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Sarriki finally entered the room proper, her eyes coldly fixed on Teal. There was something animalistically intent in that gaze, like a hungry coyote focusing on an inattentive rabbit. For all of that, and the naga’s generally alien appearance, Teal felt no fear. It was partly her knowledge of the sanctuary effect in the Visage, partly the fact that whatever a naga might do to a human, there were few things on or below the earth which posed a serious threat to Vadrieny, but partly—perhaps, even, mostly—the sense that she understood what was happening here. That sense had brought her to this juncture; it hadn’t misled her so far.

She lifted the snake flute the last few inches to her lips and began to play.

At the first thin, reedy note, Sarriki froze, her eyes widening. She still stared at Teal, but the menace was abruptly gone from her face, replaced by a complex expression. Wonder, longing, sorrow, too many emotions for her features to easily process. When Teal glided into the notes of the unlocking melody inscribed on the walls of the naga shrine, however, Sarriki finally let her eyes drift closed. Slowly, she eased her head backward, listening.

Then she began to dance.

It was a sinuous motion, unsurprisingly. She rose higher (the ceiling in the kitchen was remarkably spacious), supporting her weight on a smaller portion of her long tail, first swaying gently from side to side. As the melody progressed, her whole spine began to undulate subtly, shoulders tilting back and forth, arms rising to move gently with the rhythm. A human woman would have been moving her hips seductively to achieve that kind of sway, but on the naga, Teal couldn’t help noticing the motion did not seem sexual.

At least, until Sarriki shifted her gyrations to roll her body slowly from back to front, rather than side to side, letting her hands trail behind her. Teal very nearly missed a breath, but managed not to falter. She hadn’t actually noticed it before, but Sarriki was beautiful. Both in the alluring way a woman is beautiful, and in the wild manner of an animal. Or perhaps, she simply hadn’t been before, until she felt a reason to be. Suddenly, the resemblance was there; the statues in the shrine were no longer just a vaguely remembered face, but a familiar one.

Her dance grew more complex, the languid undulations of her arms growing more precise and choreographed, her simple swaying developing into gyrations that coiled her around herself, keeping her tail moving so that it looked at certain moments as if she were balancing upon a single loose knot of serpent coils. The fins decorating her head flared rhythmically, and even finger motions began to appear as ever more precision and rhythm worked its way into the motions of her hands.

Teal reached the end of the fairly short melody and simply launched into it again. Sarriki showed no signs of halting in her dance; somehow, the idea of ending her music was unthinkable.

The bard simply let the notes flow through her and out of her. It wasn’t a familiar piece in the way of the tunes she had known and practiced all her life, but she remembered it well, and it was beautiful, powerful enough on its own to command the spirit and take her drifting away as all truly good music did. Out the notes poured, seeming to hold enough life of their own that they demanded only a small share of her concentration. She was free to stare, over the sinuous flute and her own shifting fingers, at the dance of the naga.

Sarriki never once opened her eyes, fully immersed in the music and the motions of her own body. She swayed, wound and wove around herself, practically gliding in place. Her face expressed silent rapture the entire time.

Teal almost didn’t notice the song was coming to an end on the second repetition, but Sarriki’s motions directed her attention to it, drawing to a nearly frenzied peak upon the last sounding of the theme, her whole spine arched and hands thrown backward, and then, as the final notes sounded, she rolled her body forward, coils sliding out from beneath her, and finished on a kind of bow. Lifted high off the ground on a portion of the tip of her tail that seemed too small to support her, she had most of her length arched for balance, her upper body actually hanging forward with her head pointed toward the ground, arms up and crossed, facing down. Forefingers and thumbs extended, pinkies half-curled, the other fingers tucked against her palms. It was odd how that little detail so caught Teal’s attention.

For a moment there was silence, the music echoing in their minds after it no longer echoed in the room, as music did.

Slowly, Sarriki straightened herself out, settling her coils back to the floor and lifting her head; Teal gently lowered the flute at the same motion, almost as if they were connected by strings that moved them unison. Finally, the naga opened her eyes.

One tear slid from the inner corner of each. She didn’t move to wipe them away.

“We had such festivals,” she all but whispered. “Even in the naga courts, resources are not plentiful. No feasting, no over-burning of fuel…nothing you would probably recognize as a party. But such joy. The music, the chants, artworks created…and dancing. Oh, how we danced. How we danced. On those precious days, I could come down from my high pedestal and join in. I did so love to dance that way, for my consorts.”

She fell silent. Teal opened her mouth, finding only then that she had no idea what to say. Somehow, something fell out of her lips anyway.

“You were beautiful.”

“I was,” Sarriki murmured, a smile curling her mouth. Her eyes were still far away. “Oh, I was.”

“What happened?” Teal asked quietly.

The naga drew in a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. It made her whole, long body arch slightly. “Many things. It’s a long story, as dull to recite as it was painful to live through. You should be glad, for the sake of your party, that I am here and not where I’m supposed to be, bard. Why are you not where you should be? The others walked into what they must have thought would be a fight. That demon of yours would be useful.”

“Vadrieny doesn’t use lethal force, out of consideration for me. And…anyway, this seemed more important.”

“More important.” Sarriki sighed again, wistfully this time. “At least to one of us, yes. I had never thought to hear that melody again. Once, I might have been furious at you for raising the memory. Now… Now, I feel I owe you greatly.” Finally her eyes swam back into focus, fixing on Teal’s own. “Where did you learn it? You can’t have traveled all the way down to the courts.”

“There’s…a shrine,” Teal said carefully. “Not close, but not that far down. It held the waystone the others used to get to Level 100.”

“A waystone? In my shrine?” For just a moment, anger creased the corners of Sarriki’s eyes, but just as suddenly she relaxed, letting out a rueful chuckle. “Ah, yes… Arachne. She does redecorate as she sees fit, does she not?”

“I’ve noticed that, yeah.”

“Well, speaking of that.” She began to slither forward again, and Teal instinctively shifted aside, circling away from her. The naga didn’t attempt to corner her, though, gliding past to stop in front of the door. “I owe you something, and I owe nothing to that incubus. Yes, I believe I shall help you after all.”

“You…have the keys?” Teal asked carefully. Sarriki wore a simple, stark vest of leather that had no pockets and fit her torso very tightly, with nothing on her lower body. It was hard to imagine where she might be carrying keys.

The naga shook her head, glancing over her shoulder at Teal in amusement. “These locks aren’t my work. This represents the fruits of years of obsessive labor by Rowe. Amid all the junk that percolates through this tavern, once in a while we find a few real treasures. Any that have to do with sealing or locking things, he appropriates. Over a decade he’s been at it. Never mind the locks you can see, this door is secured by magics you should fear to stand too close to. It just might be the most impenetrable door in the entire Crawl, now.”

“Oh,” Teal said, deflating. “Well, if you can tell me where to—”

She broke off as Sarriki languidly waved a hand over the edges of the door. One by one, locks snapped open and popped loose, some tumbling to the floor. In seconds, every impressive fixture securing the door shut was disarmed, falling harmlessly away. As a final touch, the latch itself turned, seemingly on its own, and the door eased a few inches open with a soft squeak.

“How…did you do that?” Teal inquired.

“Clever people are not necessarily wise people,” Sarriki murmured, smiling down at the door handle as she reached out to grip it. “Rowe is quite the smooth operator…but.” She snorted softly. “After years of lording it over his little domain, he’s allowed himself to think he truly rules the roost, forgetting that he stays in place because Arachne chooses to allow it. It doesn’t occur to him that he bosses me around because I let him. And once he decided all those drow who trickle through aren’t useful to his plans, he stopped bothering to wonder why they keep trying to sneak up to the University. Heh.”

She pulled the door fully open, revealing a staircase housed in a narrow corridor that descended into darkness, cut roughly from the surrounding stone. The naga turned her head to smile coldly at Teal. “How do I dismantle locks in my own Crawl? Please. Your friends are hard-hitters, but you are not the biggest, baddest thing that ever came adventuring in these depths. I have faced scores of those, and crushed them all.” She turned back to the doorway, hiding her expression from Teal. “And if hauling terrible drinks for sentient detritus and sucking up to a smarmy sex demon is the price I must pay for never having to do that again… I’ll take it, and consider it a bargain.”

Sarriki slithered forward, ducking to vanish into the stairwell. Her voice echoed back, somewhat muffled. “Come on, bard. See what you’ve won.”

Teal waited until the tip of the naga’s tail was well out of reach before following. Both because it would have been awkward to step on it in the dark, and because it gave her a moment to compose her features.

“So…” Fross said. “He’s the boss? That’s kinda anticlimactic. If Melaxyna was relegated to Level 2, what’s this guy got?”

“I? Boss of the Descent?” Grinning down at them, Rowe leaned against the stone Naga Queen’s head, dragging the backs of his fingers sensuously down the curve of her cheek. “If that’s the case, this is a terrible likeness. Happens every time I pose for a statue. They never get my good side. Or my legs.”

“Where is she, then?” Toby asked calmly.

“Well, she isn’t here, so I guess that means your little adventure is at an end,” Rowe replied, still smirking. “No boss, no prize. You’re only the second group to even get this far, and they walked out empty-handed, too, for the same reason you’re about to: you cheated.”

“We did not!” Juniper snapped.

“We kinda did, though,” Ruda said more thoughtfully. “But there’s a difference between cheating and cheating. The Crawl allowed this. Hell, it encouraged this.”

“Oh, you poor little truffles,” Rook said, shaking his head sadly. “Arbitrary distinctions between shenanigans that do and don’t count? Long build-ups to disappointing conclusions? Doing everything right and getting nothing for your efforts? Welcome to reality.”

He hopped down from the statue’s shoulder, fanning his wings to catch the air, and settled lightly to the ground in front of them. “The Crawl isn’t the world, kids, at least not to you. The poor bastards who have to live down here are one thing. The adventurers of old who’d come through looking for fortune and glory, they were something else again. But you? You’re on a field trip. This is a class exercise, with abundant safeguards in place to keep you from getting too badly killed. You’re floating along on a personal feather pillow, thanks to the Crawl and Tellwyrn. So be grateful this hasn’t gone worse for you. I told you the simple truth: life is disappointment. You get an object lesson in that inescapable fact without the agonizing consequences that usually accompany it. Be grateful, my little cream puffs. You’ve won the greatest prize of all.” He grinned, widely and unpleasantly. “Education!”

“Uh huh,” said Ruda, glancing around at the others. “So, do we all agree this asshole’s completely full of it?”

“He’s got a point, though.”

“Fross!” Ruda exclaimed.

“Oh, no, he’s totally trying to scam us,” the pixie clarified hastily. “I’m just saying, he’s got some good points in there. Removed from the present context, and maybe with the cynicism toned down a bit, it’s stuff worth thinking about.”

“The most effective way to lie is with a cunningly misrepresented truth,” Trissiny said flatly.

“She’s quoting doctrine again,” Ruda stage whispered. “You can tell. She’s using that voice.”

“This is fantastic,” Rowe said merrily. “Have you kids considered giving up this adventuring bit and going onto the stage?”

“Welp, if there’s no prize and this is all an exercise in disappointment, I say we fuck him up on general principles,” Ruda suggested, drawing her sword.

“No,” Gabriel said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him; his eyes were still fixed on Rowe, his expression penetrating. “This isn’t that kind of game.”

The stairwell wasn’t long, but it was uneven and angled just enough to hide what lay below from view of the upper door. At the bottom, Sarriki continued forward, gliding into the space, but Teal had to stop on the lowest step, just staring around.

It was oddly disorienting, as if the outdoors had been crammed into an indoor space. What she suspected were the boundaries of the room were defined by a ring of standing stones, ancient-looking and carved with spiraling glyphs that meant nothing to her. There was a slightly domed ceiling, apparently a natural one to judge by its stalactites. The floor, too, looked like a cave feature, relatively flat but far from even, and bisected erratically down the middle (roughly), with half the room set about a foot higher.

The door was apparently set in one of the thick, square stone pillars; the ring they defined left the space with seven “sides.” None of these were walls, though. They appeared to be completely open, except that they opened onto totally different places.

“You can’t pass through them,” Sarriki said, slithering in a slow circuit of the chamber. “Rowe can, because of the sneakery he’s been up to down here. I possibly could; I have considerable favor amassed with the Crawl. But to you, despite how this all must seem, they’re only windows. You can look, but you can’t touch. I’m not certain what would happen if you tried. I don’t recommend it.”

Teal finally stepped down, staring around in awe. One of the spaces between the pillars showed her friends, facing off against Rowe himself in what was unmistakeably a Descent level. Level 100, assuming the waystone they’d retrieved worked as advertized. Apparently so; this chamber and Rowe’s alleged ability to use it explained his presence there. The other views were different; one looked out on the slanting main cavern of the Crawl, one on some kind of subterranean lake. Two showed what were clearly cities, one of these a cramped warren of scavenged pieces of everything from giant shells to fragments of metal and hides, swarming with goblins; the other was a more graceful and carefully built complex, with at least a foot of water standing in its floor, through which naga slid. Upon a closer inspection, the effect lost some of its power. There was no sound, no smell or breath of air from any of these views, which took away much of their realism.

Teal gave them all a rather cursory look, except for the one showing her classmates, who seemed just to be talking with the incubus for now. Other objects in the chamber deserved attention; it was a peculiar combination of pantry and reliquary. She made note of the barrels and racks of wine bottles, hanging haunches of meat and bundles of herbs tied to stalactites above, and meager sacks of grain. These, in the Crawl, must be the true wealth of the hidden chamber, but more relevant to her interests were the precious objects displayed on stands against each of the pillars. Weapons, clothing, goblets both plain and bejeweled, statues, pieces of jewelry, several objects whose purpose wasn’t clear despite their obvious quality of workmanship… All of these she might have expected to see in a treasure room somewhere, but here they were all rigged together in some kind of absurd network. Bent, dented and corroded lengths of copper pipe, trailing wires, glass rods, even rune-inked coils of paper were stretched all over the room like a vast, utterly demented spiderweb, arching above to give space to walk between them.

“The objects themselves have been gathered from all over the Crawl, over the course of years,” Sarriki said, coming to a stop and smiling faintly. “The rest of this, the…connectors? Mostly from your fellow students. In the modern world, it seems enchanting paraphernalia is relatively cheap and widely available. There’s basically nothing college students won’t do for free beer, even if it tastes like foot fungus.”

“The point of beer isn’t the flavor,” Teal said absently, studying the network. “That’s what good wine is for.”

A semester and a half with Professor Yornhaldt hadn’t prepared her to decipher much of what she was seeing, but in the overall shape of it, a clear purpose emerged, made even clearer by a few key details.

The box she recognized from Tellwyrn’s description; it sat open and empty against the base of a pillar, beside a rough stone plinth on which stood an ornate vase, wired to the network. The contents of the box were also recognizable. In the center of the room, a low table of stone sat, with a large, chipped scrying crystal on one corner. In the middle, though, were the sword and dagger. They were sleekly curved and actually quite similar in design to the black sword labeled Ariel, though their hilts were of hammered gold, the leather wrapping them a soft brown, bound in silver wire. Each weapon was balanced on its tip on the stone table, held aloft by the wires, pipes and filaments connecting them to the network. The network of which they, clearly, were the center.

“How much power,” Teal mused aloud, “would it take to forcibly manipulate the Crawl?”

“Roughly, give or take…all of it,” Sarriki said with a humorless grin. “The key, as I’m sure you can deduce, is the extremely magical pair of items in the middle there, which also have a very strong connection to Arachne.”

“The Crawl’s favorite person.”

“Just so. And I,” Sarriki said, spreading her arms wide, “am their guardian. I decide who wins the Descent and gets to retrieve the sword and dagger. And Rowe knew just what I wanted.”

“That doesn’t seem like much of a challenge to suss out,” Teal said frankly. “It sounds like being a dungeon boss sucks. Anyone would want a way out. Melaxyna sure does.”

“Ah, yes. Melaxyna.” Sarriki shrugged. “Long as I keep my freedom, it matters little to me who gets to swagger around the Grim Visage calling him- or herself the boss. One child of Vanislaas is more or less the same as another. But then again… Perhaps Mel is more of a people person. To judge by Level 2, she certainly seems to be more of an organizer. Of course, she is not supposed to leave the Descent; it’ll take her some time to weasel her way out of there, but I’ve no doubt she’ll manage.”

“But why?” Teal asked. “What is the point of all this? It’s an impressive setup, sure, but I don’t understand what it does.”

“What it does is confer a measure of power over the Crawl onto its owner,” Sarriki replied, lightly brushing a length of wire with her fingertips. The entire network shivered slightly. “What it’s meant to do, if he can ever get it to work properly, is provide a way out. Incubi and succubi fare poorly when confined. The Visage isn’t normally a place that draws visitors from other planes of existence, or even other dungeons. The arrival of misplaced gnomes and dimensionally-lost ogres is due entirely to our friendly bartender’s meddling. Likewise the tendency of nosy drow to pop up; there’s not an actual, physical opening to the Underworld in the Crawl. Rowe wants an escape; Mel wants to take it from him. But he hasn’t managed to make it work.”

“Melaxyna,” Teal said slowly, “has made herself something of a specialist on Crawl-based portal magic. Or at least she employs them.”

Sarriki nodded. “Perhaps it would be best if she didn’t find anything down here she could use to finish Rowe’s work.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Teal said grimly. She stepped up to the table, reached out with both hands and grabbed the sword and dagger.

Pulling them free brought the entire structure crashing down.

“You think this is a fucking game?” Ruda demanded.

Gabriel nodded, still staring at Rowe. “Of course it is. Or at the very least, it’s an exercise. It’s like he said: the Crawl isn’t real life. Different rules apply.”

“We can stand here chatting about it until we’re all out of oxygen,” Rowe said cheerfully. “It won’t change the facts. The game is over. You played well; you’re assured a better than decent grade, I expect. Time for you kids to leave.”

“What are you getting at, Gabriel?” Trissiny asked.

“Remember Teal’s theory? So far, she was dead on. Now, here we are, with no Naga Queen and no sign of Tellwyrn’s treasure. Just this guy, popping up in a place he has no business being.” Gabriel tucked his hands into his coat pockets, smiling coldly at the incubus. “I think he cheated.”

“Nonsense,” Rowe snorted. “You get to cheat, up to a point—for all the good it did you. You’re students. This is all arranged for your benefit. Me, the others who call this delightful dungeon our home? We just live here. There’s not cheating, because there are no goals.”

“Which makes the fact that you cheated especially bad, doesn’t it?” Gabe asked. “Let’s look at this logically. The boss and the treasure are gone, in clear contradiction of the Descent’s pattern. Rowe is here—which not only shows that he can get into places where he’s not supposed to be, but shows he has a good reason to come. He’s now in a room with a powerful band of adventurers who showed up expecting to have to kill whatever they found. Why take the risk?”

“Because,” Shaeine said softly, “if we came and found nothing, we would naturally have investigated. In all modesty, we are a fairly capable group when we pull together and focus. Upon investigating, we might have found what we sought… Unless someone were here to convince us there was no point.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” Rowe asked, grinning. “By all means, then, investigate! Sniff around the empty chamber to your little hearts’ content. Admire the portraits and statuary. We’ve all got nothing but time.”

“So what do we do about it?” Toby asked, studying the incubus through narrow eyes.

“We could always just kill him,” Trissiny suggested.

“We wait,” said Gabriel, pulling his hands out of his pockets and folding his arms.

“Wait?” Juniper frowned. “On what?”

“On the person who figured this out first. Teal knows what she’s doing. I bet you anything she’s within inches of the treasure right now.”

“You’re pinning all your hopes on the party’s bard?” Rowe’s grin had reached insane proportions. “You kids really haven’t studied the histories of adventurers, have you?”

“I most certainly have!” Fross declared in an affronted tone.

“If you’re right and she was right,” Trissiny said, “she’d also be within inches of the Naga Queen.”

“That doesn’t sound promising!” Rowe chirped.

“She is in the Visage, under sanctuary,” Shaeine said calmly. “She is practically impossible to harm. And I have absolute faith in her ability to solve this. However, we are missing an obvious preparatory step.”

Rowe yelped as a wall of silver light appeared behind him, shoving him forward; his wings smoked slightly where it impacted them. As he stumbled, flaring wings and pinwheeling arms for balance, the wall arced forward, reshaping itself into a bubble with him inside it.

“Oh, this is cute,” he snorted. “Really mature. Let’s harass the bartender now that he’s out of sanctuary.”

“Ruda,” Shaeine said evenly, “you still have the Level 2 waystone?”

“You bet your sweet ass I do,” Ruda said, grinning.

“Then I believe we have a bounty to collect. Link arms, everyone.”

“Hey, now,” Rowe said, beginning to look more serious. “You kids are better than that. Nothing warrants that kind of—”

“Will he be ported along inside that bubble?” Toby inquired.

“I believe one of us will need to be touching him,” Shaeine replied as the group moved together, setting themselves in order to use the waystone. “It prevents a minor logistical problem, as he seems likely to be uncooperative.”

“You’ve got bigger problems than that,” Rowe said sharply. “Keep in mind who you morsels are dealing with. The Crawl likes me. I came down here to offer you a friendly hand. You’re going to turn on me? Think very carefully about your prospects for getting safely back out if you go and do something like that.”

“He talks a lot, doesn’t he?” Juniper said.

“Is he wrong, though?” Trissiny asked, frowning. “The Vanislaad are nothing if not manipulative, and he’s had plenty of time to work on the Crawl. What if—”

The entire room trembled once, then a low groaning rose up from all around, as if the very stones of the Descent were grinding against each other.

“What the fuck now?” Ruda demanded, gripping the waystone with one hand and reaching for her rapier with the other. With Gabriel holding one of her arms from behind and Toby the other, she had little chance of actually drawing it, much less fighting.

The room began to change.

Beams of light suddenly shone down from above, spotlighting each of the marble statues of the students. All around the rim of the chamber, the murals faded to black, and then new pictures formed. Each of them featured Rowe. Each depicted a different kind of torture.

“Answers that question,” Gabriel said, grinning.

“Well,” the incubus said fatalistically, “shit.”

“That’s my girl,” Shaeine whispered.

Juniper, who was at the end of the chain of linked arms, stepped forward, bending the whole group as she approached the silver bubble.

“Now wait a second,” Rowe said nervously.

“Nope, don’t think so,” the dryad replied in a cheerful tone. “Shaeine, can I have a hole, please?”

“That’s what she said,” Ruda cackled.

“Thanks!” the dryad said, thrusting her arm through the saucer-sized gap that appeared in the bubble. Rowe tried desperately to evade her, even going so far as to press himself against the bubble opposite her groping hand. That proved to be a mistake; they could hear the sizzle of him impacting Themynra’s power. The incubus yelped and lurched back forward, right in time for Juniper to clamp a hand on his upper arm.

The shield flickered out of existence.

“Happy birthday, Melaxyna,” Ruda said cheerfully, tracing her finger along the glyph in the waystone.

One and all, they vanished.

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6 – 30

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“Are you sure you should be confronting this guy?” Carter asked as they strode rapidly along the rooftop. “And no, I’m not making a tactical suggestion; this is in my professional capacity of looking for information.”

“Duly noted,” Mogul said with a grin. “I’m curious about the question, however. This chap and his various lackeys have attempted to spy on our interview and then assaulted and killed my personnel when confronted about it. While I happen to have a miscellaneous handful of warlocks and demon thralls in the area, this seems like an ideal opportunity to have a word with him.”

“But the djinn strongly advised you not to. I’m just puzzled that you’d ignore his advice after summoning him to ask for it.”

There came a pause in the conversation when they reached the edge of the building. The darkness swelled around them, and then they were stepping onto the next roof over, two stories up and thirty feet away across a broad street. Carter stumbled again, but less dramatically; he was growing more accustomed to the disorientation.

“Mr. Long,” the warlock said as they resumed walking, “I’ve just spent much of the afternoon making the case to you that the Black Wreath are not at all as you believe them to be. With that established, let me just emphasize that demons are every bit as dangerous as you’ve always been told, and worse. That is why the Wreath is important, because believe me, no one else who tries is adept at handling them without creating a mess. Making allowances for individual personalities, they are highly aggressive. Infernal magic has that effect on any form of life it corrupts. Now, djinn aren’t able to physically interact with the world, which doesn’t diminish their propensity to cause trouble; it only limits the methods by which they can do so.”

The roof along which they were walking wasn’t another flat top like the previous one; their path was a lip of stone along the edge of a steep incline shingled in ragged old slate tiles. They came to the corner, where the path was interrupted by a decorative finial, and Carter had to accept a hand to navigating his way over the smooth slope and back onto even ground on the other side. It was an apparently L-shaped structure, to judge by the long distance it stretched out on the side ahead. Embarrassing as it might be to be handed about like a lady in silks and slippers, Carter wasn’t too proud to admit he needed the assistance. Despite the excitement of this assignment, he was keenly aware of being out of his element. His avuncular suit and briefcase didn’t lend themselves to nocturnal rooftop shenanigans.

“Ali and I have a well-negotiated contract,” Mogul continued as they moved on again. “He doesn’t lie to me and answers direct queries with a minimum of obfuscation. But beyond the simple answers to my questions, in the realm of his personal opinions and asides? You’re damn right I ignore his advice. It’s calculated to trip me up, without exception. Either with the goal of weaseling out of our contract, or just to create general mayhem.”

“But…if he can’t lie…”

“And what did he say, exactly?” Mogul grinned and winked. “That I would learn humility? Come on, what does that mean? You have to be eternally on guard when negotiating with demons. Any demons, but particularly the crafty ones. Sshitherosz, djinn, Vanislaad, all the schemers. They’ll promise you your own doom in a frilly dress, and you’ll step right into it if you make the mistake of paying too much attention to the frills. The exact wording gets you every time.”

“That sounds…exhausting,” Carter mused.

“Warlocks and lawyers, Mr. Long,” Mogul said cheerfully. “Warlocks and lawyers. Ah, here we are. You may want to keep back, we’re about to have some company.”

They had come to the end of the building, where there was a small rooftop patio. Raised beds held sad-looking old dirt and the twisted skeletons of small shrubs. Mogul hopped down from their improvised walkway and positioned himself against the bannister looking over the square below, beckoning Carter over to join him.

In the next moment the shadows gathered and took shape in the lee of the overhanging roof, then receded, leaving two figures standing there. One, dressed in obscuring gray robes, was hunched over with an arm across its midsection, supported by the other, which was clearly some kind of demon. Armored plates covered its forehead and limbs.

“Ah, still breathing,” said Mogul. “I’m glad to see that.”

“I had to confiscate her potion belt,” noted the demon. “She may have already taken more than the safe dosage.”

“It hurts,” the robed figure rasped, her voice taut with pain. “Inside. Bricks landed on my back… Think I have ribs broken. And lower.”

“That’s bad,” Mogul said, frowning, “especially if you’ve been chugging potions on top of internal bleeding. You know better, Vanessa. Hrazthax, get her to a healer. You two are out of this evening’s events.”

“You sure you won’t need me here?” the demon asked.

Embras waved a hand. “She’s urgent, and by the time you got back this would all be over. Be careful, though. Speak to Ross on your way out and have him pass along the word: anyone with a Vanislaad thrall needs to send it away, and everybody watch for holy symbols popping up in surprising places. There’s a reaper on the loose.”

Hrazthax frowned heavily. “A reaper? A real one? Just on patrol, or… It’s not good if Vidius is taking an interest in this.”

“You let me worry about that,” Mogul said firmly. “Take Vanessa’s talisman and get her to help. And when you find Ross, tell him to get everyone organized; our quarry is heading to the intersection of 31st East Street and Alfarousi Avenue. Don’t impede them; get everyone set up and ready to spring at that location, on my command.”

“Got it,” said Hrazthax, nodding. “But what about—”

Vanessa groaned and slumped against him.

“Go.”

The hethelax nodded to Mogul once more and took something from Vanessa’s hand, which she relinquished without argument. There came a few soft clicks as he manipulated it one-handed, and then the shadows welled up again, swallowing them.

“Busy, busy,” Mogul said, straightening his lapels. “Ah, well. When things go the way I want them to, I have the damnedest time keeping myself entertained. Ironic, isn’t it? This way, if you please.”

One shadow-jump later, they were on yet another rooftop across the street, and heading toward…Carter didn’t know what. The district was like an island of quiet and darkness. On all sides, not too far distant, the lights of Tiraas blazed like a galaxy come to earth, and at this altitude the sounds of carriage traffic and periodic Rail caravans were audible, but immediately around them was desolation. He doubted he could have navigated this jumble of broken-down structures even with the streetlights working, but Embras seemed to know where he was going.

“What’s a reaper?” Carter asked, regretting having put his notebook away. Ah, well, he wasn’t great at writing while walking at the best of times, and would likely have broken his neck trying to do it while navigating rooftops.

“Grim reaper,” Mogul said as they moved, “soul harvester, valkyrie. You’ve surely heard of them under one name or another.”

It took the journalist a few seconds to gather his thoughts before he could reply.

“Well… I must say, this night is going to leave me without things not to believe in.”

Embras grinned at him. “Oh, they’re very real, but you can be forgiven for not knowing it. The Vidians don’t encourage people to ask about them, and really, nobody on the mortal plane is likely to interact with one at all unless they dabble in necromancy. It’s the reapers who usually get sent to shut that down. Oh, and Vidian exorcisms? All theater. If the death-priests want a spirit laid to rest, they put on a big show to make you think they’re being useful while a valkyrie quietly gets rid of it. Warlocks only need to know about them because they have the same authority over incubi and succubi—which, as you may know, are human souls who are not supposed to be on this plane.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Vlesni is going to wring every ounce of pathos out of this anecdote she possibly can. I hear tell getting sent back by a reaper is…uncomfortable.”

“Do you really think you can intercept your opponent if he’s got an invisible spirit working with him?” Carter asked, glancing around somewhat nervously.

