Tag Archives: Heywood Paxton

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“I can’t help feeling all this celebrating is premature,” Joe murmured.

“That’s ‘cos it ain’t for us,” said McGraw, gesturing around at the saloon with his pint. The front wall of Whiskey Pete’s was currently boarded up, but materials and tools had already been stacked outside preparatory to actual repairs. Pete himself, while appreciative of Joe’s Imperial contact funding the reconstruction, had expressed a preference for using local labor rather than the Army personnel currently swarming over the town.

“Nonsense!” Billie proclaimed. “We are the heroes of the hour! Well, Joe is, an’ the rest of us vicariously.”

“That’s what I mean,” said Joe. He glanced around, receiving a round of cheers and upraised mugs in response, to which he felt obliged to nod and smile. The festival atmosphere in Whiskey Pete’s was reflected in the rest of Desolation today, though it was more muted than yesterday’s initial celebrations, and somewhat more sober—outside the saloon, anyway. People had dried out and gone back to work, and in some cases, to work for the first time in weeks. “Everybody in town’s acting like everything’s settled. But we know…”

“Everything is settled, far as they’re concerned,” said McGraw. “Don’t pooh-pooh everybody’s parade, Joe. Don’t forget about the danger still out there, either, but let the people have their party. They deserve it.”

“I’m inclined to agree with the kid on this one,” Weaver grunted. “A party’s an excellent opportunity for all manner of destructive bullshit. You know how many conquerors have been assassinated at their victory feasts?”

“I reckon we’ve likely got the rest of today,” McGraw mused. “At least. Plans take time to put into effect, and that’s assuming they’ve already got plans formed.”

“Well, Mr. K may be the planner,” Weaver replied, “but after Hotshot’s little stunt this morning, the Jackal is gonna be the one out for blood. And frankly, he’s the one who worries me the most anyway.”

“I do appreciate you kickin’ his attention my way,” Billie said cheerfully. “Right neighborly of ye, not hoggin’ all the action fer yerself. Ye great wanker.”

“Anytime,” Weaver said, taking a gulp of his own drink.

“As I said,” McGraw repeated, “we’ve likely got today. I wouldn’t advise dawdlin’ past that point, though. It better serves us to go on the offensive—we’re the ones with a secured base of operations and superior forces.”

“What ‘appened ta my idea?” Billie asked. “Let ’em dig up the skull an’ just take it from ’em?”

“As explained,” Weaver said, rolling his eyes, “that’s ceding the initiative and control of the timetable to the enemy…”

“Not to mention,” Joe added, “it’s best for everybody if the skull never gets dug up in the first place. If we can drive them off before that happens, this whole thing may be moot.”

“Did ye miss the part about all the oracles goin’ tits up in th’rhubarb?”

“Uh…” He coughed. “That’s one way to put it, an’ no, I didn’t. But it seems to me the Big K company is the principal risk of the thing gettin’ found.”

“Kid’s got a point,” McGraw noted. “Prophecy’s a tricky beast. Sometimes there ain’t nothin’ you can do to avoid ’em, but sometimes you can. If we do manage to beat and scatter the dragon and his friends, it might be worth pausin’ to check with Darling and see if the oracles are still goin’ nuts over this thing. That may do the trick. If the possibility exists, I’d say it’s worth pursuing. Joe’s right—best for everybody is if that damn thing stays wherever it’s buried.”

“I’m just a little nervous,” Joe said, glancing around again. “Sittin’ around relaxing while people are out there plotting against us.”

“Drink your sasparilla,” Weaver snorted. “The shit will fly in its own good time. Better to be rested and fed before we go charging back out there.”

“It’s a good instinct, Joe,” McGraw added with a smile, “but don’t let your paranoia override your situational awareness. This here town’s full of soldiers right now, and we’ve got Raea and the others patrolling the area outside.”

“Elves have to sleep, too,” Joe pointed out.

“That they do, but elves are more alert in their sleep than you are on your best day. It’s as secure a place as we can reasonably ask for at the moment. Nothin’s gonna happen tonight.”

Weaver abruptly straightened up in his chair, turning his head in a slow arc to pan his gaze around the saloon, ignoring the good-natured greetings thrown his way from the other patrons.

“What?” Joe demanded. “You hear something? Your, uh, friend…?”

Weaver grunted, finally relaxing back into his customary slouch. “Guess not. I half expected something to blow up the second he said it wouldn’t.”

“Y’do realize the world ain’t one o’ yer bard stories, aye?” Billie said.

“And there’s also the matter that things are less likely to blow up since you’ve got both hands on your pint,” he shot back.

“Aye, there’s that,” the gnome agreed cheerfully, tipping her mug back and having another gulp of ale. It was absurdly oversized in her tiny hands.

“Here, now,” Joe said, frowning. “I hate to be a meddler, but—”

“Yes, Joe, I will be perfectly sober come mornin’, an’ probably come bedtime, too. Even fer a gnome, I can handle me liquor, an’ we don’t have constitutions as delicate as you tall folk. Me mum used ta give us stronger stuff than this fer a cough remedy when I was a wee biter.”

A man in sweat-stained flannel and denim came skittering through the open doorway, where the swinging doors had once hung, barely catching his hat in time to prevent it being hurled off by his abrupt stop.

“Fire!” he shouted. “Fire at th’sheriff’s! We need hands out here!”

There was a bare beat of startled silence before everyone rose with a great scraping of chairs and clatter of boots, rushing toward the exit.

“Okay, so my timing was off,” Weaver said, standing and pushing his own chair back more leisurely. “The principle still applies.”

“There are any number of reasons a fire could break out,” McGraw said, rising as well. “Don’t borrow trouble.”

“I think we all know better,” Joe muttered, following. Billie sighed dramatically, giving her half-emptied pint a mournful look, but hopped down from her chair and came after them as they made for the door.

The crowd was a lot easier to follow than it was to get through; despite the fact that much of Desolation was allegedly back at work today, there was no shortage of rubberneckers clogging the streets. In the early afternoon sunlight, the actual glow of the fire could barely be seen, but the column of smoke rising from the sheriff’s office must have been visible for miles around.

Onlookers aside, the townsfolk had organized themselves remarkably quickly. A bucket train was already working, passing water to the office from the nearest town well. As the adventurers arrived, having to push somewhat impolitely past the crowd (or in Billie’s case, slip between their legs), another bucket of water was hurled onto the flames, and quickly handed off to a boy who darted back toward the well with it.

Sheriff Decker knelt to one side next to his deputy, who was laid out on the ground, coughing violently. The sheriff’s expression was terrifyingly blank. In the near distance, a woman was leading the two resident horses away down the street, and having to devote as much attention to calming the animals as guiding them.

“How’s it look?” McGraw asked, bounding up to him with a speed that belied his age. “He gonna be okay? Any other casualties?”

“Here for your situation report, are you?” Decker asked coldly. “Obviously, nobody but the great Longshot McGraw an’ his friends can handle a crisis on the frontier.”

“Saul, when things are settled you an’ I can sit down over drinks and you can be as much of an asshole t’me as you like,” McGraw said with uncharacteristic curtness. “Right now, though, how can we help?”

The Sheriff sighed. “Best to keep out of it, Elias. This only just broke out; they’re keepin’ it from spreading with the water. Those Imperial types are scattered all over, surveying and whatnot, but I’ve got folk fetchin’ some. Healers and mages on the way to contain this an’ help Slim.”

“’m okay,” Slim wheezed unconvincingly before dissolving into another coughing fit.

“He ain’t burned,” Decker said grimly. “Got a good lungful o’ smoke, though. Could be bad if one o’ them healers doesn’t get here pronto.”

“Oy, laddie, can ye stifle it long enough ta swallow?” Billie asked, coming up beside Slim and producing a vial of red fluid. “Cram this down yer gob; healing potion’ll do fer any serious damage to yer lungs, though it won’t do shite fer the coughing reflex.”

“M-much obliged, ma’am,” Slim said weakly, reaching for it with trembling fingers. Decker snatched the potion from her hand and uncorked it, gently holding it to the deputy’s lips.

“There we go, partner—you were right, they’re good for a little somethin’ after all. Just try to get this down without coughin’ it back up…”

“Somethin’ about this ain’t right,” McGraw said, staring at the burning office through narrowed eyes.

“Rarely have the words ‘no shit’ been more apt,” Weaver replied.

“Not that, the nature of it. That’s elemental fire—it’s magical. You don’t feel it?”

The bard frowned. “Not really, but I’m nowhere near as attuned to magic as you. Kid?”

“Nothin’,” Joe said, shaking his head. “But…same goes. If you say it’s magic, McGraw, I believe you.”

“Witchcraft,” McGraw murmured. “Or, more correctly, shamanism…”

“All right, all right, let’s everybody keep yer pants on, I got this.” Billie swaggered forward, producing a fist-sized (human fist, anyway) object from another pouch. It bore an alarming resemblance to the sonic explosive with which she had blasted out the front wall of the saloon. “You lot in the front, there, may wanna clear back a bit! This won’t hurt ye any, but may not be good fer yer togs.”

“Oh, gods, she’s doing it again,” Weaver groaned. “You can’t bomb a fire out, you demented pocket monster!”

“Ain’t a thing under the sun I can’t bomb out, gobshite,” Billie replied with a manic grin, drawing back her arm to throw. “Fire in th’hole—but not fer long!”

The bucket train dissolved, the nearest townsfolk sensibly scattering as she hurled the canister straight into the flames pouring out of the office’s front door. McGraw gestured with a staff, conjuring up a translucent wall of blue light between the group and the fire.

Sure enough, there immediately came a sharp bang from within, followed by a loud and peculiar hissing noise.

