Tag Archives: Lieutenant Laghari

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The mounted cultist turned to see what was bearing down on him, hesitated for a bare instant, then sent his giant mechanical rooster stomping in the other direction as fast as it would go. It immediately encountered an ice slick, lost footing, and skidded across the plaza in a painful-looking tangle of metal limbs, leaving his still-sparking lance to lie on the ground behind him.

“Nice, Fross!” Gabriel shouted, even as Whisper erupted from a burst of shadow and smoke on the wall behind him.

Trissiny didn’t bother to pursue the fallen rider, adjusting the angle of Arjen’s charge to head for the second cultist.

This one was made of sterner stuff.

The cobblestone elemental continued methodically backing up for another charge at the gates, incidentally opening a path between them, and the mechanical insect lunged forward to meet the charging paladin head-on.

Arjen was taller and bigger, but the cultist’s weapon had a longer reach. By accident or design, he rammed its sparking tip into the horse’s chest as they impacted. Arjen bellowed in pain, staggering and barely keeping his footing on the rain-slick pavement; the force of the impact sent him off-course, enough that Trissiny’s futile sword swipe at the spider-rider in passing went nowhere near him.

Both riders arced about as they recovered, wheeling to face one another again. Whatever damage had been done to Arjen he seemed to have shrugged off—no surprise, given the divine energy blazing from his rider. The cultist’s weapon had been bent by the collision, and was now emitting constant sparks from the two spots where it had warped in addition to arcs of electricity from its tip, all of them creating a staticky haze in the rain. He seemed undeterred, however, leveling his crumpled lance and surging forward again.

It was at that point that the Rust holding the battlements above the gatehouse managed to draw a bead on Trissiny.

Immediately she pitched sideways in her saddle, keeping enough of a grip on the reins and with her knees to avoid tumbling off, but slowing Arjen’s loop as he responded to his rider’s distress. The noise of the sonic weapons was oddly muted to those at whom they were not directed, but their shrill whine rose above the voice of the wind and receding thunder.

Even as she struggled to stay mounted, Trissiny’s aura brightened, hardening into an extra layer of divine shielding encompassing both her and Arjen, and the golden wings still unfurled behind her actually extended several feet as Avei’s hand upon her intensified. She was hunched over in clear distress, but tried to straighten Arjen’s course and meet the enemy’s six-legged charge. It was an awkward recovery, though, and even with his bent lance, the cultist had more speed and a more direct angle at their exposed flank.

The goddess’s attention seemingly spared Trissiny the worst of the sonic weapon’s effect, but whatever Avei’s reason, she did not intervene decisively to end the battle.

Fortunately, she was not the only one in a position to do so.

A bolt of black light ripped through the downpour, striking the Rust rider straight in the chest and nearly unseating him. His lance jerked off-target, but his mount did not slacken its speed. Whisper was galloping faster than Arjen, her invisible hooves having no trouble on the slickened pavement, and Gabriel passed Trissiny to meet the attacker in a proper joust, scythe leveled before him.

The man’s life was saved by the fact that the wicked blade did not strike him with its cutting edge; instead, the cap of its pole lifted him clear out of the seat and hurled him several yards backward in an impact that had to have crushed ribs at the very least.

He brought Whisper around in an impossibly nimble pivot; where Arjen had greater strength and endurance than a flesh-and-blood horse, she was more agile than a mountain goat. Trissiny had recovered enough to guide her steed out of the path of the runaway mechanical spider, which clattered past on a course that would eventually lead it to crash into the wall. It was probably gratuitous, then, for Gabriel to chase it down, but he did.

“Fross!” Ruda barked, pointing her rapier at the battlements. Some of the Rust had switched targets, but Gabriel was wearing one of the Avatar’s earplugs and didn’t even seem to notice that he was being fired upon.

“On it!” The pixie streaked upward just as Gabriel slammed the blade of his scythe into the middle of the fleeing mechanical, causing it to immediately burst apart in a profusion of suddenly rusted-out parts, but she slowed in confusion when the attacking cultists abruptly tumbled forward over the ramparts.

The reduced Squad One moved as quickly as they could without making noise that would give away their position, which was quicker than almost any other phalanx in the Legions thanks to the silencing charms Locke had laid on their boots. Even so, with Shahai remaining behind with two of the Punaji troopers who hadn’t recovered enough to be fit, in Lieutenant Laghari’s assessment, for combat, they made a pitifully short line.

Ephanie took a position on the left flank, where she would be able (hopefully) to break away and deal with a cultist who was separated somewhat from their group, firing at whoever was attacking the gate below. Behind the Legionnaires, Laghari led his troops from the front, peeking up over the edge of the trapdoor down into the gatehouse. He wasn’t being rained on directly due to a column-supported roof covering this section of the walls, and the water still blowing through the area didn’t impede visibility too much.

There were six Rust atop this gatehouse, all lined against the battlements with their weapons aimed below, and unaware of what was happening behind them—their last information being that the defending soldiers were incapacitated below.

Unfortunately, someone had warned the north gatehouse, and four more armed Rust were coming. Squad One had barely got into formation when they began shouting warnings to their fellows.

“CHARGE!” Ephanie roared.

Shields up and lances forward, the Legionnaires pounded across two yards of rooftop and slammed into the cultists from behind, just as they began to turn.

Almost the whole group immediately went over the walls, Merry losing her grip on her lance as it was stuck through someone’s midsection. Ephanie broke formation and rushed the outlier barely in time to prevent her from bringing her sonic weapon to bear. Slamming her shield into the woman’s body, she shoved as hard as she could, driving her back against the battlements.

Behind her, the chaos of battle erupted, Merry and Farah going down with shrieks of pain as the Rust’s reinforcements fired sonic weapons into their formation, and then the roar of staff fire as Laghari and his troops burst out of the stairwell, ripping into the intruders with a torrent of lightning bolts. Ephanie couldn’t see the outcome; if the Rust’s shields operated like standard arcane ones, they wouldn’t function in the rain. If not… One way or the other, this was about to be decisively over.

She had to focus on her own fight.

The cultist before her had a metal plate covering one eye with a gap in it, in which a green crystal was set. This did nothing to disguise her furious snarl. Ephanie got her shoulder into the shield and rammed her even harder against the battlements, the position of her body preventing the cultist from getting the sound-thrower aimed at her. It also made it impossible to bring her lance into place, however, so she dropped it and drew her short sword.

Her attempted stab was caught. Of course that would be the side on which her enemy had the metal hand. They struggled for position and for control of the blade, unable to use weapons and reduced to an ugly contest of brute strength. Ephanie was taller and stronger than the average woman, than the average Legionnaire, even, but her foe was part machine, and she was not gaining ground.

The fact that none of her squad had already intervened was a bad sign.

“Um, scuze me, sorry ’bout this…”

She barely had a moment to process the squeaky little voice which sounded from close by, and then she was bodily picked up and moved backward through the air, supported by apparently nothing.

The cultist staggered forward, or started do, and then a little ball of silver light darted in between them and hit the machine-augmented woman in the chest with a tiny bolt of lightning. That was enough to drive her back against the battlements; a second sent her tumbling over to join her fellows.

“Fross!” Ephanie gasped. “Good timing!”

“Thanks, I do what I can!”

She finally could turn to assess the situation, and found it dramatically improved from minutes ago. All three of her women were apparently all right, the two who’d been hit again sitting against the battlements with Nandi making a beeline for them, already glowing. Lightning burns marred the walltop around the Rust who had tried to come from the other gatehouse, every one of whom now lay unmoving in the rain.

“THE STORM CARES NOT!” Laghari bellowed, brandishing his staff overhead. His soldiers roared defiantly in response, and he turned to speak more calmly to his new allies. “Damn glad you ladies were along for this! But there’s no time to rest on our laurels. The bastards are in the Rock—we have to go protect the King and Queen!”

Fross chimed loudly for attention. “I realize that’s your duty and all, but considering what’s about to shake loose down there, you guys may wanna sit this one out.”

“Why the fuck are you brunette?”

Trissiny brought Arjen to a stop, grinning down at Ruda. “Really? That’s the first thing you have to say to me?”