“Intercept him? I’m going to do no such thing.” Mogul stopped at the edge of the current roof, one long leg raised with the foot propped on the low wall surrounding it, and grinned at him. “We’re meeting him at the end. The man’s going excessively out of his way to spell out a message. I really ought to let him finish it, don’t you think? That’s just good manners.”

“Where the hell are we going?” Weaver snarled. “And don’t feed me that bullshit about just wasting time. You keep insisting on taking specific routes!”

“Lang—“

“Child, I swear by Omnu’s hairy third testicle I will shoot you right in the fucking mouth.”

“Settle down, good gods,” Darling reproved. “And yes, Weaver, you’re right, we are heading for an intersection a few blocks up.”

“Great, well, you should know there are warlocks and demons moving parallel to us in the same direction. We’re either walking into an ambush or being escorted by a mobile one.”

“Okay, how do you know this stuff?” Peepers demanded. “Where are you getting intel?”

“He’s got a spirit companion,” Joe explained.

“I want one. You have any idea how valuable that would be in my line of work?”

“You wouldn’t get along,” Weaver grunted.

“Don’t even ask,” added Joe, “it just gives him an opportunity to be standoffish and coy about it. He loves that.”

“About how many?” Darling interrupted.

Weaver cocked his head as if listening for a moment before replying. “Nine warlocks. Six of them have companion demons of various kinds. No incubi or succubi. And…a guy in a white suit almost straight behind us on the rooftops. With Peepers’s friend.”

“He’s not my friend,” she said with a sigh. “Never was, probably sort of hates my guts now.”

“Shame,” Weaver said, grinning nastily. “He was cute. Ah, well, guess you’re destined to be an old maid.”

“Joe, please shoot him in the foot.”

“Maybe after we deal with the demons.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Darling, “we are heading somewhere. There’s a small square up ahead close to the bordering canal of this district. That street leads straight to one of the bridges out.”

“The ones you said not to go near because they’d be guarded?” Joe asked.

“Yup!” Darling didn’t slacken his pace in the slightest; none of them were having trouble keeping up, though Peepers was starting to look a little haggard. “But it’s been enough time, approximately. I hope. I chose this particular bridge to approach because it leads to the most direct route toward the main temple of Shaath.”

“And…that is relevant…why?” Peepers asked.

“This must all be part of that plan he doesn’t have,” said Weaver, rolling his eyes.

“The Wreath has both oracular and divinatory sources of information,” Darling said lightly. “Many warlocks can use enough arcane magic to scry, and there are demons who trade information for favors. Any plans we made could be found out and countered, heading up against what we were.”

“There are methods to block both of those,” Joe noted.

“Yes,” said Darling, nodding, “and when I have time to arrange a real campaign against the Wreath, with Church and Imperial support, you better believe I’ll be using them. On the fly like this, though, there’s a loophole that can be exploited: they can’t scry a plan that doesn’t exist.”

“Not having a plan doesn’t strike me as a great plan,” Peepers muttered.

“I know the board,” Darling said more quietly, “and I know the pieces. I set in motion the ones most likely to lead to the result I want. Plans are nice, kids, but sometimes they’re a luxury you can’t afford to count on. If you know what’s going on, and if you’re a little lucky, you can tell more or less how things are going to play out. Even arrange them the way you want, sometimes.”

The other three glanced at each other.

“This is not how I wanted to die,” Peepers sighed.

“Oh?” said Joe. “How did you?”

“Of sex-induced heart failure on top of a gigolo in my eighties, wearing a fortune in jewels and nothing else. And drunker than any woman has ever been.”

He flushed deeply and didn’t manage to form a reply. Weaver actually laughed.

“And,” Peepers said in a more subdued tone, “certain my little brother was going to be taken care of…”

“He’ll be fine,” said Darling soothingly. “We will be fine.”

“You are so full of it,” Weaver snorted.

“Yeah.” Darling glanced over his shoulder and winked. “Luckily I keep enough of it on hand to throw into my enemies’ eyes. It’s always worked so far.”

“Ew,” said Peepers, wrinkling her nose.

“I think that metaphor got away from you,” Joe added.

Weaver shrugged. “Eh, they can’t all be winners.”

“Oh, shut up, all of you. We’re almost there. Mouths shut, eyes open, and be ready to fight or flee.”

“Of course,” Andros rumbled to himself, staring across the canal at the darkened district up ahead. “What better place? I’m a fool for not thinking of it.”

“Holy shit, that all looks abandoned,” Flora marveled. “How long has it been like this?”

“Less than a week,” said Savvy. “It’s not going to be left this way long, but while it’s there… Yes, it really is an ideal venue.”

They had stopped in the shade of two warehouses flanking the road which became a bridge into the condemned district. The spirit wolf had come unerringly here, then halted, glaring ahead with his hackles raised. He growled quietly until Andros rested a hand on his head.

Ingvar and Tholi immediately set to prowling around, investigating, with Flora and Fauna following suit after a moment. The elves, after peering in every direction, nimbly shimmied up lamp posts and perched improbably atop the fairy lights, peering ahead into the district. The two Huntsmen kept their attention chiefly on the ground, tracking back and forth.

“Cities,” Tholi muttered disparagingly. “Nothing leaves tracks.”

“Not easy tracks,” Ingvar said in a more even tone. “And the rains wash away what little there is very quickly. These are not elk, Tholi; be sure you are not following the wrong kind of spoor. Look.”

He had crossed to the foot of the bridge and knelt, drawing his hunting knife and carefully scraping it across the pavement.

“Infernal magic isn’t useful for stable area-of-effect spells, unlike arcane wards,” Ingvar said, holding up the knife. “It is anchored to something physical. In this case, the paving stones.”

The tip, where he had dragged it against the ground, was now spotted with rust. Even as they all stared, the reddish stain crept up the blade another half an inch.

“Infernal wards cause rust?” Fauna asked, frowning down at them.

“The weapons of Huntsmen are blessed by the Mother,” said Andros, glaring over the bridge.
“They do not decay, nor suffer damage from the elements. Heat, cold, moisture… Such an effect is the result of magical corruption. They are here, and they have warded this bridge against intrusion.” He began to glow subtly.

“What mother?” Flora asked.

“Honestly,” said Savvy, pointing at the wolf. “Have you ever seen divine magic used for anything like that? Most of the Huntsmen’s arts are fae in nature. I really need to explain this? I was almost certain you two were elves.”

“I don’t like you out of uniform,” Fauna announced.

“Enough,” Andros growled. “What can you see from that vantage?”

“Movement,” Flora said, peering into the dark district. “Through windows and gaps in walls, mostly. There’s activity directly ahead, hidden behind things. People moving inside buildings.”

“Without lights,” said Ingvar, nocking an arrow to his bow. “That’ll be the Wreath. Once we go in there it will be increasingly hard to track our quarry. They won’t appreciate our presence.”

“Let them come,” Tholi said, grinning savagely. Behind him, Ingvar rolled his eyes. “I just hope the Eserite we’ve come to rescue isn’t dead. If he’s running around in there with warlocks and demons after him… Doesn’t look good, does it?”

“Darling would die swiftly in our wilds,” Andros said, “but we fare almost as poorly in his. The man is adaptable and this is his city. He chose to enter there. I will believe he has fallen when I’ve buried him. We proceed.”

“Agreed,” Savvy said crisply, deftly smoothing her hair back with both hands. She shrugged out of her coat, reversed it and swept it back on, and just like that the illusion vanished, leaving the immaculately attired Butler straightening her tie.

“Uh,” Fauna asked, “what was the point of that, then?”

“Camouflage,” Andros said, nodding approvingly. “There are few enough Butlers in the city that some know all their faces, and their masters. Best not to advertize that Bishop Darling has run into trouble.”

“Wait!” Flora said suddenly, straightening. “I see people coming into the square— It’s him! And the others!”

“And more coming out of hiding,” Fauna added. “In robes. With demons.”

“Then this is the time,” Andros declared, starting forward and raising his bow. The spirit wolf stalked at his side. “Ingvar, Tholi, strike down the demons. I will attend to any infernal arts used against us.”

“And the people?” Ingvar asked. “The warlocks?”

Before he had finished speaking, Price strode forward onto the bridge, gliding smoothly down its center. Flora and Fauna leaped from their perches, landing on either side of the Butler. The three of them walked without apparent hurry, but at a pace that devoured the distance between them and Darling.

“That,” said Andros with a grim smile as he stepped forward after them, “appears to be attended to.”

Teal staggered slightly upon materializing, but quickly caught her balance and straightened, self-consciously smoothing her coat.

“That’s a neat trick,” Sarriki noted, pausing as she slithered past with a tray of empty mugs, bound for the bar. “You shouldn’t be able to teleport into here. Are you even a wizard?”

“Not using arcane magic, no,” the bard said with a smile, holding up a waystone. “But the Crawl’s methods work just fine.”

The naga cocked her head to the side. “I thought you kids couldn’t afford to buy from Shamlin.”

“Shamlin has decided to return to the surface,” Teal explained. “As such, he was quite interested in Tiraan bank notes. Where’s Professor Ezzaniel?”

“Here,” he said from the second level of the bar. “And what are you up to, Miss Falconer? It is not generally wise to split up the party.”

Teal tilted her head back, staring mutely up at him for a moment. “It’s funny how you’re supposed to be evaluating our progress down here, yet you haven’t been around for any of it. You just sit here drinking and chatting with the other patrons.”

“Since you make such a point of my absence, what makes you think you know what I’ve been doing while not under your eyes?” Ezzaniel leaned one arm against the railing and smiled down at her.

Teal stared at him thoughtfully, then glanced at Sarriki, who chuckled and set about pulling herself up the steps.

“It’s not like you to nakedly evade a question like that, Professor,” she said quietly.

Ezzaniel raised an eyebrow. “I assure you, Miss Falconer, everything is attended to. Professor Tellwyrn has made appropriate arrangements for you to be graded fairly.”

“I don’t doubt she has. Where is Rowe?”

The Professor shrugged. “I don’t much wonder about him when he is not in front of me. He is entertaining company, but in a rather exhausting way. One does get tired of always keeping a hand on one’s purse strings.”

She turned from him and bounded up the stairs in two long leaps, then paused, glancing around. The Grim Visage was fairly quiet at the moment. A lone drow man was nursing a drink in the far corner; he nodded politely to her as her gaze fell on him. A small party of five goblins were conversing quietly next to the fireplace. Not far away, Sarriki was clearing dishes and trash off an empty table.

Teal squared her shoulders and strode past the naga, straight through the curtained doorway next to the bar.

She paused only momentarily in the kitchen beyond, quickly taking in its meager furnishings and stored food at a glance, then stepped across the floor to study the door opposite the exit. It was secured with multiple locks. Unlike most of the rusted, battered and apparently recycled equipment the students had seen in most parts of the Crawl, these looked new. Clean, strong, and highly effective. Teal didn’t need to start tampering with them to know there was magic at work, too. This door would not be opened by someone who wasn’t entitled.

“You know, you’re not supposed to be back here.”

She turned slowly to look at Sarriki, who stood framed in the doorway, her arms braced against it on both sides.

“My friends are going directly to Level 100,” she said quietly.

“Oh?” The naga smiled, a bland, languid expression. The light framing her wasn’t bright enough to make her features difficult to see, but it was sufficiently darker in the kitchen than in the bar that the contrast made for good dramatic effect. “Excellent. I had a feeling, you know. And I’ve just won a bet. If they manage to beat the boss, I’ll be absolutely rolling in it.”

“The going theory,” Teal went on, “is that the final boss of the Descent is the Naga Queen.”

“Interesting idea. My people mostly live far below, you realize. It’s rare that any of us climb to this level.”

“Mm hm. It would fit, though, wouldn’t it? She’s easily the most formidable personality in the Crawl… One possibly powerful enough the Professor Tellwyrn wouldn’t want to leave her running around at liberty.”

Sarriki shrugged. “Whatever. Your friends are hard-hitters; they have as good a chance as anyone. I’m fairly confident of my odds.”

“You have more at stake here than a bet, don’t you?” Teal asked softly.

The naga’s eyes hardened. “Little girl, it is seldom wise to stick your nose into other people’s business. Now, if you’re hungry, kindly come back out front and I’ll make you something. This area is not for patrons.”

“Where’s Rowe? It’s odd for him not to be around. With Melaxyna placing bounties on his head, it’s not exactly safe for him to leave, is it?”

“Child,” Sarriki said sharply, “I’m losing patience. There’ll be no fighting in here, but you’ll find there is a lot I can do to make your stay in the Visage and the Crawl unpleasant if you disrupt the peace in my bar. Now, for the last time, out.”

“Actually,” said Teal, stepping aside and pointing at the locked cellar door, “I need to get through here.”

Sarriki actually laughed, loudly. “Oh, you silly little thing. That is not going to happen.”

They were familiar with the drill by now, after making extensive use of Melaxyna’s portal and waystone. Immediately upon landing, the students unlinked arms, Fross zipping out from under Ruda’s hat, and fell into formation, weapons up, eying their new surroundings carefully.

It was definitely the Descent. The distinctive proportions of the room were right, and the staircase behind them was just like those they had seen dozens of times before. It was the contents of the room that made them all straighten, staring.

“Well,” Toby said after a moment, “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

The wall were covered with masterfully painted murals, all depicting in exquisite detail their adventures through the Crawl thus far. The scenes blended one into the next as they marched around the walls, but everything was familiar, if portrayed somewhat more dramatically than the events had actually occurred. Juniper laughing in delight as she hugged a capling, Trissiny standing at the foot of the throne with Melaxyna smirking down at her, the whole group in disarray and being chased by boars, Gabriel studying an invisible maze with an expression of intense thought while the others ostentatiously bickered around him, the group lined up facing a row of chessmen. The scenes continued, wrapping around the chamber and showing the details of every step of their journey through the Descent, though they did not portray anything from before or after that. Nothing of the Grim Visage, the complex of dream-inducing mists, Shamlin’s grotto or the Naga Queen’s shrine.

There were statues, too, nine of them. Towering marble depictions of the students lined an avenue straight toward the opposite end of the chamber, each over eight feet tall even without the plinths on which they stood. At the far end, rather than another staircase downward, there was a semicircular indentation in the wall, in which stood an even larger statue, this one of the Naga Queen.

Of the Queen herself, there was no sign.

“I kind of wish I had one of those lightcappers,” Juniper mused. “Remember, from Tiraas? I mean, just look at these portraits! Makes me feel kinda proud, y’know?”

“Maybe we can come back with one?” Gabriel suggested.

“Unlikely,” said Fross. “This was all arranged for us on this visit. I bet it’ll all be blank as soon as we leave.”

“Experience is by nature a transient thing,” Shaeine said quietly.

“Only one direction to go,” Trissiny said, stepping forward. Ruda fell into step right beside her, the others quickly following suit.

They came up short a moment later, before they’d gone ten feet, when the sound of clapping began to echo throughout the chamber. Slow, rhythmic, and coming from only a single pair of hands, it resounded sourcelessly from the stone on every side, leaving them peering around again, weapons raised.

He materialized then, fading from invisibility into view atop the Naga Queen’s statue, where he was perched on her stone shoulder. Rowe continued to applaud, smirking down at them.

“Well done, kids. Well done. I congratulate you on your highly improbable victory.”

“Son of a bitch,” Gabriel murmured, not noticing the sour look Trissiny shot him. “Teal was right.”

“I have a theory,” Teal said, drawing the snake flute from within her coat. “One I’ve been working on since we came here. A lot of the pieces to the puzzle were hard to find, but several of the more important ones fell into place for us just recently.”

Sarriki had fallen still, eyes fixed on the flute. Her expression was purely hungry. Teal raised the instrument toward her lips.

“Let’s see if we can come to an understanding, your Majesty.”

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6 – 29

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They made excellent time; the Butler was half a head shorter than the elves and had shorter legs to match, but she stayed in the lead the entire time, not quite compelling them to rush. Not being the swiftest members of a group was an unfamiliar experience for them. It wouldn’t have been wise to run, though. Three women walking through the city was not a sight interesting enough to draw attention, but matters became different when two of them were elves, and more different still when one of the elves wore a sweeping cloak and the other a suit of black leather with ostentatiously displayed daggers. Running would have set the police on them.

“You are two Thieves’ Guild apprentices,” Price said as they rapidly crossed one of the city’s oldest districts under a darkening sky. She kept her eyes straight ahead and her voice to a bare whisper, but of course they could hear perfectly. “You are elves. That’s all. No matter what we end up seeing tonight, you will keep a sense of context in mind. Show the world anything beside what they expect of you and it’ll create trouble for all of us. Especially the Bishop. The kind of trouble from which there’s no coming back.”

“If it comes to an emergency—” Flora clamped her mouth shut as Price half-turned her head to give her a flat look.

“Why are we coming here?” Fauna asked in audible disgust.

“The Bishop has made it clear that with regard to the business at hand, the Guild can’t be considered reliable,” Price replied flatly. “And it should be obvious why we’re not going to the Empire for help. If you have a better idea, the time to say so was when we were leaving the house. Now hush.”

With that, she set off up the long staircase to the city’s main temple of Shaath, in bounds that consumed three steps at a time. The apprentices fell silent as ordered, following her.

At the top, a bearded man in ceremonial leathers, carrying a longbow, nodded politely to them. “Welcome, girls. Can I help you with—”

“Nope,” Price said curtly, sailing past him. He raised his eyebrows, turning to watch the three women vanish inside, but made no further comment and didn’t pursue.

“Odd how polite he was,” Flora murmured. “I’d have expected—”

“Hsst!” Price snapped, making a beeline for the only group of people present. The dim, barbarically ornate sanctuary was quiet at this hour, with only two Huntsmen in attendance. They stood at the far end near the large wolf statue, apparently doing nothing but talking quietly, their poses relaxed. Either they were simply stopping for a chat or Shaath didn’t require much formality from his ceremonial guards.

Both turned as the Eserites approached, expressions curious but not unfriendly. The older one had no beard; the younger had only the earliest scruffy stages of one, and appeared not much past fifteen. The beardless elder opened his mouth to speak, but Price beat him to it.

“I need to speak with Bishop Varanus.”

“All right,” the Huntsman said, in a deep but evidently female voice. “Why is that, and who are you?”

“You can call me Savvy, and it’s about Bishop Darling. There’s a problem. An urgent one.”

“Mm.” The Huntsman eyed her up and down, then flicked a cool gaze over Flora and Fauna. “I see. Tholi, go find the Bishop and bring him here with all haste.”

The boy took one step toward the rear door of the hall, then hesitated. “And…what shall I tell him?”

“The truth,” replied the Huntsman, giving him an irritated look. “There are three Eserites here asking for him, and it’s to do with that blonde poof.”

“Got it,” he said with a grin, then darted off.

“You’re Brother Ingvar?” Price—Savvy—inquired.

“Mm hm. So he remembered my name? I’m surprised.”

Savvy shrugged, took three steps backward and leaned against a carved pillar, producing a coin from within her sleeve, which she began rolling across the backs of her fingers. “Everyone makes mistakes, Huntsman. Only a fool doesn’t learn from them.”

“That’s very wise,” Ingvar replied in a completely neutral tone. “Can I get you ladies anything while you wait? It won’t be long, but I would have guests be comfortable in our lodge.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather not be comfortable,” Savvy said, keeping her gaze on the coin. It flashed in the dim light of the braziers as she manipulated it. “I’ll be comfortable when all this is settled.”

“As you like,” Ingvar said mildly, turning an inquiring gaze on the two elves. When they shook their heads, he nodded to them politely and folded his arms, staring down the length of the hall at its opposite door.

“I’m a little surprised by the reception,” Fauna said after nearly a minute’s silence. “I expected…subdued hostility.”

“Oh, and why’s that?” Savvy asked quietly. Ingvar flicked his gaze over to them, but didn’t join in the conversation.

“Well, it’s not as if our cults get along,” Flora said.

“And everyone knows how Shaathists are about women,” Fauna added.

“Apparently you don’t. Shaath always needs women.” Savvy made the coin vanish into her sleeve and straightened up, dividing a long look between them. “Your training has been mostly on practical matters, but you need at least a basic grasp of the theologies of the other cults. Particularly the ones we tend to butt heads with. The Huntsmen are always looking to recruit women. A successful man in this faith is one who can afford to provide for two or more wives; just by the numbers, they need to have more women than men in their ranks. The bar is set accommodatingly low for female converts to Shaathism, but men have to prove a great deal before being allowed to join a lodge from outside the faith. You can walk into any Shaathist lodge, anywhere, and if you don’t mind a generally condescending attitude toward your faculties, you’ll have no cause for complaint about your treatment. Now, if you marry a Shaathist, your ass is his to do with as he pleases. But for an unattached female, a lodge is probably as safe a place to seek shelter as an Avenist temple. Creepy and not pleasant, but safe.”

“Huh,” Flora said, sounding flummoxed.

“Relating to that,” Savvy added with a faint smirk, “spend any amount of time around here and you will be courted. Aggressively.”

“Tholi is newly raised to the rank of Huntsman,” Ingvar chimed in with an amused smile, “and looking for his first wife. Give him an hour or so to decide which of you he wants and you’ll see what she means. It’s a rare honor for a Huntsman to claim an elf maid for his own.”

“Him and what army?” Fauna said, baring her teeth and placing a hand on the hilt of her dagger. Ingvar laughed.

At that moment, the rear door opened again and Bishop Varanus himself emerged, crossing to them with long strides, Tholi trailing along behind. Andros wore traditional leather, with a pelt of some spotted animal hanging from his shoulders like a cape; he carried a longbow in one hand, and a heavy knife and hatchet hung at his belt. He came to a stop next to them, studying the three.

“What is this about, then?” he asked without preamble.

“Bishop Darling went off about four hours ago with a companion, tracking two other allies of his through metaphysical means,” Savvy reported crisply. “The two in question were pursuing a nest of the Black Wreath. He left instructions to seek help if he wasn’t back by dinner, which he was not. So here we are.”

Andros drew in a long breath through his nose and let it out quickly. “How many Wreath? Of what potency? With what demonic allies?”

“Everything I know, I’ve just told you,” Savvy said evenly.

“And you cannot go to your Guild with this?”

“The Guild’s skills are not most applicable here,” she replied, “and besides, the Bishop believes they are compromised by the Wreath. I have no idea where he is, only that he is certainly in some trouble. We need trackers.”

Andros grunted in agreement. “Antonio is a dismal excuse for a fighter. What possessed him to chase a bear into its den?”

“The allies he’s with are far from weak.”

“Allies?”

“Gravestone Weaver and the Sarasio Kid.”

Tholi’s eyes widened and he bit back a curse. Ingvar simply lifted an eyebrow, watching Andros.

The Bishop himself stroked his beard once with the hand not occupied with his bow, frowning. “There is a limit to what powers the Wreath can bring to bear within the city. Hn…very well. If Antonio has been delayed, he is presumably in danger, and requires assistance. Hopefully those allies will suffice to hold out. Come.”

He turned and strode off toward the front door. Price immediately fell into step behind him, followed by Ingvar. Tholi and the elves brought up the rear, eying one another warily.

“Is this…all?” Flora asked. “This is the only help you’re bringing?”

“There are few Huntsmen in residence, and mustering them will take time we cannot spare,” Andros replied curtly. “Ingvar is one of the lodge’s finest, and Tholi…can run ahead, beating the bushes.”

Ingvar grinned, and Tholi devoted a self-defeating amount of effort to not looking sullen.

“And what about you?” he countered, glaring at Flora. “Three women is the only thing you offer your Bishop in a time of need?”

“This woman is a Butler,” Andros said.

“I don’t see a uniform,” Tholi snipped.

“You don’t see the world,” Ingvar replied calmly, and the youth fell silent, flushing.

“And these two are only partially trained,” Andros continued, “but you should know that elves are never to be taken lightly.”

Sweeping outside, he paused at the top of the steps, turning to face them. “I need something of Antonio’s.”

Price instantly produced a strip of cloth from inside her coat, handing it to him. The four Huntsmen, including the one watching the door, paused to regard the paisley silk scarf with identical expressions, then Andros raised two fingers to his mouth and let out a long, sharp whistle.

A shape formed seemingly out of thin air, a bluish-white discoloration upon the world, as if it were an invisible presence wreathed in frost. It was a wolf, standing waist-high on the Huntsman who had summoned it, eyes glowing like blue candle flames and a faint but steady mist trailing off its fur. Andros held the scarf in front of its nose.

“Find this lost friend,” he said softly, tucking his bow under his arm to stroke the ghostly animal’s neck.

The wolf made a soft whuff, then whirled and bounded down the steps. It paused at the bottom, looking up at them, its aspect clearly impatient.

“And now,” Andros said with a grin, “we hunt.”

 

Joe fired off another warning shot, blasting a spray of rubble from the corner of the building up ahead. “I confess it’s downright liberating, doing something like this in a civilian-free landscape for which I won’t be held financially liable.”

“Yeah, something about this city is just asking to be shot to hell,” Weaver said tersely; he held a wand in one hand and his flute in the other. He’d not distributed earplugs, so hopefully he was planning to rely on the former, not the latter. “Did you get it?”

“Nope,” said Joe, keeping his gaze on the now-smoking corner around which the demon had retreated. “Just scared it off.”

“Means there’s a warlock behind it somewhere,” said Darling. “Katzils are smart, but not sentient; once on the hunt it wouldn’t retreat unless ordered to.”

“Cat and mouse it is, then,” Joe murmured, tearing his eyes from the corner to peer warily about.

“Guys, we might all die out here,” said Peepers solemnly, “so…just so we don’t go out with any unfinished business, I want you to know I hate you all.”

“Aw, somebody’s not having fun,” Darling said, grinning at her. “Relax, Peepers, we’re gonna be fine. Think of it as a great game—the great game. You know your catechism, surely.”

“I’m fully comfortable thinking of theft, espionage and extortion as games,” she snapped. “That I was trained for. I did not apprentice myself to the Thieves’ Guild because I wanted to be chased around by fucking demons.”

“And warlocks!” Weaver said helpfully.

“Hate. You. All.” She viciously kicked a chunk of fallen masonry out of the road. “Except maybe Joe. Mostly because he’ll let me slap him upside the head if we survive this.”

“Excuse me?” Joe said, affronted. “What did I do?”

“Come now, vaudeville while we move, please,” Darling said, setting off for a side alley.

“Let’s keep going to the next alley,” Weaver said. “That one’d put us straight down the line of sight of that demon’s last known position.”

“Oh, it could be anywhere by now,” Darling breezed. “Worry about the demons when you see them. This really is a game, guys. It cannot go on long and it can’t involve a huge amount of force. It’s only a matter of time and not much of that before the Empire or the Church realizes this district is blockaded with infernal magic. The Wreath doesn’t deal in brute force tactics; whatever they’ve fielded against us will be fine for chasing around a ragtag band of misfits, but not enough to stand against an Imperial strike team or squad of Silver Legionnaires. Keep moving, keep alert, and we’ll get through the night just fine.”

Weaver actually walked backward a few paces as they proceeded down Darling’s selected alley, peering up the street where the katzil demon had last been seen. “Fine, whatever. I still think going straight would have been safer. We’re backtracking toward where we shot at that guy with the staff. Likely to be more Wreath in the vicinity.”

“When we don’t know where the Wreath may be, assume they could be anywhere!” Darling said cheerfully.

“Hate you so much,” Peepers growled.

“Then why this alley?” Weaver demanded.

Darling turned his head and grinned at him.

 

Carter staggered as the latest swell of shadows deposited them on another rooftop, bracing himself against the low wall surrounding its edge. A figure in gray robes, accompanied by a hulking, crocodile-like demon—a khankredahg, that’s what they were called—prowled the streets below.

“How’re you holding up, Mr. Long?” Embras Mogul asked solicitously. “Shadow-jumping itself is perfectly harmless to the body and spirit, I can assure you, but I know any kind of rapid teleportation can be disorienting. Particularly if one isn’t used to it.”

“I’m…fine,” Carter said, straightening and taking a breath, and finding that he more or less was. “This is…well, not what I was expecting.”

“We aim to entertain,” Mogul said with a grin and a bow. “And now, if you don’t mind a momentary respite from the action, I’m going to offer you the chance to see something even most warlocks never manage to behold.”

“Oh?” Carter reflexively pressed himself back against the wall. It was a four-story drop, but he’d never had a problem with heights. He had what he felt was a perfectly reasonable aversion to demonology, though.

“All this running around, stalking shadows and shooting around corners is very exciting, to be sure,” Mogul said, reaching into his inner coat pockets. He produced an ancient-looking clay bottle and set it upright on the flat rooftop, then pulled forth a handful of fine gray powder, which he trailed around it, forming a circle. “However, I find that I’ve somewhat lost my taste for playing games for their own sake as I grow older. Our visitors are proving to be exactly the kind of delightful challenge I enjoy when I don’t actually have anything that needs to get done, but this isn’t the night for it. Here we are, wasting your valuable time and keeping me from my beauty rest. So! I’m arranging a little shortcut. It’s cheating, really; takes a lot of the fun out of the game. A man must do what he must, though. You know how it is.”

As he chattered, he had knelt beside the bottle and its boundary of powder—which was lying remarkably flat despite the light wind over the rooftop—and begun augmenting the circle with a piece of chalk, adding glyphs and embellishments whose meaning was completely lost to Carter. He flipped to a new page in his notebook, though, and began making a sketch, leaving out the glyphs. Writing down demonic symbols, especially summoning symbols, seemed like an invitation to trouble.

“Since we have a moment to breathe,” he said while they both worked, “may I ask about what we saw in that alley? That was obviously the symbol of Vidius, who isn’t known to be very proactive in combating Elilial. Or, at least, he doesn’t have that reputation among most mortal laypeople. I guess everything looks different from the Wreath’s perspective. What could create an effect like that, if there wasn’t a Vidian priest nearby?”

