5 – 8

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“Oh, hey!” Fross cried suddenly, and zipped off toward the door of the cafe, leaving her classmates staring after her, mystified. The door opened a few inches, untouched, and she swerved through the gap into the street outside.

“Uh…” Gabriel looked down at his sandwich. “Are my table manners that bad?”

“Yup,” said Ruda lazily, then belched. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Uncouth fucker.”

The door swung open again, fully this time, and Teal stepped back, holding it for Shaeine, who passed through with a smile. They made straight for the other students’ table, Fross buzzing excitedly around their heads.

“Hey, guys!” Ruda said cheerfully, waving a breadstick. “How’ve you been? Seen Juno and the boys?”

“We have not encountered them since this morning,” Shaine said, “though we’ve been outside the district.”

“Oh?”

“We actually went to see Imperial Square, and Shaeine had to stop by the Narisian embassy on the way,” said Teal, holding out a chair for Shaeine.

Trissiny looked up from her ruminations at that. “Official business?”

“Of a sort,” the drow replied, calmly folding her hands in her lap. “I anticipate no further need of my presence at the embassy, but it was necessary to present my compliments and offer my services to the Ambassador.”

Trissiny frowned. “Why’s that, if you don’t think you’re needed?”

“It is a question of status,” she explained, smiling at Teal as the bard sat beside her before returning her gaze to Trissiny. “As the matriarch’s daughter, my hereditary rank in House Awarrion considerably exceeds hers. As an appointed ambassador to our most important ally, however, her earned position considerably exceeds mine.”

“So how do you decide who’s top dog?” Ruda asked.

“That is precisely the issue. Those two things do not correlate in any way. So long as the matter was left unaddressed, my presence in the city would throw the social calculations of all resident drow into disorder; leaving the matter that way would be considered an openly hostile act on my part. Quite apart from the fact that my mother would seal me in a spider box for doing such a thing, it would be incredibly irresponsible to so disrupt Narisian operations in the city.”

“Well, yeah,” said Ruda, grinning. “Hence the spider box.”

“You guys actually do that?” Gabriel exclaimed. “I thought that was a joke!”

“Presenting myself to the Ambassador,” said Shaeine, disregarding the byplay, “and publicly placing myself at her disposal, resolved the issue. I acknowledged myself to be subordinate, and thus her authority remains unquestioned.”

“When I was growing up,” said Teal, “my parents always told me that social rules and customs were arbitrary and often silly, but it was important to respect them in order to get along with people. Going to social events and dealing with the nobility, it always seemed to me they were dead right. The more I learn about Narisian culture, though, the more elegant it all seems. Purposeful.” She smiled at Shaeine. “Everything they do has an immediate reason behind it.”

“You think spider boxes are in any way reasonable?” Gabriel said, grimacing.

“Narisians are extremely courteous and responsible from a very young age,” Shaeine noted serenely. “How has your morning been?”

“We found some trouble,” Trissiny said dourly. “I don’t know if it’s what Tellwyrn brought us here to do, but it’s not something I think we can afford to just leave alone.”

“Oh?” Teal frowned. “What’s up?”

“It seems the guard have been pressuring the residents of Lor’naris. They don’t seem to like the idea of the locals providing their own neighborhood security.”

“I suppose,” Shaeine said slowly, “that is not entirely unreasonable. Tiraas is a military power; the thought of foreign citizens establishing a militia in its capital might be seen as hostile.”

“Those people are not a militia,” Trissiny said firmly, scowling. “They have no armor, no weapons. They don’t even have a chain of command! There’s barely even a schedule, they just show up and keep an eye on things. There are never more than six on duty at one time; four to watch the entrance to the district and two more to walk up and down the street. All they do is walk and watch; if there’s an actual problem, they call for help from the rest of the citizens. I think I know a little about military matters, and I’m here to tell you the Lor’naris volunteer watch is a complete and total non-threat. They wouldn’t pose a hazard to an actual militia, much less to the world’s highest concentration of the world’s largest and best-equipped military.”

“What kills me,” said Ruda, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms, “is the goddamn stupidity of it all. Doesn’t the local guard benefit from people keeping their own shit together? The less trouble there is, the better they look.”

Gabriel drew in a deep breath and blew it out in an explosion that was barely a sigh; Fross, hovering silently over the middle of the table, was actually pushed back a few inches. “You guys are missing the point. Tiraas is a human power.”

Everyone stared at him.

“Yes,” said Teal. “And?”

“And,” he said, frowning at her, “right here in its capital, in the very jewel of the Empire, a bunch of weird-ass foreigners show up—no offense, Sheaine—move into a slum district that even the local guard had given up on, and whip it into shape in just a couple of years. Suddenly the place where you could always go to get knifed or robbed is full of people taking their kids to school, all clean, orderly and increasingly prosperous. It’d be a slap in the face to the guard if Tiraan citizens had done it. The Narisians made them look bad.”

“That’s fucking idiotic,” Ruda snorted. “The guard made themselves look bad. I’m sorry, but if a bunch of outsiders who don’t know the culture show up out of nowhere and make a better go of it than you were, the issue is that you suck.”

“Yeah?” Gabe said wryly. “Why don’t you go explain that to the soldiers. See what happens.”

“Soldiers?” Shaeine tilted her head. “I thought the problem was with the civil guard.”

“They’re—” Trissiny and Gabriel started to speak at the same moment and broke off, staring at each other. He bowed his head, gesturing for her to continue.

“In the capital, they’re the same,” she said. “Tiraas is Tiraas. In many respects, the city is the Empire, at least in miniature. There’s no mayor or distinct municipal government; the Emperor is the local head of state, and Imperial offices run the city directly.”

“Holy shit,” Ruda said, shaking her head. “And stuff actually gets done?”

“Well, the relevant Imperial offices have separate departments for managing the city,” Gabriel said with a grin. “Otherwise, no, nothing would get done. But yeah, among other things, there’s no civil guard as such. The Imperial Army provides military police.”

“So it’s the Lor’narisianites against the Army?” Fross chimed in distress bobbing up and down. “Wow. Oh, wow. They’re really not gonna win that.”

“So far it hasn’t become a ‘versus’ issue,” said Trissiny, “and hopefully it will not.”

“Well, hell, if it comes to it, Trissiny can just call in the Legionnaires, right?” Gabriel suggested, grinning.

“I sincerely hope you’re not suggesting I set the Silver Legions into armed conflict with the Imperial Army in the heart of the Empire,” she grated, glaring at him. “Yes, they would muster if I called them, unless their officers invoked the long-standing precedent we have of disregarding unethical or incredibly stupid orders. And then, once Avei got through ripping my hide into strips, High Commander Rouvad would take her turn.”

“Was just a thought,” he mumbled.

“I thought you had the same rank in the Imperial Army?” Teal asked.

“That…is a courtesy, as I understand it,” Trissiny said more calmly. “A concession to Avei’s authority and the influence of the Sisterhood, based on the logical presumption that a Hand of Avei is well-trained in matters of strategy and may at any time be involved in campaigns that might necessitate the aid of soldiers. Those men are not spontaneously harassing the locals on a whim; someone is ordering it. If I start countermanding them… Well, I would pretty much have to go to whatever barracks is responsible for securing this area and take it over. That would also cause endless trouble.”

“But, uh, what are you gonna do, then?” Fross asked. “It sounds like you’re taking this pretty seriously.”

Trissiny sighed. “I got the name of a commander and am going to send him a letter. If it continues, I’ll go down there and speak with him personally.”

“Fear the Hand of Avei!” Ruda crowed. “For her wrath is terrible and her boots are shiny!”

Trissiny scowled. “And what’s your idea to help, then?”

“Me?” She snorted and took a swig of her drink. “Hell no, I’m staying out of this.”

Trissiny straightened up, frowning. “What? But I thought…”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t sympathize with the people here,” Ruda said. “I’m always gonna side with the people keeping their own shit together over uniformed assholes trying to push them around. But, first of all, I am not convinced that us butting into this is a great idea at all. Folks in Lor’naris are, as I said, capable of dealing with their own issues. It seems to be pretty much their defining trait.”

“But—”

“Furthermore,” Ruda went on firmly, “let’s keep in mind that I am heir to the throne of the Punaji nation. I can let my hair down in Last Rock and nobody gives a damn. This is different. Me sticking my sword into an internal security matter in Tiraas would cause an even bigger shitstorm than you calling in the Legions.”

“That…kind of goes for me, as well,” Teal said nervously. “I mean, my family aren’t royal, or even noble, but anything I do in the capital will reflect on Falconer Industries. Me butting into the Army’s affairs is… Well, we can afford to lose some business, frankly, but it’s not just about the bottom line. Damaging my family’s credibility could put a lot of good enchanters out of their jobs. At minimum.”

“Opposite problem.” Gabriel raised a hand. “First rule of being a half-demon in Tiraas: keep your head the fuck down. This city is full of people who barely need an excuse to blast it off, and have the authority to do that.”

“Pfft, you can count on me, Trissiny!” Fross declared, zipping back and forth. “Apparently nobody takes pixies seriously around here. We’ll just see about that!”

“I’m not asking for any rash action, Fross,” Trissiny said quickly. “I still don’t know what needs to be done. I’ve spoken with the residents at some length, at least those who serve in the watch, but I don’t yet have the Army’s perspective on the matter.”

“I will speak with Ambassador Shariss about this,” said Shaeine. “It clearly is a diplomatic concern if Narisians are being abused by the Army in the capital—though in acknowledgment of Ruda’s point, the fact that the residents of Lor’naris have not already sought aid from the embassy is telling. They would take such action if they deemed it necessary. However, with regard to your plan to talk to the Army… Perhaps it would save time to go over the heads of the local barracks? Seek out a higher authority? You have the explicit rank, not to mention the prestige.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Trissiny said glumly. “I think you may underestimate how much bureaucracy is involved in running an army. It’d take me longer to get an appointment with a highly-ranked official than we’ll probably be in the city. I could barge in, but that’s an excellent way to guarantee they don’t listen to a thing I tell them, particularly when they’ll probably resent me butting into their business in the first place. The local barracks captain is my best bet. I do have enough authority to get to him and make him listen.”

“You realize that’s probably the guy whose idea all this is,” said Gabriel. “Some outsider forcing her way in and telling him how to run his barracks is likely just gonna make him dig his heels in.”

“Yes,” she snapped, “I do realize that, thank you.”

“Perhaps there is another option,” said Shaeine. “As part of my introduction at the Narisian embassy, I was informed of major social events occurring in the city during the course of my projected stay. I did not think any such would likely be relevant to me at the time, but I do recall that General Toman Panissar, the commander of the Imperial Army, is hosting a very lavish party at his home tomorrow night.”

A momentary silence fell.

“You’d need an invitation to get into that,” Teal said at last, frowning.

“Oh, the hell you would,” Ruda replied with a grin. “C’mon, look who’s at this table. We’ve got foreign royalty, foreign nobility, the heiress to the biggest non-noble name in the Empire and the freakin’ Hand of freakin’ Avei. One or two of us might be able to gatecrash. Three, they probably wouldn’t turn away. All four? No chance, they wouldn’t fucking dare tell us we couldn’t come in. And hey, Fross is a curiosity! Extra points right there.”

“Yay! I’m curious!”

“What about me?” Gabriel demanded.

“Gabe,” Ruda said condescendingly, “what the hell would you do at a fancy society party? Do you even know which one is the shrimp fork?”

“Really, now?” he said sourly. “What would most of you do at a society party? I can see Shaeine fitting in there, but… Do you know which one is the shrimp fork?”

Ruda grinned. “Yup. The shrimp fork is the one with which I stab the shithead who tells me I’m using the wrong fucking fork.”

“I shall consider my point made,” he said.

“I don’t know about this,” Teal said nervously. “I mean… I try to avoid parties. That means dresses, and I really do not have one. And tomorrow night? That’s kind of late to…”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Ruda said breezily. “A good tailor with the right enchanted equipment can do a rush job, set us up with suitable duds overnight. That shit ain’t cheap, but let’s be honest, we can afford it.”

“Okay, you want me to come out and say it?” Teal grimaced. “I hate wearing dresses.”

“Then don’t,” Shaeine said quietly. Teal turned to her, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “I have seen Imperial formal wear, and… You would look positively stunning in a well-fitted tuxedo.”

Teal flushed slowly, but said nothing, merely holding the drow’s gaze. They stared into one another’s eyes in silence.

“Ugh,” Ruda groaned, throwing her head back. “People are still eating in this room, you two.”

“I don’t have a dress uniform with me,” Trissiny murmured, “but I could get one easily enough at the Temple. And… Gabriel isn’t wrong; I can’t imagine being anything but profoundly uncomfortable at a society event. But it would get me in a room with General Panissar.”

“Yup,” Gabe said fatalistically. “And that can only end well.”

Silence held sway in the room.

Amanika stared at Kheshiri, blank-faced. Saduko and Kamari glanced uncertainly at once another, at Vandro, at Kheshiri and Shook. Vandro himself simply stood there, holding his drink and smiling complacently. Kheshiri kept her gaze on Shook, who had tensed to the point that his hand quivered on the glass it held, the other clenched in a fist at his side.

“Shiri, honey, we’re waiting,” Vandro prompted gently.

At last, she cut her eyes to him, expression blank. “You don’t command me.” She returned her gaze to Shook.

After a tense moment, he nodded slowly. “Do it.”

She sighed, shrugged…and changed.

Warm brown skin bleached white in two seconds—not pale as some strains of humans were, but white, an icy matte color that didn’t belong on flesh. The broad features of a pretty Onkawi girl lengthened into more sharp-edged shapes; her black hair uncoiled itself from its braids, taking on subtle highlights in unnatural colors. Dark eyes faded to crystalline blue-violet, her tail uncoiled behind her, and finally, in acknowledgment of Vandro’s initial command, a pair of spiny wings stretched into existence, then stretched further, extending until they brushed the walls.

Kamari dropped his glass.

“Aiya,” Saduko whispered, backing up until she was pressed against the wall.

“Now, let’s nobody go an’ do anything abrupt,” Vandro said cheerfully. “My boy Jerry has full control over her. Ain’t that right?”

Shook nodded curtly, glancing at Kheshiri. The succubus dropped her eyes demurely. Then, moving with a sinuous grace and far more sway than necessary, she stepped over to him, descended to crouch on the ground at his feet and wrapped her arms around his leg. Cheek pressed to his thigh, she stared smugly at the others in the room.

Shook rested his free hand on her head after a moment, twining his fingers in her hair.

“So you see,” Vandro went on, swirling his daiquiri idly in one hand, “just what we have attending to stealth and security. You have nothing to worry about, my friends. Anybody trying to put pressure on you will be very capably dealt with.”

“And,” Saduko said quietly, “any betrayal from us will be punished beyond the mercy of death.”

“My dear,” said Vandro, shaking his head sadly, “I am very nearly hurt. I only hope in time I can reassure you that I don’t deal so heavy-handedly with my business associates.”

“Bringing this thing here was not a step in that direction,” she said evenly.

“We’re running a complicated job,” he replied with a grin. “We’ll make use of every available resource—particularly the ones nobody expects we have. To that end, it should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway for thoroughness’s sake: the demon is a secret. Not a word of this is to be breathed to anyone outside this room. Clear?”

He waited for them to nod before carrying on, beaming. “Jolly good! Now, I beg your forgiveness for hustling you along, but I need to clear up a few things with Jerry in private. Of course, you are all honored guests here; avail yourselves of any amenities my villa has to offer. Kamari, I’m afraid you’ll have to do so in the private areas, as we don’t want to getting around that you have any association with me just yet. Still, there’s plenty for you to do. Wilberforce will see to it you don’t lack for entertainment.”

“Thank you, sir,” the burly servant said nervously. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Kheshiri yet.

They filed toward the door in silence, all three stepping well out of their way to avoid the spread of the demon’s wings, now somewhat furled and closer to hip level. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Saduko, the last to leave, Shook whirled on Vandro.

“Just what the hell—”

“First of all,” Vandro said calmly, “I am not upset at you bringing a demon into my home, Jerry. It’s apparent you do have her restrained, and hell, in light of our earlier conversation I’m glad to see you reaching at unconventional resources. You’re gonna need that if you mean to run down this Locke bitch and straighten out the elements in the Guild that’ve turned on you. But boy, you have got to be more careful. She was spotted the first day here.”

“How?” Kheshiri demanded, scowling.

Shook swatted her on the side of the head. “You keep your mouth shut till someone asks your opinion, whore,” he growled without looking at her. “It’s a good question, though, Alan. How? Who?”

“Jerry, my boy, you were just in a room with a priestess. You had a demon within arm’s reach of her; you really think any magical disguise would’ve fooled someone soaked in the light of the gods? Come on, now. Amanika’s in and out of this estate all the time; she spotted your little pet immediately.”

“She did? She is?” Shook frowned. “I never…”

“Never noticed her?” Vandro said dryly. “No, I’ll just bet you didn’t. No rack or ass to speak of, face of a billy goat, dresses like she’s trying to convince all the other dykes to bow down before their queen. Boy, I have told you about this, time and again. Women are trouble, every last one of ’em, but most are not in any way stupid. That’s exactly why they’re trouble. You have got to start paying attention to the women around you. There are much more important calculations to be made about a woman than the likelihood and desirability of nailing her. The pretty ones use beauty as a weapon; the homely ones make use of the fact they’re basically invisible. If Amanika didn’t happen to be more indebted to me than the local Guild chapter…well, guess how that would’ve ended for you. She’ll keep your secret because I vouched for you.”

He stopped and sighed; Shook actually lowered his gaze, abashed.

“Anyhow,” Vandro went on, “Amanika assures me you’ve got no more infernal magic in you than the piddly residue you’d get from spending time around this critter.” He leaned down and ruffled Kheshiri’s hair. “So either you’re one of the most powerful warlocks alive, or not a warlock at all, and having trained you myself I pretty much know which. So I busted out the scrying equipment and observed you have an object of considerable infernal and arcane power on you. That’s the mechanism, I take it.”

“Yeah,” Shook said slowly, nodding. “She’s bound to a reliquary. I can put her in it, when I get tired of her mouth. It’s vintage Black Wreath work, but I had it modified with some modern enchantments to secure her more thoroughly and bind it to me.”

“Good man,” Vandro said, nodding approvingly. “This is why you’re still my favorite student. You’ve got your blind spots, Jerry, but you use the ol’ noggin more than most enforcers can be bothered to. Still, you’re pushing your luck. What was spotted once can be spotted again. I’m gonna hook you up with my magic guy in the city; he can mod this reliquary of yours to help keep your pet concealed. Long as you take a little more care about who you rub elbows with, it should prevent another slip-up like this.”

“This guy’s trustworthy?” Shook asked tensely.

Vandro burst out laughing. “Boy, if you’re gonna ask dumb questions…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Shook muttered.

“Boris has never let me down yet. He does infernal and arcane work; between the two, you can spot pretty much any type of magic if you’ve got the right equipment. Or, more importantly, you can stop any school of magic from spotting what you want hidden.”

“There’s always a bigger fish,” Kheshiri murmured.

“I see you’re forgetting your manners, bitch,” Shook said, staring coldly down at her. “We’ll discuss that in private, later.”

“Sorry, master,” she said, a quaver in her voice.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” Vandro said, beaming in approbation. “If only you could shut the real kind up as easily. But yeah, she’s got a point; you get her in a room with an archmage or paladin and the jig’ll be up no matter what kind of precautions you take. Still, shouldn’t be too hard to stay away from those. Now, then, about the plan. She can do it, I trust? Shapeshift to mimic us and secure our alibis?”

“Answer him, girl,” Shook said.

“Changing shape is simplicity itself,” the succubus said promptly. “Mimicry… That’s all about acting. To really sell the role, I’ll have to spend time around each of them, enough to properly observe their mannerisms. I don’t think they like me, though.”

“That shouldn’t matter,” said Vandro, waving a hand. “At the party you won’t be spending enough time around anybody to need to sell the illusion. You’ll have to do for all six of us, remember. The point is to be seen here and there. Don’t waste time conversing with people, just make sure you’re spotted with each face on.”

“Then yes, sir, I can do it,” she said, waving her tail. “Easily.”

“Attagirl,” he said with a grin, and turned his face back to Shook. “And now, of course, the real, ultimate question. How is she in the sack?”

Shook stared at him silently for a moment, then slowly, a smile stretched across his face. He lightly stroked Kheshiri’s hair with his fingertips. “Absolutely, incomparably magnificent. She’s a handful sometimes, but I’ve got to say, the bitch knows what she’s for, and she takes pride in her work. Justifiably.”

“Ah, my boy,” Vandro said, shaking his head, “I think this is divine compensation for your run of bad luck lately. What I wouldn’t have given for a girl with a body like that who’d shut up on command at your age… Hell, I’d give a lot more for one now.”

Shook looked contemplatively down at Kheshiri, then gave her hair a gentle tug. She rose smoothly to her feet.

“Well, don’t take my word for it,” Shook said with a faint grin. “Why don’t you try her out?”

Vandro raised his eyebrows. “You’re joking.”

“Alan, it’s like you said: we’re family. Besides, you’ve been more than generous with your hospitality. I’m serious, borrow her for the night. And don’t worry about bringing her back in the same condition; she heals up fast, and she’s an experience you won’t wanna hold back with. Now, Kheshiri,” he went on, turning his stare to her, “Alan is the man to whom I owe everything I know. I expect to hear you’ve given him the greatest night of his life, or I’m gonna take it out of your ass. Clear?”

She looked thoughtfully up at him for a moment, then turned her considering gaze on Vandro, and smiled. “Mm… He strikes me as a man who’s sampled innumerable pleasures over a very full life. That’s a tall order, master.”

Shook chucked her gently under the chin. “You’re a tall girl.”

“I won’t embarrass you, master,” she said, waving her tail, then gave him a wicked little smile, gazing up through her lashes. “And afterward, if I bring back a favorable review… Can you still take it out of my ass, please?”

“Okay, damn,” said Vandro. “I want one.”

“No, you don’t,” Shook replied. “Enjoy the good and don’t worry about the headaches involved with keeping her reined in. My gift to you.”

“Well, of course,” Vandro said easily, grinning as Kheshiri stepped over to him and snuggled under his arm, draping a wing around his shoulders. He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her rump. “It’s like I’ve always said; if it’s got tits, it’s trouble. Best you can do is find one that’s no more trouble than she’s worth.”

The demon smiled.

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5 – 7

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The unforgiving sun made midday naps a venerated tradition in Onkawa—at least during the summer. Now, in winter (such as it was), the climate was mild enough that Shook had no trouble bearing the heat with nothing but a wide-brimmed hat to shield him. He was sweating, of course, but that didn’t bother him overmuch.

Vandro’s palatial residence truly had it all, including a shooting range. Shook stood in the long, shaded alley between the rear of the villa and the defunct city wall it abutted, firing bolt after bolt of light into the targets eighteen yards away. A whole bank of sizeable power crystals supported the shielding charms over them; these could have stood up to artillery fire. There were also golem logic controllers that would make the targets move. Much as it galled him to acknowledge it, he wasn’t up to that just yet.

He was getting pretty good, though. After a fourth consecutive bullseye, his concentration was momentarily disrupted by a cheer and applause from Kheshiri.

Shook glanced over at her, annoyed but keeping his features carefully schooled. She was off to the side, lounging on a low divan shaded by a huge parasol. She had, as usual, draped herself to show off her figure, lying on her side in a way that emphasized the curve of her hip, twisting her torso so as to make the arch of her breast stand out. Since she’d been around, he had been paying close attention to her wiles, and had incidentally picked up a few things about women that he’d never bothered to know. For instance, that unnatural position, mouth-watering as it was, must put an excruciating strain on her lower back. Or at least, it would have on a real woman’s. He also knew that the tight, colorful Onkawi robe she wore didn’t contain the kind of undergarments that would make her bosom stand out that way when she was reclining, which meant she was using her shapeshifting to cheat.

He had told her first thing, in their very first meeting: he was not stupid. Still, her games didn’t particularly surprise him. She thought she was leading him along, into some trap down the road, wearing down his alertness, earning his trust. He was rather looking forward to brutally disappointing her. Shook had already decided he’d be keeping Kheshiri, even after he’d straightened out Principia and got himself back in the Guild’s good graces, as he deserved. This was looking like it’d be a long-term project, though; plenty of time to break her in properly. Even knowing she was trying to undermine him, the succubus was enjoyable to have around. Not just sexually, either. She had a biting sense of humor, an appreciation of malice that was gratifying when he was dealing with somebody who needed to be taken down a peg, and a knack for easing his tensions that was no less effective because he knew she was using it to manipulate him.

Seeing his distraction, she took the opportunity to ooze upright, daintily picking up one of the tall glasses of iced punch that sat on a tray on the ground nearby, and slinked over to him, offering it. “A cold drink, boss? You need to be careful in this heat.”

“Mm,” he said noncommittally, picking it up and taking a sip. Damn fruity concoction, not at all to his taste, but using chilled drinks as everyone here did to beat the heat, it would have been a bad idea to go for the hard stuff he preferred. Even he wouldn’t have been able to hold that quantity of liquor.

“Good shooting, my boy,” said Alan Vandro, strolling forward. Shook managed, barely, not to jump; he hadn’t noticed the man there. Kheshiri, of course, was clearly not surprised, though she positioned herself behind him, peering demurely at their host over Shook’s shoulder. Their cover story was that she was a Shaathist, not particularly devout, but into the cult because she enjoyed being told what to do and occasionally slapped around by her man. This explained their dynamic, but necessitated some change in her public address of him; even for an alleged Shaathist, “master” would have raised eyebrows. He didn’t much like abusing Vandro’s hospitality by deceiving him, but a captive succubus was something he didn’t fancy trying to explain—to anyone. “You’re enjoying my little gift, then?”

“It’s anything but little, Alan,” Shook replied, tilting the wand skyward to study it. Not a proper enchanter wand; he hadn’t a spark of magic in him and couldn’t have used one. Still, this was a top-of-the-line model, hand-crafted using the finest materials by a master enchanter. It packed a significantly stronger punch than its mass-produced cousins, would last longer between rechargings and had several useful enhancements. Vandro had given him two of these, along with a proper wandslinger’s belt which held extra power crystals and components, plus grounding and shielding charms to repel incoming wandfire. “I’ve gotta say… Part of me hates the necessity. Seems like there’s no honor in the old profession any more. If you’re gonna kill a man, or just rough him up, you should be able to see the look on his face when you do it.” He sighed, lowering the weapon and slipping it back into its holster. “But that’s the world, now. It’s becoming clear to me I’ve been living in the past; failing to make use of the resources available is part of the reason for my current troubles. This was…timely. And they’re beauties. I can’t thank you enough, Alan.”

“Hell with that, you’re family, my boy,” Vandro said, waving him off. “And don’t sweat your missteps. What matters is you learn from your mistakes and survive to apply the lesson. Isn’t that right, honey?” he added, winking at Kheshiri.

“If you say so, sir,” she said demurely, lowering her eyes.

“It’s not all tactics and equipment, you know,” Vandro went on, watching Shook’s face closely. “Ever think you might have made some errors in how you behave? Who you trust?”

Shook narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at, Alan?”

“Think about it, boy. You’ve always been a faithful man of the Guild… And yet, here you are. They want you dragged back kicking and screaming, and the bitch who set it up is apparently lounging on her sofa, eating bonbons and having a giggle at your expense. Something sure as hell ain’t right about this. How’d you manage to get so thoroughly taken for a ride? It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that should happen if everything in the Guild is being run as it should.”

Shook frowned, but didn’t comment, finding nothing he could say to that.

“So, say you clear your name,” Vandro went on, still studying him carefully. Kheshiri, now, was watching him just as closely. “What do you gain? Your name should’ve been clear to begin with. Someone aside from Principia fucked you over—or at the least, she took advantage of failures in the Guild’s leadership. How long before it all happens again? Will throwing her ass in an oubliette somewhere really solve the problem?”

“Well, what the fuck do you expect me to do?” Shook demanded, flinging his arms out in a furious shrug. “I can’t just leave this like it is! What’s the point of anything if I can’t get my life back?”

“The problem isn’t you, my boy,” Vandro said, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “Never was. All I’m saying is, it looks like the problem runs deeper that you may have realized. I’m glad to see you’re lookin’ beyond the immediate future, expanding your repertoire, so to speak. Here’s the question: how far are you willing to expand it?” He glanced significantly at Kheshiri, and Shook felt a moment of unease. “How many things are you willing to consider you may have been wrong about?”

