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Toby opened his eyes slowly, beholding the relative calm of the afternoon on the campus lawn. As usual, he’d been left alone to meditate. He liked doing so outdoors, under the sun, and over the last year the other students had learned to leave him be.

It usually brought him more calm.

With a sigh he stood up from his seat beneath the oak tree, the same one Professor Ezzaniel had ordered Gabriel to punch almost exactly a year ago. They had all been new to the campus and its peculiar rules and customs, all out of place, nervous, tense… Which was preferable to how he felt now.

“Funny, that looked like it should have been more relaxing. Something on your mind?”

Toby actually jumped very slightly at being addressed, but immediately mastered himself, turning to study the speaker.

He was an elf, and seemed familiar, though Toby could not recall having met him. The elves on campus were a mixed lot; this one had upright ears, marking him a wood elf, and wore Tiraan-style shirt and trousers with sturdy boots.

“Oh, just…this and that,” he said evasively, trying to clear the frown from his expression. “I’m sorry, I could swear I’ve seen you before but I can’t recall your name now.”

“You saw me briefly,” the elf said with a grin, stepping forward and extending his hand. “I was with a few of the other freshmen, coming from class.”

“Oh! That’s right!” Toby grasped his hand in return, smiling. “And now I remember, you were pulled away before we could speak. Another wood elf…a friend of yours?”

He winced. “Ah. Well. Addiwyn seemed to latch onto the idea that since we are both of the same race, and both somewhat ostracized from our kin, we should be the best of friends and perhaps more. Unfortunately, I do believe that girl is the single most unpleasant person I have ever met.”

“Ouch,” Toby said, grimacing sympathetically.

His new acquaintance grinned, a slightly lopsided expression that promised mischief. “I’m Raolo. Glad to know you.”

“Toby, and likewise.”

“But of course, you are the great and inimitable Tobias Caine!”

Now it was his turn to wince. “Ah, well… I think ‘great’ is really pushing it.”

“Well, how many paladins are there in the world, after all? Wait, don’t answer that, I know this one.” Raolo grinned. “Three. There are exactly three.”

“Yes, but I’m the most senior by at least two weeks,” he said solemnly. “That makes me the most boring.”

Raolo laughed brightly. “Well, I can’t argue with that logic. Guess I’ll just have to make do with you until I can work my way up to a more interesting paladin. If you’re so dull, though, why so gloomy? It takes some imagination to really suffer, I think.”

“That’s…oddly profound,” Toby mused.

“Something one of the Elders used to say. Which means, I suppose, I really ought to leave it back in the grove…” For a moment, Raolo frowned himself, glancing aside. “New place, new rules, and all that.”

“It’s certainly been an adjustment, getting my bearings in this place,” Toby said, glancing around the lawn. “It doesn’t help that Professor Tellwyrn’s idea of education is to keep everyone as off-kilter and nervous as possible at all times.”

“Should I be frightened?” the elf asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Toby nodded solemnly. “Yes, you should. For what it’s worth, she makes a pretty solid effort not to get anybody killed.”

“Well…damn.”

“I have to admit I find myself nostalgic for the peace and quiet of the monastery on a regular basis.”

A shadow passed over Raolo’s face. “Ah, well… I don’t really have that problem. Getting almost killed should at least let me practice my skills a bit. Uh, forget a said that.” He grimaced, glancing away. “I seem to keep dragging up my problems in every conversation since I got here. You don’t need to hear about it.”

Toby shrugged, keeping his expression open and calm. “I don’t need to, no, and you certainly have no obligation to tell anybody your business. But if you keep finding yourself doing so, maybe it’s a sign you want to talk about it?”

Raolo looked uncomfortable. “Well…no shit. I mean… Dang, I’m sorry, that came out a lot harsher than I intended. Never mind, it’s just that I’m trying to find my footing here without making a pest of myself.”

“Admirable,” Toby said, nodding. “I’ll tell you what, though; as the Hand of a peacemaking god, there’s not much that’s more central to my calling than listening to other people’s problems. You ever feel the need to unburden yourself, look me up.”

At that, a slightly amused expression flitted across the elf’s face. “Do you offer therapy to everyone you meet?”

“…huh,” Toby said after a moment spent staring into space. “You know, now that you mention it, I more or less do. Wow, that must be kind of annoying for people, right?”

Raolo laughed again. “Well, it’s one way to make friends. How’s it work for you?”

“Eh… Well, you remember Ruda?”

“Ah, yes, the Punaji princess! Don’t tell me, let me guess. She punched you.”

Toby valiantly tried to repress a grin. “In my defense, not for that.”

 

There came a short, sharp rap on the door, and then it swung inward and Afritia leaned into the room, wearing a slight frown.

“Maureen,” she said, “could you come here for a moment, please?”

“Sure!” Maureen set aside her textbook and hopped down from her bed. “What’s up?”

“Follow me,” Afritia replied, ducking back out. The gnome trundled after her without further comment. Szith, Iris, and Ravana exchanged a look, then rose in unison and followed them.

The cause of the house mother’s concern was apparent as soon as they stepped into the stairwell, from the broken fragments of metal lying on the stone floor, though the frame of steel pipes comprising Maureen’s package-delivering apparatus remained intact and secured to the bannister down here. The gnome heaved a small sigh, but said nothing, following Afritia up the stairs. The house mother glanced back at them, her lips twisting wryly at the sight of the rest of the dorm trailing along behind, but did not rebuke them.

At the top, the damage was much more severe. A whole segment of the framework was in shambles, all but severed and ripped free of its moorings, pipes twisted and broken in a few places. Oddly enough, the bell rope connecting the door to their room had been left untouched.

The entire area was splattered with purple ink. It made a couple of sprays on the stone wall and practically soaked the stairs themselves. A few purple footprints were visible heading down, but they trailed off after several steps.

“When I said you could build this,” Afritia said archly, “it honestly didn’t occur to me to stipulate that it should not be filled with paint and explosives.”

“There were no explosives!” Maureen exclaimed. “C’mon, what would be th‘point o’ that? I’m not an idiot!”

Afritia shook her head. “Look at this, Maureen. Whatever this stuff is, it didn’t just leak out. It’s sprayed everywhere. What part of a simple metal framework should have had any components that would do this? And for that matter, what is this stuff, and why was it necessary?”

Maureen cleared her throat and shuffled her feet slightly. “It, ah, wasn’t strictly necessary for the function of the device, ma’am.”

Afritia raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a simple alchemical dye,” Ravana said smoothly. “Professor Rafe provided it. He also gave us a solvent which will remove it from any surface without causing further damage.”

The house mother grimaced. “Rafe. I should have known. How, exactly, did you convince him to give you this stuff? I’m fairly certain that whatever this is, it belongs on the list of substances students aren’t to be issued outside of class.”

Ravana smiled. “We told him it was for a prank. He handed over several bottles, and gave us extra credit in both of his classes.”

“That imbecile,” Afritia growled, rolling her eyes.

“An’ there were no explosives, see?” Maureen said, holding up a broken piece of pipe. The interior was entirely stained purple. “The innards, ‘ere, were just pressurized. Break ’em open an’ the ink sprays out. Simple. Just takes a li’l equipment an’ some extra elbow grease! Nothin’ dangerous.”

Szith took the pipe from her and held it up to the light. “This was severed with a bladed implement. An axe, I believe—see how this side is heavily dented, right at the cut? It was struck with significant force.” She turned slowly, pointing. “Considering how quickly this dries, whoever left those footprints was obviously here right when the spray occurred. And look at this spray pattern on the wall. It’s a single, wide splatter, with an interruption in the middle. Considering the positioning involved, I would say that break is perfectly sized to have been a person standing right in the spray.”

“Just as a point of edification,” Ravana said sweetly, “Professor Rafe assured us this dye would adhere to skin and hair as perfectly as anything else. We’ll just go get the solvent and get to work cleaning this up, shall we?”

Afritia stared at them in silence for a long moment, then looked away to the side, not quite succeeding in suppressing a smile. “Yes…you do that, girls. And later, if you’re asked, you be sure to tell Professor Tellwyrn I lectured you in a very stern voice about pranks and vigilantism in general. For now, excuse me.”

She didn’t turn to look as they all followed her back down the stairs. Afritia walked more quickly this time, heading straight into their room and toward the extra door at the back. The others clustered around Ravana’s bed as she opened her trunk and began extracting and handing out vials of an effervescent transparent liquid, but none made any pretense they were not watching the house mother.

Afritia rapped sharply on the door. “Addiwyn, come out here, please.”

“I’m not feeling well,” came a muffled voice from within. “Can this wait till later?”

Iris grinned with savage glee.

“Now.”

“I said I don’t feel well.” Addiwyn’s petulance was audible even through the wood.

“Young lady, I am offering you a chance to grasp at some dignity which I suspect will be sorely needed. If you are not out here in a count of five I will come in and get you.”

There came a muted thump, then a moment of silence, then finally the door opened a crack.

Afritia grabbed the knob and pushed it all the way inward. Addiwyn skittered back, but not in time to conceal the purple streak splashed across her face and soaked into her golden hair. She had at least changed her clothes; only her person was marked.

“Addy, honey, you don’t look so good,” Iris said, still grinning. The elf gave her a murderous stare.

“Oh, yes, laugh it up,” she sneered. “I’m sure it’s great fun to booby-trap the stairwell. It would serve you right if it was a visiting professor caught in your little trap—”

“That’s bollocks and you know it!” Maureen shouted, brandishing the broken length of pipe, which she had retrieved from Szith. “Look at this! Look at it! The purple stuff was fully contained inside—nobody would ever have known it was there unless somebody deliberately took an axe to the thing!”

“Well, that’s interesting,” Addiwyn said, folding her arms. Her smirk looked purely ridiculous with half her face painted purple. “You know your accent completely vanishes when you’re angry?”

“Enough,” Afritia said quietly. “Girls, you have cleaning up to do. Save some of that solvent for her to use later. You, miss, will come with me.”

“Oh, great,” Addiwyn sneered. “Another very fascinating conversation. Can I bring a book this time?”

“You’ll find I have limited patience for wasting my time on hopeless causes,” Afritia said flatly. “You declined to listen to me, so now you get to have a talk with Professor Tellwyrn.”

 

“So, no, attending the University isn’t exactly a point of pride in the grove,” Raolo said, leaning against the stone balustrade separating them from the one-story drop to the lower terrace. “Not in any grove, I would imagine. In mine, at least, it’s not exactly a mark of shame, but heck… That would be pretty redundant in my case, anyway.”

“Wow,” Toby said, leaning beside him. “That sounds… Well, honestly, rather hard to believe. It sounds like you’re quite good at magic.”

“I may have exaggerated my gift a little bit,” the elf confessed, grinning at him. “I’m very egotistical, I’m told. But, well, it’s the wrong kind of magic. Tradition is a huge concern to elves, considering most of our communities have people still alive who remember why the traditions were founded.” He idly held out one hand, palm up, and produced a small cloud of blue sparks, which began to dance in intricate patterns in the air.

“I don’t want to tread on any sensitive cultural taboos or anything,” Toby said with a frown, “but I have to ask… Why are elves so opposed to the arcane? I think Professor Tellwyrn is the only other elven mage I’ve even heard of, and I’ve seen hints that other elves don’t think terribly highly of her, either.”

“It’s because it’s too easy,” Raolo said, closing his fist and cutting off the display of sparks. He straightened up and turned to Toby. “This is another thing we don’t like to discuss with humans, but the hell with it. Do you know anything of how elvish metabolism works?”

“I didn’t realize it works any differently than ours,” Toby admitted.

Raolo grinned. “We don’t process energy with our squishy internal bits like you do—it’s all in the aura. Everything we take in, food, sunlight, air, every source of energy, goes right to the aura. Elves don’t generally eat with any regularity; we tend to have large quantities at wide intervals. In fact, an elf with a highly charged aura can hold their breath basically forever. Don’t need air when we can recharge the blood straight from our personal energy stock.”

Toby blinked. “Wow.”

“So, related to that, we have a much higher capacity for storing energy than other intelligent races. Shamanism, now, is all about connection. You grow in power as a shaman by forming relationships with fairies, gathering totems and objects of power…all paths that root you in the world. It’s all very much in line with the elven perspective on our role in nature. The arcane, though… You gain power in the arcane by increasing your capacity to store power. Elves start out with a large advantage, there. Almost any elf has the arcane storage capacity of a professional wizard, even if they don’t know how to use such power should they try to gather it.” He shrugged.

“Why don’t the drow have mages, then?” Toby asked curiously. “I can’t see them turning down a source of power, but I’ve never actually heard of a drow wizard.”

“That’s just their genetic peculiarity,” Raolo said, “like how dwarves can use divine magic on their own, but no other races can, or how gnomes are the only sentient race that can’t interbreed with the others. Who knows why? Drow just don’t generally have the ability to grasp the arcane. Actually a few do, a handful every generation. I understand they’re basically treated like royalty down there.”

“I’ll bet,” Toby mused.

“There are old legends—old even as we reckon time—about the first origins of the arcane and why it shouldn’t be messed with, but that aside, it’s seen as cheating. As laziness, selfishness, and hunger for power. You start dabbling in the arcane, and you’ve basically declared your intention to go tauhanwe, at the very least.”

“But you did,” Toby said quietly.

Raolo sighed. “It’s just that… I’m good at it. It feels as natural, to me, as breathing. It’s a part of who I am. After growing up with lectures on the nature of being, I just can’t see how it’s fair to expect me not to be who and what I am. Y’know?”

“I think I do,” he said, nodding slowly.

The elf grinned again, his dour expression of a moment ago evaporating in an instant. “Well! I bet you’re good at empathizing with other people’s problems, after all. You are clearly a people-pleaser.”

“Now, what makes you think that?” Toby asked, amused. “Almost the whole time we’ve been talking, we talked about you.”

“And that is why,” Raolo said, prodding him in the chest with a finger. “I came upon you looking all tense and broody, despite being right out of a meditation. But a few minutes listening to someone else blather on about his problems, and you’re the very portrait of serenity! Simple deduction.”

“Well, I guess you’re pretty perceptive, then,” Toby said, now fighting a smile.

“Don’t feel bad, I also ensnared you in my trap,” the elf replied with a bow. “I am very clever. So let me ask you, Toby the Paladin, what would you do if you came upon somebody looking as glum as you were earlier? How do you fix that?”

“People are not for fixing,” Toby said, frowning. “Most aren’t truly broken. Everyone just needs a little bit of a boost, now and again, to sort themselves out.”

“Okay, well, the question stands. Put yourself outside yourself. You don’t know this Toby guy, but he’s clearly got a good, solid glum worked up. What’s your approach?”

Toby sighed, turning his head to stare out over the campus. “You can’t make somebody talk to you, any more than you can make somebody better. I guess… I’d just offer to listen.”

“Check,” said Raolo, leaning sideways against the stone rail and keeping his eyes on Toby. “Doesn’t seem to me like he wants to talk, though.”

“Sometimes people don’t,” Toby said with an irritable shrug. “Then you leave them alone.”

“Even when they clearly need to?”

“Yes. Even then. Besides, a lot of people have trouble opening up to people they don’t know.”

“And what about people they do?”

He sighed. “Well, there’s… I mean, yeah, if they…”

Toby trailed off, staring into space.

“I’ve got a feeling some of those people have noticed already,” Raolo said in a more gentle tone. “Bet they’d be glad to be supportive of you for once. I don’t need to know your history to conclude you’re the only who usually plays that role.”

“You know what?” Toby said, staring into space. “I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sure you are,” the elf said gravely, then winked when Toby turned to scowl at him. “But don’t take it to heart. We all are, at one point or another.”

 

“So that much is cleared up,” Ravana said lightly. “I think we all assumed it was Addiwyn behind these attacks, but it’s pleasing to have confirmation. Now we can decide what to do about it.”

“Need we do anything?” Szith asked pointedly. “She is being reprimanded by the University’s highest authority as we speak. The matter is being dealt with.”

“To assume that matters are simply dealt with is to confer imaginary and impossible powers upon authority figures,” Ravana replied. “One must consider the nature of the crimes and the person responsible. Were Addiwyn responsive to reprimand, she would likely have at least slowed her pattern after being lectured by Afritia. In reality, though, she proceeded immediately to her next attack. More to the point, we may be dealing with an individual suffering from a severe personality disturbance. It may be that even Tellwyrn can’t bring her to heel.”

Despite her dainty frame and uncalloused fingers, the young Duchess was working vigorously alongside the rest of them without complaint. Truthfully, it wasn’t onerous labor. The solvent had a pleasantly mild but antiseptic scent, and the purple dye dissolved apparently into nothing under its touch. They had simply to damp their rags with it and apply them to stained areas. By far the most difficult part of the job was making sure they didn’t miss any spots.

“The cause of Addiwyn’s behavior is an immediate concern,” Ravana continued, frowning pensively at the bannister she was currently scrubbing. “Her actions were at once absurdly juvenile and frighteningly cruel, and the context in which they occurred defies my understanding. Not knowing what motivates her, I cannot guess what she will do next. This leaves me quite unsettled.”

“She’s a bully,” Iris snorted from a few feet above, where she was on her knees, scrubbing dye off the steps. “Simple as that.”

Ravana shook her head without lifting her own eyes from her task. “Bullying occurs for specific reasons, according to specific patterns. It is, ultimately, about power. A bully will consistently place her victims in weaker positions, using her actions to emphasize how much lesser they are in power than she. That is the entire point. Addiwyn, though, might as well have been deliberately knitting us into a united front against her. She never tried to exercise any leverage or build a power base. It was just…lashing out, without pattern. Not consistent with any bullying I’ve ever seen. She would have tried to control the situation somehow.”

“So she’s a stupid bully,” Iris said disparagingly.

“Somehow, I doubt there are any stupid people of any kind admitted to this University,” Maureen noted.

“Having discarded that idea,” Ravana went on, “I considered the possibility that she might be anth’auwa.”

Szith stopped scrubbing the wall and half-turned to give her a sharp look.

“Uh, sorry?” Iris said, also looking up. “What’s that in Tanglish?”

“Unfortunately,” Ravana said ruefully, “it’s nothing in Tanglish. Human scholarship is lamentably behind the elder races in categorizing mental illness. The elvish word I just used literally means heartless. The dwarven scholars call it ‘social pathology.’ It refers to an aberrant personality which lacks any empathy or ability to connect emotionally with others.”

Iris snorted again, turning back to her work. “That sounds about right to me.” Szith slowly followed suit, a faint frown creasing her brow.

Ravana sighed softly, still wearing her own thoughtful little frown, though she straightened up and flexed her back as she continued speaking. “I am not ready to definitively rule it out, but… No, that, too, falls apart upon closer inspection. I have known several such individuals. The nobility, ever eager to conform to stereotype, tends to produce them at a higher rate than the general population.” She bent back to her scrubbing, continuing to speak. “At issue is that this is a severe personality disturbance. The primary concern of anth’auwa is always to hide what they are. They make a consistent effort to imitate normal social behavior; you have to catch them when they aren’t being careful to see the truth. Addiwyn has done precisely the opposite: she is surly and disagreeable whenever interacting with anyone, but at other times appears quite calm, even happy.”

“When have you seen her calm or happy?” Iris demanded, looking up from her task to stare incredulously at Ravana.

“She is hostile, erratic and probably emotionally unstable,” Ravana said dryly. “I watch her carefully. Don’t you? In fact, in just a few days I have observed that she quite enjoys Tellwyrn’s class, seems oddly fond of Professor Rafe and is even more suspicious of Professor Ekoi than the rest of us.”

“That is sayin’ something,” Maureen muttered.

“Not a bully,” Ravana mused, “not a heartless… Completely irrational and aggressive. It is very curious indeed.”

“So, maybe she’s just crazy,” Iris said disdainfully.

“No one is just crazy,” Ravana replied. “That is not how the mind works. Insanity follows patterns—a thinking person cannot be truly random in their behavior, though the pattern may be opaque to the outside observer. No… I don’t even see Addiwyn as insane, to be frank. Her conduct is generally that of a mentally normal person who is…doing something.”

“Doing what?” Szith inquired.

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Ravana said, staring thoughtfully at the rail she was scrubbing. “If I knew that, I suspect all of this would make perfect sense. That, ladies, is what I think we must determine, if we are to ensure our own safety.”

“’ere, now,” Maureen said worriedly. “Y’don’t think she’d actually harm us, do ye? I mean…sabotaging our belongings is one thing…”

“I cannot say what she might do,” Ravana admitted, “because I do not know what she wants. Right now, that she might harm us remains a possibility, as yet untested.”

“And how do you propose to find out?” Iris demanded. “You wanna just ask her nicely?”

“Asking her seems a good approach,” Ravana said, beginning to smile slightly. “After all, who else but she knows the answer? But I think we are well past the point of doing anything nicely. Don’t you?”

 

Sheyann slowly opened her eyes and smiled down at the translucent blue hare which had materialized on the rooftop before her. It had taken a good fifteen minutes of concentration to weave the magics just right. Hopefully this one would last longer than its predecessors.

The inn she had chosen was low, dwarfed by the surrounding buildings, though it was an amusing irony that she had come to think of a four-story structure as small. Its attached iron fire escape made a serviceable path for her spirit hare to reach the street below. The last three had generated some small outcry as they passed, but less than she had feared; apparently citizens of the great metropolis were accustomed to unusual sights.

Now, though, a few were gathering on the sidewalk opposite to see if another hare would come down from the roof. This would have to be her last attempt of the day; aside from her disinclination to put on a show for the locals, drawing too much attention here could lead to citizens or even authorities interrupting her work.

“You know whom I seek, little friend,” she whispered to the hare. “Find her for me.”

It stared up at her for a moment, spectral nose twitching, then turned and bounded onto the fire escape.

Sheyann settled back into a meditative pose, closing her eyes and attuning her senses to the hare’s. It made it to the street, seeking the faint traces of Kuriwa’s distinctive aura that she had instilled from her own memory.

There were muted cries of excitement from the onlookers as the hare reached the street, which both it and Sheyann ignored. Already she could tell this was going better, thanks to her fine-tuning; the last two had decayed rapidly under assault from all the loose arcane magic in the city. This one was more stable, existing in much less inherent conflict with its surroundings. It quested about for traces of the magic it sought, turned and bounded across the street…

And burst apart in a flash of light as it was crushed by a passing carriage.

Several cries of dismay and one loud cheer rose from the audience. Sheyann winced, opened her eyes, and sighed heavily in irritation.

“You might try asking down at the Shaathist lodge. Their spirit wolves and hawks seem to operate just fine in the city. Clearly they’ve mastered the method.”

Sheyann lifted her eyes, showing no hint of surprise on her features, to behold Kuriwa herself seated on the inn’s currently inert chimney, smiling down at her. She was dressed in soft buckskins, like a plains warrior. When had she started doing that?

“Or,” Sheyann said evenly, “you could explain the method yourself, as I strongly suspect you have it down.”

“On the other hand, I’m sure you would work it out yourself quite quickly, were you inclined to continue experimenting,” the other shaman said lightly. “What brings you out to seek me, Sheyann? This is a most peculiar place to find you. Virtually the last I would have expected.”

“I could say the same.”

Kuriwa shook her head. “I have always gone where the trouble is. You, though, seldom stir from your grove unless there is an apocalypse brewing.”

“Fair enough,” Sheyann said wryly. “Arachne and I need your help.”

Kuriwa straightened up slowly. “Arachne…and you? Now I begin to be worried. Is the world actually ending?”

“We consider that a lesser probability,” Sheyann said, folding her hands into her sleeves, “but I am not yet prepared to conclusively rule it out.”

“Do tell.”

“The short version is that we have two injured dryads on our hands. Juniper is mostly well and in fact making greater progress toward being an emotionally stable, responsible person than most of her sisters have ever achieved. She is, however, grieving, and has a blockage placed in her aura by Avei herself, which seems to have lead Naiya to believe she is dead. That brought in Aspen, who currently is severely traumatized and began to transform before being fixed in a time-altering spell by Arachne. She remains thus, in a secure room at the University. And she is the only one who knows what Naiya thinks and plans to do about this.”

Kuriwa narrowed her eyes, but made no other sign of distress. “Naiya is not the patient sort. I suspect her plans would have become clear already if she had any.”

“Ordinarily, I would concur. Juniper, however, is living proof that she can act with more agency and subtlety. Arachne had to spend some time campaigning for it, I understand, but Naiya sent her out specifically to learn the ways of mortals, as a first step toward making peace between them and the fey kingdom. With regard to this, at least, Naiya is not only able to act with more discretion than usual, but highly motivated.”

The Crow sighed, shaking her head. “And Aspen is with Arachne. Frozen in time? That sounds typical of her.”

“In that it is overbearing, inefficient and undeniably effective?” Sheyann said dryly. “Yes, that’s Arachne all over.”

“What do you think of her at present, Sheyann?” Kuriwa asked, watching her carefully.

“Arachne is one of the things that worries me least about the world,” Sheyann replied. “She remains mostly in her chosen place, training young ones. Training them as tauhanwe, to be sure, but I have noted that she teaches them how to think, not what to think. She stands as a living impediment to other mortal powers, and her presence serves to strongly discourage destructive influences. All in all, and aside from being an arcanist, she would be the very picture of a respected Elder if she were not such a tauhanwe to her core. Rather like someone else I could name,” she added with a smile.

Kuriwa returned one of her own. “That much is a relief, then. I’ve not had any interaction with her since she vanished into the Wild, and none with that school of hers. This assuages some of my worry.”

“You trust my judgment on the matter?” Sheyann asked with mild surprise.

“I have frequently disagreed with your judgment, Sheyann. When have I ever disparaged it?”

She acknowledged this with a nod. “Fair enough. For now, can we count on your help with the dryads?”

Kuriwa frowned pensively. “Hm. In your opinion, how likely is it that Naiya will take violent action?”

“In my opinion, not likely at all. Plans or no, she isn’t patient, and as you know, she has little ability to act on the world directly, except in just the kind of dramatic assaults we fear. Those are brief in duration and highly localized, though. I think if she were going to react, she would have by now. This is, of course, nothing but opinion. Naiya’s mind is unknowable.”

Kuriwa nodded. “Good. Yes, of course I will lend any help I can; this issue is clearly serious, even apart from then need to be of aid to the dryad in question. But if it is not an immediate urgency, Sheyann, I am monitoring a situation here in Tiraas that I hate to leave unattended until it reaches a conclusion.”

“Yes, your human friend Darling,” Sheyann said disapprovingly. “You are surely aware he has two eldei alai’shi in his custody? I see no way that can end in anything but catastrophe.”

“Actually,” Kuriwa replied, “he has kept those girls stable longer than any previous headhunter has ever been, and even taught them to be happy and somewhat well-adjusted.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Entirely. I consider him worth preserving for that alone. But no, that is a long-running affair, and anyway, it is business. My immediate concern is a family matter.”

“I see. I won’t pry…”

“Oh, I don’t mind if you pry,” Kuriwa said with a slight grin. “In fact, you would be welcome to watch, if you wish. It appears that Lanaera’s daughter is actually doing something constructive with her life.”

Sheyann raised her eyebrows. “Principia? Headhunters, dryads and apocalypses are one thing. That I will believe when I see it.”

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8 – 15

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The hatch opened with a hiss, sliding upward, and Sheyann stepped lightly out, moving to the side to allow the other passengers to disembark. None seemed in a hurry to do so; lacking her relfexes and agility, most of the human passengers had been badly slung about by the Rail ride. The new caravans, she had been told, were a great deal safer and more comfortable than the old, thanks to the addition of safety harnesses, an apparent luxury of which she had not availed herself. Her fellow travelers had thus been furiously jolted against their own bindings, probably hard enough to bruise, while she had nimbly shifted in place, bracing herself against the walls and opposite bench at need.

The design of the Rail caravans was a puzzle. The ingenuity that led to their creation could surely have made them safer in a variety of ways, so why had it not been done? Despite the maunderings of Shiraki and some of his ilk, Sheyann had never found humanity to be institutionally stupid, incompetent or obstreperous—at least, not more than any other race, and never on a huge scale for any length of time, without suffering the inevitable consequences. The Empire had made the Rails this way for a reason. She couldn’t guess what, but the possibilities were rather ominous.

Only two people had been in her compartment, and they only because the other seats had filled. Sheyann was not offended by their reluctance to sit with an elf in obviously tribal attire; her own people’s reclusiveness had plenty to do with the problem. With any luck, the ongoing meetings between tribes and with the Narisian representatives would move toward remedying the issue, if they did not exacerbate it first.

She studied the station carefully. Despite Tiraas’s greater importance to the Empire, it was much smaller than its counterpart in Calderaas, though no less busy. Of course, that was due in part to its more efficient design. Tiraas had four Rail depots, two corresponding to each of its landward-facing gates, while Calderaas had only the one central terminal. Also, the city itself was physically smaller, constrained as it was by the available space on the island.

“Need any help, miss?” a slightly graying, slightly portly man in an Imperial Army uniform asked politely, tugging the brim of his cap in her direction. Beside him, a younger woman in the same uniform regarded her with a neutral expression. She never had bothered to learn what the different Tiraan insignia meant, but presumably the elder human was the superior officer.

