Tag Archives: Flora

8 – 15

October 21, 2015UncategorizedAndros Varanus, Bishop Darling, Fauna, Flora, Sabrina Price, SheyannD. D. Webb

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There she had to stop, staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I help you?” he asked politely.

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

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

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

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

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

“That business is personal,” she said evenly.

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

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

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

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

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

“I am Elder Sheyann.”

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

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

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

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

“Which Bishop are you looking for, shaman?”

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

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

The Shaathist Bishop raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An elf? What the hell now?

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

“Of course, your Grace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A…scarecrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All right. Just what was that about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We actually snuck up on her once…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s Webs?”

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

“A renegade?” Flora asked, intrigued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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8 – 14

October 19, 2015UncategorizedBishop Darling, Casey Elwick, Ephanie Avelea, Farah Szaravid, Fauna, Flora, Merry Lang, PrincipiaD. D. Webb

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought it was fascinating,” said Casey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s absolutely horrifying,” Farah mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Darling grimaced. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“We think she’s trying to kill us!”

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

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

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

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

There came a short pause after she spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I certainly have,” Casey muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of things?” Farah asked warily.

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

“Fuck,” Merry said feelingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They all stared at him in silence for a moment.

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

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

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

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

“What about the Guild?” Ephanie asked warily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiled prettily, batted her eyelashes, and shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That isn’t helping!” Merry snapped.

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

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

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

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

“With what?” Merry demanded acidly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted,” Merry muttered.

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

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

There was a moment’s silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why the hell not?” Merry exclaimed.

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

“That is fucked up,” Merry whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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8 – 4

September 23, 2015UncategorizedBasra Syrinx, Bishop Darling, Captain Dijanerad, Casey Elwick, Ephanie Avelea, Farah Szaravid, Fauna, Flora, Lieutenant Straud, Mary the Crow, Merry Lang, PrincipiaD. D. Webb

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“It’s official. We’re being tortured.”

“Oh, stop it,” Prin said, amused. “This might be the cushiest job I’ve ever had.”

“It’s not about the cushiness,” Farah protested. “It’s the principle of the thing! They give this out to people being punished. It’s a mark of shame.”

Principia glanced around. “Okay, let’s keep that to a maximum of none, shall we? At least until we’re back at barracks. I’m pretty sure directly insulting our hosts is against some regulation or other.”

Farah subsided momentarily, looking slightly guilty, which was fortunately mitigated by her helmet. “I…there’s nobody nearby.”

“You don’t see anybody.”

“You think there’s an Izarite priest hiding behind a bush?”

“I imagine they do some of their best work behind bushes.” She paused to wait for Farah’s laughter to subside, then added, “Anyhow, I hear a rumor that some cults have elves in their ranks.”

Farah sighed. “You’re right, sorry.”

“Hey, I’m not one to be a stickler for the rules, generally speaking. But…you may have a point about us being excessively put upon, what with one thing and another. I just don’t want to call down more wrath on our heads.”

“All right, all right, point taken!”

The grounds of the Temple of Izara were exquisitely beautiful, by very careful design. On most days, one could expect to find couples strolling the wandering paths, or priests accompanying worshipers—which, as was often joked, were just couples of a different kind. It was a cloudy day, however, not yet raining but with the taste of precipitation on the air. This was common enough for Tiraas and indeed many of the city’s inhabitants had grown comfortable being outdoors in the rain, presuming the rain was fairly light. Today, however, thunder was rumbling in the distance, and creeping ever closer. It made for a peaceably relaxed route for the two patrolling Legionnaires, though they also had the anticipation of being soaked while in armor to live with.

Principia paused, scowling upward at the branches of a tree with fern-like fronds and little pink blossoms.

“What is it?” Farah asked, following her gaze. “Something wrong with the tree?”

“In the tree,” Prin replied, transferring her lance to her shield hand, then stooping to pick up a pebble. She took aim and hurled it into the foliage.

With a displeased croak, a crow fluttered out of the mimosa, taking another seat atop a statue of Izara, well out of reach. The bird tilted its head and squawked a soft rebuke.

“Shoo,” Principia snapped, picking up another pebble.

“Oh, come on, it’s just a bird,” Farah protested.

“No, it isn’t,” she muttered, hurling the stone. The crow deftly sidestepped, not even bothering to spread its wings, and the pebble arced past to clatter against the wall of the temple. “Filthy carrion-eating…busybody.”

“Seriously, leave the crow alone,” Farah said. “There’ll be hell to pay if you break a window or something.”

Prin lingered for a moment, scowling up at the crow, then pointed a finger at it. “Mathal asua’e timaan che. Auwa dal efeen!”

The bird cocked its head and croaked at her.

“Did you just cuss that bird out in elvish?” Farah demanded, looking askance at her.

“It’s a good language for cursing,” Prin replied, finally turning her back on the crow and continuing on their route, Farah falling into step beside her. “Graceful, elegant. Snobbish. The condescension is built in.”

“Maybe I should learn.”

“Please don’t. I do love being able to talk behind people’s backs right to their faces.”

“Okay, I definitely need to learn. Were you criticizing my butt to that crow?”

“Really, Szaravid? Really? All the things I could criticize and your mind goes right to your butt?”

“What does that mean?!”

Principia grinned at her, and they fell quiet as they emerged from the side of the main temple into one of its front garden spaces, where there actually were people sitting and strolling around, despite the weather. Including a few clerics in white robes with pink lotus pins at the shoulder.

The two Legionnaires returned polite nods from several individuals as they passed, completing their circuit in no hurry. Minutes later they had reached the front of the temple and were climbing the steps to its front doors, pausing only to exchange salutes with the two soldiers posted on either side, then re-entered the sanctuary.

The main sanctuary of Izara’s temple was built along the same general pattern as Avei’s: a long chamber soaring to an arched ceiling, with shadowed galleries lining its sides and a towering statue of the goddess positioned opposite the doors. It was a smaller and narrower space, however, and vastly more ornate. The stonework was elaborately carved and embellished, the stained-glass windows ran heavily to pink, and there were cushioned benches and small stands housing flowers in beautiful urns at the base of each column. Even with the gloomy skies outside, it was brightly lit with fairy lamps, and designed to be warm and welcoming.

Naturally, the Legionnaires within looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Izara’s priesthood acknowledged the need for some protection, but did not care for even the hinted threat of violence on their premises, and so the Legionnaires on site were kept to a minimum. Aside from the two soldiers outside the door, there were only two more visible within, Ephanie and the lieutenant in charge of the temple’s semi-permanent detachment, to which Squad Thirteen had been temporarily attached. Merry and Casey would be in nearby chambers, with the rest of the local squad spread throughout the facility.

Both of them came to attention and saluted.

“All’s quiet, Lieutenant,” Farah said crisply.

“At ease,” Lieutenant Straud replied mildly. “All’s usually quiet, soldier. It’s rare you have to do more than escort drunk petitioners to a room. Next patrol’s in fifteen minutes.”

They both saluted again and stepped across the room to stand opposite Straud and Ephanie.

“At ease, I said,” the Lieutenant said with some amusement. “It’s not a kindness, privates; the Izarites don’t like people bringing tension into their temple. Here, of all places, you’re required to relax a bit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Farah said, saluting, and very deliberately rolled her shoulders. Prin shook her head and relaxed her stance, leaning the butt of her lance on the floor. Across the aisle from her, Ephanie smiled faintly; she, too, looked more comfortable. Then again, she always looked comfortable in armor, as if she’d been born in it.

Apparently stormy weather was no time for love—or at least, not any public manifestation of it. There were few people about, two couples sitting on benches together, a lone man strolling back and forth admiring the stained glass, and one priest attending Izara’s statue at the far end of the sanctuary.

“I’m going to do my rounds, check in with the troops,” the Lieutenant announced. “Carry on, ladies.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Farah all but shouted, saluting. Stroud sighed, shook her head, and strode off to one of the side doors.

No sooner had she gone than two figures entered through the great front door, and Principia stiffened.

They were a striking pair, dressed in black—one in leather gear that almost qualified as armor, the other in a dark cloak. Both were plains elves. They walked right past the Legionnaires without so much as glancing at them and separated as they reached the middle of the chamber. Gliding into the shaded galleries on each side, the two elves took up positions near the side doors, the one in leather shaking her head at the Izarite priest when he began to approach her. He nodded respectfully and retreated to his dais, seemingly unperturbed at being rebuffed.

“What’s that about?” Farah murmured.

Across from them, Ephanie was frowning slightly behind her helmet. She turned to examine another arrival through the front doors. Principia followed her gaze, and immediately tightened her grip on her lance.

He was a blonde man in his early middle years, wearing a pricey-looking suit and casually flipping a doubloon from hand to hand as he strolled in. Catching the coin in his left hand, he rolled it deftly along the backs of his fingers, and smiled as he drew abreast of them.

“Well hello, there, Prin. Long time no see.”

“Your Grace,” she replied in a neutral tone.

“I suppose,” he said pleasantly, “you didn’t get our invitation to come chat, eh? That was…gosh, it’s been months. I’d ask what you’ve been up to, but…look at yourself. Gotta say, this I did not expect. You are perennially full of surprises.”

“I’m on duty, Sweet,” she said tersely.

“Oh? Splendid!” He grinned as though delighted by the news. “This has to be the coziest post a Legionnaire can pull, eh? So you’ll have time to chitchat a bit with a old friend while you hold down the carpet.”

“Soldiers on duty do not socialize with passersby,” Farah said sharply, catching Principia’s mood.

“Really?” He turned that charming grin on her. “That’s odd. I’ve whiled away many a pleasant hour with Imperial troops guarding some boring patch of street or other.”

“Competent soldiers on duty do not socialize,” Ephanie said. “Move along, sir.”

“I am fairly certain you don’t have grounds to evict me from the temple, private,” he said, turning his head to wink at her. He turned back to fix his gaze on Principia, and despite his smile, his eyes were sharply intent. “I’ve a little long-overdue business to speak of with your squadmate, here.”

“I am on duty,” she repeated firmly. “Unless you have business in the temple, your Grace, you need to move on.”

“Let me just clarify that I am not trying to create a problem,” he said, his smile fading slightly. “You’re not wanted on suspicion of any offense, Prin. Don’t try to claim you don’t understand why we need to speak with you.”

Ephanie strode across the aisle, thumping the butt of her lance on the floor. “All right, that’s enough. Time for you to go.”

“This is Bishop Darling of the Universal Church,” Principia said, looking over at her. “He’s allowed to be in a temple, I’m fairly sure. You do not have the prerogative to harass Legionnaires guarding them, however, your Grace,” she added directly to Darling.

“Sure, I’ll let you get back to your work,” he said amiably. “It looks very diverting. What time is good for you, then?”

“Not now.”

“I really do wish you the best in whatever it is you’re doing with your life,” Darling said, his expression growing serious. “And I really do wish that was an acceptable answer. However…”

Ephanie let out a sharp, three-tone whistle. Immediately, the priest at the other end of the sanctuary began striding toward them…as did the two elves in black. The tromping of boots announced the arrival of more Legionnaires through side entrances at a swift walk.

“This isn’t like you, Darling,” Principia said firmly. “Nor is it in keeping with your faith to be confrontational and make a scene.”

“See, this is not helping,” he replied, tilting his head at Merry, who had just appeared from the side door. Casey approached them from the other, with Lieutenant Straud right behind her. “It looks bad, Prin, you running off to the Avenists to hide from us. I am being confrontational because I’m desperately trying to spare you having to have this conversation with Style and six of her goons. Work with me.”

“You just crossed a line,” Ephanie said, leveling her lance. “You do not threaten a Silver Legionnaire. Get out.”

“Your Grace,” said the Izarite priest with a note of pleading. “Whatever concern you have, I’m sure it can be discussed in a civil manner.”

“I’m afraid Private Avelea is correct,” Straud snapped. “I don’t care what rank or history you have, Bishop, you will not treat one of my troops this way. Are you leaving, or are you being dragged?”

“Fauna, don’t even think about it,” Darling said sharply without looking over at her. The Legionnaires did, however, in time to see the elf in leather sliding a throwing knife back into her sleeve.

“Too late,” she said. Merry stepped back, leveling a lance at her. The priest wrung his hands, looking anguished.

“I’m off duty at sixteen hundred hours,” Principia said, staring at Darling. “If you want to talk, you can meet me in the main sanctuary of Avei’s temple.”

“There!” he said brightly, spreading his hands. “That’s all I needed to hear. Thanks for being so accommodating, Prin. Always a pleasure. Come along, ladies!”

He turned, strolling back toward the door, apparently unconcerned with the lances aimed at his back. The two elves followed, stepping right through the knot of tense Legionnaires without so much as glancing at them.

“Does he mean us?” the one in the cloak asked.

“Has to,” Fauna replied. “Do you see any other ladies here?”

“Oh, mee-ow!”

Darling only paused when a crow swooped in through the open doors and settled on his shoulder, croaking smugly.

“Really, now?” he said to it. “What, are your wings broken?”

Behind, the Legionnaires watched in silence while the odd group finally left.

“Oh, that’s good and horrifying,” Principia whispered to herself.

“Is this going to be a recurring problem, Private Locke?” Lieutenant Straud demanded.

Prin straightened to attention. “I don’t believe so, ma’am. If I change my mind after speaking with him, I’ll report the matter.”

“I will, of course, have to log an incident report about this,” Straud said.

“Of course, ma’am.”

The Lieutenant sighed. “All right. As you were, ladies.”

They shifted back to their stations, Ephanie and Farah now sneaking speculative looks at Principia, who was staring distractedly into space.

She remained withdrawn through the remainder of their shift, and the other four members of their tiny squad restrained their curiosity to questioning stares, which Principia affected not to notice. The relative quiet lasted until they were crossing the parade ground to their bunk that afternoon.

“Private Locke!”

Principia whirled and snapped to attention, facing Bishop Syrinx, who was stomping across the yard toward her. The Bishop came to a stop, planting her fists on her hips and ignoring Prin’s salute. Captain Dijanerad followed her at a more sedate pace, wearing a more calm expression.

“I understand you took it upon yourself to embarrass the Third Legion in front of the Izarites today,” Syrinx said coldly.

“No, ma’am,” Principia replied, remaining stiffly at attention.

“Oh?” the Bishop snapped. “You think having a confrontation with a Bishop of the Universal Church in the main sanctuary of a protectorate cult is less than an embarrassment?”

“With respect, your Grace,” said Ephanie, also saluting, “only Bishop Darling was confrontational. Private Locke acted in accordance with the Legion’s code of conduct.”

“I distinctly heard no one give you permission to speak, Private Avelea,” Syrinx said sharply, her glare still fixed on Principia. If anything, her scowl deepened. “This is not an auspicious start to your career, Locke. I will be reading Lieutenant Straud’s report closely. If I find any indication that your behavior was a hint less than satisfactory, you’ll be out of this Legion on your oversized ear before you know what’s happened. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re not to leave temple premises until further notice except in the execution of your duties. I want you readily at hand in case I have questions.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Anything to add, Locke?”

“No, ma’am.”

Bishop Syrinx narrowed her eyes, studying Principia’s face in detail. The silence stretched out; behind the Bishop, Captain Dijanerad kept her peace, her own attention fixed on Syrinx.

“I can see the strain on your face, Locke,” the Bishop finally said more quietly. “Two hundred years of Eserite habit don’t just vanish. It kills you to spout ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am’ instead of a snarky comeback to every question, doesn’t it?”

“No, ma’am,” Principia said in total calm.

“I don’t know what made you think you belonged here,” Syrinx said coldly, “but time will disabuse you of the notion.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The Bishop stared daggers at her for another moment, then turned without a further word and stalked off toward the temple complex. Once she was away, the remaining members of Squad Thirteen let out a breath in unison.

“Had an interesting day, I hear,” Dijanerad said mildly.

“It won’t happen again, ma’am,” Principia promised.

“I’m pretty sure it will,” the Captain said cryptically. She stepped forward and patted Principia’s armored shoulder. “You acted correctly, private. Dismissed.”

All five of them saluted, turned, and resumed course toward their barracks.

“Hypothetically,” Merry mused aloud, “what d’you think would be the punishment for slugging a fellow Legionnaire in the mouth?”

“Depends on a lot of factors,” Ephanie replied. “Anything from a stern talking-to, all the way up to lashing or the stockade.”

“Mm hm, mm hm. What about stabbing her while she slept?”

“Hanging,” Ephanie said sharply.

“Rats.”

“Got somethin’ on your mind, Lang?” Principia asked.

“I just can’t help noticing,” Merry said with a scowl, “that every time I’m anywhere near you I get tangled up in Thieves’ Guild drama.”

“Wait, you were actually a member of the Thieves’ Guild?” Casey demanded, wide-eyed.

