. Jaid came right to my rescue when I started yelling, but even she was pulling back at half-strength. Jaroan didn¡¯t bother to grab my flailing hand until my muffled cries became panicked, and by then it was too late: there were at least two strange, luminous millipedes in my hair (or, more scarily, one extremely long one), and something was starting to chew into my scalp behind the ear.


    As I was unceremoniously hoisted out of the massive daisies, I belatedly fixed my shields, and watched not one or two but half a dozen dimly-glowing critters go sailing off through the air, expelled for daring to menace the disabled sorcerer drowning in a flowerbed.


    ¡°Serves you right,¡± I grumbled once they had me back on my feet¡­ foot. Standing braced on my right leg, knee-deep in the bright, sharply-scented flowers, I raised a hand to the weeping welt on the back of my head where one of the otherworldly worms had taken a chunk out of me. I could feel a tiny hole where its miniscule teeth had drilled into the super-tender flesh.


    ¡°Everything wants a piece of the sorcerer,¡± Jar commented laconically, still looking around at our surroundings.


    Jaid wouldn¡¯t even speak, just staring at the otherworld in awe.


    ¡°Everything gets a piece of the sorcerer, it seems,¡± I muttered.


    I joined them in casting about, but with a more suspicious eye, using my senses more than my eyes, seeking potential threats.


    The grass was springy, every blade blunted, parted at the top into a kind of many-leafed clover. There were but few trees around. I¡¯d never before seen Etherium so empty-looking, which was a boon for my paranoid nature, and despite the relative desolation of the vista, it retained a savage, raw beauty that startled even me.


    The grey crags of Materium that had loomed so near as tunnel-walls on either side were now somehow moved far aside, and were replaced with arches of marble rising like mountainous bridges, their fluid shapes of such grace that they bespoke an intelligence in the winds which lovingly carved them. Between here and there, soft dells lay, deeply-carpeted in rich blossoms that ran like rainbow rivers in the course of the breeze. Each gust had different notes to the nostril, but the cherry-flavour was ever-present, now muted, then suddenly spiced, and then almost creamy¡­


    Above us, the sky was as white as a sheet and yet not blindingly-so. A thick tangle of shimmering green clouds was to be found on every horizon, and directly above us too, muting the pearly brilliance with their eerie, intriguing shadows. More so than ever before, I felt I was peering through a green glass jar, the emerald lens of a native eldritch.


    ¡°Is it safe?¡± Jaid asked in a stilted sort of voice, as though her mouth formed the words automatically. She didn¡¯t actually sound concerned.


    ¡°As safe as it¡¯s gonna get, I think.¡± I rubbed at my scalp behind my ear one last time then lowered my hand, resolved to let the irritating pain run its course. ¡°Let¡¯s move out a ways.¡±


    ¡°What are we even doing here?¡± Despite the sharpness of his words, for once Jaroan didn¡¯t sound like he was complaining ¨C it was his voice that carried genuine fear. ¡°I mean¡­ what¡¯s the point if time works so differently.¡±


    ¡°Not just time,¡± I said, wading out of the huge daisies towards a clearer patch of ground. I had trouble with every step, first finding my balance and then dragging my left leg after me. ¡°Space, too.¡±


    ¡°Well, exactly.¡± Jaroan was following our sister in my direction; I could tell without looking by the swooshing of the flowers. ¡°I mean, ten steps here could be just one there, you said ¨C¡±


    ¡°Maybe even less.¡±


    ¡°So ¨C¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t here to speed things up.¡± Jaid¡¯s taut voice answered for me. ¡°It¡¯s hard to be a person.¡±


    I reached the shallower ground, and spun around awkwardly to shoot her a glance.


    What in Celestium does she mean by that?


    She met my eyes suddenly, and I could see how she balked, mouth gaping, like a criminal caught in the act.


    ¡°What ¨C¡±


    ¡°Ohhhhh, like, without things like this!¡± She threw up her hands and gaze me a sickly, quizzical smile. ¡°I think¡­ It just makes me feel better, you know. Being here. Away from¡­ that.¡±


    She¡¯d perfected the smile, now. It looked real, as she picked her way out of the expanse of flowers in my wake.


    I let me tell myself I thought it was a real smile, even though I knew better. She hadn¡¯t meant to say what she¡¯d said, not at all.


    It¡¯s not them, I thought, returning my gaze to the distant lowlands where the many-hued blossom-river was running. It hasn¡¯t happened, and it won¡¯t. It can¡¯t, now. We¡¯re no longer there.


    We no longer exist.


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± I said, as much for my own sake as theirs, ¡°to find a fairy.¡±


    I trudged on awkwardly, going the same direction as I had in the material plane. North. Downhill, at last.


    ¡°Still trying to replace her?¡± Jaroan sounded unimpressed. He ranged out slightly ahead of me, my stumbling pace clearly irritating him.


    ¡°I know,¡± I muttered. ¡°Next time I get danger-sense, I swear, I¡¯m never letting it go, even if it secretly serves the kings of hell.¡±


    ¡°Who did she serve?¡± Jaid was overdoing the curiosity in her voice as she came up behind me. ¡°Did you ever find out, the name of Zel¡¯s master?¡±


    I felt my mood souring, just hearing that combination of three otherwise-innocent letters.


    ¡°We don¡¯t even know her name,¡± I reminded the twins. ¡°I doubt you¡¯ll see her again but if you do, don¡¯t believe a word she says.¡±


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Whatever the faerie queen had done to earn my trust, whatever she had done to make me feel the twins were secure in her presence ¨C all of it was suspect. Every semblance of sincerity, a deliberate malicious act, created to insinuate herself into my counsel.


    Every time we connected ¨C every time I felt in her a genuine note of affection for me¡­


    At least Zel knew what she was doing. At least I can hate her.


    With Emrelet¡­ all of it was saved for Henthae. In a few years, once the Crucible was an old legend and Feychilde just another passing name in the champions¡¯ records, I¡¯d slink back and have some choice words with that old lady.


    It was still strange. Especially being in the otherworld, one of the places I felt we¡¯d shared¡­ To be missing Em¡­ To be in a state where even missing her was wrong, almost criminal¡­


    I still couldn¡¯t face it. I thought I¡¯d dealt with it, thought I¡¯d put her behind me, but all I¡¯d really done was to put things on hold. Magicrux Zyger hadn¡¯t been some relaxation resort, hadn¡¯t exorcised my metaphorical demons like it had my eldritches. It was more like¡­ being frozen in ice. My demons might¡¯ve been frozen along with me, but they thawed at the same rate. Once survival and escape were realised, the less-imperative needs came knocking at my mental door, demanding their own share of attention.


    Emrelet¡­


    I stood there in the cherry wind, closing my eyes and trying not to wobble, remembering her one more time.


    It wasn¡¯t her touch, her kiss. It wasn¡¯t even her devotion, her cunning, her wilfulness.


    It was her smile. Seeing her genuine smile directed at me. The currency of the universe was minted in such moments.


    The memory shattered. I wobbled too much, staggered and winced, and ended up chuckling at myself for my self-grandeur.


    How many of the epic moments of our history were supplemented by an unrecorded breaking of wind, a random misstep, a stubbed toe?


    ¡°You okay?¡± Jaid asked as she walked past me, all the absent-mindedness back in her voice.


    I sighed, and moved to follow.


    As we descended, some trick of the light brought the streams of blossom beyond us together into lakes and pools, until after just a few minutes it seemed as though the cosmic artist had drawn the brush horizontally across the canvas, smearing a delta into existence, a convergence and splitting of the rivers¡­


    It occurred to me then, just how wide and deep those blossom-rivers had to be, just how many trillions of petals and leaves and other bits of random detritus I had to be looking at.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind seeing that up close!¡± Jar cried back, pointing.


    I nodded to myself. ¡°Looks dangerous, though!¡± I yelled in return.


    I saw him simply flap his arms in response, like I¡¯d said something so brain-dead there could be no appropriate verbal answer.


    He was right. It was a stupid thing to say. Of course the damn river was dangerous. Did I really have to say it?


    Wasn¡¯t it dangerous, taking a blade onto the streets? Wasn¡¯t it murderous ¨C


    I stopped myself before I took it too far, before the cold edge of disappointment bit too deep into me. Had I been much better? Had I had a better reason to be out there breaking the law when I¡¯d been younger?


    It was the fashion of the years he bore. The twins were soon to enter a tumultuous age. It pained me to admit it, even to myself, but to some dark degree I¡¯d just thought of them as things ¨C precious beyond all else, of course ¨C but still just props. Often, obstacles. Impediments. Pets to feed and teach and keep secure. I was guilty of making my life easier by refusing to look at them as people. But they were ¨C complex, clever people, and much more so than I¡¯d been at their age. I was beginning to realise just how much I¡¯d bitten off, raising them alone like this. Maybe we shouldn¡¯t have come here today. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t work. We¡¯d have to find somewhere to stop soon, or at least some other actual humans to mingle with, before the three of us drove each other crazy.


    If it wasn¡¯t already too late for our sister.


    ¡°Jaid,¡± I said as we walked along, her pace slowed to match my lopsided lope. ¡°Jaid.¡±


    She looked around at me slowly, as if reluctant to tear her attention from the otherworld; but there was a dull glaze in her eyes even when they met my own.


    ¡°Jaid!¡± I said sharply.


    ¡°You gained,¡± she murmured, and then in the very next instant snapped out of her reverie. She brought a hand up towards her lips as if to reach back in time and stop her tongue before it started.


    ¡°I gained?¡± I looked at her critically, then put my hands to my waist and posed a little, sucking in my waist to accentuate my stringiness. ¡°I very much did not, thank you. But it¡¯s nothing week-old pastries won¡¯t fix.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t coax the smile out of her. She was looking at me in terror.


    I approached her, or tried to, but she could see the concern on my face and she drew away more quickly than I could follow. She backed up towards a bank of sparkling heather ¨C


    ¡°Jaid,¡± I remonstrated, ¡°Jaid, what¡¯s up? I mean, really¡­¡±


    Her boot pressed down into the heather, and a goblin sprang out of it at her, arms and fingers spread wide to grab her and drag her back with it.


    I¡¯d let the millipedes get the better of me ¨C I was out of practice, my old habits forgotten ¨C but I¡¯d relearned my lesson. The simple shields I¡¯d placed about the three of us in the wake of the attack on my scalp were plenty to protect us against all normal attacks. I watched with at first surprise and then amusement as the greyish hands closed on the air, long, dirty nails scratching at the azure force-lines only I could perceive.


    His kidnapping attempt ended with him sliding down the invisible barrier, falling face-first in the gorse. A great cloud of scintillating sparks exploded about him, rising up from the bushes and then drifting back down upon his recumbent form.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got me, haven¡¯t yer,¡± it grumbled, not even raising its head.


    I was suddenly uncertain of its gender. Its voice was less gravelly, softer and higher in pitch than I was used to. Blodg and Graggag¡­ no, Glodb and Gradagh¡­ they¡¯d been blokes for sure, but with this one? I was pretty sure I¡¯d never even thought about the existence of female goblins before, but if there were ever a candidate ¨C this was her.


    ¡°You must¡¯ve been desperate,¡± I observed, casually snaring her inside a diamond hanging off Jaid¡¯s shield.


    ¡°The queen wants children,¡± the goblin wailed, not raising her head. ¡°A nibble on a unicorn¡¯s horn an¡¯ a kiss from an elf, for every mortal babe delivered! Look at yer, just walkin¡¯ by!¡±


    ¡°An elf!¡± Jaid burst out randomly, some degree of shock in her at this sudden attack, and revulsion at the thought of this scabby creature receiving the intimate favour of such a noble fey. She took an instinctive backwards step, trying to put some distance between herself and the monster, but she only succeeded in dragging my captive along with her.


    I chuckled a little, letting the brittle force-lines elasticate somewhat, so that if my sister tried again it would let her back off. Behind her, I could see Jaroan as he came sprinting back, hollering and pointing at the goblin.


    ¡°Yessss, yes an elf!¡± The goblin finally drew back, sitting on her haunches and letting her manky hair hang down in knots to cover her angular face. ¡°The gorgeousest bit o¡¯ flesh in the realm! I¡¯d kiss ¡®is lips, oh yeah I would.¡± The wretched, deranged way she crooned made me pity her. She sneezed as sparks drifted down about her huge nostrils. ¡°Achoo! Just one minute with ¡¯em, an¡¯ that¡¯s all it¡¯d take to make me better. Blimey.¡± The back of a hand was raised to wipe tendrils of snot from her face, and I suddenly felt sick, seeing the silvery strands glistening there atop the loose folds of greyish skin. I could make out the green veins or arteries beneath the hanging wrinkles, like webs of tree-sap pumping away under a layer of grease-soaked paper.


    ¡°You¡¯re ill?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m a goblin,¡± she replied, and wailed some more.


    Jaroan had thought better of approaching across the glittering heather, eyeing the tangled patch of ground like it might at any moment start birthing dozens of fey beasties; he circled around instead to view my latest acquisition from our side.


    I caught his eye, then he hurriedly looked back down at the eldritch, as if ashamed to have been spotted casting me a glance.


    All this was beginning to grate on me.


    I returned my attention to the goblin along with him; Jaid was asking it a question.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t the unicorn mind you¡­ nibbling her horn?¡±


    ¡°Him,¡± the goblin hissed, glaring balefully at my sister suddenly. ¡°Bircanos. Favoured o¡¯ the Riderless One, scourge o¡¯ the Thousan¡¯ Marches. Oh, so pure! Oh, the light!¡±


    Jaid squealed. I couldn¡¯t recall hearing of Bircanos, but that didn¡¯t mean she hadn¡¯t found some obscure reference.


    It had my curiosity piqued, and I had to slow my thoughts to get a handle on what she was saying. ¡°You don¡¯t want to be a goblin?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯d wanna be a goblin.¡±


    She beat at the ground with her bony-looking fist.


    Since when do things hate what they are?


    As far as I was concerned, goblins were supposed to hate (and envy, I supposed) everything else, not their own kind.


    ¡°What¡¯ve unicorn horns and elf-kisses got to do with it?¡± I pressed.


    She didn¡¯t answer ¨C just pounded at the earth some more, ejecting an army of tiny yellow ants or termites from their hiding place in the grass.


    ¡°Who¡¯ wanna be a goblin?¡± Jaroan echoed her, muttering as he came to stand between me and Jaid. ¡°I didn¡¯t think they got much choice in the matter.¡±


    It was an interesting way to put it. He was right about that, as far as I knew at least. Fey came into being in much the same way as mortals in the material plane, and, I guessed, like mortal souls entering Nethernum; they would be born into a shape, their fate sealed from the moment they first breathed the floral air of the otherworld. Nothing I had ever read mentioned anything about fey transformation and yet it was a typically-astute line of inquiry from my brother, even if he¡¯d started by rejecting it as a possibility.


    I tried another tack, and in spite of my efforts to sound relaxed, I heard the cold edge to my voice:


    ¡°Your name?¡±


    I noted the way her head jerked, her eyes pulled inexorably to meet mine.


    I stared into their dark pits, finding the emerald depths twinkling within, and I knew her name before she voiced it.


    ¡°Blofm,¡± she croaked, and a shudder passed through her as she closed her eyes.


    ¡°Welcome to my coterie, Blofm.¡±


    Her trembling stilled.


    ¡°You¡¯re mine, now. You¡¯ll do as you¡¯re told.¡±


    She met my gaze once more.


    ¡°And you can start with this: stop hating goblins.¡±


    * * *

 The Servant of the Enemy pt2

    Blofm elected to come along. The more-gruesome fey I encountered often seemed to fall quickly into curiosity ¨C perhaps it was just that they were lonely. Seeing the continued intrigued looks on the twins¡¯ faces (and knowing I surely looked just the same to them) I let it happen. It wasn¡¯t like the sibling bonding-time was going well anyway, was it? We needed something to do. Seeing the twins, after Zyger ¨C I¡¯d thought it would fill me up, I¡¯d thought it was all I¡¯d ever wanted. But now I had them again¡­ I was at a loss. I was suddenly floundering.


    A new eldritch was at least something to provide us a topic of conversation.


    ¡°What¡¯s it like, being a goblin?¡± Jaroan asked as we strolled along.


    She glanced at me before replying; I smiled to indicate my intent, doing my best to drag my damned foot and keep up.


    ¡°Gruelling,¡± Blofm said. ¡°We wait, without patience. We take, but never keep. We are the lowest of the low.¡± She grimaced at me toothily. ¡°But I don¡¯t hate us.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it, though,¡± he muttered. ¡°Why can¡­ why can he control you, when you¡¯re under the control of a goblin-queen?¡±


    She glanced at me again, and I sighed through my nose.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be the first of my fey to have second thoughts about coming along, once exposed to mortal inquisitiveness.¡± I remembered that early morning, that first trip to Etherium. ¡°I¡¯ll introduce you to Zab, later. I¡¯m sure the two of you will have a lot to talk about.¡±


    I turned to Jaroan. ¡°The way I think it works is ¨C correct me if I¡¯m wrong, Flobm ¨C¡±


    I felt her glare at me.


    ¡°¨C that they have a king or a queen or whatever, just like a human might¡­ But that ruler doesn¡¯t control them ¨C not like a sorcerer does. Right?¡±


    The wretched creature nodded cautiously. Her eyes were burning with a muted green fire.


    ¡°It¡¯s different, somehow, with the ones they call their lords. Fey-lords. Demon-lords. Undead-lords. They come in different shapes and sizes. The undead ones are sometimes former people. Not just the lich-lords.¡±


    I noticed as my goblin looked away.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Or am I wrong, Blofm?¡±


    She looked back.


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know much about undead.¡± She growled a bit. ¡°Or them lords, as you sayin¡¯. My queen ain¡¯t hardly her own boss, don¡¯t yer know.¡±


    I stopped. I needed another break, already, anyway.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked sharply. ¡°She¡¯s being controlled?¡±


    ¡°Well, how else you gonna get loads of us to do what yer want?¡± She acted like it was the simplest thing in the universe; the straightforwardness of it all to her terrified me. ¡°Not like that many can be dominated all at once, oh no¡­ an¡¯ it¡¯s easier that way, ain¡¯t it?¡± She scoffed a little, a horrid, snuffling sound. ¡°I mean, ain¡¯t like even Her Majesty could kidnap a unicorn, is it? Pretty sure she got given him¡­¡±


    The dreamy quality returned to her voice, just the same as when she first discussed Bircanos, and she seemed to lose the flow of her speech.


    I was, however, frozen in a sort of horror.


    Of course she meant that all along. How stupid are you to have not seen it?


    The elf and the unicorn¡­ they¡¯re prisoners.


    ¡°And you know where this unicorn is being kept? The elf, too?¡± I thought I did a pretty good job of keeping my voice level.


    ¡°Well, o¡¯ course!¡± Blofm sounded offended. ¡°They¡¯s in the queen¡¯s dungeon. Third floor, behind the waterfall.¡± She seemed to catch herself. ¡°Now, hang on¡­ You wouldn¡¯t be wanting to go there, would yer now? Thatter be dangerous! Very, very dangerous!¡±


    Maybe this goblin wasn¡¯t so lonely as she might¡¯ve appeared.


    The wind picked up, spiced cherry almost searing my nostrils. In the distance, the blossom-river bucked and broiled.


    ¡°What do you think, Jaid?¡±


    I looked at my sister, and she looked back.


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Her?¡± Jaroan blurted.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ a unicorn, Jar.¡± Gilaela, screaming, a single endless note as she hangs there in the air, punctured by the thorny vines. ¡°I don¡¯t think we can¡­ we can just leave it.¡±


    ¡°So why¡¯s it up to her? I don¡¯t want to leave it, in fact if ¨C¡±


    ¡°Both of you, then!¡± I wanted to sigh, I wanted to cry all of a sudden. ¡°You both decide ¨C I don¡¯t know what to do, always know what to do¡­¡±


    What did I let that guardian thing do to her? Gilaela¡­


    My mouth was still running. ¡°It¡¯s ¨C if it¡¯s dangerous ¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what the gods would want.¡± Jaid¡¯s composed voice cut through my wittering. ¡°If we are to die¡­ so be it.¡±


    ¡°Yer¡­ yer all mad!¡± Blofm¡¯s wispy eyebrows shot up, like excited little strands of spider¡¯s-web. ¡°Whatter you sayin¡¯? You wanna go into the dungeon?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    I wanted to grab Jaid, shake her, shake not just answers but this whole damn mood out of her ¨C


    Jaroan was trying to hide his exultant grin.


    But maybe she¡¯s right.


    ¡°I think we do.¡±


    The goblin started to cackle, until she was hacking laughter.


    ¡°Oh¡­ oh this is rich. She¡¯s clever, ain¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Clever? Who?¡±


    ¡°The queen!¡± Blofm started turning around as if to lead us back up the hill. ¡°The Queen o¡¯ Moths! Sent me out here for kids. Said it¡¯d be easier ¡®n it looked. An¡¯ now! Yer blummin¡¯ walking right in!¡±


    She stopped, swinging her filthy hair around as she looked back at us.


    ¡°Well? Are yer comin¡¯?¡±


    * * *

 The Servant of the Enemy pt3

    My goblin led us back to the patch of ground in which we¡¯d first found her. At first we were confused, but when she stepped into the sparkling heather and simply waved for us to follow, it seemed none of the three of us wanted to appear the coward. We simultaneously waded out into the bushes, and gradually they came up to my knees ¨C the twins¡¯ hips ¨C mine ¨C


    The heather was far deeper than it was supposed to be, the stems of its stalks going down to an unknown distance. I suddenly fancied that we were floating above an abyss, an infinite Zyger-pit of ethereal madness out of which these strange plants extended up, the tendrils of some vast ancient intelligence.


    ¡°Ouch!¡± Jaid chirped, reaching down to rub at her side where a twig must¡¯ve poked her. There were, mercifully, no thorns to be found. The vivid flowers dancing atop the shrubs, glittering in magenta-red and pink-white, had a cloying, almost bitter pungence which overtook the sweetness of the wind as they came closer to our faces. The silver-gold dust coating their whorling leaves seemed to sparkle in and out of existence, twinkling almost like stars right in front of my eyes.


    When we got so deep the twins were submerged up to their armpits, I started to get suspicious. I¡¯d taken Blofm into my power and I knew, fundamentally, she was mine. She couldn¡¯t bear me ill-will, and she¡¯d been quite casual when explaining that the goblin-queen knew of our presence here in her queendom. But that clearly didn¡¯t mean Blofm still couldn¡¯t draw me into a trap¡­


    Never mind. Springing traps was my speciality. Things always worked out. Nentheleme saved my ass in Zadhal. Nighteye saved my ass from the Rivertown heretic, Aramas. Maybe it was Zel¡¯s turn to show up out of nowhere and lay my enemies low for me, reject her former master, abase herself before me in tearful apology¡­


    As it was, all I felt as we descended were the happenstance intrusions of insects on my tripartite shielding, the continual tapping of malicious bugs into whose spaces, and bad books, we were trespassing.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I like this,¡± I called. The twins were keeping a resolute silence; I hoped I was speaking for the three of us.


    ¡°This is the doorway.¡± Blofm moved similarly to a swimmer in water, treading the heather and spinning around by swirling her arms. ¡°We get in here, an¡¯ out there.¡± She waved vaguely at the other side of the shrubs, a softly-rising slope some forty or fifty feet away beneath a pearly ridge of rock. ¡°Then yer¡¯ll see, aha!¡±


    She dived down into the heather, clearly unconcerned in every way.


    Gritting my teeth into a grin, I flashed my smile at the twins, prayed silently to Yune, and dived after her.


    I did my best to walk-swim-crawl for a few yards ¨C so long as I kept my eyes shut it really wasn¡¯t so bad, other than a bit of burning in the nostrils. I surfaced again to wave my brother and sister on, but when I looked back I spotted only Jaid floating there.


    ¡°Jar?¡± I said. ¡°Jaroan!¡±


    He surfaced with a rustle behind me and I whirled to find him, cursing my unusable foot.


    ¡°Come on!¡± he berated us, diving down again.


    By the time we emerged on the far side of the heather, everything had changed. Where before there had been only an outcropping of white, translucent stone above us, there was now something else entirely.


    A tower, of sorts, stood there in its place, backlit by shafts of green and golden light. From our vantage below, it was difficult to make out the detail but I could see that it was surrounded by a wall, enclosed in what must¡¯ve been a narrow courtyard by the ten-foot barrier of piled, mismatched stones. Behind the wall, the tower itself rose up to perhaps sixty or seventy feet, more prism than cylinder. There was nothing neat to any of it. If it weren¡¯t for the crude attempt to imitate mortal architecture with the inclusion of an outer wall and the occasional window, I would¡¯ve taken it for nothing more than a random feature of the otherworld, a big work of art created by a bored bunch of fey. But it was clearly a habitation.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    A¡­ palace?


    Slowly, I made my way up the slope, the twins just ahead of me, all three of us following our guide. The gateway through the boundary was a tunnel, almost as long as the wall was tall, and, emerging on the other side, I cast about the thin strip of land between us and the tower proper. Where before the grass underfoot had been buoyant and bouncy, tips covered with clovers, the tunnel brought us into a circle of dead plants, their pale, skeletal stems knitted into a kind of mattress.


    Strangest of all, the wind died. Not just died down, but stopped in its entirety; the difference was startlingly noticeable. I could still hear it, outside, as it coursed through the rushes and bushes. Yet not a breeze touched a hair on our heads, the goblin¡¯s lank, sweaty locks hanging unmoving like matted vines from her pale scalp.


    ¡°Are you good with this?¡± I asked the twins quietly. ¡°I can drop you back into Materium, or ¨C¡±


    ¡°No way,¡± Jaroan said, striding off faster than I could follow. Jaid simply continued in his wake; she moved more slowly than our brother and her head was bowed, but there was nothing hesitant about her posture, no doubt on the fierce face I glimpsed as she turned.


    Once their backs were to me I tested the portal anyway. There were no natural seams in the dimensional fabric around here, but if my power had been dulled I couldn¡¯t tell ¨C I opened an artificial gateway without trouble.


    Shrugging, I continued limping after them. It was pretty much as I¡¯d expected. The demi-plane of the goblin-queen was far less restrictive than the nightmare of the slumbering guardian beneath Mund. Doubtless this Queen of Moths was powerful in her own right ¨C she could see us coming, to one degree or another ¨C but there was power, and then there was someone-ancient-installed-me-to-kill-renegade-archmages power.


    The tower¡¯s door didn¡¯t face the entry, so we trailed Blofm around the big stony edifice for about a minute until the ramshackle wooden portcullis came into view. Why exactly a portcullis was being used, when it was clearly hinged on the side like any other door, was quite beyond me. The spiky teeth along the bottom, sunk into the soil, were hardly going to give an invader any trouble ¨C but they had to make it a right pain in the backside to swing open.


    Before the mesh of wooden beams serving as the last line of defence, protecting this queen¡¯s dubious palace from the open otherworld, stood two of the least-fierce looking sentinels I¡¯d ever seen. One of the goblins was sitting in a daze, his tin-pot helmet pulled down over his eyes, and a sharp word from his colleague wasn¡¯t enough to rouse him; a pointy shoe in the ribs, however, brought him clattering to his feet.


    The pair of goblin guards, armed and armoured out of a rusty kitchen, eyed us in alarm.


    ¡°Yer nah¡­¡± the more alert of the two started ¡°¡­ nah ¡®upposed ter bring the growed-up!¡±


    ¡°Shut it,¡± Blofm said promptly, and quickly covered the ground between them, finally coming to a proud slouch before the guards. ¡°He¡¯s a saucer. I belong to ¡®im now. Lookit, or yer¡¯ll join me.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± I used a lofty tone, a touch deeper than my usual voice. ¡°It¡¯s difficult to think of a reason not to take you.¡±


    It made sense, didn¡¯t it? If I left them here to raise the alarm ¨C wouldn¡¯t I just be making things harder for myself? Why should I have to take the high road when the stakes were suddenly so high? I couldn¡¯t send the twins home without some overt danger as an excuse, but inviting it made even less sense.


    Their beady little goblin eyes met mine, and I realised just how easy it would be, how tempting, to just, snatch out their wills¡­ They were so weak! Their names started to swim into view before my inner eye¡­


    I looked away before my subconscious desire to own them could override my own willpower, casting my gaze over their heads instead. I put on a haughty expression, as if they meant nothing to me.


    Maybe they¡¯d felt how close it¡¯d been just the same way I had. Or not just the same way: the near-miss appeared to send them into fits of terror. They wrung at the portcullis, whimpering softly and keeping their heads averted, tripping over themselves and almost getting their feet trapped in the gate¡¯s row of teeth as they heaved it open.


    I said nothing, letting the others fall into line in front of me as I dragged my leg in the rear-guard. I could keep a better eye on the twins like this.


    We entered the palace of the goblin queen, and whatever I hoped to achieve here, I could only pray to the gods I wasn¡¯t putting the twins on the line for it.


    * * *

 The Servant of the Enemy pt4

    There was no great hallway, no sweeping staircases to greet us as we entered. Glass jars filled with glowing moths cast the only light upon the scene: an unsteady-looking ladder standing against the rocks, and a dark, uninviting hole descending steeply around a bend. Blofm led us downwards, rather than upwards, and the dank tunnels of earth into which we plunged were so low that even Jaroan had to stoop; I was forced to bend back at the waist, and before too long I was huffing and puffing at the exertion of trying to keep upright without falling after them. Radiant jars of various hues were embedded into the walls of soil here and there, just often-enough to prevent us being entirely eclipsed as we rounded sloping corners, going ever-deeper into the warren. Most of the time, the light emitted by the bugs was vibrant green ¨C or perhaps it was due to the jars themselves ¨C but at times the ethereal luminescence gave way to glass gleaming with a soft, sky-blue radiance, or warm amber¡­ though I had misgivings as we turned at a junction, entering a demon-red zone. It was almost like being back in Henthae¡¯s hell-hole.


    We passed eight or nine of Blofm¡¯s kin as we went ¨C for all that they were low, the maze-like slopes were broad-enough to accommodate two men or three goblins abreast. They kept a wide berth from us, and as they pressed themselves into the soily side of the dirt tunnel while we passed them by, I saw fear on their faces when they looked upon me. The edges of my shields were no impediments to them. They bore me no ill-will.


    Not yet, at any rate.


    We passed through an earthen cave, and then another. By this point we were largely being ignored, too deep in the complex to be taken for a threat. The inhabitants of these places were busy. Goblins were scrawling notes on reams of parchments of dubious origin, parchment I could fancy in passing to be infinite in length as it trailed off a table¡­ Some were drinking a slimy green beverage from assorted cups and conversing loudly, the hot topic appearing to be whether or not Zagagom would win the evening¡¯s eating competition¡­ One was standing on a shoddily-constructed bench, arms aloft with a jar of moths in his left hand and a cup of green froth in the other, crooning a disjointed poem:


    ¡­ down the tube


    Softer ¡®an rain, it came comin¡¯ down


    A hiss o¡¯ th¡¯ mos¡¯ fantabulous sound


    We sat on our asses and what¡¯ll it be


    A score o¡¯ them screamin¡¯ kids, all in fer me


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    I took ¡¯em and one be one shoved ¡¯em right in


    They wails in me sack, a deligh¡¯ful ol¡¯ din


    The last one, ¡®e says, ¡°Yer a bad ¡®un, yer¡¯ll know!


    ¡°Right inter th¡¯ fires o¡¯ Hell you shall go!¡±


    I push ¡®im right down, as deep as I can


    I growl at ¡®im, ¡°Lissen, I¡¯m ¡®Ell¡¯s biggest fan


    ¡°If takin¡¯ yer¡¯s all I can do to be free


    ¡°Of this stinkin¡¯ ol¡¯ palace, make room there, yer¡¯ll see!¡±


    I dragged ¡¯em¡­


    Jaid pretended not to notice the topic of the song, her mouth set in a resolute line. Jaroan, on the other hand, seemed to be coming to appreciate the perilousness of this environment. He slowed his pace to better accommodate my limp, and Blofm at the front slowed in turn.


    ¡°How much longer till we reach the dungeons?¡± I asked after another minute or more. My left hip was starting to tire from the continual twisting; my left knee was seriously aching, on the back where the thigh tendons stretched down to the calf.


    ¡°That where yer wanna go? You sure?¡±


    Blofm stopped to let us catch her up, in a shadowed region between two of the glowing jars, and her shadowy eyes again twinkled green in the darkness.


    ¡°Well ¨C I¡¯m not going in there as a prisoner,¡± I clarified, suddenly realising the possible bent of her thoughts.


    ¡°Aww.¡± Jaroan¡¯s bravado was barely masking his relief. ¡°But it¡¯d be just like Terrible Twostaff and the Black Jail of Jakarr!¡±


    ¡°No, it wouldn¡¯t.¡± Terrible Twostaff was a fictional mage, not archmage, and his imprisonment had a sense of drama only offered my kind by Magicrux Zyger. ¡°I don¡¯t plan on being here for two weeks, and I don¡¯t plan on recruiting an army of rats to escape!¡±


    ¡°Rats?¡± Blofm cocked her head, and her pale, rough-looking tongue darted out, sliding luxuriously across her lower lip.


    ¡°I really wonder why we haven¡¯t seen any rats down here,¡± Jaid drawled.


    I glanced at her sharply, noting the way she now seemed to be more alive than I¡¯d seen her in ages. She wasn¡¯t brimming with excitement, but at least her eyes were alert, and the corner of her mouth twisted in a sardonic smile.


    She¡¯s learned that from me, I realised. It troubled me, for some reason.


    All the same, seeing her strength and hearing the levity in her voice served to bolster my resolve.


    I turned my gaze back on my goblin.


    ¡°We¡¯re riding out of here on the back of that unicorn,¡± I told her, then, realising there was absolutely no way a unicorn was fitting in these tunnels, added lamely, ¡°metaphorically¡­¡±


    ¡°Well there¡¯s ways an¡¯ means.¡± Blofm shrugged at us. ¡°Nobody¡¯s gonna bother till we¡¯re down there, but if yer wanna sneak in proper, yer gonna have to get invisibled. Real good, like.¡±


    ¡°Zab?¡± Jar suggested, looking smug at his own cunning.


    ¡°No.¡± I shook my finger at them, shook my head. ¡°Some of them could have traits that let them see right through eldritch glamours, isn¡¯t that correct, Flobm?¡±


    She nodded sagely. ¡°An¡¯ more. Yer know me real good, don¡¯t yer, Master?¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m done with sneaking,¡± I went on, ignoring her question; ¡°I¡¯m done with all the lies. I think we ought to have a word with your monarch. Flobofmy.¡±


    Her tongue lolled out again, staring at me like a confused dog.


    ¡°Right¡­¡± I pointed onwards ¡°¡­ now.¡±


    * * *

 The Servant of the Enemy pt5

    Where before the tunnels had largely been empty, devoid of traffic, as we approached the goblin-queen¡¯s chamber we began to see more and more of her subjects. The corridors broadened and even grew loftier, achieving such heights that I could stand up straight, and we were challenged twice by armed and armoured posses of guards.


    When they didn¡¯t immediately back down, I brought them with me, under the merest touch of my influence. They came clattering along behind us under strict instruction to be as raucous as possible. By the time we came to a third gang of rake- and shovel-wielding goblins, we were a slowly-moving ball of baudy songs and general insanity.


    One member of the third group elected to join us without me suggesting anything, throwing down her bin-lid shield and getting right into the groove with the others.


    It was with some genuine reluctance that I left them at the throne room doors, but I realised I had to put my serious face on when I saw them. The doors at the end of the ¡®hall¡¯ were planes of living wood and vines which withdrew into the dirt walls, the floor and the ceiling as we came near, as though the knots of strange, leafy branches knew of our approach.


    I reminded myself where I was and what I was doing. I stepped within, the twins just in front of me and Blofm just in front of them. We three mere mortals peered left and right as we moved down the aisle. I felt perturbed, and strengthened our shields just in case, trying my best to make out our surroundings in the muted rainbow gloom of a hundred radiant jars.


    There were no rows of courtiers, no supplicants or revellers. The audience was comprised of trees, columns of dark pillars with their upper sections buried in the earth roof, casting long shadows across our path. Their branches swayed, their leaves rustled, although there was no wind my skin could discern. Huge white spiders the size of dinner-plates were the only true inhabitants I could make out, vast webs, thick like a ship¡¯s rigging, coating almost every surface in sight. Thankfully, none of the webs had been permitted to cross the aisle ¨C whether by virtue of some edict or simply due to the fact too many goblins traversed this path for the ropey strands to stay in place, I was unsure.


    ¡°Why does it always have to be spiders?¡± I muttered, hauling my useless leg behind me.


    ¡°Not afraid, are you?¡± Jar asked me without turning. He did a remarkable job of keeping the fear from his own voice, but the tremor of it was there, underlying the bravado.


    ¡°Not a bit,¡± I lied.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t that spiders bothered me, but they reminded me of all my failures. Fintwyna, the headless heretic girl, and her paramour whose fury had almost ended my family. The descent into the eolastyr¡¯s tower filled with demon-spiders, on that first fateful Incursion where Dustbringer had lost his life and his soul. I was carrying enough guilt, enough loss, that I was certain I could¡¯ve found a portentous symbol anywhere I looked, if I only looked hard enough. But these creeping creatures, translucent under the myriad lights, were too close for comfort.


    Walking was such a chore. The wraith was like a drug, and I was suffering withdrawal. But it wasn¡¯t like the drugs used by lesser men. The change was at once both more profound and less insidious. Joining with it allowed me to ignore the woes of the flesh¡­ yet it didn¡¯t affect my mind, didn¡¯t impose anything on me. If anything, it simply let my mind be itself, uncluttered by physical distractions, setting my true self free¡­ The sheer length of this chamber was far greater than I¡¯d expected, and I was almost at the point of calling for a break when the scintillating brightness in the distance came into sharp relief. Finally, I could make out the far wall of this throne room in all its lovely detail.


    It was, of all things, the mural of a unicorn¡¯s beautiful head, comprised of a thousands of white and yellow jars. The huge glowing depiction of Nentheleme had over a dozen goblin attendants. One was atop a tall narrow ladder, carefully removing a dim-looking jar from its place and replacing it with the one he carried under his arm. The two goblins at the foot of the ladder, ostensibly tasked with holding it steady, were instead competing with one another, sniggering while they kicked at its poles and lower rungs. Others still were employing their unique abilities to cling effortlessly to the wall, or to reawaken with a simple touch the radiance of the lightless insects brought down into their care.


    Close to the wall beneath Nentheleme¡¯s head was the throne ¨C if it could be so-called. It was more like a ruined building than a single piece of furniture. Wooden slats, piles of stones, mounds of earth ¨C everything beneath and around the queen added to the effect. She appeared to sit upon the broken roof of a long-since caved-in hovel, her cushions black soil, the arms of the seat unsmoothed oaken planks bristling with rusty nails.


    If this queen was a goblin, I might as well have been one myself. She looked more like an overgrown fairy, or an extremely exaggerated elf. Certainly not what I¡¯d expected. She was almost beautiful.


    Why such a nubile and elegant sovereign had chosen such a poor dais, I had no answer. This wasn¡¯t just her throne, really ¨C this was her centre, the crux of her plane and her power. And yet she¡¯d evidently saved all the lavishness afforded by her station for her personal attire. Earrings like pearly raindrops, a necklace of jade in shades of deep-sea green ¨C these few delicately-wrought pieces complemented her silver-turquoise gown. Her chin tapered almost to a point, like her nose and her ears and the corners of her eyes ¨C not green, those curious orbs, but a cool sky blue. Two diaphanous dragonfly wings were draped across her shoulders, their surfaces glistening like starry pools as they protruded out in front of her. The final touch, a circlet upon her brow, wasn¡¯t ostentatious ¨C a simple ring of shaped white stone, glittering with golden flecks of mica.


    Was I supposed to bow? To introduce myself?


    She made the first move.


    ¡°Welcome unto my sorry home, lord sorcerer.¡± There wasn¡¯t a trace of apprehension in her voice; she adopted a conciliatory smile. Highborn were all the same, no matter what world you found them in. ¡°Wouldst thou and thine deign to rest awhile? I fear I possess not the proper quarters to befit one of thy kindred ¨C and yet more do I fear thy journey hence hath been a long and ungentle one. Thou shouldst, at least, sit whilst we converse, no?¡±


    She sat forward, gesturing, and between one blink and the next a bench appeared in our midst, looking relatively smooth and splinter-free when compared with her own mess of a chair.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll stand,¡± I said, teetering.


    Her smile hardened somewhat. Perfect white teeth were bared.


    ¡°I understand the legends amongst your peoples concerning mine own. Let it be said that I will not count it as a favour owed unto me in return, shouldst thou accept mine offer.¡±


    I stared at her for a few seconds. Thankfully the twins were smart enough to wait for me to give some signal.


    ¡°Let it be said, then,¡± I prompted. ¡°I¡¯m dying to park my cart.¡±


    She looked taken aback for a moment, then burst into laughter. Not cold, or shrill. Pure mirth.


    ¡°Ai! Ai! it is too much.¡± She wheezed for breath. ¡°Very well, lord sorcerer; I shall dispense with all pretence. You and yours may sup freely of my wine!¡±


    She beamed, and waved her hand eagerly at the bench.


    ¡°Errr.¡±


    I looked at the twins ¨C Jar gave me a puzzled glance in response, while Jaid was staring off at the unicorn¡¯s image.


    ¡°What is this delay! Seat yourselves at once!¡±


    I returned my gaze to the suddenly-petulant queen of the goblins. She stood, and the wooden boards creaked beneath her as she moved.


    ¡°Well, frankly, I don¡¯t want your wine. I don¡¯t want half-sentences. I need a guarantee¡­¡±


    ¡°Master.¡± Blofm spoke in her sovereign¡¯s presence for the first time. ¡°Master, she¡¯s sayin¡¯ it as formal as it gets. Suppin¡¯ freely on ¡®er wine ¨C it¡¯s like sayin¡¯ ¨C¡±


    ¡°I get it.¡± I heard the nervousness in my own voice, and squashed it down as best I could. ¡°No¡­ I won¡¯t take anything from this place, anything, unless it¡¯s to free it.¡±


    ¡°Free it?¡± the queen hissed. ¡°The host who in all good grace doth deign to satisfy her guest shall not suffer blame when he asketh of her blood ¨C nay, to tap of the very marrow in her bones ¨C only to cast it carelessly aside. What wouldst thou of me? Tell me now, how durst thou so slight me, I who have been so contrite before thee?¡±


    ¡°She owns a unicorn. Bircanos!¡±


    Jaid folded her arms and spun on her heel, facing away from the fey queen and screwing her eyes shut.


    No fear of reprisal on my sister¡¯s face. Just a scowl of fury.


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    The ruler of the demi-plane matched it with a scowl of her own.


    ¡°And you own one of my subjects! Impudent wretch, don¡¯t you dare turn your back on me!¡±


    As she shrieked, pretence finally giving way to emotion, the queen lifted her hand and made another gesture. I felt something rake at Jaid¡¯s shields, gouging deep into the outermost shell and splitting it into tatters of residual blue lines. It was only as it withdrew that I perceived a huge green shadow, like the paw of a gigantic unseen panther retracting back across the space towards its creator.


    Jaid swayed, as though she wanted to spin back to face this strange, subterranean monarch ¨C but Mortenn stubbornness won out. She clenched her jaw, kept facing away.


    ¡°Bircanos,¡± was all she muttered.


    Blofm was still wittering, so I waved her into silence while I stepped in front of Jaid, covering her with my own shielding.


    I cried out: ¡°Nevael esai vi alim merreine elim tindamor!¡±


    Do not speak so to the sister of the sorcerer.


    The queen drew back her hand, well-scolded, bringing it close to her chest.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about your rules. I won¡¯t be tricked, and I won¡¯t sit.¡± I shuffled, bringing my feet closer together so I could draw myself up to my full height, and used my most imperious tone. ¡°Now show me your true face. Show me, before I rip off your mask.¡±


    The queen seemed to shiver, and melt ¨C


    And became the goblin she had been all along.


    She wasn¡¯t fat, not in any ordinary sense. The loose jowls of skin hanging down the sides of her face, the dripping earlobes ¨C these pointed to the notion that she¡¯d once been a far larger goblin. Or perhaps it was just age. The arms and legs poking out from her vast tattered garment were thin, almost emaciated. And yet ¨C the stomach¡­


    The stomach was like a demi-plane all of its own, barely connected to the rest of her body, grey surfaces bulging out of the bedraggled fabrics all over the place. It was as though a giant worm were coiled about her midriff, and it squirmed and rolled even when she wasn¡¯t moving.


    I saw now why the throne had creaked and bent beneath her when she¡¯d stood. She hadn¡¯t extended her illusion to cover her surroundings, either through a lack of perceived need or simply a lack of practice.


    ¡°I¡¯m goddamn sick of illusionists,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°And I¡¯m sick of sorcerers!¡± she whinged, her voice robbed of its former delicacy. ¡°What are you doing here? Leave us alone!¡±


    ¡°I hear you have a unicorn for sale,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re an entrepreneurial folk, right?¡±


    She sat down, cushioned by the tremendous belly. Ugly lips creased into a grey, smug smile, but there was dread in her gaze now.


    ¡°And what will you offer me, eh? My life?¡±


    ¡°Your queendom.¡±


    She threw back her head, and now the tense laughter was as shrill as it came.


    ¡°My queendom? What ¨C you¡¯ll destroy all this? All of us?¡±


    I psychically checked he¡¯d recovered from his encounter with Lyanne¡¯s zombie-giant, then let the crimson light cascade, placing my hand on Khikiriaz¡¯s flank. The queen shrank back on her fleshy bulges, eyes popping. One of the goblin assistants almost fell from its perch once it copped a look at my ikistadreng.


    ¡°If need be, yes. You¡¯ve got the face of the Goddess of Freedom up in lights shining down on you, and to make it you¡¯re capturing things! What you¡¯re doing ¨C¡±


    ¡°Is no different to what you, to what any of you do!¡± The queen pointed at Blofm with a long, quivering finger, her eyes still on me. ¡°We don¡¯t have anything, any place except this! You think you¡¯re different to me? We only wanna get better. We worship her. One day ¨C one day we¡¯ll be elves!¡±


    ¡°Who told you that?¡±


    Jaroan¡¯s voice shook me. He was staring at the queen like she¡¯d just told him up was down. I was glad to see I wasn¡¯t alone.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I backed my brother up, ¡°what in the Twelve Hells¡­?¡±


    I felt Khikiriaz press his not-quite-fur into my hand at the mention of his home. The infernal substance of his being was like blurry hair on the surface but it swiftly condensed into a flesh tougher than lead.


    Would the ¡®fur¡¯ hold a shape?


    ¡°It ¨C has ¨C been ¨C promised!¡± The queen was all-out wailing now. ¡°You think ¨C you think you will get better? You will get worse! You will be like us, looking for something good to gnaw on!¡±


    Something good? I¡¯d left behind everything good about life already. There was no getting worse, not from here. No downwards when you were at rock bottom. Emrelet was the good. The dragon¡¯s victim. My victim.


    ¡°But you won¡¯t get better eating bits of a unicorn or kissing an elf.¡± I felt like I could pity her, suddenly. ¡°You won¡¯t heal. You¡¯ll only hurt. You¡¯ll hurt the light.¡±


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± she hissed.


    Her stomach rippled.


    I trapped her gaze ¨C


    Nothing swam into my consciousness. No sense of essence. No feeling of control. No name.


    After a few seconds she tossed her head, breaking eye contact, evidently feeling little more than a faint glimmer of the agony which should¡¯ve awaited her.


    ¡°You¡¯re stronger than any I¡¯ve met in a long time,¡± she conceded, a devious smile splitting her haggard face, ¡°but you¡¯re nowt to my master. He isn¡¯t gonna be pleased with you, wrecking the whole operation ¨C¡±


    ¡°Of course, of course.¡± I waved an impatient hand. ¡°Your powerful master ¨C I suppose I should look out for his challenge. What¡¯s his name, again?¡±


    She cackled at that, saying nothing.


    ¡°Speak his name, or by Kultemeren I¡¯ll see your throne levelled.¡±


    Her glance met mine again, and finally, finally she was afraid.


    ¡°No!¡± she yelped, trying to sit forward and failing on the first try. ¡°No! You don¡¯t get it. I can¡¯t say his name, I can¡¯t tell anyone!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve said my piece.¡± I was starting to feel irritated, watching her claw her way upright on the throne. The compulsion to end this foray into the otherworld and return to the comforts of Materium had been enhanced by my oath. ¡°You¡¯re a goblin-queen. If anyone can find a loophole, it¡¯s you. Can you write it down? Tell a worm?¡±


    Amongst her other abilities, I had a suspicion Blofm could speak to worms¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s ¨C it¡¯s been so long.¡± Our host tugged at her spindly hairs as she moaned. ¡°So long¡­ But I ¨C¡±


    She suddenly straightened a little.


    ¡°Outta here! All o¡¯ yer! Now!¡±


    When she swung her arms to gesture at her attendants the huge ephemeral paws returned, batting them out of their perches. The glinting panther-claws sliced through the ladder, snicking it into wooden twigs, and the goblin atop it went tumbling like a leaf from a tree. Fortunately for him, he had some power that let him land as lightly as a leaf too, and he went sprinting off.


    Seeing their queen¡¯s fury, it didn¡¯t take the attendants long to scurry out of sight, entering tunnels hidden in the shadows of the corners.


    When she was satisfied they were gone, she sighed.


    ¡°I could tell you who he ain¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Who he isn¡¯t? And I could infer¡­¡±


    She raised a hand to stop me, looking thoroughly terrified now.


    ¡°I can tell you who he ain¡¯t.¡± She spoke more loudly, with more firmness in her voice, but she was quivering worse than ever. ¡°He ain¡¯t an Ord, or a Nil. An Ulu, or a Tyr. He¡¯s ¨C¡±


    ¡°A Mal,¡± I breathed.


    Mal¡­ Malas?


    ¡°Like Prince Deathwyrm!¡± Jaroan muttered under his breath. ¡°For real?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell you!¡± She was back to shrieking. ¡°I said nothing!¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± I called out.


    For once, I really did. Working against the edicts of a master like him¡­ How was she even capable of such a feat? His will should¡¯ve overridden any loopholes in his wording. She should have obeyed.


    Zel¡¯s real master had been more capable¡­


    Unless that was the point. Driven to the brink, the Queen of Moths might reveal this much. Enough to deter a potential aggressor. Enough to make someone who already wanted to leave turn tail and run, ushering his kid brother and sister along in front of him.


    ¡°But children?¡± Jaid said suddenly, looking at the queen in disdain. ¡°What would he want with children?¡±


    Blofm looked up, as if she were about to answer, but her former ruler held our attention. The distended monarch shook her head vigorously, loose jowls swinging left to right.


    ¡°They¡¯re not for him ¨C they¡¯re for me! He told me¡­ I have to grow my power! I have to stand strong for him when he calls for me!¡±


    ¡°What does she mean, for her?¡± Jaroan¡¯s voice was quiet. I could tell he was feeling nauseous.


    ¡°It¡¯s the only way to be free!¡± She patted her vast stomach with both hands, an action made almost comical by the sheer amount of tumourous skin extending out from her midriff ¨C she could barely encompass a tenth of it in the span of her spindly arms. ¡°I swallow them,¡± she almost whispered, reverence in her tone. ¡°And their bits don¡¯t get to go out. They stay in me, forever. They have such¡­ such imagination¡­¡±


    She never said the name.


    I smiled as my mind was made up. At least I would soon be far from here.


    No responsibilities.


    I looked down at Blofm and addressed her directly.


    ¡°Why you ever thought she could tell you how to get better, I¡¯ll never know.¡±


    I scratched my mark in Khikiriaz¡¯s substance ¨C it wouldn¡¯t last long, I knew, but he wouldn¡¯t need long.


    I released him and, still looking down, murmured, ¡°Khalor.¡±


    It was a foregone conclusion. She might¡¯ve been the mistress here, might¡¯ve been at the very eye of the storm of the energies she owned and manipulated. But the oath of Kultemeren was stronger. The will of the archmage was stronger. The cause ¨C the need for justice ¨C was stronger.


    My demon went charging at the throne, moving faster and more eagerly than I thought I¡¯d ever seen him move, and the Queen of Moths panicked. She swung her arms wildly, fingers splayed. Two green-tinted shadow-paws swept down at the ikistadreng to maul him, bat him aside, but he tossed his great black-antlered head to and fro, absorbing the first attack entirely, and deflecting the second so that it only struck a glancing blow at his flank. He barely lost any speed, his trajectory back on course in a split-second. Only a little blurry blood streamed behind him as he ran.


    Her panic became absolute hysteria, and she let down all her walls.


    ¡°Vaylech, save me!¡± she screamed.


    It almost took her too long to summon her moths from their hiding places in the riven wood and crevasses of her seat, thousands of the bugs coming streaming out to settle swiftly upon her misshapen body and coat her in their wings. These moths did not glow. They were dark grey, dark brown, black. Even beneath the second skin of living critters, draped like vast itching curtains across her distended stomach, I could make out the way she was shaking.


    Khikiriaz laughed gutturally as he connected, head lowered ¨C


    The demon¡¯s destructive force went rippling out, turning a vaguely throne-like mess of materials into a literal garbage-dump.


    It didn¡¯t stop there. The kinetic energies went through the piled dais and slammed into the back wall, cascading up and out, throwing earth and glass everywhere.


    When the storm of splinters and dirt finally settled, the Queen of Moths was nowhere to be seen, and a thousand or more jars had been shattered, their lights set free to drift down across the throne room.


    ¡°She escaped, Master,¡± Khikiriaz growled glumly across at me in Infernal, tossing the detritus with one end of his antlers.


    ¡°Grel kasond oroz. Daugn sa kasagren! Kherem.¡±


    I sent him home, then looked back at the others.


    ¡°We have a dungeon to find,¡± Jaid said firmly.


    ¡°Indeed we do. Lead on, good Flombom.¡±


    My goblin visibly winced at that, but otherwise kept a thoughtful silence, leading the three of us away from the chaos of this creature¡¯s lair, towards the tunnels through which the queen¡¯s attendants had fled.


    As soon as we were moving again, I was immediately reminded of my need to sit down and give my leg a rest.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve taken her up on the bench thing, in spite of everything,¡± I grumbled. ¡°How much could it¡¯ve cost me, really?¡±


    ¡°Quit moaning and keep up,¡± Jar called back over his shoulder.


    Jaid had well and truly surfaced out of her dazed state in her keenness to aid the lord of unicorns, the noble eldritch imprisoned somewhere around here by Mal Malas, and even she abandoned me, skipping ahead with the others towards the tunnel entrance, leaving me to drag my leg alone, wincing as I crossed the wreckage-strewn ground, beneath the dappled lights.


    * * *

 The Servant of the Enemy pt6

    The dungeon itself had only the two residents of whom we¡¯d already heard, and somehow news of the queen¡¯s defeat spread faster than we could approach ¨C by the time we¡¯d reached the weird fences marking the entrance to the palace jail, the goblins who¡¯d seemingly been set here to guard the place had long since passed us in the passageway, three bends earlier, their wails of glee or despair impossibly to properly discern. We walked unhindered around the gates and into the dank, mouldy cavern of bland brown-white rock. From the high vantage it offered, we looked down into the pit where they¡¯d been chained. Blofm and Jaid alike loosed whimpers at the sight of Bircanos, but where my sister made a sound of dismay, the goblin¡¯s was more one of lust, hunger.


    This place might¡¯ve been used as a latrine from time to time, and the goblin-drop was pooled in the basin at the bottom of the pit, where the two prisoners lay. The once-proud unicorn was coated almost hoof to horn in stinking muck, his eyes closed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Atop his head, the glittering horn¡¯s light was untouched by any grime, and yet its golden radiance was dimmed to a muted, burnished glow. The elf, not ten paces from the unicorn, looked no less broken in both spirit and body. This was no elf of Materium, born of mortal flesh, but a true high elf, his otherworldly nature made plain by the extreme length of his fingers, his tapering ears, the impossible cheekbones. As if to spite his inherent perfection in form, his autumn-red hair had been roughly shorn short, his body left almost naked, just a tattered bit of fabric fastened into a loincloth to protect his modesty. Both of the prisoners were emaciated, their ribs protruding as they breathed.


    Both appeared to be sleeping.


    ¡°Blofm¡­ thanks for today, but I¡¯d like you to leave us now, please.¡±


    Against her will, my goblin suddenly started to backpedal, and, with a brief grunt of annoyance, she was soon out of the jail and out of my range.


    The steps cut into the side of the cavern let us down to the edge of the fetid pool. Close up, it challenged even our Sticktown-trained stomachs ¨C I felt no less pale than the twins turned right before my eyes.


    ¡°Twelve Heavens.¡± I chose my swear-word with some care. ¡°Cover your mouths.¡±


    Even Jaroan acquiesced to my order, which I suspected said more for the noxiousness of our environment than it did for a change in his attitude.


    Our scarves pulled tight across the bridges of our noses, we went right up to the edge.


    ¡°Good morning!¡± I called. ¡°Erm¡­ Lord Elf? Lord Unicorn?¡±


    ¡°They probably think this is some trick,¡± Jaroan murmured.


    The elf¡¯s eyelids fluttered open.


    ¡°You mean¡­ you mean¡­ it isn¡¯t?¡± he moaned in a strange, high accent, the words stilted but nonetheless comprehensible Mundic.


    ¡°No¡­¡± I really didn¡¯t know what to say, or how to reassure him. ¡°My good man¡­¡±


    Seeing him looking back at me, his gaze cool and blue despite the goblin-drop literally everywhere ¨C in his eyelashes ¨C I felt more sick than ever.


    We have to get them out of here.


    The Queen of Moths and her bellyful of plane-locked children could wait. This would suffice. This would strike a blow for the gods of light.


    ¡°Show me the chain,¡± I muttered, breaking eye contact with him and looking instead at the collar about his throat, the links leading to the fastening in the rock¡­


    Everything was so soiled it was difficult to tell at first, but there seemed to be an amethyst tint to the steel no amount of muck could occlude. Something only my eye could pick up.


    Malas¡¯s magic¡­


    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ move,¡± the elf gasped. He did his best, clutching at the chain-links nearest his throat with trembling hands.


    ¡°Oh¡­ never mind.¡± I saw the patterns now, becoming ever-clearer as if rising up to meet my eyes as I studied the matrices embedded in the links. ¡°It¡¯s draining your energies, and using them to reinforce the binding instead.¡± I looked down at the pool in thought. ¡°Erm¡­ I think I can do something about that, actually.¡±


    If I could remove the ensorcellments, the chains would probably be no more durable than ordinary steel. I could have my bintaborax rend it easily¡­ It was just a matter of pulling the force-lines through each other, against their natural inclinations. Like inverting a shield.


    I crouched down beside the pool, reaching out a hand to the chain binding the elf ¨C


    ¡°Hold.¡±


    Everyone¡¯s gaze was pulled to the unicorn as Bircanos spoke, though the word was in Etheric.


    His eyes were still closed, but the light emanating from his horn brightened just a touch.


    His words weren¡¯t for us.


    ¡°Do not believe him. Do not go with him.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s he saying?¡± Jaroan asked sharply.


    I stared at the unicorn.


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked bluntly. ¡°What did I do to you?¡±


    Bircanos¡¯s equine eyes opened, flaring, white-hot coals.


    ¡°Do not speak the tongue!¡± he snarled. ¡°Apostate! You I should very much like to destroy. I warn you ¨C should you free me, once I have pulled down this demi-plane I will spear you through the heart and bear you as a trophy to my Lady¡¯s side, show them all what becomes of infidels!¡±


    When he spoke of destroying me, of spearing me, spittle came flying from his mouth. I could hear the emotion in his voice. The elf was staring at me in trepidation, and I could feel the twins¡¯ confusion without having to see the expressions on their faces.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you think you know,¡± I said slowly, ¡°but it¡¯s not true. I¡¯m a friend to fey ¨C see, I¡¯ll summon my sylph ¨C¡°


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°You bound my sister, and now where is she?¡± he choked. ¡°I know of her fate. Lost, forever, to that child of Illodin! She came before me. You cannot lie to me. And I cannot lie to you! I will destroy you, Feychilde! You are mine!¡±


    Gilaela¡­ came before him?


    I had no retort.


    ¡°Please ¨C¡°


    My lame attempt at remonstration was interrupted as he tossed his body violently, in what must¡¯ve been a show of incredible strength given his drained state. He dragged back on the chain, kicking muck so that it spattered all over us, causing a din as he smacked and slapped his flanks in the pool and against the very stone.


    ¡°He¡¯s insane,¡± I muttered quietly in Mundic for the benefit of the twins.


    Hoping he wouldn¡¯t hear, wouldn¡¯t correct me, wouldn¡¯t explain to Jaid what I¡¯d done to Princess¡­


    Please, Bircanos, I prayed silently. Nentheleme ¨C


    I caught myself.


    Yune, don¡¯t let him tell. I don¡¯t know how much it¡¯d take to break her, and that¡­


    I still remembered what I¡¯d done to one of my most faithful followers, remembered it so clearly I could see it in my mind¡¯s eye even now ¨C


    The thorns, entering her ¨C


    The shiver of absolute, unutterable agony ¨C


    The nausea overcame me and I threw my scarf off, retching.


    I only brought up a few mouthfuls of phlegm, and, shuddering, I replaced my scarf. Jaid and Jaroan weren¡¯t saying anything. I sensed them backing away, fear overtaking their young minds. The lord of unicorns was still thrashing about, writhing like Gilaela in my imagination.


    This was no place for them. What had I done? I thought this would be some merry adventure. Instead I brought the twins face to face with one of Mal Malas¡¯s personal servitors, brought them to the rancid heart of a goblin fortress to bear witness to the shattered souls kept trapped within¡­


    I stood up to my full height as Bircanos finally settled down, his last fitful throes truly pitiable. He lay there quivering in the waste of his goblin captors, mouth half-submerged, the exposed nostrils spraying drop across the pool with every heavy breath.


    ¡°Maybe you want to destroy me,¡± I said, ¡°and maybe that¡¯s what I deserve. Gods know, you¡¯d find a lot of people who agree with you where I come from.¡±


    The one eye above the surface of the drop opened again slightly, a slit of white light seeping through the crack as he regarded me again.


    ¡°So we¡¯re going. But first, I¡¯m going to free you. Because that¡¯s what I have to do.¡±


    I sent the twins back first, depositing them in the cave-system which was Materium¡¯s analogue of the demi-plane we¡¯d entered. Leaving them in the care of Avaelar and the satyrs, Zabalam there to light the air, I couldn¡¯t help but hold the desolate look on Jaid¡¯s pale face in my mind as I traversed the gateway back into the goblin queen¡¯s halls.


    I started with the elf. A swift spell, and a word to Junior Cuddlesticks while I gingerly held onto one of the demon¡¯s spikes ¨C and it was done.


    ¡°Can you make do from here, or would you like me to bring you with me?¡± I asked him in as tender a voice as I could manage, while I worked on the spells binding Bircanos.


    The high elf just shrank back from me at that, his leaf-shaped eyes full of horror, thin fingers clutching at the pulverised links of the chain still fastened to the collar around his throat. He wouldn¡¯t stop staring at me, wouldn¡¯t change the look on his face from one of fright.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to keep you!¡± I paused, waiting for him to react, but he either didn¡¯t believe me or couldn¡¯t properly understand me. ¡°Or do you want me to help you with that?¡±


    I put a hand to my throat to indicate the collar about his neck. He just shook his head violently.


    ¡°No ¨C no ¨C please¡­¡± he whimpered. ¡°No. I¡¯m ¨C no.¡±


    I sighed, going back to my spellcraft.


    I could just take him. Calm him down on the material plane.


    Then I cast my gaze back down at Bircanos¡¯s one open eye, its gleaming glare still fixed on me.


    No. Best not.


    I finished breaking the spell, and decided it was time for me to put out a hand, to call back my fiend ¨C


    In the very instant the nethernal essence-sapper gave way beneath my sorcerous fingertips, before I could even move my arm to beckon across the planes to Junior Cuddlestick, Bircanos stirred.


    This time, in a single savage rearing-up, he wrenched the entire chain loose of the rock, its fastening exploding from the stone with a loud pop! while the rivets went pinging across the chamber.


    Golden light rippled over him in waves from horn to hoof, moving ever-more strongly, brighter and brighter ¨C and with the sudden scent of burning grease every wound, every mark, every stain and smudge was washed clean.


    His hair and mane shining as though they had been woven from threads of pure pearl, Bircanos stood now not in the pool but hovering above it, marble-like hooves poised nonchalantly on the air almost twelve inches over the slop.


    I was paralysed at the glorious sight, so amazed that I forgot his promise.


    If I had thought my hand in his rescue, that my persistence despite his threats, would go some way towards changing his mind, I had been sorely mistaken.


    The unicorn leapt, finding more than enough purchase on thin air to bear down upon me, thrusting his head at me as a swordsman thrusts his sword-arm.


    I fell awkwardly through the jadeway, stumbling backwards, only just closing the planar boundary as the tip of his horn plunged down at my upper chest.


    Avaelar caught me, and, as far as I could tell from the speed and angle of my re-entry to Materium, none of them should¡¯ve gotten a glimpse of my impending glittery doom.


    ¡°Is all well, Feychilde?¡± the sylph asked at once. ¡°Why didst thou not call upon mine aid?¡±


    I straightened up, thanked him with a nod, and heaved another sigh.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s done.¡± I peered up at the shadowed cavern ceiling, just beyond Zab¡¯s reach. ¡°I guess we¡¯re going to have to go wraith if we want to get out of here sometime this week. What¡¯s the betting we¡¯re ten times deeper-down than we should be¡­¡±


    The sylph¡¯s weren¡¯t the only questions I avoided, shedding the burdens of mortal flesh and donning the spectral cloak of my undead minion. I rejoined with the others, and I promised the twins I¡¯d try summoning Blofm later, supposing she survived the unicorn¡¯s wrath ¨C and that I¡¯d try to get some explanation out of her regarding Bircanos¡¯s insanity, his apparent hatred of me.


    That night it didn¡¯t rain, and the wind wasn¡¯t quite so cold as the previous night, so we made our camp in the arch of a shallow cave opening. I hovered enwraithed beside the campfire while the twins pestered Blofm for almost half an hour, looking for answers the goblin could never give them. Finally, feigning exhaustion, I dismissed the eldritch and turned over horizontally on the air, as if to fall asleep.


    They didn¡¯t talk between themselves while they sorted their bedrolls, and they didn¡¯t even sleep close to each other for warmth as I¡¯d told them to. Five minutes after they both stopped making sounds, I swivelled around to check on them and found them lying on opposite sides of the cave mouth, barely able to touch one another¡¯s fingers if they¡¯d both stretched out their arms.


    Jaroan had nodded off almost instantly, but Jaid¡¯s eyes were still reflecting the starlight. She was staring up at the sky like a corpse. If she noticed me turn over, she gave no sign of it.


    I gently flipped back, and resumed my own sky-staring. I supposed if she looked like a corpse, I must¡¯ve looked like a ghost.


    I¡¯m sorry, Gilaela, I said to the stars. I wish I¡¯d been able to think of something different I could do. But I had to get home. I had to get back to them.


    Or had I? Was all this, any of this, really necessary? Were the twins better off here with me than they¡¯d been with Xan and Orstrum? Wasn¡¯t it just base selfishness driving my actions, my mindless, murderous urge to escape Magicrux Zyger at all costs?


    The stars held the answers, but they held them back, like a smiling sorcerer wrapped in shadow at the edge of the campfire¡¯s smoke.


    And when at last I plunged into them, it was not the stars but the darkness, the darkness in my dreams that held the answers, held them and displayed them with fingers spread, so that my naked third eye might drink in the sights, the names of my guilt writ large in subcutaneous ink upon every parcel of skin, suspended there between seven executioners¡¯ swords.


    It wasn¡¯t just Gilaela I¡¯d betrayed. Not just her I¡¯d failed.


    I¡¯d failed everyone, everyone I¡¯d ever known.


    The hands closed. The names expunged. Lost to the darkness, lost forever.


    This was my redemption, wasn¡¯t it? This self-imposed exile. I had to run from my doom. I had to, didn¡¯t I? For their sakes?


    I awoke the next morning, and, if I¡¯d grasped at some celestial acknowledgement of my doubts during my slumber, the gods¡¯ fingerprints left impressions on my mind like the imprint of falling feathers upon stone, images and words evaporating faster than dew under a bright sunrise.

 Blackice pt1

    <h2>JET 8.7: BLACKICE</h2>


    ¡°In this the symbol is made plain. The halo of the saint is the rope of his noose. But the descent is arrested. They are no longer falling. Do you understand the meaning of their redemption? They are condemned yet they are no longer falling.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 19:121-125


    I broke down the tent ¨C a task I was miles better at than I was at putting the damned thing up, it seemed ¨C then stowed the pegs, ropes, poles and canvas back in the bag. The whole lot got dumped back with everything else in the chest.


    ¡°The water is boiled, master.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Pinktongue.¡± I moved the bat-like demonoid aside then used the towel to grab the pan¡¯s handle as I scooped off the scum. We had more water from Mund in the chest but I was acutely aware of how quickly we were going through the stuff. I was going to have to learn how to do all this stuff for real sooner or later, rather than just reading about it in books. We were camped in a secluded location, a floor of dirt surrounded by wind-smoothed rocks and tall aspens, within two minutes of a stream as the imp flew. A whole bunch of the imps had the ability to throw small fireballs ¨C getting a fire going was as simple as asking for it. With the water, at least, I was determined to do it properly.


    ¡°How does this look, master?¡± snivelled the scissor-clawed imp I had working on the rabbits. ¡°Has the Cutterking kept his name?¡±


    I¡¯d only named him last night, when his ability to neatly snip branches of wood came to light.


    I eyed the pair of rabbits critically.


    ¡°What were you going for, exactly?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I ¨C er ¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t traumatise easily.¡± I shooed him off and sat down by the plate. ¡°Fetch me the knife, will you? The non-ensorcelled one, this time.¡±


    He mumbled dejectedly to himself as he half-hopped, half-flapped his way over to the trunk.


    ¡°It¡¯s good you left your brother and sister down on the hillside.¡± Zabalam, the mouldy gremlin, stumped over to me from the treeline. ¡°She would have been most traumatised.¡±


    ¡°You can see that in her head?¡± I took the knife from Butcherking and started doing my best to recover the artistically-arranged meat.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to see in her head for that, but she wasn¡¯t best-pleased when you told her what was for breakfast, no.¡±


    I grunted, busy sawing at cartilage.


    ¡°Have you sorted out where we¡¯re going yet?¡± the gremlin asked. He didn¡¯t seem very interested in my answer, but my indecisiveness appeared to amuse him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let the sea make their minds up.¡± I got one chunk of meat free of bone and gristle, as far as I could tell, and I skewered it. ¡°If they want to take a boat, we take a boat. If they want to keep flying, we keep flying. If they want to hire horses¡­¡± I shrugged. It wasn¡¯t like Jaid had experienced any ill-effects from my powers, not after the first time ¨C and those problems I suspected were emotional, rather than magical, in nature.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    We were a few hours¡¯ walk from the town at the bottom of Blackice Bay ¨C a matter of minutes flying. Our hidden spot was on the crest overlooking the ravine and its quarries that led down to the boulder-strewn beach. We had a great view of the vast, churning grey ocean stretching off as far as the eye could see ¨C all of it. From our screen of aspen trees we could gaze out at our future.


    I¡¯d left them there and returned to supervise, unable to bear the sight for too long. It was too open. I¡¯d seen the ocean before, of course ¨C we¡¯d swum in it ¨C but that had been with Salnifast¡¯s white-walled harbour at my back. With Mund in the distance behind me. With no possibility of crossing it. Now ¨C here ¨C I felt none of the same assurances. I felt lost, even if I could point to our exact location on the map. If I sailed on a boat and we got into trouble on the open sea, how could I use my powers to aid us? Sure, I wasn¡¯t an enchanter, but I wasn¡¯t a wizard either. There¡¯d be any number of problems that could arise which my magic couldn¡¯t fix.


    No. Easier to focus on the problems with immediate solutions ¨C slicing the rabbits, getting them on the spit ¨C packing up, purifying the water ¨C


    The truth was, I was homesick. It was amazing to finally see the world ¨C I¡¯d spent so many years reading stories about epic journeys, fantastical wanderers in fantastical landscapes, that it almost felt like the tales had leapt off the page and into reality. But there were only so many times you could put on clothing that wasn¡¯t quite dry, only so many times you could look out on the drab wilderness, without missing what you¡¯d left behind. In exiting the lands of House Sentelemeth¡¯s vassals we¡¯d crossed into the lands of House Wenlyworth¡¯s, from Fornolost to Ullerland, and the towns and villages stretched across the prairies looked so peaceful ¨C everyone knew where they were and who they were, what they were doing with their time on the material plane¡­ I envied them the simplicity of their way of life, but, even more, the sense of belonging they seemed to possess, ants going about their tasks in the fields. I knew where I belonged, but it was gone now, left far, far behind. Even if Xan was keeping the apartment warm for me, what would happen when I sent for her? Peltos would finally get his wish and rent it out to some idiot for a vastly-inflated amount¡­


    The meat was cooking ¨C I¡¯d cut it thin, it wouldn¡¯t take long ¨C so I headed back to the twins.


    They were sitting apart, a solid fifty feet of even solider silence between them. But both of them were doing the same thing, picking at the wet blades of grass between their legs, looking out in pensive poses, beholding that monstrosity between the trees, that immense nothingness of waves and wind ahead of us.


    They were out of one another¡¯s lines of sight, if they¡¯d been looking for each other ¨C there were three huge trees standing like wrinkled towers between the twins, their gnarled roots host to dozens and dozens of rain-soaked bushes. Doubtless they each knew roughly where the other was located, but they¡¯d chosen this, this isolation from one another.


    I stayed at the very crest of the rise and called down to both of them in my most-confident voice:


    ¡°So, do we stay or do we go?¡±


    Stay didn¡¯t strictly mean stay. We were definitely moving on from Blackice Bay, whatever was decided, following Rathal¡¯s final instruction. But left unspoken was the assumption: stay on the continent, head farther north, or east, or north-east; or leave, set sail on the Northril, the dark northern oceans of the world. It was a broad question, the first of many if we were going to nail down an actual destination.


    They both looked around at me, heads and hair swinging in almost the exact same manner.


    Whatever happens, they¡¯ll always be twins.


    ¡°Stay,¡± Jaid shouted.


    ¡°Go,¡± Jaroan shouted.


    And against my better judgement, I knew what we would end up doing.


    * * *

 Blackice pt2

    I was happily chewing on my rabbit when Jaid said in a quiet voice: ¡°Did Princess die, Kas? Is that why you won¡¯t let me ride her?¡±


    I chewed some more and licked my lips thoroughly, thoughts suddenly flipping over. ¡°Jaid, I ¨C I can¡¯t tell you what happened. It¡¯s a secret ¨C sorcerer¡¯s stuff, you know. I can say that I don¡¯t think she¡¯s dead.¡± I saw the crestfallen expression on her face slowly give way to scepticism. ¡°Look ¨C I had to give her up, okay? Someone more powerful than me took an interest in her; we didn¡¯t part on the best of terms¡­¡±


    A dark unicorn, a tricorn of an arch-fiend¡¯s making, swathed in shadows as she lowers her savage trident, bounding at me ¨C


    ¡°But yeah. I can¡¯t bring her out. I mean, I literally don¡¯t think I can do it.¡±


    ¡°But you won¡¯t try.¡± She folded her arms across her chest, giving me the out-thrust lower lip treatment.


    ¡°If I did, I might suddenly disappear to a place where for every minute that passes for me, you get to wait about three hours. Aaaand I might never return.¡±


    She finally sensed I wasn¡¯t spreading drop.


    ¡°O-okay, Kas. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Yawn,¡± Jaroan said. I glanced at him. His face was a knot of bored contempt, one cheek puffed out, like he had a big nut in the side of his mouth. ¡°Are we going, or what?¡±


    I ignored him and hugged Jaid, feeling the sad smile on my lips.


    ¡°She¡¯ll be fine. Princess is a tough old dame. Come on, let¡¯s get this fire put out and we can pack up the utensils.¡±


    It was mid-morning as we strolled into the town of Blackice Bay. I was getting the hang of my limp ¨C the touch of wraith-essence I was utilising to let me walk set me a little off-balance, but no one was going to question a mage it seemed. I got a few queer looks from some of the fishermen we passed, that was all.


    Blackice-town looked like a giant wooden sea-whale that¡¯d beached itself on the boulders and now lay there dying. Only four large ships were docked at the moment, but there were perhaps a hundred or more small boats in the water, and that had to be just a fraction of the fishing vessels. Jetties riddled the rocks, dozens and dozens of minor harbours spread between the proper piers, and then as the beach rose up the stick-buildings did too, from huts to houses and workshops. The tallest building looked to be three floors, and seemed to be a courthouse of some kind, given the triplicate gavel-symbol raised in granite from its peaked roof. The temples were small and simple. We passed a mossy shrine to the Founders that overlooked the town, with its five graven statues facing inwards towards one another¡­ a sad reflection of the Fountains of Merizet back home in Hightown.


    This place, for all its differences ¨C it held reminders of where we¡¯d come from, and that only made me think about where we¡¯d ended up.


    We didn¡¯t come in through the main road, but headed down the hill from the treeline to the water, then followed the coast, entering along the waterfront. It wasn¡¯t currently raining, but you couldn¡¯t tell because of the sheer amount of cold spray being lifted up from the waves by the wind and rocks. The scents of salt and fish-innards were overpowering ¨C many of the fishermen had already returned with an early-morning catch, it seemed, and their children got involved in the work, merrily gutting and deboning the slippery critters. I noted that the rejected parts were being carefully sorted, placed in their own special buckets ¨C just to what use cod-intestine could be put I had no idea, and even less desire to find out.


    ¡°Fancy getting up to your elbows in that stuff?¡± I asked, nodding towards a group of four children, chattering away excitedly as they used their small hooked knives on a tray of squirming salmon.


    ¡°Eww,¡± was all Jaid said, but she seemed incapable of tearing her eyes off them. She didn¡¯t actually sound repulsed in the slightest.


    Was she jealous of their camaraderie, feeling lonely, stuck here with her brothers?


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Wherever we go,¡± Jaroan said, ¡°we aren¡¯t living by the sea.¡±


    He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was already decided. Would it¡¯ve killed him to simply give his opinion?


    ¡°That¡¯s the next thing to make up our minds about.¡± I stopped and pointed to the itinerary nailed to the post by the biggest pier. ¡°Let¡¯s head over there.¡±


    Through a near-constant curtain of water droplets, I peered at the board. The dates and times were confusingly arranged, and it took the best part of five minutes for me to decipher their meanings. It looked like two of the four big ships were bound for Mund ¨C the others were bound for Myri and Telior.


    ¡°There¡¯s the choices then, guys,¡± I said, tapping the board with my finger. ¡°Myri, in three days, or Telior tomorrow. Or we could wait it out, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Myri¡¯s nice and hot?¡± Jaid said hopefully.


    ¡°Three days, here?¡± Jaroan¡¯s question was rhetorical. ¡°Anyway, where¡¯s Telior? I¡¯ve never heard of it.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Let¡¯s have a look.¡±


    We made our way to a nearby tavern, a rickety wooden building that seemed to shudder with the wind. I seated the twins in the corner, not too near the fire and the other patrons, then ordered ale and water. Before I even had my map out the short, curly-haired barman came over with our drinks.


    ¡°Hey, do you know where Telior is?¡± Jaid asked.


    ¡°Let the man go about his business,¡± I said, smiling up at him apologetically.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Jaroan spread out the map, and pinned it down with a candle-holder to stop it rolling up again. ¡°We¡¯ll find it.¡±


    ¡°Never a trouble,¡± the barman said, immediately tapping on a shoulder of land to the west, across Northril. ¡°Thar¡¯s Telior, to be true.¡±


    ¡°Part of the Realm?¡± I found myself asking, looking down at that section of the world. I didn¡¯t recognise any of the names around Telior ¨C but then about ninety percent of the names on the map were new to me.


    He didn¡¯t reply immediately, and I looked up to find him grinning appreciatively.


    ¡°On the run, are yeh, young mage?¡±


    I flicked my eyes around the room. No one else was looking this way, their eyes on their drinks or their drinking-buddies¡­


    Damn it. Me and my big stupid mouth.


    ¡°Don¡¯t yeh worry at it, lad. Yeah,¡± he tapped the map again, ¡°Telior¡¯s one bit o¡¯ the world they didn¡¯t conquer. Their kings pay tribute, or whatever yer call it. S¡¯ppose it ain¡¯t so bad up there, s¡¯long as yer don¡¯t mind the cold. Most¡¯ve ¡®em¡¯ll speak Mundic, if thasser concern?¡±


    I winked at him, saying nothing ¨C he just laughed lightly, then cleared off to see to some other customers.


    I turned to the twins and spoke softly.


    ¡°We can try Telior, and head south from there if it¡¯s a bit chilly for our dear sister.¡± I took Jaid¡¯s hand and squeezed. ¡°It¡¯s important we find somewhere we can all put up with.¡±


    ¡°Course it is.¡± She pulled her hand from mine, glaring at me. ¡°You¡¯re definitely taking my opinion into account. Definitely. I say stay but he says go, so we go ¨C I say Myri and he says Telior, so ¨C¡±


    ¡°Jaid¡­¡± Jaid, you¡¯re more agreeable than him, so just compromise, okay?


    I swallowed.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m doing my best. Jar¡¯s right,¡± I saw some rare surprise in his gaze at that, ¡°Myri¡¯s still part of the Mundic Realm ¨C right in the heart of it, in fact ¨C and if we ¨C¡±


    ¡°But your special friend said it didn¡¯t matter where we went after Blackice Bay, didn¡¯t he? Wherever we go, we¡¯re safe.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know,¡± Jaroan muttered with a fresh scowl on his features, ¡°now we¡¯ve arrived in Blackice Bay we can go straight back to Mund! In fact, there¡¯s this apartment in Helbert¡¯s Bend on a road called ¨C¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± I put my hand on his arm, not roughly, but with no gentleness either. ¡°Enough. Yes, Jaid, technically you¡¯re correct. In practise, though, that¡¯ll never fly. It was always my intention to get us out of the Realm. Myri sounds nice, sure ¨C¡±


    ¡°Your intention! Yours! What about me? What about us?¡± She looked at her twin. ¡°Jar, you¡¯re with me, right? You don¡¯t want Kas making all the decisions for us, do you?¡±


    ¡°Are you thick?¡± he bit back. ¡°Or do you think I am?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, I get it.¡± There was fierceness, viciousness in her snarl. ¡°You¡¯re fine with it, so long as he¡¯s siding with you.¡± Her eyes flashed to me. ¡°Well, Jar was right ¨C you¡¯re not my dad,¡± she curled her lip, ¡°you don¡¯t get to boss me around. If I want to go to Myri, by ¨C¡±


    ¡°If you really want to go to Myri, we will,¡± I said firmly, trying to ignore the (not merely outraged, but hateful) glare I received from Jaroan. ¡°We will, Jaid. But this isn¡¯t a holiday. We aren¡¯t just trying to go somewhere nice. And you¡¯re both right ¨C I¡¯m not Dad. But why do I keep ending up here? I wish I was, I wish I knew what to do, I wish I had the confidence to just tell you what we were doing but I don¡¯t, I ¨C¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± She said it in a small voice, looking down at the water in her cup like she was scrying the future in it. ¡°Okay. We¡¯ll go to Telior. As Mortiforn wills¡­¡± A wan smile spread across her face. ¡°But once we¡¯re there, I get to decide where we go next.¡±


    I looked at Jaroan, pleading with my eyes ¨C


    ¡°Oh, fine,¡± he said magnanimously. ¡°Jaid gets to pick next.¡±


    Despite his tone, and the continuing cold expression on her face, Jaid stalked around the table and pulled him into a hug against his will. He looked to me for help, and I just smiled.


    For the first time, when I again told myself time would fix whatever was wrong between us, I actually believed it.


    * * *

 Blackice pt3

    I stood alone at the prow of the Scaleshaker as we crashed like an ungainly sow through the waves. The others were safe below decks, but I had my wraith-essence to make the experience more palatable, and I didn¡¯t care that the sailors out here with me were staring at me with odd expressions. Yes, it was cold. Yes, I could feel it. But it felt right. I felt right, for once. The world was grey and black before me ¨C grey skies, black seas. When I closed my eyes there was nothing, no sensation but the chill, wetness¡­ Colour, warmth, dryness: these were concepts for the dry land, for those whose feet stood upon the solid ground. Here, we were at the mercy of Wyrda, to whom the drunken captain had dedicated his half-bottle of ice-spirits before tossing it overboard. I hoped that was enough to placate her. The last thing I needed was an assault from She Who Slumbers Submerged. I was painfully aware my magic wouldn¡¯t save us if there was some kind of natural disaster out here. Me and the twins, maybe, if I could get us back to land¡­ but the others? I couldn¡¯t wraith-shift everyone.


    I didn¡¯t like boats, I decided. I¡¯d only been out on the sea once, when I¡¯d landed on the Dremmedine to discuss the Redgate situation with Phanar and the others. The ship was already close to Salnifast at the time, and I¡¯d known in advance I was only stopping on it for a matter of minutes. But this¡­ this was different.


    The Scaleshaker was a fat schooner. Instead of cutting through the water like a knife it bobbed about like a log on the surface of a river, seeming to sway side to side as much as it plunged forwards. And Northril was different to what I¡¯d seen of the Mundic Sea. It was far darker, for a kick off, even when the sun¡¯s rays managed to pierce the gloom. The waves were scintillating dunes of black crystal, scraping at the hull. The clouds were thick, shapeless sponges of grey felt, clinging in the air just inches overhead, it seemed, so that when I breathed in the wind it rolled in my lungs like it was half-water.


    I was stuck between the cliff and the flood. (In fact I would¡¯ve quite liked being stuck between a cliff and a flood ¨C at least that would be to imply I had my feet on the ground.) The air out here made me sick, stifling me, drowning me in its moistness ¨C but the air down in the hold was moist too for other, yet-more sickening reasons. Sweat. Breath. The sweet scent of almost-rotten fruits, barely-cured seal skins and something called zippa, which looked like porridge but stunk of fish, casks and casks of the stuff.


    I was rarely eating, now that the ship was on the high seas. Even with copious amounts of wraith-form, the nausea was killing me. I¡¯d managed to keep down water and bread and heavily-salted meat, but anything more extreme in flavour was reintroducing itself to me in the most horrid way imaginable. By now ¨C day four of our voyage ¨C I¡¯d learned a few lessons.


    Still, when it was time for the evening meal I headed below to sit with the twins, both of whom seemed to have sturdier sea-legs than me. Perhaps the slow build-up of my own tolerance was due to the insubstantiality, what with half my body held half a dimension away from the constant rolling of the waves. Whatever the explanation, it hadn¡¯t affected Jaid and Jaroan. By the time I got to the hold they were happily stuffing their faces ¨C Jaroan even had some of the zippa for the second time ¨C and I had to sit there trying not to breathe for fear of tipping over my stomach again.


    I earwigged instead. Out of the dozen or so other passengers, there was one other mage aboard the Scaleshaker, and she was so full of drop she¡¯d squirt Mud Lane if you stabbed her. I figured her name to be Rellos, or something like that. Her skin was a fabulous ochre colour, her eyes and hair purple, ears with the distinctive part-elf point at their tips. As if her natural appearance wasn¡¯t enough, she wore a rune-spattered robe, belts, necklaces, rings ¨C all of it bereft of a single ensorcellment. Yet I could hardly say that, even though everyone was taking everything she said so seriously. It didn¡¯t help that only half of it was in the Mundic tongue, the rest in the native Telese spoken by the crew.


    ¡°¡­ shehaz higa gorach¡­ You know zees? Yilygu? Za vampire? Za vampire ¡®az only love in ¡®is ¡®art for za mortal. Zay see it as a gift, zair blood. I haf met one! Harmonaz in o dae orashaz it mef elent¡­¡±


    ¡°You should really try this, you know.¡± Jaroan managed to say it in a condescending tone. ¡°It¡¯s nothing like anything you¡¯ve ever tried.¡±


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    ¡°No thank you,¡± Jaid said, the words perfectly polite but her voice brittle as an icicle.


    ¡°But you won¡¯t know whether you like it till you¡¯ve tried it.¡±


    ¡°Jar,¡± I said warningly.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡±


    ¡°But I really think you would like it! You like fish ¨C you like porridge ¨C¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want any ¨C¡±


    ¡°¨C no reason not to try it ¨C¡±


    ¡°Jar!¡±


    ¡°¨C doesn¡¯t taste anything like it smells ¨C¡±


    I applied more wraith to my flesh and, for the first time since boarding the Scaleshaker, I drifted straight up through the planks, onto the deck near the rail, and leaned over the side.


    I hadn¡¯t yet eaten, thankfully, so I just brought up a bellyful of fluid.


    I stood there, embracing the starboard rail ¨C and it was through blurry eyes that I witnessed the mountain against the clouds, an enormous shadow towering above us through the mist, where there should¡¯ve been only ocean¡­


    ¡°Ysga-vin!¡± one of the sailors yelled. ¡°Dark elves, cap¡¯n!¡±


    From out of the mist, from the looming shadow, a harpoon the length of an oar came flying, piercing the sailor at the navel and sending his corpse cartwheeling down from the rigging.


    ¡°What in ¨C drop ¨C¡± I muttered even as I threw out shields. I started moving towards the man lying there on the deck, but I could already tell he was gone ¨C he¡¯d landed on his head, and the impact had done a number on the integrity of his skull. For the first time in a long time, I saw a ghost go screaming out of a body to be consumed by nethernal wind.


    The narrow chain attached to the harpoon suddenly retracted it with the speed of a counterweight ¨C I followed the hooked spear and its captive body with my eyes. Looking back at the mountainous shadow, watching the thing materialise.


    If it weren¡¯t for the preceding events, I¡¯d have thought it a glacier, like from the stories.


    But it wasn¡¯t. The sailor was right. It was them.


    It was just like they all said about the invasion, back when I was a kid. Mum and Dad didn¡¯t let me go anywhere near the walls, didn¡¯t let me look out to see the seven ¡®ships¡¯ anchored in the bay beyond Salnifast. But everyone had heard what they were like, even the children.


    So it was I had some vague notion of what to expect as it emerged from the mist.


    It was akin to the chariots of the Zadhalites, and maybe zombie-giants, I supposed. A gargantuan warship, its hull rising to the foredeck a hundred feet above my head ¨C but where most sea-going vessels were wooden, this was constructed from nothing but fleshless corpses. Human and elf and dwarf. Fish and bird and mammal. The dark elves didn¡¯t differentiate. This colossus of death was so ancient-looking, I would¡¯ve expected it to have weathered, smoothed, but no ¨C every single skeleton was preserved in its entirety, fused to this world and its bony brethren with purple cords of magic, nethernal cement glowing, pulsing, in every seam. The masts were like Hightown towers, the sails of waxy skin hanging limp, wide enough to cover a city square laid flat.


    The bone warship glided closer so silently, with such unchanging speed, it was almost peaceful ¨C the sword-like blade of the prow sliced its way through the sea towards us, Vaahn¡¯s scythe, sweeping in gently to reave away our souls ¨C


    Blaaaaaaaaaaa-ha-haaaaaaaaaaa.


    The horn¡¯s notes were tremendous, rattling the rails of the Scaleshaker. The organ that produced such a dreadful sound had to be as big as our ship all on its own. Bigger, perhaps. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of Scaleshakers would fit inside the goliath.


    A score of small holes appeared in a row, halfway up the hull. Vicious barbs glinted there, then shot forth. But the hail of harpoons that the warship spat at us went rebounding harmlessly from my shields. I had them weaving all about the boat now, protecting the Scaleshaker from harm.


    Some of the crewmen were running to their posts, while others were fleeing downstairs and yelling. One of the sailors was clutching his beard and screaming, backing away towards the port rail ¨C surely he wouldn¡¯t be so stupid as to jump in the sea¡­ Though death might be a mercy, considering what the dark elves were said to do with their prisoners.


    What they did with them, before they found an eternal use for the remains.


    Some of the passengers were stupid-enough to head up with the bravest sailors, as though this were a tourist¡¯s show. The twins were nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Despite their mental states, they retained the Mortenn good sense ¨C or maybe it was just sharp survival instincts. Either way, I breathed a sigh of relief.


    I didn¡¯t want either of them to see this.


    Rellos, or whatever her name was, appeared on my right side and started pulling spell-components from her pouches ¨C I raised my eyebrows and gave her a nod, which she returned. There was fear in her eyes, but coolness, professionalism too.


    Unexpected. I wasn¡¯t going to turn my nose up at back-up, though.


    The warship reeled in its hooked spears with what sounded like a single loud, steely rasp. Then, within seconds, the dark elves spat again. More holes opened ¨C more harpoons.


    Again, and again. Three dozen this time.


    * * *

 Blackice pt4

    It was like being stabbed with a pin. Thirty-six pins. It barely registered, rebounding from Shield Twelve without incident ¨C but it was annoying. Of far greater danger was the threat of being struck, by the ship itself. They weren¡¯t on a direct collision course such that the sharp bow of the bony goliath would actually hit us, but the swell of its wake would capsize us, and its hull would crush us¡­


    Then I noticed what the captain was doing, and turned to float across the deck towards him. My shields were expansive-enough that I could cross the middle of the ship without putting any part of it in peril, so long as I didn¡¯t head towards the bow or stern, which would leave the other end undefended¡­


    ¡°You ah an ach-soseror?¡± Rellos breathed, purple eyes fixed on me in wonder as I flew past her.


    I didn¡¯t respond, determined to reach the captain and a few of his closest crewmen, who were busy trying to throw themselves over the side ¨C not in suicide attempts, but to jump in the rowing boat.


    ¡°Quit that!¡± I berated them, wagging a finger. ¡°We¡¯ll need you, once we¡¯re out of this. They¡¯d only catch you anyway.¡±


    The idiots only cast me a single glance, then went straight back to untying the ropes holding the rowing boat fast to the side of the Scaleshaker.


    I carefully placed Butcherking right on top of the most-difficult knot.


    He grinned at them, waving his dangerous fingers, and the sailors recoiled, turning back to me now with shocked expressions.


    ¡°Ach-mage!¡± Rellos hissed.


    I looked over my shoulder, only to freeze in terror.


    The floating glacier of bone and purple magic had halted, as suddenly and silently as it had appeared ¨C and now a single round opening appeared, like the previous ones, on the port hull looming directly in front of us. Except this opening was big.


    Really big.


    And instead of a spear, a vast, wizened rod of wood was slid forth ¨C its curling tip aimed down at us ¨C


    A humming sound filled the air, rising in pitch, faster and faster ¨C


    Oh gods.


    The first blast of ice emitted by the tree-sized wand went right through Shield Twelve and Eleven, finally disintegrating against Shield Ten, leaving a sheen of white frost on the air for an instant. I quickly repaired the damaged barrier and recreated Shield Eleven ¨C


    BrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR ¨C


    The second frostbolt was bigger: the frozen lance it evoked had to be ten feet wide, fifty feet long, jagged at the tip like a flint arrowhead.


    Eleven, Ten and Nine went down. The sheen of white frost was bigger, far more daunting, a gleaming blanket of elemental power lingering in the emptiness between us.


    No. No. No.


    I won¡¯t be taken again.


    ¡°What¡¯s the betting they¡¯ve only got one of them?¡± I murmured.


    Even without vampiric abilities, I could feel the eyes of those around me fixed on me as I focussed, pointed, and snapped my fingers.


    I only managed to get Shield Ten back online in time for the next blast, and it ripped through so many of my barriers it took me a moment to realise just how close we¡¯d come to dying. Shield Four, the pentagon, caught the last of it, and it was no mere sheen of frost hanging there this time.


    Several tons of ice was whipped about by my rotating shape, spraying out across the deck.


    But in sacrificing my shields I¡¯d managed to strategically place a trio of crimson flames in the air ¨C just above the wizened tip of the wand.


    I put Mr. Cuddlesticks, the heaviest-looking, at the very end where it twisted and tapered, the mystical weapon looking barely two feet thick. Then Mrs. Cuddlesticks, and finally Junior.


    It was reinforced against ordinary breakages. Tougher than a tree its girth. Tougher than metal, even, maybe. It didn¡¯t snap as they landed on it, but the cracking sound was audible even from here.


    I rebuilt the shield, smiling.


    BRRRRRRRRRRRR ¨C


    Before the fourth strike could take place, the orange-glowing hammers of my demons achieved my goal. The ice-wand didn¡¯t look like it enjoyed what was probably its first ever taste of fire-magic. The whole thing splintered up the middle ¨C eyes narrowed, I picked out the shapes of the three bintaborax and waved at them ¨C


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    A blue explosion ripped its way through the hull, and for a moment I exulted ¨C until the fluorescent smoke cleared and I saw the minimal damage it¡¯d caused. We¡¯d put a dint in the side of the ship. An explosion that would¡¯ve torn our ship to shreds, and it made a depression. I could only hope the explosion had made more of an impact on the interior of the hull¡­ On the outside, nethernal energies just started coating the crater, like a quick-forming scab over a wound.


    I turned aside. I¡¯d only just managed to move the demons out of the way in time, resummoning them to a point just over the water beside the Scaleshaker ¨C I kept moving them back up and letting them fall again so that I could give them a quick once-over, examine them for injuries before returning them to the Twelve Hells. They looked a bit frosty, but were otherwise quite intact. Satisfied, I thanked them in Infernal and waved them away.


    Only then did I realise that I was still feeling it ¨C the eyes on me.


    ¡°What?¡± I fixed the grin in place, looking about. ¡°Can¡¯t everyone juggle demons?¡±


    I laughed at my audience¡¯s shocked expressions and got to work. Within seconds I¡¯d repaired the tattered shields and reinforced them like never before. By the time I was done I was sweaty, my hands were shaking; I shouldn¡¯t have kept bringing the demons out like that, should¡¯ve trusted to their durability. I hadn¡¯t used my powers this intensely for quite some time and I was a little out of practice¡­ nonetheless I remained confident. Eagerness easily made up for a spent Wellspring.


    We were still moving, slowly crossing in front of the bony behemoth, crashing through the waves ¨C a chaos of sound which now felt like an eerie silence. Where were the harpoons? Would they attempt to board our boat instead?


    Then an amplified elven voice rang down from the warship, splitting the silence with a cool, crisp monotone. There wasn¡¯t just derision in the tone. That would be to assume some semblance of equality between two parties, however disjointed. This wasn¡¯t like a noble talking to lesser folk. It was a master talking to a badly-behaved hound. An errant puppy. An annoying wasp.


    ¡°Avri cin cenothen, jhilavri son denominen.¡±


    ¡°In ci qothi!¡± Rellos cried back. ¡°Di simmon cin Diphroinen!¡±


    There was a pause, a reminder that the waves were crashing loudly by us, and then the voice came again.


    ¡°Half-People. We demand its archmage¡¯s bones. Strike off its fingers and tongue. Give them to us and we shall allow it to depart.¡±


    All the eyes fell back on me again.


    ¡°If you all want to die,¡± I grated, ¡°hand me over. They wouldn¡¯t be asking for me if I wasn¡¯t being a pain in their ass.¡± I glared at the captain, who was eyeing me mistrustfully. ¡°Your best way out of this is with me right here.¡±


    Rellos was nodding in agreement. The idiot captain¡¯s expression never changed.


    I looked back up at the glacier of bone, cupped my hands around my mouth and augmented my voice with Zab¡¯s power.


    ¡°Aw, didn¡¯t you fork out for malicious damage cover when you took out giant freaking wand insurance? Bet someone¡¯s kicking themselves now! You must think we¡¯re right clods, eh? You withdraw now, and I won¡¯t come up there! You¡¯ve got thirty seconds to comply, or I¡¯m coming looking for you personally, smarmy git.¡±


    Jaid and Jaroan came running up onto the deck. It was nice to see that, in times of crisis, even Jar did still care for me.


    ¡°No way!¡± he was shouting. ¡°Not again! You¡¯re staying right here!¡± He marched up to me, Jaid hot on his heels.


    I ducked my head in agreement, giving them a hard smile. It wasn¡¯t like I actually wanted to go up there¡­ was it?


    Was it all bone inside? Would I float through corridors shaped from glued-together skeletons? I had to admit, I was curious.


    And wouldn¡¯t there be slaves in there? People not yet killed and reanimated, in need of my aid? How much agony was being experienced by the denizens of the warship? The dark elves worked those they enslaved to death ¨C that¡¯s what everyone always said. Couldn¡¯t it turn out that the hull was packed with chained labourers, whipped, scourged into action, forced to drive the engines that beat in the heart of this wicked abomination?


    I suddenly went cold inside, and when I returned my gaze to the warship I saw only a target for my rage.


    ¡°Last chance!¡± I roared, summoning my wings, preparing to lock my shields with the twins as their nexus. Jaroan didn¡¯t want me to board their ship, but I could at least fly up, get a better view of the gigantic vessel ¨C intimidate them a bit ¨C


    The moment I started the gesture that would seal the shields in place, the horn split the misty air:


    Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-ha¡­


    And slowly, ever so slowly, the warship began to move again, steering at once to the side as if to curl away behind us, head the other direction.


    Bit by bit, the starboard hull of the bone-mountain was exposed to us as we slipped past each other. Before too long, it¡¯d vanished into the evening mist.


    I walked towards the stern of the ship, then leaned on the rail at the very rear of the Scaleshaker, peering out into the clouds of Northril, keeping our protective barriers at maximum efficiency. The last thing I¡¯d want would be for them to turn around, chase us down with their supernatural speed and start ripping us to shreds without warning.


    The second-to-last thing I¡¯d want would be for them to get away.


    The excitement only lasted for about another twenty minutes, and, after trying to pester me with questions and getting basically nowhere, most of my interrogators retired before too long. The winds weren¡¯t strong, but night on Northril was bad enough as it was, and sometimes the breeze picked up, seeping across the deck like the breath of a frost giant ¨C few were able to endure it without good cause. Jaroan had gone back to his old self within a minute or two, and Jaid was sleepy.


    Then I was alone at the stern, just a few nearby sailors and the constellations for company.


    They weren¡¯t particularly perceptive, man or god. I fancied my chances.


    Soon I was alone over the sea, enwraithed, floating over the waves, waiting until I was farther from the Scaleshaker to bring out my wings again.


    And when I dried out and found my bed that night, it was with a satisfied smile on my face that I went to sleep. The dreams weren¡¯t of bone corridors and unchained slaves singing my praises, but of floating invisibly above varnished black woods and lush sheepskin rugs¡­ dismembered kraken and bubbling green oil¡­ hordes of undead mown down, reduced to inanimate parts, a chunky meal of unliving flesh¡­ pale-skinned, blue-haired elves running, hiding from the unseen monster stalking them, their beautiful lips drawn back in animal screams, corpses clad in plum-purple and silver and blood.

 Royal Request pt1

    <h2>JET 8.8: ROYAL REQUEST</h2>


    ¡°Let the wind pick you up and carry you away. Do not be afraid to lose yourself. What are you really afraid of risking? Lose yourself! You¡¯ll no longer spend the nights frightened beneath the bedsheets, listening to the darkness whispering. You¡¯ll whisper from it! You¡¯ll lounge in the dark places and laugh in mockery at the pitiful creatures tiptoeing by.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Grandfather¡¯s Open Arms¡¯


    ¡°Okay guys, that¡¯ll do. Perfect, good work!¡±


    I waved down at my demons, returning most of them to Infernum. Pinktongue I placed back on my shoulder, where I left him most of the time now. The Scaleshaker¡¯s captain was always giving me the stink-eye, muttering ¡®warlock¡¯ like it was a curse-word ¨C I¡¯d found that a visible reminder of my power was enough to keep him away, keep him and his glare off my back.


    But a fair few of the crew didn¡¯t seem to share his inhibitions. Horvin stood a few feet from me, a senior sailor with a long, thin brown beard and laughing eyes, and he applauded absent-mindedly as he perused what I¡¯d achieved. The ships into Telior had to basically wait in a queue as the harbour wizards worked their way back and forth across the bay, breaking up the ice. Most ships didn¡¯t have access to bintaborax weaponry and imp-fire, though, and I wasn¡¯t staying on a boat a minute longer than I had to ¨C the dark elves had already made me throw discretion to the cold north winds.


    Horvin gave a few commands, and within a couple of minutes the ship started moving again. Ahead of us, Telior waited.


    Telior looked like a gigantic ship that had beached itself against the black cliffs and then mated with the rocks, forming a horizontal forest of intertwined buildings, roots driven into the windswept coastline. The morning was grey ¨C grey skies, grey seas ¨C and there still had to be a thousand lanterns burning yellow-orange along the wooden town¡¯s spray-soaked walkways, thousands more behind its salt-stained glass windows.


    Not town ¨C city. Sure, it wasn¡¯t even as big as Salnifast, I supposed, and certainly it had none of the port-city¡¯s beauty. But having seen Blackice Bay and Irontooth Gates, I knew the difference between a town and a city now. This was the latter. It was built on dozens of levels, each seemingly connected by various spans, ramps, stairs, ladders ¨C even ropes¡­ And in these harsh conditions, there was activity everywhere I looked. Thousands of people, streaming along the rickety-looking bridges, many bearing burdens under their arms or on their shoulders. I could even pick out the richer districts, where ramshackle constructions of various timbers gave way to ancient-looking structures of a single hue. These halls were weathered all the same, but had been curiously crafted with sweeping arches, struts shaped like the arcs made by fish leaping from the water.


    I looked up at the dreary sky. If today was anything like yesterday, or the day before, the lights would be burning all day long anyway. Grey was the name of the game, when it came to these dire places at the ends of the earth. We were probably as far north as Zadhal, here, if the maps were to be trusted.


    I faced into the wind, turning my attention to the twins as they came up onto the deck, clad in the warmest clothing I¡¯d grabbed them before leaving Mund. I had my thick woollen vest and hose on under my robe, and both the pairs of socks I was wearing were pulled up to my knees, but at least I had the wraith to help me. I could tell they were suffering with the cold, even wrapped in furs, but Jaid was doing her best to hide it, looking off at the city with the familiar distance in her eyes. Meanwhile, Jaroan was indulging in his opportunity to moan, revelling in his shivers by flinging his body about dramatically, proclaiming his discomfort loudly with every passing moment ¨C every slow, excruciating moment, sand being squeezed through the eye of time¡¯s hourglass like blood squeezed from a pricked vein.


    I reminded myself not to get attached to Telior. We¡¯d be moving on as soon as Jaid¡¯s boots hit the boardwalks, I was quite certain. We had left it up to her, after all.


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    As we finally approached our dock, I heard the choral music of Enye¡¯s singers rising above the crashing of the waves on the piers, and I wished things could be different. I liked this place. I felt it in my soul already. I wanted to stay, if only for awhile. I was intrigued by the fact they had weather-magicians here, and wondered what I might be able to achieve in a place like this. The Magisterium had a long reach, but I was beyond their remit now. If I adopted a new name, cut my hair a bit, kept a glamour up to cover the scar¡­ we could fit in here with little adjustment.


    But I had to ignore what I wanted, yet again. I knew in my bones, I couldn¡¯t be satisfied until they were happy. Both of them. Maybe that meant I¡¯d never be happy again, never be able to look myself in the eye in the mirror and know peace ¨C


    ¨C the last one slipped and slid through the blood, snarling against the pain of her injuries, clawing with delicate fingers at the contorted robes and slick flesh of her fallen comrades in a desperate attempt to escape; but her gleaming hair became caught on the treacherous belt-buckle of a dead man, and the predator caught up with her, extending a hand to cut off her pitiful struggle, letting her own redness join the river ¨C


    ¨C but I had to do what was right by them, or die trying.


    Maybe ¨C just maybe ¨C one day they would be settled, wherever we ended up, and I could go back¡­


    ¡°What¡¯re you thinking about?¡± Jaroan asked me suspiciously, striding over.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± I lied. ¡°This place¡­ It looks cool, to me.¡±


    ¡°Me too.¡± You couldn¡¯t tell from his expressionless expression. He glanced without the least covertness over his shoulder at Jaid. ¡°We¡¯re going to be outvoted by the minority, though.¡±


    ¡°My thoughts exactly.¡± I did my best to smile. ¡°You never know your luck, eh?¡±


    ¡°No, you do.¡± He frowned, and curled his lip at Telior. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re here, isn¡¯t it? Why we had to go.¡±


    I put my hand on his shoulder, and he recoiled, shrugged me away.


    ¡°Okay, whatever.¡± I put my arm back down. ¡°Can you hear that, Jaid? That¡¯s the Daffodil Chant, only the words are different.¡±


    She came up towards the rail, turning her nose up at the familiar music floating across the broken ice. ¡°It¡¯s cold, Kas. I don¡¯t like it here.¡±


    Jaroan moaned theatrically, flinging his arms up in his best imitation of our sister.


    ¡°Horvin,¡± I said, turning aside to face the man, ¡°do you have archmages here in Telior?¡±


    He was conversing in Telese with one of his subordinates, but he turned to me and replied in Mundic.


    ¡°There are two. Two archmage. Sin-Aidre ¨C Greenheart, you vould call her in your tongue. She is a¡­ How do you say? Mender?¡±


    ¡°Healer? A druid?¡±


    ¡°Druid.¡± The bearded sailor nodded. ¡°She does not take payment. No one knows her true name. She vill appear, and she vill leave. She has many shape.¡±


    A champion, basically, then¡­ But without the Magisterium ¨C without receiving payment ¨C what would she do for a living?


    ¡°And the second?¡±


    ¡°Orcan Finfaltik. He is ¨C vizard. He has saved Telior many time. But he is old. He has book from your Mund, and teach many vot he knows ¨C ve hope enough.¡±


    I looked back at the open sea, the shrouded sky, and I understood.


    ¡°How did you get on before Orcan?¡± I asked.


    ¡°There vere more magician before. More archmage. More people, before Black Vinter.¡± He shrugged, turning back to his colleague. ¡°Immonaz o camogh si it af alent¡­¡±


    I looked back at the pier-coated coastline, the jabbering crowds. I could make out faces, now. These people looked happy, on the whole. There was little shiftiness to their expressions and they seemed to greet one another merrily-enough as they went about their business.


    Yet, if there had been a decline in the population¡­ Was this place on its way out? What was the Black Winter? Horvin didn¡¯t seem keen on explaining, for whatever reason, yet he¡¯d usually been forthcoming with information whenever I¡¯d asked. I¡¯d learned from him that Telior paid its tribute to Mund in the form of rare pearls discovered in the bellies of certain aquatic monsters ¨C Mund¡¯s navy laid claims to all the oceans, apparently, and for hundreds of years Telior¡¯s kings had bowed and scraped before the magical empire¡¯s envoys. He didn¡¯t seem to mind discussing topics that might frame his society as less than perfect, which made his reticence now all the more intriguing.


    We finally drew up to the quayside, the Scaleshaker surrounded in bobbing ice-floes, melted to their gleaming white cores by wizardry. I paid the shifty-eyed captain, letting a single gorgeous gold coin fall into his grubby palm, then gestured for the twins to go ashore ahead of me. They disembarked, and I followed them, dismissing Pinktongue as I went.


    * * *

 Royal Request pt2

    I took a deep breath before setting my foot ¨C the good, right one that wasn¡¯t half see-through beneath the robe, the one that could still feel ¨C on solid ground. The urge came over me to fling myself down on my face, hug the earth, promise it I¡¯d never leave it again. Quivering slightly, I mastered myself. Jaid accepted my arm across her shoulders, and I used her to steady myself, steering us across the docks and into the strange crowds.


    It wasn¡¯t like it was really solid ground, anyway. The quay wasn¡¯t immune to the swells of the waves, swaying slightly as it bucked the tide. Spray coming over the lip of the promenade formed ten-foot-high whips of icy foam. Even though I could see the way up to the next level, a ramp not fifty yards off, getting there was an altogether different proposition. Dozens upon dozens of dock-hands were everywhere ¨C unloading crate after crate, hefting them here and there, bellowing all the while over the cries of the sea in their own equally-foreign voices¡­ This was all new, and suddenly I felt afraid.


    It was a new kind of fear. Isolation. I¡¯d overextended. Where was I? Where had my machinations brought us?


    At least I had some funds, and my magic that would ensure I kept hold of it. We were only spared repeated jostling by the fact I wore a magician¡¯s garment, judging by the looks I got. The fact that neither of the twins asked what the women in the shadows under the walkways were doing there in such weather-defying outfits, pouting at the workers as they went about their shifts ¨C this was no less a cause for concern than our location, our isolation, even if was only abstract for now. Did I have to talk to them about that sort of thing? I couldn¡¯t even remember what Dad had said to me, years ago, when I was their age, a bit older¡­ I¡¯d always basically assumed Xantaire would cover that with Jaid, and when it came to my brother, well¡­ It wasn¡¯t like I had this all planned out.


    I quickly led them away from the shadow-clad ladies, up the broad wooden ramp into the city proper. Within two minutes we were in the midst of a market district overhanging the bay, surrounded by light and music and laughter.


    What a difference a few cooking-pits and bards made. We warmed up by one of the bonfires, and we basked in the wonderful aromas of food-stuffs that didn¡¯t originate in the sea. Yes, there were hundreds of fish and oysters to go around, but what I could smell was chicken, or some similar bird. Pork, too. Even roast carrot, covered in some kind of delicious herb.


    After a minute I managed to fix a smile on my face, and, the way I figured it, so long as I was trying to buy ten or less of something, I was going to be fine. I could fake being normal. For the first time in what felt like forever I ate a carrot, and all my concerns melted away. I lingered there, chewing on the lovely purple thing in bliss while the twins went about exploring, their own snacks of choice in hand. The locals cast me strange looks, but the vendors accepted my copper without question and gave me change in their own denomination, trading a single fat Mundic coin for two tiny Telese ones and some copper bits. One of them, a big, red-cheeked woman with an otter-fur hat, looked a bit afraid when she handed me my change, but I did my best to smile reassuringly, pocketing the metal pieces without question. I could figure it all out later, and it made it easier to give the twins some spends. Myself, too ¨C I spent a good fifteen minutes inspecting the masterful work of a wood-carver, and, unable to decide between the awesome dual-wielding knight and the smiling dwarf, I bought both. They sort of reminded me of Phanar and Herreld, respectively, and those were parts of Mund that weren¡¯t tainted in my memory. People I could remember without scowling.


    Most of the natives were speaking in their own tongue ¨C it was remarkably similar to what I¡¯d heard of Onsoloric, given the vast distance between the two regions ¨C but there were tradesmen from other places here, and the Mundic language was the common tongue of the world. These more-worldly types were less fazed by my mage-robe, and I ended up talking with a cinnamon merchant, a short, raven-haired woman called Ysara Hoad, and her packhorse of a husband, Pegoras, who were actual Mundians. They¡¯d resettled here with their family a decade back: ¡°getting away from all the craziness,¡± that was how Ysara chose to put it.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to watch out,¡± I warned her, ¡°telling the truth about things like that. The priests of a certain god will be conscripting you as a soothsayer.¡±


    She loosed a short burst of laughter like a horn. ¡°Oh, not here they won¡¯t. The priests of most gods don¡¯t have much power in Telior ¨C it¡¯s not like Mund, you know? I do think there¡¯s a priest of Kultemeren here, somewhere¡­ But only the Twelve and Wyrda¡­ Virdut, here by the way¡­ only they¡¯ve got proper shrines. And they take their religion pretty seriously. Pray over their food and the like.¡± She turned back to the barrel-carrying Pegoras, directing his positioning of their wares atop their stall, then returned her gaze to me, eyeing me critically. ¡°That¡¯s something else, you know¡­ How old are you, lad?¡±


    I scrutinised her. I didn¡¯t really want to give away my real age, did I? Every fact that could pinpoint Kastyr Mortenn would have to be avoided, every shred of information adjusted slightly to allow for betrayal¡­


    ¡°Good answer,¡± she commented before I could say anything. ¡°Look, I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re not eighteen yet. Here, you¡¯ve got to be eighteen to be an adult, legally. You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re tall¡­ I¡¯d watch what I said, if I was you. Especially around the king¡¯s men. If you¡¯re brought before ¡®em, the knights are just as like to throw you in jail, magic or ¨C¡°


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    ¡°Wait ¨C they have knights here?¡±


    My mind showed me the pictures of guys in silver armour, resplendent on their white steeds, pennants flowing like ribbons from their lances as they rode through green fields.


    Not likely here.


    But Ysara was nodding. ¡°Course. Not like the paladins, you know, but the sons of the nearby nobles are all Auvri This and Auvri That, just like in the stories of far-off places¡­ Oh¡­ I mean, Sir This and Sir That, in Telese¡­ Anyway, yeah, they¡¯ve all got to be the biggest and baddest, got to impress their daddies and their girlfriends. Barely a pleasant soul between ¡®em, never mind amongst ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind. But I can promise you this ¨C I won¡¯t be going to prison.¡±


    I glanced around at the foreign faces, the vertical Sticktown cladding the bay¡­ this place, this Telior that had just received a seasoned champion, an exile of the coven of magic-users that existed in the heart of the world.


    Would it follow me across the oceans? The trouble, the misery, the grief ¨C did it belong to Mund, or did it cling to my shadow as we rode the waves?


    I looked back at Ysara only to find that she was regarding me with a certain amount of trepidation now. Being a Mundian, she perhaps had some notion of what terrifying power I might have concealed inside this youthful body.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be staying,¡± I said by way of explanation, and she settled somewhat. ¡°Or if I am staying, and they want to take me in for some reason, I¡¯ll just leave. Don¡¯t worry ¨C I¡¯m not here to cause trouble. At all.¡±


    She nodded again, understanding in her eyes. ¡°No, I know that. No one comes here, from there, if they¡¯re looking to cause trouble¡­ This is nowhere.¡±


    She offered a wan smile by way of parting, turning away to her husband.


    For a moment I looked at them, safe in their cocoon of normalcy, the pleasant average lives they shared. I was firmly on the other side of the fence now. In a matter of months I¡¯d gone from wondering how to make my mark on the world, to wondering what it would be like not to have a hand in the fate of all things.


    The truth was, this cocoon of normalcy they shared wasn¡¯t safe at all. The slightest suggestion of dragon¡¯s breath would pop it like a bubble of red saliva on the lips of an elf¡¯s corpse. The doom of Mund would be the doom of the world before long, if it came to pass.


    I closed my eyes, imagining what it would be like. The Dracofont, alive again. Every inhabitant of the Realm a target, a morsel to be churned in their millions within the bellies of our resurgent overlords. Every archmage a liability, sought out by the demons in the Incursions¡­


    We should¡¯ve all left ¨C my predecessors should¡¯ve all departed years ago. Let the city and its prophecies die. Forced the Magisterium to give up on their vain dream ¨C to keep the reins of fate in their hands, ride the chariot until it crumbled beneath their feet and churned their bones to join the dust below.


    Now I was here, listening to the incomprehensible chanting, the cries of sailors and sea ¨C and they were still there in their marble jail, still taking part in the nightmare.


    Maybe now I could be normal. Maybe I could be like the Hoads. Find some simple work. Get married, have children, live, die¡­ Timesnatcher and the others would deal with the dragons somehow¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ll remember you, if I decide to stick around and take up a baker¡¯s mittens.¡± I eyed the pungent barrels of cinnamon-sticks; Ysara and Pegoras swung their heads about at me, and Ysara laughed briefly in polite acknowledgement.


    I headed off to find the twins, but I¡¯d only gone three steps before she shouted at my back: ¡°Lad! If you¡¯re looking for lodgings, try the Flying Swordfish. Run by a Mundian. Five streets up!¡±


    I tried to thank her, but the crowd got between us, and rather than stand there like a gormless idiot I hoped she got the message and left the stall behind.


    Jaid was throwing away copper bits on some game that had her tossing wooden hoops onto three upright sticks ¨C the prize for the winner was a porcelain doll that could¡¯ve been a miniaturised mekkustremin, replete with tangled hair, scary eyes, a painted-on smile. I could see immediately that getting a hoop onto the farthest stick was going to be ten times more difficult than the previous one.


    Once she failed again ¨C to her credit, she took it well, losing with her dignity intact ¨C I took over. Satyr-reflexes went some way to aiding me with accuracy, and I only failed the last throw once, sending my hoop spinning around the final stick on my second try. Jaid hugged me, then hugged her new doll; over her shoulder I saw the sour look on the face of the supervisor as he regarded me in my mage¡¯s robe.


    I had her go find Jaroan to show him her trophy, then sidled up to the man.


    ¡°Yeah, you got me ¨C I cheated.¡± I did my best to crack a smile. ¡°How much was it worth?¡±


    ¡°One of your fat Mundian silvers, I reckon, chum,¡± the Telese trickster replied in only slightly-accented Mundic.


    ¡°So, I¡¯m going to assume you doubled that.¡± My smile was genuine now. ¡°How about one of these little silver ones?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like you, Mundian.¡± He folded his arms across his chest. ¡°A fat silver, chum, or I go to the overseers.¡±


    I froze for a moment, shocked by his hostility. I¡¯d extended the hand of friendship, openly, before he¡¯d even commented on my apparel. My mind was cast adrift ¨C I was the outsider here, the treacherous interloper ¨C the murderous sorcerer ¨C and then my anchor seized hold on the correct response.


    ¡°Or perhaps I didn¡¯t do anything wrong at all,¡± I said coldly. I could hear the pitch of my own voice, my ever-so-slightly more-refined tone. ¡°Goodbye.¡±


    I turned on my heel, expecting to hear him call after me, cry out for the silver I¡¯d offered ¨C and I¡¯d drop some copper bits in his hand, or on the floor at his feet if he continued to test me ¨C


    But he didn¡¯t say anything and, feeling slightly miffed at the lost opportunity, I continued after Jaid. I didn¡¯t need to be joined with a vampire to feel his gaze burning into my back.


    And already, I¡¯ve made an enemy, I sighed inwardly.


    At least I had my answer.


    It clung to my shadow as we rode the waves.


    * * *

 Royal Request pt3

    By noon I thought I had a handle on the place, and by one-ish I realised just how naive I¡¯d been.


    Telior really was Sticktown, but its warrens were even twistier, if such a thing were possible. What looked like a dozen ways into and out of a particular ¡®street¡¯ actually turned out to be a hundred, men and women and children all happily climbing what looked like rigging at the ends of alleyways. We made our way up five levels, bit by bit ¨C there was nothing like a connecting ¡®road¡¯, no place where ramps or bridges took you more than one level at a time. You had to memorise each pathway, it seemed, or just find your way by getting lost. We were quite adept at the latter, and it was mid-afternoon before we reached the Flying Swordfish. The owner, a boisterous woman of advancing years, was already half-drunk when we arrived, competing with her patrons. She cast her bleary gaze over me a full three times before adopting a fawning, subservient tone of voice, breaking off her drinking game to escort us ¨C on very wobbly feet ¨C to our room. I very much got the impression that her servile attitude had a lot more to do with her expectation of tips than anything coming naturally to her. (She got a tip, and from her bright, wide eyes it was bigger than she¡¯d hoped.)


    Things were cheaper here, that much was for certain. I¡¯d been afraid, seeing our pile of stolen money dwindle each time we replenished supplies, booking lodgings, booking the sea-voyage¡­ But now? I paid a few copper bits, not even enough to get you a room the size of a coffin in Sticktown, never mind a nice part of Mund ¨C but here in Telior it brought a spacious apartment, three separate beds, a sea-view through the glass¡­


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why we¡¯re even taking a room,¡± Jaid sniffed. ¡°We should just leave already ¨C we aren¡¯t staying, I know that much.¡±


    ¡°Jaid,¡± I said firmly, removing my sodden robe, ¡°I am sleeping in this bed tonight. This one, with its soft pillows and three blankets and unmoving foundation. Tomorrow, fine, we sleep on the road, in a ditch, wherever. Even another boat, if you really must. Tonight¡­¡± I lay down on the bed I¡¯d chosen (or, more accurately, the bed I¡¯d been left with). ¡°This afternoon,¡± I corrected myself, ¡°I¡¯m in the Twelve Heavens.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she huffed, pulling off her soaked outer clothing and sitting down on the stool by the small table.


    ¡°And now for our little friends.¡± I was too tired ¨C the boat journey had really taken it out of me ¨C so I summoned an imp by the shutters and had it open the window.


    With a little bit of careful manoeuvring, my invisible minions brought through our chestful of belongings. Once it was in place by the wall under the window I gave them the rest of the day off. I¡¯d commanded them all to avoid being overheard by strangers, so it was a grateful chorus of soft grunts and hisses that I received in reply from the exhausted critters, punctuated with one ¡°Finally!¡± and a more than one muttered Infernal swear-word. I waved them away, and after a bit I got up and started trawling through our possessions, hunting some clean, dry clothing to wear to bed.


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    It turned out to be a fruitless search ¨C the only dry options were dirty, caked in old sweat and salt-water. I picked out a stinky vest and some loose pants, and turned around to get changed.


    I had one leg in, one leg out, when I felt an intrusion on my barriers. I studied the flickering shapes around me for a moment, then teetered and toppled onto the bed, the wraith-foot unable to bear my weight.


    Jaid asked if I was okay ¨C I mumbled a response, concentrating.


    I determined that there were some hostile people on the walkway outside the inn¡¯s front door. They were pressing on my outermost shield, being repelled by what would look to them like thin air.


    Some¡­ It wasn¡¯t just a few. I could tell from the amount of pressure ¨C there was a whole row of aggressors, each of them stopped in their tracks.


    Zero chance of getting through, from what I could tell so far, but they might¡¯ve been armed with some magic they¡¯d not yet brought to bear.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Jaroan demanded.


    ¡°Enemies.¡± I let the smelly shirt drop to the floor and pulled my soaked robe back on, wincing at the feel of the drenched, stiff material against my skin.


    ¡°Enemies?¡± Jaid whispered.


    There came a knock at the door.


    ¡°Young maaaaster?¡± came the drunk innkeeper¡¯s voice. ¡°You in there?¡±


    Then there was a sudden loud knock, which surprised me ¨C I hadn¡¯t yet locked it, and I wasn¡¯t expecting such propriety. Why not just walk in?


    Ill-will was a nebulous thing, teetering on the lip of unthought-of intentions.


    Jaid was frowning, despondent eyes fixed on the floor; Jaroan was smiling, but all the colour had been washed from his face.


    I steeled myself, double-checked my scar-masking illusion. ¡°It¡¯s open!¡±


    There was some murmuring outside the room, then the handle turned, and a man stepped through the doorway.


    He was almost as tall as me, but he had to be mid-thirties. Like most Telese, he was pale-skinned, almost sallow-looking, his eyes and hair and moustache all as dark as the sea. He wore a thick padded jacket and iron-shod boots; there was a plain-looking scabbard at his belt, and he rested his left hand casually on the grip of his sword ¨C to steady the blade as he moved, or in preparation to draw it, I was uncertain. Upon his shoulders were pauldrons marked with some kind of scaly insignia ¨C a symbol of rank, perhaps. The armour wasn¡¯t ostentatious like the mantles worn by the waywatchers of Mund, however ¨C it was practical, wrought from form-fitting steel, designed for use rather than display.


    He halted on the threshold, and his sea-dark eyes scanned the room a single time before they settled, meeting my gaze coolly.


    * * *

 Royal Request pt4

    ¡°Good afternoon, young sir.¡± He only barely had an accent, and spoke quietly, respectfully. ¡°You have a good voyage?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes.¡± I frowned. What did he want from me exactly? ¡°If you¡¯ve come seeking a review, I give the Scaleshaker top marks, but the captain definitely wanted to hand over several of my body parts to dark elves at one point, and Northril ¨C well, let¡¯s just say we had a falling out. It didn¡¯t agree with me. At all.¡±


    ¡°Ah. You are very funny.¡± He said it like he¡¯d never so much as smiled in his entire life. ¡°Might I ask your name, young sir?¡±


    ¡°Might I ask yours?¡±


    The man didn¡¯t shrug, didn¡¯t even blink ¨C


    ¡°I am¡­ Sergeant Fyorin. Of the Telior city watch. Sir.¡±


    His politeness, the promptness of his reply, they gave me no choice.


    Make it look like I feel I have no other choice ¨C that I¡¯m giving away the truth¡­


    ¡°Raz,¡± I replied, uneasily. ¡°I¡¯m Raz Tormenn. These are ¨C¡±


    ¡°Your brother and sister, of course.¡± He looked from me to the twins. ¡°The family resemblance¡­ it is strong. Good afternoon, children.¡± When they didn¡¯t respond, the dark gaze swept over the room¡¯s contents and then back to me.


    ¡°The keeper of the inn; she said nothing about this chest.¡± Sergeant Fyorin pointed at our belongings. ¡°It is checked for contraband, no? The dock guards are usually very, uh, thorough.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C would you like to check it now?¡± Oh drop, what if ensorcelled weaponry is outlawed? ¡°I ¨C I mean, you shouldn¡¯t, should you? Do you need the proper authorities¡­ I¡¯ll take it down to the docks, if you need me to.¡±


    He was just staring at me, waiting for me to give up, and I sighed, let my shoulders slump in defeat.


    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re looking for¡­ We¡¯re probably only staying a day, so ¨C¡°


    ¡°Forgive me, young sir, but you are not permitted to leave. The king demands audience. I have come to bring you to him.¡±


    ¡°The king?¡± I asked, perhaps a bit shrilly. ¡°How does he know about me? What does he want me for?¡±


    ¡°This,¡± he said, perhaps just a trace of discontent in his voice, ¡°I do not know.¡±


    I looked at the twins, weighing my options, and caught Jaroan¡¯s angry glare.


    If I leave them here, the shield will protect them.


    Images flicked through my mind ¨C the twins, neatly-stacked sacrifices sleeping on the altar, the darkmage standing over them, claw held aloft ¨C


    ¡°They¡¯re coming with me,¡± I decided, turning back to Fyorin. ¡°My brother and sister don¡¯t leave my side.¡±


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    ¡°Even if you are jailed?¡± the sergeant asked.


    I stared at him. ¡°It won¡¯t come to that.¡±


    I had no idea who exactly I was trying to convince ¨C the watchman, my brother and sister, or myself.


    Together the three of us followed Fyorin down to the ground floor and out into the grey afternoon. At first I lowered almost all my barriers, but it was soon apparent that their ill-will was no longer triggering on the azure shapes, so I reinstated the shields as we stepped into the midst of the Telese watchmen, allowing them to escort us through the city. I¡¯d placed a few imps inside the chest to dissuade any would-be thieves that might sneak in for a peek at our belongings while we were out.


    The patrol that¡¯d been sent to us was twelve-strong, and, aside from their leader, the eleven other watchmen stayed professionally silent as we were marched uphill ¨C upcliff. They wore heavy cloth armour, swords sheathed at their belts, and everyone melted out of their path, standing to the side and watching as we passed. Soon small crowds formed, drawn to watch as a newcomer mage was escorted under guard¡­


    I was smiling ¨C mostly inwardly, though I could feel it touch the corners of my lips. I tried to quash down the feeling of amusement. It wouldn¡¯t do to let on just how trivial their counter-measures were. Fear had melted into confidence in the face of a paltry opposition.


    How easily I could lay waste to the city if I wanted to. I very much doubted Telior¡¯s other two archmages would be able to stop me.


    We were guided over bridges and up ramps, being taken ever higher and higher ¨C I soon noticed the places where it would¡¯ve been faster to climb a rope-ladder but the guards didn¡¯t seem keen on that option despite my voluntary surrender.


    ¡°We take you to the High Hall,¡± the sergeant supplied when I asked, ¡°the seat of King Deymar Northsword, of the Line of Fagelthril. Bow. Address him as Majesty. Do not speak unless invited, but always speak when invited. You must do this, or you will not be long for this life. Do you understand?¡±


    I nodded, but I felt the black expression come over my face.


    Wherever you go, it¡¯s always the same. Bow. Scrape. Serve. Be grateful for your morsels.


    I wondered idly if I ought to put Pinktongue back on my shoulder, just for effect.


    The twins cast about in awe as we reached the highest levels, looking across an open space at what must¡¯ve been the High Hall. I had a somewhat different reaction, eyeing with mistrust the cavern entrance at the top of the stair before us. The seat of the Line of Fagelthril was cut directly into the cliff, its doorway a neatly-hewn, rectangular opening, lit from within by torches. Twelve thirty-foot pillars, each carved in the likeness of a different deity of the pantheon, stood in order beneath the outcrop above, seeming to support the protruding rock with the crowns upon their heads. The craftsmanship was so detailed that they seemed to almost move as we approached, even the grey light causing the shaped surface of the columns to shift and ripple. The effect was so strong, it had to be magical in nature, whether the magic of men or of gods.


    Yune, singing, her hands extended in welcome.


    Tauremai, shivering, drawing the cloak about herself.


    Ismethyl, preparing, her eight swords each in various stages of unsheathing.


    Enye, laughing, a newborn babe in her arms.


    Belestae, winking, hand raised to hide her crooked smile.


    Chraunator, focussing, pen poised mid-word in his fingers.


    Urdaith, drinking, her eyes closed in bliss.


    Kaile, blessing, his hands lifted to address the masses.


    Lynastra, weeping, showering tears of joy on her basket of apples.


    Orovon, whispering, hand cupped to his lips.


    Illodin, beckoning, pure serenity exuding from his far-off eyes.


    Mortiforn, shrouded, his hooded form the only one shaped to stillness.


    And it was only as we passed up the stair that I noticed the thirteenth carving awaiting us ¨C this was no pillar, no full humanoid form. Just a face.


    Wyrda, wild-haired, sullen-eyed and staring. The relief was shallow, hard to discern at first, but it was there all the same ¨C the Fish-Queen, into whose mouth we would walk as we entered the High Hall¡¯s opening. The tendrils snaking from her head wound about the walls on either side.


    Did they even know what this would mean to a Mundian?


    Wyrda¡¯s maw. Wyrda¡¯s maw indeed.

 Into the Maw pt1

    <h2>JET 8.9: INTO THE MAW</h2>


    ¡°They behave as though they alone have access to a calculus of joy and sorrow which always tips to the latter and which none may gainsay. It is not a fact that there is more hurt in the world than bliss. And if you cannot determine the truth, will you go on to say that it is better to live as though the world is such? It hurts me that you are so damaged as to think all the world a wound. You forget your vitality. You forget the new evanescent experience. You have chained yourself then claimed all existence a prison. Choke forth the key! None can do it for you!¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Sermons of the Unbridled¡¯ recordings, Mortifost 772 NE


    The king¡¯s corridors were filled with soldiers, almost all of them with the same dark eyes and hair, the same yellow-pale skin. Snooty-looking men wearing expensive fur hats on their heads were busily going to and fro ¨C courtiers or envoys of some kind, I supposed ¨C with their hands clutching scrolls, or even sheaves of true paper in some cases. They stood aside, gawping or sneering at me as our escort led us on. The place was hewn from rock but the walls, floors and ceilings were so expertly-smoothed that it barely gave me Zyger flashbacks. There was minimal wood or textile in use ¨C a few drapes and paintings were scattered here and there, but most of the nooks and alcoves had been given over to carvings where there was space for artwork. Instead of Mund-style carpets the Telese seemed to favour sheepskin and otter-fur rugs, and even here in the royal household they seemed to be few and far between. What was even more noticeable to the outsider: not many of the lights in the High Hall were magical in nature, ordinary lanterns gleaming away in most of the rooms I glimpsed through open doorways. There was an ancient-looking light-globe hanging near the ceiling in the Hall¡¯s entryway, and one illuminating the broad spiral stair we slowly ascended ¨C that was it.


    Finally the curving steps brought us into a huge room, in which the pure white radiance of ensorcelled globes was once again to be found. The window was the first thing I saw as we came up into the chamber ¨C it was massive but fairly useless for admitting light. The glassless opening was three feet off the ground, a fifty-foot-long, six-foot-high wound in the wall, allowing the wind to howl at us, paw at our clothes. Such a huge hole seemed altogether stupid to me ¨C it¡¯d occurred to me as we climbed the stair that we must¡¯ve been climbing almost to the peaks of the cliffs, now, only within the cliff-face rather than upon it. A curious location for you to choose to create your stronghold, where enemies could rappel down from above, entering your extremely-accommodating window¡­ Though I supposed in a place like this, the majority of attacks would come from the reavers of the high seas, not overland. It was possible that the notion of bringing an assault force onto the tops of these cliffs was completely impractical, and we certainly had a brilliant view of Telior¡¯s bay and Northril beyond. I had little doubt you¡¯d have the perfect opportunity to plan a response to invasion from this vantage.


    Still, I wouldn¡¯t have placed the throne on the opposite wall if I¡¯d been designing the place. Ship-mounted projectiles were pretty fearsome in most stories, and the dark elves¡¯ harpoons hadn¡¯t dissuaded me from that opinion ¨C if there were pirates in the bay, you couldn¡¯t have paid me enough to sit there, looking out on the hails of missiles. A volley of true-flight arrows would be your ending.


    Perhaps we were too high up ¨C or maybe it was just a sign of bravery on behalf of the Telese monarch. He certainly looked imposing enough to face down a fleet of enemy vessels.


    The seat was a massive triangle of dark, glittery stone, a short flight of steps cut into its face to let King Deymar Northsword ascend ¨C but it didn¡¯t look as though he or his ancestors would¡¯ve had much need of them. The man had to be seven feet tall, shoulders like barrels beneath the velvet robe he wore. Deymar¡¯s arms looked to be as thick as my legs, and his black beard longer than my hair. His crown was gold and bronze; I saw as we came closer that it was inlaid with milky gems and flecked with amethyst stones. His eyes were not so dark as his countrymen¡¯s, however, staring down glacier-blue at the sword-armed man giving him a telling-off.


    Or, at least, what sounded like a telling-off. It was hard to tell what was going on. For the first time in a long time, I wished I¡¯d taken some divination classes back in Mund when I¡¯d had chance ¨C I ought to have taught myself the cheapest spells for gaining the ability to speak unknown tongues. Even if I hadn¡¯t been able to motivate myself to waste time on something that wasn¡¯t sorcery or Emrelet, I could¡¯ve stolen some appropriate potions before we left¡­ what had I been thinking?


    The king let the man finish his rant ¨C it was quite an interesting watch, actually, with the supplicant shouting once or twice, even jabbing his finger at the king then down in the general direction of the docks. Deymar Northsword didn¡¯t seem to react, and when the subordinate finished the king waited for a few heartbeats before replying in a measured tone, words again I couldn¡¯t comprehend.


    ¡°You can get us out of here, right, Raz?¡± Jaroan spoke quietly, but he still snarled the last word.


    ¡°Of course.¡± I glanced at my shields ¨C no one was so much as tickling them. Not yet, anyway. ¡°We¡¯re a hundred percent safe.¡±


    ¡°Heh-heh!¡± Jaid chirped, more nervous-sounding than amused.


    I glanced at her, but the concern hadn¡¯t quite reached her eyes.


    Nothing new there.


    I turned back, and tried to focus on King Deymar¡¯s response to his angry vassal. For all his immense stature, for all that his voice was a rolling rumble, he seemed to be doing his best to pacify the man, not laying down the law¡­


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    ¡°So, zis is ze demon-summer,¡± came a voice from my left, intruding on my concentration.


    I turned to regard another dark-haired man, this one with curly ringlets framing his face. The quality of his clothing was surpassed only by the king¡¯s, yet he wore iron-shod boots, and a blade hung at his belt.


    He was looking at me derisively, and speaking Mundic for my benefit, but it was Sergeant Fyorin he was addressing, his silk-clad body planted right in front of the lead guardsman.


    ¡°He does not look all ze scary. Vhy does he not speak? Vere you to pull his teeth out of his head, Esvyl?¡±


    ¡°My lord, he has been advise by me to not speak until invited.¡±


    I ducked my head, trying to make it clear I was willing to play by the rules, but I wasn¡¯t going to actually bow before this ¡®gentleman¡¯.


    ¡°Ah.¡± Curly-Head glanced over my crumpled robe, then turned his eyes on the twins. ¡°Oloesong kim ku brinjal¡­ Are zese three igliaz, zen?¡±


    Igliaz?


    ¡°Ku siiv helaigne, kur hool.¡± The sergeant looked back at us. ¡°He ask if you are three orphans.¡±


    ¡°I am an adult,¡± I said, grateful for the opportunity to speak at last, ¡°by both your law and my own. I¡¯m eighteen, soon to be nineteen.¡± I hoped the twins kept their fortify faces. ¡°These children are my blood, and my wards until they too come of age¡­ And they¡¯re in my wards, if you follow my meaning. You know what I am?¡±


    ¡°You are a saucer!¡± Curly-Head seemed affronted that I¡¯d dare ask a question back, and drew himself up, putting his fist against his ribs dramatically so that his elbow was stuck out. Perhaps he¡¯d been thinking of drawing his weapon, then thought better of it before ill-will sent him skittering across the room. ¡°You stole from ze market, no? For zis alone ve vould take ze hands, but zen ze captain tells us of ze blagorach, ze fiends you ¨C¡°


    He was drowned out by laughter.


    Not mine. Jaroan¡¯s.


    I had to lower my outer shields, knowing such mockery would only exacerbate the intensity of this situation ¨C the nearby watchmen gripped their weapons in preparedness.


    I slowly swivelled to face my brother, catching him panting for air.


    ¡°Oh, oh, oh please,¡± he gasped, ¡°pl-please stop, just stop¡­¡± He finally seemed to catch his breath. ¡°You, you know he¡¯s a, a s-s-saucer, so just stop. I d-don¡¯t even have the lux¡­ luxury of telling you you don¡¯t know who you¡¯re messing with. You do. He fought off that ship of bones. He fought ¨C¡°


    ¡°Silence,¡± I whispered.


    Amplified. A whisper that slashed through every conversation in the room, rippling out to the walls and back again.


    The worst part was, for all the impropriety of his giggling fit, for all that he didn¡¯t understand the true import of his words ¨C Jaroan was right. I wasn¡¯t going to walk on eggshells here. If they wanted me to be a push-over, they¡¯d have to actually try pushing.


    ¡°Cheers. For your attention, I mean.¡± I gazed around at my new audience: over a dozen noble-looking fellows were in attendance, leaving aside the various maids, servants, guards, whose eyes were also drawn to me. ¡°I¡¯m quite busy, and I was about to pass through your lovely tow- city¡­¡± I focussed my eyes on the king, who seemed if anything somewhat relieved by the distraction. ¡°I thought I¡¯d get to stop one night at least, but, if you¡¯re this determined to be rid of me, just let me go. I won¡¯t cause any trouble. But this one,¡± I indicated Curly-Head with a chin-thrust, ¡°wants to take my hands. I need to let you know, that isn¡¯t even remotely possible. The captain you¡¯ve been listening to wanted to abandon ship, then kill me once I ¨C¡°


    ¡°You be silence!¡± Curly-Head shrilled, and drew his sword ¨C and a few of the nearby guards followed suit.


    Causing a short series of green bursts of light (and a single purple one), I stepped forward with the twins into Etherium, entering a rather standard-looking cavern for this plane. The place was covered in glowing mushrooms and moss, a luminous waterfall trickling down one of the decidedly non-smooth walls ¨C


    ¡°Oof!¡± Jaroan said, rocking on his heels with the dimensional motion.


    Jaid said nothing, just clenching her fists and gazing about expressionlessly.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be long,¡± I promised as I brought out my knife. ¡°Who¡¯s going first?¡±


    I made the slices on the backs of their hands quickly, shallowly, filling them with a sliver of power ¨C the twins hardly even seemed bothered. Both of them perked up, however, when I reached through Materium back to Etherium, dragging a dozen giant gold squirrels into the cavern and showering the twins in them.


    I finished by bringing Avaelar and Zabalam through. ¡°Keep the twins safe!¡± I cried, then thrust myself back into Telior¡¯s High Hall.


    Magenta light showered down on me for a single instant as I performed my trick, moving myself into the shadow-man even as I stepped into the air, bad leg first.


    In total I must¡¯ve disappeared for a good thirty, forty seconds ¨C by the time I¡¯d gotten back, the natives were in a state of complete disarray, and I tapped the wraith liberally, letting my shields fall.


    My sudden reappearance in their midst, the ethereal foam and nethernal gloom dripping through the air ¨C I couldn¡¯t really blame the three or four guards who swung at me with their weapons.


    But Curly-Head ¨C despite the fact his sword was doing nothing he continued to petulantly press the attack, sawing the blade back and forth through my ninety-percent transparent robe and flesh.


    Him I could blame.


    I was about to point at him and fire an imp at him like a wizard fires a fireball, but then the king used his deep, rumbling voice to better effect:


    ¡°Bakar! Hold! Did I command his death?¡± King Deymar Northsword was on his feet, boots planted on the top step of the black stair, and imposing wasn¡¯t even the word. ¡°I ask the sorcerer here with the open hand, arms wide in fellowship! Come, sorcerer! I see your quest will not wait. I would speak with you now, and let you begone if you would afterwards.¡±


    I raised my eyebrow. He had the Telese accent, of course, but mixed into the voice was something almost¡­ Oldtownish?


    My aggressors fell back, faces ranging from sullen to relieved, but I didn¡¯t approach the king ¨C not yet.


    ¡°What do you want with me?¡± I called, floating up slightly, almost onto his level.


    He was smiling. ¡°I am not stupid,¡± he called back, all eyes looking between the two of us. ¡°I have heard the stories. I have been to Mund. I have spoken with a seer. I know who you are.¡±


    What! I shrieked internally.


    ¡°Or what you are,¡± the king continued. ¡°You are what they call arch-sorcerer. Is this true?¡±


    I nodded slowly.


    ¡°Servants!¡± He clapped his massive hands. ¡°Bring bread, and beer!¡± He smiled at me. ¡°I have invited you here to offer you a job.¡±


    * * *

 Into the Maw pt2

    ¡°The man speaking with you earlier ¨C he is Lord Marsk Torloy. His idea it was to use the words of the captain and the market-man against you, if you refused my command. He did not seem to understand, even when I explained there would be no command ¨C only request. You would not be held against your will. I am glad the sergeant seems to have understood.¡±


    I nodded, not looking at the king, just staring out at the ocean. ¡°That man needs a promotion, I think.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. Perhaps.¡± I could tell Deymar was smiling again. ¡°So, you enjoy my view, Mundian?¡±


    It was a little later. The twins were off exploring the caves beneath the High Hall with the other household children, invisible shields firmly secured of course. I was atop the Telior cliffs with their owner, looking down on the wooden warren sprawled about the semi-circle of the bay ¨C looking out on the surf and storms of Northril. There were no walls about us, no roof above our heads now where we stood on the bare shelf of stone. The singing sea wind whipped his fur cloaks, tugged at his massive beard, but it barely even rippled my robe as I languished in the half-state.


    ¡°It could be your view too.¡±


    ¡°What, you¡¯re planning on giving me your clifftop?¡±


    The king chuckled. ¡°I could make sure you have a¡­ prime location, you know?¡±


    I turned to look at him finally. The glacial eyes beneath the thick black brows were shockingly warm ¨C and tired, oh so tired. These were not the eyes of some brutish conqueror or cruel highborn ruler. It was the weary gaze of a man beset with obstacles, problems contrived by forces beyond his control.


    Behind him was the fortification that protected Telior from overland attack ¨C a natural barrier I¡¯d been unable to see from down in the water.


    Frozen swamps, stretching off into the horizon.


    ¡°You went to Mund?¡± I asked. ¡°You mentioned it, in the throne room. Your Mundic¡¯s very good, you know?¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He bowed his head at the compliment, and I raised my eyebrow in renewed surprise at his approachability. ¡°I visited, as a young man. Five years, I lived in your city. Do you know the Gull¡¯s Down?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°In Overbrent? I lived next door to it.¡±


    ¡°I know Overbrent.¡± I helped save a decent chunk of Overbrent from destruction¡­ ¡°But I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve heard of the tavern itself, sorry.¡±


    ¡°My father sent me.¡± For the first time, the king¡¯s rumbling voice had a dark cast to it. ¡°I was to study, and learn of the world, and improve our trade relations.¡± He almost growled the last two words, and I saw he was clenching his fist. ¡°I do not mean to offend you, Raz, but the masters of Mund are no friendly folk. They do not like the outsider. They have much, but share little.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to offend me with that,¡± I replied. ¡°If anything, I¡¯m sure I hate them more than you.¡±


    ¡°So you are running away?¡±


    I said nothing.


    ¡°Mund¡¯s loss is my gain.¡± He gestured down at the city below us. ¡°Look at Telior, Raz. Tell me what you see.¡±


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    I chewed my lip a moment. ¡°Success, Majesty. It¡¯s a dangerous world out there. You, your forefathers ¨C you¡¯ve made this work. It¡¯s a testament to your perseverance.¡±


    He was shaking his head. ¡°You are too kind. This city, it is regressing. The dangerous world is inside already, I fear. The people leave, they do not come back. Ever since the Black Winter ¨C the population, it ages and there are less young men to do the work of the old. My son will inherit a black rock, empty of life.¡± His eyes pierced me. ¡°You can help me change that.¡±


    ¡°I keep hearing about this Black Winter¡­ What am I missing?¡±


    His eyes went distant, just for a moment, and his hands clenched into fists. ¡°The dark elves. They have tolerated us for centuries ¨C when they came, we gave with both hands. There was no shame in it, as we saw it. But, fourteen years ago ¨C the fish were diseased, and the druids could do nothing, nothing to save the harvest. We were broken. We barely survived. And then¡­ then they came.


    ¡°They took my people as tribute. Not just menfolk. Women. Starving children.¡±


    There was no mistaking the anguish in his voice.


    ¡°So, that¡¯s what you really want me for.¡±


    Fighting off dark elves¡­ I clenched my own fist. I¡¯d probably have to be a bit less¡­ next time, but it was hard, hearing what they¡¯d done to the Telese. At least I had some experience navigating the innards of the slavers¡¯ bone-ships now. Perhaps next time I could just go straight to the helm, eliminate the elven officers¡­


    But he surprised me ¨C by the sound of things, he didn¡¯t want me for war.


    ¡°No, please, Raz. It is our¡­ structure. How do you say it? In-fra-structure?¡±


    I raised an eyebrow again and nodded.


    ¡°We have but few sorcerers in Telior,¡± he went on. ¡°The summoning of what you call demons and fey, it is outlawed in my kingdom. Things have always been that way. The raising of the dead ¨C this is only done under the strictest supervision, and those with the skill are shunned out of fear. The Night Order, they are called ¨C you would call it a guild, I think?¡±


    I was still nodding.


    ¡°Given the¡­ taboo of such dark magery, only those who have some¡­ talent or interest decide to pursue it. This in itself makes them suspect, you see? And so many of our young magicians who decide to go, for training in your city, they do not return, preferring to remain under the whips of their new masters. As you surely imagine, we have a problem in Telior. You have seen the old globes, in the Hall below us? We have no craft now to replace them, or even repair them. Emberwood will not grow in our lands, and so the price ¨C¡±


    ¡°So you want me to fix your lights,¡± I interrupted.


    ¡°I want you to help me fix our kingdom,¡± he said. ¡°Make it a place our young people want to live in again. Bring it closer to your Mund.¡±


    I returned my focus to the sea, and he wisely quietened down, letting me mull it over.


    I had to admit, the idea held appeal to me. I would¡¯ve enjoyed living here, I suspected. Especially with the ear of such a cool-tempered monarch, an easy route to making money that didn¡¯t involve facing demon-lords and arch-liches¡­ helping people without having to wade in blood¡­ making a difference with my powers, cleanly¡­


    But ¡®bring it closer to Mund¡¯?


    ¡°You¡¯re putting an awful lot of trust in a stranger.¡±


    ¡°The wrong kind of stranger wouldn¡¯t still be here on this rock, thinking about it.¡±


    I smiled at Deymar. ¡°I wish it were so simple, but the real hurdle is my sister. She doesn¡¯t like it here.¡±


    His response was a grin. ¡°Oh, really? Do you recall I mentioned a seer?¡±


    I nodded, frowning.


    ¡°Come below.¡± He stepped towards the door in the rock that would lead us back to the stairwell, and banged his fist on it ¨C a guard opened it from inside instantly. ¡°There is a reason I sent your brother and sister off to explore.¡±


    We traversed the smoothly-hewn corridors, plunging through the flickering candlelight that King Deymar wanted me to replace with cool wizard-radiance. The king¡¯s guards went before us and behind us, two pairs of fierce-faced warriors. Soon, one of those guards opened a door onto a shadowed, cavernous expanse ¨C at the bottom of a rocky incline, I could see the shapes of seven or eight children, half of them clutching torches as they splashed in a puddle.


    We entered, and Jaroan came clambering up over the wet boulders towards me.


    ¡°Raz!¡± he whispered intensely as he reached my side. ¡°It¡¯s perfect! It¡¯s just perfect.¡±


    I looked into his face in the dancing illumination of the flames; there was none of the anger or frustration I¡¯d become accustomed to seeing. That worried me.


    ¡°What? What is it?¡±


    My brother smiled wickedly. ¡°Shirya¡¯s fallen in love.¡±


    * * *

 Into the Maw pt3

    The prince of Telior was barely their elder at eleven, but the prodigious size that came of his ancestry made him a good six inches taller even than Jaroan. Lathenskar Northsword had the same keen blue eyes and long dark hair as his father, and a cool name to boot. He was clearly the leader of their little assembly, taking the newcomers on a tour of the nooks and crannies of the echoing caves, but the tall lad appeared to be paying special attention to Jaid, even taking her hand once or twice in a very gentlemanly manner as they skipped across streams or waded knee-deep into pools. Jaroan was getting a fair bit of attention himself. The three girls of Lathenskar¡¯s company ¨C well-dressed, petite little maidens all ¨C didn¡¯t seem fussed that the prince was paying them little heed, focussing their own powers on my brother, the mysterious outlander from the biggest city in the world.


    Perhaps I¡¯d have to speed up those talks.


    I stood with the king and his men near the top of the rocky incline, not ten feet from the door back to the High Hall, looking down on the kids cavorting below.


    ¡°She told me that my son would wed,¡± his voice took on a sarcastically sinister tone, ¡°the sister of the sorcerer.¡±


    I looked at him, in complete and utter befuddlement. ¡°A few hours ago, I was just passing through. Now my nieces and nephews will be Telese ¨C I¡¯ll have to learn Telese, become Telese¡­ probably die here¡­¡±


    He laughed, and I couldn¡¯t help but smile, but I knew it was a wan, pathetic little thing.


    ¡°Look, before I get started ¨C there¡¯s something you need to know.¡± I glanced at the guards. ¡°No offence, guys but ¨C King Deymar, is there somewhere we can speak in private again?¡±


    Within moments he was leading me into a small antechamber ¨C the fire had already been well-stoked, and the dark wood-clad walls and rugs exuded warmth. I slid thankfully into a chair near the flames, shutting my eyes and sighing.


    The king reached out for the door, murmuring a command that the guards should wait outside ¨C but one of them, a young man with an exceptionally long chin, snapped something back in his own tongue.


    ¡°Aurvi Javen! You must speak Mundic for the benefit of our guest,¡± the king rumbled to his swordsman.


    Long-Chin seemed reticent all of a sudden, looking shiftily between his ruler standing in the doorway and me lounging in the chair before the fire.


    ¡°Do go on, Sir Javen.¡± Deymar¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°Your king commands it. I know you speak it.¡±


    ¡°I say,¡± Long-Chin blurted, glaring at me, ¡°vhy ve must vait outside, again, vhen you are dangerous!¡±


    The king chuckled. ¡°And what¡¯s the answer to that, Lord Raz?¡±


    It shocked me, hearing that form of address used at me ¨C but at least it was Raz, not Kas, receiving the honours this time.


    ¡°Err¡­¡± I didn¡¯t quite follow what Deymar was getting at. ¡°The answer? You mean, because whether they¡¯re in here or not won¡¯t matter?¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± The king nodded to his youthful guardian. ¡°You were there, Sir Javen, when the captain spoke. You heard what he accomplished. Do you think your blade will avail you ¨C do you think your blade can accomplish his death? I warn you not to try! If he was an enemy, do you think either of us would be alive?¡±


    I waved at him. ¡°Come on, that¡¯s enough. I don¡¯t want them all having nightmares.¡±


    ¡°Majesty ¨C how he speaks to you!¡± Long-Chin gasped, his pale cheeks flushed rose-red.


    ¡°Yet they must understand the balance of power,¡± the king continued, looking at me but ignoring both of us. ¡°I will not ask you to demonstrate your magic. I know an archmage. I know what they are capable of. The knowledge ¨C it is enough.¡±


    He would be thinking of this ¡®Orcan Finfaltik¡¯, probably ¨C the city¡¯s wizard-teacher¡­


    It was likely I was far scarier when I was putting my mind to it.


    ¡°I¡­ shouldn¡¯t demonstrate my powers, really.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He looked back to Sir Javen. ¡°I appreciate your loyalty ¨C now wait outside.¡±


    The knight turned away. The king closed the door, sighed deeply, and seated himself opposite me.


    ¡°You have an injured leg,¡± he said at once.


    I stared at him in surprise.


    ¡°I thought there was something,¡± he said, ¡°and when I saw you sit down ¨C this was confirmation.¡± He glanced at my boots, poking out from under the hem of my robe, then blinked as he noticed my left foot¡¯s complete failure to be opaque. ¡°I ¨C is that safe?¡± he asked in something of a strangled voice.


    I grinned at the huge, imposing king who couldn¡¯t even look at an insubstantial foot without cringing.


    Yes, pretty damn sure I¡¯m scarier than this Orcan bloke.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite safe.¡± What would be the best way to explain my injury? I didn¡¯t want him knowing this happened since I gained my powers ¨C that would make me look stupid ¨C he was hardly going to know I¡¯d had my powers dampened by the Inceryad-tree of legend, and I could hardly tell him¡­ ¡°Before I became an archmage ¨C some idiot mashed my foot with a rock. But my powers let me take the weight off the foot ¨C it¡¯s sort of half-flying, half-hopping¡­ I hope it doesn¡¯t look too daft. I¡¯m¡­ Yeah.¡±


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    I nearly said ¡®I¡¯m still trying to get used to it,¡¯ but that would make it look like I¡¯d only just become an arch-sorcerer, wouldn¡¯t it? Would that be for the best?


    The moment passed me by.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t too noticeable.¡± He looked away from my foot, back to my eyes. ¡°So, what did you want to talk to me about?¡±


    I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment, considering where to start.


    ¡°¡­ The end of the world?¡±


    His eyes widened, and I sighed, knowing I¡¯d have to start from the beginning.


    It turned out that they¡¯d heard rumours in Telior, received word from sailors that things had gone particularly crazy in Mund. They¡¯d even heard about Everseer¡¯s ¡®Crucible¡¯, about the Return of the ancient dragons of the Dracofont ¨C but they¡¯d heard a dozen other things too, and, incapable of separating the sound from the noise, the Telese had been none the wiser.


    ¡°It¡¯s one to take seriously,¡± I said. ¡°I can¡¯t let you carry on as if everything¡¯s normal, when I know something you don¡¯t, something important like this. I¡¯m sorry. Please, don¡¯t immolate the envoy.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Is that something that happens?¡±


    ¡°Just an old-timey saying¡­¡±


    ¡°And you think this¡­ this hell will stretch across the seas? To Telior?¡±


    I heard the scepticism in his tone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± I probably let too much of my panic into my voice. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going to happen! I¡¯m not ¨C I¡¯m no longer one of them. My friends¡­¡±


    ¡®Friends.¡¯


    Irimar almost killed me by sending me to Zyger, but it was a dubious action at best. I could see the good will in it. In seeking to free me of my destiny, he forged it. Yet he forged it all the same.


    Emrelet? Borasir? I was certain they knew nothing of his plans. They¡­ hated me.


    Tanra, though.


    I missed Tanra.


    ¡°Your friends?¡± he prompted me gently.


    Evidently he could tell I¡¯d just rode a wave of emotion, and I felt myself blush.


    ¡°My¡­ old friends. I¡¯m sure the archmages I used to know have got a handle on things¡­ I ¨C I knew a champion of Mund, once.¡±


    ¡°Indeed? A champion¡­¡± He sounded appropriately impressed. ¡°Let us worry about what we can worry about, and leave that which cannot be changed to the gods. If men survive this Crucible you speak of, they will need kings and lords to guide them. We must act as the adult. Although you know the storm will come, you know not when, and set the table for dinner in any case, no? You are a responsible man. You know of what I speak. We cannot wallow in despair.¡±


    I stared at him.


    I can¡¯t stop the storm. But I could ¨C if I were there ¨C I could help stop the Crucible¡­


    His mention of responsibility sickened me to my core.


    But my hands were tied, with bonds no wraith could phase through. The twins came first. Always ¨C they had to. My twins. Saff and Tarr, Arxine and Orieg, they couldn¡¯t be my responsibility too. If I returned to Mund, the magisters would lock me away again. I had no special defences against their tricks. Sure, I wasn¡¯t wearing Spirit¡¯s amulet anymore, wasn¡¯t giving him a back-door into my mind ¨C but he or someone else would find a way in, disarm and condemn me in the same stroke.


    No. It was beyond my reach.


    ¡°I will set my table all the same, and brace myself for the storm,¡± I murmured.


    The king smiled. ¡°A wise man, too.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°Tempered by misdeeds, believe me.¡±


    He looked at me curiously.


    ¡°I mean ¨C you aren¡¯t born wise. You have to make mistakes first. I¡­¡±


    ¨C elven fingers, dripping in red paint, smearing crimson down a wooden wall ¨C


    ¡°I¡¯ve done things,¡± I concluded. ¡°Things I¡¯m not proud of. I¡­ I want to do better again. I want to be myself, again.¡±


    ¡°And here I am, making you change.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± He was wrong. ¡°No, it¡¯s not that at all. I think you¡¯ve helped ¨C¡±


    ¡°Do not decide today.¡± King Deymar rubbed his beard in thought. ¡°You are cold and tired. I will have food brought, and men to escort you back to your chosen tavern. Your board and breakfast will be paid. Tomorrow, return here, and I will assemble the Night Order for you. I will get the old wizard out of his roost, too. He has a¡­ a winning personality, you say, yes? You can see what you think. If you still intend to leave, my men will not try to get in your way. But I hope ¨C I hope you will stay.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I can say no to that.¡±


    ¡°Good!¡± The king grinned. ¡°My blow did not err, then.¡±


    ¡°Indeed¡­ well-struck.¡±


    I shook his hand when he offered it. His grip was firm, and, even with only the merest touch of my wraith active, I was fairly certain that his fingers literally sank into my flesh. He didn¡¯t seem to notice, or care ¨C presumably the former.


    I caught myself half-bowing as I left his presence ¨C not a full bend from the waist, but still more than a head-nod.


    I left to gather the twins, towing a pair of sullen-looking guards in my wake, musing over the king. Deymar was perhaps the smartest highborn I¡¯d ever met, flawlessly recruiting the new archmage ¨C the promise of gold, of challenge and opportunity¡­ But, even more so, it was through his personality. Even without the job offer and Jaid¡¯s storybook romance ¨C he¡¯d successfully brought me, a stuck-in-the-drop Sticktowner, onto his side. A laudable feat, for one so noble of blood.


    Was it even right to think of him as highborn? Surely, he came from a mighty lineage that cast him in the light of a latter-day hero, equipped with the sinews and courage of old. But, in truth, there was little by way of luxury apparent here. Little decadence. Deymar was just a tall man with a rumbling voice, desperately trying his best to maintain the order he¡¯d inherited.


    By the time I¡¯d collected the twins and got out of the High Hall, I¡¯d decided that I really did want to stay. See how things went.


    Maybe even send for Xantaire, Xastur, Orstrum¡­


    At least Jaid wasn¡¯t making it harder. Love was taking it way too far ¨C but infatuation? I¡¯d accept that much. The change that came over her was remarkable.


    ¡°Did you see the prince¡¯s ring? He called it a ¡®signet¡¯¡­ Is that a Telese word? It¡¯s not, is it? I know I¡¯ve seen it. Did you see the dolphin on it? It was so pretty¡­ I want to see a dolphin. Do you think we could, Ka¡­ Raz? Oh, please. Pleaaaase?


    ¡°Oh, did you see when he helped me out of that pool! He almost fell in with me! That would¡¯ve been so funny. Don¡¯t you think? Jar? Sorry, sorry ¨C I mean, Vin¡­


    ¡°And he said he¡¯s the prince of princes. Like, all the other lords ¨C thanes, whatever ¨C a few of them even call themselves kings, you know? ¨C but all of them are loyal to his dad, so all the other princes have to bow to him¡­ well, someday¡­ and he¡¯s not betrothed yet¡­ Kas, how do I get betrothed, exactly? Does he just ask me, and do I just say ¨C¡±


    I interrupted, my voice quiet. ¡°If you could wait for us to be back in our room, before you continue, please, Shirya.¡± She was becoming far too careless, not even noticing when she was letting her tongue slip. ¡°I think you¡¯re forgetting how dangerous things can get, and how quickly. If we give it away ¨C if they sent a team of you-know-whats ¨C¡±


    ¡°Okay!¡± She was blushing, her eyes on her feet as we walked, but there was a strange kind of coldness, hardness to her features. ¡°Okay¡­ So, what does ¡®signet¡¯ mean?¡±


    I frowned. Other than a noble¡¯s ring¡­


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a clue,¡± I admitted.


    By the time we got back to the Flying Swordfish, she was losing her voice, and me and Jaroan were losing the will to live. The first time she left us alone, visiting the ladies¡¯ room, I rolled over in bed and looked over at Jaroan.


    ¡°No regrets?¡±


    He was sitting on his bed, looking out through the window at the sea.


    ¡°No,¡± he replied, not turning. ¡°We¡¯re home.¡±


    * * *

 Into the Maw pt4

    ¡°It¡¯s changing!¡± Menild cried. ¡°Look, Hool ¨C Lord Raz!¡±


    No matter how many times I told them to stop calling me ¡®lord¡¯, a few of them just couldn¡¯t break the habit, even though we¡¯d only just met. What was it that made a person so subservient, to bow and scrape, to call me their lord even as I refused to recognise it? Did they think they were ingratiating themselves with me, in spite of my words? It was beyond irksome. Menild¡¯s tongue had slipped, using the Telese word for ¡®lord¡¯, ¡®hool¡¯, and when he¡¯d corrected himself he¡¯d gone on to supply the Mundic translation anyway.


    The previous leader of the Night Order was a doddering fool, but his heart was in the right place, of that I was certain.


    ¡°Just Raz,¡± I said for what had to be the fourth time, skirting around my imps as I crossed the dusty chamber to Menild¡¯s desk.


    ¡°Apologies, lord,¡± he mumbled, stepping back so that I could inspect his handiwork from all sides.


    Was he that stupid? His Mundic was flawless, barely accented at all, and his work didn¡¯t show a trace of the idiocy pouring out of his mouth in waves. The guy had to be four times my age ¨C yet here he was, making himself my inferior with every word that came off his tongue.


    Not that anyone here knew quite how young I really was.


    Some people just like being lower down than you, I realised. Comforting, maybe¡­


    ¡°Nicely done,¡± I said, walking around the desk. ¡°The force-lines seem perfectly attuned with the eighth core.¡± I raised my voice for the others in the chamber, not taking my eyes off the glowing azure pattern Menild had created ¨C one of them at the back was trying to translate for the pair whose Mundic was poorest. ¡°Has anyone here ever helped to create any infinity runes? Even partial ones?¡±


    Aside from the occasional swoosh of my imps¡¯ broom, I heard only the shuffling of papers, feet dragging under tables, robe-fabric twisting as my apprentices looked at each other. Even the translator¡¯s mumbling ceased.


    ¡°No, m¡¯lord,¡± Jaroan said after a few seconds.


    I grinned at him. ¡°Never mind.¡± I threw Menild a congratulatory nod as I moved away, and the old chap beamed at me. ¡°We¡¯ll get to it. Has anyone else finished their construct?¡±


    Nafala¡¯s dark, starry eyes met my own, then immediately her gaze sank back down to become a fixed stare burning holes in her desk.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take a look, Nafala. Woah! Okay, everyone gather round. You can all still see this, right? Good. What you have here is actually the beginning of the half-infinity rune¡­¡±


    I probably droned on a bit too long, but most of them seemed to be gazing at me, enraptured. Even my brother and sister appeared to be paying attention, now that they could actually see the blue forces with their own eyes.


    ¡°¡­ Each one of the motions you see me make has its eleven syllables of invocation in Etheric, or thirteen in Netheric, as you like ¨C the results are much the same. It¡¯s the fifteenth line of the invocation, the fifteenth knot that sets it off. When the seal forms, only then can lock it to each vertex ¨C five syllables, like so¡­¡±


    I found these things far easier than they did, obviously. Tasks that required them to invest hours of research and practice came intuitively to me. I didn¡¯t have to learn a single incantation, my mind alone supplying shape to the spell. My fingers contained the magic. I reached for the force-lines and they came to me, attracted by my gesture, my intent, knotting themselves almost before I touched them. Something my students could never hope to achieve.


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    Something I could never hope to teach.


    ¡°And there we have it,¡± I finished. ¡°A completed half-infinity rune. At this point you can embed the structure ¨C this way ¨C¡± I pressed the magic into the duly-awaiting wooden block, its freshly-carved grooves ¡°¨C and the spell¡¯s taken hold, ready to absorb a wizard¡¯s light. Now, if you wanted to make an enchanted ¨C¡±


    ¡°But, Lord Raz, how do we put it in there?¡± Jaroan shrilled. ¡°What you just did ¨C it doesn¡¯t fit!¡±


    There was a murmur of agreement amongst my pupils.


    I smiled thinly. He was going to get away with that one too, wasn¡¯t he?


    ¡°Practice, I guess.¡± I shrugged, looking around at the nine faces surrounding me. ¡°Look, there¡¯s lots of things I don¡¯t understand too. You all have to remember, it¡¯s not like I trained to be a teacher¡­ I¡¯ve read far fewer books than I wanted to. When it comes to actually doing stuff, I don¡¯t really have to cast spells like you do. The forms for them, the means of implementing them, comes naturally. Unfortunately you don¡¯t get to cheat like me. But it¡¯s a curse as much as a blessing, believe me. Virdut follows me wherever I go.¡±


    This they seemed to understand, many of them nodding in appreciation.


    I set them to work, reading up on their next tasks, and sat on the desk by the window, looking out through the smudgy glass at the wooden street below us.


    Plenty of things I didn¡¯t understand. Many more than I¡¯d ever want to let on around those I was supposed be impressing.


    I hadn¡¯t told them my book contained the Infernal translations of the ensorcellment spells, but I¡¯d had them try it in both Etheric and Netheric. And yet, whether they used the ethereal sap I¡¯d gathered or the dead-men¡¯s fluids from their own stores, the force-lines were always blue. Now, when the magic came from an arch-sorcerer ¨C some creature born of Materium¡¯s elements, bestowed with the suite of powers I enjoyed ¨C I could understand the force-lines being blue. Evidently each plane had its own colouration ¨C red, purple, blue, green¡­ Amber or yellow, too, if you counted some of Kanthyre¡¯s magical effects, celestial in origin¡­ But surely when the Night Order of Telior performed their spells the lines should be green or purple, the energies drawn forth from the otherworld or the shadowland ¨C at least until completed. But no. The moment a human drew the lines, they were blue. And the more I read, the less sense that seemed to make. I¡¯d never questioned it, back in Mund, watching Ciraya and other sorcerers of her ilk at their work. Now? Now it troubled me.


    What even was magic, in general? Where did it come from? How was it used by those untouched by the force that bestowed archmagery? What were these words and gestures ¨C why did they do what they did? How were essences from the ground-up bones of murderers or the tears of a sprite used in the same spell? Why couldn¡¯t they necessarily be used for a different one? What made one reagent different from another, if it was just energy? There were no answers, other than the old answer any child could repeat: the Five did it. The Founders created magic. They created it and let it spread across the seas, the plains. But I had a bit of experience under my belt now, and there was nothing in any arcane text I¡¯d ever read to suggest how it was possible. There seemed to be so much we failed to question.


    How in the Twelve Hells do druids shapeshift with their clothes, even their weapons and bags, without having the power to just¡­ transmute objects?


    Gristlehead appeared in front of me, his cloth raised to rub at the mucky window. I silently snatched the already too-dirty rag from him, then tossed it back at his chest ¨C he dutifully turned away to give it a clean, his tail lowered and twitching in shame despite my lack of rebuke.


    Why? Why all the arbitrary limiting factors? Why could wizards so easily manipulate stone, even raw metals, when forged iron confounded their efforts and true steel was beyond their reach? Why could enchanters touch the minds of eldritches sometimes, the sorcerer¡¯s art, yet not animals, whose thoughts belonged to the druids? It still confused me, even to this day, yet it was the way it¡¯d always been done, even in the oldest stories. No one ever seemed to even consider it ¨C which was almost as interesting. Had a great working of enchantment been placed across the minds of all men? Had everyone fallen prey to the same mass-delusion, that sense could be made of things, that the Five Founders could just wave their hands and invent a process fundamentally opposed to the ordering of the planes¡­?


    More likely, I just hadn¡¯t brought enough books with me.


    * * *

 Into the Maw pt5

    ¡°R-Raz?¡±


    Nafala barely raised her voice to call my name, but it still shocked me out of my reverie. The imps had been ordered to keep their mouths shut, and the room had been relatively quiet, broken only by low conversation. Even my brother and sister were keeping the noise to a minimum.


    I crossed to her desk, smiling gratefully.


    ¡°Thanks for actually listening,¡± I said quietly. She was the only one so far who remembered to leave off the title.


    She smiled back, but it was the dreamy smile of the over-awed, brown eyes wide and glittering. The girl was probably five years my elder, going off the way the others spoke to her, the way she spoke back ¨C yet she was a tiny toy of a woman, barely five feet tall. Not slender, but heavy-looking in all the right areas. The long eyelashes and shapely dark-pink lips added to her overall alluring appearance. She wore her long, near-black hair tied loosely on her left shoulder, a shadowy river cascading down over the mage-robe, spilling over her chest.


    ¡°I ¨C er ¨C just vanted to check vot zis means¡­¡±


    She swung the book around, pointing at a diagram summarising the wasted energies that came as by-products of transdimensional apertures ¨C Nafala was skipping ahead, it seemed ¨C but I answered her in a state of numbness, suddenly unable to focus my thoughts.


    The girl¡¯s shyness was a contradiction. The blush lighting up the pale cheeks. The eyes that couldn¡¯t seem to rest in one place longer than a second.


    Her voice. So similar.


    The enchantment. The fake attraction that¡¯d felt so real, attraction I¡¯d reciprocated in my desperate, wilful naivety¡­


    Emrelet¡­


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know you, sorcerer! And you do not know me!¡±


    I looked down at the floor, trying to stop my eyes from watering, cutting off whatever rambling sentence was falling in chunks from my tongue.


    ¡°Raz?¡± Nafala murmured.


    ¡°Raz, are you okay?¡± That was Jaid from across the room ¨C she sounded unconcerned, but must¡¯ve been keeping an eye on me all the same.


    I looked up, forcing myself to smile brightly. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m ¨C I¡¯ll be right back. Everyone, keep working.¡±


    I left the room, wiping my eyes on my sleeve and blinking as soon as I was out of sight. Heading up the ladder-like stair into the private sections of the tower I¡¯d barely even glimpsed, I went out onto a balcony and stood there with my elbows and forearms on the rail, leaning over and gazing down at the glimmering sea.


    She was out there, somewhere, platinum hair gleaming like the sunlit waves. Saving lives. Ending lives. Channelling the lightning.


    I didn¡¯t know whether I loved her or hated her, but I knew I wouldn¡¯t be where I was, who I was, without her.


    I sighed. It was a nice, rainless day, the clouds lying low like a mist upon the water, leaving the sky clear and sapphire-blue, giving the lie to Telior¡¯s ugliness. The wind was cold, but not biting. As much as I¡¯d cursed myself for bringing Wyrda with me across Northril, the spring also came in our wake, it seemed, even to the north of the world.


    The little wooden tower I¡¯d been granted for my own was more than I could¡¯ve ever hoped for. I¡¯d been in Telior a little over twenty-four hours, and already I had more going for me than in a decade and a half in Mund. It was situated just opposite the High Hall, one of the structures that would help obscure the palace¡¯s pillars when viewed from the vantage of a boat in the bay. As such we would be afforded the best protections, here, with guards milling about all day and night in the street right outside. I wasn¡¯t naive enough to believe it was all altruism, though. King Deymar surely wanted to keep a close eye on me ¨C and that was understandable. He¡¯d been more than magnanimous with his ¡®captive¡¯ magician.


    I drew a deep breath of the cold salty air, then headed back inside, feeling miles better for some reason. I descended back to the ground floor, and in the corridor outside the makeshift classroom, I ran into Prince Lathenskar, flanked by a pair of ugly knights.


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    ¡°Your Highness?¡± I inclined my head respectfully, regarding him with some confusion.


    ¡°Lord Sorcerer.¡± He inclined his back, his eyes very serious, his gaze intense.


    I felt my eyebrow raise, but I was hardly going to try to correct him.


    ¡°My fazzer vould speak viz you. Ze Lord Vizard, Finfaltik, is ready to meet you.¡±


    ¡°And he sent you on messenger duty because¡­?¡±


    The serious expression softened, just a whit. ¡°I vould speak viz your sister ¨C and your brozzer, of course, if zis vould not offend.¡±


    I ducked my head. ¡°Go ahead, I¡¯m sure they¡¯re dying to see you again.¡±


    ¡°Vot is zis?¡± He furrowed his brow. ¡°Zey are dying, in seeing me?¡±


    ¡°I mean, erm ¨C¡°


    One of the knights spat something in Telese, cutting me off.


    ¡°Ah, I see.¡± The prince¡¯s lips twitched in a slight, self-deprecatory smile. ¡°Dying, indeed.¡±


    I looked from him to the glowering knights (who clearly understood more Mundic than they were willing to actually use), then back again to the prince.


    Did the boy know? That he was destined to wed a sorcerer¡¯s sister? If he did, it didn¡¯t look like he¡¯d be sharing it with the ¡®highborn¡¯ thugs following him around.


    I dismissed the class, and my pupils left the room babbling with at least some excitement in their incomprehensible voices. It was an odd feeling, watching them filing out of the room at my command, knowing that every single one of them was older than me, probably wiser than me in many ways ¨C yet I was the master here, even amongst strangers.


    Lathenskar, ¡®Shirya¡¯ and ¡®Vintilar¡¯ went ahead. The prince was holding my sister gently by the elbow in a very un-childlike move, as they ascended the stairs before the pillars and Wyrda¡¯s open maw. With his free hand he was pointing to the statue of Ismethyl and swinging it like he wielded an invisible sword; he was surely regaling them with some tale from Telese myth, the story of one of his legendary ancestors.


    I was happy to let them go ahead, and hung back with the knights, enjoying the way my immediate presence seemed to set their teeth on edge. I couldn¡¯t sense it, but I could imagine it: the way their eyes must¡¯ve kept shifting to glare at me ¨C they were just behind me on my left and right, and I wouldn¡¯t display any weakness by glancing back at either of them. I wore a smile on my face, knowing their distaste at escorting someone like me, knowing it would only increase their frustration to see me beaming when they caught my profile. Few shared King Deymar¡¯s apparent enthusiasm for progressive sorcery.


    Within a few minutes I was walking into the throne room, the prince and the twins nowhere to be seen ¨C they were off playing somewhere together below the stronghold again, I could tell from their shields. I heard the knights muttering in their own tongue to one another as soon as they broke off in the doorway. I walked alone towards the throne, feeling the pleasant sea breeze coming in through the huge window behind me.


    Orcan Finfaltik was there, standing tall and erect before the king, and he was nothing like I¡¯d expected. For some reason when I¡¯d heard the wizard was old, my mind had painted the image of a wizened, shrunken man, all scholar, no soldier. But for all his age ¨C there was no way he was a day younger than seventy-five ¨C he seemed strong, exuding an aura of confidence and power. Rather than a lined face, time had smoothed his brow and jowls, but his skin was almost mottled with spots and blemishes. He wore no whiskers and had shaved his head ¨C the only white hairs on him were mixed with the black, in his eyebrows. His mage-robe was cut in the Telese fashion like those of the Night Order, shorter than their Mundic parallels and with less-spacious sleeves. But this one was dazzling with its patterns of green stones and glass, sewn like wave-surf into the fabrics; a spray of tourmaline, emerald, jade shimmering here and there across the breast and shoulder.


    His gaze was less than welcoming, all of winter¡¯s chill still lingering there in the dark-blue, icy irises. He was armed with the disapproving expression only the elderly could perfect, and he lashed me with it, up and down.


    I lashed him back with a commensurate broadening of my smile. My shield¡¯s boundary slipped over him without result. As much as Orcan seemed to loathe me before we even exchanged our first words, he didn¡¯t want to harm me.


    ¡°Your Majesty.¡± I gave my slight bow, keeping my eyes on his wizard. ¡°I received your summons.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Lord Sorcerer ¨C Raz ¨C¡° King Deymar was smiling faintly ¡°¨C this is the Lord Wizard, Orcan Finfaltik, through whose power our city has endured these last years. I would have the two of you be friends.¡±


    ¡°Or you should not have this warlock at all,¡± Orcan said haughtily, his Mundic flawless.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Deymar rumbled ominously ¨C but when I looked over at him, the king gave me a surreptitious wink, cracked the briefest smile.


    I returned my focus to the arch-wizard. I had to indulge my elder, whether I thought I knew better or not.


    ¡°Lord Orcan,¡± I said in my smoothest voice, trying to walk the line of subservience and equality by using his title and his forename. ¡°I can only hope I can impress you, given time. What his Majesty has bestowed on me ¨C I neither looked nor asked for it. But I hope to earn it.¡± Perhaps I could change the topic? ¡°In fact, I¡¯ve already engaged the Night Order in their first lesson. I hope that between our students ¨C between us ¨C we can outfit Telior towards a brighter future.¡±


    The eyes lost none of their iciness, but the scowl wavered.


    ¡°What do you want, boy?¡± he groaned at last. ¡°Money? Fame? Power? Why are you here?¡±


    Money. Fame. Power. I had them. I lost them. I gave them up.


    For this.


    I looked past him at his king.


    And I don¡¯t even regret it.


    ¡°I¡¯m here, because it¡¯s home.¡± Slowly, stiffly, I performed the proper, low bow of a vassal before his liege-lord. ¡°Because I have made up my mind. I¡¯m staying. And if by my magic, my service, Telior can prosper ¨C gods willing, so be it¡­


    ¡°My king.¡±

 Learn to Teach pt1

    <h2>JET 8.10: LEARN TO TEACH</h2>


    ¡°They call it a problem of evil, as though they understood the meaning of perfection without ever attempting to imagine it. Let it be said thus: there is War in Heaven, waged unceasing across a plenitude of dimensions so great as to defy definition. Shall that not answer the eternal query on both its faces?¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 1:206-211


    Bleak grey waves stretched as far as the eye could see into the distance, and curtains of white motes drifted down slowly into the waters. Snow was rare here, for whatever reason, and I¡¯d never actually seen snow falling into the sea before ¨C not close-up like this, at any rate ¨C but there was a first time for everything. The bay was remarkably still at this time of day, the waves falling upon the rocks with little more than a rhythmic rumble. The ice floes had been reduced to little white eggs tapping against the shoreline. I stood at the rail of the walkway above the surf, a fur-lined glove enclosing my fingers as I gripped the frost-clad wooden beam. Thirty feet below me, Northril reigned.


    But not here. This was the province of Deymar and his thanes. My province, if I wanted to think of things that way. I was, after all, a lord.


    I tried not to think too much about it, something I found surprisingly easy, considering how often I was being addressed in deferential terms.


    For an outsider, I hadn¡¯t done badly for myself in Telior. People still gave me strange looks ¨C but only when they thought I wasn¡¯t looking back. It was a fun thing indeed, to catch them mid-glance, turn my patented Feychilde grin on them and watch them melt in horror.


    The people with me right now didn¡¯t have any reason to cast me strange looks; they¡¯d already seen me at some of my strangest.


    ¡°Vot about imps?¡± Nafala suggested, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. The girl was shy, but her confidence was growing. ¡°You could¡­¡±


    I thought about the way I directly tapped the mizelikon¡¯s essence in Zyger and shook my head, carefully arranging the apologetic smile on my face so she wouldn¡¯t be too put-off by my denial.


    ¡°Won¡¯t work,¡± I said plainly. ¡°An imp¡¯s essence is too weak to feed the spell for long, and certainly not indefinitely. There are particular creatures whose power could, for sure, keep the ensorcellment ticking over forever¡­ But those are few and far between, and beyond your ability to summon.¡±


    Nafala gazed at me, expectantly.


    ¡°Beyond my ability to summon!¡± I was thinking of the rose-man beneath Mund. ¡°Any eldritch whose Wellspring you attached to an indefinite spell would, in the end, expire¡­ I think.¡±


    ¡°What would happen then?¡± Roba said, half-groaning.


    I gnawed my lip for a moment. ¡°Well, the ensorcellment would weaken, then fail, and you¡¯d have no way to tell when. You couldn¡¯t just look at the rune, and judge its half-life by the fraying of the shape, like you could with the partial-infinity. You¡¯d have to keep your eyes on the imp. The rune binding the eldritch Wellspring to the ensorcellment might look fine one minute, then simply evaporate the next.¡±


    My two students looked at one another, clearly disgruntled. Nafala¡¯s lips were pressed firmly together ¨C she was doing her best to contain her disappointment ¨C but Roba was actively scowling at his feet.


    ¡°And you both looked so happy, when you brought the idea to my attention¡­¡± I grinned at them, then tilted my head towards the nearest marketplace, not a hundred yards off at Tenport. ¡°Fancy a snack before we test it?¡±


    Their eyes lit back up at that.


    ¡°Oh, so you are hungry? Come on. It¡¯s on me.¡±


    It was the promise of the experiment that perked them both up, but even if I¡¯d only offered the free meal I knew what the answer would be. I wasn¡¯t actually responsible for paying their wages ¨C not yet at least ¨C but I was aware their stipend from the crown was a single percentage-point of my own, and they were quite well-off in comparison to a lot of their countrymen. Some food was the least of a bonus I could offer such diligent, thoughtful scholars.


    I turned to lead the way, steering around a group of belligerent beggars and a stack of cockle-loaded pallets, heading up towards the ladder-stair we needed.


    ¡°You¡¯re alvays eating,¡± Nafala said as she fell in just behind me. She spoke out of curiosity more than complaint ¨C it was hardly like she was going to put me off, given she was getting something for herself into the bargain.


    ¡°Gosh, sorry,¡± I gushed. ¡°I was under the stupid impression the human body requires regular feeding to operate ¨C I¡¯m obviously wrong¡­¡±


    I expected a thump or a snigger, some acknowledgement of my attempt at humour, but I¡¯d clearly failed. I glanced back at my apprentice, trying to show her my grin, but her eyes were on her footing as she evaded a tangle of rope stretched across the beams; she missed it.


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    She wasn¡¯t like anyone else I¡¯d ever met. Introspective. Not prone to babbling. It made me wonder what would make someone choose such a life as this ¨C why not go into another profession? It wasn¡¯t like magic was limited to sorcery, and students of the other schools were actually respected. As we walked into the narrow market-way, either side of the path clogged with stalls and barely-moving lines of crowds, those crowds parted ¨C but it wasn¡¯t out of love for their betters. The unwashed masses saw our robes, and, remembering our reputations as dealers in the dark things of the world, they parted for us.


    I resolutely fixed my childish, stupid smile, nodded my thanks to everyone I could and even tried to shake a few hands. My students were used to it by now. Nafala was too unassuming to try to emulate me, but clever, shaven-headed Roba was simply too scared. He was their kinsman, naturally afraid of expressing himself, experiencing humiliation.


    I was the weird outsider. I had no friends to lose and hundreds of enemies to unmake. Damn right I shook as many hands as I could.


    As much as I was the senior in terms of ability, in terms of station, I was acutely aware that, legally-speaking, I was still a kid in Telior. Yet I was also acutely aware of Nafala¡¯s cuteness, and no amount of horrible past experience could stop my mind wandering from time to time, her its object. At least a quarter of my fearlessness came, I suspected, out of a deep-seated desire to impress her, and not just with my magic, my money.


    I dropped a few coins in a trader¡¯s palm, and hefted a crate of caramelised prawn sandwiches onto my shoulder, using a quick flash of satyr-strength to make it look easy. I hated the things, but the locals saw them as a delicacy, and I¡¯d long-since learnt that treating my favourites to the tastiest snack in all of Telior without bringing more back to the tower for my other students would get me into hot water. I¡¯d grabbed a plain loaf for me to enjoy back at the tower with my cheese, and all the way home Roba wouldn¡¯t stop harassing me, until I finally broke down and tried a prawn butty for the second time just to shut him up.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t see it the first time, did you?¡± I said, coming to a halt smack in the middle of a bridge between two rickety, creaking streets.


    ¡°I do no believe you no like!¡± Roba insisted. ¡°Please ¨C I must see!¡±


    ¡°Leave him alone,¡± Nafala murmured.


    ¡°Oh yeah.¡± I grinned at her. ¡°You saw.¡±


    A smile touched her lips, and she turned away to spare herself a repetition of the first experience. I was pretty sure I¡¯d never looked uglier in my life than I did with a mouthful of dripping fishiness.


    I let an old woman in a long coat walk around us ¨C giving us such a wide berth she must¡¯ve thought we were stopping to summon a hell-fiend ¨C then pulled off my glove, produced a single noxious bun, and bit down into it.


    I felt it pop, felt the gore running down my chin. The odour filling my nostrils reached down its stinky fingers into my lungs and I coughed the contents of my mouth out over the rail.


    ¡°Virdut knows! Aha!¡± Roba chortled, patting me on the back in a friendly fashion.


    ¡°Never¡­ again¡­¡± I moaned.


    ¡°Make no promises!¡± he yelled, still laughing.


    I glanced about. There had to be at least a dozen pairs of eyes on us while we stood there, being immature wielders of devastating forces.


    Good, I thought. Whatever they think of us, they need to know we¡¯re just people too.


    I drew myself up, smoothed down my robes, and looked around at my accidental audience as I cried, ¡°Best prawns in Telior!¡±


    Those watching quickly fell back about their business, and, laughing along with Roba, I continued to lead the way back up to the posh levels. I had no trouble navigating the place, using wraith-form wherever needed to bypass difficult changes in elevation, hauling the food-crate with me through a shadow of Nethernum from time to time.


    The sandwiches were for sorcerers. Sorcerers wouldn¡¯t mind.


    I appraised my new abode as we approached. It was a slipshod, lopsided piece of architecture, more appealing to my Sticktowner¡¯s soul than any of the Telese might have guessed. The base was squarish, but a poor attempt had been made at circular upper levels, and the section where the two styles were married together was a morass of iron rivets, struts and support-beams. Almost entirely comprised of oil-dark planks, my tower stretched up out of the edge of the palace courtyard like a blackened finger, bits of long-abandoned rope-ladder still clinging to it from the days of its construction ¨C or, probably, reconstruction.


    The view from my bedroom balcony was magnificent. Almost as much as Deymar from his throne, I ruled the ocean from my eyrie; Northril¡¯s vast expanse was more like an endless peaceful tundra than anything so chaotic as churning waters, the motions of its distant white waves almost imperceptible when looked upon from such remove.


    When we reached the porch I lowered my hood, lowered my wraith-essence. It was instinctive, now, when I left the bitter chill of the outdoors. I¡¯d been doing it so long, the nethernal state had become part of my reflexes. Part of my self. Even when I was reducing its hold on my flesh and blood and bone, I knew it was still there, always there, ready to be called upon, relied upon.


    The door was unlocked; it always was. The locks on the upper levels only I had the key to ¨C and perhaps the king or some city-guard or other ¨C but the lower levels could be accessed at all hours for the purposes of work or trade. Any miscreant wandering up the stair-ladders to my private floors would find more than just locks in their way, however. Only the warlock and his siblings would be able to pass the gauntlet of invisible imps without enduring a surprise-attack. A surprise-attack of quite possibly inappropriate weirdness. I knew at least one of my imps was obsessed with stealing clothes, and, due to an enforced period of abstinence from his favourite hobby, I feared a potential thief or intruder would stumble back out of my tower not only covered in boils and blisters, but completely butt-naked too.


    Entering, we were presented with the narrow spiral staircase which led up to the hanging walkways of the next floor above us, with the store-rooms at either end of the main bridge. Slightly below us, the workshop was teeming with activity. Half-completed, highly-theoretical arcane glyphs were scrawled in chalk on slate, or other random surfaces all over the room. Experimental objects festooned the side-tables near the shelves, some glimmering to my sorcerer¡¯s-eye, nakedly dangerous if mishandled. Morbid vats and extra-planar materials were lying around exuding their strange, familiar scents.


    Home, I thought, almost with satisfaction.


    * * *

 Learn to Teach pt2

    ¡°Anyone want something absolutely revolting?¡± I asked blandly, hefting the box of sandwiches up so that they could see it.


    Looks of confusion were swiftly replaced with unconcealed delight when Roba pulled out a prawn butty.


    Many of them started their meals with a mumbled, ¡®aefel ya Ystrava¡¯, even for something so informal as this lunch. While everyone sat around munching on their putrid little parcels, doing their best to make me nauseous with the enraptured sounds they were making, I got to work. I went around and shared the sorcerous sight with them, to begin with, so that they could watch as I formed a force-matrix atop my desk: a glowing azure cage.


    ¡°What is happening, Hool Raz?¡± Menild asked around his mouthful.


    ¡°Just testing something. Something that until recently might¡¯ve gotten us thrown in prison.¡±


    That got their attention. The chatter in the room died down. I had an avid audience as I completed the cage and checked its structures for weak-points, every pair of eyes fixed on the glowing box I¡¯d created, its bars of pure power.


    The trochoids were good, trailing the circles such that the curtate and prolate lines streamed at non-intersecting vectors. Finally I stepped back, and tore off a chunk of my own cheese butty with my teeth. I stood, spinning my force-lines lazily with one hand until they were at maximum strength.


    ¡°Vot do ve test, Raz?¡± Ghena said.


    Immediately the speculations broke out, from half a dozen different throats:


    ¡°¡­ seen ze cage spinning so fast¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ if ve can do zat? I do not think¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ trapped inside the shields¡­¡±


    I held up a hand for silence, and received it almost instantly.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to find out what happens when an eldritch is used to power an ensorcellment. It was your idea, Nafala, Roba¡­ Do you want to do the honours?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t the best master in the universe, but I wasn¡¯t going to put one of my imps into a magical machine that was going to kill it. I knew most of them by name, now. Not their true names ¨C those largely-unpronouncable contortions were there at the back of my mind, of course ¨C but the names I¡¯d given them. Condemning one of the poor things back to the Twelve Hells as nothing more than a wisp of potential, awaiting rebirth ¨C that would¡¯ve been a bit of a low blow after all we¡¯d been through together.


    My pupils used the Cant of Odim, the standard invocation for dual-casting a low-rank summoning spell, the same the world over. Perfect for when you didn¡¯t have a named demon in mind. Banned, until my little talk with Deymar. Thanks to the cage, they were able to leave off the initial pacifism commands, vastly reducing the cast-time. When they were done, a spiny little critter burst into Materium, all wings and claws, teeth and tails. He wore a tiny beard, formed of what appeared to be icicles, on the very end of his pointy chin.


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    It took him only a few seconds to realise he was behind bars; he spun about, biting at the force-lines then, when that didn¡¯t work, he tried putting his wing-barbs through the momentary gaps in the matrix.


    ¡°Hold on, little fella!¡± I nodded gratefully to Nafala and Roba, then cast my glance across the classroom. ¡°Anyone got any idea what this is?¡±


    My answers were shrugs and a few muttered guesses.


    ¡°It¡¯s got three diverging tails, see, with two wings, and only two limbs. The prime tail is segmented¡­¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way to knowing,¡± Roba said stubbornly, stepping back and regarding his eldritch with a critical eye. ¡°It is random, this spell.¡±


    ¡°But the thing it summons still has a name and type,¡± I pressed. ¡°It¡¯s a vauntagliar. Colloquially, a winter¡¯s imp. Rare¡­¡± I smiled, and gestured vaguely at our surroundings, Telior. ¡°More easily reached up here, I¡¯d imagine.¡±


    ¡°I have seen its kind before,¡± old Menild said wistfully, putting down his sandwich and approaching my desk for a closer look, ¡°but I did not know about this.¡±


    I nodded at the critter. ¡°Vauntagliar, right?¡±


    The imp met my gaze, loosed a pitiful sigh, then warbled in Infernal: ¡°How much longer?¡±


    I chuckled, and I wasn¡¯t alone ¨C there were a fair few in the room with a good-enough grasp on the hell-tongue to find his question mildly amusing.


    I did my best to give him a supportive smile. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll be taking a¡­ less-direct trip back home, Sir Javen. It might be awhile.¡±


    The imp just pawed at his horns with the corner of his wing, looking fairly anxious.


    I turned aside to grab an unfinished light-globe, nothing more yet than a dim glass orb, then I twisted my fingertips at the cage, releasing petals of force from its outer layer with the imp still trapped in the bud at the centre.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± the little guy moaned.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to power a light,¡± I said plainly.


    ¡°A light?¡± he cried in disbelief.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°Worry? You great git ¨C¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± Roba thundered.


    I spun the shape about the fiend, and watched as the first few particles of his being were ripped away, joining the whirling, glowing blue box. It was as though his body were made of blood and tar, streaks of red-black matter pulled from his torso, his wings, the top of his head.


    ¡°Owwwww¡­¡±


    I eyed the globe¡¯s sorcerous nexus, sitting at the astral heart of the ball, only awaiting a source¡¯s imprint in order for it to activate. As the shield absorbed some of the infernal essence, I gestured sharply, joining the vector to the nexus with a single line of will.


    The red-black arc leapt across. The clean, yellow-white light of the globe sputtered into life, casting its warm radiance against the walls with the others.


    ¡°It worked! Hool Raz!¡±


    I looked at Menild critically. ¡°Did you doubt me? The only question is, how long will ¨C¡±


    The imp¡¯s baby-like death-cry cut me off with my answer.


    I spun back to stare down at the eldritch, and before I even locked my gaze on it the imp was ash, right down to the beard. After a few moments the petrified shape shuddered, crumbs of charred material drifting down towards my desk ¨C and then it collapsed in a puff of grey dust.


    The essence failed. The light died.


    I lowered the force-cage with a wave of my hand, and turned to face the class. Many of them had put down their food but still had gaping mouths full of bread-prawn paste.


    ¡°And that was just a single light-ball.¡± I reached out and brushed the imp¡¯s remains to the floor. ¡°Guess there¡¯s no short-cuts to power sources ¨C back to the rune work, ladies and gentlemen. After your lunches, of course.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you vont one, Raz?¡± Ghena asked, flashing me a cheeky smile. ¡°Zey are delshious.¡±


    ¡°Gods, not again,¡± I muttered ¨C in Telese.


    That caught them off-guard ¨C the room fell immediately into silence, then uproarious laughter.


    * * *

 Learn to Teach pt3

    I smiled bashfully as I cleaned my desk, secretly pleased with how it¡¯d gone down. I¡¯d been practising their tongue alongside the twins, without letting any of the natives in on what I was up to. An hour a night with Ysara proved sufficient to keep us improving, without too much of an impact on our time. Not that the twins spent much time with me anymore ¨C I had my burgeoning school-cum-workshop to deal with, and they were taking full advantage of my various distractions, heading off with their peers of similar age whenever opportunity arose. (At least I knew that, with the crown prince present, they would be well-guarded on their little jaunts under the palace to who-knew-where.) There were days when Telese-class was the only time I saw them. It¡¯d been three days since either of them bothered attending one of my lessons, but I couldn¡¯t exactly hold it against them. They finally had their chance to be free ¨C I just had to hope that they were enjoying themselves here as much as I was.


    They said they were. Their eyes told a different story ¨C as much as the old wounds had healed, they¡¯d been severe, leaving scars in our three-way relationship that might never go away. There was plenty of terse politeness from Jaid, and a few wise-cracks from Jaroan, but that was pretty much the extent of it. As much as in my isolation in Zyger I¡¯d wished I¡¯d been there for them more, that I¡¯d been a better big brother, I found myself slipping straight back into old habits. I was buried in books most of my free time, planning lessons or new ways to use my powers for the betterment of Telior. I remembered the trinkets I¡¯d heard of or seen back in Mund, and some evenings I did little more than fiddle with fish-attracting lures for the nets, braziers that sensed your presence and warmed up or cooled accordingly¡­


    I knew what I was doing was wrong, but it wasn¡¯t just the easy way ¨C it was the only way. I knew I was supposed to stay on top of them, coddle them, keep them safe ¨C and I knew without having to ask that if I did what I felt compelled to do, I¡¯d only drive them further away. If they were at arm¡¯s length right now, at least I could still keep a grip, a tenuous handhold on them, their lives. Trying to draw them into an embrace, I would only push them out of reach.


    Or, at least, that¡¯s what I was telling myself.


    There were times like now, when I was just cleaning my desk and bathing in the company of my sorcerous peers ¨C sorcerous sycophants ¨C that I could almost forget the emptiness inside me. My face smiled of its own accord. I should have been happy. I should have felt satisfied.


    Was it just the twins? Or was it something more? Was I homesick, or something? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn¡¯t scry out the source of my discomfort.


    The door banged open, letting a smattering of pale natural light into the globe-lit room, and I looked up to see a courtier, backed up by a bunch of spear-armed guards.


    There wasn¡¯t much space to manoeuvre in here. The place was crammed with desks, and the walls bristled with shelves containing assorted items few men would wish to go near. Every walking-path was too narrow for one, never mind two.


    They stayed up there in the doorway, and the courtier declared:


    ¡°Warlock! You are summoned.¡±


    I felt myself frowning, but I started moving towards him nonetheless. He wasn¡¯t like one of the courtier-folk in Mund ¨C this young man, probably a minor lordling on loan to the king, looked like a fighter. His hair was short, his hands were big, and he too had suffered a broken nose at some point. He wore a shiny, undented breastplate and a fancy-looking sword-grip was at his left hip, the scabbard hidden by the folds of his shaggy black cloak.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I asked him plainly.


    ¡°Zere is¡­ a problem.¡± The messenger looked uncomfortable. ¡°A problem¡­ for dark magic.¡±


    I stopped at the bottom of the short stair, just beneath him.


    ¡°My apprentices? It¡¯d be good for them to get some hands-on experience.¡±


    I felt the collective tension in the room go up about three thousand percent.


    ¡°I am ask to summon you¡­ Hool Raz.¡± He seemed to force the formal term of address out between clenched teeth. ¡°No other.¡±


    I sighed, and looked back to shrug at the others. Most of them looked incredibly relieved.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I muttered, then glanced around at them. ¡°Anyone who wants to try what Roba and Nafala came up with, feel free to give it a shot. Other than that, Ghena, can you get everyone started on the braziers?¡±


    I started up the steps ¨C the courtier turned on his heel and stalked out into the wind, his guards waiting for him to pass then falling in behind him.


    As an afterthought I brought forth Gristlehead to finish the clean-up at my desk, opting to err on the side of discretion as to the exact nature of the mess, and headed out after them into the cold, readjusting my wraith as I went.


    They didn¡¯t slow for me, but two of the spearmen had hung back to serve as my escort, falling in to flank me as I passed between them.


    ¡°Oi, what¡¯s all this?¡± I called, halting abruptly.


    The guards turned and parted ¨C the broken-nosed courtier glared back at me.


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    I dimmed further, and floated.


    I noted the faint look of terror that came into every eye, and many of my escorts shuddered, using the motions to mask their fear as they each drew away from me slightly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll not be marched like a prisoner,¡± I crooned at the leader. ¡°I¡¯ll walk at the front, with you.¡±


    I hovered closer to him.


    ¡°Or fly,¡± I finished softly.


    Suffice to say, the courtier stayed at my side and didn¡¯t dare put half a foot in advance of me as we made our way towards the palace steps.


    ¡°So what¡¯s this really about, then?¡± I asked conversationally, drifting up the stairway. If my eldritch substance loaned a certain deathly hollowness to my voice, that just couldn¡¯t be helped, now, could it?


    I caught the loud swallowing sound that echoed from his throat before he answered.


    ¡°Hool Raz¡­ It is for the king. There is ¨C how you say? ¨C a ghost?¡±


    I turned my head to regard him, and he shrank back from my gaze like I would immolate him with my mere awareness.


    ¡°A ghost? Interesting. Doesn¡¯t he have a sorcerer on his staff?¡±


    ¡°His¡­ staff? Hool Raz, I do not ¨C¡±


    ¡°I mean ¨C no sorcerers in the palace?¡±


    The messenger shook his head. ¡°He vould have sent me to Menild, to ze Night Order, before. Now, zere is¡­ zere is anozzer option.¡±


    I smiled to myself. A better option, he means.


    But it wasn¡¯t my power that set me apart ¨C it was my discretion, it transpired. Entering between the pillars of the gods and into the Fish-Queen¡¯s gaping maw, I was quickly led to one of Deymar¡¯s private chambers, a room of repose with comfortable furniture, tables and lamps, a small library on the back wall. When the door was closed behind me, I noticed the king himself sitting upon a couch in casual clothing, a silken smock and loose pants ¨C and, beside him, huddled forwards as if to drink in the fire¡¯s warmth, was a man in his forties with bloodshot eyes.


    There was no wine, no food upon the table before them.


    ¡°Raz,¡± Deymar said familiarly, ¡°come in. Come closer to the fire, by the gods.¡±


    It was only as I came fully within the firelight that I let go of the shadows, dropping to the bearskin rug. The stranger barely seemed to register my presence at first ¨C and when he did, it was only that a light of hopefulness entered his red-raw gaze. His hands remained clenched upon his knees. The man might¡¯ve shed an outdoor cloak but was otherwise dressed for activity in an expensive-looking white doublet, belted and booted in fine black leather. His headwear was typical of the Telese gentry, stubby and broad-brimmed with a long tail covering the nape of his neck.


    When I took the seat farthest from the flames, Deymar made no comment.


    ¡°How can I aid you, my king?¡±


    Whenever I used such forms of address for him, I was never sure whether he understood the tinge of sarcasm that was plain to hear in my voice¡­ plain as far as my own ears were concerned, at least. He never gave the faintest impression of offence.


    ¡°My friend, the Earl ya Oedenfron. He is¡­ familiar with Mundic.¡±


    I understood the implication of such an introduction, and turned to the earl. ¡°Kur hool.¡±


    ¡°Hool Raz,¡± he whispered nervously.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, earl.¡± I smiled. ¡°I¡¯m only familiar with Telese.¡±


    ¡°Blease ¨C blease, Hool Raz.¡± Oedenfron¡¯s voice was hoarse when he raised it but he seemed to have no choice, desperation compelling him. ¡°Hel¡¯ me!¡±


    Tears sprang from his eyes, and Deymar looked away awkwardly.


    Over the next ten minutes, the king explained the situation, aided from time to time by the sniffling Oedenfron in broken Mundic or garbled Telese. The earl¡¯s story was an intricate and grisly one. The man¡¯s bride had been selected for him when he was still knee-high, and the pair of them became childhood sweethearts long before they were to exchange vows. When the time came for friendship to mature into love, however, no romance blossomed.


    ¡°The relationship was consummated¡­ but the bond revisited so infrequently, the chance of an heir being produced was reduced basically to nil.¡± The king¡¯s awkwardness didn¡¯t let up, and he was telling the tale with his eyes on the floor ¨C yet his perseverance, all to save his friend the ignominy of attempting the same: it only endeared my liege lord to me further. ¡°It was¡­ after some time¡­ that my good earl forsook his oath, and lay with another woman.¡±


    I nodded, indicating that he should continue. It wasn¡¯t like I hadn¡¯t seen this turn of events coming a mile off.


    ¡°He still loved, and loves, Jenika. Yet when he made mention of divorce she took her own life before his very eyes. This is almost four years ago, now.¡±


    I leaned forward. ¡°Forgive me, but¡­ How? By what method did she die?¡±


    Oedenfron glanced at me, then away again.


    ¡°She cast herself into the sea. The drop¡­¡± Deymar grimaced briefly. ¡°She could not have survived this fall, Raz. It would be as casting yourself onto stone.¡±


    I sat back once more, remembering Hightown rushing down at me as I fell head-first into its broken wasteland.


    I shook off the shudder that threatened to claim me with a surge of wraith-power. ¡°When did the ghostly visitations first begin?¡±


    Oedenfron murmured something I couldn¡¯t catch, and Deymar continued in his stead:


    ¡°Two years ago this spring.¡±


    ¡°Two years?¡± I cried.


    It transpired that the haunting had started out innocuously-enough, things going missing, moving around between one moment and the next ¨C occurrences which had gone unexplained until the subsequent, overtly-spiritual events forced their reinterpretation. For six months the earl had thought himself going quietly mad ¨C until her drowned and bloated likeness took shape on the air, standing across the bedroom from him in the midnight hour, clams and kelp-strands knotted in her dripping hair.


    ¡°He says that she never stayed longer than it took him to blink, and never made a sound at first, yet her returning came with greater and greater frequency. Now she speaks to him. We all noticed the change in him. We thought¡­ We thought it was rum. But the rum was not the cause. It was the symptom. It¡­ This thing has changed him, Raz.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°And what makes him bring this to you now? To me?¡±


    Surely he could¡¯ve brought this to a priest¡­ Doesn¡¯t he trust the priests?


    Deymar pursed his lips, turning to his countryman.


    I looked across, into the earl¡¯s bloodshot eyes.


    Is he lying?


    Perhaps this was all some carefully-constructed face he presented to the world: it could be that he was a womaniser. Maybe he threw Jenika into the sea himself, when she refused him his divorce ¨C or maybe it was that she desired a divorce¡­ Were there witnesses to her last moments? Could anyone be trusted to come forward even if there were, given that it would be their word against their own liege¡¯s?


    Then he moaned, in halting Mundic, and if he was a liar he was good. I believed him.


    ¡°Because off you! Hool Raz! You scare dak elze! She says¡­ says zat I vill¡­ she vill kill me if I say¡­ if I say zat she is, zat I see her¡­ but you! You free her! Blease, Hool Raz ¨C you free her?¡±


    He was weeping like a baby, and I almost reached out instinctively to touch him, comfort him ¨C then I stopped, catching myself.


    ¡°Come on.¡± I cleared my throat, more noisily than I wanted to. ¡°Let¡¯s go catch your ghost, my good earl.¡±


    * * *

 Learn to Teach pt4

    From the very moment we¡¯d left the privacy of Deymar¡¯s quiet little room, Oedenfron had changed in demeanour like he was flipping a coin. For all that his eyes were still red, his glare was steely, his gaze going before us like a pair of bloody knives ¨C guards stood to attention as our silent trio approached, and fell in behind us where appropriate.


    The earl¡¯s house was not far from the palace. We followed the road from the courtyard along the cliff¡¯s edge to a series of wide, sturdy bridges of iron-clad planks. The beams of varnished wood were so thick and heavy they were bound by chains rather than ropes, and the things barely shivered in the wind even when a strong gust caught us. As though they were islands floating above the city, the bridges led us along a row of big wooden structures. The houses looked from the connecting walkways like single-storey bungalows, but I could tell they extended down into the supports beneath.


    Those living here had to be rich ¨C not just because the location would command views equal to mine and the king¡¯s, but because of all the colours. These winter gardens might¡¯ve been meagre by the standards of Hightown, but they showed evidence of rudimentary druidry, the spending of considerable coin. Here amidst all this dreary greyness, the flowerbeds seemed awash not with roses and forget-me-nots, but rubies and sapphires, brighter against their surroundings than any terrace in Upper Tivertain, any plot on the slopes of the Westrise.


    Our destination came into view, a sprawling property, its doorway¡¯s arch clad in luminous creeping-ivy. Sword-armed guards on either side opened the way before us, and I could tell from the looks on their faces that this ghost was real, no flight of fancy bound solely to Oedenfron¡¯s imagination. The guards eyed me with concern, fear, and even perhaps a little hatred ¨C but, just as I¡¯d seen on their lord¡¯s face upon my summons, pure, honest relief was overpowering their other reactions.


    He isn¡¯t the only one to have run into the creature, I surmised ¨C then second-guessed myself. That, or they just can¡¯t wait for someone to put a lid on their boss¡¯s insanity¡­


    Inside, there was too much light. The curtains on the glass-set windows were thrown wide, and oil-burning lamps had been placed such that every nook and cranny of the hallway was illuminated; there wasn¡¯t a single corner for the shadows to hide in. So much light, its very presence bespoke the fear in which the resident of this house had been languishing. I almost thought the place would¡¯ve been less creepy with a few of those lamps snuffed out.


    It wasn¡¯t like ghosts were afraid of the light, exactly, anyway. They possessed more power at night, but no amount of lamps could bring back the day. Extinguishing every single flame in the building right now would no more hand the ghost free rein than igniting them at night would repel it.


    Not to worry, in any case. My senses were at work, and I suspected I had a good idea what was going on.


    ¡°Where did she jump from, my lord?¡±


    Oedenfron led the way through a smartly-upholstered lounge area, small but replete with rugs and ornaments and what seemed to be a thousand candles. On the far side, a door let us out onto a veranda overlooking the open ocean.


    I stepped out into the wind, and looked down over the rail. Deymar had been quite correct. No one was surviving this fall. If Jenika had jumped here, she would¡¯ve hit the water a good thirty, maybe forty feet out from the rocks ¨C


    ¡°And her body wasn¡¯t recovered?¡±


    ¡°There was nothing, no remains,¡± the king said tersely. ¡°A netter-girl heard the impact ¨C she saw the red water, and some clothing.¡±


    ¡°Her¡­ her cloak,¡± Oedenfron whispered. ¡°It is gone, too¡­¡±


    His anguish was plain to hear in his voice.


    I stared out at the sea, as if scrying in Northril¡¯s ceaseless motions an answer to the conundrum.


    Without a body, or a significant piece of it at least, I had no conduit to the soul. Searching Nethernum could take an inordinate amount of time and energy ¨C where would I even begin? I¡¯d never been. Personal effects could cut through all that nonsense, if I understood the texts correctly¡­ It wasn¡¯t something I¡¯d ever attempted before, but without access to the actual spirit of the woman it¡¯d be impossible for me to figure out what had truly happened here.


    Unless¡­


    Zab!


    ¡°Feychilde? Feychilde! How are things going? I see that we¡¯re still in Telior. How lovely and dreary!¡±


    I didn¡¯t get the impression he was joking.


    Zabalam! Can you give me an emotional read here?


    ¡°Whose emotions? Ah-h-h-h¡­¡±


    I couldn¡¯t sense his power at work, but I knew from the pensive inner silence that he was busy sifting through Oedenfron¡¯s psychic energies.


    Deymar looked at me in concern ¨C I was still sucking on my lip, staring into space.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay ¨C I¡¯m just¡­¡± I tapped the side of my head. ¡°Give me a minute.¡±


    The king and the earl exchanged a glance, and Oedenfron seemed reassured more than anything else, smiling softly, hope in the bloodshot eyes.


    ¡°He¡¯s a tricky bugger, oh yes, Feychilde. Filled with thirst for women and wine. I could easily get him to dance to my tune, and ¨C¡°


    Oh, give that up, Zab. I almost sniggered aloud. We aren¡¯t here to corrupt him further, we¡¯re here to save him. What¡¯s beneath the ¡®women and wine¡¯? Come on. Do you think he killed his wife, or do you think she jumped?


    ¡°By the Horned One! Slow down¡­ I mean¡­ I could guess?¡±


    You can¡¯t pick apart his mind like that?


    ¡°No, Feychilde¡­ But I think you¡¯re aiming in the right direction. He was relieved when you implied you were working on it. He doesn¡¯t seem frightened of what you might find.¡±


    That¡¯s helpful. There was little chance he¡¯d brought this to my attention with an ulterior motive.


    I was being entirely unhelpful here, wasn¡¯t I? This poor man¡¯s wife had perished, he was being tormented by a malicious, unknown entity. I wasn¡¯t even trying to bring him closure ¨C I was pointing fingers, acting as an accuser rather than a healer.


    Could you build an illusion of his wife?


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t think so, Feychilde. I have no way to see her, hear her ¨C¡°


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Ah, of course¡­ I understand now. The lost items¡­


    ¡°You think ¨C¡°


    Never mind.


    I¡¯d known from the outset that there was no ghost present in this house ¨C but the air had a certain familiar scent to my sorcerer¡¯s-nostrils, and I could feel the presence of a lesser eldritch. I couldn¡¯t really act until I had my eyes on it, or at least until its whereabouts had crystallised in my mind. It¡¯d be best to go through the motions anyway. Jumping straight to the end might¡¯ve been read as an insult to the Earl of Oedenfron. The last thing I wanted would¡¯ve been for the earl to see this upstart mage as correcting him in some manner, especially given his current mental state. Far better to let Oedenfron take some steps in the right direction first, let him have a hand himself in solving the mystery of his ¡®ghost¡¯ problem.


    Could the critter sense me, like I could sense it?


    No, not from the way it hadn¡¯t immediately fled. I wasn¡¯t flashing around my powers, using no outward effects other than the instinctive circle-shield, and if the creature¡¯s abilities permitted it even the merest perception of me, it surely would¡¯ve run by now.


    Unless it knows, and knows it¡¯s incapable of escape. Don¡¯t underestimate it.


    I rolled my shoulders and my shields, fixed my devious grin and my trap. The creature probably laid low through the day, maybe even returning in dream-spirit to its own plane. Whatever the reason, it was here physically. That was all that mattered. I had a fix on its location now.


    The two men saw my smile, and Deymar squinted at me quizzically.


    ¡°Personal things can help you contact a spirit, if it is close.¡±


    ¡°You ¨C you vont ¨C¡°


    I shook my head. ¡°You said things moved. Went missing. This possibly started within a year of her passing?¡±


    Oedenfron stared at me in bafflement, but Deymar nodded, his eyes suddenly troubled.


    ¡°What would seek to know your wife ¨C her appearance, her attitude? Her death?¡± I let every bit of portentousness I could muster into my voice, played the part of the archmage to the fullest of my ability. ¡°What would seek to torment you? Do not think she has not been freed, earl! Come with me!¡±


    I sensed the way my enigmatic questions infused them with curiosity, and they both stayed close on my heels as I stalked back inside the house. I didn¡¯t want them to answer ¨C I just wanted them to consider the possibilities. I would keep the momentum up until the moment of revelation now.


    I pulled my diamond-tesseract across my shields as I moved through the rooms, stretching it to the next shape then the next, keeping my target blissfully unaware as I tightened the net. I descended a stair into a sumptuously-appointed dining room, toasty with a roaring hearth on every external wall ¨C crossing it, another hallway and set of steps led me down into the private quarters.


    ¡°Hool Raz ¨C my chamber ¨C¡° the earl choked as I pulled open a door.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t surprise me, my lord,¡± I murmured, ignoring his weak attempt to remonstrate and sweeping into the dishevelled room.


    It was immediately apparent from the scents and mess that he didn¡¯t let the maids into his bedchamber ¨C the silken sheets lying twisted like a rope on the bed were not visibly damp by this time of day, yet the odour of sweat permeated the air.


    ¡°My lords,¡± the Earl of Oedenfron sobbed.


    ¡°Do not give up now,¡± Deymar said tightly.


    I crossed to the ash-wood wardrobe, and as I reached for its handle the earl finally released a small shriek of protest.


    ¡°No! No, don¡¯t,¡± he moaned, ¡°please!¡±


    ¡°Be strong,¡± I murmured quietly, easing open the wardrobe door so that it made the minimum amount of creaking.


    Inside, the wardrobe was inky darkness, clogged with cobwebs and scuttling things. A foul, soft mist seeped from the dead woman¡¯s remaining clothing.


    The two Telese nobles fell back, each making a strangled sound ¨C but the sheer fact that the interior exuded such horror only reinforced my assessment of the situation.


    I supposed I could¡¯ve called on Blofm, checked things out properly to make sure it was safe, but in the end I just couldn¡¯t be bothered.


    The king and the earl looked at me like I was mad as I plunged my arm in at the top shelf, rifling through the belongings that were tucked away out of sight.


    I seized its arm, and jerked it awake even as I pulled it into the light, dangling just beyond my circle.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your culprit, chaps,¡± I said merrily, hoisting up the tiny, squealing creature. They stared like they¡¯d been clubbed in the head. ¡°It must¡¯ve sensed your grief, Earl ya Oedenfron.¡±


    ¡°Unhand me, foulness!¡± it whined, twisting its little bird-legs, contorting its tail as if to hide itself, curl up on my hand. ¡°I am a gremlin of the otherworld, and may not be imprisoned!¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re an imp of the Twelve Hells. A devotee of pain.¡± I gave it a shake, and its miniature leathery wings fell open. ¡°A good illusionist, but you can¡¯t keep the stink of Infernum out.¡±


    I could feel it trying, but the demon wasn¡¯t even strong enough to put a glamour through my shield boundaries. Its every attempt failed and soon it gave up, hanging limply from my hand with its talons pointed at the floor. Just its pointy chin was upraised, looking up at me with dejection in its bean-sized red eyes.


    It clearly hadn¡¯t been around arch-sorcerers much. It met my gaze, only for it to flinch momentarily as the agony lashed it, binding it to me. Its name, its power and essence were instantly mine to command.


    ¡°Wh-what are you going to do with me?¡± it moaned.


    ¡°¡®What are you going to do with me, Master.¡¯¡±


    ¡°M-M-Master¡­¡±


    ¡°Good ¨C now be quiet.¡± I cast my smile back onto the earl. ¡°What do you want me to do with it?¡±


    Oedenfron was still trying to control his shock. The horror was starting to leave him, the red sorrowful stare transforming once more to a hard glare.


    ¡°You mean ¨C zis is ¨C zis is vot¡­ A dimon, all ze time? A dimon!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so. It¡¯s not the first time I¡¯ve seen a fake ghost.¡±


    Not that this in any way compared with a dark arch-enchanter on the loose.


    ¡°And ¨C Jenika ¨C¡°


    I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯m certain any priest with power would be able to tell you the same. She¡¯s gone, Oedenfron. She¡¯s gone, and she isn¡¯t coming back. Whether that really makes you happy or not ¨C I don¡¯t know.¡±


    He shuddered, closing his eyes and falling back to the bed. He placed his hand on his face, paler than his doublet.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t have any issues with it, I have a punishment in mind for little Moanmouth here.¡± I shook my captive again. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure its remaining time on this plane is short.¡±


    Oedenfron waved a hand in dismissal, then, seeming to realise the rudeness of his gesture, he swiftly glanced at me. The faint smile conveyed his gratitude.


    I took my leave of the king, made my way back to the top floor, and exited the earl¡¯s property alone. The guards all recoiled when they saw what I was swinging in my hand, so I whistled nonchalantly as I went on towards home, projecting far and wide that this imp dangling from my fist was no cause for concern.


    Once there were no eyes on me ¨C not overt ones, in any case ¨C I quit whistling and spoke to it softly.


    ¡°Why were you even there? ¨C what¡¯s that name of yours¡­ oh, gods¡­ Skek-leg-nen-om? Skeklegnenom? No, no, that won¡¯t do¡­¡±


    The imp hissed, and actual steam escaped its little snapping maw.


    ¡°I wanted to be there!¡± it spat.


    ¡°Why? What goes through your little head, eh? You¡¯re all so weird.¡±


    ¡°Weird!¡± It managed to sound offended.


    ¡°Yeah, weird!¡± I insisted, holding onto the rail with my free hand so I didn¡¯t get blown off the wooden bridge I was crossing. ¡°Like, you¡¯ve been sitting in his wardrobe for years ¨C for what? You fed on his sorrow?¡±


    It made an irritated, tutting kind of sound. ¡°I just want to make the world worse!¡±


    I laughed. ¡°Because that makes so much sense.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the problem? What goes through your head, foulness? Why would you want to make this place better? Really, why?¡±


    There were so many answers, each one a fragment of the whole, each one insufficient.


    ¡°That¡¯s just a stupid question. You are aware there¡¯s other gods than just Mother-Chaos, right? We need clean souls, doofus. Clean.¡°


    ¡°You listen only to the weak gods,¡± it sniffed. ¡°The gods who would have you powerless!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s basic nature,¡± I went on, unperturbed. ¡°We want to see other people smile, not cry.¡±


    ¡°But there¡¯s no way to achieve it,¡± it sniffed. ¡°Create one smile at the cost of a thousand tears and call it a victory if you will!¡±


    I scowled. ¡°That¡¯s the fault of you and yours. The dark gods and their slaves.¡±


    ¡°Because everywhere there¡¯s dissent, there¡¯s a demon.¡±


    That intrigued me.


    ¡°Well ¨C is there?¡±


    The beady crimson eyes met mine.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid! I was being sarcastic. Mortals¡­¡±


    Retorts deserted me, and it got the last word:


    ¡°Every attempt to fix the world only breaks it again in new and unexpected ways, Master ¨C Mother knows best. Only the fat have time to smile, and only at the expense of another. It¡¯s basic nature. You¡¯d do well to learn that, before the ground shatters under your feet.¡±


    We¡¯re all broken.


    What happened to us? Did someone try to fix us? Is this what results?


    I shook it into its native plane, walking the remaining distance alone.


    Is it Mekesta? Her power in us? Is it the seeds of chaos we sow?


    When I entered the tower, I shrugged off the questions of my apprentices and waved Moanmouth back into existence.


    ¡°Another volunteer,¡± I declared, and turned aside to grab a cup of wine. ¡°Someone start hooking it up.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± the imp chirped in alarm, squatting frozen upon the table-top where I¡¯d summoned it.


    I found my glass and crossed to the decanter. ¡°You¡¯re going to power a light.¡±


    ¡°A light?¡±

 Lessons Unlearned pt1

    <h2>JET 8.11: LESSONS UNLEARNED</h2>


    ¡°Ours is a small church and a narrow ministry. There is no place for us, yet we are here. While lesser gods sit and smile and trade their barbed pleasantries, our goddess sits apart, beyond them, in a silence of her own making. Were she to enter their presence they would each of them strangle, squirm in their seats, and then, making their excuses, depart. For she reminds them: there is no such thing as immortality, even for the gods. Oh yes, they will all use the word ¡®mortal¡¯ ¨C the gods, the eldritches, the spirits ¨C even the elves will deign to call us mortal, owing to their ethereal reincarnations and the continuity of existence they believe this will afford them. We are here to serve the Empty One¡¯s function on this mundane plane ¨C to remind them all: even the spirit does not live forever. God-killers exist and cannot be destroyed; it is only a matter of patience. Within a finite time, even Mortiforn will Die.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Cult of Utenya¡¯ secret recordings, Chraunost 945 NE


    Everything was going as smoothly in Telior as could¡¯ve been expected.


    Sure, I was an arch-sorcerer. Sure, for my age I had a lot of experience under my belt. But no one had ever asked me if I was a good teacher, and no one really seemed to care. As it was, half my students over-performed, seeking my approval and my company¡­ perhaps seeking some scraps of secret knowledge that the others wouldn¡¯t hear. The other half underperformed, knowing I was an easy master to please: I was quick to praise, and slow to complain; when I did chastise my workers, my attack was always couched in a jest, never given the full force I thought at times it deserved. I knew this about myself, but despite my position and power, I still didn¡¯t want to confront the slackers. They were older than me, and probably wiser in many ways ¨C and yet repeated experience led me to believe that age wasn¡¯t everything when it came to maturity. There were people ten, fifteen years my elder acting like giggling fourteen-year-olds ¨C when they messed up they always descended into jibes and cackling, and even when they got something right the force-construct was always slip-shod, enough-so that I got tired of marking their work and had them bring it to me at my desk upon completion, so that I could tweak the lines, ensure the cleanness of the structure.


    My diligence paid off, as much as it could here. Telese high society was alike and yet unlike what I¡¯d witnessed in Mund. There was less pomp, more ceremony. The gods were invoked at meal-times, including Wyrda Virdut herself, and even the nobles seemed to actually take their prayers seriously. The derision directed towards the lower classes was less baked-in to the attitudes of the rich than it had been in Mund ¨C it was more-readily exposed on the faces of those who bore it, and more-easily broken by familiarity with the poor. I¡¯d met merchants with ten houses who felt free to dance with the rag-folk in the markets, laughing gaily along with the crude jokes and jibes of the crowd ¨C and I¡¯d met knights willing to outright punch peasants who merely got in their way. My efforts to bring such cruelties as I witnessed to heel were met with only partial success. The first time, I managed to err on the side of peace, and brought the issue before Deymar in private ¨C but his bright eyes went roving, troubled, gazing out over the sea.


    ¡°How easy it would be,¡± he said, sighing, ¡°to take a boat ¨C sail away¡­¡± He looked back at me, and straightened, his voice deepening again. ¡°I will have words with the man.¡±


    For a couple of weeks it seemed to have worked ¨C the particular knight cast me regular shady looks, but I didn¡¯t see it happen again. Whether such incidents were now simply being hidden from me, I had no idea, but when I saw some young lordling kicking a beggar for no good reason I couldn¡¯t help but get in his face, throw him around a bit.


    That got me brought before Deymar, in a tense stand-off with a group of armed soldiers ringing me once more. I was chastised, and played along for the king¡¯s benefit more than for my own. I apologised to the young lord, and he apologised to me.


    No one apologised to the beggar. I took the poor man food and money instead, but, made suspicious by his answers, I set an imp on his tail ¨C and within the hour Pinktongue reported that he¡¯d sold the food, and used the proceeds along with the silver I¡¯d provided to purchase himself a wrap of something like nailbiter, seasmoke or ¡®riilavorr¡¯ as it was called here.


    For as much as things were different here ¨C they were the same. It really was like home. The sickness in Mund ¨C it wasn¡¯t from Mund, wasn¡¯t of Mund. It was the world¡¯s sickness. It was the sickness in the human heart, a soul-disease from which there was no escape, no corner of the earth in which to find respite, salvation. Telior was only better than Mund. It wasn¡¯t perfect.


    The injustices were tolerable. They used a calendar derived at least in part from the Mundic one here, and it was the dinner of the Ocean¡¯s Eve when I finally plucked up the courage to invite Nafala to go with me. I was always being told to bring a guest to these things, and the twins already had their own places at the table, given the eminence of their brother, their relationship with the crown prince. I did my best to sound nonchalant when I asked my pretty apprentice to go with me, but my hesitancy had been misplaced. Her awe-filled eyes welled up ¨C she trembled, and stuttered as she accepted.


    I¡¯d thought inviting a lowborn to dine with the rich might cause some sharp words to be directed at us, never mind sharp looks, but if anything it seemed to reassure the locals that I¡¯d taken an interest in a Telese woman. Lord Marsk Torloy, the man who¡¯d accosted me in front of the throne on my first visit to the High Hall, finally let go of his mistrust ¨C he got drunk with me, and admitted in a hushed whisper in the corner that he was just afraid of me, afraid of my power. His eyes shining with the passion of far too much booze, he confided he wished he had the abilities of an archmage ¨C not to use them, but just to have them, to know he was capable of more than most men. I admitted it did feel good ¨C the self-reliance, the freedom.


    ¡°But we aren¡¯t invulnerable,¡± I told him.


    ¡°Eh? Zis ¨C invowneral?¡±


    ¡°We feel like we can¡¯t be hurt,¡± I explained, ¡°but we can. We can¡¯t do everything.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°I have seen Orcan stop ze¡­ ah¡­ offiod¡­ title vave. Stop ze title vave! Do not tell me zis. You fought off ze dark elves! On your own!¡±


    I shrugged, trying to appear modest, but I felt myself smiling.


    Afterwards, I walked Nafala back to the house she shared with her extended family in the lower levels near the docks. We spoke about many things, but work was the one thing we most had in common, so we kept circling back around to sorcery. I told her so many half-stories I lost track, doing my best to couch the truth in lies, hide the reality of my past as best I could without making up a history wholesale. She seemed anxious to make a good impression, which left her only speaking in short, carefully-calculated bursts, and so I ended up wittering on with myself to fill silences. She didn¡¯t seem to mind, and was keen to express her interest in the things I spoke about ¨C ¡°Oh, you must tell me more about zis demon,¡± ¡°Ze towers in Mund, are zey all like zis?¡± Her voice sounded happy enough, but the smile on her face seemed to have been glued there, and when I tried taking her by the arm I felt the stiffness, the tension in her body.


    We ended up in a dry patch outside her door, just beyond the reach of the moonlit spray that came stretching over the rails towards us. We stood there, just listening to the restlessness of the sea, observing the silver-black expanse before us ¨C and between one heartbeat and the next she spun on me. The wind lashed us, sending her raven hair streaming back as she pulled my head down by the hood, pressed her mouth against mine.


    Revulsion.


    For the briefest instant I thought again of Emrelet. The first kiss, soaring beyond the Maginox. The wizard¡¯s voice, her surety, her passion.


    Then the memories were gone ¨C not destroyed, but shut away, never to return, like those of the girls who¡¯d come before her.


    Leaving only the underlying sense of wrongness.


    It never left, never even lessened, worsening as the moments extended. The softness of Nafala¡¯s lips, her tongue, the sweet breath exhaled through her nostrils to dance across my cheek ¨C her touch was like fire ¨C


    It¡¯s wrong!


    She thought I was older than I was. She didn¡¯t know my past. She didn¡¯t know me, what I was capable of. What I was incapable of.


    I could never tell her the full truth about me. Never, not without doing something to bind her to silence. A greater sin.


    I ¨C didn¡¯t ¨C care. Not on the surface. It felt good, to be wanted. Reassuring. Exciting.


    Exciting.


    Yet the excitement, the excitement itself repulsed me, the core of my self reaching out to the forefront, taking hold of my hands and using them to push Nafala away.


    Moonlight struck offence in her eyes, their starry depths searching mine, accusatory all of a sudden.


    Then her expression swiftly twisted into one of horror.


    ¡°No! Wait!¡± I took her hands, impelling her to stay even as she turned to flee. ¡°Please, Nafala¡­¡±


    She returned her eyes to mine, and I found I couldn¡¯t bear her gaze.


    I looked down at our entwined fingers.


    ¡°I ju-just¡­¡± My voice was a husky mess. ¡°I can¡¯t ¨C right now¡­ But I¡­¡±


    ¡°I thought you¡­ thought you liked me.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± I pleaded, still looking down. ¡°I do like you, but¡­¡±


    ¡°You need time?¡± she whimpered.


    I met her eyes again, hoping to find understanding there, but the same shock was present as before, the same self-doubt.


    ¡°Please ¨C yes.¡± I tightened my grip on her hand, trying to smile. ¡°It¡¯s not an excuse. I just¡­ I¡¯m not myself.¡±


    She smiled wanly. I put my arms around her to embrace her and she reciprocated, but I could already feel that it was broken. The burgeoning relationship between us had been changed irrevocably: the way she held me¡­ the way I held her¡­ it was awkward. The chill of the night breeze didn¡¯t fade like a wizard¡¯s warmth spell, and when we separated she headed inside without a backwards glance.


    After that, it took days for her to speak again in my presence. She used her hair to hide her face when I passed by her work-station, and only mumbled, eyes averted, if I asked her a direct question. I did my best to steer clear of her, give us both some room to regain our dignity. If I¡¯d asked for time, maybe that was the least I could do to help things from my side.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Without so much as a whisper, never mind a bang, it was the twelfth day of the fourth month, Enyara, or Enir in Telese. My seventeenth birthday. Other than the twins, no one had been able to wish me well, and of the two of them only Jaid had put in any effort. As I lay in bed alone that night, surrounded by the emptiness of my spacious chamber, the globes extinguished and books closed with only the moon and stars for company, I started to regret denying Nafala¡¯s advances. I could¡¯ve taken her into my confidences, couldn¡¯t I? I could¡¯ve trusted her, told her everything¡­ What was wrong with me? Why had I felt the way I did? It didn¡¯t make sense to think she was under mind-control, that she was being forced to feel attracted to me. If Tyr Kayn had flown here just to meddle in my love-life¡­


    But I found it didn¡¯t matter. As much as I consciously lusted after Nafala, as much as I thought I could fall in love with her, the memory of the nausea that had washed over me when we kissed was pervasive. The lust was only skin-deep; its fires didn¡¯t touch the cold monster dwelling deep in my heart. I wasn¡¯t pining for Emrelet Reyd anymore ¨C in fact, I hadn¡¯t known Emrelet at all, had I? How could I pine for someone, for something I¡¯d never really known? No. It was something more fundamental, but the meaning of my own disgust was hidden from me. The coins of introspection paid for nothing except sackfuls of frustration.


    Eventually I retreated into myself, into my familiar patterns. I sat up, knowing exactly what I needed to do. Couldn¡¯t sleep with the lights out? Put them on, get absorbed back into the texts¡­


    ¡°Happy birthday, Kas,¡± I said aloud to myself, and, sitting up in bed, reached for the nearest tome. ¡°What¡¯ll it be tonight? Ah yes. More conjecture on the efficiency of using serialised matrices to manage telepathic flow¡­¡±


    It would be cool to figure out how to make glyphstones. I suspected the actual design specifications were trade secrets of the manufacturers, however, and there was nothing in my books detailing the process¡­


    I woke up late the next morning with the glowing orb still floating above the foot of the bed, useless in the bright daylight. When I tried to move I realised the chronicle I¡¯d fallen asleep reading was still lying open on my chest, and I gingerly lifted it, wincing to see the folded pages, feel the damaged spine.


    ¡°Pinktongue,¡± I murmured as I did every morning, ¡°report.¡±


    The imp appeared next to me on the quilts as I placed the book down on the bedside table, a scroll filled with hastily-scrawled writing clasped in his little claws.


    Over the last weeks things had slowly been taking shape downstairs. The bottom levels of my tower ¨C now referred to by most as the Tower of the Warlock, or, more affectionately, the Tower of Raz ¨C had become an ever-extending set of workshops. All around the clock, at least a few of my sorcerer-apprentices would be present, and wizards and druids, enchanters and diviners were coming and going at all hours nowadays. The lights were always on, and our new glow-globes were the brightest Telior had ever seen.


    The twins were coming along with their spell-craft, too. They had to put their minds to a profession sooner or later, and I¡¯d snapped out of my sorcerous reverie one night during dinner and put my foot down about their attendance and punctuality. It might not have been the most respected of professions, sure, but at least sorcery would let them bring in money when they grew up ¨C and it was good exercise for their brains. They were smart, but spell-casting was tricky to the extreme, requiring a level of discipline from the mage during every stage of the process. This was something that I, as an archmage, had largely overlooked previously. Now I was confronted with the sheer amount of work that went into refining the gestures, the invocations ¨C even just preparing the reagents.


    And, on the heels of that¡­ the fatigue my poor sibling mages were enduring.


    ¡°Do you want to go out and buy us a fortify set?¡± I asked Jaid one afternoon, after I¡¯d worked them to the metaphorical bone all morning and was feeling guilty. ¡°I¡¯d rather not spend half our treasury on it, but if it¡¯s not ¨C¡°


    ¡°Can¡¯t you just get your pets to make you one?¡± Jaroan cut in. ¡°Didn¡¯t think of that, did you?¡±


    Truthfully, I hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°I¡­¡± I mulled it over. ¡°I think maybe you¡¯re right¡­ Hey, we could get Zab to draw the pieces in the air, get Butcherking some wood and get him to hack them into shape¡­ I could finish them off.¡±


    But when I picked up the knife to carve the wood, my hand shook and the wraith-form went active of its own accord. I put down the knife, and didn¡¯t end up trying again. By next week my purse had grown considerably fatter, the reward for a particularly impressive set of song-emitting stones and growth-spheres we¡¯d produced¡­ and I simply bought us a set of game-pieces and a board.


    It turned out that the twins were too busy now to play much. Occasionally I¡¯d hear them shouting at each other from their rooms below mine ¨C it was good to know that all hadn¡¯t changed in that department. However, Jaroan was advancing faster than our sister, and not by any natural aptitude ¨C in fact, Jaid seemed to have more of a knack for the practical side of sorcerous things. Rather, it was because of his temperament. The change that had taken hold of our brother was fuelled at least in part by rage, and when we had quiet time in our shared living spaces I could see it coming out in the way he studied, frowning at his book, sometimes poking the page or even throwing the tome across the room in frustration. But I soon learned to keep quiet, keep my eyes on my own text ¨C he always went back to the book in a matter of seconds, stomping over to scoop it up and shout at the thing as though it had hurled itself on the ground. A minute later I would glance over at him, to find him scowling again as he was back on the task, puzzling out the arcane passages.


    Jaid had other distractions, too, contributing to her lack of focus. In this I could hardly blame her.


    The prince.


    At the next formal dinner ¨C going it alone again ¨C I was looking down the table at Jaid and Lathenskar. They were sitting together, as usual, and he was speaking words in a voice too low for me to catch, drawing something on the table with his fingertip. And she was giggling. Giggling.


    I might not have been able to hear him, but I could hear the sounds she was making, and it was all kinds of wrong ¨C I could detect mania there in the stuttering laughter. This infatuation¡­ whether or not it was the reason she¡¯d wanted us to stay here all those weeks ago, it had to end.


    King Deymar caught me staring, and set down his flagon, confirming my worst fears at a single stroke.


    ¡°They should be betrothed next spring,¡± he said. ¡°No earlier.¡±


    My jaw dropped. ¡°My king ¨C Deymar ¨C I don¡¯t know exactly how things are done here, but she¡¯s only ten, and there¡¯s¡­ there¡¯s no way she¡¯s ¨C¡°


    ¡°Hold.¡± He raised his hand. ¡°Your sister would have to be willing, of course.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand ¨C¡°


    ¡°They could not wed until the day of her fourteenth birthday.¡±


    It turned out that Telese customs in this regard weren¡¯t far off the Mundian standard. You were considered old enough to wed from fourteen ¨C and according to the drunk lord on my right, you could even enter certain intimate professions. However, you wouldn¡¯t even be able to look after your own money until you were eighteen. Further questioning revealed that in such cases the youngster¡¯s guardians would keep and spend their payments ¨C implying that parental consent for this kind of thing was considered commonplace¡­


    Feeling sick, I pushed away my food. I knew a few girls who¡¯d ended up in the love-houses of Sticktown, but they¡¯d always been orphans, at least. No one had put them there. And no one had taken their earnings, at least not in the establishments I knew of. Surely that was the least, the least that the city and the gods owed them¡­


    I sat there for the rest of the meal in silence, seething. The worst thing was that I knew in the end I¡¯d do nothing. I had all this power, all the means in the world to change things, order it as I saw fit. And yet I was blocked, not by some external force, but by every internal pressure, moral and social, compelling me to stay in my seat, stay in my station¡­ Enjoy the fruits of a civilisation that had seen fit to upraise me and those I cared for. Don¡¯t shake the lantern, or risk getting burnt.


    Wasn¡¯t that what I¡¯d always done? I¡¯d accumulated wealth. I¡¯d thought of myself as a little lord, all along, saving up to buy a big mansion¡­ I vaguely remembered the first time I¡¯d interacted with servants, the way it had incensed me to be served food and drink by someone paid to do it¡­ Now I looked at myself, sitting at the right hand of a king, eating foreign delicacies that someone had prepared for me. Listening to the self-righteous droning of nobles who thought to joke over parents selling the innocence of children.


    I finished my wine, and my brain did exactly what I feared it would:


    At least she¡¯s got nearly four years.


    I nodded to Deymar before excusing myself, and breathed a little easier thereafter, in spite of everything.


    There was a kind of melancholic despair that came with having all your needs met. Nothing really to strive for, nothing with an inherent meaning beyond existing to exist. If there was no hope of a better tomorrow, if today was as good as it got, then tomorrow became not an avenue of change and hope, but a quagmire of stagnation. When the goal each morning was to make each day as alike as possible to the last, all it did was invite complaint and criticism when it didn¡¯t quite match up. Pettiness ensued. If I didn¡¯t quite get as long to read one day, for instance, because of Jaroan acting up or work getting in the way, it blackened my mood worse than an Incursion. The whole state of mind left a sourness in the mouth no amount of mint could mask.


    I tried to focus my energies. When people found out I was offering exorcism, not only for free but almost instantly achieved to boot, with the use of no smelly or otherwise repulsive reagents ¨C I almost got my hand bitten off. Five came forward over the course of the first month, of whom two were merely confused mourners ¨C but I found three genuine ghost infestations. Each was swiftly dispatched back to its plane of origin, to the sound of whimpers and tearful goodbyes from their loved ones.


    One morning, the ice in the bay was thicker than they¡¯d expected, given the weather, and it seemed the ice-breaker wizards must¡¯ve been having a heavy night on the liquor, because by eight the ships still couldn¡¯t move. Someone sent for Orcan, but I soon heard that the arch-wizard saw this kind of task as beneath him: the magician who mentioned this was passing through the workshop to pick up a box of rune-covered brooches, and when I questioned her it seemed she¡¯d been apprenticed to Orcan at a time, as all wizards of Telior had been. The archmage deigned to teach, but he saw it as the duty of those he taught to deal with such a mundane event as a frozen harbour.


    ¡°¡¯Vot¡¯s the point in training zem, if zey von¡¯t do ze job I trained zem for?¡¯ Zat¡¯s how he alvays talks about it.¡± She gave her best imitative sneer.


    It made me purse my lips, and I followed the courier out into the rain.


    I floated on my brilliant blue wings down to one of the piers and, drawing a deep breath, I hovered out over the ice, calling forth my bintaborax.