“In fact,” she said, deciding this was as good a starting point as any, “I am looking for someone in the city. A Bishop of the Universal Church.”

The older officer raised his eyebrows. “Oh? What business would an elf have with the Church?”

Sheyann gazed at him in silence, wearing a small, fixed smile.

“No business of anybody’s but hers,” the female soldier said, nudging her companion with an elbow, and Sheyann mentally revised their relationship. The insignia wasn’t the same, but they were either very comfortable together or quite close in rank.

“Yes, right, of course,” the man said hastily. “Well, miss, the Bishops are a disparate lot; they all have their own business to attend to. I’d say your best bet is to look either at the Grand Cathedral or the central temple of whichever faith your Bishop represents. You may not find him—uh, or her—there, but there’ll likely be someone who can point you to them.”

“I see,” she said gravely, nodding. “Thank you. Would you know where the central temple of the cult of Eserion is located?”

At this, the two soldiers exchanged a look, their expressions growing almost imperceptibly grimmer.

“I could point you to the location,” the man said slowly, “but the Eserites aren’t going to let anyone into their actual temple. You could try your luck at the casino they run above it, but… They also don’t like people asking questions on their property. And…with all due respect, miss, you’d rather stand out.”

“I see what you mean,” she said thoughtfully. “Well. The warning is certainly appreciated.”

“I’d really suggest trying your luck at the Cathedral,” he went on in a more welcoming tone, turning to point at the great glass wall along the front of the station, beyond which was a busy street. “Just go outside onto the avenue, hang a left and keep walking uphill till you reach the city center. You can’t miss the Cathedral; it’s the building that isn’t the Palace and isn’t plastered with the insignias of Avei or Omnu.”

“By which he means,” the woman said dryly, “it’ll be the one on the left. North side of Imperial Square.”

“Yes, of course, right,” the man said, giving her a slightly exasperated look.

“Thank you very much,” Sheyann said courteously, bowing to them. “You have been tremendously helpful.”

“All part of the job, ma’am,” the man replied with a smile, tipping his cap again. “Welcome to Tiraas. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

She smiled, nodded, and glided off toward the exit. Even with the noise of the crowd and the Rail caravans washing over her, she could plainly pick out their voices as the throng closed behind her.

“Are you sure that was all right?” the woman asked. “Some random elf just tumbled out of the fairy tree, doesn’t know the first thing about the city, has business with the bloody Thieves’ Guild, and you point her right at the Church?”

“Omnu’s breath, Welles, you need to read fewer novels and more of your encounter manual. She’s not going to scalp somebody; elves are exactly as savage as anyone else, no more, no less. And she wanted the Eserite Bishop, not the Guild. If she wanted the Guild she’d no need to beat around the bush. Talking with Eserites isn’t illegal. Plus, she was polite. Always refreshing to see a young person with some respect, unlike some I could name.”

“She’s an elf, Lieutenant. She could be older than you.”

“Nah, the old ones are more standoffish. They hardly even breathe. Trust me, I’ve been around elves. I can tell.”

Sheyann permitted herself a smile of amusement as she slid through the crowd and out the doors into the Imperial capital.

There she had to stop, staring.

She had grown steadily accustomed to the faint, unpleasant buzz of arcane magic everywhere since passing through Calderaas. Tiraas, though, was…taller. Buildings seemed piled atop each other, climbing skyward in a way it would never have occurred to her to construct a dwelling. Many of them were taller than trees. Not to mention that a good few in the distance were surmounted by towers bearing the flickering orbs of telescroll transmitters, or branching antennae which crackled with artificial lightning. Artificial lights were everywhere, lit even in the day due to the gloomy sky overhead, some hovering in midair rather than supported by poles. Vehicles passed in the street, only a few drawn by animals. The horseless carriages emitted a thin hum of magic at work, their voices blending together into a constant, oscillating whine that bored unpleasantly into her ears.

So much they had done, in such a short time. So much glory and progress…such potential for carnage.

Her work with the other tribes and the drow was even more urgent than she had realized. The ancestors send that they were not already too late.

Sheyann turned left and set off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace.

 

Even in the relative quiet of the Grand Cathedral, Sheyann drew suspicious looks. She ignored them as she had all the others, pacing slowly down the central aisle of the enormous sanctuary, her moccasins silent on the threadbare carpet. It looked like it had been expensive, but this room must see vast amounts of traffic. It was a suitably vast space for it, the ornately carved stonework and beautiful stained glass almost lost beyond the cavernous emptiness.

Nearly her entire grove could have been squeezed into this room. And if she was any judge, it was far less than half the total volume of the cathedral complex.

There were two smaller aisles on the other sides of the long rows of pews; only a few people slipped between the benches to walk there rather than having to pass her, but they were not subtle about it. One woman made the action quite ostentatious, her nose firmly in the air. Most of the people present, however, either paid her no mind or just nodded quietly to her. This place, it seemed, encouraged a quieter way of being, which came as a relief after the city, the Rails, and the other city. What a day this was turning out to be; she was already thinking fondly of the relative serenity of Arachne’s University.

A few people strolled, admiring the stained glass, while several dozen more were scattered throughout the pews in individual prayer. At the front of the chamber, though, was an open area below the wide steps to the main dais towering over it all. Looming behind it was a huge golden statue of the Universal Church’s ankh symbol, with behind that towering stained glass windows depicting Avei, Omnu and Vidius, with the other gods of the Pantheon represented around their borders. Sheyann gave this ostentation only a glance, however, before turning toward a smaller lectern tucked off to the side, at which stood an officious-looking Tiraan human in the long black coat of a Church parson.

She waited calmly while he finished speaking with a well-dressed woman, politely declining to hear their conversation. This, a basic social skill in elven societies, seemed to be quite above the capability of most humans. They finished within a few minutes. The woman jumped and gasped softly when she turned and beheld Sheyann standing there.

The Elder gave her a smile and a deep nod, and got only a wary look in return before the woman scurried off.

The parson was regarding her with more calm, but not any kind of friendliness. Of course, a cleric would comport himself with serenity. That he was not seemingly interested in reaching out to her gave Sheyann a sense of how this conversation was going to go.

“May I help you?” he asked politely.

“I would like to speak with Bishop Antonio Darling,” Sheyann replied, folding her hands.

A beat of silence passed. The parson’s expression did not waver, but the pause communicated his surprise quite effectively.

“And whom may I tell Bishop Darling is seeking him?” he finally inquired.

“He does not know me,” Sheyann said. “I was directed to him by a mutual acquaintance.”

“And…with regard to what do you wish to see him?”

“That business is personal,” she said evenly.

“Ah,” the parson said, lowering his eyes to shuffle a few pages on his lectern. Sheyann didn’t need to see his hands to know he was creating meaningless background noise. “Your pardon…madam…but as I’m sure you can understand, the Church must safeguard the time and attention of its highest officials. So, you do not know Bishop Darling, yet you have unnamed personal business with him?” He raised his eyes, re-affixing his polite smile. “I don’t suppose you can offer anything more than that?”

“The rank of Bishop…” she mused. “It exceeds your own?”

He blinked, then his lips twitched in a quickly repressed smile. “Ah…considerably, yes.”

“And yet, you seem to be making judgments concerning the use of his time,” she said, matching his emptily courteous tone exactly. “Why not, instead, tell me where I might find him, and if he does not wish to speak with me, allow him to make that determination himself?”

The parson’s lips thinned, irritation finally beginning to show on his face. “And you are?”

“I am Elder Sheyann.”

“I see.” He fussed pointlessly with the papers again. “Well, Elder, Bishop Darling is not here. He is an extremely busy man, between his various responsibilities to the Church, to his own cult and the Imperial government. I can have a message conveyed to him if you like.” The faint smile returned, noticeably smug now. “I cannot, however, make any guarantees about how quickly he will receive it.”

Sheyann permitted herself a small sigh. “Perhaps my time would be better spent making inquiries at the Imperial government. I am given to understand the Empire boasts a generally competent bureaucracy. To which office, specifically, should I direct my attention?”

“I’m sure I do not know,” the parson said, all pretense of friendliness gone from his face now. “As you so kindly pointed out, Elder, it is not my place to monitor the comings and goings of the Church’s Bishops. Perhaps if you had specific business with him, of which he was made aware beforehand, you might find this encounter more productive.”

Behind her, a passing man suddenly stopped, turning toward them.

“Which Bishop are you looking for, shaman?”

She turned, studying the new arrival. He was huge—barrel-chested and towering head and shoulders over her, his hair slightly unruly and much of his face and chest hidden by a luxuriant beard. Sheyann did not need to see the wolf’s-head brooch pinned to his shoulder to know him for a priest of Shaath; she could feel the faint tug of fairy energies floating about him, mixing incongruously with the divine. Most interestingly, he wore a white robe under a tabard, a uniform she had already been prompted to watch for.

“Antonio Darling,” she replied, “of the cult of Eserion.”

The Shaathist Bishop raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Are you acquainted with him, sir?” she asked politely.

“Antonio and I have worked together.” He bowed respectfully. “I am Andros Varanus, Huntsman of Shaath and a fellow Bishop. Your quarry is not present now, and he ranges widely. There are places where you can wait for him without likely being kept too long.”

“So I have been told,” she said mildly. “Government offices and the Thieves’ Guild’s casino.”

“The Imperial offices are closing soon for the day,” he replied, his beard twitching with a hidden expression she could not identify. “And the thieves would entertain themselves by making you wait for no reason, or send you out to hunt mockingjays. However, I can direct you to Bishop Darling’s home. He will likely be returning there soon, and his Butler provides excellent hospitality, even in his absence.”

Ah, a Butler. What an interesting man this Darling was shaping up to be. Also, that answered one of her newfound questions about this fellow’s willingness to assist her; a Butler’s presence would mean even a mysterious visitor such as herself would be unlikely to pose a threat.

“You are extremely helpful, sir,” she said, bowing in return. “Forgive me, but I am unaccustomed to such courtesy from Huntsmen. Those I have met seemed rather put off at being forced to address a woman.”

At that, even his beard could not hide Varanus’s sneer. “Some men, even in Shaath’s service, are weak of mind. Not all follow Shaath’s ways; it is a weak-willed man indeed who feels threatened by the existence of other ideas. A Huntsman should be many things, but never weak. I will provide you with Antonio’s address, shaman. Paper and a pen,” he added curtly to the parson, who immediately scrambled to produce the requested objects.

“Thank you,” Sheyann said moments later, studying the names and numerals on the sheet of paper she had just been handed. “Hm…forgive me, but this street name. Where will I find this?”

Varanus blinked, then his beard rippled in a short exhalation that might have been the lesser part of a laugh. At the least, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “You are new here, then. Forgive me, I should have considered that. I am even now on my way out of the city, and expect to be gone for some time. More paper,” he added to the parson in a flat tone which made her suspect he had overheard more of their earlier conversation than he let on, then turned back to her with a more respectful expression. “I will draw you a map.”

 

Darling paused inside his front door, as was his custom, letting out a sigh and luxuriating for a moment in the quiet.

“Good evening, your Grace,” Price intoned. “You have a visitor.”

He scowled and opened his mouth to deliver a complaint, but she swiftly raised one finger to her lips, then pointedly tapped the upper edge of her ear. He was tired; it had been a long day even before he’d met with Principia’s squad, and the subsequent unpleasant conversations at the Guild had left him drained. It took him an embarrassing two seconds to catch her meaning.

An elf? What the hell now?

“Well, by all means, let’s not keep them waiting any longer,” he said lightly. “The downstairs parlor?”

“Of course, your Grace.”

He didn’t allow himself to sigh as he stepped past her. An elf would hear even that. He’d developed a rather nuanced understanding of the range of their senses over the last year.

The reasons for this were also present in the downstairs parlor, in their severe black frocks that went with the guise of housemaids. Flora and Fauna weren’t doing anything in particular, however, just standing against the far wall, staring flatly at their visitor in a manner that made his hackles rise. The new elf, in turn, was regarding them with a similarly direct look, which she did not lift immediately upon his entry. Only after a few heartbeats did she turn to face him.

She was a wood elf, her ears a different shape than his apprentices’, and dressed in stereotypical costume, a simple green skirt and blouse dyed with shifting patterns, and a plain leather vest over that. Her moccasins were elaborately beaded, but looked well-worn, and she carried a belt with a large horn-handled knife as well as several heavy pouches. Well, no tomahawk; that was something, anyway.

“Good evening,” he said cheerfully. “I’m terribly sorry to have kept you waiting; I had simply no idea anyone was here to see me!”

“Not at all, your Grace,” she replied in a calm tone, bowing without taking her eyes off his face. “I apologize for my abrupt appearance. I will try not to take any more of your time than I must.”

“Nonsense, you’re a guest; my time is yours, Miss…?”

“Sheyann,” she said, still staring at him with an even look that was beginning to be unsettling. “I was directed to you by Arachne Tellwyrn.”

“Oh?” he asked mildly, increasingly intrigued. “And you are…a relative of hers?”

Sheyann raised one eyebrow. “We are all of us kin, Bishop Darling. The mightiest dragon and the meanest algae all rose from common ancestors, in the infinite mists of the deep past. With that said… No. No, I am not. However, Arachne and I have an acquaintance in common, whom I find myself needing to contact and not knowing how. Apparently you are the last to have had regular interaction with her.”

Darling sighed in spite of himself. “Oh, don’t tell me…”

The elf nodded. “You would know her as Mary the Crow.”

“Yes, that’s what I was afraid I would know her as.” He chuckled wryly, shaking his head. “Well, it’s bad news that I’m the likeliest contact, as I’m not sure how much help I can be. I do speak with Mary on a semi-regular basis, but she decides when and where.”

“I see,” she said, permitting herself a small smile. “I somewhat anticipated that; it would be consistent with her general patterns. If I may ask, how recently have you seen her?”

“Quite recently, in fact, no more than two days ago. I don’t actually know why; she popped in on me at the Temple of Izara, hovered around for a few minutes and took off. I couldn’t even tell you what that was about. I’ve learned not to ask.”

“And…you have no way of contacting her directly?”

Darling grinned. “Well. I’ve twice got her attention by placing a scarecrow on the roof. The third time, though, it disappeared and then I didn’t see her for two weeks.”

“A…scarecrow.”

“An improvised one,” he admitted. “I’m afraid we sacrificed some of my old clothes and one of Price’s favorite brooms, not to mention that lovely pumpkin Flora and Fauna here had such fun carving.”

She smiled broadly at that, her eyes creasing with genuine amusement. “I am somewhat embarrassed that I never thought of that.”

“If I might ask a prying question,” he said, “does Mary know you, Sheyann?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, her smile fading. “We have been acquainted for a long time.”

“I see. Well, I find that Mary seems to keep herself appraised of my comings and goings. Not in any great detail—I hope—but she does always seem to know when someone especially interesting comes to my door. It’s possible she’s already aware you’re here, or will be soon.”

“Hm… That, too, would be characteristic of her. Well, then.” She bowed again. “I will take no more of your time this evening, Bishop Darling. It seems I had best make arrangements to stay the night in the city, and possibly for some nights to come. It would be better if I were able to find and speak with her quickly, but… One must, unfortunately, make allowances for the Crow.”

“That one must,” he agreed gravely, nodding. “If it helps, I will certainly tell her you’re looking, should she happen to visit me again.”

“I would appreciate that,” she said politely. “And I may call on you again if my quest is not immediately fruitful.”

“By all means, feel free! My door is always open.”

Ushering her out was a blessedly quick affair; elves, he had found, were not prone to linger over small talk and needless pleasantries. Darling ordinarily enjoyed small talk and needless pleasantries, but it was getting late and he was just as glad to get the mysterious elf out of his house.

After seeing her to the door, he made his way back to the parlor and watched through the window as Sheyann departed down the street. Only when she was out of view did he turn back to Flora and Fauna, who had remained unmoving the entire time.

“All right. Just what was that about?”

“She was looking for Mary the Crow,” Fauna said woodenly.

“Don’t get smart with me when I’m looking for simple,” he snapped. “And don’t look at me like that, I know damn well you can tell the difference. You and that woman were glaring at each other like a box of strange cats.”

“She knows,” Flora said darkly. “About us. What we are.”

That brought him up short. “You’re sure? She said as much?”

“Not in terms that would hold up in court,” Fauna said, scowling. “But she hinted strongly and made it pretty plain.”

“I don’t know how she can tell,” Flora added. “Even a shaman shouldn’t be able to just spot it like that!”

“No need to reach for magical explanations when mundane ones will do,” he said wearily, dropping himself into the armchair. “Price! Fetch me a—oh, bless you.” He took the brandy from her proffered tray and downed half of it. “Mhn, that hits the spot. Anyway, she came from Tellwyrn, who you said was able to sniff you out as well.”

“Don’t know how she did it either,” Fauna said sullenly.

“So did Mary, for that matter,” Darling mused. “Tellwyrn is to mages what Mary is to shamans; best not to assume anything about the limits of either of them. In fact, this is what concerns me. Now we’ve got an elf foofling about my city who not only knows a secret that could get us all sent to the gallows, but learned that secret because she is apparently a trusted link between Tellwyrn and Mary. Just there being a link between those two is going to cost me some sleep.”

“What do you want to do?” Flora asked quietly.

He sipped the brandy once more, frowning at the far wall. “…is it too late for you to tail her?”

Fauna shook her head. “We can track her down easily enough. In fact, it’s probably best to give her a bit of a head start. Less likely she’ll be looking for us that way.”

“We can also hide from her, no matter what kind of shaman she is,” Flora added. “But if she actually meets with the Crow… Well, it’s like you said. No telling what she can or can’t do.”

“We actually snuck up on her once…”

“…or so we thought. There’s no guarantee she didn’t let us.”

He nodded. “Well, be careful, but do your best. I’d like you to keep an eye on Miss Sheyann while she’s in town—find out who she talks to, what she says to them and what she does about it. If the Crow becomes a factor, be discreet. Don’t get confrontational with that one.”

“We’re not idiots,” Fauna muttered. “Though for the record I think we could take her.”

Flora nudged her with an elbow. “Not without outing ourselves and wrecking a whole lot of real estate.”

“Please don’t do that,” he said fervently. “This is a priority for now, though; there’s too much at stake to leave it unattended. I’ll speak with Style and have your training appointments for tomorrow put on hold.”

“We’ll head out, then,” Fauna said, grinning.

“Wait.” He held up a hand. “While we’re here and discussing risky business, there’s something else I want to bring up with you. It’s been a good few months since you told me your spirits would probably be satiated for close to a year. How’re we doing on that?”

The elves exchanged on of their fraught looks. “Some…faint twinges,” Flora said reluctantly. “It’s nowhere near a dangerous level yet. We’d tell you long before it got to that point.”

“Attagirl,” he said, nodding. “I mention it because something’s come up that may be relevant to that, at least potentially. The Guild’s ongoing search for Thumper has hit a wall in Onkawa. Webs is holding it up.”

“Who’s Webs?”

Darling sighed, idly swirling his drink. “An operations man, and Thumper’s Guild sponsor and first trainer. He’s being difficult, to the surprise of absolutely no one. His loyalties have always been more to his personal contacts than the organization. Webs is…a theological purist. He’s got a loudly poor opinion of the Guild’s current structure.”

“A renegade?” Flora asked, intrigued.

Darling shook his head. “An objector. Tricks mostly leaves him alone; I encouraged him. The Guild needs dissenting opinions to keep its management honest and on their toes. It becomes inconvenient at times like this, though, when we need specific cooperation and he’s of the opinion we don’t deserve it. Right now, he’s trying to pitch the idea that Thumper’s presence in Onkawa and the shitstorm left in the wake thereof were due to a succubus called Kheshiri.”

Both elves perked up visibly. “A succubus?” Fauna asked.

“Webs is covering for Thumper, that much is certain,” Darling said, leaning forward, “but the succubus’s presence there has been confirmed by other, more trusted sources. This bitch is bad news, even for a demon. She’s got thick files with both the Church and Imperial Intelligence. Even the Black Wreath has put an effort into getting her out of circulation in the past. It doesn’t seem to have stuck. What the hell she is doing with a goon like Shook is a complete unknown, but there are no possibilities that aren’t terrifying.”

“Vanislaad demons are good hunting,” Flora whispered. “The spirits were very happy with that incubus you got for us.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the issue from one angle,” Darling said grimly, pausing to take a much-needed sip of his brandy. “From another… If this Kheshiri is the piece of work it seems like she is, it might take a pair of headhunters to bring her down. Should it come to that, I want you two ready.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Fauna said with a predatory smile. “We always are.”

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8 – 14

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The old spice market of Tiraas was as rich in history as in smells. Originally a fortress of an old style like an inverted pyramid, the huge, almost cubic structure was ringed by thick walls, which at their base were wide enough to take up three quarters of the grounds, leaving only a relatively smaller open space in the center, which had once served as a parade ground and now was the main trading floor of the market. Each level of the walls narrowed and climbed outward as they rose, so that the structure which seemed perfectly square from without opened progressively toward the top on its inside, till the uppermost level was only a narrow path along the peak of the crenelated wall. Rooms that had once served as barracks, mess halls and armories were now shops, moneylending stalls, storerooms and private meeting areas.

And until ten years ago, the whole thing had been clenched in the iron fist of the Thieves’ Guild.

The Guild’s control had come about piecemeal and not really by design, through a sequence of events that saw them increasingly use the old spice market as a meeting ground, while also having to establish longer-term relationships than they normally liked with some merchant houses in order to recoup certain unwisely incurred debts. Bit by bit these things added up over nearly a century, until a cut of every major shipment of spices that passed through Tiraas went to line the coffers of the Guild. And spices were just like everything else: all roads led to, or through, Tiraas. It was an absurdly lucrative business, and once they had their hands on it, the Guild took full advantage.

Eventually, the cult of Verniselle lost patience with this encroachment into what they saw as their domain. An unprecedented joint campaign between the Vernisites and the Sisters of Avei saw the Guild pushed forcibly out of the spice market, through a combination of backroom financial manipulations and the insistent presence of Silver Legionnaires. At the height of the ensuing cold war, women in bronze armor made one of every three people in the old spice market at any time, and the bankers were so heavily leaning on the Thieves’ Guild’s assets that even the Imperial Casino suffered a severe drop in profits.

The unlikely alliance prevailed, in the end, liberating the spice trade of the entire continent from Eserite control, but the Guild extracted its pound of flesh.

There was an entrance into the old fort on each side, smaller ones to the north and south, but it had huge gates on its eastern and western sides. The building actually stood astride the main thoroughfare between the eastern gate of the city and Imperial Square; the path through the old spice market could not be missed. One morning, an ancient sword appeared thrust point-down into the capstone of its western arch, with a series of golden hoops and chains entangled around its blade. More to the point, they were entwined with powerful enchantments binding them to the arch itself—if removed, the entire gate, and possibly half the fortress, would collapse.

The odd-looking tangle of gold was the Links of Verniselle, similar in design and purpose to a metal blacksmith’s puzzle—but made by the goddess of money herself, and given to her mortal followers to be used in their rituals. The sword, a unique bastard sword unlike the leaf-bladed short swords favored by the Silver Legions, had been the weapon of Tathryn Alindivar, a Hand of Avei who had had a particularly illustrious career a thousand years ago. Quite apart from the fact that these artifacts had been secured deep in the vaults of their respective temples, it should have been impossible for any outsiders even to handle them without incurring the wrath of their goddesses. And yet, there they were, not only worked into the fortress but so inundated by arcane magic that their ancient blessings had been completely burned away.

It took furious behind-the-scenes effort by the Universal Church, as well as the Imperial government and the cults of Izara and Omnu, to prevent a full-scale crusade from erupting in the streets of Tiraas. In the end, though, the three cults involved retreated, unwilling to pursue the matter to its disastrous ultimate conclusion. The bankers of Verniselle freed a lucrative market for themselves, the Sisters of Avei asserted that criminal control of any part of the city would not be tolerated, and the Thieves’ Guild demonstrated that they were not to be crossed with impunity—by anyone. All benefited, but nobody won, and nobody was happy.

But nobody dared try to remove the sword, and the Imperial Surveyors quickly determined the enchantment holding the two artifacts to the archway was stable and not a danger unless tampered with, even classifying it as a bolstering of the old structure. Not long after, the Emperor proclaimed it a national monument, and that was pretty much that.

“Thanks for the history lesson,” Merry said dryly.

“I thought it was fascinating,” said Casey.

“It is!” Farah enthused. “History is always fascinating. When you meet someone who says they hate history, you know they had a terrible teacher at some point who made them memorize a bunch of names and dates without any context. It’s the stories, the people that make it so interesting! And especially in the way you can see how those events worked together to create the world we live in now. It’s absolutely amazing!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so passionate about anything,” Ephanie noted with a smile.

“I wasn’t telling you the story just to pass the time, though,” Farah said, her expression growing more severe as she turned back to Principia. “There was a point to all that. Reminding any mixed group of Avenists and Eserites about the whole debacle is a great way to start a fight. And yet, here we are, five Silver Legionnaires in armor, meeting a member of the Thieves’ Guild in the old spice market. Are you sure this is wise?”

“Point of order,” said Merry, holding up a finger. “Not all of us are actually Avenists.”

“Actually, that is part of why I asked to meet him here,” said Principia with a smug little smirk, pausing to take a sip of her tea. “Darling is too smooth and too even-tempered to take this as a provocation—or to be provoked if he thought it was meant as one. Trust me, we’re safe in that regard. However, few people are his blend of sly and understanding, and so anyone looking for me to make connections with the Guild won’t be looking here. Also, there are those.”

She pointed to one of the glowing orbs illuminating the tea shop on the spice market’s uppermost level, where the fives Legionnaires had taken seats in one dark corner. It was nearly all dark corners, despite the fact that each booth had its own sconce. The place had clearly been designed for quiet conversations, filled with low walls and obscuring draperies and plants.

“The fairy lamps?” Merry drawled. “Well, I can imagine you’d be excited, ancient one. You see, we have these enchantments now that let us create light without having to burn—”

“Ordinary I’d let you ramble long enough to properly embarrass yourself,” Prin interrupted, “but he might be here any moment. Those have fairy lamps attached to them, Lang, but do you see how much bigger they are than normal ones? Especially considering how little light they put out. Those are scry blockers.”

“Is that… I didn’t know that was possible,” Ephanie said, frowning.

“Using one is tantamount to an admission that you’re up to no good,” Principia said with a grin, “but so is coming here. This place caters to people discussing sensitive business deals. Several times now, ladies, Syrinx has known where we would be with timing that exceeds the possibility of just using Covrin to spy on us and carry messages. No, she’s watching, somehow. I don’t want her watching this.”

“That’s absolutely horrifying,” Farah mumbled.

They all looked up as two familiar elves materialized out of the dimness of the tea shop, their expressions blank. One, wearing a black cloak, put her back to them and leaned against the side of their booth; the other, dressed in black leather, lounged against the wall opposite, taking out a huge knife and beginning to clean her fingernails.

Before the soldiers could comment, Bishop Darling himself arrived, bowing elegantly to them.

“Prin! Always a pleasure, my dear. And privates, good to see all of you again. Several I believe I’ve met before.” He smiled at Ephanie, who pursed her lips and said nothing.

“Always a pleasure?” Principia said dryly. “If you’re going to tell bald-faced lies, I’m gonna have a hard time trusting you.”

Darling laughed. “Nonsense, if I didn’t tell lies, that’s what you would distrust, and rightly so. Mind if I have a seat?”

“Please,” said Casey, smiling up at him.

“All joshing aside,” Principia said more seriously as Darling folded his long frame into the booth next to her, “I do appreciate you seeing us. We’re in a bit of a bind.”

“Not at all, I always have time for friends and business relations in need,” he said, helping himself to a cup of tea. “What can I do you for?”

“The issue is we’re having trouble with Bishop Syrinx,” said Farah.

Darling grimaced. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“We think she’s trying to kill us!”

“Not kill us,” Merry said, frowning at Farah. “Don’t exaggerate the issue, Szaravid.”

“She is definitely trying to get us booted out of the Legions, or worse,” said Casey.

Ephanie cleared her throat. “If I may? Rather than making him sort through this chatter, here’s what happened from the beginning.”

Her delivery was succinct and clipped, but thorough, every bit the soldier delivering a report. The others fell silent as she spoke, having nothing to add to her account, and Darling listened intently. As complex as the matter had become, it had only been going on less than a week, and Ephanie was finished in a relatively few minutes.

There came a short pause after she spoke.

“I see,” Darling said at last, frowning pensively. “And what is it you’re asking of me, ladies?”

“Not to intervene,” Merry said quickly. “I somehow think that kind of help would only cause us more trouble in the long run. Locke thinks you might have some…advice.”

“Well, when it comes to skulduggery, I doubt I have anything to teach you that Principia can’t,” he said with a wry grin. “She’s been at it longer than I’ve been alive.”

