Tag Archives: Basra Syrinx

Prologue – Volume 3

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The sleek carriage drew a few interested looks as it pulled up to the curb at the edge of Imperial Square. Such conveyances were no rare sight in the city, but those who cared about such things could easily identify this as a new and top of the line Falconer model. Even those who didn’t know that could see it was low-slung and pretty; one did not need to be an enthusiast to know the vehicle was expensive.

The driver hopped lightly down from her perch, palming the control rune, and the low arcane hum of the carriage fell silent as its enchantments went dormant. A second figure, this one in armor, stepped down from alongside her, and side by side they set off up the broad steps to the entrance of the Temple of Avei. It was unusual, to be sure, to see such a high-value carriage left apparently unattended, but on the other hand, it was right under the eyes of at least a dozen Silver Legionnaires.

Onlookers paused, beginning to grow into an actual crowd and murmur speculatively as they watched the driver and her companion approach the temple. Especially after the events of the last year, a lot of people in the city knew exactly what her silver armor signified.

The Legionnaires, already at attention, stiffened further as Trissiny passed, returning her salute without otherwise shifting position.

Inside, the two paused, looking around the main chamber of the temple. Teal stuck her hands in the pockets of her coat, looking slightly nervous at the stares they were collecting. A woman with short hair and boyish clothes was hardly a rare sight in an Avenist temple; it was mostly at Trissiny that the attention was directed. Here, of all places, she was recognized instantly.

The paladin sighed softly and leaned closer to murmur. “Sorry… Someday I’m going to have to spend a while here and learn the layout of this place. I’ll need to get us some help.”

“No problem,” Teal assured her.

Trissiny stepped over to a pair of Legionnaires standing at attention at the base of a column; they stiffened slightly at her approach, like those in the front of the temple.

“Are you familiar with the temple?”

“Yes, ma’am!” said the nearer of the two women, eyes straight ahead. “The Third Silver Legion has been stationed here for eleven months, General. All of us are acquainted with the floor plan.”

“Good,” Trissiny said with a satisfied nod. “Show me to the Tapestry Hall.”

At that, both Legionnaires’ eyes shifted slightly, as if they wanted to glance at each other, but couldn’t without actually turning their heads. The woman who had replied to Trissiny spoke again, somewhat hesitantly.

“General, the gallery has been closed for several years at the request of the Archpope.”

Trissiny’s voice remained quiet, and perfectly calm. “Is that what I asked you, soldier?”

Somehow, the woman managed to straighten up even further. “No, ma’am! This way, ma’am!”

Teal tried not to look uncomfortable as they were led out of the chamber under dozens of curious eyes.

Their path kept to broader, more commonly accessed avenues through the temple, and as such they were rarely out of sight of the public for long. Various individuals of unidentifiable purpose were passing to and fro, and a good many of those seemed to recognize Trissiny; she had to politely decline to stop and talk several times, and frequently nodded and smiled in response to respectful greetings. Some of those were downright fawning, and Teal couldn’t help noticing she replied to those more coolly. There were, of course, numerous priestesses of Avei and Legionnaires present; the latter and some of the former universally saluted their paladin, though none of them attempted to delay her in her business.

Finally they reached a nexus of several halls which could have been a miniature chapel. Most of its boundaries were wide mouths of hallways, but where there was wall space there were fluted columns and niches containing bronze busts of women, some armored. It appeared actually to be the open interior of a tower, soaring to a domed ceiling some three stories up, with white banners bearing Avei’s golden eagle sigil hanging from above.

One side of the chamber, however, was dominated by a pair of closed doors. They were tall and looked heavy, despite their intricate carving. A sign stood before them indicating that the Tapestry Hall was closed to the public until further notice. The doors had large bronze handles, but no knob or latch, and had clearly not been designed to be locked. A chain had been wound around the handles, binding them together and itself secured by a padlock, which lacked a keyhole. Instead, its face was embossed with the ankh symbol of the Universal Church.

Their guide marched up to the sign, about faced, and saluted Trissiny. “Tapestry Hall, General Avelea!”

Teal wanted to wince. They were not alone here; five women in two groups were standing near alcoves, conversing quietly, and two other women were at that moment walking through the nexus. Three men in Imperial Army uniforms had just progressed a few feet down one of the adjoining hallways. At the Legionnaire’s announcement, all of them stopped what they were doing and turned to stare.

Trissiny nodded to the soldier. “Thank you. As you were.”

The woman saluted again and marched off back the way they had come.

Teal smiled awkwardly at the nearer group of women; one smiled back and nodded, while the other was watching Trissiny, her head tilted to one side.

The paladin, wasting no time, had picked up the sign and moved it carefully aside, then for good measure turned it around so that it was informing only the wall that Tapestry Hall was closed. She then stepped in front of the doors and lifted the padlock, studying it. The chains rattled softly; they were securely bound, offering only slight give.

“Maybe we should have started with someone in charge,” Teal suggested quietly, stepping over to her. “Unless you have a key to that…”

“There’s no key,” Trissiny said, releasing the lock. It clinked smugly as it fell back into place. “This was never meant to be undone. Which means… Well, from another point of view, I do have a key.”

She took one step backward and drew her sword.

The stillness of the onlookers increased palpably.

“Um,” Teal said hesitantly, “are you sure…?”

“Step back, please,” Trissiny replied calmly, reversing her grip and placing the blade, point-down, in the chain. Only its tip fit into the space inside a link.

Teal obediently edged back, then had to shield her eyes as Trissiny suddenly flared alight. Golden wings flared outward, all but filling the space. The sword blazed almost white, and she yanked it backward like a lever.

Steel snapped, and the padlock plummeted to the marble floor with a clatter, landing with its ankh symbol down. The rest of the chain, hissing in defeat as it went, unwound itself from the handles, sliding down under its own weight, until it lay in a sad puddle on top of the lock.

Trissiny let her light fade and neatly sheathed her weapon, ignoring the whispers that sprang up behind her. She grabbed one of the door handles and pulled it open, shoving the fallen chain out of the way in the process, revealing a dim space beyond.

“Well, here we are,” she said calmly to Teal. “Coming?”

Aside from being dark, it was a sealed off section of a major temple to which they had just forcibly gained access; a lot of that suggested going anywhere but inside. On the other hand, the option was to stay and try to explain this to the increasingly inquisitive crowd. She followed.

Teal had thought to slip through, but Trissiny pulled the door open fully and left it that way. Behind the girls, spectators edged closer, but none seemed quite daring enough to enter the darkened hall.

Tapestry Hall was wide, long, and curved; it was surely not a full semicircle unless it spanned the entire width of the temple, but its dimensions made the far end invisible from the door. Or at least, it would have been hidden around the curve even had the room not been dark. Teal could make out the shapes of statues, and even the frames of paintings. Only on those nearest the doors were the actual canvases visible. She also saw the silhouettes of fairy lamps with conical shades to direct their light, positioned so as to illuminate the artworks directly. None were lit.

A few steps ahead in the darkness, Trissiny sighed and drew her sword again. The blade began once more to glow white, casting a slightly eerie radiance all around them. It did not truly fill the space, but made the nearest portraits visible.

Teal drew in a slow breath, then let it out, glancing back once more at the door. People were watching… But she had made a promise, and now they were here.

The light increased and changed color as Vadrieny emerged, the warm orange glow of firelight adding to Trissiny’s divine golden-white.

“The Baniroven Tapestry is displayed at the center of the inner wall, inside a glass case,” the paladin said, glancing at her and showing no further reaction to the archdemon’s presence. “That’s what gives the Hall its name. It shows a… Well, I’ll bore you with it sometimes if you’re really interested. Almost all the rest of these are paint on canvas.” She gazed around at the shadowed corners. “I’ve always wanted to visit here… There are some artifacts and treasures at the Abbey in Viridill, of course. It is the original center of Avei’s worship. But most of the best art was brought here long ago.”

“Sounds like an interesting place to visit,” Vadrieny replied. “But we did come here for a reason…”

“Yes,” Trissiny said, nodding, and stepped forward, taking her light with her. “Be careful, please.”

“Of?”

“Of that thing you sometimes do when you’re upset,” the paladin said, glancing back at her with a half-grimace. “Clawing up the floor with your talons. There may be more trouble than I can deflect if you desecrate the temple.”

Vadrieny didn’t reply, being busy glancing around nervously. Nothing discernible had changed in the room, but at the reminder, she suddenly had a heavy awareness of Avei’s presence—and, given the combination of her main temple and her paladin, it was a certainty that the goddess was watching.

They made their way deeper into the long-deserted hall, stirring up dust as they passed. Both examined various landscapes, portraits and scenes of battle, painted in a wide variety of styles (and degrees of skill), all relating in some way to Avei and her worship. Most were historical; Avenists were practical as per their goddess’s preferences, not taking up a lot of space with adoring depictions of her.

The tapestry in question was indeed at the middle of the hall; they had gone just past it when Trissiny stopped, facing the opposite side of the gallery, and spoke.

“Here.”

Vadrieny had to remind herself not to flex her talons; it was her default reaction to emotions of the kind stirred up by what she saw.

According it its placard, the wide painting, charmed against dust and sealed behind glass, dated from twelve centuries ago, at a time when such an artistic undertaking would have been a rare masterwork such as some king or high priest might have commissioned as a legacy to leave against their own approaching mortality. The style was somewhat less polished than more modern pieces, but beautiful and realistic enough for its purpose.

In its center, an enormous figure of Elilial stood, arms spread and wearing a confident smirk. Around the upper edges were dark vignettes of demonic and divine figures locked in combat, against a dramatic background of stormy clouds spitting lightning, but most of the width of the painting was taken up by the seven figures posing in a line below the dark goddess.

Trissiny leaned closer, reading the rather lengthy placard displayed below it.

“’The Queen of Hell and her Daughters’ was painted about eighteen centuries after the Third Hellwar, the time from which it drew its source material. Definitely not a firsthand source, then. The artist isn’t remembered, but this has apparently spent a lot of time being hidden in one place or another. Clerics and governments evidently thought it would be a bad influence on the public. Luckily none of them were thuggish enough to destroy such a masterpiece… It says theologians have pored over surviving descriptions of the archdemons, and consider this the definitive visual representation of them. Most think the artist was, her or himself, a scholarly cleric. Hm.”

She stepped back, gaining a better perspective of the large painting. It was nearly as wide as she was tall.

