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“Sure is takin’ his sweet time,” Joe muttered, pacing back and forth in the mouth of the alley.

Ingvar just glanced at him in silence before turning his head again to peruse the street beyond. Despite being a few yards distant, he had a better view of Veilgrad by dint of being perched atop a stack of crates against one side of the warehouse.

They had returned from the mountains to find the city stirred like a kicked anthill. Their inkeeper had been full of fanciful yarns about demons and chaos, which all three had taken with a pinch of salt. The other citizens of Veilgrad were not so easy to ignore, however, given how many were milling around in the streets, several even seeming to have formed protests in front of the governor’s office and the main Imperial Army barracks. All this the three of them would happily have brushed off and made their own exit from the city, save that whatever had transpired had caused a lockdown. The Rails were running, but there were checkpoints at all the city gates and in other places besides, and according to the least outrageous rumors they’d managed to get from irate passersby, Grusser was on the verge of declaring martial law.

For now, Joe and Ingvar lurked quietly in a warehouse district, avoiding everything and everyone as much as possible. Darling, being both the most city-savvy among them and the one with the highest political rank, had gone to see what he could learn. It had been two hours, and Ingvar had actually been somewhat impressed with Joe’s patience up till the last few minutes. City dwellers in general, he had observed, lacked the inclination and possibly the ability to be still and calm without constant stimulation. Joe, of course, hailed famously from a very small town, but he was clearly no country boy (despite his prairie accent and the cowboy affectations in his attire), and had never been on a hunt in his life. Ingvar wouldn’t really have expected him to remain calm and focused for hours on end while waiting to learn the fate of their plans to escape the city.

In truth, he might not have expected himself to manage it at Joe’s age.

For his part, he was glad enough of the chance not to talk, and had been grateful that Joe seemed to share his feeling. Darling, of course, had blathered on as blithely as always before leaving them; only after a few days of observing him closely was Ingvar sure he was covering the same unease they both felt. That experience—vision, dream, whatever it had been—had left the three of them with a lot more than a newfound understanding of wolves.

At least Ingvar found solace in mulling his new insights into the sacred beasts. Joe and Darling had little to think about but whatever hung between them, now. It was a very strange thing; Ingvar still didn’t know any more about the histories of these two men than he had before climbing the mountain, but was left with the feeling of deep comprehension and familiarity one usually felt only toward lifelong friends. Or family.

It had also not escaped his notice that Mary the Crow likely did nothing by accident, and surely had deep plans of her own, irrespective of his, Shaath’s, Darling’s, or anyone else’s. He was beginning to resign himself to the fact that they were going to have to talk about this at some point, if for no other reason than to prevent the Crow from casually manipulating them like chess pieces. It was a testament to how rattled Darling must be that he hadn’t already proposed it. The question remained, though, what she intended to accomplish by drawing the three of them closer together.

“All right, I’m gonna have a look around,” Joe said suddenly, peering out the mouth of the alley again.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Ingvar asked.

“Frankly? No.” The Kid glanced up at him, eyes just barely visible under the brim of his hat. “Very likely ain’t wise or necessary, but I’m losin’ my mind, here. Walkin’ helps calm a body down. I’m just gonna do a quick spin around the block, see if I spot anything useful.”

“Very well,” Ingvar replied, beginning to rise from his seat. “If you want…”

“You better stay here,” Joe said somewhat gruffly. “This is where the Bishop’s comin’ back to, when he does. Won’t be long.”

He turned and slipped out of the alley, vanishing around the corner before Ingvar could reply. The Huntsman sighed softly and settled himself back down atop his crate. Well, at least he wasn’t the only one disturbed and on edge.

And he had time alone, now, to think. Not that he hadn’t done plenty of that in the dark on the mountainside after they awakened from their vision quest, but, in truth, that had been mostly reeling from shock, disbelief, and a whole torrent of emotions that it had taken him the bulk of the night to process, at least to the extent of controlling himself. Ingvar had come to believe that Mary was firmly right: you simply could not rip the world out from under a person like that and expect them to bear up well. He would not have been able to accept it at all, if not shown in that careful manner, and did not think less of himself for that.

Which was the problem he faced going forward. The Huntsmen of Shaath were men of action; knowing something like this about the condition of his god and not doing something about it was unthinkable. But what? How? One thing was certain: Ingvar could not overturn centuries of flawed dogma on his own. But how could he possibly bring more Huntsmen to his side? He could hardly coax them one by one up into the hills to meet with the Rangers and be ambushed by visions. Even if the Rangers were willing, not everyone would react the same way, it would take centuries just to do… So many problems swarmed up from his mind to swamp that idea that Ingvar dismissed it entirely.

Not to mention that not every lodge would even listen to him. There had been some tense moments during the campaign against the Wreath in Tiraas that spring; only the presence of his brother Huntsmen from the lodge had warded off trouble from some others, and even so it had been a close thing. Not every Huntsman would acknowledge him a man, much less a fellow Huntsman. Why had he been called to this?

He stood, stretching his limbs, and climbed down from his perch to take over Joe’s duty of pacing up and down the alley. After a couple of hours he was stiff, but not badly; a hunt required far more patience than merely this. The lack of sleep was weighing on him more heavily.

Well, perhaps it was premature to worry about the future yet. He would definitely have to do something, but perhaps the remainder of this quest would give him more direction. Mary had not deigned to tell them their next steps before vanishing, but Joe had said that before she left (which was before Ingvar had returned to their campsite) she had confirmed they had more yet to do. Not to mention that once the actual quest was done, he had agreed to help her find out who had sent him those dreams and visions.

Could it have been Shaath? Ingvar doubted it, and not merely on Mary’s say-so. The god of the wild would not be eager to reveal himself in a position of weakness. And anyway, that came back to the same question: why him? Glumly, Ingvar had to acknowledge that he was possibly the worst conceivable choice for some kind of reformist movement.

Could the Huntsmen even be reformed? As they were now…they were the living binds of their god, it seemed. He still didn’t know what to do with that horrible knowledge himself. What could the whole faith possibly do with it, except…die?

The sounds of feet were soft and did not catch his attention; he’d grown accustomed to tuning them out during his time in cities. The figures suddenly blocking off the front of the alley, however, were another matter. Ingvar abruptly ceased his pacing, pivoting on one foot and smoothly moving his bow to his left hand and reaching toward his quiver before even getting a proper glimpse of the new arrivals.

There were two of them, both bearded men in the very familiar garb of the Huntsmen. An older man, the one who had been telling stories outside the city gate when they’d first arrived, and one of his younger compatriots. Both armed, of course, and staring directly at him as if he were prey.

Ingvar hardly had to consider the unlikelihood of these turning up by coincidence in this of all alleys to see what was up here.

There was a soft sound from behind him—very soft, but still deliberate, and he calmly angled his body and stepped back toward the wall to be able to look in the other direction down the alley without putting his back to those ahead. The third local Huntsman was just now stepping around the stack of crates on which Ingvar had been sitting. A useful high ground which he was suddenly regretting having given up.

“Well,” said the older man, fixing his stare on Ingvar. “I don’t know where you come from, girl, so I’ll grant that this may be a mistake. That garb is not a fashion statement. It’s not for women, and not for those who have not earned it. However they do things back home, wandering around the Stalrange like that is going to get you in trouble.”

The man stopped, staring at him expectantly and clearly awaiting an answer. His two comrades were equally still and silent.

Ingvar realized that if he wanted to prevent this whole thing from becoming a problem, he’d just been handed a way. Not that he was much of an actor, but how hard could it be to play the part of some girl from Tiraas with silly ideas about clothing? That was probably what Darling would do in this situation.

No. Absolutely not. He had worked and fought too long and too hard for his identity; it was not a thing to be thrown aside for convenience, or even safety. He’d been beaten and worse before, and survived. A man’s integrity was worth far more than that.

“You speak in error, brother,” Ingvar replied, pleased with the evenness of his voice. “I am Brother Ingvar, of the lodge in Tiraas, a fellow Huntsman. It would be appropriate for you to show some respect.”

The younger man’s expression grew visibly angry; the older simply narrowed his eyes. The third remained a presence in Ingvar’s peripheral vision, but he did not turn to study him in detail.

“Where’s your beard…brother?” the elder Huntsman said finally, curling his lip. “Do they shave in Tiraas, these days?”

“It doesn’t grow,” Ingvar said curtly. “A simple matter of inborn deformity, thank you for pointing it out.”

“No,” said the younger man in front, shaking his head. “Look at her face, the voice—you’re a butch specimen, girl, but still a girl. Look at her throat.”

“Whatever it is you’re playing at, you will not do it further,” the older man said flatly, taking a step forward. “These are sacred things you profane, girl. If you know enough of the Huntsmen to pretend that skillfully, this is no simple misunderstanding. And that means you’re courting consequences by coming here.”

“I do not have to endure this jibing from you, old man,” Ingvar retorted, baring his teeth in a snarl even as he fought for calm. It was not his first time in this situation. The beatings were never worse than he could bear. Where the hell were Joe and Darling? “I am a Huntsman of Shaath, and I earned that place the same as you did. I had to work twice as hard to be accorded the same respect. Take your insecurities elsewhere and cease wasting my time and Shaath’s with them.”

“You little—” The younger man in front started to surge forward, stopped when the elder barred his path with his longbow.

“All right, there’s a simple way we can resolve this,” the elder said, staring grimly at Ingvar. “And if we have been in error, you will have our apologies, and whatever reasonable forfeit you choose to name for the sake of honor. Remove your pants.”

Ingvar had an arrow half out of his quiver before realizing he was drawing it; he stopped before the two younger men had nocked arrows to their own bows, but just barely. At best, even if he was the faster draw, he could only shoot one…

“Shall I assume that’s what passes for humor in this city?” he grated.

“There’s a lot more to a man than what hangs between his legs,” the elder Huntsman said, “but that’s a definitive mark. If you have that, at least, I’ll be more willing to believe your story. If not, then you are in for a great deal of the discipline your father should have given you.”

“Touch me and it will be the last of what I’m sure have been a long line of mistakes,” Ingvar snarled.

The elder snorted. “These things are sacred; we cannot have people parading around as Huntsmen who haven’t the right. If we’re wrong, we’ll owe you for the indignity. But I don’t think we’re wrong.” His gaze sharpened further, and he drew an arrow of his own. “And I think you know it. Last chance…Ingvar, was it? It’ll go the worse for you if we have to take them off.”

“Well,” sneered the young man behind him, “once they’re already off, she’ll be in a position to—”

“If you even finish that sentence, pup, I’ll give you worse than I give her,” the elder snarled. “Men of Shaath do not debase themselves! Enough time-wasting from all of you. Get on with it, Ingvar, and let’s get all this ugliness over with before—”

A beam of light split the dimness of the alley, flashing straight over their heads. The Huntsman who had flanked Ingvar whirled, aiming his bow back the way he had come and backing up toward the others.

“My pa always taught me that a man fights his own battles,” drawled Joe, pacing forward out of the darkness. He really must have made a complete circuit of the block, or at least the building, to be coming from that direction. “And that a man doesn’t interfere in another man’s affairs. Always seemed like wisdom, to me… Till the day I watched him murdered in front of our house by six thugs who wouldn’t face an honest man head-on. So when I find my friend, here, bein’ cornered by three galoots in an alley… Well, with apologies to Brother Ingvar, I do not care what this is all about. It stops, right now, or I drop the lot of you.”

“You don’t know what you’re meddling in, boy,” the elder growled. “This is a matter for the Huntsmen of Shaath.”

“I literally just got finished tellin’ you how I don’t care what this is,” Joe replied, glancing at Ingvar and raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t listen very well, does he?”

“We haven’t known each other long, but I’ve already noticed that,” Ingvar replied. Part of him hated himself for the relief flooding through him at the Kid’s reappearance. It was a very small part, however, and he was learning that it wasn’t a voice which bore listening to.

The elder Huntsman slowly eyed Joe up and down, from snakeskin boots to leather duster, tigers eye bolo tie and ten-gallon hat, all in black, and curled his lip disdainfully. “Have you ever been shot, boy?”

“Nope,” Joe said in deadly calm. “Not once. But I been shot at more times’n you’ve laced up your boots. Name’s Joseph P. Jenkins, of Sarasio. You mighta heard of me.”

That got a reaction. The two in front exchanged a glance, eyes widening; the one in back had drawn even with Ingvar, now, and was trying to divide his attention between the two of them, a reversal Ingvar couldn’t help enjoying.

“Nonsense,” the youth in the front huffed after a moment. “Naturally a liar would be friends with a liar. Any idiot can claim to be—”

Joe didn’t even bother to draw his second wand; he simply made what seemed to be a dismissive and almost effeminate flick of his wrist, and his weapon hissed softly as it spat three needle-thin beams of light. All three of the local Huntsmen leaped to the ready, placing arrows to their bows, and utterly failing to draw them due to their bowstrings being severed.

“Now, I don’t know how you pictured this ending up,” Joe said calmly. “Religious issues ain’t legal justification for roughin’ somebody up in an alley; it’d be jail at the very least for the lot of you after all was said an’ done. But me, now… You havin’ stated your intention to assault my good friend, here, I’m legally justified in exercising lethal force to drive you off.”

“Some things,” the elder said softly, glaring, “are worth suffering for.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ingvar replied, earning a truly furious scowl.

“Of course,” Joe drawled in the same even tone, “it’s well within my abilities to pick the fleas outta your beards at this range. There are all kinds of ways I could disable you. So when I say that if you force this issue I will kill the lot of you assholes dead, I want you to understand it’s on account of how personally I take this matter.”

“I think you’re bluffing,” the former rearguard said, a quaver in his voice now that earned him contemptuous looks from the other three Shaathists present.

“Dead doesn’t necessarily mean dead quickly,” Joe continued, holding the oldest man’s stare with his own. “You ever see what happens to a man with a hole burned through his femoral artery?”

“Do you really have such cruelty in you, boy?” the elder asked, his tone soft and seemingly genuinely curious despite his hard expression.

“I’m the goddamn Sarasio Kid,” Joe snapped. “I despise violence, cruelty, an’ most of the other things I am very good at. Now gather up your saggy machismo an’ get the hell outta here before I start gettin’ impatient.”

They locked stares for a long moment, then very deliberately the elder Huntsman turned to study Ingvar again.

“You expect me to argue?” Ingvar said disdainfully. “I would defend any brother Huntsman against even a superior foe, unless that Huntsman had just been busy making a fool of himself and our faith. Get moving.”

The man snorted, then made a sharp gesture which prompted his two younger compatriots to come stand, scowling, at his shoulders.

“You can evade the consequences of your behavior for only so long, girl, before—”

“No.” In a single fluid motion, Ingvar had his bow drawn and an arrow aimed right at the elder’s heart. At that range, the longbow would have put a shaft almost clear through him. “You came here for the sole and specific purpose of sullying Shaath’s good name with your stupidity. You will leave with nothing. Not even the last word. Now walk, before I decide I want your pants.”

The two younger men glared, and the elder shook his head. But when he turned to go, they followed, after giving Ingvar a final round of sneers.

They waited until all three were long out of sight before Joe sighed softly and holstered his wand. “Welp. Sorry for buttin’ in like that, Ingvar; I still ain’t too clear on Shaathist doctrine, but I know a man an’ his battles are an important thing.”

“I hope those three didn’t give you the impression that most Shaathists are too stupid to accept aid from a friend when it’s needed.” Ingvar drew in a deep breath and let it out, just now taking note of the adrenaline thrumming through his system as it finally started to ebb. That was going to be an irritating comedown. “Thank you, Joe.”

“Don’t mention it,” the Kid said with a shrug. “Truth be told, I shouldn’t’ve been gone in the first place. I get stir-crazy for five minutes and you almost get jumped by the locals. What a town.”

“Would…” Ingvar hesitated before finishing the question. “Would you actually have killed them with…unnecessary cruelty? Or were you just bluffing?”

“I make my living at the card table,” Joe said with a faint smile. “Bluffing’s another of the things I don’t like but am very good at.”

“Really?” Ingvar glanced over Joe’s suit; he was no student of fashion, but one didn’t have to be to observe that the Kid had expensive tastes. Tigers eye wasn’t a pricey stone, but that was a large piece. “You paid for all that playing cards?”

“Yep. Point of fact, I was hoping to find a game of hold ’em somewhere, if we stop long enough in a place that ain’t trying to kill us. Darling’s already had to talk me out of trouble in Tiraas; dunno why I thought winnin’ at the Thieves’ Guild’s casino was a good idea.”

Ingvar had to crack a grin at that, but just as quickly let it fade, turning his head to stare out at the mouth of the alley. “And…thank you. For never asking.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Joe shrug awkwardly. “Figured as soon as you wanted to explain it, you would. Other folk’s business is their own.”

He nodded. “I’m just…well, you saw all that. The reaction is fairly typical. I can’t afford to assume anyone will understand.”

Joe sighed softly. “Truth be told, Ingvar, I can’t rightly say I do understand. The whole thing doesn’t make a lick of sense to me. But I reckon you’re the expert on your own life, an’ I don’t recall anybody puttin’ me in charge of you. It’s the simplest damn thing,” he added, a scowl forming on his face. “Just let people alone to live their lives. The longer I live, the more places I see, the more it seems that’s the hardest thing in the world for a whole mess o’ folk. An’ I just cannot wrap my head around that.”

“That much I never questioned,” Ingvar said thoughtfully, still gazing out at the street beyond. “Some things are sacred. Some things have to be defended. I always knew why the Huntsmen fought against accepting me. Even when the traditions are wrong… Traditions matter; they tell us who and what we are. I guess I should start giving a lot more thought to which traditions deserve to be upheld, since it seems almost all of mine may not make that list.”

“Maybe that’s the difference,” Joe mused. “Where I’m from… Your family, your friends, the land that supports you, those things are sacred. Everything else’s just part o’ the world.”

Ingvar whirled suddenly, sensing another presence, and had his bow half-drawn again before he identified Darling lounging against the crates he’d been perched upon earlier.

“Well, don’t stop on my account!” the thief said cheerfully. “You two were having quite a moment, there.”

“How long have you been there?” Joe demanded.

“I caught the tail end of that little stand-off,” Darling confessed. “Well handled, both of you.”

“Coulda used your help,” Joe said pointedly.

“Nope.” Shaking his head, Darling straightened up and ambled forward to join him. “I make my way through life by talking my way out of trouble. You two have only known me when I’m on the top of the world, relatively speaking; you’ve no idea how many times I had to get my ass handed to me to get up here. There’s a certain kind of macho man who can’t be charmed down, and who takes the attempt as a call to violence. You just met three of them. Trust me, boys, you took exactly the right approach there, the only one that would have worked.”

“Well,” Joe said in disgruntlement, “while I don’t enjoy threatening people, maybe it’ll make them think harder before they try that next time.”

“That’s not how it works, Joe,” Darling said, placing a hand on his shoulder, and Ingvar wondered if the thief had always spoken with such an undercurrent of weary sadness or if he was just more attuned to it now. “That kind of bullying is about power. Come on, if this were some kind of real Shaathist inquisition, they’d have brought more; instead, it was those same three guys. You can bet they do stuff like this all the time. A bully is looking to make himself feel bigger by making others feel smaller; if you cut him down to size, you’ve just made it that much worse for the next person who catches his eye.”

Joe closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “I just… Man, can’t we have one clean victory?”

“I meant what I said,” Darling replied, squeezing his shoulder once before letting his hand drop. “You handled that the right way. Sometimes, you just don’t have good options. Maybe a trained Izarite could get through to someone like that, but… All I’ve ever been able to do is teach ’em who not to screw around with. It’s sad, but it’s life.”

“Anyway,” Ingvar said, making his tone deliberately brisk, “what have you learned?”

“Right, back on point,” Darling agreed, nodding. “Well, the good news is the city’s not actually locked down; the military presence is just trying to keep order. We can get through the gates and onto a caravan, no problem. It’s going to take longer because we’ll have to stop and identify ourselves to soldiers, not to mention dealing with the lines of everyone else doing the same, but we’ll get there. Worst comes to worst, I pull rank, but frankly we’re three out-of-towners leaving with our business done; I doubt they’ll make it necessary.”

“Did you manage to find out what’s got the city so worked up?” Joe asked. “Is there a danger?”

Darling sighed, and for some reason looked distinctly annoyed. “No, there’s no danger. What happened is somebody summoned an incubus out there on the prairie a mile or so outside town.”

“What?” Ingvar exclaimed, reflexively reaching for his quiver again. “That’s what you call no danger? A child of Vanislaas loose in the city—”

“Easy, there, I’m not done,” Darling said soothingly. “The demon’s dead; it was found hacked to pieces half a mile from the summoning site.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“Hm,” Joe mused, rubbing his chin. “Last year in Onkawa, someone used incubus flesh as a reagent in an illusion spell. Caused quite a ruckus at the time, but the technique’s been commented on in all the enchanting journals. I wonder how many of the Vanislaads that’ve been summoned in the last few months ended up right on the chopping block.”

“Well, I can’t make myself mourn that,” Ingvar snorted. “Maybe it’ll make them more leery of answering summons. Why is something like that having such an effect on the city, though?” he asked Darling. “You’re right, it sounds like there’s not an active threat.”

“Well, the problem is twofold,” Darling replied, tucking his hands in his coat pockets. “You have to keep in mind where we are, and what happened here just a few weeks ago. Veilgrad’s still recovering from a major chaos event. As disasters go, it was minor; a handful dead, dozens injured, lots of property damage. It was the nature of the thing that matters: the dead rose and rampaged through the city. That kind of horror leaves aftereffects on everyone who survived it. The people of Veilgrad have exactly zero patience with metaphysical bullshit right now. And the second problem is that the brain case of a military commander in the city, some clown named Adjavegh, is trying to keep a lid on this thing. Which, since the rumors are already out, is purely counterproductive. If he’d just get out in front of it, tell the people exactly what happened and that it’s over… And I’m sure he will very soon; if he doesn’t see sense, the Empire will land on him, and he’s got to have advisers telling him this already. But for now…”

“For now,” Joe said slowly, “we’ve got a populace who’ve been traumatized by a mass raising of the dead, and rumors about demon summonings and incubi loose in the city. Yikes.”

“Exactly,” Darling agreed, nodding. “We’d best get ourselves moving while the moving is good. What with the Imperial Army’s current presence, Adjavegh has enough authority to dictate some policy, and right now Grusser is too occupied trying to keep everyone calm to lean on him. He’s got his hands full dissuading people from doing something irrational like rioting, or extremely rational like abandoning the city en masse. Oh, and posting guards on Leduc Manor, because of course people have tried to form a mob up there. Luckily they seem to be avoiding Malivette’s place. Apparently they tried that during the last troubles and were…dissuaded.”

Ingvar cleared his throat. “Yes, about that… Where, exactly, are we going next? Did Mary see fit to tell you anything before vanishing again?”

“Ah, yes,” Darling said, nodding and glancing at Joe. “Well, most immediately we need to head to a town on the southwestern edge of Calderaas just above the Green Belt, called Fersis. That’s the nearest place we can reach by Rail. After that… It seems we’re going to visit the elves.”

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“It was simply an attack of opportunity,” Lord Vex informed the Imperial couple, who were both studying the newspapers laid out on their breakfast table. “Embarrassing Bishop Snowe won’t yield any significant dividends, and anyway she quickly regained control of the crowd. I’ve had my people in Vrin Shai keeping track of her whole group; one saw the opportunity last night and took it, which I approve. The significant aspect of this is that it demonstrates she is there on her own, not on assignment from the Archpope.”

“How so?” the Emperor inquired.

“She was unaware of the content of those newspapers,” Vex replied. “After the effort that had to have gone into placing the Archpope’s agenda into them, seeing stories run that so neatly countered it is a serious matter, and Justinian is too smooth to have failed to notice, or to be so easily tripped up. He would not permit anyone operating on his agenda to be so out of touch. Thus, Snowe is assisting Syrinx for her own purposes.”

“Hm,” Eleanora mused. “And what do you make of that?”

“It’s too early to tell anything definitive, or useful. At present, my general policy toward Syrinx is to leave her alone.”

“You considered it established that she was deep in Justinian’s camp the last time we spoke of it,” the Empress said sharply.

“Indeed, your Majesty,” Vex answered, “but we must consider why each of his inner circle are there. Snowe is personally and ideologically loyal to Justinian, Varanus speaks loyally for a cult which also backs the Archpope, and Darling is playing all factions against each other for his own purposes. He and Syrinx are the angles I will use when it is time to act against Justinian directly; that woman has no true interest in anything but herself. For that reason, I choose not to risk antagonizing her at this time. The recent trouble that caused her to be exiled to Viridill indicates she still has a vindictive streak.”

“With regard to that,” said the Emperor, finally looking up from the newspaper, “your report on the matter suggested an internal Avenist shake-up that might end with Shahai or Locke permanently fulfilling Syrinx’s role. Does that factor into your calculations?”

“Very much so, your Majesty. If Syrinx ends up retaining her position, it won’t do to irritate her; if she does not, it’s not worthwhile to invest in her. Frankly, I would prefer either of the elves you mentioned, but we will work with whatever resources are available. It is far too early to consider moving openly and aggressively against Justinian, but when that time comes, turning the cults against his Church will necessarily be a central aspect of the plan. Having the Avenists and Eserites positioned to strike at the heart of his organization will serve us well on that day.”

“It seems to me,” said Eleanora as she pushed aside the paper to reach for her teacup, “that getting these stories into the papers is a far greater victory than anything involving Snowe. This was admirably quick work, Quentin.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” he said with a languid little smile. “And I concur with your assessment. Momentarily tripping up Bishop Snowe was merely one sign of our success, and one of the less important.”

“How did you counteract Justinian’s influence on the newspapers?” asked the Emperor, smiling thanks at Milanda when she stepped forward to refill his teacup.

“Justinian thinks in terms of power and force,” said Vex. “He has leveraged several factors to maintain a hold on the papers: their near-infiltration by the Black Wreath, the protection of the blessings the Church provided after that, and especially the financial benefit of their association with Bishop Snowe. A newspaper only looks monolithic from the outside, however, and the print media as a whole barely do at all. It is not in their nature to all point in one direction; there is significant infighting within each editorial staff, and deep rivalries between papers. A good many editors and reporters rather resent their reliance on Snowe, and virtually everyone resents having the Archpope dictate to them.” He smiled and blinked slowly, a distinctly catlike expression. “Intelligence services and newspapers have in common that we attract Veskers; as many as half my staff are affiliated with that faith. I am in a firsthand position to know that there is little bards hate more than being told what to say. Rather than trying to attack Justinian’s influence on the papers directly, I have simply had my people place the information we want disseminated in front of elements within the media whom I have identified as particularly resentful of the Church’s heavy hand.”

“Elegantly done,” the Emperor said with approval, picking up the paper again. “And these? The two lead stories are interviews with this Punaji weather-witch and the dwarven inventor. Surely that wasn’t all…”

“Indeed not, your Majesty. They were simply the two whose stories most quickly got out, which has as much to do with luck as anything I did. We targeted and nudged a selection of carefully chosen University graduates.”

“Among that crowd,” Eleanora pointed out, “there are likely several who saw immediately what you were doing.”

“I don’t doubt it, your Majesty. They can also see where their own interests lie; some may be curious enough to come to Tiraas, exploring these political currents, but I anticipate no hostile action toward us. Others will get their stories out there in the days to come, as they and various reporters follow the trails of breadcrumbs I’ve placed between them.”

“Is it your intention to replace Justinian’s hold on the newspapers with our own?” Sharidan asked.

“That would be quite difficult, your Majesty, and in my opinion also a mistake. As I said, it is not a natural state of affairs for every paper to tell the same story in the same voice. The great masses of people will think whatever they are told to think by whoever they respect most, but those who are clever enough to influence the game will have taken note of the recent spate of attacks on the University, and realized it signified an organized campaign. For now, it better serves our interests to re-assert the natural back-and-forth between differing opinions among the media. I will, of course, be taking steps to promote this theme among those who speak up on behalf of the University; I chose these candidates carefully to suggest it.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” Sharidan agreed. “Both of these seemed to go on at some length about how their noble-born and otherwise powerful classmates benefited from associating with commoners like themselves.”

“Indeed, your Majesty. A good propaganda campaign establishes a narrative; that’s why bards are so attracted to the business, I suspect. The story we are telling here is an egalitarian one about elevating common folk into heroes, and teaching the more highly-born to appreciate the lot of the common man. I am assisted in this in that it happens to be more or less true; it was probably not her intention, but Professor Tellwyrn has liberally seeded her student body with some rather humble voices, and their influence has been noted in the conduct of many of the University’s noble-born graduates. Nor did she invent the tactic. Your Majesties are aware that history’s more successful noble lineages, like the Punaji royal family and House Madouri, have always taken steps to keep themselves integrated with their subjects.”