“In general terms, yes, but we’re caught in a position where we can’t really engage her that way,” Prin said. “That is the problem. There’s a lot more going on here than just Syrinx and us; based on what we know, there’s no reason for her to be doing this at all, much less to be putting so much effort into it. She’s taking some serious risks just to get a handful of fresh privates drummed out of the Legion. You know the city, Sweet, and you know Syrinx herself. You have access to a lot of sensitve matters way above our pay grade. What do you think?”

“I think,” he said thoughtfully, “you lot are in very big trouble.”

“That’s just fabulous,” Merry groused while the others glanced apprehensively at each other. “Thanks ever so much for that.”

“I’m not trying to spook you,” Darling said with a faint smile. “But Prin is right: to understand what’s happening here, you need to gain a bit of perspective. Tell me, have any of you considered the question of why an individual like Basra Syrinx is the Avenist Bishop to the Universal Church? She doesn’t seem the type, does she?”

“I certainly have,” Casey muttered.

“It’s not generally worthwhile to wonder about things like that,” Merry snorted. “Nothing good comes of it. The answers aren’t for the likes of us, and if you wonder aloud you sometimes get punished for it.”

“It’s like this,” Darling said seriously, folding his hands on the table and gazing around at them. “Bishops are appointed by their respective cults, but have to be approved to their rank by the Archpope. It’s always a delicate balance, finding a person who fulfills the requirements of both, and gets dicier the more tense things are between a cult and the Church. What, then, do you think it says that the Avenist Bishop is a person who’s chiefly interested in her own agenda, rather than that of the Sisters or the Universal Church?”

Casey straightened up in her seat. “It means the Sisters aren’t on good terms with the Church right now.”

Darling grinned at her. “Very good! You have a sharp mind.”

“Apparently I don’t,” Merry complained. “I don’t see the connection there. Also, what’s this about Syrinx’s agenda? None of us have any idea what she really wants.”

“Well, for that…just take my word for now,” Darling said. “That woman is on her own side, period; any other loyalties she has are conditional. That makes her a suitable link between the Church and the Sisterhood in a time when their motives are at cross purposes, because she is a compromise.”

“Basically,” added Principia, looking at Merry, “she’s not loyal to the Archpope or the High Commander, which means they can each use her against the other. In theory.”

“And what that means for you,” Darling said more grimly, “is that you absolutely cannot afford to make Commander Rouvad choose between you. She didn’t put Basra in that position without knowing what she was dealing with. The politics of the situation mean she cannot remove Basra except at urgent need, because that would leave the cult of Avei temporarily without a voice in the Church until a new Bishop is approved. That would take time—maybe not much time, as Justinian can’t drag the proceedings out forever, but plenty of time for him to do any number of things Rouvad may want to prevent.”

“What kind of things?” Farah asked warily.

“Hell if I know,” Darling said with a shrug. “The inner politics of the Sisterhood are rather opaque to me. But I can see the shape of her relationship with the Church. If it comes down to Basra or you, Rouvad won’t choose you. In her position, she has basically no choice.”

“Fuck,” Merry said feelingly.

“So, what, we just have to sit here and take it?” Casey demanded. “We can’t keep fending her off! For whatever reason she’s determined to get rid of us. She’s gonna do it if this goes on much longer!”

“Well, it sounds like a big part of your problem is you don’t understand her motives or desires,” Darling mused. “So…have a good think on that. Consider the situation carefully. The Church and the Sisters are at cross purposes, your cohort is training to produce political operatives, and there’s Basra Syrinx right in the middle of it all. Put yourself in her position, as much in her mind as you can. Be Bishop Syrinx, and think about what you want and what you have to do to get it.”

“Okay,” said Merry, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples. “I’m Basra Syrinx. Hmm… I feel a sudden hunger for human flesh. Is that normal?”

Casey and Farah both snickered loudly; Ephanie rolled her eyes.

“Syrinx has an ideal position to influence politics one way or the other,” Principia said, frowning. “I didn’t know that, about how Bishops are promoted… But if she’s working her own angle, she couldn’t be in a better place. She’s basically the only person the Sisterhood has who’s affecting city and Imperial politics on any significant scale. And now… Rouvad launches an initiative to train more people to be able to do her job.”

“Holy shit,” Casey whispered, her eyes widening. “We’re her potential replacements.”

“Maybe not replacements,” Darling said, nodding approvingly at her, “but at the very least, if this project succeeds, she will have competition and a whole host of other problems to contend with. Other operatives, more loyal to the Sisterhood, could find out details about whatever she’s doing n her own time and make her life very difficult. And in the end, there is the chance Rouvad would find one of you a better candidate for her position.”

“She can’t let us succeed,” Ephanie whispered, staring into space with something very akin to horror on her face. “She can’t. We have to go, or she does.”

“And we can’t fight her, and we can’t rely on the High Commander to reign her in…” Farah planted her elbows on the table, clutching her head and staring frantically at the wall. “Oh, we are so screwed.”

“There’s also this about your cohort,” Darling continued grimly. “Ladies, you’ve been fed a line of bullshit about what you’re doing.”

“Hell, we know that,” Merry snorted. “Syrinx got up in front of us on day one and made this rambling speech full of contradictions and empty nonsense.”

“It’s high time Rouvad did something to bring her forces into the modern era,” Darling continued, “but the shape this initiative is taking is ridiculous. Training an entire cohort of Legionnaires to be political operatives? Idiocy. No, what I would do in her position is take a neophyte cohort and give them assignments that would both test and possibly encourage their aptitudes in that direction if they had any.”

“So far, that’s what they’ve done,” Farah said with a frown.

Darling nodded. “And then, rather than selecting likely candidates for officer positions as Syrinx claims is the goal with your cohort, I would pull them out of it, route them into a separate program and train them up specifically. More to the point, I would absolutely not lump my best prospects into one little squad.”

There was a beat of silence. Across the aisle from them, Fauna looked up from trimming her nails and grinned.

“Excuse me, best prospects?” Merry demanded. “Us? You’re joking.”

“I don’t know all your histories,” Darling said, spreading his hands and smiling, “but what I do know establishes a pattern. Principia Locke, brilliant con artist and Thieves’ Guild veteran. Meredith Lang, former frontier adventurer. Farah Szaravid, not necessarily of a cunning mindset, but definitely more intellectual and highly educated, having been an acolyte of Nemitoth.”

Casey caught his eye and shook her head, minutely but frantically.

“With that percentage,” Darling continued smoothly, “I don’t need to know what’s up with the rest of you to deduce two things: you are the women considered most likely to produce the kind of skills this program needs, and sticking you together was a terrible idea. The mix of backgrounds and aptitudes on display here is a recipe for lethal personality clashes at least.”

“That was her gambit,” Ephanie said slowly. “Or rather, the opening move. Lump us together and hope we hate each other enough to wreck ourselves.”

“Well, shit, I only hate this one,” Merry drawled, jerking her head in Principia’s direction. “I feel like I’m falling down on the job.”

“Oh, you don’t hate me,” Prin said, grinning. “You’re just tetchy. Hate is something I could actually manipulate.”

“I think…” Farah trailed off and swallowed when they all turned to look at her, but squared her shoulders and continued. “I think I understand what’s happening, then. Why she’s trying so hard to put us down, considering what she risks if she’s caught. Not turning on each other in the first place wasn’t just a failure of her plan, it was the worst thing that could have happened. Now we’re actually doing well, working as a unit and supporting each other. That makes it much more likely we’ll succeed.”

“Bingo,” Darling said quietly, nodding at her.

“So basically, we’re fucked,” Merry said. “Hell with it. I say we jump her in an alley.”

“Now, hold on,” Darling said soothingly. “There’s something else for you to consider. How is Basra manipulating affairs in the Sisterhood to set these traps for you, much less keeping track of your movements?”

“Arranging that order for court martials if we failed to report for duty had to have taken some doing,” Ephanie mused. “Something as outlandish as that wouldn’t ordinarily get through the chain of command.”

“Plus there’s the way she knows where we’re going to be, what we’ve done and always has Covrin positioned to give the orders to the right people,” Principia added. “That’s scrying.”

“You’re sure she hasn’t just set up traps for us?” Casey asked. “It’s not like we don’t know she’s good at that.”

“I know a thing or two about setting up traps myself,” said Principia, shaking her head, “and while it’s very doable, getting the timing that precise is not. No, she has more information than she could get through mundane means. Even the idea that one of us is working for her wouldn’t do; nobody has had the chance in any of those situations to report to her.”

“Fuck, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Merry growled. “Thank you so much for putting that idea in my head, Locke.” Prin grinned broadly at her.

“So, she’s pulling just all kinds of strings,” said Darling, “not to mention using illegal magical surveillance. Even what she’s done within the Sisterhood itself has to have involved outside influences of some kind, unless you’re willing to believe your chain of command has built-in loopholes for people like Basra to manipulate.”

“If anything, the Silver Legions’ command structure is designed to limit that kind of nonsense as much as possible,” said Ephanie emphatically. “The thing that has consistently stuck out in my mind is how bizarre it is that she’s getting away with causing the kind of damage she is to our cohort.”

“What good does that do us?” Merry demanded. “We’ve established that we can neither fight her politically nor lie down at take it. Who cares how she’s doing this if we can’t do anything about it?!”

“You aren’t the ones who’ll be doing anything,” Darling said quietly. “There are two more matters you haven’t considered. First of all, me.”

“You?” Farah asked warily after a short pause.

He stared at them solemnly. “I work quite closely with Basra, as it happens, and I know very well what a piece of work she is. Probably better than you do, in fact.”

“Not better than all of us,” Casey muttered.

He glanced at her, but continued in the same quiet tone. “The fact is, I have my own agendas and needs, and they involve not putting Basra Syrinx out of commission. As much of a headache as she can be, I need her.”

They all stared at him in silence for a moment.

“Headache?” Farah burst out at last. “She’s a monster!”

“She’s a predictable monster, which means I can deal with her. And as I said, I need her help with several things. She and I are involved in projects that really cannot be allowed to be disrupted.”

“Isn’t this just typical,” Merry said bitterly.

“I’m not finished,” Darling continued implacably. “The other factor you haven’t taken into account—well, four of you haven’t—is the Thieves’ Guild, which means my concerns may become irrelevant.”

“What about the Guild?” Ephanie asked warily.

“We were just discussing how Basra is clearly using outside resources in her campaign against you,” he said, leaning back in his chair and grimacing. “Where do you think those came from?”

Farah frowned. “Surely…she wouldn’t work with the Guild.”

“Directly? Hell, no.” Darling shook his head. “We wouldn’t work with her if she asked, especially not for some inner Sisterhood cloak-and-dagger like this. But the Guild doesn’t tightly control most of what its members do. The kinds of resources we’re talking about, the ability to move paperwork around, maintain surveillance…possibly cause enough privates to fail to appear for duty in another cohort that an over-the-top new regulation gets imposed about that? Anybody in this city who can accomplish stuff like that pays tithes to Eserion.

“And then there’s the scrying. The Guild doesn’t employ mages, not directly, but that kind of surveillance is illegal. That means neither the Wizards’ Guild nor the cult of Salyrene would be involved with it. There are, of course, black market mages who’ll do such work, but the middlemen who would put a fine, upstanding citizen like Basra Syrinx in touch with them also owe allegiance to the Thieves’ Guild.”

“Well…what of it?” Merry asked, frowning.

Darling heaved a sigh. “As Principia here very well knows, bringing all this to my attention is the first step to getting Basra off your case. Really, I could have spared taking the time to give you all advice, except that I firmly believe in helping people to solve their own problems any way they can. Knowledge is always better than the lack of knowledge. But what we have here is someone using Thieves’ Guild resources to attack a member of the Guild. Having been told of it, I can’t let this go. I now have to take it to the Boss, and my own business with Basra be damned.” He gave Principia an extremely flat look.

She smiled prettily, batted her eyelashes, and shrugged.

“Hang on,” Casey objected, “if it’s Guild people doing this for her, how does the Guild not already know?”

“Because, as I said, she’s employing specific people to do specific work,” he said, “and most of them won’t have a full picture of what’s happening. People who work on a contract basis under the table do not ask prying questions. Still, though, you’re right; there have to be a few who know that Prin is the focus of this. Business is business, but once the Guild leadership starts making noises about putting a stop to it, they’ll be tripping over themselves to be helpful.”

“No honor amongst thieves, huh,” Merry said with a grin.

“Honor,” Darling said with a smile, “is morality for thinking people. It’s a code that means you remain true to yourself, and do not test your powers against those too weak to offer you a challenge. Honor is, indeed, how thieves manage to get along with each other. In fact, Eserites are strongly encouraged to keep honing our skills against worthy targets, which frequently means each other.” He shrugged. “Pranks of this nature are downright commonplace within the Guild. Considering that the worst case scenario, as far as any of these contractors know, is sabotaging Prin’s career in the Legions, not harming her personally, I highly doubt anyone would have qualms. Like I said, matters become different when it turns out an outsider has been pitting members of the Guild against each other on an organized basis. That can’t be tolerated.”

“Holy shit,” Merry said, straightening up. “Are you gonna….what, bump her off?”

“I have no objection to that,” Casey muttered.

“We are not going to assassinate a Bishop of the Universal Church,” Darling said in exasperation. “You read too many novels, kid. Even the Guild respects powers of that caliber. No, it won’t need to go that far. It will take a little time…maybe more than a little, actually. Inquiries have to be made; the Boss will need to find out who has been doing what. Should go fairly quickly once the enforcers are sent out with pointed questions, but still, it’s a matter of finding the right people and bringing them on board, which won’t happen overnight.”

He heaved a deep sigh. “Somehow I need to ensure whatever happens to Basra doesn’t remove her entirely from the playing field, but I doubt it’ll even come to that. The Boss may do nothing but send Commander Rouvad a full set of evidence on what she’s been doing. Rouvad, as I said, can’t be too harsh with Basra, but she can certainly put a stop to something like this if she gets proof it’s going on. No, ladies, you just need to hold the line a while longer. Basra Syrinx is about to have much bigger problems than you.”

“Somehow,” Casey said darkly, “I doubt it’ll be that simple for us.”

“Oh, you’re right about that,” Darling replied with grim amusement. “It will be neither simple nor easy. When the pressure starts mounting, what do you think she’s more likely to do: back off, or double down?”

“Fucking hell,” Merry spat. “You’re gonna get us killed!”

“You should maybe have a talk with Prin, here, about trying to manipulate the Guild with your own fates on the line,” he said with a sweet smile.

“Oh, come on!” Principia protested. “Give me a little credit, Sweet, if I were trying to manipulate you, you wouldn’t know it!”

“That isn’t helping!” Merry snapped.

“Enough,” Ephanie said. She didn’t raise her voice, but her tone brought the burgeoning argument to a halt. “Locke, you should have been more up front with us about this. However… I can’t think of a single other thing we could have done. This is our best chance. Can any of you?”

She panned her gaze around the table; no one offered a comment, though Darling helped himself to a scone.

“Then here we are,” Ephanie said firmly. “Now we need to worry about lasting through whatever Syrinx does before the Guild leverages whatever they find on her.”

“We could…blackmail her,” Casey said, barely above a whisper.

“With what?” Merry demanded acidly.

Casey swallowed heavily. “The night… Um, on the night the Black Wreath tried to assassinate the Bishops…”

Principia blinked. “Excuse me? The Black Wreath did what?”

“I think that was supposed to be classified,” Darling commented.

Casey sighed. “Yes, well, it happened. Basra was one of the targets; four warlocks attacked her home. I know, because I was there. Covrin and I both were.”

“She took out four warlocks?” Ephanie demanded, raising her eyebrows.

“They weren’t particularly good warlocks,” Casey said. “But still…yeah. Sorry, Lang, but jumping her in an alley would have been a terrifically bad idea.”

“Duly noted,” Merry muttered.

“What were you doing in her house?” Principia asked quietly.

Casey heaved another sigh, her gaze fixed on the tablecloth. “I was…sleeping next door. Well, I wasn’t sleeping. She put me there so I could hear what was going on. She was in bed…with Covrin.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Well, that’s certainly an inappropriate relationships,” Ephanie said at last, “but I doubt it’s strong enough to blackmail her with. We’d probably just make her angry, which does not seem smart.”

“I…didn’t realize Covrin was into women,” Farah said, frowning. “I mean, in the training barracks… You could usually tell who swung that way, even if they didn’t make advances. Stuff came up.”

“I am pretty sure Covrin is not into women,” Casey said grimly. “That was why… It was targeted at both of us, Covrin to…y’know…and me forced to hear it. She knew she wasn’t going to get me into bed, but Covrin… Syrinx isolated her all through training. The DS wouldn’t tolerate behavior like Covrin’s from anyone else, but because Basra sheltered her, she got through it without shaping up. Didn’t realize until too late that she was alone, that her entire unit hated her guts, and there was nobody she could turn to except Basra. So…she hosted us overnight on some pretext—I don’t even remember—just to remind us both that…” She swallowed heavily. “That, basically, she owned our asses.”

“Holy…” Farah gulped, looking sick. “That’s… I never thought I would say this, but… Poor Covrin.”

“If this is true, it’s an incredibly serious matter,” Ephanie said, glaring furiously. “We’re talking about some of the central tenets of Avei’s faith. Syrinx could be executed if it came to light.”

“Covrin won’t testify against her,” Casey said wearily.

“Why the hell not?” Merry exclaimed.

“The thing about abusive relationships,” Principia said with a grimace, “is that if you do it right—and I have no trouble believing Syrinx knows how—the abuser gets into their victim’s head, twines themselves all around their whole identity. Elwick’s right; I bet Covrin will defend her, no matter how badly she’s being mistreated.”

“That is fucked up,” Merry whispered.

“After that…” Casey shrugged. “I happened to meet several Bishops the night I first met Basra. I saw Bishop Snowe on a poster, remembered her and wrote to her. She put me in touch with Bishop Darling.” She nodded gratefully to him; he gave her a warm smile in return. “He took care of…what Syrinx was holding over me. She never actually spoke to me after that, but I seriously doubt she was happy. After all, here I am, with you guys.”

“Bishop Darling,” Ephanie said firmly. “With all due respect to your own objectives, I think it’s clear we need to take this woman down.”

He shrugged. “Be my guest, Private; nothing you can bring to bear is going to damage her unduly. You’re only going to call wrath down on your heads by trying. For the time being, let the Guild and Commander Rouvad handle this.”

Ephanie looked disgruntled. “I suppose,” she said. “For the time being.”

“You’re both right,” said Principia. “We need to survive the current crisis. But after that… Syrinx is not going to forget about us. If we succeed, there’s going to be a grudge there.” She smiled coldly. “I say we make sure it goes two ways. And if the Guild and Rouvad can put a stop to her game, we are still the best prospects for our cohort’s mission, remember? Given time, the tables will turn. Basra Syrinx will live to regret creating the enemies she has here.”

Bishop Darling leaned back in his chair, nibbling on a scone, his expression unreadable.

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“There is really no way to work your mind around the inherent limitations other than practice,” Professor Harklund said as he paced slowly around the room, watching his students creating staves of golden light and then hitting them against things—the walls and floor, mostly, though some were very carefully sparring, testing the magical weapons against one another. “Remember, the clock is ticking from the moment you summon an object, but its duration depends upon you, and not merely upon the depth of the power you can call up. Every contact with the physical world will weaken it further—the harder the blow, the greater the damage. There are simply too many amorphous variables to properly quantify the lifespan of a summoned object; over time, with practice, you will develop an intuitive sense of what you have made, and what it can withstand. And unfortunately, divine magic does not offer spells of the kind that would let you know this. Your sense will be built of experience, nothing more. Hence, practice. Yes, I will be repeating it even more,” he added with a grin, coming to a stop next to November, who was grimly battering her glowing staff against an identical one held up by Trissiny. “If you are to get any use of these constructs in the real world, timing is essential. You’ll only have them for so many seconds, and if you do not know the timing, your efforts may prove not only useless, but backfire. Practice, practice!”

November’s staff flickered out of existence at her next blow, causing her to stumble forward; Trissiny caught her with one hand, her own glowing staff still extant but notably dimmer than before.

“All due respect, Professor,” said Gabriel, pounding the butt of his against the floor, “but this seems like the kind of unstructured activity we could be doing on our own time. How about learning something new?”

“Are you seriously asking for homework?” exclaimed one of the new freshmen.

“Rest assured, Mr. Arquin, the schedule for this class is carefully planned out,” Harklund replied with a smile. “You will be practicing things on your own, don’t you worry. As a rule, though, I prefer that you do your initial experiments under supervision. Of course, I can’t stop you kids from working ahead on your own, nor would I. Do keep it in mind, though. Striking off on your own may result in the rapid expansion of your abilities, but it can also lead to the acquisition of bad habits I will have to drill out of you before you can proceed to the next step. Everyone should please feel free to ask my help outside of class, too! My office hours are posted.”

Toby stood by himself, facing one wall, methodically re-summoning his staff after every time it flickered out—which it did every time he struck it against the wall. The staff glowed dimly to begin with, and never seemed fully solid. It also took a few seconds longer to fully form than did the other students’ attempts, which were mostly instantaneous. He would focus energy into his hand until the golden rod slowly flickered into being, shift into a proper striking stance and slam it against the well, whereupon it would vanish from existence.

After glancing around the room at her fellow students, Trissiny wandered over to him. “Hey, that’s better!” she said encouragingly. “If it helps, think of it—”

“Trissiny,” Toby said abruptly, not looking at her, “I will get there. Would you please leave me alone?”

She actually jerked backward, blinking her eyes. “I… Um, sure. Sorry.” Looking nonplussed, she stepped away from Toby as he laboriously called up another staff, her gaze meeting Gabriel’s. He looked purely shocked, his expression slowly shifting to one of worry as he moved it to Toby’s back.

November scowled and opened her mouth, then shut it with an audible snap when Trissiny pointed a finger at her and shook her head firmly.

Several of the other students had stopped what they had been doing and were looking askance at the exchange between the paladins. Only when Gabriel turned to sweep a frown across the room did most of them resume their own practice. The exception was Shaeine, who was still watching Toby intently.

Toby manifested another staff, slammed it against the wall, and began patiently calling up the next one.

“All right,” Professor Harklund said in his customarily mild tone, smiling at them as he finished his rounds at the front of the room, “that’s our class time. This was good practice, everyone—remember, keep practicing on your own, and don’t be afraid to experiment a little, but also don’t try to run before you can crawl. I’ll see everyone on Friday. Mr. Caine, could you stay for a moment, please?”

Toby nodded, and just waited calmly while the others filed out of the room, his expression blank. Most of the freshmen and upperclassmen talked and laughed among themselves, but the sophomores and November, exiting as a group, remained pensively quiet, at least until the door finally closed behind them.

“So,” November said, frowning, “what’s eating him?”

The others looked at each other, but nobody had an answer.

“I cannot believe you let her do this,” Sheyann said disparagingly as she paced in a slow circle around the frozen form of Aspen.

“She was utterly confident she could handle it,” Tellwyrn replied, scowling.

“Have you not noticed how consistently Juniper overestimates her reach?”

“In point of fact, I have had distinctly the opposite impression,” Tellwyrn snapped. “In the year I’ve been teaching her, Juniper has consistently acknowledged her unfamiliarity with new subjects, proceeded slowly and always made sure she understood the basics before moving forward. She’s not shy about asking help from other students, and in fact that’s a big part of her knack for making friends. Well, that and her habit of offering sex as a greeting while being absurdly gorgeous. Even despite the need to coach her through basics that almost every other sentient being knows by the age of four, she is one of my least tiresome students.”

Sheyann had come to a stop and turned a look of surprise on the Professor. “Really? That is rather startling to hear. Either myself or Shiraki have been constantly having to pull her back and repair the small disasters she has caused. Not least of which being her choice of a notoriously erratic, intractable and untamable species as her first animal companion.”

“Hm,” Tellwyrn mused, folding her arms and frowning up at Aspen. “On the other hand, you’re mostly teaching her nature-based stuff, correct?”

“Almost entirely.”

“That she probably thinks of herself as already knowing more than anyone else.” She shook her head, spectacles glinting in the blue glow of the runes sealing the chamber. “Ugh, one or the other of us really should have put that together. Well, lesson learned. I will not be letting her attempt anything involving fae magic until I see proof she’s competent enough.”

“Indeed,” Sheyann agreed, nodding. “And this raises some possibilities I can use to further her education on her next visit to the grove. But that is tomorrow’s battle. For now, we have this one to deal with.”

For a long moment, they were silent, staring at the partially transformed dryad.

“Is there any way to tell how far into the transformation she is?” Tellwyrn asked finally.

Sheyann shook her head. “There is no point of reference, no way to tell what she was turning into. The effect is all but random. A dryad’s power is nigh-limitless; the question is, what was her imagination in the process of making?”

Tellwyrn heaved a sigh.

“This spell,” Sheyann murmured. “How does it work? She is frozen in time, this I can see. Is she out of phase with the world?”

“Actually, if you do that the subject just vanishes. It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that if you dissociate something from physical reality they’re just instantly left behind as the planet orbits. Summoning spells account for that naturally, so I wasn’t thinking in terms of…well. No, she isn’t even frozen in time, merely slowed. Slowed so greatly she might as well be frozen for all practical purposes. Assuming I could ward the room well enough, she’d still be there when the sun goes nova. We’re not short on time.”

The Elder narrowed her eyes. “Then…she would be tremendously vulnerable to impact.”

Tellwyrn nodded. “The room’s built-in protections shielded her to begin with. I’ve since refined them to be sure. She should be safe while in here, provided we don’t introduce any more unknowable variables.”

“All right, then,” Sheyann said, nodding. “That at least tells me the shape of what we must do. It will involve a very intricate blending of arcane and fae energies, which is potentially explosive if we make the slightest mistake.”

The Professor grinned. “Then we’d better not. Fortunately, we’re the best in the world at what we do.”

“I’m not sure I would claim that,” Sheyann murmured.

“I would,” Tellwyrn said bluntly. “I’ll freely admit I rely more on force than technique in many of my workings, but when it comes to time magic I am the leading expert. Not that I blame the other mages; I have an understanding with the extremely persnickety god of time. It’s hard to do the research when you get smote for even thinking about it. And you can be as modest as you like, but I know you’re the eldest living shaman on the continent, if not the world.”

“No,” Sheyann said with a faint quirk of her lips. “I do have at least one senior.”

“Ah, yes. Right.” Tellwyrn grimaced. “When I’m thinking of people I expect to be helpful, she doesn’t spring to mind.” Sheyann actually grinned at her.

“One to handle the temporal magic, then, bridging the gap between Aspen’s frame of time and ours,” she shaman mused to herself, gazing at the dryad but seeing far beyond her. “One to conduct the actual healing. This…will be prohibitively difficult, Arachne. Neither of our systems of magic is innately helpful at touching another’s mind, which is what we must do. I can do it, but that is already a tiring process before the actual work even begins. She must be reached, before she is unfrozen, guided along a path of healing. We are talking about therapy. It is a journey of potentially years, considering the strains upon her mind.”

“Hm,” Tellwyrn said, frowning in a similar expression. “I can possibly speed things along while shifting the… Hm. I will need to be very careful with that, though. Even more than the rest. We’re on thin ice to begin with, emotionally speaking; dissociating someone from their ordinary passage through time can have dicey psychological effects.

“Yes,” Sheyann agreed, nodding. “Anyone participating in this endeavor will be taking on risks.”

“Well, I got her into this; I can’t just leave the girl there, and I’m not just saying that because I still need to know the situation with Naiya regarding Juniper.”

“You do not need to defend yourself to me, Arachne,” Sheyann said mildly, still staring up at the dryad. “I know very well you are far from heartless.”

“My point was, I’m not going to pass judgment if you decline to risk your own sanity over this.”

“That, I think, exaggerates the danger somewhat,” the Elder said dryly. “You are yourself aged enough to absorb a little extra time spent in a pocket dimension without being unduly befuddled by the experience. I was ancient even by elvish reckoning when you first appeared.”

“Mm hm,” Tellwyrn said with a reminiscent smile. “Thinking about it now, I have to agree with Chucky. It really is counterintuitive that I’ve survived this long, isn’t it?”

Sheyann gave her an exasperated glance before resuming her study of Aspen. “Even so, Arachne… This is more than I can take on alone.”

Tellwyrn drew in a deep breath and let it out explosively. “Okay. All right, then. Who else do you need? I don’t mind involving a few other Elders, provided you can temper their attitudes somewhat.”

“I am sure they would say the same to me about you. I could seek help from several Elders—it would take multiples pooling their skills to achieve what we will need to do. I understood, however, that this matter is somewhat sensitive. Elder shamans would be very inquisitive about an issue that may involve Naiya becoming agitated. It might be better not to spread this any farther than we must.”

“Oh, please.” Tellwyrn waved a hand dismissively. “By the time enough of them speak to each other to spread a rumor, all of this will be long done with. You’re probably the most wide-ranging of the bunch, and I’ll eat my spectacles if you’ve been out of your grove in the last thirty years.”

“What a suspiciously specific and accurate number,” Sheyann mused. “Anyway, Arachne, trust me when I say the other Elders would talk. Things change.”

“I am well aware that they do. I’ll be astonished if the Elders are.”