“I was never told any of their names,” the paladin murmured. “Or yours, obviously, or I’d have told you about this long ago. When I asked Mother Narny this summer, she said they had to be selective with my education. You can’t learn eight thousand years in the course of three, and they taught me what they thought I’d most need to know. None of them had been seen in three millennia. None of you, I mean…”

She glanced over at Vadrieny and cleared her throat. “And…I’m rambling, sorry. Your s—their names are on the placard, here.”

Vadrieny stood motionless, her gaze slowly tracking back and forth over the images. She stared intently at the smug-looking horned goddess towering over her offspring, then made another intensive pass across the depictions of her sisters.

“Not familiar,” she whispered. “I don’t remember…”

Trissiny sighed softly. “Well… It was a long shot. Perhaps it’s better this way. This is not the best history to have, Vadrieny. You have a chance at a fresh start.”

The archdemon stepped closer, bending forward to peer at the unmistakable portrait of herself, third from the right. All seven of them had the same burning eyes, but beyond that, their features were a mishmash. Horns, hooves, claws… Some had wings, though only hers seemed made of fire. Four had fiery hair. There was a more mundane commonality to their features, too, a certain angularity to their faces, a tall and rangy aspect of their build that spoke of their mother’s blood.

Unconsciously, she raised one hand, the clawed tip of her forefinger drifting closer to her own painted face.

“Please don’t touch!”

They both jerked back, turning to face the way they had come. A lean, sharp-featured woman with short dark hair was approaching out of the gloom. As she entered the light, they could see she wore the white robes of a priestess of Avei with a short sword sheathed at her waist, though the weapon was far more elaborate than Trissiny’s. The hilt appeared to be gold, and is pommel was shaped into an eagle’s head, with delicately wrought wings forming its crossbar. She wore the golden eagle pin of Avei at her shoulder, with a second, smaller one below that, depicting a silver ankh.

“Those claws are known to rend steel,” she said in a more conversational tone, coming to a stop a few feet from them and smiling thinly. “I shudder to think what they’d do to centuries-old canvas.”

“Sorry,” Vadrieny said, taking another step backward from the painting.

Trissiny’s eyes flickered across the woman’s two brooches, then to the Talisman of Absolution pinned to Vadrieny’s—Teal’s—lapel, and finally met their visitor’s eyes, nodding respectfully.

“You must be Bishop Syrinx.”

Basra nodded deeply in reply, never blinking nor changing that razor-thin smile by a hair. “Glad to finally meet you, General Avelea. Your visits to the temple are nothing if not dramatic. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved that I had to hear about the Lor’naris episode after the fact.”

Trissiny grimaced faintly. “Well, that was… I’d rather focus on the present.”

“I’ll bet.” The Bishop’s smile widened fractionally. “You’ve made quite a stir this time. Again. The whole temple’s already abuzz with whispers, how you smashed a Universal Church talisman while blazing with Avei’s favor. I wonder if you understand the symbolism of that act?”

“I do,” Trissiny said quietly, “and it was quite deliberate. I am a warrior more than a poet, Bishop Syrinx, but a gesture that obvious I would not make accidentally.”

At that, Basra smiled widely enough to show the tips of her teeth, though her eyes did not change in the slightest. It was a faintly unnerving expression.

“Well, Trissiny, I am a politician. Words are my weapons, and symbolic gestures an unfortunately large part of my job. Given my position as liaison between the Sisterhood and the Church, I was chiefly responsible for negotiating the agreement that had this gallery sealed off.”

“I’m sorry—” Trissiny began, but Basra actually laughed, interrupting her. The Bishop’s expression finally changed, to one of more genuine humor. It soothed a great deal of the tension in the room.

“Just because it’s my job doesn’t mean I necessarily enjoy it,” she chuckled. “I confess I was rather disappointed when High Commander Rouvad chose to go along with this. It never sat right with me, nor a lot of others, having some man tell us what we can and can’t do in our own temple. I’ll tell you what I plan to do as soon as you two leave: I’m going to get acolytes in here to sweep out the cobwebs and replace the fairy lamps. Art is to be seen; paintings in a dark room are like swords left to rust. If Justinian wants this room sealed so badly, he can come down here and re-lock it his holy self.”

“Why did he want this gallery sealed off?” Vadrieny asked, easing back again from the priestess.

“What I am curious about is why Rouvad chose to accommodate him. As for Justinian, isn’t it obvious?” The Bishop raised one eyebrow, then nodded to the painting. “Same reason he’s had the temples of Nemitoth lock away their direct references to the archdemons. Because of that, and because of you.”

“I’m not sure that was a wise policy,” Trissiny said, frowning. “I understand not wanting to provoke her, but it doesn’t seem sustainable…”

“With the greatest possible respect,” Basra said, her smile suddenly gone, “you need to wise up, Avelea. Fast. And you as well,” she added to Vadrieny. “There is absolutely no way the Archpope could control information thoroughly enough to keep this from you. If nothing else, you’re attending a school run by an immortal who has met several of your sisters. Yes, interestingly enough, Arachne’s first appearance in history was during the Third Hellwar. Actually, her very first mention in records considered authentic involved her slapping Invazradi around like a gnomish mail-order bride. No, this wasn’t to be kept from you, Vadrieny. It was to be kept from you for a while. I rather suspect Justinian won’t bother to ask that this room be re-sealed at all. That ship has sailed, now that you’re here.”

“I don’t understand,” Vadrieny said, after glancing at Trissiny, who was frowning deeply at the Bishop.

“Suppose you had something volatile, potentially dangerous, and generally inconvenient rolling around,” Basra said, ostensibly studying the painting now. “Just for example, an amnesiac archdemon. You have reason to tolerate this for a little while, but once that’s over with, you can’t just reverse yourself and have her put down—you’d lose credibility, flip-flopping like that. So…suppose you had hidden any convenient references to this archdemon’s family, and the fact that they’re all dead? Then you just have to sit back, wait for her to learn the truth from another source…” She smiled coldly, shifting her gaze back to Vadrieny. “…and react to that the way most people reasonably would. Your pain and shock would look an awful lot like a very big threat in the wrong circumstances, with those claws attached to it.”

They stared at her in stunned silence.

“But you dodged that shot, didn’t you? Seems like you would be wise to be on the lookout for more.” The Bishop shook her head and stepped away from the painting. “Well. You girls take your time; I won’t intrude on your privacy any further.” She turned and took a step toward the exit.

“Wait,” Trissiny said. “You suggested— I mean, if Justinian wanted to get rid of Vadrieny, why go to all this trouble? He had Teal at the Cathedral itself for months, being examined and assisted by all kinds of clerics. Wouldn’t it have been easier to have her destroyed before she had a chance to prove to so many people that she meant no harm?”

“Why, yes, I believe it would have,” Basra mused without turning around. “Makes you wonder why he was so eager to examine an archdemon, doesn’t it?” She resumed walking, raising her voice to call back at them as she vanished back into the shadows. “Don’t underestimate the number of enemies you have, nor mistake allies for friends. In politics and in war, all relationships are temporary.”

Then she was gone, around the curve of the wall, leaving them alone, in silence.

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6 – 15

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“Oh, it’s only been the last two days,” Branwen said modestly. “Believe me, I’m more surprised than anyone at how quickly all this has taken off! Fortunately his Holiness has assigned me a staff to help with the project, or I’d never have been able to stay on top of it.”

“The runaway success of Branwen’s new role as motivational columnist is evidence of that plot’s original purpose,” said the Archpope, regarding them over his interlaced fingers.

“Plot?” Basra said sharply, looking up from her perusal of one of the newspapers Darling had brought to the meeting.

“Indeed,” Justinian said gravely. “For all that it has unfolded so quickly, it is a rather circuitous route that has brought us to this development. To being with, I took the unconventional step of consulting the resources in the Chamber of Truth with regard to our current dilemma.”

“You specifically cautioned us that those weren’t of much tactical value, your Holiness,” Andros noted.

“Indeed,” said the Archpope, nodding. “Generally the attempt has resulted in confusion and annoyance more than anything. However, I felt our lack of useful data in this situation warranted a gamble. In fact, oracular divinations, while rarely conducive to acquiring facts, are an excellent source of wisdom. In this case, the gamble paid off. Some of the prophecies I obtained were indecipherable, but several directed me toward, and I quote, ‘the singers of songs and the tellers of tales.’”

“That specific phrase is usually a reference to bards,” said Darling, frowning.

“Historically, yes,” agreed the Archpope. “But in the context of other hints the Chamber provided, suggesting that I consider things in a modern rather than traditional context, I decided to make inquiries among the modern world’s answer to the archetypal traveling storyteller.”

Basra ruffled the paper she was holding. “The newspapers?”

“Precisely.” Justinian smiled grimly. “And that is where matters began to become…interesting. Throughout the city, in the offices of all five widely-distributed newspapers, there have been, in the last few days, culminations of very unlikely sequences of events leading to…openings.”

“Openings?” Andros prompted.

The Archpope nodded. “It appears there has been some competition among the papers, as is only natural, and specifically rivalries among their advice columnists.”

“People can find the pettiest nonsense upon which to waste their energies,” Andros grunted.

“Over time,” Justinian continued, ignoring him, “these columnists have become de facto stand-ins for their respective papers with regard to this increasing competition for readership and distribution. All of the major Tiraan papers are now published across the Empire; most ship their stock out via Rail on a weekly basis, but two have managed to publish their daily editions from coast to coast by beaming out the contents thereof via telescroll and printing them on site.”

“Fascinating,” Basra said in a disinterested tone, again reading the paper before her.

“Various editors have used these columnists as major selling points. They have become public personalities, almost celebrities.” Justinian paused, then went on in a more grave tone, “and in the last week, two were killed in accidents, one perished of an aneurysm in his sleep, one retired unexpectedly, and the last was promoted to the position of editor-in-chief of his paper when the individual who previously held that post abruptly stepped down to tend to a family emergency.”

“Well,” Darling said, “that’s good and suspicious…”

The Archpope nodded. “And it tracks with the Wreath’s evident aim. Their actions have been toward improving the public’s perception of them while cutting down that of the Church and the gods. By subtly increasing the profile of certain newspaper columnists and then replacing those individuals with their own people, they position themselves to dramatically increase their ability to disseminate their message.”

“And that’s more characteristic of them than what we’ve seen in the last week,” Darling added. “The long, slow, careful plan.”

“This makes no sense,” Andros growled. “If they could do this, why not plant their agents over the long term? Creating these vacancies all at once, now of all times, is too overtly suspicious.”