“It looks wrong, and I demand you change it back immediately, and also I am damn glad to see you, Shiny Boots.” Ruda’s return grin was huge, and she punched Trissiny’s booted foot, causing Arjen to snort in annoyance and twist his neck around to give her a look. “This doesn’t look much like you learning to be sneaky in Tiraas with the Eserites, but I can’t say you haven’t got some damn good timing!”

“Triss!” Gabriel barely got Whisper to stop, and she still pranced in place, whinnying excitedly in the rain. “I never thought I would say this, but I wanna hug you! Wait, why are you a brunette?”

“Thanks for the assist, Gabe,” she replied, saluting him with her sword. “I see somebody’s taught you to actually ride instead of let Whisper haul you around like a plough. Is the whole class here?” she added, frowning around as the rest of them came forward. “I don’t see some people I would expect… And one I didn’t.”

“You will never be rid of me, young lady,” Principia said grandly. “I’m like a soulbinder hex, an Imperial tax assessor and a case of the crabs in one svelte, dashing package! Also, you need to dye your hair back the way it was ASAP. You’re starting to look like my mother, and that’s just fucking disturbing.”

“Button your yap, Serg—Lieutenant, before I kick it buttoned.” Trissiny ruined the threat with a broad grin.

“All right, big reunion, lots of stories to catch up, but later,” Ruda interjected. “We’re at war here. Boots, I don’t suppose you know who’s conjured the cobblestones to knock on my front door and how quick that’ll get us into the fortress?”

“Actually, yes, I brought a witch who’s doing that,” Trissiny said, “and our attack on this gate was a diversion. I’ve got Guild people quietly getting into the north gate as we speak.”

“Even better! Let’s haul ass, people, time’s wasting.” Ruda immediately set off around the Rock’s corner tower at a run, the rest of them swiftly falling in behind her. In fact, the two mounted paladins outpaced her swiftly, as did Principia, leaving Toby and Juniper to bring up the rear.

The dryad was the last of them to round the corner, but Toby trailed to a halt after going only a few feet, then turned to stare back at the scene before the gates.

The bedraggled pavement elemental was still beating itself against the wood, but after the damage the Rust had done, it wasn’t making any further progress. In fact, each hit now dislodged more cobblestones than splinters; it was staggering unevenly on each charge, and at this rate would shake itself to pieces long before breaking the gates down.

Two mechanical mounts lay broken on the plaza, which Toby ignored. As he stared at the handful of cultists who had fallen from the walls, one moved weakly.

The Hand of Omnu turned resolutely and strode back to them.

He knelt beside the first person he came to for only a moment, touching the man’s neck with two fingers, then straightened and moved on to the next. Toby moved swiftly down the row, checking for breath, for pulses, and finding nothing until he got to the very last, the one who had fallen off the wall at the farthest edge of their formation.

She tried feebly to push at him with her working hand. The other arm, a metal one, had been bent to the point of uselessness beneath her. Toby gently caught her attempted shove, a faint light rising around him and causing the falling rain in their vicinity to glitter gold.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, the golden glow intensifying in his eyes. “Can you turn your head to the side? If not, try to breathe through your nose. You can choke on rainwater in this position.”

“Wh—why…” she rasped, then coughed, spraying raindrops. He quickly ran his hands over her, palms glowing, and closed his eyes in concentration.

“All right,” Toby said, opening them to look at her seriously. “Looks like you landed on the machine parts. There’s not a thing I can do to fix those, sorry. You haven’t broken your spine or your head, miraculously, but when you hit the ground this…chassis bit that’s connecting the metal arm to your rib cage got shoved into the wrong place, and it’s pressing on your vertebrae and lungs. I’m going to have to move it back before I heal anything. Do you understand?”

“Why…help me?” she whispered.

He just shook his head. “This is going to hurt, a lot. I need you to try to stay focused, all right? It’s okay to yell. Keep your head turned if you can so you don’t choke on rain. Are you ready?”

She stared at him with one frightened eye and a cracked green crystal.

Gently, Toby took her good hand and curled his fingers around hers. “I’m not going to force anything on you, not even healing. You need to know that if we don’t do this now, you’re going to die, and not quickly. You are bleeding a lot. I have to put bones and metal bones in the right place before healing or it will kill you. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t. Understand? It’s your body and your life. You’re in charge here.”

Almost infinitesimally, still holding his gaze, she nodded.

He nodded back. “Ready, then?”

She squeezed her eye shut. “Do it.”

She did a lot more than merely yell, thrashing so badly that he had to pause in his work to hold her down until she could control herself. The woman had a metal collarbone which arced around to cover most of her back, and she had landed on it. Her machine arm was crushed into uselessness and the thick metal brace had been shoved against her spinal column, tearing muscle and skin and threatening to dislodge a lung, and possibly her heart. Forcing it back into an approximation of its proper position was absolutely brutal work.

He finished it as quickly as he was able, though. Toby had crimson stains on his shirt and flecks of blood as far-flung as his face, just beginning to be rinsed away by the rain, by the time he could move on to healing the actual damage. That, he did as rapidly as possible, using precise and careful jets of golden light to knit ligaments, bones, and muscle back together. Simply suffusing her with divine power could have congealed the mess of her torso into a lethal knot.

She lay sobbing through most of it, even as the pain receded under all the divine light. By the time he was done, though, she had stilled, just breathing heavily.

“All right,” he said at last. “You’re going to live. That’s the best I can give you; I’m sorry. I can’t do anything to fix the machines, but fortunately none of them are running your vital organs. Divine light should stave off infection, but you have lost a lot of blood. You need to get food down quickly, and you’ll have to rest a lot. First we’ve gotta get you in out of this rain. They said the other gatehouse was open; there will be medical supplies in there. C’mon, you can lean on me.”

He rose from his knees and started to help her upright, but she caught his hand again, with more strength this time, and made no move to stand, instead staring up at him.

“Why?” she asked a third time.

The golden halo dimmed from around Toby, and he let out a soft sigh.

“…because I live in a world where that’s a reasonable question. Because that won’t change unless someone changes it. Because…I seem to be the only one here.”

She nodded, weakly, and began shifting to rise. He slipped an arm under her shoulders, drenching the sleeve in a mix of rainwater and blood.

“You want to remake the universe,” the woman grunted as they carefully stood. She had to cling to him. “Make your vision reality. I…relate.”

“And what’s your vision?” he asked.

She offered no reply. They simply hobbled off through the rain, toward the gatehouse. Above them, the sky was starting to lighten, and the thunder had all but faded. Water still pounded the city, but the storm was passing.

“Now, we can concoct a story between us how you defeated me,” Ayuvesh said while they stared at him, nonplussed. “Of course I’ll value your input, but I like the sound of you pressing forward against my scream-weapon through sheer force of will. That will greatly impress the palace guards who have been incapacitated by it, and rumors of your inhuman strength will spread through the city! We want you to come out of this securely in power, after all. But I do have a fondness for the old stories of improbable heroics and mighty champions—it’s a known weakness. What do you think, too implausible?”

The King and Queen exchanged a married look.

“It’s a trick, clearly,” Anjal said, folding her arms. “I just can’t spot the snare.”

“Oh, I assure your Majesties it is a trick,” the leader of the Rust replied, his charming smile belying that he was still on his knees with his hands in the air. “I am not playing it on you, however, but rather inviting you to join me in it. I could win this battle, yes…but not the war which would follow. You were never my enemy. That we have been pushed to fight one another tells me the true threat has yet to be revealed.”

“Mm.” Rajakhan grunted, nodding slowly. “You do see it, then, the doom that would befall you if you seized the Rock.”

“Befall me and all of Puna Dara, and soon enough the other Punaji cities,” Ayuvesh said, his expression sobering. “I am not blind, Blackbeard. If my fellows and I took the government… It remains an open question whether we could hold the Rock even against the outrage of the city itself, and the other players who desire the Crown. And if I managed that, what then? Tiraas would never permit this. To prod at that dragon would spell the end of the Punaji as a free people. Whatever else you think of me, believe that I want that outcome no more than you.”

“I usually love hearing traitors spout patriotism when on their knees,” Anjal remarked. “Less so from one who might get up at any moment.”

Ayuvesh did not get up, nor even lower his hands, but his expression hardened. “You created this situation. Never once did I or any of my people even hint at disrupting the order of society or interfering in your rule. I knew where that would lead! We are both leaders, your Majesty, and we are both Punaji. Once a challenge was made, withdrawal was impossible; the only outcome was escalation. You have advanced it faster by unleashing your daughter’s adventurer friends upon us, but this began when you brought that Silver Legion to occupy the streets and stifle our activities. Had you not, my Order would never have made a move against you!”

