Tag Archives: Emperor Sharidan

10 – 12

Uncategorized, , , , , , , ,

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                          Next Chapter >

Jenell rapped on the door a third time, her expression growing increasingly sour, and stepped back from it. As before, there was no sound from within the room.

It was still before sunrise; the sky peeking through the windows behind her was gray, but light enough to reveal the silhouettes of trees, and the shapes of the Viridill mountains beyond. She folded her arms, tapping a foot impatiently, then stopped and corrected her posture when another woman rounded the corner of the hall, strolling her way with a pastry in hand.

She was a little older than Jenell and not as pretty (a point of data she always noticed about other women, Avenist training be damned), wearing the long but clingy robes common to this temple, with a pink lotus badge at the shoulder. The Izarites here in Adhran had their sigil embroidered directly onto their robes, rather than using the enamel pins favored by the cults in Tiraas. The priestess gave her a warm smile and a nod of greeting; Jenell snapped to attention and saluted silently.

Not that she was obligated to, under the circumstances, but one of the Legionnaires stationed to guard this temple had taught her that trick the night before, after she had been cornered three times by clerics and offered everything from hugs and candy to therapy and sex. They meant well, but it got very obnoxious, very quickly. However, they wouldn’t bother a soldier they thought was on duty. Hence the saluting.

The woman passed around the corner on the other end of the hall, and Jenell scowled, stepped forward again, and rapped on the door for the fourth time.

She gave him to the slow count of ten, then raised her gauntleted fist and began hammering viciously on the wood.

It was absolutely amazing how long that went on before getting a response; by the time the door was opened from within, she was starting to expect another priest to come see what the racket was about before the room’s occupant did. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that.

Unfortunately, it immediately looked like her troubles were only beginning.

Schwartz was a wreck. The puffy bags under his eyes almost hid them, and he slumped against the door frame, apparently unable to balance on his own. He had the worst case of bed hair she had ever seen or imagined; in fact, it was almost unbelievable that he’d gotten it to stick up that much without effort and the application of some kind of product. His eyes were open unevenly, the left one barely slitted. As she took in the sight of him, he blinked, slowly, eyelids out of sync.

“Bmwlaah?” Scwhartz enunciated.

“Good morning,” she said crisply. “Time to go.”

He blinked again, more evenly this time. “Uh…bm. Carvin.”

“No, but close. You really don’t handle sleep deprivation well, do you?”

“Wha…I the…s’fin…” He paused to yawn widely enough to display molars. “Wha?”

“You’ve slept about four hours,” Jenell reported. “Based on your comments yesterday it was your second night in a row of not getting enough rest. I see we’ll have to avoid that in the future, if you’re going to be around much longer. Now get dressed, we have to go pick up the Bishop.”

“Was…saw th’elves,” he said blearily, still blinking his eyes.

“Yes,” she said patiently, “and that was the last interesting thing that happened yesterday, so I suppose I can forgive you for blurring out the subsequent details. You were half-asleep by the time we got here. You can nap in the carriage, we need to…”

She trailed off, staring. His eyes had drifted shut and he slumped against the door frame, gradually sliding forward and down. As she watched, he actually began to snore again.

Jenell sighed, gritted her teeth, and pulled off one of her gauntlets. Schwartz snorted and jerked when she thrust the tips of her forefinger and thumb into his left nostril. When she yanked out a few tiny hairs, he let out a yowl and shot upright, eyes wide and blinking.

“There,” she said. “Is that better?”

“Ow!” he protested, clutching his nose.

“Sorry,” she said, insufficiently motivated to try for a sincere tone. “It used to work on my dad when I was little. I know you’re tired and not used to it, Mr. Schwartz, but I need you to get ready and be downstairs, in the carriage, in fifteen minutes. We have to go to the Legion barracks and get Bishop Syrinx, then head back to the Abbey. And I will not be late.”

“Legion…barracks…Bishop.” Apparently marginally more alert, he peered around. “We’re not…there? She’s not here?”

“We are at the local Temple of Izara,” Jenell replied. “She left orders to pick her up by seven in the morning. That means we have to go. I would willingly break a few of your limbs to stay off Syrinx’s shit list, so believe you me I will not hesitate to drag you through the halls in whatever state of undress I find you in if you’re not down there in that carriage in fifteen. Clear?”

“Carriage,” he said, yawning hugely. “Broken limbs, yes. Fifteen. Just lemme…”

“Do,” she said curtly. “And don’t fall asleep again. You don’t want to test me on this.”

“M’kay,” he mumbled, turning to shuffle back into the room. Jenell stayed long enough to observe that he was going for the wardrobe, not the bed, before turning and striding back down the hall. She didn’t bother to shut the door. It wasn’t like anyone in this temple would be unused to the sight of a skinny man getting undressed.

On her way back to the temple’s side exit, she paused only to duck into a lavatory and thoroughly wash her hands before putting her gauntlets back on, checking her face in the mirror by habit in the process. Bags under her own eyes, though not as bad as his… She was used to functioning without much sleep, these days.

The stables were positioned around to the side of the temple, out of sight of the exquisitely manicured gardens and main courtyard out front, where guests would not have to behold such mundane trivialities as the horses that brought them—or what those horses left behind. Jenell wasn’t sure if this was due to Izarite doctrines about pleasure and relaxation, or simple old-fashioned snobbery. Likely some combination of the two. The temple did have designated parking for enchanted carriages next to its stables. Not much parking, there being only four slots, but it was something. It surprised her not in the least that some of those who frequented the Temple of Izara were wealthy enough to have such fripperies even in this district—or that the clerics would pander to them. Cults served everyone equally, in theory, but it was the rich whose donations kept things running, and the rich never let anyone forget it.

The carriage, unsurprisingly, was exactly as she had left it last night, after returning from driving the Bishop to the Legion fortress atop the hill. There was no reason it shouldn’t have been, considering the area, but Jenell had learned to assume the worst about everyone and everything, and let her life be filled with pleasant surprises. She climbed into the driver’s seat and activated the control rune, listening to the hum of the enchantments that purred to life from beneath. They were barely audible while parked.

A figure appeared in the temple door and headed toward her, waving. Jenell nodded politely back, considering repeating her salute trick for a moment, but decided against it. He was obviously coming right for her anyway, and in any case he would know her situation, having had it explained last night.

The high priest in charge of this temple had been introduced to her as Brother Nansin, no other title being given, not that she understood how Izarite rankings worked. He was a tall, slender man with broad Western features on a narrow face. Not bad-looking, but not one to turn heads. She had noticed that; it seemed the disciples of the goddess of love ought to be pretty people as a rule. This was Jenell’s first chance to spend prolonged time in their company, and found them to be generally average-looking.

“Good morning, Private Covrin,” he said politely, coming to a stop beside the idling carriage.

“Brother Nansin,” she replied. “Thank you again for your hospitality. I hope we weren’t too much of an imposition.”

“Guests are never an imposition, of any kind,” he said firmly, but with a warm smile. “The followers of Izara are here to provide for the needs of all who come to us. I appreciate Bishop Syrinx’s willingness to bring us up to date on the dangerous events unfolding. Obviously, Avei’s followers will and must take a more central role against such a threat, but it seems likely there will be many people hurting in the near future, if you are not successful in putting it to a swift end. We shall stand ready.”

Well, he was definitely a ranking priest. No one else could make a speech out of “good morning, and thanks.”

“The goddess grant it is so,” she said diplomatically. She could have tried for a solemn tone, but Izarites were supposed to be able to sense emotions and hidden motives; standing this close, he might be aware of her disinterest in the conversation. The most polite course of action seemed to be simple…politeness.

“I’m sorry you must leave us so soon,” Nansin said, still smiling. “Is your friend on the way?”

“I hope so,” Jenell said frankly. “He’s likely to be embarrassed if I have to go fetch him again.”

At that, the priest cracked a more genuine grin. It faded after as second, however, to a pleasant and calmly open look that she recognized, and she stifled a sigh. After last night, she recognized that expression.

“I feel I have to apologize for some of my brethren,” he said. “I didn’t learn until after you had retired last night that several members of the order had approached you. Obviously, they know not to bother the soldiers on duty guarding the temple, but here, a guest is a guest. I hope you weren’t made uncomfortable.”

Well. That hadn’t been quite what she was expecting.

“No harm done,” she said calmly. “I appreciate the good intentions.”

“Good,” he said, nodding, still wearing that caring almost-smile. “We have taken in Legionnaires in the past.”

Jenell went still. “Pardon?”

“Not often,” Nansin continued, “and not permanently. But situations arise from time to time in which a soldier is placed in a position that is not easily resolved through the chain of command. We have some experience in negotiating matters with the Legions to ensure they are protected from reprisal and able to return to duty. Really, it is not so difficult as one might fear. The Legions are nothing if not devoted to justice, and quick to discipline those who abuse their structure at the expense of fellow soldiers. Sometimes it just takes a little outside help to identify who is culpable, and who is a victim.”

“That’s very interesting,” she said stiffly, adopting a bored tone and turning to watch the door for Schwartz.

He followed her gaze, standing in silence for a moment. Not leaving. She repressed another sigh when he began speaking again.

“I assume you are aware of Izara’s gift to her clergy, the ability to feel the emotional needs of those around us.” Nansin hesitated for a moment before continuing, still gazing into the distance. “Of course, I mean no lack of respect to the Sisterhood or the Legions, but… It requires only being in a room with Basra Syrinx to sense that something isn’t right, there.”

He glanced up at her; Jenell stared woodenly ahead, ignoring him now.

“I was, of course, attentive to her warnings and requests when the three of you convened in my office last night,” Nansin went on. “Still, it was impossible for me not to notice, Private Covrin, the way you tense in her presence, and particularly the agitation you feel when she directs her attention at you. Obviously, that doesn’t tell me a whole story, but I have seen enough of humanity to paint a general picture—”

“Brother Nansin.” Jenell turned bodily in her seat, bending over the edge of the humming carriage and leaning down to stare flatly into his face. “Mind. Your own. Business.”

He held her gaze in silence for a long moment, then nodded. “Your privacy is sacrosanct. Anything an Izarite cleric senses in your presence will never be revealed to anyone, unless you request it. Just know, please, that we are never as trapped by circumstances as they make it seem. If you thought you had nowhere to go, Jenell, let me promise you that you can always come here.”

Jenell straightened up and stared icily at the temple’s side door, ignoring him in truth now. They were clearly past the point of politeness, and not at her instigation.

Nansin gave her another moment, then sighed very softly and bowed. “I wish you a safe journey, Private Covrin. Thank you again for the warning you brought us.”

He turned and glided away on long legs, around toward the front gardens this time, rather than back through the side door. Jenell glanced once after him, as he rounded the corner, but thereafter kept her eyes fixed on the side entrance, mentally composing herself.

Fortunately—for him—Schwartz emerged with a few minutes to spare, looking somewhat disheveled but far more functional. His hair had been wetted down and attended to, and was merely mussed rather than disastrous, and nothing was going to hide those bags under his eyes any time soon. He had managed to get into his clothes correctly, though, and was also carrying a bottle filled with dark liquid.

“Hi,” he said, clambering up beside her. “Morning. Very nice people in there, they gave me some strong tea for the trip.” He paused to yawn again. “Hope I didn’t make us late… I’d kill for a cup of coffee right now, but I expect it’s not realistic to expect that to be found outside a port city…”

“Don’t you want to ride in the back?” she said mildly, half-turning to nod at the cushioned seats behind and below.

“Oh,” he said awkwardly. “Well, uh, if it’s a problem, me being up here…?”

“I don’t care,” she said. “This bench isn’t very comfortable, though. With the lack of padding, you’ll feel every bump.”

“That’s fine, it’ll keep me awake,” he replied, managing a weak grin. “I’d just feel… Um, kind of awkward, being ferried around by myself back there, like you were my private driver. Sort of pretentious, y’know? I’ll probably hop in back when we get the Bishop.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, placing her hands on the turning wheel and thrust lever. The carriage’s hum heightened as she guided it forward.

He waited until they had exited the temple grounds and were on their way up the hill toward the fortress before speaking again.

“So… I expect you’ll find this an odd question, but…” He paused, grimacing self-consciously, and fiddled with his bottle of tea. “Why were we in the Temple of Izara?”

Jenell glanced over at him, permitting herself a small smile. “You really don’t function well without sleep, do you?”

“Well, I don’t think anyone does,” he said defensively. “It’s not just the last two days, either… I’d just finished up a research project when Sister Leraine asked me to assist the Bishop, and of course I was honored! But, you know, I’m not used to, uh, field work. Or field work and then half a night’s sleep…” Another yawn forced him to stop, and he took a long swig of tea. “Also, I could really go for some breakfast.”

“They’ll probably give us provisions at the barracks,” she said, focusing on guiding the carriage through the early morning traffic. The semi-rural townsfolk were up with the dawn, though luckily most of them weren’t on the roads yet. Other than the occasional chicken or dog, she had little trouble; the people they saw mostly wanted to stare at them. Or at the carriage, which to her amounted to the same thing.

“So, and I’m sure this was all explained last night and it just went in one ear and out the other… Uh, why were we sleeping in the Izarite temple while Bishop Syrinx went to the Legion fortress?”

“The Bishop felt it was important to inform the Izarites of the possible danger,” Jenell said, her eyes on the road ahead. “Once there, she asked Brother Nansin to put us up for the night. The reasoning, as she explained it, was that our group had clearly been targeted by our mysterious antagonist, and she was likely the primary target. In the event of an elemental attack overnight, she wanted it directed at her, in the presence of a barracks full of Legionnaires. Putting us in a separate place was a security measure, in case the worst happened; we could return to the Abbey and tell Abbess Darnassy what we discovered. The Izarite temple was ideal, since elementals are severely disadvantaged on holy ground, and Izarites in general are almost impossible to dislike, which would make such an attack less likely. At least, that was how she explained it.” She glanced over at him. “Also, where’s your rat? Did you forget her back there?”

“Oh!” Schwartz clapped a hand to his head. “Thanks for reminding me! No, she’s fine, I just dismissed her for the time being. What you were saying about elementals was true—Salyrite temples have protections for multiple kinds of magical beings, but Meesie gets very uncomfortable in other sanctified spaces. Hang on, I’ll—”

The carriage bumped on a loose cobblestone, and he had to grasp the bench for balance, nearly losing his grip on his tea bottle in the process.

“Told you,” Jenell commented.

“Ah, yes, on second thought, I believe I’ll wait to re-summon her until we’re on the way back. Don’t want to leave it too long; she gets depressed without regular attention. But the Legion barracks will be blessed, too, won’t it?”

“Probably,” she said, not bothering to remind him that their eventual destination was the Viridill Abbey, one of the most sacred places in the world.

“Anyhow,” he said, re-settling himself on the bench, “I suppose that all makes sense, when you explain it that way. I mean, honestly, I’m a little puzzled at some of the logic, there, but I’m sure the Bishop knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m sure she does,” Jenell murmured.

“It was good of her to think of protecting us,” he added after another swig of tea, sounding more cheerful. “And the Izarites! Very thoughtful…”

He seemed baffled when she burst out laughing.

“Ah, Schwartz, you are adorable, you know that?”

“Um, well, I…” He actually blushed. “Thanks?”

“Basra Syrinx is probably the only person who can lie to an Izarite priest right to his face and not be called down for it,” she said, her expression growing grim in the aftermath of her sudden mirth. “She was hoping for an attack directed on us. We’re weaker than she is, and we’d have been in the custody of a goddess weaker than hers, as she sees it. That’s what she would have done if she were targeting this group.”

He blinked twice. “I say… But that… Why?”

“She told the truth about one thing,” Jenell said, her eyes fixed on the approaching fortress. “Nobody hates Izarites. Even here in Viridill, where their religion isn’t widely approved of, it’s impossible to truly dislike them. They’re just so harmless. Downright cuddly. One of the biggest problems we face in finding the person behind the elementals is social: he’s probably a member of a community that holds itself apart. Or maybe not, I’m not sure I understand how the witches around here work. But the point is, people would rally against anyone who assaulted a temple of Izara. That would be an ideal outcome from her point of view.”

Schwartz was silent for a moment, staring straight ahead and seeming to forget his tea.

“That’s rather…cold,” he said at last. “Are you… That is, I mean, did she tell you this?”

“Didn’t need to,” Jenell said wearily. “I know how she thinks. You want some good advice, Schwartz, avoid getting on Basra Syrinx’s bad side. You have no idea what that woman is capable of. If you’re lucky, you’ll never have any idea.”

“Herschel,” he said quietly.

“Bless you.”

He grinned at that. “Hah, like I’ve never heard that one before. No, it’s… That’s me. Herschel Schwartz. Fine old Stalweiss name that nobody from Tiraas can pronounce, so I won’t take offense if you mangle it.”

She gave him a long, appraising glance, which he met with a hesitant expression. He was not at all the sort of person with whom she’d have been caught dead associating, in her life before the Legions. Still… He was nice. As banal a thing as that was, she was learning to see the value in it. It had been a long time since she’d talked with anyone who was actually, simply nice. Well, nice and not annoyingly aggressive about it, like the Izarites.

“Jenell,” she said finally, then added with a smile, “when I’m not on duty.”

“Jenell, then,” he said, smiling back. After a moment, he averted his gaze, coughing awkwardly. “Well, ah, anyhow, I appreciate the, er, heads up, as it were. I’ll keep it in mind. Though I suppose it’s to the best the Bishop’s on our side, isn’t it? I mean, sure, if you’ve got to deal with someone that cold, it’s reassuring to know they’re one of the good guys.”

Once again, he seemed confused as to why she was laughing.

 

Quentin Vex was permitted into the Imperial sitting room at his request, needing only to wait for the Imperial Guard manning the door to announce him. Once inside, he bowed deeply, tucking the newspapers he carried under his arm.

Two very attractive young women stood at the back of the room, near the breakfast service, carefully distant from the table where the meal was laid out. Milanda Darnassy and Isolde Fraunsteldt were both youthful and of a curvaceous build, but otherwise a study in contrast: petite and dark-haired, and tall and blonde, respectively. They would be those with whom the Emperor and Empress had spent the previous night, now present to serve breakfast in the absence of servants, one of the more peculiar little customs the Imperial couple had developed. There was always at least one, though the Empress chose to sleep alone about half the time. Also present and discreetly unobtrusive against the wall was a black-coated Hand of the Emperor, this one a pale man on the shortish side.

The Emperor and Empress were having breakfast with a nobleman Vex recognized, and had not expected to find here.

“Your Majesties,” Vex said. “Lord Amfaedred. My humble apologies for intruding.”