“No, it makes perfect sense,” Basra argued, looking up again. “Any newspaper columnists spouting Wreath propaganda would have been silenced long since. Even if they tried to lay low and not actually…propagandize…until this event, the longer they had someone in place, the more chance any number of things could happen to that person. Look how easy it apparently was to make accidents happen to five such columnists at once. By waiting till now, after the recent debacle where the cults embarrassed themselves pursuing the Wreath too roughly, they have the perfect opening. Now of all times, all of us and even the Empire will be hesitant to do anything too ham-fisted in the name of suppressing the Black Wreath. The populace is already agitated about that.”

“A worthy observation,” Andros grunted, “from one of the hammy fists in question.”

“To keep this on point,” Justinian said swiftly, “upon learning of these events, I acted quickly, first to cut the Wreath off from the newspapers. Agents of the Church were sent to the offices of each, both here in Tiraas and to all their facilities on the continent, to bless them. Thoroughly. The Wreath may be adept at evading the detection of the gods, but a warlock or hidden demon will still burn when doused in an indiscriminate deluge of holy power.”

“I’m impressed you got all those organizations to go along with it,” Darling remarked. “I’ve worked with the newspapers a bit myself. Journalists don’t like outsiders mucking about with their offices.”

“Few turn down a free and thorough blessing from the gods,” the Archpope said wryly. “Some were, I think, suspicious of the Church’s motives, but they acquiesced when it was broadly hinted that their organizations were suspected of harboring demons.”

“You’ve noticed that, too?” Darling said with a grin. “Amazing the results you can sometimes get by just being honest with people.”

“Quite so,” Justinian replied, smiling benignly at him. The two men locked eyes for a long moment, both wearing placidly friendly expressions, before the Archpope continued. “In any case, this seems to have effectively barred the Wreath from moving into the positions they had just opened. Our next step was simply to place our own agent there. Bishop Snowe is now a syndicated columnist, her column distributed by every major paper published out of Tiraas. In the weeks to come, we shall see about getting her into various lesser publications throughout the Empire, as well. And even beyond it.”

“It remains to be seen how the abrupt loss of their competition among columnists will affect distribution,” Branwen said modestly, “but with all the prestige they’ve poured into the position, now that I’m being published in all of them, well… Instant celebrity. I’m afraid I don’t deserve any credit for it.”

“This is fantastic stuff,” Basra said rather dryly, reading again. “A guy walks away from the Vernisite faith of his parents and feels lost and directionless; you tell him to spend time in reflection, gain self-knowledge, and decide which of the gods best matches his own aptitudes. A housewife is bored and restless with her children gone from the nest, and you tell her to find purpose by cultivating her own talents and making a difference in her own world. A bullied kid doesn’t know how to stand up to his tormentors; you advise him to spend time in rigorous self-improvement and find a way to confront them on ground where he’s strongest. I’m sensing a theme here.”

“Again, I cannot take credit,” Branwen said, a picture of humility. “This is, needless to say, a secret, but I haven’t actually written these. I’m to serve as a public face, a personality; his Holiness has people providing the actual words.”

“We must not sacrifice our long-term goals for the sake of the short term,” Justinian said calmly. “Remember where this all ultimately leads, my friends. We strive for the elevation of humanity. It is never too early to urge that they elevate themselves. That, indeed, is the best possible use of our resources. In this case, it was convenient; the theme of self-improvement and empowerment has been increasingly trendy among the papers’ editors. The Wreath has been building this nest with great care.”

“Is it slightly disturbing to anyone else,” Darling asked grimly, “that we fit so neatly into a Wreath-shaped hole?”

“The Black Wreath’s theology, like all truly terrible ideas, has its roots in a good one,” Justinian replied. “Their rhetoric is filled with talk about human potential and human empowerment. That only becomes the disaster it is when married to their nihilistic hatred of the gods and predilection for diabolism.”

The others exchanged a round of silent looks. Basra finally laid down the papers and pushed the stack away from herself across the table.

“Moving forward,” the Archpope continued more briskly, “let us consider our current situation. This is the first decisive victory we have gained in this round of confrontations with the Wreath; this stage of their plan is undone, and in fact repurposed to serve our aims, but it would be naïve to consider this over. Placing newspaper columnists sympathetic to their goals is far too humble an aim to have been the entire point of this campaign, considering the resources they have already expended upon it, and I am reluctant to assume that having interrupted this step in the chain will throw their entire plan into chaos. The Wreath is characteristically too careful to let themselves be unmade by a single defeat.”

“Then that leaves our next moves to be made from much the same position as before,” Andros rumbled. “We do not know what they ultimately intend, much less what they will do next to achieve it.”

“Not quite,” Darling said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “This bit with the papers… Something that involved and long-term will have left trails that can be followed.”

“Precisely!” Justinian said with a broad smile. “Even assuming that some infernal craft was used in arranging this state of affairs, by far the most of it must have been the result of mundane manipulations. The Wreath are careful, but this is too broad a project for every trail leading from it to have been covered. That brings us to the now, and our next moves.”

“Well, Branwen’s role in this game is obviously settled,” Basra said wryly.

“Yes,” Justinian nodded while Branwen looked demure. “Which leaves the rest of you. Antonio, your particular skills are immediately relevant in following the trails from the newspaper offices. You are the master of information-gathering, particularly in Tiraas. May I leave this in your hands?”

Darling leaned slowly back in his chair, frowning pensively into the distance. “…I will do what I can, your Holiness. There’s a complicating matter I hadn’t had a chance yet to report on.”

“Oh?” Justinian raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been following up with our various cults, as directed,” Darling continued. “I have…disappointing news from the Thieves’ Guild.”

“I shall try to contain my shock,” Basra said solemnly.

“Really, Bas,” Branwen protested. “Must you?”

“Tricks acknowledged having played into the Wreath’s hands with his actions following the warlock attacks,” Darling said, ignoring them. “Where it gets dicey is that he says this was on the specific orders of Eserion himself.”

There was momentary silence while they considered this.

“Is it possible he himself is compromised?” Andros asked finally.

“Andros!” Branwen exclaimed, scandalized. “That is a high priest you are talking about!”

“It’s okay, Bran,” said Darling, giving her a fleeting grin. “It’s a fair question. And to answer it, the possibility exists. We should assume that anyone might be compromised. However, it’s my policy not to reach for outlandish explanations when a simpler one makes more sense. The Boss of the Guild being in with the Wreath is a major stretch; Eserion playing a game of wits with Elilial would be entirely in character.”

“Hm,” Justinian said pensively. “I can attempt to inquire, of course. The gods are not obligated to speak to me, however, and Eserion in particular has never held much regard for mortal authority.”

“Just so,” said Darling, nodding. “So, to bring this back around to the issue at hand… I’ll certainly do my best, but with regard to this situation, I think we had better regard the resources of the Thieves’ Guild as unavailable to us. Trying to make use of them right now will put us at cross purposes with Eserion’s gambit, whatever that is, and presents the risk that our efforts will get back to the Wreath themselves.”

“How severely does this hamper you?” Justinian asked.

“I built the Guild’s current information network,” Darling said with a grim smile. “I’m still me; I can get information as needed. However, with much of my customary toolbox off-limits, it will take…longer. I’m not sure how much time we have to work.”

“Then it is vital that we not sit and wait for you to complete this project,” Andros said firmly. “It is an important one—perhaps the most important—but we must proceed with other avenues while you carry it out.”

“What’d you have in mind?” Darling asked mildly.

“In the last several days, we have continuously erred on the side of aggression,” the Huntsman said, folding his hands atop the table and leaning forward to stare at them. “This has been to the Black Wreath’s advantage, and apparently a cornerstone of their strategy. I propose that we continue to accommodate them.”

“Interesting,” Justinian mused. “Go on.”

“The hunt must suit the quarry,” Andros said. “The Wreath are subtle; subtlety is needed in pursuing them. They will expect such subtlety from us and be prepared to counter it. I believe we have, here, an opportunity to outmaneuver them by playing to their expectations.” He turned to stare at Basra. “The actions of the Silver Legions were by far the most ostentatiously aggressive in the aftermath of their attack. If this continues, it will force them to adhere to their strategy of attempting to use it to discredit the Sisterhood. Meanwhile, my Huntsmen will undergo a more careful, more effective search for demons and warlocks active in the city.”

“I can’t help noticing,” Basra said flatly, “that it’s my cult which will bear the bulk of the effort and the backlash for this plan of yours.”

“I would not ask that it be done that simply,” Andros rumbled. “Whatever issues there are between our faiths, against the Wreath we are ancient allies. These matters, I confess, are somewhat over my head, but is there not something the priests of Izara can do to turn the tide of public opinion?”

“In fact, we are very well suited for that,” Branwen said with a smile. “I will speak to the High Priestess about this. It should be possible to counter the Wreath’s propaganda efforts against the Sisters and the Huntsmen while this is going on.”

“No,” said Andros, shaking his head. “Only against the Sisters. We should do as much as possible to focus the Wreath’s attention on them, including the direction of our damage control efforts. I assure you, my faith does not suffer in the least from being disliked.”

“Historically speaking, that appears to be the plain truth,” Darling said cheerfully.

“And so,” Andros went on, “while the Thieves’ Guild engages in whatever campaign it is playing, the Sisters belligerently pursue the Wreath with the full backing of the Church, and the Huntsmen more quietly and carefully cut down demonic forces, there will be so many balls in the air that Antonio’s pursuit can, with the blessing of the gods, proceed unnoticed.”

“Excellent, Andros,” Justinian said with a smile of simple approbation. “It is the basis of a solid plan indeed.”

“I think I can enhance it form my end, too,” Darling added thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t take much effort to create the impression that I’m involved in the Guild’s operations. The simplest way to do that, of course, is for me to be involved, which the Boss will expect anyway. Only downside is that means I’m going to have to chase the Wreath from a distance, via proxies.”

“Can you?” Basra asked archly.

“I think so,” he said, nodding slowly. “Yes. I believe I know just the people to tap for this job. This should work out well; Embras Mogul engaged me personally in Hamlet. There’s a link there; I’ll make a pretty good scarecrow to hold his attention.”

“I may have a problem on my end,” Basra said darkly. “The High Commander was not appreciative of my efforts. My authority with regard to the Legions has not been impeded as such, but if I try to send them out to do more of the specific thing she ranted at me for doing last time…there will be trouble.”

“There should be a path around that obstacle,” Andros said somewhat dismissively. “You flying off the handle and flailing with your sword is a very different matter from you exercising your authority on behalf of a Church-sponsored campaign in pursuit of a definite goal.”