“That’s a very easy thing to claim now, when you come asking for trust,” Anjal said skeptically. “If we do take your word on that, it means…what? That you only intended to overthrow our culture, not the government, and install yourselves as a religious authority?”

“I preach that each man and woman is their own authority,” he said patiently. “And an overthrown culture usually ends up in ruins; the process of absorbing a new idea, of incorporating it safely, takes generations. That is our aim—permanence. It will not be achieved by toppling what is in place, but by adding to it. And who knows? Perhaps our will would not have been strong enough. If our ideas did not have merit enough to stand upon their own, then by those same ideas, they would have faded away in time. None of that matters now. The truth of this moment is that no, I am not asking for trust.”

Both drew swords and took a step back as he slowly stood up, lowering his hands, but Ayuvesh kept his movements even and calm, and made no further motion once he was back on his feet. His screamlance lay against the wall, apparently forgotten.

“We are a practical people, aren’t we? And so I’ve demonstrated that I can kill you and take your crown at a whim, because simply telling you so would achieve nothing. If you so despise me that you are willing to exchange your lives and the freedom of the Punaji people for assurance that I will be destroyed within the year, well, you have the power to choose that. If not, I offer to place myself and my people at your mercy… Because that is the only way I see for my Order and my nation to survive.” He lifted his chin, staring calmly at them. “Bending the knee is a very small price to pay for that. I know my worth, my value as a living, thinking person. It does me no harm to show humility, if that is what it takes.”

“I see the logic in what you say,” Rajakhan rumbled, lowering his sword. “All of it. It has a reversal, though. Your sham of a surrender would put you in the Rock, with the capability of overthrowing us at any moment. What you are trying to do is install yourself as the power behind the Crown.”

Ayuvesh held up one finger. “A power in addition to the Crown, answerable to it. Have you troubled to learn anything of our teachings, Rajakhan? I think you will find little there to which any Punaji would object. Regardless, I know nothing of running a nation or contending with political struggles. Overthrowing you by subterfuge would be as futile as doing so by force. Puna Dara is blessed to have a good King in these turbulent times. If you will accept the surrender and service of the Infinite Order, you will find us undemanding and, I think, quite useful.”

“How?” The Queen could pack a tremendous weight of cynicism into one word.

“For example,” Ayuvesh said to her, his mouth quirking wryly to one side, “I came out tonight planning to cut my way through the Rock’s gates, and enduring the inevitable losses we would suffer from their defenders. Instead, imagine my surprise at finding myself suddenly approached by a mysterious partner offering to open the gatehouse for us. They were strange people; it was a succubus who slipped in and unlocked the door. Answering to a hooded man who, so far as I know, thinks I could not tell he was a dragon. A green dragon, not a red, and thus a most incongruous leash-holder for a child of Vanislaas. And I have been asking myself, as I’ve made my way through your fortress.” He spread his hands in an eloquent shrug. “What was it that prompted my King to invite a Silver Legion here to lean upon us? What had we ever done to so offend him? And now I wonder what little voice has been whispering in your ear, as well as mine.”

Anjal suddenly bared her teeth; Ayuvesh took a step back as she swung her sword, but the blade clanged uselessly against the corridor’s stone wall.

“Naphthene’s barnacled twat, I told you it was fishy for the Avenists to suddenly offer us intelligence and military support!”

“Don’t blunt your blade, woman, are you a fishmonger’s son playing with his first knife?” Rajakhan, for his part, sheathed his own sword in a decisive gesture. “I told you at the time, the Sisterhood has never in its thousands of years of history tried to steal anyone’s territory or seize temporal power outside of Viridill, and we haven’t done any of the things that have provoked them to overthrow other kingdoms. But!” He held up a hand, forestalling her angry retort. “I think, now, I should have listened to you better.”

“No matter how many times you have that realization, the next time it always comes as a surprise to your wooden head!”

“It’s well that you persist, regardless. Surely you don’t think I keep you around for your charming disposition, dear heart.” The King turned his stare back on a somewhat bemused Ayuvesh, not reacting when his wife slapped the back of his legs with the flat of her blade. “If the Sisterhood has one weakness, it is that they are themselves vulnerable to manipulation. Half the other cults are always running rings around them. Especially the Black Wreath. Who have been astonishingly helpful, of late.”

“Now, that is interesting information,” Ayuvesh said, raising his one eyebrow. “I cannot imagine a green dragon working for or even with Elilial’s servants… But Wreath or not, it’s clear to me that we have an enemy. One who benefits from a weakening of Puna Dara by using me and mine as a weapon against the Crown. The more time we waste, testing our wills against one another, the more they profit. But.” He bowed to them. “If we combine our wills together, in the very act that our enemy must fear most, the universe will bend before us. If you will let me join you.”

 

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The whine of the device was barely even a sound; it was more a thing that snuffed out all other sounds. Like a constant high bell tone somewhere deeper inside her skull than her ears, it blocked anything from the range of normal hearing. To say nothing of what it did to her; the constant pressure in her head kept her dizzy and disoriented. The room seemed to be tilting this way and that, like the deck of a ship in a storm.

Casey had landed on her back, and now laboriously rolled over to her side—where she immediately had to stop, squeezing her eyes shut and concentrating on not vomiting. She could discern by smell alone that several others had lost that battle, which didn’t help hers at all, but after long seconds, she forced the sensation down again. At least, far enough down that she felt she could risk opening her eyes.

The room continued to spin and sway in that awful, piercing silence, but she focused through it. Two of the machine-people were now present; one was holding up that white sphere which had been bounced down the stairs and started all this. They were talking—at least, they were facing each other and their mouths were moving. Insultingly, they seemed to have no interest at all in the Legionnaires and Punaji soldiers. Well, the arrogance was not unwarranted; their evil little gadget did its work exceptionally well.

One of them was holding…a weapon? It had to be, that thing had been poked into the room and fired at Merry—who was now curled up in a fetal position, twitching. Nothing had visibly emerged from it, but if it used sound like the scream grenade… She couldn’t tell what it was made of, the surface being white and glossy like porcelain, which would be absurd. It had a handle and odd little protrusions, and Casey’s vision swam too much to pick out more details than that.

Her arm hurt. Somehow, she’d got it pinned under her shield, which she had just rolled the rest of her weight onto. Oddly enough, the pain helped her focus. One of the Punaji troopers had fallen across her legs and was moving feebly. That had to have been after she rolled over, but she hadn’t noticed it happening. It was so hard to think.

Someone had to do something. None of them could act, though; they couldn’t even move.

Casey blinked, twice, then squeezed her eyes shut. Then opened them, fixing her stare on the white sound-bomb. She focused as hard as she was able, ignoring the heaving of the barracks around her. Yes… It had a black stripe around the middle and a blinking green light in that. Staring at a fixed point, she could calm the heaving of her stomach and brain. But what good was that? She still couldn’t move, or it would all start again.

And there was only one way to fight back without moving.

The smell in the sickroom was horrific, a melange of sweat, human waste, strong soap, and pure rot, complicated but not at all suppressed by the scent of the flowers and herbs placed there to counter it. Both of the Elwick children were held by their father, one of his strong hands firmly upon each of their shoulders. He hadn’t grabbed Casey until she had made an abortive move for the door; Andy he had held even before they entered, and his grip was the only thing keeping him.

“That’s what cancer looks like,” their father said quietly, inexorably. “Close to the end, now. Once it gets into the bones…there’s not a thing any healer in the world can do. Not one thing. Your own body just eats itself. Ain’t any more painful way to die. It’s like being burned alive, ‘cept it takes years instead of seconds.”

“Papa,” Andy whimpered, “I wanna go home. I don’t want to be here.”

Casey said nothing. She knew better.

Sheldon Johns lay on the room’s sole bed, little more than a skeleton of a man at this point,his skin stretched thin as paper and still somehow loose on his bones, lesions spotting it here and there. Though he had been dosed heavily with laudanum, the man groaned softly in his sleep, his face pinched with agony.

“Papa, please,” Andy begged.