Suddenly, instead of flames and smoke, the windows of the office were spewing a thick white foam. It blasted out of the open door in a wet spray, puddling in a thicker form on the ground that oozed out over the doorstep. The townsfolk continued shuffling backward, but McGraw let the shield collapse. Not only was the foam causing no further damage, but the fire itself appeared to be vanishing under it.

“Well, damn,” Weaver said, lifting his hat to scratch his head. “There’ll be no living with her now.”

“There was no livin’ with me before, peckerwood!” Billie crowed. “Behold the power o’ modern alchemy! Maybe next time ye’ll think twice before oh come on!”

A tongue of flame erupted out the door, propelling a gout of foam in front of it. Smoke again began to trickle out the windows; the fire was clearly heavily dampened, but just as clearly not out.

“Bullshit!” Billie roared, dancing up and down in agitation. “That’s cheatin’, that is! That there is foolproof fire-retardant foam, there’s no way that bastard’s still burning!”

“As I was sayin’,” McGraw drawled, “that ain’t natural fire. It’s pure elemental flame, put there by witchcraft. Which means it won’t quit till the spell’s canceled.”

“Can you do that?” Decker demanded.

The old wizard shook his head. “Not reliably. Best I can do with arcane magic is try to cut off the air flow, but that won’t stop elemental flame. I’m afraid your office is a loss, Saul,” he added ruefully. “That stuff’ll burn right through stone and brick. You’ll need a new floor, walls…everything.”

“Figures,” the sheriff muttered. Slim coughed again, but already seemed to be doing much better for having forced down a mouthful of potion.

“The Imps’ll have clerics,” said Joe. “If the fire’s fae in origin, just tell ’em to bless the space—”

“I know my Circles, thank you,” Decker said bitingly.

“That elf,” Weaver said, scowling. “The shaman, Vannae, Khadizroth’s friend. He wasn’t at the meeting.”

“Welp, that’s one thing that fits neatly together,” Billie said, also frowning. She seemed personally offended by her device’s failure to extinguish the fire. “But what the ‘ell was the point a’ this? It’s property damage an’ a ruddy inconvenience, but even if they’d nailed the sheriff, that wouldn’t stop the Empire. Hell, it’d probably just draw the Imps’ anger. Still will, most likely.”

“A distraction,” said McGraw, stroking his beard with the hand not holding his staff. “From what, is the question. K and company would seem to be most interested in us, but we weren’t targeted.”

“Speakin’ of that,” Joe said, looking around at the muttering onlookers, “this has been going for a few minutes, and no sign of troops. This is the Corps of Enchanters and the Surveyors out here, mostly. Aren’t they pretty on the ball in a crisis?”

The four of them stared at each other for a moment, then turned as one and sprinted back toward Terminus Station.

The crowd was less concentrated now and only slowed them momentarily; in fact, once away from the burning office, their speed was improved by the general lack of people everywhere else on the streets.

There was activity around the station, however, and all of it military. The four of them slowed upon drawing in range of the soldiers standing watch over the Rail platform, chiefly because said soldiers leveled staves at them. All four raised their hands peaceably, McGraw tucking his staff into the crook of his elbow to do so.

“That’s close enough, citizens,” the nearest soldier said. “Move along.”

“What, is the Rail platform closed?” Weaver demanded. “Who’s allegedly in charge of this—”

“Whoah, whoah,” McGraw said soothingly. “Let’s be polite to the nice boys an’ girls who’re just doin’ their jobs, which involves pointing weapons at us…”

“What happened?” Joe demanded. “Is everyone okay?”

“Move along,” the soldier repeated sharply. “The situation is being handled and is none of your concern.”

“Was there an attack?” Joe persisted. “We might know who’s responsible. He also set fire to the sheriff’s office in town; they could use some help down there. It’s an elemental fire that’s only partially contained. They need divine casters to stop it completely.”

The soldier, who wore a lieutenant’s bars on his collar, glanced aside at one of his fellows and nodded. “Go check it out.”

“Yessir.” The other man raised his staff to rest it over his shoulder and darted off toward the crowd down the street.

“Now, what do you know about this?” the lieutenant demanded, keeping his scowl—and his weapon—trained on Joe.

“If we’re right,” said the Kid, “it’s an elvish shaman—”

“Is that Joe?” called a familiar voice from behind the soldiers. “Joe? Ah, and the rest of you, too! Splendid, very good. At ease, men, let them through; these are friends and valuable allies.”

The troops relaxed and lowered their weapons on command, though none of their expressions grew any less tense. The group parted, though, revealing Heywood Paxton behind them. He was red-faced and the right side of his coat was liberally flecked with ash, but he beckoned Joe and his companions forward with a look of relief.

“Glad to see you, my boy—and the rest of you, of course. I had a feeling you’d be along soonish. Just too bad you weren’t here five minutes ago!”

“Heywood, what happened?” Joe asked, peering around as he stepped up onto the platform. There were no active fires, but the evidence of them was abundant. Aside from the ash marking Paxton’s sleeve, there were large scorch marks on the floor, the wall of the stationmaster’s hut, even the ceiling. Two of the folding tables that had been set up to serve as a makeshift field office were reduced to smoldering wreckage.

There were about a dozen soldiers on site, all looking tense and unhappy at the very least. Two were sitting in folding chairs against the office wall, being tended by a third wearing the white badge of an Army cleric. The injured, a man and a woman, both had scorched uniforms, and the man’s hair was singed partially away, but evidently the cleric had had time to work; neither evinced signs of active burns. That would have been any healer’s first priority, as burns could leave lifelong scars if not healed immediately. Both wore the glassy-eyed expression of people in a state of shock, though their healer, while attentive, did not seem alarmed about their condition. The matter was apparently in hand.

“It was the damnedest thing,” Paxton said with a shaky little laugh. “I was just tending to some of my very tedious paperwork, when an elf in a suit came streaking out of nowhere at me, brandishing a knife. He threw bottles of some kind of alchemy in all directions—you see the results around you. I daresay that would have been an ample distraction for most guardians; every one of these men and women is getting a personal commendation from me for how rapidly they pulled together, even with half the station on fire, that Jackal doing his best to kill me and my silly old self wallowing around in the wreckage of my desk.”

“Ye sure got the fire out quick-like,” Billie observed.

“Credit for that goes to Lieutenant Taash,” Paxton said, nodding gratefully at a soldier whose insignia was set over the blue badge of a battlemage; she gave him a tight smile before resuming her wary study of the perimeter. “That, and saving my rubbery hide. I do believe it was the most adroit use of magic I’ve ever had the privilege of watching! She was directing gouts of wind and water in all directions, putting out flames, and still managed to keep spurts aimed at the assailant to push him away. Needless to say, that’s the only reason I’m here to regret that second helping of dessert! A much more limber man that I wouldn’t have a prayer of outmaneuvering an elf unassisted.”

“That…probably wasn’t the Jackal,” McGraw said slowly.

“Well, I’ve never met the fellow,” Paxton admitted, carefully lowering himself into one of the surviving folding chairs. “I mean, he was a wood elf in a pinstriped suit. The description doesn’t match anyone else I’ve ever heard of. Though I suppose that’s not conclusive… Anyhow, once Taash had his distraction under control and he was facing a dozen good Tiraan soldiers with staves, he took off.”

“Mm.” Joe narrowed his eyes, glancing at the lieutenant who had accosted them at the edge of the station. “You fired on him?”

“We sure tried,” the man said in an aggrieved tone.

“Was it like…he wasn’t where he seemed to be? Like you shot right at the man, but the bolts went through empty space anyhow?”

“You’re familiar with this effect?” Taash said sharply, stepping over to join them.

“More and more it sounds like Vannae,” said Joe. “A shaman we’ve faced before. I managed to take a few shots at him myself and had the same problem.”

“Those look like enchanter wands,” said the lieutenant, nodding at the weapons holstered at Joe’s belt.

“That’s Joseph Jenkins, Khavouri,” Taash said with a faint smile.

“Yes, I know,” Lieutenant Khavouri said, giving her an annoyed glance. “One weakness of those otherwise superior weapons is they shoot in reliably straight lines. These are standard-issue Imperial Army battlestaves—they shoot lightning.”

“So I see,” Weaver remarked, examining some of the burns.

“Lightning arcs,” Khavouri continued doggedly. “You don’t dodge a lightning bolt, even if you’re an elf. Electricity will go right for the path of least resistance to the ground, which compared to the stone and wood construction here, would’ve been the man’s body.”

“Unless he’s got a good shielding charm, of course,” McGraw said. “As we’re not lookin’ at a friendly-fire incident here, I’m assumin’ all of you do.”

“Standard policy,” said Taash.

“I’ve seen the effects of grounding and shielding charms,” said Khavouri. “They’re distinctive; bolts are redirected or blocked. This was like Jenkins described: the shots just didn’t hit, and they should have.”

“That can be done by a shaman, too, against lightning,” said Weaver. “It’s the only reason the Cobalt Dawn did as well as they did when they invaded. Otherwise one good volley would’ve wiped them out.”

“Anybody can put on a suit,” said Joe, turning back to Paxton. “More and more this sounds like Vannae; the Jackal would’ve finished you off, Heywood. With all respect to you ladies and gentlemen, of course,” he added, tipping his hat to the nearby soldiers. “That…man…is utterly ruthless, and he’s killed people behind some of the best defenses in existence. Trust me, I’ve had cause to research his career in detail. The Jackal doesn’t get chased off.”

“Does Vannae, though?” McGraw mused. “I seem to recall the fellow givin’ us a fair amount o’ trouble previously.”

“A distraction, innit?” suggested Billie. “He dolls himself up like the Jackal, makes the Surveyor ‘ere think ‘e’s a target, an…” She trailed off and blinked. “An’ then what?”

