Tag Archives: Gabriel

4 – 2

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Gabriel was first off the caravan. He stumbled to his hands and knees, gasping. Juniper practically threw herself out of the car to his side, looking distressed.

“I’m sorry! I don’t think I can do anything for… I mean, injuries, that’s another—”

“Excuse me,” Shaeine said politely, stepping around her to kneel at his other side.

Gabe lifted his head, eyes widening as a silver glow lit up around her. “Wait,” he said hoarsely.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and like a ripple in a pond, silver washed across him. Gabriel blinked twice in surprise, then slowly straightened up. “Oh…wow,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Wow. That’s amazing. Is that what divine healing always feels like?”

“I’m afraid I have no basis for comparison,” Shaeine said, straightening. “Are you well?”

“Mostly just embarrassed,” he admitted, accepting a hand from Juniper to get to his feet.

“That dovetails nicely with a little history lesson,” Tellwyrn remarked, stepping down from her own car. The rest of the students had already assembled on the Rail platform and were clustered around Gabriel. “The divine energy we know was created by the Pantheon when they first organized. It is, basically, the collected corpses of the previous generation of gods.”

Ruda wrinkled her nose. “Fucking gross.”

“Yes, well, the good stuff in life usually is,” said the Professor with a grin. “Gods are beings of unfathomable power. When they die, that energy has to go somewhere. It was, in part, by killing off the Elder Gods that the future Pantheon rose to godhood. There was more to it, but I really couldn’t tell you what. Apotheosis is not well understood.”

“Sounds like they might not want anybody to know how,” Gabriel suggested, “if it’d mean someone doing to them what they did to the Elders.”

“You are flirting with blasphemy,” Trissiny warned.

“He’s not wrong, though,” Tellwyrn said. “In fairness it should be acknowledged that the Elder Gods were nightmarish things. They brutalized the mortal inhabitants of the world; the Pantheon’s rebellion didn’t just happen on a whim, and it wasn’t about seizing power. The gods acted to free their people. Anyhow, once all this was done, they gathered up as much of the remaining free energy of the slain Elders as they could and created the wellspring of divine light we know today, establishing certain rules in the process. One of those, of course, is that the light burns demons and their kindred. This was just after Elilial had been expelled to Hell, and they had every reason to expect she’d be out for vengeance.”

“And Themynra isn’t part of the Pantheon,” Toby said, nodding at Shaeine.

“Just so,” Tellwyrn replied. “She is, in fact, the goddess of judgment. When you call on power from the Pantheon gods, there’s something rather mechanistic about it; the light does what it does according to its established nature. Shaeine’s method is different. She is inviting her goddess’s attention and intervention, which means that rather than a simple exercise of energy, Themynra is passing judgment upon the situation.”

Gabriel blinked, then wrapped his arms around himself. “That’s… A little creepy.”

“Oh, relax,” Tellwyrn said wryly, “you just got a free healing, didn’t you? Honestly, Mr. Arquin, I can’t imagine Themynra is impressed with your judgment, but that evidently doesn’t mean she thinks you deserve to suffer. Anybody who believes you are in any way evil is suffering from a severe case of narrow-mindedness.”

Ruda and Juniper looked at Trissiny; the others very pointedly did not. Trissiny drew in a deep breath and let it out through her teeth, but said nothing.

“Anyway!” Tellwyrn said brightly. “Welcome to Sarasio, kids. Let’s unload our junk, we don’t want to keep the caravan waiting.”

They drifted toward the baggage car, belatedly studying their new surroundings. The first and most immediate thing the students noticed was that they were not in Sarasio. The Rail platform stood alone on the prairie, with subtly rolling land dotted with a patchier, more uneven sort of tallgrass than grew around Last Rock dusting the area. To the west, the ground smoothed out into the Golden Sea, and there were other interesting features in the near distance. A forest grew about a mile to the east, and the road north led to a huddle of buildings beneath a drifting cloud of firewood smoke, evidently Sarasio itself.

The platform itself was severely run down compared to its counterpart in Last Rock. There was no ticket office to be seen, just the flat stone platform and a small wooden frame over which a canvas awning had been stretched as meager protection from the elements. The wood had been painted at one point—blue, to judge by the flecks that still remained. The awning had holes and had fallen entirely on one end, waving dolorously in the faint breeze. Old cans, broken glass, scraps of wood and other miscellaneous trash littered the ground.

“Suddenly I’m glad we packed light,” said Gabriel. “Damn, never thought I’d find myself missing Rafe and his pants of holding.”

“I’ll be sure to mention to Professor Rafe how eager you are to get into his pants,” Ruda said cheerily.

Gabriel sighed. “You just had to, didn’t you?”

“I really, really did.”

Trissiny hefted her own knapsack, hoisting it over one shoulder so it left her hands free, keeping an eye on their surroundings. They weren’t alone. Sitting around a small, weak campfire were three men in denim and flannel, with scuffed boots and ten-gallon hats that had clearly seen better days. Though they were just sitting, their postured hunched and uninterested, two were clutching wands and the third had a staff in his hands, and all three were staring fixedly at the group on the platform, unease written plain on their faces.

“What’s their story, I wonder,?” Toby murmured, glancing at them.

“Oh, they’re probably just waiting there to rob anybody fool enough to ride the Rails to Sarasio,” Tellwyrn said brightly, loud enough to be plainly audible. “Of course, they probably weren’t expecting a paladin, a dryad and a drow. If they knew how dangerous the rest of you were, they’d already be running.”

Apparently the three men thought this was good advice; she hadn’t even finished speaking before they bolted to their feet and set off for the town at a run.

“Hey!” Trissiny shouted, grasping her sword and taking a step after them.

“Leave it, Avelea,” said Tellwyrn.

“They were actually going to—”

“Leave it. That is an order.”

“This is my—”

“Young lady, you are going to drop this and accompany the rest of us into town. You can do this under your own power, or be levitated and pushed ahead with a stick. Go for whatever you think best serves Avei’s dignity; I assure you, I have no preference.”

“Y’know, Professor, you could really stand to work on your social skills,” Gabriel commented.

“All my skills are at precisely the level I require, boy. Ah, here’s our escort, splendid.”

Another figure was rapidly approaching from the direction of the forest, this one mounted. She was, it quickly became clear, an elf astride a silver unicorn. She was dressed somewhat like Professor Tellwyrn, with a leather vest over a blousy-sleeved green shirt and trousers, but while Tellwyrn tended to wear simple pieces in fine fabrics, this elf was the opposite; her pants were coarse leather, but they and the vest were decorated with bright embroidery, and her blouse had been tie-died in shades of green and brown that would have made it effective forest camouflage. She had a short staff slung in a holster on her back, its end poking up over her blonde hair, which was tied back with a green bandana.

Drawing up adjacent to the platform, the elf hopped nimbly down from her mount before it had even stopped moving, landing lightly among them. This close, the small but beautifully engraved tomahawk hanging at her belt was visible.

“There you are,” Tellwyrn said in a satisfied tone. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

“No need to be insulting, Arachne,” the elf replied. “I try not to loiter close to humans obviously bent on mischief. I was watching for you.”

“Students, I’ll let you all introduce yourselves as the opportunity arises, but this is Robin. She’ll be escorting you into town, and hopefully helping us deal with the local tribe.”

“Deal with them how?” Ruda demanded. “What are we doing here?”

“All in good time,” Tellwyrn said, smiling with a hint of smugness. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go arrange quarters for us. You catch up at your own pace.” She vaulted neatly from the platform onto the unicorn’s back; the animal pranced nervously at the unfamiliar rider, but plunged into motion at the merest squeeze of her knees. It bounded away in a series of fluid horizontal leaps, like a deer, with Tellwyrn balanced skillfully on its back.

“Huh,” said Gabe. “For some reason it seems odd that she knows how to ride.”

“She knows how to do a great many things,” Robin said dryly.

“Not how to plan ahead, apparently,” Ruda grunted. “Who packs nine people off to a town without arranging things ahead of time?”

“Many of Professor Tellwyrn’s actions seem calculated to force us to adapt and learn,” Shaeine noted. “Perhaps this is more of the same.”

“That may be part of it,” Robin said, nodding, “but in any case it would have been hard for even her to make arrangements anyway. Communications in and out of Sarasio are difficult at the moment. I suspect that’s why you’ve come.”

“What’s going on in Sarasio?” Trissiny asked with a frown. On her Rail trip to the University, the Imperial Surveyor she’d met had indicated the town was a trouble spot. But that had been months ago; surely he’d been on the way there to deal with it?

“It’s a long story, which you’ll be told in due time,” Robin replied, hopping lightly down from the platform. “Come along, now, no need to dawdle. Arachne will have plenty of time to make arrangements without us dragging our feet.”