His father only tightened his grip. “You have to know, son. You have to know. All it takes is one mistake. Just one. Sheldon doesn’t even remember when it happened, the slip-up that let it in. This is what infernal magic does to you if you cannot control it. One little mistake, and you die in such agony that Hell’s a relief when you get there. If you’re gonna touch the power, you can’t make a mistake. Not one. Ever.”

Tears began to pour down Andy’s cheeks. Casey reached up to grasp the big hand holding her by the shoulder. Not to push it off, but just to hold on.

Eyes fixed on the sonic weapon in the Rust cultist’s hand, Casey had to grip her shield and the floor for dear life as he moved it slightly, sending fresh waves of dizziness through her. He was holding it up, though, somehow maintaining its piercing, impossible noise. At least that kept it relatively steady. This was going to be hard enough, keeping focused despite the nausea and the pain in her head.

Eyes on the target, focus on the target, reach out with the mind.

It was there. It was always there. Every child of the Black Wreath was taught how to find it—not to use it, but how to recognize the power so they could avoid it. So they never stumbled into it by accident, or let it creep up on them. That was how you died—burned to charred bones where you stood, if you were lucky.

Just beyond the veil of reality, once her attention acknowledged its presence, it roared, beckoned, begged. It was a colossal torrent of sheer fury, like brushing the surface of the sun, except sweet, and cloying. It promised power beyond her dreams, the power to stand astride the world, a god in her own right. The magic whispered seductively even as it screamed in rage, pleading and promising, yearning to be used, igniting a yearning in reply.

She knew better.

“It’s outsider ignorance, thinking the Wreath are all warlocks,” her father said, tossing another stick in the fire. They didn’t discuss these things in town; the walls were too thin. These camping trips made the perfect opportunity for Elwick to teach his children. They were a full two days hike into the prairie from Hamlet, in the opposite direction from the elven grove, with no one to overhear them but the coyotes whose howling livened the night. “The Wreath has warlocks, yes, but no more than one in twelve of us. There’s plenty of work for the Dark Lady that doesn’t involve magic. Most of the work, in fact, the less flashy stuff that keeps us going, and keeps us hidden. The warlocks are the first line of attack and last line of defense, yes. They get all the drama and excitement. And if there’s death and pain to be suffered, it’s the warlocks who suffer it. Don’t you be swayed by any stories of adventure, kids. It ain’t like that. If your path is to serve the Lady as a warlock, so be it. But if it’s not, I’ll be happier.”

“But you’re a warlock, Pa,” Andy protested.

Elwick nodded slowly, staring into the flames. “And you listen to you father, boy. I know what I’m talking about, and I wouldn’t wish this on my children. You’re smart enough to understand me when I say that. And you’re old enough.” His gaze flicked to Casey; sitting where he was, the campfire divided his line of sight between his two children. “Both of you. You’re old enough to know, and you need to know. So…now I’m gonna ask you the question.

“Are you ready to learn how to handle the infernal?”

Andy nodded, his expression solemn. “I’m ready, Pa.”

Casey could only stare at her father for almost a full minute. He stared back, not pushing her even when Andy began to shift restlessly.

Finally, she shook her head. “No, sir. No, I’m not ready. I… I don’t think I’m ever gonna be ready, Pa. I don’t wanna do it.”

Elwick smiled at his daughter, his eyes shining in the firelight. “That’s my good girl. Smart girl.” Slowly, the smile drained away from his features. “But that ain’t an option, Casey. You have to learn; you can’t be allowed not to know. Now’s the time.”

Doing anything finely-tuned, or incredibly specific, with infernal magic was well beyond her skill. All she knew was how to brush against it, and bring a tiny quantity to this world, without killing or corrupting herself.

Hopefully.

Ironically, the mental demands of handling the torrent of sheer rage helped push back the pain of the Rust’s weapon. Her tight focus determined the target. Casey stared at the white orb, tried to stare through it. Into it. The constant piercing noise was messing with her sense of spatial relationships, but her eyes knew where it was. That would have to be enough.

A proper warlock could call up infernal power, handle it safely, shape it to achieve their ends; all she could do was brush it with her mind, letting its howling entreaties, its rage and seduction, slide past her without acknowledgment, letting just the tiniest bit be disturbed by the contact of her consciousness. Not clinging to her, but drifting loose from the torrent and into the world. The power was a river, she a passing gust of wind that kicked up a tiny spray of mist from its surface.

And then came the really difficult part.

“There’s a reason we call them shadowbolts and shadow-jumping,” Elwick said, holding up a hand. Under the bright morning sun, the stream of blackness with its bruise-purple aura that he called into being was particularly striking; it flashed away from him, slamming into the ground. Where it struck, the tallgrass shook violently, then faded to a darker, browner shade and drooped slightly.

He turned a faint smirk on the kids, and then darkness welled up out of thin air around him. It receded immediately, and when it was gone, so was he.

“You know about the four schools and the Circles of Interaction,” their father said, now a few feet behind them.

“Sure, Pa,” Andy replied quickly, spinning around. “I read the books you gave me.” Casey just turned and nodded.

Their father nodded in return. “Those four are the bulk of all magic; everything that’s left is referred to as shadow magic, and it ain’t all of one type. It’s just remnants, shadows of somethin’ greater. Most scholars reckon they were the powers of the Elder Gods who the Pantheon and the Dark Lady struck down, but we’ll never know for sure. What we do know is that they make it a little safer to dip into the power of the infernal—and you can use the infernal to dip into them, in ways that other schools can’t. And that’s why these are our basic tricks. Shadowbolts to attack, because casting an actual infernal spell in any situation that’s stressful enough for you to be fighting in is likely to end with you accidentally corrupted. Shadow-jumping is using another type of faded old magic to pull two pieces of creation together; it’s just the tiniest touch of the infernal that bores a hole through ’em that you can step across.

“The principle’s the same in both cases. A little touch of infernal magic erodes the barriers. That’s what it does; it burns things. You know why most demons are bigger, stronger, so covered with claws and fangs and armor plates? Those adaptations are what infernal magic does to living things, those that somehow survive it. The infernal both enhances and destroys; it empowers you even while killing you. That’s also the effect it has on reality itself. The smallest amount, in just the right way, applied to these forgotten bits of shadow magic, both pushes energy into them to make ’em stronger than they are without it, and burns away at the barriers holding them back. Then, once you’re holding onto the shadows, you can wrap ’em around Scyllith’s power to make it a little easier to handle.”

He paused, looking at each of them as if to be certain they were following his lecture. Both nodded, Andy eager, Casey with a slower and solemn motion. Their father nodded back.

“All right, I’m gonna show you how it works.”

The infernal and the arcane were vast, bottomless oceans of power; no one could ever drink fully of them. A spellcaster’s only limits were internal, in how much infernal magic they could safely channel, or how much arcane they could store. Casey had no ability to touch either the divine or fae, as those did not inherently respond to humans and required the auspices of other beings to touch. Beings which would not give the time of day to such as her. She knew it was the same in theory, though. All four schools of the Circle were functionally infinite, fathomless.

Shadow magic was trickier.

She was able to find it because she knew it, and because of the tiny “spray” of hellfire she had brushed loose into creation; the barriers singed, the faintest tremor rippled through existence, and in the disturbance she could find them.

The intensity of concentration had banished the heaving of her guts, but her head still throbbed as if it were being forcibly inflated from within. Her shield dug excruciatingly into her arm, and the world in her peripheral vision wavered as if she were drunk; only the white weapon was fixed and firm in her vision. Her eyes burned from having stared at it so long without blinking, and sweat was dripping from her brows. She couldn’t give up, though.

The first shadow was the cool, dim presence whose touch on her mind was like dipping fingers into molasses; it slowed, soothed, calmed, suppressed. Casey had always felt that whatever long-dead god had designed it had intended it for healing, though some of the books she’d read insisted its purpose had been to steal wills and keep slaves in line, as the Elder Gods were known to have done that. Somehow, it overall felt like the color purple.

Faint and weak as it was, the tiny puff of loose infernal power she had dislodged made her whole perception of it quiver, and for a moment of terror she was sure it was going to collapse. She did not have the strength to do this a second time; it could not fail.

It didn’t. In her outer perceptions, hellfire caught in the murky shadow like burning embers floating in viscous darkness. She didn’t rest, couldn’t afford to yet.