“The Madouris are simply more careful than most aristocrats about inbreeding,” the Empress said with mild distaste. “They breed their children with the same care they do racing thoroughbreds. Still, your point is well-taken.”

“How do you intend to proceed?” the Emperor inquired, pausing to take a sip of tea.

“For the time being, as is,” said Vex, folding his hands behind his back. “Though I am observing and managing it somewhat, the rest of this campaign will be an organic process of the University alumni I contacted coming forward and adding their voices to the debate. More direct action may become appropriate depending on what the Archpope does, but for now, things proceed satisfactorily. However, there is the other matter about which I asked to speak with you. An opportunity has unexpectedly arisen to rap Justinian’s knuckles far more sharply.”

Sharidan and Eleanora exchanged a glance, then leaned froward in unison. “Do tell,” said the Emperor.

“First thing this morning, I received a communication from Professor Tellwyrn. Much to my surprise, she was, in fact, relaying a message from Gabriel Arquin.” Again, that feline smile spread across Vex’s features. “I believe your Majesties will like this.”

“What is this stuff?” Trissiny asked warily, frowning into the cup of thin black liquid Ruda had just poured for her. A large pot of the stuff sat next to the plate of sandwiches on their breakfast table, filling the air with an unfamiliar but delightful scent.

“It’s called coffee,” Ruda said cheerfully. “And it smells a hell of a lot better than it tastes. But it’s a powerful stimulant that makes black tea look like water. I figured some of us would be grateful for the boost, since some of us were up late knocking over and then fixing up the town, before Arquin requested everybody meet for an early breakfast.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Gabriel said, wincing. “We need to have a pretty important discussion, and as soon as possible… But by the time we got back to campus last night, everybody was pretty dead on their feet. And also, not everybody was present.”

“I note you did not invite any of the freshmen,” Shaeine observed.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “and we may wanna bring them up to speed, depending on what we decide here. But I thought, for now, it’d be best to keep this between us.”

“Hlk!” Everyone turned to stare at Teal, who was in the process of setting down her cup and making a face. “…sorry. It’s not the first time I’ve had coffee, but it always takes me by surprise. I mean, that smell, and then it tastes like a mud puddle under a salted turd factory.”

“I like it!” Scorn proclaimed, holding out a suddenly empty cup. “Almost like home! You are too afraid of strong flavors in this world. More, please?”

“Uh…” Ruda eyed the towering demon up and down warily. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea…”

“It’s probably fine,” said Fross. “She’s got a lot of body mass, and anyway the kinds of adaptations that make creatures resistant to infernal corruption also makes them less susceptible to mind-altering stimuli in general, so Rhaazke likely have a high tolerance.”

“By the same token,” said Ruda, “I’m not sure I want to see a Rhaazke on a coffee high.” She poured Scorn another cup, however.

“I’m really sorry I wasn’t there to help, Triss,” said Fross. “I sensed it when the wards were triggered, but something was really off about… Oh, uh, I guess Gabriel should go first, since he asked for the meeting. But this may be urgent, too, so we should talk about it before we go to class.”

“Duly noted,” said Gabe, who had touched neither his sandwich nor his coffee. He folded his arms on the table, drew in a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. “All right, well… I guess I have to start by apologizing. I did something pretty stupid. And we came scarily close to somebody getting hurt because of it.”

“Note the lack of gasps following that confession,” Ruda said dryly.

“Ruda,” said Toby, frowning at her. “Quit. Okay?”

“Fine, fine. Spit it out, Arquin, how bad did you fuck up this time.”

Gabriel tightened his mouth for a moment, then raised his eyes to look at all of them. “Okay, well… The truth is, I’ve been keeping information back from you. I know more than I’ve let on about what’s happening around here.”

“Why?” Juniper asked, frowning.

“Mostly because…I thought some of you would be mad about how I was getting it. I’ve, uh, asked the valkyries to follow people around and report on what they were doing.”

“What?” Trissiny exclaimed, her eyes darting nervously about. “Follow people? Us?”

“No, no!” Gabriel said hastily. “None of you, don’t worry. But, um… The two new priestesses in town. Lorelin Reich and Sister Takli. And…the Black Wreath warlocks who’ve been messing with us.”

A short silence descended, in which they all stared at him.

“Annnnd,” Ruda drawled at last, “the excellent reason we’re just now hearing about this would be…?”

“It’s not an excellent reason,” Gabriel said glumly, “it’s a dumb one, and I only did it because I wasn’t thinking it through. Yesterday I went to talk with Val about it, because I really didn’t like keeping things from you guys and it was weighing on me even though it had seemed like the right thing for a while, and… Well, he kind of pointed out that by controlling information I was trying to control the group. Which…was a shitty thing to do. I was just afraid somebody would do something abrupt and get hurt, and didn’t stop to consider what a jackass I was being by making assumptions like that and having the gall to manipulate you. So… I’m sorry, everyone. That was stupid as hell. I didn’t mean any insult or harm, I just messed up.”

“Okay,” said Ruda with a shrug. “Apology accepted. What’d you learn?”

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“Um, what?” Gabriel asked uncertainly.

Ruda raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see how it is. Ruda’s the temperamental one who cusses everybody’s ear off over the slightest thing, right? So that’s what you’re expecting here.”

“Uh, that’s kind of true, though,” Fross pointed out.

“Fine, you want details?” Ruda planted an elbow on the table and pointed at Gabriel. “You, Arquin, are a dumbass. You never think this shit through and you’re always fucking up one thing or another. But here’s the deal I’ve noticed about you: it’s never malicious, and it’s always an exciting new way of fucking up.”

“That’s fantastic, thanks,” he muttered.

“It is pretty fuckin’ fantastic, and shut your grumblehole till I finish. You make new and different mistakes because you don’t repeat the old ones. You learn. Annoying as it frequently is to clean up after you… Hell, you’re doin’ constantly better and you try. Can’t fairly ask a lot more than that of anybody, now can we?”

“Not for the first time,” Shaeine observed, “Ruda’s viewpoint is surprisingly insightful. I cannot say I don’t somewhat resent your actions, Gabriel; I had thought that by this point there was more trust between us.”

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably. “I’ll make it up to you, somehow.”

The priestess gave him one of her warm little smiles. “I am sufficiently confident of that to let go of the matter and trust it will happen.”

“Agreed,” Toby said firmly. “I’m glad you’re doing better, Gabe, but seriously. Do not try something like that again. Failing to share information in dangerous situations is what gets people badly hurt, or worse.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said, nodding. “Agreed. Again, I’m sorry.”

Another lull fell; several of them shifted to look at Trissiny, who was staring fixedly at Gabriel. She finally glanced aside, meeting their glances, then shook her head and spoke in an oddly quiet tone. “Ruda’s right.”

“Well,” Gabriel said with a hesitant grin, “thank—”

“What did you learn?” she interrupted.

He broke off, staring at her, then blinked and cleared his throat. “Right, well… Okay, there are two things that I think are important. First of all, the Wreath have been a little careless because they’re used to stealth magic and shadow-jumping away. The stealth can work on my girls, but valkyries can actually follow a shadow-jump, which I don’t think the Wreath knows. They’ve been watching conversations that took place where the Wreath thought they were in private. And apparently, they don’t mean us any harm.”

“That is difficult to credit,” Shaeine observed.

“Not very so,” Scorn disagreed, gesticulating with her again-empty coffee cup. “We have here Vadrieny and Teal, yes? They are very important to the Wreath. Not to be trusted, these warlocks, but they will not do harm to us on purpose. Manipulate us, yes.”

“That’s…pretty much the long and the short of it, actually,” said Gabriel slowly, giving Scorn a thoughtful look. “What they’re trying to do is goad us into chasing them so they can lead us into learning things about the Universal Church.”

“That does fit,” Toby said pensively.

“It worked,” Trissiny muttered, staring at the table.

“Here’s the thing, though,” Gabriel went on. “I think Tellwyrn is allowing this.”

“What?” Juniper frowned heavily. “You’ve gotta be kidding. You know how Tellwyrn gets when people threaten her students!”

“However,” Shaeine countered, “if they are specifically not threatening us, and in fact trying to help us learn something…”

“Oh, I could totally see that,” Fross chimed. “I mean, c’mon, think about the things she has us do. We keep getting sent into politically volatile situations to try and fix them, not to mention dangerous stuff like the Crawl and the Golden Sea. And these are supposed to be educational excursions. Tellwyrn wouldn’t be shy about letting the Wreath play around with us, as long as she had some control.”

“And she does,” Gabriel agreed. “Specifically, she’s got Professor Ekoi riding their tails. There was a bit of a lull before last night while the warlocks tried to figure out just what Ekoi was and what to do about it. It seems they actually managed to speak with her, though, and apparently reached some kind of agreement, because…” He trailed off, wincing. “Well, then there was last night.”

“So,” Teal said, frowning deeply, “we can consider this…a University-sanctioned activity?”

“How utterly typical,” Trissiny growled.

“Tellwyrn, it sounds she is a good teacher,” Scorn observed. “The world is not easy, even a soft one like this. Best to learn hard things in hard ways, while there is someone to watch over and keep you safe, yes? Then when you go out to the world, you are not surprised by how hard it hits.”

“I believe that is Tellwyrn’s educational philosophy precisely,” said Shaeine.

“Let’s back up for a moment,” said Toby. “Gabe, you said the Wreath are trying to lead us by the nose into something about the Universal Church?”

“Well, that’s the other thing,” Gabriel said grimly. “You remember our last discussion about this, after Bishop Snowe’s little stunt? We decided the Archpope was being sneaky, but he was probably a lower priority than the Wreath. Well, Vestrel and her sisters had been keeping tabs on those two new priestesses, as I said. First off, both of them are Universal Church loyalists, sent here specifically by Justinian.”

“How certain are you of that?” Trissiny asked quietly.

“Takli has a magic mirror,” he replied. “It’s connected to another one in the Cathedral in Tiraas; Aelgrind actually watched her communicate with a handler back there. Aside from that, though, she hasn’t done anything; her assignment is to try to bring you around to the Archpope’s side, Triss.”

“Really,” Trissiny said, scowling. “And she thought yelling at me would accomplish that?”

“Under the circumstances, I could see that being a valid opening move,” said Shaeine. “You grew up in the military, Trissiny; I would assume that being spoken to sharply about your mistakes is not an unfamiliar experience for you. A campaign such as that would take considerable time. She probably expects to build a relationship with you over the course of months or years.”

“Creepy,” Juniper muttered.

“Yeah, Takli’s… Honestly, that may be creepy, but it worries me less,” said Gabriel seriously. “The real problem is Lorelin. Guys… In all honesty, I think the Wreath has a point, here, in that she’s worse than anything they’re doing.”

“Here,” Toby said firmly. “Whatever she’s done may be worse than they’re doing here. Never forget who the Black Wreath are or what they’re capable of.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said ruefully, “I think that may be part of what tripped me up. I wanted to wait and see what they and she did, and I thought you guys would insist on going after them directly…”

“Oh, for fuck’s fucking sake!” Ruda burst out. “Arquin, what did this woman do?”

“Right, sorry,” he said, grimacing. “Well… At the higher levels of Vidian formal casting are varieties of misdirection and emotional influence that are almost like fae magic. I’ve just barely started studying this stuff; I’m nowhere near being able to do it, but I know what it is. Well, Lorelin has an apparatus set up in her private chamber that lets her extend her influence over the whole town.”

“Ohhh, I don’t think I like where this is going,” Fross whispered.

Gabriel nodded grimly. “It wasn’t specifically meant to harm, just to aid in Justinian’s propaganda campaign. The effect she’s been trying to put into place is meant to make people more emotional, more susceptible to manipulation.”

“So,” Teal said slowly, “for example… If a paladin went chasing a demon through the town, people who might otherwise take that in stride…”

“That fucking asshole,” Ruda snarled. “A priest is supposed to serve people! You don’t fucking do that to a whole town full of people!”

“I say we go right to Tellwyrn with this,” said Juniper decisively. “Last Rock may not be exactly her domain, but that could affect the students, too!”

“Actually, I already went to Tellwyrn,” said Gabriel. “The scrolltower office was closed last night, and anyway, I thought it as a little sensitive for public transmission… So I asked her to get a message to the Imperial government.”

“That is an excellent idea,” Shaeine said approvingly. “Whoever else is affected by this Lorelin Reich’s actions, that was an abusive and highly illegal magical effect to place over a whole town full of Imperial civilians.”

“Sorry for not including you guys in that,” Gabriel said hastily, “but I wanted to get it done as quick as possible, and everybody was already off to bed at that point. And yeah… I want to go down there and punch her teeth in as much as everybody else, but in this case I think it’s better to do it properly. Tellwyrn agreed. She was, uh, much less condescending than usual about it.”

“I think you still should do something,” said Trissiny. “Or say something at least, before the Empire takes over. You’re the Hand of her god.”

“True,” Gabriel admitted, frowning in thought.

“Um, I think I have something to add to that,” said Fross. “Okay, Trissiny, this is about what I was going to tell you—last night when the wards went off, the signal was really strange. It was a false demon trace, like we suspected, but there were elements to it that looked peculiar.”

“Dangerous?” Trissiny asked, frowning.

“Actually, no, not that I could see. That’s why I didn’t come help; I know you can take care of yourself and I didn’t think you were in any danger. It seemed more important to figure out what was happening, because there were layers to that spell that were clearly aimed at more subtle effects.”

“What did you learn?” asked Shaeine.

“Well!” The pixie bobbed up and down twice. “First I recognized an energy signature in the spell matrix that really jumped out at me, because the only place I’ve ever seen before is in Juniper’s aura.”

“Wait, what?” the dryad exclaimed, straightening up in alarm.

“Specifically in the block in your aura. It’s a frequency that relates somehow to Avei. See, I don’t detect divine magic directly but its presence can be inferred from how fae and arcane energies are changed by it. Took me most of the night to unravel this and study it properly, but I’m pretty sure what I found is… Okay, there’s that energy signature, right? Only it’s set up with a disruptive counter-frequency.”

“Wait, you’re saying the Black Wreath has the ability to disrupt my connection to Avei?” Trissiny exclaimed.

“Oh, no, absolutely not, that’d never work. You could maybe do that to a priest, but if you did it between a deity and her paladin, Avei would notice and step right in, which is exactly what the Wreath doesn’t want. No, it doesn’t try to sever your connection to her, but… Um, for want of a better term, agitate it. It really puzzled me, because it seemed like what it would do is diffuse her influence more broadly through your own aura. I don’t really know the specifics of how you’re linked to her, but that seems like, if anything, it would make you more in tune with her, not less.”

“Of course,” said Scorn, shrugging when everyone turned to look at her. “The Wreath, they are wanting to get a reaction, yes? Well, Trissiny is a trained warrior—maybe not crafty, but also not stupid. So if they can make her more like the big angry goddess and less like the soldier, maybe she is more easy to manipulate.”

“That’s…absolutely horrifying,” Toby breathed. “Have they always been able to do this?”

“Surely not,” said Trissiny, her eyes wide. “It has to be a new spell. I mean, if the Black Wreath could do that… Someone would have noticed before now.”

“How, though?” Gabriel asked. “Think about it. Detecting this required them to be doing it in proximity to a custom made divine-arcane fusion detection ward, under the direct attention of a mage who, being fae, is naturally sensitive to emotionally manipulative magic. How many times do you think those circumstances have lined up? And quite frankly, almost nobody gives Fross credit for being as smart as she is; it probably wouldn’t even occur to them that she could isolate and figure out that element in their spell.”

“It would be an extremely sensible spell for the Wreath to employ,” Shaeine said quietly. “Virtually no warlock is anything resembling a match for a paladin, particularly one of Avei. Yet, Hands of Avei have fallen to the Wreath in years past, usually through trickery. Any measure that could make a Hand more susceptible to their ploys would be immensely valuable to them.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Trissiny whispered.

“And that is why you don’t turn your back on the Wreath,” Toby growled. “Whatever their intentions right now, they are still capable of doing things like this. They must absolutely not be trusted.”

“Yeah,” Ruda agreed, “but the fact remains… After these events, we pretty much can’t deny that the Archpope is also on our enemies list. Him and them, they’re apparently after the same thing: they want control of the paladins.”

“Bring them,” said Scorn, raising her chin. “Everybody bleeds the same!”

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Shaeine, nodding to her, “but at the core of that sentiment is truth. We must be prepared to contend with anyone and everyone who means us harm.”

“Uh, guys?” said Juniper hesitantly. “I know it’s kind of anticlimactic and I hate to break this up, but…we have class. We’d better get moving or we’ll be late for Tellwyrn. And she barely needs an excuse to be a jerk anyway.”

Gabriel sighed and slid off the bench. “Yeah… Well, needless to say, we aren’t done talking about this.”

“Agreed,” said Toby, rising as well. “We know what we’re dealing with, now; we need to decide on a course of action.”

They got to their feet with some stretching and groaning—it had indeed been a very long night for several of them.

“Gabriel,” Trissiny said quietly, catching his sleeve as they stepped into the rear of the line that straggled off toward Helion Hall. “Did you really think I would charge face-first at the Wreath if you told me this was going on?”

He winced. “I really wasn’t thinking in conscious terms, Triss. I’m sorry, nothing personal was meant—it was just a knee-jerk reaction. And it wasn’t just about you!”

“The rest of our class is two pacifists, two fairies, a diplomat and a competent combat strategist,” she said woodenly. “If you thought somebody was going to fly off the handle and do something violent, that pretty much leaves me, doesn’t it?”

“I didn’t—”

“And you didn’t even have to think about it,” she added, staring ahead at Toby’s back.

“Triss,” he said miserably, “this isn’t a reflection on you. I was an idiot. Please don’t be mad…”

“I don’t…think…I am,” she murmured. “I’m honestly not sure what I think. I’m…honestly not sure I’d have any right to be mad, after last night.”

There was a small rooftop terrace at the edge of Helion Hall’s large central dome, where a little round table and chair were attached to the stone roof. No stairs or other access led to it, which was hardly a barrier to many of those who dwelt on this campus. It was a signal, though: Professor Tellwyrn did not desire to share her private breakfast nook. Fortunately, most of the students never even learned it was there, otherwise a good many of them would have taken that for a challenge.

She sipped the remainder of her tea, watching the sophomore class trickle toward the building from the terrace below.

“I am extending a great deal of trust, Kaisa,” she said quietly.

“So you are!” Ekoi replied cheerfully, stepping out from behind her, where she had definitely not been a moment before. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’m so proud of you!”

“I’ll accept certain risks as necessary,” Tellwyrn said bitingly, “but let’s keep the recklessness to a minimum, shall we? Last night was probably the first time in all of history that dragging Mabel Cratchley into a problem actually helped it.”

“That’s because of the dragging, Arachne,” said Ekoi, perching on the edge of the table. “You always drag people, or push them, or threaten them. If you do it properly, people will do what you want without once suspecting it wasn’t fully their own idea.”

Tellwyrn shook her head. “I am still not sanguine about this. Whatever assurances were given by this Mogul character, or Elilial herself, tolerating the Wreath’s presence here is an invitation to disaster.”

“Not, I maintain, if we manage them with care. Arachne,” the kitsune said more gently, “this will work. You’ve made progress with Trissiny, but, in truth, you’re the wrong person to reach her; you are just too much like her. I have been guiding young minds longer than you have existed—at least, as far as we know. Believe me, I know how to get through to her.”

Tellwyrn sighed. “All right, it’s not as if you haven’t earned the benefit of the doubt. But when Avei comes stomping down here to throw one of her divine fits about me letting the Wreath play with her paladin, you can talk to her. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a class.”

She vanished with a soft pop of displaced air, leaving behind the empty teacup.

Kaisa shifted her body to peer down at the approaching students, her tail waving eagerly.

“It’s a date.”

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A constant background noise of angry mutters filled the square, but for a moment at least, it was still. Wilson cowered under the glow of active battlestaves, the townspeople held position, and the students stood as if frozen in place.

“Teal,” Sekandar said very quietly, “this would be a good time to show your other face, I think.”

Vadrieny shifted her head, fixing Scorn with a fiery stare, and said softly, “Be still.” In the next moment, however, she withdrew, flaming wings and claws vanishing to leave Teal still holding the towering Rhaazke by one arm. Scorn looked unhappy, her jaw clenched, but she obeyed the archdemon’s last command.

A man stepped to the side from the thick of the crowd, seizing the young boy by the arm and bodily tugging him backward, scowling and mouthing an obvious reprimand that was inaudible to the students from beneath the constant babble. Rook drew in a deep breath and let it out explosively, keeping his grip on his staff but sagging physically in relief to the point that the weapon drifted down to aim at the ground.

In that moment of comparative calm, Ravana cleared her throat and stepped forward, attempting to push between Finchley and Rook. When neither man budged and she failed to exhibit the necessary physical strength to force them to, she cleared her throat again, more loudly, and spoke in a well-practiced, resonating voice that projected across the square despite the angry buzzing of the townsfolk opposite.

“Gentlemen, if you will not lower your weapons, kindly power them down, at least? It’s clear to me that we are suffering from a series of misunderstandings. I have no intention of bringing any formal charges against Mr. Wilson. We do not punish people for having opinions.”

Rook and Finchley paused, glancing at each other, but Moriarty immediately relaxed his grip on his staff’s clicker, causing the electric glow limning its business end to fade. Rook followed suit a moment later, and all three shifted their grips to aim the weapons skyward.

The square grew quieter; while the crowd kept up a low, disaffected murmur, the shouting ceased. More people continued to trickle in through side alleys, but they all slowed and peered around on arrival, the additional numbers seeming not to add to the overall tension.

“Very good,” Ravana said with an approving smile. “Now—”

At that second, Trissiny and Gabriel dashed into the square from the direction of the town’s edge, both skidding to a stop and staring at the scene.

Immediately, shouting resumed, louder and angrier than before.

“There she is!”

“What the hell’s wrong with you, girl?!”

“You know how—”

“Repent!”

“Goddammit, Carl!”

“All y’all, settle, let ‘er explain—”

“Please!” Trissiny shouted, raising her hands—which was not as calming a gesture as she seemed to mean it, since she was still holding her sword. “Everyone, please! Is anybody hurt? Did anyone notice something alarming or odd tonight?”

“Y’mean, aside from you?” a woman shouted derisively, prompting a chorus of agreement.

“Triss,” Gabriel said, “I don’t think…”

“Listen to me!” she shouted. “There was a demon in this town tonight! It’s very important that everyone make sure they and their neighbors are unharmed and unaffected.” This had a slight calming effect on the crowd, but angry mutters continued. “If you feel at all unwell or out of the ordinary, please go to the church or the Vidian temple to speak with a priest; symptoms of infernal attack can be—”

“Is that why you broke down the Saloon’s door, you hooligan?” barked an older man in a ragged hat.

Trissiny visibly gritted her teeth. “I was trying—”

“You can’t just warn people about danger, you gotta run around scarin’ folks half to death an’ breakin’ down doors?!”

“Listen to me—”

“You knocked over my front fence! Who’s gonna fix that?”

“Stop,” Szith ordered, thrusting a fist in front of Sekandar when he tried to push forward. “Defending her will only make this worse. We need to disengage, all of us.”

Indeed, Gabriel appeared to be trying to persuade Trissiny to back away, though his muttered pleas were swamped by the slowly increasing roar of the crowd.

“That. Is. ENOUGH!”

Gabriel and Trissiny both jumped apart, whirling to face the stooped figure that emerged from the alley behind them. Finally, actual quiet descended on the scene, broken only by scattered murmurs. She hobbled forward, dragging herself along on two canes, and a veritable chorus of sighs rose from the citizens of Last Rock, accompanied by many rolled eyes and shaken heads.

“Evenin’, Miz Cratchley,” someone said in a tone of ostentatious resignation, earning a few titters.

“I never saw such a sad display,” Mabel Cratchley declared, pulling herself to a stop just inside the square and glaring furiously. “What’s got into you people? Where are the good, solid folk who who’ve weathered prairie storms and elf raids since before that mountain had anything on it but flowers? A hundred years and more Last Rock has stood here, since before the Empire bothered to extend its protection over us, and we’ve stood our ground on our land just the same. We’ve relied on nothing but each other and the gods, and lived to remember it. We earned our lives out here, through work, faith, and god-given skill. And now…now, I find y’all standing around, fixing to throw a fit because of a few bruises and broken fence latches? What, you got shoved and shouted at, and now you have to whip up a mob?” She pointed one cane at the prone form of Wilson, teetering momentarily on the other. “I expect such from fools such as that. I thought better of the rest of you!

“What would make you happy?” the old woman continued, taking another shaky step into the square. The now-quiet crowd actually pressed backward, as if physically driven by the force of her outrage. “There was a demon in our town. A demon! And you’re all pitching a fit because someone rushed down here to warn you, and chase it off? Have every last one of you lost your minds? We have the incredible blessing of a paladin in our midst to protect us, a Hand of a goddess herself, and you’re all complaining? You’d like it better if she left you to see your children corrupted and strangled in their beds, is that what I’m hearing?”

She planted both canes firmly in the dirt, then laboriously straightened her spine, drawing herself up to a surprisingly considerable height to glare at the silent throng. “I’ve no shortage of complaints with that woman and her school. You’ve all heard them. I’ve argued with many of you, and I have never been shy to criticize those who needed it, be they honest Last Rock folk, the Calderaan governors, the Empire, the University, whoever! Yes, I’ve known my share of grievances. But in my eighty-six years until this night, I have never been ashamed of my neighbors.”

The silence was crushing.

Every person in Last Rock had heard Mabel Cratchley complain, and more than otherwise had felt the swat of one of her canes on their backsides while growing up, and been prodded by them many times since. But not a soul present had ever before heard her voice quavering on the edge of tears as it was tonight.

“I can’t even look at you.” The old woman drew in a deep, shaking breath, sinking back down into her customary stoop, then laboriously began turning back the way she had come. “Ms. Trissiny, if the gods have any regard for the opinion of one old woman, then by the time I’ve finished my prayers this night, Avei will know there is one soul in Last Rock who is grateful that she watches over us.”

“Here.” Trissiny sheathed her blade and stepped quickly over to Ms. Cratchley’s side. “Let me help you home, ma’am. It’s late.”

“Bless you, child, but I know my way. You’ve better to do than waste your time on the likes of me.”

“The demon’s gone.” Trissiny’s voice was low and calm, but in the silence left by Ms. Cratchley’s speech, it echoed across the square. “And a paladin is not more important than anyone else. We serve, that’s all.”

The old woman started to speak, then simply cleared her throat and nodded mutely, allowing Trissiny to take her by one arm.

Everyone watched in silence as they retreated back down the alley, till they were lost in the shadows and the soft shuffling of Ms. Cratchley’s feet faded away.

Then Ravana took advantage of her escorts’ distraction to slip between them and out into the square.

“Well, then,” she said briskly, “I understand there was some incidental damage done during Trissiny’s ride through the town? Doors, fences, the like? Why don’t we see if we can help set things straight?”

“Aw, now, you don’t need to trouble yourselves,” a man at the front of the crowd said, doffing his hat, while others shuffled and muttered awkwardly behind him.

“Nonsense,” said Sekandar, pushing his way forward with a smile. “It’s late, and everyone will be wanting to get to bed as quickly as possible; best to get these things squared away.”

“Aye!” Maureen agreed brightly, stepping forward and tugging Iris by the hand; Rook gave up on trying to hold the students back and moved aside, making a wry face. “That’s what neighbors do fer each other, after all!”

The students began shifting forward in unspoken agreement, with the exception of Shaeine, who caught Scorn’s hand and leaned up to murmur to the demon. The townsfolk continued mumbling and shuffling, but without hostility now. Their ranks opened up, letting the students move among them, where Ravana and Sekandar led the way in asking for directions to any property damaged during Trissiny’s ride.

“S-so,” Wilson said tremulously, “that’s that, then? I, uh, reckon I oughtta go apologize to the young lady. Don’t rightly know what got into me…”

“Same as always, isn’t it?” Finchley said rather archly. His expression softened when Wilson slumped his shoulders, lowering his gaze to the ground. “We on for poker as usual on Wednesday?”