They followed her, picking up baggage as they went. Per Tellwyrn’s instructions, they had packed lightly, everyone carrying no more than basic toiletries and a change of clothes. Evidently this wasn’t expected to be a long trip. Still, that was more than they’d been allowed to bring into the Golden Sea, the aim of that excursion having been outdoor survival as much as anything.

“So, you’re a friend of Professor Tellwyrn’s?” Toby asked their guide, walking with her in the head of the group.

Robin was silent for a few moments before answering not taking her eyes from the town ahead. “To the extent that she has friends, yes, I would like to think that I am. Arachne is, as you have doubtless discovered, a person who goes her own way.”

“This one’s got a knack for understatement,” Ruda snorted.

“It is not something very widely discussed among elves. The individual is respected, of course, but our tribes live in harmony with one another and the world as a way of life. Persons who run out into the world to do their own thing are seen as…disruptive. Tauhanwe are not widely welcomed among most tribes. My acquaintance with Arachne is, at best, tolerated.”

“Ansheh used that word, too,” Teal said, frowning. “Remember, Rafe’s friend from the Golden Sea? I thought I’d heard wrong, though… It translates as something like ‘person who stirs a pot.’”

“Tauhanwe translates more directly as ‘adventurer,’ Robin said, turning her head to smile at Teal. “But you have a solid grasp of the etymology. You studied elvish in school?”

Teal shook her head. “One of my parents’ best friends is an elf. He sorta helped raise me, actually; they work a lot.”

Robin nodded. “To be quite precise, the ‘pot’ referred to is what you would call a chamber pot.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of their footsteps.

“Hold on,” Gabriel said. “So basically Tellwyrn is known among elves as a shit-stirrer? That may be the single most appropriate thing I’ve ever heard.”

Trissiny did not join in on the round of laughter that followed, frowning into the distance ahead. By Robin’s description, Principia would be tauhanwe, too. What did that make her? If anything…

“So how do you know Tellwyrn?” Ruda asked.

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time!”

“Ruda,” Trissiny said patiently, “when someone tells you ‘it’s a long story,’ that usually means they don’t want to get into it.”

“Yeah? And when someone keeps picking it it, that usually means they wanna hear it anyway.”

“No harm meant,” Gabriel assured their guide somewhat hastily, though Robin seemed totally unperturbed. “It’s just hard not to be curious. For being such a straight-shooting in-your-face person, Tellwyrn is damn hard to figure out.”

“Oh?”

“It’s tempting to conclude that she is simply mentally unbalanced or obstreperous,” Trissiny said. “But then out of nowhere she’ll do something…oddly kind. Or perceptive.”

“Wait, what?” Ruda said, frowning. “What’s she done that’s kind or perceptive?”

“You’ll know it if you see one,” Gabriel replied, “which is kinda the point. She’s so…cranky most of the time, it takes you by surprise.”

“Don’t judge Arachne too harshly,” Robin said, still watching the town. The monotonous nature of the prairie made perspective tricky and distance hard to judge; they hadn’t covered more than half the path. The Rail platform was a long way from the town…why? The elf went on before Trissiny could start considering it in any detail, however. “She has always been somewhat difficult, but she is generally reasonable. And she is devoted to her students, in her own way. Keep in mind that she is grieving; that will explain much of her behavior.”

“What?” Juniper looked shocked. “Grieving who? What happened?”

“I tell you this because knowing will help you understand her,” Robin said, “but I don’t advise raising the subject with her. Arachne lost her husband a little over a century ago.”

Gabriel let out an explosive sound of surprise that started as a laugh and finished as a gasp in reverse. “What, a century? I dunno how much that excuses. I mean, sure, it’s very sad, but that’s plenty of time to get over it.”

Robin glanced over at him. “You must be Gabriel.”

He turned to watch her warily, the levity fading from his face. “Yeeeaah. That’s me. For some reason, I suddenly feel offended and I’m not sure why.”

“That’s the little voice inside your head that tells you when you’re being a fucking dumbass,” Ruda informed him. “You might try listening to it before talking, just for a change of pace.”

“How would you like it, Gabriel,” Robin went on calmly, “if I pointed out in conversation that you are a snub-eared land ape with the lifespan of a prairie dog?”

Gabe actually stopped walking, staring at her in shock. “Excuse me?”

“No?” Robin glanced back at him, but did not slow her pace, forcing him to start moving again or be left behind. “Then let us not pick at one another’s racial traits. In a group such as this, I would expect you to have learned that lesson long since.”

“He ain’t the quickest learner,” Ruda said with a grin, thumping Gabe with her elbow.

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Gabriel demanded.

“Immortality is not without its drawbacks,” she explained. “Humans do not live shorter lives so much as faster lives. You mature faster, and you heal faster, both physically and emotionally. For an elf, a papercut is an inconvenience for several weeks or months. A broken bone means a year at least of inaction. Luckily we do not cut or break as easily as you. To an elf, however, a heartbreak dominates the mind for longer than the average human lives. I assure you, to an elf, the loss of a mate a century ago is a very raw wound indeed. So have a little patience with Arachne. She lives with a great deal of pain, and yet devotes her energies to educating people who will likely be dead before she herself is fully healed.”

Nobody found anything to say to that, and they walked on in silence for a while. At least until the edges of the town drew closer, and they came within viewing range of Sarasio’s scrolltower. It was harder to spot than most of its kind because this one was horizontal.

The metal framework of the tower itself was in pieces, bent and snapped in multiple places, forming a ragged line between the shattered crystal orb that now lay on the prairie and the burned out husk of the office that had been at its foot. Only the two largest pieces of the orb remained; they were probably the only two pieces too big to carry away. The larger of the two would have been difficult to fit into a wagon. Scrolltower crystal wasn’t high quality and would degrade quickly once separated into bits, but it was still laden with potent magic. There was value in such things.

“What the hell…” Gabriel whispered, frowning.

“Welcome to Sarasio,” Robin said dryly. “Keep your eyes open and your wits about you; this is not a friendly place.”

She wasn’t kidding.

The town wasn’t as badly repaired as the Rail platform had been; obviously people lived here and took at least some care of their environs. Next to Last Rock, however, it was a shambles. A number of windows were boarded up, and nearly every building had some small touch that was in need of repair—peeling paint, broken gutters, missing shingles. The streets were dirt, and in awful repair, marred by deep wheel ruts and potholes, with a liberal spattering of animal droppings, which added unpleasantly to the sharp smell of wood smoke hanging in the air.

Worst, though, were the people.

The only individuals out on the street were men. None were well-dressed, and all were armed. Most could have done with a bath and a shave. It wasn’t their general scruffiness that made the group draw closer together, though, but their behavior. At this time of day, townsfolk should be working, or possibly socializing, depending on their jobs, but the men of Sarasio—at least, those currently visible—seemed totally idle. They lounged against storefronts on the mouths of alleys, faces blank and eyes narrowed, staring—in many cases, glaring—at the new arrivals. Far too many hands crept toward holstered wands.

“Good gods,” Gabriel murmured. “Professor Tellwyrn just ran this gauntlet. I wonder if she killed anybody.”

“The body would still be here if so,” Robin said quietly. “These people are not quick to care for each other. But this is more hostility than they usually show, even accounting for my presence. I suspect she did something.”

“Your presence?” Shaeine asked softly. She had put her hood up as they approached the town, despite the early hour and her shaded glasses, and now kept her hands tucked into her sleeves. Without skin or hair showing, her race was hidden, which was doubtless to the good.

“Elves are not well thought of in Sarasio at the moment,” Robin replied dryly.

“Here we go,” Toby muttered as a cluster of four stepped out of an alley ahead of them, pacing to the center of the street. Two more men crossed from the other side to join them, placing themselves in a staggered formation to bar the whole road. One stepped forward, his thumbs tucked into the front of his belt.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Toby said more loudly as their group came to a stop. “Something we can help you with?”

The man in the lead eyed him up and down once, then twisted his mouth contemptuously and spat to the side before addressing Robin. “Get on outta here, elfie. Your kind ain’t wanted.”

“I have a simple errand to run,” Robin replied calmly. “I’ll be on my way then.”

“You’ll be on your way now,” he snapped, then grinned unpleasantly and took another step forward. “’less you wanna make yourself useful, first. Only one use I can see for an elf bitch that don’t involve stringin’ them ears on a necklace.” He dragged his eyes slowly down Robin’s figure, smirking, while his companions grinned and snickered.

“Boy, it’s like they want to get smote,” Gabriel muttered. Indeed, Trissiny dropped her pack in the street and stalked forward, pushing past Toby, and stepped right up into the man’s face until her nose was inches from his. She was very nearly his height. He reared back slightly in surprise, but didn’t give ground or move his feet.

