Tag Archives: Quentin Vex

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Both carriages careened to a halt, Vandro’s skidding slightly. Tallie and Schwartz both had to cover their eyes against the sudden brightness; the roar of the explosion was enough to blot out even Meesie’s screeching.

One of the passenger doors on the front carriage swung open and Vandro himself stuck his head out. “What the hell—”

Wilberforce leaped from the driver’s seat, pivoted even as he hit the ground, and lunged back into the passenger compartment, dragging Vandro bodily with him.

“DOWN!” Schwartz tackled Tallie right off the roof before she could recover her equilibrium. Landing was instinctive to her, though it got a lot harder with a gangly witch coming down on top.

“Oof!” She pushed him away. “Have you lost your—”

“DOWN DOWN DOWN!” he bellowed, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her bodily at the side of Glory’s carriage. “All of you STAY IN THERE!”

Schwartz dashed to the open space between the two carriages, braced his feet, and made a double-handed lifting motion as if hoisting something heavy above his head.

Shafts of rock burst out of the ground at a steep angle, hurling clouds of snow into the air; more followed as Schwartz continued to gesticulate, grimacing, until after a few seconds he had drawn up a serviceable barricade extending up at a forty-five degree angle and blocking the ruined fortress from their view.

He was barely in time.

With a roar that put the initial explosion to shame, debris plummeted down in a massive wave, peppering the entire landscape with shattered masonry and old timbers, several of them on fire. Schwartz’s improvised rock barrier took a pounding; several large chunks broke off and one of the stone spires was broken entirely, falling to crush one fender of Vandro’s already-bedraggled carriage.

Tallie’e yelp of terror was lost in the noise; she wiggled under Glory’s carriage, arms reflexively over her head, and did not peek out again until the quiet which followed had held sway for a few seconds.

“Is it over?” Rasha asked tremulously from inside.

“Should be,” Schwartz said breathlessly, “for now. But stuff doesn’t just blow up. Somebody did that, and they have to be nearby.”

“Thanks,” Tallie said to him as she dragged herself out by one wheel. “How’d you…know?”

“It’s called fallout. My job and my religion involved being around a lot of experimental magic,” he said wryly, reaching up to soothingly pet Meesie, who was scampering back and forth along his shoulders in agitation. “Believe me, I know my way around explosions.”

“Fine work, my boy,” Vandro stated, emerging from the carriage and peering around at the damaged rock barrier.

“Hell yes!” Darius added more energetically, bounding out after him. “I told you we needed to keep this guy around! How ’bout sticking with us permanently, Schwartz? I don’t have the means to pay you a salary, but I can incentivize. You need any favors done? Pockets picked? How’d you like to marry my sister?”

“I can hear you, you preposterous oaf,” Layla snarled, leaping down from Glory’s carriage.

“Enough,” Glory said firmly, descending after her. “We are still in a predicament, here. This was our rendezvous point, and I think we have to assume we’ve just lost our reinforcements.”

Tallie gasped, turning to Jasmine, who had just emerged from the carriage and rushed to the edge of the rock barrier, staring at the burning ruins with a hollow expression. “Oh, Jas…”

“No time.” Jasmine shook herself off, turned and strode back to them. “Glory’s right; we’re now on the defensive. I suggest we pile back in and keep going. Whatever thinning of their numbers we have done tonight, it’s best to assume they have more—someone had to have done this, as Schwartz pointed out, and I’ve no way of knowing which if any of the help I called for got here…” Her voice caught momentarily. “Or survived.”

“Well, we may have a problem, there,” said Vandro. “Little did I know our boy Schwartz could do this kind of defensive magic; soon as we saw that tower go up, Wilberforce activated the shield charms on my carriage.”

“Whoah, wait, what?” Schwartz turned to frown at him. “You can’t shield a moving carriage—how’d you get around the magical interference?”

“That’s just the point, son,” Vandro said, grimacing. “I didn’t. Turning that on fried the wheel enchantments.” He patted the carriage’s abused fender. “I’m afraid this old girl isn’t going anywhere else tonight.”

Grip sighed, flicking a glance across the whole group as the lot of them finally piled out of the carriages. “Well, staying here isn’t a prospect. We’re sitting ducks in a snowstorm. Stay together and head for the treeline, the forest will hamper pursuit.”

“What if we went into the fortress?” Layla suggested.

Darius sighed. “The forest it is…”

“Oh, hush,” she said crossly. “It’s not as if they’ll expect that, and it can’t be as dangerous as who knows how many armed dwarves!”

“Too late,” Glory murmured.

The others followed her line of sight and turned to face it at varying speeds, Jasmine and the senior Eserites fastest. A line of squat figures had appeared in the darkness just ahead; thanks to the still-falling snow, they were nearly upon them before being visible, the crunch of multiple sets of feet not audible until the last moment thanks to the wind across the open space and the sound of fire raging not too far away in the ruins.

By the time they were close enough to be seen clearly, it was apparent that more than half were carrying wands.

One figure near the middle removed his hat and casually tossed it to the snow behind him with one hand, clutching a wand with the other. The face thus revealed was familiar to several of them.

“Quite the exciting evening,” Rogrind said flatly. A hint of the jovial politeness he had always displayed to them remained, though it was a clearly strained veneer over simmering anger, now. “You know something, I do believe my greatest regret about all this is that I won’t have time to sit you ruffians down and make you understand just how much harm you have caused over the course of these events. Well, second greatest. You’ve manage to kill some good people tonight.”

“The harm we caused,” Tallie snapped, “by refusing to roll over like—”

“Young lady,” the dwarf growled, “shut up. You were seen bringing several of the modified staves which started all this idiocy into those vehicles. Despite everything, I am willing to offer you terms: hand them over, and we will leave without doing any further harm to anyone, because we are still—still!—the civilized parties here.”

Grip slowly panned her gaze across the assembled dwarves, then caught Jasmine’s eye and tilted her head at them significantly. There were fifteen present, all garbed in inconspicuous winter attire, an even mix of men and women. Eight had wands pointed at the party. Jasmine nodded once in acknowledgment of Grip’s point: only four had the same calm, alert aspect as Rogrind. The rest were visibly nervous, uncertain, in at least two cases seriously frightened by all this. Civilians, somehow drafted into his campaign. Dwarven sturdiness or not, this was an army that would break at the first sign of significant threat.

Wands shifted as Schwartz made a sudden gesture with his hands.

“Stop!” Rogrind barked, too late.

Whatever he released spread outward from him like ripples in a pond, causing luminous butterflies of multiple colors to appear in the air around them, as well as illusory stalks of greenery popping up through the snow and an incongruous scent like sun-baked grass and flowers in the summer.

One panicked dwarf fired her wand at Schwartz, followed by another. No one else tried, as both weapons sparked ineffectually, the first actually igniting its owner’s sleeve and causing her to drop it with a shriek and tumble over, burying her arm in the snow.

“Those of you with wands, don’t fire them,” Schwartz said aside to his companions before turning his gaze fully on Rogrind. “I see you didn’t take our little discussion to heart. I’m afraid I was quite serious.”

Meesie leaped down from his shoulder of her own volition, actually vanishing deep into the snow and leaving a rat-shaped hole in it. An instant later, snow was hurled everywhere as she burst up into her much larger form, shook her mane, and roared.

Three more dwarves tried to shoot her; all ended up dropping suddenly-hot wands that wouldn’t fire, one also having to roll in the snow to put himself out.

“Good boy,” Grip said, stepping forward with a truly unhinged grin. She had somehow slipped on two sets of iron knuckles and produced a brass-studded club the length of her forearm from one of her pockets. Jasmine paced forward in unison, both Butlers positioned themselves pointedly in front of the group, and Meesie crouched, wriggling her hindquarters in a clear gesture of imminent feline attack.

Two of the dwarves turned and ran; most of the rest shuffled backward, looking around in alarm, and incidentally placing the hardened professionals among them on the front lines.

“Have it your way,” said Rogrind with a clear note of belligerent satisfaction.

As the two fronts collided, there came a sharp retort like a small explosion nearby, and Meesie howled in pain, vanishing from her lion form instantly. That was as much time as Jasmine had to notice the others before Grip was fully occupied dealing with two hard-eyed dwarves, and she found herself face-to-face with Rogrind himself.

He suffered one slash from her sword across his chest, and she realized her misjudgment a moment too late. First, he had some kind of armor under his coat, and second, he was good at personal combat. Stepping into her swing as it raked him, he positioned himself perfectly and slammed his fist into her ribs just under her sword arm. She managed not to drop the blade, but he hit like a mule’s kick; she staggered sideways, gasping for breath and in pain. Years of training and her innate agility kept her from losing her footing entirely, even in the snow, but Rogrind continued to defy the stolid dwarven stereotype. He pressed her, striking bare-handed; she gained a few feet of breathing room by dodging to one side and stabbing him in the upper arm. He bared his teeth in pain, his left arm suddenly bleeding profusely and hanging useless, but was too disciplined to let it stop him.

Despite the past few seconds’ education in his surprising level of combat ability, she was still unprepared for his speed. He bulled forward as swiftly as a pouncing cat, using his weight and lower center of gravity to tackle her bodily around the midsection and bear her to the ground. Jasmine twisted, trying to bring her blade back into play, but he caught her wrist. It was with his injured arm, but thanks to the famous dwarven sturdiness, he had strength enough to keep her pinned down. She clawed at his eye with her other hand, but he turned his head aside even as he slipped a stiletto from his sleeve, and a moment later she had to grasp his descending wrist to protect her throat.

That close, in a wrestling match, he was considerably stronger than she. Her arm strained to hold it off, but the blade descended inexorably.

She gritted her teeth and reached for the light inside her. There was a time to break cover, after all.

“IYAAAAIII!”

Rogrind jerked his head up, then released her and tried to stumble back, not quite fast enough. The lance that flashed down at him nailed him directly in the shoulder. It didn’t penetrate deeply enough to stick, falling out as he continued to reel backward, but left him gushing blood and with two injured arms.

A second later, Principia’s boots sank into the snow on either side of Jasmine’s head, the elf landing protectively over her from what had to have been a long leap. She surged forward, drawing her short sword and slamming her shield against Rogrind. He was too heavy for the slender elf to physically force back, but she was a whirling storm in Legion armor, pounding with her shield, jabbing and slashing with the blade, and he had no choice but to retreat after his only counterattack, an attempt to grab her shield, ended with a stab through the forearm that put his right arm fully out of commission.

More boots crunched in the snow, and then Squad One was surging past her, forming themselves into a phalanx with their sergeant at the tip. She still didn’t have her lance, but held her blade at the ready.

“Right face, shield wall!” Principia barked, and they seamlessly formed up, allowing Rogrind to scuttle away in the snow and shifting their arrowhead formation to a solid line of shields, bristling with lances, and facing the rest of the dwarves. At this development, the two who were harrying Grip also released her, backing away.

“Wait!” Rogrind said, weakly holding up his left hand, the only one he still could. “Wait! We have no argument with—”

“CHARGE!” Principia roared, and the squad raced forward.

That was too much for most of the remaining dwarven conscripts, who scattered in all directions, leaving only the few who were engaged in melee with the other Eserite apprentices, none of whom appeared to be very effective. Jasmine rapidly assessed the battlefield and bit back a curse; the Butlers, easily their best physical asset, were hovering protectively over their charges rather than contributing on the front lines. Meanwhile, golden shields of light had flashed into being around the dwarves still standing their ground.

An instant later those shields vanished, prompting exclamations of surprise. Glory and Rasha were leaning out the door of her carriage, each with a disruptor still aimed.

Six armored women collided with seven dwarves, who would have proved heavy and braced enough to break their charge completely, had they not been running spears-first. Four of the dwarves went down, so thoroughly impaled that in falling they wrenched the weapons from their owners’ grip. The rest reeled backward in disarray.

Rogrind, though, had found a moment to reach into his coat with his weakened left hand. Jasmine could make no sense of the small object he withdrew and held out, but an instant later it produced a puff of smoke, a flash, and an explosive crack just like the one which had sounded before Meesie was felled.

Merry Lang screamed as she was flung backward out of formation, spinning around to land on her side in the snow.

“Not. Another. Step,” Rogrind snarled, twisting to point his mysterious device at Principia.

Another crack sounded, this one a familiar wandshot.

More dwarves, nearly a dozen, paced forward out of the swirling snow, grim-faced and armed. They came from the direction of the road, and several were clearly injured or with disheveled clothing, as if they had limped away from wrecked carriages.

“Where do they keep coming from?” Schwartz muttered, Meesie again perched on his shoulder. He held a fireball in his right palm, balanced to throw.

“I have had enough of this,” Rogrind panted, turning to the others. “You may fire at—”

A blast of wind hurled a wall of snow over him and directly into the faces of the newly arrive dwarves. Two more wands were discharged; the bolts flew wide of the Eserites, though several of them dived to the ground anyway.

Suddenly, as if the wind had been a signal, it stopped snowing. In the absence of the thick fall of flakes, a line of six people were visible, approaching the group from the north. On the left end of their formation was Kuriwa, just now lowering her arms after calming the storm.

In the center, sword in hand, behind a glowing shield of gold, stood Basra Syrinx.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a satisfied little smirk, “I believe you can discern friend from foe? We do not require prisoners. Destroy them.”

“Now, I might be mistaken,” drawled the man on the opposite end of the line from Kuriwa, an older gentleman of Western descent carrying a mage’s staff and smoking a cigarillo. “It wouldn’t be the first time. But I do believe the Sisterhood’s doctrine of war requires a clearly overmatched enemy be offered the chance to surrender?”

Basra gave him an irritated look past Joe, who stood next to her, but nodded. “Yes, in fact I believe you are correct. Very well. Your attention, miscellaneous dwarven rabble! I am Bishop Syrinx, of the Sisterhood of Avei and the Universal Church. With me are my very good friends the Sarasio Kid, Tinker Billie, Gravestone Weaver, Longshot McGraw and Mary the Crow. Ah, good, I see you understand what those names mean.”

The dwaves, indeed, had whirled to direct their aim at Syrinx’s reinforcements, now completely ignoring the Eserites, and even the cold-eyed professionals among them were visibly alarmed. One of their few remaining conscripts appeared to be weeping softly.

“If you do not instantly drop your weapons and surrender,” Basra continued pleasantly, “you will be scoured off the face of the earth with both efficiency and relish. And if, by some unthinkable miracle, you insist upon a firefight and manage to win, be assured that my goddess’s attention is fixed upon these events, and you are meddling in matters you do not understand.” Her eyes flicked rapidly from Principia to Jasmine and then back to Rogrind.

Nandi and Ephanie were both kneeling in the snow beside Merry, who was alive and monotonously cursing despite the crimson stain spreading through the snow around her. Principia had eased backward out of the remains of Squad One’s formation to hover near Jasmine.

“Win here,” Basra said, her voice suddenly as icy as the night air, “and there will be nowhere for you to hide. You may be able to bamboozle Imperial Intelligence, but you are not a match for Avei. If those weapons are not on the ground in the next five seconds, everyone dies.”

“How the hell,” Tallie hissed at Jasmine, “do you know all these people?!”

Jasmine shook her head. “I only know Joe. Guess we should be glad he has friends, too.”

“They…are not surrendering,” Darius muttered.

“Well, this is altogether unfortunate,” Rogrind said with a sigh.

“They’re government intelligence on a sanctioned op,” Grip whispered. “Shit. They can’t be taken alive. Everybody down!”

She was right; the dwarves, in unison, raised their weapons again. Joe, Billie, and Weaver did likewise.

And then the whole earth shook.

He dived down so rapidly they didn’t even hear the wind of his approach until he struck the ground hard enough to knock several of them right off their feet. The whole assemblage turned in unison, gaping in awe up at the enormous blue dragon suddenly standing a bare few yards away from them.

He swiveled his long neck around to lower his angular head directly into their midst, and bared rows of arm-sized teeth in a truly horrifying smile.

“Good evening. Nice night for it, eh?”

“By the way,” Principia said to Jasmine, “in addition to not positioning my squad in that fortress where Syrinx knew we were supposed to be, I took the liberty of calling in some additional reinforcements of my own. I apologize if this disrupts your plans.”

“Ah!” At her voice, the dragon twisted his head around to face her from a few feet away. “Prin, there you are! I must say, you throw the most terrible parties. Why is it, cousin, I only ever see you when people are getting shot in all directions?”

“C-cousin?” Jasmine’s voice jumped an octave in the course of one word and then cracked.

The dragon turned his sapphire eyes on her. “Hmph. That sounded like an exclamation of surprise. Been keeping me a secret, Principia? A less charitable person might think you were embarrassed to be related to me.”

“Well,” Principia said glibly, “I guess a less charitable person might have met you. How is she?” she added, turning away from the dragon.

“I have rarely seen anything like this injury,” Kuriwa replied. Somehow, in the intervening seconds, she had moved from across the battlefield to Merry’s side, and now paused in working on the fallen Legionnaire. “It is not excessively difficult to heal, however. Here. This was lodged in her arm.” She handed a tiny object to Principia, then lifted her head to smile at the dragon. “And hello, Zanzayed. It is a great pleasure to see you again.”

The dragon shifted to stare ominously at her. “Oh. You.”

“Since we are both in the vicinity,” she said calmly, returning her attention to Merry, “I hope you will find time to catch up. We so rarely get to talk anymore.”

He snorted, sending a blast of air over them that was hot enough to make the snow steam and smelled of brimstone and, incongruously, spearmint.

“Well,” Zanzayed huffed, “this has been fun, and all, but I’m just the transportation, here.”

He lowered his body to lie in the snow, revealing for the first time a man in a dark suit perched astride his neck, who had been hidden by the dragon’s wings. Now, he slung his leg over and slid to the ground, where he paused to straighten his coat.

“Uh oh,” Principia muttered, her eyes widening. “I didn’t order that.”

“Good evening,” said Zanzayed’s passenger, striding forward. “I am Lord Quentin Vex, head of Imperial Intelligence. With regard to this matter, I speak for the Emperor.”

He paused to sweep an expressive gaze around them, at the dwarves, the Eserites, the Legionnaires and the adventurers, all of whom had gone silent and still, staring back in alarm.

“His Majesty,” said Vex, raising an eyebrow, “requires a god damned explanation.”

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“It was simply an attack of opportunity,” Lord Vex informed the Imperial couple, who were both studying the newspapers laid out on their breakfast table. “Embarrassing Bishop Snowe won’t yield any significant dividends, and anyway she quickly regained control of the crowd. I’ve had my people in Vrin Shai keeping track of her whole group; one saw the opportunity last night and took it, which I approve. The significant aspect of this is that it demonstrates she is there on her own, not on assignment from the Archpope.”

“How so?” the Emperor inquired.

“She was unaware of the content of those newspapers,” Vex replied. “After the effort that had to have gone into placing the Archpope’s agenda into them, seeing stories run that so neatly countered it is a serious matter, and Justinian is too smooth to have failed to notice, or to be so easily tripped up. He would not permit anyone operating on his agenda to be so out of touch. Thus, Snowe is assisting Syrinx for her own purposes.”

“Hm,” Eleanora mused. “And what do you make of that?”

“It’s too early to tell anything definitive, or useful. At present, my general policy toward Syrinx is to leave her alone.”

“You considered it established that she was deep in Justinian’s camp the last time we spoke of it,” the Empress said sharply.

“Indeed, your Majesty,” Vex answered, “but we must consider why each of his inner circle are there. Snowe is personally and ideologically loyal to Justinian, Varanus speaks loyally for a cult which also backs the Archpope, and Darling is playing all factions against each other for his own purposes. He and Syrinx are the angles I will use when it is time to act against Justinian directly; that woman has no true interest in anything but herself. For that reason, I choose not to risk antagonizing her at this time. The recent trouble that caused her to be exiled to Viridill indicates she still has a vindictive streak.”

“With regard to that,” said the Emperor, finally looking up from the newspaper, “your report on the matter suggested an internal Avenist shake-up that might end with Shahai or Locke permanently fulfilling Syrinx’s role. Does that factor into your calculations?”

“Very much so, your Majesty. If Syrinx ends up retaining her position, it won’t do to irritate her; if she does not, it’s not worthwhile to invest in her. Frankly, I would prefer either of the elves you mentioned, but we will work with whatever resources are available. It is far too early to consider moving openly and aggressively against Justinian, but when that time comes, turning the cults against his Church will necessarily be a central aspect of the plan. Having the Avenists and Eserites positioned to strike at the heart of his organization will serve us well on that day.”