Principia shrugged. “Technically, I guess I still am, unless they decide to kick me out for some reason. I don’t owe them any dues as long as I’m not stealing anything, so… A member of good standing, even.”

“Then what’s that guy Darling want with you?” Merry demanded.

“Extended fallout from the debacle at Last Rock, I bet.”

“Glad that ruined someone else’s life,” she muttered. “I was starting to feel singled out.”

They filed into the cabin, Prin speaking as she went to her bunk.

“Anyway, this isn’t Thieves’ Guild drama. Whatever Darling wants I’m sure I can settle in a few minutes. The Guild is just the excuse for the real drama, here. You can blame me if it makes you feel better, but you might want to be careful. You’re just as much a target as I am.”

“Oh, hell no,” Merry said firmly. “I’ve made all my deals; that is behind me.”

“Not that,” Prin said patiently. “Come on, think about the timing. I’ve been in this temple complex for the past few months solid; the Guild didn’t know where I was. Nobody but the Sisterhood did. And yet, the very first time I poke my nose out, the Bishop himself lands in my lap?”

“I guess the Eserites are pretty quick on the uptake,” Farah said timidly. “At least…they have a reputation for being savvy.”

Principia shook her head. “That’s way beyond savvy. For them to get intelligence there has to be some first. I’d need to be spotted around the city for them to zero in on me; it would take time. Unless…”

“Oh, stop with the dramatic pauses and spit it out!” Merry exclaimed.

“Unless,” Prin said with a smile, “someone told them where to find me. Now, who do we know who has access to our duty schedule and can get ahold of a Bishop of the Universal Church on short notice, hmm? And here’s another thing. We got back here at the same time as the other squad. No runners were sent. Nobody had time to report this to Syrinx. She knew what had happened before she reasonably could have.”

“Why on earth would Bishop Syrinx try to set you up like that?” Ephanie demanded, frowning.

“That is what concerns me,” Principia said. “I don’t know that woman from a wart on my ass. She has no business with me that I can imagine. The only thing that makes me a target applies equally to all of you. It’s a continuation of what we’ve already seen: our understaffed squad, our apparent punishment duty at the Temple of Izara. She’s after us, for some reason. I suggest you all step very carefully.”

“Do you have any idea how paranoid you sound?” Merry snorted. “Bishop Syrinx is out to get us? That’s crazy.”

“Okay,” Prin said with a shrug. “If you can think of a more logical explanation for what happened today, I’d love to hear it. Bet I’d sleep better.”

A tense silence fell.

“Bishop Syrinx sponsored me to join the Legion,” Casey said in a small voice.

Principia sighed. “Elwick, with all respect to your sponsor—”

“With all respect to my sponsor,” Casey interrupted, “the difference between that woman and a rattlesnake is the serpent gives you fair warning. I’ll believe she’s capable of anything. No matter how shifty, or…cruel.”

“Something you want to share with us?” Merry asked warily.

Casey’s tone was curt. “No.”

“If she’s telling Thieves’ Guild people where our soldiers are, can we get her in trouble for that?” Farah suggested. “That has to be against some regulation, at least.”

“Not technically,” said Ephanie. “Only if we were on operations that involved the Guild, which guard duty at the Temple of Izara does not. It’s pretty common for guard postings at protectorate temples to go through the Church, actually. The priests often request squads or individuals they know and trust.”

“I’d advise you to drop that line of thinking,” Principia added. “We’ve already got enough trouble breathing down our necks. Trying to strike back at Syrinx would lead to nothing but disaster. Our best bet is to be the best soldiers we can and hope someone more reasonable in the chain of command reins her in.”

“But why?” Merry exclaimed. “Why would she do such a thing? None of us have done anything to her?” She paused, looking warily around the group. “…have we?”

A chorus of negations later, Casey cleared her throat. “I have a thought…”

“Yes?” Farah prompted.

“Well… Eserites are known to be crafty, right? And… I don’t know any of your stories, but… That is, this cohort is supposed to be training in politics, if they told us the truth. Suppose… What if we’re not being punished, but we were handpicked for this, and Syrinx doesn’t want us to succeed?”

Ephanie frowned deeply, saying nothing; the others looked thoughtful.

“What makes you think you’d be a pick for that, then?” Merry asked after a moment.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Casey said, averting her eyes.

Principia sighed. “If you think there’s a—”

“I don’t have to talk about it!” she said, her voice climbing. Casey paused, squeezing her eyes shut, and continued in a more normal tone. “It was just a thought, probably not even right. It’s just… I have no idea what’s going on. None of this makes any sense. Any theory has to be better than nothing.”

“A lot more harm is done by wrong belief than incompetent action,” said Ephanie thoughtfully. “Still…”

“Still,” said Prin, nodding, “it’s good to theorize. We need to keep our eyes and ears and minds open, girls. Something is going on here, obviously, and somebody means us harm. Hopefully it’s just Syrinx.”

“Bloody fucking hell,” Merry growled, leaning against her bunk. “Of all the shit I don’t need…”

“None of us need it,” Ephanie said sharply.

“Hey,” Farah said, straightening and turning to Prin. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting Bishop Darling in the main sanctuary?”

Principia grinned and sat down on the empty bed beneath her own bunk. “Oh, there’s no rush. A little patience will do him good.”

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7 – 13

August 26, 2015UncategorizedAriel, Bishop Darling, Blackbeard, Elilial, Fauna, Flora, Fross, Gabriel, Geoffrey Falconer, Marguerite Falconer, Ruda, Shaeine, Tanq, Teal, Trissiny, VadrienyD. D. Webb

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“So, we’ve got that hangin’ over us all fuckin’ summer,” Ruda groused. “Come back for our sophomore year and immediately get put to work scrubbing mulch and basting doors and whatever the hell housekeeping tasks Stew thinks up until Tellwyrn gets tired of our suffering. Hoo-fucking-ray.”

“Scrubbing mulch?” Gabriel said, his eyebrows shooting upward. “Have you ever cleaned anything in your life, Princess?”

“Arquin, you will never be demonic enough or divine enough that I will refrain from kicking your ass. Bring the skeevy dude in the hat down here and I’ll kick his ass, too.”

“Sorry to interrupt your blasphemy,” Trissiny said, raising an eyebrow, “but I won’t be joining in your mulch-scrubbing this fall. I’m staying on campus over the summer.”

“Yup!” Fross chimed, bobbing around them. “Professor Tellwyrn is letting us do our punishment duty over the summer and get it out of the way. It’s pretty accommodating of her! We broke a lot of campus rules.”

“Considering she’s still punishing us for obeying a direct command from the gods, I’m not gonna get too worked up about her generosity,” Gabriel muttered.

“To be technical,” said Fross, “she’s punishing Trissiny and Toby for obeying a direct command from the gods, which is actually not at all out of character given her history. The rest of us don’t really have an excuse. I mean, if she’s not gonna accept a divine mandate as a good reason, citing friendship probably isn’t gonna help. Anyhow, I’ve gotta go finish cleaning up the spell lab I was using. Nobody leave campus before I can say goodbye! Oh, Ruda, looks like your dad is here. See ya later!”

The pixie zipped off toward the magical arts building in a silver streak, leaving the others staring after her.

“What?” Ruda demanded. “My—what? Oh, shit.”

It was a characteristically sunny day, with a brisk wind across the mountain cutting the prairie heat. The campus of the University was teeming with people, despite the fact that many of the students were already gone. Parents, friends and family members were everywhere, picking up their kids and being shown around on one of the few occasions when non-initiates of the University were welcomed there. A few curiosity-seekers had also snuck in, though they seldom lasted long before Tellwyrn found and disposed of them. Professor Rafe had already been informed that if he didn’t remove the betting board set up in the cafeteria speculating on where various journalists and pilgrims had been teleported to, he himself would be walking home from Shaathvar.

Now, a sizable party of men and women in feathered hats, heavy boots and greatcoats were making their way up the avenue to the main lawn, on which the six freshmen had just come to a stop. Toby and Juniper had both departed that morning, leaving the rest to make more leisurely goodbyes as they still had time.

Trissiny touched Ruda’s shoulder lightly from behind. “Are you okay? Do you need—”

“No,” she said quietly. “I have to face this. Guys, if I don’t get to talk to you again, enjoy your summer.” Squaring her shoulders, she stepped forward, striding up to the group of oncoming Punaji.

They stopped at their princess’s approach, parting to let the towering figure in the middle come forth. King Rajakhan was a looming wall of a man, a bulky mass of muscle who would have looked squat due to his build if the proximity of more normally-sized people didn’t reveal that he was also hugely tall. The bushy black beard which was the source of his nickname did not conceal a tremendous scowl. He stepped up, folding brawny arms across his massive chest, and stared down at his daughter.

Ruda, uncharacteristically subdued, removed her hat respectfully and stopped a mere yard from him. The onlooking pirates watched, impassive and silent; the remaining freshmen edged closer.

“The news I hear has impelled me to spend from our people’s treasury to have portal mages bring me here,” he rumbled. “I am pleased to see you whole, daughter. Less pleased by the report I have from Professor Tellwyrn. I understand that you were given an order to evacuate, and you disobeyed it. Through magical subterfuge. This is true?”

“My friends—my crew—had to stay, by orders of the gods,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t raised to leave people behind in danger.”

“I hear your justifications, but not the answer I asked for,” Blackbeard growled.

Ruda stiffened her shoulders slightly. “This is true, sir.”

He snorted. “I further understand that you slew three shadowlord demons and uncounted buzzers yourself, placing your own life in danger.”

“Yes, sir,” she said woodenly. “Alongside eight of the best people I know.”

“I further understand that you were stopped only because you somehow ingested the poison blood of your enemy.”

“Yes, sir. We grappled too closely for swords. I bit its throat.” Her lips twisted in remembered disgust. “They have very tough hides.”

He slowly began drawing in a very deep breath, his huge chest swelling even further, then let it out in one explosive sigh that made his beard momentarily flap like a banner. Somehow, it occurred to nobody to laugh at what would otherwise be a comical sight.

“In all the nations on land or sea,” the Pirate King said with a faint tremor in his voice, reaching out to place one enormous hairy hand on Ruda’s shoulder, “there has never been a prouder father.”

“Papa!” Ruda squealed, launching herself into his arms. Rajakhan’s laughter boomed across the quad as he spun her around in circles, the pirates around him adding their cheers to the noise (and half of them brandishing weapons).

“As I live and breathe,” Gabriel said in wonder.

“I feel I have just gained a better understanding of Ruda’s upbringing,” Shaeine said softly, “and some of what has occurred thereafter.”

“Hey, Teal,” Tanq said, approaching the group but watching the loud pirates curiously. “Does your family own a zeppelin?”

Teal abruptly whirled toward him, growing pale. “…why do you ask?”

“I just wondered. There’s a little one moored at the Rail platform down in town; I saw it when I was sending a scroll… It’s got the Falconer Industries crest on the balloon. I just wondered if it was a company craft or if FI was making them now. Pretty sweet little rig, if I’m any judge.”

“Oh no,” Teal groaned, clapping a hand over her eyes. “Oh, no. I told them… Augh!”

She took off down the path at a near run.

Tanq blinked, staring after her, then turned to the rest of the group. “What’d I say?”

“Teal laboriously made plans regarding our travel arrangements from the campus,” Shaeine replied. “I gather they have just been abruptly modified. Excuse me, please? If I don’t see you again, my friends, I wish you the best over the coming months and look forward to our reunion.” She bowed to them, then favored them with one of her rare, sincere smiles, before turning and gliding off after Teal.

She was about to unleash Vadrieny and swoop upward for a better view when a fortuitous gap between buildings happened to give her a view down onto Last Rock, including a familiar silver shape perched at its edges, with an even more familiar sigil emblazoned on its side.

“Why!?” she groaned. “Why would they do that? I had everything arranged!”

They care about you, and this campus was recently the site of a major crisis. Which we jumped into the middle of. Makes perfect sense to me.

“Oh, whose side are you on?” she snapped. Vadrieny’s silent laugh bubbled through her.

It’ll be all right, Teal. They’ll understand.

“I know how to deal with them. I was gonna have time to explain things on the magic mirror, and then they’d have had the carriage ride to get used to it… Oh, gods, this is gonna be so awkward. Damn it, why don’t they ever listen?”

So they may not understand as quickly, or as easily. They will, though.

“Teal!”

She whirled at hearing her name, beholding two well-known figures striding quickly toward her from the direction of the upper terrace.

“Speak of the demon,” she said fatalistically.

“Well, that’s a nice way to greet your parents,” Marguerite Falconer said, trying without success to look annoyed. Beside her, Geoffrey grinned in delight, not even making the effort.

“This place is somehow smaller than I was imagining it,” he said. “But so…gothic. With all this grandiose architecture and these overgrown paths, I almost can’t believe it’s only fifty years old. We actually managed to get lost, if you can believe that!”

“I can believe it,” Teal said in exasperation. “What are you doing here with that airship? I made plans! Everything was arranged!”

“Well, excuse us for jumping the wand,” Marguerite replied, raising her eyebrows and pushing her spectacles back up her nose. “What with our only child, who has already suffered far more than her fair share of disasters, being stuck in the middle of a hellgate, we were just a little anxious to see you again.”

“C’mere,” Geoffrey ordered, stepping up and sweeping Teal into a hug. She hugged him back, despite her annoyance, relaxing into the embrace as her mother joined it from behind.

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you,” she mumbled into her father’s cardigan. “I just wanted to… I mean, I had a plan. There was some stuff I wanted to, uh, get you ready for before it, y’know…”

“Oh, Teal,” Marguerite said reproachfully, finally stepping back. Geoffrey released her, too, ruffling her hair. “Dear, it’s all right. It’s not as if this is some great secret. You know we’re fine with it.”

“I mean, for heaven’s sakes, our best friend is an elf,” Geoffrey added with a grin. “You said you were bringing someone special home for the summer holiday. We can manage to put two and two together.”

“I’m sure we’ll love her. Our daughter can only have good taste!”

Teal sighed heavily, staring hopelessly at them. At a glance, nobody would take the Falconers for two of the richest people in the Empire. They were a matched set, both with mouse-brown hair cut short, which looked almost boyish on Marguerite and rather shaggy on Geoffrey. He had a round, florid face decorated by a beard in need of trimming, while her pointed features had been described as “elfin,” but they shared a preference for comfortable, casual clothes in a masculine style. Even their glasses were identical.

“Well, I did try,” she said finally. “Give me credit for that much, at least, when this is all falling out.”

“Oh, Teal, I’ve missed you,” Marguerite said fondly. “Dramatic streak and all.” Geoffrey snorted a laugh.

“Teal? Is everything all right?”

Teal heaved a short, shallow sigh, then half-turned to smile at Shaeine as the priestess glided up to them. “Well, that remains to be seen. Mom, Dad, may I present Shaeine nur Ashaele d’zin Awarrion. Shaeine, these are my parents, Marguerite and Geoffrey Falconer.”

“It is an honor and a pleasure,” Shaeine said, bowing deeply to the Falconers. “Your daughter is a great credit to your lineage.”

“My, isn’t she well-mannered,” Marguerite said with a broad smile. “Teal, I can only hope the rest of your friends are such a good influence.”

“I gather you have not introduced them to Ruda yet,” Shaeine said calmly. Teal snorted a laugh.

“Ruda Punaji?” Geoffrey said with a grin. “I’m curious to meet that one, after your letters. But maybe in a more, you know, controlled environment.”

“Oh, stop it,” Marguerite chided, swatting him playfully. “It’s lovely to meet you, Sheen. Don’t mind my husband, he belongs in a workshop, not among civilized people.”

“That was an excellent try,” the drow replied with a smile. “It’s actually Sha-ayne.”

“It’s all one vowel,” Teal added. “Just changes pronunciation partway.”

“Really?” Geoffrey marveled. “I fancy I speak a smidge of elvish. Not as well as Teal, of course, but that’s a new one.”

“Don’t be an ass, Geoff, she’s Narisian. Of course they have a different dialect. Shaeine, yes? How did I do?”

“Perfect,” Shaeine replied, smiling more broadly. “You have an agile tongue, Mrs. Falconer.”

“I’ll say she—”

“Don’t you dare!” Marguerite shrieked, smacking her husband across the back of his head. He caught his flying glasses, laughing uproariously. Teal covered her eyes with a hand.

“Anyway,” Marguerite said with more dignity as Geoffrey readjusted his glasses, still chuckling, “I’m sure we’ll be glad to meet all your classmates, honey, but we should see about getting your luggage together.”

“We saw that crazy tower you’re apparently living in,” Geoffrey added, “but I guess it’s not open to visitors. Inconvenient, but a fine policy in my opinion! I remember my own college days. Barely. It’s also a fine policy that this is a dry campus.”

“Will your girlfriend be meeting us there?” Marguerite asked. “I’m just about beside myself with curiosity! Don’t look at me like that, it’s a mother’s prerogative.”

