Tag Archives: Ildrin Falaridjad

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“It even looks evil,” Ami said nervously, clutching her guitar case and staring across the river.

Fort Varansis was situated on a long island in the River Asraneh, directly in front of them. The river, here, was broad and shallow, diverted into two lesser streams by the sizable island in its center. At this time of year, the current was fairly swift but not too dangerous to wade through; to their right, a sequence of crumbling stone pillars extended from the shore to the island, all that remained of an ancient bridge.

The fort itself did not look particularly ominous, though it was definitely in a sad state. After a century of abandonment, it was as much forest as fortress; though trees would ordinarily not have been permitted to grow near the walls of a fortification, and probably not on the island at all, the woods which extended from within Athan’Khar across the river into Viridill had long since overtaken everything. The fortress itself was more Avenist than Tiraan in style, stark and utilitarian—for the most part it had held up fairly well, the only major damage to its walls being where they had been ruptured by the unchecked growth of trees.

It was the trees that gave the scene its unsettling appearance. This was a pine forest, and its denizens were meant by nature to grow straight and tall—which, north of the river, they did. The trees on the island, however, were twisted into clearly unhealthy shapes, with bulbous trunks and clawed limbs, not to mention peculiar patterns on the bark.

“Is my imagination running away from me,” Ildrin asked tersely, “or do some of them seem to have…faces?”

“If it’s imagination, it’s not just yours,” Jenell muttered.

“None of them have faces,” Basra said in exasperation, rolling her eyes. “Are you about done, Schwartz?”

“With you, yes, ma’am,” he said, stepping back from her and eying her over critically before nodding to himself in satisfaction and moving down the line to Jenell, who was last. With Meesie sitting alert on his shoulder, he repeated the procedure he’d performed on all the others, first producing a pinch of powder from one of his pockets and sprinkling it on her forehead. Unlike some of her companions, Jenell didn’t sneeze, though the effort caused her to squint and wrinkle her nose. Schwartz, meanwhile, raised the gnarled wand he had been carrying, which still had some green and apparently living leaves attached to it, and began making slow, careful passes over her, stepping slowly around her to be sure he didn’t miss a spot. How he could tell was anyone’s guess, but he appeared quite confident in what he was doing.

“And actually,” he said as he worked, “it’s not impossible that some of those trees do have faces. Or bark formations that very deliberately resemble them, anyway. I couldn’t help noticing some of the branches look a lot like arms. With the bony fingers, you know?”

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” Ami muttered.

“But they’re perfectly safe,” Schwartz continued blithely. “These woods are cleared now, but remember that for a big chunk of a century they were under the effect wrought on Athan’Khar by the Enchanter’s Bane. Everything in there went weird, and very hostile. Plants, animals…lots of rather peculiar undead. So, yes, those are biologically normal trees, but they don’t just take on a different shape because the wild magic that shaped them is gone now.”

“Are you sure you can talk while doing that?” Jenell asked pointedly.

“Oh, don’t worry, this isn’t complex at all! Just time-consuming.” Meesie squeaked in confirmation, nodding her tiny head.

“And if he messes it up, the worst that happens is you’ll get wet,” Basra said archly. “I’m certain you’ve been trained for that, Private.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jenell said stiffly, a faint blush suffusing her cheeks.

“There is something I’ve been curious about, though, just to wrench the subject away from probably-not-evil trees,” Schwartz continued. “It occurred to me when we were passing the defensive lines being set up by the Army and the Second Legion along the border back there. How come the Silver Legions are so…old-fashioned? I mean, I understand religions have traditions and all, but for a cult dedicated to war it appears odd to deliberately fall behind the curve of military tactics and equipment.”

“Look in front of you, Schwartz,” said Basra, staring across the river at the crumbling fortress.

“Actually, please look at what you’re doing,” said Jenell.

“What happened in there changed everything,” Basra continued, ignoring her. “The holocaust of Athan’Khar, the Enchanter Wars which followed. The Legions were instrumental in driving back Heshenaad’s campaign, but it’s also true that Viridill was the first Imperial province to secede following the Bane, and the Silver Legions crushed a numerically superior Imperial force immediately afterward.”

“That was before battlestaves were commonplace,” Schwartz noted.

“And, in fact, the Legions used them, then,” Basra replied, nodding. “Such weapons weren’t issued to the rank and file; they were considered a kind of mobile artillery. But yes…that was then, this is now. Politics is war of a different kind, and in the modern world, the Sisterhood has its base and holy sites within an Empire which remembers the threat an up-to-date Legion can pose.”

“So you deliberately gave up your ability to wage war effectively?” Branwen asked, tilting her head. “I must say that seems odd.”

Basra smiled faintly, gazing across the river. “War is deception.”

“Well, there we are!” Schwartz said more briskly, straightening up and tucking his leaf-wand into one of his billowing sleeves. “All finished and waterproof. Shall we, then?”

“Now, you’re certain the protections on my case are adamant against water?” Ami demanded, clutching her guitar case protectively.

“I assure you,” Schwartz said, smiling, “I took great care with it.”

“Because I don’t mind getting wet, if I must, but if my instrument is damaged, you and I shall have a talk the outcome of which you will not enjoy.”

“I have a little sister,” he replied. “Have I mentioned that?”

Ami raised an eyebrow slowly. “And that is relevant to…what, exactly?”

“That I know very well not to risk damaging a girl’s most prized possession. I promise, Ami, your guitar will be safer for the trip than any of us.”

“Well, I suppose I can accept that,” she said, somewhat mollified.

“If you are quite done?” Basra said acidly, stepping forward into the river without waiting for a reply. Branwen sighed and gave the others a rueful smile as she moved to follow.

One by one, they slipped into the river, following the two Bishops single file, as Basra had ordered. She led the way slowly, taking care with each step. Long ago this river had been deeper on both sides of the island, and had been regularly dug out for defensive purposes. Now, it was broader than deep by far, its basin filled with silt; even the old bridge terminated in mid-stream, ending at the ghost of a shore that no longer existed. Schwartz’s charm work improved their footing as well as keeping them dry and protecting their shoes from being sucked away by mud, but still, fording a river with a muddy bottom and a brisk current was a dicey proposition. They followed carefully in the path that Basra had already confirmed passable, tense and exceedingly cautious.

They crossed without incident, however, and reassembled on the opposite bank, which had to be climbed, being far taller and less approachable than that on the other side. The six of them clustered together, nervously inspecting the nearby fortress and their own oddly dry clothes, with the exception of Basra, who stepped forward to peer across the river at the Athan’Khar side.

It was very much like the smaller forest here on the island, its trees distinctly menacing in aspect, but even bigger. There were no sounds but those of the river and cheerful songbirds, though; shafts of afternoon sunlight made a quite pretty spectacle in the woods on the haunted side. Of course, according to Schwartz’s information, the actually haunting was half a mile distant.

Still. Athan’Khar was feared for very good reason.

“I sense nothing undead, demonic, or otherwise Pantheon-opposed,” she said abruptly, grabbing everyone’s focus. “Snowe? Falaridjad?”

“Nothing,” Ildrin said curtly. “It’s…so empty. That disturbs me. In a place like this, it seems I should feel something.”

“That’s your expectations distracting you,” Branwen said with a kind smile. “Where one expects evil and horror, the absence of anything can be quite alarming. But no, Basra, I sense nothing either. Forgive me if I sound boastful, but my particular skills are rather more suited to this than either of yours. Nothing in the vicinity means us harm, or is even aware of us. In fact, I can’t feel the presence of any intelligence except our own.”

“Mm.” Basra shifted her gaze to Schwartz. “And you?”

“Offhand, the same,” he said, frowning, “but I’d need to set wards and cast a ritual to be certain. My magic doesn’t work the same way as yours. Now that we’re here, anyway, wards are a priority.”

“I thought you said this mysterious summoner was more than a match for you,” Ildrin said pointedly.

“Oh, he or she most certainly is,” Schwartz agreed. “And the whole point of this is to invite a visit from them, anyway, so it’s not as if we’d be trying to ward them off. That’s not what I’m concerned about. That’s Athan’Khar over there. We need forewarning of anything unnatural approaching the fortress. The spirits… They’re all interconnected. Mixed together. If one of them discovers there’s a party of humans camped on the border, more will come. And still more, until they either drive us off or destroy us.”

“Which would be inconvenient,” Basra said dryly. “Very well, you can set that up after we’ve made a quick tour of our temporary home. I don’t want the group to split up at this juncture, and we need to investigate the fortress briefly, at least, before settling in.”

“Ugh.” Ami wrinkled her nose in protest. “In heaven’s name, why?”

“You can’t possibly be that daft,” Ildrin said, staring at her.

“She’s not,” Basra said. “Bards love their little dramas. We’ll be camping in the courtyard, rather than inside the building, which is very likely to be unsafe after all this time. But we will at least look, and diminish the chance of being taken by surprise.” She turned on her heel and strode toward the yawning gates of Fort Varansis, whose doors had long since rotted away to nothing. “After coming all this way and taking all these precautions against fairy summoners and vengeful spirits, it would be awfully embarrassing to get eaten by a bear.”

“Ouvis and Naphthene make a lot more sense to me now,” Darling was saying as they made their way up the twisting dirt passage to the grotto above. “He ignores any attempted worshipers; she’s been known to answer prayers with lightning bolts. I always figured she was just a bitch, playing that unpredictable-as-the-sea bit a little too seriously, but now I wonder if Naphthene doesn’t have the entire rest of the Pantheon beat for simple common sense.”

“Those are the only two who make more sense,” Ingvar mused. He was bringing up the back of the line, and had been deep in thought since they had finally left the Elder Gods’ facility, though he hadn’t hesitated to participate in the discussion. “How many gods have no paladins? How can they? If what we’ve learned… Vesk, for instance. Who ever heard of a bard paladin?”

“Well,” Darling said thoughtfully, “keep in mind we seized upon the word ‘paladin’ to explain what the Avatar was describing… But really, that’s as much a cultural concept as a spiritual or magical one. He said the gods just need someone in whom to focus themselves, right? I mean, the ancient Huntsmen clearly weren’t paladins as we think of them, but they also obviously served Shaath in that regard.”

“I wonder,” Joe mused. “Since you mentioned Vesk. How many bards are there?”

“Practicing Veskers or fully accredited bards?” Darling asked.

“There, see, I reckon that makes the difference. A proper bard is somethin’ more’n just the general run o’ musician, right?”

“I think I see what you’re getting at,” Darling said, his voice growing in excitement. “Actually, you may be more right than you know. Vesk has a reputation for being more friendly and approachable with his initiates than any other god, but only with the actual, fully trained and invested bards. Of whom there are… Well, it’s not like I’ve ever taken a census, but I can’t imagine they number more than several thousand, worldwide.”

“If every bard is a paladin,” Ingvar said, trailing off.

“That seems like it’d jus’ compound the problem, right?” Joe said, glancing back at them. He was again leading the way with his wand lit. “Still. All he’d need to do is hide a handful of ’em in the ranks, an’ if he’s friendly with his bards anyway, an’ the significant ones don’t necessarily look any different than the others…”

“That’s the long and the short of it,” Darling agreed. “Not every god has called paladins, but… That doesn’t mean they haven’t used this…paladin effect, for want of a better term. If anything, it’s probably smarter for some of them not to call attention to their most important followers.”

“Perhaps they learned from Shaath’s case,” Ingvar said with a sigh. “If you do not take care to manage your flock, they can be used against you.”

“Exactly,” said the Bishop, nodding. “I bet a good many of the gods have their paladins invisible under everyone’s noses. Depending on exactly how it works in each case, even the paladins may not know. What I’m curious about now is Vidius. That one went from no apparent paladin to a very public one—suddenly, after eight thousand years. And he picked a half-demon. That deity is up to something…”

“Gods aside,” Joe muttered, “I’m kinda hung up on that bit about gnomes. I’ve suddenly got some hard questions about a certain incident involving a sonic grenade and a saloon. More’n I did in the first place, I mean.”

They emerged rather suddenly into the lovely little grotto under the tree. Joe stepped aside, extinguishing his wands and letting the others emerge. For a few moments, they just stood there in silence, listening to the soft voice of the stream and letting their eyes adjust to the filtered sunlight.

“It suddenly occurs to me,” Ingvar said, “that the air down there was remarkably fresh. It tasted more like a mountain morning than a cave.”

“I guess if you’re the Infinite Order, you don’t have to settle for stale air,” Darling said.

“Infinite Order.” Ingvar shook his head. “I… Quite apart from my quest, from Shaath’s predicament… I don’t know what to do with all this information.”

“Ain’t a whole lot you can do with most of it, seems like,” Joe said, holstering his wand. “And really, how much difference does it make? The world’s still what it was when we got up this morning. We just know a bit more about where it came from, that’s all. I reckon more knowin’ is better than less.”

“Hear, hear,” Darling said firmly.

“Which reminds me,” Joe added, turning to him. “You mentioned something I’m very curious about. What was—”

“Do you plan to stay down here chatting all afternoon?” Mary asked, striding into the chamber from the hidden door behind the tree roots.

“Ah, look who it is,” Darling said cheerfully. “Our standoffish tour guide! I trust you had a good seat from which to watch the action—you certainly weren’t terribly close to it.”