Basra stared flatly at him, sliding her hands off the table so they couldn’t be seen. Branwen sighed heavily and planted her face in her hand.

“Andros,” the Archpope said quietly, with gentle but definite reproof.

“Forgive me,” Andros said, completely calm, and bowed slightly to Basra from his seat. “I am prone to speaking in haste. I should not let old animosities so guide my words.”

“Mm hm,” she said, not dropping her cold stare.

“Needless rudeness aside,” Justinian said, still regarding Andros reproachfully, “it is a point of some merit. This plan proposes to make direct use of the Silver Legions; we should not even consider attempting to do so unilaterally. Obviously High Commander Rouvad must be included in this plan, as well as Grandmaster Veisroi and High Priestess Delaine. Circumstances being what they are, it seems regrettably necessary that Boss Tricks can’t be brought on board. Or do you think he should, Antonio?”

“All things considered,” Darling said ruefully, “I don’t think any good would come of that. So long as the Guild is pursuing its own ends, we should assume anything Tricks knows will be used for his purposes before ours.” He sighed heavily. “For the record, I’m not comfortable with this. It’s been my long experience that Eserion invariably knows what he’s doing. If he’s using the Guild in a play against the Wreath, it’s certain to be a good one.”

“I have little personal experience with your god,” said Justinian, “but I am amply versed in the history of the Church and its member cults, and I concur with your assessment. I also believe that, whatever the Boss does or does not know, Eserion will be aware of the players moving and accommodate their actions in his own plans. As is my general policy in dealing with the gods, I think it is incumbent upon us to do our best and trust them to do theirs. Have faith in your deity, Antonio,” he added with a smile. “He knows your own worth, and will not condemn you for taking action outside his own cult.”

“Oh, that’s not what worries me,” Darling said with a smile. “The Big Guy knows what he’s about, no question. It’s just a new and uncomfortable perspective for me, regarding the Guild’s activities from outside.”

“I fear we shall all gain new and uncomfortable perspectives before this is over,” Justinian said solemnly. “But I believe we are equal to the task at hand. Remember who you are and what we are to achieve.” His smile was calm, serene, and utterly confident. “We are only human, yes, but when we are done, the word ‘only’ shall never again be applied to us.”

Darling, obviously, kept his many doubts to himself.

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“Well, what did you think was going to happen?”

The man sitting across the table from Darling hunched in his chair, glaring sullenly. He was a relatively prosperous-looking fellow, pudgy enough to suggest he lived quite comfortably, but not overly fat. His suit was of relatively good quality but fit him too imperfectly to have been tailored. Balding, middle-aged, his only calluses on his fingertips, he might have been any clerk or banker to whom no one paid a moment’s attention until they needed his services.

That was precisely what made his presence here so intriguing.

“It’s the signs, you see,” Darling went on, leaning back in his own chair and grinning easily, which caused the other man’s glare to deepen. “’Mortal world for mortal races,’ I like that. Catchy. It sort of falls apart when you think it through, though, doesn’t it? I mean, were you guys protesting the gods?” He chuckled aloud. “I’ve got to figure you were counting on them not to notice you. You lot certainly weren’t prepared for what would have happened if one of them had.”

The man’s sullenness increased, slightly but visibly, and not for the first time during this interview; Darling had been winding him up for a little while now.

“That’s not even the best one, though,” he went on merrily. “’Better the Wreath than the Wrath.’ Come on, what does that even mean? It might interest you to know that that piece of poster board is currently on display in a local city watch barracks in the mess hall. Or anyway, it was an hour ago; the captain’ll probably make them take it down sooner or later. At least the troops got a good laugh, though, right? You can’t say your day was completely wasted.”

“We didn’t make the signs!” the man burst out, then immediately clamped his lips shut, firmly folding his arms across his chest.

“Who did?” Darling asked mildly.

The suspect glared at him. “Did you just bring me here to make fun of me? Have you nothing better to do?”

“Have you?” Darling countered, grinning. “But no, actually, I didn’t bring you here. I’m just the first in a long line of people who ask the questions.”

He grunted. “I know the law. You can’t keep me here forever.”

“Well, sure, there’s that,” the Bishop went on glibly. “You’re not guilty of anything worse than disrupting the peace, which is a day in a cell at the most. You’ll note I’m presuming you are not actually a member of the Black Wreath. As is Imperial Intelligence. For the simple reason, you see, that no member of the Wreath would have been out doing something as toweringly boneheaded as protesting. In dramatic black robes, no less! Did you know their actual ceremonial robes are gray?” His grin widened at the man’s expression. “Aw, you really didn’t, did you?”

“If I’m being charged with creating a disturbance,” he grated, “I would like to be formally charged, please, and proceed to my cell.”

“Ah, I’m afraid that brings us to a sticking point,” said Darling, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table between them. “You see, nobody cares about your little protest, Anders. May I call you Anders? How about Andy? Smashing. Seriously, though, a handful of kooks in robes making a mess in the street? Bah. Frankly, I suspect if you get before a magistrate for that, most of ’em would consider your rough handling by the Silver Legions adequate punishment and send you off with a stern talking-to. The issue is that you’re not being held as a criminal; you’re being held as a source of information. You, Andy, know something that could lead to the capture of actual Black Wreath agents.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Anders said woodenly, putting on an ostentatiously stubborn expression.

Darling heaved a sigh. “Well, then, you’ve got yourself a problem, Andy. Y’see, as a suspected source of information on a declared enemy of the state, you’re being held on military grounds. You are a prisoner of war in an active conflict. Which means you are going nowhere. You will sit in that cell until Imperial Command decides you’ve given them every little scrap of information you possibly can. Then you’ll probably be released, unless they decide you’re an authentic threat to the security of the state, which isn’t likely, seeing as…well, look at you.”

Anders had grown more wide-eyed and pale as Darling spoke, and finally jolted up, slapping his hands on the table. “You can’t—”

Instantly, both the soldiers standing next to the room’s small door shifted forward, aiming their staves directly at him. Anders froze, looking first at one, then the other, then very carefully sank back down into his chair.

“Look, Anders,” Darling said calmly. “I know and you know that you’re not a rebel or heretic. You’ve got objections to the Empire’s way of doing things? Welcome to citizenship. You have a quarrel with some or all of the gods? I think you’d be amazed how very common that is, even within the Church. You had a little lapse in judgment and created a fuss in public? You and every university student in history. Meanwhile, whatever Black Wreath agent set you and your chums up with those robes and masks is running around, free as a bird and up to the gods only know what. Shamelessly using you as a distraction and a fall guy is the least of what they’ve likely done in the meantime. The last Wreath agents I encountered in the city had just murdered a harmless old woman who happened to get in the way of their attempt to murder an Izarite priestess.”

He remained quiet for a few heartbeats, letting that sink in, watching the uncertainty growing on his subject’s face. Anders had a very open face, at least to someone like Darling.

“The thing that puzzles me,” he finally said quietly, “is why you would protect them?”

Anders dropped his gaze to the table, clearing his throat. “If…um… If I help you…I can go?”

“Each broke more easily than the last,” Darling reported. “None of these folk had the slightest training in handling interrogation, nor any experience at it; not so much as a criminal record among them. Imperial Intelligence found no links of any kind to Wreath or dissident activity before yesterday, with either divination or mundane methods. They’re just average citizens. Tradespeople, clerks. Hence Lord Vex letting me handle the questioning.”

“So it is with the common folk,” Archpope Justinian said gravely. “I fear too many of the systems of our society are designed to keep people complacent. It has the side effect of making them vulnerable to such manipulations.”

“With respect, your Holiness, I’ve found the opposite is true,” Darling said, frowning thoughtfully. “Average sorts living from one payday to the next tend to have a very solid handle on the immediate practicalities of their lives. They might get swept up in events, but they don’t just up and do stuff that’ll cause them trouble. That’s the key, here; none of these protestors had any kind of record. It’s as if they all decided to drop whatever they were doing, put on some robes and try to irritate the Pantheon. People don’t act so rashly unless under duress, or severely provoked. None of them were provoked.”

“Hm,” Justinian mused, falling silent as they walked. They were strolling along one of the Cathedral’s more beautiful settings, the Hall of the Falls. The dais and pulpit of the huge main sanctuary was backlit by a semicircular array of stained-glass windows. Behind this was another, larger circle of plain crystalline glass, subtly lensed, that gathered and magnified the light from outside. Sandwiched between the two arches of glass was a half-moon-shaped walkway, from under which water constantly streamed in a short fall to a pool below. It was a brilliantly lovely piece of architecture, and also a favorite place for conversations which needed to be private. The arch of the walkway was shallow enough that one could not approach unseen, and the constant roar of water made it hard to hear a normal speaking voice more than a few feet away.

They were escorted, as always now, by two of those heavily-armored popinjays from Justinian’s Holy Legion, with two more at each of the Hall’s entrances. Privately, Darling thought that even his Guild streetfighting would be a match for one of them, and he wasn’t really a fighter. A lone Silver Legionnaire could probably cleave through this whole squad.

“It was my understanding,” the Archpope finally said, “that Vex’s investigation had eliminated the possibility of any magical duress placed upon the suspects.”

“He determined there was no evidence of any such duress, using the best and most modern methods available,” Darling replied, “which in my opinion gives us a far more valuable avenue of investigation than the paltry intel we got from the suspects themselves. The Wreath was too careful to let any agents be identified or traced, and disguise spells are too easy nowadays. However, read between the lines: all of these people exhibited totally uncharacteristic aggression under strange circumstances, strongly suggesting that they were magically influenced. There were zero lingering traces of any such influence. The Black Wreath is known above all for its ability to hide its workings from perception, even that of the gods. Now, the key here is that in all the Wreath’s history, there are no hints they’ve ever been able to use infernal magic to influence emotions. That’s fairy magic, characteristically. If they’re using their infernal technique to hide it, then it’s infernal spellwork, which means they have a new trick. Well, another new trick.”

“Hardly encouraging news,” Justinian said gravely.

“Well, no, but useful,” Darling replied with a smile. “Aside from the fact we now know they can do it, Elilial does not just spin new spells out of the ether. It has been eight thousand years—she’s taught her followers pretty much whatever she’s going to by this point, and in fact by a point long ago. New spellcraft is a mortal innovation. It means they’ve been conducting research. Research means materials and equipment procured, which, given modern economics, means there’ll be evidence of it somewhere, no matter how well they hide their tracks. Research means byproducts that would need to be disposed of, magically volatile trash of the kind that leaves scryable residue. It means, furthermore, they’d have been working with unknown magical quantities, so their usual concealment spells couldn’t have been applied consistently. The Wreath having a new spell means that somewhere, there are traces of its development. We just have to find it, now that we know what to look for.”