The shaman smiled broadly at that, but the expression just as quickly faded. “There is, though I hesitate to say it, a more pragmatic option. More discreet, and also a better source of help to begin with.” She turned to face Tellwyrn directly. “Do you happen to know how to get in touch with Kuriwa?”

Tellwyrn scowled deeply at her. “You would be far more likely than I to know how to do that. Mary and I have developed the perfect relationship that keeps us away from each other’s throats. At the core of the method is staying as far away from each other as the breadth of this continent will permit.”

“And then, in typical fashion, you settled yourself down as close to the center of the continent as you could,” Sheyann said dryly. “In any case, though I have much less of a personality clash with her, I find I also sleep better when Kuriwa is nowhere near my grove. Nonetheless, she is the best prospect to help with this. Her command of the necessary magics outstrips mine considerably, as does her knowledge of it. And she has had many long and fruitful dealings with dryads; there may not be any higher authority on the subject. We can settle for involving a few other Elders if you are willing to embrace the risks, the inconveniences, the wait and the fact that it is second-rate assistance. If we can find her, though, we’ll need her.” She sighed, and shrugged. “But then, that may be too distant a possibility to consider anyway.”

Tellwyrn closed her eyes, shook her head, and hissed something obscene to herself, shifting through four languages in two seconds. “Last year,” she said finally, “she actually contacted me obliquely. She’d found Caledy’s old amulet and returned it to me. Through an intermediary, though, and without any personal message attached.”

“Both wise precautions,” Sheyann said gravely.

Tellwyrn rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, her contact was Antonio Darling. He strongly implied he was in regular, consistent communication with her.”

The shaman tilted her head. “Who is this?”

“He’s a priest of Eserion, a politician in the Imperial capital, and currently the Eserite Bishop for the Universal Church.”

Sheyann raised her eyebrows. “Indeed. A Tiraan official? And an Eserite, to boot? That is very peculiar company for Kuriwa to keep.”

“He’s not Tiraan,” Tellwyrn said, “just lives there. Seemed like frontier stock to me. You know the type: Stalweiss complexion, old gnomish name. That might make a difference to her… Still, and even considering how odd it would be for Mary to be loitering in Tiraas, I believed him. The man had no motive to deceive me, and is certainly intelligent enough not to torque me without substantial reason.” Tellwyrn paused and sighed heavily. “Are you adamant that we need her?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. However, this will go much faster, be much easier and involve fewer complications with her help than without.” She paused for a moment, then spoke more gently. “I don’t believe anyone actually likes Kuriwa, Arachne. Possibly not even herself. However, I have learned to understand her, somewhat, and I know the ulterior motive she will bring to this. Other Elders will involve the politics of their groves; she will only see the advantage to herself in befriending a dryad, particularly one as old as this. That won’t harm our efforts and will, in fact, encourage her to be helpful. I would not suggest involving her if I did not deem it more than worth the drawbacks. I think, though,” she added in a wry tone, “I had better be the one to approach her. No offense intended.”

Tellwyrn snorted. “When was the last time you were in Tiraas?”

“It has been…let’s see…at least four centuries,” Sheyann said thoughtfully. “I will be very interested in seeing how the city has changed.”

“Good gods,” Tellwyrn muttered. “Well. On the subject of discretion… If you’re planning to approach Bishop Darling, let me pass on a word of warning about his apprentices.”

“Oh, my,” Ravana said, stopping at the top of the staircase just inside the Well’s front door. “What is all this?”

“Oh, just a little project,” Marueen said modestly, tucking a wrench back into her Pack and hopping down from the rail. “Afritia said I could. I’ve got th’easy part all set up there, see? Those wires an’ pulleys, see how they’re all connected t’that little lever that gets flicked whenever the door opens?”

“I do,” Ravana agreed, craning her neck to peer upward. Indeed, the taut network of white cables vanished from the small apparatus down the stairwell to the floor far below.

“That sounds a little bell in our dorm room when somebody comes in or goes out,” Maureen said rather smugly. “And this,” she patted the much more hefty network of metal rods she was in the process of bolting to the bannister, “when it’s done, will be a means of sending packages down to the bottom from up here.”

“But…why, though?” Ravana asked. “Afritia handles our mail. Anyone bringing a package to the dorm will likely be going there herself.”

Maureen shrugged, leaning through the bars of the bannister—and suspending her upper body terrifyingly over the drop—to tighten the next row of bolts. “The joy of the thing is in making it, not necessarily in havin’ or usin’ it. That’s the only reason I bother at all, since it’s doubloons to doughnuts Addiwyn’ll just take an axe t’the whole thing first chance she gets. It’s… It helps me think, y’know? Straighten out me thoughts, get the blood flowin’ an’ the body workin’.”

“I believe I understand,” Ravana said, nodding slowly. “I have my own thought-inducing exercises. Mine happen to be a bit more cerebral, but then, I was not raised to exert myself physically.” She smiled ruefully.

“Aye, well…I’m also revelin’ in the freedom, a bit,” Maureen grunted, still working on bolts. “Back home, tinkerin’ wasn’t considered a proper thing to do.”

“Forgive me, but my knowledge of your culture is entirely secondhand,” Ravana said, frowning. “It was my understanding that gnomes greatly valued adventuring. And is not one of your most famed current adventurers known for her mechanical skills?”

“Aye!” Maureen paused in her work to grin up at her. “Aye, you’re dead on, but those two facts are in spite of each other, not because of each other. Tinker Billie gets respected because of what she’s accomplished—y’don’t argue with results. But she had a hard road of it, settin’ out. She was always me hero, growin’ up. Let’s just say Mum did not approve.”

“Well.” Ravana moved toward the stairs. “I am glad you’ve found a chance to indulge your passion.”

“Aye, you too. I ‘ad me doubts, right up till the end, but you did get us the only A in the class with that scheme of yours.”

“And made us no friends,” Ravana said with a satisfied little smile, “but all things considered, I would rather we be respected than liked.”

Maureen stopped what she was doing, resting her arms on one of the bannister’s horizontal bars to peer up at the human girl. “So… How’s that factor into your plans to bribe and manipulate your way into friendship with the three of us?”

Ravana’s expression closed down. “I beg your pardon?” she asked softly.

“I’m not trying to start somethin’ up, here,” Maureen said quietly, gazing up at her. “It wasn’t even an accusation. I mean… You really weren’t trying not to be obvious, y’know? And I was more’n a mite offended for a brief bit, but… I get the strong impression you really do want to make friends, here, an’ just don’t know any other way to go about it. And that’s just too achingly sad to let me stay miffed.”

“You are…more perceptive than I fear I’ve given you credit for, Miss Willowick,” Ravana said, staring at her.

Maureen shrugged and turned back to her bolts. “Aye, well, we gnomes are comfortable bein’ underestimated. Better’n bein’ stepped on, which is the other most likely option! Anyhow, it’s been all o’ three days; I’m not too worried about things just yet. We’ll all get our sea legs in time. I hold out hope even Addiwyn’ll come around.” She paused, studying her half-built contraption. “Though I may change me mind after we find out what she does to this beauty of a target I’m settin’ up. This is turning out to be more effort an’ love than I was plannin’ to pour into it.”

“You sound absolutely confident that she will sabotage it.”

The gnome shrugged again, grinning. “Well. I am makin’ an assumption about who’s causin’ the trouble around here, but…c’mon. Is it an unlikely outcome?”

“Hm.” Ravana tapped her thin lips with a finger, and a smile slowly blossomed across her features. “Hm. Not to second-guess your creativity, Maureen, but… I wonder if I could persuade you to make a modification?”

“I assure you, I have been forewarned,” Sheyann said, stepping into the sunlight from the door of Helion Hall.

Tellwyrn sighed, following her. “Forewarned is one thing. The experience of riding a Rail caravan is not the kind of thing for which one can truly prepare. I would be happy to teleport you…”

“Arachne,” the Elder said flatly, “if it turns out that I hate the Rails more than that, we can revisit this conversation. Quite frankly, though, I would find that outcome extremely surprising.”

“Ah, yes,” Tellwyrn said in the same tone. “I know how you venerable Elders despise anything convenient or efficient.”

Sheyann just shook her head, smiling. “I’ll have to ride back anyway, unless you were planning to chauffeur me all over the continent.”

“It would be worth it just for the look on your face.”

They were silent for a long moment, standing on the top step. In the near distance, four students tussled playfully on the lawn outside the cafeteria. A few others walked past on the paths, and two young women were hunched over a book in the shade of the astronomy tower’s small front porch.

“You are actually doing this,” Sheyann said softly. “This…University. I honestly thought you would lose interest within a decade.”

“Yeah, that seems to have been the general assumption,” Tellwyrn snorted. “I don’t know why. It’s not as if I have ever lacked focus or discipline—it’s just that the thing I was focusing on forced me to completely change the whole pattern of my life every few years.”

Sheyann turned to regard her in quiet thought for a moment before speaking softly. “I am sorry, Arachne, that you never found what you were looking for.”

Still gazing out across the campus, Tellwyrn slowly shook her head. “I’m not. All these years later, I find my only regret is how long I spent on it. This is a much better use of my time.”

The shaman smiled. “Well. It is surprisingly pleasing to see you settling down to something, finally.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tellwyrn waved her off. “Away with you, the Crow isn’t going to conveniently collar herself. Be nice to Darling, he’s a useful sort of person to know, despite the dramatic horrors he’s meddling with. And, as always, give my love to Chucky.”

Sheyann paused in the act of descending the stairs to look curiously back at the Professor. “Why do you insist on taunting him so?”

Tellwyrn grinned wolfishly. “Why do you?”

The Elder was still laughing as she made her way across the lawn.

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“Hey, guys!” Gabriel said, waving. “What brings you into town?”

“Hi, Gabe!” Fross chimed, zipping over to buzz around his head once. Ruda and Trissiny approached more sedately. The square of Last Rock wasn’t crowded—there just weren’t enough people in the town to make that a likelihood—but citizens were going about their business in the falling afternoon light, and the Ale & Wenches was already glowing and resonating with high-spirited energy, apparent even from across the square.

No one greeted them. No one glared, either, but since the hellgate incident, the already complex relationship between students and townsfolk had been slightly but noticeably more stiff.

“Had to get out of the tower,” Ruda grunted, lifting her hat to run a hand over her hair. “I feel a little bad about it, to be honest, but…”

“We were comforting Juniper,” Trissiny added. “She’s…extremely upset. Nearly to the point of incoherence.”

“What?” Gabe came to a stop, his eyes widening. “What happened to Juniper?”

“Like Boots said, she was a little too emotional to give a concise explanation,” Ruda said with a grimace, “but in and around the weeping and rambling we put together that something bad happened to Aspen, and Juno thinks it was her fault.”

He paled slightly. “Something…bad? How bad?”

“Well, Naiya hasn’t leveled the campus,” said Trissiny, “and there’s not a crazed dryad-monster rampaging around, so clearly not as bad as it could have been. Tellwyrn was dealing with Aspen, so it’s presumably under control and being dealt with. More than that we won’t know until Juniper pulls herself together or Tellwyrn sees fit to share information with us, just for a refreshing change of pace.”

“Teal and Shaeine are still with her,” Fross reported. “We were all there trying to cheer her up, but she was kind of fixedly hanging onto her pet for comfort, and Jack apparently doesn’t like crowded rooms.” She bobbed in place once, chiming a few off-key notes. “Or bright lights.”

“He headbutted Trissiny,” Ruda said, grinning.

Gabriel pressed his lips into a thin line, though didn’t manage to fully conceal their twitching. “He…the… With the antlers, and everything?”

“Yes, with the antlers,” Trissiny growled. Ruda burst out laughing. “Yes, yes, it actually was kind of funny, I guess, but only because I am wearing armor! Which most of our classmates don’t. I’m sorry Juniper is having such a hard time, but if she doesn’t get that rabbit trained and under control there are going to be real problems.”

“What, you’ll take it upon yourself to get rid of it?” Ruda asked, still chortling.

“I am hardly going to kill my friend’s pet!” Trissiny said acidly. “I meant the rabbit is going to hurt somebody. With those antlers and as powerful as his back legs are, that headbutt could disembowel someone!”

“She’s not kidding, they actually do that to predators,” said Fross. “Though as I mentioned previously, jackalopes are not rabbits. They’re rabbit-derived fey, a textbook transbiological animal. No active magic to use, but seriously, a creature with a rabbit’s body couldn’t support antlers.”

“Anybody ever told you you’re getting a little pedantic, Fross?” Ruda asked.

The pixie did a figure eight in the air above them. “I just like things to be accurate!”

“You were visiting the temple?” Trissiny asked.

“Yeah,” said Gabe. He sighed, unconsciously placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I… Tarvadegh says I don’t have to come every day, and it’s best not to bury myself in too much religion. I don’t even disagree, but… I just have so much catching up to do, y’know?”

Trissiny nodded, smiling slightly. “Well, it’s good to see you being so diligent, anyway.”

“For once,” Ruda said, then snickered. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, you were all thinking it.”

“Ignore her,” Trissiny advised. “And really, Gabe, don’t hesitate to talk to Toby or me about anything. We can’t really tell you much about Vidianism, probably, but the paladin’s call is something that takes getting used to. And…you sort of never do. We’ve been there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruda said dismissively. “How’s about you two do that while the rest of us are off on whatever fucking punishment duty Tellwyrn cooks up for us, since we didn’t loaf around here all summer to do it. We’re gettin’ a drink, Arquin.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the A&W. “Wanna come with?”

“A…drink?” he said, his eyebrows rising sharply. “One of you doesn’t drink, one can’t, and one has basically all the booze on her person at all times.”

“Getting a drink is a social ritual!” Fross proclaimed. “The purpose is to go out in public and have fun by conversing with one another and whatever people we meet. Actually drinking is secondary to the purpose and not strictly necessary.”

“Ah,” he said solemnly. “Well, when you put it like that, I’d love to come along. If only to watch Trissiny grab the owner and tear him a new one about naming his pub the Ale & Wenches.”

“Trissiny,” said the paladin in question, “is learning to pick her battles.”

Ruda snorted. “Better late than never!”

“I’m not sure this is wise,” Iris muttered, glancing around the bustling pub. “We’re leaving Bitch Ears alone in our dorm. Gods only know what she’ll do. We’ll come back to find our freakin’ beds on fire, I just know it.”

“Bitch…ears?” Maureen said, her own tufted ears twitching.

“May I request that we refrain from ear-centric racial epithets?” Szith asked mildly.

Iris turned to her, eyes widening in horror. “Oh! I—that—aw, gods, Szith, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean… I’m an idiot.”

“I was not going to put it quite so strongly,” Szith said with the ghost of a smile.

“In any case,” Ravana said firmly, “what will be, will be. Every vicious prank Addiwyn pulls brings her closer to getting slapped down by the authority of the University, and I rather think that Professor Tellwyrn’s discipline is less than gentle. Let us leave it at that, for one night at least, ladies. The purpose of this evening is to relax.”

“I’ll relax when I find out how much trouble our homework is gonna get us in tomorrow morning,” Maureen mumbled.

“Your Grace!” exclaimed a portly, balding man with a luxuriant handlebar mustache. “Welcome, welcome!” To the surprise of the others, he bowed deeply to Ravana, earning speculative stares from all corners of the room. “I received your message, and all is in readiness! Are you certain you only wish the table, your Grace? Merely say the word, and I can have this entire place cleared in five minutes!”

“Let us not disrupt your business any more than is absolutely necessary, Mr. Lowery,” Ravana said with a smile. “I am merely having an evening out with friends, not holding court. Tonight need have no bearing on our established arrangement.”

“Of course, your Grace, of course,” he said, bowing again. “Anything you require. Allow me to show you to your table!”

“Thank you, no,” she said politely. “I believe my arranged escort to be quite adequate. I won’t keep you from your duties any longer, Mr. Lowery.”

“Of course, of course,” he repeated, bowing yet a third time. “And please, if you should wish the slightest thing, don’t hesitate to ask!”

The owner of the Ale & Wenches was forced to retreat as a tall man in gray and red livery, carrying a staff and with both a holstered wand and sheathed saber hanging from his belt, stepped between him and Ravana. He saluted her briskly, then bowed and gestured toward the stairs.

“What…the…hell,” Iris said.

“This way, ladies,” Ravana said brightly, gliding off toward the indicated staircase. The A&W had a two-layered main area, with a boisterous main floor and a slightly quieter balcony above, though on really busy nights, the differences between them diminished considerably. The balcony was reached by staircases along both walls. The girls climbed one of these in bemused silence, the uniformed guard following them. Another man in the same uniform stood at the top of the stairs.

Half the balcony had been cleared. Actually, more than that; two more guards, a man and a woman, took up positions that made a clear line of demarcation barring access to the half reached by their chosen staircase. Only two patrons had decided to stay and endure their silent presence, a young couple tucked into a table in the opposite corner.

In the secured half of the balcony, tables and chairs had been pushed out of the way, everything rearranged so that one round table stood in the middle of the open space, with a rectangular one laid along the back wall. The round table was draped with a white cloth, in stark contrast to the plain wood of the A&W’s regular furnishings, and set with china, crystal and silk napkins, with a towering centerpiece of wrought iron and lit candles strangled by living vines of ivy, apparently freshly-cut. The chairs around it were draped with red velvet cloths and flat gilt-edged pillows. At one place there was no chair, but a tall stool with a gnome-sized seat atop it, reached by a small flight of collapsible stairs. The table along the back, also decorated with a tablecloth, was laid out with bottles of wine and covered dishes which steamed faintly. A blank-faced woman in a uniform which had the same gray and red colors as the guards, but was much less militaristic in cut, stood beside it, a white towel draped over one arm; she bowed deeply upon Ravana’s arrival.

“Am I asleep?” Iris squeaked. “Did someone put shrooms in my tea?”

“Please, have a seat,” Ravana said smoothly, suiting the words by stepping up to her own chair. The servant held it for her.

“He…called you…your Grace?” Maureen said, with a rising inflection that made it a question. “Are…are you a Bishop?”

Ravana laughed lightly. “Oh, good heavens, no. Frankly, I have little use for religion. No, I am merely a Duchess. The address of your Grace is technically correct, but rather old-fashioned. Most commonly I am addressed as Lady.”

The other girls found their way slowly to seats, staring around at the opulence imposed upon this section of the rough tavern.

“If I am not mistaken,” Szith said, “the proprietor of this place offered to, in essence, shut it down at your whim.”

“Mr. Lowery and I have an arrangement,” Ravana said idly, watching as the uniformed servant poured her a glass of red wine. “I have rented this establishment every weekend for the duration of the semester. I made certain to be generous in my terms, considering what it would cost him in lost custom. I have found that it pays greater dividends in the long run to invest in public goodwill than to pinch every possible penny. Indeed, you saw how amenable he was to accommodating me further.” She carefully lifted the wineglass, took a tiny sip, and inhaled deeply through her nose while holding the wine on her tongue. Her eyes drifted closed and a small sound of pleasure resonated deep in her throat. “Mmn… How I have missed that. I dearly mourn the demise of the bottle I brought onto campus. This vintage is quite irreplaceable.”

“You used the phrase ‘holding court,’” Szith said, quietly but persistently. “Forgive me if I impose, but all this makes me extremely curious.”

“Yes, quite,” Ravana said with a soft sigh, setting down her glass and folding her hands in her lap. She regarded them with a calm little smile. “Well, gauche as it may be to draw attention to oneself, I suppose it would be purely rude to keep you all in the dark. This would all come out soon enough, anyway. To introduce myself with all the requisite formalities, I am Duchess Ravana Firouzeh Laila Madouri, high seat of House Madouri and Sovereign of Madouris and Tiraan Province.”

“Sovereign?” Iris squeaked. “Tiraan Province?! You…you rule the capital?”

“The Silver Throne rules the capital,” Ravana corrected her gently. “Tiraas itself is governed directly by the Empire, with no provincial or intermediary government. With regard to myself, the word rule is perhaps overstating the matter. My exceedingly pretentious title of sovereign has more to do with tradition than fact. I am, however, the governor of Tiraan Province, the lands around the capital which formed the pre-imperial nation of Tiraas, currently administered from the colonial capital in Madouris.”

“Governor,” Iris croaked, staring goggle-eyed at her. Maureen was sitting stiffly in her high seat as if afraid she might fall off, sneaking worried glances at the uniformed guards standing around them.

“In theory,” Ravana continued lightly as the servant began deftly setting down plates of some kind of steamed fowl in a light orange sauce, garnished with subtly glowing sprigs of fresh manaleaf, “I answer to no one but the Emperor. In practice, of course, the world of politics is more complex; no one is without masters. House Madouri is the longest-reigning line in the Empire—our dynasty has ruled from Madouris uninterrupted for a thousand years, since the original city-states of the Tira Valley and Calderaas first formed the Tiraan Empire and designated Tiraas itself their capital. Despite this lineage and prestige, my House has recently done considerable damage to its good name, not to mention its coffers. The Empire itself is taking a firm hand in the administration of my province for now and the immediate future, though I am confident I am on the way to redeeming the name Madouri in the eyes of the Throne. Meanwhile, as with all successful societies which are governed by hereditary nobility, there are safety checks in place to prevent incompetent rulers from doing excessive harm. The province is in good hands under my steward and its own attendant bureaucracy, but there are some matters which require the prestige of the governor’s involvement. For those, for the duration of my formal education, I can be reached on weekends at this establishment.” She paused to take another sip of wine, again savoring it. “It was made firmly clear to me that I am not an exception to Professor Tellwyrn’s rules about students leaving the campus during the semester.”

“That seems rather…inconvenient,” Szith said carefully, glancing around the tavern. “And, I suspect, contrary to the expectations of those who would have business with you.”

“Please, ladies, relax and eat,” Ravana urged, picking up her own fork and knife. “Don’t be shy, we are all friends here. In any case, Szith, you are correct, but it’s important to consider these things in their context. One of my ancestors had a custom bridle and saddle made for his wife; he would conduct official business while riding her around the courtyard, forcing anyone seeking audience with him to walk alongside. One makes allowances for powerful nobility.” She smiled, a lopsided little expression that was closely akin to a smirk. “It is inconvenient, yes, but so long as I choose to hold court in a tacky faux-adventurer bar, those who feel themselves entitled to a share of my time and attention will have to cope. Those about whose opinions I need concern myself will already understand how much worse it could be.”

She paused, chewing a dainty bite of poultry. Maureen had finally sampled hers as well, her eyes widening in pleasure at the taste. Iris was still gaping at Ravana as if frozen.

Szith studied her silverware. “I was not expecting to be invited to a formal dinner,” she admitted. “I have not been trained… That is, we use simple knives in Tar’naris. I understand there is a ritual handling of these utensils?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Ravana assured her. “That is, I’ll be glad to coach you in Tiraan etiquette if you wish to learn, but please don’t concern yourself with it here. This is hardly a formal occasion, merely a shameless and disgusting self-indulgence on my part. Please, make yourselves as comfortable as you like. Eat with your fingers if you wish, I’ll pass no judgments.”

“You’re…practically royal,” Iris whispered.

“Iris,” Ravana said gently, “dig in. It’s very good, I promise.” There came a soft clatter as Szith dropped her fork, having attempted to mimic Ravana’s delicate fingertip hold on hers. The servant was there instantly, laying down a replacement.

“But…you’re a queen!”

“Would it help if I ordered you to enjoy yourself?” Ravana asked wryly. At that, Iris began to look outright panicked. “Please,Iris, we are going to be sharing a room for four years. This is why I wanted to get all this out of the way in the first week. Have you noticed that the professors address all of us as Mr. or Miss in class?”

“Or Ms,” Maureen added. “An’ in all frankness I suspect Tellwyrn only uses Miss to rankle Lady Trissiny.”

“Avenists don’t use titles such as Lady,” Ravana said with a smile. “She would probably rather be called by given name, but her actual title is General if you insist on being formal. My point is, girls, I am hardly the only aristocrat in our circle. Prince Sekandar is only slightly lesser in social rank than myself. There are paladins, foreign royalty and demigods among the student body here, and as far as the University is concerned, they are all treated alike. I am not going to invite Tellwyrn’s censure by acting as if I am above any of you. Please don’t think of me as if I am.”

Finally, hesitantly, Iris picked up her fork, studying her artfully arranged plate as if uncertain of its intentions.

“Forgive me if I pry,” said Szith, carefully manipulating her silverware in a slow approximation of Ravana’s movements, “but would it not be more cost-effective to build your own structure in Last Rock, rather than pay what must be prohibitive rent on a public space? Over the course of four years, that seems it could become…excessive.”

“I can afford it,” Ravana said with a light shrug. “As for building my own…politics. Last Rock is, at least nominally, in Calderaan Province, currently answerable to House Aldarasi. Considering the situation, it is reasonable for me to rent space here to conduct what business I must. If I were to build a Madouri government facility on this soil, however…that would be abominable rudeness at best, and possibly viewable as a challenge to the Sultana’s authority. Even asking permission could be taken as an insult. Then there would be economic consequences for goods and services that flow between our provinces, not to mention pressure from the Throne; House Tirasian is already less-than-patient with House Madouri at present, as I mentioned, and would not be best pleased at me stirring up trouble. Plus,” she added with a catlike smile, “it would make for awkward on-campus interactions with Prince Sekandar.”

“Half the sophomore class just walked in,” Maureen observed, craning her neck to peer over the railing at the tavern floor below.

Iris actually jumped in her seat. “What? Which?!”

“Looks like… Princess Zaruda, General Avelea, Gabriel Arquin and the, uh, pixie.”

“Fross,” Szith supplied.

“Aye, Fross. Thank you.”

“Hm,” Ravana mused, toying with her wineglass. “I suppose it would be courteous to invite them to join us. What say you, ladies? Care for some additional company?”

“Oh, but…” Iris gulped heavily. “I’m not ready for—that is, I didn’t expect—I mean, what if—”

She dropped her own fork. The servant instantly had another placed at hand, but Iris looked stricken with embarrassment. She started to lean down to retrieve the dropped one, but the woman whisked it away, and she straightened back up, accidentally dragging the sleeve of her white dress through the orange sauce on her plate.

Iris stared disconsolately at the dripping stain, looking on the verge of tears.

“Upon consideration,” Ravana said gently, “I think I would rather have a girls’ night. Agreed?”

“That sounds quite pleasant to me.”

“Aye, let me just get used to all this fancery before I ‘ave ta try it in front off company.”

Iris gulped down a frustrated sob.

Casey glanced around the darkened ward almost nervously as she made her way over to Principia’s bed, currently the only island of light. “Wow. Got the place to yourself, I see.”

“It’s getting downright lonely,” the elf said gravely, setting aside her novel. “Could I getcha to maim a few people so I have somebody to talk to?”

Casey grinned, nodding at the candle on her nightstand. “Well, you’re the one playing around with a fire hazard from the last century. Seems like you could make your own arrangements, there.”

“It’s the same old story,” Prin said with a grin and a shrug. “Fairy lamps would be cheaper in the long term, but the up-front investment to issue smaller ones for something as trivial as bedside reading lights is unpalatable to the number jockeys. What brings you by, Elwick? Are the rest of the girls okay?”

“Lang is soaked, cranky and looking for reasons to blame you. What’d you do to her, by the way? I get the feeling this goes way back.”

“She got herself arrested while poking her nose into my business, once,” Principia said dryly. “Obviously, this was my fault.”

Casey shook her head, smiling. “Well, we’re all pretty much okay. The rest of the cohort isn’t eager to be chummy with us, even in the mess hall, but there’s been no further trouble. At least not yet.”

“Captain Dijanerad’s doing a good job of keeping a lid on things, I think.” Principia sighed, frowning. “As well as she can. Considering what’s going on, though, and who’s doing it…”

“I like the captain,” Casey said quietly. “I think she’s a good officer. There’s cloak-and-dagger stuff afoot, though, and she is not a match for Bishop Syrinx. I’m afraid she’s only going to get herself hurt trying to protect us.”

Prin tilted her head, studying the younger woman closely. “And now I’m getting the impression this is why you’re really spending your precious free time talking with me.”

Casey glanced at the door to the ward without turning her head, a movement Principia took note of. Most people would give themselves away when checking for listeners—almost anyone, in fact, who hadn’t had specific training in avoiding such tells.

“We all got the speech from the captain,” she said quietly. “Same one you and Lang did. Stay in line, don’t make waves, trust the chain of command. And I would love to be able to do that…but.”

“But,” Prin agreed, nodding.

“We need help,” Casey said, staring at her. “Syrinx is only getting started, Locke. Believe me when I say there is nothing that woman isn’t capable of doing. I think…we need the kind of help you can get us.”

“The Guild?” Principia raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t we just go through this? Involving the Guild in Legion business is a disaster waiting for an excuse, quite apart from the fact it’d immediately get my ass bounced out of here, and possibly all of yours along with it.”

“Not the Guild,” Casey agreed hastily. “And…not someone to meddle. But… What about advice? Information? From someone in the Guild?”