“I’ll be happy to indulge in wordplay with you another time, Antonio,” she said with a slight smile, “when there are not more pressing matters. Ingvar.” The Crow turned to the Huntsman, her expression becoming solemn. “Do you feel you have gained the answers you needed?”

“I feel…” Ingvar paused, rolling his jaw as if chewing on his thoughts. “…I feel I have gained the perspective to ask the right questions.”

Mary smiled more warmly at that. “You do have the seeds of wisdom within you, young man. I had a feeling, from the beginning.”

“Or he’s heard enough of your mystic routine by now to know how to parrot it back,” Darling suggested, grinning at the irritated look Ingvar shot him.

“In that, too, there is some wisdom, as you of all people know,” Mary said pointedly. “Now. First, you three will be needing a meal, I suspect. Or…did you try the nutrition pellets?” The corner of her mouth quirked upward in a mischievous expression. “They really are the most fantastic travel rations; you’d be well served to take a handful home with you. The trick is to swallow as quickly as possible.”

“We declined that distinct pleasure, in fact,” said Joe. “Lunch sounds real good right about now.”

“It would be closer to dinner,” Mary said with a fond smile, “but yes, let us attend to that.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to impose on the grove?” Ingvar asked warily. “Elder Linsheh was polite, but I gathered the distinct impression they elves in general are in no mood for visitors.”

“There is no need to trouble them,” said the Crow lightly, “any more than we will simply by being in their forest, since they will insist upon keeping watch. But no, what we must do next will not require their involvement. They will not, I trust, object to our use of the forest outside.”

She paused, tilting her head as if expecting a response from unseen listeners, but none came.

“What we must do next?” Joe asked. “What’s… I mean, wasn’t that it? We got the information we came for, right, about what happened to Shaath, and how?”

“That wasn’t the full extent of the quest,” Darling said, turning to Ingvar, “but I thought it was pretty well established we can’t do anything for him right now. What comes next will take careful planning and, honestly, effort that could last years. We’ll be there to help, Ingvar, but I at least can’t afford to drop everything and devote myself to this…”

“No.” The Huntsman shook his head. “No, this quest is finished. I know what I need to, and you’re correct; proceeding will take time, and much further study. I thank you, shaman, for your aid; you made this possible. There was, however, the matter of a bargain. You wish to collect immediately?” He turned a questioning look upon Mary.

“The trail will grow colder the longer it is ignored,” she said calmly.

“Bargain?” Joe asked. “Wait…did you already tell me about this? I’m sorry, after the wham-bam of revelations an’ visions over the last couple days I don’t feel like my brain’s runnin’ on all charms.”

“The visions were sent to me,” Ingvar said, folding his arms, “but some outside party whom we can be even more sure now was not Shaath. The Crow is very eager to know who this person is, since he quite deliberately pointed me toward her. And I, I must confess, am as well.”

“Seems like it’d be worth knowing,” said Darling. “What’s the plan, then? Isn’t this something you could handle yourself, Mary?”

“Any shaman powerful and subtle enough to do this would be able to evade my tracking,” she said calmly, “possibly unless I had a great deal more to go on than I do, which is moot anyway. However, they clearly reached out to Ingvar. I believe they will entertain an overture from him.”

“An overture?” Joe scratched his head, displacing his hat. “How? I thought you said these hints came from dreams?”

“And through dreams they can be explored,” said the Crow with a knowing little smile. “The ritual is somewhat involved, and you will, as I said, need to eat first. This is not something to undertake without the full strength of mind and body. From here on, however,” she added, “Ingvar must go alone. This mysterious agent will have nothing to say to either of you, and including you would likely discourage him or her from speaking to Ingvar.”

The Huntsman nodded, then turned and bowed deeply to each of them. “I thank you both, as well, for your companionship. Brief as this adventure has been, you’ve made it even more enlightening than it otherwise might have been.”

“Oh, stop with all the goodbye,” Darling said, reaching out to bop him lightly on the head. “We’re not gonna run off now. You may be doing dream rituals, but that just means Joe and I can laze about nearby. Gods only know what this is going to bring down on us all.”

“If you’re in some kinda dream state, all the more reason to have a couple friends watchin’ your back,” Joe added with a grin.

“I flatter myself that I am a reasonably competent watcher,” Mary said wryly.

“Shush,” Darling ordered. “This is guy stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

At the expression on her face, even Ingvar had to break into laughter. That, at least, spared him the need to reply to them, which he wasn’t confident he could do with any grace. Things between the three were amiable, now, since the wolves…but very much uncertain, for the same reason.

“Let me ask you a question, though,” Darling said in a more serious tone, frowning at Mary. “Did you send a…what was it? A shadow elemental to warn Malivette Dufresne we were coming?”

She raised her eyebrows sharply. “I certainly did not.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he said, nodding. “That doesn’t seem like your style. Then we should all be aware that a certain mysterious someone with significant elemental powers has been not only tracking our moves, but staying a step ahead of us. Shadow elementals… I’ve only heard of that once or twice. They’re rare, aren’t they?”

“Difficult to make,” said Joe. “Takes a heck of a witch to summon somethin’ like that.”

“The ability to approach through dreams,” Ingvar said slowly. “That is a fae power, is it not?”

“There are techniques within all four schools of magic to do such things,” Mary replied. “It is most easy through the fae, though, and most effectively—assuming the proper skill—the divine. But yes, I see the course of your thoughts, Antonio, and I think you’re correct. When you reach out through the dream, Ingvar, you must be aware that your arrival will probably be expected.”

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“The point is this: I don’t believe we are under attack.”

Basra’s pronouncement had the desired effect; the undercurrent of murmuring in the office immediately ceased, and all those present fixed their eyes on her, most frowning. In many places such a statement might have brought on a rush of shouts and denials, but the individuals here were all of a more disciplined nature.

Governor Tamshinaar’s spacious office was very nearly cramped with the full complement of those assembled. Basra occupied the middle of the central floor, with the rest of her party—now including Mr. Hargrave—spread along the wall behind her. The Governor herself sat behind her desk, with her secretary Mr. Dhisrain standing discreetly against the wall behind. Assembled on the upper tier of the office around the desk, and spilling down the steps where space ran out, was nearly the entire upper leadership of Vrin Shai and Viridill itself. Generals Ralavideh and Vaumann, who commanded the Fourth and Second Silver Legions, respectively, stood together to the left of Tamshinaar’s desk, with Legate Raizheh Salindir, the ranking priestess of Avei in the Vrin Shai temple and the province itself. The city’s mayor, a stout and surprisingly young woman named Lorna Mellon, stood on the other side of the dais with Colonel Nintaumbi, who commanded the Imperial forces in Viridill. Nintaumbi was a broad-faced Westerner whose wide frame was all muscle and a testament that he didn’t take his rank as an excuse to sit behind a desk, and incidentally the only man on the dais aside from the Governor’s secretary.

“How would you describe these events, then, your Grace?” General Vaumann asked pointedly, arching a blonde eyebrow.

Basra partially turned to glance behind her. “I spent the early part of the morning with Mr. Hargrave, here, and several of his friends. For those of you who don’t know, Hargrave is a practicing witch and a respected figure in the local community of fae magic users; when I first set out from the Abbey to investigate the elemental incidents, he was the first person I visited, and has spent the last few days meeting up with his fellow witches from around the region. Mr. Hargrave, would you kindly summarize the situation for them as you did for me earlier?”

“Of course, your Grace,” he said politely, stepping forward and pausing to give a deep bow to the assembled dignitaries. “Ah, Ladies, officers…everyone. I’m sorry, I’m more accustomed to my little town…”

“Please don’t be self-conscious, Mr. Hargrave,” Lady Tamsin said with a kind smile. “I appreciate you putting forth so much effort on behalf of our province. Now, what can you tell us about this?”

“Yes, well,” Hargrave said more briskly, “as Bishop Syrinx said, I went to meet with some of my…well, I suppose ‘colleagues’ is a word, though the nature of our association…is immaterial, sorry.” He paused, grimacing, and tugged on his collar. “Most practitioners of the fae arts are rather solitary creatures, aside from being the least popular type of magician among humans. There are probably several hundred scattered throughout Viridill, but I’m personally acquainted with a few dozen, and it was them I sought out to consult about the elemental problem. And actually, I am back here so quickly because many had the same idea. I was spurred into action by Bishop Syrinx, but it seems many of my friends have been receiving…portents.”

“Can you be more specific about that?” General Ralavideh asked sharply.

“It’s…the answer to that question is generally going to be ‘no,’” Hargrave said hesitantly. “I presume you are familiar with the basics, but the main difference between arcane scrying and fae divination is the tradeoff between specificity and…you might call it penetration power. Scrying gives you very precise information, almost perfect pictures if you do it just right, but scrying is quite easy to block or deflect with counterspells. A mage of sufficient skill can even intercept scrying spells and feed them false information, so I’m told, though it’s not really my field…”

“Mr. Hargrave,” Colonel Nintaumbi interrupted, “everyone here is either a military professional or works with them closely. We know the nature and limits of tactical scrying.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry.” Hargrave was clearly badly out of his element; the normally self-confident man hunched his shoulders slightly under the rebuke.

“Kindly refrain from badgering the specialist I’ve brought in to help, Colonel,” Basra said coldly.

“Yes, let us keep the side commentary to a minimum until we’ve heard everything, shall we?” the Governor suggested. “Please continue, Mr. Hargrave.”

“Yes, of course,” Hargrave said quickly. “Well, oracular divination is the opposite: nearly impossible to interfere with, but far more…vague. The information one gets that way tends to be rather symbolic. Any serious witch performs divinations at various times for specific reasons, but we also make ourselves receptive to them; the spirits and beings with which we have congress often communicate most readily in that manner. And that is why many of my fellow practitioners were urged into action at the same time I was, despite having different kinds of urgings. We met near the center of the province, not far from here, and compared notes. It seems many of Viridill’s witches have been contacted quite deliberately. It is, as I said, vague, but we believe these visions to have been sent by the being responsible for the elemental attacks.”

“Indeed,” Lady Tamsin replied, leaning forward and frowning intently. “And what does this person have to say?”

“Filtered through the perceptions of a dozen different practitioners,” said Hargrave, “and after comparing notes amongst ourselves, we feel the visitor is trying to court us. Well, them. I was not approached.”

“Court,” General Vaumann said sharply, “as in recruit?”

Hargrave nodded. “The overtures varied somewhat by individual, but the common theme among all was a sense of friendship.”

“You mentioned, Mr. Hargrave, that you were prompted into action by Bishop Syrinx,” said Mayor Mellon. “Does that mean you did not receive such an invitation?”

“Indeed not, your…ah, ma’am,” he said. “For a fairy practitioner of sufficient skill and power—which this person surely is—it’s possible to send out a message tailored to a certain range of emotional perceptions. Fae magic is very good with emotional states. Any time you hear of some ‘chosen one’ being designated without a god doing it specifically, you can bet you’re dealing with fairy magic. We think this mysterious summoner was sending out his message to target those most easily agitated against the establishment here in Viridill.”

“I see,” the Governor mused. “And yet, many of these who got this message came to discuss it with you.”

“Well, m’lady, we’re all creatures of emotion,” he replied. “But we are not ruled by our feelings. That’s just…being an adult. Due to a certain dark chapter in Imperial history which I’m sure you all know, witches in particular tend to be rather standoffish toward the rest of society; it’s a state of mind which could attract such a questing spell. But we all know which side our bread is buttered on, so to speak. Especially those of us here in Viridill; the witches of this land may be reclusive, but we greatly appreciate the shelter offered by the Sisterhood of Avei, and certainly have no wish to see our neighbors harmed. Presented with the likelihood that someone was trying to undermine Viridill itself, most of my friends were moved to meet and compare notes, see what we can do about this. Not being a receiver of the message myself, I wasn’t included in the dream summons they sent out until I was already on the way to investigate, and then it naturally picked me up. But since Bishop Syrinx spoke to me, I was able to direct everyone back to Vrin Shai. Well, first to the Abbey, but she was already gone from there so we thought…”

“This ‘everyone’ you speak of,” Legate Salindir said quietly. “I know you and your witches were instrumental in pacifying the water elementals last night, for which you have our appreciation. I was told there were fourteen of you present?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding. “And more who didn’t come here. Once we brought each other up to speed, helping the capital was one concern; the others have scattered through the province to gather up more support and direct it wherever more elementals may pop up.”

“How many?”

“Seventeen others when we left them, your, uh…ma’am. There will be more by now, I’m sure.”

“And,” the Legate continued, staring piercingly down at him, “how many practitioners do you think will respond favorably to the aggressor’s overtures?”

Hargrave tightened his mouth unhappily. “There…are always a few, aren’t there? Much as I’d like to think my folk have better sense and better morals, there just aren’t any barrels without a bad apple or two. I shouldn’t think more than a handful, if that. Honestly I don’t know of anyone I’d consider likely to turn against the Sisterhood or Viridill that way, but I hardly know every witch in the province.”

“Nonetheless, your insights are extremely helpful, Mr. Hargrave,” said the Governor.

He grinned, bobbing his head. “Well, ah, thank you, m’lady. I try to be useful.”

“It was the other thing you told me that I thought everyone most urgently needs to hear,” Basra said pointedly.

“Oh! Yes, right, I’m sorry.” Hargrave turned to nod to her, then faced the dais again, his expression growing dour. “A constant in everyone’s visions and dreams has been… Athan’Khar. After talking it over, we’re reasonably sure the messages are coming from there. That’s probably where the summoner is hiding.”