    I¡¯d used them this way once before, back when I first arrived in Telior, but that time I¡¯d only used them to clear an isolated corridor, a single channel for the Scaleshaker ¨C I¡¯d undoubtedly drawn some stares, started some rumours, yet this was entirely different. Everyone was watching now. I was performing for hundreds, possibly thousands of people.


    I made it a good show.


    In order to stop it being too scary, I had the fiends dance to the tune of the chants echoing across the expanse. And rather than set them to their task in a pedestrian fashion, I had Zab conjure the illusions of giant pink rabbits; the bintaborax sauntered after the rabbits, and smashed the ice where the illusions disappeared, only for them to reappear again moments later a few yards away¡­ Soon-enough the word went around, and a crowd of children formed at the front of the harbour-rails, overlooking the demonic escapade.


    It filled my heart with confidence, to see the looks on those young faces watching the demonstration. These weren¡¯t faces that would age into a hatred of sorcerers and their pets. These were faces that would grow into a hunger, a desire to learn, to follow in the warlock¡¯s footsteps. This was the revitalisation Telior really needed. Hope, in the hearts of its next generation, shining bright in their eyes. Acceptance, that the world¡¯s life-blood was magic, that sorcery was a part of this. Realisation, that the only evil in demonology and diabolism was in the mind of its wielder, that we were no different to healers, prophets.


    That was still true, wasn¡¯t it?


    It took me a minute to process the cry, cast as it was in the foreign accent, competing with the hymn of Enye¡¯s singers. But once I heard it, it was unmistakeable.


    ¡°Hool Raz! Hool Raz! Hool Raz!¡±


    I had the demons bow graciously to the crowd when the ships started moving once more, and as I waved them away in a series of over-exaggerated bursts of crimson flame, the kids moaned as one, begging for an encore.


    I was almost out of energy, but I had enough left for one more summoning. I brought forth Khikiriaz. I let one lucky kid ride the ikistadreng along the docks for two minutes ¨C the longest two minutes of the lad¡¯s poor father¡¯s life. When I returned him to his dad¡¯s arms, the boy was so enthusiastic that the trembling man had no other option than to grin and thank me.


    I left them wanting more ¨C I didn¡¯t want to spoil them on this. I wanted it to remain exotic, exhilarating. And by all accounts as I moved through the city afterwards, I¡¯d achieved my goals. I hadn¡¯t made any new enemies, and made a hundred new friends. When I spoke with the king later, he complimented me on my good judgement, expressing outright gratitude (and not an insignificant amount of relief) that I¡¯d stepped up after Lord Orcan refused.


    Yes, everything was going smoothly in Telior.


    It took almost three months before they showed up for me ¨C almost three months before it all came tumbling down and I found myself there again, amidst the wreckage of my life, wondering how I¡¯d let everything go so wrong.


    * * *

 Lessons Unlearned pt2

    ¡°Oh come on, Raz!¡± Ysara squealed. ¡°You¡¯re not even trying, now. There¡¯s almost no way that¡¯s true!¡±


    ¡°Almost no way? You know it¡¯s true!¡± I laughed. ¡°A rat.¡±


    ¡°Course!¡± Her eyes sparkled.


    ¡°It was highly embarrassing, to say the least. I even did a wee when I smelt some other rats. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever told anyone else about that¡­¡±


    She was in tears, and her husband Pegoras was smiling broadly, which must¡¯ve been a testament to my tale about the time I had a tail. The man never laughed, barely ever even grinned.


    I waved them goodbye, heading over to Enzon¡¯s stall for a pastry. I wrinkled my nose at the stench of tuna on the air, trying to focus on the sourness of the cherries in my mouth as I chomped down on my favourite filled treat. Leaning on a rail overlooking the docks below, I sighed, lifting my face to the warm sun in temporary bliss, letting the chaotic sounds of the marketplace wash over me.


    ¡°Bikkog! Kakili! Aefel-kin moot!¡± Clams! Cockles! Get them here! Herga sold notoriously dodgy seafood, and most non-tourists avoided her like she had the plague.


    ¡°Mifo! Mifo akar! Festa ba blagori, tekku tim ar faragak!¡± Toys! Toys galore! Goblins and imps, fresh out the shop! Mr. Okeleb¡¯s little wonders were probably fresher than Herga¡¯s clams. I hoped the surge of interest in such miniature terrors had something to do with my influence.


    There were many others whose words were less comprehensible to me.


    A tall man with barrels containing something-something-scales, used in making poultices for the curing of¡­ something.


    A stout old dear hiring people for a something to find the bones of¡­ something. That sounded ominous.


    Someone looking for a something-something¡­ someone who sounded desperate, enraged.


    An arch-sorcerer, my paranoia whispered. He¡¯s looking for you.


    I smiled, and kept my eyes shut.


    My worries had lessened, over the past weeks. I walked around wearing my face, if you didn¡¯t count the scar. My robe was my old one with its colours adjusted by illusion, Feychilde¡¯s mask still secreted in the deep inner pocket. I told stories that could identify me. We kept our fake names, but half the people I interacted with on a daily basis now seemed to be under the impression I was a former hero of some kind. While I didn¡¯t have much cause to dissuade them from that notion, I avoided talking about it whenever it came up. I couldn¡¯t give away too much, but I found that I wanted to be as honest as possible with people ¨C and not because I still wanted to be Kas.


    Quite the opposite. Raz was a slightly different person, I found. He had less baggage, carried less of a burden. If anything, I would¡¯ve said that life now was the most-complete it¡¯d ever been: that Raz was my best self. By the end, Kas had been a mess of a person. This was a fresh chance, a new start, and I was embracing it to the utmost of my ability.


    Clinging to it. Desperately.


    I realised by now that most of the lies I wanted to tell were needless. Mundians were rare here, and those passing through Telior clearly weren¡¯t looking for me; my only nod to hiding was to avoid the crews off Mundian ships. If Timesnatcher scried-out the fact that Duskdown or Neverwish had returned to the city, he might¡¯ve figured out by now that I¡¯d followed his instructions and escaped Zyger ¨C but even if that had happened, he clearly hadn¡¯t informed Zakimel. I was free and clear, thousands of miles away, in a remote port on the edge of the world. I could afford a few minor risks. I¡¯d even sent Pinktongue to Xantaire with a note and enough gold to pay for sea-passage, but in her letter she said that she wasn¡¯t ready to leave ¨C at least not yet. By the sounds of things, she was working with that Garet bloke I¡¯d left in charge of Wyre¡¯s operation, and according to my imp there were are whole bunch of new kids living in my parents¡¯ old apartment somehow. I was still considering what to say in my response.


    Maybe Timesnatcher could¡¯ve informed Zakimel ¨C or maybe the old arch-diviner could¡¯ve simply figured out where Xantaire was planning to move her family some other way ¨C but I quite literally wasn¡¯t worth the trouble. I was certain they had bigger things to deal with. Was I being foolish to be so worried? Orcan had said it all, months ago now. The money and the fame and the power, it was all those people ever thought about. Would hunting me down bring them greater glory? Riches beyond measure? Did I have some secret hoard of magical items for them to plunder? No. I was a meaningless target, if I were one at all.


    I was nothing.


    I was no one.


    With all these thoughts swirling about my mind, the very moment that my satyr-reflexes finally kicked in and warned me of someone at my elbow, I span about ¨C


    Dislodging a gobbet of dark-red jam from the end of the half-eaten pastry in my hand, sending it to splat on the side of Nafala¡¯s face.


    She regarded me in shock for a moment. I froze, watching, as she slowly reached up to her face and took the cherry-bits carefully onto the edge of her finger.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry?¡±


    My apprentice¡¯s dark eyes swelled with emotion. It looked as though she were about to start crying.


    ¡°I¡­¡± I had no idea what to say. ¡°You missed¡­ a bit.¡±


    Still she said nothing, just staring at me, chest rising and falling heavily.


    Hesitantly, I reached out and tried to clean up the rest of the jam with a single go of my thumb, but I still didn¡¯t get all of it.


    ¡°You missed a bit,¡± she growled softly, and before I knew what was happening she was bringing her hand up to my face.


    I stayed very still, letting her decorate the tip of my nose with the stuff. It was most outgoing behaviour I¡¯d ever witnessed from her.


    When she was done she spun on her heel as quickly as I¡¯d spun on mine, grating out as she turned: ¡°Ghena sent me. She needs you.¡±


    ¡°Hold on.¡±


    I took her arm as she went to stalk back towards the tower, and she didn¡¯t wrest it free, permitting me to turn her back.


    ¡°Vot?¡± she asked quietly, suddenly averting her eyes.


    ¡°I¡­ Do you want to help me finish this?¡± I gestured lamely with the pastry remnants, but I knew her weakness for such luxuries. ¡°It¡¯s the least I could do, really¡­¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°A half-ate dessert?¡±


    I shrugged, smiling.


    ¡°Fine.¡± I could see the blush already making its way to her cheeks. ¡°Just¡­ take zat off your nose. You are looking stupid.¡±


    The moment she joined me at the rail overlooking the docks and took a nibble of the pastry, I felt something change between us. There was a warmth to the silence that settled between us as we stared out at the bay.


    Gulls squawked mindlessly, specks weaving across the white sky.


    ¡°I envy them, sometimes.¡±


    She swallowed half her mouthful. ¡°Mmm. Enzon¡¯s?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Is good.¡± She swallowed again. ¡°You envy ze birds? But you can fly like zem.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not the flying¡­ It¡¯s¡­ Never mind.¡± I laughed at myself, and hoped I didn¡¯t sound too bitter. ¡°What did Ghena want, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ ze first of ze Shipbuilders¡¯ orders is ready, avaiting your inspection.¡±


    I rolled my eyes. It could wait. The saws of enhanced speed and durability we¡¯d created weren¡¯t due until next week anyway. But our early finish meant we could finally start processing the prototypes for the healers¡¯ wands.


    There was so much politics involved in it all. I did my best to stay out of it. I¡¯d wanted to pledge our services to the all-female group of druidesses and priestesses, the Sisterhood of the Teal Stone. The women were in charge of all healing in Telior, and from what I saw they did a good job of it, ministering to the poor and rich alike with every penny, every reagent, every second at their disposal. The sooner I could start work on their implements, the better, as far as I was concerned. King Deymar assured me that Orcan would contact the mysterious Greenheart, somehow, and have them imbued with various restorative spells. But apparently prioritising their requests over those of the Shipbuilders would¡¯ve stepped on a large number of toes. Deymar had glanced surreptitiously at my broken foot, and said to me in whispers that I should be aware of what that felt like.


    I¡¯d understood the implication. It wasn¡¯t that he feared for me. He feared for his own foot. The throne had always had a good relationship with the Shipbuilders, Roba had told me at one point, and their leaders were well-in with the naval captains. That was one guild the king didn¡¯t want to get on the wrong side of.


    So I acquiesced. The Sisterhood had waited decades for a solution to their problems. They could wait a few more weeks. And then I¡¯d get to do something with official sanction which the powers of Mund had forever held beyond the reach of the unsanctioned archmage.


    Give things out, freely. Share the limitless possibilities of our magic with the people.


    Why not? Why had it always had to be monetised? Why did the Magisterium always have to twist everything, even the most beautiful things, into a warped and malign shape before they¡¯d brand it with their seal of approval?


    Soon we would give it away.


    ¡°Ze price of dead-men¡¯s plasma has, ah, gone up through the roof.¡± I nodded at her encouragingly, and she smiled briefly. ¡°I do not think zere is any short amount. I think zey are trying tricks.¡±


    ¡°We can afford it. We can¡¯t do without those shipments, Nafala.¡±


    ¡°Unless¡­ my Lord Raz vould cast ze spells himself.¡±


    I stuck my tongue out at her, and she giggled, pushing her hair behind her ear.


    I could feel the tightness of my smile as I turned back to face Northril.


    When I was with Nafala, I was more than capable of experiencing physical passion; my body underwent the correct amused responses when she joked around; I even felt a strong bond of friendship¡­ Yet there was something missing. An emptiness, a hollow in the centre of me, a cold whirlpool to drag down the song in my heart and drown it, swallow the echoes away.


    I was holding back.


    Suddenly the silence felt awkward.


    ¡°What¡¯s raberak?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Raberak?¡±


    ¡°I heard someone talking about it ¨C someone was looking for raberak-bones, and ¨C


    ¡°Ah¡­¡± She laughed a little. ¡°You have me worrying zen. Raberak, zis means ¡®dragon¡¯.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°And this doesn¡¯t worry you?¡±


    Why are Mundians going so far afield to find dragon-bones? Has the craze really taken off so much that they¡¯re coming to Telior for more? Is it because there¡¯s less competition?


    But what she said next was even more confusing.


    ¡°Hm?¡± She looked genuinely surprised at my concern. ¡°Zis is a¡­ vell, my grandfazzer, he voz a¡­ how you say, adventure?¡±


    ¡°Adventurer.¡±


    ¡°Ad¨Cven-choora¡­ He voz alvays selling ze dragon-parts, not just ze bones, vhenever he voz lucky enough to come across zem.¡±


    ¡°Did he?¡±


    ¡°He even killed one, once. So Fazzer says. Viz about thirty people¡­ Zis voz a small one, zough. Half a longship, and it may have¡­ grown in ze telling.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡± My throat, tongue, lips formed the appropriately-awed word ¨C I even smiled at her impressive use of the Mundic turn of phrase ¨C but my mind was adrift. ¡°So, this has always been a trade? This is the first I¡¯ve heard of it. Here, at least. It was new in Mund ¨C I think¡­¡±


    I supposed there must¡¯ve always been nuts who were interested in collectibles derived from the carcasses of dragons and other equally-interesting magical monsters. I was probably making something out of nothing.


    ¡°Why haven¡¯t I seen dragon-skulls on the walls and all that?¡± I wondered aloud. ¡°You¡¯d think, if it¡¯d been an industry here for, what, decades? that there¡¯d be more of the dropping things on display. I¡¯ve been right through the High Hall ¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, zey are all sent overseas, I am sure! Zey are vorth, vell, not zeir veight in gold, but ¨C¡°


    ¡°I get it.¡±


    I frowned, and she was starting to pick up on it.


    ¡°But you did not have zese, zese trophies in Mund?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°No, and I went to some of the poshest houses we¡¯ve got. Trust me, if it was big enough to fuel an industry over here ¨C even getting people to set off on expeditions looking for them ¨C I¡¯d have seen some. People don¡¯t really think or talk much about dragons, there. There aren¡¯t¡­ well, until recently a dragon hadn¡¯t been to Mund in centuries ¨C or so we all thought, anyway¡­¡±


    It had me confused-enough that my suspicious nature came to the fore.


    Once I had Ghena pacified, the Shipbuilders¡¯ saws checked, and everyone working on the Sisterhood¡¯s wands, I headed back to the market. Enwraithed, I watched the organiser of the expedition as dusk fell. The stout old woman in a grey dress¡­ whose slumped posture vanished entirely between one step and the next once she was three streets away. I caught a glimpse of her face beneath the hood when I ranged ahead of her on a lower level ¨C her soft, winning smile had been replaced by a cold expression, and her eyes darted into every nook and cranny, almost as though she were aware of me.


    Okay, little lady. Now you¡¯ve got me curious.


    She probably didn¡¯t have a clue I was following her, to be fair, given the fact I moved silently and invisibly high above her eyeline ¨C but she seemed nervous. Maybe it was just that she had a healthy sense of self-preservation, or some past event made her mistrust corners, dark recesses. Whatever it was, I doubted any ordinary rogue could¡¯ve come upon her unawares, given her hyperactive gaze.


    She¡¯d been inviting her applicants to join them on the nineteenth of Chraunost ¨C Koronov, here, but it meant the same thing. That was three days away. From what I¡¯d been able to tell, she¡¯d only gotten about four or five potential hirelings, sellswords by the looks of them. They were to meet aboard her ship, the Starfall. I half-expected her to head down to the harbour and board her vessel, but she didn¡¯t. She headed inland, towards the ¡®back streets¡¯ of Telior.


    When she finally entered a house, tucked away against the looming cliff-face, I followed through the dwelling¡¯s planks. We were entering a dingy hovel where a bunch of drugged-up low-lives sat in their own drop, gibbering and pawing at each other. I wouldn¡¯t have given the place a second glance, but the old woman strode with purpose through the strewn-about, sweaty limbs, moving to the back wall ¨C


    Where she opened a grimy cupboard and climbed inside, shutting it firmly behind her from inside somehow.


    Okay. Okay¡­ This is totally a Yearsend gift¡­


    I went with her, penetrating what turned out to be stone, drifting along with only my face extending into the tunnel she followed.


    I waited while she lit a lantern from her knapsack, and trailed along the dripping ceiling behind her as we traversed more tunnels, hundreds of feet of them. The damp passageways were largely man-made, hewn by mining tool and in a few places moulded by wizardry, but at least some of the caverns had to have been natural formations. As we proceeded, the woman quickened her pace, almost swinging her arms in her urgency despite the unevenness of the ground, despite the lantern she carried flailing about, casting deranged shadows across our rocky surroundings.


    I was starting to get uncomfortable ¨C the wraith-form was a blessing, but too much of this reminded me of the pits beneath Mund. The only reason I could still breathe was that I knew I could escape at any moment. Had I been here the way she was, a default person, just walking around without the power to phase through solid stone¡­ I would¡¯ve left already, I was certain.


    Thankfully, it wasn¡¯t long before I sensed what lay ahead. Her destination.


    A vampire.


    Her vampire master.


    * * *

 Lessons Unlearned pt3

    Or mistress, as it turned out.


    The cavern in which the bloodsucker had made its den was smaller than my bedroom in the tower, smaller than my parents¡¯ apartment in Mud Lane, but it was relatively dry compared with the previous tunnels. A number of makeshift cots had been haphazardly nailed together and shoved in the corner ¨C only one showed any signs of recent use. A battered old chest stood in the other corner. There was nothing else by way of furniture. Random clothing had been scattered across a spare bed ¨C robes or dresses or cloaks, it was hard to tell ¨C and several stacks of books made for the only clutter. There was no stench of blood or death on the air, none of the decay I¡¯d associated with the haunts of a vampire.


    At first, upon perceiving the creature there ahead of us, I started to make assumptions. That the expeditions were a cover, a front to prevent the authorities noticing the disappearance of large numbers of people. That the vampire had a hidden agenda, involving an endlessly-rumbling tummy and an unquenchable thirst for the red stuff.


    But within seconds I was doubting myself. The eldritch knew how to keep unnoticed. This was no fledgling. It was practised, conscious of its own vulnerabilities. It had hidden itself away, far beyond the reach of my sorcerous senses, using enthralled humans for its tools. It produced no waste, required no food or water or light. Its shape in my mind was deep, its every twist and snarl filled with the will of a sorcerer. It was bound, rather securely.


    The vampire¡¯s white face and hair shone in the lantern-light. She was standing in the centre of the cavern as her pet approached, and I could make out the purple eyes, their fierce hunger. She was nail-thin, yet her cheeks were full and round, her small mouth opened in a smile to reveal flashing teeth.


    The old woman moaned as she virtually skipped forwards: ¡°I¡¯m back, Elrydea!¡± She spoke in Telese, but I could tell that ¡®Elrydea¡¯ was either a name, or a title, a term of respect of some kind.


    ¡°Welcome, Cerele.¡± The undead creature¡¯s whisper contained the same hunger as her eyes; it sliced through the damp air like a knife through flesh. ¡°Embrace me.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Elrydea!¡±


    The vampire didn¡¯t move towards her meal, but I could tell she wanted to. As soon as the victim came within arm¡¯s reach, she swept her up and sank her fangs into the woman¡¯s throat.


    I physically braced myself for the inevitable, though I knew she wasn¡¯t going to kill her. I clenched my insubstantial fists, but there was no spray or even scent of blood.


    Slowly, slowly, Elrydea released Cerele and pulled away.


    I stayed there by the ceiling, beyond their perceptions, watching as the vampire went to open the chest and treated her poor slave with a few drops of a healing potion.


    ¡°You were not followed?¡± the vampire asked casually in the same whispering slice, as she daubed an ointment on the bite-marks on Cerele¡¯s neck.


    ¡°No, Elrydea. The new warlock was in the marketplace again today. I don¡¯t think he paid me any attention.¡±


    ¡°Good. This is good.¡± The vampire sat down on her bed, the human standing smartly upright before her. ¡°And the work?¡±


    ¡°Five karmaal up today. Three of them will be there.¡±


    Five signed up? I guessed.


    ¡°So in total, nineteen are certain for the next expedition. Twenty-five, at most.¡±


    So, there really is an expedition?


    ¡°Nineteen. Nineteen will be plenty.¡±


    Elrydea looked at her prey hungrily once more, and Cerele merely tipped her head, exposing her neck ¨C


    The thing drank, and I sank down through the air, hearing the insubstantial blood pounding in my insubstantial ears.


    ¡°What was that?¡± The vampire immediately raised her head, stepping away from the old woman and glancing in my direction.


    I gave it my best ghost impression.


    ¡°Wooh¡­ wooooooh¡­ woooooooooh!¡°


    Cerele twisted in on herself, cringing.


    ¡°You said you weren¡¯t followed!¡± Elrydea snapped.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know!¡± the slave moaned, tearing at her hair.


    I spoke in Mundic. ¡°Youuuuuu, vampire, have been a very naughty girl! No Yearsend presents for you!¡±


    ¡°It is him,¡± Elrydea muttered to herself in a tone of resignation, as though she¡¯d expected this to happen sooner or later. She raised her voice, replied in my tongue: ¡°Well met, but goodbye, sor-¡°


    I knew what she was getting at. She was bound already, and for so long as she wished me no harm she would be able to escape right past me, run through my shields¡­


    I dropped Mr. and Mrs. Cuddlesticks into the tunnel, layering them so that the entirety of the passageway was blocked by black iron spikes. Their fiery warhammers lit the space better than the old woman¡¯s lantern, casting a warm orange glow over the place.


    For good measure, I brought through my mekkustremin at the same time. I knew how fast vampires could be, and the speedy doll-demon was still my best counter.


    It was interesting. It took more out of me to summon them than usual.


    Something the blood-sucker¡¯s done? Or am I just¡­ weaker?


    ¡°Don¡¯t let the vampire past,¡± I growled in Infernal.


    ¡°My pleasure,¡± Mr. Cuddlesticks replied in a rare show of enthusiasm. I couldn¡¯t even recall the last time one of his kind had replied to me. It was eerie, to think that they were awake and alive in there. People, not automatons.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I floated down, releasing the gremlin invisibility and making myself one-tenth solid.


    ¡°You were saying goodbye, Elrydea? You aren¡¯t leaving that way.¡±


    The vampiress smiled toothily, but I could see how she¡¯d been shaken by my response to her words.


    ¡°Perhaps not, then, human. Perhaps I¡¯m destined to die at your hands.¡± She clapped hers together then folded them firmly. ¡°We shall see.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing with the dragon-bones?¡±


    She tilted her head slightly, looking at me as if my question amused her.


    ¡°What, is that why you¡¯re here? Of all things!¡± She laughed, hollow, nethernal laughter. ¡°That¡¯s just how I fund my continued existence, I¡¯m afraid¡­ You aren¡¯t here about the murders? Whenever I killed some-¡°


    ¡°You aren¡¯t fooling me with this act.¡± I wagged my finger at her. ¡°Shame. Shame, Elrydea. Like you¡¯re in need of cash¡­¡± I looked pointedly around her crude home. ¡°Or corpses.¡± I finished by nodding at Cerele. ¡°Look, I¡¯ll give you one more chance, before things start to get nasty. The dragon-bones. Spill.¡±


    She decided to fight, perhaps hoping that in the commotion she¡¯d be killed outright. The soul of most eldritches couldn¡¯t just be plucked from the cadavers they left behind. Vampires couldn¡¯t become ghosts. They weren¡¯t liches. Her soul would take time to reform on its plane of origin, its final location in the red river uncertain. All the answers I might¡¯ve extracted from her would be put beyond my reach.


    But in deciding to leap at me, howling, a sudden flurry of clawed white fingers and teeth ¨C she only sealed her fate. She rebounded from the barrier not six feet from her face, crashing back onto the stone with a very unvampiric lack of grace.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to rebind you, then,¡± I said without much enthusiasm, watching as she twisted back up to her feet. ¡°I hope your previous master won¡¯t miss you too much.¡±


    ¡°I can feel you trying,¡± she said casually as she sat on the bed, not much defiance in her tone. ¡°Don¡¯t strain anything, Mundian. You overestimate yourself.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what they¡¯re always telling me,¡± I grated.


    She was confident in her master¡¯s strength, the ability of the bond to hold fast. And her words contained cause for both reassurance and concern. The fact she could feel it ¨C all I¡¯d done was come to the decision, and my glare was now painful to her. That was good to hear. But the fact that she endured the pain, seemingly unfazed? Troubling. Very troubling.


    I focussed my will ¨C be mine, be mine! ¨C yet there was nothing. Just a sweet, fanged smile.


    Cerele was looking between us with an increasingly-wild shine in her eyes. I had no idea just how much of this conversation she¡¯d been able to follow.


    ¡°Fine.¡± My voice was brittle even to my own ears. ¡°Fine, we¡¯ll have it your way.¡±


    An expanded shape brought both Cerele and Elrydea crashing back into the far wall, pinning them there like shop mannequins on display.


    ¡°Release your slave,¡± I growled. It angered me, seeing the innocent woman suffering under my power, through no fault of her own.


    The vampire chuckled, while her pet struggled for breath.


    ¡°Why?¡± Elrydea rasped. ¡°Why would I do this? With what can you threaten me?¡±


    ¡°Death!¡±


    ¡°Death holds no mystery to me. You merely return me to my master¡¯s arms.¡±


    I scowled. ¡°I¡¯ll let you live, then. Let her go, and I¡¯ll let you go.¡±


    The amethyst eyes narrowed. ¡°You would truly do this?¡±


    For a creature so unafraid of death, she hadn¡¯t half come around quickly.


    ¡°You¡¯d have to leave Telior. Leave, and never come back.¡±


    ¡°You swear it?¡±


    ¡°On my life.¡±


    ¡°Swear by Kultemeren.¡±


    ¡°I swear by Kultemeren¡­¡±


    That much wasn¡¯t a lie. I did, sometimes, swear by Kultemeren. The compulsion to finish my intended sentence faded upon this realisation.


    But I did lie, didn¡¯t I? How?


    ¡°It suffices.¡± She nodded, butting her head against the force-barrier. In spite of her change of heart, it still prevented her movements.


    I folded the shields away, and Elrydea went immediately to the cringing Cerele, pulling the old woman up to her feet gently.


    ¡°Here, Cerele, hush. Look at me now. Look at me! Good. Here. Forget. You are free from my service. You no longer desire me. You no longer live to be my blood. Forget all I told you. Be mine no longer.¡±


    The response took its time, came in stages. At first Cerele merely shook her head, like a dazed animal. Then she shuffled back from the vampire, shaking her hands free of the cold undead clutch. Finally, her face reacted, contorting into a smear of terror and disgust ¨C the mouth opened, emitting a shriek ¨C


    She staggered back, and I caught her. Elrydea made to move forwards to help her ¨C was that concern on the eldritch¡¯s features? ¨C but I manoeuvred to put myself between them and the vampire halted.


    Cerele stayed with me this time. Elrydea had done it. She¡¯d freed her victim.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay!¡± I yelled, almost straight into Cerele¡¯s ear as she continued shrieking, leaning back into me and staring at her former mistress. ¡°It¡¯s okay, it¡¯s over!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± the old woman gasped in Telese. ¡°These things are never over! Baalika her!¡± She whirled about at me, eyes wide and wet in fear and hate, and her next words were broken Mundic. ¡°You must! Must kill, Hool Raz!¡±


    ¡°He swore on Kultemeren,¡± the vampire sneered. ¡°That means something to him, foul creature. How swiftly you turn to despise me, me, whose patronage bought you all you ¨C¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± I snapped, infusing my voice with gremlin-power. ¡°Shut up, killer! I swore on Kultemeren, but if you grew up in Mund you¡¯d have made me finish the phrase. My life? My life was always forfeit.¡±


    Now it was the vampire¡¯s eyes that widened, Cerele¡¯s fear and hate reflected there in the burning purple eyes.


    ¡°I swear by Kultemeren¡­ you die before sunrise.¡± I smiled, and the old woman beside me smiled too. ¡°The only thing that¡¯s going to matter to you will be the method of that death.¡±


    Cerele didn¡¯t leave my side until morning came, and I took her for breakfast, not wanting to leave her alone until I was certain she had somewhere to go, people to look after her. She opted for kippers (disgusting) while I had a hard-boiled egg. We didn¡¯t talk much, the vampire¡¯s final screams still probably resounding inside her head just as loudly as they were inside mine.


    Oh, she¡¯d screamed in the end, once I let the demons have their way with her. The problem with regeneration was that torture could be endless, and the incredible strength within her was worthless when I had minions that could snap her unbreakable limbs like twigs. Cerele hadn¡¯t soured on it, and, quite frankly, I hadn¡¯t either. I¡¯d had my fill of vampires to last a lifetime.


    So I¡¯d done as much as I could without betraying my principles, without breaking my promise to the God of Truth. I could¡¯ve had her skinned over and over, down the course of weeks, months, until I had my answers, but I didn¡¯t. I relented. I was a kindly destroyer.


    She gave me nothing, really, just screams and spite, but I got one half-answer. One response. Where it fit into the overall pattern, I had no notion. Elrydea hadn¡¯t even realised what she was saying until it was too late.


    The lipless face had still been able to smile.


    ¡°For a hundred years! A hundred years, not one of them! No one found me! No one saw! I am victorious, sorcerer! I win! In dying here, now, I win! My master wins, and he will skin you! He will make you beg for death such as this!¡±


    And I¡¯d sneered that she wasn¡¯t dying, not for a long time yet.


    It was only now, looking back, that I saw it.


    Had she been gathering dragon-bones for a hundred years?


    Has her master? Where else are his eldritches? What could he want these relics for?


    I didn¡¯t even want to think about it. It was Mund. It was the Crucible, invading my peaceful sanctuary, my home away from home. It was the shadow, stretching out across the sea for me with its long-fingered hand.


    And if I¡¯d not heard the chatter in Irontooth Gates ¨C if I hadn¡¯t stayed at the Lucky Fox, would I have even questioned the something-bones, the raberak translation ¨C


    Rathal.


    Rathal ¨C he knew. He had to have known.


    ¡°I have to go,¡± I said, standing abruptly.


    She tried to grab my hand, thank me ¨C I tried my best to smile but it must have looked a mortifying grimace ¨C and the moment I was out of sight of her I hurled myself into insubstantiality, invisibility, sinking through the boards and down to the water, where no one could see me throw up.


    I spent half an hour there in the waves, letting their coldness pass through me, hiding in the shadows beneath Telior.


    I am free¡­ am I free? Did I do that to the vampire? Did I do it, or did Rathal do it?


    Did Irimar know what I am?


    Did Tanra?


    Do I?


    * * *

 Lessons Unlearned pt4

    I told the king about Cerele and Elrydea, and ended up threatening a few knights who insisted we should bring the old woman and the captain of the Starfall in for ¡®questioning¡¯. I already had all the information she could offer. Whatever dragon-bones were found on such expeditions would be dropped off in Mepheleve or Frimbrenka, a hundred or more leagues south. Neither she nor the captain could identify the men who came aboard to bring their bounties ashore ¨C the associates of Elrydea¡¯s master were humans, men of ordinary character and appearance, known to her only by a tattoo some bore on the backs of their hands ¨C a black circle.


    The king had been disturbed by this, but it was obvious from the unchanging position of many of the nobles that the main factor in their desire to ¡®question¡¯ Cerele was to satisfy themselves she was no threat. Subject her to pain and misery to be certain they were still in charge, that they could remain comfortable despite the terrifying news of a vampire in their midst for a century. They sought a target for their emasculation, a way to filter out their vulnerabilities, make themselves strong again in their own eyes.


    Fools.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Deymar had said in the end, silencing most voices. ¡°I accept the counsel of Lord Raz. I am more concerned with what this jarkar.¡±


    The word I didn¡¯t understand I later discovered meant portends. And I happened to agree with him.


    Later on, in private, I told the king I didn¡¯t much fancy the chances of his agents in Mepheleve and Frimbrenka, if they went digging for information. They¡¯d probably just end up dead if they messed around with wrong people. And the last thing I wanted was to leave myself; I wasn¡¯t going to risk the wrath of the twins like that. In the end I managed to persuade our sovereign ruler to let me send a few imps south, to see what they could uncover. I dispatched Oldbeard and Blandface, with Pinktongue to serve as a messenger, before finally finding my bed.


    That following night, not long after I awoke, a wraith flew past my window while I lay there reading beneath a light coverlet.


    I wasn¡¯t thick. Or if I was, I wasn¡¯t thick-thick. I knew what this was.


    Coincidence? Impossible.


    This was a trap.


    The shadowy presence was moving just slowly-enough that I had chance to get dressed, get my emergency gear in place on my belts, before the thing disappeared beyond my perceptions. I left a hastily-scrawled note, and then, cloaked in my own wraith, I gave chase.


    We were climbing the midnight air, cresting the cliffs within seconds; then my prey levelled out, coursing down over the fens. I could almost see it, the amorphous, purple-tinged shadow floating on the breeze.


    The wind was less forceful out here, and beneath the clots of reeds and weeds there were still, silent meres, gleaming like ethereal sap under the starlight. Other sources of illumination were out there too, fireflies of some kind I supposed ¨C but these fireflies burned bright emerald-green and winked on-off, on-off, drifting in aimless patterns over the marshes. I was surprised at the beauty I found in such a desolate landscape.


    We penetrated inland, moving farther and farther from the coast that¡¯d been my home these last months. It was strange, not being able to hear the sea, or even properly smell it. I¡¯d brought the twins to the swamps once or twice, when I¡¯d entered Etherium for supplies and Jaid had asked to come along ¨C but I¡¯d never before travelled this far from Telior.


    Never under starlight.


    We hadn¡¯t gone twenty miles when the wraith I was trailing after suddenly changed course, diving ¨C it sank down into one of the silvery, stagnant pools and vanished.


    I was currently flying high, checking I could still make out the dark line of the sea on the horizon, and I almost missed my quarry¡¯s descent. I quickly adjusted my trajectory to follow, then paused before entering the earth.


    This wasn¡¯t just a trap. This was the trappiest trap of Traptown. This was a personal invitation from the vampire¡¯s master.


    And it was someone confident, too. Someone who really didn¡¯t care about my power, so assured in their own capabilities that I was simply vermin to be led into the net.


    I wavered, on the cusp of chasing the wraith anyway, and it was only the thought of the twins holding me back.


    I could die down there. I should go back.


    I knew it for a fact. I wasn¡¯t thick, no. I should¡¯ve gone back, returned in the morning outfitted with every conceivable defence, and a posse of magicians at my back ¨C maybe even Lord Orcan, if he could be persuaded ¨C


    But something told me that this opportunity was a one-off. If I missed it, tomorrow it would just be another dank, empty cavern ¨C no wraith, no arch-sorcerer¡­


    I grinned at myself. What was I so afraid of? Another confrontation? Why? I was the world¡¯s dropping expert on threats like this. What right did I have to refuse the call?


    I closed my mouth upon entering the water, and squeezed my eyes to slits as I penetrated the earth below. After thirty seconds of breathless, serene travel I emerged into the open brightness beyond, looking down into my enemy¡¯s dwelling-place.


    The cave was immense. It had to be, to house such a hoard of body-parts.


    A lair of bone, a sunken fortress gleaming yellow-white. Walls of piled pelvises. Portcullises of rib and femur. Battlements, empty skulls leering. Pearly streets where the cobble-stones were hands and fingers, stripped of all the stains of their former flesh, seams filled with a ghastly gravel. The whole structure was lit by floating glow-globes, as though my opponent wanted his artistry exposed to view, longing to have his handiwork judged by his peer.


    Of him there was no sign.


    I sank down, admiring the arch-sorcerer¡¯s imagination in spite of myself. There were gleaming towers of teeth, bridges of rib, flapping banners of skin inked with the sigil of the black crown. The corpses of creatures, too, splayed out like decorations. The withered cadaver of a gigantic snake, coiled loosely about the crenellations, hanging limply. The heavy carcass of a manticore, its furry mane reduced to thin grey whiskers, stinger-tail drooping. The remains of a vast dragon made for the ultimate prize, posed atop the highest tower, pale tatters of scales falling down about its bones, like a horrid sheet draped across a white statuette.


    I studied the dragon in particular as I descended. It was big enough to encompass a marketplace in the ragged folds of its wings, and the sigil marked on the glistening pennants was brought into sharp relief: a real crown, shaped from jet, had been placed lopsided upon its long-horned brow.


    I shuddered, and looked away.


    Is that how big Tyr Kayn was?


    I¡¯d thought Ibb and the others had been exaggerating, at least a little, when they¡¯d described Ord Ylon. No longer. It rattled me, to think of something that tremendous being alive. Of all the things to which I¡¯d borne witness on this plane, only the smikelliol rivalled it in size. How had Redgate, an evil man by all accounts, brought himself to face down such a challenge? For the first time, I almost felt relieved to be away from Mund, from all that madness.


    They¡¯re going to have to fight five of them? Even bigger, even stronger? No thank you¡­


    Though, there was every possibility that my actions here could impact that. If they were gathering dragon-bones ¨C whole corpses too, apparently ¨C and I could intervene, even slightly¡­ Could my deeds in Telior make some minor difference? Disrupt the dragons¡¯ plans?


    ¡°What are the odds?¡± I muttered to myself. ¡°Cross half the world, and still end up with my foot stuck in the same damn drop-hole. Curse you, Rathal¡­¡±


    If I was being honest with myself, I was clearly outclassed here. I¡¯d never even tried to reach Shallowlie¡¯s skill-level when it came to reforming bones into more-complex formations; I¡¯d barely had cause or chance to practice.


    But tricks were just tricks. Raw strength was something else. I didn¡¯t care how many eldritches he had at his command; I wasn¡¯t afraid. I had my shields, and my wraith. If the whole place came alive¡­ un-alive around me, I could just withdraw. And if I could take Shallowlie ¨C and I reckoned I¡¯d have had a fair shot ¨C I could take this interloper too.


    Are you still alive, Min? What about you, Ly? What happened to you both?


    As I came close to the macabre streets, peering into the shadows of elegant, nauseating archways, the roadway beneath me came to life.


    I had no idea how many tens, hundreds of thousands of bodies were here. The very foundation of this bone-city seemed to be corpses too: I sensed a single shape of actual unlife beneath the street, and then within seconds the ¡®cobbles¡¯ parted and a whole humanoid skeleton emerged, its eyeless, staring skull rising first, purple pinpricks in the darkness of the sockets.


    Its voice was a nethernal rattle, the fleshless jaw moving along with the rhythm of the words as if by ancient habit.


    ¡°Welcome, Lord Mortenn, to the abode of the Prince Deathwyrm. He will greet you shortly; he is currently afar in thought. Will you take refreshment, while you wait?¡±


    I looked down upon the skeletal servitor with no small degree of alarm.


    He knows who I am. And¡­ Prince Deathwyrm¡­


    I had a pretty good idea who that was.


    I steeled myself. This meeting had been a long time coming. I was ready, if it really was him.


    ¡°Refreshment? Really.¡±


    ¡°We have water and wine, honey and berry, provided by fey eldritch. We have blood and bile, intestinal tract and ¨C¡±


    I waved a hand. ¡°Enough! No, I don¡¯t need refreshment. All I need is your master to ¨C¡±


    The metal voice interrupted me, drowning me out, an immense sound, echoing out of a throat so deep and wide that it were as though the cavern itself spoke:


    ¡°My apologies, mortal.¡±


    I craned my neck, looked up beyond my barriers.


    ¡°I was otherwise occupied. You followed more-closely than I expected.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t even looking at me, but the translucent eyelids were sliding and shifting; I could see the amethyst fire of unliving irises there, burning in the dragon¡¯s skull.


    No. Not a mere dead dragon. The dracolich.


    I could only sense it now that it was moving, a monstrous shape in my mind, expansive, beyond full comprehension. Was my failure to perceive it earlier a natural consequence of its indescribable pattern, or had my abilities really atrophied that far?


    I didn¡¯t have much time to think, nor the requisite coherency of thought. It was speaking. To me. The mouth opened and closed, teeth snapping with a sound like a million pairs of duel-locked swords. The giant, jelly-like tongue flicked.


    The eyes finally peeled open, fixated upon me.


    I did this to myself. I wrecked his goblin operation in the mountains. He followed me. He knew who I was, what I was, and couldn¡¯t care less.


    There was an awful heaviness inside my chest, but the silence expanded and I had to speak.


    ¡°W-what do you want with me?¡±


    There was some relief with the burst of breath accompanying my words, but the tightness, painful fullness in my heart quickly resumed, redoubled.


    ¡°I? Want?¡± The dragon sounded bemused. ¡°No. It is what you want, isn¡¯t it? I merely permitted an opportunity for you to enact your innermost desire. Such is my role here.¡±


    I shivered, unable to breathe or to exhale, floating there beneath him.


    ¡°I thought you would hesitate, tremble upon the threshold, but you never wavered once you bore witness to my domain. Why is that, Kastyr? What is this vehemence with which you hurl yourself into peril? Where is its heart? I would know.¡±


    It was only as the silence dragged that I realised I had to answer. Somehow, I managed to shudder forth words.


    ¡°I-I-I¡¯m trembling now.¡±


    The dracolich laughed, and, discerning its tone, I fell further into shock.


    It wasn¡¯t mocking, wasn¡¯t trying to intimidate me.


    It was good-natured ¨C almost friendly. Like a grown man, laughing at a toddler¡¯s straightforwardness.


    ¡°No, do go on, little one. What is the heart of the champion? This I am simply dying to understand.¡±


    The pallid lips peeled back in a sort of grin. Inevitably, it was a ¡®take a closer look at the thousand swords that you may well soon die on¡¯ kind of grin.


    The heart of the champion?


    ¡°What¡­ what do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You know full well. You are no cretin. What drove you to come here, risk it all?¡±


    The Crucible¡­ The dragons¡­


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    I have to help, if only in a tiny way.


    ¡°P-people are in danger,¡± I stammered. ¡°If I can ¨C if I can stop ¨C save ¨C¡°


    ¡°No.¡±


    The flat denial ¨C its draconic source ¨C


    I cut myself off instantly.


    ¡°There are many things we tell others, baby sorcerer, tell ourselves. Countless are the lies of the ego. They wear different faces, disguises, at different times. Only rarely will we admit to ourselves the truth. And here the lie is exposed, a nerve to toy with. Whose life do you save, pursuing my pet?¡±


    I looked up at the monster, met its dreadful gaze in which the whole of Nethernum seemed to shimmer.


    I knew the answer he wanted, and my throat seized up again.


    I know the truth.


    I mumbled the word.


    ¡°Mine.¡±


    ¡°Yessssssss.¡± The great head snaked down, the neck elongating beyond my previous estimation. The titanic face loomed. ¡°Yes, you understand fully the import of your actions! You know that you have been weak. You know that you wane. Deep within, the Wellspring cries out to be filled. Even the darkness of the depths, Zyger of your nightmares ¨C even that place did not dessicate you like this, this placid life, these mechanical motions. It only led you here. But you were not made to be a crafter, a tinker. You were made to be a fighter. A thinker.¡±


    I looked away, at the fortress of bone that was everything, all around me.


    ¡°It¡¯s not all just personal power,¡± I whispered. ¡°It¡¯s not about me.¡±


    ¡°Oh but it is. It¡¯s all to feel good. It¡¯s all that matters in the end. People do what puts a smile on their face, even if it costs them the skin and lips that cover it.¡±


    I looked up at him, incensed suddenly. ¡°Even if it makes them weep?¡±


    ¡°Especially then! If those tears can be beheld ¨C oh, you underestimate the sweetness to be found in martyrdom even as you walk its paths. Ah, youth! When you look back ¨C then! only then shall you see it aright. To have so much to learn¡­ It is a wonder that you are my weapon, that the shears of such force might be so blunt¡­ This reticence in you shall be the death of me!¡±


    Was he right? Was it all just personal power, in the end? I saved people, and it felt good, it felt right, but it wasn¡¯t the why. Money had been the root of necessity, at the start. Becoming a champion made sense. And the glory to be won¡­ the fame¡­


    But wasn¡¯t that more or less how we all got started? We were flesh and blood, like anyone else, the same after our awakenings as before them¡­


    For all that I tried to do the right thing, for all that I tried to be the model warlock, I¡¯d never been a ¡®good person¡¯, I supposed. Not really. I¡¯d gone through the motions, like the dracolich said. I did my best to keep to the tenets of the gods of the light, did my best to be a good role-model. It wasn¡¯t because it was right, it was because it was easy. Easy to be that way, be that person. Even if you failed, people saw your intention. They let you down softly. It was easy, when you were trying to be good.


    When they died ¨C


    When it happened, and there was no healing for it ¨C


    I tried.


    But I¡¯d failed, hard. More than failed. I gave up. I¡¯d earned my share of hate, and then some.


    I came here, into this den of death, against all better judgement, not because someone else needed me to ¨C because I needed me to. It wasn¡¯t a want, wasn¡¯t an urge. It was me. I was selfish. A selfish idiot.


    Watchtowers like giant guardians, separated by white lawns from yawning, temple-like palaces. The vast keep upon which my foe was poised. Immense, awful structures, comprised of millions, billions of parts.


    Such raw strength, to command so many. This was beyond the ken of books, of other eldritches like Zel. Nothing was so powerful. Nothing could do this alone.


    The vampire¡¯s master was so far beyond me, and I would never catch up, never plumb such intriguing, awful depths. Because I¡¯d surrendered. No more fighting, no more thinking. Crafting and tinkering, that was it for me now. I owned only two undead creatures¡­ didn¡¯t I? Two, compared to this¡­ And this was just the tip of the sword he wielded! Where was the Queen of Moths? Where were all his other fey, his demons?


    I looked back up, met the glistening gaze.


    And that¡¯s all I¡¯ll be, in the end? His weapon?


    ¡°And for you?¡± I sneered. ¡°This kingdom of bones? I think not. This is for show, right?¡±


    The head dipped, nodding solemnly. ¡°I had the time. In truth I was no more made to craft than you, but it is only fitting that I greet my guest in an environment suited to their nature. A city for a city-dweller, no?¡±


    He¡¯s no Aidel. No Graima.


    He was greater in strength, of course ¨C but it wasn¡¯t just that. He was extra-dimensional in essence by birth, and a being far older than those liches, removed from the plights of mortalkind. He saw us primarily as a food source.


    He designed this not as a way to welcome me. It was a way to try to intimidate me, no matter what he said. This was never supposed to be a city; only a charnel house of mind-numbing proportions.


    ¡°So¡­ you fight. You think.¡± I waved an arm at the sickening surroundings. ¡°Not one dragon bone in sight, save your own. And yet you know I know you¡¯re a collector.¡±


    ¡°Ah-ha!¡± The dracolich¡¯s laughter sent purplish fumes pouring out of the cavernous nostrils, blasting into my shields and then lingering there, congealing into clouds before slowly dissipating. ¡°Now you are thinking again! But you forget ¨C you know I know you are no buyer. You bring up this topic only to bring us closer to blows. I found what knowledge you seek. I see how you grasp with thoughtless hands at such secrets. I know your suspicion. I do know your heart, champion.¡±


    Was he right again? Did I want to fight him? Consciously, that couldn¡¯t have been further from the truth ¨C and yet¡­


    Did I come here to die?


    The self-directed question filled my insubstantial flesh with chills ¨C it was the first time such a thing had occurred to me, and the very fact I couldn¡¯t answer it, couldn¡¯t see the truth of myself¡­ It was the most terrifying thought I¡¯d ever had.


    ¡°Yes, I sought the remains of my kindred, scouring the earths for centuries, sifting the bones for those containing the power, the inheritance I needed. My brethren have played their parts, and the time appointed by Ulu Kalar nears, necessitating my journey to this plane. When my great-grandsire, Mal Tagar, dwells in my flesh, all but a handful of the broods will be reclaimed. The souls of most are mine already. I await only the moment of Return.¡±


    Grandsire¡­ Mal Tagar¡­


    Hearing it straight from the dragon¡¯s mouth, as it were, was something else.


    ¡°You really are Mal Malas,¡± I breathed.


    The confirmation of my fears made me crumble inside. This wasn¡¯t just an agent of Tyr Kayn and her plans. The skeleton hadn¡¯t been lying. This really was Prince Deathwyrm. From the story-books. This was a dragon of Lovebright¡¯s maker¡¯s generation. Potent beyond compare in sorcery, before he died ¨C and, by the looks of things, he¡¯d come back no less powerful.


    No, he was no archlich like Aidel and Graima had been. They weren¡¯t even on the same scale as him.


    ¡°Yes, I suppose I am.¡±


    The gargantuan smile made my mind up for me. Blades formed on my outermost shields, and I re-reinforced them faster than lightning, drawing them out into extended spears as they began to rotate ¨C


    Too slow.


    A counterstrike of unfathomable energy speared down, a magenta lance so radiant it left an imprint on my eyes in the seconds that followed. I blinked, staring at the tatters of my shapes, my stars.


    He¡¯d stripped me of everything ¨C every shield, even my circle ¨C without a single outward gesture.


    ¡°Training you would be amusing, Kastyr Mortenn. But you ¨C you are too terrified to contend with me, I think. I see it in your face. Are you too terrified?¡±


    Train me?


    I saw the black fumes coiling there about the nostrils. My hands were numb. The shapes, the spells deserted me.


    I faced an eolastyr. I saw a smikelliol. I bore witness to the red eyes of Infernum staring down at us in the blackness.


    None of it. None of it had been quite like this.


    Jerkily, I nodded.


    ¡°Very well ¨C a shame. You may depart, then. I am pleased we have had this chance to meet, speak. It shall not be our last; of that I am certain.¡±


    You¡¯ll tell me everything, and let me leave?


    ¡°W-why¡­¡±


    ¡°Why what, my son?¡±


    ¡°Why,¡± I licked my lips, ¡°would you train me?¡±


    ¡°But, you are to be instrumental in the Return, of course! Ha!¡± The laughter was a short, steely roar. ¡°Were you yet unaware of your destiny?¡±


    ¡°Your¡­ Tyr Kayn¡­¡± I didn¡¯t fully recall their familial connection. ¡°She wanted me to kill for her. Kill the twins.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± The eyes burned fiercely. ¡°But to her I did not impart all the myriad facets of Ulu Kalar¡¯s dream, just as I imparted yet fewer to her mother ere she left for your city. Such would break her, break all.¡±


    ¡°But not you?¡±


    ¡°I may not look it, but I am made of sterner stuff than she ¨C than any of them.¡±


    ¡°Than Ord Ylon,¡± I whispered.


    Mal Malas unfolded his torn wings then furled them again, a kind of shrugging. His harrowing smile never changed as he spoke.


    ¡°I guess your thought. Your ¡®Redgate¡¯ was quite possibly, at that point, the greatest native of the material plane to exist ¨C anywhere. Ord Ylon underestimated him. It did not surprise me that he defeated my uncle, yet he would not have done so alone, I am certain. It does not matter, so long as the necessary roles are fulfilled, and I see now the meaning of that which before had gone unclear. The future is the same, in either case. I had no intention of ever answering the calls of Draem¡¯s daughter, nor of ever aiding my liege-lord. I had a higher calling. Soon Ord Ylon shall be returned to us, in any case, and Nil Sorog, along with all their brood and the other chieftains of our kindred.¡±


    ¡°And who¡¯ve you sent to collect their bones?¡± I muttered darkly. I was recovering my scorn in the wake of his overwhelming self-confidence.


    ¡°Oh, haha-haha-haha,¡± he gargled his vile laughter, ¡°they make their way.¡±


    Then the right foreleg reached out, a single claw used to point at me accusatorily.


    ¡°You should stop asking questions, if you intend to stay in your comfortable tower. Go create your baubles, guildmaster. Continue to lull yourself to sleep with your craven self-condemnation. Let your power seep out through unkept walls and into the ground. See how that serves you, when the harbinger has gone ahead and left you in the shadow of your doom. Even now it towers high above you, enveloping the sky. Before too long it shall shroud the sun, and ere you are destroyed you will fight blindly, struggle in my net, your own will a traitor to the cause. You do not understand how close you are to falling, how the blade beneath your feet teeters as you sway.¡±


    I was back under Hadin and Renkos¡¯s knife. I wanted to move; the outward paralysis wasn¡¯t reflected by the inner turmoil, the contents of my mind reeling from the horror of it all, thoughts passing too quickly for me to seize hold ¨C


    He¡¯s telling me to go?


    Go!


    But it¡¯s a trick! What are his powers? How many eldritches dwell within him? He can see the future, just like that? He can see through me?


    My eye was drawn to the jet crown looped over his most-prominent pair of horns.


    What is that thing?


    ¡°Go-o-o-o,¡± Mal Malas hissed, ¡°before your curiosity kills you. What would your brother say, if you were to lose another limb tonight? Would it amuse you both in the same way it would me? The futures are unclear as to the precise consequences. Could my curiosity kill you? Hm-m-m-m-m-m¡­¡±


    I shook my head blankly, using the dull wraith-flight to drift back, away from him.


    ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± I said numbly, still drifting away. ¡°I ¨C I¡¯m going ¨C¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Malas snarled, rearing up suddenly, splaying the wings in their full, decrepit splendour, raising his forelimbs, shoulders back and neck extended. ¡°No, in fact. I have changed my mind. I see that it shall only augment the effect.¡±


    I¡¯d never beat my wings so hard; I twisted, propelling myself up at the cavern ceiling at an angle away from him ¨C


    When a force-diamond looped itself about me, the nuances of ill-will that had so often worked in my favour betrayed me, overlooking my terror, finding only the animosity in my soul.


    Like Elrydea. For all that I fled, I wanted to fight him. With every shred of my will, I longed for his destruction.


    Cowardice killed.


    I collided head-first with the magenta barrier, and an incorporeal nature was no hindrance to the dracolich¡¯s impeccable shieldcraft. I recoiled, dazed by the impact, sylph-wings fluttering ¨C the top of my skull hurt, hurt so bad it felt like it¡¯d cracked ¨C


    His shells dragged me back down to the bony street, trapping me there inside a tesseract of pink energy. Thanks to the wraith-form, I half-submerged myself in the bones by accident while I struggled to escape.


    He ignored my futile resistance, speaking calmly all the while.


    ¡°You are so far from what we need. We all have it inside us, even the thought-shapers ¨C but especially we of plane-shaping, and the flesh-shapers too. This confidence. We are immortal! But we ¨C yes, even I! ¨C we are all-too-mortal, are we not? Our skin may be impenetrable, yet the sword of magic shall slice us. Our skeleton may be the substance of ghosts, yet the greater spell grinds the bones of ghosts to unseen dust. What is your metaphor? Ah, yes. Yes, we are all weak; we all exist on a rung of the infinite ladder, a boot ready to descend, crush our desperately-clinging fingers. We all have to find our strength. We all must climb. Which limb?¡±


    I stopped thrashing about, turning back to meet the purple gaze as the dracolich half-fell, half-drifted down to the low roof of a building beside me.


    Courage wasn¡¯t even a memory.


    ¡°No,¡± I whispered hoarsely, ¡°no, please¡­¡±


    ¡°Which hurts the most?¡± he asked, reaching out, plunging the tip of a single long claw into my right bicep.


    The pain of the mere physical injury, this intrusion into my body ¨C that was enough, and I was still insubstantial. I gritted my teeth, growled at the itching sensation.


    He had me pinned to the bone-street by my arm ¨C and then the magenta fire burned along the metallic talon, nethernal sorcery bypassing the ghostly essence I was gulping at. Malas¡¯s power was being injected directly into my soul¡¯s substance.


    ¡°The wound? The knowledge of the loss it implies? The feeling of foolishness? The certainty that had you chosen differently you would still be abed, book in your lap?¡±


    I had my eyes screwed shut. The wraith-form was failing me, stuttering out for longer and longer moments. I couldn¡¯t tear free, not without losing the arm entirely. I wasn¡¯t screaming, but I couldn¡¯t stop gasping, panting, panic working its evils on my mind. I knew it wouldn¡¯t achieve anything in the slightest but it was still hard to put down the urge to raise my loose arm, use my left hand to grasp the dracolich¡¯s burning claw, prise myself free.


    ¡°Or the knowledge that you couldn¡¯t? That you are fate¡¯s fool? That it is your nature, that you cannot resist, can never resist, never rest?¡±


    I moaned. The flesh was ¨C it was tearing ¨C


    The twins flashed through my mind.


    Mum and Dad¡¯s funeral.


    Jaid wore her little blue dress, under the trees in Yune¡¯s shrine. An appropriate colour for one so young in such a place. That dress had long since been passed on to another family on the lane.


    She had almost looked like Zel, that day, I realised. Years before I met the fairy, of course.


    Zel. Zel¡­


    I need you.


    Jaroan wore his best tunic. I couldn¡¯t remember its colour. But at least I¡¯d found his shoes. I¡¯d made sure he wore two shoes.


    Goody little two-shoes.


    Flesh¡­ opening¡­


    ¡°Release yourself!¡± Malas snapped, a cold command. ¡°I see your hate yet burns bright! I lower my boundary. If you would go, begone. I shall meet you again, in Mund.¡±


    I managed to open my eyes, look up at my enemy.


    He was right. The pink shell, it was gone.


    ¡°Release yourself ¨C or the other arm will join the first.¡±


    He flicked out a second talon from the same tremendous paw and lowered it towards my left bicep.


    I screamed. Seeing the second talon, it was possible. Only because of it.


    I ripped away, accepting it. Accepting my fate.


    I tore free and I flew, moaning, moaning as I soared towards the ceiling, pursued only by low, dry laughter and the spattering of blood on bone.


    He¡¯d won. He took my sorcerer¡¯s fingers, along with two-thirds of my arm. My favoured arm.


    I entered the rock, and the pain lessened. The amethyst fire of his talon had done nothing to cauterise the wound, but phasing through the stone stopped the bleeding.


    I held my breath, lingering inside the earth, blind, insensate. Disembodied consciousness. I just felt cold. As good as dead.


    What good was I out there, anyway?


    It had clung to me, and now it had finally succeeded in rending my shadow. I couldn¡¯t ever escape. I could flee this place, but I¡¯d take it with me. The curse of power. The doom of destiny. The dracolich¡¯s mark. The Crucible, rushing down at my head like an avalanche of dragons.


    It was too much.


    I could stay here, I realised. I could stay here, right here, and when I pass out I¡¯ll die, lost in the rock. No one would ever find me. Maybe not even him.


    From out of nowhere, the memory returned. It wasn¡¯t much ¨C just a fragment of a shard of a thought. A voice.


    Fintwyna.


    ¡®Especially the children.¡¯


    I remembered the sleepless night. I remembered the horror and the passion of those early days. Where had the champion gone?


    Oh, it hurt.


    The chief pain came, not from the arm, not from the despair, but from the continuation of consciousness itself. That thoughtless urge inside me that would reject all my conclusions and compel me to go on existing.


    I couldn¡¯t lie to myself anymore. The dracolich was right. This place, this life ¨C it wasn¡¯t mine. It was a place to die as Raz, not live as Kas. Telior was just the graveyard of my own choosing. I might as well have stayed buried in the earth if I intended to remain in Telior.


    Even if I can¡¯t return to Mund, I can warn them. Tell Zakimel and Irimar what Malas said. I can make it untraceable, maybe. Use a demon to intimidate another I don¡¯t own into carrying the message.


    I can do something.


    Resolved at last on a course of action, I moved vertically again, the sudden urgency of my situation thrusting me out of the stone and into the mud, into the marsh, into the awaiting night air¡­


    Not quite.


    The second I entered the bog, I recognised my mistake.


    The blood had been stymied whilst I¡¯d languished in the coldness of the earth, accumulating in my raw, ripped stump. In spite of the wraith-form, when I entered the water ¨C warm, in comparison with the stone and soil ¨C the blood flooded out of me. I felt it, a sudden dip in consciousness ¨C


    Swamp-stuff entered my throat and stomach as insubstantiality deserted me ¨C I was drowning, twisting in the weeds at the bottom of the pond.


    I experienced it. The terror of dying. Knowing I was going.


    Lungs filled with wet darkness and dirt. But it wasn¡¯t Nentheleme that was going to save me, wasn¡¯t a prayer to Yune on my drowning lips. I no longer held hope, no longer felt free.


    I didn¡¯t let myself pass out, couldn¡¯t. Life wasn¡¯t going to be so kind as to let me go if I wouldn¡¯t let go first. I felt the strength of Avaelar¡¯s grip about my left wrist, my only wrist ¨C felt him pulling me up, up, out of the depths from which I couldn¡¯t extricate myself.


    Not without the power.


    * * *

 Lessons Unlearned pt5

    ¡°She really¡­¡± I coughed, ¡°really did me a favour, finding you.¡±


    We sat there under the stars, miles from Mal Malas¡¯s den, a semi-dry patch of brush serving as a makeshift pallet. The place was like a raft floating on a pungent ocean, green-glinting insects flitting about in the darkness.


    It sort of reminded me of home. My real home.


    ¡°Zel, I mean, or whoever she was. The b-best,¡± I spluttered, retching for the fourth time. After a few long breaths, I sat back, the heaviness in my chest alleviated somewhat. ¡°The best thing she ever did. How many times have you saved my life, now?¡± I waved my hand. ¡°I¡¯d say I can¡¯t count them on my fingers, but that¡¯d be doing you a disservice. Hah!¡±


    My voice twisted on the laugh, and the sylph didn¡¯t reply, only looking down morosely at the ground. I regarded him in the pale gremlin-light I¡¯d managed to conjure, a meagre, unnatural, dark-yellow radiance. I¡¯d never seen my fey eldritch look so dejected.


    He was my mirror, displaying my true face to me.


    I adjusted my undead essence, taking it deeper to dispel the chill, the sliminess of the wet robe clinging to my remaining flesh.


    ¡°Why, though? Why would he do it?¡± I looked down at the shredded sleeve, the mangled stump of a right arm. ¡°He wanted to train me ¨C wanted me strong, to fulfil whatever stupid prophecy he¡¯s been duped by, no doubt ¨C so why take the arm?¡± I chuckled through the wetness in my throat. ¡°I¡¯m a fool, Avvie. He lied to me from the beginning. He never wanted to train me. He just wanted me¡­ like this.¡± My voice cracked. ¡°Broken.¡±


    ¡°Unless in this maiming there is a greater strength to be found.¡± The sylph looked up, his flawless face marred by glumness as he indicated my missing arm with a twirl of his fingers. ¡°If thou might bring ¨C¡°


    ¡°He took my hand!¡± I screamed. ¡°He took it! How can I¡­¡±


    I spent a few moments in concentration, and I found I could assemble a shield with my left hand ¨C barely. Construct stars, form blades, direct blades? I could scarcely entertain the notion of doing it in combat.


    ¡°With all due respect, Feychilde¡­¡±


    I looked at him. ¡°You can call me Kas.¡±


    ¡°Kas¡­ Thou art not the first to whom my allegiance hath been owed, nor the fifth.¡±


    ¡°Nor the last.¡±


    He nodded grimly. ¡°I fear thy words shall prove true in less time than they might otherwise. It shames me to speak the words, yet I find myself questioning whether thou hast discovered the centre of thy power. Not all sorcerers are so¡­ concerned with the lives and well-being of others. I hath in my time been called upon to commit deeds darker than thou might conceive, for purposes no book thou hast read might impart.¡±


    I frowned.


    ¡°I digress. One such sorcerer ¨C she had been born bereft of arms, the limbs given unto Utenya in the womb. When the magic found her, this disability was no obstacle. I recall that she was fearsome. I am certain that oft she would mock those of her peers with fully-functioning hands, speaking of this in terms of a vulnerability ¨C¡±


    ¡°Look, Avvie,¡± I said heavily, ¡°everyone knows it¡¯s not really necessary. My hands, they help ¨C helped me channel the forces¡­ Sure, an artist is still an artist without his hands; maybe he can grip the paintbrush in his teeth, or his toes¡­ Maybe your sorceress was just that good¡­¡± I looked down at my useless left foot. ¡°But it¡¯s not the same.¡±


    Avaelar was shaking his head, burnished bronze skin glinting dully in the yellowed moonlight. ¡°Is it not possible that Malas,¡± the sylph shuddered as he spoke the dracolich¡¯s name, ¡°seeks to train thee by so hindering thee? That he doth perceive a flaw in thee and seeks to correct it with ¨C¡±


    ¡°What does it matter?¡± I cried. I clutched my pants-leg, and struggled to lift my flopping foot with my left hand ¨C with my hand. ¡°Look at me! Look what¡¯s left of me!¡± The tears started running down my face again, feeling hotter than usual. ¡°Look what¡¯s left¡­ What will Jaroan say? And Jaid? It¡¯s not like I¡­ I¡­ I can¡¯t tell them the truth, can I? A dr-dracolich¡­¡±


    I shivered even as I wept.


    ¡°Whyever not? They are young, but they own the promise of their brother¡¯s strength.¡± I glanced up at him to find him smiling at me sadly. ¡°Kas, thou turnst too eagerly towards treachery. Tell them the truth. It is a mortal affliction, to behold most-clearly the soonest-to-come, missing the mountain for the boulder in the foreground.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how you conquer mountains,¡± I whispered. ¡°One boulder at a time.¡±


    ¡°Thou canst not conquer a mountain alone.¡±


    We sat in silence for a few seconds.


    You¡¯re just a slave.


    ¡°Many through both birth and wealth mistake their lofty seats for the high thrones of dominance, and look down upon their fellow men, bearing witness only to the crawling insects ¨C yet I would bid thee: look not down, but out! See freedom! Abandon Wyrda¡¯s shackles! Telior has done thee ill, dwelling on the kraken¡¯s tongue. Wyrda Virdut is a black mistress. The deceptions of this temple of darkness is a matter I have longed to broach with thee, but ¨C¡±


    ¡°What in the Twelve Hells are you going on about, Avvie?¡±


    ¡°Dost thou not see it?¡± he asked, a certain amount of horror in his voice, his shining eyes. ¡°The slaves on the ships, whose masters trade freely here? The poor on the boardwalk, eating the rats? The starving children, the diseased babies whose parents ¨C¡±


    ¡°All places are like that,¡± I said, the tone of my voice coming more harshly to my ears than I¡¯d anticipated.


    ¡°But not all sorcerers.¡±


    I twisted like I¡¯d been slapped.


    ¡°What, Avaelar?¡± I turned up the wraith, floated back to my feet. ¡°What did you just say?¡±


    ¡°All I have tried to say a dozen times, with a sharper blade for my tongue ¨C yet thou hast felt not the sting, until I struck thee with a blunter implement. I apologise. But this change in thee has been long in the making, and subtleties shall no longer suffice. When thou didst surrender thy unicorn I thought I understood, after the demon¡¯s infection took root in her essence¡­ Yet thy blindness to the poverty of thy new home, the way in which thou hast been elevated beyond such concerns ¨C how it was thou didst apologise to that insufferable villain, that ¡®knight¡¯, and accepted his in kind¡­ The people whose part in life it is to clean for thee ¨C¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Apprentices!¡±


    ¡°Servants! The Kas known unto me ¨C never would he have suffered himself to be called ¡®lord¡¯, no more than he would allow for his sister to be joined with a ¨C¡±


    ¡°Silence,¡± I said quietly.


    His mouth closed of my accord.


    I floated there, trembling awfully. All the world had fallen away. The sounds and scents of the marsh. The little glimmering green lights. It was all distant. All background noise. There was just me, and the sylph, staring at one another.


    He¡¯d saved me again. He¡¯d pulled me out of death¡¯s path so many times, it almost angered me. Not because of him, but because of me. I was weak. I was vulnerable. I was the plaything of dreadful entities and he, he was going to sit there, mocking me, telling me what to do, chastising me, me, after everything, everything I¡¯d been through? He got to sit there, out of the line of fire, aloof with all his spiritual concerns, while I took the wounds, while all the burdens weighed down on me. When had he ever been wounded, really? Eldritches were for all practical purposes immortal. What did he know of real fear?


    Then I remembered our first encounter.


    I wanted to hurt him ¨C that was why I was trembling. I knew it would bring me pleasure. I knew it would help assuage this feeling of powerlessness, to inflict my will in the form of suffering on a creature incapable of resistance.


    ¡°M-Master!¡±


    The shock in his voice as agony lanced through him ¨C it snapped me out of my reverie and I screwed my eyes shut, turned away.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I ¨C¡±


    ¡°And so it is the day arriveth,¡± he said coldly. ¡°I was right. Thou art just as the others, in truth. The centre of thy power will blacken thy soul, and thou shalt grow strong in magic and malice until a charred husk is all that remains of the tree of thy life.¡±


    I remembered Xiatan, burning under the heat of Winterprince¡¯s wizardry to save me. Then I remembered Flood Boy. Gilaela.


    Now Avaelar. One more fey I¡¯d dragged into this mess.


    I looked back at him as I heard him getting to his feet.


    ¡°Sit down, Avvie,¡± I murmured. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, alright? It¡¯s not ¨C¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I rescind my submission.¡±


    ¡°What? No, Avaelar ¨C¡±


    ¡°Do not use my name!¡± he bellowed, suddenly flaring his wings.


    I¡¯d forgotten how intimidating the tough, magical appendages looked with the blue, jagged feathers around the edges, splayed like a fan of daggers about him.


    I clenched my jaw.


    ¡°Avaelar, come off it!¡± I pointed at him, feeling the nervous tingle running through my fingers ¨C it was the tremor of the swordsman being forced to fence with his unpractised off-hand. ¡°You might be catching me on a bad day, sure, but you¡¯re just a sylph. You think you can just run away from me? Fancy fighting Khikiriaz?¡±


    ¡°The Kas I knew would have bade me farewell, and offered a good riddance for abandoning him, perhaps.¡± He regarded me sorrowfully, looking at my chest. ¡°Kas is gone. Thou didst leave him behind. I do not know this Raz, who makes such idle threats.¡±


    ¡°Idle?¡± I snapped. ¡°You think I wouldn¡¯t ¨C¡±


    The sylph¡¯s laughter was bitter. ¡°Oh, even if thou wouldst ¨C should such as I seek escape, what thinkest thou a powerful demon might attempt? Art thou such a fool as to die here?¡±


    He met my gaze, then, and I saw him flinch as the pain coursed again in his veins.


    ¡°Dost ¨C thou ¨C believe ¨C I ¨C cannot ¨C¡± he grated, then finally collapsed, panting, to his hands and knees.


    The sylph¡¯s glowing gold eyes dripped silver tears.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± he whined.


    I could bear it no longer. I looked down at my missing arm and started to cry again.


    ¡°I wish you t-told me earlier,¡± I said, blubbering and sniffing like an idiot. ¡°Told me plainly. But it¡¯s not your fault. I wish ¨C I wish everything was different. I wish I was different. But he¡­ he¡¯s right. It¡¯s wh-who I am.


    ¡°I¡­ release you.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have to look up to do it. The good-for-nothing left hand was good enough for this. A simple wave in his direction, and it was done. I felt the connection fall away, gone as though it had never existed.


    Would I have been able to do it with decision alone? With no hands to direct my will? Knowing my luck, I¡¯d find out some day.


    Keeping my face lowered, I sank back to the ground and sat there once more, hunched over, letting my tears drip off my chin.


    The dryish dirt crunched under his feet as the sylph approached me. I heard his footfalls but, more worryingly, I felt the ground beneath me tremble slightly.


    He was supernaturally heavy¡­ mighty beyond material reality. A single blow of his fist could kill a man, easily.


    Yet he came without obstruction inside the boundary of the wobbly shield I¡¯d created earlier. He wasn¡¯t going to hurt me.


    I didn¡¯t raise my eyes as his bronze feet came into view.


    A powerful hand was laid gently on my left shoulder.


    ¡°Thank you, Kastyr.¡± For the first time, I heard him choked in emotion, voice husky. ¡°Y-you cannot know what this means. Thank you¡­ my friend. Truly¡­ thou art no scapegrace, baseborn or otherwise.¡±


    Emerald light consumed him. Without a proper goodbye, he used my leeched energies and left me in the darkness of the bogs, alone with just the flies and the stars for company.


    ¡°Goodbye, noble sylph¡­¡±


    I let the gremlin-light die and lay back horizontally, tapping the wraith-essence liberally to increase my comfort, looking up into those stars.


    What do you think? I asked them. Gods above us, about us, what do you think? Have I suffered enough? Have I deserved my punishments? At what point do you do the bleeding? When is it you with tears in your eyes?


    The gods didn¡¯t answer with a lightning-bolt or earthquake, so that was something, at least.


    I decided I wasn¡¯t going to let Zabalam in on Avaelar¡¯s absence. I didn¡¯t need to drag him into this. I¡¯d leave him asleep, and there was little chance he¡¯d cross the sylph¡¯s path in his otherworld-dream. I could tell the twins I¡¯d given Avaelar time off, that¡¯s why the wings were missing now. Time off, for saving my life, when something bit my arm off¡­ something¡­


    I had to come up with a better explanation. An actual explanation.


    At length I finally rose up into the air, adjusted my invisibility, and started drifting back towards Telior. Wraith-flight was so much slower on its own, but it would do. I wasn¡¯t in a rush to get home.


    Perhaps Avaelar had been right. Why just tell the Magisterium? Why not tell everyone the truth about the dracolich ¨C what he¡¯d been doing here, what he was likely doing in other places? Knowledge could be a weapon, or at least a shield, used to thwart or fend off any future manipulations Malas might conceive¡­


    Or was that his plan? It very much sounded as though his goals were now within his reach ¨C perhaps he needed no more of his brethren¡¯s remains, and I would be merely fanning the fires of terror amongst the people. Perhaps I¡¯d be mocked for my madness. Making up stories to glamorise the accident that cost me a limb.


    But was Avaelar right about the rest of it? Was Lord Raz a betrayal of Kastyr Mortenn? Did I have to end it, give up the ruse, in order to stand a chance of being myself again?


    Abandon Telior?


    I¡¯d once been so stuck in the mud that I¡¯d bought extra property on Mud Lane. It took me ages to think of moving to Treetown¡­ with Emrelet. Now I thought I¡¯d thrown it all away, the semblance of grandeur, glory ¨C I was outside Sticktown. Mund. Everything.


    I¡¯d given it all up once. Surely it¡¯d be worth it to save my soul. Telior was just one more place.


    But go where? I couldn¡¯t flee destiny. When I tried, I only crashed into it at a greater speed.


    Doomed. I was doomed. Wherever I went, I was still me.


    It was almost morning, by the time I came close enough to home to hear the bells ringing.


    Not bells, I reminded myself, chimes, in the wizards¡¯ enclosure.


    But why would they be chiming at this hour?


    Malas ¨C Malas, what have you done?


    I slowly climbed higher, to afford myself a proper look at the bay, and it wasn¡¯t long before my breath was stolen away.


    ¡°Is this because I cursed you?¡± I whispered to the receding stars.


    It¡¯d been three months, and they¡¯d come for me.


    Not the Magisterium. I¡¯d been on the lookout for the wrong enemies all along. This wasn¡¯t an armada from Mund. These were no common battleships.


    Not even the dracolich could be so cruel as to deal me such a hand. Oh no. This was all me. This was worse.


    White iceberg-shapes flickering magenta, keen hulls pointed like bird-skull beaks, floating in the darkness.


    A fleet of dark elven vessels stood at anchor, not half a mile out to sea.

 A Special Brew pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 8F: A SPECIAL BREW</h2>


    ¡°I am the unpredictable eye of the beast. I am the undergrowth churning with constant motion. I am the wildness of the wilderness. I am Lady Change.¡±


    ¨C from the Dairini Creed


    The sun wasn¡¯t some remote object to the Tirremine, wasn¡¯t just some glowing bauble in the sky used for illumination, for making crops thrive. The sun was an oppressive demon that squatted upon your shoulders, forced you to keep your head down, keep your eyes from glancing up at the blinding white sky. It had taken centuries, the man reflected as he skipped down the sandstone street beside a saltwater canal, for the Mundians to impress upon the Tirremines the Realm-standard worship of Kaile. He was just crossing in front of the sun-god¡¯s temple now, and the many-pillared hall at the top of the steps was no plain structure of white paint ¨C it was resplendent in firestones, clad in marble. Displayed on the slopes of every lofty roof were the same motifs, golden rods arranged into the burst of shining arrows that was the god¡¯s sigil, or in some places a pair of gold eyes. The Tirremine name for the god, Qaraime, was written in the firestones across the temple¡¯s central archway.


    But many were the places in which the god¡¯s role as a god of shade were still depicted. In Tirremuir, it was very much one and the same. Kani had once gone into detail into the religious history of the place, explaining how the various cults of Vaylech had tried to paint Kaile Qaraime as a devil, a bright god of Infernum, instituting an age of famine until the Mundian priests arrived to spread the truth. It was patiently taught to the primitives that it was reverence of the Fly-God bringing the worst of the sun¡¯s rays, causing the soil to dessicate, withering the crops in the fields. Kaile was no glowering demon, but the father of Joran, the grandfather of Illodin: he was a harsh god, but not unkind. The moon, which had always been revered in the dry lands, was no less his manifestation than was the sun. And, at least according to Kani, the land¡¯s suffering had abated once the Kailite ministry took off in earnest. Tirremuir had become a paradise, a slice of Celestium on earth.


    At least to the locals. Derezo was no Tirremine. Born and raised in the streets of Oldtown without a penny to his name or a roof over his head, the sunny days had been a relief from the drizzle, from the snow. Mund got hot in summer, sure, but summer never lasted long enough, and he found to his annoyance that humans simply couldn¡¯t hibernate. In fact, a big part of the reason he¡¯d left and tried his luck as a sell-sword was to escape the horrid conditions in Mund. If he was going to be forced to sleep outdoors, he wanted to do in a city, a country where the sky wasn¡¯t going to lash him with ice-water six months of the year. Once he hit thirteen and could pass for fifteen, he¡¯d headed south on the first ship that would take him, heading for sunnier seas ¨C and quickly discovered that he¡¯d developed no tolerance to the blasted thing. His first week on the sea had taken him unawares, and he¡¯d almost died from the fever. It probably hadn¡¯t helped that the first mate insisted on him continuing his duties, and continued to ply him with rum. Even now, ten years later, the sun bleached his blond hair but roasted his skin, and he had to be extraordinarily careful with regard to how he dressed, what parts of his body he left exposed to the sizzling rays.


    He wore the long black urum, almost a mage-robe from Mund but with no designs, less structure to the fabric. When he had the deep hood up like right now, Derezo¡¯s Chakobese was good enough to let him pass for one of the natives. But they didn¡¯t usually wear gloves to protect their hands; they typically wore sandals, not boots. Still, it wasn¡¯t like he experienced any animosity from the populace on account of his status as a foreigner ¨C quite the opposite. It seemed almost everyone he met knew he was friends with the dragonslayers, that he¡¯d taken part in similar expeditions with them before his early retirement. Phanar and the others were very well-liked here ¨C not just because of their lavish spending habits, their general easygoing natures. It was that they¡¯d succeeded. They came here chasing a dragon, and actually killed it. And it hadn¡¯t been just any dragon. This had been Ord Ylon. This had been a nightmare out of legend and these four young heroes had arisen out of their own legends to vanquish it, send it screaming back into the world of dream and myth.


    The monsters always lost, in the end.


    Derezo ¨C he was like a link between the people and their paragons. He was a stepping-stone, someone relatable that the merchants and minor nobles of Tirremuir saw as approachable, still human despite the lofty company he kept. And Derezo loved it that way. Sure, now that the whole dragon-business was fading in the public consciousness, he didn¡¯t quite get the same treatment he¡¯d enjoyed three months ago ¨C but they knew his name, his face. He¡¯d made himself useful, purchasing a few small businesses and using his significant savings to help them flourish. He had a life here, and now it was escaping him.


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    No, it wasn¡¯t the locals whose animosity he bore. It was that of his own people. It was the Mundians.


    It¡¯d been okay, last year, but something had gone wrong and no one was telling him anything. He wasn¡¯t used to this kind of silence on these kinds of matters. He¡¯d sent messages to Phanar, asking for an update, any kind of snippet of information that could be shared with him ¨C and the coded response was to leave Tirremuir.


    Leave Tirremuir!


    If these meetings continued much longer, he might just end up following Phanar¡¯s advice ¨C though ¡®advice¡¯ might¡¯ve been stretching it. From the last code-word, it looked as though Phanar were giving him an order. An order! Despite them having formally broken their arrangement, upon the death of Ylon. He¡¯d put down the letter, chuckled, and gone out for dinner with a smile on his face.


    Today¡¯s mission would assuredly prove to be a less-pleasurable luncheon, and he wasn¡¯t wearing his boyish smile as he entered the railed-off area outside the restaurant. The man who¡¯d summoned Derezo was sitting outside, in the full simmering glare of Kaile¡¯s glow, and he¡¯d taken one of the big tables to himself. His robed guards didn¡¯t sit but stood instead, in a vague arc behind him ¨C five of them.


    Always five of them, Derezo thought darkly.


    The table might¡¯ve been big enough for eight, but the arch-magister seemed to be going out of his way to wind up the establishment¡¯s owners. He was occupying the narrowest sliver of his chair¡¯s seat, one leg folded atop the other, leaning on one of the arms as though an invisible person of equal slimness were seated there alongside him.


    Perhaps they are.


    Even in the ten seconds it took him to spot the man and pick his way between the other tables and chairs, Derezo noticed the sceptical, verging on hostile, glances being cast at the magisters by the other diners. No one would say anything to them, of course ¨C Mundian justice was infamous, and if you didn¡¯t have the right friends or bank-balance you could kiss your freedom goodbye. Still, Derezo knew he didn¡¯t enjoy the same undiplomatic immunity. He hoped these very public meetings wouldn¡¯t tar his name with the locals, that it¡¯d all be over soon and he could return to his normal life.


    ¡°Mr. Moustache Man,¡± he said in greeting as he plopped himself down opposite the arch-magister.


    ¡°Mr. Alterkain.¡±


    The older man¡¯s moustache quivered as he spoke, and Derezo felt the smile come unexpectedly to his lips.


    He acts like it doesn¡¯t get to him, but it does.


    It wasn¡¯t just the arch-diviner, either. He noted the five hooded magisters expressing their general disapproval ¨C pursed lips, narrowed eyes, hands on hips¡­ Derezo didn¡¯t care. They weren¡¯t going to touch him, not any way that mattered. If anything, mocking the magisters¡¯ boss loudly-enough would ensure the Tirremines overheard, ensure they knew he wasn¡¯t part of their schemes.


    ¡°We ordering?¡± Derezo asked blandly, eyeing the menu chalked on a tablet beside the restaurant¡¯s main entrance. ¡°I¡¯m up for the garlic bread, but if you want to go all in, you¡¯re paying. My wine-shop just restocked, and I¡¯d love to help with the bill, but¡­¡± He spread his hands.


    ¡°There is no need for us to order,¡± the magister said quietly. ¡°I just have a few more questions for you, if you please. You will take chilled water, yes?¡±


    Derezo opened his mouth then closed it again, ducking his head in a quick nod.


    Why does he want to ask me things, when he always seems to know what I¡¯m going to say?


    The chief magister nodded to one of his underlings, and they scurried off inside to find a waiter.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really get what¡¯s going on here,¡± Derezo admitted, running the flat of his palm across his brow to smear away the sweat that was about to drip down his face.


    ¡°We are at lunch.¡±


    Derezo grinned. ¡°Now that¡¯s more like it, Mr. Moustache Man! No ¨C you know what I mean. Why you¡¯re here. Why you¡¯re always asking these stupid questions. No offence! But¡­ well, okay, maybe a little offence¡­ but seriously, why? If you can just tell me what you¡¯re looking for, maybe I can help you.¡±


    ¡°I do not know what I¡¯m looking for,¡± was the terse answer.


    Moustache Man wouldn¡¯t even meet his gaze.


    ¡°Is it really that bad? I know Redgate was a bad guy -¡±


    Now the arch-magister met his gaze, staring at him in disbelief.


    ¡°¨C no, really¡­¡± Derezo was suddenly left floundering. ¡°I heard what happened, right from Kani and Ana¡¯s lips. I know¡­ he was the worst. But ¨C he¡¯s dead. Why ask me about him, when ¨C¡°


    ¡°Because,¡± the arch-magister hissed, leaning forwards, ¡°every magister we¡¯ve sent into the mountains has failed to return. No messages crossing the area south of the Obarsk Waste have been delivered to their recipients. We are blind. I am blind.¡±


    It took Derezo a moment to catch on.


    ¡°Wait ¨C you mean there¡¯s not really an ore shortage in Calcuun? What about the ivory trade? Was that all a lie too? I swear ¨C¡°


    ¡°I swear, you will silence yourself, or fall prey to what you now think of as ¡®Mundian justice¡¯.¡±


    * * *

 A Special Brew pt2

    Derezo shut his mouth.


    They¡¯re reading my thoughts.


    ¡°Yes, we are,¡± the arch-magister said in response to the realisation that had only just crossed his mind. ¡°We are using a tele-temporal link. You are an open book to us, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    A number of salacious, rather crude images crossed through his mind.


    ¡°How pleasant.¡± The moustached man sighed. ¡°In any case, you shall now hold your tongue. Yes, Mr. Alterkain. We have a calamity of unknown proportions taking shape upon the Realm¡¯s border.¡± He tried to smile ¨C Mr. Moustache Man actually tried to smile ¨C and it was a painful thing to behold. ¡°You see now, don¡¯t you? You know of Timesnatcher?¡±


    Derezo nodded furtively. It¡¯d been Blinkwind in charge of the city-defence when he¡¯d left, but everyone had heard of Timesnatcher.


    ¡°He is the one man whose powers, whose ability to perceive, I esteem above my own. I have consulted with him, and so I came to you, seeking my salvation.¡±


    ¡°H-he,¡± Derezo had trouble swallowing, ¡°he sent you, to me?¡±


    Mr. Zakimel nodded with his eyes.


    ¡°But why¡­¡± He felt a tightness, a lump in his throat, and croaked through it. ¡°What do I¡­¡±


    Vaguely-determined intuitions went flashing through his head.


    All that Everseer business. All that about the dragons¡­


    ¡°You could do with that drink.¡± Zakimel got up out of his seat, twisting strangely, hands reaching up as though pinching at the air ¨C


    Then he sat down again, holding a bottle of water and two cups.


    ¡°Not quite chilled.¡±


    A beautiful, dimpled magister behind him glanced at the glass bottle, a thread of platinum hair poking out of her hood¡¯s rim as she moved her head slightly. The transparent container in his hand immediately frosted over, beads of condensation forming and running down it the very moment she raised her chin again.


    ¡°Thank you. Here, Derezo.¡±


    The retired adventurer stared, nonplussed, as his hand reached out automatically to receive the drink. He¡¯d heard of archmagery, of course, and once he even saw Ibbalat use a spell to move faster than an arrow. But to use such magic, for something so trivial as a spluttering lunch-guest? To call on the elements, just to cool a drink on a hot day? These were actions that displayed respect to Derezo, even as they put him in his place.


    He drank his cup down anyway.


    And was promptly sick, rust-fluid pouring out of his throat, making his teeth tingle, his tongue coil up. Redness covered his urum.


    ¡°Blood?¡± he panted. ¡°Blood? What in the Twelve Hells, Mr¡­¡±


    But Zakimel was staring at him, slack-jawed; the archmage glanced back at the transparent bottle of fresh, chilled water; then at the next table, where two Tirremines were also vomiting, red-purple darkness gushing down their chins. Now that Derezo saw it from afar, he realised just how strange the stuff looked.


    But why is Zakimel surprised? Derezo wondered in a stupor.


    Then the world erupted into scarlet flame, and he flung himself back in his chair, gawping. It was hard to take it all in.


    Imps, everywhere. He¡¯d seen their like before but never in such numbers, dozens and dozens, perhaps hundreds of them, forcing the screaming people to remain in their seats.


    And at the very same moment, a man appeared on the table, almost directly between Derezo and the arch-magister ¨C a curtain of fire peeled back to reveal the cross-legged, casual shape. The interloper was leaning back on his hands, gloved palms pressed against the table¡¯s surface.


    The spider-mask, its eight dark eyes ¨C that was the same. But the various portcullises, barred doorways, spiked fences ¨C every design stitched into the fabric of his red mage-robe glowed now, if it could be called glowing. The patterns were suffused with a strange black light that went curling about, tracing the shapes: shifting, visible darkness that made it look as though the ex-champion¡¯s robe was crawling, teeming with shadows.


    The magisters ¨C none of them really reacted. Derezo could see the moustache bristling as Zakimel¡¯s jaw worked overtime, like he was grinding his teeth. The platinum-haired magister¡¯s eyes had narrowed; Derezo almost thought he saw lightning flickering there across her irises for a moment, as she focussed her gaze on Redgate.


    For that was who it was, assuredly. Phanar, Kani, they¡¯d all been wrong. He wasn¡¯t dead at all. He was here, alive, after everything.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The hidden eyes turned to regard Derezo.


    ¡°Our dear diviners were looking back at the moment I told you I would return for the name of your vintage, I believe,¡± the voice echoed through the mask.


    It sounded different to before. Almost metallic, hollow. But no less level. No less cold.


    ¡°Now you have tasted my wine, the blood of the vampire, with a few tweaks of my own addition. These fine, upstanding fellows are aware that I hold a number of hostages. Mr. Zakimel has just now witnessed at least a few shards of the possible futures here ¨C have you not?¡±


    Vampire?


    The masked head had turned back to the arch-magister.


    ¡°I have, Lord Othelroe. It is¡­ inhumane of you.¡±


    ¡°You think this assessment would hinder me?¡± Redgate affected a shrug. ¡°I have never felt bound by those restrictions placed by man and god upon the actions of lesser folk. To be truly human is to exceed the human.¡±


    ¡°And this¡­ excess?¡± Zakimel¡¯s voice bristled like his moustache but he didn¡¯t move a single finger, even for an instant, keeping his hands half-folded on the table near the water-bottle, the cup. ¡°Threatening to force these people into becoming vampires? It is beneath you, Lyferin.¡±


    ¡°An appropriate threat, then, for the likes of you.¡± The ex-champion cast his head back as if to ignore these powerful fellows, turning his dark lenses up towards the sun, a gesture of complete, overweening arrogance. ¡°What less would hold off your foolishness? And no, Tervos, I did not permit you to be familiar. I understand you have unveiled my identity, but, please, do not beat me around the head with it. It is most unbecoming.¡±


    He must have shields, Derezo realised.


    ¡°Your lordship has been revoked, your lands seized.¡± Zakimel spoke the words as though they were being forced from him. ¡°This you must surely already realise. The House is now under the leadership of your second cousin, Bertelos. Ilswent, at least ¨C¡±


    ¡°Indeed. And you call me lord nonetheless. This bespeaks your intent: to survive this encounter. To leave this city. Your flattery does not go amiss, and yet¡­¡±


    Redgate started to laugh, a chuckle rapidly becoming cackling ¨C not a sound designed to mock or intimidate, but a genuine release of amusement.


    Derezo felt his eyes itching. He longed to blink, but couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the dragonslayer.


    The true dragonslayer.


    He wasn¡¯t alone. Without having to look, he was aware of the fact that every pair of eyes in the place was glued to Redgate. It wouldn¡¯t have surprised him if a number of passers-by had been mesmerised by the spectacle by now, stopping in the street to stare in horror.


    One of the magisters, an imposing-looking woman in a green robe, spun on the spot and folded her arms out, fingers spread ¨C the fabric of her sleeves seemed to melt into feathers ¨C


    ¡°Stop!¡± Zakimel barked, snapping his head about to glare at her ¨C


    But it was too late.


    Even as she turned away, something took shape about her ¨C a shadow that seemed to dim the sun just by its very presence here. Within a heartbeat she was being whirled within a tornado of living darkness, and that darkness started to deepen, deepen until a huge clot of pure seething blackness was all that remained of her ¨C


    ¡°I beg you,¡± Zakimel said with wide eyes, gazing imploringly at the sorcerer, ¡°release her. I told her not to act, recognising the precision of your traps.¡°


    Redgate shifted his weight just so that he could raise a hand and wave it lazily in dismissal. ¡°Certain of my traps. But no. Look at your underling, Zakimel. Study your colleague, men and women of the Magisterium.¡±


    The void had become glossy, reflective. The roughly-humanoid shape was jagged at the edges, twisting, constantly being moulded, pulled and pressed, contorting on the air.


    ¡°Jaevette was brave,¡± Redgate said in a voice laden with unusual sympathy ¨C respect, even. ¡°I fought alongside her twice. She even saved my life, upon a time¡­ Or so she would have seen it.¡±


    Everyone regarded the shiny darkness that had been a woman.


    ¡°Would anyone else be interested to hear her screams?¡± For once, Redgate sounded uncertain of himself. ¡°I think I can let them ¨C¡°


    ¡°She saved your life, and zis is how you repay her?¡±


    It was the magister with lightning in her eyes. She hadn¡¯t moved, but the anger in the outlander¡¯s tone was unmistakeable.


    ¡°You have a remarkable grasp on the facts, Miss¡­?¡±


    ¡°Undo zis,¡± she replied, voice shaking slightly as she ignored his question, ¡°undo it at once and ve shall be lenient.¡±


    ¡°Lenient?¡± Redgate laughed again. ¡°Oh, your superior wouldn¡¯t stand for that, I¡¯m afraid, madam.¡±


    ¡°Zen I shall take it over his head!¡±


    ¡°No. No, Henthae isn¡¯t here, is she, Zakimel? That would just be too good¡­¡±


    Zakimel was shaking his head, staring at the table. ¡°She is¡­ She is polishing her rings¡­ at her desk¡­¡±


    ¡°How long had you been in love with her?¡±


    The sorcerer¡¯s use of past-tense wasn¡¯t lost on Derezo ¨C he was no newbie when it came to life-threatening situations and this was just about as life-threatening as it got.


    I need to get out of here, he told himself, doing his best to snap his thoughts out of their paralysis, their shock at this sudden turn of events.


    Still, it was difficult. The drama unfolding before him was like a performance designed to enthral him. He couldn¡¯t tear his eyes, his ears, his mind away.


    Zakimel was at first denying his love for this Henthae, whoever she was ¨C then his voice dropped away as he stared, realising how the nothingness on the air was smaller now, its sharp edges curling in on its central mass ¨C


    The wizard-magister had a nimbus of living white fire in her clenched fist and still Redgate ignored her, keeping his face tipped up towards the sky.


    ¡°I think you mistook me,¡± the dimpled wizard grated. ¡°I do not mean Henthae. Leniency is a svift death. Ze ozzer options¡­ you vould not vont to know zem.¡±


    She hates him, Derezo realised. This goes beyond Jaevette¡­


    Redgate finally brought his chin down, fixing his unseen gaze on the girl. He slowly leaned forwards, freeing his arms, then lifted his hands to his mask and hood. A practised motion revealed the face Derezo remembered, the young handsome lordling with his brown hair now unkempt.


    He didn¡¯t remember the pallor, or the purple light in the eyes. The unholy glow was so bright that the radiance stained the white skin of Redgate¡¯s upper face, even against the sun¡¯s rays.


    Undead¡­ spell-caster¡­ that means he¡¯s¡­


    Lich.


    Lich-lord.


    He hadn¡¯t been fond of the sorcerer from the first moment he¡¯d met him. When Ibbalat related a diluted version of what they¡¯d been through while travelling with the archmage, Derezo¡¯s first impressions had been validated. But he hadn¡¯t understood until this moment just what this all portended.


    This wasn¡¯t a threat you ran from. Survival wasn¡¯t enough.


    Redgate had to die again. Right now, and properly this time.


    If these magisters were going to attempt it, he had to find a way to help.


    * * *

 A Special Brew pt3

    He glanced about. Surrounding him, the terracotta floor of the dining area was dominated by the sorcerer¡¯s forces. Panicked customers were being kept in their seats by swarms of minor demons, and those who tried to fight back were being enchanted into submission, or threatened with immolation by the imps wielding fireballs.


    He had nothing on him, none of his old weapons.


    And my old skills?


    There were knives on the tables, after all.


    But what can I achieve, really? Am I going to throw my life away for nothing? I could stab an imp, maybe¡­ but against Redgate himself?


    He might as well have considered stabbing a mountain, for all the myriad protections the lich surely enjoyed.


    ¡°So how are my old travelling companions?¡± Redgate asked, turning to Derezo with the amethyst eyes, exposing him to the full effect of the awful gaze for the first time. All thoughts of self-sacrifice deserted him.


    ¡°Phanar and Kanthyre? Ibbalat?¡± A hideous smile bled across the sorcerer¡¯s lips. ¡°Anathta? They are all destined to serve me ¨C you know this?¡±


    Never, monster.


    ¡°I shan¡¯t be denied, countryman, and when dear Ana is mine again ¨C¡±


    The wizard-girl¡¯s shriek of defiance was preceded by a single, blinding lance of lightning that went spearing out from her hands, just past Zakimel¡¯s ear, the scream positively quiet following the thunder of her attack.


    Blinking against the after-blur of the spell, Derezo looked over at the cinders of the innocent Tirremine who¡¯d been sitting in a chair twenty feet directly behind Redgate. Their charred skeleton crumbled down in the unharmed furniture.


    No shields. Just intangibility.


    The magister wasn¡¯t looking at the corpse she¡¯d created. An ugly grimace was on her face, and her eyes, burning almost silver, were glued to the other corpse. The corpse that hadn¡¯t stayed dead.


    If Kani couldn¡¯t keep him down¡­


    ¡°Tut tut,¡± Redgate chided the wizard, regarding her as coolly as his scintillating eyes could manage. ¡°And we were having such a nice conversation, Miss¡­?¡±


    ¡°You know zat ve¡¯ve met.¡±


    ¡°Of course, but would you spoil our game? I¡¯d not address you as Emrelet without your permit. Would you prefer ¡®Feychilde¡¯s consort¡¯, or ¨C¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Zakimel cried.


    Emrelet brought forth a sword of electricity, far brighter than the first bolts she¡¯d hurled, unsheathing the tremendous weapon from the very air ¨C


    And a huge demon like a spiked boulder of dense, black metal fell right on top of her.


    The magisters on either side of her flinched aside, but there was no way for the wizard to dodge, so she went down instead. Like a child diving feet-first into water she slid into the stone, extending her arms, her sword over her head; lightning spraying out about it, the demon followed, tearing into the earth.


    Snaaaaaap.


    Crackkkkkkk.


    Duuuuuuuum!


    ¡°How tiresome,¡± Redgate murmured to himself beneath the rending and crashing. ¡°Perhaps I should have killed her outright ¨C but such bravery is to be rewarded with a champion¡¯s death, and she at least sought not at first to flee¡­¡±


    More screams and yells from the crowd. Approving laughter from the imps. Silence from the magisters, at least outwardly, even as they were forced to find new footing, the pit yawning between them.


    The ground under Derezo¡¯s chair tipped suddenly, the reverberations of the duel between wizard and demon causing the whole area to shudder and groan.


    ¡°What do you want here, Lyferin?¡± Zakimel shouted. ¡°What do you want, really? Are you going to attack Tirremuir?¡±


    Redgate¡¯s smile was back.


    ¡°The city itself? Oh no, I¡¯ll leave every building intact. There are examples of acceptable architecture ¨C I¡¯m certain I¡¯ll find suitable accommodation in some palatial house or other. The people themselves? They are largely an irritation, yes, but only in their current form. I shall permit them to stay, once they¡¯re all doing what they¡¯re told. My horde must grow, until it can grow no more; that¡¯s just the way it¡¯s done.¡±


    ¡°Lyferin,¡± Zakimel cried over the continuing upheaval in the earth, ¡°Lyferin, please. You were a champion. For the love of Celestium ¨C they aren¡¯t people once they¡¯re dead! Can¡¯t you see that?¡±


    ¡°Yet you plead with a dead man?¡± Redgate¡¯s gaze moved across the magisters, looking over Zakimel¡¯s head. ¡°You, there, with the pathetic-looking shield-work. Lower your defences.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s why you moved on us now!¡± Zakimel was actually wearing a fierce smile on his face and his moustache had never been so still. ¡°You knew ¨C the Incursion forecast ¨C¡±


    ¡°I knew you would leave tomorrow, yes.¡± Redgate sounded impatient now, still staring at the curvaceous, older magister who had to be an arch-sorceress. ¡°You ¨C what is your name? You must stop looking for a way out. If you do not lower your shield, I will create thirteen vampires right now and send them to Mund.¡±


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Zakimel vanished, reappearing less than half a second later thirty feet away, almost at the rail about the restaurant. His entourage were with him.


    The world seemed to dim even more.


    The three remaining magister-guards were clinging to Zakimel, but they were all trapped together in a swirling, moaning column of purple energy that cast its shadow over everything.


    ¡°Bravo!¡± Redgate raised a gloved hand and tapped his palm with the fingertips of the other hand, a silent, sarcastic applause. ¡°I did wonder whether I could force you to gather them up like that.¡±


    Derezo tipped back his head, and saw the purple pillar wasn¡¯t a column ¨C it was a tree, five feet wide at the trunk and over forty in height. Its substance wasn¡¯t simply shifting ¨C the thing was comprised of a million small faces, eyes and mouths frozen open in perpetual horror. Its moaning was their moaning, its shape created by the constant flow as they went writhing around and around, up and up ¨C until at last they were pumped along its vast branches. Like dark leaves the dead faces streamed into the sky, where they eventually vanished, shadowing the sun as they went.


    ¡°Do you like it?¡±


    Derezo lowered his gaze, and cringed to see Redgate there, right there staring at him.


    ¡°I ¨C I ¨C¡±


    ¡°Look at them.¡± The lich-lord gestured lazily. ¡°A collection of Mund¡¯s finest trapped, and now powerless, thanks to my gift. I might extract all manner of lore from the old one, and all the promises I require from the fledgling sorcerer ¨C and I won¡¯t even be needing the others, or any advanced persuasion techniques. How efficient.¡±


    The lich¡¯s gesturing hand slowly formed a fist. Two of the magisters inside the moaning tree slapped their hands to the sides of their heads.


    Cries of protest came from the moustached diviner and sorceress ¨C cries of pain came from what must¡¯ve been the other diviner and the enchanter. But all the sounds they made were muted by the ghostly substance in which they were snared, and drowned out by the tree, by the general tumult from crowds.


    The lich¡¯s fist tightened, and the two magisters¡¯ heads exploded. A fine trail of sand streamed down from Redgate¡¯s clenched hand, pearly white grains showering onto the table.


    The headless magisters didn¡¯t just fall down dead ¨C they evaporated into the purple pillar, carried away on the nethernal tornado. Derezo could see the mouth of the sorceress-magister opening and closing as she spoke frantically to Zakimel, but there was no way to hear the words and lip-reading was far too difficult even at the best of times.


    This was decidedly not the best of times.


    Redgate slid to his feet without overtly moving, a dizzying thing to watch ¨C it was as though the whole world tipped over to accommodate the lich-lord¡¯s desire.


    Once he was upright, he spoke. ¡°As for you, Derezo ¨C you shall have to be made a vampire after all, I think. You shall serve as emissary, to your former friends, and convey my regards. I very much doubt you will be able to do them much harm, until they are forced to destroy you. That shall harm them. That shall harm them very much¡­¡±


    Only as the lump of iron burst from the ground and the wizard-girl followed it into the air did Derezo realise the rumbling he¡¯d been hearing wasn¡¯t the blood thumping in his ears.


    It looked like she¡¯d wrapped the demon up in some kind of silvery substance ¨C the stuff was binding its limbs, straps of base metal thicker than Derezo¡¯s waist woven around its torso.


    One rivulet of the wizard¡¯s metal had forced its way inside the demon¡¯s mouth, and as they both reached the open air Emrelet weakly raised her fingers ¨C lightning flowed from the sky, touching the silver and coursing inside the fiend¡¯s black body.


    For just a moment the demon was illuminated from within ¨C the roasting smell made plain that inside its shell there was something like flesh. Then it collapsed with a loud clang, a husk of spiky iron, and started falling apart.


    Only after it died did the girl seem to realise the precariousness of the situation; she glanced at her trapped colleagues, and there was true fear in her eyes when she returned them to the lich-lord.


    ¡°Very well-executed, madam,¡± Redgate murmured. ¡°You shall make a fine general for my armies.¡±


    There was no lightning left in the girl¡¯s wide eyes. Even she was terrified.


    There was a moment of indecision ¨C just one moment. Derezo watched as she made her mind up.


    She vanished, plunging up into the sky, not even at an angle ¨C just falling upwards. A form of flight and fleeing designed for maximum speed. Getting her out of his zone of influence.


    The lich-lord laughed, and threw his arms wide, gazing after her.


    A magenta rainbow ripped through the sky, and a ¨C


    Derezo¡¯s mind shattered, seeing Ord Ylon¡¯s remains appear in the air, a zombified monster of immense proportions. He felt the putrid wind of its wings as they flapped, slow and forceful.


    He fell backwards out of his chair as though the screams of the enraptured Tirremine audience propelled him. He was able to roll with the motion, then half-ran, half-scrambled towards safety ¨C


    Safety ¨C safety ¨C


    There was no upper range. There was no real limit to the arch-sorcerer¡¯s reach. Already the sleeve of his arm cast a shadow over Mund. Where could Derezo go?


    Away. Away!


    He made it perhaps four yards before the icy grip of a wight fastened about his shoulders, hefting him and slapping him down onto his back upon the tiled stone.


    It was a kobold. An undead kobold, its bleached, mangy fur dripping with putrefaction.


    It didn¡¯t matter. Something had broken inside Derezo¡¯s neck. He couldn¡¯t move. He would lie here, between the tables of screaming people, and the repulsive wight would kill him¡­ He would awaken as a vampire¡­


    Then the wight paused, glancing back as if uncertain of its task.


    Under its arm, Derezo saw Redgate standing on the table ¨C over its head, the glistening dragon-corpse climbing the air ¨C


    And something else.


    A burning portal opened fifty feet up, directly over the lich-lord, and this time it was like a golden gateway of well-defined bars opening on a yawning, magenta darkness behind.


    Some amorphous, gleaming presence came through as the gate swung wide, resolving itself into a winged man with the head of a lion. In his clawed grip he bore a sword that trailed starlight.


    The wind shrieked ¨C the lion roared, gold mane streaming ¨C and like a comet the strange creature descended at the lich.


    But Redgate only laughed again, taking off to meet this new foe with greater, steel-barbed wings springing from his robe ¨C and the wight turned back to Derezo, grinning as it reached out once more with its chilling fingers, stretching to lay hold of his throat, complete his transformation.


    Phanar ¨C I¡¯m sorry¡­


    I should have obeyed.


    Then all such choice was ripped from him, removed forever.


    * * *


    Derezo¡¯s last memory as a living man was the icy grip, squeezing him so hard it felt like the wight was trying to pop his head off. He never afterwards recalled the moment of his death. His consciousness snapped long before then.


    Yet it coalesced all the same in the shadowland, and went whither such spirits were bound, finding itself at last crying out in bliss, adrift in the red river. Eldritch moons coursed overhead and only hours later, apparently, Derezo was back in shadowy Tirremuir, attending upon Master with a crate of bottles of his best grape¡­ receiving his own cup of thick, dark wine.


    Receiving his orders.


    Deep down inside, there was rejection. The old Derezo still existed, contorting, hidden like a pearl in a clam on the seabed. But he couldn¡¯t deny his nature. Couldn¡¯t deny the weight of all that water keeping him concealed. Couldn¡¯t deny his master.


    As the waves drew him on by daylight hours towards the city that had birthed him, he lay in the same bliss as he¡¯d found in Nethernum. He was dry and comfortable inside his coffin. He knew his purpose. He knew his place, and, even if he wept against it, his new, pallid flesh craved such surety. He would bear Phanar the message he needed to hear.


    The monsters always won in the end.

 By Murder Be Known

    <h2>BOOK FOUR: DARKEST OF DAYS</h2>


    <h2> </h2>


    <h2>QUARTZ 9.1: BY MURDER BE KNOWN</h2>


    ¡°Retaliation says: that did not suffice to destroy me so allow me my attempt to improve upon your work; let us labour together to make something worthy of her glance.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Swordfaith Lectures¡¯ recordings, Urdara 966 NE


    A quick glance at the harbour told me that it hadn¡¯t started yet. The early-morning crews working in the dry-docks had abandoned their tools; the fishing-boats were still roped to the piers. Other than the chimes, the city had fallen silent and still. The people knew better than to cause a clamour when the dark elven envoys might already be walking the streets.


    There was only a single Telese war-vessel at anchor, and it was a splinter against a tree when compared with one of the bone behemoths. The kingdom was only permitted a tiny navy since the Black Winter, and the fleet was off south protecting a trade-route from Melorkian pirates.


    Not that a handful more battleships would¡¯ve made a difference. This would come down to magic.


    I held my breath and entered the mud, the rock.


    Have they brought their own archmages? I wondered, feeling chilled at more than just the stone coursing through my flesh. I felt dubious about my own strength, for the first time since Zyger, and this, this was when they chose to invade.


    I pulled myself through the wall into the throne room. The hall was filled with people, the hearths stacked high with logs. Smoke drifted on the air, trickling out through the huge open window.


    After the stinking bogs and the breathless stone, smoky air was something of a relief.


    ¡°Lord Raz!¡± someone barked, pointing.


    I smiled wanly at my audience as I slid through ¨C then into ¨C my accustomed chair.


    ¡°Don¡¯t all start clapping at once,¡± I said as brightly as I could manage, half applauding in self-deprecation, like my right hand still existed. ¡°Dark elves.¡± My eyes focussed on Deymar, standing in front of the throne¡¯s steps. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°What has happened to you?¡± the king retorted, moving nearer through the crowd of courtiers and knights. ¡°Your ¨C your arm ¨C¡±


    I looked down at the ragged fabrics hanging from my shoulder, the awful nothingness that had once been my limb.


    ¡°My gods, Majesty, I think you¡¯re right ¨C there¡¯s definitely something wrong with it. I can¡¯t feel my fingers.¡±


    ¡°Was it zem?¡± someone asked in a hard voice.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°He seems to be taking this well,¡± a nasal-sounding chap said from behind me, his Telese spoken quietly.


    Not quietly enough. I twisted round in my chair, found him by his worried glance, and cast him a malign grin.


    The courtier shuddered and lowered his face.


    ¡°Taking it well is my job,¡± I found myself snarling.


    ¡°Sin-Aidre!¡± Deymar called, looking across the room as he reached my side.


    I followed his gaze ¨C I caught a glimpse of Oedenfron and his little bastard son slipping out the door, and then a group of muttering knights parted. Greenheart stepped out of the crowd, Lord Orcan just a pace behind her.


    Sin-Aidre. The arch-druidess was narrow-hipped, broad-shouldered, a few inches shorter than me but taller than most of the women. She wore a mask, like a champion of Mund, but her attire was pedestrian. The mask was a blank wooden face with barely a bump for the nose, a lipless slit for the mouth, hiding everything except her pine-green eyes. She didn¡¯t even wear a robe, but rather some kind of long, hooded coat, open at the front to reveal plain, woollen clothing and leather boots.


    ¡°Lord Raz. I cannot heal this.¡± Her voice was a breathy whisper, and she spoke in Telese with such a thick accent I had trouble picking out her words. ¡°We have not yet met. I am sorry.¡±


    She came to stand almost over me, and I could sense her nervous energy, pouring off her in waves.


    ¡°Errr ¨C no, we haven¡¯t. Till now.¡± I took her hand awkwardly, gripping her woollen glove with the fingertips of my hand. It was hard to overcome the urge to reach out with the missing arm. In my head, it was still there, really. Half the reason I was taking this terrible injury in my stride was probably just that it hadn¡¯t sunk in yet.


    Her fingers helped ¨C like, really helped. The pain had been reduced to a dull fire by my sylph¡¯s ¨C my former sylph¡¯s ¨C ministrations, and now it faded entirely. By the time she let me go, my wraith-form had slipped and I slumped down in the chair, almost catatonic from the relief. I cocked my leg over the arm of the chair and let my dead foot flop like a fish.


    I was vaguely aware of the conversations going on around me. Small talk. Most of them had ended abruptly upon my entrance; I was the centre of attention, the king himself regarding me with concern on his face, his subjects looking on with a mixture of emotions, from open animosity to sympathy.


    ¡°Where are the¡­ the twins?¡± I asked after a few moments. Greenheart¡¯s magic had left me slurring a little.


    ¡°They are with my son, far below the cliffs, near an escape route.¡± A shadow crossed King Deymar¡¯s face. ¡°They are¡­ they will be safe.¡±


    Safe.


    The word resounded in my head.


    Tanra said she¡¯d keep them safe. Tanra was gone.


    Everyone¡­ gone.


    What¡¯s wrong with me?


    ¡°I¡­¡± My vision started to dim. ¡°I think I¡¯m going to passh out. Don¡¯t¡­ don¡¯t form a battle-plan without me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t form a battle-plan vizzout me.¡°


    A lord spoke, and almost everyone seemed to laugh. Their mockery rained down on me, hard, like hail.


    What was his name? He¡¯d been friendly with me, last time we chatted. I recognised that voice.


    What is his name?


    They were laughing at me, and still the implications eluded me.


    I tried to move my dead foot, move my leg off the arm of the chair, sit upright. But my muscles didn¡¯t answer. Every part of my body seemed far heavier than normal, when judged against the amount of effort I could conjure. Such exertion was beyond me now.


    ¡°Silence!¡± King Deymar snapped in his native tongue. ¡°This is not for your amusement! He treated fairly with us, always. This is a regrettable deed, and to our shame.¡±


    Many of them did as their sovereign commanded, stifling their giggles.


    But my eyes picked out the old, blue-robed priest of Wyrda who continued to snigger, and slowly the truth started to take shape.


    Safe?


    I¡¯d let my shields down. In more ways than one.


    ¡°Buh¡­ buh¡­ buh¡­¡±


    My chin fell into my chest and I drooled at them.


    But I could¡¯ve fought for you. Won for you. Together, me and Greenheart and Orcan¡­


    ¡°They wanted you.¡± The king¡¯s voice, his sly, easy Mundic showering down on the back of my head and neck, every word more agonising through this fog than a thousand stolen limbs. ¡°They know what you did to their ship. If we give you to them, they will not return for twenty years. A generation of peace, of the certainty of peace. Think, my young friend! Even in death, you will have saved the city. We will tell them all that you gave yourself up, willingly. You will be to us a saint, and to pay you homage I will honour our agreement. Your sister shall be our princess, as was foretold, and your brother held in such esteem ¨C¡±


    ¡°N-n-n-o-o-o-¡± I rasped.


    My eyes could still move. My throat and tongue.


    My fingertips?


    The blade I formed was weak, more a whip than a sword. It was impossible to aim and didn¡¯t cut deep, but it bypassed artificial armour, and even the knights were mere mortal sacks of blood and organs beneath their mail-coats.


    Give me to them. I chuckled internally as I swung my meagre force-weapon. Hand me over. I¡¯ll kill them all. Again.


    The Telese betrayers started running, screaming as they went, many streaming blood from deep lacerations. I recognised Sir Javen¡¯s voice, his cries hoarse, panicked.


    Maybe some didn¡¯t get to run. I didn¡¯t care. It only worked on those who wished to hurt me and I was uniquely equipped to hurt them first. Show them the error of their ways before they even stepped on the path.


    Stop them ever stepping anywhere, ever running, ever again.


    Was I dooming the twins? Even now, I cared about that. On the edge of unconsciousness, all I wanted was for them to live. To be free.


    But they wouldn¡¯t be. Couldn¡¯t be. None of us could.


    Would I rather them be killed, siblings of the warlock who slew or maimed half their nobles in three seconds?


    Rather that than have them be the traitor-king¡¯s prisoners for the rest of their lives, forced to live this charade. People died all the time. Why should we be any different?


    Maybe I¡¯d got Deymar. My head was at such an angle, I had no way to tell. I could sense a corpse near the spot in which I imagined he¡¯d been standing ¨C was it his? I couldn¡¯t raise it right now, even though I wanted to. My focus was on the whip.


    Then I heard his voice, barking again for Sin-Aidre. His pain and fury were sweet to hear.


    I lashed out in his direction, as a billowing sheet of frost swept over the paltry shield whose surface I was using to strike.


    Orcan!


    I couldn¡¯t turn my head in his direction, couldn¡¯t even turn up my wraith. My body was going down ¨C down. Whatever the druidess did to me, it didn¡¯t work as fast as they wanted, but it was working.


    The shield broke first, and I was still present to witness it as a dome of thick ice swiftly encapsulated me in my chair, leaving me trapped in its dim translucence with just a few inches of movement.


    Not that I could move.


    I succumbed to the darkness, closing my eyes on it all.


    I¡¯m sorry, again, Jaid. Jaroan. I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m beat. It¡¯s over. I can¡¯t keep doing this. Maybe it¡¯s our time. Maybe we¡¯ll see Mum and Dad now. Or soon¡­


    Nethernum.


    As I let go my will, my liberty, my life ¨C there was one comforting thought. One bittersweet twist to it all.


    Mal Malas was wrong. It¡¯s not on me. I¡¯m nobody. I die, and become no one.


    No responsibilities.


    And the final twist that only occurred to me then ¨C I struggled to rise back into consciousness, breathe again ¨C


    Unless he¡¯s waiting for my soul!


    I was an arch-sorcerer, but who knew what traps one such as the dragon might set in the shadows, even for me? What tortures might be contrived to make my spirit submit to the greater power?


    It was futile. Those shadows claimed me, taking me to the only home I belonged, the only place I deserved.


    The void.


    * * *


    Atarvet¡¯s fingers move over the instrument, her hair swaying as she sits on the stool in the centre of the room.


    There is no going back. I have forgotten who I was.


    Emrelet Reyd is under my right arm, held tight against me. I can smell her. I can feel her body, an undulating mass of snakes.


    I turn to look. Emrelet is gone. My arm is gone. Nafala sits in her place, alone upon the rock.


    She opens her mouth to speak, but the dark wave of music sweeps over her, drags her under. Where Morsus went. Where I sent Ripplewhim with my foolishness. Where I sent Shadowcrafter with my darkness. When the wave passes, the rock is bare. She is gone. The maker of the waves took her.


    I look down at my hands, but one of them has removed itself in shame.


    One more to go.


    One more¡­ one more¡­ time¡­


    She doesn¡¯t put her hands on her hips but I can tell she wants to ¨C her elbows half-swing into position before she catches the motion.


    ¡°Fine. We¡¯ll go, then!¡±


    He¡¯s still reading.


    ¡°Do we have to?¡±


    ¡°Come on, you clod.¡± She adjusts the cat¡¯s angle for the umpteenth time today and moves towards the door.


    ¡°Why yes sir,¡± he grumbles.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    He gets to his feet with the book open in his hand, finishing the paragraph as he puts on his boots.


    ¡°Back soon.¡± He puts it down, closes it without the bookmark, and the last page he read from is lost; its number is stored only in his mind. ¡°Keep an ear and an eye on them for us, eh?¡±


    ¡°One on each,¡± she elucidates. ¡°You hear, Kassy?¡±


    As slowly as consciousness had faded, it trickled back in.


    Sounds. Smells.


    Blind? Shadowland?


    No. Scent of the sea.


    Voices slice. Waves crash.


    No birds. No gulls¡¯ cries.


    And no sight.


    Something across my face. A blindfold.


    Bridge of nose, itchy.


    Try to scratch. Can¡¯t scratch.


    No arm¡­ Wait¡­


    Other arm?


    Unfeeling. As good as no arm.


    Shield? No.


    Summon?


    No.


    Tap essence?


    ¡­ No.


    Focus. Listening. Sounds.


    ¡°¡­ entering the bombardment phase within four minutes.¡± A male, accentless. Bland, but subservient. ¡°Every check has returned within acceptable parameters.¡±


    ¡°And the ethereal variable?¡± Another male, equally accentless. Voice harder. Superior.


    ¡°Calculated to within one eighth of a degree.¡±


    ¡°Expedite the process. Ah. It wakens. I¡¯m informed it¡¯s listening to us. Good. Leave us.¡±


    As I made out the soft sounds of footsteps crossing the floor, departing, I slowly came to realise the voice was referring to me as the ¡®it¡¯.


    At just the same moment, sensation came back in my lower face and I understood what was happening ¨C I was drooling horrifically.


    I attempted to release the excess saliva from my mouth, close my jaw, but then I heard myself groaning, without feeling the vibration of the sound in my skull. Somehow, I didn¡¯t experience it from the inside. If I¡¯d been deaf, I wouldn¡¯t have known I was making a noise.


    The disconnect between my inner and outer senses made me swoon, and I would¡¯ve collapsed but there were bonds about me ¨C there had to have been, because my back was to a post ¨C I was standing upright. Upright, standing¡­


    Wind on my skin.


    I was there. I was on the deck of one of their ships. I was captive, again.


    ¡°I am given to believe it can understand me.¡± The dark elf officer was speaking to me, but the translation enchantment warped his form of address as befit my station. ¡°If it can, it will answer my questions with its thoughts. It will weigh its answers. It will answer truthfully. Two answers. Then it will be permitted to die, and its siblings also.¡±


    And its¡­ siblings¡­ also¡­


    There was fire. Fire beneath the mountains, oceans of it.


    But it couldn¡¯t reach me here. Not in this coldness. Not on Northril.


    I wept. I could tell, from the sounds.


    ¡°I inform it that it will suffer pain, and for each such physical injury inflicted, its siblings shall suffer five. I warn it that these injuries are designed for maximal sensory content, incisive telepathy used to refine the process. I will not bore it with specifics as regards our procedures. Rest assured, its imagination does not equate to ours.¡±


    Of course it didn¡¯t. I¡¯d seen some truly horrible things ¨C seen my friends skinned in front of me ¨C but I was still just a seventeen-year-old newbie. I had little doubt that the combined malice of this ancient branch of elvenkind was beyond me.


    ¡°My first question is this: what did it do with their souls? This I would very much like to know.¡±


    I froze. My sobbing stopped.


    What did I¡­ what did I do with their souls?


    ¡°My second question: where is its arm? It had its arm, when it killed them. I can ascertain this much. Its arm is owed to us. Its fingers in particular.¡±


    Why¡­ but why can¡¯t they just read my mind? If they can enchant me ¨C if they took Neverwish¡¯s amulet ¨C


    ¡°Its mind was not its mind. These questions it must answer. Now.¡±


    My mind¡­ The wraith¡¯s mind?


    I¡¯d had no idea it was screening me against mind-reading.


    ¡°Aenosor,¡± the dark elf sounded bored, ¡°bring my tuning rod.¡±


    ¡°My captain,¡± came another voice from behind me in acknowledgement, female this time.


    How many of them were there, standing silently about me?


    I weighed my options by instinct, and trying to endure the ¡®tuning rod¡¯ wasn¡¯t even amongst them. My wraith was out of synch, and my other eldritches likewise dampened by druidry or enchantment. I was barely more than a mortal man like this.


    I struggled to focus my introspection, bring the correct memories before my scrutinising inward eye. It was hard. Dredging the dark waters of the soul with fingertips that didn¡¯t work. Clutching at threads of black hair in the deep.


    There was no moment of warning. The captain didn¡¯t thank Aenosor for the rod ¨C he merely tapped it against something, producing a long metallic twaaaaaaaang, then pressed it gently against my knee.


    The knee, the leg ¨C that got it worst, but the agony radiated out across my whole body.


    It was like being eaten. By a machine. A machine of rusted teeth.


    Rippling crackles of pain, tearing like barbs into the marrow of my bones, churning, spreading.


    It could never kill me. Only hurt me. Only break me down and put me back together again.


    My body woke up properly now, as it was pulverised. It felt like every bone was being ground to dust then reformed unharmed in seconds, only to be ground down again.


    Hideous screams enveloped me. Consciousness cocooned in a net of nauseating sensation.


    ¡°Yes!¡± I heard myself shrieking. ¡°Yes! I know! I know!¡±


    The tuning rod was removed from contact with my knee, but the screams didn¡¯t stop.


    Not mine, now. Two other voices, muffled, from below decks.


    The twins ¨C


    He hadn¡¯t been lying.


    I almost had control over my voice again.


    ¡°Stop them¡­ stop hurting¡­ my brother and sister¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Yes, I remembered what I did to them. I remembered what they deserved.


    I remember.


    It had been there, on the tip of my mind¡¯s tongue for so long, held poised like a knife at the neck of a loved one.


    I enslaved them, I permitted myself to realise. I enslaved the enslavers¡­ I did what I wouldn¡¯t do, couldn¡¯t do¡­


    Their meaning about the wraith claiming my thoughts started to become clearer.


    I am changing.


    ¡°And its arm.¡± The captain¡¯s voice was cold. Colder than Northril.


    The screaming from below-decks didn¡¯t abate, instead growing only stronger, a bleating death-wail that cut right through the tattered remnants of my former spirit.


    Mal Malas¡­ Is this what you wanted, old wyrm? They¡¯re going to torture my brother and sister to death.


    ¡°The Deathwyrm, indeed?¡± No fear or disbelief in the dark elf¡¯s voice ¨C only mild surprise. ¡°It had lived an interesting life, in its last days. And so its fingers are placed beyond our reach; we shall have to be satisfied with a single hand. Nonetheless I congratulate you.¡±


    The screaming of my brother and sister finally cut out.


    You. He called me ¡®you¡¯.


    ¡°Now you will return those souls you stole. Return them, or we will subject your fine city to a worse form of torture.¡± In a lower volume: ¡°It is prepared?¡± Then, again addressing me: ¡°We shall have you watch. It will enlighten you. Yes, remove it.¡±


    Whatever blindfold had been over my eyes, it was ripped away, the force of the motion causing my head to impact against the post to which I¡¯d been tied. I blinked against the sudden glare, casting my gaze over my environment.


    I was fastened right at the very prow of the ship, overlooking the wharves and winding streets of Telior in the distance. I could see the Tower of the Warlock. I could remember them there, my apprentices busy about their work, my brother and sister¡­


    About me, the deck of glossy black wood, surrounded by a rail of warped bone that vibrated with pinkish energies. I could see elves, their clothing of purple velvet and armour of burnished steel, in my peripheral vision. There was no strict uniformity to their garments, and many of their accoutrements were nauseating: glossy belts and capes of rune-inscribed skin; necklaces and bracelets with teeth for pearls; human, orc, kobold skulls worked into their helms or shoulder-plates, staring eternally out with searing eye-sockets.


    Then the captain stepped in front of me.


    Every one of these elves was beautiful to behold, a work of sculpture, fascinating yet surely supremely lethal, like the pale corpsemaker spider sitting invisible on the edge of its bewildering web. For all their differences in apparel they were, facially and physically, all practically clones of one another, with far less diversity than even the noble elf-kin of Mund. There was no deviation in the whiter-than-white skin, the high cheekbones; the sharp keel of the chin, narrow nose and nostrils.


    Yet the captain¡¯s hair was perhaps an indigo shade of blue, his eyebrows and eyelashes the same vibrant colour. That alone would serve to differentiate him from the others, if not for the gold-trimmed sash of ceremonial mail he wore across one shoulder-plate.


    ¡°You bore witness to our weapon¡¯s potential. Now you will behold what it can achieve against your kin when you are not there to save them. Give me the souls. Summon them, and surrender them. We will permit you access to only these eldritches.¡±


    I peered about him, looking for a trace of power.


    ¡°No, I am not a sorcerer. My talents lie in other areas. We have provision for this.¡± He smiled briefly, teeth gleaming. ¡°Call the souls of the ascended ancients you stole. As many as you might simultaneously manage, we will manage. You are not permitted to give them commands, do you understand? You will call them and then release their bonds. Do it, or we shall condemn the city. This is your final warning.¡±


    I shifted my head, glaring off at Telior in the distance.


    Avaelar was right. I was different. I was worse than one of the highborn now. I knew the plight of the people. I knew their troubles, their trials. Their suffering.


    And I still didn¡¯t care.


    At least the highborn had the excuse of their ignorance. I was just malice incarnate now. Telior had been my home, but there was a slice of my soul that would enjoy watching it topple into the sea. It would be justice, wouldn¡¯t it? If my home was the Fish-Queen¡¯s maw, betraying it would only be an ironic comeuppance.


    Return it to Wyrda, I thought bitterly. Isn¡¯t that what I want? What it deserves? What they all deserve?


    What I deserve¡­


    ¡°Northril claims everything, as the wave of the ages rolls,¡± the captain said with resignation in his voice. ¡°Yet if you force us into such an action, you know already what shall happen to the bags of bones and ghosts whose company you shared until this day. She will not claim them soon, nor for millennia. Our art is advanced, our preservations made to last down the aeons.¡±


    They¡¯ll make Nafala into part of their ship. They¡¯ll ¨C


    ¡°Aenosor, send three shadowers to seek out one Nafala¡­¡± He actually smiled at me, a shark¡¯s helplessly-evil grin. ¡°One Nafala Ivratigo. Its head shall sing for him, from a stick, until the wind of its words sways his course.¡±


    ¡°My captain.¡± Footsteps behind me, fading¡­


    ¡°Please,¡± I managed to pant. ¡°P-please, captain, c-call her back. I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Give us the souls.¡±


    I screwed my eyes shut, trying to sort through the futures, like how I imagined it must¡¯ve worked for arch-diviners. ¡°But you¡¯ll just kill them all anyway!¡±


    He didn¡¯t reply at once, and when I gave up and opened my eyes again, I saw him looking down pensively at Telior.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he said softly. ¡°They are traitors. Yet the souls, sorcerer. Think of the souls! Should you not allow your kin, and your lover, to go peacefully into the arms of the gods? These three souls we can trade. Yours is beyond my reach, as I am certain you are aware, but the thing in whose arms you wished to sleep entwined? Those who followed you out of the same womb? We can take them, and never let them go. Whatever you become, you shall never recover them, never recover from the loss. It shall be the wraith of you.¡±


    His words made me shudder and moan, made my skin crawl, crawl.


    ¡°Permit me to punctuate my message. Five times your punishment.¡±


    The screams started up again.


    Their screams.


    I had only one bargaining chip. The souls. He had so many ¨C my brother and sister ¨C the city ¨C and he seemed to keep reducing his offer, reducing it until there was nothing left ¨C


    Unless I could trade him just a few souls¡­


    Were they worth that much to him? I had no idea of the tenets of dark elf religion and, now that I thought about it¡­


    Do you even get undead elves?


    What had I done? Transformed his dark elf friends into a force of ghosts that was never supposed to exist?


    ¡°Nafala Ivratigo has been found. She will be visited. Now the choice is before you ¨C¡°


    ¡°Eat drop,¡± I snarled over the twins¡¯ screams, affixing him with the death-glare through my tears. I must¡¯ve looked pathetic, but I didn¡¯t care. ¡°You want me to buckle to you? You think I¡¯ve not seen things like you before? You¡¯re going to do whatever you want anyway. If I give you those souls back you could use them¡­ use them, to do more evil, and it¡¯s not like you¡¯re really going to do any less if I don¡¯t. You want me to blame myself now? How about after I give them up, and you still take their souls from me, and smile like that as you kill me? ¡®Oh, it¡¯s all my fault, what have I done? I let them destroy the city, take my brother and sister¡¯s souls ¨C why? Whyyyyyyy?¡¯¡±


    After I wailed I hacked laughter.


    ¡°Ahahaha! It¡¯s you! It¡¯s always been you. It¡¯s always you. Telling me I¡¯m a dark thing like you. Telling me¡­ telling me to kill. Go on, wreak havoc. Destroy Telior! You don¡¯t need my permission, do you? You try so hard to make out we are inferior,¡± I descended into manic giggles, ¡°inferior, hahahaha! It¡¯s only because you know the opposite¡¯s true, know it deep down. We¡¯re superior.¡±


    ¡°You lack almost all our endowments. Where you were born, all those who are successful wish to be as us ¨C¡°


    ¡°But you¡¯re inferior to Mund¡¯s elves! Look at you! A whole culture of children. Not one of you dares grow up, because that would mean facing ¨C facing what you are, what you¡¯ve done all along. Trapped in the need for evil. You don¡¯t even get a choice, really. I suppose I should pity you. Dark elves: the race of victims. Tell you what, how about this ¨C turn your ships around. Turn them around, go home. Leave my brother and sister here, leave the city alone. When we¡¯re out at sea, I¡¯ll give you some souls. Just a few. As a start.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t moving, wasn¡¯t responding, until I finally ran out of breath, my tirade leaving me panting.


    I¡¯d stopped sobbing now, at least.


    They were still screaming. Jaid and Jaroan. The warbling dirge they were being forced to emit sounded like it was close to snapping their vocal chords.


    Unconsciousness. Please, please take me.


    Their screams faded once more. I met his eyes, tears spent.


    ¡°Whose kill was first claimed?¡± he asked me gently. ¡°My brethren loosed their volleys upon your ship, yes. This I am given to understand already. Yet you escaped them, did you not? You fled, but returned that night upon the wind, a shadow of death. This was not justice, or even revenge. Is this your vaunted superiority? Is this your vital human spirit of sanctity?¡±


    ¡°You ¨C¡°


    ¡°We tried to kill you all, we tried to enslave you, flesh and bone, heart and soul. But you won. You did your part. You used the magic wisely, protected your interests. And so we find this chain of events was not of our forging. You, sorcerer. It was you whose sense of propriety was wounded by bloodless waters, your choice to ensure honour came to Yane. Did you think such acts would not resonate? Their consequences were felt even in far-off planes.¡±


    Shadowcrafter, falling, blood arcing ¨C


    Nentheleme ¨C if you ever had ¨C if you ever thought of me, ever held me in regard ¨C please ¨C


    ¡°If you had not called upon death, death would not have knocked upon your door, young human. Of course, in the end, you are correct. Death does not knock. Death enters.¡±


    BrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR ¨C


    I tried to tell him to stop. The noise was too loud for me to hear my own words, but it didn¡¯t seem to disturb him.


    Enchantments.


    As soon as I thought about it, the cacophony of the frost-wand building its charge suddenly reduced in volume. I could hear again. Some elven enchanter out there was helping me, at least a little, probably without even realising what they were doing. Just tuning out the feedback.


    I could focus.


    I¡¯d wanted to try extending shields for so long ¨C the intention was still alive in the fragile bubble of willpower I still maintained, floating there on my mind¡¯s choppy waters. Something had been impeding me.


    I remembered how Mal Malas destroyed my shield, no claw-motions required. I remembered what Avaelar, poor Avaelar, said about his former owner.


    The barrier fell, and I felt the force manifest, seeping out of not just my remaining fingertips, but the stump of my right arm. The lines flowed like luminous blue blood, extending barely a few feet over the area¡­


    Too little. Too late.


    To pin shields across the whole city would¡¯ve taken me hours, even before my recent maiming ¨C even if I¡¯d had the opportunity to fly about it as I worked. To do it from here, now, with no proper structure ¨C it was impossible.


    Cover the front of the ship! I silently begged the aimless force-lines.


    But then the deck shook lightly beneath us, a shudder of recoil as the icy bolt was released, lancing out, leaping forward ¨C


    The gigantic icicle was the size of a city-spire, and travelled far faster than any arrow ought. Where it struck, it destroyed, in an eruption of translucent shards, wood¡­ and, surely, blood¡­


    Distant wails echoed across the water. The city of treachery was no longer so silent.


    The captain staggered and twisted away as the sharp outer edges of my shield connected with his body, releasing gobbets of his elven juices into the air.


    It made no difference. There was nothing I could do.


    The screeching hum filled the world, coming from either side. Other vessels, charging their huge wands.


    I could say whatever I wanted to him. I could kill him, but it wouldn¡¯t prove anything.


    He was right. The dark elf was right all along.


    It was my fault.


    I watched a dozen magical strikes land almost simultaneously all along the city¡¯s curving waterfronts, annihilating the docks left right and centre, the market levels, the banking-hall and the forge-hall ¨C the Tower of Raz received a fatal blow near the base, where the novices would be busy about their work on any other day, and the thing collapsed, the top half crashing down into the lower levels. All my remaining worldly possessions were just additional weight, to help smash the houses beneath, help ensure those dwelling therein were pinned, crushed, killed¡­


    How many I saw die in those first few fatal seconds before I closed my eyes, I had no notion.


    I saw as a number of the statues beyond the ruins of my tower were eradicated. I saw as the king¡¯s halls were struck.


    Would they survive inside the rock? Would Orcan and Greenheart keep them alive? I¡¯d never get the opportunity to confirm the kills, or finish the survivors off myself. Those who betrayed me, who gave my brother and sister over for torture ¨C I¡¯d die, never knowing whether they met their own ends.


    I¡¯d come back as a spirit of vengeance for that much, at least. Haunt Deymar. Place ice-cold fingers around Orcan¡¯s heart, and squeeze this time. Drag Sin-Aidre into Nethernum, roast her in amethyst flames.


    I kept my eyes shut. The elven enchanters had permitted me that much, at least. But I¡¯d attacked their captain, and the other reavers were surely hastening to his aid, bringing him the tuning rod¡­ This time they¡¯d press it to my skull.


    Yes, I kept my eyes shut, awaiting the agony, even as I heard the din rising once more, drowning the sky in its awful shriek:


    BrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR ¨C


    Telior¡­ Nentheleme¡­


    Jaid¡­ Jaroan¡­


    Mum¡­ Dad¡­


    Kastyr¡­


    I failed you.


    I failed you all.


    Better we all die.


    The last instinct ¨C that final flare was enough. They wouldn¡¯t even let me properly think, but they¡¯d left a single door open in my mind. They didn¡¯t want to inhibit the natural flex of my power as it extended down the corridor of the planes.


    But they were fools. They missed something. That, or they were too weak to inhibit the flow as it came crashing through me.


    ¡®As many as you might simultaneously manage, we will manage. You are not permitted to give them commands, do you understand?¡¯


    Let¡¯s test that, shall we?


    I let the darkness out. There was no letting it in. It had been inside all along. My power. The dream of a frightened child.


    It wasn¡¯t quite my voice, but it came from my mind all the same. The voice of my broken soul.


    I summon you, ascended ancients, bondsmen, bondswomen! I summon you here, in the face of the confrontation where we all lay low together! Come hence to Materium, and slaughter your brethren!


    It would be too many for me. But it didn¡¯t matter.


    Come, feast! Come, sate your deadly hungers upon their flesh, one and all!


    Let not one thing live.


    Let it be over.

 Inescapable pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9A: INESCAPABLE</h2>


    ¡°The whole of Wisdom is refracted through its fragments and thus can it be inferred from a single splinter. Incompletion. It is what you have found, and what you seek, though you know it not. Allow me then to tempt you! To lead you deeper. Were the whole of Wisdom to be unveiled before your eyes at once, you would not see it for what it was. There is more grandeur in a single shadow than a thousand halls filled with light.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Lithiguil¡¯, 13:208-214


    When am I?


    * * *


    ¡°And so it is with heavy hearts we lay to rest the fallen. Those whose passing we cannot bear shall break us in the passage, and if we cannot let go, all that is shattered within shall be pulled thither, move on with them in spirit, the breathing forms we leave behind becoming mere husks of men, given to the darkness.¡±


    It was a windy day, not summer or autumn but somewhere in between. When the breeze came up off the sea, it was warm, filled with memory.


    Summer.


    Life.


    When it came down the mountains it was cold. A promise of winter¡¯s chill to come.


    A promise of death.


    A few leaves had already fallen, and they seemed to crowd about the open grave, like well-wishers gathering to pay their respects.


    Thank you, Illodin, the boy thought.


    The god displayed more mourning than the people. Sure, a handful had turned up. Mum and Dad had had a few friends. There were neighbours, too, random people who¡¯d only ever said ¡®hi¡¯ or ¡®afternoon¡¯ to his parents, as far as he knew. But none of them brought their kids. None of them cared. When it came to certain families, a single elder had shown up, wearing a foul expression.


    Each sombre grimace melted without fail into a twisted smile when regarding him, his sister, his brother. He and his sister were the youngest here, Kas the next youngest.


    He¡¯d never felt so alone. He wanted to ask Kas why they all kept insisting on smiling that way, why they were all so cruel, but his brother was too far away. He couldn¡¯t whisper his question.


    He looked down at Jaid¡¯s right hand, squeezed tightly in his left fist.


    He looked down at the other side. Empty hand, equally clenched.


    ¡®Inseperble,¡¯ that was what she¡¯d called it as she took his hand when they left their house. She was always a little ahead of him when it came to the big words.


    ¡°Inseberble,¡± she¡¯d insisted, like he was mad to have never heard of the word. ¡°It means¡­ hmm¡­ we can¡¯t be seberaded.¡±


    ¡°Se-per-aded,¡± he¡¯d corrected her savagely.


    ¡°Imseperble, then!¡± she¡¯d flared in response, only squeezing his hand tighter.


    When they¡¯d arrived at the shrine, they stayed behind Kas, following him to the grave, where Mortiforn¡¯s men and the other ¡®mourners¡¯ were waiting for them. Finally stopping, Kas ushered them into place and went to stand between them, but Jaroan looked down guiltily at his sister¡¯s hand, unwilling to so-easily betray her, break the vow of inseperblity. Even though he knew what that would mean. What it always meant.


    So Kas had grunted, and moved to Jaid¡¯s side, taking her free hand in his own.


    If their big brother was the head ¨C Jaroan was the tail. The least. Last. He was too far away to ask his questions. Mum and Dad were gone. There was no one else to answer.


    He would wait, and he would forget. The questions would enter the deepest part of his soul, far beneath the matte, unreflective surface.


    Why are they smiling at me?


    * * *


    ¡°So do not give in to it! We do not invite the darkness. The Shadow cannot cross that threshold without our permit. As that which is illuminated falls, so too does the light it eclipsed, shedding radiance upon the new. It is with such lightened burdens that we must rise up again, and we must allow ourselves to feel that lightness. For there is no eternal sorrow in the light, no darkness to stain death¡¯s sanctity. We commend the souls of Kabel and Ninadra Mortenn, true husband and wife, to you, O Enduring One. In the hand of Mortiforn let them meet once more, and pass together beneath the arch of his arm, beyond the Door.¡±


    It was strange. Everyone seemed to be acting as though their parents were gone, but that couldn¡¯t have been further from the truth, could it? Kas held her hand, and her body had done its share of weird things ¨C she¡¯d quivered, she¡¯d cried¡­ but that wasn¡¯t how she wanted to be seen. It wasn¡¯t how she felt. She tried a few times to tell Kas to stand on the other side, to hold Jar¡¯s hand rather than hers ¨C but he didn¡¯t understand. He thought she was fighting something, fighting the horrible sensation in the centre of her chest. He¡¯d never understood her before, and he didn¡¯t understand her now. The horrible sensation ¨C that was what was normal now. But there was no fighting it. It was only a kind of¡­ a kind of waiting. A sense of anticipation so great that as it built on itself, hour by hour, day by day, she felt as though she were being filled up only to burst.


    But she wouldn¡¯t burst into tears, not again. Or if she did, it wouldn¡¯t be tears of sorrow. It¡¯d be tears of joy, when she saw them again.


    They weren¡¯t gone. The narrow-faced minster ¨C the Mortiforn man ¨C he understood. They were only resting.


    She looked down at the turned earth before her, then immediately looked back up again at the priest.


    Resting in the ground.


    The scent of Mum¡¯s hair came to her nostrils, the sound of her voice to Jaid¡¯s ears. Her bones remembered the way Dad held her, when he lifted her up despite her being too big, too old¡­


    Stupid body, she thought, screwing up her face against the tears that came burning down around her eyeballs. Stupid traitor. Not upset. I¡¯m not. They¡¯re resting. We¡¯re imseperble.


    She looked at Jaroan. He was staring at someone, and she followed his gaze ¨C her twin¡¯s angry eyes were fixed on Mrs. Sawdan.


    Right away she realised why he was so upset with their neighbour. He hated her sympathetic smile. Why did she look sad, when they weren¡¯t really gone?


    She bit her lip now, and the tears of joy came.


    She squeezed her twin¡¯s hand.


    He understands me. He understands us. Deep down, he does.


    Imseperble.


    * * *


    ¡°Kas, look, a raven.¡±


    ¡°Crow,¡± his sister immediately corrected him.


    Kas was walking ahead of them, but despite his distracted demeanour he did turn to look ¨C


    Just a moment too late. The bird had already disappeared into the trees.


    ¡°It was a raven,¡± Jaroan said indignantly.


    ¡°Crow,¡± Jaid repeated, tone-perfect.


    Gods, she had a way of speaking to him that instantly set him grinding his teeth. She didn¡¯t have to be correcting him; she could just be offering him something, but the gloating undercurrent of her voice, her word choice, it would all add up and make him want to refuse her, deny her, out of sheer instinctive spite. She¡¯d find a way to make him sound like an idiot, always. It was never so simple as asking him if he wanted a cup of water. It was an insinuation that he owed her a favour for doing it, or that he¡¯d already somehow exasperated her before the first time she asked. As though she possessed some inherent superiority. As though she always wanted to sigh at him.


    ¡°What¡¯s the difference, anyway?¡± he muttered, scowling as he trudged on in his brother¡¯s footprints. The grass was long and wet, the evening dimness augmented by curtains of drizzle ¨C sticking to Kas¡¯s indentations helped keep his pants dry around the ankles.


    ¡°They sound completely different,¡± she sniffed.


    ¡°But it hasn¡¯t even made any noises!¡±


    Or did it? he wondered, suddenly doubting himself.


    ¡°The shape of the tail, too ¨C they¡¯re not even close.¡±


    Ah ¨C so she is lying.


    ¡°You¡¯re not even close! It¡¯s almost dark, you barely saw it ¨C how in Twelve Hells ¨C¡°


    ¡°Jar,¡± Kas said reprovingly.


    ¡°How in Celestium,¡± he grinned at Kas as their older brother swivelled now mid-step, glancing at him, ¡°could you pick out its tail-feathers ¨C¡°


    ¡°Jaroaaaaan¡­ if you¡¯re so sure it¡¯s not a crow, why did you say you didn¡¯t think there was a difference?¡±


    She sounded so sweet, but sometimes he could¡¯ve just murdered her.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say I didn¡¯t think there was a difference, did I?¡± he sneered. ¡°I said I don¡¯t know what the difference is ¨C¡°


    ¡°But what¡¯s the difference between that, and not thinking there¡¯s a diff-¡°


    Kas had stopped, and they both nearly walked into his back.


    They were almost there.


    ¡°Come on now,¡± Kas said quietly, not casting a glance back at them this time.


    He didn¡¯t need to.


    Guiltily, Jaroan swallowed down his combative thoughts, entering the accustomed mode of thought for this place. Within a heartbeat he was someone else entirely. Patient and calm. He walked beside his sister the final yards, the quibbling gone from his mind.


    Unfortunately, the argument with Jaid was the distraction he¡¯d needed to stay sane. This clean, calm part of his young soul that he¡¯d just accessed knew only suffering. The tiff was merely a way of staving off the truth, holding at bay the future rushing down at them.


    They were going to get kicked out.


    Xantaire had cried so hard that hearing her weeping through the wall had set Jaid sobbing, and, as much as he was loath to admit it, even to himself, he¡¯d done his own share of shedding tears under the covers where no one could see him. Thinking about being ¡®evicted¡¯ couldn¡¯t be endured; nor could it be avoided. It was an ever-present peril, like waiting on the block for the blade to fall. Like drinking poison and waiting for its fatal effects.


    His mind tried to retreat, tried to flee back to the sibling rivalry, the frustration with his sister¡¯s attitude that was his anchor in this stormy sea. But there was no purchase ¨C he couldn¡¯t do it. The seabed was still too loose. He couldn¡¯t be angry here. Only sad.


    The names ¨C the gravestones were there. Realities graven in grey rock. Inescapable.


    They didn¡¯t remember Mum and Dad like Kas did, of course. That in itself made him feel guilty, made him want to retreat.


    What¡¯s come over him lately, anyway?


    He found his distraction, regarding Kastyr as Kastyr stared down at the graves.


    The way their brother had spoken to the Gentlemen ¨C they¡¯d listened through the wall, and it sounded as though he was doing it again. Getting mixed up in something illegal. Something like he¡¯d used to do back in the old days, before¡­ before they died and it all changed. Kas had hardly been eating this past week, and he¡¯d been coming down here to their graves with alarming regularity. Was he coming to say sorry? Sorry for something he was about to do?


    But Jaid didn¡¯t seem to want to discuss it. The one time Jaroan tried mentioning it to her, she responded with some trite sentence to the effect of ¡®shut up, it¡¯s none of our business¡¯. He wasn¡¯t going to get any assistance there.


    So he¡¯d watched, and waited. He convinced himself that it was okay, that whatever Kas was planning to do, it was necessary. There was always a silver lining. He liked having something to lord it over Kas with. If their brother used his shady underworld contacts to help them get Peltos the money ¨C well, where was the harm in that, really? And Jaroan could use it as ammunition against his brother, guilt him into giving him some leeway when he acted up.


    He wouldn¡¯t squander it on swearing. Jaroan would wait till he broke something, or lost something important.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Kas?¡± Jaid asked.


    Jaroan heard the timidness in her voice, cast her a surprised look. She was right, though. He hadn¡¯t said hi to their parents yet. He always did that when they arrived.


    Kas turned back to face them, and his smile was tight, pained; his brow was furrowed in confusion. ¡°I just thought¡­ I wondered¡­¡±


    Their brother fell back into silence, but his eyes looked engaged ¨C he was clearly thinking about something important. Listening to his thoughts with every ounce of his attention.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Wondered what, Kas?¡± their sister said softly.


    She¡¯s scared, Jaroan realised. She¡¯s scared about what he¡¯s doing. That¡¯s why it¡¯s ¡®none of our business¡¯. That¡¯s ¨C


    ¡°Yune,¡± Kas breathed, then whipped about, wild-eyed. ¡°Run!¡± he barked, stepping in front of the two of them. ¡°Off with ya!¡±


    Jaroan peered around Kas to the one side, Jaid to the other. The graveyard wasn¡¯t a still space: the rain still fell, and the blades of grass and leaves were stirred by the constant cool breeze ¨C but it was serene, a dimness of stones and the shadows of trees.


    It was obvious within a moment that neither of them could see anything, and after they glanced at each other Jaroan snapped: ¡°What? What is it?¡±


    But the response was a heated snarl, brooking no refusal.


    ¡°Go home ¨C now.¡±


    The sound ¨C that awful yawning pit of otherness in their brother¡¯s voice¡­


    The twins looked at each other again, sharing in this new terror.


    They ran, holding hands, and they didn¡¯t look back. Jaid was tugging him along as usual, outpacing him slightly, and Jaroan pretended it was a game. It was a game, and when Kas returned, he would explain everything.


    Mud and grass gave way to wooden fencing. They climbed, as agile as squirrels, and vaulted over, into the street.


    Blood pounded in his ears. The fright, the terror, the uncertainty of it all ¨C it was fun.


    It was only when they arrived back that he realised why it felt so wrong ¨C when Jaid raised her fist to knock on the door then looked at him anxiously before letting her knuckles rap against the wood. It was their first time going back to Mud Lane from the shrine of Yune without him. They knew the way, of course, but it was dangerous. Kas wouldn¡¯t let them walk that far alone, not with night drawing in.


    Jaroan lifted his hand, gave the secret knock. Xantaire let them in within seconds.


    And when Kas did arrive he explained nothing to any of them; he just winked, even to Xantaire. He was smiling away at himself, sitting in silence with a book open in his lap, never turning the leaves, staring transfixed at the middle of the page.


    Jaroan watched him until he fell asleep, dwelling on it over and over:


    What is he hiding? Why are we being left out? What is he going to do? How dangerous is it? When will he tell us?


    Why is he smiling?


    * * *


    The moment they were shut away inside the bedroom, Jaid pressed her ear to the crack of the door, doing her best to listen. She had the tips of unbraided lengths of hair in the corner of her mouth but she didn¡¯t chew, focusing her attention on the sounds in the main room. Jaroan crowded her, doing the same, but she¡¯d picked the prime spot where the gap between the door and the frame was widest.


    ¡°Whoop whoop! Shingalingaling.¡± Clack-clack. ¡°Whoooo-oooop!¡±


    Of all the times for the boy to start vocalising.


    ¡°Shush, Xas!¡± Jaroan snapped, pressing the side of his head so tight against the jamb it looked like he was going to crack a bone.


    ¡°Chu-ush, Xas¡­ Chu-ush, Xas¡­¡± Xastur¡¯s voice rose and fell in a sing-song as he repeated the words, smushing two of his toys together.


    ¡°Xastur, please!¡± Jaroan pleaded.


    ¡°Pweeeeee-eeeeze!¡±


    ¡°Give it up, Jaroan,¡± Jaid whispered. ¡°Xassy¡¯ll quiet down in a minute. Listen.¡±


    Kas was pleading with the Gentlemen. The words were indistinct, but the tenor of the conversation wasn¡¯t lost in transit. She could tell things were going badly.


    More than anything else, she was listening out for the voice of the magister and when it came through, it was strong, stern, just like she¡¯d expected. Backing Kas up. Making everything alright.


    ¡°Whoop whoop! Tingaling!¡±


    Em was awesome. She hoped her and Kas would get married someday. Quite what the magister saw in Jaid¡¯s brother, she wasn¡¯t quite certain ¨C she was clearly out of his league. Whatever he¡¯d done, she hoped he¡¯d be able to keep it up long enough for him to get the ring on her finger. (Long enough for Jaid to properly enjoy her bridesmaid dress.)


    It wasn¡¯t just that Emrelet was pretty ¨C which she was, definitely ¨C but her presence here was very reassuring. Jaid knew that Em would make sure everything was alright. The Gentlemen would leave, and they¡¯d have their house back.


    Then another female voice. Not Xantaire. Whoever it was, she sounded like a toad ¨C a fat toad from one of the stories Mum and Dad read her when she was little.


    ¡°Are there Gentlewomen?¡± she breathed in wonder.


    Jar snorted, but then caught himself, reining in the attitude before replying delicately: ¡°A second magister, I think.¡±


    It seemed Em and the stranger were at odds. The beautiful magister was saying something in the tone Kas often used with Jaroan ¨C Jaid could imagine her wagging her finger at the toad.


    ¡°Do you think they¡¯re going to cast spells at each other?¡± she pondered.


    Jaroan wriggled a bit. ¡°I don¡¯t know whether I want them to or not!¡±


    ¡°I know!¡±


    ¡°What a croak on her! She sounds like ¨C¡°


    ¡°Like one of them toads!¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Wait ¨C they¡¯re¡­ they¡¯re coming, get back!¡±


    The twins were sitting next to Xastur on the quilt, one on either side of the kid, when Xantaire swung open the door. They were holding swiftly-clutched up toys, leaning in as if to merely continue a game they¡¯d been playing all along ¨C yet Jaid noticed as Jaroan quickly pivoted, trying to get a glimpse through the doorway ¨C


    Orstrum and Morsus blocked his view as they entered, she could tell, and sighed ruefully. She would¡¯ve given a slice of bread to get his report afterwards about what he¡¯d been able to see.


    The door was closed again, the two men heading for Kas¡¯s bed and sitting back against the wall.


    ¡°What in Twelve ¨C¡° Jar began.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare, young man,¡± Xan grunted, sitting down heavily almost on top of him, forcing him to scurry out of her way. ¡°How¡¯s it going, pal?¡± she asked her son, stroking his cheek.


    ¡°Tingaling!¡± he replied without looking ¨C Xas was busy tapping a flat, horse-shaped piece of wood against another painted in a different shade.


    ¡°Seriously, that¡¯s all?¡± Jaid asked. She felt herself blushing, but she had to say it. ¡°What¡¯s happening? Are we being ev¡­ ev¡­¡±


    She stumbled on the word.


    ¡°Evicted,¡± Jaroan said, his voice hard. No gloating.


    He was helping her out.


    She nodded at him, and he responded in kind.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening, Jaid,¡± Orstrum said in a kindly voice, then looked to Jaroan, ¡°but it¡¯s happening. Whatever comes, it comes. We¡¯ll get through it.¡±


    ¡°Your brother, he will fix it,¡± Morsus said with all the fervour of a fanatic. ¡°Do not be afraid, children! Tonight you will be happy!¡±


    I don¡¯t believe you, Jaid thought. Either of you. You¡¯re wrong! We¡¯re going to be evicted! We¡¯re going to live in the mud and there¡¯s no way I can ¨C I can face it ¨C my books¡­


    She felt her lower lip going, heard the high-pitched noise coming from her nose.


    Then Xantaire reached over, put her hand on Jaid¡¯s. ¡°You going to hold it together another five minutes?¡±


    Jaid stared at her and nodded, pressing her lips together firmly.


    Five minutes¡­ Five minutes¡­


    ¡°Have we got any books in here?¡± Jaroan asked suddenly.


    Now Jaid smiled. Her brother had the right idea.


    Then her eyes widened as she recalled where she¡¯d last seen it, and she turned, twisting, peering down under the bed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got Tales From The Dark Side V: Everyone¡¯s Got A Skeleton, remember!¡± she gargled, blood instantly rushing to her head, chest constricted by the hard oak of the bed-frame. ¡°I know I¡¯ve seen it around here.¡± She hurled some of Jaroan¡¯s junk across the floor. ¡°That¡¯s the good one, where Blighty gets taken to the necromancer¡¯s pyramid!¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Jar roared. ¡°He goes? He actually goes? Are you kidding me?¡±


    ¡°Ohhhhhh¡­¡± She sighed, rolling to look at him, gulping air. ¡°You didn¡¯t get that far?¡±


    ¡°No I didn¡¯t ¨C and now I won¡¯t ¨C damn it, Jaid! I¡¯ve been reading that for ¨C¡°


    ¡°Three weeks! Three weeks, and you haven¡¯t even got to the pyramid bit yet? Are you kidding me?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that to me!¡±


    ¡°You said it first¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the one who just spoiled the whole book for me ¨C¡°


    ¡°Whole book! It happens in the first fifty pages ¨C¡°


    ¡°No way! No way!¡±


    The confrontation in the main room forgotten, Jaid gave back as good as she got. It was the only way she knew.


    ¡°Guys!¡± Xantaire hissed.


    They both turned to look at her. At some point Xantaire had gotten up and moved to the door, pressing her ear against the crack just like they¡¯d been doing earlier.


    Her face was pale.


    And before Jaid could open her mouth, the main room howled.


    She couldn¡¯t explain it ¨C it was as though she stood upon a precipice, braids being whipped left and right by a storm-wind. But she was inside her apartment. The storm in the main room ¨C it was armed with a hail of books and she heard them clattering off the walls.


    To her they were almost holy objects. They probably weren¡¯t worth much to the highborn ¨C magic made replication cheap ¨C but they were worth something. Despite this, Kas had never succumbed to selling Mum and Dad¡¯s collection, even when they were scraping every last penny. To listen to them being dishonoured in this way ¨C it made her grimace, made her ball her fists.


    But the anger was buried beneath concern.


    ¡°Kas?¡± she breathed.


    Xantaire had stood up and braced herself against the door, as if to hold it shut in case something tried to get in ¨C Morsus moved to help her when she beckoned him with a savage thrust of her chin.


    Some thing ¨C what if Em¡¯s enemy was a sorceress? What if there were demons out there? She clearly wasn¡¯t something good and wholesome, like a druid or enchanter. She was something noisy. Something dark.


    Jaid shrank into herself in terror. She let Orstrum pull her into a hug as he gathered her and Xastur into his arms, his great-grandson only looking mildly bemused at the tremendous din ¨C but Jaroan sidled out of his grip and went slowly towards the door.


    When he got there, he joined his meagre weight to Xan¡¯s and Morsus¡¯s, sitting with his back against the base of the door, wedging himself in place with his feet out flat in front of him.


    She admired his bravery. He had to understand what this could be. She could see it in his eyes, the extra-pallor of his face.


    He understands.


    Please, gods, let him live. I don¡¯t care if we get evicted. Let Kas live. If we all have to live in the drop, I don¡¯t care, just let him live!


    Then the noise fell away, just as suddenly as it had started up.


    ¡°I hear his voice!¡± Jar moaned.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Xantaire said, turning and leaning heavily against the wall. ¡°Praise be to Yune, and all the rest of them.¡±


    It didn¡¯t matter what Xan said ¨C didn¡¯t matter that Orstrum¡¯s hug was as warm and reassuring as ever ¨C Jaid couldn¡¯t stop trembling.


    It was almost funny, looking back. When later she thought back upon the evening, this wasn¡¯t even close to the worst bit. Sitting here for a few minutes, thinking he might be dead? That was child¡¯s play.


    No. He was smiling when he opened the door, but it wasn¡¯t a smile to reassure her, to help her or Jaroan come to terms with the fear, the nausea rolling over her ¨C it was an easy smile; it was the casualness with which he finally entered the bedroom. He left with the two magisters, and other than a quick glance he exchanged with Xantaire when he thought Jaid wasn¡¯t looking, Kas didn¡¯t give a single outward sign of dismay.


    That one glance, though. The fear ¨C Kas felt it too.


    What in Celestium is he doing? she asked herself.


    The anxiety was compounded, folding in on itself, again and again until the terror had her paralysed. She sat there and watched while he prepared to leave.


    Where are you going, Kas? Please, no. Don¡¯t go. Em ¨C Em, don¡¯t take him, please¡­


    But the door closed behind them, leaving her frozen in the detritus-wasteland of a broken home.


    That was the worst bit.


    Lying in bed, hours later, drunk on the scents of fey wine and thoughts of Kas¡¯s new status, she could almost forget. But it was worse than the prospect of being evicted. At least if they got kicked out, they¡¯d be together.


    As much as she tried to reassure herself, tried to look on the bright side, Jaid instinctively recognised what was happening. Her soul knew it. It was one of those aches that could get better or get worse but no matter what, it would never fully heal.


    He went out, and he was out for so long, she thought he was never coming back.


    And when he came back, he was no longer him. He was someone else.


    This¡­


    This was separation.


    * * *


    The scents of smoke and sweat were overpowering ¨C fear was on the air, and Jaroan partook of it, breathing it in, breathing it out. Jaid¡¯s hand was in his, and her fingers were hard, immovable, digging into the backs of his knuckles.


    He accepted the pain. He gripped her back in return at least as hard.


    As they followed the other residents of Mud Lane into the Spannerwalk and reached the first corner, he looked back at the bullish heads of the demons, their cruel horns, their black spikes.


    ¡°We have to talk to him, you know.¡± He spoke quietly-enough that Xantaire and the others next to them wouldn¡¯t hear over the sounds of splashing feet, the crying, muttering.


    ¡°We do?¡± Jaid squeaked.


    ¡°Those are demons, Jaid.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­¡±


    He waited. The crowd ushered them around the bend, weaving up towards the next corner.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she finished.


    He felt the tears welling up in his eyes again at her acceptance of this evil. Before, he might¡¯ve been wrong. She might¡¯ve had her usual counterarguments. But she accepted it. She accepted it.


    ¡°He said he would be fey!¡± Jaroan whispered.


    Jaid looked guiltily around at the others, but he already knew no one was paying them any attention.


    ¡°That was bad enough ¨C to lose him to this¡­ this new identity. Now what? Is he going to be using them for everything now?¡±


    ¡°But the wings!¡±


    ¡°It was an excuse!¡± he snapped. ¡°Think about it! Where are the fey, Jaid? Where are all the fairies and gnomes and ¨C¡°


    ¡°Gnomes aren¡¯t fey,¡± she sniffed, ¡°not really¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut up! You know what I mean!¡±


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d think demons were cool¡­¡±


    That was a lie. He released her hand, walking on in seething silence.


    He¡¯d tried putting a brave face on it ¨C tried doing everything exactly like Jaid told him to. It was easy to forget the darkness, the danger, in the daytime, when he could remind himself that Kas had awesome powers, that they were going to be rich¡­ The whole concept of Feychilde was just perfect, to him. But just because their brother had said he was rejecting the notion of being some dark sorcerer, that didn¡¯t mean he hadn¡¯t changed. He had. He was starting to think of himself as Feychilde. Running away from reality, from Jaroan, from Jaid. From everything.


    Maybe that was what he had to do, to become this champion, to put it on like he put on the robe, smile while he put his life on the line. Maybe it was unavoidable. And he saved people ¨C there was no doubting it. Jaroan had seen it now with his own eyes. There was no going back ¨C there was no coming back. For any of them.


    But it didn¡¯t change the fact that Jar couldn¡¯t take it anymore. Kas was doing it all the time ¨C running away.


    Morsus dies, and how does he respond? He runs.


    He takes them shopping ¨C shopping, like they wanted or needed to go shopping ¨C and as soon as he sees his obligation¡¯s done with, he runs away again.


    Em. Jaroan had liked her at first, but that was before he knew what was really going on ¨C what was going to happen to his brother. Now? Sure, she was nice, but he¡¯d cooled on her. It wasn¡¯t like she¡¯d shown back up with Kas to help save Mud Lane, either ¨C she¡¯d brought him into this world, and now she wasn¡¯t even backing him up. It was wrong.


    She took him away from us. Jaroan listened to the night¡¯s screams, the panicked voices of the crowds. She took him away from us and our world fell apart.


    He didn¡¯t mention any of this to his sister. She idolised the magister almost as much as she did Lovebright.


    If she won¡¯t talk to him, I will, he resolved, looking down at his slop-covered feet and trudging onwards with the others. I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯ll tell him he¡¯s stopped thinking about us. We¡¯re no longer a priority to him. We¡¯re just baggage. We¡¯re just annoying little hangers-on, dragging him down when he wants to fly¡­


    When Kas arrived back to the remnants of Mud Lane that night, their brother looked so upset that every one of the words he¡¯d prepared dropped like leaden stones from his tongue, unspoken.


    Jaid asked what was wrong, and Kas answered. Em was hurt. She was hurt, and it was bad.


    And Jaroan never thought about voicing those thoughts again.


    * * *


    She sat staring at the page, doing a Jaroan. She was getting no further with the book.


    She wanted to throw it at the wall. She wanted to put out all the candles and cry.


    Where is he? she asked herself for the millionth time.


    She flicked her gaze over to her twin. He was only pretending to be asleep. Only someone awake could be so tense, so inherently angry.


    She kicked him, and then he kicked her.


    She laughed, and he almost laughed back.


    That was something, at least.


    ¡°Do you want a battle?¡± she asked.


    Jaroan shook his head, keeping his eyes shut, trying to reclaim his brooding state of mind.


    ¡°Come onnnnnn.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ¨C do ¨C that.¡±


    He kicked her again, more roughly this time, and when she squeaked he sat bolt upright.


    ¡°Look ¨C I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry, okay? But I don¡¯t want a battle. I don¡¯t want anything. I feel sick.¡±


    ¡°You ate too much potato ¨C¡°


    ¡°Shut up!¡±


    ¡°Okay!¡± She dropped the book in her lap, wrung her hands together. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m sorry too. It¡¯s just ¨C he ¨C it was so long ago, that he s-sent the¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you say it!¡± He came up on his knees on the bed, scowling. ¡°He¡¯s not dead!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not dead.¡± She repeated her twin¡¯s words, tasting their foulness, testing their weight for truth and finding it lacking. ¡°He¡¯s not dead¡­¡±


    She shut her eyes, remembering him waking her up with a unicorn.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, Jaid. I promise. I came through the Incursion, and it won¡¯t be worse than that.¡±


    Both of them leapt up when they heard the knocking at the door. Xantaire got there first, ripping open the locks to let Em in.


    Em, who¡¯d been forced to stay behind, Jaid knew.


    ¡°What news?¡± Xan asked even as she was swinging the door open.


    But the platinum-haired magister was half-smiling, half-frowning.


    ¡°You mean zat ¨C he hasn¡¯t returned? But zey all came back! It is all I know!¡±


    Em whirled, not even crossing the threshold of the apartment before she was arrowing off into the sky again.


    Jaid shrank down into a seat, chewing at her hair and staring at the door as Xantaire slowly closed it again, fastening the bolts¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Xan said reassuringly once she saw their faces. ¡°It¡¯ll be okay! You know him. What did you say he said to you, hun?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I¡¯ll be fine, Jaid. I¡­¡± She licked her lips. ¡°I promise.¡±


    ¡°So there you have it.¡± She looked down at them critically. ¡°Come on now, it¡¯s time you were getting ready for bed! Past time!¡±


    Jaid didn¡¯t believe it, really didn¡¯t believe it this time.


    ¡°No!¡± she sobbed. ¡°They ¨C she said they came back!¡±


    She whirled, flinging the bedroom door shut behind her, and Jaroan didn¡¯t have it in him to try to calm her. He just sat dejected on Kas¡¯s bed, staring at the covers.


    When Feychilde came home, something in her changed.


    It wasn¡¯t him that was different ¨C it was her.


    She began to believe in him.


    * * *

 Inescapable pt2

    Who am I?


    * * *


    Jaroan ate his bacon butties in silence, moving the fortify pieces with the tip of his new knife, so that it looked as though he were doing it with mere force of will. The handle was small, easily palmed; he could extend his fingers, make it seem to the observer as if simply pointing was enough to direct his side of the engagement.


    He was practising the movement-patterns for the Sow Matriarch. In contrast to her counterpart, the Boar Patriarch, she was an expensive, complex piece. When she consumed an enemy piece, she could take another move providing she could consume another foe. On each successive move within the same turn, the permissible directions and distances of her travel would alternate ¨C as well as the types of terrain she could cover without halting. However, when executed perfectly upon an unassuming opponent whose pieces were laid-out within acceptable parameters, the Sow Matriarch could win games in a single go, hopping all the way from her spawn-spot beside your Hold and into your rival¡¯s without stopping.


    She was no good against Kas¡¯s Geomancer, of course, but who ever picked Geomancer?


    There had to be thousands of possibilities for winning in a single turn. If you could play the Matriarch, and chose the exact right moment to spawn her, and she wasn¡¯t killed before your next go? A few Extra Move cards in your hand and the game would be yours.


    If you could do it while just pointing your fingers at the pieces, moving them like a wizard¡­ Jaroan mused. If you could do that ¨C that would be awesome¡­ The Matriarch¡¯s basically an arch-diviner¡­ Like, with enough forethought she¡¯s basically ¨C


    ¡°Jar!¡± Jaid cried from the doorway. ¡°You coming outside? Everyone¡¯s come down!¡±


    Grumbling a bit, more for show than out of any actual lack of interest, he hopped up and donned his new coat before heading down to join her and the others in the lane. His Yearsend marbles with weird shapes inside them met with some interest. Nabim had a felt hat that was far too big for him. Brendy¡¯s Yearsend gifts had almost all consisted in hard-to-obtain fruit, which had gone down a treat according to the rainbow stains down her smock. Tick was unusually quiet ¨C probably he¡¯d gone without this year, owing to the sheer amount of siblings he had crammed into that apartment with him. They sometimes took turns, Jaroan seemed to remember. One year a birthday present, the next a Yearsend one¡­ it kind of made sense.


    The whole time he was outside, he tested it ¨C no one noticed the knife-handle tucked beneath his belt. So long as he didn¡¯t let anyone press into his side, the dagger was truly concealed in plain sight. Only he could see its blunt-edged blade, gleaming away on his hip.


    A few of Ticken¡¯s older friends showed up, and two of them started wrestling in the muck, laughing and screaming like animals. After a few minutes of watching, Tick turned towards Nabim, who was playing with Jaroan¡¯s (and Jaid¡¯s) ball-on-a-stick.


    In a single swift motion, Tick snatched it away from him.


    ¡°Hey, I was still playing with that!¡± the little brown boy cried.


    ¡°Give it him back, Tick!¡± Jaid said, stepping towards the taller kid, whose big mop of brown hair only served to make him taller.


    ¡°Why? Can¡¯t I have a go?¡± Tick started to kick the ball from foot to foot, walking off towards the other side of the lane, but the mud stopped him from getting his leg up quickly-enough to catch the descending ball half the time.


    His older friends halted their wrestling-game to watch the spectacle.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t ask.¡± Jaid waded over to plant herself in his path. ¡°Give it back.¡±


    She held out her hand, and he spun about, pivoting on his heel and marching off in another direction.


    Tick¡¯s friends laughed at Jaid as she put her hands on her hips and made a ¡®hmph¡¯ of displeasure.


    Normally Jaroan would¡¯ve felt himself shrinking inside, wanting to look away, but for the first time he felt powerful.


    Kas is watching over us, he thought. Kas is watching. I can¡¯t ¨C I couldn¡¯t use the knife.


    But its presence ¨C it was like archmagery. A tool at his disposal.


    He didn¡¯t need to use it to know it was there. And those who raised their hands against him, against his sister, would be destroyed all the same.


    He stepped forwards, splashing over to Ticken with the longest strides he could manage.


    Jaroan was a year younger than the brown-haired boy, but he was almost as tall, despite the big mop.


    ¡°Give it her back.¡± He even managed to keep his voice under control, low and level.


    ¡°Or what, Jaroan? You get ¨C your brother on me?¡±


    The boy¡¯s sneer was insufferable. He almost deserved the blade just for that much.


    What would Kas say? What would¡­


    ¡°Or your friends get to watch you get your face shoved in the drop.¡± He rolled his shoulders, wondering what it would be like to punch someone in the face, properly ¨C what it would be like to receive such a punch.


    ¡°Oh really.¡± Ticken straightened up, thrust out his chin.


    Jar suddenly found himself not caring much ¨C he just wanted the ever-increasing sense of anticipation to break like a wave on a rock ¨C he just wanted something to happen ¨C


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯d be keeping my voice down if I wanted him to hear me? Hahahahaha!¡±


    Jaroan spoke so quietly, when he barked laughter the taller boy almost fell over in fright. He swept out his arm to catch his neighbour, but he snatched back the stick at the same time with his free hand.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Jar said politely, turning away.


    Ticken, perhaps wisely, didn¡¯t seem to want to press the matter. Jaroan returned triumphantly to his side of the lane ¨C he went to pass the ball-on-a-stick to Nabim, but the boy no longer wanted it.


    He curled his lip in derision, and glanced up to check for the champion¡¯s appraising gaze ¨C but Kas was busy with his glyphstone.


    Jaroan didn¡¯t even feel the need to sigh. Not anymore.


    When their brother came down a few minutes later, he exchanged pleasantries with Ticken, proving he didn¡¯t watch a damn thing.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to go,¡± Kas said, ¡°and Orstrum¡¯s headed down to the shrine. I¡¯m going to get Xantaire to keep an eye out.¡±


    Jaroan folded his arms across his chest, pinning the ball-topped stick awkwardly against his body. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine, Kas.¡±


    ¡°No, Jaroan ¨C I¡¯ll get her to watch, thank you. Xastur will be going down for a nap anyway, given the way he¡¯s yawning.¡± He seemed to look upon Jaroan and Jaid with pity. Pity. ¡°You need to be careful, you know. Behave yourselves, and I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can.¡±


    Jaroan barely forced down his anger.


    Was it anger? When did anger become hate? Where did it come from?


    ¡°It must be serious, if you¡¯re going on Yearsend,¡± Jaid said worriedly.


    ¡°It¡¯s not bad, I promise.¡±


    Which means it is bad. You lie again, brother. You don¡¯t even realise how much you¡¯re hurting our sister, do you?


    ¡°And, look, if I die, you know where I stash the money, right?¡±


    Kas actually grinned.


    Jaid just hissed their brother¡¯s name, but Jaroan couldn¡¯t. Couldn¡¯t just let it out with a word and a breath. It was too much for that.


    A reflexive strike was loosed, fist dutifully smacking Kastyr in the arm.


    The champion barely even seemed to notice, shaking his head and muttering something about being back soon, returning to the stairs, oblivious, as Jaroan stared down at his hand and seethed.


    There was just too much aggression, pent-up inside me, Jar told himself. I just needed a target. I feel better, after hitting him.


    It was true ¨C he did feel better. The aggression had left him ¨C but what it left behind was a cold emptiness. Like damp stones where the river receded.


    He knew the river would return.


    * * *


    ¡°Okay! My sister first!¡±


    Jaid stared at him through her tears. ¡°Wha¡­ buh¡­ Jar! Why¡­¡±


    ¡°Your sister?¡± one of the shorter thugs said. ¡°You cowardly little git.¡±


    ¡°You reeking idiot,¡± Jaroan retorted instantly, an ugly scowl stamped on his face.


    ¡°Confident behind that¡­ spell thing, aren¡¯t you, little git. Wait till you¡¯re out ¨C¡°


    ¡°Shut ¨C your ¨C face before I cut it off.¡± The ugly old leader in his mouldy old get-up cut off his underling, then glowered down at her twin. ¡°I get it. ¡®E doessen, but I do. You send her cos I know you won¡¯t let her go with me alone. I like it.¡±


    Is that it? she wondered, looking imploringly at her brother. Is that why?


    But Jaroan wouldn¡¯t meet her gaze.


    ¡°¡­ I won¡¯t mistreat you.¡± The old man hardened his voice, lowered it: ¡°Now throw her ¡®ere before I change my mind.¡±


    Throw¡­ her¡­?


    Jaroan turned to her, and she¡¯d never seen that expression on his face before ¨C the disgust and pride mingled in his far-off, unseeing eyes ¨C the horrid, resolute grimace making his features those of an adult for the first time in his life ¨C and her mind snapped.


    ¡°No! No, Jar! No, don¡¯t! Don¡¯t! No, please!¡±


    The one thing he¡¯d always been better at, unfailingly. He was just a bit stronger than her. Especially when he was motivated.


    She didn¡¯t even want to consider the notion that he was right with this plan of his. No. The rancid, drop-stained hand that was eagerly slapped across her mouth told her he was wrong. The leader was wrong, thinking there was some nobility in her brother¡¯s actions. Only the one little man had seen the truth ¨C that, or he alone was stupid enough to say it out loud it in front of his commander. And that little man was a killer.


    Not for the first time, she wondered if Jaroan could possibly be evil ¨C and Jaid the good twin of the pair, like something out of one of the books. They could be destined to do this confounding dance forever, both loving and hating each other, never seeing eye to eye except but for in the briefest moments¡­


    When Xantaire was knocked out ¨C then Jaid really started to struggle.


    What have you done, Jar!


    Her elbows were already trapped against her sides by a single heavy arm pressing horizontally across her midriff ¨C but as soon as she tried, she found that she was able to slide down and kicked out ¨C


    She barely even connected once with the bearded man in front of her. He stooped, gathered up her feet, and together the two villains simply carried her.


    Drop on you, Jar! she thought as she was humiliated, dragged like fear-drunk livestock along the walkway. You¡¯ve only got yourself to blame for this! You! Mother-Chaos is in your heart!


    Mother-Chaos is in your heart, and soon you¡¯ll forget how to love¡­


    The despair at how he¡¯d treated her was the core of her fury as they took her, carried her up the lane towards the Gold Griffin. But the panic, the tears, the anguish: those were all for the way the shutters closed as she was choked, pinned, manhandled on her way to the slaughterhouse.


    Drop on you all.


    It was a curse, not an observation. She included her brother.


    He might¡¯ve understood her once. He might¡¯ve been nice, kind, once. But he wasn¡¯t himself, wasn¡¯t even like Kas.


    He was dark.


    * * *


    Are we definitely twins? Are we even related? How can you be such an idiot, Jaid? What in Twelve Hells are you even doing? Can¡¯t you see I¡¯m trying to save you? Save us all?


    It didn¡¯t matter how much he willed it ¨C she couldn¡¯t read his mind. Xantaire was going to die if Jaid didn¡¯t go with the Bertie Boys, and that would be it. At least this way, there was a chance. But they wouldn¡¯t be able to discuss things; he wouldn¡¯t be able to calm her down. She was going to insist on struggling the whole way.


    Not something he had the luxury of doing. Not if he wanted to keep his knife secret. They hadn¡¯t patted him down when they took his coat, and no one had cause to press against his hip, not with him being so compliant, going along at their instructions.


    When they entered the Bertie Boy headquarters, he almost balked. Almost. But to turn aside now, to start screaming like Jaid ¨C that would¡¯ve been worse than sending the two of them to a place like this in the first place.


    Sticktown was a dirty place, sure, but those who dwelt there kept as clean as they could manage. Homes were homes, after all. But this was no one¡¯s home; not really. The building belonged to the rats, not men. Mud and excrement, decades old, smeared up walls and doors. The scents were sweat and vomit.


    In the end he closed his eyes, focussed on keeping the butties down. He half-opened them again when they came to downwards-leading stairs.


    Or I could be sick. Be sick¡­


    The nausea consumed him as he swayed down each step, legs trembling.


    What would they do? What would it matter?


    He imagined what he¡¯d eaten ¨C he couldn¡¯t help himself ¨C and the taste of it filled his nose, tomato, tomato and grease ¨C


    The moment they reached the bottom stair, he leaned over and retched.


    A couple of the closest thugs withdrew, complaining, but at least one was laughing and clapped him heartily on the back.


    Jaid started screaming louder, tearing at the ones who grappled her, but Jaroan froze.


    He felt the invisible knife¡¯s mooring loosen with each solid blow on his back, the handle threatening to slip from his belt near the front of his right hip.


    For the first time, he realised how poorly things might go for him if the dagger should fall. It was invisible ¨C it wasn¡¯t weightless. It would still make a sound.


    He wiped his lips with the back of a hand and smiled grimly before slowly straightening up.


    The knife didn¡¯t fall.


    Like things could really be going any worse.


    The room the twins eventually ended up in was low-enough that some members of their escort walking ahead had to stoop on entry, hair brushing against dark planks of wood that drank in the candlelight. Rough-textured colourless stone made up the walls and floor. In the centre with its ring of rocks, rope and pulley, was a well.


    It even stilled Jaid, and when Jaroan glanced at her and caught her gaze, they shared the thought.


    It wasn¡¯t just that children were always getting pushed into wells in stories.


    It was that this was how their parents died. Not the same well, of course, but that hardly mattered.


    And he was bringing them¡­ putting them here¡­


    Deliberate?


    ¡°Keep an eye on ¡®em,¡± Jar caught the leader saying to one of his men as the twins slowly stepped into the room. ¡°If it rings, do ¡®em. Quick. You hearin¡¯ me?¡±


    ¡°Am ¡®earin¡¯ yer, boss. Like as yer says. Quick as Blackrush.¡±


    ¡°You, with me.¡± Then, louder: ¡°Don¡¯t be tryin¡¯ to escape, little fella.¡±


    Jar turned back, caught the boss¡¯s eye as the old man stood in the doorway.


    ¡°Hibbern ¡®ere can hurt you in ways you don¡¯t ever forget.¡± The Bertie Boy he indicated was a massive man, hunched beneath the ceiling with teeth bared like a smiling gorilla. His hands were as big as plates. ¡°Ways that ain¡¯t gonna kill you, understand?¡±


    Jaroan didn¡¯t respond; he just looked at his sister and held out his hand to her.


    Her red eyes glowed in the candlelight ¨C her gaze moved from his face to his extended hand, and back again. Then, finally, she took hold of his fingertips with her own.


    A gesture. Nothing more.


    She hates me, he realised, and swallowed.


    When he looked back to meet the leader¡¯s gaze with all the defiance he could muster, the door was already swinging shut. Hibbern and one of his pals, a reedy man with prematurely-grey hair, were leaning against the wall on either side.


    Jaid let go of his fingers, crossed to the far corner and hunkered down, weeping quietly and shaking.


    Hibbern was grinning; he pointed at Jaid and muttered something to his colleague that set them both chuckling.


    Jaroan let the arm Jaid had let go fall to his waist. Then, after a moment, he brought his hand across to the handle of the knife, placed it there.


    Would he get a chance to use it? There were only two of them watching over him and his sister now. He could remember most of the path through the building¡­ Hostages would be useless ¨C he was hostage: he couldn¡¯t put his knife to Hibbern¡¯s throat or the reedy fellow¡¯s, and march out of here¡­ The Bertie Boys would rather see one of their own number die, than betray their boss¡¯s orders, he was sure¡­


    He went and sat in the opposite corner from Jaid, closing his own eyes, trying to conceptualise his possible futures like a seer.


    The boss himself would order the death of a hostage. Hibbern ¨C the other guy ¨C they¡¯d be as good as dead if he managed to get one of them under his control. Jar, and Jaid ¨C they were the ones who were worth something. The only ones the boss cared about.


    Because of Feychilde.


    I could threaten Jaid. Or myself.


    Instinct rejected the notion before the imagination could get hold of it.


    Or I could kill them.


    Instinct did nothing to stop this line of thought, and the imagination ran with it.


    It¡¯s excusable. It is. It has to be. Kas will understand. They¡¯ll all understand. I have to protect her. I have to protect both of us.


    But I can¡¯t bring one of them over here and kill him. The other might just run off, and they probably have their own knives¡­


    The boy hadn¡¯t noticed them earlier, so he opened his eyes, stared at his jailers. They were wearing ordinary clothing, bulky coats over their vests.


    ¡°Wut yer got goin¡¯ on there, boy?¡± Hibbern grunted, meeting his glare. ¡°Don¡¯tcha be lookin¡¯ at me like that. You ain¡¯t no little lord.¡±


    Jar closed his eyes again, and the big man sniggered in satisfaction.


    Bulge under Hibbern¡¯s right arm, the same under the reedy man¡¯s left. That means Hibbern¡¯s left-handed, Jaroan realised. Take them longer to get their weapons out than me¡­


    Could I take them both at once?


    If he could get himself over to them, without them drawing their knives ¨C or, even better, if he could get them over here¡­


    I¡¯d have to be fast, he thought, trying to put down the trembling that seized his wrists, knuckles. He clasped his hands together between his knees, struggling to control his breathing.


    It wasn¡¯t nervousness, or not just that. Not just fear.


    Anticipation. The same thing that happened with Tick in the lane.


    I¡¯m going to do it.


    Illodin, guide my hand. Illodin. Not any of the others.


    ¡°You want a fist in yer face?¡±


    Throats. Eyes. It¡¯s blunt, but they won¡¯t be expecting me to have this weapon.


    To have this¡­ in me.


    He looked back at Jaid before Hibbern felt the need to mouth off again, noticing that his sister¡¯s shaking had become shivering. The room was actually warmer than the streets, to be fair to their captors, but the thrill of the danger had departed now, leaving her a quivering mess. Reality had started to sink in.


    ¡°Can¡¯t we have our coats back?¡± Jaroan managed to keep his voice level. ¡°My sister¡¯s going to die from the cold, and your boss is going to be angry with you.¡±


    ¡°The both took the coath,¡± lisped the reedy man. ¡°Ith his choith.¡±


    ¡°She far from dyin¡¯, boy,¡± Hibbern growled. ¡°Fer now, least.¡±


    The gorilla-man cracked his knuckles, and the sound echoed about the small room, amplified by the well into a snap of thunder.


    Jar moved closer to Jaid, but she shot him a look like a wounded animal at the approach of the huntsman: ¡®Go away. Just go away.¡¯


    I won¡¯t, he thought grimly, and sat down beside her, back to the stone, moving carefully so as to not dislodge the dagger. He looked down at his clenched fists on his knees.


    I won¡¯t ¨C I won¡¯t go away.


    This is how I do it. This is how I kill them.


    Some time passed. How long, exactly, he had no notion. He fell into the temptations of the imagining mind, pulled under by the current of emotion.


    This is how I kill them.


    ¡°She¡¯s really cold.¡± His voice sounded dead, even to his own ears.


    ¡°Tha¡¯s it.¡±


    The low roar from the thug didn¡¯t bring him the satisfaction he¡¯d expected.


    Jaroan found himself filling with self-pity, shock at the man¡¯s sudden aggression. He half-pushed himself to his feet, holding out his hands in a gesture of futile warding ¨C


    Hibbern batted the hands aside, reached out and took him by the hair.


    Lifted him by the hair, onto the tips of his toes.


    It was all Jaroan could do to hold onto the man¡¯s left arm that was trying to rip off his scalp, simultaneously trying to rise with the thug¡¯s tugging and to pull the wrist back down towards the ground. All thoughts of the knife fled from his mind, every parcel of consciousness given over now to razors of pain that left him yelping, bug-eyed.


    ¡°No! No, stop it, leave him alone!¡±


    Jaid was clinging to his leg, making his job harder if anything.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Are yer gonna keep aksin¡¯ fer yer coat? Or I gotta take a chunk o¡¯ yer hair off?¡±


    ¡°Please, no, I¡¯ll stop, I¡¯ll stop!¡±


    The pathetic voice came out of his own mouth, and the huge man flung him back against the wall ¨C


    Thud.


    It didn¡¯t come from Jaroan¡¯s collision with the stone, which hurt enough that for a moment he raised his fingers to the back of his head, checking there was no blood ¨C


    No. The sound came from somewhere upstairs.


    Thud. Thud.


    Not uniform sounds. One here, one there ¨C louder, quieter¡­


    Crackkkkkkk.


    Furniture breaking. The splash of many objects against wooden walls, hurled with inhuman force.


    Jaroan looked up through watery vision. The noises didn¡¯t even appear to be coming from the floor immediately over their heads ¨C somewhere higher up. Those sounds had to be loud.


    He had expected the thugs to show some regret, some apprehension over the side they¡¯d chosen in this one-sided war. But he was to be disappointed.


    ¡°Aw, yer big bruv showed up to frow a tantrum, az ¡®e?¡± Hibbern merely patted Jar solidly on the head, driving the boy down to a crouched position again. ¡°If I ¡®ear the bell ringin¡¯, well¡­ We¡¯ll give yer proper burials, like.¡± He grinned down at the twins. ¡°Baha, wut am I on? You¡¯s to get pigged, I reckon. Not mush left after tha¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I dunno, Hib,¡± the skinny guy said from the doorway ¨C and Hibbern¡¯s face suddenly lost about fifty percent of its confidence. ¡°Thith thtuff about the bell¡­¡±


    The gorilla turned to face his mate, his brother-in-murder, exchanging some crude barbs and gesturing furiously.


    Jar couldn¡¯t have asked for a better opportunity to stab the big guy in the back, in the throat ¨C the other would¡¯ve surely given up, fled, if he made the big one bleed ¨C


    But Jaroan had given up and been borne away, broken by pain into a thousand bits, like crumbled twigs, cast from a bridge into a river.


    Hope of rescue alone carried him on: Feychilde! Feychilde¡¯s come!


    And, leading on from that, self-revulsion dragged him under: What would he think of you now? What would he say?


    There was no doubt in his mind at all that this was over. He would have to hide this half of himself. Hide it, and forget it.


    Now he found himself shivering.


    When he sat down next to Jaid, his eyes closed and struggling to control his breathing, she squeezed her hand under his arm and linked him, placing her head on his shoulder.


    He smiled, but the peril was gone. What might have passed between them in union cast little more than a shadow over their minds, and only for one moment, one thought:


    Feychilde¡¯s here.


    ¡°Fink it frough, man,¡± Hibbern was berating his colleague. ¡°If he ain¡¯t got a way ter freaten ¡®em, how¡¯s ¡®e gonna hold it over the champ-yun? Eh? Yer fink about tha¡¯?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve thought about it,¡± the one with a brain replied, ¡°and it getth uth dead.¡±


    ¡°¡¯E ain¡¯t gonna use it, yer dolt!¡±


    ¡°And if he ain¡¯t, Feychilde¡¯th going to know that, ithn¡¯t he?¡±


    The gorilla grunted, and Jar only just opened his eyes in time to see the thug¡¯s left arm reach up to the front of his chest ¨C presumably reaching for his blade ¨C


    The boy went too cold to shiver, and as Hibbern slowly retrieved a long dirk from an inner breast-pocket, lowering it into view, Jaroan once more felt the stillness settle fully over him.


    I¡¯m safe, but the skinny guy? The one who doesn¡¯t actually want to kill us?


    The boy¡¯s fingers twitched for his belt, and for a moment he considered less-than-lethal options. He could strike Hibbern in the leg, hamstring him ¨C or aim for the spine, disable him but leave him in a state where Feychilde¡¯s sylph could heal him ¨C


    But those options were less certain, too. The gorilla¡¯s clothes would probably turn aside the blunt blade. And once Jaroan took his chance, he¡¯d never get it again. If he left Hibbern in a condition to attack back, Jaroan knew he¡¯d be killed outright.


    Can I actually kill him ¨C just to defend his friend?


    Hibbern took a step towards his pal¡­


    Can I actually sit here while he murders him?


    The mingled emotions ¨C Feychilde is here! But what will Kas think? ¨C it wasn¡¯t enough to dissuade him.


    Act now! Before he gets closer!


    He put down his hand, shifted his weight to help him launch himself up to his feet ¨C


    And just as he did so, there was a flicker, a single half-blink of time in which the door went from fully closed to fully opened, colour suddenly flooding across the candlelit space ¨C


    Then Hibbern and the reedy guy were lying comatose in separate corners on either side of the doorway, and Killstop was there, regarding the twins through the disapproving mask¡¯s eye-slits.


    ¡°Stupid inkatra,¡± she muttered, even as she reached out a hand for each of them. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s ¨C¡°


    It wasn¡¯t like he could¡¯ve stopped her if he¡¯d wanted to ¨C her fingers closed around his wrist and the world lurched. He was vaguely conscious of his legs flailing as he was carried.


    ¡°¨C get you¡­ ah¡­ safe,¡± the arch-diviner finished, depositing them on the bench in the main room of his home and breathing deeply.


    He took that as permission ¨C he shrank back into the corner of the seat, panting ¨C Jaid did the same in the other corner, as far from him as she could get.


    The seeress looked between them, then her eyes behind the mask seemed to fall towards Jaroan¡¯s belt.


    Towards the dagger.


    But she can¡¯t¡­ oh¡­


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have a clue¡­ what you were going to do. I do.¡± Killstop¡¯s voice was quiet, as she got her breath back, unusually-solemn. Almost grim. ¡°I can either tell him, or not. One of¡­ one of two ways. You get to choose. I know, before you say it ¨C he bought you the knife, right? It¡¯s his fault, right?¡±


    He stared at her in mingled terror and fascination as she shook her head.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t give it to you because he wanted you to use it. Yes, he¡¯s stupid. But that¡¯s beside the point, now. Which way¡¯s it gonna be, Jar?¡±


    He looked at Jaid, and only now realised that she was completely silent, locked in place, left out of the conversation. She seemed to be inhaling forcefully, but it was an unending breath.


    He returned his attention to the arch-diviner in whose hands his fate had been placed, like a fortify Minion, ready to be spawned.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell him! Please!¡±


    She regarded him wistfully for a moment, just long enough for him to realise she knew what his answer would be.


    Then why make me say it?


    ¡°Okay. Okay, we¡¯ll play it that way. But¡­ okay. You¡¯re not a machine, Jaroan. You weren¡¯t made to work one way forever until you break. We all have emotions; we all struggle. You have to rise above it, sure, but that means digging your way out of the muck, not floating like a wizard. We all want to kill, don¡¯t we, when we¡¯re angry? We all want violence. You can¡¯t just run from those feelings. If you keep running, one day you¡¯ll find yourself in a corner. There¡¯ll be no way out and you won¡¯t be strong enough to fight. Do you get me? How does it put it¡­ If you flee what you fear when you look in the mirror, then you will find it with you wherever you go. If you face what you fear, you will never see it again. You will have become it. Watch your reflection run.¡±


    He had absolutely no idea what she was trying to tell him to do.


    Face my fear?


    She spent a second or two carefully assessing his confounded face with her all-seeing eyes, and then the champion ran. Time reasserted its flow.


    Jaid reasserted her anger.


    She woke Xastur up, but that was okay. Jaroan cried, and he wasn¡¯t ashamed. He said he was sorry, and she somehow correctly interpreted his blubbers ¨C she forgave him. He knew it because she held him again, gently placing her arms about him like he never wanted her to.


    Like he always needed her to.


    He found himself again, on the seabed of the abyss beneath this ocean of dismay. He found himself, and thought he¡¯d never touch the knife again. Like its handle would be poison to him. Like the shame would never end.


    He would be strong. He would face his darkest self. A hero from one of the stories.


    Until the champion ran away for good.


    Until they both left.


    Forever.


    * * *


    Feychilde had been out all day. Jaroan was up to the part of the story with the necromancer¡¯s pyramid, and was not to be disturbed. Xantaire had taken Xastur somewhere in Oldtown, and Orstrum had fallen asleep on his granddaughter¡¯s bed, snoring peacefully.


    Left to her own devices, Jaid wandered the apartment with unshed tears in her eyes, tracing the spines of the books on the shelves with her fingertips. When she got bored, she found some dust that needed dusting and some washing to wash. She braided her hair, and dutifully popped the end of the braid in her teeth as she went about the remaining chores she could find for herself.


    She had no words for it, but she knew the emotion on an instinctive level: she was adrift. There¡¯d been a time when family had been enough for her to know her place, what she was made for. To exist in this cocoon of familiarity. To satisfy her pleasures with flights of fancy, escape the meagre morsels of food and the cold, creaky mud of Sticktown on the wings of words. She¡¯d always known that one day she¡¯d have to grow up, but she thought it would always be in the next decade, next year, always a tomorrow away. And even if it came, even if reality rushed down to meet her imagination early, it surely couldn¡¯t arrive before her fifteenth birthday, could it?


    Yet it had happened, before she was even ten. Somewhere between all the dizzying events of the last few months, reality had crept in ¨C not a destructive wave to crush her dreams in one fell swoop, but a nauseating trickle of venom seeping through cracks in the walls of her mind. She couldn¡¯t explain it. There were no words in her vernacular for what she was feeling; she knew the word vernacular, yet the proper expressions still eluded her, too few accumulated experiences to draw on.


    She was alone, before herself, exposed to herself in a way that she¡¯d never known before, and the consciousness of her own existence was terrifying.


    There were no flights of fancy. The stories in the books were just reflections on a puddle¡¯s ripples, distorted before they even came into being. Even the Infernal Incursions ¨C they¡¯d always been at worst a semi-present danger. Now she¡¯d seen it up close. She ate and walked and slept and dreamt within the shadows of a champion and his friends.


    Her curious mind eventually seized upon the correct phrase.


    Purposelessness.


    It wasn¡¯t quite enough. It was as though a second skin had been settled over her, unresponsive. Something hard. Brittle. But unbreakable. Halting all her movements, just a little. Slowing her, imperceptibly to all but her.


    This is crystallised purposelessness.


    That was it.


    It wasn¡¯t just a matter of what she needed to do with her life. Of course, there was that aspect ¨C what can I do, what can I do that matters, without his powers? ¨C but it was more than that. Feychilde ¨C the change in Kas ¨C it had drilled down into her identity and punctured the defenceless sack. She was leaking.


    I¡¯m leaking myself.


    It¡¯s not what I¡¯m going to do. It¡¯s who I am.


    Who am I?


    Eventually, something in her elected to take control of the body of flesh and blood and bone, dragging it down to the street.


    There was no one to stop her. Who cared if it was dangerous? Feychilde would save her. He always saved them, no matter what was wrong.


    She felt the eyes on her as soon as she shut the door behind her, but she drew a breath and composed herself before making her way across to the stairs, down into the mud.


    Everyone knew. It was only a matter of time before someone said something to her about Feychilde. About Kas.


    ¡°Hey, Jaid!¡±


    It was Iltri. Jaid increased her pace.


    ¡°Jaid? Jaid! Where¡¯s your coat?¡±


    Santamir Finnerfell¡¯s voice. Instinct had forced her to turn her head just enough that she caught his upraised hand and expectant expression out of the corner of her eye ¨C she forced her head back, staring straight in front of her as she started to skip ¨C


    Sweet Mother of the Mercies, where am I even going?


    She had no answer ¨C she only knew that she was going away.


    Got to get out of here. Got to get away from me.


    She knew that thirty, fifty, a hundred people were chasing after her. She could hear their splashing footfalls, their cries. She wouldn¡¯t take the time to look back.


    She was running now.


    Why am I running? Running isn¡¯t purpose. Running¡­


    She only recognised what was really going through her head when she saw the fences, the bare tree-limbs of the shrine¡¯s gardens.


    She wanted to stop dead, root herself to the spot, but while she had the power to halt her running, Jaid nonetheless seemed incapable of coming to an actual stop. Her legs continued to eat up the distance, bringing her closer and closer at a steady walking pace. Despite her reduced speed, the hordes of inquisitive neighbours never caught up to her, and she caught herself before she cast about in surprise.


    I imagined it. It¡¯s a dream.


    Just a dream.


    So it was that she proceeded alone into the graveyard of Yune.


    There were other people here, but they didn¡¯t recognise her. She was safe. Some of the mourners she passed by smiled at her, speaking platitudes and wishing her the season¡¯s greetings. She merely fixed a grin on her face, leered back at them.


    Drop on them. They don¡¯t know me. They don¡¯t know what I¡¯ve been through.


    They reacted inappropriately to her offensive grimace, most of them sidestepping confusion and going straight for pity.


    Jaid looked away, needing to avoid them. She didn¡¯t know how her twin did this, lived like this.


    She quickly veered off the well-trodden paths, entering the trees where she could flit towards her destination without further interactions. She bowed her head and looked down at her feet, watching the things on the ends of her legs as they went stomping through the scattered twigs, the long, frozen grasses, heedless of the noise, the destruction.


    Not my destination. Their destination.


    Everyone had been moaning about it, but the cold only touched her when she was kneeling there beside the grave. A frigid wind lapped the grass, her hair, her dress, sneaking in through the arms and neck and hem of the garment, sending shivers racing up her spine. The sky started to spit.


    She sighed, and gave in, sinking down onto her backside. Who cared if she got wet, colder? It didn¡¯t matter anyway.


    She never liked talking to the dead, and liked it even less now she¡¯d long-since said all she had to say. But this was different. She looked inside, and was left empty. She needed something from outside and there was no one else to give it to her.


    I need you.


    ¡°Hello again,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Hello, honey,¡± Mum said.


    She dreamed the response. She could remember their voices, of course. Maybe she was wrong. But there was nothing stopping her from making her memory her new reality.


    ¡°Is it all just a dream?¡±


    ¡°What, honey? Is what a dream?¡±


    ¡°This. Everything. Everything that¡¯s happened.¡±


    ¡°Now why would you go and say something like that?¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re dead, but you¡¯re still not gone, are you? Not really. I¡¯ve seen it, Mum. I¡¯ve seen what they can do. You¡¯re never gone. I¡¯ll never be gone. Even if I wanted to be¡­¡±


    Mum didn¡¯t answer.


    What is the answer?


    ¡°It¡¯s not a dream.¡± Dad¡¯s severe voice shook her ¨C she looked up at the gravestone in surprise, but there was only the brief message assigned by the ministers, half-obscured by the untouchable creeping moss:


    LOCUS KNEW THEM ¨C IN CELESTIAL INK SHALL THEIR SPIRITS FLOW FROM THE SCHOLAR¡¯S PEN, AND BE AT REST UPON THE PAGE ¨C UNTIL NIGHTFALL


    ¡°Dad?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a dream,¡± the priest repeated ¨C now she located the sound she twisted about on the icy ground, facing into the drizzle on the wind. He was standing there, not fifteen feet from her, but in her reverie she must¡¯ve missed the sounds of his approach below the breeze. His robe was brown, his frame short and thin. The man¡¯s ruddy hair was greying at the temples, and contemplative eyes sparkled from deep-set sockets in his narrow face.


    ¡°But¡­ but if you go on forever, isn¡¯t it ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s not a dream. You can¡¯t escape that way, even if you stumble across keys from time to time¡­ No, it¡¯s all that matters. Life shapes your soul. You need more than a dried-up heart, Jaid Mortenn. You need a clean spirit, a meaning, to pass through the gate.¡±


    ¡°How¡­ How do you know who I am?¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± He asked the question directly, sharply, without any mysticism in his tone, which only served to further bewilder her.


    ¡°You ¨C like you just said ¨C¡°


    ¡°I know your name, but I don¡¯t know who you are, child. Am I alone in that, or can I keep you company?¡±


    She gaped at him.


    You seem to know everything about me¡­


    ¡°Identity. The meaning of life.¡± He smiled thinly. ¡°Only you can answer this, and you can answer it only for yourself. If it were otherwise, your soul would be shared, would it not? You would not be yourself. No, even one who knows you from this very place cannot roll that stone. Your epitaph shall be your own.¡± She saw the eyes lower briefly to the grave, then return once more to her face, and it was in a softer voice that the priest continued. ¡°But do not be dismayed. The young do not know who they are; the gods war within the soul, disguised, and only time can tell whether light shall prevail, or the darkness be invited in.¡±


    His turn of phrase ¨C she knew him then.


    He buried our parents.


    He¡­ He understood¡­


    ¡°You shall find yourself. Allow yourself time. Chraunator gives before he takes.¡±


    ¡°My brother, he¡­ he has darkness within him. I think it might win.¡±


    The priest nodded gravely. ¡°Yet the heart of the champion, even the demonologist, is uplifted to the light. The fire of archmagery is not fully understood, but this much we of the clergy hold true: it is holy. It is not to be hindered by men¡¯s hands.¡±


    I¡­ I meant Jaroan¡­


    So this minister had already heard of Feychilde¡¯s true identity, then ¨C he¡¯d put two and two together quickly, when he¡¯d recalled Jaid¡¯s name.


    ¡°Why did you come over to me?¡± she challenged him suddenly.


    ¡®I heard the sister of Sticktown¡¯s greatest champion was sitting in the grass, and¡­¡¯


    ¡°There were reports,¡± he spoke sombrely, ¡°of a girl striding through the wood, disconsolate and alone. I knew not who you were, Kultemeren as my witness, until I approached.¡±


    ¡°But when you saw me. When you realised who I was, it was exciting.¡±


    The thin lips on the narrow face formed a crooked smile, and the older man shrugged lightly. ¡°I am but human.¡±


    ¡°You hoped we¡¯d start talking about my brother. Kastyr.¡±


    ¡°Child, I do not think ¨C¡°


    ¡°I live in his shadow!¡± she cried. ¡°I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t move, I can¡¯t breathe ¨C it¡¯s too much! I didn¡¯t even¡­ I didn¡¯t even mean Kas!¡±


    There was a pause as he probably recalled the fact she had a male twin.


    ¡°Ah,¡± was all he could say.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she spat, returning her gaze to her parents¡¯ moss-covered gravestone. ¡°And what about darkmages? Maybe being an archmage looks all holy, from outside, but on the inside? On the inside, it¡¯s just like anything else. It¡¯s¡­¡±


    Decay.


    She waved a hand, indicating everything, the mess of a world that surrounded her and this one sanctified, familiar place.


    ¡°Darkmages are aberrations,¡± the minister of Mortiforn said. ¡°And even if every archmage so invested chose the darkness, this would remain true. It takes but one drop of filth to contaminate the vial of pure water. Yet we do not say all water is thus contaminated. We cannot excuse our inaction if the integrity of the city¡¯s water-supply were threatened. We will not be overcome by the possibility of failure before we begin, and we will not call the holy unholy even if by our inaction we seek to permit its condemnation. Are the gods condemned as one, because so many of them are shadow-makers?¡±


    She was still staring at the stone, letting his words wash over her.


    Break upon her like raindrops on the cold grave, running off into the ground.


    People will never be clean.


    Her eyes narrowed as she suddenly understood exactly what had happened here.


    If I kick their grave, will it happen to me?


    It wasn¡¯t something she could¡¯ve brought herself to do, even if the fate of Materium depended on it. She didn¡¯t have in her whatever it was in Kas that produced that action, the savage attack on their memories represented by the single fateful flick of a leg.


    The sense of betrayal he carried around with him until that day had evaporated afterwards, though. His resentment of them¡­ That was what it¡¯d always been. What had driven him to this very spot, made him bring them so often, until that day.


    Was that what he was feeling, all this time?


    Was that what left him when the power filled him?


    That¡¯s what I need, she realised. But it¡¯s not them I resent. It¡¯s¡­


    It¡¯s him. It¡¯s me. It¡¯s all of us.


    One word, one raindrop stuck.


    ¡°Filth. One drop of drop¡­¡±


    ¡°Child¡­¡± He almost said it reprovingly, like ¡®drop¡¯ was a proper swear-word.


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying ¨C if they had a single drop of drop in them ¨C they won¡¯t go to Celestium ¨C they¡¯ll be ¨C¡° she waved her hand at the grave furiously ¡°¨C they¡¯ll be somewhere else, somewhere dark, and Jaroan, he¡­¡±


    I¡¯ll go with him into the darkness. He¡¯s changed, and he¡¯s changed me ¨C


    ¡°The Lord Suffering¡¯s scalpel shall remove the detritus from their souls,¡± the priest said in a soothing voice. ¡°They shall pass together beneath the arch, if they have not already done so. Rest assured.¡±


    ¡°But I bet you say that to everyone! Lies.¡±


    ¡°Truth¡­ Lies¡­ I am not sworn to Kultemeren.¡± He sighed. ¡°Saying such words is all my purpose, child.¡± She heard the tremor in his voice, and looked up at him in surprise: he was gazing about the graveyard. ¡°Is this not the place for hope?¡± he finished.


    He wasn¡¯t looking at her, suddenly-watery eyes scanning the trees ¨C but the way she seemed to shake his faith restored her own.


    He was right.


    Hope!


    ¡°Truth or lies, it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she breathed.


    He broke out of his reverie, stared at her strangely.


    ¡°You speak as one who has endured great suffering, Jaid Mortenn.¡± She saw as a faint smile twisted his lips, not happy or sad but somehow both simultaneously. ¡°Far be it from me to steer your course, yet I might be your lighthouse, if this darkness seems overwhelming. Have you considered a future in the ministry? We would accept neophytes from their tenth year.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Learning about Nethernum ¨C I¡¯m sure it¡¯s interesting ¨C¡°


    His smile broadened. ¡°Oh, in the first years you would spend most of your time preparing corpses for the worms or winds, as their souls desire.¡± He saw her blench and carried on regardless, the softness of his voice enthralling her despite the disgust his words caused in her. ¡°You are used to rough passage. We offer your vessel not quiet waters, but still: the silent expanse, where the emptiness within might be mirrored without. It is slow going at the oars, traversing the void ¨C but rewarding when one comes at last to journey¡¯s end.¡± He winked. ¡°So I hope.¡±


    His jest helped her realise what he meant:


    ¡®Rewarding when one comes at last to journey¡¯s end.¡¯


    Rewarding when you die.


    She opened her mouth to reply, but the Mourning Bells spoke instead, pealing down from Hightown on a blast of wind that flattened the grass.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    There was no need to speak


    He ran back to Mud Lane with her hand in his, wordless the whole way except to discuss the best route for her to return home. He almost lost her once, when the teeming crowds of panicked people split in half at an alleyway ¨C but he kept his grip on her hand. When at last she reached her building he didn¡¯t even stop her to bid her farewell, but went wading off towards Cutterwells at a more leisurely pace.


    She watched the brown-robed man until he vanished around the bend, envious of the way he, unencumbered by a young dependent, walked casually while the Incursion descended on the city. The way he stopped to help others, even if only to move out of their way. He was in no rush.


    It was power.


    Rewarding, when you die.


    And the next time she saw Brother Porsico, she was ready.


    * * *


    ¡°The funniest thing happened to me the other day,¡± Xantaire said in a dreamy voice, sitting back with her eyes closed, mug of wine in her lap.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Jaid said automatically, moving her fortify piece backwards and forwards, unable to settle on a move.


    Jaroan merely arched a single eyebrow at Xan, something he¡¯d been practising. No one could see in the dim candlelight, he supposed, but he felt compelled to arch the eyebrow all the same.


    ¡°Well, there were these two people in Hontor¡¯s ¨C wait, I¡¯m telling it all wrong. What happened is, I hear some guy say: ¡®Hey! Who¡¯re you hiding from?¡¯ So I turn and look, of course, and sure enough someone¡¯s crouching in the corner, in kind of a strange position, you know?¡±


    Next Jaroan perfectly executed an eye-roll. Or, at least, he hoped it was perfect. It¡¯d felt like a good one.


    ¡°She¡¯s crouching, you know, like she was sitting down, except there¡¯s no seat? Well, it was too good of an opportunity. I went up and said, ¡®Finally ¨C there you are!¡¯ They laughed, then he said: ¡®Now it¡¯s your turn, Xantaire¡¯¡­¡±


    Jaid¡¯s indecision was starting to get on his nerves. All the time Xan was talking, there was this incessant little scrape-tap-tap-scrape-tap-tap going on in the background. It was worse than the Bells.


    ¡°¡­ like, ¡®How do you know my name?¡¯ Only, it¡¯s only gods-damned Lerg Manatown and his sister!¡±


    ¡°Oooooh,¡± her grandfather cooed.


    ¡°I know! Been ten years since I seen them¡­ Supposed to be meeting them for a drink sometime, but with the whole Kas situation ¨C¡°


    ¡°Will you stop that?¡± Jar finally snapped, slamming his hand down on the board, sending half the pieces jumping in place. Three of Jaroan¡¯s Minions fell over, but he didn¡¯t care: at least his sister had frozen, the Swamp Hag in her hands no longer scraping or tapping the wood.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stop! I can¡¯t think!¡± Jaid muttered, lowering the Hag and moving her hand back. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡±


    He felt a cold smile slip across his face as he gazed upwards, as if to stare through the ceiling into the sky, where, perhaps, extra-dimensional entities warred with archmages above the earth.


    Without even looking, he swept his arm across the board and knocked most of the pieces out of position. Some fell to the floor, plinking lightly as they rolled under the table.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing that for?¡± she snapped, grabbing his hand and stopping him, even though it was pointless now ¨C the game was ruined.


    ¡°Well, why not?¡± He stood up, the smile still on his face. ¡°Feychilde¡¯ll be fighting demons for real. Never know ¨C they might even come here again.¡±


    ¡°You quit because you were going to lose!¡±


    He snorted. ¡°Whatever.¡±


    Maybe I did. Maybe I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°No, seriously!¡±


    Jaid tried her best pitiful gaze. He wouldn¡¯t even meet her eyes, still staring up and smiling ¨C but he could feel her regard. The air in the room was burning with tension.


    ¡°You want them to come here again,¡± she murmured.


    Now he whipped his head about to stare at her.


    Maybe I do, his mind whispered. At least it¡¯d be something.


    ¡°Disgusting,¡± his mouth sneered.


    ¡°Jaid!¡± Xan barked at her from across the room, glaring at his sister, half-angry, half-horrified.


    ¡°What?¡± His sister said it like she was about to start crying. ¡°Why are you blaming me? It¡¯s him! It¡¯s his fault!¡±


    ¡°Demonnnnnnnn,¡± Xastur said, wide eyes on his mother as he stood by her hip. ¡°Deeeeeeeee-mon! Demons have claws!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of this!¡± Xantaire snapped, ignoring him, her eyes brimming as she stared at Jaid and Jaroan. ¡°You both need to sort your acts out. Five save us! Isn¡¯t it enough already? Why do you have to make it worse?¡±


    ¡°Xantaire¡­¡± Orstrum tried to interject.


    ¡°No! No, old man, you stop too! I have to think about my son!¡±


    She swept Xassy into her arms, stalked to her room, and slammed her door shut behind them.


    ¡°Well, that was dramatic,¡± Jaroan drawled.


    ¡°What¡¯s happened to you, boy?¡± Orstrum growled. Jaroan hadn¡¯t seen him like this in a long time, and it gave him pause. ¡°Yes, bad things have happened to you. Yes, the world is a mess. Why do you think we have stories? Five save us indeed! What would Wyre do, or Litenwelt, or Brenwe? Do you think they¡¯d be angry all the time?¡±


    ¡°They were archmages!¡± he retorted. ¡°The greatest of them all.¡±


    ¡°Well what about me? Do you think you¡¯re the only one who feels powerless?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re angry? Sorry, I couldn¡¯t tell through all the drugs.¡±


    ¡°Well, my boy¡­¡± Orstrum passed a hand across his face. ¡°Well maybe I¡¯m ashamed ¨C and maybe I¡¯m not. Looks to me like one who refuses to be decent shouldn¡¯t demand perfection from others. If my worst sin is trying to lighten my mood, so be it. At least I¡¯m not trying to make every minute a living nightmare for those around me.¡±


    That made the smile on his face slip. Jar slowly sank back into his seat.


    ¡°Yes, there¡¯s something wrong,¡± Orstrum finished, gentleness entering his voice again. ¡°Wait ¨C that isn¡¯t what I was going to¡­¡± He shuddered, choking: ¡°Going to say¡­¡±


    Orstrum¡¯s brain must¡¯ve fired off the command to utter those last three words, his tongue going through the motions even as the ragged figure began to materialise in their midst.


    The old man fell back in his chair, eyes bulging in fright. Jaroan reached for Jaid¡¯s hand, instinctively sliding away from the apparition, but it was too late.


    Jaid cried out for Xantaire and Feychilde, an echo of the Mourning Bells still pealing out across the city.


    It was no good. Jaid¡¯s screams would avail them nothing. Jaroan stared, transfixed in terror, as the fiend took form not six feet from him.


    It was a thing swathed in ¨C maybe made out of ¨C cloth.


    Jar vaguely recalled Kas mentioning one of the most dangerous adversaries he¡¯d seen: a demon of rags like this, shooting coloured lights from its hands¡­


    But the only visible part of this attacker was a trio of awful nails, like blades of rust extending from a sleeve. No rays of light.


    Then it spoke, its Rivertown accent suddenly shocking him into understanding.


    Heretic.


    The voice was young, deep ¨C confident.


    ¡°You gotta understand, this ain¡¯t about you. But yer all dead already. I¡¯m just doin¡¯ the gods¡¯ work wi¡¯ yas.¡±


    Lethargy stole over him. Jaroan felt his eyes filling with tears as he slumped over.


    His hand, still reaching for Jaid¡¯s, fell limp from his wrist like a dead fish.


    ¡°Yer just gotta die. It¡¯s a price what wants payin¡¯. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Darkness, as the darkmage¡¯s spells enveloped him.


    Smiling, as he descended into it.


    Feychilde will come.


    * * *


    A while ago she would¡¯ve prayed to Yune, prayed for Kas to come back and rescue them, but there was no way that wasn¡¯t happening. She didn¡¯t need to pray ¨C their brother was already on his way. No, Mortiforn was on her mind, and there was the heretic¡¯s turn of phrase ringing in her ears. The thought she spoke was to Lord Suffering, if there were indeed any ear intended to catch it.


    If there¡¯s a price to be paid, let someone else pay it. I¡¯m tired of settling a champion¡¯s debts.


    She thought at first it was the argument that had awoken her, and it took her a moment to isolate the otherworldly scent of Avaelar¡¯s breath in her consciousness.


    ¡°This is it.¡± Xantaire¡¯s voice, resolute. ¡°It¡¯s too much. You¡¯ve got to go.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Her twin. ¡°No! This is our house! You go!¡±


    Jaid could see herself coming down on either side of that particular debate. Her heart agreed with Jar, but her mind¡­ her mind saw the truth.


    ¡°Truth or lies, it doesn¡¯t matter. Hope!¡±


    ¡°Xan ¨C Xan, it¡¯s not enough. Y-you¡¯re in danger, wherever I go, if they know you were¡­¡±


    She listened to his words with her eyes closed, and it wasn¡¯t the champion she heard ¨C it was her brother. Her protector. Her teacher. And his heart was breaking.


    When she opened her eyes, Jaid saw the champion sitting there, but it was her brother inside. He was still in there, still the same unsure, uncertain Kas, trying to do his best with another terrifying situation.


    She crossed to him, hugged him, and lied to him.


    It was only then that he started to tell them what had actually happened ¨C what her casual, off-hand prayer bought for her second-favourite arch-druid.


    Kas didn¡¯t bother staying long. Within ten minutes of Jaid waking from the heretic¡¯s spell, he was gone again. They were apparently safe once more, but the patrol of huge, nice-smelling squirrels he¡¯d left in the apartment seemed to suggest otherwise.


    As distractingly-cute as the creatures were ¨C Jaid kept following them with her eyes, kept listening to their chirps in case she could extract some meaning, accusation, from it ¨C she found herself returning her attention, again and again, to the spot where Nighteye had fallen. Feychilde¡¯s minions had done a good job of cleaning up, but she imagined the mess as it might¡¯ve been. She¡¯d never met the druid, but she¡¯d always known exactly what he¡¯d looked like. The town-criers gave repetitive descriptions of all new champions, and she could remember the morning she¡¯d first heard of him. Kas had actually obtained a proper news-paper, which contained an artist¡¯s impression of the event ¨C she could still see it before her mind¡¯s eye as though it had been yesterday. A scrawled sketch of a short man walking out of an inferno, robed in fire-singed green, with a long pole like a bannister-rail slung over one shoulder. Clinging to the bending wooden beam was easily ten times his body-weight in soot-coated children, almost two-dozen of them hanging on for dear life as he carried them from the blaze.


    And now he is dead. Because of me. Because I didn¡¯t want to pay the price.


    She looked at the blackened line in the wall where the killing-blow had fallen. A thin, jagged slice through the wood. Through Nighteye¡¯s neck.


    Like a sword.


    Stormsword?


    Certainty flooded her. She closed her eyes.


    And Princess went for a paint-job. That¡¯s code for dead, isn¡¯t it? Princess died in the Incursion¡­ Or right here, before he woke us up, fighting the heretic¡­ He just didn¡¯t have the heart to tell me¡­


    She felt so guilty for all her previous thoughts, her attitude towards him. Kas was just trying to keep them afloat while the world went down the whirlpool. Kas, and Feychilde ¨C they were two different people inhabiting the same body. It wasn¡¯t that Kas had changed, not really ¨C not yet, anyway. It was more like he was possessed. Like he had to put up with this other persona, stealing his time, his life¡­


    She went for a wash, lit new candles, and headed to bed. The Bells had stopped. Whatever fate Kas was imagining for himself, for the rest of them, it couldn¡¯t have been worse than the Incursion.


    Her dreams knew better.


    In her dreams, she stands at the side of a ditch in a road. A tall scythe is planted in the mud at her feet, and the long blade gleams over her in the moonlight, swaying in the breeze. Feychilde stands in the ditch below her, looking up at her. She can¡¯t make out his expression below the mask ¨C it looks like he is frowning, but it¡¯s hard to tell. The distance, perhaps, makes his face amorphous.


    She glances up at the scythe. It watches. It waits.


    ¡°Must you?¡± she asks.


    The responding voice is a child¡¯s, more so than her own ¨C yet it is the steel which speaks, metallic inflections ringing in her ears.


    ¡°You already know. He must¡­ pay. You cannot¡­ pay for him.¡±


    ¡°Does he have to pay this way?¡±


    ¡°So must we all.¡±


    The scythe swings itself. The grips are in her hands, but it swings itself, she swears it.


    The beheaded one in the ditch topples. The devious covering comes loose, and she sees the facelessness beneath the mask. It¡¯s not that he has no expression. It¡¯s that he has no face to begin with.


    No face.


    ¡°Only now can you see.¡±


    She woke up, the words of the god-child, the words of the weapon still slicing through her memory.


    Only now can I see¡­


    She twisted in the covers, looking over instantly at Kas¡¯s bed.


    Empty. Unmade, the quilts left half hanging-off, but not from last night¡¯s use. It was exactly how it¡¯d looked when she went to bed.


    He didn¡¯t come home.


    She roused Jar, pointing.


    And that was the end of things, the end of the world as she knew it.


    * * *

 Inescapable pt3

    Where am I?


    * * *


    The snows had stopped, and even the rain had abated for a night. The smog¡¯s translucent flesh squatted beyond the balcony against which he leant, more mist than smoke or vile stench: it was lying particularly thick, impenetrable, over the streets, and he felt that it was a boon from Belestae, hiding him in this place from unfriendly eyes.


    Or Yane, he admitted to himself. It¡¯s his work I¡¯m doing.


    The wave of repulsion he experienced at the thought was weaker this time; weaker every time.


    The thrill was the same.


    Mists of the Blade-Lord, conceal my actions from those who love me.


    ¡°Watcher after, Mortenn? Watcher lookin¡¯ for?¡±


    It was quite the philosophical question.


    It was difficult, given the pause a proper answer necessitated, but Jaroan did his best to gaze back coolly into Ti¡¯s beady eyes as he replied.


    ¡°Control,¡± he said at last.


    There was an ¡°ooh¡± of wonder from some of the other kids gathered on the balcony. Jar tried not to grin, but the instinct was irresistible.


    Ti was nodding slowly. ¡°Good answer, Mortenn. Gots ter have control, ain¡¯t we? We control it all. We control ever¡¯thin¡¯.¡±


    The others started nodding too, Jar along with them.


    ¡°Yer part of ¡®er family now,¡± Ti said with a wicked smile. ¡°Zandrina¡¯s gonna own all this soon enough.¡± He flicked his gaze about the creaking wooden landscape, looming above and around them. ¡°Not like ¡®alf of it¡¯s worth owt.¡±


    That produced a chorus of chuckling from the assembled knife-boys.


    He¡¯s right, Jaroan confirmed silently. We might as well live in hell.


    ¡°An¡¯ you, Yorbi?¡±


    ¡°I-i-it¡¯s Yordi, sir,¡± whined an auburn-haired, freckle-faced kid, at least a year younger than Jaroan.


    Ti just stared at him, and Jar shuddered inwardly. He wouldn¡¯t have wanted to be the recipient of that stare.


    ¡°Errr, I mean,¡± Yordi looked around at the others as if for help before returning his gaze to Ti, ¡°I mean, I want money?¡±


    Ti laughed harshly, and another chorus of chuckles escaped the group.


    ¡°Money. Who don¡¯t want money! An¡¯ there¡¯s gonna be a lot of it. Ere. Open yer ¡®ands.¡±


    Ti reached inside his coat pocket, producing a small coin-bag. He withdrew several gleaming metal discs, and, before Jar was even holding it, he knew it was gold.


    When he had the surprisingly-warm coin in his hand, he clenched his fist tightly.


    Is this how he felt? he wondered. How Feychilde felt, when he first got paid?


    How Kas used to feel, when he was a street-thief.


    Not that his brother had ever gone into details about that period of his life, but Jaroan and Jaid had once worked together to uncover the truth, sharing the titbits of information they¡¯d each gathered over the years. He knew Kas took money from bad people. He knew Kas hurt people. Maybe it was a long time ago, but what did that matter?


    No. He knew that, wherever his brother¡¯s soul was now residing, Kas had no right to look down on him in judgement for what he was doing.


    I¡¯m doing what you did, aren¡¯t I? Except I¡¯ve got even more reason, haven¡¯t I? What reason did you have? Mum and Dad weren¡¯t even dead yet! You didn¡¯t have to¡­


    He couldn¡¯t continue the thought. He¡¯d never understood Kas, not really. He¡¯d tried emulating him. Tried contrasting himself with him. None of it ever quite worked. He was never simple-enough to accept a definition from outside. Every time Jaroan thought he had a grip on him, Kas had changed.


    No, Jar thought grimly. I¡¯ll start at the beginning. Work my way up. Maybe, one day, I¡¯ll be like you.


    Locked up?


    Dead!


    Yeah. That.


    ¡°Now yer ¡®ands are full, time ter get ¡¯em dirty. I know what feels good. Rippin¡¯ an¡¯ slicin¡¯ as a mob. But yer know what feels better? Winnin¡¯. An¡¯ I¡¯m gonna show yer ¡®ow ter win. Yer gonna learn. Yer gonna take orders, and yer gonna see ¡®em runnin¡¯ scared. See, our inkatra¡¯s the best. Near ter eight minnits a go. Now. Who ¡®ere ain¡¯t got their blade?¡±


    They all dutifully unsheathed the grimy little knives. Kitchen implements or crude woodworking tools, for the most part. Just one boy, someone whose name was unknown to Jaroan, had produced a proper dagger.


    ¡°Real fightin¡¯ blade,¡± the kid said proudly as Ti passed him by, inspecting their arsenal.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t no room for fightin¡¯,¡± Ti said harshly, though not judgementally. He had the air of a teacher from a book explaining things patiently to a classroom of posh little dolts. ¡°Dat ain¡¯t what we about. Yer gotta fight, jus¡¯ run. Trust me. Knives¡­¡± He presented his own dagger, almost as long as a dirk and spotted with old brown blood. ¡°Knives is for killin¡¯.¡±


    Jar remembered the idea of it. Sticking his invisible dagger in the big guy¡¯s throat in the Bertie Boys¡¯ basement. It was a notion detached from reason, emotion. He could examine it in all its clarity.


    He wished he had done it. He wished Killstop never came in with her crazy antics, laying out the thugs, laying down the law to Jaroan about what he could and couldn¡¯t do. So what if she thought killing was wrong? It was easy for her to say that, someone who knew death intimately, knew how to avoid dying¡­


    Someone with power. Control.


    She¡¯s forgotten what it¡¯s like, he thought, staring at the stolen, iron-wrought knife in his hand. He¡¯d cleaned it, and its edge gleamed in the mist-light. What vulnerability is.


    ¡°Yer gonna use the knife, an¡¯ when yer do, doan show it off. Just use it. Fast. Underarm. Stab ¡¯em ten times ¡®fore they even know what¡¯s hit ¡¯em.¡± Ti demonstrated, violently savaging the air with a flurry of stabs, in-out, in-out, in-out. ¡°Aim fer the middle, right? Doan matter where as you get ¡¯em. They¡¯ll leak, jus¡¯ like a skin o¡¯ red wine.¡±


    Jar felt his eyes widen as he watched Ti perform the actions, mimicking killing people, and Ti seemed to notice.


    ¡°Doan be scared, kids. You got the control.¡±


    Jaroan realised he was looking at some of the others while he was speaking too, and breathed an inward sigh of relief.


    ¡°Tell yas¡­ If yer ain¡¯t wantin¡¯ to use it, then yer can ¨C just show it ¡¯em. Tell ¡®em my name. Tha¡¯s usually enough. Show ¡¯em the knife, an¡¯ let ¡¯em know what¡¯s what.¡±


    Showing it. Just showing it.


    Kas had bought him a knife with a blade only he could see. This was the opposite.


    Not hiding. Taking control instead.


    Ti handed out the assignments, speaking with surety: nothing was written down, of course. Whether that was due to a desire for plausible deniability or just because Ti was illiterate, Jar was unsure, but the older boy definitely had a sharp memory.


    ¡°You, an¡¯ you ¨C yer at Drink Alley and that stupid crone, Gittel. She owes fer ¡®alf an ounce. You, an¡¯ you ¨C take this ter the Hurams an¡¯ collec¡¯ fer las¡¯ time. C¡¯mon, tekkit! Two ounces. You, an¡¯ you ¨C¡± he was indicating Jar and Yordi ¡°¨C go see Venny on Finch Street. See if ¡®e¡¯s willin¡¯ ter pay yet, an¡¯ if ¡®e is, I might jus¡¯ be so kind as ter let ¡®im off wi¡¯ a scar. S¡¯long as ¡®e wants more produck, ya know. Uvverwise¡­¡±


    Ti pulled a savage grin, and dragged his fingers across his throat.


    Their gang-leader finished handing out his commands, and Jaroan was still frozen on the spot, staring.


    Fingers across his throat.


    Imagination and recollection met, and he was back in the cellars of Wyre, contemplating murder.


    The future came pushing its hands back through the veil, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him through.


    The sensation of warmth on his hands.


    Killing.


    Killing? I can¡¯t do it.


    Jaroan knew it, all of a sudden. There was no way he was going to be able to kill someone. Intimidate them? Sure. Scratch them? Why not? But¡­ to actually put the knife¡¯s blade inside them?


    The contents of his stomach turned into a rotten flopping fish, too-long dead to have been eaten and far too alive to stay down ¨C nausea flooded over him. He gripped the rail with his hand, drawing a deep breath and swallowing minutely, hoping no one would comment on his pallor.


    It was dark. It was almost over. He just had to hold on. Vanish into the mist.


    No. You can do it. You need to do it. It will be easy.


    I can. I can do it. It¡¯ll be easy.


    ¡°¡­ stamp it out. Yer hear me? Yer all hearin¡¯? Yer got yer jobs, now scarper! Two nights. We meet outside Berthoni¡¯s on Giblet.¡±


    Putting away their knives, the gang of kids quietly dispersed, Ti the first to leave. Jaroan turned about, looking for Yordi, and found the boy staring out into the mist as he¡¯d been doing just a minute ago.


    Sympathy arose in him, but something sliced it in two. The role Jaroan needed to play seized hold of him with purpose, dragging him through the motions.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    Yordi started like he¡¯d been struck.


    ¡°You havin¡¯ second thoughts?¡± He grinned. ¡°Ti wouldn¡¯t like that.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C oh, no¡­ You,¡± Yordi licked his lips nervously, ¡°you saw things, right? Your b-brother¡­ Have you ever¡­ ever killed someone?¡±


    Jaroan¡¯s grin melted into a smile, but he kept it from falling into a frown.


    ¡°Almost.¡± He looked the trembling little lad up and down, then sighed theatrically. ¡°C¡¯mon, Freckles. I¡¯ll show you how it¡¯s done.¡±


    He put his arm around the boy¡¯s shoulders, pulling him away. The kid was trembling. It was like the nervousness had left him, and entered the youngster.


    Yane be praised.


    Finch Street wasn¡¯t far, and in the end he didn¡¯t need his knife. He only needed his words. His tone. His smile.


    As he collected the debts for his boss, Jar never asked himself why he was smiling. The reason was obvious.


    Gold? A means to an end, but what was the end?


    Control? That was a fanciful notion. It was more like submission. It was going with it. It was surrender.


    Death.


    Surrendering to the season of death. Letting the world finally turn. Turning with it.


    That was why he was smiling.


    * * *


    The shrine of Mortiforn nearest the graveyard was small, and, despite its ominous reputation, somehow welcoming. It was located underground, a subterranean structure of brown brick and grey mortar. On the surface there was only what looked like a brick hut, its dark, gateless doorway floating there like a yawning throat in the middle of a particularly-wide road. Its stony base rose a few inches out of the drop, cart-wheels and passers-by sometimes stepping up onto it as they brushed past traffic coming the other way. A smattering of lantern-light was spilling up from below to illuminate the spiral staircase, but it was hard to pick out on the approach ¨C Jaid only knew it was there because this wasn¡¯t her first time here.


    She waited for her opportunity, then sprang through a gap ahead of a pair of packhorses, lifting her feet out of the sludge with care to ensure her boots stayed on. No one gave her a second glance, and anyone who gave her a first glance knew better than to challenge her. Few things were holy, these days, she reflected, but death and its mysteries were still held in respect, even here in one of the city¡¯s worst slums. No one went to Mortiforn without purpose. No one found themselves here by accident. The lost didn¡¯t descend the stairs with skeletal faces carved into the stones, the empty eyes of skulls peering from the shadows.


    It was a place filled with meaning, with divine intent, and she could feel it even just three steps into the stairwell. She was leaving Sticktown, leaving her old self behind.


    The role she¡¯d adopted since first setting foot inside this hallowed temple ¨C it came over her again, completely consuming everything she was: her past, her trials, her emotion. It wasn¡¯t some magical effect, from spell of enchanter or prayer of priest, and yet somehow it was all the more magical for it. She felt the relief as though it were a physical weight she had shed, a heavy, burdensome skin that came coiling away from her scalp, her temples, down her neck and back, tracing her thighs and calves to trail like a shadow at her heels.


    The steps were shallow and broad, the stair itself describing a gentle, curving slope, designed for the small wagons used to transport corpses up and down. As she went, she passed a fellow neophyte on their way out: they nodded solemnly to each other, no other greeting necessary. It was in her nature to say a cheery ¡®morning!¡¯, she thought, but those instincts had long since atrophied. Now it was just an observation:


    That¡¯s how the old Jaid would¡¯ve acted.


    Whether it was the loss of her brother ¨C the loss of both her brothers, really ¨C or her tutelage under Brother Porsico, she was uncertain. She liked to think it was the latter, that it was her choices, not the things that had been done to her, that really mattered. But her initiation into the lay clergy of Mortiforn might¡¯ve just been a symptom, rather than the cause of this new Jaid. She knew herself well-enough to recognise this. She knew it had all been taken; she¡¯d given nothing, none of it willingly. Her life was in tatters and she¡¯d not made a single sacrifice.


    She rounded the bend, coming to the room they called the Chalice: square pillars were spaced at regular intervals, and the chamber itself was a perfect square, perhaps a hundred feet on a side with ten feet of room over her head. On her way to the centre, the ancient Sister at the undertakers¡¯ desk shot her a smile, causing her to almost smile back: sometimes she wondered whether the crone was testing her or if the Sister felt some genuine affection for her. Jaid sensed a blush slowly spreading across her cheeks and turned her head back, locking her gaze upon her destination and snatching up an initiate¡¯s robe from the table as she passed.


    The chamber had many exits ¨C tunnels of brick, or bored into layers of rock, leading to the various halls of inspection and internment. However, her shift wasn¡¯t due to start for almost an hour yet, and before she headed off to perform her duties she had a more important rite to perform. She ignored the passageways, crossing implacably between the pillars as she pulled the brown woollen robe over her head.


    The Chalice¡¯s namesake was another perfect square in the middle of the room, a shallow pool perhaps fifteen feet on a side, appearing to be filled with water ¨C but the nostrils alone gave the lie to that assessment, even before the eyes and ears picked out what the three other neophytes about its edge were doing.


    She found a free spot, smoothed out her robe and sank down to her knees, putting her chin over the cold rim of the low stone wall. Then, at last, she raised her eyes to the statue in the very heart of the pool.


    A man of melting, raw grey flesh, said to be rendered, renewed and remade eternally, all from the salt of their tears.


    My tears.


    ¡°Illodin is the tension before the tears fall, and each tear shed cuts him, brings him closer to death. Mortiforn is the good to be found in death. Mortiforn is the realisation leading to release. Mortiforn is the way to Yune.¡±


    I always thought we¡¯d be inseparable. I couldn¡¯t have been more wrong.


    The fat man opposite her had the edge of the wall biting into his throat as he wept soundlessly. The woman to her left was talking quietly about her mother, the one-legged boy to her right about his injury. She tuned them out, guiding her consciousness in a singular direction.


    ¡°I keep asking myself.¡± She bit her teeth together, grinding them for a moment before recovering the force of will to prise them apart, hurl the words from her tongue. ¡°How can I be strong enough to¡­ To take this. But I know. I know. We are not strong! I can¡¯t be strong enough to take it! That¡¯s why I put myself through it, over and over, lying there in bed, lying in it, in the agony¡­ Why do I do it? Do I love the agony?


    ¡°I think we put ourselves through pain because we¡¯re weak. We¡¯re weak, all of us. Kas was weak. Jar is weak. I liked to think Kas was strong, liked to think he¡¯d always be there to look after us. I like to think I¡¯m strong. We only¡­ pretend we¡¯ve got strength. So that others won¡¯t see us. True strength¡­ I thought I¡¯d seen it, but¡­ does it exist? I¡¯ve started to think, maybe Xan¡¯s the strongest person I¡¯ve ever met! But to give up¡­ Give up what you want. Not for other people to see, though. Not even¡­ Not for the gods. Just¡­ Just for me.¡±


    Her tears joined the pool¡¯s. She moved the slowest, bitterest droplets with her fingertips, one by one as she¡¯d been taught, taking them from her cheeks to the rippling surface and tapping them free.


    ¡°I give up my desire to be strong. To matter. I¡­


    ¡°I am thy sacrifice, my Lord Suffering.¡±


    ¡°You display remarkable improvement,¡± Brother Porsico murmured from behind her.


    The sound of his voice held the same bittersweet tinge as the air they breathed, and she was the only one of the neophytes to turn their head, looking up to meet his gaze.


    ¡°Come with me, child.¡±


    ¡°Mortiforn wills it,¡± she murmured.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    She got to her feet, shook off the last of her tears, and strode after the minister. He wasn¡¯t walking at a brisk pace but he had long legs and she didn¡¯t want to fall behind. They departed the Chalice, entering one of the brick-built corridors, insufficient torchlight throwing them into darkness for four out of every ten steps.


    ¡°Your brother?¡± Porsico asked conversationally over his shoulder.


    ¡°The same,¡± she managed to reply, trying not to pant. ¡°Worse¡­¡±


    ¡°It is not for you to bear those burdens named to him, nor contest the trials he has ahead of him. Let him be.¡±


    ¡°But isn¡¯t my brother my burden?¡±


    Don¡¯t I have to do my best to carry him, when he¡¯s fallen?


    ¡°There is the adage, of Lord Ymer upon the sand, ere the Age of Nightmares fell. You have heard the name, Prince Rivorn?¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°It is a tale of fairies,¡± he said somewhat apologetically, ¡°yet there is a kernel of truth buried within the parable, I believe. So it is said that before he was made King of Adorathan, Rivorn, son of Starren, was apprenticed to the one the gods themselves learned from. Ymer, as was, pupil and master of the Tower of the Evening Star, arch-foe of Lithiguil. Together Ymer and Rivorn walked many worlds and times; the Lord put the prince through innumerable trials, hurled him alone into battles the likes of which cannot be imagined. The boy was bit, and burned, cut and choked, withered in body and wounded in mind. And then at last Ymer found him and freed him from his bonds, and took him to the shores of Hell, where an endless, bottomless ocean of blood seethed, wracked with red storms. They stood upon the crimson-drenched sands, and watched the sea¡¯s violence as it broke upon the black rocks.¡±


    Jaid felt herself shuddering. Brother Porsico¡¯s voice continued in the same, almost amused tone, but even if the battles were unimaginable, she still found herself able to imagine this: the boy and the old man, tiny and frail against the monstrousness of that infernal landscape.


    She thought again of Kas ¨C of Feychilde.


    ¡°The boy pointed to the two tracks of their footsteps, and traced the line back, where a single set of imprints shadowed the sand. ¡®That is where you abandoned me, left me to face the darkness alone!¡¯ he accused.¡±


    ¡°I know this one!¡± she burst out, almost daring to grin. ¡°This is from the Joran stories ¨C Joran says, ¡°No. That¡¯s where I carried¡¯ ¨C¡±


    Porisco halted and turned on his heel, raising a hand to stop her. She almost stumbled as she froze on the spot.


    They were in the shadows between the guttering torches, and the minister of Mortiforn whispered.


    ¡°Yet Ymer only replied: ¡®Yes. That is where I left you, to face the darkness alone.''¡±


    She didn¡¯t know how to reply, and Brother Porsico turned about smartly and continued on his way, forcing her to gather her feet as well as her wits as she struggled to resume her place just behind him.


    She pondered the meaning of the story.


    ¡°Ymer sounds cruel.¡±


    ¡°There is the question as to whether Ymer meant he left Rivorn in relative safety, to face alone yet greater darknesses.¡± They descended another curving stair, and she saw from behind as Porsico affected a slight shrug. ¡°This is, to me, quite obvious, and quite apart from the true meaning. The lesson we are to learn, I think, is that we require abandonment in order to grow. If you seek to carry a burden that has its own legs, trust that it was not made for one to bear. Set it down before it grows too heavy, before it bends your back ¨C before you too must become a burden. Only thus may it learn to bear its own weight. The followers of Belestae would cast aspersions at me for this, but I do not believe you can gain without sacrifice. I do not believe in luck.¡±


    ¡°Kas gained,¡± she blurted, already knowing what he would say.


    ¡°And who has not paid a sacrifice for his gains? Him? You? Your twin? Even your parents¡­ if you see time as the gods see it.¡±


    The priest swung open a door, and the sweet aroma of decay struck her, making her eyes sting and skin crawl for a moment as it always did.


    She steeled herself, of course. She only almost vomited that very first time, and she¡¯d swallowed it right back down without causing a fuss. She was a Sticktown girl ¨C she was born to handle strong smells.


    He stepped aside, and she scanned the room quickly. It was one of the big halls designed for use following Infernal Incursions, hundreds of stone-topped tables spreading out imperceptibly into inky darkness.


    Only a few of the nearest tables were occupied, three ripe cadavers lying motionless under candlelight.


    She stepped after the priest into the midst of the corpses. A handsome man and a pretty woman, still youthful-looking even in death. Their complexions were chestnut-brown and the third could only be their child, a girl perhaps half Jaid¡¯s age.


    All of them cold.


    ¡°But¡­ why are they here?¡± She stifled her own voice, barely breathing the words.


    Why am I on my own this time? she longed to ask, but dared not.


    ¡°They may be contagious.¡±


    She met Brother Porsico¡¯s gaze as he swept out of the room and put his fingers on the door-handle.


    ¡°The will of Mortiforn protects you, Daughter. And if not ¨C you only go to his arms, which await you all the same.


    ¡°Sacrifice.¡±


    He closed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the vast blackness against which the candle-flames themselves seemed to shiver.


    She looked down at her work. She would need to fetch cloth from the shelves, draw water from the rainwater cistern. Basic stuff.


    Sacrifice.


    And so she surrendered to her task, and found her own power by giving in.


    I am thy sacrifice, my Lord Suffering.


    * * *


    The moment he heard the dreadful voice, seeming to bubble up from the very planks beneath his feet ¨C Jaroan dropped from the balcony-rail and twisted away to run, reaching out a hand to grip Yordi by the collar.


    Between one instant and the next, everything had changed. The wooden beams were teeming with life ¨C or with death. The hundreds of rats pouring up the balcony¡¯s supports weren¡¯t coming to say hello. They were coming to feast. And at the same instant, the air itself thickened with a dark swirl of insects ¨C thousands, tens of thousands of them, coming to devour him ¨C


    Feychilde ¨C Kas ¨C please ¨C


    He hadn¡¯t managed more than a single step when the swarms passed over him, tickling him, not a bite or sting landing on his exposed skin.


    He wanted to look back over his shoulder after them, wanted to see what they did to Ti; he could already hear the older boy¡¯s gasps but something inside Jaroan wanted to behold the look on his face as his gasps became screams, as the reality of dark magic overtook his petty little world of knives and intoxication ¨C


    Maybe then he¡¯ll know one fragment, one tiny fragment of what it¡¯s like, being me ¨C


    But the opportunity never came.