“Well, for starters, that neatly answered the question of what happened to my succubus,” Embras mused, continuing to draw on the floor. “This has been a night of firsts for us all, Mr. Long. Suffice it to say there are much more dangerous things than demons prowling this night. But not to worry! You and I are perfectly safe. I don’t have much to fear from holy symbols, which are about the worst that Vidius’s little pets can throw onto the mortal plane, though I don’t fancy trying to walk through one and having to replace most of my personal effects as a result. It’s all terribly inconvenient, though. Now I have to re-summon Vlesni, and she’s always such a pain about it.” He looked up at Carter and winked. “She’s a sweet girl, really, just can’t resist the opportunity to be a pain in the butt. The children of Vanislaas are like that, as you may have heard. She’s forever trying to sneak her friends through, as if I need extraneous demons cluttering up the place. Believe me, Mr. Long, you never want a demon around that you haven’t fully planned for, and prepared the means to both control them and get rid of them when you’re done.”

“I must say the most surprising thing to me is how responsible you seem to be about diabolism,” Carter remarked. “The last time I heard this much talk about safety measures I was interviewing a professional wandfighter.”

“Betcha I have more reason to worry than he did,” Mogul said glibly. “Worst thing you can do with a wand is kill somebody. All right, now, prepare to feast your eyes!”

With a dramatic flourish, he plucked the lead stopper from the upright bottle and stepped back.

A thick mist immediately poured out, curling upward and filling the air with the scent of spices and an ocean breeze. The smoke coalesced, rapidly taking the shape of a man—or at least, the upper half of one. Below the waist he trailed off into a swirling funnel of smoke, the tail of which poured into the mouth of the bottle. Above he was shirtless, muscular, and bald as a melon. And, at the moment, grinning broadly.

“Finally,” he said, his voice resonating as though heard down a long tunnel.

“Getting antsy, are we?” Mogul said, grinning in return. “Now, you know how I like to solve things for myself. If I weren’t in such a hurry—”

“Oh, Embras, you know I don’t care about that,” the smoke-creature interrupted. “But I do keep an eye on you, and I did so desperately want to see the look on your face when this one was explained to you.”

“Is that a djinn?” Carter breathed.

“It most surely is,” Embras said brightly. “Mr. Long, may I present Ali Al-Famibad, an old acquaintance and colleague of mine. Ali, this is Carter Long, noted journalist.”

“Indeed, I quite enjoyed your column, when it was circulating,” the djinn said, bowing elaborately to Carter, which was a very peculiar sight given his lack of legs.

“I…you… Well, it’s news to me that the Herald is distributed in Hell,” Carter said weakly.

Ali let out a booming laugh. “My good man, I am, after all, a djinn! Knowledge is what I do. Knowledge is what I am. And I rather miss your opinion column, I must confess. Naturally the position as reporter makes better career and financial sense from your standpoint, but when dealing with the facts you tend to suppress that sly wit of yours. ‘Tis a loss to the world.”

“Why…thank you,” Carter said, bemused.

“Glad as I am to see you all getting along,” Embras interjected, “I have a little problem, Ali.”

“Ah, yes, your Eserites.” Turning back to him, the djinn grinned broadly, an expression with more than a hint of cruel mockery. “I have advised you time and again not to antagonize Eserion’s followers—they play your little games as well as you, and with less courtesy. As a case in point, you’ll be wanting to know where the good Bishop Darling and his friends will poke their heads up next, yes?”

“Quite so,” Embras replied, then turned to Carter. “By the way, Mr. Long, Ali and I have a long-standing and fully enforceable contract. Should you ever find yourself in a position to ask a favor of a djinn, or any sentient demon, don’t. The loopholes will get you every time. It’s not only a joke that lawyers make the best warlocks.”

“I can’t really see that coming up,” Carter said, “as until two minutes ago I thought djinn were a myth. But thanks for the advice.”

“Here it is, then,” Ali boomed, and dissolved. He swirled about above the circle as a cloud of smoke for a moment, before resolving his shape into a visual representation of the district. The demon’s voice echoed sourcelessly out of the diagram. “And here is the path taken from your meeting point by the Bishop.”

A golden mote flared to life near one edge of the diorama, which did indeed resemble the nexus of streets where Carter remembered seeing them, or so he thought; it was very hard to align the map with his recollection of the area from the ground. The mote moved off rapidly down the tiny streets, leaving behind a glowing thread of gold tracing the path taken by the Bishop and his party.

Its form almost immediately was apparent. It was somewhat distorted by the angular nature of the paths they were obliged to take, conforming to the street grid, but there were enough alleys of various dimensions to give Darling enough free reign, it seemed. The golden thread traced out, in oddly blocky cursive script, a brief message.

“Well,” Mogul said after a moment of silent perusal. “I do say that seems rather…gratuitous.”

“How does he know the streets that well?” Carter marveled.

“It says ‘fuck you!’” Ali crowed from within the diagram. They didn’t need to see his face to know he was grinning. “Or it will when he gets to the end.”

“Yes, I can read Tanglish, thank you,” Mogul said dryly.

“How does he know the streets?” the djinn continued. “He is the streets. You’re one of the best operators it has ever been my privilege to know, Embras, but you’ve let your perceptions of Antonio Darling be colored by your first encounter with him, in a tiny town where you were in your element and he was wildly out of his. You’ve skillfully sealed off this district, which is the only way for you to safely tangle with that man in the streets of Tiraas. Know this, Embras Mogul: the next time you do, you’ll learn humility.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Mogul said solemnly. “So the question is, does he expect to be intercepted at the end of his little script? What trick might be prepared there? Or… You know what, no.” He shook his head. “You can drive yourself nuts playing ‘does he know that I know that he knows.’ No, I do believe I’m fed up with this foolishness. Come Mr. Long, let’s bring this to a conclusion.”

The three-dimensional map dissolved back into smoke, and then re-formed in the shape of the djinn’s upper body. Still smiling unpleasantly, he bowed again. “I have rendered my advice, Embras Mogul. Thus is our contract upheld. Ignore my counsel at your peril.”

“Thank you, I believe I shall.” Mogul bent forward and stuck the plug back in the bottle. Above it, the djinn dissipated instantly into the air, taking with him the exotic scent of whatever incense it was. “After all,” the warlock added, picking up the bottle and straightening, leaving the summoning circle inscribed on the floor, “life without peril is just too easy to be worth it. Don’t you think so, Mr. Long?”

Carter very much did not agree, but found himself with no safely polite way to say so.

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The long gallery was lined by murals of rough stone in muted primary colors, displaying slightly abstract patterns that looked like simple geometric decorations one moment and aquatic depictions the next, depending on where one focused. Shapes resolved themselves into fish, clams, strands of seaweed and even waves and whirlpools, without coming together in a way that portrayed any discernible scene. It was all further muddled by the streamers of water that flowed down the walls at irregular intervals, and the coatings of moss and lichen that filled most of the grooves in the stonework, spreading out to partially obscure the murals in places.

Though the walls were square-cut, both floor and ceiling were uneven and appeared natural. The craggy roof of the gallery was set with softly glowing crystals that filled the whole space with a pale, scintillating light. Its floor was partially underwater. There was a path of sorts, relatively flat banks of stone standing out from the pool below. Water laughed and gurgled on all sides, shimmering patterns of light reflecting from it all over the walls, but there was something ominous in the depths of it. Below the stepping stones was only blackness, with no hint at how deep it ran, or what currents might lie beneath. The stones, too, were wet with spray and slick with lichen, adding to the unnerving effect of the watery floor.

While the entrance of the gallery was a simple crack in the cave wall, its exit at the far end was more grand. A double staircase arced around a towering statue of a naga woman wearing a spined crown, leading to a platform above. The arched doorway beyond was huge enough to be easily visible even from the lower level and the far end of the chamber; it was blocked by vertical bars, offering only a glimpse of whatever lay beyond. The statue of the Naga Queen was the most impressive, but far from the only one of its kind. Her sinuously lithe frame and regal features marched along the walls, interrupting the murals and in a couple of cases being constantly washed by falls of water from above.

“Does this look a little familiar to anyone else?” Juniper asked, turning slowly to peer around.

“It’s really, really pretty,” Fross all but whispered. “Like, wow.”

“Yes,” the dryad said, smiling briefly at her. “But it’s a little like Shamlin’s grotto, isn’t it?”

“That just looked like a wet cave,” said Ruda.

“I sort of see what she means, though,” Trissiny mused, also studying the gallery. “If you take away the carvings and the murals… It’s a wet cave of the same basic type. You think there may be a connection?”

“That’d imply that the grotto has some relationship to this place,” Toby said, frowning.

“Shamlin didn’t mention anything like that,” said Gabriel. “Though now that I think of it, we went there and found out about this… And not only did he have exact directions to this place, it wasn’t even all that far. Think there’s more going on here than he told us?”

Ruda snorted. “Hell, at this point I’m assuming nobody we talk to is telling us the straight truth about anything. Everybody keep on your toes.”

“Agreed,” Trissiny said solemnly. “I see no motive for Shamlin to entrap us, but…”

“But if we understood everyone’s motives, our trip would have gone very differently,” Gabriel said, grinning.

“Teal?” Shaeine asked quietly. The bard was staring intently at one section of wall, wearing a frown of concentration unlike the more casual observations of her classmates. At the priestess’s question, everyone turned to look at her.

“I think,” Teal said quietly, trailing off.

“Yes?” Ruda prompted after nearly a minute passed.

Teal shook herself slightly. “Do you see a pattern to these? It’s…tugging at me, somehow.”

“An enchantment?” Trissiny asked worriedly, turning to Gabriel, who shrugged.

“No,” said Teal with a hint of irritation. “A pattern. I swear there’s some kind of meaning to this, but I just can’t put my finger on oh gods it’s music!”

Shaeine actually had to steady her; Teal pointed eagerly at the wall, seeming not to notice that she had nearly slipped into the water in her excitement.

“Look! See, the clams and fish and things are notes! They’re set on horizontal wave patterns that threw me off because they curve up and down, and they break off and continue in chunks… But it’s five parallel bars, and the… Let’s see, the seashell would correspond to…” She meandered off into muttering, leaning forward to peer at the walls.

“Please be careful,” Shaeine cautioned, still holding onto her. “If you slip we are both likely to fall.”

“Here’s a question for the bard,” said Gabriel. “Are you familiar with the term ‘confirmation bias?’”

Teal made a swatting motion at him with one hand, not turning around.

“Ruda?” Trissiny asked. “Do you see music in that?”

“Not as such,” Ruda said, turning slowly to peer around at the walls. “But now that she points it out… I could see it being what she says. I mean… Yeah, see? The five bars, and the way the fish and clams and shit repeat along them. Look how the seaweed breaks up the groups of them. Like measures, see?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” said Gabriel. “Is musical notation really universal? Seems odd that cave-dwelling naga would use the same script as everyone else.”

“There are different systems of notation, but the Crawl doesn’t exactly exist without context,” said Fross. “I mean, adventurers from above were a heavy presence down here for thousands of years even before Professor Tellwyrn started exerting her influence. It doesn’t seem so unbelievable to me.”

“Do you think this is important, Teal?” Toby asked quietly.

Teal apparently ignored him, intent upon the walls. She was now humming broken snatches of music to herself.

“Shamlin didn’t say anything about it,” Trissiny said slowly, frowning into the distance. “But he did say that the snake flute was the key to this. That lends credence to the idea that music is significant here. Fross, can you keep an eye on Teal, please? Help Shaeine if she slips.”

“You got it!”

“And the rest of us?” Toby asked.

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to explore the chamber a little bit,” Trissiny replied. “I’d caution everybody to stay in sight, but…there doesn’t seem to be any place in here that’s out of view. Just be careful where you step, please.”

“You’re telling us?” Ruda cackled. “Boots, nobody else here is dressed in metal. We can probably swim; you’ll go down like a rock.”

“Thanks,” Trissiny said dryly, moving off toward the stairs and placing each footstep with extreme care.

Despite the urgency of their situation, the long antechamber was actually quite beautiful. The soft, shimmering light and constant sound of flowing water was soothing. Even Teal’s intermittent humming didn’t disturb the effect, and in fact added to it. There wasn’t much to see, though. The students knelt (very carefully) to investigate the water below, which remained cool, flowing, and impenetrably dark. After examining the naga statues and apparently musical murals a bit more, they all gravitated naturally to the stairs and the dais above. That, at least, had a smooth, artificial floor, which had the further advantage of not being wet. Everyone breathed a little easier with their feet solidly upon it.

The arch was a nearly perfect circle, flat only at the bottom where the level of the floor ran across it. Vertical bars blocked their way, fitting neatly into holes in the top and bottom of the archway. Despite the fact that this was clearly meant to be a door, there seemed to be no mechanism by which they could move. They were very solid to the touch, albeit rather odd. Slightly uneven, they were a dull gold in color, and looked like animal chitin but felt like metal. Rang like metal, too, which Ruda experimentally tapped on them with her rapier. Neither that nor anything else they tried brought a response.

“Well, I guess you have to stand here,” said Gabriel, shifting his feet in the circle of red stone set into the floor in front of the door. “And do…what?”

“Play the song with the snake flute, I bet,” said Juniper, glancing past the Naga Queen’s stone shoulder to her remaining classmates below. Fross had apparently been put to work illuminating the murals; Teal was working her way slowly up the chamber toward them, humming and studying as she went. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“That has to be the shrine, too,” said Toby. He slid his fingers absently along one of the glossy bars, peering through them.

The chamber beyond was shaped like a keyhole, with another long, narrow space terminating in a wide, circular one. There seemed to be a gap in the floor around the perimeter of the circle, though it was difficult to make out from this angle. In the center of it, on a dais, stood a large statue of the Naga Queen, her hands folded just in front of her navel. Something glittered between them, obscured by distance.

“Can anyone make out what that is?” Trissiny asked.

“It’s a waystone,” Juniper reported. “Or… I’m pretty sure it is. It’s the same shape as the other two we’ve seen and has that swirly symbol. It’s etched in gold, though, and the stone’s kind of dark gray.”

“Hmm,” Gabriel mused, stepping off the circle and wandering closer to squint into the shrine. The hall leading to it was dark, but the statue was brightly lit from above, the source of the light currently hidden from them. “That fits. Shamlin said the flute was the key to the…uh, key to skipping to Level 100.”

“Which means our bard is the key to the key to the key,” said Ruda, grinning. “And speaking of!”

Teal was drawing the sinuous flute from within her coat as she ascended the stairs, Shaeine’s hand tucked into her arm. “Yep,” she said. “I’ve got it down. Ready to give it a go?”

“Are you certain you have it?” Trissiny asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, Teal, but I remember the last musical puzzle we met. If the murals were confusing enough that you didn’t even recognize it at first…”

“It’s like…a code,” Teal said, shaking her head. “Not a very hard one, even. Once I matched up the symbols I could read it as easily as any piece of sheet music. Trust me, I made certain. Where I messed up in the Descent was in not planning far enough ahead; I made sure to look over the whole thing down there. It’s the same melody, it just repeats along the walls.”

“Guess we’re ready, then,” said Gabriel, backing away from the circle. “Not like there’s any other apparent solution.”

“Okay,” said Trissiny, drawing her sword as Teal approached. “Everyone, be on the alert for a trap; I still don’t quite trust anything about this. Shaeine, you’re on shields; Fross, stand by to levitate us if the floor falls.”

“You’re gettin’ paranoid, Boots,” Ruda observed.

“Yes, well, after we’ve been teleported halfway down the Crawl and then sent on a circuitous mockingjay hunt, I think a little paranoia is called for.”

Juniper frowned. “What’s a mockingjay?”

“Ain’t no such animal,” Gabe said with a grin. “That’s the point. See, you take somebody out in the woods and—”

Shaeine cleared her throat pointedly.

“And then Gabe shuts up,” he finished weakly.

“Every story should end that way,” said Ruda.

Teal stepped into the circle, raised the snake flute to her lips and as they all looked on tensely, began to play.

The melody was slow, soft and haunting. Something about it was intangibly exotic; of them, only Teal probably had the vocabulary to describe what it was about the tune that tickled at the mind that way, but its progression wasn’t what they were used to. It seemed unable to decide whether it was a major or minor key, yet everything flowed together and resonated beautifully. The snake flute had a sharp, reedy sound very unlike any flute any of them had ever heard, more reminiscent of an oboe.

Teal played through the tune once, then after a barely perceptible pause, went into it a second time. It wasn’t a long piece of music, but after two repetitions, they were starting to grow increasingly nervous. Nothing seemed to have happened; the bars still blocked their way forward, but at least no traps had sprung, either.

Coming to the end of her second play-through, Teal stopped, frowning at the bars. Gabriel opened his mouth to say something, then closed it when she lifted the flute back to her lips and took a breath.

In that moment, the bars abruptly slid upward with a soft rasp, vanishing into their holes along the upper curve of the doorway.

“Nice work!” Ruda crowed, slapping Teal on the shoulder.

“Yes indeed,” Trissiny agreed with a smile.

“That’ll teach people to say bards are useless!” Fross chimed.

Everyone turned to stare at her. After a moment, she dropped about a foot downward, her glow dimming slightly. “What? What’d I say?”

“Stay sharp, everyone, we haven’t arrived yet,” said Trissiny, turning and stepping into the hallway toward the shrine.

“Was that rude of me?” Fross asked sotto voce as they proceeded after her.

“It’s okay, Fross,” Teal assured her, grinning. “They say a lot of the same things about bards that they do about pixies. We’re all in this together.”

The circular shrine proved to be much deeper and taller than the rest of the small complex. The island on which the Naga Queen’s statue stood rose out of a deep pit, the entire periphery of the chamber plunging downward into dimness. There was a bridge to it from the hall approaching, barely two feet wide and without rails. As they neared, they could indeed see the stone, exactly as Juniper had described it. The Queen held her hands a foot or so apart; the waystone hovered between them in midair, rotating slowly in silence.

Teal crept to the edge and leaned forward, peering over. “More mushrooms. This place is just…wait a second. Are those…?”

Gabriel joined her, looking down. “Holy shit, I don’t believe it. They are!”

“They are what?” Trissiny demanded, craning her neck. “They just look like mushrooms to me. A little sparkly, but…oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What is it?” Juniper asked from behind them, not having pushed her way forward to join the group.

Ruda had, and now stepped back, grinning broadly. “That, Juno, is a big circular pit entirely full of absolutely enormous glittershrooms.”

“Gods above,” Gabriel whispered. “Look at the size of them. Look at the quantity! The amount of gold we’re staring at—”

“No,” Trissiny said firmly.

“Well, obviously, I know we’re not going to harvest them. Let me just appreciate it for a moment!”

“Wow,” Team murmured, shaking her head. “I didn’t know they grew that big.”

“Actually they don’t really have an upper limit on growth,” Juniper commented. “Glittershrooms are a superfungus. They could get tree-sized or bigger, if they had a sufficiently dark, damp space with enough room. You don’t generally see that because somebody usually eats them long before they grow that big.”

Ruda laughed loudly.

“More to the point,” Juniper went on, “this is a little more subtle than we’re used to, but it’s pretty obviously a trap, guys. Glittershrooms release airborne spores that have the same effects as eating the caps or stalks.”

“They do?” Gabriel asked, turning to face her and stepping carefully away from the ledge. “I didn’t know that. Seems like someone would’ve found a way to use that.”

“Well, in theory, but for practical reasons the spores don’t make a good drug. They’re about as potent as the flesh of the fungus itself, but they’re tiny. Also, they only go airborne when the mushrooms get about that big, which, like I said, doesn’t often happen. Glittershrooms have been used as an intoxicant for so long that most modern varieties have a stunted ability to reproduce; they’re used to people cultivating them. I think we’re looking at an older, primal species, here.”

“How does that make it a trap?” Toby asked.

“Well, because that’s a big pit full of them,” Juniper explained. “If somebody fell into that, the impact would make them all drop spores, and whoever was down there would be too stoned to move before they could think about standing up.”

They regarded the ledge and narrow footbridge in silence for a moment.

“Well,” said Ruda, “the obvious answer to that is not to fall in. Which makes it too easy.”

Trissiny nodded, her expression grim. “And the prize is just sitting there. Odds are if you try to get the waystone, something knocks you into the pit. All right.” She turned to face the others. “Options? Ideas?”

“Frost!” said Juniper.

The pixie darted in front of her. “Yes?”

“Oh! Not you, I said ‘frost,’ not… Well, actually, you would need to do the… I mean, I didn’t mean I don’t want to talk to you! Or that you’re just—”

“June.” Toby placed a hand on her shoulder, grinning. “Start from the beginning?”

“Right,” the dryad said, somewhat abashed. “If we ice over the shrooms, that’ll stop them from releasing spores. A good frost will shut down basically anything in the plant or fungus kingdoms.”

“Oh! I can do that!” Fross chimed, bobbing about excitedly. “Just give me a second, I’ll have the whole thing frozen in a jiffy!”

“Careful,” Trissiny urged her as the pixie darted out over the pit.

“It’s okay,” she chimed, “I’ll just lay out some whoof!”

A jet of blue-tinged mist spurted up from below, catching Fross and blowing her roughly backward, straight into Teal’s face. The pixie bounced off her with a puff of glittery blue fog and drifted away, dust still shaking off her wings. A musty smell started to waft through the air.

“What the heck was that?” Fross demanded, vibrating rapidly and shaking off more dust.

“I dunno, but it was…kinda nice,” Teal said, grinning emptily. As they stared, she swayed slightly on her feet.

“Teal?” Shaeine asked sharply.

“Heeeey, love,” the bard drawled, leaning toward her…and then overbalancing. Shaeine barely caught her, staggering under her weight. Teal just continued grinning and twined her arms around the drow’s neck. “Why don’ we lie down for a bit?”

“Okay, this would be hilarious under other circumstances,” Ruda said. “Um, can anyone…fix her?”

“Divine healing doesn’t do anything for intoxication,” Toby said, frowning. “And by the way, let’s everybody step back away from that ledge?”

“Y’all should just relax,” Teal burbled into Shaeine’s neck. “Errybody so tense…”

“I can sort her out,” said Juniper, stepping forward and gently but firmly pulling the bard back upright. She paused then, holding Teal up by the shoulders while her head lolled vacantly about, and grimaced. “Um… I, uh, only know one way to do this, Shaeine. Sorry, but…”

“Please just remedy her,” the drow said, actual worry working into her voice.

Juniper sighed, pulled Teal forward and kissed her firmly on the lips.

This went on for several long moments.

“Uh,” Gabriel said awkwardly.

Suddenly Teal jerked backward, her eyes widening. Juniper released her, stepping back, as the bard scrubbed a hand across her mouth.

“Oh, gods,” Teal whimpered, her panicked eyes finding Shaeine. “Oh, my…I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

The drow interrupted her by stepping forward and wrapping her up in a hug.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “No one’s fault.”

“It’s actually pretty interesting!” Fross said brightly. “I did some research after the Golden Sea episode. Dryads don’t actually heal, per se; it’s technically a form of attribute theft. They take harm onto themselves, which in most cases isn’t noticeable on them because dryads are crazy durable and highly resistant to mind-altering effects. That’s why it works so well on drugs and poisons!”

“Fascinating,” said Trissiny, turning to stare grimly at the mushroom pit. “Did anyone else notice how that reacted to us having a plan to deal with it?”

“Yeah,” said Juniper, nodding. “I don’t think it’s just mushrooms down there.”

“Hmm…” Gabriel abruptly sat down with his back to the wall and began taking out his enchanting paraphernalia. A moment later he had his charm book open and was busily inscribing a glyph on a sheet of paper.

“See, I’m not sure that’s it,” said Ruda. “It reacted to Fross being physically within range. Think about it: why go to the trouble of keeping something intelligent in your crazy hazy mushroom pit when you can just have them reflexively shoot spores at anything that gets too close? Seems much simpler.”

“That makes sense,” Juniper said thoughtfully. “There are predatory plants and fungi that react that way to motion. A pixie flying over them could set that off.”

“Either way,” said Trissiny, “we’re left with the problem of getting over the pit un-stoned. Assuming that theory is correct and it’s not actually responding to us personally. I wouldn’t be surprised if that thing is an extension of the Crawl’s intelligence.”

“Easy way to check,” Ruda said lightly, strolling forward.

“Wait!” Trissiny shouted as the pirate brushed past her.

“Keep your distance, now,” Ruda told her, stepping out onto the footbridge. She strode firmly and without hesitation, seemingly unbothered by the narrowness of the path.

In the next second a cloud of blue dust shot up from directly under the bridge, surrounding her.

“Phew!” Ruda coughed, waving it away from her face. “Smells like somebody’s closet’s asshole. Fleh. I don’t understand why anybody wants to eat these things when there’s a whole world of fine-tasting booze out there.”

“That’s because alcohol is a depressant!” Fross said cheerfully. “Glittershrooms induce a state of euphoric calm, with mild hallucinations at higher concentrations. Totally different kind of drug! Hey, I’m glad your anti-alcohol effect works on it, though. I should’ve thought of that.”

“It works on magic cornbread, too,” Toby said, grinning.

“And enchanted pancakes,” Ruda added. “And whatever else is going down. All right, everybody, cover me. If something nasty’s gonna happen, it’ll happen now.”

She had stepped onto the island proper, and paused to brush puffs of glittershroom spores off her coat. Her head didn’t even reach the collarbones of the statue; Ruda had to climb up onto the coils of the Naga Queen’s lower body to get to the floating waystone. Behind her, the students tensed as she reached up and placed her hand on it.

The stone came away easily and without any reaction, as if nothing at all had been holding it there. Ruda waited for a moment, glancing about for a trap, then grinned and bounced it once on her palm.

“Well! Bout time something in this damn place was simple.”

Moving much more jauntily, she hopped down from the Naga Queen’s coils to the floor, and then strolled forward onto the footbridge, grinning at them. Another cloud of blue spores shot upward to surround her, even bigger than before, driving the rest of the students quickly back from the ledge. Ruda just grinned more broadly, tucking the waystone into her coat to wave the smog away with both hands.

It rose up behind her in utter silence; it was only the shouts of her classmates that made Ruda whirl to behold the creature.

An enormous gnarled stalk, long and sinuous as a serpent’s body, uncoiled itself from the pit below. As it ascended to the height of the Naga Queen’s stone hands, the glittering, oblong mushroom cap topping it split apart, revealing a maw lined with uneven fangs of glinting blue crystal. The thing exhaled a blast of dusty-smelling spored directly at Ruda, who coughed in protest and drew her rapier.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she demanded.

The mushroom monster reared back, opening its mouth wider and clearly preparing to strike like a snake. Ruda edged back as rapidly as she dared toward the relative safety of the hall, keeping her sword up and eyes on the monster.

A blast of white light ripped past her shoulder, piercing the thing’s head.

It let out a shrill squeal, followed by another as a second shot cleaved off the tip of its lower jaw. Gabriel strode forward into the encroaching cloud of spored, holding a glyphed sheet of paper over his mouth and nose with one and and continuing to fire his wand with the other. After five shots, the badly damaged mushroom beast appeared to have had enough and lowered itself back into the pit.

Ruda took that opportunity to turn and dart out of its range.

A fine haze of glittershroom spores had started to drift down the hall, with the students retreating rapidly from it. At Ruda’s approach, Fross fluttered forward, conjuring up a blast of wind that propelled the dust right back at the shrine, and lifting most of it from Ruda and Gabriel’s hair and clothes in the process.

“Hang on, guys,” the pixie said, hovering around them. “You’re just covered in it. I need to blow you properly.”

“You wanna tell her, or shall I?” Gabriel asked, his voice muffled by the page.

“No, no,” said Ruda, grinning hugely. “Let’s see if we can get her to say it again in mixed company. And how about you, eh? You’ve been downright useful on this trip, Arquin! It’s almost creepy.”

“Well, you know how it is,” he said modestly. “My day isn’t complete until a woman calls me creepy.”

“You might not want to open your mouths,” Fross advised, zipping around them and directing careful streams of air, driving away every deposit of glittershroom spores she could find.

They regrouped back on the dais above the water hall, well out of range of the Naga Queen’s shrine, its lurking guardian and the intoxicating mushroom spores. Ruda produced the waystone from her pocket, holding it up for the others to study as they clustered around.

“Well, it seems simple enough,” Toby said. “Assuming this works like the other waystones, we know where it’ll send us.”

“At least, according to Shamlin,” added Gabriel. “Whom we have apparently chosen to trust.”

“As suspicious as I generally am of the Crawl and everything and everyone in it,” said Trissiny, “I think Shamlin wouldn’t try to get us into trouble. Remember, he’s an initiate of the University. He knows its name.”

“What if he’s an initiate with a grudge?” Gabriel suggested.

She shook her head. “He’s a bard. Loyal alumnus or bitter dropout, or whatever else, he would have to be either insane or suicidal to pick a fight with Tellwyrn. Maybe I’m not the best judge of character, but he didn’t seem either to me.”

“I agree,” said Toby. “That, and his explanation for the rest of what’s befallen us makes sense. His directions to the shrine worked, and he did apparently help us get the snake flute.”

“Claims he did, anyway,” Ruda grunted.

Toby shook his head. “Guys, we can go around like this all day. Ultimately, we’re gonna have to take a risk, one way or the other. I think Shamlin is being straight with us. Does anyone disagree?”

After a moment in which they looked around at each other in silence, he nodded. “Then… Here we go. Level 100 and, I guess, the Naga Queen herself.”

“Wait, I thought she was just down in the bottom of the Crawl,” said Gabriel. “What makes you think she’s the boss of the Descent?”

“Who better?” Trissiny asked. “Besides, if she’s as powerful as all that, Tellwyrn wouldn’t likely leave her running around at liberty. Even if it’s not her, though, we are about to step into a serious fight. Link arms as usual to use the waystone, but be ready to pull weapons. Ruda, since you retrieved it, do you want to do the honors?”

“Wait,” said Teal, stepping backward from them. “I’m not coming.”

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“Why?” Shaeine asked quietly.