The second shadow was like brushing through cobwebs, a thing of connections and strands; it was as if it were made of strings linking every atom in the universe to every other. They were thin and fragile things, weak with long disuse. Casey had always felt, when touching this almost-forgotten power, that it seemed dusty; she was sure, without knowing how, that those infinite strands would have been firm as woven silk had they been fully empowered. Something in them carried that memory of what they were supposed to be.

She was able to catch and use them, gathering the strings to create a shape. Wrapping up the darkness and the smidgeon of hellfire into a single, tiny seed.

Casey’s whole body trembled with the exertion of focus, as she finally planted that seed. Right in the middle of the Rust’s sonic bomb.

At last, she collapsed, gasping, then heaving and barely able to keep, again, from spilling the contents of her stomach. It had worked, though. Even with her concentration having broken, she could sense the little thing she’d done with her mind. It couldn’t be called a spell, just a little fragment of sheer infernal power, unfocused and barely held in check by a thin layer of shadow. It had left her trembling with exhaustion, and burning with shame at having dabbled in what she’d sworn she would never again touch. But it was done.

Casey lifted her eyes again. The two machine-people had stopped their conversation; one was staring at the bomb in his hand, wearing a frown. Then he shifted his gaze, one eye a blue glass orb lit from within, to look directly at Casey.

She reached out again with her will, and ripped away the fragile barrier of shadow.

The weapon was obliterated so quickly and totally it couldn’t even be said to have exploded. Its solid matter simply burned away, leaving its owner holding a ball of fire with a will to seize, consume, and corrupt.

That horrible, unreal keening vanished, letting sound crash back down like a physical force—the roaring of the storm outside, groaning from all the soldiers in the room, and now the shrieking of the Rust. Casey slumped to the floor again, but managed to keep her head up enough to watch as fire raced up the man’s arm. He seized his compatriot in panic, dooming them both.

She finally lowered her eyes, and began working her way loose. Her right arm was completely numb, and began tingling as soon as she’s pulled her weight off the shield and lifted it from the indentation it had made in her bicep. All around her, Punaji troops and her squadmates began gathering themselves in a muted cacophony of whimpers, moans, and scuffling.

Nandi was still down, clutching her head and breathing in a series of heavy rasps; Farah stayed hunched over her, whispering softly and gently stroking her golden hair. Ephanie was the first person back upright, grabbing the edge of one of the tipped-over tables that had served as improved barriers and hauling herself to her feet. Lieutenant Laghari followed suit.

Both officers had torn their attention from their fallen troops to stare at the two cultists.

“What the fuck,” Laghari whispered.

The stink of burned flesh and hot metal filled the barracks, which did not help the residual nausea left from the sonic bomb. Casey pushed herself up to her knees with one arm, lifting her head to make herself see her handiwork.

What exposed skin she could see was badly charred. At least the second cultist was only burned to death; the one who’d been holding the bomb had been twisted. Ironically, the arm which had actually been holding it, a flesh and blood arm, wasn’t burned at all, but now covered with reptilian scales, its fingers tipped with heavy claws. Exposed flesh on the rest of him had been warped until it tore loose from his mechanical additions. His very skull was the wrong shape, now and had warped too abruptly to keep up with its own transmutation; part of his jawbone was hanging loose from a fringe of seared skin, and his organic eye socket had been pulled so wide that the eyeball would have fallen out, had it still been more than a half-boiled soup now dripping down his face.

One of the Punaji had straightened up enough to get a good look at this, and immediately doubled over again, heaving. Fortunately, it seemed he’d already lost the entire contents of his stomach, leaving nothing else to come up.

“Obviously an infernal event.” Ephanie’s voice was shaky, but it steadied quickly as she spoke. “Awfully close. Everyone here will need a thorough healing and cleansing, as soon as we all survive…whatever’s going on out there.”

“Yeah. Agreed.” Laghari nodded, turning his back on the scene of destruction and bending to give one of his soldiers a hand upright. “Our windshaman are adept at infernal cleansing; I’ll see you’re included, ladies.”

“But what happened?” one of the Punaji asked weakly. “Did…a warlock help us?”

Casey opened her mouth, and Merry “accidentally” dropped a shield on her foot.

“I don’t see any warlock,” Merry said, bending to retrieve her shield. “Who knows what the hell those gadgets run on? I bet they just tampered with something they can’t control. We’d best be on the lookout with the next batch we come to.”

“Yeah. You heard her, boys and girls.” Laghari was quickly coming back into his own; though pale and hollow-eyed, his voice had regained its firmness along with his spine. “The Rock is under attack, and we don’t have time to screw around. Rajapta, Sindi, you look solid enough. Get me a careful look at what’s happening on the battlements. Go around; hug the walls and don’t step near those bodies, there’s still infernal fuckery afoot. Shakhar, Dukha, same goes—scout our rear. If you see any sign they’re coming up from the lower floor as well, fall back here and help us get a barricade over the stairway door, hopefully that’ll impair those noise weapons. If not, warn whoever’s still down there. Sit down, Ayit, falling and cracking your skull open won’t get you back in shape any faster. Be soldiers, not heroes; if you’re too fucked up by that to fight, get over by the hearth and try to get your heads back together.”

While the designated scouts slipped out and Laghari moved among his troops, helping them back into order, Squad One staggered to their feet, Farah helping Nandi upright.

“Report, Shahai,” Ephanie ordered quietly. “That hit you harder than any of us. Will you be okay?”

Nandi held up one hand momentarily, swallowing and squeezing her eyes shut. Her aura flickered alight, the golden glow guttering like a small flame in a wind for a moment before steadying. She let out a long breath, and opened her eyes, letting the light drop.

“Still hurts in my head, XO, but…I’ll make do. I don’t think any of us have the luxury of sitting this one out.”

Ephanie reached out to squeeze her upper arm. “Like the man said, don’t be a hero. How are you doing?”

“I’m…in no shape to stand in a phalanx, ma’am,” Nandi said, rubbing her forehead. “Skull’s still throbbing and I’m weak all over. This is going to need a better healer to address, one who didn’t just have her brains scrambled. I’m not useless, though. Permission to give healing to the Punaji?”

“Granted, but do not over-exert yourself. We’re up a creek here and nobody can afford to get any more burned out than we already are.”

Nandi straightened up and managed a salute, then turned to limp toward the Punaji, Farah still half-supporting her. While the Legionnaires had been in the center of the formation initially, by this time their hosts had gathered to one side of the barracks, leaving them with some space to themselves.

“Shit, that thing was bad enough for us,” Merry said weakly. “For an elf’s ears… Avelea, I don’t suppose you have any idea what we’re facing?”

Ephanie shook her head, but had already fixed a hard stare on Casey, who swallowed heavily.

“Ma’am, I…” She paused to clear her throat, then lowered her voice. “That was a violation of the conditions of my enlistment. Once we’re out of this I will report for court mar—”

Ephanie seized her by the face, her gauntlet covering Casey’s mouth and digging metal edges painfully into her skin. She had her back to the other side of the room, hiding this scene from the Punaji with her body.

“My report,” she said quietly, “will indicate that, as Private Lang observed, we don’t understand the Rust well enough to guess what they were doing or what went wrong. As such, your quick thinking and ability to function under terrible pressure will go unrecognized and unrewarded. You have my thanks for our lives, Elwick, and I’m afraid you’ll have to be content with that.”

Casey started to speak, but Ephanie dug her fingers in harder and tugged her forward by the jaw, until their faces were inches apart. Her next words were a low growl.

“Never again, Elwick. Never. If the options are that or we all die, then we will die with our souls uncorrupted. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled into the corporal’s gauntlet. Ephanie held her gaze, and her face, for a moment longer before releasing her. Then, incongruously, patted her on the shoulder.

“You’re a better woman than you are a soldier, Elwick. Far as I’m concerned, that means this particular squad is damn lucky to have you, and I know the LT will back me all the way on that.”

“Thank you, Corporal.” Casey managed a watery smile.

“D’awww.” Merry gave them her biggest shit-eating grin. “Now kiss!”

“XO, permission to stab Private Lang?”

“I expect we’ll need her for a human shield very soon.”

“Request withdrawn.”

“You know you love me,” Merry said, then raised her voice to be audible beyond their small circle. “By the way, has that thunder started sounding awfully regular in the last minute or so?”