“You are forgiven,” Eleanora said mildly. “I assume this is important, Quentin?”

“Important, your Majesties, but not necessarily urgent. I can come back…?”

“Oh, please don’t put state business off for my sake,” Amfaedred said hastily, rising and bowing to his liege. “I thank you deeply for the honor, your Majesty, but I’m sure I have taken up too much of your priceless time as it is. With your permission, I’ll withdraw so Lord Vex can carry on with what I’m sure is very important business.”

“Of course,” Sharidan said, with a knowing little smile. “Thank you for visiting us, milord.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine, your Majesty. Entirely.” With another bow and an unctuous little smile, Lord Amfaedred turned and scurried out of the sitting room with more haste than was seemly.

“My sincere apologies,” Vex repeated as soon as the door had been closed behind him. “I was not aware that you were confronting Amfaedred today.”

The hint of reproach in his tone was so faint it might almost have passed unnoticed. That was still more than virtually anyone else alive could get away with, here.

“It was a spur of the moment idea,” Eleanora said with a mischievous smile. “If we weren’t planning on having him for breakfast, just think how surprised he was to be summoned. Anyway, Quentin, our aims were accomplished. He knows his financing of House Leduc is not a secret. Now we wait.”

“If I gauge the man correctly,” said the Emperor, absently picking at his fish, “he’ll either drop the whole thing, or panic and do something rash. In either case, you will of course have him under close observation?”

“He already is, your Majesty,” Vex replied. “I’ve no doubt I’ll be informed by my assistant that he was here the moment I return to the office. A remarkably capable young lady, but she does enjoy being cheeky.”

“What brings you here so early?” Eleanora asked. “Or should I simply ask how bad it is?”

Vex cleared his throat. “I wonder if your Majesties have seen the papers yet today?”

“Actually, I can’t remember the last time I read a newspaper,” Sharidan remarked. “Being that I have an Intelligence service full of individuals who are exorbitantly paid to bring me information before the journalists get to it.”

“Sometimes the news is not newsworthy,” said Vex, taking the papers out from under his arm and approaching the table. “Or rather, it reveals more about the editors than about the world. I trust your Majesties remember the affair last year involving the Black Wreath’s attempt to place columnists in all the major papers, subverted by the Universal Church?”

“Which resulted in the Church’s first celebrity Bishop,” said Eleanora, “who spouts ideas that are eerily similar to Wreath theology. Yes, this rings a bell.”

“It would appear the Archpope’s influence with the papers is still in effect,” said Vex, laying the newspapers down on the table and fanning them out so their headlines were visible to the Imperial couple.

They stared in silence for a moment.

“Snowe vs. Tellwyrn,” Sharidan read at last. “Don’t think less of me, Eleanora, but I suddenly want to actually see that.”

“Bishop blasts adventurer University,” said the Empress, reaching out to shift the paper on top so she could fully see the headline underneath it. “Who appointed Arachne Tellwyrn? A valid question, but one with an obvious answer. She did.”

“This is remarkably one-sided coverage,” Sharidan mused. “I assume this is a representative sample?”

“It’s not every paper carrying the story,” said Vex, folding his hands behind his back, “but the others have a consistent theme. Critical essays and opinion pieces challenging the University are running all over the Empire this morning; only most of them reference the Bishop’s rather inflammatory remarks at Last Rock this weekend. The unanimity of opinion, here, suggests an organized effort.”

“Now, why on earth would Justinian try to start something up with Tellwyrn?” the Emperor wondered aloud. “I confess, Lord Vex, when you reported Snowe’s speech to me I thought you were being over-cautious.”

“You were correct, your Majesty; I was. That is, after all, my job. The improbability of this campaign is, I think, largely why I didn’t notice it gearing up. That, and it would only take an afternoon to get these things written and sent to the printers. I didn’t truly imagine that Justinian would act so aggressively against Tellwyrn. There seems to be nothing to gain.”

“The question remains,” Elenaora said sharply, “what is he trying to do? That woman couldn’t possibly care less about public opinion; the best he can hope for is to rile her up, which will have consequences for a lot of people besides him.”

“For that reason alone, your Majesty, I suggest acting against him,” said Vex. “But in addition, I believe it suits our interests to support Professor Tellwyrn.”

“Oh?” Eleanora said dangerously.

Vex cleared his throat. “For the last year, since the success of the Sarasio incident, I have been discreetly in contact with the Professor, pointing her toward trouble spots throughout the Empire. She is, as you are aware, fond of using such things as class exercises; I deemed it a wise use of resources to have her students handle issues I was already monitoring.”

“Is that so,” the Empress said very quietly. “Why is this the first I am hearing of this?”

“I did not judge it worth your Majesties’ attention,” Vex said evenly. “I will, if you command, inform your Majesties of everything I do, but the sheer volume of reports would negatively impact both my efficiency and your attention span.”

“You are on thin ice, Quentin,” Eleanora said flatly.

“To be quite honest, then,” he replied, “I knew you wouldn’t like it, your Majesty. I wanted to see if it would work before you shut down the idea.”

“Does it?” Sharidan asked in an interested tone.

“Quite well, in fact,” Vex replied, turning to him. “Their success rate has been better than my agency’s, I must admit, though they do tend to cause a great deal of disruptive ripple effects that my agents avoid; that, I think, makes all the difference. Overall they perform as would be expected from trained adventurer teams. I am speaking, of course, of the adventurers from the days of the Heroes’ Guild, not the freelancers of the last century. And it goes without saying that I suggest only lower-priority incidents to Tellwyrn; I don’t want her or her students near anything truly sensitive. I would regard this project as a great success, and one with important implications for the future.”

“Go on,” Eleanora said evenly.

“The truth, your Majesties, is that Professor Tellwyrn and her University are just not going to go away, and nothing we do can make them. For fifty years she has managed to passively coexist with the Empire, but that cannot endure forever. I would rather she be with us than against us. Using her students to solve small problems advances our goals and hers, trains the Empire’s most dangerous young citizens to act in the Empire’s benefit, and strengthens the Throne’s relationship with Professor Tellwyrn. I am sure I need not remind your Majesties who it was that removed the last Emperor of the Ravidevegh Dynasty from the Silver Throne.”

“And so,” Sharidan mused, “she is tentatively with us, and Justinian is suddenly against her. Well, this does seem very cut and dried, doesn’t it?”

“That in and of itself is suspicious,” Eleanora remarked.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Vex agreed. “I cannot guarantee that part of the Archpope’s motivation is not to act against an established ally of ours. Regardless, he has mostly evaded reprisal from the Imperial government by operating scrupulously within the law, or through sufficient proxies that we could never justify action against him without seeming to be the provocateurs. In this case, he has overreached. Whether he does not expect a response from us, or expects a mild one, I feel it is time to surprise him.”

“What are you proposing?” asked the Emperor.

Vex leaned forward to tap one of the newspapers with a fingertip. “Whatever his goal, this is about public opinion. The Church and the Empire have different ways of swaying it; ours are better. I think it’s time to make Tellwyrn a hero and her Univeristy one of the Empire’s proudest holdings.”

Eleanora rolled her eyes; Sharidan glanced at her, then returned his gaze to Vex.

“Interesting,” the Emperor said. “I’m inclined to agree with your reasoning. The good Professor has never caused problems except in retaliation, and if it is indeed impossible to continue ignoring her, she makes a far better ally than enemy.”

“I’m afraid I can’t disagree,” Eleanora said, not without reluctance.

“There are a couple of additional points,” said Vex, “which I include strictly on the basis of timing, not because I see direct connections between them and this incident. But this propaganda campaign was launched literally overnight, and I take notice of anything related to the Church which happened at the same time.”

“Such as?” Eleanora prompted.

“For one, Bishop Snowe wrapped up her revival tour in Last Rock. She is now en route to Viridill, where Bishop Syrinx has been for the last few months. I do not yet know what either of them are up to; my information suggests that Syrinx is being punished for something by Commander Rouvad, though the Sisterhood is surprisingly adept at keeping me out of their business. Regardless, Snowe and Syrinx are known confidantes of the Archpope. And there is that unfolding issue in Viridill. I was informed yesterday that Syrinx herself was sent to address it by the Abbess.”

For a fleeting moment, he glanced up at Milanda, who stood demurely with her hands folded at her waist. She did not acknowledge the conversation, though Isolde looked at her sidelong.

“Mm,” Sharidan murmured. “Keep us informed.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

“You said ‘for one,’” Eleanora prompted. “There’s more?”

Vex raised an eyebrow. “Antonio Darling has abruptly left the city.”

The Imperial couple exchanged a loaded glance.

“As I’m sure you recall,” Vex continued, “the last time he did so, it was to collar a handful of Black Wreath agents at the Archpope’s behest, in the company of his fellow Bishops. That was the incident, in fact, which brought them all to our attention. Now… I have seen no indication that he is working for the Archpope in this matter, but Darling’s motivations and loyalties are always a complex matter. He is currently in Veilgrad, in the company of Joseph Jenkins of Sarasio, and a Huntsman of Shaath named Ingvar, who may or may not be a woman. The issue is…muddy.”

“A female Huntsman?” Sharidan said, raising his eyebrows. “Is that even possible?”

“Is this perhaps a dual spirit?” Eleanora asked. “I believe the Shaathists disagree on that doctrine, but some of their sects support it.”

“Religious dogmas of that kind are outside my realm of expertise,” said Vex. “I have ordered a dossier compiled on this Ingvar character, and will be fully up to speed on the matter by tomorrow. For now, that is all I know. My policy with regard to Darling remains constant: we learn a great deal by watching what he does, and would gain little by interfering with him. If I begin to see signs that he is more strongly connected to the Archpope than I thought, however, I may revise that policy.”

“Agreed,” said the Emperor, nodding. He glanced at Eleanora, who nodded in return. “Very well, you may proceed at your discretion.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Vex bowed again, gathered up his papers, and turned to go.

“Lord Vex,” the Emperor said quietly when he was nearly at the doors. Vex turned back to face him; he and Eleanora were both gazing at him with inscrutable expressions.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“The fact that Justinian got this plan of his to every newspaper before you learned of it,” Sharidan said evenly. “The troubles at the south gate that very nearly derailed negotiations with the Conclave, the disaster in Veilgrad where Intelligence agents were foiled by chaos cultists, the misjudging of the threat in Desolation… I do not expect perfection from our servants; that would be insane. But this sequence of bloody noses and black eyes begins to resemble a pattern.”

“I have observed it too, your Majesty,” Vex replied in perfect calm. “I assure you, it is about to cease.”

“Are you certain?” Sharidan asked. “The will of the people is the only thing that truly supports the Church or the Empire. Justinian is now acting on that directly. The stakes…”

“With respect, your Majesty, Justinian has played this game with us successfully till now because he was very careful to operate only in his own sphere of control.” Vex smiled, thinly, and coldly. “He is now in mine. I mean to make him feel unwelcome.”

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >

9 – 1

Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >

The Imperial Guard were well familiar with Underminister Darouzheh, which undoubtedly saved his life when he burst in on the Emperor and Empress having a state lunch with the Sifanese ambassador. Indeed, the fact that he was well known around the Imperial Palace was the only reason he could have possibly been permitted to dash pell-mell through its halls the way he apparently had, to judge by his breathless state of near-collapse upon entering.

Instantly, five staves were pointing at him, humming audibly with conjured destruction waiting to be unleashed. More guards moved to cover the windows and doors in case of further intruders, while the currently present Hand of the Emperor placed himself between his liege and the intruder so rapidly he almost appeared to have teleported.

Darouzheh completely ignored all of this.

“Your Majesties,” he gasped, doubling over. His paunchy frame was clearly not designed for the kind of exertion he had just experienced. “Emergency! Dragons!”

With that, he slumped forward, panting so hard he could barely stand. The guards powered down and lowered their weapons, the nearest actually stepping over to gently brace the Underminister lest he collapse entirely. At a flick of the Empress’s fingers, a maid darted forward to pour a carafe of water, which she carried to the gasping bureaucrat.

Sharidan had risen to his feet, gently moving the Hand aside with a touch to his shoulder. Ambassador Fujimatsu finally set down his teacup, studying the scene with admirable calm.

“That,” Eleanora said flatly, “is an unacceptable combination of words.”

 

“Dragons,” Darling said, “and chaos.”

“That’s a bad combination of words,” McGraw noted.

“Don’t I know it,” the Bishop replied, his expression serious. “Unfortunately, that’s not the scary part.”

“How is that not the scary part?” Billie demanded. “Why is there always a scarier part?”

They sat in the comfortable downstairs parlor in the Bishop’s home, Darling in his customary seat at the head of the coffee table, the others around it. No one had yet commented on Mary’s absence from the group, but it was even more palpable than her presence. When she was there, she had a way of quietly deflecting attention from herself.

“This is all I’ve been getting out of the Archpope’s oracular resources for the last week,” Darling continued. “You probably know how it is with oracles—or you may not, Justinian does seem to have a good percentage of them squirreled away. It’s all ‘that from beyond which is not,’ and ‘the titans of two forms,’ and an innumerable throng of vague metaphors to that effect. These things are difficult to read at the best of times; it took me a solid day’s work to suss out the consistent themes. Dragons, and chaos.”

“I think I see what the scary part is,” Joe murmured. “Now, granted, all I know about oracles is from readin’, and most of what I’ve read I suspect is more fictional than it liked to pretend, but any event in which all the oracles shut down and refuse to talk about anything but a coming disaster…”

“Yes,” Darling said, nodding at him. “In fact, that’s more than just common sense. This is a recognized apocalyptic portent.”

“Never staved off an apocalypse,” Billie said thoughtfully. “Bet that’s a feather in the ol’ cap, an’ no mistake.”

“Sounds like a titanic pain in the ass even for those who survive it,” Weaver grunted. “Who else knows about this?”

“And now we come to the complicating factor,” Darling said with a sigh. “Obviously, Justinian knows. There are the other Bishops who have access to his oracles, too; I don’t know how frequently any of them make use of the resource, but if they’ve tried in the last week, they know. None of them have mentioned it to me. What the Empire does or does not know I can’t be sure. I passed the warning on to the Hand of the Emperor with whom I work, and was told that the matter had been foreseen a good long time ago and the Empire has resources in place.” He shrugged.

“Just who are these other Bishops?” Joe asked.

“Don’t worry about that,” Darling said, waving a hand. “Justinian’s the one who demands our attention.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Darling,” Joe replied very evenly, “but we are well past the point of that bein’ an acceptable answer.”

A momentary silence fell, Darling lifting his eyebrows in an expression of mild surprise. Standing by the door, Price shifted her head infinitesimally, focusing her attention on Joe.

“After that stunt you pulled this spring,” the Kid continued, staring at the Bishop, “I am just about done gettin’ the runaround from you. Pardon my pushiness, but when I ask for details, you provide details or I walk out.”

Weaver snorted softly. Billie raised an eyebrow, turning to regard the Bishop expectantly.

“Well,” Darling said with a slight smile. “Upon reflection, I really don’t have any counter to that, do I? Fair enough. Not that I think it’s any concern of yours and I am possibly risking clerical censure by sharing the details, but the Bishops of Avei, Shaath and Izara also have access to the Church’s hidden oracles.”

“That,” McGraw mused, “is a right peculiar assortment.”

“Bishop Syrinx has been off in Viridill on some Avenist business for the last few weeks,” Darling continued, “and I dismiss Varanus and Snowe from consideration because I’ve had indication several times before that both are fully behind his Holiness in whatever he chooses to do. Anyhow, this leads us back to the problem at hand, and what we intend to do about it.”

“Dragons and chaos,” Billie mused, kicking her legs idly. Sitting on the edge of the loveseat as she was, her feet didn’t nearly reach the floor. “Well, it does bring to mind an obvious answer, dunnit? Shame that’s almost certainly an ol’ wives’ tale.”

“Y’mean Belosiphon?” McGraw replied. “Or however you pronounce it.”

“You said it correctly,” Weaver said, rolling his eyes. “Which is kind of impressive when it comes to any dragon’s name. Tell me, Elias, does this ‘confused old man’ act usually succeed in deflecting suspicion?”

“Sorry, sonny,” McGraw said innocently, tugging his earlobe. “You’ll have to speak up, I’m a mite deaf on this side.”

“Yeah, well, point being,” Billie said with a grin, “we’re talkin’ about a legend from the time of the Elder Gods. You’re a bard, Damian, you know as well as I that any tale from that long ago’s not gonna have more’n a smidge of fact in its lineage.”

“Don’t use my first name,” Weaver growled.

“Yes, quite so,” Darling said, nodding seriously. “It’s inconceivable that there could really have been a chaos dragon, and the story is so old and from a time of such confusion that it’s just not sensible to give it any credence. So, imagine my surprise when I learned that the Church has specific records of Belosiphon, and knows roughly where his skull is buried.”

“Typical,” Joe muttered.

“Are you rubbin’ me ankles?” Billie demanded.

“I…have no idea,” Darling said, blinking.

Weaver shrugged. “Doesn’t particularly surprise me. One of the gods is chaos-tainted; why not a dragon? If anything, the odd thing is how no dragons since have ended up that way.”

“Nothin’ odd about that,” McGraw said. “Dragons tend to be wiser sorts than the average run of mortals, even before they’ve lived a few thousand years. Takes somebody exceptionally stupid to meddle with the powers of chaos.”

“Which is precisely the issue,” Darling said firmly. “Everytime a significant chaos artifact has surfaced, some imbecile made a good effort at seizing and using it. You being adventurers, I’m sure you know most of those stories, and how they ended. With the oracles giving warning, we can make two solid assumptions: at the intersection of ‘dragons’ and ‘chaos’ is Belosiphon the Black, and action has to be taken to prevent someone from meddling with his skull. It’s in the northernmost region of Upper Stalwar Province. That’s right about where the plains meet the desert in a particularly unappetizing little corner of flat scrubland, just below the foothills where the Dwarnskolds and the Stalrange intersect.”

“I’ve been there,” McGraw said, nodding. “The Badlands. Beautiful country, if you don’t have to live in it.”

“There’s actually a place called the Badlands?” Weaver said scornfully.

“Aye,” Billie replied with a grin. “After tryin’ to keep their butts alive in it, the residents were too worn out to think of anythin’ more poetic.”

“Here’s where it gets even more interesting,” Darling continued, his expression grim. “I’ve been rooting around in every official record I could find, both Church and Imperial. The actual location of Belosiphon’s skull is not known, merely the general region, but there are hints that more precise records do exist. It is worth mentioning, here, that I do not have access to all of Justinian’s hidden archives. Second, the Empire has almost no presence in the area. Third, this is mining country. Silver, copper, turquoise and coal. It was hit almost as hard as the dwarven kingdoms by the Narisian treaty and all those shipments of free Underworld ore, but people do still dig there. And prospect.”