“Move,” she said simply, her voice deadly quiet.

“Yeah?” he drawled. “Or what? This ain’t no place for a Legionnaire, girl. Or didn’t your mama ever teach you not to bring a sword to a wandfight?”

Another round of guffaws followed this, instantly cut off as light erupted from Trissiny. The man in the lead threw a hand up to shield his eyes, staggering back; with his other, he yanked his wand from its holster, but not before Trissiny slammed her shield into his chest.

Reeling, he nonetheless managed to bring the wand up and fired a lightning bolt directly at her torso at point blank range.

Sparks flew from the sphere of golden energy that had formed around her; those standing closest felt their hair rise from the static electricity.

“What the f—” He got no further as Trissiny stepped calmly forward, reversed her grip on her sword and slammed the pommel into his solar plexus. The man crumpled to the street with a wheeze, and she stomped hard on his wand hand. He emitted a strangled sound that didn’t quite manage to be a scream, the breath having been driven from him. It wasn’t loud enough to cover the crack of breaking fingers.

Trissiny pointed her sword at his head, the blade burning gold. From the nimbus of light around her, golden eagle wings coalesced, flaring open in a display of Avei’s attention.

“Never point your wand at a paladin, fool,” she said coldly, then lifted her gaze to the nearest of his allies. “Does anyone else want to try me?”

They broke and ran, vanishing back into the alleys. All up and down the street, figures shifted backward, sliding into doors and alleyways or just folding themselves into shadowed corners. Within a minute, they had the street to themselves.

“That was overly dramatic,” Robin said, her neutral tone giving no indication what she thought of it. “You very likely just bought yourself another visit from this poor fool’s friends, when they think they have the advantage.”

“What will be, will be,” Trissiny said, removing her boot from the fallen man’s hand. He gasped, cradling his crushed fingers against his chest and scuttling backward away from him.

“We could offer him a healing,” Shaeine said.

“We could,” Trissiny said coldly, “but we won’t. Right?” She gave Toby a sharp look. He returned her gaze, then looked back at the man who had now scrambled to his feet and was fleeing to the nearest alley, leaving his wand lying in the street. Toby’s mouth drew into a thin line, his eyebrows lowering, but he only shook his head and said nothing. Trissiny felt a sharp pang, but dismissed it. She had her duty. The light faded from around her.

“Well,” Robin said with a shrug, “on we go, then.”

They made no further conversation until they reached their goal. Down a couple of side streets, they came to a fairly large building in somewhat better repair than most of Sarasio seemed to be. The wooden sign above its doors proclaimed it to be the Shady Lady in a curly font. Two large men wearing grim expressions flanked the doors, ostentatiously carrying wands. Unlike most of the town’s inhabitants, though, they were clean-shaven and well-dressed in neat suits. They looked over the group but made no move to challenge their approach.

“What’s this?” Juniper asked curiously. “What makes you think Tellwyrn is here?”

“There are exactly two places in Sarasio where a party of this size can find room and board,” Robin said. “The other is neither clean nor safe. The Shady Lady is not my kind of place, but it is, in a sense, an island in a sea of squalor. In we go.”

So saying, she hopped lightly up the steps and pushed through the swinging doors. The two guards watched her enter, then returned their stares to the students, but held their peace. One by one, the nine of them stepped inside.

True to Robin’s word, the interior of the Shady Lady was a sharp contrast to the rest of Sarasio. The wide-open main room soared two stories tall and was well-lit and spotlessly clean. The furnishings and décor were of good quality and showed understated good taste, running toward highly polished wood and fabrics in dark jewel tones, with subtle brass accents. It had clearly all been decorated with an eye to theme; everything matched. A spiral staircase led to a second-floor balcony; a grand piano sat in one corner, being played right now—the music wasn’t audible from the street, suggesting a sound-dampening enchantment on the building—and a heavy wooden bar lined one side of the room, behind which were a huge assortment of gleaming bottles. Most of the floor area was taken up by round tables encircled by chairs.

More startling, though, were the people present. There were three more burly guards in suits, as well as a man with a handlebar mustache behind the bar, presently polishing a glass mug; he looked up at them and smiled. A lean young man was playing the piano, his attention fully focused on the keys. Several of the tables were occupied by customers. Most of those present, though, were young women, and most were in nothing more than lingerie. Perched on the bar—and on the piano—seated with customers and laughing flirtatiously, leaning over the balcony rail, they had scattered themselves around the area like merchandise on a showroom floor.

“Um,” Gabriel said hesitantly. “…never mind.”

“No, go on,” Ruda insisted, grinning from ear to ear. “What’s on your mind, Gabe?”

“I said never mind. I’m following our advice, Ruda. The little voice is telling me I’m about to say something dumb.”

“Is it telling you to ask if we’re in a brothel?” she asked, her grin stretching till it looked almost painful. “’Cos if so, your timing sucks, as usual. You picked the one moment when you’d have been right to start keeping your mouth shut. Because we are, in fact, in a brothel.”

“How?” Teal demanded, then lowered her voice. “I mean… I know brothels exist, but how could somebody run one this big, and this…fancy?”

“Supply and demand,” Toby murmured. “Can you really see someone setting up a temple of Izara in this town?”

“Okay, that’s a point.”

“What’s a brothel?” Juniper asked curiously. Shaeine leaned in close and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in her ear. The dryad’s eyes widened. “You can sell that?!”

A hush descended on the room, all eyes shifting to the party at the door. Then the pianist resumed his piece, and others gradually went back to what they’d been doing.

Juniper, meanwhile, shook her head slowly. “Man, humans are bonkers.”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Trissiny agreed.

“Um. Well, yes. When I’m right, I by definition am right. I’m not sure why that needs to be said.”

“It’s one of those figures of speech,” Fross told her.

“Oh.”

“Yoo hoo!” Professor Tellwyrn sang. She was seated at a large round table across the room with several other people, and now waved enthusiastically at them. “Over here, kids! Chop chop!”

They dutifully trooped over to join her, Robin falling to the rear as they crossed the room and arranged themselves in the empty space near her table.

Tellwyrn, uncharacteristically, seemed to have made friends. A teenage boy in an extremely well-tailored suit sat next to her. He looked a few years younger than the University students, certainly not old enough to be hanging out in a place like this. A deck of cards sat under his gently drumming fingers on the table; the huge piece of tigerseye set in his bolo tie flashed distractingly. He nodded politely to them at their approach.

On Tellwyrn’s other side, Trissiny was surprised to note, sat Heywood Paxton, the Imperial agent she had met and blessed several months ago on his way to Sarasio. He didn’t even look up, now, staring morosely at the center of the table, his mind clearly elsewhere. He had lost weight, and to judge by the bags under his eyes, sleep.

The fourth person present was seated with her back to them, but on their arrival she turned in her chair, draping her arm across the back to eye them over. She was a slim woman with a bronze complexion, with a long, sharp face that was subtly lovely though disqualified for true beauty by a slightly beakish nose. She wore a close-fitting red dress that showed a daring amount of cleavage, and had her black hair pinned up in an elaborate bun bedecked with scarlet feathers and rubies.

“Well, hello,” she purred. “So you’re Arachne’s students? What an absolute pleasure. You can call me Lily.”

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4 – 1

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The crow ruffled its feathers and shook itself, emitting a muted croak, but did not stir from its perch in the rafters. Just outside the awning, rain pattered down upon the streets of Tiraas, as rain so often did. It was a cool day, cooler than it had been recently, but not quite cold yet; not quite so bad that the oven and open lamps in the little pastry stand didn’t keep its inside comfortable, despite the fact that the entire front was open to the elements.

“Nice bird,” remarked the boy, peering up at it while rolling a coin across the backs of his knuckles. “Where’d you get something like that?”

“It’s not mine,” said the woman behind the counter. Her face was neutral, her tone polite—too neutral, too polite. They were alone in the stand at present, the rain not being conducive to much foot traffic in the market street, and the tension between them was almost tangible, for all that it ran one way. The young man seemed perfectly at ease. “I give it scraps sometimes and so far it hasn’t tried to steal any. I think it’s somebody’s pet, though. Doesn’t act like a wild crow.”

“You ought to do something about that, then,” he said lazily, then flapped a hand at the bird. “Shoo! Go on, you’re unsanitary!”

The crow hopped to one side, not even bothering to take wing, and tilted its head, watching him. With a shrug, he turned back to survey the hot pastries on display under the glass counter.

“Ah, the hell with it. Do something about it though. I don’t want to see that bird here next time I visit.”

“Anything for a customer,” she replied, her voice weighted with sarcasm.