“When I spoke with the elves in the Green Belt,” Basra added, stepping forward again and raising her voice over the murmurs that sprang up, “they hinted at the same. All current evidence is circumstantial, but I consider it a solid working theory at this point that our enemy is hiding in Athan’Khar.”

“That casts another color on this entirely,” General Ralavideh said sharply. “We all know there’s only one kind of powerful spellcaster native to there…”

“In point of fact,” said Basra, “I consulted with Colonel Nintaumbi just before this meeting on that very thing. Colonel, if you would kindly share with us what you told me?”

“Certainly,” he said, nodding and turning to face the others on the dais. “I know what you’re all thinking, but it needn’t necessarily be a headhunter, and in fact I think the circumstances counter-indicate that, even if we accept the hypothesis that our enemy is hiding there. Everything we know of this summoner suggests a fae magic user of immense skill and power, correct? Headhunters, by contrast, are not notably skilled or strong in any one school of magic. In terms of straightforward destructive ability, they aren’t really comparable to an archmage, paladin or sufficiently talented warlock. What makes them dangerous is their ability to counter any kind of magic used against them, and the fact that their magic is not wielded consciously, but by the spirits within them. They have faster reaction times than even an elf, and an arsenal of spells that enables them to mitigate any attack, even one far stronger than their own.”

“That,” said General Vaumann dryly, “and they are homicidally insane.”

“Indeed,” the Colonel agreed, nodding to her. “And that’s another point. All this indicates planning. Headhunters simply don’t do that, at least not in the long term. Whatever the personality traits of the elf who makes the journey to Athan’Khar, when dealing with a headhunter our business is with the spirits within, and those are wildly aggressive. There has never, ever been a case of a headhunter doing something so well-planned and subtle. To the extent that when they do exhibit such controlled behavior, it’s usually the elf’s personality breaking through and attempting to subdue the voices of the spirits, which some have been able to do for fairly long periods at a time.”

“What’s to stop a headhunter from being in total agreement with those spirits about needing to destroy humanity and the Empire?” General Ralavideh asked pointedly. “I assume no elf makes that pilgrimage without knowing what to expect.”

“Not impossible,” Nintaumbi conceded. “Interviews with headhunters have been necessarily brief. It would be without precedent, though. I cannot imagine having a brain full of screaming maniacs is good for anyone’s mental stability.”

“Surely nothing but a headhunter could live in Athan’Khar,” the Mayor protested.

“Actually, that’s not necessarily true, ma’am,” Schwartz piped up, seemingly not noticing the quelling look Basra directed at him. “Anyone powerful enough to do what we’ve seen them do could contend with the forces in there. Especially if they’re not human; the spirits of Athan’Khar are dangerous for anybody, but it’s only humans they always go out of their way to attack.”

“Bear in mind that anything we conclude at this point is speculation,” said Basra. “We are just barely beyond the realm of guesswork; there’s scarcely enough information to begin forming theories. But we have been dealing with this individual long enough for certain patterns to emerge, and from those we can draw some preliminary conclusions.”

“And just what have you concluded, your Grace?” the Governor asked.

“Elder Linsheh made the point that for a witch or shaman to accumulate this much power they would have to be quite old,” said Basra, beginning to pace slowly up and down the floor. “Humans possibly can live that long, especially lifelong practitioners of fae crafts, but as Schwartz points out a human inside Athan’Khar would be too constantly on the defensive from the inhabitants to arrange anything like this. We are, therefore, likely dealing with an elf or a green dragon, if not some kind of miscellaneous fairy. Naiya’s get are not well-categorized.”

“The Conclave of the Winds insist they represent every living dragon on the continent,” Colonel Nintaumbi mused. “There are several names of dragons the Empire presumed active missing from their roster, which we had taken to mean those dragons were dead. A few of them were greens. Then again, there’s no reason the Conclave would be entirely honest with us. Dragons are always cagey about their business.”

“And,” Basra added, “Mary the Crow is active. I myself met her in Tiraas last year.”

“I’m surprised you survived that,” the Governor said over the mild stir caused by this.

“Don’t be,” Basra said with a shrug. “She’s a crafty old bird, more prone to making long plans than violent outbursts, which is why I mention her in this context. It’s somewhat off-track,though. What’s significant right now is my original statement: looking at this pattern of events, I do not believe our antagonist is actually trying to assault us.

“Consider the elemental incidents which have occurred. The early ones disrupted travel and trade, then came a more ominous attack indicating planning ability—misdirecting Silver Legionnaires away from one of their bases in order to attack their stored supplies. In all of these, direct harm to individuals seems to have been avoided; there were some minor burns and bumps, but based on the records I’ve seen, all such could be ascribed to the chaos of the elementals’ presence. Then there were two elemental attacks directed at my party specifically; a shadow elemental which posed very little physical threat, and a large rock elemental which certainly could have but never actually harmed us. My bard responded quickly to distract it,” she added, nodding back at Ami, “but it’s possibly it wouldn’t have done so. Then, last night, the water elementals here in Vrin Shai, which were clearly not dangerous.”

“What are you getting at?” General Ralavideh demanded.

“These were not attacks,” said Basra, “they were messages. This summoner is communicating quite clearly with us. The first events show they understand trade routes and the importance thereof, and that they are capable of executing military tactics. The shadow elemental showed that they can afford to waste valuable agents, so secure are they in their power and resources. Mr. Schwartz commented on the difficulty of diffusing a rock elemental into sand to sneak it into our courtyard, a clear message that they can plant a highly dangerous foe behind our defenses. Plus, by repeatedly dropping elementals on me, specifically, they show they are aware exactly who is on the hunt for them. And as for the water elementals… That demonstrated that the vaunted defenses of Vrin Shai are nothing to them. They can hit us anywhere, and in almost any way. The overall point of all this has been to show that they do not specifically wish to harm Viridill, but they very much can.”

There were no mutters this time, but the various dignitaries assembled on the dais looked around at each other, frowning in thought.

“An interesting theory,” said Mayor Mellon after a moment.

“It does hang together,” General Vaumann acknowledged. “But such a message is, in and of itself, a threat. It’s also missing a vital component: why tell us this?”

“I suspect that’s coming very soon,” said Basra, folding her hands behind her back. “The question has been going around my head ever since this began: who would have such an argument with the Sisters of Avei, and why? The Black Wreath doesn’t and can’t use fairy magic, and the Huntsmen of Shaath lack the manpower, the magical power, and frankly the imagination to do something like this. I realize, now, that I was missing the point. The summoner specifically doesn’t want to attack the Sisterhood, or Viridill. They want to go through Viridill. This is aimed at the Empire, or will be; right now, we are being warned to stay out of it.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Nintaumbi said sharply. “If someone wanted a clear line of attack at the Empire, why go through Viridill at all? They could avoid the Sisterhood’s defenses entirely by striking to the west into N’Jendo.”

“And that is what a headhunter would do,” Basra agreed, nodding at him. “But if we presume our foe is not insane or obsessed with all humanity, that clarifies their purpose even further. The civilizations of the West are fairly recent additions to the Empire; only Onkawa actually wanted to be part of it, and stayed loyal even through the Enchanter Wars. And that is all the way up on the northern edge of the continent. But if someone had a grudge with the Tiraan specifically, as a society, they would look east. Just beyond Viridill is the Tira Valley and Calderaas, the cradle of Tiraan civilization. To reach that, you have to go through Viridill.

“The fact that they have not defaulted to all-out war as a first measure strengthens the theory,” she continued, starting to pace again. “Even when Athan’Khar was a living country, and the Sisterhood and the orcs skirmished across the border all the time, there was respect there, and a lack of real animosity. Both possessed codes of honor governing battle that enabled them to relate to one another in a way that no one else ever really tried to do with the orcs. Even the Jendi simply regarded them as monsters—but they, at their worst, just tried to fortify their border to keep orcish raiders out. It was Tiraas that razed Kharsor and the entire country, and left it as it is now. Whoever’s in there has a sense of history.”

“If what you’re suggesting is correct,” Governor Tamshinaar said slowly, “soon we can expect a more direct approach from this summoner. Specifically, to propose that Viridill and the Sisterhood stand down while they pass over our lands to attack the Imperial heartland.”

“That is my theory, Lady Tamsin,” Basra agreed, nodding.

“It should go without saying,” the Governor said coolly, “that such a proposal will not even be considered.”

“Absolutely,” the Legate said firmly. “Even without getting High Commander Rouvad’s personal endorsement, I can guarantee that. The Sisters of Avei do not stand by while innocents are attacked over ancient grudges.”

“And,” said Basra, “as soon as that is made clear, we become targets. At that time, we will see the full power of this enemy, which so far they have demonstrated only in a rather…playful manner.”

A chilly silence fell, in which the expressions of those around the Governor’s desk grew even darker.

“How can we defend against something like that?” Lady Tamsin asked, turning to Colonel Nintaumbi.

“My people are already fanning out through the country, m’lady,” Hargrave chimed in. “They’re not military, but they will be in position to respond to any elemental incident, and on the alert to do so.”

“I also suggest involving the Salyrites,” Branwen added, smiling briefly at Schwartz. “They have already expressed a willingness to help, and this threat is clearly relevant to their expertise.”

“Ah, if I may?” Schwartz said rather diffidently, stroking Meesie, who was perched in his other hand. “Getting elementals summoned long-distance is…hard. It’s plenty impressive that this character can do it, but nobody can keep it up indefinitely. If it comes to all-out war, there’ll definitely be more incidents like that, but if they plan to move a large force of elementals, they’ll have to actually, y’know…move it.”

“Which is the entire point of this,” Basra said, nodding. “If they could just materialize an army in the Tira Valley, they would do it. They want to be able to cross over Viridill, which means their way can be impeded. Specifically, by Silver Legions backed by priestesses, the best possible counter to elementals.”

“I’ll move the Second Legion to the border,” said General Vaumann.

“And I,” added Colonel Nintaumbi, “will be sending to Tiraas for reinforcements, and specifically strike teams. Those will be absolutely essential if this comes down to responding quickly to magical threats cropping up all over.”

“The central problem we face,” said Basra, “is that we are stuck on the defensive. Invading Athan’Khar is totally impossible; what’s in there would chew up an army in hours.”

“Do you have any suggestions, Bishop Syrinx?” asked the Governor.

“Yes,” said Basra. “I would like permission to move my team into Varansis.”

At that, the outcry of protests from the dais took the Governor a few moments to calm.

“Excuse me?” Ami asked pointedly. “But what is this Varansis and why are we just now hearing about it?”

“Fort Varansis,” said General Ralavideh with a scowl, “is a fortress positioned at the mouth of the River Asraneh, marking the ancient border between Viridill and Athan’Khar. It is, obviously, abandoned.”

“What?” Ildrin practically shrieked. “That is in the corrupted zone!”

“Actually, it’s not,” said Schwartz. “The corruption of Athan’Khar has been steadily receding ever since the Enchanter Wars. It’s about a half-mile south of the river, these days.”

“However,” Colonel Nintaumbi snapped, “the Imperial and Avenist defenses are set up well on this side of the Asraneh. You are talking about moving into a crumbling ruin that’s been home to nothing in the last hundred years but monsters, ghosts, and more recently wild animals, well beyond the range of anyone’s ability to help or protect you. This is madness, Bishop Syrinx!”

“No, Colonel,” Basra said evenly, “this is a calculated risk. I am as familiar with the scouting reports as you; spirit incursions as far northwest as the river are rare these days, and in any case, my team represents a range of skills that can fend off most attackers. We will not be going into Athan’Khar proper, and thus should not run afoul of its inhabitants. The point is that placing ourselves that close to the enemy’s base of operations is an aggressive move, which, since we know they are watching my group specifically, will get their attention. The summoner likes to make blustery moves to send messages; well, two can play that game.”

“And what precisely do you intend to do once you have this summoner’s attention?” the Governor demanded.

“Whatever seems necessary,” Basra said calmly. “With us, as the Colonel points out, isolated and beyond help, it’s my hope that this person will finally reveal themselves, or at least communicate more directly. How we proceed from there will depend upon what is revealed at that time. Ideally we can exercise diplomacy, or subterfuge, to prevent all this from coming to a head. First Doctrine of War: war is to be avoided if at all possible. Failing that…” She shrugged. “If they show themselves, that can present an opportunity for more direct action, if such is appropriate and possible.”

“You just will not be happy until you get us all killed,” Ami breathed.

Basra half-turned to give her a chilly smile. “It’s not us I intend to get killed. For the record, none of you have to come.”

Jenell, who had been silent throughout the meeting, subtly moved her hand to her belt, where she touched not her sword, but a book-shaped bulge in one pocket.

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“What are you doing?” Scorn demanded suspiciously, drawing back her lips to bare fangs and scowling at Rook.

He skittered back a step, eyes widening. “I—oh, uh, I was just… I mean, it’s not like they trained us for honor guard duty, I was just trying to be polite…”

“Armed man sneaking up on my behind is being not polite,” the demon snapped.

“Scorn.” Ravana’s voice was gentle and soft, but nonetheless stilled the growing confrontation. “He’s correct, that was a polite gesture. It’s a custom, here, for a man to hold a lady’s chair for her as she sits.”