As if on cue, the two soldiers Laghari had sent up to the battlements dashed back in from the stairs, soaked with rain.

“Sir!” the first said urgently. “Rust have control of the walls and the other gatehouse, the fortress’s inner door has been breached and the interior defenders are down.”

Laghari drew in a breath, and visibly stiffened his spine. “All right. The bastards are not taking down the King, not while I draw breath. Can it!” he bellowed over the roar of agreement that rose at this pronouncement. “We charge in after them, we’ll be knocked down again like we were just now. We need some way to counter that sound weapon; that can’t have been the only one they brought. Ladies, any thoughts?”

He turned toward Ephanie, but it was Nandi who spoke. The elf had lifted her head and tilted it as if she were having trouble hearing, her brow still creased with lingering pain.

“That is not thunder. Something is ramming the gate!”

“Yes, sir!” the drenched scout said frantically. “Sir, the Rust have the inside, but someone is assaulting the fortress from outside! We couldn’t get a good look with all of them on the ramparts, but—”

A particularly loud thunderbolt cut him off. The barracks trembled with impact; the thunder had come concurrently with the flash of lightning through its narrow windows.

“That struck the gatehouse!” Nandi exclaimed. “The lightning rods should have deflected that, unless they were destroyed somehow.”

“Magically cast lightning doesn’t always follow the path of least resistance,” Farah said, her eyes wide.

“Form up, lads and lasses,” Laghari said grimly, bending to pick up a fallen battlestaff. “It sounds like this party’s barely started.”

 

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Darius had to help Trissiny tug the warehouse door shut; it opened outward in exactly the wrong direction, and the wind had immediately seized and slammed it against the wall. By the time they had wrestled it closed, both were utterly drenched.

“The Archmage was not kidding about this storm!” he said cheerfully, shaking water from his hands. “Raining sideways is right. So what’re we gonna do, then? Right now all we know is there are renegade cultists, and the Archpope is probably behind ’em.”

“It would seem the most obvious course would be to wait out the weather,” Layla said, opening the unfastened lid of a nearby crate. “It’s not as if we can scout in this… Ah, textiles! Splendid, something you two can towel off with.”

“Get outta there,” Tallie ordered. “That’s somebody’s livelihood you’re screwing around with.”

“Tallie, we’re thieves,” Layla said, giving her a long look. “And we’re already breaking and entering.”

“Nah, Bossypants is right,” Darius interjected. “We’re Eserites, not bandits; don’t take stuff from people we don’t know deserve it. A little water won’t kill us.”

“I’m not sure how long we can afford to wait, either,” Trissiny added. “If what’s happening here is urgent, the storm actually provides excellent cover to begin moving. Punaji like storms, but even most of them won’t be out in the streets in a blow-down like this. By the same token, our enemy may also be acting under cover of the weather.”

“That still leaves us with the problem of gathering info in that racket,” Darius replied, and was punctuated by a helpful thunderclap.

“I think Schwartz has an idea?” Tallie pointed out.

The group had materialized in a half-filled warehouse that was dim almost to the point of darkness, with little natural light thanks to the storm and no lit fairy lamps. A small light had appeared now, though, courtesy of Schwartz, who had evidently begun work as soon as they’d arrived. He had constructed a tiny altar in the cleared space in the middle of the floor, consisting of little more than a piece of stone upon which he had set and now carefully lit a small candle. The group edged closer, leaning forward to stare at the witch’s work without crowding him. Schwartz gave a handful of feathers to Meesie, who set about scampering around the altar laying them down in a careful arrangement forming a kind of spell circle, while Schwartz himself sat back on his haunches, busily scribbling on a narrow strip of parchment with an incongruously modern fountain pen.

“Amazing all the stuff he’s got in those robes,” Darius stage whispered.

“Shh!” Layla elbowed him, then grimaced and rubbed at the wet patch created on her own arm.

Ignoring them for the moment, Schwartz finished his writing just as Meesie completed her feather diagram and scurried back up him to her customary perch on his shoulder. The witch carefully held his parchment over the candle flame, dipping just the corner into the tiny fire.

Immediately, the whole thing went up in a rush of sparks, causing him to jerk his fingers back. The candle was snuffed out by the reaction, the plume of smoke this caused mingling with the ashes of the parchment and rising upward far more energetically than was normal. They all tilted their heads back to watch the small cloud separate into streamers above them, each of which zipped away toward the windows lining the walls just below the ceiling, where they slipped out into the storm through tiny cracks where the panes didn’t fit exactly.

“Well?” Darius said pointedly. “We’re in suspense, here, buddy.”

“A while back I got some really good advice,” Schwartz said, beginning to pick up the feathers and tuck them inside one of his wide sleeves. “A smart old lady told me, among other things, to start equipping myself with aggressive kinds of magic. I’ve always been a bit of a bookworm, you see. More into research than adventure.”

“Surely you jest,” Layla said sweetly, earning annoyed glances from Tallie and Trissiny (and Meesie). Schwartz just continued, unperturbed.

“Well, I got to thinking, and it seems the Avenists are always harping on about war being ninety percent strategy and ten percent actual violence, right?”

“Avenist doctrine doesn’t break it into percents,” Trissiny said dryly, “but the sentiment is close enough.”

“Right. It put me in mind of a time in Vrin Shai where I… Where my group was stuck basically twiddling their thumbs while I tried to gather information from, y’know, oracular sources. The general way fae magic is good for. It took an awful long time and it was terribly imprecise… So! Since then I’ve set about working on that blind spot! That’s the thing that drew me to the fae craft in the first place—my dad was an arcanist, you know. But in witchcraft, it’s all connections and friendships with fairy beings. Power’s about who you know and how much they like you. It rewards being nice.”

“Nice people and good people are two very distinct categories,” Layla said quietly.

“Yeah, I discovered that pretty early on.” Schwartz had finished gathering and putting away his reagents, and now straightened up a little stiffly. “But anyway. In the last few months I’ve been working on getting on good terms with a fairy whom I’ve just called for help. He’s really good with information, if he wants to be. We’re not exactly close, yet, and this is the first time I’ve actually asked him for anything, so I guess we’ll see… But I have a feeling he’ll help us! This is a textbook adventure we’re in, and sylphs love those.”

“Whoah, whoah!” Darius exclaimed backing away. “I’m not the witch here, but aren’t sylphs sort of… Notoriously dangerous?”

“Oh, yes, extremely,” Schwartz replied, while Meesie nodded earnest agreement. “So for heaven’s sake be polite to—”

One of the upper windows shattered, admitting a blast of wind and rain, and a streak of silver feathers and fangs that dived straight for Schwartz with a chilling scream.

Nandi bolted straight up out of her chair, turning to face the staircase up to the battlements. The surrounding Punaji all swiveled to stare in bemusement at the sudden motion, but her squadmates came to their feet in unison, drawing weapons.

“Shahai?” Ephanie demanded.

“The walls are under attack!” Nandi declared, her eyebrows drawing together in concentration. “I hear fighting above—no, not fighting, voices and people falling… They’re coming this way!”

“Who is?” Lieutenant Laghari asked, picking up a battlestaff from the nearest weapons rack. This was a barracks, not an armory, but the troopers present kept their personal armaments close at hand.

“I don’t know, but the wall guards are falling quickly,” Nandi said urgently. “With very little struggle, which means magic at work. People are—they’re in the stairwell!”

Laghari and Ephanie both barked orders at once. Squad One snatched up shields and lances and planted themselves in a defensive line across the center of the room while the Punaji soldiers swiftly tipped up tables to create improvised barricades, grabbing firearms and huddling behind them.

In the resulting tumult, the sound of something bouncing down the stairs was totally obscured, but with everyone’s attention on the entrance, the small object’s arrival was immediately seen. Spinning to fast to be studied closely, it was white and about the size of an apple; the thing ricocheted off the edge of the doorway and tumbled straight for the hastily-erected defenses.

“Bomb!” one of the Punaji shouted, and they all ducked behind their tables while the Legionnaires dropped to their knees, huddling as much behind their shields as possible. Nandi, the only priest among them threw up a wall of golden light across the room in front of them. Stretched so thin, it would assuredly crumble under the first blow, but that was still standard procedure against explosive attack; even a fragile shield could blunt the initial blast enough to save the troops behind it.

And had the thing been a bomb, it might have worked.