Teal closed her eyes, inhaled deeply through her teeth, and let the breath out through her nose, trying to ignore the hysterical mirth echoing in her mind from her demon counterpart. Shaeine half-turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

The silence stretched out.

Suddenly Marguerite’s face paled in comprehension, and she settled a wide-eyed stare on Shaeine. “Oh.”

Geoffrey looked at his wife, then his daughter, then shrugged, still smiling innocently. “What?”

“So, is this the new thing?” Trissiny asked, pointing at the sword hanging from Gabriel’s belt opposite his new wand, which rested in a holster. “You’re a swordsman now?”

“Oh…well.” He shrugged uncomfortably, placing a hand on Ariel’s hilt. “I just… I don’t know, I find it kind of comforting, having it there. Is that weird?”

“Taking comfort in the weight of a sword is certainly not weird to me,” she said with a smile. “I’m a little surprised you would enjoy it, though.”

“Yeah, I kind of am, too,” he said ruefully. “It’s just… The whole world just got turned upside-down on me, you know? I’ve only had Ariel here for a couple months, but it’s still something familiar. Something I can literally hang onto.”

“I do, know,” she said quietly. “I remember the feeling all too well. It was a very different circumstance, of course… I couldn’t begin to guess whether that would make it more or less shocking to experience.”

He laughed. “Less. Much less. Modesty aside, Triss, you’re pretty much a model Avenist. Me, I’m not even Vidian. I never even thought about whether I’d want to be. It’s not as if I ever prayed, after that one time. Burned my goddamn tongue, and I mean that as literally as possible.”

Trissiny nodded. “There’s… I guess there is just no precedent for what you’re having to deal with. I’ll help if I can at all, though. Anything you need to talk about, just ask. And not just me, of course. Do you know how soon Toby is coming back to campus?”

“Just a couple of weeks, actually. He needs to spend some time with the Omnists and the Universal Church over the summer, but apparently shepherding my clumsy ass is also a significant priority.”

“I have the same duties,” she said solemnly. “But I’m not making my trips to Tiraas and Viridill until later in the summer. I guess I just drew the first Gabriel shift.”

“Har har.” He stopped walking, and she paused beside him. They were in a relatively shady intersection of paths, with the bridge to Clarke Tower just up ahead. Towering elms, swaying and whispering softly in the gentle wind, shielded them from the direct sun. “Triss, I am scared out of my fucking mind.”

“I know.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I know. Look, Gabriel, it’s… It’s just a hell of a thing, okay? But…and I mean this sincerely…you will be all right. I truly do believe you can do this. I would never have predicted it in a million years, but in hindsight, it makes a great deal of sense. This will work. You’ll be fine.”

“That…” He swallowed painfully. “Hah. That means a lot, Trissiny. Especially from you. More than from anyone else, maybe.”

“Well, there’s that, too,” she said, smiling. “Whatever else happens, Gabe, you can always count on me to let you know when you screw up.”

“Well, sure. It hardly even needs to be said, does it?”

She laughed softly. “Well…anyhow. I’ve got to head inside here for a minute. You’re going to be in the cafeteria for dinner?”

“Along with the other losers who are staying over the summer, yup.” He stuck his hands in his coat pockets. “I do need to visit the Vidians at some point, but they’re coming here. So’s my dad. Apparently there’s kind of a controversy around me at the moment. Can’t imagine why.”

“Probably best not to have you in circulation just yet,” she said with a grin. “Well… I guess I’ll see you around campus, then?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling back. “See you around.”

Gabriel watched her go, until she passed through the gate onto the bridge itself, then shook his head, still smiling, and resumed his slow way along the path.

“That girl has a powerful need for your approval.”

“What?” He laughed aloud. “That is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. And considering what recently—”

He stopped, frowning and staring around. There was no one nearby.

“Granted, I only know what I’ve heard from conversations around you, but didn’t she try to murder you once? That would weigh on the conscience of anybody who has one. The more she gets to know you as a real person, rather than the imaginary monster she was reacting to at the time, the uglier that whole business must look to her. Of course, a properly spiritual person could recognize all this and deal with it, but… Let’s be honest, Avei doesn’t go out of her way to pick deep thinkers.”

He had spun this way and that, growing increasingly agitated as the voice droned on, finally resting his hand on the sword’s hilt. Through it, he could feel something. Not quite energy, but the potential for it; the same feeling he was used to experiencing when working with raw magic.

“You… You’re the sword!”

“’The sword.’ That’s lovely, Gabriel, really charming. It’s not as if you don’t know my name. Look, I suggest you find a relatively private place to sit for a while. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Tellwyrn was grumbling to herself, mostly about journalists, as she kicked the door shut behind her and strode toward her desk. She hadn’t gotten three steps into the office before her chair spun around, revealing a grinning figure in a red dress perched therein.

“Arachne! Darling!”

“Out of my seat, Lil,” she said curtly.

“Ooh, have I told you how much I love this new schoolmarm thing you have going on?” Elilial trilled, giggling coquettishly. “So stern! So upright! It’s very convincing, dear. A person would never guess how much fun you are in bed.”

The chair jerked sideways and tipped, roughly depositing its occupant on the carpet.

“Oof,” the goddess of cunning said reproachfully, getting back to her feet and rubbing her bum. “Well, if you’re going to be that way…”

“What do you want?” Tellwyrn demanded, stepping around the desk and plopping down in her recently vacated chair. “It’s not as if I ever see you unless you’ve just done something terrible or are about to. You’re just as bad as the others in that regard. Though in this case I guess there’s rather a large elephant in the room, isn’t there?”

“All right, yes, that’s true,” Elilial allowed, strolling casually around to the front of the desk. “I do owe you an apology. Believe me, Arachne, boring new hellgates onto your property is most definitely not on my agenda. It seems one of my gnagrethycts took it upon himself to assist in that idiotic enterprise, which I consider a breach of my promise not to bring harm on you or yours. I am humbly sorry for my negligence.”

“Mm,” the Professor said noncommittally. “I heard you were down to seven of them.”

“Six, now,” the goddess said with grim satisfaction. “Demons get agitated if you lean on them too hard; I do try to let them have some leeway. But there are some things I simply will not put up with.”

“A gnagrethyct, or anything else—even you—couldn’t rip open a dimensional portal without having someone on the other side to work with,” Tellwyrn said, leaning back in the chair and staring at the goddess over the tops of her spectacles. “And nobody on this campus could have pulled off such a thing without tripping my wards…unless they were an initiate of my University. Any thoughts on that?”

“I may have a few ideas, yes,” Elilial purred. “What’s it worth to you?”

“You are having a deleterious effect on my already-strained patience.”

“Oh, Arachne, this is your whole problem; you’ve totally forgotten how to enjoy life. Yes, fine, I may have given a helping hand to some of your dear students.”

“You promised to leave them alone, Lil.”

“I promised to bring them no harm.” Elilial held up a finger. “In fact, I went one better and did the opposite. You know I caught a couple of those little scamps trying to summon a greater djinn? I cannot imagine what possessed them to think they could control such a thing. Pun intended. Really, you should keep a closer eye on your kids; I can’t be saving their lives all the time.”

“You haven’t spent much time around college students if you believe they think before doing shit,” Tellwyrn growled. “Did they at least try to hide in the Crawl first? If any of those little morons did that in one of my spell labs I swear I’ll visit them all at home in alphabetical order and slap their heads backwards.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very fearsome,” she said condescendingly. “But enough about that, why don’t we discuss the future?”

“Oh, you’re already going to tell me what you actually want?” Tellwyrn said dryly. “That has to be a record. Are you in a hurry for some reason?”

“Don’t trouble yourself about my problems, dear, though I do appreciate the concern. But yes, I am interested in, shall we say, tightening our relationship. We’ve worked so well together in the past, don’t you think?”

“I remember us working well together once.”

“And what a time that was!” Elilial said with a reminiscent smile.

“You called me a presumptuous mealworm and I goosed you.”

“A whole city left in flames and shambles, panicked drow fleeing everywhere, Scyllith’s entire day just ruined. Ah, I’ve rarely enjoyed myself so thoroughly. Don’t you miss it?”

“I have things to do,” Tellwyrn said pointedly. “Teaching my students. Looking after their safety. Getting tangled up with you is hardly a step in pursuit of that goal.”

“I think you’re wrong there, darling,” the goddess said firmly, the mirth fading from her expression. “This weeks little mess was but a taste. No, before you get all indignant, I am not threatening you. I am cautioning you, strictly because I like you, that the world is going to become increasingly dangerous in the coming days, and the wisest thing a person can do is develop a capacity to contend with demons. And lucky you, here you have an old friend who is the best ally a person could have in such matters!”

“Oh, sure,” Tellwyrn sneered. “And all I’d have to do to achieve that is make an enemy of the Empire on which my campus is built, not to mention that crusading spider Justinian.”

“Well, there’s no reason you have to tell them about it, you silly goose.”

“Mm hm. And in this…partnership…you would, of course, be telling me the total, unequivocal truth about everything you’re doing, in all detail?”

“Now you’re just being unreasonable, Arachne. I’m still me, after all. I can’t function without a few cards up my sleeve.”

“This sounds increasingly like a bargain that benefits no one but you,” Tellwyrn said shortly. “I can’t help thinking I’m better off with my current allies. None of them are invested in ending the world.”

“You know very well I have no interest in ending the world. Merely the deities lording over it. Really, I am very nearly hurt. You of all people know me better than that.”

“I do indeed, which is why I’m declining your very generous proposal.”

“Are you sure?” Elilial asked with a sly smile. “You’re not even a little bit curious to know which of your little dears are opening hellgates and fooling about with dark powers beyond their ken?”

“You could just tell me, you know. It would be exactly the kind of nice gesture that might have led me to consider your offer if you’d made a habit of making them before now.”

“Now, now, giving something for nothing is against my religion. I’m just saying, Arachne, I’m a good friend to have. In general, and in your case, very specifically.”

“So the world at large is about to have demon trouble, is it?” Tellwyrn mused, steepling her fingers. “And I’m likely to see my students imperiled as a result, yes? Well, I now know who to blame if they do suffer for it. You have my word, Elilial, that if that happens, I will be discussing the matter with you. Thoroughly, but as briefly as possible.”

The goddess’s smile collapsed entirely. “Only you could be so bullheaded as to turn this into an exchange of threats so quickly. I came here in good faith to propose a mutually beneficial partnership, Arachne.”

“You came here to use me,” Tellwyrn shot back. “I don’t particularly mind that. I don’t even much object to being lied to about it. I might actually have been amenable to the idea, except that you want to use my University and my students in the process. That will not happen, Elilial. I strongly advise you not to try.”

“Do you truly believe yourself equal to the task of opposing me?” the goddess asked coldly.

Tellwyrn clicked her tongue. “And now come those threats you didn’t come here to make…”

“If you insist on relating in those terms, I’ll oblige. You’re a blunt instrument, Arachne. Oh, you were clever enough in the distant past. Your deviousness in Scyllithar was inspiring, and I mean that sincerely. I was deeply impressed. But you have spent the entirety of the intervening three thousand years swaggering around throwing sucker punches and fireballs until you’ve forgotten how to do anything else. It’s gotten to the point that all I have to do to aim you in the direction I want you to look is scrawl a warning outside your door telling you not to. That barely even counts as manipulation, Arachne. It’s embarrassing to both of us. And you think you’re going to set yourself up against me? In the wide world, with all its subtleties and illusions waiting to serve as my props?” She snorted. “Please.”

“Well, perhaps you have a point,” Tellwyrn said placidly, shrugging. “After all, I’ve spent three millennia trying to get close to all the various gods, seeking their help. You, meanwhile, have been trying devotedly to destroy them for more than twice that time. Tell me, since you’re so much more dangerous than I…” She smiled sweetly. “How many of them have you killed?”

They locked eyes in silence, neither wavering by a hair.

Finally, Elilial let out a soft sigh through her nose. “I think you just enjoy being difficult for its own sake.”

“Well, no shit, Professor.”

“I’ll repeat my offer, Arachne,” the goddess said mildly, stepping back from the desk. “But not often, and not infinitely. You’ll have a limited time in which to come to your senses.”

“That’s fine, if you insist. But I’m not any more fond of repeating myself than you are, Lil. Really, if you want to save yourself the bother, I won’t blame you in the slightest.”

Elilial smiled slightly, coldly, and vanished without a sound. Only the faint scent of sulfur remained behind her.

Tellwyrn just sat without moving, frowning deeply in thought.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, we’re sure,” Fauna said testily. “It’s not really ambiguous.”

“Or difficult,” Flora added. “Took us all of half an hour to sift through the records.”

“The Nemetites organizing the thing are extremely helpful. The nice lady was able to pull the public record for us and explain what all the legalese meant.”

“It’s held through a dummy company, you see, but she knew the legal and cult codes to identify the buyers. So yeah, we had the answer pretty quickly.”

Darling swiveled in his office chair, staring at the unlit fireplace. “Not the trap she was expecting,” he whispered.

“Oh, gods, now he’s muttering to himself,” Fauna groaned.

He returned his gaze to them. “All right, sasspants, since you’re so smart, interpret what you found for me.”

“Oh, come on,” Flora said.

Darling held up a hand peremptorily. “Let’s not forget who the apprentices here are. No matter what the question, whining is never the correct answer.”

Fauna sighed dramatically, but replied. “It wasn’t truly hidden. We were able to get the truth in minutes, using entirely legal means. The means provided by the library itself, even.”

“So, not a secret,” Flora said. “But… Meant to look like a secret.”

He nodded. “Go on…”

“A message, maybe?” Fauna continued, frowning as she got into the exercise. “Either a barrier only to the laziest of inquirers…”

“Or a hidden signal to someone smarter,” Flora finished. “Or possibly both.”

“Very good,” he said approvingly, nodding. “That’s the conclusion to which I came, too. Of course, your guess is literally as good as mine.”

“So you’re in the dark, then? Why was it so important to find out?”

“And no more of your shifty bullshit,” Flora said pointedly, leveling a finger at him. “Damn it, we’ve had enough of that this week. None of this ‘I’ll tell you when it’s time’ crap.”

“Yeah, you sent us to deal with something you could’ve sniffed out yourself in less than an hour; we’re entitled to know what’s going on, here, Sweet.”

“Why is this important? What does it mean that the Thieves’ Guild owns Marcio’s Bistro?”

Darling turned his eyes back to the fireplace, staring sightlessly while his mind rummaged through possibilities. He was quiet for so long that Flora, scowling, opened her mouth to repeat her demand before he finally answered.

“I don’t know.”

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7 – 10

August 21, 2015UncategorizedBishop Darling, Embras Mogul, Fauna, Flora, Gravestone Weaver, Joseph P. Jenkins, Longshot McGraw, Mary the Crow, Sabrina Price, Tinker BillieD. D. Webb

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“Behind you!”

“I saw it!”

Wandshots cracked through the falling snow; a katzil demon squawked in pain as it was cleaved out of the air. Weaver kept up his fire, taking fragments off the eaves of the building over which the creature had been trying to escape, and then it was lost to sight behind the structure.

Joe was the first around the corner; his boots skidded on the light dusting of snow dancing down the street. Between that and the sharp wind he might have lost his footing, but he was too in tune with his body and environs to overbalance. This was the first he’d seen of the snow actually reaching the ground and staying there; he factored it into his calculations without a conscious thought.

The demon raised its head and hissed at him, an orange glow rising within its mouth. His wandshot pierced its skull before it could spit fire at him, and the katzil flopped back to the ground, thrashed once, and fell still. Immediately, it began to disintegrate into foul-smelling charcoal.

Weaver arrived, wands up, and came a lot closer to slipping than Joe had. He caught himself on a lamppost, however, scowling at the remains of the demon. “Right, good. There’s that one dealt with. Have you seen…”

They both lifted their heads at the distinctive sound of Billie whooping. In the next second, a flare arced into the sky from the next street over. It was quickly caught and blown off-course by the winds, but fizzled out before it could land on anything and start a fire.

Joe and Weaver set off without a word.

They were slowed by an accumulation of trash in the middle of the alley down which they had to travel, but in less than a minute were stepping out the other side, to find two of their party standing back-to-back in the middle of the street. McGraw still held his staff in a wary position, peering around at the rooftops; Billie was sliding something long and metallic into one of her pouches. Five large clumps of charcoal lay in the street around them, crumbling and blowing away. The acrid stink of them was almost painful, even carried off by the wind as quickly as it was.

“There y’are,” the gnome said cheerfully. “Turns out we didn’t need the rescue, but glad to see ye nonetheless. Best not t’get separated.”

“Good thinking,” Joe agreed. “We had to chase after that bird-serpent thingy, though. No tellin’ what havoc it would cause, loose in the city.”