“…oh.” Scorn rolled her shoulders once, then nodded curtly at Rook. “Thank you, then, for custom.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, still edging backward.

Ravana cleared her throat very softly, catching Scorn’s gaze and raising one eyebrow.

The demon drew in a deep breath, swelling menacingly, then let it out in a sigh. “I am sorry for snapping at you. I misunderstood.”

“No offense taken at all!” he said with forced cheer, retreating all the way to the wall. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Wow,” Teal murmured. Shaeine gave her a sidelong little smile; Maureen grinned and winked.

“Is a good custom anyway,” Scorn added, seating herself. “Man showing respect to a woman. We do not have that at my home. Maybe I start it when I go back.”

“It’s actually a complicated question whether chivalrous gestures like that are respectful or just sexist,” Teal mused. “Or both.”

“Such cultural practices are often difficult to parse in such simple terms,” said Shaeine. “We have many such customs in Tar’naris, and while we largely eschew discriminatory practices that cause unnecessary strife, I must acknowledge that many of them are quite openly sexist.”

“Well, not everything discriminatory is overtly disruptive, necessarily,” Sekandar remarked.

“Indeed,” the drow replied, nodding to him. “In fact, I have had several very interesting conversations with Trissiny about this very subject.”

“If by ‘interesting’ ye mean ‘long,’ I don’t doubt it,” Maureen said cheerfully.

Sekandar hid a smile behind a discreet little cough. “By the way, where is Trissiny? I thought you were going to invite her, Ravana.”

“I did indeed,” the Duchess said serenely. “Invitations were extended to, among others, all three paladins and Princess Zaruda. Unfortunately, that forms a roster entirely of people who have no interest in dinner parties. In frankness, while I would have welcomed anyone who chose to attend, I mostly made the offer so that no one would feel excluded.”

“Ah,” the prince replied, keeping his expression even. Iris sighed softly, glancing down at her hands in her lap.

“I’m afraid the rest of the sophomore class begged off, citing prior commitments,” Ravana said calmly. “But no matter! We are here, and have the place to ourselves. It promises to be an enjoyable evening.”

The place in question was one of the closest things Last Rock had to a back alley: the space between the rear of the Ale & Wenches and the warehouse behind it, which was town property communally used by local businesses for storage. Ravana had somehow arranged for it to be not only scrupulously cleaned, but decorated with tasteful paper lanterns and bunches of hanging flowers. Their table and chairs were of the folding variety, but the tablecloth was a rich brocade. And the food was better than anything served in the A&W. They could hear (and smell) the town clearly, and had a clear view of more back buildings in one direction and the prairie in the other, but a little care had somehow transformed this spot into a peculiar kind of outdoor dining room.

“So,” Scorn said carefully, peering around, “this is a…formal occasion?”

“Oh, not particularly,” Ravana said airily, reaching for the basket of rolls. “I use the term ‘dinner party’ somewhat euphemistically. Really, more of a picnic.”

“Okay, good,” Scorn said, nodding. “I am… There are customs, yes? I don’t know them.”

“Precisely,” Ravana agreed, smiling and glancing over at Teal. “Consider it an opportunity for us to get to know one another better, without the pressure of expectations. And you can get some practice toward dining customs without any stakes.”

“I am not being laughed at,” Scorn said, dragging a scowl around the table.

“Most certainly not,” Sekandar agreed gallantly. “I’m sure no one here would dream of it.”

“Anyone who does will be asked to leave,” Ravana stated. “Which is why I was careful to invite only people who I trust not to do any such thing.”

“And notably,” Iris added, smugly pouring herself a glass of wine, “our other roommate is absent.”

“I begin to wonder if your fixation on Addiwyn isn’t making things in our room worse, with all respect,” said Szith. “I know her flaws as well as you, but she has been notably quiet since the first week of classes.”

“Well, of course,” Iris said acidly. “Since her behavior in the first week was utterly psychotic, that isn’t setting much of a bar, now is it.”

“She did save yer life in the Golden Sea trek,” Maureen pointed out.

“I’m sure that was just reflex,” Iris muttered.

“Granted, I wasn’t as close at the time,” said Sekandar, “but I never met anyone whose reflexes include grabbing a manticore by the tail to prevent it from stinging someone.”

“This roommate,” said Scorn. “I think I have met her. She is the rude elf?”

“That sums her up perfectly,” Iris agreed.

“Hm.” The demon nodded. “Why do you let her to act this way? Best to have things out, openly. If she is being mysterious and nasty, force a confrontation. Then you get the truth!”

A short silence fell.

“I quite agree,” Ravana said after a moment. “In fact, I said so at the time.”

“Aye,” Maureen added wryly. “An’ we tried that. Didn’t go so well.”

“Sometimes forcing a confrontation is the last thing you should do,” Teal said gently. “Um…on another note…are we really just gonna make the guys stand around while we eat?”

“We are on duty,” Moriarty said crisply from the other end of the alley. “Per the statutes governing use of Imperial soldiers by the Houses, our current arrangement with the Duchess constitutes a binding—”

“What he means,” Rook interrupted with a grin, “is that if her Grace wants to pay us to stand around, then stand we shall. You kids have fun, don’t worry about us. Frankly, I feel like we’re gettin’ away with something as it is. Not likely you’re in any danger in this town.”

“Why did you feel the need to hire them on as security, if you don’t mind my asking?” Shaeine inquired.

“I am not concerned for my physical safety, considering the company,” said Ravana, calmly buttering a roll. “Given the tensions in Last Rock, of late, I thought an official Imperial presence might keep things…calm.”

“Well, that’s a good thought, but maybe going a little overboard,” Iris remarked. “Nothing ever happens in this town.”

Teal and Shaeine exchanged a look, but said nothing. At the other end of the alley, Finchley turned to glance at his compatriots.

Rook leaned over and nudged Moriarty with an elbow. “Permission to mention the hellgate?”

“Oh, shut up,” Moriarty muttered.

“No trouble at all,” Tarvadegh assured him, “It’s not like there are any temple ceremonies at this hour, and I tend to stay up late reading, anyway. My time is yours. What’s on your mind, Gabe? Made a breakthrough on that shadow-casting?”

“Actually, this isn’t about training,” Gabriel said slowly, pacing down the center aisle of the underground Vidian sanctuary and finally sinking down onto a bench. “I… Well, I sort of wanted to talk. Are you available in your, y’know, priest-like capacity?”

“Absolutely,” Tarvadegh replied, sitting beside him. “Is this…something you can’t discuss with your friends?”

Gabriel sighed heavily and slumped forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Well…it’s about them, is the thing. Sort of.”

“Okay.” Tarvadegh just nodded, then waited silently for him to continue.

“What if…you knew something?” Gabriel said finally. “Something important…maybe even urgent. Something that affects the people closest to you, and…something you weren’t sure you could tell them?”

“Well, there are a lot of ‘somethings’ in that hypothetical,” the priest replied. “A whole lot depends on the situation. Gabe you don’t have to tell me any details that may be sensitive, rest assured. I’m here to help if I can, though.”

“The thing is…we’ve always been a group, y’know?” Gabriel sighed and absently drew Ariel, turning the sword over and over in his hands. “Maybe not at first, we had to learn to work together… But as things are, we’re a unit. My first instinct is always to trust the group, to bring them stuff like this so we can plan, but… I dunno, I have this feeling that it would be a bad idea in this case. The specific problem in question, I’m afraid, might provoke a, uh, fearful, ignorant reaction.”

“How so?” Tarvadegh asked mildly.

Gabriel glanced over at him. “…this is confidential, right?”

“Absolutely,” the priest said immediately. “Assume that Vidius hears anything you have to say here, but confession is sacred in all faiths I know of. I wouldn’t reveal your thoughts even to Lady Gwenfaer.”

“Well, there’s some heavy stuff going on,” Gabriel said, watching the light flicker dimly across Ariel’s blade. “The…Black Wreath is sniffing around us. Rather aggressively. And yeah, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing I should warn somebody about, right? Except… Based on what I know, I really think it’s smartest to take a step back and let them, for now. And…that would be a really, really hard sell. Even Toby probably wouldn’t go for that; Trissiny would absolutely lose her mind. Teal and Vadrieny have their own issues with the Wreath, and after what happened in Veilgrad, we’ve all got cause to be nervous about them. But I’m also thinking about Veilgrad, and the Wreath, who they are and what they want. And in this case…they are specifically not trying to hurt us. They seem to be trying to provoke a reaction.”

“That sounds like a rather hostile action in and of itself,” Tarvadegh observed.

Gabriel nodded. “But I’ve got indication their motive may actually be helpful… And there are other things. Professor Ekoi is circling them like a hawk, which I’m pretty sure means Professor Tellwyrn knows about this, too. And neither of them has done anything. What I think… I think the right thing to do would be to quietly watch and see what they do. And I think my friends will insist on going on the attack. And…I think that would be a disaster.”

“Can I ask a few questions?” Tarvadegh asked mildly.

“Sure, of course.”

“I suspect I know this already, but what source of information do you have that your classmates don’t?”

Gabriel grimaced. “Yeah, well…that’s another thing. I think certain issues may come up about the fact that I’m having valkyries spy on people. Do you… This isn’t some kind of abuse of my position, is it, Val?”

“I doubt you have to worry about that,” the cleric assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t really make the reapers do anything—if they choose to help you, take it as a sign of their favor. And additionally, anything you do involving them is all but guaranteed to have the god’s attention, so be assured he would let you know if he disapproved.”

“Okay, good.” Gabriel sighed, nodding. “That’s actually quite a relief.”

“Whether it’s an abuse of anyone’s trust is another matter,” Tarvadegh continued. “A paladin’s role is a martial one more often than not, and there are circumstances in which gathering intelligence is necessary and appropriate. Especially against the Black Wreath.”

“And…” Gabriel paused to swallow. “…what about certain new priestesses of Vidius and Avei who may have moved to the town recently?”

For a long moment, Tarvadegh stared at him in silence. Finally, he leaned back, his expression growing thoughtful.

“I’ve not been in a hurry to introduce you to some of the more complex inner workings of the cult,” he said at last. “Since our earliest practice sessions, it’s seemed to me that you do better being yourself first and a Vidian second. There must be a reason Vidius called our first paladin from outside the faith. But as a general rule, Gabriel… This kind of thing is not at all unusual within our ranks. The doctrine of masks and false faces makes trust a thing that we perceive differently than most others. We don’t value it less—if anything, we value it more. But within the cult, there is an expectation that no one is going to tell you the full truth about themselves, their ambitions, or their activities. If you’re spying on a priestess of Vidius, for whatever reason… Well. Without saying anything personal about the woman in question, just by virtue of her position, she’s probably done as much to others.”

“Have you?” Gabriel asked, frowning slightly.

Tarvadegh gave him a grin. “Yes, of course. Though for future reference, that’s a question you’ll probably want to avoid asking people outright.”

“Yeah, that occurred to me as soon as I said it,” Gabriel agreed, wincing.

“And as I said, if you’re using valkyries to do this, you would be told if Vidius disapproved of your activities. If anything, I’m encouraged to see you taking some initiative with intelligence-gathering. Now, spying on a priestess of Avei is another matter. To my knowledge, the Avenists have no craft that could detect a valkyrie’s presence, but for future reference, absolutely do not try that on a Salyrite.”

“Noted.”

“And be wary of the likely repercussions if you are discovered. The only cults that actively spy on the Sisterhood are the Black Wreath and the Thieves’ Guild. You have probably heard from Trissiny what they think about that.”

“Yep,” he said ruefully.

“But back to your original question,” Tarvadegh said in a more serious tone, again squeezing his shoulder. “First, let me say that I’m very glad to see you thinking carefully before acting. Honestly, Gabriel, in general I’ve observed that you thinking of yourself as thoughtless is more of a fault of yours than actually being thoughtless, though thoughtlessness is still a real issue you have. I, uh, sort of lost control of that sentence. Need me to re-phrase?”

“No, I think I got it,” Gabriel said, grinning. “And you’re pretty much not wrong.”

“Okay, good,” Tarvadegh replied with a smile. “So yes, I’m glad you’re thinking about this first. However, the main reaction I take from it is that you don’t seem to respect your friends very much.”

Gabriel straightened up, his eyes widening, and stared at Tarvadegh in mute dismay.

“Think about it,” the priest went on gently. “These are some of the most dangerous people in the world—and, as you have seen firsthand, some of the most effective. Sure, they have their foibles. Just from your own descriptions, I know of several, and yes, I can see how the information you’re withholding could generate some rather strident reactions from several of them. But ultimately, none of them are stupid, and you aren’t without flaws. Gabriel, when you decide to determine who knows what, you’re effectively trying to control what people do. And that means you’ve placed yourself at the head of the group—a group which you’re now trying not even to lead, but to manipulate.”

“But…but…” Gabriel clenched his jaw, swallowed heavily, then lowered his eyes.

“And,” Tarvadegh said kindly, “I know that isn’t what you intend. Honestly, as a Vidian paladin…well, you’re unprecedented, but if someone had told me ten years ago there would be a Vidian paladin, I’d have pictured someone doing exactly that. The problem here, as I see it, is that your actions are in conflict with your ethics and your desires. I think you’ve stumbled into this box accidentally, not out of a desire to control the situation. That, in my opinion, is the root of your problem.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said quietly. “That’s…wow. Holy crap, I’m an asshole.”