Teal gently took her hand and held it. “I’ve been thinking, putting things together. You really won’t need me going into a fight. Vadrieny won’t use deadly force at my request. I believe there’s something else going on here, something that I actually can help deal with, but it’ll require me to work elsewhere while you’re occupied in the Descent.”

“What do you mean?” Trissiny asked, frowning.

“I’ve got a theory,” said Teal. “Let me tell you what I think.”

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The alley behind the apartment was less dim than its interior, albeit not by much. Above them, the sky was fading rapidly to orange, though not much of that light penetrated into the narrow space backing the crumbling edifice. Two smaller structures sat behind it, with another thin sliver of navigable space between them, which Joe glanced longingly down as they crept past it. The space was only a yard wide, and it was liberally seasoned with trash. Being Tiraas, the layer of detritus on the floor of the alley had been wet enough long enough to become a layer of homogenized, ill-smelling sludge, with crunchier bits of broken wood and windblown paper sprinkled here and there along the top.

Like an apple cobbler. Peepers had seemed pleased with this metaphor, and even more pleased with Joe’s lack of amusement.

She crept along in near silence, while his boots alternately squelched and crunched; quiet moving had not been part of his education. While Joe kept his wands out and eyes roving, turning frequently to glance behind, above, and at windows they passed for any possible threat, she remained intent on the building they had just exited, peering upward and counting windows.

“Here,” she said softly, coming to a stop. “Straight up.”

Joe didn’t bother to ask if she was sure. He put his back to her and kept moving his eyes, certain they were about to come under some kind of attack. It made no sense to him that the succubus might be the only guardian in the building.

“You can climb it?” he asked, half-expecting nothing but a snarky comment in reply.

She surprised him. “Gods, I hope so. The windowsills help, as does the bad state of this stone… But this was a pretty smooth surface, once. Be sure to glance up now and then, I may need to be caught.”

“If you need to be caught,” he said darkly, “we’ll need to run. Unless you can fall a lot more silently than anyone I’ve ever heard of.”

He glanced at her in time to catch her grin, and then she was off. With one bound she got her feet on the sill of the window. It was bricked up, as was the one on the second floor—apparently there had been ground-floor views when this structure was built—but the third floor, her target, was high enough to see out over the sloped roof of the building behind, and its window was covered with nothing but dilapidated wooden shutters which had once been painted green. Peepers had to press herself flat against the surface; the surviving windowsill gave her a few inches on which to plant her fingers and toes, but nothing more. She stretched upward, groping experimentally toward a crack in the stone above.

“All right, I believe that’s enough of that nonsense.”

He whipped up his wand, aiming at the speaker, and immediately Peepers spoiled his shot, lurching backward off the wall in her surprise and barely managing to land on her feet, right in his line of fire. Beyond his companion’s crouched form, he beheld a person in an all-concealing gray robe, pointing a wand at him.

He had not heard her approach.

“I suggest you put that down, ma’am,” he said. Politely, but firmly.

“No, no, dear, that is not the situation. I am not the one needing to protect a bystander, here.” She adjusted her aim, pointing the wand at Peepers, who froze.

Joe didn’t move, studying her. The robe had a cowl that kept her face in full shadow, but the hand holding the wand was expertly manicured, its nails painted an excessively flashy shade of pink. Her voice was low, and deliberately sultry in a way that was starkly inappropriate in this context. She would be pretty under that hood, he knew. He’d grown up around enough prostitutes to know the type. Even if nature hadn’t blessed her looks, this was someone who would have an expert grasp of cosmetics.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I can disarm or kill you if your finger tightens a fraction. I’d prefer not. Please drop the weapon.”

A throat was cleared behind him, and Joe flattened himself against the wall, bringing up his other arm and aiming his wands in both directions down the alley. Another figure in a gray robe had materialized several yards down, cutting them off. He also was carrying a wand, a mass-produced model with a standard clicker, like his fellow cultist.

Materialized was the word. There had been no sound, nothing to warn of their approach until they were there. Shadow-jumping, then; these were either warlocks or had Wreath talismans.

“Now, young man,” the woman said condescendingly, “you can’t fight in both directions, especially if you’re trying to protect—”

She broke off with a hiss of surprise and pain as a beam of light lanced out from Joe’s wand, ripping the weapon from her hand. A second shot from his other wand simultaneously disarmed the robed man, who actually yelped and stumbled backward.

“Wouldn’t think so, would you?” Joe said. “I did warn you, ma’am.”

“Holy shit,” Peepers breathed.

“Language,” he said automatically. “There are ladies present.”

Peepers glanced at the robed woman, now cradling a singed hand against her chest, and back at him. “Yeah? Where?” He sighed.

Then came the stomping.

“You probably should have surrendered,” the woman said smugly.

Peepers pressed herself back against the wall; Joe didn’t budge, keeping his eyes forward so as to keep both warlocks peripherally in view. Neither of them moved, however, apart from nursing their hands. The footsteps echoing down the side alley were far too heavy to belong to anything human.

The thing that emerged bore out that analysis.

It couldn’t really fit in the alley; its broad shoulders scraped both sides hard, and it couldn’t even raise its arms in the cramped confines. The creature was very roughly humanoid in shape, albeit twice the size of any man Joe had ever seen, with a disproportionately broad chest and stubby legs. And it had no head, just a protrusion at the top of its shoulders; its face was over-large and located in its chest, its fanged mouth hanging below where the ribs would be. It was entirely covered in bronze scales, even its lips; a double ridge of pointed scales extended up over its mouth, making the interior seem a forest of fangs in the brief moment that it hung open. Then it clamped shut, glaring at him through disconcertingly tiny black eyes.

Joe shot it directly in the center of its mass.

The demon growled at him.

“Really should have surrendered,” said the female warlock with unmistakable satisfaction. “A baerzurg’s skin is utterly impervious.”

“Oh?” he said, raising his wands again. “Good. Thanks for the tip, ma’am.”

The next two wand shots took the demon right through what there was of its head. It emitted a hoarse grunt and started to topple backward, immediately wedging itself tight in the narrow alley. Its brawny arms hung limply; smoke drifted up from its eye sockets.

From behind it, the man squalled, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

The woman gaped in silence for three seconds, then raised her good hand. There was no visible effect, but Joe felt the temperature in the air lower slightly.

He pointed a wand directly at her head.

“Do. Not.”

She froze, letting her spell fizzle. In the next second she turned and scrambled all of fives steps away before the dimness of the alley itself seemed to rise up and swallow her.

“What is going on?” the other warlock demanded, kneeling in the muck to peer under the dead baerzurg’s armpit.

“She ran away,” Joe informed him. “In all modesty, you might wanna think about—there ya go.”

The man had risen awkwardly and retreated; in the next second he, too, vanished in improbable silence.

“Holy crap,” said Peepers, staring at Joe. “This really isn’t your first rodeo, is it?”

“Never had to deal with demons before,” he muttered. “I’d rather never again. Can we consider our cover blown and skedaddle, please?”

She sighed heavily. “Yeah, might as well. If they brought out the heavy wands like that, I don’t want to see what happens when they get desperate. C’mon, it looks like that way’s off the table.”

Peepers turned and started off down the alley away from the obstructing demon corpse, Joe right on her heels. They made it all of six yards before the shadows ahead swelled again, and two more figures materialized.

With more agility than he’d expected after seeing her tumble off the wall, Peepers whirled around behind Joe. He raised both weapons.

“I don’t see any need for another dust-up,” he said flatly. “We are leaving. Best for everyone involved if we don’t have to go through you.”

“This kid killed Vhakzud?” the figure in the lead said, craning his head to peer past Joe. “…oh. Oh, I see. That’s actually quite impressive, for several reasons. Anyhow, kid, no. I’m afraid your escape ends here.”

“Don’t let him shoot!” his companion, the woman from before, said somewhat tremulously.

The figure in the lead grinned, faint light glinting off his teeth. In fact, light glinted on other surfaces, along his forehead and shoulders, and lower arms, all of which seemed distorted. In the dimness, even Joe’s perceptions took a moment to make sense of what he was seeing. The fellow had outgrowths of some kind of armor, which seemed natural, or at least melded to his skin. It gleamed faintly like chitin. At any rate, it affected his posture; he kept his knees slightly flexed, his upper body angled forward and his elbows bent, hands dangling in front of him.

“Are you, by chance, another demon?” Joe asked.

“’fraid so,” the self-professed demon replied, still smiling. “Somehow I doubt you’ll take my word that you’re not getting by me the way you did Vhakzud. By all means, go ahead and shoot me.”

“By your leave, then,” Joe said politely, and fired a beam of energy directly into his eye.

“Ow!” the demon protested, twitching his head to the side. “You little twerp, that stings! It’s too dark in here for that kind of light show.”

Joe lowered his weapon a fraction, his own eyes widening. That beam should have been enough to bore a hole through a tree.

“Good trick, though,” the demon went on, blinking his affronted eye. “Baerzurgs have armored skin, so a shot through the eye socket takes out the brain. I am seriously impressed; we’ll have to talk about where you learned to shoot like that. But hethelaxi are just magically invulnerable—no tricks, no gimmicks. So, are we done here, or is there going to be a ruckus that gets you or your ladyfriend injured?”

“Ruckus,” Peepers said immediately. “The hell I’m going anywhere with demons and warlocks. I bet if you keep shooting you’ll find a soft spot.”

“Maybe,” Joe mused.

“I mean over his shoulder,” she said in exasperation, pointing past him at the woman hovering behind the hethelax. At this, she ducked down, concealing herself behind the demon much as Peepers was behind Joe. The two of them exchanged a wry look.

“I’m not much of a scrapper,” the demon confessed. “But the fact is, you can’t harm me, and you can’t stop me. All my employers will want to know is who sent you here and why. With that out of the way, you may as well just leave. Nothing you tell anyone will lead to us, and the Wreath is looking to increase its public profile anyway.” He leaned forward subtly, making no threatening moves. “A quick chat, we get our publicity, you get to spend the rest of your evening not being hexed and beaten on by demons. How is there a downside for anyone in this?”

“Well, you make a persuasive case,” Joe said, nodding.

“We have a deal, then?

“I’m afraid it ain’t really up to me,” he said apologetically. “I’m just the hired wand, I don’t make the rules. The rules are we don’t cooperate with the Black Wreath.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” the demon said with a sigh. “Now somebody’s going to get all mussed. I have to ask, what drives you to be so stubborn?”

“Sheer bloody orneriness, mostly,” Joe confessed, raising both his wands.

The hethelax crouched, bracing his arms apart as if to attack rather than defend against wandshots, but Joe wasn’t even aiming at him.

A spray of white bolts flashed out from each weapon, digging into the walls of the structures to either side of the demon and warlock. Fine beams of light sank deep into the crumbling stone, sending up small clouds of dust and tiny flecks, and followed a split-second later by heavier bursts of power that exploded within the holes just bored. Under the onslaught, the walls gave away, tumbling inward onto the pair.

The hethelax braced both his arms over his head; there came a short scream from the woman, quickly cut off. Empty rooms gaped on both sides of them now, their exterior walls reduced to fragments. Pieces continued to crumble off from above.

Joe turned back toward Peepers, quickly sheathing one wand to tip his hat. “Ma’am, I apologize for the language—”

“Just run!” she exclaimed, grabbing his wrist and dragging him forward.

They had to duck under the dangling arm of the slain baerzurg to get into the alley from which it had emerged, but in the next second they were clear, pelting down the narrow path toward the silent street ahead, neither of them imagining for a moment that this was over.

“What was that?” Carter exclaimed, jumping to his feet at the crash resounding from just below. The entire room shook slightly.

Mogul rose more languidly, stepping over to the window, and pushed up the sash then opened the shutters utterly without hurry. He leaned far out, looking down.

“Ah,” he said in an oddly satisfied tone. “We appear to be under attack.”

“We are?” Carter asked nervously, protectively clutching his notebook to his chest. “By whom?”

“Oh, the usual, I suspect,” Mogul said airily, ducking back in and straightening up. “Well, Mr. Long, it seems we are about to have an adventure!”

“Oh,” the reporter replied carefully, edging back toward the door, “I don’t think…”

“Forgive me if this sounds disrespectful to your profession,” Mogul went on, stepping toward him, “but words are cheap. I brought you here to learn the truth about the Black Wreath. Well, you’ve listened with great patience while I nattered on about this and that, for which I thank you, but you and I both know that my viewpoint is only that. You need facts; your editor will demand hard, objective evidence. Fortuitously, it appears the Church or some of its lackeys have provided you a chance to see them in action!”

“By ‘action,’” Carter hedged, “you mean…”

“I mean,” Mogul said with a canny smile, “you’ll get to find out what the agents of the gods really do to those who commit the egregious sin of not sharing their opinions. In fact, this is absolutely perfect; I couldn’t have asked for a better case in point. Don’t you worry, Mr. Long; you and your pen are far too important to me to take any unwarranted risks. Your person is sacrosanct, I assure you. We’ll not allow you to come to any harm.”

“Well…when you put it that way, this sounds like an opportunity I can’t pass up,” Carter said somewhat reluctantly, but with the eagerness of a hound on the scent beginning to rise again in his face and voice.

“Splendid!” Mogul said cheerily. “It would have gotten all awkward if I’d had to insist.”

The shadows rose and swallowed them up, and suddenly they weren’t there anymore.

“That came from around behind the building,” Weaver said, narrowing his eyes.

“So it did,” said Darling, pausing at the base of the steps up to the apartment’s front door. “Hm…now that we know where the action is, it doesn’t seem worthwhile to get ourselves cornered in this dark maze of hallways, does it?”

“Not that it ever did,” the bard growled. “I suppose you’ll want to go charging blindly into whatever cause that racket, then?

“Oh, don’t be melodramatic, your face’ll stick that way.” Darling hopped lightly back down the steps and brushed past him. “I don’t know these streets as well as some—hardly seemed worthwhile, with them on the docket for renovation. There’s a general grid to the neighborhood that makes a rough sort of sense, though. We’ll make a slightly wider sweep around and approach from a less expected angle.”

“Finally, something distantly resembling logic,” Weaver snorted. “Lead on, then, brigadier.”

“So, what kind of capabilities does your little bugaboo have?” Darling asked, moving down the street at a good clip. He passed the edge of the apartment building and kept going, making for the next alley. “Can’t physically interact with the world, but apparently you can get intel from it?”

“Bugaboo,” Weaver grunted. “Charming. Would you kindly stop with the ‘it’ bullshit? I know you’ve been screwing around with oracles enough to know better. No need to be excessively rude.”

Darling glanced back at him, pointing one finger at his mouth. “This is the face I make when I’m repressing the first six responses that spring to mind. Just for future reference.”

“Duly noted, though I try not to look at your face any more than absolutely necessary.”

“Anyhow,” Darling went on, turning down the alley, “your point is taken. I was simply staying in the habit of using vague terms out of respect for your privacy, but I guess it matters little between just us. So what can she do to aid us in this situation?

“Mostly just keep tabs on what’s up ahead,” Weaver said. “Joe and Peepers are currently running. They’ve—well, Joe has killed a baerzurg and dropped a wall on a hethelax, which I’m sure you know will only slow it down.”

“Attaboy, Joe!” Darling cheered quietly.

“And my companion took out a succubus earlier. No other demons nearby have revealed themselves, but the Wreath in this area are making heavy use of shadow-jumping. In addition to those demons there have been two warlocks that appeared basically out of nowhere. No way to tell what—”

“Wait, stop,” Darling interrupted. “I thought you said she couldn’t touch the physical world? How did she take out a demon?”

“It was a succubus.”

“Oh, good, thank you. Maybe if you repeat it a few more times it’ll spontaneously start making sense.” They emerged into a side street; Darling darted across it to another sheltering alley, Weaver trailing behind him.

“It’s about death,” the bard snapped when they were back under the cover of looming walls. “Most demons are just things stuck on the wrong plane of existence. A Vanislaad is a human soul that’s already died and been condemned to hell. Them being here is fundamentally against the rules. She can send them back. Works for ghosts and undead, too, not that that helps us any.”

“Hm,” Darling mused, filing that away. “Well, giving us a bird’s eye view of the situation is helpful. Speaking of which…?”

“We’ve actually gone past them,” Weaver reported, pointing at the wall. “Back that way, about half a block over. They’re just coming out of an alley.”

“Perfect, I want to come at them from another angle. Anything else she might be able to do? And willing, of course. You know how I hate to impose.”

“Uh huh,” Weaver said dryly. “Actually, now that you bring it up…”

They had just burst out of the long alley into the street when a startled voice sounded from behind them.

“Rupa?”

Joe and Peepers turned.

“Hi, Carter!” she said, waving cheerfully.

Two figures stepped forward into the light at the very edge of the alley, a dark-skinned man in a dapper white suit, and the reporter from the Herald.

“Why, Mr. Long! You know this young lady? Or is Rupa the lad? Forgive me for jumping to conclusions, but it sounds like a Punaji name.”

“She’s…my editor’s secretary,” Carter said slowly, his forehead wrinkling into a frown as he spoke. “Interim secretary, actually. The real one suddenly took sick…”

“Ah, I can positively see you putting it together,” Mogul said, grinning. He turned to study the two of them; Joe now had a wand pointed at his chest, which seemed to concern him not at all. “You’re a little young to be a Church lackey, my boy. Especially dressed like that. Fashionable, but clearly not a uniform; they typically like to brainwash their kids before anything so outrageous as a sense of personal style develops. And you, my dear! An Eserite? That would suit you being used as a plant. Or perhaps an Avenist? They can be crafty at need, contrary to popular belief.”

“Don’t talk to him,” Joe said, backing away.

“You think?” she shot back derisively.

“Well, now, I consider myself a reasonable fellow.” Mogul took a step forward, his smile growing brittle. “You’ve only murdered one of my companions this evening that I can verify so far. Possibly two, if Hrazthax didn’t manage to shield Vanessa from that little avalanche you created. What I would really like to know is…what happened to my succubus?”

“She just keeled over,” Peepers said honestly. “I think it may have been a heart attack.”

“Look into my eyes,” Mogul said quietly, the mirth fading from his face in an instant, “and take a guess as to how amusing I find that.”

He stepped forward once more, coming to the very edge of the alley.

Light flared up in his path.

Mogul stumbled backward as the glow blazing forth solidified, forming a shape hovering in the mouth of the alley. It was a two-dimensional symbol, a mask with a scythe running through it vertically. There it hovered, its soft golden radiance gently illuminating all of them, the symbol of Vidius cutting off the warlock and reporter from the two fugitives.

“Oh, my,” Mogul said, sounding positively delighted. “How fascinating!”

“C’mon,” Joe said unnecessarily, turning and heading off down the street at a run. Peepers kept pace with him easily.

They both drew up short, though, as they passed a side alley and a voice from within hailed them.

“There you are!” Darling said brightly. “Well done, kids, you’ve smoked them out.”

“This district is lousy with Wreath,” Peepers said accusingly. “I think we’ve walked into a trap.”

“Young lady, as the person who walked into it and forced the rest of us to come in and get you, I think you’re in no position to be taking that tone with me.” Despite his chiding words, Darling was grinning. “Now come on, this way. We’ll talk as we move.”

“Think we can make it back to the main streets?” Joe asked, nodding at Weaver as the four of them set off down the alley toward the next street up. “I bet they won’t get too aggressive with that many witnesses…”

“No, no,” Darling interrupted. “Tactics, my boy, basic tactics. This district is bordered by canals; there are a limited number of bridges in and out. Why chase us around when they can just control the exits? We won’t be on our own indefinitely, but for now, our best bet is not to try to escape. They’ll intercept us at the bridges. If we scurry around and stay hidden in here, though, it’ll be a little while before Embras loses patience and starts trying in earnest to ferret us out. Enough time to try a few tricks of our own, at least!”

“Tricks of what kind, specifically?” Weaver demanded. “Really, don’t keep us in suspense. I’m sure this will be just hilarious.”

“Embras Mogul is a living theatrical streak in a nice suit,” Darling said. In the lead of the party, he grinned ahead into the darkness. It was probably best that none of them could see his predatory expression. “And he has an audience. Hell, that reporter is a proxy for an audience of virtually everyone. I may not know his plans, here, but I know he won’t be able to resist putting on a show.”

“Oh, gods,” Peepers groaned.

“Yup, you guessed it!” Darling interlaced his fingers and flexed them, cracking his knuckles. “I wish we could’ve stopped for popcorn on the way here, kids. This is going to be a spectacle.”

Dinner was strained, awkward, and quiet, the empty place set at the table relentlessly drawing the girls’ attention. Price never set out more places than were needed; they could always tell whether Darling would be there for a meal by whether a meal was prepared for him. Yet, there it sat, growing slowly cold while they finished their own dinner.

Flora and Fauna, though they were encouraged to sit at the table for meals at Darling’s insistence, were still apprentices, expected to be put to work, and ostensibly housemaids to boot; as usual, Price set them to busing their own dishes back to the kitchen. She, as always, had not sat to eat with them. In fact, they had never seen her do anything as mortal as eat. With the master of the house not present, she had not silently presided over dinner, but emerged from the kitchen with her usual impeccable timing as they were finishing up to remove the untouched meal set out for him.

“I must leave you to your own devices for the remainder of the evening,” Price informed them, once the plates were cleaned and drying in the dish rack.

The two elves exchanged one quick glance.

“We’re going with you,” they said in unison.

Price very slowly raised on eyebrow, an expression they had learned to regard with fear, but they both squared their shoulders, staring right back at her.

“You think so?” the Butler asked mildly.

“He’s in trouble, isn’t he?” Fauna demanded.

“We can read between the lines.”

“If you’re going out to help him—which you are—”

“—you can’t be crazy enough to think you’re leaving us behind.”

“You realize,” Price said mildly, “that if you insist on involving yourself in this, you do so in contradiction of the orders of both your Guild sponsor and trainer, and myself, your superior in both the Guild and this household?”

“And you realize we’ll just follow you if you try to leave us, right?” Fauna shot back.

“So long as we are all on the same page,” said Price, then turned and strode into the hall.

The apprentices scurried along after her, grabbing their outerwear from the racks in the foyer in passing.

“This is now a Guild operation,” Price informed them, pausing just before the front door. “Tags only from here on.”

They glanced at each other again.

“Um,” Flora said hesitantly, swirling her cloak around her shoulders in a dramatic swish, “we don’t have tags…”

“And we don’t actually know your…”

Fauna trailed off as Price removed her tailed coat and deftly turned it inside out, slipping it back on. Whether that activated the enchantment or she had touched a hidden rune in the process, her entire outfit melted from the impeccable Butler’s uniform to a casual ensemble of patched trousers, tight blouse and a rakish leather jacket. Settling this back over her arms, she made one swift pass through her carefully coiffed ginger hair with both hands; when her fingers came away, it was slightly, perfectly disheveled, just the finishing touch the disguise needed.

“Savvy,” she said, then pulled open the door and stepped out. She bounced down the steps and crossed the garden in three rangy strides, leaving the elves to trail after her in bemused silence.

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“I guess the most obvious question is, why now?” Carter settled back into the chair he had been offered, pencil poised over his notepad. His interviewee had perched on the edge of the bed, there being no other furniture in the little room. “Why is the Wreath suddenly interested in speaking openly?”

“Why, because you think this is unprecedented,” Mogul replied, steepling his fingers and smiling over them. It was a knowing smile, but not an overtly sinister one. That summed up his whole aspect; he didn’t threaten, but something about him always hinted at the level of control he had over the situation. The deliberate, slightly exaggerated way he moved his long limbs was evocative of a large spider. “There have, at various times in history, been enclaves of open Elilinist belief, whole societies dedicated to our faith, practicing their beliefs in broad daylight before their neighbors. Odd villages here and there in most parts of the world in most eras, but at times, entire kingdoms, and once, an empire worthy of the name. I don’t suppose you knew that, did you?”

“I did not,” Carter admitted, jotting down shorthand and refraining from saying he still wasn’t sure he knew it.

Mogul’s smile widened, his expression suggesting he understood what was in the reporter’s mind. “Let me begin by giving you some advice, Mr. Long. Once your paper has run your article, report immediately to Imperial Intelligence and turn yourself in for questioning. Once there, volunteer for any kind of mental scrying they want to do and positively fall over yourself to answer questions. I am not a source who needs protecting; hiding from my enemies is my entire way of life. You, on the other hand, will need to ingratiate yourself with the law.”

“Well, I’m not particularly worried about that,” said Carter. “The Writ of Duties—”

“Yes, yes, that is precisely my point. The Tirasian Dynasty makes it a point to be reasonable in its rule. Take advantage of that. If you fall, instead, into the hands of the Universal Church… Well, it’s likely that’ll be the last anyone sees of you.”

“The Church isn’t in the habit of accosting journalists,” Carter said with a smile. “Really, I appreciate your concern…”

“Rare is the journalist who has had the opportunity you are enjoying right now,” Mogul replied, that knowing smile still hovering around his lips. His eyes, though, were direct and intent. “You have no idea what the gods and their pawns do to people who truly threaten their interests. You don’t know because they are very good at doing it. Yes, right now you’re thinking this is exactly the kind of paranoid propaganda you would hear from a man in my position. Right?”

“In my line of work, one learns not to be judgmental,” Carter replied. “The point is to report on the facts, not to promote opinions about them.”

“Very laudable,” Mogul said, grinning now. “Here are some facts, then. Members of the Black Wreath set themselves up to oppose the greatest powers in existence, and live under the constant threat of imprisonment, injury and even death if exposed. Have you never wondered why?” He tilted his head, beginning to drum his fingertips against each other. “There’s no glory in what must be done in secret. There is assuredly no pay in it. Sure, one can accrue great power as a warlock, but the Wreath practice diabolism chiefly with an eye toward containing it; our summoners suffer a much lesser rate of damaging infernal corruption than those employed by the Church or the Strike Corps, or any other organization, for that matter. Chiefly because containing demons without permitting them to spread corruption is central to our calling. Why, then, do we do this?”

“You tell me,” Carter suggested, keeping his tone carefully mild. “That is why you asked to meet with me, correct?”

“I don’t oppose the gods because I’m a rebel, Mr. Long. I’m a rebel because I oppose the gods. Because once I understood the truth about the Pantheon, I could not live with my conscience while giving them the support of my prayers.”

Carter leaned forward. “And what is the truth?”

“The entire truth, I’m afraid, I can’t tell you. But there are things it is time for you—and your readers—to know. It is, as I’ve said, not without precedent for the Wreath to operate openly, though the Church has gone to great lengths to bury those facts.” He grinned, and winked. “But I encourage you not to take my word for it. The records may be destroyed or hidden, but there are living immortals who remember Elilinist kingdoms. There was one on this continent as recently as twelve centuries ago, in the foothills where Calderaan Province abuts the Stalrange.”

“Dragons and elder elves don’t have a reputation for being approachable,” Carter noted wryly.

Mogul grinned again and nodded. “True, true. But who better to approach them than a professional interviewer? If you want to start with an easier search, though, you might direct your attention to Last Rock. The good Professor Tellwyrn has some fascinating things in her University’s library, and she enjoys tweaking the establishment’s nose enough that she might show them to you. But for the moment, let’s focus on the here and now.”

He shifted, unfolding his legs and re-crossing them the other way, then settled himself with one hand on his knee, the other resting on the bed. His expression was suddenly much more serious.

“Four years ago, in locations scattered across the Empire, seven teenage girls spontaneously combusted. Only one survived. The Black Wreath was involved in creating this situation, for which we owe an apology to those poor children and their surviving loved ones. That is overdue, but the opportunity hasn’t exactly arisen before now. I hope you’ll convey it in your paper.” Mogul’s eyes narrowed. “But had our plans unfolded as they should, those girls would all be alive today. Alive, healthy, happy, and with nothing to fear from anyone, ever again. I believe the world, and especially their families, deserves to know the whole truth about that incident. If I knew which god of the Pantheon murdered those children to protect their secrets, believe me, I would tell you.

“Allow me to explain.”

“Your Grace, you have a—”

“Trouble,” Weaver announced, shouldering roughly past Price into the study. She gave his back a very calm look.

“Indeed,” the Butler said. “As I was saying, you have a trouble. It insisted upon seeing you immediately.”

“Sounds dire,” Darling remarked, removing his feet from the desk and setting aside the novel he’d been holding. In fact, he had been practicing his knife work, due to the lack of opportunities for proper exercise lately, and had affected an indolent pose upon hearing the footsteps approaching his door. “Is Peepers okay?”

“Last I saw her, probably,” Weaver said. “She’s gone off following some journalist who she thinks is going to an assignation with the Wreath. Or so I mostly put together, from what Jenkins said. This is third-hand intel. What I know is that she’s run off after this guy and Jenkins went off after her.”

“Hmm, that could be trouble indeed,” Darling mused. “Joe isn’t exactly trained for discreet operations.”

“Sounds like a good thing to have considered before assigning him to discreet operations,” Weaver observed.

Darling grinned at him. “Watching from across the street isn’t discreet operations, Weaver, it’s babysitting. Anyhow, it was always my assumption the Wreath would spot anyone we sent to tail them. Hence you two; if this was to be done through spying alone, I’d have just sent Peepers. I doubt they’re prepared for the Kid, if it comes to rough stuff. Where are they?”

“No idea,” Weaver said bluntly. “I can lead you to them in a more or less straight line, but you can probably guess where the line ends better than I. You know this city.”

“Ah, yes, your…that. Just a moment, let me think.” Darling frowned into the distance, drumming his fingers on the desktop while he rapidly sifted through facts, probabilities and options. Price remained as calmly aloof as ever; Weaver began tapping his foot in ostentatious impatience before half a minute had passed.

“All right, then,” Darling said abruptly, standing up and rummaging through his upper desk drawer for items which he began tucking into his coat pockets. “Let’s go give them a hand, shall we?”

“You want to… Just us?” Weaver frowned. “If they run into real trouble with the Wreath, it might we smarter to round up some of the others.”