“What better way to stumble across buried horrors,” Joe murmured, staring at the table.

“Justinian has not mentioned anything about it to me,” Darling continued, “nor I to him. He surely would have…unless this is to be another act in our ongoing cold war of misinformation.”

“And if he had the same idea you did,” McGraw said, frowning, “who better to send after something like this than adventurers?”

“Which means,” Weaver growled, “Khadizroth and the Jackal. And whoever else he’s rounded up.”

“Peachy!” Billie said, grinning psychotically and cracking her knuckles. “I have been just itchin’ fer another crack at those two assholes.”

“Not to be a wet blanket,” said Joe, “but we fought them to a bare stalemate last time, and that was with the aid of our most powerful member, who is not even here.”

A glum silence descended upon the room.

“Justinian’s silence on the matter does strongly indicate to me that he is going to use his adventurers,” Darling said gravely. “There are things he keeps from me, but he had to know I would discover what the oracles were doing. This is the only topic on which we remain mutually silent, both knowing that we both know what’s going on. So yes, what we are talking about here is sending you off to contend with the dragon and the assassin, not to mention whoever else—because I haven’t a clue who else he might have found—with the quest for an artifact of unspeakable danger as the backdrop and battlefield. I’ve gotta level with you, folks: this is above and beyond the call. If you don’t want to go, I’ll not hold you in violation of our agreement. I will still be at work getting your answers, though I’m afraid that has to wait until the oracles start speaking again.”

“Hell with that,” Billie snorted. “We’re in. Let’s skip the part where we all go ’round the table and agree—you all know damn well you all want your payback, fer a variety o’ reasons. But Joe’s got the right of it. We need to find Mary. Anybody got a clue where she is?”

“All I know,” Darling said, “is that another elf came here looking for her a few weeks back.”

“Who?” Joe asked.

“Nobody I knew,” Darling said with a shrug. “She was sent by Professor Tellwyrn, though. Elder Sheyann, I think her name was.”

“Tellwyrn?” Weaver said, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you say Sheyann?” Joe exclaimed.

“Ah, yes, I did,” Darling said, looking at him oddly. “Don’t tell me you know her.”

“Well, I don’t so much know her, but you don’t grow up in Sarasio without hearing the name. She’s the most senior of the Elders in the nearby grove.”

“Huh,” Darling mused. “Well. That gives us two places to start looking for Mary: Sarasio and Last Rock. Because, to be frank, we have a good bit of preparatory work to do before setting off on this particular adventure. Quite apart from the need to catch the Crow, there’s the question of what to do with the skull of Belosiphon itself. Pretty much the only certainty is that Justinian cannot be allowed to get his grabbers on it.”

“We could hand it over to the Empire?” Joe suggested.

“Assuming we can even handle something like that,” Weaver said. “Chaos is not healthy to be around.”

“Also,” Darling said firmly, “with all respect to his Majesty’s government, it is a government. I will sleep better it it does not get its hands on this slice of unimaginable destructive power. And I sure as hell don’t want the thing. I have to admit I’m against a wall here, my friends. This is outside the purview of either a thief or a priest. How do you dispose of a chaos artifact?”

“Destroy it,” said Joe.

“Very bad idea,” McGraw said emphatically. “You destroy a thing like that, and what you’re left with is pieces of said thing. Do your job well, reduce it to dust and smoke, and it disseminates into the air, the ground, the water, tainting the whole region for… Who knows? Centuries, millennia, maybe forever. Or you may get bigger pieces, which sure as the tides will get strewn to the four corners of the earth to work a thousand smaller mischiefs until some giftedly sinister idjit goes on an epic quest to gather ’em all up and ruin everyone’s day.”

“Okay,” Joe said slowly. “So, no destroying. That was my last idea. Sorry.”

“It’s simple enough,” said Weaver. “We’ll take it to Arachne.”

They all stared at him.

“Are you quintessentially outta your gourd?” Billie demanded. “Of all the people who does not need to get her hands on a chaos artifact—”

“I’m talking about the only person who probably should,” Weaver shot back. “Let’s face it, by any standard you could choose to apply, Arachne is a giant bitch.”

“Now, see here,” Joe began, scowling.

“For that reason,” Weaver continued loudly, “she doesn’t get nearly enough credit. Most of the world has no idea how many times she’s rescued it from the brink. With regard to chaos artifacts in particular, she’s already got two. Arachne Tellwyrn owns the Book of Chaos and the Mask of Calomnar. She’s got them both tucked away in a sealed pocket dimension where nobody can get at them and they can’t affect the mortal plane. In fact, she found the Book of Chaos twice, and made this particular setup after someone dug it up from its first hiding place. She has the sense not to meddle with chaos and the power to secure it. It’s simple. We take the skull to Arachne, and neither the Church nor the Empire nor anybody else will ever see the damn thing again.”

“Well,” McGraw mused, “that sounds like a workable solution, indeed, if you don’t pause to consider how irate the lady will be to have a thing like that dropped on her doorstep.”

“Omnu’s balls, we’re not gonna just drop it at the University,” Weaver said scathingly. “Arachne’s one of our leads in tracking down Mary anyway, right? So we go to Last Rock, ask if she’s seen the Crow and tell her what’s up so she knows to prepare a place for Belosiphon’s skull. She might even help retrieve it.”

“Tellwyrn is not going to cross the Church’s agents directly,” Darling said, frowning. “Her carefully protected neutrality wouldn’t survive that; she won’t risk her students’ safety by dragging the University into world politics. For that reason, we will tell her the whole situation, so she doesn’t accidentally stumble into that, blame us for tricking her and blast us all to ashes.”

“I like this plan,” Billie said brightly. “Anything that ends with me not gettin’ blasted to ash is aces in my book!”

“I’ll have to sit that stretch of it out,” McGraw said with a rueful grin. “I’m already on record as getting’ the ash treatment if I show my face in Last Rock.”

“What’d you do?” Joe said, frowning.

“Well, it’s a long—”

The old wizard broke off suddenly, grabbing his staff and half-rising. Joe bounded to his feet in the same moment. Price, by the door, suddenly zipped across the room to hover protectively over Darling’s shoulder.

“What?” the Bishop demanded, looking around at them. “What’s going on?”

“Someone has just teleported into the house, your Grace,” Price said in a low voice.

Weaver also got to his feet, scowling and placing a hand on his holstered wand. Billie stood up on the loveseat, tucking both hands into pouches at her belt.

There came a sharp knock at the closed door of the parlor.

Darling raised his eyebrows. “Come in?”

The door opened, and a young woman in Army uniform stepped in and saluted. Her insignia had a blue eye behind the standard Imperial gryphon, the mark of a Tiraan battlemage.

“Pardon the interruption, your Grace,” she said in a clipped tone. “Your presence is urgently requested at the Palace by Lord Vex.”

“What’s going on?” Darling demanded, rising.

The mage glanced briefly but pointedly around the group. “My orders are to teleport you to the Palace, your Grace,” she said in a level tone. “I’m sure you will be fully briefed once there.”

“Ominous,” Weaver said.

“Well, my friends, I guess we’ll have to continue this conversation later,” said Darling, stepping carefully around McGraw and toward the Army mage. “In fact, though… Given the time frame involved, please go ahead and pursue the avenue we were just discussing. We’ll regroup tomorrow, or whenever you get back, hopefully all with more information. All right, Lieutenant, I’m all yours. Let’s go see what’s so urgent, shall we?”

 

“We’re receiving up-to-the-minute reports via telescroll,” General Panissar said. “Based on their flight path, this gate seems the most probable point of arrival. They are unmistakably making for Tiraas.”

“What can you tell me about the path they have taken, General?” the Lady asked.

“Oddly meandering,” Panissar said with a frown. “We are tentatively not considering this an attack. Dragons can be upon you from miles away before you know they’re even in the province, if that’s what they want. These four have been gliding all the way from north of Calderaas, tracking back and forth as if to deliberately waste time. Lord Vex is of the opinion that they want to be seen, to give us time to prepare.”

“Lord Vex is correct,” she replied, nodding. Lady Asfaneh Shavayad was a stately woman in her middle years, and apparently the leading expert on dragons in the Imperial Diplomatic Corps. That was the only explanation Panissar had been given as to why she was in command of this operation. Standing calmly in the main gate to the fortified border town, which she had insisted would remain open, she glanced around at the assembled soldiers, clearly considering them even as she continued to speak. “This is their custom when approaching one another, as well. It is a sign that they come in peace, seeking to talk.”

“Odd that they’ve never wanted to talk before,” Panissar growled.

“Indeed,” said Lady Asfaneh. “This is unprecedented for several reasons. Dragons are famously solitary creatures, and when they do associate, they markedly prefer the company of those of their own color. Are you certain of your intelligence regarding this group’s composition?”

“As certain as I was the last time you asked,” he grunted, choosing not to react to the amused look she gave him. “Red, gold, green and blue, one of each.”

“Very well,” she said, folding her hands in front of her, still a picture of serenity. “We shall see soon enough what they want. Are the tower artillery emplacements positioned as I said?”

Panissar nodded, his own expression not lightening. “With all due respect, Lady Asfaneh, I do not see the wisdom in disarming ourselves with a threat of this magnitude approaching.”

“It is symbolic,” she said calmly. “In any case, your mag cannons would not be useful against dragons.”

“We’ve brought down a dragon before with a mag cannon.”

“I am very familiar with the accounts of that incident, General, and I’m sure you are aware that it was quite possibly the luckiest shot in all of recorded history. If this does come to violence, the strike teams will be our best hope by far.” She nodded at the six teams which had assembled in the avenue behind them. “The presence of these armed soldiers is a show of our strength; they will not begrudge us that, and in fact will likely respect it. Aiming our largest and most visibly powerful weapons at them, however, is a provocation. Keep them pointed at the sky and their operators visibly absent from the controls. We must hope that violence does not occur. No one has ever fought off four dragons.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” he said quietly.

There came a faint buzzing noise, followed by a sharp pop, and an Army battlemage materialized beside them, saluting. “General Panissar! Newest report from Madouris on the dragons’ approach. ETA less than five minutes.”

“Thank you, soldier,” Panissar said, nodding to him. “Colonel Ontambe! Is the area cleared of civilians?”

“Evacuation just completed, sir,” the Colonel replied, saluting as he strode up to them. “The last of the town’s residents have been moved into the city. Only military and diplomatic personnel are left here.”

“Then we wait,” Lady Asfaneh whispered, eyes on the horizon to the north.

For all that it was possibly the tensest seconds of their lives, it was considerably less than five minutes. The assembled soldiers stiffened further, even Panissar drawing in a sharp breath, as the four massive forms suddenly appeared in the sky above the northern foothills, gliding around in a wide arc as if to survey the city from a distance as they passed.

“Well,” he murmured, eyes glued to the four titans, “I suppose they could be just passing by…”

This time, Lady Asfaneh didn’t even spare him a glance.

They were not just passing by. The dragons wheeled all the way around, pumping their wings as they descended to the flat ground on the outskirts of the border town. This was the widest stretch of highway in the region, close as it was to the gates of the city itself, but there was not room for even two of them to land side-by-side. They settled to the earth in a formation that nearly rivaled the fortress itself in size.

“Gods be good,” Colonel Ontambe whispered. “Four of them. One of each.”

“Report to rear command, soldier,” Panissar said quietly. “You’ll lead his Majesty’s army if I fall.”

Ontambe, he reflected as the man saluted and strode off, was too old and too seasoned a soldier to publicly lose composure like that, but considering the circumstances, he was inclined to be somewhat lenient.

It was all Panissar could do not to take a step backward as the four dragons approached them on foot. Beside him, Lady Asfaneh’s composure remained totally uncracked.

Fortunately, they shifted as they neared. They were still an impressive sight in their human-sized forms, and not merely because of the palpable aura of majesty that emanated from them. Panissar had never met a dragon before, but he’d been briefed on this effect and steeled himself against it; these creatures were powerful beings, nothing more, and did not deserve the awe he felt welling up in him. At least they were marginally less terrifying this way.

In the lead by half a step came the gold dragon, dressed in golden armor and with a two-handed sword as long as Panissar was tall slung on his back. The blue wore robes more elaborately decorated than what the ladies of the court wore to formal balls. His cobalt hair was as exquisitely coiffed, too, and his fingers glittered with jewelry. The other two were less over-the-top; the green dressed simply in wood elf fashion, with a blousy-sleeved green shirt and soft leather vest, trousers and moccasins. The red dragon looked like he belonged on the cover of one of the tawdry novels Marie pretended not to enjoy, with his improbably tight pants and ruffled shirt unlaced down to his navel, both black.

They came to a stop a few yards distant, and then to the General’s astonishment, all four bowed deeply.

“Good day,” said the gold dragon, straightening up. “We apologize for so abruptly intruding upon you, but there is a lack of standing traditions for making such an approach as this. I am Ampophrenon the Gold. With me are Zanzayed the Blue, Razzavinax the Red, and Varsinostro the Green. We most humbly request an audience with his Imperial Majesty Sharidan Julios Adolphus Tirasian.”

“Greetings, exalted ones, and welcome to Tiraas,” Lady Asfaneh replied, executing a deep and flawless curtsy. A half-second belatedly, Panissar bowed from the waist. “I am the Lady Asfaneh of House Shavayad, and it is my honor to be the Emperor’s servant in the diplomatic arts. With me is General Toman Panissar, who commands the Empire’s armies. What brings you to seek our Emperor’s ear?”

“We will discuss that with his Majesty,” Ampophrenon said, as calmly as ever.

The blue dragon cleared his throat. “Do you remember, Puff, when you asked me to warn you if you were being overbearing?”

The gold tightened his lips, half-turning to stare at his companion. “It was my assumption you would do so in private, Zanzayed.”

“Yes, and your proclivity for these assumptions is half the problem,” the blue said with a irrepressible smile. “Considering our aims here, it does these people good to see us as individuals with flaws. Such as, for example, a lack of social skills. Be nice to the Lady Shavayad, please. She can’t just bring four giant avatars of destruction into the Emperor’s presence without something to go on.”

“My companions speak truth,” Razzavinax added, smiling. Considering that he was a red dragon, he oddly seemed the most personable and at ease of the four. “Simply put, dear lady and honored general, we have come to announce the formation of our government.”

“Your…government?” Finally, Lady Asfaneh’s composure flickered for a moment.

“Indeed,” Ampophrenon said solemnly, returning the full weight of his attention to her. “No longer will we be as individuals, alone before the world. We stand together, as do your own races. We have come here, today, to be counted among the nations of the earth. The Conclave seeks now to open formal diplomatic relations with the Tiraan Empire.”

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                          Next Chapter >

7 – 2

Uncategorized, , , ,

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >

If he was a little put out, it was because he was striding through the halls of the Imperial Palace in the slightly ragged, poorly color-coordinated suit of Sweet the thief, rather than the tailored ensemble or ecclesiastical robes that fit the role he played here. Not that Darling’s superiors didn’t know who he was in any aspect of his life, of course, but it was the principle of the thing. He liked to keep strict walls up between the aspects of his life, if only to help keep his mind organized.

Of course, when a Hand of the Emperor informed you that you were summoned to the Throne, you didn’t ask to stop and change clothes first.

This particular fellow was a Westerner, with dark skin and a shaved head, which made no real difference. The Hands had no names and firmly discouraged people from inquiring after their personal details.

“So, come here often?” Darling asked cheerfully.

The Hand gave him a sidelong glance.

“It’s a joke,” Darling explained. “Because obviously you do. It’s ironic. You know, juxtaposing the common phrase with a completely inappropriate context.”

The Hand simply continued leading the way. They appeared to be heading toward the throne room itself, having entered from one of the Palace’s side doors.

“Okay, it wasn’t laugh-out-loud funny,” Darling mused. “More of a grunt-of-acknowledgment kind of joke. They can’t all be side-splitters or we’d never get anything done.”

“I don’t get many people trying to joke around with me,” the Hand commented. “Being that legally, it’s the same as doing so with the Emperor.”

“Well, his Majesty and I don’t really hang out socially. Which I’ve always thought is a shame. He looks like a chap who knows how to have fun.”

The Hand glanced at him again.

“I mean, have you noticed how calm he always is? With the weight of responsibility on that poor man, he has to be an absolute master of relaxation.”

The Hand ignored him after that, and Darling decided to stop pushing his luck. His discomfort might technically be the fellow’s fault, but the both of them were just little wheels in a much larger machine. Also, a Hand of the Emperor could legally punch him quiet if he deemed it necessary.

Imperial Guards, men and women in Tiraan Army uniforms which were black instead of blue, were posted in the halls nearing the throne room, and around the towering double doors leading into it. Upon Darling and the Hand’s approach, two pulled open one of the silver-plated doors (it took two; the thing was three stories tall and thick enough to withstand a ballista bolt), saluting. The Hand stepped to the side, nodding Darling in, then followed once he was through. He pulled the door closed himself, without apparent difficulty.

The throne room, the ceremonial and cultural center of the Imperial government, was every bit as grand as its role demanded, without being excessively grandiose. Rather than the florid style of decoration that was currently in vogue among the aristocracy and the newer wealthy class, its ornamentations were all geometric patterns, mostly quite simple, except for the stunningly elaborate mathematical designs in mirrored glass that sprawled across the vaulted ceiling. The squared pillars were plated in mirror-bright silver and engraved with angular designs, the stained glass windows showing similar designs in pale colors—and, incidentally, were enchanted to stand up to mag artillery fire. It was the floor that was truly eye-catching, seemingly all of one colossal piece of opal, a translucent surface showing immense depth, with organic swirls of shimmering substance beneath.

Darling didn’t exactly loiter around here, as a rule, but he’d been in the throne room several times, and on this visit was less concerned with the décor and a lot more interested in who was present, and who was not. It seemed cavernously empty, the chamber designed to hold audiences in the hundreds now containing a bare handful of individuals. Usually there would be courtiers and functionaries by the dozen, but none were in evidence. There weren’t even any of the Imperial Guard, which was how he knew something very serious was up. A score of Hands of the Emperor were positioned around the room, looking ominous in their long black coats, which meant this was still likely the most secured place in the Empire; each of these men was a force capable of facing down demons, wizards and whatever else, though the nature and source of their powers remained a mystery to all but themselves and their Emperor.