“So he sets a big destructive distraction in order to commit…a big, destructive distraction?” Weaver wrinkled his nose. “That’s either one very bored knife-ear, or we’re missing something important.”

“Tell you what,” said McGraw, “you folks carry on this discussion, lemme know what you figure out. I better go catch Raea up on this.” He vanished with a soft crackle and a flash of blue light.

“Who’s Raea?” Paxton asked, blinking.

“His shaman friend,” said Weaver. “She and some other elves are helping scout the Big K base. They’re…I dunno, somewhere. Around the town, keeping watch.”

“You put plains elves around this town?” Khavouri said incredulously.

“We didn’t put them anywhere,” Weaver sneered. “They went where they chose, and we didn’t try to tell them they couldn’t. If you wanna have a go, knock yourself out.”

“Peace, please,” said Joe. “The immediate question is, what are we gonna do about this?”

“Who do you think ‘we’ is?” Khavouri demanded.

“We are,” Billie said helpfully.

He ignored her. “This is an Imperial matter. A rogue agent assaulted Imperial interests; the Empire will deal with it. You lot, whoever you are—”

Another soldier softly cleared her throat. In fact, it was the young woman who had been alone on duty in Terminus Station the first couple of times Joe and company had visited. She gave Khavouri a meaningful look; he broke off, snapping his jaw shut, and grimaced as if tasting something sour.

“…and, as per Imperial policy,” Khavouri continued in a calmer but not happier tone, “I am classifying your group as adventurers and invoking the necessary protocols. That means you get sent head-first into…whatever is going on. You can either succeed in thwarting it or serve as a distraction while the actual soldiers take coordinated action.”

“Pleasure doing business,” Weaver said sarcastically.

“It occurs t’me we’re havin’ a conversation with two lieutenants,” Billie noted. “Who’s actually s’pposed t’be in charge around ‘ere?”

“Ah, Captain Causewick is off supervising one of the surveying teams,” Paxton said almost apologetically. “Naturally, I have no actual rank as such, at least not with regard to the Army, but…it seems I’m the most senior Imperial officer present. And, for the record, I concur with Lieutenant Khavouri’s assessment. Though I’d perhaps have put it a trifle more diplomatically,” he added reproachfully to the lieutenant in question.

“I’m still stuck on what the point of all this might be,” said Billie. “It seems roundabout and…well, just plain weird. They risk a lot, cheesin’ off the Empire like this. None of ’em struck me as that dumb, ‘specially not Big K ‘imself. What’re we missin’?”

“Depends on what K an’ his crew do an’ don’t know,” Joe said grimly. “If they’re aware that Mr. Paxton is a friend of mine, threatening him is a tidy way to keep me pinned down here, an’ possibly the rest of you with me.”

“Here, now,” Paxton said, frowning and leaning forward in his chair, which creaked in protest. “I absolutely refuse to be the cause of you being hampered. The blaggard caught us off-guard before; now I’m surrounded by the Empire’s finest, all on high alert. You go and do what you need to out there.”

“Oh, I’m with you on that,” Joe said darkly. “In fact, I think Khadizroth and company have just launched themselves to a higher level of priority. If Raea and the others are on board,” he said, turning to include Billie and Weaver, “I do believe it’s time we group up and start moving. They won’t have had time to dig in their defenses yet. Let’s not give it to them.”

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9 – 20

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“What the hell?” Weaver demanded.

Sound carried a long way over the Badlands; they had known something peculiar was afoot in Desolation long before reaching it. Once the weathered stone buildings of the town hove into view, the distant cacophony was compounded by the sight of people moving about in the streets, in greater numbers and with much greater energy than they had seen them do before. Though hints had begun to form as soon as they drew near enough to pick some meaning out of the noise, it wasn’t until nearly reaching the outskirts of the town itself that the three could be certain what was going on in Desolation.

It appeared to be a party.

Approaching the town from the same direction in which they had left, the group entered through the old streets leading past mostly abandoned buildings rather than the main avenue. As such, the citizens were a peripheral presence until they were well into the town itself, heard but glimpsed only in passing. From what little they could hear, everyone seemed to be in a good mood.

Now, finally emerging into the central avenue, the group had to stop and stare. The street was all but filled, and all the festival atmosphere lacked were decorations. Whatever was happening had apparently not been planned, but resulted in most of the town’s population milling about, laughing, talking, shouting and drinking. Two groups of musicians could be heard, both playing exuberantly in the same frontier style, but between their unpolished performances and the multiple tunes running it was impossible to tell what banjo was supposed to be harmonizing what fiddle. As McGraw, Billie and Weaver arrived, gaping, a great cheer went up near Terminus Station, where most of the crowd seemed to be centered, followed by a loud toast to the Emperor’s health and more cheering.

Mere moments later, they were spotted. A general hue and cry went up, people rushing forward toward the three. Unlike their previous encounter with Desolation’s agitated populace, though, everyone was smiling. In moments they were being cheerfully slapped on the back and possibly congratulated or thanked. Between the general noise and the fact that a good half the crowd had clearly been well into their whiskey, it was hard to tell.

Several townsfolk stumbled back as a great puff of wind burst out from beneath Billie, where she had dropped a small object. The gnome lifted upward on a levitation charm, grabbing McGraw’s sleeve and clambering up to seat herself precariously on his shoulder.

“Well, damn!” she shouted, grinning madly. “I should blow up towns more often!”

“Why is it,” Weaver demanded, “that once everyone’s smiling you’re willing to take—”

“All right, all right, everybody give ’em some air! Land’s sakes, you’re gonna drown ’em. C’mon, clear a path.”

Somewhat reluctantly, the still-shouting citizens shifted, creating an opening through which Joe approached, smiling and gently shooing people away.

“Kid, what the hell did you do?” Weaver demanded.

“Exactly what I said I was gonna do,” Joe replied, tucking his thumbs into his belt and grinning. “How was your trip? Any luck?”

“Good bit of luck, in fact,” said McGraw, having to raise his voice over the din. “Maybe we oughtta discuss it in a quieter environment. Care to bring us up to speed, here?”

“Better yet, I’ll show you.” Joe turned to head back toward the Rail station, grinning and beckoning. “C’mon, I think you’ll like this!”

They continued to be shouted at, backslapped and offered drinks all the way to the station. It wasn’t far, fortunately, and while some of the most earnest carousing seemed to be taking place in its immediate vicinity, the station itself was an island of order, watched over by Imperial soldiers. Easily a dozen of them, enforcing a perimeter between the station’s occupants and the crowd outside.

A caravan was resting on the tracks, its hatches open; more troops were unloading crates, while others carefully unpacked them and laid out an orderly selection of arcane equipment. Sheriff Decker stood off to the side with two portly older men; he gave the approaching group a long, unreadable look upon their arrival.

“The rest of the Imperial Surveyors are already spread out through the town,” Joe noted as he escorted the others toward Decker’s group. “The uniformed folks currently unpacking are with the Army Corps of Enchanters. Looks like there’ll be plenty of work for everyone pretty soon.”

“What work?” Billie demanded, still from her perch on McGraw’s shoulder. She was a little too wide in the bottom to make it a comfortable position, but held her balance well enough. The old wizard made no complaint, but moved rather more slowly and carefully than was his usual custom.

“You remember Sheriff Decker, of course,” Joe went on as they joined the three men. “Allow me to introduce Mayor Tweed, who’s in charge in this town, and my old friend Heywood Paxton, Imperial Surveyor.”

“Mornin’, Elias,” the slightly younger of the two overweight men said cheerfully. “Bout time you brought me somethin’ other than trouble! And these’ll be Gravestone and the Tinker. Lemme see if I can figure out which is which!”

“This is a real honor, all of you,” added Paxton, grinning. “A real honor! Upon my word, the older I get, the more fascinating people I get to meet! Perhaps I should blame Joe, eh? Seems every time I encounter a paladin or dryad or famous wandfighter, he’s lurking around somewhere!”

“Well, I’ll take the blame for this one,” Joe said easily, “since I did bring you out here, an’ all. Last time, though, you came to my town.”

“Indeed, indeed! And I do hope you won’t take this the wrong way, Joe, but so far I’m enjoying this one a lot more.”

“At the expense of repeating myself,” Weaver said flatly, “what the hell is happening here?!”

Paxton turned to look at Joe in surprise. “You didn’t tell them?”

“I told ’em what I was planning,” the Kid said with a shrug. “Maybe they didn’t believe me.”

“Uh, point of order,” said Billie, finally hopping down. Despite the drop being easily twice her height, she didn’t so much as grunt upon landing. “You told us you were gonna go try to get the Empire to come out and help here. Since you were talkin’ about moving a massive bureaucracy off its bum in the space o’ one day, we all ‘ad a laugh an’ ignored you. Because that’s stupid, Joe. Grumpypants has a valid question.”

“Well, Mr. Jenkins gets a good share of credit, here,” said Paxton, chuckling, “but not all of it. We didn’t just spin all of this out of thin air; the plans have been percolating for a good few years now. Joe got myself and Bishop Darling on board, though, and we were able to light a fire under the relevant Imperial departments, and…here we are!”

“Where?” Weaver exclaimed. “Where are we?”

“It’s the most miraculous thing!” Mayor Tweed enthused. Beside him, Decker folded his brawny arms, looking far more skeptical. “No less than three major Imperial projects being constructed in and around Desolation! Look here, we’ve got it all laid out.” He turned and gesticulated at the wall of the ticket office, which was plastered with maps, blueprints and documents. They made little sense at first glance, having been slapped into place rather haphazardly, but Tweed carried on explaining. “First, the Rail line’s being extended—they’re finally putting in lines to Puna Dara and Rodvenheim! About time, I’d say. And that will make Desolation a hub, not just the end o’ the line. An international hub, even! Plus!” He leaned over to slap a hasty diagram of what seemed to be some kind of tower. “Zeppelin docks!”