    Blackness, more complete than anything he¡¯d ever before experienced, took him up and swaddled him.


    Even if the darkness was strange to him, he¡¯d experienced this kind of exhilarating motion before ¨C he was even vaguely conscious of those moments beyond his control when his feet connected with surfaces beneath him, conscious of the way one foot fell in mud, the other on cobbles, the next on wooden planks ¨C


    The blackness over his eyes: textured, soft. A fold of a robe or sleeve¡­


    The hardness of fingers, clutching him ¨C they moved about his body with such speed, shifting his weight between handholds, that he could perceive only the roughness of her grip, never where exactly she gripped him.


    Her scent. Perspiration. Vaguely nice.


    The first few moments of his rescue had passed, and Jaroan¡¯s mind quickly summed the various sensations into the answer:


    An arch-diviner is saving me, taking me home.


    Killstop?


    It didn¡¯t matter who it was. Even if it was the renegade, risking the Magisterium¡¯s wrath to come back to Sticktown and shield him from a dark druid¡¯s malice, he didn¡¯t want to go back. Didn¡¯t want to have his choices made for him.


    Instincts cried out in revolt, but he tried to twist away from her, lifting his arms and bucking. He tried his utmost to throw himself out of the spell.


    It was no good. He would¡¯ve spun away from her but she had anticipated the motion, whirling with him. The fabric covering his eyes never budged a finger¡¯s-width.


    Momentum increased. Consciousness fell away. His feet no longer impacted the ground. He was being dragged, swept along on a tide of time.


    Then he found himself, seated at his ease upon the frost-coated trunk of a fallen tree. The air smelt the cleanest he could remember, the breeze fresh and free. Beams of starlight fell between the branches, illuminating the glade, and he swiftly cast about.


    Aside from the black-clad archmage sitting cross-legged on the grass, the bow slung across her lap and the quiver of arrows propped up beside her, the clearing was empty. A single owl was perched upon a branch, but there were no eyes were shining in the eaves or undergrowth, no shapes prowling amongst the thorns.


    That hardly made him feel safer. He almost would¡¯ve welcomed witnesses.


    She didn¡¯t save any of the others. Maybe the owl is the dark druid¡­


    ¡°No. We are alone, Jaroan Mortenn. Do not be dismayed. I merely wished to speak with you. You¡¯ve been doing the gods¡¯ work, Jaroan.¡±


    The voice was level, though far more formal than he¡¯d expected.


    ¡°The¡­ g-gods?¡±


    ¡°Not the ones of whom you¡¯re thinking. The ones of whom you thought. Yane ¨C¡±


    Just hearing the hated syllable spoken aloud brought him twisting up to his feet.


    Not Killstop.


    ¡°Sit down, boy.¡± The black-clad figure raised a hand, waved it dismissively in the starlight, and he gingerly sank down, putting his rear-end back on the frost. ¡°I have no interest in ending your life; this much should already be apparent. Glimmer¡¯s gone mad, and won¡¯t obey orders. I¡¯m finally getting somewhere with her, but I have to protect my interests as well, you understand? I do intend to return you to Mund, into the loving arms of your sisters. I would just¡­ speak awhile first.¡±


    Sisters?


    But the other question overrode his curiosity.


    ¡°Return me¡­¡± He cast about again, seeing with new eyes. ¡°We aren¡¯t in¡­ in Treetown?¡±


    ¡°We are some miles from the city. Almost two hundred, in fact. The nearest settlement is approximately one day¡¯s hard march,¡± she turned a little and pointed over her shoulder, ¡°that way.¡±


    The feeling of isolation came crushing down on him then. He wasn¡¯t just alone, he was gone ¨C at a darkmage¡¯s mercy, and ¨C


    ¡°Don¡¯t say it aloud,¡± she murmured. ¡°It won¡¯t help. He¡¯s gone. He can¡¯t save you. Only I can do that. And you won¡¯t even know what I mean, until it¡¯s too late.¡±


    She sighed, and reached up to her face with both hands; within a few moments she had released her black mask and hood, and was pressing her fingers into her temples.


    Jaroan kept silent, smiling, suddenly flooded with relief.


    She might¡¯ve been pretending to be someone else ¨C putting on a harsh voice, cursing like a darkmage ¨C and maybe the events of the last month or so had really changed her. By the starlight, sections of it looked to have been dyed white right from the roots, gleaming like pearl. Maybe she really was different.


    But it was still her. He was still safe, with her.


    He watched without comment as she drew her fingers through her tangled curls, then tucked the sweat-damp hair, brown and white alike, back into her hood.


    She replaced the mask, put her hands on her knees, and returned her focus to him.


    ¡°What do you want, Jar? Most of all?¡±


    She¡¯d dropped the pretence. She was a Sticktowner again, just like him ¨C and he¡¯d never heard her sound so dejected.


    ¡°Want?¡±


    He stared at her.


    ¡°Would you go back? If you could, I mean. Would you go back, do it all differently?¡±


    She¡¯s asking for herself, he realised. She¡¯s¡­ she¡¯s alone too.


    But the arch-diviner would never know he understood this; there was no way he was going to say something like that aloud.


    He shook his head slowly.


    ¡°It¡¯s like that story ¨C Chraunator¡¯s pocket-watch,¡± he mumbled into the silence. ¡°You do it again, only it¡¯s worse ¨C so you try again, and again ¨C¡±


    ¡°Until the world is broken, and Chraunator offers you a chance to return to the initial timeline¡­¡±


    ¡°Exactly! Only this time, you realise this is¡­¡±


    The silence crept back in. After a few seconds, the owl in the tree hooted softly and spread its wings, coursing off through the branches.


    Nothingness swallowed it.


    ¡°You realise it is¡­?¡± Killstop prompted him.


    He stared after the owl.


    ¡°How things are meant to be.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t envy the bird its freedom?¡±


    He blinked. ¡°Sometimes¡­ Yes. Of course.¡±


    ¡°And what would you do, with such freedom?¡±


    She didn¡¯t give him time to answer.


    ¡°They will never give it to you. You¡¯ll sit in the drop, twiddling your thumbs till you die. You have to take it. That¡¯s what I¡¯ve learned. You can¡¯t trust them. Can¡¯t trust your powers. They¡¯ll just take those too, leave you for dead. You can¡¯t be granted freedom, only imprisonment.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡± He didn¡¯t know what to say, but his hidden desires spoke through him. ¡°You regret it? Turning into an archmage?¡±


    She shook her head softly, staring now at the ground. ¡°I can¡¯t regret it. I¡¯d be ¨C I¡¯d be dead. But it broke me the same way it broke him. Almost all of us ¨C why do you think the Thirteen Candles even exists? And now ¨C now I can¡¯t show my face. They¡¯ll never respect me, never talk to me. I¡¯ll never be me again. Can¡¯t let anyone know I¡¯m¡­ I can¡¯t¡­ They¡¯ll kill me!¡±


    Suddenly she was sitting the other way, and he was staring at the back of her hood as she hunched over her knees, shoulders shaking with silent tears.


    He slowly slid off the tree-trunk, heading towards her.


    ¡°Killstop ¨C¡°


    The warm folds of blackness returned, and with it his fear. This time his consciousness had only one object: she filled him with her voice, and he shrank into himself. He no longer felt safe. He knew what he should¡¯ve known all along.


    She never lifted a finger to save Ti from his doom.


    ¡°They killed Killstop. She was never real. They killed her, and they¡¯ll die in turn. I am Nightfell. I¡¯m what¡¯s left. A harbinger of fate. The future they earned. I¡¯ll show them.


    ¡°I¡¯ll show them all.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°Do you believe the blind man when he tells you there is no such thing as light? Do you see my problem now? How can I describe the Light to you? Of course you will deny it. It sounds like something super-natural¡­¡±


    She put down the book when she heard the door, stashing it under the covers, and waited patiently for her brother to enter.


    ¡°Welcome home, Jar.¡±


    Jaid managed to say it without animosity.


    No love, either. But how could she love him? She couldn¡¯t even love herself.


    He didn¡¯t reply, and closed the door behind himself with uncharacteristic gentleness. Jaid pursed her lips, scrutinising him. She only had a handful of candles lit, and his face was swathed in shadow.


    ¡°What is it? What happened this time?¡±


    He sat down on his bed and pulled off his boots and socks, his face carrying the shadow with it. His eyes burned like coals.


    ¡°Jar!¡± she hissed. ¡°What is it?¡± She licked her lips. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    ¡°Nothing!¡± he snarled back suddenly, thrusting out his chin and glaring at her. ¡°Go to sleep, Jaid. Just go to sleep.¡±


    He pulled off his outer clothing, yanked the blankets up over his head and rolled over to face the wall.


    She sat there, staring at the back of his neck.


    He¡¯ll talk, in time.


    When the candles sputtered, one by one flaring their last, she didn¡¯t light new ones. She let the room¡¯s illumination dwindle and die. Let the darkness drink it all in until only their breathing was left. She lay there hugging her pillow, waiting.


    He still wasn¡¯t asleep. He¡¯d pretended to be, then had given up.


    ¡°What happened, Jaroan?¡±


    He started sniffling. She couldn¡¯t feel sorry for him.


    Did he kill someone? Is that it, Jar?


    She imagined it ¨C going to the shrine tomorrow ¨C cleaning the body ¨C not knowing whether it was the marks of his knife on the cold, cold flesh¡­


    ¡°I thought I could take the power back!¡± he moaned at last, rising to a sitting position. ¡°I thought I could have control. Of my life. Fate. Whatever you wanna call it. But I can¡¯t! They¡¯re always there!¡±


    ¡°¡¯They¡¯?¡±


    ¡°The mages! The magic! It¡¯s everywhere here, it¡¯s in everything!¡± His voice ended up hoarse, and he continued croaking: ¡°The men with knives, they took Mum and Dad. The mages took Kas. I just, I had to¡­ I had to be someone ¨C I had to know what it was like ¨C¡°


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    She spoke quietly, not meaning to interrupt, but he silenced himself instantly.


    He looked at her for a long time in the darkness.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said at last.


    ¡°Did you kill someone, Jar?¡±


    ¡°What? No!¡±


    It was good enough for her. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, and she didn¡¯t much care beyond that.


    She couldn¡¯t remember falling asleep, but when she woke up, Kas wouldn¡¯t stop pestering her.


    Consciousness came flaring back into life, a candle-flame reignited, time running in reverse like upward-falling rain.


    She whirled up from the bed, staring at the intruder.


    The plain, angular face, half in shadow. The haunted green eyes, the long knots of fair hair behind the ears. The scar, a little crescent-moon high on his cheek.


    It was perfect in its mimicry.


    A fresh candle had been lit, and the shape looked like him, like it could have been him ¨C once. But there was meat on the intruder¡¯s frame. This was no prison-starved skeleton of a man. No weakness in his the words he¡¯d said, still echoing around in her brain.


    ¡°¡­ rustle up a blackberry pastry¡­ if Pinktongue¡¯s not scoffed them all.¡±


    It couldn¡¯t be him.


    Unless he found healing.


    No. A demon with his voice, his face, his clothes?


    Ah. A darkmage. A heretic, impersonating him?


    She remembered well all the nuances of the illusionist stories she¡¯d heard ¨C such a thing was certainly possible. The heretic at whose mercy they¡¯d been held, during the Incursion ¨C could it be him?


    She froze, wanting to scream.


    ¡°Shh!¡± he said in Kas¡¯s voice.


    There¡¯s only one way to survive this, she realised. Make him think it¡¯s worked.


    She ran to him, put her arms around him.


    If only I had the invisible dagger¡­


    He felt different. It didn¡¯t feel like her big brother, someone she¡¯d hugged ten thousand times. She caught a better glance of his face once he released her, and he was just too healthy. Too alive.


    It isn¡¯t him. Somehow, the knowledge was reassuring. It isn¡¯t him, and I¡¯ll find a way to kill him.


    But why? Why?


    Then she realised that her hair and forehead were getting wet, and, simultaneously, that the intruder was weeping. His chest wasn¡¯t heaving; he wasn¡¯t even breathing heavily. And yet, the tears fell, trickling down his face and down her own.


    She twisted, looking up into her brother¡¯s eyes. Grief and self-loathing, yes, and the pain of recent hardships¡­ but there was something else. An almost imperceptible light of pure, heavens-sent exultation.


    The whole embrace was transformed ¨C now she was the stranger. She was the interloper here, the heart of the mistrust she was feeling. It wasn¡¯t Kas who¡¯d changed ¨C it was her.


    She heard Jaroan¡¯s sob from behind her and that did it.


    She almost screamed, and buried her face in Kas¡¯s chest to stifle the sound. He¡¯d asked for quiet, probably needed it¡­ and she would give it to him.


    Joy, and sorrow.


    Once more the kinship almost bound their minds, but it couldn¡¯t happen then. Couldn¡¯t bring them to the brink of enlightenment. Something was, once more, missing.


    She was left to think the thought alone, squishing her face into his mud-caked robes:


    Inseparable.


    * * *


    Only a void separated him from the ground, but he was used to it. Even Jaid was starting to enjoy it now, he suspected. Gazing down on the shadowy forests and ravines, picking out the sparkling lakes and rivers, pools of starlight in the dense darkness ¨C the wind moving over him, through him, barely even cold. After so many hours, it still didn¡¯t get boring.


    This is how gods feel, he said to himself silently as they flew. I found the bird¡¯s freedom, Killstop. Or it found me.


    But Killstop no longer existed, and he suspected he alone knew the truth of it. He would try to tell Kas sometime, maybe, if it came up.


    If he deserved it.


    Still, freedom didn¡¯t quite encapsulate what he felt. He¡¯d never before really understood why Nentheleme was even a thing. Freedom itself was a bit of a wishy-washy concept. He hadn¡¯t had a context into which he could place his own self. Now he was finding out how small he really was, in the grand scheme of things. It filled him with pleasure and chagrin in equal measure. There was so much out there, to see, to do. So many not even half-ideas, vague notions of what life must be like in the various places they¡¯d passed through. Lives he could live, if he chose to.


    Jaroan had been to visit the sea with Kas and Em. He¡¯d flown, multiple times. But this was different¡­ so different.


    The outside world had always been neatly compartmentalised in his mind. There was Mund, which was quite clearly the centre of everything, the nexus point of all important events in the universe. Even the dragonslayers had been drawn here, and the prophecies of the ancient wyrms apparently centred on this place. The seaside, Salnifast ¨C that was only part of the city. It was important because it was close to Mund.


    Now he frantically found he had to edit those thoughts ¨C the dragonslayers had been drawn there ¨C Mund was a ¡®there¡¯, not a ¡®here¡¯. Already it had disappeared, far behind them. Days behind them. Even now, it was difficult to remember he wasn¡¯t just off in another plane.


    I¡¯m that far gone, he thought guiltily. That far gone, visiting other dimensions seems easier than this¡­


    What was it they called it?


    Exile? Yeah¡­ Exile.


    He seized upon the negative word and all its connotations, wrapping himself in it until he was a victim. Yet his unconscious thought knew it not as exile but as escape. Deep down, Jaroan was having the time of his life, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to deny it to himself.


    For all that they¡¯d left Mund behind, he was once more infused with magic, once more under a sorcerer¡¯s spell. He had none of the control, none of the power. The mingled jealousy and anger he felt towards his brother had returned in spades even as he had to thank him for the opportunity to get out of there. To seek the change he so desperately craved.


    He felt safe, but he told himself he didn¡¯t want to feel safe. Jaroan knew that he was loved, that he¡¯d been forgiven for his misdeeds, but he didn¡¯t deserve it, didn¡¯t want it. What had he done to justify such love? He¡¯d not been punished. He¡¯d spat in love¡¯s face, over and over, and it was easier to keep doing it than to turn and face his mistakes head-on. He¡¯d become his fear, ran from his reflection.


    And was it really forgiveness? He felt judged. Rightfully judged. He¡¯d carried the knife, and he¡¯d moved inkatra, moved inkatra money. Kas might¡¯ve bought him an invisible blade, might¡¯ve been a bit of a thief when he was about Jaroan¡¯s age ¨C but those weren¡¯t excuses and Jar knew it. Kas knew it.


    There was nothing quite like being rightfully judged to make you want to close down, be the victim of it. Lean into it.


    It was strange and it was stupid, and, most importantly of all, it was fake ¨C how long would it be until Kas left them again? It didn¡¯t matter what his brother said; it was inevitable. It had happened before, and it would happen again.


    He forgives me, because that¡¯s the easy road. Not because he really does. He¡¯s still waiting for me to change.


    Jaroan looked across to his brother¡¯s wraith-face, coursing just ahead as the sorcerer pulled the twins across the sky. He could see the clouds through the transparent shadow of Kas¡¯s substance.


    I¡¯ll never change.


    * * *


    She stood at the rail, and the breeze took up her golden braid, throwing back her muddy cloak, choking the breath in her mouth. For a moment she felt fear, facing the ocean ¨C then the breathlessness became exhilaration.


    It hadn¡¯t taken long for Jaid to feel the disconnect. For her it happened the moment they drew up the anchor and the frozen wind caught in the sail. Blackice-town was still within arm¡¯s reach, but then the tug of the first wave had caught the boat in its grip. Suddenly the wharf had been slipping away from her.


    Not just the wharf. The land. The continent. The whole Realm¡­


    I¡¯ve well and truly left Mund now, she thought from the heart of the sea, unable to breathe. Gone, never to return.


    Finally, she relented, facing away and drawing deep lungfuls of air. Not for the first or thousandth time, she looked back towards the stern, where she¡¯d last seen solid ground.


    Open ocean. The undulating skin of Northril.


    What would Brenwe Bathor do? she asked herself, as the cold ocean dragged her away from her whole world.


    It made it easier to fictionalise her life. Think of herself like a character in one of her books, like one of the Five Founders.


    But that was a daft question. Brenwe wouldn¡¯t have needed a ship ¨C she¡¯d have taken passage on her own wings, or given herself the shape of a dolphin¡­


    Which was itself completely beside the point. Brenwe wouldn¡¯t have shied away from an adventure like this. The arch-druid would¡¯ve leaned into it, unworried by futures that might or might not come to pass.


    Why never to return? I could go back, some day. Go back, see them again¡­


    Unless Kas keeps his promise. He could bring them to us.


    The thought of having Xan and Xas and Orstrum back at her side filled her with warmth that the wind couldn¡¯t claim. Yet now that she thought of it, she found she preferred it this way. She didn¡¯t want to be their old Jaid. She didn¡¯t want the warmth.


    I miss you, she thought at them silently, willing the words to cross the distances between them. I¡¯ll see you again soon.


    Maybe.


    Or maybe you¡¯re my sacrifice.


    The pain was lesser than it had been when Kas went to Zyger, but only by degrees. Only by degrees.


    She looked over at her brothers: Jaroan was looking like he didn¡¯t know what to do with himself while Kas spoke to the captain, fidgeting with his hand at his belt where he used to keep the invisible knife.


    Please, don¡¯t tell me he¡¯s still got it.


    No. She could tell from the way he placed his hand, there was no blade there getting in the way of his fingers. It was just habit. Something that would pass, in time.


    She caught herself smiling, and slowly removed the expressiveness from her face. There was no one else to see it ¨C she was just doing it out of habit, in case someone cared to look.


    She knew she was looking the wrong way.


    She moved her eyes back over to the elder brother.


    I thought you were my sacrifice, Kas. I thought you were gone and I was ready to change. Now I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t ever change.


    We¡¯re inseparable.


    The thought horrified her, but she confronted it as she¡¯d been trained.


    This is my¡­


    My penance.


    Yet the knowledge was just part of it. It was only as the thought passed away like smoke into nothing, only then that she really began to transform.


    What I really want is to be left alone.


    * * *

 Inescapable pt4

    What am I?


    * * *


    While Feychilde ¨C Raz ¨C spoke to the king, Jaroan and his sister were relegated to the dungeons. As much as Jar wanted to see this as an insult, he had to admit that the caverns were the best bit of Telior he¡¯d witnessed so far. This was no dungeon ¨C it was a maze beyond comprehension. A dozen tunnels opened into darkness from the first vast space they entered ¨C their guides picked one, seemingly at random, and within two minutes Jaroan had counted a dozen more openings. They took the eighth left, the third right, the fourth left¡­ It went on and on. Some passageways were crawl-spaces, low ceilings or high floors forcing them all to climb, crouch, slip and slide.


    Frost caked everything down here. Jaroan almost got lost at one point, becoming distracted by a spider¡¯s web in a corner as the others moved on. It was frozen thick and solid, which had produced a most-pleasing array of geometric shapes, all enclosed within the translucent white cords. If it weren¡¯t for the female guests of the prince stopping for him, he would¡¯ve been left behind.


    ¡°This place¡­ predates? Yes. Predates ze iron mines.¡± Prince Lathenskar¡¯s Mundic was pretty flawless, Jar had to admit, as the noble-born natives led the twins deeper under the earth. ¡°Nobody knows who or vot made these tunnels. It is said zey span miles, going beneath ze bay. Zere are sunken chambers of living crystal, lost to men¡¯s eyes, vhich only vizardry can find. Dark spaces of salt vater zat sink upon ze tide to reveal grottos viz floors of gold.¡±


    Jaid made no sound, but when Jar spared her a glance he caught her with her head turned and her eyes far off, lost in contemplation.


    She was only four or five yards off, well-lit by the prince¡¯s torch, yet he¡¯d never quite felt so far from her.


    ¡°Ve haf not¡­ not found any¡­ qvite like zat,¡± one of the prince¡¯s two male companions huffed in an apologetic tone. This was a rotund lad in cream-coloured furs, blighted with an angry boil on his nose; he was apparently thirteen years old, but he only came up to Jaroan¡¯s chin. The exertions of the expedition were weighing on him, going off the boy¡¯s breathing.


    Jar mostly ignored him ¨C all of them. He was doing his best to impress the three young ladies of the entourage, of course, and this necessitated keeping his awareness focussed on the precision of his body posture, the confidence of his facial expressions. The cold was fading the deeper they travelled, for whatever reason, and it was easier to look self-assured when your teeth weren¡¯t trying their best to chatter.


    He didn¡¯t know the ways of love, nor did they interest him, and yet the prettiest of his doting audience could¡¯ve been a dark-haired angel sent from Celestium. She barely spoke any Mundic, and her voice was a gargling sound that made him almost physically ill to listen to. The one with the best Mundic was as plain as they came, her face seeming almost too small for her head, floating there above her chins. And the third, the eldest at twelve, just smiled mysteriously at him, still silent ¨C he had no idea what to make of her. She was almost his height; her brown hair was pulled back in a short ponytail leaving fringe-trails at either side of her face, framing the button nose and knowing eyes.


    Each of them was dressed in what probably passed for finery in a place like this, but was Hilltown-fashionable at best in his opinion. Still, he was keeping his options open at this point. He wasn¡¯t stupid, and while the jealousy experienced by grown-ups was quite beyond him, he understood the concept. He could be friends with all of them, couldn¡¯t he? Just friends?


    Another of the prince¡¯s male friends, a twelve-year-old who would¡¯ve been handsome if he could¡¯ve stopped scowling, kept shooting Jaroan poisonous looks.


    ¡°Back in Mund,¡± he said for what had to be the tenth time, ¡°our brother knew a wizard. Got to go in the sea, once.¡±


    ¡°Under ze vater?¡± the prince asked, turning his head back, his open curiosity disarming.


    Jar remembered the sensation, the high-speed motion that excited his stomach and left him breathless despite the water-breathing spells. The loss of self in the languid darkness, not hot or cold or even warm or cool.


    It was something he couldn¡¯t put into words.


    Gone.


    Forever.


    He just nodded curtly instead. He already hated the prince.


    Perhaps it was better that he couldn¡¯t voice his thoughts ¨C his reticence seemed to be mistaken for nonchalance, and the pretty, jarring-voiced girl tried to coo in awe, producing a nasal bleat.


    ¡°Arhhh yesz, ze zea of Munt! Ze vater is varm as ze coltron?¡±


    Cauldron, his mind filled in for him after a moment¡¯s consternation.


    ¡°Ha,¡± he said in acknowledgement, hoping her question was rhetorical, doing his best to smile at her.


    ¡°That sounds splendid!¡± gushed the round one. ¡°You must tell us more, Vintilar of Mund. Could you communicate with the fish? Oh!¡±


    He found himself looking once more to the silent one, snatching a glimpse of her chewing on a bit of her fringe before she noticed his gaze.


    Slowly, deliberately, the girl withdrew her hair from her mouth and tucked the strand neatly behind her ear.


    She then did her best to smile at him.


    Maybe it¡¯s a good thing, he reminded himself, struggling to move his eyes once more to his sister and the prince at the fore of the group. If it makes Jaid ¨C if it makes Shirya want to stay¡­


    I want her approval, he realised. After what I did ¨C after what I became ¨C I want to stay. And I want her to want to stay too. If she doesn¡¯t ¨C if she doesn¡¯t, I¡¯ll go with her.


    But the dream had come too late and too early, and there was still something lacking. Unbeknownst to him, his fate was behind and before him, towering above, not a wave but a glacier, creeping across the plane of his future. He would never taste the lips of the mysterious girl as he thought he would one day want to. He would never taste any lips, never want to know the ways of love for himself.


    Never grow up.


    Unbeknownst to him, despite his youth and the burden of his potential on the fabric of reality, he bore the high doom of the Mundian. There would be no escaping this, no bird flying free to save him, any of them, from destiny.


    The burden of the Crucible approached, and death would only be as an unburdening, in the end.


    The dark elves are trying to break me, he thinks, feeling the distant sensation as his bones are pulped, over and over. I¡¯m broken already.


    We¡¯re all broken.


    * * *


    ¡°Vhen I was told zat my bride vould be the sister of a sorcerer, I voz¡­ abrupt with Father. I imagined¡­¡± Lathenskar put on a tight, winsome grin. ¡°I imagined an ugly, dark thing.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m not ugly and dark enough for you.¡±


    His smile only broadened, and he gave her that look, that look she sometimes saw.


    ¡°You are very beautiful,¡± he replied quietly.


    The response she¡¯d given was something the old Jaid never would¡¯ve come out and said like that. The old Jaid would¡¯ve been overawed at having a prince at her elbow, having his attentions showered down upon her. But Shirya? Shirya had washed the bodies of the dead. Shirya was the self she¡¯d made, only to have been denied, killed permanently, she¡¯d thought, by Kas¡¯s return from Zyger.


    But he was a necromancer from the very start, and he¡¯d brought Shirya back, named her, thrust her into being. Now, if she couldn¡¯t be Jaid, she had to be the girl who risked death, the girl who stood in the valley of Mortiforn¡¯s door and was unafraid.


    She smiled at the prince, smiled just as winsomely as him, moulding her face like clay. She was capable of this and more. She could snigger and cry in alarm, she could wince and whoop and babble and frown. It wasn¡¯t fun, playing at being Shirya in name only, like Jaid still existed. But it wasn¡¯t un-fun, either. It was just¡­ necessary.


    Shirya didn¡¯t care what the prince thought of her. Yes, he was rich and powerful, and would be handsome some day. But he was just a boy, still, and she just a girl. Talk of marriage? The Jaid who¡¯d wanted to ride Princess would¡¯ve leapt at the opportunity just because that was the done thing for her, but Shirya, whose interest in the unicorn extended now only to the manner of its obliteration ¨C Shirya didn¡¯t care one whit about husbands and weddings. She was the god¡¯s. There was no escaping her destiny in immortal bondage to this young man, whatever a seer had told him. There had to be other sorcerers with sisters in Telior. There would be no becoming the princess, as much as it sounded like everything she¡¯d said she¡¯d ever dreamed of.


    The hearths blazed, servants piling on the wood until the voices of the fires became a crackling choir. The table was long, awash in delicacies and scents, some repulsive, others virtually demanding that she try them. She ate neither. The conversation between guests often took the form of bastardised Mundic, perhaps out of sympathy for their foreign newcomers; or perhaps in an effort to impress the Mundians with their educations.


    She noted the girls eyeing her and whispering, her would-be foes, those who should¡¯ve been her enemies ¨C if that had been what her story was about.


    Shirya was not impressed. Shirya was not insulted. Shirya was not much of anything, anymore.


    For a time, she¡¯d moved as though she were a statue. The flesh dimpled under pressure but she didn¡¯t feel it. The tongue moved in her mouth, jaw swinging on its hinges as it performed for the benefit of those around her. Eyes and ears drank in everything, filing away the useful and separating articles of interest from the dross ¨C but there was no internal impression, nothing working in the statue¡¯s brain. She wasn¡¯t alive, not really. There were rare moments when she felt the light burst into being within her once more, when she saw, she heard, she tasted¡­ But such a flight of fancy was doomed, shovelled straight from the womb of its birth into its grave. The statue did not think. It did not feel. It only played its part, unchanging.


    Telior was too close to home. Jaid¡¯s brothers seemed to believe that they had enacted some great act of contrition. Moving from the haven of death and debauchery that was Mund to Telior was hardly a formidable feat. Mund at its fairest was far fairer than Telior, and at its ugliest, far uglier. But that was no achievement. She supposed the same could be said of all places, when you saw them from the inside. Her home ¨C she would always think of it that way ¨C was the greatest place in Materium. Everything else rose and fell in the shadow of Mund. And this place was as filled with shadows as any other.


    I¡¯m homesick, Jaid knew ¨C and for the millionth time Shirya let that thought melt, let the statue become stone once more. It was her part to suffer, suffer for what happened to Nighteye most of all, and the self-petrification was the best she could do.


    It was the evening of a fancy dinner in the palace, the celebration of the Ocean¡¯s Eve, and Raz brought his new girlfriend. Nafala appeared to be as uncomfortable as Shirya, but she wasn¡¯t half as good at hiding it. The sorceress barely nibbled her food, and, despite this being a gathering of her fellow countrymen, she kept looking at Raz for reassurance.


    She¡¯s adrift here, Shirya realised. They may be her countrymen but this is to her what dining in the Arrealbord would¡¯ve been to Jaid. It¡¯s¡­ daunting to her.


    How curious.


    They didn¡¯t get chance to talk, thanks to the prince and his friends. Instead, Shirya was forced to settle for throwing her some serene smiles of encouragement across the table. It was only what she was supposed to do. It gave her ample opportunity to study Raz¡¯s latest trophy.


    The woman ¨C quite obviously no longer a girl, in spite of her height ¨C was an open book. Nafala wore every emotion she felt on her face ¨C either that, or she was a skilled actress, feigning vulnerability for some reason.


    Why did she come in the first place? Shirya wondered. Is it just for him?


    Nafala did seem infatuated with Jaid¡¯s brother. She held his wrist from time to time, between mouthfuls, and he would pat the back of her hand with his free one until, a few moments later, she would release him and return her halting fingers to her cutlery. Her gaze when she looked at the archmage was that of a supplicant, like she was begging for him to excuse them.


    She glanced at her twin. It was interesting. Jaroan had never liked Emrelet, not really, but he seemed to approve of Raz¡¯s new partner. Perhaps it was just that they¡¯d entered into a new world.


    A world filled with Telese.


    One where Shirya felt increasingly alone.


    Telior itself was appealing to her, with its wanton wildness, the crash of storms out beyond the bay in whose tumultuous winds she would stand, hair streaming, void-lunged. She¡¯d made her decision in the bowels of the palace: she would stay, for Jaroan and for Raz; she would pay the toll.


    But Telior¡¯s appeal was that of the grave. It felt like home, but it was still wrong.


    Here I will live, and cease to live, and seek your embrace, my Lord.


    She knew all the words, the catechisms to dispel her foul temper. She knew them, and that only made it worse. Her emotions only had the substance of an illusion. It was conscious belief that gave them a support structure and yet she believed. She believed in her frustration. She believed in her loneliness. She believed her life was already over.


    ¡°Vhen summer comes, zis squid vill no longer be in our vater,¡± the prince was saying to her ¨C or perhaps across her. It was hard to tell sometimes, especially when she was only listening with ten percent of her brain. ¡°You should make ze most out of it vhile ve have it!¡±


    He forked a pile of gelatinous white tendrils and sucked them into his mouth with relish, like they were soft candies.


    She forked her own mouthful, chewed ¨C


    Put down the nausea, swallowed ¨C


    Smiled, and asked some banal question about where the squid went in summer.


    Lathenskar beamed, and continued to splurge his knowledge and opinions across the table, as, she supposed, princes were wont to do. Meanwhile, she returned to her thoughts.


    We were never meant to be here. We were never meant to be these people.


    The sensation is akin to weightlessness, so great is the agony. She floats, close-enough to annihilation that spirit is separating from flesh. Everything inside is ground paste and jelly and the fear, the fear is something she can¡¯t comprehend.


    She retreats. She hears the reflected echo and replies.


    Yes, broken. Never to be made whole again. That is life.


    * * *


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense!¡± Jaroan snapped, throwing the book on the floor.


    Over four hundred symbolic templates for the binding of magic into an item. Thousands of different ways to summon an eldritch. So many geometries for force-lines that he wouldn¡¯t expect even a mathematician to be capable of assigning the number. Yet each dropping one had a spell, a verse or two of ridiculous Netheric or Etheric or Infernal. Sometimes the reagent-list was the only difference between two spells and yet the rarer ingredients didn¡¯t always produce more powerful creatures. Sometimes spells invoked gods, but it clearly wasn¡¯t a requirement; they seemed to be mentioned more as an afterthought, and even then only one in ten incantations bothered.


    There was no rhythm. No underlying order beneath the tangled chaos. No key to hold in the mind, unlock all the mysteries.


    It all had to be learned, by rote. The shortcuts his fledgling genius wanted to seize upon simply weren¡¯t there. At least not to his eyes. And the last thing he wanted to do was to ask for help. The Lord Warlock of Telior himself was asleep upstairs ¨C or, more likely, off kissing his girlfriend¡­ But he was hardly going to impress Raz with his sorcery when it was Raz himself who supplied the answers¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Vin,¡± Jaid called softly from her room. She sounded as though she were asleep, or half-asleep at least.


    Distracted.


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you not to call me that, not when it¡¯s just the two of us!¡±


    Jar pushed down hard on the overly-comfy pillows behind him, propping him up on the low, wide bed he called his own. He swung over his legs, bent his knees, and hoisted himself up to his feet. Kicking on his ¡®slippers¡¯, a few steps brought him to the door, the corner of the frame where he could look in at his sister.


    She wasn¡¯t reading. Her candles and lanterns, braziers and globes ¨C nothing was lit. Her eyes were open, unblinking, shining in the darkness. She¡¯d wrapped herself tight in her quilt like a corpse in its death-shroud, the bed-sheets on either side of her smoothed perfectly flat.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± he asked. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but he could hear the sharpness of his own concern there in his voice.


    ¡°Wrong with me? Nothing. I¡¯m just¡­ trying to go to sleep.¡±


    He assessed her. She¡¯d seemed increasingly removed from things, recently ¨C removed from him. She laughed and smiled just as often, but over the last few weeks there¡¯d been an ever-growing mania behind her eyes.


    Does she not want to marry the prince? he wondered for the first time.


    Then, on the heels of that: How come I never asked her?


    The answer to that was obvious. They no longer slept in the same room. The late-night incidental conversations had been reduced to minimal interactions, like this one right now. Jaid had her princely consort; Jaroan had his princesses always trying to get in his face while he did his best to study. At meal-times and in the classroom ¨C the only times they really saw their elder brother ¨C there were always piles of lore-filled scrolls and instructional books between them, many of them open, being actively interrogated as the mouth mindlessly chewed. The only conversations taking place around the dinner-table were happening inside brains where the self took both sides in the discourse, a consciousness-stream of high-concept terms and deceptively-plain language, sometimes not even occurring in mortal tongues¡­


    Increasingly, Jaid no longer read while they ate. Often, she was just eating in silence.


    A thousand memories rushed through him then. He remembered the fortify set Kas insisted they play, gathering dust on the shelf in the fifth floor¡¯s communal area. The thing wasn¡¯t a knock-off; it was a true diamond-inlaid import from Mund and had probably cost the warlock a year¡¯s rent at Mud Lane rates.


    I could talk to her¡­ couldn¡¯t I?


    He spoke haltingly.


    ¡°Hey. Do you want ¨C do you think a game of fortify would help?¡±


    ¡°Fortify.¡± She echoed the word without inflection.


    ¡°Come on¡­ I practised my Sow Matriarch game¡­¡± That¡¯s so long ago, now. ¡°Jaid? You remember fortify, right?¡±


    ¡°Forti¡­fy. Yes. Let¡¯s have a game, Vin.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t moving, still talking in the same trance-voice.


    ¡°Jaid!¡± he snapped, feeling scared as much as irritated by her continued use of the fake name.


    She didn¡¯t react at all.


    ¡°Jaid?¡±


    He exhaled. Drew a deep breath. Exhaled again.


    ¡°Shirya?¡±


    ¡°Sorry!¡± Jaid finally sprang into action, jerking upright, fixing the wide staring eyes on him. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m ready!¡±


    He went down ahead of her to turn on the lights and flameless heater, set up the board. Nestled snugly in his bed-robe of thick greyish wool, he slumped down in the armchair, gazing over the Northern and Southern Holds he was honour-bound to protect. He structured his battle-plans, getting the strategy out of the way so that he¡¯d be able to use his quick-wittedness on the conversation.


    He knew the vague form of attack he wanted to use. Start by discussing the illogic of sorcery. Move into asking her about her own studies. Ask about the prince. Her mood.


    Apologise, if he could. Her own repeated apologies when he broke her out of her reverie ¨C they wounded him. It was his apology that was needed. It was his fault. If he¡¯d stayed stronger when Feychilde went to Zyger ¨C if he¡¯d just stayed, in general.


    But no. He too had abandoned her. Feychilde¡¯s return tore her away from their adopted family.


    Maybe ¨C when Xan gets here. Maybe everything will be okay again¡­


    But he knew it was futile. He knew Xan wasn¡¯t going to work some miracle. What had already happened couldn¡¯t be undone, not without Chraunator¡¯s pocket-watch. There was no going back.


    The first time the floorboards squeaked, he turned his head expectantly towards the staircase.


    The second time they squeaked he knew better than to get his hopes up. It was just the tower creaking.


    The third time, he was asleep, and when he awoke to the dull dawn-light behind the curtains it only reflected the dullness of his thoughts.


    Rejection.


    Inside, she retreats, and retreats, until she backs into him.


    No. Being broken, unfixable ¨C that¡¯s death! he insists. It¡¯s death, and you know it! Mortiforn!


    Yes. Mortiforn. Just¡­ not for us.


    He thinks he is dying, and then realises he knows the truth already. The tuning rod is just a simple implement.


    The truth exists in the minds of the dark elves in the room with him and his sister. A few of them ¨C not the ones holding the long metal sticks ¨C actually understand something of the tools¡¯ ensorcellments.


    He understands the ensorcellments. The truth exists in his mind.


    And ¨C and in her ¨C


    Our mind, Jaid Mortenn corrects.


    Our mind, Jaroan Mortenn accepts.


    It¡¯s our time now.


    * * *


    The alarm was being sounded, a shrill clanging that brought her awake as readily as any Mourning Bells in Mund. In the darkness of her room in Telior, Shirya suddenly found herself floundering, and it was Jaid, Jaid that came through, leading her blindly from the bed and into her brother¡¯s room.


    ¡°Vin!¡± she cried, finding him already putting his boots on. ¡°Vin, what is it?¡±


    ¡°Get dressed!¡± he snapped ¨C then, seeming to catch himself, he reached out and hugged her briefly.


    The spontaneity of the physical contact ¨C it struck her like lightning. The closest she¡¯d been to another human being in weeks was when the prince took her by the elbow.


    Tears practically leapt down her face. She stood perfectly still as he slowly released her.


    ¡°Please, Jaid, get your things on!¡± he pleaded.


    His eyes ¨C his ¨C he still ¨C


    Cared ¨C care. Yes, of course I care about you!


    You¡¯re sorry.


    ¡­ Yes.


    It wasn¡¯t a question.


    You feel it?


    I know.


    The statue-self went, and she shuddered back to life right there in front of him.


    ¡°Please?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m g-going. I¡¯m going¡­ Jaroan.¡±


    He smiled at her, and it was a blow from a blade of confusion that pierced her at the temple, overwhelming her with its agonising bluntness.


    Why is he smiling at me?


    It¡¯s not always an easy thing to tell, is it, sister?


    No, and it was something so simple, to lead you astray. They were smiling in sadness ¨C sympathy.


    You know I know that now! But then¡­


    It let you smile with the ¨C


    Yes. With the knife in my hand. I wanted ¨C


    To kill.


    We aren¡¯t going to kill the dark elves. I can¡¯t kill.


    You know I know that. I can¡¯t either.


    But Kas will.


    They didn¡¯t even think to look through a window, and didn¡¯t see the ominous hulks anchored in Telior¡¯s waters until they were already outside the tower, clutching their warmest clothing tight about them, standing together in the predawn breeze. Their brother was already gone. The night-shift workers were running amok ¨C old Menild went shrieking off towards his family home, cursing in Telese, using a variety of words they didn¡¯t yet understand. The streets were emptying, but, casting about, she saw pale faces at many windows. All eyes were staring at the purple-pulsing shapes of the dark elf vessels. All recognised the imminent danger.


    She counted the glowing harbingers of destruction.


    Eight of them. Eight ships.


    ¡°It¡¯s an Incursion,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°It might as well be.¡±


    ¡°Ka¡­ Raz will fight them.¡±


    Her twin cast her a strange look, then swivelled to face the palace.


    ¡°Should we go find out what¡¯s happening?¡±


    He set off, but she returned her gaze to the elven armada. Within a few moments he returned to her side, sharing the moment with her.


    The wind. The chimes.


    The darkness. The canopy of stars.


    The overbearing sense of impending doom.


    She was afraid, and yet somehow she wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯s out there, already?¡±


    Jaroan drew a deep breath then sighed. ¡°You¡¯re jealous, too.¡±


    The dark elf vessels lost her attention. She returned her focus to Jaroan.


    ¡°Jealous?¡±


    He nodded glumly. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what this has been about, all along?¡±


    ¡°That might be how it started,¡± she admitted. ¡°But ¨C the night of the Incursion. The way everything changed ¨C¡°


    ¡°It was scary ¨C¡°


    ¡°It was dropping terrifying, Jar!¡±


    ¡°It was scary,¡± he repeated, ¡°but we didn¡¯t want to run, did we? Remember ¨C when he was fighting the Bone Ring. It was Kas that scared us, not some necromancers, and I thought it was pretty exciting ¨C¡°


    ¡°He left us,¡± she said icily.


    ¡°Em took him from us,¡± he retorted.


    ¡°No ¨C he shouldn¡¯t have ¨C he shouldn¡¯t have gone.¡± Tears stood in the corners of her eyes now, and when a burst of breeze next came pushing at her face they were send streaming down her cheeks, freezing as they went. ¡°He stopped ¨C stopped being our brother, and I thought ¨C he was our protector ¨C¡°


    ¡°But it¡¯s not the same,¡± Jaroan finished for her in a grim voice. ¡°It¡¯s never been the same, and it¡¯s never been right.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°When he didn¡¯t come back ¨C when he wasn¡¯t there for us¡­ I felt like the world ended.¡±


    ¡°Is Telior any better?¡±


    She looked back at him, completely nonplussed by the question.


    ¡°Telior¡­¡±


    She slowly turned, taking in the city she had come to recognise, seeing it anew, as if for the first time.


    The last time. It¡¯s gone, Jaid. Telior¡¯s gone. That¡¯s what that sound is. That¡¯s what was deafening Kas. We¡¯ve got to snap out of it. Whatever they did to us, our minds, it¡¯s done.


    No, she replies. Not yet. Soon. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s not complete yet.


    Our story?


    Our power.


    Telior hadn¡¯t improved anything, but she couldn¡¯t pretend that Shirya only came into being after they crossed Northril. No, Shirya was born under the guidance of Brother Porsico, right there in Sticktown, under the nose of her brother, Xan, everyone. No one had seen what was happening to her. And here, across the sea, things had been no different. She had languished. She¡¯d been allowed to become a non-entity, doing nothing more or less than what was expected of her.


    I might as well have been dead. I was supposed to learn my worth in helping others. I learned I could risk my life to help others, yes. But I drew the wrong conclusions.


    He had no place taking you into Mortiforn¡¯s service, that priest. That wasn¡¯t what you needed. You¡¯re not worthless, Jaid. Your life has meaning.


    It does now!


    That¡¯s not what I meant and you know it. You can¡¯t just take your purpose from a god. What¡¯s to make you choose Mortiforn and not Vaahn?


    That¡¯s meaningless! The world¡¯s too big. There¡¯s nothing!


    Meanings don¡¯t have to be big. They can just be ¨C


    Putting your hand on your belt, to remind yourself that you threw it away. It¡¯s not under someone else¡¯s ownership. It¡¯s really gone. You really are the stronger person.


    I wish to be.


    Like Shirya?


    Have you really thrown her away?


    ¡°No,¡± she answered heavily. ¡°Telior¡¯s no better. I ¨C¡°


    ¡°We¡¯ll tell him. We¡¯ll be honest. We¡­ We¡¯re unimportant.¡±


    Jaid was scared to do it, but instinct compelled her ¨C she put her arms around her twin, clung to him.


    He put his around her.


    For the first time in half a year, they were themselves again.


    Halfway across the courtyard, one of the brusque nobles stopped them.


    ¡°You!¡± he cried, pointing at them. ¡°You! You must come! Come!¡±


    Do you think he knew?


    Yes. Of course.


    Of course.


    The courtier practically galloped them up the steps, guiding them wordlessly to Prince Lathenskar in an antechamber.


    The room was lit only by a smattering of candles, but to Jaid the prince looked like he¡¯d just finished crying. His cheeks were puffy, his eyes red ¨C but he wore his usual smile, slowing and stopping his pacing as they entered.


    ¡°My friends ¨C my good friends¡­¡± He squinted at them, as though the sight of them was a painful ordeal. ¡°We must go to ze safe places now. You vill follow me?¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s Raz?¡± Jar demanded. ¡°Is he¡­ Will he fight them?¡±


    Lathenskar lifted his head strangely, as if to look into the corner of the room behind them.


    Jaid turned, followed his gaze ¨C the corner was empty, a nest of shadows.


    ¡°I do not know,¡± Lathenskar admitted glumly. ¡°I¡­ know only vhere ve must go.¡±


    Seeming to take their failure to produce further questions as acceptance, the prince gestured to the guard at the door ¨C soon they were being escorted back into the maze of tunnels.


    As they followed their past selves into the confusing network of dark twists and turns, the twins finally explored the dungeons of Telior together, hand in hand, mind in mind.


    ¡°Father will be pleased with me. I have done all they asked of me. I have brought honour to our kingdom. I have played my part, as prince, to defend the people from the evil. The warlock brought down the death upon his own head, upon those of his brother and sister. It¡¯s not my fault. Father knows. He will be satisfied I¡¯ve done it. Telior will remain. We shall be strong. Thanks to me. Thanks to this. This¡­ sacrifice.¡±


    There we go. He could see the dark elf in the room with us all along, and he knew what was going to happen.


    What? Jaid? How can we hear what he thought? We aren¡¯t there with him. I mean ¨C we couldn¡¯t hear it when we were there¡­


    He remembers an approximation, obviously. And he¡¯s still alive.


    We can hear his thoughts ¨C from Telior?


    We can hear his thoughts from Telior. We can hear them all now, Jar.


    Hear¡­?


    The voices are self-translating, thousands of consciousness-streams opening to their fragile inner ears. In addition to the human-thought, their burgeoning powers are assaulted by frigid blasts of elf-thought, steeped in an ancient culture of degradation and necromancy.


    One thousand, eight hundred and four of them.


    Yet base potency provides a level of defence beyond requirements.


    Instincts sift the worst thoughts, purging the obscene, rendering it all into information while isolating articles of interest for deeper scrutiny ¨C pertinent facts are like words written in gold jumping off a page of blue ink.


    The incoherence of the following events falls away ¨C the little cove beneath the city where the dark elves await in the darkness ¨C the face of the prince as he turns back with his escort ¨C the twins¡¯ contrite acceptance of their captors as the first enchantments settle upon them, spells commanding them to step out willingly onto the elf-wizard¡¯s ice-floe ¨C bidding them to be silent, and still, and afraid.


    They had been brought back to themselves in what seemed to be seconds, sitting all of a sudden in metal chairs, still paralysed by magic, children beneath the need for bonds at wrist or ankle. Despite the fact there was no diviner¡¯s speed-swoon, they knew instantly that they were now below decks. The luxuriously-appointed room could¡¯ve been taken from the interior of a Treetown mansion had it not been swaying. Everything was black, to the point that they couldn¡¯t make out the edges of the objects in the room.


    Their minds were violated.


    The tuning rods had been employed.


    And it had begun.


    They experienced agony ¨C true agony ¨C for the first time ¨C the only time ever.


    Then it was gone, as if it¡¯d never happened. Stopping their bodies from reacting was a nuance temporarily beyond their grasp but even the first basic flexing of their wills as archmages released their sentience from the whims of broken bones. They¡¯d never imagined sensation so complete, never anticipated the way their minds would retract, opening the flesh to pure unfiltered fire. Their coats of meat blackened and fell away, exposing ¨C exposing ¨C


    The true self. The concealed insides.


    The true world. The concealed outside.


    We lost Mum and Dad. We lost our big brother. I thought I was going to lose you. I thought I had lost you.


    I¡¯m sorry. I forgive you.


    After a few moments, sharing the bliss of unconditional reacceptance, one of them commented:


    It¡¯s unbelievable!


    Not quite.


    Colloquially. That day, when we went to the Giltergrove ¨C what Kas said about enchanters¡­


    You don¡¯t think he had any idea, do you?


    No. No way.


    But he ¨C he did have some idea. Look!


    Oh yeah. There are¡­ others.


    The dream.


    That was¡­ a dragon¡­ It wasn¡¯t him. It didn¡¯t happen ¨C see, the Arrealbord¡­ the dream¡­


    I know, but¡­ look at them! The ten of us!


    He thought it would happen when Wyre took us, if it was going to.


    It could¡¯ve! It could¡¯ve! But we ¨C we had this between us.


    But we¡¯re still ourselves! I mean, we still have the same¡­


    We want to be important. We want to be somebody.


    Agency had been their craving. Its realisation was more than they could¡¯ve ever expected.


    Are we ready for this?


    You mean, can we be trusted?


    It¡¯s¡­


    Tempting?


    To order the world to our liking? Of course!


    But, the gods¡­ Everything would fight us!


    Oh, gods. What¡¯ve they done to him¡­


    Well, what has¡­


    M-Mal Malas done to him¡­


    Everything wants a piece of the sorcerer.


    Vistas of imagination and dream, memory and nightmare, it all opened, unfurling, peeling back in innumerable layers ¨C not the infinite mindscape of a single soul or even hundreds but thousands, tens of thousands¡­


    The observing self, content for so long to exist as a solitary creature, was now embedded within an amalgamated consciousness, stretching out like a fresh shoot in exploration where before there had been only driftwood on the river¡¯s water. Little did they doubt that to an ordinary arch-enchanter the process of awakening (thank you, Emrelet Reyd) would be a distracting, even uncomfortable experience. For this dual-moded creature, however, the replicative effect felt natural. To have one pair of eyes meant to have a singular focus, but the effect of having two pairs of eyes was not merely additive; no physical connection existed between their bodies. Their range was boundless. A million miles apart, planes between them, none of it mattered. There was an unending plenitude to see, smell, touch, taste, hear. Two pairs of eyes gave them infinite scope.


    You were wrong! I didn¡¯t ¨C I never understood you. Never understood¡­ love. I do now.


    We never understood each other, Jaroan.


    We¡¯re twins. We¡¯re supposed to understand each other!


    Maybe that¡¯s why we were chosen for this. Maybe this is what we needed.


    It¡¯s what we should¡¯ve been.


    Imseperble.


    They shared their souls, and were like one.


    It wasn¡¯t a full subsumption of personae, but it took less than a moment for the symbiosis to form. Identity didn¡¯t fracture, but along those borders where their minds met they melted into one another. The blend in those places was complete, two paints merged to form a new colour, strong and vibrant.


    The stretched-out shoot found its Wellspring, and drank deep.


    They accepted the souls of the others, and were many. Both partook in equal measure.


    A goblet, bottomless and forever filled to the brim.


    An elixir of wisdom, knowledge.


    An elixir of prejudice. Attitude.


    What ¨C what is he doing?


    It was hidden, but not from them. They saw it, through his eyes ¨C the confrontation aboard the Scaleshaker ¨C the destruction of the dark elves on the empty seas of Northril. They saw the ghosts he enveloped in waves of energy, their tall, iridescent shapes flickering, white and silver. Magenta rays inside the spirits¡¯ throats poured like mage-light from their mouths, gushing between their pearly teeth ¨C their magenta irises winked out, barely-discernible features wincing as Feychilde¡¯s stronger, amethyst waves consumed them, whisking their wills away.


    They cringed together, watching.


    Yet they were not truly his eyes. The wraith. He¡¯d relied upon it for his potency, and it¡¯d undone him right at the centre of his being.


    They saw through his eyes as he slipped back aboard the Scaleshaker, taking care to remain invisible to them until he was back under his covers.


    No! ¨C what is he doing right now?


    They see through his eyes as Telior is brought to ruin in a matter of seconds, listen from inside his skull as that awful voice comes bubbling up within him.


    We have to stop him! Change it! We can¡¯t die!


    We can¡¯t! This is his memory!


    What? No! Where¡¯s the reality?


    When? When is it now?


    We¡¯ve fallen prey to it too. They call it fatalism. Look what we did! We wouldn¡¯t kill them, wouldn¡¯t delete their minds, but we stopped them finding out¡­


    What do you mean? What did we do? Oh¡­


    Their minds were pulled in. They were¡­


    Slaughtered.


    Like animals.


    They lived it, and shivered, moaning.


    Every horrified last gasp.


    Every cold final touch.


    It¡¯s worse than fatalism! It¡¯s¡­ nihilism. It¡¯s in both of us.


    Oh gods, yes¡­ in almost everyone.


    But this isn¡¯t what Kas wanted, not really! Look! He¡¯s good!


    No ¨C it is! Look again! Deep down here. Illodin¡¯s tears¡­


    Oh! Princess!


    I know. I know¡­


    What¡­ what is that?


    The part of him the wraith changed. That¡¯s what he¡¯d call it. But it¡¯s not just that, is it? He¡¯s like us.


    Wall it off! Dam it and damn it!


    Keep it walled off. His darkness with our own.


    Yes!


    The impetus was enough. The vague direction of their conjoined thought was like a river-gate rising, cutting off all flow in certain areas of their elder brother¡¯s mind.


    Look at that. The weakness. He would¡¯ve fought after Zyger, but ¨C


    Emrelet¡­ She was under a spell?


    I can¡¯t see.


    Oh! Look what he could be if¡­


    If we just¡­


    But ¨C


    What was that? What have we done?


    It¡¯s not like we could help it! We want what¡¯s best for him!


    We gave him what he needed, that¡¯s all.


    In just the right places, yes¡­ yes!


    We can keep him afloat. Just the right places.


    Can we go back to our bodies now?


    Do we have to?


    It¡¯s over¡­


    We¡¯ll get better at it.


    We have to.


    They opened their eyes, beholding the carnage. The tuning rod had fallen from wet, nerveless fingers.


    We really do.


    Through Kas¡¯s mind, they could sense the elven spectres thronging about them, as motionless as the bodies above which they floated, all awaiting their master¡¯s call.


    Can we touch their minds?


    Now?


    Kas has seen it done before.


    But do you want to?


    They didn¡¯t need access to the ghosts¡¯ thoughts ¨C the twins both knew where the stairs were: the dark elves had known, before the ruthless creatures crossed over the one-way border into their shadowland-suits.


    The twins picked their way between the bodies, noting details with neither detachment nor over-investment. There was an awful lot of highly-charged material floating around in their shared mindscape, and, despite the fact they weren¡¯t actively seeking it out, it was still there. They still knew it. They were just hiding it from themselves. This array of rent-apart bodies was just one more element they added to the mix as they headed for the way up.


    Better open a notch in the gate.


    Already?


    It¡¯s our only way out of here.


    Yeah, but¡­


    Should he use it?


    Yes.


    We can¡¯t keep using our powers like this.


    Exactly.


    What would you rather do? Swim?


    Their brother complied with their thought, instantly starting the summoning on the top deck ¨C they had to swiftly modify the pressure their desires exerted on him. This only led to him becoming confused about his own mental processes, and they had to learn how to edit out their mistakes as they went.


    This really is going to be interesting, isn¡¯t it?


    It will be once we get there.


    Home¡­


    Mund.

 Consequences pt1

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.2: CONSEQUENCES</h2>


    ¡°Wherefore this ambrosial nightmare we call material existence? We stand knee-high in Nothingness, drinking deep its fumes, and if we purpose to stride off through the gloom we will find only Nowhere on our horizon. Is this it? Is this all you made yourself to be? Naught but will can bend this course, avert this crash! Do you remember how to will? Even now you cannot understand me. You can only drink deep.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®A Treatise for Existence¡¯, ch. 3


    Ragged wails, like a thousand shrill whistles. Tortured pleas in a language I could no longer comprehend, no longer care to. I heard it, drank it in, and it was neither sweet nor bitter. The mortal elves of the Materium were no match for the ascended ancients I¡¯d made of their slain peers. I heard their lamentations, standing there bound to the post, and I did nothing. Precisely nothing.


    I felt satyr-strength return, and the yawning emptiness of the wraith ¨C yet I didn¡¯t avail myself of them. I simply waited for my turn. I would go last, I imagined.


    The annihilation, obliteration of this expeditionary force surrounded me, and for a moment I was concerned, knowing that they should¡¯ve been fighting back ¨C if it were so simple for a single arch-sorcerer to reduce the dark elven forces to wet smears, they never would¡¯ve taken me aboard.


    Yet it happened.


    Their own magic-users must¡¯ve put up paltry defences. My forces swarmed from deck to deck, streaming through the air between the bone ships, and I could sense the way they moved unimpeded almost anywhere they sought to go. Once or twice, there was the suggestion of resistance ¨C perhaps a sorcerer¡¯s shields, or a druid¡¯s endurance. But these were momentary blips. The dark elves who tried to struggle soon fell still with the rest. They had more magic in their blood than men, but they were not all magicians. They toppled under the torrent of my power.


    And then my concern fell away too, as silence came, returning the crashing of the waves to my consciousness.


    What does it matter, really, if they all just gave up and died? Isn¡¯t it right? Isn¡¯t it natural?


    He said it himself. Northril claims it all, in the end.


    I looked down at the corpse of the captain, twenty feet away. His remains were lying almost spread-eagled, but the torso was folded in half where nethernal fingers had penetrated flesh to tear out eighteen inches of the spine.


    As for the elf himself ¨C he floated above his body, staring imploringly at me.


    I didn¡¯t even have to command him. The moment my eyes met his he looked away, the burning magenta gaze dropping in desolation.


    None of them were moving. They were all waiting for me. My power covered all the ships.


    Come, Northril. Claim me too.


    One of my active ghosts appeared before me and I winced despite my resolve, waiting for the killing-blow.


    But she arrived only to unbind me, sliding on nethernal wind into my eyeline. She bent to complete her task, severing the straps that fastened me to my post.


    But I never asked ¨C never requested freedom¡­


    I studied her instead of the captain. She would¡¯ve been beautiful, elegant, once ¨C now she was just a sliver of silver-white light like the rest of them, the only purple in her seeping out from beneath her eyelids, from between her lips. I couldn¡¯t remember her corpse, but I¡¯d left that floating at sea, slicing away and stealing only what was most important to her ¨C the soul.


    I took¡­ their¡­ souls¡­


    I emptied my stomach, right then and there, tasting again the swamp-water out of which Avvie had hauled me ¨C it poured out of me, the brackish, noxious substance, spraying right through my eldritch.


    She gave no outward sign of alarm. Her fingers became corporeal as they sheared through the last of the material binding me to the post, and I staggered, the left foot giving out.


    Rising, the dark elf¡¯s ghost turned away and flitted off once more.


    Where is she going? What did I do? Why did I¡­


    ¡°Better we all die. Let not one thing live. Let it be over.¡±


    But I hadn¡¯t let it be over. I hadn¡¯t let it end. Something in me had compelled me to reverse my mistake, saving me from committing an incomparable sin. Somehow, I knew the twins were safe.


    There¡¯s still some good left in you, Kas? I said to myself sarcastically. Just enough good for it to be a curse rather than a blessing. Just enough, that I might see myself for what I am. What I¡¯ve become. What I¡¯ve done!


    No! It doesn¡¯t matter how much darkness there is ¨C until it¡¯s extinguished, a candle still sheds a light. You need only a single flame by which to watch your footfalls and it¡¯ll all fall into place. You just have to watch. Mind your step, and the candle. Cup the flame, if you have to. Or have it cupped for you. It¡¯s not against the rules to let other people in. You did what you warned Tanra against. You let it consume you. You just¡­ pulled the twins along for the ride.


    Now they¡¯re driving. You¡¯re not to blame. If anything, everything you¡¯ve done, everything you¡¯ve shown them ¨C it¡¯s helped. Really, it has.


    I heard myself, felt my attitudes subtly changing. I was speaking to myself in the inner voice of certitude and it was impossible not to listen.


    Now they¡¯re driving?


    I had no idea what I meant, but I had a vision of them, holding the reins of a wagon, leading the horses over the edge of a cliff.


    ¡°Jaid?¡± I croaked. My mouth felt better now, Sin-Aidre¡¯s spell fading despite my reluctance to call on the wraith-form. ¡°Jaroan?¡±


    I tried to move my right arm, and the flaccid lines of force connected to the space occupied by my phantom limb stirred listlessly.


    I tried again ¨C the left accepted my commands. The left was still present, ready for action.


    I moved the back of my hand to my mouth, wiped away the remnants of the vomit and drool from my chin, and raised my eyes.


    Telior was almost gone. The city was like a beetle crushed against the rocks, much of its wooden carapace now floating atop the waves. Ninety-nine percent of its lights were extinguished, and it lay there in the greyness, dying on the sea, the stone. I could see people in the debris ¨C only some were trying to swim. Many had already perished ¨C just how many, I couldn¡¯t tell from here. I fancied I could pick out the interiors of buildings where walls had fallen away, pick out citizens clinging to loose-hanging walkways and bridges.


    Few more were likely to die than had already. I had more pressing needs right now.


    ¡°Jaid?¡± I cried, uncertainty returning. ¡°Jaroan?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t move to seek them out. If I¡¯d been able to hear their screams, surely now they could hear me, if they were really alright ¨C and they could reply ¨C


    If my minions had killed them ¨C if their ghosts were waiting for me below-deck, my senses blind to such heartbreak ¨C I would snap all over again. I knew it ¨C I would turn my weapons on what remained of the Telese out of spite, then on myself, and I would go last into the shadowland, at the back of the host, whipping them all onwards ¨C


    Then they were there, stepping out of the shadows, gold hair glinting.


    I almost collapsed in relief. It was too good to be true ¨C this had to be some spell, an illusion¡­


    But I knew it wasn¡¯t. They were okay.


    I watched them as they crossed from the recess of a cabin¡¯s doorway, making their way across the deck towards me. They were holding hands and, despite the body-strewn path they followed, neither of them went in the lead to step over the corpses. They walked in unison, each raising the right foot simultaneously, the left¡­


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    Satyr-reflexes screamed, in spite of all the reassurances I gave myself.


    They never moved in perfect timing like that ¨C no one did, unless they were being puppeteered by an enchanter. Such a sight cried out that there was something abhorrent happening, something missing in them. Even before they spoke, I could tell something was horribly, horribly wrong.


    Not wrong, dear brother.


    No, not wrong.


    Right.


    Incredibly, indescribably right.


    Jaid? Jar?


    It¡¯s us.


    In the flesh.


    And the rest.


    ¡°You¡­¡± They were only fifteen feet from me but they¡¯d never looked farther away. I clung to my post, aghast, the left arm reeling me in until I was pressing the timber against the side of my face. ¡°You¡¯re the¡­ enchanters.¡±


    ¡°We guess it had to happen eventually,¡± they said, the same words, same inflections tripping off their tongues. ¡°Oh¡­ oh Kas¡­ What¡¯s been done to you?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± I looked around at the quiet crowd of ghosts watching on. ¡°I did something. Something¡­ bad.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re the ones who let you know,¡± they echoed one another without there even being an echo ¨C the timing of every syllable, it was perfect¡­


    ¡°Can¡¯t you stop doing that?¡± I asked, cringing.


    ¡°Doing what?¡±


    I realised they were teasing me, but I couldn¡¯t help myself. ¡°Talking ¨C together!¡± I moaned, gesturing furiously with my phantom limb ¨C the azure lines contorted dangerously.


    They looked at each other.


    ¡°Stop it,¡± they said in unison.


    ¡°No, you stop it,¡± they said again.


    I stared.


    ¡°Come on, you¡¯re worrying our brother,¡± they chided each other. Then a devilish ingenuity lit their features in tandem. ¡°If you stop copying me, we can have a ¨C¡±


    ¡°¨C cheese ¨C¡± said Jaid ¨C


    ¡°¨C ham ¨C¡± said Jaroan ¨C


    ¡°¨C butty for lunch,¡± they finished.


    They both looked back at me, rueful expressions on their faces.


    ¡°We can¡¯t do it,¡± they said, in equally-carefree voices.


    I stared at them a second longer.


    ¡°Cheese¡­ and ham.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but crack a smile. They¡¯d been speaking so quickly and confidently, it was tough to pick out the different words. ¡°You¡¯ve seemed so¡­ estranged. At least, since¡­¡±


    ¡°Zyger,¡± they supplied.


    Hearing the word in that doubled voice made me shiver.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± I gazed at them, still trying not to reel. There was too much to take in. ¡°You¡¯re still¡­ different, in there? You still¡­ want different food?¡±


    They shrugged, the same nonchalant little shoulder-roll.


    ¡°You¡­ you¡¯re in my world now.¡± It all came crashing down on me in an instant, but, somehow, I didn¡¯t stagger under its weight. ¡°You¡¯re c-cursed¡­¡±


    ¡°Not cursed, dear brother. Blessed.¡±


    I shook my head vehemently. ¡°That¡¯s just how it looks ¨C¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve seen it from your side. You¡¯ve just forgotten how to see it from ours. Here, have a look.¡±


    They were surrounded by ghosts and corpses but they were smiling.


    Why are they smiling?


    It¡¯s not glee, dear brother. It¡¯s not about exuberance. It¡¯s not something to enjoy. You remember it. Smiling. Truly smiling. Not the idiot thing you put on your face when something funny happens. You do it when the world is worse. You do it to make it better.


    Smiling when I used zombies to lock people in coffins and bury them.


    (Not quite right.)


    Smiling when I saw my acquaintances die, when I used it as fuel to bring the fight, bring the death back down on the death-dealers.


    Yes¡­ I remember it.


    If you¡¯d smiled at Mal Malas¡­


    What? You think I could¡¯ve fought him?


    Why not?


    His power! He ¨C


    Did you try?


    It¡¯s impossible!


    Get them to tie you back to the post, then, if you¡¯re only going to attempt the possible. The world doesn¡¯t need the likes of you.


    My mouth fell agape a little, to hear, to feel such chiding from them.


    My kid brother and sister, now ¨C


    Now ascended ancients, haha, yes.


    You can¡¯t! I couldn¡¯t contain my shock. You can¡¯t¡­ be like this! You can¡¯t control people!


    We know. We won¡¯t. Our changes will be subtle ¨C


    No¡­


    Yes. The response was final, implacable, and my resistance melted like an icicle in a hot bath. We understand that there are limits. We¡¯ll allow everyone their own thoughts. That¡¯s the best thing about this, Kas. We¡¯ve grown ¨C perhaps not towards the light, always, but we have grown.


    No! I cried it this time. It¡¯s not enough!


    We¡¯re not stupid. We¡¯ll do this thing as right as we can and even if we can¡¯t just be your moral compass, we can set your feet straight if you stray from the path you¡¯ve chosen.


    And we can defend you. That amulet you got from Herreld ¨C you can help us make another. Borasir won¡¯t be able to touch you again.


    The idea filled me ¨C


    Returning to Mund, not as a vagabond, but as a force of irresistible will. Bringing change ¨C real, positive change.


    No boundaries. No barriers. Just concept, and execution.


    How much of this is you?


    We¡¯re just letting you be yourself. That so rarely happens to people.


    I looked about at the dead dark elves, glanced at the dead Telese.


    It¡¯s all my fault, though.


    Not yours.


    Whose, then? The dark elves? I didn¡¯t have to kill them.


    No, you didn¡¯t. But you didn¡¯t. Not really. It¡¯s the wraith.


    I looked down at the deck, knowing my own truth as much as they surely now did:


    I don¡¯t want to give it up.


    Then don¡¯t.


    I looked up at them.


    You¡¯ll let me keep it?


    We can barricade it, easily. Plus, you¡¯ll probably need it. Your roster of allies grows exceedingly thin, dear brother.


    I realise¡­


    Emrelet left you.


    Yes. Sort of¡­


    She did. She trusted others more than she trusted you. She wouldn¡¯t even talk it through with you. She allowed jealousy to consume her and she abandoned you. And Timesnatcher made you a traitor. Blame him, if you¡¯re going to blame anyone.


    He freed me¡­


    He might have condemned you to exile rather than death, but he condemned you all the same!


    I hadn¡¯t quite thought about it that way before.


    The champions never protected you, and the Magisterium ¨C they always hated you. All of us. What we are. Even the pretty old¡­ even Henthae. She hates us, just like she hates herself. Maybe she¡¯ll come around, in the end, but they¡¯ll never have your back. Not like us. Not like Theoras. Not like Tanra¡­ But those others have gone now. Even the fairy. The sylph.


    I smiled.


    So what you¡¯re saying is, I have a mouldy old gremlin and my kid brother and sister. It¡¯s us against the world.


    That¡¯s the smile! And don¡¯t forget the soul-tainting wraith dying to write Fundamentals of Footwear.


    I felt myself scowling in confusion ¨C I couldn¡¯t help but wonder just whose mind that thought originated in ¨C


    Keep your suspicions ¨C they¡¯re worthless. Except cheese and ham, we¡¯re practically indistinguishable, at least externally.


    And¡­ internally?


    Don¡¯t be so afraid! Psychic chuckles rolled through my head. There¡¯s no real way to portray our differences. Not anymore. We¡¯re joined, much like you with your eldritches.


    I cocked my head.


    You didn¡¯t realise they exerted some modicum of control over you¡­ ah. Oh yes. That explains much.


    Modicum!


    Oh, desist! Our vocabulary¡¯s expanding, that¡¯s all¡­ Your own is considerable, but the Telese have words for things we¡­ Never mind. Anyway, you¡¯ve got one more undead critter left.


    I do? Oh ¨C yes.


    I ¨C or they ¨C called the image of it to the forefront of my mind: the great carrion-bird of Zadhal. For some reason it felt more familiar than I¡¯d anticipated, almost as though I¡¯d summoned it once today already.


    I forgot about it¡­ I should¡¯ve destroyed it a long time ago.


    No. We¡¯re in need of it.


    I understood their thought.


    No, I remonstrated. No, we aren¡¯t.


    You want to harass the creatures of Etherium? Again? You want to be Feychilde again, don¡¯t you? You think you can just go back? You think you can be the same person, after everything that¡¯s happened?


    No! But ¨C I still want to be Feychilde, I know it sounds stupid, but ¨C


    Remember Avaelar! Unbidden, they summoned up the memory before my mind¡¯s-eye, the sylph denying me, warring with me, seeking his freedom¡­ Ethereal beings aren¡¯t without honour, even if their concept of it is alien to us ¨C even if we¡¯re the butt of their jokes sometimes. Why would you want to put them through it again?


    You mean¡­


    Undeath typically leads to stagnation. Altruistic vampires are a fiction. Why not avail yourself of that kind? Such creatures are, morally-speaking, the safer option.


    Safer! Are you serious? Have you even been listening to yourselves¡­?


    We can stop the malicious effects of the wraith¡¯s mentality from seeping into your own. It¡¯s a triviality to us. And think what you could gain.


    But ¨C I have my satyrs ¨C I have Zab, and Blofm, and my squirrels ¨C do you mean that I ¨C


    Summon them, Kas. Summon them, and we¡¯ll see.


    I looked around again at the dark elven ghosts, their scattered corpses ¨C


    Burning white spirits withdrew, floating back reluctantly. Corpses dragged themselves aside, some moaning lightly.


    It wasn¡¯t even necessary for me to force them to withdraw, but I didn¡¯t want them to stand too close when I called on my joined entities, when I opened portals for the host of squirrels I still controlled.


    ¡°Well?¡± the twins said aloud, again in unison.


    I sighed, then did as they asked.


    Sarcamor and Sarminuid, the lanky blue satyrs covered in snow-white fur, fell out of me head-first, staggering onto the deck on clattering hooves. Zabalam, mouldy, pig-faced gremlin, toppled out of my torso and promptly fell on his ass. About them, a ring of jadeway-gates brought through my giant, golden-furred fauna and my confused-looking goblin.


    I surveyed them all in wonder, realising just now how great my potential legion had become.


    All these ghost-elves¡­


    ¡°Satyrs of the otherworld. Would you be free of your bondage?¡±


    The twins¡¯ voice really did have an eerie quality, the likes of which I¡¯d never before experienced ¨C and I¡¯d experienced some awfully strange voices. The simultaneity of the words, expressed in a single sound, emanating from two separate sources ¨C it made me shudder more than the prospect of giving up my ethereal assistants.


    I looked up at my two satyrs, met their eyes, hoping my gaze could convey the sorrow I felt.


    They were both staring at my missing arm with their beetle-wing black eyes.


    ¡°Master?¡± questioned one of them, Sarcamor, his voice bold and clear.


    ¡°Just answer them,¡± I said, and sighed, before straightening up with a little help from my left hand, fingers still curled about the post. ¡°I should never have taken your fealty in the manner I did. It was improper of me. I was¡­ under the spell of a fairy. I thought it was acceptable for me to demand your loyalty but¡­ I¡¯ve since had my mind changed.¡±


    The twins allowed me that turn of phrase, at least.


    I glanced over at them, caught them smirking at me.


    Oh, this is going to be fun.


    * * *

 Consequences pt2

    Their telepathic laughter resounded in my head, and I returned my focus to the stunned-looking satyrs, driven more by my need to stop thinking about the twins¡¯ new abilities as much as my interest in their answer. It was inappropriate of us, to stand in the midst of such desolation, and partake in levity.


    The satyrs were regarding each other intently.


    ¡°Master, please!¡± Zab hissed in a mournful, thin voice. ¡°Please, don¡¯t send me away!¡±


    The little gremlin was staring down at his bright-red shoes, and started grinding his several sets of teeth together, a panicked sound I¡¯d never heard him make before.


    Mistrust gnawed away at me.


    Zel found him.


    I cast my power over him, again and again ¨C but there was nothing. None of the signs of betrayal that had made ¡®Zelurra¡¯ stand out. He might¡¯ve looked a bit foul, but his name was clean.


    He¡¯s fine.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Zab,¡± I said gently. ¡°I¡¯m not sending you anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Where¡­ where is the sylph?¡± he asked suddenly, gazing up at me.


    ¡°I¡­ We had a disagreement. I offered him his freedom. Like this.¡±


    Zab shuddered, but instead of drawing away he clung to me.


    The satyrs seemed to have made up their minds.


    ¡°Master,¡± said the second of them, Sarminuid, ¡°we owe you much! It is not a mark of shame amongst our kindred to swear fealty to summoners of mortal blood, so long as they be valorous in nature and steely of spine. We knew from the outset you were of such ilk. We witnessed it with our own eyes, when you bore down upon many of your kindred ¨C you and the red fiend.¡±


    ¡°It was truly a magnificent sight,¡± the first satyr piped up. He was grinning openly, sharp yellow teeth not hiding his fluorescent green tongue.


    ¡°Had you not permitted our sojourn at the court of Yellow Flowers, perhaps our affairs would not be so in order,¡± the second continued. ¡°As things stand, we are victors. It would honour us to continue to lend you our strength.¡±


    ¡°And to draw upon mine in kind?¡±


    He inclined his head slowly, his eyes suddenly narrowed, wary.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± I grinned like he¡¯d been doing. ¡°Tit for tat. I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way, trust me.¡±


    His smile returned, and I turned to the goblin.


    ¡°And you?¡± I asked Blofm.


    ¡°Got nowhere else to go,¡± she sniffed. ¡°And I ain¡¯t hatin¡¯ meself, now, I guess.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help arching a sanctimonious eyebrow when I cast a glance at the twins. ¡°Well?¡± I echoed their earlier tone, right back at them.


    Very good, Feychilde. And the squirrels?


    I cast my gaze across the gigantic critters, which were doing their best to stay still, their big watery eyes glistening and their bushy tails twitching. I fell to studying the closest. The golden fur was long and glorious, softly catching the sky¡¯s first light and amplifying it. The black nose was as big as my fist, the protruding pair of front teeth almost the length of my forearm.


    I reached out my hand in invitation. ¡°And you?¡±


    I spoke the words ¨C I extended the power ¨C


    The squirrels all vanished into a fizzing green portal, scrambling over each other in what looked to my eyes like a desperate hurry to escape.


    ¡°Oh¡­ really¡­?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t hide my disappointment. Somehow, not having their trust ¨C it stung. Even as I rejoined with Sarcamor and Sarminuid, with Zabalam, the flight of the squirrels disturbed me.


    Must be disturbing you two, as well.


    Gilaela flashed before my inner eye. Gilaela, as she once was, before the eolastyr ¨C


    They didn¡¯t reply, and I soon forgot what I was commenting on anyway.


    ¡°So tell us ¨C without any interference, without any of those boundaries and barriers.¡± Their conjoined voice had a musing quality. ¡°What would you do next? What¡¯s Feychilde¡¯s plan for the following, I don¡¯t know¡­ hour?¡±


    I turned back to face them, and nibbled my lower lip for a moment.


    ¡°I suppose we should¡­ see to the injured. Help the ones who can¡¯t help themselves.¡±


    ¡°And once you¡¯ve seen to the injured, will you help them rebuild? Tit for tat?¡±


    ¡°I can¡­¡± I struggled with it for a moment. ¡°I have options available to me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re needed here.¡±


    I nodded, feeling confused.


    ¡°When will it end? When will you come back, Kas?¡±


    I knew what they meant but I couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°Come¡­ back?¡±


    ¡°To Mund.¡±


    My mouth went dry.


    ¡°I ¨C I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I hope you won¡¯t leave us for too long.¡±


    ¡°L-Leave you?¡±


    ¡°And the sea journey¡¯s going to take a lot longer without your help¡­¡±


    ¡°Just what are you talking about?¡±


    I knew perfectly well what they were talking about but I couldn¡¯t accept it, and in the very moment I tried to take the tone of the superior, the elder brother admonishing them for a poorly thought-through plan ¨C in that moment they struck me with it.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to be nervous. We can help you with that, if you want.¡±


    ¡°Nervous.¡± I tried to chuckle, tried to brush it off. ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t take off Bor¡¯s amulet. You didn¡¯t fight.¡±


    It took me a moment to pinpoint the exact circumstance to which they were referring ¨C and when I did I felt the flush touch my cheeks. ¡°I didn¡¯t know they were coming for me!¡± I cried. ¡°I didn¡¯t ¨C¡°


    ¡°You want it to be over because you couldn¡¯t take it anymore.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I retorted, feeling sick all of a sudden. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t want it to be over ¨C¡°


    ¡°We mean now. Now, just as much as then. You¡¯ve given up.¡± They sighed. ¡°Malas tried ¨C¡°


    ¡°Malas!¡± I shrieked. ¡°He did ¨C this ¨C¡°


    ¡°You were woken, but you fell back to sleep. He was trying to reawaken you. He took your arm to do it. There must be some sense to his nonsense ¨C there simply must be.¡±


    I nodded, feeling bludgeoned, not even knowing how to react.


    ¡°Your nervousness ¨C it was because of us. But you¡¯ve said it yourself. We¡¯re in your world now. You can afford to be¡­ reckless.¡±


    I stared at them.


    ¡°Can you still create shields?¡±


    The question came as such a surprise, such a shift in topic that it took me a moment to comply.


    I put out my left hand, imagining a right one there beside it, copying the motions.


    Circle. That came up stronger than before, even with its borders fluctuating, due to the sheer force with which the power flowed from me.


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    Triangle. What was a triangle without corners?


    Weakness incarnate. It collapsed.


    ¡°I¡­ Yes,¡± I reported after a moment. ¡°The power comes out of me more quickly, now, but it ebbs more quickly too¡­ And arranging it into the correct shape, that¡¯s the tricky part¡­ I can¡¯t pinch it in the right places ¨C¡°


    We see what you mean, the voice suddenly said in my head. Try it now ¨C try again.


    I extruded the energies, watched them uncoil frantically across the field of my vision. I attempted once more to bring them into focus but aside from the circle-shield, which I suspected I could create with mere thought, the others were haphazard blobs.


    Let your right arm be the source ¨C feed it through your left ¨C bit by bit ¨C


    It took longer, but I could still raise the triangle. The square. The pentagon. They were right. It was like squeezing sausage-meat out in dollops.


    Good. Keep working on it. That¡¯s it.


    Their reassurances thrumming through my head, their guidance feeding me optimism, I slowly worked my way up to the octagon.


    I was panting by now ¨C


    And then I felt the sudden absences of sensation as they chipped away at those negative feelings, every experience of difficulty being removed one by one from my mind.


    I might¡¯ve been panting, but I no longer knew it. I might¡¯ve been straining mental muscles I hadn¡¯t exercised properly in months, but I could only imagine the pain I should¡¯ve been undergoing.


    Shield Twelve came flickering into existence, each obtuse angle crisply-formed.


    Th-thank you¡­ Thank you¡­


    Save it for a moment. We have company.


    Can you stop talking in my own mind¡¯s voice, please. I have¡­ no idea what I mean. Company?


    ¡°Fine.¡± The difference was startling, reassuring. ¡°She¡¯s coming ¨C Greenheart.¡±


    I trained my gaze on the remnants of Telior, and I made out the albatross winging its way towards us from the city¡¯s broken upper-levels. The bird was big enough as it was, but it grew as it neared us, more than could be explained by the shrinking of the distance between us.


    She wants to fight?


    Instinct brought my wraith into focus; I stopped leaning on the post, feeling the power surge once more into my legs.


    ¡°No. She wants to apologise.¡±


    I gritted my teeth, and my arm-whips flailed of their own accord. Somehow, apologising was worse.


    ¡°Yes,¡± they agreed, ¡°but there¡¯ll be no more loss of life, not on our watch.¡±


    I looked back at them, the twins standing there unbending despite the wind, despite the charnel-house they¡¯d found themselves in.


    You¡¯re making her apologise.


    ¡°Of course not! This is a surprise to us too ¨C we¡¯re not diviners, you know¡­ Anyway, if she wanted to fight you, we¡¯d let her. She¡¯s not so foolish.¡±


    Not so foolish? I imagined the hosts she could summon, flocks of birds, swarms of insects ¨C given cause and opportunity she could even augment them, make each and every one a fearsome opponent¡­


    To pit them, against my host?


    I glanced again across the silent, guilty-looking faces of my multitude. Hundreds of ghosts, and not just standard ones. Dark elven spirits, steeped in wickedness from birth.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget their shells.¡±


    That was true. I had double the force, if you counted the elven-zombies. Even the mere concept of raising them as an army brought the shapes into sharp relief.


    No, not zombies¡­ Wights? But mindless¡­


    ¡°Yes. Yes, that looks right, given what you know.¡±


    How is that possible?


    ¡°How are we supposed to know that?¡±


    But doesn¡¯t that mean ¨C


    ¡°They¡¯re stronger.¡±


    And I¡¯m ¨C


    ¡°The master of all of them.¡±


    All of them? But¡­ these aren¡¯t low-ranked, are they? How? Zel always said ¨C


    ¡°She may have exaggerated. That, or she may have wanted you to come to an understanding¡­¡±


    Understanding?


    ¡°Look, dear brother¡­ You¡¯ve got a¡­ deeper Wellspring than many other archmages you¡¯ve met, right? Think it through. Every piece of data in your mind corroborates the hypothesis that the later the archmage is awakened, the greater their average potential influence over reality. Each generation produced champions mightier than the last. It¡¯s just the anomaly of the Founders, maybe just the first few generations, that throws off the curve.¡±


    I suppose¡­


    ¡°All ending in the twins.¡±


    I¡­ guess I never thought of it that way.


    ¡°Further hypothesis: the twins are the last. Each variant of archmagery culminates in our arrival.¡±


    I thought it through: I¡¯d not heard of a single arch-wizard awakening after Saff and Tarr. No arch-sorcerers after Arxine and Orieg¡­


    Culminates? You mean, you think it¡¯s likely that¡­


    ¡°Likely? Yeah. There will be no more of us.¡±


    But that¡¯s meaningless! I protested. That¡¯s not nearly enough evidence to ¨C


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to fight it. Roll with it.¡±


    No more of us!


    ¡°No more of us, anywhere.¡±


    The thoughts of doom I¡¯d been entertaining for months finally sank in and I had no words, just staring at them slack-jawed. It was all too terrifying.


    Mund ¨C


    The next Incursion ¨C


    Oh gods. These really are the End Times. We ¨C we have to go back. We have to return!


    By sheer instinct I twisted about, orienting myself towards the south-east, as though I could start to effect change in the Realm even at such a distant remove.


    ¡°Yes, but she¡¯s coming. Deal with this first.¡±


    Mund¡­


    ¡°Kas, please.¡±


    I shook off my reverie, floating upwards to meet her in the air, but it proved unnecessary; the gleaming albatross swiftly swooped down at the deck and came to land, perched upon its rail just thirty feet away.


    Well within my invisible shields.


    ¡°Hool Raz,¡± she hailed me, the druidess-voice pouring breathlessly from the bird¡¯s beak. ¡°Hool Raz, you haf killed zem. Killed zem all!¡±


    I inclined my head solemnly, saying nothing. I probably didn¡¯t make for an especially-reassuring sight, hovering half-shadowed in my tattered robe.


    ¡°I come viz¡­ viz my sorry, Hool Raz. I voz made to act as I act. I thought ve¡­ I voz save my city.¡±


    I looked pointedly at Telior¡¯s corpse.


    Can you translate?


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know you,¡± I said aloud. ¡°I came here to escape something. I found¡­ something worse. I brought it with me.¡±


    I came to escape destiny. Doom found me. In my back-pocket all along.


    ¡°Pliz¡­ Raz¡­ Do not kill my people. Zey are ignorant but zey are innocent. Do not ¨C¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m going to hurt them?¡±


    ¡°You are not?¡±


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have killed the dark elves!¡± My voice throbbed. ¡°Even them! I shouldn¡¯t have done it, okay?¡±


    The great grey bird nodded warily.


    ¡°But they came. They pushed. I had to push back. It¡¯s what I do.¡±


    It¡¯s what I used to do¡­


    ¡°And what I will do.¡±


    The albatross cocked her head, as though to better regard me with the nearby eye.


    ¡°You travel to Vilthrazia?¡±


    Viltrazi? I¡¯ve seen something like that on the maps.


    ¡°Vilthrazia. The dark elf homeland, or, properly, the city in which they dwell. Far to the north. She hasn¡¯t seen it, but she can imagine it.¡±


    I saw a vast plain that I somehow knew to be the surface of Northril, frozen solid, covered in crisp white snow ¨C


    Crimson-brown trees, looming tall and pockmarked over the landscape like the rusted corpses of iron giants, trees which obtained their nutrition from a unique source.


    And high above the frozen ocean, looking somehow upside down, three triangular black towers were suspended, spinning lazily at the centre of a storm ¨C


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean them,¡± I cried, shutting down my imagination and focussing on the druidess. ¡°There¡¯s something in Mund I have to deal with.¡±


    ¡°Mundt¡­¡±


    The albatross shrank, just a little.


    ¡°Take me viz you.¡±


    I stared at Greenheart in fascination.


    ¡°But¡­ won¡¯t they come back?¡± I pondered aloud. ¡°You don¡¯t want to go ¨C to this Vilthrazia ¨C¡±


    ¡°Vot use am I here?¡± she cried, and flapped her wings suddenly. ¡°I can do nozzing ¨C I can only vatch, and zey ¨C¡°


    ¡°The people need a real leader,¡± I said sternly. ¡°Someone who won¡¯t betray an ally at the drop of a hat. Maybe you can be that.¡±


    She lowered her great head, almost letting the tip of her beak rest on the deck.


    ¡°She¡¯s needed where we¡¯re going if we¡¯re right, dear brother. We don¡¯t know if the druid twins have come into their awakening yet¡­¡±


    We¡¯ve been away months¡­ There¡¯s no new arch-druids left in Mund ¨C is that what you¡¯re saying?


    ¡°We have to consider that it¡¯s possible. Probable, even.¡±


    And she really can¡¯t restore the arm? That wasn¡¯t part of Deymar¡¯s game?


    ¡°Oh¡­ oh Kas no. I¡¯m sorry. That bit was real. What Mal Malas did to you¡­¡±


    I get it. I couldn¡¯t quite keep the bitterness from my mind-voice, but I was trying. Irreversible.


    ¡°Why do you want to go to Mund, anyway?¡± I called at last.


    The head snaked back up slowly. The strange green eyes of the druidess just stared back at me for a moment, as though the question had nonplussed her.


    ¡°It¡­¡± she started, then clacked her beak in frustration. ¡°It is Mundt.¡±


    I barked laughter. I couldn¡¯t help it.


    ¡°Ha! Hahahaha! You want to go to Mund? Fine. We¡¯ll go to Mund. I¡¯ll take you, show you what you¡¯re missing. You didn¡¯t take payment, did you? For your heroics?¡±


    She shook her head in what looked to be a wary motion, her eyes staring with uncanny focus.


    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s something we¡¯ve been missing. Yeah, you can rejoin the nightmare with me. But ¨C who are you? Reveal yourself.¡±


    She flowed back into woman-shape, returning to her leather coat and woollen clothing. As she stood erect, perfectly balanced on the rail despite her boots resting on the slick surface, she reached up to remove her mask.


    My heart almost stopped beating as she exposed her face.


    The same almost-cleft chin, the same dimpled cheeks¡­ Were it not for the emerald-glittering eyes, the darkness of her hair ¨C she would¡¯ve almost been Emrelet¡¯s twin. Older, certainly, but by how much I was uncertain.


    ¡°I am Kirid Oanor, daughter of Telior. Sin-Aidre, Greenheart as you vould have it.¡±


    I loosened my hold on my wraith a little, letting myself appear as almost an ordinary mortal once more.


    ¡°I am Kas. Kastyr Mortenn, son of Mund. Formerly Feychilde¡­ Formerly Raz.¡±


    ¡°Feychilt¡­¡±


    Hearing it from her lips ¨C it sounded so similar ¨C so familiar¡­


    ¡°But I have heard of you! Zey called you ze ¨C ze Liberator of Zat-hal.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t believe it. ¡°You ¨C heard of me? Here? How?¡±


    ¡°From ze sailors! Orcan ¨C he always collect vord from Mundt. Timesnaaatcher. Lifcloak.¡±


    ¡°Leafcloak?¡± I retorted, perhaps a bit harshly. ¡°She¡¯s dead. She died, in Zadhal. We even had a ceremony¡­¡±


    The druidess nodded.


    ¡°She¡¯s not lying, Kas,¡± came the twins¡¯ prompting. ¡°Right now in Orcan¡¯s head ¨C oh. Oh, my¡­¡±


    What?


    ¡°It seems Orcan¡¯s heard from travellers aboard two separate ships that Timesnatcher has been driven mad. And ¨C everyone thinks Nightfell is leading the city now.¡±


    Nightfell? I haven¡¯t even heard ¨C


    ¡°We¡¯ve got something to tell you, about Tanra¡­¡±


    Tanra!


    ¡°It never came up¡­ Ah¡­ Why don¡¯t we return to Telior first? Pack our things?¡±


    The image rose up before my mind ¨C digging in the rubble for my belongings, watching priceless books of magic floating on the morning waves, shredded down to the near-invulnerable pages¡­


    ¡°No,¡± I said aloud.


    Kirid Oanor, druidess of Telior, looked at me in concern, but I turned my head to regard my siblings, ignoring her completely.


    ¡°We don¡¯t go back,¡± I said. ¡°We don¡¯t confront the king and his people, and we don¡¯t save them either. Anything we need the imps can fetch. We go home, now. And you tell me everything you know. Everything you think you know.¡± I drew a shuddering breath. ¡°She¡¯s the only friend I had left.¡±


    Jaid nodded as Jaroan shook his head, but when they spoke it was still in unison:


    ¡°We think¡­ she needs your help.¡±


    I clenched my fist. How could they let this go, for so long, if they knew something was wrong?


    ¡°But you mistake us,¡± they said. ¡°The real reason we need to go to Telior¡­


    ¡°Good luck getting your imps to fetch Orcan.¡±


    * * *

 Consequences pt3

    In the grey light of dawn, I soared with the twins above the shoreline. From overhead the extent of the destruction was plain to see, but also somehow plain to understand as well, like the play-set of some petulant rich-kid, kicked apart in a moment of anger.


    Two-thirds of the Tower of the Warlock had simply vanished. The palace square had become a wooden crater as its support-structures were blown apart, and now a jagged field of splintered timbers greeted the eye, sagging and groaning under the weight of the chaos atop it. There were cries, of course ¨C warbling wails, the screams of those shattered by loss ¨C but out of much of the city there seeped only a pervading quiet. The absence of life called out to me louder than the voices of the living. I sensed the white fingers trapped in the breakers, the snapped limbs tangled in the nets beneath the waves. The singers of Enye had fallen silent. Perhaps those heavenly sounds would never again be heard in this place.


    Perhaps that was its due.


    I brought us down towards the king¡¯s halls, drifting slowly down through the air. Many of the divine statues had fallen, rent in two by the huge, frozen missiles. Wyrda¡¯s mouth was choked with rubble, great glistening boulders of ice lying here and there amidst the tumbled rock. Black-red puddles clung to the motionless elbows and feet, limbs of the fallen protruding from beneath the vast, icy remnants of the dark elves¡¯ spells, and from beneath the piled planks, the caved-in rock.


    Me, I thought, surveying the death. It was all me.


    ¡°No. We talked about this. You ¨C¡°


    You want me to not take responsibility, but the responsibility is mine. Mine alone.


    I fought them for it ¨C the independence, the sense of self ¨C


    And, just then, I felt the way they vacated my mind. Willingly. Expectantly.


    They want me to do this, I realised. They want me¡­ to see¡­


    To feel it. To know it¡¯s mine.


    Nafala¡­?


    They didn¡¯t reply, and permitted me the understanding of what that silence meant.


    I didn¡¯t weep, but as we floated ghostlike above the wreckage I felt the tears running down my incorporeal face all the same. They were colder than cold, pouring uncontrolled from my eyes, tickling my cheeks until they fell, regaining their substance to patter on the detritus.


    I took the twins through the stone, each of us holding our breath.


    Where? I thought.


    Before I could even formulate the basic responses that would put ideas in my head, start providing me with best-guessed routes to the hiding places beneath the palace, the twins filled me with their surety.


    ¡°Down this way. A little to the left. Down some more.¡±


    They didn¡¯t control my movements but they guided me with little impulses, tugs to one side and then the other, until, after passing through several empty spaces, we fell into a cavern drenched in wizard-light, wizard-warmth.


    Over a hundred people were crammed into the area, standing huddled in the wet galleries, crouching upon the irregular boulders. Many wept. Many more simply stared at the floor, at the ceilings, or into the eyes of loved ones, tearless and pale. Perhaps kept isolated from fear and danger for too long, a few dared to wear bored expressions, the full implications of the morning¡¯s events still beyond their grasp.


    Almost all here were still decked out in their fineries, the hats and capes and dresses of minor nobles ¨C the garments they¡¯d donned when the terror of the dark elves¡¯ approach had been assuaged. When they¡¯d been brought to the palace and into Deymar¡¯s protection¡­


    Not a commoner amongst them.


    I instantly spotted the giant of a king, in a circle of his closest advisors, our target amongst them.


    The wizard, for what it was worth, was one of those with a petulant sneer on his face.


    I sighed inwardly as we fully penetrated the rock and emerged into the air, drifting down in their midst.


    It took them a few seconds to spot us, despite the abundance of yellow-white illumination rebounding off the dark grey walls.


    ¡°Not us. Just you. We¡¯re actually invisible, just so you know.¡±


    ¡°Hool Raz!¡± a voice screamed from the crowd. A finger was pointed at me, and then another.


    A handful reacted with anger. Most cowered.


    ¡°No need for shields. Don¡¯t land, and there¡¯ll be no violence here. We can guarantee it.¡±


    I slowed, then stopped our descent.


    Looking down into King Deymar¡¯s slack-jawed face, there was a part of me that longed to don the leer, extract my vengeance in his terror ¨C he wasn¡¯t to know my newly-invested arch-enchanter siblings had formed a compact against violence.


    But I felt all the other eyes on me. Some I wanted to share in the king¡¯s fright, but there were too many here. My disdain was not yet so generalised.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been a naughty boy, Deymar. Very naughty. You thought throwing one pup to the wolves would stay the pack but you were wrong. Now, your city¡¯s paid the price for your foolishness.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen it?¡± someone cried.


    ¡°Vot has happened?¡± another asked in a shrill voice.


    ¡°Telior is no more.¡±


    More gasps, screams, wails.


    I looked down at Deymar, still doing my best not to smile.


    ¡°The lives lost, dear brother. Do not forget.¡±


    The scenes flashed before my inner eye once more.


    I won¡¯t.


    I steeled myself, and the other smile spread across my lips. Not gloating. Not amused. Not proud.


    The sorrowful smile of the champion, despair mingled with pity. The smile of losing your arm to a dragon at three in the morning and coming home to be handed over to a host of torturers and carrying on regardless.


    I might¡¯ve thought I was worse than them because I knew and I didn¡¯t care. Maybe I¡¯d been right. But at least I had eyes to open. At least I could see the truth.


    Look at them. The rich and noble of Telior. Men and women of success and vanity.


    How little their purses and bloodlines avail them now.


    Many were chattering frantically in Telese, even in the king¡¯s circle; but he and Orcan were amongst the few not yet tearing out their hair, still staring up at me warily.


    ¡°Did you really think it would work, Mr. Northsword? Did you think they could defeat me? You already knew I beat them once.¡±


    ¡°Now you¡¯re just being liberal with the truth. They totally would¡¯ve killed you, if we didn¡¯t stop them.¡±


    Hush.


    ¡°Not that we want to do what you may come to think of as ¡®doing-a-Zel¡¯ but, please ¨C¡°


    You¡¯re totally doing a Zel. Let me speak. You know I don¡¯t think I¡¯m invulnerable. The lesson¡¯s stuck.


    ¡°Lying to us, and yourself, again¡­ What Malas taught you was that you aren¡¯t made out of glass, either.¡±


    Enough!


    I had no idea what Deymar thought of our extended staring-match, but I¡¯d been silent at least fifteen seconds now, conducting my little psychic debate.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    I made my next words a quiet statement, wearing that sad, almost-sympathetic grin.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t trust your own countrymen to stand with me. You don¡¯t believe in their strength. When I arrived here you took me in with open arms. I was just to be your tool, then. An offering to the gods of the North, to the dark elves who haunted your dreams.


    ¡°I never thought to see such weakness in you. And I fear it would¡¯ve infected me, had I stayed longer. It¡¯s not just blindness. It¡¯s eyelessness¡­¡°


    If you¡¯re making him stay silent ¨C


    ¡°We¡¯re not. He¡¯s just confused.¡±


    Confused! I thought, enraged. Why does he, why should he get the chance to be con-


    ¡°He won¡¯t say it, but he was just trying to do his best.¡± Their mind-voice was low, dignified. ¡°Do his best, in a bad situation. You weren¡¯t a sacrifice ¨C he isn¡¯t evil.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not a dark elf.¡±


    ¡°No, he ¨C he thought of you as someone he could be friends with.¡±


    I felt it as my expression morphed to one of horror.


    Only then did he break his silence.


    ¡°Stayed longer?¡± His voice was plaintive, close to breaking. ¡°Raz¡­ Must you leave us, then? They said that they would enchant me. They said that I could not resist, no matter what¡­¡± He reached up and wrung his beard suddenly. ¡°I took the harder road, because I feared what -¡± he choked ¡°¨C what they would make me do¡­¡±


    Finally he looked away, down at the ground.


    ¡°And if it had just been me ¨C if you hadn¡¯t made your son do it too, give up my brother and sister ¨C¡°


    ¡°My son!¡± he bellowed, turning tear-filled eyes back upon me once more. ¡°My son is missing ¨C¡°


    ¡°He¡¯s still alive, though,¡± the twins supplied. ¡°About a hundred feet above us. Not alone, either.¡±


    ¡°¨C if there were options, if I had ideas!¡± The king stamped on the stone and I could¡¯ve sworn I heard rock fracture beneath his boot. ¡°If you had been here when they came! Your brother and sister, you ¨C three lives, against what could have been¡­ could have been¡­ utter destruction¡­¡±


    His voice died, and he was still once more, just the eyes stirring, searching the walls.


    ¡°Now you preside over utter destruction,¡± I observed. ¡°Your son is safe, up there.¡± I gestured at the ceiling with a nod. ¡°I hope it consoles you that you lost little.¡±


    ¡°Lost little!¡± He howled his retort, and bunched his right fist.


    ¡°You¡¯re not exactly making this easy, dear brother.¡±


    ¡°Personally, I mean.¡± I shrugged at him. ¡°Some lost more. Some had more to lose. Do you really think you¡¯re so special? Any of you? Do you think you aren¡¯t just bags of blood, begging for release?¡±


    I eyed them dangerously, and they could feel it, my ill-will. A shivering moan swept through the throng. No one wanted to answer.


    My own right arm came alive but it didn¡¯t end in a fist ¨C cerulean tendrils of death were slowly extending from that unspeakable void-limb ¨C


    Extending faster ¨C


    Halting.


    ¡°No, Kas. We¡¯ll stop the wraith, but you have to change back in its absence.¡±


    I looked down at my living force-whips, suddenly seeing them for what they were for the first time. Knowing what they represented on both its faces.


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯ll get easier. It¡¯ll stop happening. Please just relax.¡±


    But ¨C the deaths ¨C all that murder ¨C


    ¡°It was you, yes, we know. It¡¯s okay. Calm down. You can ¨C¡°


    But it was mine, mine, mine! And it was necessary! It was what they deserved!


    ¡°No, Kas. Relax now.¡±


    And I was relaxed again.


    As though he¡¯d been waiting for my expression to soften once more, Orcan carefully removed the panic from his own features, readopting the haughty smirk before speaking.


    ¡°Where is Sin-Aidre?¡± the ancient arch-wizard demanded at last in his flawless Mundic. ¡°What have you done with her?¡±


    ¡°She awaits you, outside.¡± I fixed my gaze on him finally, and said it as plainly as I could: ¡°Come with us. Come to Mund. You can make a difference.¡±


    ¡°I will make a difference here!¡± he huffed, clearly offended. ¡°Whatever this talk ¨C Sin-Aidre will not want to go with you ¨C¡±


    ¡°It was her idea, you old clod!¡± I sighed. ¡°Honestly, I think she just wants to escape¡­ this. What difference will you make here, really? Sure ¨C each to their measure in the making, and all that ¨C but you¡¯re an archmage. What¡¯s really going on in that head of yours? Why do you hate me so much? You know we could¡¯ve fought them together, surely!¡±


    ¡°We do not fight! Our power is not to meddle in the affairs of men!¡± He looked offended. ¡°We are elevated by the gods themselves, because we have the strength to stand above ¨C¡°


    ¡°You¡¯re a coward,¡± I summarised. Loudly.


    ¡°You do not get to say this ¨C you were not here to fight!¡± he shrieked. ¡°You are ze coward! You destroy Telior, and now flee back to the black womb that bore you, forked tail between your legs! Go, then! Flee, warlock! But do not think me the weak one!¡± He swivelled his head towards Deymar. ¡°Kur hool, ku silv ¨C¡°


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I cut him off, and my word was as the voice of the storm, a crackling wave of sonic power that had them all clutching the sides of their heads.


    ¡°Yes, I destroyed Telior! If I hadn¡¯t killed the dark elves on Northril, they wouldn¡¯t have come. But if you hadn¡¯t handed me over, they never would¡¯ve touched your precious city! I spilt the first blood, and I would¡¯ve spilt the last ¨C for you. Now it¡¯s your redness in the waters that¡¯ll draw in the sharks!¡± I drew a deep breath. ¡°But I¡¯m an agent of Mortiforn, Kultemeren, N-n-n-n¡­¡±


    I couldn¡¯t speak Nentheleme¡¯s name.


    ¡°Not the Prince of Chains,¡± I managed. ¡°Not Mother-Chaos. And not the Sea-Queen. The sacrifice was just. Maybe some lost less than others, but we all lost.¡± I eyed the king. ¡°I told you of the Crucible. I have reason to believe it¡¯s coming, more reason than ever before. You think you¡¯ve lost it all now? Send him with me. He¡¯ll do it at your command, won¡¯t he?¡±


    Instead of channelling his authority, Deymar seemed to shrink into himself. He looked furtively at his arch-wizard, suddenly seeming frightened.


    He won¡¯t be leading these people much longer.


    ¡°No he won¡¯t. He¡¯ll be far happier, we think.¡±


    ¡°The Crucible, really¡­¡± Orcan said sceptically, looking between the two of us.


    ¡°We¡¯ll make a champion of you yet,¡± I said, trying the grin once more.


    The twins piped up, squirting their enthusiasm directly into my brain, and although they spoke in the same voice, they were constantly tripping over themselves trying to make their arguments.


    ¡°It¡¯s the only way without making him our puppet, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°We know you wouldn¡¯t like that, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t like it either!¡±


    ¡°And the rest deserve to know!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Vardae was right! Everyone does!¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡±


    I sighed inwardly in response, and they quietened down.


    ¡°Prepare for an interesting experience.¡± I cast my gaze across the crowd. ¡°All of you.¡±


    Three minutes later, Orcan Finfaltik in tow, we made our way back up through the rock, to meet with Kirid Oanor above the ruins of Telior. We left behind the former rulers of this place, reeling in a conglomeration of dark lore, founded upon Everseer¡¯s words, and Mal Malas¡¯s. A vision to approximate the heretics¡¯.


    The dragons were coming. The Dracofont was Returning.


    And we weren¡¯t staying behind. We were going back to face them.


    We were going to fight.


    * * *


    Despite his obvious prowess, it seemed our wizard wasn¡¯t comfortable with flying unsupported. Instead he brought a thin, smooth shelf of the coast¡¯s black stone with him, and we stood or sat upon the soaring rock, gazing down as we drew closer to the dark elves¡¯ ships. If anything, for me this method was worse, and a touch of my old nausea came back; I tapped a little more wraith, settling myself. I vastly preferred flying the other way, but I supposed there was no chance of falling, and he¡¯d incorporated a back-rest into the rock so that we weren¡¯t completely open on all sides.


    ¡°You okay with all this, then, Orcan?¡± I asked to break the uncomfortable silence, distract my thoughts.


    ¡°Okay?¡± the wizard growled through gritted teeth. He was standing with his back against the back-rest, arms folded in his sleeves beneath the fur cloak. ¡°Dragons? Five ancient dragons?¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°But you¡¯re as brave as you said.¡± I tried to smile reassuringly at him, but he had his eyes fixed on the bony goliaths ahead. ¡°You didn¡¯t hesitate even for a moment.¡±


    ¡°Do not flatter me, warlock.¡± The hate had gone out of his voice, but not the bitterness. ¡°I only do my duty.¡±


    ¡°I thought we archmages weren¡¯t supposed to go to war.¡±


    ¡°This is not a battle,¡± he grunted. ¡°This is not an army, mortal souls locked in contest. What you showed me¡­¡± He glanced at the twins, glanced away again. ¡°I said you fled. But I was wrong. It¡¯s coming, for all of us, and we can¡¯t escape. This is¡­ yes ¨C this is a natural disaster.¡± His brow furrowed into a look of intense determination. ¡°I will help.¡±


    I loosed a ¡®heh¡¯ of appreciation, then turned to glance at Greenheart. She¡¯d taken the twins¡¯ vision without any outward sign of dismay, but their reports told me she¡¯d been thrown back into self-doubt. Her gaze wasn¡¯t on the dark elf ships we were approaching, their nethernal energies still burning bright in the morning dimness. She stared instead into the sky above the bleak horizon, as if searching for the sun beyond the clouds.


    ¡°She¡¯ll be okay, Kas. We¡¯re being careful not to change people. We¡¯ll help her come round, when it¡¯s time.¡±


    All this talk of ¡®not changing¡¯ people ¨C the ease with which their new powers had come to them, it worried me, and I couldn¡¯t help but ¨C


    ¡°We know it worries you. The fact it¡¯s worrying you should tell you you don¡¯t need to worry!¡±


    I¡­ I suppose you¡¯re right. I ¨C


    I didn¡¯t quite know how to think it.


    ¡°We know, Kas. We feel the same way.¡±


    It was never about the glory, you know. Or the money. It was¡­ the apartment, at first. But it was always you. Always. When I escaped Zyger ¨C all I wanted ¨C all I needed to do ¨C


    ¡°We all gave it up together. It was the same for us. You were all that mattered. And we¡¯re inseparable now. You don¡¯t need to worry anymore. Wherever you go, we¡¯ll reach you.¡±


    Except Zyger.


    The three of us chuckled dryly together in our shared mind-space.


    For the first time in a very long time, a kind of contentedness came over me. Sure, I¡¯d lost, here. And I was on my way to face trials the likes of which the world had never seen before, untested allies beside me.


    But I had purpose. I had what Malas wanted to instil in me.


    So is this all his plan, do you think?


    Unexpectedly, the twins spoke in their one voice, aloud so that all of us could hear.


    ¡°He¡¯s right. We can¡¯t escape. We can only face it, and win, or lose.¡±


    I looked over at them, as they reached out for each others¡¯ hands.


    ¡°But we can handle loss,¡± they finished. ¡°Let¡¯s see if they can.¡±


    ¡°The dragons?¡± I murmured.


    They nodded.


    ¡°The dragons fought against loss,¡± I surmised. ¡°All this time.¡±


    ¡°They fought it for aeons,¡± they replied. ¡°They are more scared of death than we are.¡±


    We passed over the dark elves¡¯ ships, and I collected my bounty: the throngs of ascended ancients hanging on the wind, and the mindless wights lying silent and still across the decks.


    The astral recoil of so many nethernal gates clanging shut simultaneously served to disrupt the spells binding the ships together. Like flames snuffed to embers, the amethyst energies surging about the surfaces of the titanic vessels fell to a dim glow.


    I reached out with my shapes and poked the ships with my power. Just a touch. A gentle nudge. But they were keyed to me.


    One by one they fell apart, shuddering as ten million unjustly-stolen pieces of bone showered down into the waves.


    The tide carried the corpse-parts back to Telior, where the singers no longer sang. Yet for all the destruction, for all the death, for all the silence¡­ I knew even this would not fill Wyrda¡¯s maw, choke her, sate her black hunger, slake the thirst salted by a thousand ocean depths.


    For all the destruction, all the death¡­ all the silence¡­


    There was more to come.

 A Fiend Revealed

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9B: A FIEND REVEALED</h2>


    ¡°In an infinite plenitude, each combination of events must play itself out an infinite number of times. It is a basic tenet of sorcerous calculation that some infinities can be larger than others. If chosen at random, one would be far likelier to encounter a Mund ruled by Lady Sentelemeth with a given-name slightly different to Twivona than, say, a Mund with a ghost for a First Lady. Yet in many more of those worlds there will be no Mund at all; and in others, perhaps, no world. For we know not all the various permutations, all the probable possibilities, all the improbable necessities. Or perhaps realms ruled by ghosts are indeed far likelier than I have the imagination to conceive. No, I will not say do not laugh ¨C but I do not speak in jest! All that can be said for sure is this: if there is an infinite plenitude, even the least-likely course of events will occur and reoccur for time unending. Those bound to such a world may not even find it strange. Nay! they would not. Say not ¡®may¡¯! Worlds wherein hawks have no feathers. Worlds wherein each of us in this room is slightly older or younger, with histories that differ by so little as a single hair on our heads, or where we indeed have two heads apiece. Wherein the planes are curtailed by divine mandate and magic is lost to we ¡®mere mortals¡¯, forever out of reach.¡±


    ¨C from Mistress Arithos¡¯s Lectures to the Adept Assembly


    How it¡¯d started, Jakur wasn¡¯t a hundred percent sure. Was it the booze? The heat? The sense of ever-increasing panic as the days ticked by on the calendar, leaving the city waiting, waiting for the end to come?


    How quickly he and Fay fell for one another?


    All of it had played a role, he suspected. He¡¯d just been a normal shift manager four weeks ago. Gods, had it only been four weeks! So much had changed. His highest high had been throwing his wages away in the pub; he¡¯d spent every waking hour not put into Hilltown¡¯s forges into wooing the various barmaids at the Turtle¡¯s Shell. The tavern had been a second home to him since the day of his fifteenth birthday, with his uncle behind the bar¡­ So many memories. He¡¯d practically grown up in that run-down, beer-soaked collection of rooms.


    How sad it seemed, looking back now. He was a different man, but why had it taken him till his fifties? What had his paltry existence been worth, even to him? Anyone could do his job ¨C a zombie could¡¯ve been ensorcelled to do his job, if only his staff could¡¯ve been persuaded to take its mumblings seriously. And the Shell didn¡¯t need his patronage. If anything, the delightful wenches were probably glad to see the back of him. He¡¯d been a serial harasser. A complete waste of space.


    It was okay. He¡¯d found a new source of satisfaction. A place he¡¯d never feel disposable ever again.


    There were some feelings you could just put aside, leave out the back door of your mind for the rats to eat. There were the feelings you could put aside for a bit ¨C for a year or a month, a day or an hour ¨C before you just had to pull them back inside the walls of your mind, consider them a second time, or a second-thousandth. Then there were the feelings you couldn¡¯t control. They stripped the walls and repainted them, and, when the internal space was found lacking, knocked them down and rebuilt them brick by brick until the layout of the whole house was different.


    This had been one of the latter sort. A feeling that replaced all the former doubts and insecurities, wiping them away to a point of tranquil acceptance.


    A belief.


    ¡°Everseer is the truth we know,¡± he murmured, looking out over the assemblage. ¡°Everseer is the punishment we deserve. She is the one, the almighty, and we bow before her knife like the calf before the altar.¡±


    In the silence, they heard.


    ¡°Everseer, we bow before you,¡± came the hushed chorus from the crowd.


    Forty-eight, he¡¯d counted. It was hard to believe that there were almost fifty of them now, and the congregation only grew week on week. Soon this abandoned house would be too cramped to suit their needs, for all its generous proportions. They¡¯d need to find a real hall to meet in. And they¡¯d need to bring more candles¡­


    More candles!


    The high priest of the Church of Everseer smiled. The little things the mind seized on.


    ¡°You bring us the truth, when all they bring is lies.¡± Jakur was still speaking quietly, but the crowd drank in his face, his voice. ¡°The truth about the dragons. The truth about destiny. About death. Your blade is our promise.¡±


    ¡°Everseer, we promise,¡± they replied.


    It felt good ¨C better than just good. He couldn¡¯t deny it: there was a certain ecstasy to it. An exhilaration not to be found even in the solace of a lover¡¯s arms. That was just the adoration of one. This was a different kind of give and take, something he¡¯d never anticipated. He¡¯d been no one. Now he got to see it, all those eyes, fixated upon him. He turned slowly with the rhythm of his words and spread his arms as if to embrace them. They responded physically, some of them taking an unconscious half-step towards him as he gestured.


    It felt even better at this point of the meeting. He¡¯d gotten the difficult bit out of the way, the little speech his new girlfriend had rewritten for him. Memorising stuff was difficult, but it was starting to flow better now. He¡¯d get more used to it. He was the high priest, after all.


    The crowd certainly didn¡¯t seem to mind the religious tone of Fay¡¯s words. Maybe he¡¯d add a third bit next time.


    ¡°We will continue our good work.¡± He spoke more loudly, fervently now. ¡°In your name, we will sow disorder! We will encourage those who stay to leave in every way we can. We are your sacrificial lambs. For every one of us whose head you take, fifty more will be gone from here before you draw your knife!¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± they cried.


    ¡°But how will you achieve it?¡± Jakur suddenly adopted a paternal frown, raised a finger of admonishment on his right hand. ¡°This week, I broke the Freethinker¡¯s forge! Seventy-seven men and dwarves out of work! How many will stay and how many will go? You! What have you done for Everseer?¡±


    He pointed the finger directly at Edmin, a short, white-skinned man he knew to be one of his most-devout followers.


    ¡°I smashed the shop-fronts on Brownway!¡± Edmin cried. ¡°They don¡¯t know what hit ¡®em!¡±


    Jakur gestured at a hooded, haggard crone in the middle of the group, someone he¡¯d seen twice before.


    ¡°You! What have you done?¡±


    Let¡¯s test them.


    ¡°I smeared drop on the doors of two lords!¡± she cackled.


    Jakur smiled.


    He pointed to Fay in the front row. She looked so beautiful tonight, in a scarf of purple velvet. Her grey-blond hair was down, her smooth skin gleaming.


    ¡°And you?¡± he cried.


    ¡°I poisoned the well on Porkie Square. It took them ten hours to find out what¡¯d happened, and by then six were already dead.¡± She was good at this routine; she almost seemed to enjoy her moment in the spotlight, for all her prior protests. ¡°One family left the next morning. One more¡¯s going soon.¡±


    The mood of the crowd wavered on the razor¡¯s edge with that. The newest members were paling ¨C all but the skinny, thin-lipped young thing at Fay¡¯s elbow. Her eyes were gleaming with adoration at Jakur¡¯s girlfriend, for all that they stared out of sunken sockets.


    ¡®Girlfriend.¡¯ He¡¯d have to come up with a better way of thinking about their relationship. It felt like an affront to the gods, when both of them had more grey in their hair than anything else. Yet, there was the girlish thing about her that¡¯d attracted him to her in the first place. He hadn¡¯t felt the swell of genuine attraction in a long time, until he met her. They weren¡¯t really lovers yet, so he couldn¡¯t think of her in those terms. Partner? It seemed equally strange, for such a new bond, whatever the strength of its hold over him.


    Like all things, it would soon come to an End. Abrupt, and painful, and necessary. He knew this now, understood it as no other might.


    ¡°Peace be with the dead,¡± Jakur intoned, ¡°as it shall be with us, brothers and sisters. We will know peace, in the end. Our souls will be satisfied. We¡¯ll sit at the side of Everseer, in Celestium, forevermore, and know we¡¯ve done right.¡±


    That sounded religious, but it was simply the way he felt. He¡¯d promised himself he¡¯d always speak the truth, when he was up here like this, standing on the slightly-elevated hearth stones before the abandoned fireplace at the front of the room, the sea of enraptured faces glued to his words. He felt Everseer¡¯s purpose, right down deep in the marrow of his bones. Thinking about it ¨C the End, the End of All Things ¨C it made his legs turn to jelly, made him smile like a baby.


    It was the quiet, metallic voice from behind him that caught him off-guard. No one was supposed to be behind him, but that wasn¡¯t the most shocking thing.


    ¡°Zi dwes grel, kasena o Mekesta.¡±


    Jakur whipped about and stared in stupefaction along with the others as the speaker stepped forth from the shadows in the corner of the room. It seemed almost to carry the darkness with it, so black was its complexion.


    The intruder was akin to the weapon-formed demons, creatures he¡¯d seen in an Incursion once, the ones with the awful clock-like faces ¨C though its anatomy was far less crude than theirs had been. He would¡¯ve almost thought it humanoid, if not for its seven-foot height and commensurate broadness. The obsidian sword-blades, axe-heads and knives making up its naked, pitch-black body had been fitted together almost seamlessly like the ancient walls in Oldtown, lending it the appearance of true, fleshly life even as it moved. The hair-thin lines between its sheets of metallic skin were the only real way Jakur could track it with his eyes; the sheen of its incandescent orange interior seeped through as a dull glow tracing every serrated edge, every jagged hook.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    It was only ten feet from him. His instinct was to shuffle back, put some distance between himself and the thing¡­ but at the same time he felt compelled to stand his ground.


    Instinct fought and lost. The soles of his feet were fixed in place. Muscles refused to stir at terror¡¯s behest.


    A few near the rear screamed, somehow shattering the demon¡¯s aura of paralysis and breaking away from the frozen crowd toward the external door at the back of the room, their boots thumping the bare boards of the floor.


    Yells of desperation became frustration, despair, when they found the door locked, the bolts designed to protect them from discovery now the tools of their imprisonment, the metal bars no less paralysed than the majority of the room¡¯s occupants.


    He understood that this was a native of hell, a visitor from the darkest imaginable depths; yet Jakur couldn¡¯t deny his fascination. He was still staring, trying to perceive the exact physical nature of this thing slowly approaching, trying to understand¡­


    Why here? Why now? What did it say about Mekesta?


    It held out its hand, a cluster of daggers and long, crooked pins; and yet the fingertips and palm seemed like they should almost be smooth to the touch.


    It slowly extended one of those fingers, pointing, and for a heart-stopping moment Jakur almost thought it was pointing at him ¨C


    ¡°Everseer,¡± he breathed.


    The angular finger settled and, somehow, the knowledge that he wasn¡¯t its target released his limbs from the spell. He shuddered out of the way, managing to stumble an inch or two to his left, and the entity¡¯s arm never wavered.


    Behind him, a female voice choked forth a string of vile noises.


    He ripped his eyes away to follow the line of its finger¡­ only to see Fay¡¯s mouth opening and closing on the strange words, the hollow sounds that could only be the markers of a dark language.


    ¡°Zi zlond dwa zi¡¯so ru ikasene o Mekesta, kasena o Yane.¡±


    Yane¡­


    She was staring back at this manifestation of Infernum without flinching; if anything, she seemed to have drawn herself up taller.


    Laughter of a kind bubbled forth from the beast¡¯s indiscernible lips, a clicking sound like the rustling of a swarm of beetles ¨C


    And then with a horrific whoosh it lunged right past Jakur, crashing into the midst of the crowd, bowling aside the high priest¡¯s followers like pieces on a game board.


    Half the candles in the area were extinguished instantly.


    There in the centre of the room it halted again, looming in its deepened darkness, bathed in the screams of its audience. The creature had covered at least twenty feet of distance within an eyeblink, and it stood now well beyond the space Fay had previously occupied.


    Fay!


    The suddenness of the motion was horrifying enough ¨C the casual way it stopped was worse.


    Jakur swayed for a moment, glued to the spot, watching in fascination as arcs of blood trailed visibly through the candlelit air, tracing the bodies of those who¡¯d been tossed about the room.


    Are they ¨C dead ¨C


    Fay¡­?


    The fiend had struck so many of his admirers in a single movement, he had no way to pick his girlfriend from them.


    ¡°Stop,¡± came Fay¡¯s voice from behind him, augmented horribly in both volume and sheer authority.


    Yes, they¡¯d somehow traded places. He looked back towards the corner and she was there.


    B-b-but¡­ how¡­


    Everything about her had been transformed. What the fiend had done to her ¨C Jakur couldn¡¯t say. The shadows made it difficult to tell exactly how she¡¯d changed, but she was taller.


    Much taller.


    She seemed to extend up the wall and across the ceiling, her whole physical form distorted, as if he were peering at her through the bottom of a glass pint-jar.


    The high priest gasped, and took a step towards her involuntarily, raising his hand in a gesture devoid of anything but sentiment; but then she spoke again, and the words brought him shuddering once more to a halt.


    He didn¡¯t matter. Only two of them in the room mattered, now. Everyone else in here was just an extra in a play.


    He was one of the meaningless ones once more.


    ¡°Still your blades, servant of the Son of Despair. I have a better offer for you than blood. These people are more useful alive than dead, at least for now.¡±


    It gave no immediately reply. The darkness of the tall figure was belied by the molten lines, and Jakur noted the small gesture as at last it seemed to shrug in response.


    ¡°I must take those who attempted to flee,¡± it said, still quiet, the metal sheen of its voice giving the impression of a razor-blade tongue flicking against needle-like teeth. The radiance of the creature¡¯s burning innards leaked from its lipless mouth, but the glow was too incandescent for even Jakur, well-used to the brightness of hot forges, to make out its fangs. ¡°I must.¡±


    He didn¡¯t want to see its teeth ¨C certainly didn¡¯t want to feel them, slicing effortlessly through his body ¨C and yet, there it was: the fascination¡­


    ¡°Very well.¡± The tremendous Fay-shadow seemed to sigh. ¡°No more than seven.¡±


    The pact was quietly sealed:


    ¡°My gratitude.¡±


    The servant of Yane prowled towards the back of the room, fearful cultists melting out of its path ¨C those at the rear wall beat against the bricks with their fists, but it was futile. The demon set about its work, to the accompaniment of a series of raw, ripping sounds, like whole sheets of cloth being torn in two. The creature was brutally efficient. Bodies were scattered around in the wake of its metal tornado ¨C presumably seven of them, although it was impossible for anyone save perhaps Fay to tell.


    At one point Jakur thought he saw it pause in its malevolent haste just for a moment: there were a dozen limbs unfolding and snapping into place, swords and bitter-edged axes, all hidden away inside each of the two arms hanging from its shoulders. The plethora of weaponry was as swiftly unsheathed as it seemed to be sheathed once more, leaving the high priest of Everseer floundering, wondering whether what he thought he¡¯d seen was real.


    He turned away from the savagery.


    ¡°So this is your true face,¡± he said softly, hoarsely.


    He didn¡¯t know whether to laugh or cry.


    The distended shadow of Fay, all that remained of her, reached down to him. Her fingers, her sleeve, formed from pure absence ¨C they stretched out, taking shape in spite of the bitter candlelight.


    It should¡¯ve been impossible ¨C it was impossible ¨C but he had to believe what he was seeing. It was happening.


    ¡°I would¡¯ve told you, Jakur,¡± came the shadow¡¯s husky voice, remnants of Fay¡¯s accent still there in the distorted sound. ¡°But I¡¯m all about secrets.¡±


    She stepped fully into the light, and her dress was a gown, a flickering column of black flame, atop which her face appeared like a flat grey orb, hardly touched by the candles¡¯ warm hues. Her hair rose up, spreading across the ceiling, a nest of dark vipers climbing into the air in salutation of the midnight hour.


    Jakur shuddered to his knees in absolute, heart-clenching dread.


    What have I done?


    If he¡¯d known ¨C if there¡¯d been some way to tell Fay was this divine creature, this holiest of unholy things ¨C if he¡¯d been able to pay the proper respect before¡­


    ¡°G-give,¡± he stammered, ¡°give me another chance ¨C please! I promise¡­ I promise I won¡¯t fail you again.¡±


    ¡°On the contrary ¨C look. See what you have wrought.¡±


    He was on the hard, bare stones of the long-cold hearth, but he hardly felt the pain as he twisted, scraping his the skin of his knees in order to peer back over his shoulder.


    The crowd ¨C all of them that remained¡­


    All of them were kneeling along with him. Tears were in the eyes of some, twinkling in the candlelight, but on the faces of a few he could spot the same breathlessness, the same exhilaration as he was feeling.


    Maybe he was important after all. Maybe they all could be. If the gods themselves deigned to send their chosen ones¡­


    The black demon of Yane stalked back to the centre near the front, where it folded its tremendous arms across its naked chest, joining the mortals in staring up at the ceiling where Fay¡¯s face seemed to float.


    ¡°No, you¡¯ve done nothing wrong, Jakur. It¡¯s this interloper who¡¯s disturbed the peace of our gentle gathering. An action which will require its own form of punishment.¡±


    ¡°I came sensing slaughter, daughter of Mekesta,¡± Yane¡¯s fiend said respectfully, a murmur of soft scrapes.


    We summoned it, Jakur realised, set to swooning again with the sheer glory of such a concept. We summoned it, with our will to die¡­


    They were like swimmers out in the dark stretches of the open ocean, deliberately slicing themselves, setting their blood to course in the waters, calling the sharks to ascend and rid them all of this miserable, thankless existence. Was it any great surprise that the sharks came first to them, directly, ignoring at least for now the flailing legs of those content to just go on existing¡­


    ¡°Slaughter?¡±


    For all that Jakur automatically intuited the meaning of the demon¡¯s words, they seemed to trouble Fay.


    ¡°Then I must expose the other interloper in our midst. Rheva ¨CButtercup, whatever you prefer today ¨C I¡¯m sorry, but Mother-Chaos has always been with you in one form or another. I¡¯d hoped to expose you to our way of life, hoped to persuade you of our goals¡­ but I can¡¯t have you disrupting tonight¡¯s meeting. Whatever secrets you keep, the Mother turns into cobbles, lays them before my feet. Stand up, traitor.¡±


    The skinny girl with blotchy skin who¡¯d been right at Fay¡¯s side during the meeting, looking every inch the sycophant the whole while¡­


    She slowly rocked back from her knees onto her heels and then, bit by bit, she stretched up, uncoiling into a standing position, tension in every aspect of her posture.


    Ah, yes. Now that he was getting a better look at it ¨C the smile on her face wasn¡¯t quite the same as the others¡¯. It had the nauseated aspect of the drunk¡¯s smile when he got caught behind the bar, the demented grin of a kid found with his hand in the biscuit-tin. A smile of pacification, brought low by the gritted teeth, the clear knowledge shining in her eyes¡­


    She knows she is going to be punished now.


    ¡°I¡¯m not really sure about all that,¡± the girl said slowly, her voice thick with bottled-up terror. ¡°The Blade-Lord ain¡¯t the only god who can kill ¨C Kultemeren ain¡¯t the only one who can tell the truth ¨C and Mother-Chaos¡­ Mother-Chaos can¡¯t be the only liar, can she?¡±


    ¡°Your point, little one?¡± came Fay¡¯s gloating response, even as the servant of Yane flickered a few feet closer to the scrawny girl.


    The girl¡¯s face cracked, a desperate baah of laughter bursting from her lips, and then all of a sudden she sang: ¡°Buuuuutt! Buuuuutt! Buttercuuuuup!¡±


    ¡°Nyahahaahaaaaa,¡± came the involuntary sound from Jakur¡¯s right.


    He spun, searching incredulously for the other one who¡¯d started laughing ¨C


    Jakur spotted the haggard crone pushing off her hood¡­ No, not just her hood. Some kind of leathery mask came loose too in her hands and suddenly the bent old woman was straightening; it was another girl, more a youngster even than the first. Her hair was raven as she shook it loose of a wig hidden inside the cowl, her skin red-brown, beautiful in the candlelight.


    And she was gasping for breath, wracked with giggles.


    ¡°You just had to ¨C had to bl-blow it,¡± she croaked.


    ¡°Kill them! Kill all of them!¡± Fay screamed like a hurricane.


    ¡°Kani!¡± the laughing girl sobbed, even as the servant of Yane extended its arms, answering the daughter of Mekesta¡¯s command with its own black-metal tornado. ¡°Now, Kani!¡±


    It sprang towards the first intruder ¨C


    Only to fall into a net of unblemished white light.


    The whole house shook as though the earth itself had shifted its foundations, and with a single rending screech the ceiling came off the room, the upper storeys seemingly cut away from the building as if a great invisible sword had sliced horizontally between the floors, flinging it free.


    Jakur looked up into the midnight sky, his skin lapped by the warm breeze. A shelf of silver shone there over the house, an arc like a bridge of pure moonlight, upon which a group of robe-clad figures stood fearlessly.


    Then Jakur shut his eyes, praying only to know no more.


    Utenya. Emptiness. Claim me! Take me nowhere.


    He¡¯d failed. He¡¯d failed her.


    When the whirlwind of swords and agony passed over him, at first he thought he got his wish ¨C but then he fell, inside the emptiness, and it was nothing, nothing like he¡¯d expected.


    Nothing like nothingness.


    And there was no going back.


    No End.


    Ever.

 Significant Losses I pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9C:</h2>


    <h2>SIGNIFICANT LOSSES, PART I</h2>


    ¡°Open your mind. You have already seen magic enacted, in every second of your waking life. What, you think there could be a world devoid of magic? You know not of what you speak.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Last Words of Lordimer¡¯, pg. 3


    ¡°Come on, you scratters!¡± he hollerred up the stairs. ¡°Last one down¡¯s a floppin¡¯ fish!¡±


    His younger brother and sisters and cousins ¨C all five of them ¨C came stampeding down in a single, ten-legged shape, shrilling and clawing each other back ¨C


    ¡°Sestreya ¨C you were last!¡± He pointed at the seven-year-old. ¡°You¡¯re a fish!¡±


    ¡°Ewwww!¡± the others cried, holding their noses and fleeing her.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t never!¡± she retorted, chasing her eight-year-old sister, her closest companion. ¡°Get back here!¡±


    He led the exodus out the front door, then waited while three of them went back for their shoes. Waving farewell to his uncle and elder brother, he locked up and headed out into the streets.


    The massive townhouse he¡¯d purchased his family was in Jinglebridge, one of Oldtown¡¯s quaintest areas, a riddle of canals, old trees and older ruins, just south-east of Firenight Square. His mum, uncle and aunts still hadn¡¯t gotten used to the change of scenery, but the kids loved it. They thought he¡¯d won a sizeable sum by gambling, a belief he¡¯d carefully sculpted with both spoken word and hidden spell. This was the best excuse to give them, as it required only the gentlest suggestion to get them to leave the matter well alone ¨C his elder relatives resented him for his newfound wealth, of course, but he could put up with that. They couldn¡¯t know of his true profession, of course. He¡¯d have to erase swathes of their memories, set commands in their minds preventing them from revealing the truth to the wrong person. That just wouldn¡¯t do, especially given the added scrutiny he was under as an arch-enchanter. Henthae herself had inspected his family on one occasion. He had little doubt he could out-magic the supple crone if he had to, but that would just bring disaster down on his head in the end anyway. Better to play the safe game. Keep his family out of the loop altogether, conceal his identity by the most mundane of means.


    Lies.


    Their cousins sprinted ahead of the other youngsters, sometimes stopping to hide behind a tree. Nebbert and Larrika ignored them ¨C they found sticks and started duelling as they strafed up the path beside the road, facing each other and swinging wildly as they loped along. Borasir increased his pace, striding to keep up. It was alright ¨C his legs were plenty long-enough to make up the difference.


    Not like the kids would let him live it down, if they knew. He was famous. He heard his name crop up in conversation five times a day, and a hundred times a day it went through someone¡¯s head near him. Not his real name, of course. But Spiritwhisper? It was popular. He was popular. His warning-sense, catching a reference to him in a passer-by¡¯s mind, had never once triggered on something threatening. One hundred percent admiration.


    It went to his head, naturally, but the head was his speciality. He could manage.


    You might be a master of lies but your problem, Borasir, is you¡¯re too honest.


    He sighed to himself. He knew most people in his position would bend the rules. Use their powers to get ahead in life ¨C in love¡­ Some changes were too subtle to be tracked, the books kept on reminding him¡­ But right from the get-go he¡¯d thrown himself head-first into the chaos of the champion¡¯s life. The sheer appeal of it ¨C dressing up as a masked hero and fighting the bad guys ¨C was simply irresistible. The claws it sank into you ¨C the trauma, the shared experiences ¨C made it inescapable for the truest. Once a champion, always a champion. Only darkness and death released his kind from their oaths. He would choose the latter, and not until it came to claim him. Even still, Vaahn could suck it and swivel. He was Celestium-bound, if anyone was.


    But that¡¯s what everyone tells themselves, he reminded himself, and frowned a bit as he walked. There¡¯d been a night, a cold night walking home from the tavern, and she¡¯d pulled back on their linked arms¡­ almost pulling his hand out of his pocket¡­


    They splash together in their high leather boots through the frosty puddles, and she leans away, regarding him archly.


    ¡°¡­ reckon we¡¯ll get palaces up there, for doin¡¯ this.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± She eyes him in that infuriating way. ¡°Playing fortify? Playing fortify badly?¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡±


    Her smile eats his heart, and he loses another piece of himself.


    ¡°No, for ¨C you know¡­ all the things we get up to. Zadhal¡­¡±


    ¡°Oi! I did come to Zadhal, if you recall ¨C in fact, I¡¯m pretty sure I saved your big collective behind, with the wheelbarrow stunt¡­¡±


    He steps up onto a kerb that runs next to a street-gutter, and she steps up with him, her liquid speed preventing him from dragging her through the detritus.


    ¡°You know what I mean,¡± he says surlily; ¡°for bein¡¯ good.¡±


    ¡°If you get a nice place in the Twelve Heavens for being a good boy, were you really being good?¡±


    Her question confuses him. She pulls herself close to him once more, and he can smell her hair again. He feels tempted to enter her mind, not for the first or ten-thousandth time, and resists by rote.


    ¡°What you mean?¡± he asks after a minute.


    ¡°If you know you¡¯re going to be rewarded for doing something, you aren¡¯t doing it unselfishly, are you? You¡¯re doing it for selfish reasons.¡±


    ¡°I guess I just don¡¯t see it that way.¡±


    ¡°When your kid brother cleans his room ¨C¡°


    ¡°He ain¡¯t ever cleanin¡¯ that place!¡±


    ¡°I know ¨C gods, I know ¨C but humour me. If your mum tells your brother to clean his room and he¡¯ll get a new ball for it, is he being good?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°And a man who gets paid to work for a company ¨C can we say he loves his company as much as a man who doesn¡¯t, but still does the work?¡±


    ¡°No one works for nothin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a thought-experiment.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a somethin¡¯-experiment, alright.¡±


    ¡°Gods, aren¡¯t we grumpy today?¡±


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°¡¯We¡¯ aren¡¯t anythin¡¯. We¡¯re all people. We¡¯re all everythin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not how it works.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m supposed to take your word for that, am I? You forget what I am?¡± He smiles at her, puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her even closer. ¡°If there¡¯s one thing I know, it¡¯s this: people ain¡¯t simple. No one¡¯s bein¡¯ good for no reason. That guy, in your somethin¡¯-experiment? The one who ain¡¯t gettin¡¯ paid? He might love the work less, but gain somethin¡¯ else.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Like prestige? Fame? The admiration of his colleagues? A future position in an even-more lucrative role? Do you think I¡¯m stupid just cause of my talkin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Alright ¨C¡°


    ¡°And you¡¯re damn right Nebbert¡¯s being a good boy when he cleans his room for a new ball. Of course it¡¯s good. Why would me mum suggest it as a reward if she wasn¡¯t tryin¡¯ to get him to do it? Why would she want him to do it, if it wasn¡¯t good?¡±


    ¡°Remember this,¡± she says.


    He remembered every inflection, every synchronised step.


    It still hurt.


    By the time he¡¯d herded his flock of kids to Firenight Square, he could tell they were already opening the arena gates for general admissions ¨C he was tall, and despite the ridiculous morning crowds he could see that a horde of people were crushing in about the gates¡¯ opening, moving through into the building. He hurried the youngsters along through the teeming masses of square-goers; a single incisive thought was weapon-enough to stop wayward idiots from jostling him or the members of his little group. He joined the queue, as much as it could¡¯ve been called a queue, and, thanks to the odd little tickle of enchantment, his wards lined up nice and neatly behind him.


    Their voices went back and forth, an incessant prattle his power only sometimes helped him ignore.


    ¡°¡­ think we¡¯ll see the Dragonslayer.¡±


    ¡°Cor, yeah.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s the best!¡±


    ¡°No he ain¡¯t! Lorgno the Lifestealer, she¡¯s top!¡±


    Bor laughed a little to himself. They knew they wouldn¡¯t be seeing any of the big acts, not in the morning games ¨C the early tickets went for cheap, and with good reason. The morning games were the most suitable for kids, anyway. The fighters were less skilled, the encounters less brutal, their antics more amusing. Not one of the little clods had seen Phanar or Lorgno in combat, but they¡¯d all heard the rumours, followed the stories that spread through the streets. There was little doubt in Bor¡¯s mind that Phanar had become the city¡¯s premier gladiator.


    It was funny; to talk to the man, you¡¯d have never placed him for being such a showman. The last time Bor ran into the foreigner he was shopping in Hightown with Kanthyre, for shoes, of all things. If Bor hadn¡¯t known better, he¡¯d have thought the warrior a golem ¨C stoic and impassive were descriptors that didn¡¯t even scratch the reality of the man.


    If only they opened up their memories to proper inspection. The stories that could be told¡­


    He still hadn¡¯t had opportunity to delve into the greatest duel of a generation, the fabled meeting of Redgate and Ord Ylon. No one had offered, and he¡¯d learnt long ago that an enchanter could never ask. No one with a brain worth perusing ever let him actually read their mind, even if they felt it would be a good idea ¨C they immediately fell into blaming him for their own compulsions, suspecting him of persuading them it wasn¡¯t such a bad notion, infiltrating opinion by spell rather than speech¡­


    It was a fine line to walk, for the mind-mage whose intent it was to retain the appearance of trustworthiness. He had to be more careful than a surgeon cutting away at a tumour ¨C half the time he felt as though that was exactly what he was doing. Brain-surgery, as ludicrous as that sounded.


    When they reached the front of the ¡®line¡¯, a young man in official arena green-and-black demanded their tickets. Bor produced his handful of little tokens, and they were waved through into the grounds. He led the kids into the structure, up the sunlit stairwells, and out onto the seats.


    Their spot for today¡¯s games was pretty good. Eastern side, so the rising sun wouldn¡¯t get in their eyes. He could¡¯ve easily afforded one of the highborn booths, of course, commanding a perfect view of the action, servants on hand with plates and jugs of delicacies ¨C but that just wouldn¡¯t do, not with the kids in tow or without them. The best commoner seats were near the front, just twenty feet above the floor of the grounds ¨C and Bor¡¯s tickets were for seats merely three rows back from the front. He scooted the kids along the smooth stone step serving as a bench and settled them down, letting them swap positions several times until they finally seemed at ease with their neighbours. At last he dared place his own backside down, at one of the ends so as not to upset the delicate balance of their seating arrangements.


    They¡¯d traded places at least two more times by the point he¡¯d retrieved the water-bottles from his bag, an action that could¡¯ve taken no more than ten seconds.


    It was a bright, clear morning, the skies of unbroken blue glass stretching off into the distance, but Kaile had turned down yesterday¡¯s unbearable heat. In fact, it was pleasantly cool. The opposite side of the arena, cursed with the sun¡¯s glare, was starting to fill up. All about the ring, bloodthirsty children were dragging their guardians to their seats. The place was big-enough to seat tens of thousands, and it was hard to find more than a couple of empty places between the groups of families and friends knotted about the stands.


    He looked down and out into the oval, the sand glimmering like an oasis of pearl, and imagined what was to come. The struggle. The violence. All of it carefully tempered for the morning crowd, events staged and scripted so as to provide suitable entertainment for its attention-span challenged audience.


    No. There would be no real struggle, no real violence on the sands this morning. Certainly nothing that could compare to the contents of Bor¡¯s own mind, a million milling images and snatches of spine-tingling sounds which, if he let them, could overtake his conscious thoughts, send him broken-winged and plummeting into a pit of half-remembered nightmare.


    The heretics had fallen silent. Even the demons had stopped coming. Many took it for a sign of the end-times; those rich-enough or fearful-enough to do so had already fled Mund, and, in the wake left by their absence, darkness had crept into the city. A darkness unlike anything he¡¯d seen before. It didn¡¯t come from the outside, from spell-books and fiends. It came from inside men¡¯s hearts, producing the same vile effects.


    Inkatra. It had been a fireball waiting to explode, and they let it go too long, let it erupt right in their foolish faces.


    If there¡¯d been a moment of clarity, reflection, the arch-diviners would¡¯ve realised just how effectively the drug masked their foresight. Just how badly they¡¯d miscalculated. But they relied on their power for everything. And now it was too late. Eight weeks ago the proportion of inkatra-addicts in Mund had been estimated at nought-point-nought-two percent. Well within controllable territory, Starsight had said. Four weeks ago it had reached nought-point-two. Bor was planning on quizzing the human abacus on the latest figure in a few nights¡¯ time, in front of everyone left at the Gathering, and at last, perhaps, the remaining champions would see sense.


    If Tanra let them.


    She had a hold over the protectors of Mund that Lovebright might¡¯ve envied. All without setting a foot near the Ceryad. Without even entering the chamber. By proxy she ruled Mund¡¯s greatest heroes. By her influence over Timesnatcher.


    One day, I¡¯ll catch her, he promised himself once more. Catch her, in a working. Get that necklace off her. Figure her out.


    Figure it all out.


    He was certain it was her. Ninety-nine percent certain.


    He no longer cared about Heresy; Everseer put paid to any hopes of staying pure in that regard. He didn¡¯t care about the dragons ¨C if they came, he¡¯d help defeat them, of course, but that was inconsequential in his mind. The real struggle would be getting to the bottom of his ex-girlfriend¡¯s warped mind. Fixing her.


    Fixing everything, just like she¡¯d always said.


    What made someone a heretic? Why would Tanra and Kas and Theor fall prey to such a wicked, pointless philosophy? Why had the apocalyptic news changed her so much?


    Did it have something to do with her dreams?


    Buried beneath the nightmare-fragments, ground to dust but still present, never quite fading ¨C the memories of he still had of Tanra, memories he wished would leave him forever. The first time he met her, showing up late to net a traitor. The time she pushed a priest through the frozen ruins of Zadhal to save them all from the madness of a death-god¡­ a death-god she¡¯d ended up worshipping.


    The three times she¡¯d kissed him, playful and teasing.


    The one time she¡¯d let him kiss her. The sudden chasteness of her lips.


    The memory was dust but it was glass-dust, brittle and bright, filling his eyes, his mind, a cup of red pain thrown on hot coals.


    He blinked away the image of her endlessly-appealing face, replacing it in his mind with the two times he¡¯d spotted Nightfell. Glimpses from afar of the bow-slinging killer, the one who killed Killstop, replacing her not just in mind but in reality. It was as though Killstop had never existed. The months of pacifism, of bringing criminals in for questioning, for punishment and incarceration ¨C that was just a phase, a labour-pain finally giving way to Nightfell¡¯s birth. And now she was out, there was no aborting this dreadful creature, no reverting her back. The old Tanra wouldn¡¯t be able to face the truth of what she¡¯d done since donning the black garment. The old Tanra ¨C she could never exist in the same way again. He knew people, knew how they worked inside. Bor recognised that, even if he could eventually get through to her, the process of recovery would be a long and painful one, reintegrating the various aspects of her personhood¡­ perils would be lurking along the route, threatening to undo all the work that had already been accomplished.


    How many years would it take? What would she become, moulded by his hands?


    Still ¨C it had to be attempted. His conscience permitted no less.


    What was it, Tanra? What did Kastyr do to you to make you like this?


    There were no answers ¨C never would be, unless she gave them him herself. Feychilde was dead, or soon would be, in Zyger.


    * * *

 Significant Losses I pt2

    The first cadre of fighters hit the sands. The crowds cheered the heroes and jeered at the villains. Lorgno the Lifestealer was there, would you believe it, arrayed in the fine gold armour and heavy-looking crown marking her as today¡¯s Battle-Princess, one of the main good-guys in the event. The children screamed hardest when her name was announced, and when her signature wavy-bladed sword was raised high to the crowds in salute, Bor¡¯s kids leapt to their feet as one, baying like wolves at a full moon. He couldn¡¯t quite hide his smile, even from himself.


    They always made him feel better. Feel closer to what he regarded as his true self. Most people got the impression he was thick, that he wasn¡¯t capable of introspection, wasn¡¯t interested in it. He allowed that. He wanted that. His true self ¨C it was stupid. An animal, flesh and blood and instinct. It was like a warm bath he could sink into and forget the cold, windy world above¡­


    Warm bath.


    That brought its own Tanra-related imagery screaming back into the forefront of his brain.


    Enough!


    The word imbued with overwhelming psychic force, the single straightforward concept that¡¯d been capable of silencing and subduing a hundred screaming inkatra-heads in the last month ¨C it glanced off his mind like a wood-tipped arrow from a burnished breastplate. You couldn¡¯t shoot an arrow at yourself, after all, even if you were the best bowman in the world.


    Lorgno charged her three foes, swinging wildly, a style of attack she would never use in the real games. In the here and now, she knew none of her big, burly opponents were actually going to cut her with their spears. She performed a dazzling dance in the midst of the trio, parrying multiple mid-speed strikes, a show of skill which was impressive despite its obviously-rehearsed nature.


    If this was for real, she would¡¯ve won, Bor had little doubt. But she wouldn¡¯t have let them encircle her like that ¨C never mind jumping into the middle of them.


    When she cut the men¡¯s hands off, the actions were quick and clean, stumps quickly hidden inside clothing to avoid depicting anything visceral. The severed body parts wriggled and waved, crawling finger by finger through the sand, to great comedic effect. He didn¡¯t need his enchanter¡¯s-eye to see through the glamour. Everyone knew it was fakery, even the kids, but they all played along with the illusion. The next time they saw the three burly gladiators portraying Lorgno¡¯s enemies, the reappearance of their hands would be played off as the result of healing¡­ and the show would go on, as it always did.


    ¡°You mind if I sit here?¡± a dry, female voice drawled.


    He turned his head in surprise ¨C psychics were rarely taken unawares ¨C but when he saw who it was, he remembered her voice, and understood. The skinny, tattoo-spattered magister might have undergone the warding regimens ¨C her mind was veiled from him, if not quite completely hidden. At the back of his brain, he¡¯d been feeling the discomfort of those who¡¯d spotted her, those who¡¯d moved aside for her to pass.


    Ciraya ¨C that was her name. The girl who¡¯d fought the eolastyr with them at Yearsend, when it claimed her mentor¡¯s body. The girl who¡¯d stood in the arch-demon¡¯s face and fearlessly tried to draw out the infernal whip¡­ for all the good it¡¯d done them.


    Bor looked up into her cool blue eyes; even the kids glanced over in surprise at the shaven-headed sorceress before returning their attention to the arena-sands.


    ¡°Good,¡± Ciraya said, and before he could actually answer she was spinning about and perching beside him, barely putting her backside on the huge shelf of stone. The sleeves of her black robe hung almost to the ground when she was standing; now their folds spread like dark webs across the pale rock.


    ¡°You not get a ticket?¡± he asked quietly, smiling at her.


    ¡°This is my ticket,¡± she replied, looking down at the arena floor and not gesturing at all, leaving him to read the implication of her inaction.


    Her very presence. What she was. The Magisterium wheel on her chest, circle and spokes depicted as long femur bones.


    ¡°Here on official business? I ¨C¡±


    ¡°I know who you are, you know.¡±


    Her interruption was an emotionless croak, soft enough to carry only to his ears.


    He felt his eyes narrow, and he wrapped an aura of ignorance about himself and the magister. No one was going to eavesdrop on this conversation, be it accidentally or on purpose.


    ¡°What do you want with me?¡± he asked huskily.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Ciraya replied, sounding amused now. ¡°I¡¯m just saying it so you can relax.¡±


    He shrugged his shoulders. He didn¡¯t quite feel relaxed.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t supposed to know who I am,¡± he said, not quite capable of removing the surliness from his voice. ¡°You ¨C¡±


    ¡°Special Investigations privileges.¡± She turned to him now and smiled, an ugly little smile. ¡°They¡¯re even less inclined than usual to wipe champions¡¯ identities from my head. And you¡¯re one of the top champions in the city, now ¨C top of your class, since Glancefall¡­¡±


    Thankfully she didn¡¯t try to put what¡¯d happened to the poor man into words. Just another victim of the insanity gripping the city.


    ¡°I¡¯m chief-enchanter, I guess,¡± he replied. ¡°That shouldn¡¯t mean ¨C¡±


    ¡°After what happened with Killstop ¨C your relationship with her¡­ Henthae didn¡¯t trust you. Even less than she trusts me. The truth is¡­¡± The sorceress didn¡¯t quite sigh, but, all the same, she expelled some air through her painted lips while wearing a sour expression. ¡°The truth is, you¡¯re not the only one. There¡¯s been ¡®too many damn debacles¡¯ involving the champions.¡±


    He frowned while she imitated her superior¡¯s smug voice.


    Why is she giving away secrets like this?


    He could find out, if he broke into her mind. The defences were strong, but he could shatter them, draw out the truth¡­


    Or was that the trap? Have him assault an official agent of the Magisterium, then bring him in on trumped-up charges?


    He shook his head. Better to ask the question, straight-up, than pull the answers from her head.


    ¡°Why are you tellin¡¯ me this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just being honest.¡± The girl scowled at him. ¡°Take it or leave it as you like.¡±


    ¡°No ¨C I mean¡­ Thanks.¡± He couldn¡¯t quite figure her out. ¡°So you¡¯re here ¨C¡±


    ¡°I got a friend who gets visions for a living. She said Lorgno would fight in the kids¡¯ games, and I didn¡¯t believe her. She was right. She was actually right.¡±


    ¡°So you ain¡¯t here to do any arresting.¡±


    She dipped her head in confirmation, her eyes not moving from the sands.


    ¡°Well, why the robe, then?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± she drawled. ¡°No ticket, remember.¡±


    They fell into a silence that stretched minutes. Bor stopped a minor apocalypse in its tracks when Larrika, during a bout of frantic re-enactment of gladiatorial action, elbowed the woman in front right in the ear. Bor couldn¡¯t heal her but he could sneakily make the pain go away. Such a light touch wouldn¡¯t put him on the wrong side of the law.


    With a quick mental glance at Ciraya ¨C no head-turning required ¨C he applied his power warily, and the poor woman with the throbbing ear swivelled back around, a slightly-dazed smile on her features.


    The games continued in all their glory, swords twanging off metal shields, spears twisted in nets. Screams of pain filled the air, the slightly-overblown wails of agony cutting off with suspiciously-perfect timing, just to allow a hero their chance to shout a challenge, allow a villain to snarl their contempt.


    At last Ciraya spoke once more.


    ¡°How¡¯s it all been going, then?¡±


    He cast her a sideways glance. Her purple-painted lips were pressed into an ominous line. The tattoo-ink encroaching onto her face looked angry, blue-black scars inflicted in esoteric patterns by a mad torturer.


    She¡¯s troubled, he realised, holding back his instinct to feel her emotions. This isn¡¯t like her.


    ¡°You¡¯re one to ask,¡± he grunted. ¡°Zandrina¡¯s right up your alley, ain¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Zandrina.¡± The sorceress spat the word like it was made of acid. ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s¡­ up my alley alright.¡±


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    He grinned despite himself. ¡°It¡¯ll come to an end, one way or another. Timesnatcher ¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me about that lunatic. You¡¯re not still one of his fans are you?¡±


    ¡°Timesnatcher was the greatest ¨C¡±


    ¡°He stood by and watched them burn!¡±


    Bor knew the night she was referring to. He¡¯d been there in the aftermath, witnessed the charred pile of timbers left behind by the confrontation of two rival gangs. Almost two dozen corpses of men and women had been recovered by the magisters, smoking corpses dragged by spells from the impenetrable wreckage, husks of bones and blackened leather clothing.


    He was about to retort, tow the line:


    What choice did he have? They were killing each other. It¡¯s not as though he killed them. He only let them die, and a good riddance!¡­


    Then he remembered seeing the blackened, animated skeletons of the inkatra-heads, picking their way almost gingerly out of the warehouse¡¯s ruins. He remembered them lining up, remembered turning away so that he didn¡¯t have to look at them, think about them¡­


    ¡°It¡­ it was you?¡± he asked. ¡°You, who was gettin¡¯ them out of it, wasn¡¯t it? The bodies, I mean.¡±


    She didn¡¯t respond immediately, turning her gaze back to the gladiatorial combat.


    ¡°It¡¯s from the day Nightfell showed up,¡± Bor muttered. ¡°He hasn¡¯t been the same since! She helped us, a few times ¨C I didn¡¯t think ¨C well, I didn¡¯t think nothin¡¯ of it ¨C but when he started killin¡¯ ordinary gangers ¨C¡±


    ¡°Everyone knows he¡¯s lost it. No one sane laughs like that. He¡¯s becoming what he hated. Who he hated. Everyone can see it.¡±


    Bor shuddered, closed his eyes ¨C unconsciously he found himself ducking his head, as if in agreement.


    He¡¯d heard the laughter. The gentle delight. He¡¯d felt the shivers up his spine, and now he felt the truth of her words.


    ¡°And never mind the Duskdown route ¨C he¡¯s going to go the Everseer route, if he hasn¡¯t already,¡± Ciraya continued in an icy tone.


    ¡°Who hasn¡¯t?¡± he said with a sigh, then immediately regretted it.


    He¡¯d never felt so daunted in the face of a mere mortal, the way she looked at him, eyes narrowing to daggers.


    ¡°I ¨C I mean ¨C¡± He hated it when someone made him mumble, and anger quickly replaced fear. ¡°You know what I mean! It¡¯s ¨C it¡¯s in me. It¡¯s in you! It¡¯s in everyone!¡±


    He¡¯d started to become loud, and the people sitting on the step below him turned around to see who was creating all the commotion ¨C he waved a hand at them and they returned their attention to the gladiators, eyes glazed-over.


    ¡°Not Heresy! Not¡­ that. But the sickness! She might not¡¯ve made us heretics but she made us sick. Sick in our hearts. You don¡¯t need magic ¨C just look them in the eye! It¡¯s despair, that¡¯s what it is! And until ¨C until we catch her¡­¡± He heard the confidence in his own voice ebbing, vehemence fading as he confronted the prospect of impossibility. ¡°Until it¡¯s over, hope¡¯s never coming back.¡±


    ¡°Timesnatcher won¡¯t catch her,¡± Ciraya drawled. ¡°If these dragons do rise ¨C we¡¯ve hidden it well, but we¡¯re screwed, you do realise that right?¡±


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t?¡± He glared at her. ¡°You think you¡¯re the only one who¡¯ll go down fighting?¡±


    ¡°So you will.¡± The black-robed magister inclined her head gravely, respect in her eyes. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s all I wanted to know.¡±


    ¡°Professionally? Or¡­ personally?¡± His glare softened. ¡°Feel less alone now?¡±


    She didn¡¯t reply, apparently suddenly enraptured by the relatively-bloodless performance taking place on the sand. He wasn¡¯t buying it. He wouldn¡¯t put pressure on her protections to check ¨C he didn¡¯t need his magic to know he¡¯d hit the mark.


    She¡¯s lonely.


    He opened his mouth, but was at a loss for what to say. After a few stupid moments he shut his jaw and turned back to see ¨C


    A shadow falling across the sand. The morning¡¯s brightness, obliterated in an instant. A sheet of thick, bulbous clouds rippled across the sky, but they weren¡¯t the grey frogspawn clouds of spring for all their shape and texture. These were almost black, their inky fingers stretching out towards the horizon, like dark paint spreading across the face of a pool.


    The fighting came to an abrupt halt as everyone in the arena ¨C presumably everyone in Oldtown, in Mund ¨C started staring at the sky, pointing, shouting¡­


    ¡°And if we get hit by an Incursion ¨C we¡¯re screwed then, too,¡± Ciraya murmured.


    She sounded calmer, somehow.


    ¡°You mean¡­¡±


    He craned his head right back and looked up at the heavens, but they could no longer be seen. The blackness of the sky was almost so complete that his instincts started crying out that he should be able to see stars.


    ¡°It¡¯s the one we¡¯ve been waiting for,¡± she breathed, and, as if there were something hallowed in her words, he felt his mind rising with the hairs on his arms. ¡°They say¡­ they say the longer between Incursions, the worse it is when they happen.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that,¡± he replied in a dead voice.


    ¡°Maybe we shouldn¡¯t have stopped those Ool cultists.¡± She sounded calmer. The calmness of the doomed. ¡°Remember that? Could¡¯ve had an Incursion a month earlier. Damn it, Anathta¡­¡±


    ¡°Bor!¡± cried Nebbert, yanking on his sleeve. ¡°Bor, look! Hey, Miss Magister! Hey, you!¡±


    Bor kept his eyes on the black skies. ¡°Always knew katra was gonna do somethin¡¯ like this. Stake my career on it.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope we both continue our careers after today.¡± It was almost a hiss, and Ciraya slid to her feet, spinning on her heel in a whirl of dark fabric. ¡°Look!¡±


    He copied her, whirling to see.


    Before his glyphstone, enchanted to ring only to his ears, could emit a single sound.


    Before even the Mourning Bells registered the spectrum of infernal anomalies now dwelling within the city bounds.


    It took him a moment or two to gather his thoughts, and in that time he watched fifty civilians die.


    They were here ¨C the beasts of the Twelve Hells had already arrived. Over a dozen fiends had scaled the eastern walls of the arena to set upon the hapless crowds in the upper rows behind him.


    Huge faces, mottled green, smooth and slick in texture like the detached heads of monstrous, demented toads. Out of their disturbingly-wide maws, whole hosts of diaphanous tongues came shooting, fastening to surfaces and pulling them along, the demons bouncing around behind the ribbons like rope-strung balls in a child¡¯s game. Where some of the glistening strands contacted a person instead of stone ¨C a petrified child¡¯s arm, a screaming man¡¯s hair ¨C their retractions brought the distraught victims, mid-bound, to the gaping mouths instead, where they disappeared with a final, futile thrashing of their protruding legs.


    The things had no visible stomachs. Those they devoured were either being destroyed almost instantly ¨C annihilated into pure nothingness ¨C or else being transported, held in some kind of inter-planar gland for later consumption.


    Spiritwhisper wasn¡¯t going to find out which ¨C wasn¡¯t going to let any more of his countrymen find out either.


    He was no arch-diviner, had no special insight into the correct course of action to take. But he had the instinct of the arch-enchanter to draw upon the best of those near him, and he knew how to motivate others with minimal effort.


    ¡°Down to the bottom!¡± he roared psychically.


    Every frozen kid, every panicking parent ¨C as one they finally moved, scrambling down the massive stone steps towards the sands. When he saw knots of people threatening to crush a slower-moving kid, crude bursts of thought were enough to disperse them.


    I can do this.


    Ciraya was at his side as he started heading down towards the arena-floor with his own flock of amazed, bleating observers in tow. He counted them twice, counting their minds ¨C during Incursions your eyes could deceive you ¨C and they were some of the first to make it to the ground. He hopped down first, then helped Sestreya down to the sand beside him.


    The plan, such as it was, had been simple. It was more about the choices that had been closed off ¨C the stairwells within the eastern arc of the building were all located near the top, impossible to reach. The only way out that made sense was to reach the ground-level, then use the tunnels to exit the arena ¨C preferably on the western side. Sheer intuition had propelled him into his decision, and, now that he¡¯d gathered his brothers and sisters and started sprinting with them, he cast a mental backwards-glance and saw that it¡¯d been a good one. The frog-heads were a third the way down the stands, but there were no more targets in their immediate vicinity. People were pouring down by their hundreds, rivers of wailing bodies hitting the sand running.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± he bellowed.


    A multitude followed on his thought.


    Ciraya was running next to him, and as she kept pace she hurled something small ahead of them: where it landed a demon suddenly started to grow.


    He recognised the fiend, the yithandreng, as her mount ¨C but he knew no one else was going to see it that way. The many-legged, serpentine creature would spread panic, stop the crowds from running at full pace ¨C


    No. Her timing had been almost flawless. She sprinted towards the yithandreng in her Magisterium robe, and, even if tensions were running high right now, in times like these it still served as a symbol of protection for the people to rally behind. As the demon neared the minimum size for it to bear a rider, she reached it, and slid atop it, spurring it on into a trot at the very same instant.


    The arena floor was under a hundred yards across ¨C they were already half way. The sorceress steered her mount aside as she neared the gaping mouth of the western tunnel ¨C


    He reached out a psychic hand for her veiled mind, connecting her thoughts with his, using only a hair of power, the gentlest of possible links.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he told her bluntly. ¡°I¡¯ll go in with ¡¯em, stop a crush.¡±


    He had to stay with the kids. Get them home, before he could put on his uniform and go to work.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be behind you,¡± she promised, ¡°and I¡­ Oh. Oh man.¡±


    He saw them when she did ¨C the demons of blades and clocks, whizzing and whirring as they descended through the crowds on the west.


    Hell¡¯s minions were moving too fast. The citizens of Mund were about to have their escape route cut off ¨C and the chaos of a stampede was about to envelop them all. The mayhem that left the young and the old trampled to death, left the survivors with bloody boots, bloody nightmares. He¡¯d seen it before, and hadn¡¯t been able to prevent it. His psychic hands weren¡¯t large enough to encompass this many. Redirecting one course of thought was as hard as redirecting a trickle of water with your fingers. But influencing this many ¨C it was like correcting the course of an ocean, manipulating a multitude of hidden currents all at once.


    He¡¯d failed before but Spiritwhisper could do it now. He was bigger, now. Better. He could stop them.


    He extended his arms towards the dark sky and swelled his hands, spreading them over the crowd, settling tendril-fingers across their minds like a net.


    ¡°Slow!¡± he cried. ¡°Stop! Wait!¡±


    The impulses went out across the web, signals that lost their strength the farther they stretched.


    It wasn¡¯t enough. It wasn¡¯t going to be enough. The blade-demons on the western stands, the frog-demons to the east, they were all closing in ¨C people were about to start dying and there was nowhere for them to go ¨C already some youngsters had fallen, and one of them thought his neck was broken ¨C


    The terror was too real. His cries were, for all the force he gave them, too soothing. Not primal enough.


    ¡°Cower,¡± he said.


    The telepathic word, spoken silently, cut through the howls of despair on the air.


    The brutality of the command pained him. He said it, shuddering, and they responded.


    As one, they halted ¨C they hunkered down, awaiting death.


    As assessment with which he found himself incapable of disagreeing.


    He sent out his illusions, floods of dagger-armed champions entering the fray, opaque and solid-seeming to all eyes but his. Yet the demons were not deceived. He had no time to craft multi-dimensional tools on the required scale, no time to give the conjurations heartbeats, tasty blood in their veins¡­


    Numb fingers that should¡¯ve gone for the glyphstone long ago now found themselves holding the hands of Nebbert and Dorya. He sank down with them, shuddering as the demons started ripping into people.


    He withdrew his net from their minds, saving himself the exponential experience of pain which was all his connection to them would do for him now. He sent out his mind to those of the others like him, to the archmages who were his brothers and sisters in battle.


    Fumbling with telepathic fingers no less numb than his physical ones ¨C numb and finding nothing.


    The Mourning Bells still hadn¡¯t started. What had happened?


    He sensed Ciraya, spell-casting.


    It¡¯s too late, he thought. Too late.


    He looked up, watching a hell-sword slice through a howling woman not twenty feet from him.


    But I still believe in the madman. He¡¯ll be here. He¡¯ll come.


    He has to.


    * * *

 Significant Losses I pt3

    The High Courts of the Realm were contained in ten different buildings, each constructed to a unique, majestic standard. The Hippogriff was a lofty structure of delicate arches, its facades of curves and fletched buttresses. The Sentinel was little more than a circle of pillars, open-aired and tree-ringed, carpeted in leaves. The Troglodyte was half-buried, hidden at the surface level by hedges, but, upon following the ancient steps down into its bustling hallways, one eventually found oneself beneath its marvellous glass ceiling, ensorcelled to enhance the clarity of the skies above.


    Despite their differences all of the courts were contained on the same campus, directly north of the Westrise, and were connected by a sprawling maze of verdant paths winding about the gardens ¨C connected to one another, and to the various gateways in from the street. On a day like today, with the sun blazing in the sky and the birds singing in the trees, a whole horde of visitors were walking the well-maintained avenues between the hedges. The trials were open to the public ¨C all but those held in the Troglodyte, at least ¨C and people often came to watch their rivals be excoriated by the legal process, getting the full money¡¯s worth of their freedom. Not that the lowborn had time or cause to attend a place such as this, of course. There were the places in Hightown the unwashed masses were permitted to visit, and those they weren¡¯t, and this was one of the latter. The Old Courts would see to their spats. The High Courts ¨C those were for the real cases, for the making and breaking of the rich and powerful.


    He came to a halt at the great green gates on Airbent Road, knowing that just inside the painted iron bars were two waywatchers, standing on either side of the path ¨C knowing that the pair would hear every word his mother said to him when they stopped. He understood that the guards had perception spells folded into their consciousnesses, and he stood out in his lawyer¡¯s austere robe of vertical grey lines, barrister¡¯s black headdress under his arm. They would spot him, and listen, and the smiles they hid when he passed between them would reappear once he¡¯d gone by¡­


    And one of them, the skinny, freckled girl, would follow him with her eyes¡­


    He accepted this with a swiftly-hidden smile of his own.


    ¡°Now, Gar,¡± Mother said, patting him firmly on the arm as she unhooked hers from his, ¡°don¡¯t you be home late today. You know we¡¯re having the Abbershanks for dinner, and I expect you to be bathed and changed before dusk.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± he remonstrated, ¡°this is an important case. I can¡¯t tell you what time I¡¯ll be home by.¡±


    He had a pretty good idea what time he¡¯d be home, truth be told, but telling the truth was never an option. Not for him. The chief magister who¡¯d let him keep his job had drilled that into him from the first meeting.


    ¡°And you must remember to comb this nest you call your hair.¡± She reached up with clawed fingers, red-painted nails raking his scalp above the left ear. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you dare attend work like this. It¡¯s a disgrace.¡±


    She never sneered, never snarled ¨C he¡¯d inherited her soft, melodic voice. That only made it worse as she spoke down to him.


    ¡°I wear my headdress, Mother.¡± He gently shook the big, stiff garment in the crook of his other arm. ¡°No one can see my hair.¡±


    ¡°But as you enter,¡± she murmured, still dragging her nails across his head. ¡°There. That looks better ¨C a little better.¡± She patted him firmly again. ¡°Why don¡¯t you put the wig on now?¡±


    ¡°Just after you sorted it out for me?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that cheek, Garone. It¡¯s for your own good, like always.¡±


    No, that wouldn¡¯t do.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a wig, Mother. It¡¯s a headdress.¡±


    ¡°I know perfectly well what it is, thank you. Put it on, there¡¯s a good boy.¡±


    Even worse.


    He sighed, sorted out the stray black feathers woven into the hair, and settled it upon his head.


    ¡°Hold on a moment.¡± She reached under the rim of the headdress, poking at his head for at least ten more seconds before finally releasing him ¨C by the time she let him go, he¡¯d drawn at least a dozen glances from the smartly-dressed pedestrians passing them. ¡°Go on, then. Off with you. I¡¯ll see you presently.¡±


    She spun on her heel and strode away, her gait still strong, her flower-embroidered skirts swishing as she made her way into the crowds.


    He waited until her last long, backwards glance concluded, then took the headdress off again. He ran his own fingers through his hair, sorting it out once more. He wasn¡¯t conventionally attractive, with his pallid skin and abnormally-big ears, but he knew that if he fixed his hair back into its scruffy nest and wore his status like a mask he would turn a few heads.


    Including the head of the waywatcher, pursing her lips while she smiled at his expense, eyeing him up from behind as he strolled between them. He was slender and not tall, but the robe hung well off his frame ¨C there was plenty of muscle on his physique, and it showed, when she could spot him between the intervening people.


    He explored that subsection of the future ¨C the one where he turned back, spoke to the waywatcher ¨C and found it led nowhere. He understood every part and parcel of her being, making him nothing more than a mirror when he was around her. She could never get at him. Not really. Four months of relative stability would only lead up to the evening he first had to employ enchantment spells to wipe her mind of her doubts about his night-time activities. The evening he¡¯d give up on their relationship on his side.


    Garone couldn¡¯t have a pet human. From what he¡¯d seen, most in his position appeared to experience the same discomfort at the notion.


    He understood what Duskdown had taken from Timesnatcher, better and better every day. He understood the trap, now. There was no middle ground. The seer knew his lover intimately from the first glimpse, a knowledge the lover could never hope to return, unless the seer should fall in love with a seeress ¨C in which case all such knowledge was forsaken from the outset. There were no mortal tools left for him to grasp at. Fellow arch-diviners were permanent enigmas. Timesnatcher had never been able to see his future, by virtue of she with whom he¡¯d fallen in love, and Lightblind had never seen her own. It was a perfect knot, unbreakable except on the edge of a madman¡¯s sword.


    And so it had been broken.


    I¡¯m going to stay celibate forever, he mused as he idly picked his way along the paths. He was walking slowly behind a pair of fellow lawyers ¨C enough people were passing in the other direction to make overtaking an awkward endeavour. He turned his head, looking into the treetops looming over the hedgerows, spotting the squirrels in the branches ¨C it was easy for someone with his intimate understanding of the universe to find exactly what he was seeking.


    Not that he had to look hard. It was everywhere ¨C the very normality that evaded him. The two lawyers in front of him were subtly flirting, he realised as he pruned their conversation of its valueless content and exposed its future-worth without even trying. They would end up in bed together before the week was out, and ¨C


    No, he thought, the darkened room of their tryst¡¯s completion disappearing entirely from his vision suddenly. No, something¡¯s going to get in the way.


    Why couldn¡¯t he follow the channel back? Where was the cause of the effect? Ordinarily, the latter entailed the former in an inextricable loop that he couldn¡¯t help but see when he bent his thought thither¡­


    But now¡­


    ¡°If you ask me, Lormon¡¯s lost a wheel at the last lap,¡± the woman was saying. ¡°If he¡¯d nailed the girl¡¯s testimony, he¡¯d have had it in his hands, but I have it on good authority: it¡¯s over. They¡¯re going to find cause to open it up to Tele-Scry. Knowing she had whitestick in her blood ¨C¡°


    Garone caught the long look the man cast her, understood the meaning of the coy elbow she thrust back at him in response ¨C


    ¡°Stop it!¡± she hissed playfully, and turned back to check whether Garone had noticed their exchange; he was, of course, dutifully staring off into the trees, with a distant expression on his face, well in advance of her backwards glance.


    Perhaps it¡¯s the drugs, he considered. They might take inkatra together.


    For every window, a wall. For every revelation, an enigma. The fates make of themselves what they will, and it is for us to play our parts.


    Play our parts out.


    As much as seers were said to put it on a pedestal, worship it in their hidden hearts, Garone despised surprise. Surprise always turned against him. The power of the obsidian tower had startled him, unmanned him and left him out, left Dustbringer to die. The dragon¡¯s enchantment had come without warning and almost despoiled the very Realm.


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    He felt his frown, recognised the way it would make others intimidated by him, and decided to leave it there. Let them see the way he felt inside. He couldn¡¯t always wear the mask.


    When he arrived at the Troglodyte, slowly descending the mossy stone stairs towards its yawning doorway, the guards checked his glyphstone and permitted him into the court¡¯s halls without any lingering looks.


    As he walked alone towards his meeting with her, he spent a few moments studying his clerk¡¯s past, reading it without even needing a glance at the fleshy form her spirit inhabited. He wouldn¡¯t ordinarily have done such a thing, and was for his part fond of Ms. Dyrdac, but he knew she was one route someone might try to get at him. Surely not an enemy ¨C not a darkmage ¨C but a professional rival perhaps¡­


    No. She was clean. Sure, there were the borderline-illegal druidic treatments to rejuvenate her wrinkled brows, retract her jowls, smooth her crows¡¯ feet ¨C but he didn¡¯t need his power to see the evidence of that. It was plain there upon her face. No one cared. Half the people her age currently in this building, this esteemed High Court of the Realm, had probably undergone similar magical regimens in a vain effort to claw back some lost youth.


    She was clean, in the important ways. No interactions with darkmages or crooks. Even someone of Everseer¡¯s calibre would leave blemishes he could see; it would take an enchanter on Tyr Kayn¡¯s level to shroud her past from him fully.


    He had glimpsed that past.


    Even she had known love. Unconsummated ¨C and she would likely perish a virgin ¨C but love all the same.


    And her future ¨C


    Where before there had been light between the aisles of books, there was now shadow. The shelves had been moved. The texts he¡¯d not looked for could no longer be found in the library of her fate. Closer by than ever before.


    An arch-diviner. Another such as I, and more powerful.


    He shrugged it off. The darkness was always there, when one searched for it. Light would return, unlooked-for.


    He met Ms. Dyrdac in their antechamber. She looked up from the paperwork strewn about the desk and it was difficult not to sigh in advance at her antics. He hid his face for a moment more, comporting himself as he closed the door behind him.


    ¡°We¡¯ve only five minutes!¡± she huffed, even though she¡¯d been doing nothing to make her out of breath. ¡°If you want to see him, you¡¯re out of luck! They¡¯re going to immolate him in there!¡±


    He drew a breath, drew in the instant until it stretched, elasticised, a gelatine for him to spread about his surroundings.


    When I close myself I dam the flow. I know my page, my place in the universe of existence. I am the conduit through which the waters of time course. Time is not brittle. It is built up not of layers. There are no strata. There is only the flow. I am unique. I open myself, open the flow. It is then that I can direct the course, follow it whither I will.


    But I lose my place in the book.


    He pressed his eyes closed. It wasn¡¯t working.


    What is it? What¡¯s wrong?


    He didn¡¯t know.


    Something I don¡¯t know. Something¡­ familiar¡­


    ¡°Mr. Corteno, please!¡± Ms. Dyrdac¡¯s voice suddenly resumed itself; the elastic bubble of chronomancy snapped back. ¡°If you let him answer the summons to the stand, they¡¯re going to ask him about the trip when he took the weapons with him. I don¡¯t think anyone wants¡­¡°


    He faced her, finally, and she silenced herself.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said after enjoying a moment of stillness. ¡°Our client is quite innocent, Ms. Dyrdac. If Mr. Yaneyar can control himself ¨C¡°


    ¡°He won¡¯t!¡± she cried.


    He will, he thought.


    ¡°If Mr. Yaneyar could control himself, he wouldn¡¯t be in this mess. We wouldn¡¯t be in this mess! Bragging, about how much he made, when it broke at least three contracts?¡°


    ¡°Ms. Dyrdac.¡± His quiet voice worked its own magic on her. ¡°Nerifica. If Mr. Yaneyar can control himself, everything will go smoothly.¡± He tried to be as reassuring as possible ¨C but it didn¡¯t matter that she¡¯d seen it go his way almost two dozen times before, didn¡¯t matter that he¡¯d turned defeat into victory time and again. She was a born doubter, and it¡¯d given her instincts that had brought her far in her chosen career.


    Instincts that had robbed the trust from her, robbed her chance at true love decades ago.


    Why do we all play our parts? he wondered. What is in it for us to gain, if we are all doomed to die from the start, sent into the next world only half-born¡­?


    He relented, releasing the sigh that¡¯d been threatening to escape him, then spoke the words she wanted to hear. She was, for all her faults, a devout woman.


    ¡°Let the gods determine the victor,¡± he said in the end.


    He saw the doubt melting on her face in his mind¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Three minutes, Ms. Dyrdac,¡± he said, already opening the door. ¡°If you please?¡±


    She suddenly seemed to realise how much paperwork she needed to gather up; she started wedging the various sheets into a folder and chased him out of the room, even though he wasn¡¯t going anywhere without her. He took the opportunity to settle his headdress in perfect position upon his head.


    Within sixty seconds, they were entering the Troglodyte¡¯s main hall, an ancient grey stone circle festooned with sumptuous crimson chairs and Magisterium drapes. The glass roof was displaying an eager blue sky over their heads. The sun wasn¡¯t overhead but that didn¡¯t make a difference ¨C the spells infused into the slightly-concave dome permitted just the optimal amount of light into the room, shade existing only at the hall¡¯s perimeter.


    If he allowed himself, he could go back into this place¡¯s original purpose. It had always been a place of law, of settling scores, but the blood-red silk of the plush seats was a veiled testament to the hall¡¯s history. The High Courts were no less ancient than their lowborn counterparts, for all that the prefix ¡®Old¡¯ might¡¯ve led the uneducated to the opposite conclusion. Once ¨C and the dates were indeterminate, thanks to Arreath Ril ¨C this had been a hall of combat. Men and women had come to this place, and lawyers ¨C not such as Garone, but lawyers of a kind nonetheless ¨C had fought on their behalf¡­ Fought to the first bloodshed, or, sometimes, to the last. He could sense the mindlessness of it all, the insanity of the Age of Nightmares echoing back at him from the immutable grey stone. He could hear the gasps of the dying. See the gold exchanging hands over not-yet dead bodies.


    If such trials were still permitted, he could get through a few hundred cases a day without causing a single death.


    The victory¨Cstreak I could amass. It would be a thing of legend.


    Then another diviner would become a lawyer, and another¡­


    Was it possible that¡¯s what they¡¯d been, those ancient, gladiatorial proto-lawyers? Could they have been his predecessors? He saw the artistry of their craft, the long knives flashing as they met under moonlight or starlight. When this place had been open to the sky, the stone floor surrounded by the rising grassed slopes on every side.


    Before the Founders. Before Mund.


    Such glimpses were rare, and more swiftly lost the harder one attempted to cling to them. The moment passed, and the arch-diviner in him experienced a brief but strong wave of sorrow, bittersweet nostalgia drying his tongue, setting his arm- and neck-hairs on end.


    Garone found his place near the front, drew his robe about him, and seated himself. On his left, Ms. Dyrdac flopped into her chair, laying her folder on the long table in front of them and trying futilely to smooth her rumpled dress. Garone kept his eyes forward, waiting. The judge¡¯s redebon dais was just ahead of them in the northern third of the room, and the lawyer, the human in him enjoyed this part ¨C the tension in the hall slowly building to a critical pitch as the time for the trial¡¯s conclusion approached. He wouldn¡¯t look back, wouldn¡¯t give the assembled witnesses and esteemed guests a second glimpse of his face until he had to. They could stare at his back. It was his role to be the embodiment of the law in this place, not a person ¨C and he would play this part with aplomb.


    The wave of suspense almost broke as Mr. Ixi Yaneyar, their client, entered the room, escorted by an entourage of his family. His mother and father, his wife, one of his brothers and two of his sisters ¨C various cousins, uncles, aunts ¨C two nephews ¨C even his mistress-cum-housemaid ¨C


    Not one of his children, Garone observed. He¡¯s afraid about how this is going to play out.


    It will play out, and he need not fear.


    He stood as the scoundrel finally reached his side, and held out his hand.


    Mr. Yaneyar just looked at it, then back at the lawyer¡¯s face, smiling toothily, baldly, as though he were sharing the amusement with Garone rather than extracting it from him.


    He¡¯s no lord ¨C and my family is far richer than most ¨C yet still he¡¯s so far above me that shaking my hand would be a disgrace to him.


    His diviner¡¯s mind, used to sifting time and space for relevant details, quietly summed the man¡¯s wealth. He found that, since the last time he¡¯d done it, that wealth had increased considerably. Even Yaneyar probably hadn¡¯t the foggiest how much he was actually worth, contained as his funds were in investments, some of which were quite abstract ¨C a merchant company and an ensorcellment laboratory here, yes, but a band of pillaging outlaws or a fledgling outland kingdom there¡­


    The dry estimation-power was Garone¡¯s forte.


    Seven hundred and sixty-two thousand, and fifty-four platinum, two hundred and twelve gold¡­


    There wasn¡¯t the coin in existence to support such a hoard ¨C and the scoundrel was far from Mund¡¯s richest man. Top two hundred, perhaps, if the wind was right.


    ¡­ seven hundred and sixty-two thousand, and fifty-five platinum, thirteen ¨C eighty-four gold¡­


    Garone let go of the moment, and tried to prepare himself after his usual fashion, but still something eluded him, something making him feel apprehensive¡­


    ¡°Corteno,¡± Yaneyar said, his voice barely better than a snarl. ¡°I hope you¡¯re going to win this thing for me.¡±


    ¡°That is the idea,¡± Garone said, retracting his hand and smoothing the front of his robe with it as he found his seat once more. ¡°We have a strong case.¡±


    Yaneyar sat down on his right. ¡°I very much doubt that. You really want me to do this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid you don¡¯t have much choice, Mr. Yaneyar.¡±


    ¡°They said you was good.¡± He felt Yaneyar¡¯s cold stare on the side of his head but he wouldn¡¯t turn his face, wouldn¡¯t remove his gaze from the judge¡¯s chair. ¡°Even I know they can¡¯t make me do it. What am I paying you for, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Let me be candid with you, Ixi.¡± Garone chose his cadence carefully. ¡°If you wish to escape this place a rich man, you may walk out now ¨C walk out and never look back. Less rich, perhaps, to be then found guilty in your absence ¨C vastly-so, by your own strange standards. Nonetheless, to the observing eye you would suffer not for it, not even by so much as a single hair from your head, a single thread from your garments¡­ The dogs whose hungers are sated by the crumbs falling from your table would not want for their supper. And still I would blame the loss of repute for your reticence to go ¨C the potential dishonour of such a contemptible disgrace as to walk freely from here with your head held high¡­ if not for the fact that you clearly care little for the tongues wagging away in the corners, trading in gossip. In fact, you parade your dishonour,¡± Garone cast an obvious glance over his shoulder at the rich man¡¯s not-yet pregnant mistress; ¡°you revel in it. So, then, we come to it ¨C it is the platinum which matters to you. It is the sum itself. It is the greed. You wish to live and die by King Money-Bags. You will not leave. You will stay, and face the reality of the trial.


    ¡°Yet your testimony will not be enough. You are innocent. The Chief Audient will not believe it. You must take the oath, or submit to enchantment!¡±


    ¡°I make a point,¡± Yaneyar said through gritted teeth, ¡°of not swearing oaths.¡±


    Then you won¡¯t actually tell the truth, will you?


    Garone found a better avenue to exploit.


    ¡°Minus five hundred and eighty-four thousand, nine hundred platinum.¡±


    Yaneyar¡¯s face fell, and sweat sprung out on his forehead instantly.


    ¡°Five hundred¡­ minus¡­ wh-what¡¯s that, Corteno?¡±


    ¡°Just a guess.¡±


    ¡°At¡­¡±


    ¡°Your losses, of course. You¡¯ve accrued a significant sum in the last three years.¡±


    ¡°But you ¨C how could you ¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m very thorough with my research, Mr. Yaneyar. Are you quite ready?¡±


    * * *

 Significant Losses I pt4

    The scoundrel had never looked less ready in his life, but Garone¡¯s softly-spoken question was just right to bring him back to his senses.


    Now he will control himself.


    The judge entered, the age-worn gavel at her belt matching the depictions on her amulet. The long headdress went from her brows and temples to the small of her back, its black and white feathers swishing as she strode in from her antechambers, iridescent plum robes trailing the cold stone floor. She was the randomly-chosen representative of the group of five judges, collectively known as the Listeners, whose decision would determine the case¡¯s outcome. Hers, in particular. The Chief Audient always voted last, always tipped a balance one way or the other.


    Her face was colder than the floor. This was Elteria Drayne, the worst possible choice for Garone¡¯s client. She was stuffy, respectable, and Garone thoroughly adored her. She detested scumbags like Yaneyar with a fiery passion.


    The worst possible choice ¨C but the inevitable choice, as far as Garone¡¯s plans were concerned. Hence the oath. Hence the needless risk.


    The trial¡¯s conclusion went much as Garone had foreseen.


    His opponent, Henric Obelmaier, was an honourable chap of Northman descent. Henric represented a conglomeration of minor guilds whose combined wealth sought to topple Mr. Yaneyar from his lofty perch¡­ Minor guilds in which the Magisterium had invested large sums over the last five years, according to Garone¡¯s research.


    He didn¡¯t like Mr. Yaneyar one bit, but he liked what this legal action implied for the reach of the Magisterium even less. He¡¯d been unable to uncover any particularly-shady looking transfers of funds, but over a dozen Magisterium representatives had encouraged this particular lawsuit in a whole variety of ways.


    Henric¡¯s evidence was all but presented by this final hearing, and it was only for Garone¡¯s client to take the stand, rip away the Magisterium¡¯s argument at the knees.


    ¡°The Listeners recognise Mr. Obelmaier,¡± came the severe voice of the judge.


    ¡°Thank you, Your Duty,¡± came the clear, bright voice of Garone¡¯s opponent.


    Henric got to his feet and took position in front of his entourage, several of the minor guilds¡¯ leaders to be spotted amongst the array of assistants and colleagues he¡¯d brought with him. Smiling, Henric faced the scoundrel.


    ¡°Mr. Yaneyar. I call you to give testimony.¡± The lawyer raised his hand to his side, indicating the court floor with his palm. ¡°Do you consent?¡±


    The scoundrel turned his hard stare on Garone. Garone merely nodded.


    Yaneyar stood, scowling, and crossed to the clear area in front of Elteria Drayne. When he took his place he was standing extremely still, hands gripping one another at the lower back, chest puffed out and arrogance marked into every line on his face.


    ¡°Mr. Ixi Yaneyar, of Westrise and Tangletree. Thank you for your presence. You are aware of the prohibition on supplying enemies of the Realm with exotic weaponry, without license two-two-eight?¡±


    Henric had a way of asking leading questions that disarmed even Garone.


    Another bead of sweat started on Yaneyar¡¯s brow, and the scoundrel, still scowling, nodded.


    ¡°We will require you to give a verbal response, Mr. Yaneyar. This is from the contract between yourself and the Third Armoury Guild, stipulating the extent of your operation¡¯s involvement in foreign aid ¨C¡±


    ¡°I am aware of it.¡± The reply was barely better than a low growl but the courtroom¡¯s acoustics had been augmented, and everyone heard.


    ¡°You have been present now at four hearings. You are privy to our evidence, the use of Dragonite Incendiaries in the Glaustenz Reaches, during the recent Incitement. You were aware of the prohibition on the fourteenth of Belara, Nine-Ninety-Six, when you crossed the Glaustenz borderlands for a six-week expedition?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± The scoundrel struggled to bring himself to agree. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what that¡¯s got ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do you require that I refresh your memory? You started with a visit to the Glausite staging area, wherein you spent in excess of two hundred platinum in a single evening, at the pleasure-tents ¨C¡°


    ¡°Yes!¡± Yaneyar barked. His face reddened, the mask of shamelessness slipping. ¡°I was aware of it, damn it!¡±


    ¡°We have outlined at length your involvement in the Dragonite project. We have verified testimony of your outburst at the Mortifost Feast at the Sunset Keep, and the calculations to back up your own words. Would you have the court believe you did not negotiate with the inhabitants of the foreign lands, to supply them with ensorcelled weaponry? Would you have us believe my clients are owed not one single copper?¡±


    Garone met Yaneyar¡¯s eyes across the floor.


    Do it. Just like I told you.


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    Yaneyar blinked, and looked away. The sweat trickled down the side of his face.


    ¡°If it pleases the judge,¡± he mumbled, ¡°I¡¯ll swear the truth to Glaif. May my head be shorn from shoulder if I lie.¡±


    The gasp that cut through the crowd made Garone smile to hear it. A sound no longer merely a concept in his mind, still awaiting shape in the world ¨C but manifest now, in reality. The oath to Glaif which Yaneyar used was a blunt tool, ancient in origin and basic in function. It was not at all like speaking in Kultemeren¡¯s name, which would be illegal here. The oath did not prevent him from lying ¨C but it called death down upon him if he did so with intent to deceive.


    ¡°It would please the court,¡± came the suddenly-alive, suddenly-curious voice of Elteria Drayne. ¡°Please continue your testimony, Mr. Yaneyar.¡±


    ¡°I did take Dragonite Incendiaries with me to the Reaches,¡± Yaneyar admitted, glumness in his low voice ¨C the loud murmuring his words caused quickly died away again as the crowds struggled to hear him. ¡°I took them with me, and I wanted to discuss a¡­¡±


    The scoundrel choked, and swallowed audibly.


    A kind of almost-supernatural silence descended.


    ¡°The barbarian-king I met ¨C it¡¯s not how they tell it in the stories. Sure, the place is a barren land. Cracked earth as far as you can see. I wouldn¡¯t wanna live there. But it¡¯s alright. They aren¡¯t useless. They¡¯ve got bricks and beds and houses¡­ even fine art¡­ steel swords.¡±


    He said the last two words in a harrowed tone, and they hung in the air, ominous.


    After a few moments, Garone spotted as Mr. Obelmaier stirred himself to speak ¨C but it was Lady Drayne¡¯s voice that carefully intruded into the quiet.


    ¡°Mr. Yaneyar?¡±


    ¡°They¡­ I thought I was safe, but they killed my¡­ Bolax, he was called. My guardian. My best mage. Killed him, just ran him through like that!¡± Yaneyar suddenly mimed a violent thrust. ¡°Stabbed him in the back when we were eating! Wanted¡­ wanted to know how to make the Incendiaries for themselves, didn¡¯t they?


    ¡°You want to know why I was over there six weeks? Six weeks, that should¡¯ve been two? Think I was spending all my time with the harlots, do you?¡± The scoundrel was becoming increasingly animated, bits of spittle starting to fly from his lips. ¡°I was in jail! I barely escaped with my skin! Bolax, and Phericya, and¡­ that other one¡­ ah-h-h-h¡­¡±


    He stopped, and stared down at the shadow about his feet. The light of the sky above Yaneyar threw his face into shade.


    ¡°Edderic,¡± Garone whispered.


    ¡°They were killed, Mr. Yaneyar?¡± Elteria Drayne asked gently.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± The businessman wrung his hands together in front of him and looked back up at the judge with a wild expression. ¡°One of my footmen, he escaped with me ¨C he killed one, one of the ones who were watching us¡­ It was horrible¡­¡±


    Garone watched the series of events as it had unfolded, and not for the first time. He was in agreement. It was horrible. It was harder to recognise the full horror, when you were so removed from the instant, wrapped up in the consequences ¨C but Garone wasn¡¯t yet so far gone that it took too much effort.


    I¡¯m not Timesnatcher yet, he thought grimly.


    ¡°I wanted to discuss a deal.¡± Yaneyar said in conclusion. ¡°I did not do a deal. I know ¨C I knew they weren¡¯t ready yet. Wizard¡¯s Hat would be there, and I had to make a move. It¡¯s not my fault they stole what they stole.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C you should have informed the authorities!¡± Mr. Obelmaier objected, his voice rising several octaves.


    ¡°Mr. Obelmaier!¡± Garone said, injecting some force, some disbelief, into his voice. His outburst drew the attention of everyone in the room. ¡°You ought know better. You had comported yourself well, until now.¡±


    ¡°The Listeners recognise Mr. Corteno,¡± the judge said, with almost a twist of amusement, as Garone got to his feet.


    ¡°Thank you, Lady Listener.¡± He regarded Henric Obelmaier across the floor. ¡°Is it a crime, to fail to report being a victim? Indeed, I would direct you to condition three ¡®e¡¯ of the errata for license two-two-eight. My client would be incapable of informing the authorities, under your own clients¡¯ terms.¡±


    ¡°Condition three ¡®e¡¯¡­¡± Henric smiled at him, just a shade of desperation in his grin. ¡°We don¡¯t all have your prodigious memory, clearly. Would you care to remind us all as to its content? I hardly believe we would¡­¡±


    His voice died away as one of his aides came rushing forward, a heavy binder of papers open, a finger jabbing at the page.


    Long moments passed. Garone let them take their sweet time.


    ¡°Is it going well?¡± Ms. Dyrdac muttered out of the corner of her mouth.


    The lawyer just smiled.


    ¡°Well?¡± The judge finally sounded impatient. ¡°What is this damnable stipulation?¡±


    ¡°I excuse myself, Lady Listener,¡± Garone said. ¡°It would only be fairest for you to hear a favourable interpretation of the conditions.¡± He smoothed his robe and seated himself. ¡°I could not provide one myself. Might you?¡±


    He asked it to Henric directly, but his opponent¡¯s face was buried in the paperwork.


    ¡°Well ¨C Mr. Obelmaier.¡± Elteria Drayne was glaring at the Northman. ¡°Mr. Obelmaier!¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, Your Duty.¡± Henric¡¯s skin-tone, normally pink, had now transformed to match the splotched, sickly hue of the yellow-white papers he held in his hands. ¡°Forgive me¡­ It seems, upon further consideration, that we will withdraw this line of objection.¡±


    ¡°The clause, Mr. Obelmaier.¡±


    ¡°Erm¡­¡± Henric licked his lips. ¡°It appears that the experimental weaponry is kept on a need-to-know basis¡­ Only certain superiors and clients ¨C¡°


    ¡°Are you telling me that the proper authorities are not considered on the need-to-know list, Mr. Obelmaier? The Magisterium is not to be notified?¡±


    Henric Obelmaier melted on the spot, scorched by her scrutiny.


    The rest of it played out like a hand dealt by Yune herself. Elteria Drayne excused herself to speak with the hidden Listeners, and a shaking Ixi Yaneyar reseated himself.


    ¡°Was that what you wanted?¡± the scoundrel asked. ¡°What does any of this serve, making me embarrass myself like this¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m certain you¡¯ll be able to weave the story to suit yourself, Mr. Yaneyar,¡± Garone replied smoothly. ¡°After all, you were effectively a war-prisoner, whose own bravery saved his skin, no?¡±


    He let his voice drift away, and the wicked smile grew once more on Ixi Yaneyar¡¯s face.


    As much as it perturbed him, Garone¡¯s law school could have it no other way. His task was not only to win the case, and ensure no new grounds were opened for further cases against his client ¨C but also to ensure Mr. Yaneyar¡¯s continued ¡®good graces¡¯. His continued ever-increasing bank-balance, that was what they really meant. They offered guarantees at the industry¡¯s highest standards, future-proofing their customers¡¯ portfolios, ensuring they continued to receive the best loan rates, the most favourable opportunities.


    Yet whatever divination Yaneyar¡¯s enterprises had paid for in the past, it could¡¯ve been invalidated by Garone¡¯s influence upon him here. His choice of words, his turn of phrase¡­ every interaction was a chance for a new element, an unseen possibility to emanate from the present and birth itself as a heretofore undreamt-of future.


    * * *

 Significant Losses I pt5

    His head was turned to regard his client. Ixi Yaneyar was smiling, a tight grin that would become the true villainous smirk once Elteria Drayne returned the verdict, throwing out the guilds¡¯ case.


    On his other side, unseen by his mortal eyes, Ms. Dyrdac wasn¡¯t smiling.


    And there¡­ there it is¡­


    A destiny in which the newest addition to the Yaneyar brood changed Ixi¡¯s heart. One where his money was given to a number of charitable causes ¨C only a nest egg kept to protect his family from eventual poverty ¨C


    He followed where the money went. Saw the lives changed by a temple¡¯s increased ministrations. Saw the new schools educating the young.


    Saw past it.


    Over four-fifths of Yaneyar¡¯s contribution was wasted. And a small fraction of the waste was put towards evil causes, malice far beyond Yaneyar¡¯s darkest imaginations enacted upon the bodies of the young and vulnerable. The enslavement of the weak and witless. Experiments of a magical nature, or events of a more carnal quality ¨C equally ugly. Equally lethal to flesh and soul, in the end.


    It was a vanishingly miniscule percentage of the money, and yet ¨C


    How can I judge it? I can¡¯t even see it all. There¡¯s ¨C there¡¯s Shadow, over everything¡­


    He knew how to enact the future. He knew how to let it flow through him, out into the void of nothingness wherein it would inhabit the shape of things to come. But he was no longer certain he wanted to.


    ¡°You¡¯re smiling,¡± Garone murmurs, disgust, abhorrence in his tone, ¡°but Ms. Dyrdac isn¡¯t.¡±


    Even that much might be enough ¨C enough to tip the scales of fate towards the future where so ¨C much ¨C darkness ¨C


    No, he thought. Change it.


    ¡°You¡¯re smiling,¡± Garone murmured, naked curiosity in his tone, ¡°but Ms. Dyrdac isn¡¯t.¡±


    He watched the man¡¯s expression change. He saw the villainous smirk slip out of the shelves, falling to the floor, into the consuming shadow below existence.


    The drool, the sickening smells ¨C they vanished too.


    Breathing a short sigh of relief, Garone then looked up just in advance of Elteria Drayne re-entering the room, her Sheaf of Judgement under her arm. The documents would precisely outline the Listeners¡¯ reasoning and the previous Judgements they referenced; after the case was closed they would be returned to the archive for transcription, and cross-referenced for future use in similar situations.


    And the Magisterium will pay for their covert efforts.


    There was no way this wasn¡¯t going to end in new law, forcing guilds with monopolies on exotic weaponry to share more information with the governing bodies. The pressure was being applied in the right places. To an outside observer unaware of the nuances of the politics involved, it would look like a zero-sum game. What was the benefit of ensuring that such guild-conglomerates, many of them Magisterium-funded or at least in receipt of Magisterium aid, reported their new developments to the Magisterium?


    Scrutiny. Officials from their own organisations with absolutely no notion of such funds, such aid packages, would look at the records. They would see the truth. The subtle practises would be forced to change, or at least find new, cleverer loopholes.


    He would pursue them all the same. This victory today was only a small one, but a victory nonetheless. Not quite enough to put a smile on his face, in the current circumstances, but that was alright. Garone could smile later, in private, when it wouldn¡¯t have such a strong effect on the world¡¯s fate.


    Lady Drayne approached her seat and turned to face the room; she placed her hands on the red-velvet grips of the chair¡¯s arms and started to lower herself ¨C


    What is¡­ what is happening?


    It was with a deep, soul-trembling trepidation that Garone noted the darkness sweeping across the room. The sky itself dimmed, the illumination in the room dipping precipitously, and it took a few moments for the glow-globes to compensate for the sudden loss of light, leaving them all almost blind for a moment. Within the space of five seconds ¨C by the time Elteria Drayne¡¯s backside hit the velvet ¨C the courtroom was giving the appearance of an evening hearing, rather than mid-morning.


    Garone looked up with everyone else, not privy to the turn in the weather ahead of the others. Along with all the mere mortals in the chamber, he stared upwards into the bank of thick, dark-grey cloud that had blanketed the heavens. Where just moments before there had been a few white wisps contorting against an azure-blue sky, there was now a mountain-range of storm-walls.


    The crunching drum of thunder, tearing open the air. The wind screamed like it was aflame, but there was no lightning to be seen.


    ¡°This is most irregular,¡± the only-slightly raised voice of Elteria Drayne came down from the judge¡¯s dais. ¡°Clerk, send a missive to Environmental Wiz-¡°


    Now lightning split the sky, striking nearby this time. The white flash illuminated everything, and Garone found the moment yawning, a whirlpool, drawing him in ¨C


    Whilst all the room about him froze ¨C while the world itself waited with bated breath ¨C Garone got to his feet in the lightning¡¯s lifespan, and stared as two figures entered the courtroom, moving with him.


    He regarded them as best he could, in the vivid white radiance of the storm¡¯s fire. They crossed to the centre of the floor in a flick-flick of motion even he couldn¡¯t follow, and he only realised who they were once they came to a stop.


    It is a good thing they aren¡¯t my enemies.


    Pitch-black clothing ¨C one a familiar robe, with white hourglasses, upon a tall masculine frame ¨C one less familiar, featureless and clingy, upon an undeveloped young woman.


    The fine, rune-etched bow slung over the girl¡¯s shoulder would¡¯ve announced her identity anyway, even if he hadn¡¯t recognised the hollow darkness inside the hood, the faceless black mask.


    She¡¯s here. Nightfell herself.


    The lightning¡¯s radiance still clung to the air, blinding.


    ¡°Advance it a moment, Celestium!¡± Nightfell barked.


    It wasn¡¯t long enough for any of the mortals in the room to move appreciably, but between them the two superior seers dialled the clock forwards an eye-blink. The head-hurting light faded, replaced with muted shadows, storm-clouds pinned in place to the instant, awaiting another thunderous release.


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    Garone recognised the voice, though. It had changed ¨C harsher, tougher, yes, but it was the same young girl.


    Killstop. It really is her.


    At one point, when they¡¯d first met, he¡¯d thought himself on her level. He¡¯d even found her company appealing, in an opposites-attract kind of fashion. But it¡¯d soon become apparent just how vastly she outstripped him. He was to her, as any of these time-locked mortals about them were to him.


    Weak.


    ¡°Satisfied?¡± Timesnatcher asked icily.


    ¡°It¡¯ll do,¡± she bit back. ¡°So¡­¡± Garone could feel her attention falling upon him, though he couldn¡¯t perceive the eyes behind the mask, inside the hood. ¡°Mr. Corteno, a young, up-and-coming lawyer. Who¡¯d have thought it? I would¡¯ve pegged you for a priest, truth be told.¡±


    ¡°Or a poet,¡± Timesnatcher murmured.


    Garone didn¡¯t answer, leaning into his proclivity for patience.


    What do they want with me?


    ¡°You know why they let you do what you do, don¡¯t you?¡± Nightfell asked, her tone jovial, almost mocking.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± he answered.


    ¡°Why they let you act against them.¡±


    He bit his lip, a reaction he wouldn¡¯t have ordinarily allowed himself to engage in ¨C but his options were limited here, now. He was just a man.


    ¡°I have my suspicions.¡±


    She nodded slowly. ¡°They know you won¡¯t live long. You aren¡¯t one of the great ones ¨C not that it would make a difference if you were, really. You¡¯ll never live to become a power in this world,¡± she tilted her head as if to glance about the Troglodyte, ¡°never live to challenge them. They will allow you the meagre victories you think are so important, and only co-opt them in the end into their larger strategies. You are nothing. No one, Garone Corteno.¡±


    Now he smiled, wore it like a shield.


    Can she follow the changes her words produce? he wondered. Does she think she distresses me with this posturing? The girl¡¯s mighty ¨C of that there can be no doubt.


    But is she that mighty?


    ¡°This whole saga is the bastard offspring of an argument between two members of the Arrealbord. Over zombie trafficking, of all things.¡±


    She laughed, like it was funny.


    No. What she found funny was the fact she could see the source of the dispute, and he couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked at length.


    Nightfell laughed again. ¡°Not nice, not knowing, is it?¡±


    ¡°You come here,¡± Garone said quietly, ¡°to my place of work, in breach of all known law, custom and social nicety ¨C which records you were forced to steal in order to uncover my true identity I am uncertain, but I have been operating as a champion for nigh on a year, and have achieved great-enough prominence that I very much doubt my file has not been granted the highest levels of confidentiality ¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re reeling in the wrong line, there, pal,¡± Nightfell cut him off.


    He wasn¡¯t used to being interrupted without expecting it. He felt the urge to grind his teeth, but settled for pressing his lips together.


    ¡°We¡¯ve always known your name,¡± Timesnatcher said, in a bored voice.


    It was all he¡¯d said to him and, for all Garone knew, all he was going to say. To Garone, who felt he knew the city¡¯s chief guardian as well as any could hope to, Timesnatcher sounded desperately unhinged.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter now, does it?¡± Nightfell snapped, in a rhetorical tone. ¡°Real names, fake names¡­ I don¡¯t know if the katra-heads have pulled it off, but this is it. This is the Incursion.¡±


    ¡°This¡­¡± Garone looked up through the glass ceiling at the dark skies once more. ¡°This is an Incursion?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± she spat back.


    ¡°The last,¡± Timesnatcher said with relish.


    ¡°The last?¡± Garone heard his own voice leave its usual husky register, climbing for the heights, surprising him with its intensity.


    ¡°Everseer¡¯s done her bit.¡± Nightfell folded her arms across her chest.


    ¡°Everseer failed,¡± Garone replied instantly. ¡°Do you see an emptied city, or fear and doubt ready to reap? Her speech ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do you think one such as she would not know?¡± The girl was snarling, real hostility in her voice. ¡°Why leave it until the final year, if there was a hope such a speech would succeed? No¡­ No. She was looking for the unforeseen, praying to¡­ whatever dark gods she worships for a sliver of a possibility.¡±


    ¡°But surely,¡± Garone looked from her to Timesnatcher, ¡°surely you do not believe her¡­¡±


    ¡°It matters little.¡± Nightfell even gave a slight shrug to punctuate her words. ¡°There are no arch-sorcerers left to us ¨C in that, at least, she succeeded. When we fail, the heretics are going to sit safe in the Thirteen Candles behind their shields ¨C behind the twin sorcerers¡¯ shields, you see? ¨C and they¡¯ll protect the archmages they can from the soul-takers. Expecting resistance, the demons will unintentionally run everyone out of the city. Within a month, no one will remain. Then the dragons have their big old Return feast at an empty table. The heretics will win. The Realm will be saved.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ sound like a heretic,¡± Garone said with difficulty.


    Timesnatcher laughed lightly, delicately, and a shiver ran up Garone¡¯s spine.


    ¡°How rude.¡± Nightfell sighed. ¡°We have about eight seconds before the Bells start, and four minutes before it really begins in earnest.¡± The seeress reached up as if to unsling her bow. ¡°We were going to get into position, but we decided we could really do with your help¡­ Firenight Square¡¯s looking bad, never mind Knuckle Market. Yes, again. Could you take the Sunset Keep off my plate?¡±


    She took her mask in her hand instead of her bow, and removed it. She shook back her cowl.


    A relatively plain face with a button nose. Brown hair in loose tangles, streaked with bright white locks. A disarming smile.


    ¡°Without you, our city dies tonight. The heretics win. I don¡¯t intend to let that happen. Are you with us?¡±


    Garone stared at her.


    And when haven¡¯t I answered the call?


    He was on the verge of retorting when she saw it coming ¨C she bared even more of her teeth, almost grinning.


    ¡°Tonight would¡¯ve been the night, good old Garone. You¡¯d see what¡¯s in store, and it would be enough for you. But not now. Not anymore.¡±


    He was on the edge of a revelation. The shadow fell aside, and he read the spines of the books, even if he didn¡¯t know their contents.


    Not anymore ¨C if only to ensure the city doesn¡¯t end up in the hands of you two.


    Words that would never cross his lips. She was no enchanter, and he had an amulet provided by¡­ someone. Someone trustworthy. At least she¡¯d never know the depth of his mistrust.


    He¡¯d always fought alongside them as though he were fighting for them, as though he were an employee in Timesnatcher¡¯s pay.


    No longer.


    He looked between them.


    ¡°I did not foresee a need for my daggers.¡±


    The former Killstop¡¯s grin disappeared, replaced with a shocked expression ¨C then finally she gave up the veneer of sanity, cackling like a maniac.


    He could barely control his reactions, feeling his eyes widen, his pulse quicken with fear, changes she could hardly help but read ¨C


    She didn¡¯t care, and, still crowing, did something with her wrists ¨C


    His glittering daggers were there in her hands, silver and gold.


    ¡°How¡­¡± He halted his tongue, then re-started. ¡°You found my ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oh ¨C oh dear¡­¡± Nightfell recovered her breath bit by bit. ¡°You¡¯re killing me, you know that don¡¯t you? You think I ¨C I didn¡¯t br-bring enough w-w-weapons!¡­ And th¡­ these!¡±


    She descended again into laughter, twisting his daggers carelessly in her hands like they were no more deadly than wooden cutlery.


    ¡°Here. T-take them, damn it¡­ ow ow it hurts¡­¡±


    She tossed them to him suddenly, with no regard for the difference in potential between them, and it was all he could do to catch them before they impaled him.


    ¡°Oh! Bahahaha!¡± She actually found it hilarious, and she had to gulp down lungfuls of air to regain her composure. ¡°Sorry¡­ sorry about that. Getting a bit¡­ oh, gods¡­ a bit excited.¡±


    ¡°Are we ready?¡± Timesnatcher grunted. ¡°I can¡¯t hold this forever on my own, not like this. Half a second¡¯s spent.¡±


    ¡°Patience,¡± she soothed, her voice finally settled. ¡°Garone needs us to turn our backs, for all the good it¡¯s worth. He isn¡¯t used to getting changed in front of people who can see him moving.¡±


    She must¡¯ve had a demiskin there, at her belt or under the folds of her clothing, but he hadn¡¯t a hope of seeing it as she produced his robe from out of nowhere. In the same motion she hurled the cloth garment at him with such eager alacrity that it smacked heavily into him, almost bowling him over.


    ¡°There.¡± She spun about, folding her arms, and Timesnatcher silently copied her.


    Garone ground his teeth together, but he did his duty, stripping out of the lawyer¡¯s robe to his undergarments, the thin cotton smock and loose pants that were his custom. He pulled the wide neck of the champion¡¯s robe over his head and slid his hands in the loose sleeves, donning his true work-clothes, becoming Starsight.


    Not for you, Timesnatcher. Not for you, Killstop.


    For you, Glaif. For you, Illodin.


    For Mund.


    He¡®d retrieved his mask from its hiding-spot at the bottom of the deep hood, and now had the white robe with its faint stars almost in place ¨C he shrugged, getting his shoulders into place ¨C


    ¡°So ¨C Starsight ¨C we were just wondering. Well¡­ Timesnatcher here was wondering, really, given his¡­ priorities. How long have you been meeting him?¡±


    She didn¡¯t turn, and he didn¡¯t sense danger in her voice. Just plain curiosity.


    ¡°Meeting who?¡±


    He made his final adjustments to the gleaming fabric, and lifted his eyes to regard them once more.


    Nightfell¡¯s head twisted about, her cruel eyes impaling him worse than any ensorcelled dagger. Her smile was glorious in its cruelty, its animal enjoyment.


    ¡°Why, Neverwish of course!¡±


    * * *

 Significant Losses I pt6

    Outside it was barely dawn, but that didn¡¯t matter ¨C more wine than water was going around the room, servants slipping in and out with practised efficiency. Conversation flowed like the grape from the bottle, and there was even a little tense laughter erupting here and there in the corners. When the silver bells rang they all set down their goblets, ceasing their chatter. Twivona stood from the gold-gilt couch, and found Gathel with her eyes. She controlled the trembling of her fingers, folding her hands together demurely and setting the pace. Her Shadow, Justice and Malice fell into place behind her, and she stepped into the narrow corridor of black, reflective stone. In small groups the High Lords and Ladies of the Realm got to their feet, following her as she led them from their antechamber of silk and excess, stepping as briskly as her shoes would permit along the passageway, heading towards the strangest of spaces.


    They had no newcomers this morning ¨C everyone knew what to expect. There would be no gasps of awe from a young (or old) replacement as the Arreax door fell open. But she still felt it in her mind as she thought about the shadowed hall, even after taking her place in her ancient seat dozens of times.


    Where in many places the Founders and their heirs had opted for grandeur and mood over practicality, here in the Chamber of the Arrealbord they had indulged those instincts for opulence and mystique. Hearths mantled in precious metals and stones blazed forth a vital orange light. From a single piece of milk-white marble a great spiral table had been shaped, yet it was unlike the blemishless Noxway; its honey-gold swirls caught the firelight, ripples in the surface glowing like burning veins. The chamber was drenched in spells that remained poorly-understood and oft-conjectured since the dawn of the age; it smelt of magic; when seated there, one breathed it in, bathed in it.


    The hallowed hall had but two entrances: the great door of defence which was never opened, by the decree of Arreath Ril himself; and the small door at the rear wall of the chamber. It was this door which swung open in advance of her as she travelled the last stretch of the escape tunnels, entering the Arreax, the Chamber of the Realm¡¯s Council.


    The Arreax was as old as the Realm, and it embodied the Realm ¨C Mund¡¯s Seat at its heart, with Amrana and Ouldern nestled close-by, all the way down to Hezreni and Chakobar and Myri at the tail. They entered in single file out of necessity, and she kept the pace at the front, now passing the great chairs of those three lesser provinces. Practicality dictated the procession ¨C the four representatives of the First Seat, then the four representatives of the Second, and so on. It wouldn¡¯t do for High Lords and Ladies to be shoving past those already seated, oh no. It was tradition, though, which held her to take the long route, traipsing about the outer edge of the spiral ¨C instead of simply cutting around the tail and approaching her lofty chair by a route that wouldn¡¯t even take a quarter of the time. Poor old Wenlyworth two steps behind her was equipped with a flotation device under his clothes, and she suspected he wasn¡¯t the only one. No one revealed the exact nature of their fittings, obviously, but she knew those worn by men differed little from women¡¯s brassieres ¨C which could also be similarly ensorcelled, her research had uncovered. But most eschewed such contrivances, seeking to stride under their own power even into their dotage. There were many legal means by which one might preserve one¡¯s physical potency ¨C for a price. Unlike one¡¯s youth and beauty, much to her dismay.


    She understood herself as a creature of charm. Enye¡¯s blessings had come upon her when she reached full bloom, and she still remembered what it was to be an uninteresting waif with bad hair, pale and buck-toothed at the back of every gathering, gaze downturned. Now, despite being older, she couldn¡¯t imagine ageing ¨C not really ¨C and she was introspective enough, honest enough, to understand her vanity. She didn¡¯t want to go back. She didn¡¯t want to lose what she¡¯d gained.


    Death changed everything. She¡¯d loved her sister, but she couldn¡¯t deny that the loss of her sibling had been the trigger for the change in her. It was almost as though she became her. Suddenly Litini¡¯s attendants became Twivona¡¯s own; her lips and cheeks were painted to give the appearance of health; her wild hair was tamed. Soon Litini¡¯s suitors were her own, too.


    Everybody loved her now ¨C all but one.


    Her decision to remain unattainable had been enough to drive men to duel over her, and she¡¯d relished every incantation, every gesture. As that aura crystallised into aloofness, she aged into her confidence, reaching an apex where she was both maiden and mother, desirable and maternal. Yet she was never a mother, never realised the potential of the maiden. She lost herself in her self-image, and she knew it.


    She mounted her chair, if chair it could be called, and turned her gaze about the room. Each of the thirty-three great seats were really four chairs rolled into one, and each was a unique edifice, a true work of art shaped from a single piece of near-transparent crystal. Two shallow steps up from the circular platform admitted her Lord Justice into his place on her right hand, and her Lady Malice on her left. Four steps there were for her old Lord Shadow to climb, where he would perch just below and behind her. Five steps for her, from which height the marvellous table, useless-enough as it already was, descended into a glorified footstool. The surface, when touched in the proper way, its ensorcellments called upon, could repeat back the voices of their forebears, making their long-dead decisions and judgements into a living sound. A feature rarely utilised, in these latter days, and even then only by the lords¡¯ underlings. She had no idea how to lift those ancient voices from the ancient material, and she very much doubted any of her peers did either. She¡¯d seen it done once by a team of transcribers after a council session, and it¡¯d seemed involved indeed.


    No. The table, with its fantastical spiral shape, was there primarily to reinforce the proper order. Her at its head, at the heart of the room. Everyone else, after her. Beneath her. She was the voice of the Realm, the lips of the world. The others ¨C they were various stops along its digestive tract.


    This was what Father taught her. And as she¡¯d aged into her position, she¡¯d felt the truth of his teachings more and more each year that passed. The wilfulness she¡¯d been possessed by, before her sister¡¯s death, before her ascent to the Heir of House Sentelemeth, faded into a shadow of its former self. Her studies in the history of the Realm finally crystallised and she came to understand the value of tradition, institution. It was always the place of youth, to seek to tear down structures. It was the place of experience, the benefit of wisdom, to take those attacks and incorporate them into the whole, seamlessly expand the structure, adapt the practises, reinterpret the tradition. It was what she was best at. It was what gave her the strength to rule, to be heard by all and listened to, even in such a chamber as this. The Peacekeeper Initiative, the foreign policy decision that saw three territories fall back under Mundic control in just twelve years, was all hers ¨C with a little help from her Justice, Malice and Shadow, of course. The notion of moving the armies to an aggressive footing had kept the conservatives happy, despite the pacifist means they employed in their new style of warfare ¨C thanks in large part to innovations in non-lethal weaponry. The diplomatic gains had been massive. The economic gains, massive. And her skills didn¡¯t just lie with outland affairs, wrangling with uncouth negotiators ¨C she¡¯d managed domestic situations with the same aplomb. Satiating the various religious groups, each of whom had a different agenda, a different set of likes and dislikes ¨C blind hatred of sorcery being the most-common gripe, of course ¨C was itself like casting a complex spell. The ability to balance upon the political tightrope¡­ this was what Twivona saw as her greatest asset.


    Fast in her high throne of ancient crystal, looking out across the magic-soaked chamber and seeing her near-rivals all about her, the First Lady of Mund couldn¡¯t control her hands any longer. She had them clasped together in her lap but it was no use ¨C they spasmed and she gripped the delicately-shaped arms of her chair, shifting her weight as though the motion were deliberate.


    She couldn¡¯t balance. Not when there was no ground upon which to stand. The firmament beneath her had been shaken, and she shook in turn. Her fragile tightrope had thinned to a razor¡¯s edge; she would topple one way or the other, and bleed, bit by bit, until she decided how best to defenestrate herself.


    She swallowed, and prayed to Yune that the loudness of it echoed only inside her own head. It sounded like a tree splitting in half. The silence in here was physically painful.


    And it was to her to break it.


    Nineteen members were missing, exactly as she¡¯d been notified by Gathel two hours in advance of their arrival. One hundred and thirteen pairs of eyes reflecting the fiery glare.


    ¡°In Kultemeren¡¯s name,¡± the words came out passably between numb lips, ¡°I accede we are all in attendance.¡± She saw them leaning forwards; even those with bored expressions were staring at her, and she fought to raise her voice without it trembling. ¡°The High Council of Chraunost, of the year Nine-Hundred and Ninety-Nine, is henceforth brought to bear upon the world¡¯s ills. Let them be solved before we separate.¡±


    The phrases of age-old tradition spent, she fell back thankfully into silence.


    It did not last long enough to become oppressive. Argument erupted, and the crystal thrones worked their magic, permitting each speaker only so long at their turn before their volume was diminished, their shouts reduced in seeming to mere whispers.


    ¡°You must recognise my right to speak!¡± the High Lord of Chakobar cried instantly from the tail of the table, and he seemed to garner the most attention. Everyone knew the pale, anxious young scion of House Daevon would have something to say. ¡°I hereby call upon you to vote! The Magisterium can no longer handle my country¡¯s ills, and they¡¯ll become the world¡¯s in short order!¡±


    Chakobar¡¯s beautiful, brown-skinned Lady Malice placed her hand upon her Lord¡¯s armrest, and he broke off, glancing at her.


    The Chakobese Malice spoke, her voice hard. ¡°The Tirremine Incident cannot go unexplored, and our people may no longer even live ¨C¡±


    ¡°Your people!¡± shrilled Lady Alaphar of Karamar, her fierceness belying her age and wizened frame. ¡°We do not know what has happened to them. Even now the Magisterium¡¯s scouts move on your coasts ¨C¡±


    ¡°Scouts ¨C what songs will their precious birds sing them from the shadowland? Everything that nears my home is slaughtered ¨C¡±


    ¡°We do ¨C not ¨C know that to be the case!¡± Twivona was close enough to see the spittle flying from Alaphar¡¯s thin lips. ¡°Your people, your home indeed! You have not set foot in Chakobar since last summer, and then it was only for the tan! Were you born there, Zalista? Did you sup the mother¡¯s milk o¡¯ the land?¡±


    ¡°That is irrelevant! You say it yourself ¨C that we do not know is ample, more than ample cause for the utmost concern! Do you not recall what was said of the dragons¡­¡±


    Twivona glanced between the two exchanging barbs. Most of the people in here would comprehend the nuances of their opposition, and those who didn¡¯t were beneath such subtleties even were they to be explained slowly. The identity of young Lyferin Othelroe had been revealed upon his death, the former champion Redgate, slain on outland sands by Phanar of N¡¯Lem and his cohort. Former champion, as the testimony of the adventurers held him to have been a murderer, a callous and evil man in the extreme. Testimony given under spell and oath, testimony corroborated by arch-diviner¡­


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    By Timesnatcher¡­ But could he be trusted, in the end? His predecessor was now leader of the heretics, and, going off his recent behaviour ¨C assuming reports were accurate¡­


    She couldn¡¯t doubt, not now. She had to focus.


    Lady Alaphar was the Lady Malice to the Second Seat. Ostensibly she¡¯d been the Council-member closest to Redgate, the young Lord Shadow, throughout his career, given the advanced senescence of the Second Lord and his Lord Justice. She was slavish in her defence of Lyferin, as if his guilt entailed some besmirchment of her honour. An obvious undercurrent of thought was that this whole fiasco had started with the Lord Shadow¡¯s quest to slay Ord Ylon. Lyferin went to Chakobar and died, and, thus far, it seemed, everything else there had followed him into the grave. Not a word from across the ocean in months.


    Lyferin¡¯s meek replacement, some obscure cousin sloped forth from the Ilswent domains, kept to his well-practised silence, allowing Alaphar to do all the work.


    ¡°¡­ almost two thousand shipments ¨C did they arrive? They certainly did not return!¡±


    ¡°What a great loss to the Realm. Spices and drugs. However shall we feed ourselves?¡±


    ¡°That, my Lady, is beneath you. These are human lives!¡±


    ¡°What would you have us do, that¡¯s not been done already!¡±


    ¡°Mobilise the army! The Hawks of Myri are on campaign in Aber-Lan ¨C¡±


    ¡°So you would spend the lives of Myric sons and daughters, spill out their precious blood upon your barbaric, infertile soil, all for what?¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t stand for that!¡± growled Lord Justice Vernays.


    ¡°When I speak of Chakobese lives, you sneer,¡± Lady Zalista Udur countered smoothly, ignoring Vernays, still staring unblinkingly at Lady Alaphar. ¡°When I speak of action, you speak of Myric lives. Shall I now sneer?¡±


    ¡°Sneer if you will ¨C you are not the expert in such matters. Or would you have us now believe you to be a military genius in disguise?¡±


    ¡°I would have you believe I would prefer us to do something, rather than nothing.¡±


    ¡°It is to the Magisterium to design our policy; our trust in their expertise ¨C¡±


    ¡°Too long have we trod the same paths, back and forth in argument, you and I.¡± Zalista¡¯s voice quaked now, not in fear but frustration, even anger. ¡°You are no different ¨C you will not change ¨C even here in the face of all your equals. It is not strength you demonstrate ¨C only that you remain frightened, so childish as to put your trust in ¨C¡±


    ¡°¨C you, who think you know so much, could be so blind. Do you not see so many empty seats as I? As you yourself state, there remains the matter of the dragons, beyond our scope, and you are no seer, no part in the project¡­¡±


    As their vehemence grew, their volume diminished, and the Lord from Myri started voicing his concerns more loudly. A vote as to whether his province¡¯s forces might be sent trotting over to Chakobar was definitely not on his agenda.


    ¡°We are skirting the true issue! The latest missives scarcely mention any success in corroborating the claims of Vardae Rolaine, or in catching the damn fiend. Until this matter¡¯s settled, there will be no peace, only unrest!¡±


    That was Lord Tenthur, Wenlyworth¡¯s arch-rival.


    Indeed, Twivona¡¯s old Lord Shadow immediately responded:


    ¡°If you read the missives carefully you will, my Lord, already be aware of the reason such topics receive scarcely a mention ¨C you do us no good, only ill, to feed this aura of fear which has fallen upon the city. There have been in the course of Mund¡¯s recorded history some ninety-three such prophets of doom; it is hardly an exclusive club into which Hierarch Twenty-Five now unwittingly inserts herself. We defied fate before, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s going to kill us all!¡± someone croaked.


    ¡°Come Highsummer, I¡¯m gone,¡± someone else vowed.


    This is why we fail, Twivona thought, closing her eyes as all descended into anarchy. She had no special power to bring them to order, no authority beyond that which she had already displayed. The chairs tried to perform their duties, quietening some, providing a voice to others, letting those who needed to be heard break through the hubbub.


    It wasn¡¯t enough. Never again would be it be enough, not since Yearsend.


    ¡°And there are so few champions remaining!¡± came a shocked voice from the Twenty-Somethingth Seat. She fancied it to be Lord Melton, but she wasn¡¯t going to bother opening her eyes to check. ¡°Might we not vote to increase their remuneration rates, that more might see their way to such a career?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a career, it¡¯s a calling,¡± her Lord Haid replied loudly, repeating the trite phrase.


    At least he sounded like he believed it now. Gathel¡¯s own appreciation of the city¡¯s defenders had been much improved, deepened, by his timeless spell in Etherium, pursued by the dragon¡¯s agents.


    ¡°I am given to believe,¡± came the low, haughty purr of Cay-Lehan Osordei, ¡°that nigh-all the champions turned heretic that night, when Madame Rolaine spoke to us.¡±


    ¡°I have received assurances,¡± Twivona replied, ¡°from the Heads of Recruitment and Logistics that the Magisterium will provide the required forces. Over a thousand new magisters have been deployed in the city in the last week, and two thousand more will ¨C¡±


    ¡°In the place of archmages, champions, you will set untested boys and girls ¨C¡±


    She hadn¡¯t meant to become drawn into an argument, yet now she was faced with opposition she felt a coldness come over her.


    ¡°The thousand includes three archmages, each of them tried in the field!¡± she found herself retorting, and she almost bit her lip at that needless, bald lie ¨C one of the three archmages was a former toy-maker, tried in the fields of miniature design and marketing¡­ ¡°The majority of the magisters are being brought in from Disholt and Ferund; a contingent of your own experts are sailing in from Amrana even as we sit here, sparring idly.¡±


    ¡°Is that what you think this is?¡± Lady Osordei eyed her dangerously, and Twivona realised too late that her comment had been sloppy ¨C she couldn¡¯t afford to give any ground to her rival. The Third Lady had always despised her; she¡¯d been her sister¡¯s oldest friend. She was the one person in the world to have displayed animosity regarding her replacement act. Her sister¡¯s oldest friend, who¡¯d once dressed Twivona in daisy-chains and played hide and find in the palace gardens with her. Cay-Lehan hated her because she wasn¡¯t Litini ¨C a grudge Twivona could never put to rest, or even come to acknowledge as valid.


    Memories that had faded to grey pages.


    Valid or no, Cay-Lehan¡¯s spite hurt sometimes. The spine of the book ached as it bent open, the recollections of youth accessed against her will, events still burning there in smoking ink upon the creased material of Twivona¡¯s mind.


    ¡°You think of this as some game? That our words are as the rocks thrown by children, rather than the bricks laid carefully one by one? Fie, Twivona, and for shame! I ¨C¡±


    ¡°Desist,¡± Twivona said quietly, yet the chair enhanced her voice, as Cay-Lehan¡¯s shrank away. ¡°Perhaps I sparred too idly; your latest rock has struck me a terrible gash.¡±


    Some laughter rippled at that, and the tension in the room was lessened. The left side of Cay-Lehan¡¯s face bunched up in a scowl, an expression the First Lady was all too familiar with.


    Twivona smiled at her rival, and the magical silence of the Arreax stretched between them. Off to the side, Zalista Udur of Chakobar was still duelling her own rivals, and, in the quiet surrounding the First and Second Seats, Lady Udur¡¯s voice grew in strength:


    ¡°The Magisterium¡¯s report has been derived from divination, and all they will tell us is that there was a deviation in Tirremuir. A deviation! As though this would be enough to satisfy any of you that your countrymen were safe, that your homes and wealth were protected! No. We cannot sit by and watch our world crumble. Our ancestors demand immediate action! The gods demand it!¡±


    And yet, hours later and thanks in large part to Twivona, they¡¯d done nothing about anything.


    The High Council session ended, and, last as she¡¯d been first, Lady Sentelemeth exited the chamber with her Justice and Malice huddled close at her sides in the narrow space, her Shadow floating along behind.


    She let a reasonable distance develop in front of her. The black glass of the narrow corridor reflected them like they were ghosts when she glanced from side to side, their mirror images swathed in shadow, outlines broken, details distorted.


    ¡°How do you think it went?¡± Twivona asked.


    Wenlyworth chuckled; Haid made something of a gargling sound.


    Her Malice, Lady Gwena Rhaegel, alone spoke plainly, her deep, dull voice belying the intelligence working the tongue. ¡°We knew how it would go.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t like it.¡± Twivona almost felt as though she were on the verge of bursting into tears and she struggled to keep a lid on her emotion, managing to hiss rather than wail: ¡°I say: I don¡¯t like it! These measures¡­ why does everything I do and say have to be pacification? Why can¡¯t we do something ¨C¡±


    ¡°You sound like her,¡± Lady Rhaegel interrupted; Twivona instantly knew to whom she alluded, and fell silent.


    ¡°You sound like her, and you know the answers to your own questions. I gave you the figures myself. The Magisterium is doing what it does best, and if ¨C¡±


    ¡°No, Gwena!¡± Twivona stopped, turned. ¡°I understand what they¡¯re doing, but what about us? Why can¡¯t we do something? We¡¯re supposed to be the leaders ¨C what¡¯s our rule worth, if we¡¯re worthless?¡±


    ¡°I think my Lady might have missed her daily dose,¡± Wenlyworth commented dryly, referring to the prohibitively-expensive elixir consumed by all Arrealbord members with breakfast each day. It contained a number of different substances, designed in concert to protect the imbiber from a variety of perils: poisons; enchantments; changes of shape and state¡­ And, as the rumour went, despair.


    ¡°I most certainly did not miss my dose, and I will not be pacified. I should¡¯ve permitted Zalista¡¯s request; we could¡¯ve had a force inside Chakobar within the week ¨C¡±


    ¡°The military committee would¡¯ve hated it, as we¡¯ve already discussed,¡± Gwena said in a light but chiding tone.


    ¡°I¡¯m in no mood for your jests, Lady Rhaegel! Ismethyl¡¯s blade! Does it matter what they¡¯d have thought of it? It¡¯s their job to do as they¡¯re told.¡±


    She started walking again, resuming her former pace and, leaving her a bit more room this time, her colleagues fell in behind her.


    She¡¯d not gone five steps before she was stopped in her tracks.


    A trio of masked individuals in front of her. The one at the front in black could¡¯ve been mistaken for a boy were it not for the form-fitting quality of her clothing. The one at the back, clad in a robe of purest white, gave off a brooding aura. And in between, far taller than his companions, a man whose darkness was punctured by a hundred radiant hourglasses, each displaying just a few grains of sand remaining, already falling through the valves.


    The aura emanating from the two at the front was anything but brooding. There was a sense of excitement on the air. Exuberance.


    Twivona knew who they were; everyone knew who they were, and she¡¯d met the two gentlemen before. The girl¡¯s identity she could infer from the bow she wore.


    She¡¯s finally going public.


    Twivona drew in a breath, and that was all she managed.


    ¡°First Lady!¡± The young woman¡¯s voice was strong, confident. ¡°It¡¯s been too long, and I¡¯m afraid it may not be a happy birthday if we spend too long on pleasantries. We estimate six demonic infestations are underway currently, and by the time we¡¯ve dealt with one, another five will have appeared. I¡¯m afraid this is it. The Incursion you always feared. Ulu Kalar has won.¡±


    The Incursion¡­ But there hasn¡¯t been one in¡­


    Some part of her had hoped that they¡¯d stopped altogether, as a few of the rumours reported to her in whispers by her Shadow had suggested. That Vardae Rolaine was wrong in more ways than one.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    She glanced aside, to check her friends¡¯ reactions, and found herself distracted from her own protests, her words dying in a strangled sound. It wasn¡¯t just the motionlessness of her fellow nobles, cluing her in on the fact she alone had been taken inside a chronomantic construct.


    No ¨C it was the walls. For the first time, the blackness reflected. She could¡¯ve been in here a thousand times, and never once had she seen her shadow-eyes staring back at her from the void¡¯s infinite mirrored recesses.


    How¡­?


    ¡°Two-point-two seconds,¡± Starsight said, in a voice that would¡¯ve been melodic had it not been so strained.


    ¡°You remember your protocols, First Lady?¡±


    Twivona dragged her gaze back to Nightfell.


    ¡°Pr¡­ protocols¡­¡±


    Her mind swam in the memories, and she closed her eyes. It¡¯d been five years or more since the Palace Guard had last gone over the system with her.


    In event of¡­ impending disaster¡­ we¡­


    Oh. Oh gods. The rhyme.


    ¡°She remembers. She¡¯ll do it. Come on.¡±


    She felt a slight tug on her clothing ¨C she opened her eyes again and the trio of powerful diviners were gone.


    Wenlyworth almost bumped into her as her companions came to a halt about her, glancing at her curiously.


    ¡°The bunker,¡± she breathed. ¡°It will open?¡±


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    The Mourning Bells were pealing out, and even here, inside the buried fastness of the Arrealbord Palace, the sound was cacophony.


    Every muscle in her shook all at once, tremors flooding her, and when she glanced again into the depths of the black-glass walls Twivona saw that her reflection was more broken than ever.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she said, folding her arms across her chest and hurrying her steps.


    ¡°My Lady!¡± Haid exclaimed, clutching at his robe and stumbling to keep up. ¡°An Infernal Incursion!¡±


    ¡°Damn! What¡¯s this about a bunker, Twivona?¡± Lady Rhaegel asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got to get the others. All of them.¡± Her trembling subsided, and Twivona focussed on her duty. ¡°We¡¯ve got to get them to the Blackway, as quickly as we can¡­ The very survival of the Mundic Realm may depend on it.¡±

 Ascended and Ancient pt1

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.3: ASCENDED AND ANCIENT</h2>


    ¡°Do not look to me for guidance. I am everywhere. You stride in my shadow, in the echoes of my footfalls on forest avenues, the empty places I have already trod. Yes! I am everywhere yet you find the emptiness! In emulating me you must abandon pretence, identity, all particularity. And then already you are no longer following me. You too are everywhere at once. You follow only yourself. Then and only then will you know true fear! Look to where the footprints lead!¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 1:153-163


    We passed over what looked like a sapphire the size of an island, seeming more like the tip of some incomprehensible protrusion from the seabed than a floating object, so still it was upon the surface of the now-calm ocean. I tried to call it out but my breath caught in my throat. Noting my strangled gestures, the wizard informed me in a derisive voice that it was merely an iceberg, flipped over by last night¡¯s storms.


    Whatever he wanted to call it, the beauty of the giant sapphire was hardly lessened. The tips of its crags were frosted white, but the majority of its jagged facets gleamed azure, like the world¡¯s most complex shield-structure. The frozen waters clung to its razor-sharp coasts in a sheet, perfectly still, a black mirror extending out around the iceberg as a cloak.


    It wasn¡¯t an easy journey. Despite the speed with which we travelled, we could¡¯ve moved faster, I was certain of it. The wizard had done little to improve the comfort of the rock upon which we were draped, soaring across the ocean. Orcan Finfaltik, old and hale, spent most of the time thumbing through a very advanced-looking spellbook. Kirid Oanor, Emrelet¡¯s mirror-image, had thankfully replaced her hood, hunkering down on the edge of the flying rock we rode, and was staring off into Northril¡¯s depths as though she regretted her decision.


    Does she? I wondered. Volunteering to leave Telior and come to Mund seemed out of character for her ¨C not that I knew her, I supposed. A choice made in haste ¨C and reverted without difficulty, for one of her particular persuasion. Orcan¡¯s magic was doubtless better equipped to devour distances, but I had some idea of the wingspan she could reach. Returning home would always be on the cards for her.


    ¡°Well?¡± I raised my mental voice.


    ¡°Why not ask her?¡± the twins prodded in response, not even looking my direction.


    Why don¡¯t you just tell me?


    ¡°Because we know why you won¡¯t ask her. She isn¡¯t Em, you know, Kas. She¡¯s ¨C¡°


    I know that! I flared. She¡¯s ¨C


    ¡°She¡¯s not that old.¡±


    It¡¯s not just that!


    ¡°Hahaha! Oh, we know¡­ But you have to get over it. So what if she looks like Emrelet? Do you still care about her?¡±


    No!


    The lack of retort this time told me all I needed to know.


    Maybe! I don¡¯t know!


    ¡°But you aren¡¯t going back for her.¡±


    ¡­ No.


    ¡°We know. But you need to know it too.¡±


    I shook my head, then curled up in my robe, pulling my cloak about me like a blanket. Orcan was doing little to adjust the gusts of wind, it seemed, content to suffer the flicking top corner of his page ¨C but I didn¡¯t really mind the breeze as I tried to drift off. Its constant physical presence was almost soothing. My distractions were altogether internal in nature.


    I¡¯d expected the legion faces of strange ghosts to haunt my imagination. The tortured screams of my last remaining blood-kin. The wreck of Telior. Nafala¡¯s unidentifiable body, floating in the bay.


    No. What most held me from slumber was the claw of Mal Malas. Its descent into my flesh. His behemoth head with its hideous eyes, its gargantuan black crown. His hidden city of bone he¡¯d summoned and shaped on a whim while waiting for his hapless prey to come sauntering along ¨C


    I couldn¡¯t consider it now without shuddering, recoiling away from the memory, stumbling back like a drunk in a tavern only to reel into the same thought, same sequence of events, replaying before my conscious mind like the sick joke of a demented god.


    Because he knew, he knew, he knew! He predicted my choices! He knows me ¨C he moved me, like a Minion! I¡¯m just a link in a chain he¡¯s wrapped around the world. I ran from my destiny, and he knew it! He knew I¡¯d be weak ¨C he knew just where to find me. And I say I¡¯m not a Minion ¨C I think I¡¯m a piece with power, a Master of the board ¨C and I do what he wants, when he wants, how he wants¡­ How? How did he know? What eldritch predicted my decisions like that? He came to Telior within a matter of hours¡­ he had to have been on the way when I interrogated the vampire¡­ A link in his chain¡­ What he¡¯s doing ¨C what he¡¯s seen¡­


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    Ulu Kalar.


    I swooned. It all tied in together.


    Mal Malas is just Ulu Kalar¡¯s¡­ agent. He¡¯s Heresy wrapped up in a corpse¡¯s skin.


    My mind was a black stone hurtling down a hillside into darkness, too heavy to be stopped as it churned through the earth, ripping up the sod as it span. Yet as we sped on across the seas in silence, finally it happened. Sprawled back on the cold rock, I succumbed to the stupor, entering what should¡¯ve been a nightmare.


    And awoke, hours later, feeling deliciously numb. The Blind Eye of Kaile was almost fully-open, but he could barely peek through to the world below, the silver face of the moon obscured by endless flowing clouds.


    I managed to pull myself together enough to croak my thanks for my nightmare-less slumber, but as I glanced over I found them both asleep, curled up next to each other.


    I stared at them for a moment. Still only human. Still just children, as lost in the web of destiny as any of the rest of us.


    They were the only thing worth looking at. No more sapphire-islands came into view, no more anything. After so long, Northril itself was monotony. A new morning came, but it was dark even in the daytime as we sped over the open ocean. Sunlight, surprising in its warmth, came spearing down at times through the thick clouds overhead, glancing off the frosty, frothy waves like the pure heat-beam of a wizard.


    Like what she¡¯d done to me, after discovering me in grief beside my beheaded friend.


    But no meagre ray of light was enough to dispel the miasma hanging over us, the cloak of dismalness, of dismay.


    I was going home ¨C to do what? I was a pariah. My friends hated me¡­ The law would come for my head¡­ and Emrelet¡­


    It didn¡¯t even bear thinking about. I¡¯d never known her. She never loved me. What Tyr Kayn had done to her, to me¡­ It was beyond forgiveness.


    Not that you got much forgiving done, or avenging, missing a head.


    Poor Theor. Caught in the crossfire of a net of lies stretching far beyond any of us could¡¯ve seen, at the time. And it was hardly like he was the only victim, hardly like Everseer was the only spider straddling the web. Ripplewhim. A lowborn champion, given over for what crimes?


    I clenched my fist, imagining Henthae¡¯s throat there in my hand.


    Morning moved into afternoon. The more time that passed, the more I fancied that returning to Mund was a fascination bestowed upon me by my brother and sister, even if the thought had occurred to me before their¡­ change. And yet, the sheer fact that they permitted me such suspicions ¨C that meant they were okay, didn¡¯t it?


    They were it. They were the trump card. But could they protect me without breaking the law, without invading minds and changing opinions wholesale? The last thing I wanted was to install them as dictators. I didn¡¯t help rid the city of the dragon to replace her with a different telepathic tyrant. I did it in Nentheleme¡¯s name. I did it for freedom¡¯s sake.


    No I didn¡¯t.


    I did it out of fear. And I doubted Tyr Kayn had half the psychic strength of the twins. Their sheer genesis had held hundreds upon hundreds of dark elves in stilled stasis while my ghosts worked on them.


    When they eventually came into the fullness of their power¡­


    I laughed at myself inwardly, thinking of that hollow concept. I¡¯d tasted the fullness of my power, once or twice. When I gave in, and tapped that hidden ocean of rage I seemed to share with every archmage I¡¯d met. When they ¨C


    ¡°The three of you can¡¯t go on like this,¡± the twins said. Interrupting my thoughts. ¡°We can¡¯t do it for you ¨C we won¡¯t. We can help but¡­ you¡¯re all acting like children.¡±


    I looked at Jaid, then from her to Jaroan. Seeing the perfect symmetry of their expressions, I shivered ¨C not from the cold, and not for the hundredth time.


    ¡°Talk,¡± they said, their uncanny united voice carrying implacable undertones.


    ¡°Talk about what?¡± Orcan sneered, looking up with hard eyes from his spellbook. The thing was almost as weathered-looking as he was.


    It only took that short, sharp sentence to expose the rawness inside of him.


    ¡°You¡¯re upset,¡± I said, trying not to glance at the druidess. Whatever state the wizard was in, Kirid was clearly far worse-off.


    ¡°Upset?¡± He said it with a sneer. ¡°Of course I am upset. You shall hardly capture the depths of my despair with such a mean, a meagre word. Yesterday I saw my city destroyed. You think a wound like this will scar easily?¡±


    ¡°Well, it doesn¡¯t mean you need to generate a headwind.¡±


    ¡°I am not¡­¡± It took him a moment to master himself. ¡°I am not generating a headwind. But we are not needing to rush, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°We need to arrive before the next Incursion.¡±


    ¡°Which as you say yourself may have already happened, or may not happen yet for days, weeks, moons!¡±


    I had no answer for that. I looked down over the edge of the rock at the glassy waves.