“I know when something’s being hinted at,” Shook replied. “Get to the point, Alan. This kind of pussyfooting around isn’t like you.”

Vandro threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, fair enough, my boy, fair enough. C’mon, there are some folks I think you should meet. I was just about to have a discussion with ’em myself; you should come along, see if you can’t learn anything useful.”

“All right,” Shook said, nodding. He was far from certain where all this was leading, but Vandro had more than proven his trustworthiness, many times in the past and more recently as well. “Shiri, I’ll be back later. Stay out of trouble.”

“Nonsense, bring her along!” Vandro said glibly, slapping him on the shoulder. “I bet you can find a use for her in all this, too.”

Shook frowned again, saying nothing, but let Vandro lead him off into the main house. He had a feeling about this… Not a bad feeling, but not a comfortable one. The two men stepped into the shade, Kheshiri trailing obediently behind them.

 

The villa was even larger than it looked; more than half its interior volume was under ground level, carved from the massive slab of granite on which Onkawa sat. Underground living was another adaptation against the heat which was widely practiced in the city, or at least was among the wealthier classes. The effort of actually carving out subterranean chambers discouraged many.

Vandro led them to a long, narrow lounge two levels down. It was lavishly appointed, as was everything in the villa, lit by sun crystals rather than fairy lamps, which enabled potted ferns and a dwarf fig tree to flourish in the corners.

The meeting, it seemed, was already in session when they arrived. Vandro’s party doubled the population of the room. On a wicker chair against the far wall sat a young Sifanese woman who rose on their entry, bowing politely. Two others, locals by their dark coloration, stood beside the room’s small bar, holding cocktails. The man wore a fairly cheap suit and a nervous expression; he was of average height, but very powerfully built, making him look almost squat. The woman was tall, bony and rather gawkish, though her manner was stately. She wore a simple tunic and slacks, in a style that wasn’t quite Tiraan or Onkawi.

“Here we are!” Vandro boomed, holding out his arms as he stepped into the room as if to embrace everyone present. “All finally gathered. Thanks for waiting, everybody, I hope it wasn’t too long. Damn it, Kamari, I told you you don’t have to serve drinks! You’re a guest here.”

The burly man had already begun mixing three more daiquiris. His teeth were large, even and very white; his grin was almost luminous in his black face. “This is Onkawa, Mr. Vandro. Guests are family, and family do for each other.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Vandro said with a grin, gesturing Shook and Kheshiri in. “Everyone, this is my old apprentice, Jeremiah. I’ve told you about him. And that’s his ladyfriend, Shiri. Jerry, the fellow who won’t get it into his head he’s not a servant here is Kamari; take advantage while you can, he makes the best damn cocktails I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Only glad to serve,” Kamari said cheerfully.

“Over there is Saduko, a visitor from Sifan. Hands off, now, m’boy, she’s an honored guest. And this, of course, is Amanika, priestess of Eserion and something of a muckety-muck in the local Guild chapter house.”

Shook froze, staring at the woman. She inclined her head to him, politely but distantly. “That’s the first time I have been called that, exactly. Hm, I might just keep it, though. Has a nice ring.”

“You should get business cards printed up,” Vandro said, winking.

“Alan,” Shook said warily. “I’m not sure if…”

“Relax, my boy, nobody here is gonna snitch on you. Yes, Amanika knows the orders about you, but you’re in my place, and I vouch for you. We’ve already had this conversation. Isn’t that right, Nika?”

“Quite,” she replied calmly, peering first at Shook and then Kheshiri. “All is as I told you.”

“See? There you go, all friends here.” He handed Shook a daiquiri. “Nobody’s gonna turn you over to the Guild. Hell, nobody here is turning anything over to the Guild. The fact is…we’re here to plan a job. I want you to be part of it.”

“I’m…honored,” Shook said carefully, holding the icy drink but not sipping. Kheshiri had accepted another from Kamari. “That’s problematic, though. My situation being what it is, it’d raise all kinds of eyebrows if I sent in my tithe on a job.”

Vandro sipped his daiquiri, watching Shook with a knowing little smile. “Now, Jerry, what did I just say? We’re not giving the Guild shit.”

Shook stiffened, his hands clenching on the glass. “Alan… You know you’ve been like a father to me, and I owe a lot to your generosity. But I can’t be party to shafting the Big Guy. Eserion does not let people get away with that, even if I were willing to turn against him. Hell, you of all people—”

“Now, Jerry, there you go making assumptions,” Vandro interrupted, grinning. “Nobody’s gonna try to stiff the Big Guy. Even Kamari and Saduko have agreed to pay the proper tithe, despite the fact they aren’t Eserites. No, Eserion gets his cut, as always; this is not negotiable. We’re just not giving it to him through the Guild.”

There was silence in the room, while Shook scowled and others sipped their drinks, or in Saduko’s case, just stood with an impassive expression.

“Go on,” Shook said finally.

“It started three Bosses ago,” Vandro said, beginning to pace up and down. “Catseye was…just too damn ambitious. She pulled off some epic jobs, yeah, and that bought her a lot of cred, which is how she got away with all she did. She organized us far too heavily, personally mobilizing large groups on large jobs. Made the Guild more centralized than it used to be.

“Then came Sweet, the ultimate people person. Honestly, I liked him, and I’d have been all right with his style of leadership if he hadn’t followed Catseye…or if he’d been willing to dismantle her bureaucracy. He didn’t; instead, he used it. Kept his eyes everywhere, stuck his fingers into everyone’s business. Again, nobody complained, even though he never pulled down the kind of income Catseye did, because Sweet was all about keeping everyone happy. Not much of a Guild leader, in short, but he was a kickass high priest. A lot of us owe him a great deal.”

“Yours truly included,” Shook said, finally sipping his fruity drink and grimacing at the taste. “Sweet was the first person aside from you who took an interest in me, made sure I got a fair chance.”

Vandro nodded. “Which brings us to the current situation. Tricks is another Catseye, an operations fellow. And he, again, built on what those before him created. Catseye’s ops protocols, Sweet’s information network, and his own cunning and knack for planning cons. Once again, everybody seems fine with this state of affairs; he doesn’t keep the Guildmembers as happy as Sweet did, but damn does he rake in the gold.”

“I’m not seeing the problem, here,” Shook said.

“Don’t you?” Vandro’s stare bored into him. “You, of all people? Boy, just how the hell do you think Principia managed to get her tentacles into the Guild’s structure and use it against you the way she has? The Guild is not supposed to have a fucking structure, at least not one like this. We all know the catechism. All systems are corrupt. The Thieves’ Guild has lost its way, become an institution. It is behaving exactly as institutions do: accumulating power, developing new rules and traditions, and gradually twisting everything around till all its actions are about prolonging its own existence, instead of pushing the Big Guy’s principles.”

“Omnu’s balls, Alan,” Shook breathed. “You’re talking about rebelling against the Guild!”

“No, no, Jerry.” Vandro shook his head emphatically. “Come on, you’re smarter than this. You overthrow something, well, then you’re stuck with the unenviable task of running whatever you just took over. Hell no, we’re not rebelling. That’d just put us in power, which isn’t what we want or what the Guild needs. The problem isn’t that the Guild needs a regime change; it’s that the Guild needs to not have a regime.”

Shook frowned into his drink, pondering. Amanika spoke into the ensuing silence.

“We do not propose to replace the leadership of the Guild; merely to undermine it. To introduce the random elements that should be the norm for those in Eserion’s worship.”

“It’s about setting a precedent,” Vandro agreed, gesticulating with his glass. “What we do here will be carefully spread around the continent and beyond, whispered of until others try it—with, perhaps, a little help from us. One by one, jobs will start being sponsored that cut the Guild out of the action, making the Boss look impotent and foolish and depriving the bureaucracy of tithes. Eventually the Boss will go back to being the figurehead and spiritual leader he’s supposed to be. Not a man who’s knee deep in everybody’s damn business.”

“I can…see your point about undermining respect for the Boss,” Shook said slowly. “But you’re not about to starve the Guild. Trust me, I worked security at the Imperial Casino for years. The Guild could run itself on that place alone. Indefinitely.”

“One thing at a time, my boy,” said Vandro, grinning. “One thing at a time. The relevant question in the here and now is this: are you in?”

Shook glanced around the room. Vandro was grinning, as was Kamari. Amanika studied him with a calm yet intent expression; Saduko was impassive as a statue. Finally, he glanced over his shoulder at Kheshiri. She nodded slowly.

“Hell with it,” he said. “What’s the job?”

“That’s my boy,” Vandro crowed. “All right, we’re still in the early planning stages, but I’ll run you over the basics. Our target is one Chief Om’ponole.”

“They still have chiefs here?” Shook demanded, curling his lip.

“We have chiefs in the way that the lord governor of Calderaan Province styles himself a King,” said Amanika with a faint smile. “Nations that joined the Empire willingly enjoy certain privileges. At the end of the day, though, there is only one law under Tiraan rule.”

“Om’ponole doesn’t even have any political clout,” agreed Vandro. “What he has are business interests. In short, he’s a rich asshole of exactly the kind that we exist to teach a little humility to.”

“All due respect, Alan, what’s that make you?” Shook asked, smiling wryly. “I mean…this place.”

“You’re not wrong, boy,” Vandro said with a grin. “That’s our in, though. As far as the rest of the hoity-toity types in Onkawa know, I’m a rich asshole just like them. That means I get invited to all their bullshit parties, and they come get shitfaced on fruity booze here in my humble abode when it’s my turn to pass out invitations. You would be amazed how much I learn about all their various palaces this way.”

“Alan is hosting one such party fairly soon,” said Amanika. “Om’ponole will be here, as will everyone who fancies themselves important. While this is going on, we will liberate the contents of his personal safes.”

“Everybody has a role,” said Vandro. “Kamari, here, is a servant on Om’ponole’s estate—a servant who isn’t paid a living wage, nor given so much as a ‘thank you’ or solstice bonus. Classic rich asshole mistake; you keep this in mind when you’re my age and have your own nest egg, Jerry. Everyone working on these grounds is well provided for. I don’t employ people with drug addictions, gambling habits, or chronically sick or imprisoned relatives. No cracks for somebody to get their claws in. I know all their names and ask about their day; I damn well say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when they water my plants and fetch my slippers.”

“Mr. Vandro has very generously offered me employment on his estate,” Kamari said with his infectious grin. “I am only too glad to help him arrange a proper resignation for me from the Chieftain’s household.”

“Hell, I’d run more than a job to get this man on my staff,” Vandro chortled. “So help me, if I could slap a pair of tits on this daiquiri I could get rid of all the damn girls always cluttering up my gardens; I’d have no more need of them.”

“You give me far too much credit, sir,” Kamari laughed.

“Needless to say, Kamari’s our inside man. He gets our team into Om’ponole’s estate, and Saduko gets us into his valuables.”

“She’s a safecracker?” Shook asked, turning to regard the young woman.

“I am an arcanist,” she said calmly. Her Tanglish was good, but carried more than a hint of a lilting accent.

“Saduko comes to us from the University at Kiyosan,” explained Vandro. “In fact, she’s a specialist in creating magical security—exactly what we need to defeat it. Unfortunately, she has found that Onkawa isn’t exactly the melting pot that Tiraas is, and in any case, the lucrative avenues of legitimate employment are typically granted to citizens over foreigners, even when the foreigner is the better man—or in this case woman—for the job.”

“So it is everywhere,” Saduko said philosophically. “The economy in Sifan does not support many persons of my skill set at present. I gambled that life would be better in the Empire. When one gambles, alas, one must expect eventually to lose.”

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” Vandro said, grinning. “You help us through this and I guarantee I’ll have plenty more work for you.”

“No more stealing,” she said stiffly. “That was our arrangement.”

“I’m a man of my word, Saduko. One job to prove your skills, and after that… Well, you’ve seen my place. I have plenty of perfectly legal uses for a person of your profession.”

“I, for my part, will handle the Guild end of this,” said Amanika. “Ensuring that the Big Guy receives his cut without going through Guild channels. That will require some creative laundering and the aid of someone with a close spiritual connection to our god.”

“The fact that Amanika’s on board with this is a sign of Eserion’s favor,” said Vandro smugly. “You know how many people there are with exactly that skill set?”

“I will also, as needed, act to direct the Guild’s attention away from us,” added the priestess with a faint, mysterious smile.

“Sounds solid so far,” said Shook slowly. “What is it you need me for?”

“You and the girl,” said Vandro. Shook raised his eyebrows sharply.

“Shiri? What the hell do you expect to do with her?”

“Now, now, my boy, don’t be modest!” Vandro smiled beatifically, turning back to face the rest of the group and holding his daiquiri for all the world like a scepter. “Jeremiah, here, is one of the best enforcers the Guild has. He and the girl are providing security. I’m gonna have to level with you all, and I hope you won’t take offense: for a job like this, when we Guild thieves employ outside contractors, security is needed not only for our protection during the heist itself, but also…afterward. There are all kinds of pressures that can fall on a person to rat out their partners, and for those of you who don’t enjoy the Guild’s direct support…well, extra measures are needed to keep you safe. Should you have any trouble with authorities, or anyone, Jerry and Shiri will see to it they get off your back. In addition to getting you through the job itself without getting shot, stabbed or imprisoned.”

“And,” Saduko said, twisting her mouth distastefully, “should we decide to reveal what we know to any outsider, they will silence us.”

“Now, darlin’, I’m not even considering that possibility,” Vandro said kindly. “I respect your intelligence far too much; you both know very well which side your bread is buttered on. In theory, yes, that could happen. I’m sure we don’t need to worry about it, though. Do we?”

“No worries, boss,” Kamari said, nodding emphatically. “I’m with you all the way.”

“I keep my word,” Saduko said coldly.

“I think you’ve got the wrong idea about Shiri,” Shook said, glancing at her. She was doing a marvelous impression of demure confusion. Even he was nearly fooled. It seemed Kamari was likewise puzzled by her inclusion in this, though Saduko was unreadable and Amanika wore a knowing expression that he didn’t like at all.

“Well, now, we have two uses for your little pet, there,” Vandro drawled. “There is the matter of after-the-fact enforcement. She’ll be marvelous for tracking down anybody who needs to be hushed up, not to mention getting close to them. During the job itself, though, she’ll be providing our alibis.”

“What are you talking about?” Shook said sharply.

“We’ll all be at the party,” said Vandro. “We will be seen there, by innumerable witnesses of unimpeachable character. Since we, obviously, will in fact be across the city at Chief Om’ponole’s palace, this will be a perfect job for a shapeshifter.”

“A…a shape…” Shook stared at him.

“Absolutely,” Vandro said, grinning broadly. “You know what they say: when life gives you demons, make demonade. How’s about a little demonstration, first?” He turned to Kheshiri and winked. “Darlin’, show us those pretty wings.”

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5 – 6

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The sleet subsided not long after mid-morning. Even the clouds retreated out to sea, for the most part, leaving Tiraas bathed in sullen winter sunlight filtered through a damp haze. As soon as this happened, the students and their soldier escorts all but bolted from their inn, being by that point well-rested, slightly stir crazy and increasingly hungry. Professor Tellwyrn’s favorite inn did, indeed, serve food, but only Gabriel had been willing to try the stale bread and “sausage,” which he subsequently described as “tiny little gristle tubes held together with grease.”

“Grease is a lubricant,” Ruda pointed out. “It doesn’t hold stuff together. Literally the opposite of that.”

“I’m not gonna argue with you,” he replied, still grimacing faintly. “Those things were an abomination against nature.”

They picked their way carefully along the sidewalks, which were dangerously slick. Ice coated every available surface, actually quite pretty where it glittered on the street lamps and overhanging store signs, but a nightmare on the road itself. Shop owners had begun strewing thick salt outside their doors, but not every building they passed was a shop, and none of the salt used was of the enchanted variety, to judge by how slowly it was melting off the accumulation. Stretches of unbroken ice were interspersed with mere slush. The students passed small groups of drow and human residents pulling carts of salt, trying to render the street passable for vehicles.

“Fross,” Trissiny asked, “do you have a way of removing ice? Or do you just make it?”

“Um, as an apprenticing sorceress there are any number of spells I could use to remove ice. Mostly just by making heat, y’know? I mean, that is, in theory. I, uh, don’t really have the power reserves to fix the whole street, or the, y’know…expertise.”

“If you can’t do it, just say so,” said Ruda with a grin.

“I could theoretically do it!” Frosss bobbed up and down in front of her. “I’m just kind of reluctant to try, for several reasons pertaining to my personal safety and the fact I’ve never seen a city before and I’d really like to not black out on my first day.”

“So your pixie magic doesn’t let you destroy ice?” Gabe asked.

“I’m an ice elemental,” she huffed. “No destroying. I could move the ice around, but…to where? Pretty much any place would cause problems for somebody.”

“How about on top of the buildings?”

Fross let out an incredulous chime. “Gabriel, do you have any idea how much ice weighs? It’s water!”

“Why in the world would I know how much ice weighs? Sorry I asked.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with the others, Gabriel,” Trissiny said, more to curtail the burgeoning argument than because she was interested.

He shrugged moodily, hands jammed in the pockets of his big green coat. Despite the way his breath misted in the air, he didn’t seem particularly cold. “Six is a crowd, y’know? And…okay, this sounds terrible to say, but… Much as I like Juniper, I’m kinda nervous about being around her if she’s gonna be as stressed as I suspect the city will make her. It’s good that Toby’s along to calm her down, he’s great at that.”

“You finally did your reading about dryads,” Trissiny said, stopping to smile at him.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

“Reading what?” Ruda demanded.

“Juniper is single-handedly rewriting the statistics around dryad encounters,” Trissiny explained. “Before now, just about everybody who ever slept with a dryad ended up eaten.”

“Every human,” Fross clarified. “They don’t harm elves.”

“Is…is this more of your holier-than-thouadin exaggeration?” Ruda asked, squinting at her. “Like how you almost attacked Shaeine and Teal on first sight?”

“No. No to all of that, and please don’t spread rumors about me.”

“You kinda did, though,” Fross said helpfully. “Shaeine anyway.”

“You weren’t there!”

“I was right downstairs!”

“Anyway,” Trissiny said firmly, “no. Imperial and Church personnel, and any adventurers who get any kind of training, are all warned against having sexual congress with dryads. They usually kill their partners afterward.”

“That is seriously fucked up,” Ruda muttered.

Trissiny shrugged. “They don’t see people and relationships the way we do, Ruda. I like Juniper too, she’s a lovely person, but… She is what she is. After sex, they’re hungry, and if there’s fresh meat right there… Well.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Gabriel pleaded.

“It’s a little late for you to be squeamish, isn’t it?” Trissiny asked with some amusement.

“I was more thinking this is an entire district full of people with elven hearing, so it’s gonna be all over town within the hour that there’s a dryad in the city. If Shaeine’s any example, Narisians are more level-headed than basically anyone, but even so, we are one more hasty sentence from starting a panic.”

Trissiny looked nervously around the street. Not many people were out, thanks to the ice. A few were picking their way along the sidewalks on the opposite side; there was a salt cart passing by, and three shopkeepers outside their establishments with salt and shovels. All of them were drow, and half of them were standing stock-still, staring at the four students.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, well. She is being escorted by Imperial solders and watched by Imperial Intelligence, and personally accompanied by the Hand of Omnu. I’m sure there will be no problems.”

“Smooth,” Ruda muttered, stomping her feet. Her coat was apparently not as well insulated as Gabriel’s; even with her hat jammed down over her ears, she was shivering. “Okay, I give up. Let’s get inside someplace. Preferably someplace I can buy a fucking scarf and some gloves.”

“That’s right,” Gabriel said, grinning. “It’s pretty warm up in Puna Dara, isn’t it? Balmy seas and the eternal summer of the tropics?”

“Fuck you, Arquin. I dunno what asshat even decided to settle this area. Humans aren’t meant to live where the ground gets covered in fucking ice.”

Trissiny glanced around again. She wasn’t excessively cold, despite feeling somewhat naked. In an effort not to attract unnecessary amounts of attention, she had gone out without the distinctive silver armor which she was known to be the only person on the planet currently entitled to wear. Her shield, likewise, sat back in her room at the inn. She had her sword buckled on over a Punaji-style greatcoat, but Avenist short swords were not uncommon side arms, especially for women, and while the weapon was a virtual beacon for those with the right kind of magical senses, it looked like a battered old piece barely worth stealing.

So far—at least aside from the attention their conversation had garnered—none of the three of them appeared to be standing out, though a lot of the human passersby slowed down to rubberneck at Fross. The Narisians seemed too polite.

“Ooh!” Fross chimed, fluttering upward a few feet. “A magic shop! Let’s go in there!”

“I said scarves, Fross,” Ruda snapped.

“Oh, wake up and join the century,” the pixie retorted. “You can get a warming charm in there. C’mon c’mon c’mon, I wanna see what they’ve got!”

She fluttered ahead, toward the sign a few doors down the street from them which identified the store as The Minor Arcana.

“Damn,” Ruda muttered, falling into step with the others. “Is it just me, or she gettin’ pushy?”

“Both,” said Trissiny, smiling. “She’s learning it from you.” Gabriel snorted a laugh, trying to stifle it when Ruda turned to glare at him.

The sidewalk outside the Minor Arcana was fully cleared, the nearby ice showing no shovel marks. Apparently this shop did use enchanted salts—which made sense.

Inside it was pleasingly warm, and the three students fanned out just beyond the door, peering around and letting the heat soak into them. Fross had already darted ahead, chiming and chattering to herself excitedly; the shop was relatively dim, and her pale glow flashed across the displays like errant moonbeams as she fluttered this way and that. A whole wall was devoted to books, another to vials and bottles of enchanting dusts. On a third, wands and staves hung on racks, ranging from obviously antique pieces to modern mass-produced models. Other paraphernalia occupied lower shelves and tables in the middle. It wasn’t a large space, no more than ten feet wide and twice that in length.

“Wow,” said the gawkish young man sitting behind the counter by the door, staring at Fross. “Nice pixie. Is it yours?”

Fross came to a halt midair. “Excuse me?!”

“She’s not anyone’s except hers,” Trissiny said firmly.

“That’s a sentient being, asshole,” Ruda growled. “And our friend. Watch your fucking manners.”

“Sorry!” he gasped, jerking backward so abruptly he nearly fell off his stool. “Sorry, I didn’t—I don’t mean—that is, we get witches in here, some have pixie familiars, I just never figured… I mean, they’re not that intelligent, you know?”

“Excuse me?!” Fross shouted. “I have changed my mind! We will not be shopping here!”

“That’s fine,” said a new voice. “We don’t serve your kind.”

A tall, stately figure approached from a curtained doorway in the back corner. The students, turning to stare, froze in unison. She was a slender woman, rather attractive, dressed in a flowing robe with a fringed shawl over her narrow shoulders. None of that caught their attention, however. Her eyes glowed faintly in Fross’s reflected light, exactly like a cat’s. She had skin of a dusky reddish hue, and her forehead rose to a bony crest that seemed on the verge of becoming horns.

“Oh, so you won’t take fairies that aren’t on somebody’s leash?” Ruda said finally. “Fuck you, lady.”

“The pixie is welcome,” the woman said coldly, raising one slender arm to point accusingly at Trissiny. “I was addressing her.”

“You picked a strange district to set up shop in if you’ve got a problem with half-elves,” Gabriel said, frowning.

“I think there may have been some mistake,” Trissiny said carefully. “I’ve never been here before. My name—”

“I know exactly who you are, Trissiny Avelea,” said the shopkeeper, her expression stony, “and I would like you to leave. If I have to repeat myself any further, I will summon the city guard to remove you. My next act will be to go to the nearest newspaper office and make a tidy handful of silver letting the world know the new Hand of Avei likes to bully honest tradeswomen.”

“Now, hold on,” Gabriel protested.

“Do you really think it’s smart,” Trissiny said flatly, “for a half-demon to be nakedly hostile to a paladin? That’s not a good way to avoid…suspicion.”

“I was born with the wrong face to avoid suspicion. I have long since learned that no amount of good behavior on my part will make me welcome in human society. After being spit on, harassed and excluded by every light-sucker who placed themselves on a pedestal above me, being ejected on sight from your cult’s premises, specifically those set up to allegedly shelter women, I do not choose to do business of any kind with clerics. Get out of my shop, and take your hypocrite goddess with you.”

“I’m sorry if you were…disappointed in your interactions with the Sisterhood,” Trissiny said more quietly. “Please don’t blame Avei—”

“It wasn’t the Sisters who burned me when I tried to pray,” the woman shot back, raising her voice. “Leave. Now.”

Trissiny clamped her lips together, but turned without another word and pushed the door open.

“Hell with this bullshit,” Ruda snorted. “C’mon, Fross.” The pixie actually darted out ahead of her, after pausing to make a rude noise at the flummoxed-looking boy behind the counter.

Gabriel was the last out, pausing to glance back at the stately woman before turning to follow his classmates.

“I wonder if you appreciate how lucky you are,” she said quietly, “being able to pass.”

He paused, his hand on the door, then turned to stare at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You look fully human. So long as you stay out of temples and avoid holy symbols, no one should be able to tell. Or…” She took a step closer, craning her neck forward to peer at him. “And, I gather, as long as you remain relatively calm. Hethelaxi, yes?”

Gabriel stared at her for a moment, then cut his eyes sideways, squinting at the shop boy.

“Ferdinand,” said the woman, “go inventory the last dust shipment. I believe the count is off.”

“What? No, I checked when it came in, everything’s—”

“Now, please.”

The boy clamped his lips shut, looked accusingly at Gabriel, then turned and flounced off, pushing aside the curtain in the back and disappearing from sight.

“You needn’t worry,” she said, actually smiling faintly. “Nothing in particular gives you away. I have a gift for spotting the infernal and the divine, a useful legacy from some poor choices made in my youth. The same way I identified your…companion. She all but glows, and there are not two swords like that in the world at present.”

“Trissiny isn’t so bad,” he said somewhat defensively. “I mean, sure, she’s a little priggish, but she tries. She…I guess she did try to kill me that one time, but that was mostly my fault.”

The shopkeeper drew in a long, slow breath, her shoulders rising, then let it all out in a rush, seeming to slump where she stood. “I bet you’re convinced a lot of such incidents were your fault. How very inconsiderate of you to exist where people are trying to peaceably be bigots.”

“It wasn’t like that, exactly. She apologized. Eventually.”

“Oh. Well, then. I guess that makes it all better.” Despite the sarcasm, the woman sounded only sad. “My name’s Elspeth. You may consider yourself welcome here.”

He glanced back at the door. The girls weren’t in view; they evidently hadn’t waited for him. He let his hand fall from the handle. “Gabriel.”

“Welcome, Gabriel.”

“So,” he said, studying her warily, “you’re a warlock.”

Elspeth stared at him for a moment. “Do you always assume that about other half-demons? Are you a warlock?”

“I’ve never met another half-demon, to my knowledge. But being able to identify a paladin or a species of demonblood on sight? That kind of sensitivity to the infernal and the divine is a classic warlock trait. One of the basic ones, in fact.”

“You’ve had the benefit of some education,” she said approvingly. “The answer to your question is no…and yes. Tell me, how many times were you approached?”

“Approached?” he said hesitantly.

“We all are, sooner or later. By independent warlocks sometimes, but usually by some agent of the Black Wreath. Not that they identify themselves as such. Often, for the unlucky or unwise, by actual demons. Half-bloods are extremely interesting to those who traffic in such powers.”

“I…I never…” He swallowed. “There was once. A woman. She…my dad ran her off.”

“Once?” she said quietly. “Only once?”

“My best friend growing up was an Omnist monk. And my dad’s a career soldier. I guess I wasn’t as easy to get to.”

Elspeth shook her head slowly. “You have been fortunate almost beyond belief, Gabriel. I would say ‘blessed,’ but I would have to incinerate both of us by mistake.”

“How…many times were you approached?” he asked warily.

She smiled, a small, bitter expression. “Also only once… But in my case, because I was foolish enough to fall for the first opportunity that came my way. A sshitherosz demon, name of… No. It doesn’t matter now, he’s dead.” She glided around behind the counter, seating herself gracefully on the recently vacated stool. “That is also sadly common. The favorite tactic of the sshitherosz is to recruit warlocks from among the young, naïve and ambitious; a battle of wits between a teenager in a desperate situation and a trickster demon is generally a foregone conclusion. For half-demons… Our entire lives are desperate situations. Rejected, threatened, constantly running away, trying to hide what we are… We are easy prey for someone offering power, and a sense of belonging.”