“Zeppelin docks?” McGraw frowned. “Here? Why?”

“A step forward in another long-envisioned project,” Paxton explained. “You see, my friends, the common theme of these projects is diversification. In terms of transport, the Empire is heavily depended on its Rail network to get anything around. The Rail freeze this spring was an object lesson in how risky that can be. Zeppelin transport is many times slower, of course—but it’s a lot safer.”

“Really says something about the Imperial Rail service that a conveyance which can fall thousands of feet is safer,” Weaver commented.

“And that ties right into the other big deal going here,” Paxton continued. “The biggest deal, in fact! You see, a major transport freeze has the potential to cause more than just economic harm. A disproportionate amount of food comes from the Tira Valley and Great Plains—that’s the lion’s share of the really good farmland on this continent. In the old days, of course, kingdoms grew only as much as they could manage to feed themselves, but now, there are entire provinces that have to import food just to break even. The Stalrange, the Wyrnrange, the Tidestrider Isles… Tiraas itself doesn’t grow so much as an apple. There are places that just couldn’t survive if not for Imperial produce. A famine could be caused not only by a transportation crisis, but any localized disaster affecting our crop-producing regions.”

“What, aren’t there storehouses?” Weaver demanded.

“You’re gonna farm in the Badlands?” Billie said skeptically.

“In the mines!” Mayor Tweed said, beaming.

They all stared at him.

“I’ve a few thoughts on that,” Weaver said finally, “but I’ve been asked not to express such things to people who hold Imperial office.”

“It’s about Tar’naris,” Paxton said. “We learned a lot from the terraforming project there. Underground farming isn’t innately easy, but with the right enchantments, equipment and upkeep, subterranean farms turn out to be a lot less vulnerable to certain problems than conventional ones. Weather, for example, is a non-issue. The Surveyor Corps has been kicking around the idea of doing something similar on a smaller scale for the Empire’s benefit for years. Desolation has numerous underground spaces that are already cut in usable shapes, even better than natural caves. Better yet, it’s got a huge underground aquifer—there’s a natural lake far below the bedrock. This will be our test case!”

“Construction!” Tweed enthused. “Lots and lots of construction! Commerce routed through the town from all over the Empire! And ultimately, we’ll become a food-exporting province! My friends, by bringing us to the Empire’s attention, I can say without exaggeration or embellishment that you have saved this dying town from the brink!”

“Huh,” Weaver mused, studying the wall of charts and plans.

“Step one is scouting the land, of course,” said Paxton. “My own colleagues are at work in the area, and the Aces are gearing up to follow suit, as you can see around you.”

“Aces?” Billie inquired.

“Army Corps of Enchanters,” Joe explained. “It’s an acronym. Anyway, gentlemen, my apologies for interrupting your planning. If I could borrow my friends for just a moment? We need to have a word in private.”

“Of course, of course!” said Mayor Tweed. “And you’ll have to be our guests afterward. Heroes like you deserve to be celebrated!”

“Feels odd to be arguing against that,” Weaver muttered as Joe led them a distance away, toward an end of the Rail platform not being used by the Army to offload their surveying equipment. “In honesty, though, all we’ve done here was blow up the saloon.”

“Excuse you, I blew up the saloon,” Billie said haughtily. “I’ll take yer share of celebratin’, if y’don’t want it.”

“Elias, can you arrange us a little privacy?” Joe asked.

McGraw glanced thoughtfully at the nearby soldiers. “Well…”

“Oh, don’t mind us,” said a passing woman wearing a lieutenant’s bars. “There’s no law against sound-dampening effects near Imperial personnel.”

“All righty, then,” the old man said with a grin, and tapped the butt of his staff twice against the ground.

The sphere that sprung up around them was only barely visible, rippling like heat waves off the desert; its primary effect was to cut off sound from outside the bubble.

“Thanks,” said Joe, his expression growing more serious. “I need to pass on word from Darling: this stroke of good fortune comes with a warning. These plans were all things that’ve been brewing for some years already, but havin’ ’em all put into effect now is the result of more intervention than he could muster. It was Lord Quentin Vex who added his weight to the initiative that got all this in motion.”

“Vex?” Weaver frowned. “The head of Imperial Intelligence.”

“We’ve been seein’ signs of his handiwork out here, too,” McGraw commented, extracting a cigarillo from his case. “Much smaller ones, though. This is a whole different animal. What do the Imps want out here?”

“Almost certainly the same thing we do,” said Weaver.

“The reality is,” Joe continued gravely, “some of these projects are…less feasible than others. It’s lucky the underground farming is gonna be the biggest, because that’s the one they’re most serious about. The bit with extending the Rail…”

“Way ahead o’ ye,” said Billie. “Rodvenheim an’ Puna Dara are sovereign states; y’can’t just build infrastructure to their gates. That’s gonna require diplomacy, and I know bugger all about international relations but it seems t’me if either o’ them wanted a Rail line they’d’ve had one long since.”

“The zeppelin thing may be premature, too,” Joe added. “Right now, zeps are strictly military transport. Expanding them to carry civilian passengers and freight is a good idea, I think, but the fact is we’re talkin’ about building an installation for an infrastructure network that doesn’t exist.”

“Well, the key to making something exist is to actually build it,” Weaver pointed out. “I don’t see how any of this affects us, anyway. We’ll be long gone before any of these grandiose plans can fall through.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not responsible,” Joe retorted.

“No, the fact that we’re not responsible means we’re not responsible! Even you, kid, don’t have the power to make the Empire do this—the Empire does what it wants. And we aren’t even involved!”

“I helped!” Billie chimed. “I cleverly created a sense of urgency by blowin’ up th—”

“Will you button it, you sadistic crotch goblin!”

“Now, I might be mistaken,” McGraw commented, puffing on his cigarillo. “It wouldn’t be the first time. But the Tirasian Dynasty has always ruled by carefully managing people’s opinions—both powerful interests and the general public. Sharidan’s pretty damn good at that game. Lord Vex is a crafty old crow himself, an’ not about to undermine the Emperor. However it may look from our limited perspective, Joe, I can’t imagine the Empire would invite the kind of unrest they would be by making grand promises out here and then yankin’ the rug out from under the whole province. In the age o’ scrolltowers and newspapers, that kind of hanky-panky could have continent-wide repercussions.”

“I guess,” Joe said, frowning.

“I’m not much inclined to trust governments myself,” McGraw said with a grin. “But this one knows its best interests and is reasonably competent. Surprising as it is to see them actually workin’ out here…well, I think the odds are good they intend to see the work done.”

“On a more pertinent note,” said Weaver, “how does all this help us? It’s great for the town and all, but…”

“It’s about positioning,” said Joe. “Previously, it was us and Khadizroth’s group, head-to-head in the Badlands. He had a defensible position, forcing us to go on the attack, and we were both out of favor with the locals, making the population a big fat variable. Now, Desolation is not only crawling with Imperial interests, but the local folks think we’re the bee’s knees. We have a secure fallback position, one we can deny to his group. Thanks to all this, the advantage is ours.”

“It is very early in the game to be counting chickens,” McGraw cautioned. “Still, you’ve got a good point there, Joe. Our position looks a lot better than it did yesterday. Now, concerning the other allies I’ve found for us—”

“Uh, lads?” said Billie, pointing. “I can’t exactly read lips through this shimmery bit, but that crowd looks suddenly less celebratory than it did.”

They all turned to follow her finger. Indeed, the motions of the large knot of people that had formed on the outer edges of the Rail station were far more aggressive than previously. Tellingly, Tweed, Paxton, and Decker all looked alarmed by this, and the soldiers had stopped what they were doing and taken up weapons.

“Oh, this could get bad in a hurry,” Joe said worriedly, striding forward through the wall of the bubble. The others swiftly followed suit.

Outside the dampening bubble, the crowd was indeed angry. There was no more music; there were threats and insults. Joe had to raise his own voice considerably to get a path opened up toward the center of the cluster. “Hey, hey, hey! C’mon, now, I thought this was a party! Let’s all settle down, here. What’s all the fuss about?”

He fell silent as the crowd finally parted, their seething voices subsiding somewhat as he deflected their attention to himself. In the middle of what had been a knot of citizens clearly on the verge of serious aggression stood two dwarves, a man and a woman. They wore simple working clothes and seemed wary, but not particularly alarmed at the prospect of the mob trying to form around them.

“They don’t belong here!” shouted a woman from the back of the throng. A chorus of agreement rose around her.

“Job-stealin’ tunnel rats!”

“Go back under yer own mountain!”

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!” Joe exclaimed, holding up both hands. “People, please! C’mon. Look, I understand what’s been happenin’ here,, but you can’t just go blamin’ every dwarf you see for what the Big K company does.”

“They’re with Big K!” a man in the front shouted accusingly. “Ask ’em!”

“That’s true, in fact,” said the male dwarf. “Excuse me, Mr. Jenkins, isn’t it? My companion and I…”

Anything else he said was lost in a rising tide of imprecations from the surrounding crowd.

They fell quiet again when Joe drew his wand and fired it thrice into the sky. Rather than its usual quiet beams, he let loose several satisfyingly loud bolts of lightning.

“Okay,” Joe said into the relative quiet which ensued. “I take your meaning, folks. But let me pose you a hypothetical, all right? We all know the Five Kingdoms have been hit as hard as this region by the Narisian Treaty. Now, suppose some dwarven outfit came out here hirin’. Suppose they were lookin’ for experienced miners to take on work up in the mountains themselves. Payin’ well, so you could afford to send money back an’ take care of your families. Wouldn’t you folks jump on that?”