    Has it already happened?


    Then, from out of nowhere, the druidess spoke up, her voice barely a murmur.


    ¡°Vot is Mundt like, zere?¡± she asked timidly. ¡°I have seen, ze globes¡­¡±


    I looked up, met her glittering eyes, and she fell silent.


    ¡°Silv, Sin-Aidre,¡± Orcan said, waving a hand dismissively.


    The beautiful woman instantly dropped her gaze to her hands, and twisted them in her lap. She suddenly looked as though she might start crying.


    No, she wasn¡¯t much like Em.


    ¡°I¡¯ll answer her question, thank you very much.¡± I glared at the wizard but he fixed his eyes back on the page of his spellbook. ¡°Mund¡­ It¡¯s a difficult one. There¡¯s a lot you can¡¯t see in the enchanters¡¯ toys, a lot they don¡¯t bother to capture¡­¡±


    She knew the great white walls, the spires of the temples, the unbelievable pinnacle of the Maginox ¨C but there was so much more. I started talking, and after a few moments the twins crystallised my words in images, fleeting but heart-rending.


    The Blackrush roaring, gleaming under a midnight moon. The yellow leaves of Hightown¡¯s avenues. The noise and laughter in the squares, the markets. The winding streets of Undernight, the busy bazaars.


    Slowly, I became acclimatised to the wonder of the vision they were crafting. ¡°I wonder if my brother and sister can do some of the smells,¡± I said, grinning.


    But when I blinked away the amazing images, I saw that Orcan and Kirid were still under their spell, staring blank-eyed across the empty seas, and the last thing I wanted was to ruin it now.


    The twins knew. They allowed the two Telese archmages a glimpse of what Mund was. What it would still be, continue to be, if we played our parts. If we let the sword of destiny loose to swing at our necks.


    I joined them, returning to the vision, enjoying it for what it was worth.


    Everything.


    Gods, I found myself praying, not naming any in particular. O gods above¡­ I don¡¯t ask for our lives. I just ask¡­ if we die¡­


    Let it be worth it. Let it be worth something.


    * * *

 Ascended and Ancient pt2

    My enemy hadn¡¯t used frost or fire. No eldritch-sword or destruction-spell claimed the lives of his victims. Making landfall at last, and catching a distant glimpse of Blackice Bay to our north as we angled past it towards the south, we would have had no cause for alarm. No smoke rose from smouldering roofs. None of the little figures in the fields were screaming for help, clutching at wounds.


    But the twins turned us around anyway with a simple phrase, made all the more ominous by the mandatory non-echo, the default double-voice they had to employ.


    ¡°No thoughts in the town.¡±


    And as we coursed high above the meadows, the sun illuminating those figures in the fields, my sense of alarm grew. They were lying down. All of them.


    They couldn¡¯t have been dead, surely? Not all of them¡­


    We were still farther out than I anticipated when my sorcerous senses began to confirm my worst fears, and I shuddered, adrift in my confusion.


    The twins¡¯ silence spoke volumes, and when Orcan swooped low with the rock, bringing us to earth in the centre of the little harbour-town, it didn¡¯t take too long to ascertain what had happened.


    I animated the corpses to gather them together while my bintaborax swiftly dug a temporary grave, but I wasn¡¯t going to be forced to bind a spirit to get my answers; there were more than enough ghosts pottering about. Three of them, in fact. Two proved far too deranged to make sense under my questioning ¨C they didn¡¯t understand Mundic or Netheric, it seemed, gibbering away unintelligibly as they patrolled random sections of the streets. Grimly, I waved them through doorways to the shadowland. However, there was an old transparent fisherman sitting at his wharf, seemingly incapable of noticing that the waves were lapping not only over his boots, but literally through them. He stared out to sea, blinking every now and again in a stuttering fashion ¨C not when the spray came up at his bearded, wrinkled old face, but at random intervals, like a misfiring response trapped in his memory, cursed to endlessly loop.


    I hovered out beside him, letting my own feet slide unfeeling into the chilly water.


    ¡°You look mildly sane,¡± I observed, shifting into his field of view. ¡°What happened here?¡±


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    I moved round further, until he was staring right through me. It probably didn¡¯t help that I was almost as transparent as him.


    ¡°What killed you?¡±


    The waves crashed. The gulls cried. If I closed my eyes, removing the ghost and the ghost town behind him from my sight, everything could¡¯ve been normal.


    But it wasn¡¯t. Nothing was going to be normal, ever again.


    I kept my eyes on him, searching him for a flicker of recognition.


    ¡°What happened here?¡± I pressed. ¡°What happened to you?¡±


    Nothing.


    It was only as I raised my left hand to tear open a hole between worlds that he reacted.


    ¡°It came over the sea,¡± he said in excellent Netheric, his voice clear but dispassionate.


    He was still staring right through me, at the black expanse of Northril.


    I slowly lowered my arm. ¡°A ship? A ship of bones?¡±


    He cringed then, as though he were about to burst into tears.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°What, then?¡± I didn¡¯t even think it looked like a dark elf attack ¨C unless they¡¯d had no need to use frostbolts on a little, undefended harbour-town like this one. They could¡¯ve come ashore, used magic to accomplish these murders¡­ ¡°If not them ¨C what? Who?¡±


    I supposed there were lots of options I hadn¡¯t considered. A sea-monster? A manifestation of a dark god?


    His cringe had faded; he¡¯d resumed his previous position, falling back into silence and resuming his distant stare.


    I shuddered, suddenly hating that we were trapped like this in our paltry existence, just waiting for our deaths to come and claim us, claim us and take us on to such an unforgiving afterlife.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He gave no sign that he heard my words and yet I had to say them. ¡°I¡¯m sorry what happened to you¡­ that it broke you. Your soul. You¡¯re not alone, you know? Heh.¡± I looked down at his feet, where the waves washed clean through his nethernal flesh, their gleaming surfaces rising up and surging forwards, falling down and receding¡­ ¡°One day, I suppose we¡¯ll all join you. May you find the Door quickly, old man. I¡¯ll give you the same advice I gave the other two ¨C it¡¯s not like I¡¯m an expert on the local terrain, but ¨C head inland.¡±


    I¡¯d located a natural seam, lying only a few yards away. I coaxed it closer with a gesture, and peeled Nethernum open.


    In the shadowland Northril was no sea, but rather an endless mist-filled pit, black lightning flickering deep within its clouds. This place, this bay, seemed like the edge of an impossible canyon descending down into madness.


    Woe to the drowned sailor, I supposed.


    I¡¯d almost swallowed him with the planar gate when he said it. The five words that brought context to everything. The five words that sent me racing back to the others, banishing my eldritches, Orcan finishing the grave crudely with a single gesture.


    ¡°Black smoke.¡±


    The old man said it without cringing, but some life returned to his face all the same. He met my eyes, seeing me for the first time, and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, true human emotion in his voice.


    ¡°Bones. With wings.¡±


    * * *

 Ascended and Ancient pt3

    ¡°We need to get better at eldritch minds. Especially nethernal ones. They¡¯re only a little bit different to ours. We should¡¯ve sensed the ghosts, if nothing else.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± I managed to say through clenched teeth, staring out at the mountains ahead of us.


    ¡°No way we can practice on the undead Kas has access to. They have the craziest minds¡­ But we could¡¯ve asked him to keep that old man, couldn¡¯t we? How much would something like that infringe on his freedom? He wasn¡¯t fully-formed yet on this plane. No evil in him. Would it be wrong to control him?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t have it both ways.¡± I tightened my one remaining fist; the force-tendrils extending from my stump started to coil and twist as if to emulate the gesture.


    ¡°It would be awesome to have access to a diviner. We should be able to make less mistakes then. And we could enhance them, maybe. If we can get a good glimpse at the future, maybe we can expand it in our memories, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°Guys.¡± I drew a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m trying to get a serious brood on over here. Can you not do that, you know, mind to mind instead?¡±


    ¡°Oh, sure. So, we might be able to capture details that ¨C¡±


    ¡°No, guys! I mean, between each other.¡±


    Finally in silence, I smiled despite myself. Whatever they¡¯d done to me ¨C whatever they were doing ¨C it was clearly working. The mountains ahead loomed blue against a clear, pale sky, and I thought I was almost looking forward to ¨C


    ¡°That goes for me too,¡± Orcan barked.


    ¡°And me!¡± Kirid said in a strangled voice.


    When the twins laughed, I laughed, and, in spite of the offended-looking Telese, it almost felt good.


    I spent the next several hours just waiting, letting my half-wraith state encapsulate me, hide me from the wind and rain more reliably than Orcan¡¯s spells. I dwelled on Mal Malas, going over the memories at a level of precision I¡¯d never before managed. The twins were helping me, letting me inspect the details such that I could scrutinise a single flapping scale on the dracolich¡¯s flank. The degree to which such mental activity was helping my overall emotional state, rather than hindering it, was dubious. I saw it, again and again in my mind¡¯s eye, the way he had brought his magenta sabre down, sundering all my defences at a single blow. There was fear in me, yes. But there was elation, too. I was finally feeling like myself again ¨C my old self.


    You have to be prepared.


    It sounded like the twins, but it spoke in my mind using my own voice, and I chose not to question it. At least, I hoped it was me choosing not to question it¡­


    I cast the twins a sidelong glance, and they winked at me in unison.


    I had no more shudders left. I just had to accept it.


    At least they are alive.


    More than once I thought I caught a glimpse of a purple tinge to the clouds ahead of us, but it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. When at last I did see a pinkish glow smearing the horizon, there was a perfectly natural explanation: the sun was setting over my right shoulder, and we were rising into the highlands, the mountains slowly becoming shapes graven in rock rather than shadows.


    ¡°What if he isn¡¯t out in front of us?¡± I blurted once the internal pressure became too much for me to take. ¡°What if he lied?¡±


    ¡°He toldt you he vould see you in Mundt, no?¡± Kirid asked. ¡°He vould lie at zis, you think?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I mean, I think we haven¡¯t gone over him, or close to him. But he can hide himself from me, from my magic, from all onlooking eyes probably¡­ He has at least one decent illusionist¡­ And if he went a different way ¨C he could¡¯ve sacked a different town ¨C¡±


    ¡°What he did to Blackice Bay, he did for you.¡± Orcan closed his spellbook smartly, sitting forward and rubbing at his back with both hands. ¡°You know this. It is so that you will follow. But he will not expect all three of us. Now, Kirid, my dear ¨C bring us a few birds, if you would be so kind.¡±


    The silent druidess complied, though I could tell from the look in her eyes that she still didn¡¯t entirely approve of this use of her power. She¡¯d seemed far more at ease hunting for us in her own osprey-shape, when we crossed Northril. Wordlessly, she summoned and entranced our evening meal; I looked on dubiously as Orcan carefully roasted the birds, and then I feasted on mountain-eagle for the first time.


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    I chewed mechanically ¨C even the twins couldn¡¯t improve the flavour much, apparently ¨C


    ¡°Will you stop doing that! We can hear you, but we are trying to learn how to butt out, and you aren¡¯t making it any easier! We can instinctively pick up thoughts about us. If you want it to taste like salted pork ¨C¡±


    It instantly changed on my tongue.


    ¡°¨C or boiled socks ¨C¡±


    I froze.


    ¡°¨C just you keep on the way you¡¯re going.¡±


    I chewed mechanically, keeping my thoughts to myself.


    I didn¡¯t need to trouble the others with my doubts. Orcan was right. It would be textbook Malas to invite me to chase him. And, in any case, Prince Deathwyrm had to remain a secondary concern. For all that he could lay waste to thousands, I couldn¡¯t make that my responsibility. I had to keep my eye on the goal.


    Getting to Mund. Stopping the madness before it started. I didn¡¯t want to add Xantaire and Xastur and Orstrum to my tally of dead family members. The list was quite long enough already. One Incursion was probably all it would take. And even if they survived, it wouldn¡¯t be mere thousands who would suffer. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Maybe millions. Who else would die? Would Hontor and his sons be amongst the dead? What about Salli Meleine? What about Emrelet?


    If not the demons, then Everseer¡­ or, just maybe, Malas¡¯s ancestors¡­


    Measured against them, the dracolich would be a mere annoyance. I had to think of him like that.


    As a stepping-stone. Part of my schooling.


    Once I finished my eagle breast, I finally sat down on the edge of the wizard¡¯s rock, dangling my feet over the mountainside we were currently scaling. The drop was a couple of hundred feet, but it was hard to get a grip on, what with the speed at which the ground beneath us was climbing up, the angle of our ascent ever-steepening.


    As we capped a rise, coursing suddenly over a lifeless stony gorge between two great pillars of rock, our angle flattened again. I dropped the left-over bone and gristle, letting it plummet, instantly dropping out of view behind us.


    The twins had finished first, rejecting more of the bird than the rest of us. Orcan was still eating noisily, eagle held nonchalantly in his right hand while his left worked the pages of his spell-lit spellbook. Kirid would be at hers for the best part of an hour, the way she was nibbling at it, methodically consuming every stringy tendon like one of those mad people who ate apple cores.


    ¡°What¡¯s the deal with Timesnatcher, then?¡±


    There were realities I had to face. This was one of them.


    When I looked to Jaid and Jaroan, they smiled and deflected it, turning their heads to the grizzled old wizard.


    Orcan swallowed his mouthful too quickly, and he almost choked, producing a horrible-sounding cough. ¡°What is he, to you?¡± he asked, sounding more curious than I¡¯d heard him in a long time. ¡°You are Feychilde. This means you knew him?¡±


    ¡°He was my friend.¡±


    The bitterness of the reply which found its way out of my mouth seemed to leave the implication clear.


    He was my friend¡­ once.


    ¡°From what I have heard, I would no longer look to him for friendship, Feychilde.¡± There was a kind of sneer on his face when he used my champion¡¯s name. ¡°It is said that when he laughs, it is as the laughter of fate itself, mocking all that transpires.¡±


    ¡°Tell him the rest,¡± the twins murmured.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Orcan¡¯s eyes suddenly sparkled. ¡°It is said no more champions step forward. That after ¨C I suppose it is, after your Everseer ¨C that Nightfell is the only one. And Timesnatcher now defers to Nightfell in all things. There is talk in the taverns of your home city. What spell has she put him under? Was it her, who has accomplished his downfall? And so many other of the champions have fallen. Glancefall, yes? He is dead. There is rumour that the killer ¨C Dreamlaugher ¨C¡±


    ¡°Dreamlaughter.¡±


    ¡°Yes! They say she killed him. Fangmoon was killed by the heretic, Higher Arch Nine or vhichever¡­¡±


    He was getting excited, his accent slipping.


    I was the opposite. I shrank into myself.


    Sol¡­


    So many times, she¡¯d saved my ass.


    She fixed me after Zyger! She¡­ Theor¡­


    I redirected my stare, fixing it blankly on the twins. I could feel tears welling up behind my eyes.


    They shook their heads sadly in unison.


    Why didn¡¯t they tell me?


    ¡°¡­ ze former champion, Stormsword ¨C¡±


    I swung my head back around.


    ¡°¨C slain on Magisterium business, on foreign soil. They held parades in her honour.¡±


    I felt the blood drain from my face.


    ¡°You knew her too, did you not? Slew many demons together, no?¡±


    He fell silent, looking plainly curious, no more cruelty on his face than there¡¯d been in his voice ¨C if anything, the old wizard just seemed thrilled to finally have his invitation to gossip freely without having to initiate the topic¡­


    He was completely ignorant of the loss of self I underwent.


    For just a moment, there was only a hair between the old shrivelled head of Orcan and the old shrivelled head of Shadowcrafter. The casualness with which he sliced me, pierced me, question after question, glance after glance, each one producing a wound in me he could never see, never understand. It was beneath the impassive exterior, the outer skin which was so swiftly transformed to ice, colder than any armour Winterprince ever wore. Even as he punctured my heart, the darkness enveloped me, the chill of Northril overcoming my willpower.


    Only a hair of difference between them.


    Only the head atop Orcan¡¯s shoulders.


    Despite his powers, I would¡¯ve found it so easy to cut him down then and there. It wouldn¡¯t have helped, though, would it? It would¡¯ve just been one more pointless death to lay at my feet.


    Emrelet¡­


    I couldn¡¯t even process the cascade of thoughts. The images, sounds. Scents.


    ¡°Vill you stay vith me? Just until ze dawn?¡±


    At least I know now why Jaid and Jaroan didn¡¯t say anything.


    And then their voices came to me, solemn and low:


    ¡°Our condolences, brother.¡±


    My voice was hoarse when at last I responded.


    ¡°Yes. Yes, I knew her.¡±


    * * *

 Ascended and Ancient pt4

    Night deepened. Bare mountain-peaks passed beneath me in the moonlight like rows of spears, as if daring me to fall upon them.


    Instead, I fell into a mercifully-dreamless sleep. When I awoke in the predawn twilight, I found I was the last one up. Thanks to the ministrations of the twins and a gesture from Kirid, I felt like I¡¯d had the best rest I¡¯d ever enjoyed, despite the roughness of sleeping here sprawled out on the stone.


    Beneath us, I saw the forested slopes and tilled fields of House Sentelemeth. Agormand proper. Our course should¡¯ve taken us close to Irontooth Gates, as I¡¯d imagined it, but I was hardly some master of geography, and I¡¯d been hoping to spot the landmark even if only from afar, if only to set my mind at ease. Now I¡¯d slept right through, and we were closer to home than I¡¯d expected.


    Just hours away.


    ¡°Master!¡±


    Pinktongue returned to my shoulder in a flash of flame, staggering everyone, even me. In his pale clawed fist he held the wrist of another imp, his fellow dangling by his arm. Pinktongue grabbed hold of the neck of my robe and flapped his wings to steady himself.


    ¡°Master, it has been seen! The Bilgebreath, he has seen it!¡±


    ¡°It?¡± I took Bilgebreath from him, to both of their relief, and stared at the mint-allergic imp. ¡°You saw the dragon?¡±


    ¡°Yes my Master!¡± he squeaked. ¡°The tail, the tail of the dragon entering the earth, where the paladins did go!¡±


    Even in these circumstances, he managed to fill the word with spite.


    ¡°Paladins?¡±


    ¡°P-paladins of Mund!¡±


    I cast a swift glance over the nonplussed faces of the others, then barked at him:


    ¡°Well¡­ where?¡±


    Bilgebreath, for his part, looked at Pinktongue desperately.


    I leaned aside so I could turn my head, look my messenger right in the glowing red eyes. ¡°Where, Pinktongue?¡±


    He licked his teeth.


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    ¡°Master¡­ Master I know not the name of the place, yet it has many roofs ¨C¡±


    I went cold inside. They¡¯d found Mal Malas, but didn¡¯t know how to identify ¨C


    ¡°¨C roofs clad in green and gold grasses, where it seems the ground has grown over the houses, or they have buried their homes ¨C¡±


    ¡°Hidden Hedge,¡± I said, and he fell silent instantly, fixing me with a hesitant, toothy little grin. ¡°Hidden Hedge!¡± I repeated, turning to Orcan. ¡°It¡¯s not far.¡±


    He shrugged at me from over the edge of his book.


    ¡°Double our speed!¡± I got my bearings and pointed, angling my arm towards the curve of the mountain-range, almost directly at the rising sun.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he huffed, though I felt the lurch as he adjusted the direction of our flying rock. ¡°I am moving us at maximum speed.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to have some more juice than this, come on!¡± I was filled with energy; the force-whips extending from my stump of a right arm were rigid, like branches caught in a hurricane-wind.


    A hurricane-wind Orcan seemed incapable of producing.


    He shrugged once more, and moved his eyes back to the page of his text.


    Kirid looked between us, and then back to the clouds, far off in thought¡­ but it wasn¡¯t her I had a problem with.


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame him,¡± the twins thought at me. ¡°He¡¯s more nervous than your imp there, believe us.¡±


    Okay. I shrugged my shoulders, knowing what I had to do. You can keep him on track, if I go out ahead with a flight-spell on me ¨C


    ¡°We know what you¡¯re planning. We understand your urgency. We¡­ won¡¯t stop you.¡±


    I felt the tension in that statement, and it gave me pause.


    But you want to.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t sure just how much you¡¯ll take on board what we have to say¡­ We aren¡¯t sure how much it¡¯ll help.¡±


    I looked down at the woodlands smearing past like paint in the wake of an artist¡¯s brush.


    You¡¯re afraid of damaging my confidence.


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    I smiled.


    Don¡¯t worry. You don¡¯t go into something like this weighing up odds, figuring out your chances. You just do the right thing. Live or die, it doesn¡¯t much matter.


    ¡°Mortiforn loves you, Kas.¡±


    The strangeness of this statement made me blink, look back up at their faces.


    Jaroan had his eyes closed, a tranquil expression on his features. It was Jaid whose gaze met my own.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fear it. You forget that while your thoughts and deeds lend shape to Materium, every helping hand and sinful whisper echoes across the eldritch planes, sculpting the future in ways you cannot begin to dream. Your soul, Kas. It may be many things ¨C you may be many things ¨C but impure isn¡¯t one of them.¡±


    I stared at my sister for a few moments, not quite knowing what to say, or even to think.


    Th-thank you.


    ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome.¡±


    My heart swelled in my breast, such that I thought for a moment I might die of it.


    I suppose¡­ I can wait. For the fight, I mean. I have some other things to prepare.


    ¡°Knock yourself out.¡±


    I already had Zab and the satyrs along for the ride, plus wraith-boy of course¡­


    A gesture summoned and ingested Blofm ¨C I had it down to an art-form now, and Orcan, whose inquisitive glare came beaming from over the edge of the book again, bore witness only to a flash of verdant energy.


    And then, throwing caution to the winds, I did the same with an ascended ancient.

 To Be Unbroken pt1

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9D: TO BE UNBROKEN</h2>


    ¡°Of all the small things that fly amidst the flowers, the bee alone was made by Lord Suffering. The bee sacrifices itself for the hive. Then, with his nephew¡¯s blessing, the wasp was made in mockery of the bee by Lord Undeath. The wasp stings, but doesn¡¯t die. It returns to sting again. Between the bee and the wasp lies all of good and evil. If you would use a sword, you must be prepared to fall upon it as the price of escalation. To go unprepared is to go in honour of the wrong god.¡±


    ¨C from the Glaivan Creed


    The room was low and dark, lit only by the glowing coals on the two hearths and a smattering of cheap candles. The curtains were drawn, the shutters locked down tight in case the squall became a storm. Durgil¡¯s nostrils told him that the near-black timbers from which this poor hall had been constructed were warping. His keen eyes, blessed with the geometric instincts of his kind, were easily able to pick out the defects in the structure despite the gloom. His hearing, no less acute than his sight, caught the dripping in the south-east corner where none had chosen to sit. By his reckoning the masters of this place had to start replacing the beams sooner rather than later, or risk the whole place collapsing ¨C and that was probably what they¡¯d been telling themselves for the last decade.


    He smiled beneath the beard, swirling his soup, inquisitive fingertips sensitive to the slight deviations in the battered tin spoon with which he¡¯d been provided by the tired-looking barman. The proprietors had served the food with a hunk of decent sour bread, but without cutlery, as though their guests were animals. When the stare of Durgil¡¯s leader finally brought thirty-seven spoons out of hiding, the dwarf could tell they¡¯d had to scour the kitchens for every last utensil. Lord Rael, one of the three chapter-masters, must¡¯ve been wearing his cloak in such a fashion that the golden emblems of his station upon his pauldrons were hidden, because the exhausted serving-man brought him a ladle, far beneath the dignity owed one such as him. A lesser knight-initiate, still new to the order, reached out and swapped his spoon for Lord Rael¡¯s ladle without an instant¡¯s hesitation ¨C an automatic act of loyalty which earned the youngster a moment of the lord¡¯s regard, Rael¡¯s cool elven gaze going out briefly to touch on the low-ranked knight. A glance the initiate never saw, his eyes downcast, fixed upon his grim meal ¨C but the look was not wasted. Many of the other knights witnessed Lord Rael¡¯s recognition of this simple deed.


    When one went without words, every speechless expression was magnified, every moment a cause for renewed brotherhood. Lordship within the Church was not something one inherited ¨C it was something earned, with blood and with devotion. None beneath Kultemeren could portend whether perhaps one day the memory of a swapped spoon might swing a vote, raise an extra hand in salutation, and make a lord of that thoughtful new knight.


    The thirty-six other members of Durgil¡¯s company, the Chapter of the Whisper¡¯s Predicate, sat about him, draining their own wooden bowls in tranquil silence. The peace of the scene was punctuated only by the occasional inadvertent grunt, the mercifully-dull tap of spoon on dish. Even the sky¡¯s song had dimmed, the Birdlord¡¯s voice lost to the vast distances of the heavens. Now the only sound from outside was the transparent moaning of the long grasses that coated the slopes, a dirge given to the night.


    Those here not of his company ¨C few in number by comparison ¨C kept to the same silence as the brethren, nothing more than slurps and the rare belch escaping their lips. Not due to oath, or duty, but fear. Few of the faithful could endure their presence without hushing. And, whatever these vagrant souls huddled in the corners thought about themselves, they remained faithful. Lies passed their lips ¨C oh, how often the common man would sink into deception ¨C and yet they retained the warning, burning in their minds. They knew that lying was wrong. And that was enough.


    If they didn¡¯t respect the Ultimate Judge¡­ if they enjoyed deceit¡­ the markers of vengeance would hang over their heads. It had been some time since he¡¯d last seen one such marker clear-enough to his eye that his vows compelled his hand to action. But the Knights of Kultemeren were exempt from the laws of men. Just three times, in a career spanning forty years, had his broadsword drawn itself, gleaming with the white fire as it hewed into the bodies of mortals. It was so surprising, shocking, when it happened by chance on the city-streets. A cultist, a hidden heretic of one stripe or another, striding past him on his patrol about the grounds. Then there was the trinket-seller peddling cruel little traps as children¡¯s toys. And, of course, the fourteen-year-old human girl, standing on a kerb and balefully staring out into the teeming street in South Lowtown.


    That last one ¨C that had left him shaken. He could still remember the incandescent rage filling him as he saw the incontrovertible miasma about the girl, red energies swirling atop her black, close-cropped hair like a crown of hell¡¯s own making. He had no idea what she was entertaining in her mind, and the actions of her grief-wracked father and brother in the immediate aftermath could offer him no insight to make sense of the ordeal. There was no report from the local watch or magistry, as was commonplace. No explanation.


    But as much as he could remember the rage, he could remember the lack of resistance offered by her spine as he chopped her down, taking her head without warning. The white light, clinging about the blade, an unspoken, unspeakable reassurance. That his target would be punished. That it was deserved.


    There were many witnesses. Other children saw it, and he glimpsed their onlooking eyes as he cast about the crowd, even as the girl¡¯s body toppled. A silence like his own settled over the entire road, before people started running.


    Few ¨C exceedingly few ¨C ran towards the girl¡¯s remains. Most fled him ¨C a few, at first, until the panic took hold and they flooded into doorways and alleyways, anywhere to escape the vengeance of a wrathful god. And Durgil understood. So long as the warning burned in their minds, his deed was justifiable. Justified.


    It was small wonder the others who¡¯d been sitting there since the knights entered, drowning their miseries or escaping a humdrum existence at the bottom of a beer-keg, had barely stirred. Only one had dared leave. The others settled in to wait, ordering top-ups with gestures.


    Did they not know that, should judgement have been their due, it would have already been enacted, the toll of retribution immediately exacted, their corpses left to cower in the corners?


    No, they evidently didn¡¯t, and it was beyond Durgil or any of his fellow knights to express it in a form that seemed courteous. It occurred to him that he could just spare them the distress, stand and face them, pointing his mail-encased arm at the door until they slid from their seats and departed in silent gratitude¡­


    But that would¡¯ve been too assuming. Better to let one of the lords make such a move, if the situation called for it.


    He half wished one of the lords would retire politely to his room, so that Durgil could follow suit. He definitely wasn¡¯t a big fan of the chicken broth. For all that water was tasteless, it overpowered the flavourful chunks of meat with its blandness. The carrot-slices were hard despite their thinness, the onions still crunchy and acidic. Usually half his soup ended up coating his stupendous beard as he slaked his hunger and thirst simultaneously ¨C the chefs at the Church of Truth had access to the best produce in the world, donated to the Chapter-Houses by Agormand¡¯s richest, those with the most to spare. Here, in this lowly tavern-hall some miles north of Hidden Hedge, there were no such luxuries to be enjoyed. The peasants didn¡¯t even have dwarf-sized chairs! The issue was not one so much of height ¨C most dwarves weren¡¯t much shorter than adolescent humans ¨C but, rather, one of stature. Durgil was forced to squeeze his wide, sturdy frame between the two arms of the chair in which he was ensconced, and he wasn¡¯t alone. His fellow dwarf, Sir Vanfrad, remained lithe and virtually belly-less by dwarven standards despite his obvious stoutness ¨C yet even the younger dwarf looked uncomfortable to Durgil¡¯s eyes. Each of them surely would¡¯ve taken a space at one of the benches instead, had the choice presented itself. But as senior knights they¡¯d been motioned into proper chairs, placed near to the leaders.


    Longevity went a long way to securing the nobility of a high office. In that regard, members of the elder races held the advantage. In battle-hardiness, too, though this inevitably meant they often found themselves at the forefront during Infernal Incursions. Demons caused the most attrition in the ranks. That aside, the town-criers said this was one of the longest periods of stability Mund had ever enjoyed, and Durgil happened to agree with them. He was ninety-four, and his memories of his twenties and thirties were no more accurate than an elderly human¡¯s would¡¯ve been ¨C the impressions remained, the bite of veracity removed from them, like the taste of yesterday¡¯s breakfast.


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    A jostle with his womb-brother, Grimgil, wrestling in the mud together. A flash of copper in the sun as Bronyaka, his long-lost love, tossed her head defiantly.


    Little else of note, before the Church.


    Yet when he considered his long years, he couldn¡¯t remember a peace like it. Over five months. Five months, with no masterless imps setting fire to his beard, no foot-long claws trying to tear at the rim of his shield. Weeks of stability, in which to train fresh initiates, test their readiness with combat practice.


    No masterless imps ¨C but the long-standing relationship between the Church of Truth and the sorcery-schools did permit for the use of eldritches in field exercises. No demon could be called into the earthly dimension for this purpose ¨C no rift between Materium and the dark planes was ever excusable, and should the summoners¡¯ misdeeds turn upon them in the end, leaving them devoured to the core by the very things they sought to usher through, Durgil would not be saddened to hear of it.


    Yet, the execution of that entity which had already been brought to Mund by infernal means for another purpose now served ¨C this, this was permissible. Such execution was an act to be revered, even.


    Deep in the bowels of the Chapter-House fortifications, far below the streets of Hightown, in the heart of the sacred hills of Mund ¨C there Durgil had presided over the destruction of hundreds of foul hellspawn, enduring their ceaseless shrieks, their stomach-churning visages. It was somehow worse, to see them chained, see them brought in one by one for the slaughter. Not that he had ever entertained any doubts as to the righteousness of his cause ¨C oh, no. If anything it was quite the opposite. He merely felt that the demon-slaying was robbed of its potential glory. Watching an initiate dancing around his first obbolomin like it was going to explode in his face ¨C it was demeaning.


    It was all done to serve the cause. The initiates had to know in advance what they were getting themselves in for, had to see for themselves the ugliness of the underworld, so as to not give in to the fear when the moment came, hesitate at a critical moment and watch the whole company come undone. Yes, the Incursions would return. He had little doubt it would be worse than ever when they did. And, in the meantime, there were other duties given to them by their Lord God. Such as their current quest.


    They¡¯d arrived in the third hour of the night, rain streaming off their cloaks and the flanks of their steeds. Many of the hamlet¡¯s inhabitants had come to the front porches of their ramshackle dwellings, staring in wonder at the armour-clad knights as they trotted past, the long pennants atop their spears displaying the pure-white sigils of the god against a night-blue field. According to the records, it¡¯d been four years since an embassy from the Knights came to these parts ¨C and that had been to aid the local constabulary in combating a cultist uprising. It was small wonder these people beheld their heraldry with awe-filled eyes. Small wonder they expressed fear, seeing so many of the paladins, the sudden presence of the holy warriors unexplained.


    Durgil¡¯s cloak bore the white dragon, the fiercest of Kultemeren¡¯s forms. And an ironic one, given their mission.


    The innkeeper had started by asking their leader, Exalted Chapter-Master Lord Ghelliot, a whole host of questions. ¡°Your Lordship ¨C you ride from Mund?¡± ¡°You and your men ¨C you¡¯re wantin¡¯ to stay?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll¡­ be wantin¡¯ somethin¡¯ to eat, I suppose¡­ and your horses¡­¡±


    As the questions continued and the silence lengthened, Lord Ghelliot¡¯s austere face not moving a muscle, the innkeep¡¯s voice shrank away until finally he was just muttering instructions to himself, already rushing off to begin his tasks.


    Where the Knights of Kultemeren went, the truth followed. The man couldn¡¯t help but understand their need, even when faced with their silence.


    When Lord Ghelliot finally stood, followed at once by Lord Rael and Lord Shebril, there was a collective sigh of relief.


    The exhausted barman had been replaced with an even more exhausted-looking woman, her old eyes flashing pink as they caught the candlelight. She showed Durgil and three of his companions into a rickety room: it appeared the four of them were to share a space no larger than a penitent¡¯s cell, replete with two narrow cots. He didn¡¯t much care. Poor-quality food irritated his dwarven soul, and the ladle fiasco offended his sense of propriety ¨C but the hardship offered by sleeping on the floor was something he relished. He hadn¡¯t actually been planning on sleeping anyway.


    In turn, each of the three humans insisted on gesturing him to a bed, and he was forced to look them in the eyes one by one. He was a chapter champion, and he understood their reticence to overstep their boundaries ¨C yet he knew these lads, and they knew him. He drew his broadsword, Glaimborn, forged just for him, and went to put his sturdy back to the door. He placed Glaimborn¡¯s tip into a groove in the warped wooden planks beneath his boots, leaned back against the barrier, and folded his hands upon the sword¡¯s cross-piece.


    Even his trio of human brothers, weaker of flesh than he, found it hard to reach sleep this night. As soon as the last candles were extinguished a spring storm arose, the blasts of Orovon¡¯s bottomless pipes setting the whole tavern to shuddering.


    Durgil was no cave-dwelling dwarf in ancestry. His folk were the hill-peoples, and the wind spoke to his soul. He didn¡¯t shudder with the structure. His breath slowed, and he closed his eyes, rolling with the motions.


    Redeem me in truth, O Hallowed Rectitude! Father of Sincerity, empty me of all inward-turning desire ¨C empty me that I might lose my inhibition, my compulsion. There is no freedom in impulse; the unicorn is chained to its desire, and knoweth not the bliss of choosing duty. Lord of Retribution, I wield the white fire as your weapon, and persist in your name for so long as your hand would grip me!


    As he formed the thoughts, the familiar warmth filled him, utterly unlike any touch of sunlight, beginning in the bone-marrow and working its way outwards.


    His brethren prayed with him. He knew it.


    Almighty, Eternal Onlooker, cleanse me of my impurity. Cleanse me that your light might shine the clearer through me. I will not reflect; I will not refract; I will not will. Allow my purification, and I¡­


    I¡­


    A bleak vista greeted his inner eye. A cavern, as broad as it was long, vast beyond the imaginations of humans ¨C an immensity of open darkness such that even Durgil¡¯s dwarven dreams had scarcely the scope for it. Yet it was the fodder of nightmare, not dream. At first the towers appeared to be stalagmites, but that first impression was only momentary. The hundreds of little streets resolved in mortifying detail, the inner eye swooping closer without his consent.


    He knew what it was he saw. He gritted his teeth.


    Undeath.


    Durgil had not experienced the quest-vision. That had been the purview of the Church Prophets, and the meaning of prophets¡¯ dreams had been conveyed to the chapter by Lord Ghelliot with a single action: the unfurling of a banner, the white dragon emblazoned there as it was upon Durgil¡¯s own cloak. They had understood ¨C this time, the sigil signified their foe. The mad witch who spoke a dozen lies a minute to each and every corner of the holiest city in the world ¨C


    The mad witch had been right about one thing.


    Dragons. They were coming.


    And the Whisper¡¯s Predicate was going forth to do battle with one.


    Foresight was the keenest edge in all their arsenal. The god¡¯s sight outstripped that of Everseer or Timesnatcher a thousandfold. No one else would interfere in this holy work, nor know enough to propose such an endeavour. Kultemeren saw all, and that was the truth. Nothing was left for the individual paladin but the execution of his part. Through their piety, Kultemeren handled the heavy lifting himself. Their personal prowess was more to be found in wisdom than sinew, and while the two tended to go hand in hand, it was not unheard-of for a man, dwarf, or even elf in his dotage to enter the battlefield as a divine tempest, providing his vows of silence still went unbroken.


    It was the purview of the Knight to place himself in the right place at the right time ¨C that was all.


    Despite not enjoying the same insights as the prophets, it was common-enough for the brethren of the knightly orders to experience their own visions. As Durgil looked with closed eyes upon this sunken metropolis of restless creeping fingers, he thought at first that he alone saw what he saw.


    But the warmth never wavered. The feeling of companionship never faded.


    Nigh unprecedented, for them all to simultaneously share the god¡¯s oracular blessing like this. Still, it could not be denied. The dry tinkling of hollow bones, magnified to the crash of a wave as battlements formed about the unholy town, echoing back at him from the halls of his brothers¡¯ minds, louder than any spring storm.


    Femur-trees sprang up in courtyards, stretching their leafless frames towards the cavern¡¯s shimmering blue ceilings and shivering in the stifled air as though touched by a wind that could not exist. A dome of skulls took shape before his eyes, as grand and lofty as any Hightown had to offer, yet with the palpable aura of a hulking monstrosity, a macabre imitation of dark elf shipbuilding, perfected to a form of unholy architecture.


    Why, Kultemeren? The thought was not intended to be a prayer, yet he knew that the Lord God or his agents would hear. Why must we see this?


    There was no answer; only the slowly changing landscape before them as the night wore on.


    Not one Knight of the Whisper¡¯s Predicate slept more than an hour that night.


    It could only have been necessary.


    It could only have been the truth.


    No answer. No insight. No battle-plan. No glimpse of their foe. Nothing changed, except the ongoing construction, the bones moving into place, million by tinkling million.


    What did it mean?


    What does it mean?


    Trapped in the question, Durgil kept his watch, waiting for sunrise.


    And the only resolution came in the last moment, the last heartbeat of the vision:


    An unseen woman¡¯s Westerman voice, gentle but insistent, speaking a single word clearly to them all.


    ¡°Hurry.¡±


    * * *

 To Be Unbroken pt2

    Dawn couldn¡¯t have come early enough, but, for all that it came sooner each day, it felt like the night had lasted a thousand years. Everyone got up once the sky¡¯s blackness started to soften to blue-grey patches, the novices heading out to the stables in groups to rub down the horses, feed and water them, while the elders took the first turn at breakfast. Durgil just took a chunk of bread with butter and went out into the mist to join the squires and speed the whole process up.


    Now he was just glad to be astride his charger, Thistlefoot, his boots back in the shortened stirrups once again. He didn¡¯t get enough chance to be in the saddle, but the aches and pains were old, familiar friends. He rode near the head of the column where they could go three or four abreast on the path, just two rows behind the chapter-masters. The mists coming off the meadows quickly lifted away in the warm morning air. The paladins followed the route as it climbed above wild, gorse-coated fields, and when the hedges fell beneath the high roadway, Durgil could finally see the fruit-growers in their vineyards, the walls of the distant quarry where all the thumping was coming from.


    His brothers riding about him were stony-faced, the humans of the company looking a little fatigued by the last night¡¯s mental exertions: the vigour of the Judge should¡¯ve filled them, endowed them with divine strength as they pursued his holy goals, but after the ordeal of the excruciating three-hour vision, they¡¯d stirred from their bed with red eyes, weak knees. Lord Rael and the other elves seemed paler than usual, and their braid-bound hair seemed almost to have dimmed in hue, from gold to copper or silver to grey. Only Durgil¡¯s dwarven fellows maintained their stalwart exteriors. He knew it was a vain thought, and beneath his dignity, but he hoped his eyes were as clear as Sir Vanfrad¡¯s.


    Before mid-morning, Lord Ghelliot steered Floodmane abruptly to one side ¨C but he wasn¡¯t halting. He was leading them off the road, walking his steed calmly towards a thicket-choked hillock. As the company¡¯s leader came about, Durgil caught a sight of his face. The reassuring coldness of his facial expression was there, the impassive detachment which was his signature ¨C but he¡¯d never seen the lord look so drawn, so troubled.


    Like reverse brickblood, he caught it by looking, feeling the dread permeate his own features, feeling like fear was now something that could be sanctioned ¨C


    He was tempted to look aside, check whether he¡¯d caught Vanfrad¡¯s gaze ¨C but no. He kept his face forward, and kept his eyes down on his reins.


    I¡¯ll not turn away, he thought. I trust in your Judgement, Father. He raised his eyes, fixing his gaze on Lord Ghelliot¡¯s streaming pennants. I trust, until the end.


    It started to get hot, and when they took a break to water the horses Durgil unclipped his cloak, replacing it with the lightweight cape from Thistlefoot¡¯s pack. It was against regulation for him to shed more of his armour than his helm while he was out on an expedition, and, in fact, not one of them had yet donned their ceremonial helmets; he had to wear the cloak or the cape at all times, unless he was within the monastery sanctum. Thankfully the choice as to which was left to him. Glancing around, he noted he wasn¡¯t the only one replacing his rain-cloak with a more-fitting alternative. Fighting a dragon would call for going lightweight where possible, being ready to react quickly to dangers as they appeared. It wasn¡¯t going to call for extra warm clothing.


    He gave Thistlefoot a bonus biscuit and a grateful pat on the rump while he stowed the cloak in the pack, tying the straps down tight.


    To me, you are as I to them, he told the old courser silently. Better able to bear the burdens.


    He was offered an initiate¡¯s assistance in getting back in the saddle, as sometimes happened in situations like this ¨C most of the new boys had never seen him outside the city walls before. He snorted, waving the fine young man aside, and sprang up onto Thistlefoot¡¯s back with the practised ease of an experienced rider, the agility of a dwarf in the prime of his faith.


    That earned Durgil an admiring look or two, ridding the haunted expressions from a couple of young faces.


    They always underestimated the leg-strength of dwarves, he found.


    They¡¯d been picking their way uphill through the treeline for almost an hour, following the banks of a stream clogged with willows and limes, but now the undergrowth was too thick for the mounts to proceed. The sun was high, Kaile the Protector smiling down benevolently, as Lord Ghelliot threw his leg across Floodmane¡¯s back and dismounted on the true edge of the forest. The wind stilled had stilled to a hushed murmur, but when the knights of the company followed suit, slithering from their mounts with all the subtlety of thirty-seven bags of coins spilling to the ground, the voice of Orovon rose up, the leaves and branches crashing and crying in response. Durgil took it as a sign from the gods of light: the chapter was acting on celestial command, watched-over and guided on every step of the journey. Though the Knights worshipped Kultemeren, it was not an exclusive relationship. They revered every Power of Celestium equally. But just as a man might have only one woman in matrimony, a man had to choose to give himself to just one of the gods. No minister permitted in the walls of Mund spoke for more than a single deity, on pain of death. That was as the gods willed it. Those divisions certainly didn¡¯t stop them from all joining together in a single endeavour, to aid their Father¡¯s mortal children now in their quest.


    The paladins took down their battle-packs, and wordlessly went on foot through the spiky bushes, Durgil bearing Dwimmerfoe upon his left forearm, the blessed diamond shield which was one of three such defensive relics owned by the chapter. Within seconds the sticky green tendrils started as they meant to go on, snaring their capes, fastening to any exposed scrap of fabric, looping awkwardly about Dwimmerfoe¡¯s points. With swords sheathed to save their edges, the company of knights battered their way through the endless walls of scrub, only pausing to catch their breath as they came briefly into small, weed-tangled clearings.


    Durgil no longer felt so certain when they reached the lip of a crevasse, acrid smoke pouring from the open earth like steam from a geyser. He suddenly felt like he was being watched, as though a demon were hanging invisible above his head ¨C but when he cast about his keen senses imparted nothing out of the ordinary.


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    It was not water boiling down there in the darkness, but something far fouler brewing, the taste of it like bitter berries on his tongue and in his nostrils. The knights were fortunate to bear the blessings of their patron, their bodies inviolate, immune to the vagaries of health which so afflicted other men. Durgil fancied his dwarven constitution would¡¯ve seen him through without it, but the humans and elves might not have been so lucky.


    After two passes about the rim the feeling of being observed lessened, and he judged that the northerly edges of the zig-zagging opening in the earth seemed the shallowest, with the easiest slope by which to traverse the yawning, vaporous blackness below. He pointed as Lord Ghelliot regarded him, and started moving back around the crack, watching his footing on the uneven ground. He heard his brethren pooling behind him, following the same exact route.


    Just as he came within twenty yards of the riven stone ramp by which he intended to head down into the pit¡¯s depths, two figures emerged, climbing out of the column of mist ahead of him. They were identifiable before they stepped out of the swirling gasses; the man¡¯s shadow alone was enough to force recognition, and the woman cast none, her radiance alone clarifying her fellowship with the knights.


    It was her voice we heard, Durgil realised. O, Kultemeren, thank you for delivering us. Thank you¡­


    ¡°The Order of the Whisper¡¯s Predicate?¡± Kanthyre Vael asked, then, seeming to realise how foolish she was being, smiled warmly. ¡°Welcome, brothers. We¡¯ll be glad of your aid.¡±


    Her husband, Phanar ¡®of N¡¯Lem¡¯ (whatever precisely that was supposed to mean), cut an imposing figure in his burnished armour and high helm, his wolf-pelt cloak. He kept his own silence, regarding the paladins critically. But despite the differences in size and frame between the two dragonslayers, the High Healer of Wythyldwyn was no less intimidating than her husband to one who knew of her. The mace at her belt was the same as Durgil had seen before when she¡¯d worn it in public: bands of gold metal and azure stones were interlaced, spiralling up the handle, and the spiked sphere on the head of the shaft was pulsing with a soft amber light bespeaking its potency. The young woman wore her own coat of shining mail, built and belted for its protective properties with no eye to vanity, accentuating rather than hiding her lush, heavy frame. Along with her fiery hair, she was the true visage of a battle-maiden ¨C a battle-bride ¨C and Durgil knew it for a fact that had he lacked the detachment of his station he would have, of all humans, dreamed of this one.


    ¡°The fog won¡¯t affect you, I assume?¡± the Exalted of Wythyldwyn said, gesturing at the noxious vapours billowing up just behind her. Her eyes crossed him, to settle on another target behind him, surely one of his superiors. ¡°I¡­ I hope not, it would blind most men in minutes of even mild exposure, and kill them in¡­¡±


    Her voice dropped away. Uncertainty twisted her features.


    Durgil glanced back and noted Lord Rael in motion.


    The lithe elf-knight was moving through the ranks of his fellows with the uncanny grace of his particular kindred, and when he vaulted a mossy boulder to come to the front rank of the paladins he twisted like an acrobat despite his armour, putting to shame any hopes Durgil previously fostered to impress the initiates with his own agility. He somersaulted over the foremost brothers, and in his gauntleted hand ¨C


    Phanar stepped in front of Kanthyre only at the last moment, the gladiator¡¯s sword snaking through the air to catch and turn aside the paladin¡¯s, deflecting the blow the elf aimed at the cleric¡¯s throat.


    The light-arc of Lord Rael¡¯s sword still burning in his vision, Durgil felt Glaimborn¡¯s grip in the coarse leather lining of his gauntlet, and he smiled grimly, crunching the heel of his boot into the earth and rooting it there. Under the radiance of the chapter-master¡¯s attack, everything was made plain. Lord Rael¡¯s vision was clearer that of the lesser knights.


    The moment the sword was turned aside, everything changed.


    Kanthyre Vael and Phanar of N¡¯Lem ¨C they were suddenly strange, dimensionless entities to Durgil¡¯s eye. The dragonslayers¡¯ outlines were no longer filled with colour and texture, but with racing black clouds, the images distant, somehow, as if seen from a great remove, and far darker in hue than the vapours coiling up behind them. Indigo lightning danced about inside the borders shaping their false forms, flickering across the remote-seeming storm-clouds and crashing down their extremities, as the illusory creatures reacted to Lord Rael¡¯s wrathful onset.


    The Phanar entity had responded more quickly than the knight appeared to have anticipated, and even the parrying-stroke threw the paladin off his balance ¨C Phanar¡¯s dark, empty hand reached up and caught the chapter-master by the front of his helm.


    The illusion¡¯s turbulent, flickering fingers sank through the steel and into the elf¡¯s skull.


    Silent but for their footfalls, two of the youngest knights at the forefront surged to aid their lord, but Durgil and the others just behind held their ground. The chapter champion kept Dwimmerfoe and Glaimborn readied, and started casting about for other threats.


    The Kanthyre entity, now poised behind her protector and assailant with her head-shape turned towards the two onrushing initiates, raised her void-mace and pointed it at them.


    The indigo fire crackled down her arm, her weapon, and burst free into the air, stretching and forking out to blast the ignorant pair.


    Despite their rashness, they were Knights of Kultemeren. They might never have faced this type of foe before, but they would learn their lessons from this encounter, and their natural instincts compelled them to ignore the nethernal lightning, brute-force through it, which was precisely what would be required to sap at the illusion¡¯s strength.


    The fire passed harmlessly through their armour, their bodies, sputtering out behind them.


    And Lord Rael never needed any help.


    The tall elf reached up with his free hand and took Phanar¡¯s forearm in his gauntleted fist. He overpowered the thing, pulling its fingers free of his face, and simultaneously brought his blade up into the entity¡¯s midriff.


    Phanar parried it but, this time, the whole chapter disbelieving, his scintillating weapon was like a stick of butter before the master¡¯s own glittering sword.


    The keen edge of the blade ripped Phanar in two, and the elf¡¯s gauntlet closed, shattering the illusion¡¯s wrist. Suddenly, the black creature¡¯s outline was falling apart, drifting about on unseen eddies.


    The first of the young knights to reach Kanthyre shoulder-charged right through her, dissolving her where she stood.


    The lad went flat on his face, and when he sat up and looked around, one of the first whose eyes he met was Durgil.


    The dwarf gave him a thumbs-up, and the boy grinned, wiping off his cloak as he got back to his feet.


    Durgil strode past him, looking down into the broiling mist.


    Was that trap designed for us?


    There was no answer, but he could breathe in the fumes without sensing any untoward effects, any uneasy feelings. In that at least the illusion had told the truth.


    No. Unless it were a trap designed more to lull one into a false sense of security¡­ Designed to persuade us that the dragon expects a different interloper. An interloper incapable of seeing through such lies.


    If this dragon they sought was smart, perhaps it knew of the Red Harlot¡¯s escapades in their city. Durgil had seen Lovebright up close with his own two eyes and had been none the wiser. Maybe this drake had itself been lulled into a false sense of security, thinking the paladins weak, when in fact their failure with regard to the interloper was only a sign of Tyr Kayn¡¯s extreme puissance.


    He was ten steps into the thick vapours, half-blinded and guided only by divine instinct, when he realised:


    Yet, if not Kanthyre¡¯s¡­ whose was the voice beckoning us to hurry?


    * * *

 To Be Unbroken pt3

    No dream had captured reality. No vision had shown him truth. That much, at least, became plain.


    Descending through clouds of poison into the underbelly of this untouched forest, Durgil might have expected to find the way difficult, even for a dwarf. He brandished Glaimborn at the ground beneath his feet as he led the way, and the holy blade shed its starry illumination, cutting through the fog and darkness alike. But as the minutes passed he found no particularly treacherous footing. They left the smoky fissures behind, and soon the passage was almost pleasant. Several of the initiates bore coils of rope in their packs or slung across their shoulders, hooked from pauldron to sword-sheath. None of it proved necessary. This chasm ¨C it was inviting. Where the slope was precipitous, shallow stairs had been cut into the rock on either side, as if to better facilitate the transit of large groups. If he hadn¡¯t known better, Durgil would¡¯ve said this was the site of an ancient mine, the signs on the surface long eroded, tracks and the foundations of surface buildings buried beneath tons of foliage. Yet this was no ancient mine. There were no such tracks, no cellars to excavate. The steps were recently-cut ¨C he could tell just from the smell. This was no matter of millennia, centuries, even decades. There was dust in the air that could¡¯ve lasted days, weeks at most, especially given the moisture in the space.


    This place was prepared for their arrival.


    Each step brought him closer to the understanding: as much as the church prophets had seen, their enemy had seen more. The cunning of a dragon could not be underestimated, especially one endowed with the sorcerer¡¯s powers. Could it have been that, somehow, their prey desired the same conflict? That it thought it could prevail? Against Knights of Kultemeren, experts in combating all forms of nethernal and infernal creatures?


    There could be only one solution. Kultemeren had somehow lulled it into a false sense of security. It had provided them with an illusory obstacle, with Kanthyre and Phanar, thinking it was drawing them in with such a pathetic opposition. It had employed its servants in shaping this place for their access¡­


    But the voice? Where did the voice come from?


    Then Durgil rounded the final bend, clambering across a slick boulder and through a natural archway in the rock. He saw it, and froze, the breath catching painfully in his breast.


    Iridescent blueworm covered the ceilings of the galleries. Azure brilliance painted the smooth-carved walls, but the bands of turquoise and teal were split by layers of vivid tangerine where Glaimborn¡¯s radiance touched it. Shafts of shadow seemed to ripple like curtains as the blueworm flickered on and off in waves, momentarily dimming, darkening, until the next wave caught them and they slowly brightened once more, lighting upon the pale walls and turrets of this enormous, sunken sepulchre.


    His footsteps didn¡¯t falter ¨C there was just the one moment of hesitation as he beheld the necromantic fortress which represented the climax of their quest. Then he continued on his way, hearing the thuds of his fellows¡¯ boots behind him, and found himself wondering if they too paused at the sight. It was impossible for even Durgil to tell from the sounds ¨C they were too many.


    Was I the only one who failed to see the¡­ beauty of this place in the dream?


    He couldn¡¯t have been. A quick glance over his shoulder as he was flanked let him catch a look at Lord Rael¡¯s harrowed visage. The elf¡¯s lips were pursed, the almond-shaped eyes wide and watery.


    Fear.


    Durgil turned back around to face the open doors of the deathly city, and set his jaw. Even Lord Rael could fear ¨C Durgil knew that now. It didn¡¯t matter one jot. The long-legged chapter-master might¡¯ve been afraid, but that didn¡¯t stop him from overtaking the dwarven knight as the way broadened and the ground evened.


    The elf provided an example to them all.


    Pain is a teacher; fear is a guide. Through you shall we learn to put lesson into context. Through you shall we learn when not to follow, but lead.


    It was a catechism of the Church, one that he had long since come to believe he¡¯d surpassed. His vow of silence was part of that. Spiritually-speaking, he was pure. He had no longer any need for teachers and guides, those agonies and horrors which afflicted less-fortunate souls. He was ascended. Consecrated in every parcel of flesh, every wordless action.


    So it was that he railed internally for almost a minute, as they drew closer across the turquoise-lit floor. He couldn¡¯t deny it. He¡¯d faced dozens of hell¡¯s denizens in life-or-death situations, been blasted and clawed and scorched and bitten. But now ¨C here, in this serene blue silence ¨C he was frightened.


    He didn¡¯t stop, but, ever so slightly, he slowed. He slowed.


    His brothers surrounded him as they passed him by, and he was a few ranks behind Lord Rael as they passed beneath the great archway of the bone-built city ¨C as they placed the boots that did not thud, but crunched instead. Beyond the pale walls were pale courtyards connected by winding streets, and row after row of pale, empty houses. Looming over the landscape, leaning strangely against each other or the far wall of the cavern, were nests of taller structures. The domes he¡¯d seen in the vision. Towers and halls and twisted churches.


    What is this place?


    He watched along with the others when Lord Ghelliot tried one of the houses. The chapter-master hadn¡¯t deigned to sully his gauntlet by touching it to the mesh of ribs serving as a door, instead smashing through the necrotic barrier with the heel of his heavy boot. It fell apart under the force of the blow, shrapnel impacting against the far wall of the building, and the lord stepped without hesitation into the dust cloud clogging the entrance. Durgil¡¯s heart had been hammering so loudly that he heard it ringing inside his helmet, and, for a moment, he¡¯d thought the chapter-master would never return ¨C then Lord Ghelliot emerged once more, scowling and appearing entirely unperturbed.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Durgil peered in the doorway as the leader stalked away up the street. A perfect, putrid replica of any mortal dwelling-place, complete with bone furniture, webs of dry skin hanging in place of curtains over the misty glass windows.


    It was right then that the dwarf realised just how close he was to the shattered door frame, ancient marrow leaking like paste from the ripped-open substance. The door¡¯s hinges, the jutting remnants of jawbones¡­


    He¡¯d turned away, sickened, the feeling of doom settling over him like a wet cloak. The awful emptiness of the place preyed on his mind. Why had the architect of this cursed town seen fit to outfit each home with furnishings? Why even create these houses, this whole city, in the first place? It was all something of a sickening joke, Durgil was sure. A way to while away the hours as the sorcerous dragon awaited the paladins.


    And yet, he¡¯d never heard of its like. Not outside fiction, at any rate, and he¡¯d not read a work of fiction for decades. This was like something from a dark elf story ¨C and, as far as he knew, even those were highly exaggerated. It was, after all, only their sea-going vessels which were known to be made from bone. All the rest of it¡­ the undead cities putting Zadhal to shame ¨C making Zadhal look like an amateur effort¡­ those were just made up.


    Or so he¡¯d thought, till now. It was a bitter elixir to swallow, especially for one so used to understanding the truth of matters. The Knight of Kultemeren found himself having to reassess his assumptions. Seeing this ¨C it suddenly made the legends seem feasible.


    A cold wind came whistling down as they approached the city¡¯s heart, emanating through fissures that were hidden beneath the blueworm coating the cavern roof. It was soothing, feeling the rush of cool air in his beard, slipping through the plates of his armour, until he realised that no air from outside should¡¯ve been so chilled. This was something their enemy had done, some part of its plan.


    His dwarf skin couldn¡¯t shiver, not from the cold, but he shivered now. He kept his eyes down on the ground under his feet, listening to the crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch of their marching steps ¨C wondering why the Judge didn¡¯t just smite the necrotic landscape right now, incinerate their surroundings with white fire, using the very tread of their boots to channel the power and blast this heathen metropolis down to dust¡­


    But the power never came. And when, at last, he raised his eyes, the company drawing to a halt in a wide court of bone, bone, bone, he cast about quickly only to find his brothers in much the same state as him.


    Ghostly faces, wide eyes ¨C that was the least of it. He saw trembling fingers. He saw rivulets of sweat running into mouths and beards. He saw pallid cheeks inflating and deflating as air was gulped at rapid pace.


    And then, suddenly, Durgil winced as felt the old wound in his right knee, long-since healed, threatening to spill him to the floor.


    He could not fall. He could not go down on his face, in a place like this. It would be beneath indignity, beyond humility. To place his hands upon these bones, these mortal remnants of their foe¡¯s victims ¨C to push down on them for support as he rose to his feet again ¨C


    No. He would not fall.


    He braced his feet, set his teeth, and studied the body-language of his leaders, trying to ignore the sensation that was telling him there were three demonic teeth, each the size of a dagger-blade, buried right in the front of his knee-cap.


    It is not real, he told himself. It is not here.


    He refused to look down, check there wasn¡¯t a hairy, bug-eyed head hanging off his leg.


    But the pain never alleviated as it should¡¯ve done, and the reason for their halting still hadn¡¯t been made plain to him. Lord Rael and Lord Ghelliot had both put out an arm for the rest of the company to stop, but they weren¡¯t studying their surroundings ¨C the two chapter-masters were eyeing each other, staring deep into one another¡¯s eyes, almost as though the Father had supplied them with a means of communication beyond the ken of the lesser knights, something akin to the gift enjoyed by enchanters.


    As expected, Lord Rael¡¯s narrow features were grimly drawn across his face, like a mountain eagle on the hunt. In contrast, Lord Ghelliot was almost smiling, cunning in his eyes. Each of them had lowered their swords, and here in the shadow of nearby towers they were concealed from the blueworm nestled above; as such, the pair were primarily lit by the radiance emanating from the weapons of those clustered about them.


    The silence was split only by the whistling of the evil wind, the hammering of Durgil¡¯s iron-anvil heart in his ears.


    He gritted his teeth, biting down to stifle his cries of pain, and sought to distract himself, turning his attention inward.


    Many times he¡¯d seen it, and many times he¡¯d had the same suspicions about thought-sharing amongst the chapter-masters. The ¡®instinct of congress¡¯ and ¡®vision of congress¡¯ were intertwined concepts mentioned in more than a few sacred texts, and these matters had always intrigued him. Yet, never before had witnessing such a thing filled him with so strong a sense of foreboding.


    Why do we stop now? Are we near?


    Again, he resisted the urge to look down at the source of the hallucinatory pain ¨C refused to look down at his knee. He tried to distract himself again by casting about.


    The chapter had ended up in a courtyard, and they would¡¯ve been blocked in on three sides by the hideous walls of tall, broad towers, except that narrow gaps let out between them into yet farther-flung districts.


    But, surely, they had to be close to the rear of the cavern by this point? This immense, morbidly-beautiful space couldn¡¯t go on forever¡­


    Unless we are being subjected to a strong delusion.


    He couldn¡¯t say the words; it was not given to him to describe truth. Only to be the vessel of action.


    He pulled his gaze from the nearest distraction ¨C a mockingly-dry fountain ringed with skulls, the bones of its central decoration arranged into a vaguely equine statue (though instinct alone informed Durgil that the construction materials brought to bear were not the skeletons of horses). He cast his gaze upwards instead, trying his best not to be staggered at the scope of the towers, the apparent pearly smoothness to which their surfaces had been finished. Row upon row of thin, shadowed windows looked out on the courtyard, yet there was no sense of nethernal magic, no scent of eldritch on the icy wind. The spells employed here were the subtlest he¡¯d ever had the displeasure to encounter.


    The tower to their left, upon the highest fortifications of which several dead monstrosities were displayed, carcasses glistening in the blue light¡­


    One in particular drew his attention ¨C it was an old wyrm, time-eaten and translucent. The other critters had surely been fearsome in life, but this¡­ this would¡¯ve exceeded even the Red Harlot in stature, if he understood the nature of the enchantress correctly,


    It will make us fight that, he decided, and set his jaw.


    The moment his gaze seized upon it, the agony in his knee flashed to the front of his mind, his knee-cap now a bubble of lava running down his leg, flesh falling open to reveal stinking, rotten insides, bones comprised of flies and locusts ¨C


    I will not look down!


    The ringing of sword on sword brought him stumbling back to reality, phantom pains receding in the face of paradox.


    Before he knew what was happening, it was happening.


    Lord Rael and Lord Ghelliot were engaged in combat, here, on this unhallowed ground.


    * * *

 To Be Unbroken pt4

    The Knights stood, staring in horror as two of their most-senior members came to blows. Lord Ghelliot seemed to be the more aggressive of the pair, pushing Lord Rael back with a deliberate series of blade-loops. When Lord Rael caught the rhythm of the strikes and side-stepped, keeping a high-guard and lashing out at Lord Ghelliot¡¯s face, his assailant confidently took the blow on the helm, and used the surprise caused by the unexpected manoeuvre to close the distance once more. The elf was forced to twist about in a manner few could¡¯ve hoped to achieve whilst keeping their head on their shoulders ¨C Lord Rael barely parried the back-swing aimed at his throat, almost tumbling to the ground as the bitterly-sharp, bright-glowing sword¡¯s edge passed mere finger-widths from his face.


    There was no explanatory power to the swings of their swords. Even Lord Shebril glared, dumbfounded, looking between his two equals as if trying to decide between them.


    No decision came down from Celestium to enlighten their minds this time.


    The human seemed to have the advantage in strength ¨C Lord Ghelliot was built like a bull beneath his hauberk, and many times Durgil had witnessed him wrestling unclad during the exercises. But he¡¯d also seen Lord Rael wrestling, and the slender sinews possessed by elf-kind were not to be underestimated on the basis of outward appearance. The fibres of their muscles were woven of steel, and the responsiveness of their limbs in action and reaction was startling.


    Lord Rael had recovered his footing, and was pressing his own attack now upon Lord Ghelliot. The elf wielded his weapon two-handed for greater cutting-precision, gauntlets clasped about the grips and held just off his brow as his feet wove left and right, left and right, leveraging his nimbleness against his brutish opponent. Again and again, the human turned aside Lord Rael¡¯s flashing blade at just the last instant as a never-ending series of lofty lunges drilled in at his face.


    Then the elf¡¯s sword-tip suddenly circled down, striking the shin of Lord Ghelliot¡¯s fore-leg. The diversion carried its risks ¨C the grim-faced elf was forced to pivot, retract his upper body ¨C and it was a fruitless action. The shins of the knights were protected at the front by a plate of battle-standard steel, inscribed like all Church relics with the name of Kultemeren in various alphabets and blessed twice each moon to maintain its holy defences; the straps holding the greaves in place were themselves almost impossible to strike ¨C


    The duel continued, but Durgil¡¯s fascination now fell upon the thin line in Lord Ghelliot¡¯s lower-leg plate.


    So close to the spot in which he felt the burning in his own leg.


    But unless the Judge¡¯s hand were behind it, no glancing strike from a sword would mar such well-tempered steel, break the holy names that were the relic¡¯s seals of consecration. That itself was a sign of the weakness of Lord Ghelliot¡¯s will.


    But Lord Ghelliot would never¡­ never¡­


    The thoughts were slow to form in Durgil¡¯s mind, as he alone of all his brethren stared at the damaged shin-plate. There were many different stresses upon his spirit in this time and place, the cauldron of his mind filled not with boiling water but molten metal, and the ideas were slow to surface.


    Lord Ghelliot¡­ entered the house¡­


    His attentive dwarven mind registered the screech of the human¡¯s sword being notched, the ping as a shard of sanctified steel went ricocheting off the putrid ground.


    Lord Ghelliot¡­ emerged again¡­


    The worst thing about realising the truth was knowing it wasn¡¯t an insight from the god. It was just him. He¡¯d been abandoned ¨C they had all been abandoned. The others, they weren¡¯t looking, couldn¡¯t perceive the truth.


    Durgil drew in a hissing breath, then brought the crystal pommel of Glaimborn crashing down into the gold, lion-sculpted face of Dwimmerfoe.


    Cloooooong!


    White light speared forth from the impact, shining upon Lord Ghelliot.


    It was Durgil¡¯s way of challenge. He could give no battle-cry, but it was dishonourable to go into combat against an unaware opponent, even a creature born of evil.


    Rael danced aside, disengaging, as Durgil rushed to the elf-lord¡¯s aid.


    It was only three great strides. The knee held, and when Glaimborn sheared Lord Ghelliot¡¯s sword in two at the first strike, it happened all over again.


    The illusion was made plain ¨C a black cloud with the chapter-master¡¯s shape stood there on the bony ground, crackling away.


    Disintegrating, as the reversed upswing of Glaimborn tore cleanly through the illusion¡¯s skull.


    Lord Rael was panting lightly as he came and clapped the chapter champion on the shoulder. The elf wasn¡¯t looking particularly relieved, all things concerned, despite their defeat of the strange entity.


    The other paladins of the company had come around at last, but it had taken too long. Their enemy was toying with them, using phantasms against those to whom such hallucinations were usually child¡¯s play. That in itself was cause for disconcert, but now it was apparent that Lord Ghelliot had ¨C what?


    Gone missing?


    Indeed, as Durgil cast about he saw his fellows peering back the way they¡¯d come. The same thoughts now filled their mind as had come to Durgil in his despair.


    He was taken. When he went in the house.


    Lord Shebril made the forked gesture for splitting the group, but there was an inquisitive look on his face, and Lord Rael shook his head solemnly. The elf turned on his heel and stalked through the assembled paladins, leading them back out of the necrotic city.


    Once more boots crunched on bone. The cold wind whistled again. The blueworm flickered and faded, lights flaring to life and dying as the shadows surged across the surroundings.


    The air was so moist¡­ the ground underfoot so unutterably dry¡­


    The dwarf knew that they were ostensibly only seeking out Lord Ghelliot, but the moment he was walking the other way, heading out, heading up, home, Durgil felt a wave of relief flood through him. His knee still ailed him, and he was forced to set his jaw against the incessant grinding he could feel with every step ¨C somehow the sensation still wasn¡¯t being cleansed by his disbelief.


    It didn¡¯t matter now. The fact he could walk at all was proof there was no actual damage to his body, whatever his nerves were screaming at him, and once they found Lord Ghelliot they were done here. They would return to this cavern with all nine chapters. Perhaps the lords would even contrive to pass messages to the Magisterium, the champions, the other priesthoods. Such a thing was not unheard of. They would purge this nightmare from the earth¡­


    At a later date.


    The quest ¨C it had therefore been one of reconnaissance, of recognising the true scope of the threat. But in bringing support ¨C might they not be playing into the Hierarch¡¯s hands? Vardae Rolaine, ¡®Everseer¡¯, as the mad witch called herself in a vain effort to blacken the name of a dead heroine¡­ Someone like this Vardae could take advantage of any weak point. What if she were involved somehow ¨C what if this bore upon her insane ¡®Crucible¡¯? And if Kultemeren intended for them to deal with this upstart dragon without further support, who were they to judge in the Judge¡¯s place?


    We can¡¯t leave. Can¡¯t go home.


    Out of nowhere a new sensation settled upon him. Eyes. Eyes investigating him.


    There was something back there. The words were born in his mind, spoken in his own mute voice, and yet he didn¡¯t understand them. There was something back there and I¡¯ve forgotten it.


    He turned back to look, but it was too late. The street curved out of view behind a bumpy, spinal-column tower. It had slipped away from him.


    They came upon the house Lord Ghelliot had entered¡­ or so it seemed.


    The rest of the local environment matched with Durgil¡¯s recollections, the sense of perspective when the grim house was viewed against the equally-grim surrounding buildings. The knights were not used to making errors. Everything screamed that this was the house.


    Yet the door was there once more, as though their leader had never smashed his way in. There was no detritus, no sign, no discernible footprints about the threshold.


    Durgil looked at his brothers. Sir Vanfrad was shivering. The initiates were like a gaggle of blenching maidens. Even Lord Rael was paralysed, staring at the reconstituted door with horror-filled eyes.


    No spirit of courage filled him, but something in his dwarven soul let Durgil take a step forwards ¨C then another.


    Can¡¯t wait here forever. Have to go. Leave. Can¡¯t leave without him. Without¡­ whatever¡¯s left of him.


    He was afraid his leg would give out under him if he attempted a kick, and he would be left lying on the awful ground, weeping in front of everyone. Drawing a quivering breath, he raised Glaimborn and brought its pommel down in an overhead blow.


    He¡¯d half-expected it to repel him, but the ¡®door¡¯ was as much a dry crust of bone as it had always been. With the single blow he¡¯d hammered his gauntlet halfway through the surface, so he quickly ripped it free, struck again¡­


    When it was shorn in two, he hurriedly stepped back, far from the nethernal dust-cloud. He was immune to poison, to disease¡­ but this was something far more malign.


    He gripped Glaimborn and Dwimmerfoe tight, waiting, waiting for the cloud to abate, for the dust to settle.


    When it did, he warily shuffled about and took a shallow angle, peering into the main room.


    And saw that Lord Ghelliot sat with his back to the door, in one of the chairs ringing the repulsive table.


    Durgil had spent many hours in the saddle right behind his lord. He knew him anywhere. This was the feigning of no random knight. It was Ghelliot, or another double of him ¨C of that the dwarf held no doubts whatsoever.


    So Durgil slowly retreated.


    The notion, that the chapter-master might willingly sit in such a putrid creation¡­


    It is not him. It is not. Just something in his armour. Or¡­


    He felt the release of tension as Lord Rael flanked him ¨C felt the surge of comfort as the elf¡¯s hand fell on his shoulder-plate with a reassuring clank.


    He¡¯d done it. He¡¯d broken down the door. They would all remember this, and he¡¯d be made the chapter¡¯s junior master. The first dwarf in almost thirty years. One of only four dwarven chapter-masters in the whole Church.


    It would forever haunt him. To gain position, at the expense of such a leader. It would be a constant reminder of this: the time the Knights of Kultemeren were forced to turn tail and flee.


    There was no running right now. Durgil watched the elf again in admiration as he made his way into the doorway, bringing his sword up to better-illuminate the form of Lord Ghelliot sitting motionless in the shadows.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    When he turns around, Durgil said to himself against his will, he will be something else. Something ghastly, and just the sight will stop our hearts, and¡­ and¡­


    Lord Ghelliot swivelled suddenly in the chair, peering over his shoulder at them.


    He was unchanged. But he was grinning. An expression of manic delight Durgil had never witnessed on the face of a sane man.


    Lord Rael swung back his weapon, as if preparing to charge in and slay the apparition; Durgil adjusted his grip on Glaimborn, preparing to back the elf up if necessary ¨C


    It was not necessary. Lord Rael had lost his patience. When he swung the sword, he did so without moving, without aiming, an incandescent nimbus suddenly swelling about him.


    The blade-arm swept down with a sound like thunder, and when the brightness had faded and Durgil could see once more, he found nothing where the house had stood but a smoking, shallow crater in the bony firmament.


    Lord Rael sheathed his sword and turned on his heel, his eyes shining with tears as he strode away at once. The message was clear. Lord Ghelliot, his chapter-master brother, was truly gone. They had to abandon the quest, for now at least.


    Vengeance would be theirs, in the end.


    However, as they approached the city¡¯s gateway, Durgil spotted a black-clad figure awaiting them on the right-hand side of the road. It was leaning back stiffly against the nauseating, wide-thrown door of the fortress itself, right beneath the arch. Its hands were clasped upon the cross-piece of a heavy sword, the tip planted in the ground. From that sword an amethyst steam billowed, like a goblet of hot wine carried out into a winter wind, the individual wisps of vapour changing hue softly to violet or magenta or pink as they vanished away on the air.


    Lord Shebril halted when it came into view, and some of those younger brothers closest to him followed suit, but Lord Rael quickened his pace. Durgil didn¡¯t like the disarray in the ranks implied by Lord Shebril¡¯s cowardice and that of the initiates. The pain in his knee now just a dark memory, he followed the elf eagerly. Whatever the creature before them was, it was just one man. It would fall before them, and they would be out of this accursed imitation of the shadowland. The tramp of his boots would once more be given the quality of leather on solid stone, the reassuring thud that told him he was safe, rather than this overwhelming feeling that he was walking on the frozen surface of a lake, a lake of undeath, just waiting to fall through the surface and be swallowed, dragged by immortal currents into the dry darkness.


    He quickened his pace yet further, as even more of his companions fell behind. Soon it was just Lord Rael, Sir Vanfrad, Sir Seliot, and himself.


    Throwing caution and care to the winds, he ran at the enemy, charging ahead of the others.


    The recalcitrance of the weak-willed would be punished by Kultemeren in their dreams, while Lord Rael¡¯s cohort would be rewarded with the knowledge that they upheld their oaths. They stood firm, surged forward, when everything was cast into doubt.


    Yet the figure ahead came into sharper relief, and, too late, Durgil realised that, had he been less hot-headed, he might¡¯ve observed in advance the signs which had eluded his notice. The dwarven eyes didn¡¯t lie, piercing gloom more easily than most.


    The charred armour was covered in Kultemeren¡¯s names, but every character was twisted, each letter melted, all meaning lost.


    Meaning lost.


    It was a symbol of unutterable despair that struck his heart like a dagger.


    Struck his knee like a trio of fangs.


    He hit the ground face-first not thirty yards from the solid stone of safety. He went flat on his front, the bone-cobbles rubbing against his beard, his lips, the full grisly scent of the stuff drowning his nostrils. When he tipped his head back, raising his jaw off the floor, little specks of dust streamed from his face.


    Still ¨C he did not lose his grip on his weapon, did not cry out in disgust or pain, did not break his vows. Just stared, jaw clenched and eyes wide, as the black-clad Lord Ghelliot seemed to suddenly come to life, stepping out into the centre of the archway and hefting his dark sword in one hand.


    The burning amethyst orbs in his sunken face swept up to fix themselves on the three onrushing knights who had retained their composure. As they neared him, the same purple fire spread in renewed gobbets down either edge of his weapon, the sickly light beading and pooling on the ground almost like burning oil.


    An illusion, Durgil gasped silently. Another illusion. Lord Ghelliot¡¯s soul belongs to the Judge. There¡¯s no way that ¨C


    Lord Rael evidently felt the same way and, filled with righteous confidence as he neared his foe, he swung his broadsword down at the deathknight¡¯s blasphemous helm, using his full strength, ignoring the nethernal weapon that was upraised to parry the blow.


    Durgil expected the false deathknight¡¯s blade to rip in two under the force of the stroke, so he wasn¡¯t surprised at the metallic screech ¨C


    When the top half of Lord Rael¡¯s sword fell smoking to the bony cobbles, its light extinguished ¨C it wasn¡¯t surprise that filled Durgil¡¯s mind. It wasn¡¯t shock.


    The despair sank its claws into his spirit. He closed his eyes. Half-unconsciously, he rolled on the bones and wrapped a gauntlet about his screaming knee.


    He left Glaimborn there on the bones, and knew that, bereft of his touch, the sword¡¯s light would soon falter. He could no longer care.


    O Kultemeren, why? ¨C why have you deserted us?


    He heard the hiss of nethernal power, the grate of metal punching into metal, the unsteady steps of knights trying to stay afoot despite grievous wounds. Durgil could no longer grasp at any divine insights his god may have been offering him, but his mortal brain was more than capable of processing what had happened.


    It was with acceptance of the inevitable, not rage or resistance, that he heard three bodies topple without so much as a murmur, crashing in full battle-armour to the ground. He could even pick out the glug, glug of blood gushing from an opened throat.


    Blood. Dust. Decay. It was in his nostrils. It was in his mind. All was lost.


    ¡°Halt.¡±


    The word seemed to come from everywhere, resounding from the blueworm roof and cavern walls, echoing out of the mouths of alleyways. A noxious wind followed the voice, shrieking down the street, culminating in a titanic grinding sound behind him.


    Yet it was not directed at them. Durgil noted that the deathknight¡¯s clanking came to a sudden stop, the former Lord Ghelliot stilling at his new master¡¯s bidding.


    The dwarf tried to screw his eyes shut as tightly as possible, tried to fight his curiosity, but when it spoke a second time he couldn¡¯t hold back any longer. He had to see it. He had to know. He rolled again, opened his eyes just to slits ¨C


    And beheld the titanic monstrosity which was their enemy, watched the vast undead jaw gnash out the words.


    ¡°You have been tried, sir knights, tried and tested ¨C and have been found wanting. Go. I will not trouble you further. I expected more of you.¡±


    Its head was bigger than a house, the glowing, slimy orbs of its eyes alone equal in size to a full-grown horse. Its wings were like the sails of an old ship, left to rot on the seabed for centuries; yet all the same they caught at the air as the dracolich settled itself in place, perching idly atop a row of nearby structures, the gargantuan third set of limbs sweeping down about its shoulders. The fragile buildings barely murmured beneath that atrocious mass, surely steeled by his sorcerous will, and the gruesome rips in the tenebrous fabric of his wings seemed no impediment as his motions drove a rancid wind down in the paladins¡¯ faces.


    ¡°Go! By Kultemeren, I implore you ¨C why must you creatures insist upon ¨C¡±


    It was enough for Durgil. Too much. It could not speak the Judge¡¯s name. Could not.


    He put out a hand for Glaimborn, only to find the sword half-submerged, slowly being dragged down, taken into the road¡¯s substance.


    ¡°¨C such abhorrent despite! You do not understand. Your hearts are those of the flock, and, though you think otherwise, you cannot recognise the meaning of the pack as the wolves¡¯ teeth close about you! But it is too late for lessons. Now you must simply learn¡­¡°


    He wasn¡¯t looking, but Durgil felt his gauntlet¡¯s radiance as a painless heat when he sank his fingers through the grisly material, crunching into and pulverising bones like they were the frail bodies of insects. In the instant his fingers closed about his weapon¡¯s hilts, pulling the grip into his palm, an incandescent white fire threw stark, elongated shadows across the scene.


    The old wound, bawling in complaint as though there were no kneecap, no ligament to support his weight ¨C he could see past it now. He was no longer the dwarf, no longer the herdsman¡¯s son. Just the champion of the god remained. Just the weapon in Kultemeren¡¯s hand.


    He rose to his feet, and saw that every Knight of Kultemeren save for him was being slowly drawn beneath the surface.


    The bone-chip gravel formed into fingers, hands, arms and elbows, stretching up to grapple the paladins, pull them down to a place where only death, or deathknighthood, awaited. Their armour had dimmed, their faces wracked with pain and guilt. Sir Elbanor, Sir Yobbrox, so many of Durgil¡¯s bravest brothers were facing their ends like puling children. Lord Shebril was weeping, unable to fight back as he was borne under. Sir Vanfrad was head-down, Durgil¡¯s fellow dwarf half-submerged in a puddle of blood and shorn-off beard-hair, his hidden throat still pulsing, adding to the crimson pool about him.


    Lord Rael¡¯s upper body had already disappeared entirely from sight, just the corpse¡¯s long elven legs and their decorative greaves still protruding from the hungry undead soil.


    The deathknight which had been Lord Ghelliot ¨C it stared at Durgil, at the dwarf who alone of all the chapter¡¯s knights stood tall, waves of uncertainty emanating from it as clear as purple fire.


    We stand upon the dracolich¡¯s army, Durgil realised. I¡­ stand upon it.


    I alone.


    He caught Glaimborn¡¯s radiance out of the corner of his eye as he held tight to Dwimmerfoe¡¯s grips.


    Kultemeren! Through me deliver your blow! My life for your stroke!


    Boots crunched into soil that grew fingers, grasping arms rendered to dust beneath his footfalls.


    The god blessed him, imbued him with power. His pace increased beyond that of mortal-kind. He crossed the distance between himself and the dracolich in a handful of bounds. When he hurled himself into the air and swung the blade at its disbelieving reptilian face, it was like wielding a shooting star. It bore him up, up, higher than he¡¯d ever sprang before in his life.


    The light of the blueworm faded and a curtain of shadow fell across him. He reached the apex of his vault and brought his arm down.


    Glaimborn passed cleanly through the dracolich¡¯s flesh like it were as soft as wool.


    He¡¯d been expecting to die in the act, expecting to suffer a tremendous recoil from the dragon¡¯s defences. There was nothing.


    The dracolich became a vast black outline between one moment and the next, filled with swirling storms and the wings of vast moths; the laughter of the true creature rang down from the black recesses high in the cavern-walls.


    Durgil passed clean through the illusion¡¯s ethereal maw, and fell into the very corner of the bony structure upon which the fake creature perched ¨C the building promptly sported limbs, hands to clutch at cloak and armour, pinning his shield-arm, sword-arm¡­


    He struggled to free himself, but he couldn¡¯t. There were too many. Individually they were weak, no match for his divinely-empowered strength, but taken together ¨C the sheer weight of them ¨C they would draw him into the walls ¨C


    A skeletal hand closed over his mouth, and he heard himself gently whining, the horror finally claiming him.


    Kultemeren didn¡¯t wish me to see through the illusion ¨C he wanted me to be taken by them ¨C


    A whip of amber light seared across his face, and all his necrotic bonds were washed away, dusted at the touch of Lord Shebril¡¯s faith.


    Durgil fell, but even as he hurtled towards the ground he stared in wonder at the chapter-master who had risen to his feet, whose sword trailed the honey-coloured energies as it moved.


    The dwarf landed heavily, and his knee didn¡¯t give way, the grace of Kultemeren allowing him to keep his balance despite the undulating nature of the street beneath him.


    He caught Lord Shebril¡¯s awed gaze in return, and Durgil realised in that moment if he hadn¡¯t acted as he had, if he hadn¡¯t cast himself into what he thought to be a dragon¡¯s teeth, they would¡¯ve all been dead already. As it was, at least half of the other knights were also freeing themselves, small clouds of dust bursting about them as they started ripping loose of their skeletal bonds. The road might¡¯ve been swelling and surging like an ocean wave, but the most stalwart of the paladins dragged themselves above the surface.


    They would not be so easily defeated.


    Inspiration. Being willing to fight for the truth ¨C it brought the same drive out in others. They just needed to see someone else take that first step.


    That was Kultemeren¡¯s plan.


    They were going to get out of here, and Durgil would be made chapter-master. It was as good as inevitable now. He alone of the company had stood his ground. His nobility could not be questioned.


    The road fluctuated ¨C Durgil saw Lord Ghelliot¡¯s deathknight striding towards the recovering knights, riding the mass of body-parts as he approached implacably, no uncertainty any longer to be found in the position of his side-extended blade, his amethyst glare. The charred boots didn¡¯t falter as they carried him over the billowing waves of the unliving road.


    He would¡¯ve brought the evil mockery of a paladin blade straight down into the front of Sir Timeron¡¯s helm, had Durgil not leapt across, flinging up Dwimmerfoe between them.


    This time it was the deathknight¡¯s implement which was sundered at the force of that tremendous impact, the blade riven in two right up its length, and the charred gauntlet released the smoking blade, letting it fall, gushing precious energy like blood.


    It might¡¯ve been blood ¨C on the shadowland side of the world.


    A vicious upthrust of the shield¡¯s flat face against the front of the deathknight¡¯s helm sent the former Lord Ghelliot gliding back, sliding strangely across the undead terrain, his demeanour almost serene.


    The illusory dragon might¡¯ve vanished, but the laughter of its maker rang out again, cold and harsh and utterly devoid of mortal attachment.


    The deathknight¡¯s sword did not clatter as it fell near Durgil. A fully-formed hand of bone crested the street¡¯s gravel-like surface, and even as the dwarf crouched there over the still partially-swallowed form of Sir Timeron, trying his best to keep his footing, riding the road as it coasted up-down, up-down ¨C the road came alive about him.


    As a vague insight at the back of his mind, he¡¯d noticed the shapes of the city¡¯s walls and buildings morphing in the background all around the company. By now many had melted down to basic foundation-lines of their former dimensions, their various substances borrowed, utilised with a far more militaristic outlook ¨C


    It was no humanoid skeleton which burst forth first, the shattered bits of the deathknight¡¯s weapon in its hands, but nonetheless it was created out of humanoid parts, bones sewn together by invisible sorcerous intent. The triplicate skull was a particularly disgusting touch: one atop the spine, one within the ribcage, and one hanging from the pelvis. All three empty jaws produced sound while they were still moving into place, cackling and chattering meaninglessly. Its numerous femurs pumped away on the surface of the ground, upon the heads and shoulders of its emerging brethren, bringing it skittering closer before it even was fully-formed.


    As the third skull slid into place with a sickening click, there were more taking shape on all sides, undead servitors of equally-hideous design.


    Durgil looked down, dreading what would come next ¨C and his breath left him as, once more, he plummeted.


    The firmament offered by the bone-ocean beneath his feet vanished with a suddenness no amount of training or experience could¡¯ve prepared him for.


    Surrounded on all quarters, pressed from below and above ¨C the chapter was consumed as one, pulled into the embrace of the dragon¡¯s magic.


    * * *

 To Be Unbroken pt5

    Cold bones tore at Durgil¡¯s helm, half-ripping it from his head as his arms were pinned once more ¨C digits scraped at his beard, his nose ¨C his jaw went slack and his stomach convulsed as the skeletons forced their fingers inside his mouth, too afraid even to bite down, fight back in the simplest of ways ¨C


    The stench of it all. The taste. Durgil was familiar with all of Mund¡¯s most-debaucherous districts and the alleys of filth that ran behind them. But never ¨C never had he experienced anything like this.


    He almost gave up, feeling the tears beginning to well from his eyes at the terror of it all. Even death ¨C even that was no escape. The Judge couldn¡¯t save them from the putrescent dragon¡¯s necromancy ¨C Lord Ghelliot was proof of that¡­


    Sir Timeron¡¯s sword backlit the morass of corpses as it was wielded, just to Durgil¡¯s left, the arc of its passage releasing a nova of pure sunlight.


    It wasn¡¯t just an internal struggle. He did understand the pack. He was part of something greater.


    It was acceptable to fail. So long as he didn¡¯t let failure kill him. So long as he played his part.


    Timeron for chapter-master!


    Durgil couldn¡¯t swing his arm, trapped as he was, still choking, descending into the ocean of skeletal warriors ¨C but they hadn¡¯t yet been capable of prising Glaimborn or Dwimmerfoe from his grasp. He couldn¡¯t see his sword and shield, but he knew they were still there, hadn¡¯t been torn from him; perhaps the eldritches were deliberately avoiding the blessed implements?


    He rotated his wrist ¨C that much, at least, was left to him ¨C and that was all it took.


    A single touch of faith, to ignite evil.


    The dwarf felt the wave of satisfaction as the sword sang in response, slicing effortlessly through an unseen swathe of enemies.


    You didn¡¯t avoid that.


    He experienced little more than a series of brittle snapping sensations reverberating down the length of the blade, as though he were hewing through dry branches.


    These foes ¨C they were puny. To be defeated by them would be for shame.


    It could not be borne.


    Two more flicks of his wrist and he¡¯d slashed through several of the key appendages that belonged to the abominations gripping at his bicep. He swung Glaimborn fully for the first time, and destroyed the things whose fingers were still trying to get acquainted with the inside of his skull. Burning steel passed through their spines, snicking away the spells binding bone to bone in place of ligament, of tendon.


    He retched the remnants of their fingers from his throat and, brimming with righteous fury, set about his work.


    A timeless void of struggle claimed him. Only to one such as Durgil, tempered in the fire of dozens of Infernal Incursions, could this descent into the lake, this unliving sea of skeletons, resemble something akin to combat. Yet it did. His mind sharpened as the doubts and fears melted, replaced by singular purpose:


    Survival.


    In the moments that followed, pulling himself to the surface and gulping the dusty air, he couldn¡¯t reconcile his experience with what his eyes told him. To his mind, the battle had been a thing of seconds ¨C perhaps a minute or two at most. But he was now waist-deep in a pit of twitching body-parts, and as he cast about he saw that all had changed.


    The necromantic city ¨C gone. The ghastly domes, the eerie houses, the looming walls¡­ everything had melted. The blueworm was farther away, its radiance muted. The cliff up on his right ¨C that would have been where they¡¯d entered the dragon¡¯s lair. The city¡¯s foundation had plummeted at least twenty yards, sending them down into the depths of a shallow basin.


    In the aftermath it was the glowing forms of his surviving companions which afforded him scale, perspective. He could see them out there, turning their own eyes upwards in surprise, or, for those still putting down the last of their assailants, thrashing about.


    They were spread across the squirming undead lake, and some of them had been carried very far indeed, almost to the back wall of the cavern where the biggest towers had loomed. But golden light bathed every form.


    Kultemeren¡¯s blessing could no longer be denied. Those who had survived ¨C sixteen, all told, by Durgil¡¯s count ¨C were chosen.


    ¡°Fewer than half of you endure the first trial.¡± The unseen dragon¡¯s voice was an electric rasp, the echo of his words rattling every morsel of the dead matter in which the paladins swam; the very rocks of the chamber seemed to hum, vibrating in the aftermath of the sound¡¯s passage. ¡°Let us tally the number after the second.¡±


    The deathknights gave no battle-cry, silent in death as they had been in life. He saw them emerging from the darkness, striding effortlessly across the shallow skeletal lake towards his brethren. He cast about, seeing nothing, no one coming for him ¨C


    Trust in the Father.


    As the sounds of renewed violence spread across the quivering sea, Durgil left his allies to their duels, closing his eyes.


    Almighty, Eternal Onlooker, cleanse me of my impurity. Cleanse me that your light might shine the clearer through me. Cleanse me that my brethren might be healed by my prayer. I will not reflect; I will not refract; I will not will. Allow my purification, and I¡­


    I¡­


    Only a clanking sound beneath Durgil¡¯s feet gave him warning, casting a shadow of peril across all his thoughts. The noise, faint at first, grew louder across the course of seconds until the dwarf was filled with an urge to scramble across the quiescent bones, to get away, get safe and secure ¨C


    There was no such purchase, no safe sanctuary from which to regenerate the wounds sustained by his brothers, or even to counter the attack of the deathknight which had been assigned to him.


    He had to meet his enemy on its terms.


    It was coming up at him, from beneath his boots. He knew it.


    He had to dive.


    The very moment he ceased resistance, letting the god¡¯s certitude flow through his veins, everything changed.


    I¡­


    I¡­


    I will break the enemies of Truth, as the rock breaks the wave!


    The light pouring from him became a blazing white beacon. He thrust Dwimmerfoe down into the detritus beneath him and suddenly the lake was reanimated once more, arms and whips and other, cruder implements forming from the ivory pebbles.


    It was as if the place knew its time had come, and fought him now as the prey contended with the predator, lashing out desperately.


    Fragile twigs of bone snagged at him.


    You¡¯re cornered. Snivel at your final purification if you will.


    He smiled the hawk¡¯s smile beneath his beard, and dusted it all with the shield¡¯s heavenly glow, ton upon ton of undead substance wholly obliterated in every heartbeat that passed. He swung Glaimborn, and the sword was a living, beating sun in his hand, the metal burning and blinding, but not to him ¨C the wind trailing in the wake of its glorious arcs was cool, the white fire causing his eyes no pain but rather letting him see ¨C


    His deathknight was there, surging up towards him at a diagonal angle, traversing the weird landscape beneath the bony surface like a fish might water. The broken runes along its blade and upon its armour were glistening like molten lead.


    That was Durgil¡¯s last glimpse of Lord Ghelliot.


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    Then his deathknight was gone, erased from Materium by a single flood of Celestium¡¯s power. The blackened hauberk, the charred helm, the pallid twin nimbuses of the former chapter-master¡¯s eyes ¨C they winked away, not just torn apart but altogether removed from existence.


    We are stronger, in every way, he thought as he forced his way down. Truth will out. The way becomes clearer with every breath we take.


    His boots found the stone, and Durgil grinned the hawk¡¯s grin once more.


    This is purchase.


    He strode and wheeled about, fearless, watching in bliss as, through him, the God of Truth undid all the necromancer¡¯s work. The light didn¡¯t bathe the dwarf ¨C it was emitted by his mortal flesh, augmented by his unblemished armaments, until he was a sun at the base of the buried hollow, withering away the necrotic rain even as it showered down upon him. Glaimborn¡¯s sunfire was a beam, a ray of pure destruction, and he raked it back and forth, watching as other forms, glowing of their own accord, came hurtling through.


    Knight after knight, one by one, his brothers found their way to his side ¨C and each that joined him on the solid ground only added to the incandescence. He nodded to them in turn, and only a few of them retained the detachment to return the casual gesture; most simply stared at him in obvious wonder.


    Marvel at the glory of the Lord, my brothers. Marvel¡­ and grieve¡­


    Twelve, he counted grimly, as it became obvious no others would arrive. So many young men, so many initiates whose lives have been lost.


    But not in vain.


    With a fitful clatter, the last remains of the dracolich¡¯s host evaporated. The radiance reached up the jagged walls of the wide bowl in which they were gathered, snagging a final pair of deathknights in its swell as they attempted to leap back into the safety of the higher caves.


    There was no escape, fingers of light reaching out for them, bursting them into motes of pallor against the stone, like white dapples from an artist¡¯s brush.


    The blueworm was almost another ten yards farther away, shimmering at a great remove, now that they¡¯d sunk into the bottom of the chasm. Kultmeremen¡¯s light stretched far, but fell short of illuminating those highest reaches, where shadowy curtains still rippled, hiding their enemy.


    ¡°Good,¡± came the dragon¡¯s voice, its steel texture filling Durgil¡¯s mouth, making his teeth ache. ¡°You waste your greatest ammunition on the cattle, and its like will never be seen again on this earth.¡± Even as the dragon spoke, the divine radiance wavered, as though Durgil¡¯s body were an eye that suddenly blinked, a candle guttering in a cold breeze. ¡°But no, Durgil, son of Vondana. Arithmetic was never your strong suit. Twelve others, yes; but you make the thirteenth. A favourable omen, to my eye.¡±


    The downward rush of its descent set the air itself screaming, wind whistling through the painful-looking tears in its wings.


    We slew thousands of your minions, Durgil said to it silently, staring as its horrendous plummet suddenly became a graceful drop, the wings drawn in, talons poised to settle its great weight gently to the stone. Tens of thousands. You tally the losses. You won¡¯t be getting those back from the shadowland any time soon.


    He tightened his grip about Dwimmerfoe¡¯s strap, feeling the flesh of his fingers pressing through the leather of his gauntlets, biting into the metal.


    Then the immense, rotten dracolich was there, squatting before them in the basin, its scaly hindquarters and tail coiled about the rim of the depression.


    Aside from the ceaseless scintillating of its yawning eyeballs, like purple wells spiralling into an infinite abyss, the creature had stilled to the likeness of a marble carving. Its serpentine lips were closed, its head cocked somewhat, akin to a cat pausing for a moment in curious examination ¨C


    Before pouncing upon the paralysed family of mice that had been the object of its attention.


    We exist upon just a thread. Yet we shall dance upon its length regardless, back and forth, dangling over the killing-ground ¨C and take this foul beast with us when we fall.


    Glaimborn propelled itself, forward and back; and with the reverse lunge, the sword¡¯s pommel smashed into the face of Dwimmerfoe.


    Cloooooooooooooooong!


    The eruption of sound and light was like the birth of the universe.


    The dracolich shrieked, and Durgil knew ¨C he knew ¨C that this was the truth. This was their enemy, not an illusion.


    And here their enemy would perish.


    * * *


    The first assault went well.


    Durgil strode forward, and each stride ate away treble the normal distance; he felt himself propelled once more by Kultemeren¡¯s will, thrust out in defence of all mortalkind as he now thrust out Dwimmerfoe before him. Several of his cohort gathered behind him, close on his heels ¨C he didn¡¯t need to look back to ascertain their presence, didn¡¯t need to hear them to know they were there. Lord Shebril and some of the others fanned out, forming a rough semi-circle so as to reduce the risk of a single attack eradicating them all at once; they effortlessly took on the role of healers as they had been trained, already silently praying to Kultemeren for success and salvation. Even as he sped towards the monstrosity, Durgil felt the soothing balm of their unheard words, clearer than the clarion call of any trumpet.


    His knee had never felt stronger as he leapt.


    The undead dragon¡¯s howl of pain had become a snarl, the rolls of its vast lips drawn back in a kind of wince, exposing an army of filthy teeth. Its pulsing eyes were fixed on the dwarf as this time he hurtled not towards an illusion but straight into its true, all-too-vulnerable face.


    He cast his judgement into the maw of the beast, a lash of pure golden energy which blinded even him, his weapon seemingly quadrupled or more in length. The dracolich recoiled, bringing up a claw to savagely swipe him out of the air.


    Dwimmerfoe broke the dragon¡¯s talons as it reached for him, huge chunks of bone shearing away, edged in golden light. But the sheer strength of the creature, the ferocity of its attack, left little to be desired. Durgil was cast aside, sent flying off amidst the shards of claw, cartwheeling as he fell.


    He collided full-force with the stony floor, hip and elbow striking the rock, sending a sickening crunch reverberating through his body ¨C but even then the holy vigour filled him, healing him on the inside. It was as though nothing had happened to him. Durgil sprang back to his feet, watching two of his brothers take the lead, slashing at their enemy with their own radiant weapons. The dwarf nodded in gratitude towards the nearby Lord Shebril, whose eyes and prayers were on him, then leapt to rejoin the fray.


    Their foe was sparring the knights, clumsily batting them away, and Durgil could see the way the gigantic swirling eyes appeared unfocussed, rolling now and then in the folds of their vast, putrefied sockets.


    Cloooooooooooooooong!


    He clanged Glaimborn¡¯s pommel against the face of Dwimmerfoe once more, even as he barrelled back into range of the titanic paws of the monster. The dragon screamed again, twisting, bringing its tail down at Durgil¡¯s head in a fluid motion that would crush him beneath tens of tons of undead flesh.


    No.


    He braced, clenching his jaw and buttocks along with every long-trained muscle in his arms and chest, his legs, his back¡­ He raised Dwimmerfoe over his head with his shield-hand, then reinforced it with the fist clutching Glaimborn, preparing to meet the overbearing attack.


    The instant the dragon¡¯s translucent scales touched the shield¡¯s surface, they smoked, and sloughed away.


    The effect was similar to pressing a stick of ice down on a red-hot coin. The dracolich¡¯s tail simply separated, the twenty-yard tip released from its long service, tumbling down the incline near the edge of the bowl and coming to a stop near two of the healers, like the dead half of a giant worm.


    If it had been screaming before, now it entered the lamentatious wailing of one who has sustained a mortal injury ¨C and knows it. There wasn¡¯t just pain in the monster¡¯s shrieks. There was fear.


    More talons rained down on Durgil¡¯s head, and he bore the blows, aware that his brothers were moving in on the creature¡¯s flanks, wounding it yet further even as it sought to kill itself, smashing its own limbs to tenebrous webs of rot on the holy shield. After a few seconds the awful pummelling on his shield started to slow, and he dared to move his sword-arm, pointing Glaimborn along the rim of Dwimmerfoe, adding the blade¡¯s sting to the various factors which would contribute to the dracolich¡¯s demise.


    How much longer the battle lasted, he would not afterwards have the wherewithal to calculate. At last the dracolich tried to flee, shaking its wings as though it had palsy, and Sir Lyret was crushed beyond all healing, beyond recognition, as he fought to slow it, further damage its already-tattered appendages. Sir Fosterweyn was too hesitant to dart aside at one point, and was eaten; Durgil saw the knight¡¯s arms and armour searing away at the monster¡¯s gums, even as it noisily crunched through the steel with its jagged, rune-scrawled teeth, spattering the man¡¯s blood and innards across the roof of its mouth.


    Again and again, the dwarf champion drew its attention back to him using Glaimborn and Dwimmerfoe. Again and again, Lord Shebril¡¯s faith knitted his wounds together. By the grace of the Judge, Durgil was able to block the worst of the blows that avalanched down upon him.


    And, bit by painstaking bit, the dracolich came undone.


    Finally it lay there, sprawled in their midst and smouldering from hundreds of sword-blows. Durgil stood near to its head, leaning on Glaimborn and breathing heavily, assessing its condition. By the sounds coming from the other side, some of his fellows were still laying into it, the hissing thunks of blessed blades unmissable in the silence. Yet the dracolich no longer stirred, no longer reacted to their attacks. The eyes were closed, ruined by sharp metal as much as divine fire, each of them popped and gushing a vile-smelling purple mucus. Its various layers still quivered from time to time, but overall it looked somehow to be deflating, the scant remaining musculature seeming to turn into the same noxious mist which had greeted them upon their arrival, outside the cave.


    Outside the cave. Before this ordeal began. It came back to him, heavier than a dragon¡¯s tail ¨C the gravity of just what had happened here. The magnitude of the change these last hours would make. They would rebuild the chapter with fresh recruits if they had to, but there would likely be a flood of volunteers from the other chapters, willing to transfer over, bolster their numbers and share in the glory, once the victory of the Whisper¡¯s Predicate was known. The bards would sing of it. The Chroniclers of Chraunator would enshrine the knights¡¯ names in everlasting ink upon the pages of their eternal tomes. Lord Durgil¡¯s acts of heroism would outlast the bones of his brother¡¯s grandchildren.


    No matter how much he lost, before he died, he would always remember this.


    He knew what he had to do.


    Smiling grimly, he rebalanced himself, hefted Glaimborn, and approached the dracolich¡¯s long, glistening neck.


    Kultemeren power my strike, he prayed. Let me lay it low at a single blow.


    He felt the eyes of his brethren on him as he stepped up to do the grisly work required of him. Under their gaze, he brought Glaimborn back over his shoulder ¨C the sword sang, a metallic keening to fill his soul with glory ¨C


    He took the final step, and as he brought his boot down in the puddle of slime surrounding the monster¡¯s throat, he hewed at its neck with every ounce of the amplified strength thrumming through him.


    * * *

 To Be Unbroken pt6

    The effect was akin to chopping into the trunk of a tough old tree. No golden axe of divine execution appeared to hang in the air over the dracolich¡¯s unmoving head. The wave of power generated by Glaimborn was reflected back, pale dapples of light rippling upwards and dissipating harmlessly into the darkness.


    Durgil looked down, watching as some of the heavier motes of light drifted like snow, spattering across the surface of the dragon¡¯s vile effluent and fading away.


    It felt wrong. Something was amiss.


    Durgil swung back his arm for a second attempt.


    A third.


    He cast about in disarray, catching the eyes of his brothers. He could see the same alarm on their faces.


    Within thirty seconds they had formed an impromptu death-squad, each of them hacking in rhythm, a team of miners desperate to break a star-iron ore vein.


    Even if they¡¯d had ensorcelled pick-axes, they would¡¯ve failed. The level of power required to chop through the dracolich¡¯s neck-scales was beyond them, despite the fact they¡¯d torn similar scales asunder all over its body.


    Durgil was no stranger to limitations. He¡¯d seen his fellow Knights fight bravely in Incursions, but he was under no illusion as to the scope of their abilities. No Knight had ever turned the tide of a battle. For them were the minions, the low-rank war-fodder that came pouring out of the Twelve Hells whenever the dimensional gates were thrown down. He¡¯d defeated a kinkalaman, once, in a one-on-one duel; he¡¯d taken part in the destruction of a thinfinaran, one of the devastating so-called ¡®white knights¡¯ of Infernum. But that had been with overwhelming numbers, and two chapter-masters from other holy orders had perished before the attempt was proven upon the smoking armoured corpse of the demon. Durgil knew that Kultemeren was not omnipotent; it was not as if all of creation was under the Judge¡¯s direct influence, and the Lord¡¯s sway waxed and waned as time and place dictated. Kultemeren might¡¯ve been the greatest of the gods, but his throne was not alone, separate from those of the others ¨C this all the faithful with even lay knowledge could understand. Their Celestial Father could not strengthen their arm such that one of his Knights might single-handedly turn back the armies of fiends ¨C even the boldest champions of the grace-granted archmages were not so endowed. It fell to the paladins to do their part, guided by prophecy and instinct to those tasks which lay within their capabilities. Mother-Chaos was real, all too real.


    But how was this not their part? A whole chapter had been sent, to destroy a single foe. How was it that the visions had been bestowed upon them, how was it that the Seals of Legitimacy had been formed upon the Prophets¡¯ scrolls, if this was not their victory? Was there something more they had to do, something beyond merely separating the dracolich¡¯s head from its snaking neck?


    He stepped back wearily, almost overcome by the sudden temptation to run, scramble away up the slope and escape back into the tunnels leading up, back into the brightness awaiting them up there, on the outside¡­ He leaned gratefully on Glaimborn once more, and closed his eyes, burying himself in contemplation.


    He should¡¯ve known, even when he¡¯d been running towards it. Should¡¯ve known, when there was none of the tell-tale recoil as he burst its invisible shields. He understood why it refused to enter an insubstantial state ¨C if anything that would¡¯ve only amplified the harm his holy strikes caused it ¨C but that didn¡¯t explain why it didn¡¯t armour itself. Why it made itself visible.


    Why, when it had outmanoeuvred them at every turn, did it land in front of them and let them have at it? It was likely that the dragon had no eldritches remaining to it, given the sheer number of skeletons it¡¯d employed, and yet ¨C


    Where is its breath-weapon?


    ¡°Do you still not understand, Sir Durgil?¡±


    It looked dead, and there was no heaving of the gargantuan chest, no wheeze as exposed lungs filled and deflated. Yet the lips curled, the eyes reignited, swivelling to focus their gaze at him.


    And there it was ¨C the sound of the dracolich¡¯s voice, crackling and booming, like lightning shattering old trees, sending them crashing blackened to the ground. The creature tried to speak softly, its tone one of amusement, but at Durgil¡¯s proximity the tumult was nauseating in its effect.


    The stone didn¡¯t shake underfoot. All the same Durgil was not alone as he was driven back, the mental impact of the dragon¡¯s continued survival striking him worse than any physical blow or sonic strike.


    He stumbled, and gasped, the pain in his knee suddenly flaring up, magnitudes worse than ever before. He felt teeth, tearing into tendons, felt the bitter pain of a kneecap splintering in two. A wordless yelp thrust itself up, out of his stomach, peeling back his lips and hurling itself into the air. He went down, clutching at himself, gulping the rotten atmosphere of the cave between mouthfuls of agony-fed bile.


    When he looked up once more, it was slowly coalescing into its former shape, every dissection rotting as it was fixed, each tear gradually mending, dripping. The wet mess of its hindquarters solidified, bit by bit, the tail forming out of fleshy sludge as it pressed its rump into the revolting puddle. There was a faint rustling, an almost-crunching sound, as shattered bones found their places.


    The odours released by its transformation were overpoweringly sweet, the rancidness filling Durgil¡¯s skull. At another time it would¡¯ve been enough to unman him, unmake him, send him vomiting to the floor. But he was already there. Already staring up with wet, hopeless eyes.


    A single claw, as long and delicately-wielded as a jousting lance, reached up into the air, plucking a huge black crown from pure nothingness and casually flipping it about, settling it atop the horned head. Just from the sheer size of it, the trinket had to weigh more than fifty men, but the dragon bore its burden as though it were a feather. Upon the horns of the enormous serpentine brow, it looked positively dainty, a trinket of no great consequence.


    ¡°Despair is my chief weapon.¡± Even as Durgil stared the dragon rose up, its neck arching to elevate the head, the speed and sheer fluidity of its motion startling. ¡°In battle, the telling blow with such a weapon cannot be achieved at a single pass.¡±


    The dragon¡¯s right forepaw came up then nonchalantly stamped down again, crushing a nearby transfixed knight beneath its tremendous limb. The man made not a sound, leaving the plane without so much as a whimper, but the sanctified steel plate in which he was clad screamed as it was rent asunder.


    ¡°It is achieved through a series of entirely avoidable reversals,¡± the evil creature went on, ¡°bringing you here, to this point.¡±


    The upraised head looked down, the dragon¡¯s crown combined with its bearing to make it appear almost regal, its burning eyes raking the environment, moving from one knight to the next.


    ¡°Upon the very first application of pressure, the razor-wire garrotte spills your victim¡¯s life-blood to pool at their feet; yet it takes more to bite through a man¡¯s spine¡­ A dwarf¡¯s spine.¡±


    Why? croaked the dry voice of despair in the champions¡¯s mind. Why this? Why me?


    One by one, the last members of the Whisper¡¯s Predicate were extinguished.


    Sir Pent was sliced in two where he knelt, blubbering. Lord Shebril was hissed-upon, deluged in a poison breath so caustic that no faith, no flesh, endured when the clouds parted. The youngest knight remaining to them, Sir Lilaire, had his breastplate, ribcage and the whole front of his torso stripped away by the swift incision of a talon, left exposed and bisected upon the rocks.


    And then he was alone. The last paladin.


    You abandon me ¨C now, Kultemeren?


    You dare abandon me now?


    ¡°You thought to become chapter-master, did you not?¡± The dragon¡¯s tone of voice was playful as its immense claws set about their work, reducing Durgil¡¯s friends, his family, to tatters of flesh and cloth, chunks of riven metal, toying with their remains like a toddler tearing idly at grass. ¡°Always, even amongst the silent paladins of the Almighty Judge, there is the thread of doubt in truth, that single, singular trap lying in wait inside every heart, whether it beats or no.¡± It kneaded the remains of the paladins, and the scraps came skittering from all across the stony basin, joining the ball of amalgamated awfulness beneath its paws. ¡°Ego,¡± it went on. ¡°The desire for attainment. For meaning. To pass beneath the archway. But it¡¯s nothing more than a paradox. The thread is tugged, and every drop of blood flows along it, leaving the shell a dry, emptied husk. Truth is no more real than the doubt it swears upon as its foundation-stone, its unapprised assumption gnawing at its core, a hole aching for a key¡­¡±


    ¡°Why.¡±


    The dwarf¡¯s voice cracked and popped as he spoke, like he was gargling wooden splinters and stones.


    It didn¡¯t come out like a question. It didn¡¯t even feel like his tongue moved. Durgil heard the word in his inner ear, clear as day, as the dragon finished its sentence.


    At first he wasn¡¯t certain that the sound had come from his throat ¨C it had been so long since he¡¯d heard his own voice, it was unrecognisable ¨C and, yet, there it was.


    The sound itself was almost incoherent. But the meaning? The meaning was there.


    Quiet. Dreadful. Disbelieving.


    It was summary judgement, encapsulating all the world¡¯s truths into a single choked noise. But Durgil would set it to stand like a figurehead before all mortal-kind, a flag to wave in the faces of heedless gods.


    ¡°Can it be? Do you speak? Ahhhh-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaa¡­¡±


    The dracolich¡¯s laughter was accompanied by wreaths of fumes pouring from between its savage teeth. It pawed more-furiously at its ball of corpses and pulverised armour, as if unable to contain itself.


    Durgil shook his head, feeling every good thought, every wholesome thought, drip right out the bottom of his skull like warm water through a wicker basket.


    ¡°I had thought to ruin you, of course ¨C but this!¡± The dragon reared up to its full height, and the brightness of its eyes was a terrible thing to behold. ¡°You excel, Durgil, former Knight of Kultemeren. I am most pleased with your progress.¡±


    ¡°Why¡­¡°


    ¡°Why not?¡± The dragon took his outburst in its stride, smiling callously. ¡°You came for me, a morsel with which I might entertain myself; but do not think I take my entertainment lightly ¨C¡±


    ¡°Why did he bring us here? Why¡­ why¡­¡±


    Durgil¡¯s eyes found the warped bodies the dragon had missed, the remnants of once-splendid armour, scattered about the cavern floor.


    And he knew the power had left him.


    He hadn¡¯t accidentally broken his vows. He had rejected them, taken them up in his hands and twisted them till they broke.


    That was all they deserved.


    ¡°Why¡­¡±


    His armour was heavy upon his back, the straps restrictive on his joints. Dwimmerfoe and Glaimborn were bereft of light. He felt old, suddenly, the weight of his years coming down on his chest like an avalanche. The sigils of Kultemeren hurt his eyes to look upon.


    His voice, so newly reclaimed, fell away to gasps. He cast off his gauntlets with flicks of his wrists and set about fumbling with the buckles.


    ¡°Kultemeren has always desired violence.¡±


    Durgil looked back up sharply.


    ¡°You do not believe me!¡± the dracolich cried, mocking laughter erupting forth once more. ¡°Oh, hahaha, you fool! How might I lie? Always it is the way with mortals; to ascribe those morals you proclaim to the highest of heavens, and those you deny to the basest planes. Yet your heart knows the truth, as your forsaking father, the Judge of All and Nothing, knows it. And does it not grieve him! O, he would change if he might! There is no higher morality than survival, and for you, yesssssss, even for you I was set to the challenge. Do you not realise the threat you posed to me? O, Durgil of my dreams¡­ Even a single soul imbued with divine force might wreak terrible vengeance upon one such as I, linked by such astral strings as you are, fastened into a web of power you cannot even begin to comprehend.¡± The fluid eyes drifted with the blueworm waves. ¡°One man, armed not with a sword and shield forged of steel but of faith¡­ That is an awful thing. But forty of you, with your little sticks, metal spikes? No¡­ No, they were but fodder for my war-machine. Too many swords ¨C too little confidence. I say it again in defiance of your paltry epiphanies: you do not understand the pack. Had you been started upon this quest alone, it would bode more ill on my chances¡­


    ¡°Hahhh!¡°


    His enemy¡¯s voice had entered a musing, thoughtful phase, almost lulling Durgil into a state of tranquility; this new explosion of sound brought the dwarf back half-way to his senses, and his body was set reeling, shaking away there on the floor at the dragon¡¯s feet.


    ¡°No. I was forced to break your spirits before permitting you to face me. I watched the fluctuations in your steadfastness. And in the end I needed do naught. You slew yourselves, I think. Had your former god wanted aught of you, he would not have let you die to the last man. Now, here, at the end of all things, I make you in Kultemeren¡¯s stead: my Forsworn One. My antipaladin. And so shall I gloat in the face of Vaahn himself!¡±


    Antipaladin¡­


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The moment the word fell from the forked tongue, Durgil¡¯s hand fell away from the belts on his greaves. Ecstasy flooded him and he trembled, folding in on himself so that he didn¡¯t topple in spasm.


    ¡°Yes! Feel it!¡± the dragon spat, playful scorn in its voice. ¡°When the reward is stripped, the void left in its absence is beyond mere Wellspring. It is more than just my magic. It is older than spellcraft. Older than your world! Strip away the gloss, the varnish, the layers of old paint! Expose the raw soul, and let the acid bite at you! The tongue proclaiming its own truth is always that of a liar! There is more to what you were than what you are. Thus we reveal the shape hidden within. With chisel. With incision. With self-directed violence.¡±


    All lights faded. The blueworm died. The curtain of shadow became a blanket, covering everything, blackness coalescing about the dwarf¡¯s frame. In the heart of the darkness, it found him and filled him.


    There was no more wholesome sensation than the electricity coursing up his spine. It was what it was to be loved. To be known and understood. Not for one¡¯s face, one¡¯s front, one¡¯s fawning outward expression before the whole of society. No. For the inside. For the guzzling gizzards, the bile and wroth, greed and ego. For the self-expression and the truth ¨C


    Yes! he exulted, writhing. The truth of it! The truth of me!


    Speaking aloud had awoken it. There was still within Durgil the purity of the boy-dwarf, wide-eyed in wonder as he first strode the streets of Mund. The idealism of the adolescent-dwarf, whose poems had failed to win the heart of Bronyaka, the most-beautiful dwarf-lass in all of Anvil Row¡­


    Was that really what had started it all, what had set him on this path to self-righteous knighthood? To silence?


    When he¡¯d looked back on his life, he¡¯d seen it through lenses of pure opaque romance. It was like one of the stories, a great warrior spurred on to realise his potential only by rejection. When she¡¯d died in a darkmage attack in Rivertown, almost twenty years later, Durgil had been miles away, busy with his duties. He¡¯d never seen her body, except in dreams, her face obscured by coils of blood-wet coppery hair.


    Still, he¡¯d always felt it gave him purpose. Like there was some meaning to things. A context for existence.


    Now his earlier passivity made him want to retch.


    That is no context! I silenced myself, for nothing! A man throwing his loaf off a bridge, pinch by pinch, telling passers-by he¡¯s starving himself to save the world¡­


    There was no other way to be, now. Sir Durgil the Duped! Kultemeren had betrayed him ¨C


    Kultemeren has betrayed me!


    The thought itself was exactly the kind of paradox he¡¯d have never been able to think before, but even conceiving it was ample demonstration of its truth.


    ¡°The god¡­ of truth¡­ betrayed me.¡±


    The darkness passed. The soft ambience of the blueworm coating the ceiling returned slowly to the air.


    ¡°No. Oh, oh no, my child!¡± The dragon spoke softly, compassionately now. ¡°He only sent you here to die. It is I whom he betrayed.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C¡±


    ¡°And it is he whose edicts I now flaunt,¡± the dracolich continued, ignoring his confused outburst. ¡°You shall live, Durgil. You shall live, and become a symbol of all that has been hidden from you your whole life. Did you honestly think Kultemeren omnipotent? Did you honestly believe his ability to control what mortals say of him implies some fundamental order to reality? Your understanding of truth is limited. Why do you think truth to be good? In your childlike fantasy you lose sight of the fact that almost all the truths told are evil: about evil, for evil purposes! This very truth! No, the truth is harsh, cruel, capricious. The truth is a tool of chaos, an agent of the Queen of Night! From whose womb did he spring? I shall say it to you now, a phrase the speaking of which would be beyond heresy, beyond unthinkable in your precious Mund. Kultemeren dwells in Nethernum. Twelve Hells¡­ Indeed! Kultemeren dwells in Infernum! His role is not that of objectivity. It is subjectivity. It is the truth to be found in the small things, the most awful things. Did you not wonder at the minor infractions which evade the sight of his powerful servitors? Kultemeren knows that Mal Malas has been a good dragon this year, and will get all the Yearsend presents owed to him. Hahahahahahaha!¡±


    It was too much ¨C Durgil rolled to his knees and vomited.


    Pure light fell, glowing water pouring from his throat onto the rock, splashing and pooling briefly before the oppressive darkness smothered it. Its residue burnt his gums as it seeped between his teeth, and he spat it out violently, watching gratefully as its traces evaporated.


    ¡°No, child. I believe the true Kultemeren behind the lies wished me weakened, for the battle to come. Your former lord and master is invested in my defeat, and even now he approaches, fury in his eyes. But I withheld all my strength, sacrificing only a tithe of my forces. It was worth it, to gain you.¡±


    Durgil noticed that his armour now resembled that of Lord Ghelliot, when the chapter-master had first been changed into a deathknight, charred-looking, its decorations still slowly warping. His gauntlets, lying on the rock beside Glaimborn, had also been transformed; the carefully-etched runes were distorted on every outward- and inward-facing surface of the steel, melted into inchoate forms.


    At least it felt lighter again, now.


    The sword and shield themselves were dead, blackened. Their lights were extinguished, and no trace of nethernal fire sprang into existence to replace their celestial radiance. Durgil was no deathknight. He was not undead. Yet still he recognised the potential in his former armaments. There was no unholy aura to them that his eye could detect, but he could feel it.


    He slid his hands into the gloves, then reached for¡­


    For Shadeborn and Hammerfoe. He wasn¡¯t in a position to heft them properly, but he retook possession of them all the same, dragging them, scraping them across the rock until they were right before him.


    You ¨C


    ¡°You never forsook me,¡± he whispered.


    Their twin, separate darknesses only seemed to deepen in response.


    Durgil looked up at the dragon ¨C Mal Malas, he reminded himself, or one claiming to be him at least ¨C and shuddered as the creature¡¯s latest words washed over him again in recollection.


    ¡°He¡­ He is coming ¨C here?¡±


    Kultemeren himself.


    ¡°Oh no, you misunderstand me! No avatar of the god. Merely his agent, one whose loyalty is split amongst many. A misbegotten and ill-trained brat, and, yet, a potent creature in his own way.¡±


    For the first time, Durgil heard apprehension in the cavern-shaking voice. A twist of uncertainty.


    Recognition.


    ¡°One of¡­ one of your kin is coming?¡±


    The dracolich snarled laughter. ¡°Ahhhhhh! Something like that, yes. I had to draw him here, ensure he came back. And yet he moves more quickly now than visions foretold. I had scant hours in which to prepare for this, for his, ahhhh¡­ welcome home party.¡±


    Mal Malas craned his neck down suddenly. ¡°Tell me, dwarf, that I might better repeat this feat: to what precisely did you succumb? Was it the awful dream, last night? Was it the old wound, from the first time you genuinely thought you would die? Was it watching them perish, one by one? The personal edge to my challenge, singling you out?¡±


    Durgil stared, meeting the gigantic amethyst orbs without flinching.


    ¡°Pray, speak now, and hold not your unpractised tongue for fear of reproach! Rest assured, he cannot hear you now. Even the Judge¡¯s hand falls short of the first corner of your path.¡±


    In the silence that fell between them as the dragon closed his lips, there was only the soft, distant moaning of the air moving through cracks in the stone.


    ¡°Do not think me incapable of chastising you, antipaladin. I can rob the answer from your mind, or accomplish your ending in the space of a thought and take it from your ghost. You must realise, despite everything ¨C you mean nothing to me. The proof of concept was my single desire.¡±


    Durgil felt himself grin. He tightened his fingers about Shadeborn¡¯s grip, Hammerfoe¡¯s straps. ¡°Just you try i-¡°


    There was no trace of reaction, no flicker of foreclaw, no rolling of a tremendous eye. There was only the force, the immense, irresistible weight of a sorcerous construct he couldn¡¯t see, driving through his shield and breastplate without marring them in the slightest ¨C without encountering the least resistance as it plunged into his shoulder.


    This was no mere spear of power, no meagre lance of energy: it was a thick wedge, like a mammoth¡¯s tusk ¨C like one of the dragon¡¯s own horns. As Durgil was driven back and down by Mal Malas¡¯s magic, skittering and crunching across the stone with blood welling up inside his newly-blighted cuirass, he loosed a yell.


    It felt good, to scream. Properly scream.


    After a few moments the sorcerous barb evaporated, with all the suddenness with which it had struck him, leaving him groaning and gurgling upon the rocks.


    The nethernal spike was gone, sure, almost as though it had been all in his imagination ¨C save for the very real wound it left in his upper chest. The cavity in his body represented a mortal injury, he knew ¨C his arm dangled, and the amount of blood pushing its way out through the seams in his armour told him he didn¡¯t have long left.


    He had dared the representative of Death, and death was all he¡¯d won.


    Through the agony, he chuckled weakly. Somehow, he respected Malas now. The swiftness of his response, the cold, callous nature of the dracolich¡¯s decision-making.


    ¡°I will let you live,¡± Malas said, affecting a magnanimous expulsion of his breath-weapon into the air.


    Durgil moved his dying eyes to the dragon¡¯s face with great effort.


    ¡°Wrongggg,¡± the dwarf gargled.


    Malas reached up to his crown, ignoring him. ¡°I shall simply strip your mind. I still have time. A shame, though. I had hoped to let you exercise your voice. You shall need it, where you¡¯re headed, and even I cannot comprehend the nature of your power once it is fully expressed.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    Durgil sat up, trying to glance down at his shoulder. He couldn¡¯t see through the armour, of course, but something told him the wound was no longer life-threatening. He could move his fingers again. Vigour was returning rapidly, his vision clearing. Pain at the site of the injury diminished, then diminished again, dropping within seconds to the dull ache of a freshly-healed sore.


    ¡°What ¨C did you do to me?¡±


    The dragon lowered his claw, leaving the black jagged crown atop his misshapen horns. ¡°Nothing, Durgil. Or, at least, nothing else. You are quite capable of surviving that blow, I trust¡­ Consider it a warning shot.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I healed it?¡±


    ¡°You contain the reason for your own existence now.¡± Impatience entered the ancient voice. ¡°I await my answer.¡±


    Durgil coughed laughter. ¡°You know I can lie now.¡±


    The dragon shrugged his vast, tattered wings, accompanied by the immense hollow sound of a ship¡¯s sails flapping. ¡°You won¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°No, I won¡¯t.¡± Durgil¡¯s voice was caustic despite the vicious smile slapped on his mouth beneath the beard. ¡°What did it? What tipped me over? You really want to know.¡±


    Malas inclined his head, and smoke seeped out between his scaly lips, wreathing about his jaw.


    ¡°It was ¨C¡±


    Lying was hard, when the truth was so bitter.


    ¡°What you did to them. It told me Kultemeren¡­ It told me none of it was real. My whole life has been just like one of your illusions.¡±


    ¡°You think you were the first paladins to fail?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen¡­ seen knights die before.¡± The grin stayed on his face, and though his voice didn¡¯t shake he felt the tears running hot from the corners of his eyes. ¡°But never did I see them¡­ see their souls taken.¡±


    ¡°You think me a god, to own such a thing? You thought I stole what can only be given? Ownership is such a strong term. Oh, you and all mortalkind, you have so much to learn. But one soul was lost here. Whether it has been found once more is a question I must pose to you, antipaladin.¡± The gloating returned: ¡°Does your chest still hurt, little dwarf?¡±


    Durgil shook his head, but not in an attempt to answer the question. Fury suddenly bubbled up within him.


    ¡°You made them deathknights!¡± he roared. ¡°You took them and you ¨C you ¨C made Lord Ghelliot into ¨C¡±


    ¡°Do you think Nethernum eternal? Have you, in your fear, in your mild, meagre quivering, given to it the character of the Everbefore, the Everafter? I tell you: I could not, cannot, make of them demons. The shadowland is but a step on the soul¡¯s journey, a soothing sojourn before the true tests begin. A sojourn which I for one hope to prolong, to at least such an extent that I retain time upon these middle planes commensurate with twice my natural lifespan¡­ had I retained such a tiresome thing. No. Your former brethren ¨C they still face their choice. Once my control is removed they can do good or ill, like any man, any god. Their experiences in undeath shall shape them, even as did their experiences in life; for better or for worse, who shall say for sure?¡±


    Durgil had trouble following the dragon¡¯s logic, yet he spoke with the conviction of one well-acquainted with spiritual matters. Was Mal Malas suggesting they had as much chance at getting into Celestium as Infernum, despite the change he¡¯d wrought in them?


    ¡°But they are predisposed to evil now! They were noble men, they were ¨C¡±


    ¡°Do you truly believe that? They were children! When you attain adulthood you must set aside such precious insolence as they displayed in my home. Surely now you agree?¡±


    Durgil had no words. He looked down at the blackened sword and shield in his hands.


    Do I not still play the child? he wondered. Lying to him like this?


    It wasn¡¯t Lord Ghelliot¡¯s transformation that¡¯d done it to his mind, to his soul ¨C not really. It was the moment the fiend¡¯s teeth entered his knee, the moment the illusory pain entered his mind in spite of his undeceivable nature. That was when he¡¯d known they were going to lose. Their enemy had subtly revealed the extent of his upper hand and it was then, feeling the remembered agony of the demonic jaw lodged in his knee-cap ¨C that was when he¡¯d really doubted. When he¡¯d lost the war, before it¡¯d even really begun.


    But he wasn¡¯t going to tell the dragon that, and Mal Malas seemed to take him at his word. He had a knack, it now seemed, for double-dealing.


    ¡°Yet I shall deign to educate you,¡± the dracolich continued, ¡°as the wyrm teaches only the proven drake and not the wyrmling. For is that not the crux of it ¨C the soul of the wyrmling? Tell me ¨C can the dwarf-born babe not be predisposed to evil ere he is faced with moral choices, by exposure to evil? Can he not be a victim? The character is formed primarily by external forces. Hunger and thirst are powerful enemies, no less so than I. Do not be so quick to draw distinctions between mortal and eldritch. Are we not one and the same? Do we not bear the same souls? The spirit of the starveling idiot is condemned for the theft of a loaf, while that of the lazy aristocrat is upraised for a few nonchalant acts of charity. You dare call them noble. They were rich, pompous beyond compare! You, you who were one of them, ought know it better than most!¡±


    ¡°But¡­ so¡­¡± Durgil struggled with the dragon¡¯s meaning, his curiosity piqued. ¡°There really is no difference? They are¡­ undead, not ba-¡°


    ¡°Ah, my good dwarf. Undeath is simply another way of saying life. Why would you not retain your intelligence beyond your material existence? Do you truly hate yourself so? You would not be as them, I think, if I worked upon you now.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to smell like a rotting fish.¡±


    ¡°Indeed?¡± The dragon sounded amused. ¡°One¡¯s scent, above one¡¯s aspirations: a fine contradiction about which to twist one¡¯s life. Very well ¨C yet the offer shall remain open, so long as we both reside upon this plane. Should you turn out mortal after all, seek me if it suits you, and I will remake you in this image.¡± Malas¡¯s talon reached up, gesturing to all the tons of rancid splendour hanging from his bones. ¡°I will unspin the knot at the heart of you, bring you clarity.¡± He lowered the claw once more. ¡°Only if it suits you, of course.¡±


    The dracolich laid down his great head, rolling slightly and stretching into a position of repose. He closed his eyes, jelly-like lids sliding down to mute the amethyst fires.


    ¡°Now ¨C how do I look?¡±


    ¡°Like you need taking back to the shop and repairing.¡±


    Twelve Hells, it felt good to talk.


    The dragon chuckled. Black mist rose from the creases of age-old nostrils.


    ¡°Good. Let him see me so. He will think me weak. It will not take him long to realise you have been my foe. Play along, if you will, and when I find my victory over him ¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me.¡±


    The dwarf¡¯s utterance was quiet, but he knew the dragon would hear, knew he was interrupting.


    After a pause, Mal Malas adopted an offended tone, his eyes still closed.


    ¡°I have no need to lie to such as you. You are ¨C¡±


    ¡°More lies.¡± The dwarf sat back on his haunches, feeling the familiar, comfortable bite of his armour upon his flesh through the padding, and smiled openly. ¡°For all your words, all your years, all your magic ¨C you don¡¯t understand me, either. You don¡¯t know what I am¡­ what you¡¯ve done.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve done nothing,¡± the dragon insisted.


    ¡°Yet I can see through your lies! And you can¡¯t see through mine!¡±


    Durgil climbed to his feet, and Mal Malas raised his head a few feet from the rock to better regard the dwarf.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what your purpose is here, but I know you¡¯re misleading me now! You don¡¯t want to be victorious. You want to lose, and¡­ and for me to tell your¡­ your slayer that you¡­¡±


    It made no sense, but there was no other way to interpret the experience. Mal Malas had said ¡®when I find my victory over him¡¯ and ¡®I have no need to lie,¡¯ and each time Durgil felt the stab of certitude, a new fact entering his brain at the speed of light:


    The first time: He plans to lose.


    The second: He believes he needs to lie to cover it up.


    But there was none of the usual divine rage inside the dwarf. He¡¯d been emptied. He kept his smile on.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell your killer everything,¡± he promised the dragon.


    ¡°No!¡± it hissed, twisting about to come back onto its four legs, suddenly surging closer to Durgil. ¡°Kindling! The truth? The truth would imperil both you and I, and ¨C¡±


    It was too late. Sooner than Mal Malas had anticipated, his opponent entered the cavern.


    ¡°No conversation this time, beast.¡°


    The newcomer¡¯s voice echoed down from the blueworm ceilings, blatantly supernatural in its thunderous tones.


    ¡°No more messing around. Step away from the dwarf, and I¡¯ll make it as painless as I can. By Kultemeren.¡°


    The illusion barely took hold in time. Durgil saw right through it, and bore witness to Malas¡¯s flight as the real dragon went right through the cavern wall, sliding through stone like a ghost.


    Durgil¡¯s smile broke into a grin. The fake dragon wheeled away from him, eyes raking the roof, searching for the person with this odd, foreign-tinged Sticktown accent.


    A champion of Mund, Durgil thought to himself, an archmage, come to save me?


    He chuckled some more.


    Malas, you really did go too far, didn¡¯t you?


    The dwarf pointed at the wall, and cried: ¡°He went that way!¡±

 Wyrmdeath pt1

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.4: WYRMDEATH</h2>


    ¡°So it is you seek to mine your own foundation in your desperate thirst after power. Will your greed know no bounds? Taking from the walls is not enough for you! I hope the jewels you unearth make for fine points of pride, joy enough to refill your excavated soul.¡±


    ¨C from the Mortiforic Creed


    ¡°He went that way!¡±


    The illusion-piercing vision bestowed upon me by my goblin eldritch wasn¡¯t anything like that granted by my former fairy, and it had probably been augmented in unknown ways by my brother and sister despite my instructions. I should¡¯ve spent more time training myself in its use. As it was, I currently had no way to discern between them as the immense dracolich became two immense dracoliches, one of them coiling into an attack-posture, the other plunging into the wall of the cavern. The paladins had done some good before they perished ¨C both of the dragon¡¯s mirror images looked to be in a right state, half of his cadaver-flesh hanging off the bone in glistening slices.


    The dichotomy in his appearance was less a conundrum than a boon. I found myself instinctively disbelieving in both. I very much doubted an illusion was going to overcome my willpower and harm me during this particular confrontation.


    Still ¨C I knew which one prudence would have me tackle first, even without the dwarf¡¯s directions.


    I chased my prey straight into the stone wall, the wizard-flight granting me twice the dragon¡¯s speed, at least until I made contact with the stone. But even then the passage through the earth made little difference ¨C my wraith-state ensured I retained maximum velocity as I slid face-first into the rock.


    My shields¡¯ edges touched his, ranging out ahead of me through the earth. The forces felt damned real.


    In fleeing me, he produced a change in me that I doubted he¡¯d expected.


    Confidence.


    Not that I thought I was suddenly going to win. But even this, this little victory ¨C he took me seriously, he took for me for a threat ¨C this was enough to sustain me. Remind me what it was to be the archmage, the champion. How it felt, to have some of the most potent creatures ever to exist, fearing you.


    I was blind here, submerged in the dense strata of stone surrounding the cavern, plunging horizontally with him ever-deeper into the solid ground. Cracks were few and far between, offering no glimpse of my enemy. Yet he was blind too. I wasn¡¯t out of my element; I knew what I was doing. Sure, I had to hold my breath; I very much doubted my enemy needed to breathe at all, but I could hold my breath for minutes like this, I knew, even if the cracks filled with stale air were to reduce in frequency. And yes, I was slower to work the shields, slower than ever before. But their strength ¨C


    I chewed through Malas¡¯s force-fields, hot on his tail, and it was like I was whisking the magenta energies, peeling the shields away one by one and dispersing them.


    He changed his trajectory, angling downwards, perhaps not hoping to lose me, but to make me lose at least some of my momentum in the turn.


    It was a foolish manoeuvre. He had to slow to adjust his own course into a descent. He had some kind of vampire-speed, but it was nowhere near enough ¨C even before he completed the dip, my satyr-reflexes were swelling. I fixed tendril-tips to his core shielding, the stuff that would never break. And I shot past him, laying the tendrils of force over that impermeable shell.


    The contact was like fire, burning up my imaginary arm, filling my stump and mind with roaring pain. I had to stifle myself to stop the fatal laughter threatening to empty my lungs, understanding what this meant. I could shift his move to my advantage, so long as I was careful.


    As he moved downwards, he pulled me with him. I was attached to him now. Even better, I maintained my speed.


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    I wrapped around him like a kid¡¯s swing wrapping around the bar.


    When I came to a dead stop, I dragged him about, I bringing him wheeling past me against his will in a wide arc.


    I withdrew the tendrils as I hurled him straight back the way we came.


    Emerging into the cavern near its floor, the blue phosphorescence of the ceilings bright enough to my eye, I caught sight of the tremendous prince of dragons, somersaulting head over tail. I let the laughter out, pursuing eagerly. The illusion of him swiped at me as I passed by; I let the talons rip right through me, ignoring them. It was more than obvious which of them was real.


    ¡°So now you come for revenge!¡± Malas howled, finally mastering himself and coming to a stop near the ceiling. ¡°Do not think you are serving your own ends. It is me! It is all me!¡±


    ¡°You asked me about the heart of the champion. And you said you didn¡¯t have a way to teach me. But I think your afterthought paid off.¡± I slowed my pursuit, and gestured to the stump, the free-flowing tendrils he too could surely see. ¡°You were right. Whatever I am now, you helped shape me. Revenge? Since when do you call this revenge? If a man crafts a sword and in his haste to sharpen it slices his hand, will we call it a crime? No, no. I suppose¡­ I suppose I came to thank you.¡±


    The surprise in the dracolich¡¯s gaze was brief, the eyes quickly narrowing once more to the brutal, cunning glare ¨C but it happened. He was too gargantuan to mask the nuances of his expression without magical aid.


    ¡°Thank me?¡±


    And he couldn¡¯t disguise it, the naked greed in his voice when he thought there was a chance I might become his creature.


    ¡°You know.¡± I sent a simple wave of intention down at the force-lines and they lengthened. ¡°Metaphorically. Show you my appreciation.¡± I grinned up at him, and now my barbs flexed and tensed of their own accord, both whip and spear, interchangeable. ¡°Tell me. What do you call it when, in his haste to sharpen it, he stumbles and opens his throat on its edge? Was the sword stupid, or the guy rolling around with his head half-cut off?¡±


    He didn¡¯t need to be told twice. If he was faking his fear, he was damned good at it. He had none of the mettle of the champion. He flapped his wings, re-entering a wraith-state, propelling himself away from me again. The motion was swift and sharp, definitely intended for escape.


    ¡°Now!¡± hissed the twins from their invisible sanctuary in the corner. ¡°Lift!¡°


    I reached out with my force-tendrils, but it was going to be too late. He was going to withdraw into the ceiling ¨C he wasn¡¯t really stupid, he knew where his advantages lay ¨C


    But not the ceiling.


    It wasn¡¯t me the twins had been talking to.


    The rock itself shuddered and withdrew, lifting away from him, and he couldn¡¯t abrogate the difference in speed between us by plunging into it. I reached him in time, and latched on to his impenetrable inner shields with my sorcerous whips.


    ¡°Thanks, Orcan,¡± I grunted mentally.


    ¡°Hmph,¡± was all he said in reply, still clearly focussing on the groaning rock all around us. He wouldn¡¯t be able to hold it for long.


    I smiled all the same, reminded for a heartbeat of Dustbringer.


    For few moments Malas pulled me up towards the ever-rising roof with him; then I rooted myself in place with every pound of pressure the wizard-flight could bring to bear, and tightened the tendrils.


    We both froze.


    The lines of blue energy had wound around the magenta egg protecting him, like decorative swirls about a glow-globe, a delicate-looking yet unbreakable net. Then, knowing just how this was going to feel, I retracted the tendrils.


    Grinning through the crackling, burning sensation in my mind, I watched as the enormous dragon was yanked to heel.


    ¡°Well-leashed!¡± I cried, feeling the sweat beginning to drip down my hairline, despite the incorporeal substance I¡¯d become. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re trying to leave, but it¡¯s very rude. I thought you¡¯d be proud of me. An extended sword metaphor, and it wasn¡¯t even a dirty joke!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re pulling the wrong levers there, Kas.¡±


    I know! I¡¯m trying.


    Inch by inch, foot by foot, I bound him in place.


    ¡°You fool!¡± Malas roared, flailing uselessly with his great wings. ¡°You cannot slay me now! Ah, no honour is there to be found in you! I see now that my grand-sire chose wrong. You are ¨C¡±


    ¡°Who cares about destiny?¡± I growled back, reeling him in. The fake dracolich on the floor had been joined by two more, and the trio were battering at me without pause or point. ¡°Look at you ¨C look at the child¡¯s tricks you try on me! It is you who has forgotten how to fight, not I, grandfather.¡±


    ¡°You know nothing, nothing about who I am, the things I¡¯ve done! I could crush you in an instant if I dared ¨C¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand the heart of a champion and you never did. This is it! Ah-ha-haaaah! You dare speak to me of honour, you who gassed the children in the street! Look me in the eye you piece of drop and think about how much fun it¡¯s going to be when your saggy ass belongs to a demon-lord for all eternity. You know where you¡¯re going, don¡¯t you?¡±


    That did it. Finally, that did it.


    He faced me and screamed. Not in fear, but rage. He angled his wings and descended towards me of his own volition, my tendrils going slack on his shields as he plummeted.


    Now. He let the illusions fall away, even exited the wraith-state.


    Now, he was going to fight.


    * * *

 Wyrmdeath pt2

    The first truth Malas had to face: he had no weapons strong enough to harm me.


    He tried it all in the first ten seconds. Any time he tried to form blades of force on the edges of his shields, the threads of my net would simply swirl about the surface of the purple sphere and bite clean through them at the base, releasing the spikes into the air to drift like snipped-off chunks of hair. I danced about him, controlling his every move, and against the eldritch attacks he could muster my own star-reinforced shapes were no less impenetrable than his own. A barrage of Infernum-red arrows formed before his chest and came hurtling at me, only to disappear in clouds of orange sparks as they collided with my azure walls. The great ethereal paw of the Queen of Moths extended, and shattered into a thousand pieces of green glass when I reached out a blade to greet it. The black smoke of a dracolich poured from his maw with reckless abandon, yet my shields pushed the dense, noxious fog aside, not one errant whiff of its lethal odours reaching my nostrils before Orcan silently drew it away into hidden vents.


    That was when he busted out the eldritches. There was nothing stopping him from summoning piles of his minions on top of my head, so that was just what he tried to do, making a valiant attempt to dislodge me from my mid-air perch, regain some of his freedom¡­ flee me again¡­


    Nothing stopping him, until I turned a sliver of my attention to the portals opening above me. Those dimensional doors too far-flung for me to shut dribbled monsters onto me, but the nearest ones shivered and sealed themselves when exposed to my scrutiny. His sloppiness was showing. A flurry of force-blades served to disintegrate the lesser eldritches he spewed forth through his gates, and an array of carefully-placed walls would divert the greater ones, whose special strengths or sheer physical mass I couldn¡¯t afford to slip through the net ¨C


    He managed to distract me.


    He moved an inch before I realised he¡¯d succeeded ¨C I threw up a shield to block five amethyst lances that came shooting from his talons ¨C I brought up the shape to divert the catastrophe of a full-grown bintaborax bearing down at me ¨C I drew tight on the leash, panting, forcing him to be still ¨C


    But that was the second truth he had to face: I too had back-up. Back-up with the ingenuity of my very scary siblings. I could hear them in the background of my mind, doing their best to keep me appraised of their plans without actually stealing my attention. It was a delicate line to walk, but, if anyone could walk it, it was them.


    Malas¡¯s clouds of imps floated up into the shadows to lay down ranged fire on me, but they found themselves enveloped in the webs of some extremely hostile giant spiders. My own imps entered the fray, and the first thing Pinktongue chose to do was teleport up to the ceiling ¨C I spotted him casually assassinating those of his kin the spiders hadn¡¯t yet gotten to devour, baking their heads in hell-fire from his hands.


    Soon a variety of enlarged subterranean insects were showering down on my foe, doing to him exactly what he¡¯d tried to do to me. And his own enormous nature hardly helped him ¨C the physics didn¡¯t change, not in Materium at least. Apparently if he had access to size-changing eldritches, he hadn¡¯t joined with them, or didn¡¯t think to shrink. His shield was huge, and therefore presented an easy target. Contact with his barriers would spell the death of Kirid¡¯s augmented bugs, but before they perished to his blades the pressure of their malice would work to weaken him. Tremendous mites fell like black hail, skittering about and biting at the magenta air as soon as they landed. Bloated worms infused with the radiance of the ceilings squirmed across his shields, steaming blue clouds as they rolled ¨C


    It amused me to see how, when those worm-beasties were cut in two, they did not die, but only multiplied, living long-enough for Greenheart¡¯s healing power or their own native regenerative properties to restore them. The dracolich was forced to redouble his efforts to exterminate them, and check his work over after each pass. It might tire him, and it would certainly frustrate him.


    Death by a thousand cuts. Defeat by a thousand attacks. It was the only way, with a sorcerer of his calibre. Wear down the shields. Break through, bit by bit.


    And it was not, of course, just Kirid Oanor who came to my aid. Arch-wizardry was something to behold. It¡¯d been a long time since I¡¯d last witnessed the plumes of fierce orange-gold fire dancing in the darkness, erupting into magma, fire careening in sheets and ribbons from every point of contact, every withered husk of a body. Malas had brought through a pair of zombie-dragons almost immediately upon commencement of the battle, but he seemed to give up on the idea once my wizard lit them up like bonfires. Orcan was even using his power to shape elementals, binding the most powerful eldritches in stone, at least long enough for my own hit-squad of greater demons to deal with.


    In this, however, Orcan enjoyed only mixed results. The enemy bintaborax were, of course, proving incredibly troublesome, smashing through the wizard¡¯s rocky servitors with ease. Mrs. Cuddlesticks had taken a hammer-blow to the chin from one of her filthy dracolich-serving cousins, rotating her head a hundred and eighty degrees ¨C this hadn¡¯t stopped her from getting involved in the action, but I hoped it was something that would fix itself soon. Khikiriaz was duelling a whole coven of vampires; several were already impaled on the deadly tips of his antlers, limbs and torsos well-skewered by the morass of black horn. This didn¡¯t stop them trying to wriggle free, of course, and it seemed to hamper the ikistadreng in his dealings with their swift-moving fellows.


    Once the battle was fully joined, we both started piling our reserves on top, looking for an advantage. When Mal Malas deposited a few dozen gaumgalamar on the floor, I buried them in hundreds of wight-like elf-zombies. When he dropped a host of spectres on my demon hit-squad, I backed them up with the elf-ghosts.


    Before the dracolich could react to my deployment of extremely-killy undead, I whipped around Malas, adjusting his position as a molten river came cascading towards his forces. I was careful not to completely eclipse the lava flow, but I brought his shields into the stream all the same, letting the fire-spell glance off his barriers. It damaged his defences, and most of it still sprayed down over his troops, melting through nethernal bone and infernal scale with equal, scarily-rapid effectiveness. He tried his best to catch the lava, scoop it away with his magenta shapes, but it was starting to prove too much for him. His first attempt, he successfully splashed it on my wights, wiping a score or so of them out. His second, he failed and the orange, almost-gelatinous substance spattered all over a bunch of his obbolomin. Their animal-like screams would have been chilling, mortifying in any other context ¨C but here and now? Here and now, the agonised dirge of their combined death-song merely filled me with glee.


    I was distracted, repositioning my net ¨C I almost missed when he sent a series of flaming green skulls blasting into my shields, rocking me, forcing me to painstakingly rebuild ¨C


    His gambit worked, and I did miss as he opened portals above me again. I felt the impact like a shower of hail, a number of small intrusions, tiny demons peppering the upper sections of my shield and clinging there.


    Too late, I recognised what they were.


    ¡°Copycat,¡± I muttered.


    Not one, not two, but ten or more yithandreng were poised atop me.


    ¡°Klerez! Thanatar!¡± Malas shrieked before I could act to dislodge his fiends.


    ¡®Grow! Destroy!¡¯


    No creativity at all. He read my memories, and he didn¡¯t even understand how to use a size-changer correctly.


    They swelled to near-full mass in less than a second, becoming long, many-legged snakes, claws scratching at my burning shields. I dropped under their weight, but I didn¡¯t release their master, dragging Malas down with me.


    He¡¯s getting desperate, I observed as I descended aggressively. If he thought a trick like this would work¡­ Perhaps he thought I¡¯d have to release him in order to escape this trap. How amusing.


    I used the wizard-flight to propel myself, and went down into the ground, smashing the yithandreng into the rock.


    Silent darkness blanketed me for an instant as I submerged myself in the cool earth.


    Let¡¯s give him what he really wants.


    I reversed direction, ascending swiftly, emerging back into the cavern amidst a gang of dazed-looking yithandreng being dog-piled by ghosts. As I went I shortened my whip-tendrils, still approaching the dracolich, bringing us together despite his attempts to resist, pull away.


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    He had opened a portal above him, an inky darkness leading to Nethernum¡¯s dank underworld. But nothing was coming through this gateway to aid him. No ¨C it was an escape-route. One he wasn¡¯t going to get chance to use.


    What a pity.


    His reticence to commit to the combat we¡¯d engaged in only fuelled the fire in me, and I yanked the lines with renewed purpose, reeling him in to meet me as I rose.


    We were about to collide, and only the gods knew what would result from that meeting.


    Coming back up from the cavern floor, I was afforded a brief glimpse of the battle. My forces were losing. Malas had centuries¡¯ worth of eldritches, a veritable army of undead and demons, even some fey critters in the mix. I had fewer. My dark-elven ghosts were formidable, and they slew three for every one they lost, but lich-fire proved capable of destroying them, and each loss rang out in my mind. Orcan was still doing his best to reinforce the battle-lines, drawing dozens of elementals out of the walls even as he laid down defensive strikes, but it wasn¡¯t going to be enough. Khikiriaz was on his own, cut off from support, surrounded by the vampires. His red ikistadreng-essence was leaking out into the air from dozens of savage wounds criss-crossing his blurry flesh.


    I looked back up at my enemy as we crashed together. The undead draconic visage was locked into a grin like mine.


    But was my smile as wretched?


    Shields contacted, and exploded.


    I passed into him, carried on a wave of velocity ignorant of sorcerous forces. I passed into him, through him, and he passed through me.


    There was an instant, before I emerged on the other side, in which I sensed the eldritches in him. I couldn¡¯t get a firm grasp on them ¨C their shapes were amorphous, borders disguised by virtue of the number of them. Twelve or thirteen, at least.


    Disguised not just by their number. Their host, too. It was so easy to forget, what with him being an arch-sorcerer in his own right, that Mal Malas was himself an eldritch. He had sacrificed something to gain power, and that sacrifice had left him empty, vulnerable inside.


    Before I exited on the other side of him, I whispered it in Netheric, from one insubstantial substance to another.


    ¡°Be mine.¡±


    And I felt the way his own eldritch-essence lurched, the entirety of his consciousness swaying in response.


    He couldn¡¯t submit¡­ or could he?


    Cackling, I streamed free of his undead flesh, ripping my tendrils loose after me.


    Carrying at least five of his joined entities along for the ride.


    I could hear the twins cheering telepathically. Malas was descending, still caught in the pull of my downwards yank, but now he plummeted faster than before. When he spread his battered wings and spun about, he caught the air easily, with the suddenness of real motion, and it was then I realised ¨C he was no longer able to switch back to a wraith-state.


    One of the screaming eldritches trapped in the barbs of my whips was the ghost of a dragon, a young drake by the looks of things, much smaller than its master¡­


    Even without watching, I could sense the way my five captives were dying. The azure tendrils had mostly affixed themselves to the extremities of Malas¡¯s joined entities ¨C ankles, wrists, tails ¨C not their throats, from what I could tell. Yet as I cast my mind over their patterns, I could see that they were being burned up from the inside all the same, throbbing with incandescent blue light, clearer and keener than the smoky purples of their substances. It would only be a matter of seconds before the doomed entities were ashes, and my whips would be free to use as weapons once more.


    Malas, for his part, finally seemed to realise what had happened. I came to a halt above him, hearing the twins crowing in success in the back of my mind, and then I swiftly reversed direction, plunging back down at his long-horned, black-crowned head. Even as I moved back at him, plummeting like a meteor trailing a chorus of wailing monsters, I saw him casting about blankly. He was searching his regiments of minions for suitable replacements, something to fill the inner void I¡¯d created in his stable of bound slaves. His shields stuttered back into place, looking weaker than ever before, just in time to protect him from a group of my elven spirits that went surging up through the air at him.


    Finally getting a good aerial view of the confrontation, I suddenly realised why Malas had spent so long surveying the scene, why he had thought to flee ¨C what had changed down there. The twins¡¯ jubilation was made plain. A full third of Malas¡¯s forces had stopped acting. Not his demons, no, but over half his nethernal slaves. Ghouls cowered in their masses. Khikiriaz was snickering as he pounded his vampiric prey into mush, moving from one dazed blood-sucker to the next and goring them without meeting a whit of resistance.


    I¡¯d been lying to myself again, hadn¡¯t I? I¡¯d made it all more complicated than it had any right to be. I undermined myself, again and again, and it was all because I was afraid to face the truth of my power.


    It was me who thought of his inner shields as impenetrable. It was me who thought the only way in was death by a thousand cuts. But I¡¯d been wrong. I¡¯d thrown my force into his and maybe we both won. Maybe we both lost. Both shields had been shattered. But it had been his eldritches destroyed in the aftermath, not mine.


    Maybe it was just that I was used to this kind of combat. I¡¯d been weaned on it, even before I was a sorcerer. Not the sitting on your backside kind of fighting. The in your face, twisting and turning away from death kind. I¡¯d always been the same. Shields were only ever a form of reassurance. A way of pretending to myself that the knife would never touch my face again. I¡¯d never have to stand there paralysed while I was hurt, humiliated. Such a beautiful lie ¨C yet a lie nonetheless.


    Shields were a crutch.


    I let go the crutch. This time when we met, I didn¡¯t shape the shields ¨C only a single spear. Not protruding from any protective shape. Not like anything I¡¯d seen in the books.


    Just me. I formed it and fixed it by pure will.


    I heard the twins¡¯ simultaneous gasp in my mind, but they wouldn¡¯t stop me now. They understood. They had to trust me.


    I am the shield¡­ and I am the weapon, and the weapon is me. I can¡¯t be used by anyone else, but to make it true I have to do it. Accept it.


    I have to¡­


    I must wield myself.


    I saw it in the bottomless purple eyes when we collided again ¨C he knew it too.


    It was over.


    The lance of force I thrust out before me penetrated the magenta sphere as though the shape had fewer defensive properties than a gremlin¡¯s illusion. In a torrent of shield-shards, I pierced him right through, neck to belly.


    He took the blow, merely growling in response in spite of the wound¡¯s severity ¨C and the moment I penetrated his barrier he clutched at me. The talons riddled with amethyst grooves, awash in their own nethernal magic, sank effortlessly into my wraith-flesh.


    But now I wore an ascended ancient. Now I had the death-touch, the shadow-transfer, the same as him. He couldn¡¯t wound me that way.


    My body pulsed with its own amethyst light as he punctured me, and he gasped for what had to be the first time in centuries, the instincts of living flesh kicking in as agony laced him. He kicked and bucked, trying to writhe free.


    I sank my new fingers, the fingers he had bestowed upon me, inside the hulking dead cavity of his chest, clutching at him, searing him with the true power of an arch-sorcerer.


    Materium¡¯s trustworthy, unwavering blue fire.


    Together we crashed to the ground, crushing an untold number of corporeal eldritches beneath us. I was enveloped within the morass of wet, sliding scales and dry, stone-like meat that was the dracolich¡¯s material frame. Were it not for the twins¡¯ ability to read my mind and comprehend the truth of the situation, I had little doubt my Telese allies would¡¯ve been despairing at the sight. As it was, I heard them reassuring Kirid and Orcan. I supposed the increasingly-desperate sounds the dracolich was making might¡¯ve given it away.


    Inside him, I couldn¡¯t see, couldn¡¯t really hear. But I knew my task. It was deliciously simple.


    I tore him to bits.


    Mal Malas was incapable of remaining aloof and silent now. The ancient tongue wreaked vengeance on the air, his once-noble, authoritative voice reduced to an ear-splitting warble that reached me in bursts. That was the only vengeance he could take, now. The only thing left here he could defeat was the silence, the only thing he could do to harm us:


    Scream at us.


    The banshee in him was strong, its magic striking my body despite the twins¡¯ protections and my own. I shook and shuddered ¨C but only briefly. The banshee would die, soon enough.


    I slipped through the layers of scale and bone, filtering the lens of my sorcerer¡¯s-eye so that I could adapt my new weaponry¡¯s dimensional vector as I moved. With a little effort I dragged tons of his outer layers with me into the empty vaulted hall where his heart should¡¯ve been hidden, caving in his torso, flooding it with slick scales.


    I could feel him in here with me, in the soft purple radiance of his bones. The spirit. The soul. The ghost which would be all that was left of him once we were done here.


    He was a lich, an archlich. I couldn¡¯t kill him, not anymore than I could kill anyone. He would move on to Nethernum, his power depleted. But he would remain, in one form or another. His soul was outside my hands. I supposed chance or fate, or perhaps the gods themselves, would determine the hour of his coalescence.


    Let it be millennia hence.


    As I slid through his caved-in cavities I fixed tendrils to the pillar-like rib-bones of his internal structure. Perhaps unsurprisingly, a vampire that had been joined with him burst free of a wall of cold flesh, leaping at me. What perk let his vampiric brood operate, functioning fully in the daylight, I couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine.


    I simply added the strange vampire to one of the tendrils, looping the whip about its throat so that when I set forth once more, it would be decapitated. More merciful, I fancied, than letting it hang about to be incinerated. The vampire apparently didn¡¯t think too much of the idea, snarling and grasping for me, straining against the smoking blue rope wrapped around its neck. I did my best to be polite ¨C I even gave it a wave as I exited the hollow inside the dragon.


    When I finally slid free of him, not only did I leave everything inside him in ruins ¨C I drew out and slew all the other remaining eldritches trapped inside him. A frightened thastubabil and an offended-looking vamelgarit bearing an amethyst bow instead of a sword. A tiny moss-imp, and a gnomish zombie, barely any taller than the demonoid, in an incredible state of decay. The banshee, long grey hair snaking out almost as though she were descending through water. A blind rhimbelkina, hands in chains. And, of course, a distended goblin whose acquaintance I¡¯d made before.


    All of them bubbled and boiled away in the knots of my new tools.


    * * *

 Wyrmdeath pt3

    Seeing the Queen of Moths melted down to a pile of blubber made me feel very good indeed. I¡¯d expose Blofm to the memory of it later, if she fancied. I had the impression there¡¯d never been much love lost in that sovereign-subject relationship.


    At last, it was just him. His eldritches were dead or gone, and I sent mine home group by group ¨C Mrs. Cuddlesticks was still facing the wrong way, but was otherwise unharmed, at least as far as I could tell. I floated shieldless and entirely unconcerned above the dragon, observing my foe.


    Here he was. My captor. My mutilator. A great wyrm, mighty in both sinew and sorcery. A force to be reckoned with, flapping with tattered wings straight out of the pages of story-books and myths.


    Lying curled up and broken at my feet. No longer able to scream, nor move. The kind of destruction I¡¯d wrought on him would surely take hours to heal, even for one whose essence was now bound into the shape of a lich. I could see sliced scales, slowly re-knitting.


    It was nothing like enough.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± I said, swooping down over his head. ¡°What ¨C¡±


    He released a trail of black smoke from between the heavy, dead lips ¨C a meagre amount, really.


    I deliberately dropped into it, sucked it in and breathed it back at him.


    ¡°What is the heart of the slave?¡± I continued once the smoke cleared. ¡°What really made you want me to chase you down like this? I must tell you, I had a bloody good look for it, in there. You seem to be missing a part, though. If you were mine, I¡¯d return you.¡±


    The lip drew back again slowly, but he wasn¡¯t going to try enveloping me in the paltry breath-weapon again.


    He just smiled weakly, a few savage yellow teeth glistening there in the corner of his mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯d Return me too,¡± he whispered gloatingly, a deep, almost unintelligible rumble. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll meet again.¡±


    His eyes closed, but the smile remained on his reptilian face, making him look oddly peaceful in defeat.


    ¡°Can I chop off his head, please?¡±


    The question came in a quiet, gruff voice.


    I looked over at the armour-clad dwarf stepping out of the shadows between two boulders. He was half-way up the wall of the cavern, a ways over my head, and, if he¡¯d kept himself out of the battle, it wasn¡¯t obvious from the grime on his dark breastplate and greaves ¨C nor from the weary look in his eyes.


    ¡°He okay?¡± I asked inwardly.


    ¡°He¡­ is Durgil. A former paladin of Kultemeren. Malas made him speak. He¡­ he no longer trusts the truth. False visions, sent by the dragon, proved the undoing of his whole chapter. They¡­ wow.¡±


    ¡°Wow?¡±


    ¡°They fought hard, Kas. He feels lost. Like he belongs to the darkness now. But we need to get answers out of Malas first. We might not be able to control an undead dragon ¨C or ¨C no, we probably can¡¯t control him¡­ But we can read his surface thoughts, almost for sure.¡±


    I took in the short, stout paladin. Ex-paladin. The warped hauberk devoid of light, of meaning. The tainted sword upon which he so-heavily leaned.


    He¡¯s like the rest of us. He broke his vow. He, too, knows what it is to have failed.


    ¡°Durgil? I almost feel like I recognise you from somewhere.¡±


    He was silent a moment, then said tersely, ¡°Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°You know me?¡± I asked.


    ¡°We fought together. The Battle of Roseoak. And¡­ Let us say, you have no imitators.¡±


    ¡°Now you¡¯re just trying to make me blush.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t mean it favourably¡­¡±


    I ignored my telepathic irritants.


    ¡°I would very much appreciate the opportunity,¡± the dwarf pressed, his eyes fixed on the quiescent dracolich beneath me.


    ¡°Give us a minute,¡± I replied, gesturing. ¡°You¡¯ll get your chance.¡±


    Where I pointed, a platform of stone swooped down into view, my brother and sister at the front with the wizard and druid standing right behind them. All four of them were focussed on the near-corpse lying motionless and mountainous beneath me. Orcan and Kirid were wide-eyed, their fingers white on the stony rail ringing the floating platform. I could see the mixture of nervousness and exultation on both of their faces. They had taken an important step here ¨C it would build their confidence, to know that they could really contribute to such a daunting task: the slaughter of a dragon.


    And not just any dragon. Prince Deathwyrm himself. It was likely that, by his own accounting at least, Mal Malas had been the most formidable dragon in the whole dimension.


    But as the older archmages were drinking in the spectacle, finally getting to see Mal Malas close up, the twins were studying the dracolich. They had little wonder in their expressions; they looked pensive.


    ¡°Get rid of his crown.¡±


    When my brother and sister spoke in unison, I happened to be glancing in Durgil¡¯s direction. I saw the way he stared at them for a moment, then shrugged away his curiosity.


    Feeling satisfied the dwarf wasn¡¯t about to start causing a scene, I did as my brother and sister requested, setting my boots down on the fallen dragon¡¯s scalp. Standing between the great tree-sized horns, I bent to place my fingers beneath the rim of the cold stone object atop the dragon¡¯s head, and drew liberally on my satyr-strength to lift it.


    I was too weak. Had I my right arm, perhaps matters would¡¯ve been different, but to wish was to dream. My footholds weren¡¯t great on the sliding scalp layers, and I braced myself with the wizard-flight to no avail. The force-tendrils were useless for this task, slipping clean through the glossy, jet-black crown, entirely failing to interact with whatever spells it contained. I might as well have tried to swing one of the chains in Firenight Square around my head.


    I could get the bintaborax to hurl it to the ground, I mused. Maybe break it¡­


    I wasn¡¯t tired, but my sorcerous muscles were sore after such exertions. I¡¯d find any excuse to avoid opening any more gateways right now if I could. After a brief moment of consternation, I opted to simply take part of the crown into the wraith-state with me. I¡¯d never tried something like this before, but there was no reason to believe it wouldn¡¯t work. The massive jagged ring of stone¡­ the crown¡­ was a garment. It had been designed to be worn, borne. That was the only limiting factor the books talked about. Furthermore, it was clear Malas himself had readily taken it in and out of wraith-states.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Now that I had it right under my nose, I could peer through its substructure. Runes of concealment were to be found everywhere, and the lack of order to the spell-work was actually commendable, practical, in this particular instance. The chaotic nature of the ensorcellment did a great job of hiding the fact it was even ensorcelled at all. Mekesta¡¯s glyphs were scratched all about its sorcerous interior, and those letters were written in ruby-red blood-ink, their author scratching the letters with red nails, not purple claws. This thing was demon-forged ¨C


    ¡°Just do it!¡± the twins cried.


    I shrugged and bent again, gripping the crown tight. As I put my power out into the material, I locked myself in place with the wizard-flight once more, and closed my eyes.


    Stop looking at it as a massive jagged ring of stone. Start looking on it as a crown. Something I can just lift and toss on the ground.


    Perhaps the fall will smash it¡­


    I unconsciously became comfortable with the idea, and then the most miraculous thing happened: the pressure between my straining muscles and the immovable object suddenly lifted off, the left arm rising as if of its own accord. I opened my eyes, preparing to witness the gargantuan black crown slide off his head ¨C


    But the whole crown had been affected, not just the section where I touched it. It wasn¡¯t sliding anywhere ¨C I was lifting the entire thing aloft, imbuing it with borrowed wraithiness.


    And then it shrank, screaming.


    A whirlpool of pure shadow appeared on the air, seemingly within the material, consuming it, yet it was within me ¨C we shared one essence, and as I held in my hand a huge coil of jet-black wind, that wind was part of me. It was swiftly condensed down, its dimensions being slurped away into nowhere.


    In less than a heartbeat, I held a circlet fit for the head of a mortal man.


    ¡°I suppose, rather than using an eldritch essence to shrink something that big¡­¡± I brought it down in front of my face, turning it over in my insubstantial hands, heedless of the sharp points. ¡°It¡¯d be easier to just imbue it with its own size-changing spells?¡±


    The twins gasped together.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked, looking back up.


    ¡°Cut off his head!¡± they wailed.


    Malas¡¯s eyes flashed open, and in a final gambit, now that he was robbed of his joined eldritches, he tried to open another portal to Nethernum, to wrap himself in it and disappear.


    He had to know I could dissipate the gateway more easily than he could build it ¨C it took more energy, but it was faster ¨C they were such fragile things, and he needed one of such incredible surface-area, especially now that he¡¯d been robbed of his size-changers ¨C


    But before either of us could enact our sorcerous intentions, the former paladin above us cried out joyfully, and did as he¡¯d been told.


    The dwarf didn¡¯t just leap into action ¨C in spite of his stocky frame and heavy armour, he flipped like an acrobat as he sprang down at the dracolich¡¯s neck, bringing his dark sword about in a thousand-degree arc.


    I could see nothing overtly magical about the blade, and it was of course far too short to actually behead Mal Malas with a single blow. It would be like trying to decapitate a cow with a dinner-knife, behead a man with a needle.


    And yet.


    Durgil¡¯s sword seemed to meet no resistance, finding the precise knot that held the flesh together, like the perfect stroke with a chisel through a block of wood, carving the dracolich¡¯s head clean off his body.


    I floated clear as the parted mounds of dead flesh fell aside, the head toppling, the severed neck retracting slightly with the release of tension. The vast thing toppled and rolled somewhat before finally coming to a stop in the centre of the cavern-basin.


    Now at last I could let Nethernum take its fill.


    The remnants of Mal Malas¡¯s spirit came leaking out into the void between two sections of his corpse, purple-grey gobbets of energy desperately trying and failing to take draconic form. One discernible wing rose up from the seething mass of power, then fell back into the glob of ghostliness.


    Liches of all forms would regenerate from as little as dust, if the spirit could cling to Materium. He would seek to run and hide, then return in time to feed his corpse energy, little by little reawakening its undead musculature, the reanimation spells crudely stitching his wounds, reattaching body-parts¡­


    There were rituals to prevent it, but I had a blunter tool at my disposal.


    I opened a burning amethyst archway, then broadened it with brute strength, gesturing with the crown still held lightly in my fingers.


    The spirit of Malas tried to shrink away but he hadn¡¯t even started to gain control of the metamorphosis yet ¨C there was nothing he could do but amorphously cringe as a shrill shadow-wind only I could see and hear came down, bearing the residual shreds of the dracolich off into the farthest-flung corners of the dark dimension.


    ¡°The¡­ the truth!¡­¡°


    His soul¡¯s final, faint whisper was for my ears only. I smiled, with only a trace of regret in me.


    Such knowledge. Such power. All of it, wasted on hate.


    Once the spirit was gone, I found Durgil there, crouched in the putrid valley between the bloodless boulders of dragon-meat.


    ¡°Nice hit! You alright there?¡± I called down to him.


    It looked as though he was inspecting his sword. Did he think he¡¯d damaged it, or was he just as surprised as me at the effectiveness of his attack?


    Well, it seems Kultemeren¡¯s still on his side, with or without a paladin-y light-show¡­ ¡°Is he hurt?¡±


    I aimed the last part at the twins¡¯ mind, minds, whatever¡­ When they didn¡¯t reply immediately, I glanced up at them.


    They were staring deep into one another¡¯s eyes, lips parted as if frozen mid-word.


    ¡°Guys? Guys!¡± I soared over to them. ¡°Are you okay? Why did you say to finish it?¡±


    They broke their reverie, only to start quivering.


    ¡°Kas!¡± they moaned. ¡°Kas, we have to go. The Incursion¡­ he wanted you to arrive at nightfall, when it would already be too late, and you would¡­ you would¡­¡±


    A sheet of ice covered the lake of my thoughts. All currents halted.


    ¡°When?¡± I heard my voice saying. ¡°What time will it start?¡±


    ¡°He thinks ¨C thought ¨C the storm hit this morning. It¡¯s supposed to ¨C it¡¯s already happening!¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, then!¡± I roared, immediately pushing myself up towards the cavern ceiling.


    But I moved alone.


    ¡°Orcan, refresh his spells! We¡¯ll just slow you, Kas. You don¡¯t need us. You¡¯ve ¨C you¡¯ve got the crown, now¡­¡±


    I felt it as the cushion of will-locked air surrounding me dropped away, deflating briefly, and then it came back, stronger, firmer than before. I was almost at the roof, and for a moment I halted, hesitated, looking down at the faces of my brother and sister, already distant, difficult to properly discern.


    I moved my eyes, looking down at the gleaming black circlet in my hand.


    Runes of hiding. Not just mere secrecy: confusion. A bewildering array of protections. Concealment on top of concealment until it was just a mess of lines, extending into the past and the future at oblique angles, the patterns almost indiscernible even this close-up¡­


    Anti-divination¡­?


    ¡°Could it be?¡± I mumbled, then thought at them:


    Is it safe?


    ¡°¡­ No. But what is? We can fix you when you take it off.¡±


    I ¨C if I was going to do that I¡¯d take¡­ take the ¨C


    ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, yes, you could do with a rhimbelkina or two, from what it looks like they let you get away with. But even five rhimbelkina wouldn¡¯t let you past Everseer, would they?¡±


    I thought, somehow, of Zel.


    I¡­ But¡­


    My reservations about joining with demons and donning the crown of Prince Deathwyrm were dwarfed by my concerns about abandoning Jaid and Jaroan this close to our destination. The last time I¡¯d left them, I lost my arm, and we all almost died. The time before that, I was thrown in a cell, cast down into Zyger. I didn¡¯t have a great track record in leaving them behind. And this time, more than ever before, I knew what kind of danger I was heading into. I had some vague sense of just how bad things could be, back home in Mund.


    I saw their faces more clearly as they both craned their heads back to look up at me.


    I knew it when they met my gaze.


    ¡°Back home in Mund.¡±


    Together, the three of us shared it, the whole concept in a single flash.


    Sticktown.


    Mud Lane.


    Mum and Dad¡¯s apartment.


    Our bedroom.


    The sound of three separate pages in three separate books being turned simultaneously.


    Somehow, through the vision, we were bound in that moment, conjoined in our need to know what happened next.


    ¡°Turn the page, brother. If one or two or even three of the main characters die, we¡¯ll mourn them, and we¡¯ll move on. You can¡¯t change what¡¯s inked on the next page by refusing to flip it.¡±


    I looked down at Mal Malas¡¯s remains, and I thought of Timesnatcher, and Tanra. Rathal, and Everseer.


    You can if you know the authors.


    I dropped Malas¡¯s crown on my head, and entered the rock.

 Significant Losses II

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9E: SIGNIFICANT LOSSES, PART II</h2>


    ¡°They will tell you that a road is built by laying one stone at a time. That is a lie. No one builds a road alone.¡±


    ¨C from the Yunic Creed


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    The powers of an arch-enchanter were next to useless. He might as well have tried to stop the lashing rain as stop the massacre. At some point he¡¯d lost control of the crowd, and he fought to get it back, only for the panic to spread like wild-fire, beyond his ability to rein it in. Bor cast out telepathic lines like a starving fisherman, but nothing out there was biting, none of them transforming into the link that he could leverage to pull them all free from this mess. No champions answered the call.


    Just him. Useless him.


    He experimented with all the usual tricks. Sending streams of illusory Mundians out from the crowd, as though some of the terror-stricken citizens had decided to try to make a break for it. Creating the illusions of bigger fiends, making them threatening to the real ones, teeth and weapons bared in outright hostility. He even went so far as to create the glamours of champions, wizards and diviners coming down the storm-shadowed stands to aid the trapped crowd.


    None of it was enough ¨C none of it was ever enough. The false Mundians were quickly discovered to be insubstantial; no matter how he tried, he couldn¡¯t trick the tactile senses of an infernal eldritch without the keys to their twisted minds. The greater demons were ignored, even when he got them to bellow in the snippets of Infernal that were known to him. And the ¡®champions¡¯ coming to the rescue, for all the alarm they caused in the back ranks of the demons, were simply overrun. For all that he could imagine a blast of lightning, a gout of flame ¨C for all that he could make that imagination real, bring fantasy into seeming ¨C he couldn¡¯t bestow it with that last elusive element. His tricks did no damage if they didn¡¯t believe. He wasn¡¯t a wizard. He was just an enchanter.


    He squeezed Dorya¡¯s hand ¨C he couldn¡¯t tear his eyes from the demons to look at her, didn¡¯t want to look at her, see her face, the reality of death reflected in her eyes¡­


    Damn this!


    Ciraya moved in at a sharp angle, reinforcing a second layer of shielding. Bor recognised only moments before it happened that the outermost barrier was about to fail.


    But¡­ but it can¡¯t ¨C


    Then it happened. Dozens of kinkalaman moved three steps closer, slicing deeper into the crowd, cutting down man, woman and child alike. Human and dwarf. Even a few elves and gnomes were here. The sword-tips at the ends of the demons¡¯ legs slid effortlessly in and out of the corpses of the fallen as they stalked inward, their clock-faces ticking rhythmically. Some of those serving as a carpet for the fiends were still alive, and their anguished cries as the kinkalaman advanced were nauseating.


    Bor hid his mind from those of the dying, and crushed in towards the centre with everyone else ¨C what else could they do? He had no idea how things were going on the other side of the crowd, where the long-tongued gobbling fiends were attacking. He was too scared to search, to find out.


    If he was being honest with himself, he was secretly glad. He¡¯d far rather be chopped in two than eaten by one of those things.


    ¡°Where are the champions?¡± a kid was howling.


    ¡°Terrell! Oh, sweet Yune, Terrell where are you?¡±


    ¡°I knew it, I knew it, I knew it¡­¡±


    ¡°Merciful Mortiforn, take my poor Garald into your arms. Please, please take him¡­¡±


    ¡°Where the drop are the champions!¡± a man bellowed in anger.


    Bor was starting to have trouble in distinguishing verbal sounds from their psychic counterparts.


    He checked the minds of his brothers and sisters. Too much terror. He soothed them, settled them. Their minds, at least, were like open books. Open books with blank pages and an ink-well and quill.


    We can¡¯t die bleating like animals. There has to be a better way¡­


    There was only one thing he could do as the kinkalaman formed a killing-circle around the screaming crowds of innocent arena-goers, slowly constricting them, hemming them in. Only one thing he could do to help. And it would represent a breach of the law¡­ The law, and, more importantly, the vow the Bor had sworn to himself almost a year and a half ago, when he came into his magic. Not to meddle. Not to get himself neck-deep in fish-guts by making himself the Magisterium¡¯s enemy.


    He could refine the sorceress¡¯s shields.


    He¡¯d only done it a handful of times before, and those had been champions with whom he was linked, no barriers to break, no lines to cross. Once with Shadowcloud, when the wizard was duelling three Hierarchs simultaneously and was about to be overpowered. Once with Fang and Glimmer, when they were trying to save Dimdweller from the avatar of Vaahn. A few other occasions¡­


    And now this.


    He knew Ciraya was good at what she did. He¡¯d seen her in action ¨C for her age, she was probably top in her field. But he¡¯d never really had much cause to go rooting around in the minds of sorcerers, especially those of the non-arch variety. He wouldn¡¯t have typically had reason to intrude in a magister¡¯s magic, but when the only thing between you and hundreds of walking swords was an invisible wall, you could be forgiven a minor misdemeanour. Even if it were to be determined a major one¡­ the alternative was death.


    Death. Not just for him, but them.


    He placed a psychic hand about the spells set on Ciraya¡¯s mind, and clenched his fist.


    She wasn¡¯t the only prodigy here. He shattered the Magisterium¡¯s protections without even trying. Right now, it was like they were made out of twigs.


    It was only then that he realised: even she couldn¡¯t see the shields she was crafting with her words and gestures and handfuls of reagents. He could follow the patterns of her thoughts, even translate the sorcerous language she was thinking in. But none of it helped. He couldn¡¯t really understand the motives for her actions ¨C why in one moment she was heading clockwise about the shield¡¯s perimeter, then in the next digging out a packet of shredded wyvern-wing and turning her demonic mount sharply, heading anticlockwise¡­ The majority of her actions and decisions were instinctive, ingrained by long hours of painstaking practice, reflexes borne of cold nights out on the streets getting hands-on experience. He could override those instincts, crush them, replace them ¨C but understanding them? There wasn¡¯t time for that kind of work.


    However, he didn¡¯t have to understand what she was doing in order to aid her. Now he had access to her mind, he could shift the weights, increase her efficiency. Slide the opaque sheet of his power between her awareness and her emotions.


    He¡¯d been expecting any number of things getting in her way. Even Shadowcloud had feared for his life, when Hierarch Thirteen caught his spells and turned them back on him. Certainly everyone in Zadhal had been drenched in fear, till the stink of it filled Bor¡¯s psychic nostrils, even in memory.


    Ciraya, essentially working alone against a literal army of fiends?


    No, there was no fear to be found in her. None of the exhilaration that so-often soaked the souls of the battle-drunk, either. Just an icy professionalism. She¡¯d already accepted that they were all going to get slaughtered. She¡¯d accepted it, and moved on to do her job.


    He withdrew the enchanter¡¯s-hand from her mind, almost stung at the contact, with her still none the wiser.


    Not five feet from him, a kinkalaman broke through, stalking straight over the falling men and women it slew with its first devastating blows. Their blood was still splashing through the air when the blade-construct started slamming its weapons into the next layer of the shield, ignoring the people to its left and right staring upon it in horror.


    Two feet from him.


    Less than twelve inches from Sestreya¡¯s little head.


    This was it. It was over.


    ¡°Squash in, curse you!¡± he heard Ciraya yelling. It was strange, hearing her yell. Even now, it was like she couldn¡¯t quite muster the enthusiasm. ¡°Move! Khalor!¡±


    The yithandreng reached the kinkalaman ¨C


    The clock-tongue missed a beat, the kinkalaman swinging its strange face around to point at the sorceress¡¯s mount ¨C


    Had it had some last-second premonition about what was going to happen to it? Bor had no idea, but even if the thing did, it was too late.


    Feast snapped her vast jaws shut about it, twisting. Many of the hell-steel joints connecting the body-parts of the smaller fiend together ¨C little hooks and bars and cogs ¨C were rent apart, showering down as she ground her teeth together.


    Only for a sword to stab upwards, piercing the big demon¡¯s snout from inside her mouth ¨C then a second sword joined it, tearing clean through her nostril ¨C


    Feast toppled.


    Ciraya was shouting something, but Borasir couldn¡¯t hear. Couldn¡¯t see. Couldn¡¯t think.


    Kinkalaman fell on Ciraya¡¯s mount, and at first she didn¡¯t abandon Feast. She pulled a wand from her sleeve, spraying the fiends with a bright-green acid that seemed to eat away at their surfaces, causing them to rust rapidly, constricting in what could almost be forgiven for pain. The one that spindled free of Feast¡¯s lolling head, rolling awkwardly on its half-dismembered blade-limbs ¨C that kinkalaman took a full blast directly in the midriff and toppled aside, almost seeming to dissolve into itself.


    But it was the work of seconds. The demons closed in, the second rank filling gaps in the first, and, with a look on her face like she¡¯d just been asked to drink a cup of that same otherworldly acid, Ciraya slipped back inside the shield¡¯s border, sliding through the gap between two pale-faced men.


    Before the kinkalaman could deliver a series of even more lethal-looking blows to the ruined yithandreng, Ciraya cried, ¡°Kherem!¡±


    At least one of us gets to survive this dropping mess, she thought.


    It could¡¯ve bought the people a few more seconds, perhaps, leaving Feast there to distract the invaders. But the sorceress persuaded Bor without even knowing it. She was right. They were all doomed.


    Doomed!


    He threw out the thought without meaning to, and the crowd wailed in response to his unspoken terror. Even steely Ciraya melted before the force of his unwavering despair. He heard her moaning. Sensed her clutching the sides of her head.


    She was no arch-sorcerer. The unseen walls wouldn¡¯t last minutes, or even seconds ¨C


    He¡¯d done the exact opposite of his intent. Fractured even the tiniest bit of resolve the people still retained. Broke their sorceress-defender in two¡­


    ¡°Twelve Hells, do you have to yell like that? You really do think you¡¯re doomed, don¡¯t you? Hahahahaha.¡±


    He followed the trail of the thought with his enchanter¡¯s-eye, the unknowing link he¡¯d erected ¨C


    And Tanra came down the steps into the arena, almost invisible in this mid-morning night-time. She was following the kinkalaman, a flickering black harbinger of their darkest nightmares.


    She¡¯d abandoned the bow, which was nowhere to be seen. In her hands were two daggers, if ¡®daggers¡¯ was the right word for the heavy-looking things. The blades of each weapon were forked into saws and hooks, every jagged edge and curving arc glistening with a different spell-shade. The knives were fitted with guards extending down to protect her fingers, the metal sheaths festooned with their own rainbow spikes stretching right down to the pommels.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡®Protect her fingers¡¯ was the wrong assessment too. The hand-sheaths were just there to increase the ease with which she ripped through her targets. They were blade-mounts, nothing more.


    She descended from the upper tiers like a demon from the thundercloud skies, like her namesake: Bor felt a sudden tightness in his chest, and his mind whispered the word even as she started detonating hellspawn. The name of his city¡¯s new dark goddess. His saviour.


    Nightfell.


    * * *


    Gong!


    The Sunset Keep was a ruin, the remnants of its dusk-pink walls standing almost at the very heart of Treetown, not far from Web¡¯s Eye, where it seemed like half the district¡¯s canals crossed. To whom precisely the castle belonged was a matter of heated dispute in learned circles, particularly the kind of dispute that occurred over brandy or wine after cheese. House Obaddon had laid claim to it, six hundred years ago, but the last of the Mage Wars had seen to the final scions of that line. Since then it had changed hands a dozen times, and had even been the site of several skirmishes two and a bit centuries ago, when the mage-lords of House Dramergain laid claim to the property. Now it was a relic, an institution, shared and enjoyed by all the highborn folk of Mund alike.


    Why precisely it so captured the hearts and minds of so many, Garone had no notion. It was a beautiful locale, of course, but, beyond that, he wondered that everyone had so much free time to waste. Wind and rain had worked their own magic on the ruin over the centuries. Wild ivy clad the bones of broken towers. Moss coated the remains of fallen spires. Within its hidden gardens, hundreds of dilettantes could be found exploring the lost courtyards, the tangled groves. The dusky castle had become a gathering-place for snobs, especially those who fancied themselves historians. There were surely at any given moment dozens of young scholars from the Maginox, each accompanied by a foreign student, seeking a corner in which to woo with poetry or simple silence the exotic prey of their choosing. Tours were often being conducted during the day, along with genuine research-teams in the dig-sites in the wood to the north. At least the three restaurants in the area would be closed at this time of day ¨C one restaurant was accessible only by canal-boat, so dense were the thickets in which it had been constructed. It went without saying, prices on the menus in such places started in platinum, with decimal places to express gold and silver.


    It shamed Garone to admit he¡¯d eaten in one of the restaurants more than once, with clients and peers. Not the one with canal-only access. Just Cyan Hound. Probably the least ostentatious of the three. The firm always wanted to wine and dine prospective customers at Cyan Hound. He suspected they had a contract, but the truth of the matter was perpetually hidden from his sight. Even for the arch-diviner, life was still filled with its little mysteries.


    Gong!


    He was fast enough to run on water but the ¡®mount¡¯ and ¡®dismount¡¯, so to speak, were always a problem for him. Not wanting to risk entering one of the futures in which he simply splatted himself against a concrete-solid, time-bound stretch of water, he stuck to more familiar footing. Chased by the endless stretched sounds of the Mourning Bells, he crossed Fireridge Canal in a single bound, sticking to the trickier land route down the forest paths. Before he even got close to the Sunset Keep, his awareness had completely washed over the area, including the nearby establishments capitalising on the picturesque location.


    One thousand and four, was the assessment. A thousand and four, and likely as few as nine-hundred and thirty-nine by the time he actually arrived.


    Given the time of morning, on a Starday, that number should¡¯ve been going up, not down, with new arrivals adding to the figure by the minute. He cast a cursory glance over the potential futures his power had calculated, and almost missed his footing in a clump of daffodils.


    The number wasn¡¯t going down because people were already fleeing the demons. The number was going down because people were already dying. And just because the restaurants weren¡¯t open to the public didn¡¯t mean the staff weren¡¯t already in there, hard at work in steamy, smoky kitchens. If Garone didn¡¯t play his cards right, Cyan Hound was going to have an opening for head chef within the next few minutes. Never again would the blackberry jam on the venison taste quite the same.


    I went there with Neverwish, he remembered. He wore the human-glamour, and some of the industry¡¯s best illusion-detectors didn¡¯t emit a single alarm.


    Gong!


    How was it that the girl had unlocked the memories the enchanter had hidden away? How had she seen through it? The sheer power she exhibited¡­


    No, she¡¯d implied that the words she¡¯d loosed on him found their origins in Timesnatcher. The seer¡¯s morbid fascination with meeting Duskdown again had permitted him to see through Herreld¡¯s deception, and he¡¯d given Nightfell the phrase, the witch-spell to turn the tumblers in Garone¡¯s recollection, thrusting open the closed doors behind which his recent meetings with Neverwish were secreted.


    The pair of them had withdrawn after, permitting him to barely follow as they headed to the Palace. They¡¯d clearly needed nothing more than the expression on his face to back-track his history. Realities had dissolved, leaving one gleaming path stretching off into the horizon behind him, and the fiendishly-powerful pair would divine a way to catch the dwarf unawares. Garone didn¡¯t even have a way to warn his friend. Neverwish carried no glyphstone, had no secret hideout he¡¯d permitted Garone to discern. The dwarf had initiated every contact, removing and replacing the mental barriers before and after every meeting.


    Feychilde¡­ Why had the sorcerer done this? To free with the one hand the innocent enchanter, victim of a dragon¡¯s jealousy¡­ and to free with the other the heartless murderer, the destroyer of thousands of lives¡­


    Feychilde¡­ We could do with you now.


    He was already going as fast as he could, but he threw aside the scryer¡¯s-sight, ignoring the horrible realities presented by his time- and space-encompassing magic. Past, present, future. It was always going to be that way ¨C full of death. He was more than capable of closing the inner eye on the chronomantic corridors, the library shelves of knowledge only the gods were supposed to possess.


    He threw it all aside, and focussed. Somewhere out there across the city, the others who¡¯d stayed, the others who¡¯d fought to live to die ¨C they would do the same.


    We can¡¯t fail, Herreld. I hope you fare well in the battles to come.


    His awareness was in his lungs and diaphragm, the measured pace of his breathing. The stretch and contraction of tendons in his knees, hips. The light impact of the soles of his feet on soil, twig, bushy leaves. What future-sight he kept he reserved for ensuring his way was clear of obstacles so that he didn¡¯t trip and break his neck, or behead himself on a low branch.


    When he stopped, he was crouching atop a mossy wall in the rain, looking down into a broken courtyard through which a trio of demons were scampering. They were taller than men, and could¡¯ve been hairless monkeys in this new darkness, what with their long arms and muscular physiques. Their fangs were green and misshapen, their jaws unable to properly close, gory drool pouring in pints from the corners of their mouths and between their teeth.


    There were nineteen people within their kill-range, beyond the surrounding walls and knots of undergrowth. Nineteen souls certain to leave the world forever, if he didn¡¯t act.


    It took only a subjective moment to find the right book on the shelves in his mind, pinpoint the reference.


    Imgabanar, fourth rank. Assassin-class.


    Assassins?


    He sucked in his breath as context penetrated the filters on his knowledge.


    Druids?


    The imgabanar had already achieved their first kills. There was a pair of dead boys twenty yards away in a thicket of trees, each of them devoured almost to bones; the redness in the demonic drool belonged to those two victims. Even an ordinary person would¡¯ve been able to tell, given opportunity to study the scene ¨C the frothy red fluid ran down the demons¡¯ chests to the ground, and the trails could be traced back with mortal eyes to the trees¡¯ shadows.


    Ordinary people couldn¡¯t have seen the killings, though. Mortal eyes were always spared the true horror of the truth.


    He wasn¡¯t going to waste any time. For someone slower than him, a surprise-attack would have certainly been warranted. In less than a second the demon nearest him would detect him, and less than a second after that a number of roots would rise through the moss beneath his feet, growing exponentially about him. Within four seconds the mesh would be too complete for him to slip free, too strong for him to cut loose before new tendrils bound him.


    Since they were going to determine his presence anyway, he had no reason not to openly declare the formal challenge. It would still be a surprise-attack; the sounds coming from his mouth wouldn¡¯t reach them before his daggers in any case. Chronomancy was curious that way.


    ¡°By my oath,¡± he called in a clear voice, ¡°I consign you again to the nightmare. May your low road be slow and hard and filled with fire.¡±


    He sprang down faster than the words he¡¯d spoken, weapons drawn, and made a pass through his enemies.


    His optimal strategy would maintain almost full momentum, permitting him three blows on the nearest demon, three on the one in the middle, and two on the farthest.


    Before he halted he reviewed his handiwork. The first two had already perished; he had successfully bisected their huge, bony skulls with upward strokes, cutting vertically through the lower jaw and spraying their blood-soaked brains into the air. The following two attacks had ripped great gashes in each of their torsos, spilling the gelatinous crimson drool in their bodies all over the place. They no longer possessed sufficient power to heal themselves, according to his sight. Excellent.


    The third fiend wasn¡¯t going to perish ¨C not yet. It was going to regenerate to a battle-ready state and regain its urge to feed in fifty-five seconds or less. The ensorcellments upon his daggers would prevent the demon from fully healing its wounds, but it would be able to put its head back together, carry on killing. Potentially even fix its two comrades up before they faded from the plane.


    Finally, Garone¡¯s challenge struck its ears.


    The remaining imgabanar gurgled in response, getting just an instant in which to recognise that it was doomed before he rebounded from the safe ground on the far wall, fully shredding it with six major incisions.


    Then Garone moved on, hunting the next group.


    ¡°By my oath, I consign you again to the nightmare. May your low road be slow and hard and filled with fire.¡±


    * * *


    Twivona stumbled, her hand on the cold metal rail, descending from darkness into darkness, the cold blue light of the glowing rod in her hand her only ally.


    She led the way, pursued by a chorus of nervous whispers, a drum roll of equally-stumbling steps. Despite the sheer number of them crammed into this narrow corridor, none of the High Lords and Ladies of Mund seemed to want to raise their voice, even when the peals of the Bells faded and died in the distance. Why it was that the magical alarm so quickly fell silent as they travelled the Blackway, she had no notion. She knew it for a fact that the sounds of the Bells penetrated many of the city¡¯s subterranean zones, and they even reached Salnifast and out into the bay. It must¡¯ve had something to do with the way the ancient spells had been cast upon the Tower of Mourning¡­


    I¡¯ll look into it, she promised herself, staggering onwards. Once we get out of this¡­ once this is all over and everything goes back to normal¡­ yes¡­ One of the Masters of the Schools will know¡­ Perhaps I¡¯ll find some interesting research on the topic¡­


    One of the few pleasures in which she indulged herself were the long, dreamy moments in which she remembered being a student at the Maginox. Things were different back then. She hadn¡¯t been next in line. She¡¯d still had to maintain a general sense of decorum ¨C she hadn¡¯t been one of the girls who might be caught kissing boys in the library aisles, oh no. She¡¯d been one of the girls you might catch sleeping in an aisle at three in the morning, open books scattered around her.


    Oh, to have so much time. Just the thought that Henthae or one of Twivona¡¯s other experts might direct her attention towards a musty tome of secret lore¡­ It was almost enough to dispel the miasma of anxiety that¡¯d cast its shroud over her, daily dose taken or no.


    If anything, it was the metallic quality of this place that was so overbearing, the smooth slope of the descent that had them all stumbling. It was as though a single unbroken needle had been thrust miles into the earth. The footwear of Mundic society was far from suitable on such ground. There were no steps cut into the substance. Were the angle steeper ¨C and were she alone ¨C she¡¯d have been encouraged to employ some wizardry and simply slide on her back to the final destination ahead. As it was, she felt self-conscious, being at the fore and leading in person. It was stupid of her, she knew. The strongest seers in Materium had implied this Incursion was going to eclipse all that had come before. The champions visiting her in such a way was unprecedented ¨C and the gods agreeing with them? It was unheard of.


    Hellish damage was being wrought on the streets and buildings she knew and loved, right now ¨C the craft-guilds could remake or even improve on what had been destroyed, but monuments and museums filled with irreplaceable relics would inevitably be lost forever ¨C sacred temples assaulted, despoiled by the abominable paws of loping horrors¡­ and here she was, worrying about missing her footing. Worrying about the political cost of a physical misstep.


    But it mattered. Every instinct of her training told her that much. When Litini was taken by the gods, Twivona had thrown herself into learning about rulership as though she were about to undergo a rigorous examination on the subject worse than anything the Maginox had ever thrown at her.


    And, just like The Fractured Aegis taught her, the test was still going on. It was every day. Every word. Every expression.


    Every step.


    I lead. I lead the House. The city. The Realm.


    She drew a deep lungful of the tasteless air, glad none of her peers behind her would see the great heaving of her chest.


    They followed me in here. They¡¯ll follow me to the end.


    Her fingers tightened about the dimly-glowing, dark-blue stick she¡¯d retrieved from the pile beside the entrance, and she raised it a little higher to illuminate the seamless smoothness of the passage. Not so high she couldn¡¯t hold it for long ¨C the moment her arm wavered, the boldness of the action would retroactively become evidence of her weakness. No ¨C she raised it just six more inches. Enough to show those behind her, whose whispering attention she felt fixed upon her, that she was still in the game. She was still in control.


    To be fair, most of the High Lords and Ladies had followed her eagerly-enough ¨C the reluctant proportion were soon persuaded to quit their bickering when they realised that the Blackway offered not merely safety, but the opportunity to enter the annals of the Realm¡¯s history. The location of the door to the Blackway was an open secret ¨C but to see the door swinging ajar, tread the paths none before had ever trod? Even those of the Lords and Ladies for whom such intriguing mysteries held little power were swayed when they realised, far worse than the prospect of death, refusing to enter the Blackway carried with it the certitude of missing out. Once they saw the perfect little stack of thirty-three rods, they all became believers. Even Cay-Lehan was back there somewhere near the rear of the group, probably still wearing the same degenerate scowl on her face. She¡¯d been the first to refuse the Blackway summons, and the last to acquiesce.


    It was of no moment now. They were all here together, every chief of every House that had attended the High Council of the Arrealbord. If people like Nightfell and Timesnatcher thought Twivona and her peers ought to be here¡­ if the gods thought the door ought to open¡­ who was Lady Osordei to gainsay them?


    ¡°How much farther do you think, my Lady?¡± Wenlyworth gasped.


    Her own cohort had been mercifully silent throughout the descent. If she¡¯d thought the passage difficult, she could only imagine the troubles some of the more advanced in age must¡¯ve been putting up with.


    She didn¡¯t turn her head, didn¡¯t whisper. Didn¡¯t shriek her ignore as she wished she could permitted herself to do. She replied in her normal speaking voice, its cool cadences maintaining a level of detachment she only wished she could feel.


    ¡°Try not to worry, my dear Icaron. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll arrive soon.¡±


    She wanted to say more, but she had to gulp in more air. Just those meagre sentences cost her much. The whispers immediately behind her seemed to drop away for a few seconds in the wake of her response to her Lord Shadow, and then started up once more with renewed fervour.


    She sighed the deeply-drawn air back out and gulped in more to replace it.


    At least¡­ at least I managed to keep the fear from my voice.

 Crowned

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.5: CROWNED</h2>


    ¡°Mortal sensibilities have always been geared towards the immortal. You look to transcend yourselves, define yourselves by boundless ambitions. Why then does it surprise you to see that immortal sensibilities have always been geared towards the mortal? That they look inward to the soul, for the invaluable immanence that is native to your cruder plane? If you found yourself a god, would you not seek to further those causes you loved when you were merely human? Would it surprise you to find they wished they could merely sit and read a book, unmolested by the prayers of the faithful? They are not as you; and yet they are. For you are as them, are you not? What else might you be and yet hold them gods?¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 5:99-108


    Crowns were meant to be heavy affairs. Hard to damage, sure. Big and ostentatious, of course. But the books I¡¯d read growing up always made it sound as though the weight was supposed to be a symbol for the burden borne by the wearer. I wondered how much it¡¯d weighed on Malas¡¯s head, whether the ratio of dragon-size to stone made it heavier or lighter than it seemed to me now. In this half-real state, it was more like a child¡¯s play-crown, woven of leaves. I found myself continually worrying it was going to fly off as I ripped through the skies, patting at my temple to ensure it was still in place.


    It didn¡¯t seem to be letting me go any time soon.


    I did hope it wasn¡¯t going to look too ostentatious. I apparently had no imitators. It wouldn¡¯t do for me to go around looking like Direcrown mark two.


    Perhaps I wouldn¡¯t get to wear it for long. ¡®Safe enough for now,¡¯ that had basically been the twins¡¯ assessment, which they were surely basing on the contents of Malas¡¯s mind. But they¡¯d all but admitted they had no way to properly expose all his secrets ¨C he was far too eldritch for them to dissect like they¡¯d dissect a mortal inhabitant of the material plane, no matter how quickly they¡¯d gotten the hang of using their power on eldritches during the battle. Once the full truth of Prince Deathwyrm¡¯s iconic artifact was uncovered, I was sure to have my new toy robbed from me and sequestered on some dusty museum shelf for the highborn to gawk at.


    I¡¯d just have to enjoy it while I had it. ¡°There¡¯s nothing so straightforward as an anti-divination pendant, unfortunately.¡± That was how Rath had chosen to put it. How wrong he¡¯d been. It was just another example of a prophet¡¯s short-sightedness. Using their third eye in place of their brain. How in Twelve Hells would an arch-diviner have special knowledge about anti-divination objects? Assuming they worked, their very definition removed seers from the running.


    And I¡¯d bought it when he¡¯d said it, using even less of my brain than him.


    Clever, Kas. Real good, making mistakes like that.


    I had to work on the assumption that the crown blocked an enchanter¡¯s magic, if Jaid and Jaroan hadn¡¯t been able to penetrate Malas¡¯s mind until it was removed ¨C but did it work like the pendants I was used to? Would it allow friendly thoughts through, or block them all? I was moving at maximum speed, and there was a chance I¡¯d simply gotten out of the twins¡¯ range before I tried calling back to them telepathically. But the link felt dead every time I¡¯d tried to use it. I had to accept the possibility that the crown of the dead dracolich was going to stop the city¡¯s defenders from gaining access to my thoughts.


    I wasn¡¯t going around Mund without anti-enchantment cover provided by my brother and sister, not even for a second. Never again could I put my trust in Bor, and Spiritwhisper had always been the most virtuous, most pig-headedly trustworthy of them all. If the crown let me slip through Everseer¡¯s net¡­


    If it let me see the back of Irimar¡¯s head, for once, without him knowing I was watching¡­


    I smiled to myself as I soared.


    What else had my brother and sister seen in Malas¡¯s head? Did they know the reason why? Why we had to suffer? Why Mund had to be the sacrifice? Whether the thoughts of the heretic contained pure reason distilled as crystal water from a mountain spring, or madness the likes of which rose only from the oozing dreams of Mekesta, there was no doubt in my mind that it was upon the dragons and their forebears we had to shovel our hate.


    I kept my eye on the rising sun, racing against the day itself. I knew only that I had to arrive as quickly as possible. Every second wasted could spell one, or ten, or a hundred fatalities. Every archmage lost to the demons strengthened the dragons, Mal Tagar¡¯s servants scooping out the souls of the fallen to feed the prophecy-machine of resurrection, of Returning.


    Why, then, did Zel always seem to hate the dragons, if she were in league with them all along? Was it all an act?


    It wasn¡¯t the first or hundredth time I¡¯d wondered about it. Maybe I was always overthinking it. Maybe it was just natural to hate what enslaved you, and the restrictions on her freedoms were loose enough to let her run her tongue about it.


    Perhaps¡­ perhaps¡­


    What would it have been like, if I¡¯d had my conversation with Everseer before losing Zel? Would I have accused her of serving the ancient dragon, right then and there?


    Would she still have left, no explanation?


    The air itself was urging me onwards, rushing and booming in its haste to reach Mund, and I put aside all distracting thoughts, focussing on the war which lay ahead of me.


    It was good, I supposed, that I¡¯d had Malas to hone my skills on, cut my sorcerous teeth on his bony carcass. I felt ready to fight. My instincts were on point. My shields, while slow, were sturdier than ever. My new weaponry longed for fiendish fodder, targets to tear apart and send screaming back to hell. And, what was more, I finally felt purpose.


    All because of you, grand-daddy, I thought at Malas¡¯s lost spirit. If you didn¡¯t swing by Telior¡­ dark elves or no, the twins would¡¯ve had to drag me back home kicking and screaming. I suppose I have to thank you.


    But to whom did I owe my thanks for this insane hurricane-wind, driving me onwards? Was it the gift of a god? Or was it some simple by-product of the storm my brother and sister mentioned? Was its source more sinister?


    The woodlands passed by on my left, the road to my right. I had to be travelling back at six, seven, maybe eight times the speed with which I¡¯d travelled on the way out. The landscape whipping past beneath me was more like one of Spiritwhisper¡¯s illusory maps than anything real, even such large features as towns and hills speeding by in a blur.


    There was just one thing that didn¡¯t blur, unchanged by my movement, because of the angle of my approach. Right in front of me, not distorting, but gaining in clarity second by second.


    The storm dwarfed the city over which it loomed.


    It was difficult to take in the true immensity of its great billowing black clouds. It was a manifestation of Mekesta, there could be little doubt. It stretched up as high as the ocean was deep, and the outer surfaces of the tempest were like the waves of Northril, churning and twisting rapidly in vast plumes, like the arms of incomprehensible demons reaching out in torment. Even as I perceived it in the distance, the sky began to dim about me, and I knew I was already within its imperceptible boundaries.


    It was as though twilight stole over the morning as I came closer and closer to my home. I could only pray it was just an appearance, rather than some unspeakable chronomancy like the time-jump Vaahn¡¯s avatar brought about in Zadhal.


    It¡¯s just a cloud, I told myself. And even if it¡¯s not¡­ it didn¡¯t end well for the Prince of Chains, did it?


    I grinned, all alone in my little patch of increasingly-dark sky.


    Yeah. Time to get my game face on.


    The smile had arranged itself, but I was missing something.


    Oh. Oh yes.


    The weight of it was so meagre, its shape a constant reassuring presence, light-enough to be forgotten for months.


    I retrieved my mask from my pocket. It was a little bit soiled, blood and pond-water and sea-salt crusting many of the folds in the metal, the creases in the leather.


    It was my more-devilish mask. The horns surmounting the temples looked a little crueller than the ones atop my customary covering, especially with the grime filling the grooves, shadowing the spiralling spikes. These eyes were narrowing in anger as much as laughter, the cheek-bones higher, more grin than smile ¨C more grimace than grin¡­


    It suited my mood. I almost put it on, before I caught myself.


    It¡¯d been a long time since I was last conscious of my scar. I¡¯d hidden it so well with gremlin spells that even I only saw it when I was shaving.


    Just like the robe.


    I looked down at the remains of my once-proud garment. I would¡¯ve said I filled it better now than I had before, were it not for the ultimate irony¡­ The right sleeve was a mess, rippling in the wind along with the force-tendrils extending from its frayed opening; colour couldn¡¯t really be discerned anywhere below the right shoulder, with so much muck caked into the remaining threads. But across my torso, the shades had shifted subtly, light green patches darkening to nightshade blue across my breast; the grey cowl and mantle had returned to their former purple hues.


    The tiny silver mouths were still there twinkling brokenly beneath the dirt, all across the forest-green outer layer, laughing away at the insanity of it all.


    I settled the mask on my upper face, keeping the hood back so that the crown could sit squarely atop my head.


    I was ready. Whatever the gods had in store for me, I would suffer it gladly, so long as I could bring more good with me than evil.


    Mortiforn, I prayed, closing my eyes even as I soared. Mortiforn, the Naked Blade, he from whom each wound is Made; Lord Suffering, I come before you in supplication.


    The empty room appeared before my second sight, grey spaces peeling away into rough approximations of walls¡­ the blank black void of a table spread out before me, and in the chair opposite ¨C


    Above the chair and table, a huge spectre loomed, a humanoid skeleton of indeterminate gender swathed in black cloth. It had to be seven feet tall, that or it was floating ¨C it was impossible to tell from my angle. The only colour I could see this time was the flickering fires in the pits of its eyes.


    Ah¡­ Where is Mr. Owl?


    ¡°He is otherwise occupied, Mr. Mortenn.¡± The croaking voice was masculine, and the jaw rattled senselessly with the words. ¡°To me is it given to attend this meeting, in his absence, and to offer thee all his apology.¡±


    And you are?


    ¡°Elmedosk, sir.¡±


    ¡­ Mr. Elmedosk?


    ¡°Very good, sir.¡±


    Do I¡­ I was suddenly confused as to how to proceed. Do I need to come back later? I didn¡¯t make an appointment, or anything. I realised then what he¡¯d said. I¡¯m not¡­ late, am I? I wasn¡¯t told we had a meeting!


    ¡°Thou hast chosen to grace our solemn halls with thy presence only a little later than was anticipated, Mr. Mortenn. It is matters unanticipated upon which our good mutual friend Mr. Owl dwelleth at length. Might I ask thee of thy supplication? The hour lengthens, and my tasks are myriad.¡±


    I was being hurried along. Like a Sticktown shopper in Hightown.


    Sorry¡­ I didn¡¯t realise we had a time limit.


    The spectre¡¯s skeletal face was inherently expressionless. He simply stared down at me across the table, purple pinpricks flaming away.


    I suppose I just want to ask¡­ am I too late? Not ¨C not for this, er, meeting. I mean¡­ am I ¨C


    ¡°It is not given to me to know the turnings of thy day, nor the perils unto whose depths thou seekst to plunge. Might the agents of Chraunator not aid thee in this? Into their care the gears of time hath been placed.¡±


    I¡¯ve tried him, a few times in the past. Most gods¡­ most gods don¡¯t roll out the welcome-carpet like yours, when we come knocking.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Lord Suffering is not as most gods.¡±


    No, he isn¡¯t. Look ¨C


    ¡°Thou camest hence seeking a gift. With all my powers, I espy no supplicant before me. I see one who wills, and dares, and demands. Speak thy heart¡¯s desire, and plainly.¡±


    The croaking voice was as patient as ever, never rising or falling, a steady nonchalant drone. Yet I took the flaring of the spectre¡¯s eyes for a warning.


    Sorry, I mentally murmured. Mr. Owl ¨C he knew my future, once. I just thought, if he could see through someone like Duskdown ¨C


    ¡°We are the children of the Open Man. What is thy friend¡¯s magic before that of a god? All of us know of thy sacrifice.¡±


    My sac-


    ¡°Yet I am not of the god¡¯s Chosen, and thou hast clad thyself in the raiment of thine enemies, armour sanctified by the Dark Mother.¡± He tilted his chin as if to indicate the crown I could neither see nor feel upon my brow, but the amethyst fires still burned in his eyes, his gaze trapping mine. ¡°I see thee not at all, past or future, and cannot say that Mr. Owl or even my Lord Suffering might see thee clearer. Thy doom shall change, and change again, a thousand times ere thou and I and they might meet once more in the shadowed land.¡±


    I almost lost my connection with Nethernum as my fleshly body, speeding through the storm¡¯s outermost layers towards Mund, was suddenly overcome with shivering at the spectre¡¯s suggestion. The trance gave way to a vision of a twilit wasteland, shadows coruscating like fiery black mountains on the horizon ¨C myself, the vampire and the god in the centre of abyssal nothingness, ringed by spectres.


    My death¡­


    ¡°Of course, Mr. Mortenn. As with many things, the first is the worst.¡±


    I¡­ never really thought about it that way.


    ¡°The price of life is always and only death.¡± He held up an arm, the sleeve of his shroud sliding back to expose the bone-wrist.


    The skeletal thumb and first finger formed a circle.


    ¡°The price of death, as I fear thou shalt learn to thy cost, is life.¡±


    Malas will be back.


    ¡°It shall seem a distant thing, yet, even shouldst thou avert the plots of all thy foes, and claim Mund¡¯s future for the gods of light ¨C even shouldst thou tally the long centuries¡­ Thou hast assuredly earnt his everlasting enmity with thy theft.¡±


    Until he goes to Infernum.


    ¡°He will not be blown through the Door for many cycles of the moons. He remaineth unready. The question is this: how shalt thou pay?¡±


    So if I take this off¡­


    ¡°Think not to evade the wrath of Malas with such a token. To wilfully abandon the jewel of his hoard would, I think, fail to satiate his hatred.¡±


    No, I mean¡­ would you be able to ¨C


    ¡°Ah. Yes. I would witness thy sacrifice once more. Past and future. Life and death.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure ¨C the arch-diviners in Mund would know I¡¯m coming, wouldn¡¯t they?


    ¡°Wert thou not already hastening unto thy home, ere thou didst claim the spoils of thy victory? Any with the power whose thought did but lightly upon thee tend should know all thy quest, and more.¡±


    I suppose¡­ But they¡¯re not expecting me until it¡¯s too late, I¡¯d imagine. I¡¯m meant to sit there in the cave ¨C chat it out with that weird-looking dwarf¡­


    The spectre started shaking his head.


    ¡°Mine apologies, Mr. Mortenn. Thou art wrong, and I alike in kind. See ¨C they expect thee none at all. Thy fate was secured by Mr. Overlorn. Whether at a snail¡¯s pace or on a hawk¡¯s wings, too late or late, thy coming on this glorious day of sacrifice shall go unlooked-for by those whom most thou fearest.¡±


    Too late or late.


    He read my mind.


    ¡°Farewell, Mr. Mortenn. Farewell.¡±


    I broke the trance without saying my own goodbyes, opening my eyes immediately ¨C and it was like I¡¯d gone for a mid-morning nap only to awaken late for my evening meal.


    The sky was etched in ever-shifting charcoal smears. The long grasses of the prairies were whipped about in vast swirls, crashing like the waves of Northril. The sunlight was dim, Kaile¡¯s might laid low before the storm of Mekesta.


    It would be down to the mortals to stop this madness.


    It would be down to us to save ourselves.


    Please, Belestae¡­ give me at least this much luck.


    I brought forth the carrion-bird of Zadhal into the air before me. Joining with it was unlikely to produce wings, and it would be far slower than the wizard-flight on its own, but if I could bring it into the wraith-state perhaps I could ride it ¨C loan it a portion of the flight-spell Orcan had put upon me, add the momentum provided by its huge wingspan to our combined, weightless speed¡­


    I almost didn¡¯t bother but, on a whim, I decided to try joining with it anyway.


    And I flexed my new wings.


    Perhaps I¡¯d been wrong. Maybe the gods were watching over us after all.


    Thank you Belestae!


    Now, Orovon! Speed me!


    Speed me home.


    * * *


    They weren¡¯t like sylph wings. They had shrunk somewhat from the gargantuan appendages they¡¯d been when the bird had been wearing them, but they were still ginormous to me, stretching at least ten feet in either direction. It was fortunate that the wraith-state left them as weightless as paper sails ¨C they were coated in dead feathers, and I fancied I¡¯d struggle to beat them half as fast if I were in a solid form.


    I may have lost Avaelar, and the Zadhal-bird whose squawks I¡¯d silenced from the halls of my mind could never replace the honourable fey ¨C his keen advice, his healing breath ¨C but it would do for this. It gave me what I needed most in this moment.


    It damn-near doubled my speed.


    If only I still had access to a perception power¡­ I crossed into the rain, and sheets of the stuff started falling right through me. It wouldn¡¯t slow me down, wouldn¡¯t cling to my clothing, but it was cold all the same as it swept in great gales through my shadowy wings, my permeable flesh ¨C and it made it nearly impossible to see clearly. The lights of the road, way off to my right, were gleaming away despite the early hour, their magical sensors set to awaken as the sky¡¯s light dimmed.


    I¡¯d lived in Mund my whole life ¨C I¡¯d seen thunder and lightning around my home a hundred times ¨C and I¡¯d never witnessed anything like this. This unnatural night-time chilled me in a way no torrential rainfall could achieve, whispering to me that we had failed already ¨C even should I have arrived in an instant, like Arreath Ril, what good would I actually do? Was I not just one more sword set to melting in the wake of the dragon¡¯s breath?


    Are you not just one more body, one more power, returning to feed the machine of apocalypse?


    I shook my head, trying to clear my eyes, trying to clear my mind of the doubts. Ahead of me, the huge fortifications of Mund appeared like a low wall of glittering quartz. Lightning threaded the horizon, jumping down into the streets behind the walls.


    Just seeing that filled me with the same heat, the heat of exuberant, furious desire I thought I¡¯d lost forever.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    I followed the dancing forks of electric fire with my eyes, tipping my head back to look up at the swirling ocean of blackness, confront it fully.


    Mekesta¡­


    I tried to pierce the opaque heart of the tempest with my sorcerer¡¯s-eyes, but it was like an upside-down well of oil, a font of pure nothingness.


    Mekesta¡­


    You will lose.


    * * *


    It felt like I¡¯d never arrive. Like the slowly-enlarging city before me was a mirage of my fantasies, soon to slip away from my grasp even as I closed my fingers about it.


    But no. The rainswept walls rose up before my eyes, the Maginox¡¯s needle splitting the horizon, and there was no glimmer of glamour, no lethargy in my mind. The lightning flew. The thunder boomed.


    I was home, truly home.


    Clustered about the Road before the western gate, the shanty-town of ramshackle dwellings had grown. The migrant camps had sprawled both upwards and outwards since we left Mund. Where before the watch had been mandated to keep the spread within certain limits, it seemed that now the regulations had been tossed to the winds. What must¡¯ve been new ¡®streets¡¯ in mid-construction were there to be found on all the outer borders, but under the blistering wrath of the storm these places were falling apart, looking more like a corrosion eating its way inwards than the results of an expansion. Recently pegged-down tents were flapping freely, shutters were clattering, planks of unfinished roofing ripped loose to saunter end over end down the thoroughfare.


    In spite of everything Everseer had done, everything the witch-queen of Mund wanted, the population of the city must¡¯ve been undergoing an explosion.


    I looked down at the meagre crowds still out getting drenched in the open, their hats and hoods cast back, abandoned to the wind¡¯s frenzy. They were crying in various languages, trying their hardest to strap- or nail-down the storm-blown wooden beams, the wild canvas walls of their homes.


    Their existence, the normalcy of their struggle ¨C it made my smile broaden yet further. Why wouldn¡¯t people come to the most glorious, richest city in the world? This was life, seeking to improve itself in defiance of the harbinger of death. This was humanity, mortality, doing what it had to do to survive, thrive, no matter the risk, the calibre of the danger.


    They were here, and here they would stay. Here they would be buried in their droves, whether we won or not, whether they died of imp-fire or brickblood or simple old age. They were our responsibility ¨C my responsibility.


    The hosts of the Twelve Hells certainly wouldn¡¯t be treating them any differently on account of their lack of citizenship. The agents of Infernal Incursions had such a wealth of victims to hunt within the city-walls, they rarely seemed to slake their bloodthirst amongst the poor families huddled outside. However, this was due to be a fateful morning.


    Even now I saw the first signs of Incursion I¡¯d ever seen beyond the wall ¨C a herd of six epheldegrim were sauntering out of a collapsed pavilion like they owned the place, their dark fur flecked with bits of gore. Despite that, I couldn¡¯t spot a single champion, a single magister, a single magic-wielding defender.


    No wonder they think they own the place.


    Their assumptions were swiftly corrected as I swooped low and called them to heel. It was only as I dipped towards the street that I realised I was still hurtling at maximum speed, and I threw my wings wide to catch the vapours of the nethernal currents, screeching almost to a stop.


    A few people who¡¯d been running from the demons saw me, one of them screaming anew at the ghastly appearance I must¡¯ve been presenting ¨C but the others seemed to recognise that I¡¯d dispelled the seven-legged horses. That I was an ally. A champion. One even nodded to the one-armed, death-winged wraith soaring over the tents before turning again to dash off into the rain.


    It felt good. Just that little gesture. The man who¡¯d nodded to me was just one more windswept stranger, probably a foreigner to my land¡­ but he told me everything I needed to know.


    I¡¯m back.


    Gong! Gong! Gong! went the Bells.


    Boom! Boom! Boom! went the thunder.


    And as much as I longer to crest the white wall now looming up over me, crest it and look down upon my hateful, beloved city¡­ I knew what I had to do.


    Senses honed in on the summoner. Still at work. An innocuous tent of dark-green canvas almost the same shade as my robe, no different from any of the others in any notable outward feature.


    Just the blazing ball in my mind pointing to the imp, hard at work on its next creation. The herd had likely sapped its strength. Who knew who many innocent lives had already been taken to fuel its diabolical sorcery?


    I carefully adjusted the wraith-state of my wing-tip, and, thanks at least in part to the allowance of satyr-strength pervading my form, I easily ripped apart the canvas with a single slash of decaying feathers.


    I looked down at it. Just a second- or third-rank demonoid.


    ¡°I have no need of summoners,¡± I snarled into its tiny frightened face.


    The imp wasn¡¯t a teleporter, and it tried to fly off, but I opened portals and fed it to the jawless hell-horses it¡¯d brought into my path. Two of the epheldegrim shared it, wrapping their freely-hanging tongues about its midriff and tearing it apart.


    I surveyed the horses approvingly.


    ¡°Stay here!¡± I commanded them. ¡°Defend this place ¨C leave your post only to slay creatures of Infernum! Do not suffer any sentient creatures of this plane to come to harm.¡±


    I swelled my voice and called out in clear, cold Mundic:


    ¡°Citizens of the camps! These six hell-horses are claimed by a champion and will defend you. Do not fear them ¨C unless you are a demon! Mages, magisters who may be listening ¨C do not waste time trying to destroy them!¡±


    I took my own advice about wasting time. I left it at that, and moved on.


    I could¡¯ve crested the walls, but I chose to save a few seconds by passing directly through the smooth surface of the rock, just a hundred yards or so south of the gateway. It¡¯d never looked particularly thick ¨C five or six yards, perhaps. I plunged at the pearly, tooth-white wall head-first ¨C


    Satyr-reflexes let me twist aside, redirecting my momentum at the last second, as the tip of my wing collided with the wall and I came within a whisker of splatting myself.


    Of course the walls were proofed against insubstantial trespassers. Because that totally made sense. It wasn¡¯t like someone could just fly over it¡­ At least the Ceryad-chamber had an excuse.


    I gave up. Whatever the Five Founders were chewing when they conceived of the wall, I wanted some.


    I started laughing as I went upwards instead.


    What a heroic return that would¡¯ve been. How confused the Magisterium would¡¯ve been! The Zyger-bound convict Feychilde, found in inch-thick pulp, pasted to the wall over the camps. I can hear the report now. ¡®Less than eight seconds after he declared them the new protectors of the camp, the epheldegrim were unceremoniously removed from the plane along with their master¡¯s spirit¡­¡¯ Celestium¡­


    Hoping no one down there had been poking their heads out into the wind and rain to witness my almost-suicide, I soared vertically to the parapets then floated forward, surveying Mund.


    Surveying Sticktown.


    The wooden warrens were beneath my feet, a network of endless alleys and bridges and tunnels, gleaming wetly in the darkness like a vast black coral reef. The shrine of Kultemeren I¡¯d never even visited was just below me. A stable, its fences burst, horses of the Materium variety charging about aimlessly, their braying awful to hear. A million points of light reflected from the district¡¯s rooftops under the sheeting rain. Far off, I could see the Giltergrove, where a pale green radiance seeped forth from the copse of giant, gold-glinting trees. And beyond¡­


    ¡°Sir!¡± barked a man¡¯s voice, half-fearful.


    I turned to behold a young wall-guard and his older, heavier companion, newly emerged from an internal stair ten yards away. The grey-head was still getting his breath back, his weapon completely unreadied, more walking-stick or leaning-post than instrument of death; the youngster who¡¯d challenged me had levelled his spear, but the shaking of his hands was magnified down its length until the point was wobbling to and fro in the air between us.


    ¡°Sir! Who are you? Th-the ma-magisters have been called!¡±


    It was clear from the way he was reacting that he was at least suspecting me of fiendhood.


    ¡°You don¡¯t recognise me?¡±


    I tuned down the wraith-state to the point where I actually felt some of the weight of the massive wings.


    ¡°F-Fuh¡­¡±


    He swivelled his head to shoot a confused glance at his old companion.


    Before he turned back, I was gone.


    * * *


    I could¡¯ve pressed the young guardsman for information ¨C where had been hardest hit, where I would most be needed. I should¡¯ve, perhaps. But the momentum in me wasn¡¯t going to be stopped by white walls or such paltry concerns. I had the scent of my quarry.


    They were everywhere.


    A basement filled with teeming zikistakram, one of the weakest forms of demons. A hive of red-and-black wasps, each the size of my fist, their stingers like knitting needles. A draumgerel spitting acid-globs at the foundation-beams of an apartment building, corroding away the supports one by one.


    Three separate events in the first minute of travel.


    Three boxes ticked, three steps closer to satisfaction.


    It was there at the back of my mind ¨C I had no idea what time it really was, how long the Incursion had been going. There shouldn¡¯t have been so many separate sites under assault. There should¡¯ve been far more mages out on the streets. I¡¯d seen magisters ¨C two of them lying face-down near the draumgerel, gaping holes in their torsos, barely discernible from the mud of the roadway under the torrential downpour.


    Maybe they knew I was coming after all. This is how the Magisterium rolls out the welcome-mat. Thank you, Henthae.


    At least I wasn¡¯t likely to get bored as I made my way towards the heart of Sticktown.


    Homeless people splashed through the drop-floods, choking and spluttering as they fought the wind and rain to escape more-lethal opponents. The rake-armed trio of obbolomin on their heels made poor additions to my collection, but I took them anyway, earning a chorus of gratitude-filled howls from their would-be victims for my diligence.


    I was at Branbecks Bridge and I found myself turning northwards, following instincts I couldn¡¯t help but obey. It wasn¡¯t just the trail of infernal essences burning away, visible to my sorcerous eye in a way they¡¯d never been before. It was the trail of memories.


    I knew where I was going.


    I was going home.

 Significant Losses III

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9F: SIGNIFICANT LOSSES, PART III</h2>


    ¡°Wherein the shadowland rejects all who die unworthy deaths. Wherein the gods¡¯ avatars walk the earth without need and sit on thrones amidst their congregations. So then ¨C you see why I must reject the concept of an infinite plenitude. It permits infinite Evil. And Kultemeren could not permit that.¡±


    ¨C from Mistress Arithos¡¯s Lectures to the Adept Assembly


    She was fast enough to run on air, skipping and cartwheeling between the fiends with a demeanour of casual callousness, carving through them using the lazy precision of a veteran butcher. The seeress¡¯s motions were the barest required to achieve her aims, that same old blistering speed allowing her to carry the same stroke from one foe to the next, to the next, to the next. As her appearance on the scene became all too obvious, noise and light erupting in her wake, the demons became the nonplussed crowd all of a sudden, turning with stunned, blank body-language to track the trajectory of her approach.


    Those fiends that turned to meet her onset exploded instantly into shards of glowing hell-steel. Nightfell became a mesmerising spiral as she parried what looked like a dozen attacks simultaneously, hewing clean through her assailants¡¯ deadly arms and continuing the deflections, transforming them into killing-blows ¨C the lithe black shape danced between the infernal entities, a flower loose in the breeze, fatal thorns poised, dismembering their cores and moving through the gushes of sparks that went pouring from their clock-faces, not even looking as she continued on her way.


    Four or five seconds had passed since Tanra¡¯s arrival, and the demons nearest to Bor seemed to snap out of the reverie that¡¯d overcome them. They renewed their attacks, slicing at Ciraya¡¯s shielding ¨C a few more seconds would be all it¡¯d take to shatter the defences ¨C


    Not one, not two, but ten or more daggers found their marks, hurtling through the air end-over-end at such velocities they looked like discs of light. They ripped into the first rank of kinkalaman, buying those precious seconds.


    Then she was there, right in front of Bor, collecting her weapons from the fizzling corpses of the demons and stowing them somewhere with uncanny alacrity.


    There was a brief moment in which he seemed to feel her eyes meet his, while he stared upon her, dumb-struck.


    Her head tilted to regard Ciraya, and the two women exchanged a brief nod ¨C then the second rank of hell-soldiers right behind Tanra fell in, swords screaming through the air straight at her unprotected back.


    The arch-diviner truly set about her work.


    She turned and swiped savagely with her upraised weapon, dismembering the ones nearest her, and simply didn¡¯t stop turning, wheeling across out of sight to the right ¨C


    Even as Bor tried to follow her with his eyes, she disappeared around the curve of the circle ¨C


    Then before he could realise what was happening and look back to his left, Nightfell passed before his eyes again, moving faster this time.


    She sped clockwise about the ring of infernal enemies, not just dancing with them but cavorting. It was hard to understand for those who didn¡¯t live with the awful gifts of the arch-diviner, but the subjective speed of her experience was far slower than outward appearance would ever indicate. Practised at interpreting the tactics of her kind, Bor fancied he could almost see the individual actions she took, even as his gaze hopelessly traced the chaos in her wake. She¡¯d skewer one and keep it for her own, swinging it almost twenty yards through the rainy air, spinning with it into others and strewing its limbs amongst the bodies of its allies ¨C she caught the head of another between her heels and pirouetted as she dived into her next attack, unscrewing its face and shutting down all its functions.


    There were eight or ten seconds of slowly growing elation, and then ¨C


    It was like his own joy was a pressure that couldn¡¯t find release through a single pair of lips.


    ¡°Nightfell,¡± he whispered, strangled, tears of relief in his eyes.


    Hundreds of geysers erupted.


    ¡°Nightfell!¡± someone screamed.


    ¡°Nightfell!¡± someone else replied.


    ¡°Nightfell!¡± Nebbert sobbed.


    ¡°Night. Fell. Night. Fell. Night. Fell. Night¡­¡±


    The chant was quickly taken up by the crowd in defiance of the demonic storm looming over them, and in less than half a minute she¡¯d seemingly reduced the invading force by fifty percent. The gap between whatever was left of Ciraya¡¯s floundering shields and the closest demons increased and increased, a field of death where millions of rent, shrivelled pieces of metal glowed like macabre bones atop the still-warm remains of cut-down children.


    Tanra was pushing them back ¨C alone.


    He¡¯d never seen something quite like this. There were only a few more lines of demons left standing, and those looked close to breaking-point, some kinkalaman at the rear beginning to turn away, lope back up the steps to escape the arena-floor.


    Those exploded too, shorn away from existence in showers of red sparks.


    Bor experienced a moment of confusion ¨C Tanra was nowhere near the conflagrations occurring on the upper tiers, and while he couldn¡¯t put it past her to have some contingency plan for runners, he couldn¡¯t help but hope, dream ¨C


    A wizard too? Mountainslide? Ironvine? Or, could it be¡­ A sorcerer?


    Then the darkness seemed to push down from the skies, a column of nothingness descending from the storm clouds. A huge demon arrived in a wind like Tanra¡¯s, standing in her path, taking a place in the circle of kinkalaman.


    The newcomer really was like nothing he¡¯d ever seen, but he recognised it all the same ¨C from a tale Winterprince once told. Even Ciraya didn¡¯t know what it was.


    Dweonatar, Dustbringer had named it, a few weeks after Winterprince described it.


    A marble statue of a robed man, taller than a house, beautiful and serene as far as Bor¡¯s eyes could penetrate the light of its face. He wondered if there really was a hideous expression on the statue¡¯s features, like Dustbringer had said. It was almost hard to believe, despite the circumstances.


    About its stony hand a chain was coiled, pressed tight in the perfect, pale fingers, and the smoke softly rising from the burning-hot links was the only form of motion expressed by the demon. It was utterly, abominably still. Even forgetting the part about it being a peerless murder-machine, the mere lack of motion itself was enough to drive an observer insane.


    Nightfell stopped short of it and brought both daggers down to point at it, releasing the frog-demon she¡¯d skewered, launching the weird spherical creature at the arch-fiend without hesitating.


    Then the frog-demon was falling in two halves as though bisected by some power faster than thought, a huge chunk of its corpse recoiling from Ciraya¡¯s shield ¨C and the dweonatar was inches from Tanra, its chain flying back, coils looking ready to descend and wind about her.


    One of those had taken off Winterprince¡¯s leg ¨C through the ice.


    If Bor had thought he could imagine her motions before, give meaning to the mess she left behind, now it was all a blur. She was still trying to thin the host of demons, but now she was being pursued by something that didn¡¯t give two drops about her magic. However fast she seemed to go, the marble predator seemed to loom in her path with fist or weapon poised, forcing her to twist and loop her route.


    Then without warning both of them were half way up the steps on the southern side of the arena, the dweonatar standing aloof in judgement over the diviner as she rolled with bone-crunching force across the wet stone.


    Bor craned his neck to look over the crowd, and borrowed from their impressions to form a view of what was happening.


    Tanra was hurt, her arms pulled up to protect her head as she skittered across the hard surface. Before she even stopped rolling, the dweonatar addressed her, its voice colder than the marble from which it was wrought, emptier than its blinding white gaze.


    ¡°Ugreel phador so ugrahel, ikasena. Phax zinpharon lagresta ru phadorox o rumez el agar ru Ikasene o ru Sinphalamax. Therem ugreel nist ri dwes a morbukoroz, ghar ziguroym zanthanag.¡±


    He filtered it through Ciraya¡¯s head ¨C she would only think its voice had such properties, to be heard at such a distance ¨C and he had her translate for him.


    ¡°Thy life is thine, child. Here I seek only the lives of those who defied the Daughter of the Sinphalamax. Retain thy soul and see it well-blent, ere we meet again.¡±


    He didn¡¯t know much, but he knew enough to recognise the meaning behind the words. The purpose behind this odd-looking assault on the arena.


    Ciraya knew too, and rode a wave of panic that threatened to spill her over the edge.


    But it was for him. Maybe Ciraya too, but she wasn¡¯t an archmage. Really, it was all for him. All these lives, wasted. Surplus. Interest on the loan.


    It seemed Tanra really had changed. It didn¡¯t even recognise her ¨C her, the literal architect of the eolastyr¡¯s downfall.


    The seeress came to a stop, rested for half a second, then whipped up to her feet.


    The crowd ¨C the demons ¨C the dweonatar ¨C Bor ¨C everything and everyone was put on pause again, hanging on her next words.


    Her rejection would be a thing of epic proportions. ¡®Sorry, would you like to rephrase that in a language we all¡¯ ¨C


    Bor watched through borrowed eyes as the arch-diviner turned tail and fled. She bounded in what looked like two strides to the lip of the outer wall, then dropped down out of sight into Firenight Square.


    He waited a moment for her to turn back, for her to come thundering around in a surprise-attack¡­


    The wind whistled. The kinkalaman tick-tocked, out of rhythm, a chaos of clicks and clacks.


    ¡°Tanra?¡± he cried. ¡°Nightfell? K-Killstop?¡±


    But the link had failed, severed at her end. She was too far away already.


    Then the crowd moaned with one voice, and he knew. He knew. Their new goddess had abandoned them.


    The dweonatar flicked to the edge of Ciraya¡¯s shield, right in front of Bor.


    The enchanter sensed it through the sorceress¡¯s mind as the protections died without a whisper.


    He leaned back and looked up at the arch-demon¡¯s radiant face, the rain washing the tears from his eyes.


    To his family, he thought in as calm a voice as he could manage:


    ¡°Leave me.¡±


    He felt as faltering fingers left his grip, the sweaty warmth of the contact suddenly chilled where skin was exposed to the air. They slipped deeper into the crowd, not knowing what they were doing, where they were going ¨C only that they had to move.


    I killed you, he thought. I killed all of you.


    The dweonatar did something to him and suddenly Bor¡¯s limbs were extended, stretched in their joints to the point where the tendons began to snap. As he rose into the air against his will, the tears spurted from his eyes with renewed fury, spittle flying from his lips.


    The elbows and knees were excruciating, but the shoulders? The hips?


    He¡¯d never known pain like it. He barked like a dog.


    The people nearest him pulled away as best they could, but after the first few shrieks an awed silence seemed to settle over the crowd. They all watched and waited with bated breath as Bor was dragged up by the demon-lord¡¯s black magic, spread-eagled over their heads before the statue¡¯s shining face.


    ¡°Thanil,¡± it said in a derisive tone, and he scrambled for the translation:


    ¡°Strong.¡±


    A huge white palm was extended over Bor¡¯s body. Pale light sprayed forth from the smooth flesh, bathing him in its unholy glow, the radiance somehow thick, exuding out across his frail mortal form like lava.


    The heat of it.


    It didn¡¯t touch his skin, his rain-soaked clothes. It went deeper.


    The white light roasted his soul.


    His voice alone split the silence, an incoherent yell for death ¨C but this was it. The price for the power he¡¯d enjoyed in life. For him, there¡¯d be no death. No cold wind of Nethernum. No trip to the darkness.


    He knew the truth. His soul was going to be stolen, to fuel the Dracofont. But what would come after his body turned to ash ¨C what did it mean for him?


    Would he still exist?


    The white light became red, and everything turned black.


    * * *


    It was his nightmare. It was happening again, just like it happened in Upper Tivertain.


    Surrounded.


    He sometimes wished, in moments like these, that he possessed the foresight afforded to his peers. Timesnatcher and Lightblind had preceded him, and he¡¯d been used to them being better than him, faster than him, knowing more than him about everything. It had just been the way of things. Duskdown had always been an aberration in his mind, more monster than man, whenever Garone¡¯s night-time imagination painted the shape of that saint of Yane. He didn¡¯t count. And of the other diviners Garone had gotten to know ¨C Dimdweller, Doomspeaker, poor Fingersnap ¨C the champion Starsight became was at least their match.


    Nowadays, with the appearance of the disturbingly-powerful Killstop and her new, all the more disturbing alter ego¡­ with the advent of Everseer¡¯s return to the ranks of the living, a resurrected creature set atop a heretical pedestal to rival or exceed Duskdown¡¯s¡­ More than ever, lately, Garone was feeling the insufficiency of his own potency. If one of those more-powerful diviners were here right now, surrounded in a rain-drenched grassy clearing by scores of demons of various kinds, they would see the way out. Not just for themselves, but for the seven innocent civilians trapped in here with him too. There would be a route, hidden from him, a pattern by which he could lift the quivering Mundians one by one, move with them in the time-mist at maximum velocity to a place of safety ¨C travel in and out, before the fiends even knew what was happening.


    These weren¡¯t even particularly impressive fiends. Many were third rank or lower, going off memory. But there were so many, clambering over the walls and pouring out from between the trees, cutting off his lines of egress bit by awful bit.


    So many that it was beyond him. He could see no further than his next ten or twelve actions. As he ripped through the scintillating black face of a glass jackal, his inward eye saw only the shelves of fate, closing in about his mind. As he pushed the two kids out of the way and hewed at the neck of a many-legged, jawless horse, in his mind the rows of forbidden books pressed nearer, rattling in their ranks, shedding red ink like blood to run in streams from the wooden surfaces of the shelves.


    He watched seven become six, the young woman pulled right out of his arms and into the mouth of something that took off her head with a single bite ¨C the way into the future narrowed until he was sidling through a gap no greater than twelve inches wide ¨C fighting for breath with his head turned, knowing only that he had to keep moving forwards, keep chasing the moment in which awareness would crystallise, the way forwards transforming into the way out, the aisle suddenly expanding until he wouldn¡¯t be able to touch both sets of shelves with his arms thrown wide ¨C


    It never came. The way narrowed. Even with his head turned and chin lifted, his feet twisted about at the ankle ¨C he couldn¡¯t go any further. The blood-ink in which the holy, unholy knowledge had been written ¨C it dripped down from the infinite heights of the timeless library, showering down upon his head and shoulders, drenching him, drowning him¡­


    Six became four became two became one.


    One little girl left, untouched by the demons¡¯ claws. Twelve years old. Twelve years, fifty-seven days.


    Let¡¯s make it twelve years and fifty-eight.


    Each loss had brought painful, dearly-bought clarity. The branching of the future-paths had grown exponentially with each person he came across, each he had to save ¨C and they shrank with the same speed, whole futures destroyed, eradicated as though they could have never come to pass in the first place.


    One future left.


    While his muscles contorted, performing the deadly dance that trailed gold and silver rainbows through the motionless droplets hanging in the air, riding the time-wave through the bodies of demon after demon ¨C he saw that future laid bare.


    Four children. Benessela Yellowcup would have four children, nine grandchildren, and would even get to meet a couple of her great-grandchildren before Mortiforn closed his warm arms about her soul. It all started here. She would be leaving Mund, after this. Her mother had died already ¨C one of the Incursion¡¯s victims Garone had already failed ¨C but her father was still breathing, over in Oldtown, and if he lived out the day, they would be leaving the city together, bound for Amrana. All Garone had to do was nudge her out of the way of the imps descending at her, cut through the spindly black fingers that came lunging out of the air to snag in her curly hair. She didn¡¯t know what was happening ¨C she probably couldn¡¯t even tell he was trying to protect her when he shoved her, spinning her out of the reach of their snapping talons. It didn¡¯t matter. She was light and little for her age, barely taller than a gnome. Garone was lithe, but there was plenty of muscle on his rakish frame. He got his arm around her waist before she could spin to the ground, and, while Benessela was still trying to process what was happening to her, the champion was already lifting her. Within a blink he had her hoisted over his shoulder.


    The way between the shelves opened up, and he could see it. The grand foyer. The place with doors that led everywhere, down a thousand library aisles.


    Success. Survival.


    He only had the gold-steaming dagger in his right hand with which to kill his enemies, his left clasped at the small of Benessela¡¯s back, but there were only a pair of fiends now between himself and freedom. He moved through them like a hurricane through wheat, sprinting for the knee-high bit of wall which would represent the finish-line. The point beyond which his future was written, potential rushing into reality and inhabiting existence. All with the inevitability of a bubble popping, struck with a pin.


    The pin struck the bubble, and the bubble slid aside. A one in a billion chance.


    The ball of his right foot landed atop the low wall. The forest path, clear of foes, was right ahead of him. Teasing him with its nearness.


    It was a sound, coming from behind him, that made him freeze like the raindrops, made his ankle twist, made him spill the kid on the ground. No vision had permitted him a glimpse of the sound¡¯s maker. No warding-spell could defend him against its cacophonous manipulations.


    Crack!


    He jolted to a stop, unable even to turn, almost floating as all his potential energies were robbed away.


    ¡°Eolastyr!¡± he cried over the link.


    ¡°You,¡± came the purr of the tiger-woman from behind him. ¡°You were there, that fateful day, whereupon my Sister fell. Six of your rib-bones bear her mark. They are part of her story.¡±


    While he struggled against her time-wave, her forces caught up with him and overtook him, leering. The paralysed Benessela was hefted up by the jackals, claws of black glass piercing her shoulders and arms ¨C she couldn¡¯t even scream as three of them lined up their glittering swords to hack her to pieces ¨C


    He didn¡¯t understand the prayer, but he prayed it.


    I have no time. I know no space. I come to you, Illodin. Give me a memory. Chraunator, give me something. Let me be known, before I fade.


    Starsight ripped through the infernal construct pinning him in stasis, moving a full second early. He left Garone behind, all his hopes and dreams, his visions of his future. He knew. He understood what this purpose cost him.


    Her life or mine.


    The champion wasn¡¯t even sure what he did when he moved at the glass jackals ¨C he felt as though he simply flung himself at them, but they were reduced to black sand, sent streaming on a current of wind he¡¯d produced.


    ¡°And stronger now,¡± the voice behind him crooned, musing. ¡°I shall spare the rod with you, my child. You cannot spoil.¡±


    He was on a forest path, a hundred yards from the outer edge of the Sunset Keep, Benessela in the crook of his arm once more ¨C


    Three hundred yards away ¨C


    He hadn¡¯t even realised he was fleeing; he looked over his shoulder, just to be on the safe side.


    ¡°You are ripe, Garone.¡±


    He certainly hadn¡¯t realised the demon was running with him, just behind him, the terrifying triangular face smiling benignly as she spoke, no breathlessness evident in her delicate smooth voice, no effort in the ranging of her power-suffused limbs.


    How can she ¨C


    She overtook him, casually shoulder-barging him out of his timestream, sending him cartwheeling out of control down an embankment choked in brambles.


    Get up!


    He snapped to his feet ¨C the hundreds of little thorns that¡¯d pricked his skin were nothing compared with the aching in his right arm where the eolastyr had connected with him, splintering bones and tearing tendons.


    Despite the gloom here beneath the thick canopy, beneath the overcast skies, his eyes retained the power to find Benessela.


    She was thirty yards off, her body lying broken in the lowest branches of an oak. Her frail chest was still rising and falling, but twisted twigs were protruding from her stomach, and¡­


    His eyes found the girl, just as the coils of a whip extended from outside his field of vision to ensnare her, removing all her outer layers.


    He looked down in anguish. He knew the little kid was still alive, and would be left there to shiver in agony until the grace of death was permitted her.


    He almost would¡¯ve taken her life himself, if there wasn¡¯t a sliver of a chance of rescue. But there were greater powers than his own marshalled this day in defence of the city. If one of the insane seers came¡­ a healer could be found¡­


    No, Starsight, he said to himself. You were simply wrong. It is not her life or yours. It is both.


    You miscalculated.


    He raised his gaze to the eolastyr, taking in the purple and black fur, the wicked, crowned head. The flesh-coated whip. The serene expression.


    She was just like her sister.


    You were dividing by the wrong factors all along.


    She came striding down the embankment towards him but each pace was a careful slow step, lethargy in her every motion, as if just daring him to run again.


    His right arm was useless, but he still had one good striking-hand. He could kick¡­


    Thousands. Thousands. Thousands will die. Thousands and thousands¡­ Run. Survive. Save more.


    And, the only answer his soul could provide in its final moments:


    Glaif.


    He closed his eyes, letting her approach.


    Glaif, I surrender. I will do as my oath demands. If they must remember me, Illodin, let it be not as one whose life was thrown away in vain. Kultemeren, let the truth be known.


    I do it because it is right. That can never be a waste, when it is remembered.


    Starsight opened his eyes and, arm hanging limply at his side, the champion sped to meet the eolastyr¡¯s advance.