He smirked. “A bit of an attitude today, eh? Just for that, I believe I’ll have a cream puff along with the meat pie. A little dessert’s just the thing to work off the hurt your sharp tongue has done to my feelings.”

“You know,” she said stiffly, not reaching into the pastry case yet, “I do have to make a living.”

“So do we all, cupcake,” he said, grinning. “A pastry now and then won’t bankrupt you.”

“One of my most expensive pastries every day, on the other hand…”

“Well, that’s what you get for overcharging,” he said glibly. “Chop chop, now. Some of us have better things to do with our time than loiter around a till all day.”

The crow emitted a loud, hoarse squawk, flapping its wings once without lifting off its perch. He half-turned to glance up at it in irritation, then started violently, catching a glimpse of the front of the stall. Two figures now stood there, silent as moonlight.

“Omnu’s breath,” he breathed, placing a hand over his chest, then grinned weakly. “You startled me, ladies.”

“Did we,” said the one on the left. They were elves, dressed in simple blouses and trousers of modest quality, damp with rain. Both stared at him with an utter lack of expression. His grin faltered.

“I… Eh, well, no harm done. I’ll be out of your way in just a moment, as soon as this slowpoke here hands over my breakfast.”

“Will you,” said the other tonelessly. As one, they stepped forward, twice. In the small space this placed them all in very cramped proximity. Ordinarily he’d have felt quite differently about being packed in so close with a pair of pretty, exotic young women, but there was a subtle threat in their cold demeanor.

“I think you can wait,” said the first, then looked past him to the woman behind the counter. “The usual, please, Denise.”

“Keep the change,” added the other, tossing something. Denise caught it awkwardly, clearly not used to such maneuvers, and then boggled down at the well-stuffed coin purse in her hand, its strings neatly sliced. She wasn’t the only one.

“I—wh—hey!” the young man exclaimed, more shocked than angry. “That’s mine!”

“Is it?” said the first elf mildly. “It appears to be hers, now.”

“Now listen here,” he said, outrage welling up on his features. “You don’t know what you’re meddling in, girls. I’m a member of the Thieves’ Guild!”

At that, they both grinned. Broadly. He flinched.

“Are you,” said the second elf.

“Whose apprentice?” added the first.

“W-what makes you think I’m an apprentice?” he stammered, trying to draw himself upright. The crow emitted a coarse chuckling noise, and he ruined the effect he was going for by flinching again.

“First,” said the second elf, “a full member of the Guild would know better than to abuse our privileges in the city. Shopkeepers toss us freebies because we deter pickpockets and cutpurses; a tidbit here and there costs them a lot less than a city full of ne’er-do-wells would. The system is there to benefit everyone. It is not carte blanche for you to walk all over people and do whatever the hell you please.”

“Second,” said the other, “a full member of the Guild would know better than to announce his membership, in public, to strangers.”

“Third…” The second elf leaned in close to him, her grin broadening to proportions that resembled that of a wolf. “A full member of the Guild who behaved this way would be dragged into the basement of the Guild headquarters and have things broken. Fingers, definitely. Possibly knees. You, clearly, are just some dumb kid who doesn’t yet understand how things work. They’ll probably be more gentle with you. Maybe.”

“I—I—I—”

“Fourth,” added the first elf in an especially silky tone, “and not to blow our own horns or anything, any active Guild member in this city would recognize Sweet’s apprentices. I’m told we’re sort of…distinctive.”

He swallowed, loudly.

“What’s your name?”

“Who’s your trainer?”

“I—I…” He gulped again, finding a small measure of courage. “I don’t know you two. How do I know you are…who you say? I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“We don’t have to ask nicely,” the woman on the right said, her expression growing grim.

Denise cleared her throat. “Um, could you please ask nicely? I really, really don’t need any trouble in my stall, Flora.”

“Of course, my apologies.” Flora nodded to her, then returned her stare to the boy. “It needn’t come to any rough stuff, anyhow. We can simply follow him.”

“Ever been stalked by elves?” the other one said lazily. “You’ve probably read stories about dramatic bison hunts. Bows, staves, unicorn charges, all that. That’s plains elves, though. We’re from a forest tribe.”

“It’s called tela’theshwa,” said Flora. “Persistence predation, according to the scholars who felt the need to name it in Tanglish. No violence at all. We just follow our prey, at a walk, until it drops dead from exhaustion. He’s a robust specimen, Fauna, but I bet he gets tired before we do.”

“You have to go home sometime,” Fauna told him in a singsong tone, grinning. “Us? We can go for days.”

“Weeks,” Flora corrected smugly. “We’re well-fed and well-rested.”

“Randal Wilcox,” he bleated. “I’m apprenticed to Grip!”

In unison, their eyebrows rose.

“You work under Grip,” Fauna said slowly, “and you do something like this?”

Flora shook her head. “Boy, you are almost too dumb to be alive.”

“He’d have been eaten by a cougar in the old country.”

“A cougar? Please, this numbnut would’ve been eaten by opossums.”

“Tell you what, Randy,” Fauna said. “Mind if I call you Randy? Swell. We’re heading back to the Guild ourselves, but not in any great hurry. We just stopped by for a bit of breakfast on the way.”

“I’m sure you noticed this stall is in a really convenient spot,” Flora added. “Nice place to grab a bite you can enjoy on a leisurely stroll.”

“It’ll take us a while to get there, is what we’re saying. Half an hour, maybe?”

“Eh, twenty minutes.”

“Aw, I wanted to feed the ducks!”

“I do not want to feed the ducks. It’s raining. The ducks are under shelter, like all sensible beings.”

“Spoilsport,” Fauna pouted. “Twenty minutes, then. That’s how long you’ve got to either get your ass back there, explain your fuck-up and hope Grip is in a reasonable mood for once… Or get out of Tiraas.”

“It’ll look better coming from you,” Flora added. “If they have to hear about this from us? Well, then Grip will be embarrassed on top of pissed off. Makes her look bad in front of Sweet. Rumor has it she gets really crabby when somebody makes her look bad.”

“Of course, if you—” Fauna broke off, dodging nimbly as Randal shoved past her and took off at a sprint.

“Heh.” Flora leaned out from under the awning to watch him go. “Wait for it, wait for…aw, he didn’t fall. Guess he knows where the slippery patch is.”

“I keep telling you, just because humans can’t see in the dark doesn’t mean they’re blind. Anyhow!” Fauna smiled winsomely at Denise. “Sorry about all that. Some people, right? I don’t mean to rush you, or anything…”

“Oh! Sorry.” Belatedly, the shopkeeper began loading a couple of meat pies into folds of waxed paper for easy carrying. “Got distracted by all the…well. Um, stop me if it’s not my business, but…what’s gonna happen to him?”

“Not sure.”

“Not really interested.”

“Not our problem.”

“I can tell you this much,” Fauna added. “If you ever see him in here again, it’ll be so he can deliver an apology, and possibly some monetary remuneration.”

“I wouldn’t make a claim like that against the Thieves’ Guild,” Denise said carefully, keeping her eyes on her hands as she folded the pies up neatly.

“Please,” Flora said earnestly, “make claims like that. That kind of crap makes us all look bad. The Guild doesn’t stand for it; we don’t pick on honest tradespeople who are just getting by. It’s bad for everyone’s business and bad for our rep.”

“I understand if you’re not comfortable going to the casino to talk to somebody,” Fauna said. “The Church is available for that, though. You can leave a message for Bishop Darling at the Cathedral; anybody ever hassles you like this again, do so and he’ll take care of it.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” she demurred, sliding their wrapped pies across the glass counter. “Here you go, girls.”

Flora caught her hand, gently, and held it until Denise looked up to meet her eyes. She was smiling, an authentically warm expression totally unlike the one she’d given Randal. “You’re safe with Guild members,” she said softly. “The only reason a Guild thief would harm you is if you’d done something to royally deserve it.”

“And, no offense, I have a hard time picturing you being so adventurous,” Fauna added, grinning.

“You’re even safer than most,” Flora said with a wink. “Because now we have something to prove to you.”

Denise gently pulled her hand back, managing a weak grin and an awkward little laugh. “Aha…well… Like I said… Yeah, you’re right, I’m not the pushy kind. I wouldn’t want to be a bother. I’ll tell you what, though, your next visit’s on the house.”

The crow chuckled softly to itself and finally took wing, flapping out into the rain.


“Nineteen,” said Archpope Justinian, “in the last month. I never held out much hope that Asherad’s murder would be an anomalous event; far too much effort had to have gone into it. In the lull that followed, though…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

The four Bishops assembled for his little cabal sat around the conference table in the Archpope’s private study, wearing grim expressions, as the subject deserved.