People muttered uncertainly; the dwarves simply watched Joe with speculative expressions. On the Rail platform, the soldiers stood ready, not going back to their work, but not moving to intervene yet.

“I think you’d have to be crazy not to,” Joe continued, grinning disarmingly. “But there you’d be, in dwarven country, takin’ jobs from the folk who live there an’ probably not makin’ any of them happy. But…well, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta, right? We all need to eat, an’ provide for our people. C’mon, we’ve had a big stroke of good luck in Desolation, today. Let’s not take out our frustrations on honest folk just tryin’ to make a living.”

“That Mr. K’s an asshole,” someone grumbled very loudly. “Pushin’ us around…” This brought another chorus of surly assent, but the general mood of the crowd had become much calmer.

“Well, now, let’s see a show of hands,” said Joe with a broad smile. “How many of you have never worked for an idiot or a jerk? Not once?”

Chuckles ran around the crowd now; only a few hands appeared in the air.

“Luke, you put your hand up this second!”

“Hey now, Pa, you run a good outfit, but remember that time you was sick an’ Uncle George had ta run the store fer a week?”

That brought outright laughter. People began to drift away, some looking abashed. In the next moments, a fiddle struck up a tune, joined quickly by a banjo and tambourine.

“Well, well, well,” Billie drawled quietly, jabbing her elbow into Joe’s thigh. “Talented, cute, earnest, and he knows how to work a crowd. You’re dangerous, boy.”

He coughed awkwardly, beckoning to the two dwarves, who stepped up onto the platform, McGraw and Weaver moving back to make room. The nearby soldiers stared very pointedly at the few remaining townsfolk who continued to watch the visitors with hostile expressions, but nothing further came of it.

“That was rather impressive,” said the woman, smiling up at Joe. “In fact, you remind me of Mr. K, somewhat.”

“I…have no idea how to take that,” he said frankly.

McGraw cleared his throat pointedly. “There somethin’ we can help you folks with?”

“Yes, in fact,” said the male dwarf, removing his hat and bowing politely to them. “I suppose there’s little need to ask who you are; the descriptions are quite distinctive. Mr. K would like to talk with you all, in a quiet and civil manner, at your earliest convenience.”

 

“I’m sorry I never manage to take you anywhere nice,” Teal said.

Shaeine turned her head, raising her chin so that Teal could see her smile even from the depths of her hood. “Everywhere is nice, so long as you are with me.”

The bard couldn’t repress a grin at that. “Hee… You are smooth, you know that?”

“Yes, I do.” Shaeine momentarily pressed the back of her hand against Teal’s. Much as she wanted to take Shaeine’s hand—or, to be honest, to take her in her arms—Teal respected her reserve as always. Spending time over the summer with Shaeine’s family had been very instructive. In any case, even if she had been tempted to doubt the drow’s affection, such nascent doubts were always swiftly washed away as soon as they found themselves in private.

“It bothers me, though,” she said more soberly as they continued to stroll. It was a quiet street, out of the way, but not deserted by any means. One wall of the entire block was formed by the exterior of the warehouse complex, beneath which was Malivette’s basement with its secret tunnel to Dufresne Manor. The rest was all shops, though—quiet, genteel shops, frequented by people who, one and all, had a suspicious stare for a figure in cowled robes walking alongside a short-haired girl in a man’s suit. “Having to hide you. You should be treated with more respect.”

“It would be one thing if I had to hide,” Shaeine pointed out. “There are no such laws, and frankly I doubt showing my face would lead to violence, or danger. We are simply acting to ward off misunderstandings. The initiative, the choice, are still ours.”

“Mm,” Teal mused. “You know what I mean, though.”

“Yes.” Again, that deft little hand pressed against her own. “I am proud to be seen with you, too. I get the better end of this deal; at least everyone can see how lucky I am.”

Teal couldn’t help grinning again. “Almost too smooth. How do you expect me to learn Narisian reserve if you won’t stop making me smile?”

“I am selfish. I’ll risk any hardship to enjoy your smile.”

After that comment, she couldn’t make herself withhold it.

They reached the end of the warehouse and turned around, heading back. Waiting for Trissiny to get back from the Imperial Army barracks, hopefully with the other two paladins in tow, was tedious business in the basement; Teal and Shaeine had volunteered to take the watch more for the chance at some fresh air than because they feared any kind of attack. Indeed, the street was peacefully quiet. It was a pleasant place, in truth, enough so that they could almost ignore the way people glared at them.

“Morning, dears,” said a flower seller as they neared; she had been turned around, rummaging in the back of her stall, on their previous passing. Now, the woman smiled, leaning forward and holding out a small bunch of violets. “I’ve just the thing to brighten your day!”

“Well, why not?” Teal said, coming to a stop and accepting the violets. “Oh, look how fresh these are! How much?”

“Nonsense, my lady,” the woman said warmly. “On the house, for you.”

“Oh!” Teal blinked in surprise. “Well, that’s very… I mean, I don’t want to put you out.”

“It is no hardship,” said the flower seller. “Merely a pittance. I think the three of you are more than due a spot of kindness.”

Muted sounds of activity continued up and down the street, but an island of total stillness fell around the flower stall.

“Excuse me,” Shaeine said evenly, “the three of us?”

“Some more hidden than others,” the woman said, still wearing that placid smile. She stepped to the side, moving with a pronounced limp, and began hanging bunches of wildflowers from the posts holding up her awning. “I know what it’s like, having to conceal who you are. Not, of course, in the way Lady Vadrieny must, but I’ve worn a cloak or two in my time. Rather stifling, aren’t they, Lady Shaeine? My apologies, I don’t actually know the right formal address in your culture.”

“I think you had better explain yourself,” Teal said quietly.

“Of course! My name’s Vanessa. Oof, sorry… You don’t mind if I sit down, I trust?” She pulled a wooden stool from the corner of her stall over to the front and perched on it with a soft sigh of relief. “Ahh… Getting better all the time. I’m afraid my leg just hasn’t been the same since I was in the Cathedral.”

“Your…” Teal narrowed her eyes. “The Cathedral?”

“The Grand Cathedral,” Vanessa said matter-of-factly, “in Tiraas. A broken femur is not a small thing, I’m afraid.”

“That is a fortuitous place to have it happen,” said Shaeine. “At least there were healers present, yes?”

“Oh, yes indeed,” Vanessa said, twisting her lips in an expression that was very nearly a sneer. “They healed it right up. Then broke it again. Then healed it, then broke it… Had this happened over a long stretch of time, I’m sure I’d have been able to count how many times. It was all back to back to back, though, on and on. Enough of that in one prolonged sitting, and strange things start to happen to your mind. You lose all sense of time, of place, of who you are… Eventually, there’s nothing but the pain. That’s the whole point, of course. As a side effect, the healings get less and less effective. The more repetitions, the more likely you’ll have lingering effects.”

“Y-you…” Teal stuttered. “Why would… Who are you?”

“I’m Vanessa,” she said with a patient smile. She produced a bundle of dark purple wildflowers from a drawer and laid them out on her stall’s counter. “You know very well who I represent, my lady. And I know what you’re here for. Tellwyrn’s little assignments aren’t generally of interest to us, but it’s a worthy thing you are doing. This poor city is in bad shape, and the authorities aren’t having any luck straightening it out.”

“What do you want?” Shaeine demanded.

“To help.” As she spoke, Vanessa deftly braided flowers together with a long strip of black ribbon, gradually forming a wreath. “In whatever way you need. Your group is a potent force, to be sure, but you are at a disadvantage in dealing with diffuse troubles such as Veilgrad’s. Dozens of issues are rising up in every corner of the city—of the province. You need more pairs of hands, the ability to cover more ground than the nine of you can alone. We stand ready to serve.”

“If you intend to threaten us,” Shaeine began.

“Threaten you?” Vanessa’s hands clenched on the forming wreath. She stared fiercely into Teal’s eyes. “The dark lady has countless warlocks, and can always get more. You are irreplaceable. Threaten you? I would spend the last drop of my blood protecting you, if that is what it required.”

“What…” Teal swallowed heavily, unable to tear her gaze away from the woman’s. “What did the Church… What did you tell them?”

“Tell them? Oh, please,” Vanessa smiled again, bitterly. “This is the twelfth century. No professional tortures anybody for information, that’s terribly counterproductive. No…you torture someone to get the attention of whoever cares about whoever you’re hurting. It’s not so bad, in the end. I’m getting help from a shaman; she says I should be mostly able to walk as normal after a couple of years of the right therapy, though I’ll always be able to feel when it’s about to rain. And they got my friends’ attention, all right,” she added darkly. “The Universal Church does not employ torturers at present. They haven’t any left.”

“I cannot believe the Church would do such a thing in the first place,” Teal said sharply. “And I certainly have no reason to trust you.”

“Of course,” Vanessa said agreeably. “Trust is earned; you hardly know me, after all. I am simply making the offer, my lady, because I hate to think of you not knowing the resources that exist at your disposal.” She smiled, warmly, holding Teal’s gaze with her own. “When you need help, call for us. We will come.”

“I don’t need that kind of help.”

“Right now, at this moment? No, you don’t. Far better to continue enjoying your day. I’d recommend against making assumptions about the future, though.” Vanessa shook her head. “Have you discovered anything about Veilgrad’s problems? Our working theory right now is that there is a chaos rift somewhere in the area. That can become a catastrophe the likes of which you can hardly imagine. Never turn down help.”

“I could call for the police,” Teal said. “Have you arrested.”