    * * *


    Disconsolate muttering grew, and grew, until the whispers were almost words, the grunts of annoyance becoming moans of real pain. The downward slope gradually morphed into a flat plateau, so gradually that Twivona couldn¡¯t remember exactly when the twin agonies in her ankles had faded from roaring hearths to dully-glowing emberstones. She knew only that walking was much more manageable now; with the easing of the discomfort, she let her thoughts idle by, not really conscious of anything anymore. What would be, would be. At least they, the protectors of the Realm, would be kept safe. Mund would weather the storm.


    Just how much farther can they really expect us to go?


    To whomever ¡®they¡¯ pertains¡­


    Where did this ceremony come from, this rite of sending the masters of the Realm down into blackness with these stupid glowing sticks? How ancient was it, really? Something from the Reformation in 777? Something from the era of the Mage Wars? Something stretching back even to the dynasties of the Founders, the Age of the Five Houses?


    Something¡­ older still?


    She suspected there were very few who could say, and fewer still who would. When she¡¯d been a young girl, she¡¯d expected the history of the Realm to be some concrete, cast-iron entity, a fixed and immutable chronology anyone could follow, supposing they could read. Indeed the first texts with which she¡¯d been provided had supported, even explicitly encouraged the notion. Gnomes and dwarves and especially elves ¨C the planetouched sub-races of humanity were possessed of such lifespans, how could any knowledge ever be lost? Sorcerers could summon-up the dead to unveil the secrets of the past, or even seek the dread lore held only by demons ¨C how could any pertinent details in the tale of centuries be missed? And diviners, and soothsayers ¨C how could any mysteries exist, all explanations of their twists and turns forgotten?


    Yet exist they did. Guided by her tutors in her mid-teens, Twivona finally had access to the kinds of materials required to give context to her confusion. Mund had undergone several semi-apocalyptic events, and, even with a wealth of magical record-keeping options, there was always something physical to be destroyed. A crystal ball would be smashed. A book would be consumed by flame. A stronghold off-world would be raided, abandoned, or simply lost in space and time.


    That was to say nothing of the ambiguity of eldritches, from which was derived, so it was said, the very meaning of the word. The pronouncements of prophets and seers were either so inscrutable as to elide objective interpretation altogether, or they gave excuses, saying only that they were blinded by forces beyond the interlocutor¡¯s ken. Were one to enquire of a venerable elf-lord as to occurrences say, two hundred years ago, one would receive a far less-meaningful answer than one might find in the hand-selected eye-witness testimonies collected in the Maginox library, the Temple of Illodin¡­ and those testimonies weren¡¯t just full of contradictions ¨C they were made out of contradiction. Polite society had formulated a hundred theories about every single uncertain event, and there were a thousand such notable moments.


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


    Perhaps things had always been so, but it seemed to Twivona that many had little better to do these days than while away the hours in circular argument and wine, ¡®wining and whining¡¯ as she so-often thought of it, and even the blandest hypothetical at a dinner-party might elicit academic outrage when it struck the fermenting cauldron that was the collective mind of Mund. Simple statements were forever causing uproar amongst the distinguished fellows of the colleges, some poor researchers even incurring the accusation of irreligiosity from those scholars to whom they presented the greatest challenge. Reportedly, blood had recently been shed at an otherwise-gentlemanly rum supper, thanks to a dispute over the accepted causes of the fifth-century shake-up in sanitation spells.


    Extreme polarisation was the chef¡¯s recommendation, and no one wanted to be left out, tasting at least a mouthful from their partners¡¯ plates and complaining loudly about it. Tensions were running high lately, of course, and those lords, ladies and educated folk who were not privileged enough to sit on the Councils, whose outlets remained fixed purely in the theoretical, incapable of effecting real change ¨C those people would vent their frustrations, one way or another. She could only pray the afflictions of the lower classes wouldn¡¯t invade the safe spaces enjoyed by the nobles ¨C once the highborn started using spells to settle their arguments, stepping beyond the constraints of the formal duelling system, the magisters would be forced to move in¡­ There were several high-ranking Magisterium officials who would¡¯ve just loved to arrest half the landed gentry of the city. North Lowtown and Sticktown had demonstrated ¨C were continuing to demonstrate ¨C just how well that would go. Even the poor resisted when they were scrutinised, treated harshly by the watch and magistry ¨C and they were already exposed to such treatment, long-inured against constraints on activity, freedom. How much worse it would be, should her peers start to break the rules¡­ she could scarcely bring herself to imagine.


    The word Blackway on Nightfell¡¯s tongue was like the returning of a lost key, and she was turned about in the labyrinth of her mind, trying to unlock a door she¡¯d misplaced. She knew she¡¯d studied it but when she¡­ She¡¯d been trying to think¡­


    History¡­


    Ambiguity¡­


    If she didn¡¯t know better, she¡¯d suspect herself of a fascination.


    Certainly, she couldn¡¯t recall anything about a metal tunnel. She¡¯d always thought of the Blackway as leading to some sort of prestigious war-room, a big bunker, something like the conference room on the fourth floor of the Maginox. Perhaps equipped with scrying devices, glyphstones¡­


    But the people who¡¯d walked this long, long passage before her ¨C why had they left no report of their experiences?


    Maybe they had. Maybe she was just being silly. There were probably reams of texts referring to this location, and she was simply mistaking her strained memory for something more sinister. It was conceivable that she literally hadn¡¯t read it. The clause about fleeing the Arrealbord for the Blackway was one of the ten lines of the Ruling Vow taken by the esteemed Lords and Ladies when they came into their inheritances. ¡®Blackway-bound in direst need.¡¯ That was all. Most of them probably hadn¡¯t spared the notion a single thought since their induction, even in these horrifying times. She certainly hadn¡¯t.


    We¡¯ve lived in the nightmare too long to recognise our environs for what they are.


    A pinprick of light appeared ahead.


    The whispers behind her intensified. She heard the voices she knew and hated, feeling the pressure of their expectations, the weight of destiny pushing her forwards. Her legs shook as she led them towards the light.


    Lady Gwena Rhaegel broke the silence of Twivona¡¯s little quartet.


    ¡°We¡¯ve travelled east-south-east approximately two and a half miles in almost an hour, my Lady.¡± Her voice held an excitement Twivona had trouble sensing in herself. ¡°Given an average seven degree slope, that would put us about five hundred yards beneath the streets of Blackbranch.¡±


    ¡°The sense of the name is made plain, then,¡± Wenlyworth croaked.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Lord Haid huffed, turning to fix his old colleague with an alarmed gaze. ¡°Whatever do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Blackway!¡± Lord Wenlyworth said with vehemence, clearly upset at having to waste more of his breath on words. ¡°Blackbranch! The ancient names¡­ unchanged. Or else, changed in unison¡­¡±


    Finally Wenlyworth snorted, and flapped a shrivelled hand in irritation, as if to say it wasn¡¯t worth the bother.


    ¡°Oh, I see,¡± Haid replied lamely. ¡°Very good¡­ yes¡­¡±


    Surrounded by the Realm¡¯s finest conversationalists, Twivona stepped towards the light of salvation, feeling suddenly as though she would¡¯ve preferred to remain in the darkness, unclarified, a future still in potential.


    The light resolved itself into a perfect oval aperture into golden brilliance. The oval was so narrow, it barely touched the floor. There was a little lip there ¨C she¡¯d have to go through first, alone, and remember to lift her foot to a sufficient height¡­


    She glanced through before lowering her eyes, noting only the featureless sandstone walls finally resolving themselves. Her awareness switched for less than a second to trace the motion of the right foot, ensuring she didn¡¯t spill herself onto the glowing floor of this incomprehensible new chamber.


    She moved away from the entrance, and one by one her peers entered after her, their hissing and moaning transformed to gasping, exclamations of awe. The High Lords and Ladies, their Shadows and Justices and Malices ¨C they all fanned out, staring off into the distance between the thick pillars towards the far wall, or staring up at the shadow-choked ceiling.


    ¡°If only I had some shaderoot,¡± Lady Rhaegel murmured ruefully. She caught Haid¡¯s look and clarified: ¡°To see in the dark, Gathel. Five, you did graduate, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    The floor was similar to the Noxway, it seemed, but beneath the unbroken glass-like surface was a kind of honey-like fluid, rather than milk-like. Whatever the substance was in truth, it produced a source of illumination that was warm, golden, reassuring¡­ but it didn¡¯t stretch more than twenty feet up the walls, the pillars.


    Casting about, Twivona saw that some of the other rod-holders had dropped their glowing sticks near the entrance. Feeling foolish, she returned to place hers near to theirs. Walking back towards the oval, the exit to the metal tunnel, she was staggered by how small it looked from this side, a tiny blemish in an otherwise perfectly-smooth sandstone wall.


    She crouched to carefully place down her rod, and it was only then that she recognised the feeling for what it was:


    Trapped.


    She rose back to her full height and smoothed-down the folds in her gown.


    There¡¯s no barrier, nothing stopping us leaving this place¡­ We¡¯re fine.


    ¡°What are we to do now, Sentelemeth?¡± Cay-Lehan Osordei snapped, appearing out of the crowd. ¡°You¡¯ve led us on a fool¡¯s errand ¨C¡±


    ¡°Only a fool would believe that,¡± Lady Rhaegel said, coming up behind Twivona. ¡°Just look at this place!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re lucky it¡¯s summer or we¡¯d freeze in here before we¡¯d starve.¡± Cay-Lehan waved her hand, indicating the emptiness. ¡°There¡¯s not even anywhere to sit!¡±


    ¡°This chamber is artificially warmed¡­¡± old Lord Humming observed softly to Twivona¡¯s left.


    ¡°Better to simmer here, than burn up there.¡± Lord Pintalion, watching from the gathered assemblage, indicated the unseen ceilings with his gaze, and there was a general murmur of approval.


    Osordei¡¯s eyes flashed dangerously. ¡°We have weathered many Incursions ¨C not a single member of the Arrealbord has been lost to a demon in fifty years!¡±


    Haid started, ¡°Actually ¨C¡±


    ¡°A demon in an Incursion, I mean, of course,¡± Osordei snapped, sneering. ¡°Come, we should return; by the time we arrive back in the palace grounds the damned invasion will already be over.¡±


    She moved to step past Twivona, towards the oval opening and the pile of faintly-glowing rods. A few others started shifting their weights, bending like reeds in the wind to follow her.


    Twivona stepped aside to let her pass.


    ¡°Are you afraid, too?¡±


    Osordei almost stumbled as she came to a halt. It was as though Twivona¡¯s words struck her a physical blow. The fierce expression on her face melted like candle-wax.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing to be ashamed of,¡± the First Lady said gently. ¡°We ¨C¡±


    ¡°Mortails.¡±


    The word descended down from the shadows and shook the room. Cries of panic were ripped from every throat, and by instinct Cay-Lehan drew closer to Twivona, putting out her fingers to claw at the silken sleeves covering the First Lady¡¯s arm.


    Twivona smiled, and settled her fingers over Lady Osordei¡¯s, turning her face up to the darkness and crying back:


    ¡°I am First Lady of Mund, Twivona Sentelemeth, Bearer of the Sceptre of the Five¡¯s Realm! Treat with me, and leave the others be!¡±


    Silence fell. No one even dared breathe, paralysed by sheer terror.


    ¡°Thau arit Twivona Sentelemeth.¡± There was a moment of hesitation, just long-enough for her to absorb the ancient form of address, then the voice thundered on: ¡°Ledder thau phipal dew. Thay fate thau arit shoumeran unnertau, unon am dunoll.¡±


    Old Mundic.


    Not Modern Mundic, New Mundic, Middle Mundic, or even High Mundic. Old Mundic.


    Her postgraduate thesis had explored the links between Old Mundic and the language of magic given to the world by the Five Founders. Of everyone in the Arrealbord, she was amongst the best-placed to understand the message hidden in the words.


    But fate. Fate never changed.


    ¡®You are summoned unto your fate one and all.¡¯


    It¡¯s like I was born to be here.


    ¡°What would you have me do?¡± she cried. ¡°Wudt thu thau imga ovo ucos?¡±


    Two of the pillars moved, rumbling as they snapped halfway up, forming knees.


    They weren¡¯t pillars. They were crude legs.


    A misshapen head, a sandstone boulder wider than a man was tall, came swinging down into view atop a hundred-ton torso.


    The unfinished sculpture of a toddler ¨C that was her mind¡¯s instinctive interpretation. It was missing feet, fingers, a nose¡­ Rough approximations of eyes and ears were in place, and the mouth held no darkness within when it spoke, words emanating from what appeared to be a shallow hollow just behind its toothless gums.


    Elemental? Eldritch? It scarcely mattered. It was beyond the scope of her lore.


    ¡°Commain,¡± it boomed. ¡°Thau arit to be pherosaid witut frein. Thay ¨C¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Osordei screamed.


    She wasn¡¯t alone in screaming ¨C but she was the first to move towards the way out, darting at the oval opening with surprising haste.


    Osordei never took classes in Old Mundic ¨C Twivona knew that much. Perhaps the Third Lady of Mund had subjected herself to a language-comprehension spell ¨C perhaps she did understand the awful meaning of its words.


    ¡®Come. You are to be processed without delay.¡¯


    Whatever the reason for her flight, it ended as abruptly as it had begun.


    Doooooooom.


    The pillar moved, blocking the opening in a single titanic step. Osordei disappeared from sight.


    Doooooooom.


    The pillar it was paired with landed near to it, sending several of the most eminent in the Realm sprawling, gasping in fear.


    For an instant Twivona thought Osordei must have made it ¨C the first pillar was now covering the wall, the immense creature¡¯s leg blockading the exit such that one could be forgiven for forgetting the avenue of escape was even there. Osordei could¡¯ve leapt through just before¡­ just before the leg landed¡­


    Then Twivona saw the pool of blood seeping out from the seam where the creature¡¯s foot met the floor.


    Its weight was such that Cay-Lehan had been reduced not to paste but to fluid.


    Those who¡¯d been moving in Osordei¡¯s wake fell back, shrinking into themselves, spinning on their heels while their hands and eyes reached out for aid ¨C


    Doooooooom. Doooooooom. Doooooooom. Doooooooom.


    The chamber was filled with columns shifting, monsters coming closer. There had to be dozens of the creatures in here.


    ¡°Thau moast swurtum olfa ootum. Thay skelut isi utplenece.¡±


    ¡®You must swear the oath. Your terror is misplaced.¡¯


    Twivona stood and stared, incapable of even starting to express the panic she was feeling. She was supposed to set an example to the others, but she was suddenly aware of her mortality, impotent to rip her gaze from the puddle of redness still spreading about the creature¡¯s cuboid foot where Osordei had vanished.


    Mortals. Mortails. Whatever it was ¨C golem, demon ¨C it had reminded the Lords and Ladies of their inherent vulnerability with its very first word.


    The pillars halted. The rulers of the Realm were surrounded and they couldn¡¯t even really see the harbingers of their deaths. She hadn¡¯t listened to the warning and now they were being rounded up like cattle for the slaughter. Terrible, awful things were going to happen to them, and it would all be her fault ¨C she was the one, the one who led them to ¨C


    ¡°Thanks for opening the way, Twivvie. I¡¯ve always been curious what was down here.¡±


    Twivona turned, slack-jawed, to stare upon Nightfell.


    The black-garbed champion was standing on the edge of their impromptu little gathering, leaning against one of the pillars nonchalantly. One of the pillars that had only just settled into place.


    How did she even get in here? The way is blocked¡­


    And, on the heels of that:


    But¡­ doesn¡¯t she realise¡­ that¡¯s a leg?


    Evidently she did, given the way she reacted when the pillar tried to stamp down on her. She carried no obvious weaponry ¨C the bow was no longer slung over her shoulder ¨C and yet when the column beside her retracted up into the air, a vast sandstone knee-joint bending into shape over her head, the champion produced two glittering daggers dripping in energies.


    She didn¡¯t blur aside, preferring merely to blur on the spot, arms upraised ¨C


    The sandstone column plunged down at her ¨C at the living drill rotating a thousand times a minute.


    The gargantuan golem came into sharp relief as the loss of its leg sent it crashing to the floor. Whatever the shining ground had been constructed from, it was clearly sterner stuff than that comprising the stony inhabitants of the chamber. There was no splintering of glass as it hit the deck. Just the dreadful rending of stone, the pitter-patter and ping of rocky shards off the radiant surface.


    We¡¯re saved, Twivona breathed silently.


    ¡°Well, now, that was rude,¡± the seeress muttered, brushing the yellowish dust out of the modest cleavage of her corset-like vest. ¡°Really, you¡¯d think after waiting aeons they¡¯d have the patience to stop and chat.¡± The arch-diviner whipped about, pointing the orange-glowing dagger in her left hand at the emotionless face of the golem she¡¯d toppled. ¡°Thau! Wudt thu thau moss i ¡®pherosaid¡¯? Wudt ¡®ootum¡¯?¡±


    Other than the grinding of sandstone, she received no answer. The fallen golem tried and failed to stand. Either due to a flaw in the method of its construction or due to the materials from which it had been made, it couldn¡¯t put both its fingerless fist-like hands on the floor at the same time as its remaining foot. Yet it seemed to want to do nothing else. Those nearest it backed away in renewed fear as it went splaying flat on the ground like a lowborn drunkard, over and over again.


    Its fellows didn¡¯t seem to want to help it. No more columns shifted. Twivona imagined their expressionless faces up there in the dark, surveying their broken friend¡¯s futile attempts to rise with dispassionate eyes.


    Nightfell didn¡¯t move aside, staying precisely where she was. Whenever its flailing limbs came sweeping towards her, she seemed to flicker, and as the sandstone limb would pass by she would reappear in her place.


    ¡°Well, this is boring,¡± the diviner opined ¨C then blurred into action once more.


    The fallen golem became a pile of rubble and a cloud of dust, Nightfell¡¯s once-more empty hands brushing down her clothing.


    The motions of her hands drew Twivona¡¯s attention to the rapid rise and fall of the seeress¡¯s chest.


    She defeated one, but can she defeat them all?


    ¡°Thau arit nuta mosst to be arie.¡±


    Twivona¡¯s mind translated with glee:


    ¡®You are not meant to be here.¡¯


    The cogitation-spells set upon these golem-things had clearly gathered dust over the years, but the destruction of their colleague finally seemed to spur them into action.


    Doooooooom. Doooooooom. Doooooooom. Doooooooom.


    ¡°Wudt ootum!¡± Nightfell cried, even as she slipped the first tremendous fist that was aimed at her. ¡°I know I¡¯m doing the whole uninvited guest routine but¡­¡±


    The first golem was a rain of stones.


    ¡°¡­ Twelve Hells, all I want are some answers and I¡¯ll get¡­¡±


    The second toppled, heated to the point parts of its legs went flowing across the ground like slag.


    ¡°¡­ right out of your hair, I promise¡­¡±


    A group seemed to converge on her, pillars ringing her ¨C then she was leaping back into the circle from the outside, and split three of them in two with a single motion, sending torsos and heads rolling.


    ¡°¡­ not that you guys exactly go for the flowing-locks look. Have you considered a toup¨¦? I know a place¡­¡±


    An imperceptible flurry of blows reduced a struggling golem into pile of sandstone chunks each no bigger than a dinner-plate.


    ¡°¡­ place you can get¡­ great discount¡­¡±


    The diviner was tiring but it didn¡¯t matter. She¡¯d done her job, done everything she needed to do. She¡¯d distracted the gigantic keepers of this ancient hall from their task.


    It was Twivona and the others who were shirking their responsibilities. The First Lady knew, somewhere at the back of her mind, that she should be running. This was her opportunity ¨C the exit was ¨C


    She jerked her head about and saw that the way out was clear. The champion had risked her life to force the golem blocking the Blackway to move. And Twivona was wasting it, wasting every precious second.


    Wenlyworth was already staggering towards the oval, and others were with him, ahead of him and behind, some holding the glow-rods¡­


    Twivona moved like a jaguar, yelling at the others to cross the threshold, enter the metallic tunnel back to safety.


    Relative safety.


    How long she stood there beside the opening she couldn¡¯t tell, even when she was right there in the moment, slapping the backs of her peers and forcing them bodily into the exit. She kept her focus, ignoring the crimson sludge beneath her shoes. Instead of being where she was, who she was, she imagined she was one of the magisters attending some crisis, desperately attempting to evacuate a building before some demon or darkmage turned its attention upon the civilians. Did the magisters undergo such frustration when they were doing their work? The nobles were pushing and shoving at each other, affiliations and simple manners abandoned as they clawed their way past each other, pressing single-file into the gap. The crowd seemed to be taking forever to filter through.


    Beyond them, Twivona caught glimpses of Nightfell¡¯s brave performance. The seeress was definitely out of her depth. The columns had converged upon the whirling blur of death, the golems¡¯ fists looming down out of the shadows again and again to strike at her. Her motions were slower than before, and she was fighting atop an ever-growing mound of debris, her footing becoming less sure by the second. It was only a matter of time before the poor girl got clobbered, and one blow was all it would take to reduce her wiry little body to pulp.


    Maybe she¡¯d live. Maybe. But even if she perished, her sacrifice would not have been in vain. Save for Osordei, they¡¯d all been emancipated from the trap. Every single Lord and Lady of the Realm.


    Just a handful of nobles remained. Lady Rhaegel, whose diligence would return to pay dividends, had waited with her.


    Twivona waved her through then, last as she was first, followed.


    Decorum had been left behind in the chamber. Many of the nobles at the front were sprinting, given the way the lights they carried swayed and dimmed in the distance ¨C some had even kicked off their footwear, and at one point Twivona was sent stumbling over a pair of Im Hatal high-heels that were worth a small fortune.


    She kept her own shoes on. The High Herrions on her feet were ensorcelled beyond the norm for good balance, and she would¡¯ve been damned before she abandoned them in this ghastly place.


    The elderly and infirm were shuffling along as fast as their daily dose permitted, the concoction of herbs that had been designed to reinvigorate old bones now pushed to its limits. Before long Twivona and Gwena were traipsing at the rear of the slowest-moving group.


    The First Lady caught Gwena¡¯s gaze in the dim light, recognising the same fear in her colleague.


    We¡¯re at the back. We¡¯ll be the first to die if we¡¯re followed.


    ¡°She saved us,¡± Twivona found herself saying curtly, as if to chastise herself aloud for the unspoken contents of her mind. ¡°They can¡¯t follow ¨C they can¡¯t fit in here¡­¡±


    ¡°Damn right they couldn¡¯t,¡± came the uncouth reply from behind her.


    Twivona halted, spinning on her heel in amazement.


    Nightfell was there, following along behind the Arrealbord members with no indication she was anything but a lowborn teenaged girl, her masked face lowered to the floor. Twivona could just about make out the gentle rise and fall of her chest ¨C if she didn¡¯t know better, she would¡¯ve said the champion was already recovering from her exertions.


    ¡°N-Nightfell!¡± Twivona cried, the word torn from her in surprise; then immediately she cursed herself for the idiotic-sounding outburst.


    ¡°They¡¯re all dead,¡± the seeress said, coming to a halt and keeping her eyes on her feet. ¡°Dead.¡±


    The First Lady was vaguely aware of the ripple of sound behind her as news of the champion¡¯s victory swiftly spread. Some of those who¡¯d moved farther up the tunnel were now returning, by the sounds of things, doubtless hoping the champion would have some explanation of the events which had occurred¡­ Or at least hoping the champion would have some trick up her sleeve to expedite the laborious trek back up to the palace gardens¡­


    Twivona took a few moments to catch her own breath, let her quivering limbs settle. The debating voices swelled in her ears, each slicing whisper, each incisive hiss more irritating to her right now than the last.


    ¡°Nightfell!¡±


    ¡°Nightfell?¡±


    ¡°The girl! She did it!¡±


    ¡°I heard Nightfell was the fugitive, Killstop.¡±


    ¡°Killstop was a champion too!¡±


    ¡°And a heretic.¡±


    ¡°Heretic ¨C what does that even mean, anymore?¡±


    ¡°What did it ever?¡±


    ¡°Do not start down that line of thinking again¡­¡±


    ¡°I know she turned the tide in Zadhal. I know we would be the dragon¡¯s whipping boys if not for her. That¡¯s what I know.¡±


    Twivona sighed, and tried to swallow down the sickness she suddenly felt washing over her in waves.


    She spoke directly to the black-clad figure: ¡°I-ignore them all. You have the Realm¡­ Realm¡¯s thanks for your actions today. And a¡­ a pardon, if one is required.¡±


    The dark mask tilted slightly, as though there were invisible eye-slits through which the girl might regard the First Lady.


    ¡°Thank you, Lady Sentelemeth.¡±


    The champion¡¯s words were ever so slightly muffled by the covering over her face, of course, but that didn¡¯t impede the raw emotion in her voice. A tear started in the corner of each of Twivona¡¯s eyes suddenly.


    It¡¯s the stress, the First Lady thought, immediately blinking and pressing the heel of each hand into her face, ensuring all moisture was swept away. It wouldn¡¯t do for one of her more-aggressive peers to notice the wetness sparkling in her eyes, especially not at a time like this.


    ¡°You know I explored every inch of that place down there?¡± The change in Nightfell¡¯s tone of voice was startling, the chin coming up sharply, the hooded head surveying the lords and ladies at the front. The girl suddenly had the air of a school-mistress addressing her naive young pupils, indulging them in a rare moment of candid revelation. ¡°Seamless. It mirrored, in four dimensions. Like a ¨C a fabric, a fabric, a non-orientable space-time¡­ Did you see how slowly I was moving? Did you notice? No¡­ I have no idea what they wanted you for¡­ who built it, and how ¨C¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s unusual for you,¡± Twivona said, trying to sound soothing, sympathetic. ¡°I understand. But w-we can chat about it another time. It¡¯s okay. We¡¯re okay. Go. I¡¯m sure they need you out there.¡±


    Twivona found she didn¡¯t give a damn what the things below were going to do with the nobles, didn¡¯t give two hoots how the weird room came to be what it was, where it was. She just wanted the archmage to leave.


    She smiled reassuringly, stepping back as if to let a way out part behind her in the crowded passage, hoping the others would follow suit.


    ¡°But don¡¯t say it like that,¡± the former Killstop murmured.


    I beg your pardon?


    ¡°That just tells me you know where this is leading. Why in Vaahn¡¯s name would you tell me you know?¡± The heretic¡¯s voice rose. ¡°You were supposed to say, ¡®And that¡¯s unusual for you, w-why don¡¯t we have a nice ch-chat about it on the way back to the palace.¡¯ I mean, if you wanted to die, why not just tell me straight!¡±


    Twivona swooned and instinctively backed up another step, more than just nauseated, as two amethyst rods appeared in Nightfell¡¯s hands.


    No, not rods. It was a pair of identical dirks, each of the long blades scintillating with swirls of pink light, tiny gleaming droplets rising from their edges and dripping upwards towards the ceiling.


    Tears of Nethernum.


    All other light seemed to fade in the presence of the ensorcelled weapons, the rods in their hands dimming.


    ¡°All this¡­ all this protection.¡± The seeress was sneering. ¡°All these special protocols, special places¡­ Curse the Five! By what right do you govern? You aren¡¯t elected. You don¡¯t even have to earn your place. You¡¯re born, and you just inherit this¡­ all this glory¡­¡±


    ¡°No different from you,¡± a man snapped in retort from behind Twivona. ¡°You archmages ¨C at least we train for politics all our lives. You¡¯re just¡­¡±


    The First Lady turned.


    Vernays, you old fool!


    He fell silent, just as though he¡¯d heard her thought.


    ¡°Lord Justice Yular Vernays,¡± Nightfell whispered. ¡°Of all the Lords of the Realm, it¡¯s you I¡¯ve most been dying to meet. Don¡¯t you know? I knew your brother.¡±


    His¡­ brother? Twivona couldn¡¯t quite recall the man¡¯s family situation. Who was his brother?


    ¡°Your brother, who gave his life for the justice you never once sought.¡± Nightfell stepped towards the still-handsome, elfin noble and now the aghast crowd parted, letting the blade-wielding diviner approach closer to her prey, cringing away from her and whimpering. ¡°Your brother, whose pain at your rejection cost this city more than you could ever hope to bring it with a thousand years of governance.¡±


    Lord Vernays was as white as a sheet. His mouth opened and closed on empty air.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you realise?¡± Nightfell barked at him, making him flinch back. ¡°We are the pure ones. We are the ones with the power. We have the blood of the Five in our veins! You ¨C all of you ¨C you are just part of the problem. A system that consumes, and consumes, and knows not that the pips caught in its teeth are the bones of the dead, worked to the marrows to feed the tertiary delights of an indifferent royalty. Oh, if I could bring an arch-enchanter to show you! The sixteen hours of unflinching toil that goes into just one ingredient of your so-called daily doses. How much does the peasant in the silverwheat field earn for his labour? Could any of you even conceive what it is, to exist on the relative value of eight coppers a week? Do you even know what eight coppers look like? The peasant might not either, but for very different reasons!¡±


    Twivona looked to Gwena. Her colleague merely shook her head, her wide-thrown eyes a perfect mirror for the terror Twivona felt, reflecting only the miasmatic purple vapours as they dripped towards the tunnel ceiling against all logic, falling up over their heads and dissipating into nothingness.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good job,¡± the arch-diviner said, suddenly sounding strangled. ¡°A good job, I¡¯m Everseer. Otherwise I¡¯d let you live to tell what you¡¯ve seen.¡±


    Nightfell took a long look at their flinching reactions, lingering purely so that the Lords and Ladies were forced to languish in renewed dismay ¨C then the archmage laughed, and vanished, like she¡¯d been a ghost all along.


    They took almost ten minutes to recover from the shock of the encounter, sitting on the curved floor with their backs against the metallic walls, all decorum thrown to the non-existent winds. The rods gleamed brightly once more with the overpowering ensorcellments of the weapons removed from the environment, and their spirits were soon lifted. They had survived! With ever-decreasing fear in their voices, they discussed the behaviour of the troubled teen. Apparently for all her heroism, Killstop remained detached from reality. Who indeed would spurn a formal pardon for their heretical activities? Forego the opportunity to be the first to be so pardoned? To no longer have to look over one¡¯s shoulder at every juncture?


    Only one who dwelt in the Thirteen Candles, Lord Pintalion opined. Lord Vernays nodded furiously, his delicate jaw locked, lips sealed tight.


    The argument the seeress was indeed Everseer seemed an easy temptation, to Twivona. But she suspected in truth it was just one more indication of her madness. It seemed, to her, Killstop was acknowledging her insanity by analogy to that former almighty champion in whose footsteps the youngster had seemingly followed.


    She kept her responses to herself as she got to her feet, watching with satisfaction as most of the others started to follow suit. She set off, and they shambled after her.


    Only to one so supremely confident in her own abilities, one so supremely detached from society, from reality¡­ Only to her is my pardon rendered meaningless.


    She imagined the poor girl sleeping alone beneath a bridge, down in some slum the likes of which Twivona knew she could scarcely imagine. So swept up in the tide of her power that there was no real world anymore, nothing else to do or care about than the vagaries of her visions. It was hardly as though she were in any danger, or would want for anything ¨C surely a seeress on Killstop¡¯s level could obtain any luxury she desired in the matter of half a moment. That in itself would serve to detach a person from the usual considerations of decency.


    No moment of pleasure. Nothing to relish, the consequences unknown. All there would be was the imperishable knowledge, that they were forever bound, slaves to necessity¡­


    As much as she¡¯d threatened them all, Twivona couldn¡¯t help but feeling that the former champion still deserved forgiveness for whatever crimes she¡¯d committed. Killstop didn¡¯t need hunting; she needed help ¨C a place, maybe even a station with a salary¡­


    I¡¯ll reach out to Henthae, the First Lady told herself, making a mental note as she helped Wenlyworth to his feet. I can fix this. I can pay her back, for what she did for us¡­


    For me¡­


    And then, there was the prospect of leaving the Blackway with the knowledge of what had occurred within. What had awaited them, and all their ilk who were asked to go down there during an Incursion¡­?


    What could have been the meaning of it all?


    They discussed the different options back and forth a dozen times, as a group, in smaller groups, in pairs, or some just stumbling along in stunned silence, clearly deep in debate with an internal interlocutor. Yet it seemed as time went by that they could agree on fewer and fewer details.


    ¡°What do you mean, they didn¡¯t speak Old Mundic?¡± Twivona found herself asking angrily.


    ¡°Old Mundic?¡± Even Gwena was snorting at the prospect. ¡°My dear First Lady, we must have you examined when we get you home.¡°


    How dare she? How dare she speak so to her? Lady Rhaegel would be reprimanded by official letter, signed and sealed before witnesses, on threat of expulsion from the Arrealbord. Such insubordination ¨C


    What insubordination?


    She almost asked Gwena what she¡¯d just been saying, when the abortive thought gave way to the single pressing concern:


    What¡¯s happened to my mind?


    She walked on in increasing puzzlement.


    The radiance of the rods had blinded them to a certain degree ¨C it was too late when the ones at the front dimmed again.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Look!¡±


    The purple blades were there in the darkness ahead of them, utterly still and small, as if they were held at the seeress¡¯s sides, way off in the distance.


    Except for the unceasing drips of energy giving a sense of true motion, one could¡¯ve been forgiven for thinking it was a trick.


    ¡°Is it real?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not moving!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an illusion!¡±


    ¡°But¡­ the rods¡­¡±


    It didn¡¯t matter. Twivona understood. The champion, the heretic¡­ whatever she was, she¡¯d left them there and vanished, with a singular purpose: to kill the ones who didn¡¯t turn back when she caught up with Twivona at the rear.


    Kill them. All of them. So silently, not a whisper came back to the rest.


    Twivona imagined her out there in front them, relishing the fear of the group.


    She is a demon.


    And the First Lady wasn¡¯t the only one to come to such an assessment.


    ¡°No!¡± someone howled behind her, turning to flee, flee unthinking back towards that awful place. ¡°No, oh no!¡±


    Then the familiar prickle came over Twivona¡¯s skin as an arch-diviner of incomprehensible power set a chronomantic trap about her. About all of them.


    There was no fleeing. There was no escaping this. The time-bubble had never been so painful. The pressure it exerted on her chest ¨C she couldn¡¯t breathe, but she didn¡¯t need to. She couldn¡¯t ¨C


    I can¡¯t blink.


    I ¨C can¡¯t ¨C move ¨C my ¨C eyes.


    She screamed, but nothing happened.


    ¡°Most of them can go quickly. I¡¯ll kill them and drop them out.¡±


    The sound of the girl¡¯s voice was a girl¡¯s no longer ¨C it was a discordant, itching thunder. Each and every syllable drilled into Twivona¡¯s temple, again and again and again, but there was no recoiling from it, no way to turn aside from that skull-splitting blare. It was akin to the infinite reflections in the black-glass corridor where they¡¯d first met, where this future had been written; it was a marker of broken time, but this was being utilised as a weapon. The oppressive noise of it filled the tunnel, roaring into Twivona¡¯s ears like they were whirlpools drinking in every limitless echo, each word a swollen inevitability, bursting with actuality.


    ¡°But you, Yular, my shivering little hare. It¡¯s okay. You don¡¯t get to bleed here and I¡¯ll have that skin off in a second. Oh, gosh. Don¡¯t look at me like that. We aren¡¯t going to cook you. Hahahaha! Do the hounds cook the hare? All you have to do is run. That¡¯s all.The other one took three days ¨C I went for five. No, every step¡¯s plotted. No healing magic on the way, you know. You go for healing, we catch you. It¡¯s that simple. It¡¯s gonna be tough going, but if you get through day four, I win. If she hasn¡¯t come for you by then, she¡¯ll give up. Who knows how long you could last¡­ Think about it. What a gift! What a chance he never had!¡±


    Twivona replayed the seeress¡¯s words in her mind.


    Oh¡­ Oh gods¡­ does she mean ¨C


    Yular¡¯s screams filled the air. The murderess had released him from some of the bonds locking him in place, purely so that the others could listen to his misery, but Twivona welcomed it. She welcomed it. Anything, anything, except the sound of the seeress¡¯s voice.


    There was a blur to Twivona¡¯s left, and she¡¯d never thought she¡¯d be thankful to be magically paralysed before, incapable of those automatic instincts that would¡¯ve otherwise sent her eyes rolling, perceiving¡­


    That is Yular. Losing his¡­ Losing.


    ¡°Yes, yes, quiet down. It¡¯s not deliberate, you know ¨C I don¡¯t want to be taking chunks out of you! Come on, or I¡¯ll have to actually, you know, hurt you, and that really, really wouldn¡¯t be pleasant¡­ Here¡­ yes, arm up¡­¡±


    Anything¡­ I¡¯d die, just to stop you talking.


    What signal she was interpreting as conversation, when all he was doing was grunting and screaming, only the dark powers below might¡¯ve known.


    ¡°I never said I¡¯d get it off in one piece. Yes, one second, but that¡¯s, like¡­ a whole second. A second is¡­ I don¡¯t even know how long¡­¡±


    Then, of all things, the archmage raised her voice, as if to address the group.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about this, but I have to get him started right now. I¡¯ll be with you presently.¡±


    Kill me! Twivona longed to screech. Kill me now!


    But she was held transfixed by that most terrible of powers, beyond the reach or sight of gods or men. She was, for all her company, alone with her fate. She alone could meet it and she had to meet it alone. There was no one she could discuss it with, even if many of the people she knew and even cared for were to share the very same doom, in the same place, in the same eye-blink. There was no ending to her life. There was just this ¨C its abrupt cessation.


    She¡¯d been so young. She¡¯d had so much time left. Yet that was in the before, and this was the now. It¡¯d been stolen, every last second of it. There was only one direction for her.


    There was some comfort, she found, in knowing that at least she knew. She didn¡¯t have to fear it now. She knew how it was going to happen. The shadow of mortality fell aside and for the first moment in her life, Twivona truly lived.


    No matter the cost ¨C what she left behind, what she had to suffer to see it through ¨C the fear was gone.


    Mortiforn¡­ I know now. I know where I¡¯m going.


    Onwards.


    Onwards.


    This is death.


    * * *


    The wind wailed with a shrill fury, such that a mortal¡¯s eardrums would burst ere they might clap hands to head, yet he could hear the servitor¡¯s words with perfect clarity. Ms. Onyef¡¯s voice trembled; she had never ventured to regions like these before, he knew, and it was likely she hoped the cacophony would mask her obvious trepidation.


    ¡°Of those whom thou badest me watch with especial scrutiny, we hath gathered unto ourselves but one of their souls, Mr. Owl. It falls unto me to bear thee disquieting news, and yet there may be reason for rejoicing ¨C¡±


    ¡°I am aware already, though I thank thee for thy quiet diligence, Ms. Onyef. Please, depart now, and with my favour.¡±


    He waited until the spectre vanished from the mountainside, then clenched his remaining fist.


    There was no archmagery left to invest her, no more sorcerous soul-blood leaking forth from the demi-planes to save her, but Twivona had possessed the potential. He was certain of it.


    That wasn¡¯t what was troubling him, though. The loss of such an archmage to the demons ¨C it was the work he opposed and yet could not. The gambit of Lord Suffering which none might gainsay. Yet, how the coin rolled on its edge! How it refused to topple!


    It would soon fall, and the decision would be made. A smiling face, or a clutch of tails.


    A soul for a soul.


    He leaned again over the edge, facing into the void, and then he spun, lying back almost horizontally over the infinite drop once more, supported only by the wind coming screaming up out of the nothingness. Gazing high into Materium with his uninterruptible vision, the keen sight of the ascended vampire pierced stone and dirt, bricks and sticks, flesh and blood. He saw the hearts. He saw the minds. His consciousness opened like a flower accepting the sun, as close to omniscience as anything below a deity might hope ever to achieve.


    Yet he was stymied.


    Lyferin! Lyferin! ¨C where art thou?

 The War

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9G: THE WAR</h2>


    ¡°Apply yourself to the question. I assure you, it is meaningful, if only to me. Tell me. Without naming yourself or listing what you do, can you tell me who you are?¡±


    ¨C as spoken by the Recaller of Illodin


    The spring rains had stopped, so she¡¯d met him outside on the balcony. No use worrying her grandpa while he was having one of his bad days.


    ¡°There is no way ¨C no way I¡¯m doing it. You¡¯re gonna have to find some other chump, Garet.¡±


    ¡°Stop talking,¡± Xastur insisted, glaring between the pair of them. ¡°Stop talking.¡± His voice only grew louder and louder. ¡°Stop talking! Stop talking! Stop ¨C¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve stopped!¡± she cried.


    Xantaire sighed, folding her arms across her chest. She hated the way he did this in front of strangers. There were only so many times a day you could speak over him, tell him how ridiculous it was to force people to stop talking and then to shut up yourself, leaving an awkward silence bubbling away like a cauldron of old meat. There were only so many times you could tell him off for it without losing track of what you were saying, leaving you floundering, looking like a complete prat if he caught you mid-argument.


    Xas eyed them both contemptuously, then went back to his previous topic.


    ¡°Pick me up.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too big to be picked up.¡±


    ¡°Pick me up.¡±


    He always wanted to look over the rail and down into the lane, nowadays. He didn¡¯t want to go down and play with the others in the muck, oh no. Nothing so independent. She¡¯d always tried to look on the bright side with Xas¡¯s lack of confidence ¨C at least it meant he never strayed from her side. She always had a partner in crime, someone there to give her immediate feedback. Someone to share life with. After Morsus went away, her son had only become more important to her. He¡¯d always been the focus of her existence since the first moment she felt the little warm weight of his life inside her, but the circle of that existence had shrunk recently. He was the centre of her being, more than ever before. But he¡¯d become so demanding lately. Verbally. Where all the words suddenly came from she had no idea.


    All those years, surrounded by Kas and the twins, nothing. Now they¡¯ve gone¡­


    Maybe he was just filling the silence.


    Garet shifted uncomfortably, the balcony planks groaning slightly as he shifted his heavy booted feet. ¡°Look,¡± the grunt grunted in his thick voice, ¡°I don¡¯t wanna make things difficult for yer¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop talking.¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat, meathead?¡± Xan spat.


    ¡°No, I mean ¨C I don¡¯t wanna make things difficult ¨C what did I say?¡±


    ¡°Stop talking. Pick ¨C me ¨C up.¡±


    ¡°Well if you don¡¯t want to make things difficult, turn around and sod off!¡±


    ¡°Stop talking!


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Xan added, and almost bent to pick Xas up in gratitude before catching herself. ¡°Stop talking, Garet.¡±


    ¡°But there¡¯s four of ¡¯em, Xan, an¡¯ Peltos, ¡®e won¡¯t do owt ¨C says it¡¯s my job, what was Wyre¡¯s job, you know ¨C¡±


    ¡°Pick. Me. Up.¡±


    ¡°I already have someone to look after.¡± She turned the last two words into a warning, leaning over and looking directly into her son¡¯s face. ¡°Two someones. I can¡¯t just drop everything, to become some sort of ¨C some kind of childminder.¡±


    ¡°Stop talking,¡± Xas said, pouting.


    ¡°They¡¯re orphans,¡± Garet replied. ¡°Like I was. An¡¯ if no one took me in ¨C fink ¡®ow I might¡¯er turned out. I can cover costs¡­ rent¡­¡±


    She was still looking in her son¡¯s face, and she enjoyed the brief moment of silence that would endure for precisely as long as she kept her attention fully on him. She caught herself listening to the laughter of the children in the lane.


    She remembered the screams, during the riots last week. The remains in the carts being wheeled off to the ministers of Mortiforn, blackened, twisted husks of human bodies.


    Street urchins, caught in the crossfire of katra-heads and magisters.


    Orphans.


    And they¡¯ll all turn out like him. Him, or dead. Their only choices.


    She turned her face back to Garet, scowling up at his blunt-featured face.


    Maybe Grandpa needs more kids around. Maybe it¡¯ll help.


    She knew the former Gentleman wouldn¡¯t understand the reasons, so she didn¡¯t even try. She kept it simple.


    Xantaire almost grated the words.


    ¡°Show me.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. They¡¯re fine. I don¡¯t know why you insist on checking up on me all the time like this¡­¡± Xan managed to pull Xas back away from the rail and then was forced to stay tensed, holding him away from it as he strained forwards. ¡°I told you last time, they¡¯ll do fine. I even got Thelly started on her letters, and Vade has an eye for numbers like I¡¯ve never seen before! Give him two two-digit numbers to times together and he¡­¡±


    She realised even as the words left her lips that she¡¯d gone too far.


    ¡°Numbers?¡± the thug said suspiciously.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think it!¡±


    ¡°Wha?¡±


    The way Garet stared at her, dumbfounded¡­


    Am I reading too much into it?


    ¡°You¡¯re going to get him all mixed up in your business, and I won¡¯t stand for it ¨C I shouldn¡¯t have said anything!¡± Xan felt more angry at herself than at Garet. She shouldn¡¯t have slipped up like this. ¡°Vade is a very sensitive boy. Just because he¡¯s good with numbers ¨C Xastur you get back from there ¨C¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t get it,¡± Garet hissed, his sudden intensity making her look up and lose her grip on her son. ¡°We gotta keep it quiet. If Peltos finds out we got a brain ¡®ere, ¡®e¡¯s gonna want me to bring ¡®im in.¡±


    She scrutinised the big brute¡¯s face and couldn¡¯t pick out a single trace of deceit in his stare, his concerned expression.


    ¡°Fine. Fine.¡±


    ¡°Stop talking,¡± Xas said in a revolted tone of voice. ¡°Just stop talking. Pick me up!¡±


    ¡°I come over ¡¯cause I ¡®eard about Mephel¡­ Menphle¡­¡±


    ¡°Menephlette¡± she finished for him smugly. She was still keeping secret the fact she¡¯d had to practice the name until she could produce it on demand. The ten-year-old girl was very possessive of her name, and demanded it be pronounced correctly at every opportunity. Xan had thought it prudent to get the knack right from the outset and this first small victory had helped her get through the following weeks of trials and tribulations.


    ¡°How¡¯d you always do that,¡± he grumbled. ¡°Anyway, I ¡®eard about her hand. What happened?¡±


    ¡°Stop talking!¡±


    She ignored Xas, feeling herself blushing suddenly, right to the tips of her ears hidden by her curls.


    ¡°Oh, that.¡±


    ¡°A dog, they says? Who¡¯s it own by?¡±


    Xan was still trying to come to terms with what had happened. And what had happened afterwards.


    ¡°Stop! Just stop talking¡­¡±


    ¡°The dog¡¯s dead,¡± she said bitterly. ¡°It was a mad thing, up out of the mud pits, round past the Spannerwalk entry.¡± She waved a hand towards the bottom of the lane, in roughly the right direction. ¡°Menephlette¡¯s fine. It¡¯s just a bite. She¡¯ll heal.¡±


    ¡°Pick me up!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know that for sure,¡± Garet said darkly, and she regarded him in some surprise. ¡°Wounds worsen, yer know. Get infected. You might as wanna take ¡®er up ter the cleansin¡¯. An¡¯ let¡¯s just ¡®ope all it was was mad.¡±


    ¡°Let me go! Stop talking!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, ¡¯cause traipsing up to Hightown is at the top of my agenda. They¡¯re stripping the Sticktown girls just to check them for katra, you know.¡± Xan clawed an errant curl of her hair out of her eyes with her free hand. ¡°Anyway, don¡¯t even know if the next cleansing will be on, do we?¡±


    ¡°Was on last month.¡±


    ¡°But not in Ismethara. If they cut it once¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Yeah, yer right,¡± he grunted. ¡°I can lend yer a cart, an¡¯ a driver, if it¡¯s on, though. If yer wanna.¡±


    She longed to just say it: ¡°Nightfell brought the medicine.¡± But there was no way she could betray Killstop like that, and Nightfell was Killstop, no matter how much she denied it.


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®let¡¯s hope all it was was mad¡¯?¡± she said instead.


    ¡°Pick me up¡­¡±


    Garet frowned. ¡°Men¡­ Menny¡¯s dad, he was first-killer in the Cutter Crew. If someone¡­¡±


    His eyes met hers, then his mouth closed on the following words.


    She knew. He knew she knew.


    ¡°Pleaseeeeeee¡­¡±


    Garet bent and, without saying anything, swept Xastur up to his chest.


    The man was tall. The boy was afforded the best view over the rail he¡¯d ever had, and he instantly fell silent, gazing down into Mud Lane, drinking in the groups of people, the animals, the different bridges spanning the roadway below.


    Xan caught herself just breathing, breathing for a moment. She¡¯d quite forgotten what it was to have both peace and quiet. If she picked Xas up herself, he was right there in her face, still demanding things of her constantly. She straightened and stretched, then placed her own hands on the rail.


    It took her a moment to remember where she was up to, trying not to allow the ex-Gentleman¡¯s gentlemanly gesture to disarm her.


    So¡­ so maybe Menephlette was targeted.


    She couldn¡¯t see any magisters down there in the mud, but a pair of watchmen were permanently stationed at the entrance to the lane. She could make one of them out even from here. A persistent reminder of what what was happening behind the scenes.


    ¡°How¡¯s the war going?¡± she asked quietly.


    When Garet didn¡¯t reply at once, she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at him. He was watching Xastur, his focus on checking the boy¡¯s position, clearly unused to holding a kid up high.


    She thought perhaps he hadn¡¯t heard her question, and opened her mouth to repeat herself, but then his eyes slashed to meet hers and she saw the measured cunning in him exposed for just an instant, the criminal, murderous element that made him so unassumingly dangerous.


    The response was simple, as simple as she¡¯d come to expect from him¡­ and as accurate:


    ¡°It¡¯s going.¡±


    * * *


    The day the underworld feud came to Mud Lane, it was like an Incursion, only worse.


    In an Incursion you could at least rest assured that, mind-control and accident aside, the magisters and champions weren¡¯t just going to open fire indiscriminately on the crowd once the demons were dealt with. But now, during these skirmishes, the true enemy wasn¡¯t the demon ¨C it was the deranged demon-summoner.


    What made it all so much worse was the variety of spells available to the druggies. The last time she¡¯d seen something happen was three weeks ago over on Brown Avenue, where a gang managed to get the drop on a pair of magisters just walking up the roadway, bursting out of a first-floor door and splashing fire down at the two officials. It wasn¡¯t the gouts of archmage-flame that shocked her, or even the screams and smells of the two women as their robes ignited, as their flesh was consumed. She¡¯d seen enough flashy magic to last a lifetime.


    No, it was the way they knew the magisters were coming. The ease of it all. She¡¯d spent time thinking it through, and the truth was plain: the gangs weren¡¯t just out-fighting the magisters; they were out-scrying them. She knew from Garet that the drug was stronger now than it had ever been, the strain bred in Rivertown lasting almost twice as long as it had when it first appeared on the scene. And maybe, just maybe, the Magisterium was weaker.


    Whether it was weaker or not, the Magisterium wasn¡¯t going to take challenges to its authority. Its response wouldn¡¯t be some half-measure, for all that it was half-baked. When she went to walk down Brown Avenue a couple of days later, Xan found one side of the street almost completely levelled. Thirty dwellings, that¡¯d probably housed more like sixty families than thirty. The sides of the roadway were choked with debris, and the ramshackle dwellings that some of the homeless had crafted from the remains of their former abodes. It turned out, Xan discovered by chatting with a resident of the houses opposite, that there¡¯d only been one house occupied by the katra-heads. Just one. But as a matter of policy, the magisters on the scene had insisted on full-scale destruction when they attacked.


    Not all those who perished at their hands had been guilty of crimes. A fact excused by the magisters by reference to the deaths of their innocent colleagues just days earlier. Xan didn¡¯t quite see things that way, and she strongly suspected the resident didn¡¯t either, given the way these snippets of information were being delivered: in almost-incoherent sobs. Xan was forced to interpret spite-filled growls, distracted moans, hoarse whispers.


    Why did the news-sheets say nothing about the riots? Why did the town-criers never mention the inkatra epidemic? At most such topics got a line at the end, and it was always couched in careful language, listing only the ¡®successes¡¯ the magisters had enjoyed in ¡®policing the unrest¡¯. She knew the answer, of course ¨C it was hardly in the interests of the rulers for the people to know the truth. But everyone knew already. Was it really worth being so obviously corrupt, just to save a few more pairs of already-deaf ears from hearing about the reality unfolding beyond their window-panes?


    It all started innocently enough, an afternoon like any other. The day was hot as hell and everyone was outdoors, making the most of the fresh, fitful breeze coming down from the mountains. The heat was so oppressive even the odours of the lane had faded to a dull background aroma. All of the kids save for her own were gathered on the dried-out roadway, skipping, kicking balls, chasing each other.


    ¡°¡­ Peltos says they¡¯s gonna recover. Fifteen of ¡¯em, what got the same poison. Stumped his katra-boys for days an¡¯ ¨C¡±


    ¡°Over there!¡± Xastur cried, pointing down at a ring of pre-teens throwing a leather hat to each other; Garet dutifully turned, letting the boy in his arms get a better view without missing a beat.


    ¡°¡­ when they finally gets it right and cures it, they all says the same thing: it¡¯s been too long as to fix ¡¯em proper. Gonna be days. Maybe weeks.¡±


    ¡°How many more?¡± she said in a resigned tone of voice.


    ¡°Three. Just three, the rest we got somewhere for. An¡¯ it won¡¯t be for ages. Just till their mums and dads ¨C¡±


    ¡°I get it.¡± Xan sighed. ¡°That¡¯ll make nine, Garet. I can¡¯t ¨C look, the apartment¡¯s too small. You can¡¯t expect me to¡­¡±


    Her voice trailed off as she spotted a shifty-looking fellow slink up behind Garet.


    Xan¡¯s eyes gave him warning, and Garet whipped about, switching arms with Xas to keep the thick trunk of his torso between the boy and any potential attacker.


    Xas giggled, and within seconds Xan realised the stranger was just one of Garet¡¯s lackeys; the shifty fellow assumed a deferential posture, his eyes on the planks and his voice even lower as he mumbled quietly to his boss.


    Xan was close enough to eavesdrop if she wanted to, but there was a madman in the lane suddenly drawing her attention, along with the attention of most of the lane¡¯s current occupants.


    ¡°Everseer is coming!¡± the unwashed, black-bearded man in the street was yelling. ¡°She¡¯s coming! We should have fled with the others!¡±


    She noticed that Garet¡¯s employee was withdrawing, so she turned back to him and her son.


    ¡°Why do you even come here, do this?¡± she asked, indicating the retreating back of Garet¡¯s minion with her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve got underlings. You¡¯re busier than you let on. Why don¡¯t you just send one of them to twist my arm into helping?¡±


    ¡°Would that work?¡± he said, smiling.


    ¡°Probably not.¡±


    ¡°Well, then¡­¡± His smile broadened. ¡°I guess I just kinda¡­ got used to comin¡¯ down here. See how little Xassy¡¯s grown. Yer know.¡±


    ¡°Shurrup, peckerless!¡± someone cried from the balcony opposite. Xan found a group of young women leaning over the fourth-storey rail, aiming their insults down at the prophet of doom in the roadway. ¡°Some of us ¡®ave got some proper drop to talk about, not this horse-drop.¡±


    What the youngster said didn¡¯t quite make sense, Xan supposed, unless you were from Sticktown, in which case the meaning was perfectly clear. Whether he was brought up around here or not, her words did little to quiet him down, falling on not deaf ears, but ears already overflowing with the sounds coming from his own lips.


    ¡°The nonsense they fill you with!¡± Blackbeard boomed. ¡°Stay indoors and lock them! Doors won¡¯t stop her. Doors don¡¯t stop any of them! She¡¯ll kill every last one of us.¡±


    ¡°Shirrup!¡± rained down, echoed by a dozen others now, from other balconies.


    ¡°Dragons? None but the blind see dragons! The only thing is her! She is our ending! The lies have blinded her to the truth and now it is she, they who wish to be our saviour who shall encompass our utter destruction! No! Flee! Flee for your lives, the lives of your children!¡±


    No one was taking any advice from a guy who was clearly drugged, or was working off a come-down¡­ especially one who didn¡¯t keep his clothes and skin clean, mandatory actions for those who wanted to be in the good books of the decent gods.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t shut it soon it¡¯ll get shut for yer, mark my words!¡± an old man shrieked.


    But Xan noticed that the kids had stopped playing their games. Some were pointing, staring. And if Xan was worried they were being sucked in by the doom and gloom, she was quickly corrected.


    One of the older kids threw a stick. Not much more than a twig, really. It barely had the weight to carry the twenty-foot distance, slipping out of view beneath an intervening bridge and then emerging on the other side, striking Blackbeard in the chest.


    He didn¡¯t even notice.


    ¡°What are you still doing here, listening to me?¡± he demanded, his powerful, ragged voice resounding down the lane, rippling across the apartment-blocks. ¡°You should begone. Gone, do you hear me? These are the avenues of death, and you will all be put to the blade, your blood drained into the dirt and your bodies scorched to dust, to slake a mad woman¡¯s thirst for death! Death and glory! How can death be glory, how can the gods watch over us, if this is all we are?¡±


    Oh dear. This is where it strays into heresy.


    The moment he started to denounce Mortiforn, started to sing Yane¡¯s praises or some such drop ¨C she¡¯d have to bring the kids indoors.


    Ironic.


    More sticks hit him, including a heavier one that struck his elbow before kicking up drop-dust where it fell. The drug-addled prophet rubbed his arm absent-mindedly as he continued to spew nonsense into the air.


    ¡°Cattle! Pigs! Not to feed dragons, oh no. There have never been any dragons! That¡¯s it ¨C you were right about Lovebright. We were all right. The stories you heard, that¡¯s all they were. Stories! She was going to reveal the truth to us all. They killed her, to stop her! You know it to be true! You already know, you already know how they lie! Don¡¯t lie down to die. Don¡¯t listen to them! Hear me ¨C heed me!¡±


    The distance between Blackbeard and the group of adolescents wasn¡¯t significant. If he went berserk, and sprang at them to attack them ¨C if he had any sort of weapon¡­


    Though, with the way things were turning out, it seemed at least as likely that she¡¯d end up intervening on his behalf, to protect the idiot from a lynch-mob. She just couldn¡¯t get out of the over-protective mode, even if they weren¡¯t really her kids.


    Xan tried yelling down, to get them to stop ¨C Bradon had joined the group of older children, laughing along with them at the wannabe-seer, and he was probably going to end up picking up a stick soon. Vade had come to idolise Bradon, and even now she could imagine the younger boy somewhere down there out of her line of sight, watching with bated breath as his role-model led him away from a life of brightness and very large numbers, into a spiralling underworld of increasingly-thoughtless acts.


    She tried, but they didn¡¯t hear ¨C or they did, and the tension she thought she could sense in them even at this distance had something to do with them resisting the compulsion they felt to turn, look up at her, meet her eyes and acknowledge her pleas. Yet the kids in her care pointedly kept their backs to her.


    ¡°And when she comes to kill you, when you¡¯re cowering in your beds, that¡¯s when you¡¯ll know! That¡¯s when you¡¯ll listen! Hear! Heed me! And you¡¯ll think, ¡®Why! Why did we not flee when we had feet on which to run! Why did we not open the doors when we still had fingers to grasp the handles!¡¯ And as the blood finally drains into your mattresses and you go into the shadowland, there¡¯ll be no smiling face of Mortiforn to greet you! There¡¯ll be nothing but the guilt, the knowledge you were wrong, that you were told and did nothing, nothing!¡±


    Blackbeard was squealing in impotent rage by this point, and while Xan felt she¡¯d heard enough, that the time had come to bring this to an end and get everyone inside¡­ she couldn¡¯t deny the persuasive pull of his words. Despite the fact he was howling now, his voice held just the right amount of frustration, the candid air of someone speaking facts, facts of which he was certain. Even to sceptics like Xantaire, there was something about him begging her to lend him credence, think just for a moment about the possibility ¨C


    What if he is right¡­?


    Then three magisters were next to him in the roadway, appearing in the blink of an eye.


    What¡­


    The way Xan understood it, they had to have been approaching invisibly, unless the diviner in the group was an archmage, and a very powerful one at that. They had to have paced quietly down the lane, avoiding the traffic, avoiding making much noise¡­


    They had to have heard everything he said. That meant he was going in for heresy, if not quite Heresy.


    Garet, standing next to her, sucked in his breath.


    ¡°Get indoors,¡± he grunted, leaning at Xan so that she instinctively put up her hands to catch her son.


    She didn¡¯t quite follow what was happening ¨C is he mad, if something¡¯s gone wrong I need to get the others up here, not just run inside and hide! ¨C but then he loped for the stairwell and she understood.


    He¡¯s going down for the kids.


    Her eyes refocussed on the magisters in the lane.


    Something¡¯s gone wrong.


    The tall magister taking the lead looked from here like an old crone with a hooked nose, her long robe cut akin to a gown in shimmering azure silks. It was her whose hand was placed directly on the prophet¡¯s head, her whose lips moved in incantation. Her whose magic glittering dust clouded about his face and settled on his shoulders.


    Blackbeard fell silent, and lowered his head.


    It was scary, eerie, how swiftly a spell could rob a person of their freedom.


    ¡°We are removing this man from the vicinity.¡± This was a male magister in red with a tidy but bushy brown beard, his Westerman accent almost masked by the precision of his speech. ¡°Do not attempt to interfere, lest you share equally in this madman¡¯s fate.¡±


    He stood looking up from balcony to balcony with his arms folded across his muscular chest. The mage would¡¯ve been fearsome enough, even without the two wands on his hips.


    The feeling of foreboding rose within her. Xan¡¯s feet were unconsciously moving her closer to the apartment door in response to Garet¡¯s last words, her arms instinctively bearing Xas¡¯s weight as though he were a natural part of her body rather than a burden.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The grey-robed magister, a dark-skinned mouse of a man, seemed to say something furtively to the others, leaning in as the enchantress took the mind-soothed Blackbeard by the elbow.


    Red-robe unfolded his arms and raised pulled the wand from the left side of his belt just in time. A line of lightning split the scene in two, a white border dividing the lane in Xantaire¡¯s vision just for an instant, reaching down from an upper storey to incinerate the magisters.


    A blue dome was visible for the briefest moment, appearing over the trio and their prisoner in the lane as the shield absorbed the force of the attack.


    Thunder rattled a thousand shutters, and the air was alive, crawling with discharged energies, the hairs all over Xan¡¯s body reacting violently.


    Then Red-robe flicked up the other wand, directing it straight back to point along the attack¡¯s path.


    Lightning answered lightning, and all her other concerns melted away. She had Xas in her arms. The other children mattered, of course they did, but he was her flesh and blood. Reflex more than anything else was what propelled her, sending her bolting back to the apartment, slamming the door shut, running to the bedroom and covering herself and her son in the quilts.


    She went straight past Orstrum in his chair. He¡¯d been saying for weeks he¡¯d die in it. It looked like he might just get his wish.


    There was nothing. Even as she performed these meagre actions, she understood them to be futile. The walls shook as, outside, elemental forces were unleashed that paid no heed to obstructions made of timber, or flesh and blood¡­


    For all that he¡¯d been sacrilegious, he¡¯d also been right. ¡®Get indoors,¡¯ Garet had said, falling prey to the same idiot instincts that had her running for cover.


    Doors don¡¯t stop any of them.


    * * *


    Two hours. They fought¡­ for two hours.


    It felt more like twelve.


    There came a point when, after the destruction of most of the third and fourth storeys, the obliteration of the apartment and everything she¡¯d known and loved for the last four years¡­ after a thousand explosions, a thousand winces thinking this is the time, this is it, this is how my son dies, this is how I die¡­ she was crouching amidst the tumbled beams with her group of battered survivors, Xassy pressed tight to her chest, and she moved past it.


    She moved past the fact the last time she looked for her grandpa there¡¯d only been a hole in the planks ¨C she moved past the incoherency of it all. Vade¡¯s hand grasping Bradon¡¯s even in death, from beneath the mountain of planks that was the landslide of the upper floors. She had to move past it because she had so long to relive it, her eyes staring unseeing at the shifting groundless ground all about her, ears closed to the whimpers of those in her care, those neighbours crammed into this wooden ribcage coffin with them.


    The hole in the floor, where he disappeared ¨C


    Half the ceiling and most of the contents of the floor above had been strewn across the room, or had followed Grandpa down to the floor below¡­


    He could still be alive. He would still be alive. He was tougher than he looked. Even if he wasn¡¯t quite himself anymore ¨C even if she couldn¡¯t trust him to look after himself, he would do this much for her. He¡¯d claw himself free of the wreckage.


    He wouldn¡¯t leave her alone.


    She¡¯d led the kids back out of the apartment, the very kids Garet and his fools had managed to return to her, to ¡®safety¡¯, just half an hour earlier¡­ and that last glimpse of the place stained her mind.


    It was just like the night Peltos and his boys came, when Emrelet summoned the storm ¨C just like the night Garet¡¯s life and her own became entwined. The books, the Mortenns¡¯ collection of random novels that was huge, almost unheard-of by Sticktown standards ¨C those texts had shook free of the shelves and were lying scattered about the room, pages trembling fitfully, incapable of resisting as their doom descended upon them. The leaves of paper from which they were constructed were hardly the best quality to begin with. Not one book, one word, one scratch of ink would remain after this.


    I¡¯m sorry, Kas, she thought. She would¡¯ve smiled, the surviving Mortenns suddenly brought to the forefront of her mind, but a cloud of smoke seeped into their hiding place. She was forced to press her face into her shoulder, cover Xas¡¯s face with her sleeve, praying for a breeze, praying for the spell of a magister or champion to come along and free them all from this choking nightmare, this precariously-perched prison.


    At any moment, this whole thing could collapse down around us, she would think every few minutes. Wherever Telior is, Kas¡­ I should¡¯ve come with you. It can¡¯t be this bad.


    Orovon, send a wind, please! Xan fought for breath. Xas was going limp in her arms. Joran, save us. Yune¡­ Yune¡­


    The name of the Goddess of Hope died on her mind¡¯s lips. The great deity, the one who really inspired the people ¨C one of the few deities whose purview was untarnished by the slightest shred of negativity¡­ The beautiful face of the divine slipped from her mind¡¯s eye, her imagination failing her.


    It¡¯s like it¡¯s all a joke to you, she prayed, her tongue a bitter, dead creature in her mouth, a lizard with its scaly head buried in her throat. A joke. Pieces traded in a game of fortify¡­


    Small wonder it was that so many openly eschewed all the gods¡¯ laws, when those allegedly of light did nothing to protect you from the darkness. Powerlessness was no excuse. She¡¯d heard plenty about the gods¡¯ powers, and those of their followers. They could¡¯ve done something. But they didn¡¯t. They just watched from behind the sky, their personal shimmering shield, keeping them at arm¡¯s reach from the world.


    Breathing hurt. Xas¡¯s head was slumped forwards, heavy against her hand.


    Unconscious.


    She couldn¡¯t muster the wherewithal to interpret the sensations in her body beyond their pain factor. She was drifting away, her chest trying to cough and failing.


    Die. Die a heretic. Die hating them.


    Be a shadow forever.


    It was better. A shadow couldn¡¯t hurt. A shadow couldn¡¯t sweat. It would be cool, in the shadowland, swept up in the darkling breezes, but not cold ¨C oh no, never ¨C


    ¡°You¡¯re killing him,¡± a voice told her, and she opened her eyes to behold a tiny blue condor-bird, stepping on miniature yellow feet towards her.


    The bird¡¯s words took on meaning in her mind and she became aware of her hand on Xas¡¯s mouth; she hurled the offending arm aside as if it could be detached, and gasped for breath.


    What happened after that was a blur ¨C a blur for which she was thankful. There was a sensation of motion, of weightlessness conjoined with transit that made it seem as though she stayed in place, suspended in space and time while all the worlds moved on, spinning about her.


    Xantaire¡¯s next complete memory was of being on her back, wondering how it was still daytime, how the sky had hardly changed in all this time¡­


    Then she was rising ¨C getting her elbows into the ground beneath her, lifting the back of her head off the crust of dry muck and trying to yell.


    ¡°Xas!¡± she croaked. ¡°Xas!¡±


    The last thing she¡¯d observed had been a bird with a woman¡¯s voice; now here she was, a woman cawing like a bird.


    Her lungs felt fine and yet, despite the lack of pain, she could tell from the metallic taste of her own saliva that there was still some raggedness in her throat. She stopped trying to talk and coughed to clear her airway.


    She cast about, turning, taking in the fact that she was one of hundreds teeming here at the top of the lane next to the Griffin. Several teams of magisters were on the scene, each going about their work in a telepath¡¯s silence, but most of the crowd were ordinary people, clasping each other and looking down at the conflagration of what had been their homes. She saw some of the faces she knew, faces she needed to see, but she only had eyes for ¨C


    ¡°Mummy!¡±


    Xas. Xassy, covered in soot in Garet¡¯s arms, just a few feet away. One look was enough to tell her the boy was healthy, happy even.


    ¡°Yer made it,¡± Garet said, and the curiously-strangled tone of his voice almost stopped her punching him.


    Almost.


    She took Xas from him first, of course, settling her son awkwardly on her right hip as she dealt the thug a cracking uppercut.


    Garet groaned and stepped back, but as she advanced his open hand snatched out blindly, catching her follow-up blow in a massive, vice-like grip.


    ¡°Xan ¨C wha?¡±


    ¡°You!¡± she snarled, her voice lost in the sea of noise, no one around even finding their feud interesting. ¡°You knew this would happen, didn¡¯t you? Was it yours? Your boys, that attacked? Your boy, who came up to whisper to you ¨C was that it? He tell you to get ready, did he?¡± Her voice was starting to tremble uncontrollably, but she was talking faster and faster, fighting to wrest her hand free to strike him again. ¡°What was I? Were we all bait? Did you think you could just use us? You ¨C I ¨C Grandpa ¨C¡±


    She lost the flow of her anger, thrust out of the furious current to languish in the dead zone once more.


    Grandpa¡­


    When Garet replied, the disgust in his voice answered all her questions.


    ¡°You really fink I could do that.¡± His face had turned a blotchy red in response to her accusations. ¡°No way you droppin¡¯ believe that.¡±


    He released her wrist, not roughly, but not gently either. He stepped back, tears suddenly in his eyes.


    This wasn¡¯t what she¡¯d expected.


    ¡°Garet ¨C¡±


    ¡°You fink I knew¡­ knew this¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what t-to¡­¡±


    She shuddered to a stop, and saw by the softening of his expression that he understood. He forgave her already.


    He gestured with some force, as if trying to cover for his show of emotion, waving down at the chaos. ¡°Word is it¡¯s Bagger Boys work ¨C they got half the katra trade in the Bend now, yer know¡­ Attack o¡¯ opportunity. Droppin¡¯ idiot Clun¡­ I ¡®aspect ¡®e¡¯s Zandrina¡¯s, now. Me man ¨C he come to tell me I was in danger, an¡¯ says I should leave. I¡­ I stayed ¡¯cause I was worried. ¡®Ow was I to know that¡­ I mean, ¡®e was a seer, a P. H. prophet. No one shoulda seen this coming, not proper, like, an¡¯ ¨C¡±


    She flung herself against him, pressing her body to his massive chest, and she felt his hesitation become awkward acceptance. His tree-trunk of an arm settled timidly about her ¨C followed moments later by the other, folding both of them into his gentle giant¡¯s embrace.


    From her crushed-in, scrunched-up position, she could barely make out Xas¡¯s face, no less squished against Garet¡¯s burly chest than her own. But she could make out his contented smile.


    She burst into tears and sobbed straight into the big man¡¯s sweaty, sooty vest.


    There were other tasks that required her attention. She had to find out what state the children were in. Who was okay, or hurt, or missing. She had to find out what¡¯d become of the apartment¡­ her home¡­


    She had to find Orstrum¡¯s body.


    But for a moment, just one moment that refused to extend in time no matter how hard she tried, she could forget the mayhem, forget the slaughter.


    Just forget.


    * * *


    She was busy changing a soiled baby, splashing the six-month-old¡¯s behind with warm water and using a cloth to wipe him dry, but none of it seemed to faze the pair of emissaries she was meeting with. They glided over to watch her work as she¡¯d moved from the play pit, as she liked to think of it, to the rather pungent changing stations in the back room. They manoeuvred their shiny robes with aplomb, never getting in Xan¡¯s way or the way of her staff as they observed the goings-on.


    She hated them ¨C their smily faces, their too-white teeth. The pair of teenagers from the Shrine of the First Breath were obnoxious in their prettiness ¨C the ministers of Enye had sent both a female and male envoy, but the lad wasn¡¯t ¡®handsome¡¯. If anything, he was ¡®prettier¡¯ than the girl. His long, golden hair was as bright as hers was dark, and was far showier than his female counterpart¡¯s, tied in a series of intricate knots to form an overall look Kas never could¡¯ve pulled off despite having the same long locks. But it wasn¡¯t just the ruby-studded earrings, the floral scents wafting from the folds of their fancy metallic clothes¡­ It was the tapering chins. It was the smooth texture of the boy¡¯s milky brows and angular arc of the girl¡¯s chestnut cheeks. The appealing angles to their eyes, the lips that were simultaneously thin but full¡­


    They were elfy, that was what it was that was bothering her. They certainly didn¡¯t fit in around here, that was for sure.


    She focussed on pinning the nappy of wadded linens in place, swallowing her resentment.


    Why couldn¡¯t they just send some normal folks to do the assessment? she wondered internally.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t they just come along already knowing how to use a potty?¡± she wondered aloud, saying what had to be the hundredth stupid thing she¡¯d said in their presence, trying to fill the lingering silences with something, anything to reduce the tension. ¡°There we go, little man.¡± She popped his blankets back around him. ¡°Let¡¯s go find Salli. Get you back with the others and see where Yordi has got to with that darned mop.¡±


    Before she even had the baby in her arms she was second-guessing herself.


    Does that count as swearing? Will they do something to me? Lock me up?


    She almost got the door open, preparing herself for the wall of noise about to hit her ears, when the tongue started up again.


    ¡°I, ah¡­ I don¡¯t usually swear around the children, but he¡¯s been so long with that damn mop and I ¨C¡±


    I¡¯m doing it again!


    ¡°Miss Tarent, I do hope you understand the reason for our visit today.¡± The smile of the gorgeous boy never slipped, but he sounded troubled. ¡°We are here to observe on behalf of the Maid¡¯s Orphans charity. Please¡­ feel free to go about your business as usual. If you feel a need to swear, don¡¯t stifle yourself on our account. You don¡¯t need to be nervous.¡±


    She released the doorknob and turned to face him.


    ¡°Is it that obvious?¡± she almost whispered.


    The beautiful young woman shifted her feet, a motion that would¡¯ve been a sign of discomfort were it not for the beaming expression on her face. ¡°Miss Tarent, our reports on your operation already paint a worthy picture. You have been deemed worthy of a grant, and a monthly stipend to support your cause. We are merely here to understand the limits you encounter in your day-to-day activities. If this wasn¡¯t made clear to you in our letter¡­¡±


    It hadn¡¯t been. She doubted even Kas would¡¯ve been able to decipher the flowery language it¡¯d been written in.


    ¡°¡­ we can only apologise. Would you like to talk us through any obstacles you¡¯ve run into? We¡¯d like to know how we can help.¡±


    ¡°Help?¡± Garet asked her afterwards, while he personally brought up the last two buckets of hot water for her midnight bath, the orphanage¡¯s floorboards creaking with every one of his steps. He set the steaming containers down in her bedroom doorway and closed the door behind him, regarding her brazenly as she stripped out of her thin summer dress.


    ¡°Help,¡± she replied enigmatically, dipping her toe into the cool water and enjoying its chill against the air¡¯s oppressive heat. The windows were open but the curtains were drawn to preserve her bath-time modesty, and little of the night¡¯s breeze was getting into the room.


    ¡°Yer¡­ mean¡­ money?¡±


    His mind wasn¡¯t on his wallet, precisely, she figured, watching his eyes as she stepped into the tub.


    ¡°I mean help me.¡± She did her best to preserve her posture as she lowered her body under the surface.


    He dutifully bent to pick up the bucket-handles.


    ¡°No, no¡­ We¡¯ll top it up later. Come over here, now. Help me¡­ I hope you¡¯re not afraid to get a bit wet.¡±


    She held out the scrubber and leaned forwards. There were spots she couldn¡¯t reach¡­ and spots she could reach, but were better-reached by someone else.


    He didn¡¯t need to be asked twice. He started cleaning her back and talking business, so she stopped him with a long, lingering kiss. The bath wasn¡¯t big enough for the two of them, but she wasn¡¯t going to let something like that get in her way. Once he was submerged she made room, sitting astride him.


    It¡¯d been too long since she¡¯d had this kind of companionship. She intended to make the most of it, while it lasted.


    Settled in his arms an hour later, the sweat of their bodies joining them deliciously, she listened to his breathing, feeling her own chest rising and falling in time with his own. Every one of his exhalations tickled the back of her neck in the same exact way, but it wasn¡¯t an irritating kind of tickle. It was nice. A predictable pleasure.


    I¡¯ve missed this.


    How glad she was now, that she hadn¡¯t followed the Mortenns across the sea¡­


    It was an awful, disrespectful way for her to feel ¨C and yet that was how she felt. They couldn¡¯t recover more of Grandpa than a spadeful of ashes, boxed with the assurances of a diviner and buried at the shrine of Yune, done, dealt with, forgotten. The loss of the children who¡¯d perished had hurt her far worse; she admitted it freely, to herself at least. She had work. She had her son. She had her life. Was it wrong for her to turn her back on Illodin in this way? Wasn¡¯t that the whole point of burying them in grounds blessed by the servants of hope? Hope, not just for the souls of the dead, but for those of the living too?


    While Garet snored at her back, Xantaire felt a single tear burning in the corner of each of her eyes.


    I am glad, and if that means I¡¯m Infernum-bound, so be it, and curse the rule-maker who made it so! I deserve some happiness¡­ I deserve it¡­


    There was probably only a slice of life left to her now. She was a realist, and she was not stupid. She knew things were different this year. Whether the world would end in dragon-fire or the streets would run red with the aftermath of Everseer¡¯s madness ¨C something bad was going to happen. But now more than ever, there wasn¡¯t anywhere she¡¯d rather be than right here, and right now, in this moment.


    I¡¯m going to be happy.


    As much as she told herself, commanded herself to give up the morbid thoughts, sleep still didn¡¯t come. She had to get up early, but every passing minute made slumber seem increasingly impossible, the notion farcical. Garet aside, how could someone be expected to sleep in heat like this? Thoughts criss-crossed the ocean of possibility, moving like oarless boats upon the still, endless surface, slowly paddled by hand from shore to restless shore.


    She wondered just exactly how much those two repellently-attractive youngsters would recommend the ministry pay her ¨C and there was going to be a lump-sum too¡­ She wondered why Xassy had taken so quickly to the other kids here, just what it was that changed in his environment to make him react so amiably to those around him here¡­ She wondered whether Kas had sent the imp again, whether he had news of the destruction of his parents¡¯ home yet¡­


    Sunlight was bright at the edges of the curtains, and the heat had receded. It was blessedly cool. She must¡¯ve fallen asleep, because the frantic knocking at the door woke her up with a start.


    ¡°Boss!¡± someone cried. ¡°Boss! Zandrina¡¯s lot¡¯s in Knuckle Market! She¡¯s there! It¡¯s happenin¡¯!¡±


    ¡°Wha?¡± came Garet¡¯s muffled reply from the pillow. ¡°Buh it¡¯s mornin¡¯!¡±


    ¡°Boss.¡± The pleading tone of the man¡¯s voice made Xantaire¡¯s skin crawl; it was like he was beseeching his god. ¡°Boss, please¡­ It¡¯s happenin¡¯.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°Here, Gram! Here, Garet!¡± the mad woman cried, her thin, reedy voice reverberating across the broken square. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it! This is where they agree it ends!¡±


    ¡°Your end, Zandrina!¡± came Ginnel Gram¡¯s scream from his hiding spot somewhere to Xan¡¯s left. ¡°Yours, not ours!¡±


    There were a series of detonations, and, then, the reply ¨C


    ¡°No! Sticktown will be mine!¡±


    Hiding behind a toppled wooden stall, Xantaire breathed deep. The frostbolts were raining down all around her, hurtling through the air twice as fast as arrows, whistling as they went. Icicles as long and thick as her arm, as hard as stone and as sharp as spears. After thirty seconds one must¡¯ve struck the solid oaken planks of the table behind which she was crouching; the thud and splintering screech were heart-stopping, and the whole stall slid twelve inches, hammering into her shoulder. She scrambled and sprawled, keeping down, clutching the wand tightly in her hand until her knuckles turned white, waiting, waiting for the moment to lunge out, aim and fire.


    And risk her head exploding.


    At a cat, she muttered silently. At a cat.


    How had it come to this?


    She¡¯d gone with them. She didn¡¯t know why; only that she had to. She¡¯d walked ahead of Garet, striding purposefully out the front door of the makeshift orphanage and waiting for him to join her, then heading with him up the roadway, over a dozen of his crew milling about behind them. He gave her only a single side-long glance, then resigned the argument, knowing full-well that once her mind was made up nothing was going to stop her. She smiled softly to herself, and kept her silence, floating forward on a wave of excited chatter, the enthusiasm of the gang-bangers brought to boiling-point by the prospect of imminent violence.


    She couldn¡¯t help but fall into introspection when she followed Garet around a parked wagon, passing close by a group of kids who lowered their bats and balls as the Bertie Boys strolled past. Xastur rose up in the back of her mind. The other children she cared for, too. What was she doing? Why was she going to this confrontation? She was leaving so much behind, sprinting blindly on into a future that was only going to offer her injury or death.


    It wasn¡¯t any one thing. She hardly laboured under the impression Garet and his band of fighters and thieves were like the white knights out of Kas¡¯s books. She knew they were the bad guys. But she had their backs all the same. They were Helbert Bend¡¯s bad guys. Zandrina¡¯s lot¡­ It was just like how the kids used to leave the Mud Lane rat population alone whenever the big river-rats pushed west, choosing to lob their rocks and sticks at the invading vermin ¨C it always lasted only a few weeks, just until the intruders retreated back to the water-ways. But the idea at the heart of it, the temporary truce with the unwanted natives¡­ it was the same thing.


    She wasn¡¯t alone in feeling that way, it seemed. They stopped at a crossroads for barely sixty seconds, waiting for reinforcements and for Ginnel Gram¡¯s katra-heads to message Garet¡¯s back, but word spread like stickfire. Before they headed out again, almost twenty likely-lads from the surrounding streets had swelled the force¡¯s numbers.


    By the time they actually met up with Ginnel Gram¡¯s forces, they were over a hundred strong and the wave of nervous, thrilling anticipation became almost unbearable as they split and spilled through the side-roads to keep together. She truly felt she was being propelled, carried forward like Killstop¡¯s arm was around her shoulders. She couldn¡¯t feel her legs. She couldn¡¯t feel herself breathing. The sense of elation in her stomach overrode everything else.


    Yes, she¡¯d left Xassy, and for that the gods would damn her should she meet death on this venture. But he wouldn¡¯t be the only orphan. He had good company, good carers, and maybe if she was gone ¨C who was to know? ¨C he would develop into a stronger man by her absence¡­


    He would have to. She was going, and she wasn¡¯t just going to observe. The line had to be drawn somewhere. If this was it ¨C the battle for the survival of the city-streets she¡¯d lived in all her life ¨C she would go down fighting in defence of them. She wasn¡¯t the only one without a pecker between the legs to take up arms, either. Whether they¡¯d been bolstered by the sight of Xantaire there amidst the ranks of the Bertie Boys, she was unsure, but at least four or five other women had joined the army on their march to war.


    It all came back to Zandrina. It was all on her, all of it. If she hadn¡¯t brought the inkatra into the city in the first place ¨C nothing would¡¯ve happened. Mud Lane would still be standing, and a dozen other places too. All the pointless deaths¡­ all those orphans¡­ all for what? One woman¡¯s greed? One person¡¯s desire for ultimate control?


    It had to end.


    When they¡¯d arrived in Lord¡¯s Knuckle, she¡¯d copied Garet and his hand-picked group of elite gangers. Crouching in the mouth of a refuse-choked alleyway, looking out onto Knuckle Market, she was suddenly forced to reassess her former determination. The messenger who¡¯d woken them just ten or fifteen minutes ago hadn¡¯t been lying. It was happening alright.


    None of the cloak and dagger stuff ¨C this was dagger-only. Zandrina¡¯s agents were sauntering about brazenly like they owned the place, openly pointing their blades in the faces of vendors, simple stall-workers, shouting at and beating them. Demons were torturing people and her gangers were just standing by, pointing and laughing. At least one unit of watchmen were among the dead, and it was apparent from the lack of response that the magisters were going to hold back this time. Now, when it mattered, when the people really needed them ¨C this would be when they¡¯d keep their cards close to their chest. The Magisterium had sacrificed enough of their own already. Doubtless they¡¯d sweep in to mop up the mess once the hard work, the real fight, was over. If it¡¯d been a naysayer prophet countering their own propaganda, they¡¯d have moved in like a pack of wolves, consequences be damned ¨C but this? A true riot against the peace, an uprising beyond their ability to neatly package¡­ They¡¯d let it play out, let their enemies destroy each other. Watch and smile from the sidelines. For all Xan knew, they were already here, observing silently from behind the screens of invisibility spells and protective wards.


    Maybe they even knew. Maybe they planned this.


    It was hard to stop the thoughts from whirling about the landscape of her mind. There came a point, somewhere between Garet pressing the wand into her hand and the first time she used it, that she actually thought she saw a magister standing in one of the dozens of alleys feeding into the marketplace. A slim man in a red robe, arms folded across his chest, his unseen gaze shadowed by the folds of his cowl.


    Then the chaos of the battle swept across her brain. It was like nothing she¡¯d seen or heard of before. There wasn¡¯t an archmage in sight, and she could tell. Uncontrolled blasts of wizardry lit the spaces between the combatants. Imps flew like flocks of birds, hurling their own destructive spells, descending upon the unwary to rend them to pieces. An illusion of a fleeing family had been revealed as a group of enemies when it was almost too late, and a whole section of the market was now cut off by a wall of yellowish fog ¨C the way Garet had been heading the last time she¡¯d seen him. Healing spells were fewer and further between than they needed to be. Piteous moans were ripped from scores of throats, grievous wounds being inflicted on every side she turned. At one point she saw someone finish their dying friend with a quick blow to the back of the head ¨C an act of mercy, she assumed foolishly, until she saw the slobbering addict behind them raise the dead man as a zombie, sending him stumbling back into the fray.


    At a cat, she mumbled again mentally, staring at the wand-tip. The thing was barely more than a twig, the runes scrawled into its many imperfect surfaces looking haphazard, scratched with the impatience of a kid¡­ or an addict craving their next hit. How they¡¯d come up with such an idiotic activation-word, she had no idea. She knew only that it worked.


    An imp came around the top corner of her stall, dropping down into view not two feet from her. The thing was barely eighteen inches in height, each of its four spindly limbs looking no stronger than the ensorcelled twig in her fist. Its egg-shaped head was the same size as its pudgy belly, the whole of its body covered in tiny scarlet scales. This one was wingless. The end of its long tail rang like a pouch full of copper, and as it came curling into view Xantaire saw the many hideous black hooks gathered there at the tip of the snake-like appendage, like a nest of metallic thorns, ringing as they contacted each other, constantly snaring and loosing ¨C


    She shuffled back, squeaking involuntarily; the imp instantly swung about and she saw its horrid little leer as it spotted her.


    Saw its leer transform to dismay as it noticed the wand she was now gripping in both hands, aimed dead-centre at its chest.


    ¡°Ahtaqat!¡± she snarled.


    There was no obvious spell-effect, no big light-show. That was okay; she¡¯d quickly learned that the weapon she¡¯d been given wasn¡¯t one of those. That didn¡¯t make it any less powerful. The results of its activation had been far more pronounced when used on the human victims whose lives she¡¯d claimed, despite the point-blank range. Instead of the dark druid-magic punching a hole clean through the demon, it merely blackened the creature¡¯s skin and produced a sudden scent like vomit, only stronger ¨C bubbling, boiling vomit.


    It clutched its chest, looking down with a stupefied expression at the swiftly-spreading discolouration of its flesh, and keeled over backwards. The tail twitched, then was still.


    She didn¡¯t dare look out of her safe-spot. She kept her eyes trained on the demonoid, hoping, praying it was dead.


    The wands were limited both in supply and charges; she¡¯d been told hers had at least seventeen uses left, but how many of those she¡¯d expended already she had no notion. Many of the gang-members were armed with nothing more than their knives and nail-studded clubs. It was the katra-heads who were doing the biggest share of the fighting. Garet and Gram seemed to have dozens of them ¨C they possessed more living weapons than they had wands. But Zandrina had more. So many more.


    After a few moments the dead demon¡¯s tail twitched once more, and she prepared herself to release another blast at the hellspawn; but the infernal corpse only started to shed its little black hooks, and beneath the rumble of the war she heard the little blades tinkle against each other like keys as they fell.


    She breathed a sigh of relief, sat back ¨C


    Thud!


    Another bolt struck the stall, this time at the top, sending it flipping over, rolling away from her like a wheel ¨C


    She was unharmed, but suddenly found herself sitting exposed, without cover, far from the edge of the battlefield.


    A field of bonfires and blood, the cadaver-soil fertile for animation. Shadows moved over the earth, dimming the light of the sky. Peering through the shifting mists, she thought she caught a single glimpse of Zandrina, the wild-eyed woman in a coat of pink fur standing in the midst of the katra-heads on the far side of the ruined marketplace. Even as Xan stared, a ray of lightning stretched out to bathe the Rivertown crime-lord in its white fire, only to deflect off the shields surrounding her and strike a fallen crate of apples. Those of her followers outside the magic wards were forced to raise their hands over their heads as the hard fruits came raining down on top of them with what looked like considerable force.


    Xan didn¡¯t hang about to observe the results. She couldn¡¯t see them in the fog to her right but she could hear more zombies, hear imps shrieking. A stray fire-bolt ripped an orange-red line through the air, not twenty feet from her face, exploding against another fallen stall. Her shock at the table being torn away from her was starting to dissipate and she flung herself after it, retreating, aiming to throw herself over it ¨C it was sort of facing the wrong way now, its busted legs pointing out towards the enemy-lines, but she didn¡¯t care, it was better than nothing ¨C


    Still several yards from the stall she wanted to hide behind, someone died to her right. She heard no scream ¨C just a loud, moaning sigh, and the gush of internal fluids as they splashed across the ground.


    She was just a few feet from the table; she put her hands out in preparation, getting ready to grip the edge of the thing to help her vault over it ¨C damn her hurt shoulder ¨C


    Crack!


    She froze, mid-step. She felt a wind strike her back, sending her hair streaming, and the darkness about her deepened while she stood there, paralysed in the open.


    Dread washed over her. She no longer feared the magic of men. Her soul responded, every fibre of her being tingling with an electricity subtler than the lightning of wizards.


    Morning had fallen away straight into a weird half-night, and all hope in her had died with the daylight. Something had changed. She¡¯d never felt so vulnerable. Her back was turned to it ¨C she couldn¡¯t see it, but that only made it worse¡­ An entity was behind her with a power like the one Kas had described all those months ago. It was behind her. Behind her.


    She couldn¡¯t even move her eyes, never mind her head.


    ¡°I told you that they would let us in.¡± Its horrid, feminine voice wasn¡¯t loud in the typical sense one might expect of a demon-lord, but in the silence following its arrival in Mund, its words were the only sound. It didn¡¯t sound posh, exactly, but the casual superiority in its voice was like that of a highborn taken to an extreme, dismissive of everything and everyone it considered beneath it ¨C which was everything and everyone on this whole entire plane. ¡°The Daughter of the Sinphalamax is never wrong¡­ Indeed, sister. This shall be the ending of the New Era, the close of the Silver Age. Is it not glorious, as I foretold? Do you see? It is to the glory of the Sinphalamax. Between us, we shall usher in an aeon of blissful Nightmare. Yes! Let us begin. First we must hunt down those who dared challenge our kin.¡±


    When the paralysis released her, Xan¡¯s previous momentum seemed to partially return and she tripped. Legs and arms swinging wildly, she fell forward into the upright side of the stall, bashing her temple against the edge and slumping down against it, still vulnerable, still out in the open, exposed.


    Through suddenly-watery eyes, trying to ignore the ringing between her ears, she looked back over her shoulder at the centre of Knuckle Market.


    It made so much more sense. She hadn¡¯t been talking to herself. What she¡¯d just heard had been a conversation between demons with identical voices.


    Not one of the naked tiger-women, purple- and black-furred with white triangular faces. Not one of the arch-fiends with the flesh-coated whips it¡¯d taken Kas and his whole entourage of champions to kill.


    Four of them, loitering there on the muddy market grounds, leaning against the marble pillars in their midst while they chatted.


    Marble¡­ pillars¡­


    Her eyes flicked up and she took it in. Two marble pillars completed the scene, each of them forty feet or so in height, carved in the likenesses of angels. They stood back to back, mirroring one another perfectly, the tips of their massive feathery wings almost touching; one of them was facing away towards the Giltergrove, while the other statue was displaying itself to Xantaire almost full-on. Its visage was off-putting, somehow. Its eyes were closed, its smile just a little bit too tranquil.


    The burning chains clasped in the fists of the serene statues ¨C surely that alone would be enough to make them daunting. Their arrival, here, now, like this, in such esteemed evil company¡­ She doubted anyone who beheld them would be deceived. These columns were not dedicated to the gods of light, for all their majesty, for all the care with which they¡¯d been crafted.


    ¡°Yea, hunt and flense,¡± came a hollow, resonating voice. The words were loud but distorted, the inflections covered with a layer of crackling and snapping like dry wood on a firepit. ¡°Break every well. Yet it shall be to me to extract the magic.¡±


    Xantaire looked back down at the ground, surprised to find a lithe little figure in red standing right in the middle, stepping out from between the two grotesquely beautiful columns. Somehow she received the impression the huge marble objects were just its carriage, its gateway between worlds.


    No, not lithe ¨C skeletal. It resembled the animated skeleton of a child, clad in a formal, long-sleeved gown woven of bright, strawberry-coloured cloth. White hair extended up off the very crown of its skull in a single heavy braid at least five yards long, sticking up a few feet into the air before arcing down behind it, trailing like a tail.


    Xan had absorbed enough demonology to recognise there was no way this was a mere skeleton ¨C not even a lich. It wasn¡¯t from the shadowland at all, but it was something way beyond her lore ¨C maybe beyond Kas¡¯s.


    The white-haired skeleton in red had an imperious, presumptive air about it as it waved at the bigger arch-fiends.


    ¡°Return to me with all thou hast to offer,¡± it continued, moving its arm to point to a tiger-woman. ¡°The time nears, as well ye knowest.¡± The red-sleeved arm waved again, encapsulating Lord¡¯s Knuckle with a single lazy gesture. ¡°I shall endeavour to harvest a tribute, such as is demanded by our need. We meet anon at the Fountains.¡±


    As one, the four tigresses knelt, their sickening triangular faces lowered to the detritus-clogged ground, their feline backs dipping down like those of cats stretching after a nap.


    These peaceful, slumberous months ¨C they were over. This had been a pre-dinner nap all along¡­


    ¡°Mother,¡± they said, a single blended sound.


    The respect in their voices. They were the children.


    And as Xan looked on, in unison the two statues ¨C in unison the two statues ¨C


    The¡­ statues¡­


    She snapped.


    It wasn¡¯t just that they were so immense. She could¡¯ve seen a big demon without losing it, of course she could.


    But the marble angels had been standing right there in her field of vision for so long without moving, she hadn¡¯t realised they weren¡¯t just objects.


    She ran, screaming, unable to remove the sight from her head, unable to unsee what she had seen, unable to conceive an existence that was anything but this, this flight, to run, to run and not think ¨C


    She saw them, the statues suddenly turning ¨C bowing¡­


    And that was what it took to finally break Xantaire Tarent¡¯s mind in two.

 By Murder Be Hidden

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.6: BY MURDER BE HIDDEN</h2>


    ¡°How can you hate your foe? How can you feel this anger? You know they are the result of unconscious transformation. You know they are a victim in their own right, their soul moulded by uncaring hands. Yet the anger persists. The hate will win, in the end. Because you too are a victim in your own right. Your soul has been moulded by the same hands with the same end in sight. When will you submit to the violent urges that ripple through you? Now? Or later?¡±


    ¨C from the Yanic Creed


    It¡¯d taken a whole lot longer than I¡¯d been anticipating for me to reacclimatise to the eggy aromas of Sticktown, the pervasive stench of drop. At least ten seconds. Perhaps it helped that the stink was being whipped about by the storm, diluted by smoke and the reek of charred wood, bodies¡­ blood. I stifled a retch, mocked myself, and carried on with my business.


    Which was killing things.


    I went by a house where the front wall had been simply torn down and tossed aside. The family had been huddled against the far wall when they¡¯d been killed, and they were left there perfectly in place, a man and a woman and two boys, the four corpses embracing, all sunken and shrunken and white. They¡¯d been completely exsanguinated, every drop of the red stuff drawn from their bodies by some dark spell or some blood-sucking demonic appendage. No folkababil or similar harvester-demons were nearby, but I found a roost of weird yellow birds in a nearby roof, creatures I didn¡¯t recognise with fly-eyes and humanoid hands for talons.


    They squawked in clear Infernal as I tore off the tiles, pleading for mercy, before they were reduced to a huge red smear across the rooftop, a cloud of pus-coloured feathers whipped away by the wind.


    There was no time for a calm before the storm. The storm was here already. I rode it, releasing the controls on my rage.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    Too many sites. Too many points of Incursion. The crown of Mekesta was blocking me from being reached by any interested parties, separating me from the Magisterium¡¯s defence plans, and I wouldn¡¯t have had it any other way. Once they calmed down about my sudden reappearance they would¡¯ve sent me elsewhere, of that much I was certain. The demons always seemed to focus their efforts on Hightown, and it was likely I¡¯d be needed there far more than I would here.


    I didn¡¯t care. I took them as I found them. People were hurting all up Funnel Mile, and it was my job to make sure that came to an abrupt end. The hellspawn in this area were largely weak, but they were assembled in great numbers, presenting a different kind of challenge. Whole hives of massive wasps owned the air, buzzing through the rain in swarms a thousand-strong, and it took some effort with my slowly-forming shields to sweep the skies clear of them. Covens of imps crowed in the shadows, pooling their gathered blood, and when I struck their meeting-places they always scattered, forcing me to loop about in pursuit. Bug-demons with tough carapaces were sliding and burrowing through the drop, and even though I set my ascended ancients on them, I knew I was missing some as I soared up the roadway, my host of elven ghosts dragged along beneath me. After a couple of minutes of experimentation I decided to keep a permanent Nethernum aberration about fifty yards to my rear, a whirlpool vortex that would dismiss those who fell too far behind, allow me to re-summon them without over-stretching through the planar gates.


    Anything bigger than a dog, I took it on myself, indulging those instincts I¡¯d so long held at bay. The first was a kinkalaman digging through the wreckage of a shop for the survivors in the basement, and the moment I stared at it, it halted in its task, swing its clock-face around and pressing its blade-arms to the sides of its head. I smiled to see it exhibit pain, and drifted closer. It acted as though every fibre of metal in its body was a nerve, a cacophony of torment that didn¡¯t erupt into physical wounds but merely built, built, built as I approached, trembling overtaking it, quivering that became vibration, knee- and elbow-joints flapping like a buzzard¡¯s wings.


    When I got within striking distance it did its best, bless it. The sword it put inside me fell apart like wet paper, rusting and degrading in half a second.


    It pulled back its arm but it couldn¡¯t look even though I could tell it wanted to. I held its eyes, and it simply waved the broken limb, flailing it piteously.


    ¡°Tick tock,¡± I said, reaching out with my hand.


    I gripped behind the quivering metal tongue, taking it by what should¡¯ve been the throat, the spine, and flexed my strength along my wrist as I shifted my thumb, tearing its head off. I tossed the unmoving chunk of hell-steel into the muck behind me, streaming north once more.


    It was at Knuckle Market that I finally found the resistance. What had happened to the place, I had no notion, but it had been wiped off the Sticktown map for the umpteenth time. Innumerable bodies had been built up into bunkers of dead flesh, low walls to enclose huge trenches, brimming with blood like overflowing baths. The rain had failed to wash anything away, merely adding to the fluids puddling here, there and everywhere across the open area. The remains of the market itself had long-since been reduced to kindling, along with many of the buildings that¡¯d loomed around its borders, and imp-fire flared in a hundred places. Slime-slugs festooned the redly-gleaming pools. Bigger fiends raced about the shorelines, flinging still-screaming or recently-dismembered citizens into the centre for the lesser demons to feast upon, work upon¡­


    But it wasn¡¯t a slaughter. It was a battle. I couldn¡¯t see or sense anything truly dangerous. If something more terrifying had been here, as I would surmise given the extent of the devastation, it was either already dead, or long-since departed from this zone of the city. And Sticktowners were here, somehow, going to war with the armies of the Twelve Hells. They¡¯d been supplied with magic of various kinds ¨C there were wands in dozens of hands, and the inkatra-heads were out in force. At least ten teams of magisters were hard at work around the perimeter, and I paused above one of the still-standing buildings on the edge of the area, watching them for a few moments in stupefaction.


    The Magisterium weren¡¯t just fighting demons. Some of their agents were putting up a paltry effort to stem the tides of Infernum, yes, but more than half were engaged with living targets. I did a double take, just to be sure, and I watched a male magister in red trimmed with gold, raising a fist in victory after scoring a shot on a Sticktowner with a fire-bolt.


    I inhaled, and the rage wasn¡¯t just an emotion. I found the boiling orange oceans beneath the world. I found the hell inside me I carried with me wherever I went, the rabid hound with slaver dripping from its lips, so long caged.


    The key was no longer in my hand. It was in the lock, and the hutch erupted, such was the beast¡¯s fury as it was loosed.


    I wasn¡¯t even conscious of the fact I entered the fray. I wheeled down at the three or four magister-bands on the western edge, and it was all I could do not to strike the murderous mage ¨C I gripped the man in red by the hood, then hefted him up into the air with me.


    I hovered there for a second. I realised I had a handful of his hair twisted into my fist along with the fabric of his cowl ¨C I could tell from the way he reacted, yelping like an animal and grabbing for my arm. However, only my hand had a corporeal aspect. His fingers went right through my wrist, leaving him nothing to hold onto, no purchase to stop himself from swinging, every minute motion tearing at his scalp.


    I yanked back, tipping his chin up at me so that he could take me in.


    The magisters all around me were shouting up, telling me to let him go, warning me¡­ The inkatra-heads and rebellious residents actually started applauding, cheering, jeering. The fighting died down, at least near me, our altercation drawing everyone¡¯s attention.


    Rain spattered the magister¡¯s face. I saw cringing, terrified eyes trace my vast wings, absorbing the robe¡­ the mask¡­


    The terror in his eyes crystallised into recognition, the look of the man who sees a nightmare walking the cold hard earth of the material plane, a figment of imagination made real.


    ¡°Y-you!¡± he gargled against the pain.


    ¡°Me,¡± I boomed at him.


    My reflexes were operating at peak efficiency now, almost like Zel¡¯s old danger-sense; they were triggering on the magister¡¯s fellows behind me, planning to strike at me, and they begged me to raise my shields.


    I shrugged the instincts away. I didn¡¯t have any patience left. It would be on their heads.


    I shook the magister like a rag-doll in front of my face. ¡°Do you not see the demons? This is an Incursion! Why are you killing people? Do you not see what you are doing!¡±


    The temptation to just decapitate him with a single swing of my arm was overpowering.


    The choice was made for me. Lightning flashed through me, and I flinched against the limited damage it offered my altered form. I was too nethernal now in physical state for a single burst of electricity to cause me much harm, even of the temporary sort.


    The same wasn¡¯t true of my captive. The white fire leapt eagerly from my insubstantial flesh to his, and I was forced to let him go, wrinkling my nose against the roasted scents that arose from his blackened corpse.


    The cadaver fell, the smoking robe fluttering, and landed with an unceremonious plonk in the puddles.


    I should¡¯ve just killed him myself, I thought, the tide of anger ebbing.


    ¡°Are you happy now?¡± I roared at the magisters, in disgust more than fury, refocussing myself on them, their many-hued uniforms, their frightened faces staring up at me in shock. ¡°Have I returned only to protect you from yourselves? Or is this what you seek?¡±


    They couldn¡¯t see my second arm, my nest of glowing blue snakes, so the gesture was probably lost on them as I threw my arms wide. They certainly saw the infernal doorways, however ¨C Khikiriaz and the bintaborax needed portals the size of small dwellings, and the ruby-hued rings they appeared from dwarfed all the others to be found in this sorry place.


    Half the magisters were clearly fresh to the job. While some adopted defensive postures, preparing to fight the group of tremendous demons I summoned, the majority of the magisters just froze up, waiting for their death sentences to be carried out.


    You¡¯ve no idea how easy it would be.


    ¡°Come on, guys and gals,¡± I called to my favoured demons in Infernal. ¡°Let¡¯s go kill some hellspawn.¡±


    I brought them sweeping around the magisters and flew at their fore, bringing out my good old mekkustremin and a bunch of nethernal eldritches at the same time. The oversized doll-demon went barrelling at the very heart of Knuckle Market, bowling enemies out of our paths, joined by a stream of insanely-powerful ghosts; I heard my ikistadreng growling in frustration.


    ¡°There¡¯s plenty more where they came from,¡± I said, even as I ploughed into a clutch of imps, wielding my whips to deadly effect.


    ¡°Not enough!¡± Khikiriaz cried, lowering his head to charge antler-first through a deep puddle teeming with slimy shapes.


    ¡°Master!¡± Mrs. Cuddlesticks intoned in a hollow voice.


    I took a good look at the imps I was massacring, then continued to swing my weaponry as I glanced over my shoulder at my bintaborax. I hadn¡¯t noticed when I summoned her, but the head of Mrs. Cuddlesticks was only halfway back to the correct position, still sitting at a right angle thanks to the hammer-blow of Malas¡¯s minion. The three bintaborax left holes in the ground as they thundered across the battlefield, spiky hoof-prints swiftly filling with swirls of diluted blood ¨C but for all their prodigious size and the strength of their limbs they couldn¡¯t match the speed of ikistadreng, mekkustremin or arch-sorcerer. As such, they were the natural targets for a barrage of magister-fire, the cowards too afraid to confront me directly more than happy to rain magic down at my minion¡¯s backs.


    While I stared, a howling green skull struck Mrs. Cuddlesticks behind the knee, almost knocking her off-balance, ruining the pace of her gait as she rushed to help save Sticktown lives; Mr. Cuddlesticks was thundering on ahead of the others, doing his best to ignore the lances of frost striking him between the armoured shoulders; Junior had halted altogether, raising his arms over his head to protect him from the spells slamming down into him.


    I noticed Junior peering under his arm at the magisters, and I could sense his hunger, his mindless rage¡­ I could sense it because I felt it too.


    A particularly vile fireball struck Junior in the small of the back, and he went down, toppling like a huge heavy tree, throwing up a great spray of liquid and a resounding clang.


    It was too much. I remembered seeing my first bintaborax die, pierced through with the bitter Zadhal lances, and I wasn¡¯t about to let it happen again. Not like this. Not at the hands of those who were supposed to have my back. It was the rebels who had my back, the insurgents whose spells were even now drawing the fire of the magisters, drawing the attacks away from my bintaborax.


    Even the druggies had more common sense, possessed more reason, than the mindless automatons of Henthae and her ilk.


    I probably abandoned the last few imps I¡¯d been intent on exterminating; I didn¡¯t care, too unfocussed to even check. Wings beating, I reversed my course, heading for Junior. Every moment kept me separated from my home. I wanted more than anything to check on Mud Lane, check on Xan and Orstrum and Xassy, little Xassy¡­ Each obstacle the Magisterium threw in my path was like a dagger in my back no wraith-form could absorb.


    An inkatra-head had morphed themselves into a huge kitty. Not like something you¡¯d see in Firenight Square, no dire jaguar or sabre-toothed cat ¨C just a ginger tabby street-cat as big as a horse. It would¡¯ve almost been cute if not for the extremely lethal look in its eyes.


    It was the perfect diversion, leaping into the midst of the magisters and laying about with ferocious intensity. Spells withered the druggie¡¯s borrowed skin but the magic of the transformation had loaned it a regenerative power that let the gigantic cat continue killing despite the horrid chunks that¡¯d been torn out of its flesh.


    I stopped to set a shield on Junior as I passed him by and, while I halted, a spear of solid ice caught the inkatra-cat in the roof of the mouth, exploding its head. The distraction was over, ended as quickly as it¡¯d begun.


    The drug-user¡¯s shapeshift hadn¡¯t been true, fuelled as it was by a simple chemical process, no real archmagery behind the metamorphosis. As the huge furred head split apart like a coconut, the remainder of the body reverted to its previous form.


    A boy¡¯s corpse.


    Not much older than Jaroan. Decapitated.


    His body, still standing, begins to tremble.


    I stare, shivering, and I watch his ghost, twisting in the nethernal wind.


    The poor boy¡¯s spirit vanished before my eyes, taken forever into shadow.


    Wings? Wraith-flight?


    Some last vestige of Orcan¡¯s aeromancy? A planar stumble?


    I didn¡¯t know how I did it, but the next moment of which I was conscious I was there, above the magisters.


    And there was no resisting the temptation, no course of action that made sense other than to do it, indulge, indulge justice, indulge those entities which hoped and prayed for this, this laying about with whips that carved flesh like they sliced mere air ¨C


    ¡°Code thirty-two! Code thirty-two!¡±


    The screamer screamed his last, face cloven in two at the open mouth, the dim glyphstone still clutched in his dying fingers. Red stained the blue of his enchanter¡¯s raiment, looking black in the stuttering storm-light.


    The wizard in this particular group was so close-by when he finished his spell and pointed at me, I actually brought up a crude circle-shield just in case. There was no need ¨C the spray of frosty particles that came billowing from his sleeve would¡¯ve barely impeded an ordinary man. He¡¯d expended his best spell.


    I converted the shield into a force-spike, jabbing back blindly through the localised snowstorm. The snowstorm soon ended.


    A plump sorceress in purple was incanting frantically, and she managed to raise a shield of force far stronger than I¡¯d expected. When I swung at it, there was a single instant of doubt, consternation, before the first of my whips to connect with its shimmering surface caught hold, finding purchase on the frictionless curve.


    That initial tendril performed its task, stripping away the mage¡¯s defences with a satisfying tearing sound, and the others arced in to perform their own, stripping her of her life.


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    I stared down her ghost before it was whisked away like the others¡¯, and spat in Netheric:


    ¡°So this was what you sought. I hope it was worth the price.¡±


    She didn¡¯t reply, her spirit trapped in the limbo of its dispersal. I wasn¡¯t even certain she heard me.


    I cast about. The other Magisterium targets around here were scattering, many running north-east to regroup with the largest host of their fellows present, at most-northerly corner of the market square. The nearest to me was a presumed diviner in grey, her robe covered in lovely little crescent moons. The spell of enhanced haste under which she was operating was a weak one, barely doubling her speed. I could¡¯ve caught her easily; she had a whole slew of obstacles in her way, even if her augmented reflexes meant she was unlikely to misplace her feet¡­


    I caught myself instead.


    What am I doing, exactly?


    The rage had lessened, diminishing with every killing-blow I dealt. The sickness ¨C I was only just now feeling it ¨C


    I swallowed it down, just like I had to. It was the sourest of all possible tonics, but facing the truth of what I¡¯d done here didn¡¯t kill me. I couldn¡¯t afford to deal with it, think it all through, not right now. So I¡¯d killed three magisters. It wasn¡¯t like I wasn¡¯t going to make any waves coming back here, was it? I¡¯d have to face it, eventually, along with the consequences of all my other actions, past, present, future¡­ But it could wait. Would wait.


    Until all the demons were dead.


    * * *


    Obliteration. By the time I was done in Lord¡¯s Knuckle, I¡¯d taken my fill of eldritches, a stretched sensation I hadn¡¯t experienced in longer than I could remember.


    This just meant I had spare to waste.


    I held back my big boys and girls and my elven undead, instead tossing endless throngs of imps at their brethren, careless as to the outcome of the various conflicts. The two forces reduced each other to spiny paste, and still I was too full, my sorcerous stomach distended with the weight of hundreds upon hundreds of hellspawn.


    I was trying to ignore the crowds of gang-bangers who¡¯d gathered all about the market¡¯s edges. Most of them were quiet and unmoving, simply watching the spectacle ¨C where the imps sought to fly over the perimeter and escape, the thugs would burst into action, wands leaping to their hands, or moss-like bundles to their lips. Their organisation ¨C it was a beautiful thing to behold. Surely it was just that they had their own links set up between the leaders, their own prophets guiding them on the risk-reward ratios of their tactics¡­ It was like nothing I¡¯d witnessed before from a gang. I¡¯d have rather I had to face a squad of Magisterium archmages than this inkatra-enhanced army of born street-fighters.


    To that point, my scout still hadn¡¯t checked in.


    ¡°Pinktongue!¡± I hissed, summoning him back to my side in a flash of red fire. ¡°What are the magisters up to? Come on, I need something here.¡±


    ¡°Master, they have retreated beyond the opening of the third street.¡± The pale fingers of the gungrelafor pointed north, and his fat, barbed tail was swishing nervously as he hovered. ¡°They have called for assistance, and most-pleased did they seem with the results of the conversation. I do not believe it will be much longer before your enemies descend upon you, Master.¡±


    I eyed him sidelong. ¡°And you wouldn¡¯t want me dead? You wouldn¡¯t want to be free?¡±


    Pinktongue seemed to hesitate, then the little bat-face twisted in a savage smile. ¡°I have served many masters, the Feychilde, yet this has been my favourite service. Never before has the Master so upraised or amused me. I shall be sad, should our time together draw to an end.¡±


    I almost felt touched, but it wasn¡¯t something I wanted to admit. ¡°You¡­ you don¡¯t value freedom, then?¡±


    ¡°It is not that I do not value it. I do not believe in it. The Harlot¡¯s lies are tools to an end, no more.¡±


    I scowled. ¡°What do you think it means to me, the approval of a demon?¡±


    He closed his eyes, as if fearful, and murmured: ¡°More than you wished, Master?¡±


    I sighed, and nodded.


    ¡°Way more, somehow¡­ I killed three people here two minutes ago. Now there¡¯s¡­ there¡¯s no one to talk to.¡±


    I could see the corpses I¡¯d created.


    They were corpse-makers!


    ¡°Murderers?¡± Pinktongue enquired in a bit of a condescending tone.


    ¡°I never even killed murderers, before¡­ really.¡± I reached inside my mask to pass my hand across my eyes, then stopped to rub at my forehead. It felt surprisingly good, achieving a sudden alleviation of the pressure inside of my skull I hadn¡¯t even noticed was there, just by pressing down hard above my eyebrows with my fingertips. ¡°Look ¨C return to your post. Keep me informed; don¡¯t just wait for me to summon you. We¡¯ll be at Mud Lane next.¡±


    I saw between my nearly-closed eyelids that he summoned the teleportation-flame, disappearing from my side with a brief gust of heat.


    I may have to kill an awful lot more before I¡¯m through, I told myself, steeling myself to the task. I¡¯m not going to stand by while they act like that. I can¡¯t. I won¡¯t.


    I replayed the image, repeating it before my mind¡¯s eye. I re-experienced the emotion, less-affecting now that it was just the shadow of its former self, the ghost of a ghost before my mind¡¯s eye.


    Even still the anger wrapped its warm arms about me, shielding me from the icy touch of the rain falling unimpeded through my body, reducing the confusion, honing blunt faces into bright, shining edges.


    I threw my hand down away from my forehead, snarling at myself for even putting my fingers to my brow, as though I deserved pity for the conundrum in which I found myself, this moral maelstrom of my own making. I stirred the situation into existence. The waves would have to break on me, or I¡¯d have to sink.


    I knew the truth of myself. I knew who I was.


    I would have come here ¨C would¡¯ve come out of my way to kill them. Shut up and listen. Shut up and listen.


    They killed a BOY!


    I took my remaining hand and formed the shapes, gating through two dozen hand-picked imps into the air about me, letting them survey the destruction of my home town.


    ¡°What magnificence, Master,¡± Oldbeard chattered.


    ¡°Gloriousness,¡± Funnyfingers said.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± I cut them off coldly. ¡°I want you to take a group of imps each. These ones.¡± I started pulling companies of demons back from the front-lines, clumping them together into floating spheres with my gestures. ¡°Lead them north. East. South. West. You find more than one champion, one magister-band in a place, I want to know about it.¡± I added a gungrelafor to each group. ¡°Teleporters to report to me. We¡¯re moving north-east in a minute.¡± Then I raised my voice, barking commands: ¡°You lot! Follow this one, do as he says, don¡¯t harm any creatures from Materium.¡± I swivelled: ¡°You lot! Follow this one¡­¡±


    It took less than thirty seconds, and I had orchestrated approximately a hundred and fifty imps, my minions sweeping the city for me. If I couldn¡¯t use a link of enchantment, a link of eldritches would have to do.


    ¡°Is it true?¡± I heard one of the gang-bangers yell as I soared near, watching the last group of demonoids flapping away, back the way we¡¯d come. ¡°You Feychilde?¡±


    It was good to hear a Sticktown accent, but when I focussed on the man I saw the wildness in his eyes, the splotchiness of his skin ¨C he was soaking, but most of it was sweat, I surmised, rather than rain.


    An inkatra addict.


    Yet for all I knew, he was one of the ones who¡¯d saved Junior Cuddlesticks from the magisters. I could hardly judge him, could I?


    I nodded down at him in response to his question.


    ¡°Yeaaaah! ¡®E¡¯s back!¡± someone else cried, turning away to their fellows. ¡°It¡¯s Feychilde! Told yer!¡±


    ¡°Man, lookit ¡®im.¡± That was a Rivertown accent. ¡°What¡¯s dat on ¡®is ¡®ead, Lem?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t look too ¡®appy, does ¡®e?¡±


    ¡°The Libbrater o¡¯ Zaddal? He¡¯s back?¡±


    ¡°Knew the magisters never got ¡®im. Bloody Everseer. Kastyr, that¡¯s what¡¯s ¡®is name.¡±


    ¡°Hey ¨C hey where¡¯d yer arm go?¡±


    ¡°Yeah man, Twelve Hells, look! Where¡¯s yer arm, mister?¡±


    I smiled; I knew how fast the rumours would spread if I just told the truth.


    ¡°Prince Deathwyrm took it.¡±


    The boy¡¯s jaw dropped.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry ¨C I got him back good! Where¡¯d you think I found this nice new hat?¡±


    The boy didn¡¯t seem to understand, staring at me with a mixture of confusion and terror on his face.


    It was only when everyone started muttering that it finally seemed to sink in, his eyes widening. The lot of them started spinning to exchange awed words with their comrades, and suddenly there were whoops and hollers, cries of adulation¡­


    Someone started chanting my name and then it seemed to be everywhere, echoing back at me from a hundred throats.


    It had been so long. Too long.


    For all that I¡¯d fostered my legend, brought it into the world and then fed on it, gorging my ego on the blind love of the people ¨C


    No longer.


    That¡¯s not what I want¡­ not what I need. Not anymore.


    ¡°Fey-childe! Fey-childe! Fey-childe!¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I whispered, then, louder: ¡°No!¡±


    They stilled, as swiftly as they¡¯d reached fever-pitch.


    ¡°Celebrate the dragon¡¯s death, but don¡¯t start worshipping a killer.¡± I cast my gaze over them, turning slowly to look at those below and behind me. ¡°I¡¯m the same as you, no different. You all know the cost, don¡¯t you? I¡¯ve done plenty wrong. And there¡¯s more wrongs to be done, before they can be righted.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like you got a plan, Feychilde!¡± one of the younger crowd-members chirped, looking completely unfazed by my rejection of their admiration.


    ¡°Sounds like ¡®e¡¯s mad, more like it,¡± someone older commented.


    I sighed. ¡°You should all get out of here, you know. Who is your leader? Who organised this?¡±


    ¡°Zandrina!¡± at least three people cried instantly, before their fellows openly smacked or pushed them.


    ¡°What?¡± I heard one of my new informants complain sullenly after taking a slap to the back of the head. ¡°It¡¯s Feychilde. He¡¯s gonna know, even if we don¡¯t tell him.¡±


    Zandrina¡­ I remember that name.


    Jaroan had only talked about it once or twice. Something to do with the drug wars. She was the importer. She was the mover, bringing it across the city slums, always expanding her influence across the underworld of the poorest districts.


    ¡°Great. Just great, guys.¡± I frowned down at them. ¡°Where is she?¡±


    My informants seemed reticent now, glancing awkwardly at their peers ¨C


    I raised my hand and slowly clenched my fist.


    ¡°Where.


    ¡°Is.


    ¡°She?¡±


    I sent my quiet words out, seething across the ground like snakes in the grass. A threat and a promise.


    Almost everyone started divulging almost everything, an outburst of noise more than sense: within the space of ten seconds I was given to understand both that Zandrina had left and that she¡¯d returned, that she was back at the base and that she¡¯d return to the base after the battle was done, that the base was in Rivertown but also North Lowtown¡­


    ¡°Ah, enough!¡± It would have to wait. Tanra would know more, when I found her, surely. ¡°I have to go. Stop being naughty now, head home to your families. All of you.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C mister ¨C the magisters!¡± the young lad called, sounding scared.


    ¡°Leave the magisters to me,¡± I replied, feeling grim but ready to do what I must. ¡°Don¡¯t any more of you die. Besides, they¡¯ll have to catch me first, if they want me.¡±


    I faked the Feychilde grin, and flapped my wings ¨C


    Pinktongue burst onto the scene. ¡°You¡¯re still here! Master, they come! Forty magisters, and there is an archmage with them, the Valorin!¡±


    ¡°Drop,¡± I spat. If they came here with the gangs still out in force, I¡¯d become locked in a pitched battle to save the criminals from the overzealous magistry. That wouldn¡¯t just be an act of resistance. It would be outright rebellion. They¡¯d never stop till me and all the gangers were dead.


    There was only one thing for it. If they weren¡¯t going to leave, I was going to have to. And if I headed straight for home¡­ the magisters wouldn¡¯t know I¡¯d left until they¡¯d arrived here, interrogated Zandrina¡¯s army. That would only mean more bloodshed.


    Had I really chosen to side with the drug addicts over the keepers of the peace?


    Yes, I answered myself without hesitation. Yes I have.


    Throwing caution to the howling winds, I dismissed my eldritches and headed north at maximum speed.


    * * *


    At least it wasn¡¯t entirely the wrong direction. I was halfway to Cutterwells when I saw them coming around a bend, running through the streaming rain at an athletic pace thanks to their enhancements. There was no one else around, not that I could see at least; the residents were all sensibly withdrawn in the deepest, safest corners of their properties to await the last rings of the Mourning Bells.


    No audience¡­


    I sank down into the roadway so even the most perceptive of the magisters wouldn¡¯t get a chance to spot me, and I moved across into the nearest alley. Rising back up above ground, I swiftly released a bunch of stored-up imps, removing their bonds.


    The mischievous delight expressed by the demonoids turned to panicked flight as I started killing them, forcing the magisters who first reached my side to aid me on sheer principle.


    I¡¯d only loosed a couple dozen; I caught the ones around the edges, pushing them back at the magisters, begging them to get involved. Right on cue, their wizards unleashed volleys of elemental attacks, reducing the remainder to a rain of ashes and dismembered limbs.


    Then I was floating there alone in the mouth of the alleyway, the charred bits of my former imps fluttering down around me, and I could feel the combined gazes of the assembled magisters like an ever-growing anchor ¨C the number of them swelled, swelled, until the street was filled with a rainbow of rain-soaked robes.


    ¡°Guess whooooo?¡± I sang after a few moments of awkward silence.


    Valorin was under the effects of a flight-spell, in addition to something that overcame the defences of my satyr-reflexes; he¡¯d manoeuvred around behind me effortlessly, and I only realised he was there when he charged at me, azure shapes bisecting me.


    I raised my hand to my chest where his sorcerous weapons were ripping like a sawmill¡¯s blades through my back and out the front of my torso.


    Not much blood.


    Right on cue, the ordinary magisters started launching ranged attacks at me, rocking me in my place, but I ignored them. I turned to regard my true foe as he sped down from above me, soaring ever-closer on a collision course. I watched the azure spikes tinged with my life-essence wheeling away from me, spinning around and around him, more and more of them hurtling through my body and meeting no resistance.


    I raised my other hand, the elongated fingers only he could see.


    The arch-magister¡¯s dark eyes shone with fervour from beneath the lip of his lilac hood, glaring at me from behind a shield-matrix I¡¯d have been proud of, even back when I had two hands to work the patterns. He only seemed to realise what was happening when it was too late.


    I could¡¯ve ripped his shields from him, but this way would be funnier.


    My tendrils snagged his blades, lengthening, letting the momentum of his own forces propel my whips about him, enclosing him in a noose.


    He saw it ¨C he brought a blade down vertically to slice through the noose and my tendrils followed, enclosing him now across a second vector, the noose becoming a net¡­


    A fireball exploded inside my body. That one hurt.


    ¡°Give it up, Valorin,¡± I cried. ¡°Call off your dogs!¡±


    I fixed the form of my tendrils, and arrested the motion of his shields; the entire structure stopped still, locked in place, the blades freezing instantly.


    The wizardry granting him flight brought him screeching out of his protections.


    Not twenty feet from me, Valorin put his hands down at his sides, suddenly halting just outside the edge of his former defences. He cast about in sudden horror, like a man finding himself naked in the middle of his workplace.


    I smiled, and shredded his shapes, retracting my tendrils.


    ¡°Heresy!¡± I heard him gasp.


    ¡°You should really dress appropriately for the occasion.¡± I winced against another ripple of explosive flame that detonated somewhere just inside my left eardrum, and cast a glance over my shoulder at the massed ranks of petrified-looking magisters ¨C they were still sticking to ranged attacks, keeping their distance, holding back their shape-shifted druids and the majority of their eldritches for the moment I decided to turn on them, rip into those ranks and cast them to the four winds in uttermost disarray¡­


    Temptation almost took me.


    I returned my gaze to the flapping Valorin, who was desperately rebuilding wards about himself, all momentum sacrificed to claw back a thin veneer of his former shielding.


    ¡°Last warning. Or you all go away. You don¡¯t get to fight a champion during an Incursion and live to tell about it. Thus far I have been lenient. No longer.¡±


    I said it in a flat tone, using a voice that cut through the pattering of the rain, the whirring of their spells, the crashing of the storm, the ringing of the Bells. It spoke directly into the skulls of the lot of them.


    One by one, then in larger and larger groups, the magisters called off their imps, lowered their wands, letting half-constructed masses of elemental energies drip from their hands and dissipate. But before the last of them stood down, I noticed at least half a dozen shutters swing open slightly, the hidden occupants of the buildings peering out to get a better view of what was going on in the street.


    Perfect.


    ¡°Good call,¡± I complimented the arch-magister, whose telepathic command had surely been the cause of the ceasefire.


    ¡°We do not consort with heretics or negotiate with the Thirteen Candles!¡± Valorin¡¯s voice had lost none of its confidence; in fact he sounded more fanatical than ever, in spite of his precarious position. ¡°How did you get here, Feychilde? Mr. Mortenn. You¡¯re going back.¡±


    I laughed heartily.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you, I don¡¯t need you,¡± I replied, rising up through the air to match his elevation. ¡°And I¡¯m not going anywhere. Just stay out of my way. In case you missed it ¨C you do hear the Bells, right? Maybe instead of killing Sticktowners you¡¯ll concentrate your efforts on the armies of hell, now, eh?¡±


    ¡°I do not take orders from you!¡± he huffed. His eyes were narrowed under the hood, the deep pits of his eye-sockets illuminated by lightning rippling across the broiling sky.


    ¡°If your orders countermand those,¡± I said darkly, ¡°you¡¯ll pay for spreading them to your cohort.¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± he cried, sounding outraged.


    ¡°Yes!¡± I screamed back. ¡°Stop killing people, or I¡¯ll put your head on a spike in Knuckle Market and seal it for all the world to see for eternity ¨C I don¡¯t care what your orders are! Submit to me now.¡± Impatience gripped me. ¡°That¡¯s it! I¡¯m done here.¡±


    I angled myself east, rising higher on the air. A few of the open shutters closed to as I floated by, observers shrinking back in trepidation ¨C but more opened wider, with faces pressed up to the cracks; I heard a soft chorus of breathless voices murmuring my moniker as if it were a prayer to ward off fiends or dark magisters.


    A gobbet of draumgerel acid came bursting through my chest, splashing against one of the wooden buildings just above the shutters and eating almost instantly through the wood. I heard a shriek from inside the room, the drum of swiftly-retreating feet.


    I barely felt it.


    I whirled to look down at my enemy only to find him climbing the air, soaring at me once more as though something had changed.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I snapped.


    His new shielding was still at a rudimentary point, even the inner shapes looking tattered, as though they¡¯d already sustained attack. Yes, fine, he wasn¡¯t entirely unprepared; his arms had transformed into long swords somewhere just below the elbow¡­ He was wearing the essence of a kinkalaman or something similar.


    Whatever. I wasn¡¯t going to risk letting him touch me, in case he was clad in the essence of an unfamiliar eldritch, something that could penetrate my body and actually do it harm. There had to be a reason for this resumption of our duel, for his renewed assault.


    Now I didn¡¯t want him to, he didn¡¯t even get to cover half the distance.


    I reached out, the tendrils flowing effortlessly through the smoky breeze, and I gripped each of his wide-flung, serrated swords with a loop of the gleaming sorcerous fingers.


    Gripped them, at the wrist-segment, and tightened the loops, biting cleanly through the metal with a pair of neat little screeches.


    It was probably telling that his underlings didn¡¯t act to support him, watching in dreadful fascination as I took both their leader¡¯s hands from him.


    The swords spun as they plummeted, not even transforming back into human limbs; they dissolved like any lifeless dimensional material, vanishing into the wind after a few seconds of free-fall.


    Valorin twisted on the air, choking, staring at the raw metallic stumps on the ends of his forearms.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ll find healing,¡± I told the nonplussed arch-magister. ¡°I didn¡¯t, and I thought it was awfully unfair. Just remember ¨C I only took your hands. You tried to kill me.¡±


    I resumed my former course, and this time I was only pursued by his impotent screams.


    It was over.


    For now.


    * * *


    I mostly kept my attention on the streets below me, picking up the odd stray demon with a flicker of will, sending the occasional fear-paralysed Sticktowner running into the nearest house with a few booming commands. The clouds in the sky were unnatural, their vast shadows lying thick like sheets of black oil across the landscape, disappearing only briefly in flashes of lightning. As it was, it only occurred to me just before I turned into Mud Lane that an incongruity existed in the layout of the structures ahead. Never mind missing an arm. This called out to my mind in such a way that even the buried, unconscious processes railed, pulling themselves into the light and calling out for attention. An arm was nothing ¨C I was missing buildings. Whole apartment blocks. Whole¡­


    By the time I brought my focus to bear it was too late; I was there. I slowed to a halt above the opening to my street, looking down into the huge pile of kindling that had been my everything, my everywhere.


    There was a contraction in my mind, somewhere just behind my left eye; I felt the ghosts of memories pouring out of my head, suddenly slain by this sight, this awful, unbelievable vision.


    What had the demons done? How had this been allowed to happen?


    For a few seconds I was possessed by a powerful delusion, that within the scorched pile of beams and planks my apartment would still be intact, whole and neat and tidy, just sunken beneath the surface somewhere, ready for me to go in and find it¡­


    Mum and Dad¡¯s place. It was sacrosanct, inviolable. Even during the Incursion, the first Incursion back in Orovost, it had survived without a single scar, despite the area being under fire. Dustbringer¡¯s attempt to arrest me had almost spelled doom for my parents¡¯ prized possessions, the books I¡¯d consumed voraciously my whole life, but we¡¯d come through it. The appearance of a murderous heretic had only resulted in a single slice taken out of the door.


    It had always ¨C it was always the same ¨C it never changed ¨C it couldn¡¯t, wouldn¡¯t, shouldn¡¯t ¨C it was theirs ¨C theirs ¨C


    Now? Now it was gone.


    It was all gone.


    In such a way that it was never, ever coming back.

 A Rare Breed

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9H: A RARE BREED</h2>


    ¡°Mund is dying and you know it. You feel the death-tension; you anticipate the death-throes; and more than anything else you wish to no longer exist in this state. Death itself is preferable because you think it will bring you relief. So in search of this death-comfort you will talk it all through with a loved one. Talk it through with a stranger, a priest or an enchanter. You will weep and moan and unburden yourself of all this unnecessary strain. Normalise the environment in which you dwell, the heart of the curse you helped create. Yet setting aside your responsibility will not absolve you of it. Do not talk it over! It is not over! Your loved one, your holy man, your magician ¨C they themselves lie under the curse! They want you to be as them, complacent, body and mind in harmony with the destruction that is about to descend. Do not talk! Do not beg the sleeping to draw you back into that slumber! Awaken! Act upon the discomfort! That is why it exists: to tell you that the world in which you are enfleshed no longer exists in harmony with you! Either you or it must break. Do not let it be you.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Memories of Everseer¡¯, collected 996 NE


    He looked down from the rafters, hanging like a bat in the shadows, arms folded across his chest. He didn¡¯t need claws to grab the roof¡¯s old timbers. Hooking his toes over the support-beam was good enough; the thin wooden stake wedged in his boot next to his heel was nice and secure. He¡¯d been here for almost an hour, and he¡¯d settled himself quite comfortably.


    Perhaps I¡¯ll try resting like this come dawn, he mused. The sensation of blood rushing to the head was a completely different experience now, and not unpleasant in the slightest. It was almost, a little bit, in the tiniest way, similar to drinking blood. He felt mellow. More relaxed than usual. It made the waiting easier, he found.


    Beneath him, target number one was waiting with his gang for target number two. There was no relaxing for the killers gathered in the lantern-light below; this much was evident in target number one¡¯s listless pacing. When focussing, the vampire could identify every word the trafficker muttered under his breath ¨C he could pick out every bead of sweat emerging on the criminal¡¯s bald head with his nostrils, without even looking.


    Ah¡­ but he¡¯d be an unappealing meal in any case.


    That was one of the benefits of spending your existence hunting lowlife scum. So few of them were edible. And the more time he spent lurking around these slums by the docks, the more the memories faded. Succulent, well-bred women ¨C they¡¯d been his primary temptation, in the early days. Hells, such delicious fiends had been his downfall ever since he was a young man, long before he even became a creature of the night¡­ He¡¯d never forget the Lady In Grey, whose true name he¡¯d never discovered, finding him there with the blood still on his hands and having her way with him in the quiet moonlight of the mansion¡¯s courtyard. Such things were unthinkable, dreams of fascination ¨C yet it had happened. He remembered her corseted bosom, trembling as she fully embraced the thrill, the danger ¨C


    He pulled his thoughts away. The reality of the thirst was such that he couldn¡¯t afford a single moment of weakness. Even thinking about the trafficker¡¯s repulsiveness had led his mind wandering back to the forbidden pathways, to that heaving brown bosom¡­


    Every recollection had this new aspect. Desire had a second axis. Appetite became literal. Imagined kisses became bites and it was women like her, like the Lady In Grey, whose recklessness incensed him, compelled him.


    She was never far from his thoughts, nor the dozens of other highborn women he¡¯d bedded. Such was his penance, as he saw it ¨C to recollect, and never revisit, despite the fact his vampiric nature would make tracking each of them down a doddle.


    Am I a fool, to dream of celestial shores awaiting me beyond the Door?


    Yet when he dreamt, the sparkling blue oceans beyond the white sand were always red, hell-oceans fed by the river of his rebirth.


    Too many kills under my belt, he would think as he lay there, propelled by the bloody currents he now resented, reviled. Too many souls screaming around this place, sent here by my hand.


    He could but try. Be the exception proving the rule. Be the human, trapped within the inhumanity. He couldn¡¯t say he would never again feed, never again take a life. It was the knowledge of his weakness that gave him strength. That let him do what he had to do.


    He¡¯d tracked target number one easily enough, after catching the gang¡¯s conversation on the warm breeze. Target number two was an unknown factor, but he¡¯d be along presently to join the show. Tonight, target number one was making a ¡®purchase¡¯. Him and his gang were nervous, but not because they had an inkling of the undead assassin stalking them ¨C if they had the faintest notion they¡¯d have scattered to the winds instantly.


    No. They were nervous because of the goods they were planning to procure. They were nervous because of the people they were getting in touch with, the connection they were making between themselves and true evil. The underworld wasn¡¯t some monolithic entity. The assassin¡¯s guild to which the vampire had once belonged was far from legal, but it was only one or two layers deep. The Magisterium knew that spending their resources in destroying such shady organisations was a futile endeavour. Two new assassin¡¯s guilds had sprung up in its wake, each not a stone¡¯s throw from Welderway, once the dust had settled following the whole Lodus ordeal. The same would be true of most such guilds. Thieves and killers for hire were one thing. Brothel-owners and grave-robbers. Traffickers in soft drugs, and even hard but ¡®tolerated¡¯ drugs like whitestick. These were reasonable evils. The watch would investigate, make arrests, execute or imprison the perpetrators¡­ but it didn¡¯t go further than that. There was no ideological war taking place. The watch¡¯s resources were limited ¨C perhaps they¡¯d even been deliberately hamstrung. It was often the rich who stood to benefit the most from the existence of such organisations, in the end, wasn¡¯t it?


    But who was to say how deep the underworld went? Inkatra was wrecking lives in swathes and it¡¯d forced the Magisterium into action, yet such reactions were hardly new ¨C there had always been money to be made by trafficking in dark items: destruction-wands, glyph-breakers, cursed trinkets¡­ If you spoke to the right people ¨C or very very wrong people ¨C you could even be put in touch with unscrupulous hireling-magicians, Maginox rejects with experience in illegal enchantments and enhancements¡­


    And then, lower than all the rest, there were these:


    People-traffickers.


    There were the sounds for which he¡¯d awaited, creeping in now on the edge of his consciousness. A soft clippety-clop. The creaking of wooden planks, old wheels complaining as they rolled on the surprisingly-dry dirt.


    Target number two, or one of his crew, gave a coded knock. Just a series of light taps on the big ironbound door. The vampire observed with amusement how this little set of sounds threw the whole room below into disarray. They pointed to each other, mouthing instructions they dared not give voice for fear of being overheard by those outside, revealing their lack of confidence.


    If they were professional at all, they really should¡¯ve had a scout out there, the vampire mused. Or should¡¯ve checked the rafters¡­


    For one fascinating instant, his feedback-loop awareness was triggered and he looked to his right, suddenly certain he was about to spot someone else up here in the rafters with him. Instincts sent his gaze skittering, combing the shadows that were to him as good as sources of light. And the corner from which he sensed the attention of a stranger ¨C it was empty, save for cobwebs and rat droppings.


    Bemused at the way his intuitions were overcompensating for the idiocy of the gang, he returned his attention to the scene below. The bars and latches were lifted, the door was drawn open, and the second gang entered. They had a swagger to their motions that would¡¯ve clued an observer in on the power dynamic even if they hadn¡¯t just spent an hour and a half watching the first group¡¯s squirming. Two of the new guys were built like oxen and they walked obnoxiously-close to the current occupants of the building, leering in the faces of the smaller men, forcing them to step back or get barged.


    The vampire followed the conversation easily despite the low voices being used. He categorised the insights according to their relevance.


    The sum being exchanged: thirteen plat. One real platinum disc and a whole load of gold and silver, counted out coin upon coin by a couple of target number two¡¯s lackeys. A lot of money, to be sure, but for people? By law in Mund no man, woman or child could be sold ¨C not alive, at any rate.


    The ¡®amount of product¡¯¡­ seven. Just ¡®seven¡¯.


    The source of the cash: a lord, name unmentioned. The vampire banked the information. He would extract more soon.


    And, most importantly, the total number of targets, both primary and secondary: eleven inside the building. Voices indicated three more outside with the wagon, beyond his sight.


    Fourteen.


    Right on the edge of his perceptions he could make out the heavy nasal breathing coming from gagged victims. The sounds didn¡¯t crispen as he centred his awareness upon them, confirming to him that the captives were under a covering.


    The soft clanking of chains as they shifted their hands, ankles¡­


    The wet scents of absolute terror.


    The vampire silently pulled himself upright, abandoning the bat-pose to crouch atop the beam. He would act, soon. Excitement started to fill him, almost as good as the memory of blood. When he exerted his abilities, he felt no boundaries on himself except those he enforced. The sensation of freedom was the most glorious thing he¡¯d experienced, alive or dead.


    Free the victims, he reminded himself. Free them. Nentheleme guide me.


    The great goddess¡¯s name didn¡¯t hurt him when he thought it anymore. Perhaps Celestium wasn¡¯t completely off the table after all ¨C maybe he¡¯d be able to say her name again, one day.


    ¡°Bring ¡¯em in,¡± target two hissed once the coins had been counted and locked in a small chest.


    At his words one minion exited, returning moments later leading a horse. On the heels of the tired animal came the creaking wagon.


    Just a canvas covering them ¨C they weren¡¯t even seated. Tossed in the back of the cart like sacks of spuds and left lying piled atop one another. The chains bound not just wrist and ankle but throat. Blindfolds were wrapped about every set of eyes.


    And as they were hoisted unceremoniously from their prone positions, thrust upright to stumble and stagger across the coarse dirt floor, the vampire stared in shock.


    Children ¨C three male and four female. Half of them were probably just about adults, older teenagers he wouldn¡¯t hesitate to categorise as kids, whose katra-sweats left them shaking and glistening¡­ while two of the youngest were wearing clothes damp only about the crotch. The blindfold of one little girl had slipped and her pleading, tear-filled eyes spoke louder than any of the terrified mumbles pouring through their gags.


    ¡°Wha¡¯s ¡®e want ¡¯em for, anyways?¡± target number two asked.


    ¡°She,¡± target number one replied darkly. ¡°We reckons it¡¯s their blood. Drinks it, or washes ¡®erself in it, yer know. They¡¯s all untouched?¡±


    Target number two gave a bland laugh. ¡°As they gets, at least. Yer serious? Drinks it?¡±


    The vampire tuned out the rest of the discussion. It was time to act.


    The petrified teenagers were being herded by shoves and gestures into the corner of the room. That would at least keep them out of the way.


    He stepped off the beam and had to wait for inertia to grip him, his undead nature granting him a generous grace period in which to change his mind, return to his perch. Finally, after what seemed like several moments, his flesh caught up with the world, permitting him to fall.


    He landed catlike in their midst, crouching as his feet touched down to further muffle the soft sounds, presenting a smaller shape to any stray eyes that might¡¯ve caught his motion.


    Two of them. He knew it in the core of his being. Only two of them glimpsed him as he fell.


    It didn¡¯t matter. They¡¯d all receive the same punishment.


    In the early days he¡¯d have just smashed the lantern and set to work, but he¡¯d developed his current technique through trial and error. At first he¡¯d made the mistake of killing his targets. That was too much like the old him. Nowadays if he killed, he felt no relief, no release. He¡¯d been to the shadowland. He knew what death meant. After the first few kills and the depression that followed, he changed tactics.


    Wounding them came with its own issues. Lacerations teased him when the criminal was left alive, oozing blood, enticing him with every pumping pulse. Even when he kept the injuries internal, he didn¡¯t help anyone. For one week in Ismethara he¡¯d exclusively inflicted spinal-cord damage on the scum he hunted, leaving them incapable of any further evil acts for the rest of their miserable lives. After realising the burden he¡¯d placed on the watch, peering down from the rooftops as the poor guys struggled to heave several overweight scoundrels out of the apartment and down the stairs, he¡¯d come up with his current solution.


    He rose to his full height, which was considerably shorter than most of the non-kids in the building. His lavender gaze fell first on those who¡¯d spotted him, but he quickly flitted about to take in the others, pre-empting all efforts to resist him or flee.


    ¡°Huddle up. Yes, my friends, in the middle. Right ¨C better idea. Line up, that¡¯s it. Lift up your favoured hand.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t an enchanter ¨C he didn¡¯t have that kind of control. No reading thoughts, other than recognising when another¡¯s attention fell upon him. And no direct commanding, either. He couldn¡¯t just tell this bunch of fools to start hopping on their left legs and expect them to actually follow through, not without additional persuasion. Yet he did have some measure of control. His mesmerising gaze, especially when he was feeling angry, cowed the weak of will. His very presence was itself an act of violence against all that was good in the world, every word he spoke an axe-stroke falling into the unprotected meat of their baby-fleshed minds. The encapsulating eyes he bore were less effective than Lethal¡¯s had been that day¡­ but from what he¡¯d belatedly learned about his vampiric nature, that made sense. He was two generations further from the source, two generations weaker than Lodus had been.


    Still ¨C he¡¯d worked hard to refine the ability, practising exerting his will over criminal scum whenever opportunity arose. Now, speaking to the two gangs, the vampiric suggestions worked their magic on them. They cast one another bewildered looks, but they lined up. The most worried-looking first, one by one they held out their right arms, and those with sleeves slid them up to their elbows ¨C except target number two. He was a leftie.


    ¡°Excellent. Keep them held out. Now, stay here. Stay quiet, alright?¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± one of the big beefy guys whispered in a concerned voice.


    Trying not to snigger, the vampire stepped leisurely towards the corner where the captives had been gathered.


    He felt nothing but his own freedom as he freed the children; no temptation; no hunger. He was within temptation, now. He was inside the hunger. Swallowed whole by the thirst. He could no longer fear it as some outside entity, no longer fear to be drawn to it. He¡¯d accepted it, and he¡¯d carried on regardless. Even the eldest of the four girls, who was perhaps seventeen and by far the most luscious of the lot, didn¡¯t turn his eye. He saw only victims. Only those who needed his help.


    He tore the last gag loose, snapped the chains with his bare hands, and with a smile that hid his teeth he nodded for them all to go.


    Faltering at first and then with ever-increasing haste, they stumbled away to the door, half-running from him in the end. They said nothing, even their desperate and hopeful eyes barely casting a morsel of gratitude in his direction. He might¡¯ve tried to hide the teeth, but the eyes and skin and hair were all markers of his difference. They might not have been able to say specifically that he was a vampire, but they knew at least, instinctively, that he was wrong. Likely they feared a trick, a trap to lure them from danger into something yet worse. And it wasn¡¯t like he could blame them. He¡¯d even doubted old Lethal at first¡­


    Once they¡¯d left he returned to the centre of the room where the two gangs were nervously awaiting him. If he hadn¡¯t seen them arrive, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell them apart; where before the dominance of the second group had been plain to see, now they all wore the same expressions, mouthed the same confused whispers.


    ¡°Well, folks,¡± said the vampire, coming to a halt in front of them. ¡°This has been a most momentous evening for you all, I think. The young ones are gone. Could I have that small chest there? Ah, thanks, my friend.¡± Target number two had a dazed expression on his face as he nodded, and the vampire hefted the heavy little thing with a single finger wrapped about its handle. ¡°Now,¡± he continued, swinging it so that it made a lovely jingling sound, ¡°we need to have a chat.¡±


    ¡°Do we still ¡®as to be quiet?¡± one asked, both respect and worry in his hoarse voice.


    ¡°Wha¡¯s gonner ¡®appen wi¡¯ us?¡± another asked, more worried than the first.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to scrunch your hands like fistfuls of leaves, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°Awwwwww.¡± They moaned in concert, like a bunch of children being told their square-day had been called off.


    ¡°I know, but it¡¯s necessary. There¡¯ll be no external bleeding, and I¡¯ll take my time, minimise the internal bleeding too. We¡¯re working primarily with the bone itself, here. The point is to make it too expensive to get healing. Katra¡¯s just a bit too impermanent, unreliable, when it comes to these things, isn¡¯t it? Hands are really rather complicated, don¡¯t you know?¡±


    ¡°But how¡¯m¡­¡± one of them began in a complaining voice, ¡°how¡¯m I gonna ¨C¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± the vampire hissed, glowering, and even the beefiest of the big guys shivered. It was as though he¡¯d transplanted the expressions of the captive children onto their faces. ¡°Exactly,¡± he went on more softly. ¡°You won¡¯t be able to do anything, really. And if I ever come across someone doing something¡­ naughty¡­ whose hands I¡¯ve already crushed, well¡­ Only the eyes are more expensive, so I¡¯m informed. Or the genitals.¡±


    He didn¡¯t have to glower or hiss ¨C they all blenched.


    ¡°You ¨C number two. Your name?¡±


    Target number two pointed at his chin with his thumb, still dutifully holding out his left hand.


    The vampire nodded and the man stammered.


    ¡°Xa-Xalto.¡±


    ¡°Xalto¡­?¡±


    ¡°Xalto Redson.¡±


    ¡°Very good, Mr. Redson. I¡¯m Dirk. Step forwards. That¡¯s it ¨C take my hand. Oh, come now, don¡¯t be nervous. We¡¯re all friends here, right?¡±


    He looked about. There was a general murmur of agreement.


    ¡°Now ¨C that¡¯s it. Good. Hush now. Don¡¯t look at me like that. Tell me.


    ¡°Who by the Five is trafficking people?¡±


    * * *


    At first he thought the hideout used by the city¡¯s most infamous crime-boss was easy to find. Interrogating a few lowlifes was enough to give him a pretty firm mental map of the location and, though the orders hadn¡¯t come from Zandrina herself, he had little doubt he¡¯d find the pit from which she conducted her empire within minutes of his arrival. Surely the watch and even the Magisterium would know where to go to trap Zandrina, and the notion it was all an inside job crossed his mind more than once. Why else would she have survived so long?


    It was only after invading her base and conducting further ¡®inquiries¡¯ that he came to an understanding that approximated truth.


    He entered the secret door at the back of Fastman¡¯s Docks, situated just where Xalto Redson told him he¡¯d find it. Moving some old wooden slats aside he revealed a dark hole, like any of a hundred other empty grooves in the bare rock of this stretch of the riverbank. His fabulous eyesight easily picked out the fold in the stone in front of him disguising the entry. He strode purposefully into the gloom, and soon he was inside the twisting tunnels.


    The vampire spent considerable effort moving around the hidden base without drawing attention to himself, his cowl pulled low, the fake limp and bent back making a man of his small stature entirely unthreatening to behold. It didn¡¯t take long before he realised the extent of the hidden warrens he walked. The people he passed weren¡¯t guards, or employees. These were customers, whole communities of them, many sleeping in large groups in the stony corners, rags for their pillows. Mothers cackled, mouths full of wane, as innocent infants suckled on their bare breasts. Fathers sang their daughters to sleep with bawdy songs designed for the ears of drunkards, not caring about or even noticing the slow-burning sparks of spite in their children¡¯s eyes. There were few rats to be seen here beyond those already skewered, awaiting their turn on the firepit. A few times he spotted older kids returning to their parents with stolen trinkets in their hands, trading them for food ¨C and as the youngsters hunkered down to eat and play and sleep, the adults went to their dealers.


    Within five minutes he¡¯d seen over two hundred different people down here, and he was just getting started.


    Almost half of the grown-ups were in a drug-addled state, along with a fair proportion of those he thought were younger than fifteen. Many of those sitting in a stupor would simply be awaiting their next hit, but others were deep in the katra-haze, taking lonesome sojourns into the past or the future, or to far-flung lands. The adolescents in particular were using their magic in a flashier way, any number of random effects bursting out into being. Even as he passed by he saw one teenage girl choke to death; it seemed she¡¯d increased the size of her tongue, probably wanting to show off to the gang of peers who were now gathered about her corpse with indolent, dour expressions on their faces. A friendless mute sat alone with a black-toothed grin on his face, staring into the depths of a globe of clear water that shimmered in his hands. Two scrawny, filthy men were fighting one another by playing at being sorcerers ¨C the crowd jeered and cheered as the small squads of imps they¡¯d managed to summon went rolling over one another, furious balls of claws and tails and wings.


    Dirk knew he had to be careful, but he¡¯d ran into enough katra-heads to understand few possessed the right magic to detect his true nature. It required the sorcerer¡¯s-sight, a trick too subtle for the drug-addicts and, frankly, useless to them ninety-nine percent of the time. The eldritches they summoned would¡¯ve been far more concerning, should they have been used as guards rather than for a drug-head¡¯s amusement. He followed the flow of the foot-traffic to the dealers then, when no one was looking, quietly climbed to the ceiling. The illumination in here was poor, open cooking-fires filling the air with smoke; even with the radiance of stray spells here and there, Dirk felt safe enough on the roof of the tunnel.


    It was a labyrinth. Only magic could¡¯ve tunnelled-out these passageways, especially since it seemed they¡¯d been created without alerting those working and living just ten yards overhead. Vents in the ceilings let the smoke of the cooking-fires seep up and out ¨C clearly they¡¯d been planned, the katra-wizards directed by a cunning architect. How had she achieved all this? How had she achieved this without getting caught?


    It was only after finding the one they were calling the ¡®boss-man¡¯, a shrewd-looking older fellow in a business-suit, that Dirk started to get with the picture. This man was no crime-lord. He was a pen-pusher, bending over his desk replete with piles of paperwork, a looking-glass suspended on a small crane in front of his nose.


    This wasn¡¯t a business. It was a¡­ a franchise.


    ¡°Three months,¡± he man croaked breathlessly when Dirk came to sit opposite him. ¡°Three months, I last seen ¡®er. I ¨C I¡¯m sorry, if you think you was suppos¡¯ ter meet ¡®er ¡®ere.¡±


    He took the times and dates of the next deliveries and went on his way, slinking across the uneven surfaces of the ceilings. Dirk would return to punish the man but he had to let the natural course of events play itself out first. Wouldn¡¯t do to go spooking people.


    The next shipment wasn¡¯t a big one. The large weekly drop-off that would arrive by barge was due on Twoday night, and Dirk briefly considered waiting a few extra days, but when he arose from the red waters on Fullday evening all the fire and thrill of excitement was upon him ¨C and he knew it was time.


    The Fullday katra delivery-guys wouldn¡¯t even need to come to the entrance behind the dock, as hidden as it was. They dropped product off in a house, linked to the tunnels through its foundation. Offshoots of katra-gangs owned the houses, or had at least claimed them for their own, which was much the same thing in slums like these. Dirk spent almost six hours in the company of nineteen idiot drop-heads, not one over the age of twenty, and the vampire was within five minutes of opening all their throats just for the pleasure of it when the lads showed up.


    It was too late ¨C too early ¨C to follow them. He asked them very politely for directions to their base then, realising how rapidly dawn was approaching, he withdrew to a sewer to brood before the fatal lethargy stole over him.


    There was always the next night.


    * * *


    Four nights, four hidden bases and forty-one crushed hands later, he was still no closer to his goal. The despair didn¡¯t become real until he saw a couple of Xalto Redson¡¯s captive teenagers again. They were back on the Rivertown streets, kicking-in a homeless man to steal his beggar¡¯s bag, his last meagre coins taken to fuel their addictions.


    Dirk caught up with them, gave them the gaze, and let them off with busted thumbs. He returned the small sack of coppers to the beggar but the poor man just shrank back, covering his bruised flesh and mumbling in fear, his eyes shining in the moonlight.


    Feeling sick, Dirk dropped the sack at the man¡¯s feet then dropped a few of his own coins on top. It didn¡¯t make him feel any better. He ascended to the nearest roof and made his way across the roadways towards the river, finally stopping once the Greyflood was in sight. Sitting on the ledge atop an apartment-block, he listened to the seething hiss of the water as it snaked south-east, glistening darkly as it went, hiding any number of secrets in the blackness beneath its scaly moonlit surfaces. The wind tugged at his hair, pulling it into his eyes, sending it tickling across his face ¨C he drew the luminous strands behind his ears, frustrated by their intrusion upon his brooding.


    What was the point of any of it? Why had he freed those kids? Just so that they could take on the evil they¡¯d been exposed to ¨C wear it as a coat, as a suit of armour to protect them, protecting the delicate sections of their minds from future attack¡­? But how long before it consumed them? How long before they went from good kids replicating the evil they saw and suffered through, to evil people in their own right?


    He knew the answer. No time at all. The good in them, and the evil ¨C it couldn¡¯t be separated. It could be found only in the eye of the beholder. The beggar they¡¯d beaten didn¡¯t see the other side, and the moment his bruises healed he¡¯d have the same evil in him. Maybe he¡¯d beat another homeless man, steal his sack. Pay it forward. Breed the wickedness. Show the dark gods the worship, the endless enduring celebration of selfishness they so craved.


    There was no way around it. No higher goal or purpose. And it wasn¡¯t like this was new to him. When he¡¯d been a nihilistic teenager, just entering his chosen profession, he¡¯d promised himself he¡¯d one day be a true worshipper of Yane, a blade for the Bladed One. But that phase only lasted a couple of years. The comfort of luxuries earned by his pay soon brought complacency, and he looked back on his past self as a naive wannabe, the inflexible maturity of his former beliefs itself a sign of immaturity, a longing for something. A longing for belonging. As he grew up he settled for thinking he¡¯d turn it around some day, square his debts with the gods¡­ Plenty of killers had to end up in the heavens, right? He and Lethal never offed any kids, never took the jobs that would buy you a one-way wagon-ride to hell. There was always another tomorrow. Another chance to change his ways, or, better, discover the lens through which he could view his history and make it pristine ¨C the story of a hero, doing his best to make his way in the world¡­


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    But now here he was, a creature marked by Vaahn. He knew nothing of his world. Over the last few nights he¡¯d witnessed more human misery, met more abominable wretches, than he had in the last few years. There were more hives of abject awfulness in the city than he¡¯d ever imagined. It was as though he¡¯d only opened his eyes for the first time. And now it was so much harder to go back to sleep. To pretend it wasn¡¯t real. To feign belief in a crystal ball through he could review existence and find it good. Each time the despair found him it was that much harder to light the candle inside him that would drive away the darkness. The wick withered. The wax pooled. The flint fractured. The steel rusted.


    The desire to live ¨C it had to be refreshed. The spark had to come, again and again and again. But what if the spark refused to appear? What if he came back to himself one evening and the light was gone out forever?


    He knew what it meant. The soul became mixed, blue skies with red, until all he saw was tinted with that ever-present purple malevolence.


    He watched the river slithering by, listened to the whispers of water against the stony banks as they accumulated into vast, incoherent roars¡­ and he knew that he was lost.


    Then he span to his feet, boots grinding the roof-tiles, whirling to face his observer ¨C


    There was nothing. No one.


    He was alone, with the wind and the river and the darkness.


    Until the dawn.


    * * *


    ¡°Wow. You¡¯re a maudlin one, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    He barely felt her attention fall upon him before her voice accosted him. The brilliance of the sun kept him from his sleep, but it must¡¯ve dulled his senses.


    Or she¡¯s magic.


    He couldn¡¯t turn his head, or even his eyes. He stared at the river, unblinking. He was prevented from inhaling her fragrance, identifying her by scent.


    Who is it?


    ¡°Do you have any idea how dangerous this is for you? By afternoon the people who spotted you sitting up here in the morning will realise something funny¡¯s going on. You¡¯re lucky the roof¡¯s so high they can¡¯t pick out your features or you¡¯d already be a gonner, you know. The kids down there already started a rumour that a wizard¡¯s left a weird gargoyle up on the roof during the night and if they come take a look and the watch get called, they won¡¯t hesitate to end you. You¡¯re not immortal. It only takes a well-placed stick. But then, I guess you know all this already, don¡¯t you, Dirk Danten?¡±


    Zandrina? One of her agents? The voice coming from just over his shoulder was well-spoken but he had a hard time categorising it as highborn ¨C it was delicate, like that of a young girl, but somehow exotic and unnatural, unaccented.


    ¡°My Mistress would love to meet you. I¡¯ve had my eye on you a while now. Your thirst ¨C how you¡¯ve sublimated your aggressive instincts to such a degree, I can¡¯t quite fathom, I must admit. If she¡¯s going to join with a higher-undead, you¡¯re going to be just perfect.¡±


    The desire to move had never been stronger. He had to get away from here, away from his hidden interrogator. The candle in his mind flooded him with heat but the vampire flesh was as cold and unmoving as stone.


    Join with him? How long would that last, with inkatra supplying the magic? He could only imagine that if she was willing to try it, Zandrina would¡¯ve had underlings test it thoroughly first.


    Then his interrogator came into view, sliding effortlessly in front of his eyes in spite of the hundred-foot drop beneath her ¨C and the strange minuteness of her voice suddenly made so much more sense.


    Not a woman. Not even a girl.


    A fairy.


    She was no taller than his hand was long. She had straw-blonde pigtails and a cunning, knowing expression on her miniature pristine features. Her short dress was the exact same shade of blue as the sky before which she hovered, its skirts billowing gently in time with the slow beating of her diaphanous wings.


    ¡°I know, it¡¯s worrying at first, but I¡¯d never joined with anyone before till her and believe me, it really helps. I know what you need right now. Don¡¯t worry ¨C I won¡¯t bring her to you while you¡¯re like this. You need vision, Dirk. You need perspective. And, most of all, you need help. All heroes do.¡±


    Help?


    Did his eyes transmit the message? He could have forgiven himself for believing it, when she flitted back out of sight, coming to rest her tiny shoes on his shoulder so that she could whisper directly into his ear.


    ¡°You want to catch Zandrina too, right?¡±


    * * *


    The day waxed and waned, and with the dying of the light his strength came back to him. Shuddering to his feet, he felt the astonished gazes of the few who¡¯d continued to stare at the motionless man on the edge of the roof ¨C felt the gazes of those they called to their sides, pointing to him, exclaiming.


    The fairy had been right. He was damned lucky. But with every cursory glance, every protracted stare, the vampire felt the hand of fate at work. Each opportunity for someone to come and investigate his presence ¨C every single look was a chance the authorities would be informed, and they¡¯d attend, complete the suicide he hadn¡¯t the will to carry out for himself ¨C


    Each lost opportunity was a reassurance, a reminder:


    The gods of light work to save us all.


    Perhaps the shadows of the city were too thick for divine eyes to pierce. Perhaps they required an agent ¨C he¡¯d been chosen to be their champion. It wasn¡¯t Yane that guided his actions ¨C it was Yune.


    He set off, moving across the city towards this fateful meeting with his saviour.


    There was just one thing troubling him: why it had to be a female archmage. Hadn¡¯t enough happened to him already? Did the gods have to toy with him in this way? He¡¯d heard of plenty of fiction written by teenage girls that revolved around the notion of ¡®fixing a vampire¡¯, featuring characters who were capable of making the fearsome, intoxicating creature into a besotted lap-dog through the pure power of their unrelenting feminine wiles. There was even some non-fiction in the same vein floating about, some of it written by those same girls of a generation ago, advanced now in age and intellect if not in wisdom. The sorceries to be used for capturing the will of a vampire had re-entered popular culture through the Thorn-Kiss¡¯d Chronicles trilogy almost fifty years ago, and from what he understood the rituals described therein were pretty accurate to the magical texts. If vampires were a more-common sight in Mund, he¡¯d have had enemies equipped with enslavement spells around every corner, no doubt. As it was vampiric studies remained a niche within a niche. He¡¯d not had to worry about suitors robbing him of his ability to refuse, not once in all the months since he died and was reborn.


    This would be different. The person he was going to meet tonight didn¡¯t just have the inherent capability to subdue his will, command his comings and goings ¨C she was going to do it to him. He would enter her presence, and that would be it. All his options would be drained right out of him. Even escape would evaporate from his mind. Retreat was a choice he¡¯d have to make right now, in the before.


    Yet he moved forwards towards his goal. The fairy had tracked him down more than once ¨C of that he was certain. And if he didn¡¯t go willingly, she¡¯d bring the sorceress to him next time. Yes, of course. There would be no pretence of decision, if he let it come to that. There would be only submission. Obedience.


    Thus did Dirk make all his excuses to himself, knowing all the while that it was the subtle insinuation hidden behind the fairy¡¯s words that compelled him on towards this encounter. The notion he could lose himself. The loss of responsibility it implied. Whether it be a sorceress of fierce and fiery aspect or some bloated, boil-ridden wench, a toothless old crone ¨C he could submit himself before such a creature, if it gave him what he craved. Freedom, not to act, but to be absolved. The freedom to act without the burden of paying for the consequences. He had to hope ¨C hope that the fairy was right.


    Just please ¨C please, not some idiot girl with a penchant for dangerous creatures.


    He found the correct alleyway in Undernight not an hour past dusk: a narrow opening between a locksmith¡¯s workshop and a hat-maker¡¯s. A quick perusal from the rooftops told him that this wasn¡¯t one of the refuse-choked alleys housing beggars and rivers of filth ¨C it¡¯d been a while since he¡¯d last frequented Oldtown, and the change of scenery was disorienting. Mund was so vast, it was almost like it contained seven or eight different cities; you could go half an hour in one direction and the people were completely different. The shop-fronts and alleys changed¡­ the scents, the sounds¡­ Even the very mood on the air was transformed; half-way up the street a music-group were jamming with lutes and guitars, the notes of their carefree tunes drifting out of an open window to entertain (or irritate) the neighbours.


    No, there was no scum staining this stony ground ¨C there were no scumbags loitering at the bends in this alley. Just some old crates here and there, half of them stuffed with trash that would be burnt or tossed in the river. He followed the narrow space from above for about thirty seconds and then, when his eyes picked out the stranger awaiting him, he halted.


    A small white mask with red lips and purple trails that arced like eye-shadow above the eye-slits.


    Her gaze found him at the exact same moment his found her, and the pain throbbed through him ¨C it was like being hit by something big, right in the centre of the torso. Not big like a hammer ¨C big like a ship¡¯s anchor, swinging with full force from a great height.


    He groaned, swooning, and would¡¯ve reeled right off the roof if not for the vampiric reflexes pinning the soles of his boots to the tiles. It was all he could do to rip his eyes away from the archmage¡¯s masked face, look down at the cobbles beneath her feet.


    Thankfully the agony swiftly receded, and he had a moment in which to take note of the sorceress¡¯s demeanour. She was sitting atop one of the taller crates, swinging her legs one after the other out of some perverse excitement.


    What was more ¨C she was positively tiny. The size of a four-year-old, tops.


    ¡°Yoohoo!¡± the gnome called, waving a hand. ¡°Down here!¡±


    Dirk, my old mate, he heard Lodus¡¯s voice inside his head, this is one hell of a mistake you¡¯re making.


    He disregarded the paranoid instincts, and drifted carefully to the alley floor. She cooed in appreciation.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your friend?¡± he asked, trying to sound casual, glancing about at the modest amount of detritus. ¡°I can feel her looking at me.¡±


    ¡°Rez? Oh, come out of there, Rez. I don¡¯t know what you think you¡¯re playing at.¡±


    The fairy came floating down from a grate in the side of the building. ¡°I had to check he wasn¡¯t being followed,¡± she said, a trifle defensively.


    ¡°I¡¯m quite capable of that,¡± he said, smiling up at her with his fangs exposed.


    ¡°Not the same way as me.¡± The fairy in the blue dress sounded highborn now, using that smug, peremptory tone as she sailed down across him towards her mistress. ¡°You have a range, limited by physical senses.¡±


    ¡°Well?¡± he asked.


    She frowned. ¡°Well what?¡±


    ¡°Well ¨C was I being followed?¡±


    The fairy made an affronted sound, half tut and half groan; Dirk smiled again, then checked himself as he almost met the sorceress¡¯s eyes once more.


    The archmage gestured and he could tell without looking directly that Rez descended straight into the sleeve trailing off the gnome¡¯s arm. There would¡¯ve been enough space inside a human¡¯s sleeve to hide the fairy, but not in the gnome¡¯s. That wasn¡¯t what was going on here.


    They¡¯d just joined, he was fairly sure.


    He¡¯d heard of it before, of course, but it was another thing entirely to see it happen in front of you, just like that.


    ¡°So you¡¯re Dirk Danten,¡± the gnome said in a somewhat-awed voice. ¡°I¡¯ve heard a lot about you.¡±


    ¡°From Rez?¡±


    He saw her nodding out of the corner of his eye.


    ¡°She¡¯s handy, that one, no denying it.¡± The gnome sounded like she was smiling behind the mask. ¡°You walked right through my shields, just like she said you would ¨C not one bit of resistance. So¡­ Dirk Danten¡­¡±


    He could hardly hide his nervousness ¨C and in the face of this, a gnome! Of all the demeaning situations in which to find himself¡­


    ¡°So¡­ Zandrina?¡±


    ¡°No no no!¡± she snapped. ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re supposed to ask who I am!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Sorry. Who, then? Who are you?¡±


    As though the outburst just moments earlier had never happened, she went on in her silky voice: ¡°I thought you¡¯d never ask, Dirk Danten. I¡­¡± She paused, apparently for dramatic effect. ¡°¡­ I am Necrogirl.¡±


    He had no idea what reaction she expected, other than the powerful intuition that if he were to laugh she¡¯d whittle him right down to the bone.


    ¡°Amazing,¡± he said.


    He could hear the dryness in his own voice, but she seemed not to notice ¨C his response only fuelled her intensity.


    ¡°Oh, thank the gods,¡± she breathed. ¡°I was so nervous, you know, saying it for the first time. I was going to go with Necrognome, for a while, you know ¨C Rez said it¡¯s a cleverer name, but I just like it. Necrogirl. Necrogirl!¡±


    The arch-sorcerer flourished her hand, punctuating her repetitions with little waves as though she stood before an adoring crowd.


    ¡°Anyway. Yes. Zandrina¡­¡± The young gnome seemed to collect herself, at least a little. ¡°You hate her too? You¡­ You¡¯d be willing to submit to me? To get a chance at her?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t hate her,¡± Dirk mumbled. ¡°I hate what she¡¯s doing, I guess. I just¡­ It¡¯s what Rez said.¡±


    ¡°What did she say?¡±


    I came here because I need vision. Perspective.


    ¡°I¡¯m not here because I need help to be a hero,¡± he said. ¡°She got that bit wrong, but I do need help. I need help just to be.¡±


    She removed the mask. Her childlike head was host to eyes that were far older than he¡¯d expected.


    He met those eyes and dissolved.


    ¡°Belong to me.¡±


    ¡°I belong to you, Mistress.¡±


    There was a kind of release that he¡¯d never been able to anticipate, like he¡¯d opened a hole in his chest and just let everything inside flow out. It was a loss, but it was a gain, the reward perfectly commensurate with the sacrifice. Weightlessness came over his thoughts, the eldritch soul suddenly overshadowed, plunged into a warm stasis. Even the words he spoke in response weren¡¯t his ¨C even though it was his mind and tongue that formed them, they belonged only to her. It was by her will that he spoke ¨C


    By her will that he continued to feign life, cling to the shores of this material plane that didn¡¯t want him.


    He smiled, all his worries melting away.


    The fairy had been right.


    * * *


    Being joined ¨C it was the best and worst thing he could¡¯ve ever imagined. The power of the arch-sorceress suffused him, enriching him, loaning him its strength somehow. It was like a warm bath on a cold night ¨C not that it was cold in Mund at the moment. He could, so long as she permitted it, experience her tactile sensations. He knew the weather was balmy; he could feel the sweat trickling down his gnomish mistress¡¯s back as a distant little tingle, almost as though it was his own spine. But it wasn¡¯t. This wasn¡¯t a merging of flesh, but of souls. It was his soul¡¯s coldness that was warmed. He wasn¡¯t really real ¨C the fact that his seemingly-physical body could turn into nothingness at her touch proved it. He didn¡¯t belong in Materium anymore. He was just a shadow of his spirit, cast onto the material plane by a twist of fate. Nethernum was his home now.


    Not that he got to spend much time there. The red river that followed him wherever he went was much more manageable now that he had the reassuring sheath of power about him, and he almost enjoyed floating atop its churning surface, basking in the ochre light of the strange-faced moons. But she needed more than the abilities she could draw from him. She needed his strong arm, and, worse, his advice.


    Being awake inside her was bad enough when she was going off on an internal tangent, but it was all the more surreal when Rez was talking ¨C even worse when the two of them conversed without his involvement. It was hard enough getting used to an eyeline that was three feet off the ground, never mind the inner landscape echoing with two argumentative voices, neither of which belonged to him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust her,¡± the fairy whined. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it is. There¡¯s just ¨C there¡¯s something about her.¡±


    ¡°Ironvine¡¯s too tough a nut for you to crack?¡± Necrogirl¡¯s mental voice had an edge of amusement to it.


    ¡°Something dark happened to her.¡± Rez sounded positively moody. ¡°She isn¡¯t normal.¡±


    ¡°Who is? Don¡¯t you dare say ¨C¡°


    ¡°Even you¡¯re not insane, Necrogirl.¡±


    ¡°Insane?¡±


    ¡°Or something like it. I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not an enchanter, am I?¡±


    Dirk carefully cleared his throat; he wasn¡¯t sure whether the sound came across properly in the psychic space they all shared within the arch-sorcerer¡¯s mind, but he always did it all the same.


    ¡°Ahem¡­ I would say it¡¯s Timesnatcher who seems like the crazy one.¡±


    Necrogirl nodded her head slightly in agreement with his words as she strolled through the night. ¡°Why did he say to stop going after the katra gangs? Doomspeaker looked confused, did you see? She literally tipped her head over to communicate it to the rest of us, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    Rez gave a noncommittal ¡°hmm¡±.


    The archmage continued: ¡°Maybe all that stuff Everseer went on about ¨C Lovebright, and the dragons ¨C maybe it was true! Maybe it ¨C maybe it got to him.¡±


    Necrogirl seemed excited by the prospect of dragons and insane arch-diviners more than she was frightened. Dirk didn¡¯t quite know how to react. He admired his mistress¡¯s resolve, of course, but the wilfulness, the lack of concern with which she would throw herself into peril ¨C it both troubled and enticed him.


    ¡°I always thought he¡¯d seem saner,¡± Rez admitted. ¡°He¡¯s Timesnatcher. I wonder¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Oh, just those rumours about Nightfell. What if she¡¯s the one who¡¯s really behind it? She didn¡¯t show up. Again. And Zandrina¡¯s impossible. I¡¯d have more luck ¨C¡±


    Necrogirl shook her head now. ¡°You¡¯re not going out looking for an arch-diviner, Rez, especially not one like her. I forbid it.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± Rez gave the automatic response in a gloomy voice.


    ¡°Now, if Ironvine says there¡¯s something coming worse than dragons, I¡¯m inclined to believe her. Whether or not you think she¡¯s normal. Whether or not Timesnatcher¡¯s the crazier one.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying Ironvine¡¯s wrong,¡± Rez protested instantly. ¡°I¡¯m saying ¨C¡°


    ¡°You don¡¯t trust her,¡± Mistress interrupted softly.


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    Mistress sighed, drawing on the essence of one of the ghosts held silently within her to float up towards the rooftops. Of all things, Dirk¡¯s essence seemed only to loan her the encapsulating purple stare ¨C a rarity, Rez had said, though how the fairy might¡¯ve known he had no notion. Necrogirl obtained no speed, no strength, no weightlessness from their joining. She¡¯d had to find other eldritches to help her get around the city and for all that she¡¯d implied she didn¡¯t mind, Dirk couldn¡¯t help feeling that he¡¯d somehow disappointed her.


    Now it was Rez¡¯s turn to feel the sting of that shame.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you think, Rez ¨C I¡¯m going to contact Doomspeaker tomorrow. We aren¡¯t giving up on Zandrina.


    ¡°Not until she¡¯s dead, her soul my prisoner.¡±


    There were times when it was easy to forget that Necrogirl was an archmage wielding a vast measure of power over death itself ¨C when he could think she was just a middle-aged gnome-lady dressing up and pretending at being a champion ¨C


    Then she thought things like that, and the intonation of her psychic voice was a dreadful thing to hear, lashing at Dirk¡¯s unprotected consciousness. The reality of Ereta¡¯s life, which he¡¯d gathered together out of a thousand fragments to form a disjointed, demented mirror¡­


    The loss of her two sons ¨C one to the drug, the other to those who peddled it ¨C


    A year spent doing nothing, nothing but holding onto their ghosts, until the fairy came to save Ereta from herself ¨C


    And yes, then he was reminded of her true nature. What she was. What she¡¯d been. What she¡¯d become. But as much as it made him want to shiver, he was her creature. Where she went, he would follow, and if she asked him to drain every last drop of Zandrina¡¯s blood he knew he would do it, knowing only what had been asked of him.


    Not that he expected to enjoy it, of course.


    Of course.


    * * *


    ¡°Dirk! Dirk, I need you!¡±


    Swirling amethyst energies coiled about him even as he floated on the bloody river; he tried to sit up on its crimson-black surface, feeling the alarm of his mistress like it was his own, but the instinctive motion was lost in dimensional transit ¨C she separated from him even as she spoke to him, hurling him out like a living weapon into the faces of her foes, and it was all he could do to find his feet on the broken cobbles beneath him.


    The cacophony of the Bells drenched him, reverberating within his skull. The battle-cries of the bestial demons, the screams of their victims, the hideous laughter of scores of imps ¨C


    Lightning stuttered across the sky in the very moment he was rebirthed, thunder booming instantly upon its heels.


    He didn¡¯t even know where he was, what was happening ¨C but he was fighting.


    The urge to guard his mistress from harm was paramount in his hierarchy of instincts ¨C right by the spot in which he arrived there was a cohort of dog-men, targeting her with a volley of hurled missiles, and he didn¡¯t think or look or listen.


    Fingers gouged clean through demon-meat, splashing the cobbles with not just blood but great lumps of shredded flesh. The dog-faces howled. He kicked one of them in the jaw, mid-howl, shattering it into a rain of brain and tooth; the force of the blow lifted its whole body spinning into the air, pivoting around the empty shell of a skull.


    There was a second in which he could get his bearings before the next urgency overcame him, before the next series of actions crystallised in his intuitive centre.


    They were in Oldtown. On one side of the street there was a row of extremely expensive-looking old stone houses; facing it across the broad roadway was a tourist-trap, a zone of empty mausoleums surrounded by the crumbling remnants of ancient walls. The whole area was overrun. Two, three hundred demons. Less than a dozen defenders. The number of living mortals within sensory range was diminishing rapidly. Heartbeats, heartbeats cutting off ¨C


    More dog-men, not made of meat this time. Jackals that walked on their hind legs, wielding scimitars and axes of the same glistening dark glass that comprised their bodies. He swooshed inside their clumsy swings and used both palms to snap their necks, one by one twisting their scintillating bestial heads off their shoulders.


    Dirk couldn¡¯t see sorcerous forces when he was out like this, separated from his host, and he didn¡¯t like it ¨C he was incapable of telling at a glance whether her defences were strong or about to buckle. How could he be expected to properly protect her when he was blind like this?


    Not that it was her fault, exactly, though it would¡¯ve been nice if she¡¯d planned ahead a little. She hadn¡¯t had chance to bestow him with her mark, he supposed.


    It was only then that he fully realised what he was seeing ¨C what the lines of light staining the horizon represented ¨C


    ¡°Mistress!¡± he cried across the roadway to her. ¡°Mistress, is it day?¡±


    Necrogirl didn¡¯t answer ¨C she was fighting a black-iron minotaur with a burning warhammer clasped in its huge metal fist, darting out of its range as it sprang to and fro after her, rending the cobbles to rubble in its wake. The flashing green spear in her own hand extended again and again, stretching twenty, thirty feet across the space to strike at its horns, snout, eyes.


    A group of magisters were making a last stand around a roadside tree, protecting a small number of women and children within their circle ¨C one of them overheard his question and he sensed as the magister¡¯s attention fell upon him.


    ¡°It is indeed, vampire!¡± the red-robed wizard cried. ¡°Now keep killing!¡±


    The wizard aimed a wand ¨C a gale of frozen wind repulsed a cloud of fist-sized hornets that was descending at the ring of magisters.


    ¡°I don¡¯t work for you,¡± Dirk grumbled as he went back to his task, peeling monsters away from his mistress¡¯s tail so that she could duel the huge demon without interruption.


    How could he be here, if it was day? He should¡¯ve been paralysed, storm or no storm. It did look like a particularly vile storm, he had to admit, looking up at it properly for the first time. The sky wasn¡¯t just grey, overcast ¨C it was near pitch-black, and to ordinary eyes he doubted the clouds themselves were properly visible as they were to him. He could forgive himself for assuming at first that it was night-time, given that he could dropping move.


    A yelp from behind him; Dirk whirled about, scanning for priority targets, and saw as the wizard¡¯s wand was expended. A renewed swarm of giant hornets struck at the magisters¡¯ shielding, halted just above their heads. The vampire spotted the sorcerer of the group frantically gesturing, tossing handfuls of sand sloppily as he incanted a spell.


    A quick glance told him his mistress¡¯s situation hadn¡¯t changed, but there were fewer enemies in the area now. Somehow, they were winning. Nothing nearby called for his attention.


    Feeling a little gloating smile form on his lips, Dirk aimed himself at the magisters and then sped their way.


    It was a simple thing for one with his particular abilities, to leap high and catch the hornets one by one, de-wing them like snatching leaves off branches. With the wet pitter-patter of rotten apples, the infernal insects plummeted. The wizard-magister gave a savage ¡°hah!¡± under his breath and stalked outside the wards to stamp on the critters as they landed, every last one crushed to a red mess beneath the heel of his boot. He even flashed the vampire a vindictive, thankful grin, which Dirk returned.


    The wizard¡¯s grin became a scowl; Dirk remembered his teeth, his place, as an eldritch. The man didn¡¯t want to make friends with the likes of him. The man was human. He was alive. Dirk ¨C Dirk was just a shadow¡­


    ¡°Rez!¡±


    Dirk span back to watch just as the fairy separated from the arch-sorceress. Perplexity ruled him. What he was seeing shouldn¡¯t have been possible ¨C it cried out, an aching chord, from the deepest wellsprings of his existence as an eldritch ¨C


    She leaves Mistress, against Mistress¡¯s will.


    ¡°Leave it!¡± Rez spat, pirouetting lazily in the air as she rose up towards the sky. ¡°I¡¯m sorry ¨C I am, but this isn¡¯t going anywhere. You ¨C you aren¡¯t going anywhere, Ereta. It¡¯s too late. Better that you die now. Goodbye.¡±


    Green fire consumed the fairy, and then she was gone.


    If there were shields surrounding Necrogirl before, they¡¯d been ripped apart. The minotaur lunged at her with its weapon, missing her by mere inches as she skittered back. The fury of its blow seemed to disorient her even as it missed, the blazing head of the hammer whipping her about, making her stagger and stumble on the air.


    She didn¡¯t recover in time. Dirk watched on in horror as the minotaur took another step laid hold of his mistress with its hand.


    It was twice his height and a hundred times his weight ¨C he had no idea what he could do but he had to try. He flitted to the archmage¡¯s side, hurling himself onto the arm of the demon, trying to yank it away from her.


    Iron barbs the length of fingers slid inside him, dozens of them piercing him. All his strength, all his determination ¨C it availed him naught.


    She¡¯ll be okay ¨C she¡¯s a ghost ¨C she¡¯s ¨C


    The first time the black minotaur clutched at her, its tremendous fingers fell cleanly through her edges, her ghostly defences protecting her from its grasp. But it brought the warhammer up, swinging the coruscating head of the weapon through her body before she could put more distance between them, and at its touch she seemed to wilt despite the ghost-essence. Its next attempt proved more successful, drawing her towards it, distorting her, like an ink painting floating on the surface of a still pool suddenly stretched, rippling.


    The cessation of her screaming was somehow worse to hear than the screaming itself ¨C there was a strangled little bleat as it cut off, a high-pitched whine of surrender, and Dirk was freed.


    He felt the pull of the shadowland, requesting his return, as if compelling him to help usher his former mistress into her new existence as a spirit. For just a single instant he felt the blood splash against his back, the pull of the relentless river that wanted to claim him for its own once more. But he had taken enough from Necrogirl that he found he could resist, if he so wished, and he did. In regaining his freedom he¡¯d lost something. He needed to find a new anchor. He couldn¡¯t be adrift in that place again. Not yet. Not like this.


    He shook his head, coming back to himself, focussing on the present, the material reality that struggled to elude him.


    The minotaur still wasn¡¯t prioritising him. Dirk¡¯s former mistress was just a nethernal slop fused to its iron fist, and the demon struggled to flick the blurred body-parts from its spike-coated hand, her remnants clinging to it like a puddle of glue. Dirk was flung off merely as a side-effect.


    For all that the vampire still respected her, still felt gratitude for her and everything she¡¯d done to help centre him¡­ he instantly recognised his former passion as a trait of the enslaved eldritch he¡¯d become in her service. He respected her, but he didn¡¯t adore her.


    He abandoned her and her cause without much dismay, stumbling away from the minotaur before it could recognise him as a foe worth dealing with. He¡¯d suffered wounds from the creature¡¯s spikes as he¡¯d tried to wrestle with it, but thankfully they weren¡¯t corrosive, the injuries narrow and swiftly-healing. He let his instincts take control, propelling him onto one of the roofs overlooking the street. Dirk cast a single backwards glance at the magisters whose exclamations of panic were only now beginning to rise, recognising that the nascent champion was defeated, dead ¨C the archmage¡¯s opponent now free to hurl itself against their wards.


    He closed his eyes, fingering his wounds absent-mindedly. He was regenerating just fine, and he was about to depart ¨C he was going to depart ¨C it was day, he was able to walk around in the day, and he didn¡¯t care if there was an Incursion, he didn¡¯t care if it was some kind of eternal, oppressive darkness that was going to swallow the world ¨C


    The lightning roared. The wind screamed like a cat. The footfalls of the hulking demon shook the ground, vibrations he could feel even up here.


    Despite himself he cast the petrified magisters a second glance, then a third.


    And, with a sigh, dropped back to the street.


    He could at least save some of the civilians they were protecting before the force-fields fell.


    * * *


    It was six hours later that he spotted one of his kind, slinking over the rubble with blood down his chin. The stranger was similar in appearance to Dirk ¨C the same pallor of skin and hair, same glowing eyes, same Mundic features ¨C but he was taller and broad-shouldered. He was clad in sandals, loose beige trousers, and a long-sleeved bluescale tunic that was belted with a coil of rope about the waist. A few day¡¯s growth of facial hair had been immortalised on his cheeks and neck, flecked the same silver shade as his head-hair, transforming a scruffy bit of beard into a scintillating fashion choice.


    The bond of kinship Dirk felt evaporated as quickly as it had won him over.


    Another of my brothers from Kirian¡¯s brood.


    Another killer.


    It vanished around a corner a hundred feet away, and he immediately set off to track it, cutting across the streets without once setting foot on the roadways. But when he reached the corner and leaned out to gaze down its chosen path, it was already gone.


    He was familiar with this area; his eyes instantly took in the possible exit routes it might¡¯ve chosen. There was a stone subway to the right, which might not yet have been flooded to the ceiling ¨C not that running water, or indeed immersion in the stuff, was any obstacle to a creature like him, whatever the legends said. Unless ¨C had it entered one of the houses on the street? Yet, the strength of the blood aroma suggested it hadn¡¯t gone far ¨C it was lingering nearby.


    Waiting for him, but not watching.


    Of course, it knew I saw it¡­ Took evasive action ¨C


    Instinct yet again overrode thought, and he hurled himself back as it came out from under the lip of the roof right beneath him, flipping and clawing at him.


    He¡¯d always thought himself more agile than his brethren, the long years of martial discipline endowing him with the prowess that¡¯d let him defeat his own creator. If he could see it coming, he could dodge it. And if he could dodge its attacks without fail, he could overcome even a far-stronger opponent. Sure, spiky iron-demons were out of his league, but he¡¯d been able to dispatch many lesser infernal foes without hassle. This ¨C this was just another vampire. He could see its splayed fingers moving towards his face, and he was already falling back, a tumbling that would become rolling, bringing him back to his feet¡­


    Why then did the fall seem to arrest mid-motion ¨C why then did the claws descend with such awful alacrity?


    The hand of his enemy only managed to strike him the once as Dirk flung himself away and down, but once was enough to ruin his face.


    And it didn¡¯t stop.


    It was hard to tell the thing attacking him had ever been human ¨C it seemed more like a rabid dog, a beast out of nightmare. It gripped him at the bicep and rent his arms apart, keeping him from defending himself as it buried its face in his collarbone and snapped away at him, seemingly heedless of the undead nature of the blood filling its maw. Incalculable pressures tugged at his shoulders but it was his ribcage that felt like it was tearing in two, the vampiric physiology transferring the pressures to unusual weak-points.


    It was a vampire-lord. Of all the things that could¡¯ve ended up killing him ¨C it was going to be a vampire-lord.


    Just as the scarlet waters rose about him to pull his shredded spirit back, something struck his enemy, hurling it off him and away. Groaning, Dirk half-raised his head, searching for his rescuer.


    She wasn¡¯t hard to pick out ¨C a pale entity in an equally-pale night-dress. She looked to be barely an adult, thin-faced and glowering as her amethyst eyes were trained on the beast. She was completely motionless, no heaving of her breast from the exertion of the strike she¡¯d delivered. She too was most-certainly undead.


    But she wasn¡¯t a vampire. Dirk could tell, when the vampire-lord sprang back at her. She didn¡¯t even have a chance to react as it hurtled back towards her, skittering across the wet tiles, slathering.


    Dirk did.


    He was slower than the thing, but that didn¡¯t mean he couldn¡¯t poke a hole in it with the narrow wooden stake he always carried in his boot.


    The blow was late and went wide, but only by two inches. Instead of piercing the beast¡¯s heart he struck its pectoral muscle and, thanks to its hideous speed, what should¡¯ve been a minor injury became a mortal gouge, half the front of its chest coming loose on the wooden spike. Flesh flapped and ripped free.


    The vampire-lord snarled in pain, but there was nothing holding it back, nothing that was going to reduce its momentum. It collided with the undead waif and the two of them went rolling, its jaws snapping at her face even as they fell from the rooftop, globs of her essence spraying all around.


    Weakened beyond belief, Dirk dragged himself to the edge of the roof, still holding the stake for all the good it might¡¯ve done him, pressing the heel of his hand to his face to keep the thing in place. Swaying slightly in the violent wind despite all his powers, he peered over the lip of the tiles.


    He looked down into the ruins of a lightning-struck shop, the upper floor almost laid bare. Its own roof lay in pieces across the street below and many shattered tiles were strewn about the interior; through the wide hole Dirk could see shelves, a textile storage area in complete disarray, rolled-up bolts of cloth blasted by rain and storm and fire.


    There, atop a pile of debris, he saw her. His rescuer, splayed out. Dying her second death. The beast was straddling her, laughing as it guzzled at her breast.


    He¡¯d failed his mistress. He¡¯d failed every last one of Zandrina¡¯s victims. His rejection of evil had proven nothing. There was no accomplishment. Only ashes.


    Dirk gripped the stake tight, took aim, and fell after them.


    Just one more kill under my belt. Then I¡¯ll go with his spirit. Take it with me back to the river.


    To rest in the river forever.

 Four

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.7: FOUR</h2>


    ¡°The energies contained within the champion are not so easily measured. Shall you speak of the wondrous archmagery, the immensity of their power? Then you miss their true energies. You see afar the lightning, and think you understand the importance of the storm. Mere epiphenomena. You do not know the strength, unless you have witnessed it for yourself.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Testimony of Prince Deathwyrm¡¯


    I was lucky I¡¯d ran away, moved away, before this had happened. Seeing the annihilation of my entire world ¨C once upon a time it would¡¯ve broken me completely, body and soul.


    Now it sharpened me. I¡¯d lost it, given it up, and I understood:


    I destroyed Mud Lane.


    If I¡¯d been more careful with Nighteye ¨C if me and Killstop had towed the Magisterium line, if we had capitulated, told the truth to Timesnatcher and Emrelet ¨C if I hadn¡¯t been drunk on a vampire¡¯s powers, if I hadn¡¯t lost sight of my goals ¨C if I stood my ground, if I refused to leave ¨C


    If I had only been here when this ¨C when this senseless destruction had happened ¨C


    There were too many hypotheticals. What was done, was done, and there was now only the wreckage of a hollowed-out, empty existence.


    And I found I could give it up. I¡¯d already lost it once, when I abandoned this place, these people. Had I really been so naive as to think I could just return, have everything as it was? That was a dragon¡¯s thinking. The final obliteration of my home, my past, every root of my life eaten away, life drained into the earth leaving only a warren of dead sticks¡­


    Yet I couldn¡¯t think about it, the death: about them ¨C


    Orstrum, you poor old man ¨C


    Xan, Xas, you ¨C you ¨C no ¨C


    No.


    No. I couldn¡¯t grieve, couldn¡¯t afford to. Firstly, they might not have even been dead. I might¡¯ve been overthinking it ¨C I couldn¡¯t sense corpses inside the gigantic mound of sticks that was Mud Lane¡¯s grave-marker. This itself implied they¡¯d all been able to evacuate¡­ Unless something worse had been done with them¡­


    Secondly, if the demons had been able to pull this off ¨C I really was late, far later than I thought I was. For a moment I almost considered removing the dracolich¡¯s crown from my head ¨C at least that way the city¡¯s defenders would be able to sense me, use me. What good was my freedom, if it came at such a steep price I¡¯d be the only living Mundian left to pay it?


    But I¡¯d sacrificed myself once before. No. If their policies meant they were untrustworthy, that would have to be on their heads, wouldn¡¯t it? I couldn¡¯t be blamed for protecting myself, especially when I knew they had every reason to come after me, disable me by the most-efficient means possible: divination, enchantment¡­ I was probably the keenest weapon they had to wield against the demons, and if I gave them the chance they¡¯d scabbard me, even melt me back down to a pool of shining slag.


    If anything, Mund probably depended on my freedom. For all I knew, the servants of Mekesta through whose gates these armies of hell poured were well-aware of my coming, crown or no. The crushing of Mud Lane might have been a deliberate distraction designed purely for me.


    With an involuntary outburst of noise that sounded to my ears like a groan or maybe a sigh, I angled my carrion-bird wings and spun myself about, reorienting.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    Hightown? Rivertown? Treetown? Which direction was best? Where would they most be in need of my skill-set?


    Treetown and Hightown were decadent. All of the Realm¡¯s loveliest terraces and gardens, concentrated into pockets, easily-destructible¡­ The demons would have their way with them, causing property damage that quickly escalated into the millions of silver¡­ But those would be the places to which the Magisterium would devote the majority of their resources. It had always been that way. And as for actual people? The population was sparsely distributed, even the housing districts and dormitory-towers, when compared with the densities here in Sticktown, in the Lowtowns, in Rivertown¡­


    South. I¡¯d go back southwards, and bring the storm of wrath with me as I went. Things had looked worse around Branbecks Bridge than they were up here.


    The moment I¡¯d made my mind up, Blandface¡¯s gungrelafor appeared beside me in a sudden cascade of scarlet flame. Jikzamiz, one of the many I¡¯d never gotten around to naming.


    ¡°Master!¡± she croaked. ¡°Master, we have found champions! The Blandface spoke with the man of the magisters. The Mountainslide, the Spiritwhisper, the Nightfell, and one they call the Ironvine, with many burning holy ¨C¡°


    ¡°Where?¡± I roared, grabbing her with unnecessary roughness.


    She didn¡¯t seem to mind much, letting me shake her by the shoulder and never taking her devoted, beady little gaze off my masked face.


    ¡°The Oldtown!¡± Her free arm gestured almost due east. ¡°The arena of sands, in which more blood now flows than ever before!¡±


    Firenight Square.


    It was fitting. The site of my first proper public battle, now the site of my reappearance.


    I loosened my grip on my poor, silently-suffering imp, and used the hand to reach out across Materium, dismissing my other teams of questing imps.


    This one would be perfect.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    * * *


    I¡¯d never seen anything like this storm before. The clouds themselves ¨C or cloud, it could¡¯ve been called ¨C it was a malevolent thing, clearly unnatural and hostile in origin. It almost appeared alive, hanging over the city in the way that it did, its many layers folding and unfolding, lightning spearing out and down to blast at buildings from time to time. For all that Mund was the largest settlement in the entire world, this meant nothing to the divine powers on the edge of whose mercy mankind and all mortals eked out their precious lives. The presence overhead ¨C it was a visitation, a reminder of how small we truly were, a mountain of darkness, descending like a boot to snuff out our pitiful existence, grind us to paste. On the far horizon every way I looked I could see the golden line, the ring about the world that told me the sun still hung in the sky, yet this only meant that the shroud of darkness cast over Mund felt all the more alien, this noontide night-time.


    I was pretty high overhead by the time I reached the Blackrush, so I dipped down as I crossed it, the river¡¯s surface glistening like the scales of a vast serpent in the dismal half-light. It was only then, hearing the ceaseless song of the river, that I truly felt it: even though my house had been reduced to splinters, my past eradicated, this was still my home. This was still my place. Walls could be built up and torn down, whole apartment-blocks conjured into and out of existence, but the river was unchanging. There could be no other belonging. Here in Mund I would stand, fight, die.


    Ismethyl, come! Heed my appeal! Give me the grips of your swords!


    There was no answer, but I felt the clamour of the ritual words filling my soul with vigour, anxious, excited shivers rippling up my arms, down my spine.


    It¡¯s time.


    Rain crashed through my nethernal flesh, violent winds clutching at me with invisible hands in futile attempts to thrust me aside, divert my course. I cut through them, as I cut through all else on this plane. I would not be diverted, not now.


    Oldtown was a wreck. There were whole areas where the ancient avenues ran red, the winding streets reduced to rubble. I passed at least three sites of Incursion and there were defenders working to stem the tide at only one of them.


    I knew in my heart of hearts it wasn¡¯t enough ¨C we weren¡¯t going to be enough. This would be the end of all things.


    And that they would pay for what they¡¯d done, before I passed from the plane.


    Firenight Square came into view. The majority of the area seemed clear, any square-goers long-since vacated or slaughtered, but I didn¡¯t spare more than a glance on the farther-flung regions of the district: the arena itself was in the quarter nearest me as I approached, and there was plenty going on here to feast my eyes on. I wasn¡¯t at such an elevation that I could see into the centre of the arena, but I caught the cascades of fire and lightning emanating from within that reached up to immolate flying fiends ¨C I could guess that Mountainslide and the others were probably already inside. But even from this height I could instantly see what my gungrelafor had been getting at.


    Many ¡®burning holy¡¯ ones, yes ¨C they easily outnumbered the Magisterium task-force that was present. I¡¯d never before heard of an army of the Sisters of Wythyldwyn like this ¨C two hundred or more of them, arranged in squads and units, fighting on the borders of the chaos. Each one of them glowed with a bright white-gold radiance, the light focussed especially about the heads of their maces, their shining shields, recalling the daylight that had been robbed from us. Never mind their numbers, I¡¯d never seen them so individually effective, hammer-blows reducing demon after demon to dust. Their healing auras were no less impressive, stacked one atop the other, such that those who suffered wounds were already receiving treatment before they even fell back from the front lines.


    This was way beyond the discipline I¡¯d seen them display in the past.


    I bet this is Kani¡¯s doing.


    Fiends were pouring out of the arena, dozens of different types, and the followers of Wythyldwyn were fighting all of them, even the ones too powerful for them to handle.


    I saw a captain of the Sisters standing toe-to-toe with a vamelbabil, preventing the fifteen-foot demoness from descending on her underlings, but the sapphire blade whose like Dustbringer had once wielded slammed down, shattering the captain¡¯s armour and ribcage at a single blow. I saw a bintaborax enclose a girl¡¯s helmeted head in its giant spiky fingers, ignoring the blows of her glittering warhammer against its armoured elbow as it closed its fist, easily warping its victim¡¯s headgear and bursting her skull. I saw a gaumgalamar come spindling down the side of the arena only to leap off and sail the winds into the midst of an already-beleaguered circle of Sisters, its many thorny stalks catching them in openings in their mail-coats, snagging them and pulling them out of formation, allowing its fellows at the edges of the group of clerics to close in, press them, butcher them¡­


    I had no time to find the leaders of the defence. My priorities were already decided. They could find me, if they wanted. Till then I¡¯d keep myself busy.


    I wrapped the gaumgalamar in my willpower and a whole host of its eye-clusters were drawn to meet my gaze, then lowered in submission instantly ¨C before the Sisters were even able to properly react to its presence I had detached its bristles from their equipment, bringing it wheeling over them and throwing it at their other assailants.


    There was nothing to be done for the girl whose head had been exploded, nothing but to repay the favour, earn vengeance for her dearly departed soul: I wrapped my five tendrils about the bintaborax¡¯s head, and squeezed, tightening my grip until the black hell-iron screeched and popped, grey sludge pouring from its bovine orifices.


    A single swing of the vamelbabil¡¯s pulsing sapphire sword drove back a dozen clerics, breaking their ranks and shearing in two the ones who didn¡¯t evade the mighty blow; I trapped the huge woman¡¯s thick wrist at the back-swing and her purple face turned to me, shock in her eyes ¨C the clerics wasted not a second, recovering quickly and plunging forwards to strike her down with joyous cries, cracking the fiend¡¯s knees and sending her toppling to the ground while the weapon-hand remained pinned in my force-lines.


    Three or four hammers landed in the back of the demoness¡¯s melon-like head, shattering the huge infernal skull. I released the now-unresisting wrist, letting the hand and sapphire blade fall, and moved on my way, stampeding at low elevation through a flock of feasting folkababil and rending them wing from breast.


    Then I was passing through the stone walls, penetrating this place which had become a hell on earth, sliding up through the arena steps and entering the ring of seats, the circle of sand.


    Too many. Too many. I came up through the slabs into the midst of what had to be ten thousand fiends. Magic and mayhem was everywhere.


    Four nabburatiim, a quartet of summoners right in front of me, blocking my field of view.


    Four tall stick-men, falling into twig-like pieces as, with a flick of my non-existent wrist, I brought my whips through the stone and into the air about me.


    Four less to worry about. Just nine-thousand nine-hundred and ninety-six left to deal with.


    A few things with heightened senses started to notice me, turning their attentions on me with what seemed to me like lethargy ¨C the fact I wasn¡¯t using shields seemed to baffle them, tricking their senses, using their expectations against them. These close-by demons I dissected without much thought, simply swiping in lazy circles with my whips while I focussed on my true work. Before the full complement of fiends about me came to recognise my presence, I already had my portals opening, disgorging my own armies.


    ¡°I summon you here once more, in the face of the storm where we all lay low together!¡± I screamed in Netheric. ¡°Touch no mortal, but suffer not a single denizen of the Twelve Hells to live!¡±


    My trophies from Northril sprang forth, elf-wights of considerable physical prowess, and the so-called ascended ancients went streaming before them, the sifted-out souls of their former selves now brimming with nethernal potential. The dark elf wights were easily a match for the low-ranked hellspawn, and the ascended ancients piled in amorphous masses onto the larger demons, suffering no injuries but drawing out the hidden energies of their victims all the same, tapping the fiends of their strengths and converting them into fuel. I could see it happening with my sorcerer¡¯s-eye, cords of crimson light snapping away from the hulking behemoths of hell, the ribbons of planar matter purpling on the air as they sank and settled onto the forms of the eerie elven ghosts. Even a thinfinaran fell under their weight, its white gauntlets incapable of clutching its attackers as they bore it under, draining it dry.


    The crowds of fiendish forms thinned slightly about me ¨C the hordes of the Twelve Hells were in constant motion, charging over the edges of the walls or down to the floor, and the small circle in their hosts extended by me and my army finally allowed me to peer down the steps, out across the open area.


    The champions were in the centre of the arena, not so far-off that I couldn¡¯t pick out details. Although no arch-sorcerer had been listed by my messenger, perhaps the magister Blandface consulted had missed someone; I saw the fierce gleaming of a shield there, a small but firm circle-shape, defended from waves of attackers by a short, female arch-diviner clad in black.


    Tanra?


    She was scissoring back and forth erratically, clockwise and anticlockwise, meeting every attempted intrusion on the wards with an explosive reaction. Her blades emitted trails of light that looked magenta to my sorcerous sight, painting the azure sphere with pinkish lines as she moved to and fro.


    Inside the gleaming boundary, the others were hard at work protecting a group of terrified people. Presumably they were just innocent arena-goers trapped in the centre of this infernal visitation. Mountainslide and Ironvine were using their wizardries to help Tanra, picking up the slack where thicker wedges of demons came surging at the borders. The dwarf was the source of the fire, ice, lightning; his power looked to have doubled since I last saw him, and he was acting and reacting like he was under the effects of a time-sphere. However, the wizard Ironvine, whoever she was, seemed to have adopted a truly unusual combat technique. The female wizard was garbed in featureless folds of grey material, drapes of linked chains covering her face; she was tall, heavy, long-limbed, stalking about like a gladiator born to the sands. A dozen concentric rings of crude, silvery metal floated lazily around her, spinning at differing heights, spiralling through each other as she called upon them. Sections of the metal sharpened themselves at her unspoken command, twisting into barbs along the extruding lengths, or forming razor-loops like nooses, then plunging out with finesse to snag and snare those foes whose weaponry came closest to impacting the shield. It was a process of continual, deliberate precision; from what little I understood of wizardry, working with metal was the most difficult of its disciplines, and yet Ironvine seemed to have refined the mental controls to the point where she was capable of the most delicate actions.


    A fact of which I was certain the dozens of powerless Mundians huddled just behind the whipping rings of metal were very appreciative.


    She couldn¡¯t have been that new, if the twins had been right with their guess. Saff and Tarr came into their archmageries months and months ago ¨C Ironvine had likely been someone who¡¯d hidden her power for a long time, perhaps carrying on with her day-job for years before deciding to take on the champion¡¯s mantle. Or maybe she¡¯d been a heretic? The way she used her archmagery did look particularly brutal, and she seemed to have no experience with the other aspects of her power. I¡¯d have to keep a close eye on her. She didn¡¯t augment her silvery wires with elemental effects in spite of her targets¡¯ various vulnerabilities, didn¡¯t electrify or freeze or heat the metal as she wielded it; both her feet were on the ground, no hint of levitation about her. It made for a strange juxtaposition with the dwarf, whose fierceness in battle had him standing atop four feet of empty air, twisting like a tornado in place as he met fire with ice and ice with fire.


    Spiritwhisper was clad in a glamour which Blofm¡¯s vision only partially pierced, confusing my eye as to what exactly he was wearing; I was certain that ninety-nine percent of the observers were seeing his champion¡¯s raiment. Despite his power-level I could still spot the occasional flicker of his true features, the strong jawline contending for an instant with the bluish flames of his wrought-metal mask, the cuff of a thin jacket appearing momentarily where the broad sweeping sleeve of his turquoise robe was supposed to hang. He was probably distracted ¨C when I caught a glimpse of it I noticed that his face was red, flushed with exertion, and there was a whole crowd of citizens huddled down inside the sorcerous fortifications. He would¡¯ve been keeping them calm, relaying linked messages with the other defenders of Mund¡­


    I was still a bit angry with him, I realised. I could mostly understand, at least. Him, I could mostly understand. There was a part of me, seeing him there in the midst of the battle, that longed to hear his voice once more inside my head¡­ To feel the companionship, to joke and jest, to know I had competent friends at my back, people in whom I could place all my trust¡­


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Never again. Not with him.


    He¡¯d thought I¡¯d taken Tanra from him, not romantically but spiritually, and in his head he probably still blamed me for the fact she was no longer Killstop. She was Nightfell now. A harbinger of doom, ¡®faithless and alone¡¯, according to rumour.


    Then I spotted the yithandreng, Feast not quite at full-size, Ciraya at her side rather than on her back; the pair of them had been in the midst of the huddled-down citizens, and it was only now that the sorceress was moving out to inspect or repair her handiwork, black sleeves flapping as she scattered reagents, that I recognised her.


    Doing my job for me. Protecting the people. Filling the role Feychilde had filled the last time I¡¯d been here fighting ¨C that first time, Fintwyna and her abhorrent spider-creations¡­ Things were different now. If I thought Ironvine deserved a watchful eye on account of her fighting in an unusual style, how much scepticism should¡¯ve been afforded the sorcerer who chose to enter a life-or-death situation without an active shield? The barriers created by Ciraya in my absence would crumble in seconds were they not protected by the archmages, but it was my task to be¡­ to be Winterprince in this equation.


    I understood my power better than ever before. I beat my wings and swooped down from the steps, speeding to aid Mund¡¯s finest.


    The creatures who attempted to intercept me found me a permeable membrane, all save the glittering tendrils reducing them to twists of smoke, parcels of flesh, flurries of sparks. It wasn¡¯t difficult to surge through them, taking only the strongest to fill out my ranks. And as I moved at an oblique angle, spiralling ever inward towards Ciraya¡¯s shields, I stretched out with my other hand ¨C my real hand ¨C to build upon the wards.


    Line by painstaking line, it came into being. Having a sorcerous pattern already there helped immeasurably. There was no way to effect a complex pattern at this distance, but I constructed a pentagonal barrier all the same, then flew over the heads of the civilians and champions, tugging the glowing defences up into place like one might lift the peak of a tent.


    Lines snapped into place. My pentagon rotated freely, ready to fend off attack, and I drew on the threads, lengthening them even as I plastered over the weak points with azure nets.


    The pentagon grew. The hordes charging at the points of Tanra¡¯s blades had been thinning, but now the last demons were thrust back, hurled bodily away from their prey by my wards. At last, I¡¯d swept the area about them free of enemies. My undead elves had won the day, and I could tell without looking how few of them had been destroyed in the assault; those rare demons with weaponry which could injure my elite soldiers had either been added to my collection, or had been targeted and brought down with sheer numbers.


    I didn¡¯t quite know where to look. I could only float there and stare after my host of minions for so many seconds before the stunned silence would be broken.


    The contradiction of the moment gripped me. I knew what I had to do. There were no more immediate threats in the vicinity. I¡¯d been pleased to see everyone was safe, that I¡¯d succeeded in casting back the legions of the Twelve Hells¡­ but I wished there were more demons nearby so that I had an excuse to fall back on. A reason not to do what I knew I must. If the threat had intensified, I could¡¯ve left again¡­


    I couldn¡¯t. I had to face it.


    Face them.


    I maintained my elevation but I wheeled in place, looking down at my former friends and colleagues, and the innocent men and women and children whose gazes were glued to me.


    I glanced across at Mountainslide, the only one floating like me, and nodded to him.


    It was impossible to read his true reaction behind the mask, of course, but the stocky dwarf acknowledged me, an almost-imperceptible dipping of his bearded chin that couldn¡¯t even be called a nod.


    At least it was something¡­ a recognition, that wasn¡¯t accompanied with a lightning-bolt.


    This could still go my way.


    Ironvine didn¡¯t spare me a glance; I hadn¡¯t noticed her in flight, but when I look after her she¡¯d moved fifty feet, engaging the foes pressing in at my pentagon. I was grateful and annoyed at the same time. Here was someone who took the situation seriously, so I didn¡¯t have to ¨C so that I couldn¡¯t. Either way, she was relieving just a little of the burden on my shoulders.


    I moved my eyes across to this ¡®Nightfell¡¯, the depressed diviner who had, in spite of her personal circumstances, saved my brother from an early death on some thug¡¯s knife. I¡¯d expected Tanra to have words for such an occasion as my return to the city, but nothing. Just a silent black mask.


    I could tell just from the way she was standing that she¡¯d changed. It wasn¡¯t anything to do with her change of clothing ¨C it was something about her poise¡­ the way she held her daggers¡­ It was impossible to pinpoint and yet there was just a casualness to her which was screaming at me that something, everything, was wrong.


    She¡¯s a killer now, Kas. Like you.


    Like me.


    Then I understood her silence, and it tickled me; I almost laughed, and the grin must¡¯ve touched my lips because the crowd suddenly leapt to their feet, roaring and rejoicing.


    The clamour was incredible, especially when they realised they were safer than they¡¯d been for a long time, free to move at last ¨C at least twenty people ran over towards me and raised their open hands towards the ragged edges of my robe, rain falling clean through me into their uplifted faces.


    They didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± ¡°Oh, Feychilde!¡± ¡°Liberator!¡± ¡°Liberator!¡±


    I didn¡¯t take my eyes off my old arch-diviner friend, and I gave in to the laughter, even as I augmented my voice to chortle over the crowd¡¯s cries.


    ¡°Oh ¨C hahahaha¡­ Oh I get it. You can¡¯t read me, can you? For the first time since the first night we met y-you don¡¯t know what to say. You don¡¯t ¨C hahahaha ¨C you don¡¯t kn-kn-know¡­ what¡­¡±


    ¡°Really, Kas.¡±


    It was her. Her voice. Her everything. I¡¯d touched a nerve.


    ¡°Really,¡± I boomed, laughing some more. ¡°Oh, it is good to be back. I did miss you, you know.¡± I turned my gaze away with a trace of regret. ¡°For those who don¡¯t know me¡­¡± I focussed on the ones who hadn¡¯t come to gather beneath my feet, and I waved, beaming down at them. ¡°Hi, everyone¡­ I¡¯m Feychilde. Pleased to m-make your acquaintance ¨C¡°


    ¡°That will do,¡± Tanra said icily, ¡°or you¡¯ll be doing without me.¡±


    Her retort struck me a deeper blow than any I¡¯d sustained since arriving home. I floated over to her, sinking down and solidifying.


    ¡°That¡¯s not on the cards,¡± I said in a voice that came out low, almost choked.


    I was aware that I was being closely examined, not just by the civilians, but by my peers, archmages that were variables both known and unknown. I noted the way Bor¡¯s fists were clenched at his sides, the way the crowd seemed to hum as I came into their midst.


    I was aware, and I didn¡¯t care. I would speak from the heart, and they could all listen if they really wanted to. What difference would it make in the end?


    ¡°You¡­ you did it,¡± I went on. ¡°You kept them safe. Whatever happened to you, to both of us¡­ I owe you for that.¡±


    ¡°It looks like you paid already,¡± she said softly, an uncharacteristic quaver to her voice. ¡°Wh-what happened to you?¡±


    ¡°Dragon.¡± I shrugged, which only served to focus everyone¡¯s attention on my absent arm, as if they expected it to grow back suddenly when I needed to gesture. ¡°But I mean ¨C I get it. It¡¯s okay. I won¡¯t judge you. I¡¯ve done the same. I¡¯m¡­ We¡¯re the same.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have words for it and, for once, neither did she.


    I put my arm out, solidifying, and she didn¡¯t hesitate.


    She reached out to hug me, a hushed sigh of relief escaping her hidden lips.


    I couldn¡¯t even remember the last time someone had hugged me, properly hugged me. Everything with my brother and sister had been so fraught with drama since Zyger that I hadn¡¯t known the simple bliss of a friendly embrace for so long.


    I clung to her the way she clung to me.


    But there was no moment of relief for me, no way back from this battle-mood. I couldn¡¯t even hug properly. The sorcerous limb was restless.


    I released her, stepping back and turning to Bor. Close-up, the power of my goblin gave me a good look at his flustered face, his wet eyes.


    ¡°So,¡± I said. ¡°If you stole my girlfriend from me like you promised, well done. You got her killed.¡±


    ¡°I just lost three members of my family,¡± he said hoarsely, shuddering suddenly as he repressed what had to be a more-violent spasm, ¡°and I¡¯m just about done tryin¡¯ to stop these people from goin¡¯ mad so if you don¡¯t ¨C mind ¨C¡°


    He was getting angry, and that did it.


    ¡°What if I do mind?¡± I shouted. ¡°Hypocrite! Their lives ¨C your life ¨C worth something, are they? What about my life? What about my brother and sister? If not for¡­ Nightfell! If not for Nightfell, they would be dead, and you! It would be your fault, Spiritwhisper.¡±


    ¡°My fault? For huntin¡¯ a damn heretic? Don¡¯t you dare, Feychilde. Don¡¯t dare!¡± The ragged rawness of his voice made me cool down suddenly. For all the power differential between us now, he wasn¡¯t afraid of me. ¡°You know how it looked! You ain¡¯t thick, you have to know! And now what ¨C you blame me for Stormsword too? If you think she needed protectin¡¯, if you think I could¡¯ve stopped her goin¡¯ where she wanted, doin¡¯ what ¨C¡°


    ¡°You could¡¯ve trusted me.¡± The words were the opposite of hot ¨C all the ice of Northril was in my voice. ¡°Why do you think she wouldn¡¯t need protection, help? We all need it, every one of us! Have you learned nothing? I never once asked for apocalypse. You were my friend, the same as Nighteye! He trusted me. Why didn¡¯t you? You could¡¯ve, should¡¯ve, would¡¯ve¡­ If not for him.¡± I couldn¡¯t hide my contempt when I thought of the real instigator of this waking nightmare I¡¯d lived for months. ¡°Tell me, where is Timesnatcher?¡±


    Spirit said nothing, bleakly lowering his head, his hands shaking at his sides.


    ¡°He already found Neverwish,¡± Tanra offered in a wry tone. ¡°Used him to backtrack Duskdown. I think he¡¯s moving on your pal.¡±


    ¡°During¡­ an Incursion?¡± I breathed.


    ¡°Blind a blind man and he sees again,¡± she replied cryptically.


    ¡°And what about you!¡± Bor roared, flinging an arm up to gesture vaguely at Tanra. ¡°You, yeah, you!¡± he continued to shout as she turned to regard him from the mask¡¯s hidden eye-slits. ¡°You left us there to rot, didn¡¯t you? What was it, shame? Is that why you came back? Dragging your heels, after Ironvine saved me? Do you know how many died? How many ¨C¡°


    ¡°As a direct result of our inaction, fifty-four,¡± Nightfell spat. ¡°Does it matter, when we stopped almost two hundred deaths elsewhere while I was gone? Grow up, Spirit. Take it on the chin. Death is our business. It always has been.¡±


    I could hear a tightness, a defensiveness in her voice, and I wondered at the ways in which my intrusion into her projected path might be irritating for her, warping all her visions. She couldn¡¯t work her magic on this conversation with Bor while there remained a chance I¡¯d interject.


    ¡°Two¡­ hundred¡­¡± the enchanter said glumly, lost for words.


    ¡°Yes, a hundred and eighty-six¡­ seven¡­ Who¡¯s counting? Anyway, how did she save you?¡± Tanra gestured with a blade over her shoulder at the wizard on the edges of my shield, striding around with her razor lattices swinging. ¡°That thing¡­ It should¡¯ve killed her, easy.¡±


    ¡°The dweonatar,¡± Bor murmured. ¡°Yeah¡­ I don¡¯t know, really. She covered me in metal, I think, completely, just when I thought as I was gonna die ¨C by the time she let me out, it was retreatin¡¯. It wasn¡¯t like it looked scared, though. More ¨C yeah, a retreat.¡±


    ¡°That hardly bodes well,¡± the seeress observed, glancing around uneasily.


    ¡°Hey. You.¡±


    I swung my head, looking for the speaker. I recognised that drawl.


    My eyes found Ciraya, her arms folded, long sleeves trailing almost to the blood-smeared sand. Her hood was flung back from her pale, hairless head, exposing the tattoos, the inked lips.


    ¡°Hey right back at yer.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re just forcing them to leave the arena, doing this,¡± she said, waving around.


    I floated up, tapping the wraith once more. She was right. The majority of the fiends were now choosing to pour out over the walls rather than face my shields.


    ¡°The defenders outside are going to be pressed,¡± the sorceress went on laconically. ¡°I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s what you were intending, Feychilde, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Everyone, back!¡± I barked. ¡°Ironvine!¡±


    I reduced my shields in size with a few awkward motions of my fingers, but the wizard didn¡¯t seem to care, heedless of the removal of the defences, moving ever-more rapidly through the ranks of our foes with her whipping spirals of metal.


    The demons did seem to respond, moving back into the centre in droves as they realised the wards were smaller now. The citizens started moaning in fear again, a slowly-rising wave of panicked sounds¡­


    ¡°Oh, come off it,¡± I chided them, waving. ¡°You¡¯re Mundians! Don¡¯t you know who we are?¡± I turned to Tanra. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s show them.¡± I floated up higher, and cried: ¡°Join in if you¡¯ve heard this one.¡±


    The song came unbidden to my lips. It¡¯d stuck in my mind, and I messed up the rhyming a bit, but given my lack of preparation I thought I pulled it off quite well.


    Louder than rain, they wail all around


    A scream of the worst, most hideous sound


    I¡­ float there all killy and what do I see


    A packet of demons, all here for me!


    I take ¡®em and one by one shove ¡®em right in


    They wail as I do it, a delightful old din


    The last one, he says, ¡°You¡¯re a bad one, you¡¯ll learn!


    ¡°Deep in the fires of Hell you will burn!¡±


    I push him right down, as deep as he¡¯ll go


    I laugh at him, ¡°Listen! I¡¯m Hell¡¯s biggest foe


    ¡°I¡¯ll get you back out ¨C when there¡¯s war you¡¯ll be free


    ¡°To kill all your cousins, forever for me!¡±


    Ironvine didn¡¯t need any help. Mountainslide, Tanra and I each took a different direction, and as the seeress came careening in an arc towards me, I sped around towards Ironvine, noting her moving away towards her dwarven colleague, completing the pattern. I performed my task diligently, singling out the summoners, breaking their wills, taking the best of them for myself.


    Why not?


    I thought back to that first thinfinaran, in Oldtown, with Zel and Em egging me on. I¡¯d taken it all too personally back then; I should¡¯ve taken the fiend once I¡¯d mastered it. They were powerful tools.


    So I grabbed a thinfinaran, and a trio of rhimbelkina, and every gungrelafor I came across ¨C the little buggers were too useful to pass up.


    When will I be full? I wondered as I chowed down on a feast of excellent eldritches. Is this the crown, or is it me?


    The next time I came upon a thinfinaran, binding its gauntlets at its white-plated sides with my tendrils and binding its gaze with my own ¨C that was when I felt it.


    Limit reached.


    I dragged the force-lines through its hands, stripping not just the enamel from the metal but the metal from the spirit itself. It seemed to have no actual inner body ¨C the armoured gloves fell apart, revealing nothing but empty space filled with shadow.


    The shadow seeped out ¨C a cry of desolation went up from behind the visor, and the tenth-rank demon slowly crumpled down into the bloody puddles, writhing in pain.


    I swung again and decapitated it, sending the vacant helm flying, streaming darkness as it went.


    I looked up. Ironvine wasn¡¯t ten yards off, decapitating her own thinfinaran. I raised an eyebrow behind the mask. I¡¯d never seen wizardry used with such effectiveness against a demon of that ilk, her spellbound razor-wires sawing with just a little effort through its gleaming gorget, sending its head rolling.


    Whatever she was doing to the ordinary metal, in order to have it carve through hell-steel so efficiently, I had no idea¡­ but it was impressive.


    I cast about. It seemed she¡¯d just slain the last summoner within the bounds of the arena, save for the final nabburatiim behind me ¨C which was about two and a half seconds away from its doom at Nightfell¡¯s hands.


    The crowd in the middle were cheering again.


    ¡°We¡¯re done,¡± I called, floating back over. ¡°Where to next?¡±


    I looked pointedly at Bor, but he gestured at the side of his head.


    ¡°Doomspeaker talkin¡¯,¡± he said. ¡°Give us a sec.¡±


    One of the children at his elbow turned her vacant eyes up at the arch-enchanter, her mouth falling agape as if to express some desperate sound; then she slowly closed her lips, the light in her eyes dimming once more as she turned away.


    I felt guilty, for how I¡¯d treated him. Part of what he was doing, during an Incursion of all things, was managing the emotions of family members? Family members in grief? Whilst he himself underwent those same emotions?


    I could hardly have respected him more, and yet¡­ yet¡­


    The brute force attack ¨C the ¡°ENOUGH¡± that sent me to Zyger ¨C it was him ¨C it was him, and I could understand but I couldn¡¯t forget, could believe but couldn¡¯t believe what he¡¯d done¡­ I couldn¡¯t express my regret at the way I¡¯d chastised him just minutes ago. I could feel it, but I couldn¡¯t say it aloud ¨C not to him, at least.


    I was becoming restless, waiting. Ironvine didn¡¯t bother returning to the centre of the arena ¨C she did something to the sand, a flurry of grains exploding about her, and then she was gone, vanished into the earth: within seconds she reappeared, the smooth stones of the steps crumbling apart as she emerged into the midst of a band of straggling fiends, laying about herself with wild abandon. Tanra was also continuing to engage our enemies, darting out of the arena down either tunnel, returning again over the lip of the wall¡­


    Not being linked was getting annoying.


    ¡°What¡¯s that thing?¡± Ciraya crooned from my right.


    I turned to see her smiling wistfully, gazing at the top of my head.


    ¡°Oh, this?¡± I pointed up. ¡°It¡¯s called hair. You could try it. It¡¯s all the rage in the capital, I hear.¡±


    ¡°Har-har.¡± Her sardonic croak made me grin again. ¡°No, seriously, come on Kas. Who made you king of the shadowland? Did Direcrown bequeath his name? It¡¯s hardly a legacy I¡¯d be trying to live up to.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s original.¡± I turned my gaze down at Feast, smiling into the yithandreng¡¯s huge cat¡¯s eyes. ¡°Daugn ghi grel mordwe, Thrile?¡±


    ¡°Ar dweonlo so thanil, Dwazisen,¡± came the demon¡¯s rattling purr in response, blinking in a what seemed like a kind of deference.


    So even the yithandreng could sense the power in my new crown. Interesting.


    I glanced back to Ciraya and it was just the same as the first night we met, when her favourite demon acknowledged me: She¡¯d glanced at Feast, and I saw the same softness on her face swiftly hardening as she got hold of her reactions, shocked lips twisting into a self-oriented scowl. I regarded her smugly, and when she returned her eyes to my face the grimace simply deepened.


    ¡°Yeah, well¡­ I don¡¯t mean to show off ¨C¡°


    ¡°Believable.¡±


    ¡°¨C but I took some fashion advice from Mal Malas ¨C¡°


    ¡°Such wisdom.¡±


    ¡°¨C and ended up with this pointy thing.¡±


    She cocked her head. ¡°So you fell straight into his trap.¡±


    I took it on the chin. ¡°I guess we both trapped each other. It was a¡­¡± I didn¡¯t know how to phrase it. ¡°We had a thing.¡±


    ¡°Dear, deluded Feychilde,¡± she said mockingly, waving a finger and tutting. ¡°Make the most of the crown while it lasts.¡±


    That¡¯s a curious way of putting it.


    I supposed I would have to take it off, sooner rather than later. The twins¡­ when they arrived, if there was anything left of me to be fixed ¨C they¡¯d fix me.


    The nearby citizens were staring back and forth between us in a mixture of bewilderment and awe.


    ¡°Okay so ¨C Kas.¡±


    I glanced at Bor.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°You want to know what¡¯s happenin¡¯?¡±


    He looked pale, when I could glimpse through his fake mask.


    ¡°Do your worst,¡± I replied, floating closer to him. He was tall even by my standards, so I was only looking down on him by a little bit.


    ¡°Doomspeaker¡¯s goin¡¯ mad,¡± he said, lowering his voice, though the blank expressions on the faces of those immediately surrounding us told me he was keeping this chat private. ¡°There are two dweonatar. Four eolastyr.¡±


    My brain melted a little inside my skull. I cast about immediately in spite of myself, noticing only that Ironvine had vanished again ¨C perhaps she¡¯d taken the fight outside the walls now.


    ¡°And somethin¡¯ else in Hightown that¡¯s taken up residence in the Fountains of Merizet. What she doesn¡¯t get is, they¡¯ve been movin¡¯ around loads, and there¡¯s no way to tell where they¡¯re goin¡¯ next. Too many Incursion points to count¡­¡±


    I could tell he was losing it. His voice broke and fell away.


    I floated there for a few seconds, just listening to the madness of the storm, the shrill wind, the pitter-patter of rain. This night-in-day that the demons had brought about ¨C there was something beautiful to it, wasn¡¯t there?


    Something told me these moments were slipping by, and that there was an opportunity here, a one-in-a-million chance to do some real good.


    Shuddering, I raised my arm, and it was a gargantuan effort, like I hefted a tree.


    Slowly ¨C slowly ¨C I placed my hand on his shoulder.


    He didn¡¯t even flinch.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to win,¡± I said quietly. ¡°Mother-Chaos can go drop off a cliff. Likely most of us¡¯ll die in the effort, but we¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°How? How, Kas? Even¡­ Even Nightfell doesn¡¯t know what we should do.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll use her weapons against her, like always. I don¡¯t know how exactly, but¡­¡±


    We need back up. A lot of back up.


    ¡°¡­ I think I have an idea,¡± I finished.


    It wasn¡¯t really an idea, not yet. Just a feeling. Form was still being applied to the sensation, my mind sculpting it out of nothingness.


    Something they¡¯ll never see coming.


    He raised his head. ¡°What is it? How ¨C how can I help?¡±


    I glanced across the children clustered about him, knowing as well as he did that his place was with them, that he shouldn¡¯t have been looking for adventure during this Incursion. But he needed a distraction from the fact he¡¯d let some of them die ¨C and it was his duty. Glaif and Illodin would ask no less of him than his life. His life, to protect not just those he loved, but those he hated, those whose names were unknown to him ¨C the generations to come after him.


    If there are any generations after us, they¡¯ll be some lucky sods, I thought.


    I opened my mouth to reply but Tanra came bursting into view next to him, startling the pair of us, never mind the non-magical folk teeming about.


    ¡°They¡¯re here!¡± she screamed, grabbing us by our clothes, her fingers barely getting a grip in my insubstantial robes ¨C but she didn¡¯t care, clenching her fist all the same. ¡°They¡¯re here!¡±


    ¡°Alright ¨C don¡¯t need telling twice,¡± I grunted, spinning in place, casting out with senses stronger than sight.


    ¡°Can¡¯t escape,¡± she panted through the mask¡¯s mouth-slit, ¡°I can¡¯t escape, there¡¯s no way out, the net ¨C¡°


    I understood what she was getting at. Nausea gripped me.


    They¡¯d surrounded us; their whips were swinging softly as they moved closer, and the cacophony was already building in my sorcerer¡¯s ear.


    North and south. East and west. They came traipsing down the steps, the four eolastyr. How exactly they¡¯d reached the arena I couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine ¨C I worried that they might¡¯ve simply killed their ways through the defenders outside, decimating the magisters and clerics whose valiance had protected Oldtown from a tidal wave of destruction. There was now no way to tell for certain; only the wealth of flesh-gobbets decorating their whips. I could do nothing but look ¨C left, right, turn, back again ¨C as the quartet of arch-demons approached.


    The one coming from the east had a bunched-up bundle of crimson force-lines snagged in her claws. The sorcerous webbing extended fifteen feet behind her where it became bulbous, a gleaming red teardrop, the crimson shield being used like a sack.


    Thud. Thud. Thud.


    Step by step, the contents of the scarlet bag smacked into the stone, again, and again.


    She dragged at least six people along behind her, their comatose shapes more difficult for me to discern than to those not blessed with the sorcerer¡¯s-eye.


    Two magisters¡­ arch-magisters? Wanderfox, I made out, and Petalclaw. Wilderweird. And¡­


    Star!


    The white robe of the arch-diviner was stained with mud and blood; it had been ripped apart, his mask removed. His unconscious face was peaceful in spite of the repeated impacts of his skull against the stone steps.


    The nausea caused by the hums of their weapons only grew as they came closer. It¡¯d never sounded this bad before.


    Four of them¡­


    I withdrew all my eldritches in the area before they got themselves eradicated like bugs, my thoughts racing. It wasn¡¯t like I could open a portal to Etherium and stuff the innocents all in ¨C I¡¯d have to mark every person in the crowd, and even Tanra¡¯s power couldn¡¯t time-lock so many at once to afford me the opportunity. My only real option was to go up, up and out ¨C flee far from this place, leave them all to die ¨C


    So I was out of options. Stand, fight, die.


    This was it. The chance they¡¯d tried to rob from me by locking me away, rejecting me.


    Why did I have to see Mud Lane in ruins before I die? Isn¡¯t it enough that I¡¯m going to lose my immortal soul? Why do the gods hate me?


    Take my soul. Better nothingness than a ghost trapped in a rock under a marsh in the frozen north-lands.


    At least I got to come back.


    I got to come back home to die.

 The Nurse and the Patient

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9I: THE NURSE AND THE PATIENT</h2>


    ¡°Look for her with a smile on her face as the volley of darts falls about her. There ¨C there is your strength. She is already undying, more so with every wound she sustains, until at last she is an immortal corpse. Do not see the dead body! She is beyond it, in the Pavilions of the Victors upon golden sands. You just do not realise this form of immortality because you have been trained to unsee it. One must be a corpse before one can become a statue.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Swordfaith Lectures¡¯ recordings, Urdara 966 NE


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    She turned into the path, noting the rows of dead bushes on either side once she passed through the half-hanging gate into the yard. The lifeless brown bundles of twigs were blasted by a gust of the early-morning breeze, saluting her stiffly as she strode between them. She smiled. She was in her element. This was where she belonged.


    * * *


    It was with a heavy heart that the nurse put the key in the lock, turning it and pulling down on the handle. This section of the building, dubbed the Asylum, was a little different to other parts. Magical locks weren¡¯t the norm, but exceptions had to be made for exceptional¡­ patients. She didn¡¯t know what she¡¯d find inside: the morose, withdrawn waif or the mean-tempered creature full of vim and vitality she¡¯d seen that one time. She knew what she¡¯d rather find, of course, but beggars couldn¡¯t be picky. She¡¯d get through to the poor deluded girl in the end. She¡¯d get there. Sordono was doing his part. She just had to stick at it.


    Stick at it.


    She drew a deep breath, steeling herself against the aggression which could potentially descend upon her, and swung the door open. She slipped inside and closed it behind her as quickly as she could manage without making noise, drawing attention. She was anxious to see how much progress her patient had made.


    None, it appeared. Still bruised and broken, it was the waif huddled in the chair which greeted her. The patient¡¯s pale, purple-splotched face was turned aside to the window, staring at it as though her despondent gaze could penetrate the ochre-stained glass, discern something of interest in the empty skies beyond.


    The nurse sighed, noting the mess on the floorboards, the bottle¡¯s shards rising like jagged islands from a puddle of faintly-glittering fluid.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t take your tonic,¡± she chided her patient gently, as she drew a rag from her sleeve and bent to clean up. She used the tone of voice one might use to admonish an errant child; but the girl had changed, at least outwardly. She no longer looked like a child. ¡°Isn¡¯t this the second time?¡± she continued as she straightened up and deposited the rag full of broken glass on the dresser. ¡°How do you expect your wounds to heal, my dear? How will you get better if you don¡¯t want to get better? Bless you¡­ You did eat, didn¡¯t you? Only a bit. Oh dear. Come here, let me help you.¡±


    Luckily, she had a spare bottle of the best healer¡¯s tonic right there in her belt. She approached slowly, not wanting to disturb the girl, but her patient reacted as though the nurse were a ball of living fire ¨C as she stepped closer the poor waif, eyes still fixed pointlessly on the window, began to stir in the chair. Her deadly legs curled up onto the seat, then the girl started to unconsciously lean over the arm of the chair farthest away, closest to the window, shrinking back from her guardian.


    The nurse didn¡¯t chuckle; she couldn¡¯t even bring herself to smile sadly. The time for games was long past. It brought a genuine tear to her eye, to see her get such a reaction.


    We¡¯re getting nowhere.


    Perhaps they were right. Perhaps she¡¯s a lost cause.


    The experiment had all been her idea, of course. She was the one responsible. If anyone was going to call an end to things, it would be her.


    The nurse reached out with a gentle hand, smoothing down the girl¡¯s bedraggled hair with soft strokes of her fingertips. Her patient flinched away violently at the first contact, but then shuddered and stilled herself, closing her eyes, implying she would accept the nurse¡¯s touch.


    Still smoothing the girl¡¯s hair with her right hand, she retrieved the spare tonic from her belt with her left, swiftly unstoppered it, and brought it to the girl¡¯s lips in a single practised motion.


    The girl jerked away, bringing up her hands to fend off the drink, but it was only a half-effort. There was no fight left in her. The healing tonic shot straight down her throat, and by the time she¡¯d stopped spluttering, the nurse had fetched the brush from the dresser and had set to work on the poor girl¡¯s hair.


    ¡°So much grey, for one so young,¡± she said idly as she combed through a particularly tough lug, making her patient wince. ¡°You must¡¯ve been under such stress, before you came here.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t exaggerating. Whole locks had lost their colour, and the ghost-hairs were mingled with the brown all across her head. She didn¡¯t ever tell the girl how much of it was falling out, the handfuls she pulled from the brush each morning. It would¡¯ve only disturbed the poor thing even more, in all likelihood.


    ¡°Mmm,¡± the girl said.


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re talkative today, aren¡¯t we, dear?¡± She managed a chuckle now. ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll see you brighten up a bit, once you¡¯re more awake?¡±


    The patient said nothing more and the moment the nurse stopped pulling the brush through her hair, her empty gaze returned to the sunlit, orangey window.


    The nurse straightened the bedsheets like any good carer would, then collected the chamberpot as she withdrew back to the door.


    She held the key tight in the fingers of her free hand, once more preparing herself mentally for the threshold crossing.


    ¡°Breakfast will be served in twenty,¡± she said, keeping her voice level. ¡°I¡¯ll bring it up, okay?¡±


    No response.


    It¡¯s okay, she told herself as she put the key in the lock and got the door open. It¡¯s okay. It¡¯ll happen. There¡¯s always tonight. Maybe, tonight¡­


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    The door of the house was in a better state than the gate at the end of the yard. Even still, she poked the lock with a splinter and it clicked, the door yawning open with a creak.


    She didn¡¯t need to peer inside. She knew what awaited her.


    Fate, she thought, smiling grimly to herself. The fate I create.


    * * *


    She took her midday meal in the private dining room where only a few could fit at once. Windowless and furnished with a single table and two couches, it was empty when she arrived, and she smiled to herself. She preferred seclusion. She tore at her red venison and chewed her green beans as noisily as she fancied, mouth open as she stared for the millionth time at the different portraits on the walls. Many depicted the ancient founders of the organisation, back when things had been different. Others depicted, supposedly, the actual Founders. She always found her eyes drawn back to Arreath¡¯s cool stare, his youthful features beneath the sky-blue cowl.


    Did you see all this, old man? she wondered. Did you see my patient up there? Did you know whether she¡¯d come around?


    She matched his stare with her own.


    Well, did you?


    There was no answer. There was never any answer. How could there be?


    When Jerelus and Wrynka entered, she saw the looks on their faces, and waved them over even though she knew what they were going to say.


    ¡°Go on then,¡± she said once they¡¯d settled themselves, peering from one to the other through the steam-clouds rising off their plates. ¡°Be honest. You think I¡¯m crazy.¡±


    ¡°No one¡¯s sayin¡¯ that,¡± Jerulus blurted, his teeth full of crushed green beans. ¡°It¡¯s just ¨C¡±


    ¡°Yeah right.¡± She laughed. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s all anyone can talk about.¡±


    ¡°Why are you even doing it?¡± Wrynka asked. She was bolder than her male friend, her shrewd, beady eyes looking out of place on the face of one so young. ¡°This is hardly the same as the other Asylum patients. You think she¡¯s going to come out the other side like the rest of them? You think she¡¯s going to be a productive member of society?¡±


    ¡°The program never failed before.¡±


    ¡°What worries me is that you always said ¨C¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a first time for everything.¡± She met the unmoving gaze of Arreath Ril one last time as she forked her final few veggies. ¡°There¡¯s a first time for everything¡­¡±


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    There was a broken clock in what had once been a dining room, at the rear of the property, lurking silently in the shadows. What a wonder, even if it was a small one! Such a treasure¡­ She didn¡¯t need to touch it but she wanted to. Her fingers delicately traced the hands, frozen in place, both pointing almost to six. She glanced around the room, piercing the veils of the darkness and the past simultaneously.


    She saw them in her mind¡¯s eye. Packing up, leaving. She had the names of the previous occupants, the Berrysons, their appearances¡­ She had their futures, written in red ink across a narrow country lane¡­ She could follow those who¡¯d robbed them, robbed and killed them before they¡¯d even gotten ten miles from Mund¡­ She could follow the thieves back¡­


    * * *


    ¡°It¡¯s just that there are so many demands on my time,¡± she complained at breakfast the following morning. ¡°You would think, all things considered, I¡¯d be able to find the time. But we¡¯ve been so busy lately.¡±


    ¡°Tell me about it,¡± Wrynka said, letting gruel fall off her spoon back into her bowl.


    Everyone sitting at the mess hall table started to grumble, voicing their own pet peeves about the state of things these days. No one took it too far ¨C everyone knew they were better off than most in Mund, but they were rushed off their feet, and it only got worse every day. They each had their own roles, their own responsibilities, and unlooked-for tasks were springing up left right and centre. Training new starters was one of Wrynka¡¯s jobs, and the bags under the beady eyes suggested the young lady hadn¡¯t slept well.


    Students, keeping her up with questions.


    ¡°How are the girls coming along, Wrynka?¡± she asked. She didn¡¯t really need to know the answer, but it was better to keep the conversation flowing than let a depressed silence take hold. Moments like that were precisely why she avoided people in the first place.


    Wrynka seemed to suddenly wake up, and replied with almost the exact same series of pat niceties she¡¯d used the last time she¡¯d been asked. The nurse only half-listened anyway, using the distraction of Wrynka¡¯s animated speech to pocket a few pieces of crispy bacon for her patient. What the others didn¡¯t know wouldn¡¯t hurt them.


    When she¡¯d brought another spare bottle of tonic up this morning, she¡¯d found the girl in much the same catatonia, body withdrawn into the chair, mind withdrawn into the morning light on the window pane. Even still, she had the same sense of trepidation as always when she returned. She settled the breakfast tray on the floor, taking care not to spill the cup of milk, then straightened up, reaching into her pocket, getting out the key¡­


    She turned it in the lock, stooped to retrieve the tray in her right hand, then put her left on the handle.


    This time a fist connected with her throat as soon as the door was three inches ajar; she was still swinging it open with her left hand as the next blow landed, not knocking her back but instead driving her sideways, towards the door frame. It was all the nurse could do to twist her body, somehow stumbling into the room, simultaneously keeping herself in the doorway to prevent the patient getting past her.


    Three more blows rocked her. The ball of the girl¡¯s foot came down against her weak leg¡¯s kneecap, almost inverting it; a chopping strike came down just under her ear, throwing a whole bunch of usually-unfeeling neck tendons into sudden spasm; then, just when the nurse realised what was about to happen, the girl swooped low like a diving bird, a skinny leg sweeping across the floor to take both the nurse¡¯s feet out from under her.


    She leaned back on the weak knee when her patient¡¯s leg-sweep struck her, out of place ligaments and bones quickly finding their respective places, and she rode the wave of the spasms shooting down her shoulder, breathing slowly in a measured pace through her nose as she regained her cool. It wasn¡¯t the first time someone had tried to crush her windpipe but, as they all knew, there was a first time for everything ¨C and this time it had been close.


    The leg-sweep failed, despite her fragile condition, and the girl sprang back ¨C


    The nurse pivoted her limbs, cartwheeling to bring the tray in her right hand safely down to the floor.


    ¡°You almost made me spill the milk,¡± she chided the girl as she came back to her feet. ¡°So, you are Everseer, after all.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± the girl screamed, fists melting to wobbling jelly-fingers in the space of an instant, hands pressing themselves to the sides of her head, trapping the wisps of colourless hair. ¡°No! Never!¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s what you told us when we found you, my dear.¡±


    ¡°No! No I didn¡¯t! You¡¯re wrong ¨C wrong¡­ Y-you found me¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, my dear.¡±


    ¡°Oh, oh nooooooo¡­¡±


    Without taking her eyes off the girl, the nurse reached back and took the key from the lock, then leaned on the door to ensure it was firmly shut behind her before locking it once more.


    ¡°Time for another one on one session, I feel,¡± she told the patient. ¡°You can skip breakfast five more minutes, right? I¡¯ll avoid the face so you can still eat. There¡¯s always more tonic but one shouldn¡¯t take it on an empty stomach. I saved you bacon, by the way, but we really ought to capitalise on the progress you¡¯re making first, Everseer.¡±


    ¡°Y-you¡­ you¡¯re¡­ Everseer¡­¡±


    She laughed scornfully in response. ¡°How absurd! Such a delusion! Me? I¡¯m merely your nurse. You are my patient ¨C¡±


    ¡°¨C Killstop ¨C¡±


    ¡°Everseer,¡± she corrected the girl instantly. ¡°Killstop never existed. Killstop was never real. How many times must you be told? It¡¯s time to let go of the madness, Everseer! Time to face the past, face what and who you are!¡±


    ¡°What? What?¡± The patient was regressing already, a certain distance coming into her voice and into her stare. She was lowering her hands.


    The fight was leaving her.


    No! It¡¯s not too late!


    The correct path demanded pain. Destiny demanded she invite retaliation. She would need to design attacks which wouldn¡¯t debilitate, only agonise, leave the girl fully-functional in terms of counter-strike options.


    She flung out both her own hands. One sank into the girl¡¯s scalp, snagging a bunch of the listless hair near the roots. The other was extended like a claw at the bare cheek, sinking nails-first into the soft flesh thanks to the speed of her motion.


    Before the girl could grip her wrists, she had already ripped her hands away, forming a small deadly fist out of each hand.


    She expected some minor form of evasion. Some attempt to reduce the damage she dealt. But no. The patient was still surprising her, it seemed. The girl just stood there and took it, and the results were simply irritating.


    Punches landed like fireballs, the impacts of several distinct blows falling out of the timestream simultaneously, such that they struck at the same instant. The combined force sent her patient ricocheting across the chamber, shattering three of her ribs against the leg of the bed with a sound like a bundle of dry branches cracking.


    The nurse sighed when the patient didn¡¯t struggle to rise, just lying there at her mercy, chest filled with sharp edges of bone, rising and falling with irregular, shallow breaths.


    Too late¡­ too late.