It didn’t explode or even flash; only the faintest distortion appeared in the air around it as it arced toward Nandi’s shield, as if it were suddenly putting off great heat. An instant before it struck the wall of light, a thin, piercing whine spiked straight through everyone’s eardrums, completely uninhibited by the shield.

Soldiers collapsed, most crying out and several vomiting, behind their wooden barriers. Two staves were accidentally discharged, the ordinarily deafening sound of lightning in an enclosed space going unnoticed around the noise bearing everyone to the ground.

The Legionnaires fared no better, their shield wall collapsing instantly. Nandi screamed in anguish, dropping her lance and shield to pitch over backward, clutching at her head. Everyone in the room was brought down by sheer pain. The few who bore up against it well enough to retain some spine had little better luck. Laghari and Ephanie both caught themselves before falling completely prone, and tried to call for order, immediately discovering that their voices were completely silent, even to themselves. Nothing could be heard except the excruciating whine.

In addition to the pain, it caused disorientation and nausea that made several of the victims present empty their stomachs and prevented any of them from so much as straightening up. Ephanie tried and staggered drunkenly, barely catching herself on the edge of the nearest table.

Farah keeled over backward, then rolled on top of Nandi and took her hands away from her own head to help cover the elf’s ears; Nandi had curled herself into a ball and was twitching with silent sobs. Merry, losing her lance, had got her hands on someone’s dropped battlestaff and managed to flop down atop her own shield with the weapon aiming in the general direction of the door. The dizziness was not lessened by being stretched out on the floor, and it was all she could do to line up a shot at that general end of the room.

At the first flicker of movement she fired, the lightning bolt seeming soundless to them and blasting a futile crater in the wall a full yard distant from the door itself. All she accomplished was to warn the person coming in.

None of them were coherent enough to get a close look at the object which peeked around the corner at about chest height before it fired in Merry’s general direction.

They were not quite fast enough to prevent an alarm from sounding. Quickly silenced as it was, the damage was done, and soldiers upon the upper towers of the Rock itself leveled staves and opened fire upon the cyborgs emerging from the north gatehouse.

Ayuvesh strode, unconcerned, out into the rain pounding the courtyard. Lightning flashed, gouging rents in the flagstones and sparking harmlessly against his personal shield and those of his comrades. Let them burn through their power crystals; these deflectors were of a make like nothing the Punaji had ever seen. If they were expecting to wear them down with continuous fire as one could a standard arcane shield charm, they would be frustrated.

The counter-fire did not last long, anyway, as each sparking battlestaff only presented a target. Members of the Order took aim with blasters and the air was filled with the shrill whine of the sonic weapons—harmless to their wielders, thanks to enhancements he had been certain to make to all of their installed machine systems. The effect of sonic blasters would be inhibited by the solid stone walls of the Rock, but battlements and arrow loops would offer little protection from sound waves. One by one, the firing staves halted as their owners were incapacitated.

Fortunate that his foresight had demanded they all install the protection against sonics before the Infinite Elixir had suddenly dried up, forcing him to make this extremely risky gambit. But no, he corrected himself inwardly, there was no fortune. There was only will, and his was stronger.

“South gatehouse is contained,” one of his comrades reported, the voice sounding in Ayuvesh’s artificial ear. “They actually got into fighting position, but didn’t stand up to the blasters.”

“Don’t get careless,” another warned. “There’ll be more troops below, out of range of the weapons.”

Ayuvesh turned to face Shankri, and tilted his head back toward the southern gatehouse. “Try to get inside from the ground floor and sweep upward with your group; meet in the middle. You mustn’t let them secure a position inside the gatehouse.”

“Yes, Leader,” she replied, bowing, then turned and dashed for the small door at the side. The four assigned to accompany her, having heard, followed without comment, all carrying sonic blasters.

Of all the Order present, only Ayuvesh himself was without one.

“Come,” he ordered, striding forward toward the inner gates of the Rock itself. “We must not give them time to organize.”

Staff fire had completely ceased by then; at his side, Gupter switched his arm attachment from a standard hand to a cutting tool, against which the fortress door would hold for seconds at the most.

“Spread out when we are inside,” Ayuvesh ordered. “Fan as widely as you can, neutralize everyone you see. No looting, and do not harm fallen foes. Keep moving through the fortress in small groups and stay in touch. Notify me at once when you find the King. Only then will we be able to end this.”

It was one thing for a person to test his will against the universe itself. Tonight, the will of the Infinite Order would come against that of a king and a nation.

And what would be, would be.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Schwartz cried shrilly—to Trissiny, who had burst alight with a golden glow and whipped out her sword. He didn’t seem at all perturbed about the great sinuous beast which had coiled itself around him. While she had taken a threatening step forward, the other apprentices had judiciously retreated. Atop Schwartz’s head, Meesie mimicked his posture, frantically holding up her tiny palms and squeaking at Trissiny. “It’s all right! He’s a friend! Everything’s fine.”

“You’re…sure,” she said warily, but lowered her sword. Schwartz was fully encased in serpentine coils, but not constricted—and in fact, as she took a careful step back, the sylph continued moving, loosening his encirclement to give Schwartz more space and fixing a stare on the paladin.

“I’m quite sure, trust me. That was a heck of an entrance, Rad,” he added, the sylph having unwound himself to a position bringing his head adjacent to Schwartz’s. “You scared everybody half to death.”

“Mmm. Just half? All is well, then.” The voice might have been human, albeit rather high-pitched for a male.

“Everyone, this is my friend, Aradeus the Noble.” Schwartz actually reached out to pat the sylph’s neck, smiling reassuringly. “Rad, these are my other friends. Layla and Darius Sakhavenid, Tallie… I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name.”

“That’s how I like it,” she replied warily, eyes still on the sylph.

“And, of course, Trissiny Avelea, the Hand of Avei.”

“An honor!” Aradeus gracefully slid out from around Schwartz, spread his wings, and executed a strangely courtly bow, dipping his head and tucking one foot momentarily behind the other.

He was the strangest combination of snake, bird, and dog in appearance. Fully twelve feet long from nose to tail, his whole body was sinuous and lean, covered in silvery fur which ruffled constantly, more than the wind blowing in from the window he’d broken could account for. His wings were feathered, the plumes oddly crystalline in appearance, and banded in bright colors like a macaws; directly below them he had two long, stork-like legs, ending in huge, glittering talons. The sylph’s head looked canine, though tipped with two birdlike nostrils instead of a wet little nose, and he had blade-shaped ears twice the length of his skull.

Aradeus smiled at them, which may have been intended as a pleasant expression. His long rows of needle-sharp silver teeth just made it unnerving.

“Let’s see,” the sylph mused, turning and stepping over toward Layla with a mincing gait that suited a wading bird. He paused when Darius edged in front of her, and folded his wings back along his sinuous body. “Mmm, young nobles. Of House Sakhavenid! You are a long way from home.”

“You’re aware of our House?” Layla asked in surprise, peeking around Darius’s shoulder.

“Not until just now.” Aradeus seemed to have lost interest already, turning and approaching Tallie, who held her ground. For the most part he kept his neck—or at least the long portion of his body between his wings and head—arched upright to bring his eyes to about human level, but he lowered it now to sniff at her midsection.

“Excuse you?” she exclaimed.

“Now, Tallie,” Schwartz said nervously.

“Mmmm. Circus folk. An acrobat? How excellent!” Aradeus straightened up to grin at her. “I like performers. Such a sense of fun!”

“Well, thanks, I guess…”

The sylph had moved on by then. Trissiny carefully slid her sword back into its sheath, watching quizzically as Aradeus stepped over and sniffed all up and down her form.

“Find what you were looking for?” she finally asked after the third round of this.

“Mmm, how fascinating!” He straightened again, showing her all his teeth. “Avenist, Eserite, human, elf. And what diverse friends you have! Avei is branching out, it seems. Herschel, you didn’t tell me you—” Twisting his head around to look at Schwartz, he suddenly broke off. “Oh. Oh, I see. You don’t know, yet.”

“Omnu’s balls,” Darius interjected. “Is there something else you need to tell us, Trissiny?”