His Majesty occupied the Silver Throne, of course, gazing down the long chamber at Darling’s entrance. To his left, Empress Eleanora perched on the edge of the Swan Throne, her eyes narrowed to slits. To the right of the royal couple, Lord Quentin Vex stood at one edge of the dais, alongside the balding, craggy-faced Hand of the Emperor who sat with him and Darling on the security council.

Most interestingly of all, Archpope Justinian stood, serene and beatific as ever, at the base of the steps to the Imperial dais.

His escort having melted into the shadowed arcade along the side of the throne room, Darling set off toward the dais as fast as his long legs would carry him without breaking into an unseemly trot. Arriving at the foot of the steps, he sank to one knee, bowing his head.

“Your Majesties.”

“Rise, your Grace,” said Sharidan, his voice empty of inflection.

Darling obeyed, only then half-turning to bow to the Archpope, who nodded in acknowledgment.

“This room has been cleared and fully secured, as we have called you here to discuss a matter of the utmost security,” the Emperor said without further preamble. “A little past noon today, a new hellgate was opened above the mountain at Last Rock.”

Darling stiffened in surprise. “A…new one, your Majesty? Above the mountain?”

“Hellgates, like any dimensional portal, require operatives at both ends to open,” the Empress said coldly. “And the University’s campus has, in addition to the best of modern arcane security, a fairy geas of colossal power warding it against outside interference. Only an initiate of the University itself could have done such a thing. Thus it is proved that Tellwyrn has utterly lost control of her students.”

Sharidan moved his left hand slightly, laying the first two fingers upon Eleanora’s wrist on the arm of her own throne. She scowled, but subsided.

“Disturbances of various kinds are common at Last Rock, as is inevitable, considering the people gathered there,” Lord Vex said, looking owlishly somnolent as always. “We’ve always known it was just a matter of time until something of this magnitude occurred; Professor Tellwyrn by and large does well in keeping order, and has proven amenable to working with us. It seems her first reaction in this case was to notify the Empire and begin evacuation procedures.”

“Can the hellgate be closed?” Darling asked, frowning. “Surely if anyone can handle such a task, she can.”

“Within forty-eight hours or so of opening, yes, a dimensional rift can be sealed with little effect,” Vex replied. “The longer it’s open, the more stable it becomes, until it can be considered more or less permanent. Tellwyrn can and has closed hellgates, as have the Imperial Strike Corps, but the problem is that this must be done from both sides, just as they must be opened. Even she can’t be in two places at once, especially considering what happens to teleportation in proximity to an active dimensional rift. Tellwyrn has rightly prioritized the safety of her students and the citizens of Last Rock.”

“In that order, no doubt,” the Empress said.

“We’ve stranded strike teams in Hell?” Darling asked in horrified fascination.

“The Empire isn’t quite so profligate with the lives of its most valuable agents,” Vex said dryly. “Done right, there’s a window after activating the necessary spells in which the gate can still be traversed. This particular gate is anomalous in that it’s located some hundred yards above the peak of the mountain. It presents a logistical challenge, but not one which would stymie the Strike Corps. However…”

He turned to bow in the Archpope’s direction. Justinian nodded to him, then turned to direct his words at Darling, who was clearly the only person present who had yet to be briefed.

“I was visited in my meditations this afternoon by avatars of all three of the Trinity,” the Archpope stated solemnly. “It was the first I had heard of the events at Last Rock, but the gods have rendered a command with regard to them. The Pantheon is seeing to the matter directly, and they forbid any interference by mortal powers. The events at the University must play out according to their design.”

There was a moment of silence while Darling groped for something to say.

“Huh,” was all he managed to come up with.

“The gods ask a great deal,” the Emperor said quietly. “If the situation is not contained, then we are effectively ceding Last Rock to the forces of Hell. Demonic armies could spill from there into the Golden Sea and emerge at any point around its perimeter. It would make the days of Heshenaad’s rampage seem a Sunday picnic in comparison. The Empire simply does not have enough standing forces to maintain an active battlefront around the entire frontier, which is what would be required. Even mobilizing for war, instituting a draft if necessary, would take time in which demons could overrun entire provinces.”

“Not to mention the unknowns,” the Empress added. “There can be simply no guessing what would result from Elilial having access to the Crawl. Or the shape of Tellwyrn’s reaction to the loss of her precious University. Her expressions of disappointment tend to be cataclysmic.”

“In such an eventuality, we would not fight alone,” said Vex. “Silver Legions from across the world would be called in. The elves would help; the Narisians would have to, as per our treaty. Even the dwarves would likely contribute forces against a full-scale demonic invasion.”

“Tar’naris has less entire population than we have soldiers,” Eleanora said sharply. “The last elven tribe that tried to keep a standing army were the Cobalt Dawn, whom we destroyed. And the dwarven kingdoms cannot afford to equip or even feed an army. They are barely supporting their own citizenry at this point.”

“Your Majesties are correct,” Justinian said solemnly. “Those are the stakes. They are, indeed, chilling.”

“You’re about to counsel that we have faith in the gods,” Eleanora said, transferring her sharp stare to him.

The Archpope nodded slowly. “It is a hard thing to do, when so much is on the line. The fate of the world itself, starting with our Empire. I would remind your Majesties that the fate of the world is always in the gods’ hands, at every moment, and we cannot imagine the catastrophes that do not materialize because they have sheltered us from them. Ultimately… In my own moments of darkest doubt, I maintain my trust in the gods because if they cannot be trusted…all is lost anyway.” He spread his hands in a gesture that was just a shade too beatifically patriarchal to be a shrug. “As all is clearly not lost, we can know that they watch over us.”

“There is also the fact that this was a command from Omnu, Avei, and Vidius in person,” Lord Vex added. “Defying them outright is likely to add to our troubles, not alleviate them.”

“I will not be sanguine about this until that hellgate is closed and my people are safe,” the Emperor said darkly. “However, I agree. The gods must be trusted, even if only because they will not allow any other outcome.” He shifted his gaze to Darling. “Evacuation proceedings are underway. I have declared a state of emergency; the Rail network is frozen, and all available caravans have been re-routed to participate in the evacuation of Last Rock. Three military zeppelins have been dispatched from Calderaas under full thrust to retrieve the citizens too infirm to travel via Rail. They should arrive within the hour.”

“The gate itself has yet to produce any demons,” Vex added, “no doubt due to its altitude. That gains us a breather, but has a downside: just as on the mortal plane, whatever comes through will have to heavily organize in order to reach it. The cost of the hours we are granted to prepare is that it will be an invasion, not a trickle of lost demons with no agenda except escape. Professor Tellwyrn has insisted upon the citizens of the town going first; her students and faculty will be the last to evacuate. As I’m sure you can imagine, they represent a force that can at least slow anything that comes out of that portal, and possibly convince it not to try again.”

Eleanora turned to give him a narrow look. Apparently this was the first she had heard of that. The Emperor only frowned pensively.

Darling, by this point, was barely managing to contain his expression. Seizing upon the momentary lull in the conversation, he turned to the Archpope.

“Your Holiness, who else knows about the gods’ command?”

“And now we come to it,” Eleanora said bitterly.

“No one outside this room has been informed,” Justinian replied, nodding significantly. “I saw immediately what you have just seen.”

“Indeed,” said the Emperor, lacing his fingers together. “And that is why you were summoned here, Bishop Darling. This presents a golden opportunity to implement the strategy you proposed following the recent Wreath attacks.”

“Let it be known,” Eleanora growled, “I despise this plan.”

“It is not something that gives me any pleasure to contemplate, your Majesty,” Darling replied respectfully. “However… It would work. It is only left to decide whether it is worth it.”

“What you propose,” Sharidan said, still in a soft tone, “involves literally unleashing Hell in the streets of this city. Widespread damage and civilian casualties would be certainties, not risks.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Darling replied simply.

“I support the Bishop’s idea, for whatever that may be worth,” said the Archpope. “And I have since he brought it forth. All it needed was a suitable crisis. I do not foresee any other such opportunity that involves so little direct risk; we cannot ask more than a divine assurance that the problem in Last Rock is under control.”

“We can’t stop word of the situation in Last Rock spreading anyway,” Vex mused. “The Rail freeze is a dead giveaway. The people need to be told something or there will be dangerous levels of unrest. As long as no one else knows of the gods’ command, the hellgate crisis provides a pretext to move troops out of the city.”

Eleanora stared at him directly. “What is your opinion of the Bishop’s plan, Lord Quentin?”

“Under ordinary circumstances,” he replied, bowing to her, “I would not consider it worth the inevitable cost. However…we are dangerously past ordinary circumstances. Elilial and her Wreath are more active than at any point in recent history, and we do not know their plans. What little we do know of her intentions with regard to the Throne is terrifying. Playing the intelligence game with the Wreath as we have been is, effectively, a stalemate, which is a situation that favors them. Something must give.” He sighed. “In my professional opinion, your Majesties, these are the desperate times that necessitate this desperate measure. I support the plan.”

“There will be a heavy price to be paid for this,” Darling said into the quiet which followed Vex’s response. “What we stand to gain, however, is the effective destruction of the Black Wreath in Tiraas. I leave it to your Majesties to decide whether the benefit is worth the cost.”

“This presupposes that the Wreath will behave as you predict,” Sharidan noted. “It defies credulity to expect them to heroically step up in the face of a full-scale demonic incursion in the city.”

“That actually is one of the more reasonable expectations in this,” said Vex. “Whatever else they may be, the Wreath are notably sincere in their claims to be defenders of the mortal realm against infernal forces. Imperial policy with regard to demonic incursions is always to let the Wreath work without interference if they happen to beat our agents to an attack site. They clean up demons faster, more thoroughly and with less collateral damage than we have ever managed.” He nodded to the Imperial couple. “If they find Tiraas suddenly swamped with infernal summons and the bulk of Imperial forces moved to the frontier, they will intervene. Their religion demands it.”

“The history of political maneuvering between the Church and the Throne creates an opportunity to establish a believable narrative,” said the Archpope. “I have expanded the holy summoner program in response to increasing demonic activity of late. I will simply take advantage of the situation to call up demons in the city, in order to undermine the Throne’s authority.” He nodded to Darling. “Assuming, as we must, that the Church, the Empire and all cults have Wreath infiltrators, selling the story will be a simple matter of making this plan known to my summoner corps.”

“How fascinating that you trust them so,” Eleanora said icily.

“In fact, your Majesty,” the Archpope replied, “that does present a wrinkle. Such an action on my part would be treasonous, not to mention highly irresponsible. I expect many of my people to refuse outright to participate. Possibly most. I am not certain that I will be able to field enough reliable summoners to enact this part of the plan.”

“If you provide the Church livery, I can provide you summoners,” said Vex.

“With every additional person brought into this,” Darling cautioned, “the risk of a Wreath spy getting word of it goes up.”

“I’ve enough trustworthy people to get it done,” Vex said mildly. “I know who the Wreath agents infiltrating Imperial Intelligence are. I can work around them.”

“You what?” Sharidan asked sharply.

Vex bowed to the Emperor. “It is not worth the effort of purging them, your Majesty. That would just leave me having to figure out anew who the replacement spies are. As it is, I can exert a measure of control over what they learn. It’s a stable arrangement.”

“Hm,” the Emperor mused. Eleanora placed a hand on his arm; they exchanged a silent look, and he relaxed slightly.

“How many trustworthy spellcasters do you have available, Vex?” Darling asked.

“Depends on what you need them for.”

“Mages. Teleporters, specifically. Later stages of the plan will require me to bring in some personnel who, presently, are scattered all across the Empire. With the Rails locked down, portal mages will be the only discreet method of bringing them into the city.”

“Anyone who can shadow-jump will be needed for the Archpope’s part,” Vex mused, rubbing his chin. “Arcane teleportation is trickier across large distances, especially if you’re adding passengers. Hm… On hand in the city, I can provide four who I trust and who have the necessary magical reserves.”

“Four… That will mean a lot of return trips. I’m going to have to ask them to exhaust themselves, Vex.”

“These are servants of the Throne,” Vex said calmly. “They will do whatever duty requires. If,” he added, turning to the Emperor, “we are indeed going to do this.”

Sharidan stared silently into space above their heads. Eleanora watched him, her face an impassive mask. Behind Vex, the Hand of the Emperor attended the conversation mutely. Hands spoke with the Emperor’s voice; there was no need for them to talk in his presence.

“I might normally ask the gods to forgive us for this,” the Emperor said at last, “but at this moment, I find myself with less regard than usual for their input.” He sighed, turning to meet Eleanora’s eyes. She frowned slightly, but then nodded once to him. Sharidan nodded back, then turned his head to the others and squared his shoulders. “We will have to see who is left to offer forgiveness when it is done. Gentlemen, you may proceed. May someone watch over us all.”

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                          Next Chapter >

Bonus #3: Hero

Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >

There were few spectacles so glorious as the coronation of the new Emperor of Tiraas. The world’s wealthiest and most powerful nation, as was the nature of human nations in general, deemed it necessary to create as much pomp and splendor as its fathomless resources could arrange. To be fair, most of the common run of people just enjoyed having a reason to hold a party, and the three weeks of celebrations were probably the best party they would ever experience. Ashaele, though, had less sympathy for the organizers of this self-important spectacle of waste; the resources spent on food, decorations, costumes, servants and innumerable other displays would have sustained her city for years. She had very much enjoyed the fireworks, however. That was like nothing she had ever expected to see.

In its second week, now, they were nearing the halfway point of the festivities. The new Emperor, Sharidan Julios Adolphus Tirasian, had been crowned and subsequently married in what was just barely two separate ceremonies. Ashaele did her best to follow the events as they unfolded, but the need to maintain her cover prevented her from gathering as much information as she would like, and the politics of the situation were doubtless immensely complex, and mostly over her head.

This particular ceremony was an actual Tiraan tradition, rather than a shallow display of wealth as so much of the last week had been: On the day after his coronation, the Emperor held court from dawn to dusk, and could be approached and petitioned directly by anyone. A thousand years ago when Tiraas had been a single city-state, the ceremony had likely been much more significant. Now, the line of people stretching out from the Palace and into Imperial Square were entirely of individuals whose presence here had been pre-approved by Imperial functionaries weeks ago. A commendable effort had been made to include a fair mix of commoners, foreigners and representatives of all classes and walks of life, but even so the nobility were much more heavily represented here than among the general population.

Whatever else it was, it was a day-long ceremony, and it was nearing noon; everyone was already tired, bored and thoroughly sick of the whole thing, and desperately struggling not to show it. The boy Emperor had made a heroic effort since taking his seat in the Silver Throne this morning to attend every citizen who approached him with care and sincerity, but even he was visibly weary by this point. Beside him on her own smaller throne, his young wife had started the day looking aloof at best, and by this point seemed severely annoyed. The people in the line were drooping; the countless courtiers packed into the sides of the great throne chamber were mostly half-asleep on their feet, a surly, drowsy sea of finery and painful-looking fixed smiles. Only the guards and the several black-coated Hands of the Emperor in the room were still alert. Even the official who had the honor of calling forth and announcing each new petitioner was drifting. He had flubbed two names and once let a moment of awkward silence stretch out before realizing it was time to bring up the next person.

Her moment was coming soon. There wouldn’t be a better.

Ashaele had long since carefully forced her way to the front of the crowd, and now was positioned a mere few yards from the foot of the steps up to the Emperor’s dais. Feeling so exposed did her nerves no favors, but it had been a necessary preparation; had she bulled her way out of the thick of the crowd, the disturbance would have been spotted immediately and guards would have been on her before she got anywhere near the Emperor. Guards and, terrifyingly, one of those unsmiling Hands had fixed their glares on her when she first pushed to the front, but by this point they had dismissed her as another position-jockeying dignitary and gone back to scanning the crowd.

Her attire was a hodgepodge of Punaji and Onkawi styles, with elvish touches and some completely random additions that served to conceal her as much as possible. She wore a heavy greatcoat with a ceremonial hooded shawl over that, complete with silken scarf that concealed her lower face. Her eyes and hairline were exposed, but they were altered by magic. The efficacy of the disguise was in its reliance on mundane measures; the less skin she revealed, the less would have to be concealed by charms, and it was vital to keep the charm work to a minimum. Plenty of noblewomen in Tiraas used minor enchantments to tweak their appearances, but anyone walking into an Imperial audience with enough magic on them to completely alter their appearance would have been set upon by wizards immediately.

Naturally, the costume caused her all sorts of anxiety. So far her hope that the aristocrats pressing in on her from all sides would dismiss her mismatched appearance as a miscellaneous foreigner had been realized… But all it would take was one astute member of the diplomatic corps to realize the woman in the greatcoat, shawl and mask had cobbled together the most concealing features of traditional costumes that by themselves wouldn’t have hidden half so much.

Also, with her own ceremonial robes underneath, it was insufferably hot.

It would all be worth it if she were successful.

Ashaele forced herself not to peer around the room as the man kneeling just a few feet from her droned on about agricultural quotas in the frontier provinces. She held herself as still as possible, avoiding any action that would draw attention. It was enough to know that her allies were in the crowd. She had brought three friends from House An’sadarr to observe and report back to the Queen if her mission went awry. They were individuals she trusted; members of her own House would have been better for several reasons, but if it came down to it, any of them would have tried to protect her if she failed, and inevitably ended up sharing her fate. The An’sadarrs were reliable precisely because they would leave her behind. It wasn’t that her people lacked discipline or obedience, but the military House’s famous dedication to the mission at hand was, in this case, much more useful than the personal loyalty her family would have shown.

“I appreciate your concerns, Master Tethloss,” the Emperor said when the kneeling man paused to draw breath. It was very nearly an interruption, but it was becoming clear that he was not about to stop speaking any time soon. “Understand, though, that your perspective is only that: your own. I must be responsible for the economy as a whole. To intervene at one level would have repercussions well beyond what you intend. In my judgment this is not the time or the proper place for dramatic action. However, your concerns are valid, and you have my word that I will consider them and consult with my advisers. Perhaps the Throne can and should exert some influence.”

Tethloss looked far from happy, but he managed a suitably obsequious thanks, bowing as he backed away. Ashaele was less concerned with him than with Sharidan. This answer was consistent with the rest of his performance today. He was intelligent; he cared for the welfare of his people. It boded well for her plans.

The seneschal was watching Tethloss’s departure impatiently; the disgruntled petitioner was in no hurry to yield the floor, and still partially blocked the path of the next in line. Around the room, assembled nobles rustled in the lull, fanning themselves and whispering to one another. The Emperor sat back in his chair, indulging in a barely perceptible sigh. For a precious moment, everyone was distracted, everything paused.

Now. Now!