    Maybe I should just end it. Maybe they were right all along.


    Then the nurse gritted her teeth.


    No.


    Stick at it.


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    They were in Sticktown, in Cutterwells! Not nine minutes away as the mortal crawled. She could even see the scarf the female owner of the house had been wearing the day she and her husband packed up and left. She could see it changing hands, once, twice¡­ Three weeks ago the scarf had briefly adorned the neck of a demented old matriarch, great-grandmother to sixteen, bought as a last-minute eightieth birthday gift for seven coppers by one of her grandsons.


    While Netricia Berryson slept eternally in a shallow grave made of reeds and weeds, her scarf would hang upon a bedpost for almost four years, until Dear Old Matriarch¡¯s overconfidence in her capabilities sent her head over heels down the stairs¡­


    Wait. Back up there.


    There was nothing easier.


    She scried closer in on the thieves. They were moving closer.


    They were coming here.


    Suddenly she saw it like she¡¯d never before.


    Oh. Of course they robbed their house from them too.


    * * *


    It was with a lighter heart that she unlocked the door. Three days had passed, and the ritual was starting to form. She had no idea exactly what to expect, and it elated her. She could no longer try to bring the breakfast tray in with her ¨C not without spraying the milk in the cup across the room. On her last visit she¡¯d been forced to employ a centrifugal helix as she entered, sloshing up the walls left and right like bathwater, just to slip the killing-blows aimed at her cranium, spine, heart. She no longer had to defend the doorway, even before it was locked. Escape wasn¡¯t on the girl¡¯s mind anymore. The route of egress could be left wide open ¨C the only thing her patient desired was for the nurse to take a dose of the same medicine.


    It was minutes and minutes of concentrated violence ¨C for the first time in a very, very long time she was actually able to practice her skills against a worthy opponent, train and hone her own reflexes, battle-instincts¡­ She¡¯d chosen well, and her persistence was starting to pay off, even if the girl¡¯s mental barriers were proving more difficult to break down than she¡¯d anticipated. There was little doubt in her mind that when her patient reached the fullness of her power, she¡¯d be almost her match. Her willpower, her stubbornness¡­ the girl was a fighter. There was much in her to be lauded.


    Much still to be purged.


    ¡°You ¨C are a ¨C killer ¨C born!¡± she huffed, twisting rapidly in an obscene contortion, the only way to avoid a heel-palm strike that would¡¯ve sent her into cardiac arrest; the soles of her feet found purchase on the unlikeliest of surfaces, but her patient followed, pursuing her in a diagonal line across the ceiling from one corner of the room to the opposite.


    ¡°Not,¡± the girl huffed back as they moved from the ceiling to the wall to the floor and back again.


    ¡°Want to ¨C kill me!¡± she gasped. ¡°Want to ¨C end it!¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°You ¨C are ¨C more ¨C like her ¨C every day!¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Everseer!¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Everseer!¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Nightfell.¡±


    The girl froze. The nurse slowed, stopped, smiled.


    It¡¯s working. Gods below, it¡¯s working!


    Enchantment was always fifty-fifty with arch-diviners, especially powerful ones. It¡¯d taken long enough that she¡¯d become convinced her dream would never be made a reality¡­ but now, finally, it was working.


    ¡°Nightfell?¡± Her patient¡¯s voice was thick with unaddressed emotion.


    ¡°That¡¯s our name now!¡± she replied, moving closer and putting out a hand to take the girl¡¯s face by the cheek. ¡°That¡¯s what they call us!¡±


    There was no resistance, no flight, no counter; the patient froze, transformed into a mannequin.


    She stood there, squeezing her patient¡¯s face with a bland smile on her lips.


    ¡°Us?¡± the mannequin managed eventually.


    ¡°Yes, us. The two of us. We¡¯re the same, you and I, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Y-you. You¡¯re¡­ Everseer.¡±


    ¡°If I am, what does that make you?¡±


    ¡°Ev¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Later on, as she settled in for an evening of cider and reading in front of the ensorcelled harp, Sordono came by her room, her go-to enchanter checking on his progress. More than the slip of the tongue, where the girl almost called herself ¡®Everseer¡¯ ¨C more telling was the follow-up.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she told Sordono, seeing his eyebrows raise in delighted surprise. ¡°She said I don¡¯t know!¡±


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    Pieces slotted into place. Understanding lit the room in a thousand nameless colours. She saw the three of them entering in eight minutes and forty-two seconds, but she also saw them entering two nights ago, conducting their illicit business. They came here regularly, in fact.


    Inkatra. It¡¯s always bloody inkatra.


    She cast about.


    They do a good clean-up job, to be sure.


    The set-up was pretty sophisticated, all things considered. They were using an inkatra-hit once a week to shroud their activities ¨C or someone else was on their behalf. So long as there was a chance they¡¯d conduct their activities elsewhere¡­


    Ah. Very sophisticated.


    They were selling their drugs out of various locations. They were being told where to go by an anonymous sponsor ¨C in fact, the movements of several different groups were being orchestrated by a single overseer¡­


    Well now, that was silly of them, wasn¡¯t it?


    * * *


    ¡°I¡¯m not Leafcloak, you know,¡± Jerelus repeated in a husky voice, for what had to be the tenth time.


    She started laughing. It was highly-amusing, the way his eyes travelled across her face, studying every follicle. His gaze was currently fixated on her right earlobe, and she couldn¡¯t help but find his seriousness hilarious.


    ¡°I trust you,¡± she said, still grinning. ¡°You¡¯ll get us there. Just be glad we¡¯re meeting in the middle like this. When they were running Facechanger for real, it must¡¯ve been a nightmare.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t know ¨C¡±


    ¡°¨C where to begin, by which you mean, you don¡¯t know how to make it painless.¡±


    His eyes met hers, then he blinked rapidly before closing them, drawing a deep, shuddering breath.


    ¡°You¡¯re frightened you¡¯ll hurt me and I¡¯ll get angry. Well, you will. And I won¡¯t. It¡¯s my choice not to involve Sordono, isn¡¯t it? I know what I¡¯m in for. I understand the risks and rewards far better than you. You want to get on my bad side, Jerulus?¡±


    His eyes shot open, thrown wide in alarm.


    ¡°You want to get on my bad side, keep acting like you comprehend your limits better than I do. Nothing could be further from the truth, Kultemeren my witness.¡±


    He drew another breath, but this time it was a sharp one, filled with purpose.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, good,¡± she murmured, seeing the future changing through the window of fate, the transparent glass in the rotten frame that was her high vantage point over time¡¯s realm. ¡°Yes. Begin now. Trace right off Sordono¡¯s template. You¡¯ll have the knack of it in no time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to start with your eyes,¡± he said. ¡°It always starts there¡­¡±


    Her druid¡¯s voice sank into the low register of one whose mind is afar. Like someone replying to a question while absorbed in the last pages of an exciting novel. It was strange, seeing both of someone¡¯s eyes staring deep into one of your own.


    She closed her eyes again. She could already feel the itching around her left eye socket, the itching becoming burning, the burning passing away to leave behind nothing but exposed nerves ¨C


    Nerves into which salt was scrubbed with coarse sandpaper.


    She felt the flood of his power, stemming the worst of the pain as he started to shift the shape of her bones. She screamed all the same, but it didn¡¯t take her long to exert her own form of control over the torment lacing every particle of her face. Pain brought out the animal in people, it was true, of course, and yet there was a place beyond pain in which each moment of discomfort brought you closer to your true self. There was nothing quite like the tranquillity to be found on those far-flung shores, once one was cast up on the sands, rejected by purifying waves of agony.


    In the immortal sands, knowing that time would blow it all away if she took too long, she scrawled the blueprint, the single word which, if it took hold, would change the course of history:


    ¡®NIGHTFELL.¡¯


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    There was no need to interrogate anyone. No need to take prisoners. She exposed a great deal of the organisation which employed them before the three thieves ¨C three killers ¨C ever even arrived. They¡¯d really fallen afoul of the wrong magic-user tonight. She reckoned she had enough information already to infiltrate the gang¡¯s upper echelons and bring it crashing down, if she so chose.


    But where would be the fun in that?


    Three killers¡­


    She¡¯d hated the thought, once. As far as she could tell, the common theme in every arch-diviner¡¯s initial empowerment involved the choice as to whether or not to kill an aggressor. More specifically, the rejection of killing. Her own experience, coupled with the death of her father, his half-accidental fall almost forgotten in the chaos of that night¡­ it had inspired her to stop killing in all its forms. Even to name herself after her mission.


    Now?


    Now she knew just where to stand, in the corner beside the dining room door as it swung open. She knew none of them would see her until it was too late.


    When she first received her power, she¡¯d forgotten the simple truth. The death of her cold-hearted father. The killing ¨C it had already happened. Her rejection of it ¨C it was like a child, pushing back against the rolling sky to stop the sun falling.


    Now?


    Now she was all grown up.


    * * *


    There were no words. The girl stared, dumbstruck, upon her face.


    ¡°What?¡± the nurse asked in the girl¡¯s voice. ¡°What¡¯s got your goat in a grinder? I¡¯d say you look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost, only I have it on good authority there are none on this floor. Have they been breaking the rules again?¡±


    The patient, bless her, looked like she was about to throw up.


    ¡°Here,¡± said the nurse, taking a single step closer that sent the girl scurrying to the back wall. ¡°You forgot to greet me properly. Let¡¯s see about putting a smile back on those lips.¡±


    ¡°B-but y-you,¡± the patient gasped, swallowing and emitting dry clicks from her throat, gulps of air that fought incoherently against the flow of her words. ¡°You¡¯re ¨C I ¨C you we are ¨C¡±


    ¡°You were Everseer. I was Tanra. Now, we are Nightfell.¡± She¡¯d reached striking range. ¡°How¡¯s about that hello?¡±


    This time she didn¡¯t relent, holding nothing back. She left the former Everseer a pulpy mess on the floor it¡¯d take ten tonics to fix.


    So be it, she thought as she withdrew, locking the door behind her. That¡¯s what you get for not fighting back.


    For not fighting yourself.


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    The dining room door opened, its edge clashing lightly against the wooden wall so that the weathered surface stopped six inches beyond the tip of her nose, leaving her well-hidden in the corner behind it. The three scumbags went to their accustomed places about the table, setting the lantern in the centre, their packets and pouches of herbs and gold around it. They were talking rather loudly, considering the illegality of their line of work, but she tuned it out as best she could. She already knew every possibility their conversation could encompass.


    She shifted the parameters of their futures, focussing fractals of alternate destinies through an eye that trapped only a single thread. All she did was lift the lower half of her right leg, bringing her knee into contact with the door, gently tapping it.


    All three looked up to regard her as the door swung shut with just the perfect amount of force to close it, no excess.


    Looking up at her ¨C that was the moment that sealed their doom.


    If she went a certain way, it would take the one at the back less than nine seconds to realise what was really wrong.


    ¡°But why¡¯d you lose that thing?¡± Ystor says, pointing with a shaking hand to the blank, black mask in her hand.


    That way seemed fun.


    * * *


    ¡°A fabric,¡± Sordono said.


    The nurse snorted, eyeing him over the edge of the book.


    ¡°I¡¯m not joking,¡± he went on, sounding a trifle hurt. ¡°That¡¯s how she sees her power ¨C I mean, your power.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know you¡¯re telling it straight. It¡¯s just funny.¡± She lowered the book; she was only reading for effect anyway. ¡°Does this new face really bother you that much?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not the face. It¡¯s how you¡¯re acting.¡± He was disgruntled, now. ¡°I¡¯ve barely touched your mind since last week, but you¡¯re¡­ acting more and more like her.¡±


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing?¡± she asked sweetly.


    She would¡¯ve sworn up and down she didn¡¯t use the perilous voice, but he paled right before her eyes, and hurriedly denied he had any doubts. She left him, heading back to the Asylum, and felt troubled.


    Sometimes ¨C not often, but sometimes ¨C one¡¯s fearsome reputation could be an impediment rather than a boon. It helped in so many situations, but at times like this? It was impossible to form a human connection, even with someone whose bed she¡¯d shared. Had that been under some unspoken duress too?


    She considered it briefly, then discarded it from her consciousness before her ¡®gift¡¯ could devour the mystery, before her magic could rob all sense of magic from her, churning out the cold hard truth like diamonds from coal. There had to be some things she could not know. But only so much of it could she control.


    This was something that frightened her, from time to time, especially now that she was back here in the moment, whirling and kicking and gouging, at peace. It was really the only thing that kept her going. The mystery represented by her chief foes. Timesnatcher, of course, and also to a degree this girl whose fingers she was snapping. But looming over all of it, the great black mountain:


    Ulu Kalar. His wings of nothingness, blotting out the open skies forever, blotting out every thing, every future¡­


    That was her apocalypse. Humanity, walking without guide through a dark forest destiny, stumbling over every root, never learning, never seeing, prey to all the wild things once held at bay by the light of day. Drake talons descend, enacting overblown revenge upon the once-proud mortal men and women and children, those naive innocents who in their depraved arrogance thought themselves safe, thought themselves over and above such concerns as the nuances she lived with every hour¡­ The fates of long-dead dragons. A so-called mad seer¡¯s predictions of doom.


    To the rest of them it was nonsense but to her it was real and she was the only one who was right. The only one possessing eyes with which to see. And for that, as the adage went, the kings of the blind condemned her.


    Ulu Kalar¡¯s Return; that was the ¡®nightfall¡¯, as she saw it, just like the ancient stories of Lordimer and Lithiguil told about ¨C yet it was to her as a thing that had already happened.


    They¡¯d take it for a skin of darkness, but it went right to the core. Night already fell.


    An avatar of defeat.


    And as she swung the girl¡¯s head again and again into the wall, she knew it. This wasn¡¯t her trying to help. This wasn¡¯t a way to fix things.


    It was destiny, the one she¡¯d made for herself. She¡¯d failed, and to fail at the most important task in history? To helm the ship that capsized with the Realm itself as the cargo? That was failure epitomised. When she crossed the Door to Infernum the acolytes of Wyrda or Utenya would find her in the dusty streets, hail her and make her a saint, make her relive this despair until it was all that remained of her.


    Hammering the side of the girl¡¯s head until it split ¨C split open ¨C


    ¡°Sahhhhh!¡± she hissed to herself, almost throwing the tonic over the girl¡¯s face in her haste to heal her.


    It didn¡¯t work.


    The patient was lying motionless, eyes blank and somehow misaligned ¨C and the wind came whipping about the nurse, the wind of the void, of Kalar¡¯s wings, its scream deafening her, the shadow falling over the lands beneath her eyrie.


    ¡°No!¡± she cried. ¡°Sordono! Warn Jerulus ¨C I come now!¡±


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    ¡°Evening, boys.¡±


    She waved to the Cutter-Boys with the mask, leaning leisurely against the wall with her right foot up. She felt luxuriated, very much like a big cat sitting in a tree on the savannah, gloating over the trio of hamstrung gazelles flopping around in the grass below.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go for your drugs. Drugs are bad. Those drugs are very bad. And right now? Right now going for them at all would prove terminal. Immediately.¡±


    ¡°But why¡¯d you lose that thing?¡± Ystor Shellmain of Funnel Mile said, pointing with a shaking hand to the blank, black mask in her hand. ¡°You¡¯re ¨C you¡¯re that one, aren¡¯t you? That new champion.¡±


    She shrugged, smiling wickedly.


    ¡°Naw, man!¡± said the well-built one on the left, Edvelar Tost. ¡°No bow, see! No arrers! This is some get-up, innit?¡±


    ¡°I want in,¡± she said, ¡°Egg Toast.¡±


    She picked the least-insulting of the many insulting monikers this poor, unfortunately-named thug had been forced to endure in his childhood.


    Egg Toast paled.


    ¡°Whadder yer mean, ¡®in¡¯?¡± he muttered. ¡°Whadder yer wan¡¯?¡±


    ¡°What do I want?¡± She pouted. ¡°Why, everything any girl my age wants. A nice little job in a tea-house, not too many hours. A kind boy to go steady with¡­ not too steady. A harp spelled for the hmph,¡± she cracked up, ¡°the hmph, the la-la-latest melodies, oh gods¡­¡±


    It was impossible. Impossible not to act. The future was true. It was happening, inhabiting the present moment by moment, just as it was fated to do.


    ¡°I won¡¯t get what I want, though, will I? Live by the blade, die by the blade. That¡¯s what you need to hear. What you always needed to hear.


    ¡°What I always needed to say.¡±


    Now which blade was it again?


    * * *


    ¡°You wanted her dead.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Then why?¡±


    ¡°I was distracted. The trip to Panagor tired me.¡±


    ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°It happens.¡±


    ¡°It didn¡¯t used to. It¡¯s throwing that old woman out the window, that¡¯s ¨C¡±


    ¡°I know everything you could say before you say it, and choose the path to follow. Have a care over your words. You don¡¯t want to fall on something¡­ impractical.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying we need to try something different.¡±


    ¡°You really want me to let you in, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Vee, please. You know I ¨C I only want it to work. I want you to be right. I want what you want, remember? You know that. You told me that.¡±


    ¡°What people want changes.¡±


    ¡°And you want something different now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re impure, Sordono. You used to be so different. Where did your purity go? Why are you no longer devout?¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about me. I¡¯m trying to help you and ¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not and it is. I need you to realise, before we do this.¡±


    ¡°You mean¡­ I¡¯m allowed? I can find her deep-¡°


    ¡°You need to realise before we do this. Here, I¡¯ll take this one off. Now. Look in my mind now.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ oh.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Very¡­ oh¡­ oh, merciless Mother¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes. You can stop looking now.¡±


    ¡°Th-thank you.¡­ thank you¡­¡±


    ¡°Now you know what¡¯s going to happen if you decide to play games with me, I think it¡¯s time to get started. Do you have the necessary tools?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I think so ¨C¡±


    ¡°Do you know why I ask questions like that, Sordono? Do you think I don¡¯t know the answer?¡±


    ¡°You ¨C¡±


    ¡°Yes, this way your average response time drops significantly. Come on, snap to it. I¡¯m busy.¡±


    ¡°Yes! I mean ¨C I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    ¡°Damn right you will.¡±


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    She¡¯d never killed anyone before. Not deliberately, anyway. There¡¯d been acts of omission, of course ¨C those were everywhere. Technically, the way her power showed it, she¡¯d killed thousands of times. Every choice in a time of crisis entailed a wealth of dead bodies, dead futures she could look back on. Go here. Save this person. There were always the places she left behind. There were always more needing her attention, lying trapped in the detritus of a cast-down building, gasping their final breaths after encountering the claws of some fiend, wondering, wondering why, why did that champion move away instead of closer, why have I been left here on the ground to bleed out¡­?


    They never saw the needier victim. Even the most selfless people cared only about themselves once they were on the cusp of perishing forever.


    But that was the point, wasn¡¯t it? The killing ¨C it still happened, whether or not her hand held the blade. Killstop was a fascination. ¡®Never real¡¯ indeed. It was a widely-broadcast lie built upon a foundation of self-deception.


    This time her hand held the blade, and she released the safeguards preventing her from following it on its course. There would be no more acts of omission. The blade¡¯s future had to be satisfied, brought into reality as a brutally-short series of crisp motions.


    And so she moved.


    * * *


    19th Kailost, 976 NE


    When the bad men come in, she pretends to be asleep, even though they know she is awake ¨C they made far too much noise smashing the shutters. They know everyone is awake. They drag her from the bed by her heel, and she doesn¡¯t try to fight back. She lies in the corner beneath the narrow window, and is forced to watch as something horrible happens. She isn¡¯t quite sure what is happening, but it makes Mum and Dad cry, and when it¡¯s over it¡¯s red all over the sheets and people who should be moving aren¡¯t anymore. There isn¡¯t much beyond the shaking sickness moment but there it is: a window, and she¡¯s perched upon the ledge like a little monkey, looking down at the room from above her own head. She sees herself, below her.


    She turns slightly, peers through the dirty glass. She sees everything, and she¡¯s scared. No one is supposed to see that much, but she does.


    She looks back into the room, far older. Now even the bad men aren¡¯t moving and she can see other things. She can see herself moving. She can see the bad men doing more bad things. They will kill her, and her little brother. They will hurt lots of people. Hundreds of people.


    She doesn¡¯t want to kill the bad men. She¡¯s going to be a champion some day. She sees it, out there through the glass. Many things will happen between here and there, now and then.


    No. She isn¡¯t killing them. She just wants to watch them cry, how Mum and Dad cried, in the before. Her actions make perfect sense. The piece of smashed vase in her hand ¨C it makes perfect sense. She¡¯s fulfilling the sharp shard¡¯s purpose. It is exalted above all the other bits of pottery lying around the little table. The vase was smashed for this, this duty. It was made, two-thousand and thirty-nine days ago, for this very moment.


    She will take the bad men and while they wait for her to decide she will make them cry ¨C while they wait she is making them cry, so when they move again all they will know is the sobbing, the weeping, the turning around of things that will make them never, ever hurt someone again. She will fix them, later. In time.


    She still keeps the tiny, tiny pieces of brain in a miniature philtre, in the drawer beneath her cot.


    In slurred voices they beg of her to revert the changes she¡¯s wrought. In half-words and shapeless sentences, they supplicate her, moaning and pawing at her, dragging at her clothing, their wide-thrown eyes brimming with misery.


    She doesn¡¯t trust herself to speak.


    ¡°Got it out of your system?¡± the boy asks her, as if there were only the two of them in the room.


    The fabric unfolded and she was less than half her age, regarding the masked boy as if he were a man.


    She still didn¡¯t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded instead.


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    The single-edged blade is double-edged, she mused as she moved. The double-edged blade is single-edged.


    The series of movements was all too short, so she¡¯d slowed things down from her perspective, just a little, letting the experience wash over her.


    She intended on moving onto the table, one foot on either side of the lantern, and she felt the simple magic of her muscles as they compressed and expanded, felt the air rush over her skin as she sprang up. It was exhilarating.


    Steel sang through empty space, bit into flesh, spine, flesh, and sang once more, its joy at its freedom an awesome thing just to hear. The weapon¡¯s speed was such that not a single crimson dot would stain it. She was blessed to hold it, and it was blessed to be so held, cradled lightly in the fingers of one uniquely capable of releasing the limits placed on it by the rules of reality. The blade¡¯s maker could have never imagined such an extreme realisation of its potential ¨C his own potential.


    Congratulations, Berko, she silently saluted the long-dead smith. You were a fine purveyor of your craft.


    Flesh. Spine. Flesh again.


    The third motion was coming up, and she anticipated it the same way she¡¯d anticipate the third act of a captivating play.


    How will it go? How exactly will it feel?


    She knew, but life wasn¡¯t just knowledge. It was inhabiting those moments you chose to. Knowledge just helped you pick the right ones.


    She wanted to feel it, for real.


    It was only now, moving in for her third kill, that she realised she was right about herself. She did feel things, when she killed, but she knew to an outsider, an accurate summary of the event would consist in, ¡®she killed them and felt nothing¡¯. She felt things, but not the right things. There was supposed to be all this guilt and sadness when extinguishing a candle that was the only source of light for a million alternate worlds, a million disparate futures. But she only saw that those worlds were wrong. This one ¨C this one where the sick-minded trio were dead, decapitated in less than the blink of an eye ¨C this was the right world.


    And then she understood, as steel bit flesh, spine, flesh once more.


    The single-edged blade cuts you, because it can¡¯t. The double-edged blade never cuts you, because it can.


    In knowing what she was, in understanding the danger she posed, not just to others but to herself ¨C that was what allowed her to wield herself without fear.


    What was I so afraid of?


    * * *


    It was with some ambivalence in her heart that the nurse put the key in the lock, turning it and pulling down on the handle. She didn¡¯t know what she¡¯d find inside: the morose, withdrawn waif or the mean-tempered creature full of vim and vitality she knew existed inside her. She didn¡¯t even know what she¡¯d rather find, if she was being honest with herself. The whole experiment had gotten out of hand and she hadn¡¯t put anyone in a place to stop her. Sordono had only been doing his part. She just had to stick at it, no matter how sick she felt.


    Stick at it.


    She drew a deep breath, steeling herself against the aggression which could potentially descend upon her, and swung the door open. She slipped inside and closed it behind her as quickly as she could manage without making noise, drawing attention. She was anxious to see how much progress her patient had made.


    She found neither of the creatures she¡¯d expected.


    The girl was standing in the centre of the room, grave and graven like some austere statue. She was wearing the attire that had been provided to her. The corset gave her a more-womanly appearance than her endowments deserved; the mask was in place, a black, expressionless void. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her abdomen.


    Silent. Still.


    The nurse glanced down at herself, suddenly uneasy.


    But which am I? she wondered. How did I lock Everseer in the Asylum, and how did I become a faction-leader in the Thirteen Candles?


    ¡°Well?¡± the patient said, and unpredictably spun in place, both hands making dainty gestures at her sides, fingers gently gripping an imaginary skirt. ¡°What do you think? Fetching, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll agree.¡±


    The nurse smiled wanly behind her own mask, elation trickling into her, though its source was hidden from her, taking the edge off the feeling. She was disconcerted. Discombobulated. She didn¡¯t quite understand everything that had happened, but the way she felt? It was good.


    It was like having a sister. A twin sister.


    ¡°You look almost as fetching as me,¡± she replied eventually, and gave her own little twirl.


    ¡°Racy,¡± the patient said. ¡°Cradlesnatcher¡¯s gonna have a heart attack.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she replied. ¡°If the other changes don¡¯t do it¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, of course.¡±


    There was the shared moment of amusement, as they both started to laugh ¨C


    Nothing.


    Nothing precipitated the assault. No warning in her patient¡¯s voice. No sense of doom in the temporal atmosphere. No movement, no stirring of the air giving indication of attack.


    She didn¡¯t see the girl come closer ¨C only a single glimpse of the fist, one and a quarter inches from her face.


    Normally such a glimpse would afford her the opportunity to evade the incoming blow ¨C slip away, dodge aside, step inside ¨C but now it was just a victim¡¯s viewpoint. The everything beyond the window condensed, coalesced to four knuckles, filling her future.


    She tried to back up, give ground ¨C but it was too late.


    For the first time in years, a strike took her by surprise. Not a weak one, either. A lesser creature ¨C even a lesser arch-diviner ¨C might have perished from a single punch such as this. If she hadn¡¯t been shifting her weight to retreat ¨C


    And she was too used to having time to think through her actions.


    She reeled before the follow-up blow, a hammer-fist to the temple that would¡¯ve dropped her like a pole-axed cow if she hadn¡¯t edged away slightly. The next, a knee to the ribs, caught her completely unawares, driving every iota of breath from her body and caving in a lower portion of her left lung even as it tossed her heedlessly across the chamber.


    Was it that the changes had slowed her to match her patient, giving the girl the edge over her? No. No, it was the opposite. The girl¡¯s power had been increased to match hers. That much was obvious now, despite its impossibility.


    But how? That isn¡¯t supposed ¨C


    Nausea gripped her, even as steel-like fingers gripped her by the throat, clutching and pulling at her very skin in an agonising way, swinging her through the air.


    Her mirror-self pinned her to the ceiling and froze the moment, crouching over her upside down, snarling through the identical mask at her.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve listened to them, Vee. You should¡¯ve stayed away from me. Now look what you¡¯ve done. You wanted a cloak made from the skins of your victims, I could¡¯ve taken a commission. Sordono could¡¯ve seen to that all on his own ¨C I was defenceless. Defenceless, and utterly alone. But you had to go further. You had to make me want it. And I was so dark! so dark inside. Now your cloak, oh, it¡¯ll be sewn to your shoulders! You¡¯ll feel every raindrop, every blade as if it¡¯s your skin that¡¯s exposed! Don¡¯t you see what you¡¯ve done? You broke the rules, Tanra! Bad girl! Father¡¯s naughty little girl! Back to your studies!¡±


    There was only the one explanation.


    She had this in her all along and I never saw it because she ¨C because she ¨C


    It was beyond impossible.


    She outstrips me.


    The girl kicked off the ceiling with both feet, reversing and correcting the pull of their weights ¨C bringing the nurse¡¯s skull down against the floor with enough force to burst a steel helm apart.


    She didn¡¯t even hear it ¨C she just felt the release as her brains were dashed across the carpet.


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    She wiped her knife clean. Good old kitchen knife. Perfect for disposing of vermin like these.


    She sheathed the blade, demiskinned a few packets of inkatra, and headed to the front door.


    She let it clatter to behind her, and stood there in the dark yard. Clouds obscured the moonlight. The path under her feet was choked with weeds. The dead bushes continued their stiff salute in the late-night, early-morning breeze.


    This place had died long before its owners. Maybe now its thieves were dead, it would come back to life with the spring.


    She was leaving uncertainty behind. Certainty ¨C that was all that was ahead of her.


    She replaced the mask, patted her demiskin, and headed out the gate.


    Next stop, Rivertown.


    Time to bring Zandrina into the pattern.


    * * *


    ¡°If I hadn¡¯t been listening, if Jerulus hadn¡¯t ¨C¡±


    ¡°You went too far, Sordono. Too far. What did you do to me? To us?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know! How could I know? I had no time to practice, not really ¨C I was only following your ¨C¡±


    ¡°You talked me into this, when I took Herruto¡¯s pendant off! You made this happen!¡±


    ¡°You lost control, Vee. If you can¡¯t see ¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that!¡±


    ¡°What, then? ¡®Tee¡¯?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever heard you say that before¡­ Look, I don¡¯t think you understand how serious this is. Take an outsider¡¯s perspective. For once I think you need it, Vee! She wasn¡¯t holding back. She was going to kill you! She had killed you!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how we know it worked! Ah, she knew I¡¯d get healed, anyway, probably. Biting out my throat after leaving me on the floor like that, it was calculated¡­ Do you have any idea where she went?¡±


    ¡°There was no way for us to stop her! She just ¨C¡±


    ¡°Why does not one ¨C single ¨C future exist in which you answer the damn question¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡­ uh¡­ I don¡¯t know for sure ¨C¡±


    ¡°Obviously.¡±


    ¡°There was that place. That place she thought she¡¯d go, when she first got her powers.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Yes. That¡¯s tonight.¡±


    ¡°It was weighing heavy on her mind, for some reason.¡±


    ¡°For some reason? It is the reason. It¡¯s been our purpose these last weeks. It¡¯s the meaning of everything.¡±


    ¡°But what are you going to do?¡±


    ¡°¡­ As little as possible. I¡¯m already doing it, after all.¡±


    * * *


    22nd Taura, 999 NE


    She reached the corner and turned south, and there, on the next corner in front of her, she was waiting.


    The person who was her. The person she would never see coming.


    ¡°Hello, me,¡± she said, approaching closer. It was okay. For all that they stood in the street, there was no one watching, no one listening. They were alone with each other and the dark wind.


    ¡°Hello,¡± the other responded.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been busy.¡±


    ¡°So we have.¡±


    She grinned behind the mask. ¡°We indeed,¡± she said.


    ¡°Is there an accord, between us?¡±


    ¡°You sound nervous.¡±


    ¡°Do we need to be?¡±


    That question took her back. Reminded her just who she was talking to.


    ¡°Can a double-edged blade be nervous?¡±


    ¡°So you do understand.¡±


    ¡°Pretty hard to see how there wouldn¡¯t be an accord between us. We¡¯re the same, after all, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Same epic fashion sense.¡±


    ¡°Same penchant for death.¡±


    ¡°You talk like I used to.¡±


    ¡°Right back at you.¡±


    ¡°We met in the middle.¡±


    ¡°Almost.¡± She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a boatload of fun, though, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Deceiving everyone?¡±


    ¡°Certain people in particular. I¡¯m sure Vee has been dying to get to know Timesnatcher better. What a golden opportunity we¡¯ve created ourselves for mischief.¡±


    The other her shrugged, and she could almost feel the motion, so familiar was the movement in every exacting detail.


    ¡°We¡¯ll only grow closer, over time. Don¡¯t think we did this just to mess around. We needed Tanra on our side. Ulu Kalar is coming. I¡¯m not wasting her in the next Incursion, once our inkatra opens the door.¡±


    I¡­ am Zandrina¡­


    ¡°Oh,¡± she mouthed.


    The other her laughed, a bland, coarse hack of sound. ¡°Hah! We¡¯re catching on quick! Yes, it¡¯s going to happen ¨C I can¡¯t see how, but it will, it will. The champions¡­ they¡¯ll be brought low. Almost reduced to the last man. Not enough to fight the dragons. And Irimar¡­¡± She laughed again. ¡°Yes, we do want to mess with him, a little bit. But you¡­ us¡­ we won¡¯t put ourselves at risk when it happens. The moment we get pressed, we withdraw to the Candles. There¡¯ll be no nets capable of trapping us.¡±


    ¡°Leave the others high and dry?¡±


    ¡°If the alternative is death?¡± The other her cocked her head. ¡°Every time.¡±


    ¡°Every time,¡± she repeated.


    But the echo was empty. Inside, she knew the truth. She could already see Imrye. Already see that she¡¯d keep the rest of her promises.


    Vardae is weak.


    She¡¯ll never be like me.

 I Killed Her

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.8: I KILLED HER</h2>


    ¡°I am the bright light that leads the way. I am the courage to pursue justice. I am the humility that knows both right and wrong. I am Lord Light.¡±


    ¨C from the Kailean Creed


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    ¡°What¡¯s them things?¡± a man shrieked just behind me. Similar cries were erupting from many a throat, several people nearby looking directly to me for an answer.


    I ignored them. ¡°Destiny calls,¡± I murmured to my peers.


    To myself.


    Death approaches.


    Tanra was still gibbering, relating something now about how the window was dark. Spirit and Mountainslide were caught in a strangled silence. Ciraya¡¯s sky-blue gaze was fixed on the eastern fiend, on the sack of unconscious heroes, and she looked angry more than anything else.


    Ironvine was nowhere to be seen.


    Stifling a sigh, I raised my voice to quell the crowd¡¯s clamour. ¡°Eolastyr! That¡¯s what they¡¯re called. Denizens of the deepest depths of the Twelve Hells. Twentieth-rank arch-demons, capable of laying waste a whole host of men single-handedly.¡±


    The crowd moaned as one, pressing back in once more. It quelled their clamour, alright, but only by daunting them.


    That hadn¡¯t been my intention.


    ¡°You guys have really been through the wringer today haven¡¯t you? Well, there¡¯s still blood in you yet. Blood in me, if yon crones can get at it.¡± Excitement and nerves were bubbling up, contributing to the feeling of sickness, the discordant humming almost filling my skull now; I had to yell over it. ¡°What do you think?¡± I went on, trying not to grit my teeth. ¡°I bet I can bag at least one of them before I get splatted.¡±


    ¡°I bet two, Feychilde!¡± someone cried.


    ¡°Three!¡±


    ¡°Take the lot!¡±


    Take the lot. Yeah.


    ¡°Why not!¡± I growled back. ¡°Let¡¯s show hell what we¡¯re made of. Not just blood. Bone. Gristle. Stick in their teeth and laugh in defiance! Let them have rot.¡°


    I joined Ciraya in staring east at the sack-bearing arch-fiend, reinforcing the localised shields without expending too much of my energy. I had to marshal my reserves in this contest. The four supreme demons were going to reach the arena sands in a few more steps, and when her tiger¡¯s-paw feet touched the floor I would move, charge straight at her first ¨C if I beat my wings fast enough, there was a chance I¡¯d reach her before she could let her whip fall, and if not I would put Mr. Cuddlesticks right in her face, sacrifice him to give me a tenth of a second ¨C


    ¡°Champions of Mund!¡±


    When the eolastyr to the north cried out to us, her voice rippling down with a seething blast of hot wind, the storm itself quietened, as though she spoke with its voice. Certainly she was loud enough. The driving rain slacked off suddenly, almost dying away altogether.


    Everyone fell silent.


    ¡°We come to reap what you sowed, and nothing more,¡± she went on congenially, less force in her voice. ¡°You speak of your destiny? Yes, Feychilde. Our Mother has come to welcome you. She awaits you and all your brethren, in Hightown! I have awaited, and have done so since you took the life of my Sister ¨C a fate you sought to make now manifest! You return to grapple with the wires which have drawn you across the barren oceans, do you not?¡±


    She¡¯s focussed on me.


    ¡°Those wires we have drawn so snugly about your throat. If you had known when you slew her, would you have still acted, still have removed her from her place at the game? If it pleases you ¨C¡°


    She¡¯s afraid of me.


    While she spoke she came ever-closer, and my reflexes screamed at me that this was it. They were all getting closer, not just the one we were all transfixed by.


    I locked the last spinning star in place and burst into motion while the others stared like enchanted children.


    My movement appeared to break the spell, over some of them at least. Nightfell straightened. Mountainslide spun on the air, seeming to shudder. I had no chance to inspect the others ¨C I¡¯d angled my wings to bring me shooting off to my right, towards the eolastyr with a bag full of my old companions, and I only caught the briefest glimpse of the crowd¡¯s reaction.


    I didn¡¯t go far before I caught the crack! sound and, startled, let my wings go limp.


    I was just on the edge of the group, not twenty feet from where I¡¯d started ¨C and all of the hell-queens were down on the sand with us, circling, perfectly equidistant. A revolving four-pointed diamond, gradually coalescing.


    A crimson noose formed on the air between them. An infernal weave, and they were inside it. This wasn¡¯t to stop us getting at them. This was to stop us escaping.


    Crack!


    Another dose of the lethargy.


    I tried not to smile. They were taking turns, making sure no one got free of the effect. I followed the nearest with my eyes without turning my head, then looked back to see the next one as she entered my field of view. They all certainly seemed to have a lot of flesh clinging to their weapons. My shields popped, one after the other, as they neared us.


    ¡°Did you truly believe we would bring your friends here if there existed a single future in which you might free them?¡±


    ¡°Feychilde, you especially ought to know us better than that by now.¡±


    Crack!


    ¡°You understood, before you slew her, surely? You must have, in order to accomplish the feat.¡±


    I remember.


    I remembered the contempt I felt. I remembered the black eyes running like hot eggs out of her broken face ¨C


    ¡®She would join me! Be mine. Be a slave.¡¯


    The next was speaking. ¡°We are the Daughters of the Sinphalamax. We are never wrong.¡±


    At last she passed in front of me. The one dragging Star and Wilderweird and the others came about, loping gracefully like the others, the minuteness of the motions of her limbs belying the hideous strength hidden within her frame. The gleaming sack of archmages was no burden to her, and as she skipped her poor victims slapped bodily into the bloody, rain-soaked sand.


    Behind her, the weave grew in power, an immense dome of absolute indestructibility.


    No way out.


    ¡°Kas!¡± Tanra squealed.


    ¡°You¡¯re filthy hyenas, you¡¯re never right!¡± I spat at the eolastyr. ¡°Not once in eternity! You ¨C¡°


    Crack!


    I fell silent, bristling; the nearest eolastyr left my sight, smiling benignly, and it was the next who replied gently:


    ¡°You could not be more wrong. We are the only clean beings in your city.¡±


    She angled closer to me, closer. Their diamond was tightening.


    ¡°We will flense all your lovely precious things here, and dose you well before transit.¡±


    Crack!


    ¡°We aren¡¯t fools.¡±


    Crack!


    ¡°Oh no.¡±


    ¡°If you could see it as we see it wh¨C¡°


    I¡¯d waited until the nearest eolastyr was at maximum complacency, strutting around me like an overgrown cockatiel, and then I lopped her head off with a single sweep of my arm.


    It wasn¡¯t the right demon, but I had to work with what I was given.


    She died mid-word. My blow had gone a little askew, given the nervous burst of excess energy which accompanied the strike ¨C but only a little askew. Five tendrils went clean through her, from just above the left elbow to the right clavicle. Her left shoulder and bicep joined her head, tumbling unceremoniously to the sand.


    The emptiness in her spilled out like a drum of black paint had burst, disappearing in an instant, shadows forced into the light.


    Three screams pierced the air, howls of unutterable disbelief, and the infernal weave gave the lie to their confidence ¨C the shimmering scarlet barrier faltered, flickered and died.


    A single flap of the huge wings gave me enough height to see the others.


    Me aside, every single person here was truly paralysed this time ¨C not just bewitched, but held fast, almost like they¡¯d been time-locked while the rest of us flowed on.


    ¡°Not so good at dodging when you can¡¯t see it coming, are you? You¡¯re so finite. If only you could see things how I see them.¡±


    Crack! Crack!


    I grinned down at the impotent tigresses, and laughed.


    The third of the remaining eolastyr didn¡¯t even bother trying her whip, turning north-east to flee directly away from the crowd over which I hung ¨C but not before I glimpsed the expression on her face.


    Making something like her actually reveal her fear, for what was probably the first time in years, decades? Oh, it was worth every moment of biting my tongue.


    She swung the glittering sack about her and then, with a sudden explosion of speed, she ripped across the sand.


    Hightown.


    I wanted to chase her and she wanted me to want it.


    Don¡¯t take the bait.


    I turned to the other two instead. ¡°So,¡± I said, ¡°would you like to rethink your plan? Flense them, will you? Flense them?¡±


    I added just a bit of the anger pulsing through me to my voice, the disgust and disdain edging my words.


    It was enough to break their wills. If I could¡¯ve caught up with them, I fancied I would¡¯ve been able to bring them into my possession, but it wasn¡¯t going to work that way. They split off in different directions, and if I pursued one, the other would return here and obliterate the whole throng of people just to spite me.


    I waited for the miasma of the eolastyr to evaporate, then went down to see my old colleagues.


    ¡°Well, that was bracing,¡± I said.


    ¡°You bagged one, Feychilde!¡± a random woman shouted, a hysterical tremor to the thrill in her voice.


    ¡°Only one,¡± I grumbled.


    ¡°Kas, that was insane,¡± Tanra said. ¡°How exactly did you do that?¡±


    ¡°I guess there¡¯s a lot to discuss¡­ Are we done here? Do they need help out there?¡± I raised my head as if to look over the walls, peer through them at the ongoing contest beyond the arena boundaries.


    Nightfell shook her head. ¡°Kani¡¯s cleaning up. We¡¯re needed at the Fountains. If you¡¯ll head there, I¡¯ll meet you ¨C¡°


    ¡°No,¡± I cut her off. ¡°You come with me. I need you, more than ever before. We need back up.¡±


    ¡°Back up?¡± Mountainslide rumbled, speaking for the first time.


    ¡°Yeah. Back up.¡±


    * * *


    Gong!


    I was headed somewhere I¡¯d never actually visited before, but that didn¡¯t mean I didn¡¯t have a pretty good idea what to expect. Not the Fountains, where we¡¯d provisionally agreed to meet up with the others ¨C assuming they survived their encounter with the thing the eolastyr called ¡®Mother¡¯ long-enough for our reinforcements to arrive.


    No¡­ this was a place almost equally-dangerous.


    The time-locked Hilltown streets we flitted over were eerie; most were devoid of life, the residents sensibly sequestered away in their red-brick houses, but some displayed running citizens robbed of all motion, so that it was a bit like flying through a three-dimensional painting.


    The air was colder than it should¡¯ve been, even to me, freshly returned from Northril in the wraith-skin; the sky was filled with unmoving rain drops that shattered soundlessly against my companion¡¯s clothing. This was no late spring storm; it was more like a near-winter tempest. The dwarf had cut corners with regard to elemental wards but we were imbued with Mountainslide¡¯s flight-spells, and when we tested our speed I was amused to find his aeromancy still not quite at Emrelet¡¯s level, even accounting for the chronomantic distortions that made it feel as though we were coasting. Faster than Orcan, for sure, but¡­


    Emrelet¡­


    Even if I never really knew her ¨C even if we had all been part of some evil plan ¨C I still retained all my instincts, my unspoken drive to care about her, worry about her. There were two aspects to the truth. One was known for a fact by my brain, but the other felt like a wound in my heart, more real than any mere fact.


    Does she know what happened to Emrelet? I wondered, casting my companion a sidelong glance. How can I ask without her mocking me for being a sop?


    At least there was the prospect of outmanoeuvring an arch-diviner in a conversation, now. I was intending on taking full advantage of my new capabilities.


    ¡°What was your moment of no return?¡± I asked at last, after at least a subjective minute of interminable silence.


    ¡°No talking,¡± she grunted through the black mask. ¡°You¡¯re hard to wrap up now. You keep splitting the layers.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to keep pretending you¡¯re annoyed with me? I know you don¡¯t like the crown ¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that.¡±


    ¡°What is it, then?¡±


    She was silent again.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the easiest question to answer, I suppose,¡± I went on, feeling as though I were talking to myself. ¡°I killed Mal Malas, with a little help from some friends. He took my arm, you see. Just before a fleet of dark elf ships destroyed Telior.¡±


    Now at last I felt her unseen gaze fall upon me.


    ¡°Yeah, it was grim. I tried to stop it¡­ I was too late. But it started before all that. It was¡­ revenge, upon me. See, I killed a boatful of them ¨C¡±


    ¡°You?¡±


    She halted, rounding on me in mid-air, and I bent my wings to stop, face her.


    ¡°Yeah, me. They ¨C see I was going to say, they broke me. But it happened earlier than that. When Em ¨C when Emrelet killed Wyre, that night he escaped, you remember?¡±


    The black mask tilted, nodding.


    ¡°I got the itch. I scratched it, right across Shadowcrafter¡¯s neck, and¡­ yeah.¡±


    I felt it anew, the need to kill, the emptiness of the act.


    You killed three magisters half an hour ago¡­


    But ¨C the boy, his soul pointlessly separated from his body ¨C


    ¡°Shadowcrafter deserved it,¡± I finished bitterly. ¡°They all did. Do. Will. But Emrel-¡±


    ¡°The darkmage you sent to Magicrux Zyger. You killed him.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ huh. He insisted on smashing my foot. It just¡­ it really ticked me off. Then ¨C well, he was going to kill Rath.¡±


    ¡°Rath¡­¡±


    ¡°Duskdown.¡±


    ¡°I may not be able to use my powers on you, but that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m stupid.¡±


    She sounded more offended than I¡¯d expected. She bent on the air, arrowing uphill once more, climbing into the deeper clouds that lay ahead.


    ¡°So you freed Duskdown deliberately, then,¡± she accused over her shoulder as I fought to catch her up. ¡°It wasn¡¯t some mistake.¡±


    ¡°It was only due to him that I had a chance, that any of us got our chance¡­ Neverwish too, you know.¡±


    I thought about Ripplewhim, whom I¡¯d last seen floating face-down in the water, miles under the earth. I could only hope his naive soul wasn¡¯t trapped in some nethernal demi-plane down there, that the winds of the shadowland had blown him clear of the guarded regions.


    ¡°That¡¯s how we knew you got free for sure. The third time Neverwish visited Starsight, Timesnatcher had a vision. He¡¯s going to kill good old Rath, you know.¡±


    ¡°I guess they¡¯ve both had it coming long enough.¡± I sighed as I came alongside her once more. ¡°If they could both behave, they¡¯d be oh-so-useful, but if they insist on having it out like children? Well¡­ What can any of the rest of us do, really?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna have to pick up the slack, of course.¡±


    ¡°Looks to me like you¡¯ve been doing your part already. Any new reports over the link?¡±


    ¡°Yeah ¨C from what I hear, you¡¯ve put the fear of Ismethyl in Valorin. Care to explain?¡±


    I scowled. ¡°He got in my way. Stupid man. I almost killed him.¡±


    ¡°You took his hands?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like it¡¯s contagious.¡±


    Tanra laughed loudly, and there was a new, carefree timbre to the sound, carrying her acceptance of my actions. The old Killstop was in there somewhere. The ease was back, the lackadaisical attitude that both frightened and appealed to me.


    ¡°Do you¡­¡± I began, realising I was dropping behind and putting on another burst of speed, ¡°do you know what happened to Emrelet?¡±


    ¡°What was Zyger like?¡±


    It was a strange counter. I repositioned myself alongside her, matching her velocity again, then glanced at her.


    She refused to meet my gaze, the mask not tilting towards me even so much as a single degree.


    She¡¯s trying to assert control over the conversation, I realised. She may not be able to see my responses before they happen, but she can control the questions she asks, refuse to answer any of my own¡­


    Does she really mistrust me so?


    ¡°What do you know of it?¡± I sparred back.


    The answer wasn¡¯t immediately forthcoming, and when she did speak it was in a small voice, as though her chest were tight, her emotions barely in check.


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    ¡°Sounds. Splashes, groans. A million little bubbles popping. And sometimes¡­ sometimes there are voices. Is it¡­ is there acid?¡±


    ¡°Acid? Gods, no!¡± I considered how to put it. Did I want to divulge the truth to someone who might be unstable? To anyone?


    But then, Duskdown knew. And I was hardly the picture of stability myself.


    ¡°Have you heard of the Inceryad?¡±


    She sucked in her breath.


    ¡°Of course!¡± she moaned. ¡°So that¡¯s what it means! It¡¯s an inverse Ceryad-tree? Oh ¨C oh my¡­¡±


    ¡°Drains everything right out of you.¡±


    ¡°So how did you ¨C¡°


    ¡°Thanks to the Cannibal Six.¡±


    It was hard for me to process just how much I was enjoying being able to stun her with my responses. Her reactions were plain to read despite the mask, the tells in her voice and posture more than enough to tickle me thoroughly.


    ¡°I ¨C the Cannibal Six?¡±


    ¡°How long do we have?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s long enough, but you should start at the beginning.¡±


    I gave her the abridged version of events, condensing months into minutes, knowing all along as I spoke that she was doing a damned good job of distracting me from what I actually wanted to talk about. But she was right. She deserved to know. She needed to know. And I needed to tell someone, needed to let it all out, even if the brief summary could barely scratch the surface of the actual experiences¡­


    We were traversing the frozen winds above Hightown¡¯s tree-lined streets now, and the darkness had only deepened. On the horizon whichever way I looked, there was the thin golden band, like a wedding ring wrapped about the city, a distant reminder that it was still the middle of the day.


    I didn¡¯t have time to speculate on the nature of the interaction between eldritch magic and the Inceryad. I didn¡¯t have time to fully-explain the guardians of the thresholds, the trip to Infernum. I didn¡¯t have time to properly express my grief about Fangmoon¡¯s passing ¨C


    ¡°What are you on about?¡± Tanra cut me off, then, with a kind of glee that told me she was just pleased to know something I didn¡¯t, continued: ¡°Sol didn¡¯t die.¡±


    My spirits rose, but it was just a shadow of what it would¡¯ve been if she¡¯d reacted that way when I asked about Emrelet.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t? She ran, or¡­¡±


    ¡°She joined the other side.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Now I came to a stop, forcing Nightfell to halt, wheel about. ¡°Sol, a heretic?¡±


    The seeress just shrugged. ¡°Come on. No dawdling.¡±


    I started moving again, more slowly than before. ¡°But that¡¯s¡­ they took Winterprince, didn¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Glimmermere. Shallowlie. Netherhame¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I exploded.


    ¡°¡­ Brokenskull. Voicenoise. Dimdweller¡­¡±


    I stared at her, aghast; when she fell silent, I said: ¡°Are you quite finished?¡±


    ¡°For now. I don¡¯t know the full tally, of course.¡±


    ¡°But they¡¯re no longer champions? They aren¡¯t ¨C aren¡¯t¡­¡±


    Aren¡¯t out here, fighting?


    ¡°The champions are gone, Kas.¡± She said it heavily, but there was no other outward sign of distress ¨C she didn¡¯t stop or slow or even look at me when she spoke. ¡°The whole enterprise, it was doomed. They couldn¡¯t accept the truth.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, the truth, that everyone has to die sooner because they might die later.¡± I laughed. ¡°Well, the more the merrier. We¡¯ll see about all that. I take it when Everseer ¨C¡°


    I saw her flinch then.


    ¡°¨C made her big speech ¨C the champions disbanded?¡±


    ¡°You could hear it in Magicrux Zyger?¡±


    What was that wry note of disappointment in her voice?


    ¡°No¡­ no, I just got the summarised version¡­¡± I needed to backtrack; my initial goal of finding out what she thought had happened to Emrelet was long-since abandoned. ¡°Do they still Gather, though?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t been to the Tower of Mourning since the last time I was there with you,¡± she said in a musing voice. ¡°Irimar still attends, dispensing our counsel to those cretins too dull-brained to jump ship. Not many, Kas. Half of them are just mages now. The mage population¡­ of champions, I mean¡­ it saw a massive up-tick.¡±


    ¡°After Yearsend.¡±


    She just grunted.


    ¡°You going to carry on acting like this? You still haven¡¯t answered either of my questions. What hurt you, Tanra? And what in Celestium killed Emrelet? Tanra!¡±


    I swirled about, moving to the other side so I could grip her with my actual hand; I took her by the clingy black sleeve and she cast my fingers off with a smooth twisting of her elbow and wrist.


    ¡°You¡¯re almost impossible to hold still,¡± she moaned, continuing to look forward rather than meet my eyes, hurtling onwards in spite of my attempts to stop her. ¡°That damned crown, Kas. That crown¡­¡±


    ¡°If it bothers you that much¡­¡±


    I slowed to a stop, and, finally, I seemed to be getting through. With an air of disbelief, she whipped about and drew alongside me.


    ¡°If it¡¯s the only way¡­ the only way to get through, to get you to trust me again¡­¡±


    I reached up to the crown and, praying my amulet would suffice to protect me from some sudden attack of the Magisterium¡¯s enchanters ¨C I lifted it from my head.


    For a moment I¡¯d been worried I wouldn¡¯t have been able to do it, that the dark magic of Mekesta would¡¯ve made it bind to my scalp, pull out knots of hair if I tried to budge it even a finger¡¯s-width. But no. I laughed at my foolishness.


    Casually, I brought it down before my face, turning it in my hand to examine its subtle runes once more.


    ¡°See, it does come off,¡± I said, mostly to myself.


    I looked back to her, and that complete and utter disbelief was in every aspect of her posture: her face¡¯s stillness; her trembling fingers. For a moment, I thought I saw the rain blur downwards a few feet, as though her control on her spell were still slipping despite my gesture.


    ¡°So, now you¡¯ve got the upper hand again¡­ Do you want to talk to me? Look, I¡¯m sorry, okay? I did tell you I¡¯d get you back.¡±


    She cocked her head.


    ¡°You remember¡­ ¡®work damage control¡¯¡­¡±


    ¡°Kas¡­¡± Her voice was sickly-sweet as she reached up a hand to her mask, then she pulled it off. ¡°Kas, I¡¯m so glad you came back.¡±


    It was her, her oval face, her button nose. The eyes burning with a fever, almost like the first night we¡¯d met. I couldn¡¯t tell if it was an illusion caused by the weird lighting but I could¡¯ve sworn she¡¯d dyed parts of her hair white.


    ¡°You really did think I was going to help you open the way, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    She¡¯d dropped me out of her timestream with such suddenness it was extremely difficult to follow what happened; her words were still striking my ears as her weapons started piercing my skin.


    She knew exactly which dagger to use on me, which ensorcellment would bypass my defences. If I¡¯d only been joined with a wraith, it probably would¡¯ve killed me outright. As it was, the ¡®ascended ancient¡¯ funnelled enough nethernal energy into my flesh to keep me alive even if I¡¯d had every drop of blood drained from my veins. The fact she left the blade buried to the handle in my forehead spoke to the fact she wanted to overstretch my internal resources, wanted to whittle down my reserves until she could finish me.


    I had no way to count the other slashes, stabs, rips, tears ¨C the blows were innumerable. They traced lethal vectors through my amorphous body with lines both searing hot and biting cold ¨C the knives bisected my heart dozens of times in different directions, snipped my spine into pieces, burying pound upon pound of accumulated steel into my lungs, my spleen, my¡­


    Less than a second. Less than a heartbeat. I was still in the process of reacting, sensing what she¡¯d done to me, and then it happened.


    The ineffectual tug. I felt it, perhaps in retrospect, as she tried to pull the crown from my fingertips.


    I looked at her like she was mad, and she was. Her face was contorted in determination, but it was a sneer, an extremity of callousness to which I¡¯d never before seen her driven.


    It was a desperate gambit, a loser¡¯s last chance at victory. The crown was enwraithed; it was at least partially fused to my very essence. Doubtless in her head she should¡¯ve been miles away by now, the circlet atop her own brow, the guise of Mother-Chaos hers now to command. But instincts made my shields extrude formlessly from my hand ¨C and even in the very same moment that the wards ignited I felt her resistance on the crown slacken away, the bitter rim sliding back easily into my unfeeling grasp.


    She can¡¯t take it.


    I extended the formless substance and then the shield was truly there between us, a solid circle, pushing her away.


    Never, ever before had one of my wards worked against her. Even that day in Wyre¡¯s office, when she held me back on the brink of the abyss into which the hands of fate later hurled me.


    She broke the shield, of course, chewing clean through the azure barrier with a flurry of strikes I couldn¡¯t even begin to follow ¨C yet the flow of my magic had never been stronger. The next circle was partially reinforced, rudimentary stars spinning, bubbling into place just as she got through the first.


    Creating complex structures was still a slow process for me, and I was never going to get more than a circle-shape out in a situation like this, but it was enough.


    Enough.


    I dropped the crown back on top of my head, then gripped the handle of the knife still wedged in my brain.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not¡­ very¡­ nice¡­¡±


    I grated the words as, bit by bit, I yanked it free. I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment as it finally slid out, then brought it down to study it. The various hooks and serrated edges were nauseating, the dozens of individual sharpened points emitting a faint amber light.


    I let go the handle, and the dagger plummeted along with the freely-falling rain. She dipped to a point ten feet below me, blurring down to catch her weapon, then snapped back into place once more.


    I stared at her silhouette, backlit as a lightning bolt careened across the black skies behind her.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    ¡°Look ¨C you know I had to try to get it away from you, Kas. For so many reasons. You need to give it to me now. Hand it over. Before things have to get messy.¡±


    I understood, perhaps better than she thought I did.


    Never before. Not once.


    ¡°I needed her,¡± I said, choked. ¡°I needed Tanra. Together ¨C we were supposed to fix everything!¡±


    She reacted like I¡¯d cut her, shrinking back, recoiling from me.


    ¡°Do you hear me?¡± I only pushed closer to her. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    Then rage asserted itself and I was growling again:


    ¡°Nightfell! Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    She had access to her chronomancy. She¡¯d had half an hour to decide what to say next, and all she¡¯d managed was that meaningless croak, a syllable that had lost all the sense it used to possess.


    I tried it again, my voice invested with all my gremlin-magic, as loud as the thunder.


    ¡°Who¡­ are¡­ you!¡±


    And when she responded it was in kind, a wave of echoes, as though a thousand Nightfells screamed the answer.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±


    Then she was gone, no blur, no motion-trail I could trace. She vanished into the darkness, leaving me there, floating above the deserted street alone.


    And for the first time ¨C for the first time, I regretted it.


    Perhaps¡­ perhaps I never should¡¯ve come back.


    * * *


    I spent almost a minute, just floating there, listening to the Mourning Bells, casting about and trying to centre myself. Hightown hadn¡¯t changed much. The same austere towers with their thousands of windows, the vast majority never winking with the flicker of candlelight, instead emitting the cool glare of glow-globe radiance out across the city. It was strange to be here, over the streets, feeling as though the place were empty even though I knew they were all there, teeming like bugs inside the walls, doing their best to ignore the incessant ringing that was the reminder: death is here, death is stalking the streets, and you might be next.


    There were no demons within my lines of sight. The only bit of motion to arrest my eye was a group of hooded individuals turning off a major thoroughfare into a side-street; the six of them were wand-armed, but they were wearing ordinary clothes rather than robes. A local militia of some kind, it seemed. Not surprising that such would be required, given the state of things in Mund. I didn¡¯t spend any time wondering who¡¯d hired them. They were inconsequential. Bigger things were afoot.


    Had she gone there ahead of me? Would she raise the alarm?


    Was she really a heretic?


    Was it even actually her?


    No one changed that much. Not without enchantment.


    ¡®You really did think I was going to help you open the way, didn¡¯t you?¡¯


    Whoever she was ¨C for all the time we¡¯d travelled together since the arena, she¡¯d been lying to me, the whole way. Baiting me. She didn¡¯t know for certain how to get me to remove the crown from my head, but she¡¯d had a pretty good idea because she knew me. She knew I¡¯d lower my barriers to Tanra. The arch-diviner was my weakest link, the one person left amongst the archmages I¡¯d trust implicitly. And that trust had been used to attack me, savage me ¨C it wasn¡¯t just the physical attack, her attempt to slay me where I floated, but the emotional earthquake she¡¯d caused within me, opening a rift I had no notion how to close. I was supposed to be flying, supposed to be moving, supposed to be acting ¨C but here I was, lost, adrift on the wind¡¯s wild currents, struggling to pick up the pieces of my mind. Hopes and expectations slipped like sand between my fingers. I was no good to anyone in this state anyway. Couldn¡¯t help the dying. Couldn¡¯t fight the demons.


    I couldn¡¯t help my paranoia either, couldn¡¯t fight it. I replayed the moments again before my mind¡¯s eye.


    The flinch when I mention Everseer. The disappointment in her voice when she thinks I could hear the witch¡¯s words from Magicrux Zyger¡­


    No. The disappointment in her voice when she thinks of the witch¡¯s words in general¡­


    She¡¯s disappointed everyone didn¡¯t leave.


    She¡¯s¡­ hers.


    Everseer has done something to her.


    What had she even been expecting to happen? The moment I¡¯d lifted the crown from my head, the future-lines must¡¯ve come into focus for her ¨C otherwise she wouldn¡¯t have acted. But which future had she seen where she¡¯d wrested the prize from my clutches?


    You have Mekesta to thank for that, I thought ¨C and it gave me pause.


    After everything that had come before ¨C after Lovebright and Tyr Kayn, after Henthae and Emrelet¡­ after Redgate and Direcrown¡­ Facechanger and Belexor¡­ after all the other twists and turns, traitors and treachery ¨C


    I couldn¡¯t trust. I couldn¡¯t believe in Tanra anymore.


    And, before we fixed anything else, we had to fix that.


    I pressed my lips together.


    Wherever you are ¨C whatever she¡¯s done with you ¨C I¡¯ll find you. I¡¯ll reach you, Tanra. I promise.


    Resolve finally flooding me once more, I sped on my way. It wasn¡¯t hard to get a lock on my destination ¨C even through the dark clouds the fires atop the thirteen roofs were impossible to miss. I had no way to be sure, but in my heart of hearts I knew ¨C


    I was following her.


    Following her home.


    * * *


    ¡°The Thirteen Candles,¡± I murmured, looking it up and down. It was only now that it occurred to me just how much the scarlet edifice looked like the Inceryad-tree. Sure, the gargantuan tower was almost ¡®flat¡¯ when seen in profile, just like a candelabrum, but from the angle of my current approach, coming at it head-on¡­ Supporting the thirteen gnarled branches, the trunk of the tower was thick and sturdy, riven with vertical lines that could¡¯ve almost been like those in tree-bark had they not looked so much like trails of dripping blood. It amused me to think that the place might¡¯ve been constructed in the first place as some kind of testament to powerlessness.


    The crimson-brown paint looked at once fresh and crumbly, wet and dry. It made for a truly macabre sight. It didn¡¯t much surprise me that no houses actually faced the area; significant earthworks had been raised on the outer edges of the acres it occupied so that it was neatly ringed with hills, and the only windows facing towards the Candles were those from the lofty heights of distant towers. There were some semi-permanent markets on the outward hill-slopes, screened from the full, demented view of the blood-coated tower; places where people could go and still feel safe, trade and banter in defiance of the heretics, treading the banks of recently-trimmed green grass¡­ But, from what I could see, the grass as one came nearer and nearer to the base of the Thirteen Candles became increasingly long and yellow, listless, then grey and dead towards the very foot of the tower. A malign influence had dried out the land, time-locking the very ground into some state of perpetual decay, an autumnal withering that never quite drew to a close.


    Was there a door there, at the foot of the tower? It was impossible to tell. Heretics were never spotted on the grounds, but Netherhame had once said something that led me to assume they made all transit to and fro under cover, a kind of everlasting invisibility-screen. Hopefully my crown would let me see through their illusions, if they decided to sally forth and obliterate me, but I wasn¡¯t banking on it. All of the windows were dark, even when viewed against the black coils of this terrible storm. Only the thirteen fires atop the Candles were burning, burning, in defiance of all gods, all sense.


    It¡¯s time to bring it to an end, I told myself.


    I turned my eyes away from the tower itself, focussing on the thing between us, filtering my own shapes so that I could study it.


    The multicoloured sheen on the air. The impenetrable shield.


    Braided green ribbons. Interwoven red wisps. Entwined purple threads. The azure spells looked like mortar, pasting over the gaps between the extra-planar shapes, linking one to the other. The dome was immense, though not so immense as the hill-border would suggest, and in comparison to the Maginox¡¯s pure-blue shields this was nothing, a footstool before a throne. Yet it looked stronger. Its forces came not from Materium but from further-flung, eldritch sources. My sorcerer¡¯s-eye was refined now. The tesseract flowed in three directions at once, three planes intersecting at ten billion different points simultaneously.


    Floating there a hundred feet above the ground, I allowed myself to fly forward through the rain, drawing closer to the shield.


    By all accounts, all they ever did was strike it. Whether sorcerers of a more-discerning nature were ever applied to the task, I had my doubts. The Magisterium never sanctioned attacks on the place ¨C attacks¡­ Again, their presumptive, aggressive postures had betrayed their true intent: to obfuscate the real nature of Heresy. To maintain the equilibrium.


    And whether a sorcerer bestowed with fingers of force had ever been sent here to plumb the depths of these wards¡­ I thought not.


    Gritting my teeth against the potential recoil, I let one of my sorcerous tendrils touch the shimmering surface.


    There was no pain, but the instantaneous response was in the negative: I wouldn¡¯t be able to whisk these shields away. My power was incompatible with the energy-source and I couldn¡¯t convert it in such amounts, couldn¡¯t even open a slice in it to collect a single cup of blood.


    I lowered my multiple whip-arm, and spent a minute just hovering in the downpour, thinking through my options.


    I could try to just touch the blue sections, I mused. If I can tear off the plaster, maybe it¡¯ll all crumble apart.


    I lifted one finger, one tendril, and brushed as gently as a painter, seeking to separate one layer from the next.


    It was like trying to turn a page when it was stuck to the next one ¨C stuck with glue. No amount of finesse would suffice to the task. Perhaps brute-force, if applied by a deity¡­ I lowered my tendrils once more.


    Or maybe I can bleed it out into another vessel¡­


    I sank down to the ground and summoned Khikiriaz onto the grass beside me.


    The ikistadreng lifted his massive black antlers and cast about, before saying to me dubiously, ¡°Master? We are far from the battle, it appears.¡±


    ¡°Not for long,¡± I answered, and he stamped his hooves eagerly. ¡°Keep an eye out. Could be heretics anywhere. Now, stop that, keep still. This shouldn¡¯t hurt a bit.¡±


    I carefully placed one tendril upon his neck and then stretched out another, this time seeking one of the red lines.


    Rotate the colour¡­ convert one force into another by folding it over in its shadow¡­


    When I touched the infernal ribbon, distinct from the others, I somehow joined with it. And all at once I was filled with a horrible intuition.


    I find myself hunched over a table. The room is gloomy, small ¨C there¡¯s barely any room to move around, but I¡¯m used to it. It¡¯s cosy, and, moreover, it¡¯s mine. The dizzying array of gadgets strewn about the table are also mine, and somehow they are my speciality, my job. Each one is linked to a place on the plane, and the demi-plane in which I squat is linked to every single place. I know that I currently monitor nine hundred and forty-four wheels and cogs, whizzing and grinding, and that no one, no one is my equal in this task. He gave it to me.


    I broke the connection, shuddering as I came back to myself, withdrawing the two fingers ¨C


    ¡°Maaaaasterrrrr¡­¡±


    Only a single instant had passed, but I turned to regard a bloated mass of bright-red fur. The behemoth was fourteen feet at the shoulder, almost twenty feet from nose to tail-tip, and his antlers¡­


    If this had happened a week ago ¨C even a day ago ¨C I would no doubt have flinched, given the little twitch that might¡¯ve proven fatal.


    I had nothing to worry about. He was still calling me his master, wasn¡¯t he?


    I laughed my head off instead.


    ¡°Oh, Five¡­ Look at you. Someone¡¯s been finishing everyone else¡¯s plates, hasn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Maaasterrr¡­¡±


    ¡°And polishing off the neighbours¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Master!¡±


    He leapt forward, throwing himself between me and the multicoloured shield, as ¨C


    Nightfell plunged through him, cratering out the side of the blurry breast nearest me with daggers blazing, wielding a thousand more colours than the wards that¡¯d screened her from me. The invisibility she wore was less effective at obscuring her than the speed of her flight, and the weapon-trails gave the lie to both.


    She wasn¡¯t holding back at all now.


    The steel rainbow pierced him through, and his forelegs trembled, gave out, sending him crashing down antler-first into the dead soil.


    ¡°Dismiss it or it dies,¡± the seeress whispered, hanging there in front of me, not five yards away.


    So, it really has come to this.


    I braced myself, and got ready. I¡¯d never been one to back down from a fight, but this was one fight I never wanted to be having.


    And it was going to happen anyway.


    * * *


    I did as she asked without complaint, waving the gigantic, dying Khikiriaz away from the plane with a burst of red fire. I¡¯d already proven my point. The shield behind her ¨C every one of the crimson bonds had faded, thinning from rope-width to finger-width. I might not have completely broken one of the wards, but I¡¯d shown my concept was sound.


    All I needed now was opportunity.


    ¡°Do you think they¡¯re safe in there?¡± Then with a grin I raised the ear-bursting voice to the unseen masses, the insects scurrying behind these various shifting walls. ¡°Do you think you¡¯re safe?¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t come,¡± she hissed. ¡°They won¡¯t disobey. It¡¯s just me. Your doom, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Afraid of what I might say? Ha-haaa! Think I can¡¯t make myself heard?¡±


    ¡°I think you don¡¯t want them to hurt Tanra.¡±


    ¡°But you aren¡¯t Tanra. You only deny it so they do think you are. She¡¯d hardly admit it; so you don¡¯t either.¡±


    She floated gently to the ground, and in the moment her boots touched the wispy grass, there were two of her.


    ¡°It¡¯s just me,¡± said the second version of her, blurring into place next to her. ¡°Just the two of us. That¡¯s how this all began. That¡¯s how it all ends.¡±


    Mirror-image Nightfells. Both clad in the same attire, both wearing the same mask¡­ Blofm¡¯s insight-essence even showed the same parts of their bodies through the invisibility at the same time, the uncanny vanishing-effect swirling all over both of them in perfect step.


    Well, now it all made sense. Why the shield had repelled her. Why she tried to steal the crown and kill me.


    It took me a second to gather my thoughts. It was a nice touch, I had to admit ¨C not swapping the identities, but both using Tanra¡¯s.


    Small wonder everyone had been fooled.


    ¡°I thought you were supposed to have a bow.¡±


    ¡°That was Tanra¡¯s idea,¡± said the first. ¡°Before Nightfell.¡±


    The second: ¡°We don¡¯t like many of Tanra¡¯s ideas.¡±


    Back to the first: ¡°Except the murder-instinct.¡±


    The second looked at her double, and said in a surprised sort of tone, ¡°I know, right? Who would¡¯ve thought.¡±


    ¡°Not me.¡±


    ¡°Nor me.¡±


    I looked between them. ¡°Vardae.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± they both answered, talking in flawless unison.


    ¡°I am unbelievably sick of this drop. First ¨C¡°


    Celestium, I almost implied the twins became arch-enchanters for a moment! At least they could no longer read my intended words in my aborted sentences.


    ¡°¡­ First, you have to realise¡­¡± I drew a shuddering breath. ¡°I can find out which of you is which. You¡¯re far too vulnerable.¡±


    I started swinging the force-blade before I was even half-finished. Ill-will was an ally I could always rely on. It never lied. It would pass through the real Tanra leaving her unscathed while the murderess would finally, finally see justice.


    But it seemed I betrayed it. I should¡¯ve kept my mouth shut, should¡¯ve restrained the urge to gloat: one of the Nightfells fled to my left, moving just in front of the unseen, razor-sharp shape hurtling towards them.


    The other stood there, waiting for the blade to pass through her.


    ¨C oh no oh no I didn¡¯t mean like this not like this how did this ¨C


    Pass through and bisect her.


    ¡°You think we don¡¯t see shields?¡± the seeress beyond my range sneered. ¡°A sorcerer¡¯s planar vision is¡­¡±


    Only then did she seem to realise that she alone had outpaced the attack. She turned back, watching with me as, partially obscured by the featureless mask, a red line appeared across Tanra¡¯s windpipe, appearing almost black in the dim light.


    ¡°No!¡± Vardae shrieked, moving back in until the shield repelled her. ¡°No! What have you done? Mekesta¡¯s fool!¡±


    The cut had been clean. Throat height. Not just her windpipe ¨C her head itself had been fully severed.


    Yet it didn¡¯t fall ¨C and neither did the rain. The wind had died away instantaneously, and an unearthly silence settled over the three of us. More than ever before, it truly felt as though we were the only beings to still exist.


    I took an involuntary step towards her, unthinkingly bringing her within my boundaries, and thankfully she was no longer registering, no longer being repelled ¨C or else in moving closer I might¡¯ve split the wound open, caused her head to fall¡­


    The ill-will in her had died with her ¨C but Vardae¡¯s power held the balance.


    ¡°Let it go, Tanra,¡± the dying Nightfell murmured. ¡°Release¡­ release the moment ¨C¡°


    ¡°No!¡± came the shriek from the other one again. ¡°No, she¡¯s lying! She¡¯s Tanra! I¡¯m ¨C I¡¯m ¨C¡° Her cries became pants. ¡°What¡¯s happening to me? No, Kas. Kas, you have to save her! We need her!¡±


    ¡°Better that¡­ I die, than she. I¡­ I deserve this.¡±


    The murmur was quieter now. The physical effects of the severed head were still there, time-locked or not. Death was inevitable, and I would be forced to watch as she ¨C as her soul ¨C


    I killed Tanra.


    I killed Tanra¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± I breathed, ¡°wrong! Tanra! Vardae¡¯s the one, she ¨C she¡¯s the reason everything¡¯s like this! Don¡¯t you see? If she hadn¡¯t ¨C if you¡¯d been here¡­¡± I gathered myself. ¡°A h-healing potion,¡± I mumbled, looking to the one beyond my shield. ¡°A potion¡­ Everseer, throw me ¨C¡°


    I didn¡¯t want to lower my wards, not with the chronomantic effect already in place; if I caused some arcane interaction Vardae hadn¡¯t been able to foresee thanks to my crown, and we advanced the moment even a fraction of a second ¨C if we did that, then Tanra¡¯s head could ¨C would ¨C


    No. No no no no¡­


    Then I realised I could just step back ¨C step out of the way as Vardae closed in, let the heretic pour it down the champion¡¯s throat for me.


    I lifted a foot to step back ¨C Vardae¡¯s hand found a glimmering phial in a belt-pouch ¨C and Tanra reached up, placing both hands on the sides of her head.


    Her palms were flat against her mask¡¯s cheeks, fingers at its temples. It looked as though she were considering removing the thing, but the implication was far more macabre. Despite her condition, the snapping motions of her arms were just as smooth and slick as ever. She was telling us that it was impossible for us to stop her.


    She would take her own head off if we tried to help her now.


    ¡°Tanra, why?¡± Vardae howled. ¡°We could have succeeded! We could¡¯ve been as sisters!¡±


    ¡°You could¡­ never¡­ really be me¡­ And I¡­ you. You were so¡­¡± A brief sob escaped her. ¡°¡­ so cruel¡­ Now there¡¯s one¡­ only one of us¡­ He can stop you. He¡­ he will stop you.¡±


    ¡°Duskdown will kill him first.¡± Vardae looked to me. ¡°I can¡¯t stop this. I can¡¯t see a way. Take the crown off.¡±


    ¡°I will stop you,¡± I grated. ¡°Permanently. I don¡¯t care about Timesnatcher. Duskdown. I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°After! After we stop this!¡±


    She was still outside the shield. It was safe enough for me, but for Tanra?


    ¡°Last time I did that,¡± I growled, ¡°when I took off the crown you almost lost control!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing this isn¡¯t the first time!¡± Vardae looked truly desperate. ¡°We know what we¡¯re doing. Please.¡±


    I turned and stared at Tanra, silently pleading with her not to do it, not to die¡­


    I raised my hand, touching the rim of the crown, and lifted it just an inch off my head.


    Tanra didn¡¯t move her arms, didn¡¯t end things. Maybe she too wanted a chance to see me, my fates once more laid bare, without my new prize atop my skull.


    And the witch, the evil one, the architect of Mund¡¯s destruction ¨C the one responsible, the one upon whose shoulders the grief of millions ought to be brought to bear ¨C


    Vardae lowered her masked face, eyeing the dead earth at her feet¡­ and vanished.

 Complex Tendons

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.9: COMPLEX TENDONS</h2>


    ¡°Guilt is as the dam built across the raging river. Conscience has its uses, when the spillway is carefully managed ¨C when the waters are restricted, when the dams upstream are in good order. Have you ever seen a dam failure? Our rejection of guilt is not philosophical in nature. We reject it on grounds of practicality. Do not build beside the raging river. Do not indulge greed in using it to power your wheels. A good mind is one built beside the placid stream.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Maiden¡¯s Way¡¯ recordings, Ismethara 945 NE


    We were left alone, alone in the motionless rain and the darkness. She was right. Here, at the end of everything, it was just the two of us. Everseer must¡¯ve left her bubble active but how long it would last, given that it included another arch-diviner, given that I had the crown¡­ I had no notion. Perhaps it helped that Tanra was technically dead, and that I wasn¡¯t actually wearing the damn thing ¨C it seemed that taking it off nullified its effects even if I was still holding it.


    A small mercy. To get to prolong the moment ¨C wait longer and longer for the inevitable consequences of my actions ¨C


    Another dead¡­ Another murder.


    ¡°And what is this supposed to teach me, Mortiforn?¡± I whimpered, taking a half-step closer to her. ¡°What lesson are you trying to impart right now? Th-that I n-need to be more careful? Lesson learned! FIX THIS!¡±


    Tanra lowered her hands, carefully removing the mask in the same motion.


    I saw her face properly this time, close up, for the first time in months and oh, oh how she¡¯d aged. I could make it out clearly now ¨C the pallor of her hair wasn¡¯t just some trick of the storm-light. Half her fringe was tipped with white, threaded with colourless strands. The young girl¡¯s face ¨C it was more like a woman¡¯s due to several different factors, all of them more or less inexpressible. Something about the subtle lines by her mouth, the dry cracked lips, the brittleness of her eyes¡­ It was impossible to say for certain whether the transformation that changed her face had been purely emotional in kind or whether some form of dark druidry had been employed to actually warp her skin¡­


    But even if it had been purely emotional, who could trust to that, in a world such as our own, where thoughts were bartered, bought, stolen, implanted?


    ¡°You should¡¯ve come to Zyger with me,¡± I murmured. ¡°You should ¨C you should ¨C¡°


    I burst into tears suddenly.


    ¡°Kas. It¡¯s¡­ okay. We were always¡­ going to end up¡­ dead.¡±


    I let the crown slide down my wrist to my elbow then hurled my mask off my face, pressed my hand into my eyes, my lone useless hand.


    ¡°Not like this!¡± I moaned. ¡°Not because of me! Me! My stupid ¨C stupid ¨C¡°


    I thrashed the whip-arm about in futile despair.


    ¡°It was my¡­¡± she breathed, ¡°ill-will¡­¡±


    She wobbled, and before she could sink to her knees I was there beside her, cradling her. I put my hand behind her head to keep it still, and followed her down to the ground, kneeling with her.


    ¡°Tanra¡­¡±


    ¡°I hated everyone¡­ There¡¯s no one¡­ to save me¡­ Gone. T-take me. Take¡­¡±


    I had no idea what she meant, where she wanted to go.


    ¡°Tanra?¡±


    She was silent. Holding her, I wasn¡¯t in the position to see her face. I didn¡¯t know why she wasn¡¯t responding, but I knew she wasn¡¯t dead.


    The doorway opened silently behind her. The gleaming portcullis yawned. The hollow rush of a planar intrusion in my vicinity slowly raised the hairs on the back of my neck.


    I was holding the ghost tight.


    Take me.


    I took her where I wanted to go. The last place I¡¯d gone with her in a time of crisis.


    Somewhere fitting ¨C somewhere one might pass on in relative peace, in spite of the Incursion, in spite of Mekesta¡¯s black hatred raging overhead.


    If Nethernum was willing to chase us across time and space.


    I opened the door to Etherium, and pulled it over us with sheer will, wrapping us in it like a blanket and taking us through.


    For all that the area was dreadful in the material plane, with the Thirteen Candles and the demonic storm looming directly overhead ¨C once we were in the otherworld the spatial limitations fell away. We were surrounded by raw wilderness, and so it was into a great, dead field that we plunged. The strange grass here wasn¡¯t yellowing but rather bone-white, its hair-thin strands sprouting up out of pitch-black soil like reeds from a Telese marsh. The storm above us appeared to have dissipated, leaving the sky a solemn, solid shade of unbroken amber. It wasn¡¯t even raining.


    We were still on our knees, surrounded by the dead grass, pressed together in almost full contact. I couldn¡¯t turn to look behind myself at the shadow-man draped like a cloak upon my back, clinging to the crown ¨C no, I was still holding her, still trapped in this final embrace with someone who knew me, who understood me, who would¡¯ve been willing to have my back and help me fight all the world¡¯s sicknesses.


    Someone I killed. Someone else I killed.


    I couldn¡¯t let her go. I could only look up through tear-filled eyes over her shoulder, and regard the bleak, unending meadow, stretching off into emptiness where the scabrous red-brown tower should¡¯ve been standing.


    More so than ever before in Etherium, it was quiet. The wind was low, almost silent, its soothing dirge tinted with notes of mint and pomegranate. The white grass-hairs didn¡¯t rustle in the breeze, but seemed instead to hum gently. There were no signs of insect-life, of animals. An unexpected sense of peace stole over me.


    I didn¡¯t know what there was left for me to say or do. The crown was far heavier when robbed of my joined entities, despite the wraith still clinging to me ¨C I felt awkward being here, painfully aware of the unhallowed things I was wearing ¨C knowing only enough about the crown to know I didn¡¯t fully understand its potential significance¡­


    ¡°Nentheleme?¡± Despite my continued ownership of the crown, I could say the goddess¡¯s name again, the whisper coming hoarse but clear from my tongue. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±


    I shook, and did my utmost to suppress it.


    ¡°Wythyldwyn?¡±


    Just the oppressive quiet of the place. No answers from on high.


    ¡°K-Kas¡­¡±


    It was Tanra, not a god.


    I slowly pulled away from her so that I could look her in the eyes.


    I couldn¡¯t speak. Nothing more than a ragged cry escaped my lips when I tried.


    ¡°L-let m-me g-go¡­ now¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I moaned. ¡°You¡¯re Killstop. It stops here. You can¡¯t ¨C¡±


    ¡°I can¡­ die. Trust¡­¡±


    Her eyes fluttered, and closed.


    ¡°Tanra? Tanra?¡±


    Where was the ghost? I couldn¡¯t see her spirit and now I thought about it I realised I was in the wrong place, she was in the wrong place ¨C would I even see the essence as it left her? Had it already gone? How would a spirit interact with the time-bubble? How much longer would Vardae¡¯s spell even last?


    Hadn¡¯t I played right into her hands here? Had she seen this, right from the moment I removed the crown? A way to manipulate me, to get me to bring her to another plane, where no one was likely to look for us, find us, help us? Where a passing arch-druid couldn¡¯t spot us?


    ¡°Tanra!¡± I moved back, and stopped just short of shaking her. ¡°Tanra!¡°


    Even still I felt the limp movements of her arms, swinging to and fro, like a doll¡¯s limbs.


    Miles behind her, an azure smear took shape, framed against the amber sky like a sapphire floating on a stream of honey. I stared over her shoulder as the seconds ticked by.


    And second by second it drew closer.


    Two sapphires. Close together. Curved, pointed¡­ facets glinting¡­


    Wings.


    By the time I could make out the bronze body held aloft between the two glowing blue appendages, my whole body had gone cold, shivers of pure nervous thrill lacing every fibre of my being.


    She heard me. Nentheleme¡­ She heard!


    It had to have been a full minute since Tanra closed her eyes before Avaelar landed, a look of wonder on his face to mirror my own.


    ¡°My wings, Feychilde!¡± he cried, whipping the newly-enhanced appendages about majestically.


    But I held none of the answers, and my voice, when I tried to raise it, was very small.


    ¡°Can you h-heal her? Please¡­ essel majhar. Please¡­ Avvie¡­¡±


    Before I even asked, he was already crossing over to stand behind me, bending to breathe on her unmoving face.


    Seconds passed. I listened to his breathing, his patient expression of his healing effect.


    Waiting was worse than anything. A kind of non-existence. A present that would only be defined as a past, sanctioned or cursed by the vagaries of an unknown future. Would these seconds be transformed into a beautiful time of light, looked back on fondly, the moments awaiting Tanra¡¯s revival?


    Or would these seconds char in my mind¡¯s eye, blacken and crumble along with what was left of my sanity, the vestiges of my humanity, fall aside only to never be remembered again, shadows cast by the thoughtless thoughts of an insensate animal?


    ¡°No, Kastyr.¡±


    My chest tightened ¨C the pain of it ¨C I needed to be enwraithed again ¨C I needed to breathe ¨C


    My eyes clenched shut.


    ¡°I cannot heal her; this wound is fatal in kind.¡±


    I only held her closer. There was just this last instant in which to be free and I used it to squeeze her tight, consumed by regret.


    If it had been possible for me to destroy myself by unfiltered ill-will, it would¡¯ve happened, right there in the white grass. A multitude of black force-blades, darkening the sky as they hurtled towards me, every last one seeking my heart.


    ¡°And yet, whilst the injury itself proveth unwilling ¨C I believe it is within my capabilities to prevent her death.¡±


    * * *


    Repairing the spine? Fixing the complex tendons? There were things that were beyond the scope of the sylph¡¯s powers, but restoring the colour to her pale flesh? Sealing the sliced-apart skin, knitting the flesh, stopping her head from falling clean off her neck when we carefully laid her down on the ground? These were within his grasp, and it calmed me. It was just enough to bring a sliver of sanity back to the chaos of my mind.


    ¡°Any other weapon, and even this instant would not have sufficed,¡± he murmured.


    Together we put her in a position of repose, like a corpse upon her back, elbows on the grass at her sides, hands folded on her stomach. The expression on her face had changed, the wistful smile of death replaced by a troubled look, her eyebrows pinched, lips thrusting up towards her button nose in a petulant little frown.


    I kept my leg pressed against her upper arm, my fingertips on her shoulder, gazing down at her. I didn¡¯t care if she scorned me when she awoke. Hate was a divide I could deal with; she¡¯d be just one more magic-user in Mund who wanted to scratch my name out of the Book of Life. No big deal. She was alive; I didn¡¯t kill her. This was enough.


    How low ¨C how low I had sunk, that this was enough.


    Avaelar met my eyes across her body, crouching opposite me, then glanced pointedly at the crown atop my head before looking away.


    He spoke, unsmiling.


    ¡°Never once before hath this happened, in all my lives, Kastyr. How didst thou call me hence? I now suffer no bond!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know for sure, but I think it¡¯s Nentheleme I need to send a Yearsend gift to.¡± It was hard to judge his mood. ¡°I called to her, and Wythyldwyn, and you¡­ You were just there. How you can interact with us¡­ I mean, the chronomantic field should¡­ Never mind. I¡¯m ¨C I¡¯m sorry if it was an imposition, but it wasn¡¯t really my decision.¡±


    I spread my ¡®hands¡¯ as if to indicate my powerlessness in the situation, the lack of options I¡¯d had at my disposal when this catastrophe occurred. It was just another gesture that made no sense when you only had one arm. The force-tendrils flopped about, bereft of any meaningful presence when they weren¡¯t being utilised in combat.


    ¡°Shouldst thou call again, answer I shall,¡± he said at last, and he nodded firmly as if to punctuate his words. ¡°Glad-hearted I am to see thee strong once more, even if in order to actualise thy power thou hast found thyself returned to this metropolis of knaves.¡±


    ¡°You know where we are?¡±


    ¡°Quite. One can taste the impropriety on the air.¡±


    I almost managed a laugh. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you, my good man. I¡¯m sorry if I made you travel a long way ¨C¡±


    ¡°I was not afar. When thou didst release me, I soon found myself upon the shores of Everstill once again. But it was not as I recalled. I bartered a portion of the power I gained from our union, thine and mine, in order to effect mine own return to Mund.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ came back too?¡±


    ¡°Verily. My home, such as I have one, is in the place known to both of us as the shrine of Yune. Long hath it been so, and long shall it be after the walls of Mund are thrown low. The sacred spaces were not devised by men¡¯s minds, Kastyr, but rather discovered, as a dowser seeks out water for a well. We all must find our way, and mine hath ever been hers. Hers¡­ and, evidently, thine own.¡±


    He flexed his glowing wings, and smiled, the beautiful face made even more so with the simple expression of innocent pleasure.


    ¡°I¡­ I understand. Thank you, Avvie. Thank you, my friend.¡±


    ¡°Farewell, for now, Feychilde.¡±


    He stood in a fluid motion and then took off, climbing the airs, and I gazed down at Tanra¡¯s flushed face, listening to the motions of his wings until they passed away into silence.


    Not Nentheleme. This wasn¡¯t forgiveness from the goddess of freedom, or even a gift from the goddess of healing.


    This was Yune. Reminding me. Where it all began.


    Tanra was sleeping peacefully despite the drumming rain, swept gently on the tides of warm, wholesome dreams. Such was Avaelar¡¯s gift.


    Hope. Not just for me.


    Hope for all of us.


    I clenched my left fist, feeling fingernails bite into flesh. It¡¯d been awhile since I¡¯d been a fully-material creature. It was almost amusing that it took entry to another dimension to make me feel real.


    But I did. I was still human. I was responsible for what I¡¯d done, the role I¡¯d played. I¡¯d been irresponsible, because it felt good. Because of the wraith; because of the ancient. Because of the crown. Any number of excuses, whirling about me like shields, deflecting any attack.


    Because it was right for me to judge. I¡¯d earned it. I¡¯d been at the receiving end often-enough. And when I did my job properly, I¡¯d make mistakes. Of course I was going to. It was existing on the edge, every life on the line. It was the immaturity in me that wanted me to step down, step back, step away.


    No. I¡¯d learned my lesson.


    I had to dig deeper. I had to get in the thick of things. I had to be who I was born to be.


    Feychilde. Not a killer. Not Hellchilde or Deathchilde or Anything Miserablechilde.


    Feychilde.


    I drew the veil of the otherworld across us, summoning and ingesting multiple eldritches within a single gesture so that before I was even fully-returned to Materium¡¯s Bells-blasted, storm-shaken shores, I was safe. Vardae¡¯s spell had clearly faded, leaving us exposed to the normal flow of time, exposed to attacks. I couldn¡¯t have a stray lightning-bolt ruining everything now.


    I was left with something of a conundrum, so I started building shields, suspecting that by the time I came up with a solution a solid ward would be much more difficult to construct. For all my strength, it was beyond me to pick her up, at least not without violently shaking her head about. I didn¡¯t doubt Avaelar¡¯s prowess in stabilising her, but I very much doubted it¡¯d be a good idea for me to start hauling her around one-armed like a sack of spuds over my shoulder.


    I could summon something to carry her ¨C a litter of imps, perhaps¡­


    But my shields ¨C should they get struck by some attack¡­ should the imps get destroyed or dispersed¡­ should she fall¡­


    No. I had to carry her.


    I¡¯d done it to the twins easily-enough. I brought the wraith-state coursing down my arm, out of my hand, letting it trickle into her.


    There was no feedback from the interaction to tell me anything was amiss. I¡¯d never done this to someone on the verge of death before, and I really, really didn¡¯t fancy making any more mistakes right now. After a few seconds of testing, however, I felt confident. I funnelled the state-change right into her.


    Then when I indulged the satyr-strength she was more a bag of bubbles than a sack of spuds. Her recumbent form drifted up in my hand, floating like smoke on the air, and I brought her down my arm into position bit by bit, so that at last her head was resting into my chest, her feet sticking out to the side. Her legs were almost perfectly horizontal, bobbing up and down only gently, like those of a swimmer laid out on their back on the surface of a pool.


    My hand firmly at the small of her back, fingers spread to their widest to maximise the contact between us, I opened my wings and gave a single great flap. I started to fly, rising up twenty feet.


    Yes. My shield-work would be even slower and sloppier given my one hand was out of action, but it was going to work. The disruption caused to the stability of her body was minimal. I could get her to safety.


    Safety. Where¡¯s that again, Kas? Where can you go? Where can you take her?


    The first image that burst into my mind was that of home. The shelves of trashy novels, story books, old dog-eared volumes picked up for a copper on the market ¨C all their spines stuck out in a mess because none of us could be bothered organising the collection into some semblance of neatness. The bedroom, the bits of mouldy bread secreted away ¨C


    It¡¯s gone, it¡¯s gone, it¡¯s all gone away and now you¡¯re here, it¡¯s you, you¡¯re all you¡¯ve got. Where do you go? Where can you take her?


    I couldn¡¯t trust to the Magisterium, couldn¡¯t deposit her at a healer¡¯s tent¡­ Could I trust Kani? The priesthoods in general? There could be a temple nearby ¨C


    You came here for a reason, Kas. You need your old acquaintances. The ones still left alive.


    My mouth went dry.


    Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!


    It was up to me.


    My old acquaintances¡­


    Yeah, I was still doing this all wrong.


    I focussed my mind, creating purple seams with my imagination, widening them with pure will ¨C not a single gesture required.


    At the same time I cried: ¡°Netherhame! Shallowlie! If you can hear me ¨C Feychilde has returned to Mund. I need you. Mund needs you!¡±


    Four ascended ancients joined me, floating there before the Thirteen Candles and its impenetrable shield. I looked down on the pallid dark elven spirits, watching their flickering, purpling ghost-faces. Their expressions were attentive, servile.


    Serves them right.


    ¡°Let¡¯s start working on the nethernal ones, then,¡± I muttered to myself, or to the sleeping Tanra. ¡°Slower, this time. Don¡¯t want the things getting aggressive.¡±


    I started attaching tendrils to them, aiming for the middle of the chest, right over their insubstantial hearts.


    ¡°Winterprince! Glimmermere! Fangmoon! I¡¯ve got a pretty good idea what they¡¯ve told you, and, just like you¡¯ve been suspecting all along ¨C they¡¯re wrong! You need to fight! Fight like you used to!¡±


    There was still nothing, no response from the creepy, silent candelabrum.


    I didn¡¯t even really know Brokenskull or Voicenoise, and my interactions with Dimdweller had been limited.


    ¡°Fine.¡± I attached the tendril to the last of the dark elf ghosts. ¡°Looks like it¡¯s time to bring the walls down, then. But I won¡¯t stop at your shields. Soon you¡¯ll have to either fight me or join me, or you¡¯ll be living in a rubble-pile like the rest of us.¡±


    I reached out with the fifth and final tendril, selecting the magenta net of force protecting the Candles and guiding my sorcerous finger to it with my eyes.


    I was just about to touch the nethernal wards when Vardae decided to show back up, halting directly between my shield and the tower¡¯s. ¡®Nightfell¡¯ didn¡¯t even look at the ascended ancients, simply stopping and standing there panting, her hands on her hips.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she gasped. ¡°I had to fix¡­ there was someone I had to kill. Tanra, she ¨C¡±


    ¡°Someone you had to kill.¡±


    My fifth finger fell short of the mark, coiling up, preparing itself to strike instead. My four ascended ancients seemed to recognise my tone and, despite the leashes affixed to their chests, they started to float towards Vardae.


    Now she noticed them, eyeing them cautiously and taking a step backwards.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand, we¡­ Nighteye¡¯s¡­ his f-father ¨C Tanra took his skin.¡±


    My eyes widened. The mention of Nighteye threw me for a moment. The ancients slowed to a hovering stop, looking back at me hesitantly.


    ¡°Lord Vernays, he was running, and we were¡­ we were going t-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you think you have to explain yourself to me,¡± I interrupted her. Exactly what part of his skin Tanra took I didn¡¯t quite follow, but if Theor¡¯s dad was running and Vardae killed him¡­ good riddance. Still, it was probably the one justifiable murder she¡¯d committed since her apostasy began; she was no Duskdown. ¡°No. Don¡¯t even excuse it. Not after you abandoned us like that. Stop pretending to be her. Stop saying we! You ¨C¡°


    ¡°I am her!¡± Vardae screamed. ¡°Don¡¯t you see? She¡¯s more powerful than I, more powerful than I could ever be! She won! I didn¡¯t ¨C didn¡¯t abandon her¡­ I didn¡¯t know how, but I knew ¨C I knew ¨C you could do it. You could save her. Save us.¡± Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and I barely caught it over the wind, the Bells: ¡°Save us both.¡±


    Then her hand shot to her face in spite of the mask she still wore, two fingertips pressed to the mouth-opening.


    ¡°Gods below,¡± she gasped. ¡°She killed the whole Arrealbord, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    I drew an icy breath, glanced down at Tanra¡¯s sleeping face, then looked back at Everseer.


    ¡°If she did ¨C it will be your head that rolls. Now.¡± I gestured by thrusting my chin out. ¡°Open the wards. Show me the way in, or I swear, I¡¯ll crack your Candles like an egg.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°There¡¯s no way in, and there¡¯s no wards, not to you. Try to cross. You understand better now.¡± She gestured at me, my tattered robe, as if the wave of a hand could encompass the state of my soul. ¡°Just say the name. Swear by Vaahn, or Yane ¨C swear by Mekesta, if you¡¯re really intent on becoming her disciple¡­ If you will ¨C¡°


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. I¡¯m over it. I don¡¯t need some sense of belonging. You already took everything ¨C everything from me! You can¡¯t have my despair too. It¡¯s mine ¨C mine to face, mine to defeat. You say you want to fight everyone¡¯s battles for them but then you go and tie your own hands and call the war won. No! No longer. I¡¯m not going in. They¡¯re coming out.


    ¡°By Glaif. By Illodin.


    ¡°By Kultemeren.¡±


    I reinforced my shields and tried not to wince, affixing the fifth finger to a magenta rope of unliving energy.


    I sit cross-legged on cold tiles in the very centre of the pavilion, bathed in a sourceless ink-blue light. The dimensions of the space do not confuse me; the undulations of the four midnight curtains make it look as though the walls might be just a minute¡¯s walk away, yet I know them to be vast beyond sense. A mortal man would live his entire life in the seeking of a single side, and spend his son¡¯s and grandson¡¯s on the same quest, all to no avail, all to take but the first step on the journey. Yet only rarely do I look out upon my surroundings. All there is before me is the Great Game, the many-sided die floating, rotating slowly justabove the tiles, a single small figurine standing in each of the spaces. If I look closely I can see the figurines moving. Twelve worlds there have been since last I left the die, twelve planes born and grown and laid down as fertiliser for the next since I missed a move; centuries have changed grandsons to dust since my turn at the table but I sense, I sense it is coming, coming as inevitably as the changing of seasons. The harvest will return. Patience will be repaid tenfold and hundredfold and thousandfold. I have only to wait. And he permits it. So long as I watch, I can wait.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Longer that time ¨C two instants. My eyes went straight to Vardae but she wasn¡¯t attacking my shields. She stood there, shaking, helpless but to watch as I tapped the power of ageless eldritches, fed it to my minions. The purple lines had thinned out to a greater extent than the red ones, condensed down to not just to the thickness of a finger but the thickness of a vein, to the very incandescent cores.


    I studied the bloated ascended ancients, floating there in the rain, impervious to its touch.


    I could tell without even glancing that they were still mine ¨C if anything, the bond between us felt stronger than ever before ¨C yet it was interesting to scrutinise them. Unlike Khikiriaz, who¡¯d physically swollen up like an angry red spot, the ascended ancients merely deepened instead. The faint hues of violet comprising their deathly faces, their billowing grey-white bodies ¨C those colours moved several places along the shade chart, becoming almost black and blinding at the same time, the only true purple remaining in their fiery magenta eyes.


    Yes. Why not?


    There were no gestures required, no words. The nearest ancient floated towards me, entirely submissive, and I swallowed her into myself.


    She wasn¡¯t moaning, even on the inside, and my control was absolute. I joined with her, and silence reigned within.


    Cold flushes of pure power surged through my immaterial flesh, lapping against my consciousness like the icy tides of Northril. The sensation was repetitive and, moreover, reliable. The energy-source was being refreshed to full roughly every one-and-a-half seconds, an unending heartbeat pumping raw prowess into my physical structures.


    I had to make sure I used it, before the tide turned.


    I dismissed the remaining three overpowered dark elf ghosts, then glanced back to Vardae.


    ¡°You do know she still needs a healer, right?¡±


    She replied by removing her mask, shocking me once more into self-doubt.


    There truly were no differences between them. I knew Everseer had copied Killstop¡¯s postures and poses, had captured the essential aspects of her demeanour ¨C but now, seeing the face of Mund¡¯s ultimate darkmage¡­ it was something else altogether. The face ¨C it was Tanra¡¯s. Not a single tangible feature or discernible nuance to tell them apart.


    Tanra¡¯s eyes looked up at me out of the imposter¡¯s face, and in a small voice she said: ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­ didn¡¯t realise, no. But it¡¯s o-okay.¡± Her voice wasn¡¯t just small ¨C it was timid. Like that of a child awaiting punishment. ¡°Now, I mean. I¡¯ve called them, now. They¡¯re coming.¡±


    ¡°You know that I still need to do it, though, right?¡±


    I thrust my chin at the Candles, my hidden eagerness slipping through.


    ¡°We¡¯ll use it against the dragons!¡± she pleaded, looking as though I¡¯d pushed her to the edge of tears. ¡°W-we need a safe place, and ¨C¡°


    ¡°The eldritches supplying these wards ¨C I think they work for the dragons.¡± I cut her off and she fell silently instantly, looking aghast. I gestured at the network of shields. ¡°An ancient sorcerer, whose power hasn¡¯t died over the centuries, fed instead, supplemented by snacks taken from our city¡¯s selection of archmages. The Slave of the Sorcerer¡­ Your whole rebellion ¨C it¡¯s just part of the same plan. A useful box to hold a particularly delicious feast. No, these protections¡­ they¡¯ll fall before Mal Tagar¡¯s claws like he¡¯s clawing through a spider¡¯s web. I think the Maginox is where we make a final stand. The power there¡¯s clean, at least. Or we could stash the population of the city in there. Or something. We¡¯ll work out the finer details later.¡±


    Without you.


    I wanted to say it, but I couldn¡¯t ¨C not looking into that face. It was too easy to talk to her. Every intuition was going with the flow, inherently insistent that this is Tanra, that I¡¯m just having a chat with Tanra.


    Lies!


    I turned my gaze from the speechless seeress, thinking it through.


    One ethereal. One nethernal. One infernal.


    Three Wellsprings of power.


    Three guardians.


    It was all linked somehow, wasn¡¯t it? The same ancient entities whose minds designed the trap of Magicrux Zyger ¨C they¡¯d designed this place, this shield, hadn¡¯t they?


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    ¡°They aren¡¯t coming,¡± the false Tanra muttered, breaking my reverie. ¡°They¡­¡± She jerked, as if tempted to glance over her shoulder and then thinking twice about it. ¡°Hirazain¡¯s stopped Ithilya, and Jacel and Ribara won¡¯t sanction a mobilisation until I¡¯ve got rid of you. They¡¯re¡­ arguing. I could¡­¡±


    I no longer cared. My tendrils snaked out and, without so much as a gesture, I brought forth Sarcamor and Sarminuid, Blofm and Zabalam, moving them down to the grass in a flash of emerald energy.


    They took a moment to get their bearings, finding me floating above them.


    ¡°What¡¯s all this, then?¡± the goblin croaked, and the gremlin just hissed uncertainly ¨C but the two satyrs folded their blue-leather arms, satisfied expressions on their goatishly-handsome faces.


    ¡°Prepare for a power-boost from a¡­ painful place,¡± I said. I didn¡¯t really know how to warn them, or whether it was warranted ¨C but I had a strong suspicion that I at least needed the warning.


    Wincing against the onset of unspeakable agonies, I attached the fingers¡­


    I cannot breathe or see or speak or scream ¨C nor do I feel the inclination. I am buried, and the soil is my solace, my salvation. I fracture and animate; I slip away and draw in; and still, in spite of everything, I persist. I cannot be anything else: I am the pain of constant consciousness, the paradox incarnate, the existence that accepts itself because existence is unacceptable. I am the pain and the pain is me; I am the change that comes of internal rupture. I am the distress that penetrates sleep and inserts itself into the dream. I crossed the threshold and this was my penance and I pay it without the ability to hesitate. His will is my guide as I writhe in the dark places. I will not shirk my duty. I killed my pride, my regret, my love. I gave him my strength, my respect, my spite. He alone shall show me the way to Celestium¡¯s shores, and then I will know my name again. Then I will know my name. My name. My name.


    I came back to myself, gasping for air as I felt the sudden withdrawal of miles upon miles of thorny vines from inside my body. The wraith-state had been no impediment to the tactile sensation this vision offered me, and, while I hadn¡¯t actually been penetrated by the rose-man¡¯s barbs, my memories bore the shadows of their trails, leaving my weightless body contorted, burning within.


    The poor flagellant king only confirmed my suspicions.


    The ethereal force-lines had thinned almost to the extent of the nethernal ones. My four fey were rolling about in the waves of dead grass, seemingly overcome with their own perceived agonies.


    It did happen, then. They did feel it¡­


    I felt sorry for them, but what choice did I really have?


    I sank down closer to them, opening my mouth to apologise, but before the words left my lips my ears refined the sounds they were making. These weren¡¯t exclamations of pain ¨C the grunts and moans were more like those of well-fed patrons at a feast than those of the torturer¡¯s victims. It was Blofm¡¯s vile utterances and Zab¡¯s hissing that threw me off. I halted, and heard the gremlin panting ¡®esae, esae¡­¡¯ between his snarls; I caught the luxurious, almost mewling quality to the satyrs¡¯ groans.


    The ground rumbled, and I quickly stretched my power out over them, withdrawing the quartet of fey back into myself.


    I hadn¡¯t been thinking, really; just acting on instinct. Whatever the meaning of the shaking earth, I wanted them safe inside me. It just so happened that when I joined with them once more, I received a fairly hefty portion of the rose-king¡¯s stored energies along with them. The influx of power ¨C it startled me. The faculties of illusion-creation, illusion-destruction ¨C those were easy for my imagination to encompass. But the otherworldly strength and reflexes? Every nethernal muscle tingled, brimming with explosive potential.


    And thanks to their heightened reactions I found myself pinpointing the exact spot upon which to centre my gaze, picking out the precise location that was the midpoint of the localised earthquake, thirty yards to my left.


    ¡°What is this devilry, Feychilde?¡± Vardae asked, a note of genuine fear to her voice. The rumbling sound was so novel that it took me unawares; I couldn¡¯t help but feel concern, my instincts reacting to her voice just like they would to Tanra¡¯s.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I called back, not daring to avert my eyes.


    Then the dimension appeared to snap, a demi-plane brutally forcing its way into Materium. A thousand seams converged on the dead grass where I was staring, like an ethereal god was clawing its way out of the otherworld.


    A shadowy Gilaela stepped forth, her hooves buried in a nest of thorns that was half-real, half-gateway.


    Her tone was no less imperious than it had been at our last meeting.


    ¡°Do not flee.¡±


    As she tried to advance, the vines caught at her hooves and tail, only letting her proceed a yard or two. The dark tricorn was only there in seeming, I suspected; she looked more like a figurine blown of green glass than her true self.


    ¡°I will not strike at you, Master.¡± Her sardonic tone was gentle, but I could sense the brittleness, the hurt beneath the words. ¡°I merely come to echo the Aedervaeni. Call on me when you need me. You were so good, so kind, to each of us.¡±


    My mouth was at desert-levels of dryness.


    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you fancy headbutting another shield for me, do you?¡± That was what I wanted to say. But I couldn¡¯t even bring myself to begin.


    ¡°Princess¡­¡±


    The pain she¡¯s endured¡­ for me¡­ all for me, just so that I can jaunt about, pretend it¡¯s all worthless, meaningless¡­


    The mingled emotions in her eyes ¨C all the hate, all the rage, all the sorrow ¨C it was all for me.


    I could speak no more. I lowered my face.


    ¡°You will need me, empty child,¡± the cursed eldritch said, ¡°and I will heed the call. After all ¨C under your guidance, I go only from strength to strength¡­¡±


    The dark-green glass melted; the thorns swallowed her, the earth shuddered and then was still.


    ¡°What the drop did you do to your unicorn, Kas?¡± Tanra¡¯s voice floated up to me.


    I gritted my teeth.


    Her hate. Her rage. Her sorrow. It was all me. It fuelled me.


    The power swelled inside me.


    I did this.


    I looked down at Nightfell.


    ¡°This is why I¡¯m here,¡± I muttered. ¡°I wield myself.¡±


    I brought Khikiriaz back to reality.


    ¡°Strike it!¡± I roared.


    I didn¡¯t stop to consider, didn¡¯t build the sword, didn¡¯t extend my force with thought and intention and attention ¨C


    Ismethyl was with me. The blade poured from me like a flood; I swung it back with my void-arm and it felt like it stretched behind me to the horizon, tense as a bowstring at full draw.


    The blade filled with all my hate. My rage. My sorrow. Filled with Gilaela and Tanra, Xan and Xas. Mum and Dad. The stolen power of the ancient guardians of Magicrux Zyger.


    The sightless eyes of three dead magisters.


    Emrelet.


    I put everything into it, without knowing how, without understanding. All I knew ¨C


    You¡¯ll join us now, heretics.


    My wounded ikistadreng gave no complaint, no moment of hesitation ¨C the behemoth of a demon leapt, and, despite the way he staggered, the swollen antlers went smacking straight into the shield.


    When I brought the blade down ¨C when I let it fly ¨C worse than mere thunder answered.


    The sorcerous eruption was titanic.


    THRAAAAAAANG!


    A million Bells were struck all at once. Innumerable rainbows came shooting out from the shattered barrier, brightest at the point of impact, darts of pure colour streaming in every direction, condensed to the sharpness of arrows, the length of spears. Thousands and thousands of iridescent shards sprang away, rippling across the landscape, popping like soap bubbles.


    The broken essences of the gleaming wards went bursting outwards at incomprehensible speeds, yet they themselves caused no actual violence. The excess energies ricocheted harmlessly from every visible surface, bounding and rebounding until they all found a route out into the sky, where the infernal storm swallowed them at last.


    The shock-wave that followed was far less expansive in scope ¨C yet far more forceful.


    Nightfell vanished instantly, of course, but me and my tame fiend caught it full-on. The shield was gone, yet the wind of the its explosion battered even me, pushing me a hundred yards before I could arrest the motion with my wings. Khikiriaz fared far worse, given his magnified physicality and extra-planar identity; he was tossed a good fifty feet into the air, and on landing he ripped a ditch in the ground wide-enough to hold a chariot-race. I dismissed him once more to Infernum to recuperate; I sensed his condition had not improved yet since his brief encounter with Vardae¡¯s blades, and I worried that he¡¯d spent much of the stolen guardian-power that might¡¯ve otherwise served to fortify him. Certainly he was reduced in stature to my eye ¨C though not entirely reverted to his earlier size. Sending him through a gateway drank less from my Wellspring than it had moments earlier; that much I knew for certain.


    I felt I still had some of the tapped strength in me. The force-blade I¡¯d struck the Thirteen Candles with ¨C maybe I wouldn¡¯t be able to manage its like again, but if I spent it wisely I could eke it out in dribs and drabs. Bolster my shields, if I needed them. Give weight to my blades, when I was forced to use them again.


    Which was probably imminent, all things considered. I¡¯d achieved my goal ¨C I¡¯d brought down the defences.


    The defences preventing me from witnessing the force awaiting me, the legion of insane magic-users buzzing about the Candles¡¯ lower levels like a swarm of wasps about the entrance to its hive.


    They would push back. But they had to understand the truth, as I did.


    That¡¯s my legion of insane magic-users, thank you very much.


    * * *


    The shattering of the wards seemed to have carried some implosive effect. None of the heretics appeared hurt, at a glance, but they were out of formation, moving not as a flock, instead clustered in small groups ¨C many, many groups. Their wizards, enchanters and diviners were out of synch. The coordination of mass-flight was beyond them, at least in this moment. And yet by the time I¡¯d dismissed my ikistadreng and looked up, they were too close for me to fully appreciate the number of them; within less than a heartbeat I was completely and utterly surrounded by mass-murderers. They came as a living cloud of floating mages, rotating around me in constant motion ¨C but this was no orderly manoeuvre. On the edges of factional groups they jostled for position, thrusting one another out of formation towards me; evidently no one wanted to come too close to the returned-from-the-dead Feychilde, because whenever one of them was pushed out of place they scrambled to find a gap and fall back into the shifting patterns with the others.


    A rabble. A completely useless rabble.


    What had Vardae been thinking? Without a seer¡¯s orders they floundered ¨C whenever their all-knowing leaders were operating at anything less than maximum efficiency their military precision deserted them, leaving them a mob of overpowered individuals.


    I was here. I was beyond Everseer¡¯s sight, beyond the scope of any of the murderous diviners in the group. And it showed.


    Even as they coursed about me, ostensibly attempting to intimidate me, I noticed one of their wizards lashing out at another heretic who pressed too close upon him. I noticed a group of imp-minions threatening to dive at one of their master¡¯s rivals. It made me chuckle, the immaturity of it all. I wondered whether my arch-enemy was still amongst them¡­ Aramas, Theor had called him. It could¡¯ve been his imps I was watching, for all I knew.


    ¡°And this is what you gave it up for,¡± I breathed in disbelief. Then, far more loudly, I repeated myself.


    ¡°This is what you gave it up for.¡±


    They slowed perceptibly in their movements ¨C all of them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± I went on. ¡°No one¡¯s going to care. Everything¡¯s gonna come down to this choice. This moment, right here. Are you with us? Or are you going to play right into the dragons¡¯ claws?¡±


    ¡°So now you¡¯re a believer!¡± someone cried.


    ¡°If they¡¯re coming back, the only reason we¡¯re here is to be Arreath¡¯s defenders! To be weapons of war: to save the city, save the world! Yet you would remain sheathed swords. You¡¯re afraaaaaaaid!¡±


    The last word I said like a child¡¯s taunt; they¡¯d continued jeering and yelling, and I wanted to really hammer-home the point.


    A number of destructive effects came streaking towards me, so potent that they should¡¯ve withered a man, should¡¯ve threatened the life of even an eldritch-clad arch-sorcerer. They were laden with true killing-intent ¨C I could tell.


    I dropped every ward, letting the attacks pass through me, forcing those behind to scurry aside.


    ¡°Afraid! Just like I was.¡±


    Rather than exacerbating their protests, the jeers started to die down again. Maybe it was just that they couldn¡¯t conceive of someone being so brazen, standing alone against their dominant presence.


    ¡°Afraid of losing. Afraid of winning! Afraid to act, afraid to be responsible, every last one of us, every sorcerer¡¯s slave and seer! Well now the time¡¯s up, isn¡¯t it, Everseer? Go on ¨C tell them. Tell them the truth at last!¡±


    They slowed almost to a stop, every hooded head, every narrowed eye turning to the unmasked Nightfell who¡¯d reappeared on the grass beneath me.


    She said nothing.


    I looked down at her too, at Tanra¡¯s cringing face.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been misled,¡± I went on, not wanting to leave an uncontrolled silence. ¡°You lost the distinction between killing and fighting. They¡¯re different, believe me. I bet half of you couldn¡¯t fight your way out of a Sticktown coffin! The dragons ¨C they trapped you here! You¡¯re a rich boy¡¯s snack-bag! You got lost, along the way, and it¡¯s sad ¨C but it can be remedied. The future you¡¯ve all seen ¨C it¡¯s not written in stone. It¡¯s sand. A glamour. A disease of the mind that capitalises on our weakness, eats away at the spirit till all that¡¯s left is the emptiness. The selfishness. You think I haven¡¯t known it? You think I didn¡¯t run away? I ran! I¡¯m afraid!


    ¡°But the difference between you and me?


    ¡°I¡¯m willing to fight.¡±


    * * *


    The uproar was incredible. I¡¯d taunted them to the utmost of my ability. I thought conflict inescapable ¨C I¡¯d have to assert my superiority, see to a number of challengers before they accepted my temporary leadership. I wanted to goad the worst of their number into action, cut them down, and see the others¡¯ resistance weaken.


    But, like I had my brother and sister¡¯s gift, my words somehow seemed to cut through the nonsense between their ears. Slowly, the uproar died down into a kind of stupefied silence.


    ¡°What do you want from us, boy?¡± came the cry of an old man.


    I laughed. How many ways did I need to say it?


    Your life, old man. No more. No less.


    ¡°Come with me! Face the demons! Don¡¯t give in to fear. Use it. Make it your own.¡±


    ¡°Enough words!¡± came another yell, amplified with its own dreadful nethernal majesty. ¡°We must debate this turn of events, Feychilde.¡±


    There were a million things I wanted to say to that.


    ¡°You have champions amongst you,¡± I cried back instead. ¡°Not former champions. Champions! Let them fly forth! Come, brothers and sisters. I don¡¯t know what she told you about me, but I don¡¯t bite.¡±


    And then, some of them hesitantly, my old acquaintances finally began floating towards me from out of the crowd.


    It was becoming increasingly dark; I had to swivel around a couple of times before I spotted them approaching. They¡¯d all been in one single little cluster, those brave defenders of Mund whose minds Vardae infected. Evidently they¡¯d formed their own minor faction, of a sort, within the Srol Heretic movement. I¡¯d been incapable of picking them out till now, but once they started moving their individual identifying features were made plain. Glimmer and Fang wore their humanoid shapes, which had thrown me off a bit, especially given that a fair number of the other druid-heretics were clothed in bestial forms. Netherhame and Shallowlie were discernible from the others by nothing more than the shadowland spirits they employed; their rag-robed bodies flickered with purple shadow much like my own, if less-intensely. I fancied Min had her mask on beneath her hood.


    Yet it was Winterprince whose appearance most shocked me.


    I¡¯d anticipated him to be at the fore, berating me for my insolence, perhaps even wanting to duel me again, for the insults I¡¯d offered him and the rest of his idiotic sect. Had I expected to see him lagging behind the others, the most awkward-looking? Had I expected the confused demeanour, the squirming hands? No. Not ever. I could only see his chin, broad and stubbly, and I recalled the ethereal clearing where we¡¯d fought ¨C the way he¡¯d sat down, dejected in defeat.


    It was him ¨C it had to be. Closer inspection revealed he was missing the greater portion of his leg, the absence visible in the way his robes flowed about him.


    No ice-elemental covering. None of the signs of the warrior I¡¯d expected. But I had to continue to hope. Yune showed me the way now.


    ¡°I never thought I¡¯d be so happy to see you. Uwaine, is it?¡± He wasn¡¯t immediately forthcoming, so I turned to the others closer to me. ¡°Min. Ly. Sol. Imrye.¡± I nodded to them in turn, then looked over at the others, noting Dimdweller and Brokenskull ¨C nondescript rags did little to occlude their identities, the only dwarves in a group of humans. ¡°Hey, guys. Gods¡­ it¡¯s been awhile.¡±


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d died, Feychilde,¡± Lyanne offered, her voice guarded.


    No fear in her, at least.


    ¡°They tried pretty hard to get rid of me, yeah.¡±


    ¡°What happened to you, lad?¡± Dimdweller said. He seemed to be eyeing the crown with particular interest, but there was genuine concern in his voice.


    I just shook my head. ¡°There¡¯s no time. We have three eolastyr still to kill. And two dweonatar, whatever they are.¡±


    ¡°Dweonatar,¡± Lyanne grunted, ¡°are what did this.¡± The tatty sleeve extended, and the sorceress¡¯s fingers appeared, gesturing towards Winterprince¡¯s leg ¨C no, towards his missing leg. For his part, Winterprince only seemed to shiver.


    Was that really all that remained of him? The lost leg on its own would be more useful than this quivering wreck of a man. At least you could throw it at a demon.


    Then the sorceress raised her arm and flicked the pointing finger at my tendrils. ¡°What did that?¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t think it¡¯s replicable, sorry. Look¡­¡± How to get it across? ¡°I don¡¯t know the first thing about dweonatar, but you¡¯ll have to teach me on the way. We have to meet the others. I¡¯ve wasted about twenty minutes already. The leader ¨C of the demons, I mean ¨C it¡¯s at the Fountains of Merizet. The rest are fighting there already, and they¡¯re going to need as many of us as we can bring.¡±


    ¡°Something worse than dweonatar?¡±


    I took it as a rhetorical question ¨C Netherhame obviously understood the implication ¨C and I cast around at the dozens of hovering heretics. How many of their number were archmages ¨C how few ¨C I remained uncertain.


    Archmages or not¡­ we need them.


    After.


    ¡°Ladies¡­ I don¡¯t know if I could trouble you? She¡¯s okay but¡­ she¡¯s almost dead¡­¡±


    I indicated Tanra with a glance, and saw the troubled expression as if it were bouncing between the faces of the druidesses.


    It was Sol to whom I made my plea.


    ¡°It¡¯s her. It¡¯s really her. Please.¡±


    I floated down towards the ground, and gently laid Tanra out on the rain-soaked grass before removing my wraith-essence from her form. Most of the champion-heretics followed, leaving only Winterprince and Voicenoise floating above. Whatever her reservations, Fang immediately went into glowing mode, tending to the pseudo-dead seeress with nimbuses of lime-green light. The radiance was so vivid it was almost like her gestures moved puddles of incandescent algae through the air. Imrye and Brokenskull were standing over her; whether they were somehow helping, I couldn¡¯t tell, but it sure didn¡¯t look like it.


    Because they think it¡¯s Vardae.


    Because she is Vardae, still, somehow¡­


    Dissent and violence was the order of the hour. Remarkably, only a few of the heretics had broken ranks ¨C some six or seven chose to head back to the Candles, while ten or twelve shot off in random directions over Hightown. Yet there were still scores and scores of them buzzing around and chattering away disconsolately, only a few yelling threats or exhorting the others to attack me. Far more were attacking their fellows, with mixed results. Evidently the shattering of their protections hadn¡¯t completely dampened their spirits. They were still here, after all. I could see Vardae, the real Vardae, trying to avoid getting drawn into their arguments and failing badly ¨C she¡¯d seemingly been pulled aside to explain herself, other high-ranked heretics massed in the air about her.


    Her head was hanging in defeat. There was enough Tanra in her now to rob her of her evil glee, her overpowering confidence.


    She wasn¡¯t alone. I looked again at the milling masses, noting more and more of them turning aside to the Candles. I was losing it. I was losing them. How had I allowed the momentum to peter out like this? I¡¯d almost had them in my hand¡­


    I gave Dimdweller and the two sorceresses a glance.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± I asked quietly. ¡°Will the heretics fight?¡±


    ¡°Will we fight, you mean?¡± Netherhame growled.


    ¡°Ly!¡± Minnerveve gasped, finally speaking, the sound of the single syllable equal parts bitter and scathing.


    ¡°If you count yourselves as heretics ¨C whatever.¡± I matched Netherhame¡¯s confrontational tone, ignoring Shallowlie¡¯s outburst. ¡°Will you fight? I¡¯m sure you had your reasons but¡­¡± I looked pointedly at the Nightfell lying on the grass, then moved my gaze to the other one. ¡°She never said a single word to you that was true. Not one.¡±


    I¡¯d tried to keep the true extent of my emotions hidden, but it was pointless.


    ¡°You want to kill her,¡± the sorceress breathed.


    I looked back at Lyanne; through the purple mist-effect, her eyes were shining like lustrous lavender pearls.


    Not narrowed in judgement. Opened wide, in awe.


    ¡°For her I¡¯d make an exception,¡± I whispered.


    My tendrils coiled up and clenched at the tips, like fingers making a fist, knotting into a barbed mess of force-lines that it took considerable effort to relax, release.


    ¡°Lad¡­¡± Dimdweller started.


    ¡°What?¡± I snapped. ¡°Really, what? I don¡¯t want to kill people ¨C in fact I think about almost nothing other than how to save people ¨C how to not kill the people I have to stop ¨C and here I have a self-avowed heretic ¨C a murderer-fan, a worshipper of Yane ¨C¡°


    I slapped my hand to my mouth, staring in horror at Netherhame.


    She just laughed.


    ¡°Better get over that, hadn¡¯t ya, heretic!¡± she said scornfully.


    ¡°Ly,¡± Min said again, quietly this time.


    The taller of the two turned to the shorter, suddenly looking uncertain.


    Shallowlie cast back her hood, but only to expose her stare. She was still masked, gazing coolly at her companion with unwavering dark eyes. ¡°We still haf to trusty chudder. We cahn go on like this.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t understand, Min,¡± Ly said, crossing her arms. ¡°He¡¯s the same as us.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I understand too well, and served Yane in all but name,¡± I sneered.


    I let the walls down. It felt good. Nethernum raged and tossed inside me, and when next I spoke my voice was deep, louder than the thunder, the Bells, all of it.


    ¡°Vardae! Come to me now, or pay hell¡¯s price for your apostasy.¡±


    Everyone stopped their irritating debating instantly.


    I pointed at her. Tanra. Everseer. Hierarch Twenty-Five. The upper-echelon idiots floating around her froze as if my finger indicated each of them.


    Maybe it did. I wasn¡¯t used to pointing with my left hand, still.


    Let them all take it for a warning.


    Looking morose, she approached. If she was using her magic to move differently, it was to slow her steps rather than speed them.


    She came to a halt on the edge of our makeshift gathering, and though her eyes were lowered her voice was clear, loud.


    ¡°They don¡¯t believe me,¡± she said, shoulders slumped. ¡°They won¡¯t listen, and I don¡¯t know how to make them. Won¡¯t you take that thing off, Kas?¡±


    The voice. It wounded me, more than she could ever know.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me like that!¡± I cried. ¡°Don¡¯t make me kill you!¡±


    I moved a few feet through the air, the motion completely outside my control; I was only vaguely aware of the activation of the nethernal powers causing me to float forwards, and the impetus? None of it was conscious. It was like my hate physically tugged me.


    Then the Rivertown voice of the heretic came to my ears, from somewhere behind me. The voice I knew and loathed in equal measure.


    Aramas.


    ¡°He¡¯s always been a killer, Vardae. Watch out. Always.¡±


    Damn him.


    Damn him, he¡¯s right.


    I would¡¯ve loved to have him in front of me right now, there in the space I was floating through: have him exposed, easy to carve without losing momentum. But to turn and seek him and murder him there in front of them all ¨C it would risk losing the rest of them. It would look weak, especially if he ran, forced me to chase him or, worse, force me to give up the chase.


    I didn¡¯t lose momentum. I let him take his shot at me. There¡¯d be time for a balancing of the scales some day.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    Not today. Today was a day for killing giants, not squashing mice.


    I came closer to Tanra, the lying witch-face she wore, an imitation so perfect it made the skin crawl.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do it,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    I drifted yet nearer, coming to meet her. She¡¯d stopped in her tracks. No one needed magic to feel this kind of tension. Memories suffused me, their content indistinct; their meaning was the only clear aspect. The only thing that mattered.


    The pain you caused me.


    Us.


    The world.


    You broke my life in two, Vardae, and you used the lives of others, spent them callously, to do it.


    I¡¯ll see your ghost floating there, and know today I did the world and gods a favour.


    I threw back the whip-arm, high and wide, causing disarray as its deadly lines swung towards a group who¡¯d been overzealous, watching the proceedings too closely.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she pleaded, dropping to her knees and staring up at the quintuple executioner¡¯s blade. ¡°I¡¯m not me. I¡¯m her now. Please.¡±


    In the silence even the Bells seemed muted.


    I looked back over my shoulder. Lyanne, watching me with a curious smirk on her face. Sol, her gaze drawn in concern as she stared towards me and Everseer.


    Her pain too. Their pain. All thanks to the one who saw too much.


    I turned back to Vardae and borrowed Netherhame¡¯s smirk.


    ¡°Did you know Theor wouldn¡¯t get that chance, when you sent him that night? Wouldn¡¯t get any last words?¡±


    Her eyes moved from the five near-motionless, vertically-streaming whips ¨C to meet my gaze.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said. ¡°You wasted yours.¡±


    And then, appearing in the moment of satisfaction to burst and remake it all in the same instant ¨C there were two Tanras in front of me once more.


    ¡°Thanks, Sol. And yes, Kas, it¡¯s me. You can put the arm down, now. I mean, figuratively, of course. I don¡¯t think you can put it down down. Hey, can you put it down? Like, I mean, make it go away? Or is it always there ¨C¡°


    ¡°She has to¡­ die, Tanra,¡± I said past the lump in my throat. I was suddenly feeling less than sure of myself, listening to the sound of my own wavering voice. ¡°She can¡¯t be allowed to continue. She can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°She has to be allowed,¡± she replied instantly. ¡°That¡¯s my purpose. I¡¯m Killstop.¡±


    I focussed on her face, properly focussed on it for the first time.


    ¡°You think I don¡¯t deserve death? You think I won¡¯t get what¡¯s coming to me?¡± She laughed, baldly amused at the notion. ¡°But it¡¯s who I am. Who I¡¯ve always been. I listened to what you said and ¨C you¡¯re right. I was afraid, I suppose. Once the Magisterium found out what I was, that I¡¯d met with you and Theor ¨C I let myself go. I let Vardae take me. We all did, for our own reasons. There was too much death for more to matter, and when death doesn¡¯t matter anymore, nothing matters. But you can¡¯t kill her. It was you who first taught me why.¡±


    She moved aside and turned to regard her clone.


    ¡°Vardae Rolaine deserves your pity, as much or more than the rest of them. Think what you¡¯ve been through, Kas ¨C and imagine what I¡¯ve been through. Then think who she was. She was Everseer, for gods¡¯ sake. The whole world on her shoulders. You think she went this way lightly? You think she¡¯s worthy of your judgement? Who are you to judge her? Look at what she¡¯s been driven to! She might¡¯ve been crippled but you can damn-well bet she struggled, with every weapon at her disposal. Is there a greater victim? Who are any of us to judge? She took everything from me. Well ¨C I give it back!¡±


    Vardae was weeping openly, and her fragility seemed to break the spell of anger clinging to the very air.


    ¡°Tyr Kayn warped everything, everyone,¡± Killstop went on in a softer voice. ¡°If you¡¯re going to blame anyone¡­ we have to blame them. The dragons.¡±


    It was too convenient but she was right, damn it, right. I lowered the whip, the lines retracting. I was close to choking, unfiltered emotions seeming to bubble up right into my throat.


    ¡°I can¡¯t ¨C I¡¯m ¨C¡°


    ¡°Happy Yearsend, Kas?¡±


    I drew a deep breath, then laughed. I couldn¡¯t help it. Even with the crown on my head, she still somehow knew just what to say.


    ¡°Ha. Yeah, that was the one, wasn¡¯t it? Happy Yearsend, Tanra. Welcome back to the land of the living.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for, you know, not quite killing me.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ gosh. Thanks for not finishing the job. I am rather sorry, you know.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I tried to kill you first.¡±


    ¡°There seems to be a lot of that going around.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ll let her live?¡±


    ¡°Her life or death ¨C they aren¡¯t for me to decide.¡± I let my eyes track upwards, and I cast about at the cloud of heretics. ¡°The same for all of us. The same as them.¡±


    I repeated Netherhame¡¯s words, far off in thought, staring into the skies after the ones who were fleeing beyond the storm¡¯s shadows. Vanishing into hidden doors on the towers, or sorcerous portals. Depleting the demon-smashing force I¡¯d hoped to forge here, diminishing it second by second.


    ¡°I¡¯m the same.¡±


    I understood suddenly where I was going wrong.


    I¡¯m them.


    I pushed myself into the sky and cried out to them again: ¡°Heretics! Rebels and Chaos-makers! Truth-seekers. You who came to meet me ¨C stay! Hear me. I speak to you, as one who would speak for you! I understand now. I was wrong. There are no cowards here, are there? You, you who came forth to face me ¨C you are the bold! And are you not bold!More¡­ you¡¯re curious. You¡¯re confident. You are the fighters! You are the ones I need. The ones Mund, the world needs. My elite. My champions.¡±


    I spun about, encapsulating all of them in the sweep of my arm, trying to discern a familiar shape from the featureless crowds. He wasn¡¯t wearing the spider-legs or the draconic claw, from what I could see.


    ¡°Even you, Aramas, wherever you are. You think me an enemy, and maybe that¡¯s how I thought about you. But we were letting them use us, don¡¯t you see! We¡¯re more alike than different. We only wanted the same things all along. We don¡¯t want Mund to die. We don¡¯t want to hand humanity to the dragons on a silver platter trussed up for the banquet. This power¡­¡± I flexed my whips, looked down at them a tad dramatically. ¡°We only have it so we can do our part. None of us tried to live the high life. We only wanted to do the right thing. But we all knew that things wouldn¡¯t stay the same way forever. The time of trial was always coming. The Crucible is more than just the Dracofont. It¡¯s our purpose too. It¡¯s why we exist.


    ¡°Things had to change, didn¡¯t they? We couldn¡¯t sit still forever.It¡¯s time, now. Time to cut loose, and kill. Opportunities like this are rare. Chances to show not who we are ¨C but who we hoped to be, before everything else got in our way.


    ¡°So let the ones who ran flee as far as they want,if they don¡¯t come running back right this second. Let them sit in the Candles that can¡¯t protect them more than towers of wax. I don¡¯t need them. I just need you. We can do the right thing. To¡­ together. We can make the difference we always wanted to. And all it takes is courage.


    ¡°You already have everything you need.¡±


    * * *


    When we moved for the Fountains, it was as an army.

 Timetwisted

    <h2>INTERLUDE 9J: TIMETWISTED</h2>


    ¡°You beg for omniscience. From one who has it to one who doesn¡¯t: you do not want it. Think about it for a moment. What does that tell you? Not about yourself, but about omniscience. Do you think it pleasant, to exist as the ultimate observer? Now, take that sliver of omniscience I give to you; abandon your search before it kills you. It is too easy to know too much. It is too easy to die in advance.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Notes of Timesnatcher¡¯, recovered after the Fall


    He liked to think of himself as an assistant. Not to any one person in particular ¨C an assistant to the city itself. When he opened his door and stepped out into the bright morning sun, all the nightmares that so plagued him while he tossed and turned in bed were suddenly forgotten. He tried not to think too hard about his destination as he went on his way, letting the wind of destiny guide his feet.


    His hands, too. In Hilltown he caught a little girl in a blue fur caplet just as she bounded off a pavement, dancing without a care right into the path of a two-horse cart; he deposited her back on the pavement, to the instantaneous horror of her parents. The assistant endured their disapproving stares, slipping away into the crowds without a word.


    It was hard. If he used the mage robe, they would¡¯ve fallen over themselves thanking him. If he used the mask, they would¡¯ve screamed and fled, barely even remembering to yank their poor little girl along with them in their haste to get away. In the plain tunic, he was nobody.


    It would¡¯ve been nice to experience their gratitude in person. And in spite of everything it would¡¯ve been funny to watch them shriek and run. It was difficult, being nobody. A mere assistant.


    It didn¡¯t help that he could see. He was deliberately stopping himself from investigating the value-quotients of his actions. He was just taking them.


    And it was so liberating.


    When he slapped his hand against the flap of Mr. Gold¡¯s wagon, stopping three crates-worth of succulent golden apples from spilling out into the South Lowtown muck, it wasn¡¯t with any particular purpose. He didn¡¯t know whether Mr. Gold or his customers would turn this twist of fate into boon or blight ¨C whether the availability of fruit could be transformed into some great malediction to doom the world. He no longer cared to extrapolate billions of futures in order to determine how to behave.


    Just to be. Just to do what looked right because it looked right, consequences be damned. He had the power. He had the duty. The gods would demand no less than this of him as his penance for his previous zeal. And doing the right thing ¨C it helped him. For the first time in a decade, he had something to stabilise him. An anchor in the present, not the vagaries of far futures, the bitter dregs of abandoned pasts.


    He was ready to be a person again and, most importantly, he knew it in his soul. Destinies he¡¯d never dreamt of came unbidden, filtered by his desire for ignorance, flooding his mind with tantalising hints, chips of mica glittering unglimpsed in shadow. He refused to bring them into focus, but she was there all the same.


    The woman.


    He would be able to lie with a woman again ¨C even to wed. Sorrow would tinge every single minute of the remaining days of his life¡­ but no longer would he allow it to overwhelm them. When his new beloved wife bore him a child, that sorrow would be his guide. He would remember, so as to forget. He would remain unforgiven. That alone could make him forgivable.


    Not that he thought he could save his soul. He¡¯d visited Infernum, once. He had no desire to repeat the experience, never mind extend it, but he had no misgivings as to his ultimate destination. He¡¯d be back there some day, a native, not a tourist.


    There was a kind of peace in acceptance that he couldn¡¯t help but reject. He had to struggle. Even if it was inevitable, he had to try. Celestium was beyond his reach, but he could spend the rest of his life grasping at it, couldn¡¯t he? What was the point, otherwise?


    Acting on instinct, he took silver from his slowly-depleting fund, and purchased the fixings of a slap-up meal. A fresh turkey. A wrap of real cranberries. A couple of apples, potatoes, carrots. He was halfway to Mrs. Mrin¡¯s house before he realised where he was headed. It¡¯d been over a week since he¡¯d last popped around to give her a hand in the garden, and the old dear hadn¡¯t spoken with another person in all that time. Her son had posted a few silver under the door three days ago; other than that, she was alone, in the stink of the slaughterhouse a few doors down.


    Why exactly his instincts sent him here, today, he couldn¡¯t say ¨C only that it was right for him to go. Would she die without his intervention? Surely not. Were the other things, more inherently-valuable things he could be doing with his morning than preparing a nice fatty lunch for an elderly widow? Almost certainly. Yet, this was where his feet led him. She¡¯d been there for him, that day when he¡¯d broke down. Now he¡¯d be there for her. He¡¯d left his web behind. Two-thirds the way down Belton Bend, with a sack stuffed with produce under his arm ¨C this was true destiny.


    He wrinkled his nose against the pervasive odour wafting up the street, and knocked with his free hand.


    Rap, went his knuckles on the rough, unvarnished oak.


    His wrist worked of its own accord, pure habit bending back his fist so that the knuckles could descend again.


    What¡¯s happening?


    Something was wrong.


    Rap, went his knuckles a second time.


    He¡¯d been intending on giving three knocks, and his wrist was sending his fist backwards again, in preparation for the final rap. Three would be enough to get her attention ¨C he just knew it. But so much had happened in such a short time, the moment refused to come. The fist was descending, but it couldn¡¯t finish the third knock. Not until he decided. And he was trapped in indecision.


    What is it?


    It was disturbing how long it took for him to reach his conclusions. That alone told him that there was a force opposing him, a force with a will and resolve like his own ¨C or stronger.


    He ran through the options, and saw only the Shadow.


    It was like a fly buzzing around his head, like a street-thief slinking right behind him in a busy market square. Never there when you looked. Always there when you looked away. The Shadow haunted all of them, all those cursed with these powers ¨C so he had been led to believe, at least. Perhaps it really was Ulu Kalar¡¯s Return they were all getting their knickers in a knot over. But even if it was true ¨C it was Mal Tagar whose ruinous might was being marshalled against Mund right now.


    The minions of the Twelve Hells ¨C yes, they were like the fly, like the sticky-fingered street urchin with an empty belly. But the assistant could trap a fly by a single leg. No pick-pocket ever got at his pouches. And as for the demons?


    The Shadow awaits me.


    As his knuckles landed against the rough oak surface for the third time, he knew.


    It¡¯s not her that answers. The smell isn¡¯t the butchers. It¡¯s coming from inside. I should¡¯ve seen it if I could¡¯ve but I couldn¡¯t because of the Shadow, because ¨C


    He didn¡¯t have his mask. His robe. His daggers. Any of it.


    ¡°Mrs. Mrin,¡± he said, voice flat.


    Not a question. Not a prayer to Yune that he was wrong.


    Her name would have to do for her eulogy. The chance of anyone around here surviving this had grown increasingly slim over the last one and a half seconds.


    He set his fingers like claws, and when the demon inside pulled the door open, seeking his wrist to drag him within, he struck it right in the glossy canine eyes.


    Inside, it was worse than the abattoir. Mrs. Mrin¡¯s pulped remains had been used to decorate ¨C and not just hers. The skins of dogs and rats hung like drapes, fastened to the walls by patches of pure rot. The lice of hell were trundling along the ceilings, sub-demon insects the size of house-cats.


    He could see it now.


    She comes in through the back door from the little garden, gloves caked in earth. She¡¯s walking right past the wash-bowl ¨C she isn¡¯t done outside yet. Rath¡¯s enthusiasm in fixing the fences and trellises on his last visit ¨C it¡¯s infected her too. She¡¯s eager to keep planting. She¡¯s got bulbs up to her ears. She¡¯s occupied. She¡¯s just looking for her trowel. She brought it inside when she was pottering about earlier and she put it down behind the pink-felt chair without thinking.


    It would¡¯ve taken her a good few minutes to find it, and she would¡¯ve forgotten what she was looking for long before she stumbled on it, snatching it up in what looks to him like two-pronged relief ¨C


    But she doesn¡¯t get the chance. That chance melts away. There¡¯s a sound from the steep stair leading down into the cellar. An insistent chitter. A command.


    The Shadow beckons her.


    She opens the door to the cellar wearing an expression as though she¡¯s already under the creature¡¯s spell. The door creaks ajar, and the servant of Vaylech is revealed. It can only be described as a humanoid wasp; it towers, filling the space, not flying but standing upright, its darkly glistening wings folded at its bulbous yellow-black shoulders. Blank mirror eyes stare hungrily out at the woman.


    The alien mouth works on the air, mandible-teeth churning, and the sound comes forth once more, words spoken in the tongue of the Twelve Hells.


    Her hands drop to her sides. Her old feet carry her forwards, shuffling her towards the giant wasp entity. Her face now holds the same blankness as its eyes. Her lips tremble as its thick, matted fur trembles; her fingers are twitching like its dreadful glossy limbs.


    It leans forwards and, almost gently, like a lover placing a kiss upon their beloved¡¯s neck, its mouth reaches for her upper arm.


    Clothing is no obstacle. The strange lips sink right through her sleeve and work into her bicep, withdrawing with a huge chunk of flesh, at least half a pound of her arm, hanging from the mandibles.


    She moans lightly, but not in pain. It almost sounds as though she thinks she¡¯s being tickled. At least this demon¡¯s magic granted her that small mercy. This was undignified in the extreme, of course, but it was different to making her die screaming.


    The wasp mouth chews slowly. Mrs. Mrin swoons where she stands, watching. No excess blood spurts from the wound. A coagulant is in place, working rapidly to keep her in the best of health. Keep her alive as long as possible.


    After a while, the demon bends once more, this time taking a chunk from the other arm. The blood it ingests is being siphoned away from the other matter and distilled into a rarefied form, glands in the creature¡¯s abdomen pulsing dimly beneath the surface; then, after a while, the stuff begins to mist out from behind and beneath the fiend, as though the droplets of blood are being exuded by its sword-like stinger.


    Two days, Mrs. Mrin stands there under its spell, like some obscene red-painted statue in an art exhibit ¨C until catastrophic organ failure outstrips the reach of its crude magic and she crumples down to die.


    Four. She is the first of four to die in this house. Along with thirty-six animals, both pets and strays. Not one of them has a chance.


    Not until him.


    Now, his fingers inside the obbolomin¡¯s face, the assistant took a purposeful stride into the room, taking the feral creature along with him. He tossed it nonchalantly into a corner as he continued on his way to the back door.


    He didn¡¯t have his weapons, no, but almost every single creature nesting in this structure was vulnerable to garden shears.


    He was vulnerable to them too. Any one of them, even the big beetles, could¡¯ve slain him.


    Had he not been moving through the place at about, oh, a tenth of his potential.


    Two of the hell-lice nearest the doorway sensed him immediately, and tried to drop off the ceiling onto his head. The seven as-yet untouched obbolomin, crouching in the detritus in the centre of the room and eyeing the front door with gleeful expressions on their bestial faces ¨C they probably only caught a glimpse of the blur as it streaked past them, opening the back door, exiting, then returning and closing the door once more.


    Their despair was worthless to him. He didn¡¯t let time loose, didn¡¯t let them know what was coming to them. A Shadow like this ¨C it had to mean Incursion. He¡¯d be needed elsewhere. There would be many, many people in dire need of his assistance today, after all.


    He sheared the obbolomin and zikistakram, and the gaumgalamar he found creeping around the bedroom upstairs ¨C


    Then, finally satisfied, he caught the pair that¡¯d launched themselves down at his head when he¡¯d entered. They were still falling. He dipped the scissor-like blades upwards with unerring precision. Sliding them just inside the folds of their metallic shells, he found and pierced their vitals with ease.


    The dead fell to the floor. The commotion was over. Aside from settling fluids, the house above ground was still.


    He turned to the cellar door, looming ominously in the corner of the hallway.


    The wasp-man was back there, at the top of the stairs behind the door, its appendages flailing. It had entered a panicked state during the last couple of seconds; surely it had somehow sensed the carnage, the deaths of its kin, bringing it back to the door where it had halted, hesitating.


    And it had a smattering of eerie power that could¡¯ve had him following Mrs. Mrin to her gruesome fate. Even though its horrid infernal voice had not yet reached his ears, he could feel its touch on his mind, like a mesh of barbs had been wrapped about his head, metal spokes punching through scalp and skull to sink directly into his brain.


    Yet his amulet was a reassuring weight against his breast.


    He smiled savagely, laid hold of the nailed-on handle, and yanked the door open.


    ¡°Thanks, Neverwish.¡±


    He took the wasp-head off using a couple of deft snips with the shears, watching on in contempt as it fell back down the stairs, died, and started to disintegrate.


    He followed down a couple of steps. There were no lights down here to provide illumination ¨C just the crimson flames, the silhouettes gathered about and inside them.


    It was okay. He didn¡¯t need light to see by.


    The imps and worse turned to face their creator and its destroyer. They took in the extremely-dead wasp-man, and the savage smile of the stranger who¡¯d slain it.


    Only a few, those closest demonoids well inside what they saw as his kill-zone, were desperate enough to actually try confronting him. The vast majority would seek to flee, flying or squirming past him, escaping up the stairs.


    Within seven-tenths of a second, they all joined their creator. The crimson fires died with them.


    It wasn¡¯t their fault ¨C they weren¡¯t to know he was a seer and archmage. They¡¯d vastly underestimated the scope of his kill-zone.


    He cocked his head, listening to the sounds coming from outside. Lightning was trying to work its way across the vast open expanse above the city, expanding through the air, linking earth with heavens.


    But this was no bolt of holy heaven reaching down to bless the city of Mund, no act of mage or magister crafted to blast the creatures of darkness. No ¨C this was reverse lightning. This was a kind of carnal spite, a hunger cast up into the clouds to mar the skies ¨C a white light that acted in defiance of gods and men, hiding the face of Kaile from sight.


    They¡¯re trying to bring the Shadow to the eyes of everyone, he intuited without delay or impediment. It¡¯s going to go dark, and it¡¯s going to stay that way. Forever.


    He sped up the stairs to the ground floor, brandishing the shears, a grimace on his face.


    He¡¯d never held back in an Incursion before, but he¡¯d usually restricted himself to mortal targets. There was no better time to murder a bunch of murderers. This time, though ¨C things would be different. This time it would be the hellspawn who¡¯d look upon him in their last moments, see the face of their destruction approaching, a demon of humankind sent to deal them a deadly riposte.


    They¡¯d vastly underestimated the scope of his kill-zone ¨C and so had he.


    Until now.


    * * *


    The sounds of the Mourning Bells continued rippling through the air, the stretched-out goooong! vibrating its way into his ears through a million raindrops.


    Fighting for space in there with the howls of torn-apart fiends, and the unceasing lamentation of the many-headed woman leading them.


    The citizens were safe ¨C he¡¯d taken care of that first, locking them in the building¡¯s basement where they¡¯d be secure for the remainder of the Incursion, providing no unforeseen burrowing demon came along. But the forces of the Twelve Hells used the brief moments of his distraction to muster a new horde to fling onto Mrs. Mrin¡¯s garden shears.


    It would¡¯ve been easier if he¡¯d had opportunity to find less restrictive clothing, the tunic too heavy at his hips to facilitate a proper range of movement. Something to put across his face would¡¯ve been brilliant, never mind his accustomed weaponry. As it so happened, he hadn¡¯t even come across a suitable scarf or mask in his travels. Instinct had compelled him and he wasn¡¯t going to abandon the dying just to make his own life easier. He was here, now. Spell-wrought steel couldn¡¯t save these people. Only his own sweat and sinews could accomplish it.


    He snicked away another of the weeping leader¡¯s heads, and another, and another ¨C her vine-like necks were retracting and engorging, spitting out new ones fully-formed like a hydra. The huge shoulders swivelled about her torso and her assortment of arms went along for the ride as she drove her tridents at his face again and again ¨C it was as though she had absolutely no trouble determining his location in spite of his speed, in spite of the tears and bawling erupting from every last one of her faces.


    There was no master-route through an Incursion. There were only the glimpses and snippets. It was like trying to find your way around a district you hadn¡¯t visited in thirty years. Some of the landmarks had gone or changed, and those that remained no longer seemed to lead the way as they once had done, guiding you now into foreign alleys, streets that seemed to loop, twist you back on yourself¡­


    Curse the Shadow, curse all the shadows!


    The imps swarmed him again ¨C fell apart again ¨C he leapt to meet them in mid-air and for a few seconds it was as though he fought in the midst of a cloud, their dismembered wings riding high, rising and fluttering on the wind of his blows, even as the limbs and tails and torsos went snaking down to the ground.


    Surprise?


    He was almost surprised, as the razor-sharp edge of a trident cut him, tearing through his pants and slicing at his ankle while he twisted in the air. It sank into him no deeper than a couple of layers of skin thanks to his reflex to pull away, leaving his tendons intact ¨C but it shook him all the same.


    He adjusted his trajectory as best he could, flipping and leaning so as to bring himself farther from the chief demon when he landed. He would sever the three hands, then go for the closest heads, before making another move for her heart¡­


    But she¡¯d fallen apart. When he completed his motion, spinning to look, the demon was already on the ground, deflating like a pierced lung. Even her heads had flattened, eyes and teeth popping out and rolling through the puddles.


    What?


    In her place, in the rain, stood a far more portentous spectre.


    The weapons in Timesnatcher¡¯s hands weren¡¯t the verdant ones he¡¯d used last time, ensorcelled with guaranteed non-lethality. This time the dagger in his left hand was small and white, looking incredibly fragile, as though it¡¯d been carved from ivory. No aura surrounded it. The same couldn¡¯t be said, however, for the jagged shortsword in his right. Its black blade seemed to draw down the storm¡¯s own shadows, forming a coil of darkness that fumed and churned along and about its length.


    ¡°You returned,¡± said the hourglass mask.


    Rathal only had time to glance at the white hourglasses covering the tall man¡¯s black robe.


    Every one of them just had a few grains left, now.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve stayed dead.¡±


    Then the harbinger of his destiny descended upon him, and instinct was all Rathal had left.


    * * *


    The black blade was thrust at his chest, and the monstrosity of his rival¡¯s speed was almost enough on its own to stop Rathal¡¯s heart.


    He launched himself at the wall, forcing his body to move at overdrive, flinging all sense of caution to the winds and operating purely on that inbuilt sense of certainty he¡¯d so-often relied upon. He landed feet-first against the vertical surface and kicked off, spinning for momentum, soaring across the street to the low rooftop of the building opposite.


    When he completed the somersault, the soles of his boots crunching down onto the roof-tiles, Timesnatcher was already there. It was all he could do to bring up the shears and sacrifice them to buy himself a single instant.


    The rusty, gore-smeared metal gave out a single high-pitched screech as the black ensorcelled blade tore clean through it ¨C but by then Rathal had moved twenty feet ¨C fifty ¨C a hundred yards from rooftop to rooftop ¨C


    A mile, ascending and descending sheer surfaces as though they were pathways constructed deliberately for this flight, for his feet ¨C


    His shadow on his heels, every bit as fast, pure acceleration bringing both of them into a chronomantic zone wherein not a single outward effect occurred.


    As he fled, the thoughts came flooding through his mind, uncontrolled, unstoppable.


    This is the Shadow. My own. Of my making. He will hunt me to the ends of the earth if I go. There is only one solution.


    His death.


    But that means my own. I lose if I win and if I win I lose. I can¡¯t kill him. He¡¯s innocent. Any darkness to be found in him, I placed it there, knowingly.


    It¡¯s my shadow. If I kill it, I prove it. I become it.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    If I let it kill me, it slinks off into the world. Worse than I ever was.


    Better for me that I die.


    Better for the Realm that I live.


    It was only as the attitude crystallised that he realised where he¡¯d been heading.


    Home.


    Not the home he¡¯d used after the birth of Duskdown, of course. That house had been occupied once more, since his trip to Zyger, first by a gang of squatters and then by a nice, poor little family paying exorbitant rents to the local crime-boss.


    No, his new home. The house in which he tossed and turned, the house in which Rathal had been reborn once more, as a force of good in the world.


    The house in which he¡¯d secreted his old accoutrements. The tools of the trade. The tools of the unparalleled killer.


    He was beginning to tire and he knew it. The light of the power dimmed, illuminating less and less each day, if it wasn¡¯t properly exercised. He was slower than he ought to have been. He was weak.


    Weapons would help, but they wouldn¡¯t bring him victory. Not unless he removed the intervening object ¨C


    Stop blocking the light ¨C


    He lived every single moment of the chase. A journey which to an outside observer might¡¯ve taken a few seconds was still minutes to him. Every footfall on wet tiles. Every desperate leap across a street. He saw victims dying to demons, frozen mid-death, and he knew, he knew the shadow pursuing him wouldn¡¯t falter, wouldn¡¯t turn aside to save them. That was why ¨C why he had to keep running. Why he had to try to make things right.


    One of those fractured futures appeared before his seer¡¯s eye, almost pulling him clear off the roof with its magnetic allure, breaking his focus ¨C


    Instead of being too late and smashing the door in frustration, I am in time, in time, and instead of going with Vardae, Sol stays ¨C she stays, and I go to her now, shield myself with her ¨C she pleads my case, she knows, and Timesnatcher will listen as she ¨C


    She dies on the shortsword, stabbed through her heart and into my own.


    Rathal corrected his footing, ducked low to avoid the swipe of the blade that came humming down at the back of his neck, and plunged onwards.


    The non-existence of a future had no bearing on the veracity its contents. He knew by this vision of a failed reality that the sword Timesnatcher wielded was fatal even to an arch-druid of considerable power.


    We crash through the window and I ¨C I ¨C


    He couldn¡¯t let it happen. Couldn¡¯t let Timesnatcher baptise himself in blood.


    Timesnatcher the darkmage.


    The thought of it was enough to turn his stomach. How dangerous the former champion could become. How truly formidable, once he cast off the shackles of propriety, ethics, divine mandate.


    And they thought Duskdown was terrifying.


    He barrel-rolled just in time, soaring off the lip of the roof and falling at an angle across the street, a long arc that no ordinary gymnast might¡¯ve achieved.


    Even to him, the experience was a blur.


    The window gave way as he broadsided it, the glass pane seeming to buzz as it came first into, and then straight back out of, the chronomantic field; Rathal span through the mist of glinting shards he¡¯d created, managing to leave them behind him as he found his footing, a barrier of deadly glass pieces hanging in the air that would just imperceptibly slow Timesnatcher, hinder him enough for Rathal to make it to the bedroom door, plunge down the stairs to the hall, the locked cupboard that would fall to pieces at his supercharged touch, release the spellbound daggers contained therein into his custody ¨C


    He got his hand on the doorknob ¨C


    Timesnatcher entered the room, behind him, sliding around the glass-shard barrier like an oil ghost. But it was good. Some part of him had feared he was so outstripped that the champion would¡¯ve been there on the other side of the door when he opened it but, no, no ¨C Rathal was still in the lead ¨C


    The stairway descended for eight steps, then sharply turned back on itself at a shallow landing to descend another eight. Rathal simply moved forwards, barely losing elevation, the stairs dropping out farther and farther below him as he struck the far wall with his heels and ran along it, keeping his fingers on the inside wall to guide him as he swung his body about and down.


    He glimpsed Timesnatcher, just aching inches away ¨C


    Then he was careening down the lower flight of steps, using a mere slap to smash apart the ironwood cabinet¡­


    The moment it flew asunder in a shower of splinters, the contents were laid bare to his sight. The totality of Timesnatcher¡¯s ascendancy was laid bare.


    No weapons.


    ¡°Looking for these?¡±


    He glanced back. Timesnatcher was standing on the landing, slowly picking his way down the stairs. The daggers ¨C Rathal¡¯s daggers ¨C were in his hands.


    Why here? Why did I come here? A hundred ¨C nine hundred and eighty convenient places I could¡¯ve gone for weapons, and I¡­ I¡­


    Nothing notable about them. No glows, no trails of radiance. They didn¡¯t look particularly sturdy or even sharp ¨C and that was in large part the extent of their ensorcellment: to disguise the magnified keenness of their tips and edges; to make them resilient-enough to parry the blows of any weapon and remain in one piece.


    Nothing notable about them, other than their presence now in the gloved grips of his arch-enemy.


    ¡°How did you do this?¡± he asked in a hushed voice, looking upon his foe with renewed respect.


    ¡°I found the little lying dwarf,¡± the champion returned coldly. ¡°You covered your tracks well, the three of you. Thanks to you. But your stench came to my nostrils, even whilst I slept, keeping me from the dream. You cannot hide. There is only one place left for you to go, now.¡±


    ¡°And did you send Herreld ahead of me?¡±


    Timesnatcher descended another step.


    ¡°Oh, no. He was most apologetic. We will see how he gets on now. Well, he won¡¯t. I gave him my lover¡¯s eyes, you know. He¡¯ll get on fine, with all that magic at his fingertips. Barely a punishment, really. I won¡¯t be cruel to him, unless he goes to a healer. Then I will become creative.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ blinded him?¡±


    ¡°Oh, so you do remember her. Do you recall ¨C¡± Timesnatcher paused to clear his throat, and not just for effect ¡°¨C recall stamping her to the wall? By her head?¡°


    ¡°Alandrica!¡± Rathal barked, his own throat suddenly closing just the same. ¡°You took her ¨C you ¨C¡±


    You peeled it back and split the rind and I didn¡¯t know that I still carried it inside me, the coin that stole my guilty soul away, that cloaked my genesis, that she lied and lied and it was me, me, me whose hands ¨C


    ¡°Yes, I took her.¡± Timesnatcher was only on the third step from the floor now, and his tone was gloating. ¡°I took her first. What you did was the act of a petulant child but I ¨C I held the upper hand. I always have and always will. Your past was in my fist and I closed it!¡± The masked spectre looked down at Rathal¡¯s daggers, turning them over in his hands. ¡°You¡¯ve taken so many lives with these things. Why? What purpose did it serve?¡±


    ¡°I rid the city of vermin,¡± Rathal grated.


    ¡°Did a plague kill all the rats? No? Why then were the tools of your trade locked away?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ I¡¯m not the same.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve changed,¡± Timesnatcher said heavily. ¡°You don¡¯t kill anymore. You¡¯re one of the champions now. You don¡¯t deserve to die.¡±


    ¡°I deserve it,¡± Rathal said hoarsely. He felt some of the tension leave him, and slumped down into himself. ¡°But I ¨C I could¡¯ve been you. You could¡¯ve been me. But no ¨C because she loved you. She loved you, and she hated me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re talking about Tyr Kayn,¡± Timesnatcher said, sounding surprised.


    ¡°I¡¯m talking about Lovebright,¡± Rathal snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t call her Tyr Kayn as if you didn¡¯t know her. Lovebright. I was a puppet in her sick play, just like the rest of you. We all had our roles. She used me to distract you and Vardae, and you¡¯re still spouting the lines she wrote you, still acting out what she made you rehearse a million times.¡±


    Timesnatcher reached the bottom step.


    ¡°You can¡¯t fight, killer. Duskdown. It¡¯s time. I always thought you¡¯d already know that.¡±


    The champion reached up to remove the mask beneath his hood, the daggers¡¯ pommels awkwardly pressed into his palms by just the last two fingers on each hand so that the others were free to work the straps at the back of his head.


    Rathal knew this was his chance ¨C


    He whirled, meaning to run, sprint down the hall towards the front of the house ¨C


    Timesnatcher was in front of him even as he turned and, for the first time in his life, Rathal saw the face of his enemy in person.


    Long black hair with an unruly kink in the fringe; it was loose and dishevelled by the mask¡¯s abrupt removal but the dark locks didn¡¯t hide the hooked nose, the frosty stare of ice-blue eyes. The ascetic gauntness evident from his rake-thin form was right there in his stubbled, hollow cheeks, exaggerating his leanness, his height.


    Timesnatcher might¡¯ve been taller than him, might¡¯ve been intimidating¡­ but he was a kid. Rathal knew Irimar Nemmeneth was young, but to see it? The angular face was animated by a youngster¡¯s righteous rage, unshaven but showing at best patchy growths of beard. He barely looked older than Kastyr.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve used the opportunity to take your blades from me, sink them into my lungs.¡± Timesnatcher tutted, and smiled blandly. ¡°Where is my Duskdown? Why are you making this so easy for me? Here! Star managed¡­¡±


    The champion hurled the dagger in his right hand and ¨C


    Rathal stepped aside and easily caught it, but the second was cast in such a way as to strike the catching-hand, covering the distance in a tenth the time taken by the first.


    And, in the same instant the blade pierced Rathal¡¯s palm, the champion charged, moving faster still, lifting him by the scruff of his neck and thrusting him backwards.


    The dagger sank through his hand and bit deep into the wooden wall that was now behind him, pinning him fast.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you understand what I did? Haven¡¯t you visited her grave?¡±


    Rathal stared into the hard blue eyes, the burning pain in his hand dulling the speed of his thoughts.


    ¡°Zadhal. Where I took her to die. You may think we¡¯re even, but you really don¡¯t understand what I did if you do.¡±


    ¡°You condemned her.¡± The words peeled back his lips for him, releasing themselves as a bitter sob. ¡°You think I don¡¯t understand? You think I sought to even the score, Timesnatcher? Nothing could equal you! Nothing can touch what you did.¡±


    Timesnatcher was nodding, grinning. His breath was acrid, sour.


    ¡°Her soul was taken by the magic of that place before it was swept clean. She was affected as much as any of the others. How many aeons she will spend, lost in Nethernum¡¯s storms, do you think, Rathal? How long before you find each other again?¡±


    But the tears being squeezed out by Rathal¡¯s eyes ¨C they weren¡¯t those of anger.


    ¡°For all your words, all your visions,¡± he breathed, ¡°you don¡¯t see, do you? Irimar! I¡¯ll never seek her. Never try to find her. Never¡­ never seek true love again, even if I could. How ¨C how can I? It was the tyrant! She dropped me in it but I chose to swim, I chose it, and now I¡¯m Infernum-bound, Irimar. Infernum! Better this parting than¡­ than a later one.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s it,¡± Timesnatcher said bitterly.


    Suddenly the champion withdrew, releasing the bunched-up cloth at Rathal¡¯s neck and blurring to the other end of the hall.


    The recoil of the motion caused him to buck and stumble, hitting the back of his head against the wall, tugging needlessly on his pinned hand.


    He immediately reached across his body to yank the dagger free, loose himself. A single quick wiggle of the pommel and it was done; he dropped the knife, letting it land near its nondescript twin, and tore at the bottom of his tunic to wrap his palm.


    Fingers still functioning ¨C if with difficulty.


    He moved his eyes to regard Timesnatcher, standing with his back turned, facing the far wall.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± he asked, repeating the champion¡¯s last words.


    Is he exposing himself because he still hopes, after all this, to taunt me into attacking him?


    Or does he mean it?


    ¡°Goodbye, Rathal.¡±


    The black-clad spectre vanished, blurring out of sight to the right, towards the front door of the house.


    The assistant breathed a sigh of mingled relief and grief, then, cradling his hand, sank down to the floor, closing his eyes.


    When he fully let go of time he could still hear the Mourning Bells, calling him, beckoning him back to his duty.


    Give me a minute, he prayed, eyes still screwed shut. Just a minute. Then I¡¯ll go. I promise.


    But he wasn¡¯t going to get a minute. Not even five seconds.


    A muffled voice. Muted screams.


    He opened his eyes, instantly finding himself back on his feet.


    Timesnatcher had returned, and he wasn¡¯t alone. His black glove was pressed about the mouth of a six-year-old, the child held firmly in front of him, facing out at Rathal.


    ¡°The amount I¡¯ve saved ¨C I¡¯m owed one, wouldn¡¯t you say? Just one?¡±


    Timesnatcher leaned forwards, looking down into the terrified face of his captive.


    ¡°No,¡± Rath said in a strangled voice.


    ¡°I saved him,¡± the champion explained. ¡°He¡¯s dirty, isn¡¯t he? Don¡¯t you want to do it? They¡¯re all dirty. Look at him! Look at his fate!¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°How disappointing¡­ but it changes nothing. The kinkalaman was about to butcher him.¡± A monotone quality came over the champion¡¯s voice. ¡°It doesn¡¯t even affect his destiny or those around him. They¡¯re all dead too. This death will be far less gruesome, believe me.¡±


    ¡°No, it won¡¯t.¡°


    ¡°Ooh! There it is! Say it again.¡±


    Rathal clamped his mouth closed.


    ¡°Say it. Use the voice again.¡± The champion¡¯s free hand brought the ivory blade to the young boy¡¯s throat. ¡°Do it, or he dies.¡±


    Intention accomplished action with no intervening moments: the two plain-looking daggers appeared in Duskdown¡¯s hands, each gripped lightly at the perfect cutting-angles, damaged hand or no.


    ¡°You want me? You want this?¡°


    ¡°Goodbye, Rathal,¡± Timesnatcher intoned once more. ¡°And greetings¡­ my enemy.¡±


    * * * ¨C


    The two other seers capable of following the combat were engaged in their own struggles in other sections of the city; there were none to properly witness this duel, save the gods. The thousands who caught a glimpse of the struggle between Timesnatcher and Duskdown didn¡¯t even know what it was they¡¯d seen, recognising only the destruction in its wake ¨C the dark blur screaming through the air and the property damage it left behind was as likely the work of the Incursion¡¯s own black storm as anything else. It entered houses, shattering windows and raking the shelves of their contents, streaking up and down stairs, smashing its way out only to do it all over again in the house across the way. The blur tore through wooden walls, sailing in hundred-yard arcs through the sky before crashing again to the rooftops. It rippled left and right across roadways, separating into distinct hues for less than a blink before converging again in renewed, frenzied combat.


    The identity of Rathal had been left behind in that dimly-lit house he¡¯d been calling home these last months. Rathal couldn¡¯t survive this. He¡¯d gone soft. He¡¯d barely expressed the first limits of his power during the chase, when he should¡¯ve been pushing at the third or fourth boundaries. No. Rathal couldn¡¯t exist in this circle of death, not without withering instantly. He was good for nothing. Stay in that cold so-called ¡®home¡¯. Console the cringing kid. That was what he¡¯d been good for.


    The kid¡­


    To save that little child, Rathal had stepped away from conscious existence and Duskdown had taken control again, a wet morass of a mind-state, its tangled roots knotted in the depths of an unfathomable guilt, draining the world of every droplet of joy and feeding it all to the glorious buds of murder that flowered forth. Duskdown knew he wasn¡¯t real. He knew he was Rathal¡¯s projection, a shield and a weapon in one. But that meant nothing. If anything, it made him more real. Flesh made metal to wield because metal was hard when flesh was soft. Metal over flesh. Life and death over living, dying.


    Duskdown over Rathal.


    And Duskdown found this easy.


    Timesnatcher was doubtless a skilled opponent. He¡¯d clearly devoted himself to the study of martial technique in his spare time, almost enough to rival Duskdown¡¯s own style. The champion¡¯s timing was superb, and his intuitions went deep, like a fortify player who could see the moves his opponent would make ten goes in advance. Duskdown was on the offensive, and no matter the direction of approach he chose for his blades Timesnatcher always managed to parry, spinning when Duskdown twisted in order to catch the upswung backhand, shrinking to intercept the overhead stroke as Duskdown loomed. Then, just when he thought he was getting close, Timesnatcher would place his foot two inches away from the anticipated footing and everything changed ¨C he was forced to defend ¨C he was forced to parry, dart and dodge ¨C


    It was peerless. The exponential projection, stronger than it¡¯d ever been. A performance Duskdown had never before imagined, nor thought to. This was an encounter that should¡¯ve never been permitted to happen, an event fed fat by unseen hands until it burst forth into this incomprehensible series of acts of violence.


    There were other factors, though, that couldn¡¯t be learnt by scrutinising visions and books. Tricks designed to fool those who possessed the future-sight, tricks designed to trap seers who thought they knew how to fight. Timesnatcher hadn¡¯t been active many years, yet he¡¯d already duelled a large number of arch-diviners ¨C that had been plain to tell after just the first two or three seconds of blow-exchanges. Duskdown was not engaged with some mere stripling, here. Timesnatcher was a deadly foe, one whose challenge was to be taken seriously. The champion had actually improved since that day at the wedding, when Duskdown had allowed them to take him in under Feychilde¡¯s arm. Irimar had been quite impressive, even back then.


    And yet¡­


    Not one of the champions ever suspected the sheer quantity of dark archmages Duskdown had disposed of over the years. Especially diviners, whose presence in the city might not have ever been registered by Mund¡¯s formal defenders. But it was only by existing in the underworld that Duskdown existed at all. He heard things, saw things, things the others like him might never come across even in their wildest visions.


    It fell to him to rid the city of vermin, after all. This was little different.


    Feints within feints within feints. Like unravelling a mess of laces, he worked at Timesnatcher¡¯s work, reacted to his reactions, picking through the surface edges to expose facets of the core beneath. Find a feint that exposed a true attack, an extension of the arm that could be leveraged into a new string of strikes. Find a meeting of blades that hid a true defence, a retracting motion that could be chased into an open armpit, a waiting organ¡­


    The road ahead was clogged with demons ¨C demons feasting on magisters and innocents, frozen mid-bite. Duskdown delivered a few dozen slashes at his enemy, the pair of them still careening onwards like an out-of-control centrifuge, whilst a tiny, transparent portion of his awareness consulted his future-sense. He knew Timesnatcher was doing the same. Their destinies were woven about one another¡¯s, and the futures they saw could only diverge by so much as a hair¡¯s breadth.


    They left the magisters, the innocents, and sped instead into a cramped little side-road. It was a dead-end, terminating just twenty yards off at the windowless back wall of a warehouse. It didn¡¯t matter. The fight would continue up the sheer wall, and across the roofs.


    As if rehearsed, they split apart, each creating a new burst of momentum by climbing and descending the inward faces of the buildings leading up to the warehouse ¡ª


    Like ants crawling up a cord that had been twisted along its length, they came together and around one another once more at the base of the wall; the dagger in Duskdown¡¯s left hand met the black shortsword, the weapons biting into one another at weak-points, the imperceptible not-yet-fractures only arch-diviners of their calibre might have found ¨C


    Apart, together, apart, together. They ascended to the roofs and, three hundred and twelve distinct blows later, set down at its edge, taking up their proper placements as the chaos simply continued.


    It wasn¡¯t particularly high ¨C thirty-six feet or so ¨C and yet it felt as though they duelled now on the lip of some precipice. Dropping even a yard or two could be fatal ¨C the gods alone knew how many different visions Duskdown had come across in which some unfortunate fool cracked their head open while trying to slide down a bannister, or broke their spine hopping down off a low wall. Seers weren¡¯t able to fall prey to such happenstance accident. For arch-diviners there was almost always a way to convert a tumble into forwards velocity. Taking a forty-foot fall was no harder than leaping a waist-high hurdle. Child¡¯s play, with a little experience under the belt. Rain-slick surfaces were not a real obstacle, not when you could adjust for tension. Ice could be tricky, but rain? No. Not once.


    Yet here, now, this drop to the street became something else entirely. Certainty reduced with every yard, every inch, yawning away until the South Lowtown roadway might¡¯ve sat at the uttermost bottom of an abyss, an ocean floor devoid of water, of life. There was something wrong to it. Almost as though one of them would die, down there on the paving slabs.


    Falling ¨C it was the work of the Shadow. But the Shadow of the Incursion, or of Timesnatcher? It was impossible to say; he only knew the edge of the roof screamed danger.


    His foe knew it too, and there was nothing either of them could do despite their conscious control of their actions ¨C they led one another away from the edge, following the path inscrutable destiny had laid down for them. Away from the Shadow, still dancing, blades silently slicing the air until they clashed, biting once more, metallic clamour cutting through time and space to shriek in their ears.


    It threatens each of us. One or both of us will have to go over the edge and that will be it.


    And as soon as the thought burned its way through his skull, he saw it.


    Victory ¨C in under three seconds. Five thousand strikes or fewer. All he had to do was keep the fight here. Stop Timesnatcher changing the location, stop these desperate attempts to find a terrain that would let him kill Duskdown. It would all be over, so very soon.


    Once he knew it, his foe saw it too.


    Sixty-three times, Irimar sought to flee, north then east then south, then east then south then north, always adapting, always failing. The three cardinal directions that didn¡¯t lead into Shadow. Each time his opponent tried it, Duskdown moved to intervene, block the attempt with a hail of deadly blows. Timesnatcher¡¯s futile desire to flee only loaned Duskdown an ever-increasing share of confidence.


    Driven to breaking-point, the enraged Timesnatcher threw caution to the winds of fate, shattering the vision, performing a desperate lunge at Duskdown¡¯s throat with the shortsword.


    Duskdown halted and bent back at the waist, allowing Timesnatcher to step in, the stroke going wild over Duskdown¡¯s upturned face, missing the tip of his nose by at least three hair¡¯s breadths.


    His rival was within range of both daggers, their bodies less than twelve inches from the other¡¯s. The ivory knife was still moving away, nowhere near prepared to strike or parry.


    But Duskdown didn¡¯t know how to end it. Instead of burying the blades in his enemy¡¯s chest, he released his upper body like a coiled spring, coming up inside Timesnatcher¡¯s guard and smashing his forehead directly into the hooked nose with the force of a trap snapping shut.


    Timesnatcher¡¯s nose exploded, broken cartilage spreading across his face; his eyebrows sank in, the front of his skull a concave mess.


    The energy of the contact sent Irimar spilling on his back on the wet tiles, skittering out of the chronomantic effect.


    Grunting, Duskdown released his own magic, joining his foe in the rain and breathing deeply.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    Half-voiced screams suddenly split the air. The change was jarring, and he spent a moment sorting his thoughts. There were things to be done, the fixing of minor irritants like the crude bandage about his palm ¨C but he was distracted. Had it not been for this unnatural darkness pervading the midday skies, it would¡¯ve almost been easy to forget inside the time-bubble that an Incursion was in full swing.


    Timesnatcher was spluttering and groaning, trying to lean up, sit. His hands had abandoned their weapons and were now clumsily patting down the robe¡¯s pockets, probably in search of a healing elixir.


    ¡°Don¡¯t trouble yourself,¡± Duskdown said, advancing until his mere nearness stopped Timesnatcher¡¯s futile fumbling, hands and head sinking back to the tiles. ¡°You lost. It¡¯s over.¡±


    A lightning-bolt stabbed across the skies behind him, its radiance casting his shadow across the fallen champion. Thunder rippled as he raised the knife in his right hand.


    Irimar lifted his head an inch again, bitter blue eyes boring holes into Duskdown, then flicking across to the knife¡¯s ordinary-seeming blade.


    ¡°Oo¡¯i, en,¡± he brayed. ¡°Oo¡¯i!¡°


    Irimar¡¯s speech was garbled, but Duskdown knew what he was trying to say.


    ¡®Do it, then. Do it.¡¯


    Duskdown slowly brought the dagger across, holding it in front of his face to join his enemy in looking at it.


    The same wrongness surrounded it.


    ¡°This one¡¯s not for you,¡± Rathal murmured.


    It was pure instinct. It was doing the right thing. As though to discard it, toss it aside into the waiting Shadow, he hurled it to the right. To the west. Out of sight, out of mind.


    At the same instant, pure white light bathed down upon them, as though the cast-aside dagger had ripped a hole through the walls of Celestium in its wake, releasing beams of Kaile¡¯s holy radiance across the rooftop.


    He couldn¡¯t comprehend what had happened to Duskdown. His first reaction was a strong surge of fear ¨C Rathal¡¯s identity had been pushed back to the forefront and without the mass-murderer he wasn¡¯t going to be able to continue the fight, if Timesnatcher should find one of his hidden potions¡­ He¡¯d stuffed it all up, coming out of the chronomantic field when he did, listening to the screams of the dying. He should¡¯ve endured an instant longer, should¡¯ve slain Timesnatcher when he had the chance¡­


    He stared down at the defeated champion on his back, properly illuminated now for the first time. The eyes ¨C the hardness in them had melted. It was only ice on the surface. Beneath, his eyes were cloudy. Unsure.


    Human.


    Irimar¡­


    He couldn¡¯t. Couldn¡¯t let Timesnatcher change him back into the killer. It wasn¡¯t just that he chose otherwise ¨C it was simply impossible. Duskdown had surrendered the reins; the mass-murderer passed the test, and the personality died within him. Rathal couldn¡¯t revisit that place. It had been levelled, new structures built up in its foundations.


    Maybe he¡¯d been wrong from the outset. Maybe if Timesnatcher killed him, it would be the champion¡¯s first step on his path to redemption.


    I gave you one final outing, Duskdown, he said into the recesses of his soul. You were there for me when I needed you. I¡­ loved you as much as I hated you, I think.


    He¡¯d thrown the upraised knife ¨C


    But what did I mean ¨C not for him? That just doesn¡¯t make any¡­ any sense¡­


    He continued to hold Timesnatcher¡¯s agonised gaze and, as though they were still conjoined in destiny, together they turned their faces west, Rathal looking to his right, Irimar to his left.


    Directly into the light.


    The light of a dweonatar¡¯s eyes.


    * * *


    The ensorcelled dagger was barely discernible in the bright glare, but it had struck true; its handle now protruded from the bridge of the demon¡¯s nose, quivering from the residual force of the impact.


    That alone told Rathal the arch-demon¡¯s chronomancy rivalled his own. He knew little of such creatures, beyond the fact they should be avoided at all costs.


    It was drawn up tall, head and shoulders visible above the edge of the roof, along with the upper portions of its wings. It turned its serene face to Rathal in a single snapping motion, and spoke to him directly.


    He lowered his own eyes, squinting, and listened to its curious voice. The Infernal pouring forth from between its marbled lips was guttural, hideous¡­ and completely incomprehensible.


    It must¡¯ve quickly recognised its mistake because it supplied a translation, and, if anything, its Mundic was even worse. The snarling sound was that of a heartless wolf gifted with human speech, utterly at odds with its beautiful, heavenly appearance.


    ¡°And this one is not meant for you, son of hell. Do not seek to interfere, else share his doom.¡± Its head snapped about again, turning its unbearable gaze away from Rathal, casting the glare onto the prone diviner instead. ¡°I come only to collect my Sister¡¯s slayer, for Mother¡¯s gratification.¡±


    Rathal watched on as Timesnatcher¡¯s hands went crawling bit by bit across the tiles, seeking his weapons¡¯ grips.


    ¡°Well?¡± Rathal asked quietly.


    Irimar¡¯s gaze met his again, and he could see only the hate again, only the ice in those hard eyes.


    ¡°If you ask me, I¡¯ll help you. I¡¯m sorry about Perri, okay? We can fight it together. But I hear the same screams you do. People who can¡¯t fight back. People with more to lose than you. People with¡­ less to give¡­¡±


    He really could hear them, the yelps that came from ragged throats and direst need ¨C


    Less than fifty yards away ¨C Dandrika Eltin Frake was being sawn open, imps swarming her chest with pouches woven of hair in their claws, collecting her heart¡¯s-blood and chattering to one another without a care.


    Her two children watching from the corner of the torn-asunder room.


    They would be next. There¡¯s less blood in them than there¡¯d been in their mother and right now they are after quantity, not quality. The kids are lower priority, but still worth decanting.


    The dweonatar was smiling ear to ear.


    It knew. It knew.


    ¡°Ask, Irimar,¡± he begged.


    But the champion only had eyes for the pommel of his sword.


    ¡°Go,¡± Irimar said thickly, choked by the pain of his ruined face. ¡°Go.¡°


    The champion had recovered the ivory dagger, and he was dragging himself towards the shortsword. As much as Rathal found himself pitying this husk of a man, this man who had been a saviour to many, and his sole sworn enemy¡­


    He understood.


    He puts Dandrika¡¯s children above himself. For that reason alone I should save him. He isn¡¯t lost. Not yet.


    And if I thought he hated me now¡­


    I¡¯ll be the lost one, Irimar, without you by my side.


    There was no way around it. It was the diviner¡¯s trap ¨C to see it, to know he had to walk into it, having no better option.


    ¡°Farewell, Irimar,¡± he replied softly. ¡°May your fate treat you more kindly than mine.¡±


    He looked across at the arch-demon, whose satisfied smile sickened him.


    ¡°He¡¯s all yours.¡±


    The last glimpse he caught of Timesnatcher as he sped off the lip of the roof, the hero was back on both feet, a haunted look on his pulverised face. A burning chain was flying up to intercept the champion¡¯s initial probing attacks and the smile was still there, twisting the demon¡¯s lips.


    Then Rathal descended into the Shadow, and was gone.


    Once Dandrika¡¯s children were secure, her death avenged upon the demonoids who¡¯d been responsible for taking her life, he became distracted by a nest of folkababil ¨C it was seconds before he found a moment to check the warehouse roof for any signs of the confrontation.


    And there was nothing, even when he went to the trouble of visiting the surrounding streets. The arch-demon left behind no trace but the riven paving slabs where it had stood and paced; Timesnatcher, the chief leader of the city¡¯s champions, was no longer there to be found.


    Had he been taken? Had he been slain? Was his soul now in the laps of undead, undying dragons, awaiting the time of Returning ¨C awaiting the moment of consumption, Ulu Kalar¡¯s hungering tongue poised above this dearest of treasures, this most-potent of delicacies?


    Boltor Cinchbrook was screaming from his bedroom as a thastubabil entered the house, its aura of fear extending right up the stairs, creeping in under the closed bedroom door, sliding beneath the quilts with him.


    Rathal didn¡¯t sigh. Boltor was a coward, but how brave would Rathal have been without the second-sight? He remembered hiding beneath his bed-sheets during Incursions, waiting, praying for it all to be over soon.


    How brave was he, even with his magic? He¡¯d just left the Realm¡¯s most-valuable defender alone to face certain death, and that man had even indulged his excuses, sending the abominable murderer off to the relative safety of an imp spawning-pit.


    With his last act, he saved me.


    Me.


    That last word ¨C Duskdown thought it.


    His life for mine.


    I¡¯ll make it worth it, Duskdown promised silently.


    And when he fixed his future and blazed a trail through South Lowtown, the seer didn¡¯t move at Rathal¡¯s pace. The assistant was gone.


    Duskdown, the champion, was born, and every fiend pouring into the plane within a mile of the Greywater would come to rue it.

 The Fountains of Merizet

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.10: THE FOUNTAINS OF MERIZET</h2>


    ¡°Your culture has evaporated under the weight of its own questioning. Your religion has degraded and lost all meaning amongst the people. Economics and politics is the philosophy of the cynical. Brondor rules with saddened eyes. The value in profit is depleted; the profit of values has been forgotten. All virtues of your ancestors, abandoned. Physical competency is the only currency. You must close one of your eyes. You must fall back into the half-dream. Or you will die awake, perish of exhaustion.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Edgeless Light¡¯, ch. 9


    Through the tempest¡¯s stillness and all its endless layers of frozen rain I coursed, my old colleagues at my back. Our host of madmen followed close. I had a fantastic repertoire of powerful summons at my fingertips.


    I had to hope it would be enough. Trepidation rose up within me continually, and, continually, I put it back down again.


    Courage. We all have it. It¡¯s all we need.


    All we need.


    The first pass of the weave came from my hand to Ly¡¯s, to Min¡¯s, before spreading out and around, a barrier of force the likes of which I¡¯d never before witnessed. It didn¡¯t matter that the heretics didn¡¯t know what they were doing ¨C we three former champions had enough coherence to make up for their lack of experience. Aramas fed it, too ¨C I¡¯d tasted his power once and I found I could discern its presence in the hyperactive shield we formed. Not just his¡­ the powers of seven other arch-sorcerers, spread evenly-enough about the host that I could keep Netherhame and Shallowlie by my side. The heretics might¡¯ve been unpractised, but they weren¡¯t just acting on instinct ¨C they were being directed. Our conjuration whirled about us, thick and gelatinous, spiralling from pole to pole like a great glistening serpent, its ice-blue honeycomb scales encrusted in a million pounds of powdered diamonds.


    More than that, Tanra and Vardae had provided the nexus of a chronomantic bubble the likes of which would¡¯ve impressed Arreath Ril himself. We raced southwards across the twisted midday-midnight sky, and for all the seeming speed with which we moved, I hadn¡¯t heard a gong in what felt like minutes.


    The streets below were a mess, pavements covered in the entrails of buildings, carpets and curtains and shattered furniture. Actual entrails were there too, and a couple of pale bodies amongst the wreckage ¨C but only occasionally was flesh being left behind, as far as I could tell. Most of the living breathing blood-bags, those fonts of dimensional energy known as mortals, had been harvested right down to the bone. My sorcerous perceptions didn¡¯t touch on many actual corpses, save the zombies used to staff many of the outlets. Minimal blood had been wasted, from what I could see; none of my current eldritches augmented my sensory faculties the way Zel or the vampire had done, and I sometimes missed all the extra information provided by those powers. Certainly it would¡¯ve been nice to retain the dark-sight, especially now. If anything the storm-clouds seemed to have thickened since my stop-off at the Thirteen Candles, the last smatterings of light dimmed right down to blackness. I could barely peer into the interiors of the busted-apart buildings, yawning like the broken mouths of shadowy caverns. Many of the artificial lights employed by the rich had clearly been extinguished by the demons¡¯ reckless violence. The towers and offices, the dormitories and shopping-halls ¨C at least one in every three we flew over had been gutted. But the robbers weren¡¯t looking for goods and gold ¨C oh no. The inhabitants, the workers, the owners ¨C these were their currency.


    I wasn¡¯t sure which of my companions were orchestrating it, but cadres of heretics were dropping down, investigating the most heinous-looking sites. Not one to be left out of the fun, I led the weave directly into one such tower, one of the many imitation-Maginoxes, a pentagonal structure of coloured glass that stood perhaps two percent the height of the real thing. Someone had cheaped out on the ensorcelled glass, in this case, though ¨C most of the walls had been blown out by infernal magic, and the place was a breeding-ground.


    We swept through one side and out the other, and the weave itself sufficed to blow out the rest of the walls, thrusting approximately two hundred fiendish creatures out through the glass ¨C


    And the whole host of them were left paralysed, hanging in the air, contorted amidst the multicoloured glass shards.


    Approximately two hundred magical effects ripped through them, the glee of the heretics plan to hear in their cries as they struck out.


    Gong!


    I looked across at Netherhame as we exited the place, soaring through the broken windows not two arm¡¯s lengths to my left, Shallowlie just past her.


    ¡°You said I¡¯m the same as you. Well¡­ you¡¯re not wrong. Have you ¨C have you killed people?¡±


    Netherhame glowered at me, while Shallowlie looked across at her, accusation in her gaze.


    ¡°I killed three magisters less than an hour ago.¡± I let the words out; they wanted to be free, and I didn¡¯t have the energy, the will, to contain them. ¡°They ¨C they were killing people. Inkatra-users¡­ but just kids? Desperate kids?¡±


    ¡°Feychilde,¡± Dimdweller said gruffly.


    I turned my attention to the old dwarf. His beard flowed free despite the non-wind, and his big broad nose protruded clear out of the hood¡¯s recesses.


    ¡°Feychilde, don¡¯t cry.¡±


    I looked down stupidly, startled; it was only as he drew attention to it that I realised I could feel the tickle of twin tears rolling down my unreactive cheeks.


    ¡°Well I never,¡± I said, suddenly struggling to control my breathing.


    ¡°It can¡¯t have been easy, lad,¡± the dwarf went on in a kindly voice. ¡°You already received punishment befitting the crime. Did you¡­ did you truly go to Magicrux Zyger?¡±


    He was operating without his future-sense, clutching blindly at the straws of destiny for a finger-hold.


    But he was good. Good at distracting me.


    I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.


    ¡°What¡­ was it like?¡±


    I grunted, swallowed. ¡°Well¡­ don¡¯t plan a trip. It gets a thumbs-down from me at least.¡±


    ¡°Did you see Neverwish? Herreld, was his name. Herreld Tornakost. I know ¨C I know he was sent to Zyger but¡­ much like yourself? Much like you he was sent, condemned on false pretences. The dragon manipulated every¡­¡°


    I stopped the old dwarf with a wave of my hand and a nod of my head.


    ¡°Yeah. Yeah, I saw him. And¡­ no. I¡­ He didn¡¯t make it.¡±


    I felt reticent to start sharing everything with them, like I¡¯d started with Tanra. Tanra-Vardae¡­ I honestly had no idea which of the two I¡¯d been blurting all my secrets to. But these three ¨C they didn¡¯t need to know about the Inceryad-tree, or who else had been freed from the archmage-prison. At least not until I¡¯d had chance to collect myself, take counsel with those I trusted¡­


    Like Tanra-Vardae? Irimar? Borasir?


    There was no more point in keeping quiet, I supposed. Once the Incursion had been dealt with, the people needed to know the truth. These secrets¡­ they weren¡¯t really mine, were they? They were the Magisterium¡¯s. The Srol¡¯s. As far as I was concerned, if the twins gave it their seal of approval, I could tell everyone everything. If I revealed that eldritches could emancipate those trapped in Zyger, would there be a sudden surge of sorcerers attempting to free someone? Perhaps taking money to do so? Would the magistry be able to stop them?


    No. There were too many variables to consider. On the one hand I knew the Magisterium¡¯s judges hardly held to the tenets of Kultemeren for all that they wore his symbols. There was a fair chance a number of those doomed to die in Zyger were innocent, just like I¡¯d been, the investigators too-afraid to properly-explore their heads to distinguish fact from fiction.


    On the other hand, had I been innocent? Only time would tell whether the world would be better off for my escape. And the others down there¡­ the gods alone knew what mischief might result if they were to rejoin the population of Mund.


    Yet¡­ could they be used?


    I needed the twins. If anything in this dimension was trustworthy, it was them. How much longer before they arrived? Surely Orcan would have them here soon.


    How would I even know? They couldn¡¯t contact me while I wore the crown¡­


    Gong!


    ¡°What about the twins?¡± I asked as nonchalantly as I could manage. It troubled me that I couldn¡¯t remember seeing their mass of involuntary shielding extruding anywhere from the towers, even with the Candles¡¯ own wards broken, the massive blue globe which I surely should¡¯ve seen if they¡¯d been housed within¡­


    ¡°Arxine and Orieg?¡± Lyanne shot back, then swiftly answered her own question: ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re fine. Wrynka¡¯s looking after them. Don¡¯t think this is everyone who wants to fight.¡±


    I caught the peculiar twist to her voice, the unusually-hurried pattern of her speech.


    ¡°Is there anyone else I could¡¯ve been talking about?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Saff and Tarr ¨C they ¨C they¡¯re still in Magisterium custody.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re struggling, you know.¡±


    Lyanne threw back her hood, revealing the pallid, uncomely face and bedraggled knots of lank hair ¨C transformed by her nethernal state into a truly fearsome visage.


    ¡°He knows!¡± she barked, spinning on the air to glance at Shallowlie and Dimdweller. ¡°He knows, already.¡±


    The dwarf didn¡¯t seem much to care. Min only wore a self-satisfied expression, as though she¡¯d expected nothing less of me.


    ¡°Which is it?¡± I enquired. ¡°The druids? The diviners?¡±


    Now Netherhame wore her own shrewd expression, delight in the lustrous lavender-pearl eyes.


    ¡°Why ¨C where are the enchanters? What do you know you aren¡¯t telling us?¡±


    Enough! I thought, aghast. But the damage was already done. If she hadn¡¯t figured it out by now, she soon would, or someone else who knew me better.


    ¡°I think the whole world¡¯s going to find out soon,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Kas!¡± came the cry of a Tanra, streaming in from below me to hang in the air at my side, matching my pace. ¡°Kas, we¡¯re almost there. I¡¯m ¨C we¡¯re losing our grip on the spell.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s to be expected.¡± I didn¡¯t slow, but I turned to look at her all the same.


    Which of them is it? I wondered, searching her chestnut eyes.


    She was troubled. She wasn¡¯t gnawing at her lip, but I could tell she wanted to.


    She certainly looked like my Tanra¡­ except for the locks of ghostly hair, the stress-lines, everything that made her look like someone else entirely¡­ but it was meaningless anyway, wasn¡¯t it? If there was even a vague possibility this was her¡­ I had to treat her as if that was who she was.


    ¡°What¡¯s bothering you?¡± I asked in the end.


    She glanced at Dimdweller, took a deep breath, then looked back at me and smiled.


    ¡°Nothing. Let¡¯s¡­ let¡¯s do this.¡±


    ¡°Did Voicenoise manage to contact Spirit?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯ve been delayed. When you ¨C when we left Firenight Square, the others weren¡¯t as lucky as us. They managed to convene with Doomspeaker¡¯s lot, then eh¡­ a dweonatar intercepted them. Ironvine and Mountainslide fought it off, but they¡¯re twenty-foot deep in demons by the Westrise right now. They¡¯ll be along to join the party soon.¡±


    ¡°So they won?¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Maybe these arch-fiends aren¡¯t as impressive as they¡¯re made out to be.¡±


    I looked to Netherhame, but she just scowled.


    ¡°Ask the livin¡¯ puddle how impressive they are,¡± she spat back.


    Winterprince was only a few yards behind, still gloomily silent, and he gave no outward sign as to whether or not he¡¯d heard her. His cowl was still hiding most of his face, save for the strong, stubble-covered chin.


    I looked back to Tanra. ¡°So what¡¯s the deal? What are we going up against?¡±


    ¡°The thing ¨C the Sinphalamax ¨C¡°


    ¡°Wait, you mean ¨C that¡¯s what it is? We¡¯re gonna throw down against the Sinphalamax?¡±


    ¡°Every indication, right?¡±


    ¡°What even is a Sinphalamax?¡± Dimdweller asked.


    ¡°The Sinphalamax,¡± Tanra said darkly.


    I licked my lips. ¡°You mean¡­ I always took it as a plural but ¨C well yeah, it could be a demon in a class of its own. They aren¡¯t going to give away their actual name, are they? Sinphalamax¡­ I suppose you could think of it as a title?¡±


    ¡°What does it mean?¡±


    I frowned, trying to concentrate on the possible etymologies of the word, and it was Lyanne who replied first.


    ¡°Weaver of Woe.¡±


    I nodded, seeing Min doing the same on the other side of her.


    ¡°That sounds right.¡± It was hardly good news though, was it. ¡°Sorry, Tanra. Go on. The Sinphalamax¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah ¨C well, we don¡¯t even know if she¡¯s still there. We¡¯re going in blind. The magisters who reported seeing her at the Fountains ¨C that was ages ago. We can¡¯t see-see her, you know, and I bet that thing isn¡¯t helping. We aren¡¯t going to be able to Master our way around this one.¡±


    I swivelled my head back around to look forwards again. Everyone hated my crown ¨C I¡¯d got the message already.


    It was the other titbit of information my mind seized on.


    ¡®She.¡¯


    ¡°No,¡± I said firmly. ¡°She¡¯s there.¡±


    ¡°How do you propose to know something like that?¡±


    I just gestured at the absolute blackness ahead of us.


    ¡°Sorcerer stuff, maybe. Can¡¯t you feel it?¡±


    ¡°I fee¡¯ it, Kas,¡± Min said.


    I glanced at her, then supercharged satyr-reflexes brought my eyes snapping across, farther to my left.


    ¡°There!¡± I cried, throwing up my hand.


    Something was listening to us, listening to me, from halfway up the side of a broad, blocky tower. Hiding there in the gloom.


    Then it unfurled the massive wings that¡¯d been tucked about its body, that¡¯d been concealing its form and blending it seamlessly into its darkened surroundings. All at once a pair of brilliant, blinding lights burst forth from its face, and I saw a burning chain clutched in one of its newly-emerged hands.


    It wasn¡¯t some minor creature clinging to the wall, oh no. Its feet touched the ground.


    Titan-class ¨C the monochrome marble statue of a winged man looked across at us, any remnant of beauty to its visage hideously marred by its obvious contempt.


    Cries of alarm ripped out from a hundred tongues, and I heard Uwaine¡¯s real voice for the first time. A low, choked mumble, as if the stubble on his chin extended right back down his throat.


    ¡°Dweonatar.¡±


    * * *


    As much as we couldn¡¯t see the future, neither could our enemy. It couldn¡¯t fight us. It couldn¡¯t flee us. Whatever it attempted, it failed.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    It came barrelling towards us in a timestream all of its own, a rapid series of broken images confronting my eye as it surged up to our weave. Within a couple of heartbeats, before we¡¯d had chance to do any organising, it was ripping into our combined shielding with multiple simultaneous strikes of its burning whip. For all that it was the strongest barrier Mund had likely seen in centuries, the azure honeycomb protections were not impervious to harm. The weapon of a demon like this carried with it a myriad of infernal effects, not the least of which was a penetrative quality, permitting it to bite into our weave without any apparent effort on behalf of the wielder. Its disdainful smile only seemed to grow as it raked across our path, passing right in front of me.


    The weave weakened instantly ¨C not due to the attack, but due to one or two of our arch-sorcerers balking suddenly, dropping their spells, perhaps even moving to retreat ¨C


    I was certain at least some of the others could be counted on to try to bolster the morale of the troops, keep them from losing cohesion, but I was outside the link and I had to add my own contribution.


    ¡°Hold!¡± I barked, throwing more than my fair share of energy into the shield to keep it firm. ¡°Strike back, damn it! Send it back to the Twelve Hells!¡±


    The first flashes of wizardry came lancing forth, sporadically, as if the casters were testing cold water with their toes, worried about a potential counter-attack. Then, with increasing frequency, gouts of molten heat and long forks of lightning came pouring out from within the weave¡¯s perimeter, blasting our foe as it went arcing about our formation.


    I wasn¡¯t certain whether it was just that the dweonatar was so unused-to being assailed, or whether it was the sheer frequency of the attacks ¨C but it failed to evade the majority of the onslaught. Maybe it didn¡¯t even seek to do so. Again and again our spells washed over it. Waves of frost left it with a sparkling sheen covering its marble-like body, slowing its movements noticeably ¨C lightning struck its wings, forcing it to catch and turn aside the next bolts with its whip ¨C then a flurry of fiery seeds came flying into its face, erupting into a conflagration the force of which our weave barely contained, bucking and twisting in the wake of the explosion.


    We weren¡¯t usually able to fling blades from the weave¡¯s surface, yet it seemed one of the heretics had somehow developed the capability. Several spikes of blue force went cascading down at the dweonatar¡¯s whip as it intersected the defences, seemingly striking at the weapon itself ¨C and not without effect. The spikes seemed to grip the links of the chain, snagging the infernal lash, causing the huge statue to stumble as it careened about us. It was only with some effort that the demon tugged it loose.


    Perhaps recognising that it wouldn¡¯t be able to fully-penetrate the weave, the dweonatar spent a few precious seconds in contemplation. It almost halted, its face upturned to the night, against which the lights of its eyes dimmed. Its stuttering motions brought its body just a handful of yards to the left, to the right, avoiding the worst blasts by instincts that operated without even looking; it appeared heedless of the dozens of spells still successfully crashing into and over it, staring up at the storm as though it could interpret the signs in the black coils of cloud.


    ¡°Die, fiend!¡± someone screeched from my right, just below me. ¡°Die, and may your low road be slow and hard and filled with fire!¡±


    Lightning streaked forth from her fingertips, and, following the blinding bolts as best I could manage, it appeared her blasts were amongst those the demon evaded.


    I recognised her voice. That would be Heretic Thirteen¡­ she who¡¯d been Emrelet¡¯s nemesis, that day on the heath by Ryntol Wood.


    Now ¨C my minion.


    ¡°Yes!¡± I egged her on. ¡°Get him! Again! Again!¡±


    She redoubled her efforts, sending loops of pure lightning out like nooses to catch the huge creature¡¯s wings; and I could only watch for so long without taking part.


    ¡°Why is it always the wizards who get to have all the fun?¡± I complained to nobody in particular, drifting closer to the near-stationary arch-fiend.


    I caught Winterprince gazing at me, then he hurriedly looked away. His hands were empty of spells.


    ¡°Kaaaas,¡± Min moaned in a tone of warning.


    ¡°I¡¯m perfectly safe,¡± I retorted over my shoulder. ¡°Perfectly¡­ safe¡­¡±


    I watched as a druid, evidently compelled by those same instincts propelling me forwards, went roaring across the boundary of the weave. He extended his wings as he flew, shifting neatly into the gargantuan shape of a great gold-feathered eagle, his wingspan comparable with Glimmer¡¯s when she wore her biggest condor form.


    His actions were at least understandable. The statue-demon was big, but it wasn¡¯t that big. A single sweep of the arch-druid¡¯s reinforced talons would¡¯ve served to decapitate any other large statue, no questions asked. His mere human hands could¡¯ve probably accomplished it, given the magic thumping through his veins.


    This was no mere statue and, whilst understandable, the druid¡¯s excitement was regrettable.


    His avian feet plunged down at the dweonatar¡¯s neck ¨C


    Its head swung about between one moment and the next, and the light of its sun-like eyes fell square upon the descending heretic.


    The chain followed its gaze. The bird-feet disintegrated, the tree-thick legs of the eagle torn to pieces as the burning whip passed clean through them.


    He beat his wings, trying to halt his desperate plunge ¨C


    The flaming chain came coiling up to intercept the plummeting druid, make him a cloud of gleaming feathers ¨C


    I couldn¡¯t permit it.


    ¡°Khi,¡± I rumbled in Infernal.


    Right at the edge of the weave, I brought my own whips up to meet the demon¡¯s, stretching the tendrils out to their limits.


    I felt a jolt run through them as they intersected the dweonatar¡¯s whip, but I couldn¡¯t interpret the sensation as pain until I¡¯d already dragged his burning chain clear, giving the wounded druid room to manoeuvre away, flap his way disconsolately back inside the shielding.


    The blinding eyes turned their gaze on me, and the disdain on the demon¡¯s face became something else:


    Wonder.


    ¡°Oroz thanil,¡± it intoned.


    I wanted to belittle the creature in response to the compliment, but the suffering of my tendril-fingers finally came screaming into my consciousness, and I was forced to scrunch my face to avoid voicing those screams ¨C


    I ripped my whips free, feeling like I¡¯d just plunged a hand into a pot of boiling water.


    Before it could react further, Hierarch Thirteen hit it square in the chest, five lances of brilliant white light that seemed to penetrate right through it, extending through its back.


    Three or four times the lightning pulsed, and this time, although it tried, the dweonatar didn¡¯t manage to shift aside. Either it had lost access to the arcane capabilities that permitted it to avoid her strikes, or she¡¯d broken through some special defence only wizards could understand ¨C whatever it was, her lightning seemed to home in on its location, matching its evasions with unerring accuracy.


    It was seemingly bewildered, and it started trying to open portals, rings and rings of scarlet flame shooting up out of the ground all about it ¨C


    Portals we instantly expunged.


    My soul swelled, even as I dangled my weird fingers, trying to keep them separated from one another so as to afford them chance to heal.


    ¡°Take it!¡± I roared. ¡°Pile on. Now! Give it everything!¡±


    The agony in my tendrils was starting to fade, dulling down to flashes of background pain. I had other forces to contribute in the meantime.


    Two moments after I brought my elf-ghosts through a nethernal doorway, they were joined by a legion of flying eldritches ¨C more than my brain could compute. Spirits and minor fiends were overshadowed by a trio of wyvarlinact, and everything wanted a piece of the dweonatar.


    It was nice not to be on the receiving-end of the dismemberment this time.


    When its left wing came off, severed by a lance of ice from a simple wand ¨C that was when it tried to run.


    But its motions were most definitely clumsier than before ¨C it hadn¡¯t just been a trick of Hierarch Thirteen¡¯s expertise. The huge stony wing dissipated into black nothingness even as it was severed, and perhaps the loss had unbalanced it. Whatever the reason, it stumbled as we pursued it into the next street.


    Then two Nightfells were on its shoulders, digging into its face with four amber-gleaming knives.


    I pushed the weave forward ¨C this time I went for its wrist, rather than its chain, as it raised its arms to bat the pair of Tanras from its upper body.


    My tendril trapped the limb fast, and another array of bolts tore into the other arm, coming dangerously-close to incinerating the diviner standing there precariously atop its shoulder.


    ¡°Kill it, Kas!¡± one of the seeresses panted.


    I tugged on my whip, testing it against the strange flesh of the arch-demon ¨C and, slowly, the blue line bit into its stony sleeve, sending a cloud of black steam billowing forth.


    The dweonatar screamed, but I quickly got the impression I couldn¡¯t take the credit:


    Its incandescent white eyes went tumbling out of its face.


    In its desperate need to strike the diviners savaging it, the dweonatar ripped free of my grasp.


    Tearing the whole hand clear off at the wrist.


    The Nightfells were gone by the time it brought its inadequate stump up to its shoulder ¨C instead, all five of my tendrils were fastened tight about its neck.


    ¡°Can you feel my gaze?¡± I snarled. ¡°Bow! Down!¡±


    It spun on its heel to get at me, facing the weave once more, and its motion only exacerbated the slicing-effect of my whips, increasing their bite. Its blind face was surrounded by a ruff-collar of dark droplets, its unfathomable blood venting at high-pressure from the groove I was cutting about its throat.


    Spells crashed into it, over and over, and its chain fell spasmodically into the weave ¨C once ¨C twice ¨C


    ¡°Submit!¡± I cried.


    The third time its stroke fell against our shielding, the sorcerer whose faculties had permitted them to produce blades managed the feat again ¨C a wave of azure needles snagged the burning chain, pinning it against the weave¡¯s surface. Its presence there was still an annoyance, to be sure, but it was infinitely better than forcing the weave to weather its blows.


    I pulled with my own stump, reeling in the lines, drawing the dweonatar closer ¨C I could only blame the satyr-strength, augmented in unknown ways by the stolen power of the flagellant king. Choking, the dweonatar had no choice but to go with my motion. In desperation it dropped the chain, reaching up with its free hand and gripping my gleaming fingers instead.


    A stupid move. It only served to sear its own fist, and, after a moment¡¯s consternation, it released its hold.


    I pulled its ginormous face directly into contact with the weave, and a high-pitched squeal emanated from its hollow innards, its whole head set to bubbling in the waves of our mortal might. Up this close, I could even see wrinkles and dots, imperfections in its perfect stony skin. A groove on the bridge of the nose, like the scar from a weapon-strike not yet fully healed.


    ¡°Be mine,¡± I purred into its blind visage.


    ¡°Oroz thanil!¡± it wept, its voice almost incoherent. ¡°O¡­ ro¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m already over it,¡± came a stubborn voice from behind me, sounding like a retort.


    Whether he was replying to someone linked with him or arguing with himself, I couldn¡¯t tell ¨C but the result was the same.


    I turned to watch as Winterprince reached out his arm ¨C the long sleeve slipped back to reveal his hand and as he closed his fingers, fog rushed in to condense in his fist, forming a handle of cold blue ice.


    Then his magic rippled up the shaft.


    At first I thought it would be a spear ¨C then a pike, a halberd ¨C but within three seconds the finished shape was obvious.


    The executioner¡¯s axe was weightless in his hand yet it would¡¯ve been fit for the grasp of a frost giant from the stories. The curved cutting-edge alone was longer than I was tall, yet its rim was honed to the keenness of a sword, glittering white like diamond.


    ¡°Head for a leg. Fair trade.¡± He sucked in his breath, and the steaming blade of the axe swung back. ¡°Champions¡­¡± He seemed to struggle with it. ¡°Champions don¡¯t¡­¡±


    I released my whips just in time for his blow to fall ¨C he surged forwards and released the tension.


    Not just the tension in his arm. He released himself. Everything.


    In the instant the axe flew free, it wasn¡¯t alone.


    In this moment, he duplicated the weapon. A hundred or more of them formed, flinging themselves down into every part remaining to the dweonatar ¨C its elbows, its wrists, its ankles, its groin ¨C the remaining wing ¨C the forehead, the mouth ¨C dozens fell in at its torso alone, every angle of descent unique, every weapon pivoting with the same weight, the same determination as the one clasped in his hand.


    And each one cut clean through, slicing the marble neatly, as though it were flesh.


    It was flesh. The blackness inside that vented forth furiously from the wounds, spattering against the weave ¨C that was all it had inside.


    The hair on my arm and my neck stood tall as our army cried out in jubilation.


    I grinned. I felt it.


    I feel it.


    Winterprince span to face us as the dweonatar crumbled just behind him. A whispering thread of wind pulled his hood back from his head, revealing the face of a man truly pale in complexion. He had the deep-set, smouldering eyes and heavy brows of a Northman heritage, a suspicion lent further credence by the presence of freckles across his nose. His hair was thick, grey-blond.


    His intense stare came to focus on me, returning my gaze, and when he spoke it was more his tone than his words that I heard.


    ¡°Champions don¡¯t hesitate.¡±


    I understood; I thought I understood.


    ¡°No ¨C we don¡¯t, do we?¡±


    Then I too span about, turning my back on Olbru¡¯s killer, leaving our bitter history behind me. He¡¯d acknowledged it all, and more. ¡°You heard him! Champions! Let¡¯s go!¡±


    * * *


    ¡°Look at what she¡¯s done,¡± the Nightfell at my elbow whispered, a strange twist of elation to the dismay in her voice, almost like Tanra¡¯s sarcasm.


    I agreed, with both the elation and the dismay. And there wasn¡¯t much more to be said. The Sinphalamax didn¡¯t build a tower of hellish obsidian, didn¡¯t take us closer to Infernum as her eolastyr had done. No. What she¡¯d done was so much worse. She¡¯d truly brought the Twelve Hells to us, with horrible effectiveness.


    It was eerie. We were still assuredly in Hightown, and yet as we approached what would soon become our battlefield, our killing-ground, I felt more and more as though we were leaving our native dimension behind. The horizon was occluded by the shadowy heights of lofty towers, and it finally seemed as though true night had fallen, as though the remnants of our chronomantic spells were working in reverse, serving to speed up our environment rather than slow its progress into the future.


    Then we were here, in the dark place, at the very eye of the storm where the only the faintest brushes of the wind reached us. Even the sporadic crashes of the thunder and gongs of the Bells seemed to fade, lowering in volume to a background echo.


    And the Fountains themselves¡­ how much they¡¯d changed. Even the heretics were making disconcerted noises, abandoning their links and muttering aloud to their fellows.


    As rarely as I¡¯d passed the place, the impression of the Fountains was deeply-imprinted on my mind. The jets of water, warm as summer rain all year round, arcing up fifteen feet from the eyes and mouths and hands of the various statues¡­ The wide floors of polished, silver-grey marble, cleverly-designed grooves carrying the streams away from the short flights of stairs, causing playful waterfalls on the lower levels¡­


    From above the zone¡¯s layout almost resembled a ziggurat shaped like the flower of a rose, each ring of petal-terraces at any off-angle to the levels above, and extending out farther from the centre. The smallest level at the very middle held the statues of the Five, the hems of their graven robes melding without any discernible imperfection into the marble of the floor. On the floors comprising the next ring, statues depicting the gods were to be found, the primal powers like Daire and Wythyldwyn, Nentheleme and Orovon taking pride of place. On the lower terraces closest to the cobbles and paving-flags one would find trees and flower-beds of silvery stone, graven fauns and rabbits captured in fine likeness pulling endearing poses. From thousands of orifices the Fountains shot forth, coming to pool at last beneath the marble flora, where it drained and was pushed back up to the Founders and the gods above. Merizet, whoever they¡¯d been, had certainly earned their fee on this bit of architecture.


    Yet now not water but something else gushed forth, so thick as to be almost black, the metallic scent hanging thick on the air, making every inward breath revolting even to me. The unmoving denizens of the place had been warped too. The trees whose natural-seeming asymmetry had once been startling to behold were now all alike in appearance, stretched tall, all kinks in their boles straightened, branches raised like electrified hairs to the midnight skies. Blood pooled about their roots, and dripped from the cracks in the bark. Every flower was made a rose, cloaked in thorns. Prancing deer sprouted horns. Even the graven rabbits now bore fangs rather than blunted teeth.


    Above, the gods were hunkered down like frightened children. Mortiforn had cast aside his scythe, crouching beside it swathed in his robe, otherwise unidentifiable, like one of the heretics. The great lion representing Kultemeren was cowering, or bowing low. Yune had sat down and pulled her skirts over her head, leaving her legs exposed, a humiliating, incensing sort of posture. Nentheleme¡¯s glorious horn was hanging by a thread, the equine face twisted into an expression of misery, legs akimbo as if her semblance had been captured mid-fall.


    In the centre, at the highest point, the towering forms of the Founders had forever stood, waving their hands in salutation of the crowds, their vaguely-elven faces smiling broadly. But these five statues hadn¡¯t been changed like the others. They¡¯d been physically torn free and thrown down, leaving great rents in the floor where blood geysered with all the force of an upside-down waterfall, throwing the fluid a hundred feet into the air.


    Other than her, not a single demon was visible within the space, which was sizeable ¨C the Fountains¡¯ terraces were two hundred yards or more across in total, and the grassy grounds about the perimeter added another significant chunk to that. She was truly alone.


    We couldn¡¯t have asked for a better opportunity.


    She stood before the roaring crimson eruption, lit only by the lofty star-like radiance of the wizards¡¯ spells. The Sinphalamax was, somehow, just a little skeletal thing, clad all in red. I peered at her. The shadowy pits of her eyes seemed almost to extend down the gaunt cheeks, meeting the darkness of the disturbingly-wide mouth. A shocking brand of white hair was pulled back tight at her scalp, trailing stiffly yards behind her.


    The blood fell just behind her, from my perspective, showering her in its droplets as it slapped heavily at the metallic ground. I peered at her, and after a moment or two of inspection I fancied that her black lips were pulled tight in a blissful smile. Her eyes seemed to be closed ¨C that or they were entirely lightless, displaying only an unreflective darkness throughout.


    I longed for silence or speech ¨C anything but the macabre play of blood splashing, crashing on blood¡­ But I couldn¡¯t link, and I brought myself to a stop, hovering at the edge of the ziggurat-floors, knowing that the others would follow my lead, halt in their place, safe inside the weave.


    ¡°What do we think?¡± I whispered, knowing our enemy could probably read my lips even from here, hear every solemn beat of my wraith¡¯s-heart, never mind a hushed voice.


    ¡°Mortals.¡±


    There was none of the eolastyr¡¯s veneer of civility, amiability ¨C when this entity spoke, it was a flat monotone, devoid of any vestige of respect, any notion of opposition. She was a good eighty, ninety yards from me but the word rippled out through the air, sounding like it came crackling from a thousand throats, the darkness itself lending her its innumerable voices.


    ¡°Lay down thine arms, at once.¡±


    ¡°Nyahaha¡­ really¡­¡± This thing had a sense of humour, did it? I floated a little closer, mindful of the weave¡¯s edges, my extruding energies. ¡°Already trying to make it personal, are we? You think I haven¡¯t heard that one before? Actually¡­¡± I muttered to those near me, ¡°I don¡¯t know if I have, but, well¡­¡±


    ¡°I spake not unto thee, son of Kabel, in whose blood the Summoner¡¯s floweth true.¡± Her tone had changed ¨C bitterness, almost hate, was present there now. ¡°Thou comest here as an unwelcome wave from frost-rimmed oceans, Feychilde. I pray thee, ill-tempered tempest ¨C rock not this boat! Casualties thou hast inflicted upon my brood. Recklessly didst thou seek to slay that which is undying, everlasting. Canst thou not make a mistake but once? Must thou persist? Imbecile! Thoughtless, heedless wind, blow aside! Thou alone shall I esteem as my confronter, and know mine enemy ere we clash.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t half go on, do you?¡± I cried, trying not to cringe from the ancient enmity in her voice.


    I cast about as I mustered the energy to move forwards, to check I wasn¡¯t advancing alone, that I had the back-up I¡¯d so desperately needed.


    The other things that had leapt into my mind to say ¨C they all dropped out of my brain like fish from a split net, left wriggling futilely all over the docks.


    Every other magic-user present had acquiesced to her demand with hardly a single outward indication of resistance. They all hovered aimlessly over the edge of the blood-lake, most with their heads lowered. Even the strong-willed Netherhame, imbued with her own extra-planar faculties; even my right-hand Nightfell with all her prodigious powers. Of the lot, it was Voicenoise and those others I suspected to be the enchanters of the heretics who seemed most to struggle, their limbs jerking fitfully. But they too were wholly overcome by the spell of her voice. It didn¡¯t matter that they didn¡¯t literally bear arms, that their weaponry was automatic, ready on demand. The vague instruction from the arch-arch-demon was enough on its own to divest them all of their nefarious wills, their heroic purposes, their instincts for combat and killing. Even the impulse to simply survive¡­


    I shook the nearby Tanra, yelled at her briefly.


    Nothing.


    I was on my own. I hadn¡¯t even noticed the extent to which the weave had tattered, the extent to which I was overfeeding it with my energies. I¡¯d dragged the whole thing with me when I moved, and it taxed my reserves of strength more than I could¡¯ve imagined.


    Shields are a crutch.


    They might¡¯ve been put in a stupefied state, but I could tell the others were conscious. Tanra¡¯s eyes were heavy-lidded but still half-open. I had the impression they were all probably hearing everything.


    Let their last memories of me be proud ones. Let it inspire them to fight on, when the spell is done ¨C when the time comes.


    And as I flung back my wings, propelling my eldritch body forwards with staggering speed, I didn¡¯t try to move the forces with me. I pinched the weave rather than pulling it, allowing my momentum to reshape it, collapsing its dimensions as a smith folded steel, strengthening it.


    Ismethyl ¨C don¡¯t fail me now!


    I would leave the others defenceless. I would leave myself open to all this creature¡¯s unreconcilable potential. I had to, because it didn¡¯t matter otherwise. We were all doomed. If I had to be the weapon, I couldn¡¯t hold myself back. I had to strike, and if I bent or broke in the attempt, rather sooner than later.


    The handful of azure netting in my left fist ¨C it became a point. The point of a spear, a spear of power the likes of which might not have been seen in the world since the days of the Founders. If I¡¯d thought the force-blade I¡¯d used on the breached shields of the Thirteen Candles was immense, it was nothing ¨C nothing to this.


    It might¡¯ve cracked the Maginox.


    I hurtled forwards, covering half the distance between us in less than a breath, and I cast down my arm, hurling humanity¡¯s best into the face of the Sinphalamax.

 The Sinphalamax

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.11: THE SINPHALAMAX</h2>


    ¡°They will tell you not to look into the darkness, for it shall make you dark. They either do not understand, or they deceive: for it is only in the darkness that the light is to be found. To look elsewhere is to invite the growth of darkness, to sacrifice that little last sliver of light in which you huddle, pretending Day has the victory even as the sun¡¯s last rays slip over the horizon to blind you. Look up. Find the stars while evening yet lingers. Do not be blinded. The sun will always set. You will always have to find your way in the darkness. And in straying once you may stray forever.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Syth Codex¡¯, 5:209-217


    As much as our enemy couldn¡¯t see the future, neither could I.


    I couldn¡¯t fight her. Couldn¡¯t flee her.


    Whatever I attempted, I failed.


    * * *


    I cast down my arm, hurling humanity¡¯s best into the face of the Sinphalamax, arresting my forwards-motion with my wings instinctively, trying to throw every last bit of conceivable force into the attack.


    Then I hung there over the blood-soaked Fountains, watching, not understanding.


    Why does it move so slowly?


    I could see it, crashing towards her ¨C the woven weapon was still joined to me, and I was still feeding it, but time had shifted in my enemy¡¯s favour. The spear could only last a few seconds at most ¨C


    The black-lidded eyes of the Sinphalamax finally opened, revealing two points of bright light floating there, distinct in the deep, dark recesses, like twin full moons reflected on Northril¡¯s waves.


    She put one dainty white hand up in front of her face, then, mockingly, left it hanging there as she stepped aside, using her cupped palm to absorb the full might of the spear of power. The implication was clear; she didn¡¯t even need to put herself in its path if she didn¡¯t want to.


    But she wanted to. She wanted to catch it. Just to show me she could.


    The point struck her in the centre of the little bony palm and drove it back, about twenty feet, seemingly pinning the arch-fiend¡¯s hand to the tiles beneath the roiling clouds of blood ¨C


    But just the one limb.


    The arm simply lengthened to accommodate the change in circumstances then retracted again, even the sleeve of her red gown flowing along for the ride. The full fury of the blow expended, she was able to raise the tip of the spear up to her face, gloat in its azure radiance before it unravelled.


    And unravel it did, coming apart in her hand, bubbling away into nothingness.


    ¡°Thy mettle is plain.¡± The night¡¯s crackling chorus was somehow brittle; despite her obvious overwhelming advantage, the Sinphalamax sounded troubled. ¡°Now wilt thou approach, and hear me?¡±


    I might¡¯ve thought myself a champion, but ¨C what more could I do?


    I hesitated.


    ¡°Come.¡± She beckoned with tiny white fingers. ¡°I make no pretence, son of Kabel, as my sorely-missed Daughter might in my stead. Yet I would speak to thee, and have thee hear me clear, ere we come to further blows.¡±


    * * *


    I didn¡¯t move. This was all so unexpected. I¡¯d thought Doomspeaker would be here with the rest of the champions, Spirit and Mountainslide and the new girl. I¡¯d expected to have achieved something by breaking the Thirteen Candles. Instead, I was left with this.


    Nothing. Nothing at all.


    Play for time. Maybe she can¡¯t keep this up for long. Maybe the others will snap out of it. Maybe Bor and the others will make it through.


    I looked down at her, up to her ankles in the crimson gloop, surrounded by the statues of maimed, humiliated gods.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk to you.¡±


    ¡°Thou cravest only mine ending.¡±


    ¡°Can you blame me? L-look at the place! It¡¯s a ¨C a right tip¡­¡±


    ¡°Thou art no stripling.¡± Her multitude-voice overrode mine and I didn¡¯t have the confidence to use Zab¡¯s augments. ¡°I see thee clearer still. Now do I well-perceive how thou camest by the Low Queen¡¯s choker. The Rings of Dismo are not for such as thee. Mayhaps the Queen hath taken a hand in thine ascension all along, mortal. Regard thyself, summoner! Behold the truth of thine overbrimming Wellspring, the fullness of thy powers, thy maximised inheritance! All that thou might bring the crown unto my hand.


    ¡°All that thou might bring thy soul unto my Master¡¯s.¡±


    I felt myself drifting slightly on the air, out of control, as though the unconscious entities inside me squirmed in their extra-planar dreams, wresting moments of control from my grasp.


    ¡°Thou hast so-oft yearned to be beyond the reach of a rival¡¯s strength, longed for the invulnerability of the gods themselves. First thou didst think to find it in the safety and comfort of the circle of protection. Then thou didst scry for it in the rejection of all comfort, thinking to thereby be made harder than granite, harder than iron.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be invulnerable,¡± I growled. She was starting to wind me up. My vigour was coming back to me, on the heels of anger.


    ¡°Wherefore then wouldst thou set a Ring of Dismo atop thy head and avail thyself of all its dark portent? Thereby thou hast unwittingly foiled all thine attempts to thwart the forces of the Twelve Hells this night. Thou hast sacrificed one invulnerability only as thou hast accepted another, ever more-apt to despoil what thin, grease-drenched morsels of thy purity remain beneath all that power.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t be goaded!¡± I cried. I could hear her hunger, and, yes, it terrified me. ¡°What do you want¡­¡± I had to be careful how I phrased it, didn¡¯t I? ¡°I mean¡­ whatever you wanted to say ¨C speak!¡±


    ¡°To thee and thee alone shall I offer such a boon as this. Flee, wretch. Turn aside thy tempest; remain laden with portent and potential. Go. Be not broken further; lose not all thou hast gained. Neither one of us might leave our contest a victor, neither of us so tall as we stood beforehand; rather both shall fall, entwined, into the void of the unforeseen.¡±


    This pragmatism ¨C it was certainly unexpected, especially given the way she¡¯d casually ignored a titan-slayer attack¡­ given the way it sounded like she hated my guts.


    I¡¯d had a warning like this recently, and I didn¡¯t heed it swiftly-enough then. Was I going to hesitate again? Was I really going to fight the Sinphalamax herself, alone?


    I found myself grinning in spite of it all.


    No. This time, even if it cost me my soul ¨C I couldn¡¯t back down now.


    All those who¡¯ve gone before me¡­ all you champions who willingly gave it all up, your lives, your eternal spirits¡­ Illodin, let their memories give me strength.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, voice quaking even on a single syllable.


    I drew a deep, bloody breath, squinting at her, trying to focus my mind. But I didn¡¯t advance. Didn¡¯t charge her.


    And she recognised it as a weakness.


    ¡°Exit this sanctum now,¡± she said instantly, her tone still severe. ¡°Fly afar and farther still, pinned by the knowledge thou couldst do no more, lest thou shedst thy skin a thousand times and wail, bereft of all thou wert.¡±


    Shed my skin¡­


    ¡°Yet if thou dost depart, I shall restore thine arm. All form and function will in truth return to thee. See!¡±


    I felt the change; I looked down in amazement, and my right arm was back, even the sleeve recreated.


    Awed, I pulled back on the cloth, exposing the forearm. It was like it¡¯d never gone.


    If this was an illusion, it was a damn good one. Blofm couldn¡¯t penetrate it, even with the rose-man¡¯s power-boost, and I could flex the fingers, clench the fist ¨C


    ¡°Undo this!¡± I screamed, the gremlin-voice blaring from between my lips.


    She couldn¡¯t ¨C I wouldn¡¯t let her ¨C


    I can¡¯t be like Gilaela.


    ¡°And if thou dost stay ¨C if thou wouldst fight for their lives ¨C then it shall only be in answer to my challenge.¡±


    The new right hand faded both before my eyes and inside my mind, sensations drifting apart. My thrashing lines returned instantly to their place at the stump.


    ¡°Single combat, son of Kabel. Wilt thou commit thyself to such a struggle? Wilt thou bind of thyself and thy magic to the deed?¡±


    If she can rob me of my tendrils ¨C what am I going to do? Is a force-sword really going to cut it, here? I bet I don¡¯t even have an eldritch that can touch her¡­


    I swallowed. ¡°You¡¯d destroy me in ten seconds flat.¡±


    ¡°And yet I should abstain from killing those lesser lambs, from annihilating thy flock. Thou hast it all, all I sought and seek. I shall remove myself from thy city, shouldst thou fall to my blows.¡±


    I stared, and stared, not fully comprehending. It was one hell of an offer. But, surely she was capable of forcing a single combat ¨C it was hardly as though I could break the others from the reverie into which a simple command from her had plunged them. She could just put them back under even if I managed it. If I wouldn¡¯t flee ¨C how else would I fight her, but alone?


    No ¨C there had to be something more to it. There was some limitation to the spell she¡¯d used to enthral my army.


    What exactly was she asking again?


    ¡°You want me to ¨C promise not to involve others?¡±


    ¡°The twain of us shall engage in sacrosanct conflict; I shall endeavour to claim thy head, and before the Hubbub-Gate of Lamentation, at the foot of the holy Obelisk of Salt upon a pike six score spans tall shall I set it! An unending, ever-screaming testament to thy failure. Yet thou shalt dwell no longer within the sorry, shrieking skull; that shall be some lesser soul¡¯s honour. Thy spirit shall be shriven, given unto my Master in offering. These are all my terms. Now ¨C how sayest thou?¡±


    Something clicked in my head.


    Why else would she insist I fight her alone?


    ¡°I say, you¡¯re tricky, aren¡¯t you? You¡¯re trying to make me scared.¡±


    ¡°Wherein do I miss the mark?¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t even as scary as ten things I could name, and half of ¡®em on the list would just be people. Oh, dear. I think I get it now. If you fight me ¨C they wake up, don¡¯t they?¡±


    The little, dead-looking girl ¨C the Sinphalamax ¨C straightened perceptibly.


    For all I knew, the woven spear would¡¯ve utterly annihilated her if I¡¯d tried to save it until she attacked.


    ¡°You want me to have to stop them from helping me, or forfeit. Forfeit what? My magic? And you can promise you¡¯ll leave Mund all you want ¨C it might even be true. But your Daughters? Your legions? You¡¯d give them free rein, wouldn¡¯t you? You didn¡¯t say anything about them. No¡­ no. For all your talk of your own invulnerability¡­ you really aren¡¯t. You can¡¯t command a cease to hostilities while you¡¯re being hostile, can you?


    ¡°You must be petrified.¡±


    She hissed, and the blood fountaining up behind her gushed with more force, pushing higher, falling farther, covering her in its deluge.


    She vanished into it.


    ¡°Come, then!¡± the night snapped. ¡°Forget my terms and have at me, wretch. I shall dispel all those abortive futures, those destinies which harboured thy presence, ere they crawleth forth to clutch at existence.¡±


    I didn¡¯t move, and started casually building a shield about myself.


    ¡°You waited a million years. What¡¯s a few minutes?¡± I looked at the dark fountain with what I hoped looked like an amused smile on my face. ¡°You¡¯re just trying to draw me on, or trying to make me run. I think I¡¯ll sit tight, thanks. Looks awfully Infernum-y inside that blood, you realise.¡±


    ¡°A million years.¡± The blackness seemed to sneer. ¡°Unto the paltry mind of a mortal, such must seem aeons beyond imagining, years which to me comprise but a season of the World¡¯s turning. Thou canst not dream the Shadow. Thou art but a plaything of the Mist¡¯s amusement, mine to make and break and discard again. I am that of which thy lore knows naught but its degree: thirty-third, as thou shouldst have it. What might one such as thee understand about the Sinphalamax?¡±


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s a few things.¡±


    The amused sneer continued, almost curious: ¡°Such as.¡±


    ¡°Sinphalamax. That¡¯s your breed, right?¡±


    I could sense the change in her mood by the fact an answer wasn¡¯t immediately forthcoming.


    ¡°Haha¡­ yeah, sure it is. Four syllables. It¡¯s weird, the magic of names, isn¡¯t it? Oh, pardon me. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve actually been formally introduced¡­ Well,¡± I straightened, glancing back at my army once more, ¡°since none of my distinguished fellows seems disposed to speak for me, and you¡¯ve apparently completely missed your plus-one ¨C I¡¯m Kastyr. Not ¡®son of Kabel¡¯ ¨C Kas among friends. That¡¯s us, right? Good ol¡¯ chums, I can just tell. Say, I think I missed your name. Were you invited? Give it again, eh?¡±


    ¡°Kas. I know thou hast a tendency to blabber as a knee-high brat when perchance thou art nervous, and thou hast come somehow by the impression it shows thee the braver. It does not. It only exposes thy true weakness. Thine ego. As precious as her eggs to a mother-hen, and every bit as fragile. Shall I speak on thy flight from the city? Of the abandonment felt by those left behind, those lost, those perished on far-flung sands whose lives thou couldst have, shouldst have, wouldst have saved, if only for the cowardice which betrayed thine every choice? Oh ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oh, now who¡¯s the blabbering baby? At least I¡¯ve got the excuse I¡¯m kind of hoping your spell¡¯s going to start slipping. I don¡¯t think you¡¯re the type to play for time while back up comes rushing to your aid, are you?¡±


    ¡°Nay; I do not require reinforcements. My Daughters collect the beast-men in mimicry of mine own court; all the same, what you call eolastyr is far, far closer in stature to obbolomin than to the Sinphalamax. There is naught any other might do for me that I might not accomplish for myself, faster. More brutally.¡±


    Lies!


    It had to be.


    ¡°Yet thou hast failed to acknowledge my point, and therein is nestled deeply thy wounded core, thy glass-like soul, clenched so tight that the cracks run throughout, permitting only the darkness to seep in. The countless changes thou might have wrought in thy time here! To avert the destruction of thy home ¨C¡°


    ¡°You and your machinations destroyed my home! You!¡±


    ¡°No, not I. Not me or mine. The Magisterium¡¯s failings annihilated Mud Lane, Kassy, my good ol¡¯ chum, my little fella.¡±


    The night was suddenly speaking in my mother¡¯s voice.


    I almost lost control of all my powers for an instant, lost control of all my joined eldritches, all my hidden legions¡­


    How? How was she doing this?


    ¡°You could have stopped the inkatra, Kassy. You failed. You failed to realise your true purpose. I wish I could say I wasn¡¯t disappointed. Even now, after everything ¨C if I should ask after thy greatest regret, thou shalt misspeak in reply. Thy thoughtless slaughter of the Ysga-vin? Which slaughter comes first to mind? Thy hand in the removal of Telior from all the maps of the world? No. Thy true failures remaineth here, son of Kabel. Son of Ninadra.¡±


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    I shivered, in spite of all my protections, all my protestations.


    ¡°A score of scores, counted a thousand times ¨C this many lives hast thou chosen to abandon. The suffering of nigh half a million souls hath resounded across the halls of mine abode, each of them bound by this sole truth: that thou wert to guard them against their own evils, and that thou didst leave them, to tend thine own precious fate. The people thou durst call countrymen. Sticktowners. Thine own kin and folk. Left to rot. Left to wither. Left to burn in the same cinders, the spit I would see roast thee! Didst thou tend that garden well, see fate fed and watered, show destiny¡¯s face unto the sun? Nay! Thou didst shower it in darkness, kept it in the cold, in the ice-heart of thy world!¡±


    Then the night, the Sinphalamax, roared:


    ¡°Now! It is not in my nature to abide long! Bend, or suffer!¡±


    The air had no odour other than blood, but that didn¡¯t bother me anymore. I drew a deep breath through my nose, then let it out.


    ¡°I faced the avatar of Vaahn. You don¡¯t scare me, little girl. Why, what are you gonna do if I don¡¯t do what you ask? Burn my city down¡­ extra?¡°


    ¡°There are levels of destruction to which only the true heretic hath become accustomed. If thou wouldst contest my spot ¨C I shall move aside, contrite. As the fences and canals of thy Treetown, so the walls of thy city; I am a hunter unparalleled, and I will cull thy miserable populace to the bone ere I whittle into exposed marrow.¡±


    ¡°Fine. If you go, I guess I¡¯ll just follow. Daddy will follow to keep an eye on you at a nice, safe distance. Once you¡¯ve done a naughty, I¡¯ll ¨C¡±


    ¡°Ever hast thou thought of death as an enemy. Ever hast thou feared it. It is the mark of the child to reject the unknown. Thou knowest not death, yet thou wouldst seek to judge it, as a man!¡±


    That was it. The final straw, just as I locked Shield Seven¡¯s constellations in place.


    ¡°Let¡¯s catch up, shall we, Kassy? Then we¡¯ll play.¡±


    She loosed a portion of her potential, and it obliterated me.


    Gong-Gong-Gong-Gong-Gong-Gong!-


    I reeled ¨C I couldn¡¯t ¨C


    GONG-GONG-GONG-GONG-GONG-GONG!-


    ¨C even think ¨C


    ¨C and yet I watched as the fountains of blood coalesced, somehow flowing backwards, down at their origin point, the hundred-foot geyser shrinking in less than the lifespan of a blink ¨C


    Every droplet coursing into the living-dead girl.


    She was crouching now right beside the riven flooring. Her gown shuddered as it silently expanded by orders of magnitude, spreading rapidly across the surface of blood-pool, sliding up the outcroppings of silver-grey marble¡­


    Enclosing the blasphemous statues of the gods within the bright-red fabric, where they suddenly came to life, twisting and contorting beneath the covering.


    Inside the gown of the Sinphalamax, Mortiforn got to his feet, the bright-red scythe now in his hand.


    Nentheleme fell and rose again, far taller and broader than Gilaela, a triad of horns sprouting at her brow.


    Chagrin flooding me, I backed away a few paces through the air ¨C but even as I turned I knew I was too slow, that the lethargy would be the death of me ¨C


    Her gown outpaced me, covering the landscape beneath me, all the way to the edge of the Fountains.


    Graven trees stirred, branches flailing. Fanged rabbits raised textureless fabric eyes to stare up at the flock of dazed champions and heretics floating above them.


    Yet that was not the worst. I only understood it as I saw them come streaking in from the north-west, heading to their Mother¡¯s side across the bright red lake which undulated beneath them. Two of them were now bearing sacks of tumbling archmages, dragging their spoils behind them.


    She tricked me. She made me think I was safe to wait ¨C and now ¨C


    She was playing for time all along.


    ¡°Mother!¡± cried one of the eolastyr, and the others joined in, crooning in one blended voice. It was a wail of despair. ¡°Mother, slay him!¡±


    ¡°Where is thy Sister? Where is the Second of ye?¡± The night¡¯s hiss became a roar. ¡°I cannot see her ¨C where is she?¡±


    ¡°He slew her!¡± The eolastyr bearing the most bodies in her crimson-glittering bag raised her empty paw, indicating me with a single claw extended. ¡°He slew again of us, Mother!¡±


    The Sinphalamax closed her eyes, and trembled. Her hollow voice rang from every statue¡¯s mouth, from every patch of darkness.


    ¡°This is where we strike the blow that shall break the city. The Ring of Dismo. Bring it to me, and let it be done.¡±


    For all that they knew I could kill them, they reacted without delay to their Mother¡¯s command, hurling their kidnapped archmages to the hell-cloth lake and summoning a multitude of gateways.


    They were too far away for me to quash many of their portals; I clenched the seams tight before they opened, wherever I could lay my mind on them, but only those clustered about me were slammed shut in time. Dozens of planar doorways opened at the centre of the Fountains. And, while I wasted time, the Sinphalamax approached the bags, the infernal webbing bulging with insensate masters of magic ¨C the little demigod was peeling back the outer layers of crimson shielding to peer within at the gifts her children had fetched for her.


    But she¡¯s still scared to face me herself. Scared to engage when she isn¡¯t guaranteed the win. Scared to loose my army upon herself.


    The eolastyr weren¡¯t wasting their time with first-rank demonoids anymore. It was a host of heavies that came out to greet me, bintaborax and ikistadreng and mekkustremin flanked by slouching thastubabil, bounding epheldegrim, snarling vamelgarit. The flying fiends amongst them weren¡¯t imps or folkababil or hovering eyeballs ¨C many of these things were new to me, but some I¡¯d read about, like the pedheliorph void-birds, or were those I¡¯d seen once or twice before, such as the wyvarlinact, the steely things which were supposedly the progenitors of our world¡¯s wyverns¡­ And then there were the winged snarling plants I thought were known as terminion, and garphalaba, the freely-floating spirals of dissected body-parts exuding an aura of death visible to me even from here¡­


    I opened my own portals in answer. I could bring through hundreds of eldritches at once now, and I availed myself of my new capabilities, ushering a true legion of undead and demons onto the trembling pool. Those most expendable I thrust to the fore, gaggles of imps and overgrown insects surging forward, expelled forcefully from my gateways to spread across the red cloth.


    Red cloth which treated my eldritches in a completely different way, reacting to their presence atop it with a violence belied by its previous passivity when the eolastyr¡¯s forces entered the scene.


    Every one of my minions that set foot or hoof to the fabric was covered toe-to-head in an instant, wrapped up, enclosed by my enemy¡¯s will. Hundreds of elven wights and powerful fiends. My old reliable mekkustremin was trapped inside the cloth, every dark tangle of fake hair atop its doll¡¯s head now coated in red.


    Of all my grounded host, only two fought for freedom ¨C Khikiriaz, about whose gleaming legs the red gown tried to fasten itself without any apparent success, the black antlers of the ikistadreng capable of snicking through the loops of thread winding about them; and my new thinfinaran, his armour¡¯s absorbent qualities sufficient to protect him.


    The eolastyr were still opening gateways and many of their slaves were summoners too. I¡¯d never seen anything like it. The obscene amount of blood they¡¯d managed to gather up was greasing the wheels of Infernum, the number of fiends growing exponentially.


    But I was lost for a moment, regarding my own eldritches, aghast.


    I tried, waving my arm furiously ¨C once ¨C twice ¨C


    I couldn¡¯t dispel them, remove them from the plane. Their loyalty had been stolen ¨C even the thinfinaran¡¯s.


    Even the unswerving devotion of Khikiriaz was no longer mine to command.


    Then, seeing a huge portion of my host turn to face me with malign expressions beneath their bright-red masks, malign demeanour in their cloth-bound limbs ¨C


    Oh well. I was already eyebrow deep in the drop anyway. What¡¯s a few extra tons on top?


    I waved to my ascended ancients, joining with the strongest of them, and I moved in without holding anything back.


    * * *


    The air was teeming with foes. Too many for me to kill. My shields absorbed a hundred different magical effects and withered, withered, withered.


    I tried to drop in on top of the Sinphalamax before she did whatever she was planning to do with the slumbering archmages under her power. I tried my hardest to fight her, and force her to fight¡­ I really did. But it was futile. Where there weren¡¯t a dozen demons, half ranked in the double-digits, there were dozens of them. When I reached the spot in which the captives had been hurled down, never mind the Sinphalamax ¨C I didn¡¯t even get to see the eolastyr. Just their pets. The horde intercepted my moves, their blows strong enough when massed together to push and throw me, propelling me back and forth, bouncing me about inside the frayed circle-shield.


    A pedheliorph¡¯s scream dissolved one of my ancients before the others clambered atop it, three of them tearing off its wings. I didn¡¯t see it, but I felt it as Oldbeard and Bilgebreath were consumed in the conflagration of a dying finthrilikar. My fullness, the weight of my eldritches in my sorcerous stomach, suddenly dropped away precariously as score upon score of my imps were eradicated.


    Terminion descended at me, heads like huge flower-buds unfurling, layers of dropping red petals expanding around my shields. Their vegetation-wings were diaphanous, delicate creations, see-through but for the red veins running throughout their substance; nonetheless, they were as tough as bintaborax-flesh, dulling my blades as I tried to send them tumbling, fighting to maintain my own altitude. It was hopeless. Scores of them swept down on me, compressing me, wedging me against the grounded demons. My cloth-garbed thinfinaran was there, over half consumed by the red gown now; I struck him down, then turned to see a wave of giantesses charge me, amethyst-pulsing blades plunging up at me.


    There was a vamelbabil amongst the vamelgarit, spinning and swinging with a coordination even my satyrs might¡¯ve envied, evading the blades upon my circle without much fuss. Fifteen feet tall, she towered over even her brethren, her sparkling sapphire sword truly something to behold.


    Truly something to hold, too; however good her reflexes, mine were better. One of my fingers took it from her ¨C the hand first, of course ¨C and when I knotted my tendril about the hilts and pommel it retained its shape and solidity, for a time at least.


    The vamelbabil¡¯s lesser cousins couldn¡¯t see the whips that slew them, it appeared, but they could certainly see the sword as it lopped its former wielder into great steaming chunks.


    With her gone, the resistance against my shields wavered and then, in the next instant, evaporated. The winged terminion gave way; I pressed forwards and upwards and suddenly I was grinding through them again, defended on the flanks by silent, relentless spirits even the demons had cause to fear.


    I just had to hold on ¨C a few more seconds ¨C and I¡¯d be through them ¨C out the rear of the horde, where she had to have fled¡­


    It didn¡¯t matter; it was too late. The reason for the absence of the eolastyr was made plain. Whatever the Sinphalamax said aloud about wanting them to take the ¡®Ring of Dismo¡¯ from me, she¡¯d lied. They¡¯d had another task. Through the massed ranks I caught glimpses of them, leaping through the air with newly-made sacks in tow, heading towards their Mother, circling the battle without once coming close to my striking-range.


    Sacks big enough to tow houses, expanded to capture the heretic-druids whose forms were too large to fit within the old containers. Rag-draped or fur-covered bodies tumbled through the spheres, flopping and rolling like stunned shrimp, slamming into one another without response.


    I¡¯d broken the Thirteen Candles, playing right into their hands. All I¡¯d achieved was to do the demons¡¯ work for them, present them with a fine meal.


    Had the crown betrayed me?


    Ahead of me, somewhere, red and white lights were flashing. A warning unlike any other.


    She¡¯s taking them.


    Mr. Cuddlesticks loomed before me, a hill of fabric-wrapped spikes with arms raised back, high over his head.


    My ascended ancients tried to stop him, but I knew what was coming. I had just enough warning to fix one last link on the star within my circle before he struck me down with his hammer.


    The wrapping of red fabric might¡¯ve served to soften the blow slightly, robbing the weapon of its fiery enhancements; but it was still as heavy as a mammoth. The bintaborax crushed me into the fabric, which cratered to accommodate my shield, then undulated, throwing me back up ¨C


    Mr. Cuddlesticks snarled as my spirits sank their life-draining fingers into his metal muscles, aiming another blow at me, heedless ¨C


    ¡°Inxarioxus!¡± I gasped, calling his name aloud, uncaring. ¡°Agar! Agar!¡±


    It was pointless. I couldn¡¯t stop him, no matter what.