“So…” Intrigued in spite of himself, he drifted closer. “How does taking a demon up on the deal end up with you being a warlock, but not a warlock?”

“I suppose I have been as fortunate as you,” she said. “I fell in with the only priests who can be trusted by our kind.”

He blinked, then raised his eyebrows. “Do tell?”

“I met a man who arranged for my demon to be trapped and destroyed. He even helped me establish my shop. So, no, I do not practice infernal magic of any kind—ever. I must endure regular visits from a very professional Imperial agent who clearly doesn’t care at all about my well-being, and an official of the Universal Church who tries hard to be friendly to me, though she is repulsed by being in my presence and is not good at hiding it. I can never decide which of them is better. They report to their respective superiors, however, that I am a law-abiding citizen who has no traffic with demons, and I am allowed to live my life in relative peace.”

Gabriel frowned. “Who are the only priests who can be trusted?”

Elspeth looked away, toward the door, smiling mysteriously. “If you must have help from clerics, Gabriel, find the acolytes of Eserion. They’re as likely to see you as prey as they are to try to help you; that’s what they do, after all. But if you’re humble and have nothing worth stealing—or don’t flaunt it if you do—you’ll find that the thief-priests don’t throw light around, and they don’t judge.’

“Huh.” His frown deepened. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever even met an Eserite.”

She grinned outright. “Oh, I guarantee you have.”

“Is he actually staying in there?” Fross demanded as they finally moved away from the Minor Arcana, growing tired of waiting in the cold for Gabriel.

“Guess he is,” said Ruda, again wrapping her arms around herself, “and frankly I don’t think I blame him. Sure, that lady was a raging bitch, but how many chances is Gabe gonna have to meet another half-demon? Besides… It sounded like she maybe had a little bit of a point.”

“What is it going to take to get you to stop using gendered insults?” Trissiny groused.

“Well, I could clean up my vocabulary,” Ruda replied, grinning, “but it makes you all grumpy, which is just adorable.”

Trissiny wasn’t listening. She stood on tiptoe to crane her neck, frowning, then set off ahead as quickly as she safely could without slipping on the still-icy sidewalks.

“And we’re off,” Ruda said resignedly. “What’s the big deal up there?”

“Looks like trouble!” Fross announced, hovering several feet above to get a better view.

“Well, it made Trissiny run off to get involved. I didn’t figure it looked like fun.”

Near the mouth of the street, where a small square marked the beginning of the curving, descending avenue into Lor’naris, a small squad of five guards in heavy winter uniforms were squaring off with four people in civilian attire. Three of them, two women and a man, were drow, the fourth a graying human man with the starched collar of an Imperial Army jacket rising above his heavier fleece coat.

“I am not going to warn you again,” the soldier wearing sergeant’s stripes was announcing loudly as they arrived. “Disperse!”

“Sonny,” snapped the older man, “I did not serve my time in his Majesty’s army to stand here and take crap from—” He broke off as one of the drow women lifted a hand.

“With respect, Sergeant,” she said more calmly, “no one here is doing anything illegal, or even questionable.”

“Loitering is illegal,” he shot back.

“On private property where the prohibition is clearly posted, yes,” she replied smoothly. “This is a public street.”

“Would you like to try another approach?” inquired the male drow politely. “I should warn you that after your compatriots’ recent visits, we have read all the applicable laws.”

“Vanthis,” said the woman with calm reproof, “peace. There is no need to be provocative.”

“You heard her, men,” said the sergeant grimly. “This one’s being provocative. Now every last one of you bugger off back to whatever it is you do all day, or you’re coming to the guardhouse in irons. What’s it gonna be?”

“What is going on here?” Trissiny demanded, stalking up to join them.

“Oh, for f— Nothing that concerns you, citizen!” snapped the sergeant. “Just chasing off some vagabonds. Go about your business.”

“These aren’t vagabonds, they’re the neighborhood watch,” she said incredulously. “You can’t possibly be unaware of this. How does it serve the city guard’s interest to dissuade concerned citizens from protecting their own districts?”

“Enough!” he shouted. “Go home, girl. All of you!”

“I don’t think so,” she said firmly. “I will have your name and that of your commanding officer. Now.”

“That does it,” he snapped. “Sadour, arrest her. Fuck it, all of them. You are hereby placed under arr—”

Golden light blazed forth, piercing the gloom of the winter morning; all three drow threw up their arms to protect their eyes, one of the women slipping momentarily on the icy sidewalk.

Trissiny stood wreathed in radiance, golden wings extending from behind her. “I think you will find,” she said, deadly quiet, “that I outrank you, sergeant. Name, badge number, superior’s name. Do not make me repeat myself.”

Less than two minutes later, she finally let the light subside, wings withdrawing into her, as she stood watching the five soldiers retreat hastily down a side street toward the city center.

“Fuck me, you can pop those things on command?” Ruda exclaimed. “I thought that shit just happened spontaneously when Avei was all happy with you. Can you do stuff with those? Do they fly? Or is it just decorative?”

“Later, Ruda,” Trissiny said impatiently, turning to face the four residents. “I’m sorry about that; I should have given you some warning.”

“All things considered, General Avelea, I think that went very well,” said the woman who had taken the lead earlier, bowing. The other drow followed suit, the human saluting her while grinning. “Our thanks for your assistance.”

“What was that all about? Why would the city guards object to you standing watch here?”

They exchanged a round of glances.

“It is a complex question,” the other woman said finally. “We are foreign and, in many ways, downright alien.”

“Or,” added the human, still grinning, “we’re the filthy pervert race traitors who call the foreign aliens friends and family.”

“Regardless,” she went on, giving him a very un-Narisian smile, “there are elements in the city who are not pleased that outsiders such as ourselves have found so much success in handling our own affairs in a piece of Tiraas, however small. Some of those, we have recently found, wear uniforms.”

“For the most part,” said the first woman, “the pressures exerted are carefully subtle. This is new. The law is on our side—we have assiduously checked—but if the guards choose to take exception to our use of volunteer citizen peacekeepers… Well, their official standing gives them options and courses of action that we do not enjoy.”

“I see,” Trissiny said grimly. “Perhaps there’s something I can do about that.”

“Okay, wait, hold up,” said Ruda. “All due respect to our new friends here, but are you sure this is something you wanna get in the middle of? Sounds like a thing these very resourceful folks can handle themselves without you making an incident of it.”

“Are you nuts?” Fross demanded. “They just about got arrested! For protecting their homes! Somebody down in the guard office has got some serious issues!”

“Tellwyrn said we’re to figure out what it is we’re supposed to be doing here, remember?” Trissiny unconsciously gripped the hilt of her sword, glaring down the street in the direction the soldiers had fled. “I think I just found something.”

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“Home, sweet home,” Gabriel groaned, carelessly heaving his suitcase through the open door of the first room he came to.

Tellwyrn had rented the entire top floor of an inn, giving the students a pretty comfortably-sized living space. In fact, there were four rooms surrounding a lounge area which contained a table and wooden chairs, as well as the stairwell to the three floors below. It was well-lit, the fairy lamps old and flickering, but the space dominated by a large bank of windows.

In fact, everything was old. The woodwork was pitted and scarred, the furniture ramshackle, the rug little more than a pancake of cobwebs with fond memories of having been dyed. One of the widows was, in fact, a board, and one of the others a pane of wavy, frosted glass that admitted light but didn’t provide much of a view.

“You’ll have to shuffle the room arrangements a bit,” Tellwyrn said brightly, standing with her back to the windows. It was still early enough—and cloudy enough—that the daylight framing her wasn’t adequate to cast her face in shadow. In fact, it was barely adequate for dramatic effect. “At least two of the privates will need to room with Juniper—”

“I bet all the privates would like to—”

“You can be vulgar on your own time, Miss Punaji. I am speaking.” Glaring at them over her glasses, she continued. “A certain amount of hanky-panky is to be expected. I don’t particularly care about that. Just be cognizant that there are people on the floors below you and try not to act like caricatures of college students. I don’t recommend advertizing your identities, but these things have a way of getting out. Some of you are rather distinctive.”

“If you don’t care about hanky-panky,” Teal asked, stifling a yawn, “why is Clarke Tower bespelled to keep boys out?”

“Kids,” said Tellwyrn solemnly, “in the course of my three-thousand-year career, I have traversed every continent, explored the Underworld as far as Scyllithar itself, spent years in the Deep Wild and ascended to the very edge of the atmosphere. I’ve fought in wars, started wars and ended them; I have met, befriended and battled gods, dragons, demons and monsters for which you know no description. I have mastered magics and fighting styles that each demand lifetimes of study, founded cities which are now only dust and memory, and in general participated in such adventures that my memoirs, should I ever get around to writing them, would effectively re-shape history itself. My very name is synonymous with chaos and belligerence. For all that, I know my limitations, and one task I am not foolhardy enough to undertake is to prevent a bunch of teenagers from going at each other like bunnies the moment my back is turned.”

“How,” Gabriel asked in awe, “can you be so talkative this early in the morning?”

“Clarke Tower is bespelled—as is the boys’ barracks, by the way—to minimize the chances of somebody ending up accidentally pregnant. Considering the political status of many of my students, that’s a scandal that could resonate across the Empire and beyond. The hope is that if you have to make plans and arrangements to play hide-the-wand, one or the other participant will remember to take some basic precautions. I do not care in the slightest if matching pairs of genitals are rubbed together in any configuration, and I’ve seen enough of you lot interacting with each other at this point that I know nobody here is going to get the wrong kind of lucky. So! Room where you like.”

“Wow,” Trissiny managed.

“Anyhow!” Tellwyrn produced a gold pocket watch and consulted it. “I have a breakfast appointment, which was the whole purpose of this excursion, so I’ll leave you to it and check back in this afternoon.”

“Wait!” Toby said as she started for the stairs. “What are we supposed to be doing? What’s our assignment for this trip?”

“You had to remind her,” Gabe muttered.

“Ah, yes. That.” The Professor smiled disarmingly. “The first part of your assignment is to figure out what your assignment is. Best of luck! As a personal favor, though, do try not to burn the place down; I like this inn. Cheerio!”

She bounded down the steps four at a time, her footfalls making barely a sound.

“I’m just a little bit in love with her,” Rook admitted after a moment.

“You, sir, are a weirdo,” Gabriel informed him.

“Gods, you have no idea,” Moriarty muttered.

“What I need,” said Ruda, “is to figure out how to tell when she’s fucking with us as part of one of her bullshit secret tests, and when she’s fucking with us just to fuck with us.”

“I believe there are elements of both in most if not all of her actions,” said Shaeine.

“Probably. Anyhow, speaking of you, I’m a bit sleep-deprived so I might’ve been hallucinating, but did anybody else notice that like half the people outside on the street were drow?”

“We’re in Lor’naris,” Gabriel explained.

“Uh huh. And what’s that mean when translated into words?”

“Actually, it’s called a lot of things,” he added, pausing to yawn. “It’s got one of those boring district designations I don’t even remember, but the main avenue is Firousi Street. Lor’naris is a newer nickname, from the last few years when all the drow who apparently don’t like living in Tar’naris moved in here. Most of the city calls it Freak Avenue.”

“Do they indeed?” Shaeine said quietly.

“Hey, I’m relaying information here,” Gabriel said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “As a long-time resident of the city. This district has always been a gathering place for people who don’t fit in elsewhere. Most of the non-humans and halfbloods and such, except the dwarves, who have their own district. I used to come here a lot when I was a kid, before my dad made me promise to stop. From what I understand, it’s actually a much nicer place since the Narisians basically took over the district.”

“Narisians are great at keeping things orderly,” Teal said, glancing at Shaeine. They exchanged a little smile and shifted their hands together, not clasping fingers, but lightly touching.

“Ugh,” Ruda groaned, “I insist that you two not be so adorable before breakfast. You’re gonna put me off my whiskey.”

“Sorry,” Teal said, grinning unrepentantly.

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy just because you’re pent-up, Ruda,” Juniper admonished.

“Allow me to hastily change the subject,” said Gabriel. “As usual, we don’t know what the hell Tellwyrn’s expecting us to do…”

“Oh!” Fross chimed, buzzing around the ceiling in a circle. “But if she put us here, there’s a good chance it’s drow-related!”

“That’s a logical conclusion,” Trissiny agreed, nodding. “So…any ideas where to start?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one.” Ruda yawned hugely. “With a fuckin’ nap.”

“I’m with her,” Gabe said firmly. “Wait, I mean… I agree with that. I’m not with her, in a bed sense. Not that you’re not pretty, Ruda! It’s just I’d rather not be stabbed again. I mean, not that—”

“Gabe.” Toby laid a hand firmly on his shoulder. “Stop talking.”

“…maybe that’d be best, yeah.”

“You can’t seriously want to sleep,” Trissiny complained. “We’ve just arrived in the capital of the Empire! And it sounds to me like we’re in one of the most interesting districts.”

“Yeah, and it’s probably not gonna burn down while we get the rest of the fucking night’s sleep Tellwyrn was in too much of a hurry to let us have,” Ruda said, turning toward another of the room doors. “Nighty-fuckin’ night, guys.”

“Perhaps some additional rest would not be amiss,” Shaeine agreed. “Especially if we are to be at our best when exploring the district.”

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” Juniper said decisively. “Boys in that room. You three guys can split between my room and Gabe and Toby’s, however you want. Fross, Ruda and Triss can room together, and that leaves the smallest one for Shaeine and Teal.”

“Wait, how come they get their own, oh, uh, nevermind.” Finchley trailed off, blushing. Teal blushed even harder, but Shaeine smiled slightly. There was something vaguely smug about it, unlike her usual little meaningless smiles. She’d been doing that a lot since coming back from break.

“I’ll help you unpack!” Fross declared, zooming into the room after Ruda.

“I can’t believe this,” Trissiny said aloud, standing still while the others shuffled off into their various rooms. “Nobody wants to explore? How much sleep do you all need?”

Toby cleared his throat softly. He was the last person aside from her left in the lounge. “I’m pretty well rested. If you want to go have a look around the area, I’m game.”

She gave him a long look, clenching her jaw.

“On second thought,” she said tightly, “maybe a little more rest wouldn’t hurt.” Trissiny turned and stalked into the room after Ruda and Fross, shutting the scratched old door with more force than it deserved.

As Toby stood there, staring at the door, a soft pattering sound began, and quickly swelled. In moments, sleet was peppering the windows. He stared out at the gloomy weather and heaved a sigh.

“It’s gonna be a long trip.”

 

Sleet flowed around her, deflected by the invisible shield of heated air she kept over her head. Tellwyrn had toyed with the notion of vaporizing it from the sidewalks in front of her, too, but had decided that would have been purely self-indulgent. Even the umbrella verged on too much; she had suffered much worse than cold and damp, and could have dried herself of within seconds of being back indoors, but she really didn’t feel like getting iced down this early in the morning. Walking on the slippery mess was no imposition to one blessed with elven agility, in any case.

She was the only person out and about, which might be typical for the hour, but in this case was undoubtedly due to the weather. It was a lovely neighborhood, a long double row of towering old brownstone townhouses, crammed closely together but each behind its narrow little garden. The gentle curve of the avenue, parallel to the city’s outer wall, meant the end of the street was always out of sight around a permanent bend, which was a nice trick by some city planner to ensure the fat cats who lived here wouldn’t have to see the hoi polloi in neighboring districts when looking up and down their own street. Every so often, at artfully irregular intervals, a building plot had been left, holding a small slice of park or a monument instead of a townhouse, serving to break up up the monotony.

It was actually rather peaceful. If one endured the cold and had some protection, the sound of the sleet was soothing, and trees, iron fences and eaves were taking on a surreal beauty as they were gradually encased in ice.

Thanks to discreet but clear street numbers, finding her destination was simplicity itself—luckily. There were places in this old city where one’s only hope for locating a specific home was getting very clear directions from someone in the know. Tellwyrn pushed through the unlocked gate, crossed the ice-soaked garden in three long strides and stepped into the shelter of the tiny porch.

She had barely tugged the bell rope when the door was pulled open, revealing a lean young woman in a Butler’s traditional suit.

“Good morning, Professor Tellwyrn,” she said crisply, stepping back and bowing. “Please, come in. You are expected.”

“I should hope so,” she replied, stepping inside. The Butler shut the door and cast a rapid glance over her; Tellwyrn could almost see her customary courtesies being frustrated. A guest who had just been out in an ice storm, yet wasn’t so much as damp and had no outer garment to take, must have been somewhat disconcerting. Her composure, of course, didn’t so much as flicker.

“His Grace awaits you in the dining room,” she said diffidently. “Breakfast will be served immediately. If you would follow me?”

Tellwyrn trailed after the girl, peering critically about. This place could have been lifted straight from a magazine illustration. The décor, the art, the furnishings… Its immaculate condition testified to the Butler’s touch, but nothing here evinced the slightest speck of personality. She knew a front when she saw one. Of course, given who occupied this house, that made perfect sense. The only unique thing about the Bishop’s residence was the low light. Even for this hour, it was dim; fairy lamps were present in abundance, but only one in the hallway was lit, and at a minimal level. This guy was comfortable working in the dark, then—which also made sense.

The dining room was more of the same: expensively but tastefully decorated, and as blandly impersonal as a museum display. Tellwyrn gave it scarcely a glance, fixing her attention on the man who rose from the table to greet her.

“Professor,” he said warmly, striding forward and taking her hand in both of his own. “I so appreciate you taking the time to visit me—really, it’s too generous. And in this hideous weather! I’d have taken no offense at all had you wanted to reschedule.”

“I never allow the weather to change my plans,” she said. “That just encourages it.”

He grinned with actual humor. Bishop Darling was a man to whom she’d not likely have given a second glance if she passed him on the street—which was probably the exact effect he was going for. A lean, fit man in his thirties, he was of average height, blue-eyed, his blonde hair just long enough to have been styled in a foppishly wavy coif. His suit was casual, but tailored and clearly expensive.

“Please, please, sit!” he said, ushering her to a chair and holding it gallantly for her. “Let’s get some hot tea into you. Price will have breakfast out in a jiffy.”

“Thank you,” she said evenly, watching him like a hawk as he strode around to seat himself opposite her. “Food can wait, however. I was offered a bribe for coming out here, I believe.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Price?”

The Butler stepped forward, holding out an antique-looking flat jewelry box, which she opened and extended to Tellwyrn. Within, on a cushion of black velvet, sat an incongruously cheap-looking necklace. Attached to a simple silver chain, it consisted of nothing but a few carved wooden beads, the largest of which was bound by a twist of silver wire to a lock of golden hair.

Tellwyrn very carefully lifted the charm from within the box, mindful of its great age. It wasn’t at all fragile, however; the enchantment on it was minor by modern standards, but sufficient to have protected it from the passage of time. She simply held it for long minutes, staring at it, lost in memory. The Butler stepped back, allowing her space; Darling held his peace.

Finally, she shook herself slightly, rousing from her reverie, and carefully tucked the necklace into her vest pocket, just over her heart.

“Well,” she said, turning a piercing look on the Bishop, “considering whose priest you are, I suppose there’s no need to ask how you acquired this. I would very much like to know from whom you took it, though. I’m quite curious where it’s been all these centuries.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about its journey,” he said, spreading his hands apologetically. He seemed completely unperturbed by her stare, which was the one she used to control classrooms full of the Empire’s most dangerous teenagers. This fellow, clearly, had mastered the art of restraint, for all his apparently warm demeanor. “Except that most recently, Mary the Crow had it.”

Tellwyrn raised her eyebrows sharply. “You stole from the Crow? You surprise me, Bishop Darling. I didn’t come here expecting to be impressed.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be a hell of a thing,” he said wistfully, as Price began laying out plates and serving scones. “They’d remember my name in the same breath as Foxpaw’s… But no, nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. I recently asked for Mary’s input on a little problem I’m having. She demurred, pleading ignorance, but then nominated you as the leading expert on the matter. Then gave me that, said it was certain to get your attention.”

“I see. Well, this was worth the trip, to me, and entitles you to a few minutes of my time. So now we come to it. What would this ‘little problem’ be?”

He folded his hands on the table, for the moment ignoring his scone. “Khadizroth the Green.”

Tellwyrn raised an eyebrow. “And what business, exactly, do you have with Khadizroth?”

“Oh, none, I assure you. In fact I’d like nothing better than for him to simply go away and forget about me.”

“That’s wise,” she said, nodding approvingly. “I gather he has business with you, then. This should be a good story.”

“A fairly short one, though some of it might be news to you. Are you familiar with the Cobalt Dawn tribe?”

“I’m aware of them…or perhaps I should say I was. They make a convenient cautionary tale for my history class.”

“Well, it turns out a handful of them survived their attack on the Empire.”

“Oh, don’t tell me,” she groaned. “Khadizroth took them under his wing.”

Darling nodded. “What’s alarming is what he intended to do with them. He specifically rescued the children, and was having them raised with himself as their primary caregiver and role model. Once they were old enough, he intended to use the females to…produce more dragons. A lot of them. Ultimately, his plan was to have a force with which to challenge the Empire.”

Tellwyrn stared. “That’s…actually rather brilliant. Elves aren’t the most fertile race, but there are ways around that. Gods, if he could manage to produce just a dozen adolescent dragons, with him leading them… It would take multiple deities to put a stop to that. I doubt the Empire can yet field anything that could have handled it. To read between the lines, I gather this plan is not currently still viable?”

“Thankfully, no,” Darling said, grimacing and toying with his scone. “The two eldest girls were a little too old when Khadizroth took them in to buy into it fully. They smuggled the other elves away from him, hid them with other tribes, and finally fled themselves. From there they ended up in Tiraas, and then as my apprentices in the Thieves’ Guild.”

“And now, you have a green dragon who wants his property back.”

“Precisely.”

She drummed her fingers on the table. “…I gather that giving them to him isn’t an option.”

“No,” Darling said, and there was an undercurrent of steel in his voice. “It is not.”

“Good,” Tellwyrn said with some satisfaction. “Well then, you do have a problem. I’m not sure I concur with Mary that I’m an expert on Khadizroth…”

“She did say that you’d bested him. Repeatedly.”

“Not alone.” Tellwyrn shook her head. “And that, I think, is the beginning of your difficulty. Your instincts are working against you here.”

“My instincts?” He raised his eyebrows.

“You’re an Eserite,” she said. “Unless I miss my guess, you’re thinking in terms of a long con. Trying to control information, use the dragon’s cleverness against him. Playing the game, in other words. Correct?”

“In essence,” he said slowly, leaning back in his chair. “That’s what we do.”

“And that’s your problem. As things stand… You and your apprentices are mostly safe so long as you stay behind the walls of Tiraas. Without his planned army, Khadizroth won’t risk his own safety against the might of the Empire. He’ll come at you through intermediaries, and none of the individuals who do that kind of work are crazy enough to pick a fight with the Guild. Conversely, there’s really nothing you can do to him, either. Do you even know where he is?”

“No,” Darling admitted ruefully.

“Right. So here you two sit, on opposite sides of a board filled with pieces you can’t even move. I guarantee the dragon’s patience is a lot longer than yours, Bishop Darling. Eventually, someone will have to give up their advantage and take some action. That’s likely to be you, and it’s all but certain to be your downfall.”

He was frowning now, but in thought, not dismay. “I see. What, then, are you suggesting?”

“Ignore your instincts,” she said firmly. “Don’t take him on alone. Make noise, Darling. Tell people what’s going on. This dragon was trying to raise an army against the Empire? The Empire will have very strong opinions about that. He was planning to use women as captive breeding stock? Elves or no, that’s exactly the kind of thing that drives the Sisters of Avei into a rage. They have brought down dragons, too.”

“I’ve been operating on the assumption that his interest in my girls is to find out what they’ve revealed, find out who else he has to silence. Keeping him in the dark on this matter is probably all that’s staying his hand.”

“You’re probably right,” she acknowledged, “but what do you really lose by forcing his hand?”

“I go from being a possible nuisance to a definite target for revenge,” he said wryly.

“True. But Khadizroth isn’t one of the more vengeful dragons; most of the greens aren’t. Once his secret is out, you become completely irrelevant. If he’s having to run and hide from a continent full of enemies… Well, they might actually do him in, but even if not, he won’t have the time or attention to spare for you. Better to be a target for revenge than one of active tactical concern.”

“Sounds logical,” he said, now staring at the far wall in thought. “A simple solution.”

“The best ones usually are,” she said with some satisfaction and took a bite of her scone.

“Yeah,” Darling said, then chuckled and shook his head. “And like all the best solutions, it’s not really a realistic option for me. The problem, Professor, is my apprentices. They’re Cobalt Dawn by blood, and… Well, without getting into the messy details, there are other concerns. Guild stuff, elf stuff, various miscellany. The point is, I really cannot afford to bring them to the attention of the Empire. Either Imperial Intelligence or the Sisters will need credible information to act against Khadizroth, and if I provide it… I place my apprentices at considerable risk.”

“Elf stuff?” she said flatly.

He gave her a disarming smile. “I don’t pretend to understand all of it. Suffice it to say, I can’t afford for those girls to become a pin on the Empire’s maps.”

“Mm. You sure didn’t bring me an easy one.”

“Well, it’s well known that you dislike being bored.”

Tellwyrn chewed a bite of scone for a long moment before replying. “Then I guess you were right to ask me. I can offer you some insights into Khadizroth that you may be able to use.”

“You are a gentleman and a scholar!”

“First of all, my original recommendation still applies. If you can’t bring official attention down on him, there are others who’ll help you. Since you somehow have Mary the Crow in your address book, by all means tell her about this, if you haven’t already. She tends to get very aggressive with people who abuse elves on a systematic scale such as you’re talking about.”

“Is Mary a match for a dragon?” he asked, clearly fascinated.

“I have no idea,” Tellwyrn said bluntly. “I don’t know if she’s a match for me, either. I don’t know if I’m a match for Khadizroth, because as I said, when I’ve had to tangle with him in the past, I always called in help. It’s all about maneuver, not force. Yes, I’m aware of my reputation and the irony, but when you’re talking about the affairs of gods and dragons and archfae—anything that deserves a Zero Twenty designation, really—different rules apply. We do not engage one another in destructive contests of power, nor enact grand plans to seize more terrestrial power than we need. Khadizroth clearly just did that last one, and in a way that’s likely to damage the reputation of all dragons—such as it is—should the story get out. Find and tell any dragon what he was up to, and he will immediately have problems of exactly the kind he was trying to inflict on the Empire.”

“Dragons, unfortunately, I do not have in my address book,” he said with a grin, then leaned forward, staring at her intently. “I wonder—”

“No, I will not take him on for you,” she said firmly. “I’ve made my own accommodation with the new order of the world, Darling. I perch atop my mountain and train my students, and the Empire tolerates me occasionally throwing my weight around because I’ve very carefully made it plain that I only do so when I perceive a real need. I’m not an adventurer any more, and acting as one would be a betrayal of the responsibility I owe my students.”

“I see,” he said regretfully. “Well, had to ask.”

“I’ll tell you what I will do for you, though,” she went on. “I know one dragon who’ll listen to me; the others will listen to him. Once I set that in motion, it’ll just be a matter of time before Khadizroth has far more important things than you and your apprentices to worry about.”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” he said fervently. “It surprises me to hear you have a dragon for a friend—though on second thought, I really don’t know why it should.”

“More a nemesis than a friend,” she said, grinning. “A three-thousand-year pain in the ass. Zanzayed was the first individual to cause me real problems when I… Well, that’s not important. We’ve been dueling off and on basically forever now. After that kind of time… Friends come and go, Darling, but the right kind of enemy can become more important to you than a lover. I don’t know what either of us would do if something were to befall the other at this point. When my husband died, it was Zanzayed who tracked me down and talked me out of doing something extremely rash.” She shook her head. “Anyway. Of course, I’ll have to find him first; I’ve not heard from him in a few years, and he does enjoy his intrigues. It’s likely to be months before I can get that in motion. You’ll have to cope in the meantime.”

“Zanzayed the Blue?” he said, tilting his head. “He’s in Onkawa.”

Tellwyrn stared.

“Or was a few weeks ago,” Darling amended, “pursuing some woman. I only know that by happenstance, but I do have access to intelligence reports. I can find out where he went after that, if indeed he’s moved on.”