“Not that much,” McGraw said, resting the butt of his staff against the cobblestones and straightening up, apparently satisfied the danger was past. “Katzils rarely attack people unless ordered by a warlock. You can usually tell one’s in the area by scorched rooftops and a sudden absence of rats, cats and small dogs in the neighborhood. Those khankredahgs were a bigger priority,” he added, nodding toward one of his erstwhile targets, by now little more than a black smudge on the pavement. “They do attack people. You see any of those, take ’em out first.”

“Duly noted,” Joe said, nodding.

“You have missed one, nonetheless,” Mary announced, appearing beside them. They hadn’t even heard her approach in bird form this time, what with the shrieking wind, but none of them were startled by her comings and goings anymore. “Above that apartment complex to the west.”

“I just had a wild thought,” Weaver said. “Being that you’re by a wide margin the most powerful person here, it seems like you could be doing a lot more than recon.”

“The key to having power is to know how it is used,” Mary said, unperturbed as always. “I find the most potent way to influence the world is through information. For instance, rather than running around to a side street after the katzil, you can pass through the public house in the base of the building. It has entrances on both sides and is currently unlocked.”

They turned to look at the door toward which she nodded; only the sign labeling it “The Devil’s Deal” revealed it was a pub. The door was shut tight, the windows darkened, its silence in keeping with the crisis in the city, but still somehow even more eerie. Pubs were meant to be places of laughter and vitality.

“You sure?” McGraw asked uncertainly. “Looks buttoned up pretty tight from here,”

“I assure you,” the Crow replied, “I have observed the entrances in use. Time is short.” She ascended toward the roof of the building with a raspy caw, her dark little wings seeming to have no trouble in the wind.

“And there she goes, not through the pub,” Weaver muttered. “I have a personal rule against taking directions from people who don’t follow their own.”

“Obvious, innit?” Billie said cheerfully. “Somethin’ in the pub she wants us to see. If you think the Crow’s out to get us, by all means sit here an’ freeze. Me, I think it’s worth havin’ a look at.”

They started toward the pub’s closed door, McGraw muttering as they went. “I didn’t see a katzil head off in that direction. Reckon there actually is one?”

Joe made no reply. Billie was first to reach the door, but she stepped aside, allowing him to grasp the handle and pull it open.

There was a short entrance hall beyond the door, lined with pegs for coats and stands for heavy overboots, all depressingly empty at the moment. An inert fairy lamp in an old-fashioned wrought iron housing hung overhead, swaying in the breeze admitted by the open door.

They trooped through in single file, weapons at the ready. The hall made a sharp left into the public area, where the group came to an immediate stop.

It looked like it might be a cozy place to have a drink in better times; not large, and with a disproportionately huge hearth along one wall. In addition to the usual tables and benches there were battered old armchairs upholstered in cracked leather arranged in small clusters in the corners. As Mary had said, there was indeed another hall leading from the opposite side of the room, presumably toward the other street. The fireplace was dead and dark, as were the wall sconces. It was not at all dim, however, lit as it was by the glow of the seven alarmed clerics in Universal Church robes who stood huddled in the middle of the room.

The two groups stared at each other in surprise for a silent moment. The priests weren’t armed, at least not visibly, but the glow around them at least partially came from a divine shield covering their party.

“What are you doing out?” a middle-aged woman near the head of the group demanded finally. “There’s a curfew in place!”

“We’re officially deputized for the duration of the crisis,” Joe informed her, holding up the lapel of his coat, to which was pinned the pewter gryphon badge Bishop Darling had given him. “Could ask the same of you.”

“We answer to the Universal Church,” she replied, still studying him warily. “Deputized? How old are you?”

“Collectively, oldern’ the Empire,” Billie said cheerfully. “Look, we can yammer on about who’s entitled to be out, or we could address the more pressin’ matters at hand. There’s demons still on the loose in the street. What’re you doin’ huddled in a dark pub? Could use the help out there.”

An unreadable look made its rounds through the clerics. “We have our orders,” a younger man said cryptically. “If you’re on demon cleanup duty, don’t let us keep you.”

“Now, I might be mistaken,” McGraw drawled, “it wouldn’t be the first time. But ain’t that the insignia of that new summoner corps his Holiness is building? Seems like demons on the loose would be right up your alley.”

“I told you, our orders—” He cut off at a sharp gesture from the older woman.

“Never mind,” she said, speaking to her companions but keeping her eyes on the group standing by the doorway. “This position is clearly compromised anyway, we’ll fall back to the secondary rendezvous. You do what you like,” she added directly to McGraw, “but if you intend to help, keep out of our way.”

They filed rapidly out the other hall exit. In moments, they were gone, and the party stood, listening to the door bang shut behind them. The only sound in the room was the faint sound of wind from without; Weaver had neglected to properly close the door through which they’d come.

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense,” Joe muttered, frowning after the departed clerics. “Holy summoners, hiding in a bar when there’s demons loose in the city?”

“They were not all summoners, holy or otherwise,” Mary remarked. They whirled to find her perched nonchalantly on the edge of the bar. “Did you note the slight divide in their group? Three in one cluster, four in another. Of the four, only one was a priestess. They also included a mage, a witch and a diabolist.”

“…a strike team,” McGraw said, thunking the butt of his staff against the floor. “In the wrong uniform? Well, they’re used for discreet ops often enough.”

Joe’s eyes widened as the equation added up in his head. “…they don’t want the demons un-summoned. They summoned them!”

“Cor,” Billie muttered.

He whirled to look at the group. Billie was frowning in consternation, McGraw in thought. Mary was watching him with the faint smile he associated with a teacher waiting to see if a pupil would understand a lesson. Weaver’s face was uncharacteristically blank.

“We have to tell the Bishop about this,” Joe said urgently. “Which way did he go?”

Weaver heaved a deep sigh. “Kid, this is a pitying expression I’m wearing, in case you failed to interpret it.”

“I told you,” Billie said, scowling. “I said it. That fellow gaining new powers fair makes my hackles rise. Gods only know what he might do with ’em. Not what he told us he was gonna, that much you can bank on.”

Joe’s eyes darted back and forth. “…did you all know about this?”

“Suspected,” McGraw muttered. “Had an inkling. Ain’t exactly the kinda thing one asks one’s powerful employer, though. ‘Scuze me, your Grace, but would you happen to be up to anything especially villainous this evening?’”

Weaver just shrugged.

“We were sent out to, first, attempt to lure the Black Wreath into an ambush, and second, destroy any demons they had unleashed,” Mary said calmly, her eyes fixed on Joe’s. “Ask yourself, why would they unleash demons?”

“They…they’re…the Black Wreath,” he said lamely. “Demons are what they do.”

“You cannot afford to be so naïve, Joseph. The Wreath call up demons only to use them. When they find demons otherwise, they put them down. Aimless summons of uncontrolled demons are less likely to be the work of the Wreath…”

“Than an attempt to lure them out,” Billie finished. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, in the middle of the city!”

“Let me just point out,” Weaver said, “before anybody goes on the warpath, that that was a mixed group of Universal Church and Imperial personnel we just saw, who were probably responsible for the demons loose in this neighborhood, if your theory is correct. It may be satisfying to blame Darling, but even if he could organize something this big, he couldn’t enact it on his own. This must’ve been done at the highest level. Bet you anything he’s not the only Bishop playing a part here.”

“There are many forces at work tonight,” Mary said calmly. “Some at cross purposes, most with more than one agenda. Best not to act in haste.”

“Act?” Billie snorted. “As to that…what’re we s’posed ta do, then? Just go back to killin’ demons like nothin’ else is going on?”

“Few things in life are simple,” said McGraw, “but some things are. If there are demons on the loose in the city, no matter who did it or why, killing ’em is a good use of our time.”

“But is it the best use?” Mary asked with a smile. “Joseph, did you still want to know which way the Bishop went?”

Embras managed one step backward before the front door of the warehouse banged shut, then froze.

“Well,” he said with a sigh, “there we are, of course. The question becomes, then, which of you do I attempt to go through?”

Price raised an eyebrow.

The warlock held out one hand, palm-up. “Young lady, if you would be so kind as to step aside—”

A ball of shadow began to form in his palm, then abruptly exploded; Mogul staggered backward, clutching a burned hand and staring around himself at the piles of crates hemming them in. Several of those nearest were emitting a faint golden light through cracks where the boards did not fit together snugly.

“You’ll want to be careful of that, old fellow,” Sweet said cheerfully, strolling around the corner behind him. The two elves paced silently at his sides, their expressions curious. “Want to know what’s stored in this warehouse, a literal stone’s throw from the Dawnchapel? Why, whatever was lying around! Relics of just all kinds, sacred to a whole smorgasbord of gods, that had been cluttering up the temple where Justinian needed to make space for his own projects. Frankly I’ve not idea what most of ’em even do, but I’ve got a pretty good notion what’ll happen if somebody starts trying to throw around infernal magic in here.”

“Yep,” Embras said, taking two steps to the side and angling himself to keep all of them in view. He stuck his burned hand in one of his coat pockets, tilting his head forward so that the brim of his hat concealed his eyes. Only his grin was visible. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Antonio, this was mighty fine work. Mighty fine work. How’d you manage to arrange all this? One professional to another.”

“Oh, but that’s the best part,” Sweet said, grinning in return and coming to a stop a few feet from him. “I didn’t arrange this! Nor the mess you encountered in the Dawnchapel. In fact, I did my damnedest to get you to come at me, but I guess that was a little too obvious to get a nibble. No, all this was just here; you just ran afoul of Justinian placing his new toys exactly where you were most likely to trip over ’em in the dark.”

“Well, that’s just irritating,” Embras remarked. “I believe I’m gonna write him a very sternly worded letter.”

“Tell you what I did arrange, though,” Sweet continued, his grin beginning to slowly fade. “You’ve already discovered the Shaathist blessing blocking shadow-jumping over the city, I’m sure. You probably deduced the presence of a lot of Huntsmen rounding up your fellows. Here’s what you don’t yet know: those Huntsmen will be herding the Wreath toward the Rail stations, which are right about now being inundated with the Imperial soldiers who were sent to Calderaas earlier in the day. The Third Silver Legion has been re-sorted into squads off site, one of which will accompany every unit of the Army, with shield-specialized priestesses at the front. No doubt a good few of your warlocks will still manage to use those syringes of theirs when they see what’s waiting for them, but enough of them will be pacified on sight that we stand to take plenty alive.”

“How did you manage that?” Embras asked mildly. “You’re talking about hundreds of people. Thousands, even. I don’t mind admitting I haven’t heard a peep about this, and I’ve got eyes and ears in places you wouldn’t believe.”

“Simple operational control, old man. All of those soldiers and Legionnaires were kept in the dark; they were ordered to respond to the crisis on the frontier, and when they got to Calderaas telescrolled orders sent them right back here. The Huntsmen have been sequestered on rooftops all afternoon, in parties constantly watching each other.”

“Hnh,” Mogul grunted. “At what cost? I do know that hellgate in Last Rock isn’t a feint. Are you really so obsessed with capturing me you let that thing stand open? My people weren’t behind it, nor was my Lady. There is no telling what’s gonna come boiling out.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” Darling said condescendingly. “That’s being taken care of. Worry about the here and now.”

Mogul finally lifted his head, meeting Darling’s eyes. “Take a good look at yourself, Bishop. The bards lie about a lot, but they tell a few solid truths. The man standing over a well-executed trap giving a soliloquy is seldom the hero of the piece.”

“You’re just stalling, now,” Sweet said, stepping forward. Behind him, Flora and Fauna moved to flank. Price held her position, watching with perfect poise. “Obsessed I may be, but I’m not the one with a foot in the snare.”

“Fair enough,” Embras agreed, adjusting his tie. “Well, relics or no relics, I do hope you’re not expecting me to stand here politely while you—”

“Oh, keep it in your pants,” Darling said scornfully. “I didn’t go to all this trouble to kill you. No, I don’t intend to capture you, either.”

“Oh? I confess to some curiosity. That would seem to exhaust all the likely ambitions you might have toward my person.”

“Remember who you’re dealing with,” Darling said grimly, taking slow steps forward. “I am, first and foremost, an Eserite. I brought you here, Embras, to take something from you. Something you’ll be hard pressed to do without. Something you will never get back, until you finally submit yourself to my will.”

He came to a stop finally, with barely a foot separating the two men. Mogul withheld comment, simply staring challengingly into Darling’s eyes.

Suddenly Sweet grinned and swiped his hand across the space between them. Embras reflexively twitched backward, disarranging his hat as the brim thumped against the crates behind him. Grinning madly, Darling held up his fist, with the tip of his thumb poking out from between two fingers.

“Got yer nose!”

Embras gaped at him.

“All right, that’s a wrap,” Sweet said cheerfully, turning around and swaggering back toward the path between the crates. “Pack it up, ladies, we’re out. Embras, old man, you’ll wanna take the first left on the path out the other side, it’ll lead you straight toward the administrative offices. Past the secretary’s desk is the manager’s, and past that is a cleaning closet. Sewer access is in there. You have a good evenin’, now!”

Price caught up as he reached the crates and they stepped out into the shadows side-by-side, leaving the lamp behind. Flora and Fauna, however, hadn’t moved. They were staring after their tutor with expressions very similar to Mogul’s.

“What. The. Hell.”

“Are you ever gonna actually fight this guy?” Fauna demanded shrilly.

“Look, if you just want somebody to play practical jokes with, we can find you a friend.”

“Hell with that, let’s find him a girlfriend. He’s clearly pent up.”

“All the way up to the skull!”

“Girls, girls,” Darling soothed, turning to grin at them. “Not in front of the mark, please. I know exactly what I’m doing, as always. Embras knows, too. Or he will once he’s had time to think it all over. He’s having a stressful night, poor fellow. We’ve got exactly what we came for, now it’s time to go. Chop chop, our guest has a stealthy exit to make. Respect the exit.”

He strolled off again into the shadows. With a last, wary glance at the completely nonplussed Embras Mogul, the girls finally followed him. There really wasn’t anything else for them to do.

“I swear,” Fauna muttered as they wound their way through the dark maze of crates back to the entrance, “if I don’t hear a full explanation of all the aimless running around we’ve done tonight, I’m gonna kill somebody.”

“That would carry a lot more weight if it wasn’t your response to everything,” Darling said cheerfully. “Thank you, Price.”

“Sir,” she said, pulling the door open and stepping aside to hold it while Darling strolled out into the windy streets.

He came to an immediate stop, the glowing tip of a wand inches from his face.

“Evenin’, Joe,” he said mildly. “Something on your mind?”

“Lemme see if I’ve got this straight,” Joe said, glaring at him. “You send all the troops away and have summoners call up demons in the city, creating a crisis only more summoners can fix. And then, when the Black Wreath shows up to help the civilians you’ve put in danger, you land on ’em with Huntsmen and whatever else. That about the shape of it?”

Darling held up a hand at his side; Flora and Fauna halted, having been about to dive past him at the Kid. Behind Joe, the rest of his party stood in a semicircle a good few yards back, dissociating themselves from him with distance.

“You have the aspect of someone who’s just made several assumptions,” Darling said, “and plans to make a few more.”

“I asked you a question.”

“Joe,” Flora warned.

“That’s about the shape of it, yes,” Darling said, nodding. He kept his eyes on Joe’s. “Minus a number of highly significant details.”

“That,” Joe said flatly, “is easily one of the more evil things I’ve ever heard of.” He shifted his grip subtly, the wand’s tip glowing a touch brighter; Flora and Fauna stepped forward once. “And you made me a part of it.”

“Did you see those crocodile-lookin’ things with the gorilla arms?” Darling asked. “Yes? Those are called khankredahgs. One of them killed Bishop Snowe’s servant in her own home a few weeks back. The same night the Wreath attacked us in my house, remember?”

“That has noth—”

“There’s something called the Rite of Silencing,” Darling pressed over him, “it’s what the Wreath does to members who try to betray the group. See, what they do is, they get the traitors in a pit that’s been made into a summoning circle. They’ve bound them beforehand, you see, so they can’t use any magic they possess. And then they call up khankredahgs in the pit with ’em, and the whole cell stands around above and watches them get eaten alive.”

He took a step forward, then another; Joe actually stepped back to avoid jabbing him in the eye with the wand, but did not lower his arm. “And not just the would-be traitor, either,” Darling went on, staring him down. “Anyone deemed close enough to them. Spouses, siblings, children. The exceptions are any children considered too young to be responsible. Those join the onlookers, and get to watch their families being torn apart. These are the people we’re talking about, Joe.”

“What they do has nothing to do with what we do about it,” Joe growled. “If we can’t be better than them, then what’s the point of fighting ’em?”