“As we were just saying,” Tarvadegh said wryly, “you’re a little thoughtless. People make mistakes. Whether or not you’re an asshole is a function of what you do next.”

“Right. You’re right.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out explosively. “Yeah, I have to tell them everything. I should’ve just done that from the beginning…crap, this is gonna be a difficult conversation.”

“The important ones usually are.”

“Thanks, Val. This…was exactly what I needed to hear.”

“Well, that’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Tarvadegh said with a grin. “That’s a joke. They don’t actually—”

He broke off and both of them looked at the ceiling as the sound of hoofbeats thundered by overhead.

“What the…” Gabriel frowned. “It’s after dark, who’d be…” He trailed off, glancing to the side at the invisible figure which had just dived in from above. “Oh, shit. Trissiny.”

“Bishop Syrinx, may I have a word with you?”

Basra glanced over at Ildren, who had just emerged from the rear door of their borrowed townhouse, but did not pause in stretching. Against the far wall of the rear courtyard, Jenell also glanced up, then immediately resumed packing away their practice swords and surreptitiously rubbing the several bruises she’d just acquired.

The house, though its décor was purely Viridill, was built in the Tiraan style, which meant a short public garden in the front, by the street, and a walled courtyard behind. Since this particular house sat on a corner, bordered by streets on two sides, it was less private than some—they could hear the traffic outside from the courtyard, and there was no telling what anyone had thought of the sounds of two women going at each other with wooden swords for the last hour.

“Certainly,” Basra said after leaving her to stew for a calculated moment. “I’m about to head inside, though; make it quick, if you please.”

Ildrin glanced over at Jenell. “In private, please?”

“I’m willing to indulge you, but not the point of going out of my way,” Basra said brusquely. “And Covrin is my assistant; she’s likely to end up hearing anything you have to say, anyway. I have a habit of venting to her about the various time-wasters I’ve had to deal with in the course of a day.”

Ildrin clenched her jaw for a moment. “…fine. What is your problem with me? I hardly know you, but I came here to offer my assistance when asked, and you have been nothing but dismissive and hostile.”

“Very well, you want the simple truth?” Despite her claim to be on the way inside, Basra turned and strolled over to a stone bench set against the courtyard’s far wall, seating herself. “Working where I do, in the Universal Church, dealing largely with the results of Archpope Justinian’s various…agendas…I have incidentally become acquainted with a number of individuals whom he considers useful and trustworthy. Yours is a name that has repeatedly come to my attention, both in the Church itself and from sources within the Sisterhood. You have a well-established reputation, Sister Falaridjad, as someone interested in Justinian’s cause as much as Avei’s. If not more so.”

“That is a false dichotomy and you know it!” Ildrin exclaimed. “I have never been anything but loyal to Avei and the Sisterhood. But yes, I see a great deal of sense and virtue in the messages that the Archpope has put forth during his tenure, and I’d like to think that’s reflected in my actions. So why is this a problem?” She took a step forward, pointing an accusing finger at Basra. “You have the same reputation, and far more than I! I’d say anyone in the Sisterhood or the Legions would contend you’re as much Justinian’s creature as Rouvad’s. I’ve heard more than a few rumors that’s the reason you’re now out here. What, exactly, is your problem with me?”

“I have no problem with you,” Basra said in perfect calm. “I barely know you, nor have any particular interest in you. My problem is with a Universal Church element meddling in this matter. From the Sisterhood’s perspective, intervention by the Church is not appropriate unless called for. From mine…” Her voice and expression abruptly hardened considerably. “If Justinian or you have any thoughts of ‘helping’ me make a name for myself out here to restore Commander Rouvad’s high opinion of me, any attempt to do so would horribly backfire. And then I will be angry.”

“Your Grace,” Jenell said, staring at a spot in the far corner of the courtyard, where dust had begun to swirl upward in a slow spiral that had nothing to do with the very faint movements of air that drifted over the walls.

“Furthermore,” Basra barreled on, making a silencing gesture at Jenell, “Justinian, at least, is wise enough to know that any attempt by him to intervene would only worsen matters. Which means you’re either here on your own initiative, or far more likely, this is Branwen’s idea. Allow me to let you in on a secret, in case you haven’t noticed: Branwen is an idiot. Letting her graduate beyond serving Izara flat on her back has been a sad waste of the only use she has.”

Ildrin narrowed her eyes. “Whatever issues the two of you have, she has the same reputation among Church-related circles. She’s trusted, and loyal to his Holiness. So, yes, when she approached me about this, I was glad to offer my services.”

Basra snorted. “I’ll consider my point made.”

“Ma’am?” Jenell said in alarm, having put down the practice swords and picked up her metal one. The dust column had silently swelled to a height greater than a person, and was coalescing slowly into a humanoid figure.

“Fine, whatever!” Ildrin exclaimed. “You can still control the situation—it’s not like I’m going to run around trying to slay elementals behind your back! Just give the orders and I’ll follow them; that was the job I signed on for. There is no reason for you to be so hostile! I came here in good faith. Does it matter to you at all how this affects me?”

Basra stared blankly at her. Jenell started to speak again, but the Bishop made a swatting gesture in her direction. “Of course. Sure, of course your perspective matters. But not at the expense of the mission. I’ve told you already, Falaridjad, just be ready; when trouble arises, you’ll get your chance to prove yourself.”

“And in the meantime,” the priestess said bitterly, “I’m to continue being treated like a—”

“Basra!” Jenell barked.

Basra snapped her head sideways to glare at her, and in the next moment was on her feet, falling into a ready stance. Jenell threw her sheathed sword, which she deftly caught and drew, tossing the scabbard down onto the bench.

Despite being formed from dust, the massive figure’s slow movements made a soft grinding of stone against stone, and indeed it looked, now, like it was assembled from irregular chunks of rock. Towering over eight feet tall and proportioned in a way that would have been imposing even had it not been made of boulders, the elemental dwarfed both them and the courtyard itself. As Jenell backed up toward Basra, it turned to face the three women. The lower of the slabs of rock that formed its head shifted, opening up an obvious mouth, and a deep rumble sounded from within.

“Well, Falaridjad, now’s your chance,” Basra said quietly. “Don’t make any moves to agitate it, but on my signal, I want you to draw as much divine energy as you can. Weakening it is the only chance we have against that thing.”

“Will that be enough?” Jenell asked, her voice trembling.

“We are about to find out,” Basra said, apparently in total calm. “Try to circle around, slowly, toward the door. If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to run, and it can’t fit…”

She trailed off as the door to the house opened and Ami came strolling out, strumming a soft tune on her guitar and looking perfectly unconcerned. She ambled out into the courtyard, beginning to sing a lilting tune in elvish.

The rock elemental had been shifting toward the three women, its posture clearly aggressive, but suddenly it went quiet, turning to focus on the bard. Another rumble sounded from within, but this time a very soft one; it took one ponderous step toward her, then sank slowly down onto its knees, peering down at her.

Ami smiled calmly up at it, continuing to play, but the words of her song changed.

“Oh, don’t stop planning on my account,

You were really going strong!

Get an idea and please spit it out—

I can’t keep this up for long.”

“Okay…same plan applies,” Basra said. “Move toward the door, slowly so as not to agitate it. Talaari can back inside last, and it’ll be trapped out there.”

“I’m pretty sure that thing can beat down the wall and get out into the city,” Ildrin said tersely.

“And we’ll deal with that,” Basra replied. “but first we have to survive, and that means not being trapped in a box with it.”

The back door abruptly banged open again and Schwartz came skittering out, Meesie clinging to his hair. “Your Grace! Bishop Syrinx! My wards have picked up a major elemental ohhhhh, shit.”

He slid to a halt, frozen and staring up at the elemental, which had turned its head to peer at him, beginning to straighten up.

Ami’s fingers danced nimbly across her strings, and her voice glided upward into a deft arpeggio that seemed almost to fill the courtyard with light. The elemental turned back to face her, seeming to relax again, and shuffled forward a couple of grinding steps, bending closer.

“Ah, good, our specialist,” Basra said sharply. “Schwartz, do something about this.”

“Right,” Schwartz said weakly, staring up at the elemental, then physically shook himself. “Right! I can…yes, I think I can banish it. How did that thing get in here?”

“It didn’t start like that,” Jenell said. “It formed from dust.”

“Dust to stone! That’s amazing! Whoever summoned this must be—ah, yes, right, on topic. Yes, I can still banish it, provided it’s in a weakened state. Ladies, when I give the word, I’ll need you to channel as much raw divine energy at it as possible—but not until I’m prepared! That will make it very angry.”

“Covrin, go get Branwen out here,” Basra said curtly. Jenell darted through the door into the kitchen without another word.

Schwartz, meanwhile, knelt on the ground and pulled several small pouches and vials from within his sleeves, while Meesie scampered down his arm to cling to his hand. “Ami, can you keep it in that position, please? I’ll just need a couple of minutes.”

Ami didn’t even glance at him, nor allow her relaxed posture and kind smile to waver, but switched again to a stanza in Tanglish.

“I hardly have it on a leash!

Be quick about it, Schwartz.

Fine control’s outside my reach.

Nothing rhymes with Schwartz.”

“Warts?” Ildrin suggested; Basra made a slashing motion at her.

Schwartz, meanwhile, had picked Meesie up and bodily dipped her in a bag of powder, held her up to whisper into her twitching ear, then set her back down. The fire-mouse immediately dashed toward the towering elemental, leaving behind a trail of sparkling powder on the ground. Upon reaching it, she began running around it, first in a simple circle, then in more complicated patterns. Gradually, a full spell circle began to form around the elemental’s feet, positioned so that it was entirely inside it, and Ami was just barely within its outer edge.

“Don’t!” Basra said urgently when Ami took a half-step back. “It’s fixated on you, Talaari; it’ll follow you. Retreat when we’re ready to move.”

The bard made no response, continuing to play, sing, and gaze placidly up at the rock elemental.

It made another soft rumble, then reached over with one huge, clumsy hand to grab a small rose bush from nearby. This it ripped right out of the ground, and set down next to Ami.

Meesie’s powder was not running out, fortunately, but it took the tiny elemental time to weave in and out, forming the circle. Schwartz kept his eyes focused on her, expression intent; Ami played on, and Basra stood with her sword at the ready, a half-step in front of Ildrin, whose eyes darted nervously about.

Jenell ran back out the kitchen door, trailed a half-moment later by Branwen, who stared at the scene intently but without apparent alarm.

“Schwartz?” Basra said quietly.

“Almost,” he murmured, beckoning. Meesie dashed back to him, and he gave her a small handful of nuts, which she stuffed into her mouth, making her cheeks bulge comically. “Just another moment…”

Meesie ran back to the spell circle, and made a quick but halting trip around it, pausing every few feet to retrieve an acorn from within her mouth with her nimble front paws and place it in a specific spot on the circle. The whole time, Ami kept up her singing.

The effect was clearly beginning to waver, however. The elemental made another rumbling sound, shifting as if in a shrug. It began clambering back upright.

“Schwartz,” Basra said urgently. For the first time, Ami glanced aside at him, betraying nervousness.

“Done!” he said, as Meesie dashed back toward him. “Swamp it with light and I’ll do the rest!”

“On my signal,” Basra said rapidly, “you two join me at the edge of that circle, and you get out of there, Talaari. Three…two…now!”

She rushed forward, her aura flaring alight, with Branwen and Ildrin flanking her. Ami skittered backward, keeping up her strumming for good measure, but between that and the sudden wash of divine energy, the elemental’s calm was effectively shattered. It threw up one arm to shield its head from the glow, letting out a low, awful roar of displeasure.

Shifting its body around, it drew back its other arm, clearly preparing a devastating punch at Basra, Branwen and Ildrin.

“Herschel!” Jenell cried.

“Got it!” he said, planting his hand, palm-down, on the very edge of the trail Meesie had made toward the elemental, the one feeding into the circle itself.

Rather than anything rising up from the circle, a column of white light slammed down from the sky, filling the space defined by the spell circle and momentarily blotting out the elemental from sight. It let out another unearthly roar, and suddenly the light vanished.

Where it had stood, there was only dust. It didn’t hold together even for a second, collapsing to the ground and washing over them in a cloud that seemed to fill the courtyard. All six staggered backward from it, coughing and spluttering, Ami trying to hold her guitar overhead and out of reach of the tide of grit.

In seconds, however, the dust dissipated as well, seeming to melt back into thin air. Only a few swirls of powder were left on the ground, in and around the remains of Schwartz’s banishment circle. A double handful of fragrant mint leaves drifted on the air, settling gradually to the ground.

Branwen caught one. “What on earth…?”

“Oh, ah, that’s mine,” Schwartz said awkwardly. “Well, I mean, you’re welcome to have it, if you want, but that was conjured by my… That is, it’s perfectly safe! All my doing, nothing to do with whoever called that thing here.”

“Good work, all of you,” Basra said, lowering her sword to her side. “Especially you, Schwartz, and you, Talaari.”

“All in a day’s work,” he said modestly.

“Well, I do have a few uses, if I may say so,” Ami replied with a smug smile. “Don’t think of me as just the bitch with the nice ones.”

“Oh!” Scwhartz’s eyes widened. “Bishop Syrinx! I came out here to tell you—it wasn’t just here! I detected multiple elementals appearing—all over the city!”