“That’s still too close,” Prin replied, shaking her head. “You have to go through channels…”

“Unless it’s a private individual you know personally.” Casey glanced at the door again, then at the nearby window. “Like Bishop Darling.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Darling?” Principia said at last. “The one who ferreted me out in the Temple of Izara? Now why would you latch onto the idea of him?”

“You obviously know him,” Casey said, then sighed, her shoulders slumping. “And…so do I. So does Farah.”

“Really.”

“Her old teacher was one of the first to be murdered by the priestkiller last year,” Casey explained. “Darling stepped in, funded a memorial and made sure things were taken care of. She wouldn’t confirm it but I get the impression he greased a few wheels to help her get into the Legion, too. She was a librarian—not the kind of person the Sisters are looking for.”

“Now, that is very interesting,” Principia mused. “I wonder why he would take an interest in something like that… And how do you know him?”

Casey drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, well… I mentioned Syrinx was my sponsor in the Legions, right?”

“I remember.”

“Well… Darling is the reason she doesn’t have a stranglehold on my life the way she does on Jenell Covrin. Him and Bishop Snowe.”

“Snowe?” Principia exclaimed. “Branwen Snowe, the Izarite celebrity columnist? You have led an interesting life, haven’t you?”

“I really do not want to talk about it,” Casey said curtly. “The point is, he’s someone you can come to for help. And wipe that look off your face, I’m not stupid. I know a man like that doesn’t do favors out of the goodness of his heart. He does it to build connections, to earn favors he can call in later. Let’s face it, I think we’re in a position that he’d be glad enough to give us some free pointers. I bet he has a harder time getting friends in the Sisters of Avei than in most places.”

Principia gazed at her thoughtfully. “Elwick, were you ever in the Thieves’ Guild?”

“No.”

“Mm. Parents, then? Someone taught you to scheme. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed you being more clever than a girl your age ought to be.”

“Locke,” she warned, “when I said I don’t want to talk about my history, I wasn’t making idle conversation.”

“Well, that’s fair enough,” Principia said peaceably. “And it’d be pretty damn hypocritical of me to argue; I don’t plan to talk overmuch about mine either.” She idly fingered her earlobe, gazing into the distance. “Darling, huh. I’ve been thinking in terms of keeping the Guild out of this and me out from between them and the Sisters… It’s risky. If Syrinx gets wind of such a thing, she could easily use it against us.”

“…but?” Casey prompted.

“But,” Prin said, nodding slowly. “If it’s done carefully, and made clear that it’s a personal sort of conversation, not something involving cults… Yeah. Now that you mention it, I think you just might be onto something.”

“Can you teach me?!” Iris burst out.

Walking through the darkened campus on their way back to the Well, the four freshmen came to a halt, the others turning to look at her in surprise. Iris had been trailing along in the back of the group, head down and arms wrapped around herself. She still looked hunched and worried, but now gazed at Ravana with an almost frantic intensity.

“You said you could coach Szith in etiquette. Can you teach me, too?”

“Of course,” Ravana said.

Iris nodded. “And…more?”

“What more did you have in mind?”

“I just…I don’t know.” She swallowed painfully. “But after three days I can see you’re calm, poised and in control of yourself at all times, and I’m a mess. I don’t… Can you make me not a mess?”

“I don’t think you’re a mess,” Maureen offered.

“I could,” Ravana said slowly. “Rather, I can. However, there is a price for what you’re asking.”

“If you want money, I only have a little, but—”

“Iris, why would I need your money? I only mean that such things have inevitable consequences. Think carefully before making any kind of commitment.”

“If you think I’m afraid to work, you’re extremely wrong,” Iris said tightly. “You have no idea what I’m willing to go through. Or how important it is to me.”

Ravana gazed at her in thoughtful silence for a long moment, then very carefully looked around them. They were standing on the main lawn on the middle terrace, not far from the currently empty gazebo. In fact, there was no one else in view, and no nearby obstructions that could hide an observer.

“I am the Duchess of Tiraan Province,” she said finally, returning her eyes to Iris’s, “because I framed my father and brother for high treason. They were executed last week. I did not attend the ceremony, having been busy packing for my trip here.”

Ravana let the silence stretch out, smiling slightly as the other three stared at her in sudden horror. Even Szith looked unnerved.

“In my defense,” she said finally, “they were committing high treason. They were just too clever to leave evidence; that I had to manufacture. I very strongly suspect that Imperial Intelligence knows these facts quite well. Father was also mismanaging the province to the brink of ruin; I shall be years undoing the damage left in his wake. I am the last of the Madouri line, the heir of a thousand years of tradition; had I not stepped in to redeem myself in the eyes of the Silver Throne, the Imperial government would have been forced to remove my family from power, effectively ending our lineage.

“I really did love my family,” she mused, now gazing thoughtfully at the night sky over Iris’s head. “I think so, anyway. My father never mistreated me. He was rather dismissive—he never had much use for girls—but never cruel. And I did enjoy time spent with my older brother. He used to play the violin for me. I rather regret that he will never do so again. But of remorse, I feel none.” She brought her gaze back down to study the others. “It had to be done. If anything, I am rather pleased with myself. It was quite deftly arranged.”

“House politics,” Szith said quietly. “It is much the same in Tar’naris. My mother taught me to be grateful that we are of lower blood, and not called upon to such things.”

Ravana nodded to her. “Indeed. Politics above that which makes us living, feeling people. That is the price of power, Iris: to truly be powerful, you must becoming a creature of icy calculation. I can teach you to be powerful. I cannot teach you to be happy. That is a skill I simply don’t possess. In fact, I rather suspect the two are mutually exclusive. When I tell you to think about what you are asking, I am offering you a choice, and a chance, that I was never given.”

Iris was silent. After a long moment, Ravana nodded once and turned to lead the way back to the Well.

“What,” Iris began, then swallowed. Ravana turned back to her, raising an eyebrow. “What…do you think I ought to do?”

“I don’t think I ought to answer that question,” Ravana said thoughtfully. “It would be too colored with my own self-interest, no matter how I approached it. I believe it would benefit me more to keep you as you are.”

“What?” Iris took a step backward, staring at her. “In the gods’ names, why?”

“It isn’t strictly wise to train potential rivals,” Ravana said with a shrug. “One is always better off being the best and the cleverest in one’s circle. Not to mention that having more easily manipulated acquaintances would be useful in a variety of ways. That, I think, is not an appropriate line of thinking.”

She paused, tilting her head in thought, and smiled faintly. “I was serious about not wanting to place myself above you while we’re here, girls. I have never been anyone’s friend before. I’m uncertain of the technique, but determined to make a concerted effort. In any case, Iris, do think carefully about your options. Whatever you decide to do, it seems to me we all have a great deal to learn from each other. Don’t you agree?”

With another, final smile, she turned and headed off down the path.

The others stared after her for a few moments before silently following.

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“I’m thinking,” Principia said tersely.

“Well, you’re thinking on a schedule,” Merry shot back. “I don’t know the city all that well, but we’re at most a quarter hour from stepping into one or the other trap.”

“Less,” said Farah.

“I can think faster if people wouldn’t distract me,” Prin said, grimacing.

“So let us in on your thought process, then,” Merry replied.

Principia shook her head. “I have it in hand.”

“Shortcut here,” said Farah, pointing with her lance at an opening between tall buildings, a bit too wide to be called an alley, but still a little less than a street. “Are we wanting to dawdle so Locke can think, or shave a few minutes off the trip so we’re not late, if we’re going?”

At this hour of the morning, Tiraas was alive and vigorous despite the looming thunderheads above—its citizens were more than used to being rained on, anyway. The five Legionnaires had no difficulty getting down the sidewalk, though, given everyone’s tendency to step out of their way, either out of respect or unease.

“Let’s take the shortcut,” Merry said abruptly, breaking ranks and striding into the tiny side street. It was dim and presently unoccupied, a stark contrast to the main avenue down which they had been walking. The others followed her without comment.

Only for a dozen yards, though, enough to leave behind the bustle of the main street, before Merry came to a stop and turned around.

“All right, Locke, spit it out,” she ordered, planting the butt of her lance on the rain-slick cobblestones and staring flatly.

“Look,” Principia said irritably, “if you will just let me—”

“I don’t know if you’ve actually noticed this, Locke, but while you may still be in the Thieves’ Guild, you are not there now. This is a unit, inadequately staffed as it is. And this problem affects us all; you’re just the means of it. So, no, this is not a thing where you personally out-scheme Syrinx and we all trail along behind you like ducklings to marvel at your cleverness.”

“Do…are ducklings known for that?” Casey asked, frowning.

“I agree with Lang,” said Ephanie. “It’s not that I doubt your wits, Locke, but she’s right: you aren’t in command, here, and we all have a stake in this. If you’re laying plans, let us in on them.”

Principia looked back and forth between them, then sighed heavily in defeat. “I don’t have anything I’d call a plan yet, just… Ideas.”

“So, share your ideas,” Merry said.

The elf shook her head. “It’s a fairly standard rock versus hard place dilemma. When you can’t go in either of the available directions, you have to find or create a third one.”

“And what would a third direction be, here?” Farah asked.

“That is where I’m stalled,” Prin admitted.

“Well, that seems like a perfect place to ask your squadmates for help, then,” Merry said with a small grin. “The walls of this maze are made of regulations. And oh, look! We’ve got a walking encyclopedia of regulations right here!”

They all turned to look at Ephanie, whose cheeks colored slightly.

“I don’t know if encyclopedia is fair. I just have a history with the Legions.”

“Well, still,” said Principia, “Lang has a point. We’re in a trap between rules: we can neither obey nor disobey our orders. What would be something that gets us out of it?”

“You don’t get out of obeying orders,” Ephanie said with a faint scowl. “That’s the point of them.”

“Okay, well, the Silver Legions haven’t been the world’s predominant military for thousands of years by being too hidebound to function,” said Casey. “There has to be something that’s considered a good cause not to show up.”

“It’s not much more than a thousand years, actually,” said Farah, “and given the Tiraan Empire’s success over that period I don’t know whether—”

“Is that really important right now?” Merry exclaimed in exasperation. Farah flushed and fell silent.

“There is a precedent for the refusal of morally or tactically unacceptable orders,” Ephanie said with a frown, staring into the distance. “But this isn’t a moral dilemma, it’s a…clerical one. I don’t think that would fly.”

“All right, what else?” Merry prompted. “What’s a good reason not to report for duty?”

“Casualties bringing the squad below functional numbers would demand a retreat,” Ephanie said, still wearing a thoughtfully distant expression. “But as we started out below strength, that seems like a reach. Also, if some crisis arose in which we had a clear moral obligation to help, we would be expected to attend to that above a routine assignment like this one.”

“Well, I guess we could burn something down,” Prin said sourly. “Or maybe Avei will take pity on us and create a disaster.”

“That is…not exactly Avei’s style,” Farah said, lips twitching.

“Our orders also can be countermanded by a superior officer,” Ephanie continued.

“Wait,” Merry interrupted. “Back up. What was that about casualties?”

“I don’t see that just up and happening, either,” said Casey.

“Well, that’s the point of casualties,” Merry said with a grim smile. “They happen because someone makes them happen.”

“Self-inflicted injury to get out of duty is a serious offense,” Ephanie warned.

“Let’s come back to that,” Merry said impatiently. “If one of us were injured, would the squad be obligated to retreat?”

“It’s…hard to say,” Ephanie admitted. “By regulations, yes. But by regulations, we wouldn’t be sent out with only five of us in the first place. By regulations, we wouldn’t be sent out without an officer. I think our whole problem is that for our cohort, the regulations say whatever Bishop Syrinx wants them to.”

Merry rubbed her chin with a thumb, frowning in thought. “If there were one injured member of the squad… Two of us would be needed to carry her to help. That’d leave two to report for duty. There’s understaffed, and then there’s ridiculous.”

“One would need to be sent to tell the squad we’re to rendezvous with what happened,” Ephanie said, “but yes, still. You’re right.”

“And Locke is the only one who can’t report for this,” Casey added, her face brightening. “So if she’s the one injured, we sidestep the whole problem!”

“This discussion is veering in a direction that makes me nervous,” Principia said, scowling.

“Have you managed to come up with a better idea?” Merry demanded.

“Time’s wasting,” Farah warned. “At this point we better do something; if we’re going to report in, we’ll be late now even if we run.”

“Aw, hell,” Principia muttered. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve subjected myself to for the sake of a job.”

“All right, ladies, here’s what went down,” Merry said crisply, peering around the alley. Her gaze fell on a particularly deep puddle, and she stepped over and planted a boot in it. “I was walking in the lead, Locke right behind me. Stepped in this here puddle, slipped…” Slowly, she pantomimed flailing with her arms, including the one holding her lance, which she then brought backward, jabbing the butt at Principia’s face. “Thwack.”

“Ow,” the elf said, grimacing.

“It’ll be fine, you’re wearing a helmet,” Merry said with a grin. “For real this time, though. Don’t dodge.” She planted her feet and raised the lance again, her grip much more serious.

“Hold it,” said Casey. “About face, Locke. Elves have reflexes like cats; no one will believe she failed to dodge a wild hit she saw coming.”

“And why the hell would I be walking backwards?” Principia demanded sourly.

“You weren’t walking,” Casey said, frowning in thought and nodding slowly as she went along. “You were…turned around to… Argue with Farah about this alleged shortcut. Yes, and Lang tried to turn mid-stride to see what the trouble was, and that’s when she slipped in the puddle.”

“You’ve done this before,” Merry said approvingly. Casey shrugged, lowering her eyes.

“Just to state the obvious,” Ephanie said grimly, “we are all trusting each other very deeply, here.”

“Some more than others,” Principia snapped.

“Conspiracy, assault, evading duty… We’re all going to be in serious trouble if anybody finds out what happened here,” Ephanie said. “The kind of trouble that gets people who are already on short notice dishonorably discharged.”

They glanced around at each other.

“Oh, the hell with it,” Principia said with a grin. “I trust you girls.”

“You do?” Casey asked suspiciously. “Why?”

“Elwick, nobody is truly trustworthy,” Prin said. “Trusting someone is a choice. It’s something you do because you have to, or because it improves your lot. If they’re important enough to you, you keep trusting them even after they let you down.”

“That’s a very Eserite philosophy,” Farah commented.

“Well, if we’re doing this, best be about it,” said Merry, hefting her lance again. “Like the girl said, Locke, face the other way.”

Principia sighed heavily, but obediently turned around. “You’ve just been waiting for an opportunity like this, haven’t you.”

“I am not even going to dignify that with a flimsy denial,” Merry said cheerfully, and slammed the butt of her lance into the back of Principia’s helmet.

Szith was first into the room, and came to a dead stop right in the doorway.

“Is there a problem?” Ravana asked after a moment.

The drow slowly stepped forward. While the others trailed in behind her, she crossed to her own bed, and picked up a sheet of ripped fabric that had been laid out atop the quilt.

A banner had been hung to the wall beside her bed. It now lay in two pieces, the larger of which she now held in her hands.

“Oh,” Maureen said softly, raising a hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear…”

“Szith,” Ravana said softly, “is that your House flag?”

The drow nodded slowly, still staring down at the swatch of ripped spidersilk in her hands. Her expression, usually calmly aloof, was frozen and blank.

“She left class before us,” Iris said in a low growl, subconsciously running her fingers across the front of her white dress. Afritia’s alchemy had proved as effective as she claimed, and there was no sign of the smear of paint that had been there that morning. “She was moving so fast we didn’t even see her coming back… I should’ve known.”

“This crosses a line,” Ravana said, and there was real anger in her expression. “One does not deface a House insignia. Even in war it is a needless insult. Duels and assassinations have been prompted by considerably less!”

“Addiwyn!” Szith said sharply, raising her voice above normal speaking tones. Maureen, wincing, crept over to her own bed, where she pulled off the omnipresent backpack she always wore and stuck a hand into one of its pockets. There was no sound of movement behind the door to Addiwyn’s private room. After waiting a few seconds, Szith spoke again, this time in an outright shout. “Come in here now!”

There came a thump from behind the door. Finally, it opened and Addiwyn herself leaned out, one hand on the knob, and scowled at them.

“For heaven’s sake, what? This had better be important; you trollops have wasted enough of my time for one day already.”

Szith held up the ruined banner. “What possible satisfaction could you get from this?” she demanded.

Addiwyn stared at the ripped flag, frowned, and then straightened up. Her expression cleared, then morphed into an outright smirk.

Szith let go of the length of fabric with one hand, in order to grip the hilt of her sword.

“Oh, I see,” Addiwyn said, folding her arms and lounging against the frame of her door. “Allow me to let you in on a little secret, girls: I didn’t come here to make friends.”

“That’s your idea of a secret?” Iris snapped.

“I’m not interested in being buddy-buddy with any of you, or anyone, really,” the elf continued. “I mean to get my degree and get out of here. I don’t expect you to like me, nor do I care. So, since I’m the least liked person present, I guess that makes me the natural choice when there’s blame to be thrown around. Thus, whoever is taking it upon herself to trash all your belongings has a ready-made scapegoat. You won’t even think to look anywhere else.” She shrugged, straightened up, and grabbed the doorknob. “Think about that. Think about which of you seem to have a proven knack for being underhanded and cruel. And think carefully before you decide to do anything about this. Mess with me or my things and you’ll barely have time to regret your own stupidity.”

With that, she ducked back into her room, slamming the door far harder than was necessary. The assembled roommates stared at it with varying expressions of outrage and disbelief.

“This is just nasty, this is,” Maureen said from behind them. Szith whirled to find the gnome standing beside her bed, holding up the other half of the torn flag. “It’s authentic Narisian spidersilk, aye? That’s basically un-rippable. Aside from how tough it is, it stretches. Right?”

“Yes,” Szith said in a hollow tone. “It’s used in armor.”

Maureen nodded. “So, this wasn’t torn, it was cut. But see, look here, how the ends are jagged and frayed? As if it was torn. Somebody went well out of their way to use a special tool fer this. Made it as ugly as possible, so it’s less likely to be mended.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry, Szith, fabric arts ain’t exactly me strong suit. I’m better with tools and gadgets. Mayhap it can be fixed with magic?”

Wordlessly, Szith took the other half of the banner from her, and began tenderly folding them together.

“I had hoped this was a mere case of poor social skills, or overcompensating for the nervousness of being in a new place,” Ravana said, staring at Addiwyn’s door through narrowed eyes. “This behavior, however, is only escalating. This act demands retaliation.”

“Here, now,” Maureen said worriedly. “Gettin’ into a feud ain’t exactly smart. I don’t think Professor Tellwyrn likes it when people scrap on her campus, somehow.”

“I am hardly proposing to ambush her,” Ravana said, “nor participate in some kind of prank war. These antics are sickeningly juvenile; I would like to think that each of you, like myself, are above such foolishness.”

“The bitch can hear you, y’know,” Iris pointed out.

“That’s fine,” Ravana said with a shrug. “She’s the one flouting rules and disrespecting the personal space and possessions of others. That will carry its own repercussions. There are innumerable ways to add a little extra sting to the whip when it finally falls.”

“If she is the one doing this,” Szith said suddenly. While the others turned to stare at her, she gently tucked the folded banner into her armored tunic. “Excuse me. I am going…out.”

“Okay,” Maureen said in a small voice. No one else spoke as the drow strode across the room and back out through the door, shutting it gently but firmly behind her.

“We really ought to go get Afritia,” Iris said after a moment. “Even with Szith gone, she needs to know about this.”

“Agreed,” Ravana murmured, staring at Addiwyn’s door again with a thoughtful frown. As the other two watched her warily, the expression shifted, momentarily becoming a smile. A very small, subtly unpleasant smile. “By all means, let us do things through the proper channels. For the moment, at least.”

Iris and Maureen exchanged a dubious look. Ravana only smiled more widely.

Captain Dijanerad strode into the mostly empty sick ward, fully armored and looking not in the least flustered, stressed or adversely affected from whatever crisis had kept her from the mess hall that morning.

Principia was under orders to remain in bed, but she offered a salute from her reclining position. Merry, standing beside her bed, came smartly to attention and saluted as well.

“Captain,” she said, staring straight ahead. “I take full responsibility. This was entirely due to my clumsiness.”

“I object to that,” Principia chimed in. “If I’d been paying attention I could have avoided this easily.”

Dijanerad came to a stop alongside them, studied each in silence for a moment, then turned to the only other person in the room. “What’s the verdict, Sister?”

Sister Tyrouna, the healer currently on duty, was a dark-skinned Westerner with a broad, subtly sly smile habitually in place. She picked up the helmet hanging from the bedpost as she answered.

“Private Locke has a rare medical condition named, according to the textbooks I’ve consulted, a ‘goose egg.’” She tossed the helmet lightly to the Captain, who snagged it out of the air. “That was the real casualty, here, and exactly why we make the troops wear them. In seriousness, she doesn’t even have a concussion, and that little bump was the work of moments to heal away, but I’m keeping her in the ward overnight for observation. She was unconscious, briefly. This is SOP for head injuries, as you well know.”

“Mm hm,” Dijanerad murmured, turning the helmet over to study it. There was a substantial dent in the back. “Good hit, Lang. Now, if we could just teach you to do this on purpose we might make a real soldier of you.”

Merry opened her mouth to reply, then closed it silently and swallowed.

“So, here’s a funny thing,” the Captain continued, studying them with a mild expression. “When I got back to the temple, I had paperwork waiting for your entire squad to be court-martialed for failing to report waiting for me. Actually, I got that before I was notified of Locke’s injury. Isn’t that interesting? It’s as if somebody had the forms all filled out and ready to file, just itching for a reason to materialize.”

Merry swallowed again. Principia frowned slightly. “The papers were sent to you, Captain?”

“I am your commanding officer,” Dijanerad said dryly.

“Of course,” Principia replied quickly. “It’s just….”

“It’s just,” the captain finished, “this business smacks of the kind of thing that by all appearances should have gone behind my back, yes? As it happened, I intercepted a certain Private Covrin en route to Command with the papers in question. Needless to say, I confiscated them. Discipline in my cohort is mine to hand out.”

“Covrin,” Merry murmured, frowning.

Dijanerad glanced pointedly at Sister Tyrouna, who smiled languidly and strolled off to busy herself at the other end of the room.

“I am not an idiot, ladies,” the captain said in a lower tone. “Nor do I want you to be. However, you should consider the fact that women in your position may be well advised not to be excessively clever, either. I told you once, Locke, if any political shenanigans occur, I expect you to leave them to me to handle.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not even sure how you knew about that crackpate court-martial order,” Dijanerad continued, scowling, “but that was posted in response to some nonsense that happened in a completely different cohort and doesn’t have the force of the High Commander’s seal behind it. I am still in charge of discipline in our ranks, and the order to court martial you lot would have gone nowhere under me. As its author surely realized. Right now, ladies, I am dealing with a much more persistent bureaucratic hassle pertaining to your squad. Someone has opened an investigation suggesting that Squad Thirteen deliberately engineered an accident to get out of duty. I am reasonably sure I can also get that shut down, as by chance I got forewarning of it before it got into hands that outrank me. I don’t want to keep having to do this, though.”

Merry and Prin risked glancing at each other; the captain stared flatly at them both. “Clever people are ironically easy to trick into doing something stupid, ladies. You are soldiers, and whatever backroom deals are flying around here, none of them involve the kind of stakes that could get you seriously in trouble—unless, that is, you are goaded into doing something that’ll get you in trouble. Just be soldiers, and good ones. Use your common sense, not your animal cunning; follow your orders and trust the chain of command. And for future reference, Locke, you are to consider the prohibition on you getting between the Legion and the Guild to have greater force than any incidental orders that originate from outside this cohort.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Principia said with obvious relief. “Thank you, ma’am!”

“For now,” the captain said with a cold smile, “since you have both so graciously taken responsibility for this horsewash… Well, Locke, I’ll deal with you once you’re out of the healer’s care. Lang, report to the cohort parade ground and mop it.”

“M-mop it, Captain?” Merry stuttered.

“Have you developed a hearing problem, Lang?”

“No, ma’am!”

“Good. Mop it till it’s dry, private. Or until I tell you to stop.”

Merry looked at the window, which was currently being pounded with warm rain. Principia cringed sympathetically.

“Yes, ma’am,” Merry said resignedly.

“Very good,” Elder Shiraki said approvingly. The young shaman acknowledged him with only the barest hint of a smile, focused as she was on her task. Before them, a vine had risen out of the ground in the grove’s wide central space; it was currently standing upright, to the height of their shoulders, and under the apprentice’s gentle hands what minutes ago had been a single berry had swollen and hardened, gradually becoming a sizable watermelon. It was delicate work, producing the fruit while supporting the vine in an upright position not natural to it, carefully drawing energy and nutrients from the earth to supply all of this and not causing a backlash that would damage the other plants in the vicinity, which was why Shiraki preferred it as a training exercise. He stood by, ready to intervene in case of problems. He would certainly not salvage the apprentice’s melon, but he would prevent a mishap from adversely affecting her, or their environment.

The young elf was also getting practice in maintaining focus under mild duress. Though the others in the grove knew better than to interfere with or deliberately distract a shaman being trained by an Elder, they did not hesitate to stop and watch, and they were all certainly cognizant that an audience could, by itself, be ample distraction.

His praise was not idly given, however. She was doing quite well, especially in comparison to her previous attempt.

The warning was scant, a mere split-second, but the harsh buzz of arcane magic was alarming enough to provoke a reaction, and a split-second was plenty of time for the dozen elves present to spring into ready positions, those who had weapons placing hands on them.

Of course, the young shaman’s spell collapsed, and Shiraki had to reach out with his mind to prevent the suddenly uncontained energies she had been working from damaging either her or the soil. The melon withered, of course, but there was nothing to be done about that. Clearly not the student’s fault.

Before the watermelon had even started to turn brown, before any of the suddenly tense elves could call out a warning, there came a short, soft puff of displaced air, and then she was standing among them.

Tellwyrn turned in nearly a full circle, studying the assembled wood elves through those pretentious golden spectacles of hers, and then her gaze fell on Shiraki. She straightened up, holding out her arms as if for a hug, and grinned in evident delight.

“Chucky!”

Shiraki sighed heavily, gently allowing the last of the shamanic energies he had seized to dissipate harmlessly into the ground. His apprentice took two steps back, scowling at the mage; several of the other elves had similarly unfriendly expressions, though a few of the younger ones studied her with a degree of interest he did not like.

“In all the time that has passed, Arachne,” he intoned, “and all that has passed in that time, I begin to think it is a cruel cosmic joke at my expense that neither of us has managed to be killed yet.”

“Such sweet things you always say,” she retorted, her grin actually broadening. “I did save your life that one time, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied calmly. “I am quite clearly indebted to you for it. Considering that, it would take quite a long and intense pattern of deeply annoying behavior to leave me so unimpressed whenever we meet. And yet, you managed.”

Tellwyrn laughed. “Well, fair enough. I think the real issue is that I saved you from being saved by Sheyann. Face it, you’d be a lot more annoyed at owing her one.”

At that, he had to smile. “All that aside, Arachne, you’re hardly known for your habit of making casual social calls. What brings you to our grove?”

“Straight to business, then, is it?” She shook her head, the mirth leaking rapidly from her expression. “All right, the truth is, I need the help of a shaman. A powerful and learned a shaman as the grove can spare me for a bit.”

“Oh?” he said, intrigued despite himself. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard—or heard of—you asking such a thing before. What disaster has brought this on?”

Tellwyrn sighed and folded her arms. “To make a very long story short, I’ve got a sick dryad on my hands, and damn if I know a thing to do with her.”

“What have you done to Juniper?” Elder Sheyann demanded, striding toward them and dispersing the onlookers with a sharp gesture.

“Juniper is fine,” Tellwyrn replied, turning to face the new arrival. “Somewhat distraught at the moment, but unharmed. What I did,” she added with a rueful grimace, “was severely overestimate her capabilities and her knowledge of them. I let her attempt something she was clearly not ready for. The dryad who’s been harmed is named Aspen.”

Shiraki and Sheyann exchanged a sharp look, before returning their attention to the sorceress.

“It sounds,” Sheyann said firmly, “as if we had better hear the long version.”

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Juniper walked rapidly toward Helion Hall, eyes fixed on the distance ahead of her, but not truly seeing where she was going. Habit earned from a year of classes guided her up the front steps and into the marble lobby, where she had to pause to get her bearings.

Or would have, had she been able to concentrate.

She rarely attuned on the campus; there was little point, and good reason not to. The only wild animals were rodents and small birds, and aside from Rafe’s greenhouse there were hardly any wild plants. Most of the plants present, even the trees, were all thoroughly domesticated and had little to offer her in the way of interest. Besides, other magical influences were disruptive to the attunement. Arcane magic was absolutely everywhere, causing an unpleasant buzzing in the back of her head when she opened herself to feel it, and there were other things. Pockets of blazing divine light that made her feel weak and dizzy when she wandered too close to one—or opened her mind to perceive them from a distance—and even (usually in the secured spell labs, fortunately) diabolic energies.