“For what?” Vanessa chuckled. “Don’t worry, my lady, I am not offended; you’ve had some unfortunate accidents of education. Experience is a good teacher. Just remember what I said, girls. When you need us, call.”

It was a shady street, but it was nonetheless shocking when the shadows swelled up around Vannessa, then receded, leaving nothing behind but the flower stall.

On the counter sat the small wreath of dark flowers, braided with black ribbon.

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Glad as she was to be off the caravan, Trissiny stepped into a scene of such chaos that she froze, unable to take it all in. The Rail station at Calderaas was bigger than the entire Abbey back home, but vastly open and apparently made of glass. She’d have thought the metal framework which supported it was some kind of empty cage, except that rain was pounding on it at the moment. Worse, the huge station was crammed with people; shouting, shoving people, dressed in a variety of costumes such as she had never seen. Barely a majority of them were even human.

She inhaled deeply, trying to orient herself. The Hand of Avei would not be paralyzed by indecision, nor peer about stupidly like some sort of bumpkin just in from the sticks. Truthfully, that might be a fair description and Trissiny had little in the way of personal ego, but she was terrified of being an embarrassment to her goddess. She could do this.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat loudly. Blushing, she mumbled an apology and quickly lugged herself and her trunk out of the path so everyone else could leave the caravan. Apparently the Hand of Avei could freeze like a spooked rabbit and hold up the entirety of Imperial commerce on this Rail line. Only the fear of making herself an even bigger spectacle stopped her from slapping her own face in frustration.

Judging by the level of pushing and general rudeness going on around her, that more gentle reminder had been very special treatment. Well, even if people didn’t know the significance of the silver finish of her armor, it was still recognizably the ceremonial gear of the Sisters of Avei; few would seek to irritate her. She took up a position to the side of the caravan steps, out of everyone’s way, and fished out her travel itinerary from her belt pouch to look it over again. Not that she hadn’t memorized the thing long since, and anyway it wasn’t that complicated, but it was a tiny bit of familiarity.

People back home weren’t all that homogenous, or so she’d thought. Viridill had been settled by humans from every part of the Empire, and even today was home to humans of every color, shape and description. But with the exception of the odd elven traveler and the lizardfolk up in the mountains, they were all humans, and dressed themselves mostly in the same, humble style. The people here in the station were a cross-section of the entire Empire, or so it seemed to her, and she didn’t know what to make of the variety of costumes she saw. Suits, waistcoats and coats with long tails seemed the custom for most men, often with stovepipe hats on the more elaborately dressed, or wider brimmed ten-gallon styles for those who worked for a living. Nearby, a knot of well-to-do ladies tittered amongst themselves, garbed in flowing pastel-toned gowns, a menagerie of preposterous hats and corsets. Trissiny forced herself not to gape. How could a woman even breathe in those things, much less move? Perhaps Mother Narny had been right about fashion being a weapon against all womankind.

Oddly dressed as they might be, though, humans were something Trissiny understood, and most of her attention was on the various others in the crowd. There were more elves than she’d ever imagined seeing in one place, mostly keeping to themselves and moving in small pockets in the crowd, as if their neighbors were reluctant to touch them even by accident. Dwarves she knew only by description, but the several who were presently trundling rapidly about their business on the platform were unmistakeable even so. A passing couple of very small people on a goat-pulled cart had to be gnomes of some kind. Through gaps in the crowd, Trissiny glimpsed a small family of lizardfolk seated against one wall, a battered hat set in front of them. That sight was troubling; she’d rarely dealt with the lizardfolk back home, but she thought of them as too proud to beg.

She was gathering stares of her own, as well; none hostile, but many awed and some rather fearful. Apparently quite a few people in Calderaas did know what silver armor meant. There might even be some present who could sense the aura of divine power that she had been told hovered over her. Trissiny schooled her expression, tucked away her itinerary and set off in search of Platform Ten. There hadn’t been a paladin of Avei in thirty years, and she surely hadn’t been called now to make a spectacle of herself in the Rail station.

Five minutes later she had to give up and reorient herself again. The layout of the station was confusing; platforms were interspersed with Rail lines, reached by collections of wrought-iron footbridges that arched over the Rails themselves. Her trunk had a handle and wheels, which she’d thought a great luxury when it was first given to her, but that was before she’d had to drag it up and down half a dozen sets of stairs. The platforms weren’t labeled in the most helpful manner, either. She ultimately had to stop in the middle of one of the footbridges and crane her neck around to find the signs, which revealed that she had been going in the wrong direction. With a sigh, Trissiny turned back and made her up-and-down way, gritting her teeth against the constant bumping of her trunk, to Platform Ten.

She was a good twenty minutes early to catch her next caravan, but made certain to consult the board posted by the stairs to verify that this would be the one going to Last Rock. With little else to do but wait, she tucked herself as out of the way as she could on the bustling platform and fell back to studying her environment.

Of the same iron construction as the footbridges, there were several small platforms extending over the Rails themselves, which were in use for a variety of purposes. Two were clearly for storage, piled high with crates and barrels. Another, otherwise empty, was being taken advantage of by several travelers as a respite from the pushing throng. On the nearest, a couple of elves had set up a tiny stand and were selling tea from beneath a hand-painted sign reading “Platform 9 ¾.” Trissiny appreciated the whimsy, but she was not tempted. Between her general nervousness, the roiling in her stomach from the Rail ride she’d just escaped and the anticipation of her next one, she couldn’t have kept a cup of tea down. Riding the Rails was one of the most romanticized experiences of the modern age; in practice, she found it rather like being sealed inside a barrel and rolled down a hill.

“Hey, Blondie! Yeah, you, girlie. I’m talkin’ to you!”

It took a couple of repetitions for Trissiny to realize she was being addressed. No one in her life had ever spoken to her that way, and since she had gained her sword and armor, most people possessed of any sense would not have dared.

Now, a man ambled up to her directly, grinning and eying her up and down as he came in a manner that nearly made her reach for her sword. He was garbed like something out of a penny novel, all dust-stained denim and flannel, with snakeskin boots and a ten-gallon hat. “Mighty pleased to meet you, missy,” he said in a prairie drawl, his grin becoming an outright leer. “If you got a bit before your car comes, mebbe we can find a shady spot to have a drink? My treat.”

Trissiny was too astonished by the sheer effrontery to react as she otherwise might. That bought her a moment to reconsider her first impulse; thrashing this fool would doubtless lead to trouble no matter how much he deserved it. At the very least, she’d miss her caravan.

“No, thank you,” she replied stiffly. A whipping with the flat of her blade would do him a world of good, but she could not go around smiting every idiot who lacked manners. She reminded herself forcefully of this as he leaned in close enough for her to smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Aw, don’t be like that, darlin’. Why, I bet you’ll find me the best company you ever—oof!”

A second cowboy, dressed similarly and strongly resembling her admirer in the face, shouldered him roughly aside, then turned to her and tugged the brim of his hat. “My apologies, ma’am. My brother ain’t been off the ranch in half a year, an’ sometimes he forgets he wasn’t raised by wolves.” He cut off the protest forming on the first man’s face by swatting him upside the back of the head, forcing him to catch his flying hat. “Won’t happen again. ‘Scuze us.”

“Turn loose a’ me, Ezekiel!” the first cowboy said furiously as his brother grabbed him by the arm and began dragging him toward the nearest set of steps. “I was just havin’ some—”

“You shut the hell up. Land’s sakes, boy, if you gotta be embarrassing, couldja at least not be suicidal? Don’t you know a paladin when you see one? You ain’t that shitheaded!”

They were halfway up the footbridge, but their loud conversation remained clearly audible on Platform Ten. “Paladin? That ain’t no paladin, dumbass. That girl ain’t more’n fifteen.”

“Jebediah Jenkins, if I weren’t such a good brother I’d send you back over there to finish what you started, an’ spare myself the trouble of whuppin’ your ass for botherin’ a girl you think is fifteen!”

Trissiny would have liked very much to sink into the platform and vanish. The brothers Jenkins were acquiring stares, which were quickly transferred to herself as people discerned the source of their quarrel. Against her will, her cheeks heated. Hopefully the onlookers would take it for righteous anger, selflessly suppressed. Yeah, and if hopes were coins, Avei would have a temple in every hamlet in the Empire.

A well-dressed man with the silver gryphon badge of an Imperial agent pinned to the breast of his coat, and another decorating his hat, shouldered quickly through the crowd, moving purposefully in the direction of the loud brothers. His wand remained holstered, though he held a hand conspicuously near it and kept his gaze fixed on the two cowboys. He paused before Trissiny to tilt his hat respectfully to her. “Blessings, ma’am.”

“And to you, Sheriff,” she replied gratefully, inclining her head. At least someone took her seriously without having to taste her blade. She did not look fifteen!

He proceeded after his quarry, and she fixed her gaze stiffly on a point above everyone’s head. It was funny how she could tell people were whispering about her, despite the ambient noise in the station.

She was unaccustomed to the crawling pace of time in a tense situation. Trissiny’s days were always full; there was never a lack of work to be done at the Abbey, and whenever she was not pitching in her fair share, she had more training and prayer to attend to than the other novice Sisters. On the very rare occasions when she wanted time to pass by faster, she would occupy herself in meditation, or in communing with the goddess.

There was simply nothing to do on the platform. Focusing inward was not an option as she did not feel remotely safe in this crowd of pushy strangers, especially after the encounter with the Jenkinses. She had her sword in its sheath at her belt and her shield on her back, but even had there been enough space to run through a combat drill without injuring someone, the sight would have caused turmoil in the bustling station. So she stood, for fifteen interminable minutes while the caravans roared by on their Rails and people gazed curiously at her, often pausing in their own business to do so. Trissiny practiced her situational awareness, keeping her gaze rigidly fixed on empty space but trying to maintain a knowledge of her surroundings through peripheral vision. It was the only thing she could think of to do aside from weltering in her own discomfort.