Ashaele grabbed a fistful of her mask and shawl, ripping them to the side, and shrugging out of her greatcoat in the same motion. They fell to lie puddled on the marble mosaic floor. Her illusions, having been attached to the clothes rather than herself, vanished with them. Somnolent and irritable as they were, it was a dramatic enough move that she gathered immediate attention, and screams rang out, spreading like wildfire. Nobles devolved into a pushing panic to escape the drow suddenly in their midst.

Ashaele crossed the floor in long, smooth strides, turning to face the Throne, and sank to one knee, bowing her head before the Emperor. That was as much as she managed before being seized by both arms. Guards roughly kicked her legs out from under her; a staff was thrust directly under her chin, humming with an active charge just waiting to be released. Her hair and the collar of her robes lifted in response to the static. She offered no resistance. Everywhere there was shouting, Imperial guards yelling contradictory orders and imprecations, onlookers screaming.

She permitted herself a small, fatalistic sigh. Too slow… She would be sad not to see her children again. Heral would lead House Awarrion well, however. It had been worth the effort; if she had succeeded, everything would have changed.

“HOLD.”

The acoustics of the room were carefully designed to maximize the voice of whoever sat on the Throne. Sharidan now stood in front of it; his order boomed through the massive hall, causing a sudden lull in the activity. The hands pulling at Ashaele from every direction stilled, though they did not relax their grip.

“Stand down,” the Emperor commanded. “Release her.”

The guards glanced at each other uncertainly, and at the dark elf kneeling placidly in their grip. One wearing a captain’s insignia cleared his throat. “Your Majesty—”

He broke off as Eleanora surged to her feet. The Empress stepped forward to lay a hand on her husband’s arm, staring down at them with icy fury.

“Your Emperor,” she said, her voice promising merciless death, “has spoken.”

They hesitated a fraction of a moment longer, and then Ashaele was released. She staggered inevitably, barely catching herself, but quickly resumed her position on one knee, surreptitiously smoothing down her hair and disturbed garments. The guards eased backward, but not so far that she failed to see the assortment of swords, wands and staves aimed at her, even with her eyes lowered.

“Lady, you have the apologies of the Tiraan Empire and of House Tirasian for this ill treatment,” the Emperor said. “My men are zealous in their protection of me, and your appearance was…rather startling.”

“Your soldiers’ zeal and loyalty is a credit to their master,” Ashaele replied. “It is I who should apologize, your Excellency, for intruding in this way. I regret that I failed to find a more polite way to gain an audience.”

“Then perhaps we can put these misunderstandings behind us,” said Sharidan, slowly sinking back onto the Silver Throne. His wife remained standing, though she stepped back to place herself slightly behind him, one hand on his shoulder; she stared down at Ashaele through narrowed eyes. “I gather you have come to observe Tiraan custom? Anyone may ask a boon of the Emperor today.”

“If it pleases your Excellency, yes,” she replied. “I am Ashaele nur Tamashi zae Awarrion, matriarch of House Awarrion of Tar’naris, most humbly at your service.”

The general volume of whispers echoing around the room increased slightly, then faded as Eleanora lifted her gaze from the kneeling drow to pan a glare around the chamber. Sharidan regarded her in thoughtful silence for a moment.

“I have heard,” he said at last, “that matriarchs of the drow Houses kneel to no one, even their Queen.”

“That is correct, your Excellency,” Ashaele replied. “We do not lack respect for Her Majesty, but such obeisance is not our custom.”

“Then it shall not be asked of you here,” he said firmly. “Please, stand. Be at ease; you are welcome here.”

The whispers started anew; Ashaele rose smoothly to her feet and raised her head, letting them wash over her. Hope soared in her chest. This was going better than she had dared hope. A brief manhandling by a few guards was the tiniest price to pay if this man listened to her.

“I must clarify that I do not speak for Tar’naris. I have come of my own volition, and not on the orders or permission of my Queen.”

“Then, for the time being, you shall be the guest of the Imperial Palace,” the Emperor replied, causing another stir. “Now, you have surely not come all this way for small talk. What can Tiraas do for you, Lady Ashaele?”

“Your Excellency,” she said, bowing, “I most humbly and respectfully beg, as a citizen who loves her people and her state, that the Tiraan Empire extend diplomatic contact to Tar’naris toward the goal of normalizing relations between our two great societies.”

This time there was an outcry, quickly rising to such chaos that the last part of her sentence was all but inaudible. Luckily it had ended on a fluff of diplomatic flattery; the important part of her request had been clearly heard. The noise was so pervasive that she couldn’t identify many individual threads…except for the few loudest shouts, which were almost universally imprecations. She did hope her Narisian allies were managing to remain hidden. There would be no end of trouble if somebody stumbled upon one of them right now.

“Silence.” Empress Eleanora’s voice cracked like a whip. The crowd obeyed her, though perhaps not as instantly or completely as she would have liked; they did, at least, trail off to a constant undercurrent of murmurs. She swept another baleful stare around the room before turning it on Ashaele. “It is curious, lady, that such a request comes from one who takes pains to assure us that she does not speak on behalf of her government.”

“Nations have their pride, as do their rulers,” Ashaele replied smoothly. “The exchanges over the last decades between Narisian scouts and the Imperial forces at Fort Vaspian have decisively demonstrated that Tiraas is militarily superior. For Queen Arkasia to extend a request for peace at this time would be for her to sacrifice face—a thing I do not wish to see. The Silver Throne, being in the dominant position, does not suffer this drawback. An overture from Tiraas would be an offering, not a plea.”

“This verges on flattery,” Eleanora said sharply. Sharidan glanced up at her, then returned his gaze to Ashaele, his expression neutral. He seemed content, for the moment, to let his wife speak, despite the fact that she had been mostly silent through most of the day’s ceremony. How interesting that he deferred to her now that there were hard questions to ask… Ashaele’s finely tuned political mind immediately sussed out the implications. Oh, these two were very clever. They were likely to make a most effective team. “The entire history of human relations with Tar’naris,” the Empress went on, “with any drow, has consisted of your people raiding ours. Stealing, destroying, and enslaving. Today of all days your request will be considered with all due weight, but do not think we fail to see the context. No drow has attempted to approach us until we held a decisive advantage.”

“It is not my intention to explain or excuse history,” Ashaele said calmly. “It is relevant, however, to consider history, as your Excellency has said. Nations and peoples act in a manner that they believe is justified; Tiraas has assuredly considered itself justified in its systematic conquest of this continent.” Another rumble rose around her at this, but she pressed on. “I humbly call to your Excellencies’ attention the manner of this conquest: Tiraas has enjoyed such success in part because it exercised military force only in the absence of better options, in keeping with Avei’s doctrines of war. Nations that have joined you voluntarily have historically become your most prosperous provinces.”

“You are offering submission and absorption into the Empire, then?” Eleanora asked, her tone deceptively mild, now.

“No,” Ashaele said evenly. “Even were it within my authority to offer, you shall not have that. Nor is it the only prospect suggested by history. Tiraas has very productive relationships with the Punaji and Tidestrider nations, which remain independent but tightly linked to the Empire.”

“Both play a vital role in securing our borders,” the Empress shot back. “With respect, Tar’naris is hardly positioned to offer such a service.”

“With respect,” Ashaele replied, her voice soft, “with the greatest respect, you are deeply mistaken. Tar’naris must guard its gates on two fronts. You can scarcely imagine the horrors of the true Underworld. Your forces could hold it back, now…perhaps. Thousands of years of the effort and spilled blood of my people has bought your society the luxury of developing to this point.”

Another rustle began to swell in the chamber, but it quickly died as the Emperor held up one hand for silence. He leaned forward on the throne, staring intently down at Ashaele.

“For obvious reasons, we don’t get the freshest reports from beyond Tar’naris,” he said, “but in fact I do know something of what lurks in the Deep Dark. For that reason, and the others you have raised, your request is… Interesting.”

Everyone stared at him with baited breath now, Ashaele perhaps most of all. He leaned back against the Throne, glancing up at Eleanora. She met his eyes momentarily, and a silent exchange seemed to pass between them. For having been married only a day, they seemed to share a significant bond.

“Lady Ashaele,” he said in the tone of a pronouncement, “as it seems we cannot host you as befits an ambassador, you shall, as I have said, be our personal guest for the remainder of the Coronation, during which time the Throne’s focus is and must be largely inward. After that, we shall furnish you a suitable escort back to Tar’naris.” She tensed, barely, in spite of herself; all around her, whispers swelled anew. “If you will kindly do us this service, Tiraas will thank you to escort our ambassadors to your Queen.”

The crowd truly erupted again, but was swiftly silenced by the Empress’s roared threat to have the great hall cleared.

Ashaele felt the tension drain from her for what had to be the first time in weeks. She bowed deeply. “Your Excellency, it shall be my honor.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe you’re reading that. It’s in Tanglish. Have you run out of domestic books completely?”

Shaeine lifted her head to scowl at her grinning sister. “This is an account of Mother’s first journey to Tiraas,” she said pointedly. “A little respect would be appropriate.”

“Oh, come on,” Nahil said despairingly. “How many times have you read that story? You probably know it better than she does at this point.”

“Yes, but those are the Narisian accounts,” she shot back. “This is a novelization by a Tiraan bard.”

“Really?” Heral asked, her mild tone a contrast to Nahil’s aggressive ribbing. “Do they portray her with horns and shooting fire from her eyes?”

“In fact she is treated very respectfully,” Shaeine said stiffly. “Heroically, even. There’s some fudging of the facts, of course, for drama’s sake, but I must say that if this is Tiraas’s introduction to Mother… Well, it’s a good one, that’s all.”

“Course it is,” Nahil said cheerfully. “She probably paid to have it written. She doesn’t miss a trick. Sneaky lady, like all good negotiators!”

“Respect, you hooligan!” Shaeine shouted, making as if to throw the book at her.

“All right, you two, behave,” Heral said reprovingly. “I didn’t interrupt your reading and her carousing on a whim, Shaeine. Mother’s in the grand hall with the Queen, the ambassador from Tiraas and that aggravating gold elf. She’s asked for us to attend them.”

“Attend them?” Nahil asked sharply. “Why?”

Heral grimaced. “General purposes.”

Nahil and Shaeine winced. “General purposes” meant standing there looking calm and pretty, and being ready to back Ashaele up should the need arise. “General purposes” meant the meeting was not going well.

Regretfully, Shaeine marked her place and set the book down on her bench, smoothing her hair as she rose. “Best get out there, then.”

“That aggravating gold elf has a name, you know,” Nahil pointed out as the three sisters strode down the hall.

“We know her name,” Shaeine grunted. “Everyone knows her name. I’d rather not pronounce it; I hear that summons her.”

Nahil laughed, but Heral gave her a gently remonstrative look. “You haven’t even met her, little sister.”

“I’d have been extremely content never having met her,” Shaeine muttered, then fell silent as they passed through a door which was held open and then closed behind them by armored House guards. House Awarrion’s residence, in addition to being their home, served as Tar’naris’s universal embassy and the place where negotiations between Narisian Houses were held. By crossing that threshold, they had passed into the palace’s public wing. All emotion faded from the three women’s expressions, and they glided the rest of the way in perfect, silent serenity, public faces firmly in place.

What was now the grand hall had been a series of smaller rooms originally. Upon the renovation of Tar’naris’s caverns using Tiraan enchantment, House Awarrion had knocked down both interior and exterior walls, making a long, tall chamber bordered on one side by archways which led to the House’s new outdoor gardens. Full-sized willow trees speed-grown by the most powerful witchcraft they could import shielded the hall from the glow of the cavern’s sun crystals; the hall, in addition to its beautiful view, was livened by the splashing of fountains and an artificial stream, plus the smell of flowers and greenery. It was also equipped with modern fairy lamps of the highest quality, straight from the factories of Calderaas, and lined with discreet padded benches. At one end stood a huge stone chair on a low dais, on which sat the matriarch of House Awarrion, or, when she was conducting meetings here, Queen Arkasia.

The Queen sat there now. She glanced at the three daughters of the House as they entered, but did not acknowledge them further. Their mother gave them a fleeting little smile, no more than politeness dictated. All three women stopped just inside, bowing to the Queen and then their matriarch, before gliding over to stand behind her.

A small delegation of women in House Dalmiss colors were just departing, leaving Arkasia and the Awarrions alone with two humans and a surface elf who wore gold-rimmed spectacles and a thunderous scowl. Ambassador Conover gave them a nod and a warm smile; his aide, Rashid, bowed much more politely, his expression neutral.

Shaeine rather liked Rashid. Most of the Imperial staff in residence kept to their own customs and trusted diplomatic immunity to gloss over their missteps. Rashid had actually bothered to learn why the Narisians cultivated emotional reserve, and did his best not to inflict his every little feeling on everyone. His efforts were imperfect, of course, but she gave him a great deal of credit for trying. In her opinion, he’d have made a better Ambassador than Conover.

Shaeine did not, as a rule, enjoy the company of humans. True, they were an attractive people, with their powerful physiques, adorable little ears and exotic colorations, but she found them easier to enjoy from a safe distance. They were like children, casually emoting every little feeling that flickered across their minds. It was charming for the first five minutes, then quickly became exhausting, and from there downright offensive. The worst part was that far too many of them just wouldn’t learn.

These two she knew, however, and gave more attention to the other person present. Shaeine had never left Tar’naris, and despite her family’s attempts to establish contact with the surface tribes, none of them had yet deigned to venture below. As such, this was her first sight of an elf from the sun-blasted wastelands above, and she found the sight rather disturbing. Humans were one thing; an elf with human coloring was just…unnatural. The woman had skin like the paler breed of humans, the lightest possible tan with pinkish highlights, hair the color of polished gold and green eyes. It was downright creepy…and all the worse because Arachne Tellwyrn’s reputation preceded her.

“I understand that this is not what you expected, Professor,” Queen Arkasia said calmly.

“That is one way of putting it,” Tellwyrn snapped. Shaeine barely managed not to wince. Just who did this woman think she was, speaking to the Queen in that tone? Of course, it was a silly reaction. Tellwyrn knew exactly who she was.

“I really think it will work out, though,” Lord Conover said brightly. “House Dalmiss oversees agriculture, as I’m sure you know—”

“It was mentioned once or twice,” Tellwyrn said with heavy sarcasm. “Roughly every third sentence, in fact.”

“Yes, well, that’s something they’ll have in common with a lot of Imperial citizens,” Conover pressed on, his good cheer beginning to look a little desperate. “Especially in the Great Plains region around Last Rock. Ambassadors are well and good for dealing with other ambassadors, but the whole point of this program is to begin getting the citizens of Tar’naris and the Empire acclimated to each other. Miss Natchua probably has a lot more in common with most of your students than the average drow. It’s a solid start!”

Tellwyrn tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling as if she expected to find patience there. “Conovor, do you know what kind of school I run? Exactly how many farmers do you think I have enrolled in an average year?”

“House Dalmiss has been more heavily involved with Imperial personnel than most, what with the agricultural projects here,” Rashid said more quietly. “That should give Natchua an advantage.”

“And was this Natchua involved in any way with any of those discussions?” Tellwyrn snapped.

“I’m afraid we don’t know, precisely,” Ashaele said smoothly. “But there is still time for her to meet with embassy personnel and grow acclimated—”

“Do you know who’s already acclimated to humans?” the Professor interrupted. “House Awarrion.”

Shaeine kept her calm, but inwardly she bristled. How dare this ill-mannered woman cut off her mother?

“I’m sure you gleaned the basics of the situation during the introductions,” Queen Arkasia said with total calm. “The reality is that House Dalmiss has amassed considerable favor and influence due to their position and involvement with the cavern renovations. Matriarch Ezrakhai is owed certain concessions, and her protege’s inclusion in the exchange program is her fondest wish.”

“I’m still waiting for someone to explain what that has to do with me.”

“Politics are an inescapable fact of life everywhere,” Ashaele said soothingly. “The Queen’s obligation is first and foremost to the city, and this requires certain accommodations. Surely you can find it in you to be reasonable.” That last came very near to a reprimand; it was a sign that the normally unflappable Ashaele’s patience with this woman was already considerably frayed.

“Reasonable?” Tellwyrn snorted and folded her arms, looking mulish. “I can’t think of a single reason why I should. None of this is my problem, and I don’t appreciate you trying to make it so. I agreed to participate in this program as a favor to both the Empire and your city. This is not something I have any need to do. I went along because, in part, I was promised an Awarrion.” She turned the full force of her glare on Ashaele, and Shaeine was not the only one present who stiffened imperceptibly. “Putting a trained diplomat on my campus is an entirely different matter from some random drow!”

“Natchua d’zun Dalmiss is hardly random,” Arkasia said languidly. “Her matriarch would not have nominated her were she not confident of the girl’s ability to represent her House and Tar’naris well.”

“And what does the matriarch of a House of subterranean farmers know about what makes a good citizen ambassador?” Tellwyrn shot back. “Maybe this Natchua is the perfect bloody candidate; stranger things have happened. But far more likely is she’ll react the way most people do when suddenly immersed in a completely alien culture. She could withdraw completely and piss everybody off acting like the worst caricature of a surly drow… Or she might go native and come back here in four years using Tanglish slang and acting like a dime novel cowboy. The point is, we don’t know. Anyone care to place a bet which of those outcomes would do more damage to your little exchange program?” She set her teeth, staring at the Queen. “I was invited—begged—to participate in this rigamarole because I was offered a student from House Awarrion, whom I could count on to actually promote the peace on my campus.”

“And you shall have one,” said the Queen. “Next year. For the time being, the politics of the situation are what they are. I regret your disappointment.”

“You are not alone in incurring costs,” Ashaele added. “That is the very essence of compromise. I have been grooming a young man for this post as well, and those plans will have to be put off.”

“Well, you sure picked a great time to misplace your backbone, Ashaele,” Tellwyrn said dryly. Shaeine clung to her serenity by a fingernail, unable to stop her body from going rigid with rage. That this creepy blonde lout should speak to her mother in such a manner was absolutely intolerable. “What happened to the daring hero who crept alone into Tiraas to make peace with the savage surface-dwellers?”

“I did that in the service of my Queen and my city, as I do everything,” Ashaele replied, calm as ever. “Just as I do this.”

“I hope you’re happy with your service, then,” the Professor said sardonically. “I can’t help noticing that your ‘compromise’ is nothing but costs on my part, and no benefits. The old diplomacy a little rusty, hmm?”

“Perhaps you could do better, Professor, since you are clearly an expert. There are nearly three whole rules of basic civilized behavior you have managed not to flout in the last five minutes.”