“It seems to me,” said Eleanora as she pushed aside the paper to reach for her teacup, “that getting these stories into the papers is a far greater victory than anything involving Snowe. This was admirably quick work, Quentin.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” he said with a languid little smile. “And I concur with your assessment. Momentarily tripping up Bishop Snowe was merely one sign of our success, and one of the less important.”

“How did you counteract Justinian’s influence on the newspapers?” asked the Emperor, smiling thanks at Milanda when she stepped forward to refill his teacup.

“Justinian thinks in terms of power and force,” said Vex. “He has leveraged several factors to maintain a hold on the papers: their near-infiltration by the Black Wreath, the protection of the blessings the Church provided after that, and especially the financial benefit of their association with Bishop Snowe. A newspaper only looks monolithic from the outside, however, and the print media as a whole barely do at all. It is not in their nature to all point in one direction; there is significant infighting within each editorial staff, and deep rivalries between papers. A good many editors and reporters rather resent their reliance on Snowe, and virtually everyone resents having the Archpope dictate to them.” He smiled and blinked slowly, a distinctly catlike expression. “Intelligence services and newspapers have in common that we attract Veskers; as many as half my staff are affiliated with that faith. I am in a firsthand position to know that there is little bards hate more than being told what to say. Rather than trying to attack Justinian’s influence on the papers directly, I have simply had my people place the information we want disseminated in front of elements within the media whom I have identified as particularly resentful of the Church’s heavy hand.”

“Elegantly done,” the Emperor said with approval, picking up the paper again. “And these? The two lead stories are interviews with this Punaji weather-witch and the dwarven inventor. Surely that wasn’t all…”

“Indeed not, your Majesty. They were simply the two whose stories most quickly got out, which has as much to do with luck as anything I did. We targeted and nudged a selection of carefully chosen University graduates.”

“Among that crowd,” Eleanora pointed out, “there are likely several who saw immediately what you were doing.”

“I don’t doubt it, your Majesty. They can also see where their own interests lie; some may be curious enough to come to Tiraas, exploring these political currents, but I anticipate no hostile action toward us. Others will get their stories out there in the days to come, as they and various reporters follow the trails of breadcrumbs I’ve placed between them.”

“Is it your intention to replace Justinian’s hold on the newspapers with our own?” Sharidan asked.

“That would be quite difficult, your Majesty, and in my opinion also a mistake. As I said, it is not a natural state of affairs for every paper to tell the same story in the same voice. The great masses of people will think whatever they are told to think by whoever they respect most, but those who are clever enough to influence the game will have taken note of the recent spate of attacks on the University, and realized it signified an organized campaign. For now, it better serves our interests to re-assert the natural back-and-forth between differing opinions among the media. I will, of course, be taking steps to promote this theme among those who speak up on behalf of the University; I chose these candidates carefully to suggest it.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” Sharidan agreed. “Both of these seemed to go on at some length about how their noble-born and otherwise powerful classmates benefited from associating with commoners like themselves.”

“Indeed, your Majesty. A good propaganda campaign establishes a narrative; that’s why bards are so attracted to the business, I suspect. The story we are telling here is an egalitarian one about elevating common folk into heroes, and teaching the more highly-born to appreciate the lot of the common man. I am assisted in this in that it happens to be more or less true; it was probably not her intention, but Professor Tellwyrn has liberally seeded her student body with some rather humble voices, and their influence has been noted in the conduct of many of the University’s noble-born graduates. Nor did she invent the tactic. Your Majesties are aware that history’s more successful noble lineages, like the Punaji royal family and House Madouri, have always taken steps to keep themselves integrated with their subjects.”

“The Madouris are simply more careful than most aristocrats about inbreeding,” the Empress said with mild distaste. “They breed their children with the same care they do racing thoroughbreds. Still, your point is well-taken.”

“How do you intend to proceed?” the Emperor inquired, pausing to take a sip of tea.

“For the time being, as is,” said Vex, folding his hands behind his back. “Though I am observing and managing it somewhat, the rest of this campaign will be an organic process of the University alumni I contacted coming forward and adding their voices to the debate. More direct action may become appropriate depending on what the Archpope does, but for now, things proceed satisfactorily. However, there is the other matter about which I asked to speak with you. An opportunity has unexpectedly arisen to rap Justinian’s knuckles far more sharply.”

Sharidan and Eleanora exchanged a glance, then leaned froward in unison. “Do tell,” said the Emperor.

“First thing this morning, I received a communication from Professor Tellwyrn. Much to my surprise, she was, in fact, relaying a message from Gabriel Arquin.” Again, that feline smile spread across Vex’s features. “I believe your Majesties will like this.”

“What is this stuff?” Trissiny asked warily, frowning into the cup of thin black liquid Ruda had just poured for her. A large pot of the stuff sat next to the plate of sandwiches on their breakfast table, filling the air with an unfamiliar but delightful scent.

“It’s called coffee,” Ruda said cheerfully. “And it smells a hell of a lot better than it tastes. But it’s a powerful stimulant that makes black tea look like water. I figured some of us would be grateful for the boost, since some of us were up late knocking over and then fixing up the town, before Arquin requested everybody meet for an early breakfast.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Gabriel said, wincing. “We need to have a pretty important discussion, and as soon as possible… But by the time we got back to campus last night, everybody was pretty dead on their feet. And also, not everybody was present.”

“I note you did not invite any of the freshmen,” Shaeine observed.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “and we may wanna bring them up to speed, depending on what we decide here. But I thought, for now, it’d be best to keep this between us.”

“Hlk!” Everyone turned to stare at Teal, who was in the process of setting down her cup and making a face. “…sorry. It’s not the first time I’ve had coffee, but it always takes me by surprise. I mean, that smell, and then it tastes like a mud puddle under a salted turd factory.”

“I like it!” Scorn proclaimed, holding out a suddenly empty cup. “Almost like home! You are too afraid of strong flavors in this world. More, please?”

“Uh…” Ruda eyed the towering demon up and down warily. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea…”

“It’s probably fine,” said Fross. “She’s got a lot of body mass, and anyway the kinds of adaptations that make creatures resistant to infernal corruption also makes them less susceptible to mind-altering stimuli in general, so Rhaazke likely have a high tolerance.”

“By the same token,” said Ruda, “I’m not sure I want to see a Rhaazke on a coffee high.” She poured Scorn another cup, however.

“I’m really sorry I wasn’t there to help, Triss,” said Fross. “I sensed it when the wards were triggered, but something was really off about… Oh, uh, I guess Gabriel should go first, since he asked for the meeting. But this may be urgent, too, so we should talk about it before we go to class.”

“Duly noted,” said Gabe, who had touched neither his sandwich nor his coffee. He folded his arms on the table, drew in a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. “All right, well… I guess I have to start by apologizing. I did something pretty stupid. And we came scarily close to somebody getting hurt because of it.”

“Note the lack of gasps following that confession,” Ruda said dryly.

“Ruda,” said Toby, frowning at her. “Quit. Okay?”

“Fine, fine. Spit it out, Arquin, how bad did you fuck up this time.”

Gabriel tightened his mouth for a moment, then raised his eyes to look at all of them. “Okay, well… The truth is, I’ve been keeping information back from you. I know more than I’ve let on about what’s happening around here.”

“Why?” Juniper asked, frowning.

“Mostly because…I thought some of you would be mad about how I was getting it. I’ve, uh, asked the valkyries to follow people around and report on what they were doing.”

“What?” Trissiny exclaimed, her eyes darting nervously about. “Follow people? Us?”

“No, no!” Gabriel said hastily. “None of you, don’t worry. But, um… The two new priestesses in town. Lorelin Reich and Sister Takli. And…the Black Wreath warlocks who’ve been messing with us.”

A short silence descended, in which they all stared at him.

“Annnnd,” Ruda drawled at last, “the excellent reason we’re just now hearing about this would be…?”

“It’s not an excellent reason,” Gabriel said glumly, “it’s a dumb one, and I only did it because I wasn’t thinking it through. Yesterday I went to talk with Val about it, because I really didn’t like keeping things from you guys and it was weighing on me even though it had seemed like the right thing for a while, and… Well, he kind of pointed out that by controlling information I was trying to control the group. Which…was a shitty thing to do. I was just afraid somebody would do something abrupt and get hurt, and didn’t stop to consider what a jackass I was being by making assumptions like that and having the gall to manipulate you. So… I’m sorry, everyone. That was stupid as hell. I didn’t mean any insult or harm, I just messed up.”

“Okay,” said Ruda with a shrug. “Apology accepted. What’d you learn?”

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“Um, what?” Gabriel asked uncertainly.

Ruda raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see how it is. Ruda’s the temperamental one who cusses everybody’s ear off over the slightest thing, right? So that’s what you’re expecting here.”

“Uh, that’s kind of true, though,” Fross pointed out.

“Fine, you want details?” Ruda planted an elbow on the table and pointed at Gabriel. “You, Arquin, are a dumbass. You never think this shit through and you’re always fucking up one thing or another. But here’s the deal I’ve noticed about you: it’s never malicious, and it’s always an exciting new way of fucking up.”

“That’s fantastic, thanks,” he muttered.

“It is pretty fuckin’ fantastic, and shut your grumblehole till I finish. You make new and different mistakes because you don’t repeat the old ones. You learn. Annoying as it frequently is to clean up after you… Hell, you’re doin’ constantly better and you try. Can’t fairly ask a lot more than that of anybody, now can we?”

“Not for the first time,” Shaeine observed, “Ruda’s viewpoint is surprisingly insightful. I cannot say I don’t somewhat resent your actions, Gabriel; I had thought that by this point there was more trust between us.”

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably. “I’ll make it up to you, somehow.”

The priestess gave him one of her warm little smiles. “I am sufficiently confident of that to let go of the matter and trust it will happen.”

“Agreed,” Toby said firmly. “I’m glad you’re doing better, Gabe, but seriously. Do not try something like that again. Failing to share information in dangerous situations is what gets people badly hurt, or worse.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said, nodding. “Agreed. Again, I’m sorry.”

Another lull fell; several of them shifted to look at Trissiny, who was staring fixedly at Gabriel. She finally glanced aside, meeting their glances, then shook her head and spoke in an oddly quiet tone. “Ruda’s right.”

“Well,” Gabriel said with a hesitant grin, “thank—”

“What did you learn?” she interrupted.

He broke off, staring at her, then blinked and cleared his throat. “Right, well… Okay, there are two things that I think are important. First of all, the Wreath have been a little careless because they’re used to stealth magic and shadow-jumping away. The stealth can work on my girls, but valkyries can actually follow a shadow-jump, which I don’t think the Wreath knows. They’ve been watching conversations that took place where the Wreath thought they were in private. And apparently, they don’t mean us any harm.”

“That is difficult to credit,” Shaeine observed.

“Not very so,” Scorn disagreed, gesticulating with her again-empty coffee cup. “We have here Vadrieny and Teal, yes? They are very important to the Wreath. Not to be trusted, these warlocks, but they will not do harm to us on purpose. Manipulate us, yes.”

“That’s…pretty much the long and the short of it, actually,” said Gabriel slowly, giving Scorn a thoughtful look. “What they’re trying to do is goad us into chasing them so they can lead us into learning things about the Universal Church.”

“That does fit,” Toby said pensively.

“It worked,” Trissiny muttered, staring at the table.

“Here’s the thing, though,” Gabriel went on. “I think Tellwyrn is allowing this.”

“What?” Juniper frowned heavily. “You’ve gotta be kidding. You know how Tellwyrn gets when people threaten her students!”

“However,” Shaeine countered, “if they are specifically not threatening us, and in fact trying to help us learn something…”

“Oh, I could totally see that,” Fross chimed. “I mean, c’mon, think about the things she has us do. We keep getting sent into politically volatile situations to try and fix them, not to mention dangerous stuff like the Crawl and the Golden Sea. And these are supposed to be educational excursions. Tellwyrn wouldn’t be shy about letting the Wreath play around with us, as long as she had some control.”

“And she does,” Gabriel agreed. “Specifically, she’s got Professor Ekoi riding their tails. There was a bit of a lull before last night while the warlocks tried to figure out just what Ekoi was and what to do about it. It seems they actually managed to speak with her, though, and apparently reached some kind of agreement, because…” He trailed off, wincing. “Well, then there was last night.”

“So,” Teal said, frowning deeply, “we can consider this…a University-sanctioned activity?”

“How utterly typical,” Trissiny growled.

“Tellwyrn, it sounds she is a good teacher,” Scorn observed. “The world is not easy, even a soft one like this. Best to learn hard things in hard ways, while there is someone to watch over and keep you safe, yes? Then when you go out to the world, you are not surprised by how hard it hits.”

“I believe that is Tellwyrn’s educational philosophy precisely,” said Shaeine.

“Let’s back up for a moment,” said Toby. “Gabe, you said the Wreath are trying to lead us by the nose into something about the Universal Church?”

“Well, that’s the other thing,” Gabriel said grimly. “You remember our last discussion about this, after Bishop Snowe’s little stunt? We decided the Archpope was being sneaky, but he was probably a lower priority than the Wreath. Well, Vestrel and her sisters had been keeping tabs on those two new priestesses, as I said. First off, both of them are Universal Church loyalists, sent here specifically by Justinian.”

“How certain are you of that?” Trissiny asked quietly.

“Takli has a magic mirror,” he replied. “It’s connected to another one in the Cathedral in Tiraas; Aelgrind actually watched her communicate with a handler back there. Aside from that, though, she hasn’t done anything; her assignment is to try to bring you around to the Archpope’s side, Triss.”

“Really,” Trissiny said, scowling. “And she thought yelling at me would accomplish that?”

“Under the circumstances, I could see that being a valid opening move,” said Shaeine. “You grew up in the military, Trissiny; I would assume that being spoken to sharply about your mistakes is not an unfamiliar experience for you. A campaign such as that would take considerable time. She probably expects to build a relationship with you over the course of months or years.”

“Creepy,” Juniper muttered.

“Yeah, Takli’s… Honestly, that may be creepy, but it worries me less,” said Gabriel seriously. “The real problem is Lorelin. Guys… In all honesty, I think the Wreath has a point, here, in that she’s worse than anything they’re doing.”

“Here,” Toby said firmly. “Whatever she’s done may be worse than they’re doing here. Never forget who the Black Wreath are or what they’re capable of.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said ruefully, “I think that may be part of what tripped me up. I wanted to wait and see what they and she did, and I thought you guys would insist on going after them directly…”

“Oh, for fuck’s fucking sake!” Ruda burst out. “Arquin, what did this woman do?”

“Right, sorry,” he said, grimacing. “Well… At the higher levels of Vidian formal casting are varieties of misdirection and emotional influence that are almost like fae magic. I’ve just barely started studying this stuff; I’m nowhere near being able to do it, but I know what it is. Well, Lorelin has an apparatus set up in her private chamber that lets her extend her influence over the whole town.”

“Ohhh, I don’t think I like where this is going,” Fross whispered.

Gabriel nodded grimly. “It wasn’t specifically meant to harm, just to aid in Justinian’s propaganda campaign. The effect she’s been trying to put into place is meant to make people more emotional, more susceptible to manipulation.”

“So,” Teal said slowly, “for example… If a paladin went chasing a demon through the town, people who might otherwise take that in stride…”

“That fucking asshole,” Ruda snarled. “A priest is supposed to serve people! You don’t fucking do that to a whole town full of people!”

“I say we go right to Tellwyrn with this,” said Juniper decisively. “Last Rock may not be exactly her domain, but that could affect the students, too!”

“Actually, I already went to Tellwyrn,” said Gabriel. “The scrolltower office was closed last night, and anyway, I thought it as a little sensitive for public transmission… So I asked her to get a message to the Imperial government.”

“That is an excellent idea,” Shaeine said approvingly. “Whoever else is affected by this Lorelin Reich’s actions, that was an abusive and highly illegal magical effect to place over a whole town full of Imperial civilians.”

“Sorry for not including you guys in that,” Gabriel said hastily, “but I wanted to get it done as quick as possible, and everybody was already off to bed at that point. And yeah… I want to go down there and punch her teeth in as much as everybody else, but in this case I think it’s better to do it properly. Tellwyrn agreed. She was, uh, much less condescending than usual about it.”

“I think you still should do something,” said Trissiny. “Or say something at least, before the Empire takes over. You’re the Hand of her god.”

“True,” Gabriel admitted, frowning in thought.

“Um, I think I have something to add to that,” said Fross. “Okay, Trissiny, this is about what I was going to tell you—last night when the wards went off, the signal was really strange. It was a false demon trace, like we suspected, but there were elements to it that looked peculiar.”

“Dangerous?” Trissiny asked, frowning.

“Actually, no, not that I could see. That’s why I didn’t come help; I know you can take care of yourself and I didn’t think you were in any danger. It seemed more important to figure out what was happening, because there were layers to that spell that were clearly aimed at more subtle effects.”

“What did you learn?” asked Shaeine.

“Well!” The pixie bobbed up and down twice. “First I recognized an energy signature in the spell matrix that really jumped out at me, because the only place I’ve ever seen before is in Juniper’s aura.”

“Wait, what?” the dryad exclaimed, straightening up in alarm.

“Specifically in the block in your aura. It’s a frequency that relates somehow to Avei. See, I don’t detect divine magic directly but its presence can be inferred from how fae and arcane energies are changed by it. Took me most of the night to unravel this and study it properly, but I’m pretty sure what I found is… Okay, there’s that energy signature, right? Only it’s set up with a disruptive counter-frequency.”

“Wait, you’re saying the Black Wreath has the ability to disrupt my connection to Avei?” Trissiny exclaimed.

“Oh, no, absolutely not, that’d never work. You could maybe do that to a priest, but if you did it between a deity and her paladin, Avei would notice and step right in, which is exactly what the Wreath doesn’t want. No, it doesn’t try to sever your connection to her, but… Um, for want of a better term, agitate it. It really puzzled me, because it seemed like what it would do is diffuse her influence more broadly through your own aura. I don’t really know the specifics of how you’re linked to her, but that seems like, if anything, it would make you more in tune with her, not less.”

“Of course,” said Scorn, shrugging when everyone turned to look at her. “The Wreath, they are wanting to get a reaction, yes? Well, Trissiny is a trained warrior—maybe not crafty, but also not stupid. So if they can make her more like the big angry goddess and less like the soldier, maybe she is more easy to manipulate.”

“That’s…absolutely horrifying,” Toby breathed. “Have they always been able to do this?”

“Surely not,” said Trissiny, her eyes wide. “It has to be a new spell. I mean, if the Black Wreath could do that… Someone would have noticed before now.”

“How, though?” Gabriel asked. “Think about it. Detecting this required them to be doing it in proximity to a custom made divine-arcane fusion detection ward, under the direct attention of a mage who, being fae, is naturally sensitive to emotionally manipulative magic. How many times do you think those circumstances have lined up? And quite frankly, almost nobody gives Fross credit for being as smart as she is; it probably wouldn’t even occur to them that she could isolate and figure out that element in their spell.”

“It would be an extremely sensible spell for the Wreath to employ,” Shaeine said quietly. “Virtually no warlock is anything resembling a match for a paladin, particularly one of Avei. Yet, Hands of Avei have fallen to the Wreath in years past, usually through trickery. Any measure that could make a Hand more susceptible to their ploys would be immensely valuable to them.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Trissiny whispered.

“And that is why you don’t turn your back on the Wreath,” Toby growled. “Whatever their intentions right now, they are still capable of doing things like this. They must absolutely not be trusted.”

“Yeah,” Ruda agreed, “but the fact remains… After these events, we pretty much can’t deny that the Archpope is also on our enemies list. Him and them, they’re apparently after the same thing: they want control of the paladins.”

“Bring them,” said Scorn, raising her chin. “Everybody bleeds the same!”

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Shaeine, nodding to her, “but at the core of that sentiment is truth. We must be prepared to contend with anyone and everyone who means us harm.”

“Uh, guys?” said Juniper hesitantly. “I know it’s kind of anticlimactic and I hate to break this up, but…we have class. We’d better get moving or we’ll be late for Tellwyrn. And she barely needs an excuse to be a jerk anyway.”