Not to mention the other fae present. Fross could tell when Juniper was attuning, and it seemed to make her uncomfortable; Stew would always end up drifting toward her whether he wanted to or not. This semester, there was also the torrent of energy that was Professor Ekoi; brushing her awareness made Juniper uneasy. The kitsune’s consciousness always fixed right on her when she did, and something about that regard was predatory. Juniper was very unaccustomed to feeling like prey.

She held the attunement now, though, to the point of losing awareness of her physical surroundings. Now, she was barely even cognizant of all those distractions. Fixed in the forefront of her attention was Aspen’s consciousness, which was likewise fixed upon her.

Juniper finally stopped and looked around when the path she’d been following actually led her in the opposite direction from her sister’s location. Somehow, the hall that had started off more or less the right way turned into an ascending staircase; Aspen was down, somewhere in a sub-basement. Professor Tellwyrn had given her directions, but now she couldn’t recall anything clearly…

And then, suddenly, came a sharp pop of displaced air and the disorientingly abrupt change of scenery to which she was starting to grow unpleasantly accustomed.

The change in her awareness of Aspen’s proximity was even more startling, but that wasn’t only in her ephemeral senses. There she was: her sister, standing right there.

Both dryads let out wordless cries in unison and rushed straight into each other’s arms.

Juniper clung to her sister, feeling the solid warmth of her body and the blazing proximity of her consciousness, not even aware that she was crying. Aspen’s emotions washed over her: relief, confusion, doubt, and most of all, love.

“I see I had the right idea,” said Professor Tellwyrn’s voice from somewhere nearby. “She said you kept backtracking and going the wrong direction. Why do I even bother giving you instructions? At least you didn’t bring that damned jackalope.”

Reluctantly, Juniper pulled back a bit, still keeping her arms around Aspen. She gained enough distance to look her sister in the eyes, though, and saw the same mix of feelings reflected on her face.

“It really is you?” Aspen demanded breathlessly.

“You know it is,” Juniper said, frowning. “Come on, I’m right here. Who else would it be?”

Aspen blinked, frowned, and then her eyebrows drew together; Juniper felt a spike of anxiety from her, an increase in confusion. “But…you were gone. Mother felt it. When I reached out for you, I couldn’t find anything. I should be able to sense any dryad from the Heart of the Wild, you know that.”

“I didn’t,” Tellwyrn remarked. “That is fascinating.”

Aspen shot the elf a brief, irritated grimace before refocusing her attention on Juniper. “And…what’s wrong in you? It’s like… I can feel you from this close, but… Juniper, it’s as if part of you isn’t there.”

Juniper grimaced herself, pulling back a little more; Aspen reluctantly let her go.

“Mother noticed I was gone?” she asked, changing the subject. “And… She told you?”

Aspen winced, and shook her head. “Well, it was… Really, just happenstance. I’ve been visiting the Heart now and again ever since you left, reaching out to check on you.”

Juniper blinked. “You did? I never felt that…”

“Well, at that distance, you wouldn’t. The Heart doesn’t pull both ways. Yeah, though, it started with you, but ever since I got that idea I’ve been looking in on the others, those of our sisters who are off in different parts of the world. Did you know Apple, Mimosa and Hawthorne are in Tiraas?”

“They…what? Really? I was there for a while, and I never noticed…”

“I strongly suggest you leave that alone,” Tellwyrn warned, and was ignored.

“And you happened to be looking for me when I…y’know?” Juniper asked hesitantly.

The other dryad shook her head, expression growing grim. “Actually, I’d just been watching Cedar. She’s on the whole other side of the world, and I think she’s in some kind of trouble. Anyway, she was pretty upset about something. But while I was there, doing that… Mother sort of, uh… Had an episode.”

Both dryads winced in unison. Juniper had never witnessed one of Naiya’s episodes, but they were legendary among her sisters. The nature goddess seldom troubled to communicate with anyone unless she was very highly motivated, which usually meant angry. Tellwyrn was one of the few who’d ever managed to get her direct attention without being scoured from the face of the earth for her trouble.

“So, yeah, she was upset when you…died.” Aspen leaned backward slightly, studying Juniper’s face in minute detail. “And now, here you are, not dead, but I can feel something in your being that’s just… It’s not right, Juniper. Well, I told you my story, now spit it out already!”

Juniper sighed, buying time by glancing around the room. It was set up sort of like one of the spell labs, with permanent containment glyphs, but to judge by the feel of the arcane power in here, the spells involved were a great deal more formidable. Well, that made sense; both that Tellwyrn would have something like this on campus and that she would use it to contain a dryad.

“It’s…kind of a long story,” she hedged, returning her attention to her sister.

Aspen drew back a step, folded her arms across her chest, pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows.

“Well, basically, I’m fine,” she said. “It’s not… I’m not dead, and I’m not hurt.”

“You’re fine?” Aspen said incredulously. “Juniper, it looks like you’ve got a hole in your spirit!”

“I know!” she said hastily. “But it just looks like that! That’s what it’s for. It’s…it’s not a hole, it’s a block.”

“What?”

“It…” She sighed helplessly and glanced at Professor Tellwyrn, who just raised an eyebrow. “It’s something I got from Avei.”

“…what were you doing mucking around with Avei?”

“I asked her to, Aspen. It’s a kind of barrier. It hides me from Mother.”

Aspen stared at her. “…what? Wait, what?! Why?”

Juniper drew in a deep breath and let it out. It was a habit she’d picked up from her classmates, and it actually was oddly helpful. The physical motion was bracing and she drew in a lot more good air that way than she normally absorbed through her skin. Altogether it helped her gather her thoughts and focus. Also, the oxygen she let out was good for people.

“It’s so I don’t have an all-powerful, overprotective nanny protecting me from the results of my own mistakes. You really can’t learn if you don’t face hardships. You can’t grow. So… I’m here to learn, right? Well, that means I need to be on my own. To have to be careful, and, and think over my actions. I can’t do any of that if Mother is always there to fix everything for me.”

Tellwyrn nodded once, smiling faintly in approval. Juniper relaxed a bit; much of that explanation had come from the druids, and she’d gathered the impression that they and the Professor didn’t see eye-to-eye about basically anything.

Aspen was just staring at her. “Juniper… That is the single most idiotic thing I have ever heard in my life.”

Juniper scowled. “What? I’m serious!”

“You’re crazy, that’s what you are!” her sister exclaimed. “What nonsense, hiding from Mother. From protection! You’re a dryad! You’re a favored child of Naiya; you’re special, and more important than other living things. You’re supposed to be protected!”

“Protected from other people,” Juniper said quietly. “She didn’t do much to help Cherry. Or Sequoia.”

Aspen hesitated, blinking, then scowled again. “That’s…that’s a completely different matter.”

“Why?” Juniper pressed. “Why is it different? Aspen… I know Mother means well, but I really don’t think the way she goes about protecting us is doing us much good.”

“Will you listen to yourself!” Aspen all but shouted, then pointed accusingly at Professor Tellwyrn. “This is your fault! You’ve been filling her head with this nonsense!”

“This nonsense is called ‘maturity,’” Tellwyrn said dryly, “and she is hardly filled with it. Look, Juniper, you two clearly have a lot of things to discuss, but I have a specific need for some information from your sister, here. I would rather get that out of the way before this conversation gets any more animated.”

“Oh, mulch you,” Aspen spat. “You drive my sister crazy and cut her off from our mother and now you want information from me? You can go bury your head!”

“Do you want to spend some more time floating and kicking?” Tellwyrn asked calmly. Aspen swelled up furiously, clenching her fists.

“Professor, please,” Juniper said hastily. “Just let me talk with her, okay? This has all been a bunch of misunderstandings. Aspen is really nice, I’m positive we can straighten all this out. I just need to make her understand.”

Tellwyrn grimaced, but shrugged and fell silent.

“What is it I need to understand?” Aspen demanded suspiciously. Her posture relaxed slightly, but she didn’t un-clench her hands.

“Would you at least hear why I’m doing all this?” Juniper asked. “I didn’t just pull it out of my butt. I have reasons.”

The other dryad stared at her critically for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, I guess not. All right, let’s hear it.”

Juniper nodded, took another deep breath, and braced herself inwardly against the tide of ugly memories. “It’s not about anything Professor Tellwyrn or anybody else has been teaching me, okay? It’s stuff I started to realize on my own, after I spent some time with people. Talking to them, getting to know them and understand them. People… They aren’t like the other animals we know.”

“Well, obviously,” Aspen said caustically. “They wreck things.”

“Yes, but…so do termites,” Juniper said reasonably. “It’s the same principle. Creation involves some destruction. The things that humans do seem weird and random because…because they aren’t like other animals. The same with elves and dwarves and… Well, people. Sentient, intelligent things. They’re not like animals because they’re something more.”

“Nonsense,” Aspen said curtly, but without rancor. Her eyes were still fixed piercingly on Juniper’s. “We’re something more.”

“Yeah,” Juniper agreed, nodding. “And so are they. And…that’s the important thing I came to understand. It… It hurt me a lot, Aspen. Thinking about how I’ve treated humans.”

“Treated humans?” Aspen snorted. “It was one guy, Juniper. You’re still just a hatchling.”

“That one was enough,” she said quietly. “He was… He mattered. He loved and was important. I should never have done that to him, and realizing it made everything seem wrong inside me. Haven’t you ever…wondered? About their perspective? About how the world looks to them? Everything makes sense when you see it through their eyes, Aspen. They aren’t chaotic, and they aren’t monsters. They have reasons. They’re…like us.”

“Juniper, you are scaring me,” Aspen said, her voice equally soft.

Juniper blinked. “I…scaring you? How? Why?”

“Because I’ve had a conversation like this before,” her sister replied, eyes boring into her. “With Larch.”

For a moment, Juniper could only gape. “Larch?”

“That was the one with the leg bone, right?” Tellwyrn asked interestedly. Juniper nodded absently to her.

“Almost exactly like this,” Aspen went on seriously. “Eerily the same words. All about people having their own perspectives, and mattering like we do. She was so stirred up about it I could barely feel her, even attuning as closely as I could. And… Then it all just stopped. She went dead quiet inside and she’s stayed that way ever since.” Aspen sighed heavily, lowering her eyes. “The very next day after that conversation, she caught a wasp, pulled its wings off and spent the whole afternoon watching it crawl around. And… Well, you know what she’s like now, always killing stuff for no good reason and hurting things just because she can. Juniper… I love her, you know that, but there’s something broken in her. And now, here you are, with something so broken in you I can feel it, saying the very same words. Yes, I’m scared.” She raised her eyes again, her lip trembling. “I…I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I had no idea,” Juniper murmured, shaking her head slowly. “I guess… I guess different people face it differently.”

“Embracing the inner monster,” Tellwyrn commented. “It’s fortunately not one of the more common reactions to extreme guilt, but I’ve seen it often enough. Considering she’s a dryad, I guess it could have gone a lot worse.”

“I’m not like Larch,” Juniper said, focusing her gaze back on Aspen’s worried eyes. “I promise. It’s a completely different situation.”

“Yeah?” Aspen scowled at her, but Juniper didn’t need to attune to her to feel the worry that prompted it. “Because from here, it looks completely not different.”

“Juniper didn’t figure all this out in the space of one conversation,” Tellwyrn said, “and frankly, you won’t either. We don’t need to hash everything out right now. Let’s prioritize, ladies. Aspen needs accommodations, and to issue at least one apology. And I have a few questions, if you’re feeling a bit more settled now that you can see your little sister is fine.”

“Excuse me?” Aspen snapped, rounding on her. “Fine? Fine? Listen to her! Here she is with her aura full of holes and her head full of human idiocy, on the verge of turning completely crazy like Larch, and she’s fine?”

“You know,” Tellwyrn said flatly, “people are just going to stop explaining things to you if you simply refuse to listen to them. All of this has been covered by now.”

“Professor, please,” Juniper said, cringing.

“You’re acting like I owe you something now that you’ve thrown me a few crumbs,” Aspen barreled on, glaring at Tellwyrn. “After you kidnapped and spelled me and—”

“Be silent.” The Professor didn’t raise her voice, but the dryad snapped her mouth shut. Tellwyrn glared right back at her. “You have attacked one of my students, Aspen. Your mother’s protection does not mean you are safe from any repercussions. As we were just discussing, Naiya isn’t terribly attentive, or discerning. There are a lot of ways I can simply get rid of you so thoroughly you’ll never be found, without her even noticing. The reason none of that is happening is that I need some answers. It would be very smart for you to start working toward my good graces.”

“Please!” Juniper exclaimed. “Would both of you stop? Aspen, please don’t wind her up, she’s right; you’re picking a fight you won’t win. And Professor, she’s not just being ornery, she’s concerned. She’s not wrong to be! Just…let me explain all this, okay?”

A brief silence fell, in which Professor Tellwyrn folded her arms and Aspen looked mulish.

“Fine,” the Professor said curtly after a moment. “If getting an explanation is what will make you cooperate, Aspen, that’s what we’ll do. But keep in mind, Juniper, the explanation in question is something it took you months to grasp, and involved no small amount of emotional trauma for you, to say nothing of a literal divine intervention. I simply do not have time to indulge her in all of that—or who knows, maybe I do. I don’t know, because that is among the things I need to learn here!” Despite the relatively calm beginning of that speech, she finished on a note of pure, exasperated frustration. “If you can’t manage to considerably abridge this process, I’m going to have to go with my own proven methods, and that is not going to make any of us happy.”

“You know what doesn’t make me feel cooperative?” Aspen snapped. “Threatening me.”

Juniper dragged a hand over her face. “I feel like something is deeply backward here. Why am I the reasonable one?”

Tellwyrn snorted a short laugh. “Yes, well… I guess I’ll have to give you that.”

“All right. All right, look. You need it faster, we can do that. Aspen? Can you open for me?”

“I don’t know about this,” Aspen said warily. “It’s not that I don’t love you, Juniper, or that I don’t trust you, but… You’re acting really weird. I’m a bit nervous about the idea of putting you that deeply in my head right now.”

“Actually, I have to agree,” Tellwyrn added, frowning. “As I just said, Juniper, we’re talking about a subject that brought you a lot of pain. I know I said we need to do this faster, but dumping that on her all at once may not be wise.”

“It’s okay,” Juniper assured both of them. “Aspen, I’m not crazy. I’ve just spent a lot of time recently coming to understand some things you’ve never had to think about. I promise I can make it make sense to you. And Professor, it’s not all pain. I’ve learned to cope with it, and I can give her that, too.”

“Doesn’t work that way, Juniper,” Tellwyrn said, shaking her head. “Coping is an act, not a teachable piece of information.”

“You don’t understand how attunement works, trust me. I can make it work.”

The Professor locked eyes with Aspen for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “I do not think this is a good idea.”

“I kind of agree,” Aspen said warily.

“Well, do either of you have a better one?” Juniper asked in exasperation.

Elf and dryad peered warily at each other again, then Tellwyrn shook her head and took a step back. “Be extremely careful, Juniper.”

“I will,” she promised. “Aspen?”

Her sister sighed, too. “Well… If it’ll help me understand… I guess. Maybe I can finally figure out what’s up with Larch, too.”

“I think it’s been too long for us to help Larch,” Juniper said, stepping forward. “But maybe…well. Here. I’ll show you.”

She reached out with her being, attuning closely and specifically to her sister, feeling Aspen meet her halfway. They met physically as well, arms wrapping around each other, the sensation almost unnoticeable in the spiritual unity. The attunement washed over and through them, and then in unison they narrowed their focus, shutting out the vastness of the world and immersing their minds in each other.

Like root systems intertwining, like branches mingling in the wind, the essence of the two dryads overlapped and began to merge. Their attunement continued to grow, to deepen, the merging becoming more like the joining of two rivers, like the meeting of two breezes, until they were only barely two identities.

The sheer joy of it, the pure, unconditional love and acceptance, was enough to drive all thought of purpose away. For a timeless stretch of time, they simply gloried in the beauty of it.

Then the partial consciousness that was Aspen—the older, somewhat more complex half, gently nudged their conjoined self, a soft reminder of what they were doing.

Juniper came somewhat back to herself with a start. Hastily, lest any more time be wasted, she dug through her memories, carefully pulling up and sorting out the ones she wanted. They were painful to look over, the sequence of gradual revelations, deepening understanding…the pain, the gnawing guilt. She carefully tried to arrange them in the right order…

The bond jarred. Aspen was looking over the same panorama of recollections.

Wait.

Pain!

No, wait. It will make sense. It gets better, the beginning is the worst part…

Their attunement shook again, Aspen dragging herself ahead. Juniper reeled at her sister’s unusually rough touch on her mind, thrown into confusion herself.

No. No! More pain, it hurts more!

Yes…it did. The pain had grown, she recalled now…the scenes laid out showed that. Over time as her denials had crumbled…

But that wasn’t what I meant, you mustn’t jump ahead, let me guide you—

A howl of agony tore through them both. Something had connected. Something merged.

Juniper’s carefully arranged emotional reaction to the harm she had done suddenly fit neatly into memories of Aspen’s. Perfectly neatly, suiting the subject as if made for it.

Lots and lots of memories. Years of them.

Hunger, blood, the thrill of the hunt, the taste of fresh meat

pleading begging denial

they’re just like me

No NO

Wait, sister, please, I can—

NO HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

Please let me explain!

It’s a lie it’s not true I didn’t know I didn’t mean it NOT MY FAULT

Aspen! Calm! I love you, I can show you how—

A scream of pure anguish split the world apart.

Juniper reeled, her whole mind jarred harder than it could bear, as the attunement was shattered. She had never been forced out of one so quickly—it was like every sense she had, and many that she didn’t have, were simultaneously filled with pain and inputs of different scenes that did not fit together. For an infinite moment, she was conscious of nothing but hurting, totally unable to make sense of her surroundings.

Then, abruptly, everything snapped back into place. She was on the floor, against the far wall where Aspen had bodily hurled her.

And that screaming was not in her own mind.

No sooner had she focused herself again than Aspen was silenced. Juniper stared at her in horror.

Her sister stood as still as if carved from stone, her body arched agonizingly as if frozen in the throes of a seizure. That was not the worst of it, though.

Hard growths, like spiky tree bark, had sprouted from her forearms and hands, from her shoulders. Her hair was frozen in the act of wildly flailing, individual strands partially coalesced into tentacular growths sprouting tiny blades like grass. Her eyes were wide open, without white, pupils or irises, blazing a luminous, sickly green.

“Aspen!” she cried in anguish, vaulting upright and lunging toward her sister.

“Don’t touch her!”

Juniper was lifted bodily off the ground and hung there, kicking and reaching out for Aspen, unable to connect with the floor or move herself.

“I stilled her in time,” Tellwyrn said urgently. “Fairies are the one thing I am least equipped to deal with, Juniper; it was the only way I could stop the transformation without hurting her. You can’t stop time, but she’s vastly slowed. She won’t perceive anything going on until I remove the effect.”

“Let go of me!” Juniper said frantically, flailing with her arms.

“Juniper!” the Professor snapped. “Think! You have covered this in Alaric’s class: force is equivalent to mass multiplied by acceleration. You are moving with unthinkable speed compared to her. The safeguards in here will protect her somewhat, but if you touch her, it could destroy her.”

Finally, Juniper froze, staring in horror at her partially transformed, temporally locked older sister.

After a few moments in which she made no attempt to move, Tellwyrn finally lowered her to the ground. Her knees buckled and she collapsed into a boneless huddle, still staring up at Aspen.

“This is my fault.”

Tellwyrn sighed heavily. “Well… I did warn you. On the other hand, then I went and let you do it, so I have to shoulder some of the blame, here. Damn it… Fairies. Maybe I should have brought in an expert before even trying to deal with her… But it’s not like I have one on campus. Kaisa would have just made this worse.”

Tears poured silently down Juniper’s cheeks. “I only wanted to help,” she whispered.

There was quiet for a long moment, and then Tellwyrn was kneeling beside her. A slender hand slowly stroked her hair.

“June,” the elf said very gently. “I will speak with your professors. You take a day off. Pet your bunny, pull yourself together. In the meantime, I will fix this.”

“How?” she asked miserably.

“I have no idea,” Tellwyrn said, patting her back, “but nonetheless, I will. This…is going to be a lot more complicated than I’d thought. I’ll have to call in some help. But we will help her, I promise you.”

Juniper just nodded, staring emptily up at Aspen.

Tellwyrn sighed. “Hopefully before your mother comes looking for her.”

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“I dunno, maybe it’s all the chapel sessions they made us sit through in basic, but I can kinda see it,” Farah said somewhat dreamily. The rest of Squad Thirteen eyed her askance.

“Really, now,” Merry said. “First week of active duty and you’re already planning your retirement and how many kids you want. I think you skipped seven or eight hundred steps, there, private.”

“Oh, hush,” Farah retorted without rancor. “I’m just saying, it’s a point, you know? The spiritual power of motherhood, the bond between mothers and daughters. I’d never really considered it, but I can see myself wanting that. Can’t you?”

“Babies terrify me,” Casey muttered in between bites of porridge.

“You know, there’s no reason you’d necessarily have daughters,” Merry pointed out. “It’s kinda random.”

“Nonsense, you can pick!”

Merry snorted. “It’s possible to pick. You can’t, though. Not on a Legionnaire’s salary.”

“The expensive alchemical methods aren’t a hundred percent certain, anyway,” Prin commented. “You want certainty, you need a good shaman. And even then they mostly won’t do it. Blah blah, messing with nature, wakka wakka spontaneity, yakety yak respect the balance. Pfft.”

“See?” Merry said, grinning, and tucked back into her own breakfast.

“Oh, you’re a bunch of wet blankets,” Farah said crossly. “I’m just saying, I think having a daughter would be a beautiful thing. Come on, I bet even you’d settle down for that, Locke.”

“I have a daughter,” Principia said mildly. “About your age, in fact.”

Farah blinked. “Oh. Um…well, then you’ll know what I mean, about that connection!”

Prin shrugged, eyes on her porridge. “Well, not really. She won’t talk to me.” A half-grin flitted across her face. “Can’t really argue with the kid. I’m arguably the worst mother who’s ever lived.”

They fell silent, the sounds of the busy mess hall washing over them.

“You really know how to kill a conversation,” Merry said at last.

Principia grinned at her. “You’re in the army now, woman. Killin’ is our business.”

“Attention!”

There was a mass scraping of benches and clattering of dropped utensils as every woman in the cohort sprang upright, saluting. Two figures were approaching the center of the mess hall’s open front area, which was commonly used by officers to address the assembled troops. Squad Thirteen were disciplined enough not to react to either the speaker or the Legionnaire who paced along behind her carrying a stack of papers under one arm.

“There has been a disruption of our normal schedule, ladies,” Bishop Syrinx announced, coming to a stop in the center of the space and folding her hands behind her back. Private Covrin fell to attention behind and to her right. “You will be informed of further details at a later time if command deems it necessary, but for now, Captain Dijanerad is among several officers called away on an urgent matter. As I have an interest in this cohort’s progress, I am delivering your assignments for today.”

She paused, angling her head slightly to one side and giving them assembled cohort a look that was both contemplative and slightly supercilious. “One day’s duty is hardly indicative of your skills, ladies, but as I told you yesterday, you are being watched and evaluated closely. The High Commander and your captain appreciate your patience with the unconventional manner in which this unit is being run, for the moment, as do I. A few of you are already beginning to stand out…and I mean that in both positive and negative respects.” Her eyes flicked back and forth to a few specific spots, none of which included anyone in Squad Thirteen. “The plan at present is for squad leaders to be assigned by the end of the week, after which you will not need to be nursemaided by more seasoned units and will draw more conventional duties. Those of you who have distinguished yourselves already, do not get complacent. Those who have not managed to stand out in any way still have time to do so. Several of you are on very short notice to get your act together. The Silver Legions have no place or the incompetent or the weak.

“Thus far, by and large, I’m pleased with you. Keep up the good work, troops. In fact, improve upon it. Private Covrin will now distribute assignments. At ease.”

She turned and stepped over to the side to speak quietly with Lieutenant Vriss, who was the only officer attached to the cohort currently present in the hall.

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Farah muttered as the assembled Legionnaires relaxed, some hurriedly finishing off their meals.

“Mm,” Principia mused, eyes on the Bishop.

By chance or design, they were approached in reverse order, meaning Squad Thirteen was the first to be handed its orders, a sheet of cheap parchment bearing the Third Legion’s seal and an illegible signature at the bottom. Ephanie accepted this wordlessly.

“Covrin,” Farah said in an icy tone.

Private Covrin paused just barely long enough to ensure that her faint sneer was visible before moving on to Squad Twelve’s table.

“It’s bad, isn’t it,” Casey said, eyes on Ephanie, whose expression bore out her prediction.

“We’re to meet up with Squad Nine from Cohort Six,” she said slowly, eyes darting across the page. “They’re…heavily patrolling the Steppes. Specifics are to be given once we’re in the field, but that squad is positioned to intercept a major operation by the Thieves’ Guild, targeting a shipment of gold arriving at a Vernisite bank.”

The silence hung for a beat.

“But…we can’t have an assignment that involves the Guild!” Farah protested. “Locke has a conflict of interest. It’s against regulation!”

“Welcome to the conversation,” Merry said acidly.

“Heel, Tazlith,” Prin said.

Merry snarled at her. “Don’t you dare—”

“Treat your squadmates with respect and you’ll get the same in kind,” Prin said relentlessly. “It’s not as if Szaravid is wrong. Hell, we should’ve all been expecting something like this, but it’s faster than I’d imagined she would move.”

“This is what yesterday was about,” Casey said softly, frowning into the distance. “She was priming you to expect something like this. She wants you to challenge the order. Why? That’s not punishable, is it? Avelea?” She turned to Ephanie, who suddenly straightened up, eyes widening.

“Wait,” she said. “Come with me!”

Ephanie set off at a sharp trot for the back of the mess hall, making a beeline for the bulletin board with the rest of her squad trailing along behind. Once there, she began rifling through a whole sheaf of papers pinned together to the much-battered cork board, finally pausing on a page half the stack in.

“This was posted a week before we arrived,” she said. “Due to a ‘pattern of incidents’ involving new enlistees, until further notice, privates failing to report for duty will be considered absent without leave and subject to court martial, with a potential penalty of dishonorable discharge.”

“Wait, what?” Casey exclaimed. “Okay, I’m still new to the military. Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

“Failing to report is a serious matter,” Ephanie said, letting the pages drop and turning to face them. “But yes, court martial and dishonorable discharge for one offense verges on the absurd. There are a lot of prescribed disciplinary steps before it should come to that point. It says this is at Command’s discretion…”

“Is Syrinx’s signature on that thing, by any chance?” Prin asked wryly.

“She wouldn’t be so overt,” said Casey, scowling. “There is no way this is a coincidence, though. Are you all seeing what I mean, now? She’s capable of anything.”

They glanced across the hall, past the knots of armored women dispersing to their assigned tasks, at Bishop Syrinx, who was still speaking quietly with the lieutenant.

“How did you even know that was there?” Merry asked Ephanie. “It was buried. It predates us being here!”

“I make a point to read all posted notices carefully,” Ephanie replied, “for exactly this reason. I really cannot afford any slip-ups.” She paused, glancing around at them. “Without meaning to tread on anybody’s privacy, I’ve been getting the impression that nobody in this squad can afford any slip-ups.”

“What the hell do we do now, then?” Casey demanded. “Dijanerad would shut this down, but she’s conveniently elsewhere on what I bet is some urgently made-up bullshit.”

“You need to challenge this as quickly as possible,” Ephanie said to Principia. “An oversight isn’t your fault. You actually reporting for this duty would put you in the wrong. Get on the record pointing it out to a superior…”

Prin was already moving. She wasn’t quite fast enough; as she approached the front of the hall, Lieutenant Vriss nodded to Syrinx and dashed out the side door. The Bishop herself turned to depart through the opposite exit.

“May I help you?” Private Covrin said coldly, interposing herself between Principia and Syrinx. “Hey!”

Prin slipped around her without slowing. “Bishop Syrinx!”

The Bishop paused, glancing over at her. “You have duties, Private Locke, as do I. Be about them.”

“There’s a problem with my squad’s orders, ma’am,” Principia said crisply. “Regulations prohibit—”

“As someone recently reminded me, private, I am not in your chain of command, and I am certainly not your mother. Find someone whose problem this is and pester her about it.”

“Your Grace—”

“You are dismissed, private.” Syrinx stalked off, Covrin following her after giving Principia a hard look.

The rest of Squad Thirteen gathered around Prin as Syrinx and Covrin departed the mess hall. Most of the other squads had already filed out.

“Shit,” Casey said feelingly. “Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. How soon are we supposed to report?”

“We’ve only just got time to get there,” said Ephanie. “We could try to go over the captain’s head, find someone higher up… But by the time we did and actually got their attention we’d be way past late to report.”

Farah straightened up, her face brightening. “Cohort Six will have officers—that’s the whole point of us being assigned to them! They can excuse Locke once we report in.”

“We’re to join Squad Nine in the field,” Ephanie said, re-reading their orders. “We’re given a rendezvous point. That means we’re supporting… If it’s a standard patrol pattern for a district that size, we’ll be meeting up with two soldiers, three at the most. There will be officers, but odds are we won’t see them until after the action.”