“Time is more important than firepower,” Darling replied, tucking throwing knives into his sleeves. “It’ll take too long to gather McGraw and Billie. Mary might turn up anyway; I’m never sure when she’s watching, but it’s probably best to assume it’s just us. Anyhow, I’m not worried about that. We have you and Joe, remember?”

“Against an unknown force of possible Black Wreath warlocks and demons?” Weaver stared at him. “Who the hell knows what they’ve got waiting for us?”

“Only one way to find out,” Darling said breezily, stepping around from behind the desk and brushing past him. “Price, I’m going out.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“If I’m not back by dinner, you know what to do.”

“Very good, sir.”

He lengthened his stride in the upstairs hall and practically bounded down the steps, making for the front door. He was in one of the Bishop’s nicer suits, so it wouldn’t be too shocking for the neighbors to see him leaving this way.

Weaver followed at a slightly less efficient pace; Darling had to pause and wait for him at the end of the garden path.

“What’s the plan if we don’t come back, then?”

“Plan?” Darling shrugged, smiling vaguely. “I guess we’ll improvise.”

“Not us, I mean what contingencies did you set up with your Butler? That bit about her knowing what to do.”

“Oh, I haven’t a clue. There’s no plan, per se. Price always knows what to do, though.”

He’d have dearly loved to see Weaver’s face right at that moment, but he wasn’t about to spoil the effect by turning around to look.

Joe rounded the corner of the stairwell, slightly out of breath but doing his best not to pant or otherwise make needless noise. There was no telling who or what was lurking in the abandoned complex. Quite apart from the darkness and dust, if his quarry’s quarry had come for the reasons they suspected, there was certain to be something very dangerous here. Multiple somethings, in all likelihood.

Fortunately, Peepers was right in front of him, and had finally stopped moving. She was a good distance down the hall, partially shrouded in darkness, kneeling before one of the room doors and clearly trying to listen at the keyhole.

Glancing up at his arrival, she made a sideways slashing motion with her hand, then urgently beckoned him forward.

Joe paused, trying to even his breathing, before stepping slowly out of the stairwell, heading toward her. He decided to interpret her sign language as “be quiet, but come here,” for want of a better idea. She was once again intent on the door, apparently ignoring him. He approached with a blend of relief at having found her and annoyance at her antics, which in turn made him feel a little chagrined. She was, after all, doing her job; his was to watch her back. It might have been nice if she’d make it a little easier for him…but then again, it might not have been possible.

Peepers stood as he neared and stepped toward him, away from the door.

“They’re in there, all right,” she reported very quietly, barely above a whisper, “but I can’t hear a thing. They keyhole isn’t blocked, I can see through it, but no sound comes out.”

“What’s the plan, then?” he asked, just as softly. “I don’t suppose you can read lips?”

Her mouth tightened. “Can’t see them clearly enough.”

“Then…you want to back out? We know the guy’s meeting with the Wreath…”

“This isn’t evidence,” she whispered fiercely. “It’s some fellow in a white suit, not a Wreath robe. I need to hear what they’re saying in order to get what I need.”

“But you can’t,” he said reasonably. “And if we just hang around out here, we’re sure to be discovered. When they come out, if nothing else. If they just got here, they’ll be a while. I think the best thing to do is to go get reinforcements and try to take the Wreath guy into custody.”

“There’s a window in the room,” she said, turning and heading back toward the stairwell. “I’m gonna try to get to it and see if I can hear in.”

“Wh—if they silenced the keyhole, you don’t think they’ll have thought of the window?”

“It’s a third floor window. Probably why he chose this room. I’m a Guild agent; I can get up the side of a building, especially one as old and crumbly as this. Yes, Joe, I know what you’re going to say, but I have to try. If it doesn’t work, we’ll retreat, get Darling. Where’s Grumpypants, by the way?”

“Getting Darling.”

“Oh, well, then. Everything’s taken care of. C’mon.”

His exasperated sigh was cut off by, of all things, a soft giggle. They both whirled, and at what they saw, Peepers edged behind him and Joe whipped out both his wands.

She was a woman of incredible beauty, wearing an improbable leather bustier and a skirt that barely deserved the title, falling well short of her knees and slitted to the waist on one side. Joe appreciated a pretty girl as much as anyone—though he always endeavored to do so politely—but in this case, he was far more interested in her eerily white complexion, scintillating jade eyes, and the half-furled bat wings with which she blocked off the corridor.

“Oh, shit,” Peepers whispered.

“Are you children lost?” the succubus asked solicitously. Her sculpted lips were curved up in a gentle smile, but those eyes were far too wide, exhibiting a glee that verged on insanity. Joe edged back, pushing Peepers behind him and training his wands on the demon. “You shouldn’t root about in condemned buildings, you know. It’s dangerous. Why, the whole floor could fall right out from under you.”

“Shoot her,” Peepers hissed.

At that, the succubus laughed again, and abruptly vanished into thin air. Joe hesitated; he could fire at her position, but there was no telling where she would be. Did the room’s silencing work both ways? Were the soft hisses of his wands enough noise to get its occupants’ attention? He’d never had to use them under a need for silence before.

“Did you seriously just hesitate to kill a demon because it was a woman?” Peepers growled. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this to anyone, but if we survive tonight I am gonna drag your ass to an Avenist service, boy.”

Joe didn’t bother replying, scanning the whole hall rapidly. They could go invisible, check. They could shapeshift, which wasn’t really relevant here. Could they shadow-jump? Were those wings functional, and was there room for her to fly? For being on a job involving the Black Wreath, he had lamentably failed to study up on demons. He could feel the air currents in the corridor, enough to suggest there were bodies moving, but despite his mind converting perceptions into hard information, none of his senses were acute enough to pinpoint an invisible person. He’d probably hear and feel it if she tried to fly, but the hallway was wide enough for her to walk past if she was careful. He glanced back at the stairs, then back at the room. Peepers whimpered into his coat. The demon hadn’t carried any visible weapons, but…

The soft sound came from behind them, by the stairwell. They both whirled again, staring.

The succubus was visible again, no more than two yard distant, but she was gaping at them with a shocked expression. A small wound had appeared in the center of her upper chest, just above her bulging cleavage, trickling black blood. As they stared, the demon slumped forward, falling to her knees and then landing face-down on the ragged old carpet. Joe and Peepers hopped backward to avoid her.

There was silence for a long moment.

“Is it…is she faking?” Peepers whispered finally.

Joe could only shake his head. The succubus had landed gracelessly, with her wings flopping limply to either side; one was half-propped up against the wall. He couldn’t see any benefit to her in playing dead, unless she was just toying with them. Of course, the children of Vanislaas were known to do that. On the other hand, there was the wound in the center of her back, opposite the one in front and much larger. It looked a lot like a triangular blade had run her straight through. Even if it had severed her spine, though (and it appeared to have entered an inch to the left), that shouldn’t have caused instant death. He had seen how long it sometimes took people to succumb to mortal wounds. Or were demons different?

He stepped carefully around Peepers, ushering her back with one arm, and was only dimly surprised when she submitted to the protective gesture. Joe leaned closer, keeping one wand trained on the felled succubus, peering at the stab wound. The edges of it were severely discolored, blackened and peeling away, with dark streaks running visibly through her veins beneath. The whole area looked decomposed, as if on a corpse dead at least a week, rather than seconds.

He had seen wounds like this before.

“She’s not faking,” he said, straightening up and looking somewhat nervously around. There was no one and nothing visible in the dingy hall except himself and Peepers.

“What the hell happened?” she demanded.

Weaver’s familiar was supposedly unable to interact with things on the physical plane. Khadizroth had only run afoul of it by thinning the barriers between dimensions. Then again, demons were from another plane. Did they carry with them some trait which made them vulnerable to it? He knew nothing of demonology.

“I appreciate the help,” he said aloud, tugging his hat politely in what he could only hope was the right direction. “If you’re inclined to continue assisting, you may need to take point. I can finish most demons, I think, but not as quietly.”

“Who are you talking to?” Peepers asked, a note of panic rising in her voice. “What is happening?”

“Weaver’s invisible friend,” he said. “It can’t ordinarily touch things. Are demons different, maybe?”

She swallowed so hard he could hear it. “Taking this job wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, was it.”

“Well, I couldn’t really say, ma’am. What else have you done?”

Peepers huffed softly. “Well…we’re here. Let’s head down and around back.”

“You still want to try listening in? We know there are demons around now! What are the chances that was the only one?”

“Pretty good, I’d say,” she replied, creeping past him and stepping carefully to avoid treading on the felled demon’s wings. “We didn’t see any on the way up, right? And the Wreath clearly wants this to be discreet. An invisible shape-shifter is the ideal guard for an assignation like this. Keep alert, though, I wouldn’t want you to be taken by surprise again.”

Joe had to concentrate very hard to withhold the response that welled up. Following her to the stairs, he was a lot less careful about stepping on the succubus’s wing.

“I should’ve known,” Darling commented. “There are so many places in the city where you could hold a discreet meeting, it didn’t occur to me to choose the most obvious. People who live by subtlety don’t typically go for the obvious anything. On the other hand, this isn’t only about subtlety, is it? If something goes sour, an entire empty neighborhood makes for a great battlefield.”

“Do you never tire of hearing yourself talk?” Weaver growled.

“Well, not so far, but who can say what the future holds?”

He snorted, then lifted his arm to point. “Should be that one. The big building next street over, you can see the top above the roofs here.”

“The old tenement? Looks unsafe,” Darling noted cheerfully, adjusting his course toward a side alley.

“I seriously don’t get what you intend, here,” Weaver said, jamming his hands in his coat pockets and peering balefully around them. The neighborhood had been empty only for a few days, but was already severely dilapidated, not that it had been in sterling condition to begin with. With no residents, it was totally at the mercy of scavengers and vandals; it seemed that whatever wasn’t broken was covered in graffiti. Despite this evidence that vagrants had spent time here, there was no sign of them now, nor of anything living apart from themselves. The contrast, especially in light of what they were approaching, had chilling implications.

“We’re going to walk into a totally unknown situation, just the two of us,” Darling said lightly.

“Yes! That, right there! Would you kindly quit screwing around and tell me what you’re planning? This couldn’t more obviously be a trap!”

“First step in avoiding a trap is knowing of its existence. Yes, yes, I get what you mean. And yes, a trap is one possibility; the other is that our quarry doesn’t know we’re coming, and us strolling up to them will kick the hornets’ nest.” He glanced over at Weaver, his expression finally growing more serious.

“You want to provoke a confrontation?” the bard said, staring at him. “Again, I’m lost. You really want to pick that fight with nobody but us two, Joe and Peepers? Against a group of the Black Wreath with completely unknown capabilities?”

“You and Joe are probably more than they’re prepared to deal with,” Darling replied, “I was serious about that. Here’s the thing, though: there are traps, and then there are traps. You can lay out everything precisely so that your enemy experiences the effect you want them to suffer… Or you can calculate the general lay of the land, and lead them into a situation you can control. If the Wreath is prepared for us, we’ll be stepping into the first one. But we are bringing with us the second. Listen, if it does come to violence, I want you to focus on ensuring everyone’s survival. If they run, we’re not chasing them; if they come at us with something we can’t handle, then we run. But if it turns into any kind of pitched fight or hostage situation, what we’re going to do is dig in and hold out. Don’t fight excessively hard not to be taken prisoner.”

“You’re counting on a rescue,” Weaver said slowly. “That Butler? What is she going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Darling said with a grin. “And as such, any scrying directed at me can’t reveal it. But Price is resourceful—they don’t make just anyone a Butler. I also have allies in this city, lots of them. Both friends of my own, and when it comes to the Wreath, far more powerful forces willing to intercede.”

“A counter-trap.” Weaver sighed, scowling heavily. “Really, this is the big idea? Heading into a totally unknown situation against an unknown foe with a possibility of unknown reinforcements coming if we take too long about it? This is insane.”

“No, it’s a risk,” Darling demurred. “A calculated one, and believe me, I have not survived this long by not knowing what risks are worth taking. Bear in mind I also know things you don’t, here, and I have excellent reason for keeping those under wraps for the time being. Whatever you think about my regard for your safety, Mr. Weaver, you can trust I wouldn’t be putting my own skin on the line if I weren’t confident of my chances. Just remember what I said. Stay alive, and don’t get too hungry for blood.”

“If that’s what you want, spending our entire prep session pissing me off isn’t your best approach.”

Darling turned to him and winked. For just a second, he thought Weaver was going to shoot him.

They emerged from the alley into another empty street. The sun was sinking toward late afternoon; the street lights weren’t on yet (and probably never would be in this particular district), but the light was beginning to take on an orange tinge. The two men paused, glancing up and down the street. In the distance they could hear the traffic of Tiraas, but all around them was deathly silence. It was as if a patch of ancient ruins had been transplanted into the heart of the Imperial capital, so out of place was the quiet.

Weaver withdrew a tiny cage of mesh wire from within his coat, no bigger than a cigar case.

“Ladybugs?” Darling said, peering at it and raising an eyebrow. “That’s a new one. What are those for?”

The bard just gave him a contemptuous sidelong look, very carefully flipping open the small catch on one corner of the cage, holding his hand over it so as not to release the captives within. He jimmied the thing until he had dropped one ladybug into his palm, then shut it again. And with that, he crushed the insect against the side of the cage, lifting it to his mouth to whisper inaudibly.

“Gross,” Darling observed.

Weaver ignored him, ending his muttering, wiping his hand off on his coat and slipping the tiny cage back into his pocket. “All right, they’re in there, both of our people still alive. There was at least one demon, now dead.”

“Smashing!” Darling said cheerfully, setting off across the street. “Let’s go tempt fate, shall we?”

Weaver followed, muttering to himself. Audibly, this time. Darling was impressed by the number of languages in which he could curse.

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“Good morning,” Shaeine said, approaching. “Approximately, perhaps.”

Toby gave her a smile, glancing around the chamber. The group had huddled together near its center, around the remains of their fire, which had burned down to a small patch of slowly shifting orange light. Fross was making a gradual circuit of the perimeter, likely out of boredom, unless she was investigating the Crawl’s inherent magic. She’d seemed relieved for the opportunity to move about when Toby had come to take her post at the front, watching the door to the complex.

“I’m a little charged up,” he admitted. “I gave up on getting back to sleep after lying awake for an hour or so.”

The priestess glided over to stand beside him, glancing at the door before turning to regard him seriously. “You are troubled.”

Toby hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s…I’ll get over it. I’m just…wondering, suddenly, how many murderers there are in my social circle. It’s a little disconcerting, being in a position where I need to wonder that.”

She gave him the ghost of a smile. “Since you seemed quite supportive of Juniper, may I assume this is about Trissiny and Gabriel?”

He sighed. “I would rather drop it. It’s really not fair of me to be dragging all this up. I mean, it was months ago, they’re obviously over it, so what’s the point? It’s just… Well, it’s a new revelation to me. Kind of a heck of a thing to wrap my head around. Especially,” he added somewhat bitterly, “since nobody told me the truth about what happened.”

They were silent for a moment, watching the empty doorway side by side.

“Clerics of Themynra serve a judicial role in Narisian society,” she said at last. “I am years yet from being authorized to render judgment in an actual case, but my training has included the necessary skills, or at least the basics thereof. As someone thus trained, and who witnessed the event in question, perhaps I can offer you some clarity on the matter? If you wish it.”

He nodded, slowly. “Actually… I think that would help. I respect your judgment more than almost anyone’s, Shaeine.”

She smiled more broadly for a moment, then her expression grew serious again. “I don’t know the approach taken by Imperial law or Avei’s disciples, but in my culture we analyze every identifiable factor influencing a case before rendering judgment, which includes the education and known predispositions of those involved. To take the fight in question as an example…if this had occurred in Tar’naris, how the investigation would proceed might depend greatly on which House the accused hailed from. Had a member of my own House acted as Trissiny did, she would likely be held summarily culpable, as it would be assumed that a diplomat would know better than to start a fight. Had it been someone from House An’sadarr, which forms the backbone of the Queen’s military, however, matters would become more complicated. A trained warrior, confronted by a hostile demonblood, might understandably resort to force.”

“So…ignorance is an excuse?” he said skeptically.

“No. It is, however, sometimes an explanation.” Shaeine glanced back at the others; none of their forms were stirring, and Fross’s silver light was poking through one of the distant wings of the chamber which had formed an infinite hall when it was active. “I see no doubt that Trissiny instigated violence without justification. In determining culpability, though, it’s necessary to consider what she did not understand, and what Gabriel did.”

“What he understood?” Toby frowned.

“Recall that at the time, they hardly knew each other. All Trissiny knew about Gabriel was that he was a demonblood, something of a loudmouth and had a penchant for slightly sexist humor. Given that and her upbringing, her actions seem a bit more logical. Not justifiable, in my opinion, but also not totally unreasonable. Especially considering that she had previously not instigated a conflict with him, despite the surprise of learning his condition in a manner that was traumatic for them both.”

“Hm,” he said noncommittally.

“Gabriel, on the other hand, has grown up as a half-demon in Tiraan society, and has every reason to keep his head down and refrain from causing trouble. He has ample practice at this, and was very well aware of the likely consequences of doing so. Yet, he very deliberately provoked Trissiny, showing a degree of hostility which, frankly, was wildly out of character for him. I had never seen such aggression from him before, nor have I since.” She half-turned to look up at him, her expression solemn. “I have wondered, since… Toby, you know Gabriel better than any of us. Has he ever given any indication, before, that he wished to die?”

Toby made no answer, but his face lengthened and his eyes grew wider as he considered the implications of the question.

“Verbally assaulting the Hand of Avei as he did had that as a very likely outcome,” Shaeine continued after a short pause. “Moreover, his comments in the situation itself indicated that he was quite aware of this.” She shook her head. “Ultimately, then, Trissiny’s offense was several orders of magnitude more severe: the use of force against a civilian who was not a physical threat. However, given her perspective, there are mitigating factors. Gabriel’s role is precisely opposite: his is guilty of nothing more serious than rudeness and causing a disturbance, but is almost entirely culpable for creating that conflict in the first place. A conflict which was needless and which he clearly knew was likely to result in harm to himself, and possibly to bystanders and property.”

She let the silence hang momentarily before continuing. “Ultimately… Had I been tasked with judging this case, at the time, I would have punished them both equally, and with far worse than washing dishes. And… As time has passed, I have come to appreciate Professor Tellwyrn’s solution. Mine would have been a tremendous mistake.”

Toby turned to face her, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Shaeine, for her part, turned her head to gaze back at their sleeping classmates.

“Over the last few months I have watched those two benefit from knowing each other, in ways I would never have anticipated. It’s a slow and subtle thing, and I can’t say what this is building toward, but I have come to believe it is best to leave them alone and let it happen.” She smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t repeat this to Trissiny, nor advocate it as a general practice… But in this one case, it seems to me that everyone is better off because justice was not done.”

Frowning, Toby stared into the empty space beyond the door. The faint reddish glow of the main cavern was visible, but the atmosphere was slightly hazy, more so than at the Grim Visage’s level, giving them no view to speak of. After a moment, he nodded slowly.

“That sounds a lot like what I’d concluded. Except in a lot more detail and with a lot more understanding. It all makes sense to me, though. Oh…I’m sorry,” he added, turning to face her. “I don’t mean to take credit for your insight or anything.”

“Not at all,” she replied with a smile. “I’m pleased I was able to offer you some clarity. Toby…” Shaeine tilted her head, studying him intently. “We seem to have a difference of opinion among the group concerning whether the Crawl is trying to torment or educate us here. In either case, however, I find myself unsurprised that it would show you images of your friends in conflict. Forgive me if I presume, but you do seem more concerned with the welfare of others than your own.”

He shrugged, but smiled faintly. “I’m comfortable with that assessment. A paladin’s life is sacrifice.”

“In Tar’naris, everyone’s life is sacrifice. Culturally, we see it as dangerous ostentation to grind oneself down in order to be of service to others. For the whole to function, individuals must understand their own needs, and see them met.” She laid a hand gently on his upper arm. “If you prefer to spend your energies caring for others, be sure to let others care for you as well. You will be no use to anyone if you burn yourself out.”

Toby looked down at the floor, then out at the cavern, then nodded again, finally meeting her gaze. “Thank you.”

Shaeine smiled back, letting her hand fall. While the first sounds of the others stirring began to grow behind them at the campsite, they stood in companionable silence, keeping watch.

“Okay,” said Ruda, straightening the lapels of her coat. “Has anyone taken the time to look outside?”

“I have!” Fross chirped.

“Fantastic. Got any working theories concerning just where the fuck we are?”

“Well… I’m pretty sure it’s far below the place where we entered the central cavern. I mean, it’s not likely there was much above that, you know? And it’s different enough I didn’t recognize any landmarks. It’s the same cavern, all slopey with some paths along the walls and a few stretching over the middle.”

“Great,” Gabriel sighed. “So basically, we’re lost as hell.”

“We’re not lost!” Fross protested. “We just have to go up!”

“That will depend upon finding viable paths,” said Shaeine.

“We have an advantage there, in that two of our party can fly,” Trissiny pointed out. “If Fross and Vadrieny scout ahead, like they did in the mazes in the Descent, we can hopefully avoid getting any more lost than necessary.”

It hadn’t been the most comfortable night, but the students were relatively rested, at least in comparison to how they’d felt before making camp. Now, fed, packed away and ready to head out again, they were clustered in the wing of the complex which led to the exterior door.

Toby sighed and squared his shoulders. “All right, it’s not getting any easier while we stand here. Let’s go have a look.” He started forward, the others proceeding in his wake.

Until Gabriel abruptly halted, straightening up from his customary slouch. “Ambush?”

Everyone stopped, turning to stare at him.

“What’s an ambush?” Ruda asked.

“I just… Someone said ‘ambush.’”

“Uh, yeah,” she replied. “You.”

“No, I mean, before that. You guys didn’t hear anything?”

There was a round of exchanged glances and shaken heads.

“I did not hear the word until you said it,” Shaeine replied.

“Well, if Ears didn’t hear it, nobody spoke it,” said Ruda. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Arquin, but you have gone batshit insane. We may have to push you in the pit.”

“That course of action might be premature, Boobs,” said Shaeine.

Everyone turned to stare at her in shock.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said placidly. “I thought we were renaming each other based on prominent features. Or shall we instead agree not to do that?”

“All right, all right, point taken,” Ruda muttered.

“There are any number of explanations for disembodied voices,” said Trissiny. “In this wretched place, insanity on the part of the person hearing them isn’t even the most likely. Whatever madness the Crawl inflicts on us next, we can’t afford to hunker down and let it. Gabe, let us know if you hear any more whispers. That goes for everyone else, too. For now, I say we proceed assuming we might be ambushed, which is a good idea anyway. Agreed?”

After a round of assent, Trissiny nudged them back into formation, and was the first one out, wreathed in a low-intensity golden corona that clung close to her skin. She paused in the doorway, carefully studying the scene. It did, indeed, look very much like what they had previously seen of the slanting main cavern, right down to the reddish glow from far below. Only the finer details were different. Stone paths hugged the walls in several places, with openings dotting them, and a few were suspended improbably over the vast empty space. There was no great sculpted face, obviously, though there was a structure of some kind built against on the forty-five degree slope to the right of their door, rather like a castle in miniature.

“No sign of movement,” she reported, “except for several large avians a good distance above us. I don’t think they see us down here, or at least aren’t interested.”

“Lemme see!” Fross chimed, zipping out to hover next to Trissiny’s shoulder. “Oh…oh, wow. Those are really rare. I thought they were supposed to be extinct! They’re pretty dangerous, but basically blind; they won’t come at us unless we get close enough to attract their attention. Let’s not do that, it would be a shame to kill them.”

“What exactly is them?” Juniper asked, craning her neck to peer through the gap.

“Greater horned chiropteroid raptors! They hunt in small packs of four or five, with very good coordination in attacks, almost like a military team.”

“You don’t mean…” Teal trailed off.

“Yes! Dire goddamn bats!”

“I hate this place,” Trissiny muttered.

A sudden whoop startled them; Trissiny raised her shield instinctively and Fross darted around behind her head.

Directly ahead, two paths converged in a fairly sizable floating island, ringed by low walls—much more safety-conscious than those they had seen above. One of the paths leading to it branched off from the ledge onto which their door opened, some distance to the left. There was another, smaller island above this one and slightly off-center. Three tiny figures had suddenly plunged off the edge of this and onto the lower island with a unified battlecry, vanishing below the level of the wall.

The sounds of a scuffle ensued, accompanied by curses in two languages. A single spell was fired, flying wildly into the air where it splashed against the cavern wall.

In the next moment, several figures emerged from concealment, where they had been crouching out of sight. There were three of them, all drow, and they had straightened up only to run. They pelted off down the path, two women leading, one armored, one in robes; behind them came a man in rather ragged pants and shirt, trying to sprint while crouched with his head tucked under his arms. He yelped as he was pelted from behind by pebbles.

“Yeah, you better run!” shouted a voice from the island. In moments, the drow had skittered away through a tunnel opening and were lost to sight.

“Those are the same three who have been hanging around the Grim Visage,” Shaeine noted.

“You’re sure?” Ruda asked, frowning.

“Yes. You will have to trust my word on it, I’m afraid. I know how we all look the same to you.”

“You’re in rare form today,” the pirate commented.

“Yoo hoo!” A small figure had clambered up onto the wall, followed by two others. “Hey, kids, glad to see you’re all okay!”

“Hey, look,” said Gabriel, peering over Trissiny’s shoulder now that she’d let her energy shield drop. “We found gnomes.”

“Gnomes found us,” Toby corrected. “Triss, can we move this forward a bit? I think that ambush situation was just taken care of…”

“Hm,” she said skeptically, but stepped out onto the ledge.

“There ye go!” cried the gnome in the center, now sitting down on the wall with his legs dangling over the abyss. “Well, c’mon out, let’s not be all day about it. Places to go, people to see! I’m Woodsworth, and with me are me companions, Sassafrass and Steinway.”

“Charmed!” called the female in the group, grinning rakishly and resting the haft of her battleaxe over her shoulder. It was a human-sized one, the handle nearly as long as she was tall.

“All right, there?” added the last fellow, apparently Steinway, waggling his fingers.

“Do we…know you?” Trissiny asked.

“Not to the extent of havin’ been formally introduced,” Woodsworth replied. “Though we have shared quarters recently! The Grim Visage is a goodly distance above, but there’s ways to get around the Crawl expeditiously if you’re on its good side. This is all very adventurous, by th’way, but might we ‘ave this conversation from a closer distance an’ a lower volume?”

“Um,” she said carefully. “With all respect, and with thanks for the apparent help…we’ve had a rough time lately and aren’t in the most trusting mood.”

“Well, sure,” said Sassafrass. “It’s not like we can make you do anything, nor would if we could. But, if you’re not absolutely married to the idea of wanderin’ around down here with no clue where yer goin’, maybe we can ‘elp?”

“There’s someone you ought to talk to, see?” Woodsworth added. “Nice fella of your acquaintance who sent us down ‘ere to ‘help out when we caught wind those three were after ye.”

“Not to sound paranoid,” Gabriel said, “but how can we be sure they meant us harm?”

“Are you serious?” Teal demanded.

“They were lying in wait, concealed from view, at a chokepoint where we’d be strung out along an unrailed path over the chasm before we knew they were there, Gabe,” said Trissiny. “That is not friendly behavior. What do the rest of you think?”

“I hate to default to racial stereotypes,” said Toby, “but I’ve never heard of gnomes robbing or ambushing anyone.”

“What the hell, he’s got a point,” Ruda added. “We’ve got no fuckin’ clue where we are or how to get where we want to be. Short help’s better than no help.”

“Let’s take it easy with the s-word while we’re in their company,” Teal suggested.

“Who did you want us to meet?” Trissiny asked, turning back to the gnomes and raising her voice.

“Well, we could stand here shoutin’ about it or we can just show you,” Woodsworth called back, grinning. “See that there little castle along the slope? The ledge you’re on’ll take ye there. Follow it till you reach the tunnel, go in that, and it’ll bring ye back out on another ledge that leads right t’the door. Meet you there!”

With that, the three gnomes hopped down behind the wall. Moments later they reappeared, trundling rapidly along the path opposite the one the drow had taken, which led them toward the indicated structure along a route parallel to the one Woodsworth had pointed out to them.

“Well,” said Teal after a moment in which nobody moved, “my dad has a saying for uncertain situations like this.”

“Oh?” Toby asked.

The bard grinned at him. “Eh, what the hell.”

The ledges and tunnel led exactly where their new acquaintances said they did, and in just a few minutes the students were assembling on the narrow balcony outside the tiny castle. It was actually little more than a round tower, built into the slope of the cavern, with a crenelated wall ringing its top and arrow slits not far below that. There was no door, only an archway leading to the interior, through which the gnomes had passed just before they arrived.

Inside, the room was rather cozy, mostly open all the way to the top, though stone steps circled around the entire interior of the tower, terminating in a trapdoor which presumably led to the roof. A fireplace was built into one wall, currently dark and cold, though an iron pot was suspended above it. Along the walls were various items of furniture: trunks bookshelves, chairs and a vertical rack of hammocks.

The gnomes had already assembled. Woodsworth and Sassafrass sat in chairs a bit too tall for them around a small round table and were laying out a card game; Steinway was piling what looked like coal in the fireplace. He looked up at the students when they entered, grinning.

“There y’are! Go on back, he’s expecting you.” With that and a nod at the wall opposite the entrance, he went back to shoveling.

A short flight of steps led to another doorway, beyond which was relative darkness. The students paused, studying their new environs carefully.

“Well, go on,” said Sassafrass. “It’s not like we’ve any appointments, but there’s no sense in keeping the man waiting.”

“Eh, what the hell. Remember?” Ruda said, grinning, and nudged Trissiny in the back. The paladin sighed, but stepped forward, her sword and shield in hand.