“No,” she said slowly, “a few weeks is a fresh enough trail. Apparently it’s best if you don’t have the Empire looking into this matter, remember?”

“Quite so. That being the case, thank you very much for the help.”

“Then here’s what you should know about Khadizroth,” she said, pushing aside her plate and leaning forward over the table. “He has the capacity for subtlety, but for the most part disdains it. Sneaking around offends his sense of honor, and of his own majesty. If he feels you’re manipulating him…well, don’t do that, you don’t want him to start making effective use of his resources. If you’re careful, though, if you engage him directly, you can keep his attention focused and his actions relatively aboveboard.”

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “The fellow sounds a bit like you.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling slightly. “But there it is.”

“Okay, I suppose I’ll have to grant you that,” she said ruefully. “The other significant fact about Khadizroth is that he’s a people person.”

“….oh?”

“Most dragons tend to regard the mortal races as beneath them. Some are relatively benevolent, though, and by and large, Khadizroth is one of those. He likes to attract and keep followers, and in fact has a knack for earning very real loyalty from the people with whom he surrounds himself. It sounds like your girls scattered the bulk of his retinue, but it’s best to assume he has devoted servants ready to throw at you.”

“At least one that I know of,” Darling said, frowning.

“It’s not all bad news. He recruits based on loyalty, not skill.”

“Yeah, that fits the guy I met,” the Bishop grinned.

“Khadizroth is, in his way, loyal to his followers. It’s very much the loyalty of an autocrat toward his country; filtered through his ego, but sincere. An attack on them is an attack on him, and in fact he may take that more personally than he would a direct strike against himself. He expects enemies to attack him, you see. Going after his people is dirty pool.”

“I see,” he said, wincing. “And…hypothetically, what if I already roughed up one of his servants? Possibly the only one he has left?”

“Then,” Tellwyrn said dryly, “that revenge thing is likely to be a higher priority for him than I previously suggested.”

“…bollocks.”

“Well, now you know,” she said lightly. “You might be able to make amends. I do encourage you to open a line of communication and keep it open until you can get somebody powerful on his scaly tail. Your best case scenario is to set enemies after Khadizroth without revealing you were behind it. He may be willing to negotiate an end to hostilities with you if he finds you honorable and has bigger fish to fry.”

“That may be a slice of pie in the sky,” Darling said, “the situation being what it is. If anybody gets wind of what he was doing with the Cobalt Dawn and comes after him for it, he’s going to have to assume I was behind that.”

“True,” she said nodding, “but as long as you keep it relatively polite, again, that’s just business as usual. If you’re a declared enemy, he’ll expect you to be hostile. He may still be willing to make peace and turn his attention to more serious threats.”

“Then it sounds like I have a working plan.” He smiled, leaning toward her. “I really can’t thank you enough, Professor Tellwyrn. I know this must have been out of your way—”

“Stop.” She held up a hand. “I’ll tell you what, your Grace. After this is over, if you and your apprentices are still alive and free, look around at your situation and decide whether you still want to thank me. You’ll know where to find me if so.”

 

After the Professor had left, Darling paced in his study, working off some of the tension. She had proven a lot more personable than rumor suggested, but the facts were what they were; Tellwyrn was by far the most dangerous individual he’d ever had under his roof, including the Crow. Mary, at least, was somewhat predictable. Her motives were understood.

Still, it had been well worth it. Tellwyrn’s information was extremely useful, and her offer to help had been more than he’d dared to hope for. Of course, he was still stuck in a contest of wills with a dragon. There was nothing for him to cheer over just yet.

Price cleared her throat softly from the doorway. “Would your Grace like a brandy?”

“Y—no,” he said. “No, Fauna lectures me enough as it is. It’s not even noon, Price. Honestly, I’m surprised at you. What kind of bacchanal are you running here?”

“As you say, your Grace,” she said, perfectly neutral and yet accusing. He grinned at her.

“Price, I have just had a thought.”

“Shall I alert the fire marshal, your Grace?”

“My, aren’t you hilarious. I’ve been thinking I needed to keep this dragon issue as strictly separate from the Archpope and his schemes as possible.”

“That sounds sensible, your Grace.”

“Mm hm. However.” He turned from her and began to pace again. “Based on Tellwyrn’s recommendation, I need to find something straightforward and aggressive to point at Khadizroth until she can get some other dragons to deal with him. On the other hand, the Archpope expects me to recruit and control some of the world’s most dangerous adventurers. My biggest problem there has been finding something for them to do; these aren’t people who’ll be willing to be put on retainer and sit around in pubs until they’re called for. And what, I ask you, is more of a classic task for adventurers than slaying a dragon?”

“I confess I had rather hoped your Grace would task them with the collection of proverbial bear rumps. I have an excellent recipe.”

Darling grinned fiendishly. “Sometimes, Price, when the gods smile on us, two problems are the solutions to each other.”

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5 – 4

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“Rise and shine!” Tellwyrn crowed, throwing the door open and slapping the light switch.

Trissiny and Ruda were both on their feet in seconds, aiming swords at her.

“Congratulations, you two are officially the most alert residents of your dorm,” the Professor said, grinning diabolically. “I think Teal’s still not out of bed. You’ve got thirty minutes to be packed and at the Rail platform. We’re going on a field trip! Plan on at least three days away. Anybody not there will be teleported into place, no matter how unpacked or naked you are. Chop chop!”

“What…” Trissiny began.

“Time’s wasting!” Tellwyrn said cheerfully, ducking back out.

The girls looked at each other, then at the window. It was still fully dark outside.

“What the fuck.”

“….yeah.”

 

“But there was no announcement! This is unscheduled! There’s supposed to be an announcement of field trips at least two weeks in advance! It’s the rules!”

“That’s a policy, not a rule,” Tellwyrn said patiently, tromping through the dew-damp grass of the mountainside with most of the inhabitants of Clarke Tower trailing along behind her in various states of wakefulness.

“But—”

“Fross, what did I tell you concerning situations like this?”

The pixie emitted a discordant chime. “The rules are whatever you say they are,” she said fatalistically.

“Damn skippy.” Tellwyrn nodded. “Anyhow, this isn’t a completely anomalous situation; it’s not what you’re used to, but that’s because you’re new. I’ve been called away to consult on an academic matter; when that happens, I customarily consider which if any of my groups of little bastards would educationally benefit from a visit to wherever I’m going, and if there’s a match, they come along. This time, it’s you. Don’t you feel lucky?”

“Hoo-fuckin’-ray,” Ruda mumbled, then stifled a yawn.

“Where’s Juniper?” Trissiny asked.

“She’ll be along presently,” said Tellwyrn. “She needed a little extra preparatory time for the trip to Tiraas.”

“What?!” Fross shot four feet straight upward, sparking in alarm. “We’re going to Tiraas? You can’t take a dryad into Tiraas! It’s illegal!”

“Many years ago,” Tellwyrn said, “there was an actual Heroes’ Guild. They were quite the institution, really; the Guild Hall was one of the world’s great cultural centers. Of course, that was before the earthquake. It’s at the bottom of a lake now, which is a shame. Besides the loss of life, I mean; it was a beautiful structure. I always particularly enjoyed the frescoes inside the main rotunda. They were of scenes from legend, and portraits of the great adventurers and villains of the age, interspersed with calligraphic adages pertaining to the adventuring way of life. Naturally, my favorite part was the one that said ‘Never tell Arachne not to do something.’ Even painted my good side; nobody ever seems to get that right.”

“If you are quite finished publicly fondling your ego,” Trissiny said acidly, “taking a dryad into a major city is a terrifyingly irresponsible act. It’s considered a crisis when a dryad wanders too close to a village. The sheer horrifying number of things that could go disastrously wrong boggles the imagination!”

“You know, Avelea, you get positively poetic when you’re being pompous. Damn it, child, I have told you not to grind your teeth. Listen up, all of you: Juniper will not be unescorted. In addition to you lot, we’re bringing along the soldier boys, whose job will be to ride herd on her at all times. This project was cleared with Imperial Intelligence, agents of which will be shadowing your group.” She glanced over her shoulder at them, grinning. “So if any of you were planning to overthrow the Empire, pick a different trip. This, like Juniper’s very presence on this campus, is an experiment. We’ll have safeguards in place, but the whole point of her being here is for her to learn how to get along with mortal society. This had to happen at some point.”

“This is still a terrible idea,” Trissiny said.

“In the catalog of good ideas, few of them looked like such the first time,” Tellwyrn said airily.

“What’re you going to consult about?” asked Teal.

“Never you mind. Ah, here they come!”

Four figures were making their way down the hill after them. The campus’s three uniformed soldiers were easily identifiable, for all that their navy blue coats tended to fade in the pre-dawn gloom. With them was a young woman in a somewhat ill-fitting dress, at whom the students had to look twice.

“Wow, Juniper,” Teal said as they caught up. “You look…different.”

“This is awful,” the dryad complained, plucking at her skirts. She wore very typical frontier attire, a dress of conservative cut with a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders. Most strikingly, she now had creamy pale skin and brown hair. “How do you people move around with all this crap hanging all over you all the time? I can’t breathe!”

“You can’t walk around Tiraas in a sundress, is what you can’t do,” said Tellwyrn. “It’s winter.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me, I’m an evergreen.”

“Yes,” the Professor said patiently, “but you are passing as a human, which will not work if you prance about in the city’s characteristically miserable weather showing off half your skin. Remember what I told you, Juniper: you can’t let anyone know you’re a dryad. There’ll be a panic.”

“Maybe I could just stay here this time?” she suggested hopefully.

Tellwyrn snorted. “What is it you think Naiya sent you here to do? This is a golden opportunity for you to immerse yourself in human culture, get a feel for how they do things. Just remember your rules and be on your best behavior.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Juniper said glumly, making futile adjustments to her bodice.

“And you three!” Tellwyrn pointed at the soldiers arrayed behind the dryad. “You are not to let her out of your sight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Private Moriarty said crisply.

“That means you’ll be rooming together, needless to say. I’m serious; this was a condition of Lord Vex authorizing this. She is to have Imperial escort at all times.”

Ruda barked a laugh. “Something tells me they’ll find ways to pass the time.”

“I resent the implication,” Rook said haughtily. “I would never take advantage of a lady caught in an uncomfortable situation.”

“Bucko, I think what’s at issue here is the lady will take advantage of you.”

“Yes.” He nodded emphatically. “And I am perfectly okay with that.”

“Where are those two boys?” Tellwyrn demanded.

“When we left the room,” said Finchley, “Toby was still packing and I don’t think Gabe was actually awake.”

The Professor grunted and turned to resume walking. “They have a couple of minutes, yet.”

“You look very nice, Juniper,” Shaeine said.

“Really?” The dryad looked forlorn. “I don’t think this coloring agrees with me at all.”

“With respect, I don’t concur. But then, I’ve been learning to appreciate the aesthetic of humanity.”

“Yeah,” said Ruda with a huge grin, “we all know you’ve got a thing for brunettes.”

Shaeine glanced at her and actually smiled slyly. Teal flushed scarlet.

“How’d you do that, anyway?” Trissiny asked, falling into step beside Juniper. “Is it hair dye and makeup?”

“Oh, no, that wouldn’t work on me. I metabolize pretty much anything, magical or alchemical or not. It’s an enchantment.” She wiggled her left index finger, on which was an apparently plain steel ring. “Professor Tellwyrn says I’m not to take it off until we’re back on the campus. Which is… I mean, it’s a little odd-looking, but it’s not so bad. It’s the clothes that are driving me bonkers. I know humans don’t wear them all the time. I can’t wait till we’re in whatever rooms we get. I’m gonna be naked every chance I get.”

“So the gods do love us after all,” Rook said tearfully.

Trissiny shot him a look. “Private.”

“Sorry, General.” He managed a halfhearted look of contrition and she sighed, but didn’t pursue the matter.

They walked through the silent town, conversation petering out. At the Rail platform, Tellwyrn planted her hands on her hips, peering about. “Well, time’s up.”

With a soft pop, two more figures appeared alongside them. Toby was upright and alert, leaning on his staff with a knapsack dangling from one hand. Gabriel was hunched in front of an open suitcase, which appeared in midair, having apparently been resting on something in its previous location. It thunked to the ground, spilling clothes, and he tumbled over sideways.

“Goddammit! Do you have to do shit like that?!”

“Did you think I was kidding?” Tellwyrn asked dryly. “Hope you’ve got everything you need, Arquin. Our caravan will be here momentarily.”

He muttered mutinously, getting up and surreptitiously rubbing his tailbone. “Well, Toby, this’ll teach you to complain about the weather in Tiraas.”

“Yep,” said the paladin wryly. “Back we go to the land of gloom and sleet.”

“Do you, like, lose your powers if you go too long without seeing the sun?” Ruda asked, sipping from a bottle of whiskey.

Toby sighed. “I hope not. If so, I have a feeling we’ll find out.”

 

“They’re gone.”

“Are you sure?”

“…no. No, I just rolled some dice and the omens portend that Tellwyrn has left the campus.”

The other robed, hooded figure stood up, turning its cowled head to stare at the one currently standing in the doorway.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said sharply. “I watched the caravan leave. They’re halfway to Calderaas by now.”

“All right, all right, no need to get snippy. I think my concern is understandable. This is Tellwyrn we’re talking about.”

“Hm,” his companion said noncommittally, stepping back into the chamber.

It wasn’t deep into the Crawl, but the dungeon beneath the campus was supposed to be off-limits to students except during school-approved exercises. The students at this University being who they were, it was all but traditional for them to sneak in, using the space for various illicit purposes. Most of the corridors and chambers this close to the entrance were relatively secure, long since cleared of monsters and hostile magics, but they did tend to shift about from time to time. Not so dramatically that a person setting foot within was automatically doomed to wander in darkness forever…just enough to make it pointless trying to map the area. This place was the product of the same governing power that had made the Golden Sea; many of the same rules applied.

These two students were garbed in all-concealing robes of deep blood red. Heavy hoods concealed their features, complete with shadowing charms that made their faces invisible underneath. It was the kind of over-the-top getup used only by the most dedicated of cultists, and raw amateurs diligently imitating what they thought a dedicated cultist would do.

The woman paced slowly around the edges, studying the elaborate spell circle inscribed on the floor in faintly glowing enchanting chalk. The man had knelt again, applying the finishing touches to a glyph. Finally, he got somewhat awkwardly to his feet and stepped back.

“Well…there it is. Looks like we’re done. Ready to make a wish?”

“Are you sure you copied the glyphs correctly?”

“No,” he said, deadpan. “I just drew some squiggly lines. I thought they looked pretty.”

“All right,” she muttered. “I guess I deserved that.”

“As long as you’re aware of it. Here.”

She took the sheet of paper he offered, studying its contents. “Ugh. What language is this?”

“You know damn well what language it is. Honestly, what’s with you?”

“I’m stalling,” she groused. “Trying to convince myself this was a good idea.”

“Yeah? How’s that going?”

“About halfway there.”

“Relax, it’ll be contained in the circle, and the magic inherent in the Crawl will keep it from going far if it does escape. Besides, we brought insurance!” He drew a wand from within his voluminous sleeve and waggled it. “Nothing can go wrong.”

“Oh, now, you can’t just say things like that. That’s just asking for the fates to intervene!”

Both of them yelped and staggered backward away from the circle, boggling at the figure now standing within.

“By the way,” she said, grinning, “for future reference, just inscribing a summoning circle is enough to weaken the barriers of reality enough that something can slip through, even before you start casting. As a matter of general practice, it’s smarter not to stand around chitchatting in between steps.”

She was a woman, apparently human, in a slinky red dress with a matching floppy-brimmed hat over her dark hair. A bronze complexion offset the scarlet fabric pleasingly; dark eyes glittered with intelligence above a longish nose.

“…well,” said the man after a moment. He and his companion both had wands out and aimed at her. “That sure doesn’t look like a sshitherosz.”

“Aw, aren’t you sweet,” she said, fluttering her lashes flirtatiously. “I’m the lady in red. It’s something new I’m trying out. You like?” She spread her arms wide as if putting herself on display, cocking her pelvis to one side.

“Very nice,” he said approvingly. “I’d whistle, but you know, I’m not sure what that might mean in demonic and I’d hate to accidentally let you out of that circle. Meanwhile, here we are.” He looked over at his robed companion. “Can we keep her?”

“Kindly don’t be any more idiotic than you can help,” she said caustically. “Now how the hell do we banish her back to wherever she came from?”

“Well, as to that, you don’t,” the lady in red said languidly, waving a hand. Instantly, the white chalk lines on the floor blackened as if scorched, then sizzled away, filling the room with the smell of sulfur.

“Oh, shit,” the female student hissed. She managed to squeeze off two shots with the wand; both lightning bolts slapped harmlessly into the lady’s outstretched palm. Then, suddenly, both wands were bunches of tulips.

“Now, there’s no need for that,” said the lady reprovingly. “And here after I went to all the trouble to come visit you, and prevented the thing you were trying to summon from coming through. You’re welcome, by the way, since that circle of yours would not have held it. Seriously, do you know how many grammatical errors you made in those glyphs? Demonic is a language, not a set of spell components. How daft do you have to be to try improvising commands when you don’t even speak it?”

“You improvised?” the girl shrieked.

“Oops,” he said weakly.

“You need to have a talk with your buddy, here,” the lady said. “Rule of thumb: never leave the man to work unsupervised. Am I right?”

“If it’s not too impolite to ask,” the man said, edging toward the door, “who are you?”

“And what do you want?” the girl added tersely.

“Oh, I’m just sure you’ve heard of me at some point. Everyone has. Let me see if I can jostle your memory,” said the lady, smiling mysteriously, then dissolved in smoke. The reek of sulfur overpoweringly filled the room. Both robed students immediately whirled and sprinted toward the exit; the dilapidated metal gate slammed shut just as they arrived, causing them to smash themselves against it. Despite its rusted appearance, it was more than sturdy enough to hold up to the impact, barely even shifting in its frame.

“Now, now, don’t wander off. We have things to discuss, you and I.”

Both of them turned slowly.

She towered above, all but filling the room. Its ceiling didn’t seem high enough even to fit her, but she managed, as though space itself didn’t dare to inform her she was wrong. The face with much the same—lean, angular, sharp-nosed—but her skin was a dusky crimson now, her eyes swirling pits of orange flame. Horns sprouting from her forehead swept back over her hair, and her legs terminated in cloven hooves.

“Oh…well, then. Fuck,” the boy said weakly. The girl whimpered.

“Nobody’s ever happy to see me,” Elilial complained. “It’s enough to give a girl a complex. Ah, well, I’ll manage. Let’s talk about you.” She grinned broadly, showing off fangs, and both would-be summoners pressed themselves furiously against the gate as though trying to ooze through the bars. “Here you are, precisely like every lazy fool who’s come before you, looking to take extremely hazardous shortcuts to whatever it is you want and utterly failing to comprehend the cost. Oh, stop looking at me like that, you two, I’m not going to incinerate you or anything. In fact, that is precisely the thing at issue here. I promised dear Arachne I wouldn’t harm any of her students. Despite my reputation, my word is my bond.”

The two cowled heads turned toward each other, then back to the goddess. “Whatever you say,” said the boy.

“Oh, if you only knew how right you are,” she said, smiling broadly. “Now, we don’t need to go into the details of what you wanted with a sshitherosz demon. To be perfectly frank, I’m not interested. To yourselves, you are individuals full of hopes, ambitions and mitigating flaws, the protagonists in your own little stories; to me, you’re something for Arachne to do. Something other than sticking her spectacles into my business. To that end, here’s what I’m going to do for you.”

She folded her arms, still smiling smugly. “Of all the gifts of the infernal arts, all the boons that summoners call up demons to beg or demand, there are none more potent or more dangerous than knowledge. And so, knowledge you shall have.”

“W-what knowledge?” the young woman asked, very nearly masking a quaver in her voice.

“More or less all of it,” Elilial said, her grin widening again. “Oh, there are the standard exceptions, a few little tidbits I really can’t have mortals knowing. But aside from that? The dark arts, in general. The entire library of lore and spellcraft sought by diabolists. What I am giving you, countless others have sacrificed everything up to and including their souls to obtain, and precious few succeeded in their goals.”

Both figures had straightened slightly as she talked; even from within the all-enveloping robes, their body language betrayed their interest.

“That is…alarmingly generous,” the boy said slowly. “What is it you want in exchange for this?”

“Exchange?” she repeated, feigning confusion. “Why, I wasn’t proposing to make an exchange. This is my gift, children, free of charge, free of strings or stipulation. I snap my fingers and you go from zero to grandmaster warlock. Oh, there’s a hell of a learning curve, pun intended, and you’ll have a great deal of work to gather up your power—and, even more, to manage how to handle it without corrupting your mortal shells into uninhabitable husks. But the knowing how, that will jump you vastly farther ahead. Farther than the most ambitious should dare dream.”

“No. Bullshit.” The girl shook her head emphatically. “You’re talking sheer insanity. Nobody hands out power of that magnitude without getting something in return. If you’re not going to reveal the catch, I want nothing to do with this.”

“I’m very nearly offended,” Elilial said mildly. “I’ve told you my motives already. I am in the middle of something, and a handful of stubborn interlopers, including your charming professor, are increasingly determined to do something about it. I simply cannot spare the effort or personnel to go chasing down every last little threat to my plans. Thus, you.” She raised a hand languidly, inspecting her claw-like fingernails. “Have you heard the expression ‘power corrupts?’ It’s extremely true. So what do you suppose power over corruption itself does? I’ll tell you exactly what I gain from this arrangement, kids: Red herrings. Ticking time bombs. Mad dogs with torches tied to their tails, set loose in my enemies’ fields. You want to know who hands out vast quantities of unearned, unappreciated power?” A cruel smirk tugged the side of her mouth upward. “Someone who doesn’t care one little bit about the welfare of the person receiving it, or anyone they come into contact with.”

“And how do you know we won’t just use it against you?” The girl swatted him in the midsection with the back of her hand, eliciting a grunt. “Ow! What? It’s a fair question!”

“You could try,” Elilial said with amusement. “You’d hardly be the first. I really can’t express how little I worry about the revenge of mortal warlocks. Besides, you’ll be quite busy, you see. You’ve got to get through the remainder of your education here without Arachne sniffing you out and blasting you to atoms. Then make your way out there in the wide world, avoiding the many hazards that await the powerful. The Tiraan Empire is a dangerous enough thing these days that few if any high-level casters dare challenge it. There are no shortage of other members of the elite club you will have joined, most with power as great as yours and every last one with vastly more experience. Some will regard you as competition, some as a threat to the world. A highly capable druid, priest or even a mage might be able to make friends out there, but you will be hunted and alone, effectively at war with everything which becomes aware of you. Oh, the sheer wreckage you’ll cause in your desperate flailing… It positively chills the blood.

“Or,” she went on, looking viciously self-satisfied, “you could try to counter my plans with a little honesty. Take the gamble that Tellwyrn, or the Empire, or the Pantheon, or the dragons or fairies or anyone else, will give you a fair shake. That they’ll not react to you exactly as any sensible person would to Elilial’s chosen archwarlocks. When you get tired of trying to stay alive—and oh yes, my children, you will—go right ahead and roll those dice.”

“There’s a better option,” the girl said tightly. “We can counter your plans quite effectively by not taking the deal. Count me out.”

“Deal?” the goddess said softly. “My dear, sweet little poppet… No one is offering you a deal.”

She made no gestures, spoke no magic words; there was no visible spell effect, not so much as a puff of sulfur. Elilial simply stood there, smiling thinly down at them, but when she had done speaking, both students rocked abruptly backward as if struck, bouncing against the closed gate.

They crumpled slowly, the boy slouching against the doorframe and sliding down, the girl pitching forward, both clutching at their heads, their minds assaulted by unnavigable torrents of information. Very quickly, the effects escalated and they lost what remained of their footing entirely, their whole nervous systems faltering under the strain of absorbing impossible amounts of knowledge, delivered through a mechanism the brain was never meant to accept.

Elilial watched, her faint smile fading to impassivity, as the pair devolved into kicking, twitching messes on the ground, no longer consciously aware of her—or of anything.

“In a few weeks, or years, or however long it takes for your whole life to come unraveling around you,” she said softly, “and you’re cursing my name… Just remember, you are the brain who decided demonology was a workable shortcut to what you want. Dabbling in what you were… Oh, there are so, so many ways this could have ended so much worse for you. Then again, by the time you’re thinking about it, you’ll understand that full well.”

She turned away, then paused and glanced back over her shoulder. The boy had fallen mostly still, his breath coming in labored rasps; the girl was still twitching feebly.

“Believe it or not,” she said, “I actually am sorry. You’re a means to an end…eggs in a greater omelet than you can imagine. Somebody has to suffer. Might as well be you.”

She made a casual gesture with her hand as though drawing back a curtain, and stepped through. With no visible distortion in the air, she was simply, suddenly gone, leaving behind nothing but the acrid tang of sulfur and the two felled University students, just beginning to regather their senses.

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5 – 3

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For centuries Onkawa had been known in song and story as the Jewel of the West, but in the modern era it had also taken to calling itself the Tiraas of the West. The first city-state of the coastal provinces to join the Empire’s march and the only one to do so willingly, it had old and deep ties to the Silver Throne and was one of the only places in this part of the continent where to be seen as Tiraan was considered desirable.

Like Tiraas, Onkawa was a political capital, a seat of learning and culture filled with libraries, museums and academies, as well as a financial center home to trade guild halls and trading syndicates. It was also a city whose shape was defined by rivers and cliffs, with some districts perpetually filled by the roar of waterfalls.

The similarities ended there. The cliffs which bordered Onkawa on its western edge were an uneven sixty to a hundred feet high—tall enough to be good and fatal if one were to tumble off, but hardly the imposing drop of the Tira Falls. All manner of stairs, ramps and tunnels made travel up and down all but routine. Three rivers passed through the city, broad, shallow and sluggish as opposed to the Tira’s furious rapids, pouring over the cliffs into a lake below the city. Where Tiraas was a walled city tightly packed onto its island mountaintop, Onkawa sprawled across the granite plain above the marshlands below; no fewer than three concentric rings of old walls marched through it, most now crumbling and neglected, and the city continued to meander ever outward like a spreading urban puddle. There was no major industry to speak of, no factory antennae lighting up the night, though the Onkawi had their share of fairy lamps, Rail lines and scrolltowers. Best of all, at this time of year, was the city’s tropical clime.

In fact, quite a few of the well-to-do of Tiraas chose to winter in the Jewel of the West. The pace of life was slow, the cost of living low, the streets colorful and the people cheerfully outgoing. If one hadn’t the luxury of garden walls and hired guards, though, life in Onkawa tended to be dangerous and dirty. For the richer classes, the squalor of the baking streets just outside their villas was as distant as the freezing drizzle back home in Tiraas.

Approaching one of these estates, Kheshiri couldn’t help being impressed by both its defensible position and lavish appointments. The walled compound backed right up against a stretch of the old city walls, which towered above, cutting off the view to the south. Its own walls were much more modest, but glistened along their upper reaches, where shards of broken glass had been arranged into abstract mosaic murals—with their sharp edges extending outward. Beautiful and vicious; she appreciated every part of it. From the street out front, she could see three guards patrolling the tops of these walls, as well as the tops of trees extending upward from the gardens within.

The broad gates, though, stood open. A guard lounged outside, slumped against the wall and seeming half-asleep under the beating sun, but she could feel his acute attention to his surroundings. A broad-brimmed hat protected him from sunstroke while also concealing his eyes, and he wore neither armor nor uniform, though a scimitar was thrust through his colorful sash and he cradled a staff in the crook of one arm. As she strolled up, a trio of laughing young women sauntered out of the compound, ignoring both her and the guard.

Kheshiri paused in front of the open gate, peering about and putting on an intimidated expression. There was music and laughter from the gardens within; she could see people lounging around a broad pool. It seemed more like some kind of resort than a private residence.

“Help you?” asked the guard, eying her up and down with lazy approval.

She had chosen to style herself as a local. Her skin was as dark as his, a shade or two past mahogany, her thick black hair tied back in the multiple braids currently worn by fashionable young Onkawi women. The rubber sandals flapped annoyingly when she walked—amazing how they all seemed used to it here—but she enjoyed the sheer, colorful wraparound garment that passed as a dress, tied about the waist by a broad sash in a manner that emphasized her curves.