Gabriel sighed and slid off the bench. “Yeah… Well, needless to say, we aren’t done talking about this.”

“Agreed,” said Toby, rising as well. “We know what we’re dealing with, now; we need to decide on a course of action.”

They got to their feet with some stretching and groaning—it had indeed been a very long night for several of them.

“Gabriel,” Trissiny said quietly, catching his sleeve as they stepped into the rear of the line that straggled off toward Helion Hall. “Did you really think I would charge face-first at the Wreath if you told me this was going on?”

He winced. “I really wasn’t thinking in conscious terms, Triss. I’m sorry, nothing personal was meant—it was just a knee-jerk reaction. And it wasn’t just about you!”

“The rest of our class is two pacifists, two fairies, a diplomat and a competent combat strategist,” she said woodenly. “If you thought somebody was going to fly off the handle and do something violent, that pretty much leaves me, doesn’t it?”

“I didn’t—”

“And you didn’t even have to think about it,” she added, staring ahead at Toby’s back.

“Triss,” he said miserably, “this isn’t a reflection on you. I was an idiot. Please don’t be mad…”

“I don’t…think…I am,” she murmured. “I’m honestly not sure what I think. I’m…honestly not sure I’d have any right to be mad, after last night.”

There was a small rooftop terrace at the edge of Helion Hall’s large central dome, where a little round table and chair were attached to the stone roof. No stairs or other access led to it, which was hardly a barrier to many of those who dwelt on this campus. It was a signal, though: Professor Tellwyrn did not desire to share her private breakfast nook. Fortunately, most of the students never even learned it was there, otherwise a good many of them would have taken that for a challenge.

She sipped the remainder of her tea, watching the sophomore class trickle toward the building from the terrace below.

“I am extending a great deal of trust, Kaisa,” she said quietly.

“So you are!” Ekoi replied cheerfully, stepping out from behind her, where she had definitely not been a moment before. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’m so proud of you!”

“I’ll accept certain risks as necessary,” Tellwyrn said bitingly, “but let’s keep the recklessness to a minimum, shall we? Last night was probably the first time in all of history that dragging Mabel Cratchley into a problem actually helped it.”

“That’s because of the dragging, Arachne,” said Ekoi, perching on the edge of the table. “You always drag people, or push them, or threaten them. If you do it properly, people will do what you want without once suspecting it wasn’t fully their own idea.”

Tellwyrn shook her head. “I am still not sanguine about this. Whatever assurances were given by this Mogul character, or Elilial herself, tolerating the Wreath’s presence here is an invitation to disaster.”

“Not, I maintain, if we manage them with care. Arachne,” the kitsune said more gently, “this will work. You’ve made progress with Trissiny, but, in truth, you’re the wrong person to reach her; you are just too much like her. I have been guiding young minds longer than you have existed—at least, as far as we know. Believe me, I know how to get through to her.”

Tellwyrn sighed. “All right, it’s not as if you haven’t earned the benefit of the doubt. But when Avei comes stomping down here to throw one of her divine fits about me letting the Wreath play with her paladin, you can talk to her. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a class.”

She vanished with a soft pop of displaced air, leaving behind the empty teacup.

Kaisa shifted her body to peer down at the approaching students, her tail waving eagerly.

“It’s a date.”

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Jenell rapped on the door a third time, her expression growing increasingly sour, and stepped back from it. As before, there was no sound from within the room.

It was still before sunrise; the sky peeking through the windows behind her was gray, but light enough to reveal the silhouettes of trees, and the shapes of the Viridill mountains beyond. She folded her arms, tapping a foot impatiently, then stopped and corrected her posture when another woman rounded the corner of the hall, strolling her way with a pastry in hand.

She was a little older than Jenell and not as pretty (a point of data she always noticed about other women, Avenist training be damned), wearing the long but clingy robes common to this temple, with a pink lotus badge at the shoulder. The Izarites here in Adhran had their sigil embroidered directly onto their robes, rather than using the enamel pins favored by the cults in Tiraas. The priestess gave her a warm smile and a nod of greeting; Jenell snapped to attention and saluted silently.

Not that she was obligated to, under the circumstances, but one of the Legionnaires stationed to guard this temple had taught her that trick the night before, after she had been cornered three times by clerics and offered everything from hugs and candy to therapy and sex. They meant well, but it got very obnoxious, very quickly. However, they wouldn’t bother a soldier they thought was on duty. Hence the saluting.

The woman passed around the corner on the other end of the hall, and Jenell scowled, stepped forward again, and rapped on the door for the fourth time.

She gave him to the slow count of ten, then raised her gauntleted fist and began hammering viciously on the wood.

It was absolutely amazing how long that went on before getting a response; by the time the door was opened from within, she was starting to expect another priest to come see what the racket was about before the room’s occupant did. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that.

Unfortunately, it immediately looked like her troubles were only beginning.

Schwartz was a wreck. The puffy bags under his eyes almost hid them, and he slumped against the door frame, apparently unable to balance on his own. He had the worst case of bed hair she had ever seen or imagined; in fact, it was almost unbelievable that he’d gotten it to stick up that much without effort and the application of some kind of product. His eyes were open unevenly, the left one barely slitted. As she took in the sight of him, he blinked, slowly, eyelids out of sync.

“Bmwlaah?” Scwhartz enunciated.

“Good morning,” she said crisply. “Time to go.”

He blinked again, more evenly this time. “Uh…bm. Carvin.”

“No, but close. You really don’t handle sleep deprivation well, do you?”

“Wha…I the…s’fin…” He paused to yawn widely enough to display molars. “Wha?”

“You’ve slept about four hours,” Jenell reported. “Based on your comments yesterday it was your second night in a row of not getting enough rest. I see we’ll have to avoid that in the future, if you’re going to be around much longer. Now get dressed, we have to go pick up the Bishop.”

“Was…saw th’elves,” he said blearily, still blinking his eyes.

“Yes,” she said patiently, “and that was the last interesting thing that happened yesterday, so I suppose I can forgive you for blurring out the subsequent details. You were half-asleep by the time we got here. You can nap in the carriage, we need to…”

She trailed off, staring. His eyes had drifted shut and he slumped against the door frame, gradually sliding forward and down. As she watched, he actually began to snore again.

Jenell sighed, gritted her teeth, and pulled off one of her gauntlets. Schwartz snorted and jerked when she thrust the tips of her forefinger and thumb into his left nostril. When she yanked out a few tiny hairs, he let out a yowl and shot upright, eyes wide and blinking.

“There,” she said. “Is that better?”

“Ow!” he protested, clutching his nose.

“Sorry,” she said, insufficiently motivated to try for a sincere tone. “It used to work on my dad when I was little. I know you’re tired and not used to it, Mr. Schwartz, but I need you to get ready and be downstairs, in the carriage, in fifteen minutes. We have to go to the Legion barracks and get Bishop Syrinx, then head back to the Abbey. And I will not be late.”

“Legion…barracks…Bishop.” Apparently marginally more alert, he peered around. “We’re not…there? She’s not here?”

“We are at the local Temple of Izara,” Jenell replied. “She left orders to pick her up by seven in the morning. That means we have to go. I would willingly break a few of your limbs to stay off Syrinx’s shit list, so believe you me I will not hesitate to drag you through the halls in whatever state of undress I find you in if you’re not down there in that carriage in fifteen. Clear?”

“Carriage,” he said, yawning hugely. “Broken limbs, yes. Fifteen. Just lemme…”

“Do,” she said curtly. “And don’t fall asleep again. You don’t want to test me on this.”

“M’kay,” he mumbled, turning to shuffle back into the room. Jenell stayed long enough to observe that he was going for the wardrobe, not the bed, before turning and striding back down the hall. She didn’t bother to shut the door. It wasn’t like anyone in this temple would be unused to the sight of a skinny man getting undressed.

On her way back to the temple’s side exit, she paused only to duck into a lavatory and thoroughly wash her hands before putting her gauntlets back on, checking her face in the mirror by habit in the process. Bags under her own eyes, though not as bad as his… She was used to functioning without much sleep, these days.

The stables were positioned around to the side of the temple, out of sight of the exquisitely manicured gardens and main courtyard out front, where guests would not have to behold such mundane trivialities as the horses that brought them—or what those horses left behind. Jenell wasn’t sure if this was due to Izarite doctrines about pleasure and relaxation, or simple old-fashioned snobbery. Likely some combination of the two. The temple did have designated parking for enchanted carriages next to its stables. Not much parking, there being only four slots, but it was something. It surprised her not in the least that some of those who frequented the Temple of Izara were wealthy enough to have such fripperies even in this district—or that the clerics would pander to them. Cults served everyone equally, in theory, but it was the rich whose donations kept things running, and the rich never let anyone forget it.

The carriage, unsurprisingly, was exactly as she had left it last night, after returning from driving the Bishop to the Legion fortress atop the hill. There was no reason it shouldn’t have been, considering the area, but Jenell had learned to assume the worst about everyone and everything, and let her life be filled with pleasant surprises. She climbed into the driver’s seat and activated the control rune, listening to the hum of the enchantments that purred to life from beneath. They were barely audible while parked.

A figure appeared in the temple door and headed toward her, waving. Jenell nodded politely back, considering repeating her salute trick for a moment, but decided against it. He was obviously coming right for her anyway, and in any case he would know her situation, having had it explained last night.

The high priest in charge of this temple had been introduced to her as Brother Nansin, no other title being given, not that she understood how Izarite rankings worked. He was a tall, slender man with broad Western features on a narrow face. Not bad-looking, but not one to turn heads. She had noticed that; it seemed the disciples of the goddess of love ought to be pretty people as a rule. This was Jenell’s first chance to spend prolonged time in their company, and found them to be generally average-looking.

“Good morning, Private Covrin,” he said politely, coming to a stop beside the idling carriage.

“Brother Nansin,” she replied. “Thank you again for your hospitality. I hope we weren’t too much of an imposition.”

“Guests are never an imposition, of any kind,” he said firmly, but with a warm smile. “The followers of Izara are here to provide for the needs of all who come to us. I appreciate Bishop Syrinx’s willingness to bring us up to date on the dangerous events unfolding. Obviously, Avei’s followers will and must take a more central role against such a threat, but it seems likely there will be many people hurting in the near future, if you are not successful in putting it to a swift end. We shall stand ready.”

Well, he was definitely a ranking priest. No one else could make a speech out of “good morning, and thanks.”

“The goddess grant it is so,” she said diplomatically. She could have tried for a solemn tone, but Izarites were supposed to be able to sense emotions and hidden motives; standing this close, he might be aware of her disinterest in the conversation. The most polite course of action seemed to be simple…politeness.

“I’m sorry you must leave us so soon,” Nansin said, still smiling. “Is your friend on the way?”

“I hope so,” Jenell said frankly. “He’s likely to be embarrassed if I have to go fetch him again.”

At that, the priest cracked a more genuine grin. It faded after as second, however, to a pleasant and calmly open look that she recognized, and she stifled a sigh. After last night, she recognized that expression.

“I feel I have to apologize for some of my brethren,” he said. “I didn’t learn until after you had retired last night that several members of the order had approached you. Obviously, they know not to bother the soldiers on duty guarding the temple, but here, a guest is a guest. I hope you weren’t made uncomfortable.”

Well. That hadn’t been quite what she was expecting.

“No harm done,” she said calmly. “I appreciate the good intentions.”

“Good,” he said, nodding, still wearing that caring almost-smile. “We have taken in Legionnaires in the past.”

Jenell went still. “Pardon?”

“Not often,” Nansin continued, “and not permanently. But situations arise from time to time in which a soldier is placed in a position that is not easily resolved through the chain of command. We have some experience in negotiating matters with the Legions to ensure they are protected from reprisal and able to return to duty. Really, it is not so difficult as one might fear. The Legions are nothing if not devoted to justice, and quick to discipline those who abuse their structure at the expense of fellow soldiers. Sometimes it just takes a little outside help to identify who is culpable, and who is a victim.”

“That’s very interesting,” she said stiffly, adopting a bored tone and turning to watch the door for Schwartz.

He followed her gaze, standing in silence for a moment. Not leaving. She repressed another sigh when he began speaking again.

“I assume you are aware of Izara’s gift to her clergy, the ability to feel the emotional needs of those around us.” Nansin hesitated for a moment before continuing, still gazing into the distance. “Of course, I mean no lack of respect to the Sisterhood or the Legions, but… It requires only being in a room with Basra Syrinx to sense that something isn’t right, there.”

He glanced up at her; Jenell stared woodenly ahead, ignoring him now.

“I was, of course, attentive to her warnings and requests when the three of you convened in my office last night,” Nansin went on. “Still, it was impossible for me not to notice, Private Covrin, the way you tense in her presence, and particularly the agitation you feel when she directs her attention at you. Obviously, that doesn’t tell me a whole story, but I have seen enough of humanity to paint a general picture—”

“Brother Nansin.” Jenell turned bodily in her seat, bending over the edge of the humming carriage and leaning down to stare flatly into his face. “Mind. Your own. Business.”

He held her gaze in silence for a long moment, then nodded. “Your privacy is sacrosanct. Anything an Izarite cleric senses in your presence will never be revealed to anyone, unless you request it. Just know, please, that we are never as trapped by circumstances as they make it seem. If you thought you had nowhere to go, Jenell, let me promise you that you can always come here.”

Jenell straightened up and stared icily at the temple’s side door, ignoring him in truth now. They were clearly past the point of politeness, and not at her instigation.

Nansin gave her another moment, then sighed very softly and bowed. “I wish you a safe journey, Private Covrin. Thank you again for the warning you brought us.”

He turned and glided away on long legs, around toward the front gardens this time, rather than back through the side door. Jenell glanced once after him, as he rounded the corner, but thereafter kept her eyes fixed on the side entrance, mentally composing herself.

Fortunately—for him—Schwartz emerged with a few minutes to spare, looking somewhat disheveled but far more functional. His hair had been wetted down and attended to, and was merely mussed rather than disastrous, and nothing was going to hide those bags under his eyes any time soon. He had managed to get into his clothes correctly, though, and was also carrying a bottle filled with dark liquid.

“Hi,” he said, clambering up beside her. “Morning. Very nice people in there, they gave me some strong tea for the trip.” He paused to yawn again. “Hope I didn’t make us late… I’d kill for a cup of coffee right now, but I expect it’s not realistic to expect that to be found outside a port city…”

“Don’t you want to ride in the back?” she said mildly, half-turning to nod at the cushioned seats behind and below.

“Oh,” he said awkwardly. “Well, uh, if it’s a problem, me being up here…?”

“I don’t care,” she said. “This bench isn’t very comfortable, though. With the lack of padding, you’ll feel every bump.”

“That’s fine, it’ll keep me awake,” he replied, managing a weak grin. “I’d just feel… Um, kind of awkward, being ferried around by myself back there, like you were my private driver. Sort of pretentious, y’know? I’ll probably hop in back when we get the Bishop.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, placing her hands on the turning wheel and thrust lever. The carriage’s hum heightened as she guided it forward.

He waited until they had exited the temple grounds and were on their way up the hill toward the fortress before speaking again.

“So… I expect you’ll find this an odd question, but…” He paused, grimacing self-consciously, and fiddled with his bottle of tea. “Why were we in the Temple of Izara?”

Jenell glanced over at him, permitting herself a small smile. “You really don’t function well without sleep, do you?”

“Well, I don’t think anyone does,” he said defensively. “It’s not just the last two days, either… I’d just finished up a research project when Sister Leraine asked me to assist the Bishop, and of course I was honored! But, you know, I’m not used to, uh, field work. Or field work and then half a night’s sleep…” Another yawn forced him to stop, and he took a long swig of tea. “Also, I could really go for some breakfast.”

“They’ll probably give us provisions at the barracks,” she said, focusing on guiding the carriage through the early morning traffic. The semi-rural townsfolk were up with the dawn, though luckily most of them weren’t on the roads yet. Other than the occasional chicken or dog, she had little trouble; the people they saw mostly wanted to stare at them. Or at the carriage, which to her amounted to the same thing.

“So, and I’m sure this was all explained last night and it just went in one ear and out the other… Uh, why were we sleeping in the Izarite temple while Bishop Syrinx went to the Legion fortress?”

“The Bishop felt it was important to inform the Izarites of the possible danger,” Jenell said, her eyes on the road ahead. “Once there, she asked Brother Nansin to put us up for the night. The reasoning, as she explained it, was that our group had clearly been targeted by our mysterious antagonist, and she was likely the primary target. In the event of an elemental attack overnight, she wanted it directed at her, in the presence of a barracks full of Legionnaires. Putting us in a separate place was a security measure, in case the worst happened; we could return to the Abbey and tell Abbess Darnassy what we discovered. The Izarite temple was ideal, since elementals are severely disadvantaged on holy ground, and Izarites in general are almost impossible to dislike, which would make such an attack less likely. At least, that was how she explained it.” She glanced over at him. “Also, where’s your rat? Did you forget her back there?”

“Oh!” Schwartz clapped a hand to his head. “Thanks for reminding me! No, she’s fine, I just dismissed her for the time being. What you were saying about elementals was true—Salyrite temples have protections for multiple kinds of magical beings, but Meesie gets very uncomfortable in other sanctified spaces. Hang on, I’ll—”

The carriage bumped on a loose cobblestone, and he had to grasp the bench for balance, nearly losing his grip on his tea bottle in the process.

“Told you,” Jenell commented.

“Ah, yes, on second thought, I believe I’ll wait to re-summon her until we’re on the way back. Don’t want to leave it too long; she gets depressed without regular attention. But the Legion barracks will be blessed, too, won’t it?”

“Probably,” she said, not bothering to remind him that their eventual destination was the Viridill Abbey, one of the most sacred places in the world.

“Anyhow,” he said, re-settling himself on the bench, “I suppose that all makes sense, when you explain it that way. I mean, honestly, I’m a little puzzled at some of the logic, there, but I’m sure the Bishop knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m sure she does,” Jenell murmured.

“It was good of her to think of protecting us,” he added after another swig of tea, sounding more cheerful. “And the Izarites! Very thoughtful…”

He seemed baffled when she burst out laughing.

“Ah, Schwartz, you are adorable, you know that?”

“Um, well, I…” He actually blushed. “Thanks?”

“Basra Syrinx is probably the only person who can lie to an Izarite priest right to his face and not be called down for it,” she said, her expression growing grim in the aftermath of her sudden mirth. “She was hoping for an attack directed on us. We’re weaker than she is, and we’d have been in the custody of a goddess weaker than hers, as she sees it. That’s what she would have done if she were targeting this group.”

He blinked twice. “I say… But that… Why?”

“She told the truth about one thing,” Jenell said, her eyes fixed on the approaching fortress. “Nobody hates Izarites. Even here in Viridill, where their religion isn’t widely approved of, it’s impossible to truly dislike them. They’re just so harmless. Downright cuddly. One of the biggest problems we face in finding the person behind the elementals is social: he’s probably a member of a community that holds itself apart. Or maybe not, I’m not sure I understand how the witches around here work. But the point is, people would rally against anyone who assaulted a temple of Izara. That would be an ideal outcome from her point of view.”

Schwartz was silent for a moment, staring straight ahead and seeming to forget his tea.

“That’s rather…cold,” he said at last. “Are you… That is, I mean, did she tell you this?”

“Didn’t need to,” Jenell said wearily. “I know how she thinks. You want some good advice, Schwartz, avoid getting on Basra Syrinx’s bad side. You have no idea what that woman is capable of. If you’re lucky, you’ll never have any idea.”

“Herschel,” he said quietly.

“Bless you.”

He grinned at that. “Hah, like I’ve never heard that one before. No, it’s… That’s me. Herschel Schwartz. Fine old Stalweiss name that nobody from Tiraas can pronounce, so I won’t take offense if you mangle it.”

She gave him a long, appraising glance, which he met with a hesitant expression. He was not at all the sort of person with whom she’d have been caught dead associating, in her life before the Legions. Still… He was nice. As banal a thing as that was, she was learning to see the value in it. It had been a long time since she’d talked with anyone who was actually, simply nice. Well, nice and not annoyingly aggressive about it, like the Izarites.

“Jenell,” she said finally, then added with a smile, “when I’m not on duty.”