“I only wish I could tell you how close the Black Wreath was before tonight to overthrowing the Empire,” Darling said. At that Joe’s eyes widened and his hand wavered a fraction. “I can’t, though; the pertinent parts are actually Sealed to the Throne, and most of the rest is merely classified. But yes, Joe, we’ve been walking the knife’s edge for months now. The prospect of an Elilinist government coming to power is a real and extant one even still. This night’s work has broken the Wreath’s spine in Tiraas, but they are not dead, and Elilial certainly isn’t. They’ll be back. They’ll never stop. Have you ever given any thought to what life would be like in a country ruled by the Black Wreath?” He paused for a moment, giving Joe a chance to answer. He didn’t. “I have. And I, and others in the government, the Church and the cults, have had to consider what is appropriate, and what is necessary, to stop that from happening.”

“Appropriate?” Joe all but whispered.

Darling slowly lifted his hand and pushed aside the wand. Joe offered no resistance. “I won’t know for a few days exactly how many people were hurt or killed due to our scheme tonight,” he said quietly. “We’ll probably never have a full accounting of the damage. But this is something that was carefully considered at the highest level. The Emperor, the Empress, the Archpope. Myself, the head of Imperial Intelligence, others. Not one of us are going to sleep well for a good while, if ever. And someday, Joe, when you have had to make a brutally hard choice like that, then you will be in a position to make judgments about those who have. They probably won’t be correct judgments, but you’ll have earned the right to make ’em.” He pursed his lips, and shook his head. “Till then… Grow up.”

Darling turned and walked off up the street. Flora and Fauna paced after him, staring at Joe in passing as he slowly lowered his wand to point at the ground. Price brought up the rear, seeming totally unperturbed.

A small hand touched his leg just above the knee. He looked down to meet Billie’s eyes. She jerked her head significantly at the two elves, then very clearly mouthed “Not now.”

They listened, for a long moment, to the wind, and the sound of distant hunting horns.

“Welp,” McGraw said finally, “I guess we won.”

“What is victory?” Mary mused aloud. “And who are ‘we?’”

“Just in case you were wondering,” Weaver told her, “that inscrutable act of yours isn’t impressive. It’s just annoying.”

“I can live with that,” she said with a smile. “Annoying I may be, but I have achieved exactly what I set out to, tonight. I wonder who else can say the same?”

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7 – 8

August 17, 2015UncategorizedAndros Varanus, Bishop Darling, Bradshaw, Embras Mogul, Fauna, Flora, Grandmaster Veisroi, Gravestone Weaver, Hawkmaster Vjarst, Ingvar, Joseph P. Jenkins, Khadizroth the Green, Kheshiri, Longshot McGraw, Mary the Crow, Ravi, Sabrina Price, the Jackal, Thumper, Tinker Billie, Vanessa, YngridD. D. Webb

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The Dawnchapel held so much history and significance that its environs, a small canal-bordered district now filled with shrines and religious charity facilities, had taken on its name. Originally the center of Omnist worship in the city, it had been donated to the Universal Church upon its formation and served as the Church’s central offices until the Grand Cathedral was completed. More recently it had done duty as a training facility and residence for several branches of the Church’s personnel, and currently mostly housed Justinian’s holy summoner program.

It was a typical structure of Omnist design, its main sanctuary a sunken amphitheater housed within a huge circle of towering standing stones, of a golden hue totally unlike the granite on which Tiraas sat, imported all the way from the Dwarnskolds along the northern rim of the continent. Once open to the sun, its sides had long ago been filled in with a more drab, domestic stone, which was later carved into niches that now housed statues of the gods. Its open top had been transformed into a dome of glittering stained glass, one of the architectural treasures of the city. Behind the circular center rose a ziggurat, topped with a sun shrine which had been left as a monument sacred to Omnu in gratitude for the gift of the temple itself. Most of the offices, storage rooms and other chambers were either underground or inside the pyramid.

The circular temple sat on a square plot of land, forcing the furtive warlocks to cross a measure of open territory before they could reach its entrance. They went unchallenged, however, and apparently unnoticed; this part of the city was as eerily silent and empty tonight as the rest. Still, despite the lack of opposition, only Embras Mogul strolled apparently without unease.

Two khankredahgs and two katzils accompanied the party, which had to be momentarily soothed as they crossed onto holy ground. They had been warded and phased against it, of course, but this ground was holier than most, and the demons were not immune to the discomfort. There were two hethelaxi escorting the group, both of whom bore the transition without complaint. That was it for demon thralls, the more volatile sentient companions having been dismissed back to their plane rather than risk the outbursts that would result from bringing them here.

Even peering around for onlookers, they failed to observe the small, faintly luminous blue figure which circled overhead.

Mogul himself laid his hand upon the bronze latch of the temple’s heavy front door and paused for a moment.

“Warded?” Vanessa asked tersely. “Cracking it with any kind of subtlety will take too long… Of course, I gather you want to make a dramatic statement anyway?”

Mogul raised an eyebrow, then turned the latch. It clicked, and the door opened smoothly, its hinges not uttering a squeak.

“There’s overconfident,” Mogul said lightly, “and then there’s Justinian.”

He gestured two gray-robed warlocks to precede him inside, accompanied by one of the katzils and the female hethelax.

The sanctuary was not completely unguarded, but the outcry from within was brief.

“Who are—hel—”

The voice was silenced mid-shout. Mogul leaned around the doorframe, peering within just in time to see the shadows recede from a slumping figure in Universal Church robes, now unconscious. His attention, however, was fixed on the hethelax, who was frowning in puzzlement.

“Mavthrys?” he said quietly. “What is it?”

“It’s gone,” she replied, studying the interior of the sanctuary warily. “The sensation. Not quite un-consecrated, but… Something’s different.” Indeed, the katzil inside had grown noticeably calmer.

“Justinian’s using this place to train summoners,” said Bradshaw. “Obviously it’ll have some protections for demons now.”

“Omnu must be spinning in his grave,” Vanessa noted wryly, earning several chuckles from the warlocks still flanking the entrance outside.

They all tensed at the sudden, not-too-distant sound of a hunting horn.

“What the hell?” one of the cultists muttered.

“Huntsmen,” Embras said curtly, ducking through the doors. “They won’t hunt in the dens of their own allies. Everyone inside, now.”

As they darted into the temple, the spirit hawk above wheeled away, heading toward a different part of the city.

“This is so weird,” Billie muttered for the fourth time. “And I have done some weird shit in my time.”

“Yes, I believe I read of your exploits on the wall of a men’s bathhouse,” Weaver sneered, taking a moment from muttering to his companion.

The gnome shot him an irritated look, but uncharacteristically failed to riposte. They all had that reaction when they glanced at the figure beside him.

In the space between spaces (as Mary had called it), the world was grayed-out and wavering, as if they were seeing it from underwater. The distortion obscured finer details, but for the most part they could see the real world well enough. This one was more dimly lit than the physical Tiraas, but apart from being unable to read the street signs (which for some reason, apart from being blurred, were not in Tanglish when viewed form here), they could navigate perfectly well, and identify the figures of Darling and his two apprentices, and even the little black form of the Crow as she glided from lamp to lamp ahead of them.

None of them had been able to resist looking up at the sky, briefly but long enough to gather an impression of eyes and tentacles belonging to world-sized creatures at unimaginable distances, seen far more clearly than what was right in front of them. Mary had strongly advised against studying them in any detail. No one had felt any inclination to defy the order.

The weirdness accompanying them was far more immediately interesting to the group. She was wavery and washed-out just like the physical world, but here, they could see her. Little of the figure was distinct except that she was tall, a hair taller even than Weaver, garbed entirely in black, and had black wings. She carried a plain, ancient-looking scythe which was as crisply visible as they themselves were, unlike its owner. Weaver had stuck next to his companion, carrying on a whispered dialogue—or what was presumably a dialogue, as no one but he could hear her responses. The rest of the party had let them have their privacy, for a variety of reasons.

The winged figure subtly turned her head, and Joe realized he’d been caught staring. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tipped his hat to her. “Ah, your pardon, ma’am. I didn’t get the chance to thank you properly for the help a while back, in the old apartments. You likely saved me and my friend from a pair of slit throats. Very much obliged.”

The dark, silent harbinger of death waved at him with childlike enthusiasm. It was nearly impossible to distinguish in the pale blur where her face should be, but he was almost certain she was grinning.

“Oddly personable, ain’t she,” McGraw murmured, drawing next to him as Weaver and his friend fell back again, their heads together. “That’ll teach me to think I’m too old to be surprised by life.”

“Tell you what’s unsettling is that,” Billie remarked, stepping in front of them so they couldn’t miss seeing her and pointing ahead. Several yards in front of the group, Darling and the two elves were engaging a group of Black Wreath. Their demon companions were clearly, crisply visible, while the warlocks themselves appeared to glow with sullen, reddish auras. As per their orders, the party was hanging back, allowing the Eserites to handle things on their own until they were called for. In any case, it didn’t seem their help was needed. Darling was glowing brightly, and making very effective use of the chain of white light which now extended from his right hand. As they watched, it lashed out, seemingly with a mind of its own, snaring a katzil demon by its neck and holding the struggling creature in place. In the next moment, a golden circle appeared on the pavement beneath it, and the chain dragged the demon down through it, where it vanished.

“I’ve gotta say, something about that guy equipping himself with new skills and powers doesn’t fill me with a sense of serenity,” Billie mused, watching their patron closely.

“You don’t trust him?” Joe asked. She barked a sarcastic laugh.

“Ain’t exactly about trust,” McGraw noted.

Mary reappeared next to them with her customary suddenness and lack of fanfare. “One can always trust a creature to behave in consistency with its own essential nature. As things stand, Darling is extraordinarily unlikely to betray us.”

“As things stand?” Joe asked, frowning.

The Crow shrugged noncommittally. “Change is the one true constant. In any case, be ready. I believe we will not be called upon to carry out the planned ambush; it likely would have happened already, were it going to. That being the case, we’ll shortly need to return to the material plane and move on to general demon cleanup duty.”

“Fun,” Joe muttered.

“What, y’mean we don’t get to stay and hang out in this creepity-ass hellscape?” Billie said. “Drat. An’ here I was thinkin’ of investing in some real estate.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “If you would really like to remain, I can—”

“Don’t even feckin’ say it!”

“Hold it, stop,” Sweet ordered. Fauna skidded to a halt on command, turning to scowl at him as a robed figure scampered away down the sidewalk before her.

“He’s escaping!”

“Him and all three of his friends!”

“Let ’em,” he said lightly, peering around at the nearby rooftops with some disappointment. “We were making a spectacle of ourselves, not seriously trying to collar the Wreath. That’s someone else’s job. You notice there are no signs of Church summoners here, despite the presence of the demons they let loose?”

“Everyone’s bugging out?” Fauna asked, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Seems like ol’ Embras isn’t taking my bait,” Sweet lamented with a heavy sigh. “Ah, well, it was probably too much to hope that he’d do something so ham-fisted. It’s not really in an Elilinist’s nature, after all. Welp, that being the case, onward we go!”

“Go?” Flora asked as he abruptly turned and set off down a side street. “Where now?”

“You know, it would save us a lot of stumbling along asking annoying questions if you’d just explain the damn plan,” Fauna said caustically.

“Probably would,” he agreed, grinning back at them. “But adapting to circumstances as they unfold is all part of your education.”

“Veth’na alaue.”

“You watch it, potty mouth,” he said severely. “I know what that means.”

“Oh, you speak elvish now?” Fauna asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Just enough to cuss properly. It seemed immediately relevant to our relationship.” They both laughed. “Anyhow, just up this street is the bridge to Dawnchapel. We are going to a warehouse facility, uncharacteristically disguised behind the facade of an upscale apartment building so as not to offend the ritzy sensibilities of those who dwell in this very fashionable district. A fancy warehouse, but still a warehouse if you know what to look for, which makes it the perfect spot for what’s coming next.”

“I didn’t realize there were warehouses in Dawnchapel.”

“Just outside Dawnchapel,” he corrected, grinning up ahead into the night. “Along the avenue leading straight out from the less obvious exit from the Dawnchapel sanctuary itself.”

“I don’t know what to hope for,” Fauna muttered, “that this all plays out as you’re planning and we finally get to learn the point of it, or that it doesn’t and you have to eat crow.”

“Well, there was a mental image I could’ve done without,” Flora said, wincing.

“Not that Crow, you ninny. Oh, gods, now I’m seeing it too.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little heads,” he replied. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Before any of the obvious responses to that could be uttered, the clear tone of a hunting horn pierced the night.

“Now what?” Flora demanded. “What’s that about?”

“That,” said Sweet, picking up his pace, “is the signal that we are out of time for sightseeing. Step lively, girls, we need to get into position.”

The spectral bird lit on Hawkmaster Vjarst’s gloved hand, and he brought it forward to his face, gazing intently into its eyes. A moment passed in silence, then he nodded, stroking the spirit hawk’s head, and raised his arm. The bird took flight again, joining its brethren now circling above.

“The summoners have retreated to their safehouses,” he announced, turning to face the rest of the men assembled on the rooftop. “Warlocks in Wreath garb are attempting to put down the remaining demons. There is significant incidental damage in the affected areas. No human casualties that my eyes have seen.”

“And the Eserite?” Grandmaster Veisroi asked.

“His quarry has not bitten his lure, but gone to Dawnchapel as he predicted. Darling and his women are moving in that direction. They are now passing through a cluster of demons, and acquitting themselves well.”

“How close?”

“Close.”

Veisroi nodded. “Then all is arranged; it’s time.” The assembled Huntsmen tensed slightly in anticipation as he lifted the run-engraved hunting horn at his side to his lips.

The horn was one of the treasures of their faith, a relic given by the Wolf God himself to his mortal followers, according to legend. Its tone was deep and clear, resounding clearly across the entire city, without being painful to the ears of those standing right at hand.

At its sound, Brother Ingvar nocked the spell-wrapped arrow that had been specially prepared for this night to his bow, raised it, and fired straight upward. The missile burst into blue light as it climbed…and continued to climb, soaring upward to the clouds without beginning to descend toward the city. Similar blue streaks soared upward from rooftop posts all across Tiraas.

Where they touched the clouds, the city’s omnipresent damp cover darkened into ominous thunderheads in the space of seconds. Winds carrying the chill of the Stalrange picked up, roaring across the roofs of the city; Vjarst’s birds spiraled downward, each making brief contact with his runed glove and vanishing. Snow, unthinkable for the time of year, began to fall, whipped into furious eddies by the winds.

The very light changed, Tiraas’s fierce arcane glow taking on the pale tint of moonlight as the blessing of Shaath was laid across the city.

“Brother Andros,” Veisroi ordered, “the device.”

Andros produced the twisted thorn talisman they had previously confiscated from Elilial’s spy in their midst, closed his eyes in concentration, and twisted it. Even in the rising wind, the clicking of the metal thorns echoed among the stilled Huntsmen.

Absolutely nothing happened.

Andros opened his eyes, grinning with satisfaction. “All is as planned, Grandmaster. Until Shaath’s storm abates, shadow-jumping in Tiraas has been blocked.”

“Good,” said Veisroi, grinning in return. With his grizzled mane and beard whipped around him by the winds, he looked wild, fierce, just as a follower of Shaath ought. “Remember, men, your task is to destroy demons as you find them, but only harry the Wreath toward the Rail stations. Yes, I see your impatience, lads. I know you’ve been told this, but it bears repeating. A dead warlock may yield worthy trophies, but he cannot answer questions. We drive them into the trap, nothing more. And now…”

He raised the horn again, his chest swelling with a deeply indrawn breath, and let out a long blast, followed by three short ones, the horn’s notes cutting through the sound of the wind.

Four portal mages were now under medical supervision in the offices of Imperial Intelligence, recuperating from serious cases of mana fatigue from their day’s labors, but they had finished their task on time, as was expected of agents of the Silver Throne. Now, from dozens of rooftops all across the city, answering horns raised the call and spirit wolves burst into being, accompanying the hundreds of Huntsmen of Shaath gathered in Tiraas, nearly every one of them from across the Empire. They began bounding down form their perches, toward lower roofs and the streets, roaring and laughing at the prospect of worthy prey.

“And now,” Grandmaster Veisroi repeated, grinning savagely, “WE HUNT!”

The three of them hunkered down behind the decorative stone balustrade encircling the balcony on which they huddled, taking what shelter they could from the howling winds and snowflakes. Uncomfortable as it was, they weren’t as chilled as the weather made it seem they should be. The temperature had dropped notably in the last few minutes, but it was still early summer, despite Shaath’s touch upon the city.

Directly across the street stood the warehouse Sweet had indicated. It had tall, decorative windows in sculpted stone frames, shielded by iron bars which were wrought so as to be attractive as well as functional. Its huge door was similarly carved and even gilded in spots to emphasize its engraved reliefs. It was, in short, definitely a warehouse, but did not stand out excessively from the upscale townhouses which surrounded it, or the shrines and looming Dawnchapel temple just across the canal.