“Excellent!” Justinian said, turning to face him and clapping a hand on Darling’s shoulder, beaming. “Truly excellent work, Antonio! Each day I am increasingly grateful to have your aid.”

He was so perfectly sincere that despite the thorny hedge of unspoken maneuvering between them, Darling couldn’t help but feel pleased at the praise. Damn, but the man was good at what he did.

“I have news of my own,” the Archpope continued, releasing Darling and turning to resume their leisurely stroll. “Information, in fact, that should be quite interesting to Lord Vex, as a fair trade for his willingness to let you share the results of his investigation with me.”

“Something he doesn’t already know?” Darling asked with a wry smile.

“Quite possibly,” Justinian said seriously. “My queries have led me to Svenheim; the dwarves are displeased to the point of hostility with Tiraas in the wake of the Narisian Treaty, and have developed a tendency to block official government actions. I am accorded somewhat greater respect when I ask for cooperation.”

“I understood that the dwarves were mostly pagan…”

“Quite so,” said Justinian with a smile of his own, “but they are also mostly practical. The Pantheon is a reality that wise people do not ignore, as is its Church. I have only been obstructed outright in Themynrite lands, and that only after pushing the limits of the local judiciary’s patience.”

Darling filed that away for later investigation, nodded and made an encouraging noise in the back of his throat.

“This information is weeks old by now,” Justinian continued, “but after the suicide devices found on the Wreath’s attacking warlocks this week matched those from the Tellwyrn incident in Hamlet, I am convinced of its relevance. I tracked those syringes to the dwarven industrialist who owns the patent on that technology. She, of course, vehemently denies doing business with the Black Wreath, but confirms their origin. Most importantly, the brass-bound devices with the lavish engraving that the Wreath has used were promotional prototypes, given away in large quantity to various medical and alchemical organizations.”

“Hm.” Darling frowned thoughtfully. “That means it’ll be very hard to trace their paths…”

“All but impossible, I am assured. However, they were a limited run of products. All such bodies who now buy syringes from the firm in question purchase more modern ones, which are far plainer in design and made of either steel or a nickel/copper alloy rather than brass. Those prototypes which were used have been so, as of more than three years ago. We may assume that any such brass-bound syringes now found are a link to the Wreath.”

“That is good news,” Darling said with unfeigned enthusiasm. “Vex hasn’t mentioned any such thing, but of course he doesn’t tell me everything. I will pass it along, of course.”

“Of course,” said Justinian with a beatific smile. “And now, Antonio, unless you have urgent business on behalf of your own cult, I would like to take further advantage of your skills as an interviewer.”

“Of course, your Holiness. Anything I can do.”

“This may seem somewhat intrusive, but I assure you it is a necessary formality…”

“…and we’re just building the most complete possible picture of yesterday’s events,” Darling finished with a reassuring smile. “You’re not suspected of anything.”

“I’m relieved to hear that,” Branwen replied. “Though honestly, Antonio, it never occurred to me that I might be suspected of anything until you said his Holiness wanted you to question me.”

“Let’s avoid words like ‘question,’” he said with a grin, settling back in his chair. “It raises implications that just don’t apply here. Of course we know where you were during the demonstrations and the Legion’s response, that’s all academic. Really, the only blanks we need filled in are about what happened the night of the attacks.”

Her face fell, and she lowered her gaze to stare at the carpet between them. They were in one of the Cathedral’s small chapels, lavishly appointed and used by wealthy and important worshipers for private meditation—or sensitive discussions such as this. It was smaller than a bedroom, really, containing nothing but two comfortable chairs and an altar over which hovered a golden ankh, in what Darling considered a wasteful and ostentatious display of magical excess.

“I know how hard this subject is for you, Bran,” he said very gently. “Take all the time you need. Look, if you’re not ready to talk about it now, there is no rush. As I said, you’re not under any kind of suspicion. If you want to gather your thoughts in private…”

“No.” She shook her head, lifting her blue eyes to his. “No…thank you, Antonio, but I promised his Holiness that I would be ready to serve in whatever way was needed. What do you need to know?”

He smiled warmly at her. “I only have one question, really, but it’s rather broad. It’s about the kankhradahg demon; when I got there, it was evidently under your control.”

“Influence,” she clarified, but nodded. “I couldn’t have given him very specific instructions, but he was responding well to me.”

“Influence, then,” he said, nodding. “You realize that’s a very…remarkable skill for an Izarite cleric to suddenly display.”

“It had only a little to do with my own faith,” she said quietly. “Izara’s gift of perception was part of it, though. I could feel what the demon wanted, which was quite simply to be out from under the sway of his master, to strike back against them… And to feel cared for. They’re quite smart, really, kankhradahgs. Not sentient, but clever. About on the level of dogs.”

“I see.” Darling leaned back in his chair, still studying her thoughtfully. “And it had—forgive me—clearly already attacked Tieris. How did you wrest control of it away from the warlocks?”

“Warlock, singular,” she said with a soft sigh. “A simple demon like that is generally only beholden to one warlock. You are aware, of course, that the Church employs summoners?”

“Well…yes,” he said slowly. “I must say I never suspected you were one.”

Branwen actually laughed, softly and rather bitterly. “Oh, I haven’t that level of skill… But as a ranking agent of the Church, I do have access to some training. So do you, and to be frank, Antonio, you should think about taking advantage. It saved my life that night. Clerics cannot become warlocks; too much holy energy infusing our auras makes it impossible. It is possible, though, to bring demons across the dimensional barrier through arcane means, as we did in Hamlet. From there, they can be controlled to an extent with holy magic. Mostly with brute force methods and a lot less precision than an actual warlock has, but if you know where to put the barriers and where to apply the whip, holy magic can keep a demon in line.”

“Hm,” he said noncommittally, gesturing for her to continue.

“With a little coaching and experience, you can perceive demonic energies more clearly. And understand what they mean. Like, for instance, the bond between a summoner and his minion. I simply applied a blessing to that, like an ax to a chain.”

“And set the demon loose,” he said, nodding. “Lucky it didn’t turn on you.”

She shook her head. “He was angry at his masters; his first act was to turn on them. After that… As I said, Izara’s gifts help us in dealing with everyone. Even animals, even demons. The poor thing was badly in need of a little care. He responded quite well to it.”

Darling nodded again, his mind flashing back to what Flora and Fauna had told him about Branwen. She had a way of subtly influencing people’s desires, as opposed to just picking up on them as Izarites did. Allegedly that was the very habit that made her own cult nervous about her, but he could see how it had likely saved her that night. “I think I may just follow your advice, then. If we’re going to be wrestling with the Wreath, it sounds like useful knowledge to have.”

She smiled warmly up at him. “That particular trick wouldn’t work in all circumstances, of course. A more alert or powerful warlock could counter it. Also, a sentient demon is likely to have a more complex relationship with their summoner. Some might be eager to turn on the human who enslaved them, but others might remain loyal. It depends on the individuals and the circumstances.”

“Well, yes,” he said with a faint grin. “I’m sure we both know I’ll never have your knack for feeling out the truth in such situations. The kankhredahg was destroyed after all that, I take it?”

“Of course not,” she said, frowning prettily. “I made sure the Church summoners sent him back to his own plane. He was an animal, Antonio; an abused animal. There was absolutely no need to punish him any further. Everyone deserves a little compassion.”

“Of course,” he said soothingly. “Forgive me, I’m still growing accustomed to the nuances of dealing with demons. For so long demonology has been an academic interest of mine; something that occurred in history, not right under my nose.”

“Oh, I’m not blaming you,” she assured him, smiling again and even fluttering her lashes a little. “Like you said, none of us need to cast blame on each other. I assume, of course, you’re having these little conversations with the others, too?”

“Of course,” Basra said dryly, lounging back in the chair and crossing her legs in a rather mannish posture. “Questions are only natural. Don’t worry, I’m not offended; if Justinian suspected me of something, it wouldn’t be you doing the asking.”

“I’m glad to hear that, anyway,” Darling said carefully. “I’m still somewhat stuck on your little revelation, though. That was your idea? Forgive me, but I didn’t realize you had that much…pull with the Legions.”

“It’s a gray area,” she said with a smug little smile. “I’m not in the chain of command, per se, but due to the Church’s agreements with the Sisters of Avei, the sitting Bishop has certain prerogatives. Until Justinian put together his own adorable little legion, the Sisters provided the Church’s military arm, and the Avenist Bishop was always the link there. I can give orders to the Legion stationed in the city at need; Commander Rouvad can overrule me, of course—which she did this time—as can the officers directly in that chain of command. Funnily enough, most of the rank-and-file didn’t seem to have a problem with being sent out to crack Wreath heads.”

“Bas,” he exclaimed, “those weren’t Wreath you were rounding up! They were patsies being used by the Wreath, and by the way, I was watching one of those events. Your troops were a lot more casual about roughing up bystanders than I’m accustomed to seeing the Legions act.”

“Anyone who was injured was immediately offered healing the moment the combat zones were secure,” she said in a bored tone. “Why is this sounding exactly like the very tedious conversation I had with Commander Rouvad last night?”

“At a guess, because Commander Rouvad possesses basic common sense,” he said in exasperation. “You played right into the Wreath’s hands with that action, Basra. They couldn’t have asked for anything better if they’d been giving the orders themselves. In fact, until this little chat I was operating under the assumption the Wreath had got its fingers into the Third Legion somehow and you’d be able to help me figure out where.”

“So that’s it, is it?” she said very quietly. Her posture did not change, but there was suddenly an indefinable menace about her. “You think I’m a Wreath agent?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “That isn’t even a prospect. I’m seriously questioning your judgment, but you being in the Wreath is an extreme explanation; there are much simpler ones.”

“Such as?” she asked wryly.

“Basic personality profile,” he replied in the same tone. It wasn’t a deception, either; the very traits that made Basra a likely traitor, at first glance, all but ruled out her involvement in the Wreath. She was a purely self-interested person, and someone like that did not join a cult that was at war with the gods and virtually every mortal society in the world. Wreath cultists came in two kinds: true believers and thrill-seeking fools who hadn’t considered what they were in for. Basra wouldn’t have lasted a week in either group.

She grinned, which wasn’t a pleasant expression, but the air of hostility had faded from her, at least. “I could take that amiss, Antonio. You think me unreliable?”