“Don’t see why not!” the older man agreed quickly, nodding in eagerness. “Lemme just see if I can get the lady’s attention real quick—”

“You’ll have to do that another time, Wilson,” Moriarty said firmly. “Right now, we’re going to the Sheriff’s.”

“What?” Wilson gaped at him. “B-but she said—”

“She said she would not press charges,” Moriarty replied. “She did not direct us to rescind arrest, and there remains the matter of you interfering with a soldier of the Empire in the protection of an Imperial governor by means of physical assault.”

“Omnu’s balls, Wilson, you’re lucky we know you,” Finchley said in exasperation. “You don’t grab a soldier’s weapon. Ever.”

“Any other trooper in the Empire woulda shot your ass dead in the street,” Rook agreed, “and the inevitable inquest would’ve backed them up. Now, c’mon, let’s go explain to Sam why you’re a towering dumbass. That’s pretty much his usual Monday night, anyway.”

They led the shamefaced man off toward the town center, while the now-blended group of citizens and students dispersed through the side streets.

Behind them all, Scorn scowled heavily at nothing in particular. After a long moment of sulking, she childishly stomped one clawed foot on the ground before turning to stalk back in the direction of the University campus.

“All right,” Basra said, planting her fists on her hips. “This was not what I was expecting.”

There were two Silver Legions currently based in Viridill, the Second on constant patrol through the province and the Fourth encamped in Vrin Shai itself. Soldiers of the Fourth were now spread through the city, forming cordons around each of its multiple canals. So far, though, they were only standing there, enforcing a safe distance between what was in those canals and the citizens who had come out to gawk at it.

Water elementals were clearly visible, amorphous beings formed of the canal water itself, changing shape as they jumped about on the surface and seeming to vanish entirely when they submerged beneath it. They spent an awful lot of time up in the air, though, most splashing each other and shooting jets of water here and there, and occasionally at any people they happened to catch sight of. A few of the onlookers were still soaked from such incidents during the elementals’ first appearance, but by this point, most of those targeted were Legionnaires now standing resignedly in wet armor.

In addition to the near-constant noise of splashing, the elementals had voices which were now audible almost everywhere in the city. They were high-pitched, unearthly, and spoke in no language anyone understood, but they were also unmistakably laughing. Or, more often, giggling.

It seemed all they wanted to do was play.

Basra and her party had edged up to the perimeter enforced by the soldiers, studying the scene, with the exception of Ami, who was keeping a respectful distance and a protective grip on her guitar. A sudden squirt of water shot out of the canal, scattering against the golden shield that flashed into place around Basra and incidentally spraying Schwartz, who squealed rather girlishly and skittered backward.

“Is it possible we were mistaken about the elemental at the house?” Ildrin asked. “I mean…we started in on it almost before it could do anything. These seem harmless enough… Maybe it just wanted to talk.”

“That thing was eight feet tall and built like an ogre,” Ami said from behind them. “It clearly had the brute force to be a danger, and the subtlety to penetrate our defenses without effort. The choice of messenger was the message. Specifically, a threat.”

“Exactly,” said Basra. “Schwartz, you’re certain there are no other elementals called up in the city? Just these…things?”

“I was twenty minutes ago,” he said, wiping off his glasses on the sleeve of his robe. “My divination spread is back at the house… But no, this was what I detected arriving, this and the one specimen that, ah, visited us.”

“The situation is tentatively considered under control,” said the Legionnaire wearing a captain’s insignia who stood nearby, having been grabbed and quickly interrogated by Basra upon their arrival. “At the moment we’re awaiting the arrival of sisters from the temple; General Ralavideh has ordered something called a…frog-in-a-pot maneuver.”

“What does that mean?” Basra demanded.

“I’ve no idea, your Grace,” the captain said with long-suffering patience. This was far from the first very pointed question the Bishop had shot at her. “I’m not a cleric.”

“It’s a reference to the old metaphor,” said Schwartz, now soothingly stroking Meesie, who seemed agitated by all the wetness in the vicinity. “You know, how you can boil a living frog slowly if you increase the heat in its pot by increments, but it’ll jump out if you try to do it all at once? Same applies to using divine magic to neutralize elementals. If you just flare up at them, they’ll be able to tell you’re weakening them, and react to that. If you start very gently, though, and gradually increase the power, you can progressively weaken them until they just…fall apart.”

“Hm,” said Branwen, chewing her lower lip and frowning at the occupied canal. “Offhand I can think of several problems with that plan…”

“Yeah,” Schwartz agreed, nodding. “With all respect to the general and the Sisterhood, I don’t think that’s going to work. For one thing, these are all over the whole city. You’d need an army of priests to cover the whole space to do it all at once; if you did it sequentially, canal by canal, it’d take days. And that’s assuming the elementals stayed gone once banished—what’s happened here is there were charms evoked in the water itself, which means they’re likely to reappear once it’s not being actively channeled at.”

“You could compensate for that by blessing the canals,” Ildrin offered.

“Yes,” Schwartz agreed, “theoretically. But there’s another problem; doing this maneuver requires divine casters to call up and hold a constant stream of energy. You pretty much can’t not do that without risking serious burnout. I, uh…honestly, this sounds to me like something to do when you lack better options.”

“We have our orders,” the captain said stiffly. “I’m sure the general has everything under control.”

“The canals are full of water elementals,” Basra snapped. “Whether or not they’re presenting an active threat, this whole city is very much not under control. Schwartz, are these things as harmless as they seem?”

“You mean potentially?” He shrugged helplessly. “I mean, if they all attacked, that’d be a big problem. And I don’t see what’s stopping them… But, like, tactically speaking, if they were going to do that, wouldn’t they have done it at first, when they had the element of surprise?”

“Maybe this shaman really isn’t trying to start a fight,” Jenell mused.

“The other elemental incidents throughout the province were definitely hostile,” said Basra. “Not nearly as violent as they could have been—in fact, they did seem to specifically avoid causing unnecessary harm. But still hostile. This is a departure.”

“And, again,” Ami added, “that rock elemental was not a friendly thing to send us, whether or not it was planning to bash all our brains in.”

Before anyone could respond to that, another Legionnaire in soaking wet armor came dashing up, saluting. “Captain Veiss! New orders from the general.”

“Ah, good,” the captain said, pointedly turning her back on Basra, whose increasingly sharp questions she’d been enduring with steadily diminishing patience. “We’re ready to begin?”

“No, ma’am,” the soldier replied. “The operation is suspended; new orders will be coming shortly. You’re to hold position, keep the civilians away from the elementals. Bishop Syrinx,” she added, turning to Basra. “That’s…you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Basra replied. “Ralavideh has orders for me, as well?”

“A request, ma’am,” the messenger said diplomatically. “She would like you to join her to discuss new developments in this situation as soon as possible.”

“Excellent,” Basra said with clear satisfaction. “At the temple?”

“No, ma’am, she’s set up a field command post at a square in a more central location in the city. I’ll guide you.”

“Lead on,” the Bishop replied, glancing aside at the rest of her party with a wry lift of one eyebrow. “Well, fall in, troops. It seems we’re going visiting.”

They had gone right to the nearest canal from their house, which fortunately was, itself, not far from the center of the city. To reach General Ralavideh’s temporary headquarters, they only had to travel a few blocks and descend one tier. It was a mostly uneventful trip, though it required some navigating around rubbernecking residents. So far, no curfew had been declared, and nothing was preventing curious citizens from standing around gawking at the unusual sights; the Legionnaires seemed to mostly be keeping them away from the canals by sheer presence. Silver Legionnaires were very much respected in Vrin Shai.

There was a brief delay when they had to cross a canal and their guide warned them that anyone traversing the bridges could expect to be liberally splashed. Basra had quickly vetoed the use of divine shields, lest it agitate the elementals, but then Ami had flatly (and dramatically) refused to risk getting her guitar wet. Ultimately they had trooped across, Branwen holding a compact little shield over their bard, while the rest of them got soaked. For the remainder of the trip, Schwartz worked some of his own magic to dry them (and their grateful escort) off, while everyone rather irritably gave Ami a cold shoulder.

A market square just beyond the bridge had been overtaken by the Fourth Legion; their guide led them past an outer perimeter of soldiers into an orderly beehive of activity, making straight for a cluster of folding tables which seemed to be the center of the whole operation. As they approached, Basra lengthened her stride, passing their escort and striding right up to the General.

Ralavideh was a Tiraan woman in her fifties, short and stocky in her armor, with graying hair trimmed close to her head. She was surrounded by a dozen people, a mix of senior officers, priestesses of Avei, and off to one side a small knot of civilians in diverse attire. She turned away from a cleric upon Basra’s arrival, nodding in greeting.

“Ah, Captain Syrinx—good, I was hoping one of my messengers would find you.”

“Thank you for including me, General,” Basra replied. “I’m long since discharged, though, you needn’t address me by rank. What’s the situation?”

“At this moment,” said Ralavideh, “we have an unprecedented annoyance in Vrin Shai, but the situation appears not to be dangerous. That doesn’t mean we intend to leave it as is; the Governor agrees with me that these beings need to be removed as swiftly as possible. Right now our focus is on doing so without escalating the situation. Have you anything to contribute to our knowledge of the, for want of a better word, enemy?”

“Not of these specifically,” Basra said, nodding to Schwartz. “My elemental specialist, here, had detection wards over the city and hasn’t identified any other incursions, though we were visited by a large rock elemental at our temporary base.”

“Hm,” the General mused, frowning down at a map of Vrin Shai on the table before her. “Then I’m not the only one who knows the Abbess set you on the hunt for this elementalist. Well! In addition to wanting your perspective, we have unexpected help who also asked to see you as soon as possible.”

Indeed, as she was speaking, a man with a familiar bearded face stepped forward, trailed by the other assorted civilians who had been clustered together at one corner of Ralivedeh’s command post. “Your Grace! Good to see you again!”

“Mr. Hargrave,” Basra replied, nodding. “I confess I hadn’t expected to meet again so soon.”

“Yes, I’ve made…well, it’s a long story,” he said seriously. “These are some of the people I went to speak with. Over a dozen have come to Vrin Shai with me; Abbess Darnassy said we could find you here.”

“You brought Viridill’s witches here?” Basra asked, her eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Well, not all of them, by any means,” Hargrave clarified hastily. “You see, it’s—”

General Ralivedeh cleared her throat pointedly.

“Right,” Hargrave said quickly. “Priorities. They were going to try neutralizing the elementals with priestesses, which would have been quite risky and probably ineffective. Now that we’re here, the rest of my friends have fanned out through the city to begin laying preparations, and we’re going to deal with this matter first of all. Barring any further upsets, I believe we can have all this cleared away in a few hours. Tomorrow, though, I’d like to have a lengthy conversation about what we’ve learned.”

“Excellent,” she said emphatically. “Can you use another caster? Schwartz, make yourself useful.”

“Glad to!” the Salyrite said cheerfully, stepping forward. “Actually, I may have some fresh data to add to your findings—I had a good, solid ward network overlaying the city before all this started up, and I was able to detect…”

He melted into Hargrave’s gaggle of witches and they drifted off toward the canal in the near distance, talking among themselves.

“That’s been the theme of the evening,” Ralavedeh said with an annoyed twist of her mouth. “I’m glad they came along, but you know what it’s like working with civilians. Takes a constant effort to know what they’re doing and make sure they don’t screw up my chain of command.”

“I do know,” Basra agreed. “Well, for the time being it seems I’m a little superfluous, here…”

“Actually,” said the General, “since you brought your whole group, I wonder if I could borrow them for a bit?” She turned, nodding to the others. “I understand Bishop Snowe and a trained bard have joined you—we’ve a use for talents exactly like that.”

“Oh?” Basra raised an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ami asked dryly. “Or do you intend to just leave this mob to its own devices?”

Beyond the perimeter marked by the Legionnaires, a noisy and energetic crowd were circulating, talking and gesticulating eagerly. No one seemed particularly agitated, though, and while their general noise didn’t yield any specific conversational threads at this distance, it didn’t sound angry.

“I would hardly call that a mob,” Basra began.

“Well, that doesn’t mean you just ignore them,” Branwen said in mild exasperation. “This is what you wanted us for, General?”

“If you’re able and willing,” Ralavedeh replied, nodding. “Citizens of Vrin Shai are a respectful people as a rule, and they trust the Legions, but you simply cannot drop an event like this on top of thousands of civilians and expect it to stay calm indefinitely. Fortunately this happened at dusk; provided we can get it squared away before business hours begin tomorrow, we can hopefully avoid any serious unrest. For now, I would like any help possible in keeping a lid on this.”

“Hm,” Ami mused, absently tuning her guitar and frowning at the onlookers. “That’s hardly the whole population of the city. Nor even a significant percentage…”

“It’s a start, though,” Branwen said with a smile. “Come, Bas, let’s see if we can’t put people’s minds at ease.”

She glided off toward the edge of the square opposite the bridge without waiting for anyone’s approval, apparently not seeing the scowl Basra directed at her back. Ildrin, Ami, and Jenell, who had seen it, followed at a more circumspect distance.

At the other end, the plaza terminated on a broad staircase only four steps tall. It was a short enough drop that they could plainly see the people milling around below it, built mostly for decoration and to prevent wheeled vehicles from entering the market square. Legionnaires were guarding the staircase, however, keeping the civilians isolated in the wide street below.

The crowd focused its attention on the top of the stairs as Branwen arrived, taking a position near the center between two soldiers, who looked quizzically at her and then at a nearby officer. Apparently having been told what to expect, the lieutenant gestured them away, and they shifted to the very edges of the staircase, distancing themselves from the Izarite Bishop. By that point, a few scattered cheers had broken out and people surged forward eagerly, smiling up at Branwen.

“Well, what a night this is!” she said, her light voice projecting skillfully out over the crowd, and earned a laugh from her audience. “I’m a guest here, myself, so please don’t take anything I say as an official pronouncement. General Ralavedeh has very kindly allowed me to speak to you—which works out well for everyone, as I’m sure you know how much I love to hear myself talk.”

During the laugh which followed this, Ami mused aloud, coincidentally having placed herself close enough to Basra to be audible to her, “My, she’s actually rather good at extemporizing, isn’t she? Somehow, I’d though all her speeches were the work of Church handlers.”

“What I can tell you,” Branwen continued as soon as it was quiet enough again, “is that the Sisterhood of Avei has matters well in hand. At this point, it’s not yet certain what is happening or why, but there is no indication that anyone is in any danger. And should these…peculiar visitors take a turn toward hostility… Well, in that event, I find I am still not overly concerned. This is Vrin Shai, after all!”

She beamed proudly down at them, waiting for the cheers to subside before continuing. “It’s hardly a secret that the cults of the Pantheon don’t all see eye-to-eye, and indeed, my faith has its frictions with Avei’s. If I must be surrounded by an invasion of strange elementals, though, I can honestly say there is no one among whom I would rather find myself. Yes, the Sisters of Avei are indeed fearsome in battle, and the presence of all these Legionnaires makes me feel much safer. But there’s far more to it than that! Avei is a goddess who places great trust in people. For all of the Sisterhood’s history, she has encouraged people to find their own courage, to hone their skills, and the result is what you see around you! An invincible city, filled with an unconquerable people, living under the aegis of a goddess who has led them to be the most they can be!”

More cheers, this time slower to subside. Branwen nodded and smiled encouragingly, but before she opened her mouth to speak again, there came a shout from near the front of the crowd. The speaker hadn’t waited for silence, and so most of the words were lost, but the Bishop was apparently close enough to make them out clearly. All that was clearly audible from Basra’s position behind her was “Last Rock.”

Apparently, Branwen was not the only one who’d heard the words. The crowd’s voice faltered into confusion, cheers and applause continuing from various quarters, while others who had been close enough to hear broke off their adulation, murmuring.

“It’s hardly kind to cast aspersion on the people of the frontier,” Branwen said with an artful hint of reproach. “In fact, I was in Last Rock very recently, and I found them to be a most admirable folk as well. They have had a different journey through history than you, and were shaped by different pressures, but I rather think they would cope well with a situation such as this, too. The prairie breeds hardy and adaptive folk.

“If anything, the comparison should only encourage you! For all their strengths, the folk of Last Rock lack a great gift that Avei has bestowed on you: leadership and examples which come from within, not from above. You live with and among the Sisterhood—the Legionnaires rise from within your own families, proving the potential of a whole population. No one sits high atop a mountain, grooming rogue adventurers and denying you a place among them.”

She paused for more reaction again, but this time the result was clearly not as she expected. The onlookers frowned, glancing at one another in apparent confusion—at least, some of them. Quite a few tittered, and open laughs sounded from several direction. Branwen hesitated, for the first time betraying uncertainty.

“So, your Grace,” called a male voice from near the front, the same voice which had shouted about Last Rock. “I take it you haven’t seen today’s papers?”

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The gentler slope of the mountain was challenging but not too arduous to climb on foot, but that same angle made for a rather frightening descent when one was pounding down it on horseback at a full gallop. Nonetheless, Arjen’s every step was sure and unfaltering, even when he leaped over the switchbacking stone path that crossed the slope multiple times. He was, after all, no ordinary horse. Trissiny rode low in the saddle, keeping her body angled forward in defiance of the instinctive urge to lean backward against the slope, trusting her steed to manage the way and focusing fully upon the ephemeral sensation she was tracking.

She could feel it in the same subtle way as her customary ability to sense evil, a grating, tingling sense of alarm in the back of her mind. Now, however, augmented by Fross’s wards, there was direction to it. Trissiny could have pointed to each of the arcane wards set up in the streets of Last Rock, and could feel the connections between them. It was like a giant spider web, in a way; the links between the wards, and the threads of magic connecting them to her own divine senses, hummed when touched. Now, she was the spider, able to interpret those patterns of motion to pinpoint exactly where they were stemming from. That had to be an effect of the spell, since she didn’t have such powers of discernment ordinarily; she could barely sense magic, and had never been able to interpret patterns this way before.

The transition from slope to flat ground was jarring at the speed at which they took it, but Arjen handled it smoothly by gathering himself and leaping the last few yards, landing heavily at the start of the street that ran through Last Rock. It was evening, and despite the falling dusk, people were still up and around on the sidewalks; they all stopped what they were doing and stared at the paladin’s arrival. In fact, the number of them standing around suggested that her approach had been watched at least part of the way down the mountainside.

Trissiny wasted not a second before urging Arjen forward, charging down the street at a gallop. “Clear the way!” she bellowed, trusting the horse not to trample anybody. As it was, a few people who were unwisely still in the road had to scamper aside, a couple with shouted imprecations, which she ignored.

Demonic taint was like a beacon, searing at her subtler senses rather than her eyes. She could feel the incubus—assuming it was the same kind of thing that had disturbed her before; unlike Scorn, she wasn’t able to distinguish between demon species by aura alone. This time, though, she also had the network of wards pointing her onward. It wasn’t as if she could see the creature, not enough to make out its shape, but its presence, and its location, were given away completely.

It was up ahead, and on the move, zigzagging about the street as if dodging around people.

Trissiny and Arjen charged after it, the horse’s speed and straight course rapidly closing the distance. People saw her coming, fortunately, though they weren’t all equally adroit at getting out of the way. One man in the process of pushing a wheelbarrow across the road yelped at the sight of the mounted paladin barreling right at him and fled, arms over his head, leaving Arjen to leap over his barrow rather than waste precious seconds dodging around.

They rounded a corner, thundering down a slightly narrower side street, and at that pace reached the outskirts of the town in moments. She still couldn’t see anything in the roads, but she had felt the several ward points as she passed them, and could sense the disturbance leading her own. Up ahead, though, loomed the new Vidian temple. The demon seemed to be heading right for it.

Trissiny reined Arjen back to a canter, then gradually came to a stop, staring ahead through narrowed eyes. It was still there…but not fleeing, now. It seemed, instead, to be simply drifting. Still toward the temple.

Why would a demon head for holy ground? It made no sense.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doin’, young lady?!” a man shouted, stomping up the road behind her.

“My duty,” she said curtly, not taking her eyes off the fixed point up ahead. Something was wrong here… “Keep back. There is a demon nearby.”

“Demon…” The middle-aged townsman paused, peering around uncertainly. Several other residents of Last Rock crept forward behind him, a few within earshot and most giving her distinctly unhappy looks. “I don’t see nothin’ like that.”

“That’s why they’re dangerous,” Trissiny said.

Suddenly, the target ahead moved, zipping off around the side of the Vidian grounds. She started to spur Arjen after it, but then hesitated, sensing its course, and instead guided him the opposite way. Indeed, as she swept around the temple in a wide arc, the invisible presence in front slammed to a halt, having been attempting to circle around it and head back into the town. It abruptly reversed course, arcing back the way it had come, with Trissiny in hot pursuit.

“Clear the road!” she roared as Arjen rounded the amphitheater. This time, the townsfolk were quicker to obey.

“I almost feel bad,” Embras Mogul confessed, his cheerful grin belying the claim.

“Guilty?” Kaisa asked mildly, her tail waving slowly in the wind.

“Not so much that, as embarrassed,” he replied. “This is just more fun than it ought to be. Seems a little petty, doesn’t it?”

He made another smooth motion with his hands, holding them palms down and with fingers shifting in complex patterns, as if he were manipulating the strings of a marionette. Perched as they were at the base of the church’s steeple, it left him no hands free to hold his balance, but the use of infernal magic was, itself, a balancing act at all times. Embras was surefooted enough not to worry about a fall, but still leaned back against the steeple itself for safety’s sake.

“There’s no harm in enjoying one’s work,” she said lightly. “Especially if one’s work encompasses an invigorating chase. Games are meant to be fun, after all. Now, if you unnecessarily taunted or abused your prey after finishing your hunt, that would be beneath you.”

“Quite so,” he agreed. “Not to mention, in this case, bringing me afoul of our agreement that the girl would be unharmed.”

“Yes, indeed,” Kaisa said solemnly. “There is that.”

“Well, I suppose there’s an element of satisfaction in the long history behind this moment,” Embras murmured, smiling coldly as he watched Trissiny chase the phantom demon trace he was puppeteering far below. “Eons of relations between our respective faiths end up either this way, or with swords and fire. I do believe I like this better. Dance for me, little paladin.”

The demon swerved partway down the street, abruptly diving through the doors into the Saloon. Arjen skidded to a halt at Trissiny’s direction, the paladin flinging herself from his saddle before he fully stopped and charging through the swinging doors.

It was a fairly typical night at the establishment, most of the tables occupied and with Jonas Crete currently plucking out a cheerful tune on the old pianoforte. Every conversation in the place abruptly stopped at her entrance, as did the music, and everyone turned to stare; she had burst in hard enough to make both doors slam against the walls to either side.

The presence was there. It had paused just in front of the stuffed grizzly bear, as if taunting her. Trissiny pivoted on one boot and charged at it, sword out, and her aura blazing to life.

Her blade cut a golden arc through the space where she sensed the demon, cleaving a slice from the bear’s belly in the process. A split-second too late; she felt she might have been close enough to nick it, and indeed it seemed to move unevenly as it fled, but move it did, fast enough that she had clearly not finished it off. The invisible demon skittered away toward the doors to the kitchen.

“Hey!” Jonas shouted, jumping upright hard enough to knock over the piano bench at the sudden damage to his bear. “Kid, what the sam hill are you doin’?!”

“Everyone remain calm and in your seat,” Trissiny barked, whirling to race toward the back door as fast as her boots could carry her. “There is a demon in this room.”

A babble of excited, frightened, and irate voices broke out at that.

“A demon? Where?”

“I don’t see no demon.”

“Bullshit!”

“Keep yer head down, you idjit, the paladin knows her business!”

“Repent!”

“Aw, shuddup, Carl.”

“Now, hold it!” Jonas shouted, rushing to intercept her as she reached the kitchen doors. “That’s off limits to customers—”

“I’m sorry,” Trissiny said curtly, grasping the door handle, “but I don’t have time for this.”

“Look, miss, this here’s my bar, and I got rules. You don’t have the right—”

“I’m very sorry,” she said. Finding the door locked, and not pausing to wonder how that could possibly work with the saloon obviously in business, she drew on pure divine light as Professor Harklund had taught, letting it fill and invigorate her, and slammed her armored shoulder into the door.

Trissiny felt the distinct electric shock of an enchantment breaking as the door burst off its hinges, and shrugged it off, charging through into the kitchen beyond. Jonas Crete followed on her heels, now shouting imprecations, which she also ignored.

There was a lot of arcane energy in this room, enough to slightly dampen her own aura; no wonder a demon would flee here. The usual fixtures of a kitchen were present, as was a lot of enchanting equipment at whose function she couldn’t even guess. Standing by the sink, a portly middle-aged woman whirled, gaping at her in shock.

Trissiny lunged after the invisible presence, which was making for the rear door. It turned at the last second, though, shooting sideways; she skidded to a halt and lunged around the island stove in the center of the room, seeking to flank it. The thing was faster than she, faster than anything merely biological possibly could be. It backtracked again, dodging around, her, and she pursued, her shield catching a pot full of something and sending it crashing to the floor in passing.

Jonas was still blocking the kitchen door; the demonic presence went back out the way it had come, apparently right through him, which seemed not to phase him at all.

“Move,” Trissiny barked, charging after it.

“That is it!” Jonas bellowed in pure fury, leveling an accusatory finger at her and seemingly unperturbed by the sight of an oncoming paladin. “You park your ass right there, girl, I am gettin’ the Sheriff—”

“MOVE!” Trissiny roared, golden wings flaring into being behind her. Jonas actually staggered backward in surprise, but didn’t get quite all the way out of the doorway. She had to catch him with her shield and shove him against the wall to push past.

The demon had taken full advantage of her momentary distraction to zip back out into the street. Trissiny went after it in a straight line, ignoring all obstacles in her way, which involved shouldering four men roughly aside and bounding onto and over a table, disrupting a poker game and multiple tankards of beer.

She charged out, whirling to pursue the presence on foot, and leaving behind a maelstrom of shouting and cursing.

“What on earth?” Teal asked, frowning. The sound of a galloping horse had been present only briefly, but the shouting which had followed had not died down. In fact, it had seemed to move around, to judge by the way the distant babble had waxed and waned. The students at their picnic had ignored it for a couple of minutes, but by this point, all of them had stopped eating and were frowning toward the end of the alley.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Sekandar said.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing from here,” Iris replied, her tone slightly nervous.

“Trissiny,” Shaeine said softly.

Ravana’s eyes cut to her, the Duchess’s expression growing guarded. “Pardon?”

“They are shouting about her,” Szith confirmed, “those I can make out over the hubbub. She… I’m not sure what she did, but it appears to have upset quite a few people.”

“Those were some loud hoofbeats,” Maureen agreed. “Coulda been that honkin’ great horse a’ hers, I guess. What’d she do ta mix up the locals, though? She’s one a’ the calmer sorts on campus.”

“That very much depends on the situation,” Shaeine said, shifting as if to rise from her chair.

“She is chasing demons!” Scorn exclaimed, actually standing up. “We must go help!”

“Stop!” Ravana said sharply. “Whatever she did has clearly agitated the residents; let us not add to the chaos.”

“Your Grace, permission to go investigate,” Finchley said crisply, stepping forward.

“Please do,” Ravana replied, nodding to him. Teal, meanwhile, had taken Scorn by the arm, attempting to tug her gently back into her chair.

“I have to agree with Scorn,” Sekandar said, frowning now. “If there is a demon in the town, and Trissiny is after it—”

“I’m not certain that actually is a demon,” Shaeine said softly, her eyes following Finchley until he rounded the corner. “I think… This may develop into a serious problem.”

She had hopped astride Arjen again to charge down a narrow side street, causing two women in bonnets to shriek and press themselves against a picket fence, one actually tumbling backward over it into someone’s yard, but Trissiny remained on target, ignoring all distractions. Following her quarry, she dismounted in another flying leap, landing in a garden and pursuing over another fence, around the corner of a house, and through a back gate which she accidentally knocked off its hinges in her hurry to get through. She did not stop to acknowledge the questions, demands and insults that came hurling after her.

Her aura blazed to life and she hurled a blast of pure divine energy forward, swamping the thing as it leveled out in a garden path and she got a clear shot at it. Indeed, it faltered, staggering drunkenly to one side and the size of its presence in her senses diminishing markedly. That was a horribly inefficient attack, however; the divine did not lend itself easily to such spells. She also couldn’t keep up the stream of energy for more than a second, and as soon as she was forced to let up, the demon strengthened again and zipped forward. In fact, it seemed almost to be pushed ahead by the force of her aura.

And this time, it shot right through someone’s front door into a house.

A second later she was after it, yanking the door open and charging in without hesitation.