“I-is this Mr. Vandro’s residence?” she asked a little uncertainly. Kheshiri, as always, knew precisely where she was, but a big man with a weapon usually liked to feel superior, especially when talking with a pretty girl. Confidence and competence played up the “mysterious and alluring” angle, which didn’t suit her current character.

“It is,” he said, nodding and not exerting himself overmuch to maintain eye contact. “Come to join the party?”

“Oh, I… No, I’m not visiting. I have a message for Mr. Vandro.” She raised the envelope in her hand, pressing it protectively against her breast—and drawing his attention there.

“Shame,” the guard said with a vaguely smarmy smile. “Just head on in. Follow the path straight through the garden to the main house. Mr. Vandro’s probably busy, but you can leave a message with Wilberforce, his Butler. Any of the servants can call him for you.”

“Oh! Oh, um, okay. Thanks!”

He looked her over again, one side of his mouth twitching upward in a grin. “Don’t mention it.”

Kheshiri affected a bashful duck of the head as she trotted past him into the grounds. She didn’t roll her eyes once out of his view—there were people about, it wouldn’t do to break character. It was tempting, though. Big man with a weapon.

She looked thoroughly impressed and out of her element while traversing the lavish gardens, hunching her shoulders and picking up her pace on being catcalled by one of the guests. All the while, she analyzed her surroundings carefully and came up impressed. The guards weren’t numerous, but they were strategically placed. Doors were sturdily constructed, in contrast to the usual Onkawi custom of making things as flimsy and open as possible to encourage cooling breezes; Vandro’s estate made use of heavy oak doors and shutters, often with large cut-outs as a concession to airflow, set with thick iron bars in sturdy frames. More bars lined the windows, and whatever access there was to the wall tops was apparently locked away, available only to authorized personnel. More of those deadly glass murals lined the inner walls; this place could protect itself from its guests as well as any potential invasion.

The central building was pleasantly cool, shaded from the sun and inhabited by a constant, gentle breeze. The architecture provided part of that, no doubt, but considering some of the things she’d seen lately Kheshiri had to wonder if there was some passive enchantment at work, too. The long hall rose two stories from its marble floor, lined with huge silken hangings that billowed in the soft currents of air; a long, low pool ran the length of the center of the floor, fed by a laughing fountain at the far end.

It was quieter, too. A young Sifanese woman sat on a bench near the far end, idly fanning herself and reading a magazine; she glanced up at Kheshiri but quickly dismissed her from interest. A local servant was pushing a mop across the glossy marble; the succubus made a beeline for him.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, “I just have a message to deliver, I was told to ask for Wilberforce?”

The man looked up at her, blinking as though waking up. “Oh, uh, he’s around somewh—”

“May I help you, miss?”

Kheshiri had heard him approach, of course, but still jumped slightly and gasped before whirling to face the Butler. He was a man in his later middle years, hair gone steely gray, but still trim and unbowed, his eyes sharply intelligent. His neatly pressed suit looked like it would have to be horribly uncomfortable in this climate, but he didn’t even appear to be sweating.

“Um, are you the, uh, him?”

“I am Wilberforce, Mr. Vandro’s Butler,” the man said blandly.

“Oh! Good, the guard said… That is, I have a message for Mr. Vandro. He said you could get it to him?”

“And may I tell Mr. Vandro who called upon him?” the Butler asked, deftly plucking the envelope from her hand.

Kheshiri bit her lip. “I don’t think I’m… I mean, I’m sure it’s all explained in the letter.”

“I see,” he said, somehow clearly expressing disapproval without breaking his courteous deadpan in the slightest. She was impressed in spite of herself. “I will see that Mr. Vandro receives this with all haste.”

“Oh, thanks so much,” she said, practically gushing with relief. “I, uh… I’ll just be going then. Thank you!”

“Not at all, miss,” he said politely.

She could feel his eyes on her as she trotted back out into the garden, and he wasn’t inspecting her rump. Kheshiri made a mental note to be careful around that one in the future.

“Be safe,” the guard outside said to her as she exited the compound.

“Thank you!” she replied with a demure smile, setting off back the way she had come at a respectable clip. He did stare at her butt as she departed. She resisted the urge to put a little more than her customary sway into it.

Two streets over, five minutes later, she was still in a wealthy district, though the walled private villas had yielded to exclusive shops—jewelry, antiques and the like. The street ran along one of the city’s three rivers, an ornamental iron rail on one side and storefronts on the other. She had subtly tweaked her appearance as she stepped onto the boardwalk, not drastically enough to draw attention, just the addition of some jewelry and cosmetics and an improvement in the cut and fabric of her dress, so she wouldn’t look out of place in this neighborhood. The guards wouldn’t pay attention to a clearly wealthy woman out for a mid-morning stroll.

People flowed along on all sides, and she let the currents of the crowd carry her. Most of those present were Onkawi, tall humans with dark skin and colorful local garments, though in a district this ritzy there were more than a handful of olive-skinned Tiraan present, and even some paler Stalweiss types. Or possibly folk from the newly-settled Great Plains region; they apparently tended toward pale complexions as well. The new world took some getting used to; last time Kheshiri had been out and about, there was nothing within leagues of the Golden Sea but elves and centaurs. She spotted three gnomes sitting on the rail, chatting, and at one point a dwarf trundling along the street, but the people were overwhelmingly human. No elves at all, which suited her fine. Elves were annoyingly perceptive.

The street was well-patrolled and orderly, for the most part. One person tried to pick her pocket; she calmly raked the offending hand with vicious claws that in the next instant weren’t there. The would-be cutpurse was too professional to draw attention, but she could feel the pain and shock radiating from him. She savored it until he vanished into the near distance behind her.

It took her nearly half an hour, keeping to a meandering pace, to spot a suitable mark. He was clearly a merchant, strolling along rapidly, his mouth moving in silence as he peered at a sheet of expensive white paper in his hand. His clothes were well-cut, but rumpled and bore ink stains. Rich, but careless—perfect.

She had placed herself at the rail, leaning against it and gazing dreamily out over the water. At the target’s approach, she “absentmindedly” backed up, and he walked right into her. Kheshiri yelped and went staggering, wheeling her arms for balance.

“Oh, gods!” The man dropped his list and reached out frantically, catching her in time to save her from tumbling to the pavement. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—are you all right?”

“Watch the hands!” she snapped, pushing him away. “And watch where you’re going, idiot!”

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, wringing his hands as he stepped back. “I just didn’t see—are you quite all right? Let me make it up to…”

“Hmph!” Sticking her nose in the air, she strode past him, stalking away down the boardwalk and ignoring his last shouted apology as he receded into the crowd behind her.

She crossed the river at the next footbridge that came up, and waited till she was two streets distant from it to inspect the contents of the merchant’s purse. Excellent—loaded with doubloons, and even four decabloons. A few silver pieces, too, but clearly he was of a class that didn’t consider copper coins worth the effort of carrying.

Kheshiri stopped at a food cart to acquire a delightful confection of crushed ice and orange juice. In and around flirting with the scrawny youth manning the cart, she inspected the enchanted devices which composed it. A cold-creating charm, another to condense moisture out of the atmosphere and a third, much simpler enchantment powering a grinding wheel to keep the resulting frost thoroughly mixed, all working together to create an unlimited supply of crushed ice—at least as long as its power crystal held out, which was likely to be basically forever. Those things were used in wands, staved and even horseless carriages.

It was amazing. Back in her day…well, it wasn’t that magic wasn’t used on such frippery, but only the richest of the rich could have afforded it. Royalty, or upper aristocracy at minimum. Now? This car sat right on the street, dispensing wonder for pocket change to whoever happened by. Humanity had come so far, so fast…

Kheshiri found a bench in a small, sunny park, and lounged, basking in the sun and enjoying her frosty treat. It wasn’t that she had nowhere to be, but she took her time finishing the confection, then licking the melted juice from her fingers unabashedly before finally rising and continuing on her languid way.

 

It was nearing noon and the streets had mostly cleared by the time she got back to the crumbling, sprawling inn-cum-tenement from which she had set out that morning. The heat was nothing to her, obviously, but the city’s human residents customarily took shelter during the hottest part of the day. Kheshiri navigated the stained hallways and rickety steps back to the room and rapped on the door.

There came furtive motion from within; she stood patiently, waiting for him to identify her through the peephole. All of a sudden, the door was yanked open and Shook grabbed her by the arm, hauling her roughly inside and slamming it behind her.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he snarled, rounding on her.

“I’m sorry!” she said, shrinking in on herself and staring up at him wide-eyed through her lashes. “I really thought I knew this city, but it’s not like Tiraas, with all the historical architecture. They keep changing everything! All the landmarks are different, some of the streets are different even. There’s some kind of temple where the Royal Avenue used to be!”

His annoyance diminished visibly, even to the point of a faint smirk cutting through his scowl. “You got lost?”

“Not lost,” she hedged. “Just a little…turned around. A few times.”

Tension leaked from his shoulders and he actually chuckled, grinning at her unpleasantly. “Well, of all the goddamn things. I thought succubi were supposed to be smart.”

“I am smart,” she said defensively. “It could’ve happened to anyone!”

“Sure,” he said dryly. “Did you at least get your errand done, you silly trollop?”

“Of course I did! I wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t. Your friend Vandro has a hell of a place; he’s done pretty well for himself, by the looks of it. I didn’t get to see him but I left the letter with a servant—”

He crossed the space in one long step, seizing her arm in a bruising grip and glaring down into her eyes. “You gave that letter to a servant?”

“It was the best I could do!” she squealed. “I promise, master, I couldn’t get any closer—that place is like a fortress. It was obviously a senior servant, he had on a suit even in the heat…”

“Wait, what kind of suit?” he said sharply. “Describe it.”

“Uh… Black coat with tails, charcoal gray slacks, waistcoat and bow tie.”

Again, Shook relaxed. Not for the first time lately, Kheshiri wondered about the effect his mood swings must have on his heart. “Oh. A Butler. That’s okay, then. I guess you managed not to completely fuck it up.”

“I wouldn’t let you down, master,” she said earnestly.

“No,” he mused self-importantly, studying her down his nose. “You’re a bit of a ditz sometimes, but I can’t say you don’t know what’s good for you.”

He released her and crossed to the window, twitching aside the ragged curtain to peek out. The little room was stifling; even in his shirtsleeves, Shook was drenched in sweat. The curtain admitted only a slight breeze, but he had insisted on it being left in place, and the door closed, despite the usual custom in Onkawa. Their privacy was far more important than their comfort. Well, his comfort. She could make do anywhere.

Kheshiri shifted back to her own appearance, stretching. She didn’t have room to extend her wings in here, but coiled and uncoiled her tail vigorously, savoring the freedom of motion.

“So,” she said hesitantly, “now what, master?”

“Now we wait,” he said, still peering out through the gap at the edge of the curtain. “Alan’s never let me down yet. He’ll come through.”

She slinked up behind him and began to knead his shoulders. “Then everything’s going according to your plan,” she breathed into his ear. “I’m sorry I made you wait, master. Can I help you…ease the tension?”

Shook turned to study her face, lifting one hand and stroking her cheek with the back of his knuckles. He smiled, the lopsided, self-satisfied little smirk he often got when inspecting her. Not bothering to reply, he tugged her close, tilting up her face to kiss her roughly.

Kheshiri purred and melted against him. The kissing was relatively new, but he’d been doing a lot more of it lately. Bit by bit, he was growing more relaxed around her, more certain he had her firmly under control.

Everything was indeed going according to plan.

 

Late in the afternoon, the sun had lowered enough that the constant breeze over the plains had begun to alleviate its fury. Shook and Kheshiri, again in her disguise as a local woman, sat on an outdoor patio at a restaurant several orders of social magnitude above their current residence, sipping iced lemonade and watching the street. Even in his best suit and with her looking fully presentable, the waiter had given them some very dubious looks. Fortunately, Shook was too preoccupied to notice. It was always a headache, running interference between him and polite society.

Several hours after she’d returned, a uniformed messenger, looking even more out-of-place in their slum than they did here, had arrived, directing them to this restaurant at this time. Or rather, to this restaurant half an hour ago. Shook kept his attention on the street, watching for the arrival of their putative guest; uncharacteristically, he remained calm. Aloof and somewhat tense, but not gradually working himself up the way he usually did when someone made him wait. Kheshiri had to wonder about this Alan Vandro and his relationship with Jeremiah Shook.

She shifted her chair subtly closer to his and experimentally ran her foot up his calf under the table.

“Cut it out,” he said curtly, not even looking at her. Kheshiri didn’t have to feign her disappointed frown. Whatever was going on, it was enough to distract him from the effect she had on him. That wasn’t good.

Shook straightened. An enchanted carriage had arrived out of the traffic, pulling up against the curb outside, an unnecessarily large and lavish model driven, she saw, by Wilberforce the Butler. He brought the machine to a stop and hopped down from the driver’s seat, opening the door.

The man who stepped out had clearly been big and powerful in his youth and was only slightly less so now. He had just the faintest stoop to his posture and a modest gut, but his shoulders were broad and his arms still thick. Clearly not local, he had what had once been a pale complexion, stained patchy red by sun and wind, his wild hair and neatly-trimmed beard gone pure white. Stepping out of the carriage, he instantly fixed his eyes on Shook and grinned so hugely she could have counted his teeth, regardless of the distance.

“Jerry, my boy!”

Alan Vandro bounded up the steps to the little terrace, his loose khaki-colored suit fluttering around him in the breeze. Shook had also stood, Kheshiri following suit behind him, and stepped forward to meet the man, grinning just as broadly. They clasped hands firmly and Vandro clapped Shook on the shoulder.

“I hear you’re living like a king out here,” Shook said, still smiling broadly. “Palace and all!”

“You don’t seem to be doing as badly as I expected, yourself,” Vandro replied, leaning around him to leer at Kheshiri. “What’s this little morsel, eh?”

“This is Shiri,” Shook said, letting go of the older man and stepping back to the table. “My most prized possession. Shiri, Alan here taught me everything I know.”

“I tried to teach him everything I know,” Vandro said, still grinning, “but there’s a limit to how much sense can be pounded into a skull that thick.”

Shook, to her amazement, laughed. Vandro, meanwhile, bowed over her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Shiri. Jerry, lad, I’ve been telling you all these years you need to come out here and sample the local flavor. I guess now you’ve finally acquired a taste for dark meat, here you are.”

“Well, I’d like to say I just wanted to look you up for a visit,” Shook replied as they resumed their seats, Vandro taking one across from them, “but the truth is I need your help.”

“Goddamn right you do, boy,” Vandro said, his expression growing more serious. Kheshiri was fascinated. Here the man kept Shook waiting, mocked him to his face and flirted with his woman, and rather than blowing up the way she’d learned to expect, Shook treated it all as a joke. Amazing. “I’ve been hearing the rumors. Dunno what you did to piss Tricks off, but he’s good and pissed off.”

“Gnn.” Shook bared his teeth, grunting in annoyance. “I’ve only been able to get bits and pieces, here and there—the first of which convinced me to avoid Guildmembers for the time being, which is exactly what’s made it hard to get news. What’ve you heard?”

“Well, my boy, you’re wanted back at the Guild posthaste,” Vandro said, lounging back in his chair and accepting a glass of lemonade from the waiter without even glancing up at him. “And not in a friendly way. Somehow you’ve also managed to get the Avenists out for you. That’s pretty fucking impressive, Jerry.”

Shook growled. “None of this is my fault. It all comes back to that fucking bitch Principia.”

“Yeah, I figured from the context there was a woman at the back of this somewhere.” Vandro shook his head. “I’ve told you and told you, my boy, they are none of them worth upsetting your life over. I dunno what it is with you and women, but you’ve got to learn to just get what you need and kick ’em to the curb when you’re done.”

Kheshiri, too amused to be offended, kept her peace. Clearly these two man’s men wouldn’t welcome her input in the conversation. That suited her just fine; one learned more and revealed less by keeping one’s mouth shut.

“That cunt is a traitor to the Guild,” Shook snarled. “I’m the one tasked with dragging her home. And what do I find? Tricks no sooner sent me out than turned on me.”

“The word on Principia Locke is she’s also wanted to answer some questions,” Vandro said ruminatively, sipping his lemonade, “but far, far less urgently than you. Clearly, she’s held in somewhat better regard. How’s that work, with her evidently being a traitor?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Shook exclaimed, clenching his fists on the table. “But I am gonna find her and find out.”

“Now, there you go, getting worked up about it,” Vandro said easily. “I bet that’s exactly how you got into all this in the first place. You take everything too damn personally, always have. Now, this Principia… I never met her, but I’ve heard the rumors for years. She’s got a good, solid rep on her. Sneaky as a weasel and a big pain in the ass to deal with. Not hard to figure she’s twisted events to make you look bad. You can’t let it get under your skin, Jerry, that’s how she plans to bring you down. You’ve gotta get your side told. Even the playing field before you get yourself and her back into the Guild’s clutches.”

“Not so easy to do when I’m the next goddamn thing to being declared traitor, myself,” Shook said morosely.

“Well, now, we’ll just have to see what we can do about that,” said Vandro with a grin. “Obviously, things aren’t gonna stand as they are. Some bitch gaming the system to make my apprentice her fall guy? No, I don’t fucking think so. We’ll deal with this, Jerry. You were right to come here. Long as you’re out there chasing after her like the coyote and the hare, you’re playing her game. Now, we’ll play mine. I guarantee the bitch won’t know what hit her. Meanwhile, you and your ladyfriend will stay with me.”

“You don’t get Guild visitors?” Shook asked sharply.

“I get Guild visitors.” Vandro’s grin widened. “And they know to mind their fuckin’ manners in my place. This isn’t Tiraas, my boy; the Guild’s a powerful presence here, too, but matters are different. It’s not so hard to move without their say-so…or their knowing about it. Trust me, I’ll show you the ropes. Who knows, maybe I can even arrange for you to have some work while you’re here. A thief shouldn’t be sitting on his ass when there’s a city this rich full of complacent turkeys waiting to be plucked.”

Shook grinned, and Kheshiri didn’t bother to hide her fascination. So even a man like Jeremiah Shook could have a friend—an actual friend, who seemed to care about him as a person. What was more, a powerful friend, whose presence opened up all kinds of options for him.

She’d have to do something about that.

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5 – 2

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Despite the intermittent freezing drizzle, Sweet was enjoying himself. For one thing, he was full of hot spiced tea (with just a smidge of brandy); for another, the weather was an excuse for him to peacock a little bit. His customary loud, slightly scruffy suit was augmented with a truly garish scarf, a ragged broad-brimmed hat trailing a patchy old feather halfway down his back, and a Punaji-style greatcoat. Also, he was wearing personal heating charms that kept the worst of the elements from troubling even his exposed face and fingers. Truly, modern enchantment was wonderful.

Mostly, though, it was good to be out and about, talking to people, tasting the air, being seen. He’d been making his rounds most of the morning, for the first time in more than a week—far too long. Sweet wasn’t meant to be kept in the safety of the Guild or Church, and no matter how he savored the high-stakes intrigues of Justinian and the Empire, he did get tired of associating only with the rich and well-bred. That was the Bishop’s turf. It was good to just be Sweet again. He needed to find or make time to do this more often; it kept him grounded.

Which was why he was annoyed when someone behind him cleared his throat and said, “Your pardon, Bishop Darling?”

He was passing through one of the city’s back alley markets—not of illegal goods, in this case, but simply the kind of place where the less-than-wealthy could acquire non-perishable items for less than the going rate, due to the fact that most had been damaged or worn out and shoddily (or not at all) repaired. And yes, well, some of them had probably fallen off the backs of various carts.

Sweet suppressed his annoyance and turned, putting on an amiable smile. His instinctive reaction was that nobody who ought to be talking to him would have called him that, here, in this getup, but that was just knee-jerk defensiveness; just because this fellow didn’t know his ways didn’t mean he had nothing worthwhile to say. Some of Sweet’s best tips came from people he wouldn’t have paid to shine his boots.

Upon finding himself face-to-face with an elf in a sharp suit, he immediately thought of the Jackal, but just as quickly dismissed that idea. This elf wore a startling emerald green shirt under his jacket, and had a diffident aspect totally unlike the assassin’s insouciance. Also, he was underdressed for the weather, and tensely hunched in on himself, though not quite shivering.

“Well, hi there,” Sweet said easily. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure. What can I do for you?”

The man smiled thinly at him. “I’m afraid I must take up a certain amount of your time, Bishop Darling. You have something which belongs to my master, Khadizroth.” He stopped, gazing significantly at Sweet with the distinctive expression of someone who has just dropped an important name and awaits the awed recognition thereof.

“Oh?” Sweet replied. “Can you narrow that down for me?”

The elf’s smile faded. “I think you know.”

“Sonny Jim,” Sweet said condescendingly, “I’m a ranking priest of the god of thieves. I make it a point of principle not to own anything that didn’t use to belong to someone else. So no, seriously, I need you to be a lot more specific about several details. Is it…bigger than a breadbox?”

The elf glanced furtively about, and Sweet wanted to roll his eyes. This one was clearly a newcomer to illicit dealings—but the fact that he betrayed his nervousness of onlookers revealed that his business was, at minimum, illicit. Still, nobody was paying the two of them the slightest attention. Just because the people selling wares in this alley were on the right side of the law didn’t mean they were strangers to seeing shady deals unfold. Everyone present had the good sense to vigorously mind their own business, especially when an agent of the Guild was involved.

“I am referring,” the man said in a lower tone, all but glaring now, “to the two women. Lianwe and Shinaue.”

Sweet coughed to poorly cover a chuckle—and skillfully conceal his sudden unease. “Buddy, you may want to reconsider your terminology. This city is crawling with Avenists. We don’t refer to women as ‘somethings’ around here, nor imply that one can have ownership of them. Also, neither name rings a bell.”

“Enough,” the elf snapped. “I know you have them. Two teenage elves; you’ve hardly been secretive about the fact that they live in your house! My master has a prior claim to those girls.”

“I see,” Sweet said slowly. “Well…how about that. And here I thought they were free range.”

“That was my master’s impression,” said the elf, calming slightly. “Which is why he sent me to approach you as a gentleman, and discuss a deal. You have clearly made an investment in them, unaware that you were poaching in his territory. To demonstrate that there is no ill will, my master has authorized me to discuss fair compensation for your trouble, once they are returned to him.”

“Mm hm,” Sweet said seriously, wearing a thoughtful expression. “I see, I see. Well, if he’s willing to be reasonable about it, perhaps we can do business. So your master—Khadgar, was it?”

“Khadizroth,” the elf said peevishly.

“Right, yes, sorry. I have the most terrible memory, though in my defense, that’s barely even a name. Anyhow! I think we can establish a starting point for negotiations.” Smiling blandly, he held out his hand. “Can I ask you to carry a message to him?”

“I—if necessary,” the elf said reluctantly, very slowly moving to clasp Sweet’s hand in his own. “My master is not to be lightly bothered; I have full authority to negotiate on his behalf—”

Sweet wasn’t a fighter by specialization and didn’t oversee most of his apprentices’ combat training, but in the course of their education he’d managed to pick up a few points about sparring with elves. They were devilishly fast, agile, and impossibly coordinated, but not very strong at all. The key was to get your hands on them. Once the sparring match turned into a wrestling match, the advantage was the human’s.

He gripped the elf’s wrist, whirled and took off at a run. His momentum kept his gasping prisoner trailing along behind him, too off-balance to even keep his feet, much less launch an attack, his meager weight barely even a consideration. Sweet dashed a couple of yards till he found a particularly slick stretch of pavement and dived into a controlled slide, still dragging his flabbergasted hostage. Pushing forward with a foot every once in a while, he kept going until they approached the mouth of another alley running across this one, its mouth on one side filled with a heap of broken, half-rotted barrels that smelled of the ancient memory of fish and decomposition. Then he hopped to the side, onto a patch of cobblestones that gave his feet better purchase, spun the elf in a full circle, and hurled him bodily into the trash.

It probably wasn’t hard enough to damage him seriously, but elven physiology being what it was, the poor fellow was dazed, winded, and carrying a collection of bruises and scrapes that were going to be with him for a good while, unless he went to a healer to have them dealt with.

Sweet glanced around to make sure everyone nearby was pointedly not seeing any of this—as they should be—then stepped over to him and knelt next to the elf’s head. The man blinked, glassy-eyed, up at him.

“Be sure you convey that message exactly,” he said cheerfully. “So much nuance is lost in translation, you know? Oh, and a little addendum. Those girls are apprentices of the Thieves’ Guild. They aren’t his, and they aren’t mine.” He let the good-humored facade drop and stared grimly down at the fallen elf. “They belong to Eserion. Your boss should think about picking on somebody his own size.”

With that, he turned and strolled away.

Back the way he came, though, rather than on to the rest of his customary rounds. It seemed that, once again, his usual habits would have to yield to the newest crisis.

 

“You wouldn’t have to hold it closed like that if you’d just get a coat like a normal person.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re just jealous because I’m stylish.”

“Stylish? Stylish? You are the only person in this century who wears a cloak!”

“Well, yeah! What did you think ‘stylish’ meant?”

Price arrived while the two elves, grinning and bickering amiably, finished hanging up their outer garments in the hall.

“Good afternoon, girls,” she said. “He’s waiting for you in the study.”

“Uh oh,” Flora said, grinning. “Not the study.”

“Nothing good ever happens in the study! Are we about to get spanked?”

“You wish.”

“Oh…ew. Gross. You are such a freak.”

“You love it.”

Price stood, watching them expressionlessly as they climbed the stairs, then followed at a distance.

Fauna rapped twice on the study door before pushing it open and ducking her head in. “Hey there! What’s up, Sweet?”

He was sitting in the overstuffed chair behind his desk, gazing moodily at the far wall. At her entrance, he looked up, but didn’t smile. “Ah. Girls. C’mon in.”

They slipped inside, their own cheerful expressions growing more solemn. Sweet’s distant, thoughtful attitude didn’t exactly promise disaster, but it was sufficiently out of his normal character to be cause for concern.

“Is everything okay?” Flora asked.

“That’s a good question,” he said seriously. “Here’s a better one: Who’s Khadizroth?”

In the following silence, they both went rigid.

Sweet regarded them for a moment. “You’ve made excellent progress in the last few months, girls. It’s gotten almost impossible to shock you off your cool, and you’re turning into very competent little liars. So, based on this reaction, I’m going to assume whatever’s going on is a big damn deal.”

“Where did you hear that name?” Fauna whispered.

Sweet shook his head. “I haven’t pried into your history because you’ve the right to keep it to yourselves if you want. Matters become different when your history shows up in my city looking to collect you.”

“He’s here?” Flora squalled in alarm.

“I don’t know!” Sweet exclaimed. “But some poncy elf in a green shirt who claims to work for him told me today that you two are considered missing property.”

“We’ll go,” Fauna said tremulously. “We don’t want to involve you or the Guild in this. We’ll take—”

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

Both their eyes widened at the ice in his tone. Sweet glared up at them, leaning forward and planting his hands flat on the desk. “You’re Guild; we don’t abandon our own. You’re my apprentices, and that means I protect you, I don’t give a shit who or what is after you. Goddammit, we’re family. If you have a problem, I have a problem, and straightening out problems is what I do. I don’t want to hear any more talk like that, understand? Ever.”

“Okay,” Flora said in a small voice, smiling despite the sheen of tears in her eyes. Fauna only nodded, biting her lip.

“Okay,” Sweet repeated, leaning back and relaxing slightly. “With that out of the way, my original and increasingly pertinent question remains. Who is this Khadizroth?”

They looked glumly at each other.

Fauna drew in a deep breath, visibly steeling herself. “Khadizroth the Green is the dragon who basically raised us. We took the headhunter pact to kill him. Obviously, we failed.”

Sweet stared at them silently for a moment, then drew in a breath slowly threw his nose and blew it out in a huff.

“PRICE!”

She entered, calm as always, carrying a tray bearing a glass of brandy.

“Ah. Thank you.” He took it from her and had a sip. “How do you always know?”

“Sir, it’s me, Price,” she said, deadpan. Sweet grimaced and took another drink.

“All right…stick around, I suspect you’ll need to be kept in the loop. Girls, sit. No, over there on the loveseat, might as well be comfortable. All right, let’s have it from the beginning, shall we?”

Once ensconced on the little sofa, the two elves looked at each other again. He couldn’t tell if they were silently communicating in the way they sometimes did, or just stalling.