“I’d say we’re in the opposite of a lull now,” Basra said once it was clear the pontiff had finished speaking. “Four weeks of this is having what I’m sure was the intended effect. It’s getting harder and harder to get any kind of cooperation from individual cults that they don’t absolutely have to offer. They can tell which way the wind’s blowing.”

“And which way is that?” Darling asked. “I mean, what do the victims have in common? Is there a theme here? My Guild hasn’t lost anybody, but we’ve all but stopped operations in the city in the last week. The Boss thinks it’s too risky for any kind of cultist to be operating until something’s done.”

“There’s a theme,” Basra said, glancing at the Archpope. “It’s…sensitive. I’m sure you wouldn’t want—”

“The murdered all have two things in common,” Justinian said gravely. “First, they were individuals of such character that if the world knew what I know, there might not be so much an outcry at their deaths.”

“How can there be that many people like that among the cults of the Pantheon?” Branwen whispered, horrified.

“That many would have to just about cover it,” Darling ruminated. “There are rotten people everywhere, Bran, and not all gods are as compassionate as Izara. But…you’re not wrong, it strains credulity that every cult is so corrupt you can just walk in and kill somebody who deserves it. Which raises a whole host of other disturbing questions…”

“Indeed,” said the Archpope, nodding. “Which reflects upon the second point they had in common: each of these individuals was involved in a corrupt or shady program run by the Universal Church itself.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Such as?” Andros finally said, staring as sharply at the Archpope as he could probably get away with.

“I’ll make full documentation available to each of you if you request it,” said Justinian, folding his hands on the table before him. “However, before we delve into such details, let me pose a question. This is in line with your inquiry, Antonio. How much longer can this go on? Someone is clearly making a considerable effort to clean house. How much more cleaning, in your estimation, is required?”

“Corruption is a hard thing to pin down across different religions,” Basra said after a pause. “Antonio’s people do things as a matter of doctrinal obligation that’d get anyone thrown out of my Sisterhood.”

“And vice versa,” Darling said wryly. “In fact, we could go clockwise around the table and talk about how everybody’s faith is a tangle of depravity from the perspective of somebody else’s, so let’s take it as given and…not. I think that’s dodging the issue, though. Or, your Holiness, are these people really being targeted over doctrinal issues?”

“I can unequivocally say that they are not,” Justinian said solemnly. “The four slain this week included a known pedophile, and two individuals involved in a Church-run operation which has been financing actual witch hunts along the frontier.”

“People still do that?” Branwen said, aghast.

“In that case,” Andros growled, “perhaps this killer is doing us a favor.”

“Oh, please,” said Basra dismissively. “Making the bad people go away is a child’s solution to improving the world. You can’t fix societal problems through assassination.”

“Besides,” Darling added, “it’s fairly obvious that the thrust of this is to create a stir, not just to get rid of the individuals who’ve been…gotten rid of. A wedge is being driven between the Church and its member cults. I can’t imagine that’s anything but intentional, if not the entire point.”

“And,” said Justinian, nodding, “it carries an additional message to us, who know the secrets of those being targeted. Our foe knows these secrets too, and has the power to penetrate our defenses.”

“The Wreath,” Branwen murmured.

“It almost has to be,” Basra agreed, “but…how? Why now?”

“Why now seems obvious enough,” said Darling. “We just escalated the conflict with them considerably. Specifically those of us sitting in this room.”

“Okay, fine, but that leaves the bigger question,” she said impatiently. “How? If the Wreath had the capacity to do things like this, they’d have been doing them. For a very long time. What’s changed?”

“We changed the rules of the engagement,” said Andros. “It would be poor strategy for them to accept battle on our terms. They are altering the conditions in turn, forcing us to act on theirs.”

“Again,” Basra exclaimed, “how? We can talk whys and wherefores until we’re all blue in the face, but the hard truth is that somebody is slipping through the sturdiest magical defenses in existence and slaughtering people who should be powerful enough to prevent this from happening to them. That should be our biggest concern!”

“The issue,” said Justinian firmly, drawing their attention back to him, “is that in previous times, our engagements with the Wreath have always been that: with the Wreath. They’ve employed outside agents throughout their history when it served their ends, usually as a method of preserving their anonymity, but the actual campaigns of the cult itself have been carried out by Elilinist warlocks. Those are methodologies with stark limitations, which are very familiar to us. What has changed is that they are sending someone else, now. Consider what a temple’s defenses are meant to ward off. Could any of your strongholds deter, say, an Imperial strike team, with professional fighters wielding multiple systems of magic?”

“Most of mine could,” Basra said with a hint of smugness, then added somewhat ungraciously, “probably several of Andros’s, too.”

“But most temples in general, no,” said Branwen. “That being the case…why are we certain that the Wreath is behind this at all?”

Justinian spread his hands in a shrug. “Who else?”

“This was all kicked off by Elilial opening a new project,” Darling said, frowning thoughtfully into the distance. “We may have accelerated her timetable somewhat, but we shouldn’t rule out that some or all of this was planned from the beginning.”

“Just so,” said the Archpope, “and it is for that reason that we are going to continue to let it happen, for now.”

“Excuse me?” Basra said shrilly.

“Andros has raised a couple of extremely pertinent points,” Justinian went on, his calm a stark contrast to her agitation. “Whatever the additional effects, our house is being cleaned, and I would be dissembling if I did not acknowledge some relief. I inherited a huge bureaucracy in this Church, my friends, and some of my predecessors were… Well. Suffice it to say that the Throne does not hold a monopoly on political ruthlessness. Our enemy is hurting us, yes, but they are also destroying dead weight and counterproductive elements, not to mention relieving us of a moral burden by excising corruption. There is an incidental benefit to us in this.”

“You can’t be suggesting we don’t do something to deal with this,” Darling protested, then added belatedly, “your Holiness.”

“Indeed I am not, which brings me to Andros’s other point. The rules have been changed on us. I intend to change them again. The Wreath is managing to strike at our strength without engaging us directly; we shall do likewise. To that end, my friends, the time has come for us to put an end to the Age of Adventures.”

There was silence in the room. The Bishops glanced around the table at each other, avoiding the Archpope’s eyes.

“What, nothing?” Justinian actually grinned. “Antonio? Basra? Someone give us the obligatory witticism.”

“That seems a little…belated, your Holiness,” Basra said carefully.

“Quite so.” The Archpope rested his hands flat on the table and leaned forward at them, his face now focused and stern again. “And that makes this project doubly important. Recently, Antonio, your cult was peripherally involved in an engagement with Arachne Tellwyrn which was disrupted by one Longshot McGraw, is that not so?”

“It is,” Darling said slowly.

“McGraw and his ilk, which includes Tellwyrn herself, are the last fading echoes of a long dead era,” Justinian went on. “Civilization as it stands now is not tolerant of people who choose ‘adventuring’ as a career. Those who do so successfully manage because of the degree of their skill. They are, simply put, so dangerous that it is not worthwhile trying to rein them in, so long as they do not cause problems on a massive scale.”

“If you hope to exterminate free spirits,” Andros rumbled, “you will be frustrated.”

“You are quite correct, my friend, we shall always have such characters with us. But there are more of them now in the world than the world needs, and this is the resource the Wreath has leveraged against us.”

“You think this is being done by adventurers?” Basra exclaimed.

“Those who are actually good at that sort of work don’t call themselves such,” Justinian replied. “But…yes. Powerful, dangerous people who make their way in life by wielding that power. The Age of Adventures is long over. We don’t need them in the world anymore. Now, it seems some have allowed themselves to be used against the Universal Church. We will deal with this, solve a societal problem, and deprive the Black Wreath of the resource it is using to terrorize us.”

“The Wreath is a difficult foe precisely because they’re hard to pin down,” Darling said, frowning. “But at least they’re an organization. Adventurers…even the really dangerous ones…are barely even a community. It’s not like we can just round them up.”

“I was hardly suggesting a pogrom, nor would I if such a thing were feasible. Which, as you have rightly pointed out, it is not. We must act carefully. I am not jumping to conclusions, here, my friends; it is based on solid information that I believe the Wreath is contracting exceptional professional individuals to attack our cults. We will do two things: in the broader and longer term, change the environment of the city such that any such people will work at our behest or not at all. And, more immediately, we will identify the perpetrators of these crimes specifically and deal with them.”

“Splendid,” Basra said, smiling. Andros nodded sharply in agreement.

“That’ll stop this from happening, all right,” Darling said. “Assuming was can pull it off. And what then?”

“Basra was correct in that eliminating problematic people is a partial solution at best. I think, perhaps, we can find a better use for our enemies than the Black Wreath can. It certainly will be safest, I believe, not to approach them…confrontationally.”