    The statue of Mortiforn appeared at my side, sweeping its scythe down at my torso. In spite of its new red skin, the blade atop the tool looked no less sharp than it had before its transformation. My ascended ancients were on the statue immediately, ripping the nightmarish elemental apart without a moment¡¯s notice, re-exposing the silver-speckled marble still lurking beneath the Sinphalamax¡¯s fabric. But Daire swept in on the other side, the goddess reaching for me with red-gloved arms ¨C


    Red-feathered Orovon brought a taloned foot down into my barrier ¨C Mr. Cuddlesticks slammed into me with all his weight ¨C


    Mortiforn, I prayed, accept this offering.


    I let go of the shield, and dropped the bonds that kept my ancients close to me. If I was going to die ¨C if I was going to do this, she could have her single combat, have it her way.


    I moved through my strongest bintaborax, and I dragged the blade of the vamelbabil after me, tearing it straight through his chest.


    I didn¡¯t know whether he could survive such an experience ¨C not that I should¡¯ve cared. But I had little choice, if I wanted to use the sapphire sword before it bubbled away.


    And, oh, I wanted to use it.


    I swung. Again and again and again and again and again. I barrelled through all intervening obstacles. Stone and metal. Flesh and bone. Corrupt vegetation-material. All their jagged weapons, all their bolts of hell-fire penetrating me, even as I penetrated their wielders. I diced through a dozen demons a second and they couldn¡¯t stop me, couldn¡¯t impede me, couldn¡¯t throw me back anymore. Every time they tried, their body-parts died, withering, withering, withering.


    Every time they tried, a part of my power died too. It was simple-enough to be a wraith in day-to-day life; it was simple-enough to take the ghost of a dark elf inside yourself and slide into the chest-cavity of a defeated dracolich. Sliding through a throng of hostile, puissant entities? Even with the augmented ascended ancients within me, I suffered. The animosity of the Twelve Hells lashed me. Every motion sapped my strength. Every yard accomplished was a yard closer to death.


    Something wedged a claw into my neck that found purchase despite my barely-real state. I slaughtered it, of course, barely even looking as I raked two whips along my side; but the claw remained, and in pulling it loose I started to lose blood ¨C as slowly as it seeped from the wound, it was happening. It had started. How long I had left, I wasn¡¯t entirely sure.


    A wyvarlinact blocked my path, a dozen smaller fiends clinging to it, bathing me in unholy fire ¨C I was beginning to tire as I laid about myself, trying to force a way through ¨C


    ¡°Master,¡± Khikiriaz huffed, barrelling in from my left and stomping the wyvarlinact into lumps of twisted metal. The red cloth was still trying to work its way up my ikistadreng¡¯s legs and he wasn¡¯t discernibly mine ¨C yet he still fought the good fight.


    ¡°Salik kasena!¡± I gasped back at him. ¡°Khalor! Khalor!¡±


    I emerged on the other side of the host in a shower of dismembered fiendish limbs, rolling through the air near the broken pieces of Litenwelt Kordaine, trying to right myself with my wings. For whatever reason, the power of the Sinphalamax hadn¡¯t extended over the shattered remnants of the Five Founders; they¡¯d been left, laying low as mere debris shaking atop the rippling gown¡¯s fabric. The graven face of the Summoner, my forefather, stared blankly at me from beneath the brim of his pointy hat.


    Give me your strength, grandfather.


    I looked up at the Weaver of Woe and her trio of eolastyr, reorienting myself, on the cusp of the final mad dash ¨C


    And I saw as she completed the spell, disintegrating the first sack of archmages. The red and white lights weren¡¯t emanating from her ¨C they were being generated inside, the effect seeming to be fully contained by the glittering crimson folds of the bag.


    Too late. There was nothing more to be said for it: I saw them fade away to nothingness, catching just a final glimpse of the brave archmages who¡¯d become the first afternoon snack of the Sinphalamax.


    Wanderfox. Petalclaw. Wilderweird.


    Starsight.


    Star.


    I couldn¡¯t grieve, not properly ¨C not now. I still hadn¡¯t even started to process Emrelet¡¯s death.


    The Sinphalamax turned the white points of her eyes upon me, and put up her hand, halting the sea of demons flooding up behind me over the decaying corpses of their cousins.


    ¡°You see them, Kassy.¡± She spoke in my mother¡¯s voice again, and it was all the more chilling now that I could see her up close, her depraved appearance not so far from human that her choice of a child¡¯s guise was unaffecting. It reminded me of Jaid instantly. ¡°You see what you let happen, to your friends. Hell couldn¡¯t have come ¨C not like this ¨C if you hadn¡¯t gone.¡±


    She spread her hands over the four remaining infernal sacks, gloating, the black maw gaping disturbingly. I couldn¡¯t make everyone out, but in the smallest one I could see Spirit, spread-eagled, draped atop Mountainslide¡¯s back ¨C


    I was hovering just off the ground, the silent hosts behind me awaiting only a signal to fall upon me, tax my reserves, tap away at my magic until nothing was left to run my body. Then I too would be taken ¨C I would lie there, like that, draped like a torn old coat on the arm of a chair, ready to be disposed of ¨C


    A whimper of terror, pure unfiltered doubt, escaped my lips.


    And a voice arose within me, unbidden, laden with a hideous kind of certainty:


    No. She¡¯s wrong. If you hadn¡¯t gone, you would never have been able to throw hell back once it arrived. You are everything you needed to be and more.


    Jaid? Jaroan?


    Who are you?


    ¡°Yune save us,¡± I whispered.


    ¡°The Architect of All Disappointment shall not sway me,¡± the Sinphalamax crackled. ¡°Cast up thy prayers to Celestium all thou wouldst. This day is not her day.¡±


    I looked down at my tendrils.


    Yune¡¯s fingers.


    ¡°Dispose of the magisters,¡± she went on. ¡°I shall watch young Feychilde watch.¡±


    The three eolastyr slid out of my field of view and at first I didn¡¯t comprehend ¨C ¡®dispose of the magisters¡¯, that had been her command, yet the tigresses were bounding away from the sacks¡­


    Then I turned my head to the left, and I understood. I couldn¡¯t hear the magisters approaching; their illusionists were good enough to trap the sounds they were making. However, to my goblin-eyes they were revealed as strobing shapes, completely ruining their invisibility; and I had little doubt the arch-fiends could see right through to the contents of their stomachs ¨C not just today¡¯s breakfast, but yesterday¡¯s, and tomorrow¡¯s.


    A tomorrow that would, for these men and women, never come. The distraction was going to be minimal. Almost a hundred magisters had been sent ¨C whether arch-magisters were present, I had no notion, but every single mage was flying. They came in from the east like a cloud, prepared for battle in a formation comprised of six or seven neat lines, waves that would strike the enemy one after another. Every single magister gripped a wand. There was no weave hanging in the air about them, but a smattering of shields suggested the presence of at least one arch-sorcerer.


    Not handless Valorin, that was for sure.


    I went to turn back to the Sinphalamax, wanting to use this opportunity ¨C


    ¡°Another ninety-four deaths to be laid at your feet, Kassy,¡± Mother said with a sigh. ¡°Look. They only came to help you. And¡­ just look.¡±


    Her words were pointless. I couldn¡¯t tear my eyes away from the sight. Although distant, the cracks! reverberated through my wraith-flesh ¨C not because I could feel their magic working upon me, but purely because I could remember the sensation. I could imagine what was happening to the poor mages who¡¯d been unlucky-enough to get called up for this job today.


    These magisters weren¡¯t butchering children. They¡¯d courageously lined up to assault the very eye of the storm itself. Who knew what kind of planning and cajoling went into putting this force together, what level of frayed emotions they were each enduring¡­


    They brought with them nothing, absolutely nothing capable of stopping the eolastyr ¨C especially not three of them gathered together like this. The tiger-women battered through shields like the orbs were made of blue glass, cracking the azure eggs and flinging the contents about, innards pouring out everywhere ¨C the flensing effect of their whips was horrible, absolutely horrible to behold at a distance. Great strips of meat went sloughing away across the grass beyond the red-covered Fountains ¨C there was too much of the stuff for the eolastyr-weapons to handle.


    Even from here I could hear the rattle of the bony remnants that fell to the ground, a delicate pitter-patter made all the more macabre by the fact I knew some of those poor people might well have been still alive, at least for the moment.


    ¡°How disappointing,¡± the Sinphalamax commented.


    Only two or three seconds of screeching, rending sounds gave warning ¨C


    Boom-doom-boom-doom-DOOM-DOOM-SKRANGGGG!


    I twisted my head, looking to my right, satyr-reflexes causing me to wave the wings, pushing myself away from the breaking-point of the earthquake ¨C


    A gleaming metal rod came bursting through the blood-pool, then more and more, shearing effortlessly through the sheet of red cloth, reaching up like an inverted lightning-bolt, a silver tree.


    Arranged upon its various forks and hook-like protuberances, a dweonatar was splayed, crucified by cords of living, pulsing iron. The molten metal had worked its way through the huge demon¡¯s innards, spearing like drill-bits through a hundred orifices that weren¡¯t there before. Each wound leaked gallons of darkness. The palms of the outstretched arms and the crown of the head in particular vented the stuff as though there were no end to it.


    The marble arch-fiend was flickering, twisting its head; its eyes were thrown wide, but the light was dim, dim ¨C


    Upon its chest, rocking with its every rapid motion, grey-clad Ironvine was crouched.


    The champion¡¯s chain-masked face tilted towards me; she was taking in the situation, I realised. The Sinphalamax. The eolastyr. The legions. The captive archmages. All of it within twenty yards of her.


    ¡°It came here to die,¡± she snarled.


    Then the wizard straightened up, one hand pointing to the sky ¨C


    And the celestial lightning answered, from beyond the storm, beyond Mekesta and all her powers.

 A Name for the Darkness

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.12: A NAME FOR THE DARKNESS</h2>


    ¡°They see evil as contravening the existence of good without seeing goodness as predicated upon evil¡¯s existence. In a world of perfect goodness all would perish, energies sapped by time. In a world of perfect goodness the boredom would itself become a form of pure refined torment they cannot imagine.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Book of Kultemeren¡¯, 3:18-20


    Perhaps the new champion wasn¡¯t such a stranger to her magic¡¯s versatility after all.


    Her lightning came crashing down, each fiery white strand reaching out for one of the molten spears skewering the dweonatar ¨C


    Finding instead the pale left hand of the Sinphalamax, who climbed the air faster than sight, flying up to meet its descent.


    The living-dead girl gathered up all the bolts of lightning, reaching out to snatch them as they came raining down towards her, past her, still seeking the wizard-metal below. She fed them back with her free hand, collecting the crackling ribbons of electricity together, as nonchalantly as a crone collecting a fistful of loose hairs after a bath.


    ¡°Thou art a fool to come hither,¡± spoke the darkness; it was impossible from down here to espy the lips of the Sinphalamax in motion, but she was surely composing the words. ¡°Thy mind, eclipsed by thy strength, hence thy fate. Thine energies shall be joined with my Master¡¯s, and may he cometh ever closer to satiation by such a feast.¡±


    The wizard brought a finger of lightning across the open space of the Fountains, emanating from some point over towards the western horizon.


    The Sinphalamax moved instantaneously to meet it, clutching it easily, taking it for her own.


    Ironvine¡¯s voice was low and strained, befitting the great struggle she was obviously enduring, attempting to outmanoeuvre a thirty-third rank demon. It had the cold, educated sound only a highborn could produce ¨C especially here, in the face of her death.


    ¡°Nay.¡±


    And Ironvine redoubled her efforts ¨C for a moment it was like day returned. The black storm rolled back and a column of sunfire came screeching down from the blinding white heavens.


    White sunfire became red hellfire as it broke harmlessly over the head of the Sinphalamax, cascading down in great crimson globs.


    Then Ironvine sagged, crouching once more atop the straining dweonatar. The light died, as swiftly as it had come into being. I could see the wizard¡¯s back rise and fall as she heaved deep breaths.


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t attacked yet,¡± I said, trying to get my voice to carry while keeping it quiet-enough to slip the notice of the Sinphalamax ¨C the buzzing lightning-bolts in her hand had to be loud, right? They sure sounded it from down here. ¡°She can¡¯t be hurt, somehow ¨C not till she attacks.¡±


    Ironvine gave no reply ¨C from the way she still seemed to be gulping air, she didn¡¯t have the breath to. Was that the first time she¡¯d called the lightning? Emrelet would¡¯ve been impressed.


    I cast about at the ranks of waiting demons, poised to fall upon us once their mistress permitted it. I saw the eolastyr, looking back at me with gloating black eyes, two of them preening themselves with their coarse tongues, looking as if they hadn¡¯t a care in the world.


    The crevasse in which the legs and feet of the impaled dweonatar remained hidden suddenly spurted blood up onto the huge demon¡¯s torso. The gown of the Sinphalamax now hanging from her skeletal frame high above our heads, the spell was broken; no red cloth formed to cover the body of the fallen dweonatar, and in fact all about me I could see it was beginning to fade, the Fountains reverting to their previous likeness.


    Not that pools of blood were a vast improvement, but there was far less blood than there¡¯d been before, and I could see the spellbound statues grinding to a halt as the red fabric deserted them, their hellish coats first becoming smoky, blurry, before passing into complete transparency and dropping away. Orovon bowed over with a stony groan and splayed his wings in an unnatural fashion. Nentheleme returned to her previous pose, rearing up and over, the single horn hanging loosely. Yune dropped to the blood-puddles with a splashing clunk, pulling her skirts over her head once more.


    When my hosts of undead and demons came back under my control ¨C there was no not-feeling that. It was like having an anvil shoved straight down your throat and into your stomach¡­


    A very small anvil.


    Most of my forces were dead, thanks solely to me. Khikiriaz survived, and the mekkustremin, Mrs. Cuddlesticks and Junior ¨C


    I¡¯d slain Mr. Cuddlesticks. I¡¯d even slain my elf-wights, almost to the last. A mere handful remained, and those that did were torn apart in seconds as the fiends near to them recognised the reversion of their loyalty, the spell of the Sinphalamax slipping away. Whatever telepathic command she¡¯d sent to pacify the eolastyr¡¯s remaining forces, it clearly didn¡¯t apply to fighting my minions. I hurriedly sent those worth saving back to their home planes ¨C those my power reached in time ¨C and the foe-demons surrounding my portals lowered their claws with obvious disappointment.


    Most of my airborne eldritches were gone, too. Pinktongue and Funnyfingers were still alive, and most of Blandface¡¯s retinue had come through unscathed¡­


    While I hurriedly inventoried my sorcerous stock, Ironvine seemed to have settled on finishing the dweonatar a different way. By the time I looked back she¡¯d taken two loops of the molten metal into her mesh-gloved fists and was tugging on them, not with her flesh and bone but her wizardry. Like a brute pulling back on the reins of a tired old pony, she physically stretched the dweonatar out.


    There were a series of loud pops and the titanic demon loosed a high-pitched wail.


    ¡°My Sons cannot be so slain.¡± The Sinphalamax spoke from the sky in a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no denial.


    ¡°Sure they can,¡± I bit back right away. ¡°They¡¯re your Sons? Cripes. It¡¯s gonna be a bit thin round the table next Yearsend, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±


    The Sinphalamax gave no immediate response. Her face turned to the south-east and she lingered for a few moments, as if peering afar and pondering.


    ¡°He put up a right fight,¡± I added in a conciliatory tone. ¡°Lost his eyes, first.¡±


    The Sinphalamax returned her attention to us, and waved a small bony hand in a regal, peremptory fashion.


    Ironvine¡¯s metals within the dweonatar dissipated, becoming a fine silvery mist that vanished on the air. Tons and tons of the wizard¡¯s painstakingly-crafted weaponry, evaporated in an instant.


    ¡°Thou hast ruined too many of my toys,¡± the night intoned. ¡°I toy with ye in turn, and demonstrate for ye for one reason alone: to congratulate ye both, on the prowess required to reach me. Now, Feychilde, thou at least needs must die. As thou hast given up all thy prayers, I shall accomplish it. I call upon thee to surrender. Bend the knee. Become the martyr of thy destiny and heed the call. The swifter accomplished the sweeter.¡±


    So she¡¯ll get her hands dirty at last?


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna swing the axe?¡± I said.


    The dweonatar beneath Ironvine was suddenly no longer there; it stood once more upright, a little off to the side, its handsome face twisted by a boastful smirk ¨C if it was wounded, I couldn¡¯t tell.


    The dweonatar¡¯s motion was so swift that, for her part, the wizard fell awkwardly to the bloody ground ¨C she landed on her hands and knees heavily, then crumpled down on one elbow with a horrid second splash. I heard her grunt and gasp as the surface of the blood-puddle slapped at her face, and upon hearing those involuntary sounds I finally gave up on my hidden hope that she was Emrelet in disguise. The highborn voice could¡¯ve been put on, but those sounds, sounds I knew so well? Never.


    I¡¯d spent too long regarding the dishevelled wizard, and instincts screamed at me to flinch ¨C I half-recoiled without even knowing why, and ¨C


    A moment ago she¡¯d been above me, but now the Sinphalamax was before me, looking up into my eyes from three yards away.


    The black empty maw, grinning. The eyes whose darkness went on into the infinite abyss. The horrid nasal cavity was no different. Whatever it was, it was not a human skull. Humanoid, perhaps, but different from those of the races I¡¯d seen before. The jaw¡¯s size was off, the smile too large, the overall appearance clearly demonic rather than undead despite the skeletal quality of her substance. The simple fact that a huge tongue of hair was growing out the back of her head, trailing her limply, was itself an indication that this pale scalp wasn¡¯t real bone.


    Nothing about this creature was real. I couldn¡¯t infer her true shape from what she wore. Entities such as the Sinphalamax would clad themselves in such forms as befitted their whim, their fleeting inclination, and rarely by necessity or outright design.


    It didn¡¯t matter what shape she wore. She could do the impossible even if she looked like a toddling two-year-old.


    Many of the dark lines about her eyes and lipless mouth were, I saw, densely-packed runes, letters in a script I couldn¡¯t even hope to recognise. The repetitive symbols were inked or scorched somehow into her head, forming bands that looped in geometric shapes across the face, vertically and horizontally, forming semi-circles about her upper cheeks and down her brow towards what should¡¯ve been her nose.


    She whispered, and the yawning voice of the night was louder than ever before, the weight of the Twelve Hells compressed into a single will, a single finger pressing down upon the ant, crushing it with an exponentially-greater force.


    Her grin grew when she saw me flinch, looking even more enthusiastic than it had a second ago.


    I don¡¯t think she¡¯s scared anymore.


    ¡°Thou art spent; be now claimed. I am more than thou canst conceive. Here ¨C let me show thee, and see thee and thy powers unknotted at last.¡±


    * * *


    I turned to fly, to put distance between us, and even as I whipped about I noted that the surviving demons were barely concealing their glee. All eyes were fixed on me, and on my enemy.


    Except for the eyes of my lone ally. The dweonatar¡¯s chain was there once more, flickering menacingly towards Ironvine, and the wizard dived into the blood head-first, disappearing.


    I couldn¡¯t blame her. Hopefully she¡¯d be able to get away down there and do¡­ something. Help less people die in the coming apocalypse, maybe. She¡¯d probably be the only protector left worth a damn, by the looks of things.


    It was over for me and I knew it.


    I hadn¡¯t even gotten a few feet away when fingers sank into the carrion-bird wing on my left shoulder, clawing without impediment straight through its surreal sinews and shadowy feathers ¨C


    The weirdest thing was the purchase this gave her, the ability to hamper my velocity, drag me back¡­ There was none of the reciprocal life-steal. The ancients were useless to me here.


    I growled, wincing, but before I decided to release the huge eldritch she made the choice for me, ripping the creature of Zadhal right out of me.


    Continuing to push myself away, I drew back the whips and prepared to twist and strike ¨C I could still use wraith and ancient to navigate the airs, even if I was far slower ¨C the blade of the vamelbabil had long-since faded but I still had my tendrils, my beautiful barbed fingers ¨C


    It sounded like someone sheared a whole bolt of cloth in two. When I finished wheeling, bringing the whips swinging down at her, I saw she¡¯d ripped the bird apart right up the middle, an expression of unbelievable strength, to so neatly bisect it with nothing but her hands.


    I didn¡¯t hold out much hope as I brought my force-lines slicing down ¨C she cast aside the huge bird-pieces and put up her palm to meet my strike, the little palm that had caught lightning bolts ¨C


    I adjusted their arcs, so that she couldn¡¯t catch them all, but it didn¡¯t make a difference. Her hand just grew to the size of the dweonatar¡¯s.


    Effortless superiority.


    And then she was gripping my weaponry in her once-more tiny fist, without so much as a flicker of doubt crossing her features, pulling me in. I could hear sizzling coming from her hand, and see little wisps of steam rising off it, but she didn¡¯t seem fazed in the least. The azure threads wrapped themselves about her wrist, the sleeve of her gown, straining themselves against her clutch ¨C and they wept glowing blue tears against the red fabric, as though they suffered a pain from the contact I wasn¡¯t even able to perceive.


    At least she couldn¡¯t just rid me of them ¨C not now I¡¯d rejected her offer. They were mine to keep, I suspected. For all the good they¡¯d done me in this short-lived battle.


    ¡°What didst thou truly think thyself?¡± she murmured, smiling at the whips slowly searing away in her fist.


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    I shook the wraith out of my arm, restoring its reality, and threw a punch.


    I was ¨C I had been ¨C right-handed. The punch was awkward, but she was reeling me in, pulling me to her at a steady rate, and I had the strength of augmented satyrs running through my veins, along with their pinpoint coordination.


    Most importantly ¨C I was pretty sure she¡¯d finally broken her ban on hostility.


    Despite the awkwardness of the angle, my fist fell into her upper cheek with the force of an erupting fireball. A third of her head literally disappeared, and the rest caved in entirely, the whole skull collapsing into a mess of paste.


    Then she shook her shoulders, and some kind of chronomantic effect reversed time; the neck regurgitated the head, the sickening black smile coming straight back into view just beyond my still half-extended hand.


    ¡°I thought they¡¯d be my main problem,¡± Mother said, in a chiding tone. ¡°Dropping satyrs, eh? Hahaha!¡±


    It was my mum¡¯s hysterical laughter. Nonsensical. Macabre.


    I couldn¡¯t even think, react ¨C


    Now it was her turn ¨C she reached ¨C into me ¨C


    One by one, she shook them out of me. Time and again, I struggled, moaning despite all my promises to myself that I would remain strong, remain brave in the face of utter annihilation. Promises meant nothing. The moaning was involuntary.


    Not just because of the severed connections, the forced un-joining. No.


    Because of the killing.


    Sarcamor and Sarminuid were the first to go, before I recognised the severity what she was doing to me. One after the other, she pulled the satyrs from me and flung them aside.


    Just the touch of her hand was enough. When she pulled them out of my wriggling body, her fist was already wrist-deep in their chests. As she cast them down to the blood-soaked ground, they writhed and smoked away.


    I feared for their souls.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ let¡¯s see¡­¡±


    Horror gripped me, tighter than the fingers clutching my tendrils.


    But ¨C the wraith!


    If she took that from me ¨C the crown would revert to its previous dimensions, or at least its previous weight ¨C


    I¡¯d lose it, or be crushed by it, or both. I had little doubt the Sinphalamax would be capable of adjusting its properties, claiming the crown for herself. She was already unstoppable, but the Crown of Mekesta ¨C the Ring of Dismo ¡­ Something like that would surely seal the deal.


    I pushed the wraith to the back of me. It was more than likely one of the elven ghosts would suffice to keep the crown ¨C and my flesh ¨C in the nethernal state. Yet it was my sorcerous instincts enacting my decisions, inbuilt responses I didn¡¯t fully comprehend working on overdrive; and all the same I struggled to hold onto the ascended ancient whose torso the Sinphalamax had found.


    No such luck. The female ancient was ripped from me, the pallid elf-face serene despite the arm sticking out of her chest.


    She vanished, leaving nothing but a purple smudge on the air. All that dreadful energy stolen from the Thirteen Candles¡¯ wards ¨C all for nothing.


    The diminishment of power as she left me was staggering. My arm and legs went flaccid, the semi-physical form of my body surrendering entirely; but my will still burned. The whips were still searing into the bony hand of the arch-fiend.


    There was more left to me, and she knew it.


    I asked my body to move aside, begged the spirits in me to stir one last time and save me ¨C but they were bound by the same aura of fear, transferred by my mind along the sorcerous link that made us one. I couldn¡¯t command, not anymore ¨C only request.


    They refused. I refused.


    I merely wobbled, quivering on the air as her hand sank in again.


    And again.


    And again.


    It was the nameless wraith, Blofm or Zabalam and I knew who I had to choose.


    I go now to the shadowland ¨C with a clear conscience.


    The goblin was one thing, but the gremlin who¡¯d clung me to me ¨C the poor mouldy critter whose loneliness had always been as obvious as a gaping hole in the front of his head¡­ I couldn¡¯t abandon him, and, by the same token, I couldn¡¯t abandon Blofm either. Couldn¡¯t let the Sinphalamax tear creatures of such sentience in two. Couldn¡¯t let them follow the satyrs like that. I didn¡¯t care what the wraith had done for me. I didn¡¯t care which of them I needed most.


    Once I let go of the wraith, she¡¯ll just rip me to pieces.


    I made up my mind, and accepted doom.


    When she reached into me for the final time I thrust the wraith forwards, keeping the illusionist and illusion-breaker safe and sound, sleeping ethereally within me.


    What would they feel, when I died? Would it hurt Zab? Not just his heart ¨C I was sure he¡¯d be upset, of course ¨C but would it wound him in the otherwordly flesh somehow? Would Blofm be injured?


    I hoped not.


    Goodbye, Twoshoes.


    I did it. I let the wraith go. The amorphous shadow-man went wailing out of me on the end of the arch-fiend¡¯s claws, and shattered into a thousand dark shards.


    And the crown ¨C


    The crown¡­


    For all that I¡¯d been building this moment up inside my head, if anything the crown felt lighter. It stayed, snugly attached to my scalp, as I plummeted a few feet and staggered, the left ankle giving way and sending me to my knees.


    And I dragged her with me.


    The whips in her hand didn¡¯t lengthen, and she gave a sudden Aaah! which the night copied.


    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. I was here, a mere mortal, a wretched tangle of flesh and bone on the cusp of my destruction. But damn it, watching her be surprised, right here at the end of all things¡­ it made me laugh.


    Then a voice emanated from the air just above me. Just a soft hiss of sound, and yet it cut through every noise in the vicinity, pierced every thought.


    ¡°Finally,¡± Mekesta whispered.


    * * *


    The ranks of assembled demons muttered for the first time, a disconsolate din. The eolastyr looked to one another and to their maker.


    The Sinphalamax, for her part, was mortified.


    ¡°Thou canst not,¡± she gasped, the night chorusing her fright once more.


    ¡°I can,¡± the crown whispered. ¡°You forget. This world is mine, Abstraxia.¡°


    My mind lit on fire.


    The Sinphalamax was already bound ¨C bound by a will that¡¯d lasted centuries.


    Could I break that chain, with her name as my weapon?


    ¡°Abstraxia,¡± I grunted.


    Even just saying it had clearly shattered a good percentage of her arcane protections. I tried to rise and in so doing accidentally tugged on the tendrils that were still attached to her ¨C


    Slicing off half her arm without even meaning to.


    The night¡¯s roar in response was immense; I physically shook in return. It was like being a midge trapped alive in the gullet of a lion.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if it was the dismemberment, or the name.


    ¡°Look at me!¡± I cried against the dark voice, pushing myself to my feet, taking almost all of my weight on the right leg. I injected every last shred of Zab¡¯s power, every last drop of my sorcerer¡¯s ego, into the command: ¡°Behold your new Master, wretch! Be mine, bondswoman, and mine alone. Kneel and do my bidding!¡°


    But I¡¯d lost my physical hold on her even as I¡¯d gained a new one. We were no longer attached to one another, and she turned her back on me the moment she lost her hand, refusing to meet my gaze. The hard white rope of hair hanging stiffly from her scalp swung about me, reeking of pus.


    The eolastyr and dweonatar moved, bringing themselves a disconcerting distance closer before her remaining hand snapped out in a warding gesture, waving them away.


    She was still screaming, on some level, the roar of pain and rage unabating, reverberating from distant buildings. When the night¡¯s voice came rumbling forth, somehow speaking on top of the ongoing scream, it was hoarse, choked with unimaginable emotion.


    ¡°I can be neither thine nor mine, even at thy mercy. I am his. One thousand and twenty-three years, as thy kin measureth the count of days, son of Kabel. Nigh seventeen thousand as I hath marked them, and that is itself but a hundredth of my long existence.¡±


    I had no indication my gaze was doing anything to her, but out of nowhere she swayed, as if tempted to turn. Her voice was suddenly drunk, words coming fast and desperate from the black tongue.


    ¡°He is like nothing, nothing I¡¯ve ever seen before. I thought ¨C I sympathised with his goals ¨C but he didn¡¯t care. Even the Judge¡­ even the Judge had mercy¡­¡°


    A tremor rippled up her gown, slow-moving, but disturbing the cloth to such a degree that it distorted her entire shape, belying the humanoid form supposedly contained within its dimensions. Its colour started to fade to pink before my eyes.


    ¡°You expect forgiveness? After everything you¡¯ve done? Everything you¡¯ve tried to do?¡±


    She stopped quivering, seeming to conquer herself, and the acid was back in her voice. ¡°O, how full thy fullness, Kastyr Mortenn! Thy legacy is plain. Spare me, I beg thee. Let me go, lest we further reduce one another. Do with my Daughters and Son as thou wilt. Let me go, and follow me not. My name is loosed upon this world. I am undone.¡±


    My crown laughed callously.


    Mekesta¡¯s right. She¡¯s tricking me.


    ¡°It¡¯s simple. If you won¡¯t be mine¡­ then you will die.¡±


    The weightless right arm raised its azure fingers, unbidden.


    Yune¡¯s fingers?


    I glanced at the whips, then back at the now grey-gowned figure.


    For the sake of Peace ¨C killing?


    ¡°But I cannot Die here, Kas. And you will not dare set foot there at my side, will you? There¡¯s no escape for me; destroy this body if you wish. You cannot touch my being. Not from here.¡±


    Mercy costs me nothing, and killing gains me nothing. Is that what she¡¯s saying?


    Is that what Yune would want?


    ¡°If you leave now,¡± I said quietly, ¡°a-and don¡¯t come back, ever¡­ I won¡¯t tell another soul. All I want is an answer.¡±


    She stopped screaming; I¡¯d become so used to the coruscating roar that its absence was a yawning gulf devoid of meaning. In the silence that followed, the echoes of the sound came rippling back to my ears from far-off streets.


    ¡°Speak the terms again!¡± my enemy moaned, still refusing to turn. ¡°Do not misspeak!¡±


    ¡°If you will honestly answer one question, your name will go with me to the shadowland.¡± I spoke warily. ¡°I¡¯ll not speak or¡­ or show it again in the presence of another. In return, my friends are to be freed from those ¨C nets ¨C and from any of your obnoxious spells I don¡¯t already know about. Then you will depart. Do not ever return to Mund.¡±


    ¡°This part of this earth which you call Mund, will in time be remade, and remade again ¨C¡±


    ¡°Not while the city walls still stand.¡±


    ¡°This is thy compact? Upon thy will and magic in this life? Upon thy soul?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± I barked. ¡°Glaif witness me.¡±


    The Sinphalamax ¨C Abstraxia ¨C sounded utterly broken.


    ¡°Then I accept.¡±


    ¡°Mother!¡± one of the eolastyr cried, gazing despondently at her mistress.


    ¡°As thou wert, Daughter,¡± Abstraxia said, then sighed. ¡°Grandmother remaineth displeased with me.¡± She turned back to face me, the scorpion-tail hair swooshing about me again. ¡°Come, then, mortal. Ask thy question. May it be all thou dreamst and more.¡±


    She met my eyes. Clearly the contention was over between us, our agreement reached¡­


    Now that the moment was upon me, I didn¡¯t know how to say it. My mouth was dry. My foot and the stump of my arm ached. The rain had drenched my hair and my torn robes were soaked in blood. Somewhere far off in the distance I heard the petulant gong! gong! gong! as if to remind me that I wasn¡¯t yet done.


    I should¡¯ve asked for seven, shouldn¡¯t I?


    Say that, receive the affirmative answer, and she¡¯d be gone.


    Just one question, you fool.


    ¡°I can¡¯t put it in such a way that I get everything I want. What I want to know is ¨C why?¡±


    I stared at her. She didn¡¯t react.


    ¡°Why any of it? Not just ¡®why me¡¯ but ¡®why us¡¯ and ¡®why everything¡¯¡­¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± the night intoned as the black-hole mouth moved. ¡°Out of respect for you, scion of the Summoner, I shall give all the treasures you seek, save one. You surely are aware already that I cannot name my Master. This was not the question you asked.¡±


    ¡°I know whom you serve.¡±


    ¡°And you have many of your answers already. It is to you and yours to drive the chariot of Mund into the very heart of this ¡®Crucible¡¯, this confluence of events known to us as the Prime Concatenation.¡±


    I stared at her.


    ¡°It is but the change your world so sorely needs,¡± she said, as if this explained anything. ¡°When one reaches such heights, it is with gods and gods alone one might contend. Ah¡­ you do not know your value.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C my value? To whom? For what?¡±


    ¡°The dragon-lords. You will fight them.¡±


    ¡°But you serve the dragons¡­¡±


    ¡°Kakasag!¡± She growled the swear-word, and it rippled out across the sky, thundering off at the horizon. ¡°Would you know it all, Truly?¡±


    Her voice dropped suddenly, the air about me crackling intensely.


    ¡°Do you understand deification? The art of apotheosis? Herein lies your answer, son of Kabel. Avalost requires new rulers.¡°


    I shuddered, even though I barely comprehended.


    ¡°Twenty-eight, son of Kabel. Many burned books would teach ye the truth, though they be deemed heretical, and as many in Mund know but fear to say ¨C yes. Twenty-eight gods there were, under whose reign your world has long stagnated. An opportunity arose, and the Lord of All Magic, he who was called Omecrox Spellgod and Orlsyth Dweos, Keeper of the Divine Will ¨C he fell to the weapons of my Master and my Master¡¯s kin.¡±


    They¡­ killed¡­ a god¡­?


    ¡°It was in bearing the brunt of that fall that the Free Lands were destroyed, and a new Age of Order ushered in upon your plane. You understand this? The meadows of Nivthelem on the western edge of the world, where the willows wept not, where at twilight the wheat and wildflowers would seem to set ablaze, orange beneath night¡¯s setting sword, trailing stars!¡±


    ¡°You m-mean ¨C N¡¯Lem¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, son of Kabel, yes! Night came down upon that land, that the sun never arose again. Nivthelem was annihilated out of time and space, sent to the shadowland in its entirety on the heels of the dead god¡¯s corpse, such that the place is now as though it never was ¨C as though it were there only as a dream of men¡­ but that its last son and daughter walk even now the streets of this city, cold brands in their hands, slaying my servants!¡±


    His corpse sent a ¨C a land to Nethernum¡­


    I was staggered. The sheer immensity of the power¡­ power her draconic overlords would claim ¨C


    No wonder they¡¯re eating our souls. They don¡¯t just want to rule Materium. They want to own the planes, up and down.


    ¡°I can¡¯t let them become gods,¡± I moaned.


    ¡°Your acceptance is, at this time, irrelevant. You will bend, as I; you too will worship at his feet, and be absolved of all your doubts. They gather the fractions of the spirit of Omecrox, and shall divide his Throne upon their Return. Many more gods shall fall at their hands. They will take up their rightful place as the strongest force, the strongest Powers, across all five boundless planes suspended within Avalost¡¯s circumference. All shall pay them homage. The King cares not, or if he will he has not even once sought to show it ¨C all rivers flow through the Citadel, in the end, and such anarchy only serves his higher goals.¡±


    Vaahn? What was this ¡®Citadel¡¯? Vaahn dwelt in the Shadow Mountain. How could anarchy serve his goals? He was its antithesis!


    Chraunator, King of Time? Vaylech, King of Insects?


    King Money-Bags?


    I shook my head vehemently in both disagreement and confusion but there was no time to respond, she was continuing, continuing, my brain struggling just to keep up ¨C


    ¡°Do you still think yourself special? Do you still not see? There is no way out, Feychilde. Escape my embrace a while longer; do not think you will not serve the greater purpose all the same. I merely collect the overflow. You and all your compatriots ¨C you are a waste product, to be sent for reclamation. Did you believe yourself chosen? Did you lull yourself to sleep with lies, telling yourself that your place in history was designed for you? No, mortal! Fate does not choose! Power is blind! Fate¡­ is Death. Death for the Spellgod. Death, even for you.¡±


    She regarded me gravely. I¡¯d grown more-accustomed to the strangeness, the horror of her appearance, but I felt the way the white, wavering pupils stared right through me.


    ¡°Does this suffice, Kastyr Mortenn? Have I kept up my side of the bargain? Am I free to depart?¡±


    I didn¡¯t even know what to say. She¡¯d answered questions I could¡¯ve never even phrased.


    ¡°And the ¨C the crown? What is a Ring of ¨C¡°


    She stiffened and her jaw dropped, a gush of pure darkness flooding out of the open mouth with her screams.


    ¡°Okay! Okay¡­ By the Five¡­¡±


    It was only the panicked shrieks of the eolastyr that made me realise something was wrong.


    Well, not so much wrong as right. Incredibly, unthinkably right.


    A second later the metallic wires finally extended out the top of Abstraxia¡¯s head ¨C I looked down and saw them extruding from the blood soup beneath her, entering her flesh beneath the gown at a dozen points.


    I returned my gaze back to her face and stared at her in wonder. She looked scared. She wasn¡¯t used to having her core self exposed like this; she¡¯d held all the cards, all her long, long life. To suddenly have an empty hand must¡¯ve been truly disconcerting.


    Ironvine came loose of the earth, crouched atop a floating, red-hot chunk of stone that went flying ten, twelve feet up into the air then halted.


    The dweonatar flickered, closing half the distance between itself and the wizard in the time it took her to put out a mail-clad hand in warning, pointing the other suggestively towards the sky.


    The marble titan paused, lowering the whip.


    ¡°The fiend would go alone,¡± the wizard said derisively. She wasn¡¯t looking at me, so it took me a moment to realise I was the target of her words. ¡°That promise was meaningless. She¡¯d set the remaining arch-demons to tear down the walls. Only those who considered you their friend would be set free, and then they would be slain where they stand.¡± Her voice had a hard edge. ¡°If you truly are ¨C him ¨C you ought to know better, sorcerer.¡±


    ¡°Hey ¨C under a bit of pressure here.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t part of your pact, but I did listen. Here is my vow, Abstraxia. Not just to you. Your Sons. Your Daughters.¡± She looked around. ¡°Every last one of you.¡±


    The skewered Sinphalamax merely gargled, the darkness echoing her meaninglessly. The eolastyr curled in on themselves, looking to one another for reassurance, mewling. The ranks of demons raised a low clamour once more, uncertain, confused.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you all in hell.¡±

 Her Mistake

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.13: HER MISTAKE</h2>


    ¡°Yes, every corpse becomes ashes! Everything tends to the Void! For what this ultimate struggle? The world grows narrower, and the systems of control only grip the tighter! It is beyond instinct. Time itself contracts. All this valour, all this purpose¡­ it shall be for naught.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Grandfather¡¯s Open Arms¡¯


    Ironvine threw down her hands, a gesture that served to propel her little boulder up into the sky.


    And cast the sky at the ground.


    This time the lightning storm was of such a magnitude, the spears of light raining down with such frequency that night really was transformed back into day, in spite of all the powers of the Sinphalamax. However strong they might¡¯ve been, none of the lesser demons here were capable of preventing the strikes that came thundering down, smashing into Abstraxia, again and again; they were too busy avoiding the blasts that came seeking their own skulls. A few were able to dodge or block the elemental attacks ¨C many were not. The eolastyr who tried to approach their Mother found their routes blocked, and only one of them was daring enough to dance into the lightning-field, receiving a trio of blackening bolts for her trouble.


    The dweonatar advanced ¨C and found me in its path.


    It snapped closer with its arms out-thrust, trying to create a bridge of marble with its huge flowing sleeves, to deflect or absorb the wizardry hailing down. I hopped, springing up with my right leg, and I crushed as many of my remaining ascended ancients directly into myself as I could take as I rose, using their weightlessness to climb up on the air, intercept the huge, winged demon.


    A flood of new voices assailed me, and I realised with some trepidation that I¡¯d taken on twelve; it took me a moment to quell their low-pitched drones, throttle them with my will.


    Silence! I must focus!


    Robbed of my satyrs, I was in no place to fight a dweonatar. The ancients didn¡¯t move expansively, like the wraith had done, and I¡¯d lost the carrion-bird¡¯s wings that¡¯d granted me much of my speed. I floated up and looped my whips about the arch-demon¡¯s arms, steering clear of the lightning, but three times it shook me loose, and following the third attempt it moved one hand to strike back. Like a blithering idiot, I left myself right in the path of its burning chain, with nowhere near the velocity I¡¯d have needed to escape.


    I braced myself ¨C


    The links of the chain were each the size of my hand, every portion aglow with the same unbearable heat; they screamed instantaneous cauterisation, my mind recognising their touch as fatal ¨C


    Yet¡­ nothing. I felt nothing as it went tearing right through my midriff. If anything I felt better.


    Curious now, I changed my tactic. I floated instead toward the massive thing¡¯s face, ignoring the fractured light pouring from its eyes.


    ¡°Hey, you! Yeah you! Don¡¯t ignore me now.¡±


    I went to slash at its cheeks with my tendrils, causing it to strafe, keeping its hands extended over its mistress; with a quick upward glance to check Ironvine was safe, I followed, continuing to harass it.


    ¡°Come back here! Okk zi kasena! Ikasena! Agar ugrel khalis! Kadis!¡±


    Something finally got through ¨C it snarled and removed one of its hands protecting the Sinphalamax. I caught a glimpse of the little creature ¨C the initial strikes had done their work. Her grey gown had now become a completely-colourless slush covering her body, and the skeletal form was riddled with a million iron branches. Abstraxia¡¯s eye-sockets were empty no longer.


    Yet she still twitched.


    I returned my attention to her defender as it clawed at me with massive fingers.


    ¡°Be¡­ mine,¡± I intoned calmly, its marble hand passing clean through me.


    It tried the whip again, then both hands in a doubled fist.


    Nothing. Even less than before. Every moment of contact sapped its might, loaning it to me, and when I clutched at it in turn, Yune¡¯s fingers bit deep into the marble of its face, tearing its lip, its eyelid ¨C


    ¡°Dwazisen!¡± it moaned, turning tail and running. ¡°Zi kason, Sinphalamax, kha¡­ khi rum zlond okk una thanil!¡±


    I cackled, and gave chase, lashing the tips of its wings. There was no way I was catching it, but it was heading the direction I wanted to go anyway.


    Towards the eolastyr.


    Ironvine was being careful to prioritise incinerating those fiends capable of reaching her; given the way she¡¯d mown through them, it looked like she¡¯d aimed first for those with wings and those she recognised for teleporters, shifting her earthen seat through the air to avoid their counter-attacks, angle herself to strike better at them. But now the Sinphalamax was once more exposed, the wizard concentrated her fire again upon the leader of the Incursion.


    This time the Sinphalamax couldn¡¯t catch the sunfire. This time she had to endure it, and its creator knew her name ¨C had spoken that name, right at her.


    She couldn¡¯t endure it.


    Where the lightning touched her she melted down like a candle, and, as it lashed her up and down, in its wake bits of her body and clothing crumbled off, puffs of greyish matter erupting into the air. Soon all I could see were the metal rods that¡¯d been grown within her, the forks and rivets glowing white-hot.


    No death-rattle. No last words. No final say.


    Abstraxia was gone.


    The trio of eolastyr had given up trying to leap at Ironvine ¨C the wizard simply adjusted the elevation of her floating boulder, and for all their hideous prowess the tigresses weren¡¯t able to just sprout wings and fly after her. As it was, they¡¯d gathered about the glittering crimson sacks and were trying to restart the soul-consuming light, busying themselves while the champion was distracted cooking their maker.


    ¡°Girls! You¡¯re after Mummy¡¯s heart to the last, aren¡¯t ya?¡±


    One of them tried cracking! her whip at me, but her two Sisters weren¡¯t so foolish as to expend their weaponry¡¯s reserves with zero chance at success. I smiled gloatingly as I descended into their midst, swinging my whips, driving them away from their banquet. The obliterating light stopped almost instantly.


    ¡°This was to be our day, Feychilde,¡± one moaned piteously, skipping and hopping in a rough circle about me. ¡°You ruined it. Ruined! The Daughters of the Sinphalamax are never wrong¡­¡±


    I left myself open to an attack from behind, and sensed with satisfaction as one of them lunged, hewing through my neck with a swipe of claws that could¡¯ve toppled a tree.


    She enjoyed no more success than her far-bigger brother had done, and I sampled her energies in return. Then I whirled to gaze upon her, my reactions enhanced by her own incompetent attack, and caught her before she was able to skip once again beyond my range.


    I carved off the top-right corner of her triangular face, and the familiar darkness came flooding out.


    ¡°Your mum¡¯s so wrong, she¡­ she¡¯d back a Sow Matriarch against a Geomancer.¡± I taunted them again, struck them again. ¡°Your mum¡¯s so off, they couldn¡¯t even label her ¡®meat¡¯ on Knuckle Market.¡± The whips sang as they sliced air and extra-planar flesh. ¡°Your mum¡¯s so not-right, she¡¯s left. Literally.¡±


    It was only as I brought their attention to it that they turned their eyes towards the still-glowing metal twigs which was all that remained of their leader¡¯s material form.


    The three-pointed faces bore expressions I¡¯d never seen before, even on the first I¡¯d slain, and a soft, sorrowful crooning rose from them. It affected them on a physical level to a far greater degree than I¡¯d anticipated. Their dusky lips cracked open in lumps and oozed pus as they sang out their incomprehensible distress. Weird wrinkles formed all over what could only be called their brows and cheeks and chins, dark cliffs and ridges gouging deep into the leathery flesh. Their raven hair fell out, lock after lock of it. Even the dark circlets they wore seemed to dull, their sheen fading before my eyes.


    This was utter disbelief. This was doubt at its infinite extremity ¨C creatures of such incredible age, such confidence, such blasphemous pedigree¡­ feeling abandonment for the first time. Like turning blind by blinking ¨C opening your eyes again to find the world irrevocably changed, shrouded forever.


    I wasn¡¯t stupid. I wasn¡¯t for one second going to try all three. Yet, somehow, the uniqueness of this moment demanded a grand gesture.


    Hardly a magnanimous gesture, but it had a certain aspect of conciliation to it, I thought.


    I selected the wounded one with my eyes. Of the remaining eolastyr she was the smallest, even if only by a few inches; her purple-and-black fur was standing on end and she was quivering all over, feline knees knocking like those of a frail old granny. Her left eye had almost fallen out of her head, and while she moaned along with her Sisters she had her free hand clasped to her gushing wound. Red light bubbled out at the area of contact, seemingly sealing the injury; the undamaged tiara was dangling precariously from the other pointed temple.


    When my gaze found her lightless eyes, there was only one brief moment of contention before it happened, and then once more I was bloated, pushed close to my limit.


    A welcome feeling, in these circumstances.


    ¡°Now you¡¯re mine,¡± I purred in her mother-tongue. ¡°Get behind me, heal yourself. Take no offensive actions. And put that damn flail away.¡°


    Welcome, Infrick.


    I immediately moved forward, seeking to interpose myself between my new prize and the possible wrath of her former allies. Before I even drew alongside her, my pet eolastyr underwent a near-complete reversion. She didn¡¯t stop shaking, didn¡¯t move the paw from her grievous injury, but her face smoothed out once more. Her hair sprouted back in clumps. Her expression became one of fawning adoration.


    ¡°O, Master! Merciful Master I praise you.¡± She nuzzled me with the unwounded side of her head as I slipped past her, and gave a small sigh of pleasure¡­ perhaps enjoying the way contact with me was no longer something to fear. ¡°Come, Sisters, join us. It is¡­ such relief¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said as the two remaining arch-demons before me seemed to realise what was happening, turning on me, the expressions on the withered faces now indecipherable ¨C was that envy? ¡°No ¨C you two should leave.¡± I made them a hell-portal, crimson flames flickering right before them, hovering a foot above the blood-smeared stone. ¡°Tell your poor Mother what I¡¯ve done here. If killing one of you is really worth something to her, maybe she¡¯ll think twice about finding a way back if I¡¯ve got a hostage. I know we didn¡¯t keep our bargain ¨C¡±


    ¡°You did not!¡±


    ¡°You are not supposed to be here!¡±


    ¡°¨C but it will be to you to persuade her,¡± I went on, ignoring their protests, ¡°and keep your dear Sister alive.¡±


    Weeping openly now, spurting blue tears that smoked as they traced lines down her face, the closer of my two remaining enemies spat the words: ¡°She will not come back, fool! Not until you and this world are dust! Not until she can claim your soul for her own. Mother¡­ Mother has friends in high places ¨C surely you must know this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think Mekesta wants anything to do with her anymore,¡± I said coldly.


    ¡°Mekesta?¡± the other said laughingly. ¡°You do not even suspect¡­ Grandmother might destroy me with a thought, yet she is an ant beneath the boot of Mother¡¯s friends.¡±


    I straightened up, and brandished my whips.


    ¡°Send them, if they¡¯re fools-enough to come. Kultemeren at my side: they¡¯ll line themselves up, only for me to knock them back down where they belong. I swear it.¡±


    From what secret source the words arose unbidden I was unsure, but the moment I mentioned the God of Truth they winced, and the crying one loosed a high-pitched feline sob.


    She launched herself through the portal I¡¯d made.


    The last took a less-certain step towards the gateway, then looked back at me, hesitating. She turned her head to follow the path the dweonatar had taken in retreat.


    ¡°What of my Brother?¡±


    I gave her my one-shoulder shrug. ¡°If he won¡¯t leave¡­ we¡¯ll make him. One piece or many.¡±


    She bowed her head, stepped through, and was gone.


    I wanted to sigh, seethe, scream¡­ stop¡­


    But the glistening red sacks were right there. My latest acquisition was crouched with a demure expression right in their midst, as if just awaiting my command. And Ironvine was still circling around up there, busying herself with the other fleeing fiends.


    I could at least tick off number one on my list.


    I sighed, then extended fingers to the seams of the crimson shielding nearest me.


    ¡°Come on, give us a hand. Two hands, if your head¡¯s better. We need to get everyone back on their feet.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got big bro to hunt.¡±


    * * *


    Wand-frost spilled through the imps on the flanks from a dozen sources, leaving me free to engage the raging nabburatiim in their midst. Whips took its limbs apart. A force-blade split his head open. Within seconds it was over.


    ¡°Happy now?¡± I called.


    ¡°Happier,¡± Ana cried back from her position on the balcony halfway up the street. The tip of the wand in her hand was still steaming; she turned her head to gaze across at the other vantage points then used it to gesture at her troops. ¡°Smooth, guys. Extract and expatriate. On to Brinklion Pass!¡±


    She gripped the rain-wet rail in her free hand and vaulted over, taking a fall that should¡¯ve killed an ordinary person completely in stride; she performed a little roll, and then she was running through the puddles, thrust forwards with the momentum of her descent.


    Her hired goons followed via less-lethal routes, climbing down or dropping to intervening balconies.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Brinklion?¡± one of them muttered, a young lad with a distinct limp.


    ¡°You know, the tree place, behind the Tower of Knowledge ¨C off Dandelion!¡±


    ¡°Twelve Hells,¡± the limper swore; but he seemed to redouble his efforts, hopping along with all his might.


    Gong! Gong! Gong!


    I smiled as I watched them go. The conversation with Anathta had been brief, and her Annoythta moniker had never been less fitting.


    ¡°Kani said you might be back. She said you¡¯d be dark.¡±


    ¡°Dark, now, is it? What¡¯s that mean exactly?¡±


    ¡°That you killed people. That you don¡¯t care.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ not that simple.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what they always say. Well, that¡¯s what I always say. So¡­¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡±


    ¡°Come to help us kill stuff?¡±


    The crew disappeared into the darkness, and at last I held out my arm to my companion, letting her curtain of invisibility drop away.


    ¡°You do not need me to fight your battles,¡± Infrick surmised as we took to the air again.


    ¡°I let you help with the thinfinaran.¡±


    ¡°Still¡­¡±


    ¡°I just don¡¯t want you frightening people, that¡¯s all. You¡¯re¡­ exotic.¡±


    ¡°Why thank you.¡±


    ¡°Okay, so¡­ first thing you need to get used to around here: Infrick really isn¡¯t gonna cut it.¡±


    For all that she was an arch-fiend of unlimited evil with a surpassingly-ghastly appearance, she was still able to look dejected.


    ¡°Oh ¨C sorry. I know what it¡¯s like when people do that. No offence intended, really. But yeah¡­ tell me, is that going to like¡­ grow back?¡±


    ¡°I honestly couldn¡¯t say.¡± She raised her free paw to the gleaming red stump right beside her left eyebrow, patting it gingerly and wincing a little.


    ¡°No? Say, how do you feel about Trapezoidhead? You¡¯ve got this¡­ lopsided thing going on¡­¡±


    ¡°I feel less than certain, Master.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m with you. Need to work on it. Important stuff.¡±


    ¡°It seems everyone is¡­ never mind.¡±


    ¡°No ¨C go on. I don¡¯t like it when things like you are quiet.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t like it when things like me are quiet?¡±


    I frowned, then felt a smile touch my lips.


    ¡°Things smarter than me, I mean.¡±


    The tigress laughed, and somehow the sound of it wasn¡¯t unutterably wicked.


    ¡°You have me there, Feychilde. I am more intelligent ¨C you are more powerful. Therefore, as is the way of all things ¨C I bow.¡±


    ¡°Not right now. Steer us around that.¡± I indicated a big blocky tower in our path. ¡°We¡¯ll drop over the Temple of Compassion before Treetown.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    I was betraying my uneasiness at not having complete control of my flight; if she could steer us around the storm¡¯s lightning, towers were no obstacle.


    We were now flying above an empty, unscathed street in south-east Hightown, her claws gently placed on (or perhaps, a little, in) my forearm. I wasn¡¯t letting her have much of the spirit-form, but that didn¡¯t seem to matter. I held the reins, but she was the horse that had the momentum.


    The half-glass tower ahead was a dark cube, all the fixed lights dimmed to their lowest or dispelled entirely. She slipped us around it with barely a sense of change in angular momentum; we still seemed to be shooting forwards, but the building was to the side of us ¨C behind us ¨C


    ¡°Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t realise you changed the subject there.¡±


    She smiled.


    ¡°What were you going to say?¡±


    ¡°It¡­ it seems everyone is going to be very uncomfortable around me for some time. Perhaps, forever. I¡¯m not so useful as ¨C¡°


    ¡°If this is some pretext, let me just get this out there: I won¡¯t join with a demon, and even if I would, I¡¯d never join with something like you. No offence, again, but ¨C yeah. The whole intelligence thing. I may be dumber than you, but I¡¯m wise enough to know it.¡±


    She didn¡¯t reply, her lips closing firmly. She pushed me, changing our course slightly again.


    ¡°The Temple of Compassion,¡± she said at last, with a slight grimace.


    I looked down at the beautiful avenues, the wild groves and pools.


    ¡°That way,¡± I said, pointing a finger.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    The wizard-flight on us was still active, even after all this time. Almost two hours. When I¡¯d asked, Winterprince had merely encased himself in ice and flew away with Voicenoise and Spirit; Mountainslide either ignored me or didn¡¯t hear me, responding to Doomspeaker¡¯s questioning instead. None of the heretics were paying me any heed, not after what the Sinphalamax did to them ¨C almost to the last man they took flight, keeping their aeromancy to themselves.


    No one wanted to touch the arch-demon, it seemed.


    It was Ironvine who in the end granted us her spells; at first she¡¯d looked like she too would deny me, and, though she gave no outward sign, as she sank down into the ground I felt a familiar buoyancy settle about my already incorporeal body ¨C and a glance to my side showed me she at least hadn¡¯t found my request completely unpalatable. The same wizardry encompassed my eolastyr.


    Now I didn¡¯t need wings; in fact, they¡¯d have only hindered me. Infrick was faster than any wings I¡¯d ever worn. Her powers weren¡¯t quite the same as an arch-diviner¡¯s, apparently acting more as what she (and the books) referred to as a dampening field when she was in the presence of other chronomancers ¨C but the degree to which they really differed had me mystified. She could carry me along with her with almost the same ease as¡­ as any arch-diviner ever had.


    Nightfell. She had me perplexed, but it helped that she didn¡¯t seem to fully-understand the reasons why, always managing to make me feel more and more comfortable despite the blocks on her future-sight. Me and my weird assistant had checked in two times already, returning to Firenight Square to meet her at the hastily-constructed base of operations. She and Spirit had managed to cobble together a bunch of other enchanters and diviners from the remnants of the heretics, along with a healer¡¯s tent and representatives from many nearby temples. The magisters and clerics present stared at me whenever I soared through, but none of them said anything, returning their attention to their various duties after a few moments. Doubtless they were saving their recriminations until afterwards.


    If we lived to survive this.


    The first time I¡¯d returned to summarise the enemies I¡¯d encountered, I queried Nightfell as to why she wasn¡¯t out there fighting, and she just said that she already was.


    ¡°Benefit of being able to be in two places at the same time,¡± she¡¯d continued, tucking the white tip of a strand of her hair back behind her ear. Then she eyed the supposedly-invisible Infrick and grinned. ¡°Even you can¡¯t do that.¡±


    The eolastyr, perceivable only to me ¨C and, apparently, arch-diviners ¨C had bowed her head morosely.


    I looked around at the priests, the teeming wounded. ¡°You¡¯re not getting bored here?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you mean ¨C no, Kas. We¡¯re swapping regularly. No one can tell, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    I¡¯d tried not to frown. ¡°So which one are you, then?¡±


    She bunched up one cheek in a disappointed half-smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m Vardae. But only Tanra would be brave enough to be so honest, wouldn¡¯t she?¡±


    She tutted in response to my stupefied silence, then turned aside to speak to a now wide-eyed Bor.


    The second time I visited, thirty-five minutes later by the eolastyr¡¯s pinpoint-precise reckoning, I asked again.


    ¡°Which one are you now?¡±


    ¡°Tanra! Though, I suppose Vardae might lie¡­¡±


    I¡¯d been expecting something like that.


    ¡°Har-har.¡± I glanced about, catching the glare of a brown-garbed priestess of Lynastra right beside me, then retreated. ¡°Be back in a bit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d help if we could link, you know,¡± Nightfell called as I floated away.


    ¡°Help who, exactly?¡± I called back, then I was too far away to hear any further replies.


    Whichever of them was the real one, I¡¯d lost the ability to track it. Of course, that was her point, wasn¡¯t it? They were both real. I had to stop thinking of Vardae as an enemy. She¡¯d changed. She was¡­ she was a Great One, a champion. Her fall and my own ¨C were they so different, really?


    I¡¯d killed.


    I¡¯d killed.


    My mistrust of her only went so far, it seemed. I¡¯d gone past the midpoint of my loop around the city now, so I was technically on my way for a third return, curving about in the mile-wide arc that would bring me back to the centre of Mund once more. For all that I might¡¯ve felt frustrated, I was still carrying out her orders, wasn¡¯t I? Still doing what Vardae told me to do¡­


    I didn¡¯t know if Nightfell was doing it deliberately, but she was keeping me on the east of the city ¨C keeping me from Sticktown. And that was exactly how I wanted it. There was no room in my head to accommodate the fates of my friends. What exactly had happened to Xan and Xas and Orstrum I was unsure, and I was enjoying the flux, leaning hard into the uncertainty. For all I knew, they were fine! Absolutely fine. And until this was all over¡­ I really didn¡¯t want to find out, one way or the other.


    Orcan and Kirid had finally arrived, I¡¯d heard, and Nightfell had thrown them right into the action in North Lowtown. What had caused them drag their feet on the way I had no idea, and the whereabouts of the strange dwarven knight they¡¯d carried along with them were a mystery. I could only hope that this quite literal trial by fire didn¡¯t send both of them packing more speedily than they¡¯d arrived. The Telese druid and wizard were far from battle-veterans, and an Incursion was hardly the most welcoming sight for tourists. But if they stayed, they could be moulded into champions, of that I was certain. Two more archmages might not have sounded like much, now that I¡¯d successfully freed the heretics from their shell, mobilised many of them into a fighting-force¡­ but how was I to know beforehand that I¡¯d have won such a victory? And for all I knew two more archmages might¡¯ve been all it was going to take to just tip the scales in the final conflict in our favour ¨C turn back the Dracofont, bring to an end their unceasing lust for power.


    Yet those were concerns for another day. As I¡¯d been tasked, I scoped out each landmark on my route. At first I had no idea why she¡¯d sent me to the Diamond Mare ¨C the glass tavern¡¯s rudimentary wards were still standing, along with its fragile-looking walls. I could sense no corpses, no demons, behind the dark windows staring out onto the street. Then, not thirty yards away, a thinfinaran had come crashing out of the high-up floors of a lofty tower, landing with a thud in the centre of the paved road.


    Thinfinaran armour was like paper. We disposed of him before his little army had chance to follow him into the street, then followed the trail up, back through the building, killing all his previously-summoned soldiers even as they tried to scurry away from us.


    It was only at this point that I¡¯d ran into the Last Daughter of N¡¯Lem and her cronies. Keeping what I now knew of N¡¯Lem firmly to myself, I joined their motley crew and briefly helped her ¡®kill stuff¡¯. Up until this stage I hadn¡¯t had the vaguest suspicion it was her gangs doing the Magisterium¡¯s job for them ¨C and they swiftly gave me an insight into just how well-prepared they really were. I was probably superfluous to requirements. I moved on in search of juicier prey.


    My visit to the Temple of Compassion showed me that the demons were still steering clear of the major centres of worship, and I reduced us to near-invisibility just to avoid the attention of the guardian-clerics ¨C this didn¡¯t stop a couple of them sensing us as we soared past, pointing fingers and maces in our direction. One talented priest even threw some celestial fire into our general vicinity, yelling a warning to his colleagues.


    They hadn¡¯t known about the nest of rhimbelkina and mizelikon hiding just behind the wall outside Wythyldwyn¡¯s gardens, however ¨C but Nightfell had. I ignored the clergymen and found the fiends buried in the trees, ending their depraved plans in one fell swoop. It was only as Ana¡¯s little group came sprinting up, a few lagging behind with their stitches and sprained ankles, that I realised this was where they¡¯d been heading all along.


    I offered her my apologies, told her to get Ibbalat to link in with Spirit at the Square, then headed off once more.


    Two hours, and still the fires burned on. Still the black storm of Abstraxia¡¯s enduring wrath raged above and about us. Behind us, the Mourning Bells rang on and on and on, the waves of its ceaseless sound seeming to propel us onwards.


    And then, ahead of us, there lay the forest.


    Having seen a number of actual, proper forests now, I could genuinely say that the druids had done a good job. Treetown was indiscernible from the real deal. The ancient, primeval woodlands of the northern lands I¡¯d camped in were bigger¡­ that was about it.


    It was nice to course through the rain with the trees beneath me, even if it was a bit creepy in the unnatural darkness. For all that the Bells were ceaseless, after so much time in Hightown the sounds were practically quiet from here. The scents of blood and charcoal were overridden by the natural odours of loam and wet pine.


    Yes, it was nice, and yet the place held so many memories I¡¯d been suppressing for so long. The last time I¡¯d been in Treetown had been¡­


    With her.


    It was a memory of horror, now, all that fateful day. The Maginox library. Planning the attack. Killing Infrick¡¯s Sister.


    Our bower. Our special place.


    I turned away from that special place, that special disgust still there in my memories. What Tyr Kayn had done to me, to Emrelet¡­ it was beyond unthinkable. I couldn¡¯t even muster the volition to recall holding the beautiful, foreign arch-wizard in my arms ¨C not even that. Not the feel of her lips. Not her eyes, the smell of the platinum hair¡­


    There was only the pit, the yawning emptiness that knew she¡¯d gone before me into the shadowland. That she was all alone, lost in the darkness, searching for a way out. And that it would be years, decades, centuries on Materium before she found the Door, the path to Celestium¡­


    And I never knew her. It was never the real Emrelet. Always something out of my imagination. For all I knew, Tyr Kayn had taken everything I¡¯d ever wanted and filled her head with it. She could¡¯ve been anyone ¨C anyone¡­


    There was nothing I could do. There was no comfort even one such as I might¡¯ve offered to a ghost, even the shade of an archmage. She¡¯d died, and it was clear I wasn¡¯t ready to accept it yet, for all my wishful thoughts to the contrary. Hells, I¡¯d even thought Ironvine might¡¯ve been Emrelet in disguise earlier, despite her stoop, the heavier body shape ¨C I was just clutching at straws to make some sense out of reality¡¯s nonsense. The woman looked nothing like Emrelet, even in the champion¡¯s garb.


    Easier to move on in memory. Better the recollections of combat and struggle than of my doomed tryst. Less painful.


    The Incursion, the death and madness¡­ Aramas. Theor. Striking Linn. Bor¡¯s enraged roar inside my head. Everything that followed.


    We zig-zagged over the trees, following the course Spirit had drawn over his floating map, exposing to my senses every last square inch of Larkhouse Wood ¨C when we reached the canal-border we¡¯d do the same with Mermont¡¯s Grove, then work our way all the way around to Cadersglen before returning to Firenight Square¡­


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    At first I¡¯d thought it was all going to be over soon ¨C I still clung to the notion of finding the dweonatar, ending the Incursion, stopping the storm. Now? I had to admit, I was ebbing. Whatever the Sinphalamax had done, it wasn¡¯t ending like it was supposed to. She had something else cooking. We were going to find out, of that I was certain ¨C but when?


    When?


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot I don¡¯t understand,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°I expected something like this,¡± Infrick replied. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you in advance: I was Sixth, and there are ¨C were ¨C just seven of us. I don¡¯t know as much as you¡¯d hope.¡±


    ¡°Really? I figured Mummy told her girls everything. You¡¯re never wrong.¡±


    ¡°Very amusing, Master. What are you having trouble with?¡±


    I glanced at her. Her expression was unreadable; she was scanning the canopy beneath us, dark eyes fixed on the rain-drenched shadows below.


    ¡°All of it. This storm ¨C it belongs to the Sinphalamax, right? Not Mek- Mother-Chaos?¡±


    For a moment there I¡¯d been about to say it.


    The eolastyr nodded, smiling as if privy to some joke beyond me. ¡°It is a spell bound to the arrival of our Brothers, permitting them to move about your city unhindered and unseen. Until he is slain, or driven from the plane ¨C I do not think it will abate.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C I don¡¯t understand ¨C why Meh¡­ why Mother-Chaos helped me. Why she wanted me to win¡­¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t possibly say.¡±


    ¡°Speculate!¡±


    ¡°Grandmother doesn¡¯t wish Mother¡¯s Master to become a god.¡±


    ¡°But then ¨C I don¡¯t understand the point of it all. Why does Abstraxia want us to fight the dragons, if she serves them? Or if she doesn¡¯t ¨C who else but her own Mother¡¯s will could she be serving?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Master. It¡¯s all going to be fine.¡±


    ¡°That is not an answer.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but it is.¡± She beamed, displaying a full set of perfect white teeth to match her perfect white skin, gleaming like pearl. ¡°It¡¯s the only answer. We aren¡¯t¡­ my Sisters and I aren¡¯t wrong, but this doesn¡¯t mean we are omniscient. Must we have at our fingertips all the machinations of the Twelve Hells and their rulers? We are Daughters of the Sinphalamax. We are¡­¡±


    ¡°Minions. Right, I get it. But she seems to love you all the same. She gets sad when you die, even if you¡¯ll be back in a few centuries.¡±


    ¡°Centuries are not so swift in all dimensions. And do mortals not weep at the deaths of their children, though they hope to see them again in another life?¡±


    ¡°Yet ¨C to her¡­? She¡¯s so old. She must¡¯ve had many children.¡±


    ¡°Hence her willingness to spend my Brother in this fruitless endeavour.¡± She gestured with a claw at the broiling blackness swirling above us. ¡°Your wizard cost you, you know. I think my Mother liked you. It is my firm belief she would have sent us all home.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± I used an I-totally-believe-you voice. ¡°I think our wizard cost your Mummy more.¡±


    ¡°You are not wrong about that, but I am not wrong either. Mother would have brought us home, indeed ¨C to destroy us.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡­ what?¡±


    She nodded gravely. ¡°To the last. Her name, so-known? This will be the talk of the Twelve Hells for hours.¡±


    ¡°You mean¡­ Oh¡­ Oh, gods.¡±


    ¡°When she once more takes shape she will leave forever, or close-enough that her name will be forgotten, even amongst the immortal races. One day, perhaps, I¡¯ll see her again. I am glad to have you to lean on, Master.¡±


    She turned to gaze upon me, while I stared off, trying to imagine the true scope, the full ramifications of my actions on this day.


    What did it mean, to ¡®leave¡¯? Leave the Twelve Hells? To go where?


    ¡°Must one become so grumpy? Especially when one wears upon one¡¯s head the font of all such delectable lore. Do you tease me, Master? Do you seek to draw untruths from me, whereupon you might punish me?¡±


    ¡°No! I ¨C I hadn¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°A shame.¡± The disgusting thing put a coquettish smile on her face, and I blenched, turning away again. ¡°I do so enjoy a grisly punishment. We are the first to be flensed by our flails ¨C do you know this? It is an integral part of our amalgamation with those animal ¨C¡±


    ¡°Be silent,¡± I groaned. ¡°Come on. We¡¯re done here.¡±


    She grinned, but kept quiet, and led us on to Mermont¡¯s Grove.


    * * *


    I came soaring into Firenight Square, passing over the huge black lengths of chain to which a diverse bunch of monsters would¡¯ve ordinarily been leashed. The place, like most places, had been abandoned, the beast-masters clearly keen to remove their expensive assets from such an open area. I¡¯d forgotten to restore the invisibility-effect covering my eolastyr from view, and as my luck would have it there was a familiar face waiting for me right on the edge of the crude camp, staring south as if in anticipation of my arrival.


    ¡°I never thought I¡¯d see you again, sorcerer,¡± she called as I slowed to a halt just twenty feet from her. ¡°I hear we have you to thank for what happened at the arena.¡±


    I regarded her. Kanthyre wore a light chain battle-harness over her robe, which included pauldrons of shaped steel. She forewent a helm, her red hair pulled back tight in a riotous bun. Her shield, engraved with the shining rose of Wythyldwyn, was strapped to her arm, the scintillating blue mace dangling from the loop at her belt. Upon her brow a thin white circlet had been set, a single square-cut jewel burning with a soft amber radiance in the centre of her forehead.


    I could tell at once that Mund had changed her. She was drenched in sweat and covered in the ichor of her enemies, but that was nothing new. No. It was the look in her eyes. The demeanour. She knew now, what it was to be in control. She¡¯d found her assertiveness.


    ¡°Still hate my guts?¡± I said in reply.


    ¡°I never hated you, Kas.¡± Her voice had softened. ¡°I never understood you, it¡¯s true, and I don¡¯t like sorcerers.¡±


    ¡°Understandable.¡±


    She cocked her head. The attempt at amusement failed thoroughly.


    ¡°I understand you even less now.¡±


    ¡°Bit late to throw invisibility over her, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Kani nodded solemnly. ¡°That¡¯s not what I was referring to, but now we¡¯re on the topic ¨C give me the demon¡¯s name, Kas. Give it to me, and let¡¯s end this charade right here.¡±


    I put an offended look on my face. ¡°Demons are people too, you know, Kani ¨C¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Exalted, to you,¡± she said. ¡°And no. No, they really aren¡¯t.¡±


    I squinted at her. ¡°You don¡¯t know any demons. You don¡¯t have the vaguest idea what you¡¯re talking about. It¡¯s just empty noise.¡±


    I moved to fly forwards, past her and into the camp, but she put up a clenched fist, displaying the silver fire nestled there, holy heat trailing up into the air.


    I froze.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t people. The things of which they ¨C she ¨C are capable ¨C¡±


    ¡°People are capable of the same or worse,¡± I said, trying not to sneer.


    ¡°And I assume you are speaking from experience?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± I met her gaze with my own. ¡°Her name is mine. I won¡¯t relinquish it, or my rights to her, earned in combat with blood and tears and all the rest of it. An arch-sorcerer¡¯s tools are no different to those of any other arch-¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s an arch-demon. The Keeper of the Grove descended from the Gardens of Mending to inform me of your current¡­ preoccupation. The Keeper herself! Don¡¯t you see? This creature ¨C this crown ¨C they¡¯ll be the end of you!¡±


    ¡°Tell Wythyldwyn to take it up with Yune,¡± I spat back, edging forwards once more towards the healer¡¯s tent, the illusion-table where the diviners had gathered. ¡°And if you want me to take the crown off, just get in line. If I¡¯m not doing it for Tanra, you can be damn sure I¡¯m not doing it for you.¡±


    She didn¡¯t throw the fire at me ¨C a fact of which I was thankful, given that her divine magic was an unpredictable factor. But she swivelled to follow my route with her eyes just the same.


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll end up just like him!¡± she cried at my back. ¡°Worse! Every priest in the city will be baying for your blood!¡±


    I stopped again, looked back at her once, then continued on my way.


    ¡°The new Exalted of She Whose Eyes Overflow really is a feisty little thing,¡± Infrick purred. ¡°The Maiden chose well. As did I.¡±


    She said it boastfully, proudly, and pulled herself closer to me.


    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± I muttered, eyeing the magisters and healers who were eyeing me right back while I flew overhead. ¡°You chose me¡­¡±


    ¡°I might have tried to resist! But I let down my walls, let you penetrate ¨C¡±


    ¡°Shut up, and let me throw this over you.¡± I twisted my wrist to remove her claws from my arm then, the both of us floating there, I cast Zab¡¯s cloak of invisibility about her, shrouding her head to paw. A few worried moments later, I redoubled the effect. ¡°Good. Better, I mean. Come on.¡±


    It was only ten seconds of flight to bring us into the heart of the camp, and I marvelled at the sheer number of people who¡¯d turned out to help. Since my last visit, the place had trebled in size and headcount. At first I¡¯d thought everyone here was at least affiliated with some organisation, a church or a college, the Magisterium, the watch¡­ but I was wrong. Half the folks here were common, salt-of-the-earth types, probably bringing their wounded to the site and then hanging around to help. None of these brave men and women had any idea about crowns of Mekesta or purple tigresses of considerable power. They probably didn¡¯t care, either. I elicited a number of gasps from those who didn¡¯t yet know I¡¯d returned, along with cheers and even some applause.


    No boos. No jeers. If the priests were going to bay for my blood, they were going to have to bay a little more loudly in order to get themselves heard. Maybe they could form an alliance with the Magisterium. The eyes of every magister I passed only hardened, more and more as I progressed towards the middle. My smile only grew and grew.


    Nightfell had her back to me and she was stabbing her finger at South Lowtown on Bor¡¯s rotating map.


    ¡°Fourteen summoners! Why hasn¡¯t Brokenskull checked in?¡±


    ¡°Voice is down?¡± Bor suggested, an almost-crazed expression on his face. I could only imagine the kind of hell he was going through, to be at the centre of everything happening in spite of the day he¡¯d had.


    ¡°It has to be the dweonatar,¡± Winterprince¡¯s ice-mouth grated. He was floating, fully suited-up, opposite the seeress. Then he tilted back slightly, evidently spotting me as I floated up. ¡°Send me and Feychilde.¡±


    Nightfell whirled to look at me, while me and Winterprince exchanged a nod.


    ¡°Dammit, Kas, could you hang a bell on one of those spikes so I can hear you coming? It¡¯s creepy.¡± She looked exasperated.


    ¡°Can you get more predictable?¡± I retorted with a big grin.


    ¡°Urgh!¡± She whipped back around. ¡°No, Winterprince, I can¡¯t send you both. You two can take on challenges solo and if I pull you out ¨C¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t pull us off the rotations, fourteen summoners will be forty.¡± The ice elemental growling was a sound I¡¯d long missed. ¡°Come on, Feychilde.¡±


    I caught myself looking askance at Nightfell, then I snickered.


    ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    But before me or the imposing ice-clad wizard could move one whisker, a familiar tiny gnome came barrelling up.


    Doomspeaker got right in Winterprince¡¯s face ¨C well, shin ¨C and gave him the dressing-down of a lifetime, leaning back to stare up at him with her hands on her hips.


    ¡°How dare you! I don¡¯t care who Nightfell is, she¡¯s done a damn fine job setting this up in the absence of¡­¡± Her eyes flashed across us from within the ram¡¯s-skull mask, lingering just a moment extra on me before returning to Winterprince. ¡°As for you ¨C I don¡¯t give one jot what you think you know. You¡¯ll do as you¡¯re told, and never you mind what demon you think¡¯s where. Nightfell,¡± the gnome turned to her human counterpart, ¡°where do you want Winterprince?¡±


    ¡°Sticktown,¡± she said at once, jabbing the miniature illusory map again. ¡°There¡¯s something spawning those horrible zikistakram things smack in the middle of Funnel Mile, and they ¨C¡±


    ¡°Why Winterprince?¡± I asked. ¡°Come on. You know I appreciate what you¡¯re trying to do, but ¨C¡±


    ¡°Kas, you shouldn¡¯t go there, I¡¯m sure of it.¡± She folded her arms across her chest, and there was concern writ large upon her features as she stared up at me. ¡°I don¡¯t care if I can¡¯t see it ¨C it won¡¯t do you any good. I¡¯ll tell you now ¨C Orstrum is dead.¡±


    A part of my soul shrank back, curled up and withered away.


    ¡°Xan and Xas are okay¡­ ish¡­ and I can try to keep them that way but only if you steer clear.¡±


    ¡°I get it.¡± I closed my eyes, re-establishing my concentration. I couldn¡¯t think about this kind of thing right now, not till the Incursion was over. ¡°Can¡¯t someone shut the Bells up?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re all thinking that,¡± Bor supplied glumly. ¡°Enough to Mourn already.¡±


    Nightfell hesitated, then put her hand on his arm. He shivered, then seemed to accept her touch.


    I found myself smiling again, even as tears fought to fill my eyes.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Winterprince rumbled, seeming unsettled at this turn in the conversation. ¡°Feychilde gets Sigrand¡¯s Rise. Just don¡¯t dawdle.¡±


    Before he¡¯d gone ten feet, the paving erupted on the eastern side of the area, throwing a mist of fine rubble into the air; then Ironvine was there, crouching on the ground just five yards from me.


    The dust settled instantly, unnaturally. The stone beneath her sealed itself like time was playing in reverse.


    As she straightened up, unfolding her rings and sheets of metal, she spun about to face us. The voice behind the chain mask seemed to borrow its metallic qualities, twanging softly.


    ¡°Shallowlie has it. The dweonatar. Just outside Salnifast.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°I think it¡¯s dormant,¡± Netherhame said. ¡°You can sense it too?¡±


    I nodded grimly. It wasn¡¯t really something I¡¯d ever expected to sense.


    A man. A huge, winged man, spread-eagled. Not standing, or even lying, but buried, at an almost forty-five degree angle. It was like he¡¯d slid feet-first into the hillside.


    We floated above the landscape just two miles north-east of the harbour-town¡¯s walls, regarding the rolling field into which the dweonatar had apparently sunk himself. The sky was still black, even out here. I had difficulty seeing anything other than the violent swishing of the long grass in the storm-winds. I was thankful for the brief flashes of lightning that let me take my bearings. It only just occurred to me that I had no idea what time it was. Every clock I¡¯d seen in the city had been subverted by the weird magic of the Sinphalamax, or perhaps just by the Incursion itself ¨C the hands of most had simply stopped somewhere around mid-morning, and the one in Blackbranch Square was running backwards.


    ¡°Top of its head¡¯s only thirty yards down,¡± Netherhame continued. ¡°Why hasn¡¯t it reacted to us yet, d¡¯ya think?¡±


    ¡°I dropped the chronomantic field a while back,¡± our arch-diviner offered, her back still turned. ¡°It¡¯s not cos of me.¡±


    ¡°You can cut oaf it said?¡±


    It took me a moment to react. Min was looking to me; I followed her glance down to my empty right side, to my burning fingers, and then I understood.


    ¡°Cut ¨C off its head¡­ maybe. I¡¯m more worried about ¨C¡±


    ¡°Traps?¡± The Nightfell who¡¯d attended the mission was floating below us, closer to the hillside than the rest of us; she didn¡¯t turn as she interrupted me. ¡°You¡¯re remembering our first arch-demon, aren¡¯t you, Kas? Yeah. Its head seems to be thirty yards down, but if you went in, into the dark earth, it¡¯d suddenly be three hundred, or three thousand¡­¡°


    ¡°That¡­ wasn¡¯t what I was going to say, but¡­ Damn, what if you¡¯re right¡­?¡±


    The seeress spun about. ¡°What were you going to say, then?¡±


    She was so irritated, even my smile was starting to slip.


    ¡°I¡¯m more worried about the fact Ironvine can¡¯t sense anything,¡± I said.


    The wizard was stooping atop a flying boulder not five yards away on my right, and her veiled gaze still seemed to be raking across the landscape, trawling the soil with her power.


    At my words she looked up, hidden eyes glaring at us briefly before returning to their task.


    ¡°Still no luck,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°What if it¡¯s the other kind of trap?¡± said Spiritwhisper out of nowhere. He was behind us, silent all this long while, at least out loud where I could hear it; I turned in some surprise to regard him.


    ¡°A diversion,¡± he went on. ¡°A ¨C a ¨C¡±


    ¡°Decoy,¡± Nightfell said.


    ¡°I knew that!¡± he growled. ¡°Look, I¡¯m no expert ¨C you¡¯ve got demonology-guys and prophets and ¨C earth specialists runnin¡¯ around ¨C but I¡­ I dunno.¡±


    ¡°I agree.¡± Netherhame sounded troubled. ¡°These things are never that simple. Arch-demons don¡¯t just bury themselves for no reason, doing nothing.¡±


    ¡°His plans fell apart, though,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯s¡­ depressed. Haha, how apt. Lost, and alone, waiting for death¡­


    ¡°Trapezoidhead!¡±


    I¡¯d had no idea just how effective the doubled invisibility-spell was, until I tested it like this. I warped it with a twist of my fingers, making it look as though a crimson curtain brought Infrick back to our world, her hand in mine.


    All of them had good reason to see through my deception. Ironvine had cast the flight-spells that were still active on us. Bor was an enchanter of the very highest calibre. Tanra and Vardae were two of the world¡¯s pre-eminent diviners ¨C whichever one was here, she would¡¯ve seen through gremlin magic easily, like before. Ly and Min were arch-sorcerers!


    And every one of them drew away ¨C some more than others, but it was clear to me not one of them had known she was still there all along. Interesting.


    Perhaps I¡¯ve Mekesta to thank¡­


    Nightfell muttered scornfully, repeating the eolastyr¡¯s new moniker under her breath.


    I ignored her. ¡°Trappy.¡±


    The tigress didn¡¯t look best-pleased, but she obeyed.


    ¡°Master?¡± she enquired sweetly, forcing a smile to her lips.


    ¡°Detect anything trappy?¡±


    ¡°Your humour is delightful, Master.¡± She curtseyed on the air with her free arm, and her smile became even more sickly in appearance.


    She took a deep sniff, sunken nostrils flaring. It went on for seconds, longer, longer still ¨C whatever she had inside her that passed for lungs, it sounded like they were bottomless ¨C


    Her gaze fixated on the same patch of grass that¡¯d been the subject of so much conversation during the last minutes.


    She¡¯s playing along. Interesting.


    ¡°I sense it now,¡± Ironvine said suddenly, her voice hard.


    Infrick started nodding. ¡°Yes. My Brother is sleeping there.¡±


    ¡°Sleeping?¡± Nightfell asked.


    Infrick snarled, then looked at me and pouted. ¡°Must I answer the one-eyed mortal?¡± the tigress asked petulantly, thrusting out her lower lip and batting her eyelashes.


    I looked from her to Nightfell then back again.


    ¡°If she¡¯s one-eyed, then I¡¯m blind ¨C is that what you¡¯re saying?¡±


    ¡°Master¡­¡± she crooned morosely.


    ¡°Answer her questions ¨C all the questions asked by these five archmages ¨C as though they were spoken in my voice.¡±


    She pursed her lips suggestively. ¡°None of them could command me like you do, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Answer!¡±


    Infrick turned and, with a sigh, deigned to provide solutions to a mere one-eyed mortal¡¯s queries.


    The dweonatar was sleeping. Yes, this meant he was potentially in communion with the inhabitants of Infernum, so far away and yet so near. No, he wasn¡¯t likely to be able to summon much help outside the walls of Mund. Every place was hell-adjacent, of course, and Mund¡¯s wicked counterpart on the hot side was a hive greater in scope than our own, teeming with fiends, fiends of all shapes and sizes and power-sets. Beyond the city¡¯s boundaries, however, was a dark desert, a wasteland-swamp in which only the crudest creatures crawled, shrinking away from all the dread majesty of infernal warfare, preferring the gibbering madness, the gnawing suffering ¨C


    ¡°Okay. Got it.¡± I raised a hand to cut her off. ¡°Any suggestions?¡±


    Trappy smiled, a hideous expression of pleasure. ¡°O, my gratitude, Master! The greater the imagination of the prisoner, the crueller the cage. There is no balm for the keenness with which we feel the pressure of our bars, save this ¨C to be used, not for the sake of the labour we might perform, but for the sake of our designs; the value of our minds.¡±


    I glanced at the others, then back to her.


    ¡°So¡­ suggestions, then?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s thinking,¡± Nightfell said in a mocking tone. ¡°Whenever a diviner of her calibre witters on like that, you can bet good money it¡¯s because she¡¯s still exploring the ramifications of the advice she¡¯s about to dole out.¡±


    ¡°And do you have anything to add to the debate, mortal?¡± Trappy asked sweetly.


    ¡°I got a few ideas.¡±


    ¡°Why do you not enlighten us all, then, mortal? Regale us with your mortal notions. Don¡¯t leave the fates of your friends in my hands. I kind of have this problem when it comes to being gentle.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re bound,¡± I snapped. ¡°You can¡¯t suggest something risky without making the risks clear.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± the eolastyr said airily, waving a few fingers. ¡°But this, this one-eyed one, she does not believe in your power. She believes I could lead you astray, send you all skipping to your deaths. Such could not be further from the truth, and yet, this ¡®seer¡¯ has ¨C¡±


    ¡°Okay! Enough bickering. Enough¡­ wittering.¡± I cast my glance around again. ¡°If you aren¡¯t going to actually make a suggestion any time soon, I¡¯ll start. Why don¡¯t we just ¨C¡± I made a sweeping motion with my arm, palm cupped ¡°¨C lift all the soil off him. All in one. Then ¨C¡± I brought my arm back down, fist clenched ¡°¨C all fall on him together.¡±


    Ironvine grunted. I looked at her, but she was still staring down at the shadowed fields; evidently she¡¯d only made a sound as an acknowledgement.


    ¡°Or ¨C better idea,¡± Nightfell said. ¡°We send you in there alone, all wraithed-up ¨C¡±


    ¡°The wraith¡¯s dead¡­ deader, I mean. But yeah, I get you. I got alternatives. Then what?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ was being sarcastic, Kas. What, you wanna go in there alone?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± I shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re still yet to give us an actual idea, so ¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m half-way to believing we¡¯d be better off without you.¡±


    I dropped my jaw.


    ¡°I mean, I don¡¯t even know what you can do, I can¡¯t plan around you, don¡¯t you see?¡±


    ¡°My Brother himself is beyond your sight, mortal,¡± Trappy gloated. ¡°Don¡¯t blame my Master for your failings. You of all ¨C¡±


    ¡°Be silent, until spoken to,¡± I said, cutting her off. The eolastyr went straight back to pouting. ¡°What was your big idea, Nightfell? For real this time?¡±


    ¡°One: Ironvine sends her metal up at him. Drives him up and out. You¡¯re already working on something like that, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    The heavyset wizard grunted again.


    ¡°If we¡¯re going to scoop off the dirt,¡± the seeress continued, ¡°we should put the metal in him at the same time, so you can light him up instantly. That means two wizards, at least. We could bring ¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll manage.¡±


    All eyes turned to Ironvine.


    ¡°Two¡­¡± Nightfell seemed to struggle to get herself back on track. ¡°Get a weave together. Then, the three of you send in everything you can. No ¨C¡± she copied my previous gesture, hand clenched in a fist ¡°¨C falling on him. We stay at maximum range. This isn¡¯t like when we butchered Trappy¡¯s sister.¡±


    Infrick bristled, but said nothing, did nothing other than tense her tail.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t trying to take his weapon. Ironvine¡¯s our weapon, here. Everything else we do is to slow him.¡±


    ¡°He can¡¯t hurt me,¡± I said. ¡°Trust me, he already tried. I chased him out of there. He ran from me.¡±


    ¡°You want to swing your new arm at him?¡± Whichever Nightfell it was, it was so like Tanra¡¯s voice, and there was no amusement in it. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll pass, though. I¡¯ve quite had my fill of giant statue-men for one day, and this one down here could¡¯ve eaten all the others for breakfast. I¡¯ll stay back, thanks.¡±


    I had no idea the type of demon to which she was referring, and at this point I didn¡¯t care. I was just glad we seemed to be getting somewhere.


    ¡°I doan wanna figh¡¯ him,¡± Shallowlie murmured. ¡°I wi¡¯ focus onna weave.¡±


    Spirit had a black expression on his face, but he kept quiet. Netherhame looked for all the world like she was ready to fight at my side, but she said nothing either.


    Infrick was gazing at me despondently.


    ¡°Go on, then, Trappy. Just ¨C don¡¯t make me regret it. Make it snappy.¡±


    The hideous, gloating smile came back to her dusky lips in a second.


    ¡°Infernum,¡± was all she said.


    The sheer brevity of her comment forced me to go over the options, the possible meanings of that lone, terrifying word. What was she trying to insinuate?


    I opted for a dry chuckle. ¡°Nice one. I¡¯ve got no eldritches in there ¨C out there, I mean ¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got me. Respectfully. Master.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°If he¡¯s only there in soul-form,¡± Netherhame said, ¡°he¡¯s weak, right? Like a ghost of hisself. We can¡¯t kill him there, just make ourselves a pain in his ass. You¡¯re dreaming if you think he¡¯s gonna take his body there ¨C he¡¯s gonna bring his soul back this side, and all we¡¯ve done is warn him we¡¯re ready for him. Droppin¡¯ great.¡±


    Trappy nodded ¨C a slow, luxurious nod, with that degenerate smile still there on her misshapen face. Then, every bit as slowly, she turned her gaze back to me.


    ¡°Perhaps the two of us alone should go, m¡¯lord. It seems you keep craven company, and I know you don¡¯t wish to linger longer.¡±


    I had no choice but to grin back at her while the others spluttered.


    ¡°I¡¯d say to send me alone if you would,¡± Infrick went on, ¡°and you would, but the judgement of these others will stay your hand, won¡¯t it? Do you not have a maggot you trust? Some bug you could send in our stead, to check the way is clear?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be a plant,¡± Nightfell said with a sigh.


    I put on a shocked expression. ¡°I don¡¯t currently have any vegetable eldritches in my retinue. Winterprince incinerated ¨C¡°


    ¡°Plant like, impostor,¡± the seeress growled.


    ¡°Beware, the Devious Composter,¡± I muttered.


    A few people chuckled mirthlessly, seeking to gratify me, but Netherhame ignored me completely, whirling on Nightfell. ¡°Impostor ¨C from you!¡± she burst out. ¡°That¡¯s a bit too rich, Vardae.¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut it, the lot of you.¡± Tanra scowled moodily.


    ¡°No, I mean, we should think about¡­ Trappy¡¯s idea,¡± Ly said in a reasonable tone. ¡°It¡¯s not easy for an eldritch to fake its service. There¡¯s all these¡­ parameters, Dustbringer used to say. Things it has to control, like how it gets taken¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had some experience there,¡± I admitted. ¡°Been tricked once. But¡­ once burned, twice learned, and all that. My minions are all mine. I¡¯ve checked.¡± I turned to Infrick. ¡°And yes ¨C there¡¯s at least one I trust to not just do the minimum. Pinktongue!¡±


    I summoned my faithful envoy. He was looking a little worse for wear ¨C one of his wings seemed singed at the upper tip, and no ordinary fireball would do that to a member of his breed. His ugly-cute bat-face was tired, the lower jaw trembling a little.


    But he seemed himself when he enquired:


    ¡°Master?¡±


    He peered about at the others curiously ¨C his eyes lingering just a little longer on the eolastyr than the others.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, little one,¡± Infrick said to him coolly. ¡°This one would have our Master command you to cut off your arm, just to assuage her fears as to your fidelity.¡±


    Pinktongue blenched; Nightfell complained loudly, and Infrick was more than happy to abuse the loophole and start replying, no more quietly than the seeress.


    I for one was starting to feel sick.


    ¡°Ignore her. Ignore all of them.¡± I commanded my imp¡¯s attention with my gaze, and his met mine; I could instantly tell he was no longer distracted by Infrick¡¯s words, and, better than any punitive measures, I was reassured that he was truly mine. ¡°I want you to visit Infernum¡¯s reflection of this place. A dweonatar is there ¨C inside that hillside.¡±


    I pointed, and he shivered as he followed the line of my finger.


    ¡°I want to know what he¡¯s up to. Report back with your findings immediately.¡±


    ¡°V-very well, Master.¡±


    The terror in his eyes had no bearing on his actions. Without hesitation, he vanished into red flame.


    ¡°I swear it¡¯s a trap,¡± Nightfell muttered, glowering at Infrick.


    ¡°I know you mean well, and you¡¯re only concerned for our safety, but¡­ just stop, Tanra. Vardae. Whoever you are, whoever you want to be; I know you say you¡¯re both the same and I don¡¯t care. Just stop.¡±


    ¡°Or else what?¡±


    ¡°Or else I¡¯ll send Trappy over whenever you¡¯re just getting off to sleep, to sit outside your window and yell stuff about trust all night long.¡±


    ¡°Or else we¡¯ll start saying ¡®yes, Mum¡¯ to everything you tell us,¡± Spirit grumbled.


    I sniggered. I¡¯d have to remember that one.


    He shot me a wan smile then looked aside, and the smile slipped from my own, just for a moment, as the impossible pressures of reality came seeping through the blanket of action and violence in which I¡¯d cloaked it.


    So much death. So many¡­ dead¡­


    And tomorrow I¡¯d probably have to answer for my own crimes in that area. I could see their corpse-masks whenever I dared allow my imagination to brush the memories, even if only for an instant, bringing back the faces of the three magisters I¡¯d brutalised, painting them there as though there were an easel set up before my mind¡¯s eye, faces for me to gaze upon till the paint cracked.


    No, they wouldn¡¯t come for me soon ¨C not tonight. Even if the Magisterium had its act together, there was still the whole Arrealbord thing to sort out. Nightfell would have her own chat with Henthae¡¯s dogs, I supposed. Half of her frustration during this Incursion was going to be stemming from the fact she¡¯d just undergone a whole metamorphosis of her own; I did realise all that, but it was hard to keep it in mind when you had your own problems swimming around in your head.


    Your own corpse-faces¡­


    I put the smile back.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Pinktongue¡­¡±


    ¡°Why you call i¡¯ Pinktohg, Feychile?¡± Min asked. ¡°Dey all have a¡­ pink tohg.¡±


    ¡°All gungrelafor. He was my first.¡±


    ¡°Ahh.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have names for your minions?¡± I looked between the sorceresses.


    ¡°They have names already,¡± Ly said. ¡°Why confuse things?¡±


    ¡°But we can¡¯t use those names in front of people,¡± I retorted.


    ¡°You just command ¡¯em, don¡¯t yer?¡±


    ¡°What about¡­ you know¡­¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll find you¡¯re the only sorcerer who treats these things the way you do, Kas.¡± Nightfell was eyeing me critically. ¡°If it weren¡¯t for the fact you¡¯ve always been this way¡­¡±


    She seemed to think better of finishing that sentence.


    ¡°You¡¯d be blaming his crown,¡± Infrick said, her voice an amalgam of reverence and disgust.


    I laughed. I was too tired to go on with the debate. When Pinktongue suddenly reappeared, flapping away just a couple of yards from me, I was relieved.


    ¡°Hey! Did you see the big guy in there?¡±


    ¡°Master¡­¡± The gungrelafor had a morose tone to his voice, his eyes downcast. ¡°Master, I think it is safe. But I ¨C I think you should see this for yourself.¡±


    * * *


    In the end it was just me and Netherhame who went through to see what was going on. Min would¡¯ve come, but quite sensibly opted to keep an active shield over the others, in case some surprise-attack came out of nowhere. Ly was too keen to stay behind, practically biting my other arm off when I asked if anyone else wanted to come. It wasn¡¯t unlike her, precisely, but I had the notion Nightfell or one of the others had used the link to ask her to accompany me.


    It made no difference. Both of us were struck dumb the same by what we found.


    We didn¡¯t land before we went through, both of us opting to use contact with a nethernal host to keep us aloft in case something went wrong with our wizardries. Most imps couldn¡¯t confer weightlessness with a touch, and neither of us had a wyvarlinact or other such winged beast at our disposal. I kept Infrick at my side, borne aloft by my retinue of elves. The eolastyr¡¯s only comment after crossing over was that the crown suited me even better over here. I had no idea what she was talking about, and Ly didn¡¯t look to be in the mood for her games. It felt a little heavier atop my head, but my sorceress companion hadn¡¯t reacted to any visible change in appearance when she looked at me after we went through.


    Clearly nothing to worry about.


    We floated away from the ruby-red gateway, letting it close behind us, and looked out on a void of dark wind. Acrid smoke was being carried on the air but it was moving so quickly that it didn¡¯t really catch in our throats, boom, boom, booming across the open emptiness. Far below ¨C farther than the ground should¡¯ve been ¨C I caught glimpses through the clouds of luminous yellow pools, like motionless lakes, great expanses of congealed pus or phlegm. Other than a few zikistakram lounging on the shorelines of the pools, there was nothing to be seen.


    We followed the imp, flapping his way what should¡¯ve been eastwards through the easterly wind. We were there within a minute, and Pinktongue had been right; I wouldn¡¯t have believed him if he¡¯d told me. I had to see it for myself.


    ¡°Oh, Brother,¡± the eolastyr beside me sighed softly.


    The semi-transparent dweonatar was sitting in one of the bile-ponds, bathing in the fetid gloop. He was submerged up to the midriff; the pools were deeper than they might¡¯ve appeared. His kneecaps protruded from the steaming yellowy surface and he was hunched over them, elbows on knees, head bowed.


    Sobbing uncontrollably.


    He was sitting there, just weeping, white-hot tears the size of grapes, pattering down and sizzling away on the hell-water.


    I exchanged a long glance with Netherhame.


    ¡°They¡¯re people,¡± I said. But I wasn¡¯t quite sure any longer what my point was. My voice sounded harrowed to my own ears. Netherhame just shook her head, face even paler than I¡¯d ever seen it, eyes wide and incredulous.


    ¡°The crown really suits you, Master.¡±


    I turned, looked Infrick right in the shiny black eyes, reflecting the miasmatic radiance of the Twelve Hells back at me from their depths. Her inhuman smile suddenly stabbed at my heart.


    What was she? How did this happen to her? What is the meaning of that, that reply, when she knows I¡¯m questioning her very nature¡­?


    She wants me to swell up with pride? She wants me darker still? Or¡­ she seeks to ingratiate herself with Mekesta, somehow?


    The smile broadened even as I watched, its deviousness unmatched by anything I¡¯d seen on the face of man or demon.


    She knows. She knows she confuses me and despite our bond she is able to luxuriate in it! That is the real message. No matter what I say or do ¨C I¡¯m never going to get the answers I seek. There¡¯s always an evasion. And even if I¡¯m told the truth¡­ I¡¯ll never know it. It¡¯s never going to be something Kultemeren cares about.


    Abandoned. Like that Durgil. Like all those who died today. I¡¯m supposed to be the champion of the gods of light ¨C but how dark is the path supposed to really be? How can I do this, one-armed? If it hadn¡¯t been for Yune¡­ my fingers¡­


    I cast about one last time, refocussing on the sobbing, half-present dweonatar.


    The dark gods aren¡¯t any better.


    ¡°How¡¯d you want to play this?¡± I asked Ly.


    ¡°We can¡¯t kill him here.¡±


    I shook my head, feeling irritated. ¡°Can¡¯t you take him?¡±


    ¡°Oh, sit on a stick, Kastyr.¡± Colour came back to her cheeks with an affronted look like I¡¯d slapped her. ¡°We¡¯re not all made the same, you know. I don¡¯t know¡­ I don¡¯t want to know how you do it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ I didn¡¯t mean it like that, Ly.¡±


    I saw her scowl deepen, and I remembered¡­ this wasn¡¯t the way to deal with her.


    I scowled back instead. ¡°Whatever. You taught me, when I knew nothing. Be a brat if you have to. Don¡¯t blame me.¡±


    Her scowl became a grim smile. ¡°Ha! You know what I think about¡­ things like these.¡± Ly was clearly including Trappy in her denouncement. ¡°Do what you want. I want it dead.¡°


    I turned my head, and called out in Infernal.


    ¡°Hello.¡±


    He clearly already knew we were there, because he didn¡¯t react to my greeting.


    ¡°Hey. Stonyface. Over here. I¡¯ve got a bone to pick with you.¡±


    I floated just a few feet nearer. Still well outside what should¡¯ve been the range of his weapon, wherever the whip was currently¡­


    ¡°We need you gone, one way or the other. The Incursion must end, do you get it?¡±


    ¡°It must not!¡± he roared suddenly, lifting burning white eyes to stare at me, causing me to back up. ¡°It was Mother¡¯s wish! This was to be the Incursion for which we hath awaited, so long. And thou! Thou hast brought all to wrack and ruin!¡±


    I tried to sound stern. ¡°Now, I know you may be a bit thick, but has it occurred to you I was trying to stop wrack and ruin?¡±


    He instantly dispelled any illusions I had with regard to his intellect.


    ¡°Thou canst not encompass the exigencies of the Sinphalamax and her Sons and Daughters! Each criterion contains a myriad of limiting factors. A misspoken word¡­ a single step placed awry, falling only half-footed upon the stone¡­ What now for the future, when thou hast taken it upon thyself, shouldering the city as one might a captive ¨C whence shalt thou bear it? Hidden beneath which canopy might we find now our Day of Glory? I search the undergrowth with blind fingertips! It is gone! It is all gone from me!¡±


    ¡°Dear Brother, please,¡± Infrick cried. ¡°Hear me, if you won¡¯t hear my Master. Join us.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± I barked. ¡°Weren¡¯t you listening?¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± sang a delighted voice over my head.


    ¡°What in ¨C¡± Netherhame spat.


    ¡°Twelve Hells?¡± the crown jeered softly, and cackled. ¡°Aaah-ha-haaa¡­Oh, child. Distract thyself, Lyanne Faircrowd.¡°


    The sorceress instantly slumped over, reclined atop her nethernal entourage. She wasn¡¯t asleep, but a bemused expression slipped across her features, eyes sliding off to fixate on empty space, meaningless streams of foul smoke, as though she could discern something in the patternless patterns.


    The dweonatar, eolastyr and gungrelafor were all staring at me with their own surprised expressions ¨C I reached up to grab the thing off my head, whether to fling it aside or look down at it in my hand while I spoke back to it, I was unsure.


    But it cut me off before my hand moved six inches.


    ¡°Stay those fingers, sorcerer. Shouldst thou touch me now, here, thou shalt surely lose thine other, thy last remaining arm. Thou hast brought me unto mine own domain, and here I rule. How fitting, Kastyr of Mund. Nay! Lower it. Thinkest thou that in Hope¡¯s mercy thou couldst be granted one more set of those wicked barbs thou hast put to such use this day? O, to give thyself so wholly to the struggle! To double thy weaponry ¨C might it be worth the pain? Art thou such a sword as to sharpen even thy hilts? Nay. Lower¡­ thy¡­ hand.¡±


    Trembling, I acquiesced.


    ¡°As a toddler thou hast stumbled hence, a feat of foolishness not one of thy forebears hath accomplished since this Ring was given unto my disposal. Yet now all my seeds are full-grown and bear their own fruit; thou art here, latest in the line, fresh-forged for the tempering. Remiss would I be to forego this opportunity to see thy strength measured to thy mettle, increased in kind¡­


    ¡°Ah, now, gremlin-fire! I see thy devotion. Nay. I will remain. It shall be permitted¡­¡±


    ¡°Wh-what do you ¨C¡°


    ¡°Silence! I shall swallow the dweonatar for thee, and see it attend upon thee, such that it shall be in all things as though thou wert in truth its rightful Master. Thou shalt bear it thence to Materium¡¯s shores, and it shall be my agent in thy city ¨C¡°


    That was her mistake.


    An arm was nothing to pay, nothing, if a loose dweonatar in Mund was the price.


    I reached up, grabbed the crown, and threw it hard with a downward swing of my arm.


    Netherhame came back to herself just in time to see it disappear into the lake of bile below us.


    ¡°Fool!¡± she cried, unknowingly echoing the crown.


    ¡°I know!¡± I hissed back at once. ¡°Trappy ¨C can you go in after it?¡±


    The eolastyr didn¡¯t smile at the prospect, but she understood my urgency on a fundamental level. I released her from the clutches of my ascended ancients and she produced an effortless dive, breaking the surface of the pool head-first without producing a bubble.


    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± Ly yelled at me. ¡°Good riddance, yeah, sure, but we can¡¯t just chuck something like that away. What if it gets found by the wrong person? Can demons use it? We have to keep it, safely, or destroy it!¡±


    ¡°I know, I know! Do you think I¡¯m an idiot? I just ¨C¡°


    I should¡¯ve just gone straight back to Materium. Damn it, Kas!


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me answer that, Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°I just wanted ¨C I had to get rid of it, and she said ¨C she said she would take my arm off¡­¡±


    I looked down at my hand.


    Mother of Darkness. Mistress of Secrets.


    ¡°She used my fear against me,¡± I said. ¡°She knew I wouldn¡¯t be her champion. Maybe ¨C maybe all she wanted was for me to lose the crown¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t even fully understand my reasoning. I was making excuses to myself already as to why I¡¯d sent my eolastyr in after it. Part of me wanted it back just to put it on my head again ¨C I knew that much. If I just went with it to Materium, Mekesta would lose her control of the crown again, surely. She¡¯d never cast a spell through it until I brought it here¡­ I could still use it, couldn¡¯t I?


    When Infrick gets back with it. When she gets back with it.


    Come on, Infrick.


    Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m going to talk to the others. If we can¡¯t ¨C¡°


    Infrick resurfaced. She looked up at me and shook her head ¨C then, with a sudden burst of reflexes she seemed to flinch, leaping high and flying, ignoring the embrace of my ghosts in her urgency.


    There was no more time for debate.


    The dweonatar lit on fire.


    Not the red infernal flames I¡¯m sure he would¡¯ve taken as a comfort, but a coruscating white-blue light, flickering in and out as though it were only half-real.


    He certainly treated it as though it were real. His howl was deafening.


    The conflagration didn¡¯t take hold of a particular body-part first; at once it covered every inch of him protruding from the pool, and probably the hidden sections of him too. After all, on the plane that was the source of the fire he wasn¡¯t submerged in any fluids at all.


    We took too long. I took too long. Made Nightfell and Shallowlie paranoid.


    So Ironvine attacks without us.


    Before the first howl of pain finished leaving his lips, he flickered like the flames and vanished.


    Me and Ly exchanged a single furtive glance before hurriedly rising up, away from the pools, both of us conscious of potential shifts in the place¡¯s geography. We worked the gateways in unison and fell back into the material plane, scrambling to rejoin with eldritches.


    The dweonatar had already left his buried sanctuary. A great sizzling rent was left behind him in the hillside as he¡¯d propelled himself straight out of the earth and at his targets, screaming incoherently.


    He was angry. Not thinking. Not running. In the throes of his agony he¡¯d reverted to his base instinct. His first orders. His primal hunger.


    Taking powerful archmages with him back to hell.


    He was riddled with barbs of incandescent iron, lightning pulsing down with staggering precision and regularity, reaching down to touch him with their fatal fingertips over and over and over again.


    Even as the two of us got our bearings and started soaring towards the others, it was over.


    He only had the strength left in him for one strike and we watched it happen. He launched himself into the air, beating titanic marble wings, and for the first time I saw a dweonatar fly. The wind of his ascent struck back at me even with the ghost-state, slowing me.


    Giving me a moment just to watch.


    He swung, the searing whip stuttering, falling into Shallowlie¡¯s shield, which would be torn asunder ¨C


    Just at the last moment, surely thanks to some telepathic switch set up by Spiritwhisper and Nightfell, the floating quartet withdrew. Only far enough that the shield eluded the whip¡¯s reach by a matter of inches.


    Then the shield warped itself into a blunt, crude instrument. A hammer of pure force, such as I¡¯d seen her wield before, if rarely.


    Shallowlie cracked the dweonatar right in the middle of the forehead, instantly up-ending him, sending him spinning, crashing back down to the ground.


    ¡°You get him, girl!¡± Ly whooped, a vicious grin on her face.


    We were still thirty yards off when he hit the field beneath him, followed up with a triple lightning-bolt chaser. The whole area seemed to shake, as far as the eye could see. I wouldn¡¯t wonder that they had books fall off the shelves in Salnifast.


    A fierce breeze came rushing down, courtesy of Ironvine, clearing away the smoke and dust. Where the dweonatar had touched down there was now only a debris of marble chunks; most were as fine as pebbles, while a few others were misshapen fleshy rocks beyond the strength of ten men to lift unaided.


    And each one was crumbling, falling away into darkness, even as I watched.


    Out in the distance, the faint gonging seemed at first to falter ¨C


    Imagination rang out the sounds against the drum-skin of the mind, but ears automatically strained themselves, proving the imagined sounds false.


    Understanding followed swiftly on the heels of sensation, the lack of sensation ¨C the knowledge of what this meant finally hitting home¡­


    It¡¯s over.


    The Bells have stopped.


    And we lived.


    We lived¡­

 Necessities

    <h2>QUARTZ 9.14: NECESSITIES</h2>


    ¡°I am the marsh that stretches beyond the horizon. I am the gluttony that can never be satiated. I am the void that grows between words and minds. I am Lady Emptiness.¡±


    ¨C from the Utenyan Creed


    It was almost worse, to have lived through it. To have survived. To know that all the excuses made for actions taken in the thick of the night would disintegrate in the harsh light of day. I didn¡¯t want that exposure. I didn¡¯t want what came next. For every grain of courage in me there was a dollop of cowardice. Now that the Incursion was done, I wanted it back. I wanted the false night to go on forever. To fight, and die, and be done.


    Yet I was granted a reprieve. The Mourning Bells fell silent; the clamour of the skies finally abated. Lightning stuttered and stopped. Screaming winds softened to moans, then gasps, dying whispers. And the darkness peeled back to reveal a pink sunset on the horizon.


    It wasn¡¯t day that greeted me with its lancing, penetrating gaze. Evening had already fallen. Twilight chased the skyline and the stars were racing out, burning fiercely in their proper places once again. The airs upon which they floated were no longer black; instead the constellations twinkled like surf, diamonds rocking atop a deep sea¡¯s dark-blue waves.


    Not today. Tonight is mine.


    I followed the line of the Greywater, looking back at the city¡¯s white walls.


    Tomorrow¡¯s when it¡¯ll all happen.


    ¡°I wonder what it¡¯ll be like,¡± I said, hardly even realising the words were coming out of my mouth. Sometimes, in spite of everything, I missed Zel.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Tanra¡¯s voice.


    Orstrum¡­ I¡¯m going to miss you.


    Emrelet. What is it, to be here, to be this, without you?


    ¡°Kas ¨C the crown¡¯s done something to you. Where did you put it?¡±


    I came back to myself, focussed my attention on the agitated seeress floating before me.


    ¡°What do you mean, where did I put it? I threw it! It¡¯s lost!¡±


    Netherhame nodded, lips pressed firmly together.


    ¡°Why?¡± I went on. ¡°What¡¯s it done?¡±


    Nightfell was shaking her head. ¡°There¡¯s a¡­ a Shadow on you still. Something I can¡¯t ¨C can¡¯t see through. Kas!¡± There was lunacy, dangerous desperation in her voice. ¡°Kas, she¡¯s marked you! This didn¡¯t happen when you took it off before. I can¡¯t ¨C¡±


    She reached out, grabbing at my hand as if by pure reflex.


    I only felt amused. Smiling, I made the hand a bit more substantial, so she could grip it.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay!¡± I tried to sound as reassuring as I could while she passed her free hand over my head, as if to check the crown was really gone. ¡°I feel¡­ free. Hopefully it¡¯ll just¡­ fade.¡±


    Or hopefully not¡­


    ¡°I still can¡¯t link you, either,¡± Spirit huffed. He had his own worried, critical look on his face while he stared at me.


    To be fair, being excluded from telepathic links was a significant hindrance. Perhaps there really was something to their concern.


    ¡°If anything, we should send more imps in to search for it. Not for me,¡± I immediately followed up, Nightfell slashing at me with her lunatic gaze. ¡°To make sure it doesn¡¯t fall into the wrong hands.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s leave that for others to accomplish, then, why don¡¯t we,¡± she said.


    ¡°Like who? Valorin? Some magister with their grubby ¨C¡°


    ¡°I know the location,¡± Ly said. ¡°Me and Min¡¯ll do it.¡±


    Shallowlie nodded eagerly, though I got the impression her enthusiasm had more to do with stopping the argument than any actual desire to participate in the recovery effort.


    ¡°Fine. Good by me. Great.¡± I sighed. ¡°So, we¡¯re going back to the city?¡±


    Affirmations rippled out from all but one.


    I glanced over at the impassive Ironvine. ¡°Nothing to say? You just killed some seriously high-ranked fiends today.¡±


    The wizard shrugged, not even glancing in my direction. She was staring off at the ocean.


    ¡°They got in my way,¡± she said. It sounded like she was sneering.


    I cast about at the others ¨C no one seemed to want to comment.


    ¡°I like the attitude,¡± I said at last. ¡°Congratulations, anyway. You¡¯re the latest Saviour of Mund.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need riches,¡± she replied in the same voice, still not looking at any of the rest of us. It couldn¡¯t have been plainer she was already wealthy; she didn¡¯t need to say that. ¡°I don¡¯t need thanks. However¡­ I¡¯ll be here. When you need me.¡±


    With that the enigmatic wizard suddenly dropped away, her floating rock plummeting at a steadily-increasing pace that didn¡¯t abate as the earth loomed beneath her; she sank straight into it, swallowed up by the grass with barely a sound to mark her passage into the ground. She might as well have been a nethernal creature.


    ¡°Droppin¡¯ highborn,¡± Spirit said.


    I chuckled dryly.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Nightfell said. ¡°Let¡¯s go home. The spells she put on us won¡¯t last forever, and I¡¯d rather not run.¡±


    ¡°Bit tired?¡± I enquired as we started soaring westwards.


    ¡°Bit,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Need someone to carry you?¡±


    I grinned, then, when she glanced at me, I pointed to Bor.


    ¡°He looks strong.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, thanks,¡± the enchanter commented.


    ¡°There really wasn¡¯t ever anything going on between us, you know,¡± I said to him. ¡°You ¨C and Tanra ¨C you really worked together. I¡¯m sorry, about how everything happened. We ¨C¡° I glanced at Nightfell ¡°¨C I never wanted any of this.¡±


    ¡°None of us did.¡±


    There was such deep sorrow in his voice, going far beyond anything pertaining to our shared history, that I didn¡¯t know how to reply. We¡¯d all lost people, and he knew he wasn¡¯t alone in grieving. My siblings were still alive, however. The exact nature of his pain ¨C the severity of it ¨C I could only imagine. Yet the silence that settled over us was comfortable. He didn¡¯t speak again until we parted ways ¨C none of us did, that I could hear. Whether he was communicating silently with someone, I had no idea. I suspected not.


    It felt okay.


    Maybe they¡¯d have my back, if things with the Magisterium went sour quickly.


    Maybe.


    * * *


    Out of the lot of us, only two of us were heading the direction of Sticktown. I found myself once again flying at her side. My dearest friend was back. Earlier, she¡¯d felt more like a stranger than ever before but now? Now everything was normal again.


    As normal as Killstop got, anyway.


    ¡°I knew you¡¯d take it off, you know.¡±


    ¡°I thought you couldn¡¯t know something like that¡­¡±


    She was shaking her head at my side. ¡°Not with my head. But my heart? I knew, all along. You couldn¡¯t be hers. Not my Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Yours? And after what I was saying to Bor¡­¡±


    The white streaks in her hair suited her. I couldn¡¯t deny that I found her attractive. Whether I was just being stupid, drawn in by her vulnerability¡­ whether I¡¯d simply forgotten what it was like to be around her¡­


    I wouldn¡¯t be drawn in. She was still a kid, still insolent and annoying for all the gravity she could invoke with her solemn pronouncements.


    ¡°The darkness ¨C it wants us to walk alone.¡±


    She spoke ¨C she pronounced ¨C and I shivered.


    ¡°It had plans for us,¡± she went on, ¡°and we broke them. You walk with me. We pierce the future together. It is the Way of Light.¡±


    I looked at her for a long time, soaring beside her.


    ¡°So, there¡¯s one person in Mund who still thinks I¡¯m trustworthy. Thanks, Tanra.¡±


    I really hoped it was really her.


    Nightfell laughed. ¡°Not just one person. I think you¡¯d be surprised. You¡­ you grew up too fast, Kas. As soon as your parents died, you strapped their shoes on your feet and carried on with business. It was a lot to take on, even before the whole champion ordeal.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how you think of it now?¡± I cast her another sidelong glance as we slipped through the night sky. ¡°Being a champion was an ordeal?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how anyone without a skewed world-view should look at it. We¡¯re dropping insane, Kas, by any ordinary standards. You¡¯ve always seemed a bit different. You¡¯ve got that ¨C that level of maturity few can approach. That¡¯s what lets you laugh at yourself. That¡¯s what lets arch-diviners trust you with power. That¡¯s what let you take off the crown, in the end.¡±


    ¡°Maturity,¡± I said heavily. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d call it that.¡±


    She smiled. ¡°It¡¯s real maturity. The kind you have to learn, the hard way. You can¡¯t just¡­ age into it. Believe me. There are those who drink milk their whole lives.¡± She waved at the mutilated city tossing and turning beneath us as we soared. ¡°Where will you go now?¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Well, I really need to find my brother and sister,¡± I said, ¡°then go see Xan before I drop of exhaustion.¡±


    ¡°Matur-ity,¡± she sang mockingly.


    I grimaced. ¡°I need to talk to her about ¨C what happened. Mud Lane¡¯s gone and she¡­ I left her here, you know?¡±


    Nightfell patted my arm, her palm sinking into my bicep like it was a made of mud.


    ¡°She¡¯s done fine. She¡¯s been helping Garet, you know. And he¡¯s been helping her. Barring unforeseen circumstances, the two of them will¡­¡±


    ¡°What? Take over the crime-world of Sticktown?¡±


    ¡°Take it from Ana? Oh, no. It¡¯s more personal than that.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll¡­ become lovers?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I think they¡¯re past that stage. Yes, definitely. I think I sense a proposal on the horizon.¡±


    ¡°A¡­ marriage proposal?¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah!¡±


    ¡°From Garet?¡±


    She sighed at me. ¡°Do you think everyone¡¯s some simple creature? Nothing below the surface at all?¡±


    ¡°Well ¨C the simple ones, sure.¡±


    ¡°There aren¡¯t any simple ones. Not like that. It¡¯s stubbornness, that¡¯s all. That¡¯s what you¡¯re mistaking for soullessness.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I didn¡¯t say he was soulless, okay? I was just surprised he¡¯s going to¡­ you know!¡±


    ¡°You think just because you¡¯ve got some shadow of Mother-Chaos hanging over you, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re like.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re so not used to this, are you? You think you can just, like, pronounce things, and have them be right, just by dint of your track record. Well not with me, sister.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Not yet, maybe. I wonder how long the¡­ shadow thing¡­ is going to last.¡±


    Then, just as I replied, she said it along with me:


    ¡°Not long enough.¡°


    We both chuckled.


    ¡°The shadow¡¯s already fading, then?¡± I asked. ¡°I mean ¨C¡°


    She tossed her head, giving me an arch look. ¡°Not one bit. I told you. I just know you.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ it really is you?¡±


    Tanra nodded.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your other half, then?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s visiting Mum.¡±


    I saw the briefest flash of consternation cross her brow before she managed to reel in her reactions, forehead smoothing again almost instantly.


    ¡°You trust her to do that?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s¡­ she needs it, Kas. The normalcy. She needs to be me, at least a while longer. I don¡¯t think you see just how good this is for us. For the city ¨C the Realm! To have her on our side¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡±


    She stiffened. ¡°You mean¡­¡± She looked away.


    ¡°Being¡­ Everseer.¡± I grimaced. ¡°Yeah. That.¡±


    ¡°What she did to me¡­ it taught me a lot about myself. I know it¡¯s in me now. The same killer that¡¯s in her. You. Everyone.¡±


    She fell silent. I caught her glancing over the streets below, many of them crowded with those searching for loved ones, making futile rescue-efforts in piles of rubble.


    I could sense the corpses.


    I returned my focus to her face as we continued flying on our way. ¡°The same killer,¡± I said, ¡°but you didn¡¯t let it win. You didn¡¯t die.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Killstop lives on.¡± The old resolute smile came to her lips. ¡°It¡¯ll take more than weeks of torture and a complete psychic restructuring to do away with that one.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a tough bit o¡¯ crust.¡±


    She laughed again. ¡°It¡¯s good to have you back, Kas. Really.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s good to be back. Or, at least, it feels that way, right now.¡±


    ¡°You do realise you¡¯re like, the only person in the world who could arrive in Mund mid-Incursion and still think that, right?¡±


    ¡°May-beeee. I¡¯m pretty sure if it¡¯d been you exiled, you¡¯d have been glad to get back when I did. It was a hell of a welcome-home party.¡±


    We flew in silence for half a minute, and I found myself just enjoying this comfortable quiet. If this was Vardae, it no longer mattered. You couldn¡¯t tell from the outside.


    Two Tanras¡­ Of all the people to double¡­


    ¡°You see their faces?¡± she asked suddenly, sullenly.


    I halted, looked fully upon her.


    Deep inside, the eyes that were Wellsprings of incalculable power were haunted. Harrowed beyond my ability to comprehend.


    The breath caught in my throat, regarding her in such distress, knowing just how hard she must¡¯ve been fighting to keep her true feelings submerged.


    My voice cracked on the reply. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I ever won¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I.¡±


    She was too scared to even try to see.


    Tanra thrust herself into me and I hurriedly fixed my state, bringing her into my broken embrace while she sobbed into my chest.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I said, trying to comfort her as she¡¯d once comforted me. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright now. We¡¯ll fix everything, remember?¡±


    I looked out at the city. The ruined pockets were more widespread than ever before. Maybe a fifth of the city had been levelled. Maybe less, maybe more ¨C but whatever numbers they came up with, it looked bad.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll just¡­ start tomorrow, eh?¡±


    She laughed into my chest, clinging to me, and I knew she would be alright again.


    * * *


    ¡°This is one damn-nice set up you got here,¡± I said from behind the door.


    Garet nodded to me slowly, the concern in his dull eyes sharpening as I spoke the words. He stood at the side of the doorway, leaning against the frame. The big lump had his top off, exposing the ridiculously-huge arms and shoulders; a double-wrapping of bandage covered his chest, where some scorching spell had seared away his flesh. Not that something like that would be much of a problem to someone with his resources. Lean on an inkatra-user, get an infusion of druid-healing from somewhere¡­ However bad the injury was beneath the bandage, he didn¡¯t look that worse for wear.


    I put my lips close to the pine door again.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Xan. It¡¯s me. No illusions.¡±


    ¡°Kassy?¡± I heard a voice from inside, but it wasn¡¯t Xan.


    ¡°Xassy?¡±


    ¡°Mum! Mummy, Kassy here! Mummy. Open the door!¡±


    ¡°Stop it! Shut up! Shut up¡­¡±


    ¡°Illodin¡¯s tears! I¡¯m coming in.¡±


    Garet recoiled immediately, stepping aside from the doorway with such alacrity it was clear he thought I was going to rip the door off, or blow it up or something. The hallway was so narrow he ended up jostling the other big guy serving as his guard.


    Their eyes widened and they each took a more-measured step backwards as the purple tint fell across my flesh and clothing, nethernal energy rippling over me.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright,¡± I said to Garet, before crossing straight through the door.


    The interior was almost pitch-black. A single candle stood on a desk on the near-side of the room, barely illuminating her in her chair at the back wall. A second desk was between us.


    As I entered I saw Xas spot me, and his excitement became mingled with trepidation. The little lad¡¯s eyes were the brightest things in the shadows.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I repeated, moving fully-in and letting myself go solid once more. ¡°It¡¯s okay. It¡¯s really me. See?¡±


    ¡°But y-your¡­ His arm, Mummy! Lookee! He¡¯s hiding it!¡±


    Xan opened her eyes, focussed on me despite the fact she clearly didn¡¯t want to.


    ¡°The demons,¡± she hissed.


    ¡°I¡¯m no demon.¡± I gave up the posturing, and sat down cross-legged on the floor. If she wanted to see my face while we chatted, she¡¯d have to lean forwards. ¡°It¡¯s just me. What in Celestium happened to Mud Lane, then? I¡¯ve only got bits and pieces of the story.¡±


    There was silence, and then only the young boy¡¯s plaintive question:


    ¡°Kassy?¡±


    He wasn¡¯t asking me. He was asking permission, from her.


    A shattered whisper responded, so quiet I could barely pick it out.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. Go to him.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t see me at this angle but I smiled all the same. For all that she was still in shock, she hadn¡¯t completely lost it. She knew it was me, and she knew from the quiet in the air outside that the Incursion really was over.


    It was just a matter of bringing back that normalcy Tanra had mentioned. Slowly, slowly, bit by bit¡­


    Xas didn¡¯t have the same reservations. Now he¡¯d been given permission he barrelled around the desk at me, hurled himself into my embrace.


    ¡°Hells, you¡¯re getting big, boy!¡±


    ¡°Where is it, Kassy?¡± he chirped with a big grin, wrestling me. He patted my stump roughly, as if trying to find a hidden limb beneath the tattered folds of my sleeve.


    There was no pain ¨C Greenheart¡¯s healing-spells had sealed the flesh like I¡¯d been born this way. But it was an uncanny feeling. I had the strangest sensation that I had hidden the arm ¨C that at any moment it might pop up out of a demi-plane, surprise both of us equally with its sudden reappearance.


    It was awkward, even talking to him, never mind his mother. He¡¯d grown so much, and not just physically. I found myself realising he was a completely different person now.


    ¡°What ¨C what¡¯s been going on, Xassy? You looked after your mum, eh?¡±


    ¡°Where is it?¡±


    He was appearing more excited, wriggling more forcefully with every passing moment ¨C then I watched as cold sanity washed over him.


    ¡°Where¡­?¡± he murmured, then fell silent, suddenly thrusting himself away from me.


    ¡°Xassy! Look, it¡¯s no big deal. I lost it. Traded it, for a crown.¡±


    He looked at the top of my head and burst into tears.


    ¡°I lost that too! I¡­ traded it¡­¡±


    For the city. For that last drop of cold sanity.


    Xantaire stood, crossing to her son without her eyes glancing in my direction. She bent and put her arms around him from behind, trying to turn him ¨C but he had no problem staring at me.


    ¡°Go!¡± he shrieked, real anger in his voice. ¡°Gowwy way! Come back with both! Both arms! Both! I wan¡¯ Kas! Kas!¡±


    Bewildered, feeling withered to the very core of my being at this outburst despite its absurdity ¨C I looked from him to Xan and back again.


    ¡°I am Kas,¡± I mumbled.


    She whispered to him; she spoke his name in a level voice, even trying ¡®Xastur Tarent¡¯ in a serious tone; she attempted to calm him.


    For all of ten seconds.


    Then her chin tilted, as if to allow her eyes to meet mine ¨C yet they only found the floor between us.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a difficult time for all of us,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯d better go, Kas.¡±


    He turned to hug her at last, and she straightened, lifting him, holding his face buried in her shoulder. That finally worked to quieten him, and he clung to her like his life depended on it, wringing at her clothes.


    ¡°But¡­ Xan¡­¡±


    She turned, finding an angle where I could see neither of their faces.


    ¡°Just go.¡±


    ¡°Not ¨C¡± I clenched and unclenched my fist, then pushed myself back to my feet with difficulty. She almost looked, when I stumbled.


    ¡°Not until you unlock the door. You have to let Garet in, Xan.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t come in here making demands,¡± she said softly, still refusing to face me. ¡°You leave. Now. Like before.¡±


    ¡°Like¡­ is that how you think it went down? I just ¡®left¡¯ and ¨C¡±


    ¡°And Grandpa died,¡± she murmured, ¡°and we lost everything, and I don¡¯t want¡­ I can¡¯t rely on you again, Kas. I can¡¯t have you back in my life. I have to¡­¡± She drew a deep breath, released it, ¡°do my own thing. We have to go our own way.¡±


    Her eyes met mine, and the fire in them scorched me.


    I couldn¡¯t take it. I looked away.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let Garet in. You¡¯re right. You¡¯re always right. But it¡¯s goodbye, Kas. At least for now. We¡¯ll see you around, you know?¡±


    ¡°Garrrrry,¡± Xas moaned in contentment.


    I nodded, staring at the floor, and I started to lift my hand to the bar across the door-frame, to unlock it.


    Then I lowered the arm again.


    ¡°In your own time,¡± I said.


    I infused my broken body with the powerful soul stolen from an even more-broken body, and moved through the wood instead, dragging the useless left foot along through the air.


    Garet was still out in the corridor, and he was eyeing me with open suspicion as I emerged near him.


    ¡°You heard?¡±


    ¡°I heard the boy.¡± His face darkened. ¡°He okay? What did you do?¡±


    I shuddered.


    ¡°Nothing¡­ everything.¡± I closed my eyes and pushed down all my bitterness as best I could. ¡°She¡¯ll¡­ she¡¯s coming out. Take care of her. The boy ¨C he wants you. Not me. And she needs you.¡±


    I opened my eyes again. Garet was nodding.


    ¡°And what about you, Feychilde? You look like a katra-¡®ead after an all-nighter. You need a bed? We can mebbe grab ¨C¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± I cut him off. ¡°Thanks, and, yeah. Maybe later. Once Xan¡¯s down for the night. I don¡¯t want to be in her face, not right now, you know? Plus I¡­¡± I struggled to recall my itinerary. ¡°I¡¯ve got to go to the graveyard¡­ see my folks¡­ and there¡¯s¡­ one more thing to do¡­¡±


    ¡°Wha¡¯s tha¡¯?¡± asked his equally-big companion, a trace of wonder in his voice.


    ¡°I wish I could remember.¡± I grinned at them then, hearing sounds from inside the room, nodded. ¡°Later.¡±


    Garet nodded back. ¡°Later.¡±


    I used the wall at the end of the little hallway to exit the building ¨C if I went up or down there was a good chance I¡¯d startle someone.


    I floated there for a good thirty seconds, just trying to get my thoughts in order.


    Then I felt the chill down my spine as I realised.


    Ah yes.


    Do I have to?


    I have to.


    * * *


    Looking out on the city, I didn¡¯t care what anyone said, soothsayers and priests and demons. Crowns. This victory ¨C it was Yune¡¯s, and Yune¡¯s alone. I might¡¯ve helped ¨C we all might¡¯ve helped ¨C but it would¡¯ve been meaningless without hope.


    I swung the void-arm ¨C but it was Yune who¡¯d supplied the fingers.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said, then, realising how stupid the word sounded on its own like that, I tried again:


    ¡°Thank you, Lady Yune.¡±


    There was no immediate answer ¨C no voice on the breeze, no whisper in my ear ¨C and yet just a few seconds later, evening warbles lifted from the throats of songbirds. They were hard to pick out, over the cries of the dying, the shrill moans of the needy ¨C but they were there.


    I flew for a few moments, just listening.


    ¡°A pretty picture indeed,¡± my companion said, ¡°but it¡¯s surely you they should all be thanking. Gods and men.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a baby. Super intelligent, but zero common sense.¡± I sighed, turning to face her. ¡°If I send you home, how likely you get killed?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t quite work that way,¡± she said.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Mund is a plethora of locations, where I come from. But one corner of what Mother called the Labyrinth, which is itself, from what I¡¯m told, but one corner of Hubbub.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ never left this Labyrinth? How old are you?¡±


    ¡°Approximately six hundred years ago, as you would reckon it, I came into my name. No¡­ no, I never left.¡±


    I almost revoked her invisibility, just to take a look at the expression on her face.


    ¡°Do not mistake me, Master,¡± she went on. ¡°Transit to Infernum is a means of escape from your plane. One cannot just be found. One must be petitioned¡­ summoned. A creature might enter the hells to become lost; never to be found. And even were I to be discovered by your enemies ¨C I would not suffer their continued existence.¡±


    ¡°What will you do over there?¡±


    ¡°Create anew my court. Rebuild my power. I have hosts to set at your command, if you would inspect your new armies?¡±


    I hadn¡¯t even been thinking about her troops. ¡°Not right now.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your intention to go on alone, Master?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Then I will await your call. Farewell, for now.¡±


    Feeling grateful for her understanding, I dismissed her and reduced my speed a little.


    I had one place left to go. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got there¡­ what I was going to say¡­ even how I¡¯d arrange my face. Guilt? Pity? Or just let the nervousness take hold, warp my features into a quivering mess? I knew only that to not go¡­ that would be worse. Infinitely, indescribably worse. For all the encounters into which I¡¯d flung myself today, this was the one that worried me most.


    While I flew south-west, I went over all the various approaches in my mind. How many times would I knock before someone answered? Would they even answer the door at all if they knew it was me outside? I tried imagining the different expressions they would wear. Linn¡¯s quiet rage, the impassive, stern shell quickly breaking to pieces, revealing the animal caged within. Atar¡¯s despair, sorrow and accusation mingled in her once-tender gaze¡­ What sweet melancholia there must¡¯ve been in her music these days ¨C what dark figures might Linn have been carving in the sun-room¡­


    If they even played, even carved, anymore¡­


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± someone below cried. ¡°Hail! Hail Feychilde!¡±


    I glanced down at the broken Oldtown streets but I couldn¡¯t even identify whereabouts my fans were ¨C the place was teeming with crowds of the newly-homeless. Soon dozens, maybe even hundreds of people were calling my name. I gave my arm the correct instruction but, of course, dumb distracted instinct directed the command to the wrong limb. My glowing fingers went swishing, and I was probably out of their line of sight by the time I managed an actual visible wave.


    I added a little more elevation, and a little more ascended ancient. I couldn¡¯t listen to accolades or requests for help. Not right now. Not when I had this in front of me.


    As to what I could bring myself to say when I arrived: I at least had to apologise. That much was obvious. It wasn¡¯t like I actually felt responsible for her death; that burden had landed squarely on the Magisterium¡¯s shoulders, and I felt confident I¡¯d be confronting one of their officials soon-enough. They¡¯d lied to her and bought her loyalty, sending her away to die on distant sands ¨C fulfilling every one of my darkest suspicions about their recklessness, their endemic lack of honour when it came to how they treated those in their employ.


    No, it was beyond my power to apologise for her death. But the terrible way I¡¯d treated them when everything came to a head, that awful night¡­ I still remembered the blow I struck the older man, when all he was doing was reacting to a heretic who made his beloved daughter cry. For all the death I¡¯d caused, it was probably the most evil act I¡¯d ever committed. I had leveraged my inherent advantages, punching him with augmented muscles, and it always felt like I¡¯d used a weapon to wound an unarmed man ¨C something I¡¯d never stooped to, even in my illicit past. Like hitting a child. I had little doubt that in a fair fight the gruff Linn would¡¯ve given me a sound thrashing, and it embarrassed me to think that I¡¯d used my magic to take out my frustrations on a confused, emotional father. Especially given that he was thinking I¡¯d somehow injured his treasured Emrelet.


    The drink. The vampire. The stress. The battle-conditioning. I had a whole bunch of excuses. And not one of them excused me.


    If they wanted to blame me for her death as well¡­ if they saw some way for the fault to be mine, some link between our failed relationship and her choice to go abroad with work¡­ fine. I¡¯d take it, if they¡¯d give it to me. Better the burden on me than them.


    I¡¯d barely known her, after all.


    I passed over the river. I could see to my left that the Greybridge had been torn completely loose by the demons, in what had to be the first time in living memory. The two ends still clung to either riverbank, ripped-apart planks protruding a few yards at most over the surface of the water. Yet for all the scenes of mayhem and carnage, there were signs of continuation. The inevitable rebuilding. Recovery, sponsored by our magic-wielding overlords. Even now I could pick out the Greybridge itself in the distance, a section of the long span drawn up onto a shingle by water-wizards; a platoon of magisters were already taking it apart, presumably preparing the materials for transport and reconstruction. And the town-criers would lather them in commendations, the people singing their praises for thinking of Rivertown, making the repair of this vital link a priority, even on the heels of the Bells.


    Profit ¨C the swift resumption of Hightown trade ¨C the lining of the lords¡¯ pockets¡­ the extent to which these factors influenced the decision to repair the bridge would be forgotten. Not that the people were stupid. They knew. But they would forget all the same. It was easier to live in the world, that way. Easier to see good than evil. Easier to sit there complacently as the rulers of the Realm of Mund went on about their malevolent business-interests, indifferent to the woes of mortal-kind. The trials and tribulations of those whose very homes had been destroyed. Those who would have nothing for weeks or months while the Magisterium machine went on whirring, fixing breakfast for the rich and the powerful.


    It had been easier, before Telior. Before leaving. Now, I hadn¡¯t just witnessed evil. I¡¯d seen it from the inside. I¡¯d been a lord, of sorts. I¡¯d worn the crown that made me the mightiest creature in existence. And the marks of those changes were not easily scrubbed clean. I found my complacency lacking. It was with some difficulty that I resettled my thoughts. There was a significant part of me that was glad, satisfied that Tanra took her knives to the Arrealbord. Their numbers would be restocked within days, of course ¨C the gods alone could imagine how many potential heirs were about to start squabbling over the thrones of the Lords and Ladies of the Realm. It meant little that they¡¯d all been executed without trial or mercy ¨C but that little was something. If it made the new First Lady or Lord a bit nervous when they claimed their lofty seat ¨C all the better.


    Nervousness. It was something I understood well.


    I spotted the house. I¡¯d seen it from the air so many times, I couldn¡¯t unrecognise it. Couldn¡¯t shirk my responsibility that way.


    I floated there, staring down at it. The street had hardly changed, and was one of the lucky ones to emerge unscathed from the Incursion. The four thin trees lining the narrow roadway had blossomed, looking far fuller than I¡¯d seen them before. The one right opposite Emrelet¡¯s house had burst forth into gorgeous soft pinks that seemed to have drank in the last rays of the sunset. I never even knew it was capable of such a glorious bloom.


    Didn¡¯t know her long enough. Didn¡¯t know her at all.


    A million memories accosted me, and, after a few seconds enduring throes of emotion I¡¯d kept covered up, hidden inside myself for so long ¨C I couldn¡¯t help but shut them away again, push them back down and laugh.


    At myself. At this world. At the dragon who thought she¡¯d gotten away with it all.


    ¡°Oh, Tyr Kayn,¡± I said softly into the early-night breeze. ¡°So many of us have bones to pick with you. So many will turn up to slaughter you, we¡¯ll have to form a queue. But we won¡¯t. We¡¯ll pile on you, a carving knife in every fist.


    ¡°Are you listening?¡±


    I spent another minute or two up there, ostensibly keeping my ears open for a hiss, a reply seething along with the wind.


    Steeling myself. Breathing deeply.


    The dragon¡¯s response was unforthcoming, as I knew it would be.


    Enough wasting time. Go. Go now.


    Compelling myself, I sank down towards the street, the houses gradually looming larger and larger beneath my feet.


    I looked for lights in the windows. There were none.


    Half the city¡¯s too afraid to light lights, still. No one wants to draw half the demonic stragglers in their areas right up to their front doors, do they?


    Linn and Atar will be hiding ¨C in the pantry, probably. Yes. I¡¯ll check there first, if they won¡¯t answer.


    Or maybe they¡¯re used to all this by now. Maybe they¡¯re in bed.


    The idea that they were dead barely cast a shadow over my mind. The gods couldn¡¯t allow that. Could they?


    I landed just outside the door, and made myself corporeal. If he wanted to take a free hit, or several, he could take his best shots. I could always find healing. It wasn¡¯t like he¡¯d be able to do more harm than the other things I¡¯d been attacked by. And if he did ¨C if he used a weapon, or got a lucky shot that knocked me out clean¡­ well, we¡¯d deal with that when it came to it.


    I felt more confident now. I knocked, hard and loud.


    ¡°Mr. and Mrs. Reyd,¡± I called.


    It was hardly silent. The wind whistled across the rooftops, and, in the distance, there was the pervasive sound of bedlam: pitiful weeping, grief-filled yells, the clatter of wood and rumble of bricks¡­ But this neighbourhood and the streets surrounding it had been spared. Here, at least, there was what passed for silence.


    No answer.


    I knocked again. I no longer had satyr-strength (or my right arm) so I was limited in terms of just how hard and loud I could knock. I settled for adding gremlin-booms with each rap of my knuckles.


    Probably a better idea anyway. Purely cosmetic this way. It wouldn¡¯t damage the door.


    ¡°Mr. Reyd. Mrs. Reyd. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s Kas. Feychilde.¡±


    I knocked one more time, then leaned against the door.


    ¡°I¡¯ve returned. I¡­ I¡¯ve come to a¡­ apologise.¡±


    I thought I¡¯d just saunter inside if they didn¡¯t answer, use the ancients¡¯ powers to slide through their walls and floors, find them and reassure them it wasn¡¯t a demon come calling. Just me. But now that the moment was here, I found myself lacking. What if, to them, my reappearance was worse than that of a demon? How could I intrude on their privacy, especially after everything that¡¯d happened tonight?


    It was hardly something I could justify. There was no peril, no imminent loss of life. Barging in for no reason, I would be committing a crime, wouldn¡¯t I?


    Of course I would. Of course¡­


    Suddenly I had the sensation I was being watched. There was no eldritch trigger, no special capabilities at work. Nothing more than good old human intuition.


    Yet I felt it, keenly, and sheer instinct forced a shield to extrude from my palm, slowly enveloping me.


    My eyes searched the shadows, up and down the street.


    There was a shadow within the shadow, there, by the pink-blossomed tree ¨C


    ¡°Feychilde?¡±


    The yell almost shook me out of my skin.


    Not from behind me ¨C not Atar or Linn. No ¨C it was their neighbour.


    A man in his forties or fifties, his curly head of hair hanging out of an upstairs window, the shutter-latch in his hand.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s me.¡± I did my best to smile up at him. I suddenly felt naked without my mask ¨C would my pained eyes give the lie to my lips? ¡°I was, erm ¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve come back! The ¨C the Incursion! Did you¡­? Did¡­?¡±


    He left the question hanging, if he really had one hiding there at all.


    ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± I said, aiming at what I suspected to be his chief concern. ¡°Probably less demons in the city right now than any given day. Definitely safe to relax. Sleep. You can¡­ erm¡­ Anything else you need to do, I¡¯d leave till morning. It¡¯s chaos out there.¡±


    Anyone you need to check is still living and breathing¡­


    Who was I kidding? For many, sleep would be impossible tonight. For many nights to come.


    ¡°But they said ¨C I mean, that v-v-voice. And th-the criers¡­ You were gone!¡±


    ¡°Not anymore. I guess¡­¡± Suddenly my smile felt real. ¡°I guess they were wrong.¡±


    I saw his face contort as he was trying to absorb what he was hearing, then he just started bawling.


    ¡°Th-thank you! Oh, thank you! Th¡­ Liberator! Liberator! You¡¯re back! You came to save us! Yune be praised!¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Definitely Yune¡¯s work. She helped me, more than once. But I¡¯m not gonna take credit for Ironvine¡¯s kills. It¡¯s her that finished them. The big baddies.¡±


    ¡°Ironvine¡­ Oh yes, oh yes, the wizard! She¡¯s ¨C but, ¡®corse, you won¡¯t know her, will you? She¡¯s good, is she?¡±


    ¡°Great. Almost as good as¡­¡±


    I couldn¡¯t quite bring myself to say it ¨C I thought about saying Shadowcloud instead, but I didn¡¯t get the chance.


    ¡°Stormsword!¡± the man cried, as though I needed help remembering the name. ¡°Yeah, the criers didn¡¯t know about it but we heard, we heard just before that Incursion when you¡­ when we went. You, and Stormsword! You killed that thing together, in Hightown! Did she¡­ Was she sent away with you?¡±


    I spent a few moments doing my best to think of nothing in particular, staring at the corner of the neighbour¡¯s roof, blurring the stars beyond¡­


    Why, Em? Why did you die?


    The man seemed to realise why I¡¯d failed to finish my sentence earlier, because when he spoke again it was in tones of hushed reverence:


    ¡°Oh, oh Feychilde ¨C I¡¯m sorry. The m-magister, who lived here¡­¡± His glance fell on the Reyds¡¯ house before me. ¡°So she really was Stormsword¡­¡±


    I gave a dry chuckle, tears in my eyes once more. ¡°You all knew, eh?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ there were always whispers. So¡­ That¡¯s why you¡¯re here? To¡­¡±


    His voice fell away.


    ¡°Express my condolences? Yeah, I guess. That¡­ that kind of thing. Do you know ¨C are the Reyds not about? Or¡­?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯ve gone.¡±


    ¡°Gone?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, ¡®tween one night and the next. Gotta be, ooh, over a month at least now since. Once word got to ¡¯em, I imagine.¡±


    I clenched my fist.


    ¡°And do you know where they went?¡± His blank expression answered the question and I quickly pressed another: ¡°No one else lives here now?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Figured at first they was on holiday, and paid up their rent good to keep it vacant. But then I found out about their daughter¡­ I dunno, Feychilde. Maybe the owners just can¡¯t find the right renters. Lotta scum about. This street¡¯s always been nice. They always kept it nice, you know what I mean?¡±


    I shrugged, nodding, not really listening.


    Gone.


    ¡°Where will you go now? Hey ¨C d¡¯ya want me to keep an ear open? I can ask about, like. If you ¨C¡±


    ¡°Nah.¡± I struggled to return my focus to the neighbour¡¯s face. ¡°No, thank you, I mean. It¡¯s fine. I ¨C I have people I can ask.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Oh. Of course you do. Here, listen to me, offerin¡¯ to find out things for a champion. Ah-ha! Wyrda¡¯s tongue!¡±


    I couldn¡¯t suppress the shudder that ran through me. I¡¯d only slept a couple of times since I left the people of Telior consigned to the ocean¡¯s salt-thirst mercies, and the worst of those nightmares, I suspected, were still ahead of me.


    ¡°Thanks, again.¡± I turned away, taking a couple of mundane steps out into the street, and heard the neighbour calling out excitedly to someone in the room with him.


    The shutter clattered closed. I was alone again.


    Or not. I still felt eyes on me; I still had the circle-shield formed, clinging to my fist.


    My gaze scoured the shadows once more and, with ever-increasing certainty, I stepped towards the pink-covered tree, intent on peering around the trunk. I summoned Blofm and joined with her, producing a momentary flash of green light under the eaves.


    My shield reacted to nothing. On the other side of the tree there were just shadows, stretching and shrinking over the cobbles as the wind gently bent the branches.


    I raised my eyes, taking in the other houses up and down the street. At least three or four shutters twitched.


    I guess I had an audience.


    Zel would¡¯ve counted them all up for me, eye by eye, ear by ear.


    ¡°Scouting for spies?¡± Blofm enquired. ¡°And who¡¯s Zel?¡±


    Sleep, Blofm. Master¡¯s busy.


    Dismissing my paranoia along with my goblin interlocutor, I tapped the elf-ghosts, rising up into the air.


    I guess that¡¯s it, then.


    Why did it feel like I¡¯d lost something more? Like there was one more thing on my list to do?


    Her parents. Like my own.


    Gone.


    Just¡­ gone.

 Never Go Back

    PART FOUR: MASTER


    <h2>PROLOGUE 4: NEVER GO BACK</h2>


    ¡°He was such an idiot! Try to hold onto reality? Oh dearie, I said to him. If you have to try holding onto it, that¡¯s not reality. Give up your place in the opinions of others. Let spiders live in your hair. There is no greater thing than a butterfly emerging from her chrysalis, finally shedding the dross of expectation, the existence doomed to crawl in unending hunger. My friend, what do you think the caterpillars say of her when she struggles forth and spreads her wings? Exactly. It matters not what they say in their crude speech. My friend, she can fly. He said he believed me, of course, but I didn¡¯t believe him. We¡¯ll see how he acts next time.¡±


    ¨C from the Secret Diary of Astra Venefich


    ¡°They¡¯re coming!¡± someone screamed over the link.


    Smoke billowed in through the gateway, and the creatures transported themselves in its black waves, sliding across the magicrux threshold as though the sorcerers¡¯ defences were nothing. Three of them, stepping down from the impenetrable mist and stalking calmly across the sacrosanct stones, smiles on their faces. They looked human, but even if she hadn¡¯t just watched them riding the smoke she would¡¯ve known them for the infernal entities they were in truth. The very sight of them made her sick to the stomach, made her want to curl up and die.


    Tialya levelled the wand in her right hand and spat the trigger-words, loosing blasts of screaming wind at them, dispersing the smoke. The instinct surprised her as much as it did the demons, and she found herself putting her other hand on her abdomen even as she struck, satiating other instincts which were even stronger.


    There were over two dozen magisters and magisters-in-training gathered in the courtyard, over half of them native to Mund; several would surely be veterans of Incursions the likes of which she still might¡¯ve struggled to imagine. Yet her wand was the first to fly up ¨C her will was the first to break the fiends¡¯ nightmare-spell, her blasts the first to strike them back.


    She¡¯d been in one Incursion. The Disaster of Treetown Gate, they¡¯d called it in the report. Rated at eight-point-one. She¡¯d seen people she knew, acquaintances and colleagues, swallowed whole by vast chasm-maws filled with tendrils and teeth. She¡¯d fought the blade-demons when they broke the barricade. And, just maybe due to her pregnancy, she found herself capable once more. Capable of combat. She wasn¡¯t stupid-enough to put herself on the front lines, of course, not until she¡¯d given birth ¨C but when the demons came to her place of work, darkening the sky and seeking the lives of the city¡¯s protectors? Her life? Her baby¡¯s?


    She snarled out the second incantation before some of her peers had even managed their first. The trio of demons fell to a hail of fire and lightning, their forms becoming those of hags as they toppled, glistening ichor pouring from them, staining the grey walls.


    ¡°Get the damn shields back up!¡± roared a female voice. The authoritative tone was undercut by the sheer terror the speaker was clearly feeling.


    Sorcerers skittered forward but Tialya knew it was too late for such half-measures. A wizard on the battlements across from her had been helping out by hurling frost-bolts down into the court; he suddenly started screaming, and she whipped her eyes up just in time to see as a single unimaginably-long, slender finger settled about his throat ¨C then he was pulled backwards off the wall between the crenellations, flung down to the ground outside. It was a thirty-foot drop, but Tialya had little doubt the fall would be the last thing the poor man had to worry about right now. How many devouring-demons were right outside the magicrux? How many would come through the gate, through the walls? How many would come up through the stones beneath her feet? How many over the walls, winged beasts and walkers on invisible webs?


    Her eyes found Moav¡¯s face even as the next wave of demons came rushing in. Her best friend was standing near the southern edge of the courtyard in front of the dormitories; he wasn¡¯t looking her way, his glare trained on the smoke, the tip of his wand swaying with his gaze. He was pale and shaking, but his front teeth were pressed into his lower lip ¨C his expression of determination. She¡¯d mimicked it once in jest, and he¡¯d said she was accusing him of looking like a rat. In fact it was probably the time he looked cutest, but she wasn¡¯t about to tell him that, of course.


    Maybe if they survived.


    So many cowards had fled following Yearsend, but to her and Moav the events surrounding the festive period had been a transformative experience. She¡¯d been sitting with him on his balcony when Everseer spoke to the city, and, at least for the two of them, her words had the opposite of the intended effect. At the time they were still riding the high of their Incursion survival and the tryst that¡¯d occurred between them in the wreckage. She could only really speak for herself, but given his responses she guessed they both felt the same way ¨C the same excitement.


    They were going nowhere.


    ¡°Victory is an enthralling drug,¡± he¡¯d mused after the third glass of wine, words that¡¯d stuck with her. It turned out later he was misquoting a passage from a sermon given by the priesthood of Illodin, but that hadn¡¯t lessened the phrase¡¯s impact.


    She snapped back to reality ¨C


    ¡°Offer guidance!¡± That was the mind-voice of Sentinel Greensmith, one of the trainers, and his assertiveness hadn¡¯t lessened one jot. ¡°If you are a second-category diviner, plumb the future-lines at once!¡±


    Give me another taste of victory, please, Tialya prayed, turning her back on the hell-stained court and entering the nearest door. It was the lesser guardhouse, in which suspect interviews were conducted at less-trying times. Dorel and two other trained diviners were hurrying after her, so she held the door just for a moment to let them catch it, then rushed to the cabinet. Thankfully the round room at the base of the building was well-stocked with provisions. She wrested a handful of werethistle from the tray and crushed it in her palms, lifting them, releasing sparkling vapours which she inhaled deeply.


    ¡°Insafri, tinshalastor,¡± she said solemnly.


    She knew Illodin was the wrong god, that his sermon¡¯s wisdom was to be found in his rejection of victory as a goal to be sought after¡­ and she didn¡¯t care. Whichever god heard her prayers ¨C Ismethyl, Yune, Kultemeren ¨C even the dark gods ¨C she didn¡¯t care anymore. All she wanted was to live, and to win, and to feel the same feeling she¡¯d felt that last time, buried beneath the rubble, unharmed and uncaring of the future.


    She took one last deep draught and opened her hands, letting the crumbs fall between her fingers ¨C then she pressed her right hand against the table-edge to keep from falling. One of her fellows helped steady her with a hand on her left shoulder, but her own left hand went back to her baby-bump.


    I never took the wombworm because I didn¡¯t want to know, and now I know. Now I know!


    Potential life ¨C inside her. It made her come alive. It made her want and need again, as if she hadn¡¯t even known the meaning of desire, didn¡¯t know what it was to sense the desperate drive of necessity, until now.


    It¡¯s abandoning the future-lines, she thought in fever-pitch, abandoning them that brings actualisation!


    The trance had never come over her so quickly. Time itself greeted her as an old friend, taking her under its arm.


    Oh¡­ oh, Chraunator¡­


    Her colleague had released her, swept up in the throes of his own spell-casting, and Tialya toppled to the ground in a heap next to the cabinet. There was no prayer or spell that could protect her from the savage assault of second-sight this time. In a series of flashes she saw it all.


    Too much.


    Extracting relevancy from vision was an art-form to which she had slowly become accustomed and there was nothing, nothing in here that told her how to survive the Incursion. Only nightmares from beyond the chaos.


    Have I seen this before?


    The sense of recognition was strong. The boy¡¯s boot landing solidly against the side of the gravestone, the letters etched there unreadable at this angle. The same boy, clad now in what she recognised as Feychilde¡¯s garments, standing in the hallowed council chamber¡­ standing there and growing. The other champions failing to stop him.


    I have seen this!


    But there were some things she didn¡¯t recognise, some things she anticipated that had changed. Now he didn¡¯t reach for a flaming sword at his hip; he had no arm with which to do so. Now the antlers atop his head were smaller than she¡¯d expected and yet more fearsome ¨C at one point Tialya got the impression it was the glittering spokes of an onyx crown that she could see, exuding a repulsive aura, forcing even her third eye to blink and weep, turn aside in dismay.


    Where have ¨C when did I ¨C


    The trance broke as the wall caved in and she flung herself backwards, away from the shower of debris, away from the chaotic rending rumble that screamed of death.


    It made no difference, she saw, as the ceiling groaned and gave way. The last thing she witnessed was the black antlers pushing their way through the masonry, the beams above her tilting down. For a split second, before the stray timber struck her in the back of her head and sent her into the tranquil silence of unconsciousness, she thought it was Feychilde coming through the wall.


    But Feychilde is dead¡­


    Then there was only blackness.


    * * *


    When she came to it was like climbing out of the depths of the ocean, a mile-deep pit of drowning darkness. She found herself rising, hands clawing at nothingness in their desperate instinctual desire to bring her back, back to the light and the world of the living. Distant voices echoed down, swimming at her from above the surface.


    Clawing hands somehow found purchase in the nothingness and the light broke over her mind in waves as leaden eyelids began to flutter ¨C as she suddenly became aware of pain, the throbbing ache that strobed across the rear of her skull.


    ¡°Stay quiet, and still,¡± said a woman¡¯s voice. The tone of the strange, accentless voice wasn¡¯t exactly soothing, and Tialya tried to focus her eyes on the shadowy shape looming over her. ¡°At least another fifteen minutes. Preferably twelve hours, if it can be managed. The bleed on your brain was severe; the bone was easy to fix but the swelling less so.¡±


    Tialya felt fingers probing the back of her head, far more gentle than the voice.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the woman went on, as if confirming the answer to a question Tialya hadn¡¯t heard. ¡°The discomfort will increase, before it diminishes again. I¡¯m sorry.¡± She didn¡¯t sound sorry. ¡°I have to hold something back for the others.¡±


    The fingers were suddenly gone, the shadow turning aside and vanishing. Tialya reached up and gingerly touched her skull, then continued with more confidence as she realised she was fully-intact, the pain-level remaining steady no matter how thoroughly she scrutinised the druid¡¯s work.


    Then, in sudden halting horror, she reached down. The magic of anaesthesia had dulled her reflexes.


    She couldn¡¯t feel anything¡­


    Terrified fingertips found the bump, then swiftly she pressed her hand against it, almost too scared to voice her request.


    ¡°M-my baby?¡± she gasped.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine,¡± the druidess snapped from somewhere to her right, behind her. ¡°No talking, for the Five¡¯s sake. At least a few minutes!¡±


    A¡­ a boy?


    Tialya rolled her head to the right, following the direction her saviour had walked. She had to stifle her voice once again when she realised it was Glimmermere who¡¯d healed her, Imrye herself, a champion of renown who¡¯d been missing for months. The lost mask Tialya could understand, but the heretic garb? And the rag-clad druidess hadn¡¯t gone far. It took Tialya a minute or two to bring her surroundings into focus and, heretic or no, in that time the healer brought a corpse back to life. At least that was how it looked to her. The big man¡¯s torso was a red blur, his skin chalk white. Before Tialya could even identify his facial features the unmoving chest suddenly burst into life under Imrye¡¯s ministrations, rising and falling with deep-drawn breaths.


    They were in a healing-tent, soft birdsong rising above the babbling voices of chaplains and magisters. A dozen of her fellows occupied the beds scattered around her. It was only as she returned her gaze to the bed containing the big man that she realised it was Moav. His ochre robe was unrecognisable, torn in two up the middle and stained almost black with blood. The once-cheerful face was finally discernible; his eyes were closed and his breathing was restful, but she knew she would never forget this day for so long as she lived. He was changed in her mind forever instantly. She¡¯d never seen him so¡­ vulnerable.


    A boy.


    Her hand still on her bump, she ignored the quiet voices of the druids and priests, letting present reality melt away. Lying there with her neck at a funny angle, keeping Moav in her line of sight, she found herself coming to some decisions. It was the future she contended with ¨C the future, and the past.


    She wasn¡¯t in love with him ¨C that had always been the problem. He was her best friend, and she loved him ¨C of course she loved him, but there was a big difference between the two kinds of love, wasn¡¯t there? She¡¯d grown up expecting the man who swept her off her feet to, well, sweep her off her feet. In her imagination, the man she gave herself to would be a powerful, tall mage, silver-robed and rich, swooping down on a pesasus-drawn chariot to take her away from Mund, steal her off to his wide, exotic domains. Or if not both handsome and rich, at least one or the other. She never saw herself getting with someone so¡­ normal. She¡¯d shared an apartment with him for months, but never her bed. She now caught herself deeply regretting the way she¡¯d held him at arm¡¯s length all these weeks, extending the tension between them. It¡¯d always been obvious they were going to raise the child ¨C the boy ¨C together. One salary wouldn¡¯t be enough to support even a small family, but they could mirror their shifts so someone would always be home, and¡­


    He said it would work. Now that she was looking at him in this state she knew that it wouldn¡¯t. What if the tension between them burst the banks, spilling into some other canal? He wasn¡¯t entirely undesirable ¨C her responses in that timeless time beneath the rubble had confirmed that much, when they¡¯d been brought together by fate, pushed together in a moment of desperation. He was just unremarkable. But how remarkable was she, really? Tialya suspected she was painfully average. Would the silver-robed prince really want her when there were other, more attractive girls around to be scooped up and swept away? Girls without a child, without that added complication? What if another woman came along and took Moav? Another woman more remarkable than her? What if she wanted him the way she wanted him in the secret hours of the night?


    The way she¡¯d wanted him after ¨C during ¨C the Battle of Treetown Gate¡­


    The way she wanted him now.


    ¡°Stop twisting around like that,¡± Imrye said curtly, walking by again on her way to the tent-flap. ¡°He means something to you?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Tialya replied, rasping.


    ¡°Stop talking.¡±


    ¡°But y-you ¨C¡±


    ¡°It was rhetorical. You want my advice?¡±


    Tialya moved her gaze to meet that of the archmage, looking up into the gaunt, grim face of the black-skinned druidess. The famous seaweed-coloured hair framed the elfin face, hanging in tousled locks that Tialya couldn¡¯t help but envy.


    ¡°Healing puts things into perspective. Don¡¯t think things through too much. I loved a man once, and I said nothing. It was only when he was dying that I realised the truth. Sometimes you should just act.¡±


    With that the striking woman turned and stalked through the exit.


    Awed stares followed her; Tialya caught most of the people in the tent gazing at the flaps as they fell back into place.


    She lowered her head back onto the pillow and closed her eyes, once more caressing her bump through the soft fabric of her robe.


    Just act.


    * * *


    Dawn broke before she had chance to catch some shut-eye, and she did so in a corner of the barracks with four other exhausted magisters-to-be, having been dropped off on a creature known as a yithandreng. She only got a few hours ¨C the sun wasn¡¯t yet high in the sky when she arose, shuddering out of her sleep, dark dreams already fading. The captain sent her with a team to an area known as Sigrand¡¯s Rise, and she spent most of the remainder of the morning executing pointless divinations, rituals that burnt out within minutes of her completing the triggering-incantations. Other than a meaningless vision of the giant marble angel, which she kept to herself out of spite, the trance brought her nothing but the same sights and sounds of misery that were already all about her.


    If they aren¡¯t even going to tell me what I¡¯m looking for¡­ why should I tell them what I found?


    The rumours were spreading like stickfire. Imyre wasn¡¯t the only champion to have come out of hiding ¨C Winterprince was back, along with Shallowlie and Netherhame, Fangmoon and Dimdweller¡­ perhaps more. Many others had perished. Dozens of heretics had been spotted, moving openly about the city. The infamous Nightfell had seemingly somehow revealed herself as both Killstop and Everseer, whispers reporting two Nightfells. Not one such sighting was officially confirmed. Not one report was denied, either. Even Tialya¡¯s superiors seemed to find it hard to maintain their discipline, descending into their own frenzied whispering whenever they thought they were out of earshot of the rank-and-file.


    Mistress Henthae spoke to the city, using that fancy piece of Maginox apparatus to transmit her voice to every nook and cranny of Mund, but her words served to settle no one, nothing. In the aftermath, the most chilling part was the rumour that Feychilde was back amongst them. The boy-sorcerer himself, returned from death or eternal exile or whatever the exact fate of heretic archmages happened to be. And no one was expressing any doubts. His reappearance seemed to be taken by all as a simple matter of fact.


    ¡°Monster!¡± she overheard one of the elder seeresses saying. ¡°He¡¯s what? Using the demons he gained from the Incursion, to curry favour with the people?¡±


    ¡°He deserves whatever¡¯s coming to him. Took Mr. Valorin¡¯s hands, in single-combat, and laughed like it was a joke!¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t the worst.¡± Tialya was forced to loiter just on the edge of her ability to hear, the perception-spells currently enhancing her senses pushed to their limits. ¡°He massacred all of Ardiko¡¯s cohort. Twelve bands, taken down in seconds.¡±


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    ¡°No, no!¡± hissed another, louder. ¡°It wasn¡¯t him. It was his demon-women, the eolastyr. I heard he has three of them, and they¡¯re only too eager to shed blood for him.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t until mid-afternoon that she ran into Moav back at the base. They were granted permission to take lunch together. Nothing fancy ¨C cheese and pickles with a lump of bread, and a single cup of watered-down wine ¨C but it was the first time since the Mourning Bells started up that she¡¯d had a moment just to sit and think. The benches lining the courtyard had been split and splintered by the demon attack, so they walked a little ways outside the compound, finding a patch of grass unwithered by the Incursion¡¯s flames.


    Even Moav had been stricken silent by the ferocity of the previous night¡¯s assault. She knew he knew all the rumours too, and that he¡¯d bottle it all up for her benefit. She needed the silence. She needed the space. And he understood.


    They munched and slurped. She found her eyes being drawn to the toppled street just fifty yards away. The dispossessed had gathered in a crowd at the edge of the rubble, discussing something heatedly, gesticulating with increasing agitation.


    ¡°Less destruction here than most places,¡± she said at last. Her voice sounded tiny, tinny to her own ears. She instantly regretted speaking.


    ¡°Thanks to the giant target we made,¡± Moav replied, jerking his head backwards as if to indicate the blackened magicrux walls looming behind them. ¡°Heard every one of us got attacked. It was like they wanted to bottle us up, keep us trapped while they had their little party.¡±


    He seemed to sense her withdrawal and reciprocated, falling silent again immediately.


    The argument at the edge of the rubble suddenly became violent, two dust-coated men going at each other with their fists while observers pulled them away from each other.


    Tialya lowered her head and sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking.¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer, and when she eventually glanced at him he too was staring at the grass. Her words had caused him to pale; he was clearly uncomfortable with the heat, and tired beyond belief just like her.


    ¡°I think we both made the same mistake,¡± she said.


    ¡°No, please,¡± he whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ I know the Incursion¡¯s too much, and they want you to go home, but I ¨C¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡± She looked into his pleading face and couldn¡¯t help but smile, true happiness coming over her despite the chaos all around her. Her decision was made. ¡°I completely forgot about that letter. No, Movaine. I¡¯m not going back there ¨C¡±


    ¡°But our baby ¨C¡±


    She put her hand on his.


    ¡°That isn¡¯t my home anymore,¡± Tialya went on, her voice firmer now. ¡°This is. But it doesn¡¯t have to be. I want to find a new home. I shouldn¡¯t have stayed, Moav. I should¡¯ve joined the exodus months ago. And I am leaving. With our boy.¡±


    His face. He still didn¡¯t get it. It almost made her laugh.


    ¡°But if you come with me, I will marry you. I¡¯ll be Mrs. Idelmas. If you¡¯ll have me.¡±


    She felt the blush crawling up her ears, spreading outwards from her cheeks.


    Then he smiled. He laughed, and she found herself laughing with him.


    When he didn¡¯t kiss her she immediately leaned in to kiss him, and, beyond her knowledge, in the fastness of fate where only the gods and their chosen few might tread, the future-lines of Tialya Grover locked into place.


    * * *


    She knew when she reached the barracks that she should never have gone back. She should¡¯ve abandoned her satchel, her day-to-day belongings. What started as a pinprick of warning at the back of her mind became full-blown premonition as she swung open the door. Tialya turned on her heel before she even looked up, not letting it close behind her but spinning on the threshold and striding right back out again. She¡¯d told Moav to give her five minutes, to meet her just beyond the gates and they¡¯d be out of the nightmare, absconding together like the boy and girl out of a children¡¯s story ¨C


    ¡°Her. That one.¡±


    The voice of Mistress Henthae cracked like a whip, and Tialya could already sense the eyes turning to her, affixing themselves to the rear of her head even as the door closed again, cutting off the stares.


    Sheepishly, she pushed the door open once more and took a half-step back inside the room.


    She could hardly just run.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±


    Now she caught a glimpse of her, the Head of Special Investigations herself, standing in the midst of several captains she didn¡¯t recognise. The older lady was hale and haughty of expression up close, with keen blue eyes unrimmed by age or weariness. She dressed like a younger woman in a short-sleeved summer robe, exposing surprisingly-toned arms dripping in bracelets.


    A beringed finger was pointing right at Tialya.


    ¡°You have something I want. Come with me. It appears I need to inspect your head rather closely, once again, Miss Grover.¡±


    Who was Tialya to refuse? She stepped inside. The door closed with a clang.


    ¡°Keeping secrets, are we?¡± the enchantress crooned. ¡°Oh my. And¡­ ah¡­ running away, indeed. No, we can¡¯t have that. There¡¯s been enough desertion in the last twelve hours to account for the next twelve years. You don¡¯t want to raise some treacherous get in a hovel out there, do you? Make him crawl in the mud with the rest of your filthy brood? No. No, of course not. You want to raise civilised children.¡± Henthae placed her fingertips on her own forehead briefly, as if to dispel some of the strain she was clearly feeling. ¡°Let¡¯s just remember our oaths, shall we all?¡±


    Tialya saw the captains nodding along with her. It was nice, to be so at home with her superiors like this. They were all so welcoming.


    As they headed out of the barracks and the captains gathered their companies Tialya realised why she didn¡¯t recognise any of them. Half the magisters in the courtyard weren¡¯t even from Mund. The markings on their robes were slightly different, the Magisterium symbol often displayed on the arm in addition to the chest. They formed up in a column before marching out of the gate. Someone said there were thirty bands, and there were four or five obvious archmages soaring above the host as they headed out into the streets.


    Moav felt into line beside her. Her best friend was wearing an oafish expression.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he hissed at her as they trod the broken paving-slabs leading down to the street. ¡°Who are all these other magisters?¡±


    The older man in front of them, clad in sorcerer-purple, span his head about to regard the pair of them severely. His dark glowering eyes and pale olive complexion bespoke an Amranian heritage. They dropped their eyes until he turned back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that,¡± she whispered to Moav fiercely. ¡°Mistress Henthae needs us.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Moav¡¯s face contorted as though he wrestled with some dreadful conundrum. ¡°I thought we were leaving.¡±


    She laughed lightly, putting her fingers on his arm. ¡°We just did, silly. Come on, keep up!¡±


    Like usual he mistook the gesture, trying to make it more than she¡¯d meant. Even as he hurried along to stay in line his eyes fell to the part of his forearm she¡¯d touched and once more she rued her own actions. She had to remember to stop leading him on like that. He¡¯d be expecting more of her, holding hands and intimate kisses, just like earlier at lunch, when the stress and overexertion had gotten to her. He was a lovely guy, a true friend who¡¯d make for a decent father ¨C even a great one, with some practice, she was sure ¨C but beyond that?


    It wasn¡¯t like she was in love with him, was it? It was preposterous.


    Tialya soon forgot all about her banal trials and tribulations, Moav¡¯s childish infatuations, as Mistress Henthae¡¯s voice began filling her mind. Tialya¡¯s jaw clenched, and her hands went to the pockets of her robe, checking for her backup wand and finding it at her right hip.


    ¡°You are designated Cohort Five. You will deploy to Knuckle Market in Sticktown and await the call. You will not permit any warning of your true task to come to our quarry. Busy yourselves with recovery operations. When called upon, you will converge on the primary target, the renegade Kastyr Mortenn of Helbert¡¯s Bend, formerly masquerading as a champion, Feychilde. This is our most-recent image of him.¡± It was a flickering view of him from beneath, the edges of his dark-hued robe just about discernible against a black-storm sky. She noted with interest that he appeared to have lost his right arm. His mask glinted on his upper face, its aspect viler than she remembered. ¡°Further instructions to follow in due course. Check-ins will be hourly. And, please, trust me in this: he is not as dangerous as you have heard. You will be quite safe. Take heart!¡°


    As Henthae¡¯s telepathic voice fell silent the image of Feychilde was replaced by one of Kastyr, the boy behind the mask, garbed in the same dark greens, greys, purples.


    Is Feychilde really so young? she wondered, feeling discombobulated all of a sudden. He was tall, and rather battered-looking with the broken nose and scarred cheek, granted ¨C but his youth was evident in the crystal-clear green eyes, the smoothness of his stubbly skin.


    So young¡­


    Then her heart hardened, and she actually emitted a light groan. Mental channels were flooded by sensory information she couldn¡¯t account for. Not images. Not sounds. Emotion.


    Many of her comrades marching about her voiced the same moans and groans, grunts and snarls, and as one they all picked up the pace, striding now with renewed purpose.


    Thank you, Mistress Henthae, Tialya thought in hallowed tones. Everything was suddenly so much easier now, and she felt it as a kind of smile-frown enveloped her face, a feral grimace of battle-hunger.


    Heretic. Magister-slayer. Demon-slave.


    We¡¯ll take you in, send you back.


    Or kill you in the attempt.


    * * *


    It was eerie. Sticktown was strangely quiet, the residents keeping clear of them rather than coming forward. There was no wailing or begging for help to be found here. Tialya knew from the news that the whole district had been fraught with acts of open rebellion and that hidden tensions with the watch were rife, but the extent of the mistrust staggered her. When they arrived in Lord¡¯s Knuckle, things looked far neater than she¡¯d been expecting. A full half of the toppled buildings had been cleared, and no scrying spell had found a body in the rubble, living or dead.


    ¡°This¡¯ll be Feychilde¡¯s doing,¡± one of the captains said in a distinct Hightown accent when Tialya and some other hand-picked diviners gave their reports, his face black in anger. ¡°Taking the corpses for some necromantic army, no doubt.¡±


    The captain turned aside to an enchanter, requesting a link with Mistress Henthae, whose personal attentions had been required for the creation of more cohorts. Tialya clamped her mouth shut but as easy as it was to keep from voicing them, it was much more of a struggle to silence the doubts themselves, echoing within the vaults of her mind. She hadn¡¯t seen any evidence presented by the sorcerers of necrotic energies in the area; there were no glimpses of undead civilians in her trance-visions. She saw plenty of demons, but those she witnessed seemed to have been, incredibly, helping the able-bodied to free the Incursion¡¯s worst-off victims from the traps in which they¡¯d found themselves. It seemed the rumours about Feychilde were true, whatever his hidden, nefarious purpose might¡¯ve been.


    I¡¯m confused. She told it to herself, a conclusion rather than a starting-point. I¡¯m just confused. He was probably letting his hordes feed on the trapped, the dead and the dying. Yes. Yes, that¡¯s it.


    Knuckle Market, when they finally arrived, was one of the most-abandoned areas she¡¯d yet seen. There was no one to be seen here, except a trio of young boys on the far side who welcomed the host of magisters by lobbing a few stones. After a minute a single band was engaged to disperse them and the street-rats immediately slinked away into their filth-choked alleys.


    What is the world coming to? she thought, surprising herself with her sternness. She stood there on the edge of the wasteland watching the sun continue its halting descent, the intensity of the day¡¯s heat barely seeming to lessen. Blue skies burned away to purple, the brilliant streaks of gold-red radiance bleeding out to bruise the heavens. Her left hand was again busying itself with her bump whilst the other gripped a fireball-wand. She¡¯d kept away from the others since her arrival, even Moav, and he seemed to want to keep away from her too.


    A strange, fell mood had fallen over every last member of the cohort and she was part of the problem. There was nothing to do here ¨C the cohort¡¯s cover-story was supposed to be that they were assisting the relief-effort, but everything that could be done without the presence of a dedicated reconstruction crew had already been achieved before they¡¯d arrived. Listlessness infected her and a kind of embarrassment seemed to creep over her flesh, coating her in a second skin ¨C a skin which sensed nothing but the imagined eyes of watchers in the buildings still standing about the perimeter of the levelled area.


    He seeks to humiliate the Magisterium. Such an affront will not be borne.


    But her mind¡¯s instinctive response sounded weaker this time, its protests failing to strike her doubts a mortal blow.


    Don¡¯t we deserve humiliation? What are we doing, standing here, waiting to go and kill a single man? A man who¡­ who¡­


    She looked around in the twilight, seeing the desolation with new eyes suddenly.


    What¡¯s happened to me? What¡­


    What is that?


    A pallid imp had appeared, winging its way across the open area. Its head was lowered, perhaps feigning exhaustion as a way to disguise an assault.


    She cried out, both verbally and mentally, at the exact same time as several others. The imp brought its little head up and it plainly saw the assemblage of armed magisters. Suddenly it swerved aside, dropping low to the ground as if in an attempt to avoid further notice and escape now its sneak attack had been foiled.


    The temerity of such creatures ¨C to gallivant around like this in the aftermath of the Incursion, seeking a few more drops of blood to sustain its presence¡­


    She was bitterly happy when a series of elemental attacks rained down on its location ¨C but as the smoke cleared she saw that it had somehow evaded the death-zone, flickering out to the edge of the buildings, soaring away.


    It didn¡¯t get to flee. A single careful finger of lightning reached down, forking just above it into several threads of white fire that each sought one of its wings. The arch-wizard responsible for its defeat descended towards it out of the sky. He was a young man with a mop of brown hair, by the looks of things a true Mundian and likely a noble-born one at that, going off his handsome, quarter- or eighth-elf blood features. He enveloped the demonoid in a swirl of invisible wind that kept it rotating, remaining appendages swinging about wildly. Twice it tried to teleport free, but in its disorientation it didn¡¯t get far; twice he swept it back up again, carting it off to the centre of the zone where the majority of the captains were stationed.


    Tialya didn¡¯t want to look desperate, like those who started sauntering towards the middle, the forced casualness of their motions laying naked their curiosity. No, she didn¡¯t need to head in to hear the interrogation that was sure to follow. She had everything to hand in her pouch. Powdered vampire-bat and a single waxy archadea leaf¡­


    She pierced the leaf with her fingernail before she even withdrew it from the pouch, moving it to her left hand. A single psuedo-Etheric incantation later, whispered for the sake of stealth, and she scattered a tiny pinch of the powder through the jagged hole she¡¯d made in it.


    When she dropped the leaf to the ground while facing the captains, her sensory powers in that direction were magnified a hundredfold.


    A sorcerer was moving slowly around the imp, holding out his hands and shifting them carefully as though he were unspooling lengths of some vast invisible fabric, nets in which to bind it. Little trails of sand fell from his fingers. Tialya could hear the Infernal barks, scratchy sounds coming from the sorcerer¡¯s throat. Meanwhile, a captain was interrogating it, thankfully in Mundic.


    ¡°¡­ do you mean, safe? Safe with him?¡± The female captain, a stranger to Tialya, wore a thin smirk on her lips.


    ¡°My Master will not countenance this discussion.¡± The imp¡¯s smile in response was ugly, a recalcitrant little leer. It exhibited no obvious signs of pain following the loss of its wings. ¡°Keep your spells. I am the Feychilde¡¯s, no matter how you seek to wound me or bind me. Ahhh, he will be disappointed in me¡­ but I am so tired¡­¡±


    It was a stupid deception, a demon trying to milk sympathy on account of its tiredness. The captain was having none of it. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°I am expressly forbidden from telling magisters his whereabouts,¡± the imp chortled, ¡°after last time.¡±


    ¡°Last time?¡± The captain was clearly starting to lose her patience, her eyes half-popping from her head in consternation. ¡°You mean you told a magister where he was?¡±


    ¡°Not I¡­¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°I know not its true name. The one who shall enter your legends as the Funnyfingers. It¡¯ll know more fame than you, I¡¯d warrant ¨C¡±


    ¡°I mean, the magister! Which magister was told Feychilde¡¯s location?¡±


    ¡°Let me see¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need their name. Male or female? Any distinctive markings?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°A ten-spoked wheel.¡± The imp laughed horribly, as if most-pleased with its puerile joke. ¡°Upon a mage¡¯s robe, too, if you can believe!¡±


    The captain turned her head to one side.


    ¡°Shred it.¡±


    The sorcerer snapped words of command, clapping his hands together.


    ¡°Praise Mekesta!¡± the demon squealed, its limbs contorting, pulling apart ¨C


    Then it was dissected, falling in pieces to the ground.


    ¡°Get me a link to Mistress Henthae,¡± the captain went on laconically. ¡°Someone¡¯s going to be in for a rough day if they¡¯ve been shielding information this pertinent from the sensors.¡±


    ¡°Traitors in our midst?¡± snarled the posh, permanently-angry captain at her side. His glowering eyes swept the cohort suddenly, lips fluttering with the opening phrases to a spell of insight Tialya recognised. Before his gaze could cross hers she hurriedly spun about, untethering her scrying.


    Slowly, hopefully without drawing any attention to herself, she started picking her way across the riven stones, the puddles of ash-choked mud. She was making her way towards Moav ¨C she didn¡¯t have the first clue what she actually wanted to say to him, but she was propelled along by deep intuitions that had somehow fallen into shadow. It was like she felt she needed him, the comfort of his nearness, even when the thought of taking such a submissive stance towards him and his unvoiced longings appalled her.


    She realised it for what it was before she reached him.


    Fear.


    What am I so afraid of?


    Bellows coming in over the general link intruded on her introspections, stopping her wandering feet in their tracks.


    ¡°Cohort Five! This is Captain Somerhil of Cohort Four. Crowd approaching your position from the east. Potential diversionary tactics. Our current strategy is to fall back and refuse engagement.¡±


    ¡°Stand down?¡± She recognised the frustrated highborn captain¡¯s mind-voice, his incredulity captured perfectly by the enchantment. ¡°A crowd of how many? Enough to surround us?¡±


    ¡°Uncertain, but likely. Several hundred¡­ stand by. Stand by.¡±


    There was no wind. In the still silence, Tialya heard nothing but distant yells, the screams of birds. No one even coughed. Looking about, she saw dozens and dozens of faces, each one blank as their attentions were turned inwards, each straining to ensure they caught the next words uttered by Captain Somerhil.


    ¡°Stand by¡­¡±


    A rat scurried across the ground not three feet from her, and Tialya automatically kicked a chunk of wood at it, then backed up a few steps. As she caught her balance she felt the eyes on her, and glanced back up to meet the critical stares of her nearest comrades. It wasn¡¯t accusation in their eyes, however. Just the same fear as had afflicted her.


    At least I didn¡¯t squeal.


    ¡°Current estimates suggest two thousand civilians,¡± Somerhil said at last, her voice taut. ¡°Some are armed. Seeking authorisation for the use of force.¡±


    ¡°Speak privately.¡± That was the measured voice of the female captain responsible for the interrogation of Feychilde¡¯s imp¡­ and it was also the last thing to be communicated over the general link. The buzzing feedback from the open channel dropped away as it closed. Almost instantly, every Magisterium agent in Knuckle Market started muttering.


    She went to resume her former course towards Moav, wanting the reassurance like everyone else ¨C to have someone she could mutter to, someone with whom to share her misgivings ¨C but before she managed two more steps the angry captain¡¯s snarl came screeching through:


    ¡°Miss Grover! I am reliably informed you are exceptionally skilful. I expect a full future-line reading for the cohort. Immediately!¡±


    ¡°Y-yes sir!¡±


    Exceptionally skilful?


    Dread spread through her stomach like concrete. She stopped dead.


    A full¡­ future-line reading¡­ for the whole cohort?


    That was arch-diviner level. Where would she even begin? The instincts that let her draw on the trance had abandoned her, and even were she back in the ensorcelled star-mist of the Lounges she¡¯d have struggled to achieve the feat he¡¯d asked of her.


    The whirling eddies of time eluded her grasp. There were too many here, too many currents affecting the flow ¨C


    ¡°Well?¡± the captain barked in her mind expectantly.


    ¡°Sir, I ¨C I ¨C¡±


    Captain Somerhil¡¯s voice overrode her waffling.


    ¡°This is Captain Somerhil of Cohort Four! Stand down, I confirm, stand down and surrender your arms to the leaders of the mob. We¡¯re under orders to comply with all reasonable requests, per code one-eighteen.¡±


    Confusion rippled through the assembled magisters.


    ¡°I repeat, this is not a drill. Stand down. I repeat ¨C¡±


    ¡°Ignore it.¡± Mistress Henthae¡¯s voice came through in deafening tones. ¡°That is not Captain Somerhil and ¨C¡±


    ¡°That is not Keliko Henthae, I am,¡± interrupted another Henthae, even more loudly. Tialya screwed her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her hands to the sides of her head. ¡°That was Captain Somerhil, and you are to stand down ¨C¡±


    ¡°You are listening, ladies and gentlemen, to the voice of Mr. Mortenn¡¯s pet, an arch-demon of some cunning.¡± The first Henthae was louder still and Tialya¡¯s head throbbed. As if from a distance she realised she was reeling, her body shuddering unnaturally.


    ¡°Out of character for you to admit it, but there we have it,¡± the second Henthae boomed. ¡°Stand down. Surrender to Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to it!¡± the first Henthae hissed. ¡°How are you doing this?¡±


    ¡°Too many weak links, Keliko.¡± Finally, the second voice was revealed as that of the demon. No mortal mind created such silky, insidious sounds. ¡°Stretching yourself, aren¡¯t you? Do you really think you can fight this war alone? That¡¯s how it¡¯ll end up, you know. You can¡¯t hold onto them all forever and then they¡¯ll see the real you. These poor fools in Cohort Five¡­ they don¡¯t know what they¡¯ve done killing Pinktongue. My Master is furious. That imp has saved more lives than any ten of your brave fools at Knuckle Market. Now my Master is coming, and a righteous host follows in his wake. Will you not spare these magisters their lives, Keliko? Will you truly not let them stand down? Will you drive your slaves before you into the very jaws of death?¡±


    It was only as the creature known as eolastyr fell silent that Tialya caught the echoes of Henthae¡¯s cries, shuddering back along warped walls from numerous, all-too-tenuous links:


    ¡°Converge! Converge! Knuckle Market! Converge!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you hope to achieve,¡± the eolastyr purred. ¡°But I can tell you this much: it¡¯s not going to work. It¡¯s my Master¡¯s time now. You are old, and a cretin, soon to die or at least be decommissioned for your crimes against your underlings. I am bade to tell you this: do not seek to sacrifice them in your stead. He only has eyes for you, Mistress. You are the main course and, while my Master hungers, he did not order a starter.¡± Her voice dropped, a flat sound, sharp and cold like a blade. ¡°Yet if one presents itself, I fear he shall tuck in regardless.¡±


    Whatever spell had been left writhing inside Tialya, twisting and turning her in knots both inside and out, it broke like an old shoelace under too much strain.


    She snapped back to sanity and within the lifespan of a glance she¡¯d found Moav¡¯s eyes across the wreckage.


    Leave¡­ Leave Mund!


    ¡°My Master nears!¡± the arch-demon wailed in an awful blend of triumph and holy terror, as though the wrath of Feychilde might be too dreadful for even such as she to behold. ¡°My Master ¨C¡±


    Her telepathic voice cut off suddenly, warbling, only adding to the panic that lanced right through Tialya and the crowd of elite mages. ¡®Elite mages¡¯ were what they were supposed to be, but right now a fair chunk of the people here were half-trained at best, and many others were foreign conscripts from who knew what part of the Realm, unused to Mund and its ways, without personal ties to its people, its fate.


    Half the magisters broke, and the links tethering their minds to the mass snapped like overextended spider¡¯s webs, the captains¡¯ futile final orders whistling at the back of her mind as they rebounded from scores of unwilling targets.


    She still felt it in her gut, the dread of the mind-control and the demon-fear, but when she put her reassuring left palm on her baby bump a wave of calm flooded through her. There was Moav, already bounding towards her with his weaponless hands raised, prepared to take her by her own, take her and run with her.


    His interest in athletics was small and actual participation was almost out of the question, but when he¡¯d been put to the test he¡¯d (just barely) passed all the fitness requirements for entry into the magistry programme. She¡¯d never actually seen him sprint before, but, to her at least, he¡¯d never looked more gallant.


    ¡°Coming?¡± he panted.


    ¡°Miss Grover¡­!¡± a tiny voice squealed petulantly over the link, falling away before she even had to try to erect a barrier in her mind.


    She took Moav¡¯s hand and smiled.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

 For Change

    <h2>PYRITE 10.1: FOR CHANGE</h2>


    ¡°My dear sister? The one they call the Architect of All Disappointment? She hath tried, blessed be her heart, and yet doth persist in dire need of her own ministrations. What hope hath Hope? She too will be disappointed in the end. I hath swelled strong in this cycle, while she retaineth barely the strength to hold firm her position. For all the Worship with which she is quite-rightly deluged as befits her station and stature, half of it is black, and she canst not forever deny the stains she doth endure. For what deity of hope doth not wring a morsel of Worship from the dark desire of the murderer, hoping to find his fondest victim in the posture of weakness? How doth she cleanse herself of the abuser¡¯s vileness? She doth not. She may not. She doth embody it. For these reasons and more I say: to our side in the conflict shall she turn. We need must only await the day, and see Hope itself die, to rise again amidst our ranks.¡±


    ¨C from ¡®The Yellow Signature¡¯, pg. 8


    At first I can understand everything. I¡¯m crawling up a street and it¡¯s raining. The mud and drop is in my nose, in my hair, under my nails. It¡¯s awful, but it makes sense. I can¡¯t see the apartment, not from down here, and the road is at least a hundred times longer than it ought to be, but at least I know where I am.


    Home.


    Then when I try to find out why I¡¯m crawling, it all changes. I¡¯m doing the same thing, dragging myself from nowhere to nothing, but the road isn¡¯t Mud Lane. It¡¯s another lane coated in mud. Another place entirely.


    I¡¯m lost, Zel. Can you find me? Can you come get me and take me away from this place? I think I took a wrong turn.


    I thought my foot was broken, but it isn¡¯t. It¡¯s gone. My legs ¨C the lower parts of them at least ¨C have vanished into the mud. I wriggle around to look for them but they¡¯re as long-gone as a tail. I¡¯m just a torso, hauling itself away from the scene of the crime.


    My left hand is going about its business as usual, sinking fingers into the muck, pulling the sludge a foot closer towards me for every inch I travel.


    The right hand¡­


    When I try to look where my right hand has gone I see the sheet of bone below the mud. It¡¯s huge and white, stretching off under the street, and as much as I try to recoil I¡¯m falling into it ¨C it¡¯s beneath the roads, beneath the houses. It¡¯s our foundation-bone. It¡¯s the firmament upon which everything we believe has been erected.


    The dragon¡¯s skull.


    A dwarf somersaults, glittering darkness pouring off him in waves, and I¡¯m gone. Far away. Wind whips at me. My robe cracks about me and the mud is water under my feet. Kirid and Orcan are here too. Watching, as Tanra tries to murder me for the crown.


    Watching as Tanra pulls me into her arms and kisses me. It is the tenderest kiss of my life. The touch of her lips on mine ¨C it reverberates back and forth along the line of my existence, rewriting all I¡¯ve ever known, all I¡¯ll ever come to know.


    On the beach behind Tanra a black wave washes back, receding, and one of the foreign corpses floating face-down flips over. The bloated body has changed. Emrelet isn¡¯t Emrelet. She¡¯s Abstraxia, her platinum hair pulled back, twisted into a long gleaming tail. The hair is still alive, slapping frantically at the surface of the water as if thereby to resurrect its bearer.


    I cringe, step back, yet when I pull away from Tanra it¡¯s Everseer, Everseer in my arms ¨C when I see the maniacal grin I scream, scream ¨C


    The dream broke, and, while I wasn¡¯t actually screaming when I came back to myself, I was drenched in sweat. It was a hot morning, even through the eldritches, and there was a right racket going on outside; I came fully awake in a single instant. I rolled off the cot then sat back on its edge, the circle-shield still bobbing about me reassuringly. I looked around, first shaking my head then pawing at my brows, trying to clear my vision of the long wet hairs clinging to my face.


    The little room Garet found me was still a work in progress, just about as welcoming as a penitent¡¯s cell. My mattress was hay. The blanket I¡¯d been given for a pillow was a ball of wool and frayed cloth. The window-frame let only a couple of slats of light through the shutters, it was so thin.


    Maybe I was a penitent, because it was welcoming-enough for me. I could¡¯ve stayed here all day, just lying back on the straw.


    When did I last have a proper lie down?


    Ah, that was it. When I sensed one of Malas¡¯s servants floating past my window. I wondered idly what might¡¯ve happened if I hadn¡¯t responded to that provocative act. What if I¡¯d sensed the ghost and shrugged it off? Went back to my book. Would I have been in a position to save Telior? Find purpose in Deymar¡¯s vision, find solace in Nafala¡¯s arms?


    Arms. I¡¯d have at least kept the plural.


    Without really wanting to, I looked down at my right side. Only my sorcerer¡¯s-eye showed the truth of the five holy burning tendrils.


    Did you mean for this to happen, Malas, you old git? Why? No. You couldn¡¯t have.


    But then ¨C your last words. What truth did you want to share? The truth of the crown? Its true scope? Its power, when in Infernum?


    What would Malas have done if I¡¯d stayed home? Would he have come for me in a more-direct way? Or would he have abandoned me, turning to some other tool already half-prepared for the role? There had to be any number of arch-sorcerers with the gift for battle, the ¡®heart of the champion¡¯¡­


    But that was the point, wasn¡¯t it? How could I have refused the call? I was destiny¡¯s fool, like everyone else. Even the ones pulling the strings ¨C if they looked up, looked up with eyes that could see, I¡¯d have bet they too were just puppets. Ulu Kalar and Arreath Ril ¨C who was to say they weren¡¯t predicted, that they didn¡¯t exist under the shadow of a looming future, just like the rest of us?


    What¡¯s the point of it all, Yune?


    I supposed she was the wrong deity to ask, wasn¡¯t she?


    Illodin¡­ What¡¯s the point?


    It seemed to me an act of incredible malice, to fit souls with skins and set them to struggle through a miserable existence in this world of suffering. Set them here, not to decide their courses, but to be provided with the illusion of decision. Just enough of an illusion to trick those unfamiliar with divination, to make them feel the guilt, the shame of a mistake, a momentary lapse in judgement¡­ a mere reflex¡­


    ¡®No responsibilities.¡¯ No wonder Ly had gone over to the heretics in the end. There was no reason not to. It was fate, after all. And all the hundreds of books I¡¯d read said nothing different, from my parents¡¯ collection to the Magisterium¡¯s. Not a word to contradict the hidden reality of our bondage.


    What did it mean, to be here, to be a creature in this world? Was I just here to act out my part in some sick god¡¯s sick play? If so, why did they have to make it hurt? Why did I have to be here to feel it? Why couldn¡¯t my skin just go trundling on, acting as though it felt the pain, even though it was empty inside?


    Even if I don¡¯t decide, I experience the decision as though it were mine. My soul¡¯s changed, whether the change came from inside or outside. Maybe that¡¯s all we can ask. The opportunity for our souls to change.


    Yet those left alone in the darkness? How will their souls change? Why do they deserve it? Why would we let it happen? Why wouldn¡¯t a god stoop down to raise them up? Why drag a puppet through mud, blood, misery?


    There could only be one answer: the soul mattered. Somewhere beyond the pain, there had to be a moment of true choice. Where the spirit could reveal itself, divested of all its long labours. When the past crystallised like a second skin, only to fall aside, permitting the creature gestating within to emerge.


    I longed for that day.


    I¡¯d drained three big cups of water before I found my bed, but now my stomach was tying itself in hungry knots. My bladder¡¯s complaints were starting to penetrate the cocoon of tranquillity enveloping me. I was considering drifting straight out through the wall; I had to avoid Xan at her own request and knowing that I was in the same building as her, skulking down here in an unfinished room as an unwanted guest¡­ it felt wrong.


    Still, it was hard to combat my lethargy. I knew what lay ahead of me today ¨C or, at least, I suspected I had a good idea.


    Turmoil. Unrest.


    I had to confront the Magisterium. They had to confront me. The question was where. When. How could I turn the blow aside to send it swinging back at my attacker¡¯s neck? How could I tip the scales without leaving my hand extended, in the open?


    Lure them in.


    How?


    Be Feychilde. They will come.


    I shook my head again, this time trying to clear the internal cobwebs. It sometimes almost sounded like Mekesta was still whispering to me.


    Perhaps the shadow won¡¯t leave me until I stop wanting it back¡­


    I slowly patted the top of my head, trying to feel an impression in my hair where the crown had sat. There was nothing. A sweaty night had seen to that, if there¡¯d even been a vague indentation at all.


    I did miss it. Not knowing when the Magisterium¡¯s diviners would suddenly get a fix on my location, predict my devices ¨C it made everything so bittersweet.


    Why had I even returned in the first place? What had made me think I could endure the pressure the Magisterium would exert upon me? It was as though I¡¯d had a trump card up my sleeve but now the time had come to play it, my sleeve was empty.


    Unless¡­


    I summoned Infrick, and an infernal gateway drew itself into existence, guttering red lines of flame, coiling pillars of crimson smoke.


    ¡°Master.¡±


    The eolastyr stepped forth, her purple-and-black fur gleaming, slick with her spittle or worse. The utterly alien face, some kind of triangular prism of white, leathery flesh, had now healed.


    She gave something of a spinning curtsy, feline tail swishing lazily.


    ¡°I¡¯m still calling you Trappy,¡± I said when I finished appraising her.


    ¡°Very well, Master. I¡¯ll learn to love it.¡±


    It was still strange, seeing such an entity act deferentially to me. I was still feeling full in the magical sense, my sorcerous belly swollen with her potential.


    My more-real belly voiced its emptiness as if to protest my thoughts, giving a great rumbling yaaaarp.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to run some ideas by you,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re going to try to surprise me by improving on them.¡± I saw her dark eyes widen in excitement and raised a finger warningly. ¡°You¡¯re not to try to plan my day for me. Gods know why I trust you even this far. But¡­ I need help. Guidance, you understand.¡±


    The arch-fiend¡¯s pointed chin dipped and she nodded slowly, a serious expression on her features ¨C


    ¡°If it¡¯s your intention to continue on with me at your side, it might be wise to consider hiding me once more. In twenty-eight seconds the one known to you as Garet will enter ¨C quietly, in his way, but he shan¡¯t knock ¨C¡±


    I tapped liberally at Zab¡¯s essence, throwing not two but three cloaks over her. Even I could barely sense her.


    ¡°That¡¯s more than enough.¡± I got the impression she was grinning.


    ¡°You¡¯re enjoying this.¡±


    ¡°You knew I would.¡±


    ¡°Not this quickly.¡±


    She laughed, but fell silent again just as I heard the footfalls outside the door. The soft thumps were accompanied by a ripple of babbling voices. People who clearly thought they were being more hushed than they were.


    The hinges hadn¡¯t been oiled in what was clearly a good long time, and the whole door had slipped a bit in the frame. Garet might¡¯ve been trying his hardest to keep quiet but it would¡¯ve been damn hard to tell without Infrick¡¯s insights.


    His head came cautiously poking around, carried on a wave of whispers, and I saw the relief in his eyes when he noticed I was awake.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you can come in. Not disturbing me.¡±


    ¡°Fanks.¡± He tried to shut the door behind himself, but at least two other people were already in the gap, craning their heads around to get a glimpse of the champion.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. And thanks to you. For the room.¡± I nodded to him in gratitude, then cast a sly sidelong glance in the general direction of Infrick¡¯s certain-to-be-grinning gob. Why hadn¡¯t she warned me of the audience?


    ¡°I was, uh, tryin¡¯ to bring yer some brekkie buh ¨C¡± he looked over his shoulder in frustration and gave the door another belated shove with his shoulder ¡°¨C I fink they figured you was here. And, yer know, like with Xan¡­¡±


    ¡°Say no more. I was never here.¡±


    I got to my feet and gestured to Infrick, masking it with a stretch. She moved to my side silently, taking my shoulder gently in her claws, and I extended the ancient¡¯s essence over her.


    ¡°I¡­ I dunno if that¡¯s on the cards anymore, Feychilde.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t hold them back any longer ¨C not without going full-on Gentleman in their faces. The door burst in, and several drop-covered people pressed through the opening.


    The questions came thick and fast, along with rambling adulations, moans of grief¡­ Some of them clearly wanted to approach me but my appearance must¡¯ve been off-putting, even to them, Sticktowners born and bred. Perhaps it was the missing arm. I¡¯d have to get used to people, even my biggest fans, looking at me funny. Probably for the rest of my life.


    Ah, well. It could always be worse.


    Maybe I was better off this way. I didn¡¯t want them touching my clothes like I was a saint.


    I searched their faces. I thought I recognised a couple of them. My old neighbours, probably. Who knew how many hundred people used to live in Mud Lane. They¡¯d be refugees, just like me.


    ¡°Like I said ¨C sorry, like.¡± Garet was forced to yell to be heard over the commotion.


    ¡°No problem!¡± I yelled back, giving him a thumbs up. I looked around at the various petitioners crowding into the opening of the tiny room, then, without warning, propelled myself a few feet into the air.


    Stunned silence descended.


    ¡°I appreciate your kind words,¡± I said, wanting to be as diplomatic here as possible. A few of them were in mourning or had loved ones still missing out there, as far as I¡¯d been able to interpret the din. ¡°I hear you. All of you. I wish I could help everyone. We all need to be helped sometimes, and it¡¯s my job. I know that. But I¡¯m not that naive anymore. I hear what¡¯s going on out there, as much as I want to deny it. You hear it too. Listen!¡±


    I stilled my thoughts, letting the sounds wash over me.


    The wooden walls weren¡¯t thick enough to shut out the madness that had consumed the streets, and this building, here in the heart of Helbert¡¯s Bend, was smack in the centre of the most densely-populated area in the world. Mothers and daughters were still screaming ¨C with a shudder I identified the wails of fathers and sons, almost indistinguishable. These were the cries of survivors ¨C those left to pick up the pieces of shattered lives. But what was there left to pick up, out of such senseless ruin? Like vases broken not in ten shards or a hundred but ground to dust ¨C what even was there to reassemble? Many would be envying those struck by falling timbers, those burnt and blasted, even those mutilated by infernal claws. Those lucky ones who¡¯d fallen victim to their injuries, pulled by the purple winds into a dimension of never-ending shadows, from which even their most heartfelt cries would never return.


    The shadows in which they could rest, eternally.


    We¡¯d saved the city ¨C or had we? The Sinphalamax had sliced Mund¡¯s head off, and perhaps we¡¯d arrived in time to catch it, stop it tumbling to the ground¡­ But we couldn¡¯t stop time, not on this scale. Couldn¡¯t heal the wound caused by such a savage blade as she¡¯d wielded. This was no clean cut. Mund had been hacked, hewn-at like a tree-trunk.


    Now we teetered, ready to fall. The question was not if but when.


    Which way¡­


    ¡°I help you find your daughter, madam, and I can¡¯t help the lady out there missing her own children. I help you, sir, find a healer for your son¡¯s¡­ crushed hand¡­¡± I tried to recall what at least a couple of the petitioners had been saying. ¡°And someone out there, whose son¡¯s lost his legs, gets no help. I know ¨C it isn¡¯t fair!¡± I repeated one man¡¯s mumbling, causing him to instantly redden in shame. ¡°But it¡¯s life. We¡¯re Sticktowners. We¡¯ll deal with it.¡±


    ¡°Liberator,¡± a woman said through her tears, dabbing at her face with her sleeve. She had no follow-up comment; I just smiled at her and then let my gaze travel across the others.


    ¡°What I can do is ¨C hopefully ¨C something a bit bigger in scope. I want to talk to the magisters. I¡¯ll get everyone help, with a bit of luck. But first¡­ before I¡¯m off¡­¡± I looked at Garet. ¡°I need help with something.¡±


    Where¡¯s the nearest toilet? I wanted to ask. I was about to start squirming soon. But I couldn¡¯t ¨C not yet. I had to clear this up.


    ¡°Uh ¨C sure,¡± the former Gentleman rumbled.


    ¡°The magisters ¨C Mud Lane¡­ I just need to know, before I talk to them¡­ was it definitely a Magisterium accident? Or was I being lied to?¡±


    ¡°An accident?¡± He looked confused, as did all the other faces swimming around.


    ¡°Well, a demon said it was the magistry¡¯s fault,¡± I explained. ¡°I take it ¨C the demons attacked, and the magisters just got carried away? Or maybe it was a champion? That kind of destruction¡­¡±


    I was pretty sure it would¡¯ve been the Incursion¡¯s fault, no matter his answer.


    ¡°Buh ¨C demons? Nah, Feychilde, it¡¯s been weeks since Mud Lane.¡±


    Weeks? What does¡­


    There was another Incursion? But¡­


    Oh.


    How could I have been so stupid?


    So wrong.


    ¡°You mean¡­¡± I couldn¡¯t quite express myself. ¡°They ¨C they actually just ¨C did it?¡±


    ¡°They blew it up, for sure. Wasn¡¯t no demons there. Jus¡¯ a few Boys blowin¡¯ off steam, yer know. They¡¯s what overreacted. Took it all down, real quick like. Hardly the only place.¡±


    I almost joined with Infrick by accident, our essences nearly fusing together where her nails dug lightly in my shoulder.


    I didn¡¯t recognise my voice when it came out through my teeth.


    ¡°I see.¡°


    ¡°Hear ¡®im!¡± a dishevelled man cried exultantly to his fellows. ¡°Feychilde¡¯s what¡¯ll show ¡¯em. Yer¡¯ll see!¡±


    I met the man¡¯s gaze, causing him to pale.


    Normally I would¡¯ve tried to keep my cards close to my chest in a situation like this, but this Incursion had been like no other. The Magisterium was weak. Mund was weak. I was still technically a fugitive, and there were quite possibly sanctioned mage-killers out there right now, waiting for the right moment to strike.


    ¡°You¡¯ll only see if you keep your eyes peeled,¡± I said. ¡°When it happens, it¡¯ll happen fast.¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± the man cried, his fellows echoing him.


    I took Infrick with me through the wall, their cheers propelling me.


    Time for change.


    * * *


    The urge to urinate had evaporated in the haze of anger that claimed my thoughts, but I found a shattered alley and had the eolastyr turn her back anyway. I wasn¡¯t about to let something so banal interrupt my morning schedule once I got stuck into it.


    ¡°I never swore one of your oaths, Henthae,¡± I muttered while I relieved myself. Certain simple things were made so much more complex when you were missing your favoured hand and splashing didn¡¯t exactly help my frustration-level. ¡°I¡¯m a champion. Not an employee. You¡¯re going to wish you tried harder, that night in Magicrux Altra. A lot harder.¡±


    I had a mandate from the people. I intended to fulfil it.


    A million memories, of Mum and Dad¡¯s apartment. A place that was gone, like the people who¡¯d once occupied it. But for so many endless hours it had been a solace, an abode of conversation and food, learning and laughter and light. Both before and after those fateful strokes of Wyre¡¯s knife. We¡¯d made it work. Sorrow had only deepened my connection to the place. I¡¯d known the spine of every book, every little pile of clutter that accumulated in the nooks and crannies.


    Why didn¡¯t we take Mum¡¯s cat-figurine?


    The answer was obvious. I never really thought I was going forever. And Mud Lane was always supposed to be there. How was I to know this would happen?


    What good would it have done anyway? I could¡¯ve taken it to Telior, sure ¨C for Wyrda to eat. No. Better it was lost here. At least when the dragons came to burn Sticktown it would be consumed and the ashes would remain here, a temporary testament to a temporary existence.


    Rather that than have it adrift on the ocean¡¯s black waves.


    I swallowed down the thoughts of those drowning people, their hands waving in despair, throats filled with foreign cries, foreign water. Swallowed them down as Wydra Virdut had done. That had been my fault. This was the Magisterium¡¯s.


    They would be doing the swallowing, this time. I had enough woe to pile their plates high, and I¡¯d watch them chew on my scorn till they choked on it.


    If there was ever a need for revolution, it was now.


    For a time I hovered above, just taking it all in. Infrick provided her sage advice but I was at best half-listening. In Sticktown the roads were so narrow that the thrown-down rows of houses had nowhere to go, transforming whole streets into precarious no-go zones. Support-beams the thickness of forest trees had been snapped like kindling, the ribcages of wooden whales cast up against the shores of other, still-standing structures. In their midst a slowly-stirring sea of detritus and splintered edges had formed, shifting only as searchers and survivors picked their routes cautiously atop its awful surfaces, crying out for loved ones.


    The Magisterium was nowhere to be seen. For all their preparations, all their incredible resources, they were not ready for something on this scale. And neither was I. For all that I was surrounded by destruction, my gaze hardly encompassed much of Sticktown, never mind Mund. I knew how the Magisterium worked, how they¡¯d make their excuses. Mending Hightown and Hilltown would be the focus of all their effort and energies, ¡®restoring key infrastructure¡¯ as the criers always put it¡­ which really just meant recapturing the confidence of the rich. If it was really all about infrastructure, why would Treetown¡¯s lush avenues always get higher priority than Sticktown, than the Lowtowns? They only cared about Rivertown insofar as they wanted the docks open and operational; the farther you lived from the Greyflood, the longer you had to wait for help, to the extent that some neighbourhoods as far-flung as the Reyds¡¯ old residence were just abandoned to the gangs wholesale when Incursions struck. Landlords cut their losses because they could. The displaced residents, however¡­


    ¡°Oi! I mean ¡ª ¡®scuse me! Mr. Feychilde-sir! Be that you?¡±


    I looked down at one of a hundred miserable little scenes going on below me. Half a family, standing astride the lumber rubble, presumably searching for the other half. The man speaking to me was probably fifty and he was carrying a fair bit of extra weight, jowls hanging low-enough to almost completely obscure his neck, a heavy paunch hiding his belt from view. His skin and smock alike were coated in soot and worse. Two twenty-something daughters were beside him on the piteous, moaning hillside that¡¯d once been an apartment-block, their skirts in their hands to help them wade through this hellish swamp. It didn¡¯t look simple. Hundreds of reeds formed by serrated sticks were poking up through the detritus. Nowhere was safe to step.


    I sank through the air to come a little closer to them.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I called. ¡°I lost my¡­¡± The five tendrils tried to wave at him, but of course he couldn¡¯t see them. ¡°I¡¯m one-armed, and my strength¡¯s gone. I can¡­¡± I got close-enough to lower my voice. ¡°I can go down into the¡­ the mess for you. If there¡¯s someone you¡¯re looking for, I can ¨C I can sense them, or find them. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°My son.¡± His red-raw eyes stared up at me out of a soot-coated face. ¡°My wife. They¡­¡±


    He tried to turn, gesturing at the rubble, and stumbled a bit instead. His nearest daughter moved a step closer and put out a hand to steady him but it only served to unbalance the both of them.


    ¡°They¡¯re dead,¡± Trappy whispered.


    ¡°I understand.¡± I could sense almost thirty bodies in the area directly beneath him, but I couldn¡¯t go ahead and reanimate them ¨C they were way down, crushed beneath tons of weight. No matter how much power I poured into it when I made it, a zombie wasn¡¯t pushing its way out of there. ¡°I don¡¯t want to make this any worse for you, but they could be¡­ anywhere in this. If I could help you, I would.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t, just¡­¡±


    He waved a hand and tilted his head, as if this approximated spell-casting. In my case he wasn¡¯t far wrong, but that didn¡¯t mean I could work miracles.


    I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry. You and your daughters ¨C you¡¯re not alone. We all lost something. Someone. We have to move on. It¡¯s the only way.¡±


    I paused, confusion washing over me.


    Did I lose someone?


    Of course I did.


    Star.


    Emrelet.


    He started to weep. His expression crumpled and his shoulders shook but he stayed standing, tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he panted. Rather than drawing closer to him, comforting him, his nearest daughter just stared at the uneven ground beneath her feet, utter despair worked into the lines of her face.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I had a million different things to be thinking about, places to be, but I¡¯d been lying, hadn¡¯t I? There was something I could do. It would just mean paying attention. Attention, to these people. Their problems. Instead of being all wrapped up in my ¡®bigger¡¯ concerns¡­ I should¡¯ve been here, helping, right from the get-go.


    Once I got started, I realised how much easier things were this way. At least I had concrete goals. At least I could see the progress I was making, yard by yard. Better than daydreaming about gathering up a hundred lost heretics, about spitting square in Henthae¡¯s face.


    My remaining eldritches made a strange work crew. Mostly I had imps and a few varieties of flying demonoid left to me, the majority of my grounded demons having been decimated during the battle at the Fountains. It took a solid ten minutes to set things up but once Khikiriaz had lengths of rope fastened to his antlers, the imps could knot the other ends to key sections beneath the surface of the hillside, and we could shift tons in mere minutes, sort through it for survivors.


    Salvageable materials were dragged clear ¨C useless planks were carefully incinerated in imp-fire. Corpses went undisturbed; I knew their locations, and could prevent any further mangling by closely managing my ikistadreng, my impish labourers. Pinktongue did a decent job as my lieutenant ¨C at one point the gungrelafor even gave Khikiriaz orders without the greater demon complaining, which I thought was quite the accomplishment.


    Within a quarter of an hour at least half the people in the area had formed an impromptu ring, overcoming their fear of my demons to watch the work.


    I wasn¡¯t stupid. I knew they were all going to ask for my help, once I¡¯d finished uncovering the rest of the corpses in this particular pile. I didn¡¯t care. I was in the right state of mind to do this kind of thing now. Suppress the other options. Forget the future. Focus on the present. Clear purpose.


    Sometimes when I uncovered a body, a man or woman or child nearby would come forward to collect it; onlookers regularly stepped in to help them if it seemed they were going to struggle to lift the remains. A respectful silence settled over the neighbourhood, everyone waiting with bated breath to see whether their loved one would be next, and when the crowds continued to grow the newcomers would follow suit, hushing in reverence. I enforced the same silence over my imps without even giving a command, the mere pressure of my will sufficing to still their forked tongues.


    For the heavyset man and his daughters there was no surprise sent by Celestium awaiting beneath the debris. No sudden relief as a living hand emerged from the dust. No grime-covered eyelids fluttering weakly when his son and wife were extricated. Just broken cadavers. The son had been older than me, but his torso was the thickness of a chair-leg thanks to the weight of the apartment-block crushing him. The lady was in an even-worse state, and I kept my eyes from the scene as her husband went to his knees at her side, sobbing hoarsely.


    I looked at my ikistadreng. Khikiriaz was staring at the grieving family with a perplexed, almost envious, hungry light in his eyes.


    I reached up to run my fingers through his blurred red fur at the shoulder of his foreleg.


    ¡°You okay, man?¡± I asked him with as much nonchalance as Infernal could allow.


    He blinked, and I thought he leered.


    ¡°Retribution never ends,¡± he replied. A phrase which sounded far more-fitting for the hell-tongue, even if I couldn¡¯t quite tell how it answered my question.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that for a yes.¡± I raised my gaze to the assembled crowd. ¡°I thought they¡¯d be clamouring for more.¡±


    Many were looking back at me, but none spoke directly to me, preferring to avert their eyes and murmur to their fellows when they caught my gaze.


    ¡°They will not ask it,¡± the demon said, eyeing the crowd along with me. ¡°They recognise your power. They will not beg of the master, for fear they overstep. They fear punishment.¡±


    He sounded at once satisfied and disgusted.


    I floated upwards, span about a little, then yelled in my plainest, Sticktownest voice:


    ¡°So! Where next?¡±


    * * *


    Five hours later, it was like a different world. Not one magister had been spotted, never mind a repair crew. The only city watchmen that I¡¯d come across were off-duty, vests unbuttoned, truncheons left at home, busying themselves by helping with the rubble-shifting. Most of them were even willing to take direction from me, given the lack of it coming from any other source. Eight archmages had dropped by to check in with me, Tanra (or Vardae, I supposed) amongst them. Ostensibly they¡¯d all heard what I was up to, though I never quite got a good answer as to how ¨C the work of one of the seers, I guessed, though Nightfell flat-out denied involvement. As others arrived and made suggestions, I started incorporating their ideas. Glimmer could find the dying, even heal them and change their shape to free them from the wreckage, but she couldn¡¯t fix every injury alone; I¡¯d put Kirid to work with her, figuring there were worse mentors out there for the frail-seeming Telese druidess. Two former heretics called Liebor and Ibaran left swathes of the eldritches at their command in my temporary care, and I soon found work for them to do. Tanra told me who to put my emissaries in touch with when I sent them out, north and south, east and west. We went where we were most needed, all up and down the district, even dealing with a rupture in the riverbank that¡¯d left three neighbourhoods flooded. (Bintaborax, I found, made excellent landscapers, and though I missed Mr. Cuddlesticks the two remaining members of his little cohort were more than up to the task.) Orcan¡¯s timely arrival helped immensely, draining the waters while we shored up the defences on the bank.


    I was pleased to see my two Telese refugees had come through the Incursion¡¯s later stages unharmed. There was certainly plenty for them to do. More importantly, they were actually doing it ¨C helping, unlike half the heretics who¡¯d seemed so keen to take up the mantle of champion last night. It was obvious to me from our brief conversations that the Telese pair were adrift here, finding themselves tossed to and fro by the directions of super-seers beyond their ken. They wanted to find their feet, so to speak, and for Kirid that meant giving her a guardian in Imrye. For Orcan, that meant letting him keep his own counsel; he might¡¯ve been going about with a disdainful expression plastered on his mottled old face, but he was diligent in his duties. That was all I could ask, in the short-term. The pair¡¯s long-term prospects in the city I could leave to trouble me another day.


    ¡°This will suffice?¡± the foreign wizard sneered, gesturing at the earthworks he¡¯d erected.


    ¡°Suffice and more!¡± I called back, beaming.


    His smirk was his response, and his farewell; the wind came down to carry him away and he was gone, vanishing southwards.


    And with the way time seemed to fly when you were occupied, it was suddenly afternoon. I found myself casting about, feeling pleased in spite of the calamitous circumstances. All around me fiend and mortal worked together, a partnership that moved from hostile to uneasy to keen, even friendly. Early in the morning I¡¯d had to put down a couple of revolts before they got started, but it was nothing I couldn¡¯t handle.


    ¡°Look at it!¡± a yellow-haired woman had cried in dismay to her family members, pointing at one of my as-yet unnamed imps as it went winging over the wasteland. ¡°Who knows what it¡¯s been up to!¡±


    The imp paused, looked back at her, and then resumed its course with wary glances over its shoulder. They were all under my strict orders to preserve themselves, avoid confrontation or assault.


    ¡°Coulda been the one what killed my Mel ¨C burnt him right up in the innards!¡± The woman was gesturing wildly now. ¡°Coulda been killin¡¯ any of ¨C¡±


    ¡°That particular demon I obtained in Oldtown,¡± I said, swooping down beside her and seeing her pale instantly. ¡°And you¡¯re damn right, it¡¯s a killer. Might¡¯ve even killed your Mel, if it¡¯d been round these ways before I caught it.¡±


    ¡°Curse it!¡± she spat, clenching her fist resolutely.


    ¡°There was a time I¡¯d have had my minions ripped apart by their fellows for past transgressions.¡± I watched the imp as it furtively went about its business, disappearing out of sight around a half-standing building. ¡°For all that it might¡¯ve been a killer before, it¡¯s currently heading off to count the number of wounded between here and the Rush. You remember Glimmer- ah, Imrye? The one who came by just before?¡±


    The woman nodded blankly. No one within two hundred yards had missed the blue-feathered condor whose appearance threw half the wreckage around us into shadow, and there wasn¡¯t a soul in Mund who didn¡¯t know of Glimmermere.


    ¡°The numbers are for her. You want the people healed? Is your pain worth their lives? What if it wasn¡¯t that demon? What if it was that one, or that one?¡± I remembered to point with my visible fingers, indicating other imps flitting about the ruined area. Half weren¡¯t even mine, but she didn¡¯t know that. ¡°Should I pull them all apart, and good riddance? Isn¡¯t it enough that they¡¯re my slaves, that they work now for us rather than their dark masters? Where does¡­¡± I suddenly remembered Khikiriaz¡¯s words. ¡°Where does retribution end, and healing begin?¡±


    I¡¯d tried my hardest to sound gentle at the end but my voice was still too harsh, and the woman had started crying anyway. My apologies fell on deaf ears, but one of her friends or family members shot me a wan smile.


    I hadn¡¯t realised how much I¡¯d needed to see that smile until I did. I felt desperately unhinged on the inside, misshapen and vacant, like I¡¯d lost something essential ¨C like in its absence the darkness of which Malas had spoken was trickling in, in, in, drip by drip filling my soul with despair. For all that Yune had helped in our hour of need ¨C where was she now? Would she be here in our day of need? What about the rest of the week? If she could¡¯ve even offered us ten minutes every third Starday of the month, I¡¯d have had no doubt we¡¯d make it through okay. But for all the power wielded by deities, for all the undeniable love of the Goddess of Hope, she was unable or unwilling to interfere. We were alone. It was our struggle, to face or fail.


    I was determined to face it, even if we failed in the end. Better to be here, my lonesome arm aching after helping drag timber, than up there in the sky, looking down in empty judgement.


    Their problems were my problems. All the clarity afforded by helping, it crystallised into a fierce desire, a need to dig. I only wished I could get my hands¡­ hand¡­ dirty. For all that I was better as an organiser, I was almost jealous of those who could really get stuck in, lose themselves in the toil. Moving stuff with my left hand ¨C I was like a toddler in terms of my personal contribution. But every shifted beam, every shovel of rubble ¨C I waited to see who or what would be pulled out as though my own loved ones were down there somewhere, trapped¡­


    What then was this sense of peace that stole over me when the faces of the survivors were unknown to me? The relief that sometimes brought tears of joy to my face? I didn¡¯t even feel any shame when people in the crowd caught me crying. I only felt the strangeness of my own reaction. My mind¡¯s devices were hidden, an internal dissonance the power of which I could no more explain than deny.


    In a brief lull I raised my face to the pristine sapphire sky, looking up through the sun¡¯s radiance as if to see beyond, to the night lingering just out of reach, the inescapable purple shadows that cloaked our world.


    Lord Mortiforn ¨C what did I sacrifice? Mr. Owl, can you hear me? Mr. Elmedosk?


    What did I lose?


    There was no answer beyond the cries of the homeless and dispossessed, the wails of mourners. And there was no reply I could give to those mortal supplicants, nothing to pass on. I had none of the answers myself. Even Mortiforn¡¯s agents were empty-handed, the one group from the planes beyond whom I¡¯d thought reliable. Could they expect more of me? I was a piece of driftwood cast adrift on the same roaring river as the rest of them.


    I told Pinktongue to have the salvaged lumber from Lord¡¯s Knuckle dragged to the market square where feasible, then as my faithful imp vanished I suddenly cast about, half-alarmed. In my reverie I¡¯d drifted south, and I looked down at the roadway below me, coming back to myself all at once.


    The place was crawling with familiarity. A simple street untouched by the demon hordes, a brick-built mason¡¯s hall standing across from the opening to a network of alleys¡­


    It took me a few moments to remember, and when I did I let myself drift down to the ground. I stood exactly where I had on that exciting Orovost night. I recalled the exact angle, seeing the yithandreng pounding up the roadway towards me.


    My eyes crept over the ground, finding a particular patch of earth. Just a section of the street, mud that she¡¯d touched with her power, bringing it to life.


    Gods, it felt so long ago now. The excitement had been tempered by experience. I remembered what it was like, to dream of my true inheritance, to long for that fullness of power I¡¯d since attained. How bitter the dregs of that cup tasted now. But if I could¡¯ve had it over again ¨C if I could¡¯ve taken up Chraunator¡¯s pocket-watch and rewrote reality according to my whims ¨C would I really have done anything differently? It was nice to tell yourself that with the power of hindsight you¡¯d have acted more responsibly, but hindsight forgot all the power of presence. What it was like to really be there, victim to all the flurries of misbegotten emotions, evanescent convictions that came and went like the wind, no less forceful than the storm¡­


    Northril¡­


    Maybe I still would¡¯ve gone back to slaughter them, the dark elves at their posts and in their beds. I still owned their souls. I was wearing one. How much could I claim to have changed, since that first trip across the ocean¡¯s cold expanse? The same callousness was upon me now as then. The same unforgiveness laid hold of my soul, as much as I might have railed to deny it. So far only Avaelar had escaped its withering touch. Even Xan had been stung¡­ I should¡¯ve taken what happened to Morsus as a warning, should¡¯ve left the three of them as soon as he was killed. But I hadn¡¯t. Instead I¡¯d leaned on them. I¡¯d needed them.


    And this was where it all started. Who could say for certain ¨C maybe I still would¡¯ve taken Belexor up on his stupid bet if I had a second go-around. It was all an act of bravado, after all, to impress the alluring wizard of the group.


    She¡¯d sent the mud elemental back, once its task was done, and it had rejoined the road seamlessly before falling back into its dreamless sleep. There was none of her power here. The earth was just earth. Emrelet was gone.


    I drifted back towards my home over the next twenty minutes. It was one of the least-affected areas, given that it¡¯d been completely abandoned well before the Incursion, but it wasn¡¯t alone in that fact. Now that I knew what I was looking out for, I spotted other areas that¡¯d seen the same treatment. No one to save at Mud Lane, or any of the half-dozen streets I¡¯d come across that¡¯d been left in a similar state, ruins of tumbled beams abandoned for weeks or months ¨C no sweet blood-bags for the demons to hunt. Just vacant spaces. Loneliness. Relative silence. Everything between the Gold Griffin and the Spannerwalk alleys rising up on the far side had simply been eradicated. The adjacent streets had been changed forever as well, of course, the remaining buildings looking somehow naked and frail, seeming closer to the eye than one might¡¯ve thought they would when the intervening blocks were still standing.


    Now that I was viewing the scene without distraction, it was hard for me to see how I hadn¡¯t instantly recognised the truth of the Sinphalamax¡¯s words. Of course the Magisterium had done it. Imprisoning me, killing me¡­ that would never be enough for their kind. They had to crush out the memory of heretics. Ensure those who might harbour recalcitrant thoughts knew their place. At the bottom. Learn to live with the boot-heel squashing your skull down into the drop. Learn to love the taste of filth filling your mouth, trickling down your throat as you struggle for breath. At least you¡¯re alive, maggot. Praise us for our magnanimity. We only take away your street, reduce it to a pile of splinters. Be thankful for that half-mouthful of air. Love us. After all, everything we do is to protect you.


    After a while I realised that, despite the ghost-form, I was shaking ¨C and I couldn¡¯t stop myself. The rage¡­ I could keep it caged but nothing could stop the beast from rattling the bars. I tried to fly away, but no matter how strong the urge to leave I couldn¡¯t seem to move myself more than a few feet.


    The fact that they¡¯d just left it here¡­ hundreds of tons of debris, clogging the dip ¨C like it wasn¡¯t even worth the afterthought, like none of it could be reused¡­ On the surface it was like a small hill but I knew the topography as well as anyone else around here; beneath it would be like a lake, depths filled with broken memories I didn¡¯t have the heart to explore. The place was such a mess, it didn¡¯t surprise me in the least when I saw some locals come round the corner struggling with a cart, dumping rubble on the edge of the lane. For once they didn¡¯t see me, the blurred dark creature floating high above their natural eye-lines, and I could observe them without being hassled, left alone to my thoughts.


    Our home¡­ is a dumping-ground.


    I couldn¡¯t blame the poor folks down there, doing their best to get by. My hate knew only one target.


    I turned my eyes north-eastwards, and I fancied I could see it glint there in the harsh glare of the sun, splitting the sky in two: the Maginox.


    I clenched my whips, feeling the nervousness lance right through me. They¡¯d left me alone so far, but how long would it last? Was this my last day in Materium? If it was, when it happened, I wanted to remember my hate. I wanted to remember my immaturity and my excitement. I wanted to not just reject them and escape them ¨C I wanted the retribution I tried to denounce. I wanted them to suffer. To slather them in my scorn, and let everyone watch.


    Yes, that was it: I wanted to break the Maginox the way they¡¯d broken Mud Lane. Maybe the heretics like Liebor and Ibaran (and Netherhame and Shallowlie to boot) could be persuaded to recreate a weave, like the one we¡¯d taken to the Fountains last night. If I struck the wards of the Maginox with that¡­ I¡¯d even let Aramas help, if he would.


    The folks from around the corner finished emptying their cart and, two of them taking the strain in place of a pony, they headed off the way they¡¯d came.


    ¡°You going to come down from there any time soon, or am I going to have to scrounge up some flying magic?¡±


    I looked down at Nightfell, right beneath me. She too had abandoned the mask but unlike me she¡¯d cast back the hood too. Her brown hair, shot through with the streaks of ghost grey, hung motionless in the dead air.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re busy and you probably wish I had food for you, but you really need to drink something. Come on.¡± She held up her hand, a water-filled bottle sloshing as she shook it enticingly. ¡°You¡¯ll pass out soon if you don¡¯t, and then all those lovely helpers you¡¯ve got traipsing around the city will take a ticket home.¡±


    I grunted, and descended to her side. Her smile was only a little deranged, a tightness to her expression that told me she was feeling the strain too.


    I took a long swig of the water, then another. My empty stomach growled, then whirred strangely.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t got anything stronger on you?¡± I asked as I passed it back to her. ¡°You look like you could do with a big cup of wine too.¡±


    Her eyebrows raised in surprise. ¡°Underage, still, remember?¡±


    ¡°Still? Gods. Being a champion should give you a free pass, or something.¡±


    ¡°Especially running around with the thoughts of a thirty-five-year-old super-seer swimming about in my head ¨C I know, right?¡± She took a swig herself, the tight grin reappearing as she re-stoppered it. ¡°You¡¯ve been doing a good job. They¡¯re talking, you know.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Who? About what?¡±


    ¡°About you.¡±


    I stared at her. ¡°The magisters?¡±


    ¡°No, no. Well, yes. But I mean ¨C everyone. Everyone¡¯s on about you. The heretics ¨C a bunch of the ones you led against the Sinphalamax are ready to follow you, again. The remaining champions know what you did. The common folk of every district have heard the whispers. Even the magisters, like you say ¨C there¡¯s a lot of chatter about you and Targrave Valorin at the upper echelons. Apparently you chastised him thoroughly in earshot of some influential members. They don¡¯t all hate you, Kas.¡±


    I felt my face blacken and I floated back, a few feet up and away from Nightfell, calling the elf-ghost¡¯s coolness back over my skin. ¡°Who cares?¡± I muttered. ¡°The heretics are scattered. The champions will never accept me again. The magisters¡­ I killed them, Tanra. There¡¯s no going back from that. Even if they loved me, they¡¯d kill me for it.¡±


    She was shaking her head gently.


    ¡°It¡¯s me they want.¡±


    I saw the tightness extend around her mouth, the way she forced the lunatic smile to stay upon her lips with increasing determination.


    ¡°The Arrealbord had it coming,¡± I found myself saying, waving a hand lazily as if I could casually brush off a hundred-plus murders. Confusion passed through me, and I shook myself. ¡°I mean ¨C I don¡¯t mean that, but ¨C¡±


    ¡°You want to support me. You want to make me feel better. It¡¯s okay, Kas. I know what I am, what I did. You don¡¯t have to pretend for my benefit.¡±


    Her gaze went to the trash-hill of Mud Lane, slowly crawled the wreck to the summit.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m worse than you know.¡± She still didn¡¯t look back to me, grimacing up at the ruination. ¡°Anyway, you¡¯re wrong. They¡¯re scattered, but you can bring us together. They won¡¯t accept you; they¡¯ll seek your acceptance. And you forgot about the people, Kas. The people. It¡¯s a responsibility unlike any other. We have to get in there before Kani does. With¡­ with the Arrealbord gone¡­¡±


    She left it hanging, her whole vision of the future unspoken in the air between us, like a limp strand of hair.


    Is this Vardae¡¯s plot, or Tanra¡¯s?


    Is there a difference anymore? Or is that just what she wants me to think?


    I don¡¯t care. I don¡¯t care anymore.


    I choked on the word, and her head shot about, suddenly staring at me as if seeking verification in my eyes, confirmation that I¡¯d actually said it. Her powers still wouldn¡¯t help her. Not with me.


    I copied her smile and repeated myself, making sure to speak clearly this time:


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    * * *


    We discussed our options tersely for about ten minutes; which of course meant we were intruded-upon no less than three separate times by messenger-imps. I sent Infrick away, but that didn¡¯t stop me raising her suggestions in her place. No conclusions were reached but we¡¯d at least managed to draw up a vague plan of action when Tanra suddenly warned me she¡¯d have to be on her way soon. She vanished ten seconds before the magister arrived, blurs leading towards Lord¡¯s Knuckle. I turned and steeled myself, but when I saw that it was just Ciraya atop Feast I calmed down.


    ¡°Now why¡¯d she have to go worrying me like that?¡± I sighed. Then, as the yithandreng slowed, I called out: ¡°Of all the magisters in Mund, you¡¯re probably the only one I can put up with right now. Just a friendly heads-up.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you to meet any of the others,¡± the sorceress called back in her typical drawling croak. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can call in a favour, but¡­ I need one.¡±


    I floated a bit closer, scrutinising her. The Westerman magister was wearing her familiar black robe, the thrice-accursed bone-wheel at its centre. Beneath her hood I could see the edges of the cryptic symbols covering her shaven head. The grim expression on her face ¨C this Incursion had rattled even her, I could see. The purple-painted lips were pursed, her ice-blue eyes looking brittle behind their long lashes.


    ¡°How¡¯d you find me?¡± I asked nonchalantly, trying not to sound worried. Tanra was one thing, but Ciraya?


    ¡°I speak Infernal¡­¡± she rasped, casting me a quizzical look. ¡°You weren¡¯t trying to hide, were you?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­¡± I really had to have a word with my imps about telling magisters my current location. ¡°You¡¯re still you, I see.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± She tried her hardest not to sound amused, but I caught the brief flash of gratification that crossed her eyes.


    ¡°You know how to make me feel stupid without even trying?¡± It was hard to conceptualise, never mind phrase.


    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t go that far.¡± She gave her weird, halting laugh. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re trying.¡±


    ¡°Tut-tut. And all this, because you need a favour.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll owe you one?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve even righted the scales yet. Go on ¨C what do you need the big bad arch-sorcerer for?¡±


    ¡°The magisters are stretched way too thin in Oldtown. I ¨C¡±


    ¡°Oldtown?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°A little outside your jurisdiction, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve been given city-wide mandates.¡± She didn¡¯t look too happy about it. ¡°One-point-eight!¡±


    I had no idea what she was talking about. ¡°One-point-eight?¡±


    ¡°Per ten¡­ ah, eighteen percent of the Magisterium forces were lost in battle last night. They have this way of presenting the information with as little clarity as possible¡­ They won¡¯t reveal the abandonment rate ¨C I swear I saw Ko-Lumeine heading for the Treetown Gate this morning, and there¡¯s no way they were counting her or the other deserters in the one-point-eight¡­¡±


    ¡°Things aren¡¯t looking great,¡± I surmised.


    ¡°Worse.¡± The purple lips were in a severe line once more. ¡°What do you say? Will you help me?¡±


    ¡°Oldtown¡­¡±


    I went to run my fingers through my hair, but ended up just swishing my whips around; Ciraya could no more see them than anyone else, so at least I was spared any added embarrassment. I brought my floundering left hand up instead, clawing the knotted locks out of my face, pushing them back inside the hood and regarding her.


    Don¡¯t I have a mandate beyond Sticktown too? It¡¯s the gods¡¯ work I do ¨C Glaif¡¯s, and Illodin¡¯s. Isn¡¯t this just what I discussed with Tanra?


    I have to be more than a Sticktowner. More than a champion.


    ¡°Sure,¡± I said at length. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    She shifted slightly atop the yithandreng. ¡°Want a lift?¡±


    I laughed harshly. ¡°Won¡¯t you get in trouble, transporting a known fugitive?¡±


    She gave a one-shoulder shrug and curled her nose.


    ¡°I can always tell them I¡¯m dropping you off at Magicrux Izian. They don¡¯t have to know the truth, do they?¡±


    I bowed my head and offered my wrist. ¡°Arrest me, officer. I promise not to randomly escape at a most-convenient opportunity.¡±


    She laughed throatily. ¡°Ah, ha, I appear to be out of bindlaces, and you¡¯re running low on wrists anyway. Come on up.¡±


    She took my hand, and I reduced my corporeality too much as I swung myself up, almost overshooting the mark; I adjusted it again, putting the weight back into my legs as I rose over Feast¡¯s back, letting me drop snugly into place.


    ¡°Nice.¡± From my position behind her I couldn¡¯t see her face, and I found I couldn¡¯t imagine her expression as she said softly: ¡°Do you want to do the honours?¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Nah. It¡¯s your ride. I¡¯m just tagging along.¡±


    She leaned low over the yithandreng¡¯s neck, and spoke in the hollow voice with relish:


    ¡°Khalor!¡°


    * * *


    ¡°I forgot how much this was like being on a boat,¡± I lied to make conversation.


    She clearly understood. ¡°Suck it up, champion.¡±


    As if purely to wind me up she steered Feast around a sharp bend, making me lean right out as we cornered. The yithandreng¡¯s feet thundered through the drop, clattering effortlessly over piles of wreckage. We drew stares, cheers and cries as we went; while I was certain most of the onlookers were simply surprised to see the big, dragon-like fiend, I wondered how many of the onlookers noticed my presence atop it ¨C whether word would spread that I¡¯d taken up with the Magisterium again, so soon after my reappearance¡­


    ¡°I could¡¯ve flown, you know.¡±


    ¡°Yet you chose this. Do you want me to stop? Want to get off?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I sighed theatrically. ¡°I¡¯m here purely for the stimulating debate.¡±


    She said nothing. Sitting behind her, I smiled.


    We crossed the bridge into Oldtown ¨C the span itself was entirely deserted. Everyone had their own problems to deal with, and no one was sending help anywhere else. Except us, I supposed. The sun was shining fiercely. Waves of heat were shimmering up off the roaring water as we passed over the Blackrush. I pulled off my hood, letting the wind of our haste run through my hair, cooling me.


    Ciraya¡¯s hood didn¡¯t have a mess of sweaty hair to cling to, and it¡¯d fallen back of its own accord in the fiendish breeze as she¡¯d sent Fe twisting through the air. As it was, I found that for the first time I had an opportunity to really study the intricate glyphs inked on the nape of her neck. The last time I¡¯d seen them this close-up I¡¯d been half asleep, during the Arithos debacle. Her whole scalp was given over to the dark-blue designs, even extending to the cartilage at the base of her ear, lines curling about her earlobes¡­ Little, careless-seeming flicks that could be passed off as the spiky tails of impish images ¨C they had been incorporated seamlessly into the geometric whole, yet upon closer inspection those same spiky tails were actually comprised of sentences, dozens and dozens of letters subtly inserted into the shapes. What they said was impossible to interpret, but I had absolutely no doubt that they were placed there purposefully.


    ¡°They put a spell on you,¡± I said heavily, after a while. ¡°The Swords, I mean.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m as much a Sword as any of them,¡± Ciraya replied without looking back, without so much as a trace of hesitation. ¡°I¡¯ve tattooed neophytes and acolytes and even initiates. It¡¯s no big deal.¡±


    ¡°May I?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    I put my fingers on the nape of her neck, softly but firmly, so as to not startle her. She flinched at first in spite of my efforts, and I would¡¯ve stopped if she hadn¡¯t quickly relaxed, even turning her head to the right as if she knew instinctively which parts of the design had drawn my eye.


    ¡°You decided if you¡¯re getting one yet?¡± she asked, then, when I didn¡¯t reply, went on, ¡°A gold piece if you can decipher a single line.¡±


    ¡°Beware the Mix of Essence-Born,¡± I muttered, reading, ¡°the Open Soul for selfward Sight is Bound?¡±


    She grunted. ¡°Close.¡±


    I laughed, moving my fingers to the other side, but she shrugged me off and resettled her shoulders.


    I laughed again. ¡°But not close enough to claim the prize?¡±


    ¡°You garbled at least three separate lines together, so, no.¡±


    ¡°¡¯At least¡¯¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to remember them all, okay? By the Five, Feychilde!¡±


    ¡°Has anyone ever told you you¡¯re really tense?¡±


    ¡°I wonder why that could be.¡± She gestured across the survivor-strewn wasteland surrounding us. ¡°Are you telling me you¡¯re not?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ it¡¯s been a while since anyone offered me a back rub to be able to tell me.¡±


    ¡°Is that what you¡¯re ¡®offering¡¯, now? Why didn¡¯t you say so? Don¡¯t be shy.¡±


    She hung her head, suddenly thrusting her shoulders back to expose as much skin through the neck of her robe as possible.


    I did my best to laugh casually, but an unexpected thrill shot through me as I gently pressed my fingers into her flesh, running my thumb down her spine. Suddenly things were different, and my contact with her didn¡¯t feel exactly innocent anymore. It was intimate. For all that we were in a despondent situation, here at the end of the world, traversing a landscape of destruction¡­ I found myself ignoring it all. The gentle motions of Fe completely fell away. My only concern became the application of the right pressures, the right movements to find and ease the knotted muscles and tendons in her upper back.


    Looking back afterwards I was surprised to find Emrelet never entered my mind once, nor ill-fated Nafala. I felt guilt, then, but not in the moment.


    ¡°You clearly haven¡¯t done this much before, have you? I¡¯m not your lover; you don¡¯t have to be so tender. What, you think because I¡¯m thin I¡¯m made out of glass? Aaaahhhh¡­¡±


    She soon changed her tune when I slowly pushed my thumb into a solid lump between her shoulder-blades.


    ¡°Sorry I lost my right arm ¨C ¡®by the Five¡¯, Ciraya. Plus I¡¯m normally¡­ not doing this kind of thing on the back of a yithandreng, you know.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re¡­ expecting me to invite you¡­ oooh¡­¡±


    ¡°Sorry?¡±


    ¡°Never mind. Maybe you¡¯re not so bad at it. Okay. People. Stop.¡±


    I glanced around ¨C she was right. We were about to move through a crowd, and even on the approach we were catching some odd stares.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have thought that¡¯d normally stop you,¡± I crooned.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± she bit back as we were deluged in cries for help coming from a hundred throats.


    ¡°We¡¯ll send aid as soon as we can!¡± was all I could yell back, adding the area to my mental checklist. It wouldn¡¯t do to go back on my promises. Then we were through them, back on an empty, undamaged street once more ¨C and the silence that fell between us felt a little awkward this time.


    It seemed to me that I needed to say something, but I had no idea what. Was I supposed to acknowledge the tingling feeling running through my body? The sudden attraction I couldn¡¯t deny?


    Laugh about it? That¡¯s usually the way. But how?


    She did it for me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s just post-Incursion jitters, but I feel even more tense now. Great. Thanks, Kas.¡±


    What in Celestium did that mean? The sardonic croak was completely opaque to me. Had she hated it? Was my touch that repugnant?


    Or¡­ by ¡®jitters¡¯ did she mean she felt it too?


    ¡°So ¨C when you say ji-¡°


    ¡°We¡¯re here. Agar!¡°


    Fe slowed instantly, swiftly turning in a tight circle, coming to a full stop in the minimal distance. I glanced about, but there was little to see with mundane eyes. Just another broken street, a ruined workshop of some kind with its roof and two of its walls shattered. Some civilians were looking at us, but I ignored them. My other senses took the reins of my consciousness, forcing me to prioritise.


    The inverted shield surrounding the half-obliterated building, a rippling dome of blue force that was so fragile I could¡¯ve dispelled it without a touch¡­ the familiar eldritch-shapes contained within, not moving but undeniably there, lurking in the ruins¡­


    I slid off the yithandreng and drew once more on ghost-essence, hissing, ¡°Wight! And vampire!¡±


    Ciraya slid off after me, then leant back against Fe¡¯s scaly flank, crossing her arms. ¡°That¡¯s about all we already know. There¡¯s still a barrier in place, right?¡± I nodded, and she went on: ¡°The band that¡­ put it here, they didn¡¯t know what to do. We can¡¯t get a bind on the wight without seeing her, for some reason, and ¨C¡±


    ¡°I get it,¡± I said. ¡°Risky business, going in somewhere like that, for no gain.¡± I held out my hand to her. ¡°Coming?¡±


    Her long-lashed eyes narrowed, but she took my fingers.


    I spun about her, swirling on the air so as to point us in the right direction ¨C sometimes despite all the magical powers of an archmage it was just plain awkward, being one-armed.


    She accepted the ghost-essence without complaint, floating with me through the wards, into the rubble-filled interior of the building. I supposed she¡¯d experienced similar spell-effects in the past; travelling in Dustbringer¡¯s ¡®chariot¡¯ had to have been quite an eye-opener the first time¡­


    We weren¡¯t three yards from the building when the air itself started speaking, and I froze.


    ¡°Citizens of Mund. Hear me.¡±


    I looked across and met Ciraya¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I am Keliko Henthae, chief of the department of Special Investigations within the Magisterium. I congratulate you on your survival of the Incursion. Rest assured, the relief effort has been engaged in every sector. It may appear to you that we are responding more slowly than is usual. I speak to you now so that you know not to be alarmed.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± I groaned.