“Stay where you are!” she barked at the astonished family sitting around the fireplace. “You’re in danger—head for the chapel as soon as I’m gone!”

She tore past them, into a cozy kitchen and out through a back door, which she left standing open behind her.

The next fence she had to vault hid an older man, who had been sitting amid a small stand of rose bushes into which she plummeted, relaxing in a rocking chair. She was forced to adjust course mid-leap, grabbing the fence with her shield hand and barely avoiding slamming her armored bulk into him. Unfortunately, this caused her to land right on a rose bush, and even more unfortunately, the demon put more distance between them, swerving around the side of the house and toward a street beyond.

“Sorry!” she shouted in passing, her aura flashing and healing away the multiple tiny scratches she had accumulated apparently over every inch of skin not covered by her armor. Roses did not make for a friendly place to land.

“My garden!” the man howled behind her, hurling his walking stick ineffectually. “You hooligan!”

Trissiny vaulted over the front garden gate, tore past the cottage and launched herself into Arjen’s saddle beyond, immediately spurring him forward and down the side street.

The demon seemed to be tiring; at least, it wasn’t keeping ahead quite as fluidly, now. Arjen kept creeping up on it, the invisible presence momentarily faltering and then regaining ground in little bursts rather than at an even speed.

Trissiny barely registered the sound of hoofbeats coming up from behind, not acknowledging the second rider until he pulled abreast of her.

“Trissiny, stop!” Gabriel shouted. “You’re going to cause a riot!”

“You can’t sense it?” she replied, eyes fixed on her invisible quarry. “Just follow me, it’s right there!”

“There is nothing there!” he insisted. “Listen to me, you’re being played!”

They rounded a corner, Whisper falling momentarily behind as they charged past the edge of the little town into open space. Up ahead, the marble columns of the small Silver Mission rose up out of the prairie, the Rail line stretching into the infinite distance behind it. Once around the corner, though, Whisper proved faster than Arjen, and Gabriel urged her forward.

A moment later, he actually guided his steed directly in front of her, turning sideways and forcing Arjen to skid to a halt to avoid plowing into them.

“Get out of the way!” Trissiny shouted in fury.

“Will you listen to me!” he bellowed back. “Trissiny, you have to stop, this is not what it seems to be.”

Her eyes widened, and she turned her gaze from him, peering around in dismay. “What—no! It’s gone!”

“Triss, I’m trying to tell you—”

She heeled Arjen forward around him, trotting in a circle in front of the Mission grounds and looking about frantically. “It was right here, but it’s gone! Just…gone. You made me lose it!”

“That is not all you’ve lost!”

Both paladins turned to face the speaker, a dark-skinned woman with her hair in a multitude of bead-decorated braids, wearing the white robes of a Sister of Avei and a thunderous scowl.

“Young woman, get in here this second!” the priestess snapped. “And you, too, boy. Now.”

“There’s a demon—”

“Enough!” Sister Takli shouted. “I don’t care what rank you have, you silly girl, you are causing a disaster! Get yourself off the street and into the Mission. Immediately, before you make this even worse!”

“Aaaand there we are,” Embras said in satisfaction, flourishing both his hands in an unnecessarily showy gesture as he snuffed out the spell mimicking a demon for Trissiny’s senses. “Brought to a halt at the Silver Mission, as directed. And now, I’m very eager to learn how you plan to extricate her from this fracas.”

He turned expectantly, then blinked his eyes in surprise. Where the kitsune had stood moments before, there was only the faint wind, leaving him alone upon the steeple.

“Huh,” he mused. “So that’s what that feels like. Vanessa’s right, that’s just irritating.”

“It’s not good,” Finchley said seriously. “The whole town’s in an uproar. It looks like she dashed through basically…well, everything. There’s people everywhere, all of ’em mad as hell… Your Grace, none of us have done civil disturbance duty, but it was covered in basic. This is exactly the kind of thing that can get really ugly.”

“I see,” Ravana mused. “How unfortunate… I believe it’s best that we keep our heads down for the time being. This will all be quieted soon enough; the Sheriff in this town is most admirably efficient.”

“What are you talking about?” Scorn exclaimed. “There is demon, Trissiny is chasing, people are in danger! We go to help!”

“There is a better than even chance that there is not actually a demon,” said Shaeine. “We discussed the theory that a false trace was being used to taunt Trissiny, remember?”

“She is not stupid,” the Rhaazke retorted. “If she does this, there is a real problem!”

“Maybe,” said Teal, frowning. “Remember what Malivette said? Hands of Avei apparently get…like coursing hounds, almost, around demonic energy. If she’s being manipulated anyway…”

The conversation broke off at a sudden swell of shouting from the town only a few dozen yards distant, the upraised voices obviously furious. They had stepped away from their table, toward one end of the alley, and now turned in unison to frown in the direction of the bellowing.

“This is too risky,” Moriarty said curtly. “Your Grace, I must respectfully insist that we retreat to the campus. We can’t protect you from an angry mob.”

“I am deeply gratified by your concern, Private Moriarty,” Ravana said, giving him a kind smile and placing one delicate hand on his arm. “And for future reference, that will be the last time you use the word ‘insist’ when addressing me. I cannot imagine we are in danger from—”

She broke off abruptly as Szith drew her sword and held the sinuously curved blade in front of her face, its edge pointed at the ground.

“Ravana,” the drow said in a tone just short of outright anger, “I will speak to you as a warrior and the daughter of a line of warriors going back millennia. Whatever titles you hold, you do not outrank your bodyguard unless you wish to die. He is entirely right; this is a ceremonial guard. They are not equipped or prepared to contain a riot. And if we are forced to defend ourselves against angry townspeople, the political repercussions will be an absolute disaster. We retreat—now. Do I need to carry you?”

Ravana stared up at her in uncharacteristically open surprise, blinking her eyes twice, before visibly gathering herself. “Yes. Well… Upon consideration, I believe I see your point. Forgive me, Private Moriarty. Ah…this way?”

“That leads to the prairie outside the town,” said Sekandar, frowning back at the opposite end of the alley. “We’ll be less likely to run into angry townsfolk there…but it’ll take a lot longer to circle around than the other way.”

“We are to run?” Scorn said plaintively. Teal reached up to pat her on the shoulder.

“Other way’s faster, but riskier,” Rook said tersely. “If we turn right here instead of heading out to the main square, then left, we’ll come out at the little square around the well. It’s a straight shot to the mountain stairs from there. Deeper into the town, though.”

“Most of the noise I hear is coming from the other direction,” said Sekandar, turning to Ravana. “I think it’d be better to take the faster path.”

“I concur,” she said, nodding. “Very well, let’s be off. Gentlemen, if you would?”

Rook and Finchley both saluted her, stepping to the head of the group as they set out, Moriarty waiting to fall behind and bring up the rear.

They moved in tense silence around the first corner, speeding up at another surge of angry shouting from behind them. Coming to a stop at the mouth of the alley leading out into the little plaza surrounding Last Rock’s central well, Finchley held up a hand to stop them while Rook carefully peered out.

“It’s clear,” he said quietly, then hesitated. “Ah…wait. Voices… Man, they’re passing by awfully close.”

Indeed the sound of furious shouting was clearly running adjacent to their route now, close enough that the orange flicker of torchlight was visible against the walls of the other side street opening onto the well yard.

“Go,” Ravana said quietly, having finally picked up the soldiers’ urgency. “We can’t hide here; make for the other side.”

The group moved in unison at her order, stepping out into the yard and making their way rapidly to the right, where the mountain loomed up beyond only a few more buildings.

They made it halfway before a dozen people burst into the square from the opposite side, two carrying torches, and all shouting.

Both groups came to a stop, staring at each other.

“Aww, shite,” Maureen muttered.

“Hey, you!” the man in the lead shouted, stalking toward them.

The interior of the Silver Mission was laid out somewhat like an Avenist temple in miniature, but with more informality. The white marble was softened by rugs and wall hangings, the windows were plain glass instead of stained, and there was no statue of Avei nor weapons displayed. Padded benches were set along the walls, and rather than a dais at the back of the main room, there were doors into the other rooms at the rear of the structure.

Trissiny looked quizzically around, still tense and on edge from her chase. “Where’s Sister—”

“Out trying to clean up the mess you were just busy making,” Sister Takli snapped, “along with, no doubt, Father Laws and the Sheriff. What were you thinking?”

“I was pursuing a demon!” Trissiny shot back. “That’s my calling!”

“You tore up half the town, damaged who knows how much property and accidentally assaulted at least two people that I know of, and that’s just what I know from listening to the shouts and talking to the young woman who fled here in a panic after you apparently demolished the Saloon!”

“Nothing’s demolished,” Trissiny said, affronted. “It was barely—”

“Well, you scared the waitress there badly enough that she fled to the Silver Mission,” Takli retorted. “She’s now hiding in the back, thanks to you. Trissiny, running through a town shouting about demons is bad enough even if you manage to do it without smashing through people’s property and kicking them out of your way!”

“What would you have done?” Trissiny shouted at her. “Just leave everyone in danger from a demon attack because it’s not convenient—”

“It’s called grand strategy!” Takli roared back. “You know this! You’ve had the finest strategic education the Sisterhood can provide—or so I thought! There is more to your calling than just destroying unclean things. You are part of something much greater than yourself, and your actions have consequences that reach far beyond yourself. Do you have any idea how much damage you just did? To the Sisterhood, to the University? To the Church, even? The Hand of Avei stampeding through a town like a madwoman is not acceptable!”

“How dare you lecture me!” Trissiny snarled. “Who are you, anyway? I wasn’t called by the goddess herself to have to explain myself to some—”

“If you are going to act like an undisciplined child, General Avelea, I will treat you as one! Either go for that sword or sit yourself down and take your medicine!”

“HEY!” Gabriel shouted.

“WHAT?” both women snarled in unison, rounding on him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “and I’m also sorry to drag us back out there, considering as mad as everyone is bound to be at you right now, Triss, but according to Vestrel there’s something happening on the other end of town that we had better go deal with.” Seemingly unfazed by their glares, he drew Ariel and turned to stride to the door. “Now.”

“What the hell is wrong with you kids!” Wilson shouted, stomping right up to the group and pointing an accusing finger at Ravana, who stood between and somewhat behind Rook and Finchley. “You think you can just do whatever the hell you want in this town?”

“Pardon me, sir,” she said calmly, “but perhaps you have us mistaken for someone else? We were having a quiet dinner until just minutes ago.”

“Oh, sure,” he sneered. “Walk around with your nose in the air all you want, but as soon as folk start tellin’ you off for it, suddenly you don’t know nothin’ about any trouble!”

“Wilson, calm your ass down,” a man in the group behind him said in exasperation. “Them kids weren’t anywhere near the ruckus; you know which one done it. It’s not like she ain’t distinctive.”

“They’re all alike!” Wilson raged, pressing forward and glaring at Ravana, who merely regarded him with a curious expression. “Well, I don’t aim to—”

He broke off, finding himself staring at the tip of Finchley’s staff, the soldier having stepped directly in front of him.

“Sir,” said Finchley coldly, “if you want to pick fights with paladins, that’s on your head, but I’ll have to insist that you step away from the Duchess.”

“Duchess, bah,” Wilson snarled, curling his lip. “I’m just about done takin’ shit from snotty brats I wouldn’t hire to wipe my boots.”

“You are addressing the sitting governor of Tiraan Province,” Moriarty said sharply, pressing through the students to join the others. “Back away.”

“I don’t see you makin’ me!”

“Wilson, you idjit!” a woman exclaimed. “Boys, don’t pay him no mind, you know how he is.”

“Ma’am, this is a different matter,” said Finchley, not taking his eyes off Wilson. “We are on duty, protecting Lady Madouri. You all need to disperse. Now.”

“Now, you just hold your horses,” another man said, stepping forward with a scowl. “Ain’t nobody here doin’ any harm. You got no call to order us around in our own town.”

“Gentlemen, please,” said Ravana, attempting to crane her neck to be seen around the soldiers. “Let us all step back and calm ourselves; there is no need for any—”

“Boy, you get that damn thing outta my face!” Wilson snapped, grabbing the end of Finchley’s staff and jerking it sideways.

Instantly, two more staves were thrust directly into his face, both suddenly bursting alight with charged energy ready to fire; at that range, the static made his hair stand up.

“ON THE GROUND!” Rook roared with uncharacteristic ferocity. “HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”

“You are under arrest!” Moriarty bellowed. “For interfering with a functionary of the Tiraan Empire and assaulting an Imperial soldier! These are military charges—any resistance can and will be met with deadly force!”

“Wait!” Sekandar shouted fruitlessly. “Men, stop!”

Wilson, meanwhile, had had the bluster apparently spooked right out of him. Wide-eyed and suddenly ashen-faced, he dropped to his knees, whimpering incoherently and placing his hands atop his head.

Behind him, though, the other townspeople were pressing forward, most of them glaring and muttering angrily.

“This is turning very bad,” Scorn growled, trying to push forward.

“Stop,” Teal ordered, catching her arm.

“I will not stand here and be pushed and yelled by these!” the demon grated, shrugging her roughly off.

With a burst of orange flame, Vadrieny emerged, seizing the Rhaazke by the shoulders. “Stop at once before you make this worse!”

“Oh, love,” Shaeine whispered mournfully.

“We’re under attack!” Wilson wailed, throwing himself face-down in the dirt.

A furious outcry rippled through the crowd at Vadrieny’s sudden appearance, complaints and threats jumbling together too rapidly to be discerned from one another.

“This is your final warning!” Moriarty shouted, leveling his staff at the crowd. “Citizens, you will disperse immediately!”

And then, at one edge of the group, a boy of about twelve stooped and picked up a rock.

Rook took aim at him with his own weapon, even as his face went sickly pale.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered.

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“What are you doing?” Scorn demanded suspiciously, drawing back her lips to bare fangs and scowling at Rook.

He skittered back a step, eyes widening. “I—oh, uh, I was just… I mean, it’s not like they trained us for honor guard duty, I was just trying to be polite…”

“Armed man sneaking up on my behind is being not polite,” the demon snapped.

“Scorn.” Ravana’s voice was gentle and soft, but nonetheless stilled the growing confrontation. “He’s correct, that was a polite gesture. It’s a custom, here, for a man to hold a lady’s chair for her as she sits.”

“…oh.” Scorn rolled her shoulders once, then nodded curtly at Rook. “Thank you, then, for custom.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, still edging backward.

Ravana cleared her throat very softly, catching Scorn’s gaze and raising one eyebrow.

The demon drew in a deep breath, swelling menacingly, then let it out in a sigh. “I am sorry for snapping at you. I misunderstood.”

“No offense taken at all!” he said with forced cheer, retreating all the way to the wall. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Wow,” Teal murmured. Shaeine gave her a sidelong little smile; Maureen grinned and winked.

“Is a good custom anyway,” Scorn added, seating herself. “Man showing respect to a woman. We do not have that at my home. Maybe I start it when I go back.”

“It’s actually a complicated question whether chivalrous gestures like that are respectful or just sexist,” Teal mused. “Or both.”

“Such cultural practices are often difficult to parse in such simple terms,” said Shaeine. “We have many such customs in Tar’naris, and while we largely eschew discriminatory practices that cause unnecessary strife, I must acknowledge that many of them are quite openly sexist.”

“Well, not everything discriminatory is overtly disruptive, necessarily,” Sekandar remarked.

“Indeed,” the drow replied, nodding to him. “In fact, I have had several very interesting conversations with Trissiny about this very subject.”

“If by ‘interesting’ ye mean ‘long,’ I don’t doubt it,” Maureen said cheerfully.

Sekandar hid a smile behind a discreet little cough. “By the way, where is Trissiny? I thought you were going to invite her, Ravana.”

“I did indeed,” the Duchess said serenely. “Invitations were extended to, among others, all three paladins and Princess Zaruda. Unfortunately, that forms a roster entirely of people who have no interest in dinner parties. In frankness, while I would have welcomed anyone who chose to attend, I mostly made the offer so that no one would feel excluded.”

“Ah,” the prince replied, keeping his expression even. Iris sighed softly, glancing down at her hands in her lap.

“I’m afraid the rest of the sophomore class begged off, citing prior commitments,” Ravana said calmly. “But no matter! We are here, and have the place to ourselves. It promises to be an enjoyable evening.”

The place in question was one of the closest things Last Rock had to a back alley: the space between the rear of the Ale & Wenches and the warehouse behind it, which was town property communally used by local businesses for storage. Ravana had somehow arranged for it to be not only scrupulously cleaned, but decorated with tasteful paper lanterns and bunches of hanging flowers. Their table and chairs were of the folding variety, but the tablecloth was a rich brocade. And the food was better than anything served in the A&W. They could hear (and smell) the town clearly, and had a clear view of more back buildings in one direction and the prairie in the other, but a little care had somehow transformed this spot into a peculiar kind of outdoor dining room.

“So,” Scorn said carefully, peering around, “this is a…formal occasion?”

“Oh, not particularly,” Ravana said airily, reaching for the basket of rolls. “I use the term ‘dinner party’ somewhat euphemistically. Really, more of a picnic.”

“Okay, good,” Scorn said, nodding. “I am… There are customs, yes? I don’t know them.”

“Precisely,” Ravana agreed, smiling and glancing over at Teal. “Consider it an opportunity for us to get to know one another better, without the pressure of expectations. And you can get some practice toward dining customs without any stakes.”

“I am not being laughed at,” Scorn said, dragging a scowl around the table.

“Most certainly not,” Sekandar agreed gallantly. “I’m sure no one here would dream of it.”

“Anyone who does will be asked to leave,” Ravana stated. “Which is why I was careful to invite only people who I trust not to do any such thing.”

“And notably,” Iris added, smugly pouring herself a glass of wine, “our other roommate is absent.”

“I begin to wonder if your fixation on Addiwyn isn’t making things in our room worse, with all respect,” said Szith. “I know her flaws as well as you, but she has been notably quiet since the first week of classes.”

“Well, of course,” Iris said acidly. “Since her behavior in the first week was utterly psychotic, that isn’t setting much of a bar, now is it.”

“She did save yer life in the Golden Sea trek,” Maureen pointed out.

“I’m sure that was just reflex,” Iris muttered.

“Granted, I wasn’t as close at the time,” said Sekandar, “but I never met anyone whose reflexes include grabbing a manticore by the tail to prevent it from stinging someone.”

“This roommate,” said Scorn. “I think I have met her. She is the rude elf?”

“That sums her up perfectly,” Iris agreed.

“Hm.” The demon nodded. “Why do you let her to act this way? Best to have things out, openly. If she is being mysterious and nasty, force a confrontation. Then you get the truth!”

A short silence fell.

“I quite agree,” Ravana said after a moment. “In fact, I said so at the time.”

“Aye,” Maureen added wryly. “An’ we tried that. Didn’t go so well.”

“Sometimes forcing a confrontation is the last thing you should do,” Teal said gently. “Um…on another note…are we really just gonna make the guys stand around while we eat?”

“We are on duty,” Moriarty said crisply from the other end of the alley. “Per the statutes governing use of Imperial soldiers by the Houses, our current arrangement with the Duchess constitutes a binding—”

“What he means,” Rook interrupted with a grin, “is that if her Grace wants to pay us to stand around, then stand we shall. You kids have fun, don’t worry about us. Frankly, I feel like we’re gettin’ away with something as it is. Not likely you’re in any danger in this town.”

“Why did you feel the need to hire them on as security, if you don’t mind my asking?” Shaeine inquired.

“I am not concerned for my physical safety, considering the company,” said Ravana, calmly buttering a roll. “Given the tensions in Last Rock, of late, I thought an official Imperial presence might keep things…calm.”

“Well, that’s a good thought, but maybe going a little overboard,” Iris remarked. “Nothing ever happens in this town.”

Teal and Shaeine exchanged a look, but said nothing. At the other end of the alley, Finchley turned to glance at his compatriots.

Rook leaned over and nudged Moriarty with an elbow. “Permission to mention the hellgate?”

“Oh, shut up,” Moriarty muttered.

“No trouble at all,” Tarvadegh assured him, “It’s not like there are any temple ceremonies at this hour, and I tend to stay up late reading, anyway. My time is yours. What’s on your mind, Gabe? Made a breakthrough on that shadow-casting?”

“Actually, this isn’t about training,” Gabriel said slowly, pacing down the center aisle of the underground Vidian sanctuary and finally sinking down onto a bench. “I… Well, I sort of wanted to talk. Are you available in your, y’know, priest-like capacity?”

“Absolutely,” Tarvadegh replied, sitting beside him. “Is this…something you can’t discuss with your friends?”

Gabriel sighed heavily and slumped forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Well…it’s about them, is the thing. Sort of.”

“Okay.” Tarvadegh just nodded, then waited silently for him to continue.

“What if…you knew something?” Gabriel said finally. “Something important…maybe even urgent. Something that affects the people closest to you, and…something you weren’t sure you could tell them?”

“Well, there are a lot of ‘somethings’ in that hypothetical,” the priest replied. “A whole lot depends on the situation. Gabe you don’t have to tell me any details that may be sensitive, rest assured. I’m here to help if I can, though.”

“The thing is…we’ve always been a group, y’know?” Gabriel sighed and absently drew Ariel, turning the sword over and over in his hands. “Maybe not at first, we had to learn to work together… But as things are, we’re a unit. My first instinct is always to trust the group, to bring them stuff like this so we can plan, but… I dunno, I have this feeling that it would be a bad idea in this case. The specific problem in question, I’m afraid, might provoke a, uh, fearful, ignorant reaction.”

“How so?” Tarvadegh asked mildly.

Gabriel glanced over at him. “…this is confidential, right?”

“Absolutely,” the priest said immediately. “Assume that Vidius hears anything you have to say here, but confession is sacred in all faiths I know of. I wouldn’t reveal your thoughts even to Lady Gwenfaer.”

“Well, there’s some heavy stuff going on,” Gabriel said, watching the light flicker dimly across Ariel’s blade. “The…Black Wreath is sniffing around us. Rather aggressively. And yeah, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing I should warn somebody about, right? Except… Based on what I know, I really think it’s smartest to take a step back and let them, for now. And…that would be a really, really hard sell. Even Toby probably wouldn’t go for that; Trissiny would absolutely lose her mind. Teal and Vadrieny have their own issues with the Wreath, and after what happened in Veilgrad, we’ve all got cause to be nervous about them. But I’m also thinking about Veilgrad, and the Wreath, who they are and what they want. And in this case…they are specifically not trying to hurt us. They seem to be trying to provoke a reaction.”

“That sounds like a rather hostile action in and of itself,” Tarvadegh observed.

Gabriel nodded. “But I’ve got indication their motive may actually be helpful… And there are other things. Professor Ekoi is circling them like a hawk, which I’m pretty sure means Professor Tellwyrn knows about this, too. And neither of them has done anything. What I think… I think the right thing to do would be to quietly watch and see what they do. And I think my friends will insist on going on the attack. And…I think that would be a disaster.”

“Can I ask a few questions?” Tarvadegh asked mildly.

“Sure, of course.”

“I suspect I know this already, but what source of information do you have that your classmates don’t?”

Gabriel grimaced. “Yeah, well…that’s another thing. I think certain issues may come up about the fact that I’m having valkyries spy on people. Do you… This isn’t some kind of abuse of my position, is it, Val?”

“I doubt you have to worry about that,” the cleric assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t really make the reapers do anything—if they choose to help you, take it as a sign of their favor. And additionally, anything you do involving them is all but guaranteed to have the god’s attention, so be assured he would let you know if he disapproved.”

“Okay, good.” Gabriel sighed, nodding. “That’s actually quite a relief.”

“Whether it’s an abuse of anyone’s trust is another matter,” Tarvadegh continued. “A paladin’s role is a martial one more often than not, and there are circumstances in which gathering intelligence is necessary and appropriate. Especially against the Black Wreath.”

“And…” Gabriel paused to swallow. “…what about certain new priestesses of Vidius and Avei who may have moved to the town recently?”

For a long moment, Tarvadegh stared at him in silence. Finally, he leaned back, his expression growing thoughtful.

“I’ve not been in a hurry to introduce you to some of the more complex inner workings of the cult,” he said at last. “Since our earliest practice sessions, it’s seemed to me that you do better being yourself first and a Vidian second. There must be a reason Vidius called our first paladin from outside the faith. But as a general rule, Gabriel… This kind of thing is not at all unusual within our ranks. The doctrine of masks and false faces makes trust a thing that we perceive differently than most others. We don’t value it less—if anything, we value it more. But within the cult, there is an expectation that no one is going to tell you the full truth about themselves, their ambitions, or their activities. If you’re spying on a priestess of Vidius, for whatever reason… Well. Without saying anything personal about the woman in question, just by virtue of her position, she’s probably done as much to others.”

“Have you?” Gabriel asked, frowning slightly.

Tarvadegh gave him a grin. “Yes, of course. Though for future reference, that’s a question you’ll probably want to avoid asking people outright.”

“Yeah, that occurred to me as soon as I said it,” Gabriel agreed, wincing.

“And as I said, if you’re using valkyries to do this, you would be told if Vidius disapproved of your activities. If anything, I’m encouraged to see you taking some initiative with intelligence-gathering. Now, spying on a priestess of Avei is another matter. To my knowledge, the Avenists have no craft that could detect a valkyrie’s presence, but for future reference, absolutely do not try that on a Salyrite.”

“Noted.”

“And be wary of the likely repercussions if you are discovered. The only cults that actively spy on the Sisterhood are the Black Wreath and the Thieves’ Guild. You have probably heard from Trissiny what they think about that.”

“Yep,” he said ruefully.

“But back to your original question,” Tarvadegh said in a more serious tone, again squeezing his shoulder. “First, let me say that I’m very glad to see you thinking carefully before acting. Honestly, Gabriel, in general I’ve observed that you thinking of yourself as thoughtless is more of a fault of yours than actually being thoughtless, though thoughtlessness is still a real issue you have. I, uh, sort of lost control of that sentence. Need me to re-phrase?”

“No, I think I got it,” Gabriel said, grinning. “And you’re pretty much not wrong.”

“Okay, good,” Tarvadegh replied with a smile. “So yes, I’m glad you’re thinking about this first. However, the main reaction I take from it is that you don’t seem to respect your friends very much.”

Gabriel straightened up, his eyes widening, and stared at Tarvadegh in mute dismay.

“Think about it,” the priest went on gently. “These are some of the most dangerous people in the world—and, as you have seen firsthand, some of the most effective. Sure, they have their foibles. Just from your own descriptions, I know of several, and yes, I can see how the information you’re withholding could generate some rather strident reactions from several of them. But ultimately, none of them are stupid, and you aren’t without flaws. Gabriel, when you decide to determine who knows what, you’re effectively trying to control what people do. And that means you’ve placed yourself at the head of the group—a group which you’re now trying not even to lead, but to manipulate.”

“But…but…” Gabriel clenched his jaw, swallowed heavily, then lowered his eyes.

“And,” Tarvadegh said kindly, “I know that isn’t what you intend. Honestly, as a Vidian paladin…well, you’re unprecedented, but if someone had told me ten years ago there would be a Vidian paladin, I’d have pictured someone doing exactly that. The problem here, as I see it, is that your actions are in conflict with your ethics and your desires. I think you’ve stumbled into this box accidentally, not out of a desire to control the situation. That, in my opinion, is the root of your problem.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said quietly. “That’s…wow. Holy crap, I’m an asshole.”

“As we were just saying,” Tarvadegh said wryly, “you’re a little thoughtless. People make mistakes. Whether or not you’re an asshole is a function of what you do next.”

“Right. You’re right.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out explosively. “Yeah, I have to tell them everything. I should’ve just done that from the beginning…crap, this is gonna be a difficult conversation.”

“The important ones usually are.”

“Thanks, Val. This…was exactly what I needed to hear.”

“Well, that’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Tarvadegh said with a grin. “That’s a joke. They don’t actually—”

He broke off and both of them looked at the ceiling as the sound of hoofbeats thundered by overhead.

“What the…” Gabriel frowned. “It’s after dark, who’d be…” He trailed off, glancing to the side at the invisible figure which had just dived in from above. “Oh, shit. Trissiny.”

“Bishop Syrinx, may I have a word with you?”

Basra glanced over at Ildren, who had just emerged from the rear door of their borrowed townhouse, but did not pause in stretching. Against the far wall of the rear courtyard, Jenell also glanced up, then immediately resumed packing away their practice swords and surreptitiously rubbing the several bruises she’d just acquired.