She was first to move when the caravan slowed to a stop next to Platform Ten. Trissiny watched the procedure with interest; she had seen it at the much smaller Rail depot in Trasio, but it remained impressive. The Rail itself, a single raised line on spokes like a bannister that extended into the distance in both directions, began to hum and glow arcane blue with the caravan’s approach. The train that arrived to take her on to Last Rock had eight passenger cars, twice the size of the one which had brought her here. They looked the same, though, tiny bits of glass and steel looking like a single squared tube with so many in a line. This caravan also had four larger, boxy cargo wagons affixed after the passenger cars, and another angular enchanter’s post behind that to match the one at the front. She wondered if the added weight meant it needed a second enchanter to keep it going.

Trissiny edged back from the Rail along with the other passengers as lightning sparked along the rim of the platform with the energy of the caravan halting itself. The tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood upright.

She stood back to let the passengers disembark, most of them looking as stiff and disoriented as she had after her previous Rail ride, then moved quickly to claim her seat in the frontmost car, just behind the enchanter’s post. Nobody complained or tried to slip in ahead of her. Trissiny supposed it was all right to benefit from a healthy respect for paladins, as long as she wasn’t intimidating people on purpose. If folks thought the Hand of Avei might smite them for pushing in line ahead of her, well, there wasn’t much she could do about that, aside from proving them wrong.

She stowed her trunk under the seat as she’d been shown on the last caravan, strapping it in tightly with the frayed arrangement of leather thongs and buckles provided, then unslung her shield and laid it on the bench beside her, before taking her seat. This car might have been a duplicate of the other, except that she had it to herself. The padded benches were wide enough to seat three without much discomfort; she took the one facing the front, reasoning that it would diminish the dizzying terror of the Rail ride not to have to do it backward. It was like being in a little glass bubble, and she enjoyed the solitude after the crowded platform.

People weren’t hurrying to join her, but that would probably only last until someone came along who hadn’t seen the paladin duck in here. She enjoyed the breather while it lasted, literally. Proper breathing was essential to both combat form and meditation, and Trissiny had been storing her gathering tension in her chest. The caravan was parked for several long minutes, presumably while the large cargo cars in the rear were loaded and/or unloaded, and she took full advantage of the time to breathe slowly and evenly, without slipping into full meditation.

Thus, she was calm enough not to be overly perturbed when a man entered her car.

“Good day!” he said cheerily, straightening. He was an older gentleman, well-dressed and very round about the middle, with a jowly face accentuated by bushy, steel-colored sideburns. “Ah, a Sister! Excellent, I was just wondering why a pretty girl was sitting alone in a car. Usually the lads would be all over you. Don’t mind if I share, do you? It’s filling up back there, and a man of my great physical fitness is less welcome where the seats must be squeezed into.” He chortled, patting his plump belly.

“The caravan is open to all,” she said politely, forcing a smile. “Please, be welcome.” It was so formal as to be stilted, but she couldn’t just up and say she didn’t mind his company. Avei frowned upon lies, even little social ones.

“Many thanks, my dear, many thanks.” He grunted as he lowered himself onto the bench opposite her, sliding over so as to grip the handhold bolted to the wall of the caravan. “Whoof! As often as I ride these things, you’d think I’d grow accustomed to the acrobatics it takes getting in and out of them. Heywood Paxton, Imperial Surveyor.” He extended a hand to her. “I’m the Emperor’s eyes on the frontier! Of course, the Emperor has more eyes than a nest of spiders, and do please remind me of that if I start to sound like I think I’m important.” His pale eyes twinkled with good humor.

“Trissiny Avelea,” she replied, shaking his hand. His eyes flicked over her and she tensed, but it was nothing like the gaze Jebediah Jenkins had dragged across her. In fact, Mr. Paxton seemed to be looking at her armor, not her body; his eyes darted from bracers to boots to divided leather skirt, without lingering on her breastplate the way too many men did. She saw the moment when he absorbed the fact that her Avenic armor was silver rather than bronze.

“Omnu’s breath,” he exclaimed, settling back in his own seat and regarding her wide-eyed. “Forgive if I’m impertinent, Ms. Avelea, but…would you be a paladin?”

“I am.” She forced a small smile. At least he knew the proper way to address a Sister of Avei. He was the first man she’d met on her journey who did.

“Bless my old soul!” he enthused. “I’d heard that Avei had called a new paladin, but… Well, this is a rare privilege, ma’am! An honor, it truly is. Wait’ll I tell the grandchildren I rode the Rail with a paladin!” He laughed aloud. “Now, you be sure to tell me if I’m bothering you, Ms. Avelea. I do tend to let the old mouth run away with me sometimes.”

“I don’t mind,” she replied, and found that she meant it. Trissiny was not used to men; obviously, she’d been around them before, as the Sisters of Avei were not a cloistered order. But briefly or at a distance, usually; those men who weren’t shy about being around Sisters had been strongly encouraged to keep away from the novices. Still, Heywood Paxton was one of the least menacing individuals she’d ever met.

“And would you be on quest, then?” he asked enthusiastically. “Not that you need pay any mind to old me, of course! I shall gladly shove off if told to. But I’m heading out to Sarasio on the Emperor’s business, and I should be glad of the company, I don’t mind telling you. If there’s any place that could benefit from a taste of Avei’s fist, that’s it for sure.”

“No,” she said with some hesitation, and a small twinge of guilt. “Actually, I’m going to college. At least for now; that was the goddess’s command. I’m sure she has good reason.” Why did she feel the need to explain herself to this stranger? It wasn’t his business; it wasn’t even hers. If Avei chose to send her paladin to university rather than to the battlefield, well, she was entitled. No matter how Trissiny chafed at what felt like a waste of her calling.

“Goodness me, to college? This line is heading straight out of the civilized territories! Nothing but the Golden Sea, tribes of wild elves and a few frontier towns where we’re…ohhh.” His expression cleared and he nodded sagely. “Last Rock, then?”

“Yes, to Professor Tellwyrn’s University. You’ve heard of it?”

“Indeed I have, Ms. Avelea, indeed I have. You don’t last long in my line of work without knowing who all the players in the Great Game are. Omnu’s breath, I should’ve put that together the moment I noticed you in that armor. My brains are getting as droopy as my jowls, I declare.” He grinned at her with such genuine good humor that she had to smile back.

A sharp retort like the crack of a whip resonanted through their little chamber, and the caravan lurched. Then it began smoothly moving forward; Trissiny found herself pressed back into her seat, while Mr. Paxton had to cling to the handbar and surreptitiously brace his leg against the bench beside her to keep from being poured out of his.

“My goodness, they don’t give us much time to get settled, do they?” He grinned cheerily. “I can’t imagine how ticket holders ever manage to get into their cars on time.”

“Ticket holders?”

“Oh, yes,” he explained, “most people must purchase a ticket to ride the Rail; it’s good for only one specific trip, and then you have to buy another to ride again. Laying these Rails isn’t cheap; the Empire has to fund it all somehow!”

“Nobody told me about tickets,” she said in some alarm. They had left the station behind in seconds, and just now were racing past the borders for Calderaas, fast enough that she could barely make out the difference between city and country scenery; it evolved from a grayish blur to a greenish one. And the caravan still accelerated. Paxton’s face was beginning to bead with sweat, from the effort of holding himself in his seat.

“Not to worry, my dear, the Rails are free to Imperial agents and officials of the Church. Which, clearly, includes you!”

“Oh. But…I didn’t even see anyone collecting…that is, none of the guards asked me about…”

“Well, obviously, Station officials know a bit more about the world than the average run of hayseeds who might be riding the Rails. One look at that armor and they’d let you hop into whatever caravan you pleased without so much as a word.”

“Oh,” she said again, now feeling rather guilty. “Oh…I hope I didn’t cheat somebody out of a seat.”

“Nonsense, they never sell enough tickets to fill out a caravan. It leaves some seats open for the likes of us, and if none such come along, well, these things run faster the less weighted down they are. Everybody wins!”

“Except the people who have to pay for passage.”

“Well, I suppose not,” he conceded, his smile fading somewhat, “but then again, if they weren’t paying for tickets, the Rails couldn’t run. Then nobody would have them!”

“It just seems unfair,” she murmured.

“Very little in this world is fair, Ms. Avelea,” he replied. For the first time, the cheer had fled his face, leaving a sober and faraway expression. “May you have better luck than I’ve had finding remedies for it.”

The silence that fell in the compartment was strained and awkward. Trissiny feared little, but was unpracticed at social subtleties; she couldn’t decide whether to avoid Paxton’s eyes or meet them, whether to leave the quiet alone or try to fill it.

He took the dilemma out of her hands moments later, when their acceleration finally leveled off. The Surveyor grunted, settling himself back into his seat now that he didn’t have to brace himself into it. “Whew! Every trip an adventure. You know, the Rail cars servicing the interior provinces have buckled belts on each seat for the passengers to strap themselves in. It seems there’s no budget for upgrading old frontier equipment just yet.”

Trissiny nodded, unsure whether she would prefer that. It would be nice not to be tossed around, but she wasn’t at all certain she’d care to be strapped in, either.

“Oh, here comes the wide arc around the Mirror Lakes,” Mr. Paxton said, peering out the window. “Best brace yourself, Ms. Avelea, we’re going to—”

And then the ground whipped out from under them. The caravan curved so sharply to the right that its left wall became the new de facto floor; Paxton was tossed against it with a grunt. Only Trissiny’s trained reflexes saved her from a pummeling. Spinning on the bench, she stuck one foot against the wall and the other on the seat opposite, while grabbing her shield as it tried to fly across the car. It was made to endure much more abuse than being dropped, but it had been a gift from the Goddess herself and Trissiny hated to see it handled disrespectfully.