They crossed the chamber, climbed the steps and passed single-file through the doorway, Fross accompanying Trissiny in the front. Her light was welcome, as this led to a short tunnel that lacked light and appeared to be natural, to judge by its uneven walls. After a couple of twists, it opened out into a natural cavern completely unlike anything they had yet seen in the Crawl.

Not much larger than Tellwyrn’s classroom back at the University, it was much longer than wide, narrowing in the center. Ledges of stone lined the walls, with a softly gurgling river running down the middle of the space; just past the narrow point, rough-cut steps led to a higher level, where a small waterfall trickled down. Gaps in the ceiling admitted streams of water and clean white light from some unknown source. There were several giant mushrooms growing in clumps along the walls, as well as draperies of hanging lichen and softly glowing crystals embedded in the stone here and there. It was a strikingly peaceful place, cool and lovely, if slightly damp. And it was occupied

“Ah, there you are!” said Shamlin, bounding lightly down from the upper level and grinning at them. “About time; if I hadn’t been following your progress thus far I’d have begun to worry. But surely the eight of you had nothing to fear from the Apparitorium.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ruda demanded.

“Well, that’s the thing,” he said, smiling rather smugly. “At issue, I think, is what you are doing here. Got a little lost, did we?”

“The demons on Level 2 seem to have misdirected us,” Trissiny said grimly.

“Ah, ah.” He held up an admonishing finger. “Leaping to conclusions, there, aren’t we? In fact, Melaxyna is going to be furious when she finds out someone got lost taking her portal. I expect she’s already starting to worry; the longer a student group remains absent after passing through it, the more likely she’ll have to deal with a very irate Professor Tellwyrn, which is enough to give anyone gray hairs. No, I wouldn’t describe the demons as trustworthy, broadly speaking, but they know which side their bread is buttered on. Nobody down here wants to pick a fight with the Unseen University.”

“Waaaaaiiit a second,” Fross said. “You called it…”

“That I did.” Shamlin’s smile widened. “Come on, you never wondered what a human is doing down here? The geas on the campus is serious business indeed. Tellwyrn does not suffer outsiders to mess around on her property, but University initiates sneaking into the Crawl for various purposes…why, that’s downright traditional. The Grim Visage and Level 2 are both popular spots for hosting off-campus parties.”

“Huh,” said Teal, sounding utterly bemused.

“Then what are you doing down here?” Toby asked.

“Making gold hand over fist,” Shamlin said with a grin. “It’s not exactly a luxurious spot to set up work, but there’s no shortage of opportunity here. In fact, I’m just about ready to cash in and return to the land of the living, but there are just a few things I need to square away first. There are the trio out there, for one thing.”

“Are they University alums, too?” Gabe asked.

“No, actually, they didn’t come from up top. That’s a Venomfont delving crew that managed to get as lost as anyone has ever been.”

“Venomfont?” Trissiny frowned. “That’s clear up in the Wyrnrange, not far from the Spine. There’s no way it’s physically connected to the Crawl.”

“And there we come to it,” Shamlin said, his expression abruptly growing more serious. “A number of things have gone screwy down here of late, most of them traceable to one or the other resident Vanislaad messing around with the Crawl.”

“I knew it,” Trissiny muttered.

“The Crawl, as I hope you’ve figured out by now, is very much a living thing,” Shamlin continued, seating himself on the steps, heedless of the damp. He stretched out his long legs and lounged backward, his casual posture contrasting with his solemn tone and expression. “It has its rules, but it’s also amenable to making exceptions. It relates to people on a very individual level—at least, those who either take the time and trouble to cultivate relationships with it, or somehow manage to piss it off. In my case, that means this little grotto, which I’m allowed exclusive use of while I stay down here. Nobody gets to visit without my approval. That, plus a few tricks I’ve acquired that enable me to move about the Crawl rapidly, are the result of a long campaign of…”

“Shmoozing?” Ruda suggested.

“I was going to say friendship,” he said with a grimace. “But…you’re not entirely wrong. There are a number of people you’ve encountered who have earned favor with the Crawl, and thus begun to wield a disproportionate influence. There’s Professor Tellwyrn, first and foremost; this place loves her. I have no idea how she arranged that. Most people she meets can’t wait for her to leave.”

“We have noticed,” Gabriel said dryly.

“Darling Melaxyna, as you also know, has accrued enough favor to make Level 2 her own little domain, as has Rowe with the Grim Visage. That last detail is the source of some of the problems I’ve seen developing recently. Thanks to his screwing around, there are lots more places connected to the Visage than there ought to be, which is how the trio came to be stranded here. Did I not know better, I’d suspect he was trying to arrange an exit from the Crawl that didn’t involve going back through the topside door, and thus right under Tellwyrn’s nose. She would notice that, and after sticking those two down here, she’s not about to let them wander off. Of course, opening such a door is entirely out of the question…under normal circumstances.”

“Normal, how?” Toby asked.

Shamlin leaned his head back, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip for a moment. “I’m afraid you’ve been caught in the feud between Rowe and Mel. With both of them using their influence to bend the rules in their favor, and trying to do so against one another… Well, you stepping through that portal and ending up in the wrong place is just a case in point. Stuff isn’t working quite as it should.”

“And you want to fix this before you leave?” Juniper asked, speaking up for the first time. She looked hollow-eyed and exhausted, as she had since the day before.

“That,” Shamlin said, nodding. “And I have…other reasons. Suffice it to say, I’m the reason you are here.”

“You son of a bitch,” Ruda snarled, stomping toward him and pulling her rapier from its sheath.

In the next moment, Shamlin rolled nimbly to his feet and scurried back up the steps away from her, while Toby and Trissiny intercepted their furious classmate before she could reach him.

“Whoah, hang on!” he protested, backing further away and raising both his hands. “Let me explain! I didn’t arrange to have you sent to the wrong place from the portal. I don’t want Tellwyrn mad at me, either, which is the whole point. Once I caught wind of the fact you were going to be misdirected… Well, suffice it to say, the whole idea behind that was to get you so good and lost that you’d never be found again. I stepped in and got you sent to the Apparitorium instead. Just took a little persuasive speaking, really; the Crawl is interested in testing and teaching you, because that’s what Tellwyrn asked of it. That place is even better set up for that than the Descent. Albeit in somewhat different ways.”

“Fucking bullshit,” Ruda spat. “That place was a load of—”

“Will you please just let the man talk?” Toby interrupted in exasperation. “I for one would like to find out what’s going on around here!”

“What’s going on,” Shamlin said quickly, “is that between Melaxyna’s greasing your wheels and your own talents—by which I mostly mean firepower—you kids have been looking a lot like you were going to get all the way to Level 100 and retrieve the prize. And that…well, that would throw off certain plans in a way that the creators of those plans just couldn’t have. So, knowing that…” He folded his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, grinning broadly. “…how would you like to kick those plans right straight to hell?”

There was a moment’s pause while the students looked around at each other.

“Go on,” Trissiny said finally.

“There are limits to how much I can help you,” said Shamlin. “You’re still student adventurers and the Crawl still has its mandate. But I can set you in the right direction. For example, have you discovered how the Crawl feels about cheating?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Gabe replied, making a face.

“We were actually talking about that not long ago,” said Fross. “Me and Ruda, I mean. It’s almost like…it doesn’t mind cheating, if you cheat in the right way.”

Gabriel blinked. “Huh?”

“She’s got the right of it,” said Shamlin, nodding approvingly. “The Crawl doesn’t like being contradicted, but it also approves of lateral thinking. You tend to bring trouble down on your heads if you break its rules, but there are provided shortcuts, the use of which it fully accepts…if you can find them. The finding is the challenge. And I, as your friendly neighborhood dungeon cartographer, can set you up with the ultimate prize: a way to skip directly to the hundredth level of the Descent.”

“And…do you offer that to every student group that comes down here?” Juniper asked skeptically.

“Oh, gods, no,” he said fervently. “Most student groups would get chewed up if I just dropped them into that. Plus, there’s the important fact that I don’t actually have it.”

“The more this clown talks, the more convinced I become that he’s wasting our time,” Ruda snorted.

“Now, hear me out,” Shamlin said soothingly. “I don’t have the means to skip, but I can provide you with it. Or rather, I can tell you how to provide yourselves. There’s a shrine of the Naga Queen which contains what you seek. You already have the key; you just need to find the lock, and you’ll have your reward.”

“Okay, two questions,” said Gabriel. “First, what the hell is the Naga Queen?”

“Are you serious?” Fross exclaimed. “She’s the main boss of the Crawl, down on the lowest level of the whole shebang! The oldest and possibly most powerful dungeon boss in existence. Adventurers went delving in here for centuries before the University came along, and the few that even reached her after fighting through the naga court got… Well, you don’t mess with the Naga Queen, is all. The last guy who made a really serious effort got beaten to death with his own face!”

“That account may be apocryphal,” said Teal, repressing a smile.

“Okay, that’s plenty ominous,” said Gabe with a sigh. “Second question, we’ve already got the what now? Did somebody pick up a key?”

“Well, there’s a reason I had you brought to the Apparitorium,” Shamlin said smugly. “It’s the prize for passing the trails there.”

“What, this?” Gabriel pulled the black sword free and held it up.

Shamlin frowned. “What? No, it’s the snake flute. Please tell me you obtained the snake flute. What the hell is that?”

“I have the flute,” Teal reported, pulling it out of the inner coat pocket where she’d stashed the instrument.

“Oh, good,” said Shamlin, relaxing slightly, then turned back to Gabriel. “Are you saying you got that thing too?”

“It was in the box with the flute. What, that’s not supposed to happen?”

“Hm. Mind if I take a look at that?”

Gabriel passed the sword over to him; Shamlin examined it carefully, pulling it partly free of the scabbard to study the blade. “Well…this thing is magical as hell, but I can’t tell what any of these charms do. Radivass could, maybe. Seriously, though, Ariel? That’s like naming a sword Jane.”

“Shaeine thinks that’s the name of its original owner,” Gabe suggested.

Shamlin shook his head. “Doubtful. This weapon is more magic than steel. People who create things like this don’t call them… Well, we’re just speculating, and anyway this is all getting us off topic.” He carefully handed the sword back to Gabriel. “Be careful with that, at least until you’ve had it studied by an expert. Concerning the actual point, you’ve got the flute, I can provide the directions, and from there you can obtain your shortcut. Interested?”

“What will we find,” Trissiny asked slowly, “if we skip to Level 100? After the impediments we’ve already suffered, I can only expect some further disaster.”

“Disaster might be putting it a bit over-dramatically,” Shamlin said with a grin. “But you’re not completely wrong. You won’t be stepping into what Tellwyrn sent you here to face.”

Toby heaved a sigh. “And you can’t tell us what it is?”

“I could,” he said, shrugging. “It would cause you more problems from the Crawl in the long run, though, and to be frank I’m not a hundred percent certain what form your final challenge will take. If you do take me up on the offer, though, I can promise you this much.” He smiled at them again, a self-satisfied expression that was more than half smirk. “School is no longer in session, kids. You’re now dealing with real powers who have real-world goals and concerns. If you make it to Level 100, be prepared for the confrontation of your lives.”

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6 – 24

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The newsroom of the Imperial Herald was exactly the kind of controlled chaos in which she thrived.

The bulk of the work being done was by various reporters and columnists scribbling away at their desks, which was on its own merits also the quietest thing happening in the room. It seemed to involve a lot of shouting back and forth, however, off-color jokes flying about with the same frequency as threats and insults, most of which were shrugged off. Along the inner wall of the big room, rows of taller desks, separated by wooden divider panels, were manned by more level-headed personnel, quietly plugging away at their arcane typesetters, converting the work of the journalists to something that could be delivered to the printing presses in the next room down. Aside from all the shouting, there was no end of running around; reporters dashed back and forth between the doors and their desks, between their desks and the typesetters, up and down the stairs that led to the editor’s office and to and from the kitchen with cups of tea and cheap pastries.

Six months ago, the staff of the Herald had discovered coffee. Two months ago, it had been added to the office budget and was now usually available in the kitchen. Evidently a lot more had been done each day since, though the jury was still out on how much of that “more” constituted work.

This had once been a factory, and the newsroom was one of the former production floors, with the presses occupying the other. At the far end of the newsroom from the front doors, a skeletal staircase of painted steel ascended to the office once occupied by the factory foreman and now the editor-in-chief, little more than a metal box suspended from the ceiling. It had glass walls, though, enabling him to gaze out over his minions at their labors like a deity on high, which pleased him to no end. Lakshmi’s desk was right at the base of the stairs.

Well, not her desk, and she was carefully leaving as little evidence of her presence as possible. Mr. Talivaar’s usual secretary had suddenly taken seriously ill and was out for two weeks, a fact which had initially made Lakshmi rather nervous about this whole enterprise, before Sweet explained that Razideh Aljaderad was not, in fact, sick, but canoodling in Onkawa with her married lover. All this was doubly impressive because he had arranged it without the support of the Thieves’ Guild and its resources…which, in turn, made an alarming suggestion about the capabilities of the Universal Church.

She glanced at the clock, rose from her chair and set off up the steps, keeping her pace sedate. The conservative dress she wore was driving her batty, and not just because of the corset, which made ascending stairs an exercise in breathless pain. It just wasn’t her. No Punaji should be caught in a contraption like this unless she were undergoing torture or something equally honorable. Only by constantly reminding herself it was a disguise did she cling to her sanity; disguises were part of her calling, and a feature of the game being played at a higher level than she usually did. Working with a man like Sweet on a job like this was an aspiration realized. It was worth being a little frumpy while on duty.

Would be nice if she could be frumpy and still breathe, though.

Lakshmi rapped gently at the frame of the open door to Mr. Talivaar’s office. He grunted, not looking up from his desk full of papers.

“Sir?” she said. “I’m heading out to lunch.”

At that, he did raise his eyes, scowling and chomping at his cigar. “What? Lunch?”

“It’s in my contract,” she said demurely.

He snorted. “Fine, whatever, go. Just be back on time for once, Rupa.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied meekly, turning to go without pointing out that she had not once been late.

On her way back down, she meandered into the kitchen and snagged a sticky bun (this place sprang for good pastries), wolfing it down before heading back out and making her way to the door. It was a long, slow way, a routine that as usual burned up a good chunk of her half-hour lunch period. She wandered in no hurry, gazing about wide-eyed at all the fuss and confusion, stammering and cringing when she had to dodge out of the way of reporters dashing to and fro on their various tasks. Most of them didn’t give her more than an annoyed look in passing. They didn’t care; Razideh would be back in a couple of weeks and then they’d see no more of their boss’s constantly befuddled, incompetent interim secretary.

In this manner she overheard her usual allotment of gossip, glanced at multiple projects being worked on, noted and analyzed the presence or absence of various members of the staff and slotted that intelligence into the mental picture she was building of everyone’s schedules. It had only been a couple of days, but she’d formed enough of an understanding to note the absence of one particular person who would ordinarily be here at this time. In the mess of unrelated stories and banal office politics she absorbed, that was the sole piece of interest.

“Hello, Rupa,” the receptionist said a touch too brightly as she wandered past toward the front doors. “Off to lunch?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied in her vague, slightly baffled tone. “Same time every day.”

“Mm.” Darsi raised her eyebrows. “Your…friend is out there. He seems to be waiting across the street for you this time.”

Lakshmi followed her pointed look, finding Joe lounging outside the cafe opposite the Herald’s office, clearly visible through the glass panels inset in the front door, and had to repress a grimace. Amateurs…

“Ah…look, Darsi, can you do me a favor?” she asked, lowering her voice and leaning subtly across the receptionist’s desk.

“Sure, whatcha need?” Darsi replied, keeping her tone carefully casual. Like most really good practitioners of her profession, she was an inveterate gossip hound.

“If he comes inside again, could you be, y’know, nice to him?” Lakshmi asked earnestly. “He’s a stoic kid, but… Well, since his sister died, he’s got basically no one. She was my roommate, so… It’s not the same as family, but I try to keep an eye out for him.”

“Oh, honey,” the receptionist said, her eyes misting up. “Of course, of course. You poor thing, I had no idea.”

“Thanks,” Lakshmi said with one of the vague smiles she affected in this role. “See you in thirty!”

“You take care, hon!”

She smiled again, turned and meandered out. Mindful of the glass doors and Darsi’s voracious appetite for juicy intelligence, she kept her pace sedate and her path slightly wavering all the way across the street. Rupa Singh, bumbling secretary, was no threat and not particularly interesting to anyone. There was no telling how a nest of journalists would react to the presence of Peepers, Thieves’ Guild listener, in their midst.

Joe straightened up at her approach, doffing his had courteously. “Ma’am.”

“Joe,” she replied, linking her arm with his and leading him a distance up the street, out of view of the Herald. “For your information, I am the roommate of your recently-deceased sister, which is why you’re hanging around me. That smug little weasel behind the front desk is getting snoopy, which we don’t need. And for all the gods’ sakes, keep Weaver away from the office.”

“That suits everyone just fine,” Joe replied with an amused expression. “He prefers lurking in the upper stories watching through windows. Doesn’t have to talk to anyone that way, which…again, is to everybody’s benefit. I’m afraid I’m not much for lying, though.”

“I am very sorry to have to impose on your sensibilities,” she said with such a total lack of sarcasm in her tone that her words practically dripped with it. That was a neat trick she’d learned from Principia.

“Well, there’s that,” he said, “but I’m mostly concerned that my lack of practice will throw off your game.”

“Hmm.” Lakshmi shot him an appraising glance sidelong. “Fair enough, then. The idea is for you not to have to tell anyone that story, but… I’m sure you’ve lost people you care about.”

His expression stilled immediately. “Everyone has.”

“Right. Well, the trick to telling a good lie is to keep the untruth to an absolute minimum. If you have to bluff it, call up that memory and say it hurts, you don’t want to talk about it. Anyone will respect that. And it gives us a story, if necessary. Frankly, I should’ve thought of something like this earlier. People like simple stories, familiar ones. The most likely explanation for me meeting a boy every day at lunch is made creepy by the fact I’m twenty-three and you’re…what, twelve?”

“Old enough to know when I’m being baited,” he said with a smile. “Any word today?”

“Possibly,” she said, frowning. “I’ve still only got the one lead that’s even remotely promising. Carter Long has been pursuing some story, and has pulled up reference materials on the Wreath and demonology in general. Honestly, that may not mean squat. If there’s anything like that going on in the city, it’s obviously newsworthy. The only thing at all suggestive is that nobody else at the paper seems to be looking into anything of the kind, at least not that I’ve found.”

“Hm,” he mused. “With the Wreath as active as Bishop Darling says they are, that does seem…odd.”

“Right. Look, Joe…” She glanced around casually; the street was busy at noon, but everyone was hurrying about on their own business, no one paying inordinate attention to one young couple strolling along arm-in-arm. “This may be nothing, but I’ve got a feeling…and I’ve learned to trust my feelings. I need you and Weaver to be especially watchful today.”

He tilted his head, looking quizzically at her. “How so?”

“Especially watchful,” she repeated firmly. “Not just keeping an eye open for signals or unusual activity. Long is out of the office at a time when he’s usually hard at work at his desk. That means he’s following up on a lead. If I haven’t missed the opportunity already… Well, something’s afoot. After days of nothing, I’m gonna get a little more aggressive. He makes a move, I’ll follow him.”

“So you need us to watch for you leaving, and possibly being unable to signal as you’ll want to avoid attracting attention,” he said, nodding. “You realize if you do that, one way or another, it’ll blow your cover.”

“And then, if this is a bust, we move on to a different newspaper,” she said flatly. “Because if this doesn’t pan out, there’s nothing here worth pursuing, and Darling has indicated we’re on a tight timetable.”

“Right, then.” He sighed softly. “You’ll want to keep your eyes on this guy’s desk. I guess this means you’ll be heading back? Without lunch?”

“Disappointed?” she asked with wry amusement.

Joe shrugged. “Well, it’s my turn to treat, is all.”

Lakshmi shook her head. “Joe, it’s not that I don’t love the chivalry, but have a care. Some Avenist is going to take offense one of these days. There’s a school of feminist thought that says holding doors and chairs for women is implying that they’re too weak to do for themselves.”

“It was a woman who taught me to shoot,” he said calmly. “I’ve known far too many to doubt their capacity. But in a world that doesn’t always fairly acknowledge a woman’s worth…” He shrugged. “I find it hurts nothing to remind ladies that they are valued.”

“Hmm.” Lakshmi gave him a thoughtful look. “You know what, Joe?”

“What’s that?”

“In about…three years, I want you to look me up.”

He gaped at her, a very satisfying lapse in his usual poise (which did not belong on someone so young). Then he blushed, which just made it better.

 

Returning to the office, she met Darsi’s excessively sympathetic smile with a sad one. Ah, well, it spared her having to make conversation with the silly piece of fluff.

And on the subject of fluff, the approach through the foyer made it impossible not to see the artwork of the Herald’s new patron saint, which she had enjoyed not having to look at on the way out. Journalists hadn’t a god of their own, though the newsroom contained more than a few small idols of Vesk, the god of bards, which was the closest match. They weren’t a particularly devout lot at the best of times, though, and in the last week had found a new idol to revere. The posters in the foyer were life-sized, and hung on the walls on either side of the receptionist’s desk.

Lakshmi hadn’t met Branwen Snowe, exactly, but had glimpsed her from the near distance, and could critique the likeness. They were recognizable, surely, all pretty, auburn-haired and demure, but somewhat exaggerated. She was about that bosomy, sure, but not nearly so wasp-waisted, nor as tall. Also, there was absolutely no way her Bishop’s robes would cling to her figure like that. Still and all, Snowe provided something for everyone; the (mostly male) rank and file certainly enjoyed eyeballing her likeness, and Talivaar was over the moon about what she’d done for sales. Apparently her advice was already quite well-spoken-of throughout the city, too.

Lakshmi managed not to roll her eyes as she passed under Bishop Snowe’s beatific gaze back into the newsroom.

Here, again, she made her aimless, cringing way back to her desk, not letting her interest show on her face upon noting the presence of Carter Long back at his desk. He was a slight young man with a dark Western complexion, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a predilection for cheap suits. Now, she observed, he was arranging papers, not writing or interacting with his fellow reporters.

She continued on her way, seating herself behind her own desk near the stairs, pulled an expense sheet in front of herself and set about pantomiming working at it with an un-inked pen. Glancing up every few seconds without raising her head was enough to keep her quarry’s activities under surveillance. A frisson of excitement darted down her spine. Finally, after days in this tedious hole, wasting her talents on these people and their silly gossip, she just might be getting somewhere.

That, or this was all perfectly innocent and she was wasting time even harder.

Long was very clearly squaring away his effects, the kind of activity that usually preceded an evening’s departure from the premises. Not all the journalists at the Imperial Herald were so precise; a good many of those desks remained in a state of greater or lesser disaster round the clock. This fellow liked things neat and orderly, though. That he was doing this now strongly suggested he did not plan to be back here before tomorrow.

It was just after lunch. Long was too dutiful to skip out on his job—she’d only been watching him a few days, but she was fairly certain of that assessment—which meant wherever he was going was work-related. Given the timing, it had to be something big. And he’d been reading up on the Black Wreath… She’d pulled some of the archives for him herself.

He rose, rather abruptly, carrying a briefcase, and Lakshmi gave up her pretense. He had a sheet of paper in his other hand. If he was just taking it to the typesetter to be transcribed…

Long wove his way through the mess of desks and coworkers, reached the end of the row adjacent to the long bank of typists…and turned left, heading down the side of the room.

Right for her.

She returned her attention to the sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. In seconds, he had reached her…and then passed, heading into the kitchen. With his briefcase?

From the kitchen, there was an access to the back hall which led to storage and cleaning supplies… Lakshmi had not had the opportunity to explore it fully, but it would make sense if there were a back exit from the building in there somewhere. In the context of this, it was the only thing that made sense. Carter Long had no business putting his desk in order and carrying his briefcase and notes into a cleaning closet.

Which meant he didn’t want anyone taking note of his departure. There were rules at the Herald against actively sabotaging a fellow reporter. Well, just one rule, really: you could only do that to reporters who worked for other papers. But a lot of the staff here had proven they weren’t above snatching a scoop from an in-house rival should the opportunity arise. Which, in turn, meant that whatever lead Long was chasing was big, and juicy.

She rose smoothly, turned, and followed.

In the kitchen, she caught a fleeting glimpse of his lean form vanishing through the rear door into the back hall. Lakshmi went right after him, silently as she could, and peered through. It was narrow and dim; if he happened to turn, there’d be no way for her to hide. On the other hand, she was the editor’s secretary; she might have any number of possible reasons to be rummaging around looking for supplies. Hell, if he caught her, she could ask him where something was.

Lakshmi stepped into the dim hall, following the furtive reporter at what she judged a safe distance. Thank all the gods for her premonition; at least Joe had been forewarned that something might be afoot today.

Those two hotshots had better be paying attention.

 

“Look alive,” Weaver said by the window. Joe was at his side in a flash, tossing down the novel he’d been pretending to read on the bed. The hotel fronting the offices of the Imperial Herald tended to cater to journalists, who, it seemed, did not expect much in the way of material comforts. It was cramped, shabby, and generally not a pleasant place to be cooped up. Especially with Weaver.

He reached the window just in time to see Lakshmi looking very pointedly up the general direction of their room before heading off down the street, right after a slender fellow carrying a briefcase.

Beside him, still watching the street below, Weaver had just finished crushing one of the captive ladybugs he’d collected and kept in a tiny mesh cage, whispering rapidly to the remains of the poor insect in his fist.

“I guess she was serious,” Weaver said aloud. “This could be the big one. All right…we’ll need to split up.”

“Right,” Joe said. “How will—”

“You stay on her, I’ll go get Darling. I’ll be able to find you.”

Joe grimaced, quickly discerning his unspoken plan. “Ugh… Tell me you’re not going to send that invisible death thing to sit on my—”

“Why are you still here?” Weaver barked, already heading for the door.

Joe clenched his teeth in annoyance, but had to acknowledge the rebuke was warranted. He darted to the other window—they, or rather Darling, had paid through the nose for a corner room—and was quickly out on the fire escape. Lakshmi was vanishing down the sidewalk all too rapidly; he didn’t take excessive care with his personal safety on the way to street level. It didn’t matter too much, as he could sense every detail of where to place his feet and hands to get down with maximum efficiency.

On the street below, he had to run to get close enough; this would all be for naught if Peepers managed to lose him in the crowd. The sight of a well-dressed teenager dashing pell-mell down the sidewalk definitely drew more attention than he wanted, but he had other concerns.

Like the danger Peepers might be walking into, and the…whatever it was…that Weaver had apparently sent to accompany him. He wasn’t sure which unsettled him more.

 

There were all sorts of districts in Tiraas, all sorts of neighborhoods, each home to wildly different types of people. They ran the full gamut of wealth and social class, and some could be quite dangerous—not all for the same reasons, either. At least one particularly ritzy district, inhabited chiefly by nobles, could be risky to walk down at night, not because of criminal activity, but due to overzealous House guards who had a reputation for mistaking pedestrians for spies.

In the whole city, though, there was really only one empty district.

It was empty only for this moment in time, a part of the city’s continuing evolution. The island city of Tiraas had no room to grow, so as the art and science of architecture advanced, it frequently had to clear out the old to make room for the new. This process was precisely at its midway point in the Mid-Lower Southeastern Ward, a small neighborhood bordered by canals which had been home to the less desperate poor until last year, and would be home to the tenuously middle-class once the old apartments had been knocked down and replaced with new houses outfitted with all available modern magical conveniences.

Carter Long didn’t for one moment believe that because this area was theoretically abandoned, it wasn’t dangerous. The people he had come to meet couldn’t have been the only ones who saw the potential in a district currently beneath the notice of the city constabulary. Even if no one else who happened to be skulking about here chose to bother him… Well, there was the fact that he was on his way to a face-to-face confrontation with some very bad people. He kept a hand free and tucked into his coat pocket, where he had a wand. Brandishing it would only lead to trouble, but he didn’t want to have to fumble for it, should it be needed.

Even so, he wished for the sheet of paper on which he’d written down the directions he had been given. It was tucked in another pocket at the moment, ready to be consulted if necessary. He’d carefully memorized it all, of course. Double-checking was simply a thing he did whenever possible, for the sake of thoroughness. And, truth be told, comfort.

The right building was easily found—the street signs and numbers were all still in place. Its front door was not only unlocked, but broken and hanging open.

The old apartment’s interior was every bit as shabby and unlit as he would have expected of a place such as this; Carter found himself wishing he’d thought to bring a fairy lamp. Obviously, there were no interior lights active; fuel-burning fixtures would be completely neglected, and anything as valuable as fairy lights would have been scavenged long since. The halls were lit only by windows at either end, which didn’t so much provide light as create spooky glowing spots in the dark distance.

Finding the right room on the third floor took some doing, given the lack of illumination. He had to really strain to read the numbers on the room doors, and many of those were missing, either in whole or in part. The stairwell was the easiest part of the whole trip; it ran along the building’s exterior, and had windows whose glass had long ago been smashed out, letting in sunlight and a refreshing breeze.

Eventually, though, he located Room 317, which he was unsurprised to find still had its attached numbers. There was no light from under or around the door, no smells, no sound. This might as well have been as empty a place as the rest of the old wreck of a building. Carter took a deep breath, steeled himself, and knocked.

The door opened instantly.

Room 317 was fully furnished, well-lit with modern fairy lamps and seemed quite comfortable. Not so much so that it would have stood out from its neighbors when the neighborhood had been occupied, but there was a slightly shabby hominess to it, right down to the apparently handmade quilt on the bed and lace doilies draped over an end table and the mantlepiece. Carter spared all of it only the most cursory of glances, though, fixing his attention on the room’s occupant.

He stepped back from the open door, wearing a broad smile, and bowed, doffing his white straw hat. The man was dark-skinned, old enough to have lines on his clean-shaven face, and dressed in an immaculate suit of snowy white.