The house, though its décor was purely Viridill, was built in the Tiraan style, which meant a short public garden in the front, by the street, and a walled courtyard behind. Since this particular house sat on a corner, bordered by streets on two sides, it was less private than some—they could hear the traffic outside from the courtyard, and there was no telling what anyone had thought of the sounds of two women going at each other with wooden swords for the last hour.

“Certainly,” Basra said after leaving her to stew for a calculated moment. “I’m about to head inside, though; make it quick, if you please.”

Ildrin glanced over at Jenell. “In private, please?”

“I’m willing to indulge you, but not the point of going out of my way,” Basra said brusquely. “And Covrin is my assistant; she’s likely to end up hearing anything you have to say, anyway. I have a habit of venting to her about the various time-wasters I’ve had to deal with in the course of a day.”

Ildrin clenched her jaw for a moment. “…fine. What is your problem with me? I hardly know you, but I came here to offer my assistance when asked, and you have been nothing but dismissive and hostile.”

“Very well, you want the simple truth?” Despite her claim to be on the way inside, Basra turned and strolled over to a stone bench set against the courtyard’s far wall, seating herself. “Working where I do, in the Universal Church, dealing largely with the results of Archpope Justinian’s various…agendas…I have incidentally become acquainted with a number of individuals whom he considers useful and trustworthy. Yours is a name that has repeatedly come to my attention, both in the Church itself and from sources within the Sisterhood. You have a well-established reputation, Sister Falaridjad, as someone interested in Justinian’s cause as much as Avei’s. If not more so.”

“That is a false dichotomy and you know it!” Ildrin exclaimed. “I have never been anything but loyal to Avei and the Sisterhood. But yes, I see a great deal of sense and virtue in the messages that the Archpope has put forth during his tenure, and I’d like to think that’s reflected in my actions. So why is this a problem?” She took a step forward, pointing an accusing finger at Basra. “You have the same reputation, and far more than I! I’d say anyone in the Sisterhood or the Legions would contend you’re as much Justinian’s creature as Rouvad’s. I’ve heard more than a few rumors that’s the reason you’re now out here. What, exactly, is your problem with me?”

“I have no problem with you,” Basra said in perfect calm. “I barely know you, nor have any particular interest in you. My problem is with a Universal Church element meddling in this matter. From the Sisterhood’s perspective, intervention by the Church is not appropriate unless called for. From mine…” Her voice and expression abruptly hardened considerably. “If Justinian or you have any thoughts of ‘helping’ me make a name for myself out here to restore Commander Rouvad’s high opinion of me, any attempt to do so would horribly backfire. And then I will be angry.”

“Your Grace,” Jenell said, staring at a spot in the far corner of the courtyard, where dust had begun to swirl upward in a slow spiral that had nothing to do with the very faint movements of air that drifted over the walls.

“Furthermore,” Basra barreled on, making a silencing gesture at Jenell, “Justinian, at least, is wise enough to know that any attempt by him to intervene would only worsen matters. Which means you’re either here on your own initiative, or far more likely, this is Branwen’s idea. Allow me to let you in on a secret, in case you haven’t noticed: Branwen is an idiot. Letting her graduate beyond serving Izara flat on her back has been a sad waste of the only use she has.”

Ildrin narrowed her eyes. “Whatever issues the two of you have, she has the same reputation among Church-related circles. She’s trusted, and loyal to his Holiness. So, yes, when she approached me about this, I was glad to offer my services.”

Basra snorted. “I’ll consider my point made.”

“Ma’am?” Jenell said in alarm, having put down the practice swords and picked up her metal one. The dust column had silently swelled to a height greater than a person, and was coalescing slowly into a humanoid figure.

“Fine, whatever!” Ildrin exclaimed. “You can still control the situation—it’s not like I’m going to run around trying to slay elementals behind your back! Just give the orders and I’ll follow them; that was the job I signed on for. There is no reason for you to be so hostile! I came here in good faith. Does it matter to you at all how this affects me?”

Basra stared blankly at her. Jenell started to speak again, but the Bishop made a swatting gesture in her direction. “Of course. Sure, of course your perspective matters. But not at the expense of the mission. I’ve told you already, Falaridjad, just be ready; when trouble arises, you’ll get your chance to prove yourself.”

“And in the meantime,” the priestess said bitterly, “I’m to continue being treated like a—”

“Basra!” Jenell barked.

Basra snapped her head sideways to glare at her, and in the next moment was on her feet, falling into a ready stance. Jenell threw her sheathed sword, which she deftly caught and drew, tossing the scabbard down onto the bench.

Despite being formed from dust, the massive figure’s slow movements made a soft grinding of stone against stone, and indeed it looked, now, like it was assembled from irregular chunks of rock. Towering over eight feet tall and proportioned in a way that would have been imposing even had it not been made of boulders, the elemental dwarfed both them and the courtyard itself. As Jenell backed up toward Basra, it turned to face the three women. The lower of the slabs of rock that formed its head shifted, opening up an obvious mouth, and a deep rumble sounded from within.

“Well, Falaridjad, now’s your chance,” Basra said quietly. “Don’t make any moves to agitate it, but on my signal, I want you to draw as much divine energy as you can. Weakening it is the only chance we have against that thing.”

“Will that be enough?” Jenell asked, her voice trembling.

“We are about to find out,” Basra said, apparently in total calm. “Try to circle around, slowly, toward the door. If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to run, and it can’t fit…”

She trailed off as the door to the house opened and Ami came strolling out, strumming a soft tune on her guitar and looking perfectly unconcerned. She ambled out into the courtyard, beginning to sing a lilting tune in elvish.

The rock elemental had been shifting toward the three women, its posture clearly aggressive, but suddenly it went quiet, turning to focus on the bard. Another rumble sounded from within, but this time a very soft one; it took one ponderous step toward her, then sank slowly down onto its knees, peering down at her.

Ami smiled calmly up at it, continuing to play, but the words of her song changed.

“Oh, don’t stop planning on my account,

You were really going strong!

Get an idea and please spit it out—

I can’t keep this up for long.”

“Okay…same plan applies,” Basra said. “Move toward the door, slowly so as not to agitate it. Talaari can back inside last, and it’ll be trapped out there.”

“I’m pretty sure that thing can beat down the wall and get out into the city,” Ildrin said tersely.

“And we’ll deal with that,” Basra replied. “but first we have to survive, and that means not being trapped in a box with it.”

The back door abruptly banged open again and Schwartz came skittering out, Meesie clinging to his hair. “Your Grace! Bishop Syrinx! My wards have picked up a major elemental ohhhhh, shit.”

He slid to a halt, frozen and staring up at the elemental, which had turned its head to peer at him, beginning to straighten up.

Ami’s fingers danced nimbly across her strings, and her voice glided upward into a deft arpeggio that seemed almost to fill the courtyard with light. The elemental turned back to face her, seeming to relax again, and shuffled forward a couple of grinding steps, bending closer.

“Ah, good, our specialist,” Basra said sharply. “Schwartz, do something about this.”

“Right,” Schwartz said weakly, staring up at the elemental, then physically shook himself. “Right! I can…yes, I think I can banish it. How did that thing get in here?”

“It didn’t start like that,” Jenell said. “It formed from dust.”

“Dust to stone! That’s amazing! Whoever summoned this must be—ah, yes, right, on topic. Yes, I can still banish it, provided it’s in a weakened state. Ladies, when I give the word, I’ll need you to channel as much raw divine energy at it as possible—but not until I’m prepared! That will make it very angry.”

“Covrin, go get Branwen out here,” Basra said curtly. Jenell darted through the door into the kitchen without another word.

Schwartz, meanwhile, knelt on the ground and pulled several small pouches and vials from within his sleeves, while Meesie scampered down his arm to cling to his hand. “Ami, can you keep it in that position, please? I’ll just need a couple of minutes.”

Ami didn’t even glance at him, nor allow her relaxed posture and kind smile to waver, but switched again to a stanza in Tanglish.

“I hardly have it on a leash!

Be quick about it, Schwartz.

Fine control’s outside my reach.

Nothing rhymes with Schwartz.”

“Warts?” Ildrin suggested; Basra made a slashing motion at her.

Schwartz, meanwhile, had picked Meesie up and bodily dipped her in a bag of powder, held her up to whisper into her twitching ear, then set her back down. The fire-mouse immediately dashed toward the towering elemental, leaving behind a trail of sparkling powder on the ground. Upon reaching it, she began running around it, first in a simple circle, then in more complicated patterns. Gradually, a full spell circle began to form around the elemental’s feet, positioned so that it was entirely inside it, and Ami was just barely within its outer edge.

“Don’t!” Basra said urgently when Ami took a half-step back. “It’s fixated on you, Talaari; it’ll follow you. Retreat when we’re ready to move.”

The bard made no response, continuing to play, sing, and gaze placidly up at the rock elemental.

It made another soft rumble, then reached over with one huge, clumsy hand to grab a small rose bush from nearby. This it ripped right out of the ground, and set down next to Ami.

Meesie’s powder was not running out, fortunately, but it took the tiny elemental time to weave in and out, forming the circle. Schwartz kept his eyes focused on her, expression intent; Ami played on, and Basra stood with her sword at the ready, a half-step in front of Ildrin, whose eyes darted nervously about.

Jenell ran back out the kitchen door, trailed a half-moment later by Branwen, who stared at the scene intently but without apparent alarm.

“Schwartz?” Basra said quietly.

“Almost,” he murmured, beckoning. Meesie dashed back to him, and he gave her a small handful of nuts, which she stuffed into her mouth, making her cheeks bulge comically. “Just another moment…”

Meesie ran back to the spell circle, and made a quick but halting trip around it, pausing every few feet to retrieve an acorn from within her mouth with her nimble front paws and place it in a specific spot on the circle. The whole time, Ami kept up her singing.

The effect was clearly beginning to waver, however. The elemental made another rumbling sound, shifting as if in a shrug. It began clambering back upright.

“Schwartz,” Basra said urgently. For the first time, Ami glanced aside at him, betraying nervousness.

“Done!” he said, as Meesie dashed back toward him. “Swamp it with light and I’ll do the rest!”

“On my signal,” Basra said rapidly, “you two join me at the edge of that circle, and you get out of there, Talaari. Three…two…now!”

She rushed forward, her aura flaring alight, with Branwen and Ildrin flanking her. Ami skittered backward, keeping up her strumming for good measure, but between that and the sudden wash of divine energy, the elemental’s calm was effectively shattered. It threw up one arm to shield its head from the glow, letting out a low, awful roar of displeasure.

Shifting its body around, it drew back its other arm, clearly preparing a devastating punch at Basra, Branwen and Ildrin.

“Herschel!” Jenell cried.

“Got it!” he said, planting his hand, palm-down, on the very edge of the trail Meesie had made toward the elemental, the one feeding into the circle itself.

Rather than anything rising up from the circle, a column of white light slammed down from the sky, filling the space defined by the spell circle and momentarily blotting out the elemental from sight. It let out another unearthly roar, and suddenly the light vanished.

Where it had stood, there was only dust. It didn’t hold together even for a second, collapsing to the ground and washing over them in a cloud that seemed to fill the courtyard. All six staggered backward from it, coughing and spluttering, Ami trying to hold her guitar overhead and out of reach of the tide of grit.

In seconds, however, the dust dissipated as well, seeming to melt back into thin air. Only a few swirls of powder were left on the ground, in and around the remains of Schwartz’s banishment circle. A double handful of fragrant mint leaves drifted on the air, settling gradually to the ground.

Branwen caught one. “What on earth…?”

“Oh, ah, that’s mine,” Schwartz said awkwardly. “Well, I mean, you’re welcome to have it, if you want, but that was conjured by my… That is, it’s perfectly safe! All my doing, nothing to do with whoever called that thing here.”

“Good work, all of you,” Basra said, lowering her sword to her side. “Especially you, Schwartz, and you, Talaari.”

“All in a day’s work,” he said modestly.

“Well, I do have a few uses, if I may say so,” Ami replied with a smug smile. “Don’t think of me as just the bitch with the nice ones.”

“Oh!” Scwhartz’s eyes widened. “Bishop Syrinx! I came out here to tell you—it wasn’t just here! I detected multiple elementals appearing—all over the city!”

In the sudden silence that fell over the courtyard, they finally took note of the sounds drifting in from outside. The normal mild clamor of early evening traffic had been replaced by a distant but distinct cacophony of crashing, splashes, and screams.

“Stop!” Basra barked as Ildrin whirled to dash for the courtyard’s side door. “Running out there with no plan will only make things worse. Back into the house, grab any weapons or supplies you need, and meet at the front door in two minutes. We will find what’s going on and put a stop to it, but in an organized fashion. Go!”

They all turned and moved toward the door, following the Bishop, who suited her words with action by being the first one through. Jenell paused and backtracked a moment to retrieve Basra’s scabbard from the side bench where it still lay.

“You, ah, might want to be careful with the b-word, Ami,” Schwartz said, following the bard in at the tail of their procession. “Avenists really don’t like it.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, turning to give him a coy smile. “Ildrin definitely didn’t, I could tell. But Bishop Syrinx, who is never too shy to express her displeasure about anything? Not even a hint that she’d noticed.” She turned forward again, her smile only broadening as she stepped back into the shadows of the house. “Interesting, is it not?”

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The Temple of Izara at N’Tali Falls was considered one of the wonders of the world, and certainly one of its most beautiful sights. The temple itself was not large, and not particularly impressive architecturally, being a small complex of domes and colonnades in a blended Omnist/Avenist style, with a single obelisk rising from its central courtyard. It was its location that gave it such appeal.

On the western edge of the Wyrnrange, a miles-long ridge spouted a veritable forest of springs and tiny rivers, which tumbled down its craggy slopes in a series of narrow falls, collecting in various ledges and running toward a series of larger waterfalls, growing progressively mightier as more and more of them met, until they all poured down from a single narrow outcropping in five great cataracts to a lake far below. The famous temple sat on an island right at the brink of one of these, its several outbuildings reached by arched stone bridges crossing the falls.

Framed above and below by falling water, the temple had further added to its beauty through its glorious gardens. Its roses alone were nearly the stuff of fable, encouraged by fae arts to thrive throughout the chain of little islands. Decorative trees had also been cultivated, the courtyards and small steppe gardens bristling with dogwoods, crimson maples, blossoming apple and cherry trees, and even several rare mimosas—one of which had produced a sapling donated to the Abbey at Virdill, in which a young Trissiny Avelea had climbed as a child. Verdant mosses overlaid the rounded rocks on which the temple complex sat, and the languid fronds of willow trees trailed over the water from the river’s banks.

It also had the distinction of being one of very few temples of any faith which had never been sacked or raided. That was due not merely to the consideration often extended the inoffensive priests of Izara, but to the fact that the temple was damnably hard to get to. It was easily and often admired from the three villages perched around the shores of the lake below, but the only paths up there were steep and too narrow for even a donkey. As such, while the clerics within would minister to any visitor just as any of their order did, the N’Tali Temple was used primarily as a place of training, meditation, and study for the Izarite clergy.

That fact made it somewhat convenient that visitors were few and passersby nonexistent. An awful lot of people suspected the private rites of Izara’s faith to be a lot more salacious than they were. N’Tali’s inaccessibility was likely the only reason the clerics in residence found any time to pray.

Which was not to say it was devoid of visitors. Some people were less inconvenienced by obstacles than others.

Only a handful of priests were present in the central domed sanctuary, most sitting or kneeling in prayer, and all looked up in surprise and interest when an unfamiliar figure came strolling casually in. Only two of them straightened further, their expressions even more startled; the rest were apparently not prepared to recognize Arachne Tellwyrn by description alone.

One of these happened to be the priest currently in charge, a lean man of local Western complexion in his early middle years. He rose smoothly from his seat beside the indoor fountain which formed the centerpiece of the chamber (Izara did not approve of statues or depictions of herself) and glided swiftly toward her.

“Nice place,” Tellwyrn commented, coming to a stop halfway toward the fountain and peering critically around, her hands planted on her hips. “I commend you on your skill at preservation. I’ve not been here in…damn, nearly two hundred years. It hardly looks different. Somebody finally touched up the mosaics, I see.”

She fell silent, watching with a faintly puzzled frown as the priest approached her wordlessly. Her frown deepened and she leaned subtly backward when he did not stop or slow, but neither backed away nor resisted when the man finally wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

“Excuse you?” she said in disbelief, scowling at his ear from inches away.

“Welcome,” the priest replied quietly, still holding her. “Welcome to our home. This is a place of rest; you can be assured we will tend to any of your needs we are able. You’re safe here.”

“I’m safe everywhere,” she said irritably, arms dangling at her sides. “I’m Arachne goddamn Tellwyrn, you twit. Get off me.”

The priest sighed softly, but slowly drew back, holding her gently by the shoulders and gazing into her eyes. “No one is more or less important than anyone else in Izara’s eyes; her people will do whatever we can to assuage anyone’s pain. My name is Taraue; I have the honor of leading this temple for now. And I want you to know, however it may feel sometimes, that you are loved.”

“Hi, Taraue,” she said curtly, directing a pointed look to one of his hands on her left shoulder. “All the way off, if you please.”

He complied, lowering his arms and stepping backward out of her space, to fold his hands before him and gaze seriously at her. “How may we aid you? We can speak here, or in privacy, whichever you prefer. I will be glad to accommodate your needs.”

“Uh huh,” she said, again looking around the temple. “Well, I don’t actually want to talk to you, no offense. It’s just that the boss lady doesn’t make herself easy to approach. Let the record show that any desperate measures necessary to do so are on her head alone.”

“Ah…” Taraue frowned faintly in confusion. “If you are seeking High Priestess Delaine, she can be found in the temple in Tiraas.”

“You’re either adorable or deliberately playing coy,” she said distractedly, turning in a slow circle and gazing abstractly into the distance all around. “I’m going to ignore that for the moment. I suggest everybody hold onto their butts.”

“Hold on—” He broke off as Tellwyrn peremptorily held up a finger before his face, closing her eyes in concentration. For several long seconds, she simply stood there, still and silent. Taraue glanced questioningly at the priestess who had tentatively approached them; she shrugged helplessly.

Then, quite suddenly, the light changed, the temperature rose sharply, and everyone’s ears popped from a very abrupt increase in air pressure.

For a few moments, there was nothing but shouts of dismay and disoriented stumbling about from the priests, most clutching their heads. Through it all, Tellwyrn stood calmly, opening her eyes and gazing around with a self-satisfied little smile while they regained their equilibrium, only to have it snatched away again at the sight visible through the wide archways opening onto the temple grounds.

Gone was the moisture in the air, the roar of the falls, the faint mist of the mountains drifting inside. Even the interior fountain had fallen still. Also gone were the views of the mountain waterfalls, and the expansive vista on the other side of the forests of N’Jendo stretching away to the west, far below. Now, there was only a featureless expanse of sand extending in all directions beneath a scorching, cloudless sky, illuminated by a lurid red sunset.

The N’Tali Temple now sat in the middle of a desert.

“Wh—” Taraue’s equanimity was well and truly disrupted now. “What—how did you—Why?”

He broke off suddenly, eyes widening, as she laid the blade of her gold-hilted saber against his throat.

“That’s just the opening act, of course,” Tellwyrn said pleasantly. “Gods can’t just come running every time I make a pest of myself, or they’d never find time for all that aimless sitting around contemplating infinity which I am pretty sure occupies most of their day. Say, Taraue, did you know that when a person is beheaded, the brain survives for up to two minutes?”

He emitted a soft wheeze, seemingly afraid even to swallow.

“Of course, dismemberment on that scale is more than virtually any healer can fix,” she continued with the same lightly conversational tone. “But for a deity, that’s nothing at all. Why, I bet even if—”

The saber suddenly and soundlessly vanished from her hand. Taraue took the opportunity to stumble backward, clutching at his throat.

Tellwyrn turned slowly to face the figure which had appeared behind her.

“Arachne,” the goddess said, “put my temple back where it was, please.”

“Aww,” Tellwyrn said, smirking and folding her arms. “You mean a great and mighty goddess of the Pantheon can’t handle that herself?”

“Yes,” Izara said evenly, “but I would like for you to do it.”

The goddess of love, in human form, was a short, gawkish young woman who would not have earned a second look if passed in the street, or possibly even a first one. Standing barely as tall as Tellwyrn’s chin and with a skinny, bony frame almost devoid of curvature, she had narrow features, rather protuberant blue eyes and a nose far too large for her face, surmounted by a mane of dirty blond hair that was too frizzy to be properly contained by her loose ponytail.

“Well, all right,” Tellwyrn said at last, smiling faintly. “I suppose that’s entirely fair. Hang tight.”

This time, she didn’t close her eyes, simply gazing without focus into the distance; the momennt of concentration stretched out longer, though, punctuated by continuing cries of alarm from throughout the temple complex.

The transition back was far smoother, however. There was barely a flicker of passage, no alarming jolt, and everyone arrived without even another disturbance of the inner ears. In fact, every soul on the grounds experienced an apparently sourceless sensation of calm and even faint euphoria upon the restoration of the temple’s famous mountain views and coolly humid atmosphere.

The fountain began splashing again; it sounded almost relieved.

“There, you see?” Tellwyrn said, grinning. “You can lend a hand when you want!”

“Only because you never think of the other people affected by your antics,” Izara said severely, folding her arms. “I am only still here because I assume you’ll simply throw another cosmic tantrum if I depart without hearing you out.”

“As I was telling Vesk just the other day,” the Professor replied cheerfully, “I like this new state of affairs. It’s so much easier and quicker to get you turkeys down off your pedestals when I don’t need to care if you like me.”

The look Izara gave her was too sad even to be reproachful. She turned her head, addressing her priest with a warm smile. “Taraue, would you kindly send messengers to the villages below? I imagine that spectacle was rather alarming for them. The people should be reassured that all is well.”

“At once, lady,” he said, bowing deeply to her before backing a few steps away and turning to gently take the arm of a nearby priest and lead him toward the far door. Three remaining clerics were left in the sanctuary, all on their knees in the presence of their goddess, but all watching the unfolding confrontation with keen interest and, in at least two cases, expressions of very un-Izarite asperity for the elf.

“Your boy is causing trouble, Izara,” Tellwyrn said, the jocularity gone from her own expression.

“It was just a hug, Arachne,” Izara said wryly. “My clerics do not customarily place their hands on another person without permission, but you cannot bring the kind of inner pain you are accustomed to ignoring into the presence of an empath without inciting a deep and instinctive need to comfort you.”

“Do not yank my threads,” Tellwyrn snapped. “You know very well who I’m talking about, and what I’m talking about. Make this any more difficult than it needs to be and I’m going to get less playful.”

The goddess gave no reaction to the threat. “Yes, Arachne, but you know very well how the covenant that established the Universal Church works. Whatever lingering sympathies a sitting Archpope may feel, he or she belongs to every faith and none. If you wish to complain about Justinian’s behavior, it would be more fitting to speak with Avei, Omnu,or Vidius. Of course,” she added rather archly, raising an eyebrow that was too bushy for her face, “you’d find it a lot harder to bully them, wouldn’t you?”

“You really think I went to all this trouble to talk about politics with you, of all people?” Tellwyrn shot back. “A rather troubling pattern is emerging. Quite apart from Justinian’s puppet-mastering, I have Branwen Snowe serving as the mouthpiece and gloves for his current scheme. And since you apparently managed not to notice, your current Bishop is a ham-fisted, manipulative egotist. As was her predecessor, since we’re discussing him anyway. Where the hell do you find these people?”

“That’s not exactly fair,” Izara said calmly. “Justinian was never ham-fisted. My clerics are chiefly interested in getting about the business of tending to those in need of love; the necessary political posts related to the Universal Church end up going to those who are interested in political advancement—who not coincidentally are those whose presence in my temples is not considered essential. You are aware of all of this, Arachne, and making me recite common knowledge is a tired old conversational gambit. I can tell you really have been hanging around with Vesk lately.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“I’ll tell him myself before you see him again. Right now, I find I have about as much patience as you have for dissembling. What is it you expect me to do, Arachne? Justinian answers to the Pantheon as a whole, now; I could speak to him, but I can’t command him on my own. And if you wanted me to carry messages either to him or to the other gods, you are too intelligent to think the way you chose to approach me would gain my cooperation.”

“Regardless,” Tellwyrn said curtly, “everywhere I turn, it seems I have a rogue Izarite making mean-spirited advances against my University.”

“Really? You have only turned in two directions?”

“You know my faults quite well,” the elf barreled on. “I’m sure you could make quite the speech about them. You should also know, therefore, that I’ve done nothing to deserve this. If it were just me, I could sit back and enjoy the luxury I have of not giving a flying damn what Justinian or Snowe say about anything. They are creeping toward being a threat to my kids, however, and that I will simply not allow.” She folded her arms, glaring at the goddess over her spectacles. “Now that I have your attention, Izara, this is what I want from you: prevent this from turning into a situation where I have to put a stop to these machinations myself. Use those subtler, gentler methods you are so justly proud of. I don’t mind acknowledging that I frankly suck at them. If I have to shut Justinian down, the shockwaves will ripple across the world and hurt a lot of people.”

“So long as he is Archpope,” Izara said quietly, “your preferred methods will not even touch him.”

“And if you think my preferred methods are brutal,” Tellwyrn countered, “you don’t want to see me forced into methods that I don’t prefer. I’m not suggesting you should tell him to back off; I doubt it would be worthwhile to talk to him at all, even for you. A simple public statement from you would put a complete halt to all of this, however. The aggression is coming from an Izarite Bishop and a—fine, formerly—Izarite Archpope. All it would take is a few words from you that you don’t approve of this behavior, and their credibility would vanish instantly.”

The goddess shook her head, a rueful little smile flickering across her features. “Vesk put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“I thought you didn’t like my usual methods? Well, here’s me, trying a—for want of a better term—Vesker approach. You gonna help, or you’d rather I just fall back on blasting assholes to smithereens if they provoke me?”

“Have you given the slightest thought, Arachne, to what would happen if I said the words that would damage the credibility of the Archpope and my Bishop?” Izara asked almost plaintively. “Talk about something that would send shockwaves.”

“Yes,” Tellwyrn replied seriously. “But those would be shockwaves of a much lesser severity…and you’re avoiding the important point. I’m right. This kind of underhanded, aggressive politicking is not Izarite, and it’s not appropriate behavior for the Universal Church or its leadership. This is a blatant attempt to use me as a scapegoat for simple political gain. I’ll be frank: I am asking you to damage his credibility in order to secure my own interests, but it remains true that he deserves and needs to lose it if this is how he’s going to behave. Otherwise, he’ll just keep doing this, the Church will suffer, all the cults will suffer, and whether or not he achieves whatever goal it is he’s ultimately after, he will step on a whole lot of faces along the way. The Archpope is supposed to be a mediator between faiths, not some kind of religious demagogue or mastermind.”

Izara sighed. “That may be… But you are definitely blinded by your own stake in this. The thing I have always admired most about you is your awareness of your own flaws, Arachne; please don’t lose that.” She held up a hand to forestall the argument Tellwyrn opened her mouth to deliver. “I will consider what you’ve said, I promise you. I will also speak with the others of the Pantheon. On a matter as complicated and potentially dangerous as this, I will not swear any action beyond that. Does that satisfy you?”

“For the moment, I suppose,” Tellwyrn said with a disgruntled grimace. “That doesn’t mean this is over. If nothing is done, and I have to keep revisiting the issue…”

“Yes, yes,” Izara said with a sigh. “I’ll have that conversation to look forward to. As I told you before, Arachne, if you ever decide to accept my help in addressing your own teetering tower of personal issues, you have only to speak your request. I really wish you would take me up on it…but of course, I wouldn’t force you even if I could. Barring either of those eventualities, farewell.”

“Just a moment,” Tellwyrn said sharply. “Give me back my sword.”

“The one you were just holding at the throat of the most innocent man with whom you’ve spoken in a week?” Izara said dryly.

“That’s not giving Alaric his due, you know.”

“What makes you think you deserve to have it back?”

“It wasn’t a request, Izara.”

That was finally too much for one of the watching priestesses. “Speak to her with respect!” she burst out, surging to her feet and glaring at the elf, stopping only when Izara gave her a kind smile and a forestalling gesture.

“I can only assume that was directed at you,” Tellwyrn remarked, her gaze still fixed on the goddess.

Izara sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’ll find it back at your home. Which is where you should take yourself now, please. Good-bye, Arachne. Call me when you’re ready to accept the help you actually need.”

And then, with no fanfare or production, she was gone.