“Almost!” her fellow traveler cried with a grin. “More than a dozen trips on this line; one day I’ll have that timing down exactly.” She grinned back. The man’s good humor really was infectious.

The car leveled out so abruptly that they were both tossed back in the opposite direction. Paxton slid along his bench, this time very nearly tumbling to the floor; Trissiny managed to pivot in midair, never releasing her hold on her shield, again bracing herself with a foot against the opposite seat.

They blinked and stared at each other, both pale, and then at her boot, which had struck down directly between his legs on the edge of the bench. Had he slid six inches farther, he’d have come to grief on her greave.

“I’m sorry!” she blurted, quickly folding herself back into her own bench.

“Hah, no harm done,” he reassured her, pulling a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and mopping his face. “Though that’s a nearer miss than I usually have before even getting off the caravan!”

“Are they always this bad?”

“Well, depends on the Rail you ride. They try to lay them in the straightest lines possible, but there are some things that cannot be carved through. It’s when the Rail has to dodge around obstacles that we have trouble! But that’s the price we pay for speed. You know, when I first started out in the Emperor’s service, the journey from Calderaas to Last Rock would have been weeks. Now, we should be there within another five minutes, and I’ll be safely to Sarasio not more than fifteen after that.”

“I believe,” Trissiny said, shifting on her seat, “I like that idea of belted seats very much, the more I think about it. Why didn’t they put those into the caravans in the first place?”

“Ah! You see, the enchantments that make these beauties run are still newfangled enough that much of the older generation doesn’t trust them, my dear. When this caravan was built, there was nobody to ride it but soldiers, Imperial agents and adventurers heading to the frontier. You know, the sort of folk who aren’t apt to put up a fuss about their safety or comfort.” He edged toward the opposite wall, getting a good grip on the handlebar and bracing both legs against her bench. “Common folks riding the Rails are a pretty new event, considering, and few enough of them take these outer lines. You’ll want to brace yourself, Ms. Avelea, we’re coming up on the worst stretch of this particular journey.”

She slid her shield against the wall opposite him, sat down on it, gripped the bar and placed a foot against the far bench. Not a moment too soon; the caravan changed course with a wrench that drew a grunt from her, even as it flattened Mr. Paxton against the other wall of the car.

What followed was even worse than her first trip down from the mountainous territory of Viridill. The Rail apparently dodged back and forth through some kind of obstacle course, yanking them first one way and then the other before they had time to compensate. She couldn’t spare the attention to try to study the passing scenery, keeping her arms and legs constantly tense against the forces seeking to toss her about the car. Paxton kept his grip on his handlebar, though at one point lost his seat and was flung full-length across the bench, still clinging to the wall, and only recovered his position upon being shoved back into it. Trissiny quickly lost track of the passage of time; her arms and legs were growing sore, and even her jaw started to ache from the effort of holding it closed. Letting it bounce was a sure way to bite off a chunk of her tongue.

As suddenly as the chaos had begun, it ended. The caravan sailed along in near silence and perfect balance, its two shaken passengers blinking at each other.

“Is it over?” she asked uncertainly.

“For the moment,” he replied, heaving himself back onto the bench with grunt; he’d not managed to avoid a tumble to the floor in the last few moments. “Whew! They really should post warnings; that’s one of the worst stretches in the entire Rail network, you know. Not much else is even half so bad.” He shifted about on his seat, straightening his rumpled clothes.

“What exactly were we dodging around?” She resettled herself, surreptitiously stretching tensed muscles. Trissiny felt a moment of envy for her trunk, safely lashed in below her seat.

“Why, that’s the Green Belt, so they call it. It’s a whole network of elven forests, separated by fairly small stretches of open grassland. Different tribes of elves, you see, and they’d worked out a solution to their border conflicts by making sure they weren’t even in the same forest. All this was long before the Empire, or even any humans living in this area.” He chuckled, dabbing sweat from his face again. “So when the first Surveyors came to find a route for the Rail, they ran into ill luck. Oh, the elves were very polite, as they always are, but dead set against letting the Rail come through any of their woodland. Finally, one poor fool lost patience and told them it would have to be done whether they liked it or not.” He laughed aloud, shaking his head. “As I heard it, they politely told him to invite the Emperor to try it.”

“I’m a little surprised he didn’t,” she replied. “The Empire conquered every other human nation on the continent, after all. Aren’t elves a bit…primitive?”

“Well, yes and no!” He smiled broadly, clearly enjoying his role as storyteller. “They’re not primitive in the sense of lacking magic and sophistication of their own; they just choose to live a little closer to nature than we do. It’s been a long time since Imperial agents chose to mistake the one for the other. For all our new magics and enchantments, the elves are something the Empire is wise not to provoke. Makes for a ghastly muddle, with them living in their own enclaves all across Imperial territory. The Surveyors finally chose to mark off the elven provinces as ‘reserves,’ and leave ’em alone.”

“Hm.” Absently, she ran a hand along the edge of her shield, pondering. “I seldom met any back home, and then only one or two at a time. They seemed rather standoffish, as a rule…”

“Anybody’ll act different traveling in foreign lands than they would at home, surrounded by kinsmen.”

“Professor Tellwyrn is an elf,” Trissiny mused.

“That she is!” Paxton nodded, grinning. “An old one, and one of the most notorious people alive of any race. Not had the pleasure of meeting her myself, and for that I can’t decide if I’m grateful or disappointed. Ah, we’re coming up on the last stretch of our run, Ms. Avelea. Hold tight now!”

She swiftly followed his instruction, but it was not nearly as bad as before. The Rail curved in another long sweep to her right, but this one much more shallow. Trissiny got a good grip on her handle and had no trouble staying seated, though the centrifugal force tried to tug her back across the bench.

“If you crane your neck a bit, Ms. Avelea, you can see your destination! I recommend it, Last Rock is quite a sight from a distance.”

Indeed it was. She had to press her cheek to the glass to manage a good view, but it was worth the minor discomfort. They were long past the hilly region surrounding Calderaas and even the elven forests; here was low, rolling scrubland, fading before her eyes into the Golden Sea up ahead, the huge and very magical stretch of prairie the occupied the heart of the continent. The Empire had encircled it entirely, but the Golden Sea was much larger within than without; some theorized one could travel into it forever, and never reach the other side. It was a territory that could not truly be explored, much less conquered, but the Emperor did the best he could, establishing a perimeter of forts and settlements along its frontier. One of these was the tiny town of Last Rock.

The town itself was a small and rather sad cluster of buildings dwarfed by the mountain from which it drew its name; rising straight up from the plain with not so much as a hill within sight, the Rock itself was tall enough to be taken seriously in most mountain ranges, and seemed utterly colossal in its flat environs. Wedge-shaped, it formed a rising prow cutting into the Golden Sea itself, falling sharply in rocky cliffs from its highest edges, but sloping up gently from the other side, in an incline that was no steeper than the average staircase. It resembled a long, narrow plateau tilted up with one edge sunk into the ground.

Now, a path ran from the town of Last Rock up toward its peak, and the upper quarter of the mountain was covered with the spires and terraces of the University. Her home for the next four years.

Trissiny eased back into her seat, against the force of the curve. They had already drawn too close for her to get a solid look at anything, and she didn’t care to look like an overeager child with her face mashed against the glass.

“Not bad, is it?” her seatmate said with a grin. “Ah, the things there are to see along this Frontier. And all over the Empire, for that matter…well, no rush. I expect you of all people will become plenty acquainted with it in time.”

“I expect so,” she murmured. As the curve of the Rail leveled out, she slid along her bench away from him, gripped her shield in one hand and braced both feet against the seat opposite. As if on cue, the caravan decelerated sharply, seeking to pitch her face-first against the front wall.

Trissiny didn’t let out her breath until the caravan finally came to a full stop with a muted squeal. Paxton sighed in unison with her, again straightening his coat. “Well, I believe this is your stop, ma’am. May I just say again that it has been an honor?”

“I appreciate your company,” she replied, this time with a genuine smile. “And the information.”

“Oh, pish tosh, just an old man’s ramblings about all the things he’s seen. Trust me, you’d find it much less interesting if you had to endure it more than once.”

She bent to unfasten her trunk and pull it out from under the seat, exchanging a grin with him one more time as she slung her shield onto her back.

“Still…it was a much better journey than the last one. May I offer you a blessing Mr. Paxton?”

His grin vanished at once into a nearly awestruck expression. “Oh! Well, that is…if—if you feel it’s… I mean, I’d be honored.”

Smiling, Trissiny reached across the narrow compartment to place a hand on his brow, not minding the sweat in his hair. A soft golden glow rose about them, seemingly from the air itself; she felt her own aches washing away in proximity to the divine power, though it was merely being channeled through her, and into the man beneath her palm.

“Peace and Justice be upon you, friend,” she intoned softly, hearing the resonance in her voice of the Goddess echoing, “and Avei watch your path.”

Trissiny let her hand fall, enjoying the serenity that always came in the aftermath of calling on Avei. Heywood Paxton’s face held an expression of almost childlike wonder.

“I…I swear you took ten years off me. Ms. Avelea, I don’t know how to…”

“Just be as kind to the next person you travel with, as well,” she replied.

“Oh, that I shall. This has been a real gift, ma’am… A very rare privilege.” He trailed off, seeming at a loss for words for once.

With a final smile at him, Trissiny pushed open the compartment door and stepped out onto the platform of Last Rock.

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