“I think you’re exactly the person I’d want on my side if we were alone and surrounded by Wreath agents, seen or unseen,” he said, leaning forward and regarding her seriously. “You’re dangerous and crafty, Bas.”

“Aw, you’ll make me blush!”

“But you aren’t sensible. I’m not in the habit of lecturing you, but seriously, you cannot afford to be this easy to manipulate. The Wreath is just getting started; they’re going to keep pushing our buttons, trying to work us into a corner. Please think before you do anything violent; thanks to your crusading they’re actually making progress toward gaining popular sympathy, which is completely without precedent.”

It actually wasn’t completely without precedent, but widespread Elilinist belief among a civilian population hadn’t existed anywhere in centuries. Basra didn’t need to know about it.

Basra shrugged; the motion was casual, but her dark eyes were fixed on him with a burning acuity. “If we’re going to be criticizing each other, Antonio, I would turn that one back around on you. The short term has your full attention and you’re not thinking of the long. Yes, yes, I know, you’re looking ahead of the specific street battle to the Wreath’s larger campaign, fine. I wasn’t thinking of their campaign, I’ll grant you that. What I’m thinking of is society at large, and what the Wreath’s actions will mean.”

“Are you?” he asked warily.

She leaned forward, mirroring his posture. “They are always testing us in one way or another, Antonio. And they’re always manipulating us. In dealing with the Wreath, you simply have to accept that now and again you’re going to get maneuvered into conceding one of their objectives. But over the greater course of history, what matters is that they know, for a certainty, that if they step too far out of line the repercussions will be swift and brutal. These aren’t people like you and me. Frankly, I would hesitate to call them people at all. I mean, how do you reason with somebody who’s out to kill us all and flood the world with hellfire? What is even going on in the brain of a person who acts that way?” She shook her head. “They’re all about destruction and pain. It’s the only language they understand.”

“You were speaking that language in a very public venue,” he warned. “It wasn’t just the Wreath that heard.”

Basra actually sneered. “If we’re going to be truly honest with each other, I can’t find it in me to fuss overmuch about a few scuffed knees. In the long run, Antonio, the rest of society is better off for such actions as well. The world can see that the Wreath and its like won’t be tolerated. How else are they to sleep soundly at night? Okay, a few folk were roughed up. They were also healed afterward. They got a direct show of the gods’ power, right on the heels of vivid proof that there is a Legion standing between them and the demons. Frankly, I’ll bet those who were at the demonstrations are feeling safer right now than anyone else.”

Darling could only stare at her. That was the moment when he realized this conversation was going nowhere. Basra was adept at motivating, at manipulating, at getting people to do what she wanted; her whole career was proof of that. But it was a mechanistic understanding. She didn’t truly comprehend how human beings thought.

Fauna, he realized, had been right.

She smiled again, an expression that was more than half smirk, and leaned back in her chair, clearly taking his stunned silence of acquiescence. “Anyhow,” she drawled, “I’m not sure you’re in any position to be throwing stones. From the reports I’ve been getting, your cult was out very deliberately and literally twisting the arms of anyone who’s been near a warlock in the last year, and not offering so much as a ‘sorry’ to those who obviously had nothing to do with this.”

“I’m not my cult,” he said automatically. He leaned backward himself, gathering his thoughts; it was no time to look scattered or especially to reveal that he’d just been thinking too deeply about her. In fact, it was starting to look like showing any kind of weakness in front of Basra would be a bad idea. “Believe me, I’ve got some questions for a number of people in the Guild. Their actions are looking very much the way the Legion’s did to me originally: somehow the Wreath’s got levers to pull inside the organization.”

“Are you convinced the Legion doesn’t, at least?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Don’t scowl at me, Bas; the Wreath’s whole mode of operation is to infiltrate and influence. I am always working under the assumption that they have people in any organization I have to deal with. The Guild is tricky, though; we operate in much the same way. In a sense that’s lucky, as all I have to do is out whatever Wreath agent exists there, and the rest will take care of them without me needing to lift a finger.”

“Very neat,” she said with an approving smile. “It leaves you the problem of finding them, though.”

“Yeah…which is also made harder because, well… How do you spot a zebra in the tallgrass?”

“…what the hell is a zebra?”

“Nevermind, it’s a long story,” he said with a grin. “Point is, I’m gonna have to ponder this one, but please don’t get any ideas. I will handle the Guild; if you try to ‘help,’ a perfectly upstanding non-Wreath thief is likely to slit your throat.”

“Do I look like an idiot?” she scoffed. “I’m not going near your cult, especially after they showed up my Legions for brutality yesterday. That’s not to express disapproval, mind you, and I don’t know if I agree that they’ve been infiltrated. It sounds to me like your Boss understands exactly how the Wreath needs to be dealt with. I could wish Rouvad had such foresight. But, you’re clearly the expert.”

“Mm hm,” he mused, rubbing his chin. “In the meantime, I’m just left with Andros and the Huntsmen.”

Basra laughed aloud. “Best of luck with that.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

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The upper levels of the Crawl were disappointingly plain. The rooms were square, unadorned, and empty, connected by simple doorways. Now and again there would be side rooms whose entrances were covered by iron gates, but Professor Ezzaniel ignored these, leading them through a sequence of chambers cut from the granite of the mountain and lit by occasional torches.

Ezzaniel himself was uncommunicative, to which the students were accustomed; even in class, though he could be quite snide with uncooperative pupils, he did not speak unless he had something in particular to say. The freshmen were mostly too groggy to make conversation anyway, and trooped after him in silence. Fortunately, he seemed to know where he was going. The dungeon thus far seemed more tedious than ominous, but the interconnecting identical square rooms with multiple doors would have been a very effective maze if one did not know the path.

“It’s clean,” said Teal after several minutes. “…too clean.”

Ruda groaned.

“I’m serious! Look, there’s no dust, no cobwebs. No mouse droppings or dead insects… See the torches? No soot marks on the walls or ceiling above them, no ash below. And who’s keeping those burning anyway? This does not look like the kind of place that’s been locked behind a heavy door and metal grate.”

“Maybe Stew cleans in here, too?” Gabriel suggested, half-heartedly smothering a yawn.

Fross chimed excitedly. “The Crawl, like most adventuring dungeons which are classified as such, is a self-regulating genius loci subject to massive magical interference with objective natural law. Among other things, it’s apparently self-cleaning!”

“Can somebody please put that in Tanglish for me?” Gabe asked.

“That was Tanglish!”

“He’s making a joke, Fross,” Teal explained. “It means—”

“I know, I’ve heard that one before. I reject the joke because I was speaking quite plainly and Gabriel is an arcane arts major who really should know all those terms!”

“First, it’s stupid o’clock in the morning and my brain is not awake yet,” said Gabriel irritably. “Second, I’m a first-year arcane arts major and haven’t been putting in nearly as much study time as you apparently have, because I do need sleep, and also a social life.”

“Porking the resident dryad whenever she isn’t too busy does not constitute a social life,” said Ruda, grinning.

“Up yours, Punaji, I have other friends.”

“Who’s porking?” Juniper demanded shrilly. “I haven’t—I would never— The only pork I eat is actual pork! I don’t know where this ‘long pig’ thing got started but I wish people would stop throwing it in my face!”

The group staggered to a stop, everyone staring at her. Ezzaniel got a few paces ahead and paused in the doorway to the next dim chamber, turning to look back at them with a raised eyebrow. Juniper folded her arms defensively around herself, her eyes darting back and forth.

“Oh, what are you all looking at?” she demanded huffily, then turned and stalked off after Ezzaniel. The others trailed after somewhat more slowly.

“Right. Well. Anyway.” Toby cleared his throat. “For those of us who aren’t arcane majors, Fross, can you put it in layman’s terms?”

“Layperson’s terms,” said Gabriel, grinning and nudging Trissiny with his elbow. “Amirite?” She gave him a disdainful look.

“All right, well, I assume you all remember Professor Yornhaldt’s class last semester?” Fross said, buzzing about their heads and casting her glow in erratic patterns around the chamber through which they were passing. “The difference between magical and non-magical physics is the difference between subjective and objective reality. Right? That was our very first lesson.”

“Right,” said Toby when nobody else replied.

“Okay, so! A genius loci is a place that has totally subjective physics! The very rules of reality themselves are completely different there!”

“That is deeply disturbing,” Trissiny muttered, glancing suspiciously around at the apparently empty room through which they were passing.

“So,” Fross nattered on, “it needs two things: an absolutely massive abundance of raw magical energy, and some kind of guiding intelligence. This results in places like the Golden Sea and the Deep Wild, where the rules are just plain different. It’s also the case in the great dungeons.”

“Wait, stop,” said Ruda. “You’re telling me this place is intelligent? Holy fuck. I’m seriously tempted to take the F and bug out.”

“What? You? Run away?” Gabriel turned to grin at her. “And me without my lightcapper.”

“Get fucked, Arquin. I’ll fight anything that lives, but being fucking digested by a giant sentient dungeon… Shit, I wanna go home.” She peered nervously around at the blank walls.

“It’s probably not that bad or Professor Tellwyrn wouldn’t have sent us here,” Fross said consolingly. “I mean, there are intelligences and then there are intelligences, y’know? Generally they don’t even think in anything like the way we do, so it’s not like we could actively communicate. People have tried. And they’re all different! Most of the dungeons are the result of things the Elder Gods did at various times. More recently, there’s Athan’Khar, which is powered by the residue of Tiraan superweapons and the dead souls of all that died there. As far as I know, nobody’s sure who or what is running the Golden Sea or how it happened, but the Deep Wild is Naiya’s domain. So…different rules in all!”

“Right,” said Teal, nodding. She seemed to have become more alert over the course of the discussion. “So the Golden Sea has several predictable rules and doesn’t get nasty unless people try to screw with it, like the centaurs do. Athan’Khar, on the other hand, pretty much wants to kill everyone who sets foot in there. I’m guessing Tellwyrn wouldn’t have sent us in here if the Crawl was quite that hostile?”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” Ruda snorted. “Which Tellwyrn are you talking about?”

“Well, this mountain was once the stronghold of an Elder God before another Elder God destroyed it,” Fross said cheerfully. “I don’t figure it’s too friendly. But yeah, students go in here every year and rarely die. We’ll be fine!”

Trissiny sighed loudly.

The group came up short, several of the less attentive colliding with others. Professor Ezzaniel had stopped ahead of them, studying a blank surface of stone.

“Welp,” said Gabriel after a moment. “That sure is a wall.”