He met the Archpope’s eyes, nodding slowly in acquiescence, the thoughtful frown on his own face unfeigned. Justinian’s visage was calm, open; his eyes were unthreatening, but glittered with intelligence. They revealed no hint at how much he knew.


“Man…I do not wanna ride this thing,” Gabriel groaned.

“Ask me how much I care what you want,” Tellwyrn said breezily. She turned to stare at him, planting her hands on her hips, and grinned. “Go on, ask. It’ll be funny.”

“Is it absolutely necessary for you to be a jerk?”

“In the long run, Mr. Arquin, you’ll find that few things are truly necessary or in any way meaningful. In the shorter term, I find being a jerk is often an effective way of accomplishing my goals. Now hop to, time and the Imperial Rails wait for no one!”

So saying, she clambered into the lead car of the Rail caravan waiting for them on Last Rock’s platform. Gabriel grumbled under his breath, but went to help Toby and Ruda finish stowing their baggage in the cargo car at the rear.

Trissiny drew in a deep breath, looking with some trepidation at the assembled caravan. Her own journey along the Rails was a vivid and uncomfortable memory. They had three cars to themselves, which was a little bit excessive with only nine people (one of whom was a pixie), but condensing their party into two would have been cramped indeed—and a cramped party on the Rails was a bad idea.

“I can’t decide if this’ll be better or worse than our last excursion,” Teal murmured, standing just behind Trissiny with Shaeine. “I mean…we’re going someplace civilized instead of into the wilderness…”

“Yeah, I’m worried about that, too,” Juniper admitted, chewing her lower lip. “In the wilderness you know what to expect. There are rules. Civilized people might up and do anything at all. But hey, we won’t be alone! We’ve got a teacher with us.”

“That, I believe, is Teal’s other concern,” Shaeine said, glancing at Teal with a raised eyebrow. The bard grinned back at her.

“You know me so well.”

“Well, anything’s bound to be better than Rafe,” Trissiny said grimly. “And Tellwyrn…isn’t without redeeming qualities.”

“Aww,” came Professor Tellwyrn’s voice from the open hatch of the lead car. “Dear diary!”

Trissiny sighed, gritting her teeth.

“Welp, that’s about all the procrastination we can squeeze into this,” Gabriel said, dusting off his hands as he rejoined them. “Everything packed away and nothing left to stop us from hopping into this demented death machine on our way to Sarasio. Wherever the fuck that is.”

“It’s a frontier town,” said Teal, “not so much like Last Rock and more like the ones you read about in cowboy novels. Cattle raids, attacks by tribes of wild elves, wandfights in the streets. All that good stuff.”

Gabe snorted. “And she expects us to what? Burn it to the ground?”

“I suspect we will learn her intentions in due time,” Shaeine said evenly. “Considering how much of our final grades are resting on the outcome of this expedition, I do not imagine it will be anything so…simple.”

“Not that we’d burn down a town anyway,” Toby said firmly.

“Of course.”

“All right,” said Trissiny, “given the makeup of our group, I think we should split up healers. Juniper, Shaeine and Gabriel should ride together; their healing won’t hurt him if he gets hurt, and they can heal each other or themselves.”

“I won’t get hurt anyway,” Gabriel grumbled. “I’ll just get motion sickness so bad I wish I was dead.”

Trissiny glanced at him, then at Shaeine, then at Teal. “Teal, you should go with that group. You’re also pretty durable…”

“Pretty much indestructible, actually.”

“…but if the unforseeable should happen, you’ll still be with the healers who won’t hurt Vadrieny by using their magic.”

“Sounds good!” Teal said with a broad grin, edging closer to Shaeine. “Shall we then?”

“That was nicely handled,” Toby murmured to her as the four of them trooped into the middle car and began ducking inside, one at a time. Even lowering his voice he was well within Shaeine’s earshot; the significant look he gave her and Teal was the only hint to Trissiny of what he really meant. She met his smile with a wink.

“Strategic planning isn’t new to me.”

“Aw, you mean you didn’t set this up just for more quality time with me, roomie?” Ruda said, grinning. “I’m hurt. Really, I might cry.”

“Eh, that’s kind of reaching,” Trissiny said. “You’re not at your most cutting this early in the morning, are you?”

“Oh, you are asking for it, kid,” the pirate shot back, but she was still grinning. “Welp, we’re the last ones out. C’mon, Fross, let’s grab a seat.”

“I don’t really need a seat,” the pixie said, fluttering along obediently behind her. “I’ve never ridden in one of these before, though! I’m very curious!”

“Me either. I bet it’s gonna suck!”

Trissiny smiled at Toby. “Well, then. Onward to glory.”

He laughed, and her smile broadened. His laugh did that to her.

Alone in the lead car, Tellwyrn was smiling, too. Fortunately none of them could see it.

< Previous Chapter                                                                                                                           Next Chapter >

1- 2

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Once again, she landed in chaos.

Trissiny’s mental picture of a frontier town admittedly came from comics and cheap novels (what few had slipped past the Abbey’s defenses); she should hardly have been surprised to find that Last Rock was not a single dusty street lined with wooden buildings. Cobblestone streets fanned out from the Rail platform, framing solid and quite elegant structures of well-dressed stone that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a medieval village. Really, that only made sense, positioned as the town was at the base of a mountain with no trees in sight.

She barely had a chance to appreciate the town, however, as a roar of pandemonium went up as soon as she stepped off the caravan. The streets and the edges of the platform were thronged with townsfolk apparently in their churchday best, cheering and applauding as though greeting victorious soldiers just back from the trenches. Somewhere nearby, barely visible through gaps in the crowd, an enthusiastic but clearly unpracticed brass band struck up a sprightly tune. Colorful streamers and buntings were draped everywhere, wreaths hung from darkened streetlamps, and strung across the main avenue directly ahead of her was a huge banner reading:

WELCOME, FRESHMEN!

And below that, a slightly larger one:

WELCOME BACK, ASSHOLES!

That was…troubling.

Before she’d decided how to react to all this, a door was flung open two cars behind her and a boy came staggering out. Trissiny gathered only an impression of dark, tousled hair and a long black coat before he stumbled to his knees and was loudly, violently sick. At this, the cheering on all sides intensified and a few catcalls rang out.

She scowled, letting go of her trunk and turning toward the poor boy. Riding the Rails the first time without the benefit of a lot of physical training must have been a nightmarish experience; even she would have come out of the Belt bruised at the least if not for Mr. Paxton’s warnings. And it was not right for people to treat someone’s misfortunes as entertainment.

A second young man, casually dressed and with a very dark complexion, had emerged from the same car and now knelt by his fallen companion, ignoring the crowd. Trissiny hesitated; if it were herself, she’d rather people gave her space and didn’t acknowledge her discomfort so publicly, but that was just her. Besides, Avei expected her to render aid wherever it was needed, and though she wasn’t a healer by calling, just channeling raw holy power at someone would soothe a lot of ailments.

“You there! You, girl, in the armor!”

Warily, she twisted back the other way, in time to see an old woman in a black gown nearly a century out of fashion swat a grinning boy of about twelve out of the way with one of the two canes on which she dragged herself along.

“You’re that paladin, right?” The old woman grinned broadly, and Trissiny forced herself not to flinch; her teeth, those that remained, were as brown as old wood. “Paladin of Avei. Finally the gods are sending us a message again, yeah? Finally the paladins are coming back, and they’re both coming here! That’s you, right?”

“I am a Hand of Avei,” Trissiny said carefully, having to pitch her voice a little louder than she liked to be audible over the crowd. Several of the closest bystanders immediately cheered even more loudly at her; nobody offered up any of the rude commentary they’d thrown at the boy who’d lost his lunch. She glanced over at him; he was standing, weakly, with his friend’s arm about his shoulders, and the pair were being pressed in upon by several of the locals carrying small trays. More detail than that she didn’t manage to catch before the old woman in front of her let out a loud crow like a cockerel.

“I knew it!” she chortled, thumping one of her canes against the stone platform. “It’s about time, is all! Yes, time for the gods to send someone to straighten out that nest of iniquity and vice up there on the hill. Elves and wizards and perverts, the lot of ’em! You’ll fix ’em good, won’t ya, paladin? Eh?”

“Ah…” Trissiny glanced around again. Over a dozen pairs of eager eyes were upon her; she was surrounded by grins. By all the Pantheon, did these people think this was street theater?

“Oh, Mabel, give the poor girl a moment to get her boots on the ground before you start preaching,” said a new voice in a throaty purr that really seemed too soft to carry as well as it did over the noise. Trissiny spun again and found herself almost nose-to-nose with a strikingly pretty black-haired woman. Only as an afterthought did she realize it was an elf.