“Ah, hello,” Carter said, trying for poise. “I was told to come to…”

“And you must be Mr. Long,” the man in white said, still smiling. “Here for the scoop of the century, of course! Do come in, sir. Let’s see if we can’t make you famous.”

Carter cleared his throat and did as he was directed, fighting back nerves. He was, after all, stepping into a room with…well.

“And…have I the pleasure of addressing…?”

“Embras Mogul,” his host replied, his warm smile jerking upward on one side to become a distinctly sly grin. “Mortal leader of the faith of Elilial. So, Mr. Long, I take it you have some questions for me.

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6 – 23

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“Are you sure?” Trissiny demanded. “How can you tell?”

The group backed away as another hammer blow knocked loose a cascade of ice fragments.

“I’m a fairy!” Fross exclaimed. “I know when I’m in the presence of one of Naiya’s daughters!”

“Fuck,” Ruda said emphatically. “For one blessed moment, I thought this was gonna be simple. Dunno why, but I did.”

The monster roared again, smashing the wall with both colossal fists. That entire segment collapsed, and it began forcing its way through the gap.

“Retreat!” Trissiny barked, backing away. “Fross, slow her down!”

“On it!”

“Retreat where?” Ruda demanded, even as she backed up from the creature. Fross zipped back and forth, rapidly building inverted icicles; the columns of ice were only waist-high to the creature, but the pixie was arranging them as an obstacle course in the transformed dryad’s path, forcing her to stop and batter through them. “There’s nowhere to go but back to the nexus!”

“That may work,” said Toby. “We didn’t see any illusion effects in there, right? Maybe if we coax her out of this hall, she’ll revert to herself.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Trissiny, nodding. “All right, slow retreat. Fross, good work; keep her from catching up to us. We don’t want to get too far ahead, let her keep us in view. Gabe, can you fine-tune your wandshots not to damage her? We may need to provoke her to keep following us.”

“I don’t really have that kind of control,” he said.

“I advise against it in any case,” Shaeine added. “If she does not return to herself upon reaching the nexus, we will have to coax her down. Hurting and enraging her will make that vastly more difficult.”

They beat a slow, nervous retreat back to the center of the complex, staying carefully out of Juniper’s reach with the help of Fross’s various ice constructions, while keeping her in view. No taunting proved necessary; the monstrosity kept after them, roaring and lashing out with her various limbs, which was both convenient for their plan, and rather worrisome. Fross, for her part, seemed to get into her task with enthusiasm, making her impediments increasingly elaborate and fanciful in shape as they progressed. Of course, they all ended up in pieces.

The Crawl didn’t try to thwart them, for once. In what seemed like less time than it had taken to get that far into the hallway, they were backing out of it, leaving the mist behind and stepping into the wide-open space of the central nexus. Fross laid off the ice works, zipping back to join the others as they picked up their pace to put some extra distance between themselves and their pursuer.

Roaring, she stomped forward to the edge of the mist, stingers poised to lash out. The students retreated nearly to the center of the chamber.

“Come on, June,” Trissiny muttered, keeping her shield in front of her.

The dryad-monster stomped forward, flaring her breathing sacs. The fog faded behind her, leaving her towering shape framed against a dense white backdrop. Emitting a guttural growl and flexing both stinger-tails, she took another step forward.

“Okaaaay,” said Ruda. “What was Plan B?”

“I’m gonna try something,” said Gabriel, taking a step forward.

“Gabe,” Toby warned.

“It’s okay. Shaeine, can you please be ready to rescue me from my own stupidity if need be?”

“That is my customary practice, yes.”

He grinned at her momentarily before continuing forward at a slow walk.

The monster roared at him; Gabriel didn’t falter. “Hi, Juno,” he said. She stopped, stingers poised menacingly, and bent forward as if to sniff at him.

Keeping his pace slow, he continued on. “I know you don’t like to talk about what’s bothering you. Like I’ve told you before, though, you can. Whatever this is, whatever you’re so afraid of…you don’t need to be. At the very least, you don’t have to face it alone.”

He stopped, finally. The monster took one step forward and leaned down, planting both fists on the ground on either side of him. Her stingers arched over her shoulders, hovering menacingly above his head.

“Gabriel, you are too close,” Shaeine said. “I can’t put a shield around you without burning her.”

“This doesn’t have to happen,” Gabriel said, ignoring the priestess. He slowly raised one hand toward the creature’s face, what there was of one. “There is no reason it will. You are what you choose to be.”

She exhaled sharply, blowing his hair back. He winced; they could smell it from yards away. He did not retreat, though.

“Choose,” Gabriel said quietly, placing his hand against her. “You’re not alone.”

The monster’s roar was almost enough to physically bowl him over at that distance. She seized him by both shoulders and hiked him bodily off the ground, straightening up.

Before anyone could even cry out, a tiny silver point appeared from the creature’s upper chest, just in front of Gabriel’s face.

The monster emitted a guttural wail, dropping Gabe as suddenly as she had picked him up, and staggered backward, incidentally dislodging Ruda from her back. The pirate rolled away, nimbly landing on her feet, as the mutated dryad slumped to her knees, sagging in place.

“What did you do?” Toby shouted.

“Mithril,” Ruda said, retreating from Juniper without taking her gaze away. “Think Triss had the right idea back there. Good for cutting off magic. Hopefully not just hers; it should work on the Crawl’s, even.”

“That’s right through—you could kill her!” Gabriel exclaimed in horror.

“Nah, I’ve stabbed her with it once before. Just shook her up some.”

“You’ve what?”

Juniper’s hulking form was listing markedly to one side now. As they watched in appalled fascination, the green of her mottled skin faded to brown, the brown to gray. Before their eyes, flesh turned to wood and began to crack, as if from age and rot.

“Look at her!” Gabriel shouted. “You bloody maniac, you—”

“Listen!” Shaeine said urgently, cutting him off.

In the silence which followed, a soft noise could be heard from the stilled monster, an apparently sourceless shuffling. Then, its central body shifted and seemed partially to collapse in on itself. Ruda’s rapier was tugged firmly to the side, its jeweled hilt knocking loosed a large chunk of calcified flesh.

“Have we yet been on an adventure when you didn’t stick this thing in somebody?”

The voice, though muffled, was unmistakeable. Gabriel leaped forward, followed swiftly by Toby and Ruda. They had to actually dig into the huge bulk of the body, pulling aside half-rotted chunks of wood, but in only seconds Juniper’s green hair was visible. With remarkably little effort—the husk of the monster now seemed about as sturdy as papier mache—they were carefully pulling her out of the ruins, still with the rapier through the center of her chest. There was no sign of her sundress.

“Are you okay?” Gabriel asked the dryad solicitously. “How do you feel?”

“Impaled,” she grimaced. “It doesn’t feel good. But…thanks, Ruda. That was a pretty awful thing.”

“People underestimate the curative powers of stabbing,” Ruda said with a grin. “Good to see your pretty face again, Juno. I’m gonna want that back, by the way.”

“Well, that’s fine, I’d just as soon have it out.” Grimacing, the dryad shifted around, giving Ruda access to the hilt protruding from between her shoulder blades.

“This might sting a bit,” Ruda warned.

“Less than it did going in I beoww!”

“You really do like to stab people,” Teal said, grinning.

“Hey, guys?” said Fross. “Look.”

The mist had faded from each of the side halls, revealing their shapes—which in all cases were virtually square. They extended no further back than they were wide, and seemed oddly sad, with nothing to reveal but blank stone surfaces.

“That’s almost insulting,” Ruda muttered.

“How so?” Trissiny asked.

“Couldn’t say, really. I just feel generally insulted.”

“Fair enough,” Trissiny replied with a smile.

“Well, I guess this means we officially won,” Gabriel said, letting go of Juniper’s hand and stepping past the group toward the middle of the room. In the precise center of the floor there now sat a small wooden chest.

“Are we sure we’re not still in the Descent?” Ruda demanded, planting her fists on her hips.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” said Fross. “Totally different style and methodology here. I’m equally sure it’s still the Crawl, though.”

Gabriel knelt and raised the lid. “…well, this is kinda disappointing.”

“What’d we get?” Teal asked, looming over his shoulder and craning her neck.

“I think this is for you,” he said, picking up an ebony flute from within the box and handing it to her. It was quite average in size, though carved in the slightly sinuous form of a snake, with another, smaller serpent cast in gold winding about its length.

“Ooh,” she whispered, accepting the instrument and cradling it tenderly before her face.

“Um, don’t blow in that,” Fross said nervously. “That thing is lousy with enchantments, and I can’t even tell what most of them do. It’s old, too. No telling what might happen.”

“We can have Professor Yornhaldt look at it when we’re back topside,” Toby suggested.

“Only one other thing here,” Gabe reported, straightening and holding up the remainder of their winnings. “So, uh, who needs a sword?”

 

After a fairly minimal discussion, they decided to make camp. Everyone was exhausted, hungry, and generally not feeling up to more adventure at the moment, and the only two ways they had out of the complex held the prospect of further trouble. The eighth hall did indeed terminate in a door out of the area, which Fross peeked through and reported opened onto the huge, sloping central cavern of the Crawl. There were no recognizable landmarks; they were either far above or below the level of the Grim Visage. They also had their waystone, of course, but as the portal from Level 2 was the apparent culprit in their current predicament, Trissiny was not alone in mistrusting the welcome they could expect from the demons there.

Fortunately, their shopping from immediately prior to this misadventure had equipped them to settle in if necessary. They improvised a fire by laying down a hearth-sized array of Gabriel’s spell paper inscribed with elemental protection charms, on which they made a puddle of oil of combustion, which Fross then enchanted with a minor time-dilation effect. The resulting campfire was somewhat eerie, shifting very slowly rather than flickering as flames normally did, and producing a peculiar hissing sound rather than crackling cheerfully. It put out heat and light, however. Soon enough, they had arranged their collapsible cook pot over the languid blaze, and set a stew of pork and mushrooms to simmering, while they chewed on unappetizing mushroom bread to stave off hunger.

“I feel kinda bad, though,” Gabriel was saying. “Are you sure nobody else wants it?”

“For the last time, only two of us use swords, and neither of us needs an upgrade,” Ruda said, grinning at him. “You picked it up, you may as well keep it.”

“Don’t try to fight with it, though,” Trissiny said firmly. “I’ve seen you handle a sword in class; you’ll impale yourself. That thing might just be magical enough to do you harm, too.”

“That’s sort of what I meant,” he said with a rueful grin. “Just seems like a waste.”

“Or you could view it as motivation,” Shaeine suggested. “Now you have a reason to learn the sword.”

“Or you could sell it,” said Ruda. “I can tell it’s old, and elvish. Fross says it’s heavily enchanted. Gotta be worth some serious coin.”

“Mm,” he mused, pulling the saber half-out of its sheath to study the blade. “I dunno. That feels…wrong, somehow.”

The leather wrapping the hilt was black, as was its attached scabbard. The blade itself was a single long curve, continuing to form an equally curved handle with only the most minimal crossguard and a heavy, rounded pommel. Its design was, indeed, clearly elven.

“What’s that written on the blade, there?” Toby asked.

“It’s some form of elvish,” Gabriel reported, holding up the sword and squinting at it in the firelight. “I can’t read it.”

“It says ‘Ariel,’” said Teal.

He frowned. “Ariel? What’s that mean?”

“It is a name,” said Shaeine. “A rather popular one among elves until about a millennium ago. I know three women named Yrril, which is the Narisian variant. Not as commonly used these days.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense!” said Fross. “A lot of magic swords have names.”

“I suspect Ariel was the sword’s previous owner,” Shaeine replied. “It would be the equivalent of a sword named Jane. Not inconceivable, but…rather odd.”

“Hmm,” Gabriel mused, sliding the blade back into its sheath and setting it aside. “Well…I might actually show it to Professor Tellwyrn, see what she says. Between the unidentified spells on it and the fact I suck at swords, I’m gonna leave it alone for the time being.”

“I think that’s a very good idea,” Toby said firmly.

“So!” Ruda said. “If we’re all settled in and done beating around the bush, let me pose the obvious question. What the fuck was all that?”

“Do we really need to talk about it?” Gabriel asked after a moment’s strained silence.

“In some cases, I think we do,” said Toby. “Some of the things we saw… I think the base question is, how much of it was true?”

“About a fifty-fifty split in our case,” Gabe replied, looking over at Trissiny. “It started off with some miscellaneous spookiness before it really got hold of us. Then Triss was turned into some kind of alternate universe version of herself, and I got dragged through that mess with Madeleine again.”

“Madeleine?” Teal asked.

“Wait, stop,” said Ruda, grinning hugely. “Alternate universe Trissiny?”

“One in which I was raised by my biological mother, rather than the Sisterhood,” Trissiny said quietly.

“Wh—your mother, that smarmy Eserite elf? Naphthene’s tits, what were you like?”

“A lot like you, actually.”

Ruda barked a laugh. “You poor, abused child.”

“I can see why the Crawl would come up with that,” Teal mused. “Avenists and Eserites are about as opposite as it comes. There’s probably no better way to attack Trissiny.”

“I don’t think it was an attack,” Trissiny said pensively, frowning into the fire.

“Go on,” Toby said after a moment.

She sighed and lifted her gaze. “I’ve been…wondering. The whole time I’ve been at this University it seems I can’t do anything except mess up; I’ve only succeeded in places like the Golden Sea and Sarasio where there’s an enemy to fight. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise,” Ruda said amiably, producing a bottle of whiskey, “you do shit like try to execute classmates and start civil insurrections.”

“….yeah,” Trissiny said with a grimace. “It was Bishop Darling who put the idea in my head that…that maybe the other side of my heritage might have value. I’m an Avenist raised and trained, but I’m also the offspring of a particularly devious thief. Everyone keeps going on about how the old ways don’t work in the new world. Avei herself said the new paladins were being called after such a long time as a break with old traditions, so the gods could prepare us for other ways of thinking. And… Sitting here now, I find I’m feeling grateful for the experience.”

“Grateful?” Gabriel’s eyebrows rose sharply.

Trissiny nodded. “That girl I was…I remember her. Not the details of her life, but what it was like, seeing the world through her eyes. Studying the angles, the complexities, always looking for the less-trod path, the perfect place to put the tiniest pressure to achieve her ends. And…and finding such joy in it. The constant thrill and, and celebration in being challenged and having to survive with nothing but your wits and skills. If that’s what life is like for Eserites… Well, I think I understand them a lot better. And I think that may be exactly the thing I needed to learn. I’m not sure how to incorporate that into my mindset, but…it’s a start. I feel it was important for me.”

“Tellwyrn and Ezzaniel both called the Crawl a teacher,” Teal said, frowning into the fire. “Could this really have all been arranged for our benefit?”

“In some cases more than others,” Gabriel grunted. “I don’t see the educational value in the shit I had to deal with.”

“I have to ask,” said Trissiny, looking up at him, “how did that play out in the real world? I know I wasn’t there to rescue you that time.”

He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “Madeleine’s bargain-basement diabolism didn’t hold. The hethelax demon broke through the circle and managed to restrain me before I could hurt her. After that… My dad had a little talk with her, and Toby arranged for Church summoners to send the demon back where he came from. I didn’t see her again.” He sighed heavily. “Not even a week later I went back there looking for her, because I’m really not that bright, and her whole house was cleaned out.”

“Not many people want to be on your dad’s bad side,” Toby said with a small smile.

“Well, I don’t think we necessarily need to drag everyone’s deep, dark secrets into the light,” said Ruda. “I for one don’t see a reason to discuss the crap it dumped on me back there.”

“Yeah, it is kind of counterintuitive that you’d be afraid of becoming an accountant.”

Ruda slammed her bottle down. “Fross.”

“Sorry!”

“Really?” Gabriel tilted his head inquisitively. “You’re actually really good with figures. How come—”

“Arquin, after the day we’ve had I barely need an excuse to come over there and fuck you up.”

“Peace, please,” said Shaeine. “This has been extremely trying for all of us. Let us please not make the mistake of taking it out on each other.”

“Anyway,” Ruda said loudly. “With that said, I agree with Toby. There is some stuff we really do need to talk about.”

She looked pointedly at Juniper. One by one, the others swiveled their heads to do the same.

The dryad sighed, slumping slightly. She had been silent up till now, sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees. After being sluiced off with some of Fross’s stored water to get the slime and rotted wood off her, she’d been persuaded to don one of the lightly-enchanted robes they’d acquired as Descent level rewards and been unable to sell. The whole time, she had been uncharacteristically quiet and pliable.

“I’m made of magic,” she said quietly. “I’m a living conduit to my mother’s power. Even if I can’t do much magic, that’s a lot of power. It’s a huge amount. Basically infinite. And…and it can change.” She paused to gulp heavily, still staring at the slow flames. “Dryads… One way or another, that’s how we end up. After hundreds of years, we start getting a little weird. In the head, I mean. And a dryad who’s lost a sense of herself tends to…change.”

“Into creatures like that?” Gabriel asked.

Juniper shrugged, not looking up. “Not necessarily. I don’t even know what that was. Some personification of my worry, I guess. And it’s not just age that does it; we’re not built to handle mental trauma, either. A dryad who lives long enough to go senile, or suffers a bad enough emotional shock… Well. Anything could happen.”

“What kind of anythings can happen?” Ruda asked sharply.

“Cherry…I don’t even know what happened to her, but she became a kind of aquatic monster. She swims up and down rivers, pulling people in and drowning them. She doesn’t even eat them, just wants to watch them die. Sequoia turned into a tree when the mortals she had become friends with were massacred. Some elves built a grove around her so they could protect her until she wakes up, which was nice of them, but…I think if she were going to she would have by now. And that’s nothing compared to what happened to Jacaranda.”

Fross abruptly forgot to keep flying and plunged into the stew pot.

She was out the next second, spluttering and spraying droplets of gravy everywhere. “What? Who? What did you say?”

“Yeah,” Juniper said, nodding. She finally raised her eyes to look at the pixie.

“Wait, you know that one, Fross?” Toby asked.

“J-Jacaranda? That’s the Pixie Queen’s name! It can’t be the same person, she hates dryads!”

“That…could be an argument in favor of it being the same person,” Shaeine said thoughtfully.

“It is,” said Juniper, still watching Fross. “She…well, to make a long story short, she fell in love with someone, and he decided he didn’t want her. She couldn’t cope with that.”

“Wait, the Pixie Queen is a dryad?” Gabriel exclaimed.

“No,” Juniper said wearily. “The Pixie Queen is just one of the things that can happen to a dryad who gets her heart broken. She wanted to always feel loved, and to be distracted from her own thoughts. She wanted it more than she wanted to continue existing, wanted it badly enough to warp her very nature. Like I said, we’re hugely magical. If we lose sight of ourselves…the sky’s the limit. Anything can happen.”

“So, then… Does this make you…my…aunt?” Fross whispered.

Juniper managed a smile at that. “Well, the relationships aren’t exactly biological, y’know? You’re a piece of her aura. Part of her conduit to Naiya. Basically the same thing I am, but smaller, with more structure. So… I guess I’m more your big sister. Is that okay?”

“I…I…” Fross sounded completely overawed. “That’s okay with me.”

“So, I understand your worry about becoming a monster,” Toby said quietly. “How about why you’re worried about it?”

Juniper dropped her gaze again. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? Whatever happens, will happen.”

“No,” he said firmly, then stood and strode across the circle to sit down beside her and drape an arm around her shoulder. “Juniper, I’ve had time to think since Tiraas, and I’ve come to realize I wasn’t being a good friend to you at all. I was hovering around, worrying and generally treating you like some kind of dangerous animal instead of doing what I would for someone I care about. Which means, in this case, a little tough love.”

“Uh, I am not certain this is a good idea,” Trissiny said carefully.

“It’s a good idea,” Ruda insisted. “Juno, hon, we all know you’ve been gnawing at this, and we all know the basics of why. And we’ve left you alone about it, but it’s time to lay some cards on the table. If those are the stakes we’re dealing with… Your issues are everybody’s business. You get that, right?”

“Take all the time you need to get it out,” Toby said gently, rubbing her shoulder. “But we need to talk about this. Tonight.”

Juniper hunched in on herself, tightening her grip on her knees, as if to shut them all out. She leaned against Toby, though. “I… I did something really bad,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” said Ruda. “Why’d you do that?”

“Ruda!” Trissiny exclaimed.

“I’m not just bein’ an ass here. It’s a pertinent question. If you knew it was bad, what was your reason for doing it, Juniper?”

“I didn’t,” the dryad said miserably. “I didn’t understand… It was never like…” She paused to swallow painfully. Toby continued gently rubbing her shoulder. “We were apart from everything, you know? Naiya’s favored daughters. We did what we wanted. I always tried to keep in balance with nature, do what I saw other animals do. Only kill to eat, only when I needed to. Most of my sisters did the same, but some… Mostly the older ones… They were weird. They’d hunt for sport, or… Well, some of them had funny hobbies. And that was fine! It didn’t seem like much fun to me, but they were dryads. In the Deep Wild, dryads do whatever they want, and it’s okay. By definition.”

“Just to be clear,” Gabriel said carefully, “we are talking about you eating humans?”

“It was just the one,” Juniper whispered. “Just that one time. He was the first one I’d ever seen. I was curious.”

“Curious?” Teal burst out, then clapped a hand over her mouth, looking abashed.

“Well, see, that’s already not as bad as some of us were thinkin’,” Ruda said lightly. “That’s why I was asking about motivations. You didn’t know better, right? I mean, don’t get me wrong, that was a shitty thing to do and it sure as hell mattered to him, not to mention his family, but you’ve gotta make allowances for the circumstances.”

“I was curious,” Juniper went on, barely above a whisper. “I wanted to know everything. Sample…try everything. See what it all was, how it worked. So…I ate little bits. From each part. And used healing to keep him alive so they all stayed fresh.”

The silence was deafening. Even Fross settled to the ground, stilling her wings.

“How could you do something like that?” Gabriel whispered at last.

Juniper buried her face in her arms.

“Okay,” Ruda said slowly, “that is pretty fucked up. You understand that, right?”

Juniper made a soft whimpering noise.

“I asked you a question,” Ruda said with a bit of an edge to her voice. “I’m not making small talk, here, Juno, we are discussing this.”

“I didn’t know!” Juniper wailed suddenly, raising her head. Tears were pouring down her face. “He was a monster! Humans were just these unnatural creatures that lived out of balance and destroyed things for no good reason. I didn’t know how complicated it all was! How, what, it…” She choked off, swallowed twice, and continued, her voice breaking. “But people are different than animals, and they matter, and I get that now. I shouldn’t have done that, and I can’t go back to thinking he was just a thing. It hurts, and I can’t make it stop, and I’m scared! I don’t want to be a monster!”

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Ruda said more gently. She stood and went over to sit on Juniper’s other side, leaning against her. “Hon, guilt is a nasty thing. It will fuck you right up if you don’t learn to deal with it.”

“How do you deal?” Juniper sniffled.

“There are many ways,” said Shaeine.

“Personally, I have duty to fall back on,” Ruda said. “I have a job to do. I don’t get to wallow in my bad feelings. If I’ve done something wrong, I do my best to make it right. If that can’t be done… Then I remember I’ve done wrong in the world and make an effort to add some good to it. For my family, my people, everyone who depends on me.”

“That sounds…complicated,” Juniper said, her face falling.

“It is,” Toby agreed. “Any method you settle upon will be. This is not something that can be corrected with a few magic words, Juniper. What you did… The action you describe is abhorrent almost beyond description. But.” He gently placed his fingers under her chin, lifting her face when she tried to hide under her arms again. “The fact is, you do feel this way. You understand, you have the empathy to know it was wrong. And you started feeling this way when you developed that understanding. You really are a kind person at heart, Juniper. I don’t believe you could have done that, had you known what you were doing then. Would you do it now?”

“Never!” she burst out, looking panicked.

“Then it’s time to go forward,” he said firmly. “Backward is only pain. You need to take some responsibility for your own growth. I hate to tell you this, June, but you’ve had an absolutely terrible upbringing.”

“That’s sure as hell true,” Ruda agreed with a grin.

“My mother is a goddess,” the dryad said, frowning. “I’m sure she did right by me.”

Toby sighed. “Did she ever tell you she loves you?”

“What? I don’t… Why does that matter? I know she does. She protects me, after all. You’ve all seen that.”

“Okay,” he said. “But did she ever tell you?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she huffed.

“Juniper,” Teal said gently, “you know we love you, right?”

“I… Well, sure. I love you, too.”

“Right.” Teal nodded, smiling. “But isn’t it so much better to hear it?”

“The thing is,” Toby went on while Juniper frowned in thought, “you were raised with no boundaries. No ethics. You learned to do whatever you wanted, to whoever you wanted… June, that’s a recipe for a person with no moral center who can’t function in the wider world. Honestly, it sounds like your mother didn’t even try to raise you at all, you or any of your sisters. She just…turned you loose.”

“I’ve been proceeding under the assumption that dryad morality is simply alien and inscrutable,” Trissiny said thoughtfully. “But if you’ll forgive me for saying it, Juniper, when I look back over our interactions, there’s nothing that can’t be explained by you simply being spoiled. I wonder if that might not be why your sisters are so vulnerable to emotional trauma. What reason have any of you had to develop emotional resilience?”

“I’m starting to feel kind of ganged up on,” Juniper muttered sullenly.

“Yes, well, we just learned you tortured somebody to death,” Gabriel said sharply, “because you were curious. This is kind of a serious matter.”

“You do have a habit of saying anything you don’t like is unnatural,” Ruda said. “Contributing to the spoiled theory.”

“All right!” Juniper exclaimed. “What do you want from me?”

“What do you want?” Toby asked more quietly.

She paused, blinking in confusion, then frowned. “I… I’m not sure.”

“It doesn’t have to be a big question,” he said. “We’re not settling your whole life or anything. Think in the immediate term. What is it you would like to happen, Juniper?”

“I…” She swallowed again. “I just want to stop feeling so bad, right now. And…and I feel like that’s even worse. Selfish. I should suffer.”

“It’s good that you have a sense of fairness,” said Trissiny, “but inflicting suffering for suffering is rarely constructive. Justice is about everyone getting what they need, not what they deserve. What anybody deserves is often too complex a matter for us mortals to judge.”

Shaeine stood, stepped around the fire and crouched in front of Juniper. “You understand why my healing works for Gabriel when Toby and Trissiny’s does not?”

“Well…yes. Professor Tellwyrn explained that to us in Sarasio.”

The drow nodded. “To call upon Themynra’s attention is to invite her judgment. If it will put your mind at ease, Juniper, we can give you the word of no less than a goddess on the matter of your culpability.”

“It’s…divine magic,” Juniper said nervously. “It’s not good for fairies, even if she…y’know.”

“It will weaken you, yes,” Shaeine said seriously. “But believe me, you will know the difference between that and Themynra’s wrath. I will not impose this upon you, but if you would like to have the clarity, I offer it.”

“I…okay,” the dryad said in a small voice. “I think…yes, please.”

“Give me your hand.”

Gently taking Juniper’s hand in both of her own, Shaeine lit from within, a subtle silver corona forming around her. The dryad winced, staring down at her hand, which was in the center of the brightest part of the glow. It subsided after only a few seconds, however, and Shaeine released her. She pulled her hand back, flexing her fingers experimentally.

“That…tingled. And…and I feel a little weak.”

“But not burned,” Shaeine said with a smile. “Not judged. A full ritual to call upon Themynra’s judgment in detail is another matter; I fear that is beyond a priestess of my relatively low rank and training. But you know, now, that for immediately practical purposes, she does not deem you worthy of being struck down.”

“See?” Ruda said lightly. “All good.”

“It’s a long road forward, but you have friends to help you along it,” Toby added, gently rubbing her shoulder again.

Juniper frowned in thought, staring into the fire for a long moment before lifting her eyes again. Her gaze settled on Trissiny. “Can…can you do that, too?”

Trissiny straightened, a frown crossing her features. “I… That’s not the same thing, Juniper. Avei is a very different goddess than Themynra. The light I call on is subject to the Pantheon’s mandate, not her individual judgment.”

“But Avei is the goddess of justice,” the dryad said, staring intently at her now. “Can you do…like Shaeine said? Ask her judgment?”

“Once again, Avei’s judgment is not like Themynra’s. I can, yes, but it’s not something to be done lightly.”

“In all honesty, I don’t think anything about this is light,” Gabriel noted.

“Would you, Trissiny?” Juniper asked.

“June,” the paladin said, her tone worried now, “what you’re asking for… If Avei passes judgment on you, I will have to carry it out. There are certainly extenuating circumstances, but what you did… This would mean a death sentence in any nation of laws, anywhere.”

“You’re saying you’d kill her?” Ruda said, scowling.

“On the direct command of my goddess, at Juniper’s own request? I wouldn’t have a choice. It’s not just a question of my position beneath her. Avei doesn’t inflict death needlessly; if she deemed it necessary for Juniper to die, I would trust her judgment.”

“That’s kinda fucked up, Boots,” Ruda said. “You know that, right?”

“It is not an unreasonable position,” Shaeine said.

“You said it’s not likely she would demand my death,” Juniper said. “And…that there are extenuating circumstances. Right? You were raised Avenist, you know how Avei thinks. Do you think she’d order that?”

“I don’t…think so,” Trissiny said worriedly. “But I also cannot rule it out. Juniper…think about what you’re asking for.”

“She’s asking for closure,” Toby said quietly. “She wants to take responsibility. I think it’s a very important step.”

“If…I mean…” Juniper sighed, looking down at the ground for a moment before raising her eyes again. A determined expression settled on her face as she met Trissiny’s gaze. “I’d rather not die, obviously. But…if Avei has some punishment for me… I sort of think I would feel better.”

Trissiny stared at her in silence for a few seconds, then sighed heavily. “Juniper…be sure. Whatever the details, you are asking for an outcome that may be very permanent.”