“It seems to have shifted again,” Ezzaniel noted. “The upper rooms are usually fairly stable, but the Crawl does like to change things around. No matter, it’s always fairly straightforward before you descend the main stairs. Excuse me.” They made way as he moved back through the group, exiting the way they’d come and turning left in the next chamber.

Lacking anything better to do, the students trooped after him.

“Pardon me, but does this mean you don’t actually know where we’re going?” Gabriel asked.

“I have the basics of an idea,” Ezzaniel said calmly from up ahead, his voice echoing in the semi-lit chamber. “As I said, the upper Crawl is quite benign, and I’m accustomed to it. Incidentally, I will only be guiding you through this initial stretch. Once we reach the actively dangerous areas, you will be responsible for finding your own way.”

“Lovely,” Gabriel groused. “What the hell is the point of all this, anyway? I mean, this is like learning to churn butter by hand. That shit isn’t relevant anymore. Nobody goes dungeon-delving!”

“Gnomes do,” Trissiny noted.

“So does the Empire,” Toby added.

“Right, sure, fine, but that’s because they own all the dungeons! Is anybody here planning to join an Imperial strike team after graduation?” Gabriel divided a pointed look among the rest of them. “Anyone? Yeah, me either. I don’t see what the purpose is of teaching us how to be an adventuring party. This is stupid.”

“Have you shared that opinion with Professor Tellwyrn?” Ezzaniel asked mildly.

“Do I look immolated to you?”

The Professor chuckled. “Arachne, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is rather more laid back than I in many respects. She doesn’t mind being yelled at, cursed at or even threatened—convenient, as she has a tendency to inspire those responses in people. She would be quite offended if you questioned her intelligence, however. I advise you not to learn firsthand what her offense looks like. Her methods may be confusing, but nothing Arachne Tellwyrn directs you to do is pointless.”

“What could we possibly gain from this?” Gabriel exclaimed. “Hell, five years ago I’d have thought it was the most awesome thing possible, to be on an actual dungeon dive. Okay, yeah, fine, it’s still sort of awesome. But right now I’m more concerned with the fact that I could die and it’d be for no purpose except learning how to have a successful career three hundred years ago.”

“The adventuring party enjoys a prominent place in Tiraan culture and legend, I have observed, and perhaps rightly so,” said Shaeine. “If nothing else, this will be an excellent lesson in teamwork.”

“And in appreciating history!” Teal chimed.

“Bah.” Gabriel stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and slouched sullenly. “Screw this place.”

“Okay, let’s not take it out on the place,” Ruda said nervously. She gently patted the stone frame of a doorway as she passed through it. “Good Crawl? Nice Crawl?”

“The Crawl is an excellent teacher,” Professor Ezzaniel said calmly. “Ah, here we are.”

The last square chamber they had entered had, instead of a wall opposite the door, an opening, from which a wide staircase descended. Two torches bracketed the entrance.

“Well, that’s good and ominous,” said Gabriel.

“Yes,” Ezzaniel said equably, stepping to one side. “All right, in you go. The path from here is quite straightforward. It will lead to the place from which the remainder of the expedition will be launched. You have officially moved beyond needing a guide. Go on, then.”

“Right,” said Trissiny, stepping forward into the gap. One by one, the others followed.

“Should we take the torches?” Toby asked.

“We’ve got Fross,” said Teal. “And several of our group can make light if needed.” She smiled at Shaeine.

“Two of those would harm Gabriel in doing so,” Trissiny pointed out.

“I think we’ll be fine,” Gabe said, trooping down the stairs. They descended just far enough that the topmost step was out of sight of the bottom, then terminated in a square landing and turned left, continuing down. Torches hung at the landing, too, but it grew quite dark near the middle of each flight. “Fross glows normally, Shaeine can make light that won’t hurt me. So can Vadrieny, for that matter.”

“All right,” Fross said briskly as they turned the corner onto the second stretch of steps, “we should discuss our strategy. Trissiny! Sponge or deepsauce?”

“…what?”

The pixie chimed sharply and bobbed twice in the air. “I’m talking about damage. Are you output or mitigation?”

“…what?”

“Uh, Fross,” said Teal, “have you by any chance been reading the old bardic scrolls?”

“Yes I absolutely have!” Fross said excitedly, zooming back to flutter around her. “Professor Tellwyrn likes to change up the timing so it’s a surprise, but there’s always a Crawl expedition in the second semester of the freshman year, so I’ve been studying up to be prepared for weeks now!”

“Uh huh,” Teal said with a smile. “And…you found Findlestin’s glossary of adventuring terminology, didn’t you.”

“Yes! It was very informative!”

“Which edition?”

“Well, all of them, but of course I made sure to study up on the most recent one.”

“Right. Fross, hon, the most recent edition of Findlestin was printed in 1031. It’s a hundred and forty-seven years old.”

“Well… I mean, yes, we all know adventuring parties as a formal institution are kind of outdated…”

“The thing is, if you’re talking about slang—which that stuff was—slang is by definition defined by popular use. If there isn’t any popular use, it’s not slang; it might as well be a foreign language. Nobody’s going to understand it.”

Fross drifted lower till she was fluttering along at about the level of their knees. “But…but…I memorized it. The whole thing.”

“Sorry, little glowbell,” said Ruda. “History isn’t always as useful as Tellwyrn likes to think.”

“That’s okay, though!” the pixie declared, rallying and zooming back up to her usual altitude just about their heads. “I’ll walk you all through it in layman’s—I mean, layperson’s terms, sorry, Trissiny—and we’ll all have it down in no time!”

“Oh,” said Ruda. “Good.”

“So! Trissiny! With regard to inflicting harm,” Fross continued, zipping forward to hover in front of the paladin, “would you consider yourself more of a harm-inflicter or someone who prevents the infliction of harm to herself?”

Trissiny came to a stop, staring at her. From the back of the group, Ezzaniel sighed heavily in exasperation.

“Fross,” Trissiny said after a moment, “what are you talking about? In any kind of fight you have to do both.”

“But this is how they did it! There are dedicated party roles, and—”

“Yeah, that’s really not gonna work,” said Ruda. “Do you not pay attention in Ezzaniel’s class?”

“Of course I do! But this is an adventure, and we’re a party. There’s a system.”

“It’s a hundred-year-old system that nobody uses,” Gabriel pointed out.

“That just isn’t true! Standard operating procedure for Imperial strike teams is based directly on the operating manuals written by the ancient Heroes’ Guild!”

“Imperial strike teams,” said Shaeine, “train for the purpose of operating as a single effective unit, relying on each other to act without the need for thought or communication. It is in a way a more intimate relationship than exists between family. Perhaps the adventuring parties of old operated in a similar manner, but… While I have enjoyed growing closer to each of you over the last several months, I would not consider us to be quite that tightly knit.”

“Shaeine, you have got the greatest knack for understatement I’ve ever heard,” said Ruda.

“Look, Fross,” Toby said firmly, “we appreciate your help, but this isn’t going to be functionally different from the Golden Sea, or Sarasio. We can operate as a unit, up to a point, and we’ve been getting better at it. But…it’ll have to be our way, not the way they did it in old-style adventuring parties.”

Fross let out a long sequence of soft chimes as if sighing heavily. “I’m just saying, they did it that way for a reason, is all.”

“Then be ready to consult on adventuring practices as needed,” said Trissiny, resuming her walk. “For the most part, though, Toby’s right. Better we stick to what we know.”

“So, we bicker and bitch at each other, generally fuck everything up and barely pull it out of the bag at the last minute?”

“That’s very helpful, Ruda, thank you.”

“You got it, roomie, I’m here for you.”

They descended for a good half an hour, the path remaining starkly the same. Left turns at right angles, going consistently downward. The group quickly lost any sense of how far they had gone; Ezzaniel offered no opinions, even when pressed.

“This is awful,” Juniper groaned, plodding along. She had fallen to nearly the rear of the group. “This is worse than the Golden Sea. At least there was life out there. Trees are not meant for hiking!”

“Well, you could try rolling down,” Ruda suggested somewhat snidely. “Logs roll, don’t they?”

“That’s a little insensitive,” Gabriel said with a grin. “A log is basically a tree’s corpse, right?”

“Corpses roll too,” she replied. “Downhill, at least. That is a scientific fact.”

“It’s not a bad idea, though,” the dryad mused, picking up her pace and pushing forward past the others. “Clear the way, please.”

“What’re you…” Trissiny stopped mid-step, her eyes widening. “Juniper, no!”

Disregarding her, Juniper rounded the next corner and hurled herself bodily down the steps, smashing down in a series of thumps and grunts. The others, with various outcries of alarm, rushed down the remainder of the flight they were on, regrouping at the landing to stare anxiously down.

“Juno?” Gabriel called. “You okay?”

“Wow!” At the next landing down, the dryad gathered herself and climbed to her feet, waving up at them. “That was actually fun! You guys have gotta try this! Oh, wait, no…you’d probably get hurt.”

“That’s not how you explore a dungeon,” Fross huffed quietly. “What if she springs a trap?”

“There are no traps up here,” said Professor Ezzaniel. “Still, it might be better if she didn’t—”

“Tallyho!” the dryad shouted, dashing forward and diving face-first down the next flight of stairs.

Trissiny sighed heavily, then raised her voice. “Just don’t get too far ahead!”

 

“I share your grief, Branwen,” the Archpope said, looking and sounding like he meant it sincerely. “I am grateful that you, at least, came through the night’s events uninjured. If you would like to take some time to heal…”

“Thank you, your Holiness,” she said quietly, with a faint tremor in her voice. “It would only be time to…to welter, though. I would rather be at work.”

“As you wish,” Justinian said, nodding. “Should you change your mind, you have only to say so. I’m glad you thought to go to her aid, Antonio.”

“I’m afraid everything was done by the time I got there,” Darling admitted.

“That, though, was beyond your control. It pleases me that you so quickly discerned the nature and motive of the attack and that your first action was to help your fellow Bishop.” The Archpope smiled at him, then turned to the two sitting along the other side of the opulent conference table, his expression growing more solemn. “I have heard the basics of what befell you two, as well, but would you kindly add your reports to Branwen and Antonio’s? It’s best if we are all on the same page.”

“The same pattern,” Andros said curtly. “Three warlocks, in robes. They carried, among other things, those syringes with death-drugs, though none of the three which assaulted my lodge had the opportunity to use them. I was meditating in seclusion, and was late to reach the scene of the confrontation. I was last to the battle and able to finish the remaining two warlocks. They entered my personal chambers and assaulted my wives.”