Professor Tellwyrn paused to snort disdainfully before vanishing herself with a soft pop.

The wind, for once in this place, was gentle. The sun-baked desert stretched out below, but this tiny outcropping high in the Dwarnskolds was cool and touched by a mild breeze. He hadn’t even needed to use magic to protect the site—which was fortunate, as his particular brand of magic was less than helpful for manipulating weather. Nonetheless, infernal charms hung within the structure he had raised, ready to throw up protections against the fickle wind should they be needed. Not great protections, but they would hopefully do.

Four craggy arms of glossy obsidian had been grown incongruously from the golden-brown native stone of the mountain, arching toward each other to meet in the middle and with a painted paper lantern hanging from their intersection. At this time of day it added no light to speak of; it was merely there for decoration, like most of the other touches in place. A folding paper screen in the traditional Sifanese style stood along the rear opening of the impromptu gazebo (firmly secured to the ground, of course), leaving it an unobstructed view of the sprawling desert below. Three hefty pots were arranged artfully around the perimeter of the space, each containing a cherry tree, young and none as tall as a grown man, but all dusted with lovely pink blossoms which bobbed in the light wind.

Embras Mogul sat at one of the two chairs arranged on either side of the table he had placed in the center of the sheltered spot, humming softly to himself as he carefully placed tiny objects in precise locations around it. He had a whole bag of mismatched little game pieces in one hand, using the other to arrange them just so on the board.

“I’m afraid the pots don’t match.”

Mogul rose smoothly to his feet, depositing the bad on the chair and bowing deeply to the slender figure which had stepped out from behind one of the obsidian columns.

“Welcome, dear lady! I apologize for my paltry hospitality. Yes, indeed, each of them came from a different city—there are not so many portable blooming sakura trees in the Tiraan Empire, unfortunately. Getting them to blossom at this time of year, much less to flourish while being moved around, requires some considerable skill in the fae arts, I understand. Individuals with the requisite talents are necessarily somewhat dangerous for my people to approach.”

“Ah, but no hospitality is poor which is arranged at such effort,” Ekoi Kaisa said with a sly little smile. “You honor me.”

“It is you who honor me by accepting my sadly belated invitation,” he said gallantly, stepping around behind the table and holding the other chair out for her. Kaisa paced forward and seated herself daintily, curling her tail out of the way. Only once she was settled did Embras resume his own seat, whisking his bag of game pieces aside. “I am very relieved you opted to do so, madam. I fear I have been sadly remiss as it is; thank you kindly for allowing me the chance to amend my error.”

“Well, you are a courteous one, aren’t you?” she said, her smile growing subtly more vulpine. “I had more than half expected this conversation to begin with a reminder that laying hands upon a high priest would invite the wrath of his goddess.”

“Your pardon, Ekoi-sensei, but having already misstepped so badly, I would not dream of belittling your intelligence by pointing out the obvious.”

Kaisa laughed, softly but in apparently sincere delight. “And so nimble with your tongue! Very well, I am curious. In what way do you imagine you have offended me?”

“Why, simply by failing to welcome you to our realm,” he said with an easy smile. “Far be it from me to criticize Professor Tellwyrn, but her admirable forthrightness does have its downsides, does it not? I fear no one has taken the time to acquaint you fully with the situation into which you’ve been suddenly included.”

“Ah, Arachne,” Kaisa said with a fond little smile. “Such an apparently brutish creature on the surface, but I do believe she is one of the most interesting individuals I have met in all my long years.”

“For that, I shall take your word,” he replied. “I’m afraid I’ve not had the pleasure of the lady’s acquaintance.”

“You might not survive the pleasure. She is less susceptible than I to flattery, and assuredly not intimidated by Elilial’s ire. So, you wish to…bring me up to speed, is that it?” She tilted her head quizzically, one tufted ear twitching. “And I am to simply…accept your assessment of this so very complicated situation which you believe I do not understand.”

“Ah,” he said ruefully, “it seems I’ve put my foot in my mouth again. My humblest apologies, Professor; a clever old goat like myself is far too quick to think himself smart, usually at exactly the worst moment. No, indeed, I don’t imagine that you lack understanding—of Tiraas, or of anything. I can hardly dream how much a person must learn in the course of a life as long and interesting as yours.”

He made a sweeping gesture over the round table, whose top was painted in an exquisitely detailed map of the continent, now festooned with various little carved pieces.

“I am certain you are quite familiar with everything immediately concerning your position here,” Embras began, setting a tiny pair of golden spectacles atop the dot marking Last Rock, where it was surrounded by a hodgepodge of other bits and bobs, the largest being a small sunburst, a golden eagle, and a black scythe. “However, as you surely know better than most, events in one place very often feel the pull of those transpiring elsewhere, especially in this ever-more-connected world of ours. In particular, the machinations of those in great centers of power exert a pull on all they survey, and indeed upon things they never trouble to imagine.”

He carefully placed an upright silver ankh by the star-marked city of Tiraas, where it completed a little tableau. A cluster of tiny bishop pieces, like those from a chess set but smaller, were positioned around the ankh; a second cluster of more varied pieces stood next to this one, centered upon a silver gryphon.

“Then, too,” he continued, placing another small bishop on Veilgrad, “there are independent players—one never knows what unknown elements might up and do, but there are always a few whose actions have specific relevance to one’s own activities.” With a small flourish, he added two more bishops, this time to Vrin Shai. “In fact, I’m quite certain you know a few details about this game that I do not; at least, one hopes so. It would hardly be any fun otherwise. Regardless, whatever you may think of my trustworthiness—and you are surely not so unwise as to be unwary—be assured I am under no illusions that you cannot sniff out any lie I tell you. And that would bring your annoyance down upon me, which is an outcome I would rather avoid.”

“Indeed,” she said pleasantly. “That is rather the point of this exchange, is it not?”

“Quite so!” he said, beaming. “So, no, honored lady, I do not presume to lecture you about the state of the world. You were wiser beyond my highest ambitions when my grandparents were yet unconceived, and will be even more so when I am long dust. Rather than an attempt to educate you, I am offering a courtesy. You are here, you are involved, you are surely a greatly interesting element which will enliven this game considerably. And, sadly, I fear no one has troubled to extend to you the polite, and obvious, question.”

Embras held out his hand and uncurled his fingers, revealing a tiny carved jade figurine of a fox. He smiled disarmingly at the kitsune.

“Would you like to play?”

Tellwyrn shut the door of her office behind her and paced forward, stopping right in front of her desk. She planted her fists on her hips and shook her head slowly, staring down at the gold-hilted saber driven half the length of its blade into the desktop.

“Bitch.”

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“Oh, the poor darling,” Ami cooed, leaning against the railing to peer down at the passersby in the street below, and one in particular. “All that money, and yet so alone. There’s no one in her life who could tell her she accidentally left the house wearing that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jenell replied with mock solemnity. “There’s a certain savage grandeur in dressing in the pelt of a slain foe. I wonder if she bagged that sofa herself?”

Ami giggled in wicked delight, and Jenell smiled along, folding her arms. Aside from the armor she still wore, for a little while, it was just like being back at home with the girls. Before…everything.

“You’re good at this game,” Ami acknowledged, grinning up at her. “I almost regret not having had the chance to play before we both had to embark on our very serious careers.”

Jenell raised an eyebrow, but kept her expression light and amused. “Almost?”

“Well, you know very well we’d have torn each other to shreds,” Ami replied, winking. “I can’t speak for you, but I was somewhat lacking in discretion as a girl.”

“Hm, I suspect you’re right,” Jenell said wryly. “Me too. In a way, that’s why I’m here.”

“Oh? Oh, let me guess!” Straightening up from her position, lounging on the bench against the balustrade in a way that showed off her figure (Jenell was fairly sure she wasn’t trying to flirt; anyway, showing off one’s figure tended to become a habit, and a good one in her opinion), she leaned forward, grinning eagerly. “You sharpened your tongue on the wrong person and had to join the army.”

“I’m sure it’s an old story you’ve heard before,” Jenell said, shaking her head. “Yes, that was it exactly; it’s rather humbling to learn I’m so predictable.”

“Oh, pish, tosh, and pooh,” Ami replied, waving a hand. “I know all the stories, darling; that’s both my job and my religion. Dare I ask who you clawed?”

“The princess of Puna Dara,” Jenell said, deadpan.

The bard blinked. “Oh. Oh, my. Oh, dear, forgive me for saying it, but that was considerably less than discreet.”

“Several people have made that point to me, yes.”

“What did she do?” Ami demanded with ghoulish eagerness. “I mean, here you are, alive, so it can’t have been as bad as it could have been.”

“The uncouth little thug actually threatened to stab me,” Jenell snorted, raising her nose. “At a ball! At General Panissar’s own house! Honestly, I don’t know why we have any kind of treaty with those people.”

“Punaji are indeed…charmingly brutish,” Ami said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I assume someone came to your rescue, dear. A Punaji noble would stab you over an insult—and the Princess would probably get away with it. She might have to make a formal apology to the Imperial government, but unless you’re of a very high-ranking House, that would be that.”

Jenell sighed. “Yes, yes, lesson learned. I maintain the little wharf rat had it coming. Princess, my third foot.”

“Well, that’s a good story—one you might think about embellishing a bit before you tell it next time—but I think I can do better.” Ami lounged back against the balustrade, grinning. “I went to school with two of the three paladins.”

“Really.” Jenell straightened from her own position, leaning against the door frame. “Which—oh, never mind, it would have to be the boys. Avelea grew up in a temple, and forgive me, but you don’t seem the type.”

“I am most definitely not the type, and don’t you forget it!” Ami giggled.

“What were they like?”

“Well! Toby was always such a nice lad—and quite good-looking. Good enough to have a nibble at if he weren’t one of those cloyingly sweet ones. You know the type, so nice it’s like they’ve no spark to them at all.”

“Ugh.”

“I see you do know the type! But it’s Gabriel I devoutly hope I never meet again. Honestly, I don’t even care about the demon thing; he was just one of those juvenile blockheads you couldn’t not torment. I may be in luck if we do bump into each other—I doubt he remembers my face. I don’t think the little snot ever once looked at me above the collarbone.”

“What a fine crop the gods have summoned,” Jenell said dryly, shaking her head.

“Oh, you said it, darling. The world’s going right to Hell in a handbasket.”

“There you are,” Basra said, striding onto the balcony and prompting Jenell to leap away from the door, landing at full attention with a salute. “At ease, Covrin, for heaven’s sake. It’s not as if this is any kind of base, and I’m not even enlisted. I see you’re back, Talaari,” she added pointedly, folding her arms. “That’s a bit of a surprise, considering you didn’t trouble to report in.”

“My sincere apologies, your Grace,” Ami said languidly. If anything, she shifted subtly into a more sensuous lounge, and Jenell didn’t miss the way Basra’s eyes darted fleetingly over her. She firmly repressed the several very unpleasant emotions that flickered through her, especially the faint twinge of jealousy, which revolted her to her core. “The morning’s investigations were hardly conclusive in any direction; it will take time to gather any useful results. A campaign such as this—”

“Regardless,” Basra interrupted, “in the future I want regular updates on your efforts, whether you consider them significant or not. I am starved for intel, here; I need every little scrap of information you can bring. And with regard to that, girls, come along. I’ve called the others to the library; we’ll all catch up over lunch.”

“Ah, yes, lunch,” Ami said with mild distaste, rising fluidly to her feet and following the other two women into the house. “What an…interesting…cook you have hired. I don’t mean to complain—”

“That’s a wise policy,” Basra said from the head of the line. “Have you considered not doing it?”

It was a tensely silent walk the rest of the way to the library.

Everyone else was indeed there; Schwartz sat behind the room’s huge desk, scribbling furiously on a piece of modern white paper with an anachronistically old-fashioned feather quill while Meesie ran manic laps over the books and papers cluttering the desktop. Branwen sat in the armchair by the fireplace, hands folded demurely in her lap and regarding the others with a beatific little smile; Ildrin was standing by the window, peering out onto the same street which the balcony overlooked. She whirled at the Bishop’s entrance, stiffening but not quite coming to attention. Though an ordained cleric in Avei’s faith, she had never served in the Legions, and Basra had already spoken sharply to her about mimicking military customs.

The townhouse was spacious, but the “library” deserved the term only for having bookshelves lining two of its walls, and those were only half-filled. It was really more of an expansive study, no bigger than the average bedroom or parlor. With the whole group assembled, it was rather snug.

“Falaridjad,” Basra said by way of greeting, “I thought I asked you to have a meal prepared.”

“I wasn’t sure when everyone would be gathered,” Ildrin said stiffly, “so it was hard to time the…preparation. I am not used to cooking.”

“You jest,” Ami said sweetly.

“Anyway,” the priestess added, tightening her mouth further, “that boy was adamantly against it.”

“You can’t bring food into a library,” Schwartz agreed, finally looking up from whatever he was writing and frowning at Basra in the most direct reproach he had ever shown in her presence. Meesie came to rest atop a stack of books, squeaking in indignant agreement. “Really, your Grace, everyone knows that.”

Basra sighed, momentarily pinching the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb. “All right, fine, whatever. I want a report on everyone’s activities.”

“I burned a pot of rice,” Ildrin said tightly. “Lunch will be sandwiches. Your Grace, quite apart from being insulting, you have me doing work at which I am not skilled; this is pointless.”

“We are all more or less twiddling our thumbs at his point,” Basra said, clearly unaffected by the priestess’s displeasure. “When more constructive work appears, I will put you to it. And you can always leave, if you’re not happy. Next?”

“The residence is secure, ma’am,” Jenell said when no one chimed up after a few seconds. “I’m afraid I’ve achieved little of consequence, either.”

Barsa nodded to her, then directed a distinctly sardonic look at Branwen. “Had a relaxing morning, have you, Snowe?”

“Quite, thank you,” the Izarite said pleasantly. “I have passed a few very calm hours re-acquainting myself with some of the classics. I can’t remember the last time I was able to just sit and read. And really, Basra, Herschel is correct. You can’t serve food in a library.”

“At this juncture I am still waiting to learn what it is you intend to do here,” Basra said.

“Well, for one thing,” Branwen replied calmly, “I am a divine caster of—if I may flatter myself—not insignificant skill, which will be extremely relevant considering that we expect to be battling elementals.”

“Ah, yes,” Basra said, deadpan, “and we all know the vaunted skill in battle of Izara’s clerics.”

“And,” Branwen continued in a gentler tone, “I am a people person. You’re a politician, Bas. There’s a difference. For instance, right now your frustration is causing you to try to alienate half the people working for you. We’re a small group, contending with an elusive foe. One of Izara’s clerics may be exactly what you need to keep everyone functioning and pointed in the same direction.”

Basra shook her head. “Schwartz?”

He winced. “I, uh, I’ve done what I can. There’s a Salyrite chapel in the city; they were kind enough to send me some research materials I requested. Sister Leraine’s writ of support goes a long way, it seems! But, ah, no, there just isn’t a lot I can do from here. I’ve set up some wards and spirit watchers to protect the house from fae incursion, but without more information I really can’t extend that over a wider area. And, you know, some general-purpose wards over the whole city, but frankly I can’t see our mysterious antagonist bumbling into those; it’s more just on general principles. Patrolling the perimeter, and all that. Otherwise I’m, um, sort of… Well, a lot will depend on what Mr. Hargrave comes back with.”

“You can’t do anything from here to counter elemental attacks?” she demanded, turning to him with a scowl.

“Fae magic isn’t like the divine or arcane,” he said, quickly scooping up Meesie when she puffed up menacingly, squeaking at Basra. “It’s not just a matter of pointing your thoughts at an objective. It’s all about connectedness, about sympathetic principles, ab—well, no, I’m going off into a lecture, sorry. Um.” He rubbed his chin, frowning in thought for a moment. “Any working but the very simplest spells requires rituals, reagents, and contact made with various entities. In order to know which to use, I need to know rather specifically what I am doing. In general workings, the kinds of things meant to interact with just the physical world, well, that’s pretty straightforward. But we’re dealing with, specifically, a rival fae caster. One, who, I’m afraid, is rather more powerful than myself. Without information…” He shrugged helplessly, then offered a weak grin. “Now, if you point me at a warlock, I can have them crispy-fried and in a basket for you by dinner!”

“I can crush my own warlocks, thank you,” she said curtly.

“With that said,” Schwartz hurried on, “there is something I can do, but I wanted to clear it with you before taking action, because it’ll result in me being out of commission for a while.”

Basra narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”

“It’s about the shadow elemental we fought, you see. A creation that powerful and sophisticated necessarily has a lot of its creator put into it. With time to study it, I can potentially find a link that we can use to track it back to its maker!”

“It’s a little too destroyed to study,” Jenell commented.

“Yes, exactly,” Shwartz agreed, nodding. “Unfortunately we didn’t have the chance to nail that down at the time. So! I’d like to set up a spell that’ll let me, ah, sort of reach back in time to get some of that information.”

“You can scry through time?” Basra demanded.

“Oh, goodness, no!” he said hastily. “Scrying is arcane craft—well, unless you’re a really advanced…um, sorry, that’s off the topic. No, and anyway, traveling anything through time is asking to get a visit from the Scions of Vemnesthis, which is not pleasant. But!” He tapped his temple, grinning. “I was there. And the memory, while it isn’t as good as firsthand experience, has a lot of data that I didn’t consciously note at the time. That’s just how the brain works, you know! So what I plan to do involves entering a very deep trance to explore my own mind in detail from within, to extract information from that memory and see if I can figure out anything useful. Anything that can give us more intelligence about the person responsible for all this.”

“I like it,” she said, nodding. “Sounds more concrete than anything else thus far.”

“As I said, though,” he continued soberly, “this is a major undertaking. I’ll be out of commission for…gosh, it’ll be hours at the very least. Could well be the whole day. Maybe longer. I didn’t want to just do that without getting your go-ahead. And, uh… I’d rather have the supervision of a healer, if Bishop Snowe or Sister Falaridjad would oblige?”

“Excellent,” she said in a clipped tone. “Well done, Schwartz. Get started on that as soon as you can make the arrangements, and keep me informed.”

“Will do!”

“As of this moment,” she added in a much drier tone, “Schwartz is by a substantial margin the most useful member of this group. All of us should pause and reflect upon our shortcomings.”

“Basra,” Branwen said in gentle reproof, “we are all in the same position you are. Without more information, what can we do?”

“That brings us to our last member,” Basra said, turning to Ami, “who has actually been doing something all morning. Or so I sincerely hope.”

“Yes, yes, you needn’t worry,” Ami said haughtily. “I have been out in the city, listening and learning. There are indeed stirrings of unease regarding the incidents in question, but information is scarce. In an environment such as that, rumor flourishes, which muddies the waters. Rumors, now, those I can chase down—given time. However, like Mr. Schwartz, I am only in the very beginning stages of my own campaign. These things take time. I have visited several of the city’s most upscale establishments under the pretense of seeking permission to perform; I had a productive time overhearing gossip and asking innocent questions, but of course, nothing is open at this hour. Actually getting to the gentry will have to wait till they are free from their hangovers and pursuing the next ones.”

“Never been to Viridill before, have you?” Jenell asked dryly. “You seem to be expecting more excitement than there is.”

“Upscale establishments?” Basra said sharply. “I’d prefer a broader range of investigation. Even here, are surely a variety of taverns, tea rooms, shroom farms…”

“Your Grace,” Ami said in evident horror, “I have a reputation! A method, a persona, and for a bard, all of those are interconnected! I simply cannot be loitering about in unclean hellholes—really, a person like me!”

Basra closed her eyes. “Goddess, save me. Bards, witches, glorified temple prostitutes… This is what I have to work with.”

“In any case,” Ami continued, sticking her nose in the air, “I have chosen my methods for a reason, not simply because I enjoy the finer things in life. One learns so much more from the rich and powerful; they know things that no one else does, and have a perspective that sees farther as a rule. True, one sacrifices some of the more wide-reaching viewpoints of the common folk…but where the high and mighty congregate, so too do their servants.” She winked roguishly. “And those frequently offer the best of both worlds.”

“Hang on.” Basra turned her back on the bard, frowning suddenly at Schwartz. “If you’re in as much of a waiting phase as the rest of us, Schwartz, what were you working on so furiously there? That needed materials from your cult?”

“Oh!” Schwartz cleared his throat uncomfortably, shuffling papers. “Ah, well, I did try a basic divination. The fae arts don’t give precise detail like scrying, as you probably know; oracular divinations are all but impossible to block, but, ah…how shall I put this…”

“Tactically useless,” Basra said, grimacing.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say… Okay, yes, that’s kind of a fair point. But still, I figured, what’s the harm in trying, right? Any little thing we learn, after all!”

“Since you didn’t see fit to report on your results,” she retorted, “I gather they were, in a word, useless.”

“Oh, well, um…yes, I’m afraid so.” He shrugged awkwardly. “It’s like dream imagery. All symbolism and…well. I have managed to identify the broken tree I saw!” he offered, holding up one volume whose cover labeled it a book of the mystical correspondences of plants. “But as for what it means… A lame wolf and a broken aspen, a snake that turned into a man, a crow circling overhead.” Again he shrugged. “I’ll be keeping an eye open in the coming days, needless to say, but sadly, things like this are seldom clear except after the fact.”

“Well,” Ami said archly. “That all sounds tremendously morbid.”

“All right,” Basra said curtly. “Then unless anyone has anything else?”

A chilly silence met her. Branwen sighed very softly into it.

“Fine,” said Basra. “That’s it for now, then. Snowe, Talaari, keep me appraised of your comings and goings; the rest of you, stay in the house unless I tell you otherwise. And Falaridjad… Look, just put together some sandwiches. Can you manage not to burn that?”

Outside the library window, a shadow detached itself from the wall and slid silently down it to the street below, where it vanished into a storm drain.

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10 – 24

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There was time, but it wasn’t real. There were sleepy days and vibrant nights, changes in seasons with patterns they had to follow. He and his brothers grew bigger and stronger; other changes befell their parents as seasons faded past. But that was just what was. It was always now, and there was no counting of days, minutes…even years. That was how it was and how it had always been, and made it somewhat puzzling (when he very rarely paused to think on it) how liberating it seemed.

But maybe liberation was simply the natural state of things. They were free, and life was good. What else was there to think about?

Their youth in the forest was spent in idyllic play, being roughhoused and chased by mother and father in games that they only understood later were teaching them to hunt, to fight, to avoid danger and, above all, survive. It was a good forest; so long as they learned their lessons well and weren’t stupid, survival was never out of reach. It was never taken for given, but the struggle toward it was always enough to keep them fit and alert, never so much that it ground them down.

He had two brothers, and was the middle of the three. They had no names, but they didn’t need them. They knew who they were.

The oldest by a hair grew to be tall and lean of build, with a light coat that glistened golden when the sun struck it just right; he was the jokester, always playing around, even when the others were tired of it. His antics earned him no end of warning growls and more than a few bites for his temerity. As he grew, though, he middle one came to understand that his older brother was every bit as serious as any of the family, only in his own way. Just like their parents, his games hid lessons, and he insisted upon them because he wanted them to learn, because he wanted them to thrive.

They were harsh lessons, sometimes. The golden brother once let him be chased nearly to exhaustion by an infuriated bear whose cubs he had inadvertently wandered near, waiting until it was nearly too late to leap in as a distraction, howling for the rest of the family and allowing him to escape. He had tried to bite his elder brother in earnest after that, once he regained his energy and equilibrium, but that one time, the golden brother had bitten him right back, growling a warning. That was the day he began to understand why his brother’s games could be so rough, why he would allow them to be hurt sometimes. He had antagonized that bear through his own inattention; inattention was death. Better that he learn that sharp lesson with his brother keeping pace through the trees nearby, making sure it never went too far, than when he was alone, when it truly mattered and there would be no one to save him.

He began paying attention to the golden brother’s jokes after that, to the way he insisted on play-fighting long after they were tired of it. The practice and exercise honed them. Though the oldest brother was oldest only by insignificant minutes, he had a wisdom to him, an understanding with which he was gifted. Rather than simply living his own way, as the best wolf he could, he did his best to teach his brothers what he understood. Even if that meant hounding them until they were thoroughly sick of him. Even if it meant letting them come to grief while he watched from a safe distance, so they did not come to more grief than they could survive when he was not there to protect them.

The youngest brother was as dark as the eldest was bright, and never grew to be as large as either of them. He was quiet, too, always serious. Not to the point that he would not play and gambol with the family when it was appropriate, but in many ways he was the opposite of the golden brother. Often he would be utterly still, just watching, even when there seemed to be nothing to watch. It was as if he was always on the hunt, investigating every smell, sight and sound he encountered—but calmly, quietly, without the eager inquisitiveness of a pup.

He seemed determined to understand everything about the world, about the way it all fit together, and apparently his endless quest met with success. As he grew alongside them, there was a precision to his movements that neither his brothers nor their parents ever achieved. Every step, every lunge, everything he did was calculated flawlessly. By the time they were grown, even though he was the smallest, he always seemed to win at wrestling unless the others ganged up on him, and sometimes, even then. He knew how to move his body in precise ways they never grasped.

For all that, there were things that seemed oddly puzzling to him. Other things he grasped quickly; he seemed to understand the purpose of their older brother’s games and jokes long before the middle brother, perhaps from the very beginning. And yet, more normal, casual interactions were baffling to him as a puppy. By the time they grew to maturity, he had mostly figured such things out, but when they were pups it seemed, sometimes, that he didn’t understand what was meant when the family communicated with him. Sometimes, he didn’t even seem to recognize who they were. It was a strange counterpoint to the eerie precision with which he approached every aspect of his life. Then again, perhaps it was his difficulty understanding that spurred him to always seek comprehension.

They were different, and had their disagreements, but they were brothers. They were family. They loved unconditionally, trusted completely, and none of it was ever in question. It just was.

And it was good.

The days passed, they learned and grew. They hunted and played, and were together. One day became another; one season faded into the next. It went on, and the wolves were alive. They changed, but slowly; their parents very gradually grew less powerful, even as they came into their prime. But still they lived on, together.

One day into the next, and the next…

Ingvar had awakened from enough vivid dreams, especially lately, to know the sensation.

His eyes opened and his senses returned, and for the first few seconds he didn’t know what was what. He was a man, lying on his back on hard stone, looking up at the clear night sky. He was also a wolf, drifting off to sleep in the chilly dawn after a vigorous night’s hunt with his brothers.

He blinked his eyes, then again, and the sensations began to separate, one vivid set of memories dissipating. It took a few more seconds for him to truly remember himself.

Then, he tried to sit bolt upright, and succeeded only in spasming weakly.

“Easy,” Raichlin’s voice said soothingly. The Ranger stepped around in front of him, reaching out slowly to take him by the shoulders. Ingvar recognized the maneuver—keep in view, make no sudden moves, as if he were dealing with an excitable animal—but was still too confused to take offense. He simply allowed the man to help him carefully to a sitting position. “There we go. It’s disorienting, I know, but don’t worry—it passes quickly. We have something brewing that’ll help, and then some food.”

“No brewing,” Joe’s voice said off to Ingvar’s left. “No more brews.” He looked over to find the Kid, his hat and duster lying neatly beside him, sitting upright with his arms around his knees, staring out over the dark valley with a fixed expression. Not upset…not anything, really. His face was simply blank, immobile.

Ingvar could relate.

He took a few deep breaths, re-familiarizing himself with the sensation of his lungs, and acquainted himself with his surroundings.

They were still on the ledge, the cave behind them. Rather than the arcane camp stove, though, there was now a proper fire. Freshly baked biscuits sat cooling on a rock next to it; three plump grouses were spitted over the flames, just beginning to turn golden brown. Liesl appeared with a steaming cup of something thick and sweet-smelling, which she handed to him. There was another mug of it on the ground beside Joe, untouched.

Their third companion was on Ingvar’s right, just now being helped upright by Tabitha. Darling looked more unsettled than Ingvar had ever seen him, than he had ever expected to see him. Eyes wide and limbs moving weakly and without coordination, he had to lean physically on the Ranger as she eased him up. The expression on his face was…hollow. Shocked.

Strange how, after all this time, the sight of Darling finally rocked fully off his equilibrium didn’t give Ingvar any satisfaction. If anything, it only added to his own unease. Even though his games were annoying, his older brother never—

No.

Ingvar shook himself bodily, trying to chase away the vestiges of the dream. They didn’t go, however. He felt clearer already, the confusion of is first awakening receding, but those visions lingered, firmly and unsettlingly fixed in his memory.

Also, he finally observed, there was another person at their campsite.