“More information is always better,” Sweet was saying. His normal, conversational tone didn’t carry more than a few feet away, thanks to the furious wind, but his words were plainly audible to the elven ears of his audience, who sat right on either side of him. “When running a con, you want to control as much as you can. What you know, what the mark knows, who they encounter… But the fact is, you can’t control the world, and shouldn’t try. There comes a point where you have to let go. Real mastery is in balancing those two things, arranging what you can control so that your mark does what you want him to, despite the plethora of options offered to him by the vast, chaotic world in which we live.”

“And you, of course, possess true mastery,” Fauna said solemnly. She grinned when Sweet flicked the pointed tip of her ear with a finger.

“In this case, it’s a simple matter of what I know that Embras doesn’t,” he said, “and what Justinian doesn’t know that I know. This part of the plan wasn’t shared with his Holiness, you see; he’d just have moved to protect his secrets. That would be inconvenient, after all the trouble I went to to track them down, and anyway, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make use of it tonight.”

“What trouble did you go to?” Flora asked. “When did you find time to snoop out whatever it is Justinian was hiding from you on top of everything else you’ve got going on?”

“I asked Mary to do it,” he said frankly, grinning. “Now pay attention across the bridge, there, girls, you are about to see a demonstration of what I mean.” He shifted position, angling himself to get a good look down the street and across the canal bridge at the Dawnchapel. “When you know the board, the players, and the pieces…well, if you know them well enough, the rest is clockwork.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Embras said sharply as his people clustered together, peering nervously up through the glass dome at the storm-darkening sky. “It was a good move on Justinian’s part, but they’ll be hunting out there. This is probably the safest place in the city right now. Focus, folks, we’ve got a job to do.” He pointed quickly at the main door and a smaller one tucked into one of the stone walls. “Ignore the exterior entrances, we’re not about to be attacked from out there. That doorway, opposite the front, leads into the temple complex. Sishimir, get in there and shroud it; I don’t want us interrupted by the clerics still in residence. Vanessa, Ravi, Bradshaw, start a dark circle the whole width of the sanctuary. Tolimer, Ashley, shroud it as they go. You’re not enacting a full summons, just a preparatory thinning.”

“Nice,” said Vanessa approvingly. “And here I thought you just wanted to smash the place up.” She moved off toward the edge of the sanctuary, the rest of the warlocks shifting into place as directed, Sishimir ducking through the dark entrance hall to the temple complex beyond. The two hethelaxi took up positions flanking the main doors, waiting patiently, while the non-sentient demons stuck by their summoners.

“Now, Vanessa, that would be petty,” Embras said solemnly. “It’ll be so much more satisfying when the next amateur to reach across the planes in training tomorrow plunges this whole complex straight into Hell. Perhaps they’ll think with a bit more care next time someone suggests fooling around aimlessly with demons.”

“Ooh, sneaky and gratuitously mean-spirited. I like it!”

Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing, turning to face the succubus who had spoken.

“Not one of ours,” Ravi said crisply, extending a hand. A coil of pure shadow flexed outward, wrapping around the demon and securing her wings and arms to her sides; she bore this with good humor, tail waving languidly behind her. “Who are you with, girl? The summoner corps?”

“Justinian’s messing around with the children of Vanislaas, now?” Bradshaw murmured. “The man is completely out of control.”

“Why, hello, Kheshiri,” Mogul said mildly, tucking a hand into his pocket. “Of all the places I did not expect you to pop up, this is probably the one I expected the least. You already rid yourself of that idiot Shook? Impressive, even for you.”

“Rid myself of him?” Kheshiri said innocently. “Now why on earth would I want to do something like that? He’s the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“Change of plans,” Embras said, keeping his gaze fixed on the grinning succubus. It never paid to take your eyes off a succubus, especially one who was happy about something. “Vanessa, Tolimer, cover those doors. Sishimir, what’s taking so long in there?”

The gray-robed figure of Sishimir appeared in the darkened doorway, his posture oddly stiff and off-center. His cowled head lolled to one side.

“Everything’s okey-dokey back here, boss!” said a high-pitched singsong voice. “No need to go looking around for more enemies, no sirree!”

The assembled Wreath turned from Kheshiri to face him, several drawing up shadows around themselves.

Two figures stepped up on either side of Sishimir, a man in a cheap-looking suit and a taller one in brown Omnist style robes, complete with a hood that concealed his features.

“That is absolutely repellant,” the hooded one said disdainfully.

“Worse,” added the other, “it’s not even funny.”

“Bah!” Sishimir collapsed to the ground; immediately a pool of blood began to spread across the stone floor from his body. Behind him stood a grinning elf in a dapper pinstriped suit, dusting off his hands. “Nobody appreciates good comedy anymore.”

“I don’t know what the hell this is, but I do believe I lack the patience for it,” Embras announced. “Ladies and gentlemen, hex these assholes into a puddle.”

Kheshiri clicked her tongue chidingly, shaking her head.

A barrage of shadow blasts ripped across the sanctuary at the three men.

The robed man raised one hand, and every single spell flickered soundlessly out of existence a yard from them.

“What—”

Bradshaw was interrupted by a burst of light; the wandshot, fired from the waist, pierced Ravi through the midsection. She crumpled with a strangled scream, the shadow bindings holding Kheshiri dissolving instantly.

“Keep your grubby hands off my property, bitch,” Shook growled.

The robed figure raised his hands, finally lowering his hood to reveal elven features, glossy green hair, and glowing eyes like smooth-cut emeralds.

Khadizroth the Green curled his upper lip in a disdainful sneer.

“I do not like warlocks.”

“Almost wish I’d brought snacks,” Sweet mused as they watched the dome over the Dawnchapel flicker and pulse with the lights being discharged within.

“I wouldn’t turn down a mug of hot mead right now,” Flora muttered, her hands tucked under her arms.

“Hot anything,” Fauna agreed. “Hell, I’d drink hot water.”

“Oh, don’t be such wet blankets,” Sweet said airily, struggling not to shiver himself. “Where’s your sense of oh wait there he goes!”

He leaned forward, pointing. Sure enough, a figure in a white suit had emerged from the small side entrance to the temple’s sanctuary and headed toward the bridge at a dead run.

“Clockwork, I tell you,” Sweet said, grinning fiercely, his discomfort of a moment ago forgotten. “Confronted with an unwinnable fight when they weren’t expecting one, the cultists naturally huddle up and create an opportunity for their leader to escape. The rest of them are losses the Wreath can absorb; he simply can’t be allowed to fall into Justinian’s hands. And so, there he goes. But whatever shall our hero do now?”

Embras Mogul skidded to a stop at the bridge, glancing back at the Dawnchapel, then forward at the warehouse. He started moving again, purposefully.

“So many choices, so many direction to run,” Sweet narrated quietly, his avid gaze fixed on the fleeing warlock. “The Wreath’s first choice is always to vanish from trouble, but with their shadow-jumping blocked, his options are limited. But what’s this? Why, it’s a warehouse! And all warehouses in this city have convenient sewer access. Once down in that labyrinth, he’s as good as gone. As we can see, he is slowed up by the very impressive lock on those mighty doors.”

“Amateur,” Flora muttered, watching Mogul struggle with the latch. After a moment, he stepped back, aimed a hand at the lock and discharged a burst of shadow. With the snowy wind howling through the street, they couldn’t hear the eruption of magic or the clattering of pieces of lock and chain falling to the ground, but in the next moment, Mogul was tugging the doors open a crack and slipping through, pulling it carefully shut behind him.

“You weren’t going to ambush him there?” Fauna asked, frowning.

“What, out here in the street?” Darling stood up, brushing snow off his suit. “Where he could run in any direction? No, I believe I’ll ambush him in that building which I’ve prepared ahead of time to have no useable exits except the one I’ll be blocking.”

“One of these days your love of dramatic effect is going to get you in real trouble,” Flora predicted.

“Mm hm, it’s actually quite liberating, knowing in advance what your own undoing’ll be. The uncertainty can wear on you, otherwise. All right, girls, down we go. We’ve one last appointment to keep tonight.”

Embras strode purposely forward into the maze of crates stacked on the main warehouse floor, scowling in displeasure. This night had been an unmitigated disaster. He only hoped his comrades had had the sense to surrender once he was safely away. For now, he had to get to the offices of this complex and find the sewer access—there always was one—but in the back of his mind, he had already begun planning to retrieve as many of them as possible. It was a painful duty, having to prioritize among friends, but Bradshaw and Vanessa would have to be first…

He rounded a blind turn in the dim corridors made by the piled crates and slammed to a halt as light rose up in front of him.

The uniformed Butler set the lantern aside on a small crate pulled up apparently for that purpose, then folded her hands behind her back, assuming that parade rest position they always adopted when not actively working.

“Good evening, Master Mogul,” Price said serenely. “You are expected.”

Embras heaved a sigh. “Well, bollocks.”

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7 – 6

August 12, 2015UncategorizedBishop Darling, Bradshaw, Embras Mogul, Fauna, Flora, Mary the Crow, VanessaD. D. Webb

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“Hey, Sweet,” said the woman in the leather coat, stopping in surprise. “They’ve got you doing enforcer duty?”

“Nah,” Sweet said airily. “I have rank enough to get around the curfew, is all. I thought this would be a good educational opportunity for the ducklings.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Flora and Fauna, who rolled their eyes in unison. Of course, he couldn’t see them doing it, but he knew very well they were.

“If you say so,” the Guild enforcer replied, shrugging. Beside her, her more taciturn partner tapped his foot impatiently. “I’ve gotta say I don’t see it, though. It’s not a good time to try pulling a job; everybody’s inside, where the loot is, and even if you pull something off the Boss and maybe the Empire would land hard on you for taking advantage of the situation.”

“Well, I concur with that analysis, Duster,” Sweet replied easily. “But no, we’re not looking to gather up stray valuables. It’s the situation, my friend. This is, to put it mildly, unusual. It’s in a crisis that you see what people are really made of. That’s why you should always find a moment to look around during a crisis. They never let you see it otherwise.”

Duster snorted. “Nothing’s gonna happen. The actual trouble is out on the frontier, where the soldiers are going, and that bawling herald has pretty well spooked everybody indoors. Just a night of creepy quiet streets.”

“Let us hope,” Sweet said gravely. “I’ve got a hunch, though.”

“And we have a route,” the second enforcer said pointedly. “Stay outta trouble, Sweet.”

“You too, Togs,” he replied with a grin. “Duster. Be safe.”

“You bet,” she said, winking, and the two continued ambling along their route. Sweet headed off in the opposite direction, Flora and Fauna pacing silently along in his wake.

“Do you actually have the Imperial rank to break a curfew?” Fauna asked.

“You know, I’m not really sure,” he mused. “Doesn’t really apply in this situation, as me being out in the streets tonight is all part of the plan. Something to wonder about, though.”

“I note that Duster didn’t wonder,” Flora remarked. “Or didn’t care.”

“Well, of course not. She’s a Guild enforcer; I’m a ranking member. Far as she’s concerned, as long as I’m not acting against the Big Guy or the Guild, I can do whatever damn thing pops into my head.”

“Handy,” Fauna grunted.

“Damn skippy,” he said cheerfully.

They fell silent, the only sound his soft footfalls on the sidewalk. Over the last year he’d grown more or less accustomed to the preternatural silence with which elves could move when they chose—which had helped him pick up on the subtle mockery they sometimes employed by slapping their feet down as loudly as humans—but the context brought back all the nervous uncertainty of the first few weeks of them being in his house, when he kept turning around and finding them suddenly there, without warning.

The city’s silence was oppressive. Tiraas was known as a city of lights, and the lights were all still on. In fact, they were even more on than usual; people were huddled together in their homes, and a lot fewer of them than usual at this hour were sleeping. Light blazed from nearly every window they passed, to the point that the streetlamps seemed superfluous. None of it helped. Tiraas, like all cities, was also a place of the constant, thrumming noise of people, and in the absence of it, a terrifying wrongness hung over the streets. The cheerful glow from all quarters only served to underscore how amiss everything was.

Sweet felt an urge to glance back and make sure the girls were still with him. He didn’t, of course.

“What are we doing here?” Flora asked at last.

“This is but the first stop on our evening’s itinerary,” Sweet replied, strolling across the empty square to the facade of the Rail station. “Up we go, girls. I want to show you something.”

Like many Rail stations, the huge structure was a blend of modern architecture—which was to say, enormous expanses of glass in wrought iron frames—and a faux-classical style, replete with ornamental stonework. The former was extremely difficult to scale, even with elven agility, and quite impossible to do so without being seen from within. The latter was an urban climber’s dream, but its odd proportions made it a challenge to ascend the narrow stretches of building that provided handholds while avoiding the huge window-walls. It took them a few minutes longer than was usual, and he had to accept a helping hand from his more nimble apprentices a couple of times, but soon enough they were ensconced on the roof of the station, peering in through another bank of massive windows at what was occurring within.

“I’m not sure why that was necessary,” Fauna commented. “I mean, look at the size of these windows. We could’ve gone up the fire escape on that factory across the street and seen in just as well.”

“Practice,” he said sternly. “You never know when you’ll have to climb a building like this.”

“Why would we climb a Rail station?” Flora asked curiously. “You told us not to try robbing Imperial—”

“Enough!” he exclaimed. “Just look!”

It was a sight worth seeing. As they watched, a caravan streaked away, shooting outward through a gap in the city walls and along the Rail line attached to the side of the great bridge arching between Tiraas and the canyon wall far beyond. Immediately, another caravan waiting behind it eased forward and began taking on passengers.

He hadn’t gone to all this trouble to show them caravans, of course. The station was thronged with Silver Legionnaires in full armor, filing into caravans and departing the city.

“I don’t understand,” Fauna murmured, frowning. “The herald said the Avenists were going to be taking part in enforcing the curfew.”

“Yes,” Sweet said glibly, “and tomorrow he’ll be saying how the Black Wreath took advantage of the city’s momentary weakness to launch an insidious attack. Governments, thieves and religions have two things in common, girls: they all steal, and they all lie. Think, now. Why send the Legions away?”

“…in an actual military crisis,” Flora said slowly, frowning in thought, “the Silver Legions would go where the danger is.”

“Especially danger like this,” Fauna added. “Responding to a demonic threat is exactly what they’d do.”

“Telling the populace the Legionnaires are guarding the city…it’s just propaganda. Crowd control. People trust the Legions, even after the ruckus earlier this year.”

“If they knew it’s just the Guild and the Huntsmen in the streets…holy hell, that by itself would start a panic.”

“You know, I haven’t actually seen any Huntsmen either,” Flora noted.

“Very good,” Sweet said, nodding.

“But… Why actually send the Legions away?” Fauna asked, frowning deeply. “Do they not know the gods don’t want them at Last Rock? I thought Avei herself was one of the gods who sent that message.”

“You’re on a productive track,” Sweet said approvingly. “Now continue thinking on it while we proceed to our next stop of the evening. Off we go, girls!”

“You mean, off we go down that difficult climb we didn’t really need to make in the first place?”

“Walk and think quietly,” he suggested.

The small group of five men and women in Universal Church robes with the golden ankh-and-chain logo of the holy summoner corps stitched into their tabards came to a stop in the empty intersection. For a moment, they only stood. Without any specific plan, they had drifted into two groups with a small gap between them; the three actual Church summoners, and the Imperial Intelligence warlocks.

“All right, like we practiced,” the priestess in the lead said finally. Even her hushed voice in the city’s eerie silence was unnerving. “Let us get started, and then you chip in. Bring them across slowly, make sure we can keep them under control.”

“Right,” one diabolist said tersely.

“Remember, our method isn’t like yours. We don’t have as much fine control, but for this we won’t need it, and the tradeoff is that we can keep tabs on more of them at once. The aim is to keep them from harming people as much as possible. Property damage is acceptable. If—”

“We have all been briefed,” the second summoner snapped. “If we’re going to do this lunacy, let’s get on with it before somebody faints.”

“We are not about to faint,” one of the other priests snorted.

“I might,” she said frankly.

“Look, just because you—”

“Enough,” the lead priestess said firmly. “She’s right. The time for talk is over. Slowly, carefully, and keep focused.”

She drew a deep breath and held out one hand. The other two clerics did likewise, all facing away from each other.

They didn’t draw conventional summoning circles; golden rings of pure light formed on the pavement before their outthrust hands, their glow diminished by the fairly lights blazing from all around.

For a long moment there was only more silence, while the clerics concentrated and the warlocks stared nervously.

Then, in the first of the circles, a shape began to emerge from the ground itself, hissing in displeasure at its proximity to the divine light.

More followed.

“This is madness,” one of the warlocks whispered, rubbing sweaty palms against her robe.

No one argued.

“That’s thirteen confirmed locations,” Bradshaw reported, turning away from the robed cultist who had rushed over to hurriedly whisper in his ear. Dismissed, the woman melted back into the shadows. “Small groups in Church livery, opening summoning portals and just…letting things wander through.”