“Good gods,” Darling exclaimed, straightening up in his chair. “Are they all right?”

“They are recuperating,” Andros replied, smiling with such fierce pride that it was visible even through his heavy beard. “The healers tell me they will not bear permanent injury, though they are being given time to mend the various bruises of the battle. It is a common misconception among infidels that because Shaathist women are obedient, they are also weak. Nothing could be further from the truth.” He angled his head defiantly, as if to stare down his nose at the world. “There is neither honor nor satisfaction in dominating a dishrag.”

“I’m glad to hear that, at least,” said Darling. “Though let’s refrain from throwing the i-word around in mixed ecclesiastical company, yes?”

Andros grunted, which was likely as close to acquiescence as he was likely to get.

“Same here,” Basra said. “Three of them in standard Wreath robes. I was hosting the two Legion cadets I’m sponsoring at my residence that evening. I’m afraid they were both roughed up a bit in the action, too, but it was thanks to Elwick that things didn’t go a lot worse. The girl has a great deal of exposure to demons, and gave us warning that something was coming.”

Andros turned to her, scowling. “And just why does a Silver Legion cadet have great exposure to demons?”

“You remember events at Hamlet, I trust?” Basra said, giving him an unpleasantly cloying smile.

“Of course,” he growled. “It’s no stretch of the imagination to deduce that’s the cause of this attack.”

“Well, as you may recall, we appropriated several of the Wreath cultists’ children in the course of that. I’ve given the girl sponsorship in the Legions; she’s training with the Third right now. Elwick is actually quite promising; she’s certainly eager to put the errors of her upbringing behind her.”

“How fortuitous,” Darling murmured, wondering what Basra was up to. It was hardly like her to support the careers of others out of the goodness of her heart. Of course, there was also the question of what she was doing with two young girls at her home at four in the morning—girls whom she held in a vulnerable, subordinate position. At the intersection of both questions was a possibility; he made a mental note to find out whether she lived up to the Legionnaire stereotype with regard to her personal preferences.

“Indeed,” the Archpope intoned, looking directly at him. “Antonio, I suspect that your mind has brought you to the same conclusions at which I have arrived. I wonder if you would share with us your assessment of the Wreath’s motivations?”

“Of course, your Holiness,” Darling said, folding his hands on the tabletop and frowning thoughtfully. “To begin with… I think they won this round.”

“Won? Are you mad?” Andros snorted. “We slaughtered their entire attacking force with only one casualty, and none of their primary targets suffered harm!”

Darling was shaking his head before he finished speaking. “Think about who we’re dealing with, Andros. The Black Wreath serve the goddess of cunning; like all our cults, they take the aspect of their deity as their primary virtue. If this is in response to Hamlet, they’ve had months to study us, lay plans and make preparations. And you really think the result of all that would be a haphazard, half-hearted brute force attack? No… Killing the four of us was not the motive.”

“Whatever you think they were up to, they squandered the lives of twelve magic users to do it,” said Basra, frowning. “They either considered this hugely important or they’ve got a lot more personnel to draw upon than we realized.”

“Those are questions to which we can’t know the answers, I’m afraid,” said Darling.

“What is it you think they were after, then?”

“Think about what they did, or tried to do. Where they directed their efforts. Andros’s wives, Branwen’s servant and friend, Basra’s proteges. I have two live-in apprentices and a convalescing acquaintance at my home; I think they would have been the targets had my Butler not intercepted the Wreath at the door. And you two haven’t mentioned it, but I noted that at both my place and Branwen’s they used the front door.” He shook his head again. “This wasn’t an assassination. This was a provocation. They want us hurt, angry, and striking back.”

There was a brief silence while they all digested this.

“That, indeed, is how the matter appears to me,” Justinian agreed after a moment. “I’m glad to see I wasn’t alone in coming to that conclusion. It raises the very tricky question of what we must do now, however.”

“The obvious thing would be not to give them what they want,” Andros rumbled, “but in dealing with the Wreath, the obvious course is seldom the right one.”

“And that’s why I think they’ve got us good and proper, this time,” said Darling. He reached over to squeeze Branwen’s hand. “The Izarites aren’t interested in revenge, but the rest of our cults are another matter. The Sisters, the Guild and the Huntsmen will not take this lying down—and to be honest, we couldn’t make them even if we wanted to. It’s about to be all-out war on the Wreath.”

“In the streets of Tiraas,” Branwen murmured, visibly appalled.

“A witch hunt of the worst kind,” the Archpope agreed. “I can and will enforce moderation in the Church’s response, but you are right: the independent cults are beyond my control, and those three at least are not tolerant of such brazen affronts.”

“What could they possibly gain by calling down all that wrath on their own heads?” Basra exclaimed.

“I very much fear we’re about to find out,” said Darling. “The pertinent question is: what do we, the four of us, do? We’re in a dicey position; right at the center of this and tied to both the Church and our cults. We can’t really afford to break with either. Both we and whichever organization we sided against would lose face right when we need it most.”

“That can be mitigated by the nature of the Church’s response,” said Justinian, “which, I assure you, will be suitably nuanced. You will have my full support in this matter. As for what we are to do…” He drummed his fingers once on the tabletop, the ring of his office flashing in the light. “For the time being, we must wait and see what the Wreath is up to, along with the rest of the world. That does not mean we shall proceed blindly. In the first place, we will play along.”

“It is sometimes necessary to step into a trap,” Andros agreed, nodding. “The outcome may not be as the trapper wishes, if the prey knows it is there.”

“Just so,” said Justinian, then smiled. “And while we are allowing ourselves to be victimized by the Wreath’s plan… I believe there is a way we can use it.”

 

“Juniper,” Trissiny said, “don’t try to roll down these steps.”

“Well, obviously,” the dryad said reasonably. “I could fall!”

“Astute as always,” Ruda muttered.

It had been more than an hour of walking, and they were all sore in the legs and even more tired than when they had started out; unless the internal geography of the Crawl was truly unhinged—which was apparently not impossible—they were well below the surface of the prairie by this point. Professor Ezzaniel had refused to let them stop for a rest, insisting that the perfect place to do so was up ahead. No one had argued too strenuously, as what they wanted was breakfast, and no one had any food.

Now, they appeared to have reached their destination, or nearly so. The angular, spiraling staircase terminated into a truly vast open space, the size of a stadium in diameter and plunging down an impossible distance. Above were vaguely-glimpsed stalactites in a shadowed ceiling vastly far away; the floor of the cavern, if there was one, was too far down to be visible, but whatever was down there emitted a reddish glow that sullenly lit up the whole chamber. It wasn’t a vertical shaft, either; it plunged at a roughly forty-five degree angle. Almost as if it had been vertical before the mountain was sunk.

Directly from their feet descended another staircase, this one half as broad as the wide ones they had traveled thus far, and arching unsupported across a horrifying stretch of space. There were, of course, no guardrails. Similar stairs could be seen both above and below their level, going to and from points they could not discern. The steps before them ended in the far wall, in which a massive stone head at least four stories in height had been carved into the rock, angled so that it stood upright. The steps ran straight to its open mouth.

“All right, we should check for traps before proceeding,” Fross declared. “I have a statistical divination spell that can randomize outcomes on a scale of twenty reference points corresponding to magical threat levels. Once I code in the variables we’re checking for, it should warn us of any traps within an acceptable margin of error. This’ll just take a second.”

“Fross,” Gabriel said impatiently, “I may not be up to your study habits but even I know the Gygax Charm hasn’t been used in decades. Modern divinations are vastly more accurate.”

“It’s traditional!”

“There are no traps,” Professor Ezzaniel said wearily from behind them. “There will be no traps, nor enemies, until you have proceeded beyond what lies at the bottom of these steps. For heaven’s sake, students, get on with it. And watch where you put your feet.”

“You’re good with levitation spells, right, Fross?” Trissiny asked.

“Well, of course! That’s how I mostly interact with the world. You’d be amazed how much picking up of stuff is necessary in human society! Well, I mean, you would if you’d never actually thought about it, which I’ve noticed most of you haven’t. Uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” the paladin said gravely. “We’re all going to step carefully, but I need you to watch over the group and catch anybody if they fall.”

“Oh!” Fross zipped back and forth in excitement. “I can do that!”

“Good. All right, everyone…single file. I know it’s not that narrow, but let’s take no risks.”

She set off down the stairs, the others falling into line behind her.

The staircase was indeed broad enough that any of them could have laid down on the steps and neither their heads nor feet would have come near the edge. However, given the lack of rails and the staggering heights involved, it was still a nerve-wracking descent.

“What d’you suppose is down there?” Gabriel asked about halfway down. “Lava?”

“Can’t be,” said Toby. “The heat would whoosh up this shaft and cook us right where we stand.”

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” Ruda growled.

Trissiny stepped onto the small landing below the gloomy face’s nose with relief. In addition to being off those infernal stairs, from this vantage she didn’t have to see that huge thing scowling at them. The others clustered around her, several with soft sighs mirroring her reaction.

The face’s open mouth formed a short tunnel; set into the wall just in front of the was a wooden door with an iron latch. Next to it hung a sign, in Tanglish.

“The Grim Visage,” Teal read. “Well, it certainly is that.”

“Care to give us a hint on what lies ahead, Professor?” Toby suggested.

“Yes,” said Ezzaniel, deadpan. “If you open the door, you will find out.”

“This is gonna be one of those trips, isn’t it,” Ruda muttered.

Trissiny clenched her jaw, grasped the handle and pulled the door open. She stepped cautiously through, moving forward enough to give the others room to enter. They did so slowly, fanning out in a cluster just inside the door.

They found themselves in a room full of monsters.

An ogre sat in the far corner, his head brushing the ceiling even sitting down, clutching a barrel from which he drank like a pint glass. Near the door, three drow were clustered around a table, two women and a man; to judge by their “armor,” which was flattering but more decorative than functional, and the matching unpleasant grins they gave the students, they weren’t Narisian. A small group of gnomes were playing cards near a roaring hearth, two goblins were arm wrestling the next table over, and at the far end of the room, behind a bar, stood an improbably pretty man with pale skin and no shirt on. He grinned at the sight of the students, stretching spiny incubus wings. As they stood there staring, a naga slithered past them, carrying a tray of mugs.

The occupants of the room looked up at the new arrivals, and then mostly went right back to their drinks, games and conversations.

“Why is it,” Gabriel asked after a moment’s silence, “that wherever we go, we end up in some kind of bar?”

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