Dark hair was supposed to be rare among the elvish tribes, so she’d heard. Trissiny had rarely met elves and never been this close to one; the differences from humans weren’t so glaring. This woman was of slender build, but not abnormally so; her eyes were on the large side and her features rather pointed, but not enough to seem out of place on a human face. Trissiny herself had some of those traits. Only the long, tapered ears poking up through her hair marked the elf for certain.

“Hussy!” screeched the old woman, clobbering the elf with a cane, to no effect. Apparently there wasn’t much strength in those bony arms. “Freak! Harlot! Painted trollop! I know what you get up to, over in the taverns! Sub-human thing from Elilial’s bosom! You get away from that girl. She’s a good girl, she is! And you!” Trissiny jerked back as a cane was pointed directly into her face. “You smite this heathen slattern! She’s of the Black Lady’s own stock, she is! Do yer duty, girl!”

“I see you’ve met my fan club,” said the elf airily, ignoring repeated blows from the cane. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you at last, Trissiny. Welcome to Last Rock. I have something here I think you’ll like.” Smiling disarmingly, she produced a small, flattish wooden box from within her coat and opened it; a golden pendant formed in the eagle symbol of Avei rested upon black velvet within.

“Do I know you?” Trissiny asked loudly, resisting the urge to grip her sword. Symbol of her faith or no, something about this woman set her on edge; she smiled the way that oily man who sold the Abbey produce did. Mother Narny had to supervise him very closely.

“I know you, my dear, which will do for a start. Everyone knows about the new paladins joining the student body this year. I’m just a simple enchanter and purveyor of magical trinkets, and purely honored to make your acquaintance. I’d like you to have this as a gift, from me, at no charge.” Smiling broadly, she pressed the box forward again, then had to jerk it back as the crone tried to swat it out of her hands.

CRACK!

Even the band faltered. Townspeople who’d been pressing ever closer to her scuttled back, revealing a man in denim and flannel, with a wand pointed skyward and a silver gryphon pinned to his shirt. In the confusion she hadn’t even seen the lightning bolt, but the tip of his wand still smoked faintly.

“Okay, folks, that’ll do. Show’s over. Let’s all take a step back before I have to feel disappointed in somebody.”

“Sheriff,” Trissiny said desperately, cocking a head at her two admirers. Tugging the broad brim of his hat to her, he ambled over.

“Omnu’s breath, you two, were you raised in a barn? Do we have to go through this every year?”

“I was raised in a tree,” said the elf with a grin. “And unless it’s suddenly illegal to talk to paladins, nobody’s doing anything wrong here. Ms. Avelea, here. Please take this.”

“Don’t you pull that attitude on me, master Samuel Sanders!” squawked the old woman, brandishing a cane. “Just because you’ve got a big fancy badge now doesn’t mean you don’t have to respect your elders! And taking a god’s name in vain, for shame! I know your poor mother, Omnu rest her soul, raised you better than that.”

“Well, you’ve caught me dead to rights, Miz Cratchley,” the sheriff said easily. “It’d serve me right if you went and wrote a letter to the editor about my deplorable behavior right this minute.”

“You see if I don’t, you young hellion!” She waved the cane at him once more, then began the complicated process of turning around and ambling off, still shrilly complaining. “Young people these days. No respect. None! In my day, we knew how to pay respect to the gods, yes sir. And to our elders!”

“Welp, that takes care of the one I’d feel bad about shootin’.” He raised an eyebrow at the elf, who fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“All right, all right, keep it in your pants, Sam. Trissiny, if you’d just—”

“No, thank you,” she said firmly. “I don’t need jewelry. Of any kind.”

“Oh, but I know what a young adventurer needs! Trust me, I deal only in the most magical of—”

“That will do, Sippy,” said the Sheriff, all humor gone from his voice. “She’ll be here all year. You can bide your time and make a pest of yourself when the poor girl’s had a chance to settle in. Move along.”

The elf closed her box with a loud snap. For just a moment she glared daggers at Sanders, then turned an amiable grin on Trissiny. “Well, the man’s not wrong. It’s wonderful to have you in town, Trissiny. I look forward to seeing you again.” Bowing, she backed away into the crowd.

“Thank you,” she said with feeling. The sheriff smiled at her.

“Not at all, ma’am, that’s why they pay me the big bucks. Can I offer you an escort past the town?”

“I appreciate your help,” she said a little stiffly, “but I don’t require any man’s protection.”

“I am well aware that you don’t, miss, but there’s more to life than what a body requires. I thought you might like a little protection anyway. See that?” He cocked a finger at the crowd where the two boys had been moments ago. There was no sign of them now; apparently they’d managed to escape. In their place stood half a dozen well-dressed people carrying trays of snacks, toys and baubles, all eying her hungrily. “My beloved constituency. Good folks, as a rule, but you should know up front that they view you and the rest of the students as walking coin purses. They’ll leave you alone if you’re with me, but if you’d rather not…” He shrugged. “You can always beat ’em back with your sword, I guess, but the we’ll have to have an entirely different kind of conversation.”

Abruptly, the fine hairs along Trissiny’s arms stood on end; her scalp tingled distractingly. Then, with an earsplitting crack of arcane energy, the caravan behind her began moving. Its acceleration was a frightening thing to behold; it was over the horizon in seconds. How had she survived riding that wretched thing? How did anyone?

“When you put it that way,” she said carefully, bending to grasp the handle of her trunk, “I think I would appreciate an escort.”

“I live to serve. Shall we?”

He was as good as his word. The cheering had begun to fade as soon as the caravan departed, people drifting away to tend to their own business; though she remained the center of attention, nobody else pressed forward or tried to intercept her with the Sheriff by her side. He led her at an easy pace away from the Rail platform and down what appeared to be the main avenue of the tiny town.

“Is it like this every year?” she asked cautiously. Stands and stalls, most looking rather cobbled-together, occupied the edges of the street, displaying a wide variety of goods and obstructing the actual storefronts. Bright banners, pennants and bunting were hung everywhere, including several with text welcoming the students to Last Rock. None after the big one across the road referred to them as assholes, which was a positive sign.

“We’re a college town,” he said with an amiable grin. “Last Rock is probably the most cosmopolitan village of its size in the whole Empire. We’ve got entertainment and specialty goods such as you’d expect to see in the capital itself, including more taverns than we need. Students bring money from all over the place, and the population has mostly adjusted to suit their needs. Pretty open-minded folks, as a rule, at least compared to most frontier stock, despite a few holdouts like Miz Cratchley. Of course, the downside of being so dependent on the University is the summers around here are a dry season, and I don’t just mean the weather. So yeah, the kids coming back is a pretty big deal.”

“I don’t have much in the way of spending money,” she said carefully. “Or want any. My needs are few.”

He nodded. “I can spread that around, if you’d like. Might spare you a certain amount of harassment next time you visit.”

“Is there much trouble between townspeople and students?”

“Oh, rarely. You can’t have those two groups in one spot without some butting of heads, but Professor Tellwyrn’s a good neighbor. You cause trouble in my town and I’ll have to wait for her to finish scraping and smoking your hide for embarrassing her University before I even get to toss you in a cell. Not exactly a boon to my manhood, but I can’t argue with the results.”

“I have no intention of causing any trouble,” she said frostily.

“My apologies, ma’am, didn’t mean to imply that. It was a general ‘you.’ I end up having to have this talk with most of the kids at one point or another; force of habit. And to speak the plan truth, it’s not you I’m worried about. It was a right breath of fresh air to learn we’d be getting two paladins this year. Actually…if I’m not mistaken, Principia was actually trying to give you something, which is downright weird; usually when she’s around it’s wise to keep a hand on your wallet. I guess everybody loves a paladin.”

“Hm.” She didn’t know what to say to that. Trissiny hadn’t been offered much detail on the other students, but she had been told there was a Hand of Omnu her own age who’d be starting school alongside her. Hopefully they could compare notes. But it was hard to know what was expected of her, here. The citizens of Last Rock clearly saw her as a person of action, much as she wanted to see herself, but Avei seemed to have different plans. Why else would she be here and not someplace like Sarasio, where a sword of the Goddess would actually be useful?

“And this is as far as my authority extends,” he announced, coming to a halt. Indeed, they had reached the edge of the town; directly ahead, even with the walls of the last buildings, the cobbled street abruptly became stairs of white marble, which marched the entire way up the mountain. Above, the University loomed, offering her only a vague impression of towers and walls from this angle. She could also see two dark figures who had to be those boys from her caravan, climbing the stone stairs.

It was an awe-inspiring sight, especially compared to the gray stone of the town and the rusty gold plains that stretched in every direction. The grass climbing the slope was lushly green, and the marble steps almost blinding under the bright sun. She saw, now, that in addition to the stairs marching directly upward, a broad, flatter path zigzagged back and forth all the way to the University, probably for wheeled conveyances that couldn’t navigate the stairs. It had a much gentler slope, obviously, and would be easier in terms of pulling her trunk…but it’d also take about ten times as long. This was going to be quite the hike, whichever path she chose.