“It’s a disaster,” another Wreath member breathed. “It’s insane. What do they think they’re meddling with?”

“All of them are following a consistent pattern,” Bradshaw continued. “The demons they’re calling are non-sentient. Mostly katzils and khankredahgs. Not by themselves a major concern, but they’re bringing them by the dozens. There is no way they can hope to keep them under control.”

“As for why, that is all too painfully obvious,” Embras said, not turning from his perusal of the silent city. The Wreath members were huddled on a balcony above an old clock tower. Ironically, the building below them had once been a Universal Church chapel before being deconsecrated and sold off. “Demons loose in the city? Soldiers conveniently absent from the scene? The Universal Church up to insidious trickery? This looks like a job for the Black Wreath!” He turned, finally, leaning backward against the stone rail, and grinned at his assembled subordinates.

“I did warn you,” Vanessa said reprovingly, lowering her cowl so he could see her scowl at him. “More than half the summoner corps has walked out in disgust over this; Justinian wasn’t shy about revealing his plan. He wants chaos so he can blame the Empire. As soon as the demons have had a chance to wreak some good, solid havoc, the streets will fill with Church clerics and the Holy Legion to restore order and discredit the Silver Throne. There’s no reason to for us to get caught in the middle of this.”

“Vanessa, Vanessa,” Embras said sadly, shaking his head. “For that to happen, the summoners will first have to hide. The Legion will have to muster. Bradshaw, have any of our people reported any such movements?”

“It’s early yet,” Bradshaw replied, “but the summoners are being absurdly brazen. It’s less like a covert operation and more like they’re…taunting. As for the Holy Legion… Not a peep out of them, no. Even if they did muster, those are modern Army soldiers trained to fight with battlestaves in light uniforms, now wearing impractical armor and carrying polearms. Hardly any of them are actually able to draw on the light. They’d do nothing against demons.”

“And that’s just logistics.” Embras winked at Vanessa, who was looking increasingly embarrassed. “One must also consider the personalities involved. Justinian is a spider; he doesn’t strike until his prey is fully ensnared in his web and tired out from struggling. This? This is ludicrous. It’s reckless, destructive and all but guaranteed to backfire on him horribly… If the goal is the one he’s floated to his summoners. No, he’s not making a move against the Empire. This is aimed at someone else who has an interest in demons running amok in the city. Sound like anyone you know, hm?”

“No matter who’s behind it,” Bradshaw said, “it’s awfully aggressive. It’s incredibly risky. There’s no way they can contain the damage this will cause. I’m not even sure how they’ll work out the propaganda afterward; almost any version of the story makes them look bad.”

“There’s a compliment in there somewhere,” Embras noted. “We’ve got them good and panicked, if they’re this desperate to flush us out. Now we just need to survive this little brouhaha with our own plans intact, and we will effectively have our enemies on the run.”

“If, if, if,” Vanessa said sourly. “How are we going to deal with this, Embras? If you’re right and they don’t plan to end it themselves… We can’t just let them do this to the city. Even if it is a trap… We just can’t. They’ve found the one bait we’ll have to spring for.”

“Mm, yes,” he mused, stroking his chin. “…but not in the way they expect. Oh, they have a cleanup plan, I guarantee it. That doesn’t mean we need to remain fully hands-off, though; you’re right, the Lady has given us an obligation, and we must take some steps, at least. Bradshaw! I want the cells spread out; send one to each confirmed summoner site.”

“You want to attack the summoners?” Bradshaw asked.

“Under absolutely no circumstances,” Embras said firmly. “They’ll be trying to keep whatever they call up under a modicum of control. They’ll fail, of course, but neither Church nor Empire—and I will eat my hat if both aren’t involved in this—would just summon up demons and turn them loose in the city. I want our people to let them have their fun and clean up after them. If a demon slips the lead, they’re to enact standard freerunner protocol. Coax the errant away from prying eyes, then put it down. Give the summoners no hint they’ve been seen. And above all, everyone must be cautious. This is just the opening play; there will be layers to this we’ve not yet seen. Avoid engagement with human foes at all costs.”

Vanessa raised her cowl, settling it over her dark curls. “One cell per site? That leaves a good proportion of our people to…what?”

Embras turned again to study the city, rubbing once more at his chin. A grin stretched across his features. “This, as I pointed out, isn’t like Justinian… Nor Sharidan, or Vex. Nor Eleanora, who’s the power behind both of those two anyway. But I believe I know somebody who would try something like this. When I get my hands on him, I mean to ask how he persuaded so many powerful people to go along with this raging insanity. But! Meantime, rather than indulging the Church in their little hoedown, I think it more fitting to teach them not to do such things in the future.” He turned his head to grin over his shoulder at them. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t like where this is heading,” Vanessa said warily. Bradshaw had already stepped away and was whispering instructions to a small cluster of robed Wreath. They began peeling away and shadow-jumping out.

Embras actually laughed. “While Bradshaw is coordinating that, Vanessa, gather up the remainder. We are going to Dawnchapel.”

She stiffened. “The holy summoner headquarters?”

“Yes, it is,” he said cheerfully. “At least until we get done with it.” Embras turned his gaze back to the skyline, his grin growing brittle, and spoke more softly. “I see your hand in this, Antonio. You do like to sign your name, don’t you? Nice try, my friend, but…not this time.”

“Aww, come ooonnnn,” Flora whined. “There’s nobody there! It’s perfect!”

“Girl, you had better be attempting to make a joke,” Sweet said severely, not slackening his pace. “I hardly know where to begin with what’s wrong with that. First that we are on a mission and you don’t stop for random jobs while working! More importantly, you don’t just up and roll a Vernisite temple no matter how much loot is in there or how unguarded it is.”

“That’s not a Vernisite temple,” Fauna protested, lingering outside the locked iron gates to stare longingly at the looming marble structure. “It’s a bank.”

“Pots and kettles, and you know it. Nobody touches a place answering to Verniselle unless their protection isn’t paid up. And even then, a job like that would go to a senior agent, not a couple of randoms.”

“You’re a senior agent!”

“A senior agent who is busy. Chop chop! Come on, get away from there.”

“You are no fun,” Fauna grumbled as they reluctantly followed him up the street.

“That is an insult and a damned lie, you ungrateful wench. Anyway, put it out of your mind, we have arrived!” Sweet ambled to a stop and leaned against a lamppost.

The two elves made a point of walking past so he could see them expressively gazing around at the completely deserted intersection.

“Very nice,” said Flora. “Quaint.”

“It’s a very classy neighborhood.”

“Still as empty and creepy as everywhere else, though. What are we doing here?”

“Oh, we won’t be long,” he said lightly. “This is just the rendezvous point.”

“Rendezvous with whom?”

A soft croaking sounded from the top of the lamppost on which he was leaning.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Flora grumbled.

The crow launched itself with a soft flutter of wings and glided in lazy spirals toward the ground. Mary flexed her knees slightly as her moccasins touched down on the paving stones.

“Mary, my dear!” Sweet exclaimed, straightening up and throwing his arms wide. “How lovely to see you! And my, don’t you look radiant this evening!”

She raised an eyebrow. “You are charming, Antonio. And you’re clever. Those are not traits I seek in a man. Everything is prepared as agreed.”

“Excellent, the others are all here?”

“As agreed,” she said wryly. “I will repeat it as many times as you require, but I thought time was a factor this evening.”

“What others?” Fauna snapped.

“The remaining members of our…team,” Mary said, glancing unreadably at Darling. “The Tinker, the Kid, the Longshot and Gravestone. I have shifted them slightly out of phase with this reality; they will not be discernible from the mortal plane, but they can move through and react to it, able to follow along until needed. I will call them back forth when we meet the enemy.”

Flora frowned. “Hm… Couldn’t the Wreath spot that? I mean, they’re summoners. Their whole shtick is crossing the planes.”

“The nature of the infernal arts creates a blind spot of sorts,” Mary said calmly. “Warlocks are especially vulnerable to otherworldly influences, unless they take rigorous measures to shield themselves, which all competent warlocks do. The Black Wreath does not employ any who are less than competent. They might, possibly, catch a glimpse of our compatriots in the brief moment of casting a summons… But the space between the planes is full of dimly-glimpsed things which are best ignored, as paying them attention tends to earn their attention in return.”

“That’s where you stuck your friends?” Fauna demanded.

“They are not all my friends. Anyway, nothing that lurks between the planes will challenge what lurks alongside them.”

“What does that—”

“Anyway!” Sweet said loudly. “If that’s all settled, we are ready to move out.”

“Perfect,” Flora sighed. “Where now, then?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular,” he breezed. “It’s just such a pleasant night for a stroll, don’t you think?

“Do you seriously believe you’re funny?

“You are mistaken.”

Sweet shook his head despairingly. “Girls, girls, you have got to learn to embrace the banter. It’s a vital skill in the business; no other Guildies will take you seriously if you can’t hold up your end of a pointless, irritating conversation. But since you are clearly under excessive stress already, I will explain. Walk and talk, ladies, walk and talk.”

Mary fluttered back upward without another word, and Sweet set off down the street at a lazy pace.

“Embras is far too clever an operator to blindly snap at the bait we’ve set,” he explained as they strolled along. The Crow drifted silently above them; Flora and Fauna kept shooting her dirty looks. “He won’t play the game I’ve set him up to play. No, in his position, the only thing to do will be to seize back the initiative and strike us where we don’t expect.”

“But you do expect?” Fauna asked.

Sweet grinned broadly. “It’s all about what he doesn’t know, my dears. There are two likely targets of his ire tonight, and none of them are our hapless summoner cabals. Both are alluringly undefended, or so it will seem to him. One is us.”

“Ah,” Flora murmured, glancing up at the Crow again. “Less undefended than all that, I see.”

“Exactly,” Sweet said cheerfully. “The other… Well, hopefully it won’t come to that, as it’ll mean more walking and an extra stop. Or not; I’ll need to finish this up at the prepared location anyhow, but there’s no point in… Ah, never mind, all that may not become a factor. For now, we are going to go visit one of the summoner cells.”

“Why?”

“Because near them there will be warlocks. And I think I know just the way to get their attention!”

He clenched his right fist, and with a flash of gold, a chain made of pure white burst into being, snaking its way around his arm all the way up to the shoulder.

Both elves came to a stop, staring at it. Above them, the Crow let out a hoarse caw.

“Whoah,” Flora said, wide-eyed. “When did you learn to do that?”

“Last week!” Sweet grinned hugely at her. “Branwen suggested I should take advantage of the free summoner training available to Bishops, and I’ve followed her advice. Something tells me it’ll come in very useful before the night is out.”

“So the plan is for you to make yourself a target,” Fauna huffed. “Thanks so much for inviting us along with you.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” he told her with a wink, then turned to resume his course. “I put the odds at fifty-fifty that Embras and company will swoop down on us. It’s not exactly the smarter of his two options, but…it may be the more tempting.”

“You and that guy are developing an unhealthy relationship,” Flora commented.

“Yeah, but maybe that’s the point,” Fauna added. “If he’s half as obsessive, he’s probably on the way here right now.”

“We’ll see,” Sweet murmured, staring forward into the brightly lit, silent night. His smile remained in place, but grew hard. “You know I’m here, Embras. I know you’re watching. Come and get me, you son of a bitch.”

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6 – 32

July 30, 2015UncategorizedAndros Varanus, Bishop Darling, Carter Long, Embras Mogul, Fauna, Flora, Gravestone Weaver, Ingvar, Joseph P. Jenkins, Peepers, Sabrina Price, TholiD. D. Webb

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“Ah, perfect.” Mogul calmly adjusted his lapels as he stepped out of the shadows onto the latest rooftop. Carter landed beside him, for once without stumbling, and had to repress a moment of pride at how well he was adapting to shadow-jumping.

Their new perch was an especially narrow structure four stories tall, facing what had clearly once been a park before being piled with trash and the debris of preliminary deconstruction of some of the district’s buildings. The piles of rubbish were short, though, affording them a view of both the street leading to the bridge out of the empty district, and a side street which intersected it, down which a small party of people was now moving at a good clip.

“That’s them?” Carter asked, stepping up to the edge of the roof. He couldn’t see identifying details at this distance, but it pretty much had to be. The only other people around were Wreath warlocks, who were in hiding, and the four were clearly fleeing away from or toward something.

“Mm hm,” his guide murmured in reply, turning his back to the scene below.

“You called?” said a new voice from behind them. Carter embarrassed himself by jumping in surprise, then whirled to face the speaker. He might as well not have bothered; it was another figure shrouded in the gray anonymity of their ceremonial robes. Definitely male, possibly of a large build.

“There you are,” Mogul said, cheerful as ever, leaving Carter wondering by what mechanism he had called the man. “How’s it look out there?”

“You can see the Bishop and his servants nearing the square,” the warlock replied, nodding his hood in the direction of the street beyond. “There’s also activity just over the bridge. Looks like reinforcements coming to meet him.”

“All expected,” said Mogul. “What’d he bring?”

“His Butler, a pair of elves in…what I guess might be Eserite garb, or maybe they’re just stupid. Also two Huntsmen of Shaath.”

“That is interesting!” Mogul sounded delighted. He turned to look at Darling’s group and then at the bridge. Carter couldn’t see figures at that distance, but he wasn’t about to make assumptions regarding the warlocks’ capabilities. “Why, this is all shaping up marvelously. The timing is impeccable! The Lady smiles on us tonight. All right, you know the plan. Get started. Unleash the demons at both groups. Carefully, stagger the attacks so as to give them a sporting chance. If it isn’t too difficult to manage, do try to time it so that they meet up about as the demons run out.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” The robed figure put his hands together; there came a soft clicking noise, and he vanished in a swell of darkness.

“How many of those talismans do you have?” Carter asked.

“As many as we need, and a few extras to play with.”

“I must say that’s…oddly generous. That bit about giving them a sporting chance. These are your enemies, aren’t they?”

Mogul half-turned to give him a knowing smile. “And why waste a perfectly good enemy? I’m just getting to know this one. As soon as you kill the bastard you’re used to, you’ll find yourself hip-deep in an unknown quantity. Anyhow, I am taking the opportunity to…clean house a bit.” He turned back to watch the street. Darling’s party had slowed as they neared the square; suddenly there were flashes of fire and the white sparkle of wandshots from their vicinity. Infuriatingly, their path had taken them behind as shattered old clock tower, leaving Carter with no idea what was happening.

“The demons I’ve brought to this little hoedown are…troublesome sorts,” Mogul continued, idly gazing down on the street as if he could see the action. Nothing was visible except the odd flash of light. “Some of the more animalistic ones who just aren’t taking their training… Some sentients who seem determined to use the Wreath to scheme toward their own ends. Exactly the sort of thing we are on the mortal plane to put a stop to. Of course, we have our own methods, but when fortune gives me a squad of bloodthirsty Church enforcers, why waste the opportunity?”

“I see,” Carter said, frowning.

“Come now, Mr. Long, why do you imagine I really allowed Darling to finish his little obstacle course and get himself set up where he wanted to be? He needs to be in a position of strength if I’m to let him get out of this alive.”

“In that case…I’m afraid I don’t see,” Carter admitted.

Mogul laughed. “It’s all about expectations. As I told you earlier, I want to have a few words with Mr. Darling this evening, but following that, he can go home and do whatever it is Eserites do when not cutting purse strings. If I simply offered them the chance to leave unmolested, they would either suspect a trap and attack, or see it as a sign of weakness…and attack. If they’re going to attack anyway, I’d rather they be tired out mowing down the fodder first. Then we’ll have a nice, polite little stand-off and they can leave believing they forced us to a truce.”

“You’re that certain they’ll be so aggressive?”

“I am, as I said, cleaning house.” Mogul gave him a considering look. “I began this sequence of events by sending some of my less reliable members to visit the Church. Warlocks who, like the demons below, have been scheming on their own to amass personal power through the infernal arts, at the expense of their duties. Now, we attract all manner of miscellaneous oddballs and I’m quite indulgent of eccentricity in the ranks, but abuse of power is absolutely not to be tolerated. Ours is a sacred calling. So off went the ne’er-do-wells, and not a one came out alive. That’s what the servants of the Pantheon do when they catch someone who doesn’t bend knee to their power.”

“I’m not aware of Church personnel behaving that way, as a rule,” Carter said very carefully.

Mogul grinned bitterly. “I encourage you not to take my word for it. Look into the events of warlocks being killed by Bishops recently. They have floated the official story that the Wreath attacked them, and frankly I doubt there will be any contradicting evidence left intact. But have a long, deep look at the histories of the Bishops in question. Things may become more clear to you then.”

“This is all…absolutely byzantine,” Carter said, shaking his head.