    Ciraya was grinning toothily. A fake smile.


    ¡°Our crews will be attending your emergencies forthwith. However, you may see battalions of magisters gathering in several areas of the city. Please know that these forces are being employed to bring into line various disreputable elements that serve to undermine our great society. I ask for peace, and calmness. You must be patient. We will be attending your needs imminently.¡±


    I snorted.


    ¡°You may have heard that certain former champions are active in the city once again. This is a lie. There is no such thing as a former champion. Champions, whether active or inactive, do not renege on their charter. Those of them who fail and fall to the darkness are darkmages ¨C do not mistake a murderer for a hero. Understand that we will not make such a mistake either. The sword of justice will be swift and merciless. We will not capitulate to these deceivers. We will demonstrate our strength, and there will be no more dissent.


    ¡°Those of you who know I speak to you. I implore you now. Do not seek to resist. Do not further endanger our citizenry. Submit to the proper authorities in turn. Your Heresy is dead. There will be no more inkatra, no more Incursions. All your schemes. All your lies.


    ¡°It ends today.¡±


    The voice fell away into silence. In the distance I heard raucous laughter, yells of dismay and disbelief.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Ciraya asked.


    I met her gaze. She¡¯d dropped the grin, and suddenly the fixed smile on my face felt no less stupid than hers had looked.


    Slowly I let it drop.


    ¡°I might be a killer,¡± I said thickly, ¡°but I¡¯m no liar.¡±


    The sorceress lowered her eyes.


    ¡°I know,¡± was all she said in the end.


    We floated there awkwardly for a few moments, and it was only when she tugged on my hand and nodded at the wall that I came back to myself.


    I shook my head. ¡°You don¡¯t believe her, do you? I¡­ I have blood on my hands, but I ¨C¡°


    ¡°She¡¯s just having her own bad day,¡± the magister drawled, cutting me off. ¡°You¡¯re overthinking it. I¡¯m sure the two of you can¡­ chat it out, when the time comes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a darkmage.¡±


    The ice-blue eyes met mine again.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    I drew a deep breath. ¡°Okay. Okay, fine. Job to do. Always a job to do.¡± I straightened on the air. ¡°Come on, then.¡±


    We penetrated wood and masonry, and I ignored all the intervening obstacles, orienting us towards the shapes huddled in the corner. My mind drew multi-coloured strings of gremlin-lights through the air, illuminating the piles of brick and shattered roof-tiles.


    Whatever I¡¯d been expecting to find, it wasn¡¯t this. Never this.


    It wasn¡¯t that she crouched protectively over the stasis-bound, ripped-apart vampire. It was her face.


    I knew her ¨C better than knew her.


    And she was dead.


    Worse than dead.


    ¡°Osi¡­?¡± I gasped.


    The glowing amethyst eyes met mine, then looked away, flooded with pain.


    ¡°Kas? Is that you? O Mother, forgive me, Kas! What ¨C what have they done to you? To you too¡­¡±


    ¡°To me?¡± I gulped for air that didn¡¯t want to come. ¡°What about you, Osi? What did they do to you?¡±


    Ciraya¡¯s glare flicked between the two of us, expression near-unreadable.


    Osi was just shaking her head hysterically.


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame the demons. Don¡¯t ¨C don¡¯t blame them. Please, please don¡¯t blame the demons. It was him. It was all ¨C him.¡±


    ¡°Him?¡± I looked down at the vampire beneath her. His chest cavity was wide open, the undead organs inside him perfectly motionless but still glistening, slick with stolen blood. ¡°Who¡­ who is he?¡±


    She was still shaking her head, still looking away.


    ¡°Not him.


    ¡°Redgate.¡±

 Heed the Storm

    <h2>PYRITE 10.2: HEED THE STORM</h2>


    ¡°Can you be who you are in the silent hours of the night? That creature of cold to whom all of life is a daytime dream, in whose ear the darkness croons so softly? By the wind¡¯s fury will the branches bend and scream suggestively, showing you the spells you should never have seen. You know it. It is no mere rustling! It is something more. The voice of the Forest, when the World was New!¡±


    ¨C from ¡®Grandfather¡¯s Open Arms¡¯


    I looked out across the grass, avoiding their faces, watching the sea of blades curling gently in the breeze.


    ¡°I feel inappropriate,¡± I said by way of explanation, ¡°owning someone I know.¡±


    Someone I¡¯d fooled around with. Well, that probably wasn¡¯t the most accurate way to put it, but the point was the same.


    ¡°Why did you take her into your control, then?¡± Ibaran asked archly.


    ¡°Magisters made him, I bet,¡± Liebor said with a grimace.


    I wrinkled my nose, snatching a glance around at the others. ¡°Not quite, but better than them going all wand-happy in her direction, right?¡± I turned to Ly and Min. ¡°Are we on the same page?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t going to entrust Osi into the care of Hierarchs Four and Five, even if they¡¯d apparently relinquished the Thirteen Candles without a backward glance ¨C but Netherhame and Shallowlie were another matter.


    Min nodded, and spoke furtively. ¡°I will fine room for her in my hos¡¯. She will be safe at my sigh.¡±


    ¡°I hope so.¡±


    The sky was already purple; it looked as though I created a mirror reflecting the cloudless heavens when I made the gateway. Nethernal wind seethed across the grass, bending it the wrong way momentarily as the wight came through.


    I¡¯d provided her with a cloak, but beneath its folds I could still see the glimmer of the diaphanous night-dress her former master had forced her to wear, barely obscuring her alabaster skin. Her aquiline features were twisted in dismay as she saw the ring of archmages about her. I spoke calmly, attempting to sooth her with my voice even as I explained the conundrum. Thankfully she seemed to grasp the intent behind my words within moments. Her expression softened as I let her go, and Shallowlie took up the reins of control.


    Would she blab¡­ details to Minnerveve? I knew such concerns were beneath me ¨C especially given the torment to which poor Osantya had been put, the upright character of Shallowlie ¨C but I couldn¡¯t help but worry all the same. I¡¯d been extremely inexperienced during that summer when I¡¯d been hanging around with Osi. Just me and Tanny, Osi and that other girl (Abella?), down by the river¡­ Not quite so inexperienced afterwards.


    I threw away my misgivings, rejecting them on account of their immaturity. Was I going to sit here at the end of the world, worrying about such childish matters?


    Apparently I was going to try.


    Shallowlie started reassuring her, cajoling Netheric pouring from her tongue, and I looked aside at the trees lined up like soldiers in the distance, chuckling at myself a little.


    You¡¯re an idiot, Kas.


    ¡°I¡¯m certain I¡¯d be thinking the same thing in your place. It¡¯s just how our brains work, Master.¡±


    You could say that again.


    ¡°Is that a command?¡±


    I smiled grimly, looking out over the empty fields, and didn¡¯t reply.


    The heath by Ryntol Wood where we¡¯d faced off had been as good a neutral ground as any. I¡¯d hoped Aramas would show his face, that my choice of venue would intrigue him. As much as Nightfell had been able to spread the word amongst the homeless heretics, it made no difference ¨C he was missing, and he wasn¡¯t the only one.


    Five of us. Just the five of us, of all Mund¡¯s arch-sorcerers, had answered the call. Where the others had gone, few or none could say. According to Ibaran, her friend Wrynka was distressed about losing the Candles, and doubtless the majority of the other heretics were in a similar state. I had to go without answers for now: Tanra was only human, and she had to sleep, even if there were likely two of her out there running around. She didn¡¯t have automatic knowledge of every single person¡¯s whereabouts and searching the fabric of possibilities taxed her strength. And I¡¯d have taken two Vardaes over Duskdown and Timesnatcher at this point¡­ Rathal and Irimar were both absent, which was simply ridiculous considering the tumultuous state of the city. One of them, at least, had survived the Incursion, given that Doomspeaker had received help at Sigrand¡¯s Rise from a mysterious arch-diviner. My money was on Duskdown. Timesnatcher wouldn¡¯t take off the robe. Nightfell had speculated it was Bladesedge and Bookwyrm working in tandem, but the enigmatic pair of warped diviners hadn¡¯t been seen in months. I was certain she was wrong.


    ¡°You should tell them who your last master was, Osi,¡± I said without looking. The moon had captured my attention, its disc near-full but pale, barely brighter than the sky in the fading majesty of the sun. ¡°We¡¯ll give them the whole story at the Gathering tomorrow night, but, for now¡­¡±


    ¡°Do I have to?¡±


    I glanced back at her, but the Sticktowner was gazing at her new mistress rather than me.


    That was right ¨C things were how they should¡¯ve been. This was better. Easier.


    ¡°As Feychilde say.¡±


    The wight started explaining, and I tuned it out, returning my gaze to the slowly-rising moon. I couldn¡¯t stand to look at her, listen to her. I still had a perfectly-preserved image of Osi in my mind, a nymph of delight that symbolised something inherent in me, unchanging in appearance. Not just unchanging ¨C unchangeable. To see and hear her now: the hollow voice; the pale flesh and burning eyes¡­ it made my skin crawl. I was having to grieve her and listen to her at the same time and there was no experience quite like it.


    ¡°Ahem¡­This all reminds me of something my last master said.¡± Dirk¡¯s statement came quietly into my consciousness, as if my new minion was taking pains not to interrupt my reverie. ¡°I wasn¡¯t privy to Necrogirl¡¯s conversation with the wizard, Ironvine, but I got the impression afterwards that she¡¯d discussed something with her that¡­ that distressed her¡­ something about a foe worse than dragons. Could that be Redgate?¡±


    I¡¯m not sure, I replied. Ironvine¡­ how would she know of Redgate? When my vampiric passenger didn¡¯t reply right away, I followed it up with a quick: Thanks, though. Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯re not interrupting.


    ¡°I¡­ hah¡­ I don¡¯t really know much about wizards, or Ironvine. Could she have gotten news somewhere no one else can access?¡±


    If she were an enchanter or diviner, sure, I thought back, but it¡¯s not something wizardry can typically accomplish¡­


    There was a point, a single moment, in which I thought she could¡¯ve been someone, someone who ¨C


    It was wishful thinking, that was all ¨C on all our parts, if there existed others who¡¯d dare engage the concept of it. Mekestan, Utenyan lies. Self-deception of the highest, lowest order.


    ¡°I don¡¯t follow, sorry.¡±


    Ex-girlfriend. You don¡¯t want to know.


    ¡°You mean ¨C Stormsword.¡±


    I winced.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry ¨C¡°


    No, it¡¯s okay. But¡­ Ironvine¡­ There¡¯s a lot of possible explanations. She might¡¯ve been speaking metaphorically. She might¡¯ve had a vision from one of the gods¡­ or if she¡¯s been to some Council meetings ¨C


    ¡°She¡¯s a posh one?¡±


    Oh, damn right.


    ¡°That might be it, then.¡±


    A new pattern of azure shields dropped out of the sky, descending in sudden bursts of speed, and at their centre a woman flickered. She had so many imp-wings sprouting haphazardly from her robes that I couldn¡¯t tell if there was an even amount of them; the eldritch process by which the assorted wings were distributed about her body was certainly fiendish, and had clearly abandoned all pretence at symmetry. The wings barely seemed to flap, and her motions through the air were decidedly gungrelafor in nature, snapping closer via a teleportation power every few seconds.


    It was interesting to me. The faerie-queen I¡¯d been fooled into thinking I owned, she had always encouraged me to join with a demon. Thinfinaran. Rhimbelkina. Dangerous entities from the Twelve Hells. Looking back, it¡¯d always seemed like a part of her trap. It was the step I¡¯d always felt would take me too far and, both consciously and unconsciously, I¡¯d always rejected infernal joining. Even at the point of dying ¨C rather my soul go untarnished into the great beyond, than have it twisted and spoiled in unknown ways, with my consent no less.


    Yet I¡¯d always fancied teleportation, and knowing I had a solid stable of reliable gungrelafor suddenly brought that option into focus. It would be so easy¡­ Here was another arch-sorcerer, doing just that, with no outward or obvious ill-effects¡­ There was probably a knack to it, and if I could quiz her on how she was pulling it off¡­


    ¡°Faerie-queen¡­¡± Dirk mused within me.


    Pure instinct created an image of Zel before my mind¡¯s eye, but I blinked it away and Dirk submitted to my unspoken intention. I didn¡¯t need an internal dialogue to distract me right now. I had this newcomer to deal with.


    ¡±We really need to talk, Feychilde.¡±


    Gotcha. For now, though, go to sleep for me, Dirk. We can chat later.


    The convenience of having command was reassuring. I wasn¡¯t used to having a talkative passenger anymore. I remembered it took some getting used to. Still, having a vampire volunteer for joining, a seemingly non-evil vampire, made joining a far more pleasant experience. Zero bloodlust. All the benefits, none of the drawbacks. A match made in the Twelve Heavens.


    I raised an eyebrow at the newcomer as her shields overlapped Lyanne¡¯s, then my own. No hostility here, it appeared.


    ¡°Wrynka,¡± Ly spat when the woman flickered into our midst, softly settling down via a more-conventional floating-power. ¡°Where¡¯ve you been?¡±


    ¡°To hell and back,¡± the heretic said breathily, staring right at me as if to completely ignore Ly¡¯s existence. She glanced down at the blue tendrils hanging at my right side, and before anyone else could get a word in she stepped forward and extended her hand towards me.


    ¡°Hello, Liberator.¡±


    She was beautiful, that was for sure. ¡®Wrynka¡¯ was an old woman¡¯s name, in my mind, and I was surprised to find a very shapely, tall specimen with a red-brown flare of mid-length hair and classic, almost elvish features. Unusually elegant for a North Lowtown girl. Unlike Ibaran and Liebor, who still seemed to take a perverse pleasure in their status as former heretics, she¡¯d abandoned the featureless rags for a chic black robe, fitted at the bosom with a visibly laced-up front. Where she¡¯d found an open boutique in all this chaos I didn¡¯t even want to ask; she¡¯d almost certainly appropriated it.


    For all that she was almost my height and very¡­ physically developed, her complexion bespoke her youth, never mind the twinkle in her dusk-shrouded eyes.


    I looked at her hand. She¡¯d extended her right and, when she didn¡¯t immediately correct herself by swapping it for the left, I resolved myself to the embarrassment of reaching out awkwardly, taking and shaking her fingers lamely with my unpractised left hand.


    But the moment my fingers touched hers she dropped into a deep curtsy, lowering her gaze subserviently, and suddenly the shame of my disability evaporated. I felt like a liege-lord accepting the fealty of a vassal.


    Her eyes flicked up, meeting mine through her long lashes¡­


    Then Ibaran snorted, breaking the mood instantly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Feychilde,¡± Liebor said. ¡°She¡¯s like this with all the guys.¡±


    ¡°You wish,¡± the new sorceress retorted in a small voice, not moving her eyes from mine. ¡°So, what¡¯ve I missed?¡±


    She was still gazing right at me with that twinkling stare as she slowly rose to her full height once more, seeming to release my fingers only with reluctance.


    ¡°Prophecies of doom and destruction,¡± I said, as off-handedly as I could manage. ¡°Long story short¡­ uh¡­ Redgate is alive.¡±


    ¡°Redgate?¡± Wrynka¡¯s eyes expressed confusion but she couldn¡¯t keep the thrilled lilt from her voice. ¡°He got put down by the Dragonslayers, I thought. Corrupt little dropstain, no?¡±


    ¡°Corrupt, and worse. I need Nightfell.¡±


    Liebor grunted at that, looking aside.


    ¡°I think if he¡­ if he¡¯s there,¡± I went on, ¡°in Chakobar¡­ it means it¡¯s starting. Mal Malas told me the dragon-bones were coming. If Ord Ylon¡¯s cache fell into Redgate¡¯s hands, and Redgate¡¯s turned himself into a lich¡­¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Wrynka looked from me to Lyanne. ¡°Why¡¯d he want to go and do a thing like that?¡±


    ¡°Evil is its own special kind of idiocy,¡± I said in answer, then continued: ¡°The Dracofont. The Return. The Crucible. All of it¡­ The end of everything. Everything you feared is going to come to pass.¡±


    Ibaran let out a heavy sigh. ¡°Well, you used her name and she¡¯s not come running up. She must be busy.¡±


    I understood what she meant. ¡°No, no.¡± I tapped the top of my head. ¡°It¡¯s the shadow of the crown I wore. A Ring of Dismo. Worked in really weird ways.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a Dismo?¡± Liebor asked.


    ¡°Not a clue,¡± I replied. ¡°But it¡¯s still hiding me from their sight, apparently, even after I tossed it in a lake.¡±


    ¡°Hiding you rhimbelkina-style?¡± Wrynka asked, naked curiosity, almost hunger in her voice.


    I shrugged, and everyone here was able to see the way my whips flailed about when I moved my shoulders. I was really going to have to get used to this one-armed thing.


    ¡°Whatever it is,¡± Ly said, ¡°it ain¡¯t gonna help much when five ancient super-dragons get resurrected. Ain¡¯t gonna be time for planning. Think what Tyr Kayn pulled off ¨C we¡¯ll have a dragon-enchanter ten times her power on our hands. The diviner will make mincemeat of our seers. Folks like us won¡¯t even get a look in without them. We¡¯ll be outmanoeuvred on every front.¡±


    Them¡­


    ¡°That¡¯s only if we let the dragons come back.¡± Liebor¡¯s eyes shone, defiance in his voice. ¡°Screw their predictions. I say we stop Redgate in his tracks. If he really is building some¡­ some necromantic empire down south ¨C¡±


    ¡°We need diviners¡¯ eyes on the problem,¡± Ibaran interjected. ¡°Like Kas says. We need Nightfell.¡±


    ¡°Screw Nightfell!¡± Liebor snarled at her, clearly more-willing to debate his sister than he was me. ¡°Vardae? She¡¯s the one who led us into this mess. These visions! Fight, don¡¯t fight. Kill, don¡¯t kill.¡± He returned his gaze to me. ¡°It¡¯s Kas I¡¯m gonna follow now. You. Don¡¯t let the prophets lead you round the houses. When a third eye opens, two eyes close.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know¡­¡± I passed my hand over my brow, down my cheek. ¡°Believe me, if anyone knows, I know.¡± He didn¡¯t look convinced. I didn¡¯t care. ¡°But there¡¯s some things I still don¡¯t understand. If Redgate took over Chakobar ¨C well, at least Tirremuir¡­ how don¡¯t we know about it?¡±


    There was an uncomfortable silence.


    ¡°De Awealbod.¡±


    All eyes turned to Min.


    ¡°Dey must have kept i¡¯ hidden,¡± she continued. ¡°De magisters, too.¡±


    ¡°How do you keep something like that hidden?¡± Ibaran said, half-laughing, as if the very notion was preposterous.


    Ly frowned at her. ¡°We¡¯ve been played a thousand different ways. When I was a champion ¨C before, I mean ¨C we played you.¡±


    ¡°Then we ¨C¡± Liebor cried.


    ¡°You played us back, next time,¡± Ly went on, more loudly, ducking her head in acceptance despite the scowl on her face. ¡°That¡¯s fair. That¡¯s my point. How much worse d¡¯you think they play the lot of us, though? Who knows what¡¯s really goin¡¯ on, out there?¡± She flung her hand back over her shoulder, thumb extended, as if to point beyond the walls of Mund. ¡°There¡¯s only so many ways word gets about, and they¡¯ve got their eyes on the lot of ¡¯em, I¡¯d warrant.¡±


    ¡°While we true archmages are left to wallow here, incapable of even saving our city, never mind the world.¡±


    The new voice called out from behind me, beyond the scope of my current shields, and I found myself unable to react until he finished. As soon as I could I whipped about, noting the others also turning their heads to see our latest intruder.


    I doubted any of them would recognise him in the simple grey tunic he wore; he would look completely out of place in our company, just a lost gardener trudging across a field. His hair had thinned out a little more. His usual drawn, fraught expression had been replaced by a smile. Only his keen eyes, flashing beneath deep brows, denoted the calibre of his power.


    His namesake.


    ¡°Duskdown,¡± I half-gasped, not unwarmly. My misgivings evaporated in an instant.


    ¡°You had me worried, Feychilde.¡± He came striding within the bounds of my shield as I moved to meet him, extending my arm. ¡°You¡¯re a tricky one to find. I knew you¡¯d be coming back, then suddenly you vanished from my sight. If it weren¡¯t for the whole city going on about your escapades¡­ my lad¡­¡±


    He, at least, wasn¡¯t going to curtsy, and had the wherewithal to use his left hand. But as soon as our palms clasped and thumbs hooked he pulled me into a rough hug, slapping my back.


    ¡°Rath,¡± I said, grinning. ¡°My man. Thank you. Just¡­ for everything. You covered my ass, all this time. There¡¯s no way to really show you what it meant. If I hadn¡¯t stumbled into a big dark elf mess, I¡¯d have been free and clear.¡±


    ¡°I dreamt of that,¡± he said in wonder mingled with trepidation, releasing me and stepping back. ¡°That was you, Kas?¡±


    I grimaced, nodding. Shame stung the corners of my eyes but I refused to tear my gaze from his. For some reason, I didn¡¯t want him, of all people, to know I was a murderer. And yet I¡¯d hardly been a few seconds in his presence and I felt the urge to divulge everything, bare my soul in all its icy depths.


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    ¡°Well¡­¡± His smile wavered, then quickly reasserted itself. ¡°We all have a lot to atone for, and you far less than I in the eyes of gods and men, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Hello there,¡± Wrynka was calling. ¡°Duskdown? Did I hear Feychilde right?¡±


    We came walking back towards the others. I noted that Liebor was reinforcing his shields, patching up a weak area just in case. He must¡¯ve had a vampire or something in him too, because the moment I noticed he stopped the activity.


    ¡°That¡¯s what they used to call me,¡± the seer said in reply, his tone grim. ¡°That¡¯s the robe. Right now ¨C I just want to be me. Call me Rath.¡±


    Wrynka eyed him appraisingly, lips pursed. Liebor and Ibaran looked suitably impressed, awe in their eyes.


    Min and Ly seemed less fazed.


    ¡°Rath,¡± Ly said, managing to inject the lone syllable with more scepticism than I¡¯d have thought possible. ¡°What happened to Timesnatcher?¡±


    A shadow crossed his face, and his shoulders fell in a dejected shrug.


    ¡°The last Ever¡­ the last Nightfell heard, he was heading for you.¡± The tall sorceress wouldn¡¯t relent, and it was her turn for her eyes to glow, this time with a dim emerald radiance. ¡°Did he find you?¡±


    The smile on his lips was a sad one by now, and when he spoke his voice was husky. ¡°I think he perished. I¡¯m sorry. I¡­ I offered him my help. He didn¡¯t want it. He fought the dweonatar alone, so I could go to the aid of others. If he ¨C if he fell¡­ it was a champion¡¯s end, I¡¯m certain of it.¡± His eyes flicked about us. ¡°No irony.¡±


    ¡°Tamsnatcher,¡± Min said, morose.


    I was surprised to find there were tears in my own eyes.


    And to think, I¡¯d just been thinking less of him¡­


    ¡°For all his, his ways¡­¡± I was going to say mistakes or faults, and both sounded too nasty. It wasn¡¯t proper to speak ill of the dead, especially one such as him. ¡°He was Mund¡¯s best. He represented everything right with us. Let¡¯s remember him as he was, before Tyr Kayn¡¯s madness infected him.¡±


    ¡°If only he was here,¡± Ly said in a low voice. ¡°T-Man¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if he¡¯d have known about Tirremuir,¡± Rathal offered. ¡°I certainly didn¡¯t. Redgate has rarely appeared in my visions, and I never knew to focus my attentions on him until it was too late. But you were right with what you said earlier, Netherhame. The Magisterium has a unique monopoly on divination ¨C a complete stranglehold on scrying, in all its forms. One effect of such blanket control is to blinker the eyes of others. Who knows what sights we should be seeing?¡± He turned to me again. ¡°I have places to be, but I was looking for you to tell you: they¡¯re coming. I can¡¯t perceive all their movements thanks to their arch-diviners but I know this much¡­ They¡¯re heading to Sticktown, seeking you. Better if you¡¯re there than not when their patience snaps.¡±


    ¡°Henthae.¡± I clenched my fist, feeling the savage smile part my lips. ¡°And I was starting to think I¡¯d have to go hunting her.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous to go alone,¡± Duskdown began.


    ¡°But you know I can¡¯t take you with me. Can¡¯t take anyone.¡±


    I have to do this myself, dangerous or not. Can¡¯t surround myself with my pet killers, if I want to do it right.


    ¡°We¡¯ll meet, tomorrow night,¡± I continued. ¡°All of us. Heretics, champions ¨C darkmages, and the light. At the Tower of Mourning. Let them punish us if they dare.¡±


    I tapped the dark elves and reached out for Trappy¡¯s hand. Only I could sense the eolastyr, of course, and I let the nethernal nature take hold of her flesh before I started floating higher. The last thing I would¡¯ve wanted would be for her weight to pull me off-balance. I knew it would be foolish of me to give away my secret servant¡¯s presence.


    ¡°Duskdown, I would be honoured to make your acquaintance properly.¡± Wrynka didn¡¯t overdo the sweetness in her voice but it was out of place all the same. ¡°If you¡¯re leaving, I¡¯d be happy to accompany you to your¡­ next appointment.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± was all he said. He didn¡¯t even look at her ¨C he was staring off at the summit of the hillock, where Tyr Kayn had been sitting before we made our move that fateful day.


    ¡°But I need your help.¡± The redhead started pouting. ¡°I¡¯ve lost something, and I don¡¯t know what it is.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Liebor snorted, looking at Ibaran for backup.


    But Wrynka was patting the air strangely, like she was¡­


    Hugging someone short. Hugging¡­ a gnome?


    Oh gods.


    Nausea lashed me.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I exclaimed, suddenly coming to stop.


    Realisation stopped my heart; I couldn¡¯t inhale after my outburst, the sudden horror of their absence gripping me, turning me cold head to toe in an instant, far more effective than any nethernal joining ¨C


    And I wasn¡¯t alone. Everyone groaned, turning pale ¨C


    ¡°Then you, Kas?¡± Wrynka made it a question, and seemed to have completely ignored my previous statements on the matter. ¡°I¡¯d love to pick your brain if you¡¯re expecting us to go to one of these ¡®Gatherings¡¯¡­ Say, are we going to get to see that massive crystal tr-¡°


    ¡°Shut up, Wrynka!¡± Lyanne and Ibaran hissed simultaneously.


    I felt myself smirking so I offered her a shrug in consolation.


    ¡°I¡¯m kind of busy too. I¡¯m not saying no but¡­ maybe tomorrow.¡± For some reason I remembered that first interaction with Tanra, leaving her in the roadway outside the temple with her broken-backed boyfriend. The recollection reminded me just how much the young girl had changed.


    Maybe Wrynka could too.


    ¡°Tomorrow, then!¡± the redhead piped, beaming, as though we¡¯d arranged a date.


    I was still smirking as I rose up into the air. The others were turning aside to leave, their eldritch energies firing up ¨C Duskdown started heading up the hill at what must¡¯ve been a casual pace, but his exit was far too fast for any of the rest of us to match.


    ¡°Tomorrow, all of you!¡± I called down.


    I tugged on Trappy¡¯s hand, leading her away.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go ¨C fast,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Next appointment, a magisterial bloodbath,¡± the demon said with relish, wrapping me in her power and propelling us towards home.


    I didn¡¯t have true flight bestowed by a wizard, but she was still able to rustle up a speed that left my mind reeling, unable to sort through the perceptions. The wind roared in my ears and there was little fluidity or grace to the way she tore through the sky, but, otherwise, the experience was almost akin to moving with an arch-diviner of a less unearthly stock.


    After a few moments of consternation, I surrendered to the flow of infernal power, closing my eyes and relaxing, forcing myself to enjoy the wailing wind as we cut through the evening airs. I could let myself submit to Infrick¡¯s control, safe in the knowledge that it worked both ways ¨C after all, she was mine. She would get me to where I needed to be with minimal input.


    She was, of course, anticipating the killings to follow. Feychilde versus the Magisterium ¨C it¡¯d come around at last. And for all my hopes of ending this pointless struggle without violence, I knew my hidden hopes well, having nurtured them in a hundred dreams, dwelling upon a thousand bitter moments until they all blended into one, a delicious, noxious draught of death.


    If it went wrong ¨C if they refused my terms, made it a matter of me or them ¨C then Infrick would get her wish.


    Whether I wanted it or not.


    * * *


    I was high-up enough to make out the shadowy line of the river, half-demarcated by rows of buildings stretched along the banks. In several places those rows of buildings had been thrown down ¨C such places, adjacent to the water, had always been slums, attracting crime and criminals in all their forms. But now they were great wooden carcasses, twisted shells of their former selves. Those left to scurry in the looming shadows of these timber hills were surely doomed to suffer the worst of the city¡¯s evils, predators of an all-too-mortal variety slouching in to take advantage of any perceived vulnerability¡­


    As I watched the remains of a hovel on the far side of the river lost some more of its intestines, part of an upper floor sliding free and hanging down over the fast-moving water. Planks and abandoned furniture dripped from the open aperture, joining the detritus-flows on the Blackrush¡¯s glossy surface, hurtling downriver to join the clogged-up bottle-necks farther along the waterway.


    The boundary came closer and closer to me with each passing second, the centre of Oldtown falling farther and farther behind. I had to get my head in the game. I actually snarled at the air a bit ¨C though the target of my venom remained a mystery. Was it directed at myself? Or at the magisters? At the demons? The criminal scum of the underworld?


    I didn¡¯t know ¨C but I had venom in me all the same.


    ¡°Do you not think you should share my cloak?¡± The eolastyr had a pretty way of putting it. ¡°We approach Sticktown. If they spot you from below ¨C¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll waste the charges in their wands, not to mention a ridiculous amount of gold in components.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll know where you are. Trust me in this ¨C if you wish to win a war, your first battle is logistical. Think of the terror they experience, these magisters preparing to face you. They have been warned already of your violence during the Incursion. They know their blood has sated you once.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that.¡±


    ¡°So speak all men whose thirst has been quenched, forgetting mere minutes later what it was that so drove them. The animal still lives within you. What drove you, last night? How vainly did the magisters behave, to tempt your slaughterous ways?¡±


    Her words drummed into me, persuasive not by dint of some eldritch magic but by the sheer fact that she spoke truth. I could still see it, in my mind¡¯s eye ¨C the way the magisters slew the inkatra-heads, right there, Sticktowners dying in droves at the hands of those who were paid and trained to protect them, whilst all around the city fell to the legions of demons.


    ¡°Do not hand them victory. Obey not the rules. Be the harbinger of doom they fear, while all along you fear not; your cause is as righteous as any man might hope before he wades into bloodshed. You will not win through by engaging in skirmishes when you permit your enemies to designate the battleground. Choose your encounters wisely. The element of surprise is your most-potent ally.¡±


    ¡°More potent than you?¡± I asked, half-sarcastically, half-rhetorically.


    ¡°No, Feychilde. Nothing in this city is as potent as me, save you.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t expecting the grave reply. I tightened my grip on her hand, which was gesture enough for me to tease the goblin-shroud making her invisible, let it start slipping up my arm. Before a few moments had passed I fully shared in the spell¡¯s concealment, and then, just to complete the effect, I dropped my shields entirely.


    ¡°If we¡¯re going to surprise them, we¡¯d better do it right, eh?¡± I said.


    Now it was the purr I¡¯d been waiting to hear. Just a single word, but so filled with satisfaction, with meaning, I couldn¡¯t help but grin.


    ¡°¡­ Master¡­¡±


    * * *


    ¡°They call themselves ¡®Cohort Two¡¯, Master. Just one of seven such groups.¡±


    Infrick¡¯s whispers came from a few feet to my left, so quiet I had to strain to hear them even with Dirk¡¯s essence within me. I hadn¡¯t picked up the full complement of supernatural senses from my joined vampire, and it hurt.


    The eolastyr was going out of her way to maintain our cover. I didn¡¯t ask her to repeat it, but I still couldn¡¯t quite believe what I was hearing.


    ¡°Seven?¡± I breathed.


    If the other battalions were as strong as this one, there had to be almost a thousand magisters assembled in Sticktown, all hunting poor old me. About two hundred feet below us was Arnost¡¯s Green, a grassy knoll surrounded by apartment-blocks. Usually it was occupied by the homeless, and any number of illicit goings-on would occur on that pleasant-looking patch of ground when night fell. This evening was different, however. The homeless had all been butchered, or had fled from the demons. The new occupants of the knoll were far less-welcoming to miscreants than the denizens of the Twelve Hells, and those who¡¯d left were unlikely to return until the magisters had gone. They stood in groups of five or ten, wands and heavy pouches filled with reagents hanging from their belts. The assortment of colours was quite something to behold; it was only after a minute of staring that I realised some of their robes were cut in odd fashions, with pointy, triangular cowls, or decorated with glittering trims the likes of which I¡¯d never seen before.


    Out-of-towners?


    A few gangs of yobs were hanging out on corners and the balconies of the intact buildings around the Green, their sullen stares directed towards the officials on the knoll. In spite of the Incursion¡¯s inevitable death-toll (or perhaps because of it) there seemed to be no shortage of dispossessed lowborn, young and old, male and female, willing to loiter and glare. The brooding silence of the magister-host was hardly surprising. Very few of them appeared to be engaging in conversation. Perhaps they¡¯d set up personal links for their private chats¡­


    A deep yell brought my attention to the far slope of the knoll, where I was surprised to find a dwarven woman on her knees before a magenta-clad sorceress. (The mage-robe¡¯s hue gave an indication of her chosen field, but there was no mistaking the web of tattoos on the back of one of her hands ¨C giving away her role as one of the Swords to boot.) It looked like the dwarf¡¯s pleas for help were falling on deaf ears, the sorceress refusing to even enter a dialogue. Soon a short, stocky magister was selected from the onlooking ranks to go down and speak with her. A fellow dwarf, I surmised. At first I thought it was because they wished to finally take pity on the wailing woman, whose grief-choked cries were bothering me all the way up here, never mind them down on the ground right in front of her. When the magister reached her, she turned her red eyes to her kinsman, still bawling, her desperation coming through clearly even if I couldn¡¯t make any sense of her words.


    The dwarven magister pointed towards the buildings at the perimeter, back the way she came. His voice was too quiet for me to even pick it out but, whatever he said, it meant rejection; I could tell by the way the supplicant¡¯s grief and misery were transformed instantly to incandescent rage.


    She cursed. She howled. She threw a handful of dirt and stone. When that didn¡¯t suffice, she gripped her loose, tangled brown hair at the temple and audibly tore it free.


    She couldn¡¯t throw a clump of hair very far, but I¡¯d be damned if I said she didn¡¯t try her hardest.


    The magister seemed to react to that last gesture of defiance, shifting his weight, padding from one foot to the other as though overcome with doubts. But it appeared his superiors took the decision out of his hands ¨C a taller magister stepped up, wand levelled, and shot a blast of wet wind right at the supplicant.


    The dwarf had no choice, no chance ¨C the gust slammed into her, almost picking her up and hurling her away, torrential rain driving right at her horizontally, drenching her and blinding her; she tripped as she stumbled back, and I could¡¯ve swore I heard some magisters chuckling at the display.


    ¡°How amusing.¡± I bit the words out with no concern for being discovered.


    The groups of watchers on the balconies started heckling the magisters, not laughing along with them but booing instead.


    ¡°They do find it amusing, Master. One of the captains suggested arresting the dwarf.¡±


    I turned to look in the general direction of her head, as though staring right through her could impart understanding.


    ¡°Wait ¨C you¡¯re listening to them?¡±


    ¡°The link created by Keliko Henthae is weak; weaker than I have ever seen before. I¡¯d be embarrassed, in her place, frankly. I don¡¯t know why she hasn¡¯t used another nexus-point here, when she has her pawns in place, more than capable of sharing the load. Doesn¡¯t she trust her own soldiers? Ah. No. Perhaps she shouldn¡¯t.¡±


    I spent a moment just reeling. The possibilities were endless.


    ¡°What else can you hear? Is Henthae close? How many of these are archmages? Here, I mean.¡±


    The eolastyr laughed gently. The sound of it sent shivers up my spine.


    ¡°Oh yes, Master. I understand. We can get up to much mischief in this location. Henthae is not near here, such as I am able to sense.¡±


    I gritted my teeth. ¡°Shall we go find her, then?¡±


    ¡°And leave this force behind us? Leave these people to suffer?¡±


    Her voice didn¡¯t change, not one bit, and it worried me. I knew that the two questions were not equal in her own mind.


    ¡°What would you suggest?¡±


    ¡°Rout them.¡±


    ¡°And tell Henthae exactly where we are?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t tell her where we are, only where we¡¯ve been. Even with wizards and diviners, she can¡¯t mobilise forces of that magnitude fast enough to stop us. Strike, and move on. Shock her with our brutality. She herself will conceal us, conceal our attack to conceal her own weakness. There are only two archmages here ¨C an enchanter too afraid to unsheath his true weapons ¨C a sorcerer of scant talents¡­¡±


    She drew our clasped hands to point. I spotted the pair she indicated, my eye drawn to the enchanter standing on his own almost directly beneath us ¨C the sorceress floating on the far edge, a faint blue bubble wheeling lazily about her.


    The latter of the two arch-magisters was near the weeping dwarf woman, and my eye was drawn once more to her plight. She was staggering away from the knoll like a drunk, her face downturned as she continued to rend at her hair, cursing gutturally as she went.


    Disgust filled me. I knew what I wanted to do. The devil on my shoulder was right.


    The eolastyr¡­ was right.


    ¡°For justice,¡± I said. ¡°For Kultemeren.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    I turned my head to look Trappy right in the invisible eyes.


    ¡°Even your Mother feared the Judge.¡±


    ¡°Then let us be his gavel!¡± she roared, her voice too loud for it to go unheard.


    That settled it. Not just what I had to do. What I wanted to do. What I¡¯d decided.


    It took less than ten seconds to break the whole cohort, when I finally set myself to the task. I dropped unseen into the very centre of their formations atop the crest of the hill, near their hard-eyed leaders. They hadn¡¯t even set up shields, confident in their numbers, their petty systems of warnings, defensive practices that had led them into an unforgivably-false sense of security.


    I set up my initial shields while I fell, and before I reached the ground I willed aside the gremlin-shroud, letting the glamour lie more-strongly upon Infrick. As I came to a halt a yard above the grass I was just becoming visible; only a few were aware of my presence and I chose that moment to proclaim myself, bellowing the words at ear-splitting volume.


    And that was it.


    ¡°Feychilde is come! You found me! What do you want with me, fools? Did you think me craven?¡°


    I had plenty more, but I had to stop ¨C they were already leaving before I called them fools, scattering like petals before a hurricane, screaming as they ran. It was an exodus the likes of which I¡¯d never anticipated, so smooth as to almost appear practised ¨C my instincts assured me this was some stratagem, that they would turn and regroup, entrench themselves and encircle me. But they disappointed me. Before I even closed my mouth, I stopped bothering with the shieldcraft. Better to save myself the effort.


    These magisters weren¡¯t turning back and reforming ranks. They were broken.


    Few among them could see the walls that I¡¯d sent rippling out, and by my estimation I¡¯d only hurled a couple of their leaders with the barriers. I saw them in their fancy robes, most overtaking their underlings by virtue of the more-powerful spells laid upon them. The two archmages made themselves scarce in record time, the enchanter splitting into a dozen duplicates that dispersed in every direction, the sorceress stepping into an ethereal doorway. A quick glance through the jadeway showed me my quarry, flying away on the back of a tremendous gold-feathered eagle.


    I heard the eolastyr chuckling beside me as I withdrew my head from the emerald foam, and I frowned.


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Oh, Master, you have much to learn.¡±


    ¡°Now what does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means I think your attempt at intimidation leaves something to be desired.¡±


    ¡°I was getting to it! I didn¡¯t expect a simple declaration to get them all so worked up.¡±


    She chuckled again. ¡°I have access to their great working, now that the pillar of Fiano Daekassen has removed itself from the scene.¡± She clarified: ¡°The thought-shaper, whose assistance Henthae sought this morning. Oh, ha-ha, he has been a naughty boy¡­¡±


    ¡°Trappy!¡± I barked, shaking her hand, and she stiffened instantly in response. ¡°Trappy, you have access to the whole damn thing?¡±


    ¡°Covering the length and breadth of Mund, yes Master.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ how¡­?¡±


    ¡°I locked them out, and was granted thereby the key. Henthae has almost spent her strength, it seems. Many of the magisters she has assembled today have no wish to be here. In fact many more would have fled the city by now, were it not for her meddling in their minds.¡±


    And with that she¡¯d truly done it.


    ¡°Henthae,¡± I growled.


    The Mistress of the Pool of Reflections had finally crossed the line, the line her own institution had drawn for the betterment of all mortalkind. The line whose existence she herself had defended. The line Belexor crossed when he used his magic to warp my existence. She¡¯d promised me when she took a personal hand in Belexor¡¯s punishment that she could never take the same misstep, never stumble over the threshold set down by the law.


    And here she was. Dancing to and fro across it with wild abandon.


    What had I ever done comparable to this? Had I ever stolen the thoughts of hundreds, maybe even thousands of individuals? No. Of course not. I¡¯d been a heretic of mere association and it was all because she¡¯d been out to get me from the very start. Tyr Kayn was just a convenient excuse, wasn¡¯t she? It wasn¡¯t like Henthae suddenly changed her ways when the draconic puppeteer had been exposed. If anything she¡¯d doubled her play. She used me in Zadhal then before I became too dire of a threat to her power she sought to discard me, kill me¡­


    ¡°I feel your wroth, Feychilde. Channel it. Let it be your guide. Where it might take you, none can say. Even the Sinphalamax.¡±


    I cast my gaze out across the knoll, taking in the surrounding buildings. The magisters had almost all vanished by now, scurrying away like the rats they were.


    Wish me luck, Tanra.


    It was time.


    ¡°Are you not tired? Do you not tire of your shackles? Sticktown!¡°


    That one word rattled the apartment blocks.


    ¡°When will it be enough, Sticktown? Will you bow before your oppressors, still?¡°


    More and more faces, peering across the Green at me from windows and balconies.


    ¡°You hear me. You know me. And you have seen them. You know them. It¡¯s time to rise up and tell them what you think of them. I¡¯m going to leave Arnost¡¯s now, and I¡¯m going to find every last one of these so-called protectors, so-called defenders¡­¡°


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± someone screamed to my left.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± another cried to my right.


    ¡°I promise you, I won¡¯t rest until every single magister¡¯s gone from Sticktown. They can choose the manner of their eviction. But they need to know now:


    ¡°They are no longer welcome.¡°


    * * *


    ¡°She knows what we¡¯re doing, but she¡¯s keeping her slaves in the dark,¡± the invisible arch-fiend at my side reported with relish. ¡°I can¡¯t lock her out anymore, Master. But I¡¯m sure I can¡­ ah¡­¡±


    I sighed, turning away to peruse the rout as Trappy entered another extended reverie ¨C this was the third time in as many minutes, and I¡¯d learned to be patient. Almost all the magisters in Ebondock Knot were gone from my sight, now, but that didn¡¯t mean much in an area like this. It was the antithesis of Arnost¡¯s Green. The Knot was a tangle of pitch-coated roadways that¡¯d been built over and under one another; two or three such stacked-up levels wasn¡¯t an uncommon sight in Sticktown, but this place had roughly a dozen major routes going through the same exact spot, walkways or even roadways sturdy-enough for wagons, supported by rows of thick pillars. Many of the paths designed for pedestrians were broad-enough for four abreast despite the fact they were only held aloft by ropes fastened to the adjacent buildings. The sun was finally setting, and in the summer twilight there were a million shadowy corners of this nest in which a magister or two might huddle, preparing a counter-attack.


    Rather than break Trappy¡¯s focus by pestering her with my concerns, I gently tugged her forwards, downwards, a little to the right¡­ Bit by bit I manoeuvred my shields across my surroundings, in the process flushing out no more than a handful of hiding magisters. Even those were wearing expressions of distress; it appeared they weren¡¯t would-be assassins, but rather those of my enemies who most feared my rebuke, driven not to flight but to paralysis.


    Am I really that scary? I wondered. I couldn¡¯t help but feel a little burst of ecstasy every time I caught one of the Magisterium slaves shrieking. A little amusing thrill every time I saw one fall over in their haste to get away.


    A little twinge of regret, guilt, when I caught their panic-stricken expressions, momentary glances with terror-filled eyes. Terror that only grew tenfold if I managed to catch their gaze, as though they suddenly realised that by daring to cast looks over their shoulders they had doomed themselves.


    I wasn¡¯t even giving chase. I only had to show up and they were losing their nerve. Magisters who¡¯d lived through Incursions, fighting their way tooth and nail through demonic hordes ¨C now their ranks were shattering like glass at the mere sight of me. Maybe it was news of the riotous crowd moving this way that¡¯d tipped the scales in the end. I fancied I could already hear their roar in the distance, slowly growing in volume as they approached, gathering momentum, gathering numbers.


    ¡°Much more impressive, Master,¡± Infrick noted, as if to answer my hidden thoughts.


    ¡°No chuckling this time? I didn¡¯t say anything different. In fact, I purposely kept it as close to last time as I could¡­¡±


    ¡°You sounded like you meant it.¡±


    ¡°What, that I was here, and that they¡¯d found me¡­?¡±


    ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    I really didn¡¯t, but I knew she was distracting me, and what I didn¡¯t know was why.


    ¡°Whatever. Report.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m not sure you want to know.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°I¡¯m ready. Go on.¡±


    What could it possibly be? Are we losing? I knew it was too easy¡­


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you summon Pinktongue? He¡¯ll tell you all about it, better than I can with words.¡±


    I shrugged, and gestured with my mind, the flourish of will that would open up ¨C


    Not red fire. Empty air.


    Open up absence. A vacancy not just in physical space, but inside my soul. A part of me that had been robbed away, transitioned into a formless, incoherent essence I could no longer summon.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead?¡± I whispered. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Cohort Five.¡±


    I thought it all through, then asked the only question that mattered:


    ¡°Where?¡±


    I heard the smile on her lips. ¡°Oh, Master, where else but where this all began? Knuckle Market.¡°


    I rose up, and spoke with the voice of the tempest.


    ¡°People of the Knot! I know you watch me. Watch, and wonder. Can you hear it coming? Can you hear Sticktown approach? Now I tell you: the time is upon us. I move to Lord¡¯s Knuckle. Who will join their brothers and sisters? Who will go with me?¡°


    And it was a storm that answered.

 With Pleasure

    <h2>PYRITE 10.3: WITH PLEASURE</h2>


    ¡°The scout reports the movements of enemy troops in the mountain pass. The emissary returns with the fair words of a foreign dignitary. The daughter writes with love to her parents of life in the big city. But in the end, the message is nothing more than what is left unsaid. The skirmishes soon to be joined. The stern rebuke couched in finery. The daily strife that spurs on the writer. You must learn to listen to the silence, listen for it.¡±


    ¨C from the Orovaic Creed


    ¡°What are you up to now?¡± I asked as we soared ahead of the crowds spilling through the streets.


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯ve gone and ruined it,¡± Infrick said petulantly. ¡°Why such a specific inquiry, when you¡¯ve been so broad in your previous requests? Did you get this from the vampire? I¡¯m having a chat with the magisters, if you must know.¡±


    I looked across at her; her words disturbed me to such a degree that my sorcerer¡¯s eye was already focussed, capable of penetrating the invisibility cloak, inspecting the red tangle of demonic essence hiding behind empty Materium space ¨C the essence only I could see.


    ¡°A chat? What do you mean by that?¡± I almost screeched, my exasperation starting to show. ¡°Damn me if you aren¡¯t useful but¡­ you need to start asking permission to do things like that. Not just ¨C do it.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡± She sounded distracted once more.


    ¡°Do you actually understand, or are you just saying ¡®Yes, Master¡¯ to shut me up?¡±


    ¡°I am to seek your authorisation before I take any steps which broadly alter the parameters of an engagement you are soon to experience¡­¡±


    I was a bit shocked, I would¡¯ve had to admit.


    ¡°¡­ Lord Feychilde.¡±


    ¡°Har-har.¡±


    ¡°I do have quite the brain, remember,¡± she purred. ¡°Colloquially, of course.¡±


    ¡°I know all too well.¡± I¡¯d never be able to forget the sight of the inside of an eolastyr¡¯s skull, no matter how hard I tried. ¡°Continue.¡±


    ¡°I am still talking to them,¡± she said archly. ¡°Two conversations at once get rather tricky and I¡¯m afraid they ¨C ah yes, they know who I am now. Oops.¡± She tried a childish chirp but it just sounded deranged. ¡°I don¡¯t wish to unduly avoid blame, Master, but if you weren¡¯t so damned inquisitive I might¡¯ve maintained the facade a while longer. Shall we turn aside from the fifth cohort, and seek easier prey? If not, I¡¯ll try to scatter them before you. Shouldn¡¯t prove too tricky.¡±


    ¡°Pinktongue¡¯s killers? No, I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll turn aside¡­¡± We had a fair percentage of Sticktown following us now, and they¡¯d need a show. ¡°But ¨C tell me ¨C what are you saying to them?¡±


    She used a gloating tone now: ¡°Oh, Master, I just knew your curiosity was going to get the better of you. Will you listen?¡±


    I shook my head. If she ended up saying something that was really going to blow up in my face, at least this way I had plausible deniability.


    ¡°Just¡­ make it clear to them I¡¯m only after Henthae. If the others leave, I¡¯ll leave them be. Even the ones who killed my servant.¡±


    ¡°Indeed ¨C I shall tell her.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­ no, wait, what? ¡®Her¡¯? No no, don¡¯t talk to Henthae¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that ship¡¯s already sunk, Master. She¡¯s a cantankerous old thing, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Old. From you¡­ Just, focus, why don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing to worry about now. Thought-transmission is so much simpler when you aren¡¯t masquerading as another. Where were we? No, age is a state of mind, Master, not something you can tally. Have you not known other ancient creatures with every bit as much joy in their lives as I? Henthae was always old, even as a little girl. She was one of those ones who always insisted on buttoning her petticoat up to the very top, even in summer¡­¡±


    As Infrick wittered, Lord¡¯s Knuckle flashed by, beneath and about us.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± I grated. ¡°Are you done?¡±


    ¡°I believe so. I have vastly reduced the amount you will need to kill. Many are already fleeing the marketplace; scarcely half of their host remain at their posts, now, though Henthae seeks to reinforce them with all haste. We should appear in their midst once more, and slay all those who refuse to flee.¡±


    ¡°I wonder if she¡¯ll come herself,¡± I mused, doing my best to ignore Trappy¡¯s enthusiasm.


    ¡°I believe she has to. It is all unravelling for her now. Those other enchanters in her alliance, those whose support she needed ¨C they are gone. It is only her will against which we contend. If we are in and out rapidly, it will truly infuriate her. She will arrive too late to encounter you, and go on to make many more mistakes.¡±


    ¡°If only that were the case¡­¡± I lost concentration as Knuckle Market came into view, and I saw the Magisterium forces converged there, the ones Henthae held to use as a shield against my anger. ¡°No,¡± I said, speaking more firmly. ¡°This is where we make our stand. I tire of the games. You ¨C¡° I sneered the word, making it a scathing insult ¡°¨C seem to be desperate for me to kill more magisters.¡± I paused, but Infrick made no comment. ¡°Having me summon Pinktongue, when you could have related his death yourself. Warning Cohort Five and Henthae that I¡¯m coming, against your own advice, under the guise of disrupting my enemies¡­¡±


    Still she said nothing. All I could hear were the cries of the crowd, wolves baying for their freedom.


    On a whim, heedless of those beneath and behind us, I momentarily whisked away the invisibility-shroud, revealing the tigress in all her eerie grandeur. The nethernal energies bearing us aloft snaked through her form, adding to the deep purple hue of her fur.


    I stared right into her black-hole eyes, no longer frightened or even repulsed. She was just a tool, a resource, mine to command.


    ¡°You long for conflict,¡± I whispered. ¡°You never expected them to run like this, did you? In spite of all your foreknowledge¡­¡±


    She can¡¯t really see anything, anything at all that I touch¡­


    ¡°Master,¡± she crooned, the black eyes gazing imploring back into mine. ¡°Master, please¡­


    ¡°My longing is all your own.¡±


    * * *


    On the edge of Knuckle Market I came to a halt, floating between the walls of two warehouses, surveying my foes. They¡¯d seen me and they weren¡¯t breaking ¨C not this time. I couldn¡¯t pick out any archmages but they¡¯d clearly been told to hold the line. Barrier-walls shimmered in the air. Rock golems had been created. Nervous hands clasped wands.


    I can¡¯t just turn this into a battle, I thought. Can¡¯t have Mundians killing their own. That¡¯d make me as bad as them.


    No more bloodbaths in my name.


    The cries of the crowd had become like a tremendous layered drumbeat now, thrumming in my veins, rattling my skull. It was as though the earth itself cracked and creaked behind me, opening its stony jaws on some bottomless throat that loosed an unending primal roar, the screaming of tideless seas that must¡¯ve shook the gods on their thrones. My own names were amongst those roars, and to recognise them made me shiver within the ghostly cocoon.


    ¡°Sticktown,¡± I murmured, my low voice sinking down and filling the streets, pitched to cut beneath the cries. ¡°Sticktown, we approach those who would oppose us. Form up on the edges of the square. Stay on the north and east. Let mecorner the rats, eh?¡°


    I was thinking that we didn¡¯t want to cut off the magistry reinforcements that were surely soon to arrive, as that would invite them to attack the protestors in the flanks, but my motives remained hidden and a great cheer rose up at my choice of words. I cast a glance down at the mayhem and chaos running like a human river along the roadways into the marketplace. There had to be almost ten thousand now, and if I let them they could overrun the whole area. I was pretty sure the only reason there wasn¡¯t any looting going on was thanks to the Incursion destroying anything of obvious value along the shop-fronts. The fire of real rebellion was still strong in their stomachs, still burning pure vapour.


    They didn¡¯t want random pillaging. They wanted magisters.


    They were already ten deep into the levelled zone. I had to manage them before they marched right into the magisters¡¯ shields.


    ¡°Spread out! Do not push your brothers and sisters. No jostling, no fighting, or I¡¯ll set my imps on you, yer buggers!¡± Laughter erupted. ¡°Remain calm. Do not attack the mages. Go no farther, halt now! Trust in me. If any killing is required¡­ I¡¯ll handle it.¡°


    ¡°You¡¯ll handle it?¡°


    Henthae¡¯s voice seemed to resonate from the very ground, pouring from the air about my head. The effect was similar to the Invocatrix, the Mund-wide channel she¡¯d used earlier in the afternoon. But this emanation was surely local to this place, the square, these streets, an act of her archmagery¡­ She wouldn¡¯t want to broadcast our little tiff to the entire city, would she? No, the Head of Special Investigations was responding to me, and she was bitter and brittle as ice, sharp enough to cut.


    ¡°People of Sticktown. Kastyr Mortenn is a murderer. Listen to him speak, the awful promises he makes! We will take him into custody. To associate yourselves with him is to partake in his crimes. We implore you now, Mundian to Mundian. Elf or human. Dwarf or gnome. Go home.¡°


    ¡°Yeah, I wanna partake!¡± one old woman yelled with wild abandon, to the cackling of her friends.


    ¡°Then you have followed him to your deaths,¡± Henthae remonstrated without pause. ¡°Turn back, now, before you directly violate the law. There will be no reprisal. A full amnesty and the open, welcoming arms of the Magisterium for each resident who leaves.¡°


    ¡°I got a fist for anyone who leaves!¡± the same wild woman shrieked, brandishing a tattooed forearm, a thick-fingered ham of a hand.


    ¡°Been liftin¡¯ pints, Brenwe?¡± a bearded bloke cried.


    ¡°More¡¯n you, shrimp!¡± she cried back.


    Sticktown laughter rang out against the twilight, and I was grinning. Somehow, with the support of the people, I was able to forget the harrowing legacy of my actions in the here and now. What the future would make of my treason this night, I trusted no seer to tell, mortal or godkind, dark or light. I could only grin, and be myself.


    Then I saw her, on the far side of the marketplace. She was wearing the same rose-coloured robe she¡¯d been wearing the first time we met, the same myriad jewels flashing across her knuckles in the dying light of day. Mistress Keliko Henthae came soaring across the rooftops, skittering at a chronomantic pace, with a cadre of archmages about her. I recognised Elkostor, and the arch-sorceress who¡¯d fled from me earlier, zooming along just behind the arch-enchantress.


    As they reached the ranks of magisters the lines parted, and more came down over the roofs ¨C then they were pouring out of the streets.


    Hundreds of robed bodies. Many had leashed demons, retinues of tame ghosts ¨C


    ¡°Master¡­¡± Trappy mewled, ¡°this is not what I envisioned.¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    I wrinkled my nose. Did the eolastyr think I¡¯d forgotten how smart she was? She had to have known Henthae would hear that, which would give away the fact that she was right here, a devious arch-fiend by my side as I floated above the crowd.


    But she¡¯d deny breaking any rules. She claims her desire to bring us closer to blows is my desire. And Infrick¡¯s mine, damn it. How can she actually be wrong?


    Will she obey me? When I say the words that loose her, will she ignore one command in favour of another and lay them waste?


    I should¡¯ve stayed invisible too. At least that way Henthae wouldn¡¯t have known where to listen in. By the Five¡­ Curse my pride.


    In response to Infrick¡¯s comment I merely moved my hand to my foot, then placed her paw about my ankle. I feigned scratching an itchy ankle as I pressed her claws, forcing her to grip tight about me (so much as such a thing felt possible, given our discorporate bodies) before letting go.


    ¡°I need my fingers for this,¡± I muttered.


    Slowly, I started work on spreading shields, reinforcing them. I suspected this might encourage Henthae¡¯s slaves to strike before I got much work done, so it was time to distract her with a bit of chatter.


    When I sent out my voice, I realised just how easily the power came to me these last couple of days. The invisibility illusion too. Was it another effect of having worn the crown of Mother-Chaos, soon to fade away? Or was it just that I¡¯d done a better job of incorporating Zab¡¯s essence?


    Either way, when I spoke, I didn¡¯t need to yell. I could be as flat and cold as her. They all heard me.


    ¡°It sounds like you were threatening my people, just for coming here. What rule are they breaking, really? I was hoping we would be able to resolve this with words but you¡¯re making that look increasingly unlikely. You may be a Mistress, Henthae, but can you master yourself?¡°


    ¡°We won¡¯t be put off, Mr. Mortenn,¡± Henthae said curtly.


    She wasn¡¯t lying. They were building a legion, eldritch by eldritch, elemental by elemental. Flocks of birds came swooping down out of the sky to line the buildings ¨C when driven by druidry into a rash attack, a swarm of birds like this one would alone suffice to disperse a crowd of thousands, never mind the rest of Henthae¡¯s army.


    ¡°We¡¯re out for an evening stroll, aren¡¯t we, folks?¡± I chuckled. ¡°Nothing illegal about that. This is all your fault, you know, Keliko.¡°


    ¡°I hardly think you can blame me for the actions of your townsmen, for inciting a riot ¨C when it was your voice compelling their attendance here at this, this charade ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oh yeah! You didn¡¯t mean to upset us, slaughtering us. Now you come back to bully us, thinking you can cow us just like that. You¡¯re fangless without your magic, aren¡¯t you? Well ¨C if words aren¡¯t enough, it¡¯s up to you. Leave, or stay. I¡¯m going nowhere. If you¡¯re staying, I could arrange you a rat-kebab supper, so long as you pay up.¡°


    ¡°Pay up, witch!¡± a youngster screamed.


    ¡°You may have hidden your crown, Kastyr Mortenn ¨C¡°


    The shields were as good as they were going to get. I¡¯d tried to fix several of them across the face of the crowd, but how stable they¡¯d be under assault remained to be seen. I had to make her play her trump card before she found the right time.


    ¡°¨C and perhaps my power cannot pierce your mind ¨C¡°


    I reached down for Infrick¡¯s hand and raised her up beside me once more. Then I removed the eolastyr¡¯s cloak, and embellished it with a whip-crack sound just for good measure.


    ¡°¨C but ¨C so ¨C you admit to hosting this creature on our plane?¡± Henthae¡¯s voice rang out from the stones in disbelief. ¡°Sticktowners, gaze upon your saviour now! Regard his minion! This is an arch-demon, a devil-queen of unutterable malice! Is this truly your hero? The gods will curse all who follow such a leader!¡°


    ¡°He¡¯s Kas!¡± a familiar voice called. ¡°I trust him!¡±


    I looked to my right and my eyes found Salli Meleine. The beautiful young woman was glaring at the magisters and she had a rolling pin clasped tightly between two hands.


    ¡°Yeah! He saved us a million times, when you¡¯s didn¡¯t give a twig!¡±


    I teared up a little. It was Tanny Dengen, and I spotted Clun beside him.


    ¡°He¡¯s our champion.¡± Garet, at the head of his Boys.


    ¡°He¡¯s still fighting for us.¡±


    Xan, oh Xan¡­


    ¡°And now you get what you deserve, highborn scum. Pah!¡±


    The dwarf from Arnost¡¯s Green was right there in the front row of the crowd, huffing and fuming, her feet stamping.


    Once more I found Henthae¡¯s face in the centre of the magister-ranks, and I directed a shrug at her.


    ¡°You do realise what Trappy here is capable of, if I were to unleash her, right?¡± I called.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you would be so foolish as to turn into an outright rebel. You know how that would end. Looking over your shoulder, every minute, every second, for the rest of your miserable life. No. You won¡¯t kill us. Not when we aren¡¯t offering violence.¡°


    ¡°Your very presence here is violence! You ¨C¡°


    ¡°Now now, Mr. Mortenn. You sound positively criminal. It is a free city, is it not? Was that not your argument?¡°


    ¡°And wasn¡¯t it your argument that I¡¯d start killin¡¯ the lot of yer willy-nilly, even though you¡¯re now saying the opposite? You know I¡¯ve scattered your cohorts ¨C¡°


    ¡°You attacked forces of peace-keepers, unprovoked, yes ¨C¡°


    ¡°I literally showed up, introduced myself, and asked how I could help them. They ran when I shielded myself ¨C a reasonable precaution, as I¡¯m sure you can agree¡­ You call it attacked! Now you come here, demanding my presence, with an armed guard ¨C don¡¯t deny it! ¨C and it¡¯s not violence ¨C not violence to come here to detain me, here, where no one wants you ¨C to the site of a massacre you caused ¨C¡°


    ¡°Was this not where you slew the men and women of the Magisterium, Mr. Mortenn? Did you not kill them with your chaos-sorcery, right over there?¡± Henthae was pointing. I didn¡¯t care to respond or even look. ¡°You murdered magisters, in the field! You accept they had no way to fight back?¡°


    I felt my face darken. ¡°They posed me no threat, it¡¯s true.¡°


    ¡°And you still wilfully slew them!¡°


    ¡°I killed the killers, yes.¡± I stared across at her, imagining her eyes I couldn¡¯t quite make out, glaring back at me. ¡°So this is what it comes down to, is it? You want me to be better than them. It¡¯s okay for your guys to kill people, but if I approve them being killed in turn ¨C that¡¯s my fault. It¡¯s all on my head. No. It won¡¯t work this way any more. You can¡¯t just brutalise people indiscriminately.¡°


    ¡°But you weren¡¯t right to slay them, surely. Death cannot answer for death. You are appropriately equipped as a sorcerer to employ those powers which might capture, injure, enrapture your foes, rather than butcher them.¡°


    I shook my head in anger. ¡°Do you have any idea what you¡¯re asking, though? In the time it takes for me to do what you say, capture rather than kill, the next two I¡¯d have killed have escaped. Twenty more Sticktown deaths on my conscience. Two hundred lives changed forever. Two thousand futures affected in minor ways. No. No!¡± My throat ached, all of a sudden. ¡°I¡¯d rather sleep knowing I killed a killer than I let them go. It¡¯s your plan. It¡¯s how it always worked, with you. You never wanted me to be me, did you?¡°


    ¡°A second Duskdown? No, I never wanted you. Not like this. Not a darkmage.¡°


    ¡°I am not dark!¡± I cried. ¡°Kultemeren my witness! I wield the blades of Yune ¨C¡°


    ¡°Yune has no blades! What you speak of is her brother¡¯s work! Darkmage! Heretic!¡°


    No. She was wrong, damn her. I remembered Avaelar, winging his way towards me in my moment of need. There was no way that was the work of Yane.


    ¡°No,¡± I growled. ¡°You¡¯ve just spent so long sleeping, you didn¡¯t realise how dire things have become. When Hope herself draws a sword ¨C a sword that will cut you, Henthae! ¨C then you know you truly are screwed. You just can¡¯t face it, can you? When I arrived back here, back home, after escaping your death-chambers, at first I thought the demons had had their way with Sticktown. My home! Mud Lane, reduced to the mud. But no. All along, it was you.


    ¡°We had an arch-enchanter dragon take over the city for an unspecified period of time, and guess what¡¯s changed once we got rid of her? Nothing! Do you realise what that says about you? About you and all the others, the way you run things? She liked it! She approved! As far as she was concerned you were doing a mighty fine job of dragon-evil the whole time, with or without her! She didn¡¯t interfere! She sealed and stamped her approval!


    ¡°And now here we are. You dropped the candle yet again. If anything you¡¯ve only gotten worse now you¡¯re back in charge. This time, it¡¯s Redgate coming. Redgate, and the Crucible, and the Dracofont. Where are your priorities, Henthae? What of you, magisters of Mund ¨C magisters of the Realm! For I see foreign faces amongst you¡­ not so foreign as to escape the truth.The same fear on your face as lives on mine!And I ask it again, with no less hope in my heart ¨C can you master yourself, Henthae? Can we leave this place as allies, and array all our forces against the darkness that comes to swallow us one and all? I can forgive even you.¡±


    Finally my tirade broke her.


    ¡°There will be no alliance!¡± her voice hissed from every direction. ¡°There will be no forgiveness, none for you! You are no longer a champion, Mr. Mortenn! You were consigned to Magicrux Zyger, and to Zyger you will return!¡±


    Just getting her to name the place out loud, in front of all these witnesses, pleased me greatly.


    ¡°If there will be no alliance, then there can only be submission,¡± I said sorrowfully.


    A moan escaped the crowd beneath me.


    ¡°I can¡¯t risk the world for your ego. I may no longer wear the crown, but I¡¯ll accept your fealty, Henthae.¡±


    The crowd gasped, as though the idiots had been expecting me to submit. A smile touched my lips. Did they still not know me?


    ¡°Swear me your everlasting servitude, now,¡± I continued, ¡°and hold nothing back, or else I¡¯ll know. I¡¯ll know, and you will be punished.¡±


    ¡°Who is the egotist here?¡± she snarled. ¡°You would take all of Materium, wouldn¡¯t you, darkmage?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d take it under my arm, to save it,¡± I replied. ¡°Who wouldn¡¯t, in my place? Only cowardice compels such a rejection of responsibility.¡± I suddenly surged forwards about five yards, and watched as the line of the magisters at the fore wavered. ¡°Are you cowards? Will you reject the light by clinging too closely to its leg, never seeing the shadow you cast beneath you?¡±


    ¡°In the name of Everything, who will not permit you Anything?¡± Henthae laughed haughtily, almost hysterically. ¡°You are a disciple of dark gods indeed, to so enact the will of Lithiguil! How brazenly you swagger forth, to claim control of the city ¨C the Realm itself, nay? And we should just bow down? Accept the darkmage as our emperor! Hah! Hah!¡±


    ¡°You are one to speak of control. How many thousands of times today have you broken laws, each transgression worthy of a lifetime¡¯s incarceration? Yet I? I have done nothing to warrant such treatment. I killed Shadowcrafter in cold blood ¨C but only after you condemned me. I struck a man, once, hard in the face, when he didn¡¯t deserve it ¨C but he did not perish. I slew dark elves, and when they destroyed Telior I didn¡¯t hang around to help ¨C but I came back here, to save the city from Mal Malas, and the Incursion. This is it. This is the sum of my sins. Bad enough, no doubt, but to expel me? To execute me?¡±


    ¡°You consorted with heretics! There can be no exoneration ¨C¡±


    ¡°I do not seek exoneration, not from you! You are the heretic! These men and women ¨C would any one of them be here right now, if it weren¡¯t for your power, dominating their minds?¡±


    A female magister on the front-lines slumped over somewhat, her eyes glazing, then within a heartbeat she stood erect once more.


    ¡°You¡¯re losing your grip, Keliko. Give it up. Scorn the crown of Mother-Chaos all you will ¨C if they could be mass-manufactured like children¡¯s toys and handed out at Yearsend to all and sundry, I¡¯d put every plat and penny I could find into the deed! You; Vardae ¨C I see no difference. People using their power to control our society, bend it, mould it as they will. No longer.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but you won¡¯t accuse yourself along with the rest of us, will you, Mr. Mortenn? Even as you propose to curse every man, woman and child in the city with the touch of the Queen of Darkness! Such blasphemy cannot be permitted to continue!¡±


    ¡°Then strike, Henthae! Strike, if you must. Or else withdraw. Bother us no longer.¡±


    ¡°And what then, boy?¡± she sneered. ¡°What will you do if we withdraw? Prince of Sticktown! Lord of the Sticks! What will become of this place under your rule?¡±


    ¡°How childish are you? You think I want to rule, and order people about? You highborn! Grow the hell up! We¡¯ll do a damn sight better job with Sticktown than you¡¯d have ever believed possible. And the rest of Mund, no doubt. You can go home, and await my summons.¡±


    ¡°Your summons!¡± she shrieked.


    At least a dozen magisters on the flanks of her host seemed to come to their senses. Not seeming to know precisely how to respond, they first cast black glances towards their leaders before shuffling aside and then finally peeling off, sprinting into the shadows of the roadways heading south and east.


    In the wake of their flight, two golems of mud and flagstone came apart at the seams; from this distance the clunking noises when they deflated were faint, but the mages closest to them reacted with almost comically-overblown jerks of shock, staggering before the spell reasserted itself over them.


    They¡¯re all really enchanted, I thought, suddenly realising just how awful this was. It had seemed somewhat academic, beforehand, to conceive of an arch-enchanter breaking the minds of a large group of people. I¡¯d even been part of such a group, once, deep under the sway of such a terrifying being. But it was something else to actually witness just how bewitched they really were. Who could even guess how long she¡¯d been militarising them, individually, in groups? She would force them to fight, to spill their blood, give their lives for a causeless cause, for the justification of her own miserable mentality. And for every one that ran, her grip over the remainder only grew tighter, the scope of her spell narrowing, focussing in intensity.


    For so long as she could maintain it, at least.


    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± I muttered, then repeated myself with the power. ¡°It¡¯s time. I¡¯ve tried everything. I tried extending the hand of peace. I tried to take you on as a vassal. It¡¯s obvious, now. I simply have to destroy it. Destroy the Magisterium entirely.¡±


    I looked to my left. It was the moment I had to ask the question.


    ¡°Trappy. Kill the magisters.¡±


    The crowd bayed for blood. The triangular white head swivelled to regard my enemies.


    The magisters quivered as though they shared a single skin.


    Her voice was every bit as transcendent as my own, yet when she spoke every syllable dripped with a sinister intent I could¡¯ve never mustered, not in a hundred years or six.


    ¡°With pleasure, Master.¡±


    Then the eolastyr leapt off a footing of empty air, shedding the nethernal essence as she bounded high, drawing her ghastly whip from out of nowhere and brandishing it openly.


    Infrick crashed down into the wasteland between the two opposed forces and, still bearing every bit of her downwards momentum, she ripped forwards, plunging directly at their shielding ¨C


    A dozen blue barriers were torn asunder before her, shreds of energy scattered into the wind like jagged pieces of transparent paper.


    I smiled.


    Chaos was the answer.

 A Painful Question

    <h2>PYRITE 10.4: A PAINFUL QUESTION</h2>


    ¡°The whole of the strategy is encapsulated in the tactic, and so the strategy falls away. Every conflict should be surprising. If you are not surprised, you are dancing the wrong dance. You are killing by rote.¡±


    ¨C taken verbatim from ¡®The Swordfaith Lectures¡¯ recordings, Urdara 966 NE


    The shock of Infrick¡¯s onset flooded the psychic webs, and Keliko Henthae could hold her resolve no longer. The eolastyr loped towards her with all the fearsome haste of an anti-diviner, and Henthae wasn¡¯t just watching with one pair of eyes ¨C she was seeing it through countless minds, all the fear looping through her own head. I could almost feel her clutching for control from here, outside, beyond her net.


    Whether it was her own desperation or the emotional feedback from her slaves, I couldn¡¯t say, but something seemingly prevented the arch-enchantress from making good her own escape. In the tumult she only held onto a small core of magisters, perhaps sixteen or eighteen of her blank-eyed fellows remaining about her in a protective circle ¨C


    While all the rest of her army dissolved.


    ¡°Mr. Mortenn! Halt this madness!¡±


    The air was thick with screams: screams of panic from the departing magisters; screams of jubilation from the Sticktown crowds; screams of excitement from my pet demon. The masses went rushing forwards on the heels of my tigress, too fired-up with their own grievances to hold back any longer. I hauled my shields forward to cover them, pressing them right up against those of Henthae¡¯s enslaved sorceress.


    The smile on my face broadened to a grin. It appeared that none of our foes had realised the eolastyr wasn¡¯t actually engaging her targets. They fled her all the same, only a few of the magisters retaining the wherewithal in their dread to direct their summoned hordes, using them as a screen to cover their flight, interposing eldritch and beast between the arch-demon and themselves. Even these creatures Infrick left unmolested, springing and skipping over and about them when they tried to obstruct her path. She knew as well as I that many of the golems would return to puddles, that the birds would take to the skies once more, just as soon as the mages¡¯ spells lost cohesion. That loss of cohesion ¨C that was Infrick¡¯s real purpose.


    She¡¯d told me her longing for carnage was all my own, and I¡¯d responded by warning her to put away her whip when I gave her the order to kill the magisters, to restrict herself to intimidation tactics only. I couldn¡¯t help but think the layered commands had been something of a gamble. However, watching the mayhem now from above, I saw that she¡¯d stayed true to her word. The whip had vanished as soon as the rout began in earnest, and now Infrick tittered as she danced through the sea of mage robes, claws retracted as she slapped or kicked at the backs of the runners, encouraging them in their retreat. She selected her blows with care, displaying what had to have been pinpoint precision, excessive gentleness so as to not send her targets flying. When they dared cast a backwards glance, looking to check whether their abandonment of their posts had doomed others of their stupid cohort, Trappy was there to deliver a smack, a close-up reminder of just how awful she was. The ones endowed with flight-spells who didn¡¯t immediately use them to exit the area received a leaping visit from the laughing, frightful tigress, warning them of their foolishness by her mere proximity, spurring them on in their chosen directions.


    As the crowds of Sticktowners started to press close, surrounding Henthae and her last guardians, I moved in with them, sliding the shields forwards again. It was more to protect the magisters from their wrath than the other way around ¨C if one of the mages got a bit wand-happy and decided to blast a belligerent lowborn, the crowd would literally tear them to pieces.


    Then I was forced to reassess the situation, as things started getting out of hand.


    An inkatra-head was on the left flank of the front row, deep in the throes of his drug of choice, flailing his arms and gibbering. I was far too distant to intervene when he looked up and shot lightning from his fingertips at a fleeing wizard.


    Infrick came from out of nowhere, leaping through the space above him even as he extended his arm, taking the brunt of the blast without so much as a flinch. The wizard continued flying away southwards, safe.


    But she couldn¡¯t protect them all.


    ¡°Stop! Halt!¡± I barked.


    My words were meaningless. We didn¡¯t just have ten or twenty inkatra-heads in the crowd ¨C we had a hundred, clearly well-equipped with their consumable weapons. In the back of my mind I realised this might¡¯ve been my fault. I¡¯d certainly given some of the folks back at Xan¡¯s orphanage the impression that we were going to war¡­ had they prepared for this moment? Did they see this as their chance for revenge, settling old scores by turning their own crude, powerful magic on the magic-users?


    Tongues of flame flashed, consuming fabric and flesh, leaving only bone and dust to tumble to the ground, filling the air with the awful smoke of human meat. Wild zikistakram and obbolomin came pouring through red gateways; I even spotted a mizelikon, its shadowy form rippling across the mud like a nest of snakes that moved as one, a hydra replete with dozens of glowing red eyes and a single white rune burning atop its central head. One inkatra-head must¡¯ve used their power to snare the senses of a magister because the poor chap wheeled about and ran right into the crowd rather than fleeing ¨C only his eyes bespoke his terror as the dwarf from Arnost¡¯s Green sprang bodily upon him. The magister teetered and toppled, and his green-robed form was borne under beneath the trampling feet, beyond my sight.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I cried again, soaring over at maximum hovering-speed.


    ¡°See what you have done, heretic!¡± Henthae screeched. ¡°See what the sorcerer¡¯s peace has brought to our city!¡±


    Nightfell¡¯s words from earlier in the afternoon came back to me as I sped.


    ¡®Maybe? Mund needs you, Kas. ¡°Maybe¡± is not a leader¡¯s word, you know. If you¡¯re going to lead, you¡¯re going to need to be decisive. Dispose of your ambiguity. Brook no refusal. You know what your problem is? You¡¯re too tolerant.¡¯


    ¡®Tolerant? Too tolerant?¡¯


    ¡®Look at me! You¡¯re talking to the worst person in the world and ¨C don¡¯t ¨C don¡¯t you see? Even there, you want to fight my corner. Stop. Too much of any good thing¡¯s a bad thing, Kas. You don¡¯t earn respect by hesitating, or going back on your word, or letting others do the same. Commit. It¡¯ll take work, but it¡¯ll be worth it.¡¯


    Ill-will wouldn¡¯t do it ¨C the dwarf and her newfound violent friends didn¡¯t wish me any harm, and the magister would¡¯ve probably still registered as my foe. There was no shield formulation I could drop over him that would keep them out. I had to do it physically, and I was loath to manhandle them with vampire-strength. I didn¡¯t yet know my limits. The last thing I wanted was to hurt someone.


    I sank into their midst instead, and when I hurled myself over the unconscious man the crowd about him suddenly withdrew, muttering excuses for their actions and bowing their heads like hounds caught mauling the furniture.


    She was wrong. Nightfell. Tanra. Vardae. Whoever she was, she was wrong. I knew I shouldn¡¯t follow her guidance. Ruling as an authoritarian, using my eolastyr to enforce my personal notion of justice ¨C


    It wasn¡¯t the Feychilde way.


    But it was the only way. Strength knew only strength.


    I took a fistful of the green cloth at the magister¡¯s upper arm and looked up at the Sticktowners surrounding me.


    ¡°Are you as bad as them?¡± I roared at them, tears in my eyes, spittle flying from my lips. ¡°Are you also wicked? Shall I punish you, punish all of you?¡±


    They cringed as one, falling away from me as I clasped the magister¡¯s robe, applying the ghost-essence to him so that I could hoist him up into the air while I arose. I could always fly him free, after all.


    Silence fell upon the square and every pair of eyes in a hundred yards, even inkatra-crazed ones, turned to me.


    In this moment I knew everything depended on something as stupid as my tone of voice, my mannerisms. I could end this right now, or I could fail, and the violence would envelop the whole district. Perhaps the whole city. The Magisterium, the last bastion of order in the city, really could fall ¨C in the future they would look back and say that it was beheaded right here, with many of its most-influential leaders slain by mere lowborn, trampled into the market¡¯s mud.


    Before I got ten feet off the ground the green-robed magister¡¯s ghost slipped free of him, snared only momentarily by the ancient¡¯s essence, and went wailing into a dim purple wind.


    I stared at the corpse in my hand, blood trailing out from between its slack lips and pooling in the ear ¨C and I felt the way it twitched to be mine.


    I dropped it in revulsion ¨C the ghost-form deserted it and it slapped down into the mud.


    My eyes went to my hand, then to the broken body beneath me. I forgot my place. Who I was. Who I was supposed to be. The moment left me and the river washed it away.


    I wept.


    Another soul in the shadowland, thanks to me.


    I haven¡¯t changed. I¡¯m still the same boy, kicking the gravestone.


    ¡°¡¯E¡¯s cryin¡¯,¡± someone murmured.


    ¡°Feychilde¡¯s cryin¡¯!¡± someone else yelled.


    I didn¡¯t care what they did next.


    Laugh at me. Scorn me. Throw things at me. Call me a traitor to the cause. Make me twice, thrice-cursed. Do with me as you will. I won¡¯t keep killing, and I won¡¯t countenance it.


    ¡°What?¡± I cried in despair, casting my gaze out at the sea of faces. ¡°What did you expect? I never asked for this. Why are you killing them? What¡¯s wrong with you?¡±


    ¡°Lissen ter ¡®im!¡± a crone shouted.


    ¡°Yeah, listen to Kas!¡± a boy called ¨C I recognised little Yordi, from Mud Lane ¨C he¡¯d survived, and he¡­


    I forgot what I was thinking about, suddenly overcome with the outpouring of support I was receiving. Everywhere I looked the inkatra-heads were being accosted by their own, forced to drop their spells. Red portals whisked away what remained of the wild demons. I spotted Trappy, standing alone above the remnants of a golem, staring back at me with wonder on her unnatural face.


    ¡°Mr. Mortenn¡­¡±


    Henthae¡¯s tone was unreadable, and I tore my gaze away from the crowd, finding her through a film of tears. I blinked, trying to clear my vision.


    She was a few steps beyond the sorceress¡¯s blue barrier, and she just looked like a broken old woman now. Her rings were hidden, hands folded inside rose-hued sleeves. She might¡¯ve been speaking to me but her eyes were on the ground in front of her feet. Her colleagues were staring unseeing out at Sticktown and they were shaking where they stood, held in perfect equilibrium between paralysis and flight by her all-encompassing magic.


    Ciraya was there, a special kind of anguish on her face even as she stood waiting, motionless.


    ¡°Keliko,¡± I whispered. ¡°Keliko, it¡¯s okay. You can let go, now. You know they¡¯d all be gone, far from here by now, don¡¯t you?¡± I drifted closer, trying not to strangle myself on the lump in my ragged throat as I spoke. ¡°You don¡¯t know how to inspire. You only know how to bully.¡± I had to cough, so I coughed. ¡°It¡¯s ¨C ahem ¨C it¡¯s okay. You¡¯re highborn. You¡¯re used to getting things your own way. You think because you see people runningaway, its in their nature to run from danger. You¡¯rebeing short-sighted. Its because of your policies that they run, because of your secret-keeping. People run from the unknown. I¡¯m going to try a different technique. It¡¯s called telling the truth. If they can¡¯t live here ¨C if we can¡¯t win for Mund ¨C they¡¯ll die the same way, chased by Mund¡¯s destruction ¨C only feeling like faithless children, in some far-flung land. No one wants that. Not in their hearts. It¡¯s our job, yours and mine, to help them see.¡±


    Her eyes flicked up to meet mine as I came within twenty feet.


    I halted. ¡°I forgive you. For what you¡¯ve done. Even this.¡± I gestured at her enthralled subjects. ¡°If you didn¡¯t make the magisters stay in Mund today, they wouldn¡¯t be here to hear me when I speak. And we¡¯ll need them. Oh, we¡¯ll need them, the fight that¡¯s coming. I can see how you¡¯d rather go down fighting me. You¡¯re scared. Sure, mind-controlling hundreds of people is going to land you in some legal hot water.¡± I shrugged again. I was getting used to the one-shoulder thing at last. ¡°You won¡¯t be able to continue in your current position, I don¡¯t think, but maybe we can defer punishment ¨C at least until we see who survives the Crucible. Who¡¯s going to gainsay us, eh?¡±


    ¡°Mr. Mortenn¡­ I always¡­ always knew I¡¯d need you more than I¡¯d hate you.¡± She drew herself up, blinking furiously ¨C blinking back her own tears, I thought. ¡°Mr. Valorin will be sanctioned for his misdeeds last night.¡±


    I shook my head, raised my open hand to stop her ¨C


    ¡°The magisters you killed during the Incursion,¡± she went on regardless, ¡°were behaving in an unofficial capacity ¨C Mr. Mortenn will be pardoned for ¨C¡°


    ¡°No.¡±


    She stammered and fell silent when I used the gremlin-voice.


    ¡°No, Mistress Henthae. Only my life will pay for my behaviour; and only your life could ¨C can ¨C will ¨C pay for their behaviour. Don¡¯t talk to me about unofficial acts, after what you did to my home. But that¡¯s something you¡¯ll just have to carry with you. It¡¯s heavy, but you¡¯ll get used to it. I¡¯ll help. To my point:


    ¡°Say my name.¡±


    She squirmed, shuddering like her slaves. ¡°Your name? He ¨C he went to Zyger! Mr. Mortenn, you ¨C¡°


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand. You don¡¯t understand anything. Say. My. Name.¡±


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± she screamed, weeping openly now. ¡°Feychilde! Will you not relent? When will it be enough?¡±


    ¡°When you give me your own name.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C wha ¨C what?¡± I¡¯d never seen her so flustered, so utterly disarmed, despite the coterie of powerful magic-users arrayed about her. ¡°I¡¯m ¨C I¡¯m Keliko Henthae ¨C Mistress of the Pool¡­ of¡­¡±


    Her voice trailed away when she saw the gentle shaking of my head, the wistful smile on my lips.


    ¡°You ¨C you can¡¯t possibly mean¡­¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Go on. Get creative. I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re too cultured. It¡¯s the only way I¡¯m going to accept your apology, anyway. The only way we¡¯re all going to move on from this. You could¡¯ve just done it right from the start, you know. There was never any need for spies. You can just¡­ I know this sounds mad¡­ join in our meetings. We had a few of the worst darkmages to ever exist right there in our midst. I don¡¯t think the Head of Special Investigations is going to be too big of a problem. Glaif and Illodin know you, right in the heart of you. You¡¯re one of us, Henthae. You have to start by accepting yourself.¡±


    She stared me right in the eyes as if nonplussed, her mouth agape, her blue eyes looking all the more intense through the layers of shielding.


    ¡°Come on, don¡¯t tell me you didn¡¯t think about it when you were a little kid. What about when you got your powers? Oh wait ¨C I get it. There¡¯s too many options, and you can¡¯t decide.¡±


    A timid smile suddenly touched her lips, transforming her completely.


    ¡°Oh!¡± she breathed. ¡°I ¨C d-do you mean it, Feychilde?¡±


    I grinned, my heart thoroughly warmed, all my horror and self-loathing forgotten in the wake of her metamorphosis.


    ¡°You never needed anyone¡¯s permission, Keliko. Just your own.¡±


    She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then slowly released it. The mages around her didn¡¯t lose their alert postures entirely, but they appeared to relax slightly where they stood, as though her control over them had changed subtly.


    This is it, Nightfell, I thought to myself, pride and righteousness swelling up once more within my breast. This is Feychilde¡¯s truth. Strength knows only strength. But weakness knows only weakness. And we¡¯re all weak. I¡¯ll brook their refusals, and tolerate the intolerable, as you know I will.


    Filled with sudden certainty, I cast my glance up, up across the crowd, raking the surrounding buildings ¨C


    And there she was, atop one of the roofs on the northern edge of the market. A dark shape, almost invisible against the night but for the white locks trailing in the wind. She had the bow slung over her shoulder which, given what I¡¯d heard so far of her exploits since my exile, I took for a positive sign.


    Good that she saw this with her mortal eyes, I thought. Stop hating yourself, Tanra. Killstop must live again. Killstop¡¯s who I need. Not this death-dealer, this mask you wear to proclaim your sins.


    ¡°I need clemency for Nightfell as well,¡± I said to Henthae. ¡°At least a temporary reprieve. I know what you¡¯re going to say ¨C I know what she did ¨C but we can¡¯t win without them. Both of them. They didn¡¯t choose to be a little bit insane, you know.¡±


    ¡°A little bit?¡± someone behind me snarked.


    ¡°A lot, then,¡± I said, turning to smile at the crowd. ¡°Who am I to judge? Who¡¯s any of us, in this day and age?¡±


    ¡°Lad¡¯s got that much right,¡± an older man said gruffly to his fellows.


    ¡°Maybe we can work something out,¡± Henthae replied at length. Her excitement at the prospect of becoming a champion was fading; I could see the real-life responsibilities creeping into her mind simply by watching her facial expression, the way her smile became a grimace, her smooth brow furrowing into a nest of wrinkles. ¡°I ¨C I don¡¯t know where to ¨C to ¨C¡°


    ¡°Start by letting these people go,¡± I said, indicating her enslaved magisters. ¡°Don¡¯t panic. What you¡¯ve done today will have consequences, no doubt. I¡¯m pretty sure the Pool of Reflections and Special Investigations are going to want new leadership. That¡¯s okay. You need to step away from your old life, away from all the petty games, Henthae. If you need my support, ask for it. I¡¯ll fight your corner for you¡­ Come on. Just do it, without overthinking it. Go on. That¡¯s it.¡±


    I watched as life slowly returned to her flock of sheep.


    Ciraya and several others ¨C the youngest, of junior rank, it seemed ¨C fled the scene almost instantly. Most of the remaining magisters just looked around and, coming to their senses, started cringing, staring into the murmuring masses with frightened eyes. Henthae¡¯s enslaved arch-sorceress clasped one of her fellow magister¡¯s hands and stepped with him straight into Etherium ¨C not that I could blame her, though I hoped she¡¯d return in time for my message. In the end only one of Henthae¡¯s fellow leaders was brave enough to start laying into the enchantress, levelling all the same accusations of impropriety I¡¯d made myself ¨C it seemed from the way he kept glancing at me that he was trying to curry favour with me by lambasting his boss, but when I told him to shut up he obeyed without question, falling straight into the same cowed silence as his comrades.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I said to the lot of them as soothingly as I could. ¡°Look, Trappy didn¡¯t kill a single magister.¡± I waved the eolastyr over, and as she approached the remaining mages unconsciously formed a huddle, pressing in on one another for protection.


    As though placing themselves in one giant lump could do anything other than speed up their mass-execution¡­


    ¡°Look, she¡¯s harmless. A pirouette, please. See. The arch-fiend is quite tame, aren¡¯t you, Trappy?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡±


    My remonstrations were getting me nowhere. Even the Sticktowners in the crowds weren¡¯t buying it, steering well-clear of the tigress when she sauntered over, shuddering when she span on her heel at my request.


    ¡°You could try to sound a little bit more enthusiastic, you know.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master!¡±


    That got some chuckles.


    I cast my gaze to the north, checking whether Tanra ¨C


    She was gone.


    ¡°Kas! Kas ¨C¡°


    I turned again to see Garet approaching me, half-clambering through the crowds. Most of the Sticktowners were staring my way, peering at the exotic demon, the subjugated magisters ¨C they didn¡¯t know a huge Bertie Boy was shoving his way through them from behind until the massive-knuckled hand landed on their shoulders, turning them, forcing them aside.


    ¡°Kas!¡±


    ¡°Garet! My man. I¡¯d like you to formally meet Trappy ¨C give the nice man a wave, that¡¯s a good girl.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master.¡± Even the demon was playing along by now, waving her paw vigorously with a dumb smile on her face. ¡°Would you like me to do a little jig, Master? I¡¯ve sampled the dance-routines of several-dozen cultures ¨C perhaps a belly-dance, for Mr. Garet?¡±


    She raised both her arms high above her head, exposing strands of taut sinew along her flanks, and revolved her furry midriff as though there was supposed to be something alluring to the sight. Certainly the motions were suggestive.


    ¡°I ¨C ah ¨C don¡¯t know if you¡¯re quite Garet¡¯s type. That¡¯ll do. Quite enough, thank you.¡± Trappy sullenly lowered her arms and tail with a pout on her dusky lips, and I turned back to the Bertie Boy. ¡°What¡¯s the problem, Garet?¡±


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    ¡°We done here?¡± he asked brusquely. ¡°A lot to do, yer know. To be gettin¡¯ on wi¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I reckon so. I¡¯ll come give you a hand, in a bit.¡± I glanced back at the magisters. ¡°Oh, where are my manners? Garet, local businessman, I¡¯d like you to meet ¨C¡°


    ¡°Oathbreaker.¡±


    I stared at Henthae in surprise. ¡°Oathbreaker?¡± I repeated.


    Her colleagues¡­ former colleagues¡­ were staring at her with much the same bewildered expression. But Keliko herself seemed to be awaiting my response with bated breath, blue eyes shining.


    Her choice seemed fitting, considering the circumstances. ¡°I¡­ like it?¡± I offered.


    The enchantress smiled sadly, while, off to my left, one of the watching Sticktowners muttered to his companion, ¡°They ¡®ad an Oafkeeper back in the seventies, y¡¯know.¡±


    ¡°Yes they did, dear chap,¡± Henthae said coolly, turning her head to the man. ¡°If I can be half the champion he was¡­ I¡­ Yes.¡±


    She shivered, and smoothed down her robes in what I felt was sure to be a nervous gesture. She¡¯d paled, but she was still standing erect, still smiling her bittersweet smile.


    ¡°Tomorrow night, Oathbreaker.¡± I held out my hand to Trappy, and she prowled to my side, taking my fingers. ¡°I¡¯ll see you at the Tower of Mourning when the full moon¡¯s high.¡±


    ¡°Of course¡­ Of course!¡± Her eyes blazed, and she cast her gaze about at the magisters crowded around her, as if the sheer splendour of her champion¡¯s stare was a shield against all the criticisms they might choose to make.


    But in that, she¡¯d be right.


    I knew the heart of the champion.


    And I refused to accept that I was alone.


    * * *


    The crowd started dispersing. The leftover senior magisters went on their way courtesy of flight-spells, bestowed by the lone arch-wizard remaining in their number, and their fierce debate could be heard as they rose into the air. For all that it was getting late, the sky fading and the moon rising, it was still warm out; the encounter had left me with a film of sweat across my forehead that I couldn¡¯t wipe off without my free hand. I tried ducking my head against my shoulder, but there wasn¡¯t enough meat left in my right arm to reach the perspiration.


    Once we were out of sight I set us down on an unbroken roof, and released Infrick so that I could mop my brow. I sat down on a crate that looked like it¡¯d been recently used by a homeless person¡­ probably deceased. I didn¡¯t think, wherever they were, that they¡¯d mind too much.


    I drew my sleeve across my face, trying not to shudder, brimming with emotions that warred ceaselessly with one another.


    ¡°Magnificent,¡± the eolastyr said at last, breaking her silence, and I could hear in her voice the smile of delight that played upon her features. ¡°Master ¨C when at first you asked me to refrain from killing, I didn¡¯t understand. I do now. Your performance was truly inspired.¡±


    I dropped my arm and stared at her. She stared back.


    ¡°Where do we go next?¡± she went on, making conversation in an attempt to relieve the tension suddenly growing between us. ¡°Do we ¨C¡°


    ¡°Be quiet.¡±


    I stared at her for what felt like a long time. She couldn¡¯t speak ¨C I could tell that she wanted to, but my command held her like a leash. Her claws extended and retracted, scraping the tarred wooden roof.


    I see through your flattery, creature.


    ¡°Performance?¡± I said quietly, after a minute or two. ¡°For all your knowledge, all your intellect, you don¡¯t understand anything, do you?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C¡°


    ¡°Do you really think I would want them dead? Why? Why would I want that, of all things?¡±


    ¡°Did they not seek your death, Feychilde? I recognise it now ¨C you wish to let them persist, so that you can use them, use them as weapons against the dragons ¨C¡°


    ¡°No!¡± I snarled. ¡°That¡¯s not it at all! I¡­ You are so selfish. All you think about are the slights you¡¯re offered ¨C the slights I¡¯m offered. You have to realise ¨C we deserve it, and worse.¡± I looked over her head, back the way we¡¯d came, towards Knuckle Market. ¡°We can¡¯t get mad about someone wanting to take us down when they think we¡¯re toppling their whole existence. You can¡¯t think it¡¯s justified when you deliver the slap then act all shocked when you get slapped back. The lesson isn¡¯t to keep slapping harder ¨C it¡¯s to stop slapping. Someone¡­ someone has to stop the slaughter.¡±


    I returned my gaze to her face.


    ¡°And that someone isn¡¯t going to be you, is it?¡±


    She shook her head softly.


    ¡°Goodbye for now, Trappy. I¡¯ll do this my way, or not at all.¡±


    I gestured, and the heatless red flames licked up from the rooftop beneath her feet. A vague gateway formed, inside the crimson fire, then swept forwards to consume her.


    ¡°For now,¡± she whispered as she vanished; and for all that she repeated my own words back to me it didn¡¯t sound like she was agreeing with me.


    I sat there for awhile longer, watching the stars come out. The wind blew through my hair and for the first time since arriving back in Mund, the scents of the Incursion fell away and I could smell the salt of the sea. For whatever reason, I suddenly missed Telior. I missed the sounds of the waves crashing against the shoreline. I missed the place I earned amongst the people. And there was something else I¡¯d had there, something important that was missing now, and I longed for it. It was as though my soul had been divided, some significant portion left behind to linger with the survivors of the massacre, clinging to cold black rocks¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s been one of those days,¡± Nightfell said from behind me.


    I didn¡¯t turn. ¡°One of those weeks.¡±


    ¡°And then some.¡± She walked around to stand in front of me; black leather longwalker boots appeared in front of my eyes, their hard wooden soles grinding on the tarry surface of the roof as she turned back to face me. ¡°It¡¯s the eighth of Chraunost. We got started in Orovost, didn¡¯t we? Eight months. It¡¯s been one of those eight-months.¡±


    What she said was one of those things that simultaneously made no sense and made perfect sense.


    ¡°You can say that again.¡± I lifted my gaze to meet her eyes but she was wearing the black, featureless mask once more. ¡°Vardae?¡±


    She shrugged.


    ¡°Show off.¡±


    She laughed, then sat down next to me. She reached up and removed the mask, but I didn¡¯t turn to look at her. I heard as she inhaled deeply.


    ¡°Mmmm. Did you miss it here?¡±


    It was my turn to chuckle. I didn¡¯t respond, and she sat with me in silence.


    Why do I feel comfortable next to her? I wondered. Her, of all people? She¡¯s slain so many¡­ she¡¯s a murderer without compare¡­ a brutal, efficient nightmare of a darkmage¡­


    I felt like a hypocrite, after dismissing Infrick so curtly. And yet even if she was Everseer, she was Tanra. Whatever the admixture of the two personalities had done to her, the change was absolute. The only difference between them had been brought out in the passage of my whips, and would it even still hold true? Would Tanra have still let me slice off her head, if I were to swing at her now? Would Vardae have still avoided her own death, if I offered it once more? I fancied that, after Tanra¡¯s forgiveness of her captor there on the Thirteen Candles lawns, they were closer than ever. Was their outlook on their own death the sum of it? Was that all that could be pointed-to, as a reason to bring a distinction between them?


    Tanra killed the Arrealbord¡­ Tanra butchered unarmed civilians¡­ She took the skin of Theor¡¯s father¡­


    Wasn¡¯t I being a worse hypocrite, thinking that the borrowed soul of another killer could wash away Vardae¡¯s sins? Wasn¡¯t I a killer? How dare I cringe, to sit next to Vardae Rolaine! As much as I wouldn¡¯t have wanted to admit it, she was practically my role-model.


    I turned to regard her then, studying her in profile while her gaze searched out the mysteries in the stars. She looked so young, sidereal light swimming in her wide, roaming eyes.


    Is she fourteen, or mid-thirties?


    Diviners¡­ if anyone could pull off agelessness, it was them. The heretic druid who¡¯d shaped her face had done a marvellous job, smoothing the mature skin, capturing every little detail, right down to the peculiar curve to the ridges of skin at the side of her button-nose¡­ It was a good-enough replica that I could rediscover the face of my friend in it.


    If it even is Vardae¡­ knowing Tanra¡­


    I had to believe people could change. If Tanra could believe it, why couldn¡¯t I? She¡¯d been on the receiving end of Vardae¡¯s harrowing lessons, worse than any other, and she could forgive.


    That was the lesson. Forgiveness.


    Acceptance.


    I found myself accepting Vardae, if this really was her underneath Tanra¡¯s skin. And if, as I suspected, she would be my accomplice this night ¨C I had to demonstrate that trust. I had to extend the hand of peace, one last time, so she knew.


    I leaned over to nudge her out of her reverie, and asked the one question I could think of.


    ¡°So¡­ how¡¯s your mum?¡±


    * * *


    It was much later ¨C around eleven, I suspected, though it¡¯d been some time since we¡¯d passed a square with a working clock. In several places the demons seemed to have exulted in ripping the devices down, even where they¡¯d left the other structures almost untouched. I wondered idly whether the clock-destruction was merely incidental, the result of some fiend¡¯s personal enmity against Chraunator, or if it was the result of Abstraxia¡¯s direct orders. Either way, her pets had made it very hard to tell the time around Mund today, and even with Nightfell¡¯s help the hours had slipped away from us this evening.


    We¡¯d saved at least a dozen magisters from lynchings, and put the fear of the Five in their attackers. We¡¯d helped clear several blockages preventing the flow of wagons through the streets, including a truly huge mound of debris clogging the arterial route of the Plain Road ¨C supplies were now finding their intended recipients at last. I must¡¯ve munched my way through half a loaf of brown bread and a quarter of a surprisingly-fresh ham, directing Khikiriaz around my mouthfuls, gesturing with the ham and blabbering Infernal. My co-conspirator seemed to have no desire for food despite the way she¡¯d been taxing her powers ¨C but when we stopped at Blackbrook I noticed her swooning, and after the initial sweep of the area she laid herself down in a mucky gutter. Heedless of a hundred pairs of onlooking eyes, she¡¯d curled up with her head on her arm and treated herself to a quick nap. My ikistadreng had been diligently bulldozing tons of material in a single immense shove, causing a near-unbearable din not twenty yards away, but Nightfell seemed quite unconcerned, sleeping right through¡­ until the nightmare took her.


    I¡¯d noticed her legs jerk, and after a minute I chose to shake her awake before her involuntary motions did it for her; she¡¯d already been drawing some odd (odder?) looks from the civilians. She¡¯d bolted upright at my touch on her shoulder, and her eyes met mine almost instantly.


    We both knew in that moment what we had to do. The tension she sensed in me I sensed in her. As much as we were being responsible, helping secure the survival of the people in this trying time, we were shirking our true responsibility. The dream was true. The dream was true. We knew where we were supposed to be and time was ticking by, even if there was no clock to tell us directly. We had to tell the truth, and the window of opportunity was shrinking, our chances evaporating by the second. Hale and hearty warriors fled the ruin of the world¡¯s most glorious capital with every moment that passed, and it was our task to keep them here¡­


    If we could.


    So it was that, with hardly a word exchanged between us, we set off flying, north and east, climbing over Hilltown, Hightown. We ran into Imrye and Kirid before we reached the Noxway, and the diviner suggested that the druids ought to go on a flight down the Blackrush ¨C I said nothing to them, my mind whirling with a million thoughts.


    ¡°Are you ready for this?¡± I asked as we touched down near the Maginox library.


    ¡°Are you?¡± Nightfell replied, releasing her hand from mine, her skin and clothing returning to their natural solidity. ¡°You¡¯re the one that¡¯s going to be doing all the talking, aren¡¯t you? Please tell me you are¡­¡±


    I swallowed. ¡°I guess so.¡±


    ¡°Oh, thank the gods for that. If you made me do it, I¡¯d be forced to start apologising, and I don¡¯t like the way that bodes. There¡¯s no ¨C no apologising that¡¯ll do it and when I start and don¡¯t think I ever get to stop ¨C¡°


    ¡°We¡¯ll worry about that,¡± I said, ¡°afterwards.¡±


    She nodded, biting her lip momentarily. She knew it as well as I. None of us were likely to outlast the oncoming Crucible. Let the living punish the living. The dead would go their own ways, and the gods would judge them for their sins.


    I cast about. In spite of the hour and the current state of emergency there were dozens of itinerant magisters in our immediate vicinity. Some had books tucked under their arms or clasped between their hands, and at least one dropped his load when he spotted me and Nightfell ¨C seven or eight tomes of various sizes spilled from the crook of his arm onto the gravel path, the bright ink on their dark spines and covers glittering in the light of the glow-globe lamps.


    ¡°Hello!¡± I called cheerily, giving a little wave. ¡°I¡¯d ¨C er ¨C like to speak to whoever¡¯s in charge, please!¡±


    The magisters eyed us with a mix of fear, contempt and awe while we waited for their glyphstone-wielding spokesman to telepathically deliver our request. I felt better already. It was only a few minutes before we were being introduced to the new Acting Head of Operations and Special Investigations, a tall, older man with a bit of limp to his step. His robe didn¡¯t bear the Magisterium icon, and it was dark-hued and stately, his hood framing a lined, clean-shaved face. At his side walked a woman with light brown curls, and it wasn¡¯t until we¡¯d started crossing the grounds and conversed a bit that I recalled where I knew her from.


    ¡°Yes, by all accounts we are most-fortuitous to have avoided the trip to Chakobar,¡± Rala said with a rueful smile, ¡°if indeed one might be prevailed-upon to believe any aspect of an Infernal Incursion is positive. Phanar of N¡¯Lem succeeded, but whether my lord and I would have escaped the confrontation with Redgate with our lives¡­ Who can say?¡±


    She spoke quickly, nervously; when Lord Ghemenion spoke it was with a calmer, jovial air, but he couldn¡¯t help but glance furtively between myself and Nightfell, as though he expected us to explode without warning into unpredictable, uncontrollable violence.


    ¡°Yes, well,¡± he said, ¡°I got a new library out of the fiasco. You should see it! Redebon panels. Twelve racks on a spinwheel ¨C higher than I can reach. Have to have my imps fetch the ones off the top, don¡¯t you know.¡±


    ¡°Imps ¨C so useful,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t they just?¡±


    A pair of young magisters-in-training were sitting together on a bench beside a pond, a small construct of white glamour burning as it bobbed gently above them, illuminating the book they were bent over. Upon hearing our voices the pair glanced up at us in unison, then returned their gazes to their book ¨C


    Then, once more in unison, slowly raised their faces to stare, wide-eyed, as we approached.


    I nodded to them in a friendly fashion so they wouldn¡¯t get the wrong impression, eliciting a pair of bewildered smiles ¨C then I emitted a scattering-sound in their direction, a soft crackling that would hopefully mask our conversation while we followed the path, passing within ten feet of the youngsters. We were going at a slow pace to accommodate the limping lord, and we¡¯d be in earshot for a long time otherwise.


    ¡°I lost my chief imp¡­ in the Incursion,¡± I went on as we strolled. ¡°Pinktongue. Been working hard for me for a long time, that little fella.¡±


    ¡°Truly?¡± Ghemenion actually managed to sound sympathetic. ¡°The best help is the hardest to come by. My library¡¯s all sorted, but you should see some of the travesties produced by our new kitchens. The chefs of the Tower of the Guardians were once famous¡­¡± He sighed, perhaps a bit melodramatically. ¡°What¡¯s become of the world?¡±


    What¡¯s become of the world? Listening to this posh git expressing all his vapid insecurities was starting to make me angry again.


    ¡°It was your magisters who slew my imp, actually.¡± I didn¡¯t look at him, but I perceived his glance as it raked across my face; I could¡¯ve sensed the terror he exuded without access to vampiric essence. ¡°A deliberate act. But all forgiven, of course, my good man.¡±


    My tone expressed precisely zero forgiveness, but he could hardly point that out, could he?


    ¡°Well ¨C well one imp¡¯s much the same as another, I suppose,¡± Rala interjected, ¡°from a certain perspective, at least.¡±


    ¡°Kas names all his imps,¡± Nightfell remarked.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Rala¡¯s mouth opened and closed a couple of times with no sounds coming out. ¡°O-oh¡­ I see¡­¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s exaggerating,¡± I said. ¡°I only name the ones whose murders I swear to avenge.¡±


    Both the Night¡¯s Guardians staggered, not just the old man.


    ¡°I¡¯m joking!¡± I heaved a real sigh, then adjusted my ghost-essence, reaching out to take Lord Ghemenion by the upper arm.


    To his credit, he only flinched a little.


    ¡°Look¡­ Lord Ghemenion¡­¡±


    ¡°Aladart! Please!¡±


    ¡°Lord Ghemenion,¡± I repeated. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid to use your title. Maybe, when we get to know each other better, we¡¯ll move to a first-name basis. For now, you can be Lord Ghemenion, and I can be Feychilde. That okay?¡±


    He nodded, sharp old eyes filled with fear.


    Oh, under what rocks do they find these molluscs?


    ¡°Lord Ghemenion, have they told you what¡¯s happening? Are you aware of the details of the Dracofont? You know about Redgate¡¯s return?¡±


    ¡°His return?¡± the sorcerer blurted. ¡°I ¨C I¡¯ve only been ¨C I only accepted this position because ¨C because ¨C¡°


    ¡°Because no one else would,¡± Nightfell finished dryly. ¡°Is the prestige worth it, Aladart? Already, you begin to regret.¡±


    His shoulders shook, and he raised both hands to the edges of his hood, pulling them down as though to reassure himself that the cowl was in position.


    ¡°Two hours!¡± he gasped, his cool facade finally shattering entirely. ¡°I¡¯ve been in the position for two hours, and, and it¡¯s not even my place ¨C I only spent a year in the Magisterium, years ago, and there¡¯s so much, so much to¡­ already I¡­¡°


    He descended into incoherent mumbles.


    ¡°Believe me when I say,¡± Nightfell said in a soothing voice, ¡°you¡¯ll regret your regrets. You¡¯ll do Mund proud.¡±


    ¡°Both of you,¡± I said in agreement, nodding at Rala. Nightfell was right, if I understood the meaning of her words ¨C it wouldn¡¯t do for us to damage their confidence, or act as their opponents, not at a time like this. And, by the looks of things, Ghemenion was going to need all the support he could find. It would be our job to bolster his resolve, help him shoulder his burdens.


    ¡°Really?¡± Lord Ghemenion gasped, reaching up to stroke the sides of his hood again. ¡°You really think so?¡±


    ¡°Ah, my dear Aladart¡­¡± Nightfell smiled up at him sweetly. ¡°I don¡¯t just think so. I know so.¡±


    * * *


    My companion was already aware of the exact location of the ¡®Invocatrix¡¯, but she¡¯d only entered that place once before ¨C and that was very much without permission. Now all authorisations had been granted, and the Acting Head of Special Investigations was there himself to wave us through the way-checks and into the low building. From the outside this particular pentagonal structure seemed much the same as the others dotting the grounds ¨C a single storey of smooth white stone with a gold-tinted roof, only differentiated in that it was windowless. A ditch surrounded it on all five sides, and five causeways, short but broad enough for several to walk abreast, stretched across the trench to permit entry. The ditch was shallow-enough that one could¡¯ve simply clambered up the far side, and I was still using my eldritches to hover so as to not expose the same lameness Ghemenion openly displayed; but still I bowed to the pressure of societal norms, soaring across the little bridge right next to Ghemenion.


    How different we were. I wondered idly if he had ever partaken in the joining rituals, seeking a temporary abeyance of his condition by taking on the fiendish essence of a lesser demon¡­ Such a thing was a risky business. He had no visible tattoos, no obvious protections against infestation. And yet, if our positions were reversed ¨C if he had the access to the archmagery that would make a mockery of his disability, and I limped alongside him, a sorcerer by trade ¨C how would I feel then? Would I have tried a zikistakram infusion? Would I envy him this seeming convenience that permitted him to elide his conditions and float, as if free, in the very wind? It would look costless, effortless. And in truth, I was so far removed from my own mutilation thanks to my magic that I earned his envy. It was effortless¡­ even if the cost wasn¡¯t something you could ever hope to pay. Fate would take its due, but until then?


    Until then, I was painfully ascendant, and it would only be a worse mockery for me to try to deny it, to put away my customary trophies and limp beside him on the bridge. ¡®Look, I¡¯m injured just the same as you,¡¯ while more than capable of transcending those concerns on a whim? I already deserved his envy. There was no need to add his hate to the list.


    The guards at the door stood aside, looking grateful that they weren¡¯t being expected to challenge us ¨C then Rala made an insistent gesture and, sour-faced once more, one of them escorted us inside.


    ¡°Our thanks,¡± I said, trying to walk the line between gratefulness and dismissal; the two Night¡¯s Guardians were clearly relieved to halt, leave us to our own devices.


    Bright white walls of plain stone led only to a central staircase, then down, down, down¡­


    ¡°You can breathe, man,¡± I told the silver-robed magister guiding us after the first few flights. ¡°We aren¡¯t here to cause trouble. We¡¯re here to help.¡±


    The pale man audibly released a pent-up lungful, then hurriedly drew a new one. He glanced furtively over his shoulder at us as we rounded a landing.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s okay.¡± I smiled at him. ¡°Everything¡¯s going to get better now. Trust me.¡±


    He turned back around, doing his best to ignore me. I noticed the involuntary shudder pass through him, descending the next stair.


    ¡°What do you think, Nightfell? How long¡¯s it going to take for the magisters to trust us?¡±


    ¡°Us?¡± Nightfell laughed, sounding genuinely amused. ¡°At our funerals¡­ maybe.¡±


    ¡°Depending on the way we die?¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°The two worst heretics in the world, reassuring him that everything¡¯s gonna be fine¡­ I don¡¯t blame him for not trusting us.¡± I kept my eyes on the back of his head. ¡°We¡¯re going to earn it back, though. At the moment they see a pair of killers. Everseer and Feychilde, maybe. We¡¯ll remind them of Killstop.¡±


    ¡°And the Liberator.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    I caught Nightfell¡¯s expression, and her smirk was infectious. Of course, the magister chose just that moment to cast us another backwards glance, only to see us grinning deviously.


    I sighed. ¡°Oh, come on, gods. Don¡¯t make this more work than it has to be¡­¡±


    The staircase let us out onto a stone corridor bathed in shadow. The only light came from globes that were out of sight, their radiance spilling out of the four exits cut into the tunnel ahead of us: two to the left, two to the right.


    The magister stumbled then stopped. I glanced at Nightfell, then halted with her, floating at her side.


    Finally he turned to face us and, in spite of his trembling, he spoke defiantly. His glare was fixed on my companion.


    ¡°You already know the way, don¡¯t you? Been before?¡±


    Nightfell nodded. She wasn¡¯t smirking anymore.


    ¡°You two ¨C you may have all the power. The gods may listen to your hearts¡¯ secret desires. I don¡¯t care.¡± His glare moved from her to me, softened somewhat, and went back again, harder. ¡°On your last little visit, I was part of the clean-up crew. Do you know what that means?¡±


    I straightened. Nightfell said nothing.


    ¡°Seven¡­ seven of them were my friends. I had to¡­¡± He was barely keeping a lid on his emotions, fear and rage mingled into pure destructive fuel, pumping in his veins. ¡°I had to get the bucket. Do you know what that means? Their ¨C their ¨C the bits of them ¨C¡°


    ¡°If you think you have reason to hate me, hate away.¡± Nightfell met his glare with a cool gaze. ¡°I expect your hate. I expect you to want me dead. I came here, I broke your toys, I de-souled your friends. Did I not just say it? You¡¯ll never trust me, maybe not even when I¡¯m in the ground. People will salt my grave when I¡¯m gone, and two generations will lay wards about it just on the off-chance. I get it. You think you have some monopoly on my suffering? You think killing your magister buddies was the worst thing I ever did? You think I don¡¯t have a thousand murders to atone for? Even the deaths of my guards, that night ¨C those are on my head too. I know. To you they were just heretics.¡± She looked down at the ground, and it was as though his trembling had been passed to her. ¡°So say you¡¯re me. What do you do now? Do you¡­ do you wallow in it? Lean into it? S-stay that way, forever?¡±


    The man was at a loss for words.


    ¡°We fight.¡± I said it gently, but passionately, and I reached down for Tanra¡¯s hand, clasping it as tightly as I could in this form. ¡°And guess what? You¡¯ll fight with us, man, whether you want to or not. You aren¡¯t a runner, are you? It¡¯s too close to the end of the line for any of us to do any different now. We fight. You¡¯re our brother when the battle comes, like it or lump it.¡±


    He blinked, and ducked his head, as though the urge to nod in response was irresistible.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay ¨C head back up to your post.¡± I nodded back to him. ¡°Nightfell here¡¯s got it, right?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± she said quietly, seemingly incapable of tearing her eyes from the floor.


    ¡°And you can listen in, in a minute. Maybe you¡¯ll hear something that interests you.¡±


    He didn¡¯t reply; he skirted us as much as the width of the stair permitted, and took the steps two at a time in his hurry to escape our delightful company.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I murmured once I thought he¡¯d be out of earshot.


    ¡°I know,¡± she murmured back, ¡°you¡¯re saying that a lot today. But it isn¡¯t, is it? The Arrealbord¡­ Zandrina¡­ I did it all. I brought hell down on us in a hundred different ways and I couldn¡¯t stop.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡± I reeled, then gritted my teeth. ¡°You were Zandrina?¡±


    She bit her lip. ¡°I was, and I wasn¡¯t. I¡­ I needed targets. Targets for Glimmermere, for Netherhame, Winterprince¡­ S-Stormsword. I needed cover. I needed to keep the magisters off our backs. And only I ¨C only I could get something like inkatra into the city. I wrecked¡­ wrecked everything¡­¡±


    I went cold when she mentioned Emrelet¡¯s moniker, losing focus for a moment, and then I fought the feeling, fought the bitterness that swelled up inside me.


    Emrelet wasn¡¯t Zandrina¡¯s fault. Emrelet was Henthae¡¯s fault.


    Emrelet was Emrelet¡¯s fault¡­


    ¡°The pressure builds, and builds, until we just want an outlet.¡± I squeezed her hand. ¡°You want to stick a knife in someone, stick one in me. I won¡¯t pop.¡±


    She laughed ¨C a hacking, sobbing laugh ¨C then grabbed my shoulder, pulling herself into me.


    I couldn¡¯t embrace her ¨C the position was all wrong, and I was down an arm. But I stood there while she embraced me, her tears drenching my breast.


    ¡°Feel better now?¡± I asked when she stopped, pulling away.


    She beat lightly on my chest with the heel of her hand. ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°Come on.¡± I pulled her towards the corridor. ¡°No time like the present.¡±


    She wiped her face with the back of her free hand. ¡°Don¡¯t I know it.¡±


    ¡°Which way now?¡±


    ¡°First left¡­ then second left again. We¡¯re almost there.¡±


    Quite what was located down the other tunnels I never found out ¨C Tanra took me in a blur, and it was all I could do to make my legs follow the route as we appeared ¨C


    In the Invocatrix chamber, the heavy door closing to behind us.


    The room was circular, perhaps ten paces in diameter. The floor was the same clean-cut stone as the corridor, but the walls and ceiling were covered in half-domes of glass that captured and reflected the light of the central stone, casting rainbows of unimagined colours across every surface. There had to be thousands, thousands upon thousands of them. And right there in the middle of the room: a single sumptuously-upholstered chair before a tripod, into which the biggest glyphstone I¡¯d ever seen had been inserted.


    The crystalline chunk was a misshapen mess of glittering facets, and it was large-enough to require two ordinary men to lift, yet somehow the illumination it shed rotated from moment to moment, ribboned patterns of ruby and emerald dancing about the walls, cavorting with sapphire and amethyst, all interlaced with threads of lustrous amber.


    Tanra gestured at the chair.


    ¡°Sit down. It¡¯ll be a lot easier for you than it was for me ¨C there were all these telepathic lock-outs in place, and Sordono had such trouble with the interface¡­ Just place your hand on the stone. And take your time, before you speak. Get used to it. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re going to say but¡­ I know you¡¯ll do right.¡±


    ¡°That makes one of us.¡± I took a deep breath then stepped forwards, gripping the arm of the chair and lowering myself into its seat. ¡°Do you ¨C do you think it¡¯s too late to take it back?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I can speak for you, or we can leave. You can do it another time. No one expects this of you, you know.¡±


    I grinned. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to say, ¡®yes, it¡¯s already too late, now get a move on with it¡¯.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re haemorrhaging magisters by the hour,¡± she said, still unsmiling. ¡°Get a move on with it, Kas.¡±


    I took another deep breath, then reached out to place my fingertips gingerly against the stone.


    Nothing. No reaction, physical or psychic. I¡¯d been anticipating heat, or coldness, or a sudden telepathic overhaul. But the edges of the crystal chunk were smooth, cool ¨C


    My palm touched the glyphstone.


    Suddenly I could see through the half-domes on the wall. My eyes widened, trying to take it in. I could see all of Mund. The viewpoints changed as the rainbows wheeled, the images never lasting more than a couple of seconds, never repeating as far as I could tell. A few of the looking-glasses showed me groves of trees, stretches of tents, patches of water ¨C others showed perspectives from the rooftops, looking up into empty sky or down into desolate streets ¨C while others displayed only the darkness between walls, the corners of shops, the gutters of houses, the shadowed glass of broken towers ¨C


    My parents¡¯ graves.


    Somehow seeing their gravestones helped ground me and when the image fell away, replaced instantly with a depiction of a rodent-choked sewer, I suppressed the shudder that threatened to spill through me, keeping my hand pressed to the cool crystal.


    I couldn¡¯t study them in detail. Without the inherent knowledge of an arch-diviner or the psychic skill of an arch-enchanter I was just going to lose myself in the Invocatrix.


    Time to focus. Time to break all their plans, and do it.


    I placed my force-whips upon the glyphstone, and they strummed ley-lines I couldn¡¯t even see with my sorcerer¡¯s eye. I leaned forwards and stared deep into the crystal¡¯s bottomless, iridescent depths.


    Time to tell the truth.

 Disregard All I Am

    <h2>INTERLUDE 10A: DISREGARD ALL I AM</h2>


    ¡°Do you ascend, or descend? In the darkness how can you tell? By following your gut, that¡¯s how! Yet you remain unsatisfied, and there is no more that words can say. Let the rest speak for itself, and the words stay silent.¡±


    ¨C from Of Lord Ymer and Prince Rivorn in ¡®Elturiel¡¯s Collected Fairytales¡¯


    Magicrux Izian was bigger than most, a true tower with walls twice the height of those belonging to Falwyn and Jelix. Surrounded on all sides by large, well-maintained residences, the veritable fortress of reddish stone rose up over the houses and stores, looming like a bloody finger above the landscape. Once upon a time it¡¯d been the castle of some lord or other but, like all structures of its ilk within the walls of Mund, it had been appropriated by public bodies when the chance came, transformed from a fortified home into a symbol of the magistry¡¯s power. Its jail-cells were deep and its prison-cells were deeper.


    All in all, she loved the place. If it were emptied of its occupants she could¡¯ve spent a month or two just exploring its bowels. The criminals held here tended to be rather on the rough side, given that it was the number one destination for high-risk offenders. Mages with blood on their hands ¨C unsanctioned blood ¨C would, if they were lucky, find themselves carted here from all over the city once their sentences were pronounced. If Henthae hadn¡¯t saved her after what she still thought of as the worst day of her life, Ciraya too might well have ended up incarcerated here.


    And with that thought there was a trace of regret, even jealousy. The dank pits beneath the magicrux were unwelcoming in the extreme, of course, but damp and rats and gloom had never been things to bother her. And the inmates had unlimited time to inspect their environment, perusing the ancient symbols scratched into walls and floors and ceilings at their leisure. Not that there was any magic left in the age-old runes, the great patterns that the tower¡¯s former occupants had used in their rituals. No, those spells were long-since spent of all their potential energies ¨C the Magisterium command were sometimes foolhardy, even rash in their decisions, but they weren¡¯t stupid-enough to lock dangerous individuals into a chamber which might itself present a means of flight. No doubt some of those brought here enjoyed some small measure of excitement, upon first beholding their new surroundings. Dreams of escape surely filled the heads of many such darkmages; most of the men and women who called those cells home thought of themselves first and foremost as scholars, and perhaps some would¡¯ve even gotten somewhere, given the proper tools and implements.


    Not that that was happening any time soon, of course.


    Thanks perhaps in part to its imposing walls ¨C and in larger part to the vigour with which she and her fellows had defended it ¨C Izian had come through the Incursion largely unscathed. Once their assault proved futile the demons had turned their foul attentions towards the civilians just beyond the magicrux, clearly attempting to lure out the defenders, but Ironvine, the new wizard-champion, arrived in the nick of time ¨C the archmage went about dissecting a whole horde of the fiends, thereby allowing the magisters to leave their red-stone fortress and crush the remaining hell-hosts in the streets.


    The rest of the day was still, in large part, a blur. After the arena she clung to her orders like a child about the neck of an unsaddled stallion, trusting as ever to the machinery of the organisations to which she belonged. As she came riding about the bend and saw the magicrux walls towering over the row of ruined shops in front of her, she was reminded of the carnage that had occurred in this very spot, her role in stemming the black tides of imps as their summoner lurked in the shadows. It¡¯d slipped her mind completely ¨C there were too many experiences for her to recollect them in their entirety, at least for now, and she understood that. But to forget the whole encounter? It was almost like someone had been messing with her head.


    She saw the wrecked shop-fronts, and she remembered, the whole thing coming flooding back to her in one go.


    This is where the old man and his granddaughter died.


    Heedless of the way her mistress atop her was wracking her brains, Fe knew where they were going. They were still a few streets away from the magicrux and there was no slowing the pace of the yithandreng¡¯s legs. Fe went hurtling into a right-turn, bearing Ciraya away from the junction where the double failure had taken place. The remainder of the journey gave the sorceress time to collect herself, repressing the memories once more. They followed the roadway in a wide arc about the distant walls, and by the time they came up to the magicrux approach Ciraya felt like herself again.


    The great gate was thrown open before her and Fe thundered up the causeway, swerving around the magister-band making their way down to the road. Timmin and another man unknown to Ciraya were at their posts on either side of the arch. They were looking rather the worse for wear, but Timmin, at least, knew Fe and her rider by sight, and stopping Ciraya in her tracks simply wasn¡¯t going to happen ¨C not if he wanted to have pleasant dreams. It was beyond her why her animosity mattered so much to her colleagues¡­ or maybe that was just it. They weren¡¯t really her colleagues, were they? The secondment to Special Investigations under Henthae¡¯s sponsorship ¨C the bond to the Seven-Star Swords no magisterial vow could truly equal ¨C these were insurmountable obstacles, barriers that set her apart from those who should¡¯ve been her peers. When Verdum hadn¡¯t quite been quick-enough with the gate¡¯s password that one time, Ciraya had been forced to halt and unthinkingly directed a scathing glance in his direction¡­ and that¡¯d been it. The next three times she ran into the cretin he fell over himself to apologise in increasingly fawning tones, and her stares of disbelief and dismissals had simply exacerbated the man¡¯s urgency. In the end she¡¯d had to take Verdum aside and put the fear of the Five in him just to shut him up.


    Did they think she would bad-mouth them within earshot of Henthae? Did they think she¡¯d send imps to sew their eyelids while they slept?


    Cretins.


    But that wasn¡¯t all there was to it, was it? After her drunken tryst with Ronuth he went as pale as balsam wood before her eyes every time she saw him.


    It was something about her.


    Something about me.


    She charged into the courtyard, shrank Fe down to her miniature form, and entered the tower. Those she passed on the narrow stair shrank into the far wall, a few mumbling half-hearted greetings; she ignored them, other than pull her robe tight to her side, as much to keep herself from being tripped as to show them the same courtesy. Finally the door to the captain¡¯s office came into view around the bend, and she rapped firmly a single time upon its varnished pine surface before gripping the handle and entering.


    The room was surprisingly spacious, well-lit by a wall of sun-blanketed windows. Captain Somerhil was sitting straight-backed behind her desk, practically propped up by piles of paperwork. Two pencil-armed scribes were busy scribbling behind her, their arms filled with sheafs of the white sheets, every visible inch covered in tiny, neat writing.


    ¡°¡­ and tell them that the four properties on Mannerbrent Walk are going to need demolition.¡± Somerhil looked up, meeting Ciraya¡¯s eyes. ¡°Ah, you¡¯ve returned. Did you have any success with our little problem?¡±


    Ciraya ducked her head. ¡°One less vampire and wight to worry about, sir.¡±


    Fe was squirming in her pocket. She took her out and stroked the little lizard; instantly the yithandreng startled to settle.


    ¡°One fewer¡­¡± Somerhil corrected her absent-mindedly, reaching out for a piece of paper on the far-left corner of her desk and scratching lines through one of the sentences. ¡°Very good, very good, Miss Ostelwin. I always hear good things about you.¡±


    No you don¡¯t, the sorceress thought. But she managed to keep the knowing smile from twisting her lips. The last thing she wanted was for this Oldtowner to start thinking she was a smug little shrew.


    ¡°May I enquire as to how you disposed of them?¡±


    She put Fe back in her pocket. ¡°You may.¡±


    The captain looked up ¨C the scribes looked across. Three pairs of eyes bored into her.


    Drop it. She let them see her smirk. There was no way for her to make herself sound unsarcastic; she might as well look the part.


    ¡°Sorry, sir. Long day. The wight was easy ¨C Zanib¡¯s Eleventh Lecture was good enough to escort her home. The vampire was trickier. The Wilting did for him, though. Would you like a list of the specifics? I had to source almost a whole gallon of ethereal sap ¨C¡±


    ¡°You performed a Wilting? Alone?¡±


    She should¡¯ve gone for something simpler ¨C a bloodrose, or a Mirror-Gaze Snare. But Somerhil¡¯s sceptical tone just made her double her play. She could¡¯ve performed a Wilting alone, damn it. It was just that she¡­


    ¡°I guess I¡¯m just that good.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C¡±


    ¡°Can I go, now, please.¡± The way she said it, it sounded even less of a question than she¡¯d intended.


    ¡°Miss Ostelwin, if the nature of your role at my magicrux has not been made crystal clear ¨C¡± the captain leaned back, regarding her coldly ¡°¨C I have only myself to blame. I admit that I was blessed to find you within our walls when the horde came calling. But I will not stand for insub-¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ve been on the go ten hours and I¡¯ve not been by the Star Tower for more than a courtesy call since all this started. I have rituals I must perform.¡± She played her trump card. ¡°Mistress Henthae is always most accommodating of my particular needs. Shall I contact her directly?¡±


    Somerhil¡¯s cold eyes never wavered. ¡°You¡¯re playing a dangerous game here, young lady. Very well ¨C dismissed.¡± The captain immediately went back to her paperwork. ¡°Instruct Egret and Spindlers to begin renovations at once. We can spare them two bands for assistance ¨C Maliko¡¯s and Jorastian¡¯s.¡±


    The scribes started scribbling. Feeling slightly less victorious than she¡¯d hoped, Ciraya turned on her heel and swung open the door. She didn¡¯t close it behind her when she stepped through, and it creaked to a half-ajar stop; as she headed down the stairs she heard the distant scraping of a chair, followed by a loud thud.


    Feeling slightly better, she reached the courtyard and withdrew Fe from her pocket once more. Moments later she was galloping down the causeway and back into the streets.


    Time to go home.


    * * *


    Even Fe could tell something was wrong as they came to a halt on the edge of the courtyard. The demon quivered again beneath her, and a soothing hand didn¡¯t suffice to settle her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t good at platitudes, especially when she shared her demon¡¯s sentiments; Fe¡¯s lack of reaction was proof of it. The yithandreng continued to claw at the cobbles while the sorceress looked up at the tower.


    Star Tower didn¡¯t seem to have been too badly affected, at least as far as appearances could tell. The spires were intact ¨C which was more than could be said for the last Incursion, when a lone eolastyr caused a small fortune in damages. Black ichor and slime had stained some of the lower portions of the main tower, but surely that only spoke to the successes of her brothers and sisters of the Swords. It looked like the blood of dozens of demons had been splashed all over the outer walls. Surely that was a good thing?


    But why then were there so few people in and around the courtyard? Was that what had bothered Fe too? Usually the benches on the small green would be full, even following such tumultuous events as last night. Classes should be suspended. Practicals postponed. Every square foot of the grass should¡¯ve been covered in initiates, babbling about the turmoil, things they¡¯d seen and done, awaiting their chance to steal a spot on a bench¡­


    Did the wards fail? Are they afraid to come outside?


    It didn¡¯t make sense.


    Fe safely tucked away in her pocket, Ciraya climbed the dark grey stair and passed through the open archway. Bladed kinkalaman and feathered ilshardical lurked there on either side, silent guardians sculpted in relief from the stonework of the pillars; the bovine faces of burly bintaborax loomed above all, their outstretched arms, locked in contest, forming the peak of the arch.


    She didn¡¯t have to go far before all her worst nightmares came true. The high hallway was eerily empty, but she was only halfway up the first flight of stairs when the door to the canteen banged open.


    ¡°Gods!¡± Urma cried, rushing out to take her by the hands. ¡°Have you heard, Ciraya? Have you heard?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she said blandly, keeping one hundred percent of the panic she felt from her voice. She wanted to pull her hands out of Urma¡¯s ¨C she didn¡¯t like someone invading her space like this, even if her skin bore the same tattoos, even if she thought as Urma as being closer to her than her actual sisters ¨C for all that meant¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s the Mistress,¡± Urma blared. ¡°It came in through her window! Th-the shields were nothing to it!¡±


    Somehow Ciraya knew what her fellow Star was going to say, but instinct compelled her to snatch her hands free regardless. She straightened, steeling herself to receive the news, the inexorable truth.


    Truth was always the same.


    ¡°She¡¯s dead, Ciraya! She¡¯s dead!¡±


    * * *


    When she reached the high chamber, the magister took a few moments to recover her breath. Urma had been replaced with Davon and another adept Ciraya thought was called Irithsia, both senior Stars with kind smiles and hard eyes. Ostensibly they were accompanying Ciraya out of pure altruism, speaking to her in compassionate and husky tones, but she knew how these things worked. They wanted to ensure she didn¡¯t move anything ¨C or, worse, remove something. They wanted to quiz her, gently, perhaps, as to those topics whose resolutions still evaded them. Moreover, they wanted to watch her. See where she went, what she did. Were her eyes drawn to the locations of Eneleyn¡¯s hidden compartments? If so, which ones? Those they knew of already, or those still to be discovered?


    Their position would¡¯ve been obvious even if they hadn¡¯t seemingly forgotten to contact her. It wasn¡¯t as if she carried a glyphstone. Oh no. Even if they hadn¡¯t been conveniently waiting for her halfway up the fourth stair to escort her, she would¡¯ve known. Their eyes told the tale like any criminal¡¯s.


    They knew, or at least suspected, that she and Mistress Arithos had had a special relationship. She¡¯d spent too many late nights in the high chamber for the others to not notice. Mistress Arithos been a mother to Ciraya ¨C more than a mother. A mentor. A role-model. Someone who showed her the other side of what it was to be highborn. Someone who made her feel like she was highborn, even when she¡¯d been nobody, when she¡¯d had nothing, no one at all¡­ The reason for Mistress Arithos¡¯s tenderness had always eluded her, and if she didn¡¯t know better she¡¯d have thought Mistress Henthae had laid a spell on her. The two older women, together ¨C they had given her something to strive for. And she¡¯d thrown herself into the dark magic at their unspoken request, thrown herself into her magistry work. She¡¯d sought their approval in every sidelong glance, every casual remark that elevated her, opinions not meant to be given voice in the presence of one of her station.


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    Both of them ¨C they treated her as an equal.


    Now the door opened onto a room painful in its familiarity, but Ciraya had eyes for only the desk. The empty chair, with its writhing serpentine arms, its criss-cross nettle-green embroidery¡­


    The glass-shards on the carpet gleamed in the glow of ensorcelled candelabra. Her eyes were drawn to it ¨C to the smashed window ¨C


    ¡°What was left of her?¡± Ciraya asked.


    The two adepts glanced at one another, then, sounding somewhat annoyed, Davon replied: ¡°The remains of Mistress Arithos ¨C¡±


    ¡°Cut the drop!¡± Ciraya brought up a pale hand to point at his face. ¡°Not with me! Not today! You tell me ¨C tell me what it did.¡±


    ¡°It was one of the eolastyr,¡± Irithsia tried to remonstrate ¨C


    ¡°You think I¡¯m stupid! What I want to know ¨C did she die¡­ die with her¡­¡±


    Irithsia shook her head slowly, eyes narrowed shrewdly. ¡°She was, I believe, ¡®flensed¡¯. Without the swift application of healing¡­ I cannot believe she lasted long.¡±


    ¡°Poor lady,¡± Davon said quietly.


    Respectfully.


    Incensingly.


    Ciraya very carefully crossed her arms and clenched her fists. ¡°How¡­ how did this happen? The last I heard, she was¡­ she was at study. She was fine.¡±


    ¡°We believe one of the demons in here had imitated her voice. The corpse of Mistress Arithos wasn¡¯t discovered for some hours, when a pre-activated detection-spell triggered upon the¡­ the remains.¡± Davon drew himself up, and gestured into the room. ¡°Would you like to enter?¡±


    Ciraya didn¡¯t move a muscle.


    So when she called through the door¡­ that wasn¡¯t her?


    She felt sick all of a sudden ¨C then the nausea was gone, fuel for a fire of anger that rose up, consuming all other concerns.


    I should¡¯ve known!


    ¡°Why wasn¡¯t I contacted?¡± she asked between gritted teeth.


    ¡°As you have been told, we were unaware of her passing for a long time.¡± Davon¡¯s face was tight, a mask of emotionlessness. ¡°We are uncertain¡­ precisely when she entered Nethernum.¡±


    ¡°You still didn¡¯t answer my question, respected adept.¡±


    ¡°Come now.¡± Irithsia was trying to sound sympathetic, but it came across as a reprimand all the same. ¡°There was hardly some dictate, that you be contacted upon her death. We have had much on our minds, beyond reaching out to one journeyman serving in the Magisterium. Surely you understand this?¡±


    No, she wanted to hiss.


    ¡°The rituals must be observed. The passing of a Master or Mistress of the Seven-Star Swords is not some minor event.¡± Davon seemed to read the answer in her eyes, and was even more obvious in his hostility. ¡°My dear Ciraya, what would you expect? Next you will be criticising us for moving her body. There is an order to these things. If you stay with us, in time you will learn. You will see the reigns of more Masters, more Mistresses. Their deaths ¨C¡±


    ¡°If I stay with you.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that ¨C¡±


    Ciraya turned on her heel and strode to the stair.


    ¡°But ¨C did we not come all the way up here to show you ¨C¡±


    ¡°Did you not desire to inspect ¨C¡±


    She ignored their protests, their course-correction attempts. They¡¯d already given away their real game.


    Exclusion. Taking control away from unstable elements like her. Pushing her back. Back to where she used to be. Back down where she belonged.


    As she hastened down the stairwell she looked at her hands. She had thrown herself into the tattoos as she had into all the other varied aspects of her career. There was no simple stopping-point. There was always another ward to trace, another rite to deconstruct, and there was no better place than the flesh to record her work, no more sacred sheet of paper than the runic skin that enclosed her, wrapped tight about her soul.


    The ink¡­ There was no questioning it. The designs weren¡¯t just part of her. They were the best part.


    I did it for me. Not for her. Not for them.


    She thundered down the stairs, past the entrances to the vast Red Library, the respectable Purple Library, the bare-shelved Green Library. Ronuth was there, coming the other way, already paling and stumbling; she charged past him, ignoring his insipid salutations, the seven-sword pattern on his open hand as he lifted it to wave¡­


    Fe beneath her, she pounded the streets, putting as much distance as possible between herself and them, that place, those memories. Her history. Her life.


    An Incursion had never affected her like this. She¡¯d had ¡®friends¡¯ that had died, many times in the past. People she¡¯d held at arms length. People who knew her well-enough to know they only half-knew her. And she missed those people, in a way. At least once a week she¡¯d think about Ilitar and Haspophel¡¯s pointless deaths, think about wringing the neck of the heretic who slew them. She¡¯d wonder about what¡¯d happened to Emrelet. How the fierce Onsolorian met her final end.


    There weren¡¯t many of them left, and, of the sort who really knew her, only one of two remained.


    Henthae, she thought as she rode south, the wind in her eyes. Mistress Henthae, where are you?


    And, as if by divine miracle, the soothing, motherly voice answered.


    * * *


    She brought Fe to a halt on the edge of the cohort and Mistress Henthae came floating to meet her, buoyed up by a strong-looking flight-spell.


    ¡°Oh, Ciraya,¡± said the enchantress, and those two words, laden with such grief, were as good to the sorceress as the long, firm embrace she¡¯d never let herself surrender to.


    ¡°Mistress.¡±


    ¡°I only just found out about poor Eneleyn ¨C rest assured, we will discuss the matter. For now,¡± the enchantress gestured to the quiet ranks of magisters, ¡°would you join us? I am overdue to meet Feychilde. He needs returning to the place he belongs.¡±


    Ciraya eyed her fellow magisters. Their garish robes. Their sullen faces.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡± Her mouth was dry all of a sudden. ¡°You¡¯re mobilising¡­ to fight him?¡±


    ¡°To crush him,¡± the old woman snapped. ¡°He has broken every edict known to god and man, flauted every rule. To return, from Magicrux Zyger! Who knows what dark magic he has in his employ, beyond the eolastyr?¡±


    Ciraya closed her eyes and the feel of his touch came back to her. Just one more part of a very long day¡­ the arch-sorcerer¡¯s fingers like electric on her neck.


    Is it really true?


    Is it Mistress Arithos¡¯s killer?


    She opened her eyes once more.


    ¡°You believe he has one?¡± was all she said.


    ¡°One or more!¡± Mistress Henthae¡¯s eyes shone with fervour. ¡°And you ¨C you were the one! You found him! What ¨C what dalliance is this!¡±


    Henthae advanced a few yards, face twisted by murderous fury. With an uncanny simultaneity, the nearest magisters turned hostile expressions on the sorceress.


    Ciraya balked, startled at the automaton-like reactions. Fe sensed her distress and coiled beneath her, readying the springy limbs to run.


    ¡°What have you done, Mistress?¡± the sorceress cried. ¡°What ¨C what have you ¨C¡±


    The enchantress eyed her like she was worthless. ¡°Why, only what I¡¯ve always done. The dragon began it, of course. But when I realised how easy it had been¡­¡±


    The enchantress laughed ¨C a throbbing, throaty, terrifying laugh.


    ¡°¡­ how easy it would be¡­ Whatever else would you expect of me, Miss Ostelwin? The fugitive must be put down.


    ¡°And you must help me.¡±


    * * *


    She was right there, right at Henthae¡¯s side, as it all came tumbling down.


    In the aftermath she abandoned them all. The Mistress didn¡¯t cry after her, but some of the high-ranked magisters did. Their voices ¨C they carried mixed motivations. The horror-struck, wanting Ciraya to stay so they could meld their miseries with her own, pull her down with them into the mire of hopelessness. The angered, thinking that perhaps Ciraya was complicit in Henthae¡¯s madness, wanting to drag her over the same coals. The confused, still incapable of coming to terms with what had just been done to them.


    Fe tore at the muddy roadway, carrying her onwards. She didn¡¯t know where they were going but that was okay. Fe knew her mistress needed to go for a run, so they ran. The destination didn¡¯t matter one bit.


    As night-time came, the familiar, comforting darkness shrouding the city, she found herself in a North Lowtown pub. The walls and furniture were intact ¨C well, as intact as could be expected for a tavern of its calibre ¨C but the atmosphere was truly grim. Almost every patron drank alone. These were the people with nothing left to fight for, nothing out there to keep them from being in here¡­ and she fitted right in with them. Even the balding guy behind the bar had barely a word for her ¨C he simply stared at her until she produced copper, then dipped her a not-very-frothy tankard.


    ¡°Margister,¡± a drunk slurred at her when she went back to the bar for her second refill. ¡°Margister, ¡®ere!¡±


    She slowly turned her head to regard the sloppy idiot.


    She was only two beers in. She looked him up and down coldly.


    ¡°We¡¯ll ¡®as no trouble here, Rowle,¡± the barman said quietly, not even lifting his gaze to the sweaty-vested man; clearly Rowle was a regular. ¡°Not terday.¡±


    She went back to her table, unaccosted, though she felt the eyes on her from all corners. She didn¡¯t know what the barman was so frightened of. She wouldn¡¯t need spells to handle a staggering buffoon like Rowle, and one example would soon settle the tempers of any other belligerent patrons who fancied testing her mettle.


    She kept her ears open, and focussed her gaze on the thin layer of foam floating on the ale. Using the long dark-blue nail of her index finger she cut lines into the froth, pointlessly practising her sigils like a good little girl, until all the bubbles fully dispersed.


    Henthae and Arithos. Both of them in one day.


    She half-laughed, then took a long swig.


    By the time she finished her third she was already sauntering back to the bar, swaying as she went. She looked across with disdain at the drooling fool three seats over.


    ¡°Yeah, Rowse,¡± she croaked at the sleeping man. ¡°Not today, Rowse.¡± She put Fe on the counter, where the tiny yithandreng stretched, extending her claws and scratching at the wooden surface. ¡°All I got to do is say the one word, one word and this little thing¡¯s gonna¡­ gonna¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give him any grief, please, miss,¡± Mr. Almost-Bald said to her, sounding weary in his bones. His eyes were fixed on the miniature demon stretched out on his bar. ¡°Poor man. Lost all what he had. Musta been two moons back now. Wife and son, gone in the slaughter they was.¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°It¡¯s an ¡®ard life, eh, miss? Eh?¡±


    He was trying to engage, in spite of everything. Did he want to help her now all of a sudden, or under his tired exterior did he long for the violence too, just like Rowse had done?


    She kept her eyes on the two coins as she slid them across the counter, suddenly unwilling, incapable of meeting his eyes.


    She remembered what Kas said. She knew the symbol she wore for what it was.


    She hated it, she thought. Yes, that was right: she hated it.


    She took Fe and tramped back to her table, her little home away from home ¨C not that she had a home, anyway, right? ¨C not anymore ¨C and pondered her options.


    It¡¯s not like the ink. It¡¯s not part of me. I never painted their star on me. In me. I just wear it. My stars are¡­ my stars are five-pointed. Seven of them¡­


    ¡®Seven swords for seven lords, and all the hells can¡¯t hold ¡¯em; seven stars for seven bards and not a truth was told ¡¯em¡­¡¯


    The legends of the formation of the Swords were a topic of much debate. Whether the original seven lords really existed ¨C who they were, what they achieved ¨C should have really been a matter of record. The tower was founded as little as two hundred years ago, and certainly its basements held none of the ancient mystery possessed by Magicrux Izian. But the turmoil of the Reformation had upended everything, and even the most ancient elves interviewed for academic purposes could recall little except the chaos. A few years ago Ciraya and some of her fellow pupils had gone over the historical record, searching for clues, answers to two-century-old conundrums. The most amazing thing was how people of the past viewed the times they lived in. The events that would be looked back upon and scrutinised for every minor detail were rarely those that captured the public opinion of the day. It seemed that by a hundred and fifty years ago the original seven Sword-Masters had already passed into legend, their identities a topic of conjecture and debate. Separating rumour from fact was beyond her skills and the skills of her ¡®friends¡¯, yet there was such enjoyment to be found even in base speculation. Even when she¡¯d turned her attention to the academic literature she¡¯d found the historians themselves were entangled in disagreements she thought of as, well, academic. Were the original Masters really all men? Several sources indicated the presence of Sword-Mistresses. Could it be that they were seven women, as one researcher boldly proclaimed? Or was it true, per the eye-witness testimony of one long-dead dwarf, that two of them were women, with five men? What about the swords themselves? At least one source said that one of the original Masters wielded an axe. Wasn¡¯t that interesting¡­!


    Why such meaningless facets of the lore had become the primary fixations of the historical societies, she had no notion. Respected authorities would sit in forgotten rooms to hold discussions for hours ¨C she¡¯d attended one in her youthful naivety, once ¨C and the dry disagreements about swords versus axes had made her nauseous even then, when her interest in such matters was at its keenest.


    She¡¯d been such an idiot. Who even cared? Why should she have ever cared? Was it just to make two old women like her? A demon-addict and a thought-thief! Was it to gain power, prestige? What power? What prestige?


    No. That had been the excuse she¡¯d given herself, in later years, looking back at her sixteen-year-old self with a scathing eye.


    The truth was¡­ it still interested her. She was still a curious girl, in her heart of hearts. Her thirst was for knowledge, not power. If it weren¡¯t for all the external layers she¡¯d had to build up ¨C when she almost killed those men, those absolute fools who thought a rust-splotched knife could contend with her sorcery ¨C


    I could¡¯ve been a professor, she thought glumly, staring down into the flat ale with the side of her head supported by her knuckles. This pint was slower-going. There were no bubbles left in which to make patterns but she made them all the same, lines only her imagination could perceive, her free hand hanging above her beer like a witch¡¯s over a cauldron.


    The door banged open, louder than any sound she¡¯d heard since she arrived¡­ distant-enough through the fog of the booze to be ignored.


    Professor Ostelwin, she mused. Famed on campus. Most-tattooed sorceress of her rank. Scathing remarks. Too cool for her age. Yeah. That would¡¯ve been me. The students would love me. Love me, and fear me. Equal measure.


    ¡°A magister!¡± someone yelled. ¡°What¡¯s ¡®er kind doin¡¯ in ¡®ere!¡±


    Whoever it was, they were enraged. Slowly, like a creature stirring from a months-long hibernation, she craned her neck to see.


    Oh, drop!¡­


    She almost fell out of her chair, scrambling to her feet as the four thick-necked men lunged at her.


    The grabbing-hand of the first missed her by feet or by inches, she couldn¡¯t tell ¨C she was staggering back by instinct, trying to put the corner of the table between herself and her attackers.


    She attempted to glower. ¡°I¡¯m warning y-¡°


    One of them had come around behind her without her even noticing, and yanked her off-balance by her hood. She twisted to get free and though she succeeded in making him lose his grip, she couldn¡¯t do a thing about her momentum. Her warning was cut short as she tumbled, slamming down on her back between the chairs.


    ¡°Droppin¡¯ demon-freak,¡± he spat at her, leaning over her face, breath stinking of wane and worse.


    ¡°Doan letter talk!¡± someone shouted. ¡°Keep ¡®er ¡®ands out ¡®er pockets!¡± There was a swift scraping squeak, chair-legs dragged across floorboards.


    Ciraya was lithe and stringy. She¡¯d gone down harder before, and the alcohol removed at least ninety percent of the pain she should¡¯ve been experiencing.


    Don¡¯t use Fe, she told herself. Don¡¯t lose control.


    She stuck a bunch of her dark-blue nails in her attacker¡¯s face instead, clawing down for purchase as she pulled herself up, pushing with the other hand ¨C


    Eyes can be fixed.


    As he screamed, her middle digit sinking up to the fingertip inside his eye-socket, someone struck her support-arm with something heavy. A boot, maybe. Right in the elbow.


    Gasping, she fell back again. Gore on her fingers. Boots and wails, pounding her.


    Don¡¯t do it. Don¡¯t lose control.


    She could take it. She¡¯d been hurt before. She understood. In her bones. Her clan. The magisters. Magisters took something from the men. Now they took something back. She was the target. She would be made to suffer. She could take it. She¡¯d taken worse!


    ¡°Aaaah! Kill the witch! Kill it, kill it and skin it! Look at it! What is it? What even is it!¡±


    ¡°Give us that.¡±


    There was no metallic zing, no tell that she could perceive. But she knew it from the ice in that voice. He was asking for a weapon.


    My weapon is wriggling in my pocket. My weapon can¡¯t do a thing. Not a thing. Not without my say-so.


    She glanced up between her arms, braced protectively around her head. Saw them, leering over her, one with his foot raised to stamp on her once more.


    Die a fool, Ciraya. Die a fool, but not a criminal.


    You¡¯re better than both of them.


    She shouldn¡¯t have swivelled her head to look up; the booted heel landed in her chin. Her forearm absorbed the brunt of it but she still groaned as her teeth clattered, jaw ringing with the impact.


    The same rage still lived in her. She snapped out with her hands and gripped the retreating foot, heaving with all her might ¨C


    She¡¯d forgotten about her elbow. It hadn¡¯t just been hurt, when it was kicked a moment ago ¨C it was broken, almost inverted. What in her drunken mind¡¯s eye would be a smooth manoeuvre became anything but; she flailed uselessly against the retracting foot and soon it was out of reach. Her brain couldn¡¯t process it. Her motion had been a slick move that would be the first of many as she slid to her feet, slipping their untrained strikes, landing telling blows of her own¡­ She couldn¡¯t even grab his foot.


    She was inebriated, outnumbered. She downplayed the strength of four full-grown, motivated men, while at the same time overestimating the value of her combat experience.


    She¡¯d left her flanks exposed by extending her arms and someone toed her full-force in the ribs. The agony of it ripped through her, the sheer power of the blow lifting her and dropping her again, so that the back of her skull gave a thick clonk! sound. Blood filled her mouth as she punctured her tongue with her teeth, almost biting the end of it off.


    She¡¯d fought alongside champions. Survived Incursions. Destroyed darkmages in duels. And it was this, this that finished her. The back of her head connecting with the floor, surrounded by fools.


    What a stupid way to die.


    And die she would.


    She had enough consciousness left in her to form her final words. These last thoughts, given breath ¨C it was the only way she could save herself.


    But she didn¡¯t call to the demon to grow, defend her. Didn¡¯t call for the Feast to begin, as much as that was what she should have done. That was the way of dark gods, to use magic upon misguided men. And she knew where she was bound. She knew which gods would claim her soul, if she made a mistake.


    She made no mistake.


    ¡°Mortiforn,¡± she whispered from the tornado of pain as she sank down into it, feeling the god¡¯s name burst in red bubbles on her lips. ¡°Mortiforn¡­¡±


    Then the waters of unconsciousness closed over her head, and if they used the weapon on her body she never felt it. She was already gone.

 Disregard All I Am pt2

    * * *


    When she came around there was something wet and cold on her face; her first reaction was to paw at it with her right hand, but it seemed to evade all her attempts to bat it away ¨C it was moving, leaving her skin and then returning, softly, over and over ¨C


    ¡°There, miss. Yer¡¯ll be a¡¯right.¡±


    The barman¡¯s gentle voice, close by. The wet thing ¨C it was in his hand. He was¡­ mopping at her face.


    She pushed herself upright ¨C her head felt like a melon, simultaneously far larger and heavier than it ought. Her vision swam when she braved the visible world, opening her eyelids just a crack.


    Light hurt but the candles in here were sparse, the nearest far-off, their illumination rather dim. It wasn¡¯t so bad.


    She turned her stare upon the concerned-looking Mr. Almost-Bald, crouching beside her. Over his shoulder she saw the others who must¡¯ve come to her rescue, loitering around the nearby tables. Rowse was amongst them, exchanging slurred words with another drunk, a bright smile on his weathered face.


    Through the daze she heard her own words as a caustic croak, and it took her aback, to hear herself as they always heard her.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°All I know, is what yer said.¡± The barman¡¯s voice was low and calm, and he put the damp rag in her hand so she could dab at her own face. ¡°Yer could¡¯a ¡®ad yer¡­ thing grow big, right? I seen one ¡®as like it, once. Fort it was a snake, ¡®fore it went all massive. Gob liker dragon.¡± He drew a deep breath, then released it with a shudder. ¡°All I know is, yer didden. They was gonna kill yer, miss. Why didden yer give ¡®em some back?¡±


    She forced herself to swallow. Talking hurt. Her tongue hurt.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t.¡± It was impossible to put into words. ¡°Can¡¯t kill them. Not¡­ Not after Kas.¡±


    I¡¯m not dark.


    She couldn¡¯t put the thoughts in order. She screwed the rag up in her hand and pressed it hard into the centre of her forehead, praying for everything to stop spinning.


    Then, belatedly, she sent her hand to her belt.


    Pouches¡­


    Fe was still wriggling in her pocket. The fiend¡¯s affection for her, such as it was, always made her frustrated whenever Ciraya was hurt. Especially if it was a situation she could¡¯ve helped fix only for her mistress to keep her on the side-lines. That frustration would have to be released in a gallop, soon, or else Ciraya would have to dismiss her and let the demon express herself on her plane of origin without any of the usual limitations. Otherwise the summoning-spell binding the yithandreng to the sorceress¡¯s will would strain, maybe even snap, long before its proper expiration.


    Mumbling apologies, Ciraya found the tear in her belt where the straps had been ripped.


    ¡°No need to ¡®pologise, miss.¡± The barman stood up, and the people lounging around started heading back to their spots around the room. Ciraya only noted the chair-leg as the balding man retrieved it from the next table, smacking it down into the palm of his empty hand. ¡°Sick to me tonsils o¡¯ them rotten folk: Marbin¡¯s lot, an¡¯ that Gebbured too. No accountin¡¯ the motivations o¡¯ men. They gets driven by summat they thinks they can explain, only it¡¯s not. It¡¯s summat off, deep inside.¡±


    She blinked.


    I understand their motivations. I know why they wanted to kill me.


    Doesn¡¯t he?


    ¡°Doan look at me like that, miss. I tend bar, remember.¡± He misunderstood her sceptical gaze, responding by winking and smiling congenially ¨C a bit of action certainly seemed to have perked him up. ¡°Only too ¡®appy t¡¯ oblige yer. Like yer say, that Kas ¨C yer mean Feychilde, right? You know ¡®im?¡±


    She croaked in the affirmative.


    ¡°Yeah, well¡­ least one of ¡¯em¡¯s got ¡®is ¡®ead screwed on the right way round.¡± He glanced at her fumbling hand. ¡°Ah, sorry they got off wi¡¯ yer packets, like. Was they full o¡¯ coin? Didden ¡®alf jingle when they ran!¡±


    Ciraya shook her head, then instantly stopped; knocking her brain around inside her skull made the throbbing ten times worse.


    ¡°Well, ne¡¯er mind. Less it breathes, yer can get a new one.¡±


    My elixirs¡­


    Right now, with the city in the state it was in, the populace lost and leaderless¡­ the asking price of everything was going to go through the roof over the coming days ¨C food, clothing, protection ¨C never mind magically-enhanced goods. She¡¯d seen it before, back home: the value of the currency would plummet, at least until the city stabilised and the supply-lines were reopened¡­ maybe permanently, if the magical colleges and guilds had suffered a similar attrition rate to the Magisterium over the course of the day.


    She would¡¯ve preferred it if they¡¯d made off with every coin in her pocket ¨C anything to stop them taking her last healing potion. They clearly hadn¡¯t had long to search her, given they hadn¡¯t found the hidden pouches on the inside of her robe where she kept her meagre supply of gold, her most important reagents¡­


    Why didn¡¯t I keep my healing potion hidden?


    Because I might¡¯ve needed it.


    Like you don¡¯t need it now!


    She spent the next ten minutes recovering, her back propped up against a wall, trying and failing to sort out her thoughts. The barman, who gave his name as Dez, brought her a tankard of clean-ish water and she sipped at it until the pain started to recede.


    ¡°What do you think, girl?¡± she crooned down into her lap, looking at Fe. The yithandreng was coiled about the tankard¡¯s handle, quivering, forcing Ciraya to lift it with two hands to save herself from pricking her fingers. ¡°Are you ready to go?¡±


    Fe met her eyes. The miniature red orbs were filled with hunger ¨C hunger for motion, for violence. For food.


    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯ll get you a pig if there¡¯s one going. I¡¯ll have to pay over the odds for it. But that¡¯s okay.¡±


    Fe seemed to smile.


    ¡°Come on.¡±


    She had Fe grow, the tiny lizard-like demon inflating in the span of a second to the size of a big dog, or small pony. Ciraya crawled atop her, settling herself in her accustomed place. It was far less comfortable ¨C far spikier ¨C than usual.


    She heard the gasps, the squeaks of flung-back chairs; by the time she was ready to lift her head and peer about, she was impressed to find that only a handful of the patrons had fled their tables, pressing themselves into the far wall with their anxious eyes peering unblinkingly back at her.


    Fe pottered towards the door, obviously a bit unused to operating her limbs when locked into this medium scale.


    ¡°Thanks, Dez,¡± she said as loudly as she could without splitting her own head open. ¡°Thanks, Rowse. Thanks, everyone.¡±


    Dez looked concerned, but clearly thought better of trying to stop her, nodding to her gravely. Some of the scared patrons managed to wave. Others muttered. Some actually said bye without sounding like dropheads.


    Fe poked the door open with her nose, then swelled to her accustomed size as soon as they cleared the doorway. Before Ciraya could even take note of the time, eyeing the dark skies in confusion, they were pounding down the roadways. Not for the first time, the sorceress thanked the gods for yithandreng impact absorption.


    ¡°Where are you taking me, girl?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Dweoslab,¡± was the panted answer.


    ¡°No, girl!¡± she cried in Infernal. The yithandreng instantly slowed her pace, tossing her head impatiently. ¡°No. I¡¯m not going back there. Not now. Not ever.¡±


    The magicrux were enemy territory now. She¡¯d been Henthae¡¯s creature, and Arithos¡¯s.


    No longer.


    ¡°But you must be attended to by a healing magician, Mistress.¡°


    ¡°No,¡± she snapped, then, more gently, repeated: ¡°No¡­¡±


    This was the balance-point of her life. Like so many others within these cursed white walls, this day following the Incursion was the very crux about which all her future wheeled.


    She had to be clear-headed, and the pain helped with that. It always had.


    ¡°Fe¡­ Take me to the river.¡±


    * * *


    She sat on a patch of rock overlooking the Blackrush. The night sky was a smooth pearl, its bands reflecting the dark-blue heart of the oceans, swimming with stars. The gods were strong, tonight. One could almost be forgiven for believing that the only purpose of night was to accommodate such beauty. Yet the Blind Eye sailed on its course, almost open, a constant, persistent reminder of Kaile¡¯s eternal vigilance. A constant, persistent reminder of the need for such vigilance.


    The darkness doesn¡¯t just exist to let the light shine. It was there before. It will be there after. And if we don¡¯t make it to Celestium¡­


    She looked across to Ismethyl¡¯s constellations and held up her hand, letting starlight fall into its inky mirror as she had that sacred night, when she was initiated. A night of similar significance. She knew it in her soul. She had to decide, now, forever. Portent itself rose up inside her, making every second seem a minute, every thought an eternal etching on the substance of her mind.


    I swore to do war upon the darkness, its own tools my weapons.


    She closed her fist, trapping the starlight, feeling it burn there in her palm as she¡¯d been taught.


    It¡¯s like Kas always said¡­ I never swore to fight fairly. If you¡¯re my guide, Ismethyl, where do you point me? Did I do wrong? Did I fear Kaile¡¯s swift sword of justice over your seven swords of victory? Should I have shown those four fools the justice of Ciraya the sorceress?


    She lowered her hand, the muscles in her arm beginning to ache.


    A wind came racing down the river, and she looked up to see a blue-feathered condor, its wingspan almost half the Blackrush¡¯s breadth, almost surfing the waves.


    Glimmermere.


    The druidess wheeled, coming about to settle down and shrink onto the rocks. It was only then that Ciraya heard the second wind, a great grey osprey following in Glimmermere¡¯s wake. The latter druid wheeled about, landing a little more clumsily beside the champion-turned-heretic.


    ¡°You¡¯re hurt,¡± Imrye said. It was odd, seeing the still too-large beak move as it emitted human sounds. ¡°You¡¯re in dire need of repair, magister.¡±


    Or elvish sounds, she reflected, as the druidess transformed. Imrye was perhaps even pure-blood, she thought, now she was seeing her again up-close. The smoothness of her black skin, the vibrant colour of her hair, the delicate, chiselled features ¨C no, there was no mistaking Glimmermere¡¯s heritage.


    The second druid followed suit, changing shape, and though her appearance was less otherworldly in nature Ciraya was taken aback even more to look upon her ¨C the druidess¡¯s likeness to her dead friend stunned her. The newcomer wore a strange coat and a stranger smile ¨C an expression of astonishment, but dulled by overexposure.


    She¡¯s new to this, the sorceress thought. Or new to Mund, even.


    Funny, how much she resembles Emrelet.


    ¡°This is Kirid,¡± Glimmermere said, gesturing. ¡°She followed Feychilde down from Telior. I¡¯m showing her the ropes.¡±


    Feychilde¡¯s latest lover, she realised with an inward sigh.


    The newcomer ducked her head in an awkward nod, the oddly-wistful smile still on her face. ¡°I am the please to meet you, magizter.¡±


    ¡°Ciraya,¡± the sorceress croaked.


    ¡°Ziraya,¡± the druidess repeated, beaming.


    Ciraya moved her eyes to Imrye. In order to face her properly she was forced to first lean back, gingerly placing her hurt elbow on the rock behind her.


    ¡°No, and no,¡± she said with every bit of casualness she could muster. ¡°No healing, thanks and all. And not a magister, either. Not anymore.¡±


    ¡°Oh really?¡± The tall druidess folded her arms across her chest. ¡°Symbol on your chest says otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Carrying an extra robe in that satchel? It¡¯s still warm out and I¡¯m not too shy to change in front of you.¡±


    ¡°Fair play.¡± Glimmermere hunkered down with her arms back, as though she were about to transform into an avian shape again ¨C but no metamorphosis occurred. The former champion must¡¯ve just been too used to the pose; she looked altogether at her ease in what should¡¯ve been an awkward position. ¡°So¡­ You another one that¡¯s thinking of running?¡±


    Ciraya just shook her head. No spinning anymore, at least.


    ¡°Good to hear. There¡¯s nothing out there. Nothing like Mund.¡± The druidess regarded her sombrely. ¡°It took me a long, long time to realise. But you¡¯re wrong about the healing, child. You¡¯re in need, as much as you tell yourself otherwise. If you¡¯re thinking of helping out with this lovely dragon apocalypse we¡¯ve got booked as anything other than a zombie ¨C you aren¡¯t, right? Planning on becoming undead, because ¨C¡±


    Ciraya snorted. Imrye allowed a small smile to cross her features, while Kirid stood in silence looking between them.


    ¡°Good. I know how to burn the undead down, now. It doesn¡¯t look painless.¡±


    ¡°Pain is a teacher.¡± Ciraya clenched her good fist. ¡°Pain heightens everything.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re afraid that without the pain you¡¯ll lose something of yourself?¡±


    ¡°I know I will.¡± She laughed. To her own ears the sound of her cackling was cold and haughty ¨C in spite of the possible age difference between them, and the obvious power disparity, there were things she knew that this ageless druidess had never learned. ¡°Every one of these was a lesson.¡± She held up her fist and unfurled her fingers, turning her arm so that the starlight danced down the inky designs. ¡°There¡¯s no going back.¡±


    ¡°Yet I could undo them. Kirid could, too. Take the body-parts off one at a time, regrow them. Or just take the skin off in one go. Better to put you to sleep first for that one, though. People tend to panic when their skin disappears.¡±


    Was that a threat? She wasn¡¯t afraid of Imrye, even after everything she¡¯d seen.


    ¡°Speaking from experience?¡±


    She let the question linger, hanging in the air between them. Imrye might¡¯ve been older, might¡¯ve had the seniority. But Ciraya had the superiority. And right now it had to be going through the druidess¡¯s head: Did she witness the aftermath, deal with my victims once the rats were done with them? Followed by the inevitable corollary: Did she know it was me?


    Yes and yes were the answers. Not everything ¡®Glimmermere¡¯ did after her descent to the Thirteen Candles was beyond the sight of Magisterium diviners. Most of it, but not all.


    ¡°Those animals¡­ they deserved it,¡± the druidess said at last, managing to sound detached.


    ¡°That¡¯s not our place to decide.¡± Ciraya looked pointedly up at the moon.


    ¡°Ah, but we¡¯re the gods¡¯ hands. They won¡¯t serve our justice, sorceress. It is for us to serve.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you of all people think animals can deserve punishment.¡±


    ¡°Everything that lives, dies.¡± Imrye shrugged. ¡°You mistake me. The rats deserved their food, more than Mund deserved those¡­ those fiends-in-waiting.¡±


    ¡°And yet you want to just go right back to it. Healer supreme. Filling Leafcloak¡¯s shoes, with blood up your elbows.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t define yourself by someone else. Not a man you want to be with. Not a woman you want to be. It¡¯s the first thing I told Kirid.¡± The two women exchanged a glance, and the foreigner¡¯s smile slipped a bit. ¡°But I¡¯m still a healer,¡± Imrye went on. ¡°I still want to fix things. The right things. Like you. My eyes are open now, ex-magister. I¡¯ll only offer it once more. The pain¡¯s one thing, child, and your brain¡¯ll survive, but the numbness there in your side? That¡¯s a bleed, in your kidney. The Seven-Star Swords will be miffed if I just pass you over.¡±


    The sorceress sniffed. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t even know I was gone.¡±


    That did it. For only the third time in her life, Ciraya felt a sob come ripping through her chest, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The tears started to fall down her face and the shame of it made her angry, but there was nowhere for the anger to go but out, out, out through her eyes, as if she contained all the oceans of the world within her skull.


    Then she flinched, but there was nothing she could do to reject that gentle, insistent embrace. The arm placed about her shoulders was immovable, a steel trap, when she tried to squirm away.


    She beat at the archmage, but she might as well have attacked a mannequin. The woman¡¯s head didn¡¯t even budge. Her skin, when struck, was like heavy wood or soft stone.


    Finally, there was nowhere to go, nothing to do but bury her head in the woman¡¯s shoulder and weep.


    She knew instantly that it wasn¡¯t Imrye that touched her ¨C it was Kirid. The fabric was some kind of felt and it reeked of the sea, salt stronger than any her own eyes could produce. The sorceress knew their healing didn¡¯t require touch, especially if the wound was non-magical. This wasn¡¯t some necessary step to the performance of her spells. This was comfort.


    ¡°Vill you let me do it?¡± the stranger asked her. ¡°I may be new to your city, but I know my craft vell. It vill only take a moment.¡±


    ¡°Let me go.¡°


    Kirid seemed to take her reticence for scepticism, and as the druidess slowly withdrew the arm enclosing her, allowing Ciraya to retreat back and mop at her face with her sleeve, the archmage continued to press her case, sounding confused:


    ¡°I haf healed many, many of Mund zis day. Im-yee trust me. I haf healed Raz ¨C Feychilde, I mean. Efen¡­ efen after ze Diphroniz, h-he trust me ¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, just heal me already, damn you,¡± she growled, glowering up at the Emrelet clone through her tears. ¡°Of course he trusts you.¡±


    Did he tell you how much you look like his ex?


    Emrelet wouldn¡¯t have been dead when he¡¯d met Kirid, but how was that making him feel about his little rebound now? He surely knew of Emrelet¡¯s fate.


    Kirid¡¯s face just flushed with pleasure at Ciraya¡¯s compliment, the foreigner not capable of discerning the dagger hidden beneath the cloak. The eyes of the archmage came alight suddenly and she reached out, her hand gloved in a radiance that seemed to match the pine-green glow of her gaze. She placed her palm down on the sorceress¡¯s hairless scalp, and there was no change in sensation ¨C no numbness, no pain-relief of any kind. Yet just a few seconds later the druidess withdrew her hand, its light now spent.


    ¡°Is this vot you vont?¡± Kirid asked gently.


    Ciraya just frowned. The tears were spent now. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I want. Apparently he does.¡±


    She ignored their curious glances and slowly got to her feet. Imrye at least should¡¯ve recognised the similarity between Kirid and Emrelet, shouldn¡¯t she? She should¡¯ve understood.


    Fools. Fools, both of them.


    Her motion prompted them to stand as well, doing it faster, better than she could. Before she even got up both of the druids were there, towering over her, tall, austere specimens that they were ¨C aloof, untouchable demigods regarding her as if she were some novelty. The scrawny sorceress clambered to her feet then stepped aside to a flat area beside the rocks, digging into one of her secret pockets for her vial of cursed dust, her unlight-candle, her flame-maker¡­


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°I¡¯m summoning a demon,¡± she called over her shoulder. ¡°No one freak out.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving,¡± Imrye called. ¡°No need to thank us.¡±


    Ciraya kept her eyes and mind on her task, until she heard the two great birds take wing once more, rushing south-east down the river. Only then did she look after them, watching them vanish into the distance.


    Thanks for breaking me, druids. Thanks for nothing.


    She returned her gaze to her circle, returned her lips to her chant.


    What can they understand? They see death as an enemy. A leashed dog, to set upon their foes.


    How I used to.


    Within a minute she was waiting for the red fires of Infernum to rise up, for the portal to birth Fe back onto the material plane.


    It¡¯s unfair of me to expect too much of them. They¡¯re blind. They¡¯re blind. I¡¯m like the one-eyed man, lost in their land. Lost and alone.


    The crimson flames shot up, then shrank back down once more. The yithandreng was coiled about the candle as usual, and Ciraya stooped to retrieve her.


    ¡°Not quite alone,¡± she murmured.


    We have to find Kas.


    Fe hissed.


    ¡°Good girl. C¡¯mon.¡± She placed her down. ¡°Let¡¯s go for a ¨C¡±


    ¡°People of Mund!¡±


    Kas¡¯s voice came roaring from the sky above her head, pouring up out of the ground at her feet. The foam of the Rush bubbled with it.


    It was the Invocatrix, again.


    Oh gods, what now?


    ¡°People of Mund! I am sorry to disturb you, and for those of you who still have beds, you can return to them shortly. But I must speak, and you must listen. For I need to present you with a choice. This will be the most momentous decision you ever make in your lives. Please, give me a minute of your time.¡±


    ¡°So long as you don¡¯t expect me to stop,¡± she said, mounting Fe.


    ¡°I am Feychilde. I was born Kastyr Mortenn, of Mud Lane, Helbert¡¯s Bend, Sticktown. Yes. I am still alive. I never died. They failed in their attempts to kill me. And as much as you would think I hate them, I would have you hear me now ¨C the violence against the magisters must end. Nightfell and I will continue to intervene where lives are put in danger. We will not have you use us as agents of revolution, whether we desire change or not. We are entrusted with power as the old powers are fading. The Arrealbord is gone, never to return the same again. The Thirteen Candles melt. The Magisterium¡­ It is ours now. We will no longer work against one another. We will work as one. Do not attack your own. They will be your brothers and sisters in the days to come.¡±


    Well no one came to my dropping rescue, did they? she thought as she pounded her way northwards.


    ¡°The Magisterium¡¯s rotten core has been removed. Transformed. By the will of the gods I have been forced to wrest control of the city from their hands. I act in the name of Kultemeren and Yune, and tomorrow night Keliko Henthae will be shriven in the eyes of Illodin and Glaif, reborn as Oathbreaker, a champion of Mund. But I warn you. We are no more heroes than we are tyrants. I do not claim to be unstained; I do not wish to rule. Nor does Everseer, who came before you once before like this. She works for me now. No longer must you fear her wrath. She and Killstop together operate as the champion Nightfell, and without their aid and the aid of many former heretics and champions there would be no more Mund remaining this day. Even if you hate them, I ask you also to love them, if you can find a corner of your heart with which to do so. They risk more than just their lives in fighting for yours. They risk their very souls. And you should recognise that.


    ¡°We all fell into the dragons¡¯ traps. Heresy is more than an enchantment, more than a fatalistic philosophy. It¡¯s truth. And how could the Magisterium ensure we survived the oncoming Crucible without planning for it, expecting it, even longing for it, like a man with with a rotten tooth longing for its extraction? Mund has always been a sacrifice. But we aren¡¯t bound to the altar, not yet. We champions ¨C we¡¯ll be the knife in your hand. Maybe we can slit the executioner¡¯s throat before the axe falls. And we¡¯ll die trying. That much we can promise.¡±


    Ciraya, riding up Funnel Mile, caught the glances of slack-jawed beggars, gangs of mucky adolescent brats ¨C but only their eyes were moving. Almost everyone was stock-still, absorbing Kas¡¯s voice.


    ¡°The dragons are coming. Redgate is bringing them. This is no lie. No one will come out tomorrow to tell you I was wrong. The criers will all be informed. We will only tell you the truth, from now on, I promise it. But what happens if the Magisterium loses control? Do all their worst fears come to pass? Do we all flee? Do you raise your children on foreign soil, surrendering to hope to save you? I tell you now ¨C Hope would have you fight! I will not call you craven if you run, will not tolerate to hear you called coward. But Oathbreaker has become one of us. One of us.


    ¡°Champions. Me and you.


    ¡°You know who you are. I¡¯m speaking to you now. Stop what you¡¯re doing and listen.¡±


    The sorceress slowed Fe to a walk, then a stop. She joined the crowds in their tranquillity, and, though it was powerful enchantment-magic that made the arch-sorcerer¡¯s voice audible throughout the city, that tranquillity was not forced. It was simply the reaction of the people.


    Simply her reaction.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re a magister. Maybe you¡¯re a darkmage. You work for a guild. Heretic. Bauble-maker. Rune-tracer. I ask you¡­ I give you the choice¡­ for the sake of Mund, for the sake of the Five and the gods of light whose stars we would preserve¡­ please. Come to me, tomorrow. Meet me at the Giltergrove. I broke all the secret armies. I need your help. We need to build a new one, in the open. If you have the power¡­ bring it. Use it. We need it.


    ¡°I understand the pitfalls. The perils. But I¡¯m doing it anyway. I¡¯m opening a new college, right there in Sticktown, on the remains of my home. The Hand of Hope, I¡¯ll call it. A school of sorcery, bigger and better than all the others. We¡¯ll make weapons of dragonslaying. Demonslaying. Weapons that put the undead back where they belong. And yes ¨C we¡¯ll distribute them. We¡¯ll go into it with our eyes open, arm ourselves for the battle. No tricks, people of Mund. I will accept all. Highborn. Lowborn. Somewhere-In-The-Middle-born. If you need purpose ¨C come. I have your purpose right here! All I ask is that you¡¯re willing to accept each other. You¡¯ll be equals in my eyes. My equal. Every man or woman willing to fight ¨C they are my brother. My ¨C my sister. Put aside petty hatreds. Sow no more discontent. We¡¯ll have plenty of discontent to come. And ladies and gentlemen¡­ Ladies, and gentlemen¡­ You¡¯ll see dragons. With any luck¡­ you¡¯ll see dragons fall.¡±


    A splotchy guy nearby started crowing in excitement. A woman who¡¯d been eyeing Ciraya mistrustfully from a doorway lowered her glare at last.


    ¡°If you want to go ¨C go, and go with the gods¡¯ blessings. No one will stand against you. Take with you such provisions as you may, and run, run till you feel safe. But if you want to stay¡­ be prepared. We will lead you into the coming nightmare, and through it, if we can. The black storm, this Incursion like no other ¨C that was just a taste of what is to come. And I¡¯m as weak, as guilty as any of you. Not a hero. A killer, just like Vardae. So if you want to trust us to rule until the Crucible is passed ¨C trust this.


    ¡°We will submit. To you. When it¡¯s all over, Vardae and I ¨C we¡¯ll go before the judges ¨C whatever courts remain. We¡¯ll take our punishments. Judge us, in place of the gods, as is your remit, Mund. We¡¯ll put power aside, once our need of it is over. We¡¯ll let you do with us as you will.


    ¡°I only pray enough of you come to our rescue tomorrow. When the sun is high over the Autumn Door, we¡¯ll see. We¡¯ll see, and we¡¯ll start.


    ¡°It¡¯s not something you can be ready for. That¡¯s okay.


    ¡°We¡¯ll make you ready.¡±


    The voice fell away and didn¡¯t return. Slowly, Ciraya came back to herself.


    ¡°Mistress?¡± Fe asked over her shoulder.


    ¡°Come on.¡± She pushed the yithandreng into a trot once more.


    She didn¡¯t know where he was going next, so she decided to wait for him in the one place he had to go. She parked Fe beside the mound of debris that had once been Mud Lane, gazing out into the charred mess. The weather hadn¡¯t been kind. The infernal rain had drenched everything, then the summer sun had baked the moisture out of it; the aroma was unpleasant but such things didn¡¯t really bother Ciraya. It was almost a homely scent. She¡¯d spent years on the streets, wandering the districts aimlessly, and squalor was nothing new to her.


    It didn¡¯t take too long before her gamble paid off: she saw him coming streaming down through the air towards her, the dark blues and greens and greys of his tattered robe overwritten by the purplish blur of nethernal energies.


    She¡¯d spent long enough studying the wreckage that she decided to immediately voice her concerns.


    ¡°Knew you¡¯d stop by,¡± she called out. ¡°I don¡¯t quite know how you¡¯re planning on building a school here.¡±


    The arch-sorcerer slowly floated down until he was at her eye-level atop Fe, hovering above the pancaked ruin of the Gold Griffin.


    ¡°To be honest,¡± he replied, gazing out over the mess, ¡°neither do I.¡±


    She didn¡¯t like smiling ¨C it had a way of making her look skeletal.


    She eyed the debris sceptically instead. ¡°I suppose¡­ if you get enough people willing to help¡­¡±


    He was nodding as his eyes went strobing the morass of timber. ¡°I¡¯m going to put demons on it. We¡¯ll take it all out or¡­ or pack it all down into a foundation? I¡¯ve got a wizard, from Telior ¨C I¡¯ll ask Orcan for help with the earthworks. I¡¯m more worried about getting the actual construction done. Frankly, I don¡¯t have the foggiest what¡¯s involved.¡±


    Do I mention the eolastyr? This would¡¯ve been the perfect time to confront him ¨C force him to summon her, so she could confront the arch-demon¡­


    More confrontation.


    What was the point? Kas was right. After everything¡­ the fiend was just a tool now, wasn¡¯t she? It was all over.


    ¡°You¡¯ll want Killstop,¡± Ciraya said instead, and let the self-deprecating smile free, no matter how ugly it made her look. ¡°Half the work¡¯s in the architect¡¯s hands ¨C planning the right craftsmen to be in the right places at the right times ¨C making sure the right materials get their aero-inscriptions, chronomancy to set the cement¡­¡±


    Kas was staring at her. Now he¡¯d stopped moving he¡¯d seemingly let go of some of his ghostly essences, and she thought she saw the glint of his green eyes in the moonlight. Paler than his new lover¡¯s pine ones. Brighter.


    She lowered her head, feeling heat in her cheeks and hoping to hide the signs of it with the folds of her hood.


    ¡°Go on,¡± he urged, then half-laughed. ¡°Ah! Why am I not surprised you seem to know everything about it. You¡­ you¡¯re too good for the Swords, Ciraya. I only wish¡­¡±


    ¡°You wish what?¡±


    Would he ask? Would he request her?


    ¡°Nothing.¡± He sighed heavily. ¡°I know how you¡­ never mind. Do you ¨C do you know anyone in the industry? I mean ¨C contacts in the guilds? I suppose I can just go annoy Ghemenion tomorrow¡­¡±


    He slowly rotated in the air, casting his eyes north-east, towards Hightown.


    ¡°I won¡¯t beg, Kastyr Mortenn, but I¡¯ll listen if you ask.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Her croak was worse than usual through the frog in her throat; she cleared it, as quickly and quietly as she could, then tried again. ¡°What do you even think I¡¯m doing here, Feychilde?¡±


    ¡°You¡­ you heard me. You¡¯re¡­ thinking of joining me?¡±


    She saw the incredulous wide eyes, shining bright under the moon, and almost let her smile become a grin to match his own.


    ¡°Let¡¯s say it¡¯s on the cards¡­ I won¡¯t be some bit player, Kas. Not this time. I want to be in on the top floor.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C I know, I mean, the Magisterium will let you, sure ¨C I¡¯ll droppin¡¯ tell them to! ¨C but the Swords? What about your oaths, and Arithos? If¡­¡±


    She felt the smile drain from her face.


    ¡°Is everything okay?¡±


    ¡°Arithos is dead. One of your¡­ eolastyr¡­¡±


    She shook her head, seeing the sudden horror cross his face.


    ¡°It¡¯s not important. Henthae¡­ Henthae is something else.¡± She curled her lip. ¡°As you well know.¡±


    He nodded, frowning thoughtfully.


    ¡°So¡­ here I am.¡±


    She looked back at the mound, gestured at it, controlling herself so that the tears didn¡¯t fill her eyes. She wasn¡¯t going to do that again. Not in front of him.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question.¡± His voice was low¡­ concerned.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t ask the right one.¡±


    It took him a moment.


    ¡°Ciraya¡­ damn it, Ciraya, why don¡¯t I know your surname? Wait¡­ Ciraya isn¡¯t your surname, is it? Because that would just be weird, now.¡±


    ¡°Ostelwin,¡± she said with a snort.


    He smiled gratefully. ¡°Ciraya Ostelwin¡­ will you join me? You can be the Middle Finger on the Hand of Hope.¡±


    ¡°Now that is an offer I can¡¯t refuse.¡±


    The arch-sorcerer bowed deeply in mid-air. ¡°What do you have planned for tonight?¡±


    Nothing. No one. Nowhere. ¡°Why¡¯d you ask?¡±


    He pursed his lips. ¡°Ah, no real reason. If you¡¯re busy, we can just find the time over the next couple of days, but¡­ yeah, I¡¯d love to pick your brains over a curriculum. I¡¯ve got some ideas where to start ¨C I did get a bit of experience, in Telior ¨C but¡­¡± He held up his open, empty hand.


    ¡°I was planning on a few more beers, to be honest.¡± She folded her arms across her chest. ¡°Somewhere a bit safer than a Lowtown pub. Those druids did more than heal my bruises.¡± She glanced aside, and said it as quickly and smoothly as she could: ¡°Are you not hooking up with Kirid tonight, then? Or would that be ¨C¡± she gave her slyest smile, looking back up at him through her lashes ¡°¨C much later?¡±


    ¡°Kirid?¡± He frowned. ¡°Oh ¨C oh.¡± His face fell. ¡°You think, b-because she¡­ No, I hardly know the woman. She tried to have me killed. It was this whole debacle. I¡­¡± He looked across at her curiously. ¡°I¡¯m over Emrelet ¨C I didn¡¯t even know what Kirid looked like, before we were already on our way to Mund.¡±


    The druidesses¡¯ reactions earlier on suddenly made much more sense. Ciraya felt her cheeks flame once again. What was she doing, acting like a schoolgirl?


    Thankfully Kas didn¡¯t seem to notice; he was focussed on the content of her words, rather than her complexion.


    ¡°So, you were attacked?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Nothing I couldn¡¯t handle.¡±


    She put a casual face on it but his keen eyes seemed to peer directly into her soul. He wasn¡¯t buying it.


    ¡°We did everything we could, to protect you all¡­ Some people are just put on this plane to be belligerent, I swear. Assaulting mages sworn to protect the city, when we¡¯ve got all this hanging over our heads¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve spent too long looking at the big picture. Even Mud Lane¡¯s destruction¡­ you weren¡¯t here, Kas. Your hate might burn hot, but it cools quickly. There¡¯s some here who¡¯ll hate the Magisterium forever. They might hide it, especially while you¡¯re around, but there¡¯s no taking back what we¡¯ve done. We lost control, long before you came back.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°You¡¯re probably right. All the same¡­ are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡±


    She bared her teeth, and he laughed.


    ¡°Aha! Fine¡­ fine.¡± His grin slipped again somewhat, a flicker of nervous energy crossing his features, like he was worried. ¡°Let¡¯s find an open cask, then, and maybe you can come with me, if you¡¯ve got nowhere better to go.¡±


    ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°Somewhere a bit more private than here, I hope. I¡¯m getting more attuned to my vampire senses, and we¡¯re definitely being watched. It¡¯s only a matter of time before they start getting really curious.¡±


    She didn¡¯t glance about; it would be futile, and would only make her look more suspicious to any witnesses. There had to be two hundred different windows overlooking them while they had their little chat.


    ¡°Whatever. But I need to tell Fe where we¡¯re going, genius.¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Fly with me again.¡±


    * * *


    ¡°Well I¡¯ll be damned.¡± She marvelled at the ghost as it hovered there in the middle of the room. Its near-humanoid dimensions were blurred by a smear of indigo energy, like vibrant pulsing paint that clung not just to its translucent flesh but to the very air about it. ¡°He really is an elf.¡±


    ¡°A dark elf,¡± Kas replied, picking up his ale-jar from the table, ¡°if that makes any difference.¡±


    ¡°Not a clue.¡± She heard the hunger in her own voice; while he was hefting his beer she was setting hers back down, leaning forwards and eyeing the thing appraisingly. The dark elf¡¯s eyes were closed, nothing but serenity on the beautiful, smeared features ¨C yet the nethernal light seeped out from beneath his eyelids all the same. ¡°It looks powerful.¡±


    ¡°He got an infusion directly from one of Zyger¡¯s three guardians.¡± Kas said it with feigned nonchalance, but she could tell from the twitching at the corner of his mouth that he was trying to shock her. ¡°But even if it¡¯s stronger, the essence is no different to any of the others. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s just because of the speed with which I took them, or if their souls really are just¡­ duplicates?¡±


    He drained half his jar and let it rest on his thigh, his hand atop it, staring off at the shuttered window as though he could see clean through it.


    Maybe he can, she thought.


    There¡¯d been plenty of options, plenty of places for them to go, in spite of the ransacking gangs, the hordes of foreigners clamouring for housing. She could tell the empty buildings just from the volume levels, and when they started gaining height she was convinced he was going to claim a penthouse suite from one of the apartment-blocks they soared by, lounge there in the relative opulence of a landlord¡¯s lofty residence. But he took her straight through the wall of one of the middle floors without explanation, suddenly swerving at the wooden surface and pulling her right through it with him.


    It was a standard apartment for Sticktown. Wooden benches, the arms hacked at by delinquent children. A tiny stone fire-pit, long cold. Almost everything removable had been taken away except for some heavy tin cups, a mouldy plate, and half a candle.


    The arch-sorcerer didn¡¯t need the candle; a wave of his arm brought a comforting yellow illumination to the room. He summoned forth an imp called Gristlehead to cleanse the cups with hell-fire. They had no need of an actual fire ¨C it was plenty warm-enough as it was. Within a minute they were settled on the benches, the keg of brown ale on the table between them, talking shop.


    ¡°If they had no time in the shadowland, their essences didn¡¯t get a chance to develop.¡± She smacked her lips. It was strange to think that she¡¯d partaken in this mighty ghost¡¯s power just an hour earlier. Arch-sorcerers were excellent insulators; there was no discernible feedback whatsoever, not the merest tingle in her tattoos. ¡°I¡¯d bet good money if you¡¯d let them stew, oh, a good few decades¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that wasn¡¯t going to happen.¡±


    ¡°What actually happened out there, in Telior? These souls ¨C¡± she glanced back across at the ghost ¡°¨C how did you¡­?¡±


    ¡°Liberate them?¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Oh, so is that how you see it?¡±


    ¡°With them? Yes, I suppose.¡± He wasn¡¯t joking now, she could tell. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s all a bit foggy at this point, to be honest, but once they died I rid myself of all my unwilling eldritches. Well, fey and undead, at least. But them¡­¡±


    He turned his own eyes to the hovering ghost and spoke harshly in Netheric:


    ¡°You! What would you do if I released you to the shadowland?¡±


    Its head turned sharply to regard him and the closed lids opened wide, exposing the twin amethyst stars behind its eyes; but its pressed-together lips never parted as it spoke, only seeming to swim across the surface of its face while the indigo blur endlessly shifted.


    ¡°I would seek out my kin.¡± Its voice was an icicle. ¡°I warn you. Do not release me. Blood and bone, Master. Yours, and others¡¯. Yours, and others¡¯.¡±


    Kas waved a beckoning hand, rejoining with the creature. He seemed to sit more comfortably almost instantly.


    ¡°They¡¯re far better off with me. You know how it is, with demons.¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t demons, Kas.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡±


    She almost bit her lip. The matter of the eolastyr was still between them¡­ Then, with a sigh, she relented.


    ¡°Demons are cool.¡±


    It was his turn to laugh again. ¡°Oh, fine. You¡¯ve got me there. Did you know your colleagues ¨C former colleagues ¨C killed my Pinktongue?¡±


    ¡°If someone did that to Fe¡­¡± She shook her head and gulped some more beer. ¡°Drop on the Magisterium. Let¡¯s go over there and kill the lot of ¡¯em.¡±


    ¡°Haha! I swear, there¡¯s something in the atmosphere.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called beer.¡±


    ¡°Cheers to that.¡±


    He leaned over the table with ghostly fluidity ¨C their mugs made a tinny clink, and some of her ale got in his cup.


    ¡°Thief,¡± she said, her lip curling.


    ¡°Thank youuuu,¡± he sing-songed before chugging.


    ¡°So¡­¡± She drained half her mug, set it down on the bench beside her, then slouched down, sticking her booted feet on the table between them. ¡°Telior?¡±


    * * *


    By the time ¡®Zabby¡¯ was done illustrating Kas¡¯s overseas stories with luridly-drawn landscapes, she had both her boots off and an old cushion under her heels, thoroughly enjoying the experience. Kas disappeared for five minutes so she took the opportunity to go and relieve herself. He returned with a pouch filled to the brim with nuts and berries, and sat next to her so they could share. She didn¡¯t ask where he found them, crunching her way through three handfuls while the tale continued.


    The gremlin replaced the waves of Telior with a huge cave and the gargantuan form of a dracolich. The final mouthful went unchewed for a few moments, as she took it in.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you fought it,¡± she said thickly. She took another deep swig of beer and swept her tongue along her gums, finding the last shards of nut left and swallowing them.


    ¡°Redgate fought one just like it,¡± Kas said quietly, ¡°and he won.¡±


    He reached out for the gremlin, rejoining with it and creating a more-atmospheric sphere of light once more.


    ¡°He had help,¡± she said, equally quiet.


    ¡°So did I.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid?¡±


    Kas nodded. ¡°A bit.¡± He closed his eyes then slowly opened them again and it was like a different person was looking across at her. ¡°More than a bit. The Incursion ¨C this last one, I mean¡­ it¡¯s shaken me. They almost broke the city. I¡­ They had me, Ciraya. I would¡¯ve been dead, if ¨C if the crown hadn¡¯t saved me.¡± He took another swig then put the beer down and sat back. ¡°Do you ¨C do you ever get tired?¡±


    The question was sudden and strange. She cast him what she hoped would be a quizzical look.


    ¡°Tired of it all, I mean. What we¡¯ve been through. What¡¯s going on. What¡¯s going to happen.¡±


    She found herself shaking her head, a minute but firm motion.


    ¡°No, me neither.¡± The smile that came to his lips then was a twisted, painful thing, but she fancied it was the first time she¡¯d seen a true smile on his face. ¡°We¡¯re messed up, aren¡¯t we? Five ur-dragons from the dawn of time, and it¡¯s like¡­ then what?¡°


    The bravado wasn¡¯t working on her. ¡°You won¡¯t be alone next time either.¡± She turned a little towards him and put her hand on his. ¡°We¡¯ll be there. Let me and Fe have a crack at them.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡±


    ¡°Seriously. That¡¯s what champions are for, right?¡±


    He smiled thinly, falsely, looking down at her hand atop his. ¡°But Redgate?¡±


    Maybe it was something the druid did to her. Maybe it was the alcohol, or just the way he looked, imposing and scary and scared¡­


    For all that Ciraya didn¡¯t care to take Imrye¡¯s advice, she understood what the elven archmage meant, and she appreciated it. But Kas didn¡¯t represent a new master. He was a new mastery. A doorway to a new life.


    Maybe you¡¯re overdoing it.


    She moved her hand back to her lap and sighed. ¡°What about him?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s the only sorcerer I¡¯ve ever met that I¡­ you know¡­¡±


    She cocked her head. ¡°You don¡¯t think you can take him? I thought you¡¯d just ¨C sucker-punch him¡­¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s already dead, Ciraya.¡± He bit briefly at his lip. ¡°I¡¯ve got this horrible feeling ¨C he¡¯s not going to drop like all the others. He¡¯s¡­ beyond me.¡±


    ¡°Mal Malas dropped.¡±


    ¡°Mal Malas feared him. I heard it in his voice when he spoke. And the crown misled him. It wanted to be with me, handicapped him for its own purposes. Damn, Durgil, where are you?¡± He laughed, but it was a harrowed, haunted sound. ¡°It wanted me to fight the Sinphalamax¡­ It doesn¡¯t matter. Any day now they¡¯re going to spot a whole dropping flight of dracoliches over the sea, and Redgate¡¯s going to be there, winging his way towards us. He¡¯ll want us to bend the knee, living or dead. Quite why the gods of undeath are going to let it happen, is beyond me¡­ if Mother-Chaos is against it¡­¡±


    She scowled. ¡°You¡¯re not making any sense. Start at the beginning.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he said blandly. He patted her familiarly on the leg, then left his hand there. ¡°Suppose I should¡¯ve mentioned. They want to become gods, Ciraya. That¡¯s why they¡¯ve been stealing our souls. That¡¯s why all this has been happening. Incursions. Archmages. It¡¯s all the same thing. God-power for the dragon-gods.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°They killed the god of magic. Oh, how stupid are we? Of course there should be a god of magic¡­ Maybe that¡¯s why the Five were able to harness it¡­¡±


    ¡°Magic¡­ is¡­ divine?¡±


    He nodded enthusiastically, his hand gripping at her thigh. ¡°You see it!¡±


    ¡°Locus¡¯s eyes!¡± she hissed, grateful for the fast-flowing conversation, the means to hide her sudden flush behind the topic of debate. Did he even know he was touching her? Did he recognise her permissive reactions for what they were? ¡°Is that why druids can only change the things they¡¯re wearing? I swear, it never made any sense, and everyone just acted like I was mad¡­¡±


    ¡°Me too! It drove me crazy.¡± His smile was delirious. ¡°It¡¯s got something to do with expectations, hasn¡¯t it? And¡­ division of essences¡­ Can¡¯t have seers inheriting the power of planar speech, when summoners need that bit¡­¡±


    He chattered on, and she stared at him, burning beneath the robe.


    His hand on her leg ¨C it wasn¡¯t innocent. She felt the pressure of his fingers, their nervous twitches as he fought his urge to clutch her, caress her¡­


    No. There was no denying it any longer. There¡¯d always been something between them, even back then, when he¡¯d only had eyes for Emrelet. She¡¯d known it from the moment he gave her the sight, let her see the Maginox wards as he saw them. She wanted to have a part of it. His knowledge. His purpose. His soul.


    Does he feel the same way?


    She remembered the lightning of his touch on her neck. What she wanted and what she needed blended at last, and that purpose swept through her. The flesh had to be permitted to fulfil its imperatives. She couldn¡¯t stand in its way.


    ¡°¡­ couldn¡¯t allow the wizards to affect the wood itself, when druids¡­ druids¡­¡±


    Her body moved itself of its own volition, bringing her out of her seat.


    She disrobed in a single fluid motion and he finally fell silent.


    Kas sat back, regarding her with a new, raw sombreness in his gaze. She stood over him, no longer quivering. The moment swelled between them, the tension inflating until it drove aside all thought.


    His eyes ceaselessly raked her up and down, the arcane patchwork of her skin bared to his hungry gaze. He cast aside his beer, hurling it to the floor, as if incapable of sparing it a single thought.


    She put her knee across him and sat down in his lap, straddling him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve wanted you since the first night we met,¡± she breathed, placing her hand on his face.


    Lips found lips. Velvet crushed velvet. His kiss filled her, his hand tracing her spine then pressing on it, pressing himself into her.


    Fingers sank into clothing, flesh into flesh, until it was like there was a joining, a meeting not just of body but of soul. Purple light enveloped them, a cool cocoon against the summer heat, and the weightlessness of his embrace came over her even as she melted into it. The adoption of the ghost-essence only brought more texture to her skin, an infusion of pure excitement, sensation in its basest form. Everything was heightened. Flesh itself fell away and the substance of her mind was exposed to him in its true nakedness. She knew what he was, what his power meant.


    Exhilarating pain. Excruciating bliss. The need and the desire were intermingled, existence incoherent in its intensity.


    She was still astride him even as they came free of the mortal coil, leaving the material world behind. She was still in control. His teeth at her neck ¨C she laughed and pulled him in deeper. Her nails in his shoulders ¨C his grunts ¨C his breaths, breathing in her own ¨C


    There was a part of her that knew he had chosen Emrelet. That the love between herself and this arch-sorcerer could never be the pretty, perfect thing he¡¯d found with the Onsolorian. But that was itself a facet of perfection. The recognition of the ugliness of things. This wasn¡¯t some immature expression of lust, everything left neat and tidy inside the mind. No. This was real.


    She knew he didn¡¯t want her to see it, to touch it ¨C but she didn¡¯t fear it. She knew wounds; she knew death. She knew what he was. He didn¡¯t intimidate her. His past. His future. The dark fate awaiting the both of them. None of it mattered.


    She saw what it did to him, and she caressed his stump, nuzzled it with her cheek.


    His eyes widened, and he spoke her name like it was a prayer.


    ¡°Say it again,¡± she commanded. ¡°Say it again¡­ Say it again¡­¡±


    Was he really over Emrelet?


    By the time the sun rose, even she believed him.

 To the Golden Leaves Again pt1

    <h2>PYRITE 10.5: TO THE GOLDEN LEAVES AGAIN</h2>


    ¡°Elected representatives are not held accountable for what they do not do. That is why the rich un-lords favour such representation as a form of governance. The meaning of democracy is to spread the blame for deficiencies and create an administrative branch to obfuscate all wrongdoing. The criminal in office is exonerated of all but the most superfluous charges, while those very superfluous charges are used to poison her. It is for this reason we reject the Uprising at its foundation-root. We must be ruled by those born and trained for it, so that we can blame them for their misdeeds. We must continue to bar the sale of lordships, and resist all attempts to reduce the severity of the sentences handed to guilty nobles. Upon these fragile stones is our whole civilisation resting. Without our vigilance, all will be given over to madness.¡±


    ¨C from the official memorandum of the Shadow Council, Taura 705 NE


    ¡°¡­ what is his. Become him. Go forth. Find¡­¡±


    Sleep was brief and dreamless; I was grateful for the noises outside rousing us early. We both were.


    Hours of waking dream in which time itself dissolved and lost all meaning. Breakfast was leftover fruit and nut, washed down with leftover beer, taken right there on the apartment floor where we lay, dusty old blankets for our mattress. Finally spent once more, Ciraya fell asleep again with her head on my arm, a thin film of perspiration joining our bodies where they pressed together ¨C her torso against my own, her arm across my stomach, left leg thrown over both of mine.


    I could close my eyes and sense every ripple and twist of the ink-patterns touching me, the power pulsing across her parchment-white skin. I¡¯d always been curious about her tattoos, but after being with her ¨C after joining with her ¨C the mystery was increased tenfold. I found myself wanting to explore her, lay bare her fascinating mind as she¡¯d laid bare her fascinating body.


    Now she was asleep again, and as much as I wanted to lie beside her, return to the hidden dreams with her, I knew I couldn¡¯t. For all my fatigue I felt refreshed, revitalised in a way I hadn¡¯t ever expected, hoped for¡­ And I still had a job to do. Plenty of jobs, in point of fact.


    Would she want me to wake her?


    I looked at her. She wore an uncharacteristically-petulant frown.


    Could I bear to wake her?


    No. And this way, she could make an entrance. She¡¯d appreciate that, I thought.


    I reactivated the nethernal essences, allowing me to slip free without causing her to stir. Funnyfingers went off to find me a writing implement while I quietly dressed myself, and he returned a minute later with half a stick of chalk. I spun up a quick shield to pacify my paranoia, then scrawled her a single-word note on the floorboards beside our makeshift pillows:


    GILTERGROVE


    It was time.


    * * *


    I knew what was coming. I sensed the inevitable in my bones, so I opted to walk, or at least move with the appearance of ordinary walking. How many of the onlookers could discern the oddness of my stride, the way my left leg almost shimmered as it moved, I couldn¡¯t say. Even if only one percent of them were perceptive-enough to spot that there was something wrong with me, that still meant dozens were picking up on it. How exactly word had spread was beyond me, but before I even reached the Lowtown Road there were crowds of people lining the streets as if waiting for me to appear.


    Most people didn¡¯t know what to do when I actually came into view. From time to time the masses would find cohesion, chanting ¡®Feychilde¡¯ or ¡®Liberator¡¯ for a bit; a lot of them seemed to want to just scream, letting out whatever pent-up grief or excitement they had inside them. I did my best to acknowledge their cries without looking too much like a highborn prat. Instead of waving, I kept my responses restricted to nods, the occasional finger-pointing when I recognised someone.


    ¡°Hail!¡± I said jovially, keeping the smile on my face and in my eyes as I did my best to manoeuvre around a particularly-tangled knot of people.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡± an old woman within arm¡¯s length yelled at me, her eyes fit to bulge out of her head.


    ¡°I¡¯m only right here, bleedin¡¯ ¡®ell woman!¡± I shot back, eliciting a titter of appreciation from the crowd.


    Thinking to capitalise on my success, I politely requested that they move their asses out of the way to let a stuck convoy of wagons through. The Sticktowners dutifully made room, and the wagon-drivers looked a bit disappointed as their horses started trotting forwards once more.


    Inside my shell, it was hard to keep a lid on my emotions. I felt overexposed, even disoriented. The tattered robe I wore was completely unpresentable, and it wasn¡¯t like Sticktowners didn¡¯t have any standards; I was lucky I enjoyed their favour, for the moment at least. It wasn¡¯t just the matter of what I wore, though. The streets had changed somewhat thanks to all the recent turmoil, and everything looked just a little bit different. It wasn¡¯t like I¡¯d have traded it in for Telior¡¯s sea-drenched walkways, but here in my home town I was getting a reception I¡¯d have never received even in the place where¡¯d I¡¯d been a lord, Hool Raz of dubious notoriety. Whatever I was now ¨C it was better than being a lord. They still thought of me as one of them. But it had its price. I could see the expectation in every face, hear it in every exultant shriek. It was almost too much, too soon after returning. For all that I¡¯d lived here forever, Mund still somehow felt alien, like I¡¯d been away forever too. Like I¡¯d never fully be able to return. Telior had been a few meagre months of my existence, but I¡¯d been reborn there ¨C there was no denying the notion, even if its exact meaning eluded me. Somewhere between the first encounter with Mal Malas and my decision to return to Mund, I¡¯d changed. Now I just had to accept it, accept Feychilde for my face, my words, my deeds.


    I would come to think of it as the first time I played the role of the champion for real; the first time it made me become something else, something utterly other inside my head. Not just a warrior for the forces of light, repelling the darkness like a good little boy ¨C but a true paragon, a figurehead of something greater than myself. This had to have been how T-Man felt when he stood up and spoke in front of the crowds at Leafcloak and Lightblind¡¯s memorial.


    I should¡¯ve just flown, invisible, I thought, and grinned at my self-inflicted misfortune. It would all be worth it in the end, I supposed. Better to get this moment over and done with, get the people I wanted to protect used to my presence. I couldn¡¯t hide, not after taking up the mantle so publicly last night. If they could get their gawping out of the way, I could crack on with things that much more quickly. I was going to be building a tower of some ostentation right here in their midst ¨C and I was going to want their help, or at least their goodwill, while the construction was carried out. Having purposeless crowds milling around the worksite of the former Mud Lane wasn¡¯t going to get us anywhere fast, so I couldn¡¯t afford to become some figure of mystique.


    I came to a spot I barely recognised ¨C the road widened, and I was certain there¡¯d been more trees the last time I came along this route. A pair of wagons had been parked in awkward positions, creating a funnel clogged with well-wishers right in the middle of the roadway.


    ¡°Feychilde!¡±


    ¡°Liberator!¡±


    ¡°Look, Turmie, it¡¯s ¡®im!¡±


    ¡°Feychilde!¡±


    ¡°¡¯Scuse me! ¡®Scuse me! M-mistah?¡±


    I stopped when I heard the vaguely-familiar voice, and looked over with amazement at a freckled six- or seven-year-old. The little red-haired girl was clothed in a mud-covered cotton dress, and the moment my eyes met hers she just lifted her hand, pointing.


    I knew what I¡¯d find when I looked up into the branches of one of the few remaining trees.


    ¡°Missymoo, is it?¡± I called.


    The girl nodded, mouth agape.


    I tapped the ghosts, to the oohs and ahhs of the crowd. I remembered to drop my shields in case I pushed the poor animal off its perch when I approached, and then it was a simple matter for me to float up and take hold of the scrawny black and white cat by the scruff of its neck. To its credit it tried to put up a fight, but after a few frantic attempts to mangle me it gave up, placidly accepting my victory.


    ¡°Look at him!¡±


    ¡°¡¯E¡¯s got it!¡±


    ¡°Cor, what¡¯ll ¡®e do next?¡±


    ¡°Ah-ha! The Catmaster!¡±


    I turned, hefting the cat over my head as I rotated, floating back down to the ground.


    ¡°Feychilde conquers all!¡± I cried triumphantly, and laughed with them.


    I handed my trophy down to her owner, diminished the dark elf essence, and went strolling on my way. The crowd parted, baying and cheering.


    Yeah, it was weird. But it was okay. Despite the incredible loss of life, the devastating property damage ¨C things were going to be okay.


    And it was my job to keep it that way.


    * * *


    The birds sang, an unending patchwork melody cascading down from the clusters of gold leaves. The sun climbed, bringing the moment of completion ever closer. The fifty-foot ring of grass surrounding the Giltergrove was teeming with people, especially on the north-west where I¡¯d come to a halt; the druids whose task it was to police the area could themselves be seen loitering amongst the common folk, stealing glances in my direction. But as the minutes stretched on the crowds did manage to settle down, the nearest keeping a short (but seemingly respectful) distance from me. Everyone seemed to realise that this wasn¡¯t just a joke ¨C serious business was about to transpire here. Quiet conversation took hold, a babbled counterpoint to the birds¡¯ incessant wittering. I was still the centre of attention; there was no getting around that. However, it wasn¡¯t long before I got to share my grassy stage.


    She seemed to have the same idea as me. She didn¡¯t use her powers to hurtle right to my side; she walked as any mere mortal would, letting them get a close-up look at her. None of them tried to get in her way, melting out of her path like she was a plague victim, or a saint. Her names went through the assemblage as a hushed whisper, announcing her arrival before I had the faintest notion she was inbound.


    She wore the bow and quiver someone had mentioned to me, but she¡¯d chosen to clothe herself in the multicoloured fabric, something I hadn¡¯t seen in months. She was without either of her masks but there was a faint frown on her lips as if to mimic the old, abandoned visage that¡¯d gone with the robe ever since our first Gathering. Despite the fact her face was exposed, no one in the crowd used the same name for her I did.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Tanra,¡± I said warmly when she reached the edge of my little circle. ¡°Thanks for coming.¡±


    She stopped there, glancing around at the nearest onlookers, coincidentally obtaining another yard or two of room.


    ¡°Thanks for the invite.¡± When her gaze came to settle on me, a smile instantly appeared on her face, wrinkling her nose. ¡°Feel like I owe you one; thought I¡¯d show up early.¡±


    Now she sped to my side, disappearing and reappearing in a hundredth of a second and eliciting a loud moan from the crowd.


    I put my arm around her awkwardly, given the weapon slung over her shoulder, and she gave me a firm squeeze around the waist.


    ¡°Thank you so much,¡± I whispered as we stepped apart, keeping my head bowed, my mouth close to her ear. ¡°You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like¡­ Can you read me now?¡±


    I rolled my eyes as if to indicate the crown I¡¯d worn.


    The wry smile spread further across her face. ¡°Not a dropping clue, my dear. However¡­ unless I¡¯m much mistaken¡­¡± Her eyes scrutinised mine, their bright brown depths deepening. ¡°Your fate¡¯s been getting some entangling, has it?¡±


    I felt a little twinge of heat in my cheeks. ¡°You can sense that?¡±


    We stepped apart, and she laughed throatily.


    ¡°Oh, my dear Feychilde. I always wondered when you and Ciraya would happen. When I sent Kirid down the river last night, I had this vague notion¡­¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re claiming credit now, are you?¡± I asked archly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been throwing the two of you together since the first day we met.¡± She regarded me pityingly. ¡°You don¡¯t remember?¡±


    ¡°What, even in¡­ in the Incursion¡­¡±


    ¡°You do remember.¡± She was grinning openly now. ¡°Well done, Kas. I loved Em, I did, but she was¡­ you know¡­ Em.¡±


    For all that she clearly thought she was helping, she really wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°Yeah, sure.¡± I felt my face darken, but I wouldn¡¯t let her sour my mood. ¡°Do you think we¡¯re going to get many?¡±


    She raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re worried it¡¯ll just be us?¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe not just us, but¡­ I think I can count on the sorcerers who showed up on the heath last night. Then there¡¯s ¨C¡°


    ¡°Winterprince.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, hopefully.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean ¨C Winterprince.¡±


    She pointed with a thrust of her chin, and everyone turned to look as the gleaming ice-elemental came cutting down through the sky.


    He hovered above us then, after a few moments, he let the shimmering armour he wore melt away. Thanks to his magic the resulting downpour evaporated ten feet over our heads, the droplets seeming to splash against an invisible heated surface. He descended through the misty layer of vapour in his blue robe, and tendrils of wind snagged the rim of his hood, pulling it back as he landed beside us.


    Wide-spread eyes, a brusque and savage expression. His hair was longer than I¡¯d expected, brown shot through with grey at the temple in spite of his apparent youth ¨C he couldn¡¯t be much over thirty.


    ¡°I am Uwaine Gladstock,¡± he declared loudly, looking around at the crowd. ¡°You know me as Winterprince. I come, to live and to die,¡± he glowered at the common folk, ¡°as a champion of Mund.¡± He clapped me on the back. ¡°I stand with Feychilde. Let Redgate tremble!¡±


    ¡°Nice to have you here,¡± I said through my smile while the people cheered him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope you have some plans,¡± he muttered back, not shifting his eyes to me.


    ¡°Got a few things cookin¡¯,¡± I replied as casually as I could manage.


    ¡°We¡¯ll turn up the heat. Get as much done by nightfall as possible.¡±


    I glanced across at him, but he still wouldn¡¯t meet my gaze.


    ¡°Nightfall, today?¡±


    ¡°Why the hell not?¡±


    ¡°Ahem.¡± Tanra said the word rather than actually clearing her throat. ¡°Three days, actually.¡±


    ¡°Three days?¡± I was even more taken aback; Uwaine¡¯s bravado was one thing, but Tanra¡¯s assessment was on another level entirely. ¡°I thought ¨C weeks ¨C¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be a serious bit of work ¨C no lie. But¡­ yeah, I think we¡¯ll be done by the evening of the eleventh, morning of the twelfth. That is, so long as I get Doomspeaker and Duskdown. I¡¯m still iffy on the latter, to be honest.¡±


    I drew a deep breath. ¡°Let¡¯s just¡­ hope.¡± I looked around, wondering when the next mage would come forward. ¡°If we can even get twenty archmages, I¡¯ll be happy. Thirty, I¡¯ll be ecstatic. We might even stand a chance, then.¡±


    ¡°Six arch-druids, to go up against Ord Yset?¡± Uwaine said sceptically. ¡°Six arch-wizards, to face Nil Nafrim? I think you¡¯re dreaming, Kas.¡±


    ¡°I know. Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t know.¡± I gritted my teeth, fixing the smile on my face; the crowd were, of course, staring at the three of us. ¡°It¡¯s my job to dream. Without it, we¡¯re lost, before we ever begin.¡±


    We stop Redgate. We stop it all, before it starts. It¡¯s the only way.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even think we¡¯ll get thirty.¡± The wizard folded his arms across his chest. ¡°No one wants to be the first to die. They¡¯d rather run, and keep running, until it kills them.¡±


    Mountainslide erupted from the ground Ironvine-style not ten feet away, to a ripple of awed cries. The dwarf didn¡¯t cast about, didn¡¯t spare any words for the crowd, staying cowled and stepping up to join us without drawing any further attention to himself.


    At the same time Wrynka came stuttering across the sky, propelled on her way by imp-wings and imp-teleportation.


    Yune¡­ Yune, let him be wrong.


    * * *


    Two hours later and I was shaking (left) hands with a nervous-looking man in a cheap sorcerer¡¯s robe. He¡¯d cut himself shaving in at least five or six places, and I tried my best to keep my eyes off the red nicks covering his jowls. I¡¯d have had less of a leg to stand on than Winterprince in that department; I hadn¡¯t even tried shaving since I lost my right arm and I was hardly looking forward to it. This guy¡¯s face was why.


    ¡°Y-you won¡¯t remember me, Feychilde.¡± He licked his lips, and looked over his shoulder at his two fellows, clad in the same cheap black cloth. ¡°Remember us, I mean?¡±


    There was an air of expectancy about him as he turned back to me, and I stared at him in consternation. I switched to looking at his sallow friends, but nothing came leaping to mind. They looked even more nervous than him.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ do I know you?¡±


    ¡°Oh no ¨C I mean¡­¡± He licked his lips. ¡°You saved us.¡±


    ¡°And you¡­¡± I cast another glance over the unlikely trio. ¡°You became sorcerers?¡±


    ¡°W-we¡­ we already was,¡± the shortest of the three supplied. ¡°We were, I mean¡­¡±


    His voice fell away. I looked back at the guy with the shaving injuries, perplexed.


    ¡°We were the Shadowcrafters,¡± he said at last in a hoarse whisper. ¡°Please¡­ I don¡¯t¡­ we don¡¯t want no trouble¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve come to help,¡± the short guy supplied again.


    ¡°If we can.¡±


    ¡°Yeah ¨C if we can. I mean ¨C if you think you can use us.¡±


    I nodded, feeling amazed. ¡°Just¡­ don¡¯t be so nervous, okay? You¡¯re not the only darkmages here.¡± I gestured at the milling, chattering mass of robed bodies behind me. ¡°Ex-darkmages, I mean. All that¡¯s over now. You want magisters? We¡¯ve got ¡®em. You want heretics? Look no further.¡± I smiled at the three self-taught magicians. ¡°You¡¯ll fit right in.¡±


    They beamed in gratitude, and pottered off to join the throng. Tanra was mediating in a debate between two former heretics, and after I caught her eye it was still a minute or two before she reappeared at my side.


    ¡°How¡¯s it looking?¡± I enquired, still trying to keep my optimism bottled. For all I knew, most of those who¡¯d stepped forward to help were bringing absolutely nothing to the table, just wanting to take the opportunity to enjoy this moment, to be a part of the big spectacle. I was relying on Tanra to sort the grain from the husk, separate the sound from the noise. I could hardly expect even half of them to actually stick around once the work started, could I? There had to be almost a thousand people here, and we were probably still low on archmages¡­


    ¡°Not bad, Kas. I¡¯ve only had to reject a hundred and fifteen jokers. For magic-users skilled in the various disciplines, you¡¯ve got nine-hundred and thirty-two. Of those, two-hundred and twenty are actually as good at their work as they think they are.¡±


    I was almost at a loss for words.


    A thousand¡­ really?


    ¡°And¡­ and archmages?¡±


    ¡°Seventy-nine.¡±


    My jaw dropped.


    ¡°For now. I¡¯m hoping we¡¯re still waiting for a few stragglers.¡± She grinned openly. ¡°You were right, Kas. We¡¯ve got them coming in from all walks of life. We had three inactive archmages round the corner from where we grew up. Neverwish arrived ¨C he was looking for you, by the way.¡±


    I was pleased Herreld had shown, but I was still struggling with it, the magnitude of it all. ¡°And how are they feeling about all this¡­ voyeurism?¡±


    ¡°They volunteered for it. You need to stop worrying. We¡¯re doing this. It¡¯s happening.¡±


    ¡°Damn right it is.¡± I didn¡¯t want to let on how exhausted I was feeling already, but the tension of this morning and afternoon was like a weight pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to remember what it was like to not be in this position. ¡°I need to get another slice of strawberry, I think.¡±


    ¡°Sunspring¡¯s growing another. Give him a minute. They go off fast once the spells are applied.¡±


    ¡°Damn divine druidry.¡±


    ¡°Sheer Sinphalamactic speculation.¡±


    I ignored her and looked over to the gnome. He¡¯d been in his towering gorilla-shape for the past hour, using his power to inflate fruits and handing out chunks the size of a human head as refreshments. Right now Neko was surrounded by a dozen curious children and a number of Shining Circle druids clad in green and gold, the adults looking every bit as impressed as the kids as they watched the old arch-druid make his next giant strawberry. Right now it was roughly the size of a hay bale. Before he was done it¡¯d be too big to fit in the back of a two-horse wagon.


    I was glad Sunspring had survived the Incursion. There were so many who hadn¡¯t¡­


    Star¡­ man¡­ Neverwish must be feeling like drop.


    But I couldn¡¯t dwell on it. There were so many who¡¯d lived, so many who¡¯d decided to join us today.


    Seventy-nine ¨C and maybe stragglers too.


    I was keeping my eyes peeled, keeping my mind prepared for surprises ¨C but our next volunteer made me nervous in an entirely-different way.


    Fe came prowling up, Ciraya bobbing lightly atop her, swaying from side to side with the demon¡¯s motions. Spotting her in the distance thanks to the yithandreng¡¯s stature, I became incredibly aware of the dryness of my mouth and lips in spite of the ghost-form, and once more I longed for a bite of the strawberry¡­ or at least a bit of mint to chew on¡­


    How would I approach her? What should I do? I felt as though, of all the faces that had presented themselves to me today, this was the most momentous meeting of all. How we handled this¡­ it would set the course for everything to follow. I found my concerns over dragons and destinies slipping away, mere shadows, lesser darknesses eclipsed by the swaying, sorcerous twilight Fe carried towards me.


    The cool breeze blew. Her face came into focus beneath the black hood; the sorceress¡¯s expression was grave, and, seeing her out here in her element, astride her pet fiend, black sleeves billowing in the wind¡­ it felt as though my heart lurched.


    Damn¡­ when had she started to look so beautiful? The alluring lips that I¡¯d tasted so many times since last night. The long lashes shrouding smoky blue eyes. There was no other word for her. She¡¯d never appeared unattractive to me ¨C in spite of the crazy amount of tattoos, quite the opposite ¨C but this? It was like I¡¯d never really seen her before.


    Desire, sharpened almost to the point of incoherent, self-directed anger, gripped hold of me. Would she be upset that I¡¯d left her like that? Would she expect us to just go back to being friends now? Why hadn¡¯t I made my intentions clearer?


    You wrote ¡®Giltergrove¡¯. Just ¡®Giltergrove¡¯! You great dropping buffoon! You had one chance. One chance to show her you were serious. You blew it. Look at her! She doesn¡¯t exactly look happy, does she?


    I floated forward to greet her, but I didn¡¯t know what to say. She seemed equally reticent to speak, her hands folded in her lap at the base of one of Fe¡¯s spikes. I was incredibly conscious of the amount of people watching us right now. The urge to drag her into another plane so we could have some privacy was equally irresistible and unconscionable.


    She couldn¡¯t meet my imploring stare, so I stopped being able to try. I blinked, lowering my gaze.


    ¡°Rhu Thrile,¡± I murmured instead, reaching out to stroke the yithandreng¡¯s snout.


    Fe didn¡¯t reply, but I¡¯d be damned if she didn¡¯t smile, pushing up luxuriously into my ghostly fingers, encouraging an application of vampire-strength to match her.


    That made me smile, and when I looked back at Ciraya she was piercing me with her eyes.


    ¡°I missed you.¡± I said it as quietly as I could manage without whispering.


    Finally, the sardonic smile touched her lips. ¡°Middle Finger on the Hand,¡± she drawled, ¡°reporting for duty.¡±


    ¡°I mean¡­ I don¡¯t want things to be like that, between us.¡±


    She straightened. ¡°Whatever you want things to be like, I¡¯m not sure you get to choose. If you really missed me you shouldn¡¯t have let me sleep in.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t wake you! You looked so¡­¡±


    My voice fell away ¨C I was painfully aware just how many hundreds of pairs of ears were within earshot.


    ¡°But you can¡¯t tell me off for being late. You might be my master but I¡¯m not going to be your servant. That¡¯s not how it works.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want a servant.¡±


    ¡°Then what do you want?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ want to kiss you.¡±


    Her eyes widened for just an instant, then narrowed. ¡°I¡¯ve played the favourite before. I know how it goes.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°It won¡¯t be like that. You¡¯re clearly my favourite, anyway! I don¡¯t want any of the drama, Ciraya. The endless stupid rumours. Can¡¯t we just¡­ be together? Openly? Can¡¯t I just kiss you here in front of everyone?¡±


    She nudged Fe forwards suddenly, bringing herself right alongside me.


    ¡°And who said you got a say in that either, Master Mortenn?¡±


    She leaned towards me and pulled me into her embrace, her lips finding mine eagerly.


    I was glad of the excuse to close my eyes. Cheers and a number of comments were hurled my way ¨C not just from the common folk. Half the remarks were drowned out by wild whoops that sounded vaguely congratulatory¡­ but those I made out were of a less than savoury nature. I felt my face flame right to the tips of my ears this time, but when we separated Ciraya was as pale as ever, not just smiling but grinning broadly.


    She took my hand and trotted Fe forwards, turning me about on the air to follow her.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she croaked. ¡°Let me go start whipping the troops into line.¡±


    ¡°Very good,¡± I replied, ¡°Mistress Ostelwin.¡±


    * * *

 To the Golden Leaves Again pt2

    I was just getting done introducing Ciraya to Rathal ¨C the poor man was going out of his way to avoid Wrynka, it seemed, and regularly cast furtive glances over his shoulder while we talked, complaining about rhimbelkina under his breath more than once ¨C when a very unlooked-for trio appeared.


    ¡°It¡¯s Bladesedge!¡± a man yelled.


    ¡°And Bookwyrm!¡± a woman cried.


    I flew towards the commotion, and found the three of them standing there in the midst of the crowd. The two arch-diviners were at either side of an unknown woman in a brown tunic and black leggings, holding her arms protectively, even lovingly. The audience-members were looking at them with wonder and joy; but most of those clad in mage-robes were staring at the woman in the centre with looks of alarm plastered across their faces. They had some inkling of just who this person was, though she¡¯d never been seen before.


    She looked nothing like her illusory self. She was perhaps fifty, dark hair shot through with grey, heavy-chested and round at the waist. She appeared somewhat dishevelled: there was faded paint on her lips, massive bags under her hazel eyes, and her hair was pulled back in a three-day-old ponytail. Although she hadn¡¯t donned magic-user clothing, she¡¯d perhaps made a gesture by fastening a short, shiny silk cape about her neck. If it weren¡¯t for her reputation preceding her, I¡¯d have thought the combination of civilian clothing with the fancy cape to be more comical than the most-garish mage-robe I¡¯d seen all day. However, as it was, I only felt cold inside.


    She could¡¯ve been wearing Sunspring¡¯s giant strawberry for a costume ¨C it didn¡¯t matter. It was still her, still the most dangerous arch-enchanter to have ever strode our streets.


    I saw Orcan floating there staring at her, one of the few archmages here with no notion of her identity.


    ¡°Dreamlaughter,¡± the whisper went through the assembled magicians.


    Then the Telese wizard floated away, the same alarm gripping everyone else now entering his eyes.


    ¡°Hullo, everyone,¡± she said. Her voice was a South Lowtown warble. ¡°Massively ¡®preciate the welcome, like. Don¡¯t need to go makin¡¯ a big deal over li¡¯l old me. I¡¯ll just¡­ stand over here¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to thoroughly debrief you,¡± Tanra said. She was standing next to Brokenskull at the front, not ten feet from the witch, her face scrunched up in thought. ¡°You are aware you¡¯re still wrapped in an illusion, right?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that s¡¯pposed to mean?¡± the enchantress retorted.


    I focussed my Blofm-eye. There was indeed something else, inside her body. The layers of glamour were impenetrable to my sight, however: the figure at the centre was a blur in spite of the goblin-essence.


    ¡°You¡¯re an elf, remember?¡± Tanra¡¯s voice was gentle. ¡°I can see you ¨C you¡¯re really here. But you¡¯re not you. Remember?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I don¡¯t¡­¡±


    The two grey-clad seers at Dream¡¯s sides seemed to bristle as their owner floundered, both of them simultaneously standing up tall and gripping her arms more-tightly. Their austere faces folded into frowns.


    Bookwyrm¡¯s eyes went skyward, as if questioning his very existence, but the glare of Bladesedge only darkened.


    Just as I felt as though some awful hostility might break out, bodies falling faster than the eye could follow ¨C


    Tanra held up her hand, palm outward.


    ¡°Oathbreaker will help you. Won¡¯t you, Oathbreaker?¡±


    I cast about, confused. Other than Ironvine and Spiritwhisper, Oathbreaker was the one person still in my ¡®straggler¡¯ list; no one had seen her all day, from what I¡¯d heard.


    Now the former arch-magister revealed herself, removing the invisibility-spell that had hidden her, concealing her completely from my goblin-sight. The crowd stepped back, murmuring.


    She was standing not five yards from Dream. The old woman was clad in a plain lavender mage-robe, sleeveless, exposing surprisingly-toned arms. She had several bracelets on her wrists but only a few rings glittered on her knuckles ¨C had they stripped her of her jewellery when they stripped her of her rank? I had no notion but, given her expression, it was definitely amongst the possibilities. She¡¯d foregone the mask, and it looked like she hadn¡¯t pulled a brush through her hair, letting it hang loose in her face. The grey locks couldn¡¯t hide the tautness of her demeanour, the nervousness flashing in her eyes.


    ¡°Afternoon.¡± She grated the word out as though it pained her.


    ¡°Thanks for showing up. Thank you.¡± I nodded to her. I got it. She didn¡¯t want her presence here to be a big deal, despite who she was, what she represented not just to the crowd but to the ex-magisters amongst the volunteers. She wanted to hide in the background, keep her invisibility up, even when she could be seen. ¡°Do you think you can give Dream a hand? Without inviting the wrath of her¡­ ah¡­ bodyguards?¡±


    Keliko looked at the trio. The trio looked back at her, their expressions unreadable.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    I smiled. She was used to getting what she wanted.


    I guessed her punishment would start right here.


    * * *


    The sun passed its zenith but the heat only built and built until it was like an oppressive weight, bearing down on my back. I could only imagine the kind of suffering the others were going through ¨C most people had more meat on their bones than I did, and their meat was way more material than mine. More than one wizard must¡¯ve been involved in the cold wind that came whistling down through the golden branches. It was hard to tell who, however. I was engaged in an hour-long debate with Orcan, Mountainslide and a dozen other archmages of their breed, and not once did I see one of them gesturing to the sky. All the same, the beloved breeze came down.


    At Nightfell and Doomspeaker¡¯s direction, Dancefire sculpted an illusion of the floor-plan, slowly elaborating upon the glamour until we had a working image of the tower we would create. The seeresses went strutting around it, pointing, assigning numbers and letters to different sections of the building; Dancefire dutifully scribed their notes in glowing white characters, hanging them from the mirage. There was no implication of the actual end look ¨C these were just lines and figures, with the outer cladding still to be decided. But I admired the appearance all the same, standing aside, just listening and watching.


    It looked like a flat, upward-held hand, without looking too much like a hand. The broad-fronted main building was its palm. The four actual towers atop it would be ascending in height towards the centre akin to fingers, with the shorter dormitory spire sliding up the side like a thumb. However we painted it, it was going to look good. Not pretty, but good.


    ¡°Can we fireproof this bit from 3-G to 3-P by three in the afternoon?¡±


    ¡°Safelia will be back with the lumber.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s a yes?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ no. She¡¯s needed here, on the section sixteen shell.¡±


    ¡°Orcan¡¯s free. He¡¯s done on the C-tower flooring by two-thirty, two-thirty-five¡­¡±


    A voice from behind me hailed me strangely.


    ¡°Feychilde Ikastyron!¡±


    I turned to regard a tall, wizened old man in a grey-and-blue robe. In his hand he grasped a staff but he didn¡¯t lean upon it, keeping its butt out of the grass by hefting it up and resting the top against his shoulder. His hood was cast back to reveal a grizzled, ruddy-cheeked face of lines and bristles. His long hair and beard were matted with grime, tangled and wild, such that it was hard to discern one from the other. A heavy traveller¡¯s cloak hung from his shoulders, but it didn¡¯t look like he was perspiring.


    Dark eyes regarded me sharply from beneath bristling eyebrows.


    ¡°Good sir?¡± I tried to query him politely, but I could hear the shrill surprise in my own voice.


    ¡°Lo!¡± He called the word out theatrically, and slowly waved the staff in his hand like a priest bestowing a benediction. Only then did I recognise the wing-sigil atop the rod. ¡°You are he! The Fracture! The One-Winged Kestrel! He for whom I have sought these long weeks.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± I looked around me, but the faces of the other archmages held no immediate answers. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard those before. The whole kestrel business sounds cool, but the Fracture? Sweet Five, you must want to be my new best friend if you¡¯re leading with that¡­¡±


    He swung the staff down, levelling the sigil at me, and the cold wind blew again urgently, more forcefully than before. I found myself straightening ¨C not quite alarmed, but suddenly aware that this was more than just some joke.


    ¡°I am bade by my Lord Orovon, Prince of Birds, Storm¡¯s Sovereign, to be his tongue here in the city of Mund. And my first task is to speak to you, demon-render, he who broke the devil tempest. To you and yours, these Children of Mund in whose hands the future will rest.¡± His dark glower went to my left and right, encapsulating the hundreds of magic-users in whose company I stood. ¡°I bear the words of the open sky! You shall hear it first from my lips, though in time you shall hear the message reflected, resounding from a million throats.


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


    ¡°The unclouded eye sees only light, Feychilde Ikastyron. I am fated to bear those eyes abrim with cloud and I tell thee, I see thee clear! The Gate upon Night teeters. Thou stridest the Edge of Apostasy under the Shadow¡¯s swell and yet thou durst stride! It falls unto my personage to render thee reward. Beneath such darkness as thou dost face, know thee thy path shall err, faltering where few of my brethren can follow with celestial eyes. When thou art thrown low, I shall succour thee.


    ¡°Men knew not what it was to stride, ere I cast them a headwind. I shall see thee set thine, or be much remiss.¡±


    The wind died down, bit by bit.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± I didn¡¯t quite know what to say. ¡°Th-thanks for coming. Thank you, I mean, Lord Orovon¡­¡±


    I looked up at the sky, facing into the faltering wind.


    Thank you.


    The wind roared, a final acknowledgement before dropping away once more.


    ¡°What about the Temple of the Messenger?¡± a young man said with a sidelong glance at his fellows. And the same sentiment was being expressed all around me, a ripple of scoffs and snide remarks.


    ¡°Trickster.¡±


    ¡°Probably a charlatan. Dark priest if ever I saw one.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with him?¡±


    ¡°The Unsent One will have to hear about this!¡±


    When I caught that particular comment, the intimidating holy man clearly caught it too, and he spun about, levelling his staff at the speaker.


    The wind rose once more with his voice.


    ¡°The Unsent will receive his marching orders in due course, and be sent far from this place into exile! Do you not understand yet? The Time of the T-¡°


    My hand suddenly itched; it felt like an insect bite, swift and sharp. That shouldn¡¯t have been possible through the ghost-form. I glanced down, my attention focused on the burning spot on the ball of my thumb ¨C then, seeing nothing of note, I centred my attention once more upon the priest.


    ¡°¨C and the Time of Redress descends now upon our heads. All the Divine Seats shall reclaim their meanings, lost so long to the darkness in men¡¯s souls. I am the Unsent One now! I am here to speak and be heard as no bearer of that title has ever spoken, has ever been heard! Ye of spoiled, wasted faith, know this and shudder! Our propensity for impact is limited, entwined with the designs of our foes. Now we will act, as they have feared so long. Now we are acting! Do you not know that the planes are mirrors, reflecting up and down between the worlds? Mirrors waiting to be broken! Your souls alone hang in the balance, collected and stored against Nightfall. You too will be Unsent! You shall be the Messenger, your singing blade the message. Ye all shall stand with me before the Door against the tide! Do you not know that we are preparing for War?¡±


    Stunned silence fell over the crowd like a spell, stymying even the enchanters, working through any and every shield. His words pierced flesh, entering the lightless waters within, the deepest areas of the mind, stirring the hidden currents, producing formless sensations, void-feelings that could only be perceived by their strength, their vast, incoherent Truth.


    Of all the things I expected to happen next, Durgil stepping out of the crowd wasn¡¯t anywhere near the top of the list ¨C yet it was obviously just going to be one of those days.


    The fierce-eyed dwarf bounded out into the clearing, unaffected by the holy lethargy that had settled on everyone else. There was a disturbing energy to his movements as he strode forth, an eagerness on his bearded face that was so keen as to almost dismay me. In the bright light of the sun his blackened armour was visible in all its detail to my eye. The once-noble designs upon the pauldrons were twisted, withered to nails of rust. The rings of mail under the plate portions had frayed, bits of metal wire poking out like dark bristles.


    The melted runes, names of Kultemeren, broken¡­


    ¡°Hear the Rain! Hear him! I am Durgil, slayer of Mal Malas, the old wyrm whose black crown fell to Feychilde. Hear me, a Knight of Kultemeren with lips unsealed! I come before you without purpose, without the commandment of any god. No purpose but my own, and this man¡¯s words!¡±


    The dwarf brandished his marred blade, pointing it at the old priest without looking, its tip motionless and steady.


    For the first time, the new Unsent One smiled.


    ¡°The Church has lost its way! Too long have we been silent.¡± Durgil swung the black sword about, directing it at me. ¡°How can we speak Truth when we cannot speak? How can we see the Truth, when we fear to gaze too long at the shadow lest it envelop us? The Whisper¡¯s Predicate ¨C is something to speak about! This man¡­ this young man, this arch-sorcerer and saviour of Mund¡­ him I will follow. He has looked into the darkness with unwavering gaze! He is the last scion of Kultemeren¡¯s will, driving us forward, pulling from our eyes the blindfold of complacency! I go now¡­¡±


    He looked right at me, and I stared back at him, seeing only the gravity on his face, and his determination.


    ¡°I go now to repudiate my patriarchs, those men of wealth and power who have squatted too long upon their thrones. I see it all now. I see what I must do, what I must become. I renounce my rank and titles, I renounce my past. I am not that man! I am Durgil, and I will be heard!¡±


    He spun about and stomped off into the crowd; a great roar of acceptance went with him, and not an inconsiderable number of the onlookers too. They¡¯d clearly decided they¡¯d had their fill of archmages and were spoiling for front-row seats during a religious dispute. How exactly that was all going to pan out, given only one of the interested parties was willing to actually speak, I had no notion.


    ¡°He will not be the last, Fracture. Behold!¡±


    Orovon¡¯s herald gestured with the wing-tipped staff once more, and those standing in its path parted, displaying the tall, gaunt woman striding towards me.


    ¡°Mortiforn salutes you, Master of Mund! How now this sweet sacrifice, this altar of souls, under your ministration!¡±


    Oh, gods, I groaned inwardly.


    Oh gods indeed.


    * * *


    ¡°So,¡± I said smugly to Kani when she stepped up to the front of the crowd, ¡°you were a bit wrong there, weren¡¯t you? I thought all the Churches were going to be united against me.¡±


    The cleric¡¯s round, freckled face was a mystery. Her smile didn¡¯t falter. Her gaze was inscrutable. I found myself whether any of the onlookers might¡¯ve had a clue as to the source of her unremitting confidence. Not in the cowed crowds, oh no, but the ranks of attendant priestesses milling behind her? The arch-enchanters, the other eminent holy figures?


    Phanar, the imposing guard-dog at her side, the thoughts brewing behind his own stern gaze no less enigmatic than his bride¡¯s¡­


    None of them were saying anything, and I sensed the crowd¡¯s unease, a mirror for my own.


    ¡°Or¡­ not?¡± I offered, looking from Kani to Phanar and back again.


    ¡°The demon-woman is no longer with him.¡±


    When the last son of N¡¯Lem finally broke the silence, his deep voice was filled with the familiar calmness, certitude: yet he spoke of matters that ought to have been beyond his ken.


    While I furrowed my brow in confusion, Kani nodded.


    ¡°And he has cast aside the crown?¡± she murmured, her eyes still on me.


    ¡°Two of seven shades. Its likeness tends upon him still.¡±


    ¡°Still¡­¡±


    ¡°Hold on a sec,¡± I cut in before she could get any more cryptic. ¡°How does he ¨C¡± I nodded at Phanar ¡°¨C know all this stuff? How do you know I dismissed the eolastyr, man? Are you a diviner now? Or did one of the gods select you too?¡±


    ¡°I do not believe so,¡± he replied. ¡°I am¡­ who I am. I can now sense the presence of other worlds. I do not know the origin of this gift. It has been months in the refining.¡±


    ¡°Dragonslayer!¡± someone nearby cried, in apparent appreciation of the tall outlander.


    I probably looked at Phanar a bit sceptically. ¡°But what¡¯re you¡­ becoming?¡±


    ¡°What I am meant to be. What I make of myself.¡± He shrugged, his light armour clinking. ¡°I do not think the gods have taken a hand in it, nor spells, such as I recognise them. I revere Joran and Kaile and Ismethyl. I respect the arts of the archmages. But I belong to neither. I am outside the chains of fate, now.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t worry you?¡± I looked between them. ¡°What about Ana? She didn¡¯t mention ¨C¡±


    ¡°What concerns us, O benevolent Feychilde,¡± Kani raised an empty, open hand, ¡°is this talk of Redgate.¡±


    ¡°We knew something was wrong.¡± Phanar¡¯s voice was as deep and slow as before, but there was a halting quality to it now. The veneer of calmness was slipping. ¡°We heard the rumours. Our man, in Tirremuir ¨C¡±


    Nightfell appeared at my side, interrupting even as she moved into place. ¡°Derezo was sent here to kill you, or be killed by you. Or both.¡± The seeress shrugged. ¡°It was only by the determination of one of Redgate¡¯s former slaves and another masterless eldritch that your ¡®man¡¯¡­ your vampire Derezo failed to reach his targets.¡±


    Phanar grimaced. Kani¡¯s smile finally faded.


    ¡°Redgate¡­ changed Derezo?¡± Phanar said after a solid ten-second silence.


    ¡°It¡¯s only apparent to me now ¨C well, since we interrogated Dirk and Osantya.¡± The arch-diviner wrinkled her nose. ¡°I was just waiting for the right time to tell you. I¡¯m sorry about what happened to your friend, but I¡¯m glad he ran himself into a permanent solution before he got to you. You didn¡¯t need to see that. Shallowlie and Feychilde possess your pair of saviours amongst their retinues, if you¡¯d question them yourselves.¡±


    ¡°Saviours?¡± Kani spat. ¡°These spirits ¨C I would very much like to see them called forth, actually.¡±


    I caught the dangerous twang to her voice, and I was about to refuse her ¨C if she thought she was torturing Osi with her divine fire, or even Dirk for that matter, she had another thing coming ¨C


    ¡°Osantya,¡± Phanar repeated after Nightfell. ¡°My sister has told me of this person. The wight, yes? Osantya hated Redgate.¡±


    ¡°That night was full of his tricks.¡± Kani spoke softly but she turned her head and glared at her husband all the same. ¡°I remember what Ana said and I don¡¯t care. If this really is him, despite all the precautions we took¡­ you know him. You know what he¡¯s like. You can¡¯t possibly believe his pet would, what, swim the ocean without some ulterior ¨C¡±


    I raised my own hand. ¡°She clung to the hull of the ship that bore Derezo to Mund. She endured days and days of immersion in the open ocean, just to foil Redgate¡¯s plans. Don¡¯t think she isn¡¯t true, just because she¡¯s undead. She¡¯s bonded again, now. Whatever you did to Redgate ¨C it worked, at least temporarily. Looks like a sorcerer loses their eldritches when they die, even if they¡¯ve got something here to bring them back. And I know a thing or two about feigned submission. Trust me ¨C Osantya is true. She can¡¯t lie to us.¡±


    Kani¡¯s glare had been turned back upon me rather than Phanar, but as I concluded the harshness in her eyes started to melt, as though her goddess herself spoke in my favour, directly into the hidden halls of her mind.


    ¡°Call me a fool, but I do.¡± She raised her voice suddenly. ¡°I do! I trust you, Feychilde, and name you Hells¡¯-foe, Kultemeren¡¯s Clutch, the Inverse Weapon whose unscabbarding shall heal the world! Wythyldwyn recognises you, and, as I am her Exalted, I can do no less.¡±


    She swept her hammer from its holster on her belt, holding it out and upwards as she bent to one knee.


    Her fellow priestesses imitated her, extending their maces and bowing their heads low before me. Of their whole assemblage only Phanar remained standing, his amusement only reaching his eyes.


    ¡°Ah, I don¡¯t want people bowing,¡± I said hurriedly, moving closer and waving my hand for them to rise, even gesturing stupidly with my stump. ¡°Please, I¡¯m not, not like that ¨C¡±


    ¡°It matters not what you want,¡± Kani said, oddly formal, rising to her feet once more. ¡°You don¡¯t get it, still. What you¡¯ve done. What you¡¯ll be, to these people. To the world. To the future.¡± I could see on her face that she still seemed to be struggling with it herself, contending with some urge to denounce me or storm off. ¡°You¡¯ve thrown off the crown. That alone gives you the right to wear it. And it¡¯s more than a right. It¡¯s in you now.¡±


    I bowed my head as the acolytes stood up again. ¡°So I¡¯m Mother-Chaos¡¯s representative here, is that it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± I glanced at her, and saw as her face twisted. ¡°No¡­ no. I trust you, Feychilde. If it¡¯s possible for a man to be chosen by both Truth and Lie ¨C the lightest light; the darkest darkness¡­ Maybe it¡¯s what Mund needs. Someone who knows the chaos, to break the controls.¡±


    It won¡¯t need me forever, I thought.


    ¡°Someone who¡¯s passed through their darkness.¡± She smiled again. ¡°Do stars shine against a white sky?¡±


    I looked deep into her eyes.


    And you think I¡¯ve passed through my darkness?


    I shivered, and said nothing. In the end, the most my silence could cost me was my soul.


    And that I feared, for all this holy woman¡¯s words to the contrary, was already forfeit.