“I’m sure,” the dryad said firmly. “I’m… Nature is balance, Trissiny. I’m out of balance; it hurts me like a lost limb. I’m asking for your help.”

The paladin rose slowly to her feet. “We had best step away from the others, and the fire. Gabriel…keep well back, please.”

Juniper followed her meekly several yards away, leaving the rest of the group sitting in silence around the campfire, watching them closely. At Trissiny’s direction, both of them knelt, facing each other. Trissiny drew her sword, setting the tip against the floor and bowing her head over the hilt.

For more than a minute, they simply knelt there. Juniper glanced uncertainly back at her classmates.

The change was subtle, but abrupt. Trissiny spoke, her voice carrying a resonance that made it seem to fill the huge chamber.

“Priestess, shield the demonblood in Themynra’s light if you do not wish to see him obliterated.”

“Wait, what?” Gabriel squeaked, even as a silver sphere flickered into existence around him.

Trissiny stood, and Avei stood with her.

It was almost like looking at an image through water, the perspective flickering with each shift of the eyes. Trissiny was there, a slim blonde girl in armor, but it was also Avei, a powerfully built woman with her black hair pulled back in a severe tail, towering over them in more ways than the physical. The room was suddenly illuminated as if by the noon sun, but no shadows were cast anywhere.

Juniper stared up at her, eyes so wide they bulged, her mouth clamped down into a thin line.

“You are not mine to judge, daughter of Naiya,” Trissiny and Avei said, their voices resonating in unison rather like Vadrieny’s, but with a power that made the walls vibrate. “You stand apart from the world, from all the laws which govern mortals, shielded from the natural consequences of your actions by the favor of your mother. By inviting my judgment, you ask that this state be changed. If this is your intention, Juniper, be certain. My judgment is not to be gainsaid, once pronounced.”

“I’m certain,” Juniper managed, her voice trembling.

Very slowly, the paladin and goddess nodded, staring down at her. “Naiya is a protective but inattentive mother. You have seen the fates of your sisters who fell from their given state. Once changed beyond recognizability, they were beyond her notice. To strike you down would be to invite her retaliation… But to separate you from her sight is another matter.

“I see in you the capacity for significant virtue or fathomless carnage, dryad. The thing that seems most promising to me is that you have called this upon your own head. You have sought to place yourself in the world of mortals, to walk among them as one of their own. To take responsibility. Know, though, that while your crimes were committed in innocence, they are no less severe for this.

“My judgment, Juniper, is both punishment and aid. I hereby sever you from the unmerited favor of your goddess.”

Golden wings sprang up from behind Trissiny, and a matching pair flared into existence from Juniper, accompanied by a golden corona. The dryad cried out in apparent pain, slumping forward and barely catching herself on her knuckles, short of falling to the floor. The golden light around her faded quickly, leaving her gasping for breath.

“You are alone now, child,” Avei said. “Exactly as alone as all mortals are. You shall have only the connections you build, only the power you earn for yourself. I cannot lessen the magic that animates you, nor change your essential nature, without destroying you utterly. But know this: you are no longer watched over by divine mandate. If you fall, you will not rise again. The creatures of the wild will respect your power, but they will not see in you the will of your mother. You are a powerful fairy, Juniper. But you are no longer, for all intents and purposes, a demigod.

“This is the price of your crime… And the promise of the life you seek to build for yourself. Judgment has been passed.”

The light diminished, quickly but smoothly, leaving the chamber in the same omnipresent dimness that prevailed in the Crawl, lit by the students’ campfire. Trissiny staggered for a second as if dizzy.

Juniper drew in a shuddering breath, tears spilling down her cheeks. She started to rise, but lost her balance, once again barely avoiding a fall.

Trissiny knelt before her and wrapped her arms around the quivering dryad. Juniper’s shoulders began to shake in silent sobs; she clutched the paladin as if Trissiny were the only thing holding her up.

“Soooo,” Ruda said after more than a minute had passed with no sound but Juniper’s quiet weeping. “Who wants stew?”

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6 – 22

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“Slowly,” Madeleine purred, replacing the stopper in the decanter and setting it down on her dining room table. “Hold a sip on your tongue and inhale slowly through your nose. Taste, smell, savor it. A fine wine is an experience for all the senses, my darling.”

“Mm,” Gabriel agreed wordlessly around a mouthful of crimson wine. He let his eyes drift close, inhaling deeply through his nose.

“This is so precious I may have to chew my foot off to escape it,” Triss remarked, lounging against the door frame. “That’s drugged, by the way. Nobody who cares that much about wine would have it already decanted before her guest even arrived, unless she wanted to tamper with it first.”

“Oh…wow,” Gabriel mused, after finally swallowing. “You know, I never expected that to be so…”

“I know,” Madeleine said with a pleased smile.

“I sort of assumed people only used alcohol to get themselves drunk. It’s just so delicious.”

“You were right the first time,” Triss observed, while Madeleine nattered on about wine. “Booze is for getting plastered, candy is for pleasing the tongue. Confusing the two is the province of pretentious twits. Well, this seems to be some kind of memory, so at least you didn’t die.”

She perked up, suddenly paying attention upon hearing Madeleine’s next line.

“Do you trust me?”

The girl was gazing up at Gabriel through her lashes, eyes limpid but her expression serious.

“What?” He lowered his wineglass, frowning at her in consternation. “You know I do. I thought we’d had all this out long before now.”

“That is what I’d hoped,” she replied, smiling somewhat wistfully. “I see so much potential in you, Gabriel. You’re going to do great things, and I hope to be a part of them.”

“Great things wouldn’t be any fun without you there,” he said, grinning and moving closer, setting his glass down on the table.

She stopped him by placing a hand in the center of his chest, still gazing seriously into his eyes. “No one should ride your coattails, my dear. I fully intend to earn a place at your side. There are so many things I can teach you, show you… Ways I can help you gain what you need. What you deserve.”

“Oh, she’s good,” Triss breathed.

“You don’t have to earn anything,” Gabriel said, frowning now. “I just want… I like being with you, Madeleine. That’s all I need.”

“Then you do trust me?”

“Of course!” he said fervently.

“You, sir, are too stupid to live,” Triss announced.

“Good.” Madeleine nodded slowly. “I’ve prepared something… Something that will help you. It may be a bit of a shock, darling. I just want you to know everything I do is in your best interests. Please believe that.”

“You know I do,” he said, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips.

“Then I have something to show you,” she replied, stepping back and leading him along with her.

“This oughtta be rich,” Triss muttered, following them.

Madeleine led him through her kitchen to a heavy door which she unlocked with a slim key produced from her bodice. Beyond this, steps led down into darkness, with just a hint of eerie light staining the walls of the stairwell.

The hostess stepped to the side at the base of the stairs, allowing her guest to have a view of the cellar. He came to a dead halt on the bottom step, staring; Triss had to crane her neck behind him to see within.

The wine cellar was clean, well-built and well-stocked with neatly racked and labeled bottles. It was also dim, the only light coming from the spell circle currently inscribed on the floor in the center. Within, a humanoid figure rose slowly from a crouching position at their entry.

“What have you done?” Gabriel whispered.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she said.

“You’re a warlock!”

“I?” Madeleine had the nerve to sound amused. “A warlock would be able to let him out of the circle and control him. Sadly, I have no such power. Connections open many doors, my dear; gold opens even more. All it takes to summon a demon is the capacity to acquire some rather expensive reagents, and follow directions.”

“What is that?” he demanded.

“Bored,” said the figure in the circle, short tail waving behind him. “Extremely bored. You could’ve left me a book or something, you know.”

“This,” Madeleine said in a satisfied tone, “is a hethelax. He can teach you to properly control your—”

“No!” Gabe shouted, taking a step back up the stairs and crowding into Triss, which he apparently didn’t notice. “I don’t need to control that. I don’t need to know anything about it!”

“Gabriel, darling, the last thing I want is to insult your father, but that’s him talking, not you,” she said. He flinched when she approached, but allowed her to take his hand. “And I can appreciate his desire to protect you…but the method he’s chosen is foolish in the extreme. Your blood will not simply go away if you ignore it. It is there, and can be used against you. It will be used against you, one way or another. The only way around this is to understand it. If you will not make use of whatever gifts it brings, that’s up to you. But you must know the facts, or you will be vulnerable.”

“I have my doubts about this whole enterprise,” the demon said calmly, shifting from side to side. The motion made light glint of the carapace shielding his forehead and forearms; he wore a short, tattered robe without sleeves, which concealed the rest of his body. “My advice to you is not to mess around with anything demonic, kid. If you want to have any kind of a life up here on this plane, that will only make your options fewer. But she’s not wrong; what you don’t know can and will be used against you.”

“That’s true,” Triss murmured. “You’re being played like a fiddle, of course. The truth is a good bow.”

“And what do you get out of this?” Gabriel demanded.

The demon chuckled, spreading his hands; the shells over his knuckles sparked against the invisible cylinder in which he stood. “I’m not really in a position to dictate terms, am I? But she’s promised to send me back after I help, and this I don’t mind doing. I’ve not sired any half-bloods myself, but I know those who have. You kids have it rough up here. It’ll make me feel good if I can actually lend you some insight.”

“I…” Gabe glanced rapidly between the hethelax and Madeleine, stepping back and eliciting a grunt of protest from Triss. “I…need to think. I’m gonna go.”

“You’ll go talk to your father,” she said with a wry twist of her pouty lips, “and your friend Tobias. And then I will be arrested for unlicensed demonology. You’re here, Gabriel, and so is he. Take advantage while the offer is available, then decide what you want to do about it.”

“I’m not going to just turn you in, Madeleine,” he said, practically vibrating with tension. “But this is too much. I really need to reconsider some stuff.”

“Gabriel,” she said firmly, “if you walk out that door, you will be placing yourself and everyone you meet in serious danger.”

“What?”

“I know you too well, my darling,” she said with a sad little smile. “I will spend whatever years it takes atoning for this, but to protect us both I had to take steps. In a very short while, your blood will rise, and you will need to learn to deal with it.”

“What? What did…” He trailed off, then raised a hand to his lips. “What did you do?”

“Fucking called it,” Triss grunted.

“I’m curious about that myself,” the hethelax said sharply. “This isn’t what we discussed.”

“It’s a simple demonic accelerant in the wine,” Madeleine said calmly. “Very mild. Not even dangerous to handle or injest, but where infernal magic is already present, it enhances it. In your case, once fully absorbed, it should induce a berserking state.”

There was a moment of dead silence.

“Lady,” Triss marveled, “you are either really evil or really fucking dumb.”

“I wish you’d shared more of your plan with me,” the demon said icily. “I could have warned you not to do such an utterly harebrained thing.”

“How could you do that to me?” Gabriel whispered. He was beginning to shake. Triss stepped backward up the stairs, putting a little space between her and him. “I trusted you.”

“He can tell you how to cope,” Madeleine said, staring intently up at him. She stepped backward, pulling him down into the room; in an apparent state of shock, Gabriel let himself be led. “You can do it, Gabriel. I know you can. I have unequivocal faith in you. And I…” She languidly lifted her free hand, dragging her fingertips slowly up the deep arch of her bosom, and carefully unfastened the top button of her dress. “I will provide you with an outlet.”

“Sinister, stupid and awkward,” the hethelax snorted. “I’m so happy to be included in this.”

“You creepy piece of shit,” Triss hissed. “And I’m not talking to the demon!”

Gabriel’s breath had begun rasping; he suddenly hunched forward, pressing his free hand to his chest.

“It’s all right, my love,” Madeleine said firmly, pulling herself closer. “You are in control.”

“Woman, shut up,” snapped the demon. “Gabriel, listen to me. The berserking state is a simple one, it shuts down all unnecessary thought. You can’t control it, but you can influence it heavily. Keep one thought firmly in the forefront of your mind right now and it’ll carry forward. Focus on your positive feelings for her. This is your woman; concentrate on love. You can hash out this argument later, just remember right now that you love her!”

“Right now, I don’t think I do,” Gabriel growled. He actually growled, his voice rasping heavily, as if his vocal cords were no longer designed for human speech.

“Love may be too complex,” said Madeleine, taking another step closer, almost near enough to embrace him. “Sex is simple. I know how much you want me, Gabriel. You can have me.” She lowered her voice, looking heatedly up through her lashes, and firmly placed his hand upon her breast. “You are about to have me. You, not the monster. You are you, and you are in control!”

He snarled and snapped at her like a wild dog; she did not so much as flinch as he seized her by the neck with his other hand. It wasn’t big enough to encircle her throat, but he clutched her viciously, his thumb digging into her jugular.

“I want you to know I’ve worked for two incubi and had a fling with a succubus,” the hethelax grated, “and none of them were are sexually freaky as this idiocy.”

“You…backstabbing…whore.” Gabriel’s speech was only barely recognizable as words. Madeleine emitted a soft sound of pain as he forced her head back, but her expression did not change in the slightest.

He flung her fiercely away; Madeleine careened off a wine rack, sending bottles crashing to the floor, and lost her footing in the resulting mess. She cried out as she landed on broken glass.

“Gabriel!” the demon shouted urgently, waving frantically at the half-blood, who was now stalking toward Madeleine, claw-tipped fingers flexing menacingly. “Gabriel, listen to me! Focus on my voice! Just take her. You can sort out your issues later. Take what she’s offering; it’ll keep you grounded. There’ll be no coming back from this if you kill her!”

“Hell with it, I don’t care how this was supposed to end,” Triss said, and launched herself onto Gabriel from behind.

It was far from her first time ambushing someone. She wrapped her arms around him, neatly pinning his own arms to his sides with one move, and twined her legs over his upper thighs, squeezing hard enough to impede his steps. He staggered, making her fear for a moment that they’d both fall into wine and broken glass, but caught his balance, twisting furiously this way and that. Triss could feel hardness along his arms beneath his shirt, where scales or carapace were forming, and only squeezed harder. Berserking or not, he wasn’t preternaturally strong, only preternaturally durable, and while she was in excellent shape, the Gabriel who’d never taken any of Professor Ezzaniel’s classes was a scrawny layabout. She held him firmly; his struggles gained nothing.

“The key to tricking people is to help them trick themselves,” she grated into his ear, grunting with each abrupt shift of his body. He staggered back and forth, at one point barely avoiding a fall, but couldn’t dislodge his invisible attacker. “People want to see what makes sense to them. You don’t know I’m here, so you’ve gotta—nf!—create your own narrative.”

He careened into another wine rack, sending another cascade of bottles crashing to the floor. Triss yelped, her right bicep taking the brunt of the impact, but tightened her grip, refusing to yield.

“That’s right,” she growled, “you can’t attack and there’s no outside explanation, so it must be you. You’re not attacking her because you don’t want to. Figure it out!”

Gabriel toppled to his knees, momentarily catching her foot painfully between his thighs. Still she clung to him.

“Listen to the monster and the creepy bitch,” Triss said into his ear, more calmly now that his struggles were starting to abate. “You’re in control. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

He panted heavily, shoulders heaving with each breath, and slumped forward.

“You’ve got this,” she said. In the relative quiet, her voice was soft, calm. “I believe in you, Gabriel. Not because I have plans for you, but because I’ve seen you in action. You’re a good friend. You’re a good man.”

She slumped forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder, feeling his breath grow calmer.

“I just wish you knew that.”

Above them, the cellar door banged open. Mist poured down the stairs, silent but furious as a waterfall. In seconds it had washed over them, rising above the level of their heads, obscuring everything from view.

It was absolutely quiet. There was nothing to be heard except their breathing.

She could no longer feel his labored heartbeat through her breastplate.

Gabriel laboriously raised his head. “…thanks.”

Tentatively, Trissiny relaxed her grip slightly. “You okay? Are you back?”

“I—yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” He shifted slightly to look over his shoulder at her, bringing his face very nearly into contact with hers. “…you?”

Finally, she let him go, settling back to the ground behind him. “I’m fine. Everything’s…back. I think.”

Slowly, he stood, self-consciously straightening his coat. Trissiny shifted the weight of her shield on her back experimentally, grasping the hilt of her sword for reassurance. When he finally turned fully to face her, they could only stare at each other in a painfully awkward silence.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “You, uh… How much do you remember?”

“Everything.” She swallowed. “You?”

“Same.” He tore his gaze from hers, peering around them. “Well, it’s… Here we are, again.”

The hall was exactly as it had been at the beginning: broad, apparently infinite, and empty except for the omnipresent mist.

“So…did we win?” she asked cautiously.

Gabriel sighed heavily. “Do you feel like we won?”

“I—” She broke off, clutching her sword again. He followed her gaze and pivoted to face down the hall, reaching into his coat for his wand. A figure was approaching them, its feet resounding softly against the stone, gradually resolving itself out of the gloom. So dense was the fog that they couldn’t get a clear view until he was only a few yards distant.

Toby came to a stop, studying them closely. His face was drawn, expression guarded. He’d lost his staff somewhere, but flexed his hands in a very uncharacteristic display of martial readiness.

“I only caught the tail end of that,” he said quietly. “Are you two okay?”

Trissiny and Gabriel exchanged a glance.

“More or less,” she said cautiously. “Are you…you?”

“Gods, I hope so,” Toby replied with a humorless smile. “To be frank I don’t know if I can be sure anymore. This place…”

“Yeah,” said Gabe, nodding. Suddenly he grinned. “Hell, Toby… Nightmare vision or not, I’m really glad to see you.”

Toby nodded, not returning the smile. “There’s a nexus up ahead, with halls branching off from it. Eight of them, almost like this place was tailored to us. I came looking when I got out of mine; I bet the others are in there, too.”

“We’d better go help them, then,” Trissiny said firmly, taking a step forward. “How far is it?”

“Not very.” Toby shifted his gaze to her. “The things you saw… Is this place showing truth? Or just things that might have been?”

Again, Trissiny and Gabriel looked at each other.

“I think…both,” Gabe said slowly. “Whatever accomplishes its goals. Whatever those are.”

“That night on the quad.” Toby’s voice was quiet. “When you two had your… Gabriel, you told me it was your fault. You said you started a fight with her.”

“Uh, is this a good time or place to talk about that?” Gabe said nervously, glancing around at the ominous emptiness surrounding them.

“I want to know if what I saw was the truth,” Toby said flatly. “You yelled at her. Made demands and insults. That was it?”

“That was it,” Trissiny said quietly.

Toby looked back at her, in silence for a moment. When he spoke, finally, his voice was heavily strained. “And for that, you came at him with a sword?”

“Toby,” Gabe said sharply. “This is ancient history. It was months ago. We have long since talked it out. Both of us screwed up badly that night, but we learned from it.”

“You’re right,” Toby replied. “I guess that’s the difference. You’ve had time to get used to it. I only just learned that one of my friends tried to murder another because he was rude to her.”

“It wasn’t as simple as that,” Gabriel protested.

“Why do I get the feeling that’s your guilt talking again?”

“You’re both right,” Trissiny said wearily. “It wasn’t that simple, and I was completely, inexcusably in the wrong. What do you want from me, Caine? All I can do is apologize and try to do better. I have, months ago. I hope never to blunder that badly again.”

“Blunder?” Toby’s voice rose in pitch. “You attacked my best friend with a blessed weapon and all the power of Avei over—”

“Enough!” Gabriel shouted. “For the gods’ sake, that’s enough! You two want to have this out? Fine, we can have it out, clear the air. But we can do that later. This, right here, is not the fucking time!” He glared at them in silence for a moment until they both dropped their gazes, then continued. “Think about what’s happening here, will you? The Crawl set this whole thing up to mess with us, to screw up our heads. Well, right now, I’m the one telling you two to shape up and behave yourselves. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s the sign we have been successfully messed with. So suck it up, deal with it later, and keep your minds on the task at hand. Okay?”

“Right,” said Toby, nodding. “You’re right. We need to go find the others.”

“Yeah, Trissiny agreed. “I hope a few of them have met up, too. Otherwise this is going to be a very long day.”

They set off into the mist in strained silence.

“You’d better shift back.”

“Hm?” Teal twitched slightly at the sudden comment, half-turning to look at Ruda without stopping.

“If this fucking place keeps playing the same tricks,” Ruda said, “Vadrieny’s chief fear seemed to be getting buried inside you. Once she came out, she was in control and managed to save our asses, too. Might be best if she takes the lead in here.”

“Oh. Yeah, that actually makes good sense.” Teal stepped to the side, giving Vadrieny room to extend her wings without hitting her classmates with them. A moment later, the demon was padding along beside them, her talons clicking against the stone floor.

“Fross, you okay?” Ruda asked. “Need to go back in the bottle?”

“I don’t think so,” the pixie demurred, orbiting her head once. “The need didn’t develop last time. If this place is picking out deeply-held fears, that sorta makes sense in hindsight. Ending up like the other pixies back in the glade was basically the worst thing I could think of happening to me, but it’s not something I’ve ever been particularly afraid of. I don’t see any way it could happen.”

Ruda nodded. “Small blessings, then. All right, ladies, keep—”

“Punaji!”

She groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is absolutely your final warning,” Mr. Jones proclaimed, stalking forward out of the mist. “if you are not back at your desk in—”

“Fuck off, needle dick,” she said curtly, brushing past him.

He gaped at her. “How dare you—”

Ruda stopped, whirled, and punched him in the eye. The reedy little man was bowled head over loafers, tumbling against the wall of the corridor.

“I quit,” she announced, then turned her back and stomped off up the hall. Vadrieny paused to grin at the felled accountant before following her.

“Something’s up ahead,” Fross reported, dropping back to eye level; she had been periodically floating higher to get a better vantage. “My augmented sensory spells aren’t working in this mist, but I think it’s a person.”

“Doing that?” Ruda asked tersely.

“Sitting.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Sounds like a trap,” Vadrieny said, flexing her claws. “Be ready.”

Within moments, the figure coalesced out of the mist as they approached, and all three came to a stop, studying her.

Shaeine sat cross-legged in the center of the floor, robes arranged neatly around herself and hands resting on her knees. Her eyes were closed, her spine perfectly straight. She was breathing so slowly it took a few moments for them to be sure that she actually was.

“Is that…her?” Fross asked hesitantly. “Shaeine? Is that you?”

The priestess made no reply, nor any indication that she’d heard.

“It’s her,” Vadrieny said firmly, stepping forward and kneeling beside the drow.

“What kind of primal fear is this?” Ruda asked, lifting her hat momentarily to scratch her head.

“It’s not,” the demon replied, pride filling her voice. “She’s won.”

“Won? She’s just sitting there! It’s like she’s asleep or something.”

“Meditating,” Vadrieny replied, glancing up at her. “And do you see any nightmares or visions taking shape around us? A stilled, controlled mind isn’t susceptible to such manipulation. She found a way to beat it.”

“I can’t say that’s much of a strategy,” Ruda snorted. “Just sitting down isn’t a way out of trouble.”

“It is,” Vadrieny said firmly, “if you know help is coming.”

Very gently, she picked Shaeine up, arranging the drow in her arms. Shaeine didn’t move or apparently react at all, but allowed herself to be cradled a little too neatly to have been dead weight.

“If you know someone will always come for you,” Vadrieny whispered. Then she turned without another word and strode off the way they had come.

Ruda glanced up at Fross, shrugged, and followed. “Well, okay then. At least one of us got the better of this thing.”

She paced slowly around in a circle, giving Teal and Shaeine some space and carefully not looking in their direction. They weren’t doing anything but tightly hugging and rocking slightly back and forth, but given how Shaeine generally felt about displays of emotion, it was obviously an intimate enough moment to deserve a little privacy. For a wonder, Fross followed suit, hovering silently around Ruda’s head without a hint needing to be dropped.

“Hey,” Ruda said suddenly. “Look alive, girls, we’ve got company.”

She gripped her rapier and half-drew it, watching shapes form in one of the nearby halls. As Trissiny, Toby and Gabriel emerged from the mist, however, she re-sheathed the weapon, a grin blossoming on her face.

“Guys!” Teal exclaimed, approaching. She and Shaeine were still holding hands. “Gods, it’s good to see you. Are you okay?”

“We’re…here,” Toby said tersely.

“Okay is probably pushing it,” Gabe agreed. “Man, I’m getting really nostalgic for the Descent. This place is doing a number on my head. How’re you girls?”

“More or less the same,” said Ruda, glancing back at the others. “We have considered the matter carefully from all angles and come to the conclusion that fuck this shit.”

“We’re still missing someone,” said Trissiny, her eyes darting over the group. “Have any of you seen Juniper?”

“We have only seen each other,” said Shaeine, “and now, you.”

“Great.” Gabriel dragged a hand through his hair. “Hell…she’s all alone in there. Okay. Which halls have you checked?”

“That one, that one and that one,” Ruda reported, pointing to each of the three in question.

“I came out of there,” said Toby, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “and found these two in the one right behind us there.”

“That was Gabriel’s,” Trissiny added. “I entered it from a cross-hall, so…I started in that one to the right.”

“You had a cross-hall?” Ruda demanded, planting her fists on her hips. “Man, why the fuck do you always get the good stuff?”

“Easy, there,” Fross chided. “We jumped halls too, remember?”

“Yeah, but that’s cos you’re smart. It wasn’t handed to us.”

“Let us focus, please,” Shaeine said firmly. “There’s no telling what Juniper may be suffering while we dally. It sounds as if we have to check those two adjacent halls across the way, yes?”

“Right,” Trissiny nodded. “Does it matter which?”

“Not that I can see,” said Gabe. “Start with the one on the right?”

“There is the question of what lies in the final one,” Shaeine observed. “Apparently Fross and Ruda were deposited together, and of course Teal and Vadrieny are inseparable. The nine of us were distributed through seven of the eight paths.”

“I think whichever one we try will have Juniper in it,” said Fross. “Geography is very malleable down here, we’ve more than established that. It makes the most sense for the final hall to be the way out. We won’t find that until everybody’s done.”

“All right, then,” Ruda said grimly. “Forward march, troops. Let’s go right. It’s a good, honest direction.”

They started moving, falling unconsciously into the formation Trissiny had drilled them on over the last few days. Up ahead, another misty opening loomed, tendrils of white fog beckoning them silently forward.

“To state the obvious,” Trissiny said quietly as they walked, “we all know what’s been bothering Juniper the most lately. Or at least the general shape of it. Given what this place does, turning our memories against us…”

“Odds are good,” Ruda finished, “we are about to see something seriously fucked up.” She glanced around at the others. “I think it’s a good idea that we decide up front not to judge anybody based on anything we see in here. You don’t know someone’s story till you’ve walked in their boots, and I’m pretty sure this fucking place is picking whatever shit will screw us up the most. I refuse to give it the satisfaction.”

“Well put,” Gabriel agreed.

“A nice thought as far as it goes,” Toby said more quietly. “I think a few of us are going to need to talk some things over once we’re out of here, though.”

Nobody had a response to that. In the next moment, they stepped into the mist.

They drew together as they continued down the path, not speaking, but taking comfort in one another’s presence after their recent trials. Fross darted ahead and then back, then rose upward, continually scouting around for a better view.

“I think I see something,” the pixie reported, her shrill voice echoing startlingly in the quiet. “It’s either close or a lot bigger than—”

A deafening roar cut her off, and the group instantly halted, each of them settling into a combat stance with weapons up. Teal shifted forms, Gabriel sidestepped to have a clear shot ahead and Shaeine lit with a soft, silver glow. The footsteps rapidly approaching them were terrifyingly loud.

In the next seconds a true nightmare stomped forward out of the fog.

It was easily twelve feet tall, and looked like it might have been part tree at one point. At least, its legs ended in broad, flat stumps lined with stiff tendrils resembling roots. Vaguely humanoid in shape, it was the mottled brown and green of rotting meat, and smelled much the same. Viscous slime dripped from it all over; near its squat head, enormous translucent sacs inflated rhythmically with its breathing, lit from within with a pale glow like the luminous mushrooms of Level 1. Whatever heritage it owed to the plant kingdom, the claws and spikes protruding from its misshapen limbs at odd intervals were very clearly animalian. Two tails extended from its back, of unequal lengths, arching forward and tipped in massive stingers.

Stopping just in front of them, it roared again, its lower jaw not so much opening as unfolding, to reveal a saw-like arrangement of teeth. It stuck out a long tongue at them, which was tipped in yet another stinger, flanked by a nest of writhing tendrils. If it had eyes, they were obscured by the crazy crown of slime-dripping thorns that wreathed its head.

“Fucking goddamn ew,” Ruda observed.

“Looks fae,” Trissiny said tersely. “Vadrieny, Gabe, hang back; if this thing is powerful enough to scare Juniper it could really hurt you. Light-wielders to the front; Ruda, be ready with that sword, we’ll try to make you an opening. Anything that unnatural will suffer if you stick mithril in it.”

“Wait!” said Fross. Whatever she had been about to add was cut off by another enraged howl from the monster. It charged forward, lashing out with tongue, limbs and stingers, and slammed against a huge silver shield that appeared across the entire hall in front of them.

Shaeine actually grunted with the impact, wincing. The creature, though, fared much worse, reeling backward; it was actually smoking in several places where it had come into direct contact with divine magic.

“Remember your Circles,” Trissiny said urgently. “Demons, back away; we need to flare up!”

“Wait!” Fross shouted.

The howl unleashed by the monster was its loudest yet, and filled with a wordless rage that flirted with insanity.

“Shaeine, hammer it!” Trissiny cried.

“STOP!” Fross shrieked, darting across the hall in front of them. A spray of water fanned out form her aura, coalescing into a waist-high wall of ice. She quickly made a second pass, then a third, completely walling off the corridor in seconds.

“Fross,” Trissiny said impatiently, “advise on the go! We don’t have time for this, that thing has Juniper!”

“No,” the pixie cried, “no, that’s not what this is!”

Shards of ice sprayed over them as the wall cracked with a hammer blow from one of the monster’s colossal fists. A second caused a section of it to collapse; a stinger probed through the gap.

It didn’t roar again, though, giving Fross an opening to speak.

“That thing is Juniper!”

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