“Thank you, Sheriff, for everything.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Avelea. And please, it’s Sam, so long as you’re on my good side.” He winked. “Welcome to Last Rock. I truly hope you enjoy your stay.” With one more tip of his hat, he turned and strolled back into his town, leaving her to face the rest of her journey alone.

Trissiny drew a deep breath, tightened her grip on her trunk, and started up the steps. The sturdy wheels were big enough to climb each step without too much banging, but the repeated bumps quickly began to jar her arm even worse than sword practice. Well, back home, she started her day with a run up and down the steep hills of Viridill, in full armor, on ancient stone steps far more treacherous than these. Granted, the sun at home was never quite this oppressively hot, but Trissiny wasn’t about to admit defeat this early in her journey.

She glanced back. About…twenty feet up. Gritting her teeth, she focused on her breathing, on the mechanical motions of her legs. One step at a time.

Fifteen minutes later, Trissiny had developed a theory that between the Rail rides and this infernal staircase, Professor Tellwyrn was attempting to weed out the weak and unworthy from even approaching her precious University. She was in excellent physical shape and bore the strain of the climb without complaint, though her arm was already aching something fierce. She considered switching the trunk to her other side, but instinct compelled her to keep her sword arm limber and free. The heat was worse than the exercise, really. Those poor boys…she was pretty sure one had been in a long black coat. There was no sign of them ahead now.

A thin, reedy sound of music had begun to grow as she’d climbed, becoming more and more distinct with each step. The tune was a cheerful one she didn’t recognize; it helped, a bit, in distracting her from the rigors of the climb. Now, as she finally approached the gates of the University itself, she discovered the source.

Though the dark stone walls weren’t battlemented, she was impressed by their height. This was clearly a defensible structure. There was only one gate, positioned in the center of the slope and with the broad marble steps leading directly to it; a small plaza had been carved from the mountain and paved in matching white marble to accommodate the two huge, iron-bound wooden gates, which presently stood open. An arch of decorative wrought metal spanned the gap between them, and upon this perched what she assumed was a student, playing an ocarina.

He had thick, black hair tied back in a long tail, and the mahogany complexion common in the western provinces. All he wore were loose canvas trousers and an open-fronted leather vest decorated with bits of bones and tusks. At Trissiny’s approach, he broke off his playing and grinned down at her.

“Frosh?”

“Excuse me?”

“Freshman,” he clarified.

“Um…” She’d seen that word on the banners below. Apparently it was the opposite of asshole?

“You’re a first-year student?” the young man clarified further, his grin broadening. It was a friendly expression, though; she didn’t feel mocked or belittled.

“Oh! Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Welcome to the University!” He had a deep voice, and sounded like he was laughing even when he merely spoke. “You’ll like it here. Probably. At the very least you won’t be bored. This year’s freshman girls are living in Clarke Tower. Just follow the blue flags along the path, and you’ll head right there. And don’t worry, it hardly ever falls.”

With that and a final grin, he lifted the ocarina back to his lips and resumed playing.

“Oh. Uh, thank you,” she said weakly. He didn’t stop, but blew a high trill, wiggling his fingers at her, and winked. Trissiny ducked her head and strode forward, passing under him and into the University itself.

Three paths branched off from the gates; a wide one that seemed to continue directly on from the stairs, and one meandering away to each side. The path on her left was marked with a small blue pennant. Drawing closer, she noted that the slim pole to which it was tied was not stuck in the ground; it floated, immobile, about a foot off the grass. Opposite that, a red one hovered by the other side. She drew another deep breath and set off down the marked path.

Here, the slope of the mountain had been re-shaped into terraces, and Trissiny’s route, marked with more floating blue flags every few feet, took her along a meandering course down broad thoroughfares, through narrow alleys and across a few patches of open lawn. There was an amazing variety of scenery, and Trissiny quickly came to the conclusion that the path she was directed to take was designed to show off the campus rather than get her anywhere efficiently. Not that it wasn’t pretty, or that she wouldn’t appreciate knowing where things were, but after her hike up the mountain she didn’t enjoy it as much as she otherwise might.

The University made the best possible use of the space available to it. Many of the walled terraces had doors leading into subterranean chambers, and the stepped architecture meant there was shade everywhere. There were plants in every available space; shrubs, flowers, vines climbing stone walls and even several trees, where room existed for them to grow. Three levels up from the gates she passed along the edge of a broad, flat area carpeted with lush grass, with a gazebo near the front, perched on the edge of the terrace.

She passed few other people, all of them clearly students. Some nodded or called out greetings, which she returned politely, and all gave her long considering looks; nobody offered to engage her in conversation, for which Trissiny was actually grateful. She wanted to get settled in before having to deal with any more people, especially if they were all going to be as weird as those she’d already met in the town. Humans predominated the student body, what little she saw of it, but there were a handful of elves as well, and she actually spotted two dwarves, both women. On the flat lawn by the gazebo, a lizardfolk person in a nice suit fenced with a human girl, the clash of blades intermingling with cheerful taunts and laughter in a way that made her homesick for the Abbey and her sisters-in-training.

Eventually her path brought her to the very edge of the mountain, and a nasty surprise.

A wall surrounded the perimeter of the University, where buildings weren’t perched right on the edge, to keep people from accidentally wandering off the cliff. The blue flags led Trissiny directly to a gate in this wall, which opened onto a stone footbridge bordered by tall iron railings; a plaque right by the gate proclaimed this the way to Clarke Tower. She had to stop at the foot of the bridge and stare in horror.

The bridge was gently arched and about thirty feet long, and terminated at the top of a colossal stalactite at least four stories tall. It tapered to a jagged point aiming downward, and had a flat top upon which was built a thick round tower with a conical roof that had a huge clock face inset. And the whole island just…floated in midair, above a nauseating drop to the prairie far below.

Hesitantly, she crept across the bridge. It certainly felt solid. In her rational mind, Trissiny knew this all had to be perfectly fine. This was a University run by the most famous former adventurer still living, a woman who was a formidable wizard in her own right. Magic was ancient and well-understood. Furthermore, they wouldn’t have built a building on this and housed students in it if it weren’t entirely safe.

But all that was merely cognitive. She was stepping on a thin bridge to an island in the sky on which they apparently expected her to sleep. In her heart of hearts, Trissiny knew she was about to plunge to her horrible death.

Only by keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the door to Clarke Tower did she make it across the bridge, and that despite the strong breeze that seemed to perpetually flow across it. The door was actually quite lovely, made of old iron-bound wood with stained glass panels inset. Coming to a stop before it, she had to pause and take a few deep breaths. This was good; nothing in her vision but the door and stonework. She could almost forget she was standing on ground that was floating on nothing.

Trissiny decided she was beginning to hate this place.

She raised her hand to knock, then shook her head. If they expected her to live here, she wasn’t going to mince around. Grasping the handle, she pulled the door open and dragged her trunk inside.

“Oh! Hi there!”

Blinking, she surveyed her new surroundings. It was a comfortably furnished living room lined with overstuffed chairs surrounding a coffee table, with a battered couch along one wall; a grandfather clock ticked away in one corner. There were no windows, Avei be praised.

Upon her entrance, a woman rose quickly from one of the chairs and bustled toward her, beaming. She was a head shorter than Trissiny and at least twice as broad, her plump frame squeezed into a very fancy corseted gown of black and purple silk that displayed a dizzying expanse of cleavage. She wore a heavy layer of makeup that made her lips and eyes seem almost to pop off her rouged face; Trissiny was aware of cosmetics in theory but had seldom seen them used, and couldn’t help staring. Waves of glossy ebon hair were wound around her head in an elaborate bun, decorated with sprays of purple feathers.

“And you must be Trissiny!” the woman gushed. “Oh, it’s so good to meet you at last! Imagine, a paladin staying under my roof. Arach—that is, Professor Tellwyrn’s told me all about you. You’re one of the first to arrive, dear.”

“Uh. Thank you?”

“I’m Janis Van Richter, the house mother. Please, just call me Jan! I’m here to look after the place and you girls, make sure everyone’s comfy and right at home. Any problems you have, just come to me and we’ll get it all sorted, okay? Oooh, this is going to be such a good year! C’mon, I’ve put you in the upper room, so let’s not waste any time getting you settled in.”

Janis seized Trissiny’s free hand in both of her own—they were plump and bedecked with far too many rings—and beamed up at her.

“Welcome to the University, Trissiny. Welcome to Clarke Tower. Welcome home!”

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