“No, no, no secrets,” Aradeus assured him, twisting his neck fully into a position that looked very uncomfortable. “She doesn’t know yet, either. Not my place to say, you’ll find out in time, no doubt. Or perhaps not. Mmmm. And you call me here without an offering, Herschel? Presumptuous.” The sylph straightened his neck, turning to prance back toward Schwartz and lowering his head as he came. “You have always been so well-mannered, too.”

Meesie sat upright in Schwartz’s hair, waving and squeaking brightly. Aradeus paused in his approach to grin up at her.

“Hey, there, cutie. I missed you, too.”

“I am sorry to call so abruptly, Rad,” Schwartz said, himself wearing a grin now. Oddly enough, in the presence of one of the most infamously unpredictable and violent types of fairy, he seemed more at ease than ever. “But I thought you might get a kick out of this, and we could definitely use your help. The short version is we’re chasing renegades from various cults of the Universal Church, and all we know is they’re attacking Puna Dara. Which would be interesting enough on its own, but right now the city’s being pounded by a sudden storm sent specifically by Naphthene. What do you think?” His grin widened. “Sound like fun?”

“Mmmmmmmmmm.” Aradeus emitted a long hum, tilting his head and twitching both his ears. Though apparently rigid along their length, they swiveled where they attached to the skull, and he used them as expressively as a horse. “It’s a very good storm. Hers are always the best ones. Interesting, I’ll give you that. It’s not running from Athan’Khar monsters, but you do keep yourself entertained, don’t you?”

“You actually did that?” Darius scoffed.

Schwartz shrugged and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me about that?”

“Mmm. I will not fight, here, I think,” Aradeus mused. Turning away from Schwartz, he began pacing in a circle, head upraised, sniffing the air steadily as he went. “There is no evil here…just humans struggling over human concerns. Not my business. There was a succubus, quite recently. She’s gone, though. Alas, no evil is left to chase.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Layla said. “The last thing we need to deal with is a succubus.”

“Oh, but they’re such fun!” the sylph crooned, swiveling his head to grin directly at her. “So clever! Excellent hunting.”

“And it’s not necessarily good that she’s gone,” Trissiny added, frowning. “If a Vanislaad has been here and left, that usually means they’ve accomplished whatever they were trying to do. Which is always trouble of the worst kind.”

“Oh, yes!” Aradeus turned his eyes on her, grinning widely. “Oh, yes. Mmmm. Yes, I don’t mind helping you, this is a most entertaining hunt. There are no Pantheon cultists here for you to chase, oh no. Very different cultists, men and women of machine and ancient lore. They do not answer to your enemy, but have been manipulated by him. Encouraged, and used. The succubus let them into the palace, the Rock. Even now, they close upon the Crown.” He raised his head, sniffing the air again. “Mmmm. A most curious battle. They fight with…sound, yes. Weapons that strike the ear. Painful, but not lethal. A strangely bloodless coup. The Punaji have no defense against this.”

“Shit fire,” Darius whispered.

“How can you tell all this?” Tallie demanded.

“Sylphs can smell anything,” Schwartz said, stepping up and patting Aradeus on the back of the neck. Humming softly in pleasure, the sylph arched into the touch, and the witch ruffled his fur affectionately. “It’s not like elves, who just have more acute senses. Aradeus can scent whatever the wind has witnessed. If he says he smells sound weapons, then that’s what it is.”

“This succubus,” Trissiny said, narrowing her eyes. “Does she work for the Archpope?”

“For now.” Aradeus gave her a small grin, the faint light glittering along his silver teeth. “Under duress, of course. A succubus, elves…a dragon. What an interesting Archpope, this one. Mmm. Strange company, for such as him to keep.”

“Well, that answers the question of timing, anyway,” Trissiny stated, turning to the others. “The King is under attack now. We have to move.”

“How?” Layla asked skeptically. “How are we going to fight sound-based weapons that apparently took out the whole Punaji army?”

“You’re not a soldier,” Tallie said. “Don’t try to think like one. You’re a thief. Weapons are no use if they never even get pointed at you. We’ve got a paladin and a witch to draw their attention. We operate best in the shadows.”

“Okay,” Trissiny said, nodding. “I like it so far. What’s your idea, Tallie?”

Suddenly put on the spot, Tallie froze for a moment. Just a moment, though, then she swallowed. “Uh, well… Okay. What is it we need to accomplish, here? We’re saving the Punaji government, right?”

“That seems more or less the sum of it,” Schwartz agreed. “We came here to oppose whatever Justinian has set in motion. If he wants Rajakhan to fall, we want him to win.”

“Right. Then… There’s the military solution, where we take out the people attacking them.”

“Unlikely,” Aradeus commented. “Mmmm. Forty- three of them, spreading through the palace. Humans augmented with machine parts, carrying shields and weapons of ancient design. Mmm. Hershel and Trissiny, either, are more than a match for a handful at a time. But hunting them down would take you too long. And if you got them all to gather… Even a Hand of Avei might be pressed.”

“You are a very helpful fairy,” Tallie told him.

“Yes, I am. And you are a very interesting human!”

“Thanks, I try. Well, that leaves the other solution: we get the King out of the palace, somehow. Finding and extracting someone isn’t exactly a thiefly skill, but it’s closer to up our alley.”

“There is more help coming,” Aradeus said suddenly, raising his nose to the air again and inhaling. “Mmm… Yes. Help. Good help… Enough to crush the metal men!”

Tallie threw up her hands. “Okay, never mind! Back to Plan A, I guess.”

“No, wait a moment,” Trissiny said slowly. “Aradeus, do the invaders have control of the fortress gates?”

“Mmm, well spotted. Yes, they have. One they used to enter, the other they overtook. Stopping the soldiers inside from helping their king, mmm.”

“How many gates are there?” Layla asked.

“Two,” said Trissiny, “at right angles, flanking the western corner tower.”

“I thought you’d never been here before,” said Darius, frowning at her.

“I haven’t, but the Rock is one of the most impregnable fortresses on this continent; you’d better believe they made me study it back in Viridill. Tallie’s plan is still our best bet. We hit the gates; Schwartz and I will draw their attention while you get the doors open.”

“How.” Tallie’s voice dripped with so much skepticism it was barely a question.

Trissiny actually grinned at her. “Each gatehouse has a side door, just the kind of thing a thief can breach. I’ll walk you through it on the way.”

“Mmmm. They entered through the north gatehouse,” Aradeus added, again sniffing the air. “Mm. Yes. That door is not secured…yet. These are not military people, nor planning to hold the fortress; they are after the King. Not expecting to be attacked from behind, and overconfident in their weapons. You can get in the same way they did.”

“And once you’ve opened the gates,” Trissiny said, nodding, “the rest of these reinforcements will aid us in taking back the fortress. Who, exactly, is coming?” she added, turning to Aradeus.

“Mmmm, that is the best part,” he said, giving her a huge grin. “People you know… Know very well. But you will need to hold that gate open for them, Trissiny, Hand of Avei. Mmm, yes. They are going to be delayed.”

The appeared in a harbor warehouse, with the storm pounding against its walls and the windows rattling under its fury. The Avatar had teleported them so abruptly the group lost seconds to sheer disorientation. Then, they reflexively clustered together, even Fross darting to hover above the center of their formation.

They were not alone.

This particular warehouse was clearly serving as a living space; there were rows of beds and other furniture marking of a sleeping area to one side, as well as other sections delineated by cheap wooden dividers or simply the furniture within to indicate its purpose. A makeshift kitchen and armory were apparent at a glance, but the group didn’t bother to study the rest in more detail, being more concerned with the people present.

The warehouse was packed with people sheltering from the storm. A surprising number of them were armed, with swords, wands and staves. Milady, Principia, and the students landed right in the center of the space, directly in front of a makeshift dais made by stacked crates, upon which a man had been clearly in the middle of giving a speech. He gaped at them, arms still upraised in an interrupted gesticulation.

After a shocked moment, every weapon in the place was pointed at them.

“Identify yourselves!” the man on the platform finally commanded, regathering his poise.

“Uh…how ’bout you first?” Gabriel suggested.

“This is our home, and you are the intruders, here.” The speaker was regaining equilibrium by the moment, and now leveled a finger at them dramatically. “You trespass upon the domain of the Infinite Order!”

A short silence fell.

“You cannot be serious,” Milady finally said with a sigh.

“So help me,” Ruda growled, “I am going to find a way to get back down there and kill that fucking purple glowshroom.”

 

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