“Demons are a responsibility, and an occasional means to an end,” Mogul replied. “They’re not the point of our faith; we serve the goddess of cunning. Who, through no fault of her own, was consigned to a dimension full of demons by her own family, and even still took it upon herself to defend the mortal world by disposing of the last hostile Elder Goddess. You don’t think it interesting that the only other deity who bothers to keep Scyllith away from our civilization is Themynra, who also is not of the Pantheon?”

Carter frowned, deep in thought. Below, Darling’s group moved out from behind cover, at a more cautious pace than before, but he barely saw them.

“Welp, looks like matters are coming to a head,” Mogul said cheerfully. “Come along, Mr. Long. Let’s go have us a chat.”

The third and final katzil demon rebounded off the wall against which Weaver’s wandshot had smashed it, emitting an aimless puff of flame from its mouth at the impact. The feathered serpent shook itself, barely staying aloft, and opened its fanged maw to direct another blast at them.

Joe fired a bolt of light straight down its throat. Soundlessly, the creature flopped to the pavement, where it immediately began to crumble to dust and charcoal, as the other two had.

“You seein’ what I’m seein’?” Joe asked, warily scanning the streets with his wands up.

“I see fucking demons!” Peepers practically wailed. She was trying to hide behind Darling, who had a throwing knife in each hand, but had let the two men with wands take the lead against the onslaught.

“Yeah,” said Weaver. “Small groups, one at a time. No warlocks, just demons. Not hitting hard enough to herd us away… We’re being softened up. Wonder what’ll be at the end after we mow down the disposables.”

“Hard to say what is and isn’t disposable with these guys,” Darling noted. “This whole thing started with them sending twelve trained spellcasters to their certain deaths. It’s odd that they’d do this now, when we’re close to the edge of the district. That’s not a smart place for the Wreath to set up a confrontation. Any ruckus kicked up in sight of the public will bring the Army down on them.”

“So, basically, we don’t know what the fuck is going on,” Weaver snorted. “Situation normal.”

“Standard procedures, then!” Darling proclaimed. “Forward! There’s a somewhat reasonable chance we’ll be having help soon.”

“Hate you so much,” Peepers growled.

“He’s right, to the extent that we can’t exactly stay here,” said Joe. “Exit’s just up ahead. How’s it look, Weaver?”

“Actually…” The bard tilted his head in that way he did when listening to his invisible friend, then smiled. “Well, fuck me running. Looks like Twinkletoes’s non-plan is actually working.”

“Stay back,” Price said in a clipped tone, simply striding forward, the clicking of her shoes on the pavement lost in the thunder of the charging demon’s footsteps.

“You can’t—”

“What can two little elves do about this?” The Butler gave Flora a sharp sidelong look before returning her attention forward as the baerzurg reached her.

She sidestepped neatly, allowing it to charge several steps past. Roaring in fury, the hulking, bronze-scaled brute rounded on her, striking out with a ham-sized fist. Price calmly stepped inside the swing of its arm, grasping it as it went past. Her hands looked absurdly tiny against its forearm, which was as thick as her waist. At that moment, however, there came a tiny golden flash as the creature stepped on the small holy charm she had dropped the second before. With a bellow of pain, it staggered into the impetus of its own punch.

The movement of its body momentarily hid the Butler from view; they didn’t see exactly how she did it. In the next second, however, the huge creature had been spun to the side, staggering back against the bridge’s railing. This came only just past its knees, and scarcely served to stop the baerzurg. It teetered at the edge, flailing with its arms.

Price took two running steps forward and vaulted, landing lightly with both feet against the demon’s massive chest.

Roaring, it toppled backward, grasping at her and just missing as she hopped lightly back down to the bridge’s surface. Behind her, the bellowing demon plunged into the canal. Price pause for a moment to straighten her tie.

“Whoah,” Fauna muttered.

An arrow whistled above their heads, and a second later there came a squawk of protest. A flying katzil demon dropped to the ground, a quivering shaft still embedded in its neck.

“We will create a path through these trash,” Andros growled, stalking past the two elves with Tholi and Ingvar flanking him. “Your agility will be needed against the warlocks when we near them. Stay behind us.”

Another arrow, fired by Ingvar, brought down a sshitherosz that spiraled upward, apparently seeking a higher vantage from which to strike. The next creature to charge forward was a grotesque abomination of tentacles and claws that looked like it would be more at home underwater. It faltered as an arrow from Andros’s bow, glowing gold, thudded into its upper chest. Then Price had darted forward and past it, reaching around to rip a small knife across the creature’s throat. Blue-green fluid sprayed forth and it dropped.

The next moment, Price had to dodge backward as a sinuous, crocodile-headed khankredahg snapped at her. She bounded onto the bridge’s rail, then back down, retreating from its powerful jaws. For being built like an elongated bulldog, it was awfully fast.

Tholi was there in moments, striking out with a hatchet. The beast paused, maw gaping open to hiss threateningly as the Huntsman and Butler moved to flank it.

“Hsst,” Flora said, joining Fauna on her side of the bridge. “Tell me you see it too.”

“One at a time, never enough to push us back,” Fauna replied, nodding. “Something’s up.”

“Let’s get behind the lines.”

“Remember the rules…”

“Oh, come on, we’re still elves.” Smirking, Flora switched to elvish. “If we can’t sneak past this lot without teleporting, we don’t deserve the name.”

Exchanging nods, they separated and dived over the bridge on both sides. In the next moment, while their companions pressed forward through a sequence of demonic attacks, they were clambering horizontally along its decorative stonework just below the level of its surface.

“There, and there,” Darling said, pointing at two side alleys. “Uglies coming out, attacking in both directions, but not trying to block the way. As a strategy, it’s so ineffective I have to assume it was meant to be.”

Even as he spoke, the latest khankredahg collapsed with a piteous groan, incidentally bearing down the young Huntsman who had charged forward, thrust his arm into its open mouth and driven a knife into its brain. The lad cursed at being dragged down, though he was free almost immediately as the demon began to disintegrate into ash.

“Good evening, your Grace,” Price intoned, striding forward. “I trust the results of tonight’s excursion have been to your satisfaction?”

“Ask me again when I’ve seen the results,” he said cheerfully. “Excellent timing, by the way, Price.”

“Yes, it was. If your Grace is seeking comfort in reminders of the familiar, I also have red hair.”

There came a scream from above, and a figure in a gray robe plunged from a second-floor window to hit the street with an unpleasant thump. A second behind, a slim figure in black leather dived down, landing nimbly beside him.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Fauna told the groaning warlock. “You’re barely broken.”

“More summoners over here!” Flora reported, leaning out a window in the structure opposite. “They shadow-jumped away as I got here, though.”

“Oh?” Darling turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not like you to give warning of your approach.”

“I’m gonna let that pass because I’m really glad to see you’re okay,” she shot back. “And no, they were already in motion by the time I arrived. Whatever they were up to, it looks like their plan is still going forward.”

“Then it is time we were gone,” Andros rumbled. “These are the two gentlemen you mentioned?”

“Indeed,” Price replied.

He studied Joe and Weaver for a moment, flicked his gaze across Peepers and visibly dismissed her from consideration. “Very well. The force we now have assembled is sufficient to repel a considerably greater threat than we have faced thus far. While they are in retreat, we should do likewise.”

“But we have them on the run!” Tholi said, practically panting in eagerness. “Now is the time to press on and finish them off!”

“Listen to your superiors,” Ingvar snapped. “And to your scouts! The Wreath has planned this, all of it, and it’s gone as they intended. We are in a snare. It’s time to flee.”

“I quite agree,” said Darling, tousling Flora’s hair fondly as she rejoined the group. “C’mon, once across the bridge we’re—”

“Too late,” said Joe, raising both his wands.

The ten of them clustered together, unconsciously forming into a circle in the center of the square. Behind them was the bridge back to the lights of the city, before the desolation of the condemned neighborhood, but all around, there were suddenly shadows rising from nowhere. They appeared in windows, out of doors and alleys, on rooftops, some seeming to rise up from the very pavement. Surges of darkness swelled, then receded, leaving figures in gray robes standing where they had been. Some carried weapons, a mix of wands, staves and clearly ceremonial (to judge by their elaborate design) blades, quite a few accompanied by demons of various descriptions. In seconds, a dozen ringed them; in seconds more, their numbers doubled, and then continued to grow. The Wreath pressed forward, flanking them from behind, not quite cutting off escape but edging into their own path out of the district.

“Hmp,” Weaver muttered, “damn. I forgot to tell you so. Now I can’t say it.”

“These are pups that have cornered bears,” Andros snarled. “If they will not let us leave in peace, crush them.” Tholi growled in wordless agreement.

A final surge of shadows rose up from the street directly ahead, depositing two men in front of the group.

“Now, now,” Embras Mogul said reprovingly. “There you go, offering to solve a puzzle with a hammer. Honestly, how you get dressed in the morning without strangling your wife is beyond me.”

“Are you really still hanging out with these guys, Carter?” Peepers demanded.

“I’m just here to observe,” the journalist said, licking his lips nervously.

Ignoring a hissed warning from Flora, Darling stepped forward out of the circle. “Well, this has been a grand little chase, Embras, but we all have better places to be, don’t we?”

“Quite so.” Mogul stepped forward to meet him, placing each foot with a care that made him resemble more than ever a wading stork. “My people have suffered no end of abuse at your hands already, Antonio, and you’ve worn yours down with your ill-conceived antics.”

“Not to mention that I’ll have to spend my whole day on paperwork tomorrow if I’m party to shooting up a whole district, condemned or no,” Darling replied easily. “I just can’t spare the time. There’s a social event in the evening to which I’ve been looking forward for weeks.”

“Then it’s all too obvious how we handle this, isn’t it?”

They came to a stop less than a yard apart. The priest and warlock stared at one another, grim-faced.

“Indeed,” Darling said softly. “None of you interfere. This is personal.”

“Are you crazy?” Fauna shouted. Price held up a warning finger in front of her face.

“We settle it like gentlemen,” Mogul said, equally quiet.

“Man to man.”

“One on one.”

“To the death.”

There was a horrified silence. The Wreath stood motionless, robes fluttering in the faint night breeze, several of their demon companions shifting impatiently. Darling’s party held weapons at the ready, staring at the pair in disbelieving fascination. The light shifted, faltering, a cloud scudding across the moon and leaving them momentarily illuminated only by the distant glow of the city itself.

And then Mogul and Darling simultaneously burst into gales of laughter.

While the entire assembled crowd stared, utterly bemused, both men roared in mirth. Mogul slumped forward, bracing his hands against his knees; Darling reached out to steady himself against the other man’s shoulder.

“Fuck it,” Weaver said loudly after this had gone on for half a minute. “I say we shoot them both.”

“Oh, my stars and garters,” Mogul chortled, straightening up. “Thanks, old man, I needed that.”

“Hah, makes me wish we could do this more often! Price never lets me have any fun.”

“I admit I’m impressed! For a second there I really thought you were serious.”

“C’mon, Embras, how long have we been at this tonight? Give me credit for a sense of fun.”

“Yeah, I particularly enjoyed your little street-writing display.”

“Oh, you caught that! Better and better. It gets so tedious, running mental circles around people all the time. Sometimes I feel like nobody really gets me, y’know?”

“Tell me about it. Some days I’d trade it all for some intelligent conversation.”

“I hear that.”

“What the hell is going on?!” Peepers shrieked.

“Well, anyway, I’ve got cranky little ones to take home and put to bed,” said Darling, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the group. “Are we just about done here?”

“Yeah, this seems like a good place to call it a night.” Mogul patted his shoulder, still grinning. “Good game, my man. Mr. Long!” He turned to beckon Carter forward. “I realize this has been more excitement than you planned on seeing. We’ll not detain you if you would rather head back into the city with these folk, but I encourage you to keep in mind what I said about the Church.”

“You’ve said a lot of things,” Carter replied warily, looking as confused and nonplussed as Darling’s allies.

“At the moment,” Mogul said, stepping back from Darling, “you’ve not done anything to earn the Archpope’s ire. Matters will be different if you decide to publish your story, though, and you can certainly expect these folk to lean on you about it one way or another. The Empire’s another matter. Lord Vex is too canny to disappear an inconvenient member of the press and set your entire profession yapping at his heels. Sometimes I kind of miss his predecessor.” The warlock grinned reminiscently. “I could make that guy chase his tail across the city and back, all from the comfort of my rocking chair.”

Carter stared at him, then at Darling, then glanced around, at the warlocks, the assembled mix of Huntsmen and Eserites, the demons. “I, um…”

“Careful,” Mogul cautioned. “You’re thinking with your emotions, remembering who your upbringing has taught you to trust. That’s fine and dandy for an opinion columnist, but if you decide to play the game on the level at which this story will place you, you’ll need to be more careful. Think in terms of whose interests align with yours, not who you happen to feel fondly toward.”

“That is excellent advice for a variety of situations,” Darling said, nodding. “Just keep in mind that telling the truth is the most valuable weapon in a good deceiver’s arsenal. You understand that better than most people, Carter.”

Long’s face grew blank as he clearly marshaled his expression through sheer will. “I…appreciate the reminder, Bishop Darling,” he said somewhat stiffly. “Mr. Mogul, do you think you can drop me off at the offices of the Imperial Herald?”

“Not within it or too close,” Mogul replied. “Your superiors very wisely keep their wards updated, and the whole place had a recent and thorough Pantheonic blessing. We can put you down in the neighborhood and keep watch till you’re safely home, though.”

“I would appreciate it.”

“Very well, then,” Mogul said, grinning widely. The expression he turned on the Bishop was subtly triumphant. “This has been just a barrel of laughs, but…time marches on.”

“Mm hm,” Darling replied mildly, his own face open and affable. “See you next time, Embras.”

With a final, mocking grin, Embras Mogul laid his hand on Carter’s shoulder and vanished in a heave of darkness. All around them, the rest of the Black Wreath followed suit, demons and robed cultists disappearing in a series of shadowy undulations, till in seconds, the small group were clustered alone in the deserted square.

“Either someone is going to explain to me right damn now what just happened or I will begin stabbing people at random,” Peepers threatened.

“You don’t have a knife,” Joe observed.

“I will improvise.”

“Simple mathematics,” Darling said, strolling back over to the group. “They had the numbers, but we have the power, pound for pound. After watching all of us in action, Mogul knew it. A real fight would have left the area in ruins and cost lives on both sides. Neither of us wanted that.”

“I did,” Tholi muttered sullenly. Ingvar rolled his eyes.

“There will be another time,” Andros rumbled. “Did you at least learn what you set out to, Antonio?”

Darling grimaced in annoyance. “We bloodied their noses, cost them some tame demons and I have a few more little pieces of the puzzle to slot into place. For all the general fuss and bother this evening has been, though… I can’t say we’ve gained as much ground as I would have liked. But we drew them out of hiding, got a sense of how much manpower they’ve got in the city, and faced them down. That’s not nothing.”

“It will be worth reporting in detail to his Holiness,” Andros said, nodding. “But I agree. We must make more progress, quickly.”

“I’ve a few more ideas to mull over,” Darling replied, then rolled his shoulders. “Well, anyhow! What say we haul ass out of this depressing dump? I don’t know about any of you, but right now I would kick a nun into the canal for a brandy.”

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6 – 30

July 27, 2015UncategorizedAndros Varanus, Bishop Darling, Carter Long, Embras Mogul, Fauna, Flora, Fross, Gabriel, Gravestone Weaver, Hrazthax, Ingvar, Joseph P. Jenkins, Juniper, Peepers, Professor Ezzaniel, Rowe, Ruda, Sabrina Price, Sarriki, Shaeine, Teal, Tholi, Toby, Trissiny, VanessaD. D. Webb

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…if he can’t lie…”

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

“That sounds…exhausting,” Carter mused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vanessa groaned and slumped against him.

“Go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lang—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About how many?” Darling interrupted.

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

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

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

“Joe, please shoot him in the foot.”

“Maybe after we deal with the demons.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The other three glanced at each other.

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

“Oh?” said Joe. “How did you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ew,” said Peepers, wrinkling her nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What mother?” Flora asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of the Queen herself, there was no sign.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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6 – 29

July 24, 2015UncategorizedAli Al-Famibad, Andros Varanus, Bishop Darling, Carter Long, Embras Mogul, Fauna, Flora, Gravestone Weaver, Ingvar, Joseph P. Jenkins, Peepers, Sabrina Price, TholiD. D. Webb

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to speak with Bishop Varanus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh,” Flora said, sounding flummoxed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Allies?”

“Gravestone Weaver and the Sarasio Kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This woman is a Butler,” Andros said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And warlocks!” Weaver said helpfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hate you so much,” Peepers growled.

“Then why this alley?” Weaver demanded.

Darling turned his head and grinned at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that a djinn?” Carter breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Gods are Bastards

It was a world of sword and sorcery, but that was a thousand years ago.

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