“I believe it’s Flora’s turn to speak,” he said dryly.

She sighed, then did so. “Our parents were from the Cobalt Dawn tribe.”

“Dammit!” They both looked up at him in surprise. He shrugged. “I owe Style a doubloon. Sorry, go on.”

“I take that to mean you know what happened to the Cobalt Dawn,” Fauna said with some annoyance.

“Tried to fight the full power of the Imperial Army, yeah. It’s not exactly a state secret. Honestly, though, nobody’s seen or heard from any member of that tribe in more than a decade. The Army claims to have all but obliterated them. I always figured the rumors of holdouts were just fanciful nonsense.”

“They were,” Flora said, nodding. “There was a group of survivors, but… We were kept under tight control. I guarantee no rumors escaped.”

“After the Army routed the tribe,” Fauna continued, “Khadizroth rounded up what survivors he could. Only nine adults, all badly injured. Badly. Aside from broken bones and organ damage, they had lighting burns, mana burns… The kind of wounds that mean you need constant care. He also manged to find the tribe’s children, though.”

“All eight of us,” Flora chimed in. “We’d been sent away with the tribe’s youngest shaman before the battle. He ended up being the last grown member with an intact body.”

“We…were the oldest of the kids.”

They fell silent, staring at the carpet, and Sweet glanced at Price. Her face, as always, gave no hint what she thought of all this.

“What did a green dragon want with a bunch of elves?” he prompted after a moment.

Flora drew another deep, steadying breath. “He… Offered his protection. He would safeguard and provide for the remainder of the Cobalt Dawn tribe, make sure the wounded lacked for nothing. That we young ones would have a chance to grow up, safe from the Empire.”

“Generous,” Sweet said skeptically.

“Oh, there was a price,” Fauna said bitterly. “I assume you know how dragons reproduce?”

“Gnh.” He grimaced.

Flora nodded. “Of the surviving warriors…well, nobody was in adequate shape, nor likely ever would be again. But six of the young ones were girls.”

Sweet twisted his lips in revulsion, then frowned. “Wai, six? That’s…uncharacteristic. Dragons have always gone after one woman at a time. It’s their whole shtick.”

“Khadizroth wasn’t doing it for the pleasure, or the chase,” Fauna said grimly. “He had a plan.”

“He was concerned about the ascendancy of the Tiraan Empire, and the human race in general. What he wanted…was his own force to challenge them. A force of his own offspring.”

“That was the deal,” said Flora, looking suddenly exhausted. “The survival of the last of our tribe, and in exchange… We were to give him children, when we were old enough.”

“As many and as often as we could.”

“That,” Sweet said weakly, “is very nearly as terrifying as it is abhorrent. Gods, an army of dragons? But why did he need captive elves for that? Even when they go after one woman at a time, dragons sometimes resort to brute force rather than persuasion. Seems like he could just collect a harem from whoever was handy.”

“Well, it wasn’t as if he wanted to raise his own spawn,” Flora said venomously. “No, taking in a group of orphans was ideal. He would raise us, make sure we were loyal to him, then entrust us with bringing up…” She broke off, turning her head to glare at the wall.

“Sounds like that didn’t quite work out,” Sweet noted quietly.

“We were too old,” Fauna said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, almost meek. “We…played along. It was the only way to survive. The younger ones bought into his cult of personality, but… We remembered our real families, we knew what it was he expected of us and what it meant. And as we got old enough to…to…”

“To start our duties,” Flora whispered, her eyes still averted. Fauna draped an arm around her and pulled her close.

“You ran,” Sweet said.

“We ran.” Fauna nodded. “But not just to get away. We went to Athan’Khar.”

“It…was the only thing we could think of.”

He let them compose themselves in silence. It took a couple of minutes, but Sweet simply kept his expression open and calm. Finally, Fauna drew in another breath.

“Well… We waited until he was away to come back. Then we…abducted the rest of the tribe. In small groups, using arcane and infernal teleportation.”

“The older ones were cowed, broken, dependent… The younger ones thoroughly invested in Khadizroth. He was their whole world. None of them would have left willingly.”

“We took them to other tribes, split them up across as wide a space as we could, explained to the elders and shaman what was going on.”

“They wouldn’t let us stick around,” Flora said bitterly. “We were eldei alai’shi. But they would certainly protect imperiled elves from a dragon. Even if it meant dealing with a certain amount of…”

“Brainwashing.”

“Yeah.”

They shared one of those long looks.

“Needless to say, he wasn’t happy when he got back.”

Sweet resisted the urge to whistle. A dragon against two headhunters? That had to have been a cataclysmic fight. It must indeed have happened deep in the Golden Sea, or everyone would have heard about it.

“It didn’t happen the way you’re probably thinking,” Flora said with grim amusement. “We ambushed him. Even with our powers, he’s still a dragon. Giving him a fair fight would have been suicidally stupid.”

“Apparently, though, he realized what we’d done, and didn’t think a fair fight against two headhunters was in his interests, either. So he fled.”

“After that… We roamed around a bit. We were free, but… Alone. No elves would let us near them, and the spirits…”

“We’d traded a bad situation for a worse one.”

“Eventually, we came to Tiraas, and…”

“And we’re pretty much caught up,” Sweet said firmly. They both looked up at him as he stood and came around to the front of the desk. “All right, on your feet, both of you.”

They stood, watching him with obvious trepidation. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around them both, and held them close.

“I am just so goddamn proud of you girls. The initiative, the sacrifice, the sheer bloody willpower to get through that… You’re fucking amazing. Don’t let anybody try to tell you different.”

After a moment’s stiff resistance, they slumped, then melted, burying their faces in his shoulders. He just held them there while they quivered with silent sobs.

“We destroyed our own family,” Fauna said at last, muffled.

“They were furious…betrayed. They’ll never forgive us.”

“You destroyed nothing,” he said firmly. “Your family were drafted into a war. No matter how this dragon’s plans went, any confrontation with the Empire would have been messy as hell. Honestly, I can’t imagine what his endgame could have been. If he’d attacked the human race with a force that could have significantly threatened us, he wouldn’t just be dealing with the Empire. The Pantheon would have stepped into that; they’ve done it before, with things like demon invasions. A marauding dragon army would certainly have been serious enough. He was going to get what remained of your tribe killed. You saved their lives, not to mention the countless others who would have died in the conflict. Hell, you girls saved the whole bloody world, and look what you’ve given up to do it. No paladin who ever lived has anything on you for heroics.”

They finally pulled back enough to smile up at him. Weakly, through tears, but genuinely. He grinned back, gently ruffling their hair.

“The elf you say you spoke to…” Fauna said. “Did he look…scarred?”

“Was he really young?”

“No,” Sweet said, frowning. “He was an adult. No scars on his face or hands, and he didn’t have any trouble moving around. Or at least he didn’t before I threw him into a pile of driftwood.”

Their eyes widened. “You…did what?”

“Hey, the asshole was talking about you two like pieces of luggage, and clearly expected me to do the same. I chose to take exception.”

They glanced at each other, suddenly scowling. “Vannae,” said Flora.

“Old friend?”

“So-called shaman who was supposed to have been looking after us,” Fauna spat, finally pulling away from him. Flora followed suit.

“He was the one who campaigned for Khadizroth’s deal, got the other survivors to agree to it.”

“We stuck him with a forest elf tribe as far from the Golden Sea as we could get without crossing the ocean.”

“We figured even he would be grateful to get out from under the bastard’s scaly green thumb.”

“Apparently he’s managed to become actually loyal to Khadizroth after all these years.”

“And here we just thought he was a sycophant.”

“He did have that indefinable air of the brown-noser,” Sweet agreed solemnly, getting a pair of grins in response. “Well. That brings us to the here and now.”

He backed up and perched on the edge of his desk. Flora and Fauna didn’t sit back down, standing close together with arms around each other’s waists, watching him. Price looked on, cool as a cucumber.

“Even a dragon wouldn’t attack a whole tribe of elves,” Sweet said, frowning into the distance as he thought out loud. “Nor would a tribe of elves allow your compatriots to get away until they were sure they’d undone the damage of their upbringing.”

“The Empire finished off a tribe of elves pretty effectively,” Fauna said, scowling.

“With all due respect to your kin, the Cobalt Dawn picked a fight they failed to understand. It’s not widely known, but tribes out of the Golden Sea have skirmished with Imperial forces since then, too, and the results are a lot more even. By maximizing their advantages they do pretty well. This is still a massive shift; for most of history, any armed conflict between humans and elves was a decisive elven victory, which is probably why the Cobalt Dawn thought they could actually conquer a slice of Imperial territory. Anyhow, the point is, elves know how to deal with dragons, and it doesn’t usually involve fighting. I think it’s best to assume your buddy…Vannae, was it? He went back to the Big K on his own. Until we learn otherwise, the most logical conclusion is the rest of your people are still where you left them. It might not hurt for you to discreetly check up on them in the next week or so, though.”

They nodded in unison.

“The tribes won’t stand for us hanging around,” said Flora, “but they’ll probably be reasonable if we make it clear we’re just checking that our kin are all right.”

“So the issue is, what does Khadizroth want with you now?” Sweet stood and began pacing back and forth. “His dream of a dragon army is effectively wrecked. Revenge?”

“That would be like him,” Fauna said darkly. Sweet was already shaking his head, though.

“No… Doing it this way, he’s inviting your attention. Unless it’s to lure you into some kind of trap, that’s not a winning move on his part. You’re dangerous enough to give him pause. If he wanted to end you, he’d try what you tried: an ambush. So why let you see him coming?”

Sudden realization showed on their faces. “He wants to know who we’ve told!” Flora blurted.

“Bingo!” Sweet grinned. “Here we’ve got a green dragon who was actively plotting a massive campaign against the Tiraan Empire. Here the only people who know of it and have proven willing to resist him are hanging around Tiraas itself. He needs to find out who knows what before silencing you.”

“So…what do we do with that information?” Fauna asked hesitantly.

“For the time being, you leave it to me.” Sweet nodded, his expression firm. “The nature of his interest means he’ll be cautious; we have a little time to maneuver. All right… You two head off to dinner. I’ll be along shortly. I just need to think a bit.”

“Sweet,” Flora said, staring at him worriedly, “he’s a dragon.”

“It’s not that we lack respect for your skills, please don’t think that…”

“But don’t try to take Khadizroth on. Please.”

“What, are you two somehow under the impression you’ve been training with the Silver Legions all this time?” Sweet grinned at them. “We’re thieves. We don’t take people on. Sure, if they’re small fry, maybe we bust their kneecaps, but for a worthy foe? This calls for plans, traps, and tricks. This is the perfect time for a really good con. You let me work on this for a bit, okay? Trust me, we’re gonna be fine. Now seriously, you head down and get fed.”

Impulsively, they both rushed forward and hugged him again.

“Thank you,” Fauna whispered.

“For everything.”

After they had left, he slowly paced back around to his chair and sank down, frowning into space. How did one go about conning a dragon? He needed a lot more information on this Khadizroth…

Immediately the thought of the Chamber of Truth sprang to the forefront of his mind, and just as immediately he dismissed it. He wasn’t sure, yet, whether Justinian had some means of keeping track of what was researched in the hidden library, and wasn’t about to take the risk of pulling the Church into this. Justinian and his schemes were enough of a nightmare without giving him a dragon to play with. Besides, he had several very good reasons for wanting to avoid bringing Flora and Fauna to anyone else’s attention. No, far better to keep those two pieces of his life strictly separated for now.

Of course, he realized, he did know someone who was likely well-acquainted with dragons and any other major players operating in the world. Of course, their interactions had always been pointedly at her initiation, not his.

“Price,” he said, a grin stretching across his face.

“Sir?”

“I want you to find, buy, steal or build a scarecrow.”

“A…scarecrow, your Grace?”

He nodded vigorously. “And then place it on the roof.”

Price was still and silent as a tombstone for a second and a half, which was what she did because she was far too proper to dramatically sigh. “May I suggest that if your Grace desires to antagonize the neighbors, there are more elegant ways?”

“You’re hilarious, Price. Seriously, hop to. I’m gonna need to call in some major help with this one.”

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5 – 1

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“I have to say I am glad to be back in Last Rock,” Toby said, adjusting the collar of his coat. “Tiraas is miserable in the winter. This is practically a vacation spot.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Gabriel said lightly. “It hardly ever snows in the city!”

“Snow, no,” Toby grumbled. “Just constant, chilling rain, with a weekly splatter of sleet and at least once per winter a serious ice storm, just to remind us that Ouvis still rules the skies.”

“What’s this?” Gabriel grinned broadly. “Mr. Toby the Paladin Caine is actually complaining? I never thought I would see the day! Damn, and me without my diary.”

“It’d be complaining if I were still in Tiraas,” Toby replied, grinning back. “I’m not. Here, I’m appreciating the balmy Great Plains climate. Relatively.”

“Heh… You remember the first time we walked into this building and I wondered if it ever snowed here?” Gabriel craned his neck back, studying the towering face of Helion Hall as they approached it.

“Ah, nostalgia. Were we ever that young?”

“Hey, don’t make fun. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“I dunno,” Toby said, his expression sobering. “We’ve…gotten used to things around here. And yeah, things around here are unpredictable enough to maybe help prepare us for the wide world. I can kinda see where Tellwyrn’s going with all her nonsense, sometimes… Still. This isn’t the world.”

“Man, you’ve always gotta rain on somebody’s parade,” Gabe groused. “Oh, hey, Ruda! How was your—”

Ruda’s short stature and round build were deceptive; she could strike as swiftly as a rattlesnake when she wanted to. Toby was flat on the ground before he even understood that he’d been punched.

“What the fuck?!” Gabriel screeched, wide-eyed.

Toby emitted a soft groan, pressing a hand over his eye, and looked up at Ruda, who stared down at him now with her hands planted on her hips. There was a tense moment before he sighed softly. “Right. Would you rather I’d strung her along?”

“No.” Ruda shook her head. “No, you did the right thing. Or maybe the least wrong thing available to you. But you didn’t have to watch the aftermath of that. I did. I gotta see the living incarnation of backbone reduced to a cringing mess, somebody’s getting punched. Sorry.”

She offered him a hand up, which he accepted, still grimacing. “It’s probably a waste of breath even to say it, but maybe socking people in the head isn’t the best way to work out your problems?”

“I didn’t go around doing it back home,” she said with a grin. “The great thing about the class of 1182 is everyone but me is either basically indestructible or they can heal themselves instantly.”

“Well, you always seem to find workarounds,” Gabriel snapped, “such as when you fucking stabbed me. And not to change the subject, but what the hell is even going on here?!”

“You’re an exciting new kind of clueless, aren’t you, Gabe?” she said wryly.

“I’m not— Don’t stand there smirking at me, you screaming lunatic, you just walked up and punched him!”

“It’s not that bad, Gabe,” Toby said. “Stand back for a minute.” The hand over his eye glowed gently for a moment, Gabriel stepping warily away from the burn of divine energy. “Anyhow… I’m glad you two are getting along better.”

“Hey, yeah. Maybe you should ruin somebody’s vacation more often,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Seems to’ve done some good, anyway. See you boys in class!”

They stood, watching, as Ruda strolled ahead into Helion Hall, whistling.

“That girl is one hundred and eight percent out of her goddamn mind,” Gabriel said wonderingly. “…wait. Wait. By ‘she…’”

“Leave it alone, Gabe.”

“Did something happen with you and Trissiny? Oh, man, that must’ve…”

“Gabriel,” Toby said firmly. “Please. Let it go.”

Gabriel sighed, and they began to move again. “Seriously, though. She can’t just go around punching and stabbing people. I am really starting to wonder if we should be worried about our physical welfare.”

Toby shook his head. “Ruda is…rough. You heard her, though. She doesn’t treat people any worse than they can handle. We are a pretty resilient group, all told. In fact, she’s easily the most physically vulnerable member of our class. Maybe throwing her weight around is a way to compensate.”

“Yeah, that’d be a lot more reassuring if she hadn’t gone and taught me that I’m not impervious to mithril when she, as I keep having to remind people, fucking stabbed me!”

“Well, be reasonable, Gabe. You have that effect on girls.”

“Boy, just because you’re the Hand of Omnu does not mean that I’ll hesitate to kick your ass.”

“No, the fact that I’m ten times the martial artist you are is what’ll make you hesitate.”

“My point stands.”

When they entered Tellwyrn’s classroom, the rest of their class were already assembled. Juniper waved and called a hello, as did Fross, rushing over to buzz affectionately around their heads. Teal and Shaeine were whispering with their heads together. Trissiny, sitting next to Ruda, glanced up at their entrance and immediately averted her gaze, staring stonily at the lectern in front.

Tellwyrn, uncharacteristically, was already there, flipping idly through a book. She looked up as Toby and Gabriel found their seats. “Well. Look who finally decided to join us. I guess we can get started, then!”

“Oh, come on, we’re not even late,” Gabriel protested. “It’s not time for class to start yet!”

“Whether you approach it from a philosophical, scientific or any other standpoint, it is impossible to avoid the conclusion that time is relative,” Tellwyrn intoned. “If you’re the last to arrive, you are by definition late.”

“By that argument, you were late to every class last semester!”

“I’m in charge,” she said with a grin. “If I’m late, everybody is, and thus by the principle of relativity, everyone is on time. Anyhow! Welcome back, kids. Despite my belief that pampering is a counterproductive approach to education, over the last fifty years I’ve learned to accept the fact that students on their first day back from vacation are simply not going to perform at their best. As such, this will be a homework-free class, and I won’t even ask you to take notes. What we’re about to discuss will be interesting enough, if I have the measure of all of you, to hold your attention; you’ll need to keep it in mind but it’s nothing I’ll be testing you on.

“Last semester we covered, in brief, the history of the Tiraan Empire, chiefly as a series of examples of the various principles of governance and sociology in action. We will be broadening our scope this semester to look at the progress of nations and societies as a whole. The beginning of this study, because it impacts everything that comes after, is the effective beginning of recorded history: the origin of the gods. Miss Falconer, while I appreciate the restraint of young lovers who don’t paw at each other in my class, having your demon send sub-sonic messages is extremely distracting for those of us with elven ears and arcane senses.”

“Sorry,” Teal croaked, flushing with mortification. Gabriel winced sympathetically; Ruda failed at repressing a snicker.

“Some of you will take or have taken divinity electives, but those are not a requirement for graduation here, so I’m not going to assume you have an equal grounding in theological history,” Tellwyrn continued. “The origins of the Pantheon explain, from a certain point of view, almost everything about the modern world. While our gods are far, far from perfect—don’t start, Avelea—you can be assured that they beat the alternative by a vast margin. The Elder Gods were…simply monstrous. Of them, Naiya was by far the most benign, and she is simply icily amoral and completely without mercy. She is rational and consistent, though; it is possible and in fact rather simple to avoid getting on her bad side. Naiya doesn’t intervene directly to help people, but her influence on the world is not actively harmful to intelligent life. Of the rest of her generation, not one were so…genial. The Elder Gods regarded the sentient races as livestock; the only reason they didn’t capriciously wipe all of them out was that the relatively few who exercised a fair degree of forethought shepherded mortal populations in exactly the way we manage herds of sheep and cattle today, and for most of the same reasons.

“My point is, you will find me to be critical of the gods where they deserve it, but I am here to tell you: it could be a hell of a lot worse.”

She paused, pointlessly adjusting her spectacles, while the students stared at her in silence. Personally aggravating as Tellwyrn tended to be, she did know how to hold an audience’s attention.

“And so, our inquiry begins with a deceptively simple question.” The Professor spread her hands, smiling. “What is a god?”

Several of them glanced at each other speculatively; Toby carefully kept his thoughts to himself. Trissiny raised her hand.

“Avelea, are you thinking of reciting Church doctrine in my class again? And if so, what makes you think it’ll go any differently than every other time?”

Scowling, Trissiny put her hand down.

“It was a rhetorical question anyway,” Tellwyrn said. “A god is at the intersection of three things: personality, power, and concept. The first two are extremely basic. We know that gods are individuals—in fact, we know that all of the current Pantheon were once mortals, most of them human. Power is equally obvious. Less commonly understood, but of arguably greater importance, is their meaning. Izara is the goddess of love, Vesk the god of music, Verniselle the goddess of money, we all know this. But while the common worshiper is content to regard these as jobs, or hobbies, or at best a sacred calling, the truth is that these concepts are absolutely integral to what makes a god. Pound for pound, there have been demons, dragons, archmages and several other individuals who could rival a lesser god for power. The gods, however, are more than who they are and how strong they are. It is what they are that makes them so enduring and so potent. They are diffuse yet discrete incarnations of ideas, and this is what firmly roots them in existence. Fross, is that more of your customary fluttering about or do you have a question?”

“Question!” the pixie exclaimed, darting back and forth above her desk. “I’ve been dying to know this but none of the books have anything but speculation, but I’m sure you have some insights because you’ve been around practically forever and everyone knows you’ve gotten closer to more gods than basically anyone, but I didn’t want to interrupt another class with the unrelated question, so, yeah! How does this happen? What makes a god become a god?”

“That was a good question once we finally got to it,” Tellwyrn said gravely. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Fross came to an abrupt stop in midair, then actually began to fall before catching herself. “But…but…”

“Nobody does,” Tellwyrn said with a smile. “Well, nobody aside from the gods, and they aren’t talking. Apotheosis remains a great mystery. As I said, we know the Pantheon and its few unaligned deities of the same generation were once mortal. The two surviving Elders likewise were, so we can assume that most if not all of their generation were the same—”

“Wait!” Juniper interrupted. “Wait, what? Are you seriously claiming that Naiya was once human?”

“Juniper, have you ever given any thought to why you and your sisters look so human?”

The dryad gaped at her.

Tellwyrn shook her head. “Yes, I assure you, Naiya began life as a human, an unfathomably long time ago. As did Scyllith.”

“How do you know that?” Teal asked.

“As Fross mentioned, I’ve had contact with a lot of deities. All of them, to my knowledge. And yes, that includes closer brushes with Scyllith than I’d wish on anyone. To bring this back to my original point, exactly how this came to be is not known. The Pantheon all rose at the same time; whatever mechanism they found to achieve this, they subsequently buried and expunged from history.”

“Well, that pretty much makes sense, considering what they did with it,” Gabriel noted. “They’d have to be worried about the next generation doing to them what they did to the Elders.”

“You are flirting with blasphemy,” Trissiny warned.

“He’s quite correct, though, despite his continuing inability to raise his hand before speaking,” Tellwyrn said. “Whatever the Pantheon did when they ascended seems to have changed the rules. Previously, the Elder Gods acted with basically no constraint. Now, gods are both defined and to an extent bound by the concepts they represent. There are no gods who just exist; each is the god or goddess of something. The Elders are, individually, more powerful than any of the Pantheon, but also more limited in their actions, more diffuse. Their essence is spread more broadly, impeding their ability to exercise that power.”

“In what way?” asked Shaeine.

“Well, let’s take a modern example,” said Tellwyrn, smiling. “Who are the most powerful gods of the current generation? Yes, Mr. Caine?”

“The Trinity,” Toby said, lowering his hand. “Omnu, Avei and Vidius.”

“Correct. And why are they so much stronger than their compatriots? Arquin?”

“Based on what you were just telling us,” Gabriel said slowly, “Each of those three is tied to multiple concepts.”

“Excellent!” Tellwyrn’s smile blossomed into a grin. “Very good, you’ve just sussed out something that most priests of most faiths are reluctant to acknowledge. Yes, the majority of gods are linked to a single identifying idea, but the Trinity are another matter. Omnu, the god of life, the sun and agriculture. Vidius, god of death and duality. Avei, goddess of war, justice and women. Also significant is that each of their alignments is a broad and deep one; each of those concepts is something that inevitably pops up everywhere and impacts almost everyone. Worth noting is that Scyllith is much the same: she is goddess of light, beauty and cruelty.”

“What you suggest,” said Shaeine, “is that power, for gods, is fundamentally tied to breadth of application.”

“Precisely,” said Tellwyrn, nodding. “Let’s consider Avei as an example. She is the patron of war, justice and women. Straightforward concepts yes?”

“For the record, ‘patron’ is an explicitly sexist—”

“Trissiny, if you can’t make it through this discussion without being an obnoxious pedant, I can and will seal your lips for the duration of the class. Anyway, consider each of Avei’s areas of influence. What, exactly, is war?”

She raised an eyebrow, watching them in silence while they glanced at each other.

“The…resolution of conflict through violence on a large organized scale,” Shaeine said finally.

“Ah, but is it? Why must it be organized, or large? As our resident pacifists can tell you, even threats are by many standards considered acts of violence—but by other standards, not. The Avenists themselves hold a doctrine that war is any situation where two or more parties are in conflict. This should, in theory, expand the role of their goddess to almost everything… Yet while that extremely liberal definition would encompass all diplomacy and argument, the Sisters of Avei seem to concern themselves largely with violent conflict, leaving other forms of resolution to less martial gods.

“What about justice, then? Again, it seems straightforward on the surface, but when you begin to analyze it, justice is such a culturally dependent concept that it may mean completely different things in different societies. Even among peoples who share a basic idea of what is just, the application of those principles is so often complex that…well, lawyers exist. It takes highly educated people to sort out the mess that ensues from attempting to apply this apparently simple idea to everyday life.”

“But women?” Gabriel said. “I mean, it doesn’t get much more obvious than that.”

“Oh?” Tellwyrn tilted her head. “Have you ever given any thought to the question of what is a woman?”

“Every night,” he said, grinning.

“Gabe,” Ruda said, “just because we all know you do it doesn’t mean we wanna hear about it.”

“In fact,” Tellwyrn continued, “that’s another issue about which the cult of Avei are, themselves, divided. Trans women can become priestesses in the Sisterhood, but only biological females are permitted to join the Silver Legions.”

“Uh…trans what?”

“Nevermind, Arquin. You can learn about that later when Trissiny’s yelling at you.”

“I wasn’t going to yell at him!”

“I bet you’re never going to yell at anyone,” Tellwyrn said with a grin. “You set out to calmly and reasonably explain your point of view, and it’s always a surprise when you find yourself yelling. Sound right?”

“Why did I come back to this campus?” Trissiny muttered, hunching in her seat.

“In the case of Avei,” Tellwyrn continued, “in addition to the conflicts inherent in her fundamental concepts, there are actual workarounds. For example, if you find yourself having personally offended the goddess of war, you can very easily get her off your case through simple penitence. And I do mean sincere penitence. If you are authentically sorry for whatever you did to cheese her off, and devote yourself to making amends and living a better life, her personal pursuit of you will simply, instantly, cease. The Sisters have made significant efforts over the centuries to suppress this fact, as in fact have the Church and many of the other cults, because a lot of gods share the same quirk. This isn’t a total avoidance of consequence, mind you; the Sisters themselves can hold a grudge like you wouldn’t believe.”

Everyone turned to look at Trissiny, who shrugged after a moment. “Well, she’s not wrong.”

“The point,” said Tellwyrn, “is that such sudden and predictable forgiveness is uncharacteristic of Avei’s general personality. It reveals that when the first and third traits of a god come into conflict, concept triumphs over individuality.”

There was silence for a moment while the students contemplated this, and Tellwyrn let them.

“So—” Gabriel snapped his mouth shut and raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Arquin?” Tellwyrn said sweetly.

“You make it sound…mechanistic. Like the gods have, I dunno, counterspells.”

“That’s an oversimplification, but it works as a metaphor. It’s nothing so clean or convenient, but the reality is that the gods are constrained by the very thing that makes them what they are. If you’re clever, and particularly ballsy, you can use that against them. People have. Be aware, though, that trying and failing to manipulate a god is a recipe for the most apocalyptic smackdown a person can receive. Honestly, in most cases, it’s better to deal frankly with them. With the exceptions of such as Scyllith and Elilial, or sometimes Shaath and Eserion, so long as your intentions are good and your efforts consistent and sincere, they’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and probably not cause you trouble you don’t deserve.”

“So…who would you say is the most dangerous of them?” Gabriel asked, clearly quite interested.

“I do hope, Arquin, you aren’t thinking of some kind of revolt against heaven. Half-demons have tried that before. It has never gone well.”

“No, I… I was just curious. I mean, you’re kind of the expert, and it sounds like what we’ve been thinking of divine power all wrong. You basically just told us that Avei’s rage has a kill switch.”

“A what?” Trissiny exclaimed.