Dead silence fell. Shaeine realized only belatedly that it was she who had spoken. As everyone turned to stare at her, horror welled up in her—to have spoken out of turn like that, to have lost control, and in front of the Queen—but it did not lessen her fury. In fact, if anything, she felt a giddy sense of liberation. Well, the cat was out of the bag now, as the Imperials said. At least she hadn’t lost her serenity.

“I beg your pardon?” said Tellwyrn, her tone and expression suddenly very mild.

“You have it,” Shaeine replied, “though I confess I am puzzled as to the utility of the request. It seems I am the only person present whom you have not personally insulted.”

“Shaeine,” her mother said, very quietly, completely without expression. Oh, yes, she was in trouble now. Well… In for a penny, in for a pound. The Tiraan really did have such pithy colloquialisms.

“And this is another budding diplomat, I take it?” Tellwyrn asked, still in that soft tone.

“Quite so,” Shaeine replied, bowing to her. “It is my pleasure to offer you a remedial instruction in diplomacy: one succeeds in negotiations by showing respect toward the other party’s position while keeping one’s own goals firmly in mind. In this case, the central dilemma seems to be your determination to behave like an undisciplined child despite being in civilized company. I, for my part, would be deeply mortified if I were to go over there and kick you in the midsection. If, however, that will make you more comfortable in our home, it is a sacrifice I am willing to embrace.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears, to the point she was certain the others in the room could hear it. Terror, shame, exhilaration, rage…emotions whirled in her to such an extent that she couldn’t predict which would would shine through if she allowed her calm facade to crack. She clung to it desperately. Already she’d dug herself into an impossible hole; at least she’d go down courteously.

Everyone was staring at her, the drow with appropriate calm, Rashid wide-eyed and struggling for control; Conover gaped like a fish. Tellwyrn’s expression…was an expression, quite unlike the Narisian idea of reserve, but Shaeine couldn’t interpret it.

Tellwyrn turned to Ashaele, pointing a finger at Shaeine. “And…this is…?”

“Shaeine,” the matriarch said, the very picture of serenity. “My youngest daughter.”

“I see.” The Professor grinned slightly, and for some reason dread began to drown out the other emotions fighting for Shaeine’s attention. “Very well, your Majesty, since we were just discussing compromise, I have decided to be reasonable.”

“How lovely,” Arkasia deadpanned.

“I’ll accept your random farmgirl,” Tellwyrn went on, “with the proviso that next year…” She grinned more broadly and again pointed at Shaeine. “I want this one.”

Shaeine’s reserve very nearly faltered. No, no no, absolutely not, anything but that.

“Oh?” the Queen said laconically. “An interesting choice.”

Ashaele stepped back and sideways, placing a hand on Shaeine’s shoulder. It verged on inappropriate display, but rank enabled one to get away with some things. Such a show of overt protectiveness from a matriarch would have warned any drow that they were stepping on dangerous ground indeed. Of course, Tellwyrn probably understood the gesture just as well and didn’t care. “Shaeine is a cleric, not a diplomat by vocation. She is training to serve in the House chapel.”

“Still beats the hell out of a farmer,” the Professor said bluntly. “Don’t give me that look, Ashaele, I am not aiming to punish the girl for speaking out. Quite the opposite; I think she’s absolutely perfect. She’s got spine, spirit, loyalty…and she’s funny. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Narisian with an overt sense of humor that I wasn’t sleeping with. This is what your exchange program needs. Natchua is going to do the gods only know what; a well-trained diplomat will manage, at best, to ward off conflict. Shaeine, though, has a very good chance of making people like her. You want drow and humans to start getting used to each other? She’s the perfect place to begin.”

No, Goddess, please, I don’t want to go to Tiraas…

“That,” Lord Conover said slowly, “makes a great deal of sense. I mean no disrespect to your culture, your Majesty, but the single greatest hurdle we’ve faced in getting our people to work together is that Narisian reserve seems so cold and aloof to Tiraan sensibilities that it comes off as very nearly hostile. Diplomacy and charm may be exactly the ticket.”

“Interesting,” Arkasia mused. “What say you, Shaeine?”

Please, please no!

Shaeine bowed deeply to the Queen, her expression perfectly calm. “I am less than confident of my competence in this matter, your Majesty. As my mother has said, the main thrust of my education has been in Themynra’s worship. If, however, your Majesty deems this a wise course, I shall be honored to serve Tar’naris in whatever way I can.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Conover said, looking positively cheerful now. “She’s got a full year to bone up on diplomatic procedures.” Shaeine felt a sudden, intense urge to slap him off the balcony with a divine shield.

“Matriarch Ashaele, the matter is in your hands,” said the Queen languidly. “I will not command this of you, but I do endorse it as an elegant solution to the present standoff.”

Ashaele’s hand tightened slightly on Shaeine’s shoulder. “I would discuss this matter in privacy with my daughter before making a final decision, your Majesty.”

“Very well. We shall re-convene tomorrow.”

“Some of us don’t have time to take extended vacations down here,” Tellwyrn said sharply. “If this can be settled—”

“No.” Queen Arkasia’s manner was as emotionless as ever, but there was steel beneath it now. “I am well aware that your notion of compromise is to bully everyone until you get your way, Arachne, but you have pushed my patience as far as you will for one day. You are done browbeating my people. We will resume this discussion tomorrow. That is all.”

Shaeine was barely conscious of the walk back into the private part of the palace, clinging to her serenity in an almost fugue-like state. She was dimly aware of her sisters bidding her farewell, and then she was alone with her mother in the matriarch’s chamber.

Ashaele came to a halt in the center of the room, still as a sculpture, her back to her daughter. Shaeine, feeling some of the fog of shock clearing from her mind, took two deep breaths, and then bowed deeply.

“Mother, I humbly apologize for my shameful loss of composure. Hearing that woman speak to you that way… No, that is not an excuse. I will accept whatever punishm—”

All of a sudden she was hauled upright and swept into a fierce embrace. Ashaele squeezed her close, rocking them gently; Shaeine gratefully buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, wrapping her own arms around her waist. They were silent like that for several minutes.

“That can be addressed later,” Ashaele said finally. “First we must deal with the consequences. I don’t know what designs that sun-baked lunatic has on you, but it goes without saying that I am not just handing you over to her.”

“You should, though.”

“Shaeine, I will handle you myself, as I would any member of this House who stepped out of line. Don’t be overeager to punish yourself.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Carefully, she pulled back, enough that she could lift her chin and look her mother in the eye. “My inclusion in this program will enable it to go forward despite Professor Tellwyrn’s stubbornness. That, then, is what I should do.”

Ashaele’s brow furrowed in consternation. “Is—Shaeine, do you want to go to the University?”

“Of course I don’t want to go!” she burst out, finally letting the repressed panic escape. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t like humans, and the thought of being alone, surrounded by the Empire for four years terrifies me.” Firmly, she forced her breathing back under control, brushing tears from her cheeks. “But… This needs to be done, and I need to do it.”

“Shaeine…”

“You’re my mother,” she said simply, gazing up at her. “But…you’re also my matriarch. And you’re my hero. I’ve only ever done you justice in one of those capacities. Please, Mother, don’t try to protect me from my duty. You didn’t raise a lout who puts her own desires above the needs of Tar’naris. I need to serve.”

Ashaele drew in a slow, long breath; it shuddered on the way back out. She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again, and gently placed a hand on Shaeine’s cheek. “My dearest little one… I’ve been selfish too. After we lost your father… I was so pleased you were called by Themynra. It meant I could keep you close to me.”

“I would never want to disappoint you,” Shaeine whispered.

“I am not disappointed. Just…” Impulsively, she pulled her daughter forward again into another hug. “You grew up. At some point you went and turned into the woman I hoped you’d be. I just never thought it would hurt so to realize.”

Shaeine nuzzled at her shoulder. “I hope I am. I want to make you proud. I just…need to prove myself.”

“My lovely, you don’t need to earn anything here.”

“I don’t need to earn your love,” she said softly. “I am so grateful for that. But…I do need to earn my place. I am Narisian. I have my duty.”

They were silent for another stretch of minutes. The matter was decided; there was nothing more to say about it.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >

4 – 21

Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , ,

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >

Debris crunched under Trissiny’s boots as she approached the Rail platform. Behind, Sarasio was relatively quiet—not the menacing, deathly silence with which it had first greeted them, but still a departure from the celebratory air of the night before. It had been a complicated evening, the hours immediately after the battle spent in damage control, healing the injured and mourning the dead. Still, all the action had left the townsfolk with energy that needed to be discharged, and there had been a veritable party at the Shady Lady lasting past dawn.

Thus, not only was Professor Tellwyrn’s intention of retiring right afterward thwarted, so was her plan of embarking on the Rails bright and early. It was mid-morning now, and Trissiny, like nearly everyone else, hadn’t managed much sleep. The students were still mostly getting themselves together in preparation for their departure. The citizens of Sarasio were more quietly adjusting to everything that had changed. There were few families without someone to grieve. The elves had quietly slipped away during the evening, but Robin, at least, had seemed optimistic that those who had come to help would be less standoffish in the future, and perhaps other members of the tribe would join them in the time.

Now, Toby stood alone on the Rail platform, beneath the tattered awning, gazing out over the Golden Sea. The Rail itself was inert; Tellwyrn had said a caravan was coming today to retrieve them, but not when. Trissiny climbed the short steps to the platform and went to stand beside him.

Toby’s expression was drawn and grim, more than simple fatigue should explain. She opened her mouth to speak, found she had nothing to say, and closed it, painfully aware of the silence. He hadn’t even acknowledged her, which was unlike him. Trissiny found herself thinking back to a few moments the night before when she’d spoken shortly to him in the heat of battle. Was he angry with her?

Then, finally, he glanced over at her and managed a weary little smile. “I’m kind of redundant, it seems. All the injured are doing very well. Those shamans do good work.”

“I always thought the plural was also shaman.” She immediately wanted to slap herself in the face. Why could she never find the right thing to say?

He chuckled. “You’re probably right… I’d have to look it up to be sure. More than an Omnist, right now, I think Sarasio needs a Vidian priest. Far too many dead.”

She nodded slowly. There just wasn’t much to be said in response to that.

Toby shook his head slowly. “I guess we must have a pretty different outlook on how things turned out here.”

“How so?” she asked quietly.

“Well… We won. It was an unquestionable victory in battle. I’m trying to be glad about that… I know I should be, given what was at stake. Things will be immeasurably better here, now, thanks to us. I just… I can’t think of anything but the dead, the injured, the grieving.” He fell silent, clamping his lips together firmly.

Trissiny drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Avei’s doctrine tells us that any contest of wills is a form of war, and the art of war applies to it. There are so many ways of engaging in warfare that don’t involve violence; violence is considered the least desirable, least honorable method. We view any situation that’s allowed to degenerate into physical violence as a failure.”

He looked over at her, surprised. “Really?”

“We fail a lot, of course. There are situations that are beyond our control… Situations that went bad before we became involved, or where the possibility of preventing violence simply doesn’t exist. And yes, sometimes, we just fail because we make mistakes. Avenists train and prepare for combat because it’s part of the reality of the world, and once it breaks out, it’s far better to win than to lose. But we don’t seek it. Our energies are devoted to preventing it from occurring whenever possible. A battle averted is a battle won by the only truly honorable method.”

“I never knew that,” he said quietly, again staring the horizon. “You see the Legionnaires guarding all the temples, hear the old stories about the Hands of Avei and their exploits…”

“Have you ever heard of Laressa of Anteraas?”

“Of course.” He grinned ruefully. “The Apostate, we call her.”

“We call her the Peacemaker. The only time Avei ever called a paladin who was a follower of a different god. The Omnist Hand of Avei lived in a particularly brutal time. She fought with diplomacy and trickery as her weapons, and the Sisters certainly questioned her strategies, but nobody ever claimed she was anything but a warrior. Her stubborn avoidance of physical combat is credited with a whole social movement that brought about a century of peace. Such things move slowly; she didn’t live long enough to see it, unfortunately.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m…sorry, Trissiny. I guess I misjudged you.”

“You’re not the first,” she said bitterly. “Or the tenth.”

Toby gave her another smile, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Even through the layers of metal, leather and cloth, she felt his touch like an electric current. “Sometimes it’s not so bad to be wrong. Maybe we’re not so different.”

“I think there’s a lot we have in common,” she whispered, turning to face him. She was aware, suddenly, of how close they were standing; it was a heady sensation. She felt she should be doing something…anything. She couldn’t think what, though, except to stare at his warm brown eyes. It almost seemed they were getting bigger…

No, Trissiny realized; she was drifting closer.

Then those eyes widened in sudden comprehension, and Toby moved backward with a speed that was just barely short of abrupt. He quickly schooled his features, but not quite in time to disguise a wince.

He’d moved back. And winced.

Something in her felt as brittle as old leaves.

“Ah, look,” he said, very carefully. “I think you’re a great girl, Triss…”

Everything after that was kind of hazy.

Darling was still more than a little bleary when he slouched into his smaller, more intimate parlor, guided by the scent of hot scones and tea. It had been a long night; even after dealing with the Beater, the Crow, the Jackal and the Archpope in that order, he’d had to go pull rank at the Temple of Avei to extract his apprentices. Unsurprisingly, the Sisters had reacted to the sudden arrival of three armed, self-described criminal elves telling conflicting stories by detaining everyone while they sorted out what was going on. Darling, Eserite or no, was a Bishop of the Universal Church and his say-so counted for something; he’d straightened that out, retrieved the girls and seen to it the Jackal was comfortably ensconced in a cell.

All this meant he hadn’t had time for much sleep, certainly hadn’t had a chance to sit down and process the Archpope’s revelations, and Flora and Fauna weren’t done being peeved at him yet.

“Good day,” Mary the Crow said politely. She was sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs around the parlor table. Not his favorite chair. She probably knew that.

He blinked at her, then shambled in and flopped down in his customary seat. “Morning. By all means, come on in. Make yourself right the hell at home.”

“Morning is nearly over,” she replied calmly, wearing a faint smile.

“Mornings are evil things,” he grunted, pouring himself a cup of strong black tea. “No decent person would be caught participating in one. Scone?”

“Thank you, no.” He began spreading butter on one in silence.

Mary waited until he’d had two bites. “Perhaps we should discuss last night’s events, Darling. I feel we’ve made some progress toward building trust. Or do you disagree?”

“Lady, let me get some tea and hot food in me, and then I’ll start determining what I think about anything. There’s a process. You don’t rush the process.”

From the doorway, Price cleared her throat softly. “Your Grace, you have…” She gave Mary an unreadable look. “…another visitor. Bishop Syrinx is here to see you.”

“How interesting,” Mary said, her smile widening.

“Oh, bugger it all,” Darling groaned. “Might as well show her in, Price, she’ll probably chew down the door or something otherwise.”

“Very good, your Grace.”

He managed to stuff the rest of the scone into his face before Basra arrived.

“Are you still having breakfast?” she demanded, sparing the Crow barely a glance. “How long have you been up? You look like death’s droppings.”

“Why, how lovely to bloody well see you too, Bas. Please, have a seat. How’ve you been? How’s the weather?”

She snorted, sliding onto the loveseat and helping herself to a scone. “We need to talk, Antonio. First, though, what are you doing with this here first thing in what I gather is still the morning for you?”

“Omnu’s balls, I just came downstairs and there she was,” he exclaimed. “What do you want me to do, put up a scarecrow?”

“Hnh. Maybe she can go play with the other elves while we talk?”

“They are at the Guild, attending to their training.” He grinned at her over his teacup. “So, no, the only elven ears in the building are the ones you see before you.”

“It may interest you to know, however,” said Mary calmly, “that your home is under Imperial surveillance.”

“Oh, that’s just Lord Vex’s way of beating his chest,” Darling said dismissively, though inwardly he wanted to curse. He hadn’t known that. It was something he’d have to keep in mind. “Ignore them, they’ll get tired and go away after a few more weeks of me being my boring self.”

“Seriously, though,” Basra said, staring at Mary. “Do you mind? We need to talk Church business.”

“I was here first,” the elf said placidly.

“All right, enough,” Darling snapped. “Don’t try to swim up the waterfall, Bas. If she wants to know what’s going on, she’ll find out. Better in the long run to work with her than against her.”

“I suppose,” Basra said grudgingly, then grinned. “And after all, it’s probably better that you get used to hanging around here, what with Antonio being your new boss, and all.”

Mary raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes,” Basra said with relish. “He’s been placed in charge of the Archpope’s adventurer program. No more running around the city taking them down one by one. Antonio thinks he can do it smart.”

“And Justinian agreed to that?” Mary said mildly. “You must have made quite an impression.”

“I capitalized on an opportunity,” Darling said wearily, setting down his teacup. “He pretty much had to give me something. I don’t think he’d planned on revealing all that he did so early; after we found out about the Jackal and burst in on him like that, he needed to offer something to keep us loyal. Even after showing us the Chamber of Truth and announcing his plans… Well, it was a show of trust and a bribe, sure, but it was crazy enough he still needed to coax us. You could have probably gotten something, too, if you’d thought to ask.”

“Well…damn,” she said, scowling now.

“And what plans are these?” Mary asked, in the same mild tone.

“Well.” Basra gave her an unpleasant smile. “It seems his Holiness aspires to universal apotheosis. He intends to elevate all of humanity to godhood.”

There was silence for a moment while Mary contemplated this. Her face, as usual, showed no emotion. “The reasons that would not work are outnumbered only by the reasons it would be a disaster if it did.”

“Pretty much what I thought,” Basra replied, leaning back in the loveseat and crossing her legs. “And what Antonio thought, I’ll bet, which is why I’m here. He’s got Branwen wrapped around his little finger—not that that’s hard, she’s about as intellectually impressive as a bucket of shucked clams. And I strongly suspect Andros knew something about this going in; his cult is more heavily behind the Archpope than any other. You and I, though, signed off on that asshat project only as our best chance of getting out of that room alive and without a price on our head.” She stared at him piercingly, the intensity of her gaze belying her relaxed posture. “Or am I wrong?”

Darling nibbled at a scone, rapidly pondering. How much could he trust Basra? Whatever the state of her mental health, she was cunning, unscrupulous and had a cruel streak. Still, that could be an advantage. Allies of convenience were often less prone to giving each other unpleasant surprises than those bonded by deeper trust.

“You’re more or less in the right,” he said. “Whatever Justinian is doing is clearly going to go forward. I’m happier being around to keep an eye on it than sitting here wondering when the hammer will come down.”

“So the question is: was he serious?” She turned her gaze to the window, frowning as she stared into space. “I trust you of all people noticed we were being fed a line of bullshit from the start of that meeting to the end. My favorite part is how he twisted it around so that his hiring outside contractors ostensibly not to kill us was evidence that we should trust him more.”