In the sudden silence that fell over the courtyard, they finally took note of the sounds drifting in from outside. The normal mild clamor of early evening traffic had been replaced by a distant but distinct cacophony of crashing, splashes, and screams.

“Stop!” Basra barked as Ildrin whirled to dash for the courtyard’s side door. “Running out there with no plan will only make things worse. Back into the house, grab any weapons or supplies you need, and meet at the front door in two minutes. We will find what’s going on and put a stop to it, but in an organized fashion. Go!”

They all turned and moved toward the door, following the Bishop, who suited her words with action by being the first one through. Jenell paused and backtracked a moment to retrieve Basra’s scabbard from the side bench where it still lay.

“You, ah, might want to be careful with the b-word, Ami,” Schwartz said, following the bard in at the tail of their procession. “Avenists really don’t like it.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, turning to give him a coy smile. “Ildrin definitely didn’t, I could tell. But Bishop Syrinx, who is never too shy to express her displeasure about anything? Not even a hint that she’d noticed.” She turned forward again, her smile only broadening as she stepped back into the shadows of the house. “Interesting, is it not?”

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“Oh, the poor darling,” Ami cooed, leaning against the railing to peer down at the passersby in the street below, and one in particular. “All that money, and yet so alone. There’s no one in her life who could tell her she accidentally left the house wearing that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jenell replied with mock solemnity. “There’s a certain savage grandeur in dressing in the pelt of a slain foe. I wonder if she bagged that sofa herself?”

Ami giggled in wicked delight, and Jenell smiled along, folding her arms. Aside from the armor she still wore, for a little while, it was just like being back at home with the girls. Before…everything.

“You’re good at this game,” Ami acknowledged, grinning up at her. “I almost regret not having had the chance to play before we both had to embark on our very serious careers.”

Jenell raised an eyebrow, but kept her expression light and amused. “Almost?”

“Well, you know very well we’d have torn each other to shreds,” Ami replied, winking. “I can’t speak for you, but I was somewhat lacking in discretion as a girl.”

“Hm, I suspect you’re right,” Jenell said wryly. “Me too. In a way, that’s why I’m here.”

“Oh? Oh, let me guess!” Straightening up from her position, lounging on the bench against the balustrade in a way that showed off her figure (Jenell was fairly sure she wasn’t trying to flirt; anyway, showing off one’s figure tended to become a habit, and a good one in her opinion), she leaned forward, grinning eagerly. “You sharpened your tongue on the wrong person and had to join the army.”

“I’m sure it’s an old story you’ve heard before,” Jenell said, shaking her head. “Yes, that was it exactly; it’s rather humbling to learn I’m so predictable.”

“Oh, pish, tosh, and pooh,” Ami replied, waving a hand. “I know all the stories, darling; that’s both my job and my religion. Dare I ask who you clawed?”

“The princess of Puna Dara,” Jenell said, deadpan.

The bard blinked. “Oh. Oh, my. Oh, dear, forgive me for saying it, but that was considerably less than discreet.”

“Several people have made that point to me, yes.”

“What did she do?” Ami demanded with ghoulish eagerness. “I mean, here you are, alive, so it can’t have been as bad as it could have been.”

“The uncouth little thug actually threatened to stab me,” Jenell snorted, raising her nose. “At a ball! At General Panissar’s own house! Honestly, I don’t know why we have any kind of treaty with those people.”

“Punaji are indeed…charmingly brutish,” Ami said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I assume someone came to your rescue, dear. A Punaji noble would stab you over an insult—and the Princess would probably get away with it. She might have to make a formal apology to the Imperial government, but unless you’re of a very high-ranking House, that would be that.”

Jenell sighed. “Yes, yes, lesson learned. I maintain the little wharf rat had it coming. Princess, my third foot.”

“Well, that’s a good story—one you might think about embellishing a bit before you tell it next time—but I think I can do better.” Ami lounged back against the balustrade, grinning. “I went to school with two of the three paladins.”

“Really.” Jenell straightened from her own position, leaning against the door frame. “Which—oh, never mind, it would have to be the boys. Avelea grew up in a temple, and forgive me, but you don’t seem the type.”

“I am most definitely not the type, and don’t you forget it!” Ami giggled.

“What were they like?”

“Well! Toby was always such a nice lad—and quite good-looking. Good enough to have a nibble at if he weren’t one of those cloyingly sweet ones. You know the type, so nice it’s like they’ve no spark to them at all.”

“Ugh.”

“I see you do know the type! But it’s Gabriel I devoutly hope I never meet again. Honestly, I don’t even care about the demon thing; he was just one of those juvenile blockheads you couldn’t not torment. I may be in luck if we do bump into each other—I doubt he remembers my face. I don’t think the little snot ever once looked at me above the collarbone.”

“What a fine crop the gods have summoned,” Jenell said dryly, shaking her head.

“Oh, you said it, darling. The world’s going right to Hell in a handbasket.”

“There you are,” Basra said, striding onto the balcony and prompting Jenell to leap away from the door, landing at full attention with a salute. “At ease, Covrin, for heaven’s sake. It’s not as if this is any kind of base, and I’m not even enlisted. I see you’re back, Talaari,” she added pointedly, folding her arms. “That’s a bit of a surprise, considering you didn’t trouble to report in.”

“My sincere apologies, your Grace,” Ami said languidly. If anything, she shifted subtly into a more sensuous lounge, and Jenell didn’t miss the way Basra’s eyes darted fleetingly over her. She firmly repressed the several very unpleasant emotions that flickered through her, especially the faint twinge of jealousy, which revolted her to her core. “The morning’s investigations were hardly conclusive in any direction; it will take time to gather any useful results. A campaign such as this—”

“Regardless,” Basra interrupted, “in the future I want regular updates on your efforts, whether you consider them significant or not. I am starved for intel, here; I need every little scrap of information you can bring. And with regard to that, girls, come along. I’ve called the others to the library; we’ll all catch up over lunch.”

“Ah, yes, lunch,” Ami said with mild distaste, rising fluidly to her feet and following the other two women into the house. “What an…interesting…cook you have hired. I don’t mean to complain—”

“That’s a wise policy,” Basra said from the head of the line. “Have you considered not doing it?”

It was a tensely silent walk the rest of the way to the library.

Everyone else was indeed there; Schwartz sat behind the room’s huge desk, scribbling furiously on a piece of modern white paper with an anachronistically old-fashioned feather quill while Meesie ran manic laps over the books and papers cluttering the desktop. Branwen sat in the armchair by the fireplace, hands folded demurely in her lap and regarding the others with a beatific little smile; Ildrin was standing by the window, peering out onto the same street which the balcony overlooked. She whirled at the Bishop’s entrance, stiffening but not quite coming to attention. Though an ordained cleric in Avei’s faith, she had never served in the Legions, and Basra had already spoken sharply to her about mimicking military customs.

The townhouse was spacious, but the “library” deserved the term only for having bookshelves lining two of its walls, and those were only half-filled. It was really more of an expansive study, no bigger than the average bedroom or parlor. With the whole group assembled, it was rather snug.

“Falaridjad,” Basra said by way of greeting, “I thought I asked you to have a meal prepared.”

“I wasn’t sure when everyone would be gathered,” Ildrin said stiffly, “so it was hard to time the…preparation. I am not used to cooking.”

“You jest,” Ami said sweetly.

“Anyway,” the priestess added, tightening her mouth further, “that boy was adamantly against it.”

“You can’t bring food into a library,” Schwartz agreed, finally looking up from whatever he was writing and frowning at Basra in the most direct reproach he had ever shown in her presence. Meesie came to rest atop a stack of books, squeaking in indignant agreement. “Really, your Grace, everyone knows that.”

Basra sighed, momentarily pinching the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb. “All right, fine, whatever. I want a report on everyone’s activities.”

“I burned a pot of rice,” Ildrin said tightly. “Lunch will be sandwiches. Your Grace, quite apart from being insulting, you have me doing work at which I am not skilled; this is pointless.”

“We are all more or less twiddling our thumbs at his point,” Basra said, clearly unaffected by the priestess’s displeasure. “When more constructive work appears, I will put you to it. And you can always leave, if you’re not happy. Next?”

“The residence is secure, ma’am,” Jenell said when no one chimed up after a few seconds. “I’m afraid I’ve achieved little of consequence, either.”

Barsa nodded to her, then directed a distinctly sardonic look at Branwen. “Had a relaxing morning, have you, Snowe?”

“Quite, thank you,” the Izarite said pleasantly. “I have passed a few very calm hours re-acquainting myself with some of the classics. I can’t remember the last time I was able to just sit and read. And really, Basra, Herschel is correct. You can’t serve food in a library.”

“At this juncture I am still waiting to learn what it is you intend to do here,” Basra said.

“Well, for one thing,” Branwen replied calmly, “I am a divine caster of—if I may flatter myself—not insignificant skill, which will be extremely relevant considering that we expect to be battling elementals.”

“Ah, yes,” Basra said, deadpan, “and we all know the vaunted skill in battle of Izara’s clerics.”

“And,” Branwen continued in a gentler tone, “I am a people person. You’re a politician, Bas. There’s a difference. For instance, right now your frustration is causing you to try to alienate half the people working for you. We’re a small group, contending with an elusive foe. One of Izara’s clerics may be exactly what you need to keep everyone functioning and pointed in the same direction.”

Basra shook her head. “Schwartz?”

He winced. “I, uh, I’ve done what I can. There’s a Salyrite chapel in the city; they were kind enough to send me some research materials I requested. Sister Leraine’s writ of support goes a long way, it seems! But, ah, no, there just isn’t a lot I can do from here. I’ve set up some wards and spirit watchers to protect the house from fae incursion, but without more information I really can’t extend that over a wider area. And, you know, some general-purpose wards over the whole city, but frankly I can’t see our mysterious antagonist bumbling into those; it’s more just on general principles. Patrolling the perimeter, and all that. Otherwise I’m, um, sort of… Well, a lot will depend on what Mr. Hargrave comes back with.”

“You can’t do anything from here to counter elemental attacks?” she demanded, turning to him with a scowl.

“Fae magic isn’t like the divine or arcane,” he said, quickly scooping up Meesie when she puffed up menacingly, squeaking at Basra. “It’s not just a matter of pointing your thoughts at an objective. It’s all about connectedness, about sympathetic principles, ab—well, no, I’m going off into a lecture, sorry. Um.” He rubbed his chin, frowning in thought for a moment. “Any working but the very simplest spells requires rituals, reagents, and contact made with various entities. In order to know which to use, I need to know rather specifically what I am doing. In general workings, the kinds of things meant to interact with just the physical world, well, that’s pretty straightforward. But we’re dealing with, specifically, a rival fae caster. One, who, I’m afraid, is rather more powerful than myself. Without information…” He shrugged helplessly, then offered a weak grin. “Now, if you point me at a warlock, I can have them crispy-fried and in a basket for you by dinner!”

“I can crush my own warlocks, thank you,” she said curtly.

“With that said,” Schwartz hurried on, “there is something I can do, but I wanted to clear it with you before taking action, because it’ll result in me being out of commission for a while.”

Basra narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”

“It’s about the shadow elemental we fought, you see. A creation that powerful and sophisticated necessarily has a lot of its creator put into it. With time to study it, I can potentially find a link that we can use to track it back to its maker!”

“It’s a little too destroyed to study,” Jenell commented.

“Yes, exactly,” Shwartz agreed, nodding. “Unfortunately we didn’t have the chance to nail that down at the time. So! I’d like to set up a spell that’ll let me, ah, sort of reach back in time to get some of that information.”

“You can scry through time?” Basra demanded.

“Oh, goodness, no!” he said hastily. “Scrying is arcane craft—well, unless you’re a really advanced…um, sorry, that’s off the topic. No, and anyway, traveling anything through time is asking to get a visit from the Scions of Vemnesthis, which is not pleasant. But!” He tapped his temple, grinning. “I was there. And the memory, while it isn’t as good as firsthand experience, has a lot of data that I didn’t consciously note at the time. That’s just how the brain works, you know! So what I plan to do involves entering a very deep trance to explore my own mind in detail from within, to extract information from that memory and see if I can figure out anything useful. Anything that can give us more intelligence about the person responsible for all this.”

“I like it,” she said, nodding. “Sounds more concrete than anything else thus far.”

“As I said, though,” he continued soberly, “this is a major undertaking. I’ll be out of commission for…gosh, it’ll be hours at the very least. Could well be the whole day. Maybe longer. I didn’t want to just do that without getting your go-ahead. And, uh… I’d rather have the supervision of a healer, if Bishop Snowe or Sister Falaridjad would oblige?”

“Excellent,” she said in a clipped tone. “Well done, Schwartz. Get started on that as soon as you can make the arrangements, and keep me informed.”

“Will do!”

“As of this moment,” she added in a much drier tone, “Schwartz is by a substantial margin the most useful member of this group. All of us should pause and reflect upon our shortcomings.”

“Basra,” Branwen said in gentle reproof, “we are all in the same position you are. Without more information, what can we do?”

“That brings us to our last member,” Basra said, turning to Ami, “who has actually been doing something all morning. Or so I sincerely hope.”