“It’s something modern enchanted appliances tend to have,” Teal explained. “Flip a switch, shut down the device.”

“For your information, Trissiny, half-elves have a lifespan in the centuries if not millennia, and dental reconstruction is mostly beyond even the best healers, so you really shouldn’t grind your teeth.” Tellwyrn grinned wickedly at her for a moment before continuing. “And yes, Arquin, your question is significant; the nature of gods calls into question the nature of their power. Honestly, I wouldn’t consider Avei the most dangerous enemy by a wide margin. Nor Elilial…or even Scyllith. She is stronger than the younger gods, but also more heavily bound; Scyllith is all but helpless to act except through the agency of her cultists, who are trapped in an environment where the goddess of light is at an explicit disadvantage. No, if I had to nominate one god I really wouldn’t want mad at me, I’d pick Eserion.”

“Um, which one is that?” Juniper asked.

“The god of thieves,” said Fross. “I’m not sure I understand why, though.”

“It helps to have a basic grasp of Eserite theology,” Tellwyrn explained. “Unlike nearly every other deity, the main thrust of Eserion’s teaching is self-reliance. He doesn’t so much grant power to his followers as teach them how to cultivate and maximize their own skills. As such, he appears, at face value, to be among the weakest of gods. He doesn’t go for showy displays of force. For exactly that reason, though, Eserion doesn’t have the same built-in weaknesses that many gods suffer; he’s not constrained by much, and what power he has is entirely under his own agency. You can’t play alignment tricks with him. You can’t even exploit the Circles of Interaction against his followers, who, unlike every other priestly order, won’t come at you with divine magic. That leads into the primary issue here: Eserion is heavily bound up in the lives of his cultists, mostly leaving them alone as a point of principle, but able to follow and interact with them individually on a level that other, more widely active gods seldom bother with. You irk Eserion, and you’ve made an enemy of the Thieves’ Guild. That is very, very unwise thing to do.”

“The Guild isn’t nearly as threatening as you make them sound,” Trissiny said disdainfully.

“Spoken like an Avenist,” Tellwyrn said with a grin. “What you don’t realize about your cult’s rivalry with the Eserites is that only the Sisters take it seriously; the Guild thinks it’s all a grand game. Think about it: these are people who cultivate and hone their skills as a point of divine command, who have no moral codes to speak of, whose chief doctrinal obligation is to forcibly inflict humility upon the mighty. There are thousands of them, they are everywhere, and beating them on a small scale only convinces them that you need to be brought down. Even the Black Wreath mind their manners around the Guild.”

“That…actually makes a lot of sense,” Teal said slowly. “Eserion is widely described as a trickster god. It stands to reason he’d find a way to game the system.”

“Just so,” Tellwyrn agreed, nodding. “To consider the question another way, if we are thinking in terms of how a god can be outmaneuvered or brought low, I would have to say that only Naiya and Naphthene are truly indestructible. Gods, like anything else which lives, can die… But not without being severed from the concepts which sustain them, or having those concepts themselves destroyed. If you try to attack life or the ocean…well, you’re not going to win that. If those two ever wear out and die, it’ll be long after everything else has.”

There was a momentary shifting in seats before Gabriel asked the question suddenly on everyone’s mind.

“How, exactly, do you kill a god?”

“Is that a general ‘you?’” Tellwyrn asked wryly.

“…if that helps you, sure.”

She shook her head. “It depends on the god. In all honesty, that’s a question that doesn’t have an explicit answer. The god of the orcs was destroyed because he was so connected to the land of Athan’Khar that when the land was distorted beyond recognition, he had nothing left to sustain him. A number of deities have been felled over the course of history, though the Church has managed to suppress most of the accounts. Some were like Khar, unmoored by the loss of whatever granted them permanence. In fact, most local or tribal deities are extinct at this point, and even some who were aligned to broader concepts have fallen. Sometimes by having their alignment deliberately destroyed, but the majority simply by their relatively limited philosophies simply falling out of favor, their worship drying up. Virtually all the gods active today are rooted in something that is nigh-universal in the experience of sentient life.”

Tellwyrn paused, twisting her lips to one side as though unwilling to continue, but continue she did. “And then, as you meant to ask, there are those who were personally brought down by powerful entities who set out to do exactly that. Mostly by rival gods…sometimes by comparatively lesser powers. All I can tell you about that is, again…it depends on the god. There’s not a single, reliable godslaying technique; if you are ever in a situation where you must destroy a deity in order to preserve your own being, you will either find a way to do so, or in all probability you won’t. They don’t fall easily. It takes a great deal of power, will and ingenuity to bring it about, but in the end much of it comes down to the caprice of fate.

“Don’t try it,” she added firmly.

Only silence answered her.

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Prologue – Volume 2

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“I am just so fucking bored,” Ruda moaned.

“Yes,” Juniper said patiently, not looking up from her book. “You have mentioned that an average of eight times an hour for the last week.”

Ruda had been sprawled on the sofa in Clarke Tower’s front parlor, her boots on the table and her head dangling off the back of the couch. Now she straightened herself up enough to peer quizzically at the dryad.

“You’ve been counting? And computing averages? That is both fuckin’ creepy and proof that you’re as bored as me.”

“What?” At that, Juniper finally lifted her gaze, blinking in confusion. “No, I… That was supposed to be hyperbole. I thought I was getting the hang of humor. Did I do it wrong?”

Ruda stared at her for a moment, then chuckled, shaking her head. “Hah, y’know, actually you did it just fine.”

“Yay!”

“Seriously, though. Bored.”

“How is it possible you can’t find anything to do?” Juniper asked, now uncharacteristically annoyed. “There’s lots of stuff. Read. Go start a fight. Have sex with someone. I manage just fine.”

“That, Juno my dear, is because you’ll fuck anything that moves.”

“That just isn’t true,” the dryad said haughtily. “Only sentient beings whom I don’t actively dislike. I have standards.”

“See, the problem with your suggested activities is they involve other people. Everyone is fucking gone.”

“Everyone is not gone! There’s at least a couple dozen people left on campus, and the town…”

“Let me rephrase that. Everyone worth a damn is gone. Present company excepted. Seriously, doll, I’m sorry if I’m annoying you but I’m hanging around you like a fuckin’ gull over a barrel of chum because you’re the last goddamn person on this mountain I actually like.”

“Aww!” Juniper beamed at her over the book. “I like you too!”

Ruda pulled a bottle of whiskey out of her coat, yanked out the stopper and took a long drink. “But with all due respect, I can’t fight or fuck you. All we can do is talk.”

“You could do either of those things,” Juniper pointed out. “You just really, really wouldn’t like them.”

“…yeah, I’m not quite that bored.”

“Y’know, everybody else went home for the vacation to see their families and whatnot. Or other people’s families.”

“Yeah, what the fuck is up with that? What’s Fross gonna do at the fucking Avenist convent in Viridill?”

Juniper shrugged. “Study human society, she said. My point is, you could have gone too.”

“Juno, by the time I got to Puna Dara it’d be too late to turn around and get back in time for the semester to start. We don’t even have a Rail line.”

“Yes, I know,” Juniper said patiently. “I meant, you could’ve gone visiting with someone else.”

“Yeah?” Ruda said sardonically. “Who?”

The dryad opened her mouth, then closed it, frowned, and cut her eyes to the side, visibly thinking. “Um… I bet Teal has lots of space?”

Ruda blew out a huge sigh. “Yeah, and she’d let me come, too. Teal’s fancy-ass house of gold has got to be the only place I’d be more bored than with Toby’s monks. I’d be a diplomatic crisis waiting for an excuse in Tar’naris, and really, what the fuck am I gonna do hanging around in Tiraas with Gabe?”

“You could do exactly that,” Juniper pointed out. “Gabe is very attracted to you.”

Ruda made a face. “Ew. He’s a nice kid, when he’s not talking, but… Ew.”

“Yeah, not your type, I know.” She shrugged, lowering her eyes to the page again. “I’m not sure he’d go for it anyway. He’s learning to view women as more than just potential mates, and he really respects you a lot.”

“Huh,” Ruda said, staring at the wall. “He does? How ’bout that.” She took another drink.

“Everyone does. You set the grading curve last semester, after all.”

“Feh.” She waved the wine bottle airily. “Grades. Bunch of pencil-pushing bullshit.”

“Yeah. I guess they need to measure our progress somehow, though. Maybe…or something. I’m still not absolutely convinced of the benefit of measuring stuff. Why can’t people just let the world be what it is?”

“Cos sometimes the world fucking blows, and only a sissy just lies down and takes it.”

Juniper raised her eyes again, frowning. “I…am not sure whether I disagree with you or just don’t understand your idioms.”

“Prob’ly a little of both.” Ruda stood abruptly. “Okay, that’s it. Let’s go get in trouble.”

“Uh.” Juniper blinked up at her. “I…don’t think that is a good idea.”

“I’m not talking general mayhem, that would be pointless. I wanna break into Tellwyrn’s office!”

Juniper stared. “I really don’t think that’s… No, I’m positive that is a very bad idea.”

“Oh, pfft.” Ruda brandished the bottle, grinning. “What’s she gonna do? Your mother can end the world and my papa would raze this town to the ground if the turned us into toads or something.”

“Ruda, it’s Professor Tellwyrn. I’m a little scared that I apparently have to explain why this is a bad idea!”

“Look, she has one of the Vernis Vaults in that office. I saw it when I was in there last. It’s just sittin’ against the wall with books stacked on it like a goddamn end table.”

“One of the what?”

Ruda perched on the arm of the couch. “They’re artifacts made thousands of years ago by Verniselle. The goddess of money? She only made five, and they’re all supposed to be lost. Whatever you put in there, you can take out an infinite amount of as long as you’re alive!”

Juniper blinked slowly. “And… You want to steal it?”

“What? Don’t be crazy, Tellwyrn’s the owner. We’d have to kill her to take it, and I wouldn’t wanna do that even if it was remotely fucking possible. I actually really like her class. No, I just wanna see what she’s got in there!” She grinned broadly. “What is so important to the great and notorious Arachne Tellwyrn that she arms herself with an unlimited supply of it. Aren’t you curious?”

“Ruda, I’m curious about a lot of things, but I’m still hung up on the part where you want to break into the office of the great and notorious Arachne Tellwyrn. I’ve found that as a general rule, everyone’s happier when she’s not mad.”

“Well, everyone but her.”

“…will a time ever come when I understand most of what you say?”

“Don’t feel bad, dollbaby, it’s not just you.” Ruda straightened up, her boots thunking back to the floor. “I’m going, and you need to come with.”

“Excuse me? I need to? I need to follow campus rules!”

“Juno, there are rules, and then there are rules.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. There are just rules!”

“Look at it this way,” Ruda said, grinning. “There are rules made by people, and then there’s the laws of nature, right? The one that’s arbitrary and has to be enforced, and the other that just exists. Yes?”

Juniper tilted her head, frowning. “I…yes. What about it?”

“Well, within human society, there’s that same dichotomy. There are things you’re supposed to do, and then there are things you just have to.”

The dryad groaned and let the book fall to her lap, bending forward to cradle her head in her hands. “I’m never gonna figure everything out!”

“Aw.” Ruda plunked down on the arm of her chair and draped her arm around Juniper’s shoulders. “Hon, the great secret is nobody’s got it all figured out. They just decide you’re an adult, basically, when you get good enough at faking it that you can cope. You’re doin’ fine, trust me.”

“Really?”

“Really. And right now, one of those unwritten rules is we need to go break into Tellwyrn’s office.”

“…I’m sorry, but that still doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“It’s not about the office, specifically,” Ruda said. “It’s about living. College students are expected—hell, we’re supposed to act out. To just go out and do shit. Find out where the boundaries are!”

“We know where the boundaries are! There’s a student handbook!”

“Juno, trust me, you don’t know the boundaries until you’re pressed up against one. The handbook is more like a guideline, really. You wanna know the extent of Tellwyrn’s patience? You fucking push it!”

Juniper stared up at her. “You really are bored, aren’t you?”

“Yes!”

She sighed. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course it’s not a good idea. That’s why we’re doing it!”

“Ugh, if we just go do it, will you stop trying to explain it? I’m getting a headache.”

Ruda rapped sharply on the door to Professor Tellwyrn’s office, then stepped back, folding her hands primly behind her.

Silence.

“I don’t think she’s in there,” Juniper whispered.

“I figured she wasn’t,” Ruda replied. “She usually eats lunch in the faculty lounge with the other professors. Well, then!” Kneeling, she inspected the door handle with its large keyhole below. “Looks like a standard tumbler lock… Old one, too. You’d think she’d upgrade her security. Let’s see, I’ve got picks somewhere…”

Juniper reached past her and turned the knob. The door opened smoothly.

“Spoilsport,” Ruda muttered, standing up and sweeping inside.

Juniper hovered in the doorway, glancing down the hall nervously. “If you didn’t think she was in there, why’d you knock?”

“Because if she was in there, it’d be awfully embarrassing if we just barged in, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh. So, uh…what were you going to say if she was here?”

Ruda grinned at her. “I was gonna ask if we could see the Vernis Vault.”

Juniper’s head whipped around and her expression collapsed into a scowl. “Wait, what? That was an option? Then why are we doing this?!”

“Oh, come on, this way’s more fun! Look, there it is, with that…fucking thing sitting on top of it. What is that?”

“I don’t know,” Juniper huffed, folding her arms. She still lurked in the doorway, as if afraid she’d lose her deniability if she fully entered the office.

Ruda approached the piece of furniture to which she had pointed. The alleged Vernis Vault was about chest-high on her, perched on little irregular clumps of volcanic rock that just barely qualified as legs. The wood was ancient and stained almost black, scarred and pitted so deeply that the engraved sigil of Verniselle on its front was barely discernible.

Atop it sat what appeared to be an abstract sculpture of crystal and bronze. A metal framework enclosed a row of faintly glowing power crystals, attached by wires to a circular metal plate on which sat a thin black ceramic disk. Attached to its rear was an upright frame containing what appeared to be a gong.

“Huh,” Ruda said, bending forward to peer at the object. “It looks like a… Hell, I don’t know. I wanna say a musical instrument.”

“Why are you fussing about that thing?” Juniper demanded. “I thought you wanted to see what was in the—” She broke off, peering wide-eyed down the corridor outside. “Someone’s coming.”

“What?” Ruda straightened up. “Who?”

“It’s Tellwyrn! And…someone else, I don’t know!”

“Quick! Hide!”

“What?”

Ruda lunged forward, grabbed her by the arm, pushed the door shut and dragged the flustered dryad over to Tellwyrn’s closet. Shoving Juniper in ahead, she pressed herself in after and pulled the door shut.

It was very cramped and very dark. The door didn’t fit well; there was a sizeable crack between it and its frame, enough to admit a little light and provide a very narrow view of the room outside. After a momentary shuffling, Ruda ended up sitting on the floor with her face pressed against it, Juniper standing over her, so they could both see out.

“Don’t move,” Ruda whispered. “Try not to breathe.”

“I don’t have to—”

“Shh!”

The exterior door opened and Tellwyrn herself bustled in, chattering away. “Here we are! Please make yourself comfortable, pull up a chair. It must have been a grueling trip. I know what, let’s have some relaxing music! Have you seen one of these? Newest thing out of Calderaas.”

She stepped into view of the crack—barely—and began fussing with the peculiar apparatus sitting atop the Vernis Vault. In moments, the room was filled with music. It was oddly small for being clearly the sound of an orchestra, and had a raspy undertone that probably resulted from the mechanism playing it.

“Impressive,” said a woman’s voice, deadpan. She was a deep alto, not yet visible from the closet.

“I know it’s a little tawdry, showing off my new toys, but this is quickly becoming a favorite,” Tellwyrn said cheerily. “They’re starting to put all the great symphonies on these disks. I’m just waiting for them to begin recording operas; I so rarely get to Tiraas to buy a ticket these days. Please, sit! Tea? I have the most exquisite jasmine blend from Sifan…”

She puttered around, collecting cups and a teapot and explaining how the arcane hot plate worked, and Ruda frowned into the crack. This cheerful, almost domestic Tellwyrn was deeply incongruous. She was acting almost like Janis.

Then, finally, the Professor’s guest entered her very limited field of view, seating herself in the chair in front of Tellwyrn’s desk, and drove all questions about the Professor’s behavior out of Ruda’s mind. The woman was a drow, regal and stately in aspect even when sitting down. She was taller than Shaeine, and somewhat more strongly built, though her attire had clearly come from the same aesthetic. Her robes were of a similar cut to those Shaeine wore, and likewise of the same deep, dark shade of primary color that was nearly black, though where Shaeine wore her House colors of green and red, this woman was in blue.

“I don’t wish to take up any more of your time than absolutely necessary,” the woman said curtly, interrupting Tellwyrn mid-comment. “If you will kindly direct me to my daughter, I will collect her and depart.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Tellwyrn said calmly, seating herself behind the desk and pouring tea. The scent of it filled the room pleasantly, even in the closet. “Forgive me, Nassra, I may be a little behind the times. With a campus full of students, one loses track of the details of all their lives. Last I heard, Natchua didn’t intend to return to Tar’naris until her education here was complete.”

“That changed when she chose to humiliate her House and make a mockery of herself,” Nassra said flatly. Her face and tone were expressionless, but where Shaeine always seemed serene, this woman was icy. “I am supremely uninterested in what she intends or wants. Natchua is to return home, where she will no longer be a warped reflection of our society before Tiraan eyes, and face appropriate discipline for her actions.”

Tellwyrn shrugged and sipped her tea. “Natchua is legally an adult by Tiraan standards, is not in any legal trouble and is a student in good standing at this University. It seems that what she wants is a factor. I realize the relationships between mothers and daughters is enshrined in both custom and law in Tar’naris, but in the Empire, I’m afraid you don’t actually have the prerogative to take her anywhere.”

“This is absurd. She is my daughter. I demand that you hand her over to me!”

Slowly, very carefully, Tellwyrn set down her teacup. Her tone, when she spoke, was neutral. “Would you perhaps like to rephrase that?”

The drow leaned back slightly; her face betrayed nothing, but she spoke more carefully. “Forgive me. This matter has seemed to bring out the worst in everyone involved.”

“Of course, perfectly understandable,” Tellwyrn said pleasantly, picking up her cup again and taking a sip. “Now, I would suggest that if you’re determined to bring Natchua home, you could try to persuade her to go. However, when I raised the matter with her earlier she indicated that she didn’t want to speak with you. Perhaps you could approach her via correspondence? In any case, I regret that you made the trip for nothing. Please, try the tea.”

“You have no right to stand between me and my child,” Nassra said, tension breaking through her reserve.

“Probably true,” Tellwyrn conceded. “Personally, I don’t think in terms of rights. In my experience, that results in people acting all entitled and smug. Responsibilities, now, those I can get behind. My responsibility in this matter is to my student, and her education.”

“I did not come all this way to be thwarted by a pompous desk-dweller,” Nassra snapped. “If you insist on blocking me in this matter, I will not hesitate to go over your head.”

“And let me tell you how that will go,” Tellwyrn said cheerfully. “First, you’d have to convince Matriarch Ezrakhai that expending political capital to bring home your ill-behaved brat is a worthwhile use of House Dalmiss’s resources. I don’t know enough about your internal politics even to guess how that would go. Assuming she goes for it, she would then have to convince Matriarch Ashaele that pushing this with the Tiraan diplomatic corps is a worthwhile use of Tar’naris’s resources, and frankly, I don’t see that happening.”

“You do not—”

“Of course,” Tellwyrn barreled on, “Ezrakhai could go over Ashaele’s head; I understand it wouldn’t be the first time. If she can get Queen Arkasia to sign off on it, Ashaele will obey, and petition the Empire to have Natchua returned. At that point, you would find yourself completely stymied and locked in an eternal runaround. Not out of any malice, mind; the Empire simply can’t politically afford to acknowledge that they can’t make me do anything on my campus. If you’re extremely lucky, some bureaucrat in the Foreign Ministry will take you aside and quietly explain all this, but far more likely you would never hear anything further except that your request was being processed. Of course, by the time all this played out, Natchua’s remaining two and a half years at the University would likely be over and the whole thing moot.”

By the end of this recitation, Nassra was gripping the arms of her chair, her fingers tensed into veritable claws.

“My House,” Nassra said frostily, “is not paying her tuition any further. You should be aware of this and make any relevant decisions before the next academic semester starts.”

“It seems Natchua anticipated that,” Tellwyrn said, smiling. “Turns out she qualifies for a number of academic scholarships. Despite being a thoroughly annoying individual, she is a very good student. Who knew? Anyhow, you needn’t worry about her welfare; everything is being covered.”

“If you insist on depriving me of legitimate avenues to my daughter, there are other—”

In that instant, Professor Nice Guy left the room.

Tellwyrn lunged across the desk, sending teacups splashing to the floor, and gathered a handful of Nassra’s collar, dragging the astonished drow forward. “Now you hear this,” the Professor snarled. “I don’t care who you think you are, you do not come onto my campus and threaten harm to one of my students. I have destroyed people more completely than you can imagine just for offering to cause that kind of trouble. But you? No, Nassra, it won’t be the death of you. If you actually are overweening enough to send someone to try to ‘retrieve’ Natchua from this University before her time here is up, I will first reduce whatever agent you employ to a greasy smear of ashes and regret, and then I will come after you in Tar’naris. I will walk right into your House, put you over my knee, hike up your robes and spank. Your. Butt.”

All Narisian reserve lost, Nassra gawped at the furious Professor from inches away. “Y-you—”

“I what? Wouldn’t? Can’t?” Tellwyrn grinned psychotically; it was a far more disturbing expression than her previous snarl. “I did it to a Hand of Avei, right in front of her army. The Sisters have never forgiven me for that, but what they haven’t managed to do is avenge her, much less prevent me from doing it in the first place. You think your House can protect you?” Tellwyrn tugged her closer, till their noses were actually touching. “Laurel Aselstyne spent the rest of her career as a punchline. Care to guess what your political prospects are after you bring that down on yourself?”

Tellwyrn held her gaze for a long, drawn-out moment in which there was only the sound of the tinny symphony playing from the music contraption. Then, abruptly, she released Nassra and slid back across her desk, settling into her chair, and folded her hands.

“Or,” she said, again as calm and pleasant as though nothing had happened, “you can acknowledge that some things are simply beyond your power to influence, and we can relate to one another like civilized people. Despite certain…irregularities…with her behavior, Natchua has given you much to be proud of. She’s intelligent and driven, and seems to make friends easily. All in all, she has done much better here than I first anticipated when Ezrakhai shoehorned her into the exchange program. Perhaps you’d be wise to let her develop a bit more on her own before writing her off as a bad job.”

“I don’t need your advice on raising my daughter,” Nassra said, still visibly shaken.

“Oh?” Tellwyrn’s tone was soft, now. “I haven’t pried into her home life, but the fact remains that for someone from a duty-oriented, matriarchal culture to try to divorce herself so completely from her mother’s influence… Well, that’s suggestive, isn’t it?”

“How dare—” Nassra broke off suddenly, clamping her lips shut.

“Oh, please,” Tellwyrn said silkily, “please finish that sentence. I can always do with a good chuckle.”

Nassra glared daggers at her for a moment, then abruptly stood, turned, and stalked away, out of Ruda’s narrow field of view.

“You have not heard the last of this,” she declared from out of sight.

“By all means, drop by anytime,” Tellwyrn said cheerfully. “We’re always open!”

The door opened, then slammed shut.

Professor Tellwyrn sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair. With a flick of her finger, the music shut off; she then extended her right hand to the side, making a grasping motion and lifting it upward, and spilled jasmine tea rose from her desk and the carpet, forming an amorphous ball in midair, which she carefully guided back into the teapot. Finally, she took off her glasses and set them on the desk, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.

“In the interests of world peace,” she said aloud, “I’m willing to be persuaded that you two are snooping in my office for unrelated reasons, and not trying to ignite the diplomatic incident you very nearly just did.”

Ruda caught her breath, then let it out fatalistically. She stood up, bumping Juniper’s chin with the top of her head, and pushed the door open, trying not to look sheepish. Sheepish was not a good look for a Punaji.

Tellwyrn eyed them sidelong. “Needless to say, you are not, under any circumstance, ever, to repeat anything you just heard. Anywhere, or to anyone.”

“Repeat what?” Ruda said innocently. “I couldn’t make anything out over the music. That’s a nifty gadget, by the way.”

“Really?” Juniper frowned at her. “It wasn’t that loud, you should have been able to oh I know what this is.” She nodded sagely and winked. “Right. I didn’t hear anything either!”

“You’re coming along nicely,” Ruda said dryly.

“Thanks!”

“I’ve got a question, though,” Ruda went on. “I mean, I can tell the music and the smelly tea was a sensory distraction so Miss Elf Ears didn’t know we were there, but if you did…why not just kick us out?”

“You’re here to learn,” the Professor said cryptically. “It’s not hard to suss out how all this came to pass. Zaruda, I’m sure your intentions are good, but Juniper does not need your help to break out of her shell. Try that with your roommate; she could actually benefit from unclenching a bit. Juniper needs to adhere to the rules I’ve set down.”

“Oh, come on, she—”

“The rules,” Tellwyrn said grimly, “are the only reason you’re not part of the food chain.”

Ruda pulled back, glancing over a Juniper, and grinned nervously. “What? She wouldn’t…”

“Actually, everything’s part of the food chain,” Juniper said earnestly. “Well, everything alive, anyway. But there are rules about what I’m allowed to eat while I’m at the University.”

Ruda’s smile slipped away.

“What,” Tellwyrn asked wearily, “are you doing in here?”

“Ruda wanted to see what was in the Vernis Vault,” Juniper said.

“Ugh.” The Professor rolled her eyes. “What is it with you kids and that box? Fine, here.” She stood and stepped over to the Vault, pulling its door open. It swung outward silently. Within was a mostly empty space, containing nothing but a small bowl at its bottom, filled with brightly-colored little balls. Tellwyrn dipped her hand into this, bringing out three, and popped one into her mouth as she turned back to face them. “These were made by Svenheim’s best confectioner. He’s dead now, so this is the world’s only source. Here you go.” She tossed one to each of them.

“This…is candy?” Ruda asked, dumbfounded, staring at the little lump of sugar now in her hand.

“Really good candy.”

“I don’t… I can’t… But you could have anything. Infinite money. Weapons. Magical artifacts, basically unlimited power if you used that box right. And… You keep your candy stash in it.”

“Let it never be said I have my priorities mixed,” Tellwyrn said, rolling the confection around her tongue. “The truth, girls, is that all the great things you are taught to strive for can and will be taken from you at a moment’s notice. Beauty fades, health fails. Love, despite what the bards try to sell us, is a fragile and fickle thing, all too easily crushed by the weight of reality. Eventually, your very body and mind will turn on you, no matter how supposedly immortal your race. Nothing is eternal. It is our expectation that the things which are important to us will survive that leads us so often into grief. In the end, the truest forms of happiness are those which are openly, knowingly fleeting. They don’t disappoint when they are gone, because you knew up front that they soon would be. In short, never underestimate the profound significance of candy. It is, in some ways, the purest joy in the world.”

Ruda stared at her, completely at a loss; Juniper peered back and forth between them, then at the piece she was holding, clearly just as confused. Almost absently, Ruda lifted her hand and put the candy in her mouth.

Immediately she choked and spat it back into her palm. “Sour!”

“Yes,” Tellwyrn said smugly, “I can stretch a metaphor around the moon and back when I get going. Seriously, though, stay out of here unless you’re invited. My secrets guard themselves; this office is off-limits to students because there ensues an embarrassing mess of paperwork when students turn up killed in here. Now run along.”

They made it almost to the door before she spoke again. “Oh, and girls.” Tellwyrn had settled back into her chair, and now regarded them sardonically over her spectacles. “Report to Stew and tell him you need help staying occupied for the remainder of vacation. I’m sure he can find something to fill your time.”

“Yes, Professor,” Juniper said glumly. Ruda just sighed.

“Okay,” the pirate said once they were about halfway down the hall. “Not gonna lie… I think I’m a little bit gay for Professor Tellwyrn.”

“What?” Frowning, Juniper turned to stare at her. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s just a figure of—oh, nevermind. I could be persuaded, let’s leave it at that.”

“I’m pretty sure she can still hear us.”

“Well, good. I’d hate to think I was embarrassing myself for nothing.”