“Jenell, then,” he said, smiling back. After a moment, he averted his gaze, coughing awkwardly. “Well, ah, anyhow, I appreciate the, er, heads up, as it were. I’ll keep it in mind. Though I suppose it’s to the best the Bishop’s on our side, isn’t it? I mean, sure, if you’ve got to deal with someone that cold, it’s reassuring to know they’re one of the good guys.”

Once again, he seemed confused as to why she was laughing.

 

Quentin Vex was permitted into the Imperial sitting room at his request, needing only to wait for the Imperial Guard manning the door to announce him. Once inside, he bowed deeply, tucking the newspapers he carried under his arm.

Two very attractive young women stood at the back of the room, near the breakfast service, carefully distant from the table where the meal was laid out. Milanda Darnassy and Isolde Fraunsteldt were both youthful and of a curvaceous build, but otherwise a study in contrast: petite and dark-haired, and tall and blonde, respectively. They would be those with whom the Emperor and Empress had spent the previous night, now present to serve breakfast in the absence of servants, one of the more peculiar little customs the Imperial couple had developed. There was always at least one, though the Empress chose to sleep alone about half the time. Also present and discreetly unobtrusive against the wall was a black-coated Hand of the Emperor, this one a pale man on the shortish side.

The Emperor and Empress were having breakfast with a nobleman Vex recognized, and had not expected to find here.

“Your Majesties,” Vex said. “Lord Amfaedred. My humble apologies for intruding.”

“You are forgiven,” Eleanora said mildly. “I assume this is important, Quentin?”

“Important, your Majesties, but not necessarily urgent. I can come back…?”

“Oh, please don’t put state business off for my sake,” Amfaedred said hastily, rising and bowing to his liege. “I thank you deeply for the honor, your Majesty, but I’m sure I have taken up too much of your priceless time as it is. With your permission, I’ll withdraw so Lord Vex can carry on with what I’m sure is very important business.”

“Of course,” Sharidan said, with a knowing little smile. “Thank you for visiting us, milord.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine, your Majesty. Entirely.” With another bow and an unctuous little smile, Lord Amfaedred turned and scurried out of the sitting room with more haste than was seemly.

“My sincere apologies,” Vex repeated as soon as the door had been closed behind him. “I was not aware that you were confronting Amfaedred today.”

The hint of reproach in his tone was so faint it might almost have passed unnoticed. That was still more than virtually anyone else alive could get away with, here.

“It was a spur of the moment idea,” Eleanora said with a mischievous smile. “If we weren’t planning on having him for breakfast, just think how surprised he was to be summoned. Anyway, Quentin, our aims were accomplished. He knows his financing of House Leduc is not a secret. Now we wait.”

“If I gauge the man correctly,” said the Emperor, absently picking at his fish, “he’ll either drop the whole thing, or panic and do something rash. In either case, you will of course have him under close observation?”

“He already is, your Majesty,” Vex replied. “I’ve no doubt I’ll be informed by my assistant that he was here the moment I return to the office. A remarkably capable young lady, but she does enjoy being cheeky.”

“What brings you here so early?” Eleanora asked. “Or should I simply ask how bad it is?”

Vex cleared his throat. “I wonder if your Majesties have seen the papers yet today?”

“Actually, I can’t remember the last time I read a newspaper,” Sharidan remarked. “Being that I have an Intelligence service full of individuals who are exorbitantly paid to bring me information before the journalists get to it.”

“Sometimes the news is not newsworthy,” said Vex, taking the papers out from under his arm and approaching the table. “Or rather, it reveals more about the editors than about the world. I trust your Majesties remember the affair last year involving the Black Wreath’s attempt to place columnists in all the major papers, subverted by the Universal Church?”

“Which resulted in the Church’s first celebrity Bishop,” said Eleanora, “who spouts ideas that are eerily similar to Wreath theology. Yes, this rings a bell.”

“It would appear the Archpope’s influence with the papers is still in effect,” said Vex, laying the newspapers down on the table and fanning them out so their headlines were visible to the Imperial couple.

They stared in silence for a moment.

“Snowe vs. Tellwyrn,” Sharidan read at last. “Don’t think less of me, Eleanora, but I suddenly want to actually see that.”

“Bishop blasts adventurer University,” said the Empress, reaching out to shift the paper on top so she could fully see the headline underneath it. “Who appointed Arachne Tellwyrn? A valid question, but one with an obvious answer. She did.”

“This is remarkably one-sided coverage,” Sharidan mused. “I assume this is a representative sample?”

“It’s not every paper carrying the story,” said Vex, folding his hands behind his back, “but the others have a consistent theme. Critical essays and opinion pieces challenging the University are running all over the Empire this morning; only most of them reference the Bishop’s rather inflammatory remarks at Last Rock this weekend. The unanimity of opinion, here, suggests an organized effort.”

“Now, why on earth would Justinian try to start something up with Tellwyrn?” the Emperor wondered aloud. “I confess, Lord Vex, when you reported Snowe’s speech to me I thought you were being over-cautious.”

“You were correct, your Majesty; I was. That is, after all, my job. The improbability of this campaign is, I think, largely why I didn’t notice it gearing up. That, and it would only take an afternoon to get these things written and sent to the printers. I didn’t truly imagine that Justinian would act so aggressively against Tellwyrn. There seems to be nothing to gain.”

“The question remains,” Elenaora said sharply, “what is he trying to do? That woman couldn’t possibly care less about public opinion; the best he can hope for is to rile her up, which will have consequences for a lot of people besides him.”

“For that reason alone, your Majesty, I suggest acting against him,” said Vex. “But in addition, I believe it suits our interests to support Professor Tellwyrn.”

“Oh?” Eleanora said dangerously.

Vex cleared his throat. “For the last year, since the success of the Sarasio incident, I have been discreetly in contact with the Professor, pointing her toward trouble spots throughout the Empire. She is, as you are aware, fond of using such things as class exercises; I deemed it a wise use of resources to have her students handle issues I was already monitoring.”

“Is that so,” the Empress said very quietly. “Why is this the first I am hearing of this?”

“I did not judge it worth your Majesties’ attention,” Vex said evenly. “I will, if you command, inform your Majesties of everything I do, but the sheer volume of reports would negatively impact both my efficiency and your attention span.”

“You are on thin ice, Quentin,” Eleanora said flatly.

“To be quite honest, then,” he replied, “I knew you wouldn’t like it, your Majesty. I wanted to see if it would work before you shut down the idea.”

“Does it?” Sharidan asked in an interested tone.

“Quite well, in fact,” Vex replied, turning to him. “Their success rate has been better than my agency’s, I must admit, though they do tend to cause a great deal of disruptive ripple effects that my agents avoid; that, I think, makes all the difference. Overall they perform as would be expected from trained adventurer teams. I am speaking, of course, of the adventurers from the days of the Heroes’ Guild, not the freelancers of the last century. And it goes without saying that I suggest only lower-priority incidents to Tellwyrn; I don’t want her or her students near anything truly sensitive. I would regard this project as a great success, and one with important implications for the future.”

“Go on,” Eleanora said evenly.

“The truth, your Majesties, is that Professor Tellwyrn and her University are just not going to go away, and nothing we do can make them. For fifty years she has managed to passively coexist with the Empire, but that cannot endure forever. I would rather she be with us than against us. Using her students to solve small problems advances our goals and hers, trains the Empire’s most dangerous young citizens to act in the Empire’s benefit, and strengthens the Throne’s relationship with Professor Tellwyrn. I am sure I need not remind your Majesties who it was that removed the last Emperor of the Ravidevegh Dynasty from the Silver Throne.”

“And so,” Sharidan mused, “she is tentatively with us, and Justinian is suddenly against her. Well, this does seem very cut and dried, doesn’t it?”

“That in and of itself is suspicious,” Eleanora remarked.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Vex agreed. “I cannot guarantee that part of the Archpope’s motivation is not to act against an established ally of ours. Regardless, he has mostly evaded reprisal from the Imperial government by operating scrupulously within the law, or through sufficient proxies that we could never justify action against him without seeming to be the provocateurs. In this case, he has overreached. Whether he does not expect a response from us, or expects a mild one, I feel it is time to surprise him.”

“What are you proposing?” asked the Emperor.

Vex leaned forward to tap one of the newspapers with a fingertip. “Whatever his goal, this is about public opinion. The Church and the Empire have different ways of swaying it; ours are better. I think it’s time to make Tellwyrn a hero and her Univeristy one of the Empire’s proudest holdings.”

Eleanora rolled her eyes; Sharidan glanced at her, then returned his gaze to Vex.

“Interesting,” the Emperor said. “I’m inclined to agree with your reasoning. The good Professor has never caused problems except in retaliation, and if it is indeed impossible to continue ignoring her, she makes a far better ally than enemy.”

“I’m afraid I can’t disagree,” Eleanora said, not without reluctance.

“There are a couple of additional points,” said Vex, “which I include strictly on the basis of timing, not because I see direct connections between them and this incident. But this propaganda campaign was launched literally overnight, and I take notice of anything related to the Church which happened at the same time.”

“Such as?” Eleanora prompted.

“For one, Bishop Snowe wrapped up her revival tour in Last Rock. She is now en route to Viridill, where Bishop Syrinx has been for the last few months. I do not yet know what either of them are up to; my information suggests that Syrinx is being punished for something by Commander Rouvad, though the Sisterhood is surprisingly adept at keeping me out of their business. Regardless, Snowe and Syrinx are known confidantes of the Archpope. And there is that unfolding issue in Viridill. I was informed yesterday that Syrinx herself was sent to address it by the Abbess.”

For a fleeting moment, he glanced up at Milanda, who stood demurely with her hands folded at her waist. She did not acknowledge the conversation, though Isolde looked at her sidelong.

“Mm,” Sharidan murmured. “Keep us informed.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

“You said ‘for one,’” Eleanora prompted. “There’s more?”

Vex raised an eyebrow. “Antonio Darling has abruptly left the city.”

The Imperial couple exchanged a loaded glance.

“As I’m sure you recall,” Vex continued, “the last time he did so, it was to collar a handful of Black Wreath agents at the Archpope’s behest, in the company of his fellow Bishops. That was the incident, in fact, which brought them all to our attention. Now… I have seen no indication that he is working for the Archpope in this matter, but Darling’s motivations and loyalties are always a complex matter. He is currently in Veilgrad, in the company of Joseph Jenkins of Sarasio, and a Huntsman of Shaath named Ingvar, who may or may not be a woman. The issue is…muddy.”

“A female Huntsman?” Sharidan said, raising his eyebrows. “Is that even possible?”

“Is this perhaps a dual spirit?” Eleanora asked. “I believe the Shaathists disagree on that doctrine, but some of their sects support it.”

“Religious dogmas of that kind are outside my realm of expertise,” said Vex. “I have ordered a dossier compiled on this Ingvar character, and will be fully up to speed on the matter by tomorrow. For now, that is all I know. My policy with regard to Darling remains constant: we learn a great deal by watching what he does, and would gain little by interfering with him. If I begin to see signs that he is more strongly connected to the Archpope than I thought, however, I may revise that policy.”

“Agreed,” said the Emperor, nodding. He glanced at Eleanora, who nodded in return. “Very well, you may proceed at your discretion.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Vex bowed again, gathered up his papers, and turned to go.

“Lord Vex,” the Emperor said quietly when he was nearly at the doors. Vex turned back to face him; he and Eleanora were both gazing at him with inscrutable expressions.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“The fact that Justinian got this plan of his to every newspaper before you learned of it,” Sharidan said evenly. “The troubles at the south gate that very nearly derailed negotiations with the Conclave, the disaster in Veilgrad where Intelligence agents were foiled by chaos cultists, the misjudging of the threat in Desolation… I do not expect perfection from our servants; that would be insane. But this sequence of bloody noses and black eyes begins to resemble a pattern.”

“I have observed it too, your Majesty,” Vex replied in perfect calm. “I assure you, it is about to cease.”

“Are you certain?” Sharidan asked. “The will of the people is the only thing that truly supports the Church or the Empire. Justinian is now acting on that directly. The stakes…”

“With respect, your Majesty, Justinian has played this game with us successfully till now because he was very careful to operate only in his own sphere of control.” Vex smiled, thinly, and coldly. “He is now in mine. I mean to make him feel unwelcome.”

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“It’s a standard strategy,” Vex explained, folding his hands on the table in front of him. Only he and Zanzayed had seated themselves; the rest stood around the rim of the conference room, with Squad One clustered against the wall opposite Vex. He, of course, sat at the table’s head. “In fact, this particular ploy deserves a great deal of credit for the Tirasian Dynasty’s reconstruction of the Empire in an era when anti-Imperial sentiment was rampant. Resistance movements and terrorist organizations exist even today, and Imperial Intelligence has a hand in all of them. We started a good many, wherever there lay a dangerous degree of citizen unease with no outlet. For the rest, we are the primary provider of funding. Obviously, they are all unaware of this.”

“Why the dragons?” Principia asked. “Surely they had little to fear from general dislike to begin with.”

Vex glanced at Ampophrenon, a clear invitation to speak. The dragon nodded to him before turning to Principia. “It is not that we feared for our own welfare. Our kind have always been rather unpopular among many peoples—I fear, not without reason. One of the Conclave’s aims is to remedy this, but that will likely be the work of generations. What we wished to ward off was an organized movement that would damage that work. Normalizing relations would be much more difficult with substantial public opposition in place.”

“And it is not the Empire’s policy to squash protest movements,” Vex added. “The temptation to do so has brought down many a kingdom; one can only repress the people’s will for so long. The Empire prefers more elegant methods of managing its citizens.”

“You’re being remarkably forthright,” Casey observed, eyes narrowed.

Vex smiled languidly; he seemed almost half-asleep. “The facts of Imperial strategy and tactics aren’t classified. Some of the details of these specific events are, of course, but it’s known, generally, how we do things. What have we to fear from exposure? Whatever its aims, the Empire’s policies result in a public that can generally do what they like. Oddly, they rarely seem to object.”

“The handling of this concern,” Ampophrenon went on, “was an early sticking point in our negotiations with the Empire. Rather than dwell upon it, we mutually decided that making a joint operation would help bind us together, and hopefully smooth over further points of difficulty.” He cast an unreadable look at Zanzayed, who grinned. “Thus, this has all turned out to be a rather more elaborate operation than, frankly, it strictly needed to be. More than half the point was to have the Conclave and the Empire working closely together. After seeing the number of people interested in joining this movement, however, I begin to worry we have created a problem where one did not exist.”

“The method is one we borrowed from the Black Wreath, Lord Ampophrenon,” the marshal said. Her outfit was still rather theatrical, with its black leather and red corset, but without the grisly wing-cloak and skull mask she was otherwise a much less impressive-looking woman, younger than middle age and with the dark hair and tilted eyes common to Sifan. “A wide net of recruitment brings in any remotely interested parties, most of whom want little more than to feel subversive. That attitude is particularly common among the wealthier classes. From there, we carefully weed out the truly motivated for more specific tasks, and a higher degree of trust. It’s a very effective strategy; there’s a reason the Wreath has relied on it for centuries.”

“Allow me to interrupt this self-congratulatory back-patting,” said Zanzayed. “The fact is I blatantly misused my rather tenuous connection to you, Principia, to make you a peripheral cog in this machine. You have my sincere apologies.”

“Only because you’re afraid of the Crow,” Principia said smugly.

His faint smile vanished. “I am not afraid of the Crow,” Zanzayed said testily. “I would rather not have another drawn-out exchange with her, though. Those are time-consuming and costly. In any case, you were never supposed to be in any danger. All of this was quite carefully planned; shining a bright light on you was merely a recruitment method to help us identify anybody who took the bait as a potential target. It was our assumption that a Legion-trained veteran Guild thief could deftly handle any such annoyances; we went to great lengths to keep you out of any real danger.”

“Which brings us to an extremely pertinent point on which I require information,” said Vex, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “We went to considerable trouble to have you and the Guild investigating a harmless gathering far from this fortress. And yet, here you are, and I confess I am without a clue as to how you learned of this. We have reliable reports placing your squad and a group of Guild enforcers en route to your intended target. What are you doing here, Sergeant Locke?”

Principia raised an eyebrow. “I already explained that to your agent, here.”

Vex turned his head, fixing the Marshal with an inquisitive look.

She cleared her throat. “Locke claimed to have been sent here by Vesk, sir.”

Vex simply looked back at Principia, showing no reaction to that news. “Interesting. That is the story you intend to stick with?”

“Believe what suits you,” she said with a shrug. “It’s possible it wasn’t Vesk, but a man matching his description materialized out of nowhere with none of the usual hallmarks of arcane or infernal rapid transit, possessing information there is—you yourself claim—no realistic way he could have, not to mention an aura which was absolutely blinding at that proximity. You probably already know this, but they don’t reveal their auras to elves unless they specifically wish to be recognized. If it wasn’t Vesk, it was another god masquerading as him, which… For our purposes and probably yours, comes out to the same thing.”

“Hmm,” Vex mused. “Lord Ampophrenon, I believe you are the resident expert on the gods. Have you any idea why he would take an interest in this matter?”

“With Lord Vesk, it is even more than usually difficult to say,” the dragon replied with a thoughtful frown. “He is capable of acting toward specific ends through quite elaborate means, just as they all are. There are records of him having done so. On the other hand, he also tends to intervene just because he thinks the outcome thus modified will make for a better story.” He glanced apologetically at Squad One. “If we consider Sergeant Locke and her troops as the likely protagonists here, that would seem to be the case. As I’m sure you can guess, those two motives provide excellent cover for each other. Vesk is a trickster god and less predictable in his motivations than even gods in general. It is an open question. I doubt that another deity would impersonate him, though. Only Elilial would show such disrespect, and I rather think she would find the prospect extremely insulting.”

Vex heaved a sigh. “Well…such is the world. All blasphemy aside, it seems sometimes that the gods only step in when they see a chance to cause more trouble.”

“Sounds like a fair observation to me,” Zanzayed said cheerfully. “Don’t make that face, Puff, it’ll freeze that way.”

“And so you set Saduko up to misdirect the Guild and the Sisterhood,” said Principia. “Exactly how many cults are you trying to antagonize?”

“I can only offer you my inadequate apologies, ladies,” Ampophrenon said, bowing. “We really did attempt to prevent you from being in a dangerous position. Lord Vesk’s intervention was unforeseeable.”

“Do you have some connection to Saduko, Marshal?” Farah inquired.

The marshal raised one eyebrow. “Right. By your apparent reasoning, Privates Avelea and Elwick must be long-lost sisters, being both of apparently Stalweiss descent.”

Farah flushed slightly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Was just a thought…”

“I am an Imperial citizen, born and raised,” the marshal said flatly. “And for your edification, my ancestors were Sheng, not Sifanese.”

“Anyway,” Farah said hastily, “if you weren’t expecting us to be there, how were you planning to bluff your followers? It looked a lot like you were actually trying to kill us.”

A grim silence fell over the room. The marshal stared expressionlessly at Farah.

“Because,” Farah said more hesitantly, “I mean, surely an Imperial agent wouldn’t—”

“Presented with an unforeseen situation with no good outcome,” Vex interrupted, “an Imperial agent keeps her eye on the broader situation and acts to complete her mission. Sometimes, our work necessitates extremely regrettable actions.”

“I believe I was clear on the subject of Locke and her crew being harmed,” Zanzayed remarked in a deceptively mild tone. “It’s fortunate they had a few surprises of their own handy, or you might have found your definition of ‘regrettable’ expanded.”

“While I am certain that you know your business, Lord Vex,” Ampophrenon added, “our honor was at stake in this matter as well. The Conclave would prefer that your agents remember to keep that in consideration when acting on any joint operation, henceforth.”

“I will definitely make a point of that to all operatives involved in Conclave-relevant assignments,” Vex said politely. “I am, of course, very grateful for your timely intervention; you seem to have saved us all a great deal of unpleasantness.”

“Some more than others,” Merry said coldly.

“Quite,” Vex replied, watching the squad through half-lidded eyes. “And you have my apologies as well, ladies. To reiterate, we did make a substantial effort to avoid placing you in harm’s way, but nonetheless, it is regrettable that your involvement put you at risk. Obviously, the Tiraan Empire wishes no harm to the Silver Legions.”