“The group we’re sent to meet won’t have any officers,” Principia said softly. “I told you that thuggish display yesterday was beneath her. This is the real play—she won’t have left such an easy out.”

“A court martial is a trial, right?” said Merry. “You’ll have a chance to explain your case there. You’re obviously not at fault here, Locke.”

Principia shook her head. “I’m telling you, this is too thoroughly planned. The notice was posted a week ago; she’s been laying traps long before we even knew we’d be here. There will be some extra surprise waiting at that court martial. Hell, if I were running this con, that’s where I’d have hidden the real trap. It looks like the safest route to take.”

“Well…you can’t go,” Farah said miserably. “You’ll get in trouble with the Legion either way, but if you report for this assignment you’ll be betraying the Thieves’ Guild, too. I sorta got the impression you already aren’t their favorite person in the world.”

“No,” Principia said, narrowing her eyes. “No… We’re not beaten yet, girls. Let’s move out, or we’re AWOL and court martialed. When they put me on trial, I swear it’ll be for something a lot less stupid.”

“The insanity just keeps piling up,” Ephanie muttered, scowling. “Squads sent out without officers, the cohort’s officers all diverted, sweeping changes in regulations hidden… This is not just about Locke. It’s not just about this squad. This kind of nonsense can seriously damage a military unit. In wartime, people would die. I can’t even fathom how she’s getting away with this…”

“A lot can change between here and the Steppes,” said Prin, heading for the exit. “I just need a little time to think of something.”

“Something good?” Merry asked skeptically.

“Trust me, Lang, this isn’t my first time playing this game.”

“The last time you played this game, you got me arrested!”

“Someday I really need to hear that story,” Farah commented.

Principia, at the head of the group, grinned. “That wasn’t the last time.”

The dorm’s relatively quiet morning routine was brought to a halt by an earsplitting shriek.

“What?!” Maureen yelped, leaping reflexively onto her bed and falling into a ready stance. Across the room, Szith had also shifted smoothly to the balls of her feet, one hand grasping the hilt of her sword.

“Look! Look at this!” Iris, still in a patched nightgown, held up a white dress apparently identical to the one she’d worn yesterday, tears brimming in her wide eyes. It was of smooth and heavy fabric, decorated with subtle embroidery around the hem and cuffs. This one, however, had the word SLUT scrawled in blocky capital letters across the bodice in some thick red substance.

“Hm,” Ravana said, narrowing her eyes.

The door burst open and their house mother dashed in, staring around at them in alarm.

“What is it?” Afritia demanded. “What happened?”

Tears spilling down her cheeks now, Iris turned to face her, holding up the ruined dress.

Afritia stared at it in apparent bemusement for a moment, then her expression turned to one of silent fury. Over the course of a few seconds, she mastered it, and when she next spoke, it was in apparent calm.

“Addiwyn,” she said loudly in the direction of the long room’s other door. “Come in here, please.”

There was a moment’s silence. Ravana stepped over to Iris’s bed, picking up a small object from her nightstand.

Finally, Addiwyn’s door swung open and the elf leaned out, scowling. “What are you people doing? Some of us have classes to prepare for.”

“Do you know anything about this, Addiwyn?” Afritia asked quietly.

Addiwyn turned to stare at Iris, raising her eyebrows at the sight of the dress, then smirked unpleasantly. “Well. If you have to advertise, Iris, I guess you can’t be very good.”

Iris let out an animal scream of fury, throwing the marred dress aside, and launched herself across the room, clawed fingers outstretched.

She made it almost two feet before Szith smoothly intercepted her. One whirl of motion later, the drow had Iris in a firm hold, both arms secured behind her back. The taller human girl didn’t stop trying to squirm free, snarling at Addiwyn.

“She is baiting you,” Szith said sharply. “Contain yourself. You become unequivocally at fault if you commit assault in front of the house mother.”

“Worth it!” Iris screeched.

“No one is committing assault!” Afritia snapped.

“This is mine,” Ravana commented, studying the object she had picked up. It was a small clam shell filled with a thick red substance. “Or…was, I supposed. What’s left is ruined. Given how dry it is, I would guess it’s been left out all night.”

“Are you sure you had nothing to do with this, Addiwyn?” Afritia said, staring at the elf.

Addiwn shrugged, scowling irritably. “Domingue’s clothes turn up with Madouri’s cosmetics scrawled on them? Why am I even part of this conversation?”

“’ere now, just ‘cos somebody owns a thing doesn’t mean they’re the one who used it,” Maureen objected. “Y’don’t think Iris mauled her own gown, surely.”

“If you think me capable of something so unbelievably puerile,” Ravana said archly, “at least believe I take better care of my possessions. Frankly, this rouge cost as least as much as that dress. I wish to discuss that matter with whoever is responsible.”

“We all know who’s responsible!” Iris howled, glaring hatred at Addiwyn. She stopped struggling, however, quivering with rage in Szith’s grasp.

“Addiwyn, go wait for me in my room, please,” Afritia said.

The elf heaved a melodramatic sigh. “We have class in twenty minutes. I am still—”

“Go,” the house mother said flatly.

Addiwyn rolled her eyes, but flounced out, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

“Iris,” Afritia said more gently, “what kind of fabric is that? And Ravana, may I see that rouge, please?”

“It’s…just cotton,” Iris said miserably, finally slumping in Szith’s hold now that Addiwyn was gone. The drow gently released her. “Thickened cotton… I had to have it made. White cotton tends to be transparent otherwise.”

“Any enchantments? Alchemical augmentation?” Afritia asked, accepting the clamshell of makeup from Ravana with a nod of thanks.

“Alchemical, yeah. That’s where the thickness comes from. It’s not actually any heavier for it.”

“All right. I will be right back; I believe I can fix it pretty quickly.”

She slipped out, shutting the door much more carefully than Addiwyn had.

“Fix it?” Iris said morosely, picking up the wadded dress from her bed and staring at the now-smudged epithet scrawled across it. “How? This is ruined. Just look at this gunk! Maybe a professional cleaner…”

“Surely she wouldn’t make a promise like that unless she could back it up?” Maureen said encouragingly.

“Indeed,” added Ravana. “She is herself an alchemist of some considerable renown.”

“Is she?” Szith asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Ah, that’s right,” Ravana said smoothly. “Considering your point of origin, Szith, you are unlikely to have heard of Morvana the Poisoner.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Who?” Iris demanded.

“The what?” Maureen added.

Ravana shrugged, picking up the brush she had dropped and casually resuming work on her pale hair. “Perhaps it’s a matter chiefly of interest to the nobility. She never operated in the Tiraan Empire, at least not that I’ve heard. Morvana the Poisoner was an assassin who spent ten years cutting a swath across the Malderaan continent, striking down dozens of high-profile targets. Over a hundred, possibly; matters become a little confused when people are killed by untraceable alchemical substances. Others may also have taken advantage of the carnage to commit their own murders and blame them on her. The Poisoner published claims in various newspapers that each of her victims were members of the Black Wreath and had been killed for that reason.”

“Wh—that—surely…” Maureen gulped heavily, wide-eyed. “You can’t think that’s the lady who’s in charge of our dorm.”

Ravana only shrugged again, smiling. “Well, it could be a different Afritia Morvana. I’ve certainly never heard either name elsewhere, but it’s a wide world. And really, if you were an alumnus of the Unseen University with a dozen governments and the Black Wreath actively seeking your head, the prospect of hiding behind Arachne Tellwyrn’s skirts would start to seem rather inviting, don’t you think?” She set the brush down on her nightstand, her smile widening to an outright grin. “In any case, I would not like to be the person responsible for disturbing the tranquility of her home.” She angled her head pointedly at the door, tracing her ear with finger and thumb and then extending the gesture outward, as if outlining a longer, pointed ear.

“Ah,” Maureen said, nodding. She and Iris still looked slightly spooked. Szith simply gazed thoughtfully at the door.

Both Iris and Maureen jumped when it opened suddenly and Afritia stepped in. She held Ravana’s small make-up pad in one hand and a black silk pouch in the other.

“I think you’re right, Ravana; the rest of this is not salvageable,” she said apologetically, handing back the clamshell. “I’m sorry.”

“Not at all,” Ravana said smoothly. “It clearly is no fault of yours.”

“Iris,” Afritia went on, stepping over to hand her the pouch. “Sprinkle this on the stain and wait five minutes. Just brush it off after that; the rouge should come right off with the powder. Just… On the floor is fine, if you avoid the rug. I’ll come in and sweep it up while you’re in class. Will that leave you enough time to get ready? I can send word to your professor if you’ll be late.”

“I…no, that’ll be enough,” Iris said, blinking back fresh tears. “I just… Thanks so much. I’m sorry to be a bother.”

“You are not a bother,” Afritia said firmly, smiling at her. “Call if you girls need anything else. I need to have a few words with your other roommate before she’s late for class, too.”

Nodding again to them all, she ducked back out.

They stared at the door in silence for a moment, then Iris shook herself as if waking from a daydream and began laying out the marred dress across the bedspread, preparatory to applying the alchemical powder.

“Um,” Maureen said hesitantly. “Were you serious about…”

Ravana smiled slyly and placed a finger against her lips.

Deep beneath the peaks of the Dwarnskolds—the Spine, as some races called the vast wall of mountains that blocked off the continent from the tropics—the great library of the Svenheim Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences occupied a chamber vast enough to accommodate a dragon. In fact, it once had, for all that none of its entrances were large enough to admit a creature of such size. A surprising number of would-be dragonslayers over the years had passed over their targets’ lairs by failing to account for their dual forms. In this era, though, rather than the piles of hoarded wealth it had once held, the cavern contained one of the world’s great treasure troves of knowledge.

Bookshelves climbed the walls all the way to the distant ceiling, accessed by balconies, narrow staircases and in some spots ladders, several on sliding tracks. Nearly the entire floor was lined by row upon row of bookcases, each heavily laden, several climbing upward in open-sided arrangements of rails and wooden floors to create towers and pyramids scattered about the middle of the open space. Everything was carefully filed, of course, though the necessities of the library’s odd architecture could make it difficult to find a given title if one were not intimately familiar with the layout of the room.

Most visitors ended up turning for help to the librarians.

Gwen caught herself humming very softly as she pushed the cart between the stacks and cut herself off with a grimace. It had hardly been loud enough to be heard a few feet beyond her, but still. It was a library. Someday, she really had to find a way to kick that habit. Her work kept her satisfied and happy, though, and happiness unfortunately resulted in music, no matter how inappropriate the environment.

She passed into a tunnel branching off from the main, well-lit chamber. The library was illuminated brightly by massive fairy lamps suspended from the ceiling in upside-down towers of metal scaffolding, which also contained the arcane charms that regulated the temperature and moisture in the air. The dwarves, by and large, preferred to use machinery above magic, but the technology to control environments so minutely was still in its relative infancy—and also, it was heavy. The vital task of protecting and preserving the Academy’s precious stores of knowledge was, for the time being, entrusted to the finest of Tiraan enchantments, no matter the current political tensions between the Kingdom and the Empire.

It was dimmer, of course, in the smaller side gallery into which she emerged, but that was mostly for atmosphere. Gwen hummed a few more bars before catching and stifling herself as she trundled along the well-worn carpet path with her cart of books, past a long row of doors, until she finally reached her destination.

Pausing outside, she rapped gently with her knuckles. “Professor Yornhaldt?”

No answer.

She waited, trying once more, before chuckling softly to herself and pushing the door open. A quick glance around the small study showed the Professor hunched over an entire desk full of open tomes, currently with a long scroll sprawled out across the top of the lot. Gwen backed in, pulling the cart after him.

“These are the last of the volumes you requested, Professor,” she said, a touch more loudly than before.

Professor Yornhaldt jumped in his chair, then half-turned to blink up at her. Lost as he was in some ancient lore, it took a few seconds of blinking before his gaze came back into focus.

“Oh! Miss Pjernssen, forgive me. Bless you, my dear, many thanks. I’m sorry, I was off in another world.”

“Not at all, Professor,” she said with an amused little smile. “It’s not as if you’re the first absent-minded academic I’ve tended to—and not the dustiest, by far. Anywho! These are the alignment records you requested from the Venalde Astrological Collection. You can only have them through the close of normal business hours, I’m afraid, and then they have to be tucked back into their own little beds.”

“Ah. Of course, of course…” He cast a regretful glance at his desk full of books before turning fully around on his swiveling chair and wheeling it over to the table as she laid out more volumes on it from the cart. “I suppose I’d best be about it, then. Hopefully I can gather everything I need from these today, and spare you having to cart them back and forth yet again.”

“Officially, I’m obliged to tell you it’s no bother at all,” she said solemnly, then winked. “But still, I appreciate it. Now, don’t let me catch you trying to put up your own books! The last fellow who requested anything from the Venalde Collection made the most abominable mess, attempting to helpfully clean up after himself. Let the professionals do their jobs, I beg you.”

“My dear,” Professor Yornhaldt said with a grin, “you have nothing to fear from me on that account. Believe me, if you had met the previous librarian at my own University, you would understand how careful I have learned to be with such rules.”

Gwen smiled and stepped back, pushing her cart toward the door. “I’m glad to hear it, Professor. Will there be anything else I can get you?”

“I believe that’s all, Miss Pjernssen, thank you kindly. Oh! Wait a moment!”

She paused in the act of departing, looking inquisitively back at him.

“I meant to bring this up sooner, forgive me. Never to early to start making arrangements, though. I’ll need to access the Vankstadt Archives at some point this week, Miss Pjernssen, if you could kindly start the process. I understand there’s rather a significant amount of paperwork involved.”

Gwen blinked, her polite smile frozen in place. “The… Vankstadt Archives, Professor? I’m afraid we don’t have any such wing in this library. To my knowledge, Professor Vankstadt never endowed a collection before he passed.”

Yornhaldt frowned up at her in puzzlement. “What? But I was assured… Oh! Blast me for an old fool, I really am forgetting things left and right. Of course, of course, here.” He withdrew a slightly rumpled letter from an inner pocket of his coat and handed it to her. “One must have the requisite permissions, naturally. I believe you’ll find that entirely in order.”

Gwen accepted the paper and unfolding it, noting its unusual weight. Indeed, within were the wax seals of the Chancellor of the Academy and the King’s Counselor Dornvelt, as well as their signatures. The brief note, on royal stationary, gave him the stated right to access the secret archives in question.

“Ah,” she said, handing the document back after studying it closely. “That is, of course, an entirely different matter. Sorry for the subterfuge, Professor, but they take great care to keep those documents out of reach of the general public.”

“Of course, I well understand that,” he said firmly. “And heartily approve.”

“Having seen that myself, I can begin the paperwork,” she said, “but you’ll need to show it to Master Reichter, and possibly to other officials. Just to let you know.”

“No trouble at all,” he assured her with a smile, tucking the letter away inside his coat again. “As I said, the procedures are all there for excellent reason. The last thing I want is to upset your system.”

“That, too, I appreciate,” she said wryly. “Then, will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you very much, Miss Pjernssen.”

“Very good. I’ll leave you to it, Professor Yornhaldt.”

He made no response, already half-lost in his new collection of books. Gwen heard a belated acknowledgment an instant before pulling the door gently shut behind herself.

She deposited the empty cart in its allotted place beside her desk, then paused, glancing around the open cavern. Her station was tucked into a small recess, giving her a decent view of the surrounding stacks, which were not too tall in the immediate vicinity. Several dwarven scholars moved about nearby, and two humans were hunched together over a book at the very end of the nearest row, but no one approached the reference desk itself. Gwen double-checked that the small summoning gong was clearly displayed, then stepped through the door into her office in the back.

Quickly and quietly, she removed the silken covering over the magic mirror hung on the wall opposite her filing cabinets. A melange of gray and greenish clouds swirled silently in its surface, marking it a very old specimen. Newer ones functioned simply as reflective surfaces until activated, a much more energy-efficient enchantment. Magic mirrors were still made, but they were priceless even so; the spells involved had to be laid by hand, as not even the wizards of Tiraas had yet figured out a way to automate those enchantments. They were not simple to make, and not many even now possessed the skill.

Double-checking that the door was shut, Gwen stepped up to the mirror and cleared her throat.

“Mr. Greyhand, please.”

The mirror only continued to swirl, apparently ignoring her. Gwen waited, patiently staring at it, until…

There. It was only the faintest flicker, gone so soon one would likely not have noticed it unless one had been watching specifically.

“Potential problem,” she said tersely. “Tellwyrn by proxy investigating cosmic alignments. Getting close; has support from the Academy and government. First intervention circumvented. Please advise.”

She fell silent, waiting for the acknowledgment that her message was received. It came, after a few more seconds, in the form of another almost-unnoticeable flicker, the ephemeral shape gone almost before it had come. Only from long experience with this system did she recognize it as the form of a spiky black wreath.

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The entire sophomore class appeared in Tellwyrn’s dimly-lit office with a series of small pops, over the course of about five seconds.

“Dammit!” Ruda shouted after getting her bearings. “Can you not at least ask first, woman? What if somebody had been changing?”

“Someone was,” Toby exclaimed, feeling nervously at his clothes. “I don’t know whether I’m less or more disturbed to find myself fully dressed, now.”

“Wow, that’s really impressive,” Fross chimed. “That’s a whole order of magnitude more complex than a standard teleportation.”

“At least twice that,” Professor Tellwyrn said calmly. She was seated behind her desk as usual, framed by the unshuttered windows granting a view of the clear night sky. Only the small fairy lamp above the desk was active, leaving the room mostly in semi-darkness. “Based on my observations of you precious little buggers, I am playing a hunch. Mr. Arquin has just brought something rather unsettling to my attention which, at first glance, seems it should concern only himself and Juniper, but I have the most peculiar feeling I’m about to find that the lot of you will either become involved, or already are.”

“Peculiar feeling?” Juniper said nervously, hugging her jackalope to her chest. Jack hung with his back legs dangling, and to judge by the way he kicked and squirmed, wasn’t enjoying it. Being continually prodded about the head and neck with his antlers didn’t seem to discomfort the dryad. “About something unsettling involving Gabe and me? What’d I do?”

“It appears,” said Tellwyrn, staring at her, “there is a new dryad sniffing around Last Rock.”

“What?” Juniper squawked. “Which?”

“She said her name was Aspen,” said Gabriel.

“Oh!” Juniper brightened considerably. “That’s probably okay, then, she’s really nice.”

“June, I don’t know how to break this to you gently,” he said with a wince, “but she tried to kill me.”

“I’m guessing you talked to her first,” Trissiny said dryly.

Gabe shot her a long look, then sighed. “Look, I know when I’ve provoked someone, and I didn’t. I was very diplomatic. She came here looking for a fight.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Juniper whispered. Jack finally kicked free of her, and she had to lunge after him as he bounded for the door. It was closed, fortunately.

“I actually met Aspen once,” said Fross. “She seemed nice to me, but it was a brief sort of conversation. Why’d she try to kill you?”

“More important,” said Teal, “how did you get out of that situation? You’re obviously not killed, and I think we’d have noticed if somebody nearby had harmed a dryad.”

“I can’t take credit,” he said ruefully, rubbing at his neck with one hand. “This was on the Vidian temple grounds. Soon as she got her hand on my throat, the valkyries chased her off.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“There are valkyries around here?” Trissiny exclaimed.

Wordlessly, Gabriel and Tellwyrn both pointed at an empty space in front of the Vernis Vault with the music player on top. Everyone immediately shuffled back from it.

“There are usually several around the last few months,” Gabriel said. “They sorta rotate in and out; they’ve all got other things to do but it seems like they hang around me in their free time. This is Vestrel; she’s the only actually assigned to help me. She says hello.”

“Hi, Vestrel!” Fross chirped enthusiastially.

“Gods, please tell me I’m not the only one who doesn’t see anybody,” said Ruda.

“Valkyries don’t actually occupy the mortal plane,” Tellwyrn explained. “They can’t even be seen here except on Vidian holy ground and in places where the dimensional barriers have thinned. They also cannot interact physically with anything that’s not…out of place. Undead, ghosts, Vanislaad demons, things like that.”

“So, could they be present, say, around a fresh hellgate?” Ruda asked in an interested tone. “Cos I’ve gotta say, couple of those woulda been really useful this spring. What with tall, dark and creepy clearly hanging around anyway.”

“And incidentally,” Tellwyrn added with asperity, “this fact should not be mentioned in front of Aspen, should any of you find yourselves having a conversation with her. We’ve found one way of scaring her into behaving; she doesn’t need to know its limitations.”

“Why would a dryad be afraid of valkyries, though?” Juniper asked, frowning and stroking Jack’s fur. She had him settled in a more comfortable position in her arms. “Dryads are, like, the ultimate apex predator. Nothing is dangerous to us.”

“You’ve never met a dragon,” Tellwyrn remarked. “We can explore that another time.”

“Also, what’s a valkyrie?”

“If I may, Juniper?” the Professor said acidly.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, flushing.

“Aspen’s stated reason for being here, according to Mr. Arquin, is to look for you. She seems to be under the impression that you’re dead.”

Gabriel sighed, looking over at the others. In nearly perfect unison, most of them stiffened, eyes widening. Shaeine merely tilted her head, raising an eyebrow.

“And there it is,” Tellwyrn said with grim satisfaction. “The oh-so-familiar expression of a bunch of kids realizing exactly how they’ve screwed up. It would almost be satisfying if it weren’t going to result in a whole bunch of unnecessary hassle for me. See, I knew the lot of you were involved with this. All right, spit it out. Why is there a dryad poking around my University believing in Juniper’s alleged demise?”

“Well…” Juniper trailed off, gulped, and bent to set Jack on the floor. He immediately hopped off into a corner away from the group. “I think it’s because of what happened in the Crawl.”

She paused, watching Tellwyrn warily; the Professor simply raised an eyebrow.

“There was this…sort of…room. A complex of halls, more like. It was full of illusions that made us face…um, fears.”

Tellwyrn nodded. “Yes, I read Professor Ezzaniel’s report. That is why I wasn’t more irate at you getting rid of my incubus; I obviously can’t have him sending my students on detours that dramatic. Go on.”

“Well, I…” Juniper swallowed again, glancing at the others. Teal stepped over to squeeze her shoulder encouragingly. “I sort of had to…come to grips with…some stuff. I mean… Well…”

“I don’t need to interrogate you about your emerging conscience unless it’s immediately relevant to the issue,” Tellwyrn said. “You’ve been making positive progress in that regard, Juniper. Kindly skip to the non-stuttering part that explains this fresh brouhaha.”

Juniper sighed and nodded. “I was having trouble dealing with it, so… Shaeine helped me by invoking Themynra’s judgment, which was… Well, Themynra seemed not to condemn me. So I asked Trissiny to do the same thing. With Avei’s.”

Tellwyrn’s eyebrows slowly narrowed; her eyes thinned to slits behind her spectacles. “You didn’t.”

“She insisted,” said Trissiny, standing stiffly at attention.

“You do realize,” Tellwyrn said in a dangerously quiet tone, “that given the average dryad’s habits, that could very easily have resulted in your classmate’s death?”

“I knew the risks,” Juniper said hastily. “I asked her to, Professor. She didn’t want to.”

“Why is it,” Tellwyrn said, ignoring her, “that every time you fail to think something through, Avelea, you nearly end up getting somebody murdered?”

Trissiny flushed and lowered her eyes, offering no comment.

“All right, well,” Tellwyrn said after a moment. “Clearly Juniper’s not dead. Thanks for small blessings. But somehow your fellow dryads now think you are?”

“She…” Juniper paused, sighed, and squared her shoulders. “Avei cut me off from Naiya.”

“Bullshit. That would simply have killed you.”

“That’s what Elder Shiraki said,” she replied. “It wasn’t a complete severing, more of a block. It means…I don’t have Naiya’s protection anymore. Avei thought it would be an appropriate punishment to have me, you know, on my own in the world. I…don’t disagree.” She trailed off, looking at the floor. Toby stepped over to her other side, placing an arm around her shoulders.

Tellwyrn stared at them all in silence for a long moment, then removed her spectacles and carefully folded the earpieces, then set them on the desk. She leaned back, her chair squeaking as it partially reclined, and stared at the ceiling. “No matter how many times I tell you little bastards to think before you act, you continually plunge headfirst into the dumbest damn course of action you can come up with. Now, why is that? And more to the point, how long can this go on before you bring this whole bloody place down around our ears?”

“Asking what you’re talking about is just gonna get me called stupid again, isn’t it,” Ruda said sardonically.

Tellwyrn rubbed at her face with one hand. “During our impromptu class at the inn in Lor’naris, I spoke to you about the nature of the gods. The conditional nature of their agency, and how it is sometimes possible to subvert or manipulate them. Please tell me you remember that?”

“We do,” Shaeine said after a moment when nobody else spoke.

The Professor sighed. “Well, Miss Avelea, that’s what you just did to your goddess.”

“What?!” Trissiny exclaimed.

“The goddess of justice, invoked physically by her chosen Hand, and asked to render judgment on a complex moral case with far-reaching implications?” Tellwyrn shook her head. “She pretty much wasn’t able to refuse. Such judgments are a large part of what she is. And so, you basically coerced Avei the deity into doing something that Avei the mortal strategist of eight thousand years ago would’ve had the sense to not damn well do!”

“Hang on,” Gabriel protested. “I get how this leads to Aspen thinking Juniper’s dead, but isn’t it a little harsh to get on Avei’s case about it? Justice as an absolute concept has to be above the overreactions of random dryads.” Trissiny shot him a look that started out surprised and became grateful.

“I do not give a bowl of chilled rat’s ass consomme about Aspen, and neither does nor should Avei,” Tellwyrn snapped. “Juniper wasn’t cut off from Aspen, except perhaps incidentally. The issue here is Naiya. Naiya, who now thinks Juniper is dead, and either told Aspen about it or quite possibly sent her here to investigate. Please, please tell me I don’t have to spell this out any further? Can you kids not see the potential catastrophe unfolding here?”

“Um?” Juniper raised a hand. “Pardon me for interrupting your tirade, but people keep pointing out to me how Naiya is, uh…not terribly attentive. It’s not something I enjoy hearing but I don’t really have an argument against it, y’know?”

“Juniper,” Tellwyrn said in exasperation, “you know you’re an exceptional circumstance. And the rest of you frankly have no excuse for not having figured this out! Honestly, how many dryads have been sent to attend a school in all of history? How many have been permitted by the Empire to attend said school and move around Tiraan territory? You cannot possibly have failed to put together that Juniper has a higher degree of Naiya’s attention than most of her kind—or so I would have assumed, and yet, here we damn well are!”

“I hardly think that’s fair,” Shaeine said coolly. “Several of us are in unprecedented circumstances, in one way or another, and our interactions have been geared—quite deliberately by you, I might add—toward teaching us to work together more than to intellectually ponder one another’s origins.”

“Also,” Ruda added, “some of us are from places like the sea and deep underground and can reasonably be forgiven for knowing fuck all about fucking dryads.”

“Well, this is an argument we can have at length another time,” Tellwyrn began.

“Why is it the argument gets moved to another time when you’re losing it?” Trissiny demanded.

“Because I’m in charge, Avelea, and on a related note, shut up. Right now we have to deal with this dryad situation which you’ve created. Regardless of how dim it was or wasn’t for you to have helped get Juniper into this state, there is no good reason why I’m only hearing about it now. What you have done is potentially set Naiya and Avei on a course for direct conflict. There are a million possible ways this can play out, and you’d better believe I will be bending my energies toward making sure one of the relatively harmless options is what occurs, but the worst-case scenario is nothing less than the bloody Elder Wars revisited in miniature! Kids… If you have to fuck around with deities, will you at least tell me about it before I find myself with demigoddesses assaulting my students?!”

“I think she’s got us there, guys,” Fross said.

“Whose side are you on?” Ruda muttered.

“…there are sides?”

“All right, enough,” Tellwyrn said, putting her spectacles back on. “I’ve set up wards around Last Rock so I’ll know if and when Aspen returns. It’s not clear to me why she would be especially bothered by valkyries, so I can’t guess how frightened she was or how quickly she’ll come back, but it can be assumed she didn’t hike all the way here from the Deep Wild to be turned back at the first opposition.”

“Wait, when did you set up wards?” Gabriel demanded. “You’ve been sitting right here ever since I came and told you about this.”

Tellwyrn gave him a sardonic look.

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh, “I realized why it was dumb as soon as I said it.”

“Story of your life. Anyway, I’m not leaving it at that; too much potential for bystanders to be harmed. There are people moving about the periphery of the town much of the time, and while the wannabe adventurers can be annoying, I doubt most of them deserve to have a run-in with a pissy dryad. If all goes well, I should have Aspen in hand by morning.”

“She went off into the Golden Sea,” Gabriel said. “Gonna be hard to track her there. And by ‘hard’ I mean ‘technically impossible.’”

“You let me worry about that, Arquin.”

“Please don’t hurt Aspen,” Juniper said worriedly. “She’s really super nice. She’s just upset about me dying, I’m sure she doesn’t mean any harm.”

“She did try to kill me,” Gabriel pointed out.