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Bonus #4: Heart of the Wild

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All days were beautiful, of course, but this was her favorite kind of day. It was warm but heavily overcast; rain hovered and threatened, but did not fall. A steady, fierce wind tore across the landscape, thrashing the canopy furiously and making its presence felt even in the innermost depths of the forest. Juniper had climbed as high as she reasonably could, though, selecting a perch in the branches of a towering tree that happened to peek above the canopy, providing her a firsthand exposure to the wind, as well as a stunning view over the Deep Wild. Her chosen tree was thin enough at the top to move strenuously in the wind, swaying back and forth nearly hard enough to pitch her out if she relaxed her grip.

It was good. She spent most of the morning there, just existing. Feeling the tree, the wind, the moisture-laden sky, being part of nature.

Toward noon, the cloud cover had begun to thin, driven south by the wind, which still kept up. Now, there was sunlight as well, and she basked in it for a while. This didn’t hold her attention as thoroughly, though. It was still good, but it wasn’t her favorite kind of day anymore. As the sun passed its zenith, the dryad grew bored. A morning spent in inactivity, soaking up the fury of wind, sun and sky, had left her feeling energized and wanting an outlet. She wasn’t exactly hungry, so there was little reason to go hunting. There was always something to do, though. Maybe some of her sisters were in the mood to play. Or she could chase a fairy around for a while, perhaps find a satyr to mate with. Ooh, or chase him down first! Though that wasn’t likely to happen; satyrs took direction well, but they tended to be obsequious with dryads, and to get them to indulge her creativity she usually had to explain things so elaborately that all the spontaneity was ruined.

She clambered down about half the tree, the indulged herself in a freewheeling drop the rest of the way. Juniper hit the ground hard enough to half-bury herself in loam, and giggled from the sheer exuberance of it as she dug herself out. Fun, but not really enough to scratch the itch…

Brushing dirt off herself, she attuned to the Wild, feeling its presence opening up like another set of senses. It was a blissful experience as always, just for its own sake, but it was also pleasant to connect with the other children of Naiya in the vicinity. There were fairies of various kinds all around her, of course, mostly of the smaller variety that had little to offer her (or vice versa). Ah, but there was a satyr not far away, and apparently not doing anything. Then again, she discerned two other dryads even closer.

Juniper debated for a moment. Ah, well, there would always be more satyrs; she was kind of bored with them anyway. Spending time with her sisters was more important. Holding to her attunement, she took off at a walk, asking the Wild to direct her.

This was exactly how outsiders got lost in here; too much consciousness made it impossible to keep one’s bearings when physical space shifted around on all sides. Even the fae took years to get the hang of it, those intelligent enough to bother. The smaller ones just went where the Wild took them, but Juniper had had an embarrassing and frustrating few years of constantly getting turned around before she grasped the trick of focusing on a destination and not paying attention to where she went in the process of getting there. She directed the Wild to take her through a fast-running stream to finish washing the mud off her and out of her hair, then closed in on the others she sensed.

“Juniper!” Larch called, waving as she approached. “I was just looking for you!”

“You weren’t looking very hard,” she replied pointedly. Dryads sensing each other through the Wild went both ways; Larch would have known the moment Juniper sought her ought through the attunement.

“Well, I was about to start looking,” Larch amended, looking unrepentant. “This one isn’t any fun at all today.”

“Oh, don’t gripe, it makes you sound silly,” Aspen chided, rolling her eyes. “I’m just not in the mood right now, that’s all. The sky’s clearing; I was gonna go sunbathe.”

“Sunbathe,” Larch said in disgust. “You’re so boring. How often do we find humans in the Deep Wild?”

“Humans?” Juniper asked, suddenly very interested. It wasn’t often at all. There had only been a few incursions of humans in her lifetime, and she had been kept away from them.

“Woodcutters!” Larch said, grinning fiendishly.

“Ew.” Juniper wrinkled her nose. “Just feed them to something.”

“You’re as bad as Aspen, little sister. Don’t you want to play with them first?”

“I—me?” Her voice squeaked embarrassingly.

“Uh, yeah, her?” Aspen gave Larch a warning stare. “I know she has to be introduced to humans sometime, but… Maybe starting with woodcutters isn’t the best idea. We could find her a nice witch!”

“Excuse me, I’m standing right here,” Juniper said, planting her fists on her hips. “And you aren’t Mother.”

“Yeah, Aspen,” Larch said in an annoying singsong, grinning insanely. “You aren’t Mother! Let the girl have some fun.”

Aspen pursed her lips disapprovingly, and Juniper found herself torn. On the one hand, humans! This was something new and different; if Larch was willing to share her catch, she badly wanted to meet them, woodcutters or no. On the other… Maybe encouraging Larch wasn’t the best idea. She was a little…off.

It happened to dryads as their years turned into centuries, then millennia; too much time in which they’d seen and done everything left them bored and looking for new experiences, which resulted in some very dangerous—or at least twisted—behavior. Juniper had heard stories of some of the older ones, but dryads were scattered across the world; the only two “oddballs” who were in residence in the Wild during her lifetime were Larch and Poplar. Poplar’s project of copulating with every creature she could coax into it was a source of appalled fascination for most of the dryads; some had tagged along to watch a few times, returning with disgusting anecdotes which they gleefully recounted. Larch, though, had taken to hunting for pure sport, killing things she didn’t intend to eat and even inflicting pain in elaborate ways before finishing off her prey.

She wasn’t even that old. Juniper had to wonder, sometimes, if something was just wrong with her.

“What did you mean by ‘play?’” she asked dubiously. “Did… Did you skin them again? Please tell me you’re not going to try to wear their hides.”

“Feh, no point; it doesn’t even scare them after the first shock,” Larch said dismissively. “Only makes them angry. Anyhow, I’m just horny, not in the mood to waste a lot of time. I have two of them tucked away in a nice little grotto with wood spirits keeping them put, but!” Her grin widened, eyes locked on Juniper’s. “There’s a third one, I put him away separately. Since fuddy-duddy here doesn’t want him, you can have him!”

Juniper licked her lips, glancing back and forth between her two sisters. Aspen didn’t look particularly excited, but she shrugged.

“Oh, why not, you might as well. It’s not like he’s dangerous, isolated and being contained by the spirits.”

“Well…all right,” Juniper said, trying for a nonchalant tone. “If you’re sure you don’t want him, yeah. I guess I don’t have anything better to do.”

Larch cackled gleefully, and somehow managed to make it sound smug. Clearly Juniper’s act was fooling no one. She didn’t have to dwell on it, though, as Larch attuned to the Wild and sent her a destination. Juniper fixed the image in her mind. It was far away, but distance didn’t mean anything here.

“Sure you don’t want to come?” she said politely to Aspen. In truth she wouldn’t have minded a familiar face present while meeting her first human.

“Eh, you have fun,” her sister replied, stretching. “I’m gonna go find a clearing to bask in.”

“And I will be busy,” Larch said cheerfully. “As you well know. Heh.”

“Thanks!” Juniper said belatedly as Larch set off into the trees, getting a half-hearted wave in reply. Aspen, too, was already moving away.

She squared her shoulders, sternly reprimanding herself for feeling nervous, and stepped forward into the Wild, keeping her destination firmly in mind. In just a few moments she rounded the thick bole of an ancient tree and found herself in a swampy area.

The trees here were titanic, so thick around that twenty of her holding hands couldn’t have encircled the trunks. They stood on dense lattices of roots above the water, forming their own little islands. Unlike most normal swamps, there was a startling lack of insect life here, just butterflies and some phosphorescent moths. This was a fairy home, then, a fitting place for a prisoner to be kept.

Through her attunement to the Wild, Juniper sensed spirits positively everywhere, whispering and giggling to each other in their silent language. They instantly pointed her to where the human was being kept. She wasn’t sure whether they even realized she wasn’t the same dryad who had asked them to confine him. It could be hard to tell how intelligent forest spirits were. Not that she really needed the help, though, with the noise he was making.

Juniper waded through the hip-deep water to the spot where the woodcutter was confined. One tree-island had two layers, a thick mat of loam covered with soft moss nestled out of the water but under the tree’s thick roots, making a little cave into which dim light peeked through a thousand cracks. There was only one opening large enough to pass through, half-obscured by hanging lichen; inside, luminous mushrooms and small flowering plants that really shouldn’t grow in this shade bedecked the space. Clearly some dryad had had the spirits make this spot as a love nest. Possibly Larch, though this was too old for her to have done it just to hold this particular human.

He fell silent as she ducked into the grotto, squinting up at her. Juniper, belatedly remembering what she’d been told about how their eyes worked, pulled the hanging moss back down over the opening so she wasn’t standing silhouetted in the light. In the relative dimness, he could see her clearly again, and his eyes widened, racing up and down her nude figure.

Immediately, despite his obvious agitation, his appreciation and desire for her filled her awareness, and Juniper couldn’t hold back a delighted grin. Most of the dryads she spent time with were of a willowy build, though some of the older ones were downright plump. The satyrs had always insisted her heavy breasts and wide hips excited them, but that meant nothing; satyrs worshiped any dryad who deigned to play with them. This was her first objective experience, and the fact that he clearly found her beautiful was deeply endearing.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his tone gruff despite his rising lust. “Where are my friends? You can’t just keep me here!”

“Sure I can,” she said distractedly, studying him. Vines and roots, animated by forest spirits, had coiled around his limbs, keeping him firmly in place; at her statement, he began struggling against them again, to no effect. He was…different. She could see the resemblance to other, similar classes of creatures. Supposedly, she and her sisters were modeled after the females of his species, though nobody seemed to know why. It was hard to tell in a race as sexually dimorophic as humans, but being this close to one, she could see the resemblance. He was thicker, more powerful than an elf, but hairier…though not so much as a satyr. Not as muscled as a troll, though, not enough to be off-putting. He was…just right. Like something that had been designed for a creature like her.

It was intriguing.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, lady, but you’re asking for trouble! I’m a Tiraan citizen. People will come looking for me! What happened to my friends?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I didn’t capture you.”

He stilled at that, studying her more closely. Mostly above the shoulders, too; she felt the ambient lust in the grotto diminish as he directed more blood back to his brain. “You didn’t? Are you…with that other one?”

“Who, Larch?” Juniper wrinkled her nose. “Eh… Look, I’m sorry if she was rough with you. Honestly—and don’t tell her I said this—I don’t think she’s completely right in the head. Are you okay? You don’t seem hurt.”

He looked slightly mollified at that. “Well…no, not really. Mostly just pissed off and—” He broke off, swallowed. “Uh, curious.”

“Scared,” she said helpfully. The human scowled.

“Who says I’m scared?”

“Your scent and body language,” she answered, stepping closer. He watched her come, his eyes darting over her form again.

“Why aren’t you wearing—is your hair green?”

“Yep! Do you like it?”

“Oh, gods,” he whimpered. “You’re one of them.”

Juniper tilted her head. “One of whom?”

“One of those—those fairies.”

“Well, yes, I’m a fairy. Honestly, you came cutting trees in the Deep Wild and you’re surprised fairies captured you? No offense, but that’s not very smart.”

He barked a short, strained laugh. “Yeah, I know. But the money was good. I’m trying to save up to get some land, build a homestead out in the Great Plains.”

She didn’t know what any of that meant, and wasn’t curious enough to ask. Juniper eased closer, studying him avidly; he eased back, as much as he could with the vines holding him.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Are you uncomfortable? Here.” She directed her will through the Wild and the spirits acted; the bonds loosened, then slithered away, leaving him free. He fell back against the moss, looking simultaneously relieved and spooked.

“Uh…thanks,” he said, rubbing at his arms. “Does…. Am I free to go, then?”

“You could go,” she said, nodding, “but you’d probably get killed in, like, five minutes. The Deep Wild isn’t a safe place for humans in general. You were cutting on the trees. Really, you’d better stay with me. Nobody will bother you with me.”

“Um…” He eyed her up and down, and she felt his desire increase. “…thanks? Do you…think you could help me get out of here?”

“Are you hungry?” she asked, directing her will outward. The spirits responded, and more vines coiled into the little grotto. The human jumped nervously, but these didn’t go for his limbs; they were holding a selection of fruit. “You should eat something,” she continued, picking up a pear and holding it out to him. “You’ve been yelling and thrashing and wearing yourself out for who knows how long. You need sugar and calories.”

“Cal…uh, I guess I am a little hungry,” he said warily, slowly taking the pear from her. She felt a frisson of desire, her own and his, when their fingers brushed. “After…you’ll help me get out?”

“You definitely don’t want to try hiking through the Wild on an empty stomach,” she agreed.

“Thank you,” he said again, taking a bite for the pear. “Um… Oh, wow, that’s good.”

“Probably the best fruit you’ll ever taste!” she said cheerfully. “Oh! My name’s Juniper.”

“Juniper,” he said slowly, as if tasting it. “That’s pretty.”

“Thanks!”

“I’m Marc.”

“Hi, Marc,” she said, remembering what little she’d been told of their customs. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” he said gravely but with humor behind his eyes.

She leaned forward. “Would you like to make love?”

Marc choked on a bite of pear.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to,” she went on, “I mean, you’re probably having kind of a stressful day. But you’re the first human I’ve ever met, and you’re so pretty.”

“Pretty,” he said numbly.

“Yeah!” She nodded enthusiastically. “Just…y’know, perfect. Like you were made to fit with me. In me,” she added, giving him a sultry look. He swallowed, hard. “So yes, I would really, really like to have sex with you, please.”

Marc gulped again as she crept forward on hands and knees, sliding her body over his, pressing down on him. She could feel his clothes, all woven plant fiber and treated animal skins, with here and there little bits of metal, wood and bone holding them together. They weren’t natural, but didn’t feel at all unpleasant against her skin. Even more pleasant was his body underneath.

“I, uh…” He gulped a third time. “Well. I wouldn’t want to disappoint a lady.”

“Good,” she purred, draping herself across him fully and pressing her mouth to his. She savored the taste of him, the warmth of his breath, the sweetness of the pear juice.

Then a low growl sounded deep in his throat and his arms wrapped around her, the fingers of one strong hand twining in her hair, and he rolled them over, pressing her down into the moss. She laughed in delight, tugging at his clothing, carelessly ripping where she couldn’t figure out how they were meant to open.

He didn’t seem to mind.

 

They were at it most of the day, pausing here and there to nap or eat fruit, but his energy didn’t really flag until dusk was falling. Juniper kept pace with him, matching herself to the desires she could taste in the air, and when he was finally too tired to continue, she lay draped across his warm body, just savoring the sensations while he dozed in utter relaxation.

The grotto smelled of them now, of sweat and sex and fruit juice. The moss beneath then was soaked with it, but they were both so damp with one thing and another that it didn’t bother them. Or at least, it didn’t bother her, and Marc certainly didn’t seem to mind. His sweat was saltier than hers; his seed had a bitter taste. She had tried a few things with that; the flavor wasn’t pleasant and she certainly didn’t choose to conceive his child, so what had gone into her at both ends was pretty much a loss, but she rather liked the way it felt on her skin. The proteins seemed to be good for her as she slowly absorbed it. Altogether, though, humans didn’t seem to taste very good.

At least not their fluids…or at least not what they released during sex. Juniper lifted her head, reaching up to caress his cheek; he smiled and leaned into her touch, but didn’t rise from his nap. She slowly dragged her fingertips down his neck, feeling the pulse there, adjusting her senses to smell the blood coursing in him. Blood didn’t do much for her by itself…but fresh blood was strongly associated with other things.

She lifted one of his unresisting hands, pressing a kiss to his palm. His fingers absently stroked her cheek. The smell of him was rather enticing, once she approached it the right way. Fresh fruit was well and good, but after an afternoon of exercise, she was rather peckish.

Juniper slowly slipped his thumb into her mouth, smiling around it at his pleased murmur, and sucked up and down it a couple of times. His eyelids fluttered dreamily open. Then she clamped down with her teeth, cleaving through meat and bone.

Marc was instantly awake and screaming, thrashing about. She held him down effortlessly with one hand on his neck and her own weight on top of his body, not paying much attention to his flailing or noise. He actually regained the presence of mind to punch her with his un-mangled hand after a few moments, but that of course had no effect. Juniper chewed thoughtfully, fully exploring the flavors and textures.

Not bad at all. Awfully crunchy, of course… She eyed him over critically. There really wasn’t a lot of meat on him for his body mass. Maybe this was why Mother forbade eating elves? They were even scrawnier.

“What are you doing?” Marc was screaming, still slapping fruitlessly at her.

“Eating,” she replied, accidentally spraying flecks of blood across him. “Oop, sorry.”

“My hand!” he wailed. “You crazy bitch!”

“Oh!” Juniper put a hand over her mouth. “Gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”

“Sorry!? What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” she said testily. “Y’know, you really shouldn’t be so rude to someone you just had sex with. Here, let me fix that.” Taking his bleeding hand in her own, she drew up a current of her essence, pouring it into him as pure healing magic. The wound where his thumb had been scabbed over in seconds, the bloodflow stopping, and tender pink skin began to stretch over it. “There! All better.”

“Better?! My thumb! How am I supposed to—to—”

“Well, you really don’t need to worry about that,” Juniper said reasonably, tracing her fingers up and down his arm. “You’ll be dead soon, anyhow.”

Marc stared up at her, aghast. “Wh—why?”

“I’m hungry,” she replied.

“B-but, we…we just…”

“Yes, we did, and you were very good,” he said affectionately, tousling his hair. “But that was then. I’m not horny now.”

He stared at her for a stupefied moment, then began thrashing again. Juniper increased her weight, keeping him pinned down, and pulled his arm to her face. Marc began screeching, apparently having an inkling what she intended even before she took a bite out of his forearm.

“That’s kind of shrill,” she said, somewhat muffled by her mouthful, as she healed the wound over. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, gods, Juniper, please!”

“What?”

“Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone or bother you again, I swear—”

“Well, no, that’s not going to happen,” she said.

“Gods, just don’t kill me!”

“I’m gonna try not to, right away,” she explained. “You’re my first human, like I said; I want to find out everything. But you’ve got lots of redundancy and bilateral symmetry. You know, things you’ve got two of. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you healed up; we could be here for days.”

The scream he let out at that made her wince.

“Ow, seriously. That is really shrill, and this is kind of an enclosed space, y’know?”

“Please, I’m begging you—”

“Could you not?” she said irritably. “I’m not letting you go, and the pleading makes me feel bad. Now, I wonder…”

He made a muffled sound of confusion when she lowered herself to cover his body with hers again, followed by a yowl as she bit off a chunk of his ear.

“Bleh,” Juniper said after a moment, spitting it out and almost absently applying some healing magic to the wound. “That’s all cartilage. Okay, that was kind of dumb of me; I know how ears work. Sorry.”

“Juniper, please! I’ll do anything!”

“I asked you to stop doing that,” she said severely. “You’re not being very considerate. Y’know, considering how you got into this situation, I’d think you’d have learned to show a little more respect. Now let’s see…”

She had to call on the spirits and their vines to hold him properly still as she reached for his left eye.

 

Some time later, Juniper sat morosely chewing on fingernails. She hadn’t much liked them at first—they seemed distracting and annoying, the texture neither crunchy or chewy. Just…in the way. But that improved when she increased the acidity of her saliva to break them down a bit, and she found the sensation actually rather pleasant.

Unfortunately, while she was focusing on that, she’d forgotten to keep applying healing spells to Marc, and he’d bled out. She heaved a sigh, the rapidly cooling blood-soaked moss beneath her squelching as she shifted her weight. Her first human, and she hadn’t managed to keep him alive for one day. Larch was never gonna let her live this down.

Caught up in her thoughts and out of attunement, she didn’t sense the approach of another dryad until Aspen was close enough to hear. Juniper cast her gaze around in panic, but fruitlessly; her sister was already too near. There was no way of hiding the evidence of her blunder.

“Hey!” Aspen said brightly, poking her head into the grotto. “How’s—oh, come on. Already?”

“Oh, shut up,” Juniper said crossly. “Someone could have told me they were so delicate.”

“Did you…good grief, look at this guy. Bites out of him everywhere. Did you nibble him to death?” She grinned. “You’re turning out as bad as Larch.”

“That isn’t called for,” Juniper snapped. “It was an accident! I wanted to keep him for a while longer, believe me.”

“All right, well, leave him for the scavengers, we’ve got something more interesting to see.” Aspen grinned broadly. “The Arachne’s here!”

“What?” Juniper sat bolt upright, her disappointment forgotten. “Really? Now? Why didn’t anybody see her coming?!”

“Anybody did,” Aspen teased. “You were a little distracted.”

“What’s she want?”

She shrugged. “Dunno, but she’s making for the Heart. If you want to see what’s going on, you’d better make tracks. She can navigate the Wild as well as us.”

“I’m coming!” Juniper scrambled upright, slipping on blood in her haste. “Uh…I better wash up a bit first.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Aspen said, ruffling her hair. “I’m going on ahead.”

“Wait—”

“See you there!” She bounded off through the trees, leaving Juniper muttering irritably behind her.

Washing up took more than a couple of minutes—she had blood and other stuff absolutely everywhere—but she didn’t want to look less than her best. As soon as she was satisfied with her level of cleanliness, Juniper attuned to the Wild and directed herself to the meeting place.

The Heart of the Wild was a deep, ancient crater, long since blunted by the elements and completely overtaken by the forest. The ground was green with moss, shrubs and patches of grass, crawling vines extending over everything till the blasted stone was all but invisible. Trees rimmed its lip, many listing inward and providing shade far into the depression. At the center was another tree, twisted and ancient, dwarfed by the sentinels guarding the perimeter. On this one grew only a sparse handful of leaves, but there were always birds and butterflies fluttering in its thin branches.

Dryads were clustered around the old tree; Juniper was the last to arrive. There were only a dozen or so of them in the Wild at this time, but it seemed every one had shown up for this. How had they all gotten word before she had? Well, Aspen was right; she had been sort of preoccupied.

Juniper took a seat next to Willow, just in time for the Arachne to enter the Heart from above.

The assembled dryads watched in silence as she descended the slope. Juniper had seen elves before, of course, and aside from her glasses she really didn’t look at all unlike a typical wood elf. Same attire, same thin build and golden hair… Something about the way she moved, though. Elves seemed to flow with nature, every breath part of their environment. It was part of why they got on so well with dryads. The Arachne certainly didn’t lack grace, but her stride was aggressive. As if she were pushing against the world, as opposed to dancing with it.

Across from Juniper, Larch grinned maliciously at the approaching elf; her face and upper body were still smeared with drying blood, and she carried a very fresh femur with scraps of meat still attached to its end. She brandished this, snickering.

“What are you, a housecat?” the Arachne said curtly, brushing past her without so much as a glance. “Don’t play with your food.”

The look on Larch’s face was absolutely priceless.

The Arachne came to a stop just inside the ring of dryads and crossed her arms. She began to tap one foot impatiently, staring at the tree. The onlookers glanced uncertainly at each other. Juniper wasn’t the only one who had never met the Arachne before; she likely wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what to think. So far this elf really wasn’t behaving like an elf.

Then the Heart began to beat.

The soft pulse was in the wings of the birds and butterflies, in the wind over the grass, the trembling of the leaves, the songs of insects. The assembled dryads caught their breath as one, gazing avidly at the twisted little tree.

Her shape began with vines, coiling upward from the ground. They caught up and carried fallen branches, and were joined by fluttering butterflies. As the body coalesced, feathery grasses sprouted as hair, lichen spread across its surface, and innumerable forms of life took shape, adding to the impression until what stood before them might, at first glance, have been mistaken for a dryad. Only upon closer inspection did the moss, wood, vines and leaves betray their true nature. She stood silently, turning her head slowly to pan a smile across the dryads, before settling her gaze upon the Arachne.

“Welcome,” said Naiya. Her voice was the wind, the birds, the insects; it came from every living thing in the Heart, surrounding them. This was not her, of course; the goddess of nature was far too vast to be contained in one shell. This avatar was a rarely-used tool, and it was high praise to their guest that she used it now.

“My thanks,” the Arachne said in a clipped tone. “I hope you’ve given thought to my proposal. Time is growing short.”

“Time goes on as it always does,” Naiya replied. “You have seen enough of it pass to know.”

“I am not getting drawn into this debate again,” the Arachne said. “You know very well what is going on and what’s at stake. I’m sorry to rush you, Naiya, but the academic schedule is what it is. If you intend to accept my proposal, this is the time. If not, I’ll be on my way.”

“You ask a great deal,” said the goddess. “Not only the risk at which you would place one of my beloved children. You ask nature itself to change its ways.”

“I’m asking nature itself to survive. That, supposedly, is what it does best.”

“What’s all this about?” Maple demanded.

The Arachne gave her a considering look, then turned back to Naiya’s avatar. “You haven’t told them anything?”

“I have been thinking. There is no use in troubling them unless I must.”

“Hm.” The elf turned back to Maple. “I’m talking about humanity. They are evolving, faster ad faster. A time is quickly approaching when the balance of power, and of nature, is going to dramatically tip. I’m in favor of guiding this process so that it doesn’t end in disaster.”

“Evolution isn’t guided,” Beech scoffed. “It just happens.”

“Let the humans do what they do,” added Larch. “We’ll deal with them if we have to.”

“Oh, really,” the Arachne said grimly. “Have you seen the enchantments they wield now?”

“Pfft,” Larch waved the femur dismissively. “I’m not impressed.”

“I see. You’re an expert on arcane physics, then. Do you know what an atom is?”

The dryad blinked. “Uh…”

“Do you know what happens when you split one apart? Or mash two together?” The Arachne shook her head. “There are a bare handful of archmages in the world who do, and we all have better sense than to meddle with such things. What you consistently fail to understand about humans is that their capabilities are cumulative. Each generation adds to the pool of knowledge and skills the species as a whole commands; each grows more powerful, faster than any other race, even the other sentients. They are on the path to achieving the unthinkable. Within two hundred years, at my best estimate, the human race will have the capacity to kill. Absolutely. Everything.” She let that hang in the air for a silent moment, glaring at Larch. “At this rate, they’re a good millennium from being able to handle that power with anything resembling responsibility.”

“Are you sure about this?” Aspen asked quietly.

“The numbers may vary,” the Arachne replied, turning to her. “The realities do not. Humans must be dealt with, and before any of you suggests it, it’s already too late to just wipe them out. They’re too strong.”

“They’re not stronger than nature itself!” Rowan declared, tossing her hair.

“I’m no longer certain of that,” the Arachne said quietly.

Silence greeted this pronouncement. The avatar of Naiya remained motionless, watching; the dryads looked uncertainly at each other.

“So what are you suggesting?” Aspen asked finally.

“That the children of Naiya start dealing proactively with the human race,” said the Arachne, “beginning with the Tiraan Empire. The fact is, you girls do not grasp how they think…or vice versa. That needs to change. Humans need your influence; they need powerful, credible voices to help guide their development toward something more friendly to the natural order. If they don’t have that, they’re going to end up at war with the planet, and I’m very much afraid they might win. In which case they, along with the rest of us and everyone and everything else, will lose.”

“You’re talking about cultivation,” said Juniper. She shrank back as everyone turned to look at her.

“Watch your mouth,” Maple said caustically.

“No,” said the Arachne, staring at Juniper. “Go on. Finish your thought.”

Juniper swallowed, glancing at the avatar; Naiya smiled at her and nodded. She cleared her throat. “Well…it’s cultivation, right? What humans do to wild plants and animals, to turn them slowly into something they can use. You’re talking about us cultivating them.” She shrugged defensively. “It makes good sense to me. See how they like it for a change.”

“And which one are you?” the Arachne asked.

“I’m Juniper! It’s nice to meet you!”

“She’s new,” said Pine, rewarded by a chorus of snickers. Juniper stuck out her tongue at her elder sister.

The Arachne was ignoring the byplay, staring at the avatar. Naiya’s image drew in a deep breath and let it out as a slow sigh that filled the whole crater with a warm, sweet-smelling breeze.

“Yes, Arachne, I have long since seen the wisdom in what you ask. As you see, I have been making my own preparations.”

“Mm hm,” the Arachne said cryptically, turning her gaze back to Juniper. “Well, she’s certainly gorgeous enough according to the current ideal of Imperial society. That’ll help. I’m not sure I want to know how you kept abreast of the trends.”

“Um, thank you?” Juniper said uncertainly. “But…what’s going on? Mother?”

The goddess gave her a sad smile.

“Juniper, my daughter… I have a task for you.”

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