Mary sat in front of them, at the very edge of the flat outcropping, watching them calmly.

“It’s sipping chocolate,” Raichlin said, and it took Ingvar a moment to realize he was referring to the drink. The Ranger knelt, picked up the mug beside Joe, and held it out to him. “Nothing mystical or alchemical this time, I promise. Just hot, thick, and sweet. It’s a bit of a luxury, but we’ve found that a dose of chocolate is pretty much the best possible thing for regaining your mental footing after a vision quest. It’s also damnably hard to carry on a hike into the wilderness; melts something awful. That stuff can be transported in powdered form, though. Go on, have a sip.”

Ingvar obeyed. He didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but he had to admit it really did hit the spot. Joe finally accepted his cup again and took a tentative sip. Darling gulped down half of his in one go.

She let them make some progress on their revitalizing drinks before starting.

“You see, now, what I meant. There are some things that simply cannot be told; they have to be understood before they will be listened to. All your life, Brother Ingvar, especially after you committed yourself to the path of the Huntsman, you have held up the wolf pack as the ideal of behavior. The pack’s hierarchy is the basis of everything they do, of the entire Shaathist philosophy. The strong and the weak; the male and the female. The order of all activity, designed after their most sacred animal.”

She paused, shaking her head slowly. “Except…wolves don’t do that.”

Joe cleared his throat. “That… Was any of that real?”

“Anything you can experience is real, Joseph,” she said calmly.

“Well, I must still be out of it,” he growled. “I actually asked that question an’ didn’t see that answer comin’.”

Even Ingvar had to crack the faintest smile at that. Darling was just staring, wide-eyed, into his mug.

“Over twelve centuries ago,” Mary said, shifting slightly and fixing her serene gaze upon Ingvar, “Angthinor the Wise came to the city in the mountains that would come to be called Shaathvar, bringing a new faith. He sought to make a path of the way of the Huntsman. Where they had always been solitary spirits, he formed a cult. A true religion, which Shaath had never had before. And the center of his new faith was the wolf.

“To show the people the ways of the pack, he brought a pack to the city. You know the story, Ingvar?”

“Of course,” he said, somewhat surprised to find his own voice working. He paused, clearing his throat, and continued. “Angthinor journeyed into the mountains to find a pack who would answer his call, to teach their ways to humanity. He ran with them for a full turn of the seasons, until the wild wolves agreed to come back with him. There he set aside a sacred space within Shaathvar’s walls were they could live, free, yet available to the people.”

“That sacred patch of parkland has been extensively renovated,” said Mary. Ingvar was struck by how sad she looked. “At the time…it was basically a zoo. And Angthinor’s means of gathering those wolves was simply to trap them. He brought them from various places around the Stalrange, put them in a barred enclosure for people to gawk at.”

Ingvar started to rise. “You—”

“Sit.” Her voice was calm and soft, but he found himself obeying before realizing he intended to. Mary sighed quietly before going on. “You see, Ingvar? This shows the falsehood behind the truth on which you have built your life. It is no sign of weakness that you resist it—you have to. That is simply the way minds are constructed. Had I simply told you…it would have meant nothing. But you know, now. You have seen it, lived it.

“A wolf pack usually consists of a breeding pair and their offspring. The pack is a family. They relate to one another just the way families do: through love, and trust. All this about dominance and submission, about the strong and the weak, the smaller female obeying the larger male… It comes from Angthinor’s wolves, from a dozen random wolves gathered from a dozen places and stuck together inside an alien city. Members of any social species, wolves, humans, or otherwise, if abducted and enclosed with a bunch of strangers under hostile conditions, will tend to organize themselves that way. At least at first.”

“He…so…” Ingvar felt himself floundering, and hated it. “It was a long time ago. Even if he made a mistake…”

“Ingvar,” she said, and he hated the gentleness in her tone. “Angthinor was a Huntsman of Shaath. A true Huntsman, of the old path; he walked with Shaath and knew the wilds. He truly had run with wolves, and knew their ways. I watched these events unfold from a distance; I confess I badly underestimated the seriousness and the importance of what was happening. You must understand how peculiar it all was, at that time. No, Ingvar. Angthinor knew exactly what he was doing. I cannot speak for his motivations or his inner thoughts, but he acted very deliberately.

“Many things can be said of the Shaathist way; many bad, and some very good. But it is no way of the wild. It’s built upon an idea forced on wild creatures by the cleverness of one man. The Huntsman of today, in their way, are some of the most domesticated people in the world.”

Ingvar stood in a single motion. Mary gaze up at him solemnly, which he ignored. Turning his back on her, on Joe and Darling and the Rangers, he strode away from the firelight, into the dark mountain forest.

“That was harsher than it needed to be,” Darling said after a painfully long silence. He lifted his eyes to meet Mary’s, and seemed finally to have collected himself. He was calm, anyway, his gaze sharper than usual. “Which, I suppose, means it was exactly the effect you were going for.”

“A man like Ingvar is not to be coddled,” she said simply. “It is a deeply painful thing he has just absorbed. When he’s had time to come to grips, he will appreciate having been treated as a man. As if he could handle it.”

“Um…” Joe peered into the darkness in the direction Ingvar had gone, then back at the three Rangers sitting around the campfire behind them. “Should somebody maybe go after him? I mean, it’s the woods, at night…”

“He’s a Huntsman of Shaath,” Darling said quietly, shifting around to turn his back on Mary and scoot closer to the flames. “The woods are his home. Exactly where he needs to be right now, I should think.”

Joe sighed, and finished of his chocolate, setting the empty mug down beside him. He glanced once more at Mary, finding nothing there but a small black crow perched on the very edge of the precipice, gazing out into the night. With a soft sigh, he got up and stepped over to rejoin the others by the fire.

“These’ll be ready before too much longer,” Tabitha noted, reaching out to pointlessly adjust the spit on which one of the grouses was cooking. “Could you keep an eye, turn ’em if they start getting too brown on one side? We need to check on something inside the waystation, now that you guys are back up.”

She rose, as did the other two Rangers, and they filed through the skins into the cave mouth without another word.

“Admirably discreet people,” Darling noted. “Right to the point of giving us no hint what to expect from this…experience.”

“Would you have done it, if they had?” Joe asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “In a heartbeat. I didn’t drag myself up into the mountains expecting not to face challenges or learn things. I just don’t like having shit like that sprung on me.”

Joe nodded slowly, staring into the flames.

The smell was tantalizing, and served to remind them how long it had been since they’d eaten, but neither made a move toward the birds.

Joe finally drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, I… There’s probably never going to be a better time to bring this up. Is…Ingvar…a man, or a woman?”

“He’s a man,” Darling said immediately, still watching the fire dance. “He had the misfortune to be born physically female. These things happen, I understand.”

“Huh,” Joe mused. “So…how does that work, exactly?”

Darling shrugged. “People get born wrong all the time. Missing limbs, harelipped, blind… And in subtler ways. I’ve worked very closely with a woman who I’m pretty sure is mentally incapable of love or empathy. That’s a dangerous one; my cult has rules about people like that. Eserion’s service didn’t prepare me for this, though. So don’t let me act like I’m some kind of expert here; anything I know is because I set out to research it, and that because I put my foot right in my mouth the first time I met Ingvar.”

“Well,” Joe said, “you did the research, at least.”

“Heh.” Darling shook his head. “You’ve already done better than I did, with regard to the way you treat him.”

“Treating people with basic respect is so easy, I can’t for the life a’ me figure why so many people seem to have such trouble with it. Having done this reading,” said the Kid more hesitantly, “would you mind…”

“Sharing?” Darling glanced at him, then nodded, smiling ruefully. “Well, as I said, there’s no Eserite doctrine about this. We just let people alone, to do and be whatever seems best to them.”

“I can see the wisdom in that,” Joe agreed, nodding.

“In other cults, though, there’s specific lore on it,” Darling continued. “The Shaathists, as we’ve recently been reminded, have a doctrinal divide over the matter; whether Ingvar would be treated as a man or woman pretty much depends on what lodge he’s in. The Avenists are split over it, too. There are priestesses of Avei who were born male, but the Silver Legions won’t take anyone not born a woman.”

“What makes the difference?” Joe asked.

Darling shook his head. “It’s a matter the Avenists don’t much care to discuss with outsiders; that was as far as I got in a Nemitite library. Actually, I could probably have garnered more answers from an actual priestess of Avei, but their opinion wasn’t my focus. I learned more of use from the writings of the Izarites and Vidians.”

“I guess I can see how both of those would have opinions on this,” Joe said, nodding slowly.

“I dunno how much you know of Izarite doctrine; they have pretty firm ideas about masculinity and femininity. That’s a big part of why Avenists are always mad at them. Izara’s faith is a very forgiving one, though; they’ll accept people by whatever identity they choose to express. It’s even more interesting in the cult of Vidius. They actually have a whole doctrine about this; people like Ingvar are considered twin spirits, and revered as being touched by the god of duality. To the point that some have tried to fake the condition to advance in the cult.”

“Tried to?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “How, exactly, would you catch someone at that?”

Darling grinned into the fire. “A deity is the ultimate fact-checker. Below a certain point you can get away with a lot, but if you start rising in a cult’s ranks, sooner or later the god is going to notice you.” He paused, frowning. “I actually wonder what that says about Avei and… Well, that’s a whole other matter and I shouldn’t even have brought it up.” He shook himself slightly. “This day’s work has really rocked me off my keel.”

“I can relate,” Joe said fervently, turning to stare at the grouse as they dripped sizzling fat into the flames. “I… Well. Much as I’m lookin’ forward to those bein’ done…”

“Yes?” Darling prompted after he trailed off, turning to regard him with a raised eyebrow.

Joe grimaced. “I’ve got this powerful hankering for rare venison, and right now I find that very disturbing.”

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10 – 23

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“That’s…heavy stuff,” Gabriel said slowly, frowning into the distance. “And by the way, am I the only one noticing a pattern here? Deities seem unusually interested in our social circle.”

“I had the same thought,” Teal agreed. “And…honestly, it’s a little unnerving. I mean, not that we haven’t all been treated well by various gods, but in the stories…”

“In the stories,” Ruda finished, “when the gods start paying undue attention to you, it’s usually either the cause or the effect of you being utterly fucked.”

“So that’s true in Punaji stories, too?” Teal asked.

Ruda grinned. “Gods are gods, Teal. It’s been eight thousand fuckin’ years. People everywhere have pretty much figured out to stay outta their damn business.”

The group was nominally moving, but at a pace more conducive to conversation than getting anywhere. They had paused in a bench-lined alcove sheltered by oak trees, most of them consumed by curiosity over Teal’s late arrival to class and what had caused it. Now, with that story told, the students were occupied with digesting and discussing the details of her encounter, and only incidentally making their way toward their next class.

“Well,” Juniper mused. “The last one made a new paladin. So…maybe that’s what he wants from you, Teal!”

Teal groaned, covering her eyes with a hand.

“I think, with all respect to everyone present,” Shaeine said softly, “I would not prefer that outcome, either.”

“There’s never been a Vesker paladin before,” Fross chimed, fluttering slowly about their heads. “On the other hand… There’s never been a Vidian paladin till now, either. And when Vidius came to the campus this spring, he kind of implied he wasn’t the only god looking to expand his repertory, didn’t he?”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard something like that,” Toby added. “When Omnu called me, he stated outright that the Pantheon had all been reconsidering the state of the world, and that was why they’d held off calling paladins for thirty years.”

“Avei said the same at my calling,” Trissiny said, frowning thoughtfully.

“I really don’t think that’s it,” Teal said fervently, “and I’m fairly sure that’s not just the voice of wishful thinking. Honestly, he seemed more critical of the way I’ve been doing than anything else.”

“It’s kinda funny a god would show up out of nowhere just to nitpick,” Juniper pointed out. “I mean, the paladin thing makes some sense, right? Also, sorry if I’m being dense, but I’m not sure I get why you’re so down on the idea. It seems to come with a lot of advantages.”

“Paladins tend not to live very long,” Trissiny said in an extremely neutral tone.

“Well, but she’s got Vadrieny!” Juniper said brightly. “So, hey, maybe that’s the whole point. An un-killable paladin!”

“Nothing’s un-killable,” Gabriel said rather darkly.

“Hell yes!” Ruda crowed, brandishing a bottle of scotch. “Paladins all around! Everybody gets a divine calling! Fuck yeah, I can be the new Hand of Naphthene!”

“Um, excuse me,” Gabriel said, “but isn’t she the one who doesn’t like anybody, doesn’t give a shit about anything, sometimes sinks ships even when they’ve made the right offerings, smites people for praying to her, and cursed your entire family?”

“Exactly!” Ruda replied, grinning madly. “It’s perfect for me!”

“I don’t really think so,” he said, regarding her pensively. “That’s just chaotic dickery. You’re an invested, goal-directed asshole. It seems like a basically different kind of a thing.”

“Anyway!” Teal said firmly. “Seriously, why ever Vesk has decided to take an interest in me, I really don’t think that’s it. Especially with my situation with Vadrieny. Vesk is not impressed by brute force; that’s the whole point of being a bard. He, uh, didn’t sound very impressed by my ability to do without brute force, either…”

“The more we contemplate this,” said Shaeine, “the more obscure his intentions appear. I am reminded that it is generally so, when discussing the plans of the gods. For the time being, perhaps it would be more productive to simply consider Vesk’s advice, and act upon it insofar as it is possible. You have our full support in this, Teal,” she added more softly.

“Hell yeah,” Ruda agreed. “All joking and theorizing aside, we’ve got your back.”

“In theory,” Juniper said thoughtfully. “I mean… Based on what it seems he was talking about, I, uh, kinda suck at that, too.”

“Now, that is a potential reason Vesk might take a firm interest in our resident bard,” Trissiny suggested. “If you consider us as an adventuring party in one of his stories… There are three paladins, a cleric and a demigoddess among us—we’re a group who might reasonably attract the interest of any deity. And subtlety has not exactly been our strong suit.”

“Ballroom dancing isn’t our strong suit, Shiny Boots,” Ruda said cheerfully. “Subtlety is the realm in which we have collectively set new standards of failure and ineptitude.”

“Right, so it’s something we can work on,” Gabriel said seriously. “As a starting point, perhaps we could all refrain from fucking stabbing each other.”

“Arquin,” Ruda said sardonically, “if you’re gonna keep trotting that old thing out, I might just have to arrange for it to be fresh and applicable again.”

Toby sighed.

“Hey, Teal!”

They all straggled to a stop as Scorn came stomping up the path, waving. It had taken a few weeks of getting to know the demon before people stopped being alarmed by that approach, but despite the appearance that she was trying to punish the earth with her claws, she was probably not walking that way out of anger. It was just her gait.

“Hi, Scorn,” Teal replied, waving back. “What’s up?”

The Rhaazke came to a stop in the path in front of them, wearing an uncharacteristically pensive frown. “Where you were just now? You have a class, yes? Right before now?”

“Yes, magic with Professor Ekoi,” Teal said slowly. “I was late, though, because… Well, that’s a long story. Why, were you looking for me?”

Scorn shook her head impatiently. “You are always in this class, this time of day? It’s known?”

“Well, the schedule’s public,” Teal said. “Why do you ask?”

The demon let out a short breath through her nose, looking off to the side, then narrowed her eyes. “Tell me… Hellhound breath. The hounds, they are from my place—very hard to get here, yes? Almost impossible, like me?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Gabriel. “Did…you want a pet? I mean, I can see how a reminder of home would be nice…”

“Ooh!” Fross bobbed up and down in excitement. “Melaxyna has two down in the Crawl! They’re crazy strained for resources down there, I bet we could get her to trade for something!”

“I rather suspect that Professor Tellwyrn has already ruled that out,” Shaeine said calmly, “considering the value of those creatures, and the fact that several of our fellow students are appallingly mercenary.”

“No, no!” Scorn waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t need, I am asking about the breath. Hard to get here, yes? It is expensive?”

“Hellhound breath is illegal to possess or trade in the Empire due to its use in high-level necromancy and the necessity of category one demonic trafficking to obtain it,” Fross recited. “The substance has unparalleled powers of awakening, and aside from its necromantic utility has—”

“I know what is the breath,” Scorn exclaimed in exasperation. “I have four at home! They are stay in their kennel at night so I can have sleep. I am asking, it is rare here? Very rare? Very expensive?”

“Oh, sorry, I guess you would know that,” Fross said, chagrined. “Um, yes, then. It’s rare, and expensive.”

“How expensive?” Scorn pressed. “Say, amount in a bottle the size of a pea. This costs what? You could buy a building with?”

“Um…sorry,” the pixie replied somewhat awkwardly. “I do like to diversify my studies, but the economics of magical contraband isn’t something I’ve found a need to investigate.”

“Scorn, what’s going on?” Toby asked. “Why do you need hellhound breath?”

“I don’t need,” Scorn said brusquely, turning her attention back to Teal. “You do not like Ravana Madouri, right?”

Teal drew in a slow breath and let it out in a sigh. “Ah. This is all beginning to make more sense.”

“Glad you are having sense made,” Scorn said in visible annoyance. “Meanwhile, I am asking question which is not answered!”

“Scorn,” Trissiny said pointedly, “calm. We talked about this.”

“Yes, when you will not take me to town,” the demon shot back, scowling at her. “Your talk is boring, Trissiny.”

“Having you leave the mountain requires special permission from Professor Tellwyrn,” Shaeine said, “which she would not give if you approached her in a state of anger. The attempt would likely set back your progress in gaining her trust. This was all explained.”

“Well, I am understand a few things better now,” Scorn said. “I leave the mountain today, just now.”

“What?” Teal shouted, almost overwhelmed by similar outbursts from several of the others.

“Not very far off,” Scorn said quickly, making a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Not into the town. There is a spot at the bottom of the mountain, yes? Sort of still on it, I guess, actually. There is a nice hill and shady trees and boulders and stuff.”

“Wait, you went down to the make-out spot?” Gabriel said, his eyebrows climbing abruptly. “I am suddenly very alarmed, and oddly intrigued.”

“If you act on either of those feelings, I may be forced to emulate Princess Zaruda with regard to your foot.”

“Shut up, Ariel!” several people chorused, including Scorn.

“What were you doing down there?” Toby demanded. “Scorn, you know the rules, and the risks. If you aggravate Professor Tellwyrn we may not be able to protect you!”

“I am not need protected!” Scorn shot back, baring her teeth.

“Enough.” Teal’s voice was firm, but flat, and cut through the argument like a shut door. “I have a feeling I know, generally, where this is headed. Were you with Ravana, Scorn?”

“Ravana, yes, and Iris. I am not say her last name; not sure I can do it right. Anyway, I was asking.” She frowned again, gazing at Teal’s face. “You do not like Ravana. She is say… Um, well, I am not sure how much I trust what she says. She has ideas that are make me think. But you I trust, Teal, and Lady Vadrieny. I am concerned to know why you dislike her.”

“Ravana,” Teal said in a slow, careful tone, her eyes never leaving Scorn’s, “is extremely devious, highly intelligent, highly driven and ambitious, and… I don’t think she really has any moral scruples. At all. She definitely doesn’t regard other people with much personal feeling. She’s a very dangerous person.”

“Wait, really?” Gabriel said. “Ravana, the cute little blonde one?”

Trissiny turned very slowly to stare at him.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he huffed. “That is neither the dumbest nor the most offensive thing I’ve ever said.”

“This week, even,” Toby said dryly.

“Thanks for chiming in, there, bro.”

“And for all that,” Teal said in a softer tone, now frowning at the ground, “I don’t think I’ve been entirely fair to her. We…met under extremely stressful circumstances. It’s entirely possible part of what I feel toward her is based on that, rather than on her.”

Shaeine stepped closer, shifting her hand to press the back of it against Teal’s.

“Do you think,” Scorn said thoughtfully, “she would lie to harm me?”

Teal ruminated for a moment, then shook her head. “I think…that’s the wrong question, Scorn. Yes, she’s capable of harming you, or anyone else, but what’s more important is why. In my opinion, the way she acts toward people is not based on any personal feeling for them, but…cold logic. A calculation of what she feels is most in her best interests.”

“Hm,” the demon said, nodding contemplatively. “That is not really honorable. But maybe is not dishonorable, depends how it is done with.”

“That’s actually a pretty damn salient analysis,” Ruda commented. “An’ I think you’re right, based on my own conversations with the girl. Ravana Madouri is a born stateswoman. She’s not gonna hurt anybody for no reason, but if she has a reason, she won’t hesitate for an instant.”

“I thought she seemed sweet,” Gabriel mumbled.

“Of course she fucking did, Arquin,” Ruda said scathingly. “That’s what they do.”

“Scorn,” Teal said, “what does hellhound breath have to do with me being in class and you talking with Ravana just now?”

“There is class for younger scholars,” Scorn replied. “Alchemy with Admestus. Ravana is bribe him to cancel, so she can talk with me—hellhound breath in a bottle, size of a pea, she says. And I am thinking, what is worth to her to talk with me in one time she knows you will not be there? So I want to know how much is hellhound breath worth.”

“Holy shit,” Gabriel muttered. “I mean, I don’t know black market economics any better than Fross, but hellhound breath is one of the rarest magical reagents there is. I’m pretty sure a pea-sized bottle of hellhound breath is worth more than a pumpkin-sized ball of platinum. That stuff’s right up there with mithril.”

“I have to say it’s somewhat alarming she’d consider it that important to get her hooks into Scorn without us around,” Trissiny said, scowling and absently fingering her sword.

“Bear in mind,” said Shaeine, “that a thing’s value is a function of various factors. Its rarity and utility, yes, but also the facility with which it can be traded—which in this case, I gather, is not easy. A House as ancient and wealthy as Madouri is likely to have unimaginable treasures in its vaults. If Ravana already owned such a substance and had no intention of performing necromancy, she might not consider it as severe a loss.”

“That’s reasonable and probably true,” said Juniper, “but it’s also just speculation.”

“Quite right,” Shaeine agreed, nodding to her. “I was merely pointing out that we do not know her means, motivations…anything, really. There is also the fact that she stands to gain by cultivating Professor Rafe’s favor, both during her academic career and afterward. He is one of the world’s foremost alchemists.”

“Hm,” Scorn said, folding her arms and tapping one clawed foot. “Ravana wants to be friends with me. She says she can teach me to…um. Behave better. More like is supposed to do on this planet.”

“I thought we were doing that,” Trissiny said, sounding slightly affronted.

“I’m not sure I can say how well we were doin’ it,” Ruda said dryly.

“Also, I thought you were from the same planet on a different dimensional resonance?” Fross added.

“Augh!” Scorn exclaimed, grabbing her horns dramatically. “Again! Always you do this, all the time! You people are never just having a talk on the subject, it always goes around with arguing and jokes till I am not remember what I was talk about!”

“Annoying, isn’t it?” Ariel agreed.

“Well, I think they’ve got us there, guys,” Fross chimed.

“I am talk about Ravana,” Scorn said insistently. “I am ask what you think, because you have my trust. It is…safe? I should take her advice?”

“Hmm,” Teal murmured.

“Yes,” Ruda said, catching her eye, then turning to Scorn with a decisive nod. “Yeah, I think a lot of what you can learn from Ravana Madouri would help you hugely with what you need to know about the world. But.” She pointed a warning finger at the demon. “You keep it firmly in mind at all times that anything that girl does, she does because she sees an advantage in it for herself.”

“In fact,” Teal said, raising her gaze to meet Scorn’s, “I agree. And I think I will join you, Scorn. We both have a lot we could learn from a scheming noblewoman. She clearly wants to teach, for whatever reason… And I think we’ll be a lot better off not letting her separate us to do it.”

“Home again, home again!” Embras said cheerily, strolling up to the broad door of the barn. The shadow of the mountain kept Last Rock relatively cool at this time in the afternoon, but this one structure, out beyond the edge of town, was half in direct sunlight. It was also, despite being clearly repaired and stocked with hay, currently disused and apparently unoccupied.

“Yes, looks cozy,” Vanessa said absently. “Embras, exactly how heavy a deflection did you lay over this barn? Quite apart from that damned kitsune, it’s not smart to make assumptions about what Tellwyrn can or can’t pick up on.”

“Relax, I am a constant work in progress,” he replied, turning his head to wink at her. “Each day I pick up new tricks. In this case, I spent the morning sniffing around that shiny new Vidian temple. The deflection over this spot currently looks exactly like their method—augmented with our own particular brand of misdirection till I bet Vidius himself would think his people did it.”

“I’m not sure it’s to our advantage to have Vidius sniffing around here to see why his priests are hiding barns,” she muttered. Embras patted her on the shoulder.

“It doesn’t have to hold long, Nessa. In fact, it specifically needs to be penetrable in a few hours. And as I’ve said before, I have plans in place for Tellwyrn’s intervention.”

She sighed, but offered no further complaint as he slid the door open.

“Ah, good timing,” Bradshaw announced inside, straightening up from the spell circle he had just finished inscribing in the middle of the dirt floor. “Nessa! How’re you holding up?”

“Well,” she said, limping in as Embras stepped aside, gallantly gesturing her forward. “Tired, but satisfied. Calderaas is under control—we’ve inevitably lost some political capital, and I had to spend some rather more literal capital to wrangle some irate acquaintances, but I judge the city safe to move in again. A little more time to rebuild our connections the organic way and it’ll be almost as good as new. How about you guys? I gather from our fearless leader, here, that the trip to Puna Shankur was productive.”

“Quite,” Bradshaw agreed, pacing in a slow circle around his spell diagram and peering down at it. “Hiroshi sends his regards. Yes, it went well once we were out of Mathenon, where Embras felt the need to further detour what was already a detour so he could grouse about the Vernisites.”

“Excuse me, that was hardly a detour,” Embras said haughtily. “Hiroshi asked as we were passing. It cost us not a second to have a discussion while walking.”

“Oh, you and those Vernisites,” Vanessa said with wry fondness. “What were they doing this time?”

“Trading stocks,” Bradshaw replied.

“Embras, that’s been going on for centuries,” she said in exasperation.

At that, Bradshaw lifted his head, frowning. “It has?”

“Sure, among themselves,” Embras snorted. “Behind closed doors, with their cronies, their bankers and guilded merchants. Now they’re peddling stocks in special exchanges, involving the general public, who have no idea what they’re dabbling in.”

“Yes,” she said, deadpan. “The temerity, expanding the ability of the common people to participate in and profit from the wider economy. Those fiends.”

“People profit from participating in what they understand,” he shot back. “Do you think the average, cobbler, farmer or factory worker knows a damn thing about stock trading? How to analyze a company for risks and reward? Pah! All they’re doing by opening that up to the public is promising people the prospect of big winnings and raking in the dough because they’re the only ones who know how the system truly works! It’s exactly like that casino the Eserites run, except they at least are only picking on the wealthy and corrupt. Those Vernisites milk the whole economy—they cheat everyone, even those who don’t play their games. You mark my words, by the end of the century they’ll be replacing coins with bank notes so they can artificially inflate the value of the currency itself!”

“Really, Embras?” Bradshaw said wearily. “Are we so lacking in problems that you have to spin conspiracy theories?”

“Well, you’ve certainly got a point there,” Embras agreed. “Best to keep our minds on the task at hand. How close to prepared are we, Bradshaw?”

“This has been done, theoretically, for half an hour,” the warlock replied, now walking around the circle in the other direction. “I have been double, triple and quadruple checking it. This is not simple spellcraft we’re talking about, here.”

“By all means,” Embras said, “be certain. I trust your expertise implicitly—we don’t proceed if you’re not confident the spell will work.”

“Oh, I’m confident,” Bradshaw said, sighing. “At least, I can’t find any errors in my casting. It’s just…this plan.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa said softly. “We are talking about tweaking the nose of a demigoddess arch-fae, under the nose of a grouchy archmage.”

“We’re not tweaking anything,” Embras said patiently. “Assuming Bradshaw has arranged this thing to my specifications—which I don’t doubt he has—I think she’ll be rather flattered by the attention.”

“Just…don’t forget the risks,” Vanessa murmured.

“Never.”

“You have the item?” Bradshaw asked, straightening again.

“Right here.” Embras produced an envelope from within his jacket, its seal of black wax embossed in the shape of a spiky wreath. “Do you need to add it yourself?”

“No, there’s no great ceremony involved,” Bradshaw demurred. “And it’ll be better with your personal touch. As long as you place it at the proper time. If you’re certain you wish to be the focus of the attention you’re drawing…”

“Very good, then,” Embras said. “That being the case, I believe we’re just putting off the inevitable, now.”