“Yes, yes, you needn’t worry,” Ami said haughtily. “I have been out in the city, listening and learning. There are indeed stirrings of unease regarding the incidents in question, but information is scarce. In an environment such as that, rumor flourishes, which muddies the waters. Rumors, now, those I can chase down—given time. However, like Mr. Schwartz, I am only in the very beginning stages of my own campaign. These things take time. I have visited several of the city’s most upscale establishments under the pretense of seeking permission to perform; I had a productive time overhearing gossip and asking innocent questions, but of course, nothing is open at this hour. Actually getting to the gentry will have to wait till they are free from their hangovers and pursuing the next ones.”

“Never been to Viridill before, have you?” Jenell asked dryly. “You seem to be expecting more excitement than there is.”

“Upscale establishments?” Basra said sharply. “I’d prefer a broader range of investigation. Even here, are surely a variety of taverns, tea rooms, shroom farms…”

“Your Grace,” Ami said in evident horror, “I have a reputation! A method, a persona, and for a bard, all of those are interconnected! I simply cannot be loitering about in unclean hellholes—really, a person like me!”

Basra closed her eyes. “Goddess, save me. Bards, witches, glorified temple prostitutes… This is what I have to work with.”

“In any case,” Ami continued, sticking her nose in the air, “I have chosen my methods for a reason, not simply because I enjoy the finer things in life. One learns so much more from the rich and powerful; they know things that no one else does, and have a perspective that sees farther as a rule. True, one sacrifices some of the more wide-reaching viewpoints of the common folk…but where the high and mighty congregate, so too do their servants.” She winked roguishly. “And those frequently offer the best of both worlds.”

“Hang on.” Basra turned her back on the bard, frowning suddenly at Schwartz. “If you’re in as much of a waiting phase as the rest of us, Schwartz, what were you working on so furiously there? That needed materials from your cult?”

“Oh!” Schwartz cleared his throat uncomfortably, shuffling papers. “Ah, well, I did try a basic divination. The fae arts don’t give precise detail like scrying, as you probably know; oracular divinations are all but impossible to block, but, ah…how shall I put this…”

“Tactically useless,” Basra said, grimacing.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say… Okay, yes, that’s kind of a fair point. But still, I figured, what’s the harm in trying, right? Any little thing we learn, after all!”

“Since you didn’t see fit to report on your results,” she retorted, “I gather they were, in a word, useless.”

“Oh, well, um…yes, I’m afraid so.” He shrugged awkwardly. “It’s like dream imagery. All symbolism and…well. I have managed to identify the broken tree I saw!” he offered, holding up one volume whose cover labeled it a book of the mystical correspondences of plants. “But as for what it means… A lame wolf and a broken aspen, a snake that turned into a man, a crow circling overhead.” Again he shrugged. “I’ll be keeping an eye open in the coming days, needless to say, but sadly, things like this are seldom clear except after the fact.”

“Well,” Ami said archly. “That all sounds tremendously morbid.”

“All right,” Basra said curtly. “Then unless anyone has anything else?”

A chilly silence met her. Branwen sighed very softly into it.

“Fine,” said Basra. “That’s it for now, then. Snowe, Talaari, keep me appraised of your comings and goings; the rest of you, stay in the house unless I tell you otherwise. And Falaridjad… Look, just put together some sandwiches. Can you manage not to burn that?”

Outside the library window, a shadow detached itself from the wall and slid silently down it to the street below, where it vanished into a storm drain.

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10 – 22

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“I like this place!” Schwartz announced, leaning over the carved stone bannister to grin down at them.

“Oh, you do,” Basra said tonelessly, not lifting her eyes from the Governor’s folder, which she had been studying almost non-stop since receiving it. “Great. That’s a load off my mind. I was very concerned.”

The residence granted them by the Governor was spacious, but compactly fitted in its genteel neighborhood due to is efficient layout; it came furnished, and its size and style of décor suggested a middling level of wealth. Lower nobility or a fairly prosperous merchant might own such a home. It was altogether very typical of Viridill—and thus Avenist—sensibilities, being built of simple local granite with white marble accents in the interior, its trappings of fine quality but not ostentatious in style, and running toward the faux militaristic. The walls were adorned sparingly with banners heralding no House, nation or military unit that actually existed, plus a few mounted weapons of fanciful design clearly not meant for actual battle; the corners of the main hall were guarded by stands bearing suits of Avenic-style bronze armor inlaid with silver and ivory.

Schwartz, looking a little crestfallen at Basra’s chilly reception, ducked back behind the balustrade, then continued down the stairs to rejoin the group on the ground floor.

“Well, it is a nice place,” he said somewhat defensively. “There’s plenty of room for everyone, and even a serviceable library!”

“What makes a library serviceable?” Jenell asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I mean, it’s…stocked? Just from a cursory look I gather the books were collected more for showing off than reading. It’s all classics and very fine editions of unremarkable literature. Not to sound conceited or anything, but I rather doubt I’ll learn much from browsing there!”

“You’re not here to browse books,” Basra said curtly, turning a page. “And with regard to how much room there is for everyone, Branwen, exactly how many people did you recruit for this operation?”

“Just the two, Bas,” Branwen replied with an amused little smile.

“And I’m ready to be of service in any way I can, ma’am!” the newest member of their party said stiffly. Variations on that theme had been the primary thrust of her commentary thus far—she seemed to be growing nervous at Basra’s persistent disinterest.

Ildrin Falaridjad was a woman of remarkably middling appearance; her nondescript brown hair, light brown eyes and pale brown complexion supported the mixed ancestry hinted at by her Stalweiss name and Tiraan surname. She wore the simple white robe of the Sisterhood’s civilian clergy, without even a weapon, though she seemed to be trying to mimic a military bearing. Unsuccessfully, if Basra and Covrin’s unfriendly regard were any indication.

“Any way you can?” Basra asked, finally lifting her eyes to give the priestess a very level stare.

“Absolutely, your Grace!” Ildrin said firmly, nodding.

“Good,” Basra said, returning her attention to the papers. “I’m placing you in charge of KP.”

“Um.” Ildrin glanced at the others; Schwartz and Branwen looked as nonplussed as she, while Covrin made a show of smothering a smile. “I’m sorry, what does that mean?”

“I note that the Governor did not see fit to provide us any domestic staff along with this residence,” Basra said, still reading. “That’s your job. Keep our facilities in order, see to provisions.”

“B-b-but that’s…cooking and cleaning,” Ildrin sputtered. “That’s housekeeping work!”

Branwen sighed. “Basra…”

“I know who you are, Sister Ildrin,” Basra said, looking up at her again, her face ominously expressionless. “You have a certain reputation in certain circles. I know exactly where this one dug you up,” she paused to jerk a thumb at Branwen, who made a wry face. “I have a pretty good idea what to expect from you, and only the fact that I have an actual use for a warm body to deal with domestic tasks prevents me from chasing you right out of here. Prove that you have further use and won’t cause trouble, and I’ll find more interesting work for you. Otherwise, you can leave and resume whatever you were doing before Bishop Snowe disrupted your orderly little life. It is very much all the same to me.”

A bell rang from the foyer beyond the main hall, and Branwen rose smoothly from her seat against the wall. “I think I had better answer that,” she said, giving Basra a pointed look as she passed on the way to the door. Her fellow Bishop made no acknowledgment, turning another page and resuming her study.

“I won’t disappoint you, your Grace,” Ildrin said with grim certainty, having taken advantage of the momentary distraction to compose her features.

“Not twice, you won’t,” Basra murmured.

The sound of voices echoed from the foyer, muffled by the inefficient acoustics and the heavy velvet drapes decorating the doorway, but the sound just served to highlight the chilly silence that fell across the group in the hall. Jenell stood calmly at parade rest, while Basra appeared fully engrossed in her study of the Governor’s reports. Ildrin, however, was a portrait of unhappiness, and Schwartz kept glancing around, looking increasingly awkward.

“So!” he said after a tense few moments. “I, uh, I wonder who that is at the door.”

“Mr. Schwartz,” said Basra, again not lifting her gaze from the reports, “I am a career politician; my life’s work involves listening to a lot of bloviating, lies, obfuscation and self-congratulatory noise. That, I suspect, is the only reason your last comment is not the single most pointless use of human breath I have ever heard.”

Jenell bit her lips, repressing a smile with more sincerity this time, but the look she gave the crestfallen witch was oddly sympathetic. Sitting upright in his slightly unkempt hair, Meesie puffed herself up and squeaked indignantly at Basra. Predictably and fortunately, this garnered no reaction.

Before the situation could become any more awkward, the voices from without grew louder, and Branwen and the new arrival entered the hall.

“…no disrespect, of course, your Grace, but this has been the most frustrating morning. I appreciate the message you left for me at the Rail station, but no one at the Temple of Avei had any idea what I was talking about, and the personnel at the Imperial government office were most unhelpful until I finally got in touch with ohhh no!” Coming to a stop in the doorway, the new arrival dropped the expensive carpet bag in her left hand to point melodramatically at Basra. “Absolutely not! I’ve had quite enough of this one’s antics for one lifetime, thank you! Good day.”

She was a tall, strikingly pretty young woman with waves of luxuriant black hair tumbling down her back, which she immediately showed them by turning on her heel. Branwen caught her arm before she could take another step—if, indeed, she had actually intended to, considering her bag was still on the floor.

“Now, Ms. Talaari, please wait a moment,” the Izarite urged placatingly.

“Hello, Ami,” Basra said, raising an eyebrow sardonically. “I was told you’d be coming. Is there a problem?”

“Oh, you were told, is that it?” Ami Talaari replied, half-turning again to give her a haughty stare. Her position was well-chosen, giving the group a view of her impressive profile as well as allowing her a dramatically sidelong glare at them. “How marvelous. I’m sure you’d just love another opportunity to try to have me scalped by Huntsmen of Shaath, since it didn’t take the last time.”

“Scalped?” Schwartz exclaimed. Meesie cheeped in mirrored alarm.

“Um…” Ildrin frowned. “Huntsmen don’t do that.”

“Young woman, what in the world are you talking about?” Basra asked, closing the folder and lowering it to her side.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Ami spat, tossing her head. “You offered me a task in good faith, and instead of the simple Legion training exercise you promised, I found myself waylaid by the Thieves’ Guild and informed I had come within a hair’s breadth of infuriating a party of heavily armed Huntsmen—men belligerent enough to attack a unit of the Silver Legions!”

“Wait, Huntsmen attacked Legionnaires?” Ildrin demanded. “When was this? I would have heard about that!”

“You would have,” Basra said dryly, “because no such thing took place. Ms. Talaari did indeed help me with a training exercise for a small special forces unit, and performed rather well. Better than they did, anyway. It’s also true she subsequently ran afoul of interfaith politics that I failed to anticipate—I did not actually expect the Thieves’ Guild to interfere in that. I made arrangements for you to be amply compensated for the trouble, Ami,” she added, narrowing her eyes. “I was told the Guild did not mishandle you unduly. Was that in error?”

“Oh, they were very polite,” Ami said scathingly. “As a bard, I quite admired their skill at making it clear I was one wrong move from a slit throat without actually saying anything overtly threatening. Such wordplay! It would all have been deeply educational, had I not been terrified for my life!”

“Grandstanding and bluster,” Basra sad dryly. “Ironically, you’re only at significant risk of having your throat slit by the Thieves’ Guild if you are in it.”

“Which is all well and good now,” Ami continued, glaring down her nose at the Bishop. “And they didn’t lay a finger on me, it’s true. I was rather more perturbed to learn you deliberately set me up to profane a Shaathist religious rite and antagonize a cell of Huntsmen!”

“I say,” Schwartz muttered, blinking rapidly.

“Who told you that?” Basra demanded.

Ami seemed taken aback by her suddenly sharp tone. “I… That is, the Eserites were actually quite informative while they…”

“So you’re telling me,” Basra said scornfully, “you believed a story spun for you by the armed thugs holding you prisoner?”

“Well—I— Why would they lie?”

“How is that even a question?” Basra shot back, her tone disparaging. “Ami, I truly am sorry you were caught up in that fiasco—as I said, I did my best to make sure you were compensated for your hardships. The truth is, both the Huntsmen and the Thieves’ Guild were butting in where they had no business being; the Legionnaires being trained scarcely avoided conflict with both. Honestly, I thought better of you than this based on your performance. Both cults had to begin spinning stories to make themselves look innocent of wrongdoing. By the time everyone got through filling the air with contradictions, the story was so muddled we were never able to prosecute anyone for their actions, nor even lodge a complaint with the Church that would have been taken seriously. Frankly, I missed my best chance to have investigators dig into the mess while it was fresh enough to do so because I was busy making sure my Legionnaires and you were unharmed and properly cared for. Please tell me you received the remuneration I requisitioned for you?”

“Well, yes… And that was appreciated, but…”

“But?” Basra planted her fists on her hips, bending the Governor’s folder. “You are actually holding out for more?”

“Now, see here,” Ami protested more weakly.

“You performed your duties competently, but it wasn’t as if the dramatic chops the task required were that substantial. Honestly, Talaari, I am not certain why Bishop Snowe contacted you for this task, and I am increasingly unconvinced that your help will be needed.”

“Basra, really,” Branwen said reprovingly. “That is enough. Don’t badger the girl, she’s already had a hard enough time, it seems. Ami, dear, could I talk with you for a moment?” Smiling up at the taller woman, she gently tugged her toward the side door into the dining room. “In here, if you please. I believe we can clear all this up.”