“Oh, obviously,” Principia said wryly.

“I must emphasize, Sergeant, ladies,” Vex replied in a subtly firmer tone, “that you are all Imperial citizens, and thus have a duty to the Silver Throne. You have my word that I shall personally see to arranging remuneration for your hardships. All these affairs, however, are strictly classified.”

“Noted,” said Principia in perfect calm. “I will be sure to include that in my report to the High Commander.”

Vex cleared his throat. “Perhaps you don’t take my meaning, Sergeant Locke…”

“Oh, I understand you just fine. I’m pretty good with subtext.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Casey said, barely above a whisper.

“I thought we’d already established that the unpleasantness was at an end?” said Zanzayed mildly.

“I’m sure you understand the necessity of security in this matter, Lord Zanzayed,” Vex replied, his eyes still on Principia. “With all respect, I would suggest that you speak with Lord Razzavinax before deciding on any courses of action.”

“I think you’d better think carefully about courses of action, Lord Vex,” Casey said sharply. “You’re not just dealing with the Sisters of Avei, here. Locke is still a member in good standing of the Thieves’ Guild. You know what they do to—”

“Elwick, enough,” Principia said quietly.

The marshal smiled sardonically. “I can’t possibly emphasize enough that Imperial Intelligence is not afraid of the Thieves’ Guild.”

“Marshal,” Vex said sharply, and she fell silent. “Sergeant, there is no need for this hostile tone. Rather than exchanging threats, let’s see if we can reach a middle ground.”

“No, I think I’m pretty content exchanging threats, my lord,” Principia said calmly. “Bargaining is an action for people in a weaker position.”

“Ah, yes,” Vex said with a very faint smile. “Your sense of humor is all part of your legend. You are in Tiraas, Locke. Even on the other side of the planet you would not be beyond the reach of Imperial Intelligence. We are merely asking for a little consideration and respect—”

“Such as your agent showed by attempting to murder us,” Principia replied. “I am giving you considerably kinder treatment in return. Keeping secrets from my chain of command is not on the table. Zanzayed!” she said more loudly when Vex opened his mouth again. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

The blue dragon raised an eyebrow. “Really, Prin? You want to chat now? Anyway, I thought we’d established that the matter was a ruse.”

“Sure,” she said equably, “but considering your goal was drawing attention to me and publicly making a connection, the ideal result was if I had agreed to a sit-down, and thus you’d have been prepared with a story if I went for it. You said it was family business, yes? I’ve been turning over and over in my mind just what business you could possibly have with my family, and all I can come up with is your several well-documented brawls with Mary the Crow.”

“She really is the most disagreeable person,” Zanzayed complained to Ampophrenon. “You have no idea.”

“I have met her,” the gold replied mildly. “I found her rather personable, in fact.”

“But beat-downs like that are rather out of character for her,” Principia continued, glancing at Vex, who remained silent. “Against someone like a dragon? If the Crow really considered you an enemy, she’d have carefully arranged for you to be dead, not torn up half the countryside boxing your scaly ears. Three times, that I know of. That is more like what she does with members of the bloodline who…disappoint her.”

“So we can assume she’s boxed your ears a time or two?” Merry suggested.

“The Crow doesn’t play too roughly with family who are too fragile for one of her legendary beatings,” Principia replied, glancing at her. “You asked me once, Lang, why I never pursued true mastery of arcane magic? That’s why. The more I think about this, though, the more I realize the only thing that would surprise me is if one of my aunts or grandmothers hadn’t carried on with a dragon at some point. A lot of them have done weirder things by far. So, Lord Vex, I do believe if you intended to threaten harm to me or anyone under my protection, you have placed yourself in a small room with the wrong dragon. Isn’t that right, cousin?” she asked Zanzayed.

He sighed. “Damn it, that was going to be my big reveal. Has anyone ever told you you suck the fun out of everything, Prin?”

“Nonsense, I am a non-stop barrel of laughs. At least, with people who aren’t involved in plots to murder me.”

“Regardless,” Zanzayed stated in a bored tone, “yes, she’s quite right. I feel the need to take this matter somewhat personally.”

“Zanzayed speaks not only for himself,” Ampophrenon added. “A dragon’s kin are considered sacred to all of us. The Conclave would take exception to any harm brought on Principia by the Empire.”

“You really shouldn’t stir up the Crowbloods anyway,” said Zanzayed with a grimace. “The only reason anybody gets any peace is they mostly don’t like each other, and they all have grudges with the Crow herself. You get two or more pointed in the same direction and you’re about to have a very bad day. Take it from someone who knows firsthand.”

“This is very fascinating information,” Vex said with a calm smile. “I would very much prefer to have known some of it before agreeing to involve Locke in this operation in the first place.”

“Family business is none of yours,” Zanzayed replied with a toothy grin.

“I hope we can consider the issue resolved now?” Ampophrenon asked. “To make our position unequivocally clear, it is not reasonable to suggest that Principia Locke or her troops should try to conceal these events from the Sisterhood of Avei. Any reprisal against them for making a full report will damage the Empire’s relationship with the Conclave of the Winds.”

“What he means,” said Zanzayed, his smile widening alarmingly, “is that Eleanora will be tetchy after I have personally dropped you in the center of the ocean.”

“Zanzayed,” Ampophrenon said reprovingly.

“I have told you over and over, Puff, that it’s necessary to be polite and considerate of mortals if you mean to get on their good side. Which is true. The other half of that equation, though, is that it tends to make some of them forget they are addressing a being who can unmake their entire world with a sneeze. Once in a while, a gentle reminder is constructive.”

“Well, it sounds like you lads have things to discuss,” Principia said. “We’ll be going, then.” Shouldering her lance, she turned and strode past her squad to the conference room’s nearest door.

“I’ll be in touch, cuz!” Zanzayed said brightly, waving from his chair. “Since we’re both living in town now, we’ve gotta get together!”

“Ugh,” she muttered, pulling the door open and stepping through. The squad filed out after her, Farah shutting it behind and sealing in the remainder of Lord Vex’s conversation with the dragons.

Soldiers were about in the fortress as if nothing had ever happened; they were walking, chatting, cleaning, standing guard and doing all the things troops on duty in a boring position in peacetime tended to do. Nothing about the scene was unfamiliar or eerie to Squad One. The Imperial troops gave them curious looks, several respectful greetings and even a salute or two, but they were not stopped. There was nowhere the merest hint that this vital fortification had been completely deserted an hour ago.

They kept quiet until they had descended from the upper conference room to the ground floor and finally emerged into the street. The fog was lifting, though the sky remained overcast, and Tiraas was altogether livelier and brighter than when they had come this way in the first place.

“I can’t believe you tried to arrest them,” Merry said once they were a block distant from the gates. “Did you really think that would work?”

“Of course not,” Principia said without breaking stride.

“Why do it, then?” Ephanie asked. “All due respect, Sarge, trying to assert authority you don’t have just makes you look weak.”

Principia’s eyes darted swiftly about, taking in the nearby scenery without betraying her glance with a move of the head. It was still early in the day, and they weren’t drawing much attention. Still, she turned sharply, taking them off the city’s central avenue and down a quieter side street before answering in a low tone.

“Because a god was involved. Where one is working, it’s a virtual guarantee that others are at least paying attention. I’ve been a faithful servant of Eserion for longer than you four have collectively been alive. I’ve also had no shortage of brushes with Avei—not personally, but I’ve had my hands on a number of sacred objects and rubbed shoulders with her priestesses. I’ve more recent reason to believe she is aware of me. More to the point, girls, those specific two gods, the ones with the greatest likelihood of noticing what was happening here, were the ones most likely to take an interest. Here we have powerful men behind locked doors abusing people for their own benefit. I gave them the chance to submit to justice, and they blew me off. If Eserion or Avei were paying attention, they are now pissed.” She finally glanced back at the others, all of whom were watching her raptly. “If I’m going to have the Conclave of the Winds and Imperial goddamn Intelligence batting at my tail, I would rather have deities take an interest in teaching them humility than have to deal with it myself.”

“Do you think that’ll work?” Farah asked.

Principia shrugged. “You never can tell with gods. It was worth the attempt, anyway.”

“You didn’t invoke Avei’s name,” Casey pointed out. “Wouldn’t that have helped?”

“A sergeant in the Silver Legions doesn’t have that right,” said Ephanie. “It takes more than a little rank in the actual clergy to speak on Avei’s behalf. If the goddess was watching, she would have been offended at the presumption. That’s taking her name in vain.”

“What’s done is done,” Principia said. “Keep the pace up, ladies; I have a feeling our next appointment is going to be even less fun than the last one.”

 

Commander Rouvad paced slowly along the length of the table that had been set up in the underground gymnasium Squad One had used to practice, examining the armor and weapons laid out upon it. Off to one side stood Captain Dijanerad, her expression grim, and a much more serene Bishop Shahai. Also present was General Tagheved, the commander of the Third Legion. A silver-haired woman whose frame was corded with muscle and not diminished in the slightest by age, she watched the proceedings with an unreadable expression.

Squad One stood at a respectful distance, at attention. They were still in full armor, with the exception of Principia, who was dressed only in her white regulation tunic and trousers. It was her armor currently laid out for examination.

“Shielding charms,” Commander Rouvad said at last, reaching out to slide a fingertip along Principia’s breastplate. “Do you know why the Army doesn’t rely on them, Sergeant Locke?”

“For three reasons, Commander,” Principia said crisply. “Because it is always better policy to avoid spellfire than to try to repel it, because Imperial infantry prioritizes mobility above defense, and because the portable charms they are able to carry are serviceable against wandfire but unable to stand up to heavier weapons, like staves. Large metallic objects hold enchantments much better than light uniforms, and armor takes defensive charms very well due to sympathetic principles.”

“Mm,” Rouvad mused, slowly rounding the head of the table and pacing down its other side, her eyes still on its contents. “What other augmentations did you make?”

“Silencing and tracking concealment charms on the boots,” Principia reported. “Much heavier defensive charms on the shields, including a feature whereby the phalanx’s shields magnetically lock together to share a single defensive barrier. They are also equipped to disperse incoming magical energy into the ground, which requires a sizable metallic apparatus to function. This wasn’t tested today, but if it works it should enable a squad to stand up to much heavier fire at the cost of mobility. Charms on the helmet enhance night vision while protecting the wearer from excessive light and sound.”

“Risky,” Tagheved grunted. “You impede your senses in battle, you die.”

Principia stood silently at attention. Rouvad finally raised her head to glance at her.

“Answer her, Sergeant.”

“Yes, ma’am. Modern enchanting is much more precise than that, ma’am. The light-filtering charms are specifically designed to keep a soldier’s visibility at optimum level; it is resistant to flares and improves vision in darkness. I wasn’t able to work it to penetrate smoke, but I’m confident that is achievable. The sonic dampener only activates at a level of sound which is injurious to hearing; in the presence of such noise, soldiers would communicate by hand signals anyway.”

“Mm,” Taghaved said noncommittally.

The High Commander picked up Principia’s lance and held it to the light, peering at the subtly positioned switch on the haft.

“Will this thing fire if I press the button, Locke?”

“Negative, ma’am. That switch releases the firing mechanism. It can’t fire until you’ve pressed the button.”

Rouvad did so, and a narrow vertical slice of the shaft slid inward, a staff-sized clicker mechanism sliding out in its place. At the same time, the spearhead parted down the center, revealing the firing crystal.

“This would have to be partially hollow, then,” Rouvad mused. “That would seriously impair the structural strength of your weapon. Right?”

“Negative, ma’am. It is designed like a standard battlestaff, which means a hollow core of alchemically augmented metal to hold the engravements channeling the firing charge. It’s actually stronger than our steel-cored wooden lances.”

The Commander tilted the lance, studying the parted spearhead. “You can’t tell me this doesn’t utterly gut the physical integrity of the blade.”

“Correct, ma’am. The blade is enchanted to compensate, but that is sub-optimal. It’s a basic rule of enchantment not to do through magic what is more easily done physically. The use of a crystal firing surface is also not ideal; they burn and crack after prolonged use. That weapon is a prototype; it has substantial room for improvement. I was working on a tight schedule.”

“Incredible,” Rouvad murmured, poking at the base of the parted spearhead with a fingertip. “I can’t even see the hinges. I didn’t know you were a metalsmith on top of your numerous other talents, Locke.”

“The physical design was done by a Svennish engineer working in the city, ma’am. He has thoughts on how to improve it, but again… I had to rush them into service.”

“And I press the button again to return it to spear form?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rouvad thumbed the release, and the clicker slid back into the haft, the spearhead snapping back together. “Awfully close to the clicker when it’s out. In a combat situation you could accidentally disarm your weapon.”

“Yes, ma’am, I noticed that. I plan to rotate the release switch forty-five degrees along the haft and position it several inches forward to reduce that risk. In the next iteration.”

“Why,” Rouvad asked, carefully setting the lance down, “did you feel the need to do this, Locke?”

Principia hesitated, glancing over at the other officers present. Shahai and Tagheved remained impassive, but Dijanerad scowled at her. “Permission to speak freely, Commander?”

“Oh, this should be absolutely priceless,” Rouvad said with a heavy sigh. “Permission granted.”

“Ma’am, the Silver Legions are totally unprepared for combat in this century. We are coasting on the goodwill of the Tiraan Empire and the historically naïve presumption that large-scale military resistance to Avei’s aims will never be faced again. Right now, one for one, any Tiraan and most other military organizations would obliterate a Silver Legion unit of corresponding size in any open confrontation. We are not trained, equipped or prepared for combat with energy weapons. We aren’t prepared to contend with teleporting battlemages, zeppelin air support, mag artillery or tactical scrying. We have nothing that could even begin to stand up to an Imperial strike team, with the possible exception of a Hand of Avei—and frankly the nature of strike teams makes them powerful counters to any magic user, no matter how potent. Commander, if the Silver Legions go to war—any war—as we are, we will be utterly destroyed.”

Deafening silence weighed on the room.

“And of course,” Rouvad said finally, “you believe you are the only person in all of Avei’s legions to have thought of any of this, Sergeant Locke.”

Again, Principia hesitated. “With the greatest respect, High Commander, I have been aware of the Silver Legions longer than you have been alive. They have not changed in that time. What anyone has thought is unknown to me; I only see that nothing has been done.”

“Right,” Rouvad said in a dangerously soft tone. “Because from the exalted rank of sergeant, you are positioned to see everything being done in every Legion on every continent.”

Principia remained silent.

“You enabled her to do this, Shahai?” Rouvad said, turning to stare at the Bishop.

“I arranged this space in which Sergeant Locke could drill her squad,” Shahai said in perfect equanimity. “I was unaware of the specifics of her plans, though I guessed the general sense of it. In hindsight, I stand by that decision. This is good work. A good start, at least.”

“A good start undertaken without authorization, without her commanding officer even knowing of it,” Rouvad grated.

“Remind me, Nandi,” Dijanerad said flatly. “When did I interfere in the running of your command?”

“Enough, Captain,” General Tagheved said.

“I’m sorry if you felt stepped upon, Shahdi,” Shahai replied calmly. “I was given provisional authority over this squad for the duration of my mission. I judged this to be mission-relevant. Indeed, it appears to have saved their lives during the course of this duty. Not only have we not lost five valuable soldiers today, but they have come home with extremely pertinent intelligence.” She gave Rouvad a pointed look.

“I don’t know how many times it is worth bothering to lecture you about the chain of command, Locke,” Rouvad grated. “You do not just run off and do things. You are a sergeant; your decision-making prerogatives are specific and limited, and have been thoroughly explained to you. Major undertakings such as this are to go through the chain of command. You have no idea what is happening at the level above you—any of those numerous levels! Running off to completely alter your squad’s method of operation without your commanding officer’s consent or even knowledge could get good women killed in a crisis.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

“No, Locke,” Rouvad said, and suddenly her tone was purely weary. “You don’t understand. I can go on and on about it, but you’ll only ever think of authority as something you have to circumvent. You are such an utter Eserite at heart… Well, despite what you persist in believing, in the military it is not easier to seek forgiveness than permission. The difference is you might get permission.”

She picked up the lance again, tapping its point against the table. “This is good work, Locke. If you had come up with a proposal for this, I would have cleared it. Your squad’s whole purpose is to explore new methods of operation for the Legions. I would have funded it! And now, since you can’t seem to demonstrate your competence without undercutting your credibility, I have to drag the source of one of the most promising developments I’ve seen in years over the coals before you go down in flames and take your entire squad down with you!”

“What you need to do,” Shahai said calmly, “is give Locke a slap on the wrist and a pat on the head. And then a research budget.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion, Captain Shahai,” Rouvad snapped.

“You’re getting it for free,” Shahai replied. “You badly need to stop trying to browbeat these women into place, Farzida.”

The High Commander rounded on her. “You will not speak to me in that manner in front of soldiers I am in the process of disciplining!”

“Or what?” the Bishop shot back, a sharp edge to her own voice now. “You’ll fire me? Do it, Farzida. I have plenty of hobbies I can pursue until the next High Commander realizes I’m too valuable to leave collecting dust in Viridill. You brought me into this to serve as a liason, to be a calmer voice where you can’t afford to; well, that is exactly what I am doing.

“Soldiers fight and die for each other. You know this. They’ll do the same for a commander who is one of them. Respect is earned, not commanded; you know that as well as any soldier and better than many. Have you thought at all about this squad’s experience in the Legions and how it would affect them? They have been singled out, persecuted, forced to circumvent the chain of command to ensure their very survival, and finally had to watch as the quite frankly unhinged agent who did all this to them was given a pittance of punishment and a promise that she will be back! And now you upbraid them for assuming their officers can’t be trusted? Honestly, Farzida, would you trust you?

“The problem,” she went on fervently, “is that you have to be the Commander with them. They don’t have the privilege of seeing how you agonize over this, how you grieve for soldiers under your command mistreated by others, how it grinds on you having to keep a creature like Basra Syrinx on the rolls because her particular brand of viciousness is something we can’t function without in this tangled modern world. What makes you such a good leader, Farzida—one of the things—is that you hurt the same as your troops hurt, whenever they do. But these women here have never seen that. You’ve never let them; I understand why you cannot afford to. You’ve shown them a cold bureaucrat who seems bent on getting them killed.

“Each of these women are in this Legion because they have nowhere else to go. Well, the Legion has formed them into a unit. Now we badly need to make them understand that they need the Legion as much as the Legion needs them before they start to realize that as a unit, they could go anywhere, do anything they like, and handle anything thrown at them. Because we do need them. Badly. You know and I know how right Locke is; we’re in no way prepared for what we all know will have to come eventually. Right here are represented the talents and the mindset that can help bring the Legions and the Sisterhood forward and ensure our very survival.

“You and Locke have got to start respecting each other on a personal level, and if that’s not good for the chain of command, so be it. For the goddess’s sake, you two would get along swimmingly if you didn’t have so bloody much in common!”

Captain Dijanerad looked shocked by the time Shahai’s speech came to an end, but General Tagheved only watched the elf with an expression of mild amusement. Rouvad stared at her, utterly blank-faced.

The silence stretched out, and none of Squad One dared disturb it with so much as an injudicious breath.

“Sergeant Locke,” the High Commander said suddenly, turning to stare at her. “You will personally scrub every inch of your cabin with your own two hands until it is in new condition. The rest of your squad, since not a one of them had the thought to go over your head when you decided to spit on the chain of command, can do the same with your cohort’s parade ground. Quit doing crap like this, Principia. I have all my future gray hairs carefully planned and have none to waste on you. And…” She set down the lance. “This is damn fine work, Locke. Starting tomorrow, I want you to submit material and budgetary estimates to Captain Dijanerad for the continuation of this research. Squad Three Nine One will continue to have access to this facility for drilling; your mission statement is now expanded to include research and development of modern weaponry and defenses suitable for incorporation into Silver Legion equipment and the necessary techniques to use them.”

She paused, glanced around at all the women present, then sighed and shook her head. “And now I have to go contend with the Thieves’ Guild and Imperial Intelligence. Fortunately, I’ll probably have the Guild on my side for this, disconcerting as that is. General, if you’ve anything further to say to this lot, they’re all yours.”

The High Commander turned and strode off toward the far door, leaving them behind.

General Tagheved watched her go, then turned a contemplative expression on Squad One.