Vanessa heaved another sigh and shuffled back a few steps to position herself by the door.

“All right,” Bradshaw said, nodding. “Stay alert, then. As complex as this is, it’s not going to take long to execute. Your part shouldn’t require very specific timing, so long as you don’t jump in too soon, but keep in mind aspects of that stage of the spell are designed to degrade gradually. No point stretching things out.”

“Of course. On your lead, then.”

“All right,” he repeated, visibly steeling himself. “Here we go.”

Bradshaw made no apparent physical move at the spell circle; for a warlock of his caliber, a pointed thought was enough.

At first, only the six lesser circles inscribed around its outer edge lit up, the lines forming them gleaming white. Inner rings from each rose bodily off the ground to rise into the air, where they hovered about four feet up. Below, the six small circles shifted in color to an eerie purple, and the first demonic forms began to emerge.

The katzils hissed in displeasure, as they were prone to do—these were wild creatures called straight from Hell, not tamed pets trained to behave. As they were forced upward through the invisible columns marked by their little summoning circles, the glowing rings above narrowed. At the moment when each katzil’s head passed through one, it snapped into place around the demon’s neck, solidifying into a black collar of gleaming metal, richly inscribed with spell runes in elaborate demonic script.

It took only a few moments for all six demons to emerge. As soon as all were caught and collared, the runes around the lesser circles physically shifted, and shadows rose up from nowhere—rather a disorienting sight, happening as it did in the middle of a glowing spell diagram—swallowing up the demons. A moment later, there was no sign that they had ever been there.

“That’s incredible,” Vanessa murmured. “Just that you can do that much, for one thing. If you could summon and control a demon with one spell…”

“Those won’t hold them long,” Bradshaw said absently, watching his spell circle closely as the inner ring slowly glowed to life, its own binding runes altering into a new pattern and the outer summoning circles melting away entirely. “Those collars will, in fact, kill the beasts within a few hours.”

“But the controls on them!”

“Yes, they’ll keep them from harming anyone, and the shadow-jumps will direct them away from people. Each will be impelled to sniff around a different type of bait; at least one is bound to catch the kitsune’s nose. But they’ll leave six trails back here, and we know she can follow shadow-jumps. All right, the remaining circle is re-configured. Embras, you’re up.”

“Right you are,” Embras said, stepping forward and extending the envelope. His sleeve shimmered as he thrust his hand into the area defined by the spell circle, but it caused him no evident discomfort. When he had the envelope positioned in the center of the space above the circle, he paused, standing utterly still and gazing in silence at it for a long moment.

“I’m exhausted,” he said finally, his voice suddenly soft and every bit as weary as his words claimed. “The last year has been a constant chain of screw-ups. The last four years, but it’s been escalating badly. Ever since the summoning of the archdemons was intercepted, and we lost them… All those years of planning gone up in smoke, to say nothing of the Lady’s heartbreak. We’re the Wreath; we lay our strategies in advance and act when we have control of the board. Since that day, we’ve been forced to react, to adapt, and it shows. We are not doing well. It was bad before, but since Tiraas this spring… I very much fear that was the deathblow for us. We’ve been running, fighting, making do with guerrilla tactics when we should have been moving pieces into place to dominate our endgame. It’s been centuries since the Black Wreath suffered so many failures and setbacks in such swift succession. Each day I find new reasons to be proud of our people, but I cannot escape the fear that now, after eight thousand years, I will be the one to let the Lady down when she needs us the most.”

In the aching silence which followed, the nigh-inaudible hum of magic at work was barely discernible at the edge of hearing.

Then, all at once, Embras released the envelope and stepped back away from the spell circle, briskly dusting off his hands.

It hung there, suspended in midair, while the circle morphed again, first shifting to a deep red, then re-configuring its runes till it was nothing but a single ring of crimson light. Finally, the circle shrank inward upon itself, vanishing into a coin-sized spot, and winked out entirely. Above it, the envelope melted from view, leaving the barn looking empty and totally mundane.

“Embras,” Vanessa said softly, gazing at him with a pained expression.

“I… I thought you were just going to…invite her,” Bradshaw said hesitantly.

“Nonsense,” Embras said brightly, his tone as light as ever now, as though his last speech had never occurred. “That spell wasn’t designed to carry a verbal message, merely the sense of one to a creature with fae gifts of perception. You both know that school of magic is the best at parsing and representing emotions. Well, she’ll notice the katzils, follow the shadow-jumps back here, decode the vanished circle as she did the last one and find our written invitation, ready and waiting! No sense adding another request for her presence. Fairies rarely do what they’re asked, and never what they’re told. A gift of real emotion, though?” He turned to them and winked, grinning. “A sensation of vulnerability, from a master of shifting facades such as myself? That will get her attention, and sweeten the offer to the point she won’t be able to resist. If you’re dealing with a foe clever enough to see through any trap you can lay, the quality of the bait is of paramount importance.”

“Is it truly that bad?” Vanessa asked quietly.

Embras’s expression sobered slightly. “You know better than most how bad it is. Both of you. But we’re still who we are, and we still have assets not yet brought to bear. It’s far from hopeless—and remember, this is not over until we have the gods of the Pantheon in chains at the Lady’s feet.”

They both nodded, expressions resolute, and Embras nodded back.

“For now, my friends, time we move out. Remember, no shadow-jumping till we’re a safe distance away—don’t want her following us. Until our invitation is delivered…there’s nothing to do but wait.”

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“I like this place!” Schwartz announced, leaning over the carved stone bannister to grin down at them.

“Oh, you do,” Basra said tonelessly, not lifting her eyes from the Governor’s folder, which she had been studying almost non-stop since receiving it. “Great. That’s a load off my mind. I was very concerned.”

The residence granted them by the Governor was spacious, but compactly fitted in its genteel neighborhood due to is efficient layout; it came furnished, and its size and style of décor suggested a middling level of wealth. Lower nobility or a fairly prosperous merchant might own such a home. It was altogether very typical of Viridill—and thus Avenist—sensibilities, being built of simple local granite with white marble accents in the interior, its trappings of fine quality but not ostentatious in style, and running toward the faux militaristic. The walls were adorned sparingly with banners heralding no House, nation or military unit that actually existed, plus a few mounted weapons of fanciful design clearly not meant for actual battle; the corners of the main hall were guarded by stands bearing suits of Avenic-style bronze armor inlaid with silver and ivory.

Schwartz, looking a little crestfallen at Basra’s chilly reception, ducked back behind the balustrade, then continued down the stairs to rejoin the group on the ground floor.

“Well, it is a nice place,” he said somewhat defensively. “There’s plenty of room for everyone, and even a serviceable library!”

“What makes a library serviceable?” Jenell asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I mean, it’s…stocked? Just from a cursory look I gather the books were collected more for showing off than reading. It’s all classics and very fine editions of unremarkable literature. Not to sound conceited or anything, but I rather doubt I’ll learn much from browsing there!”

“You’re not here to browse books,” Basra said curtly, turning a page. “And with regard to how much room there is for everyone, Branwen, exactly how many people did you recruit for this operation?”

“Just the two, Bas,” Branwen replied with an amused little smile.

“And I’m ready to be of service in any way I can, ma’am!” the newest member of their party said stiffly. Variations on that theme had been the primary thrust of her commentary thus far—she seemed to be growing nervous at Basra’s persistent disinterest.

Ildrin Falaridjad was a woman of remarkably middling appearance; her nondescript brown hair, light brown eyes and pale brown complexion supported the mixed ancestry hinted at by her Stalweiss name and Tiraan surname. She wore the simple white robe of the Sisterhood’s civilian clergy, without even a weapon, though she seemed to be trying to mimic a military bearing. Unsuccessfully, if Basra and Covrin’s unfriendly regard were any indication.

“Any way you can?” Basra asked, finally lifting her eyes to give the priestess a very level stare.

“Absolutely, your Grace!” Ildrin said firmly, nodding.

“Good,” Basra said, returning her attention to the papers. “I’m placing you in charge of KP.”

“Um.” Ildrin glanced at the others; Schwartz and Branwen looked as nonplussed as she, while Covrin made a show of smothering a smile. “I’m sorry, what does that mean?”

“I note that the Governor did not see fit to provide us any domestic staff along with this residence,” Basra said, still reading. “That’s your job. Keep our facilities in order, see to provisions.”

“B-b-but that’s…cooking and cleaning,” Ildrin sputtered. “That’s housekeeping work!”

Branwen sighed. “Basra…”

“I know who you are, Sister Ildrin,” Basra said, looking up at her again, her face ominously expressionless. “You have a certain reputation in certain circles. I know exactly where this one dug you up,” she paused to jerk a thumb at Branwen, who made a wry face. “I have a pretty good idea what to expect from you, and only the fact that I have an actual use for a warm body to deal with domestic tasks prevents me from chasing you right out of here. Prove that you have further use and won’t cause trouble, and I’ll find more interesting work for you. Otherwise, you can leave and resume whatever you were doing before Bishop Snowe disrupted your orderly little life. It is very much all the same to me.”

A bell rang from the foyer beyond the main hall, and Branwen rose smoothly from her seat against the wall. “I think I had better answer that,” she said, giving Basra a pointed look as she passed on the way to the door. Her fellow Bishop made no acknowledgment, turning another page and resuming her study.

“I won’t disappoint you, your Grace,” Ildrin said with grim certainty, having taken advantage of the momentary distraction to compose her features.

“Not twice, you won’t,” Basra murmured.

The sound of voices echoed from the foyer, muffled by the inefficient acoustics and the heavy velvet drapes decorating the doorway, but the sound just served to highlight the chilly silence that fell across the group in the hall. Jenell stood calmly at parade rest, while Basra appeared fully engrossed in her study of the Governor’s reports. Ildrin, however, was a portrait of unhappiness, and Schwartz kept glancing around, looking increasingly awkward.

“So!” he said after a tense few moments. “I, uh, I wonder who that is at the door.”

“Mr. Schwartz,” said Basra, again not lifting her gaze from the reports, “I am a career politician; my life’s work involves listening to a lot of bloviating, lies, obfuscation and self-congratulatory noise. That, I suspect, is the only reason your last comment is not the single most pointless use of human breath I have ever heard.”

Jenell bit her lips, repressing a smile with more sincerity this time, but the look she gave the crestfallen witch was oddly sympathetic. Sitting upright in his slightly unkempt hair, Meesie puffed herself up and squeaked indignantly at Basra. Predictably and fortunately, this garnered no reaction.

Before the situation could become any more awkward, the voices from without grew louder, and Branwen and the new arrival entered the hall.

“…no disrespect, of course, your Grace, but this has been the most frustrating morning. I appreciate the message you left for me at the Rail station, but no one at the Temple of Avei had any idea what I was talking about, and the personnel at the Imperial government office were most unhelpful until I finally got in touch with ohhh no!” Coming to a stop in the doorway, the new arrival dropped the expensive carpet bag in her left hand to point melodramatically at Basra. “Absolutely not! I’ve had quite enough of this one’s antics for one lifetime, thank you! Good day.”

She was a tall, strikingly pretty young woman with waves of luxuriant black hair tumbling down her back, which she immediately showed them by turning on her heel. Branwen caught her arm before she could take another step—if, indeed, she had actually intended to, considering her bag was still on the floor.

“Now, Ms. Talaari, please wait a moment,” the Izarite urged placatingly.

“Hello, Ami,” Basra said, raising an eyebrow sardonically. “I was told you’d be coming. Is there a problem?”

“Oh, you were told, is that it?” Ami Talaari replied, half-turning again to give her a haughty stare. Her position was well-chosen, giving the group a view of her impressive profile as well as allowing her a dramatically sidelong glare at them. “How marvelous. I’m sure you’d just love another opportunity to try to have me scalped by Huntsmen of Shaath, since it didn’t take the last time.”

“Scalped?” Schwartz exclaimed. Meesie cheeped in mirrored alarm.

“Um…” Ildrin frowned. “Huntsmen don’t do that.”

“Young woman, what in the world are you talking about?” Basra asked, closing the folder and lowering it to her side.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Ami spat, tossing her head. “You offered me a task in good faith, and instead of the simple Legion training exercise you promised, I found myself waylaid by the Thieves’ Guild and informed I had come within a hair’s breadth of infuriating a party of heavily armed Huntsmen—men belligerent enough to attack a unit of the Silver Legions!”

“Wait, Huntsmen attacked Legionnaires?” Ildrin demanded. “When was this? I would have heard about that!”

“You would have,” Basra said dryly, “because no such thing took place. Ms. Talaari did indeed help me with a training exercise for a small special forces unit, and performed rather well. Better than they did, anyway. It’s also true she subsequently ran afoul of interfaith politics that I failed to anticipate—I did not actually expect the Thieves’ Guild to interfere in that. I made arrangements for you to be amply compensated for the trouble, Ami,” she added, narrowing her eyes. “I was told the Guild did not mishandle you unduly. Was that in error?”

“Oh, they were very polite,” Ami said scathingly. “As a bard, I quite admired their skill at making it clear I was one wrong move from a slit throat without actually saying anything overtly threatening. Such wordplay! It would all have been deeply educational, had I not been terrified for my life!”

“Grandstanding and bluster,” Basra sad dryly. “Ironically, you’re only at significant risk of having your throat slit by the Thieves’ Guild if you are in it.”

“Which is all well and good now,” Ami continued, glaring down her nose at the Bishop. “And they didn’t lay a finger on me, it’s true. I was rather more perturbed to learn you deliberately set me up to profane a Shaathist religious rite and antagonize a cell of Huntsmen!”

“I say,” Schwartz muttered, blinking rapidly.

“Who told you that?” Basra demanded.

Ami seemed taken aback by her suddenly sharp tone. “I… That is, the Eserites were actually quite informative while they…”

“So you’re telling me,” Basra said scornfully, “you believed a story spun for you by the armed thugs holding you prisoner?”

“Well—I— Why would they lie?”

“How is that even a question?” Basra shot back, her tone disparaging. “Ami, I truly am sorry you were caught up in that fiasco—as I said, I did my best to make sure you were compensated for your hardships. The truth is, both the Huntsmen and the Thieves’ Guild were butting in where they had no business being; the Legionnaires being trained scarcely avoided conflict with both. Honestly, I thought better of you than this based on your performance. Both cults had to begin spinning stories to make themselves look innocent of wrongdoing. By the time everyone got through filling the air with contradictions, the story was so muddled we were never able to prosecute anyone for their actions, nor even lodge a complaint with the Church that would have been taken seriously. Frankly, I missed my best chance to have investigators dig into the mess while it was fresh enough to do so because I was busy making sure my Legionnaires and you were unharmed and properly cared for. Please tell me you received the remuneration I requisitioned for you?”

“Well, yes… And that was appreciated, but…”

“But?” Basra planted her fists on her hips, bending the Governor’s folder. “You are actually holding out for more?”

“Now, see here,” Ami protested more weakly.

“You performed your duties competently, but it wasn’t as if the dramatic chops the task required were that substantial. Honestly, Talaari, I am not certain why Bishop Snowe contacted you for this task, and I am increasingly unconvinced that your help will be needed.”

“Basra, really,” Branwen said reprovingly. “That is enough. Don’t badger the girl, she’s already had a hard enough time, it seems. Ami, dear, could I talk with you for a moment?” Smiling up at the taller woman, she gently tugged her toward the side door into the dining room. “In here, if you please. I believe we can clear all this up.”

“I’m not so certain I want to clear anything up,” Ami complained, even as she was led unresistingly away. “Quite apart from the trouble I’ve already had, it doesn’t sound like…”

Branwen shut the heavy oak door behind them, cutting off sound.

Basra heaved an irritated sigh. “Well, how marvelously helpful Branwen has turned out to be.”

“Shall I ask those two to absent themselves from the mission, ma’am?” Jenell asked.

“No,” Basra said curtly, rapidly sweeping her glance across those still in the hall. “The common theme I’m detecting among the personnel available here is that each may be specifically useful in this task, if you can all control some of your more annoying habits—Snowe included. I’ve been considering strategy while perusing the Governor’s reports. So far, there’s nothing in them I didn’t already learn at the Abbey. Right now, the problem is that we are stuck waiting on others: on Hargrave to report back with his findings, and worse, on the shaman responsible for these problems to carry out more attacks, and hopefully make a mistake. This is not an acceptable state of affairs. I intend to go on the offensive.”

“I say,” Schwartz said worriedly. “That does sound rather…well, unsafe.”

“This is war, Schwartz,” Basra retorted. “It’s not meant to be safe. But this particular conflict is spread widely through a civilian-occupied area, and quite apart from the risk to life, limb and property posed by these attacks, it’s going to be necessary for us to manage the perceptions of the local populace while hunting down the perpetrator. In particular, we have to find a way to be magically aggressive in the fae realm without antagonizing Viridill’s resident witches, who can either be tremendously helpful in this, or make our tasks far more difficult. Schwartz, we need to have a long discussion about the possibilities there; I require a full briefing on certain aspects of fae magic.”

“Well, I mean, that is,” he stammered, “it really depends on what exactly you intend…”

“We’ll go over it. The other relevant concern is that the specific skills of an Izarite priestess and a bard will be exceedingly useful in the days to come. In addition to pacifying the natives, we need to be reaching out into the community and fishing up answers. I don’t mind admitting that wrangling bumpkins is not part of my skill set.”

“I can definitely help with that,” Ami announced, reemerging abruptly from the dining room with her chin held high. Between her bearing, her obviously detailed personal grooming, and her expensive taste in dresses, she managed to look positively regal, despite her recent outbursts. “People talk to a bard even if they’ve no intention of talking to anyone, including themselves.”

“I…wait, what?” Ildrin said, frowning.

“She means,” Branwen said from behind Ami, “we will both be glad to help.”

“So you’ve decided to stay on, have you?” Basra dryly asked the bard.

“Yes, well.” Ami shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance, inspecting her nails. “Bishop Snowe explained what has been happening here, and the importance of the task. A true bard does not flee from hazard.”

“Wow,” Schwartz muttered, “that was fast.”

“Uh, really?” Ildrin inquired. “I think we’ve read some very different stories about bards.”

“In any case,” Ami added more loudly, “this being a worthwhile duty and not a silly training exercise, if it does prove to be dangerous, at least that will serve as an appropriate and worthy use of my talents.”

“Great,” Basra said with a long-suffering look. “Then Schwartz can lead the way to this alleged library; we all need to have a discussion. I’ve the bones of a strategy in mind, but I need a deeper understanding of the assets I’m working with before we can move.”

“I have my things in the foyer,” Ami said haughtily. “I’ll need those taken to my quarters.”

“Oh, will you,” Ildrin said, folding her arms and staring disapprovingly. “Is there a reason you can’t pick up after yourself?”

“Yes, Sister, there is,” Basra said, giving her a chilly little smile. “We happen to have someone on staff whose job that is. Hop to it, KP.”

By early afternoon, Ingvar had mostly gotten over his disgruntlement at Darling’s continued physical performance. Admitting how childish and irrational it was in the first place helped, as did assuring himself that recognizing Darling’s abilities imposed upon him no obligation to like the man. And indeed, it enabled him to be properly amused at the sight of the city-dwelling Eserite hiking through the mountains in his loud suit. No matter how uncomplaining and unwinded he was by the exertion, that remained funny.

Ingvar mostly kept his peace on their trek, aware that the Shadow Hunters—or Rangers, or whatever it pleased them to call themselves—were leading them on a wide arc into the mountains rather than a straight route across the valley ahead, the purpose for which he could not see. He wasn’t about to speak up and ask, though. Raichlin would surely have said something up front if he had intended to, and if he were up to something shifty…well, there was no sense in revealing and Ingvar had spotted it. That didn’t seem likely, though; they surely wouldn’t expect a Huntsman to be so easily misdirected in a mountain forest. Whether Joe and Darling had noticed anything he couldn’t say, though he strongly suspected not.

“Ah,” Raichlin said suddenly as they rounded a rocky outcropping and a view of the valley below opened up. “Stop here a moment, gentlemen—this is worth seeing.”

“It’s quite a vista,” Darling agreed, stepping up next to him. “You don’t see this kind of thing in—oh! Wolves!”

Ingvar and Joe pushed forward to join him, while Frind and Liesl backed away, smiling. The three men crowded together at a narrow point between pine trunks, gazing avidly down into the valley.

It wasn’t hugely far below, just distant enough that their presence would not be evident to the creatures there, but close enough that they could see the wolves clearly. They were typical Stalweiss mountain wolves, though perhaps a little larger (it was difficult to gauge the distance exactly) and with maybe a bit more brown in their coats than those Ingvar had heard and read of. Then again, he’d not seen the wolves of the Stalrange in person before. These could be utterly typical, for all he knew.

Typical or not, they truly were magnificent beasts. There were six of them, lolling about in the mountain heather; they rolled and nipped playfully at one another, seeming completely at ease, while the two smallest—doubtless the youngest—chased each other in circles around the rest of the pack.

“Beautiful creatures,” Joe whispered in a tone of awe, and Ingvar once again felt a surge of fondness for the boy. For a young man raised outside the faith, Joe had a good head on his shoulders. He was already more sensible than Tholi in a number of ways.

“Aren’t wolves nocturnal?” Darling asked after a few minutes of watching the creatures gamboling in the heather.

“Largely,” Ingvar murmured. “Their behavior varies somewhat; dusk is their favorite time to hunt. It is peculiar to see them so active this close to midday…”

“Kind of exposed out there, ain’t they?” Joe added. “Not that I’m any kind of expert. Biggest things we’ve got out where I’m from is coyotes. But I always figured wolves liked forests more than open spaces.”

“They are supremely versatile hunters,” said Raichlin. “Wolves prosper in an amazing variety of environments. Still, you’re correct; this isn’t exactly typical behavior for the species. We are the second party to head out from the lodge today; those who got an earlier start were out encouraging the pack to gather here.”

“Really?” Darling asked. “You herded them here on purpose?”

“You don’t herd wolves,” Raichlin said in amusement. “You can drive them, but not usually for very long. The central difference between herd animals and pack animals is whether they run from or at you. In any case, no—we don’t do anything so brutish to these, nor allow anyone else to tamper with them. This pack is special. We have a long-standing relationship with them; they know the Rangers who operate in these valleys, and we have an understanding of sorts. To an extent, they accommodate us, and vice versa. For the inconvenience of being out today for our purposes, they’ll be provided with an easy meal.”

“You brought the wolves? This is what you wanted us to see?” Ingvar demanded, refusing to let his sudden unease show on his face. Wolves were not merely sacred in Shaath’s faith—they were considered nigh-mystical creatures, mysterious, unapproachable, untameable. That these Ranger could establish such a rapport with a wild pack was a claim he had trouble crediting.

And yet…there they were, relaxed and happy, showing no signs of having been driven from their preferred habitat, despite this being the wrong time of day for them to be out.

“You don’t really bring wolves,” Raichlin murmured, watching the animals as closely as the others were, now. “But friends sometimes choose to indulge one another. Yes—these play a central role in the rite we brought you up here to observe. But this isn’t the place, gentlemen. Come along, further up and farther in! It’s not much farther now.”

They only tore their gazes away from the wolf pack with reluctance, but Raichlin had already headed off into the trees, Frind and Liesl trailing him. It was follow or be left.

He was true to his word, anyway. They hiked on for less than another half hour before the trail arrived at a ledge overlooking the valley, with a natural cave mouth behind it. A few feet in, heavy hides had been tacked over the entrance, indicating that this place saw regular use. Their arrival was clearly awaited; another woman in Ranger gear sat on an improvised stool consisting of an uprooted stump, stirring a pot of something. Ingvar noted with disapproval that she wasn’t using a proper fire, but an arcane camp stove. Well, on the other hand, it produced no smoke or scent, which might be an issue if they were trying not to alarm the wolves below.

“There you are,” she said softly, smiling up at them.

“What’s that supposed to mean, there we are?” Raichlin demanded in mock offense. “I know you haven’t been waiting that long, Tabitha.”

“On the contrary,” she said, winking. “I expected to be up here longer. You three and Brother Ingvar would have no trouble in the mountains, of course, but you were bringing a couple of city boys…”

“Beggin’ your pardon, miss,” said Joe, tipping his hat, “but I’m a small town boy, personally. Makes a difference.”

“I stand corrected,” she said gravely. “Liesl, the mugs are inside the waystation, there, if you would.”

“Oh, yes, I see,” Liesl said, nodding. “You can’t fetch them because your legs are broken. I’m so sorry, Tabs.”

“Yours could end up that way if you sass me, youngling!”

“Ladies,” Raichlin said reprovingly. “We’re here on spiritual business. Flirt on your own time.”

Liesl stuck her tongue out at him, but turned and flounced into the cave, shoving the hanging bear pelt aside.

Frind snorted a soft laugh. “C’mon over here, boys, your journey is at an end.”

“This is a lovely spot,” Darling said, following him toward the protruding edge of the flat outcropping. “Is this natural, or did you carve it out?”

“A little of both,” said Frind, seating himself on a rounded, flattish rock set into the ground and pointing at a few others nearby. There were eight of them, arranged in a semicircle and clearly having been placed there deliberately. “The ledge and the cave were just here, but we’ve made some improvements for our purposes. Now, pick a rock and pop a squat, elven style.” He demonstrated by crossing his legs under him. “About face, Joe, you’ll wanna be looking out at the valley.”

“Oh, sorry ’bout that,” Joe said quickly turning himself around somewhat awkwardly without getting up. Ingvar had already seated himself, and Darling was in the process of folding his legs under him. Oddly enough, he seemed slightly uncomfortable with the position—the first time in this trip Ingvar had seen him so.

“Not at all, don’t worry about a thing,” Frind said easily.

“There are no mistakes here,” Raichlin added, joining himself and taking a seat on the other side of the group from his fellow Ranger. “It would be very hard to mess this up—any personal touches you add to the rite will only serve to make it more meaningful to you. We don’t go in for a lot of needless ceremony.”

“This rite,” Ingvar said carefully, settling his palms on his knees. “What, exactly, does this entail?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you through it,” Raichlin assured him. “In a moment Liesl will be back with—and there she is. No, don’t worry about them, gentlemen; we’ll arrange everything. For now, keep your eyes on the wolves.”

“What am I looking for?” Darling asked curiously, though he obeyed, leaning forward slightly to peer down at the great hunters below. The wolves seemed less playful and more sleepy now, a couple of the younger ones still bouncing about but the others mostly curled up together in the heather.

“Just the wolves,” Raichlin said. “This is the beginning. We’ll have something for you to drink momentarily—just sip at it, it’ll help calm the mind and invigorate the spirit after that hike. But keep your attention on the wolves themselves. Don’t worry about any particular aspect, just focus on whatever seems most interesting to you. Consider them, wonder about what you don’t know, ponder what you do. Imagine the sensation of that fur under your hands, the sound of their howling. If you’ve never heard or felt the like, don’t stress yourself. Let your mind supply whatever images it finds most relateable.”

As he droned on, Liesl appeared silently, bearing cups of the steaming brew Tabitha had apparently spent the morning preparing. Its scent was mild, a savory herbal aroma with earthy undertones, but matched what had wafted from the pot. Ingvar accepted a mug, lifting it to his nose to sniff at it before taking a tiny sip. The taste wasn’t exactly pleasing, but…not bad.

But then, taste wasn’t the point. This wasn’t exactly like any rite of Shaath that he knew, but parts formed a pattern that was familiar. The warm drink, Raichlin’s softly droning voice serving to keep them on the subject. For a fleeting moment, suspicion and unease flared up again, but he quickly let them go. He was here. This was what he had come for. The trail was before him; he walked it willingly.

It was not hard at all to follow directions; the peculiar tea was indeed calming, seeming to help his mind focus. He studied the great predators lolling in the heather below, taking in every detail his eyes could discern at that distance. The pattern of their pelts, the way they moved, they way they interacted with each other…

As he watched, taking occasional sips and listening to Raichlin drone on, it seemed that more details came to him, flashes of insight and perceptions that should have been beyond him. The warmth of the canines’ breath, the sounds they made to one another. Thick, coarse fur beneath his fingers, rubbing against his skin. The wild scent of them. Golden eyes, clear and piercing in the daylight. Golden eyes, glowing in the dark.

Howls echoing from the hills, as the pack called to one another. Panting and the quick pumping of legs as they raced through the darkened forest, the eagerness of the hunt, the scent of prey guiding them.

Trust in the brothers and sisters running alongside, the pack a single organism. The night, the hunt, hot breath, warm blood.

Trust, hunger, joy, freedom.

When the mug slipped from his fingers, he didn’t even notice.

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