“However did he manage to express that?” Mary asked, tilting her head. It was a distinctly birdlike gesture.

“Basically,” Darling explained, “we’ve spent so much time proving ourselves to him to be let into the inner circle; now that he’s called his own trustworthiness into question, he has to prove himself to us, which places us on more even footing.”

“I see.” She ruminated for a moment. “It does make a certain, insane kind of sense.”

“’Insane’ is a very relevant word, here,” Basra said grimly. “I’ll admit I might be indulging in wishful thinking by concluding he’s putting one over on us. Schemes, lies and betrayals are things I understand, things I know how to deal with. The Archpope concealing his true plans behind a grandiose front would make sense to me. The alternative is that one of the world’s most powerful men is irretrievably screaming bugfuck insane, and there’s basically nothing we can do about it.”

“It is not impossible that he is both,” Mary suggested. “Elevating an entire species to godhood is, in a word, unthinkable. Elevating individuals, however, has been done.”

“Not in eight thousand years,” Basra retorted, “and nobody knows how. The gods have been very particular about keeping that information quiet.”

“Shifty bastards, aren’t they?” Darling said cheerfully.

Basra winced. “I can’t help expecting thunder or something whenever somebody says something like that.”

“Meh, I’m not nearly important enough for them to pay attention to,” he said dismissively. “The question becomes, then, how serious is the Archpope?”

“And what are we going to do about it?” Basra added, taking a bite of her scone.

“This does not seem to be the time for aggressive action,” Mary said calmly. “The protections of the Church are…considerable. Even I would hesitate to strike at Justinian; whatever his plans, he enjoys the general favor of the Pantheon and the active, personal support of several gods. I believe your current strategy is the best one.”

Darling chewed slowly, not replying, not willing to give voice to the thought currently foremost in his mind. It was an absurd thought, of course, but he hadn’t succeeded this far in life by failing to cover the angles.

What if Justinian was sane, sincere…and successful?

“So how’s this Rail thing work, anyhow?” Ruda asked, climbing into the car. “Was there just no caravan scheduled this whole time we’ve been in this town, or what?”

“Sarasio isn’t a regular stop,” Professor Tellwyrn replied. “You’ll note that, like Last Rock, there is only a single Rail line; consequently, the caravans only travel in one direction. They only come to Sarasio when someone charters a caravan to this location.”

“Oh.” Ruda frowned. “Wait, the telescroll tower’s down. How’d you get a caravan out here so fast?”

Tellwyrn smiled at her in silence.

“Do you realize how fucking annoying that is?”

Tellwyrn’s smile widened.

“Yeah.” Ruda folded her arms and slouched in her seat. “I figured you did.”

The students weren’t the only ones departing Sarasio; in addition to Heywood Paxton, a number of residents were taking the opportunity to flee the beleaguered little town. Not many, luckily for the remainder. It seemed Sarasio would retain enough of its population to rebuild. The extra, however, meant different seating arrangements than on their trip out. For starters, Tellwyrn didn’t have a car to herself this time; Trissiny, Teal and now Ruda sat with her.

“So what’s all that about?” Ruda demanded, pointing at the bright hibiscus flower tucked behind the Professor’s ear. It was a very peculiar look for her, and not just because it clashed with her blonde hair.

“Apparently the Shady Lady has a small attached greenhouse,” Tellwyrn said mildly, looking out the window. “I can see the utility of an upscale bordello cultivating some exotic flowers. It was a little going-away present.”

“Uh huh.” Ruda grinned broadly. “Well, is anybody else gonna say it?” Teal and Trissiny both glanced at her momentarily before returning to their own window-gazing. “All right, guess it’s up to me, then. Lady, that boy is fifteen years old. I know you’ve got a rep to keep up, but there’s a line between doing whatever damn thing you please and just being a fucking creepy old creep. See?”

Tellwyrn turned her head to look at Ruda. She kept her expression perfectly neutral.

Ruda shifted slightly in her seat, her grin slipping. “I’m just saying.”

The professor stared.

“Oh, hey, there’s Gabe,” Ruda said, rising. “I need to ask him something.” She exited more quickly than she’d entered.

“Important life lesson, girls,” Tellwyrn said with a small smile. “There’s a time and a place for shouting and making accusations, but people who know they’re in the wrong absolutely cannot stand silence.”

The two girls glanced at her again, momentarily, before returning their stares to the glass.

“Oh, good, a seat,” said Juniper, ducking into the compartment. “Ruda apparently really wants to sit with Shaeine and the boys. I dunno why it’s important, but whatever. Fross is riding with them, I guess she’s small enough she doesn’t need her own seat.”

“Welcome aboard, Juniper,” Tellwyrn said mildly, now fishing in her pocket with one hand.

“Thanks! And don’t worry, I’m not gonna crush anyone when we go around the turns. I don’t weigh like a tree when I’m concentrating, and anyway I’m really good at bracing myself.”

“Good to know,” said the professor, finally retrieving what she was after. She handed a small square wrapped in gold foil to Teal and another to Trissiny.

“What’s this?” Teal asked, not sounding terribly interested.

“Svennish artisan chocolate,” replied the professor. “The cure for nothing and the treatment for everything.”

“None for me, thanks,” said Juniper, cheerful as ever.

“You don’t need any,” Tellwyrn said dryly.

“Boy, that’s for sure. I mean, I can metabolize just about anything, but processed sugar makes me all sluggish.”

“Thanks,” Trissiny said somewhat belatedly, leaving the chocolate resting in her hand, still wrapped. Teal had already extracted hers and was single-mindedly devouring it.

“Don’t mind them,” Juniper said earnestly, leaning toward the professor. “They both just got—”

“I forgot to mention, Juniper, you did very well during the battle,” Tellwyrn interrupted her smoothly. “Excellent use of strategy.”

At this, Trissiny finally looked up. “She got captured.”

“Exactly,” said the professor, nodding.

“Well, yeah,” said Juniper. “I mean, if I didn’t let them capture me they were gonna shoot me. I really don’t like being shot, but that was sort of beside the point. We were supposed to be saving the town, which pretty much can’t happen if it gets destroyed. My mother is, uh, not exactly precise when she’s in a mood.”

“Oh.” Trissiny turned back to the window.

“Ah, youth,” Tellwyrn murmured. Juniper blinked at her in confusion, but no one replied.

The sharp crack of arcane energy sounded and the caravan began moving. All four braced themselves in their seats, some more glad of the distraction than others, and they accelerated away, on their journey home to Last Rock.

“A moment, your Majesty?”

Sharidan indulged in a sigh. It was only Quentin Vex, whose loyalty he trusted. It wouldn’t do for the Emperor to show weakness in front of any of his courtiers, but in front of those he knew were on his side, a little annoyance now and then didn’t hurt. Eleanora still gave him a look, of course, which he ignored. They were on the way back to the harem wing from the morning’s session holding court, and he knew she was looking forward to a quiet meal without anyone pestering them as much as he.

“Something urgent, Lord Quentin?” Sharidan asked mildly.

“No, your Majesty, not urgent, but immediate. I would advise that you receive this report no later than today, but if your Majesty is busy…?” He trailed off, falling into step beside them. A Hand of the Emperor prowled ahead of the party, two more behind; at least one of those would be watching Vex like a hawk.

“Just spit it out,” the Empress said curtly, and Sharidan gave her a little smile.

Vex, as usual, bore his Empress’s sharp tongue with perfect equanimity. “The situation in Sarasio has been resolved, and the outcome is optimal. Professor Tellwyrn personally delivered her report to me this morning, along with a written report by Surveyor Paxton and two communications from the Hands of Omnu and Avei. The town is secure, the rebels under citizen’s arrest awaiting Imperial retrieval. Sarasio’s request for Imperial aid is being processed; I understand it has been fast-tracked and should result in shipments of personnel and supplies within the week. The Minister of the Interior has already appointed a Marshal, who will embark later today. General Panissar has dispatched a regiment to secure the town, and per the Hands’ requests, three ranking clerics of Omnu and a squad from the Seventh Silver Legion are already en route.”

“How in the hell,” Eleanora demanded, “did that woman personally get into your offices?”

Vex’s normally sleepy expression showed uncharacteristic annoyance, a sign of the favor he enjoyed; the Empress knew well enough that it wasn’t aimed at her. “Apparently, your Majesty, she teleported directly in. And yes, that should be impossible. We are looking into it.”

Eleanora snorted. “I do not like the idea of involving that woman in Imperial affairs. The entire purpose of that University of hers, however she tries to dress it up, is to crank out high-level adventurers. More of those are the last thing the Empire needs.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Vex said diplomatically. “However, she will be doing that anyway, and attempting to prevent her will certainly cause more harm than good. I am quite optimistic about the long-term prospects of cultivating an amicable relationship. Tellwyrn has already proven useful in this specific situation, and as a general rule, I believe it’s better to have her working with us than against us.”

“At least the town is stable,” said the Emperor before Eleanora could start in again. “What of the neighboring elves?”

“Ah, yes, your Majesty. They assisted in reclaiming the town and putting down the rebels. It seems Tellwyrn’s students were instrumental in arranging this.”

“Excellent,” Sharidan said, nodding. “So far, I concur with your analysis. If the good Professor is willing to play nicely, that certainly beats the alternative.” Eleanora snorted expressively, but withheld comment. “Anything further on the situation?”

“That covers it, your Majesty. I will of course keep you informed as new developments arise.”

“A moment,” said Sharidan as Vex started to bow out. They had arrived at the door to the harem wing, which the Hand in the lead opened for them and slipped through, quickly surveying the interior before nodding his liege forward. “It’s nearing the end of the academic semester in the next few days, isn’t it? While we’re on the subject of Tellwyrn and her University, let’s have your semiannual analysis.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said Vex, obediently following them in and toward the dining room. “It is quite early, yet, and the Sarasio event is the students’ first organized foray into Imperial territory, so my information is, at best, incomplete, but I have been able to gather several basic impressions. There are no surprises from the two Hands, nor from the Narisian exchange student. That last is a welcome improvement from last year’s drow. The half-demon is, of course, entirely unimportant; he’s only there because his father and Tobias Caine petitioned Tellwyrn to admit him. The pixie, likewise, is of no immediate significance and a fairly minor long-term concern.”

“How so?” the Empress asked as they stepped into the dining room, where servants held out chairs for the Imperial couple. Vex positioned himself discreetly to one side where they could both see him.

“We have ascertained that, as expected, the Pixie Queen has already forgotten the matter. Fross is an academically interesting case, but she is one individual, completely isolated from her species and of no diplomatic or political interest. It will be interesting to see whether an individual pixie can be housebroken, so to speak. If she proves this to be the case, in four years or so we may wish to look into acquiring some pixies of our own; they have potential tactical value. Fross’s current academic career is well within the margin of error for a pixie’s established attention span, however, so such action would be premature.”

He paused, and Sharidan gestured for him to continue while servants place a plate of steaming fish in front of him.

“The more important cases are, of course, the dryad, the archdemon and Princess Zaruda. In all three cases, I consider it far too early to make any significant judgments.”

“What are your gut feelings at this point?” asked the Emperor.

Vex frowned, contemplating momentarily. “If the Juniper experiment proves successful, it will change everything. So far, she appears to be obeying Tellwyrn’s rules without trouble, but it is, as I have said, early, and I am not aware that her self-control has been significantly tested against her predatory instincts. Should it prove that dryads can be integrated into mortal society… The implications are vast, not least because it will be the first sign in recorded history that Naiya is personally interested in interacting with us on a large scale. I almost hope Juniper reverts to type and Tellwyrn has to get rid of her. It will certainly cause less complication in the long run.”

Sharidan nodded, chewing, and kept his expression bland, not glancing at any of the Hands nearby. Privately, he agreed with Vex; the less the world at large understood about dryads, the better.

“The duo of Teal Falconer and Vadrieny remain stable,” Vex continued. “There is as yet no indication of progress on any front. Miss Falconer is, by any measure, a loyal and admirable citizen, but the nature of her relationship with the demon makes it impossible to predict what will happen should Vadrieny’s memories return, or she turn against the Empire for any other reason.”

“And the Punaji girl?” Eleanora asked. She had her wineglass in hand, but neither ate nor drank, her piercing stare fixed on Vex.

He shrugged eloquently. “Observation reinforces what we knew of her personally before she went to Last Rock. Princess Zaruda is as clever as her mother and as fierce as her father. All indications are that she will one day be one of the greatest Queens the Punaji nation has ever known; an education at Tellwyrn’s hands will only increase her capacities. At issue, then, is purely how she feels about the Tiraan Empire. She may become an absolutely priceless ally… But if she decides her people are better off separating themselves from Tiraan interests…” He let the thought trail off.

“Clearly, then, we must prevent that from happening,” said Sharidan, setting down his fork.

Vex nodded. “Yes, your Majesty. It is a delicate matter, however. Zaruda is likely to perceive any charity or blatant attempts to sway her as hostile acts, and she is certainly intelligent enough to see through them. Much as it pains me to say it, I don’t believe handling her is an appropriate task for my department. She should be approached with sincerity and skill by the Foreign Ministry. Specifically by whoever is best-versed in dealing with the Punaji.”

“How immediately do you think that need be addressed?” Eleanora asked.

“I don’t recommend that we involve ourselves with any of the students at Last Rock at this time,” said Vex. “Let them develop for a while. It’s too early, yet, to know exactly what action will need to be taken. I will repeat my earlier analysis, however, that this group of students on balance represents more potential for change than any of Tellwyrn’s recent crops. If anything, this underscores the importance of handling Tellwyrn herself correctly.”

“Which you wish to continue doing, I take it,” said the Empress, her mouth tightening.

“My current policy toward her appears to be an unequivocal success, your Majesty,” he said mildly.

“Very well,” said Sharidan, nodding. “Thank you for your report, Lord Quentin.”

“Your Majesties.” Vex bowed to each of them before turning and slipping out.

Eleanora sighed, finally taking a sip of her wine. “What an unmitigated headache.”

“But a headache for another day,” Sharidan replied with a grin. “Let’s focus on the ones right in front of us for now, Nora.”

They finished eating in companionable silence, enjoying the brief respite from the politics of the Palace. All too soon, it would be back into the fray for them both.

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >

3 – 1

Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >

Tricks would have felt more comfortable in one of his disguises. More than keeping in practice, more than having fun with his subordinates or even making a constant effort to keep them sharp, it was a way for him to defray the stress of his position, drawing on another face, another identity. He’d never discussed this with anyone, though he suspected Style had an inkling. She was oddly perceptive at times, for being so bullheaded.

But this business required his own original face as the head of the Guild, and so he waited in the office just off the training pit, wearing a plain, unprepossessing suit, lounging in the room’s one padded chair.

Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait. The office door opened and Style entered, a quietly seething Jeremiah Shook on her heels. Despite his glower, he was self-possessed enough to shut the door behind them while Style paced down the carpeted center of the room, past the rows of accountants’ desks, to come stand behind Trick’s shoulder.

“Thumper!” he said genially, beckoning the man forward. “Good to see you back safely.”

“Boss,” Thumper replied, making an effort to get his expression under control. Well, the man had due cause to be upset. None of that, as far as Tricks knew, was directed at him. Still, on top of the failure of his job in Last Rock, it was always humiliating, having to be extracted from the clutches of the law by the Guild’s attorneys. At least they’d gotten to Shook before he’d been handed over to Avenists. The cults of Avei and Eserion had a…complicated relationship.

“First of all,” Tricks said, “I want to reassure you up front that you’re not being called down on the carpet. What happened in Last Rock was patently not your fault. You were dealing with a foe extremely well-positioned and practiced at outmaneuvering opponents.”

“We should deal with that asshole McGraw,” Thumper all but snarled, his self-control fraying. “Our rep’s on the line. We can’t have people thinking they can spit in the Guild’s face and walk away.”

“All in good time,” Tricks said mildly. “He’s not the foe I was speaking of, however. One of our people in Puna Dara spotted McGraw less than a week after the events in question.”

“Doing what?” Thumper demanded.

Tricks grinned, well aware that it was an unpleasant expression. “Having dinner,” he said, “with Principia Locke. Apparently they went upstairs together afterward. Our agent heard enough of their conversation to confirm that Prin was the individual who hired McGraw to interfere in your operation.”

For a moment, Thumper just stared at him, completely nonplussed. Then his eyes tracked to one side, then the other. Tricks could almost see him making connections, considering events in light of this new information. Slowly, his posture stiffened until the man was practically vibrating. Fists clenched at his sides, he failed to maintain the mask of calm, his face twisting with rage.

“That little. Fucking. Whore.”

“Here’s the thing,” Tricks went on, feigning a casual air but watching Thumper carefully. The man was clearly on the verge of a complete blowup; it would be preferable if Style didn’t have to beat him compliant. “That operation of hers? Brilliant. One of the more elegant cons I’ve seen, and that is saying something. If she’d just had you roughed up or killed, the Guild would have sent along another, more dangerous agent, escalating the stakes and the risk. No, she had to generate complete chaos, turn the whole mission into such a complete and utter tits-up-in-the-rhubarb debacle that we have no choice but to withdraw all our attentions from the town. That succeeded brilliantly. Any new arrivals in Last Rock for the next little while are going to be examined very carefully, both by the local law and likely by Tellwyrn, which we risk the identity of any of our people we send back in there. And that leaves me in an awkward position. If it were anything simpler—going to the law, hiring an outside thug to take out a Guildmate—you know exactly what we’d do.”

“Drag her ass back here and beat it purple,” Shook snarled.

“For starters,” Tricks said with a faint grin. “But the point of that is to demonstrate to all the the Guild is still in control, that we’re not to be made fools of. In this case… Well, Thumper, we’ve been made right fools of, and no mistake. Keys made you and I look like complete idiots. Only reason she hasn’t managed to make a mockery of the Guild itself is nobody outside this room knows the extent of what she pulled. And it’s going to stay that way. You keep your mouth shut about this business, understand?”

Thumper forgot himself so far as to take a step forward, raising both fists. “You’re actually going to let the little cunt get away with—”

“Settle,” Style said quietly. Thumper stopped, collected himself, and nodded sharply, evidently not trusting himself to speak.

Style yelled, cursed and generally blustered as a matter of course, but as her enforcers quickly learned, when she whispered, people tended to die.

“So,” Tricks continued, “I’m giving you a little time off from your duties. It’s going in the records as a suspension related to a recent failed job. Consider it a well-earned vacation.”

Shook physically twitched as though struck. “You said,” he replied, clinging to a frayed thread of restraint, “I wasn’t to be punished.”