“I’m not so certain I want to clear anything up,” Ami complained, even as she was led unresistingly away. “Quite apart from the trouble I’ve already had, it doesn’t sound like…”

Branwen shut the heavy oak door behind them, cutting off sound.

Basra heaved an irritated sigh. “Well, how marvelously helpful Branwen has turned out to be.”

“Shall I ask those two to absent themselves from the mission, ma’am?” Jenell asked.

“No,” Basra said curtly, rapidly sweeping her glance across those still in the hall. “The common theme I’m detecting among the personnel available here is that each may be specifically useful in this task, if you can all control some of your more annoying habits—Snowe included. I’ve been considering strategy while perusing the Governor’s reports. So far, there’s nothing in them I didn’t already learn at the Abbey. Right now, the problem is that we are stuck waiting on others: on Hargrave to report back with his findings, and worse, on the shaman responsible for these problems to carry out more attacks, and hopefully make a mistake. This is not an acceptable state of affairs. I intend to go on the offensive.”

“I say,” Schwartz said worriedly. “That does sound rather…well, unsafe.”

“This is war, Schwartz,” Basra retorted. “It’s not meant to be safe. But this particular conflict is spread widely through a civilian-occupied area, and quite apart from the risk to life, limb and property posed by these attacks, it’s going to be necessary for us to manage the perceptions of the local populace while hunting down the perpetrator. In particular, we have to find a way to be magically aggressive in the fae realm without antagonizing Viridill’s resident witches, who can either be tremendously helpful in this, or make our tasks far more difficult. Schwartz, we need to have a long discussion about the possibilities there; I require a full briefing on certain aspects of fae magic.”

“Well, I mean, that is,” he stammered, “it really depends on what exactly you intend…”

“We’ll go over it. The other relevant concern is that the specific skills of an Izarite priestess and a bard will be exceedingly useful in the days to come. In addition to pacifying the natives, we need to be reaching out into the community and fishing up answers. I don’t mind admitting that wrangling bumpkins is not part of my skill set.”

“I can definitely help with that,” Ami announced, reemerging abruptly from the dining room with her chin held high. Between her bearing, her obviously detailed personal grooming, and her expensive taste in dresses, she managed to look positively regal, despite her recent outbursts. “People talk to a bard even if they’ve no intention of talking to anyone, including themselves.”

“I…wait, what?” Ildrin said, frowning.

“She means,” Branwen said from behind Ami, “we will both be glad to help.”

“So you’ve decided to stay on, have you?” Basra dryly asked the bard.

“Yes, well.” Ami shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance, inspecting her nails. “Bishop Snowe explained what has been happening here, and the importance of the task. A true bard does not flee from hazard.”

“Wow,” Schwartz muttered, “that was fast.”

“Uh, really?” Ildrin inquired. “I think we’ve read some very different stories about bards.”

“In any case,” Ami added more loudly, “this being a worthwhile duty and not a silly training exercise, if it does prove to be dangerous, at least that will serve as an appropriate and worthy use of my talents.”

“Great,” Basra said with a long-suffering look. “Then Schwartz can lead the way to this alleged library; we all need to have a discussion. I’ve the bones of a strategy in mind, but I need a deeper understanding of the assets I’m working with before we can move.”

“I have my things in the foyer,” Ami said haughtily. “I’ll need those taken to my quarters.”

“Oh, will you,” Ildrin said, folding her arms and staring disapprovingly. “Is there a reason you can’t pick up after yourself?”

“Yes, Sister, there is,” Basra said, giving her a chilly little smile. “We happen to have someone on staff whose job that is. Hop to it, KP.”

By early afternoon, Ingvar had mostly gotten over his disgruntlement at Darling’s continued physical performance. Admitting how childish and irrational it was in the first place helped, as did assuring himself that recognizing Darling’s abilities imposed upon him no obligation to like the man. And indeed, it enabled him to be properly amused at the sight of the city-dwelling Eserite hiking through the mountains in his loud suit. No matter how uncomplaining and unwinded he was by the exertion, that remained funny.

Ingvar mostly kept his peace on their trek, aware that the Shadow Hunters—or Rangers, or whatever it pleased them to call themselves—were leading them on a wide arc into the mountains rather than a straight route across the valley ahead, the purpose for which he could not see. He wasn’t about to speak up and ask, though. Raichlin would surely have said something up front if he had intended to, and if he were up to something shifty…well, there was no sense in revealing and Ingvar had spotted it. That didn’t seem likely, though; they surely wouldn’t expect a Huntsman to be so easily misdirected in a mountain forest. Whether Joe and Darling had noticed anything he couldn’t say, though he strongly suspected not.

“Ah,” Raichlin said suddenly as they rounded a rocky outcropping and a view of the valley below opened up. “Stop here a moment, gentlemen—this is worth seeing.”

“It’s quite a vista,” Darling agreed, stepping up next to him. “You don’t see this kind of thing in—oh! Wolves!”

Ingvar and Joe pushed forward to join him, while Frind and Liesl backed away, smiling. The three men crowded together at a narrow point between pine trunks, gazing avidly down into the valley.

It wasn’t hugely far below, just distant enough that their presence would not be evident to the creatures there, but close enough that they could see the wolves clearly. They were typical Stalweiss mountain wolves, though perhaps a little larger (it was difficult to gauge the distance exactly) and with maybe a bit more brown in their coats than those Ingvar had heard and read of. Then again, he’d not seen the wolves of the Stalrange in person before. These could be utterly typical, for all he knew.

Typical or not, they truly were magnificent beasts. There were six of them, lolling about in the mountain heather; they rolled and nipped playfully at one another, seeming completely at ease, while the two smallest—doubtless the youngest—chased each other in circles around the rest of the pack.

“Beautiful creatures,” Joe whispered in a tone of awe, and Ingvar once again felt a surge of fondness for the boy. For a young man raised outside the faith, Joe had a good head on his shoulders. He was already more sensible than Tholi in a number of ways.

“Aren’t wolves nocturnal?” Darling asked after a few minutes of watching the creatures gamboling in the heather.

“Largely,” Ingvar murmured. “Their behavior varies somewhat; dusk is their favorite time to hunt. It is peculiar to see them so active this close to midday…”

“Kind of exposed out there, ain’t they?” Joe added. “Not that I’m any kind of expert. Biggest things we’ve got out where I’m from is coyotes. But I always figured wolves liked forests more than open spaces.”

“They are supremely versatile hunters,” said Raichlin. “Wolves prosper in an amazing variety of environments. Still, you’re correct; this isn’t exactly typical behavior for the species. We are the second party to head out from the lodge today; those who got an earlier start were out encouraging the pack to gather here.”

“Really?” Darling asked. “You herded them here on purpose?”

“You don’t herd wolves,” Raichlin said in amusement. “You can drive them, but not usually for very long. The central difference between herd animals and pack animals is whether they run from or at you. In any case, no—we don’t do anything so brutish to these, nor allow anyone else to tamper with them. This pack is special. We have a long-standing relationship with them; they know the Rangers who operate in these valleys, and we have an understanding of sorts. To an extent, they accommodate us, and vice versa. For the inconvenience of being out today for our purposes, they’ll be provided with an easy meal.”

“You brought the wolves? This is what you wanted us to see?” Ingvar demanded, refusing to let his sudden unease show on his face. Wolves were not merely sacred in Shaath’s faith—they were considered nigh-mystical creatures, mysterious, unapproachable, untameable. That these Ranger could establish such a rapport with a wild pack was a claim he had trouble crediting.

And yet…there they were, relaxed and happy, showing no signs of having been driven from their preferred habitat, despite this being the wrong time of day for them to be out.

“You don’t really bring wolves,” Raichlin murmured, watching the animals as closely as the others were, now. “But friends sometimes choose to indulge one another. Yes—these play a central role in the rite we brought you up here to observe. But this isn’t the place, gentlemen. Come along, further up and farther in! It’s not much farther now.”

They only tore their gazes away from the wolf pack with reluctance, but Raichlin had already headed off into the trees, Frind and Liesl trailing him. It was follow or be left.

He was true to his word, anyway. They hiked on for less than another half hour before the trail arrived at a ledge overlooking the valley, with a natural cave mouth behind it. A few feet in, heavy hides had been tacked over the entrance, indicating that this place saw regular use. Their arrival was clearly awaited; another woman in Ranger gear sat on an improvised stool consisting of an uprooted stump, stirring a pot of something. Ingvar noted with disapproval that she wasn’t using a proper fire, but an arcane camp stove. Well, on the other hand, it produced no smoke or scent, which might be an issue if they were trying not to alarm the wolves below.

“There you are,” she said softly, smiling up at them.

“What’s that supposed to mean, there we are?” Raichlin demanded in mock offense. “I know you haven’t been waiting that long, Tabitha.”

“On the contrary,” she said, winking. “I expected to be up here longer. You three and Brother Ingvar would have no trouble in the mountains, of course, but you were bringing a couple of city boys…”

“Beggin’ your pardon, miss,” said Joe, tipping his hat, “but I’m a small town boy, personally. Makes a difference.”

“I stand corrected,” she said gravely. “Liesl, the mugs are inside the waystation, there, if you would.”

“Oh, yes, I see,” Liesl said, nodding. “You can’t fetch them because your legs are broken. I’m so sorry, Tabs.”

“Yours could end up that way if you sass me, youngling!”

“Ladies,” Raichlin said reprovingly. “We’re here on spiritual business. Flirt on your own time.”

Liesl stuck her tongue out at him, but turned and flounced into the cave, shoving the hanging bear pelt aside.

Frind snorted a soft laugh. “C’mon over here, boys, your journey is at an end.”

“This is a lovely spot,” Darling said, following him toward the protruding edge of the flat outcropping. “Is this natural, or did you carve it out?”

“A little of both,” said Frind, seating himself on a rounded, flattish rock set into the ground and pointing at a few others nearby. There were eight of them, arranged in a semicircle and clearly having been placed there deliberately. “The ledge and the cave were just here, but we’ve made some improvements for our purposes. Now, pick a rock and pop a squat, elven style.” He demonstrated by crossing his legs under him. “About face, Joe, you’ll wanna be looking out at the valley.”

“Oh, sorry ’bout that,” Joe said quickly turning himself around somewhat awkwardly without getting up. Ingvar had already seated himself, and Darling was in the process of folding his legs under him. Oddly enough, he seemed slightly uncomfortable with the position—the first time in this trip Ingvar had seen him so.

“Not at all, don’t worry about a thing,” Frind said easily.

“There are no mistakes here,” Raichlin added, joining himself and taking a seat on the other side of the group from his fellow Ranger. “It would be very hard to mess this up—any personal touches you add to the rite will only serve to make it more meaningful to you. We don’t go in for a lot of needless ceremony.”

“This rite,” Ingvar said carefully, settling his palms on his knees. “What, exactly, does this entail?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you through it,” Raichlin assured him. “In a moment Liesl will be back with—and there she is. No, don’t worry about them, gentlemen; we’ll arrange everything. For now, keep your eyes on the wolves.”

“What am I looking for?” Darling asked curiously, though he obeyed, leaning forward slightly to peer down at the great hunters below. The wolves seemed less playful and more sleepy now, a couple of the younger ones still bouncing about but the others mostly curled up together in the heather.

“Just the wolves,” Raichlin said. “This is the beginning. We’ll have something for you to drink momentarily—just sip at it, it’ll help calm the mind and invigorate the spirit after that hike. But keep your attention on the wolves themselves. Don’t worry about any particular aspect, just focus on whatever seems most interesting to you. Consider them, wonder about what you don’t know, ponder what you do. Imagine the sensation of that fur under your hands, the sound of their howling. If you’ve never heard or felt the like, don’t stress yourself. Let your mind supply whatever images it finds most relateable.”

As he droned on, Liesl appeared silently, bearing cups of the steaming brew Tabitha had apparently spent the morning preparing. Its scent was mild, a savory herbal aroma with earthy undertones, but matched what had wafted from the pot. Ingvar accepted a mug, lifting it to his nose to sniff at it before taking a tiny sip. The taste wasn’t exactly pleasing, but…not bad.

But then, taste wasn’t the point. This wasn’t exactly like any rite of Shaath that he knew, but parts formed a pattern that was familiar. The warm drink, Raichlin’s softly droning voice serving to keep them on the subject. For a fleeting moment, suspicion and unease flared up again, but he quickly let them go. He was here. This was what he had come for. The trail was before him; he walked it willingly.

It was not hard at all to follow directions; the peculiar tea was indeed calming, seeming to help his mind focus. He studied the great predators lolling in the heather below, taking in every detail his eyes could discern at that distance. The pattern of their pelts, the way they moved, they way they interacted with each other…

As he watched, taking occasional sips and listening to Raichlin drone on, it seemed that more details came to him, flashes of insight and perceptions that should have been beyond him. The warmth of the canines’ breath, the sounds they made to one another. Thick, coarse fur beneath his fingers, rubbing against his skin. The wild scent of them. Golden eyes, clear and piercing in the daylight. Golden eyes, glowing in the dark.

Howls echoing from the hills, as the pack called to one another. Panting and the quick pumping of legs as they raced through the darkened forest, the eagerness of the hunt, the scent of prey guiding them.

Trust in the brothers and sisters running alongside, the pack a single organism. The night, the hunt, hot breath, warm blood.

Trust, hunger, joy, freedom.

When the mug slipped from his fingers, he didn’t even notice.

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