“Oh, everyone tries to kill you,” Ruda said, grinning. “You’ve gotta stop taking these little things so personally, boy.”

He sneered at her; Trissiny patted him on the shoulder.

“It isn’t even a question of who deserves what degree of manhandling,” Tellwyrn said impatiently. “Harming a dryad is off the table, for reasons you all know very well. Odds are good I’m already on Naiya’s shit list, thanks to you brats. That’s just one of the things I will need to learn from Aspen as soon as I have her secured. But no, she will not be harmed in any way. This won’t be the first time I’ve had to take a dryad out of commission without ticking off her mother. It’s not terribly hard if you’re careful.”

“That seems even more ominous, somehow,” Juniper mumbled.

“Anyway, I will come get you as soon as I’ve got her,” Tellwyrn continued. “Obviously, hearing from you will be the first step in settling her down. I’m hoping a lot of this can be made to just go away once she understands you are alive.”

“And once she understand that, I’ll be wanting an apology,” Gabriel added.

“It is unlikely to be so simple,” Shaine pointed out. “We will then have to explain why Juniper appears dead to Naiya’s senses, which, as Professor Tellwyrn has said, could become complicated.”

“I assure you I’ll be getting information from Aspen before I give her any,” Tellwyrn said grimly. “But you’re right, Miss Awarrion. I can’t detain a dryad indefinitely—not safely, anyway, especially when her mother may already be tetchy about this. We’ll have to do something with her. And figuring out exactly what will have to wait until I know more about the situation.”

“So…what else do you need from us, then?” Trissiny asked.

“For now? That should be it. You can all go back to bed, or studying, or more likely wasting time. Whatever you were doing. Juniper, this is important enough that you may be excused from class to speak with Aspen when she’s available. Otherwise, you just keep the rest of your classmates informed, and I will notify you all if I need you for anything. Oh, and Mr. Arquin, you have handled all this rather well. Not that your role was particularly complex or challenging, but it’s pleasing to see you not buggering up a simple task.”

“Stop, I’m gonna blush,” he said flatly.

“All right, everybody be off,” said Tellwyrn, then paused, scowling at the far corner. “…except Juniper, who will be reporting to Stew for cleaning supplies and then back here to remove the essence of rabbit shit from my carpet.”

Self-doubt was a new sensation for Aspen, and she was not enjoying it.

It had been a long day of walking, followed by a stressed, sleepless night. Now, the sun had not yet arrived, but the sky was lightening and taking on the first reddish tinges in the east that signaled the rise of a new day. Aspen didn’t stop in her pacing to appreciate it, much as she hadn’t stopped to rest all night. She didn’t actually feel at all tired; her nerves were still too twinged by the encounter at the human temple.

Really, that was her own fault. She should’ve known better than to confront a human on holy ground. The magic of their gods wasn’t healthy for fairy kind. Still… A priest she could have handled. Those things, though. Nothing could have prepared her for those.

Well, she was gaining some insights into what had happened to Juniper. Not that she intended to stop until she’d found the Arachne and squeezed some answers out of her, but this was progress. If there were things like that around the human town where poor Juniper had been living, no wonder she’d come to grief.

Poor, silly little Juniper. It made Aspen furious even to think of. What must her brief time here have been like, if that was the kind of company she was forced to keep?

She turned and resumed her pacing. After several hours spent wandering aimlessly through the Sea, she’d settled down to a fairly limited spot and had been pacing like a restless lion. By this point she’d worn a track of mashed tallgrass and was simply stalking back and forth on that line.

How was she supposed to get past those things? The sheer horror of them made her shudder even in recollection. Nothing like that had ever existed in the Deep Wild. Surely they weren’t of human origin, for all that she’d found them in that human temple. The truly terrible thing had been the way she could feel them through attuning. Almost exactly like she could feel her sisters, except… Wrong. Backwards. Inverted.

Anti-dryads, that’s what they were, which made no sense. How could something like that even exist? And what were they doing with humans? If this was what humans were up to, the Arachne had been right. Somebody needed to start domesticating them. It seemed Aspen’s warnings had been both wrong and horribly right: Juniper’s mission had been very important, and she had surely come to grief from it.

Poor Juniper…

But what to do?

She reached the other end of her track and was about to turn around again when a face appeared suddenly in the tallgrass right in front of her.

Aspen yelped and hopped backward in surprise. It was a humanoid face—a woman, pretty, with lustrous black hair and almond-shaped eyes. She also had triangular fox ears, which Aspen was fairly sure humans were not supposed to. More to the point, now that she saw the fox-woman, she could feel the torrent of Naiya’s power rushing through her, which she had not sensed a second before. She’d either been hiding or had simply not been there before—which wasn’t too farfetched, considering how the Golden Sea behaved.

“Um,” Aspen said. “Hello?”

The woman smiled broadly, revealing excessively long canines. Aspen smiled tentatively back.

Then a hand flashed out of the tallgrass and slapped her hard across the face.

The dryad could only stare in shock, lifting her own fingers to probe at the four stinging scratches laid across her cheek by the woman’s wicked claws. They were already closing up, of course, but that had hurt.

“Tag!” the fox-woman chirped. “You’re it!”

Then, laughing brightly, she whirled and dashed off into the tallgrass, a bushy, white-tipped tail bobbing behind her.

Aspen let out a roar of fury and charged after her.

She kept a short distance behind her quarry, the laughing woman always just out of reach, so close Aspen could almost grab her tail. She would sprint ahead, then pause, turning to grin and wave until the dryad was nearly on her again, then dart off in another direction.

Despite the frustration of it, and the obvious fact that she was being toyed with, the chase very quickly started to clear her head. Weltering in uncertainty wasn’t good for her; a good chase, though, this she understood. A hunt was exactly what she needed.

At least, for the first few minutes. Quickly, the frustration started building, and the gap between her and the fox-woman grew wider and stayed wider. Was she getting slower? Surely not. She could go forever.

Aspen lunged through a dense stand of tallgrass stalks into a relatively cleared space and paused, looking around. She had been sure the woman was just ahead, but now she couldn’t see anybody. The sky was red with dawn; there was ample light to make out her environs even without borrowing night vision from one of the animals. There was just nobody here.

Then someone off to her left cleared their throat.

Aspen whirled, beholding the woman, who was wearing an ornate silk robe, sitting calmly in an ornately-carved wooden chair which had no business being out here on the prairie, sipping tea from a dainty porcelain cup. A second ago that spot had been empty.

“Good morning,” she said pleasantly. “Allow myself to introduce me: I am Ekoi Kaisa, and you are exceedingly disappointing. Really, is this the best you can do? This almost isn’t even fun.”

Aspen snarled and lunged forward.

Kaisa laughed and dived underneath her own chair in a whirl of silk and bushy tail. Aspen skidded to a stop right next to her and savagely kicked the chair aside.

It burst apart into a spray of blood red maple leaves, which swirled on the air, drifting into the tallgrass all around. Once again, there was no one and nothing else there.

“Stop doing that, you jackass!” Aspen raged, whirling and glaring around.

“Really, there is no need to be rude,” Kaisa said reprovingly from the other end of the clearing. “Just because you’re slow and clumsy doesn’t mean you need to be boorish.”

“I’m gonna chew your ears off!” Aspen yelled, charging at her. The giggling kitsune darted away into the tallgrass.

This time, she led the dryad on a straight dash, eschewing her zig-zagging pattern of before. Aspen growled as her legs pumped at their maximum speed, and even so, the fox-woman was pulling ahead slightly. The dryad, tasting bitter outrage in the back of her throat, tried to pour more energy into her run, but she simply hadn’t been designed for speed. She staggered to a halt, half-doubled over, feeling the ache in her joints.

“And by the way,” said her quarry from just ahead. Aspen lifted her eyes, glaring at the kitsune, who had folded her arms and was staring severely down at her. “What were you thinking, setting foot in a town as naked as a piglet? The disgrace.”

This was ridiculous. The woman was obviously a fairy. Fairies were supposed to respect dryads!

“Do you have any idea who I am?” Aspen demanded, straightening up.

“Why, yes!” Kaisa said with another fang-baring grin. “Your name is Aspen. You are belligerent, pushy, ill-mannered, slatternly and slow.”

Aspen roared in wordless fury and lunged at her again. Kaisa dashed away, cackling in delight.

The kitsune ducked to the side, hopping over a stand of tallgrass that made an impenetrable clump near the ground, passing through its less dense upper fronds with ease. Aspen tried to follow, and the grass stalks springing back from Kaisa’s passing smacked her in the face with the force of a punch. She landed hard on her rump, blinking stars out of her vision.

The vulpine face appeared in the tallgrass, grinning down at her. “I think we can add ‘dense’ to your resume. In both senses of the word.”

Scrambling to her feet, Aspen grabbed a handful of the thickest part of the tallgrass stand and ripped it bodily out of the ground, hurling the whole thing aside.

Kaisa blew her a kiss and darted off again, the dryad right on her heels.

Abruptly they burst out of the tallgrass entirely into a vast cleared space. She skidded to a halt, realizing belatedly that she was back in the environs of Last Rock. The buildings of the town were sprawled dead ahead; there was the huge shape of the mountain, blotting out the sky, and off to one side stood that odd flat temple where she’d run into the things.

In front of her, the fox woman had halted as well, turned to face her, and bowed politely. Straightening up, she waved. “Well, thank you for playing with me! Good-bye.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Aspen snarled.

“That is correct,” Kaisa said equably.

Then, with a sharp little pop, the world disappeared.

Aspen was suddenly in a room. Square, not large, made of reddish bricks with heavy granite blocks reinforcing the corners and its sole doorframe. There were no windows; the illumination came from those artificial magic lights humans had started using recently. More slabs of granite made up the floor and ceiling. Additional panels of the smooth gray stone were set into the walls at intervals, engraved with glowing blue sigils.

She didn’t need that, or the prickly sensation on her skin of arcane magic at work, to know this was some kind of wizardry. Aspen had materialized three feet off the floor, and wasn’t falling. She kicked, reached for the floor and ceiling, and only succeeded in making herself spin impotently about in midair. Once she stopped flailing, the spell holding her up gradually returned her to an upright position. That was a small courtesy, at least.

When she got her hands on that stupid fox, she was gonna kill her in an unnecessarily messy fashion. For the first time, Aspen was starting to empathize with Larch.

Another little pop sounded, and she found herself face-to-face with the Arachne, who studied her grimly over the rims of her spectacles.

“Hello, Aspen.”

“…aw, crud,” she sighed.

“Well put,” the elf said dryly. “And thank you, Kaisa. That was very neatly done.”

The kitsune leaned out from behind the Arachne, grinning up at Aspen. “I hope you find something more interesting for me next time, Arachne. She’s not clever enough or powerful enough to have been any proper fun. Really, how disappointing. Dryads are such a let-down.”

“Perhaps I should introduce you to Jacaranda sometime,” Arachne said, raising an eyebrow, then turned her attention back to Aspen. “For now, though, you and I are going to have a chat, Aspen. Let’s begin with the matter of you laying your hands on one of my students.”

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8 – 7

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“No, it’s not really in question,” Darling said. “Once the Boss got your letter, Style started looking into it, and the unanimous feeling from her enforcers is that the only surprise is it took this long for Thumper to try that crap with a Guild member.”

“The same old problem, then,” Prin said with a dry half-smile. “The Guild is the last to know.”

He sighed heavily. “Yeah. Honestly, Prin, what it comes down to is this: it is not okay for you to just take off when you’re wanted to explain a complicated matter. Not knowing what was going on was the reason the Boss made missteps, there. In a situation like that, withholding information can be actually damaging to the Guild itself. However, there are seriously mitigating factors, here. You automatically get some leeway because the Guild clearly mistreated you by setting Thumper on you, and the particular situation being what it was, it’s understandable why you’d be afraid of harsh, even unfair treatment.”

“Sooo… Do me a favor and spell it out, Sweet. After this last year I want things nice and explicit, please.”

Darling grinned at that. “Yes, fine. I’m not the Boss and don’t have final say here, but I have his blessing to talk with you. You’re not on the Guild’s bad list, Keys, and once I give Tricks my report on all this, including your actual report on all this, I expect it’ll go away, and you’ll be considered a member in good standing again. Just to cover my own ass, here, that is not a promise, since I don’t have the authority to make one, but in my personal and professional opinion, you’ll be one hundred percent in the clear. I’ll send you word of what the Boss says as soon as I hear it from him. I can promise you that Thumper is wanted back here on a much more severe basis. If you see or hear anything from him, let us know. The Guild is very interested in putting him out of your and our misery.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she said, nodding and not troubling to keep the small, triumphant smile off her face. She gestured to the door and the sanctuary beyond with one hand. “And…with regard to all this…?”

The huge sanctuary of the Temple of Avei was lined with small rooms, intended for quiet prayer or intimate conversations between priestesses and worshipers; they also made good spaces for private talks between others, which was apparently not disallowed as no one had told them to move along. That might, though, have had something to do with Principia’s bronze Legion armor. The small space had a golden eagle sigil engraved on its back wall, two low benches with thin, threadbare padding, and no door in its arched doorway. Darling and Principia had taken up positions right against the doorframe on either side, which enabled them to see anyone approaching their room from any angle, a standard Thieves’ Guild tactic.

“I have a feeling you didn’t do all this without making sure of the rules involved,” he said wryly. “Membership in multiple cults isn’t forbidden to Eserites. Conflicts of interest are, but as long as you’re not being sent on an anti-Guild operation, that shouldn’t be a factor.”

“I wouldn’t be, anyway,” she said. “Command probably wouldn’t try, and if they did I’d have to get myself exempted for exactly that reason.”

He nodded, then shrugged. “And you don’t owe dues as long as you’re not actually doing jobs, so… No, I don’t see this being a problem. I have to say, though, it’s a surprise. Even if I can see the reasoning, I would never have expected this.” He grinned. “Which was the point, right?”

Principia glanced to the side, out into the sanctuary. “Well, there was indeed a practical concern. I actually would really like to see Thumper try to get at me in here. But…I had other reasons, too.”

Darling watched her in silence for a moment as she gazed contemplatively at the temple space.

“She’s a good kid,” he said at last. “I had the opportunity to meet her a few months back. Actually…she asked about you.”

Prin’s eyes flicked back to his face, though her expression remained schooled and her voice cool. “Yeah? About what, specifically?”

“Just what I thought of you in general. I think she was trying to form an impression.”

“And what’d you tell her?”

“That I don’t like you,” he said frankly.

Principia blinked once, then burst into laughter. She quickly stifled it, easing backward so she was less visible from the sanctuary floor. “Ah, well, fair enough, I suppose. There’s a more pertinent question, anyhow: What did you think of her?”

He lifted his eyes to gaze abstractly over her head for a moment. “I think,” he said slowly, “she’s inherited her mother’s wits, but nobody’s taught her how to use them. She made quite a mess, to be frank; I saw a lot of really sharp tactics in pursuit of some really boneheaded strategy. No situational awareness or thought of consequences, but she thinks fast in the moment and stays focused on the job.”

Prin sighed softly, but nodded. “I guess that’s to be expected. Well. Arachne will straighten that out, if nothing else.”

“One almost feels sorry for the girl,” he intoned. Principia cracked a grin.

A short silence fell, in which he returned his gaze to hers.

“Well,” she said at last, “we have everything settled, then?”

“On the subject of conflicts of interest,” he began.

“Oh, no. I will not be helping the Guild to put one over on the Sisterhood, either. You may think of this as just another of my cons, Sweet, but I’ve made an actual commitment, here. Even if I were inclined to break it, which I am not, that would be rather dangerous.”

He held up a hand to forestall further rebuttal. “Peace, Keys. I was going to preface my remarks with exactly that. Understanding that you’re in an awkward position between two cults… The fact is—pending the Boss’s acceptance of your report, of course—you are still a Guild member. If you need help, you can still come to us.”

She smiled. “Duly noted, and appreciated.”

“All right, then, I guess I’d better get outta here before I burst into flames or something,” he said with an insouciant grin, straightening up and nodding to her. “Take care of yourself, Prin. Not that you need the encouragement, I bet.”

Principia watched him thoughtfully as he took four steps out into the sanctuary before calling after him. “Sweet.”

“Mm?” He turned, raising an eyebrow.

“What,” she asked slowly, “are you doing with the Crow?”

Darling raised his other eyebrow, evening them up. “Why, Prin, I should think you would know this better than most. You don’t do things with the Crow; she does things with you. Best you can do is hold on and try to benefit from the confusion, if you can. See you around.”

Prin stared silently after him as he strode out of the temple, then sighed softly and emerged herself, making for one of the rear exits. It was a roundabout path to her destination, but there really wasn’t a straight line between here and the Silver Legion grounds at the other end of the complex. Taking the rambling route through the temple was, to her mind, preferable to going out the front doors and walking around the entire thing.

“Private Locke,” a crisp voice addressed her as she neared the doors in the rear. Principia turned, beholding a fellow Legionnaire, also with a private’s insignia. Human, Tiraan, apparently quite young and quite unknown to her.

“Yes?” she said.

“I’ll need you to come with me,” the girl said, her tone rather cold.

“And you are?” she asked pointedly.

The other soldier frowned. “Private Covrin, personal aide to Bishop Syrinx. She wants to speak with you. Now.”

 

“Have a seat,” Basra Syrinx said in a mild tone as soon as the heavy door thudded shut behind Covrin.

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

Syrinx was standing with her back to Prin and the door, apparently studying the blank wall. “Sit down, private,” she said with a warning bite entering her voice.

The chamber, in one of the subterranean layers of the complex, was as small as the meeting rooms off the main sanctuary, and built to the same plan. It had a very solid wooden door, though, and no decorations. For furnishings, there were only a single fairy lamp with a conical shade hanging from the ceiling, and a battered wooden chair.

Principia obeyed, seating herself and keeping her posture fully erect, eyes forward.

“So you have a little chat with the Eserite, did you.”

She resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. A great deal of her time around this woman seemed to involve resisting various urges. “That is correct, your Grace.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing he did not already know, it seems. He only wanted to hear it from me and relay it to the Thieves’ Guild.”

“I did not ask your assessment, Private Locke, I asked for facts.”

Prin kept her breathing slow and even. She had been at this centuries, and so far, Syrinx wasn’t impressing her. “He wished to discuss the situation with Jeremiah Shook, who is currently wanted by the Thieves’ Guild for treason and mistreating a fellow Guild member, and by the Sisters of Avei for questioning with regard to threats of sexual assault.”

“In both cases, against you.”

“That is correct, your Grace.”

Syrinx finally turned around, glaring at her. “And you think it’s acceptable to discuss an ongoing investigation with a member of the Thieves’ Guild?”

“As I said, your Grace, nothing I told Bishop Darling was unknown to him in the first place. He only needed—”

“And did you know that going in?”

“I was reasonably sure of it.”

“You were reasonably sure.” Syrinx’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Do you even comprehend what a chain of command is, girl?”

“It has been explained to me, your Grace.”

“You watch that attitude,” the Bishop snapped. “Show me any further snark and you will be on your knees scrubbing every inch of this temple with a toothbrush, is that clear?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“On the chain of command, Locke, you rate somewhere between ‘stain on the drapes’ and ‘nonexistent.’ You are a menial private in a paltry fragment of a squad in a newly re-formed cohort. There is no living person in all the Sisterhood of Avei who possesses the slightest interest in your opinion. You do not make judgment calls. You don’t get to be ‘reasonably sure.’ You will ask for and wait for orders before taking any action, especially anything that involves another cult, and most especially the Thieves’ Guild. Do I make myself abundantly plain?”

“I understand my rank and duties, your Grace.”

Syrinx’s nostrils flared once. “That is perilously close to an evasion, private.”

“You are plain, your Grace.”

The Bishop stared at her, visibly pondering whether the implied double meaning had been deliberate. Principia gazed back, her expression perfectly neutral.

“Divided loyalties are not acceptable in the Silver Legions, Locke. Even the hint thereof is not to be tolerated. You enlisted with the understanding that, for the duration of your enlistment, you would belong to the Legions, and almost immediately we find you canoodling with your old cronies. This behavior requires urgently to be dealt with.”

“Could your Grace elucidate which regulation I have broken, specifically?”

“Be silent,” Syrinx said curtly. “You are henceforth to have no contact with the Guild or any of its members. Any violation of this order will result in your court martial. Is that understood?”

“I understand, your Grace.”

“And you will comply with this order?”

“No, your Grace.”

Basra’s eyes narrowed, but her lips curled up in a slight smile. “That is the wrong answer, Locke.”

“With respect, Bishop Syrinx, neither regulations nor the Legion’s code of conduct prohibits socializing with members of the Thieves’ Guild, and you do not have the authority to give that order.”

“What did you just say to me?” Syrinx asked very quietly.

Principia’s expression did not alter by a hair. “I understand the chain of command, your Grace. You are an ex-Legionnaire, honorably discharged with the rank of captain to pursue a vocation in the clergy. Currently you are attached to the Third Silver Legion in an advisory capacity. You are not in the chain of command.”

Basra’s expression had gone as blank as her own. “Do you think yourself clever, Locke?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“And yet, you run around with Eserites when you think no one is looking. Do you imagine you are the only one who can operate outside regulations?”

“I have not operated outside regulations, your Grace.”

Syrinx leaned forward, smiling grimly down at her. “I think, private, you may find yourself astonished to learn what you have done when the list of charges is read at your court martial. You’ve been busy for a very long time casting dark aspersions on your own character; something very damaging will stick to you, and without difficulty. If you wish to avoid this outcome, I had better start seeing some compliance.”

“I am willing to accept that outcome, your Grace,” Principia said calmly.

“Really,” Basra replied. “I think you fail to comprehend what you are playing with, Locke. The forces moving in this city would crush the likes of you without even noticing the smudge you would make on the cobblestones. Perhaps you’ll change your mind after you’ve experienced a taste of the suffering you are calling down on your head with these…interfaith dalliances of yours. I can be patient. Can you?”

Principia met her eyes coolly. “I can be patient longer than you can be alive. Your Grace.”

The silent staring contest which followed that was interrupted by the abrupt opening of the door.

“Don’t you knock?” Syrinx snapped, straightening up and glaring at the intruder.

Captain Dijanerad gave her an even look while Principia hopped to her feet and saluted.

“It’s a courtesy, sure, but I’m not obligated to knock when walking in on my subordinates.”

“I am not your subordinate, Captain,” Syrinx said icily.

“That’s correct,” Dijanerad shot back. “Nor are you my superior, Basra. I realize the…unconventional nature of your relationship to my cohort muddles things somewhat, but if I ever again find you taking it upon yourself to question or discipline one of my soldiers without involving me, you and I will be having a long discussion with High Commander Rouvad about the chain of command.”

“Are you threatening me, Shahdi?” Basra asked, very slowly raising an eyebrow.

“No, Basra, I am stating facts.” Dijanerad stared flatly into her eyes. “A threat sounds very different. For instance: I am aware of the runs of ill luck which have befallen those who’ve impeded your ambitions in the past. If I start seeing any such materializing among my troops, you will find you are not the only one who can make accidents happen.”

“No part of that was a wise thing to say, Captain.”

“No part of this was a wise thing to do, your Grace.. Locke, out.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Principia said smartly, and ducked through the door before Basra could say anything.

She expected the Captain to remain and continue her verbal sparring with the Bishop, but Dijanerad stepped out after her, slamming the door, and set off down the hall. Principia followed.

“I am aware of your history, Locke,” Dijanerad said as they strode briskly toward the stairwell. It was a bit of a hike; the Bishop had chosen a very out-of-the-way spot to conduct her interrogation, which raised interesting questions about how the Captain had found them so fast. “At least, as much of it as the Sisters know. It’s enough to tell me what you’re thinking now. Don’t do it.”

“Ma’am?” Principia said carefully.

“I have no doubt,” the Captain said, keeping her eyes ahead, “you could engage Basra Syrinx in a battle of wits and manipulations, and quite frankly I think you could wipe the floor with her. I forbid you to do so. The Legion and the Sisterhood cannot afford to have its members at each other’s throats. This is why we have a chain of command, and you will respect it. Is that clear, Locke?”

“Yes, ma’am. Permission to speak freely?”

“Denied,” she snapped. “I’ll say it again, Locke: you let me handle this. If you have any further trouble with Syrinx or anyone else, of any kind, you will report it to me and I will deal with it according to the Legion’s code. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“With that established, you’ve acted properly so far, private. Keep it up.”

“Yes, Captain.”

She was far too versed in control to let slip her feelings, but Principia experienced the first real worry she’d felt so far this evening. Basra she could deal with, and probably Squad Thirteen; protecting Captain Dijanerad as well was going to prove challenging.

 

“Covrin,” Farah snarled, smacking her spoon down on the table. “That smug, smirking little lizard!”

“I’ve never seen a lizard smirk,” Principia noted mildly, taking a bite of stew.

“Well, she manages. That rotten, devious, nasty little bi—”

Ephanie cleared her throat loudly. “Gendered insults are against the code of conduct, Farah.”

“Jenell Covrin was in our training battalion,” Casey said much more quietly. “Daughter of some colonel in the Army. Her hobbies are sucking up to authorities and picking on anybody she can get away with.”

“Really?” Principia mused, eyes on her bowl of stew. “That’s odd. We had a couple of those in my battalion, but not after the first two weeks. The DS either beat that out of them or beat them out of the camp.”

“Yeah, well, matters are different when you have Bishop bloody Syrinx looking over your shoulder,” Farah growled. “Meddling in the training, blatantly favoring the little twa—” Ephanie coughed sharply, again, and Farah whirled on her. “Oh, come off it! The stick up your—”

“Hey!” Prin snapped. “Don’t take it out on her; she’s trying to help you not bring trouble down on your own head.”

Farah flushed, lowering her eyes. “Right. You’re right. Sorry, Avelea.”

“No harm,” Ephanie said noncommittally, picking up her own spoon.

“So,” Merry said dryly, “I take it you and this Covrin were the best of chums in basic.”

Farah growled wordlessly and crammed a spoonful of stew into her face, chomping as if envisioning Jenell Covrin between her teeth.

The soldiers in the mess hall were seated by squad, which left Squad Thirteen painfully isolated at their overlarge table. They had naturally gravitated together at one end; there was no real privacy, but they were at least left alone. In fact, it was harder to get the attention of their fellow soldiers than to avoid it. Whether it was a rumor going around or just natural assumptions based on their situation, Squad Thirteen were generally treated as if they had something contagious. Disfavor with command could be, in truth.

“I think,” Principia mused, “it might be smart if we make an effort not to be found alone like I was today. Even when off duty. Syrinx can separate us easily, sure, but that’ll leave the other member of a pair to fetch the Captain.”

“You keep going on about this,” Merry said, pointing her spoon at Prin. “Syrinx is after all of us. That’s one theory, sure, but let me just note that so far all we’ve seen her do is go after you, and get us caught up in your drama.”

Principia shook her head. “I’ve got nothing she would need. It doesn’t make sense for me to be the target of this kind of interest.”

“Connections in the Thieves’ Guild?” Casey suggested. “If this is going to be the politics cohort, that could be very valuable.”

“I am unequivocally not betraying either cult to the other,” Prin said firmly. “In fact, the regulations are on my side, there. If the cohort is up to anything that involves acting against the Guild, I’d be automatically recused from duty.”

“That’s correct, you would,” Ephanie agreed. “In fact, there are all sorts in the Silver Legions. Regulations and admittance standards don’t even require us to be Avenists, though most are, of course. We just have to conform to a basic standard of behavior that won’t offend the Sisterhood.”

Farah muttered something about gendered insults and had another unnecessarily savage bite of stew.

“So,” Principia continued, “I am not what Syrinx wants. I’m a means, not the end.”

“You sound awfully certain for somebody who admittedly knows no more than we do,” Merry said.

“I know a lot more than you do,” Prin replied with a grin. “Not about Basra Syrinx in particular, but about politics and schemes. I have been interrogated by some of the best, and let me tell you, Basra’s effort was ham-fisted, sloppy and unfocused. Hell, she outright said some things that would get her slapped down by the High Commander if I reported them. Of course, it’d be her word against mine and I wouldn’t win that, but still. It’s not a smart move for someone up to shenanigans.”

“Good,” Farah snorted. “Let her bumble around. Less trouble for us.”

“You’re not listening,” Principia said patiently. “This is the Sisterhood’s go-to politician, the one who handles their dealings with the Universal Church and the other cults, and who was tapped for this program to teach Legionnaires to move in those same currents. It makes no sense that she’d be this clumsy. No…this is not her game. It’s just the opening moves. In fact, it is probably some kind of misdirection; that’s the most likely explanation for her acting out of character and below her actual level of competence. I can’t see what she’s up to, yet, but I know we’ve only glimpsed the barest fraction of it.”

“Wonderful,” Ephanie said with a sigh.

Casey was staring at her bowl, not eating.

“Elwick?” Prin said gently. “Anything to add?”

“No,” Casey mumbled. “Just…be careful, Locke. Please. Basra is… She’s dangerous.”

“We’re all dangerous,” Prin replied, smiling grimly. “Some more than others.”

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