“You’re a poor excuse for a soldier, Locke,” she said thoughtfully. “But you’re the kind of poor soldier who sometimes makes a priceless officer in tumultuous times. You watch your step. Dismissed, ladies.”

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“We’re with the Silver Legions,” Principia called to the two golems. “If you can understand me—”

She received an answer in the form of two staff blasts that rocked herself and Ephanie back a half-step, making their formation quaver. An acrid smell rose over the lightning-induced tang of ozone in the air, the sign of a shield charm nearing the point of burnout. Those things hit much harder than the wandshots fired by the protestors.

“Retreat!” she barked, and the squad began backing away as quickly as they could, considering they were climbing damp stairs backwards. The golems remained where they were, not attempting to follow, but kept their staves trained on the Legionnaires. They did not fire again, however.

“That’s a defensive posture,” said Ephanie. “They’re blocking access to that landing, not trying to kill us.”

“Sarge,” Casey warned, glancing over her shoulder, “we are back in range of that cannon. It’s still aiming at us!”

“Veth’na alaue,” Principia muttered, turning to look. At their current height on the staircase, their heads and shoulders were visible above the top, just enough to put them in view of the artillery emplacement. It was indeed still trained on their position. For a moment she held onto the hope that it had been left there and abandoned, but even as she peered up at the mag cannon, its barrel began to glow. This time, it appeared to be building up a significant charge rather than firing right away. “Shit, there’s no cover.”

“Cannons would need to have this platform in their range of fire to clear away attackers,” Ephanie said crisply. “Sarge, I think we have a better chance taking on the golems.”

“No,” said Principia. “Break ranks and get to the far corner over there, just on the other side of the opposite gate. Go.”

She led the way, the others following; they bounded up the last few steps and dashed diagonally across the platform, huddling into the very far corner between the city wall and the stone balustrade. The active mag cannon swiveled to track them, but it couldn’t turn as fast as they could run, and ultimately didn’t manage to turn all the way. Its rotation stopped short of giving it full coverage of the platform.

“Okay, that’s something,” said Merry, who was sandwiched between Farah and the wall. “We’re still in range of the artillery on this side, though.”

“Nobody attacked us from east gatehouse,” said Principia. “Avelea, are they connected?”

“Not directly,” Ephanie replied, “but they could cross the battlements above to reach it.”

“Still no sign of movement from over here,” Principia murmured, her eyes sweeping the scene. “Keep your shields up and attention on the arrow loops; if anybody fires from there, return fire. Sing out immediately if one of these cannons starts to move. Time’s on our side; the Army has to be back in place sooner than later.”

“But we don’t know what kind of timetable that is,” Farah said tremulously.

“Right, which is why we’re not gonna sit here and wait for rescue,” Principia replied. “Listen up: once we start moving we’ll be back in range of the cannon, so we’ll need to work fast. When I give the word, fall into wedge formation facing that mag cannon and rake it. Avelea, how badly can we damage it?”

“With five staff-equivalent weapons, easily enough to take it out of commission, assuming five direct hits—and assuming whoever’s up there doesn’t know to activate its shields. Sarge, you remember our accuracy when we drilled with these things. And that cannon is still charging; the second we’re in its line of sight it’ll fire.”

Prin nodded, scowling at the mag cannon. It was partly hidden from view by the slight protrusion of the gatehouse, but they could see most of it from their position. “Scratch that, then. Avelea, Lang, you’re the best shots. Take position against the wall here and start peppering it. See if you can put it out of action. As soon as that thing is down, we form up and concentrate fire on this door. I want us off this ledge and back inside the walls ASAP.”

“Pretty sure attacking the city defenses is technically treason,” Merry muttered, kneeling with her shoulder against the wall while Ephanie took aim above her head. They fired simultaneously, then kept up a steady barrage, pausing only long enough between shots to keep their weapons from overheating.

Lightning scored black rents in the stonework near the mag cannon, but most of their shots hit it directly. The blue flash of heavy-duty shielding charms signaled that this would not be that easy, but no charm had an infinite charge, heavy or not.

Whoever was at the cannon’s controls clearly agreed; after a few seconds of taking fire, it retaliated. This time, it was fully charged.

The whole squad mashed themselves flat against the wall, raising shields in front of themselves, and even so, it was barely enough. The blast of white light that roared past them barely a yard from their faces was accompanied by a corona of ferocious static electricity; their shield charms flared almost opaque, whining in protest, and Casey’s shattered in a cascade of sparks. A cart-sized chunk of the platform adjacent to them was smashed to rubble.

“Elwick!” Principia shouted a second later, blinking the glare from her eyes. “Report!”

“Singed, not hurt, ma’am,” Casey said, still huddled behind her shield. “Sarge, my charm’s broken! If that fires again—”

“It’s not gonna fire again,” Principia said grimly. “Hold your position. If this doesn’t work, Avelea’s in command.”

She darted out into the open, crossing the platform in seconds and dropping her shield and lance on the way. The elf launched herself into a running jump, landing at the edge of the far balustrade and kicking off it; she spun in midair to kick off the very narrow protrusion of stonework that sheltered the gate, soaring higher in the direction of open space, but caught herself on the edge of an arrow loop. Dangling from it by both hands, she swung her body to the left, and then back to the right, actually running along the wall at a steep angle till she hit the narrow rim of stone again and kicked off, getting a grip on the next loop up.

A figure leaned out of a nearby arrow loop, aiming a wand at her; he was instantly struck by shots from Ephanie and Merry, and fell forward without a scream to lie smoking on the platform below.

“Now that’s interesting,” Merry muttered. “I thought Legion training for elves meant they weren’t that agile anymore…”

Principia was in the middle of another improbable leap when a figure peeked out from behind the battlements shielding the mag cannon, taking aim at her with a wand. Ephanie and Merry immediately fired on him, but the cannon’s defenses absorbed the bolts, leaving him with a clear shot at the sergeant.

A shadow fell across the platform.

The man at the cannon turned to look, then let out a squeal and dived back into cover; Principia paused, dangling from the bottom of an arrow loop and twisting her neck to see what was happening.

Though he landed with as much gentleness as possible, the beat of his massive wings was nearly enough to jar her loose from the wall. Bracing his hind legs on the platform, Ampophrenon the Gold grasped the upper battlements of the gatehouse with his right hand and laid the other on the mag cannon that had been harassing Squad One. With obvious care, he very gingerly turned it to face out to sea.

The cannon’s mounting rent asunder in a shower of sparks, leaving the dragon holding the broken weapon.

“Ah,” he rumbled, staring at the cannon in his hand with an abashed expression that was astonishing on his reptilian face. “Well, drat.”

Setting the cannon down on its ledge, he placed his hand under Principia’s dangling feet. “If I may, Sergeant?”

She gave him a long, considering look before letting go, dropping lightly into his palm. Ampophrenon lowered her carefully to the ground outside the gates.

A yelp cut through the air, and a figure emerged from the battlements above, drifting out into space. Dragonsbane, in her distinctive mask and wing cloak, squirmed as she was levitated above the gates, flailing about wildly with her saber. Behind her, another figure in lavish blue robes appeared, standing lightly on the battlements themselves.

“This isn’t over!” the woman ranted, shaking the weapon at him. “You can kill me, you can kill all of us, but one day—”

“I’m sorry to cut off what’s shaping up to be a really good monologue,” Zanzayed called out, “but you might want to save that one for another occasion, Marshal. The rest of your cohorts are all under a sleeping charm; nobody can hear you but us.”

Dragonsbane halted her gyrations, then very deliberately twisted herself to peer pointedly downward at Principia and the rest of her squad.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” said Merry. “This just got very interesting.”

“I believe the sun has set on this particular bit of subterfuge,” Ampophrenon rumbled, rearing up and spreading his wings. Moments later, he had shrunk down to his humanoid form and stepped off the balustrade onto the platform. “I said from the beginning that we should have been up front with Locke instead of trying to manipulate her, Zanzayed. All this chaos is what results from attempting to play such games with notoriously clever people.”

“You just hate fun, that’s all,” Zanzayed replied gaily, as he and Dragonsbane slowly drifted to the ground.

Ampophrenon grimaced at him, then turned to Dragonsbane and bowed. “I apologize for damaging the cannon, Marshal. Needless to say, I will be financially responsible for that and all damage to Imperial property incurred here.”

“That’s generous of you, m’lord,” she said carefully, “but there is really no way to arrange that without revealing your complicity in this. I’m sure the Imperial treasury can absorb it.”

“Shut up,” Principia said, bending to pick up her lance. “I don’t know what this is, and right now I am past giving a shit. You’re all under arrest.”

Ampophrenon blinked his luminous eyes at her. “Ah… Forgive me, Sergeant Locke, but I don’t think you understand—”

“Here’s what I understand,” she short back, leveling the lance at Dragonsbane and fingering the trigger charm that parted its blades to reveal the firing crystal. “I want all of you on your knees, weapons on the ground and hands on your heads before I have time to repeat my instructions.”

Before any of them could respond to that—which was perhaps fortunate, given Zanzayed’s gleeful expression—the side gate through which they had originally come opened, and a well-dressed man in his middle years stepped out. He glanced once at the scene—the two dragons, the Legionnaires, the improbably-dressed woman in the mask—and cleared his throat.

“Thank you for your commitment to civil order, Sergeant, but that won’t be necessary. My name is Quentin Vex; I head Imperial Intelligence. Perhaps it’s time we had a talk.”

 

Wide slashes were the opposite of proper rapier technique, but Ruda had quickly discovered that whatever magic animated the skeletons ran very thin in each individual specimen; it didn’t agree at all with mithril. The merest touch of her sword sufficed to reduce them to inanimate bone. Thus, she swept the blade around herself in wide, scything arcs, carving a path through the horde of undead and so far avoiding injury at their skeletal hands.

Which was not to say this was a winning strategy; the sheer numbers of skeletons were turning the tide gradually against her and her classmates. It would have been a significant challenge to keep up with them even if they crumbled to dust on each hit, but she was accumulating drifts of fallen bones all around herself, forcing her to constantly retreat in order to retain her footing. And still they came on, no matter how many she felled.

Another of those peculiar golden blasts hit her in the side; there was some pressure to it, but despite what it had done to Shaeine (which had caused her to formulate a theory), it had had no other effect on Ruda, and she had decided not to worry about it.

“Would you quit doing that?” Juniper exclaimed off to her right upon being shot with another of them. The dryad turned and stalked toward the cultist who had fired on her, evidently having had enough. She had been bulling through the undead by sheer brute force; the ones she smashed had a tendency to keep moving, just in smaller pieces.

On Ruda’s other side, Vadrieny screamed in fury at a knot of onrushing skeletons, which fazed them not in the least. In the next second she was being swarmed by them—not taking any discernible damage, but being crawled over by human-sized enemies was enough to hamper even her strength.

“For fuck’s sake, Vadge, they’re not afraid of you!” Ruda exclaimed, cutting down another swath of undead. “Teal, tell your demon to just kill the bastards!”

The cultist shrieked in panic as Juniper got her hands on him. Wrenching the augmented staff out of his grasp, she hurled it to the side, then picked the man up and tossed him into the air. The dryad caught him by the ankle, and proceeded to swing him bodily around, using him as a grisly flail against the summoned undead.

Vadrieny hurled off the last of the skeletons swarming her and pumped her wings once to leap across the sanctuary to Ruda’s side, where she swiped half the undead attacking the pirate into shards. Standing back-to-back halved the area each had to control and made their task suddenly a great deal easier.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” the archdemon ordered.

“Yeah,” Ruda agreed. “Didn’t really think that one through before I opened my mouth.”

One of the remaining cultists was clipped by a skeleton thrown by Juniper in the act of firing his weapon at Vadrieny; the shot went wild, smashing one of the cathedral’s stained glass windows. Apparently they had that much force, at least.

A silver streak zipped in through the open door and discharged a blast of wind at him, followed by a splatter of sleet.

“THIS BUILDING IS A HISTORICAL TREASURE, YOU DEGENERATE POLTROON!” Fross roared, lashing out on all sides with ice—and notably avoiding the use of any of her more destructive spells. Restrained or not, it worked. Even undead had trouble moving with their feet frozen to the floor, and those that got loose were deprived of traction.

“Finally, some fucking progress,” Ruda growled as she and Vadrieny began edging sideways toward the dais where the remaining two cultists stood, now firing persistently at them. In that concentration, the mild blows of the golden shots were enough to impede their advance, though not by much.

Then, the skeletons began to die.

It started in the front corner of the room, with those which had gotten past the students and neared the front doors. They simply collapsed en masse, and a wave of destruction flashed through their ranks. Undead fell to pieces in a long trail as if something invisible were cleaving through them.

Within seconds the phenomenon had ripped across the entire cathedral, then those still pouring out of the doors behind the dais fell as whatever it was passed within to finish the job.

The sudden quiet was astonishing. Juniper halted amid a heap of fallen skeletons, blinking, then looked down at the man in her hand. Blood splattered her, the bones and everything in her vicinity; he was limp and seemed to bend in far too many places.

“Uh oh,” the dryad said sheepishly. “I broke mine, guys.”

The doors, which Vadrieny had shut after putting Shaeine outside, swung open, and all three paladins stalked into the sanctuary, shoulder to shoulder.

“Ah,” said Ruda. “Valkyries. That explains it. Coulda used some of those before. Welcome back, guys!”

She and Vadrieny were slightly off to the side, leaving a clear path between the doors and the dais, along which the cultists and paladins now locked eyes.

“Do your worst!” the man in the center screeched, taking aim with his staff. “A million shall fall, a million shall rise, and all comes to naught! Chaos cannot die!”

Gabriel stepped in front of Trissiny, drawing Ariel and glaring. He pulled back his arm and hurled the sword forward. It was a somewhat awkward throw, exhibiting all of his usual athleticism, but the blade flared blue in midair and zipped across the entire length of the sanctuary, spinning end over end.

The cultist staggered back as Ariel slammed into his chest, impaling him cleanly through the ribs.

Gabriel held out his left hand and made a grasping motion; a phantasmal glove of arcane blue flickered momentarily around Ariel’s hilt, and suddenly the sword wrenched slightly to the side, lodging herself firmly in the man’s ribs and eliciting a gasp of agony from him. Then Ariel jerked backward, sailing across the room to her master and dragging the impaled cultist along.

They came to a clean halt less than a yard from Gabriel, who calmly grasped Ariel’s hilt with his left hand and stepped forward, bringing his face to within inches of the man’s filthy, matted beard. With his other, he grabbed the augmented staff, which the cultist still clutched.

The Hand of Vidius sneered and spoke in a growl that resonated throughout the church.

“Nothing. Doesn’t. Die.”

Gabriel ripped Ariel out sideways and yanked the staff away simultaneously, brandishing both weapons out to the sides. Suddenly unsupported, the cultist staggered, then sank to his knees, whispering something under his breath, before finally falling to the ground. After a few weak twitches, he lay still.

In the silence that followed, they could actually hear the buzzing of Fross’s wings.

“Badass is a weird look on you, Arquin,” Ruda said finally. “Quick, say something dumb before I lose all faith in reality.”

Seemingly galvanized by her voice, the last robed cultist took aim at Gabriel. In the next moment, Vadrieny landed next to him, casually ripping the staff out of his hands and tossing it away, then grabbed him about the neck with one clawed hand and hauled him back to the students.

“You will tell us the source of the chaos,” the archdemon said matter-of-factly, roughly pulling back the cultist’s hood.

This one, thus revealed, was actually a woman. She was as filthy as the others, her face smeared with a grime of blended sweat, dust and caked skin oil, her hair matted and filled with the grunge of the catacombs. Eyes wide and rolling, she stared blankly at a point above Trissiny’s head as the paladin stepped up in front of her.

“The source, there is no source, everything is the source. You don’t see—you should see. You will see, but too late. It shines, but it’s darkness. It’s all. Everything that’s not is is illusion, because it’s illusion. It is and it’s not, you understand?”

“Just like the ones at the prison,” Toby murmured.

“Chaos is very unhealthy to be around,” Trissiny said grimly. “It was a good thought, Vadrieny, but I’m afraid trying to get information out of her is pointless. She’s not even resisting; she just can’t think in terms that would be useful.”

“Unless it’s an act,” Ruda said skeptically.

“Possible, but this is consistent with the observed behavior of chaos victims,” Ariel commented as Gabriel wiped her blade clean with a handkerchief.

“I dunno, they managed to plan and execute all this,” Gabriel said.

“Chaos cultists are known to exhibit a certain animal cunning,” said Trissiny. “It’s the higher functions of intelligence that suffer from chaos exposure; they still have instinct. That’s arguably all they have. Also, let’s keep in mind that the Black Wreath is present and active and has betrayed us once today. I don’t believe for a moment that they are as innocent in all this as Vanessa claimed.”

“They did what?” Vadrieny demanded, turning on her.

“The summoners were a trap,” said Gabriel. “The Wreath was already there, with weapons like these. They claimed to have taken them from the chaos cult, but they used ’em on us and tried to hold us prisoner.” He held up the staff in his hand, studying it with a distasteful grimace.

“What the fuck do those even do?” Ruda demanded.

“These are what the Empire was making,” said Trissiny. “They block divine magic. A cleric shot by one is temporarily unable to cast. Or a paladin, as we discovered.”

“That was the theory I developed,” said Shaeine, striding toward them from the door. “You did say temporarily?”

“Yeah, actually,” said Toby, stepping toward her, “and it turns out Omnu is inclined to override the effect. Shaeine, I’m not certain if this’ll work for you—you’re not a Pantheon cleric. But I don’t see any way it could hurt…”

“Please,” Shaeine said with barely restrained intensity, “try.”

Toby reached out, his aura flaring gold, and laid a hand on her shoulder. Vadrieny stepped up to Shaeine’s other side, squinting against the glow but not backing away.

After a moment, Toby let his light subside. “There. I… That’s it, Shaeine. Any more and we might both burn.”

Shaeine closed her eyes, and a halo of pure silver rose about her. She let out a deep sigh, the obvious relief on her features jarring considering her usual composure. Vadrieny wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” the drow said feelingly to Toby, who grinned back.

“That’s one fear addressed, then,” said Ruda, poking gingerly at the still-babbling cultist with the tip of her sword. When Vadrieny had released her, the woman had just slumped to her knees, making no move to either flee or attack. It was starting to look more and more as if her mind was simply gone. “Now what the hell are we supposed to do with this?”

“She’s no use to us,” Toby said firmly as the cultist continued muttering under her breath. “She’ll have to go into prison with the others. Despite everything, she’s as much a victim in this as anyone.”

Juniper wrinkled her nose. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Trissiny said firmly. “She’s not even mentally competent to stand trial. No one sets out to do things like this, Juniper; chaos damages the mind if you get too close to it. There are established legal precedents, here. She is to be considered insane and treated accordingly.”

“That leaves us back at square one, then,” said Gabriel. “With a city-wide disaster on top of everything else.”

“Not quite,” Ruda replied. “Think, guys. Undead coming up everywhere, sure. But this is the only place we’ve seen multiple cultists. They all came pouring out of the catacomb access right under this cathedral.”

“You think the source must be nearby,” said Fross.

“It’s as good a theory as any,” Toby agreed, nodding.

“And we’d better move our asses before the trail gets any colder,” Ruda added. “The chaos-whatsit may be close. We’ve got valkyries, three paladins, and my friend, here.” She held up the rapier. “And one of our paladins knows a thing or two about magic.”

“It’s possible he knows as many as three things,” said Ariel.

“I agree,” Trissiny said, drawing her sword. “Fross, Juniper, Shaeine and Vadrieny, please try to help the Army and the citizens outside. Those of us less vulnerable to chaos had better head below. If there’s a chance we can finish this, we have to take it.”

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If he was a little put out, it was because he was striding through the halls of the Imperial Palace in the slightly ragged, poorly color-coordinated suit of Sweet the thief, rather than the tailored ensemble or ecclesiastical robes that fit the role he played here. Not that Darling’s superiors didn’t know who he was in any aspect of his life, of course, but it was the principle of the thing. He liked to keep strict walls up between the aspects of his life, if only to help keep his mind organized.

Of course, when a Hand of the Emperor informed you that you were summoned to the Throne, you didn’t ask to stop and change clothes first.

This particular fellow was a Westerner, with dark skin and a shaved head, which made no real difference. The Hands had no names and firmly discouraged people from inquiring after their personal details.

“So, come here often?” Darling asked cheerfully.

The Hand gave him a sidelong glance.

“It’s a joke,” Darling explained. “Because obviously you do. It’s ironic. You know, juxtaposing the common phrase with a completely inappropriate context.”

The Hand simply continued leading the way. They appeared to be heading toward the throne room itself, having entered from one of the Palace’s side doors.

“Okay, it wasn’t laugh-out-loud funny,” Darling mused. “More of a grunt-of-acknowledgment kind of joke. They can’t all be side-splitters or we’d never get anything done.”

“I don’t get many people trying to joke around with me,” the Hand commented. “Being that legally, it’s the same as doing so with the Emperor.”

“Well, his Majesty and I don’t really hang out socially. Which I’ve always thought is a shame. He looks like a chap who knows how to have fun.”

The Hand glanced at him again.

“I mean, have you noticed how calm he always is? With the weight of responsibility on that poor man, he has to be an absolute master of relaxation.”

The Hand ignored him after that, and Darling decided to stop pushing his luck. His discomfort might technically be the fellow’s fault, but the both of them were just little wheels in a much larger machine. Also, a Hand of the Emperor could legally punch him quiet if he deemed it necessary.

Imperial Guards, men and women in Tiraan Army uniforms which were black instead of blue, were posted in the halls nearing the throne room, and around the towering double doors leading into it. Upon Darling and the Hand’s approach, two pulled open one of the silver-plated doors (it took two; the thing was three stories tall and thick enough to withstand a ballista bolt), saluting. The Hand stepped to the side, nodding Darling in, then followed once he was through. He pulled the door closed himself, without apparent difficulty.

The throne room, the ceremonial and cultural center of the Imperial government, was every bit as grand as its role demanded, without being excessively grandiose. Rather than the florid style of decoration that was currently in vogue among the aristocracy and the newer wealthy class, its ornamentations were all geometric patterns, mostly quite simple, except for the stunningly elaborate mathematical designs in mirrored glass that sprawled across the vaulted ceiling. The squared pillars were plated in mirror-bright silver and engraved with angular designs, the stained glass windows showing similar designs in pale colors—and, incidentally, were enchanted to stand up to mag artillery fire. It was the floor that was truly eye-catching, seemingly all of one colossal piece of opal, a translucent surface showing immense depth, with organic swirls of shimmering substance beneath.

Darling didn’t exactly loiter around here, as a rule, but he’d been in the throne room several times, and on this visit was less concerned with the décor and a lot more interested in who was present, and who was not. It seemed cavernously empty, the chamber designed to hold audiences in the hundreds now containing a bare handful of individuals. Usually there would be courtiers and functionaries by the dozen, but none were in evidence. There weren’t even any of the Imperial Guard, which was how he knew something very serious was up. A score of Hands of the Emperor were positioned around the room, looking ominous in their long black coats, which meant this was still likely the most secured place in the Empire; each of these men was a force capable of facing down demons, wizards and whatever else, though the nature and source of their powers remained a mystery to all but themselves and their Emperor.

His Majesty occupied the Silver Throne, of course, gazing down the long chamber at Darling’s entrance. To his left, Empress Eleanora perched on the edge of the Swan Throne, her eyes narrowed to slits. To the right of the royal couple, Lord Quentin Vex stood at one edge of the dais, alongside the balding, craggy-faced Hand of the Emperor who sat with him and Darling on the security council.

Most interestingly of all, Archpope Justinian stood, serene and beatific as ever, at the base of the steps to the Imperial dais.

His escort having melted into the shadowed arcade along the side of the throne room, Darling set off toward the dais as fast as his long legs would carry him without breaking into an unseemly trot. Arriving at the foot of the steps, he sank to one knee, bowing his head.

“Your Majesties.”

“Rise, your Grace,” said Sharidan, his voice empty of inflection.

Darling obeyed, only then half-turning to bow to the Archpope, who nodded in acknowledgment.

“This room has been cleared and fully secured, as we have called you here to discuss a matter of the utmost security,” the Emperor said without further preamble. “A little past noon today, a new hellgate was opened above the mountain at Last Rock.”

Darling stiffened in surprise. “A…new one, your Majesty? Above the mountain?”

“Hellgates, like any dimensional portal, require operatives at both ends to open,” the Empress said coldly. “And the University’s campus has, in addition to the best of modern arcane security, a fairy geas of colossal power warding it against outside interference. Only an initiate of the University itself could have done such a thing. Thus it is proved that Tellwyrn has utterly lost control of her students.”

Sharidan moved his left hand slightly, laying the first two fingers upon Eleanora’s wrist on the arm of her own throne. She scowled, but subsided.

“Disturbances of various kinds are common at Last Rock, as is inevitable, considering the people gathered there,” Lord Vex said, looking owlishly somnolent as always. “We’ve always known it was just a matter of time until something of this magnitude occurred; Professor Tellwyrn by and large does well in keeping order, and has proven amenable to working with us. It seems her first reaction in this case was to notify the Empire and begin evacuation procedures.”

“Can the hellgate be closed?” Darling asked, frowning. “Surely if anyone can handle such a task, she can.”

“Within forty-eight hours or so of opening, yes, a dimensional rift can be sealed with little effect,” Vex replied. “The longer it’s open, the more stable it becomes, until it can be considered more or less permanent. Tellwyrn can and has closed hellgates, as have the Imperial Strike Corps, but the problem is that this must be done from both sides, just as they must be opened. Even she can’t be in two places at once, especially considering what happens to teleportation in proximity to an active dimensional rift. Tellwyrn has rightly prioritized the safety of her students and the citizens of Last Rock.”

“In that order, no doubt,” the Empress said.

“We’ve stranded strike teams in Hell?” Darling asked in horrified fascination.

“The Empire isn’t quite so profligate with the lives of its most valuable agents,” Vex said dryly. “Done right, there’s a window after activating the necessary spells in which the gate can still be traversed. This particular gate is anomalous in that it’s located some hundred yards above the peak of the mountain. It presents a logistical challenge, but not one which would stymie the Strike Corps. However…”

He turned to bow in the Archpope’s direction. Justinian nodded to him, then turned to direct his words at Darling, who was clearly the only person present who had yet to be briefed.

“I was visited in my meditations this afternoon by avatars of all three of the Trinity,” the Archpope stated solemnly. “It was the first I had heard of the events at Last Rock, but the gods have rendered a command with regard to them. The Pantheon is seeing to the matter directly, and they forbid any interference by mortal powers. The events at the University must play out according to their design.”

There was a moment of silence while Darling groped for something to say.

“Huh,” was all he managed to come up with.

“The gods ask a great deal,” the Emperor said quietly. “If the situation is not contained, then we are effectively ceding Last Rock to the forces of Hell. Demonic armies could spill from there into the Golden Sea and emerge at any point around its perimeter. It would make the days of Heshenaad’s rampage seem a Sunday picnic in comparison. The Empire simply does not have enough standing forces to maintain an active battlefront around the entire frontier, which is what would be required. Even mobilizing for war, instituting a draft if necessary, would take time in which demons could overrun entire provinces.”

“Not to mention the unknowns,” the Empress added. “There can be simply no guessing what would result from Elilial having access to the Crawl. Or the shape of Tellwyrn’s reaction to the loss of her precious University. Her expressions of disappointment tend to be cataclysmic.”

“In such an eventuality, we would not fight alone,” said Vex. “Silver Legions from across the world would be called in. The elves would help; the Narisians would have to, as per our treaty. Even the dwarves would likely contribute forces against a full-scale demonic invasion.”

“Tar’naris has less entire population than we have soldiers,” Eleanora said sharply. “The last elven tribe that tried to keep a standing army were the Cobalt Dawn, whom we destroyed. And the dwarven kingdoms cannot afford to equip or even feed an army. They are barely supporting their own citizenry at this point.”

“Your Majesties are correct,” Justinian said solemnly. “Those are the stakes. They are, indeed, chilling.”

“You’re about to counsel that we have faith in the gods,” Eleanora said, transferring her sharp stare to him.

The Archpope nodded slowly. “It is a hard thing to do, when so much is on the line. The fate of the world itself, starting with our Empire. I would remind your Majesties that the fate of the world is always in the gods’ hands, at every moment, and we cannot imagine the catastrophes that do not materialize because they have sheltered us from them. Ultimately… In my own moments of darkest doubt, I maintain my trust in the gods because if they cannot be trusted…all is lost anyway.” He spread his hands in a gesture that was just a shade too beatifically patriarchal to be a shrug. “As all is clearly not lost, we can know that they watch over us.”

“There is also the fact that this was a command from Omnu, Avei, and Vidius in person,” Lord Vex added. “Defying them outright is likely to add to our troubles, not alleviate them.”

“I will not be sanguine about this until that hellgate is closed and my people are safe,” the Emperor said darkly. “However, I agree. The gods must be trusted, even if only because they will not allow any other outcome.” He shifted his gaze to Darling. “Evacuation proceedings are underway. I have declared a state of emergency; the Rail network is frozen, and all available caravans have been re-routed to participate in the evacuation of Last Rock. Three military zeppelins have been dispatched from Calderaas under full thrust to retrieve the citizens too infirm to travel via Rail. They should arrive within the hour.”

“The gate itself has yet to produce any demons,” Vex added, “no doubt due to its altitude. That gains us a breather, but has a downside: just as on the mortal plane, whatever comes through will have to heavily organize in order to reach it. The cost of the hours we are granted to prepare is that it will be an invasion, not a trickle of lost demons with no agenda except escape. Professor Tellwyrn has insisted upon the citizens of the town going first; her students and faculty will be the last to evacuate. As I’m sure you can imagine, they represent a force that can at least slow anything that comes out of that portal, and possibly convince it not to try again.”

Eleanora turned to give him a narrow look. Apparently this was the first she had heard of that. The Emperor only frowned pensively.

Darling, by this point, was barely managing to contain his expression. Seizing upon the momentary lull in the conversation, he turned to the Archpope.

“Your Holiness, who else knows about the gods’ command?”

“And now we come to it,” Eleanora said bitterly.

“No one outside this room has been informed,” Justinian replied, nodding significantly. “I saw immediately what you have just seen.”

“Indeed,” said the Emperor, lacing his fingers together. “And that is why you were summoned here, Bishop Darling. This presents a golden opportunity to implement the strategy you proposed following the recent Wreath attacks.”

“Let it be known,” Eleanora growled, “I despise this plan.”

“It is not something that gives me any pleasure to contemplate, your Majesty,” Darling replied respectfully. “However… It would work. It is only left to decide whether it is worth it.”

“What you propose,” Sharidan said, still in a soft tone, “involves literally unleashing Hell in the streets of this city. Widespread damage and civilian casualties would be certainties, not risks.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Darling replied simply.

“I support the Bishop’s idea, for whatever that may be worth,” said the Archpope. “And I have since he brought it forth. All it needed was a suitable crisis. I do not foresee any other such opportunity that involves so little direct risk; we cannot ask more than a divine assurance that the problem in Last Rock is under control.”

“We can’t stop word of the situation in Last Rock spreading anyway,” Vex mused. “The Rail freeze is a dead giveaway. The people need to be told something or there will be dangerous levels of unrest. As long as no one else knows of the gods’ command, the hellgate crisis provides a pretext to move troops out of the city.”

Eleanora stared at him directly. “What is your opinion of the Bishop’s plan, Lord Quentin?”

“Under ordinary circumstances,” he replied, bowing to her, “I would not consider it worth the inevitable cost. However…we are dangerously past ordinary circumstances. Elilial and her Wreath are more active than at any point in recent history, and we do not know their plans. What little we do know of her intentions with regard to the Throne is terrifying. Playing the intelligence game with the Wreath as we have been is, effectively, a stalemate, which is a situation that favors them. Something must give.” He sighed. “In my professional opinion, your Majesties, these are the desperate times that necessitate this desperate measure. I support the plan.”

“There will be a heavy price to be paid for this,” Darling said into the quiet which followed Vex’s response. “What we stand to gain, however, is the effective destruction of the Black Wreath in Tiraas. I leave it to your Majesties to decide whether the benefit is worth the cost.”

“This presupposes that the Wreath will behave as you predict,” Sharidan noted. “It defies credulity to expect them to heroically step up in the face of a full-scale demonic incursion in the city.”

“That actually is one of the more reasonable expectations in this,” said Vex. “Whatever else they may be, the Wreath are notably sincere in their claims to be defenders of the mortal realm against infernal forces. Imperial policy with regard to demonic incursions is always to let the Wreath work without interference if they happen to beat our agents to an attack site. They clean up demons faster, more thoroughly and with less collateral damage than we have ever managed.” He nodded to the Imperial couple. “If they find Tiraas suddenly swamped with infernal summons and the bulk of Imperial forces moved to the frontier, they will intervene. Their religion demands it.”

“The history of political maneuvering between the Church and the Throne creates an opportunity to establish a believable narrative,” said the Archpope. “I have expanded the holy summoner program in response to increasing demonic activity of late. I will simply take advantage of the situation to call up demons in the city, in order to undermine the Throne’s authority.” He nodded to Darling. “Assuming, as we must, that the Church, the Empire and all cults have Wreath infiltrators, selling the story will be a simple matter of making this plan known to my summoner corps.”

“How fascinating that you trust them so,” Eleanora said icily.

“In fact, your Majesty,” the Archpope replied, “that does present a wrinkle. Such an action on my part would be treasonous, not to mention highly irresponsible. I expect many of my people to refuse outright to participate. Possibly most. I am not certain that I will be able to field enough reliable summoners to enact this part of the plan.”

“If you provide the Church livery, I can provide you summoners,” said Vex.

“With every additional person brought into this,” Darling cautioned, “the risk of a Wreath spy getting word of it goes up.”

“I’ve enough trustworthy people to get it done,” Vex said mildly. “I know who the Wreath agents infiltrating Imperial Intelligence are. I can work around them.”

“You what?” Sharidan asked sharply.

Vex bowed to the Emperor. “It is not worth the effort of purging them, your Majesty. That would just leave me having to figure out anew who the replacement spies are. As it is, I can exert a measure of control over what they learn. It’s a stable arrangement.”

“Hm,” the Emperor mused. Eleanora placed a hand on his arm; they exchanged a silent look, and he relaxed slightly.

“How many trustworthy spellcasters do you have available, Vex?” Darling asked.

“Depends on what you need them for.”

“Mages. Teleporters, specifically. Later stages of the plan will require me to bring in some personnel who, presently, are scattered all across the Empire. With the Rails locked down, portal mages will be the only discreet method of bringing them into the city.”

“Anyone who can shadow-jump will be needed for the Archpope’s part,” Vex mused, rubbing his chin. “Arcane teleportation is trickier across large distances, especially if you’re adding passengers. Hm… On hand in the city, I can provide four who I trust and who have the necessary magical reserves.”

“Four… That will mean a lot of return trips. I’m going to have to ask them to exhaust themselves, Vex.”

“These are servants of the Throne,” Vex said calmly. “They will do whatever duty requires. If,” he added, turning to the Emperor, “we are indeed going to do this.”

Sharidan stared silently into space above their heads. Eleanora watched him, her face an impassive mask. Behind Vex, the Hand of the Emperor attended the conversation mutely. Hands spoke with the Emperor’s voice; there was no need for them to talk in his presence.

“I might normally ask the gods to forgive us for this,” the Emperor said at last, “but at this moment, I find myself with less regard than usual for their input.” He sighed, turning to meet Eleanora’s eyes. She frowned slightly, but then nodded once to him. Sharidan nodded back, then turned his head to the others and squared his shoulders. “We will have to see who is left to offer forgiveness when it is done. Gentlemen, you may proceed. May someone watch over us all.”

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4 – 21

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Debris crunched under Trissiny’s boots as she approached the Rail platform. Behind, Sarasio was relatively quiet—not the menacing, deathly silence with which it had first greeted them, but still a departure from the celebratory air of the night before. It had been a complicated evening, the hours immediately after the battle spent in damage control, healing the injured and mourning the dead. Still, all the action had left the townsfolk with energy that needed to be discharged, and there had been a veritable party at the Shady Lady lasting past dawn.

Thus, not only was Professor Tellwyrn’s intention of retiring right afterward thwarted, so was her plan of embarking on the Rails bright and early. It was mid-morning now, and Trissiny, like nearly everyone else, hadn’t managed much sleep. The students were still mostly getting themselves together in preparation for their departure. The citizens of Sarasio were more quietly adjusting to everything that had changed. There were few families without someone to grieve. The elves had quietly slipped away during the evening, but Robin, at least, had seemed optimistic that those who had come to help would be less standoffish in the future, and perhaps other members of the tribe would join them in the time.

Now, Toby stood alone on the Rail platform, beneath the tattered awning, gazing out over the Golden Sea. The Rail itself was inert; Tellwyrn had said a caravan was coming today to retrieve them, but not when. Trissiny climbed the short steps to the platform and went to stand beside him.

Toby’s expression was drawn and grim, more than simple fatigue should explain. She opened her mouth to speak, found she had nothing to say, and closed it, painfully aware of the silence. He hadn’t even acknowledged her, which was unlike him. Trissiny found herself thinking back to a few moments the night before when she’d spoken shortly to him in the heat of battle. Was he angry with her?

Then, finally, he glanced over at her and managed a weary little smile. “I’m kind of redundant, it seems. All the injured are doing very well. Those shamans do good work.”

“I always thought the plural was also shaman.” She immediately wanted to slap herself in the face. Why could she never find the right thing to say?

He chuckled. “You’re probably right… I’d have to look it up to be sure. More than an Omnist, right now, I think Sarasio needs a Vidian priest. Far too many dead.”

She nodded slowly. There just wasn’t much to be said in response to that.

Toby shook his head slowly. “I guess we must have a pretty different outlook on how things turned out here.”

“How so?” she asked quietly.

“Well… We won. It was an unquestionable victory in battle. I’m trying to be glad about that… I know I should be, given what was at stake. Things will be immeasurably better here, now, thanks to us. I just… I can’t think of anything but the dead, the injured, the grieving.” He fell silent, clamping his lips together firmly.

Trissiny drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Avei’s doctrine tells us that any contest of wills is a form of war, and the art of war applies to it. There are so many ways of engaging in warfare that don’t involve violence; violence is considered the least desirable, least honorable method. We view any situation that’s allowed to degenerate into physical violence as a failure.”

He looked over at her, surprised. “Really?”

“We fail a lot, of course. There are situations that are beyond our control… Situations that went bad before we became involved, or where the possibility of preventing violence simply doesn’t exist. And yes, sometimes, we just fail because we make mistakes. Avenists train and prepare for combat because it’s part of the reality of the world, and once it breaks out, it’s far better to win than to lose. But we don’t seek it. Our energies are devoted to preventing it from occurring whenever possible. A battle averted is a battle won by the only truly honorable method.”

“I never knew that,” he said quietly, again staring the horizon. “You see the Legionnaires guarding all the temples, hear the old stories about the Hands of Avei and their exploits…”

“Have you ever heard of Laressa of Anteraas?”

“Of course.” He grinned ruefully. “The Apostate, we call her.”

“We call her the Peacemaker. The only time Avei ever called a paladin who was a follower of a different god. The Omnist Hand of Avei lived in a particularly brutal time. She fought with diplomacy and trickery as her weapons, and the Sisters certainly questioned her strategies, but nobody ever claimed she was anything but a warrior. Her stubborn avoidance of physical combat is credited with a whole social movement that brought about a century of peace. Such things move slowly; she didn’t live long enough to see it, unfortunately.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m…sorry, Trissiny. I guess I misjudged you.”

“You’re not the first,” she said bitterly. “Or the tenth.”

Toby gave her another smile, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Even through the layers of metal, leather and cloth, she felt his touch like an electric current. “Sometimes it’s not so bad to be wrong. Maybe we’re not so different.”

“I think there’s a lot we have in common,” she whispered, turning to face him. She was aware, suddenly, of how close they were standing; it was a heady sensation. She felt she should be doing something…anything. She couldn’t think what, though, except to stare at his warm brown eyes. It almost seemed they were getting bigger…

No, Trissiny realized; she was drifting closer.

Then those eyes widened in sudden comprehension, and Toby moved backward with a speed that was just barely short of abrupt. He quickly schooled his features, but not quite in time to disguise a wince.

He’d moved back. And winced.

Something in her felt as brittle as old leaves.

“Ah, look,” he said, very carefully. “I think you’re a great girl, Triss…”

Everything after that was kind of hazy.

Darling was still more than a little bleary when he slouched into his smaller, more intimate parlor, guided by the scent of hot scones and tea. It had been a long night; even after dealing with the Beater, the Crow, the Jackal and the Archpope in that order, he’d had to go pull rank at the Temple of Avei to extract his apprentices. Unsurprisingly, the Sisters had reacted to the sudden arrival of three armed, self-described criminal elves telling conflicting stories by detaining everyone while they sorted out what was going on. Darling, Eserite or no, was a Bishop of the Universal Church and his say-so counted for something; he’d straightened that out, retrieved the girls and seen to it the Jackal was comfortably ensconced in a cell.

All this meant he hadn’t had time for much sleep, certainly hadn’t had a chance to sit down and process the Archpope’s revelations, and Flora and Fauna weren’t done being peeved at him yet.

“Good day,” Mary the Crow said politely. She was sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs around the parlor table. Not his favorite chair. She probably knew that.

He blinked at her, then shambled in and flopped down in his customary seat. “Morning. By all means, come on in. Make yourself right the hell at home.”

“Morning is nearly over,” she replied calmly, wearing a faint smile.

“Mornings are evil things,” he grunted, pouring himself a cup of strong black tea. “No decent person would be caught participating in one. Scone?”

“Thank you, no.” He began spreading butter on one in silence.

Mary waited until he’d had two bites. “Perhaps we should discuss last night’s events, Darling. I feel we’ve made some progress toward building trust. Or do you disagree?”

“Lady, let me get some tea and hot food in me, and then I’ll start determining what I think about anything. There’s a process. You don’t rush the process.”

From the doorway, Price cleared her throat softly. “Your Grace, you have…” She gave Mary an unreadable look. “…another visitor. Bishop Syrinx is here to see you.”

“How interesting,” Mary said, her smile widening.

“Oh, bugger it all,” Darling groaned. “Might as well show her in, Price, she’ll probably chew down the door or something otherwise.”

“Very good, your Grace.”

He managed to stuff the rest of the scone into his face before Basra arrived.

“Are you still having breakfast?” she demanded, sparing the Crow barely a glance. “How long have you been up? You look like death’s droppings.”

“Why, how lovely to bloody well see you too, Bas. Please, have a seat. How’ve you been? How’s the weather?”

She snorted, sliding onto the loveseat and helping herself to a scone. “We need to talk, Antonio. First, though, what are you doing with this here first thing in what I gather is still the morning for you?”

“Omnu’s balls, I just came downstairs and there she was,” he exclaimed. “What do you want me to do, put up a scarecrow?”

“Hnh. Maybe she can go play with the other elves while we talk?”

“They are at the Guild, attending to their training.” He grinned at her over his teacup. “So, no, the only elven ears in the building are the ones you see before you.”

“It may interest you to know, however,” said Mary calmly, “that your home is under Imperial surveillance.”

“Oh, that’s just Lord Vex’s way of beating his chest,” Darling said dismissively, though inwardly he wanted to curse. He hadn’t known that. It was something he’d have to keep in mind. “Ignore them, they’ll get tired and go away after a few more weeks of me being my boring self.”

“Seriously, though,” Basra said, staring at Mary. “Do you mind? We need to talk Church business.”

“I was here first,” the elf said placidly.

“All right, enough,” Darling snapped. “Don’t try to swim up the waterfall, Bas. If she wants to know what’s going on, she’ll find out. Better in the long run to work with her than against her.”

“I suppose,” Basra said grudgingly, then grinned. “And after all, it’s probably better that you get used to hanging around here, what with Antonio being your new boss, and all.”

Mary raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes,” Basra said with relish. “He’s been placed in charge of the Archpope’s adventurer program. No more running around the city taking them down one by one. Antonio thinks he can do it smart.”

“And Justinian agreed to that?” Mary said mildly. “You must have made quite an impression.”

“I capitalized on an opportunity,” Darling said wearily, setting down his teacup. “He pretty much had to give me something. I don’t think he’d planned on revealing all that he did so early; after we found out about the Jackal and burst in on him like that, he needed to offer something to keep us loyal. Even after showing us the Chamber of Truth and announcing his plans… Well, it was a show of trust and a bribe, sure, but it was crazy enough he still needed to coax us. You could have probably gotten something, too, if you’d thought to ask.”

“Well…damn,” she said, scowling now.

“And what plans are these?” Mary asked, in the same mild tone.

“Well.” Basra gave her an unpleasant smile. “It seems his Holiness aspires to universal apotheosis. He intends to elevate all of humanity to godhood.”

There was silence for a moment while Mary contemplated this. Her face, as usual, showed no emotion. “The reasons that would not work are outnumbered only by the reasons it would be a disaster if it did.”

“Pretty much what I thought,” Basra replied, leaning back in the loveseat and crossing her legs. “And what Antonio thought, I’ll bet, which is why I’m here. He’s got Branwen wrapped around his little finger—not that that’s hard, she’s about as intellectually impressive as a bucket of shucked clams. And I strongly suspect Andros knew something about this going in; his cult is more heavily behind the Archpope than any other. You and I, though, signed off on that asshat project only as our best chance of getting out of that room alive and without a price on our head.” She stared at him piercingly, the intensity of her gaze belying her relaxed posture. “Or am I wrong?”

Darling nibbled at a scone, rapidly pondering. How much could he trust Basra? Whatever the state of her mental health, she was cunning, unscrupulous and had a cruel streak. Still, that could be an advantage. Allies of convenience were often less prone to giving each other unpleasant surprises than those bonded by deeper trust.

“You’re more or less in the right,” he said. “Whatever Justinian is doing is clearly going to go forward. I’m happier being around to keep an eye on it than sitting here wondering when the hammer will come down.”

“So the question is: was he serious?” She turned her gaze to the window, frowning as she stared into space. “I trust you of all people noticed we were being fed a line of bullshit from the start of that meeting to the end. My favorite part is how he twisted it around so that his hiring outside contractors ostensibly not to kill us was evidence that we should trust him more.”

“However did he manage to express that?” Mary asked, tilting her head. It was a distinctly birdlike gesture.

“Basically,” Darling explained, “we’ve spent so much time proving ourselves to him to be let into the inner circle; now that he’s called his own trustworthiness into question, he has to prove himself to us, which places us on more even footing.”

“I see.” She ruminated for a moment. “It does make a certain, insane kind of sense.”

“’Insane’ is a very relevant word, here,” Basra said grimly. “I’ll admit I might be indulging in wishful thinking by concluding he’s putting one over on us. Schemes, lies and betrayals are things I understand, things I know how to deal with. The Archpope concealing his true plans behind a grandiose front would make sense to me. The alternative is that one of the world’s most powerful men is irretrievably screaming bugfuck insane, and there’s basically nothing we can do about it.”

“It is not impossible that he is both,” Mary suggested. “Elevating an entire species to godhood is, in a word, unthinkable. Elevating individuals, however, has been done.”

“Not in eight thousand years,” Basra retorted, “and nobody knows how. The gods have been very particular about keeping that information quiet.”

“Shifty bastards, aren’t they?” Darling said cheerfully.

Basra winced. “I can’t help expecting thunder or something whenever somebody says something like that.”

“Meh, I’m not nearly important enough for them to pay attention to,” he said dismissively. “The question becomes, then, how serious is the Archpope?”

“And what are we going to do about it?” Basra added, taking a bite of her scone.

“This does not seem to be the time for aggressive action,” Mary said calmly. “The protections of the Church are…considerable. Even I would hesitate to strike at Justinian; whatever his plans, he enjoys the general favor of the Pantheon and the active, personal support of several gods. I believe your current strategy is the best one.”

Darling chewed slowly, not replying, not willing to give voice to the thought currently foremost in his mind. It was an absurd thought, of course, but he hadn’t succeeded this far in life by failing to cover the angles.

What if Justinian was sane, sincere…and successful?

“So how’s this Rail thing work, anyhow?” Ruda asked, climbing into the car. “Was there just no caravan scheduled this whole time we’ve been in this town, or what?”

“Sarasio isn’t a regular stop,” Professor Tellwyrn replied. “You’ll note that, like Last Rock, there is only a single Rail line; consequently, the caravans only travel in one direction. They only come to Sarasio when someone charters a caravan to this location.”

“Oh.” Ruda frowned. “Wait, the telescroll tower’s down. How’d you get a caravan out here so fast?”

Tellwyrn smiled at her in silence.

“Do you realize how fucking annoying that is?”

Tellwyrn’s smile widened.

“Yeah.” Ruda folded her arms and slouched in her seat. “I figured you did.”

The students weren’t the only ones departing Sarasio; in addition to Heywood Paxton, a number of residents were taking the opportunity to flee the beleaguered little town. Not many, luckily for the remainder. It seemed Sarasio would retain enough of its population to rebuild. The extra, however, meant different seating arrangements than on their trip out. For starters, Tellwyrn didn’t have a car to herself this time; Trissiny, Teal and now Ruda sat with her.

“So what’s all that about?” Ruda demanded, pointing at the bright hibiscus flower tucked behind the Professor’s ear. It was a very peculiar look for her, and not just because it clashed with her blonde hair.

“Apparently the Shady Lady has a small attached greenhouse,” Tellwyrn said mildly, looking out the window. “I can see the utility of an upscale bordello cultivating some exotic flowers. It was a little going-away present.”

“Uh huh.” Ruda grinned broadly. “Well, is anybody else gonna say it?” Teal and Trissiny both glanced at her momentarily before returning to their own window-gazing. “All right, guess it’s up to me, then. Lady, that boy is fifteen years old. I know you’ve got a rep to keep up, but there’s a line between doing whatever damn thing you please and just being a fucking creepy old creep. See?”

Tellwyrn turned her head to look at Ruda. She kept her expression perfectly neutral.

Ruda shifted slightly in her seat, her grin slipping. “I’m just saying.”

The professor stared.

“Oh, hey, there’s Gabe,” Ruda said, rising. “I need to ask him something.” She exited more quickly than she’d entered.

“Important life lesson, girls,” Tellwyrn said with a small smile. “There’s a time and a place for shouting and making accusations, but people who know they’re in the wrong absolutely cannot stand silence.”

The two girls glanced at her again, momentarily, before returning their stares to the glass.

“Oh, good, a seat,” said Juniper, ducking into the compartment. “Ruda apparently really wants to sit with Shaeine and the boys. I dunno why it’s important, but whatever. Fross is riding with them, I guess she’s small enough she doesn’t need her own seat.”

“Welcome aboard, Juniper,” Tellwyrn said mildly, now fishing in her pocket with one hand.

“Thanks! And don’t worry, I’m not gonna crush anyone when we go around the turns. I don’t weigh like a tree when I’m concentrating, and anyway I’m really good at bracing myself.”

“Good to know,” said the professor, finally retrieving what she was after. She handed a small square wrapped in gold foil to Teal and another to Trissiny.

“What’s this?” Teal asked, not sounding terribly interested.

“Svennish artisan chocolate,” replied the professor. “The cure for nothing and the treatment for everything.”

“None for me, thanks,” said Juniper, cheerful as ever.

“You don’t need any,” Tellwyrn said dryly.

“Boy, that’s for sure. I mean, I can metabolize just about anything, but processed sugar makes me all sluggish.”

“Thanks,” Trissiny said somewhat belatedly, leaving the chocolate resting in her hand, still wrapped. Teal had already extracted hers and was single-mindedly devouring it.

“Don’t mind them,” Juniper said earnestly, leaning toward the professor. “They both just got—”

“I forgot to mention, Juniper, you did very well during the battle,” Tellwyrn interrupted her smoothly. “Excellent use of strategy.”

At this, Trissiny finally looked up. “She got captured.”

“Exactly,” said the professor, nodding.

“Well, yeah,” said Juniper. “I mean, if I didn’t let them capture me they were gonna shoot me. I really don’t like being shot, but that was sort of beside the point. We were supposed to be saving the town, which pretty much can’t happen if it gets destroyed. My mother is, uh, not exactly precise when she’s in a mood.”

“Oh.” Trissiny turned back to the window.

“Ah, youth,” Tellwyrn murmured. Juniper blinked at her in confusion, but no one replied.

The sharp crack of arcane energy sounded and the caravan began moving. All four braced themselves in their seats, some more glad of the distraction than others, and they accelerated away, on their journey home to Last Rock.

“A moment, your Majesty?”

Sharidan indulged in a sigh. It was only Quentin Vex, whose loyalty he trusted. It wouldn’t do for the Emperor to show weakness in front of any of his courtiers, but in front of those he knew were on his side, a little annoyance now and then didn’t hurt. Eleanora still gave him a look, of course, which he ignored. They were on the way back to the harem wing from the morning’s session holding court, and he knew she was looking forward to a quiet meal without anyone pestering them as much as he.

“Something urgent, Lord Quentin?” Sharidan asked mildly.

“No, your Majesty, not urgent, but immediate. I would advise that you receive this report no later than today, but if your Majesty is busy…?” He trailed off, falling into step beside them. A Hand of the Emperor prowled ahead of the party, two more behind; at least one of those would be watching Vex like a hawk.

“Just spit it out,” the Empress said curtly, and Sharidan gave her a little smile.

Vex, as usual, bore his Empress’s sharp tongue with perfect equanimity. “The situation in Sarasio has been resolved, and the outcome is optimal. Professor Tellwyrn personally delivered her report to me this morning, along with a written report by Surveyor Paxton and two communications from the Hands of Omnu and Avei. The town is secure, the rebels under citizen’s arrest awaiting Imperial retrieval. Sarasio’s request for Imperial aid is being processed; I understand it has been fast-tracked and should result in shipments of personnel and supplies within the week. The Minister of the Interior has already appointed a Marshal, who will embark later today. General Panissar has dispatched a regiment to secure the town, and per the Hands’ requests, three ranking clerics of Omnu and a squad from the Seventh Silver Legion are already en route.”

“How in the hell,” Eleanora demanded, “did that woman personally get into your offices?”

Vex’s normally sleepy expression showed uncharacteristic annoyance, a sign of the favor he enjoyed; the Empress knew well enough that it wasn’t aimed at her. “Apparently, your Majesty, she teleported directly in. And yes, that should be impossible. We are looking into it.”

Eleanora snorted. “I do not like the idea of involving that woman in Imperial affairs. The entire purpose of that University of hers, however she tries to dress it up, is to crank out high-level adventurers. More of those are the last thing the Empire needs.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Vex said diplomatically. “However, she will be doing that anyway, and attempting to prevent her will certainly cause more harm than good. I am quite optimistic about the long-term prospects of cultivating an amicable relationship. Tellwyrn has already proven useful in this specific situation, and as a general rule, I believe it’s better to have her working with us than against us.”

“At least the town is stable,” said the Emperor before Eleanora could start in again. “What of the neighboring elves?”

“Ah, yes, your Majesty. They assisted in reclaiming the town and putting down the rebels. It seems Tellwyrn’s students were instrumental in arranging this.”

“Excellent,” Sharidan said, nodding. “So far, I concur with your analysis. If the good Professor is willing to play nicely, that certainly beats the alternative.” Eleanora snorted expressively, but withheld comment. “Anything further on the situation?”

“That covers it, your Majesty. I will of course keep you informed as new developments arise.”

“A moment,” said Sharidan as Vex started to bow out. They had arrived at the door to the harem wing, which the Hand in the lead opened for them and slipped through, quickly surveying the interior before nodding his liege forward. “It’s nearing the end of the academic semester in the next few days, isn’t it? While we’re on the subject of Tellwyrn and her University, let’s have your semiannual analysis.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said Vex, obediently following them in and toward the dining room. “It is quite early, yet, and the Sarasio event is the students’ first organized foray into Imperial territory, so my information is, at best, incomplete, but I have been able to gather several basic impressions. There are no surprises from the two Hands, nor from the Narisian exchange student. That last is a welcome improvement from last year’s drow. The half-demon is, of course, entirely unimportant; he’s only there because his father and Tobias Caine petitioned Tellwyrn to admit him. The pixie, likewise, is of no immediate significance and a fairly minor long-term concern.”

“How so?” the Empress asked as they stepped into the dining room, where servants held out chairs for the Imperial couple. Vex positioned himself discreetly to one side where they could both see him.

“We have ascertained that, as expected, the Pixie Queen has already forgotten the matter. Fross is an academically interesting case, but she is one individual, completely isolated from her species and of no diplomatic or political interest. It will be interesting to see whether an individual pixie can be housebroken, so to speak. If she proves this to be the case, in four years or so we may wish to look into acquiring some pixies of our own; they have potential tactical value. Fross’s current academic career is well within the margin of error for a pixie’s established attention span, however, so such action would be premature.”

He paused, and Sharidan gestured for him to continue while servants place a plate of steaming fish in front of him.

“The more important cases are, of course, the dryad, the archdemon and Princess Zaruda. In all three cases, I consider it far too early to make any significant judgments.”

“What are your gut feelings at this point?” asked the Emperor.

Vex frowned, contemplating momentarily. “If the Juniper experiment proves successful, it will change everything. So far, she appears to be obeying Tellwyrn’s rules without trouble, but it is, as I have said, early, and I am not aware that her self-control has been significantly tested against her predatory instincts. Should it prove that dryads can be integrated into mortal society… The implications are vast, not least because it will be the first sign in recorded history that Naiya is personally interested in interacting with us on a large scale. I almost hope Juniper reverts to type and Tellwyrn has to get rid of her. It will certainly cause less complication in the long run.”

Sharidan nodded, chewing, and kept his expression bland, not glancing at any of the Hands nearby. Privately, he agreed with Vex; the less the world at large understood about dryads, the better.

“The duo of Teal Falconer and Vadrieny remain stable,” Vex continued. “There is as yet no indication of progress on any front. Miss Falconer is, by any measure, a loyal and admirable citizen, but the nature of her relationship with the demon makes it impossible to predict what will happen should Vadrieny’s memories return, or she turn against the Empire for any other reason.”

“And the Punaji girl?” Eleanora asked. She had her wineglass in hand, but neither ate nor drank, her piercing stare fixed on Vex.

He shrugged eloquently. “Observation reinforces what we knew of her personally before she went to Last Rock. Princess Zaruda is as clever as her mother and as fierce as her father. All indications are that she will one day be one of the greatest Queens the Punaji nation has ever known; an education at Tellwyrn’s hands will only increase her capacities. At issue, then, is purely how she feels about the Tiraan Empire. She may become an absolutely priceless ally… But if she decides her people are better off separating themselves from Tiraan interests…” He let the thought trail off.

“Clearly, then, we must prevent that from happening,” said Sharidan, setting down his fork.

Vex nodded. “Yes, your Majesty. It is a delicate matter, however. Zaruda is likely to perceive any charity or blatant attempts to sway her as hostile acts, and she is certainly intelligent enough to see through them. Much as it pains me to say it, I don’t believe handling her is an appropriate task for my department. She should be approached with sincerity and skill by the Foreign Ministry. Specifically by whoever is best-versed in dealing with the Punaji.”

“How immediately do you think that need be addressed?” Eleanora asked.

“I don’t recommend that we involve ourselves with any of the students at Last Rock at this time,” said Vex. “Let them develop for a while. It’s too early, yet, to know exactly what action will need to be taken. I will repeat my earlier analysis, however, that this group of students on balance represents more potential for change than any of Tellwyrn’s recent crops. If anything, this underscores the importance of handling Tellwyrn herself correctly.”

“Which you wish to continue doing, I take it,” said the Empress, her mouth tightening.

“My current policy toward her appears to be an unequivocal success, your Majesty,” he said mildly.

“Very well,” said Sharidan, nodding. “Thank you for your report, Lord Quentin.”

“Your Majesties.” Vex bowed to each of them before turning and slipping out.

Eleanora sighed, finally taking a sip of her wine. “What an unmitigated headache.”

“But a headache for another day,” Sharidan replied with a grin. “Let’s focus on the ones right in front of us for now, Nora.”

They finished eating in companionable silence, enjoying the brief respite from the politics of the Palace. All too soon, it would be back into the fray for them both.

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