Tag Archives: Merry Lang

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“I appreciate your patience,” said Bishop Shahai, entering the room. “At ease.”

The squad relaxed on command, at least a little bit. They had been holed up in this spartan office for half an hour, waiting for someone to come collect them. It was a space containing nothing but a desk, chairs, wall-mounted fairy lamps and a currently empty bookcase; for decoration there was only a golden eagle sigil painted on the wall, somewhat in need of touching up. The downside of the Bishop’s accessible and friendly choice of office space was that they were relegated to unused back rooms like this one when anything requiring privacy was to be discussed.

“All part of the service, ma’am,” Principia said cheerfully.

Shahai gave her a wry glance as she glided around the desk to seat herself behind it. “Yes, yes, just because your patience was required does not mean I don’t appreciate it. Despite how it probably seemed cooped up in this dusty attic space, I have managed to expedite matters considerably.” She set the folder she had been carrying down on the desk and flipped it open. “I’ve read your reports of this morning’s events, as well as the preliminary results of the interrogations.”

“They’re already interrogating the suspects? Ma’am,” Farah added belatedly, flushing.

“That is the technical term being used, but no, I wouldn’t really call it that,” replied Shahai with a small smile. “All three are being left to think about their possible futures for a few more hours before the real questioning starts, as is standard procedure. The man, though, seems eager to tell anybody in his company everything he knows. Which, unfortunately, is little; his girlfriend is the one who dragged them all into this affair, and she is not yet feeling talkative. His comments do, however, indicate an organized third party behind the attack.

“Also,” she added, glancing at the door, which she had left open, “I’ve requested the presence of another expert for this meeting, so let us refrain from any further discussion along those lines for now. The long and the short of it is this: we seem to have organized anti-dragon activists in the city.”

She let that digest for a moment.

Frowning, Ephanie spoke up. “Excuse me, ma’am, but…how? Even the dragonsworn are barely organized at this point; they’re still lining up at the embassy trying to get in with the Conclave. Who could possibly…”

“That is one of the matters to be discussed with the other party I invited, whose confirmation suggested he would be here…well, soon. Busy men are difficult to pin down more precisely than that. I was fortunate to be able to get a message to him on such short notice.”

“What expert is this?” Principia asked.

Shahai smiled coyly at them. “I have it on good authority that all of you are acquainted with Bishop Darling.”

Merry’s left eyelid began twitching uncontrollably.

“I’m…not sure I understand, ma’am,” said Casey.

“This goes beyond the issue of Saduko a.k.a. Gimmick’s involvement,” said Shahai, steepling her fingers. “The Sisterhood is woefully unprepared to engage in espionage and counter-intelligence, particularly in the city, which is exactly what this business has become. This is one of the duties for which your squad is being groomed, but I think you will have to acknowledge that said grooming is still in a preliminary state. We had one expert in such maneuvering, who is currently banished to the Abbey for…well, you of all people know what she did. It just goes to show the foolishness of having only one expert on hand. Until the five of you are more experienced, positioned and connected, we need help with things like this. Additionally, the High Commander is interested in increasing interfaith cooperation outside the aegis of the Church—both in general and with the Thieves’ Guild in particular. Thus, including Darling addresses two needs, with the added bonus that he is also involved in the Imperial government and can help steer us away from missteps in that direction. The last thing we need on top of everything else is to offend Imperial Intelligence.”

“Do you trust Darling, your Grace?” Casey asked quietly.

“I trust him to behave in a manner consistent with his nature, his interests and his established patterns,” said Shahai, still with a slight smile. “I have taken pains to know what these are. You raise a good point, Elwick; allies are not necessarily friends, and mutual reliance is not necessarily trust. Darling has no motive to play us false in this and many reasons to be cooperative, but don’t let him worm into your affections.”

“He is very good at that,” Principia noted.

“Ah, your Grace, ma’am?” Farah asked timidly, raising her hand. At Shahai’s nod, she continued. “Um, why does the High Commander want to increase cooperation with the Thieves’ Guild? Aren’t we…well, not enemies, but almost the next best thing?”

“The Guild and the Sisterhood have always had a complicated and often adversarial relationship,” the Bishop mused. “As for Commander Rouvad’s specific motives, I’m sure she would tell you if she wished you to know. In general, I feel comfortable in saying that the world is growing increasingly complicated, matters in this city are getting tricky even faster, and it’s generally more useful to have the Guild as a friend than an enemy.”

“If nothing else,” Ephanie said slowly, “if we build up some goodwill they’re one less thing to worry about.”

“You should never not worry about the Guild,” Principia advised. “They aren’t generally aggressive toward other cults, but if they decide someone is corrupt or abusive in a position of power…”

“They didn’t do anything about Basra Syrinx,” Casey muttered. “In fact, I think Darling tried to protect her.”

“Complicated,” Shahai said quietly.

A rather morose silence descended upon the room, during which each of them in turn glanced at the half-open door.

“Well,” said Shahai after a long moment, straightening in her chair, “there is little point in discussing anti-draconic activity or the Guild’s involvement until Darling arrives, as we’ll just have to go over anything covered twice. I don’t expect that to be a long conversation, anyway. In the meantime, is there anything else you would like to know about our assignment? I encourage questions; the more you know, the better prepared you are.”

“Actually…” Casey cleared her throat. “I don’t know how relevant it is to anything, but I’ve been wondering about the colors on the Conclave’s, um, symbol. I thought there were only four dragon colors, but they have black and gray, and you mentioned it to Zanzayed in a way that implied there was some significance there… I guess it’s not very relevant, though,” she added.

“Nonsense,” Shahai said briskly. “It is, indeed, a rather obscure piece of lore, but you’ve touched upon an important subject, Elwick. The five of you are being asked to deal, in one way or another, with dragons. Anything you can add to your knowledge of dragons will be helpful; please don’t hesitate if you have questions. In fact, I may have to look up some additional reading for you…”

“Oh!” Farah perked up, her expression brightening. “I can help with that.”

“Oh. Good.” Merry’s face and tone were completely impassive.

Shahai grinned at her. “Well, for those who find reading a little dry, I can try my hand at storytelling. To begin with, Elwick, you can’t really tell from looking at the Conclave’s device, but that represents silver, not gray. There are, in fact, six known draconic colors, though black and silver dragons are extremely rare, and have not been seen in centuries. Let me see, where to start…”

She let her gaze drift toward the ceiling, slowly drumming the fingers of one hand on the desk in thought.

“Back at the very beginning, I suppose,” the Bishop murmured at last. “I’d thought to keep the matter as immediately relevant as possible, but there are some things that simply can’t be fully understood outside their context. Before the Elder Wars, everything was different. There were no Circles of Interaction, as each god provided their own system of magic to the world, to be used by their own followers. It was a much more chaotic arrangement, and this will become significant to our discussion momentarily. The other thing you need to know about the Elders is that they shepherded the mortal—and immortal—races very much like we do with domestic animals today, and for many of the same reasons.

“We know from surviving information, of which there is sadly little, that the Elders had a hand in the development of humans, dwarves and elves as they exist now. They created the gnomes, goblins and lizardfolk from whole cloth, so to speak. Other various offshoots, such as the demon and faerie species, have their origins in the same period, from the manipulations of various Elder Gods, which explains the state of sentient life today: many diverse races, but clearly arising from common stock, and most still capable of interbreeding. Of all the intelligent races the Elders made to serve them, the rarest and most powerful by far were the dragons.”

“Oh!” Farah’s eyes widened in realization. “Is that why dragons are always male? It would be a way to control their breeding and population!”

“That’s a fairly common theory, yes,” Shahai said with a hint of amusement.

“Let’s let the Bishop tell her story, Szaravid,” Principia said pointedly.

“Oh.” Farah wilted slightly. “Um, sorry, your Grace. Please go on.”

“Dragons,” Shahai continued, “were designed to be vessels of enormous quantities of magic. Their entire beings are expressions of that power, which is why they change colors to express the system of magic they choose to embody. The four colors we have today are dragons at their basic level: in their youth most of them dabble in all systems, focusing on one by the time they reach maturity and coming to express it almost exclusively. Most dragons are able to cast some spells from outside their own specialization, but for the most part that specialization seems integral to their very being and identity. They do sometimes change their colors and focus, but I know no accounts of a dragon attempting to express more than one school of magic equally at the same time. This is the usual state of a dragon, but there is another, rarer one beyond that. As the Elders originally designed them, particularly favored dragons could be imbued by their patron god with a far greater degree of power, becoming…something more.”

She paused, frowning in thought, before continuing. “It’s…hard to say what makes the difference, exactly. Records from that time are few and partial at best. Dragons, of course, do not discuss their business with others, and there are limits to what one can learn merely by observing. What we know is that for a dragon to ascend to this second level of their being requires the specific blessing and empowerment of whatever deity controls the source of of their own magic, and that when this is done, they become creatures of immense power, something very close to the level of gods themselves.

“The silver and black dragons,” she continued, “are those final, higher expressions of the divine and infernal systems of magic, respectively. A gold or red dragon who secures the favor of their deific patron can become a silver or black, and all the power that implies. It should go without saying that the world is very fortunate this is a rarity.”

“But…why?” Casey asked, tilting her head. “Wouldn’t it serve the gods’ interest to have powerful servants like that?”

Shahai shrugged. “Gods, Elwick, are even more inscrutable in their motives than dragons. I can tell you from a simple study of history that the Pantheon has empowered silver dragons only to serve as a counter to a black dragon when Elilial has empowered one—which she has done only three times. The last such case was Ilvassirnil the Silver, who perished in the act of destroying Semathlidon the Black, which he accepted as the consequence and indeed the purpose of his elevation. So the initiative is clearly Elilial’s, and she seems generally disinclined to trust a dragon with that degree of power. She has ample reason, too: even Scyllith apparently swore off the practice. She elevated no black dragons for over two thousand years before her own fall, after Belosiphon the Black dabbled in forbidden powers and turned against her. She was forced to call on an alliance of other dragons to destroy him.”

“You are very well-read about this, ma’am,” Ephanie noted.

“It’s a hobby,” Shahai said modestly, “and one which has been useful in the past. Generally it’s wise not to involve oneself in the affairs of dragons if it can be avoided—but when it can’t, more knowledge is always better than less. Pertaining to that, I will tell you something of more immediate relevance.” She folded her arms atop the desk, staring intently at them. “I strongly advise you not to bring this up in conversation with or near him, but it is an open secret that Ampophrenon the Gold’s fondest ambition is to be elevated as a silver dragon.”

“He…craves power?” Merry asked.

“No more than any dragon, and in fact, probably less,” said Shahai. “Ampophrenon’s convictions are quite sincere; I believe he simply desires to be the greatest servant of the light he can possibly be. Whatever the reason, it is likely a forlorn hope.”

“I guess there’s not much we could do with that knowledge anyway,” Farah mused. “I mean, we, meaning the Sisterhood in general. Even if Avei wanted to elevate him, it takes the whole Pantheon, right? I mean, you didn’t say that, your Grace, but I got that implication.”

“Your inference is correct,” said Shahai, nodding. “Infernal and fae magic still answer to their original creators, but the divine is the gift of the entire Pantheon, forged from the energy left over after the rest of the Elders were destroyed. Without the blessing of the Pantheon, or at least a quorum thereof, there will be no more silver dragons. We should hope that there never are, for that would mean another black dragon. There is nothing the world needs less than one of those.”

“But…that’s only elevated forms of two kinds of dragons,” Casey protested. “What about blue or green ones?”

“Well,” said Shahai with a smile, “presumably, in theory, there could be elevated forms of those, but it has never been seen. Naiya has no apparent interest, which suits her personality perfectly. She likes her strongest servants unquestionably subordinate to her, and anyway has little interest in taking an active role in the world. Thus, there are no elevated green dragons. As for the blues… Many scholars theorize that there must be a deity associated with arcane magic, but if such a being exists, it has never made itself known, and certainly never empowered a draconic champion.”

She broke off, her eyes moving to the doorway, and Squad One shifted to follow her gaze.

“Well, don’t stop now,” said Bishop Darling, leaning against the door frame and smiling disarmingly. “I didn’t know any of that. Fascinating stuff, and quite possibly useful now we’ve got a city full of dragons!”

“Not to worry,” said Shahai, rising and smiling at him. “I had conveniently come to a stopping point, anyway. Please, Antonio, come in. I understand you’re acquainted with Squad One.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding to them. “And congratulations on your promotion, ladies. Sergeant,” he added, bowing gallantly to Principia.

“This is difficult,” she mused. “There’s Legion protocol concerning the address of Bishops, but as a good Eserite I’m practically obligated to sass you in the harshest terms.”

“Perhaps we can skip such formalities,” Shahai said, giving Principia a look that was just a hair shy of warning. “Have a seat, and thank you very much for coming so quickly. I realize this must be an imposition to you.”

“That’s no fault of yours,” he said, his expression sobering as he positioned himself in one of the chairs across from her desk and angled it to include the Legionnaires in the conversation. “It’s an imposition, yes, but we are all together in being imposed upon. Such is life these days. Can you bring me up to speed, Nandi?”

“Gladly.” She folded her hands atop the open folder. “I told you what little I knew of Saduko’s involvement in the attack this morning—she left here upset but unharmed, but I think can be considered the primary victim. At the least, she suffered by far the greatest paint coverage. Beyond that, preliminary disclosures from our three suspects suggest some kind of organized movement reacting to the Conclave of the Winds, specifically against it. We have nothing further, yet. Certainly nothing provable or definitive.”

“Indeed.” Darling slouched slightly in his chair, frowning into the distance in thought. “This is… The word I keep coming back to is ‘weird.’”

“Agreed,” Shahai said with a smile.

“Well!” He straightened up again and panned a look across the soldiers. “To begin with, Principia and company, I’ve raised the issue of Saduko’s involvement with the Boss.”

“I’m sure I can guess how that went,” Prin said dryly.

Darling grinned. “I’m sure you can. She’s not working for the Guild on this matter, which means she’s not violating your neutrality. Saduko is a free agent; she can work for whomever she wants and talk to whomever she wants as long as she doesn’t violate any of the Guild’s codes, which she’s not. If she cons or attacks you, that’s another matter, but talking isn’t something Tricks is interested in doing anything about.”

“She did sneak onto the Third Legion’s grounds,” Ephanie pointed out, scowling.

“So I hear,” Darling said gravely. “It’s a fairly minor offense, but one the Boss could act upon if he felt a need. Tricks’s opinion of this matter is that if there’s one person who does not need her hand held, it’s Principia Locke. So long as Saduko maintains her current level of respect, you’re on your own in that department.”

“Aw, how flattering!” Principia said, beaming. “I didn’t know he thought so well of me.”

“Yes, well, that was the heavily edited version. The original was about sixty percent cussing.”

“For the time being, I think it best suits us to leave Saduko alone,” said Shahai. “Her presence is non-threatening, and is a potentially useful link to the Conclave. That being said, I would like to know as much about her as possible. I dislike all the blind spots in this affair. She is foreign, that much I can tell. What do we know of her?”

“She…froze,” said Principia with a frown. “It struck me as odd. When the carriage came around the corner I immediately adopted a defensive posture in a doorway, which startled her. And she just stood there. Didn’t react until it was close enough to be obviously dangerous, and even then she couldn’t think of anything better than backing against the wall. Which, if that thing had been trying to ram us, would have gotten her killed.”

“So she’s not too bright, then?” Merry suggested.

Principia shook her head. “It’s just…peculiar, for a Guild member. Oh, there are blockheads among Eserites, just as there are in any group of people, but even thieves without much native intelligence are generally trained to have better instincts than that. And she actually struck me as quite perspicacious in conversation.”

“That tracks with what relatively little I know of her,” said Darling. “She is a new arrival on the continent; the news I have comes from her involvement in a mess in Onkawa last year, but this is consistent with everyone’s observations. Saduko’s central weakness is an inability to improvise. She’s a good planner—a specialist in magical security systems, both creating and cracking. She follows orders well and seems to be a good actress when she has a script to read from. But surprises throw her off pretty easily. You’re right, Locke, that’s not an ideal trait in a Guild member; she’d never have passed her apprenticeship like that in Tiraas, but the Guild chapter in Kiyosan is in a different situation, and has different priorities.”

“Can you get records from them?” Farah asked.

He winced. “In…theory. The Boss would have to decide it’s important, which I don’t see happening. That would take weeks at best and…well, without getting into a long digression on Sifanese culture and politics, the Guild over there has concerns that are foreign to Tiraan sensibilities. These are tricky waters to navigate.”

“Still, this is useful information,” Shahai mused. “A security specialist who is known to be poor at improvising—an odd choice for the task of approaching Principia.”

“An odd choice for the task of approaching Zanzayed,” Darling said, looking significantly at her.

“Bishop Shahai brought me up to speed on Webs and his involvement,” Principia said, scowling. “Do we know if this has anything to do with Shook?”

“There’s no way it doesn’t, but we’ve no provable link at this time,” said Darling. “Whatever the connection, it’s remote. I suggest we focus on more immediate concerns for the moment. The impression I get is that Saduko is being used in these schemes because she was the most convenient piece to be moved, not because she was the best for the job.”

“And a pawn being sacrificed may be persuaded to shift her loyalties,” Shahai said with a faint smile. “It is worth bearing in mind as things progress. For now, the progression of things must be our immediate concern, I think.”

“I agree,” said Darling, nodding. “I have one overriding impression about all of this: it’s happening so fast.”

“Yeah,” said Principia with a bitter twist of her mouth. “The dragons come to town, and within two days there’s an organized counter-dragon group which is far enough along in its development to be attacking its perceived enemies? The whole thing reeks.”

“What are you suggesting?” Farah asked somewhat tremulously.

“At this time, merely that this is all adding up far quicker than it naturally should,” said Shahai. “In addition to the improbable speed with which this anti-dragon group has apparently developed, there is the matter of its choice of target. Splashing paint is a time-honored expression of disapproval and usually fairly harmless, but under the law it is considered assault. And assault, even if only of a technical variety, is a very peculiar manner in which to approach the Silver Legions.”

“I agree,” Darling said emphatically, nodding. “Even if somebody felt aggrieved enough to be molesting soldiers, the Silver Legions are respected in a way that even the Imperial Army isn’t. This kind of aggression is almost as jarring as the pace of these developments. We’ve got a political movement taking shape far too quickly to be natural, and its agents acting in an irrationally hostile way. People do dumb things in the name of causes all the time, but this combination of factors says to me that someone with deep pockets is deliberately arranging this.”

Casey cleared her throat. “Or, it was three kooks with a carriage and too much free time who only got caught because Principia can throw a lance better than any Legionnaire I’ve ever seen. And it’s not hard to imagine that guy is just spinning stories to try to keep himself and his girlfriend out of trouble.”

“That brings us back to the strikingly odd fact that they attacked a Silver Legionnaire on active duty,” Shahai mused, “but you are correct, Elwick; we don’t yet know enough to draw firm conclusions, and one of the possibilities still extant is that this is all just…nothing. Coincidence, random events. I would consider that possibility remote, however, and growing more so all the time. Another piece of the puzzle is Zanzayed’s oddly persistent interest in Principia, which we tested yesterday. Saduko isn’t the only person he keeps sending after her.”

“So,” Darling mused, “Zanzayed is moving very quickly and very fixedly on his goal of Principia. Someone opposed to dragons is doing the same. If you take those things in the context of one another…”

“That bastard is making me a target!” Principia burst out. “Veth’na alaue, all this drilling and saluting is turning my brain to porridge! How did I not see that earlier?!”

“It’s a pretty standard trick, if one has hidden enemies,” said Casey. “Put up a strawman for them to beat on.”

“With that,” Shahai said, smiling grimly, “these events begin to make a certain kind of sense. I caution everyone against premature conclusions, but this, at least, presents a general shape of things which merits further pursuit, I think.”

Principia drew in a deep breath and let it out in a growl. “And, of course, the only logical method of pursuing this line of inquiry is to go talk to bloody Zanzayed!”

“I agree,” Shahai said mildly. “Needless to say, Locke, I will need to be present for that conversation.”

“I would prefer to bring the whole squad, ma’am,” Principia said stiffly.

“Good,” the Bishop nodded. “I believe we can construct a very suitable little drama out of these roles. The Legionnaires forming chorus and backdrop, your very justifiable ire at the position he has placed you in, and myself as the voice of calm.”

“Good guard, bad guard, but with extras,” said Darling. “Zanzayed may be a noted fool and reprobate among dragons, but he is still a dragon. In fact, he’s one of the more social ones. I think you’ll have to consider the prospect of him seeing through this.”

“Yes, of course,” said Bishop Shahai with a coy little smile. “But Antonio, this is not the sort of game in which we are attempting to deceive one another. Right now, everyone is playing everyone else, and everyone knows it. At question is how well we play. I think that impressing Zanzayed the Blue with the level of our game will be an excellent starting point.”


 

Some minutes later, Principia waited until Squad One were safely ensconced in their cabin with the door shut before speaking.

“Well, I hate to say it, ladies, but our own schedule just got bumped forward a good bit. That extra project is no longer a long-term plan. Be ready to get working on it immediately.”

“You think that’s necessary, Sarge?” Ephanie asked, staring intently at her. “I thought we had time, yet.”

“I don’t know whether it’s necessary,” Principia admitted. “But it’s looking increasingly like it might be. You heard the Bishops: the overall theme of this assorted bullshit is that it’s all coming together too fast. Whatever’s coming at us, I want to be ready to meet it head-on.”

“Aren’t you always telling us that the roundabout way is usually better than the straightforward one?” Merry asked dryly, folding her arms.

“I am, and it is,” Principia said, nodding. “But that’s just it, Lang. When things are rushing at your face, would you rather trust your ability to dodge, or…” She reached over and tapped Merry sharply between the eyebrows. “Wear a helmet?”

“Get out of my face,” Merry said sullenly, leaning away from her.

“Is it… I mean, you said you were gonna have a lot of work to do to get this together,” Farah said worriedly. “Can you?”

“My contacts have put together the raw materials for me,” Principia replied. “I’ve been working as I had time. I’ll have to pull an all-nighter to finish it up, but I can have the stuff ready by tomorrow. Then it’s just a matter of practice.”

“Drilling,” Casey said fatalistically. “More drilling. Ugh…this is gonna mean more coffee, isn’t it.”

“For me, for one day, yes,” Principia said firmly. “I can take it; your health I wanna be more careful with. Drugs are not a substitute for sleep, girls. I’m really sorry to have to do this, but… This is gonna have to come out of your personal time.”

A glum silence fell, broken after a moment by a derisive snort from Merry.

“Well, what the hell,” she said. “It’s not as if any of us has a life, anyway.”

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9 – 17

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“All right, here we are,” Principia announced upon their arrival at the quiet intersection. “Pair up and move out. You know your routes and your orders; meet back here in thirty.”

“Sarge,” Farah said hesitantly. “Are you…sure about this?”

Prinicipa raised an eyebrow behind her helmet. “Am I sure about going out on patrol? If you don’t feel like it, Szaravid, you’re welcome to tell the captain. No, wait, I just remembered I’m responsible for you dodos. The captain is not to hear of this. Move your butt.”

“I mean, splitting up,” Farah said doggedly. “What with the…you know, situation.”

“We’re in the middle of Tiraas, and the situation is annoying, private, not an immediate threat to life and limb. We’ve lived through those; you should know the difference. Besides which, we are all trained, armed and armored professionals.”

“I just…”

“Avelea, if your patrol partner is not moving by the time I finish this sentence, kick her in the…there we go.”

Ephanie grinned at Principia as she turned to follow Farah down the street. Casey nodded to her and peeled off in the other direction.

“She’s not wrong, you know,” said Merry, setting off after her.

“I know,” Principia replied. “That doesn’t mean we get to just do whatever. Off you go, Lang.”

She waited until both pairs were a few yards distant and moving without glancing back before crossing the intersection and setting off on her own route.

The city was just waking up. Tiraas never truly slept, but its activity went in patterns. The hours before dawn were always the quietest, when the night-dwellers had begun to finish their business and creep home but the more average citizenry were not yet up and about. Now, with the sun just barely peeking over the walls, the streets were lit both by the gray of dawn and the harsher glow of fairy lamps. Activity was present and growing, but still quiet, sporadic, and as often as not carried out by people who seemed half-asleep.

Principia exchanged nods with a few shopkeepers unlocking their doors, as well as some early pedestrians, and granted a few to several who didn’t acknowledge her. That was par for the course in a major city, though she had noted that people in general were more inclined to be friendly toward Legionnaires than other random citizens. It also seemed to mitigate the hostility that some felt toward elves, or at least the expression of it.

“Morning,” she said cheerfully to a pair of men in Imperial Army uniforms coming toward her on the sidewalk.

“Good morning… Sergeant,” one said politely, pausing to glance at her insignia. “What brings you out this early?”

“Same as you, I expect,” she said, coming to a stop, as did they. “First light patrol.”

“Oh?” The older man, with a lieutenant’s bars, glanced around. “Huh.”

“Something wrong?”

“I guess not. Just never seen a Legionnaire patrolling without a partner before.”

“Well, it’s not standard practice, but my squad’s under-staffed at the moment and this is the shift they gave me.” She shrugged. “I just go where I’m kicked, y’know?”

“That I do,” he replied with a nod and a faint smile.

“We should move on, Talour,” said the other soldier gruffly, not looking at Principia. The lieutenant gave him a disparaging look.

“So, what’s his story?” Principia asked easily. “Doesn’t like elves? Not an Avenist?”

“I don’t—” The corporal whipped his head back around to peer more closely at her face, what was visible through her helmet. “Wait, you’re an elf?”

“Yeah, but keep it under your hat,” she said solemnly. “Nobody’s caught on yet. I’m hoping to make captain before they find out.”

Lieutenant Talour grinned outright. “Don’t worry about him, Sergeant. No one in the Army has a problem with Avei, and any who have a problem with elves keep it to themselves. Some of the lads don’t as much care for having other military forces active in the city, is all.”

“Not that spears and shields are any threat to a modern army,” the corporal added with just a hint of sullenness. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Huh,” she mused. “Well, I guess I can see that. The way I always figured it, though, you and I are in different lines of work.”

“Oh?” The corporal frowned.

“Well, if somebody were deranged enough to snatch a purse right in front of me, then sure, I’d deal with that. Ultimately, though, you lads are the ones charged with protecting the city. When the Silver Legions are sent to actually fight something, it’s something exotically evil, usually at the end of a very long trip. Here on the home front, we’re mostly to be seen. A reminder that Avei’s still watching over us all.” She smiled disarmingly. “Scenery, as one of my superiors recently put it.”

“I…suppose that makes sense,” the corporal said. Despite his grudging tone, he relaxed his posture slightly.

“Okay, I have to ask,” said the lieutenant, “and please feel free to tell me off if I’m crossing a line, but… Isn’t that helmet uncomfortable with your ears?”

“You cannot imagine,” she said fervently.

“Oh, I can imagine a lot,” Talour replied with a grin. “I’ve done tours at Fort Vaspian and Tidecall. My feet still aren’t dry. And have you ever tried drow cuisine? Bugs and mushrooms.”

“Yeah? Imagine, then, wearing a codpiece two sizes too small. Twice.”

He gaped at her. The corporal tried to smother a snicker behind his hand.

“They’re sensitive, is what I’m saying,” Principia added, winking.

“I…well. I’m sure I’ll find some use for that information,” he said, blinking.

“Got a use in mind?” Principia grinned. “Don’t start with flowers—give her candy. Chocolate if you can afford it. Elves hardly ever get real sugar at home.”

“We’d best move along,” said the corporal, now grinning openly. “Stay safe, Sergeant.”

“You too, boys,” she said cheerfully, offering a salute and resuming her walk.

They’d barely had time to recede out of earshot (theirs, not hers) when another presence materialized alongside her.

“That was very well handled.”

“Good morning, Gimmick,” Principia said without turning to face her. “How surprising it is to see you first thing on the very day after I last got rid of you.”

“My duties leave me mostly at liberty,” Saduko said pleasantly. “I do so enjoy the city at this hour. It was always my favorite time of day, even at home. I like the grayness of dawn, when there is daylight but before the true glow of the sun appears. The contrast with the city’s artificial lights is interesting.”

“I would never have taken you for a poet. So, what duties are these?”

“Few, specific and rather lenient,” said the thief with a shrug. “At present, I am to befriend Zanzayed the Blue on behalf of my employer. On behalf of Zanzayed I am to solicit your attention—he very much desires to speak with you. It is a veritable chain of secondhand befriendment. Is that a word? Befriendment? It seems as if it should be.”

“I’ve never head it, but Tanglish is forgiving, and evolves fast. I bet if you use it in public a few times it’ll catch on.”

“Splendid. In any case, after you have duly rejected Zanzayed’s vicarious advance of the day, I will once again be twiddling my thumbs, so to speak. Unless there is someone whose favor you would like me to solicit?” She half-turned her face toward Principia as they walked, smiling.

“Everyone I want to talk to, I already can,” Prin replied. “What, exactly, does Zanzayed want with me?”

“I do not know,” Saduko admitted, “and I am not curious. All I am told is that he wishes to speak with you privately. Beyond that, I very much hope to resolve the matter in one way or another before I am forced to become curious. Knowing too much about the affairs of dragons seems unwise, to me.”

“A strange perspective for someone who works for one.”

“I don’t work for him,” Saduko said with a thin smile. “I work for someone who wants me to get on his good side. You are Guild; you appreciate such distinctions.”

“You know, the fact that I’m Guild is at issue, here. The Guild respects the time I spend on duty with the Legion. Both cults do; they do not get into each others’ hair with me as a go-between. You are courting trouble, Gimmick.”

“I am not representing the Guild,” Saduko said mildly, “nor violating its policies. Yes, I have no doubt you have already initiated an investigation into me. Frankly, if the Boss orders me to leave you be, that will be something of a relief. It is an excuse which will satisfy both Zanzayed and my employer, and will spare me having to keep annoying you. A mere half-blood I may be, but where I am from, making a pest of oneself represents a contemptible failure of character.”

At that, Principia finally glanced at her. “Half…what?”

“Half Sifanese.”

“And…? I’m sorry, but I can usually spot a demihuman. I must be losing my touch.”

“Ah, yes,” Saduko said, shaking her head. She smiled as she did so, however. “This is why I enjoy Tiraas; no one can even tell, and if they could, they would not care. No, I am entirely human, but only half Sifanese; my mother hailed from an even farther country, one not thought of kindly in Sifan. Kiyosan is not Tiraas; there is only one breed of human widely represented there, and they can immediately spot one with the wrong kind of blood.”

“I see,” Principia mused. “You’re being remarkably forthright.”

“You will see my reticence if you touch upon a subject I consider private.” Saduko shrugged again. “As I have said, it disagrees with me, being an imposition upon you. I would rather emphasize that I mean neither harm nor trickery.”

“A little selective openness, sure,” Principia nodded. “I know the tactic. What about your real employer, then? Who’s he? Or is that one more sensitive?”

“Alan Vandro,” Saduko said immediately, “also known as Webs. Are you acquainted with him?”

“I’ve heard the name. Both names. He’s got a rep. Isn’t he retired?”

“I believe he tried,” she said with amusement. “A person like that can never truly quit the game, though, any more than you could.”

“And so he sends you to risk your hide meddling with dragons, Avenists, and myself. Must pay well.”

They turned a corner, putting the rising sun to their backs. Saduko was silent for a long moment before speaking.

“He is a purist, dissatisfied with the Guild’s current structure. In Vandro’s opinion, the Guild has become far too centralized, too much of an institution.”

“Sure,” Principia said immediately, nodding. “He’s right about that; ever since Catseye was Boss. I’m not too worried, though; the Guild goes through cycles, same as everything else. I’ve lived to see two previous rises of bureaucracy. The Big Guy always straightens things out.”

“Ah, but ours is a hands-off kind of god,” Saduko replied. “When he wants something cleaned up, it is we who hold the brooms. I think Webs sees that as his duty, this time.”

“And you agree.”

“I was sent by the Guild to infiltrate his operation,” she said frankly. “For my efforts, I got this.” Saduko reached up to unbutton the collar of her shirt and tug it open, lifting her chin to display her throat. At the base of it, a pale of scar tissue line stretched across her windpipe above the collarbone, faded and only slightly ridged. The wound was either very old or had been heavily treated through magic and/or alchemy. “Oh, they paid me well, of course—but you and I both know the value of money.” Face now impassive, she carefully re-buttoned her collar and straightened her shirt. “I used to love to sing. I used to be able to. It is only because Alan Vandro expended his resources without restraint or hesitation that I am now able to speak. He did this even though he should have counted me as his enemy.”

“Man knows how to recruit,” Principia murmured.

“I know his flaws,” Saduko said curtly. “I know when I am being bribed; I am not blind. But this was a bribe I was pleased to accept.”

“Are you pleased to work for him?”

Saduko tilted her head, giving Principia a thoughtful sidelong look. “He is one of those men who has an innately poor opinion of women. You are acquainted with Jeremiah Shook, I understand; Vandro was his first trainer, and from what I have gathered, the source of some of his attitudes.”

“I see,” Principia said flatly.

“They are very different men, however. Whatever Vandro thinks of women, he does not discriminate professionally, nor speak disparagingly to anyone’s face. The man is professional enough to look past his prejudices, far-sighted enough to care generously for those in his employ and willing to extend mercy to fallen foes. A sense of honor covers a multitude of moral failings. I am content in his service, to the point that I care little what he thinks of my sex. Perhaps I would not fare so well as you in Avei’s service.”

“Hm.”

“Now I have talked a great deal,” Saduko continued, her tone suddenly light. “What of you? Perhaps you can tell me why Zanzayed the Blue would be interested in you to the extent of—”

Principia dived forward, rolling nimbly into a doorway and bracing herself in a compact crouch behind her shield. Saduko broke off, staring at her in confusion, only moments later looking up to behold an enchanted carriage barreling down the street toward them. It was an expensive Falconer, or had been; a model several years old and with its body replaced by mismatched and clearly shabbier part, but the base enchantments were clearly fully functional. Functional, and performing up to the famous Falconer standards. The thing was moving at a speed that could only conservatively be called “unsafe.”

Saduko glanced back at Principia, then at the carriage, then finally pressed herself against the wall of the storefront as it drew abreast of them. It veered close to the sidewalk in passing, the side door flew open and a figure leaned out, which was the last thing she saw before a tremendous splatter of blue paint few out and over them both, coating Principia’s shield and most of Saduko’s torso.

Prin was rising smoothly to her feet the instant her shield had absorbed the impact. In a single rapid motion, she stepped out to give herself room, drew back her lance and hurled it like a javelin after the fleeing vehicle.

The weapon flew straight and true. As the carriage accelerated away, the lance zipped straight into the spokes of its rear wheel. It immediately slammed against the frame, locking the wheel and sending the carriage skidding to one side. There came a sharp bang and a burst of sparks as the wheel enchantment broke, and the wheel itself came flying off, sending the carriage to the street. Its driver tried to keep it going for a few more seconds, resulting in another shower of sparks as it dragged its rear fender along the pavement, followed by several more bursts of light and a prolonged noise like fireworks signaling a broken axle and subsequent cascade failure of the charms running it.

“And that’s something new to add to my list of shit not to try on an elf,” Principia said with belligerent satisfaction. “You okay?”

“W…why… I…” Saduko blinked and spat out a dribble of blue paint. She had been absolutely soaked; it covered her from chin to knees. Principia had paint on her boots and helmet, including one stray drop on her eyebrow, but most of the wet volley had been absorbed by her shield, where it now completely obscured Avei’s golden eagle.

The driver of the carriage had already hopped down and was skittering off down a side alley. Two more men struggled from within, one staggering as he wrenched himself loose from a strap around the arm which had kept him from falling out while he threw the paint. In moments, both were taking off after the first man.

“Hey,” Principia said more firmly. “Are you injured? Speak to me!”

Saduko twisted her mouth, finding an untouched spot on her sleeve on which to scrub her tongue. “Fleh. Vile.”

“I guess that’ll do. You should probably come back to the barracks with me,” said Prin, gently taking her by the elbow and urging her forward. “Get looked over by a healer and have a dose of potion. Depending on what the paint was made for, and from, it could be toxic. Lucky you didn’t take in much.”

“Does this happen to Legionnaires often?”

“I have to say, this I did not expect,” Principia said mildly. “C’mon, we’re falling behind.”

“Surely you don’t mean to chase them,” Saduko protested. “They have a substantial head start. And I know elves are fast, but you are weighed down by armor…”

“I am trusting my squad to have done their jobs, which will render chasing unnecessary,” Prin said smugly. “I assume it occurred to you that it was odd for Third Legion patrol routes to be posted in the public area of the temple, yes?”

“When would I have seen—”

“Gimmick, I’d love to play this game with you, but I really do not have time right now.”

Saduko paused in wiping paint off her face onto her remaining sleeve to give her to a disgruntled look. “Fine, very well. I presumed it was some manner of trap. Given the Legion’s nature, what we would think of as a noble con, one I could walk into and not trip so long as I did nothing manipulative or hostile. Did you not find me very forthcoming? You mentioned it specifically.”

“Yes, I’ll acknowledge my mistake there: it was you I expected to step into this. I’ll be very interested in learning who those guys are. Anything to add to that?”

Saduko’s expression grew even darker. “Merely that when you do find out, I insist on seeking some recompense for this. I don’t have so many clothes that I can replace whole outfits easily. And if you have never been struck by liquid moving at that speed, it stings.”

“Yes, that would be standard procedure. In here, this is where they went.”

“How could you have arranged a trap?” Saduko demanded, following Principia into the alley. “Surely you haven’t blocked…every…”

Principia drew her sword and the three men skidded to a halt as they tried to exit back the way they had come.

“So,” she said firmly, “that’s assault, and while I don’t exactly know the civil codes pertaining to the use of an enchanted carriage, I bet you just broke a bunch of them. Needless to say, you are under arrest.”

“We don’t answer to dragon-lovers!” one snapped. The voice was clearly female; this was the individual who had been driving the carriage. All three had made some effort at concealing their identities, with heavy coats, caps and scarves. The driver also had a thick pair of goggles over her eyes.

“Is that what this is about? Just who are you people? Don’t.” Principia’s calm tone suddenly turned hard as the three tensed together. “There’s something you don’t know. Y’see this young woman behind me, who took the brunt of your attack? She is a member of the Thieves’ Guild. You’ve assaulted members of two major cults. So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. You can either submit to arrest and be taken back to the Temple of Avei to face justice, or you can try to run, and the Guild will take this up with you in its own time.”

They hesitated, huddling closer together and exchanging a round of glances.

Behind them came the tromp of boots. Saduko leaned around Principia to look past the attackers, discovering two Silver Legionnaires advancing up the alley in shield wall formation. Only two were enough to block the narrow space; in those confines, their braced shields with lances protruding made a very menacing spectacle indeed.

“Avelea, Szaravid,” Principia said, nodding to them. “Good timing.”

“Only kind we have, Sarge.”

“Now, you’re thinking you are anonymous,” Principia went on, returning her gaze to the vandals. “In the first place, that carriage of yours had a deliberately rebuilt frame over solid core enchantments—if the person who did that for you isn’t actually a member of the Guild, he or she works with them on a daily basis. It’s a finite roster of enchanters who do that kind of work. Besides, this end of the alley may look less stabby than the other end, but all I have to do is take down one of you. I guarantee that one will tell the Sisterhood anything they choose to ask. Someone will find you if you run, and you had better pray to Avei it’s her people. So what’s it gonna be?”

The tallest figure immediately raised his hands in the air.

“Jethro!” protested the third, who by voice was also a woman.

“I said this whole thing was dumb!” he exclaimed. “I said it! I’m not getting in any worse with the Legions, Talia, and I’m sure as hell not setting the Guild after me! Omnu’s balls, you and your damn schemes…”

“Wise man,” Principia said approvingly. “Whoop, it appears to be academic now, anyway.” Behind her, with another clatter of heavy boots on pavement, Casey and Merry had appeared in the alley’s mouth. In the near distance a bell was ringing, the kind used by the military police to summon aid to a crisis. “You had your window to run if you were going to try it. Does anybody feel like getting themselves in any more trouble?”

Moments later, all three were on their knees on the alley floor, hands on their heads, stripped of hats and scarves and being efficiently searched by Ephanie.

“How did you do this?” Saduko asked quietly. “I watched your squad split off. They were going in completely separate directions. And there is no way you could have predicted which alley they would run down!”

“I sure as hell didn’t predict the carriage,” Principia muttered. “Getting sloppy, making assumptions… Maybe I’m just too old to adapt fast enough to new enchantments. No, Saduko, it sounds like you didn’t do your homework, either. You saw the same things these turkeys did, and concluded exactly what you were meant to. Them, I understand; you should raise your game a bit. Tell you what, if you’ve figured it out by the time we get back to the temple I’ll buy you dinner. Oh, hey there, lads!”

She moved toward the mouth of the alley, where the two Imperial soldiers from before had arrived, staves in hand, studying the scene carefully.

“Sergeant,” said Lieutenant Talour. “Looks like you did manage to find something more than scenery.”

“It found me,” she protested innocently.

“I assume this has something to do with the wrecked carriage now blocking the street?”

“Bet your bars it did.” She half-turned to point with her sword at the three captives, now being helped to their feet with their hands bound behind their backs. “I’d appreciate an Army escort back to the temple to observe proceedings—it’ll cut down on the number of reports and interviews to be done later.”

“But?” Talour drawled.

“Yeah, as the target of an obviously premeditated assault, I’m claiming Legion privilege on this one.”

He sighed heavily, looked carefully at Saduko, at the three attackers, at Principia and finally at the remaining Legionnaires.

“All right,” he said finally. “But after this, I’m gonna ask you to stay safe again, and this time, put some effort into it, yeah?”

“I will do my very best,” Principia said sweetly.

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“Well, at least we didn’t have to have coffee,” Merry said.

“Are you still going on about this?” Ephanie exclaimed. “You lost a few hours of sleep. By tomorrow, it will be like it never happened.”

“Now, Avelea, keep in mind your squadron duties,” Principia said solemnly. “Lang is the designated complainer. She can’t do her job if you’re going to be all reasonable about stuff.”

Merry rolled her eyes. “I can do my job just fine, unless you take a vow of silence, Sarge.”

“Indoor voice, Lang,” Principia replied calmly. “You know I like to keep things casual, but you can’t be flouting the chain of command in public.”

Merry hesitated at that, glancing back at the parade ground from which they had just retreated. Most of the other squads were also trickling back to their cabins, though Squad Three were on cleanup duty. None appeared to be in earshot. Not human earshot, anyway.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Merry said anyway. She didn’t quite manage a tone of authentic contrition, but also didn’t sound sarcastic or bitter, for once. Principia gave her a sly half-smile which brought a scowl in return. A silent scowl.

“Goddess bless LQ,” Farah groaned, setting her helmet down on the bench set up outside their cabin and pouring herself a glass from the pitcher of water laid out waiting for them. Beads of condensation wreathed it, testifying to its temperature. Though the weather wasn’t hot by any means, chilled water was a treasured luxury after their drill, and until the recent shakeup in the cohort’s leadership, would have been an undreamed one.

Their new quartermaster, one of the lieutenants Dijanerad had brought in, was indeed a gift from the goddess, or so the soldiers saw her. She was clever enough to obtain things like ice that would normally not be part of their budget, thoughtful enough to do so and efficient enough to have things like this ready and waiting, leaving no other sign of her passing. The Ninth Cohort, being city-stationed and still somewhat under strength, was far from the best-equipped in the Legion, but they got remarkable mileage from what they did have.

“Mm hm,” Principia agreed, standing to one side and studying the corner of their cabin in silence. Casey gave her an odd look in passing, before joining the others around the bench. In addition to chilled water, there were towels—slightly threadbare, which probably explained how LQ had obtained them—a welcome touch as they wouldn’t have time to bathe properly before mess. “Can I help you with something?”

The others paused, looking up at her uncertainly; she was still watching the edge of the building, rather than them.

Then someone stepped around the corner and bowed.

“Forgive me,” she said smoothly. It was a very distinctive voice, cultured, accented and slightly raspy. “I of course did not wish to disrupt your practice. Though I am no judge, it is very impressive to see you at work. Your unit is like a finely-tuned machine.”

“Are you lost?” Principia asked mildly. “The temple complex, where you’ll find the priestesses, is immediately reached from Imperial Square. That’s also where you’d go first to enlist. Sorry, I’m at a loss what else a person might want in the Legion’s grounds.”

“Actually, my business is personal,” the young woman said with a calm smile. She kept her hands folded demurely in front of her, a picture of nonthreatening goodwill, but the rest of Squad One slowly straightened up nonetheless, putting down towels and cups. Each still had a lance in hand, due to the lack of a place to set them and the presence on the grounds of Captain Dijanerad, who had vivid opinions on the subject of weapons casually lying around like toys. “Lord Zanzayed is most eager to speak further with you, Ms. Locke.”

“Not to quibble,” Principia said, “but under the circumstances it would customarily be Sergeant Locke.”

“Of course, of course, forgive me,” the woman replied smoothly. “It is difficult to know, in an unfamiliar situation, which of a person’s aliases they wish to use, is it not? I thought perhaps I would gain Keys’s attention faster than the Sergeant’s, but decided upon a middle ground.”

“And…you are?” Principia asked, staring her down.

She bowed again. “My name is Saduko. I am both pleased and honored to make your acquaintance.”

“Yes, sure,” Principia said, raising an eyebrow. “But who are you?”

The young Sifanese woman smiled, and this time there was something subtly gleeful in the expression beneath the courtesy. “Well. The word translates poorly, but on this continent, they call me Gimmick.”

“And now you’re carrying messages for the dragons,” Principia mused.

“For one dragon,” Saduko said modestly. “I do not presume to reach above my station.”

“You work fast,” Principia noted. “This is quite a promotion from serving canapes.”

“Ah, so you did notice me,” she replied demurely. “How very flattering. I am merely a humble messenger, however. It is Lord Zanzayed who craves the honor of your company.”

“Lord Zanzayed knows how to reach Bishop Shahai, I’m sure. In fact, there are numerous official channels to her. That would be a great deal easier than getting someone in here to talk to me.”

“It is not for me to ponder the motives or desires of my employers,” Saduko said with a self-effacing smile. “But perhaps his lordship has not sought out the Bishop because he wishes, specifically, to speak with you. I understand why, if I may say so. You have…quite the reputation, in various quarters.”

“Form and stand!” Principia barked. Immediately, her squad made a line extending from her left, standing at attention, lances in hand and planted on the ground. Saduko reflexively stepped back from them, only the faintest flicker of uncertainty passing across her expression, quickly mastered.

“Who let you in here?” Principia asked quietly.

“I’m not sure I understand…Sergeant,” Saduko replied, her calm smile returning. “The gates are not closed.”

“The gates are attended, and the guards do not admit just anyone to a military facility. They would definitely not have sent you here to give a personal message to a non-commissioned officer who is on duty. So, Gimmick, did you gain entry to these grounds on false pretenses, or did you just sneak in?”

“That, with all respect, is poor form, Keys,” Saduko replied. Her polite smile was still in place, but her tone had become noticeably cooler. In fact, it seemed to worsen the slight rasp in her voice. “One does not interrogate a fellow professional as to her methods. You have surely lived long enough by the Big Guy’s example to know better.”

“You are, depending on what you think is going on here, either failing to respect my cover or maliciously interfering with my personal life,” Principia barked. “You see these armed, unamused-looking women? They are shortly going to expel you from the grounds, and let me assure you, Saduko, this is the kinder approach from where I’m standing. I can believe Zanzayed might have told you to do this, in which case someone is going to correct his manners in due time, but I know damn well the Guild didn’t send you. In fact, considering their arrangements with the Sisterhood concerning individuals involved in both cults, I also know they aren’t aware you are doing this, and if I really wanted to harm you, I would tell them. I don’t, so I won’t. At this time.”

“I see.” Saduko’s smile had faded, though her expression was still calm. “I apologize, Sergeant, for my misstep; I had honestly hoped we would get along better. There is no need for weapons; I can find my own way out.”

“You can find it faster with help,” Prin said flatly. “Squad, escort this young lady—politely—to the exterior gate.”

All four saluted crisply and moved forward, forming a four-point formation around Saduko. They stood a touch too close to be mistaken for an honor guard.

“This way, if you please,” Ephanie said firmly to their uninvited guest.

Saduko paused to bow deeply to Principia. “I look forward to seeing you again, Sergeant, under more congenial circumstances. Is there a message I may carry back to Lord Zanzayed?”

“If his mother didn’t teach him manners, it’s certainly not your job or mine,” Principia said dryly. “Forward march.”

Saduko didn’t force Squad One to subject her to the indignity of a manhandling; she began moving when they did, though the first few steps were backward as she kept an appraising stare on Principia. She turned, though, and strode calmly along with her head high. By her manner, one might have thought the four soldiers were an honor guard.

Principia let out a sigh as they retreated toward the gate, finally turning around and saluting Captain Dijanerad, who stood a few yards distant.

“Why,” the Captain asked, “Locke, is it always you?”

“I am a very interesting person, Captain,” Prin replied. “If you’ll forgive my absence from the mess, I think I had better go report this posthaste.”

“Bishop Shahai is dining with the High Commander, as it happens,” said Dijanerad. “Do you think this is important enough to interrupt their lunch?”

“I’ve got a dragon apparently interested in me, ma’am,” Principia replied. “It’s at least important enough to go stand outside until they’re done.”

“I can’t really argue with that,” the Captain said with a faint smile. “Your squad knows how to attend their duties in your absence?”

“That hurts, Captain,” Prin said reproachfully. “Really. I thought we were friends.”

Dijanerad’s lips twitched in poorly suppressed amusement. “Dismissed, Locke. And don’t joke with the High Commander. I believe you know her opinion of your sense of humor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Principia said solemnly, saluting again and turning to stride off toward the temple. She waited until she was well out of earshot of the parade grounds to indulge in a scowl and mutter to herself. “Got me barking orders and having Eserites thrown out… Omnu’s breath, these bloody women are turning me into one of ’em.”


 

It wasn’t a large square, nor was it in a central location, being skewed far toward the northwest wall of the city, but this was by far the most crowded and lively place they had yet seen in Veilgrad. Much of that, of course, was due to the thriving market taking place here. Stalls ringed the buildings facing the square itself, wooden affairs sheltered only by canvas awnings, but despite their lack of walls none of them appeared to be temporary structures. Their posts and boards are as sturdy as anything else in town, and many were as carefully polished and carved. Several had stovepipes running from cast iron stoves which, though not now lit, would become very important when winter rolled down from the Stalrange.

Aside from the economic value of Stosshlein Square, the place clearly had cultural value. The buildings framing it were tall stone structures ringed by battlements, one of which was topped with floors in a more decorative style—like the central keep in which Grusser lived, it resembled a sprawling cottage planted atop a fortress. The other two were just fortresses. They were actually guild halls now, each hosting several craft and trading houses, but had originally been made for war. From the very center of the square rose a tall column atop which sat a statue of a man in armor astride a rearing horse. To judge by the style of his armor, this commemorated a Tiraan warrior, though they had seen other memorials to Stalweiss heroes as they passed through the city. Veilgrad clearly honored every part of its complex history.

It was easy to appreciate Stosshlein Square from their current vantage; not only did they have a fantastic view, but they were distanced from the press of people going about their daily business. The larger, more complex of the structures bordering the square had a pub on its upper floor which had a wide terrace looming over the square itself. It was a lovely day to sit outdoors and enjoy a cup of tea, sunny and with a slight wind.

“Trissiny, I have a question and I’m concerned it’ll make me sound conceited,” Fross confessed in a low tone, hovering close to Trissiny’s ear. At some point she had finally learned to control her volume.

“Well, go ahead and ask,” the paladin said with a smile. “I know you well enough to know you aren’t actually conceited.”

“Thanks! Well, it’s… I mean, everywhere we go, people kinda make a big deal of us, don’t they?”

Trissiny nodded, keeping her gaze on the view over the battlements and the square below. “Yes, I’ve noticed. I think I see where this is going.”

“It’s just that…we’re a paladin and a pixie. I mean, those are both unusual sights, right? And it’s pretty crowded around here. Does it seem weird to you that no one’s come over to talk to us?”

Deliberately, but unhurriedly, Trissiny turned slightly in her chair, glancing back at the pub. Its front wall was an ingenious structure of wooden panels on hinges attached to tracks in the floor and ceiling; it could be folded back entirely to made a single open space leading from within to the balcony. Now, at her gaze, over a dozen people abruptly turned away, devoting themselves intently to their own drinks and conversations. None of the tables immediately adjacent to the one they’d chosen were occupied.

“I think,” Trissiny said softly, “it’s common knowledge where we are staying.”

“Yeah…I had a feeling that might be it,” Fross said. “Well…shoot. I hope this isn’t going to cause us trouble later.”

“Me, too.”

The pixie swooped over the table once, seemingly just for something to do, before coming back to hover near Trissiny again. “Well, anyway, do you think it’s good or bad that we’re the first ones back?”

“I think we’ll really only be able to tell in comparison,” Trissiny said, idly turning her teacup in a circle on the table. “Objectively our meeting went pretty well. I’m not sure what to make of everything the Colonel said, but at least we have tacit permission to proceed.”

“Yeah, this would be pretty difficult if the Empire told us not to. Oh! Hey!”

She shot upward and then darted out into the pub, buzzing around Toby and Juniper, who had just emerged from the stairwell. Both smiled as they greeted Fross, the dryad waving at Trissiny. She was wearing the enchanted ring Tellwyrn had given her last winter, altering her coloration to a Tiraan standard, though this time she was also in one of her customary sundresses and with bare feet. Juniper wasn’t exactly a secret, but everyone (including the dryad herself) agreed that it was probably wisest not to flaunt her presence in the city.

“Wow, I’m a little surprised,” Toby said lightly, coming over and pulling out a chair. “I was actually expecting we’d be the first ones back. Good news or bad?”

“Good…ish. Neutral news,” Trissiny replied with a smile. “Basically, Imperial Intelligence was already aware of us and doesn’t mind us working.”

“I had the impression they were glad to see us!” Fross reported. “Well, some of them, anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s the other bit,” Trissiny said, frowning thoughtfully. “There was a bit of a difference of opinion… Well. How about we wait for the others before making a full report?”

“Sure, makes sense,” Toby said agreeably, reaching for the teapot. “Probably best to go over things when all eight—uh, nine—I mean, ten, of us are here. Mind if I…?”

“Oh, sure, help yourself! I got a pot for everybody, but we can get more if it runs low. And…ten?”

Juniper rolled her eyes. “He means Ariel.”

“Oh,” Trissiny said, grimacing. Juniper laughed.

“Ariel is very smart!” Fross chimed.

“I think she is, yes,” Toby said solemnly, pouring himself a cup of tea.

“She’s also a jerk, though. In the long run, it all balances out.”

Juniper began laughing outright; both paladins had to grin.

“Yes, I tend to agree,” Toby said. “Well, anyway. I don’t mind telling you how our visit went. I can repeat the whole report when the others are back, because it’s quite simple: we got nothing.”

“We made some friends,” Juniper said, shrugging. “That’s not quite nothing. I thought they were very nice.”

“Yes, they were,” Toby agreed. “Omnists in general are inclined to be friendly and kind to guests. Also, you’re basically a fertility idol to them. Juniper was a celebrity,” he added to the others, winking.

“Eventually,” the dryad said, reaching for a teacup. “Once everyone was confident I wasn’t going to… Um, hurt anybody.” She fell quiet, eyes on her cup as she poured, expression carefully neutral.

“Point being,” Toby continued, “they just aren’t involved in anything. They certainly aren’t going to impede us—I was never worried about that, anyway—but they also don’t know anything useful. The friar who greeted us didn’t even seem to know that Veilgrad was having problems. They weren’t all that oblivious, just not…”

“Not tactically helpful?” Trissiny prompted.

“Yeah, that sums it up.” He nodded. “I have to admit it’s a running weakness of Omnists. Being a monastic order, and being positioned so that people who need our services come to us, rather than vice versa… Well, there’s a kind of perpetual lack of involvement in the world.”

“But you study martial arts!” Fross protested. “I mean, famously! The Sun Style is serious business!”

“As an exercise form,” Toby said, “and in extreme situations, for self-defense. This is why Omnu has a history of calling Hands, I think. Not just to keep himself active in the world, but to keep the whole faith active. We have a tendency to retreat behind our walls and just tend our gardens if nobody shakes us up from time to time.”

“There are worse ways to live,” Trissiny mused, gazing out over the square. Toby blinked, looking over at her in surprise.

“I know we’re waiting for the others, but could we get some food?” Juniper asked. “I have a little money…”

“My treat,” Trissiny said with a smile. “I opened up a tab. It seems likely we’ll be coming back here, and… Okay, I’ll say it. The less we stay in that manor, the better.”

“It’ll be important to stay in circulation!” Fross agreed.

“Exactly,” Trissiny said, nodding.

“And also, you don’t like Malivette.”

“Exactly,” Trissiny repeated in a grimmer tone.

“Is there a waiter?” Juniper asked, peering around. “Or do we go to the bar?”

“There are waitresses, but I have a feeling we’re going to have a hard time getting their attention,” Trissiny said dryly. “At least, we have so far. I had to chase one down to get a pot of tea.”

“Oh. Uh, Toby, would you mind?” Juniper asked. “I hate to impose, but… I mean, all these people, it’s a little…”

“Say no more,” he replied with a smile, setting down his teacup and standing up. “What would you like?”

“Oh, whatever’s handy! Nothing too heavy, though, I think we should be polite and wait for the others before having an actual meal. Just something to snack on.”

“I’ll go see what they’ve got warmed up and ready,” he said, smiling. “Back in two shakes.”

“Trissiny,” Juniper asked thoughtfully as Toby retreated into the noisy pub, “how much do you know about Omnism?”

“The basics. My education covered that much of all the Pantheon cults. I don’t have any real spiritual insight into their practices or dogma, or anything.” She tilted her head curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that…well, at the temple, with all the monks and…um, monkesses?”

“Nuns, technically,” said Fross, “though in that cult they’re also called monks.”

“Oh. Right, well… I mean, before today I’d been thinking it was just Toby, but I have never been around a bunch of people so sexually repressed. It was almost painful. Is…is there a reason they’re like that?”

Trissiny coughed, her cheeks coloring. “I, uh… I really don’t… If you’re that curious, June, you’d probably be better off asking an Izarite.”

“I guess,” Juniper said, settling backward in her chair and frowning. The chair, which was a sturdy wooden affair that looked like it could be used as a battering ram, creaked slightly with the motion. Juniper sometimes forgot to moderate her weight when she was distracted.

“So, uh…” Fross did a slow figure eight above the teapot. “Should we be…worried? About the others? I mean… I don’t know how long these things should take.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Trissiny said quickly. “Huntsmen aren’t animals, despite what they seem to think. Gabriel and Ruda are both important enough people to be greeted at the lodge with all courtesy, no matter how awkward or rude they are.”

“Ruda isn’t generally rude to important people,” Juniper said, “and I kinda don’t think they’re the ones we should be worried about.”

“I know,” Trissiny said with a sigh. “But honestly… I wouldn’t have agreed on Teal and Shaeine taking that task if I thought they wouldn’t be fine. The worst case scenario is basically Vadrieny having to introduce herself. Reclusive warlock or no, this Lord Leduc can’t possibly be crazy enough to start trouble up with her. I doubt he’d try to hex two visitors, anyway; he’s apparently the one member of his family who had enough restraint to survive their…hobbies.”

“That is good reasoning and you’re probably correct,” Fross chimed, bobbing in the air above her head. “But, y’know, that’s reasoning. On a strictly emotional level… I’m a little worried.”

Trissiny nodded slowly, staring out over the square. “Yeah. I know.”


 

Yornhaldt retained the presence of mind not to whistle—it was a library, after all, but he couldn’t fully restrain the spring in his step as he made his way through the halls back toward the exit. It was one of the more remote repositories of knowledge in Svenheim, and he had been in one of its most distant wings; he had a good long hike to get back to, well, anywhere.

Not that he minded. His brain was seething with possibilities, implications, and more than a fair share of jubilation at the puzzle he had cracked. Now, the foremost question was whether he should extend his stay in Svenheim or head back to Last Rock and share his finding with Arachne. In truth, this was an excellent stopping point. The lore he had dug up and connected presented a puzzle with no immediate solution, one which required thought and planning before a solution could be approached. It was a good opportunity to add her insight to the mix. Well, anyone’s insight, really, but Arachne was the only one he trusted to help him with this particular puzzle. But research was calling to him. There was more knowledge out there, just begging to be uncovered… What to do?

Anyhow, that could be decided that evening, over a celebratory scotch in his suite. For now, he had his thoughts and the walk to occupy him. Long as it was, the journey was hardly onerous. Others were about, and the halls of the Drassynvardt Archive were pleasingly quiet and orderly. Just the thing after his months of research. Well, part of the thing; he was also looking forward to that scotch.

Yornhaldt’s tenure as an adventurer had been brief. Just a couple of years, really, accompanying Arachne to the locations of several treasure troves she knew. The wealth buried in old dungeons and the hidden places of the world was staggering, and she was aware of an awful lot of it, having left most where it was because, as she put it, “what the hell would I buy?” It had taken them a few years to round up enough capital to found the University, and she had insisted the whole time that it wasn’t proper adventuring, lacking mystery. Still, it had been an adventuring career, and he hadn’t come through it without developing a few instincts.

They not only gave him warning but gave him a rudimentary plan of action. Finally noticing the unpleasant prickling on the back of his neck, Yornhaldt brought his focus back to the present and mentally reviewed the last few minutes, which he had been too distracted by his own thoughts to fully experience as he was going through them. He was walking through a long hall, illuminated by slightly flickering electric lamps, the Drassynvardt curators disdaining Tiraan enchantments on a point of principle. Only the tunnels were carved out of the rock, the actual library chambers being situated in natural caves, which resulted in a very sprawling floor plan with long hikes like this one between areas. Someone was following him—a dwarf, male, neatly groomed and avuncular, just the sort of academic who was a perfect fit for the environment. What was tweaking Yornhaldt’s instincts, then?

It was, he realized, the man’s behavior. He walked in silence, and hadn’t been behind Yornhaldt the whole way. The man had been there while he had navigated his way down the iron stairs and balconies ringing the library chamber in which he’d been studying, and had been watching Yornhaldt specifically and unflinchingly. Just staring, his focus on the dwarf, not the books.

He was being stalked.

Up ahead loomed a side passage; Yornhaldt altered his course, going left rather than straight on back to the central archive and its path to the city.

The footsteps behind him continued, taking the same turn.

Well, he’d been certain enough the man was following him—now, at least, he was less likely to be heading into an ambush. What the blazes did the fellow want? Someone who’d been watching him closely might have an inkling what he was researching, but who would even do that?

The parties that might bother to watch him and might object to the nature of his studies made a short, disturbing list.

Yornhaldt stepped to his right as he emerged into another small cavern filled with shelves of books, lit by a single flickering chandelier hanging from above. Really, this was no larger than his classroom back at Last Rock. That could be good, or bad.

He planted himself a few feet from the door to the right, just out of easy reach, facing it. Sure enough, in seconds his pursuer appeared, clearly having picked up his pace to keep Yornhaldt in view. Finding his quarry clearly waiting, he slammed to a halt, rearing back in obvious surprise.

“Pardon me, friend,” Yornhaldt said politely, “I seem to have turned myself around somehow. Do you know the way back to the main archive?”

For a moment, they simply stared at each other in silence.

Then suddenly the other dwarf burst alight. Golden radiance flared out from him, solidifying in the next moment into a divine shield.

A similar sphere formed around Yornhaldt, in arcane blue.

“Something the matter?” he asked pleasantly. “Are we in danger?”

The man simply glared at him, not deigning to answer. He held out his hand to one side, pointing at the ground; a golden circle formed, and Yornhaldt sensed a rush of infernal energies as a dimensional barrier was perforated.

A holy summoner. Well, that told him nothing; in human lands, there were only a few cults (and more recently, the Universal Church) which did that, but they had first learned the art from the dwarves. Being able to access divine magic without the need of a god’s blessing, their race had found that if demons were needed, it was best to call upon them using divine means. It was a roundabout method which lacked both the power and the fine control attained by true warlocks, but one greatly reduced one’s chances of spontaneously combusting or contracting terrible degenerative diseases.

Yornhaldt kept one eye on the summoning circle, most of his attention on his opponent. This close, he could feel the relative strengths of their shields. The arcane neutralized the divine, in theory, though it was the weakest interaction on the Circle, and he could tell this chap was powerful enough that simply overwhelming him would be time-consuming and difficult. The addition of a demon leveled the field considerably. Light above, if he was calling up something sentient, Yornhaldt could be in real trouble. Spellcasting demons could wrench arcane energies away and channel them into their own infernal spells.

He formed an exploratory burst of raw arcane power, refined enough to be controlled rather than just flung, poured it into his shield and then mentally directed it to be extruded from the outside. His opponent glanced over at his ongoing summons, doubtless expecting Yornhaldt to try to disrupt that—a logical move, and thus one for which the summoner would have countermeasures prepared. Instead, Yornhaldt was playing a hunch.

The amorphous flow of magic came free of the shield and he dropped it to the ground, then forward at the man’s feet, where he deliberately destabilized it, causing an explosion.

The summoner cried out in surprise and pain as he was flung off his feet and sent careening against the shelves, shoes smoking. Yornhaldt permitted himself a satisfied smile.

Those spherical shields had that weakness: what did you do where your sphere intersected the ground beneath you? Paladins and such were drawing power directly from a god, who handled such details; Yornhaldt took advantage of the nature of the arcane to phase it slightly so that it continued under the ground without disrupting that. A fellow mage could seize upon that phasing and use it to penetrate the bubble (he had countermeasures ready for that, of course), but it was sturdy enough against the other schools of magic. You couldn’t do that with a divine shield, though; the divine light, once made solid, was unyielding. This fellow had left himself the tiniest gap to stand on. A tiny gap had been all Yornhaldt had needed.

Unfortunately, he was a hair too slow, and the thing being summoned burst forth, shooting upward and spiraling around the ceiling.

Well, it wasn’t as bad as it could be. Just a katzil demon, very like an enormous snake that flew and could spit fire. A problem to deal with, but not something that could counteract his defenses.

Yornhaldt threw a cage of arcane currents around the creature, designed to impede its movement without forming solid barriers. Making hard objects used a lot of power, but these free-floating spells where more efficient; it would hurt and interfere with the demon proactively, and also react to contain any fire it tried to exhale.

His enemy, meanwhile, had rolled back to his feet, apparently not minding his scorched and still steaming shoes, snarling now at Yornhaldt. He flung out a hand and Yornhaldt felt disruption ripple through the energies around him. A simple banishment? Please. A moment’s concentration, and the divine spell was neutralized and absorbed, its energy boosting his own shield. Clearly this fellow had expected to take him by surprise. He wasn’t prepared for a real fight.

He revised his opinion a moment later when the spell cage he’d put over the katzil collapsed, destroyed by a second divine banishment while he’d focused on the first. Those simple disruptive charms were a cleric’s main counter to a mage; not surprising the summoner would make use of them. More to the point, he had cast two simultaneously, and with the presence of mind to make a dramatic gesture calling attention to one while sneaking in the second.

It occurred to Yornhaldt that he might be in real danger here.

The katzil dived at him, hissing in fury—it had not liked that cage. Greenish flames splashed harmlessly against his shield, and Yornhald directed a wall of pure force at it, knocking the demon off balance and sending it reeling away, then projected another at the summoner. He staggered backward, his divine shield protecting him from the worst of it, and Yornhaldt followed that up with a simple arcane bolt. The shield held against that, too, but flickered, and he called up another one.

This time, the katzil attacked his shield bodily, fangs scraping across its surface and its coils striking the sphere hard enough to imperil Yornhaldt’s balance. He released the spell rather than risking it flying off in a random direction, painfully aware they were having this confrontation surrounded by precious books.

Another attempted banishment rippled through his shields; he gathered it up into another arcane bolt, chiding himself for having nothing to use here but exchanges of brute force. He was sadly out of practice at this. Teleporting away was an option, of course, but he held that in reserve in case this went badly. Far better to neutralize his enemy and find out who was after him, and why.

The bolt smashed the divine shield, and the katzil dived at him again, this time spraying flames in a wide arc over him.

“Not the books!” Yornhaldt bellowed, desperately throwing up a wall of solid light between the gout of fire and the shelves. “Damn your eyes, control that beast!”

Suddenly his shield flickered; in that moment when he was distracted forming the wall, something had seized onto his aura. Reaching out with his mind, Yornhaldt belatedly realized he was standing in a summoning circle, stealthily placed around his feet while he had been busy with the fight. It wasn’t calling anything up, per se, but forming a channel of infernal energy, which was disrupting his workings.

Ingenious, really. He had to admire the technique, and the strategy.

Unfortunately, it meant the next banishment caused his shield to collapse.

His retaliatory bolt was far more powerful, collecting a great deal of loose energy as it went, and upon its impact his rival’s shield also imploded and the caster was sent hurtling backward to slam against the bookshelves. He slumped to the ground, stunned.

And then the katzil sank its fangs into Yornhaldt’s shoulder.

It had only a split second to worry at him like a hound before he nailed it point-blank with another arcane bolt; the unfortunate demon perished, fragments of flesh turning to dust and charcoal before they’d been flung far enough to hit anything.

Yornhaldt staggered, clutching his wounded arm and taking stock. Demon destroyed, summoner temporarily down. He’d better deal with the man more permanently…somehow… That bite was really throbbing. Also burning. His sleeve was rapidly becoming soaked through with blood.

It occurred to him belatedly that katzils were venomous. Not one of the worst poisons out there, but any venom of infernal origin was going to be very bad.

It was bad enough he almost didn’t notice the prick in his other shoulder. In fact, he became really aware of it a second or two after it had occurred, and looked over to find a small brass-bound hypodermic syringe stuck into his arm, plunger fully depressed. Blinking his eyes against suddenly blurry vision, Yornhaldt lifted his gaze to behold a figure—tall, human, and swathed in an ash-gray robe.

“Oh, drat,” he mumbled.

“I believe that’s enough exertion, old fellow,” the man said, amusement in his voice. “You just relax, now.”

Yornhaldt was only dimly aware that he was falling, aware that his senses were diminishing into unconsciousness. This was a disaster. He had to get back to Arachne with what he’d learned.

Had to…

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Several hours later, a confused and increasingly frustrated Squad One found themselves at Bishop Shahai’s modest apartment not far from Imperial Square, laden down with bags and packages. It was actually quite the achievement to have found a modest apartment this close to the seat of Imperial power, as the real estate here was some of the most expensive in the world. Most people who had the need or desire to be that close to the Palace (or the Grand Cathedral, or the central Omnist or Avenist temples) and the money to move in wanted something larger and more luxurious anyway. There were a number of clerics who preferred proximity to their temples, however, and as such there were buildings owned by the Church and several of the major cults, divided into humble dwellings that suited the desires of their occupants.

Hers was a simple one-story affair that couldn’t have been more than a handful of rooms, to judge by the fact that its kitchen and main living area were all one open space. A space which was cozy verging on cramped with all six of them present; they were packed in close enough to be reminded how much bulk armor added to a person.

“Just put those down wherever it’s least inconvenient, please,” the Bishop directed them. “Then have a seat. I don’t entertain much; I apologize for the lack of comfortable chairs. Feel free to pull one over from the table if you need. I’m going to make us some tea.”

They obeyed slowly, setting down bags and paper-wrapped packages as neatly as possible against the walls, out of the way of the furniture, looking warily around all the while. The furniture was bland and could have come with the place, though personal touches had been added. Soft elven blankets woven of geometric patterns had been draped over the small sofa and single armchair, and on the mantle stood a golden eagle idol—stone, not gold, of course—with several strings of carved beads draped around its heavy base and hanging over the lip of the mantlepiece itself. The only article of really unique furniture was a display case containing a peculiar variety of things behind glass: a broken Avenic short sword, two ornately carved tomahawks, a battered shield bearing the golden eagle, several small leather pouches, and four glittering unicorn horns.

Bishop Shahai moved efficiently about the stove, preparing a pot to heat and setting up a tray with cups, sugar, and other paraphernalia, her back to them. Straightening up from setting down a folded package of expensive silk cloth, Merry scowled at Principia, leaned closer and opened her mouth to whisper.

Prin thrust a finger into her face, glaring, and pointedly tugged at her ear. Merry snapped her mouth shut and contented herself with looking disgruntled.

“Private Elwick, you’re closest,” Shahai said over the soft clink of crockery. “There’s a plate of sandwiches in the cold box, top shelf. Would you kindly set them on the table? And the rest of you, dig in. Tea will be ready in a few moments, I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“Do you…commonly have plates of sandwiches ready for guests, your Grace?” Ephanie asked in a carefully demure tone.

“No,” Shahai replied with an amused little smile, finally turning back to face them. Casey passed between her and the group, obediently carrying a platter stacked with ham sandwiches to the table. “I specifically have one ready. At this point in the evening I expect you all to be rather tired, and increasingly fed up with me. Food and strong tea make a good pick-me-up; we’ll need this little respite before finishing our tasks for the evening.”

“You planned this?” Farah inquired.

“I plan ahead as much as possible, in as much detail as possible, for all situations,” the Bishop said serenely, pulling out a chair and seating herself. “Thank you, Elwick. Please, all of you, sit down. Yes, Szaravid, according to my schedule, by this point in the evening Squad One has spent several hours accompanying me hither and yon to a variety of luxury shopping establishments, standing guard while I browsed and carrying my purchases. I’m aware of the relationship this squad had with Bishop Syrinx, at least the broad strokes; I can only imagine how irate you must be by this point. My compliments on your poise, by the way.”

“I assumed all this was mission relevant, somehow,” Principia said mildly, helping herself to a ham sandwich.

“Oh?” Shahai raised an eyebrow.

“The accumulation of luxury and misuse of temporary authority over a squad would be dramatically out of character, your Grace. I know something of your record as well; you were quite right about Bishop Syrinx. It seemed wise to cultivate an awareness of her successor.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Shahai said, smiling. “Well, in any case, this building is owned by the Universal Church, its apartments rented to various clerics. The walls are exceedingly thick, and additionally bolstered with noise dampening enchantments. It’s a very discreet sort of building. This marks the first point in the evening where we can converse in guaranteed privacy. My apologies for making you wait, but the whole point of our performance this far tonight has been just that: a performance, put on for whoever might have been watching. I was unwilling to make assumptions about the security of our environs except in—ah, excuse me.”

The teapot had begun whistling; she stood and glided briskly back to the stove. The assembled Legionnaires glanced uncertainly about at one another, then at Principia, who was chewing away as placidly as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Shahai returned, setting the tea tray beside the sandwiches and beginning to pour out cups. “Eat or not as you wish, ladies, but I do insist upon the tea. This is a very strong blend, and just the boost we will all need, as we are about to go deal with dragons at the end of an already long day. Please, use as much sugar and milk as you need to make it palatable. If anyone is especially fatigued, I have something even stronger for emergencies. Have you heard of coffee?”

She looked up in surprise at the chorus of groans; Principia chuckled into her sandwich.

“That’s the stuff that tastes like the inside of my boots, keeps you awake for about four hours and then you’re suddenly comatose standing up unless you take another dose,” Merry said, accepting a cup of tea. “Sarge gave us that once.”

“Once,” Principia emphasized, “when I’d kept them out past midnight. Generally I think you get better results from people by letting them get enough rest.”

“I quite agree,” Shahai said, smiling. “Drugs are a poor substitute for any of the things for which people substitute them, but they can bridge the gap in a rough situation. Well, then, on to a much-overdue explanation. What do you know about dragonsworn?”

There was a beat of silence; Farah paused in the act of sipping her tea, staring at the Bishop in surprise.

“People who are sworn to a dragon,” Ephanie replied at last, “just as the word says. I understood that wasn’t common.”

“It’s uncommon for the simple reason that dragons are uncommon,” Shahai said, “and many of them are rather standoffish. But yes, as long as dragons have interacted with the mortal races, some members thereof have dedicated themselves to a certain dragon’s service. In fact, with the Conclave’s current ambitions, I suspect this will be the greatest sticking point in their negotiations with the Empire. Now that they seek to be acknowledged as an independent government, anyone taken into their service will effectively become an agent, if not a citizen, of a foreign power, rather than an eccentric who keeps unusual company. I’m actually quite curious to find out how they will resolve the matter, because at the moment, I’ve no idea. But yes, dragonsworn are a known phenomenon, and their whereabouts are carefully watched by anyone who takes an interest in world events. Including the Sisters of Avei.”

“I figured,” Principia said, pausing to take a sip of tea. “Accumulating expensive hoard-worthy trinkets was an obvious link to the dragon issue. You think there are dragonsworn in the city? It was my understanding the dragons arrived alone.”

“Ah, yes, the…trinkets.” Shahai sighed, giving the piles of packages a disapproving stare. “I am sorry about putting you ladies to that kind of work. But yes, Sergeant, people are already lining up outside the de facto Conclave embassy, wanting a variety of things. Some—perhaps more than a few—are interested in working for the dragons. They have that aura of majesty that tends to inspire such responses. Beyond that, however, there have always been some few dragonsworn in the city, and somewhat less few who are known to do business with them. This afternoon we have visited most of those. These comprise more of a grapevine than an actual intelligence network, but I don’t imagine it will be long before our draconic visitors are aware that I have just gathered a pile of…hoard-worthy trinkets, as you put it.” She paused to smile at Principia.

“People from all walks of life, but notably the wealthy and powerful, will be trying to curry favor with the dragons for a variety of reasons, most of which are no concern to us. My mission here is simply to establish open lines of communication and friendly terms with them, to ward off any potential hostilities and create opportunities for possible future benefit. A vague and simple directive, which nonetheless is made quite challenging by the fact that the dragons have no incentive to take us seriously at all. Virtually the only interaction between dragons and the Sisterhood in eight thousand years have been occasional clashes between individuals and Hands of Avei. Most of those ended in the fatality of one or the other. In this, it’s fortunate for us that they have no particular interest in our cult. What I have to do is make them interested, and favorably so.”

“A tall order,” Principia mused.

“Indeed,” Shahai said wryly. “This afternoon’s errands were the first half of the plan, though it may take some time for word to get back to our targets. This evening’s will finish the job. We discussed earlier the impact of having two elves in the delegation sent to speak with them. When we meet the dragons themselves, I intend to be vague; the point is to set them wondering what we are up to. To set us apart from the countless petitioners who will be competing for a slice of their attention. They, if all goes well, will come to us. As such, once we return tonight, I mean to withdraw somewhat and give them time to stew. If no overtures have been made within a week, we’ll try something else, but apart from that, your squad will return to regular duty rotation to be called for when I have need of you again. With the exception of tomorrow,” she added with a smile. “I’ve reserved you for the morning. Do get some sleep.”

“We appreciate that,” Principia said approvingly.

“Ah, your Grace?” Casey said. “It’s…dark out. Almost everything is closed by now. People will be going to sleep. Is this an appropriate time to visit dragons?”

“All part of the plan, Elwick,” Shahai said, sipping her tea. “Dragons… It’s an open question whether they need to sleep, or just indulge in it occasionally for the pleasure of dreaming. Regardless, they can do it for days at a time, even weeks, but generally only do so two or three times a year. They won’t be in bed. Most people don’t know this, so we won’t have to fight through a crowd. And they assuredly know what a peculiar time of day this is for us to be making social calls.”

“Thus contributing to the infamy you’re cultivating,” Principia said with a smile. “Apologies for any perceived brown-nosing, Bishop, but you’re good at this.”

“At this?” Shahai stared ruminatively into her tea. “This has never been done. Let’s hope we all prove to be good at it. In any case, ladies, finish up here. We are not in any hurry.”


 

The hastily repurposed palace currently housing the Conclave delegation stood not far from Imperial Square, in a residential neighborhood that was wealthy in the manner that the sea was damp. These were the homes of the highest ranking officials of the Imperial government, the various cults and the Universal Church, not to mention the residences of foreign ambassadors and several properties kept by heads of state from overseas. Some of these actually visited with some regularity—the Tiraan Empire did not seek anyone’s favor, but waited for seekers to come to it—while others maintained these properties simply as a point of status. No official embassies stood here, though flags of many countries were displayed and no small amount of diplomatic business had been done behind these walls. None of the buildings on this street could truly be called a house. They ranged from mere mansions at the lower end to palaces which had prompted the current Emperor’s mother to pass laws limiting just how defensible non-Imperial structures in the city could be made.

This one was of an older style, all done in white marble with fluted columns—in fact, it ironically resembled an Avenist temple, if one ignored the highly decorative stonework. Imperial soldiers stood guard on the grounds in significant numbers, almost as if the government expected some kind of attack. Or perhaps they were simply keeping the peace. Whatever the reason, every entrance and ground floor window was covered, as well as the gates of the property itself. More soldiers patrolled the grounds, the outer wall, even the roof.

There were two long banners hanging in gaps between columns flanking the front door. They formed a white field with a divided hexagon in the center, split into six colors: blue, green, red, gold, silver, and black. A peculiar sigil lay over that, in white with a black border that distinguished itself from the background. The symbol didn’t appear to depict anything in particular; it looked more like a glyph in some foreign language.

“Looks almost like a wing,” Farah murmured. “See, the—”

“Scenery,” Bishop Shahai said, quietly but pointedly. Farah instantly fell silent, staring straight ahead. Principia gave her a very sharp look.

Rank had its privileges; the soldiers on duty at the gate saluted the Bishop rather than attempting to stop her. She nodded back in perfect calm, striding up the slightly curving path toward the doors with Principia just behind and to her right and the rest of Squad One forming the four corners of an invisible box around them.

The soldiers at the door saluted, as well, but made no move to usher them in. Principia stepped forward to pull the door open herself.

Within, the palace looked suitably wealthy, but also rather bare. Everything was marble trimmed in gilt, with an extravagantly frescoed dome forming the entry hall’s ceiling and a geometric mosaic for a floor. There was no furniture, though, of any kind, not even rugs or curtains. Apparently the new residents had brought nothing with them, and the old had left nothing behind.

There were more banners, however. These were also white, lacking the multicolored hexagon, but there were six of them and each bore the sigil in one of the draconic colors.

At this hour, the property was relatively quiet. A few people were present in the room; two more Imperial Army officers stood silently at attention, a mixed handful of folk in nondescript attire loitered near the walls, and a portly man in his later middle years in an obviously expensive suit was in the process of crossing the space toward two figures who had just entered from a side door.

Both were dragons.

To judge by their obviously displayed colors, these were Zanzayed and Varsinostro, and two less similarly attired people had rarely stood together. The blue dragon was an almost comical portrait of less-than-tasteful opulence, while the green wore simple wood elf attire. Nonetheless, their presence was arrestingly powerful, even ignoring the people present as they were. A tremor rippled through the onlookers at their entrance, several people letting out soft sighs or murmured observations.

The Avenist party had crossed the room at a sharp pace, and were just barely beaten to intercepting the dragons by the rich man, thanks to his head start.

“Your Eminences,” he said, bowing low and doffing his stovepipe hat, “if I might—”

“Good evening,” Bishop Shahai spoke over him, striding forward.

“Good lady,” the man said in indignation, puffing his chest out at her, “kindly wait your—”

He broke off as Ephanie stepped in front of him, planting the butt of her lance on the floor with a thunk that echoed through the bare chamber, staring flatly from behind her faceguard. The fellow gaped at her, then flushed and stepped backward, muttering something that might have passed for polite.

“Well, this is different,” Zanzayed the Blue commented, smiling in a way that might have been sincere or sarcastic. Something about his featureless eyes made his expression hard to read. The green dragon, who had come to a stop beside him, folded his arms and watched, his face a mask of patience.

“I am Nandi Shahai, Bishop of the Universal Church from the Sisters of Avei,” she said, nodding to them. It was a deep, respectful nod, but clearly the sort of gesture bestowed on an equal, not a being of fathomless, catastrophic power. “Welcome to Tiraas.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Varsinostro said evenly. “We have found the city most welcoming, with some few specific exceptions.”

“Why, Principia!” Zanzayed exclaimed, grinning in apparent delight. “I must say, this is the greatest and best surprise I’ve had in a whole day of surprises! When did you join the Silver Legions? That’s got to be one of the crazier things I’ve ever heard. Well, regardless, it’s a delight to see you!”

“It is?” Principia asked, nonplussed.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Zanzayed, Sergeant Locke,” Shahai said in a perfectly pleasant tone. The warning was hidden in the awareness of their orders, invisible to onlookers.

“We’ve never met,” Principia said firmly. “I’m positive I would’ve remembered that hairdo.”

“Oh, it’s all secondhand,” Zanzayed said with an airy wave of his hand, rings glittering in the light. “I’ve heard all about you, of course. You might say I’m an old friend of the family,” he added to Shahai, winking. “We really ought to find the time to sit down for a chat, since we’re both in the city!”

“I don’t talk to my family,” Principia said in a tone that was just a hair too polite to be overtly unfriendly.

“I note that your Conclave’s chosen iconography reflects all six draconic colors,” Shahai remarked. “There have been no silver or black dragons for some time, if I am not mistaken.”

“The Conclave is for all of our kind,” Varsinostro stated. “Present and future. We would not have any potential members excluded even by implication. In particular, those…extremes…would better be brought into the fold to deal with the rest of us socially than left to pursue their own ends, unfettered.”

“I see,” the Bishop mused. “That does make sense.”

“To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, your Grace?” the green dragon asked pointedly.

“I’m certain you know the areas of Avei’s interest,” Shahai said crisply. “We promote justice and protect the interests of women. As you have decided to assertively join civilized society, this creates a potential interest, my lords. Any actions you take will fall under the purview of the judicial system. And dragons have a…fraught history with regard to women.”

“Ah, yes,” Zanzayed said solemnly, folding his hands. “That. You mean that thing where we sometimes take mates and lovers exactly like anyone else, and mortal societies regard the matter with revulsion because… Well, actually, I never have cared enough to figure out what the specific objection was, once I determined there was no actual logic in it.”

Shahai smiled at him very pleasantly. “On another subject, Zanzayed, have you visited Mathenon Province recently? I believe dwarven archaeologists recently unearthed some very unusual ruins directly off the Old Road between Viridill and Stavulheim. Some sort of amphitheater.”

He sighed dramatically, turning to Varsinostro. “There, you see? This is why religious people are a pain to deal with. Every nice thing you do gets swept under the rug, but you make one little error in judgment and somehow their descendants manage to shove it in your face after two thousand years.”

“Let’s be polite, Zanzayed,” Varsinostro said calmly. “We are guests in this city as much as the Bishop is in this house.” Despite the muted warning directed at both of them, his expression was one of amusement.

“Did you really come here just to be confrontational?” Zanzayed asked, impatience creeping into his tone as he turned back to Shahai.

Her smile wavered not by a hair. “On the contrary, Lord Zanzayed, if anything, I would like to offer my services. You may find it…challenging…to cultivate personal relationships among human society, given the reputation you have with regard to women, justly or not. The Sisterhood is in a unique position to help you navigate these waters. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you would like any assistance in settling in.”

“How very considerate,” Varsinostro said, gazing intently at her.

“It is the duty of a priestess and a soldier to serve,” Shahai intoned, bowing. “I will take no more of your time this evening, my lords. Welcome, again, to Tiraas. Squad, fall in.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Zanzayed asked behind them. The Bishop simply kept moving toward the door.

Not that the dragons were left with nothing to do. They had gotten scarcely a few feet when the gentleman in the hat surged forward again. Once again, he was beaten to the punch.

This time it was a young Sifanese woman who slid smoothly forward, holding a glowing rune on the flat of her open palm. It sparked faintly, then abruptly transformed into a steaming platter.

At the burst of magic—and rare magic at that, for transfiguration was usually done only by a master mage, the pre-formatted kind being very expensive—both dragons turned to stare sharply at her.

“Good evening, most exalted ones,” she said deferentially. In addition to her lilting accent, she had a raspy quality to her voice, not quite the husky tone of a lifelong smoker, but as if something had injured her throat at one point. “My employer, like each of these good people, most humbly craves but a moment of your attention, and does not presume to so impose without offering some small recompense for the distraction. I understand, Lord Zanzayed, these are a favorite of yours.”

Shahai led the squad outside, the front doors of the palace shutting firmly and cutting off sound from within. They heard only one more line of the girl’s spiel.

“Bacon-wrapped shrimp?”

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“But why dragons?” Merry demanded as they marched. “This is not what we’ve been training for! Damn it, if we’ve been busting all our butts for nothing…”

“You know, I think I had almost exactly this conversation with the Captain, only reversed,” Principia replied, glancing back at her. “Want to know what she said?”

Merry hesitated, then scowled. “That’s a trap, isn’t it.”

“There, see?” Prin said, grinning. “You’re learning. We’ll make a sly operator of you yet, Lang.”

“In all seriousness, though,” Farah piped up, “these orders…”

“Are orders,” Principia said firmly. “We can handle this assignment, and we will. Come on, ladies, we’ve dealt with orders specifically designed to break us. This is going to be more interesting than we’d like, yes, but it’s a real job, and it has a purpose. We’ll do it and do it well.”

“Sarge is right,” Ephanie added. “This is what Avei needs of us. Succeed or fail, there’s honor in the doing.”

“We will not consider ‘fail’ as a pertinent option,” Principia said. “All right, squad, pipe down. We’re approaching range of the Bishop, and I want her to see training and professionalism from us, and nothing else. Forward march, double time.”

They fell silent as ordered, falling smoothly into step. It was a little unusual to be quick-marching through the halls of the temple, but they were Legionnaires in uniform and it was the central bastion of Avei’s influence in Tiraas; no one attempted to interfere with them. The walk was relatively quick, anyway, and within another five minutes they had reached Bishop Shahai’s office.

It was one of the temple complex’s more idiosyncratic rooms, a small chamber four times as long as it was wide and lined with bookcases. Before a remodeling that resulted in the addition of a new wing to the temple, it had actually been a section of outdoor colonnade. Now, one wall—that which had previously been open—had panes of frosted glass between the remaining columns, giving a full view of the carpeted chamber and its numerous books. Those, too, were leftovers, entirely volumes of which multiple copies already existed in the temple’s library. Until Shahai came along, it had been a public space, its glass doors usually standing open and often serving as a spot for quiet reading, prayer or conversation. She had done nothing to make it her own, even to the point of making no objection to others being in the space. Shahai’s easygoing and humble attitude had already made her far more popular than her predecessor.

Not that the bar was set very high.

She was standing with her back to the entrance when Squad One marched in. Even from behind, she was a distinctive figure, slender and with long ears extending to either side of her pale blonde hair. There were few enough elves in the Sisterhood, and fewer still among the Universal Church’s personnel. The white robe of the Bishop’s office was similar to that worn by priestesses of Avei, though ankle-length rather than ending just below the knee, and with wide, billowing sleeves. Over that was the black tabard of her office with the Church’s silver ankh symbol, and over that she had belted on a sword in addition to the golden eagle pin at her shoulder. In contrast to Bishop Syrinx’s extravagant weapon, it was a plain leaf-bladed short sword doubtless straight from a Silver Legion armory.

“Squad One,” the Bishop said, turning to face them with a thoughtful expression. Nandi Shahai had eyes of a unique pale gray. The color itself was unusual among plains elves; its very light shade was a silver that verged on white under the right light. Those eyes flicked rapidly across them as they saluted. “Hm…five of you. That will make most ceremonial formations awkward… All right, Sergeant Locke, you are to position yourself as my personal aide. The rest of you will arrange yourselves as an honor guard. You know the requisite formations.”

It was not a question, but it required an answer anyway.

“Of course, your Grace,” Principia said crisply.

“You have a question, Private Elwick?” the Bishop asked mildly.

Casey blinked her eyes and glanced at Principia.

“Permission granted to speak freely,” Shahai said with a small smile.

Casey cleared her throat. “Ah, well… I don’t mean to question your decisions, your Grace. I was just wondering how important ceremonial formations are, considering what we’re to guard you against.”

“Your attitude is proper,” Shahai said approvingly. “However, it is also a highly pertinent question. If one dragon were to attack me, soldiers, there is precisely nothing you could do about it except die alongside me. We will be meeting, hopefully, four. This is not a military exercise and you will not think of it as such. It’s a different kind of battle entirely, and in diplomacy, a little pageantry goes a long way. For purposes of this assignment, squad, your bearing and conduct is more immediately germane to mission objectives than your skill in combat. You will keep this in mind and behave accordingly.”

“Yes, ma’am!” they chorused.

“And now Private Lang has a question,” the Bishop said, turning to her.

Merry quickly swallowed down a grimace. “Ah, well, case in point, ma’am. I was just surprised that you knew Elwick by name. And now me.”

“I assure you, ladies, I never enter a situation without knowing as many details and variables as can possibly be arranged,” Shahai said, folding her hands behind her back. “Almost everything about this situation is unknowable. It has no precedent, and while three of these dragons are known figures, they are not exactly familiar to any of us. Be assured, I have researched each of you as fully as the short span of time available to me allowed. Pertaining to that, and to your apparent inability to have a thought without expressing it on your face, you four will keep your helmets on when on duty. Locke, to further visually differentiate yourself from the rest of the squad, leave yours off. In fact, leave it here; I want you to keep a hand free.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I trust, further, that you do not lack facial control. Do you know what is expected of a personal aide?”

“I am familiar with the role, your Grace.”

“Good. I will have little in the way of papers to hold or errands to run; your primary role will be to be visually supportive. And as you are assuredly a practiced actor, I want you to convey the impression that we are old and familiar partners, if possible.”

“Yes, your Grace, I believe I can do that.”

“To that end, while I expect you to cultivate proper decorum, you may speak up and contribute to conversations when you deem it in the best interests of the Sisterhood and the mission. I am trusting both your sense and your loyalty, Locke. It is my opinion based on your records that this is warranted; if I prove mistaken, it will reflect on you in the High Commander’s eyes.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

“The rest of you, however,” Shahai continued, turning her head to address the remainder of the squad, “will keep fully in character as ceremonial guards at all times when we are at the Conclave embassy, among any dragons or their staff, or on duty pertinent to this mission. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open, and I will seek your opinions in private. In front of the dragons, though, you are scenery. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!” all four replied.

“If addressed by them,” the Bishop said, her stare growing more intent, “or approached at all, you will politely but firmly redirect their attention to me. Trust me, ladies, you do not want a dragon growing more interested in you. They have a tendency to get what they want, and that has a tendency to disrupt one’s life to an astonishing degree. Whatever else these dragons are up do, I cannot conceive that they have come to Tiraas without expecting to acquire some manner of female companionship.”

“I’m not excessively worried about anyone falling head over heels for me, your Grace,” Farah said with a grin.

“Well, there’s Avelea to consider,” Merry said reasonably. “I mean… Dang. Just look at her.”

Ephanie’s cheeks colored slightly behind her helmet, but she did not otherwise react.

“These are immortals,” Shahai said, unamused. “They have lived to see fashions and standards of beauty shift as often as you have seen the seasons change. You are young, healthy, self-confident and strong-willed; there is a universal attractiveness in that. You will do nothing to attract draconic attention to yourself; you will not encourage it if it exists, and will coldly deflect it should it persist. Is that fully understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” they barked more stiffly.

“A question, your Grace, if I may?” Principia asked politely.

“Of course, Sergeant,” Shahai said, nodding at her.

“I don’t mean to presume; I’m simply trying to get on the same page so I can help with your plans rather than impeding them. By singling out the two elves as obviously dominant members of this delegation, what impression are you trying to send to the dragons?”

“None,” Shahai said, a very faint smile hovering around her mouth. “No impression. In fact, I intend to leave the matter as utterly vague as possible and set them to wondering which of the obvious possibilities is the correct one. Dragons are wise and clever in addition to being powerful; every moment they spend trying to find nonexistent meaning in minutia is a moment they are not spending maneuvering us as they wish.”

Principia permitted herself a smile. “I see. I think, Bishop Shahai, I am going to enjoy working with you.”

“That would, of course, be ideal,” the Bishop said calmly, “but never forget that we are here for duty, not enjoyment. All right, ladies, fall in; it’s time to go pay a visit.”


 

“That was fast,” Darling noted, leading the returning adventurers into the dining room with Price on their heels.

“Yeah, that’s the convenient thing about failure,” Weaver said sourly. “It has a tendency to happen so much faster than success.”

“No sign of Mary at all?”

“Sign, no,” said Billie, “but you were right. She’d been there; Tellwyrn had apparently spent enough time with her lately to grow tired of it. But she’s up an’ fluttered off, and we’ve no idea where to or why.”

“The Professor knows we’re looking, though,” Joe added, “and I think she’ll be helpful if she can. I mean, she’ll point Mary at us if she goes back to Last Rock before coming back here.”

“And,” Weaver added pointedly, “we reached an agreement with regard to the other matter. We now have a prearranged secure place to get rid of the skull. Assuming we can get our hands on the damn thing.”

“That’s one worry down, then,” Darling murmured.

“Where’s McGraw?” Joe asked.

“Got a little antsy, waiting around,” the Bishop replied with a grin. “He went off ahead to Desolation to have a look around.”

“You sent him where?” Joe exclaimed.

“C’mere, have a look,” Darling said, ushering them into the dining room. Flora and Fauna were present, both studying a large map unrolled on the long table. Darling led the group over to this and placed a finger on one labeled dot, the two elves shifting back to make room while the rest crowded around to see, Joe pausing only to tip his hat to the girls. “Desolation is the last stop on the Rail line in the Badlands.”

“I thought it went all the way to the Dwarnskolds,” Billie said. “Isn’t the kingdom of Rodvenheim less hostile t’the Empire than most o’ the rest?”

“Less hostile, yes,” said Darling, nodding while keeping his eyes on the map. “That doesn’t mean they don’t share the traditional dwarven interest in their privacy. The dwarves have a cultural imperative to discourage the kind of melting-pot phenomenon that’s been developing all over the Empire; all sorts of random people having access to their gates doesn’t serve their interests. All right, I actually have further point to make pertaining to that, but first I need to bring you guys up to speed—there’ve been developments in Tiraas while you were out today.”

“Anything good?” Billie asked.

“That remains to be seen,” Darling said, frowning and finally lifting his head to look at them. “Lord Vex briefed me; this is what I was called away for this morning. Today, four dragons landed outside the city.”

“Dragons?” Joe said, his eyebrows shooting upward. “Four?”

“One of each extant color,” the Bishop said, nodding. “They came to announce that the dragons of the Tiraan continent have banded together and formed a government. They are requesting formal recognition and the opening of diplomatic relations.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Weaver said, staring at him.

“The Empire is handling this as slowly as they can, of course,” Darling continued, “but one doesn’t generally say ‘no’ to a dragon. Saying ‘no’ to all the dragons isn’t even on the table. They’ve been granted the use of a small palace that used to belong to some noble, which is already being considered an embassy in all but name. Anyhow, concerning our business, this obviously changes the character of the prophecies.”

“I should damn well think so,” Billie said in awe. “I mean…dragons. The politics o’ this alone… Could that be the chaos the books were goin’ on about?”

Darling shook his head. “The word ‘chaos’ wasn’t used; from the context, it was pretty clearly referring to chaos as a magical phenomenon. And the dragons aren’t necessarily the direct cause of it, but perhaps simply a significant enough event to draw prophecies of their own. This is entirely without precedent in the history of the world. But no, they wouldn’t be dabbling with chaos themselves. As a race, they have better sense.”

“Belosiphon sure didn’t,” Weaver noted.

“As you of all people likely know,” Darling retorted, “it was other dragons who brought him down. That kind of cooperation was rare even then. This… The whole world is changing, right out from under us. I can’t honestly say I still know what I’m sending you into, my friends. I want to raise the prospect of calling this whole thing off, or at least calling a halt until we can find more information, or at least find Mary.”

“Well, now, hang on a tick,” Billie said reasonably. “Even if it’s just chaos… The skull o’ Belosiphon is still out there, aye? An’ if that’s in circulation, it needs to be taken out of it.”

“We also know the Archpope’s other team is active,” Joe added.

“We assumed both of those things,” Darling said, raising a finger. “Our assumptions may not still be valid. The situation is more unpredictable and likely more dangerous than we know.”

“That being the case,” said Weaver, “it sounds to me like McGraw had the right idea. An Eserite once told me if your only available options are probably mistakes, it’s always better to err actively than passively. This seems to me like a good idea to head to the Badlands, get a look around, see if we can find something out and report back. If there’s a chaos artifact loose anywhere in the region, there will damn well be signs of it.”

“I suppose it can’t hurt to look,” Darling said thoughtfully. “…and having said that, I really hope I haven’t just jinxed you. All right, I’m going to trust your judgment on this. Be careful. Kindly don’t attempt anything too assertive until we’ve got more data to work with.”

“If nothin’ else,” Joe noted, “we’ll wanna link up with McGraw, see what he has to say. If I remember my frontier stories, the Badlands are his old stomping ground. The place where he made his legend, in fact. He’s likely still got friends up there.”

“Sounds like a plan t’me!” Billie said cheerfully. “An’ if nothin’ comes of it, we can still come back.”

“More Rail rides,” Weaver grumbled. “Ah, hell with it, too much comfort just makes me soft.”

Darling sighed. “All right, well… Just keep in mind what you’re seeing here, yeah? Desolation is right on the edge of the Badlands; assuming the skull is in that area, it’s not gonna be sitting on a convenient pedestal in town. This is a large stretch of country, and its pretty much the geographic center of nowhere. Your nearest major outposts of civilization are Rodvenheim, Puna Dara and Veilgrad, and none of those are exactly cosmopolitan epicenters. They’re also more than three hundred miles away, each.”

“Are we lookin’ at the same map?” Joe asked, pointing. “Shaathvar is right there.”

“It’s right there across the most impassible mountains on the continent,” Weaver said scornfully. “To get to Shaathvar from the Badlands, you’d have to go back down to Veilgrad and follow the roads up through the Stalrange. There’s a limited number of usable passes.”

“Shaathvar is also the’world’s most ass-backward place with a population o’ more than twenty,” Billie added. “Talkin’ o cosmopolitan epicenters.”

“Before this veers any further off topic,” Darling said firmly, “my point was, if you go adventuring into the Badlands, that’s that. You won’t be getting any more resources or help until you either succeed or quit. So yes, head to Desolation, find McGraw, look around. Please don’t be in a hurry to go haring off. I want everyone to be damn sure of what they’re doing before committing to something like that.”

“Don’t you worry yer pretty li’l head about us, poppet,” Billie said, winking. “We’re professionals.”

“Please don’t call him pretty,” Flora said, grinning.

“He’s vain enough as it is,” Fauna agreed.

Darling gave them an irritated look. “Don’t you two have something to clean?”

“Nope.”

“Not really.”

“Something can be found, if your Grace wishes,” Price offered.

“No, no, let them stay and learn,” he said somewhat gruffly. “That’s what we keep ’em around for, after all. All right, let me clear this out of the way and then we’ll get you guys some dinner.”

“Best we set out as quick as possible,” Billie said, frowning. “Every moment we delay, Khadizroth an’ the Jackal are getting’ ahead of us. Those two arseholes cannot be allowed ta get their ‘ands on the skull.”

“Assuming,” Weaver said, “they’re actually after it…”

“Aye, which we’ll find out by goin’ up there, right?”

“It’s almost dark,” Darling noted. “The Rails aren’t going to running by the time you can get to a station. C’mon, guys, I’m sending you face-first into chaos, conflict and possible death. You can’t reasonably embark until tomorrow morning anyway. Let me offer a little hospitality first, all right?”

“I admit it wouldn’t be amiss,” Joe said, grinning ruefully. “Not that I don’t take your point, Billie, but he’s right. We ain’t walkin’ to Desolation, an’ the Rails only run after dark for Imperial personnel. Might as well spend the night resting up.”

“I’m down for whatever lets me get some sleep before I have to stuff myself into one of those tin-can slingshot piece of crap Rail monstrosities,” Weaver snorted. “Sure, fine, dinner. Thanks for the hospitality, and all. It’ll give us a little more time to plan, anyway.”

“Hooray!” Flora said, beaming. “We never get to have guests!”


 

Later, with no lights outside the window of the parlor except the dim glow of street lamps, the fairy lamps within had been turned down to better allow the fire in the hearth to illuminate the room. It made a pleasing effect, both dimly relaxing and cheery. Darling said in his usual chair, an untouched brandy in his hand, staring into the fire with a dour expression that seemed to defy its best efforts to be uplifting.

With no one left in the house but its occupants, Joe having moved into lodgings of his own following the hellgate crisis, it was still in the evenings, especially when everyone was involved in their own thoughts, as tonight.

“That was really neatly done,” Fauna commented, coming over to sit on the arm of the loveseat near Darling.

“The way you got them to insist on heading out to the Badlands themselves, and think it was their own idea.”

“Very impressive.”

“Don’t just admire,” he said softly, still watching the low flames. “Learn, and be able to reproduce the results.”

A brief quiet fell. The girls sat on either side, watching him without staring, letting the companionable silence stretch out. Finally, Darling sighed softly and leaned forward to set his brandy down on the low table.

“Everything I said to them was true,” he said. “The situation is changed to the point of unknowability, and the only certainty of what I’m sending them into is danger. It’d be one thing if I were still certain we’d find Justinian’s lackeys at work up there… I really don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“But you need boots on the ground,” Flora said. “Weaver was right.”

“For once,” Fauna added with a grin. “Typically, only when he’s quoting Eserites.”

“We’re not going to learn anything by sitting in the city,” Flora continued reasonably. “Justinian’s oracles are still freaking out, and it’s not like there’s intelligence here to be gathered about what’s happening there.”

“All true,” he said, nodding. “But even so, if they were a less capable group of people, I wouldn’t have sent them off like that. There are ethical considerations, girls, always. A little manipulation when it’s useful is one thing; sending good people to risk their lives while I sit in my comfortable warm house is walking a narrow line. On one side of that line is a short road to being exactly the kind of asshole the Thieves’ Guild exists to knock down a peg.” He drew in a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. “As it is… I can’t leave this where it stands. I have got to get them some backup, and some more data to work with. Joe still hasn’t forgiven me for this spring, and honestly I can’t find it in me to blame him. You take care of your people, girls, as much as you do yourself. More, even.”

“You take care of us,” Fauna said softly.

He gave her a small smile. “You’re family—that goes without saying. Other people, though. Anyone useful, or relevant, or just present. Manipulators—which we have to be—run the risk of starting to see everyone as pieces on a chessboard. Always keep your guard up against that. Once you start living that way, you become the enemy. For right now…” He drummed the fingers of both hands against the armrests of his chair. “Goddammit, I am stalled. I’ve got nothing else to give them. Is there any chance you two could find Mary?”

They exchanged a look, then grimaced in unison.

“We’ve…tried, actually,” said Flora.

“None of our own divinations so much as reveal that she even exists.”

“If she were dead or something, we’d be able to tell that.”

“She’s blocking us somehow.”

“Not really surprising. It’s an obvious precaution…”

“And the Crow doesn’t like people sniffing around her business.”

“Which is funny,” Flora added sourly, “since she sure does love to sniff everyone else’s.”

Darling rubbed his chin, again staring into the fire. “And that’s the worst possible area for Eserite backup… Dwarves hate thieves like you wouldn’t believe, the Guild presence in Puna Dara isn’t worth considering. Even if a trustworthy cell were nearby, thieves aren’t necessarily the best people for wilderness work.”

“Plus, they’re all three hundred miles away, or more.”

“But what about that other city, Veilgrad? That’s Imperial, isn’t it?”

“No good,” he said with a wry grin. “Veilgrad is having a werewolf problem at the moment.”

“Werewolves?” Fauna exclaimed, straightening up.

“In the hills around the city,” he said. “It’s come up in security council meetings. They’ve moved a battalion, a strike team and some Intelligence personnel into the city to help keep a lid on things, but as quietly as possible. The Empire doesn’t want word of that getting out. Lycanthropy is contagious enough and scary enough to really spark a panic whenever enough of them gather to form a proper pack.”

“Hm…” Flora stroked her own chin, an unconscious imitation of Darling’s habitual gesture. “Okay… If we can’t get help to them, what if we get them to help?”

“What, now?” he said, blinking at her.

“Well, I mean… Suppose they find Khadizorth and the Jackal and whoever else. It’s likely Justinian has more adventurers working for him, right? What if they could lead them into a trap? Like, in Veilgrad? If it’s full of werewolves and Imps…”

“That’s a trap for everyone,” Fauna pointed out.

“Natural hazards are a trap for whoever doesn’t know they’re there.”

“I like the brainstorming, Flora, but remember, that’s three hundred miles to the south,” Darling said. “Goading someone into a misstep is one thing. You can’t incite a person to chase you that far into that kind of trouble; that’s just giving them time to form a counter-plan.”

“What if…it is just a step, though,” Fauna said thoughtfully. “Remember how they described their fight with Khadizroth? This group knows their way around portal magic. If they could get an enemy through a door they didn’t realize led somewhere else…”

“Like, to Imperials and werewolves,” Flora said, grinning.

“Hm…I could sort of see that working, under the right circumstances,” Darling said, a faint smile growing on his own face. “Still pretty farfetched, but increasingly plausible. I’ll float the notion when they check in. For now, though, I’m still more concerned with finding them some kind of backup. And these dragons raise issues, too.”

“What kind of issues?” Fauna asked.

He sighed heavily. “As you know, we’ve been operating under the assumption that Khadizroth hasn’t spilled your secret to Justinian. He’s clearly working under duress and won’t want to hand the Archpope any useful ammunition. But… A mortal institution gets a dragon on a leash for basically the first time ever, and suddenly the dragons are banding together and demanding to be a presence? No. That is not a coincidence. They know something about Khadizroth’s situation. It’s immediately necessary for us to learn what, because that’ll tell us what they know about you, and what they may want to do about it. Dragons aren’t necessarily interested in headhunters…unless they are.”

“What do you mean, suddenly?” Flora muttered. “That was months ago.”

“Excuse me, I thought I was talking to a couple of elves. To creatures with eternity to plan, putting something this unprecedented together in only a few months is astonishing. Something’s lit a fire under them.”

“How do you know they haven’t been working up to this for years?” Fauna asked.

“Vex had word on that when he brought me up to speed,” Darling said seriously. “Apparently he’s had dragons on his mind a lot for the last few months; they all went off to Sifan and have been talking something over. He hasn’t been able to spy on them, not only because Queen Takamatsu would justifiably take offense at having her guests snooped on, but you just don’t spy on eighteen dragons. But it gives us a time frame for how long they’ve been working on this. Considering who it is, the fact that they put this together so fast…yeah, they know.” He sighed again. “But what do they know? What do they think about it?”

“And…what do we do about it?” Flora asked, frowning worriedly now.

“The coming days are going to be very revelatory, one way or another,” Darling said. “If things go well… Or at least, if they don’t go too badly… There’s a chance I can work this to our advantage. Khadizroth unquestionably brought his fate on himself with his behavior. The Conclave will want him out of the Church’s clutches, but they probably won’t be happy with him, either. Considering that…” He rubbed his chin again, this time with a faint smile playing on his lips. “We just might find allies of the most powerful kind.”

“Or enemies,” Fauna said softly.

Darling nodded, the firelight glinting in his eyes. “This is not going to be boring.”

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8 – 26

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“I know you’re tired, that’s why we need to make another stop,” Principia said, grinning back at them. “It’ll just take a few minutes, but believe me, you’ll thank me tomorrow. I know a place that’ll be open this late—just gotta pick up the ground beans and a handpump press.”

“What the bloody hell are you on about now, you daffy knife-ear?” Merry groaned, trudging along behind her.

“Excuse you, that’s Sergeant Daffy Knife-Ear, private,” Principia said gaily. “It’s called coffee. We’ll be having it in the morning. Wonderful stuff! You’re gonna hate it.”

“Why do I have the feeling that’ll describe a great deal of my life in the near future?” Merry grumbled. Eyes on her boots, she barely came to a stop in time to avoid plowing into Principia from behind.

“This looks good,” Principia murmured, peering around. They had staggered to a halt on an arched footbridge crossing one of the city’s canals. Fairy lamps atop posts at either end kept it from being too dim, but it was still after midnight. The sounds of traffic from the bigger street half a block ahead were muted; it was completely dead in this neighborhood.

“Why are we stopping?” Casey asked blearily.

“Because I want to have a word with you ladies away from prying ears,” Principia replied, turning to face them. “Not suitable for the inn; the patrons there know how to mind their own business, but some things we can’t take the risk of being overheard. There are barely any people within the range of my hearing, here, and they’re all behind stone walls and asleep.”

“What’s so important?” Farah asked, looking more alert.

Princpia looked at each of them in turn, holding eye contact for a moment. “The truth is… This may seem rather cheap, since I was only just promoted, and that out of what we can all agree was a weird and twisty sequence of events. But in the days and weeks to come, girls, I expect you all to get thoroughly sick of me. We are going to work hard, and train hard.”

Merry raised a hand. “What if we were already sick of you?”

The elf ignored her. “The Legion’s normal course of training is one thing—we won’t be skimping on that, not because I am hugely a fan of it but because we can’t afford to. However, that will not be our focus. As was mentioned several times recently, this squad represents an intriguing balance of backgrounds and skill sets, and we are going to share them, ladies. Thieves’ Guild con artistry and street fighting, Shaathist wilderness skills, adventuring party tactics, Nemitite research methods and lore, Black Wreath spycraft… Anything and everything. Whatever you know that even might be useful to us, you are going to train your squadmates in. Much of this is religious in origin and directly applicable to our official mandate, but there’s more to it than that. We need skills—diverse, dangerous skills. We need to be the best, because we have a job to do over and above what Commander Rouvad wants from us.”

“What are you talking about?” Ephanie asked quietly.

Principia glanced around fleetingly, but was apparently satisfied with the lack of prying ears. She stared at her squad, her jaw set, and stated flatly, “We are going to destroy Basra Syrinx.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’ve pointed out already that she will be coming for us,” Principia went on, “so it’s not as if we even have a choice. But that isn’t enough, ladies. I refuse to remain in the trap of defensive thinking. More than the need to fend her off, more even than the fact that that need alone will force us, eventually, to take an aggressive tack… She has to go. That woman is a monster. She’s broken in the head, has no feeling heart, and is in a position of considerable power. It cannot stand. For us, for Jenell Covrin, for everyone else that we damn well know she’s mauled even if we don’t know who they are. This needs to be done. Circumstances have decreed that we’ll be the ones to do it, so damn it, we’re going to do it well.”

“Hell yes,” Casey whispered, eyes sharp and alert now.

“We’ve got four months,” Principia stated. “After that point… Best behavior or not, Syrinx will be wanting a rematch, and she will get it. Whipping ourselves into shape will be good enough for our careers and standing generally that I expect us to be in a stronger position by then, but even if not… It doesn’t matter. What it comes down to is this: Either she is going down, or we are.”

All four of them stared right back at her, and one by one, nodded their agreement.


 

“Regardless,” Ravana said, leading the way as usual on the path back from class, “I do regret dragging you all into this. Needless to say, I fully intend to make it up to you. We are unfortunately stranded in the environs of Last Rock for the duration of the semester, but I would be delighted to host a vacation when class lets out this winter. Someplace pleasant, and relaxing! I’ve several ideas. In the meantime, perhaps the dorm can be made more comfortable by—”

“Ravana,” Maureen interrupted, her tone quiet but firm, “quit it.”

The group came to a stop, Ravana turning to regard the gnome with confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“Quit taking responsibility,” Maureen said, gazing up at her. “We don’t none of us answer to you; we make our own choices, as we did last night, an’ it’s frankly insulting the way you assume you’re the decider around here. And fer the luvva courage, quit tryin’ to buy us.”

The Duchess stared at her, mouth slightly open.

“Look,” Maureen said with a sigh. “I like you, don’t think otherwise. But you’re goin’ about this all wrong. You wanna make friends, be part o’ the group? Then be part of it. You might find that easier than bein’ in charge all the time, I bet. At the very least, it’s gotta be more relaxing. But that’s how you get people ta like you, not by showering them in shinies.”

Ravana finally shut her mouth, then shook her head ruefully. “Well, I am…appropriately chastened. It seems we’ve had this conversation once before, haven’t we?”

“An’ likely will again,” Maureen said in a more cheerful tone. “C’mon, the habits of a lifetime don’t just up an’ change. I expect you all t’let me know when I’m bein’ a dink, an’ I’ll do the same fer you. Without makin’ it personal.”

“That is, after all, what friends do,” Szith added with one of her private little smiles.

“And yay! We get to bond over cleaning rooms full of evil sludge!” Iris said with a forced, manic smile.

Ravana sighed softly. “I really do feel bad about that, though. Not that I intend to denigrate your own agency, girls, but… Well, it was my idea, wasn’t it?”

“Water under the bridge,” Iris said dismissively, waving her hand. “What I want to know is what we’re going to do if Addiwyn starts up again.”

“She never came back to the room last night,” Szith observed. “Whatever Professor Tellwyrn said or did, let us hope for the time being that it finally made an impression.”

Iris pursed her lips skeptically. “And if it didn’t? Because between you, me and the trees, I can’t see that unbalanced twit getting the point no matter what’s done to her.”

“Don’t underestimate Tellwyrn,” Ravana cautioned. “But in any case… If she resumes her campaign, we will consider at that time how to deal with it.” She paused, then smiled wryly. “With, ah…a bit more restraint, perhaps.”


 

“This is so you,” Mary mused, pacing in a circle around the frozen form of Aspen. “One cannot contest that it does the job. And all it cost was a staggering expense of power and the complete reordering of a small patch of reality.”

“It’s such a shame we don’t get the chance to catch up more often, Mary,” Tellwyrn said, deadpan. “How did you enjoy the Rail trip?”

“All right, enough!” Sheyann exclaimed. “We are going to have to work closely together to accomplish this, if indeed it can be accomplished. Let us establish up front that if we are to be successful, the personal barbs will need to be kept to an absolute minimum.”

“Quite right,” the Crow said pleasantly. “Oh, but Arachne! On the subject of personal history, I understand the young Aldarasi prince is currently enrolled in your institution.”

A ball of blue fire burst alight in Tellwyrn’s hand. “Now see here—”

Before she could get any further, Sheyann streaked across the room and slapped Mary hard across the face.

The fireball fizzled out; Tellwyrn and the Crow both stared at her in shock.

“We are not doing this,” Sheyann declared furiously. “I will not have it! Kuriwa, if you cannot manage to act your age I will treat you accordingly. Is that understood?”

The Crow blinked twice, then took a step back and bowed, first to her, and then to Tellwyrn. “You are, of course, entirely correct. Forgive me, Arachne, that was a jest in very poor taste. I assure you, I have no intention of interfering with any of your students in any way.”

“’Interfere’ is an interesting choice of word,” Tellwyrn said, twisting her lips sourly. “Elilial pulled that one on me recently. Leaves you room to be aggravatingly helpful.”

“Well,” Mary said with a placid smile, “I do have an interest by blood. And as we just established, blood, however dilute, is a connection to be respected.”

The Professor snorted. “Oh, I am not worried about Trissiny. If you want to go toe-to-toe with Avei, be my guest. Anyway, back to the matter at hand, because I do need to head off to class pretty soon. What do you think?”

Mary turned back to study Aspen, her expression growing pensive. “Tricky, as I am sure you know. I can prepare the rituals that will allow us to touch her mind. Sheyann, if you could contribute toward the general emotional contact with which our magic is good, to encourage calm and healing, that will grant me space and some flexibility to set up the far more advanced mental workings.”

“Of course,” Sheyann said, nodding.

“The hard part is going to be bridging the difference between her time frame and ours,” said Tellwyrn. “Eventually, I hope to establish a passive effect in the room that will enable us to do the work without me constantly having to ride herd on that. For the first few sessions, though, it will require a personal touch. I never automate anything until I am absolutely confident of its function.”

“Wise,” Mary said approvingly.

“And of course, the real kicker will be integrating that into your fae spells.”

“Indeed,” the Crow said, slowly rubbing her chin with a finger as she studied the immobilized dryad. “All right, I will take some time to prepare and confer with Sheyann while you attend to your students, Arachne. Before you go, however, I have some thoughts on the methodology we will need to use. To begin…”


 

Finally escaping the tense, empty conversation with her mother, Jenell practically leaped up the stairs and strode down the hall double time. Beholding the door of her room standing open, she picked up her pace even further, the long coattails of her dress uniform flying behind her, and whipped around the corner.

Her satchel was on the bed, open. Her father stood beside it, and in his hands was one of her books.

“Can I help you find something?” Jenell grated.

Colonel Covrin slowly raised his eyes, giving her a very flat stare, then hefted the old volume. He handled it gently, of course, despite his obvious displeasure with it; the Colonel was an established bibliophile who collected rare volumes himself. He often said that he would have been a Nemitite had he not gone into the Army.

“Athwart the Gods,” he said, glancing down at the book’s title. “Treatises on diverting and manipulating the attention of deities. Isn’t this volume banned, Jenell?”

“Depends on who you ask,” she shot back. His brows lowered menacingly, and she hastened to add, “It’s suppressed, not banned. The Universal Church doesn’t have the authority to outlaw books in the Empire.”

“And how did you manage to obtain a copy of a volume suppressed by the Church?”

She folded her arms, meeting his stare challengingly. “I can’t think of any reason you would need to know that.”

“Jenell,” he said quietly, “you would tell me if you were in some kind of trouble, wouldn’t you?”

She startled them both by laughing. “Are you serious, Dad? Since when do we have that kind of relationship?”

His mouth thinned to a line of pure disapproval. “What have you gotten involved in?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she said curtly. “I am handling it.”

“Jenell…”

“As someone keeps reminding me,” she stated, “despite how generally disappointing you may find me, Dad, I’m still a Covrin. We don’t whine about problems. We end them.” Imperiously, she held out a hand, wordlessly demanding the book’s return.

The Colonel ignored that for the moment, lowering his eyes to study its battered old cover. “What problem?”

“One,” she replied quietly, “that I am going to look in the eyes when it realizes that I’m the thing that destroyed it.”

She could see him processing, and silently willed him not to come to the correct conclusion. Colonel Covrin was anything but stupid. If he figured out what was going on, no power in the Empire would prevent him from trying to rescue her. And his trying would ruin everything.

“This problem,” he said at last, lifting his eyes to stare piercingly into hers, “isn’t Avei, is it?”

It was all she could do not to sigh in relief. “No. Gods, give me a little credit. No, Avei will be the solution. It’ll just take some work on my part, that’s all.”

He stared at her for a long, silent moment, then nodded slowly and finally handed the book back. She immediately stepped past him, gently placing it back in her satchel, and slung that over her shoulder. “I’m heading out. I need to get to the Rail station and embark for Viridill. My sponsor is keeping me on as an attendant while on a mission.”

“Jenell,” he said as she started for the door. She turned to look back at him, and found herself unsure what to make of his expression. “I’m proud of you.”

Despite herself, despite everything, Jenell couldn’t hold back a smile. “That’s… I don’t think you’ve ever said that to me before.”

“Yes, well,” he replied with an awkward shrug. “I guess it wasn’t the case before.”

And just like that, the smile evaporated from her features. “Thanks for lunch, Dad,” she said with a sigh, then turned and strode from the room before he could respond.

She practically flew down the stairs, through the hall and out of the house, fearing her mother would catch and ensnare her in another of her empty conversations. She didn’t stop until she was at the corner, two full blocks down from the Covrin residence. There, she stood, waiting until a black carriage with the red and yellow stripes of the municipal taxi service approached, and flagged it down.

“Western Rail terminal south,” she said curtly to the cabbie as she climbed into the back.

“Right away, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat deferentially, then immediately faced forward again, palming the control runes and bringing the carriage back into motion.

She still wasn’t used to that. Jenell was long accustomed to being pretty and well-dressed, which commanded a certain kind of attention. Part of her regretted that men never flirted with her anymore, since she’d started wearing Legionnaire armor, but another part was finding the new treatment somehow sweeter. It was still an unfamiliar experience, being addressed with respect.

After glancing up to double-check that the cabbie’s eyes were on the road where they belonged, she carefully opened her satchel and studied its contents. Her father didn’t seem to have disturbed any of the books apart from the one… Even her personal reading was untouched, which she’d have more than half expected him to remark on. Ashner Foxpaw’s Exploits was so far outside both her previously established sphere of interest and the preferences of Avei’s Legions that it practically demanded comment. Perhaps he’d caught sight of the old copy of Athwart the Gods and hadn’t noticed. Luckily he’d not seen some of the other volumes she had in there.

That had been risky, and sloppy, and she could not afford to be either. Obviously her old room at home was not a secure fortress, and it was pure sentimentality that had made her assume so. She had to tighten up her game. If anybody else found the kinds of things she was studying… Gods, if Syrinx found them. She would invest in a bag of holding at the first opportunity, and never have these materials away from her person again.

Finally relaxing back into the seat, Jenell carefully pulled out the Exploits and opened it at her bookmark. There was time to get through maybe another chapter; traffic was dense at this hour.

Rather than the spot where she had left off, her eyes cut automatically to an increasingly familiar phrase, one Foxpaw was fond of using—it was the closest thing he had to a personal motto, it seemed. Jenell always found herself pausing a moment to let it sit in the forefront of her mind whenever she came across it. Due to her recent experiences, the idea resonated with her powerfully.

Not for the first time, she found herself silently mouthing the words.

“All systems are corrupt.”

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8 – 25

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“Uh, yeah,” Juniper said, nonplussed. “We were all there when you got it.”

“No, I mean…” Gabriel let out an irritated sigh and nudged the sword with his hand. “Hey, c’mon. You’re embarrassing me.”

“He’s talking to his sword,” Fross stage whispered.

“If you’re certain this is a good idea.”

The voice was feminine, oddly resonant and actually rather pleasant, but it made everyone at the table lean back in surprise. Gabriel smiled smugly for a second, then his expression faded into awkwardness.

“So,” he drawled, “yeah. Belated introductions. Ariel, everyone. Everyone, Ariel.”

“I’m already quite well acquainted with them all.”

“That sword talks,” Juniper said, staring at it.

“And there’s that razor intellect for which you are so well known.”

“Hey!” Gabriel snapped, grabbing the hilt. “Be nice to my friends!”

“Of course. My apologies.”

“Yes, she talks,” he added, scowling, “and sometimes she’s kind of a jerk. She’s smart, though, and helpful.”

“How long, exactly, has this been going on?” Trissiny asked, staring at Ariel.

He sighed. “Presumably, she’s always been able to talk. I didn’t learn about this until after the battle this spring.”

“How long after?” she asked sharply.

Gabriel winced. “It, uh… The day everyone left campus. That’s when she started… Well, in fact, she sort of began lecturing me.”

“Surely you’re not going to contend that some lecturing was not needed.”

“That long?” Trissiny exclaimed, staring at him. “All summer?”

“It’s not like…” Gabe sighed again, planting an elbow on the table and leaning his forehead into his hand. “Okay, this is going to sound pretty dumb.”

“That’s okay!” Fross said reassuringly. “It’s never stopped you before!”

“Even the pixie is doing it,” Ariel commented. “You are truly the designated comic relief in this group.”

“Hush,” he said irritably. “Look, I wasn’t trying to keep this secret, okay? It’s just that… When I first found out, I sort of… Needed time to process. We talked a good bit, alone, and she helped me a lot with my magic. I mean, both my enchanting and getting to handle the divine. And the longer it went on, the harder it was to think of a reason to bring it up. I just… It wasn’t supposed to be secret or anything, it just turned into a vicious cycle where I couldn’t think of a way to say ‘hey, my sword can talk!’”

“There’s a method I like to use in situations like this,” Ruda said. “I’d say ‘hey, my sword can talk!’”

“Thank you, Ruda.”

“You got it, Arquin. Always here for ya.”

“She…helps you with magic?” Toby asked, peering quizzically at the sword.

“In fact, that is my primary gift,” Ariel said. “I require energy from the aura of a user to be fully active. Gabriel has a great deal of magic in his, but for most of the period after retrieving me from the Crawl—to which, I note, you have brought me back and which I will thank you never to do again—I did not choose to speak up because the power around him as predominantly infernal in nature. I would rather not have that gunking up my metaphysical works, as it were.”

“Wow,” Ruda commented. “Once you get her going, she really gets going.”

“Gabriel does not recall my first actual help to him, as he was in a hethelax fit at the time. It was during the battle of the hellgate; I altered the method by which his infernal aura manifested in berserking, allowing him to remain lucid and make conscious use of that power. I must say he did quite well with that, once it was done.”

“You enchanted him?” Fross exclaimed, aghast. “That’s incredibly dangerous! You could have killed him, or much, much worse!”

“Nonsense. Enchantment of sentient beings is dangerous because of the principle of recursive subjectivity, which does not apply to me. I am not a person; I do not have the psychology of a sentient being, and do not perform subjective mental processes. That is why I cannot do magic on my own, even when fully charged as I am now by long exposure to a powerful partner’s aura. I was able to make tweaks to Gabriel’s infernal power without risking damage to him precisely because I can apply spell effects using his own energy without being subjected to the irrational whims of his subconscious mind. This is what makes me a priceless aid to any spellcaster.”

“And so modest!” Ruda said cheerfully.

“So…you changed your berserking?” Teal asked, frowning at Gabriel. “You don’t lose control anymore?”

“Actually, no; she says it was just for the one time,” he replied.

“And we will not be doing that again,” Ariel added firmly. “That was a crisis. Meddling with infernal power under any circumstances is a last desperate resort to be employed only in the lack of any other options.”

“Well, she does seem to have sense,” Trissiny said with grudging approval.

“As Gabriel is an arcanist who now possesses a considerable wellspring of divine energy, dealing with the infernal at all is off the table.”

“Gabriel is the one making the decisions in this partnership,” he said sharply.

“Of course, but Gabriel does, thankfully, possess the rudimentary common sense to follow excellent advice when he hears it, which is why this partnership has been largely successful despite his lack of inherent wisdom.”

“I like this sword!” Ruda cackled.

“You want her?” Gabriel asked sourly.

“I would be wasted on a non-magic user,” Ariel said with clear disdain. “As I was saying, making deliberate use of infernal power is most unwise. In fact, I believe we may be able to access his new divine powers to cut off the berserking effect entirely, though he has been reluctant to experiment.”

“That would be some of that wisdom you say I don’t have,” Gabriel snapped. “All right, that’s my thing on the table. Who’s next?”


 

“There really wasn’t much more to it, after that,” Merry said, her eyes on the steaming teacup she held in both hands. “The magistrate really chewed me up one side and down the other… But in an odd way, I think he had a soft spot for cases like mine. Anyhow, he didn’t throw the book at me; once he got done explaining what a dumbass I was, he made a pretty serious pitch for the Legions. The actual sentence for the trouble I caused would’ve just been a couple months in a cell, but he seemed to think this was what I needed to get over some of my more silly ideas. By the time he was done talking, I couldn’t really argue, so…here I am.”

She shrugged, took a sip of tea and set the cup down again. “I was gonna go off and save the world, you know? Or at least a village or something. Glory and riches, maybe a handsome prince, and generally not get stuck grinding myself down to a numb little lump of coal in pointless, menial jobs the way both my parents did. I was a stupid fucking child, is all.” She finally raised her eyes to look at them. “And…that was the last time I really liked myself. Here… It’s all about keeping my head down, doing the work, not making waves. Honestly, on a twisted level I’ve been enjoying being put upon by Syrinx. That was… There’s something noble about having an enemy who’s actually evil.”

“Words like ‘evil’ are tricky,” Principia said quietly. “I’d be careful about throwing that around. Most enemies are just people who have their reasons.”

“And this one?” Merry asked flatly, turning to stare at her.

Principia grinned. “No, I think you’re right. She actually is pretty evil. Just…general advice. I’m the boss now, I have to say stuff like that.”

“Well, apparently I’m still a stupid child at heart,” Merry said with an answering smile, “so maybe I have to listen to it.”

“I sort of get where you’re coming from.” Farah shifted in her seat when they all turned to look at her, but continued. “I was an acolyte at a Nemitite temple, and…I really loved it. I felt called to it. Honestly, after my enlistment is over, I think I’ll probably go back there. But… I was studying under Aleesa Asherad, who was the first victim of the priest killer last year.” She lowered her eyes. “You can’t imagine what that was like. Aleesa was one of the best people I ever knew. Intelligent, but also wise, and such a good teacher… It completely shattered us, all of us. It was like the whole temple lost its heart. And I…” She gulped, grimacing. “Well, I had a crush on this guy, and I tried to, uh, turn to him for comfort and got rejected. That was the excuse I used to leave the temple… But the truth was, I was just afraid. It was supposed to have been a safe place. How could something like that just happen? I…felt weak, and helpless, and didn’t want to anymore. I actually tried to join the Thieves’ Guild.”

“You what?” Casey exclaimed in surprise.

Farah smiled bitterly. “Yeah, well, who’s less afraid than the Eserites, after all?”

“Eserites feel fear the same as anyone else,” Principia noted. “We just turn it into motivation.”

“Is that doctrine?” Farah asked curiously. “Because Bishop Darling said almost exactly the same thing.”

“So you went to Darling?” Principia asked.

“Yeah… He paid for a really good shrine for Aleesa at the Temple of Vidius. I don’t even know why, but it made me think of him. He, uh, was very tactful, but he rather strongly suggested I was not a good fit for the Guild. But he did point me at the Legion.” She gazed thoughtfully into the distance. “And you know something, he was absolutely right. I…like this. I don’t plan to spend my whole life at it, like I said, but… I don’t feel afraid anymore. I feel strong. I know there are things in the world that I can’t begin to fight, but the Legion’s taught me how to stand up and fight, win or lose, if it needs to be done. I already got what I needed from my enlistment, and I’m very willing to give my all to Avei in exchange.”

She stopped, staring fiercely around at them. Merry raised her eyebrows in mild surprise, but the others smiled back.

“Well,” Principia said after a moment. “I guess that leads us to the ones we’re all really curious about.”


 

“It was at the battle,” Toby said, staring down at his folded hands. “At the worst part. I didn’t know where anyone was, I thought Triss had been killed… I was alone, demons were coming at me, and…I snapped. I was so angry. I let it out at them with sheer divine magic.”

“With the greatest of respect to your pacifism, Toby,” Shaeine said with a gentle smile, “I cannot think of a more understandable reaction in that situation.”

“It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s… I felt the light blaze up in me, in a way I’ve never felt it before. So much… It seemed like it filled the whole sky. Like once I called on it, I wasn’t even in control anymore. Just for a moment, though. And when it faded…they were gone. All of them. Dozens, just…vaporized. Reduced to ashes.” He closed his eyes. “In two seconds I destroyed dozens of sentient beings.”

Gabriel reached over to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I know you guys have been worried about me,” Toby continued, opening his eyes again, but still looking downward. “In class, I have not been doing well making things out of light. It’s just… I can’t stop seeing that. My power, used to kill and destroy. Ever since, I’ve felt this…loathing. When I try to touch the light, part of me runs away from it. I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you spoken to Omnu about this?” Trissiny asked quietly.

“Of course,” he said, looking up at her. “It’s… I don’t know how it is with you and Avei, but under most circumstances, Omnu doesn’t communicate with me in words. That requires a ritual, which requires a sacred space… Well, generally, I can feel him there, and he’s a kind of emotional presence. When he wants to express something, it’s just these washes of feeling through my mind. It’s very…well, it’s beautiful, generally. But with this… All I get from him is comfort. Calm. A sense that it’ll be all right. And I don’t know how he can think that. I feel awful, because it’s so stupidly selfish to make such demands of one’s god, but it’s like…he won’t offer me what I need.”

“Gods, as a rule,” said Shaeine, “when they offer help or communication at all, do offer what we need. When what they give is in conflict with our expectations, it is not generally they who are wrong.”

“I’ve thought of that, too,” Toby said, grimacing. “I just feel…stuck.”

“Toby,” Trissiny said with a thoughtful frown, “did you feel burned at all, when you flared up at the demons?”

“No,” he said, frowning in response. “In fact, I thought that was odd. It was a huge amount of power. It should have burned me, at least a little.”

“It should have utterly incinerated you,” she said. Toby blinked at her in surprise. “I know that spell, Toby, though I’ve never heard of an Omnist cleric of any kind using it. The divine nova is… Well, you know what it is, you were there. Had you done that in a crowd of people rather than demons, it would have healed everything any of them suffered, right down to any scars they had. Two Hands of Avei have died doing that.”

“Died?” he whispered.

“It has to do with the nature of our faith, and of Avei’s support,” she said seriously. “It’s more power than any mortal can safely channel. Avei’s power is granted to us as a weapon, but only in proportions that mortals can bear. To call on her as…as magical artillery, that’s a tremendously serious thing. She has not forbidden it, but given us doctrines warning against such reliance on sheer firepower, and imposed a steep price if it is to be called upon. Only a Hand or a high priestess even has the right to make that request, and she knows, in so doing, that she is offering her life in exchange for calling down the goddess’s wrath upon her enemies.”

“Boots, I know it’s been a while since I’ve made fun of you for it,” Ruda commented, “but I feel it’s appropriate here to state that your religion is fucked up.”

Trissiny glanced at her and sighed before turning her attention back to Toby. “The point is, it’s not just Avenists who have used that spell. Salyrite clerics have also managed it, but Salyrene has different rules. She simply won’t do it under the majority of circumstances, but when she does, it’s using her clerics as a focal point while also protecting them. They always came away unharmed.”

“So…” Toby frowned deeply. “Wait. You’re saying…”

“I am saying,” she replied, “you did not kill those demons. Omnu did.”

There was quiet around the table for a long moment. The sounds of talk, laughter and clattering dishes from the Visage’s other patrons washed over them, leaving no impression.

“That can’t be,” Toby whispered. “Omnu is peace. Omnu is life.”

“They were demons,” Teal said quietly.

Toby shook his head stubbornly. “That shouldn’t matter! Omnu has used his power to defend against demons, but that kind of aggression…”

“What, exactly, is involved in getting an actual conversation with Omnu?” Gabriel asked, tilting his head.

“Well… The ritual itself isn’t too hard. It just needs to be performed at a major temple. It’d have to be the one in Tiraas, there aren’t any others of sufficient importance to the faith on this continent. I would have to have the use of the main sanctuary to myself for a few hours. I really hate to create that kind of imposition to others of the faith…”

“Honestly, man, I think you really need to do that,” Gabriel said seriously. “Aside from the fact that this is bothering you… Even not being Omnist, I get where you’re coming from. This looks like weird behavior from him. If you’re gonna be his Hand in this world, you need to understand what he’s doing, especially when he’s using you to do it.”

“I suspect that monks at the temple will not begrudge you its use,” Shaeine added.

“For what it may be worth,” said Trissiny, “different rules apply to demons. Against demonic forces, ‘no quarter’ is considered acceptable terms of engagement for both the Silver Legions and most mortal armies.”

“Yes, yes,” Ruda said, rolling her eyes. “Grr, smite, stab…”

“Knock it off,” Trissiny said curtly. “The reality is you generally can’t take demons prisoner. They are psychologically incapable of behaving, for one thing; in the rare event they will even try to surrender, they don’t stay that way for long. They’ll attack the moment they get a chance, and often before there’s a reasonable chance; it’s like they just can’t stand not fighting. Also, mortal forces simply cannot properly care for them. It takes a warlock to keep a demon on the mortal plane in anything like good shape, and most warlocks banish their familiars back to the infernal plane when not using them precisely because it’s difficult. Our healing is lethal to them; many species can’t even eat the food in this dimension. There are two which are known to be allergic to water. Killing them is not only the sole possible response, it’s generally the only mercy we can offer their kind.”

“That may all be true,” Gabriel muttered, “but it still has disturbing overtones.”

“I never claimed it didn’t,” Trissiny said grimly. “It’s not as if we long for combat with demons, Gabe. If Avei’s forces had our way, they would just stay in their realm, where they belong.”

“That’s…actually sort of good to know,” Teal said quietly. She fell silent when the others turned to look at her, but Shaeine squeezed her hand encouragingly. “It…I… From the same battle… I gave Vadrieny full freedom to fight. However she needed to.”

“Oh,” said Fross. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Teal said glumly. “It… Well, it was a hell of a thing. Pun not intended. She… One guy actually tried to surrender. He was dead before he finished getting the word out. I mean, I understand war, but that’s…y’know…murder. I had to watch it from very close.”

“Teal,” Trissiny said quietly, “based on what Vadrieny knew of the hellgate, she has intact general knowledge of demons?”

“Yeah, I see where this is going,” Teal said, “and yes…she’s said sort of what you did, that demons can’t be trusted to surrender. I… Well, I wasn’t sure how much credence to give that. She didn’t explain it in detail the way you did, and… She’s been pretty offended that I have a hard time with it. It’s hard having a relationship like this, see? We can’t lie or keep secrets. It’s very intimate, but it’s really dicey when there’s any kind of intractable conflict.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” Trissiny asked.

“Um,” Ruda said pointedly.

“Please,” said Teal, nodding at Trissiny. “I respect your opinion.”

Trissiny nodded in return. “Well, I’m sorry to have to say it, Teal, but in this case, my opinion is that you haven’t been very fair toward Vadrieny.”

“…okay, that’s not what I was expecting to hear,” Gabriel admitted.

“I don’t mean just this, the difference of opinion about the demons,” Trissiny went on. “From what she said to me, that night on the lawn… Vadrieny has gone to great lengths and bent over backward to accommodate you and your way of thinking, which is inherently alien to her. And really, that makes perfect sense, considering you have to live on this plane, in mortal society. But…have you done anything to tend to her needs?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Teal said a little stiffly.

“I’m not talking about demonic stuff,” Trissiny said quickly. “Obviously, no, it’s best not to get her involved in anything like that. But Teal…she’s a warrior. I know how you feel about violence, but take it from someone who knows… If you have the skill and the inclination to fight, sometimes the best way you can express your care for the people you love is to defend them. And let’s face it, we all lead interesting lives. We can all do with some defending from time to time.”

“What are you suggesting?” Teal asked.

Trissiny smiled. “Well… You’ve been practicing with us, learning to use martial arts to fight without inflicting harm. When we’ve fought in our various adventures, Vadrieny has always been careful not to hurt anyone…I mean, before the hellgate, anyway. Isn’t there grounds for a compromise, there?”

“You want to train the archdemon?” Gabriel asked, his eyebrows shooting upward.

Trissiny shrugged. “I’m actually not sure how… I mean, she could seriously hurt someone. But… What if we taught her to fight, too? I’ve seen her fight, it’s all slashing and screeching. I’ve had the thought more than once that she doesn’t retain much of your muscle memory.”

“Boy, is that the truth,” Teal said, grimacing.

“I think this is actually a really good idea,” said Toby, looking more animated. “It’s a way to let Vadrieny be herself without bringing her into conflict with the demands of mortal life. And that can only be good. She deserves to be appreciated and accepted, too, and to be able to express her own nature.”

“Yeah, but how?” Ruda asked. “Boots had the right of it. Training in any kind of martial arts involves some inevitable injuries. In her case, that would almost certainly make someone extremely dead.”

“Um.” Juniper raised a hand timidly. “I could spar with her?”

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“That would sort of help me, too,” the dryad went on. “I don’t have anybody I can safely spar with, for the same reason. I watch you guys practicing, and I really get the feeling all my exercises aren’t giving me the same level of experience you get. Also, Professor Ezzaniel kind of harps on that.”

“That leaves us with the same question of how, though,” said Fross. “Sure, you’re in no danger from any kind of demon, but… If she so much as touches you, poof.”

“A countermeasure could be arranged,” Ariel chimed in. “At issue is that Vadrieny’s physical form is a manifestation of infernal magic and would be nullified by contact with the dryad. I’ve not heard of this specific measure being exercised to protect a demon—I’m sure I needn’t explain why—but there is a precedent of using the Circles of Interaction to do similar, preventing the annihilation effect without actually augmenting the power being protected. It’s difficult magic, though, and as I said, there are no standing measures to use it specifically for the infernal…”

“Bet you anything Tellwyrn could work something up,” Gabriel mused.

“She probably would, too,” Ruda added. “It’s explicitly for educational purposes, right? If nothing else, we could go to Ezzaniel first. Bet he’d be fuckin’ delighted to be able to get these two into the ring. He’ll pitch the idea hard.”

“Guys,” Teal said quietly, tears glistening in her eyes despite her broad smile, “thank you. So much. From both of us.”


 

“I had a bad feeling about it from the beginning,” Casey said, shaking her head. For all the difficult nature of her story, she seemed totally calm. “I mean… That night. Even when she was offering to sponsor me, I was seeing her running Andy through. He was seventeen, and no threat to her, and she just put a sword in him and grinned like she was having the time of her damn life. All three of the other Bishops, being sane people, ripped into her over that, and she shrugged it off like they were being melodramatic or something. Yeah, I knew going in that Basra had something truly rotten in her core, but she was offering me a way out. The Church had my family; the Empire had managed to get custody of us kids, but… Everything was up in the air and it was looking very likely that everyone I ever knew was going to be imprisoned for the rest of their lives, at least. As a Legionnaire, I could gain some credibility, save myself, and maybe work toward getting some of the others out.” She shrugged. “I guess with my upbringing, I’m sort of predisposed to be willing to make deals with devils. Basra Syrinx just might be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever had to contend with, though.”

“Well,” Merry said after a short silence, “that really puts things in perspective for us, I guess. It’s just, it’s a hell of a thing, Elwick. You get that, right? Nobody expects to find they’ve been bunking with a warlock.”

“I am not a warlock,” Casey said firmly. “The Wreath does not teach kids to use infernal magic; they go to great lengths in legacy families to keep the young ones away from it. I know what it feels like—that’s how I warned Basra that night in her house when the Wreath attacked—but that’s it. Nothing proactive until you’re old enough to have self-control, and then they teach slowly. The point of a good infernal education is to ensure you can do everything safely before moving on to the next thing. Children would just kill themselves; it’s a path that doesn’t allow for mistakes. Honestly, the Black Wreath are just about the only people who do handle the infernal professionally. Even the Strike Corps, even the Church’s holy summoners, have a lot of attrition from accidents. The Wreath can’t afford to be so sloppy.”

“See, this is leading into the thing I think we’re all concerned about,” Principia said. “I am still a member in good standing of the Thieves’ Guild. Szaravid is still a Nemitite at heart. Are you still Wreath, Elwick?”

Casey drew in a deep breath and let out a sigh. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking specifically about that very thing. What I keep coming back to is that this experience, Basra aside, has been the best thing for me. I grew up with one religion; I’ve spent the last few months surrounded by what could be considered the opposite religion. I’ve heard them both rail against the evils of each other, and heard the absolute sincerity in it. In this position, I can kind of see where both have points, and where both are wrong.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I could ever be Wreath again. I’ve just got too many questions. It wasn’t all bad; Elilial’s ways are all about cleverness, and let’s face it, if it wasn’t for that I’d be as deep in Syrinx’s thrall as poor Covrin is right now. But there’s a strength, a sincerity to Avenism… It’s hard to put into words. Hearing the priestesses talk about justice, though, I have no trouble understanding why people believe. I don’t know what I am, girls, but I’m gonna figure that out. And I’m pretty sure no religion owns all the answers.”

There was quiet at the table while they digested that. After a few long moments, Ephanie cleared her throat.

“Well… Unless you have more to say, Elwick?” Casey shook her head. “Right, then. That’s about as good a segue as I could ask for. Well, I was raised in an Avenist temple, obviously. Joined the Legions at sixteen. I was a Lieutenant upon being dishonorably discharged.”

“What’d you do?” Farah asked, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Um. Sorry. I just…”

“It’s okay,” Ephanie said with a bitter little smile. “To answer the question, I fell in love.”

“They kick you out for that?” Merry asked.

“Pretty sure it’s the circumstances,” said Principia. “Which we’ll find out, if you’ll all shut up.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Ephanie said wryly. “I… Okay, I’m not going to go into the details of my courtship, that’s not really germane. But yes, he was a Huntsman of Shaath. Quite aside from the insult this was to the Sisters…” She trailed off, lowering her eyes and frowning.

“It’s okay,” Principia said after a moment. “I was serious before, Avelea, we do all need to have this out, but you take what time you need.”

“Women are like pets to them,” Ephanie continued after a moment. “Just…exactly like that. Expected to be decorative, and useful. Women offer and receive affection, but… We aren’t equals. Not truly people. As a Huntsman’s wife, I was subordinate. Expected to be obedient. To kneel at his feet, do whatever he ordered…be patted on the head when I pleased him and whipped with a belt if I didn’t.” She swallowed heavily, painfully. “And I loved it. Everything about it felt so right to me. It was like I was only just discovering who I was. A pet. I loved it so much I was willing to turn my back on everything I had been raised to honor. It was…who I was. Am.”

“Okay,” Merry said. “That is seriously—”

“Everyone at this table,” Principia interrupted, “should think very carefully before passing judgment on anyone else.”

“That…is completely correct,” Merry said, flushing. “Sorry, Ephanie. I will be shutting up now.”

Ephanie shrugged, still wearing that dark little smile. “Well, I can’t say you’re wrong. It’s pretty messed up, isn’t it?”

“Humans,” Principia said, shaking her head.

“Excuse me,” Casey said, “what was that just now about making judgments?”

“Well, I’m sorry, but human cultures have this thing about sexuality that still boggles my mind after two centuries,” Principia replied. “Some people are submissive by nature. I don’t get why that is such a challenging thing for Avenists to wrap their heads around when they’re all up in arms about how women shouldn’t be judged if they happen to be gay.”

“In the end, that was exactly the problem,” Ephanie said, nodding. “Some people are submissive. I… Well. The problem is, according to Shaathist doctrine, all women are. And that is a lie. It started to fall apart for me, almost immediately. Being alone with Feldren, I could truly enjoy the way our relationship was, but all those other women there… They’re constantly trying to bring in women, you know. Not just because Huntsmen aspire to have multiple wives and they need that gender imbalance, but because women leave. Because most women just are not designed that way. It’s not hugely unusual—a lot of women get by just fine in the cult of Shaath—but it is most definitely not intrinsic. Girls raised in the cult are just… If they don’t naturally fit the mold, they have every spark of life beaten out of them so they’ll be good, dutiful wives some day. That, or they run. It got to the point where I couldn’t get away from it. Even alone with my husband…the reality of what I was doing was there. By being there, by allowing myself to be this trophy, the tamed Legionnaire they held up as an example to all the others, I was complicit. I couldn’t live with myself that way.”

She sighed deeply. “And, in the end, I figured out that my own marriage was totally imbalanced. He never… It was so important to me. To give myself over to someone so completely. It was a huge intimacy, a huge gift… And Feldren never truly appreciated it. To him, that was just what a woman was; there was no inherent significance in it. He loved me, sort of, but the way one loves a prized possession. I wasn’t his partner… Not even his lover, not truly. I was deeply valuable to him because having won me, he proved his manhood beyond what most Huntsmen could ever hope.”

Ephanie paused to take a sip of her mostly cooled tea. “Well. Getting out wasn’t terribly difficult. I went to a temple of Avei, spilled the whole thing out to the head priestess. She didn’t even lecture me; Avenists are big on responsibility, and making it known you understand exactly how you screwed up goes a long way toward getting back in their good graces. Anyhow, religious incompatibility is grounds for unilateral divorce under both Universal Church doctrine and Imperial law. I didn’t know where to go or what to do with myself, but the priestess took me back to the main Temple, arranged a sit-down with the High Commander, and got me re-enlisted. My record is wiped out—the black mark of my leaving is gone, but I also have to start at the bottom of the ranks. And let’s face it, even with me officially forgiven, it’s going to be a very hard road, earning back the trust of the Legions after what I did. But…if they’re willing to have me, I’m willing to do it. So…here I am. A little sadder, a little wiser, and moving on.”

She turned to meet Casey’s eyes. “And I entirely understand what you were talking about, Elwick. Having been through two opposing cults, I see now why Avei’s teachings are important, in a way I never did, having taken them for granted growing up. But I also see how the Sisterhood is not right about everything. For all their talk about women being free to make choices, they come down hard on any choice that doesn’t fit their worldview. It’s…an interesting place to be. I’m not sure where or how I’m going to end up, honestly. But for now, I’m here, and I feel like I’m…sort of okay.”

“We’re all here,” Principia said firmly. “And we’re in this together. And for my part, knowing where all of you come from, who you are… Hell, you’ve more than earned my trust.”

“Likewise,” said Merry, then grinned. “And I can’t help noticing that we do have an interesting selection of skills and backgrounds, here. Not every Squad One is anything impressive, but girls, I do believe we can make that list.”

“Oh, we will,” Principia said, grinning. “I absolutely guarantee it.”


 

“It’s just…all my fault,” Juniper sniffled. “I ruin everything.”

Jack, for a wonder, was nuzzling affectionately after, rather than lunging (again) for the mushrooms or trying to escape. She held the jackalope close, running her fingers through his thick fur.

“I am concerned, Juniper,” said Shaeine gently, “that your feelings of guilt are leading you to blame yourself for everything.”

“Shouldn’t I be blamed?” Juniper said miserably. “I killed that poor guy for the stupidest possible reason, and now I’ve destroyed my own sister because I was dumb and careless and thought I could do something I couldn’t. I’m such a—”

“Stop it,” Trissiny said firmly. “June, Mother Narny used to tell me, ‘guilt asks who made the mess; responsibility asks who’s going to clean it up.’ I think that’s very good advice, which you should consider, here.”

“But I feel so awful,” Juniper whispered.

“Your sister’s hurting,” Gabriel said, reaching over to squeeze her hand, then jerking back when Jack twitched forward as if about to lunge. “But Triss is right. Look, we’re your friends, okay? When you hurt, we’re right here with you. We’ll do whatever we can. But…don’t make the pain your whole world, all right?”

“Learn the lesson,” Shaeine said, nodding. “Do not repeat your mistake. Let yourself heal, and go on to do better.”

The dryad sighed. “How, though?”

“Ain’t gonna be done in one conversation,” Ruda said. “Arquin’s right, doll; you’ve got us. Your’e not in this alone. And I’ll tell you somethin’ else, Aspen is gonna be fine.”

“How?” Juniper demanded. “How is she possibly going to be fine?”

“Because Tellwyrn is working on that.” Ruda grinned. “Let’s be honest, here. Arachne Tellwyrn is a stubborn, crotchety, pushy, disagreeable, vindictive, conniving old goat who has the social skills of a dragon with diarrhea and three toothaches, but she is fucking good at what she does. More to the point, underneath all the bitchiness, the old bag cares. It doesn’t come out all that often, but we’ve all seen by now how hard she works to take care of people who need it. There’s real love buried somewhere in that cranky little package, not to mention more power than anybody could possibly know what to do with. If she’s on this, then Aspen couldn’t possibly be in better hands.”

Several of them wore smiles by the time Ruda came to the end of her speech. Finally, Juniper managed a watery one herself.

“So,” she said, looking around at them. “Are we okay, then?”

“Well,” said Toby, leaning his arms on the table and smiling, “guys, I have to apologize, but I’m about to say something paladiny. Ruda, try not to laugh.”

“I make you no promises, Caine.”

“Life isn’t about being okay,” he said more seriously. “Much of the time…you just can’t. The world is full of suffering, and unpredictability, and a lot of getting by means coping with the bad. Life, in the end, is about knowing how to be okay, and working toward it.” A warm smile bloomed on his face. “And in the end, we’ve got each other. We’ve all got our supports outside this group. We will be okay, somehow, and for now, that’s enough.”

“Aw,” Fross gushed. “That was really paladiny.”

“Thanks,” Toby said, grinning up at her.

“Even though that’s not a word.”

“Is now!” Gabe said cheerfully. “I appreciate the example, Toby. I need to work on being more paladiny.”

“Work on being less demony, and you will be halfway there.”

“Do you wanna go back in the sheath?”

“Yes, please. I’ve been sitting in a puddle of some kind of mushroom-derived alcohol for half an hour. For the love of all gods past and present, wipe me off before putting me away.”

“Well, that’s that sorted, then!” Ruda said brightly, brandishing her bottle of rum as if in a toast. “On to the fun part of the evening! Who wants pork and mushroom stew?”

Everybody groaned.

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8 – 24

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Both elves leaned back, straightening, and Mary gently trailed her fingers through the puddle between them. It was hardly uncommon to find standing water on the rooftops of Tiraas; they’d not had to look hard to find a suitable location, no farther in fact than the inn in which Sheyann was staying, though both had employed a little shamanic skill to ensure their impromptu scrying mirror wasn’t disturbed by wind or rain.

More skill had been needed to ensure that they weren’t disturbed. Scrying was arcane craft; the degree of ability and power in the fae arts that enabled it was enough to bring curious people sniffing about if they were detected. Some of those people would come wearing silver gryphon badges.

“I still cannot believe you left the hook for this in the High Commander’s office,” Sheyann said at last, shaking her head. “If she learns of it, there will be trouble that may task even you. The Sisters of Avei are not the Tiraan Empire.”

“If anything, they are less skilled in the hunt,” Mary replied with an aloof little smile. “Farzida would not go so far, and anyway, she won’t find out. I am frankly surprised my little charm lasted all week; it is fragile enough to be erased by the merest touch of divine magic. Apparently she has had no need to call upon Avei directly in the last few days, but regardless, a woman of her mindset would bless her working space regularly. It will be gone before anything more can be learned from it.”

“Is there more you planned to learn?”

“No, in fact, I consider this matter now concluded, as far as my own interests are concerned.”

Sheyann gazed at her thoughtfully, but her attention was inward, not on her companion’s face. “I’ve not followed Principia’s career in any detail since hearing she gave Arachne her child—that’s a combination of events that would seize anyone’s attention—and now I am not sure whether this is fully in character for her or completely out of it.”

“The method is a well-trod path for the girl,” Mary said, her expression more serious. “It’s the motive which is new. She has ulterior motives, to be sure, and I’m positive she plans to work against or around the Sisterhood’s rules at some point, but at the same time, she is taking the matter of her enlistment seriously. And now she has the charge of four young women. I believe this will lead to better things for her than I had previously dared to hope.”

“Are you going to intervene further?” Sheyann asked. “Even from what little I saw of that woman Syrinx, I am certain she is disturbed in some manner, and very probably anth’auwa. She is also not gone in any permanent sense, nor will she forgive this humiliation. Principia has likely just bought herself more trouble later.”

Mary nodded. “But she has bought time in which to prepare for it. Syrinx had the element of surprise and a vast advantage of positioning here. I interceded only to the point of preventing her from leveraging it to the fullest; it was Principia’s own cunning that turned the tables, and it is that upon which she will have to rely in the future.”

“Ah, yes,” Sheyann said, deadpan. “Because now that she’s become interesting, you’re going to give up paying attention to her.”

The Crow smiled a sly little smile. “You know very well that I like to keep an eye on things that are interesting to me. And who knows? The girl may need another nudge in the future. By and large, though, I deem it best to leave her life in her own hands, as we always must with the young. After all, Sheyann, with this matter wrapped up, you and I have someplace to be.”

“Indeed.” Sheyann stood, Mary following suit. “We may as well take the opportunity to sleep; the Rails will not resume until morning. Last Rock is also not a regular stop; chartering a caravan is a somewhat more involved process than simply purchasing a ticket. We will need to take the first scheduled caravan to Calderaas and make arrangements from there. It is likely to be afternoon before we reach Arachne’s University.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “I have no intention of riding that infernal contraption. If you absolutely insist on prioritizing speed over all other considerations, I will meet you in Last Rock tomorrow evening.”

“Kuriwa,” Sheyann said patiently, “you know what is at stake. What method could you possibly have of traveling so far, so fast? Manipulating the winds like that will cause storms across the continent, and even so would take your little wings a week to make the trip.”

“There are faster methods, as you know.”

Sheyann stared at her. “The place between? You would seriously rend a hole in the fabric of reality and risk traveling through a netherworld of doom, beneath the eyes of the great uncreators and the lessor horrors that prowl between the planes, just to avoid riding the Rails?”

Mary tilted her head to one side, making a thoughtful expression. After a moment, she nodded. “That’s correct, yes.”

“Nonsense,” Sheyann said flatly. “You will glamour your hair blonde and I will buy you a ticket. Honestly, Kuriwa. It has been five thousand years; I think it is about time you grew up.”

The Crow very slowly raised one eyebrow. “Oh, I see. You object to my aversions. Very well, then, Sheyann, if we are in such a hurry, why did you not simply arrange to have Arachne teleport us hither and yon? I would wager my moccasins she made the offer.”

“That is a completely different matter,” Sheyann said stiffly. “Don’t change the subject.”

She lost patience and went below in search of her bed before the Crow was done laughing.


“All right, Ruda, what’s this all about?” Gabriel demanded, coming to a stop. He was the last of them to arrive at the small landing just before the bridge to Clarke Tower. “It’s late. What was so important?”

“Late?” Ruda said, grinning mockingly. “It’s late? Gabriel Arquin, you’re a college student, you’re under the age of twenty, and it’s before midnight on a Friday. You call this late? You have officially failed at everything.”

“That’s it, I’m going to bed,” he announced, turning around.

“Wait, Gabe,” Toby urged. “The word went out from Ruda because I asked her to make some arrangements. This was my idea.”

“Yours?” Trissiny asked, raising her eyebrows. “Well… Gabriel’s question still stands, then. What is so important?”

“Guys,” Toby said, slowly panning a serious expression around his assembled classmates, “we need to talk.”

“And…what would you like to talk about?” Fross asked.

“Let me put it this way,” Ruda said, folding her arms. “Can any of you think of something you would like to talk about?”

A silence fell. Gabriel chewed his lower lip and gripped the hilt of his sword; Teal flushed and lowered her eyes, and Shaeine stepped closer to her, moving her hand so that the backs of their fingers touched. Juniper swallowed heavily and sniffed, hugging Jack closer to her chest. For once, the jackalope didn’t seem to mind the treatment. Trissiny frowned thoughtfully at them.

“I can’t, specifically,” Fross declared. “But I can talk about whatever’s on anybody’s mind!”

“I’m glad to hear that, Fross,” Toby said. “But for this… I think we need some privacy. The kind that even professors, even Tellwyrn, aren’t in a position to overhear. And that’s why you heard about this from Ruda instead of me; she has the tools we’ll need, and when I asked her, she said to leave her the arrangements.”

“And I was glad to do it,” Ruda said firmly, her mirthful expression lost in seriousness now. “Because I’ve been watching you clowns all week and I am beginning to be concerned. In fact, right now, Shiny Boots and Fross are the people I am least worried about, and that should give you a hint as to how fucked up we very nearly are.”

“Thanks!” Fross said cheerfully.

“I think,” Trissiny muttered.

“And so,” said Ruda, drawing an object from within her coat pocket and holding it up to them, “I dug into my stash. I trust you remember how these things work?”

“Whoah, wait a second,” said Gabriel, frowning at the blue-glyphed Crawl waypoint stone in her hand. “Why do you have that? Aren’t those basically all Teal’s? I mean, Melaxyna gave her the black one, she bought that one and it was her flute-playing that got us the last one…”

“And I risked my ass actually collecting that, which you seem to have somehow forgotten,” Ruda snapped.

“I gave them to Ruda to hold onto once we were out,” Teal said hurriedly. “Remember, we were gonna let her handle the loot from the Crawl, since she’s the best with figures? I just thought it made sense to add those to the pile.”

“And I hung onto them,” Ruda said, “because they are useless except to University students, since no one else has access to the Crawl, and they’re more useful to us as ways to get around down there than as currency; we’ll probably have more Crawl excursions.”

“Definitely more!” Fross proclaimed. “At least one per year!”

“Right, so we’ll sell ’em off our senior year,” Ruda continued.

“That reminds me,” Gabriel said, “I’d forgotten about that. What happened to our loot, Ruda?”

She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I sold off everything except the bacon, which I donated to Mrs. Oak. Over the break I had my family’s bankers open nine interest-bearing accounts. Split that many ways it wasn’t a huge haul, so I had them pursue a fairly aggressive investment strategy. Risky, but there’s lots of development going on in enchantment and industry, and last I heard we were doing quite well.”

“Why didn’t you mention this to us?” Shaeine asked.

Ruda grinned. “Because most of you wouldn’t care, Arquin would’ve yanked his out and spent it—”

“Hey!”

“—and Boots here would’ve just donated her cut to somebody.”

“In point of fact,” Trissiny began.

“No.” Glaring, Ruda thrust a finger directly under her nose. “You let me work! Dammit, woman, this ain’t the Age of Adventurers; you cannot stomp around living off the land. People own the land now; they’ll either charge rent or shoot you for trespassing. Trust me, you will need funding.”

“I’m backed by one of the biggest worldwide cults—”

“Boots, if I’ve gotta explain why it’s smart to have resources that don’t appear on the Sisterhood’s books, you truly do not understand this century.”

“Anyway,” Toby said firmly, “here we are, there’s our waystone, and I think it’s time we visited our old friends in the Crawl and had a long conversation. Don’t you?”

“What friends?” Gabriel exclaimed.

“Do you really think this is that important?” Trissiny asked.

“I think it a good idea,” Sheaine said quietly.

“Me, too,” Juniper whispered.

“We’re really not supposed to go in the Crawl except on approved class exercises,” Fross fretted. “On the other hand, campus rules aren’t the only important thing, and sneaking down there is sort of a major tradition. I mean, Chase does it at least twice a month…”

“We’re settled, then,” said Ruda, grinning. “I trust you guys remember the drill, right? Link arms and hold onto your stomachs.”

“Speaking of which,” Gabriel said, “can we pause for a moment to collect our own snacks to bring? Because I still have the taste of mushrooms and bacon on the back of my—”

“Arquin, shut up and hold my hand, y’big baby.”


“Omnu’s balls, Prin, no!” the innkeeper exclaimed the moment they entered, clutching what remained of his hair in a pantomime of fright. “Not the Legions! Have you no sense of self-preservation? Con someone less dangerous, like the Black Wreath!”

“Been there, done that,” Principia said airily. “Anyhow, Pritchett, I have no idea what you’re on about. I am a duly enlisted soldier in Avei’s mortal army.”

“In fact, she’s the sergeant!” Casey said helpfully.

Pritchett, a man in later middle age, whose retreating hair and advancing gut mirrored each other almost perfectly, gaped at them. Or specifically, at Principia. “You’re not serious,” he said finally.

“As a steak dinner,” she replied, winking. “Look, we’re gonna need one of the quiet tables, an hour or so of privacy, and a pot of Black Punshai tea. The extra-strong blend. Ooh, with cucumber sandwiches. And do you have some of those fantastic butter cookies still?”

“Cookies,” the innkeeper said, still staring at her. “I mean… Sure, yeah, they’re the most popular… Prin, are you sure you’re not in some kinda trouble? If you need a place to crash…”

“Pritch,” she said more kindly, “I’m exactly the same as I always am. Up to my pointy ears in trouble, completely in control and loving every minute of it. I remember where the tables are. Tea, sandwiches, cookies, and I’ll drop by again later so we can catch up, okay? Swell! Toodles! C’mon, ladies, this way.”

“You always take us the nicest places,” Merry grumbled as she followed Principia and the others into the farthest, dimmest corner of the inn’s common room. It was built on a sprawling, rambling plan that resulted in more corners than it seemed a building should have, most of them unnecessarily dim. It was also shabby, with peeling wallpaper, scratched and dented furniture, and cracked, flickering fairy lamps. For all that, though, it was clean.

“There’s nothing more ridiculous than a snobby guttersnipe, Lang,” Principia said cheerfully, seating herself and sliding toward the wall, making space in her selected booth for the others to pile in. With their armor, it was a cozy fit, but it did afford them a measure of privacy. Despite the late hour, the inn had multiple occupied tables, and those sitting at them were very unaccustomed to seeing Silver Legionnaires, to judge by the stares they accumulated. No one seemed hostile, though, and they were not approached.

“Okay, I think we’ve been fairly patient about this, Sarge,” Farah said pointedly, “but it has been a long and stressful day, and I really want to just sleep. What could possibly be so important at this seedy bar that we have to come do it tonight?”

“Story time!” Principia declared, folding her gauntleted hands on the table and smiling at them.

“Story…time,” Ephanie repeated slowly, as if uncertain of the meaning of the words.

“So there I was, in Last Rock,” Principia began. “For about three years. Honestly, I viewed it as being on vacation; I just sat on my ass, mostly. In theory I was keeping an eye on Professor Tellwyrn for the Guild, but hell, they don’t care what she does with her time. It’s just that it’s not smart to ignore somebody like that, y’know? The Thieves’ Guild doesn’t get along by letting the world’s most dangerous people swagger around outside their range of view. So, they needed nominal eyes on the scene, and I needed a break. Anyhow, there’s me, hanging around in bars with the students and adventurers and generally having a grand old time, when up rears the politics of the big city, which is never so far away that it can’t bite you on the ass. It started with some shit between the Black Wreath and the Imperial government, and the next thing I knew…”


“Kids!”

No sooner did they materialize on the lower floor of the Grim Visage than they were greeted with evident delight. Melaxyna leaned over the railing from the upper level, emphasizing her cleavage even more than that position required, and smiled at them with every appearance of happiness. Of course, appearances didn’t count for much with a succubus.

“Welcome, welcome!” the demon said, beaming. “Only the best for my favorite patrons! Drinks and a meal on the house, your money’s no good here.”

“Well, damn, girl, look at you!” Ruda exclaimed, grinning up at the succubus. “You work fast. How’d you get out of Level 2 so quick?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Melaxyna chided, winking. “That is for me to know, and Arachne to tear her hair out wondering.”

“She let you out, didn’t she,” said Gabriel.

The demon’s expression didn’t alter by a hair, but her tail began lashing behind her like an agitated cat’s, hard enough to be eye-catching even though it was barely visible from that angle. “You know, Gabriel, it’s the funniest thing. I have so much reason to be grateful to you, and yet here you are, not in the room even sixty seconds and already getting under my skin. Sarriki! Our finest table for these most honored of guests.”

“You mean our least shitty table?” the naga suggested, gliding over to them bearing a tray of empty goblets. “’Finest’ isn’t really a word I hear much in this joint. Hi, kids.”

“Hello, Sarriki,” Teal said, smiling.

“Yes, yes,” said Melaxyna, “the least dank one over by the fireplace. And the best of whatever we’ve got in the back, I’ll not have a poor review of my hospitality making its way back up top.”

“The best of whatever?” Sarriki asked, raising one of the ridges that passed for her eyebrows.

“Well, of course,” said the succubus reasonably, her smile remaining in place. “Unless, of course, they seem to be trying to take advantage. Then poison them. Enjoy your stay, kids.” She turned and sashayed back toward the bar, flicking her tail at them.

“I can’t help liking her a little bit,” Gabriel mused, “and I’m not sure why.”

“She’s got an amazing figure,” Juniper pointed out.

“Nah,” he said, “it’s not that… Hard to put my finger on.”

“It probably wouldn’t be hard at all to put your finger on anything of hers,” Trissiny said sharply. “Regardless, don’t.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, offended. “Give me a little credit.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“You two are just too precious,” Sarriki chuckled. “Right this way, little biscuits.”

“Oh, gods, she’s doing that thing,” Fross stage whispered. “I thought that was just Rowe. Does there always have to be somebody in this pub who calls us desserts?”

“Rules of the house,” Sarriki said gravely, gesturing to the large corner table to which she had just escorted them. It was, indeed, comfortably close to the hearth, spacious and slightly less splintery than most of the furniture in the Visage. “You lollipops get yourselves settled in, and I’ll be back with something for you to nosh in just a moment.”

Ruda had already plopped herself into a chair; the others followed suit more carefully as the naga slithered off.

“So,” Trissiny said, “now that we’re here, what is the big issue?”

“It was about two hundred years ago,” Ruda said, producing a bottle of rum from within her coat and setting it on the table. “Like all the events which have led to great changes in the world, it was random and hilariously stupid. So Ankhar Punaji, the prince of Puna Dara, went out and had himself a little too much to drink, which is pretty much a fuckin’ tradition—it’s how we celebrate important events, like surviving to see another sunset, or waking up without having died of alcohol poisoning in your sleep. So there’s Prince Ankhar, staggering around as sloshed as a sloop in a typhoon, and pauses to take a leak on a convenient rock by the harbor.”

She grinned, popped the cork, and had a swig of rum, pausing the wipe her mouth on the sleeve of her greatcoat before continuing. “Turns out the rock in question was a small shrine to Naphthene. Just for a bit of historical background, I should mention that shit like this is exactly why she doesn’t like people putting up shrines. They always do, anyway, and she mostly leaves ’em alone. It’s only worshiping her in an organized manner that gets your ass hammered into the ground by lightning bolts. But anyway, yeah. The prince pissed on a shrine.”

“I bet you get extra smote for that,” Gabriel said in an awed tone.

“Well, Naphthene is as capricious as the sea itself,” Ruda continued. “We always make our offerings to her when setting out on a voyage. It’s no guarantee at all of fair sailing—she just doesn’t play nice with anybody—but not doing it markedly ups your chances of getting sunk. She’s a gigantic bitch, is what I’m sayin’, and doesn’t generally mind having that pointed out. Closest thing we’ve got to a Naphthist dogma is the old saying, ‘the storm cares not.’ Still and all, pissing on a shrine? That is the kind of shit that gets a deity’s attention. Sometimes. If they’re a pretty pissy one to begin with, that is. So the goddess cursed Ankhar with the worst fate that could be inflicted on a pirate.”

“Hanging?” Trissiny said dryly.

“Poverty?” Gabriel suggested.

“A peaceful system of maritime trade enforced by sophisticated modern navies?” Fross chimed.

“Worse,” Ruda said gravely. “Sobriety.”

For a moment, there was silence around the table.

“I just…wow,” Gabriel said at last. “It’s just begging for a smartass comment, but…what can you say? The thing itself is its own punchline.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Ruda said lightly, pausing to take another swig of rum. “Naphthene cursed Prince Ankhar and all his descendants to, and I quote, ‘drink but never be drunk.’ This is why I get a campus exemption to the ban on drinking. The Punaji royal line, despite being completely impervious to the intoxicating effects of…well, anything…suffers a compulsion to consume alcohol.”

“What happens if you don’t drink?” Trissiny asked curiously.

Ruda’s expression darkened. “One of my uncles tried that. I do not want to talk about it.” She took another drink of rum.

“Um,” Juniper said, slowly stroking Jack’s fur, “that’s a neat story and it’s interesting to finally know why you’re immune to drugs—”

“Actually that really straightens out something that had been bugging me!” Fross exclaimed. “If it’s a divine curse, that explains why it didn’t work as well on infernal intoxicants! It probably saved your life when you got hopped up on hthrynxkh blood, Ruda, but didn’t manage to completely obviate the effects like it does everything else. Fascinating!”

“Yes, but my point was,” Juniper said patiently, “why are you telling us this now?”


“Because, as I said, it is story time,” Principia said in response to Farah’s question. The others were silent in the aftermath of her tale, not reaching for the tea or sandwiches which had been delivered while the elf spoke. Principia folded her arms on the table, pushing her teacup away, and leaned forward to stare earnestly at them. “And because it’s a pretty basic rule of command not to ask anything of your troops you’re not willing to do yourself.”

“Holy shit, Locke,” Merry whispered. She looked downright nauseous. “I had no idea… I mean, I knew that guy was skeevy, even before he betrayed us, but I never figured… If I’d even imagined he’d do something like that…”

“Relax, Lang,” Principia said gently. “To look at it another way, I could’ve warned you about him if I wasn’t so tied up in worrying over my own skin. Let’s face it, none of us came out of that mess looking good. Can we just, finally, put it behind us and start over?”

Merry nodded, and gulped. “I… Yeah. I think I like the sound of that.”

“If I take your meaning,” Ephanie said slowly, “you want us to tell you our stories.”

“It’s like this,” the newly-minted sergeant said seriously. “We are not out of the woods, girls. Syrinx got slapped on the wrist, no more. We have four months in which to shape up without having to worry about her descending on us, and probably a small grace period after she’s back in which she’ll be careful not to piss off the High Commander again. But she is not gone, and in fact her last memory of us is the humiliation of being knocked down a peg while we watched. This isn’t over. She’ll be coming for us again, eventually.

“Furthermore,” she went on, her expression growing grimmer, “there’s the fact that Commander Rouvad made it plan she doesn’t like us. She also set us up for future confrontations with Syrinx by arranging for us to be witness to the Bishop’s comeuppance, which let’s face it, was completely unnecessary. That woman is too sharp to have done something like that accidentally or at random. I think, next time we have to take on Syrinx, it’ll be with the tacit approval of the High Commander. She’s setting us up to clash with her.”

“That’s completely bonkers,” Farah objected. “Why?”

“It actually makes perfect sense,” Casey said, frowning. “She can’t get rid of Syrinx without having a suitable replacement—and it might not be smart to get rid of Syrinx anyway, because then she might go over to the Church completely and become an outright enemy. One who knows the Sisterhood’s inner workings. But if she wanted to replace Syrinx…here we are. If we shape up, take her on and take her down, Rouvad has a whole roster of women who can do the Bishop’s job—at least, her political job, I dunno about being a priestess. And if we fail, well, we’re a convenient chew toy for Basra to focus on while Rouvad sets up something else.”

Ephanie sighed heavily. “I hate politics so very much.”

“I am afraid that’s just too damn bad, Avelea,” Principia said firmly. “Politics, as of right now, is what we are. We have at least one powerful enemy who will be coming back for us, and we cannot count on the support of the High Commander when her own interest lies in making us fight our own battles.”

“Captain Dijanerad has our backs,” Farah pointed out. “I mean, Locke, the fact is your little tirade against Syrinx ended on a big fat gendered insult. Rouvad didn’t mention that at all, which I’m pretty sure means she didn’t know about it. Which means Dijanerad didn’t tell her.”

“And that’s something to consider,” Principia said nodding. “But we’ve been over the fact that Shahdi Dijanerad is a good soldier and not much of a political operative at all. No, ladies, what we have to rely on is each other. And right now, we are a big bundle of unknown elements to one another. I love my privacy as much as the next gal, but that’s not going to work. There are too many unasked questions, here, and not enough trust.”

She leaned back, dragging her stare around the group, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “So I went first. Now, we need to know just who and what we are dealing with. I’m sorry to have to put you all on the spot like this, but I’m doing it because I have to. As of this moment, we are family. We succeed together, or we all fail, and the consequences of failure for each of us are likely to be far worse than a damaged military career. You all know that, right?”

“Commander Rouvad pretty much told us that straight out,” Merry said in a hollow tone.

“Yeah,” Principia said grimly, nodding. “So we are not going into one more day without knowing who we’re fighting beside. Who’s next?”


“It’s not even that I think it’s urgent, or that anybody’s in danger,” Ruda said, pouring rum into her teacup while the others stared disconsolately at the steaming pot of mushroom stew now in the middle of the table, “but it’s been a week of watching most of you lot moping and sulking and fidgeting and generally acting off-kilter, and dammit, I’m getting worried. I’m not the only one, either,” she added, nodding at Toby. “Look, guys, I respect your privacy and all, but we’re family, here. There is clearly some unresolved business from the battle this spring weighing on several of us. I know this is hard, but we have got to deal with it. Keepin’ it to yourself isn’t going to help you at all, whatever’s troubling you. Fuck it, I love you guys. We’re all in this together. Let’s deal with it together. Okay?”

Juniper sniffled, tears beading in her eyes, but she was smiling at Ruda as she did so. Toby smiled, too; Trissiny looked thoughtful. Teal was twisting her hands in her lap, stopping only when Shaeine reached over to take one of them in her own.

“Well,” Gabriel said after a moment’s silence, “this is not something I would’ve expected or thought to try, but when you put it that way… Yeah, Ruda, I think you’re right. So, I guess I’ll go first.”

He leaned to one side, drawing the black sword from its sheath, then pushed aside his still-empty bowl and set the elven saber on the table in front of him.

“Everyone, this is Ariel.”

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8 – 23

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High Commander Rouvad made the lot of them wait in the hall outside her office for ten minutes while she conferred with Captain Dijanerad, doubtless about the documents the captain had just received from the Eserites. It was, to say the least, a tense handful of minutes.

Squad Thirteen held themselves at attention, which wasn’t comfortable, but was not especially onerous given their training. Far worse was the attention of the other two present, who stood off to the other side of Rouvad’s door. Private Covrin stood at ease, glaring suspiciously at everyone from behind Syrinx’s shoulder. The Bishop, for her part, seemed not particularly stressed. In fact, she regarded the assembled privates with a faintly smug expression. She did not taunt or try to provoke them, nor speak to them at all, but kept panning her stare slowly across the group.

Eventually, Principia turned her head slightly to catch Basra’s eye, and winked.

The Bishop’s stare hardened noticeably, and remained on Prin for the rest of their wait. The elf gave her no further reaction.

Fortunately, the door opened before this could progress further. Captain Dijanerad stepped out, her hand still on the knob, and jerked her head expressively toward the open doorway.

Syrinx nodded to her, expression faintly amused, and strode through, Covrin still on her heels.

“Do you need something, Private Covrin?” Dijanerad said pointedly.

Covrin slammed to a stop, eyes widening, and swallowed. “Ah, no, ma’am,” she stammered, glancing through the door at the Bishop.

“Then I’m sure you can find something to do,” Dijanerad said firmly.

“Wait for me in the hall, Covrin,” Syrinx said from within.

“Yes, ma’am,” Covring replied with evident relief, backing up to the far wall. Dijanerad watched her expressionlessly while Squad Thirteen filed past her into the office, then finally followed, shutting the door behind them.

High Commander Rouvad was leafing slowly through the contents of the Thieves’ Guild folder, and continued to do so, apparently ignoring her guests while they situated themselves. Basra planted herself in one corner, folding her arms; Dijanerad stood in front of the door, and Squad Thirteen arrayed themselves in a line on the opposite side of the room.

“I confess there’s an element of relief in this,” the Commander said at last, still reading. “It’s always disappointing, having to call down soldiers from whom I don’t expect misbehavior. But now, here’s almost the entire roster of everyone I fully anticipated having to chew out this week, right on schedule. It’s very nearly…gratifying.”

She finally shut the folder, pushed it aside, and raised her eyes. Her face was calm, but those eyes were iron-hard.

“Bishop Syrinx,” she said, “do you understand why you’re here?”

“Not precisely,” Syrinx replied, her tone unconcerned. “From the presence of this tragically underperforming squad I gather you have an objection to my handling of them?”

“Well, that’s as good a starting point as any,” said Rouvad, her eyes boring into the Bishop. “You have been given enormous leeway with the handling of the Ninth Cohort, above the objections of its Captain, and as of this moment I am bitterly disappointed with almost every aspect of your management, beginning with Squad Thirteen. Before we even discuss your handling of them, I want to hear an explanation for its formation and composition, which was entirely by your design. Not only is this squad unacceptably under strength, it is stacked entirely with undesirable recruits in defiance of all regulation and policy.”

“I was told,” Syrinx said flatly, “that I would be encouraged to produce agents from this cohort to train for interfaith and political operations. Everything I have done here has been in pursuit of that goal.”

“And so,” Rouvad replied, “when Legion policy is and has always been to disperse potentially disruptive elements through the ranks, so that their fellow soldiers could provide an example at best and at the least a counterpoint to any trouble they might cause, you not only clustered every yellow-flagged name on the roster into one unit, you then bent regulations even further in order to deprive them of positive influences. This looks very much like it was calculated to cause this squad to entirely self-destruct.”

“The use of pressure as a teaching tool is hardly my own invention,” Syrinx said, raising an eyebrow. “I understand there is some slight precedent in the history of military training.”

“Pressure,” Rouvad said flatly, pointing a finger at Merry. “And to pressure this group, you started with our resident ex-convict, here, and surrounded her…” She slowly moved her finger, indicating Principia, Farah, Ephanie and Casey in sequence. “…with refugees from the cults of Eserion, Nemitoth, Shaath—”

“Ma’am, please,” Casey whispered.

“—and Elilial,” Rouvad finished inexorably. A slight but distinct shudder rippled through the rank of Squad Thirteen, Farah, Ephanie and Merry all turning their heads to stare at Casey, who dropped her own gaze to the floor. Principia just raised one eyebrow.

“Attention,” Captain Dijanerad said curtly. The five of them instantly snapped back into position.

“Why them, your Grace?” Rouvad asked, her tone deceptively mild.

“I am surprised it even needs to be explained,” Syrinx retorted. “Their backgrounds have clearly predisposed the group toward maneuvering of the sort—”

“Two of them,” Rouvad snapped, “at most. The former would-be adventurer convicted of civil disturbance, vandalism and assault? The former Shaathist housewife? The librarian?”

“In my judgment—”

“Your judgment is very much on trial here,” Rouvad interrupted. “Let’s discuss what you did after gathering these miscellaneous reprobates into one apparently doomed unit. You spent an absurd amount of time chasing down Locke, even going so far as to try to put her loyalties in conflict, and frankly I can see no point to any of that except trying to get a rise out of her, which ought to be so far beneath you as to be beyond consideration. That is merely troubling.” She pulled the folder back in front of herself, placing a hand upon it, and stared coldly at the Bishop. “What I’ve just learned about the methods you were using to stalk Locke and the rest of this squad is a whole level beyond—and yes, Basra, I was aware of your borderline insubordinate manipulation of the Legion’s bureaucracy to move regulations and paperwork around. And now come the events of tonight.”

Rouvad drummed her fingers once on the folder, her stare growing ever more angry. “There is nothing—nothing—which excuses you sending Squad Thirteen into deliberate conflict with a group of Huntsmen of Shaath. You endangered everyone involved, beginning with a squad of soldiers whose safety was your responsibility. You intentionally disrupted an approved religious ceremony of another cult of the Pantheon. You employed a Vesker apprentice to do this, also placing her in danger—and without informing her of said danger. You abused your position in the Universal Church to first learn where the Shaathists would be operating and then do all of the above. And your eventual goal here was…what? To embarrass Private Avelea? I can’t imagine you actually thought I would allow her to be court martialed over this, any more than Locke would have been because of your similar antics toward her.”

“As I said,” Syrinx replied with some annoyance, “everything I have done with this squad was intended to train them toward the stated goals of this cohort. Despite their insubordination, they’ve done fairly well. I think some credit is due my methods, Commander.”

“Some credit is due to the fact that I now owe apologies to my two least favorite cults,” Rouvad snapped, “not to mention the Veskers. That is the sum total of your accomplishment with this squad. And honestly, Basra, you’ve been leaving a trail of destruction for the last week. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you manipulating the bureaucracy toward your own ends? Or that I was allowing it because I approved of this nonsense?”

Syrinx raised her eyebrows. “Of course. Why else would you allow it, Commander? Silence gives assent.”

“You watch your sly tongue, Basra,” Rouvad said icily. “For your information, I have been monitoring you since you first formed this cockamamie squad. You have been under examination as much as they. Do you imagine I am in any way pleased with what I’ve learned?”

“The Shaathists and Eserites will get over it,” Syrinx said with a shrug. “I don’t know why you’re concerned with their opinions anyway; we’re speaking of a gaggle of religious thugs. Squad Thirteen has learned quickly, thanks to the pressure I put on them, how to handle themselves in various crises. This looks like a successful series of tests to me.”

“I’ll tell you what’s been a successful test. Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that I accept you were actually trying to train these women and not squeeze them out of the Legion as every piece of evidence indicates. What I have learned from watching this unfold is that you, Syrinx, will sink your teeth into any foe who successfully resists your machinations and worry at them like a dog until you manage to break them. In so doing you completely lose sight of all surrounding considerations: regulations, ethics, you own well-being. Your penchant for obsessive behavior has been remarked on by everyone who’s worked with or trained you starting from your own first enlistment, but you began your career by making good progress at self-control. It seems too much power and privilege has undone all that work, Basra. And that leaves me needing to do something about it.”

“You could leave me to do my job,” Syrinx suggested sarcastically.

“The whole point of trying experimental training methods with this cohort was to produce women who can help the Sisterhood deal with the ever-escalating intrigues in this city, and beyond,” Rouvad said. “The situation grows more tense and more complex all the time. In this political environment, I cannot have my top operative acting like a rabid dog. It’s clear to me you need some remedial training of your own.”

The Commander folded her arms atop the desk, staring flatly at the Bishop. “There is a situation in Viridill with which I require your unique talents, Bishop Syrinx. You will report to Abbess Darnassy as soon as you can make travel arrangements, and remain at the Abbey for the duration of the problem.”

“What problem?” Syrinx demanded, her own stare sharpening.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Rouvad said with a tiny, humorless smile. “I will think of something by the time the paperwork needs to be filed. For the moment, I am assigning Captain Shahai to administer your duties to the Church in your absence.”

“You can’t do that,” Syrinx snapped. “Bishops can’t just be replaced on a whim. The Archpope has to approve—”

“Yes, and if I were demoting you, that would be a problem,” Rouvad said, still smiling. “Interestingly, Church law provides for situations where a Bishop is incapacitated, on leave, or otherwise engaged. Cult leaders may unilaterally appoint an interim Bishop, who does not require the Archpope’s or anyone else’s approval, for up to one hundred and twenty days. That is how long, Basra, you have to convince Abbess Darnassy that you’re still a good soldier who can do her job without haring off on a sadistic personal crusade. If, at the end of this period, Narnasia is satisfied with your progress…” Her smile widened slightly. “And if his Holiness hasn’t decided he likes your replacement just fine, you may return here and resume your duties. I suggest you put your nose to the grindstone, Basra. Narnasia does not share my lenient attitude toward unconventional behavior.”

Basra was fairly vibrating with tension now, fists clenched at her sides and her face a thunderhead. Commander Rouvad held her stare for a long, silent moment, then abruptly turned to regard the wide-eyed members of Squad Thirteen.

“With that addressed, let’s talk to the other individuals who have added to my headaches recently. I understand that was quite a performance you put on down in the courtyard, Private Locke. Now, under most circumstances, a raw recruit reaming out the Bishop would be headed right for the stockade, but I’m interested in the details of this situation. It defies belief that the great Principia Locke, master thief of two centuries’ experience, who doesn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow except in pursuit of three separate plans, would lose composure that way. I would like to hear exactly, in detail, what you were trying to accomplish with that little speech.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “This is a good time for you to be honest, Locke, not clever. I advise you not to make any assumptions concerning what I do or do not understand, either.”

Principia cleared her throat. “Yes, ma’am. It was first a diversionary tactic. As I explained to Bishop Syrinx at some length, I am not particularly concerned with anything she attempts to do to me, but she was going for Avelea. I will not have her sinking her teeth into my squad.”

“How interesting,” Rouvad said expressionlessly. “Go on.”

“Additionally,” Principia continued obediently, keeping her own face blank, “there were multiple representatives present of the two cults who had been severely antagonized by the Bishop’s actions. I ordinarily would not show Legion internal division to outsiders, but in that situation where Bishop Syrinx’s affronts were unavoidably obvious, a display of opposition to her from within the ranks was necessary for the Legion to regain face. My words were calculated to appeal to Eserite and Shaathist sensibilities as much as possible, and leave those representatives to understand that Syrinx’s abuses were not acceptable to us and would not be tolerated. I apologize for overstepping my prerogatives, Commander. Aside from the benefit of taking that action immediately, I believe it gained considerable credibility coming as it was from a low-ranking soldier who was clearly taking a risk by speaking out, rather than a high-ranking one whose reassurances could be dismissed as politics.”

Rouvad gazed at her in silence for a long moment after she finished speaking. “Is that all, Private Locke?”

Principia drew in a short breath. “In…addition…there was the consideration that any public punishment which befell me after the fact would have undercut the credibility I regained on behalf of the Legion by speaking out.”

“Oh, you noticed that too, did you,” Rouvad said, deadpan. “Well, Private, that’s a lot of complex effects to have achieved with a two-minute speech. Quite impressive by the priorities of Eserites, I would presume. As it happens, I concur with your assessments. I’m even a little impressed with your results. Considering the training aims of your cohort, I’m actually somewhat pleased, and inclined to let the matter stand so as to be further leveraged in the future. So no, in this case, you have not forced my hand.” Abruptly, her tone was hard and cold as a polar ice sheet, and her stare furious. “And if you ever attempt to do so again, Locke, as Avei is my witness you will beg for treatment as gentle as exile to Viridill before I am done with you. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, Commander. It won’t happen again.”

Rouvad held her stare for a long moment before relaxing slightly and speaking again. “Needless to say, Bishop Syrinx’s role in this cohort’s management is over, and the experiment in question scrapped. Captain Dijanerad, how much damage do you believe has been done to your cohort by all this?”

“Minimal, Commander,” the captain said immediately, “and fixable. I’ll need officers and a schedule of more reasonable duty shifts, but it’s only been a week. That much more time without this nonsense going on should straighten out any problems. Not many have had time to form properly, yet.”

“Good,” said Rouvad, nodding. “I’ll assign you three more lieutenants to lighten Vriss’s workload. I won’t transfer anyone against their will, but you may have your pick of any candidates willing to take the job. Have their names on my desk in forty-eight hours, or I’ll pick some for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Will you need additional sergeants?”

“My squads were promised promotion from within, ma’am. No squads, in my opinion, lack a suitable officer candidate. I believe depriving them of that on top of this week’s events would be a serious blow to morale.”

“Very well, put forward your own choices’ names along with the lieutenants’.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“With regard to this group,” Rouvad continued, returning her stare to the assembled privates, “whether by accident or design, Bishop Syrinx’s campaign of ‘educational’ pressure has yielded some results. The five of you do appear to function well as a unit. You even show some promise in the direction toward which your training theoretically aimed. As such, I’m not willing to discard the only possibly successful result of this debacle out of hand.”

She leaned back in her chair, which creaked with the motion. The High Commander’s expression was impassive now, her eyes slowly moving across the squad.

“Squad Thirteen is hereby disbanded,” she said abruptly. “It will be re-formed to bring your cohort up to full strength in the days ahead, Captain. You will be assigned new graduates from the cadet program, as well as several more seasoned soldiers, just so you have a few to work with.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Dijanerad said crisply.

“These five women,” Rouvad continued, “are to be re-assigned together under the designation of Squad One.”

Despite their being ordered to stand at attention, there came a sharp indrawn breath from the privates.

In the Silver Legions, “One” was the designation of irregulars and special forces. Depending on the unit in question, it could be a great honor, or a punishment duty. The Second Legion’s First Cohort consisted entirely of magic users of a variety of specializations—all except warlocks, in fact. Its Squad One actually had three holy summoners, and was overall considered equivalent to an Imperial strike team in versatility and combat effectiveness. The Third Legion’s First Cohort were scouts and rangers of great renown, and the only part of the Legion that had remained fully intact during its recent reorganization. By contrast, the Fifth Legion’s First Cohort consisted of diplomats, statisticians and other paper jockeys. Though these were necessary functions (or they wouldn’t have been kept around), it was widely understood that that unit was a dumping ground for women who had nominally useful skills which did not include forming a competent phalanx.

Officially, there was no First Silver Legion. Rumors had abounded for years that such an organization existed off the books, working Avei’s will in places where the Sisterhood could not openly show its hand.

“It’s for good and specific reason I permitted you girls to witness the dressing down of the Bishop,” Rouvad continued calmly. “Considering what’s in store for you, I want you to understand some things. There is room for all sorts in Avei’s service. Basra Syrinx is a mean, vindictive, duplicitous snake, and we all know it. So long as she’s one who acts in accordance with Avei’s aims, I can work with that. I can even extend some tolerance toward antics which strain tradition and procedure. There is, however, a limit: go off on your own with that kind of behavior and I will shut it down. You keep both of those things firmly in mind.”

“Yes, ma’am!” they chorused.

“And with apologies to Captain Dijanerad for usurping her prerogative,” Rouvad continued, quirking an eyebrow, “I am going to go ahead and make the obvious choice for your new squad’s leader. Congratulations, Sergeant Locke.”

There was a beat of silence, in which Basra’s right eyelid began twitching uncontrollably.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Principia said respectfully, “but it’s pronounced ‘Avelea.’ Common mistake.”

Rouvad held her gaze, blank-faced. “Locke, have I ever told you how much I enjoy your sense of humor?”

A few more seconds of silence stretched out before Principia was certain the Commander actually wanted a response to this.

“I don’t believe so, ma’am.”

“There is a reason for that.”

“Understood, Commander.”

“This is because you are the most appropriate candidate for the job,” Rouvad continued coldly, “which says more about the available talent pool than about your abilities. Let me be frank, Locke: you are not being rewarded. I am giving you the opportunity to fail, and I more than half expect you to take full advantage. In that event, I can rid my Legions of five disruptive losers and be done with it. Or, alternatively, you might surprise me and prove that this squad can be a considerable asset. I win either way; only the five of you have a stake in the outcome.

“Because, make no mistake, after the events of this week, you girls have proved not only your potential in the political and diplomatic arts, but your willingness to play fast and loose with regulations to achieve it. Much like the good Bishop, here. The difference is that she has given Avei years of dedicated and effective service, and you lot have done nothing to earn a fraction of that regard. If any of you went as badly off the Rail as she just did, I’d have you flogged. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!” all five shouted.

“Those are your alternatives, Squad One. You will either succeed beyond anyone’s expectations and prove your utility to the Silver Legions, or be drummed out of them. Mediocrity is not an option available to you. Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Rouvad studied them silently for a few moments more, then turned her head and nodded to Captain Dijanerad. “All right. Make me proud, ladies. That is an order. Dismissed, all of you.”

Once again, Basra was first out of the office, this time stalking like an offended cat and still practically quivering with fury. The rest followed her in stupefied silence, with the exception of Captain Dijanerad, who actually looked vaguely amused.

Covrin was still waiting in the hall, as ordered; she took one look at Basra’s expression and paled. The Bishop strode past her, snapping her fingers and pointing to the floor at her side. Covrin swallowed and came to heel like a well-trained dog.

Just as the Captain pulled the office door shut behind them, Principia paused, holding up a hand to halt her squad, and spoke.

“Just a moment, Covrin.”

“I don’t have time for you, Locke.”

“That’s Sergeant Locke,” the elf shot back. “Do not walk away from me, Private.”

Covrin came to a halt, as did Syrinx just ahead of her. Slowly, the private turned, staring at Principia for just a moment too long. Then she came to attention and saluted.

“My squad has the assigned duty of politics and diplomacy,” Principia said, staring into Covrin’s eyes. “And we’re under strength. I need clever, motivated women who possess a certain aptitude for, shall we say, lateral thinking. I’d like you to join up.”

Covrin stared at her for a moment, then half-turned her head, glancing at Bishop Syrinx out of the corner of her eye. The Bishop was watching without expression.

“She just got her butt served up on a platter and is being shipped off to cool her heels in Viridill,” Principia said quietly, still gazing hard at Covrin. “Basra Syrinx is in as weak a position as you have ever seen her, Jenell. Right now, she can’t touch you if you choose not to allow it. This is the best chance you’ll have to get away from her.”

“Permission to speak freely, Sergeant?” Covrin said stiffly.

Slowly, Principia nodded. “Granted.”

“I still don’t have time for you, Locke. May I be dismissed?”

Prin sighed softly. “Dismissed.”

Covrin turned on her heel and stalked back toward Basra. The Bishop paused only to smile coldly at Principia before continuing on her own way with Covrin trailing after her. They were gone around the corner in moments.

Captain Dijanerad clasped Principia on the shoulder as she passed down the hall in the opposite direction. “Good try, Locke, but you can’t do a thing for someone who won’t be helped. Get some rest, ladies.”

Moments later, she, too, was gone, leaving Squad One standing alone in the hallway.

“What just happened?” Ephanie asked of no one in particular.

“Dunno, but I do believe,” Merry said thoughtfully, “that I have never been this tired.”

“Never thought I’d miss that little dump of a cottage,” Farah agreed, “but I wanna go back there right now and make love to my pillow.”

“Gross,” Casey muttered.

“Well, that’s too bad, girls,” said Principia, rolling her shoulders and straightening her spine, “because we’ve a ways to go yet before we sleep. Fall in, Squad One; there’s one more thing we need to do tonight.”

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8 – 21

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Everything slowed down at night, but Tiraas never truly slept, nor slackened its pace to any great degree. Different kinds of business were done after dark in the Imperial city, but not much less business. Obviously, the more rural areas surrounding the city were a great deal sleepier once the sun was down, removed as they were from the capital’s omnipresent modern lights, but even there, human activity continued at all hours.

Consequently, while there wasn’t a great deal of traffic through the city gates at the late hour at which the mixed party of Huntsmen and Legionnaires finally reached them, the gates themselves were opened and manned. That, in fact, caused them a very minor delay.

The soldier standing on the right side of the road at the huge outer gate stepped forward, lowering his staff casually to extend in front of him—not blocking their way, but tacitly signaling for a stop. “Everything all right, ladies?” he inquired politely, pointedly ignoring the ring of Huntsmen and directing himself to Ephanie, who was the nearest Legionnaire to him.

“Everything is fine, soldier,” Andros rumbled, pausing and folding his arms. The uniformed man glanced at him momentarily, then returned his gaze to Ephanie. It was indeed a peculiar mix of people to the eyes of anyone who knew anything about either cult, but there was also the unmistakable fact that the Huntsmen had arranged themselves in an escort formation around the Legionnaires. In the absence of other cues, that could be taken as a sign of honor, or one of hostility. Altogether they made a strange enough sight to invite comment.

“Couldn’t be better!” Principia chirped. “These gentlemen were just guiding us back from a field exercise. You can’t ask for a better escort in the woods than a Huntsman, after all.”

The soldier eased back, slight but noticeable tension fading from him. “All right, then, Blessings, ladies, gentlemen.”

They passed through the gates into the wide square beyond, several nodding to the guards as they went.

“Arrogant pup,” Tholi grumbled. “You should’ve just told him who you were, Brother Andros.”

“Throwing force around is seldom the smart solution to a problem, Tholi,” the Bishop replied. “That is true socially as well as physically.”

The little towns at the foot of each bridge to the city were clustered around a fortification protecting the road itself. Inside the walls was a broad square, lined with shops and offices (now closed), and beyond that, the foot of the bridge itself.

Their mixed party had to reorganize itself somewhat upon reaching the bridge; most of its width was marked off for vehicles, and though there was comparatively little traffic at this hour, spilling out of the pedestrian lanes would have been grounds for a citation even if nobody was run over. In any case, there were stone barriers between the two, and the foot lanes were raised a good three feet higher, looking over the edges of the bridge itself. The view this afforded of the huge canyon with its churning river far below was both stunning and terrifying. They were protected from the drop by low stone walls surmounted by much taller iron fencing; people did still fall off, occasionally, but not by accident, and indeed it took some doing. The soldiers who regularly patrolled the bridges were on the lookout for would-be jumpers more than any criminals or threat to the city itself. Somehow, after reshuffling themselves into a space where no more than five could walk abreast, Principia wound up in the front rank with Andros and Ingvar, with Tholi and the rest of Squad Thirteen right behind, the remainder of the Huntsmen bringing up the rear.

Tiraas, approached this way, was a sight worthy to compete with the view over the chasm. Its walls were lit deliberately, powerful directed lights illuminating every inch of their exterior, their towers blazing from every window. Beyond that, structures rose into the distance, many also alight, with the crackling of factory antennae and pulsing of scrolltower orbs topping off the ambient glow of the city itself. As the group proceeded, a Rail caravan flashed past them down the fenced-off center lane of the bridge with a roar and a wash of blue radiance. It vanished into a tunnel leading below the main level of the bridge above, where the Rail line would come out in the terminal a few streets removed from the main gate.

The bridges themselves arched over a hundred yards of empty space, supported by nothing. Modern architecture and enchantment could reproduce such a feat, but when they had first been built, the bridges of Tiraas had been a wonder of the world. Their modification to accommodate present-day traffic had been a major project.

“What exactly is the plan, your Grace, if I might ask?” Principia inquired as they set out on the long bridge.

“I intend to speak with High Commander Rouvad about this day’s events immediately upon reaching the Temple of Avei,” Andros rumbled.

“Think she’ll see you?” Ingvar asked mildly.

“In the old days, clerics of Shaath and Avei might have refused to speak to one another. Not so long ago, they might conceivably have insisted any such contact go through the Church. It is too political an age now, however. The High Commander will not snub a Bishop. This one will not, at least; she is more intelligent than some of her predecessors. Insisting upon an audience with her will not gain the Huntsmen any sympathy with the Sisterhood, but I cannot imagine she would refuse outright.”

“Hard to imagine the Huntsmen gaining any sympathy with the Sisterhood anyway,” Tholi muttered. “Or caring.”

“You think Rouvad will call down Syrinx based on your say-so alone?” Ingvar asked. “With respect to our guests, here, we have only their assertion that Syrinx is even responsible for this.”

“First of all,” Andros said, turning his head to glance over his shoulder at the group and raising his voice, “that is not to be repeated in front of the Avenists or anyone else. Brother Ingvar is correct; it is an unproven claim, the repetition of which could be taken as slander. Do not add any arrows to Syrinx’s quiver. With that said, the point is not to have her punished for this on the spot, but to register our complaint immediately and personally, as far over her head as can be reached.”

“Seems the Archpope is even higher,” said Tholi, “not to mention more accessible to you.”

“I will be speaking to him as well,” Andros rumbled. “Consider, Tholi, the fact that I am taking these girls at their word, despite not knowing them, nor having any reason to trust them. When I am told that a snake has been hissing and slithering, I feel no need to be skeptical. Apart from the fact that Basra Syrinx is vicious, underhanded termagant who is more than capable of such as this, there are the facts of the situation. The forests around Tiraas are used by multiple cults for a variety of purposes, and one of the tasks of the Universal Church is to prevent embarrassing and possibly dangerous encounters such as occurred today. Such outings are arranged through the Church, as was your rite, Tholi.”

“I should’ve thought of that,” Principia said, grimacing. “Of course a Bishop would know where we could be sent to stumble across Huntsmen.”

“Apart from that,” Andros added, scowling darkly, “a Bishop would know what the Huntsmen were doing in that region. Even assuming these ‘reports’ of wife-stealing actually occurred, a quick check with the Church, via your cult’s Bishop, would have been the Sisterhood’s first action. It would have ruled out the specific area you were sent to search.”

“Finally,” Merry growled. “Got her dead to rights.”

“I doubt it’ll be that simple, somehow,” Principia murmured.

“It will not,” Andros agreed. “The Syrinx woman is clever enough to have prepared counters to the obvious means by which she would be caught, which is why I am proceeding directly to Rouvad. Those means relate to the Church bureaucracy; I will be very surprised if Syrinx has managed to arrange for interference to be run with her own High Commander. Also, my presence and Ingvar’s will have been a surprise to her. No one outside our lodge was informed of our hunt.”

“How did you happen across us, Brother Andros?” Tholi asked.

“It did not just happen,” Andros rumbled, glancing aside at Principia. “It seems you have an ally against Syrinx, girl. A little black bird led us to your rescue.”

“You have got to be shitting me,” Principia growled.

“What?” Farah asked. “Black bird? What’s he talking about?”

“It is the nature of family to look out for one another,” Andros intoned, looking down his nose at Prin. “Do not spit upon necessary help, whatever tension there is between you.”

“And why does he only talk to Locke?” Farah muttered.

“According to Shaathist dogma,” Ephanie said quietly, “the fae races are of different stock and the laws of the Wild not as applicable to them. We are borderline unholy, being women soldiers, but Locke can do whatever she likes.”

“Story of her life,” Merry said fatalistically.

More soldiers were on duty at the inner gate, of course, but while they gave the peculiar party odd looks (as did everyone they passed), they did not move to impede them. The group crossed into the city proper at a brisk walk; the broad street rose ahead, climbing gently toward the city center, where stood their destination, the Temple of Avei. It was a reminder to all of how tired they were. Legionnaires and Huntsmen alike were in excellent shape, but all of them had been out all day. Of course, none were willing to display the slightest weakness in front of the other group. There were no sighs or complaints, but it was hardly a jovial party.

They also didn’t get far before being ambushed.

Barely were they out of sight of the gate guards when half a dozen armed people in nondescript dark clothing materialized around the group. Their appearance was swift and professional—they stepped smoothly out of alleys before and behind the party, two hopping out of a carriage parked alongside the curb and one even jumping down from a second-story window.

Immediately, Huntsmen and Legionnaires alike dropped into ready stances, hefting weapons. The street around them was hardly deserted, even at this hour; at the obvious signs of an armed clash about to break out, people yelped and bolted, while some less intelligent others stopped to watch avidly.

“Whoah, whoah, keep ’em in your pants,” said a hatchet-faced blonde woman, holding up her hands in a peaceable gesture, but grinning fiendishly. She was the one who’d bounded down from above, and now swaggered forward to plant herself right in front of Andros and Principia. “We’re all friends here, aye? Let’s have a quick chat. You can call me Grip.”

“Speak your piece, woman,” Andros growled.

“You’re Grip?” Principia asked, raising her eyebrows. “Damn. By your rep, I’d picture someone twice the size, with a lot more scars.”

“And by yours I’d picture someone less armored and more smug, Keys,” Grip replied, lowering her hands and adopting a cocky posture. “Anyhow, we’re not here to interfere with you.”

“Then you’ve chosen a strange way to introduce yourselves,” Andros snorted.

“Well, you know how it is. We each have our little dramas to keep up.” Grip produced a shiny new doubloon from inside her sleeve and began rolling it across the backs of her fingers. “In fact, you might say we’ve come to join your hunt.”

“No way,” Principia breathed. “That fast? It’s barely been a day.”

“That fast,” Grip replied, raising an eyebrow. “Apparently Tricks places a high value upon rescuing your perky little butt. Hell if I know why; last I heard, the orders were to haul you back to explain the shit you’ve been up to, posthaste. But what do I know? I’m just a grunt; I go where I’m kicked.”

“We can relate,” Merry remarked.

“You speak in riddles and nonsense,” Andros barked. “Explain yourself!”

Grip eyed him up and down, then pointedly turned to Principia. “Are we explaining ourselves to this guy?”

“This is Bishop Varanus of the Universal Church,” Prin replied. “He is helping us out; kindly be nice.”

“Ah. Good to meet you, your Grace,” the enforcer said, turning back to Andros with just the faintest whiff of respect now in her expression. “I’ll give you the short version, then: when Bishop Darling learned what Bishop Syinx has been doing to this little squad, here, he passed the word along to the Boss, who then demanded to know which followers of Eserion had been helping her do it. One guy came forward immediately; Link is an information man, a professional fixer-upper and greaser of wheels. He identified the back-alley mage Syrinx had employed to scry on this group. We only just got our hands on him, as he’d been out of the city until this afternoon, but that worked out as what he was out doing was setting up the trap you fell into today.”

“A mage decided to accommodate a bunch of ruffians?” Tholi asked scornfully.

“A mage, like anyone sensible, does not want to be the object of the Thieves’ Guild’s ire,” said Ingvar. “Nor should you. Hush.”

“So,” Grip continued with an unpleasant grin, “we’ve got that guy, and subsequently we have a certain Ami Talaari, a Vesker apprentice who was under the impression she’d been hired to participate in a Silver Legion training exercise. She was quite alarmed to learn she had instead been used to goad your squad into a trap.”

A burly man standing silently behind Grip’s shoulder held out a thick leather folder, which she accepted, and produced a sheet of parchment from within, extending it forward. Andros moved to take it; Grip pointedly jerked it out of his reach, handing it to Principia. Prin, with a sigh, accepted and glanced over the letter before handing it off to the Bishop.

“That looks authentic enough as far as I can see,” she said. “Forgery’s not really my thing, but I bet it is. I don’t recognize this officer’s signature, though. I wouldn’t necessarily know whoever would hire a bard, but…”

“Syrinx is not daft enough to place her own seal upon any such document,” Andros growled, handing the letter back to Grip.

“And by the way,” Principia added sharply, “I trust you’re not being too rough with Miss Talaari.”

“Ms,” Casey murmured. Everyone ignored her.

“Oh, she’s being treated like a princess, I assure you,” Grip said dryly. “Annoying one bard is good fun; annoying all the bards leads to unending nightmares. We’re not about to get rough with a Vesker apprentice. No, once we explained to Miss Talaari why it’s in her best interests to cooperate, she’s been an absolute dream to work with. We’ve got signed testimonials from her and the mage, receipts for work done, and,” she added with relish, hefting the folder, “a strongly-worded letter from Boss Tricks to High Commander Rouvad concerning this mess. Our boy in robes already had your scent, Keys…or whatever the magical equivalent is…so we’ve been watching for you to re-enter the city. Scrying doesn’t provide sound on the level he does it, so we weren’t sure what was going on, with all this.” She raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly around at the Huntsmen.

“Had my Huntsmen been the ones to catch that girl desecrating a wilderbag, she might not have fared so well,” Tholi said, scowling.

“Indeed,” Andros nodded. “Syrinx’s actions placed an apprentice of Vesk in immediate danger. That makes three cults she has abused her position within the Church to mortally offend in the space of one day.”

“Holy hell,” Merry breathed. “If we can actually stick this to her, her ass is grass.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Casey advised.

“She’s a slimy one,” Principia mused, “but she lacks foresight. Bishop Varanus and the Guild are two factors I doubt she expected to intervene, here. His Grace is right; if we take all of this to Rouvad now, Syrinx won’t have much time to weasel out of it.”

“Then time is of the essence,” Andros declared. “Onward we go.”

The Guild enforcers fell into step alongside them as they set off again for the Temple, making the party even odder yet. The Guild had no uniform as such, but six heavily-armed, expensively-dressed thugs prowling along with the leonine grace of professional knuckledusters made a distinctive sight that most in the city would recognize. Their inclusion in a mixed group of Huntsmen and Silver Legionnaires made possibly the oddest religious procession that had ever passed through the streets of Tiraas.

Odd, but apparently not overtly suspicious; at least, they weren’t directly challenged by any of the city patrol soldiers they passed, even the two who arrived at the tail end of their conversation, no doubt in response to reports from some of the civilians who had fled the enforcers’ initial arrival.

It was a mostly silent walk the rest of the way to the temple. They were less than a block from the rear annex of the Silver Legion complex attached to the temple itself when Grip spoke again.

“By the way,” she said lightly, once again playing with a doubloon, “we had Syrinx’s pet mage carry on reporting as usual—with a few provisos. Expect to be greeted when we get there.”

“What does she know?” Andros growled.

Grip grinned unpleasantly. “That Squad Thirteen will be returning in the company of Huntsmen. The presence of Enforcers and Bishops will be news to her.”

“Oh, I am almost looking forward to this,” Merry said. Ephanie just shook her head.

The towering battlements of the fortress hove into view above them. For the third time that evening, they approached an armed checkpoint, this one staffed by Silver Legionnaires. The armored women guarding the rearmost gate into the compound’s parade grounds straightened up at their approach, their expressions mostly hidden behind their helmets. That was probably fortunate.

Principia stepped into the lead as the group reached the gates, saluting. “Squad Thirteen of the Ninth Cohort returning from maneuvers, with guests.”

“Guests,” said the guard, her helmet moving slowly as she studied the assembled group. “Right. And what business do they have here?”

“This is Bishop Varanus of the Universal Church,” Principia reported impassively, “and an emissary from Boss Tricks of the Thieves’ Guild, with their respective entourages. Both have urgent messages for High Commander Rouvad.”

“Well,” the gate guard said slowly, “you’d better go on through, then.”

Principia saluted again, then led the way through.

It was nearing midnight; there were Legionnaires patrolling the walls, but the parade ground of the Camp itself was all but deserted, illuminated only by a few fairy lights attached to the cabins. True to Grip’s predictions, a familiar dark-haired figure was cutting across the courtyard toward them even as the disparate group reached the middle of the parade ground, the armored form of Private Covrin right on her heels.

“I trust there is an incredible explanation for this,” Bishop Syrinx stated, stomping to a halt in front of the party. Her gaze panned across the assembled Legionnaires, Huntsmen and enforcers; if she was at all surprised by the group’s composition, no sign of it showed on her face.

Andros folded his brawny arms across his chest. “I will speak with High Commander Rouvad, Basra. Now.”

“About what, Andros?” she demanded.

“That I will discuss with her.”

“You’re a Bishop; you can make arrangements through the Church,” she retorted. “If you intend to bypass the bureaucracy, that can probably be arranged, but I’m going to need more than your say-so first.”

He stepped forward once, glaring down at her; she met his gaze coolly.

“I will speak to the High Commander,” he growled, “about the squad of Silver Legionnaires that was sent bumbling into a holy rite of the Huntsmen of Shaath today.”

Basra pursed her lips, turning after a moment to fix the fives Legionnaires with a flat stare. “And what, exactly, were you girls supposed to be doing?”

“Investigating reports of Shaathist activity, ma’am,” Ephanie said crisply.

Basra scowled. “And you couldn’t do that without interfering with their religious practices? If I’m not mistaken, this cohort is supposed to be training to handle relations with other faiths. Would anyone care to explain this staggering failure?”

“I have little patience for your internal quibbles,” Andros growled. “Are you going to take me to Rouvad, or am I going to wait right here with my Huntsmen until someone more competent comes to address us?”

“We know very well this was all your doing!” Tholi added with a sneer.

Ingvar sighed and shook his head.

“Tholi!” Andros barked. “Silence.”

“Oh, really,” Basra said, her voice deadly quiet. Slowly, she panned her gaze over Squad Thirteen again, this time fixing it upon Ephanie. “And so, having caused an interfaith embarrassment, you decided to weasel out of trouble by pinning the blame on your Bishop? That’s very interesting.” She took a step forward, her eyes boring into Ephanie’s. “And I don’t have to ask which of you little twerps would have the bright idea of siding with the Huntsmen against your own Legion, now do I. Not when there’s someone present with a history of that.”

“That is not what happened, your Grace,” Ephanie said evenly.

“You can explain yourself fully at your court martial, Private Avelea,” Basra shot back.

“Leave her alone,” Principia said quietly.

“Shut up, Locke,” the Bishop spat. “For once, your nonsense is not the center of attention. Avelea, you are to hand over your gear and report to the stockade—”

“You will look me in the eye when I am speaking to you!” Principia roared, stalking forward until Basra had to physically step back from her to avoid being stepped on.

“How dare you—”

“Shut the hell up, you pathetic little bully,” the elf snarled, ripping off her helmet and tossing it aside. “I have had exactly as much of your bullshit as I intend to tolerate, Syrinx. This is over. You are done, is that clear?”

“I’ll have you—”

“Button it!” Principia stepped forward again, physically bumping into Basra and jostling her backward. “You have absolutely no comprehension what you are messing with, Basra. Do you think I let you push me around and talk down to me because there’s something forcing my hand? I tolerate you, y’little punk, because I choose to. Because you are so far from being a threat that your pretensions in that direction are a constant source of amusement to me. I was playing this game when your grandparents were in swaddling, and I’ll be playing when everyone who remembered you is dust. I am so far out of your league your only hope of anything resembling success in the long run is if you manage to annoy me enough to warrant a footnote in my memoirs, and I have to tell you, Bas, you’re not there yet. The fact that you are inconveniencing me yet again is a cosmic insult.

“And let me spell this situation out for you,” she went on in a hiss, pressing forward again; Syrinx gave ground, staring at her with wide, expressionless eyes. “You have utterly failed to understand the long-term consequences of your horseshit, Basra. Nothing you have the capacity to dish out is a serious threat to my well-being. To get rid of me, you’d have to kill me, and you’re simply too weak, too slow, and too stupid to make that happen. You best-case scenario is to get me booted out of the Legions, and believe me, you don’t want that. Because the moment I no longer have to play nicely, the hourglass begins running out for you. Is that perfectly clear? Now pipe down, grow up and start picking on someone your own size, you insignificant little bitch.”

Dead silence fell. The other four members of Squad Thirteen gaped with identical expressions of shock. By contrast, the Huntsmen and Guild enforcers all wore huge grins.

Then, after a long moment, a slow smile crept across Basra’s face.

“I dearly hope you enjoyed that, private,” she whispered.

“Bishop Syrinx.”

Everyone turned at Captain Dijanerad’s voice. She stood off to one side; Grip was next to her, and the folder of Guild papers was in the captain’s hands. She kept her expressionless gaze fixed on Basra.

“You and Squad Thirteen are to report to the High Commander’s office immediately. She wants a word with all of you.”

“I require a few minutes of her time, as well,” Andros rumbled.

Dijanerad looked up at him, her expression not altering. “This may take some time, your Grace. I’m sure she would be glad to set up an appointment for you first thing tomorrow.”

“I will speak with her as soon as she is finished with these,” he declared. “I can wait.”

“Very well,” the captain said noncommittally. “Private Covrin, see that some accommodations are found for our guests, along with whatever they require. Within reason.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Covrin said crisply.

“I believe you can count us out,” Grip said lazily, already strolling back toward the gate. “Just get that stuff into her hands, and our job here is done. The Boss will be eagerly awaiting the Commander’s response. Toodleoo, boys and girls.”

The rest of the enforcers fell into step behind her, making their way languidly out of the courtyard.

“As for the rest of you,” Dijanerad said grimly, dragging her stare across Squad Thirteen to fix it on Basra, “forward march.”

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