“You’re not,” Tricks said gently. “It’s like this, Thumper. I obviously cannot let Keys get away with turning on the Guild like this, and I cannot afford to spend any more resources going after her without further undercutting our credibility. If it comes down to it, I’ll suck it up and chase her down with whatever we’ve got, but first, I’m going to hope for her to magically find herself back here under completely other circumstances so I can straighten her out and make it look like we were all of us in full control the whole time.”

Thumper’s sneer eloquently said what he thought of that. “And she’ll come back here because…?”

“Hypothetically speaking,” Tricks said, “if an off-duty member of the Guild were to find and bring Keys here… Well, that person would gain quite a bit of rep for exposing and collaring a traitor when they weren’t even supposed to be at work. Naturally, if there were any recent blemishes in such a person’s record, they’d be quite overshadowed. Hell, I could probably see my way to removing such black marks entirely.”

Slowly, visibly, Thumper grew calmer as understanding dawned on him. His face didn’t quite relax completely, but there appeared something in his eyes that hinted at a very cruel sort of smile. “I see.”

Tricks grinned. “Enjoy your vacation.”

“You got it, Boss,” Thumper said, nodding first to him and then to Style, then turned to go.

Tricks let him get the door open and start to step out. “Oh, and Thumper.”

He turned back to look warily at his two superiors. “Boss?”

“In this hypothetical scenario, anybody bringing Keys back here had better be mindful of the condition she’s in. I can’t make an example of a corpse.”

“In this hypothetical scenario,” Thumper replied, “I would know exactly how to teach an uppity bitch some humility.” He nodded to them again, stepped out, and shut the door behind him.

Just like that, Tricks let the mask fall, slumping down in his chair and covering his eyes with a hand. “Ugh…what an absolute cock-up. I still can hardly believe all this, Style. Principia’s disrespectful and ornery, but she’s always been faithful to the Big Guy. I just…didn’t see this coming. Before the end of this, I’ve really gotta find out what it is she wants so badly in Last Rock that she’s willing to cross the Guild to get it.”

“This is why I wish you’d let me deal with my enforcers directly,” she replied. “Before sending Thumper off, I’d rather have spent some time finding out what he did to set her off that way. Yeah, I know my man. You can bet he did something. People don’t just up and turn on their cult on a fucking whim.”

He twisted around and leaned his head back to look up at her. “Do you think he tried to hand her off to the Wreath or something? To Tellwyrn?”

Style shook her head slowly, her expression troubled. “No…not that. Shook’s stuffed to the skull with rage and he’s got bad habits around women… Sweet tried to teach him some self-control, and ended up just teaching him to repress, which has not been helpful. But the Guild is his whole life. Even more than Prin, I can’t see him betraying a member to our enemies.”

“Then it doesn’t matter what he did, it matters what she did about it,” Tricks said firmly. “I will not have treason, Style. It’s not to be tolerated. Anything else we can deal with, work around, forgive if need be. Anybody who turns on the Guild is an enemy, simple as that.”

She drew in a deep breath and blew it out all at once. “You really think Thumper has a chance of collaring Prin in the wild? He’s a kneecapper; she’s a conwoman, and a damn good one. She’s already manipulated the hell out of him once.”

“Of course not. He’ll flush her out, though. Principia settled down in some nest with her defenses up is something I don’t fancy trying to root out. Principia fleeing across the countryside with that asshole at her heels… Well, if we play this right she might still be persuaded to come home voluntarily. After all, Thumper’s not working on my orders here, now is he?”

Style shook her head. “Well, let’s just hope this works out better than your last clever idea.”

 

Emperor Sharidan preferred a simple breakfast. When he had first ascended to the Silver Throne, moving into the harem wing and to a staff of servants who didn’t yet know his ways, he’d been greeted in the morning by a veritable feast, enough to feed a small village, from which he was expected to graze lightly, letting the rest go to waste. Over a dozen servants were posted about the room, ready to dash forth and pander to his merest whim.

He had quickly made his opinions about this known.

Now, breakfast in the Imperial harem was a small, almost cozy affair. He sat at a little round table in the parlor outside his bedroom, only four other people present, none of them servants. Milanda Darnassy, the young lady with whom he’d spent the night, was serving as hostess, pouring tea for those present. Sharidan never slept alone, and this duty always fell to his consort of the evening—which, these days, was more likely than not to be Milanda. In truth, he’d have welcomed her to sit down at the table, and while the other girls usually did, she preferred to keep a respectful distance from the rest of his company. This consisted of his wife, Eleanora, and sometimes a minister of some department or another called to deliver reports. Having breakfast with the Emperor was considered not so much an honor as an occasional duty. Today it was Lord Quentin Vex, who was in the process of running down a list of events he deemed important to bring to the Emperor’s attention, all but ignoring his pastry and braised swordfish.

Vex was more Eleanora’s creature than Sharidan’s, to be truthful, but she made a point of never receiving reports from the man except in his presence. The nature of their partnership was that she handled many of the more aggressive aspects of the Throne’s duties, chiefly espionage and military matters, but she was insistent that Sharidan be kept fully in the loop.

The fourth person in the room, and the reason no guards were present, was a black-coated Hand of the Emperor. Barring another attack by a deity, guards would have been quite superfluous.

“Nothing will come of it, as usual,” Vex was saying. “The orcs are always rattling sabers at us, but even if they did manage to land a raiding party on Tiraan soil they’d be obliterated by our forces. Even that is practically impossible; they’d have to get through the Tidestriders or the Punaji first.”

“We know this very well, Quentin,” Eleanora said with a hint of reproof. “The question was how this new round of saber-rattling will affect our relationship with the kingdom of Sifan.”

“Your pardon, Majesty, but the Sifanese are as aware of the situation as we. If any orcs actually launched an attack from their shores, it would be considered an act of war by them. They’ll never allow it, and the orcs know this very well. It’s all just talk.

“Nonetheless,” said Sharidan, “talk is the first step in every kind of interaction between nations, and there are things far short of war that could more than merely inconvenience us. I think it’s time to arrange a state visit to Sifan. With gifts suitable to express the great esteem in which we hold them.”

“Conveyed by warships,” Eleanora added, smiling at him. “The carrot and the stick.”

“Just so.” He returned her grin. “We have no objection to the Sifanese allowing orcs to dwell in their lands. It doesn’t hurt to remind them, now and again, why they don’t want us to develop objections.”

“Very good, your Majesty,” Vex said with an approving nod. “Then, there are only a couple more domestic issues, related to each other. I have…been in touch with Professor Tellwyrn regarding the Elilial matter.”

There was a moment of stillness at the table. Even the Hand tore his gaze from his perpetual survey of the room’s entrances to look over at them. This was a subject the Emperor did not prefer to discuss.

“Define ‘in touch,’” Eleanora ordered, her voice cold.

“I took the liberty of notifying her of Elilial’s re-entry to this plane, and the fact that she has worked out a way of doing so without tripping the alarms thought to be inherent in opening hellgates.”

“And you did this…why?” the Empress asked quietly. Vex appeared unruffled by her razor stare. He was one of the few who could manage it.

“With respect, your Majesty, managing Tellwyrn is something of an art form. I have been reviewing my predecessors’ notes on her, and the point that jumped repeatedly out at me is that she is usually reasonable and amenable to working with others, even with enemies, if treated with respect. If she feels someone is trying to manipulate her, well… At that point, people begin to vanish and things start exploding. I’ve not come out and said I’m using her to run interference with Elilial, nor will I, but it seems she is inclined to do that anyway, and I’d rather she not get the impression I’m doing anything at her expense.”

“That woman is unreliability given flesh,” Eleanora said with a sneer, but let the matter drop, turning back to her fish. Sharidan held his tongue. He had not asked about the details of Eleanora’s brush with Arachne Tellwyrn, as it had obviously happened before they had met, and hoped he would never have to. His wife’s dislike of the elf was clearly personal.

“In any case,” Vex went on smoothly, “I received, finally, a reply from the Professor. It read, in its entirety: ‘I’ll talk to her.’ Hopefully she will extend the same courtesy in appraising me of the broad strokes of that conversation, if or when it happens.”

“Can she actually do that?” Sharidan asked with interest. He told himself the interest was purely tactical, that he had no hope or desire of ever having another conversation with the woman he’d known as Lilian Riaje. He told himself this every time Elilial came up, in the hope that he would eventually start to believe it.

“That is impossible to know,” Vex said with an eloquent shrug. “I would say that if anyone can, though, it’s Tellwyrn. She is possibly the world’s leading expert on getting audiences with deities. That was the main thrust of what she’s done with her life since she appeared on the scene three thousand years ago. Whatever she wants with the gods, she’s managed to get a personal audience with every single one known, then vanished for thirty years, then showed up again to found that University of hers. I rather suspect this will be just like old times for her.”

“Don’t put us in a position where we must rely on her,” Eleanora said sharply.

“Your pardon, Majesty, but I would never do that,” he said politely. “I will, however, make use of every tool that presents itself. The other thing is tangentally connected. Last week, a Black Wreath cell was uprooted and obliterated in the village of Hamlet in Calderaan Province.”

Eleanora narrowed her eyes. “I thought the cell in that village was already wiped out. By Tellwyrn.”

“Yes, well…it would appear she missed a spot. The fascinating thing is that this was done by four Bishops of the Universal Church, in civilian clothes, who did not identify themselves as such to the locals, though they did not use assumed names. The Imperial Marshal in residence was under the impression they were there on the business of the Throne.”

The Empress’s eyes were onyx slits. “Which four?”

“Basra Syrinx—” This brought a snort from Eleanora, which he ignored. “—Andros Varanus, Branwen Snowe…and Antonio Darling.”

The Hand looked over at them sharply. Vex met his eyes and nodded. This particular Hand was the one who also sat on the security council, of which Vex and Darling were members.

“Isn’t that absolutely fascinating,” Sharidan mused, while Eleanora glared holes in the far wall. “It fairly well has to be Church business, does it not? Those are four deities whose followers tend to try to strangle each other when they come into contact.”

“Perhaps the time has come to have another conversation with dear Antonio,” Eleanora suggested grimly.

“With respect, your Majesty,” said Vex, “my recommendation at this point is to leave him alone and watch what he does. He is, after all, doing more or less what you told him to.”

“While misrepresenting himself as an agent of the Throne!”

“He is an agent of the Throne, even if he wasn’t officially on Imperial business. Consider that the man is balancing loyalties to the Throne, the Church, and the Thieves’ Guild; several of those loyalties are inherently contradictory. I think it would be a mistake to call him down before we learn which of them truly has his heart. If, indeed, any of them do. He’s the kind of man who juggles impossibly complex games for incalculable stakes because anything less would bore him. I am, however,” he added, “placing his home under surveillance over a different matter.”

“Oh?” Eleanora raised an eyebrow.

“It seems Bishop Darling has recently hired two housemaids.”

Sharidan knew Vex well enough to assume that this apparent non sequitur was going somewhere relevant. “I thought I remembered that Darling had a Butler?”

“He does,” Vex nodded.

“And his home,” Eleanora said slowly, “is big enough to need additional servants?”

“It is not, your Majesty. The girls in question are both elves. They are both former prostitutes at the establishment whose proprietress was recently murdered in the headhunter attack.”

He paused, giving that a moment to sink in.

“Go on,” Eleanora said.

“The perpetrator of that homicide was caught and dealt with—or so we assume, as no further incidents have occurred, and it’s not in the nature of headhunters to lie low. The thing that catches my attention about this chain of events was how instrumental Darling’s help was in identifying and apprehending the elf responsible. Who, as an interesting point, was a member of the Thieves’ Guild. It appears that these two elves are now apprenticing at the Guild. Directly under Darling himself.”

“You surely don’t think one of those elves is a headhunter,” Sharidan said slowly.

“There are innumerable other explanations which are more likely,” Vex replied, nodding. “Elves are quick, agile and deft; they make fantastic thieves, and yet are rarely inclined to become so. I can well imagine Darling snapping them up as apprentices. Then, too, he would hardly be the first wealthy man to arrange for a couple of exotic prostitutes to be exceedingly grateful to him. To look at it from another view, headhunters are solitary creatures and rarely evince an excess of self-control; the fact that there are two of these girls suggests neither is one. It is unlikely both would still be alive in that instance.”

“But?” Eleanora prompted.

“But.” He nodded to her. “If there were anyone ambitious enough and reckless enough to think he could keep a headhunter under control… Well, I have no trouble imagining Darling trying to play that game. It’s enough of a possibility, however remote, to justify a few basic precautions. Surveillance, and notifying you—nothing further at this point, but I’m sure I need not tell your Majesties that a headhunter loose in the city is an absolutely unacceptable outcome.”

“Is it possible that he could manage to control a headhunter?” Sharidan mused. “Or two…or more? Think what someone could do with an entire force of those things.”

Lord Vex cleared his throat. “I…do not presume to speak toward what is magically possible, your Majesty. But what you suggest… It is in the category of every reclusive mage who sits in a tower ranting about how he’ll show everyone who mocked him. We simply can’t afford to take all such threats seriously. An army of headhunters under intelligent control is… It’s like a spell to drop the moon on one’s enemies. The odds of such a thing being achieved are not even worth calculating, and if it were somehow to happen, well… There is simply not much that could be done about it.”

Sharidan turned to regard the Hand, who was looking at him steadily. What the two of them knew that no one else in the room did—even Eleanora—was that Vex had also just neatly described the process by which Hands of the Emperor were created.

“The possibility, as you say, is enough,” he said to Vex, and then to the Hand, “begin preparing countermeasures.”

The Hand nodded, a deep gesture that verged on a bow.

Eleanora gave him a look; he gave her one back, and she quirked an eyebrow but turned back to Vex, letting it go. For all that their marriage was a sham as marriages went, the two of them were closer than he had once imagined he might ever be with another human being. The amount of trust between them was enough to permit his occasionally taking actions she did not understand, even to do so without explaining them to her, despite her suspicious nature. He accepted the same from her in turn. Neither had ever given the other cause to regret it.

Vex seemed quite unperturbed at being tacitly contradicted, but then, he rarely seemed perturbed by much. “That settled, then, nothing that remains is a significant interest to the Throne, in my opinion. There are a few minor intrigues among several of the Houses which you may wish to keep abreast of going forward. House Madouri has effectively withdrawn from the city…”

 

The little attic apartment had never been much of a home. She’d only spent three years there, which in an elf’s lifespan was hardly enough time to make unpacking worthwhile—not that she’d ever owned enough to fill the space anyway. Even so, there was something sad and hollow about the sight of the long room cleaned up and emptied of the touches that had made it hers.

The bed, small table and single ladderback chair had come with the space—“furnished,” indeed. Her rug, bed linens and quilt, and the thin little cushion on her chair had all been disposed of. The meager rest of her possessions were on her person in her bag of holding; they really amounted to little but clothes, toiletries and her enchanting supplies. All that was left out was a small disc of crystal, which currently sat in the middle of the floor, in the center of a diagram scrawled on the hardwood in enchantment-grade chalk.

Projected above it was a translucent model of Clarke Tower, glowing a dim blue that illuminated the room better than the late afternoon sun; that window was in the worst possible position for light. The model flickered occasionally, usually accompanied by a tiny spark from the chalk below as some of it burned out. It had grown progressively dimmer the whole time she’d been watching, though even still, she could clearly see the tiny golden eagle, the only object picked out inside the tower. It had been moving around all afternoon, since it had re-entered the tower—since Trissiny had come home from class. Now, it stayed relatively stationary in the upper room.

Principia sat on the uncovered mattress, her back against the wall, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, staring at the glowing little tower. She sat thus, unmoving, as the last of the light faded outside, true night fell and the only thing brightening the room was her magical model. Not until the little eagle had remained completely still for nearly an hour did she stir.

It was the work of a moment to scrub out the diagram, causing the tower to vanish and true dark to fall over the room. It would have been dark to a human, anyway; her eyes had no trouble picking out the details of the attic. She picked up the crystal disc and tucked it into a pocket, then turned without a backward glance and left her room for the last time, leaving behind nothing but a smudge of spent magical chalk on the floor.

 

Lianwe clawed at her sheets, having long since given up on sleep. It was bad tonight.

Mostly the spirits let her be. She could always hear them—except it was more feeling than hearing, for all that she clearly perceived the words—but usually in the distant background, not distracting her. They had at least that much pragmatism, that they avoided disrupting her actions or putting them all in danger. If they were going to act up, it would be when all was quiet, when she was trying to rest. It had rarely been this bad before. But then, she had rarely gone this far without indulging them.

They were a torrent, a cacophony, yet she clearly heard each voice. Some screaming incoherently, some screaming for vengeance, for blood. Insistent voices urged her to hunt, to glory in the chase, the kill. Others whispered advice—one even was trying to calm her. She appreciated the thought, at least.

It wasn’t the voices that bothered her, disturbing as they were. Much as it seemed such things might be enough to drive one mad, something about the transition she had taken on when she’d embraced the spirits had left her able to cope. No, the problem was that one of them—possibly more, she couldn’t tell—had grabbed at the powers, and she clenched and trembled with the effort of controlling them.

She was no mage, no warlock, witch or priest to have picked a magical path in life and learned a deep control and understanding of it. She knew what the powers did intuitively, but it was different each time they came. They always provided what she needed in a given situation. Or what the spirits thought she needed, anyway. She did not need what they were trying to do now.

Infernal spells to rip open portals in reality and slide through the streets of the city. Elemental fireballs. Fae magic to pull thorny vines from the ground and ensnare prey. Lightning, ice… Pain. Lianwe clung to her control.

So intent was she on this that she didn’t even hear Shinaue rising from her own bed on the other side of their small room, didn’t notice her until the other elf climbed into her own bed and wrapped her arms around her. Soft murmurs, gentle hands stroking her hair. Just like that, the spirits began to calm, the powers sliding back into the void from which they sprang. Something in them responded to the spirits in the other woman. They had gone to the dark place together, come out together. The things inside them knew each other. In some ways, they were all one.

Lianwe relaxed, burying her face in Shinaue’s neck gratefully. Soon enough, she knew, it would be the other who risked a loss of control, and it would be she who offered relief. Eventually, if they didn’t give in to what the spirits demanded, no relief would be enough.

It wouldn’t come to that point, though. They would kill before then. Once had been enough to teach them never to let it come to that.

But this time… Things were different now. This time, they had purpose. Prey who deserved, needed to die. This time, Sweet would tell them who to kill.

As she drifted to sleep, Lianwe wondered if it was wisdom or cowardice, letting him make that decision for them. Before the darkness drifted over her, she decided it did not matter.

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >